Transcription
Around the Cosmic Campfire by Tony Wright
Chapter 19: I Won't Leave Without Her
It was a long haul back down to Texas, and by the time we got to Arkansas, it was clear we'd had enough driving. In trying to save on some hotel bills, we would sometimes stop here and there to camp. On this particular stop, we made our brief layover at a KOA camp, parking a little near Little Rock. Being musician—musicians—on the road was sometimes financially tricky. My partner and I always traveled with our crazy cat, Sarah, and we had toted her around with us on the road since she was a tiny kitten. It was often challenging sneaking her into motels and hotel rooms—challenging just having a pet on the road in general. Once in West Texas, she got away from us in the park and climbed up a 30-foot tree. It was a long wait for her to come down, for sure, as this tiny thing screamed mercilessly at us from up there while we were one step away from calling the fire department. But what a beautiful gray and white tabby—a truly gorgeous feline, a road mascot.
We were just about to hit the road in the KOA camp when I realized I couldn't find her. She had slipped out of the van and was nowhere to be found. She was not in the van, under it, or anywhere in sight in the park, and I was panicky and devastated. Had I lost her for good this time? I would not accept the idea, and we spent hours trying to find her on foot. We had both searched under the mobile home near our site that looks like some kind of an office for the park. It had a metal skirt around the bottom of it, but we could shine the flashlight under there and see that she was not there. Had someone stolen her? I could not fathom it. As my partner, Dawn, and I walked up and down rows of nearby cornfields, with corn in full height and majesty, we found nothing—no sign of her, no sound of her. She was good at coming when called, especially when she was afraid, and she was good at meowing, but nothing. There was nothing. But it was clear we had to go. It was time, and we would have to leave her behind wherever she was. If she had wandered off exploring, she could be a long ways off by now. Hours had passed.
I sat down on our picnic table and was in tears and actually, out loud, asked for a sign: "Please, please give me a sign if we should stay or if we should go. If we stay to continue looking, where should we look?" I was suddenly adamant that I was not going to leave without her. At that moment, my sloppy nose and heaving, that total body involvement kind of crying, that hysterical feeling dissipated. I looked up, and I had a yellow butterfly land right upon me—there, right there on my arm. Then another one, then another one, then I was surrounded by yellow butterflies flying all around me, all around my head and upper body. There must have been 25 or 30 of them. They were flitting gently all around me and only me, somehow letting me know they were certainly my sign. I grabbed my flashlight with a renewed mission and with the vengeance of knowing suddenly and mysteriously where to go. I ran to the mobile home and got on my belly and shined the light once again into every far corner in that dark space. She had to turn her head just the right way for her eyes to catch the flashlight just the right way at that perfectly timed moment. I did see her eyes light up in the light. There she was! Oh, my sweet little kitty! There she was. We worked our way under the trailer space and grabbed the scared little puff of a goofy cat and held her close. I almost collapsed in such relief when it was all over. There was not a yellow butterfly in sight—not one.
Had some soul guide heard me actually cry for help? Did the butterflies speak to me in some way? Was I transmitting from my antenna and the butterfly is connected to my station? Were we all plugged into the God station at that moment? Do butterflies hear and feel and intuit? I don't know. I don't know. It almost sounds absurd, but if they were sent to me, some amazing sign for me, that it really did work, and I was grateful that I had my antenna up to receive their messages. To this day, almost 40 years later, a yellow butterfly in my garden almost brings a tear to my eye. Sarah, my sweet kitty, as well as my partner, Dawn, and my road journey as a singer, not to mention my now fleeting youth, have all faded out of sight as I navigate this new segment of my life. I see now how precious and delicious memories of our past can be—rich, rich food for our hearts and for our souls forever.