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Diana's Blog: Quirky Words and Book Reviews

Friday, October 10, 2008

Secrets of the Monarch Butterflies

October 10, 2008
SECRETS OF THE MONARCH was meant to be medium Allison DuBois' first book, but it didn't get written until recently, following two others. Mediums have an extra door to understanding, and Allison wanted to reveal that. It took her awhile for this book to come together. Her subtitle is WHAT THE DEAD CAN TEACH US ABOUT LIVING A BETTER LIFE.
The book is filled with stories that remind us to pass on the love we get from others, and even if sad and disappointed, to turn the situation so that we can benefit someone else. Allison tells lots of stories of finding the killers of innocent women who have vanished, fun stories like a poker game in a haunted basement with some poker players from two centuries ago playing along, and her family stories.
What caught my eye was the monarch. How did that relate, I wondered? Her husband Joe actually answers that question in the foreword. He says she chose the title long before she knew the real story about monarch butterflies. Joe writes that the monarch butterfly takes several generations to complete its journey north, only to turn around and fly back to where its great-grandparents are from. Joe continues, saying that the monarch concept is also the story of how each generation builds on the energy and work of the generation before, creating a circle of life.
This hit home. I was living halfway across the country, and driving in the middle of the night from Iowa to Indiana, years before cell phones and answering machines. In other words, there was no way for my mother to get a hold of me -- even find me, since I was headed with my fiance to see some friends get married. My mom and I weren't in constant phone contact at that time.
I was at the wheel. The night was black, punctuated by millions of stars. The highway was dark, except for a few headlights zipping past every now and then.
The interior of the car suddenly burst into flames. A vision. It was impossibly bright, and there, before me, was my grandmother, who, at 85, was still alive as far as I knew, enwreathed with flames. Inside that circle of fire, with my grandmother was my grandfather, who had passed when I was a few years old. She spoke. She said -- words I remember to this day -- "Like two fires foraging the space around us, we've swallowed the last detail."
And then, poof, the night was black again.
When we returned from the wedding, I was consumed by this image, and painted it in watercolor. Finally, a few days after the vision, the phone rang, and it was my mother telling me that my grandmother had passed.
My mother orchestrated the funeral without telling me, so I arrived too late to say goodbye to my grandmother. But one day, as my mother got out of her car and I stepped out of the passenger side, a butterfly fluttered by. I closed the door and watched...as the butterfly circled my head over and over and over, floated a short distance, then flew back to me, and around and around me, hovering so close I could almost touch it. I turned to my mother and said, "Look! It's my grandmother, saying goodbye."

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