Scholé news March 2021

A caterpillar slowly makes its way along a plant stem.

It is very busy. Its jaws grind up one leaf after another, its digestive organs work without a break. It has to grow fatter and bigger quickly; its innate instinct drives it to keep on growing. Now and then it risks a glance at the competition – the many fellow caterpillars in front of it, beside it and behind it, with whom it races to eat, day after day.

What might the caterpillar feel when its gaze happens to fall on the colourful butterfly sailing through the air high above it? Does it have any idea that this winged creature, which seems to have nothing whatsoever in common with it, was once a caterpillar too? Probably not. It will probably be surprised by its own development when the nourishing leaves suddenly no longer taste good. All at once it feels the inexplicable urge to wrap its body, which has grown heavy and clumsy, in a firm casing of silk threads it has spun itself. And inside this cocoon, which protects it from the outside world, an incomprehensible miracle takes place over the following weeks or months.

One body cell after another begins to dissolve and re-form. The caterpillar’s immune system attacks the newly formed imaginal cells because it identifies them as hostile intruders. But the larva cannot resist its transformation for very long. At some point its immune system is overwhelmed, because more and more body cells are changing their form, until the tipping point is finally reached: from one moment to the next, the creature in the cocoon no longer feels like a dying caterpillar but like a butterfly in the making. From that moment on it recognises its defence mechanisms as self-sabotage and actively takes part in the mysterious process of renewal, at the end of which it will rise into the air for the first time as a brilliantly coloured butterfly.

This miracle happens many billions of times, year after year, in almost every region of the Earth. Is the metamorphosis of the caterpillar not a magnificent symbol both of the development of consciousness in each individual and of the gradual evolution of society?

Butterflies love the sweet nectar of flowers; some could even be called light-eaters, because they take in no food at all. Alone or in swarms they fly freely about and see the diversity of the world from a bird’s-eye view. So they find it very easy to recognise larger connections.

The caterpillars’ field of vision, on the other hand, is extremely limited. They see only what is directly in front of them or beside them, and they are interested exclusively in eating and growing. Creatures that can fly make them instinctively afraid. After all, they must always reckon with the possibility that these are hungry birds or predatory insects that have their eye on them. The other caterpillars around them are their siblings, but at the same time always competitors for food, which is why they have to be watched with suspicion.

When I am seized by horror and despair at the spread of fear, death and destruction that we are witnessing right now, the true story of the caterpillar and the butterfly comforts me. It reminds me that I am sabotaging myself when I rebel against a process whose outcome is already certain. For like most people, who truly do not want a caterpillar world of limitless growth, merciless competition and unbridled consumption back, I know deep inside that a far more beautiful butterfly world, more worth living in, lies ahead of us – even if we cannot yet imagine it.

When I let myself be unsettled by horror stories or particularly agitating and interesting articles on the internet, when I rant and argue instead of staying centred, I think of the imaginal cells being attacked by the caterpillar’s immune system. But when I manage to be so present that I can clearly sense when I should keep quiet and when action is called for, I feel a peaceable butterfly consciousness beginning to spread within me.

When anger grips me because I cannot believe that opportunistic and unscrupulous scientists, doctors, politicians or journalists can so successfully present themselves as benefactors and protectors, I try to picture them as bristly caterpillars and think to myself:

“Just keep on eating! You’ll be amazed at what awaits you once you’ve grown really big and fat!”

When I have to watch people being persecuted who stand up for the common good and make great personal sacrifices for it, I try to console myself with the thought that they have already entered the last phase of their transformation and only need to free themselves from the chrysalis…

The children of the New Age seem to have left behind not only the caterpillar phase but also the chrysalis phase. They cannot be thrown into fear, anger or worry, because their multidimensional consciousness allows them to empathise with other people without judging them. They follow the path of their soul unswervingly, live in harmony with themselves and with nature, spread joy and light – and more and more of them are being born. Shall we not take this as a good omen that it cannot be much longer before the collective shift from caterpillar consciousness to butterfly consciousness is finally complete?

Hopeful, brightly shimmering spring greetings Alexandra

Now revised – “Lernen ist wie Atmen” (Learning is like breathing) as an eBook

Together with two unschooling mothers, Gudrun Totschnig and Sigrid Haubenberger, we published it ourselves and have now also made it available as an eBook.

We feel that, especially in this time of distance learning, experiences from unschooling can help people find their bearings. Let the reading sample inspire you, or buy the eBook as a PDF on the GAIA marketplace (the 10 % member discount applies here too). The book is in German.

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