By Gonny 
There once was a man who loved to understand things.
He read books, analyzed symbols, and searched for hidden meanings behind everything that appeared.
One night he had a lucid dream about a butterfly and some worms. Curious about its meaning, he bought a book called The Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud. But he struggled to read it.
Not satisfied, he searched online and found a course called Dreams in the Dream.
With great expectations, he subscribed.
Before the first class, participants were asked to write down a recent dream.
He wrote:
“I was sitting in a beautiful, almost mystical garden. A butterfly was in front of me, and then it flew away. On the ground, I saw large worms coming out of the soil, trying to catch the butterfly. Around me were many bright-colored flowers and bushes.”
When the course started, he was the first to read his dream aloud.
The teacher listened, smiled, and said gently,
“Beautiful. You described it well. You wrote these words when you were awake, right?”
He nodded.
“But now, imagine you are still inside the dream, and everything you see is real to you. Yourself looking, the butterfly flying, the worms, the flowers, the air. Now tell your dream again, as if you’re truly part of it, with emotions and feelings, starting with yourself.”
He began to speak, a little shy at first.
“I sit in a garden that feels familiar. A butterfly flutters before me, and I feel both joy and longing. The worms make me uncomfortable, yet I can’t look away. Something in me wants to protect the butterfly. When it flies away, I feel relief.”
The teacher nodded. “Good. And now,” she said softly, “tell the dream again, but this time, you are the butterfly.”
The man took a deep breath, and encouraged by her smile, he began.
“I am a butterfly. I feel light and free. Colors stream from my wings, soft and endless. Behind me sits a man who watches me as if I represent his freedom. The worms below dance in the soil, and I rise higher into the whispering sky that calls, come home.”
The teacher whispered, “Now you are one of the worms.”
“I am a worm. Other worms move with me. We crawl beneath the roots, feeling the pulse of the earth. Above us something shines, wings of impossible light. We stretch toward it, trying to grasp that beauty, until we realize what we seek has never left us. The light is here, inside. It always was.”
The man continued as if in a trance.
“I am a flower. I bloom in rhythm with an unseen breath. A butterfly moves near me causing a soft vibration. The worms shimmer below. A man watches, and still, we all breathe as one. He thinks he is separate, but he is part of the dance.”
He took another deep breath.
“I am the space between everything. I move through wings and petals and soil. A man breathes me in without knowing I am him. I hold everything, color, motion, sound, and when it fades, I remain.”
The man stopped speaking, visibly moved. The room was silent.
The silence didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like peace.
After a few minutes he opened his eyes and asked, “Aren’t these all symbols? Can you explain?”
The teacher smiled kindly.
“Freud would say yes. He would tell you the butterfly stands for desire, the worms for fear, the garden for forgotten memories. He helps us decipher what the dream is trying to tell us about who we believe we are in this world. And that’s a beautiful beginning. It helps us bring light into the hidden corners of our mind.”
She leaned a little closer.
“But let’s take one step further. Who is the one that dreams? For even you, the man who analyzes, who searches, who names the symbols, he too is part of a much greater dream. In your dream all of it is part of your own sleeping mind, playing in form, pretending to be many, a man, a butterfly, worms, flowers, the sky, and so on. And just as you want to give separate meaning to the symbols in your dream, so does the great Dreamer, the sleeping Son of God, give meaning to the world He imagines.”
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A Course in Miracles tells us there is only one Dreamer of the dream, imagining Himself as butterflies, worms, flowers, and people, infinite forms, each telling the same story in a different voice. Every viewpoint believes it is separate, yet all arise from the same Mind, the same Thought of Love that forgot It was dreaming.
So whether you find yourself crawling, blooming, flying, or simply watching, remember, it’s still the same dream, seen through different eyes.
And when the Dreamer wakes, He will smile, realizing that not a single butterfly ever left His Heart. And when you stop asking what it means, the dream itself will tell you who you are.
With love and light,
G.