Ohlone College
Creative Writing Stories

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Without a net. - Page 3

Last Friday in a Mom Dream...

I was with my daughter on her birthday. We hiked among mile-high Giant Redwoods, dotted with thousands of creamy white Dogwood blossoms. It was an unseasonably hot May Day, and I was in a joyful mood with so much family love and forest beauty surrounding me. Maybe it was the thin air, but when...

... I open the sliding door of our van, a flash of color catches my eye on the gray pavement. Putting nose to ground, I observe that this butterfly has completed its life cycle and left its perfect, physical form behind.

Things are always changing in the Mom Dream. Generations continue and I recognize the strengths and weaknesses of my ancestors. Honor is laced with disdain, and love is too often emotionally entangled with hate. Gathering this precious butterfly shell, I feel like a collector. Needing no net, the butterfly comes to me in real or imagined realities.

Am I the butterfly?

Or, is it merely a wish -- the product of my hyperactive imagination and child-like sensibilities. The butterfly is in my palm again, and this time it will stay in my heart.

"Happiness is like a butterfly.

The more you chase it, the more it will elude you.


But if you turn you attention to other things,


it comes softly and sits on your shoulder.
" *

Or, in the palm of my hand. We are all dreaming.

 

 

*Unknown. (Maybe it was me in a Taoist Philosopher Dream.)

Email author Susan Mountain

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