Rebirth isn’t easy.
Transitions are times of uncertainty, and even positive change can be scary.
There are growing pains. We fear the unfamiliar, even if we feel sure that the outcome will be worth it in the end. (And when are we really sure of anything anyway.)
I wonder if the caterpillar knows what she’s in for when she hangs herself from a stem. Really, you never know.
Maybe she rages and sorrows in her cocoon, wishing she could go back to the simple days when she mowed through leaves and marched along on rows of sturdy legs.
Maybe she frets that her spindly new body will bend and break in the howling wind.
Perhaps she sighs with envy that those lucky moths are free to rave, euphoric, around lamp lights while she sleeps off a day of dizzy hot sunshine.
In the midst of it, it’s easy to be petty and it’s easy to pity yourself. It’s hard not to feel afraid, resist and hang on to what’s familiar.
But once you take to those wings you can’t help but dance, and suddenly you find you are an ecstatic piece of art Being and you can do no wrong.
Because playfulness means you can lose and still giggle.
Fluttering is when flying falters.
I wrote this piece as part of a creative writing circle in 2010.