A seemingly chaotic dance of dips and dives,
of colours and their shades,
without a beginning and an end,
without a known purpose,
to the endless song of silence.
Not questioning the butterfly,
not asking why or when or how or what;
being with the butterfly
we can lose ourselves in that silent dance
and become the butterfly;
not dreaming of being the butterfly,
or wondering if we’re the butterfly dreaming of being a human,
but becoming the butterfly,
inseparable from it,
one with it,
connected in the silent dance.