The Boat and the River

The afternoon was quiet, the air thick with the scent of steeping tea leaves. A soft breeze stirred the chimes outside the tea house, their sound like distant laughter. The Daoist master sat, his movements unhurried, as he poured tea into small clay cups.

A student, troubled by something unspoken, stared into his cup without drinking. The master waited.

At last, the student sighed. “Master, I feel lost. No matter what I do, I am always uncertain. I try to plan my future, but the more I think, the less I know what to do.”

The master took a slow sip of tea, then looked out toward the river in the distance. “Tell me,” he said, “if you were in a boat, floating down that river, how would you reach the sea?”

The student frowned. “I suppose I would let the river carry me.”

The master nodded. “Would you fight against the current?”

“No, that would be foolish.”

The master refilled his cup. “Then why do you struggle so hard to force your life into a direction it does not want to go?”

The student hesitated, fingers tightening around the warm porcelain. “But if I do nothing, won’t I drift aimlessly?”

The master smiled. “A boat has a rudder. You can guide yourself, but you cannot control the river. Move with the current, not against it. Then the path will become clear.”

The student was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, he lifted his cup and drank.

The chimes outside rang again, as if in agreement.