Spring View . The country is broken, though hills and rivers remain, In the city in spring, grass and trees are thick. Moved by the moment, a flower's splashed with tears, Mourning parting, a bird startles the heart. The beacon fires have joined for three months now, Family letters are worth ten thousand pieces. I scratch my head, its white hairs growing thinner, And barely able now to hold a hairpin.
Let him come from the bright side, And I will dispose of him on that side; Let him come from the dark side, And I will dispose of him on that side; Let him come from every possible direction, And I will dispose of him like a whirlwind; Let him come from the sky, And I will dispose of him like a flail.
Walking from Xiamen and Looking at the Blue Sea . East of Jieshi mountain, I gaze at the blue sea. The water dances so gently, the mountain island towers. Trees here grow thick, a hundred grasses are lush. The autumn wind soughs, great waves rise up. The path of the sun and moon, seems to come from within. The splendid Milky Way, seems to come from inside. Oh, I am so lucky, to be singing my song!
How long had Ryoanji been there? You must have asked -- but there is no remembrance, just the rocks and the gravel and the wall and the very great silence, the rootedness of deep meditation, the weight of the rocks and the trees of this earth, as if their roots grew right down through your heart...
Grass . The grass is spreading out across the plain, Each year, it dies, then flourishes again. It's burnt but not destroyed by prairie fires, When spring winds blow they bring it back to life. Afar, its scent invades the ancient road, Its emerald green overruns the ruined town. Again I see my noble friend depart, I find I'm crowded full of parting's feelings.
In Abbot Zan's Room at Dayun Temple . My heart is in a world of water and crystal, My clothes are damp in this time of spring rains. Through the gates I slowly walk to the end, The great court the appointed tranquil space. I reach the doors- they open and shut again, Now strikes the bell- the meal time has arrived. This cream will help one's nature strengthen and grow, The diet gives support in my decline. We've grasped each other's arms so many days, And opened our hearts without shame or evasion. Golden orioles flit across the beams, Purple doves descend from lattice screens. Myself, I think I've found a place that suits, I walk by flowers at my own slow pace. Tangxiu lifts me from my sickly state, And smiling, asks me to write a poem.
Where there is beauty, there is ugliness. When something is right, something else is wrong. Knowledge and ignorance depend on each other. It has been like this since the beginning. How could it be otherwise now? Wanting to toss out one and hold onto the other makes for a ridiculous comedy. You must still deal with everything ever-changing, even when you say it’s wonderful.
From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the boy at the bend in the road where we turned toward signs painted Peaches.
From laden boughs, from hands, from sweet fellowship in the bins, comes nectar at the roadside, succulent peaches we devour, dusty skin and all, comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside, to carry within us an orchard, to eat not only the skin, but the shade, not only the sugar, but the days, to hold the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background; from joy to joy to joy, from wing to wing, from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
Walking Meditation by Thich Nhat Hanh (1929 - ) Timeline
Original Language English Buddhist : Zen / Chan
Take my hand. We will walk. We will only walk. We will enjoy our walk without thinking of arriving anywhere. Walk peacefully. Walk happily. Our walk is a peace walk. Our walk is a happiness walk.
Then we learn that there is no peace walk; that peace is the walk; that there is no happiness walk; that happiness is the walk. We walk for ourselves. We walk for everyone always hand in hand.
Walk and touch peace every moment. Walk and touch happiness every moment. Each step brings a fresh breeze. Each step makes a flower bloom under our feet. Kiss the Earth with your feet. Print on Earth your love and happiness.
Earth will be safe when we feel in us enough safety.
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.
Daily, nothing particular, Only nodding to myself, Nothing to choose, nothing to discard. No coming, no going, No person in purple, Blue mountains without a speck of dust. I exercise occult and subtle powers, Carrying water, shouldering firewood.
The Prajnaparamita is a great spiritual mantra, a great wisdom mantra, a supreme mantra, an unequalled mantra. It destroys all suffering, because it is the incorruptible truth. Hereafter, proclaim the great Prajnaparamita mantra: "Gate, gate, paragate, Parasumgate bodhi, svaha."
Though little he recites the Sacred Texts, But puts the precepts into practice, Ridding himself of craving, hatred and delusion, Possessed of right knowledge with mind well-freed, Cling to nothing here or hereafter, He has a share in religious life.
Tender orchid-leaves in spring And cinnamon- blossoms bright in autumn Are as self- contained as life is, Which conforms them to the seasons. Yet why will you think that a forest-hermit, Allured by sweet winds and contented with beauty, Would no more ask to-be transplanted THan Would any other natural flower?
Studying texts and stiff meditation can make you lose your Original Mind. A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can be an invaluable treasure. Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking in and out of the clouds; Elegant beyond words, he chants his songs night after night.
Snow in Spring . The new year's come, but still the plants don't grow, First in March I'm startled by grass shoots. The white snow thinks the colours of spring are late, So through the pavilion and trees it flies like blossom.