Butterflies

I dreamed of butterflies, last weekend. My room was full of them, in all colours and sizes, on every surface with more coming through the window, and though my mind was squealing that “they’re bugs!”, I let them land where they wanted. Eventually, I was surrounded.

The next morning, I asked Ter what butterflies mean in spirit lore. Off the cuff, they represent transformation, transmutation, joy and beauty. Deeper research revealed that they herald change, purport lightness of being, living in the moment, freedom in general, that sort of thing. All good things, really.

While Ter was hunting the info online, I came in and read her the Zen calendar blurb for the day: “The butterfly counts not days but moments, and has time enough.”

Chills ensued. See, I’ve been struggling (no surprise) with the novel. It has moments of brilliance, but overall, it’s not working and I cannot figure out what the effing hell is wrong. It’s just not fun right now. In fact, it’s become painful to the point that Ter accused me of being weighed down by it. “You’re grim,” she said. “Let it go, will you?”

Well, I’ve committed to finishing it, so letting go is a nice idea, but once committed, I have real trouble admitting defeat. So during my bedtime meditation, I told the universe that I’m setting it aside and getting out of my own way, hoping to clear the path for another story to be told. Then the butterfly dream happened. Then the butterfly quote appeared. Seems kinda obvious to me … now.

After our morning tea discussion, I asked Ter, “Why didn’t I see this before?”

“Because you’re a Virgo!” she yelled.