Everyone who reads my poems
Must protect the purity
Of their heart’s heart
Cut down your craving
Continue your days modestly
Coax the crooked and the bent
Then you’ll be upright
Drive out and chase
Away your evil karma
Return home and follow
Your true nature
On that day you’ll get the
Buddhabody as swiftly
As Lu-ling runs
~ Han-shan
The water’s breath mingles with reflected mountains;
Autumn has come to the vast sky.
I enjoy to finding temples hidden deep in the forest,
Regret the broken silence when
My boat moves from the shore.
Sparse reeds are snapping,
Though it isn’t cold yet;
A rainbow’s fragment arches in the setting sun.
Which way now to my little hut?
The fisherman’s songs bring thoughts of home.
~ Lin Pu (967-1028)
When you look closely,
You see that people of the present
Are none other than people of old,
And the functions of the present
Are none other than the functions of the past;
Even going through a thousand changes
And myriad transformations,
Here it is just necessary
For you to recognize it first hand
Before you can attain it.
~ Foyan (1067-1120)
The Way does not need cultivation;
Just don’t pollute it.
What is pollution?
As long as you have a fluctuating mind,
Creating artificialities and pursuing inclinations,
All is pollution.
If you want to understand the Way directly,
The normal mind is the Way.
What is normal mind?
It has no artificial contrivance,
No right or wrong, no grasping or rejection,
No ordinariness and no sanctity.
~ Ancestor Ma (709–788)
@rookie54 saidYou do not have to be good.
The Way does not need cultivation;
Just don’t pollute it.
What is pollution?
As long as you have a fluctuating mind,
Creating artificialities and pursuing inclinations,
All is pollution.
If you want to understand the Way directly,
The normal mind is the Way.
What is normal mind?
It has no artificial contrivance,
No right or wrong, no grasping or rejection,
No ordinariness and no sanctity.
~ Ancestor Ma (709–788)
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Mary Oliver
Wild Geese