Have you ever wondered how a butterfly feels during the tremendous changes she goes through during her short life? Does she know what her voracious feeding leads to? Does she feel trapped in her cocoon or does she gently dream the days away? What of the struggle to burst from her casing and fill her wings with her life’s blood? Does she even recognize herself in her new glory?
Does a butterfly revel in the process of her changing, or struggle through it?
I, too, am in a season of change.
While my physical form will remain as it is, my life is to become unrecognizable to those who know me now. I have spent over two decades voraciously feeding on the knowledge of others, preparing for I knew not what. The last several years, I have cocooned myself in my sweet little cottage, content and gently dreaming, but never reaching for anything.
Lately, I have come to realize that my serenity has ended. My present life has grown too tight to contain all of me. I must either burst from it or something deep inside of me will wither and die.
I must become
It is not easy to make such a drastic change. It is not so much my own fears that bind me to my known existence, but the people who
Would they keep me always less than myself?
Perhaps not, if they understood how painful not changing is when someone is in the process of metamorphosis. The change has already begun. I cannot go back any more than the chrysalis can slip back into her discarded skin and become a caterpillar again.