Pain and exhaustion are consuming me today, and my head feels as though it is drowning in a blue mist, killing me softly. I see a small blue butterfly, flitting in joyous abandon through the chalk meadow, as though a fragment of the summer sky had broken free and was dancing between the waters. I too, should like to be clothed in heaven and mantled in such azure delight.
Perhaps then, I might in turn see my fractured self break away on wings of lapis, the weight of suffering gradually becoming less and less, a blue ballast taking flight and allowing all to fall apart, as it finally should: my ashes softly scattering themselves amongst the bluebonnets and carrying me home.
Text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt Composite art by R R Wyatt © used with permission.
Perhaps we should give up clothing glimpses of the Glory with our utterly insufficient speech. We stand in the cleft with Moses and the back of Glory passes us by, and we charge at it with butterfly nets like tiny toddlers, falling over our own feet as we try to catch sparks that escape through the holes. We only look foolish. As though we might pin down anything of such Wonder!
Photo and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018
Another time I encountered beauty unexpectedly was when my Dad found a peacock butterfly trapped in his old summer house. Not only was the butterfly extremely lovely to look at, despite, or even because of its wounds, but so was the care and gentleness with which my Dad’s hands lovingly and patiently released it.
As if this were not enough, I also got to have the exhausted insect lick sugar water off my finger – that was an amazing sensation, I can tell you! And then after my parents and I had watched it get its strength back and fly away, there was the added beauty of the symbolism of the whole episode. The freeing of a captive, tired from beating her wings against unyielding glass, the rescue by a gentle father, the feeding and setting on her way, albeit with scars. Beauty released that day, undeniably.
text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017