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PhilosophyCenter | Musings

Posts from — July 2017

Cocoons of Change

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different
from what any one supposed, and luckier.
| Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Cocoons of Change

The butterfly doesn’t spring fully formed from the chrysalis immediately, nor the baby from its mother’s womb, nor a deep and abiding love at the first encounter. There is a point, certainly, when “cocooning” has completed its gestation, and life bursts forth into transformed expression—but only after the required time, at the fated hour, after being fashioned by invisible hands that move outside our will. Nowhere is this more evident than during our entrance into and exit from this world. Both birth and death gather the life force at some mysterious center, drawing attention gravitationally into a density only echoed during the many transitions we undergo as we grow and develop, as though in preparation for the implosion into life at the next level. It is humbling and heartbreaking to witness these primal transitions, humbling because we cannot but recognize that we are in the presence of something great, heartbreaking for the sheer magnitude of life gathering itself in readiness for the next iteration. In this sense, birth and death are evolutionary.

Of course, between our birth and our death is all that time in between. Steadied by the progression of the passing years, perhaps mesmerized by it, we soon forget our arrival through the doorway of the sacred, and may spend much of our life denying our inevitable appointment at that same door when breath begins to take its leave, and the unseen hands that prepared us for this world begin preparing us for the next. And yet, we have something to say about this. I mean that we have it within our means, at least somewhat, to remember, to meet the sacred halfway, so to speak, to recognize the mysterious in the everyday. Especially during times of profound transition—falling in love, falling ill, in the crucible of loss, when unnamed rites of passage overtake us—there is the opportunity to deliberately, intentionally enter the cocoon of change and allow mystery to move through us, to carry us along and reshape us. Such moments stand out as quietly momentous. They rewrite the rules and call us to transcend, to open ourselves to something unimagined, and to defer in our marrow to the something greater that has overtaken us.

It is possible, then, for us to “die” consciously, to willingly cooperate in the cocoons of change rather than fight, resist, assert our will, and all the rest of the ways we seem determined to make ourselves miserable. Instead, recognizing that change is at hand, that it has its own direction and timing, we can simply bow, cooperate, allow, move with. This requires a bit of practice in recognizing when it is time to stop doing and turn our attention to being. Conditions may be closing in upon us, like the contractions of birth and death that signal that life is ready, but we are safe in the refuge of having released all concern about outcomes, in trusting, as Rilke writes, that life has us in its hands and will not let us fall.

When we have come to the end of our will, when all further doing refuses to make a difference, every effort has the reverse effect, and our best plans only make things worse, we have a better option: We can bow. And this simple act of humility, of willingly entering the cocoon when it is time in the faith that life knows what it is doing even when we do not, can see us through to the other side.

July 30, 2017   Comments Off on Cocoons of Change