Recently, I came across the story of the empty boat. It is a teaching story that appears in later Zen and Taoist literature, used to illustrate mindfulness, non-attachment, and how our perception of offense is often a projection of our own mind.
The story goes that there was an old man in a boat on a
river, and another boat came toward him. He became angry because the other boat
did not change direction, and he also refused to move. Eventually, the two
boats collided, and both were damaged. Only then did he notice that the other
boat was empty, and he regretted letting his own boat be destroyed. There was
no one to hold responsible but himself. Zen teachers use this story to show
that most of our anger arises from our own mind, not external circumstances.
After hearing this story, my mind felt an amazing peace.
Reflecting on my own life, I realized I had bumped into “empty boats” from time
to time. I had not noticed before, but now I can see that I was angry or
resentful for nothing.
Some issues exist independently of us, but others are
projections of our own perception. Now I can see that the bullying I faced in a
certain community was driven largely by people wanting donations from me. I had
been very generous before, giving freely, but eventually, I decided to stop
donating. Around that time, my understanding of the Buddha’s teachings had
deepened, and I chose to be more selective and careful with my generosity.
As a result, they encouraged someone to approach me because
his late father had always found a way to get donations from me. During his
father’s time, I had been blindly generous, and his father resembled my
grandfather, so I was naturally willing to be friendly with him. However, the
way his son approached me made me feel he was trying to flirt with me, so I
avoided him entirely. In addition, I had already decided which places to donate
to, and they were not included. This, in turn, created tension. After
unsuccessful attempts, he decided to bully me in many different ways, invaded
my privacy, and also spread lies about me. I had thought that living in a
Buddhist community meant others would protect me, but I was wrong; many
believed his lies and even participated in the bullying, including people I had
helped in various ways.
At that time, I was also going through insight stages 5–7,
and therefore I was highly sensitive to noise and voices. My traumatic memories
had already begun surfacing before the bullying started, and later I stopped
meditating and sought therapy. I was living alone, and some people, who joined
in the bullying for no reason other than their own amusement, openly threatened
me in multiple ways. Anyone in that situation could lose their sanity, but I
managed to get through it with limited stress. Fortunately, my therapy was
working, and afterwards I found effective online Dhamma teachings. I cannot say
I handled everything perfectly, but I believe I reacted only about 30% as
intensely as an average person might have.
Looking back, I can see that what they wanted was just a
little money from me. It was very obvious because others who tried to side with
them out of ill-will or amusement ended up being pressured for outrageous
donations. I overheard their complaints, but it seemed they did not dare to say
no. I realized that these people who participated in the bullying did not even
have half of my courage. I was quietly satisfied that they would have to pay
the price for their actions.
That period taught me a lot about the reality of
people—things I had not understood before. I used to feel sorry for many
people, even though I was arguably in worse shape than them in some ways. I
thought they were like me, and perhaps they thought I was like them.
Now, being away from that community, I feel peaceful. They
will continue bullying, gossiping, and coercing each other with or without me.
That is nothing to do with me—they are like empty boats.
Some acted wrongly under the name of Buddha and Dhamma, and
I once felt compelled to respond. Now, I know I should not have. All they care
about was carrying out their activities and receiving donations. Some openly
pocketed donation money or used alms meant for monks. More than once, I heard of someone borrowing money that had been donated for long‑term use—a principal fund for regular food offerings to monks—and when that person died, their family refused to pay it back, claiming they knew nothing about it. On one occasion, there was a big fight and shouting, and I heard everything. Even though I had stopped donating, there is still a lot of money I donated in the principal fund. However, these are their problems,
not mine. The more they bullied me, the more determined I became not to give a
penny.
I had learned that the food offerings for monks were not prepared by community members; they hired someone to cook, and that even included spending money on alcohol. That realization truly made me stop donating. I also began to see the reality of the yearly Dhamma talks organized in the community—events filled with loud noise and constant requests for donations from morning to night, every day for about a month. They even started by killing mosquitoes before the talks, despite the fact that these gatherings were meant to remind people to uphold the five precepts and follow the Buddha’s teachings.
I came to recognize the misuses of the Dhamma hidden beneath the ritual noise. More than once, I heard the Buddha’s teachings distorted in alarming ways. They claimed that donations alone could keep someone from falling into hell—as if one could become a lesser stream-winner or even a stream-winner simply by giving money. Hearing that deeply concerned me, and for a moment I felt responsible for the harm these teachings might cause.
Recognizing these truths eventually made me a target for further bullying.
I understand that my stubbornness could have harmed me at
that time, but I was lucky—nothing serious happened. Now I can see things
clearly, without resentment or pain. I feel sorry for the consequences they
will face for harming others, distorting the Dhamma, misusing donated funds, and bullying someone following the true Dhamma.
I knew they spread lies about me, but I simply did not use
social media, so they could do nothing. I did not read what they wrote, even though I knew some might have believed it, and I did not care. It was one of the things I did
right. I did worry about my security and my privacy, and I asked for help from
certain people, but it was not effective. It was an overcrowded community with buildings very close to each other. The walls were thin, and many people seemed to have nothing to do except watch others. Later, as political circumstances
introduced more security concerns, I decided to leave that place. In my new
home, I found a level of happiness I had not expected, even though it was not
perfect. I should have moved there sooner. These “empty boats” could have
destroyed my life for nothing.
Now, I can see everyone who hurt me as empty boats, and all
leftover resentment has disappeared. What they did was about them, not me—their
inner problems, their greed, their ignorance.
Sometimes teachings exist, but our mind is not ready to
receive or understand them. I believe I heard the story of the empty boat when
I was ready, and it transformed my inner world to a new level of peace.
© Dr. Tune. All rights reserved.
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