Butterfly

No full moon tonight, no dancing naked or any other magical cliche from a pop culture movie or book series. She was serious, digging deep into her psyche for answers, or at the very least, divine guidance. Admittedly, it had been some time since she called upon her ensorcelled inheritance, but her autopilot seemed to be malfunctioning. She knew it was time to invoke celestial assistance. 

At one time, asking for help was as easy as making a call or getting a ride across town. She couldn’t control her spontaneous smile as she recalled walking nearly seven miles when she was just thirteen to her intended destination, as nothing less would have quelled the feelings of anxiety she was experiencing. It was worth the punishment of being grounded for the next two weekends, just to have the emotional turmoil that accompanies adolescence eased by conversation and a cup of tea. That was the very day she became aware of the inherent power she had taken for granted as a small child. 

“You know Steph, I’m going to have to call your mother and let her know you’re here, safe and sound.”

“She’s going to kill me.”

“Well, it won’t be pretty, but let me work some of my magic and see if I can convince her to let you stay with me a while. I think this is the perfect opportunity for you and I to have a special chat.” 

“Oh, Gram, would you? I really need to be here with you today.” The tears welling in her young eyes was all the convincing her grandmother required as she dialed her daughter and devised her strategy to keep Steph for the afternoon. 

Gram hung up the phone. The scowl on her face spoke volumes and Steph knew her situation was dire at best. She hung her head and the tears that had dried now returned. “I’m so sorry.” she managed.

Gram explained she wasn’t upset with her, but the harsh and over reactive rantings from her own daughter. “Your mother simply doesn’t understand us. I’ve always known, from the time you were first born, that you and I shared a secret; a very precious secret.”

As Steph rummaged through her jewelry box in search of a particular piece, she continued to reminisce. The more she allowed herself to remember, the more her heart ached; grief was stronger than any inner power she could ever possess. She pushed her hair behind her ears and leaned over the box for a closer look. 

“Are you a witch?” young Steph innocently inquired, listening to her maternal grandmother tell stories of her own enchanted childhood. 

Gram freshened her tea and settled in the chair across from her granddaughter. “That is such a multifarious term now, isn’t it? No, my love, I am not a witch, however, I have been called worse.” 

Steph finally located the piece she was searching for, a simple silver cross adorned with a cloisonne butterfly. She noticed the obvious tarnish on the chain as well as the pendant and placed it into a jar of jewelry cleaner. After carefully rinsing and drying the necklace with a soft hand towel, Steph clasped the chain around her neck and returned to her closet to select the proper attire for her spiritual endeavor. She pulled a black blouse from its hanger and paired it with a pair of black pleated palazzo pants. Gram always said black commanded power, and intelligence while repelling negative energy. She glanced down at her left hand and lightly ran her fingertip over her star sapphire ring. Although she never took it off, her ring would prove beneficial today, more than any other. She counted on the unique star pattern of the stone to assist in connecting her power with those who came before her. One final touch before leaving the confines of her room; an amethyst chip bracelet slipped over her right hand. Instantly, Steph felt calmer as the crystals eased her anxiety and connected to her third eye chakra. 

Steph rummaged through her kitchen cabinets in search of green tea. As she stood on her step stool, pushing jars and boxes aside on the top shelf she thought of the butterfly legend. Tucked away safe and protected until ready to burst forward into the world to fulfill their intended purpose. Just as the butterfly’s ability to pollinate and provide our purpose was to spread positive energy, good intentions and love. Without butterflies, there would be a shortage of nourishing food. Without people like us, Gram explained, the world would be lacking kindness, tiny miracles and good will. She was proud to finally include Steph in the family legacy. “You know, our abilities date far back in our lineage. I wish Nan was here to tell you some of her stories.”

“Where is Nan today?” young Steph inquired.

“Uncle Steven dropped her off at afternoon Bingo. She should be home in a few hours. I’d love you to hear about her childhood and how she and Aunt Nell saved their friend from a man who was stalking her in the woods near their home in Pennsylvania. Of all their stories, that one was always my favorite.” 

Steph searched her memory, hoping to conjure an image or attribute connected to Aunt Nell. She was so young when her great aunt passed, yet every time she read, she thought of her. Gram confirmed, it was indeed Aunt Nell who spent hours reading to Steph when she was a toddler. “She even created unique voices for all your favorite characters.” 

Frustration crept over her as she continued the frantic search for the box of green tea, she swore she had stashed in the corner cabinet. If she were to achieve the results she was praying for, everything had to be just so. Steph’s mind again wandered back to that first conversation with Gram. She couldn’t help but wonder why her own mother was so unlike the other women in her family. Was it a gene she simply did not possess, or denial so intense, it literally blocked her mother’s ability to spread her own wings? Steph shook her head, “focus!” she told herself, chuckling at the irony. “If only I had some green tea to give me complete clarity.” She stepped down from the stool and contemplated a suitable alternative to the tea. As she placed her hand on the counter in front of her, instinct took hold motivating her to move the container of kosher salt aside. Steph obliged, revealing the very box of tea she had been feverishly searching for. Relieved, Steph brewed her tea and left the bags to steep in her oversized mug. She added copious amounts of sugar and cream, hoping to mask the flavor. Coffee was her beverage of choice, but this was much too critical a matter to skimp on the details. 

It was the middle of the day, certainly not conducive to any ritual she had ever read about. Nearly one hundred books lined her shelves, each one highlighting a specific aspect of witchcraft, spirituality, spell casting, and the like. Steph had read them all, some several times over but none of them told her how to make someone healthy again. Was it even possible? This was not the time for doubt, only action. Her best friend lay in a hospital bed for the fifth time in the past two years, she was dying. Tapping into the moon’s feminine energy would be a challenge; however, Steph rationalized that particular detail. It wasn’t as if the moon disappeared during the day, she simply couldn’t see it. It was ever present, and Steph was relying on that. 

Steph headed out the back door onto her deck carrying her tea in one hand and a small wooden box in the other. She placed the box on the tiny glass patio table in front of her and removed the contents one at a time, arranging them in the appropriate order. A white votive candle representing the element of fire was placed first in the southernmost position, followed by a feather for air to the east, a cup of soil for earth to the north and a saucer of water placed in the west. She struck a match; her hand shook as she touched the flame to the votive's wick. Steph reached for her tea and drank, allowing the soothing libation to work its magic, bringing the clarity she so desired. An involuntary grimace from the unpleasant taste of her tea did not deter Steph from the task at hand; it was time.  

Deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth; eyes closed, posture straight. She waited, allowing her senses to connect with her surroundings. She heard birds chirping, smelled fresh cut grass, felt a slight breeze across her face and hands as her physical body relaxed, accepting the semi meditative state she sought. She slowly opened her eyes and reached for the cross around her neck, quietly whispering the words she had prepared. 

“I invoke the power, and the wisdom of those who flew before me, for I cannot bear this burden alone. I call upon the elements of earth, and the sun and moon, to guide my intentions as they are my own.”

Steph stared straight ahead, every muscle, although relaxed tingled as if they were all falling asleep simultaneously. She sustained her focus, concentrating on her friend. Her mind's eye created and held a perfect image of her beloved friend, healthy and thriving. Steph closed her eyes again, preserving her intention, praying it was strong enough to manifest. “Please, help her.” she whispered, reaching into her wooden box and extracting a tattered birthday card she had received nearly ten years ago when people still sent them through the mail. She turned it over in her hands, before opening it and seeing her friends handwriting, and reading the humorous message inside. “This is when she was well.” she explained to anyone who may have been listening. 

A distinct sense of calm washed over her just as the first butterfly floated into her line of sight. She clutched the birthday card close to her heart and asked once again for divine guidance. The flame of her white votive flickered and ceased to burn, allowing the butterfly to approach without threat. It perched itself on the edge of the glass saucer and Steph could see its reflection in the tiny pool of water. Her words caught in her throat before she managed a raspy, “Hi Gram.” 

She heard no celestial voice, yet she instantly knew the message that was being delivered. Steph responded aloud, “I understand how illogical I am being, but you know there is very little logic in the life I have lived, in the things I have done and in all I truly believe in; I had to try. Miracles happen every minute of every day and I could only hope and pray my friend was worthy of receiving one.” She addressed the butterfly directly, “You’re here for me, not her, aren’t you? It’s too late for my friend, so you have come to ease my pain and I thank you.”

The vibrant orange monarch fluttered its glorious wings but remained on the edge of the glass saucer as if to assure Steph she was indeed not alone. Tears burned in her eyes before spilling down her cheeks. Somewhere inside the house her cell phone rang. The familiar tones were disturbingly finite; this was a call she never wanted to receive. She pressed her eyes closed and sighed deeply. As she forced them open, Steph couldn’t deny the sense of utter amazement as dozens of butterflies now adorned the bottle brush trees before her. Some approached cautiously and rested on the arms of her unoccupied patio chairs while others visited the bright red blooms that dotted the two massive trees in the middle of her yard. Steph sat with them for hours as their continued presence reassured her, she was still powerful, still magical and still had tiny miracles to orchestrate in this life. Just as the moon took over for the sun, a vibrant yellow butterfly landed on the back of Steph’s right hand.