Hold me Tight

Imagine that you meet and loose the actual soul mate you dare not dream about. Imagine that after an era of darkness, you are met with that soul again. What would it look like?

Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.”

Live, Let be, and move on. 

The beauty of the butterfly's spirit is it's ever-flapping wings of freedom. It's every direction is chosen by the gentle nudge of the Wind. Many believe that butterflies are the living spirits of wishing leaves.  

Oh, Lovely Butterfly

She sings songs of love with her wings.

She effortlessly uses the rhythm of the Wind's hiss for direction. The vibration of the Wind's raspy whisper is the conversation heard between a butterfly and Mother Nature. 

The butterfly naturally tends to the story written by Nature. She cares very much to please the circle of Life. The butterfly knows that the destruction of her power source meant the destruction of herself and her millions. The Wind asked her to share her spirit with a single peony she spotted in her path. Without knowing why, or questioning, she landed on the core of the offering soul, who was unknowingly waiting for her arrival. 

Once upon a funny time, true lovers were separated in vain.

When together, the love energy between them filled every secret corner of the air around them. Love oozed out of every pore, making it impossible not to smile the warmest of all smiles. In the company of each other, the very fire within them, which was named after their essence, burned as passionately and proud as ever. 

The Sun forever smiled down upon them, the Moon forever kissed their howling voices, the earth forever spun in the direction of their fortune.

The day they departed was the day the fire within them began it's journey to extinction. 

This is a quote from one of my favorite books, Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel. I believe it gives a plausible explanation of how the loss of a true lover can distinguish the fire within oneself, the fire aslo known as one's essence.

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; we need oxygen and a candle to help. In this case, the oxygen for example, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle would be any kind of food, music, caress, word, or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches. For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it. Each person has to discover what will set off those explosions in order to live, since the combustion that occurs when one of them is ignited is what nourishes the soul. That fire, in short, is its food. If one doesn't find out in time what will set off these explosions, the box of matches dampens, and not a single match will ever be lighted.” 

I must elaborate,

This was a love so dear that the loss of it swallowed up their very being. 

It left a sorrow that drenched them like a spong in the ocean. 

An era of darkness that followed her through lifetimes of battered living.

Only they could ignite each other's matches. Without one another, their fires dimmed and dimmed and dimmed. Generations passed and their love became but a distant memory that their hearts insisted on keeping.

The word, hope, is full of the word, doubt. 

Hope (n): a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. 

One only can have a desire if there is something they do not have. If it is something they do not have, it is automatically something that can potentially be out of reach. There lies the doubt. 

There was hope in both their hearts and the other existed. 

There was doubt that that kind of happiness existed. 

Until one day, the heavens met the long lost lovers at last.

What a joyous day that was. Fairies and the magic that dusted off their wings crowded around them. Soon soft giggles filled the air. Their wings resembled stained glass windows as they sheltered the two lovers from the excited Sun.

The Peony

Although until this day, sorrow contaminated the peony's soul from the very day of her birth. She was mysteriously born amongst a bush of red roses. To her knowledge, she was the only one of her kind in the whole world. There wasn't a full period of time that she could recall feeling normal. Sometimes, this is what fed her satisfaction. Most times, it crept through the veins of her leaves and wrinkled her petals during the lonesome cry of the night.

The curves on the edge of her petals resembled the ocean's waves. Her calming sense stood out in the cloud of raging pride, effortlessly provided by the collection of roses around her. Her seed was a virgin in the soil. The origin of her arrival to the secret garden was part of the magic that marveled all the creatures that passed by her piece of land. The roots of the roses deterred away from that of the peony's due to the fear of the unknown. 

The roses watched her from afar: 

How lovely was her stretch at the crack of dawn,

How serene was her morning song to the loyal Sun,

How queer was the ruffle upon ruffle that opened with delight with every breath of life. Unlike the clean, straight lines of the roses' skirt, the peony's layered with texture and flaw. 

Her petals a soft white. The center leaked the color of magenta pink. It is the blood that still secretes from the broken heart caused by the love lost lifetimes ago. Beautiful to the eyes of most, yet a vulnerable tattoo of a time of sorrow in her own.

As she, subconsciously,  awaited her love, she entertained her thoughts with that of the birds and trees. 

Let it be, Let it be, Let it be. 

Her soul rested in the cave wedged between the stem and the petals. She lived for the beauty of living, but something was missing. 

Alone, she counted the stars. They were her dear friends. She named each one after a gesture of kindess. The stars liked this very much. They exploded a thousand times over one night when the Moon was in her favor and she stayed up the entire night to make sure every single one had a name. The fuller the moon, the more creativity crept out of her pores. Like dear friends, they cradled her when she cried and rejoiced when she was washed over with the tide of serenity. At times she could not wait till morning, for the agony of being a flower without wings swam deep within her, causing a bitter aftertaste on her pallet. Some days, the stars only reminded her of the deeds she could not do as a Peony. For a flower can only offer her beauty and her sweet aroma.

The movement of a butterfly's wings tell the long story of Love. 

The fraction of a second of time when the very tip of her top wing pierces the new dawn of light while the wrinkled botom of her base wing is still lingering in the shadows of the sleepy night. That fraction of a second has been translated a million times over, loosing pieces along the way, to a a commonly used phrase,"Love at first sight."

The Wind foreshadows the current of the sea. Sea turtles ride the current given to them without question, and consequently, end up where they should be. Similarly, a butterfly will fly according to the Wind's wishes. The flight between the two is a love story of it's kind, like the sweet sounding harmony of a violin. The combination of notes that, when played flawlessly, can create a hum in one's ear that takes over one's awareness. A great sensation of satisfaction that drowns your reality for that period of time. Oh that moment of perfect harmony. 

How delightfully perfect our Mother Nature is! For the harmony of butterflies and the Wind is at it's most perfect at all times. Her hair waves flawlessly in the Wind,

Oh, Mother Nature how I marvel at your closeness to Light!

Love at first sight. 

The butterfly met the peony. One's light casted the other's shadow at the very moment they fell in Love, again.   

Like in a dream, when you fall and fall and fall. When your heart just drops and drops and drops. Until the fall is broken by a plunge into a warm ocean that melts the two hearts together like honey in freshly brewed tea. 

The butterfly wrapped all it's warmth onto the peony's belly until it could hear the soft wishing whispers of the peony's heart. 

The peony caressed the butterfly's virgin skin with all the love she retained her whole life.

Every word and touch of love was the fuel that their fire's longed. The Fairies fed from the love explosions in the air around the long lost lovers. 

All the sorrow within them that accumulated like the forming patterns on a snowflake, melted away from the fire that celebrated it's rebirth. Their spirits danced in the new air with the merry fairies. A minor glitch in the Universe's flow was fixed into place with the rebirth of their love. Every living creature in the secret garden joined in celebration, and the skies gave praise to the thankful hearts. 

How still from satisfaction was the Wind the night they reunited. Oh, How still! The wind felt at rest, at last. The old trees in the secret garden have seen love flutter about the blades of grass on occasion. But never has such an event occurred since their years of existence. The birds did not tire of praising the gracious hand of Mother Nature. The garden's creatures danced to the melodies of the the birds and paid praise to the grace of Nature that brought the long lost lovers together once more, depleting the sorrow that shadowed the beauty of the secret garden. 

Can you imagine the meeting and acceptance of your long lost love? Would you let it go? Would you risk the consequence  of losing a love so true?

...Surely not.