Transcendence

Wings fold, opening again like water.

Slipping into the blue serenity,

she winks into her next move.

She knows that shapeshifting

nuance that plows through you

like Tsunami—that knowing

the same as her flight,

certain without a single thing

to hold.

She pulls every observer

into her emptiness

until they are full of her flight.

Her snowfall visits again

late in the night

whispering,

saying and saying

the nothing.

 

 

Transcendence is not a battle, not even an effort. It is the grace to say yes to the tsunami of moving from caterpillar to butterfly. But crawling isn’t a problem to be solved, it is just another emptiness–like flying.

 

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

blue butterfly

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