And

And The conquest of the unconscious by the insignificant,
and the contents of a new butterfly’s dreams.

The certainty that you only learn again what you have forgotten,
and all that happens while an elephant blinks.

The knowledge that with every new experience a universe unfolds that you will never be able to touch,
and the distance the elephant baby keeps to his mother during a long day’s journey.

That anxiety you feel in the stomach without knowing why,
and the question whether everything comes to a full stop
when you manage to get eye contact with a butterfly.

The time after the moment you realize that you are the rock,
and the rock is you, and the time following the butterfly’s taking off.


The feeling of satisfaction after not having understood,
yet at the same time having sensated, and the motions of an elephant moving slowly.


The barely discernable fading of free will from the human mind,
and the sounds a pregnant elephant makes in the morning
just before the rays of sun shroud her body in a veil.

Silent listening in to a conversation in a language you do not know,
and seven immobile elephants.


The question whether everything would have seemed different if our brain had a different construction,
and the music that occurs under ground when a large group of elephants walk across the plain.



The dangerous situation that occurs with lacking humility
for what sticks under our feet when we walk,
and the elephants’ conception of time.


The case of having butterflies and elephants in the stomach,
and the question whether everything stops the moment you understand why.


Discovering the music that occurs in very strong wind,
and what happens when two butterflies dream the same dream simultaneously.