“The Art of Transformation”

Blog Post #28

*Dear Friends, I am pleased to share this article written for a recent issue of The Mogul Muse Magazine, of which I am currently Writer-in-Residence.

“You can fly, but that cocoon has to go!” – Mary Ellen Edmunds

There is a word feared and avoided more than most in the English language. It threatens, it cajoles, it looms, it surprises. It induces stress and heightens anxiety. It is both menacing and nurturing. Innocent in its intentions, it is the standard-bearer of growth. In most cases, innocuous, it can brighten one’s perspective, act as a harbinger of hope, and create anticipation and excitement, yet in the same breath, it may grip one with fear. What is this simple word? It ischange.

Why does change create so many diverse and emotionally charged reactions? I believe, by its very nature, it suggests the unknown. Let’s face it—the unknown can be unnerving. Especially when change creates unknowns in things close to one’s heart—one’s being, one’s thinking, one’s relationships, or one’s way of life.

Change is like that. In a moment, the Unknown may rear its precipitous head, and normal life goes topsy-turvy—a layoff, an accident, a death. But in all fairness, change doesn’t necessarily denote something bad. It can also bring happy surprises. A new baby, for example—one moment, in mother’s womb, the next, cuddled and adored by the whole family. (The household still turned upside down, but the repercussions are, for the most part, positive.)

Here are a few possible examples of positive change: a new job, a wedding, a new home, or a move.

Now, consider if you will, a few possible examples of negative change: a new job, a wedding, a new home, or a move.

The power of change as a force for good or ill depends largely on how we choose to view it.

Interestingly, it is the nature of change to be unsettling, even in the best of times. Clinging to the apron strings of any kind of major change are tinier seeds of change that potentially produce positive or negative results, or both. A new job may bring better pay, but longer hours and more stress. A wedding brings blissful joys at the same time generating expenses, difficult decisions, and perhaps stirring up familial issues. A new home may mean a fresh start, more room, or better location, but it may also mean leaving an old home, changing schools, and leaving friends behind. A move is, at best, stressful, but may open up a variety of new opportunities.

Like foxtails that work their way into the fabric of life, tiny seeds of change riding on the backs of greater changes poke and prickle until one takes notice. For example, an injury may carry with it foxtails of fear and uncertainty about one’s future, as well as cockleburs of faith and determination. The injured may choose complete debilitation by cultivating the seeds of fear, or he or she may choose nurturing faith over despair, engendering newfound strengths and the ability to inspire others. In choosing to nurture the good or the bad seed, a transformation will occur. Plucking out the annoyance, while planting and nourishing the good seeds of change, will over time, transform those seedlings as they grow into good fruit. Neglecting potentially good seed, while allowing bad seeds to fester, will eventually cause bitterness and further tribulation.

‘Change” may, at first, appear to be the ‘bad guy.’

Changing oneself is the most disconcerting transformation of all. Purposely seeking to change aspects of oneself may mean recognizing an inherent quality that is unhealthy, destructive, or unworthy. On the other hand, it may mean cultivating positive attributes that are underdeveloped. In purposeful transformation, change may itself appear to be “the bad guy” (it’s difficult, it nags, it’s demanding). But after effecting change, “the good guy” emerges (it got easier, I no longer need reminders, I triumphed). The fruit of change then appears and validates with improved health, healthier relationships, increased gifts and talents, peace, hope, and shared joy.

The fruit of ‘change’ has the power to convert ‘bad’ into ‘good’

Some seek change for the wrong reasons, such as to fit someone else’s standard or ideal of beauty, or to feel a part of a group, cult, or clique. While it may be advantages to conform to higher standards of morality and appearance related to a worthy institution or belief system, to seek to lower one’s true nature for the sake of popularity or acceptance is self-deceptive and may very well be self-destructive.

A classic example of transformation is represented by the life cycle of a butterfly. At first, a caterpillar eats and eats and eats, preparing for the pending change of circumstance. Once it builds its chrysalis, it fearlessly faces the unknown—it doesn’t know exactly what it will become, or what the process of “becoming” will be like, but it is committed to fulfilling its mission. Consequently, it is bound-up in a tight spot of its own making for a while. I suspect it is cramped and uncomfortable, and endures growing pains during the process of transformation. At last, it emerges, a new being, with a new demeanor and wardrobe, and a new means of transportation. No longer will the caterpillar be forced to creep and crawl, but will now have wings to flit and flutter about the garden.

Does the butterfly fret and stew over the chrysalis? Does it drag it along wherever it goes? Does it cling to its old ways of doing things, crawling instead of flying? The answer is an emphatic NO!

Indeed, the butterfly embraces the change in its entirety. It moves forward with a sense of mission and purpose. It is fulfilling the measure of its creation, and by so doing has and gives joy.

Transformation may be rooted in our thinking and belief systems. If we believe change is good, or that we can or should change for the better, then we stand a better chance of effecting positive results. If we believe there’s no point to change, and that we can’t change, we will essentially remain stagnant.

Consider the following two versions of a wonderful fable of transformation, each having a different result.

1 – The Eagle Who Thought He Was a Chicken:

A baby eagle became orphaned. He glided down to the ground from his nest but was not yet able to fly. A man picked him up. The man took him to a farmer and said, “This is a special kind of barnyard chicken that will grow up big.” The farmer said, “Don’t look like no barnyard chicken to me.” “Oh yes, it is. You will be glad to own it.” The farmer took the baby eagle and placed it with his chickens.

The baby eagle learned to imitate the chickens. He could scratch the ground for grubs and worms too. He grew up thinking he was a chicken.

Then one day an eagle flew over the barnyard. The eagle looked up and wondered, “What kind of animal is that? How graceful, powerful, and free it is.” Then he asked another chicken, “What is that?” The chicken replied, “Oh, that is an eagle. But don’t worry yourself about that. You will never be able to fly like that.”

And the eagle went back to scratching the ground. He continued to behave like the chicken he thought he was. Finally he died, never knowing the grand life that could have been his.     

 2 – Fable of the Eagle and the Chicken:

When an eagle was very small, he fell from the safety of his nest. A chicken farmer found the eagle, brought him to the farm, and raised him in a chicken coop among his many chickens. The eagle grew up doing what chickens do, living like a chicken, and believing he was a chicken.

A naturalist came to the chicken farm to see if what he had heard about an eagle acting like a chicken was really true. He knew that an eagle is king of the sky. He was surprised to see the eagle strutting around the chicken coop, pecking at the ground, and acting very much like a chicken. The farmer explained to the naturalist that this bird was no longer an eagle. He was now a chicken because he had been trained to be a chicken and he believed that he was a chicken.

The naturalist knew there was more to this great bird than his actions showed as he “pretended” to be a chicken. He was born an eagle and had the heart of an eagle, and nothing could change that. The man lifted the eagle onto the fence surrounding the chicken coop and said, “Eagle, thou art an eagle. Stretch forth thy wings and fly.” The eagle moved slightly, only to look at the man; then he glanced down at his home among the chickens in the chicken coop where he was comfortable. He jumped off the fence and continued doing what chickens do. The farmer was satisfied. “I told you it was a chicken,” he said.

The naturalist returned the next day and tried again to convince the farmer and the eagle that the eagle was born for something greater. He took the eagle to the top of the farmhouse and spoke to him: “Eagle, thou art an eagle. Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly.” The large bird looked at the man, then again down into the chicken coop. He jumped from the man’s arm onto the roof of the farmhouse.

Knowing what eagles are really about, the naturalist asked the farmer to let him try one more time. He would return the next day and prove that this bird was an eagle. The farmer, convinced otherwise, said, “It is a chicken.”

The naturalist returned the next morning to the chicken farm and took the eagle and the farmer some distance away to the foot of a high mountain. They could not see the farm nor the chicken coop from this new setting. The man held the eagle on his arm and pointed high into the sky where the bright sun was beckoning above. He spoke: “Eagle, thou art an eagle! Thou dost belong to the sky and not to the earth. Stretch forth thy wings and fly.” This time the eagle stared skyward into the bright sun, straightened his large body, and stretched his massive wings. His wings moved, slowly at first, then surely and powerfully. With the mighty screech of an eagle, he flew.

Both stories are from Walk Tall, You’re A Daughter Of God, by Jamie Glenn

 

Truly, you are not caterpillars. You are not chickens. Figuratively speaking, you are butterflies and eagles. Embrace worthy transformation….

Fly!

~~~~~~~~~~~

© May 22, 2015

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, dear friends, for reading.

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For the Birds

Blog Post #7

As long as I can remember, I have awakened to a concert of birdsong, which has mostly been taken for granted. Gradually, my mind has awakened from an oblivious stupor, and taken notice, realizing how much their trills and whistles are a part of my life—how devoid of joy the rustle of leaves in the breeze would seem without the accent of their sweet music.   

Mourning Dove

The first welcome greeting of the day is always the low and melancholy cooing of the mourning dove. Aptly named, her subtle tones, soft and sad, transport me to a time long gone—a time lost to time—the time of my youth. As I listen, I am sixteen again—up early, the window slightly ajar, listening—the dove reminding me that each day is like the next. Nothing will change. But everything does.  I am not a child anymore. My nest, once full, is now empty. I stand where my sixteen-year-old self stood, by the same open window, listening. The dove is still there—ageless. I can’t imagine beginning a day without her gentle warblings. So accustomed to her soothing tones am I, that they speak comfort and peace to my heart, and pledge a vow of constancy amid the inevitability of change. How ironic that the dove—the symbolic bird of peace—bodes both loss and comfort.

One tweet leads to another…. Another bird song comes to mind, one that disappeared with the passage of time, as the neighborhood grew and developed. The elusive singers of the abrupt and scratchy ballpark cry of Chi-ca-go! Chi-ca-go! were most often heard and not seen. 

California Quail

When leaving for elementary school early in the morning, sometimes I had the rare treat of meeting a family of quail in front of our house. I whispered a greeting to the little family, but the mother scurried off with her little covey of four or five chicks, their curled plumes pointing the way as they swiftly followed on quick, tiny feet to find cover in the large pine and gazanias that once occupied the west side of the driveway.

As a child, I was less fond of the ominous, scavenging crows—always watching from their perch on the power lines—peering out of those beady black eyes, ready to swoop down for carrion and crumbs as they cawed their warning cry. Now, I think of them as old pals, still watching from a distance, but in a friendlier way.

Crows

 After decades away, we have returned to my childhood home to care for my aging father. The birds are still here—same ones, and some less familiar to me. My husband has become particularly annoyed with a mockingbird that lives up to its reputation, for mock he does! He purposely made his home outside our bedroom window, and like a long-running Broadway musical repeatedly performs his repertoire of calls with show time beginning at five o’clock every morning. I think he does it just because he knows how much it irritates Brad, who has always been a light sleeper.

 

Mockingbird

A favorite of mine is the meadowlark. His cheerful, melodic song beckons me outdoors, “Open the window!” he says. “Come outside, and enjoy the sunshine! Be happy! It’s a beautiful new day!” And when I do, I’m not disappointed.

Brad takes care of our tiny friends, the hummingbirds, inviting them to sip sweet nectar outside our windows so we can enjoy their aerial antics and their beauty. The only sound I’ve ever heard from them is the bee-like buzzing of their wings, as they zoom like flying aces in and around the feeder with their sword-beaks drawn to defend their territorial rights. Their iridescently colored vests flash like brilliantly painted shields in the sun.

 

Hummingbird

Not long after we moved back to my father’s home, I heard a loud squawking coming from the trees out front. Unfamiliar with the sound, I rushed out to see what it was. Brilliant flashes of chartreuse and vermillion perched on limbs and branches and fluttered from tree to tree. Hundreds of wild Yellow Head Amazon parrots decorated the silk and pepper trees in our front yard like tropical Christmas tree ornaments. The “Pasadena Parrots,” purportedly escaping fire in a bird shop in the 1950s or 60s, have developed a following in Southern California, as they move from town to town parading their vibrant plumage and filling the air with their dissonant tones. 

Amazon Yellow Head Parrot

The contrast between these new and transient feathered neighbors and the settled presence of the doves, mockingbirds and crows punctuate the current dynamics of our neighborhood.

Over the fifty-plus years since my parents purchased their dream home, we’ve seen all our neighbors either move away, or pass away. At ninety-one, my father is the last original owner on the street. Changes in lifestyle have also affected our neighborhood. With the exception of the dog-walkers and school kids, we see but little of our neighbors. So many pull out of their garages in the morning, and pull back into them at night. We wave, and peer at them from a distance like the crows on the line, wondering if we can snatch a morsel of friendship before one or the other of us swoops away again.

Many neighbors are shy and anxious acquaintances—wary, like the quail—sharing a parcel of earth for a short time, until they up and leave without a good-bye.

Others, like the hummingbirds, we see speed up and down the street on brightly colored "wings." They’re in too much of a hurry for conversation; the only noticeable sound is the humming of their engines as they disappear down the street and around the corner.

The bright spots in the neighborhood are those who talk to us, and to each other. We see them at work in their yards, then flit from home to home, sharing the bounty of their fruit trees and gardens, and a few cheery words along their way. Like the meadowlark, they understand the meaning of the words “neighbor" and "friend;” they sing songs of joy, encouraging others to “come out into the sun, and enjoy the beautiful day!”

But of all the birds, the doves have nested in my heart. They soothe me with their motherly lullabies each morning, calming me with a sense of security and constancy, and assuring me that some things remain the same in an ever-changing world.

© Copyright May 27, 2014

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