I feel the cool mountain air fill my lungs as the sun rays continue to fight for space between the damp, lingering mist. Almost winded, I collapse on the grass in the middle of the plain. I need a moment to rest and catch my breath. It feels quiet this morning, quieter than usual. I take in the scenery as the ascending sun starts winning the battle and slowly vaporizes the mist. The moisture from the dewy grass seeps through the white linen dress I hastily threw on in the early hours of the morning while most of the world slumbered undisturbed in their beds.
Picasso, my furry companion, is stretched out on the grass beside me. He gently places his chin on my knee while staring intently out into the now fogless distance at something which I haven't noticed yet. Out of nowhere, a small frisk fluttering object catches my attention and draws it away from my thoughts. More fluttering dots join in on this synchronized hypnotic dance of swift, short, energetic and utterly entrancing rhythmic movements. I squint for a clearer view in the now dazzling morning sun and start spotting hundreds of off-white, speckled dots bopping and fluttering towards the spot Picasso and I are sitting. Looking at them, I can just imagine the epic journey they must have undertaken before arriving here on the plain this morning. A journey that started off as tiny caterpillars hatching from eggs that were laid by a previous generation before transforming into these incredible winged creatures I see fluttering around me right now.
A miraculous transformation only made possible by the mature caterpillar first completely dissolving into an incredibly vulnerable and tender looking chrysalis. This would have been the end if it were not for one incredibly important ingredient contained in the chrysalis, called Imago cells. The Imago cells, a word of Greek origin meaning imagination, contains the DNA-coded instructions for the transformation process from caterpillar towards butterfly. These Imago cells can only activate when the caterpillar has completely dissolved and has become utterly unrecognisable and resembles more closely to a type of liquid soup or “bug soup” if you will. In other words, only through the complete demise of the caterpillar, could the process of creating the butterfly begin.
Sitting here on the wet grass in the middle of this beautiful, tiny little village, I can't help but smile. I have something in common with these winged creatures. The demise of my previous life has also now transformed into something entirely different and utterly beautiful. Experiencing moments like these reminds me that the experience of being human doesn't follow a linear path, but is rather cyclical in nature. In reality, I think it could more closely be compared to the life cycle of a butterfly. A cycle where old personal identities constantly dissolve through change and entirely new identities are formed.
I slowly lift myself off the wet grass and bring myself to a standing position while holding the feeling of complete gratitude for what is now my life in my heart. I feel connected and entirely at peace between these flying winged creatures fluttering around me in all their splendour, knowing that I too am finally flying. As I turn the corner with Picasso by my side, I spot Stone Owl Cottage, the space that has been my cocoon and my sanctuary away from the busy world for almost a decade. The space that held me whilst I learnt to fly once again.