Butterfly silk: Weaving a tale of transformation
Imagine tiny golden threads… No… not even that large.
Imagine golden, light-filled strands, tiny filaments of silk. A breath and, afflutter, they swoosh and swirl away. Less solid than a curl of incense rising from the offering.
Now take one end.
And tie it to your toe.
Let it spool out strands as you walk. Leaving a tiny trace behind. A glimmering record of your travels.
Even still, cast a few lines ahead of you. Careful not to splash.
Send out these slim tendrils, tied to the backs of tiny dragons. Let them race on ahead seeking what you don’t yet have words for. Give their wildness freedom to roam. Pausing to alight, touching, lifting. Finding.
Now look for these strands.
They are connected to everything yours.
They are connected to experiences too.
Some are so connected to you, these objects and places glow faintly, if you were to squint at them. Just so.
Swimming a sea of gossamer. A shifting form of possibilities. It is all waiting for you.
Waiting till you get close enough.
A tiny tug. This way. Thata way. Tremor.
Over here now.
follow me now.
Here it is.
Here you are.
Here is even more.