The present awareness of a soaring crow has no thought and needs no thought. It’s held in her colorless plumage, the spaces between poetic squawks, and the whispering burbles heard in the dusk of her constantly changing silhouette.
Closer to the ground, a butterfly flutters dangerously close to the watercolor splashed hat of a gardener. His monarch wings beat enviously. And why shouldn’t they? Surely, only a Goddess could handle such a magical wind-creating device! Deep below his antenna, he jitters and jutters by the angles that make up angelic flowery visions and howling leaf blowers.
He forgets that without the striking shocks that emanate from sunflowers, there can be no perception, and no angels borne of angles.
And, in absence of the droning vibrations from nearby bees, he ignores that there can be no sound, which is the hive of original thought.
If he could just remember… for every creature with 2, 4, or 6, and even 8 legs, thought streams only from the filtering of sunlight, while time arrives in the radiating sun visions imagined in leafy umbrellas of dogwood.
So it is that the gardener comes and goes, as the butterfly flirts from life to death besides her ever-changing hat.
Filed under: Butterflies, Crows, Light, Perception, The Real You, Thought
