Tao is Found Even in Bodily Waste by Zhuangzi 莊子-道在屎溺
- Xing Shen
- Dec 20, 2025
- 3 min read
Updated: 7 hours ago
True to the spirit of Zen, this dialogue really surprised me when I first heard in my teens. Before I share my humble reflection, you may experience it for yourself:
Dongguozi asked Zhuangzi, “You keep speaking of Tao—but where is it, exactly?” Zhuangzi said, “There is nowhere it is not.”
東郭子問於莊子曰：「所謂道，惡乎在？」
莊子曰：「無所不在。」
Dongguozi pressed him, “If that’s so, can you be more specific? Where is Tao?”
Zhuangzi said, “It is in the body of an ant.”
東郭子曰：「期而後可。」
莊子曰：「在螻蟻。」
Dongguozi said, “How can it be in something so small and insignificant?”
Zhuangzi replied, “It is in the weeds.”
曰：「何其下耶？」
曰：「在稊稗。」
Dongguozi said, “Why does it keep going lower and lower?”
Zhuangzi said, “It is in bricks and roof tiles.”
曰：「何其愈下耶？」
曰：「在瓦甓。」
Dongguozi said, “How can it be lower than that?”
Zhuangzi said, “It is in waste—urine and feces.”
曰：「何其愈甚耶？」
曰：「在屎溺。」
At this, Dongguozi fell silent. He had nothing more to say.
東郭子不應。
Then Zhuangzi spoke again.
“Your way of questioning has already missed what truly matters. Long ago, a market inspector once asked how to tell whether a pig was fat. The butcher said to check the lowest part of the leg, since fat reaches there last. If that part is full, then the whole pig must be fat. The lower the place you check, the clearer the answer becomes.
“It is the same with Tao. Do not try to confine it to certain places. Nothing in the world lies outside it. Nothing can escape it.
“Tao is everywhere. Even the greatest words we use to speak of it only point back to this.”
莊子曰：「夫子之問也，固不及質。正獲之問於監市履狶也，每下愈況。汝唯莫必，無乎逃物。至道若是，大言亦然。
What stays with me most in this dialogue is not the clever answers, but the way Zhuangzi keeps pointing lower. Each time Dongguozi objects, it is not because the answer is unclear. It is because it feels wrong. An ant feels too small. Grass feels ordinary. Bricks feel lifeless. Waste feels unacceptable. Tao never changes, yet the resistance grows.
When I sit with this, I start to see my own habits. I quietly divide my experience into what feels high and what feels low. Calm moments feel meaningful. Confusion feels like a problem. Insight feels spiritual. Daily irritation feels like something to get past. Without noticing, I rank my life. I decide which moments deserve attention and which ones I try to leave behind.
Zhuangzi does not argue with this. He does not explain or correct. He simply keeps pointing to the places I would rather not include. In doing so, he shows me that the problem is not where Tao is. The problem is how narrowly I am willing to look.
The story of the pig makes this even clearer for me. The butcher says to check the lowest part of the leg because fat reaches there last. That lowest place tells the truth about the whole. I hear this as a reminder to look at the parts of my day I usually ignore. Boredom, fatigue, irritation, and quiet discomfort often reveal more about the state of my heart than peaceful moments do. I do not need special conditions to see what is real. The ordinary already shows it.
In the end, Zhuangzi steps back from his own words. He reminds us that even these examples are not Tao itself. They only point. I find this comforting. It takes away the pressure to understand everything or explain it well. Words can guide attention, but they cannot replace seeing.
Tao is not hiding in better moments or deeper thoughts. It is already here, showing itself in whatever this moment happens to be. When I stop deciding where it should be, what remains becomes quietly clear.
