The Pupahood of Pettiness

Having finished my work early, I could afford to start blogging on a Friday evening. It's a great feeling being able to look forward to a weekend ahead for rest and recuperation.  

The television is filled with news on war in the Ukraine. We humans can never seem to outgrow our instinct to control others for our own self-preservation. We view life narrowly--from our own selfish point of view. Don't we all do that? When it comes to the crunch, you and your own family members matter more than your neighbour's. 

The instinct for self-preservation is what drives life on Earth. The perpetuation of our own kind is what matters. Genes need to perpetuate themselves at all costs. That is the game of life. My genes matter more than yours, on this small tiny clump of matter circling an average star on an unremarkable spot in the Milk Way galaxy, which consists of several hundred billion stars, which is also part of a cluster of galaxies called the Local Group, which is part of the larger the larger Virgo Supercluster, which is just one of around 10 million superclusters in the obvervable universe.

And still we fight over small swathes of land, as if they are the ultimate purpose of our existence. But what is the purpose of our existence? Don't we wonder about this with our puny brains, made of carbon-based molecules. And what laughably grand thoughts emerge from these brains, filled with so much pride and pomposity. 

We also spend a great deal of time speculating about life after death. Yes, there must be some kind of paradise which exists beyond the seemingly tough struggles of existence on this earth where all our desires and needs will be fulfilled. And our dreams are defined by what we know to be desirable in our short lifetime--all the things we wish we had but did not. That's our dream of paradise--defined by very mortal sights, sounds, smells and touch that give us pleasure.

We think we humans are the pinnacle of life. Don't we pity those insects and animals who do not fathom the aesthetic beauty of our music and art, the culinary delights of our world cuisines, the excitement of our video games and outdoor sports and the stimulating conversations with our loved ones and friends. 

But is what we experience with our mortal consciousness the epitome of experience? In our more philosophical moments, we do sometimes wonder, what's it like to be a bat? To 'see' the world with sonar? To dance from flower to flower, as a butterfly, guided by the ultra-violet display of flower petals?

Certainly the caterpillar, stuck on a surface of a leave could not have fathomed the life that awaited him as a butterfly, with wings to flutter across gardens filled with a dazzling array of multi-coloured flowers, sucking the sweetest of nectars from within the hearts of these blooms?

How curious would have been the life of a catepillar, from the viewpoint of a butterfly. And wouldn't the caterpillar think that its slow transformation into a mummy-like pupa akin to old-age and death? We could all laugh at our pettiness one day, when we all become butterflies. How we were childish little caterpillars, thinking that the leaf that we clung to so desperately for food and foothold were all the world there is.  How silly we were to dread our decline into pupahood! 

But we know better now, as resplendent butterflies, smiling at the pettiness of the caterpillar. Or do we?