The caterpillar doesn’t know there is another way of being.
It is content to simply be, a small creeping thing,
Happy, perhaps, not knowing, but limited.
But one day, something within the caterpillar stirs,
Some instinctive impulse it must obey.
And it stops and finds a place of safety,
And spins around itself a cocoon.
And there, in the darkness, it begins to die to what was,
So that it can take the shape of what it was always meant to be.
Such death is necessary for us, too, if we are to shape
What we were always meant to be.
But we, unlike the caterpillar, can choose to ignore
God’s nudge to greater being, let self and soul remain limited.
But if we choose to heed the nudge,
Then within the dark cocoon of our being,
The shape of grace that was always there
Begins to form and grow. Hidden, perhaps,
But felt as tremors of the mind and heart.
And slowly, o so slowly, we begin to die to what we were
So that our soul can take the shape of God’s intention.
I wonder, does a butterfly feel pain as it struggles to emerge?
Does it wonder why it must struggle – isn’t there and easier way?
But the struggle is necessary – for what change ever comes easily?
The struggle strengthens the wings of the soul to carry
the new shape of life.
One day I shall enter another cocoon – this one named death –
And I will emerge, transformed, transfigured by love.
To soar into eternity on wings of joy.
Rainier, OR, July 16, 2012