When a Butterfly lands on a flower does it know the experience of pain and worry? Is it consumed with the trappings of daily life? Is it nothing more than a higher form of stone without thought, feeling, just an instinctive actor? Or, does it understand, feel and take pleasure in the warmth of the sun, the brilliance of a flower’s color? Is there a bond between the flower and the butterfly at a level we cannot comprehend? When it again takes flight does it experience fear and worry, must it plan or does it just live for the moment not knowing its time is short?