The Ferryman Stands Alone In His Empty Boat
The ferryman alone stands in his empty boat looking around restlessly, waiting for someone to come.
He rows his oar, for people are waiting across the river.
Moments of happiness, moments of sadness, moments in marriage – so many countless circumstances.
Though they treat the ferryman coldly, he treats them absent of mind. As those familiar people come and go, they leave behind their numerous stories. But the ferryman wordlessly undertakes his appointed duty, one that he goes about everyday.
Jane who got married and went away a few years back or Mary and Tom who went to the city a few years ago: return as they may to their hometown, only the ferryman remains at his boat unchanged.
Time, like a calmly flowing river passed by. It seems that even the ferryman is getting old and is finding it difficult to row his boat; a passenger on board pities him.
How many stories does this river hold? Those who died while bathing; those who drowned due to its currents; those who committed suicide; those countless people who crossed this river carrying their stories. However, only the river flows silently without a word. Then and now, only the river flows. Man is like a river in that as time flows, the moment passes by. Man’s mind comes and goes. He does not know that the source just exists as it is; all he has are his stories. All he has are his human stories. The creations of his world flow on as they are. But man does not know that it is Buddha who knows that they flow on as they are.