I watch the iridescent descent of a butterfly on the deep amaranthine petals of some unknown flower nodding softly against my calf. Its smooth wings slow and its flight seems to meld seamlessly with the velutinous petals. Their union remains unfettered by my expectation of the clashing of their divergent colours. Never has a butterfly's beauty affected me so deeply … my heart seems to unfurl helplessly to its measured grace and my hands loosen their white knuckled hold on the splintered wooden bench. And for the first time, in what feels like eons, my thoughts and heart slow their rapid march through days and months, leaving but a blur of work days and sleepless nights in their wake.
And I slowly come to the realization that although I am surrounded by so much change, I am yet to see any true transformation. The quiet vortex of my life is populated by just such changes…night into day and day into night, blue skies to grey, rain- sun- snow-rain. Pages that disappear quickly beneath frantically penned minutes of meetings only to be replaced by new pages- little pieces of ruled paper that, at times, seem to rule my existence. To-do lists and meeting agendas that divide my life into little vacuums, where breath, time, and creativity seem to disappear into wave upon wave of mindless tasks. And my body sags in anticipation of monotonous pursuits for yet another hour, yet another day.
Change is abundant. But transformation…transformation eludes me. I am what I have been for most of my life- routine and invisible. And its not this invisibility that bothers me. No, it is the fact that I have not grown as a person…I have had no quiet epiphanies or unruly journeys that leave a person undone and refashioned. I long to burst forth, one day, in irrepressible beauty… to live in full splendour, and deepened understanding. But I linger, quietly, on this splintered wooden bench…hoping my life will catch up with my desires. And that someday, I will transform, quite vividly, unencumbered by convention and expectation. Someday.