Unmoved by the Eight Winds, But Rushed Across the River for a Fart

The Yangtze ran between them. On the near bank lived the eminent Chan Master Foyin; on the far bank, the celebrated Buddhist scholar Su Dongpo. The two admired each other deeply and often visited.

One day Su Dongpo called on Foyin, only to learn from an attendant that the master had stepped out—but not far. The river was no easy crossing, and since he was already here, he settled in. Su took a seat in the abbot's quarters to wait.

By the third pot of tea, there was still no sign of the host. Scholar Su was growing impatient.

He reached for brush and paper and composed a verse:

Holy lord, Deva among Devas, Your radiance shines across the great thousand worlds. Unmoved by the eight winds, You sit serene upon the purple-gold lotus!

He stroked his beard, recited it to himself several times, and was quite pleased.

Long waiting bore no result. He said goodbye to the attendant and crossed back over the river. When Foyin returned to the temple and saw the poem Su had left, he smiled to himself: My old friend praises the Buddha's majestic power on the surface, but at heart he's just showing off his own Chan attainment. Time to give him a proper lesson. He picked up his brush and wrote two bold characters beneath Su's verse: "Fart!" Then he told the attendant to take the note back to Scholar Su across the river.

Such vulgar language from a man of the cloth? Su was furious. He crossed the river again at once, determined to have it out with Foyin.

"This is utterly unreasonable!" he roared. "Why would you use such filthy language to refute me? Am I not a devout Buddhist? You've known me all these years—how can you still be so blind to me?"

Foyin waited until Su's fury had spent itself, then waved his hand once in front of his face and smiled faintly: "Unmoved by the eight winds—and yet one fart sends you rushing across the river!"