Gulf Fritillary caterpillars continue feeding on the remnants of the Corky Stem Passionflower vine. To my eyes, it appears there is nothing left to call a vine, unless it’s the faded gray twigs wrapping around the tomato cage. Green leaves are few; green vines are few. Nonetheless, Gulf Fritillary butterflies haven’t stopped laying eggs on what’s left, which isn’t much, and the larvae keep munching on what they find to sustain them.
Nothing left.
Nothing left also applies to thousands of views this day, these days. Mothers at home taking on the role of teacher in addition to all their other roles feel they have nothing left. Healthcare workers on the front lines feel they have nothing left. Hospital janitors feel like they have nothing left. Grocery store clerks feel like they have nothing left. Morticians feel like they have nothing left. The grieving feel like they have nothing left. People out of work and almost out of money feel like they have nothing left. Sheriff deputies and EMS and firefighter teams feel like they have nothing left. Those of us throughout the Earth who feel like we have nothing left are part of a never-ending list—one that grows as each pandemic day begins with the sunrise and ends with the sunset. “Nothing left,” we say as we lay our weary heads to rest.
Nothing left?
The Corky Stem Passionflower vine might not have much left, but the caterpillars continue to eat the bits they find and they continue to grow.
Nothing left?
All the people—mothers, fathers, healthcare workers, the grieving, the first responders—each of them might feel like they have nothing left, but they show up for their children, they show up for their jobs, they show up for their family and friends and communities, in spite of feeling they have nothing left.
Something left?
Maybe something more important is left. The caterpillars ravishing the vines aren’t eating just to fulfill hunger. They have a purpose, a preordained path they are forging. The caterpillars, in the minutes, hours, or days to come, will leave those vines and not because there is nothing left. They move away because it’s time for them to seek something more—it’s time to transform. Somewhere deep within each caterpillar is an innate knowledge that there is, indeed, something left. Maybe each of us also has something more important that is left. Instead of feeling there is nothing left, perhaps we, too, can listen to and follow our own innate wisdom. Perhaps we can leave our vines and realize, that we, too, have the ability to transform.
