I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I

“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?” Thus spoke Zhuangzi, the ancient sage of the East, whose words drift like mist between waking and dream, between the seen and the unseen. In this delicate yet profound vision, he challenges the walls we have built between reality and illusion, between self and existence, between the dreamer and the dream. What if the world we call real is itself but another dream? What if the butterfly, carefree and light, knows a truth the thinking man has forgotten?

In the heart of this parable, Zhuangzi whispers the eternal question of identity: What am I, truly? Am I bound to this flesh, this name, these moments of joy and sorrow—or am I something vast and endless, flowing through a thousand forms? The butterfly becomes a symbol of liberation: it is the soul, unburdened by thought, dancing in the freedom of pure being. When Zhuangzi awoke, he was not certain which state was real, for perhaps both were but waves upon the same ocean of consciousness. Thus he teaches us: the boundary between dream and reality is as fragile as the wings of that butterfly.

The ancients said that the wise man walks between worlds. To him, life and dream are threads of one great tapestry. Zhuangzi’s dream is not merely a question of what is real, but of how we define reality. In every age, men believe their world to be solid, their truths to be absolute. Yet time and again, the fabric of certainty unravels. What is real today may fade tomorrow; what we once called impossible becomes the new order of the world. The dream and the waking state exchange their masks endlessly, and the wise do not cling to either.

Consider Albert Einstein, who in the early years of the twentieth century sat alone, imagining himself riding upon a beam of light. Others saw a dreamer; he saw a truth unfolding. From that dream of motion arose the theory that reshaped all modern science. Was he not, in that moment, both the man and the butterfly—his mind wandering beyond the confines of the known, yet returning to awaken a new understanding of the universe? So too are we invited to honor the dreaming mind, for in its flight lies the seed of revelation.

The teaching of Zhuangzi is not meant to confuse, but to awaken. He would have us see that certainty is the true illusion. When we cling to definitions—of self, of right and wrong, of real and unreal—we imprison the infinite within the cage of reason. To live wisely is to recognize the flowing nature of existence, where every truth is born, transforms, and dissolves. The butterfly and the man are not two, but one; they are the same essence seen through different eyes. The dreamer and the dream are but mirrors of the same eternal spirit.

And yet, the lesson reaches beyond philosophy into the art of living. When the world seems heavy, remember the butterfly—it does not strive, it does not calculate, it simply is. It moves by the rhythm of the wind, trusting in the invisible currents of the world. So too must we learn to move lightly, to release the burden of rigid certainty, to dwell in wonder. Perhaps wisdom is not found in mastering the truth, but in embracing mystery with humility and grace.

Therefore, my child of waking and dream, take heed of this truth: you are both the butterfly and the man. You are the dreamer and the dreamed, the one who imagines and the one imagined. Live as if your life were both real and sacred, yet as fleeting as a dream at dawn. Let this awareness free you from fear and pride, from the illusion that you are fixed or separate.

When you awaken tomorrow, ask not whether you are still dreaming. Instead, let your heart soar like the butterfly—light, fearless, and free. For to live as Zhuangzi taught is to understand that life itself is the dream of the eternal, and to awaken within it is to be truly alive.