Who's steering this boat?

There is a parable I've heard in various Buddhish traditions called something like 'the empty rowboat.'  In case it is new to you, let me tell it, now with my own small embellishments:

Imagine I climb into a fishing boat on a very early, cool, dark, and foggy morning, and untether from the dock.  It is very quiet out, though some small chirping of crickets, and the murmur of the paddles dipping in the water are just enough noise to call attention to this deep silence, the earth not yet ready to awaken.  Pushing off and rowing into the gentle stream, I'm thinking ahead to the morning's catch, scanning - with some difficulty in the darkness - to the lake some thousand yards downstream.  Suddenly another craft coming from upstream rams into my starboard!  I drop my oars and turn to face. . .what? An empty boat!  Just as suddenly as my righteous indignation had formed, it vanishes.

Where did it go?  While this scenario seldom if ever plays out in just this way, the story is told, in didactic fashion, to illuminate just how ready and willing we can be to put somebody in the boat, whenever something unfortunate might happen to us.  Which is perhaps part of our human nature, our genetic inheritance, a stress response to get our blood pressure up, our pulse and breath quickened, in case we need to deal with the jaguar or rocky precipice we were just about to bump into.  Perhaps.

But is there a way in such a moment to find the Buddha nature some believe stirs within every one of us?  Perhaps even when there actually appears to be somebody in the boat?  Can we just in the moment manage to step out of the instantaneous urge to take it personally?  To blame someone else?  Or even to blame oneself?  In the case of blaming oneself, have we made ourselves the oarsman of the boat?

Before considering that last question (itself quite worthy of at least another blog post. . .), a question which may strike some as arcane, or even pointless - as in 'of course it's my boat (i.e. my fault),' whose else could it be?  Let's look at a possible understanding of what an empty boat could mean.  In the case of a random stranger, somebody who may have cut you off at a traffic signal, say, or darted ahead into your lane during rush hour.  Whatever the specific detail, doesn't matter, point is, you felt harmed - or at least threatened - by an action.  Perhaps you look at the yuppily-clad jerk in his BMW, see his Ray-Bans and Rolex, notice his tapping and fidgeting hands on the steering wheel, and instantly know his story - or imagine you do.  We do not so readily guess that he is rushing across town to be with his wife in the ER having gone into emergency pre-term labor.  Or a million other possible - if not probable - causes for his reckless driving.  Doesn't matter, what we seem really adept at is instantly assuming malevolent intent, and quickly finding the 'evidence' to support it.

But, what would the Buddha do?  Other than walk slowly, or ride a bike (judging mind, judging mind. . .), I imagine a response with compassion might wonder what could be eating that other driver?  Not to say this is anything remotely relevant (he writes, oh so self-effacingly), but I recall once driving Miller to school one morning.  After coming to a four way stop, from the street on our right, instead of waiting her turn (which would have allowed mine), the SUV driver just plowed right on through the intersection without stopping.  After feeling the surge of reaction in my veins, I said aloud 'may you be free of suffering' as we watched her speed off.  I recall a stressed and tortured look to her profile as she steadfastly glared straight ahead.  To a certain extent, it was not empty words, I think there was some feeling of compassion.  Miller expressed shock at my statement, and so we discussed some of the issues raised in this post.  Do I normally do that?  No, normally I would feel judgment arise, and just as often give voice to that, or just remain silent.  These knee-jerk reactions are also in my comfort zone.  Is it better to say the compassionate thing?  I think it depends.  If I'm feeling judgmental and speaking words of compassion, I think perhaps over the long term would not be very mentally healthy.  Perhaps by simply noticing the surge in physiological stress response, and also the rising judgments and an urge to voice harsh words might be a start.  Moment by moment, noticing the reaction unfold, and even commenting as it happens to a passenger or child.  'My goodness, that scared me, I wonder what's going on with her?'  Is that any less true than 'what a stupid f-ing bitch'?  Seems more relevant to me.

Just read a really long article my wife showed me about the fundamental differences that various cultures have in shaping what social scientists have considered 'normal' for the human brain, and what we come to accept as human nature:  http://www.psmag.com/magazines/magazine-feature-story-magazines/joe-henrich-weird-ultimatum-game-shaking-up-psychology-economics-53135/  It's a great article, but quite long.  Suffice it to say that what we consider to be human nature is very culturally specific and varied - even perhaps the physiological stress response, though the article didn't go there.  I recall once as a Peace Corps volunteer in Nepal witnessing a villager working at a bridge project smash his thumb between a large hammer and the head of a sixteen penny nail.  He calmly set the hammer down, looked at his hand held up in the air - there was a quarter inch split in the flesh and thumbnail - folded his thumb into his fingers, and set back to work, using his knuckles to hold the nails.  Do I know of any Westerner who would not drop a massive F-bomb if this happened to them?  Or instantly faint?  I don't know, but this seems evidence to support the idea that, created equal or not, we surely don't all end up the same.

I think there are many other empty boats (possibly nothing but empty boats in this big lake, our world), but the closer they are to us - friend, co-worker, spouse, etc. - the more difficult it is to see their possible 'empty' nature.  Next time your boss is spouting inanities at you, imagine instead a toddler standing behind a baby gate with a droopy diaper, having a tantrum, and perhaps you can come to see that he is a kind of empty rowboat after all, full up with a life of conditioning - and maybe you can take his diatribe just a little bit less personally.  Might it be worth some inquiry?