What a caterpiller calls the end of the world we call a butterfly

What a caterpiller calls the end of the world we call a butterfly

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7 thoughts on “What a caterpiller calls the end of the world we call a butterfly”

  1. “The hurt you embrace becomes joy. Call it to your arms where it can change. A silkworm eating leaves makes a cocoon. Each of us weaves a chamber of leaves and sticks. Silkworms begin to truly exist as they disappear inside that room. Without legs, we fly. When I stop speaking, this poem will close, and open its silent wings.”
    ~Rumi <3

    Back to home <3

    I am not to be attained by those who, loving me, stand
    reverentially by in rapt admiration. I am not for those who
    ridicule me and point at me with contempt. To have a crowd of
    tens of millions flocking around me is not what I am for. I am
    for the selected few, who scattered amongst the crowd, silently
    and unostentatiously surrender their all – body, mind and
    possessions – to me. I am still more for those who, after surrendering
    their all, never give another thought to their surrender.
    Meher Baba <3

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