Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

 “With the last stroke of her luck and with the zeal to change her fate, she waves, flutters around, with all the energy escaping her poor body, she moves closer to death. I stare, a lot, trying to figure out what is exactly the feeling my mind has being a mute witness to the suffering of the poor one.
The cycle continues, life to death, cradle to grave. As Shakespeare had said, we are mere players on the stage of the world with our own entrances and exits. Indeed, rather than death what surprises me are the stages and roles of man in his life and in all the lives he touches upon. "

Egg to a caterpillar, metamorphosis one.

Everyone in their lives have certain initiation points. It might be circumstantial, emotional, economic or in varied other manifestations. Both everyone has it. Initiation is probably the time when the fabric of one’s life starts taking its colors and the texture it ought to retain for quite some time.

Caterpillar to Pupa, metamorphosis two.

Love, it seems to me gets one his second big change. It did for me. And for most of the first time lovers, the feeling is so passionate, dominating, and exposing. Its vile, vicious and vivacious all being at the time you need to focus on discovering yourself. It all boils down to prioritizing then, after you have tried to sort out things, you realize that it’s a deeper chaos. A babel of sounds reverberating around, of passion and compassion. Love teaches you the difference between the two and once you realize, you actually have a powerful tool for your ordeal in life.

And the butterfly soars high,

Yet to experience this stage personally, but I feel there comes a time when your self-identity is so oppressed being encapsulated in the disguise of your apparent self that it breaks free. Revolutionary or not, doesn’t matter but I guess a time comes when all the hopes and dreams start taking shape and you start walking a lonely road, Conventional or nuveau, it doesn’t matter, it’s the time one starts making an impression, carving a niche for himself. The way you look, the way you interact, the way you love; all of them have been customized to suit your panache.

La finale…  “and the wings bereft of the soul, stop fluttering and she departs”

The niche is carved, the impressions made, a slow departure to oblivion, a silent one. Blissfully in solitude. Contended in faith. The Metamorphosis concludes.

*p.s. pokemon enthusiasts can refer to the above as evolution, caterpree->metapod->butterfree, J*