Larval Locomotion

I had a spiritual experience in my garden this evening. Now don't act surprised. You know I'm an odd one.

The pertinent background info is that I fought with Luke today. Recording vocals with him is worse than a round of tooth extractions with a pap smear chaser. I'm sure it's no cakewalk for him either, especially now that I've started my new book, Tantric Orgasm for Women by Diana Richardson, and I'm prancing around like a child, hurdling quotes at him like there's no tomorrow, largely on the subject of man's "lost ability to speak meaningfully to the female body." We haven't had to work this way in years, but my usual engineer was stolen for the month, and we didn't want to wait to finish the EP. Now it seems that we may have to.

After such a day of singing and crying and arguing, I found myself in my garden, foraging for tomatoes, as the green market tomatoes were somewhere in Luke's belly. I eyed two orange ones and deemed them good enough, as my salad could not wait. In searching out additional ingredients, I happened to spot a massive green caterpillar covered in ants. I love butterflies and the thorough transformation they signify (see Dr. Stanley's Native American Animal Medicine,) so I took it upon myself to assist the little creature. Ants would not devour my future butterfly friend. Not on my watch! I moved him near the eggplant, so he'd have its pretty purple flowers to admire.

After preparing my meal, I remembered that I'd meant to research the whole caterpillar/ant situation. To my horror, I came across one of the Animal Communication Project's pages, discovering that, without going into great detail, the species have a symbiotic relationship and that, in fact, the ants are very much critical to the survival of the caterpillars; the chance of one getting by without its ant protectors is zero.

I, in my limited understanding, had moved this very happy caterpillar from a good situation because I thought I could improve upon it, give it a nice view, shelter it from its seeming enemies. Marianne Williamson would say, "What arrogance to have assumed that you are better equipped to handle what nature orchestrates perfectly on its own!"

I had been so afraid for the future, for the next step, that I interfered in the metamorphosis of this would-be butterfly.

The ants also figure beautifully in this story, as they represent patience, cooperation, and community. My impatience is disrupting the natural flow, blocking the blossoming I seek. No wonder the fuzzy guy had looked so confused as I carried him across the yard. (Well, he did. I don't make this shet up.)

"No more meddling." That's my message from the universe. "We don't need your rescue efforts, Margot. We're taking care of it. It's all good."

I suppose I needed to be told twice, though, because, walking around in the dark, searching for him, wanting to make it right, I was reminded that this, too, lies outside my jurisdiction. It had already been made right. The caterpillar had moved, but it was too dark to determine where. Back to his friends, I trust. The ants that gladly blanket him tonight.