Thich Nhat Hanh

“A monarch caterpillar came to me in a dream. It had the face of my child.” – Susan Michael Barrett

Yes, yes, yes.

Yes. That is my daughter’s face on the caterpillar.

Yes. I dreamed she was this striped Monarch caterpillar in a butterfly garden.

Yes. I admit that there are some people who might view caterpillars as less beautiful and see this post as corny with a capital “C”.

But hang with me.

A little context for the photograph.

In September 2013, I attended a silent retreat with Thich Nhat Hanh (Thay) and experienced a powerful message: if you want to contribute to helping the world, start with yourself. He suggested we breathe, smile, and honor all life. He suggested we write love (instead of protest) letters. So today in honor of Thay’s 90th birthday I wrote a love letter.

This is it.

October 11, 2016

Dear Mr. Niblock,

Last night a monarch caterpillar came to me in a dream. This caterpillar had the face of my child. She joyfully said to me, “Let us find some food and eat.” I said, “Okay, let’s go.” Off we went to eat milkweed in a garden that looked like mine. We ate leaves, chewing slowly and smiling at each other. But then, feeling sick we fell off the milkweed, curled up on the ground. In the dream, I saw my child throwing up green vomit until she was no longer alive.

Waking from that dream, I cried a long time. Then I sat and thought.

Milkweed is the only food a monarch eats. I bought many plants to feed the monarch caterpillars, but they died. Then the monarchs didn’t come to the garden. When I returned to your store and asked why no caterpillars ate the milkweed, I learned that pesticides are sprayed on them because people want to buy plants with blooms and without insects.

I realized that what my daughter implied in the dream is true: we can approach our meals with joy and gratitude. It is possible to (grow and) eat food that is not poisoned.

Mr. Niblock, I think if you let yourself see monarch caterpillars as your children, our children, you’d see how important it is to not spray any being’s food with pesticides. This dream helped me (and I’m hoping it will help you) see things in a new way, a way that allows us to respond differently to insects on plants.

Thank you for your time. Thank you for reading.

Susan Michael Barrett

Twenty-some years ago in a crack-of-light-seeping-through sort of way, I began to notice that my unresolved experiences negatively affected other experiences. I felt uncomfortable, sort of like sitting on a sand burr but pretending it wasn’t there. The ever-so-slight, constant prick became a deeper discomfort caused by my inability and unwillingness to sit with unpleasant feelings.

Then something happened: my son died unexpectedly.

With the help of family and friends, teachings*, meditation, therapy, workshops, books, silent retreats, and the gut-honest and spunky-real courage of others who use personal adversity as a gateway to insight, I began to look within, feel and heal.

Raw and vulnerable, I created and began a question-guided writing practice.

I wrote about experiences such as lying to myself and others about how my son died and then seeing how that denial helped me initially survive. (He died of an accidental overdose of prescription drugs obtained illegally.)
I wrote about becoming aware of and acknowledging my part in difficulty.
I wrote about my heart-hardening despair and a conscious choice to soften, which allowed me to grieve and connect with all others experiencing loss.
I wrote about feeling weighed down holding onto my son’s things and then an inner lightness when I let them go.
I wrote about feeling disconnected and then exhilarated and open when a hummingbird flew into my classroom and landed at my feet.
I wrote about the mysterious experience of hearing a woman crying in an airport bathroom—her son had just died—and wordlessly holding her as she wept, realizing that there are some things about life I just do not know and cannot explain.

Writing responses to the questions changes the way I see and respond to my experiences. Reading out loud what I write to a trusted listener, brings clarity to my confusion and inspires me to work with adversity. That writing practice is what I now call Wonder Anew.

Answering just the first question is significant. Seeing and recognizing a difficulty is what makes it possible to open the door to a worthy adventure.

Susan

My work is inspired by the teachings of Gregory Boyle, Pema Chodron, Viktor Frankl, Thich Nhat Hanh, Mary Oliver, Tim Olmsted, Carl Rogers, and others.

I wrote a love letter to the president of Lowe’s.

I created and continue to use these questions

THE UNFOLDING

A HEART MELT

THE PHOTOGRAPHS

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