Corpses push up through thawing permafrost/ as I scrape salmon skin off a pan at the sink; on the porch, moths in slanting yellow light// undulate in air.

Arthur Sze

Butterflies fight to break out of a chrysalis. Freedom depends on the strength of their wings — strength that builds with each fierce flap, as wing fibers harden until the butterfly can break through and fly. Freedom occurs at the perfect time, in the perfect way.

We can learn from the butterfly. Our ability to fly depends on the strength of our wings. Our freedom depends on the strength of our wings. Flight brings freedom. Flight brings beauty, too.

Just suppose life presents us with numerous chrysalis moments — moments where our corpses are asked to push up through thawing permafrost. Perhaps moments of profound vulnerability are chrysalis moments? Perhaps moments where we are asked to forgive for the hundredth time are chrysalis moments? Perhaps the deaths we experience, and the grief that accompanies deaths of all types, are chrysalis moments? Perhaps beauty is born in chrysalis moments?

That makes sense to me. It makes sense to me that life itself is comprised of numerous chrysalis moments. It makes sense to me that we can break through the chrysalis at the exact perfect time. It make sense to me that we can build chrysalis muscles. It makes sense to me the that fierce strength required in the chrysalis looks like deep, big, abiding, love.