Beauty
Back in October, on my way to pick up my girls from school, I walked through the Capitol Gardens and saw several Monarch butterflies feeding from a lilac bush patch. An out of season appearance that made me think back to the cloud of black butterflies that flew past me over the Williamsburg Bridge during an October years before. I took some pictures and brought the girls back there on the way home. We stopped awhile and marveled at their beauty, four or five of them, each a different size with a slightly different pattern. It really was quite magical: the scent of the lilac flowers and the roses, the butterflies, and the sun still hot in the autumn sky. And then we returned every day for the rest of the week, but they were gone. At first I hoped that we were going to experience a late Monarch migration, but when we didn’t see them again, I thought it could have just been a sign to breathe, to stop, and to continue to search for beauty amidst the shadows.
A few days later, in the exact same spot, we stopped to allow some filming to finish, and while we waited a sheriff officer chatted to us. I mentioned the butterfly apparition and it turns out that a wedding had taken place in the rose garden that Monday, and they had released butterflies and doves during the ceremony. No migration, no special sign, just beauty, sudden freedom, and the special feeling of having been in the right place at the right time.
I’ve loved butterflies all of my life, strikingly picturesque, fleeting, captivating, and so fragile. A beauty one must never touch, a freedom that is never ours to capture. Butterflies appear in my life as signs, coming out of nowhere over the bridge in that moment of turmoil, hovering on my hand when I was searching for peace, and now here, right at that moment, when my heart felt a little heavier than usual.
I still have the beautiful butterfly book I created in elementary school, when I spent hours studying and drawing and researching butterflies. Nowadays I just write butterfly poems and try to will butterflies to stop moving in time to seal them into a photo.
I live in a place where camellias, gardenias, and azaleas bloom in December and January, winter months, months when I am so used to bleakness that their gracious beauty and light surprises me every time I walk down the street. A place where trees blossom in the winter cannot be that bad can it? When the rain falls I am bewildered for a moment, then irritated, and then I remind myself to breathe. This December rain is the first in months, it is nourishing, and it is not freezing. I walk with my children through it and get soaked two or three times during the day, but it makes me smile. I trust myself more nowadays, teaching myself to accept the moments, to stop and watch the buds open to pink flower, breathe deeply while the raindrops run down my cheeks. We jump in a puddle or two and wander homewards to warmth and dry clothes.
This life we have built together is pretty wonderful, isn’t it? We don’t have a huge amount of anything in terms of capital, money, property, belongings, but we have dreams, and love, each other, and flowers that keep blooming, and skies that sometimes force us to open our eyes. We never really make ends meet, but our home is happiness, our art is on the walls and in the air, in our voices. We walk everywhere, bike, take the train that never comes on time, because we cannot quite afford a car and/or live downtown, but that’s allright because we experience all of the little events, happenings, encounters that one wouldn’t notice from the inside of a car, eyes on the destination rather than the surroundings. Every moment stories unfold and there is a touch of magic in being the person who passes through, often unnoticed. I don’t need anything more than I have already as I long as I have you, my family.
My habit of never being able to fully enjoy myself in any situation, always waiting for the other shoe to drop somewhere, is slowly ebbing, I’m giving myself the time to write and to heal from traumas survived so many years ago. My heart hurts when I write but it also expands with hope. When I look at the perfect camellia I smile and pause and smile again and wonder when that bud on my own gardenia will finally open. Patience never used to be something I was interested in, but nowadays I recognize her virtue
We had three children between 2014 and 2017. I just looked at a beautiful picture my mother took of us in November 2017 and thought about how the kids were three, two, and a few months old in the picture, and how insane everything felt in my brain at that time. I was constantly swimming against the tide, basking in happiness and love, but also so exhausted and so scared about the future. It amazes me that I was not only able to remain sane at that time, but also write so much, content that was so strong, so meaningful. I think that Cesar and I should give ourselves more credit sometimes, because we can be so hard on ourselves, too hard. Luna’s Kindergarten teacher looked me in the eye the other day and said “you kept them alive, you loved them, fed them, and clothed them: you are more than enough”.
It is now February, and the mornings are cold, but as soon as the sun warms up we shed layers, the warmth soft on our skin. The camellias are still in full bloom, and now the daffodils, and jasmine are flowering too, amidst others. I’m still obsessed with camellias, the abundance of them, the different colors, the intricacies of their designs… There is at least one bush on every street, along with the pinks, reds, whites, of the azaleas. While the world, and this country, tumble into yet darker times I cling on to these apparitions of beauty around us, and teach the kids how to love nature, and nurture her. We dream of packing up and living on a remote Scottish island, far away in the Outer Hebrides, where we will have the time and space to grow millions of flowers, and herbs, live off the grid somewhat. Until then I will continue to marvel at the beauties that appear all around us, and remind myself to stop and breathe.
I am more than enough. We are more than enough. There will always be beauty around us, as long as we take the time to look for it.