The Miracle of the Blue Winter Butterfly
The blue butterfly, with edges of black and white upon its wings, floats on the chill of the Winter air. A miracle of creation. She has no knowledge in the knowing she’s a rarity. A unique being, the first adaptation of existence.
A brand new butterfly, who can withstand the cold upon her frosted wings. She grows in the Summer, gathering strength in sunlight and carries on through the Winter by her moonlight reserves.
Floating from one particle of lovelight to another.
She knows not where the other butterflies have gone.
Yet, she has the inner knowledge they are not far from her heart.
The blue butterfly knows there’s always been a we in her interbeing, with all the colors of butterflies, even if they have gone South.
She has no knowledge of her brightness against the backdrop of the grey. The ability of existing beyond her realm. She only knows she needs to be in the North. Having no knowledge of her magic.
She is a little being of love, of hope, of joy. And when the days grow short, she catches the lovelight from the Winter moon who knows. She catches the lovelight in the wonder and awe of those who see her land upon the freshly fallen snow.
The blue butterfly has no idea what she has become.
If you see her, stay in the interbeing of the interconnected moment with her, watch her fly in her circles. In the air where we can see our breaths again — here, here she reminds us of the love she is, and the love drawn in the circles of her flight — endless, beginningless, in every way and always, she will be here, through the depths of winter.
The blue butterfly of the Winter light.
Wings upon the surrender of a new reality, not better not worse, she just is.
And when you see her, upon the art of our breathe — our eyes can see, can finally see and we remember in our hearts — miracles of life do exist.