STORY 5B: BUTTERFLY STORIES (PART 2)

Hello there dear reader, maybe I should share a little more about myself before we continue.

I am what you would call a moon deity. Some think that I inhabit trees, but they’re not exactly incorrect. Since trees absorb moonlight as much as they absorb the sun’s rays, I feel I am one with them somehow. If you ever want to feel my presence the most, try going out while the moon is full and stand beside a tree then close your eyes.

Of course, if you are terrified of the dark, I suggest you avoid doing this. Your fear might invite “other” less friendly and more malevolent beings other than me. And believe me when I say that this has been proven by the many paranormal experts and magic users in your own world.

But of course, I could be making this all up since not all of the stories here are real, remember?

Oh, you’ve forgotten about that part, I see.

Well, I haven’t. And once again, be reminded that most of the stories here in the Supernatural Spa are true…

But not all of them.

Here is another story about butterflies and their role in the afterlife. Enjoy!

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Back in the late 1980s I was part of UP’s KONTRA-GAPI. For those who aren’t familiar with this ethnic musical group, you can Google them. I was one of the first members/musicians of the group and we always filled the second floor of the UPD Faculty Studio with ethnic music galore. That’s because our rehearsal area was in front of Sir Edru Abraham’s room (plugging for our founder).

Because we were just a small group back then, we were able to fit in the small space despite our many ethnic instruments. There were still no dances back then, so the size of the place was still okay.

During one particular rehearsal - we always practiced after hours since we were all students -  I was so depressed because my favorite Sunday School student just died in a horrible accident. She was a beautiful 11-year old girl with a very contagious smile and witty, sunshine-like personality.

It was saddening because we were so close and I found myself trying hard not to cry in the middle of my studies that day. As a matter of fact, I hardened myself that day and decided I will not cry at all.

My bandmates were very concerned - they noticed how lifeless I seemed to be - when they found out. I even asked for advice if I should attend the wake, because I couldn’t find it in myself to look at her dead body.

The funny thing is, even if they said I should go, I have already decided not to attend.

Rehearsals started. In the middle of our musical din - gabangs/gongs do tend to be very loud in closed quarters

and since none of the rooms were open, our echoes really reverberated - a small white-winged butterfly came out from nowhere.

There were no rooms open at that time and we were on the second floor but it moved towards us and started fluttering above our heads. Everybody kept playing but we were definitely distracted as that tiny ivory butterfly landed on our instruments, one at a time.

When it landed on my gabang (ethnic gong), I couldn’t help but open my hand and say, “Dito ka pumunta sa kamay ko…” (Here, land on my hand).

And yes, it flew straight up to me and settled on my open palm.

I was so excited that I stopped playing and announced loudly, “Tignan nyo o. Nasa kamay ko na sya. Kinausap ko lang tapos lumanding na sya sa kamay ko!” (Look everyone, it followed what I said. It landed on my hand, see!) In the middle of my sentence, I felt everyone staring at me, not with amazement, but with horror.

The music has stopped and everyone was frozen in place. I too suddenly realized what they were suddenly frightened of…

My student had just died.

I have a white butterfly land on my hand.

Because I asked it to.

And it’s not even possible to have a butterfly in that building at the time.

Or at any time, even.

“Sis, mangako ka na pupunta ka sa lamay. Sige na, please lang,” one of my bandmates whispered in terror. (Sister, promise her you’ll go to her wake. Please.)

Weirdly enough, I didn’t feel scared. I felt a tear fall as the butterfly kept fluttering her wings while still on my palm. My hand was warm where it was sitting and memories of Marife, my student, flooded my mind.

“I’ll go. I’ll visit. Promise,” I whispered to the fluttering insect resting on my palm.

After I said those words, the butterfly flew up and away, going around the corridor and disappearing. I looked at my hand and there were three to four butterfly eggs there.

I burst into tears.

You see, Marife would always cook me eggs before church service. It was my breakfast, she said. Even now, I mostly take them crispy sunny side up, which is how she used to cook them.

I miss you Marife. Earth was a little less brighter when you went to heaven. And thanks for your last goodbye.

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I wonder, have any of you out there ever seen butterflies this way? There are countries, such as Germany and the Philippines, that these insects are connected to death and resurrection beyond the grave.

Meanwhile, the Celtic and Roman cultures see the butterfly still as a symbol of death but can also be a source of blessing and honor, wealth, and bountiful gifts. Though it may sound conflicting, death need not always be seen as a loss but also for rest and respite from the many sufferings of man in the physical world.

Besides, admit it, the only ones who really truly suffer over someone’s death is the one who will be left behind. And if you aren’t careful, you might be forcing our loved ones to stay despite their suffering just to avoid your heartbreak.

It’s actually unfair for you to demand their stay especially when their staying means more pain and agony.

I hope you consider this little lesson, dear reader. Until next time, this is The Diwata, bidding you a farewell.