 The
TransformationWhat
is this thing we call death? What does it mean? If we really think
about it can we even justify the word in it's literal meaning?
Surely when one thing “dies” another thing takes it's place
immediately. Like, when a plant withers away it leaves the “dead'
leaves, but the nutrients still remain in the seed and if we allow
nature take it's course, the plant will re emerge in it's own time.
Death is a temporary passing, a fading away, or loss of “what
was”... Making room for the “what is”. It's
a change of state, a shift into another place perhaps. Take the
example of the most wonderful process of metamorphosis – the
'death' of the caterpillar. A
little caterpillar lives her life crawling around through the
undergrowth, munching her way through the leaves, the plants, the
soil, the vegetation, the fruit, whatever foliage she comes across.
This is her primary function, to eat, to grow and to gain energy.
The little caterpillar does not seem to interact with any other
caterpillar, or have much of a life other than one of sheer
indulgence and devastation. It's function just seems to be to
devour, to engulf as much as she can, day after day, after day. One
day, the not so little caterpillar stops. She has almost eaten
herself to death. She needs a pause, a break, a rest, to digest
several lifetimes worth of nutrients. She needs to go to sleep,
wrapping herself up in her cozy silky sheet, round and round,
cocooning herself away from the wind and the rain, the cold and the
frost. The soft blanket surrounds this caterpillar through the
winter, and keeps her warm safe and dry. But,
what is happening? Is the caterpillar dying? Does the caterpillar
know that this is the end of life as she knows it? Did she make her
necessary preparations and plans for the end of her life, or is she
just doing what comes naturally and going with the natural flow of
her instinct? In
this soft and secure cocoon, while she sleeps and rests, there is a
change taking place, a shift, an evolution, a metamorphosis. Like
the safe cocoon of the mothers womb, where an egg meets with a tiny
tadpole of a sperm, and cells multiply, grow and over some time,
transform a foetus into a fully developed human form. A form that
has the capacity to think, imagine, dream, manifest. A being so
evolved and magical that if we were to really think about it, we
would be in constant wonder and amazement. The caterpillar emerges,
one day. Breaking out of the soft duvet, the shell of the past,
feeling the sunshine and warmth on her new form. She has transformed
from a little worm-like grub to a beautiful creature, a creature with
delicate and colourful wings, a miracle of nature, of beauty, of
sheer wonder. This is the ultimate fairy princess makeover. The
ugly grub turns around to discover she can fly, with wings so
captivatingly delicate and breathtaking. The butterfly is born.
This magical and natural evolution has taken place, and shows us a
physical example of an incredible transformation, and certainly not a
death. All that has died is the memory of what was, and what has
taken it's place is the evolved version of what was. And, so the
cycle continues. The moment the caterpillar realises it can fly,
there is a pause, a hesitation, a flicker of fear, a leap of faith.
She uses her natural born instincts to take off, to fly up, to soar
into the sky, reaching new heights and dimensions that it could only
dream of before. She is free, free to fly, she doesn't look back and
ever wish she were a caterpillar again. The caterpillar hasn't died,
it has been reborn. Death
as we know it is in fact a rebirth into another state. Who
is dying? This is another question that comes up for me as I am
sitting next to my mother in her final days of life on earth as she
knows it. Is my mother dying? Is it her role that is dying? Is it
the attachments I have to her that are dying? I sit here in quiet
contemplation for a few days as she fades away from us. Her spirit
is slipping away, her soul, the essence of who she is, her
personality, her energy. She is leaving her caterpillar behind which
is the shell that carried her spirit around for the years she
inhabited it. This shell is not her, this is just the vehicle she
chose to drive. Many of us are so conditioned to believe that the
vehicles we drive are actually who we are, when in fact it's a
temporary enclosure that allows us to do what we need to do, like a
grub on the earth, munching our way through life, devouring our
environments and eating ourselves to death. One day, there will come
a time, as it did with my mother, where she went to sleep. She
wrapped herself up in her silky soft duvet and rested. She
went to sleep, and as her earthly breath subsided, she turned around
and realised she had the most beautiful angel wings, and she was able
to take off, leave this dimension and fly, fly so high, soar into
freedom, into a magical space, a place that gave her liberty to be
her authentic self, her special self, her higher self. She flew into
unconditional love, into divine light, into the arms of loved ones
crossed over before, into the bosom of Angels who were dancing with
her spirit, her essence, her true beauty. She flew into wonder, the
magic of creation, of destruction, of power, she flew into a place of
total acceptance, of love, of bliss, of joy, of happiness, of wisdom. How
can we possibly call this a 'death'? She flew into 'life', and left
death behind. This is why we left on earth call it a death, because,
we are left with the empty shell, which is the reminder of death.
But the caterpillar and my mother didn't die, they simply experienced
a metamorphosis and were reborn into the truth of what they really
are. And
so it continues, we will also continue to munch our way through life,
until we know it's time to stop. The transformation awaits us all.
The gift of wings. Dipti
Tait 9
December 2011 |
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