The Butterfly and the Baboon

The butterfly flitted along the luxuriantly varied forest verdure, in the apparently haphazard and vertiginous saltations and caprioles that identify their species so easily, even when just detected from your peripheral vision. It fluttered over copse and clearing, over mosses and mushrooms and through the sun-brightening morning mists, visiting here and there a frond or flower with the most transient of greetings, dancing away again to a destination that seemed a blend of butterfly volition and the lightest breezes.

With it’s unique internal model of reality it felt the ultraviolet hearts of flowers on its path, those promisingly fresh and rewarding, shining with almost gravitational attraction, others dimming, wilting and deprived of power, already a burden to their source. But something was odd about this particular butterfly, perhaps it was a spontaneous genetic mutation, or it had suffered the incidence of a high-energy cosmic ray coming from the depths of the infinite during its metamorphosis, causing a strong predilection that is not often encountered, although not unknown among its species. This butterfly had a strong behavioural leaning that often overcame its natural penchant for nectared floral hearts – instead, towards visiting noses of all kinds.

Now in the forest noses are of course quite common, those of toads, wartily flat and mucously slitty, often hiding lethal sticky tongues, deer noses, slim and moistly elegant in the royal-headed posture of an upwind search, tiny squirrel noses, then broad, pointy, oval, flattened or round noses and even the odd cold and dead nose that attracted other noses. Escaping a number of reciprocally inquisitive noses, it fluttered its way into the denser regions of the forest in the laissez-faire attitude so characteristic of butterflies.

By midmorning our butterfly had already sampled a satisfying quantity of nectar and substantially extended its inventory of noses, when it came across a nose not previously encountered. This well-shaped organ was positioned above a somewhat arrogantly confident lip, in turn suspended over threatening canine incisors that molested large fruit unmercifully, depositing a few delicious drops that were quite distracting to the butterfly’s main ambition of olfactory reconnaissance.

"What here we have…" said the butterfly, deliberately varying syntax as the standard exclamation had become a little boring during the day. "What here we have…?" and settled experimentally on the nose before having to do an emergency flutter away from a potentially de-winging conflagration of fangs.

"Not very nice!" said butterfly, whom we shall in future refer to as Buff, landing securely on a nearby twig, having confirmed that there were no other lethal fur-bearing creatures like Bart in the immediate vicinity. Bart threw down the depleted fruit remnant and sat squarely on his haunches, picking at a suspicious tooth, beady eye on the twig-borne impostor.

"You should be beautiful!" growled Bart with a canine-revealing scowl. "Flying uselessly through the air to the irritation of royal species is contemptible enough in itself – but at least make your movements elegant, your darting less random, your gross flapping more aesthetically purposeful. As for those wing patterns and colours, their occurrence should be purely limited to the nether regions, which is where I prefer them to be. And for the remainder of the body I recommend homogeneous brown, which is quite good camouflage if you don’t flap about too much." He leant back further on his haunches, the trunk behind him creaking. "Well, you probably can’t do too much about the colours but you should ask Forest Master to inspire you with sacred behaviour, rid yourself of the entrenched profanity with proper contrition and undergo a rebirth of stance, inclination and understanding by his grace."

Buff smoothed out a long proboscis. "Never heard of him, this forest master, what does his nose look like?"

Bart rolled a beady eye and correctly moved a hind-leg twice in proper ritual observance in the face of such blasphemy. "It is told by the elders that it was he who created this forest in two rotations of the Sun. Only two rotations around the forest - it requires constant study to remember and understand this. There are those who have dwelt from the proper trail though… One tribe has in its possession the sacred bark inscribed by lightening occasioned by Forest Master himself, which was translated and interpreted by the wisest among them. Yet another tribe’s leader had strange convulsions and knew instantly that Forest Master had different intentions for all tribes – these also have become sanctified. Yet another ate of the forbidden Wanga-wanga and was promptly drowned in a flash flood. Ah, the sorrowful tale goes on and on. You would think that the universal concept of Forest Master would be a unifying force, instead it is the many incorrect interpretations of his being that have occasioned massive holy battle and destruction in his name - why, it is only recently that we have begun to accept that all the incorrect interpretations are to respected, at least on the skin of the fruit, even if we can’t stand the flesh."

"So, " said Buff, "and where is this forest master now, still around on a daily basis?"

"Of course!" barked Bart, "not in our forest but in the Forest of Forests - the forest was given to us and is now our sole responsibility. That is, (here he cleared his throat in pre-emptive apology) hmm, hmm, you are also our responsibility."

"How do you know he’s there?" asked Buff, slowly adjusting his wings to the angle of the warming sun.

"We use a leap of faith." Said Bart, "Although full of risk and incomprehensible, it is the only act that can save us from despair."

"Definitely a male though, eh? Not female? Personally I have always been rather inclined to see Fruit Mother in everything, I like the idea of a divine intelligence permeating everything, all that exists, slowly working towards an expression of itself, its intrinsic potentials, with the underlying idea that life is a celebration of life itself."

"Faulty thought, pretty thought… faulty thought…" Bart mumbled sorrowfully, "Without the leap of faith and loving Forest Master beyond self, others, and those expectant, we are constantly tempted to think and do evil by the influence of Marsh Master - he of the evil bubble."

"Hold on to your proboscis, or - your tail… also male?" asked Buff, "Surely one stroke of your genial forest master would wipe out such evil?"

"No, no - you do not understand!" cried Bart.

"Well, why in your opinion can that not be accomplished?"

"That takes another leap of faith." Smiled Bart. "If you would only commit to the leap of faith, you would have no more such need to question!" Bart harrumphed in obviously controlled impatience, his brow wrinkling. "All these questions and questions!" He picked up the spent, puckered skin he had discarded earlier, "you would wish to know what this is composed of, no doubt - as if that would in the least assist…it is enough that it is there, provided in sacred dominion, knowing that it is our responsibility as appointed custodians to care for it." He sniffed. "Undoubtedly you would not be so arrogant and disrespectful if you knew that you were but pupated in sin…"

"How many tribes of different belief are there amongst you strange noses?" asked Buff.

"Ah, many… many, there are those that are polymastrous, those that are monomastrous, and then those that are amastrous, as you yourself appear to be, not to mention the agmastrous." Bart scratched luxuriously under an armpit. "We respect them all deeply of course, as proven by our active proselytism, motivated by an act of grace in an attempt to still save them before they might be committed to the eternal marsh." He shivered at the thought and switched armpits. "Steer away from evil, little winged one – there are those among our wise elders who believe it is present in all that can be seen…frightful… frightful to think that it is in wife and child, even the beautiful yet forbidden Wanga-wanga, in almost all we can and would do…"

Buff slowly folded and unfolded his wings, the deep velvet colours silkenly fluorescent in the noonday sun.

"I have heard of this concept," said Buff, "but cannot claim thorough familiarity with its aetiology…"

"Well, know that what you do is not automatically beautiful or free of sin - there are clear guidelines, precepts, rules if you like, that should be aimed at - these are not intrinsically within us, they are not innate to our being, do not expect them to be born within you and come to expression of their own accord - they must be conferred, learnt, acquired by arduous striving, penance, propitiation, endless repetition." Bart shifted a little further into the shade. "In fact, exactly what your flight could do with when I remarked on it." He elegantly stroked his rich brown coat to remove a few inelegant spots of dust. "Instead what we do is naturally inclined towards the sinful, easily contaminated by evil and ugliness, unless we are continually observant and by acts of grace avoid the evil that can so stealthily infect our very intuitive feelings, thinking and actions."

"Yes, I see - this must require a leap of faith again?" Buff fluttered off his twig for a quick nectarian refreshment, dipping into the rich heart of a deep purple blossom before settling a little further West of his earlier position, keeping the sun at its optimum position. He fluttered a little on his twig, looking around as if he had forgotten something.

Bart smiled gently, magnanimously. "I could teach you beauty, you know - beautiful flight, takeoffs, landings, aerial manouvring, I have no doubt that I know what the absence of beauty is, and therefore also no doubt that I know what beauty should be." The teaching of the tenets is a sacred duty, and without this there is but original marshness and unending sin…

"I should like to learn that very much," Said Buff, "bolstered by your deep understanding of evil, ugliness and sin, you must have, even when considered purely in contrast thereto, a great understanding and propensity for beauty." The wings opened and closed in a flash. "Now, I think I follow this idea of evil and sin as an acquired…" "No, no - certainly not," said Bart as gently and convincingly as he could. "Not acquired, flappy one, innate, I said, born with, intrinsic - it is beauty that must be exercised and brought forth in sacred privilege and duty." Bart shifted on his haunches. "Similarly we are told to love, which may be interpreted to mean that love is not necessarily innately born within us beings, it is not of us but through us that infinite love may be brought to expression." Imagine anything as lowly as us foresters to be innately capable of love… Bart’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, revealing a flash of globular whites, on his face a tremulous grimace of distaste at having to digest the brute arrogance of such a suggestion.

"Ah," said Buff, "but that is where I intuitively differ, not only do I feel that all around and within is divine, but that that which is not naturally born within, cannot be made naturally manifest by adhering to precept, that would be First Order hypocrisy."

"I must and shall love you anyway." Pronounced Bart, his eyes set in pious duty. "But I would certainly like you better if you displayed beauty in flight, instead of that random and haphazard flitting about."

"Love you I can," Said Buff, "not must…" His wings opened and closed once. "I love your intrinsic potentials for development and fruition of your innately divine nature, which I know you have, and even your outward manifestation without reserve. However, the real you is a focus of orientation and intent that seem as lost and unfree to me as I would seem to appear to you, although I am not without hope in our common adventure..."

Bart invited a gentle smile to appear on his face. With his stomach comfortably distended his mood invited the need to be generous.

"A parting of ways seems indicated, yet you could gain much from learning the sacred precepts, this I promise."

"The fact of being is my fundamental precept, being fully and intuitively natural in expression of inner and infinitely regressing connectedness to the All is my freest disposition, that optimises my opportunities for learning and the celebration of being."

"But there is only one true path!"

"There are only true paths!"

"There is Light, and then there is the Darkness!"

"Darkness is not a real entity – darkness is simply the absence of light!"

"Light only issues forth from the divine!"

"Light is intrinsic to the All, all is divine, this is a matter of seeing!"

"I shall not give up on you…we must do our utmost to save, unless it becomes clear in retrospect that you are indeed lost, overcome, and given to Darkness." Bart picked a leaf to play with, his enormous biceps flicking the luxuriant fur covering them with a gleam of blackness underneath.

Buff pricked up his proboscis. "I shall certainly allow you the freedom to experience without prescription or proscription from me, but I shall fly, flit and flutter in expression of the natural workings of light, which is in and all about - the being of self, not the being of artificed learning and expressed precept."

"Hmm…that could be perceived as a careless insult" Said Bart.

"Not so intended - but I do wish that some reconciliation between all our diffracted views and expressions of stance were possible, some recognition of a common underlying bond, if you like, the view that all is light but that it may be refracted and diffracted into endless discrete blends of colour from a common source." Surely all ways of seeing are just facets into a single crystal, and don’t need to be mutually antagonistic, condemning and destructive?

"It is however not possible to reconcile with Darkness, winged friend."

Bart discarded the leaf that fluttered to the ground to be instantly carried away by a large enthusiastic ant using it as a shading parasol against the sun which had already reached its zenith.

"It would appear to me that you would gladly dismiss, discard an entire institution!"

"Oh no," fluttered Buff, "surely that cannot be done - that is eternally there, the river, the woods, flowers, nectar, sun and stars and the internal and external infinities."

Bart’s expression was quizical, he seemed to have turned inward for a while. He looked at the lengthening shadows and realised that the time for proper observation of prescribed ritual was fast approaching. "I shall intercede on your behalf with infinite neighbourly love, but I do hope that you will at least attempt to practice beauty instead of just allowing yourself this unpractised natural expression."

Buff fluttered and inspected the mimicking shadows his wings cast on the ground. Strangely, the more of himself he made, by spreading his wings wide, the larger the shadows became. "Well then, as I was about to say, it is only this concept of ugliness that evades my powers of understanding, of conceptualisation, almost entirely. Correct me if I am wrong… but as I understand it, it must be the opposite of beauty? Therefore entirely absent from reality, purely a definition without manifest realisation, or substance?"

"Substance? Substance? You poor thing, I really do pity you if you cannot recognise ugliness! It is almost everywhere, tempting all thought and action, a natural aspect of all that has been left behind after the sacred rotations. It was only in those short moments that divinity truly acted without impedance…the call of darkness. It is a natural part of us, we, all, are born in original ugliness. Do not let the beauty of skin deceive you… There, see that heap of elephant dung? Now that is ugliness, necessary it may be, even to us, but ugly!"

"I new I had forgotten something…" said the butterfly and joyously flew off to settle on the rich brown dung.

"Dung lover… he’ll never understand the slightest of what it is that allows us to live in glorious celebration of the promised Forest of Forests." And disgusted, not at his any lack of conviction or dialectical ability but at the obvious dearth of reciprocal understanding and receptivity, he leant back against the Wanga-wanga, contentedly remembering the old and favoured tales, the comforts of his youth’s instruction and penances, and the inspired admonishments of the elders. He must remember to warn the others against the dangers of such blind naivité, beseech them to pay due homage to the sacred bark, and to assiduously study its masterful instruction. The shadows lengthened as the forest turned and he ambled away. It was a good spot this, he might come again soon, when the fruit was riper.

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