Saturday, 30 March 2013
They are beautiful. Delicate, dancing, lighter than air, artistic, and also useful as pollenators. They can be seen flitting from flower to flower in the springtime, often too numerous to count, yet each an indivual, delicate and petite.
Why am I talking about butterflies? Because God is talking to me about butterflies. I like butterflies, I do. They are all of the above, and much more - and yes, so very beautiful. To paint or draw them is actually quite difficult - because there is simply too much detail to capture quickly. In the same way it would be arderous to paint or draw every fine hair on a dog's back, is the painting of a butterfly. I know from experience, so I don't draw that many of them. A simple butterfly still takes time to draw - the shape differs greatly from creature to creature, not to mention the colouration, the patterning, the pose.
God has been talking to me about butterflies. Particularly about how I am like a butterfly. That part, I must admit, I don't like so much. I like butterflies. I really do. They are simply stunning. But to be compared to a fragile, petite, flitting little creature is a little disconcerting - especially when I want nothing more than to be a bold, brave, strong lion right now. God, why a butterfly? Why such a delicate creature?
For the last few years, I have been getting many prophecies about a great variety of things - my destiny, the plan that God has for me, and I know it is all going to be pretty amazing. That's all very good and well. But that's just it - it's always there for tomorrow. And always that seems discouraging, because, well, we live in the now, don't we?
And its that now where I am getting more and more of this butterfly business. That this time, this now, is God transforming me from an ugly little caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly. My transformation into adulthood too, I suppose. But God, a butterfly? Eh, so, what do I like about them? (Still, couldn't I be a winged lion? =D =D No such thing, is there..)
Yes, well, butterflies. They are beautiful. They are absolutely unique, and intelligently designed, and no two are exactly the same. The way they are made up is detailed, defined, and so much thought was put into their creation. The legs are slender, the antennae elegant, the eyes compact and small - yet they see so much. The body is also well proportioned, and then they are completed with a beautiful set of wings - with which do they not only fly, but act as a protection device in some cases, as well as a display of nature and creativity. The patterns are exsqusite, and the colour palette is extensive.
Butterflies begin as eggs. They are laid on a leaf, or tree, an left by their parent to hatch.
These eggs do hatch, of course, and the resulting caterpillars are fat, ugly, and spend their time eating and hiding from predators. (It is funny the resemblance I see here - my thoughts have altered from that time, and now it is time to move on from there.)
They remain caterpillars for quite some time, I suppose. Doing nothing. Slimy gross creatures.
And then they become pupae, or for want of a better word, a grub in a coocoon.
As we all know, these then leave the coocoon in a transformed state and exit as butterflies - much altered from that grubby little creature which entered.
Metamorphosis - a process of transformation. Of growth. Of alteration. Of change.
I believe this is my metamorphosis. Only I am yet to escape the coocoon - or maybe perhaps I am still in that struggling stage, the stage of near completion.
Either way, it is an interesting thought. I only hope I get there soon - this struggle is often more than I can take. Ah, God. The when is up to you.