A Single Wing
It is the pristine stripes of a lone butterfly wing, resting on the path, that finally open me to my grief.
How long has this single wing been resting here?
Where is the other half of this small, young tiger swallowtail?
Does it rest in the belly of a raven?
An early morning bat?
The impermanence and the beauty of life, all contained in this solitary wing. To emerge from chrysalis, to spread your wings, to take that leap of faith and rise tentatively into the dawning light, only to have the jaws of a hungry predator snap around you. To become breakfast, or dinner, so quickly after taking flight.
To offer yourself toward the light, only to be ravenously consumed by darkness again in a heartbeat.
It makes me think of Zaya. And Andrea. And Patty. And Elena. And Ollie. And all the others who never let pain darken their light.
Does the soul of that butterfly mourn for its lost body? Or is it already preparing for rebirth? Perhaps this next time around it won’t have to work so hard before meeting its end.
I send a prayer into the sky. Maybe you will come back as a bird, or a bat, born with wings.
I scoop up the butterfly wing and carry it to the stream.
I want to press it between the pages of my journal. I want to save it because it is so beautiful.
Instead, I release it and watch it float downstream over rocks and ripples.
Everything is impermanent.
Beauty is, too.
I am certain now that this butterfly will be reborn in a stronger body. She deserves to have an easier go of it in the next life.
I thank her for sharing her beautiful wing with the world. She has helped me connect with my grief and with the mystery and even in her death, the beauty has brought me a smile.
Thank you, butterfly. Fly high.
I’m also struck by the realization that this wing is only beautiful because I’m here to perceive it and to call it beauty.
Without me, it is simply detritus on the forest floor.
Beauty requires a witness, just as grief requires love, just as life requires death.
To be seen and known, to be loved, and to feel—that is the greatest gift of being alive.
Very lovely. It is comforting to imagine each of us might move through bodies and lives… experiencing living and dying from different perspectives. I love the way you drop into such a deep metaphor from this tiny object. I also appreciate the way you’ve bound together love and grief. If you’re interested in exploring that more, please read my piece about it. https://wendygolden2.substack.com/p/the-sparkly-little-elephant?r=3jyto&utm_medium=ios
How seldom do we really take a moment to reflect, and understand the beauty of life. This butterfly is but the perfect example. I feel completely different after reading this piece, I’ll never forget it, because it has changed my life; it has allowed me to fathom the intricacies of life and its inherent value.