The Fallen Stones: Chasing Butterflies, Discovering Mayan Secrets, and Looking for Hope Along the Way

by Diana Marcum

“wonder is the beginning of philosophy”—an echo of a Socrates quote in the dialogues of Plato.

It has been Clive’s favorite quote and his ethos ever since. His calling, the way he sees it, is to provoke wonder.

People who could recall very little often remembered Susan when she visited the centers with her fine mesh cages full of butterflies. She attributed the phenomenon to an intrinsic human connection to beauty that, she insisted, reaches deeper than individual memory.

As an artist, this is the type of art I want to create; beauty reaches deeper than individual memory. And it starts with wonder.

It came back to wonder. He had been seized with a fascination for butterflies since childhood. It was an intrinsic mesmerization, an addiction to their colors and complexities.

The way Clive thought about it on his soul-searching walks was that each of those people who marveled at a butterfly had an opportunity for wonder.

“When you feel wonder, you start thinking: What is this thing exactly? How does it work? What’s its part in the world? What can I do to help it survive? You look at the world differently, and it accumulates,” he said.

So inspiring!

“When you don’t know what to do—do the thing in front of you,” she had said.

Doom was not a foregone conclusion. Butterflies still dazzled. Some forests still grew. Friendships held. Perhaps Sebastian was right. Maybe hope is something you find along the way when you just keep going.

It was a small thing. But those butterflies could be my brilliant, cosmic Post-it Notes. They could be reminders of how much beauty there is left and to do anything to save it. Put it in your head: K’e saha holom. Put it in your mind: K’e sá ka’uuxl.