A ladybug pooped on me.
I had gone to my sister’s house for some porch chatting and hot tubbin’.
Going to my sister’s house seemed imperative that day. She and I were still reeling from our parent’s divorce from a marriage of forty one years. We had wondered if they would ever divorce. I thought that I would be relieved, but I learned that you do not know how you will feel in advance of a thing. Both my sister and I were much sadder and angrier than we had bargained for.
I had helped starting a classical school, and I was exhausted. Baby schools are beautiful things, but they sometimes shriek, cry, and spit up in the night.
So I went to Natalie’s for rest, and to be with someone who shared all the history I knew. Someone who was there for it all.
When I got outside, a tiny ladybug was struggling in the water. As a former six-year-old, I knew exactly what to do: I scooped that insect up.
I climbed into the hot tub with the lady, and she seemed to take a little nap for a mo’ as I decided where the optimal seating position was. As I settled down, she started drying herself off…shaking, stretching legs, unfurling wings. For awhile, it seemed as if one filament of a wing was fatally adhered to her shell. I looked away a bit, and when I looked back at my fingernail, she had deposited a pinhead of viscous brown.
The truly humble of this world; moms, monks, Kermit the Frog…they would not need to crow to the world of the solace they offered a bug.
But as I looked at her, I saw the cherry red shine of shell against the backdrop of turquoise water, the green plastic glass with the comforting beverage, and I was truly and fully present. She gave me a gift. She gave me the gift of rest that I was so much in need of.
The gift of being a place that a ladybug can get herself back together after a harrowing experience on the high seas.
The gift of being six for awhile.
The gift of slowing the hell down and thinking of someone else’s benefit besides my own.
After a good twenty minutes, she flew away, leaving me the brown…and a blessing.
Like I’m not “spiritual.” I just practice being a good person on Facebook.
Assistant Ed: Judith Andersson / Ed: Bryonie Wise
hot on elephant
July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. Reading This Takes Guts. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD.