Change: the only constant

Truth: There might not be any

Expectation: If too firm, can always be broken

We talk of the rebirth from caterpillar to butterfly. We use this birth in metaphor quickly, haphazardly, without thought. We focus on the rebirth rather than the death and rebuilding. The butterfly rather than the chrysalis. The beauty of the wings, the flight of the moth or the flutter of the buttefly, the freedom from the womb. Why? Why do we set ourselves upon the rebirth and not the rebuilding?

Perhaps it is because the rebuilding is a death hidden from our view, spun inside a chrysalis of silken shell. We cannot see it, and so we do not speak of it.

And is this really all that different from those situations we apply this metaphor to? Do we not hide our own deaths, our own destructions, our own rebuildings from those around us? Only to later flaunt our newfound wings?

We flutter around a virtual world believing only in the wings, the colors, the flight, the flowers. Behind every screen, quiet in the dark, sits a chrysalis of change, a dying caterpillar, degenerating its own cells.

I have died. Change threw the first punch. Truth kicked me while I was down. Broken expectation dissolved my being. And now I sit in the darkness, hardening my shell, holding on to the handful of cells that remain: preparing them for a new life. But I don’t show you this. I wait for the wings.

Yes, it is true. We all degenerate; we all die. It is unavoidable. But it does not need to be hidden. Protected, yes. Hidden, no.

There is no shame in the unavoidable change that breaks each of us down and makes room for rebirth. Look for it. Realize it is there. All around you, there is suffering. Behind the selfies, behind the smiles, behind the still shots, there is tumult and discord, there are hours of destruction, there are days of degeneration.

And there is rebuilding.

There is the endlessly miraculous and difficult work of rebuilding. There is the making of body, piece by piece. The realization of self, moment by moment. The entry into light, tear by tear.

And there is beauty, and peace, and color, and flight.

Without change, without destruction and rebirth, there is no new life.

Without the chrysalis, there is no butterfly.

And there is no shame in that.

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