The sun felt warm on my face as I sat beneath the old peach tree behind our home. I was only ten, but I often came here when I felt too many questions buzzing in my head. Papa said that thinking too much ties up the heart like a tangled rope. I didn’t understand what that meant—until the day I dreamed of the butterfly.
That day began like any other. I helped Mama with the rice, tied my sandals, and wandered out to the tree. But something inside me felt twisted. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Everyone said I needed to work hard, make choices, plan carefully. But the more I tried to decide, the more lost I felt.
I laid down in the grass, hoping the breeze would quiet my thoughts. That’s when I fell asleep and began to dream.
In the dream, I was soaring—light as air, wings soft and glowing. I fluttered over flowers, danced on petals, and played in the sunbeams. I wasn’t a boy anymore—I was a butterfly! There was no stress or planning. I just flew, following the wind. I felt free, happy, full of joy.
Then, just as suddenly, I woke.
I stuck my hand out and wiggled my fingers. I was a person again. But a strange question floated into my mind like a drifting leaf: “Wait... was I a boy dreaming I was a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly dreaming I’m a boy?”
That question made me laugh, but then I grew quiet.
That night, I asked Grandpa, “Can someone really not know whether they are a dream or real?”
Grandpa smiled, brushing his beard. “Ah, you have heard the tale of Zhuangzi.”
“Who’s Zhuangzi?” I asked.
“A very old and very wise man,” Grandpa said. “He once dreamed he was a butterfly, just like you. When he woke, he wondered the same thing.”
“But wasn’t he still him?” I asked.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he realized something deeper,” Grandpa said softly. “In the Tao, there is less of 'this or that' and more of simply 'being.' The boy and the butterfly are not so different. They both follow the Tao.”
I didn’t understand then, but weeks passed, and I found myself thinking less about what I “should” be and more about just being.
I watched clouds roll. I listened to frogs sing. I helped Mama when she needed me, but I didn’t rush. Somehow, by doing less, I was feeling more alive.
One afternoon, I was walking along the stream when a butterfly landed on my shoulder. We just sat there in silence. No need to chase it. No need to catch it. I simply smiled.
I didn’t know all the answers yet. And I still didn’t know exactly what I would be when I grew up. But I was learning something important.
Maybe I didn’t need to change the world. Maybe I just needed to follow it—gently, like the butterfly on the wind.
And that simple truth? It made me feel light again, like maybe I hadn’t really stopped flying.
The sun felt warm on my face as I sat beneath the old peach tree behind our home. I was only ten, but I often came here when I felt too many questions buzzing in my head. Papa said that thinking too much ties up the heart like a tangled rope. I didn’t understand what that meant—until the day I dreamed of the butterfly.
That day began like any other. I helped Mama with the rice, tied my sandals, and wandered out to the tree. But something inside me felt twisted. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up. Everyone said I needed to work hard, make choices, plan carefully. But the more I tried to decide, the more lost I felt.
I laid down in the grass, hoping the breeze would quiet my thoughts. That’s when I fell asleep and began to dream.
In the dream, I was soaring—light as air, wings soft and glowing. I fluttered over flowers, danced on petals, and played in the sunbeams. I wasn’t a boy anymore—I was a butterfly! There was no stress or planning. I just flew, following the wind. I felt free, happy, full of joy.
Then, just as suddenly, I woke.
I stuck my hand out and wiggled my fingers. I was a person again. But a strange question floated into my mind like a drifting leaf: “Wait... was I a boy dreaming I was a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly dreaming I’m a boy?”
That question made me laugh, but then I grew quiet.
That night, I asked Grandpa, “Can someone really not know whether they are a dream or real?”
Grandpa smiled, brushing his beard. “Ah, you have heard the tale of Zhuangzi.”
“Who’s Zhuangzi?” I asked.
“A very old and very wise man,” Grandpa said. “He once dreamed he was a butterfly, just like you. When he woke, he wondered the same thing.”
“But wasn’t he still him?” I asked.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he realized something deeper,” Grandpa said softly. “In the Tao, there is less of 'this or that' and more of simply 'being.' The boy and the butterfly are not so different. They both follow the Tao.”
I didn’t understand then, but weeks passed, and I found myself thinking less about what I “should” be and more about just being.
I watched clouds roll. I listened to frogs sing. I helped Mama when she needed me, but I didn’t rush. Somehow, by doing less, I was feeling more alive.
One afternoon, I was walking along the stream when a butterfly landed on my shoulder. We just sat there in silence. No need to chase it. No need to catch it. I simply smiled.
I didn’t know all the answers yet. And I still didn’t know exactly what I would be when I grew up. But I was learning something important.
Maybe I didn’t need to change the world. Maybe I just needed to follow it—gently, like the butterfly on the wind.
And that simple truth? It made me feel light again, like maybe I hadn’t really stopped flying.
