The mountain doesn't fear the storm

The mountain has no words,
the soul has no mirror,
butterflies don’t live in cocoons,
but they know there’s no place dearer.

The mountain doesn’t fear the storm,
the shadows, lightning, thunder;
and you’ll see no more from the top,
than by tearing the whole thing asunder.

The mountain wants to tell it all,
all that’s ever been, all it’s ever seen;
I just was, was afar, and I saw it spoke to me clear;
just as I listen to your eyes reflect my soul,
and in turn I know there’s something with no fear.

That is as I see you, as you are, never afraid.
Somewhat like the mountain;
there are no words but everything's said.
There's no care for the shadows of the world, nor for the thunder and lightning of the skies;
you are a thing of beauty, like a butterfly at large, an expression that never dies.
You must be what you are. And you know there’s no understanding in conquering the form.
It’s perhaps just as well the cocoon’s not for you anymore, and that the mountain doesn’t fear the storm.