Monarch

 

Amid the scores of Painted Ladies that have descended on the lantanas and sunflowers: a single, solitary Monarch.  Monarchs tend to appear around here in the late summer, especially on the fringed twinevine (the "milkweed of the desert") which grows over one of the pomegranate bushes.  They will drink from the flowers of the twinevine, and they use it as a host for their larvae, but they also like the lantanas for nectar.  Some years (the Monarchs don't appear around here every year), they form giant swarms along chain-link fences heavily-covered by fringed twinevine.  Monarchs face less danger from predators when they form large groups.  But the Monarch in our garden is all alone.  A few of the Painted Ladies make half-hearted attempts to chase her away, as if saying, “What are you doing here?”  The Monarch isn’t intimidated by them and just keeps sipping from the flowers.

     I never tire of watching butterflies as they spend their days feeding in the burning sun and carrying out mating rituals and laying their eggs, leaving behind colorful and voracious larvae.  They are truly like living flowers, including this solitary Monarch, who circles the garden for a few moments whenever she is disturbed.

Painted Lady Butterflies

 

Our garden is experiencing a sudden surge of Painted Ladies—seemingly out of nowhere.  Along with most of our usual butterflies, they have been absent all summer.  (Only the giant swallowtails, attracted by our orange trees and rue, have been abundant this year.)  The Painted Ladies are like clouds over the blossoming bushes, as they energetically flit from flower to flower.  They are quick and wary, and very easily disturbed, flying away for a moment when anyone approaches them.  But they quickly return.  Did they all emerge from their chrysalises as adults at the same time, or did they migrate here from somewhere else?  The world's most common butterflies, Painted Ladies are among the most interesting migratory creatures of the animal kingdom and travel long distances across generations like the better-known monarch does.  It's said that they can reach speeds of thirty miles an hour while migrating, and sometimes travel almost a hundred miles a day.  Like all butterflies, they love hot weather.  With plenty of nectar plants, as well as sunflowers and mallows for their larvae, the garden filled with sunshine is a paradise to them.

***

     On the evening of their arrival, however, one butterfly was caught by a well-camouflaged praying mantis (the color of a mature lantana stem), who then enjoyed a hearty meal—his own little paradise.

July 30th

Was not this entire visible universe made for your dwelling? It was for you that the light dispelled the overshadowing gloom; for your sake was the night regulated and the day measured, and for you were the heavens embellished with the varying brilliance of the sun, the moon and the stars. The earth was adorned with flowers, groves and fruit; and the constant marvelous variety of lovely living things was created in the air, the fields, and the seas for you, lest sad solitude destroy the joy of God’s new creation.

                                                                                                  —St. Peter Chrysologus

The Angel of Memory

So often, in fairy tales, a protagonist is given an object or charm that will later prove to be of enormous importance in accomplishing a task or completing a journey.  And just as often, the object is forgotten and remains out of sight until its purpose is revealed.  When it is needed, the object suddenly reemerges as if out of nowhere.  Memories also do this.  They return when they are needed.  This may happen when one is writing a story—a memory appears that may be conveniently incorporated into a plot or may even serve to form the framework for a story that is going nowhere.  But memories can also be useful in other circumstances.  To have one appear at just the right time, even though it has perhaps been buried for decades, is like the mysterious reappearance of the magical object entrusted to the fairy tale character at a time when he or she attached little importance to it.  The event that is being recalled may have seemed inconsequential at the time it actually occurred, but when it reappears as an “involuntary memory” at precisely the proper moment, it can be paradigm-shattering.  In his wonderful book Arrow of God, one of Chinua Achebe’s characters speaks the proverb, “When we see an old woman stop in her dance to point again and again in the same direction we can be sure that somewhere there something happened long ago which touched the roots of her life.”  Considering this proverb carefully, I perceive an ambiguity.  Perhaps it was the event that occurred long ago which touched the roots of her life, but it is also possible that only the memory of it has affected her that way.  Memory can be like a kind of angel that unexpectedly descends on us, sometimes bringing precious gifts: wisdom, insight, joy, reconciliation, comfort, and healing.

Pentecost

                                                   Treib ihn von dir in unsern Arm,

                                                   Daß er von deinem Hauch noch warm;

                                                   In schweren Wolken sammle ihn

                                                   Und laß ihn so hernieder ziehn.

                                                  In kühlen Strömen send ihn her,

                                                  In Feuerflammen lodre er,

                                                  In Luft und Öl, in Klang und Tau

                                                  Durchdring er unsrer Erde Bau.

                                                  Send him forth from you into our arms,

                                                  While he is still warmed by your breath.

                                                  Collect him in the heavy clouds

                                                  And let him come down like this.

                                                  In cooling streams, send him here,

                                                  He, in flames of fire,

                                                  In air and oil, in sound and dew,

                                                  Penetrating our earthly abode.

                                                           --from Novalis, Geistliche Lieder, XII

We Ought to Be Willing to Give a Good Interpretation to the Statement of Another . . .

It is so easy to impute bad will to others who are actually attempting to be truthful and sincere—to deliberately not hear what they are saying because it disturbs us, or we disagree with them, or we simply need to be difficult.  St. Ignatius of Loyola wrote that we ought to be more willing to give a good interpretation to the statement of another than to condemn it as false.  And there is the quote attributed to St. Thomas Aquinas: “We must love them both, those whose opinions we share and those whose opinions we reject.  For both have labored in the search for truth and both have helped us in the finding of it.” I remember the time that someone interviewed me about fair trade for a local publication (the interview was a bit of a fiasco for a number of reasons—beware of interviews!).  In the course of it, I made the statement that the difference between folk art and fine art was (to me) that folk art belonged more to a whole culture while fine art was the product of the individual.  It was an off-the-cuff remark and one that I thought was pretty neutral, but, for some reason, a local artist who read the interview became incensed by it and demanded the right to write a rebuttal.  I’m still not sure what it was in that statement which set the artist off, as the “rebuttal” (which was published in the next issue) never even addressed my contention.  Somehow, the artist saw my statement as an attack on fine artists.  The artist proceeded to air all sorts of grievances, which, I’m sure, were all legitimate, but I still don’t know how any of them had anything to do with what I said.  The whole affair seemed rather silly to me, and it was certainly unusual, as people generally tend to be more generous toward my offhand opinions than they (and I) actually deserve.  So often, instead of listening to others, we are content to box--or worse--with shadows of our own making.

Novalis, Geistliche Lieder, XIII

Wenn in bangen trüben Stunden

Unser Herz beinah verzagt,

Wenn von Krankheit überwunden

Angst in unserm Innern nagt;

Wir der Treugeliebten denken,

Wie sie Gram und Kummer drückt,

Wolken unsern Blick beschränken,

Die kein Hoffnungsstrahl durchblickt:

O! dann neigt sich Gott herüber,

Seine Liebe kommt uns nah,

Sehnen wir uns dann hinüber

Steht sein Engel vor uns da,

Bringt den Kelch des frischen Lebens,

Lispelt Mut und Trost uns zu;

Und wir beten nicht vergebens

Auch für die Geliebten Ruh.

When, in hours obscured by anxiety,

Our hearts almost despairing,

When, overcome by illness,

Fear devouring us within,

We, who wish to be faithful, think

How faith expresses grief and sorrow,

As clouds limit our view,

And allow us no ray of hope:

O! then God hovers over us,

His love comes close.

So let us desire to go

With the angel who stands before us,

Bringing a cup of new life,

Whispering courage and comfort--

That we do not ask in vain

For our beloved rest.

                                           --Novalis, Geistliche Lieder, XIII