Master Tung‑kuo asked Chuang Tzu, "This thing called the Way ‑ where does it exist?"From Burton Watson's translation of The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu.
Chuang Tzu said, "There's no place it doesn't exist."
"Come," said Master Tung‑kuo, "you must be more specific!"
"It is in the ant."
"As low a thing as that?"
"It is in the panic grass."
"But that's lower still!"
"It is in the tiles and shards."
"How can it be so low?"
"It is in the piss and shit!"
Master Tung‑kuo made no reply.
Chuang Tzu said, "Sir, your questions simply don't get at the substance of the matter. When Inspector Huo asked the superintendent of the market how to test the fatness of a pig by pressing it with the foot, he was told that the lower down on the pig you press, the nearer you come to the truth. But you must not expect to find the Way in any particular place ‑ there is no thing that escapes its presence! Such is the Perfect Way, and so too are the truly great words. 'Complete,' 'universal,' 'all‑inclusive' ‑ these three are different words with the same meaning. All point to a single reality.
And the similar Buddhist take:
Once, when a Chan Master was reciting sutras publicly in the Buddha Hall, he suddenly coughed very roughly and spat phlegm onto a Buddha statue. The disciplinary monastic, seeing this behavior, scolded that Chan Master, saying, "How absurd! How could you spit on the Buddha's body?"
Once again, the Chan Master coughed up phlegm and said, "Now I need to spit again. Please tell me where I can find a place that has no Buddha."
How can a religion be so frail that it can't take a little joking?
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