I had always believed that more effort brought more success. So I worked harder than anyone I knew. I woke at dawn to practice sword forms before my father, the master of the village guard, had his tea. I trained my mind to solve puzzles, memorize poems, and read every scroll I could find. I wanted to be strong, smart, and useful.
But no matter how much I did... I felt like something was missing.
One morning, after a long night of study, I fell asleep under the peach tree behind our house. I dreamed I was a butterfly, light and free, floating on the breeze. I didn’t think about where I was going. I just flew. I dipped through wildflowers and danced between the leaves. There was no goal. No pressure. Just the soft flutter of wings and the warm sun on my back.
When I woke up, my heart felt strange—warm and quiet. I sat for a moment, not sure if I was still the butterfly, or if I had dreamed myself into being the boy.
I told the dream to the traveling monk who visited our town that day. His name was Shen, and he was old, with kind eyes and a walking stick carved with swirling clouds.
He smiled. “Ah, you’ve dreamed the dream of Zhuangzi,” he said.
“Who is Zhuangzi?” I asked.
Shen sat beside me on the grass. “He was a great thinker long ago. He once dreamed of being a butterfly. And when he awoke, he wondered: Was he Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi?”
“That’s the same dream I had!” I gasped.
“Yes,” Shen said softly. “And the lesson is as light as the wings of that butterfly. You are already part of the Way. All your doing, all your striving—it’s not wrong. But sometimes true power comes not from pushing, but from allowing.”
“Allowing?” I didn’t understand.
He pointed to the peach tree. “See how it doesn’t try to grow. And yet, it blossoms in time. That is wu wei—effortless action. Like the butterfly flying—not planning where to land, and yet always finding a place to rest.”
I thought about this all day. I had been fighting the river, trying to push it to flow faster.
The next day, I still practiced. But I didn’t chase perfection. I moved with my breath, flowed like water. I even laughed when I stumbled.
Something had changed.
I still worked hard—but not with the fear of falling behind. I listened more, rushed less. When things didn’t go my way, I stopped to watch, to wonder. Even when others pushed and pulled around me, I remembered my wings and the breeze.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when the world tugs at me to hurry, to fight, to fix—I remember the butterfly. I close my eyes and feel the soft wind.
And I choose to fly.
I had always believed that more effort brought more success. So I worked harder than anyone I knew. I woke at dawn to practice sword forms before my father, the master of the village guard, had his tea. I trained my mind to solve puzzles, memorize poems, and read every scroll I could find. I wanted to be strong, smart, and useful.
But no matter how much I did... I felt like something was missing.
One morning, after a long night of study, I fell asleep under the peach tree behind our house. I dreamed I was a butterfly, light and free, floating on the breeze. I didn’t think about where I was going. I just flew. I dipped through wildflowers and danced between the leaves. There was no goal. No pressure. Just the soft flutter of wings and the warm sun on my back.
When I woke up, my heart felt strange—warm and quiet. I sat for a moment, not sure if I was still the butterfly, or if I had dreamed myself into being the boy.
I told the dream to the traveling monk who visited our town that day. His name was Shen, and he was old, with kind eyes and a walking stick carved with swirling clouds.
He smiled. “Ah, you’ve dreamed the dream of Zhuangzi,” he said.
“Who is Zhuangzi?” I asked.
Shen sat beside me on the grass. “He was a great thinker long ago. He once dreamed of being a butterfly. And when he awoke, he wondered: Was he Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuangzi?”
“That’s the same dream I had!” I gasped.
“Yes,” Shen said softly. “And the lesson is as light as the wings of that butterfly. You are already part of the Way. All your doing, all your striving—it’s not wrong. But sometimes true power comes not from pushing, but from allowing.”
“Allowing?” I didn’t understand.
He pointed to the peach tree. “See how it doesn’t try to grow. And yet, it blossoms in time. That is wu wei—effortless action. Like the butterfly flying—not planning where to land, and yet always finding a place to rest.”
I thought about this all day. I had been fighting the river, trying to push it to flow faster.
The next day, I still practiced. But I didn’t chase perfection. I moved with my breath, flowed like water. I even laughed when I stumbled.
Something had changed.
I still worked hard—but not with the fear of falling behind. I listened more, rushed less. When things didn’t go my way, I stopped to watch, to wonder. Even when others pushed and pulled around me, I remembered my wings and the breeze.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when the world tugs at me to hurry, to fight, to fix—I remember the butterfly. I close my eyes and feel the soft wind.
And I choose to fly.
