The Empty Raft

One evening, as the tea house lanterns flickered in the mountain breeze, a traveler arrived, his face lined with the weariness of long roads. He bowed to the Daoist master and sat before him, cradling a cup of tea.

"Master," the traveler sighed, "I have spent years struggling with others—fighting for my place, defending my name. Yet, I find no peace. Tell me, how can I move through the world without such endless conflict?"

The master took a slow sip of tea and then spoke. "Have you ever crossed a river in a small boat?"

The traveler nodded. "Many times."

"If you see an empty raft drifting toward you, do you grow angry?"

"Of course not," the traveler said. "It is empty, after all."

"But if a man is steering it and does not move aside, what happens then?"

"I shout at him! I demand that he make way," the traveler admitted.

The master nodded. "This is the way of the world. We see others as full rafts, their actions directed at us, and so we react. But if we could see them as empty rafts—simply drifting upon the currents of life—how could anger find a place to land?"

The traveler sat in silence, watching the steam rise from his cup. For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—lightness, like a raft set free upon the river.