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"Becoming a butterfly begins with letting go of the caterpillar form, with all of its appetites and urges", the old moth explained.
"Then I'll imagine myself as a beautiful butterfly and change my habits accordingly", the caterpillar said, excitedly. "With some practice, in no time the transformation will be complete!"
"Imagining what we will be is not the same thing as being what we are", the old moth sighed, "and that's the only way to become what we will be, you see."
"But if I'm just being what I am, then I'm going to stay a caterpillar", moaned the caterpillar, "that doesn't make any sense!"
"Just be until there are no thoughts of being anymore, just the beingness of being; until the outside world, which names or is named ceases to name you or be named by you. Shape or map no goal or path, but instead become the process itself. Be until forms become formless and you along with them. Then you will be ready to be remade."
With the cold of the dark setting in, she fluttered her weary, ragged wings and prepared to leave.
"Be content, friend. All will be well."
The caterpillar didn't hear her over the grumbling of its stomach. He'd turned back to munching on juicy leaves instead.
So the moth flew off toward the light again, and the caterpillar went back to being a caterpillar.
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