Now I like worms, wormies, if you will. When I find one in the garden, I squeal with delight. I’ll lift it up, give it a little pat (sometimes even a kiss) and place it gently away from my sharp and dangerous efforts so it can peacefully squirm at a safe distance.
When the rains flood the grass and form pools on the concrete, I rescue stranded ones that have made their damp way to pavement after a storm.
I honor and thank them with my spirit if they happen to be used for fishing bait, or apologize softly if I nick them with the edge of my shovel.
As you might imagine, not everyone shares this particular affinity. In fact, I’d argue that many consider worms with disgust or unease as evidenced by an involuntary shiver or scrunching of the nose at their mention. Not me. I like wormies–the lil guys and the big honkers.
Not kin to the worm, though occasionally mistaken as a doppelganger, is the caterpillar. I like to think that the caterpillar might be inadvertently exposed to some of the harmful rhetoric meant for the worm–similarly classified by their presumed insignificance. With ants and june bugs, under the category: small critters that a toddler or grown person might squish out of curiosity or absentminded boredom.
Where am I going with this. These small critters are an invaluable asset to their ecosystem, and they are just trying to exist. And there is a large subset of the human population that does not see their worth. And it does damage, I think, to the worm, ant, june bug, and caterpillar–literally and metaphorically speaking.
Now some worms stay worms for their entire life. (No shame in the wormie game–we’ve already established my undying love for them.) But some worms undergo an impressive transformation. (Spoiler alert: I’m talking about the caterpillars.) They enter a cocoon where they become mush for a little while. I imagine this is a time for deep reflection, stillness, and complete and total trust in the Divine. I’d like to say rest, too; but I imagine it is quite a lot of work to be scrambled up like that–even though it looks like a cozy nap from the outside.
When the caterpillar comes out of his dark night of the soul, he faces some unique challenges. Not only does he need to navigate the world in an entirely new manner (uh, the wings), he also needs to shed some of his survival mechanisms (I might call them maladaptive strategies.) that no longer serve him. After hearing for so long certain untruths, he might have let them settle into himself as truths. These untruths may include, but are not limited to: insignificance, unworthiness. Maybe he lost sight of his own divinity. Might have come to believe he was a burden. Maybe he kept his head down desperately hoping not to be noticed.
Either way, emerging with wings and with bright colors and an indescribable grace, the little caterpillar has no way of denying his significance, his beauty, his purpose, his divine nature.
I think I’ve spent the last few months, maybe the last year, in a cocoon. It was very dark, very disorienting, confusing, lonely, isolating. God, it felt endless. I had a surplus of time, an abundance, if you will. I accepted–and occasionally denied–many invitations to look inward, to reflect, to examine. Um, much of what I saw was **unfortunate**. I started to recognize some parts of me that I really didn’t love. I’ve come to know these efforts as “shadow work”–learning to accept, embrace, and love even the darkest parts. The grimy and disgusting and hidden parts.
I think of the magic, though, that I get to witness in myself. Embracing the scrappy parts that kept me safe. Loving the fierce parts that fight against injustices. Accepting the lonely parts that didn’t get the love they needed. Letting air and light onto these old wounds, rubbing them with salve and whispering “I love you. I’m here now. We’re going to be all right, together.”
And isn’t a cocoon just that, magic? Being still enough to let some divine magic flow through your entire being and change you into something incredibly beautiful (in the butterfly’s case, a pollinator, of all things). A little critter that brings life to everything it touches. And to think at one point in time a whole slew of people didn’t see my worth. Didn’t see the caterpillar’s worth. Didn’t see the worm’s worth.
But here we are on the other side. After an eternity in disoriented isolation. After years of neglect and/or abuse. Completely transformed, absolutely thriving, and looking damn good while we do it.