Photo by Sara Wright
Becoming: A prayer-full imagining
It rained hard
last night
thunder rattled
cracked glass
were you
afraid?
drenched
you hung
from spun
black
thread
this morning
jeweled
raindrops
shimmered
over
clear
film
outlining
dusky
orange
ebony
lines
a pattern
older
than
time
be well
be whole
take to
moon sky
eclipsed
in shadow
bittersweet
blossom
torched stars
last night
Emerging
upside down
feelers cling
to outworn skin
please
pump
flight
into
silky wings
sail
into
a river
of light
be well
be whole
one monarch
who makes
the journey
south
nine months
to Spring.
Author’s notes: The act of writing about a creature I love, especially in life – or -death circumstances is a form of prayer I use routinely. Here is one such story:
I do not raise monarch butterflies believing that nature knows how to care for her own. However, throughout my life I have been privileged to witness Monarch Butterfly Emergence with nature directing the process. This summer when neighbors poisoned their land with chemicals to kill all insects, amphibians, cats, and fish I saw the two caterpillars feeding on poisoned leaves and chose to intervene. Scooping them up I brought them home, washed the insects, provided them with a terrarium and gave them new leaves.
The first one pupated that first night, the second the next day. For 15 days I waited, fearing the two were dead or worse, deformed. The first chrysalis turned black in the morning heat. The butterfly split the small capsule emerging with feelers waving with what seemed like excitement as I welcomed this young male into his life. Immediately he began pumping fluid into his wings, strengthening them so he could fly. I wrote a story about him while he dried his wings because I have learned that one way to assist a creature is to focus on him through writing his story through my own eyes. The act of writing becomes the prayer. When I finished my tale this very active butterfly took his very first flight from my finger sailing onto the wild phlox that would provide him with his first nectar.
The second chrysalis was now turning black, so I knew emergence was immanent within the next 24 hours. That night a severe thunderstorm struck drenching the chrysalis. The next morning the air was waterlogged, but the capsule was clear outlining the wings of the butterfly within. By 10 AM a butterfly emerged. I kept talking to this one hoping for any response. There was none. The monarch hung from the shrinking capsule without moving. A too light breeze swayed an unresponsive body. I felt this butterfly’s exhaustion on a visceral level, depressing me too. To counteract my fears, I turned to prayer. Sitting next to butterfly I wrote a poem. Just as I finished sudden movement and now this butterfly was pumping ki’s wings with fluid. Ah, this was a female (no hind spots). When this Little Lady took flight into the river of sky I was overjoyed. Unlike early summer monarchs that live about two to four weeks, these live nine months and make the perilous 5000 -thousand – mile flight to winter over in the mountains of Mexico before moving north in the early spring to mate, lay eggs and die.
I live the life of a naturalist who is also a contemplative. Living in the woods prayer and gratitude are part of my daily experience. I am privileged to live with nature as one of her species, to love, be loved by her. I owe her my life.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright – Return to Mago E*Magazine