Broken Butterfly

 

The other day I walked out of my house, and I saw a butterfly with a broken wing. It with flitting around, unable to fly. I picked the black with yellow-tipped wing creature up, flapping its’ wings around, internally fighting for its’ life.

I picked him up and placed him on safer ground so in lieu of not being run over.

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It reminded me of times like that of myself, and often those around me, who aren’t flying because they have a broken part. It’s not that they aren’t capable, or beautiful or smart enough but they need healing, mending to take place. A repair. The desperation of being or feeling stuck, is heart-wrenching. Frozen. Contemplative.

I think to myself why was this butterfly born different? Then I think, if you are were born this way I whispered, maybe your purpose is to be grounded.

Then I grapple with this sight because I think butterflies are meant to soar, and flap, and high five the air.  I wanted to make sense of it. The creature looked so lost and frightened.

Later on in the day, as I was running in the woods, I saw the same genre of butterfly except who’s wings were whole and this beaute was flying. It would fly a few feet away from me and just stop and land on some dill and munch. This monarch would act as my guide steering me out of the forest, speaking to me through his wings, follow me, I know the way.

Eventually, the butterfly flew away, sending his farewells as he colored his sky.  Hopefully, his world stayed magical and bright,

The paradox, here, contemplating, was what did it mean to see two butterflies? One broken and one not?

I don’t know. But to speak to humans on a human level..

Maybe you are in that type of season. You KNOW you are supposed to fly but you aren’t. Why aren’t you? Will this butterfly fly, again?

If you are the butterfly, know you are never too broken to fix.

It’s time to mend. It’s time to repair. It’s time to fly.

Bonjour.

love,

bb.

 

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