Break open a single particle
And all the sutras grow clear:
The great merit-wheel
Of the dharma turns as a whole.
The womb of a donkey gives
Birth to the noble horse.
Each time you look, you’ll see it new.
One stroke dissolves knowledge.
Struggle no longer needed.
I will follow the ancient path
Not lapsing into quietude.
Noble conduct beyond sound and form –
No trace anywhere.
Those who have mastered the way
Call this the unsurpassable activity.
This emptiness
Is not empty emptiness
This Path is not a path
That can be considered a path
Where peaceful extinction is totally extinct
Perfect illumination is complete and final.
After realizing the intent of Zen, people in ancient times used to spend decades polishing themselves thoroughly in order to free themselves from compulsions of conditioning and habit.
This is called the work of maturation; the completion of maturation is called the attainment of unification.
I stuff the heater with wood,
And put on all my clothes
But only drinking a cup of wine
Makes me really warm.
People say the cold
Is unbearable after frost,
But they don’t realize
That there’s springtime
In the wine pot.
It cannot be named,
And it cannot be given form.
From the beginning,
It is pure and clean
And has not been defiled.
From the beginning,
It is by itself complete and perfect,
And there is no need to trouble
About practice and enlightenment.
Every morning I sail out
To pick lotus flowers.
The river is long
So I often return at dusk.
I don't splash as I pole my boat,
Afraid of wetting the flowers’ red blouses.
Darkness and light divide the tall sky,
The rumble of thunder
Passes over distant mountains.
The evening is cool,
And beyond the slackening rain,
Through broken clouds,
A moon immaculate.
Heaven turns so slowly and gently,
It tolerates my age.
Without mercy,
Days and months advance to cut off my time.
I return to my cave in the mountain,
But the trees are all gone.
I look down on the river,
And all I see are meandering curves.
The sun is captured in a cage of delicate clouds.
I listen to the wind.
Suddenly I hear the Temple Bell!
The sound comes washing over me,
Waking me from the dusty labor of my thoughts.
And distant heaven opens wider and wider to me.
desire for a thing
is what causes the pain
it is not her presence
or absence
words
or silence
activities
or the dearth of
it is only desire
disguised as love
that is what causes the pain