Knowing I Have Wings

Be like a bird who,
pausing in flight
on a limb too slight,
feels it give way beneath her,
yet sings.
Sings!
Knowing she has wings. - Author unknown

Day 147. I rode like a bandit tonight. Greased lightening. My riding is as erratic as a teenage girl tweaking her Face Book profile. Temperature accounts for much of the variability, but I think what I'm learning to do with my toes in Pilates class is contributing, too. Sharin is the best teacher ever. We're learning to finesse our ankle bones. God is, truly, in the details.

In the mid-90's, me and two colleagues developed a group counseling practice called the Women's Renewal Centre. We had brand new office space, brand new furniture, and a beautiful brochure with tonight's quote on the front. I love that poem. I never saw a single client at the Women's Renewal Centre for reasons that have faded with time. I saved the brochure though. I still love the poem.

I'm finding my wings. They feel like the fragile, moist, wrinkled wings of the Monarch butterfly I raised from a caterpillar when I was ten. When my butterfly emerged from her cocoon on a windy Spring day, I gently lifted her onto my finger and walked around outside while she stretched her wings and let them dry in the sunshine. For over an hour, me and my butterfly just hung out together. The kids on my block wondered why the Monarch stayed so still on my finger for so long. I explained that I had raised her from a caterpillar. Others wanted to hold her; I said, "No way."

I felt so protective of my butterfly. I remember climbing the elm tree in our front yard (I had climbed it so many times, and - monkey child that I was - I could get up it one-handed) and sitting on a limb swinging my legs in the warm evening air. I watched the Monarch as she tentatively gauged her wingspan and began to move around on my finger. The orange of her wings was a vibrant background for her spots, jet black and velvety smooth. I felt the approach of her maiden flight before she even left my hand. With great joy and great sorrow, I watched her flutter up and up as she caught a breeze in the soft pink sunset. Streaming tears accompanied my triumphant shout as I watched my butterfly disappear into the deepening blue sky. My heart clenched with tender, maternal love as I witnessed her flight. My job was done. I had set her free.

I couldn't have known at the time, but almost 40 years later I know that butterfly is a symbol of my soul being born. Zazen is setting me free, holding me while I stretch my wings and grounding me before I take flight. It's tantalizing and terrifying. Discovering my mind is a tremendous responsibility and holds electrifying promise. I am not sure what the future will bring, but deep within me I sense an endless blue sky.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc