On The Wings Of Butterflies

Water is a lot like our dreams. When in water, we can fly and move about as we wish, but we can't stay submerged forever. And dreams are a lot like butterflies. They're beautiful when they're free, but when you try to keep it stowed away in a jar, you're not doing much beside killing the poor thing. Or at least that's how it happened for me.



I killed many a butterfly in my days of youth and innocence. How was I to know that butterflies had to be fed? I never saw them eat, so I simply assumed they didn't have to.



I also never saw a butterfly forgive. Every time a butterfly died by my hands, it came back for me, wreaking havoc on my dreams. I know now that those nightmares were not the spirits of dead butterflies, but my guilt for having killed them.



I still love butterflies. People find it odd that a marine biologist has so much love for a hopelessly land-bound creature, but I guess they don't see it the way I do. As children, we all believe we can fly. It's one of those dreams that we bottle up and eventually let die, but not me. I let my dream fly, just like I started to let those butterflies fly.



I spend a lot of time underwater, flying in a world not too far from our own. I'll never forget those butterflies. The ones that taught me to trust in life and to let things soar to their full potential.



I rested, floating on the current of my dreams, flying on the wings of butterflies...