But what about the waiting,
The void that separates what once was, and what is soon to be.
The period of time from which a beginning and end are seen,
But nobody talks about the space that exists in their seam.
I’m talking about the chrysalis.
Do you ever think about what a butterfly might do
To keep itself busy inside a cocoon?
What if I told you, the answer was this:
Nothing—nothing at all,
It simply exists.
It lives in the waiting.
It basks in the glory of the present moment,
All the while giving thanks
for the transformation unfolding.
Unbeknownst to passersby,
Is the beautiful, powerful, nearly unfathomable growth occurring inside the walls of a fragile little shell.
No more than an inch
No more than a mere droplet of green
Dangling on a branch,
Thriving in the in-between.
For the caterpillar knows it will be held and protected,
Supported by the tree
And soothed by the soft breath of Mother Earth.
It knows that it’s safe
To begin a rebirth.
And so it waits.
It waits with patience,
And above all else
for the future ahead;
Knowing that the waiting is just as miraculous as what comes at the end.
All the while the caterpillar knows
That the present moment,
Floating in the space between then and now,
Tucked away in a cocoon
Is just as much, if not more beautiful, than the wings—
Waiting patiently to break free.