Resonate
Butterflies and I
One winter, a butterfly flew — from somewhere I never knew — into the attic where I painted, in Amsterdam.
Then a second came. A third. A fourth.
Most of the time, they slept beside the heater. When they woke, they would land on my cheek, rest on my arm, linger on my paintings, my lamps.
In the depth of that cold, the skylight stayed shut. I never once thought to open it for them. I believed that whatever finds its way in, must find its way out too.
Creation is a path of immense joy, and equally immense solitude. Their presence gave this familiar space a quiet sense of wonder.
They felt like messengers from somewhere far away, showing me a state of being — light, unguarded, free.
Butterflies and I. That gentle meeting became the deepest memory of that winter.
Later, I left Amsterdam and returned to Taiwan.
When I opened my suitcase, I found one — who had once slept through the cold, now gone — hidden inside. It had crossed customs with me. It had crossed continents with me.
On the other side of the world, when spring arrived, my husband found a butterfly wandering near the same skylight. He opened the window, and watched it rise into the sky.
A month later, I returned to Amsterdam. While cleaning, I found — tucked into a corner — more than a dozen pairs of wings. Each one I found, my heart broke a little more.
I blamed myself. I grieved for the ones who never made it to another spring.
The following winter, sitting in that same attic, I still often thought of the time we spent together. In my longing, I sometimes mistook falling leaves for wings in flight, imagining they had come back to visit.
I hope the one that flew through the window found another — and together, carried the dream of their kind forward.
I told myself: life is impermanent. To meet is a matter of fate, not something to be sought. Death, like birth, is simply nature's way. If a life was once lived beautifully, that alone is enough.
Perhaps it is only humans who cling. In the world of butterflies, every beginning and every ending can be met with grace.
A brief togetherness can become a lifetime's remembrance, returned to again and again.
And since then — in every butterfly I meet, I see the one that was mine.
Open the window.
Let the butterflies in.
Let beauty happen.
Write to me.
Let me
into your life.
BEING light and art
Yunlin & Taoyuan, Taiwan
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Let me catch you.
Let us
meet in the light,
walk together in art.
