89/365

Book Review:The Butterfly Garden by Chip St. Clair.

This book is a memoir about surviving a childhood on the run with one of america's most wanted. Although the author did not know this about his youth until he was an adult. It chronicles the abuse he suffered as a child from his parents, his journey towards strength and independence, and his discovery of the truth. It was a good book, interesting. I wasn't riveted by it was certainly a shocking tale, I think especially his mom. As a mother myself, this woman was just something I couldn't even try to understand. I recommend the book, but it's one you want to pick up used on the cheap, not worth buying new.

This was a quote he used in the book that I really liked. Not sure who it is by.

But that the dread of something after death -
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveler returns - puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have


I also really enjoyed this passage and what it is saying.

The earthbound caterpillar devours all that surrounds it in its environment, and in many species, what it has consumed determines it colors - its ultimate form - when it becomes a butterfly. Through a unique process, the particular plants the caterpillar eats are metabolized and stored, then finally reflected in the colors of its wings after metamorphosis. If the caterpillar consumes exotic plants, those plants metabolize into exotic colors when the butterfly emerges from the cocoon. Some species of caterpillars devour toxic plants and metabolize them into toxic chemicals that are expressed in various color patterns upon their wings as butterflies - subsequently posing warnings to potential predators. Each butterfly's wings are unique in apperance because each butterfly encountered different circumstances as a caterpillar. The fuel of its past provides the strength to transform itself into something beautiful, something distinctive, reflecting the colors within.


Finally, I thought this poem, called Invictus, that really meant something to the author was very powerful.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have no winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menance of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters nothow strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.