1st Life of a Butterfly

I saw her inch along the path feeding and releasing,

hiding beneath a leaf when she needed rest more than food;
when she needed shelter or protection.  

And she never complained, at least not that I’d heard,

Even when her very life was threatened by a

Curious child or a hungry bird. 

She moved with intention, determined to have all that she needed

Movements always forward, around obstacles – but she never retreated

Never moved backwards – and I wondered what the caterpillar would say

If she didn’t lack words.

Would she speak about how her insatiable hunger wasn’t for leaves or grass,

But for change?  To be something other than who she was at that moment

Something other than what some find repulsive

Or a curiosity to be trapped, held, and studied… but rarely kept for love of its beauty

Would she tell me of how she tired of longing and never having - Eating and never being satisfied –

All while the impulse for change grew in proportion for her desire to rest… to stop… to sleep

Which voice to obey?  To continue following that hunger and drive for change

Until so slowed by toil and disappointment that she is overtaken by weariness

And wraps herself in the pain of unrealized hope.

Did lady caterpillar have ears to hear me?  Could she hear my heart wanting the same change?

Feeding my desire for it the same away – not with leaves, but with:
food, ex, shopping, drugs, alcohol, or religion?
Would she hear me tell her that her search and toil would end in victory?

…That the shroud she wove for herself was not one of death, but preparation

That the pain of living was necessary for translation… for transformation

Translation because she lacked the language to understand what was next

Transformation because pain can be transformative

If she endured the process she would never have a taste for bitter leaves again –

She would desire only the nectar of the sweetest flowers

And what’s more – have the ability to reach them.

She wouldn’t be confined to just one stem, but have her pick of the choicest blooms.

Would she take my words as a reverberating  lullaby to soothe & comfort her

Anesthetize her during her self-imposed isolation?

I went to revisit that caterpillar after a time. 
I guess she her once shelter of solace grew too confining.

Change and patience had its perfect work as I watched

this creature birth itself into a second life.

And I wondered what she might remember of her old life…
would she remember her very first taste of leaves as sweet on her tongue

Or would she remember the bitterness that developed over time and with age

How would that butterfly remember her life without wings?

How will I?