"Butterflies are free to fly, so fly away..."

I'd love to start off with something super crafted and clever and witty. But, too much has happened and I am not the same Little Ball of Fury I once was. Years and Years ago, this started as something to occupy my time, to give my outrageous (and frankly privileged, ignorant 20-something opinions a place to go). To be quite honest I don't know that many people read. I don't know that going back to those posts would be worthwhile. I've lived, loved and died since then. I've been visited by the death of my father, the death of pets and the death of a marriage and ultimately the death of who I thought I was. Sure, that snark is still there, and that fury is still there, but it's tempered with more perspective and I hope more empathy. Thank God for therapy, am I right?! Still that's a lot of death and therefore a lot of grief. By far the biggest of these deaths was the death of my marriage, the death of what was supposed to be forever, what was supposed to be a lifelong promise, what was supposed to be sacred. It may be that I didn't grieve the other deaths, but I am weary of grieving this one. I'm tired of being sad over this. I also find it's the hardest to let go. Those are big heavy things to let go of on their own, trying to let go of how it happened or what could have been different has been nearly impossible.

I've been reading Untamed, by Glennon Doyle, and last night I read, "Greif is a cocoon from which we emerge new." This was one of those moments that I now know is called kismet. You know where you hear God, or the Universe (thanks Daddy issues) or whatever higher being speaking to you, and deep down, even if it really pisses you off, deep down you know that you needed to hear it, and that it's right. At the very beginning of this my therapist recommend I use a deck of Native American Medicine cards. Think tarot, but even more new age and with animals. Aside from the fact that I LOVE a psychic, I was willing to eat glass or fallate a woman to make the pain stop. And if those aren't some famous last words, I don't know what are.

The first time you draw your medicine cards you draw your spirit guardians. It seems in this tradition you have your Spirit Animal, the Native American version of your zodiac, and then you have seven spiritual animals that guide you on life's journeys. Listen, think what you want, because I'm a Virgo and a Bear, and that shit was SPOT. ON. It's New Age and crazy, but I've come this far (and I still LOVE a good tarot) so let's keep going. I don't remember all of the other spirit guides (as clearly anyway) but I do remember the first and the last. The first card you pull is your spiritual challenge and your greatest gift. The first card I pulled was the butterfly. The butterfly is transformation. According to Glennon, that's the gift that the shit sandwich of grief brings you. FUCK.

Glennon says: When grief rings: Surrender. There is nothing else to do. The delivery is utter transformation. 

We'll fast forward some tears and a few cards later, and what do I pull for my last card, the card that is my WITHIN, my inner truth?! I pull the bat. What does the bat symbolize? Rebirth. That's right, I begin with transformation and end with rebirth. At the beginning of something that literally

The takeaway might be this: The butterfly is beautiful, but no one, (LIKE ALMOST NO ONE) pauses to even think: How did you get here? How did you become so beautiful? HOW MUCH DID IT HURT?

I've spent the better part of 17 months feeling that hurt, and the hand to God truth is, I have no idea. I numbed some of it out. And, I also just kept going. in that keeping going, I've often thought, "How much does it hurt for the butterfly to emerge from the cocoon? The truth is, we don't know. We're not even sure if the butterfly is new. I'd like to think that despite being unrecognizable, the butterfly still carries a piece of the caterpillar. The butterfly remembers who that caterpillar was. I'd like to think that the butterfly remembers being stuck to a leaf and just trudging around. We can't know this, so I like my story. I like that the butterfly gets to remember what being a caterpillar felt like. No promises. What we do know is, that when the butterfly breaks is way out of that cocoon, when it leaves its womb (or its prison), the butterfly is unrecognizable, the butterfly is beautiful, and the butterfly is able to fly.

So here we go again. Reborn, rising...Welcome back.