Caterpillars, wriggling around, doing life, doing their thing.

Then suddenly they feel a compulsion to change.

They can’t stay the same.  They have to move on.

They must progress.  If they don’t progress they won’t survive.

Suddenly their world changes.

Their old self is no longer.

They are compelled to spin and turn and hide themselves away in a cocoon of nothingness.

Turned into glop soup!

Unrecognizable as a caterpillar and a far cry from a butterfly.

You could say, nonexistent in any form.

But then it happens.

The wings start to form, breaking free from the sloppy mess, the sun appearing to dry them.

The butterfly flies free.

Transition.

Its never easy.

A messy business.  Cocooned.

Sometimes we barely recognize ourselves.

Who we are, who we were, who we will be?

Until our wings slowly start to form.

The sun drys us.

There’s no going back.

And we finally fly free.