The air was warm that morning, and the dew on the grass sparkled like little stars. I was lying beside the river, staring at the clouds and wondering what it would be like to be a butterfly. Not just any butterfly—a bright, happy one that floated wherever the wind carried it. No worries. No thoughts. Just flying.
I closed my eyes for a while…and something strange happened.
When I opened them again, I wasn’t me anymore. I was light—I was flying! My wings flapped gently with the breeze, and I danced in the air like a leaf. I flew over trees, over flowers, even over an old farmer who looked up and smiled at me.
I didn’t wonder about who I was or what I had to do. I didn’t chase or run away from anything. I just flew. I fluttered with the wind. I followed its flow. I felt free.
But then…
I blinked—and suddenly, I was myself again. I was lying in the grass by the riverbank, just a boy with messy hair and muddy feet. The butterflies still flew above me. The wind still moved softly. But I felt very still.
Was I dreaming?
Or… was the butterfly dreaming of me?
I didn’t know what to think. I sat up slowly, feeling different inside, like I had learned something—even if I couldn’t explain it.
Later that day, I walked to Master Yuan’s little hut on the hillside. He was a gentle old man with silver hair and eyes that smiled, even when his face didn’t. He always brewed tea slowly, letting the leaves swirl like small dancers in the water.
“Master,” I asked, as we sat under the willow tree, “Can someone be both the dreamer and the dream?”
He sipped his tea and didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up a small leaf and let it fall from his fingers. “Did you see me drop the leaf?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, confused.
“And did the wind carry it—or did it fall on its own?”
“Well… both, I guess,” I replied.
“You see?” he said, smiling. “Sometimes things happen because we act. Sometimes they happen because we don’t. But the Tao doesn’t push. It flows. Like the wind carries the butterfly… like the butterfly follows the breeze.”
I sat quietly, thinking about my butterfly dream. I still didn’t know for sure if I had dreamed it—or if it had dreamed me. But I did know one thing: I didn’t need to try so hard to understand it.
That evening, I lay in bed and watched the stars blink in the sky. Maybe life didn’t have to be all about chasing answers. Maybe, like the butterfly, I could just float with the wind, letting things come and go.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when I feel the need to force things, I remember the butterfly. I breathe. I wait. And I let the Tao carry me, just like the wind in my dream.
The air was warm that morning, and the dew on the grass sparkled like little stars. I was lying beside the river, staring at the clouds and wondering what it would be like to be a butterfly. Not just any butterfly—a bright, happy one that floated wherever the wind carried it. No worries. No thoughts. Just flying.
I closed my eyes for a while…and something strange happened.
When I opened them again, I wasn’t me anymore. I was light—I was flying! My wings flapped gently with the breeze, and I danced in the air like a leaf. I flew over trees, over flowers, even over an old farmer who looked up and smiled at me.
I didn’t wonder about who I was or what I had to do. I didn’t chase or run away from anything. I just flew. I fluttered with the wind. I followed its flow. I felt free.
But then…
I blinked—and suddenly, I was myself again. I was lying in the grass by the riverbank, just a boy with messy hair and muddy feet. The butterflies still flew above me. The wind still moved softly. But I felt very still.
Was I dreaming?
Or… was the butterfly dreaming of me?
I didn’t know what to think. I sat up slowly, feeling different inside, like I had learned something—even if I couldn’t explain it.
Later that day, I walked to Master Yuan’s little hut on the hillside. He was a gentle old man with silver hair and eyes that smiled, even when his face didn’t. He always brewed tea slowly, letting the leaves swirl like small dancers in the water.
“Master,” I asked, as we sat under the willow tree, “Can someone be both the dreamer and the dream?”
He sipped his tea and didn’t answer right away. Instead, he picked up a small leaf and let it fall from his fingers. “Did you see me drop the leaf?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, confused.
“And did the wind carry it—or did it fall on its own?”
“Well… both, I guess,” I replied.
“You see?” he said, smiling. “Sometimes things happen because we act. Sometimes they happen because we don’t. But the Tao doesn’t push. It flows. Like the wind carries the butterfly… like the butterfly follows the breeze.”
I sat quietly, thinking about my butterfly dream. I still didn’t know for sure if I had dreamed it—or if it had dreamed me. But I did know one thing: I didn’t need to try so hard to understand it.
That evening, I lay in bed and watched the stars blink in the sky. Maybe life didn’t have to be all about chasing answers. Maybe, like the butterfly, I could just float with the wind, letting things come and go.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, when I feel the need to force things, I remember the butterfly. I breathe. I wait. And I let the Tao carry me, just like the wind in my dream.
