I've been invited to enter a show here in Tucson, and for some reason, immediately wanted to enter my "La Mariposa" above. Perhaps it is because we are approaching spring.
In her book “Women Who Run With The Wolves”,
Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote that the Hopi “Butterfly Dancer” must be old, because the work of pollinating
the future is the work of age, of experience.
I never forgot this, and have made many “Butterfly Women” as I myself approach old age. Without the grace of the pollinators there
will be no future, whether we speak of next year’s crop, or the minds of the
young. It's a job for one who has lived
through many cycles, and can seed and generate the future from a solid base.
"The (Hopi) butterfly dancer
must be old because she represents the soul that is old …….Butterfly pollinates
the souls of the earth. This is the translator of the instinctual, the fertilizing force, the
mender, the rememberer of old ideas. She is La voz mitológica, the Mythic
Voice."
The Mythic Voice. How wonderful!
I take the liberty of re-posting an article about exactly that from several years back...........
Butterfly Mind, Pollen Heart
Beauty above me,
Beauty below me,
Beauty before me,
Beauty behind me,
I walk in Beauty.
Navajo (Dine`) Prayer
"Art is not a thing, it's a way of
life"
(seen on billboard in La Verne, Ca. 2011)
It's May Day as I
write, Beltane, although, considering the events in Japan, "May Day"
may also mean a huge cry for planetary help.
I love the painting above, which I found in a magazine; I don't know who
the artist is, but thank him or her often for this "Butterfly
Woman" from whom thoughts like butterflies emanate out into the world to
do their work. Perhaps the artist will forgive me that I do not know his or her
name........but be glad that the work has gone forth to do its work in my heart
and imagination. Pollen: agent of new life, new hope,
transformation.
As we (well, some of us) wind our way to the May Pole, and plant that metaphor
into the still fertile earth, weaving our dreams into the ribbons of this
ancient ritual of fertility, perhaps I can find a way to image the celebration
of love and hope with a vast, global cry for help that sounds like a beating
heart beneath the surfaces of our lives, just beneath our feet. As the
drums and penny whistles sound, as we dance, may we all become Pollinators
for our time, for the future.
Like the woman who walks above, this is my prayer: May we
have butterfly minds, pollinator hearts.
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Peace March against the war in Iraq,
San Francisco, 2003
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The ancient Greek word for "butterfly" is ψυχή (psȳchē),
which means "soul" or "mind". And I have often found
them mysteriously "soulful", as they seem to flit in and out of
mystery. The picture above, for example - it was from the San Francisco
Chronicle at the me of the great peace march against the incipient Iraq war,
and shows three friends with their "soul icons" - me in the mask of
Sophia, Alan Moore, founder of the Butterfly Gardeners Association, and Nicole,
creator of "Cosmic Cash". Note that her icon, also, has
occurred in this synchronistic photo.
Transformers, pollinators .......... they begin their lives as caterpillars,
build a crysalis, and generate imaginal cells...........
"When a caterpillar nears its
transformation time, it begins to eat ravenously, consuming everything in sight.
The caterpillar body then becomes heavy, outgrowing its own skin many times,
until it is too bloated to move. Attaching to a branch (upside down, we might
add, where everything is turned on its head) it forms a chrysalis—an enclosing
shell that limits the caterpillar’s freedom for the duration of the
transformation.....Tiny cells, that biologists actually call “imaginal
cells,” begin to appear. These cells are wholly different from
caterpillar cells, carrying different information, vibrating to a different
frequency–the frequency of the emerging butterfly. At first, the caterpillar’s
immune system perceives these new cells as enemies, and attacks them, much as
new ideas in science, medicine, politics, and social behavior are viciously
denounced by the powers now considered mainstream. But the imaginal cells are
not deterred. They continue to appear, in even greater numbers,
recognizing each other, bonding together, until the new cells are numerous
enough to organize into clumps. When enough cells have formed to make
structures along the new organizational lines, the caterpillar’s immune system
is overwhelmed. The caterpillar body then become a nutritious soup for the
growth of the butterfly."
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Photo from:
http://www.fishersville-umc.org/classes/nac/Pics/week0401.htm
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If we can see that
our thoughts participate in pollinating the future, we can perhaps
find ways of living with simplicity and honor, even in a time so very out of
balance. Regardless of where one is, there is a profound need to
"walk in Beauty". To be "on the Pollen Path".
Without the grace of
the pollinators, the butterflies and hummingbirds and bees, there will be no
future. This idea is fundamental to spiritual traditions of native
peoples of the Southwest, including the Pueblo peoples, the Navajo and the
Apache. As shown above, when this young Apache woman came of age and
entered into her fertile years, she was honored by the tribe with symbolic
pollen.
"The Pollen Path" is a healing and initiatory
ceremony/concept among the Dine` that variously enacts a mythic journey, and
demonstrates a cosmology of non-duality. "Pollen Path" art and
sand paintings often show the union of opposites, such as red sun and blue
moon, as well as mandalas, the balance achieved within the circle.
In keeping with May Day, Psyche in Greek mythology was a beautiful girl who was
loved by Eros, the god of Love. Here is "fertility", generation,
pollination..........the union of soul/mind with love.
As I imagine a "pollen path" for our time, and emanations of
hope and beauty, I reflect as well that some butterflies, like the
Monarch or the Painted Lady, are migratory. Monarch
butterflies will migrate over very long distances, as amazingly frail as they
seem. Some travel from Mexico to the norther parts of the United States and
into Canada, a distance of over 2,500 miles.
Lastly, a few thoughts from one of my favorite storytellers, Dr. Clarissa
Pinkola Estes, on the work of the Butterfly Dancer. May we all, women and
men, young and old, become Butterfly Dancers this May Day.
"The (Hopi) butterfly dancer must be old because she
represents the soul that is old. She is wide of thigh and broad of rump because
she carries so much. Her grey hair certifies that she need no longer observe
taboos about touching others. She is allowed to touch everyone: boys, babies,
men, women, girl children, the old, the ill, and the dead. The Butterfly Woman
can touch everyone. It is her privilege to touch all, at last. This is her
power. Hers is the body of La Mariposa, the butterfly."
"La Mariposa" from Women
Who Run with The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
Clarissa Pinkola
Estes tells the story of waiting to see the "Butterfly Dancer"
at a ceremony. Tourists, unused to Indian Time, wait throughout a long,
hot, dusty day to see the dancer emerge, expecting, no doubt a slender,
ephemeral Indian maiden, and they are no oubt they were shocked out of their
patronizing cultural fantasy to see at last the grey haired
Dancer/Pollinator emerge, slow, not young, with her traditional tokens of
empowerment.
"Her
heavy body and her very skinny legs made her look like a hopping spider wrapped
in a tamale. She hops on one foot and then on the other. She waves her feather
fan to and fro. She is The Butterfly arrived to strengthen the weak. She is
that which most think of as not strong: age, the butterfly, the feminine."
Because in the
agricultural ritual these dances symbolize and invoke, call in, the forces that
initiate the vital work of pollination, this is no job for for an
inexperienced girl, no trivial token flight for a pretty child. It's a
job for one who has lived through many cycles, and can seed and generate the
future from a solid base.
"Butterfly
Woman mends the erroneous idea that transformation is only for the tortured,
the saintly, or only for the fabulously strong. The Self need not carry
mountains to transform. A little is enough. A little goes a long way. A
little changes much. The fertilizing force replaces the moving of mountains.
Butterfly Maiden pollinates the souls of the earth: It is easier that you
think, she says. She is shaking her feather fan, and she’s hopping, for she is
spilling spiritual pollen all over the people who are there, Native Americans,
little children, visitors, everyone. This is the translator of the instinctual,
the fertilizing force, the mender, the rememberer of old ideas. She is La
voz mitológica."
"La voz mitológica". The
mythic voice. The Mythic Voice re-enchants the world around us, lending
luminosity to each footstep, and pollinates, energizes, en-chants those who
hear. It is transparent, permeable. And one way to walk the
Pollen Path.
