#43 A tale about leaning into the unknown
Monarch butterflies & trusting the journey
Dearest,
I read the most fascinating thing on Morgan Harper Nichols’ IG story.
A tale about leaning into the unknown, of trusting the journey, of paving the way for the ones to come – the true story of Monarch Butterflies and their annual migration.
Every year, monarch butterflies fly from far north (as far as Canada) to far south (Mexico!) in order to dodge the extreme cold.
In spring, they make their way back north.
These tiny things with precious little wings are the only butterfly species known to go on a two-way migration, just like birds do.
As Morgan notes, while this journey is in itself spectacular, you will also find a philosophical/spiritual aspect to it (only if you are of that bent, of course).
These butterflies cover as much as 3000 miles to reach their winter home. Since the lifespan of a monarch butterfly is just two to six weeks, this means it takes several generations of them to complete their journey back north.
“And yet, every year, monarch butterflies return south to the same place where their great-great-grandparents were the year before,” Morgan shares.
Morgan compares this migration to how we humans usually look at journeys.
We generally emphasise arriving at a destination, of that being the ultimate sign that our journey was fruitful, that it culminated into something, that it wasn’t a waste.
What monarch butterflies teach is the importance of doing the groundwork: “ To carry on on a journey that you might not actually live to see the end of”.
My favourite part from Morgan’s musing is when she writes about the monarch butterflies in the middle of migration. “The ones who maybe never lived to see either Mexico or Canada, and yet, they are still a part of this path.”
I have been thinking about this a lot – not only how this means we need to build a peaceful world for our children even if we aren't there to see it or live in it, but I'm also ruminating about how this relates to someone's personal journey as they evolve and change constantly.
When you finally reach the destination, you are no longer the one who dreamt this, who took the first step, the one who carried on.
The journey has changed you.
To be on a journey of growth then is to lean into the unknown, to whole-heartedly trust the process, and be ready for seemingly ceaseless annihilation and rebirth.
Sometimes Most of the time, it will not make sense, but you have to keep placing one foot in front of the other, keep adding a line below each line and turn your life into the poem you want it to be.
When Matt Haig writes, “You don’t have to understand life. You just have to live it”, I think he is talking about this journey and how it’s the only way to truly grow, and maybe the only way to truly live.
I want you to walk into your day with the following excerpt from Alice in Wonderland:
“Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cheshire Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.
Alice: I don't much care where.
The Cheshire Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.
Alice: ... So long as I get somewhere.
The Cheshire Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.”
I hope you keep moving forward and savour the journey throughout, dearest.
Some verses:
#1
- Catherine Builta, Excerpt from A Letter to My Future Self
Artwork by みなはむ
#2
And if I speak of Paradise,
then I’m speaking of my grandmother
who told me to carry it always
on my person, concealed, so
no one else would know but me.
That way they can’t steal it, she’d say.
And if life puts you under pressure,
trace its ridges in your pocket,
smell its piney scent on your handkerchief,
hum its anthem under your breath.
And if your stresses are sustained and daily,
get yourself to an empty room – be it hotel,
hostel or hovel – find a lamp
and empty your paradise onto a desk:
your white sands, green hills and fresh fish.
Shine the lamp on it like the fresh hope
of morning, and keep staring at it till you sleep.
- Roger Robinson, A Portable Paradise
(Hear Padraig O’Tuama read this beauty and share their thoughts around it here)
#3
I wake up & it breaks my heart. I draw the blinds & the thrill of rain breaks my heart. I go outside. I ride the train, walk among the buildings, men in Monday suits. The flight of doves, the city of tents beneath the underpass, the huddled mass, old women hawking roses, & children all of them, break my heart. There’s a dream I have in which I love the world. I run from end to end like fingers through her hair. There are no borders, only wind. Like you, I was born. Like you, I was raised in the institution of dreaming. Hand on my heart. Hand on my stupid heart.
- Cameron Awkward-Rich, Meditations in an Emergency
Some soft angst:
Art by Mari Andrew
The highest compliment I can give a friend is, “Being with you feels like coming home.” That’s because it’s the best feeling to me — kicking my shoes into the closet, setting down my keys, taking out my earbuds, flopping my bag on the chair. I pour myself a glass of fizzy water, or something stronger, and my whole body relaxes. I’m safe from the unpleasantness that lurks outside: embarrassing moments, intimidating meetings, people who don’t get my jokes. Being home means I can let loose, be myself, feel comforted.
But that comfort was always so sweet precisely because it was special. Home was a refuge, a place I chose to be. Now that most of us have to be there, where can we take refuge?
- Mari Andrew, I Miss Home As a Refuge
Some tunes:
I just realized this about myself that if a song has the word “lemon” in it, then I WILL press play
Just the vibe I needed (Thank you, Sanmita)
A short film:
“Spiraling through ancient, painted faces, cartoon figures, and the now ubiquitous N95, the short film “Beyond Noh” by Patrick Smith sequences 3,745 masks in an entrancing rhythm. The individual images span multiple cultures and time periods and shift from one to the next with the beat of a hand drum.” (Text and gif courtesy: Colossal)
Watch it here.
Down memory lane with Ghalib
The Nook is taking a seven-week journey with Abeer Khan who has agreed to graciously hold our hands and guide us through the mysterious alleys of Urdu poetry.
The third Urdu legend on this 7-week journey with Abeer is Ghalib. Ghalib’s name is often synonymous with Urdu poetry, but nothing describes him better than his own words:
na gul-e-naġhma huuñ na parda-e-sāz
maiñ huuñ apnī shikast kī āvāz
No flower of song, no fretting of a guitar,
I’m the sound, simply, of my own breaking.
Check out our deck on Ghalib to be nudged gently in the direction of his magic.
Goodness to walk away with from the nook:
The Inescapable Disappointment of Stories Aging (Lovely article by Damini)
Crowd-sourced list of books by Indian Authors that’ll pull you out of a reading slump
Listen to some of Japan’s earliest sound recordings + read about it
Parting poem by yours truly
It was an August morning.
The sky was having a meltdown,
and I decided to go to the river.
Foolish, I agree, but if you knew me,
you wouldn't be surprised at all.
I sat on the bank and watched the river
hold the sky in its arms.
The sky unwilling to be consoled
kept lashing out in rage.
And yet the river held on
the way he did on rare days
when the sky sprinkled sunlight
on his face, or dressed up for him in stars.
Now here he was, braving the sky's excesses
with his unconditional love.
My head screamed this was unhealthy,
“everything in moderation”, isn’t that what we are taught?
And yet, wouldn’t I be lying if I said
that on some days,
I didn’t long to be held like that.
If my newsletter has brought you delight, then you may make a contribution via GPay or UPI to support me and show The Nook some love here: riya.roy6@axisbank
or,
you can buy me a book!
See you next Sunday,
Love, RiyaRiya Roy, the author of
Syllables in Exile
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