One of my favorite stories from Chinese philosophy is from the great Taoist writer Chuang-tzu (369-286 B.C.E.), whose gentle wit and humor graced the literature of the later Chou dynasty, two centuries after Confucius. As translated by Lin Yutang, Chuang-tzu\u2019s story goes something like this:<\/p>\n
\u201cOnce upon a time, I, Chuang-tzu, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chuang-tzu. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then Chuang-tzu dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am Chuang-tzu. This is what is meant by the transformation of things.\u201d<\/p>\n
I too have been having dreams of transformations lately, but not about butterflies. And my dreams \u2013 unlike Chuang-tzu\u2019s, which left him happily puzzled, bemused and ultimately world-famous \u2013 have been leavning me just confused and somewhat sad.<\/p>\n
My dreams are about my two teenaged kids. And, while scenes and situations may vary, the basic theme of the dreams always stays the same: my son and daughter transform. That\u2019s right, they transform, but not into butterflies, bees, birds, or Chinese philosophers \u2013 any of which would make for a reasonably amusing dream \u2013 but rather into themselves at different ages.<\/p>\n
Here is an example. When my son Daniel turned 19 and left home to go into the army, I had a dream that my wife and I were standing in our living room, watching Daniel bouncing like a tennis ball off the walls and ceiling. I distinctly recall his making a sort of \u201cboing\u201d sound every time he hit the ceiling or a wall. Laughing merrily, he would leap up, somersault in mid-air, hit the ceiling with a \u201cboing\u201d, bounce off, somersault downwards \u2013 still laughing, mind you \u2013 and hit the wall or floor with another \u201cboing\u201d. Then another bounce, another mid-air somersault, more laughter and, of course, another \u201cboing\u201d somewhere else. With each new bounce and \u201cboing\u201d, however, he would suddenly transform into himself at a different age. He would hit the wall at age 19, boing, and bounce off as a 3 year-old. He\u2019d land on the floor at age 3, boing, and then somersault upwards as an 8 year-old. He\u2019d ricochet off the wall at age 8, boing, and go spinning away as a 9 month-old baby. Boing, boing, boing, transform, transform, transform. And all the while, laughing uproariously. I recall complaining to my wife, \u201cI don\u2019t like this. Make him stop doing this.\u201d But my wife, amused by all of the bouncing, boinging and age transformations (this was a dream, don\u2019t forget) simply smiled and said, \u201cOh well, you know he\u2019s always been a show-off. Don\u2019t worry; he\u2019ll stop when he gets tired.\u201d But I simply couldn\u2019t stand another \u201cboing.\u201d Grabbing Daniel in mid-flight from wall to ceiling, I saw that he now appeared to be 6 years old. I let my mind draw a picture of Daniel at age 6: a beautiful little boy who was always at the door when I came home from work, who always wanted to be picked up and hugged, read to, carried to bed and put to sleep with an impromptu puppet show. I held him tightly and said, \u201cDaniel, enough with the bouncing and boinging! No more transformations! Stay like this! Stay 6 years old! Just for a while, okay? Please.\u201d He looked up at me for a long moment \u2013 smiling a sentimental smile with a distinct edge of sympathy \u2013 bounded out of my arms, hit the ceiling with one last boing, and landed on his feet in all of his 19 years as the scene slowly faded and the dream came to an end. I awoke with a pounding headache and the feeling of a 100 pound weight on my chest.<\/p>\n
Are you ready for another one? I hope so. Writing magazine articles like this is an excellent form of therapy and a lot cheaper than seeing a psychiatrist.<\/p>\n
My teenage daughter Rachel recently became 18 years old. I don\u2019t recall being able to understand 18 year-old girls back when I was 18 years old myself, I certainly can\u2019t figure them out now. In the dream I had a few nights ago, however, Rachel was a perfectly comprehensible 5 year-old child. Clad in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and a pair of pink shorts, her hair in pig-tails, and hugging her favorite teddy bear, she was the very definition of the word \u201cadorable.\u201d As we were preparing for some sort of picnic or family excursion, my daughter seemed to be everywhere at once \u2013 packing toys, jumping up and down with excitement, hugging her mother and me, and telling us how much she was looking forward to our imminent getaway. As the dream continued, however, I began to notice that something was not quite right. I sense that my ostensibly 5 year-old daughter\u2019s childlike personality was somehow strained and artificial, almost as though she was trying too hard to be cute \u2013 trying to hard to convince.<\/p>\n
Finally I sighed, smiled a sad smile and said, \u201cRachel, you don\u2019t have to do this. I appreciate your wanting to make me happy, but I know how old you really are, and I know that you have to grow up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure?\u201d she asked me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I barely managed to reply as my throat began to constrict.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, okay then,\u201d she said gently. \u201cYou\u2019d better stand back a little, Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n
With a loud crack and puff of smoke, she transformed upwards into her present age and height, a shade taller than me. Her eyes sharply fixed on mine, jaws grinding and chewing gum snapping, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and mumbled, \u201cI\u2019m going into Tel Aviv with my friends.\u201d I woke up saying, \u201cGo, Enjoy.\u201d This time, the weight on my chest was heavier.<\/p>\n
What have I learned from these dreams? I have learned that I\u2019ve obviously got my psychiatric work cut out for me in the years ahead. But\u2026if I can somehow manage to evolve from an over-protective father \u2013 diddled to distraction by crazy dreams \u2013 to someone who has learned how to let go, and if I can just get through the relentless passage of time without losing my mind or having to write more magazine articles like this one, then that achievement will truly be, in the immortal words of our friend Chuang-tzu, \u201cwhat is meant by the transformation of things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Image credit: Denis Collette<\/p>\n
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