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Brown, Black, and Fuzzy

The past several weeks, while out on my almost daily walk, I have been rescuing fuzzy black and brown striped caterpillars.

I noticed the intrepid crawlers that wandered onto the asphalt road, if they didn't get run over, died from the heat of sun-baked asphalt. So, when spying one micro-stepping across the walking path toward the road I scoop it up and deposit it into the thick of the flora away from the asphalt. Maybe I'm messing with caterpillar destiny, but it makes me feel better.

What it must be like for them! One second they're following internal insect dictates and the next - after a few moments of probable caterpillar confusion - they are back in a sea of soil, rock, and greenery. Poof. "How did I get here?"

It occurred to me that our life altering moments of grace - insights, a nudge, an awareness - might be similar to the caterpillars' moments of transport in my hand. The invisible forces that sometimes intervene in our lives would be just as palpable as I am to the caterpillar, if we had the proper senses to register them. 

Maybe my ferried caterpillars do experience something - an insect version of flow, ascension, presence, or shift - as we sometimes do when grace is upon us. Or, maybe they are, just as I often am, dazed and bewildered; in need of some quiet time.

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