I think you’d be hard-pushed to find a better symbol for the journey of the soul than the butterfly. All that beauty, all that becoming after a gangly, unpromising start.
So much of the time, I feel caterpillar-ish: green and awkward, hungry and homeless. I’m unsettled, and not quite me yet, longing for transformation into something ‘other’ that I do not yet know.
…Cocoon. The slurry of un-becoming. Transformation…
Perhaps the start was not so unpromising after all, for all its awkward, hungry, unsettledness. The ‘me’ was there, learning to become.
I have just noticed that the word ‘become’ has included ‘be me’ all along…
This reminds me of a wonderful story:
Before his death, Rabbi Zusya said “In the coming world, they will not ask me: ‘Why were you not Moses?’ They will ask me: ‘Why were you not Zusya?'”