Goo

A few days ago a friend described to me a metaphor for metamorphosis that set me to thinking. He was watching a video of Barbara Marx Hubbard when she described the transformation, in the chrysalis, from caterpillar to butterfly. We had each heard the details of this change before. He found himself wondering about the soup of former caterpillar that was to become a butterfly. I too wondered about the soup, the gooey soup of butterfly potential. My wondering goes beyond the resistance to change that the final caterpillar cells manifest, to the properties of the transforming goo.  That wondering follows, and takes form, uncertainly, just as the cells of the new emerge from soup of the old.

There is something, somewhere, that knows what it is doing. The goo goes from no form, the broken-down mess of a caterpillar, to a newer more functional being, a butterfly. No one seems to know how. The goo seems to be part of a mystery that beguiles and threatens us. Efforts to aid, or try to speed-up, the emergence of the butterfly, only end-up with deformed, or dead, butterflies. So we know the process of this transformation is beyond us.

Or is it? So much of this mystery has been investigated. The goo has been looked at chemically and genetically. Currently, we tend to see the properties of this substance as the agent of transformation. The goo seems to contain the magic. But, I’ve been wondering if it isn’t just the goo, but something else, something the goo belongs to, and expresses, that may be the power behind this alchemical miracle.

I tend towards thinking there is “something larger” afoot. I don’t mean God, but something more mysterious and less defined than human notions of God. For lack of better words I call it Life. In this scenario, Life surges through the chrysalis, organizing the butterfly, to give expression to itself. It is only right that our attention is riveted to the chrysalis, to the miracle of transformation that takes place within. That shift of forms is so compelling.

A funny thing happened on the way to existence. Nature endowed us with all of its powers. This includes the power to transform like we see done in the chrysalis. Humanity has a track record of transformation. We call it evolution. Somehow we have been mesmerized into forgetting what we already know, that is, how to transform ourselves, how to evolve. What takes place in the chrysalis, takes place in our lives; but, instead of noticing these changes within, we get caught up in believing its only happening out there.

The potential to change lies within us. This is the good and bad news; good because transformation gives us hope, bad because it contributes to our sense of failed responsibility and deficiency. We have forgotten how connected we are, and with that connection, how the potential for change is also all around us. The hope is real. Change is happening. If we want to influence the direction of that change then we best be at the process of trying to align the inside and outside potential.

This brings me back to the goo. I think it has a lot to teach us about how to align ourselves with the power of transformation. There is something about being reduced that seems to insure that something new emerges. Life often does that to us. When it does we often call it a tragedy, accident, failure, sickness, or happenstance. If one is lucky then a new more sensitive and aware being emerges from the fire of that hardship. But we seldom invite that kind of change. We think of it as traumatic.

Isn’t there a trauma free variety of change? Yes, and no. The amount of trauma goes down as one learns to lean into the fire of transformation, but because it isn’t something one alone can accomplish, the outcome is unpredictable and often wildly unexpected. Trauma then correlates with expectation.

What I am interested in, is embodying the attributes of the goo. I’d like to learn how to live with less definition than I am used to, tolerating uncertainty, learning how to ‘not know’ well. I think I am becoming goo, as I get older, as I let go, and paradoxically, as I come to terms with my limitations. Maybe my death, the seemingly ultimate reduction of my being, makes me into goo.

I like to think so. I’ll trust creation to make something serviceable. In the meantime I think I’ll become the best goo I can be. Luckily, greying seems to be helping.