Strange Dreams and Butterflies

Dude, I had a waking dream this morning. A was getting ready for work, and I was lying in bed with Juno talking to him with my eyes closed. He disappeared to trim his beard, and just before I nodded off, I had this flash of a silhouetted hand grabbing my mouth. I could tell I was about to nod off because I nearly screamed to consciousness. And in the flash I wasn't looking at myself being grabbed, a hand just locked over my mouth, and it sounded as if cymbals were being crashed.

Since I have no way to manipulate my photos or scans, I have a few posts sitting tight on my dashboard because all the text has to do with the images, ha. I HAVE NEW ARTWORK YAY! But you can't see it because my Photoshop cut out on me. But I can post this:

This is a plate from Tabulae sceleti et musculorum corporis humani by Bernard Siegfried Albinus (1747), drawn by Jan Wandelaar. When we visited the Mutter Museum in Philly, I took home this postcard. The original is part of the collection at the College of Physicians of Philadelphia.

All of the butterflies in our butterfly bungalow emerged...I was surprised. The kit we used had about five chrysalises, and when we took them out of the container, they started shimmying and shaking and wiggling. I'd never seen that before...and the shells looked really viscous and gooey. Nobody would touch them (they were too squirmy and alien), so I volunteered to transfer and attach them to the inside of the tent with safety pins. We had two containers, so now we have ten little fluttering Painted Ladies.

self-sacrifice

In Brunswyck's Book of Distillation, first published in 1490, the blood of the pelican brings healing and renewal and was frequently compared to the blood of Christ throughout medieval Europe. The pelican was thought to be particularly attentive to her young, providing her own blood when no other food was available. The bird became a symbol of self-sacrifice in bestiaries.

Sometimes I experience intense crying fits in the middle of the night. In fact, I had one last night. And a lot of them have to do with suffering. Rather, thinking of the people I love suffering. So, suffering is frequently rooted in love, which can be just as detrimental as hatred, but self-sacrifice gives us a chance to reaffirm our existence and essentially substantiate ourselves (ad hominem, goddammit) with respect to those we love. Sacrifice and suffering in general are very familiar concepts to me, considering I was raised Catholic. And it's always been difficult to rid myself of the obligation to pain in order to feel purpose, or to feel alive and on the right track.  Yes, it's masochistic, and yes, it's probably unnecessary, but regardless, that's how I'm wired. Other religions posit that life's resolution is to abolish suffering, but in order to do that, one must be not only compassionate toward those one feels threatened by or hates...but you must also free yourself from love and the consequent pain it inflicts. Why would I want to do that? I would hurt those who love me by not loving them back. But I would be hurting them, which is the exact opposite of what I want to achieve. I don't know.

Life is still beautiful, and I love magnolias. They're so ancient.