Metamorphosis and Metaphor

Spring, my favorite time of year, is a time of rebirth, a time of awakening, of new growth. A hopeful crocus pokes it’s head above the snow. Fields of flowers appear overnight, seedpods burst open. A caterpillar emerges from its chrysalis as if to say- “Look at me! I begin again- I am alive!”

Two weeks ago, Evan and I adopted a caterpillar from Kidspace, a local children’s science center. It’s been quite an exciting experience for us to watch “Tiny”, who started out smaller than a grain of rice, rapidly outgrow his name, becoming a pudgy wriggling 2 inch caterpillar. Yesterday, we awoke to find Tiny encased in a chrysalis. Inside, his former self melts away as a new being is formed. In a matter of days, he will emerge from his Chrysalis and unfurl his wings.

Every stage of Tiny’s short life has been fascinating for Evan, and metaphoric for me.

Our traditions at this time of Spring equinox, from the biblical tales of Passover to Jesus’ resurrection, to symbols of birth and new beginnings (rabbits, eggs) remind us that it’s time for our own new beginnings. It’s my time to find redemption for the ways I was broken, to emerge from my own self-made chrysalis and stretch my wings.

For the first thirty years of my life, I hid the story of who I was: the daughter of a convict, raised by a single mom who worked nights in dark, smoky nightclubs. I was the little girl lost, the runaway, the bird with a broken wing. In my forties, I wrapped myself in the chrysalis of introspection, immersed myself in my own unraveling. I wrote a book embracing the truth of who I was and where I came from, allowing the old me to melt away with every word.

As Tiny sheds his chrysalis, I, too, want to shed what I have wrapped myself in for so long.

I want to see what color I am now without that old story wrapped around me. I want to let my true self emerge, the self that has no scars or history, the self that embraces all possibility. I want to leave behind the cocoon of limiting beliefs and self-defeating patterns. I want to let go of my past and let my wings unfurl.

Like Tiny, I want to be light, like the butterfly who rises above, spends her days moving from flower to flower, pollinating the garden, helping new things to grow.

My heart is ripe for a Spring awakening. During this time of rebirth and redemption, I open myself to new beginnings full of possibility.

I wish the same for you...

Happy Easter, Happy Passover, Happy Spring to all!

UPDATE: Today, April 14th, Evan's caterpillar Tiny emerged from the chrysalis!

Awake

Driving my son home from Pre-k today, the sky was huge and ominous - a sky big enough to swallow you like a speck of dust. Pregnant grey rain clouds overhead threatened to burst again. But in between, patches of blue, and just enough sun to cast a soft golden glow over the suburban landscape. Rays of sunlight refused to be oppressed, forcing their way through in sharp streams of silver. My god, that sky, those clouds. I thought of the times I've stood before a Vermeer painting thinking, where are those skies? Do they even exist anymore? And here it was. Today. Just for me.

I was sitting at a stoplight, listening to Regina Spektor’s gorgeous song Samson, and everywhere I looked, the world was in technicolor bloom bathed in that golden haze. Sparrows perched on telephone wires shook the rain from their feathers and swept across wet lawns, feasting on seeds and worms. Perfection in creation. Spring. My beautiful, beautiful Spring, my favorite time of year. Signs of hope, rebirth, new beginnings. Every bud, every blade of grass poking its head through the hardened ground saying look at me! I begin again, I am reborn! And how apropos, I thought, that this should happen just as I feel my own heart is beginning to thaw,  as I shed old skin and wounds mend into silvery fine-line scars.

It was this tiny ordinary moment, sitting at a red light, when all at once, a gust of wind blew through the dogwood trees and tiny white blossoms fell like snow all around me, covering my windshield and the hood of my car, my son in his car seat giggling with wonder.

Heart-stopping. Breathless. Wonder. It overtook me, and I remembered… the world is actually a perfect place, and everything is as it should be. I forgot. I forgot for so long.

That tiny moment broke my heart. Open.

And I wept.

Because I had forgotten how it felt to be wide awake in the world.