Shouldn't…but Do

Captivated by this caterpillar business.

The scoreboard reads: four monarch caterpillars in chrysalis, one almost there, and one still prowling for milkweed.

Surprise at the utter disappearance of large caterpillars into small, almost gossamer slippers has given way to respect for the implacable stillness of a caterpillar awaiting its event horizon – the moments when its final immature form is shed  for a sheath of chrysalis and future life.

Awaiting that transformation,  a monarch caterpillar hangs upside down from its hind feet,  head rounded  up, looking very much like a “J.”  Formerly robust activity is forgotten, inquisitive tentacles droop.  Though caterpillar form is still present – whatever it was,  is gone.  Interiority.  Lost within itself – literally.

I wonder if eyes still see its passing world. Even without choice, I wonder about courage.

The environment and its larval caterpillar form delivered it to this moment.  The ending of this form, the shedding of its skin will occur within the next 24 hours, and then it too – like Mr. Saturday Night – will be gone.

Birth, life, recognition of outmoded ways, liminal stillness awaiting the numinous.  The life of a caterpillar.