I am the caterpillar that has turned to mush inside its cocoon. I am the woman in a state of unhurried transition. Cooped up and forced to let go of who I know myself to be. Hoping to emerge one day, one hour, one minute with a clear direction on how to move forward in my life. How to stop inching and crawling along and learn to fly on untested wings.
I never saw this coming, this soul-deep, emotional tidal-wave-of-a-transition. It has not been fun and it has gone on seemingly beyond acceptable limits. But likely, the point of it all is to break me free of self-imposed limits. I have more than a few. Some are staunch and decades old. None of them serve my higher good. And so, the Universe has decided to crush me, mush me like a bug, stew me in my own juices and make me wait. Wait through the tears, the mind-babble and the long moments of unhappiness. Wait through the restlessness, the insults to ego and the yearnings which cannot be named.
I have stewed so long I have almost evaporated. Which, again, is the point. When the old me, the self-limiting me, the I-can't-possibly-deserve-that me has dissolved into vapors, only then can the reformation begin. Only then can I possibly hope to carry out the dreams I have for myself. Dreams of deep love and family. Dreams of serving the greater good of humanity. Dreams of healing nature from the worst of humanity. Dreams of daily peace of mind.
What will bring about my reformation? What will move me beyond the mush? What will form my butterfly wings? Patience with myself. A surrender of the woman I used to be. Acceptance and nonresistance of the turmoil within me. And willingness. Willingness to allow the woman God meant for me to be to transition, to emerge and to fly.