From when I was young, I've had a fascination & affinity for faerie lore. My sisters and I were once told to collect the broken monarch butterfly wings from the floor of a eucalyptus forest. They were later put out in a shallow bowl on our dresser top. Our cousin and babysitter for the evening told us that the faeries would collect them for their babies to have wings of their own, and thus the life cycle of the butterflies would be complete.
In the morning the bowl was empty of wings and filled with candies. It was a unique magic, akin to presents under a tree. Though St. Nick will often still leave gifts even if we forgot his cookies & milk. For the faeries, we needed to perform a favor to receive one.
I had a great desire all my life to form a relationship with nature, in the way that was taught to me by faeries. You can't expect something from them without giving something first. You have to earn their trust. You have to establish a bond. Faeries represent to me the way we must interact with the earth and our world.
You must live the life that you believe in.
Believing that faerie babies need the wings of dead butterflies in order to fly tells me that we are all connected. That death feeds life. Faeries are ultimately my sole religion. They give me all of the hope and confidence that I need. Their infinite metamorphosis is my prayer. Every day I take the disguarded wings of my past and fuse them to a new dream, to new habits & new thoughts. If we are to believe in wings, why not those of the butterfly?