Consider the monarch,
beyond the miraculous stained glass
window of its wings, seashells of scales arrayed
light and dark, sunlight and night-black,
each in its place, gilding the meadow with its art;
beyond its legs, thinnest jointed, muscled hairs
that grasp and walk; or its tender, curled proboscis
that uncurls and reaches deep to drink of nectar;
beyond its thousand-paneled eyes, consider:
that it is here at all.
That these flimsy wings, these little plates of dust
that flap with such naive abandon, such feeble hope,
such confident weakness, and carry it hither and thither
with seeming helplessly random wandering,
have borne this creature through winds and currents,
around storms and cities and over superhighways—
and somehow, it is here.
That it is the great-grandchild of those famous pioneers
who flew south to Mexico, never having been there,
but who followed the wisdom passed down from
their great-grandparents, who flew north,
never having been here—yet it is here.
That this wisdom spanning seasons and continents
was carried by a caterpillar who, in the fullness of time,
wove itself a casket, crawled in, and devolved into mush—
just a soup of goo—and waited, until from the mush
a butterfly formed and grew, and in time
ruined its casket and emerged
and unfolded its ridiculously wrinkled wings,
still with the wisdom of how to get to Mexico
on those thinner-than-paper wings of black and gold
somehow preserved and carried from flower to flower—
and came to you.
Consider, then, when you feel overwhelmed,
and up against the odds, the likelihood
that by the grace that livens every living thing,
you too will endure.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
Listen to the audio recording:
Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 2:26 — 3.3MB)