The caterpillar dies for the butterfly to be born. Heavy, earthbound gluttony transforms into brilliant, flitting, nectar sipping beauty. And so must I die every moment to my old self for my new self to be born. Death and birth walk hand in hand. I cannot hold on, must not cling to the moments as they pass me by. I have to embrace the new ones as they come. And so I leave my arms wide open in this passage of life and experience the ongoing bitter-sweetness of change, the agony-ecstasy of transformation.
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