the butterfly as me
art - @Soffronia
words - me
I once heard something about learning to love the way we would hold a butterfly in our hands. Something delicate and in need of presence and attention, but not too much force. Something we cannot squeeze, hold too tight, or pick apart else we destroy its beauty. And so we must resist that child-like urge to grasp or succumb to our own clumsiness, not to get too excited, not to fear it flying away. Rather we must hold space for this wondrous being, resting in grattitude.
And are we ourselves, also just like this butterfly?
As well as the hand that holds it?
It helps me to see that there is the part of me that wants to hold too tight, to cling and grasp in attempts to own my life. There is a part that can destroy the magic and flow by questioning what is, picking myself apart from the inside out to try and understand. There is a part that can get distracted, or look too hard, both shaking my focus.
But more importantly, there is the part of me that is delicate, with fragile budding wings and grace-filled ease. A part that isn’t nearly as tough as she would like to pretend, a part that knows this life is fleeting, and was never really ‘mine’ to begin with.
And so it is a dance, as I learn to stretch out my palm so the butterfly as ‘me’ can balance in ease.
To hold loving intent for myself, my planet and my beloved.
To rest in living as the steady, open hand as well as the quivering winged being.