The Fart That Blew Across the River — Ego, Approval, and the Human Condition

There’s a wonderful (and hilariously humbling) Zen story I’ve always loved, and it popped back into my head recently when I caught myself fishing for praise. Not overtly. Just subtly leaving the room and lingering… waiting for the “Wow” I hoped would come.

The story goes like this:

Su Dongpo (also known as Su Shi) was a famous Chinese poet, statesman, and devoted Buddhist during the Song Dynasty. One day, feeling particularly elevated in his spiritual practice, he wrote a poem to his friend and spiritual teacher, Zen Master Fo Yin:

I bow my head to the heaven within heaven,

Hairline rays illuminating the universe,

The eight winds cannot move me,

Sitting still upon the purple golden lotus.

The “eight winds” refer to the eight worldly concerns in Buddhism: gain and loss, pleasure and pain, praise and blame, fame and disgrace. Su Dongpo was, in essence, declaring himself above it all—untouchable, unmoved.

He sent his poem to Fo Yin, clearly expecting admiration. Fo Yin read it, smiled, and simply wrote one word on it: “Fart!” (In Chinese: “Pi” — slang for nonsense).

Su Dongpo was furious. So furious, in fact, that he immediately crossed the river to confront his teacher. But when he arrived at the temple, Fo Yin wasn’t there. Instead, a note was pinned to the door:

“The eight winds cannot move me,

One fart blows me across the river.”

Oof. There it is. A perfect Zen punch to the ego.

And isn’t that all of us?

We tell ourselves we don’t care what people think. We say we’ve outgrown the need for validation. But then someone doesn’t like our photo, or our cooking goes unpraised, or our insight is ignored—and suddenly, we’re Su Dongpo, storming across the river with righteous indignation, all because someone didn’t applaud our spiritual lotus.

As a chef, I cook to bring joy. I serve others because I want them to feel cared for and nourished. But if I’m honest, my ego still wants to hear that the plate was beautiful. That the food was perfect. That I’m more than a cook—I’m an artist.

I think many of us hide behind the idea that we’re “above it all.” But we’re human. We’re wired to want to be seen, heard, and appreciated. The trouble begins when we confuse validation with value.

The Zen lesson here isn’t to destroy the ego—it’s to notice when it takes the wheel. It’s to laugh, like Fo Yin did, and say: “Ah, there it is again. That old familiar wind.”

So the next time you find yourself slightly bruised because someone didn’t compliment your work, your outfit, or your wisdom, just remember Su Dongpo. And smile at the ridiculous beauty of being human.

Even a single fart can still blow us across the river.