I remember one morning when I discovered a cocoon in the bark of a tree just as the butterfly was making a hole in its case and preparing to come out. I waited a while, but it was too long appearing and I was impatient. I bent over it and breathed on it to warm it. I warmed it as quickly as I could and the miracle began to happen before my eyes, faster than life. The case opened, the butterfly started slowly crawling out and I shall never forget my horror when I saw how its wings were folded back and crumpled; the wretched butterfly tried with its whole trembling body to unfold them. Bending over it, I tried to hold my breath. In vain. It needed to be hatched out patiently and the unfolding of the wings should be a gradual process in the sun. Now it was too late. My breath had forced the butterfly to appear, all crumpled, before its time. It struggled desperately and, a few seconds later, it died in the palm of my hand. This little body is, I do believe, the greatest weight I have on my conscience. For I realize today that it is a mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should confidently obey the natural rhythm.
— Kazantzakis, Zorba the Greek
We, as educators, teachers, learners, have the incredible responsibility of meeting children where they are in their learning, rather than where we are in our teaching. We are not the sun that dries the butterfly’s wings, but we help the sun to do its job. We enable the butterfly to experience the sun, the struggle of emergence.
cc licensed photo by ysmad: www.ysmad.com