I had always believed that life was like a staircase—each step carefully planned, each movement aimed toward a goal. But one morning, everything I thought I knew changed… because of a butterfly.
My name is Ming, and I was a young scribe working in the city. I came from a family that believed in hard work and results. “The more you do, the more you achieve,” my father used to say. I followed that rule faithfully—waking early, sleeping late, and never resting. Still, I often felt tired, like my heart was full but empty at the same time. That’s when I met him.
Old Master Zhuang sat beneath a willow tree just outside the walls of our city. He was known for saying strange things, often speaking of dreams and animals as if they held great meaning. Some called him foolish, others called him wise. But I was too curious to pass him by.
One day, after a difficult morning filled with mistakes in my work, I walked out to the fields and found him again, watching a butterfly flap its wings in the sunlight.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, not even hiding the grumpiness in my voice.
He smiled. “A most incredible thing. That butterfly. So free, so light. Do you think it knows where it’s going?”
I blinked. “Of course not! It’s just a butterfly.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or perhaps it’s me.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I had a dream,” he said, leaning back against the tree. “I dreamed I was a butterfly. I fluttered through flowers, danced in the breeze, and felt no fear. But when I woke up, I asked myself: am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly… or a butterfly now dreaming he is a man?”
I stared at him, unsure what to say. “Isn’t that just nonsense?”
He chuckled. “Is it? Or are you just trying too hard to make sense of everything?”
I sat down beside him, my legs tired from all the rushing earlier.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The Tao,” he whispered, “is like the wind, like the river, like the butterfly. It doesn’t try to go anywhere. It just flows. But you, young one, are always pushing, climbing, chasing.”
“But… that’s how you get things done,” I said quietly.
“And what have you gained?” he asked.
I went silent.
He closed his eyes and rested his hands in the soft grass. “Try letting go. Stop holding on so tight. See what happens when you live like the butterfly—light, easy, and free.”
I didn’t understand it all right away, but I kept going back to see him. We would sit beneath the tree and watch the clouds or listen to the birds. Slowly, I began to feel lighter inside. I laughed more. I wrote with less pressure. I still worked, but I no longer forced things.
One day, after many visits, I finally understood. I didn’t have to chase life. I could just live it. Like the butterfly, I could trust the breeze to carry me somewhere beautiful.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to rush or push, I pause and think of Old Master Zhuang and his dream of wings. And for a moment, I become the butterfly too.
I had always believed that life was like a staircase—each step carefully planned, each movement aimed toward a goal. But one morning, everything I thought I knew changed… because of a butterfly.
My name is Ming, and I was a young scribe working in the city. I came from a family that believed in hard work and results. “The more you do, the more you achieve,” my father used to say. I followed that rule faithfully—waking early, sleeping late, and never resting. Still, I often felt tired, like my heart was full but empty at the same time. That’s when I met him.
Old Master Zhuang sat beneath a willow tree just outside the walls of our city. He was known for saying strange things, often speaking of dreams and animals as if they held great meaning. Some called him foolish, others called him wise. But I was too curious to pass him by.
One day, after a difficult morning filled with mistakes in my work, I walked out to the fields and found him again, watching a butterfly flap its wings in the sunlight.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, not even hiding the grumpiness in my voice.
He smiled. “A most incredible thing. That butterfly. So free, so light. Do you think it knows where it’s going?”
I blinked. “Of course not! It’s just a butterfly.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or perhaps it’s me.”
I frowned. “What?”
“I had a dream,” he said, leaning back against the tree. “I dreamed I was a butterfly. I fluttered through flowers, danced in the breeze, and felt no fear. But when I woke up, I asked myself: am I a man who dreamed he was a butterfly… or a butterfly now dreaming he is a man?”
I stared at him, unsure what to say. “Isn’t that just nonsense?”
He chuckled. “Is it? Or are you just trying too hard to make sense of everything?”
I sat down beside him, my legs tired from all the rushing earlier.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The Tao,” he whispered, “is like the wind, like the river, like the butterfly. It doesn’t try to go anywhere. It just flows. But you, young one, are always pushing, climbing, chasing.”
“But… that’s how you get things done,” I said quietly.
“And what have you gained?” he asked.
I went silent.
He closed his eyes and rested his hands in the soft grass. “Try letting go. Stop holding on so tight. See what happens when you live like the butterfly—light, easy, and free.”
I didn’t understand it all right away, but I kept going back to see him. We would sit beneath the tree and watch the clouds or listen to the birds. Slowly, I began to feel lighter inside. I laughed more. I wrote with less pressure. I still worked, but I no longer forced things.
One day, after many visits, I finally understood. I didn’t have to chase life. I could just live it. Like the butterfly, I could trust the breeze to carry me somewhere beautiful.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to rush or push, I pause and think of Old Master Zhuang and his dream of wings. And for a moment, I become the butterfly too.
