The wind was soft that morning, and I remember hearing the leaves dance in the trees above me. I had just turned twelve, and all I wanted was to feel important. I thought if I could train hard enough, run fast enough, or solve enough puzzles, I could prove I was wise and strong. So, when Master Yao—a quiet man with a long silver beard who taught us in the village—asked me to help him gather herbs from the forest, I said yes right away. I thought this was my chance to impress him.
We walked quietly through the woods, the path twisting like a slow river. I couldn’t wait for him to ask me something smart so I could show off how much I knew. But he didn’t say much. He mostly looked at the moss, the sky, and the butterflies.
“Master Yao,” I said, “how do you get so wise? Is it because you study all the time?”
He chuckled and shook his head gently. "Wisdom doesn’t always come from doing more. Sometimes, it finds you when you do less."
I didn’t understand. "But if we don’t try, won’t we fall behind?"
Instead of answering, he pointed to a butterfly sitting on a wildflower. “What is the butterfly doing?” he asked.
“Resting,” I said.
"No," he smiled, "it is being."
I wrinkled my nose. “What’s the difference?”
Master Yao just kept walking.
Later, we sat by a small stream. I wanted to impress him again. I threw a stone in the water, trying to make the perfect splash. Then another. And another. Each time, the water bounced and rippled—but never calmly.
Master Yao leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. “You remind me of an old story,” he said. “A long time ago, a man named Zhuangzi dreamed he was a butterfly. In his dream, he didn’t know he was a man. He simply flew from flower to flower, happy and free. When he woke up, he wondered—was he a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly now dreaming he was a man?”
I blinked at him. “Huh?”
He smiled. “Sometimes, we forget how to just be. Like the butterfly, we chase and chase, not knowing who we really are. But when we’re still, when we stop trying too hard, the Tao—the Way—begins to show itself.”
We sat in silence for a while. It was strange, but the longer I listened to the stream and watched the butterflies, the less I felt the need to do anything. It felt… peaceful.
As the sun began to set, we walked home. I didn’t feel like proving anything anymore. I just felt light, like maybe I didn’t need to have all the answers.
That night, I dreamed I was a butterfly. I fluttered through clouds and fields, free and happy. When I woke up, I smiled. I didn’t know if I was a butterfly dreaming of being a boy, or a boy who had learned a butterfly’s secret.
Either way, I was finally at peace.
The wind was soft that morning, and I remember hearing the leaves dance in the trees above me. I had just turned twelve, and all I wanted was to feel important. I thought if I could train hard enough, run fast enough, or solve enough puzzles, I could prove I was wise and strong. So, when Master Yao—a quiet man with a long silver beard who taught us in the village—asked me to help him gather herbs from the forest, I said yes right away. I thought this was my chance to impress him.
We walked quietly through the woods, the path twisting like a slow river. I couldn’t wait for him to ask me something smart so I could show off how much I knew. But he didn’t say much. He mostly looked at the moss, the sky, and the butterflies.
“Master Yao,” I said, “how do you get so wise? Is it because you study all the time?”
He chuckled and shook his head gently. "Wisdom doesn’t always come from doing more. Sometimes, it finds you when you do less."
I didn’t understand. "But if we don’t try, won’t we fall behind?"
Instead of answering, he pointed to a butterfly sitting on a wildflower. “What is the butterfly doing?” he asked.
“Resting,” I said.
"No," he smiled, "it is being."
I wrinkled my nose. “What’s the difference?”
Master Yao just kept walking.
Later, we sat by a small stream. I wanted to impress him again. I threw a stone in the water, trying to make the perfect splash. Then another. And another. Each time, the water bounced and rippled—but never calmly.
Master Yao leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. “You remind me of an old story,” he said. “A long time ago, a man named Zhuangzi dreamed he was a butterfly. In his dream, he didn’t know he was a man. He simply flew from flower to flower, happy and free. When he woke up, he wondered—was he a man dreaming he was a butterfly, or a butterfly now dreaming he was a man?”
I blinked at him. “Huh?”
He smiled. “Sometimes, we forget how to just be. Like the butterfly, we chase and chase, not knowing who we really are. But when we’re still, when we stop trying too hard, the Tao—the Way—begins to show itself.”
We sat in silence for a while. It was strange, but the longer I listened to the stream and watched the butterflies, the less I felt the need to do anything. It felt… peaceful.
As the sun began to set, we walked home. I didn’t feel like proving anything anymore. I just felt light, like maybe I didn’t need to have all the answers.
That night, I dreamed I was a butterfly. I fluttered through clouds and fields, free and happy. When I woke up, I smiled. I didn’t know if I was a butterfly dreaming of being a boy, or a boy who had learned a butterfly’s secret.
Either way, I was finally at peace.
