On Rise Up
When a caterpillar is born, it has everything it needs to become a butterfly. Information stored within its cells, waiting to become unlocked. There will come a time when she is ready for change. Wrapping herself in silk, she will protect her old body as it dies, shielding it from the outside world. When her remains turn to liquid, her enzymes will suck the information required for rebirth. Sip by sip they will take what they need from the information in the cells. A new form will then begin to grow inside her silk cocoon. Organs, antennas and legs. She will then push herself, slowly, carefully. And when her blood moves into her wings, she will take her maiden flight.
They say that the ‘memory’ associated with trauma is encoded cellularly and unless decoded, can serve as a nucleus for physiological and psychosomatic illnesses. If only memories could be loosened and extracted from the body like bad blackened teeth. Identified, then analyzed then rocked and ripped and released from the fibres. An excruciating yet temporary sacrifice for something so imperative for growth.
When I opened the envelope, it wasn’t the news I had been expecting. There, in black and white on thin cream recycled paper, everything began to make sense. The smog in my head, the dragging of the day, the dull toothache pain spreading over the bottom half of my body. All of the pushed down rage.
After I had unpacked my belongings, I flipped the buckles on the hard shelled case. A familiar brassy smell wafting up from the dog-eared maroon velvet. The smoothe neck cradled in my hand. The brassy strings pressing into my fingers. A familiar chord sequence swirling round and around and around until a melody was thrown down from the sky.
At the beginning of the year I took a course. It involved identifying various lies I have told myself, time and time again along the way. Then a prompt to rewrite my life story, with myself as the main protagonist. Now, as I sit in morning ritual, with pillows cradling my lotus knees and a pashmina wrapped around my shoulders, I imagine my straight back splitting open and the iridescent, veined, unfolding of two beautifully formed wings.