toni stone
wonder works studio
401 buck hollow road
fairfax, vermont 05454
some creatures don’t want help June 15, 1998
….you may now and then feel like a good dancer who gets an invitation to a ball,
and on arriving, finds that everyone is lame….
-Schopenhaur
some creatures don’t want help.
seven days ago i was in this greenhouse writing and i saw that same black and orange butterfly,
struggling to figure out how to get off the glass windows and back out to where the flowers are….
she was flapping against the glass, going from one pane to another. I stopped my work and went down into the area.
trying to reach to help her, she avoided my hand at every turn going as far as she could to shake me off.
i put out a clay dish hoping she would land on it, then, i could transport her out the door.
the open windows of the green house are on the ceiling she couldn’t seem to figure it out at all.
helping was not acceptable, she diverted her course and ditched whatever i held out eachtime.
finally she dropped down into where the firewood is stored. i could not even see her then. “she’ll figure it out”
i thought on the way back to my writing table. it was Monday.
the butterfly reminded me of a student recently who signed up for a training program.
the counselor who sent her, was surprised that she signed into the year long training.
she warned me “this woman does not stay with anything. she drops out halfway through.
” i thanked her and went to talk again to the eager student.
” I was told you are a quitter” i said. she laughed and assured me that no matter what,
I wil stay in this program, I promise you.”I asked for a letter of intent with that declaration in it.
she sent it to me promptly along with many notes and letters over the next weeks.
she wrote of how her former habit of running-out-the-back-door did not serve her any more.
she told me in phone calls how the cost had been great for all that she ran away from.
in trying to sell her house, all the buyers bolted out the back door and broke the contract.
she could not even close a sale. “it is evident” she told me
“that i am surrounded by my own inability to commit to anything”
we talked a lot. she sounded like a great insight was happening.
maturity was on the horizon.
“seven weekends will call forth your ability to stick with things.” i told her “it will be difficult and you can do it.
she asked “are you trying to talk me out of this?”
i wanted her to know it would bring up her wish to run away with assignments, deadlines and travel arrangements.
in boldness and bravery she pledged to have what it took to commit to something.
“It is a sure thing. i pledge to stay enrolled. i give you my word of honor.” she said.
“okay” i said “you’re in”.
in the fourth meeting exactly halfway through, she dropped out.
some creatures don’t want help. i entered the greenhouse to get back to my writing project.
it had been a whole week, a busy week. the butterfly who I had tried to help appeared again, still alive,
flapping ferociously against the glass pane on the lower windows. ” you’re still in here?” i said.
she jumped to a higher window pane and flapped like her life depended on it.
i looked up four pane lengths to where the open windows were.
“she should be able to figure this out” i thought. but as i watched she scirmed
the bottom windows energetically staying in the lower quadrants.
I opened the door providing another entry to the outside flowers and plants.
i settled into my writing a half hour went bye. she was still a prisoner in the greenhouse…
with renewed compassion, i put down my pen again. i found a long piece of tree bark in the firewood pile.
I climbed down onto the gravel and made my way through the clay pots to where she was suffering again.
this week, her wings were battered and shraggy. there were not flowers in the greenhouse.
“nothing a butterfly would want in here” i said to myself as i extended the bark over to where
she was flapping on the second pane. she fell onto the bark and i pulled it over to take her safely
out the door to where she wanted to be but she jumped off and headed for the lower window again!
there she sat winging and winging. older and somewhat beaten up by the things that were not working,
she only continued to do them. each time i caught her on the bark, she jumped off again
and went back to doing what she knew, beating her wings furiously,
and not going anywhere new. the sun was shining, the birds were chirping.
i went back to my table, sadder but wiser.
