Lao Tzu would say, “It is the hole that
makes the doughnut useful.”
I’m not so sure though. I bought a box of doughnut holes and dumped the
deep-fried balls of dough in the garbage. I wanted to walk around with an empty
box marked “Doughnut Holes,” just to prove a point.
Lao Tzu would say, “It is the space
within that makes the empty box useful.”
No, I say, it’s the sticker marked “Doughnut Holes” that
makes it useful, conveys the joke in a way that an unmarked box could never
Confucius said, “Is it not pleasurable
to apply your knowledge at due intervals?”
I disagree. I’d rather eat a box of
holes and stuff myself on nothingness.
Confucius might reply, “Joy can be
found in the eating of course rice.”
No, Chinese Master, you’re wrong again! If you can’t dip a doughnut
in coffee and revel in the soggy goodness, you’re just not living.
I wish Wang Wei would weigh in and agree
with me, perhaps descending from a mountain holding a short,
two-line poem with a really long
title, like, “Returning
to Ch’angan at Dawn after Nine Months and Nine Days of Eating Doughnuts
in my Mountain Home.”
The poem would be simple and clear, mentioning nothing about
doughnuts, describing, instead, the silence of rain water running
down a stalk of
bamboo as the
sun begins to light the top of the green moss.