Butterflies are Us

Though the following is a true story it happened in the early 1980s on the northern coast of California.

We were living in the Mt. Shasta area then and we were down on the coast visiting my wife's parents. However, for one reason or another we arrived late and didn't want to wake her parents up in their affluent area and so parked our 1971 VW Westphalia Camper at the beach instead with the three kids which were about 5 to 10 years old then. This all went fine except we had brought our Garfield type of acting and looking cat named "Pinky" along. So when he rushed out the window during the night to go to the bathroom and hunt for mice he didn't come back.

My oldest stepson named Chris was crestfallen as "Pinky" was his closest friend. So when we arrived at the grandparents house nearby Chris asked the doves and pigeons where his cat "Pinky" was. Chris started to write down bird language but eventually burnt it up because his Biological Dad wanted to use the bird language to hunt quail to kill and eat them. However, on this occasion Chris told his mother and I what the birds told him about where the cat was. The birds said that the cat was with nuns that had tied him up until the owner came for him in the monastery nearby. So when my wife and son went to the monastery sure enough the cat was where the birds had told my step son.

After this, I realized that my stepson was intuitively gifted and intellectually gifted in a remarkable way. So I began to teach him how to experience flying as a bird or butterfly and to share consciousness with them like Native American Medicine men and woman do and many gifted people and shamans all over earth do.

So, I thought that starting with something small would be best. So I started with some butterflies that were outside the grandparents house near the fireplace chimney. However, Chris went in too strong with his consciousness and the Butterfly ran into the chimney because it couldn't cope with someone coming into its consciousness so strong. I told Chris that he needed a lighter touch. We we just trying to experience what it was like to be a butterfly and to fly and not to make the butterfly crash or anything like that. However, to Chris, this just showed him that what we were doing was working so he was elated. Though I felt bad for the butterfly it quickly recovered after I told Chris to release him with his mind and we all laughed at the silliness of the situation. However, that was one of the more precious times we had while raising our kids.

There was another time when Chris was under 10 years old and he had been out birding a lot with his grandmother and could name any bird in California by then. So at that point we were passing by Tule Lake near the Backside of Mt. Shasta on the north eastern side and he looked at a bird and said, "That's an immature white Pelican!" Though everyone in the car laughed at him then he perservered and later when I looked up the bird in a bird book I saw he was right, "It was an immature white pelican". But my thought was, "What was an immature white pelican doing in Tule Lake Several hundred miles or more from the ocean?" I still don't have an answer for that unless it was maybe less stormy or cold there or the bird had gotten blown there by a storm and was there by accident. But the funny thing was that it actually was an immature white pelican hundreds of miles from any ocean!