Tuesday, 12 July 2011

The windy butterfly sees the path that is set upon the infinite.

Forever I love the well-made arrow that flies straight, forever it goes flitting straight to its intended target my naked heart. This is it: I am I, here and now. I go, I fly to my target. I love also the bow that is held stable in the breeze simply by the weight of a butterfly alighting upon its top-notch.

I fly like a butterfly to my flower, the flower that I feed at as it flows with me in the wind. Good flower, good butterfly. We are one at the joining, in the wind.

Also, if I fly I fly as straight as an arrow, in the wind I fly, straight to my goal. Good wind, jolly wind off of the hills and in the dales: The wind is my freedom.

The windy-gust is my metronome, it gusts with me; it beats with my heart to show me the way. I fly free in the wind. Good wind, free wind. I fly, soar and am free in the blustery wind.

I am a butterfly. This is my pledge, this is my word.

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Welcome! Here, be Platonic, be precise, be concise, do not lie, do not mock, do not giggle, do not do the fandango in your mind as you comment. In effect, be one with the butterfly as you think and converse here.