Once Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly, a fluttering butterfly. What fun he had, doing as he pleased! He did not know he was Zhou.
Suddenly he woke up and found himself to be Zhou.
He did not know whether Zhou had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly had dreamed he was Zhou. Between Zhou and the butterfly there must be some distinction.
This is what is meant by the transformation of things.—Zhuang Zhou
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