A naive caterpillar views butterflies soaring above with disdain; oblivious to
the truth that becoming a butterfly is also her destiny. A discerning caterpillar
relishes incubation and is intently focused on absorbing the wisdom,
soaking up the divine guidance, storing up the sacred courage that is activated
and kicked into high gear when convinced that the inner splendor in its midst
has been given permission to soar.
- Michelle
Hollinger
When women submit to a tattoo artist’s ink, a
butterfly is frequently the preferred image; and with good reason: the life of
a butterfly holds remarkable parallels to a woman’s evolution.
The caterpillar’s emergence from its cocoon, where internally, significant work takes place in preparation for its ascent into the winged life of the majestic butterfly, is a powerful metaphor for the woman who understands the adage, “as within, so without.”
The butterfly parallel resonates because it is steeped in our innate longing to emerge as the woman we are here to become. It intrigues because life is about evolving and we assume that our ascension to the level where our best self hangs out is a given; that we will begin to click on all cylinders – fully immersed in our calling, enjoying the abundance that flows easily from sharing our passion, engaging in harmonious relationships with parents, children and with a soul mate also living their truth; standing serenely in our authenticity – our “yeses” meaning yes and our “nos” no; owning our voice, speaking up courageously, demonstrating to others how we are to be treated by loving ourselves deeply and honoring ourselves unapologetically.
The mere passage of time does not ensure ascension.
What happens during the passage of
time determines whether we decide, once and for all, to grab that
elusive aspiration because we deserve to know, in this lifetime, what it feels like
to finally achieve a cherished goal, like releasing the stubborn excess weight,
ditching the paycheck to paycheck merry-go-round, or peacefully exiting the
outgrown relationship.
If the passage of time involves shutting off the
external noise and listening to our own voice, we could arrive at the
unmistakable truth that it’s up to us and only us to transition from what feels safe to what is true.
If the passage of time includes getting to know who
we really are, then we’ll invest time enough with our inner splendor to know
that allowing it to linger in what is essentially confined space can kill us
because it doesn’t belong there – it’s supposed to be expressed, its wings are
meant to expand.
If the passage of time involves connecting with the goddess within, even the pristine among us may passionately whisper, mostly to ourselves, “fuck the comfort zone,” it’s time to step boldly into MY zone – the zone that has my name on it and frees me to dance for no reason and sing on key or off as though no one is listening.
If, after passage of its cocooned time, a caterpillar has completed the internal work and is ready to emerge, but doesn’t, it will cease to exist because it did not ascend to its reason for existing. It dies a natural death and is eaten by other insects and small animals in the great circle of life.
If, during her passage of time, a woman does not engage her inner splendor, if she does not become an archeologist in her own life, if she doesn’t use her time to turn inward to the innate courage and power poised to leap with her into her reason for existence, she, too, dies a natural death.
Although the date of her burial may be in the distant future – she is essentially among the walking dead; those people who continue to move and breathe but no longer exist because stepping fully into their existence took a back seat to fear, others’ opinions, an addiction to "coulda, woulda, shouldas" and a flat out refusal to soar.
