In my last article (Death of the World) I had written that it is the world that dies, I (the supposed deceased) will continue to live. All I have asked you people to look at the entire process from a different perspective in this article.
I must refer to the beautiful poem written by G. Eustance Owen (of whom I did not find anything on internet) titled ‘BUTTERFLY’. Whether this poem is actually written by him or not I am not aware. But the credit of authorship rests with him. It is one of those poems, close to my heart.
In this poem a butterfly tries to convince that its sick brother is not dead, but has transformed into a butterfly. The caterpillar does not believe butterfly’s story and thinks it to be a fairy tale. The butterfly reiterates that it is telling the truth. It is in a new form. The caterpillar continues to disbelieve, and thinks its brother is dead!
Death is an illusion. This illusion swallows all. None is in a position to see beyond this illusion. However, they think it is others who are dead, and mourn for their supposedly dead. Read the following beautiful poem – where the stupid caterpillar does not understand the truth!
A butterfly rested upon a flower, gay was he, and light as a flake;
And there he met a caterpillar, sobbing as though his heart would break;
It hurt the happy butterfly, to see a caterpillar cry.
Said he, ‘Whatever is the matter?’ And may I help in any way?
‘I have lost my brother’ wept the other, he has been unwell for many a day;
Now I discover, sad to tell, he is only a dead and empty shell.
‘Unhappy grub, be done with weeping, your sickly brother is not dead;
His body is stronger and no longer crawls like a warm, but flies instead;
He dances through the sunny hours, and drinks sweet nectar from the flower’.
Away, away deceitful villain, go to the winds where you belong;
I won’t be grieving at your leaving, so take away your lying tongue;
Am I foolish slug or snail? to swallow such a fairy tale?’
‘I will prove my words, you unbeliever, now listen well and look at me;
I am none other than your brother, alive and well and fancy free;
Soon you will be with me in the skies, among the flirting butterflies.
Ah! Cried the mournful caterpillar, it is clear I must be seeing things;
You are only specter sipping nectar, Flicking your ornamental wings;
And talking nonsense by the yard, I will not hear another word.
The butterfly gave up the struggle, ‘I have’, he said, ‘no more to say’;
He spread his splendid wings & ascended, into the air and flew away;
And while he fluttered far & wide, the caterpillar sat & cried.
About the Author
Dr. K. Raja Gopal Reddy is a seasoned internationally qualified Insurance professional. What you are reading here, may not answer all the questions we have, but has the absolute power of asking unsettling questions which increase the interest in the strange world, and show the contradictory wonders lying just below the surface of the commonest things of life. Look at this disturbing but beautiful thought of Friedrich Nietzsche “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him”.
Dr. Reddy can be reached at: raja66gopal@gmail.com
