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A
Lesson in Patience
Nikos Kazantzakis
I remembered one morning when I
discovered a cocoon in the bark of a tree, just as the
butterfly was making a hole in its case and preparing to
come out. I waited a while, but it was too long appearing
and I was impatient. I bent over it and breathed on it to
warm it. I warmed it as quickly as I could and the
miracle began to happen before my eyes, faster than life. The case opened, the butterfly started slowly crawling
out and I shall never forget my horror when I saw how its
wings were folded back and crumpled; the wretched
butterfly tried with its whole trembling body to unfold
them.
Bending over it, I tried to help it with my breath. In vain.
It needed to be hatched out patiently and the
unfolding of the wings should be a gradual process in the
sun. Now it was too late. My breath had forced the
butterfly to appear, all crumpled, before its time. It
struggled desperately and, a few seconds later, died in
the palm of my hand.
That little body is, I do believe, the greatest weight I
have on my conscience. For I realize today that it is a
mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should
not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should
confidently obey the eternal rhythm.
from Zorba the Greek |
