Transformation
The caterpillar's fate.
Why me? Why couldn’t I just go through life with normal goals and aspirations? A good job. A loving relationship. A family. Weekend barbecues among loved ones sharing words of politics and sports and relationships and kids. I’ve had all that within my grasp, more than once seen such a future more clearly than any I can see now. And each time, I let it all go, gave it up or fucked it up, it doesn’t matter which. No, I’m supposed to do something particular with this life. Put myself out there. Describe experiences beyond my ken, act as the conduit for insights from I know not where.
Receiving the call is one thing. Answering it, quite another. Often a mixture of exhileration and fear arises from hearing those whispers. Until those who are called fully engage their purpose, the whispering continues, relentless. Some days, it’s a shout, a cry, an admonition. “Answer me!”
As it tears itself apart?
Does it know fate
Before the internal chaos of the chrysalis?
If the caterpillar does know fear it nevertheless relents. Can it know the beautiful fate waiting beyond the chaotic turmoil of metamorphosis? No matter. An act, an inevitable act. Until the calling is undertaken, life can only be out of balance. If the purpose is to fly, then wings must be grown.