I found this dried carcass of a caterpillar near my front porch this morning. I was just held captive by wanting to know what had kept it from growing into a chrysalis and completing it’s metamorphoses to a butterfly. Had it gotten scared of change (I can relate), did it fall victim to the sudden cold?
I also harbored some guilt in the “if” that the pesticides we had used to rid our home of roaches, somehow contribute to his demise. I found it a little paradoxical feeling guilty of possibly having stopped his morph into a butterfly when I throw up all kinds of roadblocks to my own change.
I just finished reading Sue Monk Kidd’s fine read When the Heart Waits. I was very moved by the book and at long last feel in close proximity to “soulmaking.”
On my way to my studio to make an obit photo of the caterpillar, I came across a Monarch butterfly working the Lantana to nourish his southerly trek. I almost breezed past the moral of the story. As I slowed and truly looked at this Monarch, he was one war torn warrior.
I know that butterflies are not a real man thing, but this old fellow was for sure a man’s butterfly. I was reminded of the old saying:
Life is not a journey to the grave
With the intention of
Arriving safely in a pretty
And well preserved body,
But rather to skid in broadside,
Thoroughly used up,
Totally worn out,
And loudly proclaiming,
WOW !!!! What a ride!
This butterfly wore the look of WOW!!! What a ride.
So which do you choose, dying a fat worm who never became what God intended or would you rather skid in as the creature that lived life to the full and became all that Abba planned?