Following the path of bright flowers
was an enclosed screened room of caterpillars and cocoons.
The room led into a large greenhouse full of butterflies of many colors.
I was fascinated to watch the butterflies drink nectar from the flower blossoms. The proboscis, the slender mouth-tube, was coiled in a perfect tiny circle beneath the butterfly's *face,* and would suddenly whip out to the flower, then delicately whip backwards, very similar to watching an elephant drink water with its trunk. How amazing!
It was so beautiful to watch these vibrant and colorful butterflies flutter through the greenhouse, landing on people
and the fruit set out for them.
Watching these fluttering, beautiful creatures, though, I couldn't help thinking that they would all be gone soon, since the lifespan of a butterfly is measured in days or weeks.
Time, like an ever rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten as a dream
Dies at the break of day.
The busy tribes of flesh and blood
With all their cares and fears,
Are carried downward like a flood
And lost in following years.
My dear friends, the butterflies are like us -- strong, beautiful, active, imbibing life to its fullest.
But also like the butterflies, we do not stay here for long. I think of what life was like for me only ten years ago, twenty years, and how the *normal* then is not the *normal* now. It moves so quickly. Doesn't it?
While in the greenhouse, I saw a butterfly with a frayed wing, and it couldn't fly straight. This life can be like that, too, heartwrenching and unable to put into words. The butterfly's spirit was strong, and yet held back by its circumstances.
I try to be strong. I would like to encourage you, my dear friends, to be strong also, and to search with all your heart for the truth.
Think on the things that last.
~with love to dearest friends~