Today, red peonies in front of my steps;
Some are beginning to fade;
Some are beginning to bloom.
When they bloom, I do not understand
Why they are so beautiful,
For when they fade,
We realize that they are like phantom bodies.
How far is it from here to the
Gateway of the Void?
With these faded flowers,
Let me come and ask you.
In seeking the essence of the Way,
one should quiet the mind
and penetrate to the depths.
Silently wander within
and clearly see the origin
of all things, obscured by nothing.
The mind is boundless and formless,
just as the pure water
contains the essence of autumn.
It is glistening white and lustrously bright
in the same way that
moonlight envelops the entire night.
Looking up to the example that old sage handed down,
and considering what comes easily to my own nature,
I offered myself to this tranquil dwelling of repose,
and now nurture my lifework in the drift of idleness.
Master Pan's early awakening always humbled me,
and I was shamed by master Shang's old age insight,
so with years and sickness both closing in upon me
I devoted myself to simplicity and returned to it all,
left that workaday life for this wisdom of wandering,
for this wilderness of rivers-and-mountains clarity.
Incense terraces and
kingfisher-green ridgelines
tower into sky.
Misty trees and ten thousand homes
fill the river's sunlit water.
The monks live nearby, but they would
be such strangers by now,
I sit, all stillness, listening
to a faint bell record those lost years.
People in the world cannot
identify their own mind.
They believe that what
they see, or hear, or feel,
or know, is mind.
They are blocked by the visual,
the auditory, the tactile, and the mental,
so they cannot see the
brilliant spirit of the their
Original Mind.
those times i find myself at a loss for words,
when the confusion reigns supreme...
i'll sit cross-legged and breathe real deep,
then reality isn't as weird as it seems...
Here in Hsueh-t’ou Mountain
a rapid waterfall dashes
down thousands of feet.
Here nothing stays,
not even the tiniest chestnut.
An awesome cliff rises
up thousands of feet
with no space for you to stand.
My friends, may I ask:
Where do you proceed?
- Yung-ming (904-975)
Birds have no consciousness of doom:
Yon thrush that serenades me daily
From scented snow of hawthorn bloom
Would not trill out his glee so gaily,
Could he foretell his songful breath
Would sadly soon be stilled in death.
Yon lambs that frolic on the lea
And incarnate the joy of life,
Would scarce disport them could they see
The shadow of the butcher's knife:
Oh Nature, with your loving ruth,
You spare them knowledge of Dark Truth.
To sad humanity alone,
(Creation's triumph ultimate)
The grimness of the grave is known,
The dusty destiny await . . . .
Oh bird and beast, with joy, elance
Effulgently your ignorance!
Oh man, provisioning the hearse,
With fortitude accept your curse!
Followers of the Way,
the one who at this moment
stands alone, clearly and
lively right before your eyes
and is listening,
this one is nowhere obstructed.
Unhindered this one
penetrates everywhere
and moves freely;
entering all kinds of situations,
is never affected by them
- Rinzai (d.866)
For all these years,
My certain Zen:
Neither I nor the world exist.
The sutras neat within the box,
My cane hooked upon the wall,
I lie at peace in moonlight
Or, hearing water
Plashing on the rock,
Sit up: none can
Purchase pleasure such as this:
Spangled across the step-moss, a million coins!
- Shutaku (1308-1388)
Who says poets are so enthralled with mountains?
Mountains, mountains, mountains
I've raved on and on,
And they're still clamoring for attention.
If I climb an hour, I need to rest for three.
When your desk is piled full,
You just can't add anything more,
And when your withered stomach is full,
Who can keep eating?
So what good's even a faint scrap of mist or
Kingfisher-green?
I'll wrap it all up, send the whole bundle off
To my city friends.
- Yang Wan-li (1127-1206)
Each night, I gaze upon a pond,
A Zen body sitting beside a moon.
Nothing is really there and yet
It is all so clear and bright,
I cannot describe it.
If you would know the empty mind,
Your own mind must
Be as clear and bright
As this full moon upon the water.
- Chiao Jan (785-895)
Patch-robed monks make
Their thinking dry and cool
And rest from the remnants of
Conditioning.
Persistently brush up and sharpen
This bit of the field.
Spiritual and bright,
Vast and lustrous,
Illuminating fully what is
Before you, directly attain
The shining light and clarity
That cannot attach to a single
Defilement.
- Hongzhi Zhengjue (1091-1157)
The pure wondrous dharmakaya of Amitabha Buddha is everywhere in the mind ground of all sentient beings.
Thus it is said: “Mind, buddha, sentient beings: these three are no different.”
It is also said: “Mind is buddha, buddha is mind.
Outside of the mind there is no buddha.
Outside of buddha there is no mind.”
The empty field cannot be cultivated or proven. From the beginning it is altogether complete, undefiled and clear down to the bottom. Where everything is correct and totally sufficient, attain the pure eye that illuminates thoroughly, fulfilling liberation. Enlightenment involves enacting this; stability develops from practicing it. Birth and death originally have no root or stem, appearing and disappearing originally have no defining traces.
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13 Apr '19 14:29
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