Anyway, I recently read about a Colombian Zen teacher working with Zhuangzi’s empty boat parable. The premise is stupidly simple but radical: if you’re rowing down a river and an empty boat crashes into yours, you don’t get mad. You just move it. But if there’s a person on that boat, you start yelling. The difference isn’t the collision. It’s the belief that someone intended it. When you stop treating the universe like a passive-aggressive roommate, the whole architecture of suffering just… collapses. Interconnectedness isn’t some poetic metaphor. It’s the actual operating system.

I know how that sounds. Easy to type, hard to live. But it’s just basic metaphysics dressed up as river safety advice. I keep coming back to Alan Watts on this. Unlike Aleister Crowley, whose grimoires I skimmed once and immediately wanted to scrub my skin with vinegar, Watts actually gets that we aren't separate from the chaos we're complaining about. We are the river, the boat, and the clumsy oarsman. When you realize that, the urge to point fingers and keep score just feels like a weird hobby you picked up in high school. I still catch myself doing it. Yesterday, a barista gave me oat milk instead of almond, and I nearly had a full-blown existential crisis over it. But then I remembered the empty boat. I took a sip, shrugged, and told myself that the universe wasn't trying to sabotage my morning. It was just... pouring milk. Weirdly, that helps. Or at least, it helps until the next drone drops a package in my gutter. But hey, progress is progress. Even if it's just learning to stop treating every minor inconvenience like a personal vendetta.