"...Time changes everything
One truth always stays the same
You're still you
After all
You're still you..."
Josh Groban
"You're Still You"
I was talking to a friend the other day about a butterfly's journey from caterpillar to winged beauty. I shared with her that the caterpillar sheds her entire skin four times before she finally enters the chrysalis. Four complete surrenderings of all she knows of herself and still the real transformation hasn't even begun to happen.
I have been thinking about this -- alot. Each time she loses every inch of her outward being.
And each time she must think, "Whew, this was BIG!! I am brand new -- I am in a completely new skin."
But what she doesn't realize is, that this shedding of her entire outer layer is nothing compared to what will happen once she enters the chrysalis of her own making. That's the real metamorphosis -- the dissolution of her entire being into a black soupy liquid from which will emerge as a butterfly.
But she has no known frame-of-reference for this "becoming."
She doesn't just go from being a fuzzy caterpillar to a skinnier, sleeker caterpillar that sprouts beautiful diaphanous wings. She completely dissolves.
I shared with my friend that - of late - I had become a bit obsessed with the spiritual implications of this necessary "soup" stage in the butterfly's metamorphosis. I couldn't stop thinking: What was still present during this soup stage? What is left of the original?
And what did that original being know - or think - during this time of "soup"? Was she even aware that there was nothing left of the old form? Or was she oblivious of the changes to her form - in light of the "sanctuary space" she was occupying?
Questions, questions, questions -- thank goodness I am most at home in the space of the question, eh!
Since that earlier conversation, my friend had also begun pondering these concepts and she said that Josh Groban's song "You're Still You" had come to mind as inspiration. Wow!
It was a perfectly wonderful answer for me, too.
No matter what transformational shifts we seem to go through in our lives, we are never less that who we are, who always have been, and ever will be. Our spiritual essence -- the radiant Soul "soup" of our identity as the reflection of the Great I AM -- a child of God, the All-in-allness of God expressed as individual humanity. This, I believe, is the fundamental substance of our being that never changes.
It all leaves me speechless with wonder and in awe of His majesty.
These are concepts I have been thinking about for a very long time. And I don't think I am anywhere near the end of mining the butterfly's metamorphosis for spiritual lessons.
But, I am finding that just the title of Groban's "You're Still You" brings me great peace. It is inciting an even deeper stirring within. I wonder if it doesn't give us a glimpse into what is. Perhaps even a deeper spiritual centering. A clearer lens on our indwelling core identity -- one that is untouched by changes in form, surroundings, or self-referencing points. Self-stories that make us feel safe and securely hooked into a familiar reality.
The following is a poem I have been writing for some time. I was finally led to put it down on paper during a recent workshop I participated in with some extraordinary spiritual thinkers. It continues to morph, and evolve, as insights unfold.
I offer it with a profound love for the butterfly, and her willingness to enter the chrysalis of faith. I am humbled by her as she yields to the hand of her Maker -- an Artist who paints diaphanous wings of beauty -- from soup. I simply love this God of ours!!
"You're still you...after all...You're still you"
Does it hurt...
this becoming?
four times
she sheds a past she'd come to own
does she wonder
"will it ever end?"
if she knew of the
dissolving that would follow...
the melting of the only
"ego" she had ever known
would she plead
"take this cup"
and then surrender all to...
"Thy will be done..."
do butterflies
weep
when wings burst from soup
that was once
tight skin she thought defined her
Does the call
to fly
terrify one
who, until the moment of her release
had only crawled with
all feet firmly planted on
what...to her...was solid ground
hanging in
the dark chrysalis
does she realize
that her
becoming
shakes leaves and branch and stem
the entire world of ants living on the edge
busy with their scurried gathering
I asked her once
she said,
"I can't remember
when I was not a butterfly..."
Mary Baker Eddy must have lived in the space of the butterfly, for her to understand the faith it takes to be able to yield to the dissolution of the ego -- for the promise of wings. I love that she wrote:
"Faith is higher and more spiritual than belief. It is a chrysalis state of human thought, in which spiritual evidence, contradicting the testimony of material sense, begins to appear, and Truth, the ever-present, is becoming understood."
The Truth of who we are is ever-present. The butterfly must have great faith in this promise of eternal self-awareness to be able to surrender all outward evidence of her identity to the spiritual evidence of conscious being. There is still so much to learn from her. I sit at the butterfly's feet waiting for the next lesson...
Kate
Addendum:
A frequent reader and long-time follower of this blog reminded me that I had posted a butterfly poem three years ago. Here is the link to it: "Chrysalis Surrender" I had forgotten how long this fascination with butteryfly consciousness had been inhabiting my heart.
with Love,
Kate
postscript:
two of my dear friends have posts on their blogs that are directly related to this discussion...Travis Thomas and Duncan Wilder...click on their names to go to these posts...with Love,
Kate
