This morning, as I sat in meditation, I felt some resistance to the experience of “mundane” thoughts, those internal reminders of tasks, plans, etc., that just seem to unintentionally pop up when I’m not engaged in or distracted by something else (these sort of wandering, planning, remembering thoughts have been identified in the research world as the default mode network). I noticed the desire to be feeling something different, to be more present to my unspoken physical presence and less involved in problem-solving verbal thinking. And as I noticed this resistance, from some unbothered observing space beyond the thinking itself, I remembered a story from the Zen world. I’ve grown to trust that these sort of associations are meaningful (e.g., the association between feeling frustrated with my thinking mind and the subsequent memory of this Zen story) even if they seem random or don’t make perfect sense at first glance. So I’ll share my own version of the story and then provide an interpretation as to how it relates to my internal resistance against thinking in meditation.

Here’s the story:
Once there was a monk living at a monastery. He had desired to give his life to the practice of meditation and vowed not to let anything or anyone distract him from the goal of enlightenment. Within the meditation hall, he would sit diligently, legs positioned in full lotus, spine upright like a stack of coins, eyes barely open with a soft gaze aimed at the hardwood floor in front of him, focused only on the dynamic cycle of breathing filling his body and releasing into space, back and forth.

This focus, however, would last only a short time before some annoyance would arise. A physical adjustment or a cough from one of the other meditators. The creaking of the old floors. The faint sound of food being prepared on the other side of the monastery. Each time he began to enter a state of stillness, he was quickly interrupted by one of these occurrences, his inner stillness turning to frustration (“Why can’t you just be quiet?!”).

So the monk decided to make a change. He would take his cushions and meditate outside, away from the other meditators and the sounds of the monastery so he could be left to focus purely on meditation. He found a suitable spot overlooking the nearby lake, resumed his meditative posture, and dropped into silence. He couldn't help but feel some pride in his decision, as he noticed this environment was much more conducive to his desired practice. However, it was not long before he heard a rustling of leaves, the scurrying movement of squirrels. Then he noticed the incessant chirping of birds, a sound that would otherwise be pleasant but now was an intolerable distraction from the internal nothingness he was seeking. “Is there no silence to be found even here?!”

The monk was not yet ready to give up and, looking out at the lake, he had an idea. He would take a boat to the very middle of the lake, drop anchor, and finally find complete silence. This he knew would be the ideal location for meditation practice. The next day, he paddled a boat into the lake’s center, and did find the silence he was looking for. No other meditators making noises, no chirping birds or rustling squirrels, just the monk and his mind. He believed his enlightenment would arise in this very location. Day after day, he returned to this spot and was able to sit in perfect posture, focused deeply on the rising and falling of breathing, nothing between him and the present moment.

One morning, the lake was filled with fog. “Even better,” thought the monk. He paddled out to his usual spot and dropped deeply into meditation. After some time, he noticed some faint noise in the distance and, opening his eyes widely to investigate, could not yet see anything due to the fog. The noise, a sort of splashing and rocking, became louder and seemed to be coming closer. Internally, the monk’s frustration returned and began its gradual ascent into full rage. “Why?! What could this be?!”

As the noise approached, he could begin to see the outline of its source, which appeared to be another boat slowly but surely approaching his. The monk’s anger intensified as the other boat got closer and he began shouting at the driver, “What are you doing?! You’re going to hit me! Turn your boat, you idiot!”

The boat continued on its path for collision and ultimately knocked into the monk’s boat. As the boat slid by, the monk stood enraged with oar in hand prepared to confront the driver of this unexpected boat. But as he squinted through the thick fog, he found no driver. He found nothing but an empty boat. And as the empty boat drifted past, fading back out of sight into the cloud of fog, he stood still, dropped his oar, and was shaken into a sort of stupor. His anger, resistance, and frustration instantly evaporated, and as he sat back down, he experienced what might only be described as enlightenment.

Coming to the end of my paraphrasing of the story, I realize more than anything that I’d like you to find your own meaning rather than me providing some interpretation. I believe that is the point of these stories. Maybe there is no “right” interpretation, rather these are intended to point you directly into a felt experience. I will just say that, in relation to my aforementioned resistance to thinking in meditation, thoughts may be just like any other sensation, and can be seen simply as empty boats. And how can I be mad at an empty boat? What empty boats are occurring in your life?

What empty boats

are drifting by

in your life?

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