Golden Wings

One day I was hiking with my dogs along a forest trail in southern Kentucky. The ground was still muddy in places from last night’s rain.

Suddenly I saw a cloud of yellow butterflies. I stepped closer as I felt something from them, something that seem not to be right. They were not flying the way I usually see butterflies flatter around in the air. There was a tension there, some sort of agitation. They had spiraled themselves into a dense, narrow cone. In that way they were hovering above a spot on the ground at the side of the trail.

It pulled me toward it. The winged cone slightly moved to the side, allowing me to get a closer look at what they seem to hover over. I squatted down, searching on the ground for something.

Then I saw it, a dead butterfly, It was lying on its side. It was hardly noticeable because its folded wings had the same color as the mud it was lying on. A little pebble was lying right on top of its folded wings.

Something inside me made me carefully reach out, and with my thumb and index finger I gently took the pebble off. Suddenly a bright yellow wing flapped open. A miracle of golden shimmer, touched by a ray of the sun breaking through the clouds. A ray that only now found its way through the branches of the trees like it wanted to bear witness to miracle.

Joy filled my heart and wonder, then, a second later dismay when I noticed that the butterfly’s little feet were stuck in the mud. It slightly moved its wings then sat still again, surrendering to its fate.

Slowly, ever so slowly and gently I moved my index finger underneath its belly. Even more slowly, slower than the sun moves in the sky, I lifted my finger upwards, tiny millimeters at a time. Finally, I pulled its little legs out of the mud - away from the holding grip of its gooey death. When its feet finally found new ground on my finger, I slowly stood up. I took a deep breath careful not to exhale too forcefully for any little wind might sabotage its chance for survival.

We did not move, the butterfly and me, waiting in an endless moment of time. Something beyond us would be making the decision between life and death.

Finally it started to flap its wings, first carefully, testing, feeling, lifting one leg, then the other.

Then - A big flap, it suddenly pushed itself up off my finger throwing itself into the air, into life. It spiraled up higher and higher into the sky, joy so pure in its jubilance, so painfully naked in its intensity, its triumph over death , yet so light, so bright, so glowing, I stretched out my arms to it and to the sky, bathing in the wonder of the miracle with tears of joy . Only now I noticed the swarm of butterflies, the ones who had alarmed me, who had in some unearthly way called me to the rescue. I completely had forgotten about them. Now I watched my new little friend and its family flying toward each other. Its family took it inside, its tight cone loosening, opening like an orchestra getting ready for its finale. Suddenly an outburst of golden wings, serenading in a euphoric explosion like fireworks in the sky on the forth of July. My eyes followed them until they disappeared into the depth of the forest.

This little butterfly keeps living in my heart. In moments where I am at risk to forget the joy and love that life so readily lays to our feet for all of us at any moment, it flaps its little golden wings to remind me.

Eye-level view of a serene meditation space with soft lighting