We’ve all heard about the possibility that the flutter of a butterfly’s wing could lead to a tsunami on the other side of the world.
This is an utterly different butterfly story - which does end (at the very end) with a potential tsunami.
It’s January. Very cold. I go down to the basement to add wood to the furnace. Close to the log I pick up to put in the furnace, I notice something that doesn’t fit. A small shiny object, black, glistening. It’s on a log that’s very close by. Unmoving.
Later I’m back in the basement. The shiny black object isn’t there. Then I see it. A few feet from where I first saw it.
I can’t remember how soon I found out that I had a living butterfly in my basement, newly released from its cocoon. And then, immediately, the question: how do I take care of it?
This is about the miracle that happened to the butterfly - that somehow its cocoon was not destroyed when the log was taken into the basement; that somehow the log was not thrown into the fire before the butterfly was released from the cocoon; that somehow when it was released from its cocoon, it was seen; and that I cared to take care of it.
No tsunami on the other side of the world.
I just did my best to give it a butterfly life. I called a friend. I searched online. I went into town to buy what I learned the butterfly might eat - cantaloupe and watermelon. I made a nest for it, with geranium blossoms in it. I made a sugar syrup - one part sugar, 40 parts water. Within a couple of days I brought the butterfly upstairs into my study - which meant my cats could not be in the study.
I soon saw that one wing was damaged - it did not unfold to its full size. The butterfly could fly, but not far.
A couple of times, it came onto my finger - and for the first time ever, I saw a butterfly close up. A bug with wings, some might say. Amazing delicate beauty.
I learned to be very careful in my study.
It lived for 21 days. I had learned that butterflies tended to live from 3 to 6 weeks. I don’t know if it lived a full life span for its species.
The day before it died, I had gone to the city. In the evening, there was a major snow storm, but I felt a strong impulse to get home. I arrived at 10:30. I checked on the butterfly. It was alive, on a leaf. I did not stay in my study long. I was very tired.
When I came into my study in the morning, the butterfly had died.
Did it know a human - such an amazingly huge creature - had cared about it, had taken care of it? Did it care? Did it have feelings?
I wrote about it a couple of times. I’ve just gone back to the writings:
January 5. I go down to the basement, something I have to do often to put wood in the furnace. It's minus 15 outside. There's a small, vivid, glossy black shape on one of the logs. It doesn't move. I don't touch it, also don't touch the log.
The next morning, I'm back. The black shape has moved, is definitely a beautiful butterfly with vivid bright markings against its glossy black.
The odds against its emerging from its cocoon alive are enormous.
The wood was stacked outdoors for months, from April to October. In October, it was brought into the basement. Lots of rough handling. Lots of the wood got tossed into the basement from outside. Not the wood in the corner where I found the butterfly.
Then, had it not emerged when it did, it would have ended up in the furnace. The log where I found it was due to be burned in the next couple of days.
And there are lots of corners in the basement. Had it not been where it was, I would never have seen it - and so I would not have gone on to Google to find out what butterflies eat. There's no water, no food anywhere in the basement.
What do butterflies eat, by the way? Rotting fruit, for the most part. Sugar water - one part sugar, forty parts water.
And that brings me to empathy. Seeing the butterfly alive brought out my wanting to take care of it.
Suddenly it was a priority to find out what it needed to stay alive. Suddenly I checked my little compost container. Yes, there it was - a banana peel. Maybe that would appeal to the butterfly. And a few blueberries from the freezer - fine now, but they will slowly go mushy and become butterfly food.
And I'm careful, now, going down into the basement. I don't want to accidentally squash the little creature.
I have a blind, almost deaf, one-toothed cat. I found her in the barn. And as with the butterfly, caring kicked in.
Caring and empathy - so vital.
**
Just what are these things, I ask myself. The words are strong in my mind, but I don't have a hard dictionary definition. So I turn to Encarta:
empathy: - the ability to identify with and understand another person’s feelings or difficulties; - the transfer of your own feelings and emotions to an object such as a painting.
caring: - compassion; - the show of concern for others; - the provision of care.
How would I define empathy? What words come into my mind? Resonating with another, with what I feel are their feelings and needs.
And caring, how would I define that? Wanting to care for another, to take care of another. Sometimes it's linked with empathy. Sometimes it flourishes without empathy, just with the sense that the other is alive, and something in me wants the other to stay alive, so I take care.
**
Empathy and caring. They're crucial, for me. They're at the core of my understanding of ethics, religion, spirituality. Without them, there can be cold care-taking. But why be care-taking, if we don't care?
In my vision of spirituality and religion, if there is any cosmic force, it wants us to become so empathic that it becomes natural to take on taking good care of this planet - of each other, of the animals, of all of nature.
That is the only way, from all I know of the world, that we will ever manage to turn this world into a garden. Evolution has done a lot - but massive suffering is part of it. Lack of empathy for many others is part of it. The lion cannot be consumed by feelings of empathy for the prey it hunts.
It is only we humans, as far as I can see, who may be able to create a world where lions can be nourished without the hunting down of prey. And it is only we humans, again as far as I can see, who might be able to create a world where balance is achieved - through birth control, for instance - without hunting and starvation being essential to keeping a balance.
**
So, again, it's my profound conviction that empathy and caring are crucial - are the major underpinnings of any cause for hope for this planet.
They don't just matter for the planet. Empathy is key in my understanding of what we need to be close to each other. We need to be able to resonate with each other, rather than see very little of the other, be cut off from each other, caught in our own little world.
**
That brings me to creativity, especially those which connect us most deeply with others and with ourselves - stories, poetry, music. Art, by bringing us more alive, also brings us to more hope that we can get to the changes we need to make this a world a home for us all.
And now I want to go check on the butterfly - especially, I think I haven't put enough sugar in its water, want to get that right. Plus, while I've given a small breakfast to TiChat, my blind cat (she gets special food, as she has developed trouble eating a regular cat diet), I know she's up for seconds.
May we, together, make this a home world for us all.
It's from empathy that I expect we can change the world for the better.
As always, all the best,
Elsa
Several years later, I looked back on my experience with the miracle butterfly.
It took at least 3 almost-miracles to save the butterfly that emerged a few years ago in January in my basement.
The first near-miracle. That it lived at all. The logs were outdoors for the summer, stacked to be entered in the fall. What a fluke that the cocoon was not destroyed when the log was moved. Other logs were thrown. The logs that went into the far corner of the basement were not.
The second near-miracle. That it was spotted. Otherwise the first near-miracle would hardly have mattered. It would have lived briefly in the dark of the basement, just a bit of light for a few moments here and there, while I was adding wood the to furnace.
The third near-miracle - at least as big as the first. That the butterfly was seen by someone who cared.
It lived for 21 days. I learned to care for it as best as I could. It had one perfect wing, and one damaged wing, so it never was able to fly well.
I couldn't give it a regular butterfly life. But I had geraniums flowering indoors, and offered it fresh bright flowers almost daily. I gave it watermelon and cantaloupe and sugared water. I brought it upstairs to my study so it could have light.
It was so strange, looking closely at the butterfly - its bug body with its gorgeous wings.
Did it have any awareness that it was being cared for? Did it feel that somehow things were not quite right - that the sun should have been brighter and the days longer - that it was meant to be able to fly in the wind among tall grasses?
I don't know. I did the best I could, with help from friends and the internet. I checked on it, on the last night of its life. It seemed fine. I turned off the light. The next morning it had died. And I felt sadness.
And I ask - how many near-miracles do we not notice? How often do we not care, so the near-miracle dies?
Elsa
April 20, 2014
PS. There's a photo of the butterfly below. You can see it, plus the geranium it's resting on, plus enough cantaloupe and watermelon for a hundred butterflies. It's a favorite photo of mine.
PPS. I wrote about the butterfly shortly after I found it. That butterfly - its fragile life, its near miraculous appearance, my near miraculous finding of it - touched me deeply.
This butterfly was a gift to me. January 2011 - I wouldn’t remember it at all, except for the butterfly. Its appearance in my life enriched my life.
I also think of Ed Wackerman, the disabled California senior framed for a crime - setting a major fire he could not possibly have set as it’s an unnatural fire. He has said I am a miracle in his life. Again, my connection with him is enriching my life.
That story is far from ended.
I also think of Reiner Fuellmich. There I am one of many, doing what I can to support him - in this case keeping people updated, on Substack, on what is happening with him.
My thought. At times we all need miracles in our lives. And at times we can be miracles in the lives of others.
Note that this is not a case of losing myself for the sake of another. This is giving what feels good and right to give. I would have deprived myself, had I not taken care of the butterfly, had I not connected with Ed Wackerman, had I not started posting and continued to post about Reiner.
And I would also hugely have deprived myself, if I were not reaching out to you with my posts, connecting with you.
I cannot - we cannot - take care of the entire world on our own. But when we each do what we can, my sense is that we can - like the butterfly’s flutter unleashing a tsunami on the other side of the world - change the world hugely, in this case in a way we desire to change it, for life and freedom and justice.
I loved your story - thanks!
Beautiful, thanks