Butterfly Woman

1.19.16 Healing Blue Hand Wavespell

In the white room on cushions of aquamarine, azure, and turquoise, embroidered starfish, seahorses, and bubbles swirl in ivory thread.

In the white room the clean air is easy to breathe, delightful to draw in and fresh as a breeze, balmy and soft, the healing light dew drop particles penetrate deep into passageways leading in to lungs, heart chamber, flowing through blood streams permeating the gut and core, digested then pulsing through the whole body pure and lovely.

In the white room I walk barefoot and naked, the only adornments worn are butterflies painted in inks on my skin, covering every inch, every minute element of flesh from face to toenail bearing butterflies of all shapes and sizes, orange speckled monarchs with crinkled black edges resting on me, with me, in me, I am their home.

In the white room my hair is woven into braids, a hundred braids making the shape of wings behind me, with one long braid curving down my back and another peering out above my crown from in between the open wings, studded with luminescent pearls marking dots that grace the shiny velvety delicate weaving.

In the white room it is serene. The radiant light filters through gauzy curtains veiled and mellowed.

To step outside is to become dazzled and dazzling as one then two then three then twenty two then a hundred thousand butterflies take off in flight awakening with undulating wings flittering to combine into one Butterfly Woman, leaving me standing naked on white sands glimmering with my butterfly braids.

Here dazzling light pours onto me, spills out of me until Light and I are one and now I am invisible. Butterfly Woman hovers above me and picks me up with strong legs, holding me close in a hug that I return with my arms then she rises up and flies high above the white glittering sands speckled and dotted with opalescent swirling starfish, she flies over aquamarine, azure, and turquoise waters where shimmering seahorses dance amidst fiery opals holding rainbows in their pearly depths.

She lets me go and I dive with a bubbling splash into the sweet healing embrace of pure water, swimming in their balmy clear caress until Butterfly Woman calls me to return to the white room.

In the white room fluttering in ones, twos, threes, twenty twos, and hundred thousands butterflies land on me, settling as ink and paint on every molecular dab of skin, preparing to rest serenely on soft cushions of aquamarine, azure, and turquoise where starfish, seahorses, and bubbles swirl opalescent in ivory thread.

2.5.16 Illuminating Yellow Sun Wavespell

I wait for you in the white room, on cushions of aquamarine, azure, and turquoise, where embroidered starfish, seahorses, and bubbles swirl in ivory thread.

I wait for you in this white room where I am adorned by butterflies that you painted in inks on my skin, covering every inch, every minute element of flesh from face to toenail rendering butterflies of all shapes and sizes, orange speckled monarchs with crinkled black edges resting on me, with me, in me, marking me their home.

In the white room you wove my hair into braids, a hundred braids making the shape of wings behind me, with one long braid curving down my back and another peering out above my crown from in between the open wings, studded with luminescent pearls marking dots that grace the shiny velvety delicate weavings.

In the white room it is serene. The radiant light filters through gauzy curtains that veil the white glittering sands outside, speckled and dotted with opalescent swirling starfish, inching around aquamarine, azure, and turquoise waters where shimmering seahorses dance amidst fiery opals holding rainbows in their pearly depths.

Until you arrive in a swirl of darkness. Cloaked in a grey mist that hides your face, you stride in and catch me, unawares, in a tight embrace and unbraid my hair. The pearls tossed to the floor bounce and roll while my hair comes undone, unraveled. You pull me close in toward your face and now I see into the blackness where your eyes, rimmed with red, stare at me with grief.

I reach up and pull the cloak away from you, off your body where it falls in a heap to the floor leaving you standing naked in my embrace. I rub your shoulders, your neck, and back in sure strokes with steady hands until you relax and rest your head on my shoulder. A drop of dew lands on it, then another; a butterfly loosens her wings.

In the darkness I give you my hand and lead you to a wicker bed enclosed in a circle of cinnamon powder; lay you down on a sheet of ivory thread where bubbles spin. I brush you from head to toe with a broom of pine then arrange cucumbers on your forehead, on your eyes, on the place where your chest meets your throat in bowl, on your heart, in a spiral around your navel and the base of your spine; a line of pale green circles down your legs where I lift your feet and rest them on a bed of mint. Cucumber seeds imprint your body with oval markings, vitalizing, imbuing, cooling. Golden apples, sliced in rounds revealing tiny stars inside, form a halo around a circle of mint that cushions your head, refreshing, cleansing, and warming.

Leaf by leaf I paint your skin with caladium stalks and peony petals dipped in inks pressed from pokeberry, elder, plantain, prunella, and the haze that rises in layers above the distant ridges, where deer roam in hidden meadows dotted with dandelion and wild carrot, drinking from meandering creeks, the haze gathered from misty layers naming the mountains Blue. I add white light from my fingers, stitched in with gold thread offered by the starfish, silver from the seahorse’s pouch, the bubbles spin and merge from the bed burning opalescent fire into your skin. Pink, orange, violet, blue, and white streaks churn from you, around you, with you::an elemental sunrise kissing the earth of the room with light, absorbing the heap that was a misty grey cloak, renewing and restoring everything all at once.

In the white room you rest, sleeping deeply, drawing in every bit of cucumber and stardust from inside apples imprinting into your skin. Leaf by leaf I paint until the caladium stalks and peony petals have worn away to nothing, immersed in the symbols that grow; covering every inch, every minute element of flesh from face to toenail rendering mountains of all shapes and sizes, orange hills rolling gently, green verdant carpeted slopes, craggy fog covered peaks with crinkled lavender edges and clouds with silver linings resting on you, with you, in you, marking you home.

In the white room I weave a wreath with the mint into your hair, forming lilac ridges with stellar asters, undulations speckled with pearls picked off the floor, dusted with cinnamon tucked into pine. I leave you sleeping amidst cushions of aquamarine, azure, and turquoise.

I step outside. The drops of dew on my shoulder have dried. The butterfly lifts both wings and flutters, circling about me where I lay down and indent the white sand. Then I dig out a hollow, six feet long and four feet wide, with my bare hands. I follow Butterfly as she leads me to an iridescent blue crab shell, two waxy feathers from a swan, one black one white, three peachy conch shells, four long slabs of lunar selenite, five shells dipped in the sun’s rays when it rose, six rainbow scales and heaps of snaky gnarled knotted driftwood bleached by the sun so white they’re invisible out there in the open. I gather them all; bring them back to the hollow where a mountain of sand is piled to the side.

I wait for you here. The butterfly sits on my shoulder. I wait for you until you awaken and join me outside; arrayed with the adornments I’ve painted on your skin, the wreath on your crown, the scent of mint, cinnamon, apples, and pine sailing with you. You know what to do. You step into the dimple I made and lay down. I begin tucking you in under a blanket of white sand. I scoop up clumps of sand and pat them between your legs; little bits by the balls of your feet, slowly sand hills grow. Mounded round your legs and thighs, the sand climbs up over your belly, dips down to fill the crevice between your sides and arms, then a crest over the curve of your neck, where sand meets your chin and a mountain emerges where you once lay and only the ray shining from your head is visible.

I crawl around you starting by your feet where I tuck the crab shell, then up by your shoulders I place swan feathers, white to the left and black to the right, I arrange the conch shells in a triangle starting at the point above your head leading to the point outside each foot, transformed into a star by two slabs of selenite forming arms on either side of you. I place the sunrise shells carefully: one on your brow, one on the cleft where your chest meets your throat, one on your heart, one on your belly button, and one on your abdomen. The six rainbow scales arranged as a spiral at the base of your spine, I seat myself above your head, above the conch shell, and lift my arms up to the sky.

First one then two then three then twenty two then a hundred thousand butterflies take off in flight awakening with undulating wings flittering to combine into one Butterfly Woman, leaving me sitting naked on white sands glimmering with my hair unbraided. She flaps her wings and dances, her shadow lying atop us. She hops and jigs and flaps her wings, flutters, twirls, and with each motion the air picks up and weaves around us spinning while thunder roars in the distance, lightening flares over the ridges, and the whirling wind whips hair into my eyes, marking them red where I hold my ground waiting for the storm to bear down. Sure enough it comes in a gale, a tempest of whistling that shrieks through Butterfly Woman’s strong wings, and she dances on as the blanket of sand covering you smears and blurs before me, blows this way and that as the wind hurries on. You lay there with your open eyes sparkling clearly; dew drops shimmer on your cheeks.

Then the water comes, velvety and sweet. It begins at your feet and climbs up the rolling hill of your body, washing over your head and rippling back. It peels away the sand, taking with it the blue crab shell, the waxy swan feathers, the peachy conches, the selenite slabs, the shells colored rose by the sun, and the rainbow scales leaving you in the dimple exposed. The starfish begin to crawl out of the retreating waves, purple and orange and peach and lavender, bearing labyrinths embedded in spirals on their skin. They inch their way to where you lay, disappearing into the symbols etched on your skin, merging with you, under you, carrying you over the white glittering sands into aquamarine, azure, and turquoise waters; leaving your wreath behind. You float, borne and held by the sweet healing embrace of a balmy clear liquid caress. Then shimmering seahorses come and play with you amidst fiery opals holding rainbows in their pearly depths. You open your eyes and swim, down to the bottom and back up again, you dive and splash and bubbles spin, floating on the surface. Then you see something in the pouch of a seahorse who has kept you company in the depths. Something you’ve been searching for. The pouch opens and it’s being offered to you, freely given by the seahorse.

I rise and shape a bed of driftwood snakes, gnarled and twisted and tangled. You walk out of the water, a moving mountain of blue, misty ridges and curves moving with you. You lay the wreath on the bed and the sun begins its descent on the horizon behind you, over the water, sending rays of orange, gold, red, and bronze that glow over the crest of the hills on your shoulder, touch the column of your spine, streak over the knob of your head until you are invisible, melting into the sun, rays finger forth and ignite a fire until there is a blaze on the white sands.

I leave you here sitting by the warmth with the fire, listening to the crackle and sizzle and pop, returning to the white room where the radiant light filters through gauzy curtains; veiled and mellow.

In the white room fluttering in ones, twos, threes, twenty twos, and hundred thousands butterflies land on me, settling as ink and paint on every molecular dab of skin, where I prepare to rest on soft cushions of aquamarine, azure, and turquoise and starfish, seahorses, and bubbles swirl opalescent in ivory thread.

Comments welcome . . .

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: