by Connie Habash | Jul 31, 2018 | Animals, Gentleness, Openness, Patience, Persistence, Presence
On a pilgrimage to Mount Shasta, butterflies became my spiritual teachers.
One of my favorite places in the world is Mount Shasta, and of all the sacred and beautiful locales around this mountain, I love a particular meadow about half-way up the slope. The source of its beauty – that nourishes the abundant life there – is a pristine spring.
This is where I like to sit when I visit, right next to the spring. Not only am I able to hear its sweet trickling sound and dip my feet in the freshly-melted-from-the-glacier water, but I’m able to look over the many wildflowers blooming around the tiny stream. And along with the flowers come the butterflies.
I’ve only been to a couple places that had more butterflies (I have seen Monarchs on their migration). There’s a lovely variety of them, too – orange and brown, white, periwinkle. They tend to linger nearby on the warm step stones, not just on the flowers. And this is when I get excited, because I love to coax them onto my fingers.
Butterfly Encounters
I don’t know if I just get lucky or I have a gift at this, but on my last visit to the area I had a special encounter with a small periwinkle butterfly (actually, several who seemed to herd together, for lack of a better word). I delighted in the thought that I could connect with this gentle and beautiful insect again.
Two of these petite periwinkle butterflies came to light on the stepping stone near me. I was determined to invite one onto my hand. It couldn’t be forced, though. I had to let go of my expectations – and demands – and simply encourage it to step aboard.
The 5 Lessons
The first thing that it taught me was, of course, patience. It wasn’t keen on my finger nudging it at first. I had to move very slowly with my hand, eventually putting it right next to its foot. Then wait. And gently nudge it again. And wait. If I forced the issue, it flitted away.
Which led to the second lesson – persistence. I could have just given up after the first few tries. But I knew this was possible. And so I was determined to persist, to keep trying, and slowly let it know that I was safe and wouldn’t hurt it by just placing my finger nearby.
But if I lost my focus and turned my attention somewhere else, the butterfly would hop away or fly off. So it wasn’t just being persistent and patient. I learned to stay present. All my attention and energy needed to be right there with the butterfly, my finger, the warm stone, this moment. I worked to clear my mind, emptying the unnecessary thoughts and just being, without attachment, with this delicate and wondrous being.
My presence, in order to build trust with the butterfly, also needed to be gentle. I noticed that sometimes my intent was so strong that it was a little heavy-handed. Too much intensity and the butterfly didn’t want to participate. So I learned soft, gentle presence. From the place of gentleness, my presence was more like a cotton ball, gently there, placed next to the periwinkle butterfly, with a kind invitation.
After several minutes of being there, nudging the little creature with my finger, and sending out a gentle invitation, success. The sweet little being crawled onto my finger and remained there while I stood up and showed my husband and daughter. I few people came to visit the spring and were greeted by the butterfly on my hand and the big smile on my face. I felt so blessed and full of joy to make this connection.
As I meditated on this, I realize that the butterfly had one more message, one more quality to add to the list. It let me know that it was essential to remain open-hearted. My love for the being, as well as my openness to receive its gifts, messages, and wisdom, were part of allowing the experience to happen. I don’t know if being open-hearted actually convinced the butterfly to join me, but I do know that by being open-hearted, I received a lot of joy and insight from the presence of the lavender-winged friend on my finger.
Teaching Me About Deep Connection
So I give thanks to this sweet little butterfly (and the other butterflies that I had similar encounters with on this special trip). I realized that these 5 teachings were essential for meaningful, heartfelt relationships of any sort (human or not). And they are essential qualities to open us to a relationship with the Divine, too.
Patience
Persistence
Presence
Gentleness
Open-Heartedness
With these 5 qualities, new doors of deep connection and transformation can open for you, too.
Have you had a special encounter with a wild creature? Comment here and share what you learned!
by Connie Habash | Mar 14, 2017 | Acceptance, Action, Connection, Determination, Faith, Neutrality, Oneness, Persistence, Seeking
My family and I were determined to get outdoors to enjoy the lovely weather the last few days, and headed to Huddart Park for a hike on Sunday. We adore this nearby natural gem, filled with redwoods, bay laurels, and tan oaks, and a beautiful (and quite full after the rains!) creek running through it.
We marveled at the wildflowers already in bloom – some dainty, five-petaled white blossoms, and the sweet lavender flowers of redwood sorrel, which I had never seen in bloom before. They were profuse and a delight to the eyes.
Near the last half-mile of our modest adventure my daughter and I stopped at a stream, as we often do, to explore and to enjoy rock face painting. This is something she learned from Katie Hicks at our last retreat at Ananda Valley Farm. Taking a rock about the size of your palm in one hand, you select a colorful rock that can easily be held by the other, and rub it on the rock. After a minute or so, viola – paint is created! We enjoyed decorating each other’s faces in reddish-brown and greyish-yellow designs.
My husband decided to move along the trail ahead of us while we were immersed in our playfulness. He stepped off-trail at another familiar spot along the creek, headed a bit upstream, and sat down on a beautiful, warm, sunny spot on the slope about 10 feet above the creek. It was peaceful, meditative, and relaxing.
As my daughter and I finished up our faces, we headed up the trail to catch up with Michael. We looked upstream and didn’t see him, so we figured he must have headed back to the car. After 30 minutes of waiting for him in the parking lot, he arrived, looking a bit flustered. Upon descending the slope where he had sat in quiet reflection, he slipped and fell on his hip. His knee was scraped, and he was OK, but quite unhappy. Not because of his injuries, but because in the process his wedding band slipped off his finger, and it was nowhere in sight.
We rushed back to the site and the three of us scoured the area, looking in the most likely spots according to his trajectory as the hillside had unceremoniously tossed him downhill. We carefully moved aside compost, redwood pine cones, and twigs, but to no avail; we couldn’t find the ring. Did it fly in the air and land somewhere far? Somewhere we wouldn’t expect? Did it bounce and roll down into the stream, which was a couple feet deep at this spot? I couldn’t see anything in the silt at the bottom
Strangely, I didn’t feel very upset. There was a sense of detachment and neutrality about the whole thing. It’s just a ring. It’s OK if it’s gone, but I believe we can find it. My daughter was the most upset, feeling very sad for her dad. He wondered if perhaps it had slipped off his hand into a pants pocket back at home, or at the gym the previous day and he just hadn’t noticed. Nope, not anywhere. But I had faith – I knew the ring would show up, I just didn’t know where or how.
We decided to rent a good metal detector and give it a go the next day. It was another spectacularly beautiful, warm March morning as we headed back to the scene, metal detector in tow. I moved it back and forth close to the ground on the slippery mud where he had come tumbling down. Michael, however, suggested we check out an area to our left where there was more compost. This would have been a few feet off to his right as he slid and I thought it unlikely, as the ring was on his left hand and would have had to fly across to the other side. But I figured he might be onto something, and handed him the detector.
After a few seconds, we heard the beep-beep of a response, indicating something metal was in the vicinity. I kneeled at the spot as he moved the sensor slower and slower, narrowing down the exact location. With my garden gloves on, I began to gingerly dig through the twigs and redwood needles. Would we find the ring? Or perhaps some unexpected treasure? Or just an old rusty nail?
I cleared about 2 inches of debris and saw a shiny object – there it was, the ring! I was amazed, almost dumbfounded. Within less than 3 minutes of looking, we had found it. I had been prepared for searching for a half-hour or it being lost forever, and here it was, easy to find. We both heaved a sigh of relief and shouted in joy.
Before we had left our house that morning, I remember commenting to my husband, “when we find the ring…” It was a declaration of faith and certainty that it would reappear. That ring of faith indeed was there, ready for us to find. We only had to determine that we would show up and follow our inner knowing as to where it was.
One time, long ago, you had a ring of faith and thought it was lost. But it’s still there, where you left it. Your deep, inner connection to the Divine has never been “lost” – you just lost track of it perhaps when you were very, very young. Be determined. Know the ring, the connection, is there, and make your declaration that you are finding it. Listen to your intuition, your inner knowing beyond reason, and let it guide you to whatever you need to return to that state of deep connectedness and wholeness. Don’t be afraid to dig. Don’t buy into the doubt and give up. It’s waiting for you – have faith, and follow the trail back to your True Self.
by Connie Habash | Sep 11, 2013 | Acceptance, Challenges, Contentment, Persistence
I was in the backyard today, cleaning off our patio table and chairs, when I heard a tapping sound. I looked around, but couldn’t find it. I figured it was probably one of our many squirrels in the yard, trying to break open an acorn, so I went back to my cleanup.
The sound started again, and this time I looked up into the old, broad oak tree that dominates most of our yard. There it was – a woodpecker, the red crest on its head and the familiar black and white spotted feathers. We have had woodpeckers out in our front yard, particularly on the telephone pole, rapping away off and on for years, but I’ve never seen one in our backyard.
So I figured this was a special moment – a message for me. I watched as he persisted in pecking away at the branch, and occasionally pausing to swallow an insect he managed to uncover. I wondered at his design, how he was made for such repeated banging of his head and rattling of his neck. Made my own neck feel much better – what did I have to complain about?
What does the woodpecker say to me today? Is it to stop banging my head for little reward? No – this little woodpecker seemed quite content, even happy, to be doing what he is doing. It is his nature to find his food this way. So why would it seem like banging himself?
Am I resisting what it is that I need to do? Perhaps I can embrace how it is, and rather than look at it as work, just appreciate that I’m designed to be able to meet the challenges in my life… and also that it can be fun. Or at least pleasing to find those morsels! I can trust that I’ll get what I need.
Is it that I should keep persisting, to not give up, even if the wood it tough and it’s not so easy to reach my goal? Just like my daughter when she blows up and says she can’t do her homework, I know that she and I can trust a little more and persist a little more. To know that we both have what we need within us to get the job done, or to make it to the other side of this mountain of emotions.
I’m going to sit with this some more… what are your ideas? What does the woodpecker say to you?