There is no such thing as permanence.

Butterfly and leaf

To a butterfly, whose span can be measured in hours, the bright blooms are unchanging.  Yet we see their petals wither and fall, see their shriveled Winter shape before Spring’s renewal.

Soul flower

I look, and see changeless rocks that have stood sentinel across the centuries, yet in some other span I know my seeing to be as limited as that of the butterfly.

Living rock

Worlds are born and die in the passing of a cosmic sigh.

Why, then, do we try to make things ‘stay the same’?
What fear binds us to a game
we can never win,
that is lost before we begin?

In my butterfly span, let me drink deep of each bright bloom without fearing Winter’s touch;  let me run my fingers over each rock and know the illusion of its changelessness;  let me know the common strand that binds my living to rock and flower and let me live that knowing.



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