A simple act of compassion

Daily Dhamma People so seldom say I love you And then it's either too late or love goes. So when I tell you I love you, It doesn't mean I know you'll never go, Only that I wish you didn't have to. ~Author Unknown

Sago wrote this morning about a dying butterfly. Her simple act of compassion moved me. She wrote:

I found a dying butterfly on the cobblestones. It was blue-winged with black edges, and very pretty, long delicate black legs--one of its wings was ripped a bit toward its body. I put my finger out to it and slowly it climbed onto the my finger. I held the butterfly up high and it tried to take off but it was off-center and couldn't fly. I carried it up to the house, knowing it wouldn't live long. I began to enter the house to show K the poor thing but it was terrified--fluttered wildly-- so I stood on the porch with it until it was almost still. Then I thought: this beauty wouldn't want to die on a human's hand, so I put it on a boxwood branch from the shrub in the pot at the entry to the porch. It moved a bit. Then it was still. I went inside. I left it to Mother Nature.

Thank you for my Dharma lesson today, Sago.


May you all be protected from the storm.

I don't know who took this photo. It was sent to me in an email without credit to the photographer. I've seen it on various blogs, but was unable to find out who actually took the photograph. Most mothers can identify with the desire to protect their young from the dangers of life. At some point we have to let go and let them fly on their own, but the desire to protect is always there.