Cicada shell:
little did I know
it was my life.
— Shuho, d. 1767

When I was a little girl, the cicadas emerged from the ground. Thousands upon thousands of these winged insects took to the trees, ascending to the highest limb, hoping to gain new perspective.

I was fascinated by the synergy within their movement, as if a million minds were suddenly enlightened and joined in the commonality of purpose. And, while others complained, I found an odd sense of comfort in their song rising above – masking the noise of day. Imagine, these tiny creatures waiting seventeen years for the opportunity to prosper and grow!

And, when they descended – only their shell remained; a perfectly formed metaphor capturing the true nature of our being. At first glance, the molted casing is nearly indistinguishable from the insect itself. But, in looking closer, we see it is only an impression that remains, the emptied shell a symbol of our attachments.

I’ve always held this image as a parallel to life itself. That is to say, we must embrace our brokenness in order to grow. In doing so, we give permission for the soul to extend beyond the limits of this physical form and become, at last, united with the whole.

Without which, how would we know?

Perhaps, as we engage this day we might remember that there is power even in the most fragile of form.

In peace, my sweet friends…I love you all.

Namaste ❣️