the butterfly hole

There are many connections between this and the last post, "a funny thing happened on the way to a life."  They are companions in a way, but I imagine the differences between them will stand out more than the similarities.  

If Shel Silverstein wrote about the topic of discovering yourself (and it's entirely possible he did), it might have sounded something like this... 

the butterfly hole

For years I would watch the butterflies

that randomly flitted by

never really knowing what they were

bits of magic in the sky.

Where do butterflies come from?

As a question I thought it quite fair

until I discovered a hole in my head

hiding right beneath my own hair!

Now a hole, people say, is a bad thing,

something that ought to be fixed.

Walking 'round town

with a hole in your crown

is just no way to go

(this we all know)

unless you’re a whale

or an ‘o.’

People said my hole was a problem

and with people I try to agree.

But when I peeked inside that hole

there were living things peeking at me!

Their bug eyes were wide and unblinking

skinny black legs poked out at the top.

I had to use three mirrors to see them

and a flashlight tied to a mop.

Those poor things inside are trapped,

the hole in my head way too small!

Only the teeny-tiniest ones

could wriggle their way out at all.

They looked so wishful and pleading

so I set out to widen the spot.

I found a good spade, polished the blade

and stuck it gently into the slot.

Yes I know that it must’ve looked silly

(you know how people will sometimes complain)

What is that strange man up to, they said.

He’s shoveling out his own brain!

But dig I did, and when I was done

there was a whoosh! and a sudden dazzle

as a magician’s magic hankerchief  

of butterflies streamed from my skull!

More butterflies to tickle the eyes

more colors than I could have seen.

Great, bold, bright-as-the-sun ones

small, plain, hardly-there-at-all ones

and everything else in between.

Now I pass through each day

in the most unusual way

in a cloud of wonders

a blizzard of colors

a sea of confetti wings.

I must be a sight to those passing by

the butterfly man, some may call me.

Or, the giant-hole-in-his-head guy

depending on what they choose to see.

But I’ve no time for that

- I don’t dare wear a hat -

I’ve got all I can do

describing a few

of the millions that flutter by me.