37
This is the power of the soft and subtle
The caterpillar to the butterfly
So the ego-bound to the master
The butterfly cannot take to the clouds
With heavy wings
It does not gain its colour
Without first knowing the black
You abort its heights
By grasping at its powdered flight
The butterfly has no interest in decay
Choosing flowers from which to nurse
The stench of decay fades given air
So it is with the ego, the internal foe
Stay still and remain gentle
In time the butterfly will land
***
Words and Images are my own.
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