Welcome to this Taoist Reflection.
Before the story begins,
Allow yourself to arrive,
Not by effort,
Not by intention,
But simply by being here.
Let your body rest in the way it already knows how to rest.
And just let your breath come and go without instruction.
There is nothing you need to prepare for,
Just listening is enough.
The Story Long ago,
In a time before Hari had a name,
A man set out across a wide river.
The day was quiet and mist hovered low over the water,
Softening the edges of the world.
The man rode steadily,
The oar dipping into the river with a familiar rhythm.
He was alone with his thoughts,
His plans,
His sense of direction.
As he crossed the river,
He noticed another boat drifting toward him.
At first,
He thought little of it.
The river was broad,
There was room for both,
But the boat continued on the same course.
It came closer and closer.
So,
The man,
He called out,
But no reply.
He called again,
And this time,
Even louder,
His voice was cutting through the mist.
Still nothing,
And then the boats collided.
Water splashed,
The man lurched,
Gripping the side of his boat.
He became angry,
And this surged up inside him.
How careless,
How foolish,
How disrespectful.
He turned,
Ready to shout,
Ready to release the heat,
The heat that had risen in his chest.
But then he saw the other boat was empty.
No rower,
No passenger,
No one at all.
It was just wood,
Floating.
And in that instant,
His anger dissolved,
Because there was nowhere for it to land.
So,
Just let this story rest for a moment,
And notice what happens in you when the boat is discovered to be empty.
No need to interpret,
No need to analyze,
Just notice.
So,
Let's move on to widening this moment,
Because the Taoist sages tell this story not to teach a lesson,
But to point toward something subtle.
The man's anger did not come from the collision.
The collision happened either way,
But the anger came from the belief that someone else was at fault.
Someone careless,
Someone wrong,
Someone to blame.
And when that someone disappeared,
The anger had nowhere to stay.
So,
It returned to the quiet it came from.
And how often in life do we collide with moments like this?
A word spoken,
A plan disrupted,
A body that does not cooperate.
And maybe it's a situation that refuses to unfold as expected.
Immediately,
Your mind will look for the rower,
Someone to hold responsible,
Maybe something to push against,
Even if that someone is ourselves.
So,
The Tao does not deny anger,
But it simply asks us to look more closely.
Was there truly a rower there?
Or was there only the meeting of currents?
So,
Let's return to the river now.
The man,
He rose again.
The mist is still hanging low.
But this time,
Notice how quietly the other boat appears.
There's no malice,
No intention,
Just movement meeting movement.
And when the collision happens,
Feel the surge of energy in the body,
That immediate tightening,
That reflex to defend,
To protect a sense of order.
And then the seeing,
The recognition that there is no one there.
Nothing has gone wrong.
The river has simply done what rivers do.
So,
Now notice something else.
The man does not decide to let go of his anger.
He does not reason with it.
He does not practice forgiveness.
But the anger,
It releases itself when the illusion falls away.
And this is the quiet power of the empty boat.
Peace does not arrive because we become better people.
It arrives when we see more clearly.
When our mind stops insisting that every collision requires an enemy.
Many of the boats we collide with in life are empty.
Maybe a comment made without awareness.
A system that does not see us.
A body responding in its own way.
A moment that is shaped by countless causes we will never know.
And yet,
We row toward them as if someone must be steering.
Zootoism invites a gentler curiosity.
What if this too is an empty boat?
What if there is no one to fight against here?
What if this energy I am carrying could be set down?
You do not need to answer that.
Just let the question float beside you.
Feel your breath moving.
Feel how your body is held.
And notice how peace in this story is not something that is added.
It is what remains when resistance loosens its grip.
So,
Just return to yourself now as this story settles.
And just stay with the quiet that follows it.
The river continues.
The mist lifts and falls.
And life moves on.
And you remain here listening.
There is such a great tenderness in the Taoist view of things.
It does not ask you to be endlessly patient or endlessly wise.
It simply reminds you that not everything is personal.
Not every collision is a failure.
Not every difficulty is a verdict.
Some moments are just empty boats drifting into your path.
And when you see that,
Something inside you can finally rest.
Not because life has become easy,
But because it no longer needs to be argued with.
So,
If anger arises again someday,
And it will,
You do not need to push it away.
You can simply pause and look.
Is there truly someone there?
Or is this another meeting of currents?
Another bend in the river?
Another empty boat?
Let these questions soften you.
Let it widen the moment.
And when you're ready,
Just bring this quiet understanding back into your day.
Not as a rule.
Not as a practice.
But as a gentle remembering that peace often begins when we stop insisting that someone must be steering.
Namaste,
My friend.
