In all things be a master
Of what you do and say and think.
Be free.
Are you quiet?
Quieten your body.
Quieten your mind.
By your own efforts
Waken yourself, watch,
And live joyfully.
Follow the truth of the way.
Reflect upon it.
Make it your own.
Live it.
It will always sustain you.
@rookie54said In all things be a master
Of what you do and say and think.
Be free.
Are you quiet?
Quieten your body.
Quieten your mind.
By your own efforts
Waken yourself, watch,
And live joyfully.
Follow the truth of the way.
Reflect upon it.
Make it your own.
Live it.
It will always sustain you.
In a pellucid ocean,
Bubbles arise and dissolve again.
Just so, thoughts are no
Different from ultimate reality,
So don’t find fault; remain at ease.
Whatever arises, whatever occurs,
Don’t grasp—release it on the spot.
Appearances, sounds, and objects
Are all one’s own mind;
There’s nothing except mind.
Forty-some years I’ve lived in the mountains
Ignorant of the world’s rise and fall
Warmed at night by a stove full of pine needles
Satisfied at noon by a bowl of wild plants
Sitting on rocks watching clouds and empty thoughts
Patching my robe in sunlight practicing silence
Till someone asks why Bodhidharma came east
And I hang out my wash.
The iris pond has flowered
Before the old temple;
I sell tea this evening
By the water’s edge.
It is steeped in the cups
With the moon and stars;
Drink and wake forever
From your worldly sleep.
In the still night by the vacant window,
wrapped in monk’s robe I sit in meditation,
navel and nostrils lined up straight,
ears paired to the slope of shoulders.
Window whitens--the moon comes up;
rain’s stopped, but drops go on dripping.
Wonderful—the mood of this moment;
distant, vast.
At an overgrown cottage I found the restful life of a recluse.
I have since lived alone, turning to songbirds for music,
And for my friends I have white clouds rising in the sky.
Beneath a massive rock, a spring swells in a fair stream,
Its clear water washes the dust from my black garments.
Near the ridges, tall pines and oaks rise towards heaven;
Their branches and leaves give me warmth in cold weather.
With nothing to worry me, not a care to disturb my peace,
I live happily from day to day, until the day dawns no more for me.
If everyone flocks to the world,
who then will be a hermit?
If everyone abandons the world,
who then will manage the world?
There is none like this Great Master
who dwells between the two,
neither defiled, nor pure;
neither Vinaya, nor Ch’an,
there is none like Hai-yueh.
How profoundly silent is the temple of Tao!
Boundless and infinite,
It is the dwelling place of the divine.
The light-hall is wide and high,
Yet awed by silence.
Forgetful of words I roam and rest here
I have discarded the world of fame and profit.
Given free will but within certain limitations,
I cannot will myself to limitless mutations,
I cannot know what I would be if I were not me,
I can only guess me.
So when I say that I know me, how can I know that?
What kind of spider understands arachnophobia?
I have my senses and my sense of having senses.
Do I guide them? Or they me?
The weight of dust exceeds the weight of settled objects.
What can it mean, such gravity without a centre?
Is there freedom to un-be?
Is there freedom from will-to-be?
Sheer momentum makes us act this way or that way.
We just invent or just assume a motivation.
I would disperse, be disconnected. Is this possible?
What are soldiers without a foe?
Be in the air, but not be air, be in the no air.
Be on the loose, neither compacted nor suspended.
Neither born nor left to die.
Had I been free, I could have chosen not to be me.
Demented forces push me madly round a treadmill.
Let me off please, I am so very tired.
Forty-some years
I’ve lived in the mountains
Ignorant of the world’s rise and fall
Warmed at night
by a stove full of pine needles
Satisfied at noon
by a bowl of wild plants
Sitting on rocks
watching clouds and empty thoughts
Patching my robe
in sunlight practicing silence
Till someone asks
why Bodhidharma came east
And I hang out my wash.
The iris pond has flowered
Before the old temple;
I sell tea this evening
By the water’s edge.
It is steeped in the cups
With the moon and stars;
Drink and wake forever
From your worldly sleep.