I've been away a while.
When I joined with you in blogging, after daughter, Barb,
a Chelsea Morning", and Bev, "Blessed Without Measure", nudged me to, I shared an old poem with you, and from it, called my blog "Flight Song".

I'd like to show it here again, and tell you more about this thing called "Becoming" that I've been dealing with lately.

So here it is again: "FLIGHT SONG"

A small and lovely butterfly
Cocooned her way to life

Shedding her fearful notions then,
Shuddered from the flight;

Free at last from nestling arms
That clutched her monarched wings,

Covers that clothed her emptiness
Where none could hear her sing,

And though she hasn't found the words
her music's no less real;

Woven into her struggling
A rhythm lingers still;

Her wings begin to flutter,
At first, a fragile beat,

But summoning an inner strength
Defeats her own defeat;

She alights at times, and with a sigh
Reflects her destiny

As music that is hers' alone
Gives flight to timid wings.


As I write this, the first thing I think is that when I wrote it many years ago, I did not realize I was writing about myself.

Back then I didn't do much introspection. I was much too busy trying to survive. My lack of education, and job skills, and maturity made this more difficult. Like the butterfly in my poem, there was no wind beneath my wings.

When I was a little girl I loved learning. Perhaps some kind hearted teachers cared that I was poor, or it may have been because I was so well behaved. I needed their approval so much that I would never displease them. Give me a new Big Chief tablet and some pencils, and I was transformed.

Years later the imprint of my early school years continued to influence my decisions. So I decided education was the answer to my problems.

I had already tried the good old Southern girl approach, which was to find a good man, and be a good helpmate. In fairness to the men in my life, I need to admit that I knew less about myself, than I did about them.

And that brings me to here and now. While making this recent change, leaving whatever my life was in Denver and heading west, once again, I was na'ive. I thought it was only about getting from there to here, but it's much, much more.

It's silently arguing with myself about buying new furniture, when I'm more than able to pay for it. It's holding on to outdated ideas about what a church should look like, and how its services should be. Someone once said: "No matter where you go, there you are". To that I would add, and my attitudes and values and standards of what I think is allright, or not, and realizing how much I have let time and place and circumstance define me, but no more.

The butterfly is shedding her cocoon. I hear the song of the flight, and in it, my own voice. There's still much becoming to do.