Post by roadrunner3 on Jan 31, 2008 9:21:27 GMT -6
The Om and the Butterfly
This is a true story that is alive and well in all of our imaginations, you just
may have told it differently. To appreciate this story, you need to go back to
the eyes of your childhood. Recall a time when you thrilled at the sight of motes
swirling in the sunlight, worms wriggling in the moist space when you lifted a rock,
or, if you had a bit meaner disposition, an ant squirming under the sunny heat
produced by a magnifying glass just before it got vaporized. Recall what it felt like
to sit next to your favorite grandparent, the fountain of eternal forgiveness and
unconditional love (why couldn't your parents be more like your grandparents?).
You might recall the smell of Grandpapa's pipe, or Grandma's homemade bread,
or rooms and furniture that just smelled...well...old. Old tales are sometimes the best,
so get into the mindset of sitting next to your favorite grandparent on a old couch,
on a cold, bright winter's day, with their arm around you and a book laying across
both your laps. As the book is opened a log in the fireplace pops, you feel the wind
surge against the window and you wonder for just a moment...did their grandparents
read to them in the same way? Now, you are ready for the story:
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a butterfly inhabited a field that just
happened to sit right next to a beautiful temple. It was a wonderful field, with
grasshoppers and rabbits and all kinds of flowers that could make you sneeze.
A little creek wiggled its way across the field, providing a nice home for minnows
and crawdads and a place for birds to drink. The little butterfly, only six months
removed from its cocoon, enjoyed a carefree life of flitting and floating and occasionally
snacking on nectar sweeter than the sweetest honey that you can imagine. Life was
good. Well, one day the butterfly was flitting near a wall of the temple, a massive
building that loomed higher than a tree, and was just passing a window when she
heard a very strange noise. Oooommmmmmmmmmm. The sound went on and on.
It had a rhythm kind of like the waves of an ocean or Grandpapa's snoring, but the
sound never really stopped. The sound seemed to have substance, sort of like a place
to rest, although the butterfly could not see it. The Ooommmm surrounded the butterfly
and she felt suspended, motionless, and lost all track of time. She no longer thought
at all about flitting or floating or even about the sweet nectar. She just...was. It was
almost like she was asleep, but she really wasn't. Nighttime fell, and then, very suddenly,
the Ooommmm stopped! If you have ever had the experience of being awakened way
too early by your mother or father, with them shaking you in the bed, then you know
exactly how the little butterfly felt. She jolted awake, and, without the soothing support
of the sound, she actually FELL, but not very far. She landed on the windowsill of the
temple and peered inside, and what she saw almost made her fall again! The floor of
the temple was covered by a sea of men who all looked just alike! It was as if the floor
was covered by a bunch of dominoes that had all gotten knocked over. The men
seemed to all be sitting Indian-style, but had leaned over so that their noses touched the
hard, shiny floor. Their heads were shaved, they all had on brown robes and they were
motionless. Dead? wondered the butterfly. Had the Oooommmm killed them? But
then, after what seemed a VERY long time, the men all got up, together, without anyone
telling them too. They filed out of the temple in a very orderly fashion, they must have
had VERY strict parents the butterfly thought. After that, the temple was completely
empty...and dark. A gentle breeze fluttered the butterfly's wings as it continued to cling
to the window sill, and then the butterfly heard THE VOICE. It was a deep voice that
seemed to well up from the bowels of the earth (that would be deeper than the deepest
hole you have ever dug). The voice seemed to shake the very window sill on which she
stood, and while that part was scary, the voice had a certain kindness, too. "Little
butterfly, why have you come to my temple?", the voice boomed.
This is a true story that is alive and well in all of our imaginations, you just
may have told it differently. To appreciate this story, you need to go back to
the eyes of your childhood. Recall a time when you thrilled at the sight of motes
swirling in the sunlight, worms wriggling in the moist space when you lifted a rock,
or, if you had a bit meaner disposition, an ant squirming under the sunny heat
produced by a magnifying glass just before it got vaporized. Recall what it felt like
to sit next to your favorite grandparent, the fountain of eternal forgiveness and
unconditional love (why couldn't your parents be more like your grandparents?).
You might recall the smell of Grandpapa's pipe, or Grandma's homemade bread,
or rooms and furniture that just smelled...well...old. Old tales are sometimes the best,
so get into the mindset of sitting next to your favorite grandparent on a old couch,
on a cold, bright winter's day, with their arm around you and a book laying across
both your laps. As the book is opened a log in the fireplace pops, you feel the wind
surge against the window and you wonder for just a moment...did their grandparents
read to them in the same way? Now, you are ready for the story:
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a butterfly inhabited a field that just
happened to sit right next to a beautiful temple. It was a wonderful field, with
grasshoppers and rabbits and all kinds of flowers that could make you sneeze.
A little creek wiggled its way across the field, providing a nice home for minnows
and crawdads and a place for birds to drink. The little butterfly, only six months
removed from its cocoon, enjoyed a carefree life of flitting and floating and occasionally
snacking on nectar sweeter than the sweetest honey that you can imagine. Life was
good. Well, one day the butterfly was flitting near a wall of the temple, a massive
building that loomed higher than a tree, and was just passing a window when she
heard a very strange noise. Oooommmmmmmmmmm. The sound went on and on.
It had a rhythm kind of like the waves of an ocean or Grandpapa's snoring, but the
sound never really stopped. The sound seemed to have substance, sort of like a place
to rest, although the butterfly could not see it. The Ooommmm surrounded the butterfly
and she felt suspended, motionless, and lost all track of time. She no longer thought
at all about flitting or floating or even about the sweet nectar. She just...was. It was
almost like she was asleep, but she really wasn't. Nighttime fell, and then, very suddenly,
the Ooommmm stopped! If you have ever had the experience of being awakened way
too early by your mother or father, with them shaking you in the bed, then you know
exactly how the little butterfly felt. She jolted awake, and, without the soothing support
of the sound, she actually FELL, but not very far. She landed on the windowsill of the
temple and peered inside, and what she saw almost made her fall again! The floor of
the temple was covered by a sea of men who all looked just alike! It was as if the floor
was covered by a bunch of dominoes that had all gotten knocked over. The men
seemed to all be sitting Indian-style, but had leaned over so that their noses touched the
hard, shiny floor. Their heads were shaved, they all had on brown robes and they were
motionless. Dead? wondered the butterfly. Had the Oooommmm killed them? But
then, after what seemed a VERY long time, the men all got up, together, without anyone
telling them too. They filed out of the temple in a very orderly fashion, they must have
had VERY strict parents the butterfly thought. After that, the temple was completely
empty...and dark. A gentle breeze fluttered the butterfly's wings as it continued to cling
to the window sill, and then the butterfly heard THE VOICE. It was a deep voice that
seemed to well up from the bowels of the earth (that would be deeper than the deepest
hole you have ever dug). The voice seemed to shake the very window sill on which she
stood, and while that part was scary, the voice had a certain kindness, too. "Little
butterfly, why have you come to my temple?", the voice boomed.
