Indulgence

holding butterflies in your hand...

Poe from Terrible Thought (written by Poe, John O'Brien and Mike Elizondo)
I must stay calm, you know I must be clear
It's going to take a hundred thoughts to make this one disappear
A train like that will travel with us all for years
A terrible thought could have a terribly long career

In Palawan, I found myself at the Butterfly garden where, in a lovely enclosure filled with beautiful flowers and a net placed over the top of the walls surrounding it so that sun light came in and you could see the sky, they would breed butterflies. You step in and there they were, bouncing up and down in the air. They would land on leaves, flowers, on your hair or back. Stay perfectly still and they would land on your outstretched hand and/or your finger. You could feel its proboscis (or whatever you call its mouth) poke at your skin and it doesn't hurt at all. It would tickle me if I were ticklish. Such beautiful, gentle creatures. If only they lived longer but they have a set purpose.
I remember reading a book on biology back when I was still in grade school that said butterflies help spread pollen all over and ensure that flowers grow, or something to that effect. Or was it, when they would feed on flowers, they would transfer the stamen or pistil or whatever where the "male" parts of the flowers to the "female" parts of the flower and help them breed or something. I know it has something to do with the continuation of flowers. Something like that. They are an important balance to ecology, anyhow.

I was amazed, all of a sudden by the sheer strength I had in comparison to them. It wouldn't take much effort for me to snap them between my fingers. What was shocking was that I was so beholden to them that it was these tiny little butterflies that had me in my own grasp! They had power over me because I was so in awe of them. At least, for us, their purpose was clear. Ours, well, we are still trying to figure it out, right?

The meaning of life is not all that complicated, really. There is none. Life is its own meaning. It would probably have a singular meaning if we were all after the same thing and if we all did the same thing but it is not so; that is not the case. We are all individuals who hone our very different talents and skills to pursue different goals. As social beings, we help each other; we find people whom compliment us and make up for things that we lack. We are one species, definitely but we live different lives. So there can't be one simple meaning to it all, can there?

I've decided long ago that, for me, the meaning of life is for us to reach our utmost potential; to be the best of what our imaginations can make out for us. We are to learn and improve on ourselves and to have as much fun and joy as possible. Life is a gift, with it comes feelings, experiences and thought. It comes with wonder and joy and longing and hope. I will not simply box all this in some simple little formula that says this is the way things are and the way things should be. No, I am too grateful to do something like that. Instead I will take this mind, this heart, this soul and this body and do with it as I please and what I please is to be the best that I can be. To be all that I can be and even more until there is nothing left.

Take a look at my happy face. I must say this is not the most flattering of pictures but I was truly happy. Surrounding me was the gorgeous sea, blue in all its splendour. On one side, a gorgeous beach, mountains and trees. It is an actual forest. I was asked to smile and I shouted out for joy for there was wind in my hair and a rising feeling in my heart.

I wrote 8 pages of a short story again in a matter of 2 and a half hours. Just like that, it was written. I had forgotten how good it felt to write fiction and for it to come easy to me like that. Automatic writing, it was. I formulated the opening in my head and the characters and just begun writing and it went out straight. Almost like a sneeze but with more grace, with more wonder. I'm using that word a lot these days wonder. What a terrific word! That's what happens to you when you are shown something so much more grander than yourself, than what you know. You become bigger because you know you are a part of it, somehow. And so I've begun writing again. I've begun writing short stories again. And soon, who knows? I might end up writing another poem. It's been months since my last and a whole year and a half since then.

It's this glorious energy running through me and making me feel all that is my passion. In a way, I don't just know that it is there but I can feel it running through me like I used to feel it before. How wonderful to be so alive!

At Sabang Beach, just as we were about to walk into the reservation where monitor lizards walk free and monkeys climb trees just an arm's reach away. Through the wood, we walked on a wooden path towards the lagoon in the previous blog entry that led to the underground river and a very dark cave (more on that soon). I've never been anywhere more lovely, more alive.

I swear, this is a beach where mermaids have been and something with very large fingers scraped against the rocks and made it look like such. The fingers of God? Maybe. But I was there. And I was both working and having a blast. It doesn't always have to be one or the other.

And upon your finger, a butterfly lands and you realise how big you are in relation to small things and how small you really are in the end. And just like that, it flutters away and you are holding nothing but emptiness and a memory that it was there. But it is enough to open your eyes and realise that all this time it was closed. And a wind will blow through your hair and cool the nape of your neck, and you turn your head to see that they have never been so near and within reach, and that hundreds more wait, hidden behind leaves and flowers and the fullness of life...

posted by wanggo @ 8:03 AM