Butterflies are free

I weave a cocoon from the strands of my own self-absorption impervious to the endless dramas that unfold around me 

Floating through the world on a slipstream powered by my own inadequacies and doubt 

I appear aloof and detached as I ignore the pain I see in others 

Simultaneously nursing petty grievances and slights inflicted as I am ignored by those busily weaving the armor they require to survive in a dispassionate world

Our paths swirl and merge and mingle cross-pollinating angst and misery that dance in the eddies left in our wake

Wondering and wishing for someone, somewhere to acknowledge the pain of our shared existence

Instead we mine the wisdom of dead men who walked alone but still managed to see beyond their own opaque chrysalis into the pulsing radiating pain of others to find the spark of humanity that means hope also lives within us all

But demands to be released into the world and we must tend the fragile spark that exists somewhere inside us all

Perhaps residing in the place where our potential intersects our fear and has the power to become transformative but so many of us blink and then sigh as we pull closer the strands of our cocoons forswearing ourselves to a life of safe mediocrity

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