Hello from the Chrysalis.
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And the portal opened.
Deeply down into the depths of me. Disappearing into darkness. Into the pit of emptiness.
Hard. Empty. Cold. Alone.
Dissolving into tears, it opens up and I drop deeper still.
The messy middle.
And I’m disintegrating into the abyss of sadness. Of loneliness. Nothing but the dark, darkest night. Spirit screaming, as my soul’s sucked through, under the weight of the tear tidal wave churning above my head, into the underworld again.
Terrified.
Hello from the chrysalis.
It doesn’t get easier. Recovery is quicker, but there is no outrunning the unavoidable. The cycle continues. Part of the process of my becoming.
I call these periods my mini-deaths. When I no longer perceive myself to be but dissolve my perception. I am incubating. Percolating. Marinating in the nothingness. Waiting.
And if I claw out too soon or am snapped out of it, dragged up from it, then I’m an unearthed corpse. A falling flesh-zombie, vulnerable to a world of vultures. Everyone a threat, hungry to feed off my pain. To take from the little that’s left off me. Exposed and vulnerable to every predator. Raped of security. Of any semblance of self.
In these times, I must not come out of my larva state too soon. I’m not fully re-formed yet.
Rapid change is occurring from the inside out.
I’m metamorphosing.
In my butterfly becoming.
A time of rest. Of nurturing. I yearn for a cocoon — soft, silky, soothing — but instead it’s slippery here in the in-between. Nothing to grasp on to, to hold out for. I am not as I once was, and not as I am yet to be.
Hello from the chrysalis.
It’s so dark here.
It’s non-verbal communication here.
In the beginning, before words.
Before formation.
Egg into larva, and I cannot emerge.
Pupa in police protection.
Removed from the world, hidden away.
At my most vulnerable, most central, connected to core essence.
Who am I in this complete inertia?
Not what I say, or do, or will myself to be.
I’m out of control here.
Unbound in my undoing.
Suspended in the vacuum of the is that isn’t yet.
The in-between realm of possibilities.
A delightful concept until you’re thrust into the pummeling between each heartbeat. Pounded back into kneaded doughy rawness. Not so delicious now.
Particles of me vibrating in a new frequency. Shimmying in the wet, inky, velvet darkness.
I can’t see, can’t think my way out, just feel my way through here.
Breathe here.
I don’t like all these feelings, yet I’m settled into the unsettledness. Getting comfortable in my uncomfortability as best as I can and can’t again. Allowing it to move and churn and excruciatingly merge into me. There is no escaping the squeeze of rebirth. I am part of the experience. And I don’t understand how it works.
I can’t make sense of the sensations. When nothing is happening, yet everything is somehow rapidly changing. I am inside-outing myself. Perfectly new me, here.
Remarkable transformation in hindsight, but I’m too close to see it while in it.
I never know what to do with myself here and that’s the point.
Hello from the chrysalis.
Stillness.
Acceptance of the wriggling and weaving growing pains that I’m not controlling but that are becoming me.
Soon it will be time to venture into adventure once more.
The portal will open, and light will dissolve the darkness.
I’ll see my way through.
Rise up to spill out into the other side.
Reborn once more. Bigger, brighter, bolder, braver… a more beautiful butterfly.
From feeling stuck and small and so sore, to ready, willing and able to soar.
And so it is, the cycle continues.
Each part unavoidable and a necessity for the total experience.
Created and creator, creating in perpetuity: the collective creative experience.
***
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