Understanding Nature's Codes
Could this butterfly be sending me a message?
When I was walking out on the trail today, I saw a large butterfly. She rested on a purple thistle, fluttering her wings. She caught my eye because of her alternating flashes of black and gold. These flashes started me thinking about Morse code. But instead of long and short signals, the butterfly was using dark and light. Could this butterfly be sending me a message?
Lately I have experienced many things as code. For example, the way people move their hands. People unconsciously move their hands when they talk. I have realized they are actually sending messages through their movements. I began to notice these messages when the characters in my novel arrived. My protagonist moved her hands endlessly when she talked. I finally understood that she was actually sending me messages that way. This character had a history of severe childhood trauma, and she wasn’t able to communicate well with words. Through my experience of writing with her, I learned that traumatized people often speak through their bodies.
Anyway, today, through some sort of code, this monarch led me off into my imagination, and that is when I began to think about melanoma. The thought came first, then I actually saw the disease represented by a broad leaf hanging on a plant in the field. This plant was tall with a large stalk, and its leaves cascaded down from the center. The plant looked like it was celebrating, or beckoning. I began to think of the energy of all living things, and how even a plant can throw energy outward in celebration. But somehow this leaf also contained the inward-facing energy of melanoma. For I have learned that melanoma is about energy being turned inward.
Seven years ago I found a spot on my arm that turned out to be melanoma. I was lucky to find this spot, as it didn’t even look particularly troublesome. The spot just itched. I also felt an uneasiness about it that seemed important. So I mentioned it to my dermatologist and she performed a biopsy. Turned out the spot was melanoma—the deadliest form of skin cancer. This completely shocked my system, and could easily have killed me if I hadn’t been paying attention.
The dermatologist dug a huge chunk of flesh from my arm and saved me from the physical danger, but afterward I decided to ask melanoma why it had appeared in the first place. I got this idea from my daily writing practice. I have learned that if you write something down you almost always get useful information.
So I had a conversation with melanoma in writing. Melanoma told me that unlived life (which keeps turning into unloved life every time I type it) was part of its message. I understood that to mean I had turned my energy in on myself, refusing to step out and take chances.
I also looked up the spiritual meaning of melanoma, and this is what I found: Conflicts with sunlight are the same as conflicts over having felt invaded by the father…Through melanoma, the unconscious seeks to protect itself from a conflict of strong intensity…Look for an emotional conflict up to a year before the symptoms appear, in which the person suffered an attack on their integrity…a dramatic, violent situation, in which they felt humiliated, offended, disgraced.
Well, I didn’t have far to look for evidence of prior humiliation. About a year before I was diagnosed with melanoma, I found out that my then-husband was having an affair. A text from his girlfriend came up on his phone. This was, of course, a huge shock, but looking back, I realize my body had known the truth the whole time. My head just decided to make the evidence go away.
Then, if I go back far enough, I see the conflicted relationship I had with my father. When I was a very young child, my father and I were close. But when I was about six years old, my father’s drinking turned into alcoholism. Then I ended up with a different father altogether, who was abusive. Here was important evidence from my body about how it had tried to deal with that trauma.
Since the day I found out that I had melanoma, I have been focused on what I am doing with my energy. Do I throw myself into life or hold myself back? The answer might mean the difference between life and death.
Back on the trail, the leaf fluttered in the afternoon breeze. I got the feeling this plant didn’t know what to do with its energy. Movement might be its way of trying to discharge. I have learned to follow random thoughts when I’m out in nature, as they may lead me toward healing. Maybe the plant was showing me a strategy.
My mind then went to my slasher-editor. My slasher-editor is not a real person. Well, she is real to me, but she is not real in the actual physical world. I figure she must have to do with my mother. My slasher-editor wants to destroy me. So did my mother. They both want to wipe the slate clean, as if I never existed. I’ve had to deal with my slasher-editor constantly. If I am to get my writing out into the world, I have to stop the slasher-editor from destroying it first.
Somehow the existence of this broad leaf gave me hope. Maybe the plant was trying to teach me how to express myself. But the leaf also reminded me of slipping into oblivion. Had this been part of melanoma’s job? Was my slasher-editor the same as the melanoma? No way of knowing for sure, but I may have seen the two of them together on the trail.
When I reached the mini-forest, a patch of light appeared on the ground in front of me. The wind blew strongly, so the light came and went. Maybe this was code too—dark/light/dark/light—same as the butterfly. Perhaps none of this means anything, but as I have followed the promptings of nature I have experienced some deep healing. I feel this healing in my body, specifically my hips. For everything is contained within the body, and changes through the body. Nature taught me that.
I continued to walk until I got to the uprooted tree. This tree fell because its roots were not anchored deeply enough in the ground. The tree lay on its side with its rootball suspended, and that rootball reminded me of a tortoise. It looked like the tortoise was trying to climb underground. Perhaps I was burying my head in the sand to avoid my feelings? Is that what the rootball was trying to say?
The rootball also started me thinking about my joints, the way my ligaments hold my hips together. Lately I’ve noticed that my ligaments are beginning to loosen. This causes me pain when I walk. But I do believe that this is also a part of nature’s plan to heal me.
Writing is in on the healing effort too. Actually, writing started it. Seven years ago I was led to write a novel. I had no idea what this novel was or why I was to write it. I just knew I had to get it done. I wrote every day for almost six years. During this writing process, I felt three characters standing behind me. I believe these characters were sent by the universe to teach me how to let go.
I had always been extremely controlled in my writing; now these characters were teaching me a new way to write. To accomplish this, they instructed me on how to pay attention to my body. I would feel a pull to the left, for instance, and when I physically made this movement, I would receive a small part of my novel. Over time this brought my mind and body together into a unified system.
So the idea that nature might be trying to heal me now is really not so surprising. The universe clearly had healing plans all along; it must have some kind of plan now. Maybe the plants and animals really do speak in code. My plan is to keep walking—and listening—until I find out what they’re trying to say.
***
Watch for my upcoming book:
Breaking Out of a Chrysalis: A Spiritual Transformation through Writing and Nature
Release date - March 25, 2027