Buddha preached in the twelve divisions, each division full of purest truth. East wind -- rain comes in the night, making all the forest fresh and new. No sutra that does not save the living, no branch in the forest not visited by spring. Learn to understand the meaning in them, don't try to decide which is "valid," which is not.
DOWN ZHONGNAN MOUNTAIN TO THE KIND PILLOW AND BOWL OF HUSI
Down the blue mountain in the evening, Moonlight was my homeward escort. Looking back, I saw my path Lie in levels of deep shadow.... I was passing the farm-house of a friend, When his children called from a gate of thorn And led me twining through jade bamboos Where green vines caught and held my clothes. And I was glad of a chance to rest And glad of a chance to drink with my friend.... We sang to the tune of the wind in the pines; And we finished our songs as the stars went down, When, I being drunk and my friend more than happy, Between us we forgot the world.
A lonely swan from the sea flies, To alight on puddles it does not deign. Nesting in the poplar of pearls It spies and questions green birds twain: "Don't you fear the threat of slings, Perched on top of branches so high? Nice clothes invite pointing fingers, High climbers god's good will defy. Bird-hunters will crave me in vain, For I roam the limitless sky."
A samurai once asked Zen Master Hakuin where he would go after he died. Hakuin answered 'How am I supposed to know?' 'How do you not know? You're a Zen master!' exclaimed the samurai. 'Yes, but not a dead one,' Hakuin answered
A pity it is evening, yet I do love the water of this spring seeing how clear it is, how clean; rays of sunset gleam on it, lighting up its ripples, making it one with those who travel the roads; I turn and face the moon; sing it a song, then listen to the sound of the wind amongst the pines
Mountain sounds carry a chill wisdom an upwelling spring whispers subtle tales pine breezes stir the fire beneath my tea bamboo shadows soak deep into my robe . I grind my ink: clouds scraping across the crags copy out a verse: birds settling on branches as the world rolls on by its every turn tracing out non-action
VISITING A TAOIST ON TAITIEN MOUNTAIN . Amongst bubbling streams a dog barks; peach blossom is heavy with dew; here and there a deer can can be seen in forest glades! No sound of the mid-day bell enters this fastness where blue mist rises from bamboo groves; down from a high peak hangs a waterfall; none knows where he has gone, so sadly I rest, with my back leaning against a pine.
Sojourning in Ta-Yu mountains. Who converses with the white crane that comes flying? How many times have the mountain people Seen the winter plume-flowers blossoming? Spring comes and goes, Deep in fallen flowers and streams. People are not aware Of the many immortals around them.