Dreams Like Butterflies

Like many children, I was once a young boy. And as a lad, before I could even speak the language, I held a precious dream in my heart like a butterfly. A butterfly that wiggled and squirmed and eventually burst from my chest like an alien, but this one left behind no gaping bloody hole, at least none that was visible. For like many children, I had dreams of one day growing up and capturing a mythical beast to prove it existed.

My father would tell me, "Set more realistic goals for yourself, Mr. Bagel." Although now that I think about it, that doesn't sound like something my father would say at all, and there is the distinct trace of an accent when I hear it my mind, so it may have been a butler I had or an English tourist. But someone said it, and I would grow disheartened, before I remembered that only I could let the butterfly rip through my chest and leave myself bleeding to death on the floor.

During my teen-age years, my "Reckless Red" days, I let go of that dream and sunk into the hopeless despair only fit for songs by The Smiths. It's in the nature of a teen-ager to turn cynical, like the very butterfly I earlier metaphored sprouting its wings as part of its growth. However, I tricked fate, and as I got older I grew far more immature than even I could have imagined. I resumed my dreams, and it was like I had never stopped believing I could lasso the Loch Ness Monster or trap Bigfoot in a box with a carrot as bait. Of course, doing either one of those would have been silly. But last year, while the commune took that long sabbatical I didn't really know about, I took to New Orleans to pursue my dream. And the world's biggest butterfly.

I speak of none other than the Baton Rouge Butterfly, one of the most famous local legends of all time. Though no one in New Orleans or Baton Rouge had ever heard of it, so don't bother asking any of them. This local legend about Louisiana is only famous in part of New Jersey and, I understand, some areas in Europe. I uncovered a book on it at a yard sale, only partially colored by the previous owner, that sparked my childhood interest in the legend and I assembled my mythic creature-hunting team of old with renewed vigor.

Loading my equipment into my customized Hummer XXL, a vehicle unfit for travel on earth roads, I traveled south to that beloved region with my loyal manservant Rascal and my faithful friend of many years, Sully. It seems like only yesterday the news just wouldn't shut up about Hurricane Katrina, yet when we reached these battered shores the whole region appeared to be in the midst of wonderful reconstruction. I'm sure the several buildings my Hummer XXL knocked over or crushed were helpful losses to paving over the city of old, they didn't look very new at all. We researched the existence of the Baton Rouge Butterfly in New Orleans, since I was much more familiar with that city and its many fine houses for gentleman tourists, but I have to admit we knew a lot more about the legend than any of them did. They mocked our faith in the unproven and a few of them made fun of my fine white suit. But were we dissuaded? Sully was, and he napped in the passenger seat for most of the trip. I was not, and nor was Rascal,as I pay him handsomely.

We surveyed the entire city of Baton Rouge and its surrounding areas, the world's largest moth net in tow. Did we find the creature of my youthful dreams? No. Did we discover even minimal proof of its existence? That's difficult to say, but everybody says no. Let's change that question however: Did we chase a dream and discover something even bigger than ourselves in the process? No. However, I think I can dare to say we displayed uncommon faith in the unseen and changed the hearts of the people of Louisiana, even helping the rebirth of the cities damaged by the hurricane. They would also say this is a big negative, too, but they can shut-up and stop pissing on my dreams.

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