the life of a butterfly is not so bad

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    mike
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    I live the life of a butterfly…

    A free spirit: I flutter about,

    my desires are honest,

    my needs are modest,

    of my omniscience,

    I am not in doubt… except… I live in my cocoon.

     

    It is a nice cocoon. It has just the right temperature all year around. Even when it is too cold outside or too hot, my cocoon feels just-right. When it rains, I do not get wet.  When it snows, I remain warm and dry. If the wind blows, I can ignore it, even if it sometimes makes me nervous. My water is brought to me and my waste is carried away. The air that lets me breathe is purified. Inside my cocoon wonders await and wonder awaits.

     

    There are many doors in my cocoon. When opened, these doors reveal miracles and treasures.  One door, I love to visit, is filled with food both sweet and salty. Things from all-across the cosmos, find their way through these doors.  I open a door and hear music, harmonious to my ears. I open another and see toys to delight my eyes. Yet another opens, and smells excite my nose; another opens, and there lays knowledge of the outside world, to inspire my brain. One door is extra-special.

     

    Through this peculiar door… I sometimes leave my cocoon for short periods of time. I have heard much of this “outside” place, from the comfort of my cocoon. Inside my cocoon is not entirely free from hazards, but they are mostly of my own making. Outside, misfortune is more often able to sneak-up on me unaware, from forces beyond my control. Outside is not so comfortable… although there is a natural beauty to be found too. Nature is outside, and I like to visit nature occasionally.  Butterflies love nature and so do I. A tree, a flower, a bird, an insect, a forest, or a creek are all sensations: visions that seem a marvel. Those among us, who do not like to be astonished by these sights, may stay snug in their cocoon.

     

    There are others like me, living in their cocoons, who occasionally emerge to the outside to see these wonders.  And there are others outside, who are outside all the time; choosing instead, or by their individual circumstances having no choice, to not live in cocoons: living simply… outside.

     

    Funny thing though… as my cocoon grows more and more comfortable, the outside grows more and more uncomfortable; the marvels less marvelous; the delights less delightful. By the very processes that create my cocoon and make it such a cozy place to be… inevitable is the cost to the outside: for every treasure and miracle in my cocoon has a cost that devours, starves, corrupts and fouls the outside. The air outsiders breathe is toxic, the waste is at their feet or tangled in their limbs. The sound is deafening, and the taste is poison.

     

    Those of us living in our cocoons did not understand, that as we built our palaces of peace and harmony, our walls would hide our evil deeds; wrought upon the earth below us and the air above. I ask myself, in my cocoon, as I wake from my pleasant snooze; how peacefully should I sleep?

     

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    #32919

    I felt a soft waft of air pass across the back of my neck just now. I wonder if your wings caused it on this side of the ocean? Some may find that in their cocoon there is a ocean between the waves.  Leaving mine now to go for a walk.

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