Last night I had one of those dreams that immediately upon waking I had to write down. Michael and I were on a boat together, drifting across an inland lake. The scene felt quiet, contained, just the two of us floating over still waters but also in pursuit of something. 

Suddenly, Michael pointed into the water. There, struggling to stay afloat, was a giant butterfly. When I say giant, I mean it was the size of a large bird, maybe a crow. So definitely larger than your average butterfly. Its wings were patterned like a monarch’s, yet shimmering with hints of blue that caught the sunlight.

We tried a few times to rescue it, circling the boat close enough to reach, until finally I was able to scoop it up into my hands. I remember holding it gently, letting its wings dry. It stared at me, deeply, intently, as if it had something to say. I couldn’t hear any words, but I felt that it was trying to impart a message. After a while, it fluttered around us both and the boat, alive and luminous. 

And that’s all I remember, but the feeling lingers. So of course, while also preparing a slow cooked beef stew, I spent the better part of my Sunday deep in reflection and researching the symbolism behind this dream. 

Dreams often weave symbols that echo our inner landscape. The butterfly is universally known as a sign of transformation, rebirth, and spiritual renewal. To encounter one at such a scale, the size of a bird, suggests that the transformation unfolding is not small, but something immense, perhaps life-shaping.

The monarch carries its own meaning: endurance, migration, the passing of wisdom across generations. The added shimmer of blue connects to the energy of the throat chakra, voice, truth, and expression, as well as intuition and divine guidance. Together, these colors suggest an awakening, a call to honor both endurance and the courage to speak or create from truth.

The butterfly was drowning in water, an element of emotion and the unconscious. That image speaks to a delicate part of the self or spirit at risk of being overwhelmed. By lifting it from the water, I’m choosing to nurture and protect this transformation rather than let it sink. Holding it until its wings dried becomes a symbol of trust and care, of giving this change space to strengthen before it can fly on its own.

The boat itself is also significant: a vessel carrying my partner and myself across inner waters, not in the vastness of the ocean, but on a contained lake. This may point to personal, intimate transformation close to home rather than something unbounded or far away.

The gaze of the butterfly, staring as though to speak, lingers as the heart of the dream. Even without words, it planted a seed. Sometimes the message of a dream arrives not all at once, but in ripples, revealing itself through reflection, journaling, or meditation.

To me, the dream asks questions:

• What transformation in me is emerging, but still fragile?
  
• What part of my voice, my truth, or my intuition am I being called to rescue and protect?
  
• How can I trust the shimmer of this new energy until it grows strong enough to take flight?

Dreams like these feel less like stories and more like invitations. I don’t yet know exactly what this butterfly wanted to tell me, but I sense that by holding it and by holding the questions it leaves behind, I’ve already begun to listen.

Closing Reflection

As I sat with this dream throughout the day, I couldn’t help but feel its resonance with the collective energy of this past week. The shock of Charlie Kirk’s assassination and the continued violence across our world, has left many raw, questioning, and confronting once again the deep fractures of this time. It feels like we are living through a threshold moment, a turning point where what drowns us and what saves us are being revealed side by side.

The butterfly, struggling in the water yet shimmering with light, mirrors this tension. Something fragile but vital is asking to be lifted out of despair, dried in the warmth of our care, and given a chance to take flight. It reminds me of the meditative prayer I wrote just days ago, that in this time of spiritual warfare, we are called to engage with our hearts, to build bridges, to participate in the alchemy of relationships and the spirit of creation.

Perhaps the butterfly was a messenger of that same truth. That even amidst violence, fear, and despair, transformation is possible if we choose to hold what is delicate with reverence, to rescue what is sacred from sinking, and to honor the shimmer of light that still insists on being seen.

The dream lingers, as dreams often do, not to provide answers but to invite me deeper into the questions: How will I show up to this turning point? What will I rescue and protect with my own hands? And how can I be brave enough to let the wings of transformation dry, so they might carry us, together, into something new?