I am thinking tonight about the monarch butterfly who makes a migratory journey of about 3,000 miles from the north to get to California and Mexico before the winter sets in. I have often wondered about that great effort. At best, it is highly improbable. And yet, every year, it happens. I have made my own migration to a place in the sun before the winter comes. The butterflies will not leave until the fall. I am a little ahead of them. My journey was long and arduous, and there were times when it seemed improbable. And yet it happened.
No one knows why or how the butterflies know exactly where to go. Each migration, each generation of butterflies makes the journey for the first time. And so it has been with me. I don’t know why I was drawn here, but I was – and as as the monarchs are drawn to their places in the sun, my journey to Sedona seemed like a force of nature.
I have been told that I have lived here in a previous life. I know that I found healing from grief here. But I don’t really know why I was drawn here – why here, why now. It doesn’t really matter. I have decided to accept it as a gift from the Universe.
And now that I am here, and most of the boxes are gone, and my little abode looks more like a house than a warehouse, a great peace has descended upon us – Dorian Gray and me. Even he – Dorian -my cat – has settled down, something I thought would never happen. A creature of the night, used to roaming wherever he chose, he is now living inside with me. He fought it for a few nights, and neither of us slept, and as improbable as it is, it looks as if he knows that we are supposed to be here. Maybe he, too, has accepted this gift from the Universe. He is safe here, every night.
As I sit here in the quiet, I hear thunder and rain is falling outside. It is the monsoon season here. Rain in the desert for two months. Improbable. But it is happening anyway. Sun every day. And rain every day.
The improbable happens. And I will accept each improbable gift from a benevolent, loving Universe. May you, dear friends, find your own improbable gifts. They are there, as surely as there is rain in the desert, and as surely as the butterflies will be in California and Mexico before winter sets in.
Read The Messenger: The Improbable Story of a Grieving Mother and a Spirit Guide by Helen Delaney. Find it at www.Amazon.com or www.themessenger.space.