What the Caterpillar calls the end of the world

Image by J. Binford-Bell

The butterfly counts not months but moments,

and has time enough. 

Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.” 

― Rabindranath Tagore

The Master calls the Butterfly


There seems not enough time and too much. Some times it creeps at a slow and ponderous pace and the next moment it has flown the coop. Life is not about the time you spend but how you spend it. And it seems of late I am wasting too much of it. But by whose definition is it waste?

Is the worth of our lives measured in the buildings we erect, the money we bank, the education we obtain, or in the joy of a single conversation, noticing the dawn, petting a dog, making a cat purr? Is success evaluated by the number of friends we have on Facebook or the number of attendees at our funerals? Or the tears people shed when they think of us not being on the earth any more?

Have you smiled today? Then you life has worth.

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