Caterpillar … You’ve spent months eating and growing, eating and growing. The insatiable need to take in all you find which will provide you the sustenance required to become something new.
Then in my little jar amongst the leaves, you folded yourself up into your fuzzy little sleeping bag. Inside you are letting go any semblance of what was you – returning instead to your parts, your pieces …allowing them to be made new. This very act of letting go holds me fast – keeps me staring in at your cocoon – peering at a truth held deep within.
Caterpillar, curled up in your hairy cocoon for the fall – I am envious of your rest. But is it rest when inside, away from view so much is happening?
Do you dream of the day you will take flight on light wings? Did you know they were part of you before, while you were still crawling about so close to the ground? Were you confident you would one day fly? Do you dream of bright lights and breezes and being carried free of gravity? What does it take to let go of your shape, to be transformed?
Alas, I am talking to a jar.
So instead I ask –
When did I stop asking to be made new? When did I become so attached to this skin, this body, this person that I stopped seeking out your sustenance?
“I am here.”
When did I become content to crawl about on the ground forever?
“I am not done with you.”
So it must be true…
All creation shall speak of your glory … even this little … cocoon.