Butterfly Dream
Butterfly … Illusion or Truth, Dream or Reality?
“Once upon a time, I dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering here and there—entirely a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was myself.
Soon I awoke, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man.”
― Zhuangzi, The Butterfly as Companion: Meditations on the First Three Chapters of the Chuang-Tzu
I was a man with a heart full of inspiration when I set out for the land of opportunity, half a world away from home, hoping for an education that would pave the way toward a better, happier life.
Years later, with a life that was reasonably as I had once hoped for, I returned home for a reunion with old friends.
Blue day, there’s no sunshine.
Why must you go away,
.. leaving me here alone?
A sweet song lingered in the air, drifting from the room I had just left.
Who was singing that sweet, sweet song? I asked myself, as I walked back in to see.
My own, how I miss you,
with a loving heart so true.
That’s why I feel so blue …
The voice carried on as I stepped into the room—and there she was.
I stood quietly, listening.
“I never knew until now that you had such a beautiful voice,” I said when the song ended.
“Oh … I never had the courage to sing. That’s why I waited until everyone had gone,” she replied.
From that day, we began to talk. At first, just small conversations about this and that. To my surprise, I found we connected more easily than I could have imagined.
My visit ended, and I returned to the life and routines I had grown used to for many years. But something within me had changed.
At night, when I went to bed, I dreamed I was a butterfly, flying across the miles to meet her in the garden of happiness. I landed gently on her open hand.
“I wish I were a beautiful butterfly,” she whispered.
“Why do you want to be a butterfly? Don’t you know their lives are short?” I asked.
“I know,” she said, then continued:
“Butterflies float about, colorful and free. They can fly wherever they wish.
When they emerge into the world, they must struggle to push the fluid from their bodies into their wings. Without the struggle, they can never fly.
Life itself is beautiful. Sunshine, freedom, and a little flower—all these give butterflies flavor in their lives. They live not by counting months, but by cherishing moments. And still, that is enough.”
“I agree with you, my butterfly,” I said softly.
“The wings of transformation are born of patience and struggle. People speak of metamorphosis as if it happens only once, but in truth, we can transform countless times in our lives.
Love is like a butterfly: it goes where it pleases, and it pleases wherever it goes.”
I awoke. The dream was so vivid I could still feel myself as the butterfly, while on the other side of the world she remained awake in her human form.
The flutter in my stomach rose to my mind. Was this a new romance, a fleeting crush, or the sweetest passion a man could ever know?
Zhuangzi’s words echoed again:
“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting in the sky. Then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I am a man?”
When I first saw her again, I was not prepared. How could I have been? Nothing could prepare me for the gorgeous lady before me. And I certainly was not prepared to fall in love with her—me, a man bound by obligations I cannot break.
I hadn’t expected this colorful breath of fresh air to fly into my life … to wrench me from my dark cocoon … to make me feel things I hadn’t felt in years.
One morning, as I walked past the small garden near the office cafeteria, a butterfly caught my eye.
It must be her … my beautiful, feisty butterfly, crossing the ocean to me in her sleep.
“She is like a butterfly—beautiful to behold, but difficult to catch. Yet I will try to catch her, to make her mine,” I told myself.
But there are predators, eager to shatter her wings … to tear us apart. I had not expected that.
How could our romance survive the obstacles of time zones and distance? I was a butterfly by night, while she was a lady by day—and vice versa.
I wished we were butterflies, living only nine summer days … for nine such days with her would hold more delight than forty ordinary years of my life.
My butterflies lead me to the sunny side of life: beautiful, graceful, varied, enchanting, and approachable. That feeling is a constant reminder of how alive, and how full of love, I truly am.
Only in dreams is a man truly free. But what does a butterfly dream of? It is already free.
And yet, loneliness surrounds me, half a world away from her. Life feels short, happiness too rare … my shadow grows shorter still.
Will our lives run parallel forever, never crossing—never meeting at that point where we can share our dreams, our love, our passion?
In the Museum of Modern Art, a painting of the Buddha gazes out with a gentle half-smile, as if to soothe my restless heart:
“Every moment of life is precious, never to return again.
Open your heart and mind like the wings of a butterfly. See how high you can fly.
Love is like a butterfly—beautiful and delicate. If you truly care for it, you will do whatever it takes to make it happy, even if it means letting it go.”
Or perhaps it ends with this:
“To catch the butterflies and rainbows of your dreams, walk alone, keep faith in yourself, focus your energy … and begin the adventure.”
🦋 Butterfly Dream
I dreamed of you, my butterfly,
fragile wings yet strong enough
to cross oceans of silence,
to rest upon the open palm of my heart.
Moments with you are eternity—
measured not in years,
but in the sweetness of a song,
the warmth of your half-smile.
Love unfolds like wings in sunlight,
delicate, impossible to contain.
Was I a man dreaming of a butterfly,
or a butterfly dreaming I am a man?
If dreams are all we have,
let me dream forever—
for only in dreams I am free,
and in dreams, you are mine.
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