|a tussah silk mustachio (a belated tribute to Movember perhaps!)|
I haven’t felt inclined to write much lately. The words usually pour from my fingers, they hit the keys running. My mind disengages and I turn on my heart to find what I want to say. But I suppose I am just a little bit tired of being optimistic, tired of hoping, and marking the minute changes in my health on a weekly basis, sick of still being sick.
I try to remind myself that a silk worm hatches into a moth. Forming a chrysalis is hard work, and very important if a silkworm is ever going to grow up. They spin tiny threads around themselves into a safe haven, and once they are sealed up in this sleeping bag of their own design, they wait. Patiently. Quietly. Knowing that something important will happen after. Their whole being undergoes a great transformation, and only when they are ready do they break free of their cocoon, and dry their wet wings in the sun. Then they are free to fly and explore and do all the complicated moth-things that we are only beginning to understand.
When all of ‘this’ is all finished, my life will ‘move on’ to some place. I supposed it will take awhile for me to understand what ‘this’ was all about, and how it will affect my life (although I am beginning to see how). In the meantime, I need to be patient for wings take a lot of energy to grow.
noun ( pl. -pae |-ˌpē; -ˌpī|)
an insect in its inactive immature form between larva and adult, e.g., a chrysalis.