
The Empty Boat — On Anger and the Stories We Tell
This morning I almost got hit, and then I thought of Zhuangzi's empty boat. All my anger was built on the assumption that there was someone on the other side.
Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.

This morning I almost got hit, and then I thought of Zhuangzi's empty boat. All my anger was built on the assumption that there was someone on the other side.

A blind man wanted to do one small thing — thread a needle. He asked for help, and the Buddha threaded it for him himself. In this quiet story lies the courage to accept help.

Today I came across an old book with a dried bodhi leaf tucked between the pages. It reminded me of a story from 2,500 years ago—a mother who lost her child, and the Buddha who asked her to find a mustard seed from a home untouched by death.