Cocoon

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Do not expect cocooning To be easy.

It is not a time of rest But of rebirth.

They used to think

That the Caterpillar Merely slept there,

Awaiting the wonder of wings.

This is not true.

To cocoon means the breaking down of self,

Of letting go of all that may be considered Caterpillar.

Yielding to the chrysalis call.

Dropping all that is old identity,

All that is desire,

All that is hungry,

All that is eating, eating, eating, Endlessly.

When the moment comes, called

To go to the cool dark underleaf, underlog place,

To spin the silk of silent self,

The Caterpillar dissolves,

Touches the point of nothingness Of being;

Become now neither Caterpillar nor Butterfly

Become simply, potential,

Until new form is found,

Until the self-made tomb is too tight

And Butterfly is birthed, bursting blessing, beauty.

A journey through stillness into freedom, into flight,

No one who knew the Caterpillar would know it in the Butterfly,

No one who knows the Butterfly

Would see in it Even the memory Of Caterpillar,

Yet within there is, a continuity of being

A new recipe out of old ingredients

A life remade, a seed flowered, a potency fulfilled,

There is pain in this I am sure.

How could there not be?

There is always pain In surrender,

In transformation, In new life, new birth

Death before resurrection, Letting go, before letting be

This is the divine order of things

This is why there hides even here, even now,

In all your old Caterpillar desiring,

In the hunger at the core of your being,

The promise of Butterfly If you would but surrender

To the call Of the cocoon.

If you would know, even for a day,

The wonder of wings

The freedom of flight.

By Brother Richard Hendrick 8th May 2020