The Butterfly’s Ink
- butterflyinkllc
- Nov 17, 2025
- 2 min read
Updated: Feb 23
More than 30 years ago, in the depths of one of the worst times of my life, “Butterfly Ink” whispered itself to me. I was unsure at the time what “Ink” was. Was it the liquid that flows from a pen or the abbreviation of a legal business entity designed to shield me from personal liability? Time would reveal “Ink” as my life experiences—the residue, the evidence, the contributions of simply being alive.
In the meanwhile, I was alone in my little Dupont Circle apartment in Washington, D.C., devastated. I had not passed the New York State bar exam and was duly fired from my director position of a local health insurance counseling program, the position wholly conditioned on law licensing. With no savings, no prospects, and no coping skills, I succumbed quickly to depression and suicidal ideation for in front of me lay mountains of school debt and self doubt—neither of which I knew how to overcome.
A visually stunning film I watched unexpectedly ended with a suicide and I could not unsee that conflicted, remorseful man lying in the bathtub. So powerfully and surprisingly compelled by this imagery to slit my own wrists, I called a hot line. I barely could control the impulse.
Gravity had a hold of my most persistent thoughts. What I know now is that the Laws of the Universe are objective and unconditional, operating whether I am aware of them or not—steadfast and changeless as the rising and setting sun. I also now know that night to be the precious beginning of a mystical journey out of a darkness of my own creation—Joseph Campbell’s “hero’s journey,” if you will, home to my Self.
Had I been a caterpillar perpetually stuck in my own dark cocoon, “failing to launch,” as they say? Just failing and failing and failing. Or, maybe, I was a butterfly all along, fluttering erratically, seemingly out of control to my own uninitiated
eye. Maybe I was both and so much more.
The Butterfly’s Ink is the beautiful compilation of my stories, contemplations and affirmations reflecting metamorphoses from mere human, feeling a long way from home, toward embodied Spirit, the I AM that I am, have always been, and shall ever be.
There are few straight lines, if any, in my butterfly stories; but, rather a fluttering from one moment to the next, each experience uncovering the Truth of Self, which is the Truth of the Universe and you.
I am the caterpillar and the Chrysalis, I am the butterfly and the ink, and so are you—the mystical, magical evidence of God on the page of life, demonstrating that all is always and in all ways in perfect order, no matter what.
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