The Empty Boat

A young Zen monk was rowing his small wooden boat across a large lake in the heavy morning fog. He had been practicing meditation for years, but he still struggled intensely with his temper. He was easily offended and quick to anger.

He sat with his eyes closed, rowing rhythmically, enjoying the deep silence of the misty lake. Suddenly, another boat slammed hard into the side of his skiff.

Instantly, a surge of hot anger flared in the monk's chest. 'You fool!' he screamed into the fog, his eyes still closed. 'Watch where you are going! Have you no eyes? Are you blind or just stupid?!'

Furious that someone had carelessly disturbed his perfect meditation and damaged his boat, he opened his eyes, ready to berate the careless boatman.

He looked over the edge. The boat that had struck his was completely empty. It had simply slipped its moorings and drifted aimlessly across the lake on the morning breeze.

The monk's anger vanished in an instant, replaced by a profound realization. Who was he angry at? There was no one to blame. The anger had not come from the other boat; the anger had come entirely from within himself. The empty boat was merely the trigger that exposed what was already in his mind.

From that day on, whenever someone insulted him or treated him badly, the monk remained calm. 'They are just an empty boat,' he would remind himself. 'The anger is mine to create, or mine to let go.'