If the boat were empty
Wowzers the last few days have been hot and humid. After even the slowest of glides to work and you arrive sodden. I’ve been trying to take it easy on my morning cycle ride, in the hope I won’t arrive all sweaty and skip the queue for the shower (at the office, not home). This didn’t stop me from having a spat with a poor, defenceless old man this morning.
I was riding safely, keeping in lane and slowing down in the approach towards a junction. My happy deceleration was suddenly interrupted by a small hatchback to my left whose driver thought my lane looked much more attractive. When he was half way across the lane, he was close enough for me to bash his window and scream “What are you trying to do? Kill me!!” “No, you were fine, there was plenty of room” came the reply from the small, grey-haired man in a kindly Mediterranean accent, as his wife gave a start.
Fear, fury and righteous indignation instantly evaporated; guilt replaced wrath. What am I doing, shouting at old men? Time to squeeze between the traffic and get away.
Cyclists do have a bit of a bad reputation nowadays, especially since that bloke ran down and killed the teenager. My morning outburst may have contributed to the ill feeling too. But I don’t think it’s my general attitude, I cycle around town in a more or less friendly attitude to my fellows. Us cyclists have so much to lose however. If someone in a motor vehicle suddenly changes lanes without indicating or giving you space, they might get a scratch, while the cyclist will be the one lying paralysed in hospital. Cyclists’ road rage comes down to vulnerability; the irrational fear of death.
If being susceptible to horrible injuries at the careless swerve of a motorist accentuates your natural emotional responses, it isn’t helped by riding a high horse as well as a bike. It’s quite easy to find yourself taking a horrible, self-righteous approach to commonplace bad driving habits: Must they really drive that way?
Thinking about this morning’s outburst at the pensioner somehow reminded me of the Chinese story of the empty boats as told by Thomas Merton in his The Way of Chuang Tzu. The old fellow’s relaxed, confident lack of confrontation, completely took the wind of my sails. So much for my slow ride in to work.
Empty boats
If a man is crossing a river
And an empty boat collides with his own skiff,
Even though he be a bad-tempered man
He will not become very angry.
But if he sees a man in the boat,
He will shout at him to steer clear.
If the shout is not heard, he will shout again,
And yet again, and begin cursing.
And all because there is somebody in the boat.
Yet if the boat were empty,
He would not be shouting, and not angry.
If you can empty your own boat
Crossing the river of the world,
No one will oppose you,
No one will seek to harm you.
Who can free himself from achievement,
And from fame, descend and be lost
Amid the masses of men?
He will flow like Tao, unseen,
He will go about like Life itself
With no name and no home.
Simple is he, without distinction.
To all appearances he is a fool.
His steps leave no trace. He has no power.
He achieves nothing, has no reputation.
Since he judges no one
No one judges him.
Such is the perfect man:
His boat is empty.
(20:2, 4, pp. 114-115)