I went into my yard with my camera. I sat very still and comfortably on the ground. I closed my eyes and focused on my breath. Breathe in the worlds's nature. Breathe out my separation from the world. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and saw a butterfly drinking on a dandelion beside my knee, posing from side to side like a model.
I thought about how butterflies are lovely to watch. Colour flitting about, on a creature we know cannot harm us, captivates old and young. Most everyone smiles for a butterfly. When a butterfly landed on my arm, just briefly, I felt honoured, blessed. Would I feel that way if a wasp did the same? Or a harmless spider?
Like us, butterflies build a reputation on show. They don't actually care if we think they are beautiful. We don't see their little alien faces, their fuzzy-spiked black backs, their strange proboscis tongues wielded like spears to efficiently suck the lifeblood from the flowers. We see their beautiful wings.
Without the wings, they are still just fuzzy caterpillars on spindly legs after all. Caterpillars who can suddenly fly! They revel in the boon of their newfound superpower as transport, protection and menace to predators. But they can't see their own wings. They don't know they are beautiful. They only know they must flit flower to flower, feeding their life with life. Like us.
What is the human nature?
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