The morning sky glowed like a golden dragon stretching across the hills. I was nine then, crouching behind my uncle Li’s market stall, tying bundles of firewood. That’s when I saw him—an old man with wild hair and torn robes. His eyes sparkled like moonlight on a river, and people whispered as he passed.
“That’s Robber Zhi,” Uncle Li muttered. “He once stole from nobles and vanished into the mountains.”
But this man didn’t seem scary. He just stood there, watching butterflies dance above a cabbage leaf.
Later that day, I followed him. I was curious. Why would a feared robber stare at butterflies? He walked slow, like the wind itself was carrying him, not his feet.
He noticed me but didn’t speak. We climbed a little hill, quiet all the way to the top. There, he sat with a laugh that sounded like leaves rustling.
“You followed a thief?” he asked, smiling. “Why?”
“I wanted to see what you were looking at,” I admitted.
“A butterfly,” he said. “But not just that. I was thinking about Zhuangzi.”
I tilted my head. “Who’s that?”
He looked at the sky. “A great thinker, long ago. One day, he dreamed he was a butterfly. When he woke up, he didn’t know if he had dreamed he was a butterfly, or if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man.”
I blinked. “That doesn't make sense.”
He chuckled. “Exactly! The Tao doesn’t always make sense. It just is.”
“What’s the Tao?”
He searched the clouds. “The Way. The way water flows, the way birds soar, the way your heart feels peaceful when you stop trying so hard to understand things. Wu wei. It means doing without forcing.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat beside him. A butterfly landed on my finger, calm as if it knew me.
“I used to fight everything,” he said. “Tried to control it all. That got me into trouble. But when I stopped, when I began to let go… the world got quieter.”
“You’re not stealing now?”
“No,” he said softly. “Now I steal moments of peace.”
We sat still for a long time, just watching the wind move the grass like ocean waves.
“I thought robbers were bad,” I whispered.
“Some are. I was. But even a noisy stream can become a quiet pond when the stones settle.”
Before he left, he gave me a thin carving of a butterfly shaped from wood. “Remember, sometimes not doing is the most powerful thing of all.”
He disappeared into the trees like mist. I never saw him again, but I thought of him often.
Now, I’m older, and when things feel too hard or I want to push too much, I sit quietly and imagine that old man and the butterfly. I listen. I let go.
I haven’t figured out if I’m dreaming the world or the world is dreaming me.
But it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I’ve learned to live like water, to float like that butterfly, and let the Tao carry me wherever it flows.
The morning sky glowed like a golden dragon stretching across the hills. I was nine then, crouching behind my uncle Li’s market stall, tying bundles of firewood. That’s when I saw him—an old man with wild hair and torn robes. His eyes sparkled like moonlight on a river, and people whispered as he passed.
“That’s Robber Zhi,” Uncle Li muttered. “He once stole from nobles and vanished into the mountains.”
But this man didn’t seem scary. He just stood there, watching butterflies dance above a cabbage leaf.
Later that day, I followed him. I was curious. Why would a feared robber stare at butterflies? He walked slow, like the wind itself was carrying him, not his feet.
He noticed me but didn’t speak. We climbed a little hill, quiet all the way to the top. There, he sat with a laugh that sounded like leaves rustling.
“You followed a thief?” he asked, smiling. “Why?”
“I wanted to see what you were looking at,” I admitted.
“A butterfly,” he said. “But not just that. I was thinking about Zhuangzi.”
I tilted my head. “Who’s that?”
He looked at the sky. “A great thinker, long ago. One day, he dreamed he was a butterfly. When he woke up, he didn’t know if he had dreamed he was a butterfly, or if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man.”
I blinked. “That doesn't make sense.”
He chuckled. “Exactly! The Tao doesn’t always make sense. It just is.”
“What’s the Tao?”
He searched the clouds. “The Way. The way water flows, the way birds soar, the way your heart feels peaceful when you stop trying so hard to understand things. Wu wei. It means doing without forcing.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat beside him. A butterfly landed on my finger, calm as if it knew me.
“I used to fight everything,” he said. “Tried to control it all. That got me into trouble. But when I stopped, when I began to let go… the world got quieter.”
“You’re not stealing now?”
“No,” he said softly. “Now I steal moments of peace.”
We sat still for a long time, just watching the wind move the grass like ocean waves.
“I thought robbers were bad,” I whispered.
“Some are. I was. But even a noisy stream can become a quiet pond when the stones settle.”
Before he left, he gave me a thin carving of a butterfly shaped from wood. “Remember, sometimes not doing is the most powerful thing of all.”
He disappeared into the trees like mist. I never saw him again, but I thought of him often.
Now, I’m older, and when things feel too hard or I want to push too much, I sit quietly and imagine that old man and the butterfly. I listen. I let go.
I haven’t figured out if I’m dreaming the world or the world is dreaming me.
But it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I’ve learned to live like water, to float like that butterfly, and let the Tao carry me wherever it flows.
