In Sunyata: No Form, no Feeling, no Thought, No Volition, no Consciousness. No Eyes, no Ears, no Nose, no Tongue, no Body, no Mind. No Seeing, no Hearing, no Smelling, no Tasting, No Touching, no Thinking; No world of Sight. No world of Consciousness; No Ignorance and no end to Ignorance; No Old Age and Death and no end to Old Age and Death. No Suffering, no Craving, no Extinction, no Path; No Wisdom, no Attainment.
Some babble on about Zen, Loquaciously showing off their ability to speak; Pointing to the sky, they talk of voidness, Making a useless fuss. Raising a fist, holding up a finger, The do not know the source; Bringing up sayings and contemplative methods, They quip and jabber. They deal with students by picking up a gavel, Or by holding up a whisk; Winking the eyes and raising the eyebrows They consider awakening. They consider studying stories To be pure concentration. A genuine highly developed Buddhist Is never like those Who consider rationalization wisdom, Who will never clarify the mind Or see its essence.
Ling Xu Mountain . Leaving the human world Going toward the path to Heaven; Upon Consummation through cultivation, Then follow the clouds to Heaven, Caves hidden under pine trees, Deep and unseen among the peach blossoms;
. I made my home amidst this human bustle, Yet I hear no clamour from the carts and horses. My friend, you ask me how this can be so? A distant heart will tend towards like places. From the eastern hedge, I pluck chrysanthemum flowers, And idly look towards the southern hills. The mountain air is beautiful day and night, The birds fly back to roost with one another. I know that this must have some deeper meaning, I try to explain, but cannot find the words.
The Song on Reaching the Mountain Peak . Hearken, my sons! If you want To climb the mountain peak You should hold the Self-mind's light, Tie it with a great "Knot," And catch it with a firm "Hook." If you practice thus You can climb the mountain peak To enjoy the view.
Come, you gifted men and women, Drink the brew of Experience! Come "inside" to enjoy the scene -- See it and enjoy it to the full! The Incapable remain outside; Those who cannot drink pure Beer may quaff small beer. He who cannot strive for Bodhi, Should strive for superior birth
A Painted Boat Carrying Wine . A painted boat carrying wine- West Lake is good. Urgent rhythms and pressing tunes, A jade cup's imperious summons, Gently floating on tranquil ripples, appointed Sleeping Drunk.
The moving clouds somehow are under the moving boat. Empty water's clear and fresh, Look up, look down, I linger on, I feel as if here on this lake there is another heaven.
. Quietly, I've waited here so long, Day after day; but now I must return. Now I go to seek the fragrant grass, But I grieve to part from my old friend. Who is there who would help me on the road? Understanding friends are few in life. I should just observe my solitude, And close again the gate of my old home.
Sojourning in Ta-yu mountains by Lu Tung Pin (755 - 805) Timeline
Sojourning in Ta-yu mountains -- Who converses with the white crane that comes flying? How many times have the mountain people Seen the winter plum-flowers blossoming? Spring comes and goes, Deep in fallen flowers and streams. People are not aware Of the many immortals around them.
To know Tao by Loy Ching-Yuen (1873 - 1960) Timeline
To know Tao meditate and still the mind. Knowledge comes with perseverance.
The Way is neither full nor empty; a modest and quiet nature understands this. The empty vessel, the uncarved block; nothing is more mysterious.
When enlightenment arrives don't talk too much about it; just live it in your own way. With humility and depth, rewards come naturally.
The fragrance of blossoms soon passes; the ripeness of fruit is gone in a twinkling. Our time in this world is so short, better to avoid regret: Miss no opportunity to savor the ineffable.
Like a golden beacon signaling on a moonless night, Tao guides our passage through this transitory realm. In moments of darkness and pain remember all is cyclical. Sit quietly behind your wooden door: Spring will come again.
The road enters green mountains near evening's dark; Beneath the white cherry trees, a Buddhist temple Whose priest doesn't know what regret for spring's passing means- Each stroke of his bell startles more blossoms into falling.