Tell Me Where It Hurts
The caterpillar.
It’s not a passive being. It is aggressive in its pursuits. Its youthful ability to grow quickly and shed its skin over and over is nearly as impressive as its adult fate. It stays busy, voraciously feeding, its capacity to crawl in reverse far stronger than its ability to crawl forward.
At some point, the caterpillar decides this life, this body, this way of being doesn’t feel quite right. To achieve its inevitable and miraculous transformation, it instinctively knows to just be still for a bit. It moves only to travel deep inside a self-made shroud.
Such an exquisite plight. Such a silent, personal journey.
The butterfly.
It lives out its first chapter of life bound to gravity. We call it by a different name. One day it disappears from sight. Another day it emerges, completely changed.
I have some questions about all this…
Where does the strength to build those wings come from? Who dictates its colors? At what point is the chrysalis deemed enough, and when, exactly, does the evolution ignite? At what time does the first rip in the chrysalis occur? Does it hurt? Is the caterpillar at all scared, worried? Has it any idea once it emerges it will have wings and those wings, when given energy, can create flight?
Does it dream about the many heights to which it will soar? Does it consider all the views it will enjoy from high above? Does it ponder how the warm sun will feel as it lands on the flower’s petal? Will it begin to miss what it once was? What does it hope for? What is it afraid of? Does it believe the wings will make life happier? Who whispers to this brand new butterfly when it’s time to open up and fly?
I’d like to know if the caterpillar is aware of its own metamorphosis. Does it see the butterfly in flight and know deep inside that a higher self awaits? Is there any question that evolution is necessary?
If I could speak to the caterpillar, I would simply say tell me where it hurts. And then I’d be still. I’d watch the secret disappear into the shroud I’d wait until the butterfly emerges with wings that lift it high and away.
We do not have to stay where we are if it aches.
Transformation awaits those who are willing to embrace their own mystery.
Be still. Be very, very still.
Tell me, where does it hurt?
