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I surrender…
Prompted by a comment on “Postcards from the Chrysalis”, I was originally going to call this story “How I stopped worrying about the butterfly and learned to love the chrysalis”.
But as I sat with her comment all week, I came to realize that like the spoon in the Matrix, there is no chrysalis.
A chrysalis implies a safe container, a solid structure that encases and holds me as I transform. I’m not feeling safely contained or held right now.
I’m being sucked down in the darkest recesses of my psyche, getting to the really deep work — drowning in what feels like an endless sea of core wounds and generations of ancestral shit.
Having awakening after awakening like I’m living a conscious remake of Groundhog’s Day.
Wondering when — if— this period of intense suffering and struggle will end and the joy return.
Really wishing Bill Murray were around to provide some comic relief in the meantime.
A chrysalis also implies a butterfly will automagically emerge from this mucky, gooey darkness into the light and take flight. That transformation is a linear process with a predictable trajectory and a defined timeline — caterpillar → chrysalis full of goo → beautiful butterfly.
When it comes to this stage of my heroine’s journey, this metaphor for…
