The teachings of a Butterfly

I was reading Em and the big Hoom,
when I came upon a sentence that read
"A butterfly is banging on the windowpane
and I must now rise to let it out."
This reminded me of the numerous times
I'd observed this and how I'd always thought
about how stupid could the insect be
to not remember the little opening,
where the two windows merge,
from where it came inside, which was
hardly 2 centimetres away from
where it was struggling.
How could it not see the opening or
feel the faint incoming of wind ?
I don't know if it was the effect
this book with red and blue pages had on me
that I read all the sentences
with a different perspective.
I have a thing for pretty books. Or
is it the fact that this book was darkly funny
and about mental illness that made me think so deeply
upon a mere butterfly banging on a window.
How did I ever have the audacity to call
this insect stupid when all of us are in fact
almost always trapped in a viscous spiral
we got ourselves into ? We're the human race,
apparently, pretentiously, with the
highest amount of intelligence that any
species on this planet owns. And still,
how do we not figure out what got us where
and what harm are we doing to ourselves ?
The problems we tend to have.
The hurdles we tend to never be able to cross.
And the one's we label as unsolvable.
How do WE not see the acts that landed
us in this Gordian knot and how do WE not feel
the faint incoming of a panacea to all our problems,
which could always be right there and always had a
blind eye turned towards it ? Why did i think I belonged
to the greater, intelligent species when in fact
 I just belong to a larger, genetically evolved species?
I'm sorry, you little butterfly. Next time you're stuck,
I'd rise up and let you out of your little trap instead
of questioning your intelligence. Because,
if I was ever stuck I'd genuinely appreciate
help getting out of it, without being judged.