The Chrysalis Mind
A Tale of the Fourth Lichaf
Of the Life of Eudo the Wanderer
I was walking through the woods of Gendic when I chanced upon a tiny chrysalis. I stared at it for a long moment, feeling the edges of a unknown thought…
Does a caterpillar sleep inside its little casing? Does it dream? Is the creature awake, or maybe half-awake? And if so, what does it think of?
I knew, of course, that caterpillars do not think in the sense that humans think. But there was something in my musings that kept my interest. I sat upon a large rock and continued to stare at the chrysalis.
It cannot know for certain what will happen. And even if it knows, does it believe? Is it confident, and hopeful for the coming form? Does it bristle with impatience, waiting to fly? Or is there impatience of another kind, born of a frantic desire to stop changing, for the process is frightfully strange and it cannot know for certain what will happen? Yes, perhaps the creature is frightened and confused. And perhaps it is hopeful, all at the same time. And these various thoughts and feelings are bounding against each other in chaos, for the mind cannot fully comprehend itself. Ideas are formed and then forgotten, and then formed again and then half-forgotten, and the motion of it all is fast yet slow, for it is always changing but never in the same direction, two-steps-forward-one-step-back, so it is only slowly, so slowly it seems, that anything really changes.
I had long since begun to sense this in myself. Certain thoughts were hard to think; they required great effort to process or remember. Slowly, so slowly, I had learned to sense my thoughts and proto-thoughts, most importantly the ones that ran counter to my own intentions. And with that knowledge, I hoped to discard an old form in favor of a new one. It was not an easy process.
And all these frantic discordant thoughts are bound into this tiny thing, this little speck of life in a forest full of creatures. The caterpillar mutates, its mind races, but to the outsider there is no sign, not a hint of movement or life from the chrysalis. And even if there were interest, there could be no words. There is no reassuring call from the outer world, and the creature is lost in itself.
Gently, very gently, I took the chrysalis into my cupped hands and moved it to another spot, where it would be better protected from the wind. I whispered “You’re welcome”, for I felt that we were kindred spirits.
