a caterpillar. and then, a butterfly.

    at the end of june, as i was walking in the small vegetable garden here, the sprinkler caught me by surprise.  i moved quickly and in a jerky kind of way.  i felt the strain, the pull, immediately.  i sprained, or re-injured my hip.  suddenly i was needing to put much more weight on my cane.  and then realized i needed to return to the crutches for a few days.  that was a hard regression.   i hobbled about frustrated and demoralized, puzzling over how such a small move could have such a large impact.  the re-healing took about 6 weeks.  during which time, just as my hip was feeling better, i woke one day to discover that i could not put any weight onto the cane because the right side of my torso would go into painful contraction.  my torso had taken the brunt of the extra weight i was throwing into the cane during the re-healing.  now the only way i could walk was without the cane and in baby steps.    there's a lesson.  or a metaphor perhaps.  move on my new legs slowly but freely- imagine myself, know myself, to be an infant in my re-birth.  give this the time it begs.  one step at a time.

    as my hip heals, as i feel increased mobility and strength in my physical body, i naturally want to move.  and with this,  i find myself in that place where i could leap too fast into an old, familiar pattern of movement or just move too fast - because i can.   i remind myself to pace myself.  that now, as much as ever in this healing process, i need to take my time.  not that i can't leap at times.  leaps are recommended in the right moments.  but to balance it, surround those moves with quiet, calm time.  or better yet, live the movement, of whatever kind, in a relaxed state - not racing.  finding an equilibrium between inner and outer.  i may need to move quickly with my body at times, but to maintain an interior calm.

    when i travelled to ghana some years ago,  i heard often from the people there, "take time."  this is very much how they lived.  some people make a silly joke about the difference in the sense of time that africans can experience versus the one that we do.  the fact is, we have something to learn from them.  if you'll allow me a generalization - they are not ruled by the clock, that artificial means of measuring time.  their days are guided by some more organic and fluid meter.  a rhythm suggested by the heat of the day, the call of companionship, the song of laughter.  some people in our country manage that too.  i admire that.  it feels to me more like soul-living.

    and so, i remind myself to take time.  take time, dear wendy.  go gently forward.  allow yourself the organic loop-de-loops in your path.  meander.   and rest as needed.

******

    as i lay in bed one morning recently, drifting in that space between waking and dreaming, my dear nephew, nico, now seven-and-a-half years old, appeared in my soul-mind's eye.  he said, “first i am the caterpillar.  and then i am the butterfly.”  he said it very simply.  without affect or emphasis.  the most natural thing in the world.

******

    take time, dear friends.  and then, fly.


with love,
wendy