A butterfly, one everlasting symbol, through cultures and times of mankind, for the psyche, or the soul.
Li Po, "Chuang Tzu and the butterfly".
Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real—the butterfly or the man?
Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
Returns in time to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city,
Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil,—what for?
2 comments:
This next poem by Coleridge is so cool, in fact it was the first I reminded when I thought about the butterfly; but I didn't wanted to post two poems of course. I prefer this one, because I prefer this author and subject far from many others:
The butterfly the ancient Grecians made
The soul's fair emblem, and its only name--
But of the soul, escaped the slavish trade
Of mortal life! -- For in this earthly frame
Ours is the reptile's lot, much toil, much blame,
Manifold motions making little speed,
And to deform and kill the things whereon we feed.
Samuel T. Coleridge, "Psyche".
Yes. Coleridge wasn't absolutely great?
I will admit that I'm not sure about when the butterfly started to be a symbol of transformation. I supposed it was with Carl Jung, but just supposed. I know that has been a symbol from the soul since milennia.
I have seen the morpho butterfly when a child during a trip to Paraguay; the silky iridiscent wings are hypnotic.
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