Butterfly Emerging From Cocoon Quotes

Outing someone is like ripping a butterfly from its cocoon. You can damage them for life and rob them of THEIR life changing experience of liberation. For a successful emergence THEY have to struggle through the cocoon of fear and shame. THEN they can fly.

Inside John, she thinks, is another John, who is much nicer. This other John will emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon, a Jack from a box, a pit from a prune, if the first John is only squeezed enough.

Transformation is not a kind place, it’s chaotic and a source of inner conflict because it is not a ‘safe’ place, but it is a place of growth; a place of rebirth where you can restart and realign with who you are. We can learn so much from the caterpillar that grows its butterfly wings in the ache and darkness of its own cocoon; and is reborn, beautiful and free, with wings to fly. This is the true meaning and profoundness of transformation; it is where the truest parts of you can emerge and you transition into the most intuitive and vibrant canvas of yourself.

We were both steel butterflies, emerging from our cocoons in spiked armour, ready to tackle the skies.

As a child, he'd found a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. He'd tried to help it by prying open the husk to set the insect free. It had lain in the sun, beating its wings as they dried, but had never flown and soon died. His grandmother explained the butterfly needed to go through the difficulty of freeing itself in order to have the strength to fly.

Like a piss-soaked butterfly emerging from a cocoon, I push on over the bridge feeling like I’m establishing my transformation into my true self.

Royce traveled wrapped in his cloak with the weight of the rain collapsing the hood around his head—not a good sign for Thranic and Bernie. Until then, Royce had played the part of the good little sailor, but with the reemergence of the hood, and the loss of his white kerchief, Hadrian knew that role had ended. They had not spoken much since the attack. Not surprisingly, Royce was in no mood for idle discussion. Hadrian guessed that by now his friend had imagined killing Thranic a dozen times, with a few Bernies thrown in here and there for variety. Hadrian had seen Royce wounded before and was familiar with the cocooning—only what would emerge from that cloak and hood would not be a butterfly.

In cocoon mode you are tapping into deep Mariana Trench energy and the Universe is helping make your destiny a reality. Whenever you make a conscious and positive effort to improve yourself and feed into achieving what you deserve from life you will emerge from the cocoon and become the butterfly.

It’d probably be like expecting a beautiful butterfly to emerge from a cocoon, only to have it actually become a mentally disabled giraffe with eczema.

When steel is tempered, heat and pressure are used to strengthen the metal. When a butterfly first begins to emerge from its cocoon, it must struggle in order to strengthen its wings. If someone frees the butterfly from its cocoon prematurely, it will not be able to fly because its crucial tempering stage will not have occurred. In one experiment where an entire ecosystem was created within a protected bubble, the healthy trees fell unexpectedly. Researchers later realized that these trees needed wind in order build their structural strength to stay upright.

A man spent hours watching a butterfly struggling to emerge from its cocoon. It managed to make a small hole, but its body was too large to get through it. After a long struggle, it appeared to be exhausted and remained absolutely still. The man decided to help the butterfly and, with a pair of scissors, he cut open the cocoon, thus releasing the butterfly. However, the butterfly’s body was very small and wrinkled and its wings were all crumpled. The man continued to watch, hoping that, at any moment, the butterfly would open its wings and fly away. Nothing happened; in fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its brief life dragging around its shrunken body and shrivelled wings, incapable of flight. What the man – out of kindness and his eagerness to help – had failed to understand was that the tight cocoon and the efforts that the butterfly had to make in order to squeeze out of that tiny hole were Nature’s way of training the butterfly and of strengthening its wings. Sometimes, a little extra effort is precisely what prepares us for the next obstacle to be faced. Anyone who refuses to make that effort, or gets the wrong sort of help, is left unprepared to fight the next battle and never manages to fly off to their destiny.

I used to have a fascination with butterflies. They brought so much color into such a short life. They fluttered about free and brought joy to whosever’s path they crossed. They came from an ugly cocoon, transformed. But that’s the trouble with butterflies. All people think of when they see them is beauty and joy. They don’t see the pain of the transformation or what it takes to emerge from that cocoon. It would be, for most, too

A caterpillar cannot remain in the cocoon forever. A butterfly must emerge when the time is right. Just trust in nature’s timing; it’s not on the same clock as you. Remember that always. Your pain will pass—it always does.

I didn't emerge from the cocoon of my past to become an uninhibited, emotionally healthy butterfly. Nothing is ever that easy. Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

Max can’t help it,” Eddie says. “The teenaged brain isn’t wired for empathy. It’s designed to look forward.” “If you heard him, why didn’t you say something?” “Nothing to be gained. There are articles about it.” Eddie pours himself a cup of coffee. “Think of Max as a butterfly emerging from his cocoon. At this point in its development, the butterfly is too busy to think of anything but emerging. It’s an all-consuming task. It can’t develop other skills until later. Max will learn sympathy later on.” “I see. He’ll become a caring human being once he’s stopped emerging?” “Exactly.” “Or else he’ll turn into a serial killer by the age of twenty.

I learned to listen to my heart, which taught me that you and I are connected to each other and everything else on this planet. We are joined together by the mysterious nature of life itself, the fundamental creative energy of the universe. In this complicated world of ours, where contradictions abound, we find breathtaking beauty in the most unlikely places. The brightest rainbows appear after the heaviest of storm clouds. Magnificent butterflies emerge from the drabbest cocoons. And the most beautiful lotus flowers bloom from the deepest and thickest mud. Why do you suppose life works this way? Perhaps those rainbows, butterflies, and lotus flowers are meant to remind us that our world is a mystical work of art—a universal canvas upon which we all paint our stories, day by day, through the brushstrokes of our thoughts, words, and deeds.

A boy found a butterfly’s cocoon in his garden one day. Next day, he noticed that a small opening had appeared. For several hours, he watched patiently while the butterfly struggled to force itself out through the little hole. Then it stopped struggling, almost as if it could go no further. Deciding to help the butterfly, the boy used a pair of scissors to snip the remaining bit of the cocoon and the butterfly emerged easily. Something was rather strange though. The butterfly had a swollen body and shrivelled wings. The boy continued to wait expectantly, hoping that at any moment the butterfly’s wings would expand to support its body and the body would contract. Neither event happened. In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and deformed wings, never able to fly. What the boy in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the resultant struggle required for the butterfly to get out are Nature’s way of forcing fluid from the butterfly’s body into its wings so that it is ready for flight after achieving freedom from the cocoon. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in life.

Grief is a cocoon from which we emerge new. Last year Liz’s beloved partner became very sick and started dying. I was far away, so each day I would send her messages that said, “I am sitting outside your door.” One day, my mom called and asked, “How is Liz?” I thought for a moment about how to answer. I realized I couldn’t because she’d asked me the wrong question. I said, “Mama, I think the question is not ‘How is Liz?’ The question is ‘Who is Liz? Who will she be when she emerges from this grief?’ ” Grief shatters. If you let yourself shatter and then you put yourself back together, piece by piece, you wake up one day and realize that you have been completely reassembled. You are whole again, and strong, but you are suddenly a new shape, a new size. The change that happens to people who really sit in their pain—whether it’s a sliver of envy lasting an hour or a canyon of grief lasting decades—it’s revolutionary. When that kind of transformation happens, it becomes impossible to fit into your old conversations or relationships or patterns or thoughts or life anymore. You are like a snake trying to fit back into old, dead skin or a butterfly trying to crawl back into its cocoon. You look around and see everything freshly, with the new eyes you have earned for yourself. There is no going back. Perhaps the only thing that makes grief any easier is to surrender completely to it. To resist trying to hold on to a single part of ourselves that existed before the doorbell rang. Sometimes to live again, we have to let ourselves die completely. We have to let ourselves become completely, utterly, new. When grief rings: Surrender. There is nothing else to do. The delivery is utter transformation.

Dryness and the Dark Night”:2 A certain scientist devoted his life to developing a strain of butterfly that would be the most beautiful combination of colors ever seen on this planet. After years of experimentation, he was certain that he had a cocoon that would produce his genetic masterpiece. On the day that the butterfly was expected to emerge, he gathered together his entire staff. All waited breathlessly as the creature began to work its way out of the cocoon. It disengaged its right wing, its body, and most of its left wing. Just as the staff were ready to cheer and pass the champagne and cigars, they saw with horror that the extremity of the left wing of the butterfly was stuck in the mouth of the cocoon. The creature was desperately flapping its other wing to free itself. As it labored, it grew more and more exhausted. Each new effort seemed more difficult, and the intervals between efforts grew longer. At last the scientist, unable to bear the tension, took a scalpel and cut a tiny section from the mouth of the cocoon. With one final burst of strength, the butterfly fell free onto the laboratory table. Everybody cheered and reached for the cigars and the champagne. Then silence again descended on the room. Although the butterfly was free, it could not fly. . . The struggle to escape from the cocoon is nature’s way of forcing blood to the extremities of a butterfly’s wings so that when it emerges from the cocoon it can enjoy its new life and fly to its heart’s content. In seeking to save the creature’s life, the scientist had truncated its capacity to function. A butterfly that cannot fly is a contradiction in terms. This is a mistake that God is not going to make. The image of God watching Anthony has to be understood. God holds back his infinite mercy from rushing to the rescue when we are in temptation and difficulties. He will not actively intervene because the struggle is opening and preparing every recess of our being for the divine energy of grace. God is transforming us so that we can enjoy the divine life to the full once it has been established. If the divine help comes too soon, before the work of purification and healing has been accomplished, it may frustrate our ultimate ability to live the divine life.

it grows. When a larva pops out of its last skin, it becomes a pupa. The pupa stage is a short "rest stop" before it becomes an adult. Pupas don't eat, they just rest. Maybe they're saving up energy to fly. The complete change from larva to adult happens while it is a pupa. When a butterfly caterpillar sheds its last skin, its inner skin hardens into a chrysalis. A moth caterpillar doesn't make a chrysalis. It makes a cocoon. First, it hooks a silk strand to the top of twig. Next, it fastens that same thread to the bottom of the twig. Then it hangs head-down and spins threads across for the rest of the cocoon. Find a chrysalis or cocoon and watch the new butterfly or moth emerge! What It Looks Like The cabbage caterpillar is green or tan. Its skinny body grows no longer than your thumb. It looks like a tiny cucumber, so it can easily hide on a plant, and is hard to find. It is the first bug of spring, and can be found in any garden cabbage patch. What It Eats The cabbage caterpillar was named for its favorite food. It also eats broccoli,

complete change from larva to adult happens while it is a pupa. When a butterfly caterpillar sheds its last skin, its inner skin hardens into a chrysalis. A moth caterpillar doesn't make a chrysalis. It makes a cocoon. First, it hooks a silk strand to the top of twig. Next, it fastens that same thread to the bottom of the twig. Then it hangs head-down and spins threads across for the rest of the cocoon. Find a chrysalis or cocoon and watch the new butterfly or moth emerge! What It Looks Like

pupa stage is a short "rest stop" before it becomes an adult. Pupas don't eat, they just rest. Maybe they're saving up energy to fly. The complete change from larva to adult happens while it is a pupa. When a butterfly caterpillar sheds its last skin, its inner skin hardens into a chrysalis. A moth caterpillar doesn't make a chrysalis. It makes a cocoon. First, it hooks a silk strand to the top of twig. Next, it fastens that same thread to the bottom of the twig. Then it hangs head-down and spins threads across for the rest of the cocoon. Find a chrysalis or cocoon and watch the new butterfly or moth emerge! What It Looks Like

Dragons that, like butterflies, have two stages to their lives. They hatch from eggs into sea serpents. They roam the seas, growing to a vast size. And when the time is right, when enough years have passed that they have attained dragon size, they migrate back to the home of their ancestors. The adult dragons would welcome them and escort them up the rivers. There, they spin their cocoons of sand – sand that is ground memory-stone – and their own saliva. In times past, adult dragons helped them spin those cases. And with the saliva of the adult dragons went their memories, to aid in the formation of the young dragons. For a full winter, they slumbered and changed, as the grown dragons watched over them to protect them from predators. In the hot sunlight of summer, they hatched, absorbing much of their cocoon casing as they did so. Absorbing, too, the memories stored in it. Young dragons emerged, full-formed and strong, ready to fend for themselves, to eat and hunt and fight for mates. And eventually to lay eggs on a distant island. The island of the Others. Eggs that would hatch into serpents.

A buddha is the butterfly that finally emerges from the cocoon of the human life-form. (p. 63)

In many ways, I died alongside Mary. I ignored all the telephone calls and the letters. I let the paint dry solid on the palette and one unbearably long night, destroyed all my unfinished canvases, ripped them into multicolored streamers, then diced them into confetti with Mary's dressmaking scissors. When I did finally emerge from my cocoon, about five years later, neighbors had moved, friends had given up, my agent had written me off, and that's when I realized I had become unnoticeable. I had metamorphosed from a butterfly into a caterpillar.

struggle is the best teacher and paves the way for future successes. The story of the butterfly’s cocoon illustrates this point vividly: A boy found a butterfly’s cocoon in his garden one day. Next day, he noticed that a small opening had appeared. For several hours, he watched patiently while the butterfly struggled to force itself out through the little hole. Then it stopped struggling, almost as if it could go no further. Deciding to help the butterfly, the boy used a pair of scissors to snip the remaining bit of the cocoon and the butterfly emerged easily. Something was rather strange though. The butterfly had a swollen body and shrivelled wings. The boy continued to wait expectantly, hoping that at any moment the butterfly’s wings would expand to support its body and the body would contract. Neither event happened. In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and deformed wings, never able to fly. What the boy in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the resultant struggle required for the butterfly to get out are Nature’s way of forcing fluid from the butterfly’s body into its wings so that it is ready for flight after achieving freedom from the cocoon. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in life.

The next generation should embrace their struggles. A butterfly develops only after a struggle to break free from its cocoon. A diamond can only emerge after taking in all the pressure that it can. Struggle hard and never ever give up! You are born to be a Hero.

During those times I feel guilty or cut off from producing, I need to remember I am in cocoon mode. Sometimes you just need to binge watch movies or sleep or do nothing at all…for months. But I assure you, that a gorgeous butterfly emerges ready & re-energized; to light up the world with new ideas, content & #writing,

From this point forward, as a result of working with these Steps and being committed to honouring our inner being when in need, we are moving away from the illusions and traumas that once trapped us unconsciously in narcissistic abuse – and we are ready to emerge, as a butterfly does from a cocoon, spreading our winds fearlessly and soaring in life as an authentic being.

My mother told me when I was young that when the world carries on around me, I should look for the magic. Love blooming between a new couple, the breeze stirring the leaves, a butterfly emerging from the cocoon.

Just as a butterfly emerges from its cocoon, your struggles can lead to beautiful transformation.

Yesterday,’ she said, referring to the collective past of her tribe, ‘the people of these forests knew the secret. They made the finest silk thread from the cocoon of a beautiful sleeping butterfly. The women reeled the silk thread on the spinning wheel, slowly and gently. Such delicate work it was, that the silk remembered, at last, the moth which had created it. And the women were awed at the silver shine of the silk produced. If the silk is so divine, they thought, what must be the beauty of the butterfly waiting to be born? They stopped breaking the cocoons and looked for the crimson wings of the butterflies emerging from the torn nests of raw silk. The sight took them aback. They became sages and storytellers..

Yesterday, she said, referring to the collective past of her tribe, the people of these forests knew the secret. They made the finest silk thread from the cocoon of a beautiful sleeping butterfly. The women reeled the silk thread on the spinning wheel, slowly and gently. Such delicate work it was, that the silk remembered, at last, the moth which had created it. And the women were awed at the silver shine of the silk produced. If the silk is so divine, they thought, what must be the beauty of the butterfly waiting to be born? They stopped breaking the cocoons and looked for the crimson wings of the butterflies emerging from the torn nests of raw silk. The sight took them aback. They became sages and storytellers. My mother’s mother was one of them.

She floated through gray mists, remembering them from before. Which helped her not fight them. Instead, she accepted the way the mists wrapped her in cocoons of enshrining silk that healed her, as if she were a butterfly, soon to emerge with damp wings and no more duties than kissing flowers. That might be lovely—a life of nothing but the sugar offered by flowers and the sun on her colorful self, bringing a sigh of joy to someone’s lips. “Until a bird snapped you up.” She knew that wry mind-voice, too. Chuffta, her Familiar. Memories came back faster this time, too—good.

Aside from this notion of fecundity, there are other aspects that need discussion here. Most striking is a powerful belief that masculinity is an artificially induced status, that it is achievable only through testing and careful instruction. Real men do not simply emerge naturally over time like butterflies from boyish cocoons; they must be assiduously coaxed from their juvenescent shells, shaped and nurtured, counseled and prodded into manhood.

No moisture, no coughs in dilated throats Only moments of thighs like butterflies emerged floating as if from their awkward cocoon.

Besides, there's no need for all your stodgy spinster dresses now. I've always longed to see you in beautiful colors... pink, or jade green..." She smiled at Catherine's expression. "You'll be like the proverbial butterfly emerging from the cocoon." Catherine tried to respond with humor, although her nerves were strung tight with anxiety. "I was really quite comfortable as a caterpillar.

Kaitlyn loved the beauty shop, where she could relax. No one expected the process to be beautiful, yet eventually women emerged like butterflies from a cocoon, freshly new and ready to face the world.

If this turns out to be all we have, I'll cherish it for the rest of my life. Maybe we're like the butterfly when it emerges from its cocoon,” she said, returning to the cocoon analogy she had used before. “The butterfly emerges, amazingly beautiful, but only lives for a short time. Maybe that's us, and we're the butterfly, beautiful for a short time but not meant to last,” she said as tears spilled from her eyes once again. That's How You Know by Julie Simmons (Chapter 14)