At the moment of cognizance at the level of the interior, for one cannot even comprehend what is communicated to the soul at such a moment of deep understanding, yet the darkened gates of the mind are opened and something so Divine floods the senses and takes hold of one's being, and His presence just inundates the room. Time no longer exists for that moment and it is as if a seed of unknowing planted a time ago, explodes exponentially into frustration, and it about takes one's breath away. So the soul begins to weep, and weeps, and simply cannot contain the Presence flooding one's being for such a paused moment.
And to sit still, reposed in a chair as one experiences in the mind all of the torture and grace battling for many years past, and all becomes tranquil. God's love just drowns the being and one does not want to escape a minute of it, and even if one attempted to do so, one would not be able to, for one is utterly immobilized in the sheer, unexpected gift of such a moment. The shower of His Presence smashes the chains of the mind; the poor, tormented, and exhausted mind in bondage to such gripping lies, and light enters in and overcomes such darkness. During such a moment one simply knows more of why that which has transpired for a prior period, why such arduous suffering and insanity has happened, and what one ultimately knows at such a moment can never be put into words, but the Presence of Love is enough to dissolve the entire being.
To stare straight out the window, weeping in the spiritual sea of Love, and the eyes are captured by the fluttering dance of a single, yellow butterfly, and this only magnifies the torrent of tears the soul releases. The little, yellow butterflies have a way of dancing into the scenarios of the greatest periods of trial and testing, and it takes one back to the beginning of it all, to where grace perceptibly and profoundly enters into and becomes active in the dormancy of a soul.
The single, yellow butterfly continues to disappear and reappear, and it mirrors the delight of the heart, for the dance of the yellow butterfly reflects the delicate pattern of the Master's hands as He ever so gently strums the heartstrings of the soul, and it is a unified melody that the soul and God express without words as music of the heart, without even the slightest sound but the sweetest harmony of Love that transcends the natural and rings forth the chimes of Heaven.
One longs to ride on the tender wings of the yellow butterfly and to soar above it all, propelled by the powerful yet gentle flow of the wind's breath, the life giving breath of the God who spoke and breathed souls into being, and poured forth His Spirit into their mortal but Divinely fashioned beings.
Oh how the soul yearns with such thirst for His moments of invitation, entering into the secure and consoling warmth of the enveloping garment of the Divine Shepherd; and such moments arrive at a place and time of least expectation, yet such a pause in mortality imbues a subtle hint of the aroma of Eternity, the scent of the Father, and it always arrives just on time during an unrecognized period of much needed spiritual refreshment.
One could literally float out of the room saturated by such a deep repose when attempting to leave such a quiet place, because all one can sense is Him, and such Peace, the soul is unable to carry or to retain, for such secures the soul within the infinite receptacle of His Eternal Love. His sorrowful love brimming with Heavenly yet the most bittersweet passion of the pure agony of consummate Truth, which authors all pure love for He is Love.
Where does the road we travel lead to? The path we journey conquers an unsteady terrain, yet at times we may tread it barefoot and unprotected. The climb toward heaven hidden in the intricacies of mortal existence is not steady, straight, much less clearly illuminated or defined; and our gait tires for lack of foreseen direction. The road we travel possesses few signposts so it would seem, but occasionally the delight of the wandering butterfly captures the distant and clouded gaze of the human soul. We may desire to leave the miserable pathway to peace once and for all, as if our suffering would instantly cease or abate, and hide behind the aimless wanderings of the little yellow butterfly.
The yellow butterfly delights in her unknown journey, and she is tickled merely to be dancing in flight. The tender creature of gold flutters, hinting of God's merciful luminosity, strums the hidden heartstrings of the powerful wind, the hidden yet efficacious impetus putting her to flight. The yellow butterfly fascinates because she soars effortlessly, as if without any weighted burden of being, and merely soars through the endless freedom of the skies with the transparency of mystical radiance, and she delicately endeavors oblivious to need for fierce direction, yet she soars evermore delighted due to a seeming nothingness of purpose other than to dance, to perform impromptu for the concerned, gentle eyes of Heaven.
Oh sweet precious butterfly of delicate gold, one should be so fascinated by your tender wings alone, paper thin, finely woven with the majesty of gossamer silk, and stroking the whispers of the clouds. The oscillation of the butterfly's tender wings reminds one of the cascading tears of Christ on the Cross, imperceptible perhaps invisible to the naked eye but powerful enough to elevate one to the heights and completion of the beatific vision.
The dance of the little yellow butterfly is the ultimate calling of a soul to God.
We adore you,
and we praise You,
for by Your Holy Cross,
you have redeemed the world.