I dreamed I was a butterfly.
In my dream, I fluttered through a meadow filled with flowers. The breeze carried me high above trees and rivers. I wasn’t thinking about being late, or what others thought, or if I was doing things right. I was just... flying.
Then I woke up.
I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. My name is Zhuangzi. A long time ago, I lived in ancient China. People came from all over to hear me speak about the Tao—which means “the Way.” It’s the gentle path of nature, the flow that all things follow when they are true to themselves.
That morning, I sat quietly under the peach tree, still thinking about the dream. I touched my face. I was Zhuangzi again. But my heart whispered, “How do you know you’re not the butterfly dreaming it is Zhuangzi?”
Sounds silly, right? But let me tell you why that question was important.
A boy named Xun was nearby, chasing a dragonfly with a bamboo stick. He stopped when he saw me and bowed quickly.
“Master Zhuangzi!” he said, panting, “How can you talk to people about wisdom when you chase butterflies in your sleep?”
I smiled. “Would you rather I chase wisdom while awake, and never rest like a butterfly?”
Xun blinked. “But dreams aren’t real.”
I looked at the wind swaying the tall grasses. “Tell me, Xun... is the wind real?”
“Yes!” he said.
“Can you catch it?”
He frowned. “No... but I can feel it on my face.”
“Just like a dream,” I whispered.
Xun sat down beside me. “So... what do you mean then? Are we dreams too?”
I picked up a twig and drew a circle in the dirt. “Sometimes, we try very hard to be something we’re not. Like the dragonfly you chase—it just flies. It doesn’t think, ‘I must flap my wings this way.’ It follows the Tao—its natural way.”
He looked down. “I always try to get things right at school. I work hard, but I still make mistakes.”
“Like the butterfly,” I said gently, “You don’t need to push so hard to be good. The butterfly brings joy just by being a butterfly. Maybe being you is enough.”
Xun was quiet for a long time. Then he asked, “So am I the dreamer or the dream?”
I chuckled. “Maybe both. Maybe neither. Just don’t let the question stop you from flying.”
By sunset, he was chasing dragonflies again—but this time, with laughter, not frustration. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just being.
That’s when I knew: the greatest truth doesn’t come from answers. It comes from letting go. Like a butterfly, we are light when we don’t try too hard. We follow the Tao when we let life flow.
I still wonder sometimes... Am I the butterfly dreaming I’m Zhuangzi? Or Zhuangzi dreaming I’m a butterfly?
But I don’t chase the answer anymore.
Now, I simply fly.
I dreamed I was a butterfly.
In my dream, I fluttered through a meadow filled with flowers. The breeze carried me high above trees and rivers. I wasn’t thinking about being late, or what others thought, or if I was doing things right. I was just... flying.
Then I woke up.
I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. My name is Zhuangzi. A long time ago, I lived in ancient China. People came from all over to hear me speak about the Tao—which means “the Way.” It’s the gentle path of nature, the flow that all things follow when they are true to themselves.
That morning, I sat quietly under the peach tree, still thinking about the dream. I touched my face. I was Zhuangzi again. But my heart whispered, “How do you know you’re not the butterfly dreaming it is Zhuangzi?”
Sounds silly, right? But let me tell you why that question was important.
A boy named Xun was nearby, chasing a dragonfly with a bamboo stick. He stopped when he saw me and bowed quickly.
“Master Zhuangzi!” he said, panting, “How can you talk to people about wisdom when you chase butterflies in your sleep?”
I smiled. “Would you rather I chase wisdom while awake, and never rest like a butterfly?”
Xun blinked. “But dreams aren’t real.”
I looked at the wind swaying the tall grasses. “Tell me, Xun... is the wind real?”
“Yes!” he said.
“Can you catch it?”
He frowned. “No... but I can feel it on my face.”
“Just like a dream,” I whispered.
Xun sat down beside me. “So... what do you mean then? Are we dreams too?”
I picked up a twig and drew a circle in the dirt. “Sometimes, we try very hard to be something we’re not. Like the dragonfly you chase—it just flies. It doesn’t think, ‘I must flap my wings this way.’ It follows the Tao—its natural way.”
He looked down. “I always try to get things right at school. I work hard, but I still make mistakes.”
“Like the butterfly,” I said gently, “You don’t need to push so hard to be good. The butterfly brings joy just by being a butterfly. Maybe being you is enough.”
Xun was quiet for a long time. Then he asked, “So am I the dreamer or the dream?”
I chuckled. “Maybe both. Maybe neither. Just don’t let the question stop you from flying.”
By sunset, he was chasing dragonflies again—but this time, with laughter, not frustration. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just being.
That’s when I knew: the greatest truth doesn’t come from answers. It comes from letting go. Like a butterfly, we are light when we don’t try too hard. We follow the Tao when we let life flow.
I still wonder sometimes... Am I the butterfly dreaming I’m Zhuangzi? Or Zhuangzi dreaming I’m a butterfly?
But I don’t chase the answer anymore.
Now, I simply fly.
