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When the Wings begin to Open: A Devotional Reflection on Metamorphosis

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

She was already there when I arrived—pressed against the mossy stone like an unfinished thought. Her wings, still furled, hung damp and delicate, a pale parchment waiting for a story. I knew at once what she was. A Luna moth. One I had only ever dreamed of seeing unfurl in the wild. I have only seen 2 other’s, in full beauty my whole life. All in the last 3 years! That’s 3 in 3 years! But, this one, was truly transformational!

And I stayed. For nearly an hour and a half, I bore witness as she emerged—not just physically, but mythically. Her body trembled with instinct, reshaping itself from confinement into grace. The crumpled edges of her wings softened and stretched into their full, ancestral pattern—green veils kissed with crescent eyes, lunar glyphs etched in velvet.

This was not just a moment in nature. It was a mirror.

Because I too have been in a chrysalis.

This past year has been one of soul-deep transformation. What began as a quiet reckoning with long-buried grief became a full-scale initiation. I’ve unearthed the raw truths of Pluto—death, power, surrender—and watched them ripple through the watery chambers of my Moon. I’ve met the edges of myself I once feared were too dark to touch, and found the voice of Lilith rising from the bones of my lineage, not as a curse, but as a liberation song.

The cocoon doesn’t ask for our permission. It finds us when it’s time. It folds around the old story, and then, in silence, begins to dissolve it.

Inside the dark, I have not just changed—I have become.

And so when I watched her—this lunar-winged oracle unfurling in real time—I didn’t just see beauty. I saw confirmation. I saw a soul contract fulfilled. I saw myself.

I tattooed a Luna moth on the back of my neck in April 2021, long before I consciously began this descent. I placed her right at the base of my skull—at the threshold of vision and voice, where memory meets becoming. I didn’t know then how prophetic that placement would be. How many times I’d feel her wings against my spine when I didn’t think I could keep going.

But I did.

And now, on the edge of a new season, I know this:

Emergence is not a performance.
It is a sacred, messy, irreversible act of truth.

Reflection: The Time Between

The in-between space—the hourglass of not-quite-then and not-yet-now—is often the most disorienting part of the journey. We are neither caterpillar nor winged. We are unraveling in the dark. But that space is sacred. That stillness is alive with intelligence.

There is wisdom in the waiting.
There is alchemy in the ache.
There is divinity in the delay.

An Invitation

If you, too, are in a season of becoming—may you pause.

Not to rush your wings.
Not to force the unfolding.
But to honor the ache that made you.

This moment—this breath—is part of it.
Your becoming is already in motion.
Let it come gently.

Ritual Nudge: Emergence Offering

Create a small threshold altar with these elements:

• A bowl of water (for the lunar memory)
• A candle (for the unseen fire)
• A symbol of your own transformation (a feather, a key, a stone, a photograph)

Sit before your altar and place your palms over your heart.

Repeat aloud or whisper:

“I honor the dark that shaped me.
I bless the stillness that held me.
I welcome the wings that are mine to grow.”

Then write:

• What part of me is still soft, still unfurling?
• Where have I mistaken stillness for failure?
• What truths have emerged through my own metamorphosis?
• What does my Luna know that I’ve forgotten?
• How will I mark my emergence, not as an end—but as a beginning?

Let your answers come slowly. They are part of your unfolding.

Closing Thoughts

Some transformations are quiet.
Some ache before they open.
And some, like this Luna, arrive in their own divine rhythm, simply asking us to stay long enough to notice.

I’m still in the middle of it.
But I’ve seen the shimmer of my own wings.
And I’m not looking away.

May you see yours too.

With breath and becoming,
The Inspired Imaginative | The Devoted Mystic

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