I Worried Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers flow in the right direction, will the earth turn as it was taught, and if not how shall I correct it? Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven, can I do better? Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows can do it and I am, well, hopeless. Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it, am I going to get rheumatism, lockjaw, dementia? Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing. And gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.
Over the past weekend I was taking a load of things to be discarded to our green dumpster that we’ve utilized for over a year now because of ongoing construction at our house. As I was closing the lid on the right hand side there was a newborn monarch butterfly allowing its wings to dry next to its cocoon. This absolutely amazed me and felt like such a metaphor for life. How often have I needed to discard that which no longer serves me, whether it be a thought form, something tangible, a belief, a habit before something new can be birthed?
The dumpster is picked up weekly by a truck that travels swiftly down the road and the soon to be butterfly was on weekly wild ride indeed. For whatever reason it must have chosen that site when there are numerous other options, trees, nooks and crannies which feel so much more conducive for new life from a human perspective. Yet this creature felt something around the stability of this structure or maybe it simply wasn’t worried as Mary Oliver speaks of and gave it a go, trusting that its metamorphosis could happen even in the most unpredictable of places.
It might have been so easy to miss this gorgeous butterfly, yet I didn’t. I took the picture trying to not disturb it and the next time I checked it had taken flight. Its cocoon still intact, a tiny hole out of which it emerged in its new and glorious form. Knowing that after such a birth it needed time to acclimate and gain its strength before taking its maiden voyage. No worrying and following and trusting the instincts its been given.
Nature continues to teach me about the paradoxes of life. On the fringes of the dumpster emerged a beauty. Perhaps when I feel like a red, hot mess, when I'm that dumpster, if I am able to pause, to wait long enough, to trust and follow my instincts and intuition something new might emerge, ready to take flight just like that spectacular butterfly; I can only hope.
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