This butterfly motif runs through my life, and my stuff. It's something my friends know they can shop by, and never go wrong. Barettes, ribbons, cards, stationery. More cards. Butterflies mean something to me. They're not just pretty, it's not that I like their colors. They mean something else.

Sometimes I forget the majesty they represent, sometimes the symbol loses the deeply personal meaning, and some other experience brings it back like a boomerang.

Butterflies are only able to fly, to become, because they change. I'd forgotten why they became visual shorthand for hope and inspiration for me in the first place.

I saw Prince perform in Las Vegas three times last month. First, around 3 a.m. on a Friday night (Saturday morning), after driving in from LA, I stood in a crowded room of about 80 and tried to absorb the feeling of privilege--of being welcome in what amounted to a slightly outsized living room, to watch a Hall of Fame icon and artist jam with some pals, all of whom are superlative in their own right.

The next night, in the 1500-seat "3121" theater, I felt about 19 years old again, snaking through a fairly dense general-admission crowd, trying to make my way to the front for the best view, best sound, of Prince and his band.

What I noticed most obviously was that excellence was not paired with ego. I subscribe to a theory that an artist facing the right direction, one who inspires and uplifts us, is able to do so because he finds sustenance in the work, not in the reaction to it. It would follow that such an artist can more fully and deeply reach into the depths to explore what he is creating, because it is only his own evolving and sophisticated standards to which he answers.

So Prince, at one time known only by a symbol, a master of dozens of instruments, happily showcased the talents of all of his band, and welcomed audience members onstage to dance and sing with him. He sang, he joked, he strutted, he played guitar, he played maestro to his band, issuing cues with hand gestures behind his back. He played to his adoring fans with a demeanor that seemed to say, I'm here because I love doing this for you, not because I needed you to come here and love me.

In closing the show, I believe his exact words were, "This is not just my house, this is your house, I love you all."

Witnessing someone doing what they love is so uplifting. They seem transformed, from one of us, into an ambassador, a visitor from a world where all things are possible, where people can fly, where you are supposed to play, in your chosen playground, with all your heart, and trust and believe. And, Prince seems to be saying, at the end of that path, excellence ceases to be a doing, an exercise or a laborious chore-- creativity simply becomes a being--a verb. The opening, like a doorway, through which life energy flows freely, perhaps because it is unimpeded by human interference, human ego, human needs...anyone's.

That shared spiritual heaven that we sometimes glimpse on earth as simple freedom from suffering, because we are momentarily freed from self-ness, it-self.

After this second performance, some of us lined up for a third: the Saturday after-show. We were seated, at the front, about 2:25 am. The room was lit mostly by candlelight. There were no spotlights. There was no stage. There was no bifurcation of humans into groups of "stars" or "band" or "performers" on some higher physical plane, with a lesser, adoring "audience" of not-stars on another. Absent the signifier of even a 4-inch riser to divide any of us, an attitude of equanimity prevailed.

Prince did not so much take this stage, as much as he walked over and picked up his guitar, strolling in the narrow walkway in front of me. As he did, I felt the air, the slightest wake of air he displaced as he walked by. The room is that intimate. I leaned my head back when the neck of his guitar was about 8 inches from me. He smelled great. Noelle said sandalwood, maybe. Yeah, maybe. Earthy. It felt like warmth and comfort.

I kept thinking about excellence.

I kept wondering, Will I find excellence in myself? How will I remember to spend time around excellence when I go home? How can I remember the feeling I have in this moment, of wanting to strive--not with ruminations and labors and worry or fear--but with uncovering the place, in myself, where the opening is, to this world where Prince is now? The place he is sharing, by bringing it to us. Maybe that has been his message--that where he is a place for all of us to find. The place within where, once I find it, I need only to try to keep it open. It is not a getting of some one, some thing, or some where, else. Well, then, I thought, from when and where would my wings be coming? If there are wings, within, where are they?

Before leaving for the Prince weekend, I'd been trying to find the right words to send to an acquaintance. I wanted to ask his advice. He, I think, has found his path to excellence. I am sometimes afraid I don't know where to look for mine anymore. I didn't think I was afraid to make changes, I just didn't know whether to go left or right at a fork in the road. But after this weekend, I see that what I was preparing to ask this acquaintance was, for permission to change. Do you think I will be okay if I change? Do you think I am allowed?

I realize now, I will never fly-- and like a butterfly, I cannot even survive--if I do not change.

Every example we see, of someone else's joy, of their excellence, emanating, is a flashlight that points a way for us, to our own. And so, I am very grateful to Prince, who has embraced change--who at one time even adopted a symbol as his identity. (And then, as a further nod to the constant flow of change, that symbol itself was, for him, something he seemed to need only temporarily.)

In allowing a few of us the privilege to try on the notion that we joined him in his living room, where he just happens to be jamming with some friends by candlelight, Prince shared a rare glimpse that is both generous and inspiring. He shows us what has been possible for him. For us--he seems to already know, trust, that our potential, our own wings, are yet within us, living in our wishes.