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Moment by Moment

Moment by Moment

butterfly

Tomorrow beckons like the promise of a caterpillar’s future. Ready to be released from that deep coma as something fresh. I raise my head towards what is next, slowly shedding the skin of my past. My mistakes, my faults, and my missed opportunities. But in this great and necessary exchange, am I also shedding my successes, my heroics, or bravery? Clasping to those paper-like memories, crumpled in the corners of my mind. Waiting to see what remains as each night I lay down to die. But do the oars of a boat push old waves behind it or simply wade through what is always new? And does that little worm remember who it was as it now flies from its cocoon? This resounding chorus of constant change- the only truth- is painted on the wings of a butterfly, the linear yet chaotic veins of the leaves, in the deep caverns of your pupils, and even heard in the solitary whisper of the grating rainstorm.

Still, I am tempted to scorn who I was for the embrace of who I am now. And still, I am tempted to dwell on what I did do rather than what can be done. Will the new winged creature lament the loss of his coat or the endless sleep it grew to love?

No. Impossible.

Isn’t the butterfly still a product of the cocoon? Didn’t its little shelter need to be woven by the caterpillar? And without the small clump of cells it once started as, when it was not even conscious of what it would become yet? Where would this butterfly be?

The worm’s whole future. The bug’s entire past. Exist with it as moment by moment pass.

By simply being there and being what it is, the world’s smartest creatures are the ones who simply live. Enacting their own transformation by occurring out of time. Knowing that sometimes change is just the wait to fly.

 

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