The wind was gentle that morning, brushing the tops of the tall grasses as I stood at the edge of the village path. I had packed my bundle, set my straw hat just right, and was ready. Today, I was going to meet the Master—Zhuangzi, the wise man from the mountains. Everyone said he could answer life’s hardest questions. I thought, “Today, I will finally understand.”
I took one step onto the road and heard my grandmother’s voice behind me. “Where are you off to, little willow?”
“To see Master Zhuangzi,” I said proudly. “He will tell me what I must do to have a good life.”
She smiled gently and looked up at the sky. “Sometimes, not arriving brings more answers than arriving.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. I waved goodbye and began walking quickly down the road.
The path twisted through bamboo forests and quiet streams. As I walked, I imagined asking the Master everything: How can I get what I want? How do I plan the perfect life? But with each step, something strange began to happen. I noticed the birds weren’t asking where they should fly. The river wasn’t hurrying to elsewhere. The tall trees didn’t seem to be wishing to be anything else.
I remembered a story I once heard, one Master Zhuangzi had told about dreaming he was a butterfly. In the dream, he fluttered gently from flower to flower, not knowing he was Zhuangzi. When he awoke, he wondered: “Am I Zhuangzi dreaming I’m a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he’s Zhuangzi?”
The question had confused me as a child. But now, on this walk, the dream began to feel real. What if the wise life wasn’t about getting somewhere? What if it was about being part of the world, just as it flowed?
I sat beside a stream to think. Its waters moved around rocks instead of trying to push through them, and still it reached the sea. I watched leaves fall gently from a tree, carried by the wind. No struggle. Just falling.
I stayed there all afternoon. I forgot about time. I forgot about the Master. The road kept going, but I didn’t. I was quiet and still, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I already knew what I came to learn.
When the sun began to set, I turned back toward the village.
My grandmother waited at the gate. “Did you arrive?”
“No,” I said with a small laugh, “but I think that was the point.”
She nodded. “Sometimes, the Way is not in the going, but in the being.”
That night, as I lay in bed, I thought of the butterfly dream again. I didn’t feel like a person chasing answers anymore. I felt like a leaf on the water, carried by something greater.
I didn't meet the Master.
But in not arriving, I had found something even deeper—something soft, simple, and still.
And that was enough.
The wind was gentle that morning, brushing the tops of the tall grasses as I stood at the edge of the village path. I had packed my bundle, set my straw hat just right, and was ready. Today, I was going to meet the Master—Zhuangzi, the wise man from the mountains. Everyone said he could answer life’s hardest questions. I thought, “Today, I will finally understand.”
I took one step onto the road and heard my grandmother’s voice behind me. “Where are you off to, little willow?”
“To see Master Zhuangzi,” I said proudly. “He will tell me what I must do to have a good life.”
She smiled gently and looked up at the sky. “Sometimes, not arriving brings more answers than arriving.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. I waved goodbye and began walking quickly down the road.
The path twisted through bamboo forests and quiet streams. As I walked, I imagined asking the Master everything: How can I get what I want? How do I plan the perfect life? But with each step, something strange began to happen. I noticed the birds weren’t asking where they should fly. The river wasn’t hurrying to elsewhere. The tall trees didn’t seem to be wishing to be anything else.
I remembered a story I once heard, one Master Zhuangzi had told about dreaming he was a butterfly. In the dream, he fluttered gently from flower to flower, not knowing he was Zhuangzi. When he awoke, he wondered: “Am I Zhuangzi dreaming I’m a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he’s Zhuangzi?”
The question had confused me as a child. But now, on this walk, the dream began to feel real. What if the wise life wasn’t about getting somewhere? What if it was about being part of the world, just as it flowed?
I sat beside a stream to think. Its waters moved around rocks instead of trying to push through them, and still it reached the sea. I watched leaves fall gently from a tree, carried by the wind. No struggle. Just falling.
I stayed there all afternoon. I forgot about time. I forgot about the Master. The road kept going, but I didn’t. I was quiet and still, and for the first time, I felt like maybe I already knew what I came to learn.
When the sun began to set, I turned back toward the village.
My grandmother waited at the gate. “Did you arrive?”
“No,” I said with a small laugh, “but I think that was the point.”
She nodded. “Sometimes, the Way is not in the going, but in the being.”
That night, as I lay in bed, I thought of the butterfly dream again. I didn’t feel like a person chasing answers anymore. I felt like a leaf on the water, carried by something greater.
I didn't meet the Master.
But in not arriving, I had found something even deeper—something soft, simple, and still.
And that was enough.
