Peacocks lately at Dawyck

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Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, a veritable butterfly, enjoying itself to the full of its bent, and not knowing it was Chuang Chou. Suddenly I awoke, and came to myself, the veritable Chuang Chou. Now I do not know whether it was then I dreamt I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man. Between me and the butterfly there must be a difference.

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These are dreamy days at Dawyck, end of season, autumn yet to arrive. James Legge’s translation of Chuang Chou seems fitting.

The difference is one of manifestation.

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