This summer, pause.
Hover.
Seek the nectar of your life.
And maybe…write about what you taste.
Summertime. Hallelujah.
I was on my small deck, reclining in my tangerine orange gravity chair, grateful for the breeze dispersing the mosquitoes. I guess you could say I was daydreaming, which seems to be a new spiritual practice of mine——though I have never called it that until now.
My mind was not entertaining any dream beyond the beauty of the moment, when the butterfly pictured above soared into my vision.
Quite playful, she did not land on any of the many blooms in the window boxes of my deck. Instead, she hovered above the orange and yellow lantana and the purple million bells for what seemed a remarkably long time before inserting her proboscis into the heart of a blossom.
How miraculous to watch and to reflect upon the aiming for and receiving of nectar.
What a reminder——about writing and about life: To be present. To seek the nectar. To savor.
We don’t have visible wings or antennae, but aren’t we in essence like this butterfly, creatures that require nectar, that also must enter the heart in order to truly flourish and soar?
To my delight, instead of eating and running, the butterfly lingered. And lingered. Even after darting across the lawn, she returned to circle my head as if playing with me.
“Dad?” I said out loud after the leaving and returning had at least happened three times. (I have heard that the departed often appear in the form of butterflies. My dad was not someone I would ever have thought of as a butterfly, but I was willing to suspend disbelief.)
“Dad, I love you. I hope that you are free of what weighed you down, that you are soaring.”
The creature–I am not making this up–seemed to do an aerial pirouette right then. Joy almost palpable.
She also let me take dozens of pictures of her (some shared here).
Spiritual teachers speak of the space between the breaths, where pause and creation happen. Being in the company of this butterfly was a sacred “gap,” a space in time that was timeless.
In writing this to you now, I taste again the nectar of that butterfly’s presence and the wonder of my father’s spirit alighting (even if just in my imagination). What a perennial gift writing is, leading us, when we let it, deep into the heart. To harvest the nectar. To harvest love.
Yours in the joy of creating,
Ani
G'Mar Chatima Tova
I close with this customary greeting whose literal meaning is: "a good final sealing." I will add to that: May you know the love of which you are made. What better than to know this?
With gratitude,
Ani
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Schier
Surrounded by light
Yet walking in shadow
I saw the rippling waves
the light
ever warning
also calling
slowly
spinning
always returning
Slipping off my shoes
wading
crisp cold water
in the dark
under the light house
Slow Shuffle Dance
Honey, can you come here for a sec?”
The day to day grind
Life with cancer
His hands are so thin, and always sore.
His eyes still smile at me.
I grumble sleepily, but I know I can’t help myself anymore.
It doesn’t matter what side of the bed I woke up on.
I smile despite myself.
Turn soft music on
Grab his morning dose
Put on his prosthetic.
We wobble as I help him stand
For a moment we dance
Then he whispers
“Hun, I have to go to the bathroom..”
We shuffle down the hallway hand in hand.
Dear Ani,
Thank you for this sharing this beautiful moment! It is inspiring. I am going to take the advice!
Sarah
Dear Sarah,
Perhaps you will be moved to harvest some of your own beautiful moments in writing–even just a splash of words. If so, and you would like to share some of the harvest, write me again!
Thank you for sharing your reply. It is moving to a writer to know her words have been received. There is great joy just in the the writing and deepened joy in knowing the gifts offered via the words, have reached their destination: the heart!
Ani
You know, my father died in 1964 and veils are still being lifted..life is a journey and the inner journey keeps unfolding.
Amen.
Dear Annette, if you are ever moved to write about the veils being lifted——even just diving in stream of consciousness, letting the words flow——I would LOVE to hear and I am certain others would be inspired as well!!
Lovely, Ani, words that will hopefully nudge me to write this summer.
Harilyn
I hope so, too Harilyn! The most potent nudge, of course, is the one coming from within you. That inner nudge can be as subtle and sublime as the opening of butterflies wings. The nudge can also be earthquake-like when we have ignored it for too long. May you be nudged gracefully from within and by life into the rendezvous with your writing you wish for!
Blessings,
Ani
Thank you for that beautiful sharing. I also think you had an unexplained connection to your Dad.Thank you for your insights . Annette
Thank you, Annette! My connection to my father may always be somewhat veiled in mystery. Though, it is amazing that as time passes (and it has only been 7 months since his death), veils are lifting. It is easier to see through the veil of the personality once it has been left behind…
I may be writing a novel based on about my parents’ journeys to survive World War II and am certain that if I do, more veils will be lifting as I see into his heart.
Would be great to hear about the veils that have lifted in your relationship with your parents. Oh, I can feel another post coming on…(and/or maybe a writing retreat for those who have lost one or both parents). It is truly such a transformative and mysterious experience. When my mother died, my brother said: “I feel like I am being initiated into a club I did not know existed.”
Thanks for your brief comment that sparked me so…
Ani