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- Losing our monarchs: iconic monarch butterfly down to lowest numbers in 20 years
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- How to Raise Monarch Butterflies Book- Instant Download
Taste the best food Mexico City has to offer on a gastronomic adventure that takes you from pre-Hispanic cuisine to contemporary dishes.
Explore the most important Aztec market, drink in a typical cantina, and be delighted with street food. Next, you will learn the ritual chocolate making from scratch. Finally, a short tasting will complete the experience. This rare experience is well worth the early morning wake up call. You will be in the air for roughly forty minutes, taking in the sheer size of the religious and ceremonial center of the Aztecs and looking out over vistas of the surrounding valley.
Once the gentle flight is over you will toast with sparkling wine before heading to a breakfast buffet at a nearby restaurant. Since hot-air balloons have no steering mechanism, exact routes are dictated by wind patterns, so the proximity to the pyramids will depend on the wind conditions. Located in the mystical pine forests of the Mariposa Monarca, where millions of monarchs cover the tall oyamel and fir trees. As the sun warms their black and orange wings, the butterflies fill the air, illuminating the entire area. Explorations are enhanced by the discussions with naturalists and World Wildlife Federation staff that illuminate and explain the Monarch's wintering migration.
Your hotel for this part of the trip is the Hotel Rancho San Cayetano , a country lodging surrounded by nature. Set among 13 acres of countryside, the rooms have a cottage-like feel with low wood-beamed ceilings, exposed brickwork and embroidered rugs and throws on the beds. After breakfast this morning, drive approximately one hour to the Sierra Chincua Reserve. Upon entering, ride horseback up the hillside to the center of the reserve, where the density of the fluttering Monarchs increases. They are mostly in conjunction with destruction -- moths eating.
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Just my FYI and quoted from another source:. Translators often look for other words in a language that might have similar meanings to illustrate a concept [of change]. The closest word we have in English to the meaning of the Greek word metanoia-as used in the original scriptural text-is "metamorphosis," or the life cycle of change as seen when the caterpillar becomes a butterfly. If we look closely at the concept of metamorphosis we might find insight into the process of metanoia, and the importance of repentance in our lives.
The Greek word for metomorphosis is used all over the New Testament, especially in reference to the transfiguration of Christ and when His people are renewed from their sins in perfection after death. For example, "The Manifested Sons of God" will experience a change in their physical bodies. At some point they will all be translated in their physical bodies. But, unlike a true metamorphosis, our physical body remains the same.
This is because newly born-again Christians are "translated," not "transfigured," which is in the life to come. So, why is it important to keep your physical body? Because God dwells in Flesh, as Jesus does right now. The body is the temple not made with hands. Translation is just a step in that direction and not the end goal. One must not be perfect to be translated, one must learn attitudes of Love, Mercy and Forgiveness, not only in word but also in deed. Perhaps Translation is but a step of Transfiguration or Metamorphosis. Metamorphosis is the process occurring in a [chrysalis] which transforms a [caterpillar] into a Butterfly.
The [caterpillar] is transformed and does not die. The physical body will also transform or change like Jesus' body did. The physical body will go through a metamorphosis [until death and resurection] or change. Translation is also a change. But thinking we must first be perfect to be translated, is like putting the Cart in front of the Horse.
Jacob Groth. May the morning sun carress you, The rains of change refresh you, And the gentle breeze of His Spirit Lift the wings of your transformation. Breen, copyright Dedicated to my mother, Frances F. Breen, Butterfly Memorial Poem. A rush of wings they flutter high to touch the sun and kiss the sky. A butterfly is with us now No more a caterpillar upon a leaf. Person's Name with angel wings A soaring butterfly with us they sing.
Losing our monarchs: iconic monarch butterfly down to lowest numbers in 20 years
One day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a village. T he children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creators heart was sad. H e was thinking: These children will grow old. Their skin will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray.
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Their teeth fall out. The young hunters arm will fail. These lovely young girls will grow ugly and fat.
The playful puppies will become blind mangy dogs. And those wonderful flowers-yellow and blue, red and purple-will fade. The leaves from the trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow. Thus the Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his heart heavy. Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind.
He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly he smiled All those colors, they ought to be preserved. I'll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy. The Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children the blackness of a beautiful girls hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red, purple, and orange of the flowers around him.
All these he put into his bag.
As an afterthought, he put the songs of the birds in, too. Then he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. Children, little children, this is for you, and he gave them his bag.
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Open it; theres something nice inside, he told them. The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the childrens heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.
The butterflies began to sing, and children listened smiling. But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creators shoulder, scolding him, saying: Its not right to give our songs to these new pretty things. You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you've passed them all around. Isn't it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow? You're right, said the Creator. I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn't have taken what belongs to you.
How to Raise Monarch Butterflies Book- Instant Download
So the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that's why they are silent. They're beautiful even so! For your memorial service releases, here is a beautiful poem that can be used. People read this, then read Psalm 6, then release the butterflies. It brings solace and peace. Linda Rogers. I have so many things to see and do, You mustn't tie yourself to me with too many tears, But be thankful we had so many good years. I gave you my love, and you can only guess How much you've given me in happiness. I thank you for the love that you have shown, But now it is time I traveled on alone.
So grieve for me a while, if grieve you must Then let your grief be comforted by trust That it is only for a while that we must part, So treasure the memories within your heart. I won't be far away for life goes on. And if you need me, call and I will come. Though you can't see or touch me, I will be near And if you listen with your heart, you'll hear All my love around you soft and clear And then, when you come this way alone, I'll greet you with a smile and a "Welcome Home".
Take a moment and enjoy a wonderful and beautiful poem. Nora Donston. The sight is so spectacular, please wipe away the tear For I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year. I hear the many Christmas songs that people hold so dear But the sounds of music can't compare with the Christmas choir up here. I have no words to tell you, the joy their voices bring, For it is beyond description, to hear the angels sing.
I know how much you miss me, I see the pain inside your heart. But I am not so far away, We really aren't apart. So be happy for me, dear ones, You know I hold you dear.