I am the butterfly.

I’ve shed my father’s clothes.

I’m in a writing group, and every Wednesday there’s a writing prompt. I don’t always write, but this prompt got to me:

I feel like a used-up butterfly, with tatty edges. If I had wings, they would be battered beyond repair, with frayed tips leaving dust on everything they touched, but at least I’d be able to fly away. As it is, I don’t have wings, I have family problems...

from Under a Greek Sky by Francesca Catlow.

I wanted to share what I wrote with you, I hope it inspires you. It’s 355 words.

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I am the butterfly, I’ve shed my father's clothes… and my mother’s, and my lineage’s. My work is done.

I tuck my tattered wings behind my back, zip them up and know they are there if I ever need them. I let them heal, and instead, I grow roots, deep dark thick roots from the base of my spine down through both legs, out my feet and deep into the soil of this land, into the bedrock. They spread out far and wide - up to the mountains of Donegal and down to the rocky shores in the West of Cork. Sure I’ll throw an anchor off side of Waterford way for good measure. For this is my home, this is my land and it will be the resting place for my bones.

Erú claimed me many years before, and I thank her for it. I was too young to understand, to impatient to find out, too impetuous in my 20’s to care. But now, in my 50s, I understand her much better. I understand me better too. I pledge my fealty to her, and the land of Eiré, now that my youngest can stand on her own two feet, now that my eldest is making a life for herself with her new man. All four of my children never needed the wings I needed when I was their age, I made damn sure of that.

And me? Well, I am no longer required to take flight - instead I become the bough under which my children can shelter during storms, the shade where they sit and cool down when the heat becomes too much, the familiar when they require space to get their bearings. I allow my body to age. I see the thickening in my trunk, the strengthening of my arms as I root down deeper.

I have such faith in God, held by God and the land. I reach up to the sun to kiss his cheek and leaves sprout forth from my hair, small budding leaves hatch out all along my shoulders, arms and hands. From butterfly to Oak. I’ll take it.

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Addendum 1: “Tattered butterflies” can heal with power retrieval and soul retrieval. Not many people know this is a thing that you can do for yourself every day, for as long as you need to. I teach this because I needed it myself.

Soul Retrieval: Here is I video I made with Mark Attwood where he asks me about it, and I show everyone how to do it.

Power Retrieval: Here is an exercise on SoundCloud that I talk you through that can help you get your power back. Sometimes you need power before you can do a soul retrieval.

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Addendum 2: I am the Butterfly by The Pale. Classic.