Each year, millions of monarchs fly south to central Mexico mountain forests for the winter. After retreating for the colder months, these orange- and black-winged marvels head back north for the spring and summer. This is an annual migration, but what is remarkable about it is that it takes as many as four to five generations of monarchs to complete one migration cycle. Not only that but the generations which make the journey back up north have five-to-seven week life spans while the generation which makes the trek to Mexico–conveniently called the super-generation–lives up to eight months.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how absolutely marvelous all of this is! How does each generation know when and where to go; how do they pass down wisdom without physical touch or long story times; what is the relationship between the generation of butterflies who began the migration and the generation of butterflies who complete it and the multitudes of butterflies who make the in-between possible; how does the super-generation, being part of the same species, have a longer lifespan. Needless to say, I’ve been meditating on these magical beings and want to share what’s surfaced for me.
All our co-habitants on Earth have something to teach us. Each being plays a part. All are needed. No person or part of a journey is more important than the other–it’s all cyclical and divine. What might be possible if we understood ourselves and our journeys in this way?
We all partake in multiple, interconnected journeys of varying purposes during our lifetimes. On some, we are responsible for the beginning, on others we are tasked with continuing what has been in motion, and on some we must take on the weight of completing. Each requires clarity, focus and stamina, but they are not the same. It’s important for us to cultivate the awareness to know the differences.
The monarchs’ grandparents and great-grandparents pass down vital navigation intelligence which makes the migration cycle possible. Our elders and ancestors have also passed down needed wisdom. And while our relationships with those who have come before can be tricky, uncomfortable, painful, we need to take care of those wounds while cultivating and sustaining love for them, their existence which made ours possible, and the wisdom they have passed down. I believe wisdom and wounds co-exist.
This last lesson feels particularly present for me. I think it’s because the monarch migration reminds me that loss is a part of the cycle. It reminds me of how we shed harmful (and sometimes comfortable) beliefs, habits and relationships, lose elders, pets and other loved ones and the fact that I can’t know for certain–none of us can–just when our journeys will end, and the fierce love and protectiveness I feel for all who come after. My throat tightens and my heart hurts knowing that a butterfly we may see in the sky will be with us for anywhere between four weeks to eight months. I feel a similar ache for other beings around me. We are all needed, we are all on journeys, and we will all transition from this Earth. These truths are what the butterflies remind me of.
With this seasonal transition, I’m practicing walking softly on Earth and living softly in my body so I can discern what I need to begin, continue, and complete. I invite you to join me in this practice. Let’s remember to be soft with ourselves and each other.
May we be safe. May we receive what we need. May we cultivate ease.