Butterfly Wisdom

It was mid-afternoon a couple of months ago when I received an excited call from my good friend who lives down the hill.  “The monarch butterfly has broken out of its chrysalis!  Can I come up and release it in your flower-filled yard?”

I rushed outside, and soon heard the crunch crunch sound of her tires on our caliche driveway and the slam of her door.  She circled around to the back porch, carefully holding a modified plastic container. Inside was a perfectly formed monarch butterfly sitting quietly on a twig alongside the shredded remains of a chrysalis. A new phase of insect life was beginning. We watched as the orange, white and black-colored butterfly gently crawled out of the container and onto my friend’s arm, then onto her head, tip-toeing over her hair.  As we tried to carefully move it, it careened like a drunk driver over to the basket of purple flowers nearby.  Once there, the monarch seemed content as it settled in for the drying-out period (Hmmm, maybe it was a little drunk, after all).

Before the monarch could flit and fly, find food, mate and lay its eggs (if female) a critical task remained.  New butterflies have to spend quite a bit of time drying their wings fully before they can begin their acrobatic flights. Butterflies are vulnerable during this in-between time.  Even a small amount of moisture can impact their abilities to fly.   As they stretch their wings, they pump a strengthening substance called meconium into their incredibly fragile wings.   Wait; open and close wings; wait; open and close wings; wait—The necessary rhythm cannot be rushed.  It could be a few minutes to several hours before the butterfly is ready to launch itself out into the world.

After a while, my friend headed off for home and I returned indoors to work.  Every half-hour or so I checked on the butterfly’s progress as the mild afternoon wore on.  A couple of hours later, the monarch flitted down to the Bermuda grass lawn, still absorbed in its silent task.  Then suddenly it was gone, flying away with its now-strong wings to complete its brief, brilliant life.

Butterflies need no instruction from us about how to live their lives, how to find food, when and where to create their chrysalises, how to dry their wings, when to fly, when to lay eggs, or when to die.  Mostly, they need us humans to “do no harm”: Allow patches of their only food source milkweed to grow undisturbed; Limit the use of insecticides and harsh chemicals. Left alone, butterflies have no problems figuring out their next life-choices. Self-contained and self-sufficient, they seamlessly meld into Nature’s plan.  Oh, the perfection of butterflies!

Paradoxically, like many residents of the natural world, these lovely creatures have quite a bit of instruction and wisdom to share with me. Before I spent that afternoon up close and personal with a gentle monarch, I would have said I knew quite a bit about butterflies. I have a butterfly-friendly garden, full of butterfly bushes and butterfly weeds, verbena and salvia. I have some milkweed down in the meadow to encourage the monarchs to hang around. I’ve stood in awe in a butterfly sanctuary as hundreds of neon-colored beauties swooped and swirled around my head. Many years in my early childhood classroom, my young students and I observed the transition from caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly, or from silkworm to cocoon to moth.  We took photos. We read books. We painted butterfly portraits and constructed mobiles. Yet in all my years of casual butterfly-watching, in all my lessons about metamorphosis, and in all my ordinary encounters with these tiny treasures, I never gave much attention to the critical time of waiting and drying. I learned a lot from this year’s ring-side seat at a hilltop butterfly show.

Weeks later, I reflect on that sunny afternoon and discover some butterfly-wisdom as time stretches out in this summer-like-no-other.  For butterflies, there is a time when waiting is required; indeed it is the only choice. There is a time when being still and gently trying out one’s wings is the most productive and wisest thing to do.  There is a time when rushing into action prematurely would not only be futile, but could cause injury and even death. Time and temperature, wind and sun, all must do their work to help the butterfly on its way.  No detailed agenda or assertive plan can hurry this along or skip this process all together. Butterfly-wisdom urges me to examine this summer a little closer and to sink into the everyday tender places where nature teaches. Waiting is not easy for most of us.  It can seem passive, indecisive and ambiguous.  Hanging around in one place for weeks on end may not be my preferred lifestyle, or one that I intentionally choose. I want to hurry things along.  Waiting, however, has its own purpose and its own rhythm.  It can be a pause for prudency or a time to be infused with energy.  When it is time for action, it is time.  The butterfly knows and so will I.

And the wing-drying process, the opening up and the closing, the stretching and the energizing?  Butterflies show me that there is a time for taking care and gaining strength. It is not an idle time.  A butterfly’s own vitality and the surrounding environment dictate the pace and there is no substitute or instant drying potion that will speed it on its way. Butterfly-wisdom can adjust my perspective. These current times could be repetitive and dry, a time when creativity falters or routine and sameness envelop me.  I could easily be caught up in scarcity thinking, or feel thwarted and relegated to a dry, barren place, regardless of my physical surroundings. Instead, I can stretch out my mental boundaries, not limited by time and space. I can find a new rhythm for my life and gain strength from inner resources.  Before I spring into action, I can soak up warmth and wisdom from all that surrounds me: from mentors who are only a few keystrokes or pages away; from the will to work and pray and write; and from the wings of a butterfly. In the stretching, energy rises. The next phase of life will come. Strength and wholeness will be required and I must be ready. The butterfly knows, and so will I.

A few days after the butterfly’s disappearance, I was out on the porch munching on a late afternoon snack when a movement on the nearby live oaks caught my eye.  Sure enough, it was the monarch, flying now fully bedecked in its brightly-patterned beauty, wings spread wide, flight path steady.  It hung around for less than a minute, then flew off. I never saw it again. I wished my friend, who nurtured the butterfly and generously shared it, could have seen it, but it was guided by its butterfly-wisdom, and we could not follow. I bid it Godspeed on its journey as it ventured into the wider world.  My happiness was tinged with envy as I imagined it freely travelling wherever it wished.  There is a season for flying, for soaring, for exploring with our minds, our bodies and our whole selves.  This summer is the season for a more contemplative journey, a journey of waiting and savoring, of gathering strength, and of practicing patience and care for others and for ourselves. It can be a warm and vital time, not an inactive, dry one. It is a time for testing out new ideas, a time when our minds and spirits can soar when our bodies cannot.  Flight will come.  The butterfly knows, and so will I.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Question for Reflection:

What wisdom can you find in the in-between times of life? How can you enrich your present life, no matter your circumstances?

Special thanks to CR, for sharing a butterfly with me one fine spring day.

Butterfly photo by author.

Information on monarch from various online sources.