"Truly a narrow escape," Li Po interposed. "Water rots the stomach."
"Uninjured, I sat at the bottom, wondering what to do. My wits were knit close together. I saw things in a different light."
"From the eyes of a frog," chuckled Li Po. "In my dilemma, I fell asleep."
"Sleep levels the fool and the wise man."
"A line of thought I leave to you. I care not to walk on dangerous ground again. But to go on with my report, when I awakened, far above I beheld one bright star. In ancient days Confucius ascended Tai Shan and esteemed the world small. In modem times, I tripped and fell down a well and the world is still small. Does that not lend itself to meditation? If falling down a well or struggling to mountain peaks is all one, why toil?"
"True, good friend. Had you waited, someone would have pushed you down the well. What need then of exertion? You make me recall a poem I once wrote about Chuang Tzu, the Apostle of Inactivity:
'Chuang Tzu dreamt that he was a butterfly
Who dreamt that he was Chuang Tzu!
The same body may change its soul;
Everything in this world is eternally incomprehensible.
The water which flows into the deepest sea near the Island of Immortals,
Comes from clear shallow streams.
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