It’s amazing what can turn up indoors. This morning I found two of these caterpillars (could even have been these very two!), on separate occasions, inside my house. One had made it through the conservatory and almost into the dining room, the other I found later, crawling up the inside of the wire door to the conservatory somehow. I have to ask myself, what are these beautiful looking creatures so desperate to teach me that they’d come indoors, risking everything away from plant goodness (unless they had plans to get up into my bedroom and eat my plants there, that is)?

As you probably know, caterpillars create a chrysalis at some point, shoring themselves up for a while, and later hatch out completely transformed, as a butterfly or moth. So then, they are strong symbols of transformation, and particularly with the beginnings of transformation, the early stages where we have such fear of losing our identity if we were to become something new and different.

The beginnings of big change can be subtle, so as not to be seen for what they are. And in the end, who knows what experiences or moments will have the lasting impact, or will nudge us in a new direction? For me, it is a great pleasure to consider that I am beginning a new journey, even if I do not know where it will lead. It helps to be less anxious about getting there if you can keep it in perspective, and realize that the journey takes time - there is no hurry.

But, if you’re not at the wonderful beginning of the journey, but somewhere in the middle, feeling stuck and stagnant, do not fear. Remember, to the outside world the caterpillar appears to be doing nothing inside that chrysalis, but a whole universe of change is going on behind the scenes.

It is said that the wings of a dragonfly are like the illusions of this world. It has certainly given me something to ponder. Is the idea of “happily ever after” just an illusion? Or is the whole of life an illusion, a play which can be changed at a moment’s notice, so that we can make of it what we will?

According to my research on the British Dragonfly Society’s website, this is species Libellula depressa, a female (or possibly young male) Broad-bodied Chaser. What further thoughts could that spawn? What illusions do I chase? What illusions do you chase? Is the meaning I find in this sighting an illusion? And does it matter?

“It’s whatever makes you see, makes you believe…” - From ‘Illusion and Dream’, by Poets of the Fall.

After a brief darkening of the sky, the rain came down suddenly. I made a mad dash out into the garden, and brought the washing in from the line. That taken care of, I stopped.

Ahhhhhhh. After a few really hot days here, this was such a welcome relief. The rain poured, and I stood outside in it, enjoying the natural shower, shivering slightly, but enjoying it.

BANG! KA-POW!

No, I hadn’t been transported into the Batman TV show, it was thunder. Startled, my muscles tensed, my neck shortened and shoulders hunched to bring my body into a more protective-defensive stance. I instinctively ducked for cover, rushing to the backdoor. It was enough to stand there, still outside, but with some shelter and the knowledge that with one step I’d be in the (perhaps illusory) safety of inside.

Lightning flashed, thunder boomed. I found myself genuinely scared, the forks of lightning were close, the difference between the sight and the sound minimal. I could not help but be humbled, made to feel insignificant, even, by the awesome power of nature.

The heavens poured down, the roof-tiles and house walls shuddered from the energy and sound of the lightning, surely only a matter of metres away rather than miles. Inside, I felt safer, and although frightened was also exhilerated by what was happening. I looked out of the window, watching the lightning flash all around. My cat, despite being all but deaf, could sure as hell hear this racket. As much as I wanted to witness this spectacular display, I comforted my cat instead. I may not be able to see the forks of lightning, I figured, but I can sure hear and feel what’s going on. I don’t think I can remember a time when my awareness has been so affected by the environment, it was everywhere and it was all I could think about, all I wanted to think about. This was no time for pretending it wasn’t happening. This was amazing.

The rain eased off, and the birds began singing. I had great compassion for the birds and the bugs outside, I had my house as shelter, and what did they have? But who do you suppose had the strongest experience? Thunder could still be heard in the distance, but the worst was over. The birds knew what to do better than I, or so I assume. When the storm passes, get out there and sing and celebrate at the earliest opportunity. That’s what they do.

Looking at the clouds afterwards, I saw clouds swirl and grow above me. As far as I saw it, it was two separate storms that hit, both crossing and joining overhead. I’ve never seen such cloud movement as I did afterwards, growing in seconds, bits swirling and joining themselves, it was as if the whole scene was compressed in time, what usually takes hours happening in seconds.

The sun came out, and things returned to a more peaceful way. The storm had truly passed, and now it was nothing more than a distant memory. This is the way all storms are, but when we are inside them, there is no denying the power of them. In those real moments, instinct takes over, the ego faced with such a greater power than itself in front of it.

It took me quite a while to relax afterwards. Even as I write this, my pulse is quickened, my breathing slightly more rapid and shallow than at rest. The storm shook things up, it cleared the air, and reminded me just how massive some powers are in the universe, and how small I am in comparison. Excited and afraid, I enjoyed myself immensely.