While washing rice one day, T'ung-shan (807-869) was approached by his master, who asked, "Are you using water to wash rice, or rice to wash water? When done, do you throw away water or rice?" The answer came, "I throw out both." The master said, "Then what will the monks eat?" The monk replied, "I don't care, " and he walked away. Does it sound like T'ung-shan had gone crazy? Actually, the response reveals T'ung-shan's detachment from everything around him. It reveals a certain level of attainment, though not especially high. This sort of dialogue cannot be imitated, because it arises out of the unique circumstances of the moment. An alert master can sense when an "opportune sharp action" can cut like a knife into the disciple's mind and reveal what's inside.

Things like this seldom happen in a Ch'an master's lifetime. Ch'an is the method of sudden enlightenment. As such, it depends on the occurrence of a certain moment when masters have nothing else to use. They must rely on the most direct means available, and whatever words are on the tips of their tongues. They cannot rely on logic and discrimination. When stories such as these are examined by people not familiar with the method of Ch'an, they may come across as humorous. But if there is any humor at all, it is superficial.

Ch'an is actually solemn and practical. The real Ch'an practice is the practice of daily life. The story of T'ung-shan occurred during a mundane daily activity ─ washing rice. If in daily life, you conduct yourself without attachment, that is already Ch'an practice. Practitioners do not dwell on the idea of God, Buddhas or deities, existing apart from daily life. In this sense, Ch'an is not formal religion. It is more humanistic. But in its human aspect, it is detached from the happenstance of transient moods and feelings. It is a pure life.