The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences. When love and hate are both absent everything becomes clear and undisguised. Make the smallest distinction, however, and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart. If you wish to see the truth then hold no opinions for or against anything. To set up what you like against what you dislike is the disease of the mind. When the deep meaning of things is not understood the mind's essential peace is disturbed to no avail.
The Way is perfect like vast space where nothing is lacking and nothing is in excess. Indeed, it is due to our choosing to accept or reject that we do not see the true nature of things. Live neither in the entanglements of outer things, nor in inner feelings of emptiness. Be serene in the oneness of things and such erroneous views will disappear by themselves. When you try to stop activity to achieve passivity your very effort fills you with activity. As long as you remain in one extreme or the other you will never know Oneness. Those who do not live in the single Way fail in both activity and passivity, assertion and denial. To deny the reality of things is to miss their reality; to assert the emptiness of things is to miss their reality. The more you talk and think about it, the further astray you wander from the truth. Stop talking and thinking, and there is nothing you will not be able to know. To return to the root is to find the meaning, but to pursue appearances is to miss the source. At the moment of inner enlightenment there is a going beyond appearance and emptiness. The changes that appear to occur in the empty world we call real only because of our ignorance. Do not search for the truth; only cease to cherish opinions.
Like a flower, but not a flower No one cares when it falls And lies discarded at the roadside But though Unmoved, I think about The tangle of wounded tendrils Lovely eyes full of sleep About to open,yet Still in dreams, following the wind ten thousand miles In search of love Startled, time and again, by the oriole's cry
Do not pity the flower that flies off Grieve for the western garden Its fallen red already beyond mending -- Now, after morning rain What's left? A pond full of broken duckweed If the three parts of spring Two turn to dust One to flowing water Look -- These are not catkins But drop after drop of parted lover's tears
The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me. The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered. No spring breeze even at this late date, Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.
Search. Search. Seek. Seek. Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear. Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain. Hot flashes. Sudden chills. Stabbing pains. Slow agonies. I can find no peace. I drink two cups, then three bowls, Of clear wine until I can’t Stand up against a gust of wind. Wild geese fly over head. They wrench my heart. They were our friends in the old days. Gold chrysanthemums litter The ground, pile up, faded, dead. This season I could not bear To pick them. All alone, Motionless at my window, I watch the gathering shadows. Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees, And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk. What can I ever do now? How can I drive off this word — Hopelessness?
I Climb the Western Tower in Silence (Joy of Meeting) Li Yu
I climb the western tower in silence, the moon like a sickle. Clear autumn is locked in the deep courtyard, where a wutong tree stands lonely. Sorrowful parting has cut, but not severed our ties; my mind is still wild. Separation is just like a taste in head and heart.
How Iushly the grasses grow on the plain! Year after year, they wither before flourishing. No wildfire can burn them all. When spring winds blow, they sprout once more. Far away, their fragrance pervades the ancient road; on a clear day, their green extends to the ruined wall. Now it is you whom I must see off, my dear friend. How can the Iuxuriant grass not feel my parting pain!