It was late afternoon, and I sat under an old fig tree, watching clouds float across the sky. The air was warm, soft like a blanket, and the breeze felt like a friend whispering secrets. My name is Liang, and I was always full of questions. Why are we here? What’s real and what’s not? I asked everyone I met. Most just smiled and said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
But that day, I met someone who didn’t say that.
I was walking near the edge of the village when I saw an old man lying in the grass, eyes closed, arms stretched wide. His long gray beard moved gently with the wind, and he looked so peaceful, I thought he might be dreaming.
“You’re gonna catch a cold, laying out here,” I said, trying to be polite.
He opened one eye. “Ah, but what if this is the warmest place of all?” he said with a smile.
I laughed. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
The old man sat up and gave me a kind look. “My name is Master Lin,” he said. “Would you like to hear a story?”
Of course I did. I loved stories.
He said, “Long ago, there lived a wise man named Zhuangzi. One day, Zhuangzi had a dream. In the dream, he was a butterfly, fluttering through the sky, landing on bright flowers and floating with the wind. He felt peaceful and free. He didn’t know he was a man. He only knew the life of a butterfly.
“But then, Zhuangzi woke up. He sat for a long time and wondered—was he a man who dreamed of being a butterfly, or was he a butterfly now dreaming he was a man?”
I blinked. “Wait. That’s confusing. Was he the man or the butterfly?”
Master Lin chuckled. “That is the question he asked too. Sometimes, truth isn’t something we hold. It’s something we gently notice, like how the clouds move or how the grass bends in the wind.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “But why would that matter?”
“It helped him see that the world isn’t only what it seems. We often chase things—honor, money, control—thinking they make us real. But the Tao, the Way, teaches us to just be. Just like the butterfly was being a butterfly, without worry.”
We both sat quietly for a while. The air smelled of wildflowers.
Then Master Lin added, “When you stop trying so hard to be someone, you begin to discover the peace of simply being. That’s what Zhuangzi learned from the butterfly.”
That night, lying in bed, I thought about what he’d said. I had always tried to be the best—at school, at chores, even when playing games. But maybe I didn’t need to try so hard all the time. Maybe, sometimes, I could just be like the butterfly—light, free, and part of the breeze.
I didn’t understand everything that day, but I felt something new, something calm.
And now, whenever I feel lost or rushed, I close my eyes and imagine I’m a butterfly, drifting through the sky, and it reminds me: the Way is simple, and I’m part of it.
It was late afternoon, and I sat under an old fig tree, watching clouds float across the sky. The air was warm, soft like a blanket, and the breeze felt like a friend whispering secrets. My name is Liang, and I was always full of questions. Why are we here? What’s real and what’s not? I asked everyone I met. Most just smiled and said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
But that day, I met someone who didn’t say that.
I was walking near the edge of the village when I saw an old man lying in the grass, eyes closed, arms stretched wide. His long gray beard moved gently with the wind, and he looked so peaceful, I thought he might be dreaming.
“You’re gonna catch a cold, laying out here,” I said, trying to be polite.
He opened one eye. “Ah, but what if this is the warmest place of all?” he said with a smile.
I laughed. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
The old man sat up and gave me a kind look. “My name is Master Lin,” he said. “Would you like to hear a story?”
Of course I did. I loved stories.
He said, “Long ago, there lived a wise man named Zhuangzi. One day, Zhuangzi had a dream. In the dream, he was a butterfly, fluttering through the sky, landing on bright flowers and floating with the wind. He felt peaceful and free. He didn’t know he was a man. He only knew the life of a butterfly.
“But then, Zhuangzi woke up. He sat for a long time and wondered—was he a man who dreamed of being a butterfly, or was he a butterfly now dreaming he was a man?”
I blinked. “Wait. That’s confusing. Was he the man or the butterfly?”
Master Lin chuckled. “That is the question he asked too. Sometimes, truth isn’t something we hold. It’s something we gently notice, like how the clouds move or how the grass bends in the wind.”
I scrunched my eyebrows. “But why would that matter?”
“It helped him see that the world isn’t only what it seems. We often chase things—honor, money, control—thinking they make us real. But the Tao, the Way, teaches us to just be. Just like the butterfly was being a butterfly, without worry.”
We both sat quietly for a while. The air smelled of wildflowers.
Then Master Lin added, “When you stop trying so hard to be someone, you begin to discover the peace of simply being. That’s what Zhuangzi learned from the butterfly.”
That night, lying in bed, I thought about what he’d said. I had always tried to be the best—at school, at chores, even when playing games. But maybe I didn’t need to try so hard all the time. Maybe, sometimes, I could just be like the butterfly—light, free, and part of the breeze.
I didn’t understand everything that day, but I felt something new, something calm.
And now, whenever I feel lost or rushed, I close my eyes and imagine I’m a butterfly, drifting through the sky, and it reminds me: the Way is simple, and I’m part of it.
