24
Apr
Whenever I pass by a mirror during my aerial travels, my wings seem to stop on their own. I do not want to stop, yet I am forced to face it again: the nameless figure staring back at me. One thing remains: both kin and entomologists can categorize me as an insect.
But that’s not enough for me. I used to know exactly who I was and what was well within my capacities. My rhythm was clear, my possibilities restricted, yet safe. Nothing in me or around my hydrostatic skeleton was beautiful. However, it was my home.
Do not misunderstand me, I am somehow aware I do not miss it, deep inside I know. Rather, I long for the innocence and purity of not knowing what you are getting yourself into. Looking at your reflection and realizing it is indeed you who is staring back.
Every other butterfly that I know is telling me that it will soon get better. And I fully believe that. I fully believe that one day I will not even realize I have passed a mirror. I will hear the breezy sound of my wings and feel at peace. Maybe my heart (or dorsal vessel, if you prefer) will stop skipping a beat each time my legs leave solid ground.
My point is that although this intermediate phase will pass, it does not take away from its importance. It also has to be wholly experienced and integrated in order for me to grow. I did not come out of my cocoon to hide in a metaphorical cocoon. until something happens. Maybe it always passes because my fellow newcomers learn to accept it all. The confusion, the novelty.
I remember too clearly and too vaguely at the same time how it was to be a caterpillar. They have told me memory is a tricky aspect: everything that was seems so ethereal in its utter simplicity. If I dare ponder upon it for too long, dangerous questions pop into my head such as what’s wrong with simple? Indeed, what is wrong with simple? Nothing, really. Nonetheless, the simplicity was never the problem, but the irreversibility. No matter if it was shiny or dull, freeing or confining, it is in the past.
That is exactly what makes it so sweet. During my metamorphosis, one thought has isolated itself from the others, starting with a whisper, ending with shouts: as we evolve, we learn to suffer more deeply. In actuality, we learn to experience every single emotion more deeply, but pain is like honey. It drips and it sticks and it leaves you wanting more while rotting your teeth (if you happen to have that particular feature).
My friends ask me frequently as a caterpillar, did you not dream of being a butterfly? To that, I have to laugh. Dreaming and living are unfortunately very distant relatives. I have also dreamt of embodying a fresh leaf during the first true wind of the spring. I started drifting off to faraway lands. I felt content, at ease. However, being in that situation would freak me out big time. I am not a leaf, nor do I claim to be able to mimic their grace. It is almost the same with being a butterfly. The only difference: I am obliged by nature to mimic my own undiscovered grace.
An impostor. A poorly trained actor. My dream and my reality are not to be mixed up. So I try not to listen to the shouts, not to answer their questions. For now, I only laugh and let myself drown in the sound of my own foreign wings. Because I am not a caterpillar, but I am certainly not a butterfly either. In the privacy of my night cave, nestled between blades of grass, I allow myself the unspeakable, to not be defined. I allow myself to flow between worlds.
That nocturnal ritual leaves me with a comforting notion. I can feel not wrong, while also feeling not right. You cannot settle the storm yourself, you have to wait for it to calm itself by its own means. That is nature, acceptance of chaos.
So what can one do during this in-between stage? Avoid mirrors altogether? Roll one’s eyes every time a friend dares offer a piece of advice? Certainly not, that would be quite detrimental to one’s mental health. Moreover, we do happen to be social butterflies and the action of physically displaying annoyance when someone talks, tends to push them away.
Maybe the solution is not an exact science. It is more in the realm of trial and error. If the thing you are currently doing, thinking or feeling makes you feel even a little bit more yourself, then implement more of it! For me, that magical dust forms from being mesmerized. By everything that I am and can do now. Even if I cannot fully comprehend it, even if it scares my antennae off.
I can demonstrate this process. Let us rethink the first phrase of this speech, namely “Whenever I pass by a mirror during my travels, my wings seem to stop on their own.”. First of all, a mirror? That in itself is so cool! Before becoming a butterfly, I could only catch glimpses of myself when the water decided to be still enough. I moved at such a slow and calculated pace, my Universe could not expand quicker. I would have never imagined, in my wildest dreams, passing by a mirror or other such ingenious devices on a casual day. And now I pass everything by and from above! Shops, parks, ice cream trucks, runners, sniffing dogs, bodies of water. Only now, I am too far in the sky in order to catch my reflection in them.
Moving on: aerial travels. Yes, I might still be a tiny bit terrified of the concept of flying, but I am doing it! And each time I take off, it feels closer to me, to my true essence. Every time I fly, I fly closer to myself. Everything I thought was gigantic and imposing seems so small now. In a beautiful way. Just like when you look up at the night sky and the glistening stars resemble dots. It makes me wonder if I also seem small to myself and other passersby, but am also tremendous when you reach the core. That would be eerie, would it not?
And lastly, wings! Crazy, pure fiction. I cannot even fathom how they have formed, or how they work. I have been told, alas it appears way too magical for me. I think I desire it to be this way. Not all magic has to be explained, only felt. I have wings, beautiful, lithe wings. As gorgeous as they are, they are also fragile. They serve as a reminder that life is delicate and fleeting and if I spend all my time being scared of this version of myself, I will miss out on all the things that make it miraculous.
So yes, gentle soul, grieve who you were. Let yourself feel nostalgic. Let yourself be confused by this change. But do not allow it to take away from the fairy tale that is evolving and growing. Stay curious, keep your senses open to all the stardust the Universe has sprinkled over you since the beginning of it all. Bathe in all this magic.
Kurtiboo
The chase that stems from curiosity, without the need to over intellectualize every magical part of our world, is a lost art. They say ignorance is bliss, but that is not the unknown I mean. It is simply the conscious effort to let some things remain part of the mystery that inspired our ancestors’ folklore.
P.S. This post captures exactly what Kafka tried to convey, but instead, we just ended up with a bunch of roaches on book covers :)).
XOXO, Kurtiboo :*
The Cozy Sisters
I think this blog could use a little bit (or a lot more) of your whimsy! What about a collab? :))) thank you so much for reading this post, we hope we didn’t offend Kafka with the cover 🫶
Kurtiboo
Hahaha, I would actually love to!
P.S. I think Kafka is fine. :))