- Books, Literature, and Writing
Waiting for my Wings
I was born to wander low to the ground
Stepping lightly in this world
Not making much of a sound
Nor calling much attention to myself
Yet I was/am noticed.
Always aware of everything around me
I never missed a thing
Observing each being passing through my world
Always listening with the intent to understand
Alert to every predator
I always had this spark inside me that I can’t explain
That there was a bigger plan for me
Some greater purpose or mission was always inside my head
I don’t understand
How a fire can be planted
In such a helpless creature
So many predators wanting to eat me
What are my chances of surviving and thriving anyway?
I try to stay out of sight.
Why would I have this strong feeling
Of a greater purpose,
If this is all there is?
I eat away at all the healthy leaves
Listen, Watch, and Learn
Preparing myself for whatever is next
It hasn’t come.
And I’ve been here a long time
Living through hell
I am so very tired
Harrowing events have shaken my world to the very core
Challenges, that’s what I used to call them
Stones thrown in my path
Obstacles to climb;
Forks in the road
Forced decisions where the outcome wasn’t clear
Insurmountable it seemed. Seems.
I saw another like me today.
He was wrapping himself up in a cocoon of silk
It seemed like a shroud for the dead
Like preparing your grave and lying in it
Waiting to die
But knowing death’s shadow would come quickly
I watched all day as he worked the intricate blanket
So delicate and fine at first
Then it seemed impenetrable
Until no hint of him remained
I should have talked to him
Before he went in
To know what he was feeling
If he knew this dark despair
And heart-wrenching sadness
I needed to know if that was the impetus
That finally made him give up
And shut himself completely from the world
- did the pain just become unbearable?
- were his wounds too deep to heal?
- was he tired of screaming inside when outside he couldn't make a sound?
- did the loneliness become too cold?
- had he given his all in his last fight?
- Was there nothing left?
- did he feel so hopeless that he was already dead inside?
When he last stood at the mirror, did he see his reflection?
Tonight, I began my own spinning
With every strand, another tear
The tears melted the silken strand to bind them together like glue.
And the darker the cocoon, the smaller the space; the better I felt
Knowing death was near, was a welcoming thought
With each strand I spun, I let go of a piece of the burden
The tighter everything grew around me
My pain began slipping away.
I’m floating free for the first time ever in my lifetime
No fear, no predators, no worry, no pain.
For once in my life, I am not afraid.
And I wait.
- Monarch Caterpillar turning into a cocoon - YouTube
Footage had to be sped up 10,000X to make it not so long, it took over 3 hours to get everything. You can purchase this video clip on www.istockphoto.com, it...