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Table of Contents
Book 91 Northeast Light Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001—Insects suddenly coming out of hibernation
Book 92 Northeast Space Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001 —The dragon hiding in deep waters eats not the insects in spinach
Book 93 Northeast Faculty Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001 —Lighthouse‧positioning by sound at night
Book 94 Northeast State Condition, Originating in the Winter Solstice, 2001 —Awakened perception, falling at a tacit understanding of precisely 109.5°
Book 95 Northeast Attention Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001 —A small egret misses it’s forest home
Book 96 Northeast Primary Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001—The wisdom of sudden awakening is not equal to the subtle warp speed of making merit
Book 97 Northeast Purity and Impurity Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001 —Dragon lying in a Chan cloud startled awake
Book 98 Northeast Discrimination Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001 —Thick white silver candle of the fifth watch
Book 99 Northeast Seed Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001—Can a silver ribbon or a jacket of golden thread restrain a flying immortal?

Book 91 Northeast Light Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001
—Insects suddenly coming out of hibernation

A dark cloud fond of joking
Suddenly a face covering the sky
Dream of floating in a lightning-fast minefield
Surging waves of the winds of the sense objects billow upon billow on the sea of consciousness
My mind as director transmigrating life after life
The story is deduced from the original script
Vermillion sky pregnant with the icy north wind
Idyllic waterwheel turning over the years
Galaxy and Milky Way sealed in moonlight
Flocks of black-faced spoonbills flying south for the winter
Freezing point minus 15.3° Celsius Hokkaido pine branches turn into white feathers
Silvery world joined by the wings of an albatross
The Visitor takes a rest, looking at
the Traveler’s lonely silhouette
Chilly night
People still outside, wandering about for fun
Faint awn of starlight, filtering in thru a window in the clouds
A ferry sails from the Sun Dog Wharf
Towards the moonlit coast.
Below two ginkgo trees
A child pretends to use the shadows of branches to sweep the steps
The north wind blows the Traveler 's hat down towards the sea
The Youth mounts his sailboard and quickly retrieves it
to the sound of innocent cheers
At yonder peach orchard there is an invisible ship
Only exposed to sunlight on the winter solstice
It gathers up all the beautiful and magical illusions of the entire year
And tonight returns them to the gods for safekeeping
In earlier times the Youth was very fond of listening to the squirrels gliding down the trees—
sonorous sound of munching on fruit
What is it that has hooked the Traveler’s memory
Past event, a basket of sweet honey
In childhood a single hand could toy with eight paper baskets
Today, two legs starting and stopping
Unable to kick open a cloth sack.

Friend come from far away
Repeatedly declaring “Long time, no see.”
The Child welcomes a guest into the courtyard
To pass the rains retreat
Highly skilled exquisite
Requiring three decades of diligent practice
Only in his own doorway is a man called a hero
Peach trees in blossom, then knowing that this is the original master of the house
Indra’s net hung with eight hundred million and four thousand pearls
Whether or not they shine it’s all up to me
On the mountain beyond the mountain a person shouts
Who was it who earlier told him to leave his native place
Passionate, because of subtle ignorance wandering in a dream
unable to sleep all night
Again setting sail, following the wind and waves.
Is it playing a game or entering into it
Spellbound in the performance
A layman playing the part of a layman
Sound of a river like a long, wide tongue
Mountain scenery capable of opening the nose to the spirit
Arriving at a distant place, running into the Visitor and the Vagrant
Surveying the ten directions and the three times, it’s all the Traveler putting up for the night
Ancient mirror beyond the awe-inspiring sound outside of the aeon, without idlers
Pointing at the moon uniform eyebrows of a meteor and the Milky Way
Five lamps walking and singing songs of nature, being the master
Those inside the doorway are often concerned about those who have gone out the door
Undefiled by the five turbidities entering the stream
Delivering sentient beings as numerous as the sands of the Ganges.
How is it that the light from the sea of ​​prayer lanterns does not reach the end of the world
How is it that good wishes can’t sweep out from a dream
all the melancholy four-o’clock flowers
Traveling on the middle of the road
Lackadaisical ones sitting on the berm
Traveling on one side of the road
yet fond of sitting on the central throne
Thoughts of sentient beings are the seeds of life
The snow coat of winter is filled with white symbols
How is it that tonight the Wanderer's worry index is again on the rise
There is a house with a master
and a guest
as well as a stranger
Yet everyone knows that only one person
lives in this house!
Sunrise and sunset a hut in the mountains
In the moonlight turning into the pontoon bridge of the galaxy
Old banyan tree looks in the train window at the lonely Traveler
chasing those distant fallen stars
Dreaming and waking for three thousand years
The treasure box of time opening and closing momentarily
Virtual story of sights and signs, instantly chasing thunder and lightning
A myth fabricated in darkness and the bright sky
inscribing statutes, imprinting a seal
invariably responding to one another according to conditions
In the past flying from the east to Paris
Goose feathers like flying snow turn into white butterflies
Roaming mind vain imaginings
images of the past stacked up.
Winter, withered wisteria bramble
slightly penetrated by rays of light
Twilight in the park
A girl from a foreign land is playing the violin
In a vineyard an old grotto gives off the aroma of soil and wine
Quiescent heart
Somehow suddenly a thought of ignorance
stirs up the storm gales
Up ahead is a long road
to cross the river, first lay a brick bridge
That side filled with swaggering lavender
The Little Girl misses her mother, eyes dripping with dew
the ancient bronze mirror of the ten directions draws that drop of light into a secret place
Cicadas cast off their shells, I find six of their golden casings
Sunset at sea
laying down a golden channel a thousand ships sail beyond illusion
Brandishing his bamboo pole, the Punter breaks thru the critical point of the sunset
That night storm woven of dreams and illusions
effortlessly rolled up by the last rays of moonlight
waking, it’s called
no coming, no going, no matter.
Mountain valley laden with snow the Maiden strolling high in the clouds
The Old Woodcutter uses a lotus leaf to ladle water out of a stream
Pouring it into a bamboo tube and mixing it with a measure of rice on the other shore
Wondrously towering peak, visitors continuously ascending and descending
each cuff ensconcing a different universe
The Little Girl's tears dripping into a drawer
accidentally wetting a diary . . .
On Biefeng, the Master of the Wanhong Pavilion, uses the momentary power of the mind
to swirl the eternal golden drum
guiding the Vagrant’s train of thought
The Marvelously Turning Youth finds within the dusty thoughts of the world
an exceedingly subtle factor—unsurpassable supreme enlightenment
The ancient moonlight silently falls upon
the ring finger of the Maiden strolling in the clouds
Instantly causing the fingerprints to whirl in reverse
three thousand years into the past, all because of
A notion that could not be constrained in the Heaven of Radiant Sound
A thought of ignorance dragging one down into the world. . . .
The Wanderer cannot restrain the howling monkey mind
Empty by nature, Spirit Mountain enveloped in mist throughout the year
The mind-horse galloping after the wind and rain thunder and lightning
Pellucid water in a mountain stream
embracing the sunlight, carrying away the leaves
Views fond of clamor
Stirring up the dust of ignorance, occluding the natural mind
On the horizon, a soaring red flame
A flock of flamingoes flies over the red river
In a corner of the sea, a black light swallows a seven-color rainbow
all images without form or shadow
Mind of sentient beings, full of affection for the seen
zero visibility
There is a lonely low-frequency sound howling
Fear and apprehension dance in the cold and silent air of a northern clime
Ruins of an old wall
mud bricks piled up in a scene not seen for a century
Wind chimes on an ancient pagoda
old bells still shine with mysterious light and sound
The story of the universe without beginning and end, its destination
still unknown
A pair of stunning big footprints sealed inside silvery snow
left by a past explorer passing thru a flowery meadow
feet covered in spring mud,
moonlight from 90,000 years ago
glaciers from eternity
every winter piled up in a blizzard
Childhood songs echoing in a dream of the native place
The golden beach has a conch three thousand years old, conveying
the dense sound of a message from the Youth planting flowers
memories, missing that lovely image
forgetting, carried away by the sound!
The Little Girl fond of dreaming
Wants to play in the clouds
Running in the open country, calling out
Tree covered, grass enveloped
Knitted brows densely shifting.
Insects suddenly coming out of hibernation
Ancient path along the face of a cliff full of caves
Slipping and falling into the misty abyss of a wisteria house
terror . . . trembling into a cold sweat
Suddenly there appears in the dream another me
Then knowing that I’m a person and not an insect!
Scanning about, shimmering light
penetrates thru a vast curtain of water in multiple layers
Inside the house wondering where that invisible one stayed
Footprints everywhere, left on the top of the old reading desk
At a distant place an old stairway with 52 wooden steps
Caused to squeak by someone
Vaguely ancient sound continues to ring out
that ancient Saha rhyme of commiseration
It’s an ancient icefall pouring from the sky
Numinous river gyrating around a thousand mountains, wonderful gurgling sound never-ending.

May 19–20, 2003
Hall of Fragrant Recitation
==back to top==

Book 92 Northeast Space Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001
—The dragon hiding in deep waters eats not the insects in spinach

Celestial eye examines today in light of yesterday—
Brisk pace enlivened by the spring wind
Acres of corn fields under the summer sun
North wind blowing in the ten directions, everywhere deserted
naught to be seen but silver and white
Within a tiny wafer-like universe
There are two mountains, one valley, and a waterfall
There is a pair of alluring amethyst beads
Like the pitch black eyes of an owl at midnight
Thru the wind gap of dreams flows
the air of human torment and suffering
Undulating earth, patches of red and green
Cold night replete with a supple mist, galaxy of flickering stars
Lonely sofa in the drawing room patiently waiting for the owner
Low window fond of chatting with the north wind inexplicably
bored into by several confused winter cicadas.
Obscuring darkness waves in the vanguard of the sea, rushing towards the unknown
waves in the rear gradually formed by the lonely water-mirror
Purple throughout snowy mountains misty throughout the year
The Maiden prays to heaven to protect
that white horse entered into the reed catkins
Gold dazzling a pool reflecting the inverted image of the golden drum on the horizon
fragrant golden apples hanging from branches
White soft in the winter a white phoenix conveys a sun dog just beginning to rise
sauntering in that silvery world of ice and snow
Orange bright wild skunk cabbage and Hokkaido wild lilies
once fit for offerings, today slowly disappearing
Red fragrant looking back, a mythical bird has already escaped the net
moonlight tracing a river like a shadow following a shape
passing between two mountains
Blue clustered ox doesn’t plow the fields, farmer plants not the rice
the flame of ignorance everywhere burning the wind moving in space.
A spiritual channel
seems to be lacking amongst the tricks of the phenomenal world
Mercy and wisdom bloom in the story of life
that most sacred moment
Why is it that one by one the guests leave their seats and run off
Those still in training are assailed by relentless views
aggrieved . . . again ambushed by a fierce thunderstorm
Wild sea roaring with grade-13 waves
The native place Wanderer goes missing in the firmament of a dream
It’s said that the spiraling Milky Way is the ultimate window of the universe
Snow-capped glacier
The windsurfing Youth still recognizes the way home
All the buddhas positioned in the pure firmament
Navigating ten thousand ships of compassion
into the sea of tribulation
how is it that sentient beings, endowed with hands, don’t climb in
Ten billion sentient beings pursuing ephemeral phenomena
in a dream—forever drifting
Within the light of quiescence
Who is it who fervently plants every kind of seed field of consciousness
sense impressions, instantaneously
transforming into stored memory
Greater Snow, when the icy north wind descends
Curtain of darkness invisible to the stars
Yet that fish in my dream
Still wandering thru the ever unbounded Milky Way.
Whirling mist rolls up the stars
A galactic scarf drops anchor
in the half-moon pool of the world of the ancient moon
The gaily-colored stone raft of the Master Craftsman of Consummate Ability
Leisurely floats in the darkness of night
On Biefeng a green curtain hides the valley stream
A thread of thought circling in a dream
The Youth expecting good fortune
to appear in a good position
Having heard that the concentrated power of the mind
can create miracles mysterious and inconceivable
From out of the depths of the thick grass enveloped in white clouds year round
emerges the sound of an ancient qin . . .
The Traveler’s moving story is about to unfold once again
The surface tension of the Visitor’s habitual emotions is about to pull a stunt
An invisible air current blocks the route of tacit understanding
A sun dog just now ascending
people coming and going on the broad square
Not knowing the impressions made by their steps
The clapper of an old bell on the roof continuously
oscillating, now left
now right
Toes of time follow the movements of the Visitor’s gaze.
Dusk and snow once more
A streetlight bent askew by a collision
A lonely expression on the Traveler’s face
Nagging doubts now going forwards
now reversing
Dark darkness the Wanderer hears the movement of the stars
Spirited spirit the Wanderer witnesses the earth shaking
Ears of 2001 • call-in during silence
An old sacred tree on a cloudy mountain now tells a story to the saplings
Eyes of 2002 • witnessing inherent nature
Moonlight diving into the sea, eavesdropping
on a big fish telling a legend to the minnows
Who is it who can hold up the Earth with one hand
Shifting from rotation and revolution outwardly dependent
to self-initiated movement
Upward, upward, still more upward
Let go, let go, why not just let go
Dream stage actors who can’t forget the sound of virtual applause
Between dynamic and static, who is it
who intercepts obsession like the sound of the tide
how is it’s insubstantial nature not seen thru
Waves stacked high shooting upwards
That you, still an ink pad relying on another
impartial every step of the way
Surging billows churning out a thick mist obscuring
the ancient purple-gold sand
The Child takes the primeval air of the new century
And stores it in 108 bottles
Divided into 108 glacial ice fields
A white cloud dyed in seven colors turns into a banner dancing in the vast sky
A dark cloud spills out like black ink disguising the earth
Still saying that the entire world is uncovered and plain to see.
Time comes to 5:59:59 pm
The Old Woodcutter asks the Child: “Has your ox eaten?”
The Child replies: “He’s slept and even had a dream!”
The white ox dreamed that it became a five-colored mythical bird
That flew to heaven and sang at the top of its voice—
“Please tell me how self-knowledge is gained.”
Upon making the initial resolution to take rebirth
There are no longer hazy notions about spiritual luminosity
From today onwards, play your own tune
The road leading upwards is covered with white butterflies
smugly smiling, blown in by the north wind
The Visitor treads lightly
How can such small steps affect others
Off in the distance a friend calls out
Sound and silence just so
Form and sound already falling a thousand li distant
A crane rides a vow, in a moment
from the highest heavens alights on the summit of Spirit Mountain.
Heaven and earth silent
Sparse sentence connecting sentence
In the blink of an eye, an egret pulls up a beam of moonlight
and darts straight to the other shore—
Wisdom and nescience
Originating and penetrating, advantageous and firm
The dragon hiding in deep waters eats not the insects in spinach
Nirvana and ignorance
It’s possible to meet the gods
But it’s impossible to use the mouth to describe the true nature of the world
See that stack of tofu, not a single piece can be named
No vacuum
Subtle and hidden
Intelligence invests emotion into matter
A cluster of mosquitoes in a bottle clamorously vying to turn a prayer wheel
Hidden in the Dharma realm there are 84,000 positive factors
and 84,000 negative factors
battling with one another,
and miraculous factors as numerous as the sands of the Ganges
dancing on the head of the Surangama King
Worldlings shoulder the burden of the five aggregates
taking the six sense objects in thru the front door
Rebirth, 365 days a year
Walking, standing, sitting, and lying down in distress
If people want to be free of trouble
They need to maintain awareness of the rolling chaos of emotions
Why let the flames of anger scurry about
Just look, on the road leading to the native place of the spirit
the meter of time never ceases. . . .
Every night and day the Youth listens to the tide of the deep sea
Yet the churning sound of the spindrift collides with his heart
Late winter the Wanderer’s childhood memories of the cold north wind
take up a carrying pole to make it easier to carry two buckets of paint
The Maiden uses tears to release emotions
Old farmers make their own ox carts for conveying produce
Someone daily looks in the mirror without seeing himself
A passionate lake turns into a large silver refrigerator
no more ripples . . .
Night, children crying continuously
Rescue without limit 350 × 6
= 2,100 × 4
= 8,400 × 10
= Eighty-four thousand methods
What was once the supreme medicine
Got contaminated with the chromosomes of craving
From then onwards trouble
Unending □ □ □ □ □ □ □

May 20–21, 2003
Lesser Full Grain
==back to top==

Book 93 Northeast Faculty Condition, Originating in Greater Snow, 2001
—Lighthouse‧positioning by sound at night

One stone pillow green and cool
Starlight shutters
Moon-cast shadows dancing in the forest
Light and shadow silently turning from green to red
When was the golden beach transformed into the bank of the galaxy
In a dream at first expecting him to accompany me in the dream
Yet so many times it’s been me who’s gone to his dream to accompany him
Who is it who has suddenly stirred up these waves?
A red sun gallops out from the raging clouds
The Milky Way quietly drops the curtain on the Traveler’s dream
Last night a raven surreptitiously stepped into a black background
Today a white crane boldly emerges from the white clouds
Snow falls deep an old pine gently tapping out virtual sounds
An ancient censor holding moonlight falls onto the slanting sun
King crab, the earliest creature of the seafloor
How has it fallen into today’s aquarium?
Clouds come stirring up the wind
It rains again in the mountains
All species of the forest are bathed
Petals drift away fallen leaves in a wild dance
Ants rush to build a castle
soon there will be half a million lodging
A caterpillar climbs over a dream
A wandering hermit crab searching everywhere for a new shell, trying out one after another
Sunlight cuts through the sea and sky
Moon sails on the surface of the river
Clouds lingering above
A page from a child's diary, trails
the last leaf to fall in late autumn
now buried under the deep winter snow
Sights and sounds of heaven and earth
By day covering the mountain
by night disappearing
swallowed by a golden frog!
Who is it who has called back to the ancient memories, in search of the dream game of old
In childhood placing hot rocks into a kiln to roast sweet potatoes fragrant.
Mountain temple bathed in subtle light at four o'clock in the morning
An overnight youth group diligently rises
Gravity sucks down the impurities in the turbid water
Above a chime and the pure light of a sea of clouds tug of war
Now square, now round, now triangular now a half-moon lotus garden
Now earth, now water, now wind now pure numinous space
Why stationary
Why freely flowing
Why obliterate defilement
Why arising, remaining, decaying, and vanishing
Why interpenetrating light, like Indra’s net
It’s an aeon, it’s view
It’s sentient beings, it’s tribulation
It’s cause, it’s result
What sort of nature is it what sort of condition is it
How is it that space pervades the ten directions
Space and view are hard to understand separately
It’s that which sees it’s that which is seen
It’s the confirmation of that seeing
Originally intent on realizing everything knowing all
only to be obstructed
How is it that primordial memories never fade
Making vain imaginings in search of the past churn in the sea of consciousness night and day
agitating the mind
Clambering notions of sentient beings . . . subtly transforming
making craving flow into the Saha world
How to keep the five aggregates separate from
the 84,000 defilements self cordoned off?
Foam it’s wind blowing water
the energy of consciousness mixed therein
Flame it’s the effulgent sunlight
made visible by the changes occurring in the optic nerve
The banana stalk is hollow and insubstantial
The sea of awakening to truth quietly enters into dependently arisen space
Illusions like a performance in a dream, all directed by imagination
Only the one who wields the jeweled sword of the vajra king is fit to be called a hero
It’s smoke, its cloud it’s dust, it’s fog
It’s the spark of aversion that produces blurry vision
On shore lighthouse shining bright
The ferry of sentient beings again sets off
twilight 's eye quietly pulls down the blinds
The Wanderer walks alone gradually
Going inside, sees people milling around the assembly
At the reception counter chooses a room that puts his mind at ease
Tonight goes into the room, looking forward to a good sleep
For tomorrow he’ll go for a leisurely walk thru the gardens!
Dawn colorful clouds filling the sky embrace the red orb of the sun
In the vault of heaven appear countless scarlet fragrant cloud canopies
Brightly turning in the sunlight—
There is a large white lotus flower of pure brightness about to bloom
The breeze blows a seven-color rainbow down from the sky
The realm of the awe-inspiring sound outside of the aeon thundering sound of the celestial drum
Sound after sound in mutual conformity, never fading. . . .
High mountain climb the summit
to see that the five aggregates are empty
White cloud beyond the extraordinary state there is still an extraordinary state
beyond the facsimile person there is still a person
Black cloud the dark heart of greed lurks in the domain of delusion
Lightning in a dream a pair of muddy feet that can’t be cleaned by the water of a thousand rivers
Musical notation compassionate eyes and ears settle fictitious sights and sounds
Rays of evening sunlight setting sun leads the celestial golden steed far away from the earth
red maples covering the mountain can’t detain that twilight red
Sea day and night animating the tide
with a smile dispelling the Maiden’s many worries
Lighthouse positioning by sound at night
Who is it who can turn from the dream 135° calling out to
one quarter of the mind of the living spirit
The Traveler has a bird messenger remotely independent
one foot placed in the Zizhu Pavilion
Train passing by the golden sun, cutting across the silver moon
The northern lights of seven rippling colors are one of its minor stations
Lunch box rice stalks already with tassels
all the seeds earlier planted are now at its command
The Visitor the past has not really passed
Images ever stored at the bottom of the heart
only occasionally forgetting
Fairy tale on a hike
Not yet reached the destination
the future is here in the present, quietly coming over
Rainbow a mysterious ancient legend
Winter Solstice is the favorite time for kids to knead dumplings
Picture frame musing in the moment
It’s possible to shuttle between worlds as numerous as the sands of the Ganges
Vault of heaven cold, cold, cold . . . tonight the snow once more descends on Mount Hehuan
Even wisdom shored up with concentration can’t hold down restless imaginings
provoking the departure of suchness
Playing frogs hide in the pond
The sun draws off all the water vapor and transforms it into a sea of ​​clouds returning it to the earth.
Tide follows the moonlight, advancing and retreating on the silvery beach
Thoughts follow sense objects, spreading out and rolling up in the realm of delusion
Yesterday is true, today is false; today is true, yesterday is false
Fallen petals buffeted about by the wind and flowing water
The ingenuous smile of a babe utterly bereft of knowledge
Bloomed 2,500 years ago, all because
someone in the Spirit Mountain assembly playfully turned a flower
Saha ancient rhyme reworked into a new tune of moonlight
Every kind of micro-dense sound intersecting
In a huge round mirror there appears every type of image from ancient times to the present
overlapping and inextricable
Vast bottomless sea, reflecting
the light and flames of trillions of aeons
Winter Solstice pure image revealed in the palace of the sun
Illuminating rows of seven-jewel trees glimmering in the ten directions
Someone still taking a detour in a dream
Bobbing up and down in the faraway waves of consciousness
Magnificent king of trees banner-flowers now in bloom
Innumerable treetops already arranging the great mountains of the universe
Pretty pearls glittering appear hanging
pervading Indra’s net
suddenly, the breeze blows
setting off continuous strains of wonderful music. . .
Jeweled butterfly of a celestial city emerges from the boundless glowing sea
Emitting delicate sounds countless as dust
See that stamen-flame cloud, hard up against
An unsinkable, irreversible sailing ship of lapis lazuli bamboo
Mast fitted with a bright lamp that never goes out
Illuminating the entire world without confusion.
Crescent moon quietly affixed to a mysterious sky
In the silver curtain is found a water-sky flame door
opening onto the ten mysterious gates amidst a river of clouds and a sea of stars
Providing a view of the awe-inspiring sound outside of the aeon three hundred million years ago
lost at the bottom of a blue sea asterism
that thirteen-story multi-gem pagoda
Witnessing the Public Art Boy opening the door with the snap of the fingers releasing
A sea of sound‧a world of lights
As countless as the sands of the Ganges □ □ □ □ □ □ □

May 22, 2003
Hall of Fragrant Recitation
==back to top==

Book 94 Northeast State Condition, Originating in the Winter Solstice, 2001
—Awakened perception, falling at a tacit understanding of precisely 109.5°

Preoccupied with that auspicious assembly on Spirit Mountain three thousand years ago
Presently still binding the heart
Night . . . deep sleep free of human noise
Sentient beings snuggled up to that bluestone pillow fond of dreaming
Heaven releases a heavy snow, dancing above a placid lapis lazuli lake
My heart is entangled, waves hovering above the empty firmament
happening upon the moonlight cruising thru an old window
A sort of concept wavering in a delicate reverie
Subjectivity is nothing more than
the essence of consciousness produced within a bubble formed of water and wind
When the barren desolation invades the Traveler’s heart
that wandering spiritual luminosity
again finds not that beloved place of tranquility.
Within that place of perpetual peace and glory
Who is it who blows the great conch of the Dharma
Knowledge, due to the pursuit of mirages and swirling mists
loses its flexibility
Due to pseudo vision, the eyes of gods and men
solicit the sun and moon to make a tour of rivers and streams
only to disrupt that pool of supremely deep pellucid water
That most excellent path of yore
Has now become negligible
Vain imaginings clambering after sense objects swirling about in the wind
mind of sentient beings wrapped into a ball
Blurred is my heart, how can it interpret
Those inscrutable flames of defilement in front of a burning lamp
In the seventh dimension there are five mirrors
Five candles positioned in five dark places
Lit up they radiate a subtle glow within
Worry and melancholy gradually turn to serenity
After burning like a charcoal pen
Truth radiating color instantly sketches a painting.
Today is the winter solstice Hehuan Mountain minus 8 degrees Celsius and snowing
The Child makes a snowman and twists thirteen soup dumplings
to accompany him in marking the passage of another year
The Yogi in that silvery world makes 52 snow-white steps
each step intercepting the revolving midnight dream of the sojourning heart
The wisdom of unknowing dives into the icy polar region
Shifting glaciers racing into the great lake of spiritual luminosity
Ray upon ray of pure light appears in the world of sentient beings
Thus have I heard all is known
A tiny insect eats a huge tree
A bird seeks insects to eat says that’s his livelihood
Forest gate of heaven and earth located in the gap between the clustered leaves
When the dawn imprints its red lips on the sea
Then it’s possible to freely
shout out to that most lovely of sentient beings in the heart
Following waves of color, vision randomly glances around
Seeing a mountain, it’s not a mountain
It’s the native place in a dream
Ear seeking sound, entangled, enters the flow
backflow, gurgling . . .
Seeing water, it’s not water
It’s the water of the fragrant sea on the margins of the galaxy.
Eight winds blow on the deer of the spirit
The deer runs off like lightning
Clouds quite low sky quite blue
Silver sand beach, clean white snow
Cool moon solitary sound of an owl
The winter solstice, when the sun inclines towards the Tropic of Cancer
And the northern hemisphere has its longest night
The first winter plums bloom in the center of the silvery winter
Glittering dew condenses in blue drops on the branches
The lonely Traveler dreams of snorkeling in the spiraling galaxy
Greed, chasing waves of consciousness continuously rolling
Hatred, like raging billows throwing up illusory flowers
Delusion, diving into the sea of affection
hiding within the memories of perception
Inside, one door closes, another door opens
A raven gropes in the dark, secretly storing up piles of secrets
little does it know that all this is being observed by the owl
The Child fond of making wishes on shooting stars, asks an adult:
“Will my wish really come true?”
Some people are blackened by the charcoal of ignorance,
Some people are reddened by the vermillion ink of wisdom
Someone half dreaming, half awake
part asleep, part awake
Rising moon and star
Waking half bright, half dark
Up to the ends of the earth, capriciously responding to adventitious mental factors
North wind howling cold
In the final place an old friend waits
Still, my mind is drawn in by that dazzling butterfly in the phantom city
Past exhortations driven out by the wind now next to my ear
Someone secretly wipes off glistening teardrops
Responding to the call of Spirit Mountain
Midnight circling in a dream, sobbing and weeping
all because of inner grief
An endless dream, flowing from the past into the future
In the present moment in a momentary notion
Swallowing a digital diamond panacea pill
After 3,000 aeons, still
approaching with a lithe and graceful gait
the land of vain imaginings thru the gateway of life and death.
Old trees yearn for water
ice and snow melt into water
Flowers eager for dew
moisture turns into mist
People go from childhood to adulthood, along the way
the gods are there watching out for them
averting excessive hardship
protecting sentient beings
Two snails join into a double helix
Who is it who has gotten lost on the road of time
A dream returning to the past, 2,500 years ago
As if the Spirit Mountain assembly has yet to adjourn
Below the bodhi tree there are bodhi seeds as numerous as the sands in the Ganges
Each seed bearing a memory chip of that time
never erased
Then by accident, mindfulness steps on the rock of conception
wake up!
unfortunately it’s not the present me.
Eyes and ears take in ever changing sights and sounds
all a way of momentarily catering to
the sensory world’s need for fuel
If the body has a wonderful touch
Like the celestial wish-fulfilling tree appearing
single mindedly rushing into a towering waterfall
The Scion Prince in a boundless starry night
hugs the pillow and takes a boat . . . not awakened
sailing out of the empty pellucid sea, drifting
entering the phantom city of the flower-planting Youth . . .
Along the way, bright flowers like ropes
bind that pair of eyes
Soft sound of a delicately flowing spring
yet the ears are tied into knots
Causes sent by a dream—
the world of flowers•all that I’ve heard
instantly returning to the hometown of silence
again quietly drifting in the ancient sea of consciousness
If one closely observes
Everywhere can be seen the buoys of the native place
in the maze of vain imaginings are everywhere seen
who says they can’t be seen
Late at night, the chief earth deity of Spirit Mountain gently
Puts away the musical notes
Leaving only the occasional sound of the owl fond of singing arias under the moonlight.
Morning and dusk empty and bright in filial piety
Sound of the monastery bell each ring
resonating with limpid light and purity
Yonder Wanhong
Innumerable treetops, every pine needle crystallizing
Pan in a boat, a few hot peppers fried hot
The color of the pan redder than charcoal
Awakened perception, falling at a tacit understanding
of precisely 109.5°, eyes of gods and men slightly open
Soft color of the eye of dusk
Lights a primordial candle for the blue planet
Offering an eternal blessing
From beyond the heaven of the 33 there blows in
A genial wind to mitigate that chilly winter
The God of Spring has come from three thousand li away to keep watch
Ice and snow originally spotless
Yet due to the mountain peaks rosy clouds
sun, moon, and stars have taken on color • mirror lamp.
Fog spirits fill the deep valley
Wondering who dipped a brush and painted
three circles, two rhombi, and a horizon
providing the thunder with dazzling lightning
At this point, the Scion Drifter seemed to meet in a dream
The Maiden making a vow
in the shadow of a lotus flower—
Gusts of wind can’t blow away the sky flowers filling the sky
Yet they are swept up into an ancient chimney
Train of delusion rolls past illusory waves
all the same sticky wet
See those Icelandic snow geese flying south
In a glen 3,000 fireflies awaken the forest
Mysterious feast of the night
An old stone wall is the corridor of ancient paintings
a few broken walls recalling a vast landscape of yore
The attic skylight visited by shooting stars year round
After the spring rain, a tree is decked in blossoms three thousand deep
Grapes on a trellis, a mature 90,000
Compassion endowed by heaven and my vow of mercy
Yet glistening tears flow due to the bodhisattva mind
An ancient village with a waterwheel to irrigate the beautiful gardens
The Old Woodcutter uses the moonlight on his fingers to set off
that bright and brilliant meteor shower □ □ □ □ □ □ □

May 23–24, 2003
The Hall of Fragrant Recitation next to the Wind Pavilion on the slope of Hongming Mountain on the Hualian Pacific Coast
==back to top==

Book 95 Northeast Attention Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001
—A small egret misses it’s forest home

From the ancient palm leaf manuscript emerges
the spirit of a dead tree
Spiritual intelligence reposes below the adorning foliage
in a mysterious factor in the soil
The Child fond of hide and seek
Way home blocked by a dark cloud, staying out all night
Worried mother wiping tears and waiting
flashing lightning quietly observes
A woman skillfully weaving fabric in an ancient village
What the big white ox misses is that great banyan tree next to the old house
Those who cross the bridge carry on into the distance, never to return
The moonlight helps the birds build nests in the dark
Countercurrent from digital alarm clock to ancient pendulum
back to the source—an ancient hourglass
Seven strings of a qin stir the hearts of millions of people
Heaven and earth‧the universe fond of playing games
Immutable mind in the glow of Indra’s net
Wind in the sleeves, flowing out with the current of desire.
A gem sewn into a garment
Is the foreshadowing left behind by the initial author
The road leading to the native place has long been inundated by the mighty current of time
Blazing flames on the ocean of illusion glistening waves surging
Perpetual peace and glory of thusness
every sort of lovely sight and sound freely coming and going
The beautiful galaxy of stars has a dream
Dream, ever fixed on a lotus pedestal contemplating freedom
In a cave there is a fire, wavering flames shining thru the dancing window
It’s said that the entrance and exit of the dream
Are both in that pillow left behind by the ancients
Cold night, charcoal-like sparks jump out from a seven-stringed qin
Cool bed, tonight the Wanderer knows not with whom he will converse in a dream.
In the blue mountains there is a dark green lake
On the lake there is a clump of white duckweed
Perched on the duckweed is a red dragonfly
Suddenly a gust of wind
blows over a large black cloak
The dragonfly disappears
The duckweed disappears
The lake and mountains all disappear
In the blue mountains there is a fence of lapis lazuli bamboo
Inside the curtain there is an emerald house
Burning in the house is a vermillion candle
A gust of wind comes and drowns the dream
The candle disappears
The emerald house disappears
The lapis lazuli bamboo and the blue cloudy mountains all disappear
in the eyes, a stunningly beautiful
white lotus floats—
Pushing aside layers of fog
Transparent but no sense of touch
All because of pure thinking.
Ears approached by what seems to be the natural eulogy of a tree god
turns out to be the old dull rocks sporting in the stream
Fog nestles close to the mountain, the mountain is moved to tears
Cloud nestles close to the water, a white sail appears on the water
quietly putting out to sea
The Maiden belongs to her own tears of sadness
why display them to the Scion Drifter on the side of the road
After the storm a small egret misses it’s forest home
Mountain trails, sun shining above
Light and shadow in the forest luxuriantly echoing the gods and spirits
Waves rising on the sea of desire, swallowing wondrous peaks
Floodwaters leave a lovely place in ruins
Relocation of the village forest no longer daily sighs
gaining a new lease on life, creating a spirit mountain
More stars visible in the sky
by virtue of thin clouds and light wind
The distant stars are thin and sparse
by virtue of thick clouds and thickening fog
Moon in the water stained
by virtue of turbidity in the water
Polaris in the river has a pair of sharp eyes
by virtue of the channel being clear and transparent
The sun wants to pause
because the night is coming
The sun also rises, because
The wheel of time has turned to‧morning.
Inexplicable wind and rain suddenly invade
The bridge is washed away, the road out has been blocked
The god of night has gone out some time ago
Pious entreaties fail to return a benevolent expression to the dark sky
Whirling heaven and earth
Clear lake, boundaries occluded, turning into a mud pie
The artillery of heaven pounds the inherent nature routing moral character
Bursts of sadness and wailing from nose tension to the sea of dreams
There is a moon in the tree
the moon is on the horizon
a gust of wind blows in from the horizon
sending over a cloud
on the cloud is a twig
Mountain forests should belong to mountain forests
Who is it who has mercilessly occupied the mountain forests
Relocation of the village city returns to city, mountain returns to mountain
Then the living rain will forever accompany the heroes of the mountains, the tree deities.
There are billions of seeds in the earth breathing
In the sky there is a sea of countless stars in array
Rivers and lakes elicit a cheer from the sea racing
The wind of the four seasons echoes the sky
in the east, south, west, north howling
Light rain is the tears of the lovelorn Maiden
Spring thunder awakens the Drunken Guest lying in the mud, looking awake
A bolt of lightning splits a dead tree
Startling a spirit dwelling inside the hollow trunk
Thunderous pounding on the celestial drum
Those in the midst of a great dream can never be woken
Someone in a dream still seeking
the eternal phantom city‧false, not true.
Two mountains open their mouths wide to release
A waterfall with a leisurely white flower on the cliff
Towering firm rinsed in the murmuring stream
pure light condensing into crystals by the dew coursing in the night sky,
For innumerable aeons, the Visitor has always adopted the mind of the guest while playing the host
Traversing ten thousand li on the azure sea, never finding himself
Should the host adopt the mind of the guest
He could travel 8,000 li without
setting foot outside of his own mountain home.
Autumn, the last withered leaf to leave the branch
gets frozen high up for the winter, quietly
eliciting the tacit understanding of the god of spring
Every flower is a beautiful world sustained by self-attachment
Each leaf is the Treasure Seeker in my heart
Common within common‧a piece of land
a hundred generations farming in the rain
The uncommon within the common‧a place
in each era there are people who plant flowers and fruit
At night the shining stars can’t be seen
All because the eyes are irritated by salty tears
Eyes closed, the wild northwest wind rushes into the ears
colliding with the mind
Great Heat flooding kindness and cruelty hand in hand
City country emotion and reason in a war of words
A newborn baby that doesn’t lie in its mothers arms
grows up not knowing the value of tears
On a stormy mountain road
Someone leaning on a stick is walking alone
No birdsong without cicadas buzzing
Summer, only hearing the huge thundering waves
Falling inanimate are the mottled tree leaves
The dimming of the sky daylight turbidly returning to zero
Indigenous people seize the breath of the wind and fight for life with heaven and earth
Calling out in vain to the heart of compassion
is it fate, or is it
the primordial karma of sentient beings?
There remain in the night forest only a few owls
Using their infrared-like eyes to scan about
A lonely moon quietly
climbs up the mountain and then falls into the ocean
Stars are silent
lying in the Milky Way, still not falling into the dusty world of confusion
A person of today brings old clothes
Pregnant with the seeded land
Suddenly there appears in that big round mirror in the middle of the sky
a continuous scene of mountains and rivers flowing in a dream . . .
A person of old brings new attire
Fervently lighting up the flame of the world of sentient beings
Prayer results in all disasters turning into dust
Birth of Autumn is the time for harvesting fruit
Reaching out, yet unable to touch those butterflies in a dream
After a gust of wind and a shower of rain
a black screen is quietly pulled down
Instantly changing the scene □ □ □ □ □ □ □
Monstrous waves cross over the corridor of dreams
Two thousand days and counting
Palm leaf scriptures describing but a few of the mental afflictions
Clouds in space wandering leisurely and far
In the sea of the heart appear phenomena agreeable and vivid
A candle flame still flickering in an extraordinary realm
Someone traveling in the fogbound net of mental proliferation
Wordless awakening already seen thru by a secret factor
Rippling duckweed in the lake
Ask the fish in the river where to find their tracks
Tonight a misty blue moonlight in the Milky Way
Mars nestled up against the six stars of Sagittarius
Sound of a raindrop from outside the realm of contemplation
Sentient beings gradually following time on its circuitous path
Fading away from the ear
Between the eyebrows a bit of desolation remains

Wind still proudly filling the sails
Because of memory often circling above
Zither still soaring in the sky
In the moonlight over the Wind Pavilion witnessed

May 24, 2003
==back to top==

Book 96 Northeast Primary Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001
—The wisdom of sudden awakening is not equal to the subtle warp speed of making merit

Tonight on the blue planet billions of people in a dream
what sort of dream
Conditions fundamentally unseen
not meeting, having once crossed arms and rubbed the body
comprehension without impression.

The Master of the Pavilion, the Visitor, the Traveler, the Wanderer
Ten li up ahead
Someone puts up a covered stage
Causes and conditions converge already met
Daily augmenting awareness
thought memory yearning
Birth, dawn, purity, ending, comic dance step
stepping into a number of memories in the sea of dreams
arms extended but unable to embrace past anxieties.
Conditions and karma
A few overflowing rivers and streams
Converging into a swirling vortex
Surging billows sweep away a temporary arched bridge
The typhoon remains on course
Conditions and karma authenticating one another
Someone throws a rope to rescue someone from a sand bar
A mother worries about her child with a tense nose
Only interested in amusing himself while knocking about foreign lands . . .

The esoteric cause of the Tathagata realized and understood
The flower of wisdom looked after by the mother
incinerated by the fire of the defilements
The samadhi of the wind-settling pearl urged by the father
is wrapped inside the mud of distraction.
All that meets the eye is true steadfast
After the six desires taste the seven emotions
heaven grants a day off
A thousand-layered dark cloud emits a black light
Swirling mist and sweeping torrential rain flow backwards, lowlands rendered lakes
Many a village with two-story houses submerged in floodwaters
Villagers all standing on the rooftops looking upwards for hope
An old man cries out
Bemoaning the loss of his three-room house
His optimistic wife tells him
Better to see everything that has survived the flood as a gain.

Virtual response following conditions on all sides
Fifty years ago, under the old banyan tree, a teacher told a story about the ancients
All the children listening could not hold back their tears.
Conditioning factors, karmic effects
Prompting raids by the winds of the sense objects
A seven-level rainbow viewed by a pair of eyes
making available every sort of emotion
for melancholy is not limited to blue
The valley is cloudy and misty
A friend sent a glass vase
Filled with yellow earth, and
a serene forest
Suddenly on the twilight-red horizon
Rises up a ship with thirteen white sails
Heading towards the ninth dimension of the realm of the awe-inspiring sound outside of the aeon

Earth, water, fire, wind, space, sight, and consciousness
all rubbing against one another
Who is it who can recognize ultimate truth
Having grown tired, the Supine Boulder now rests
The playful water continues to vigorously flow
The golden sunlight sprinkles down on the golden sand
The setting sun of golden autumn sketches the golden wheat fields
Autumn sounds calling out to the wind and rain
Rousing that golden leaf that never withers
rustling sound who is it who reels in the net in the dream of sentient beings
On the azure blue seabed there is a cyan sky
When the night sky is filled with moonlight, that’s when the Milky Way appears. . . .
The winds of ignorance blow in the dust of views
Fond of stirring up trouble while circumnavigating the open waters of perpetual peace and glory
The wisdom of sudden awakening
is not equal to the subtle warp speed of making merit
The deep mind of concentration that wallows not in the mire
is not equal to the happiness index of the world of sentient beings
Bodhicitta is the emotional refuge of the flowers of awakening
The desire-waves of vain imaginings form the hurricanes of destruction
The thick and confused cloud banks of the worldling
Today it rains once more
Mighty torrents gorge out a bottomless divide
between the hills and mountains.
Net of heaven net of earth
People playing therein
What stirs the heart of the benevolent one, is
leaves withered and falling, rice spikes hanging their heads
What stirs the heart of the worldling, is
momentary excitement of unknown provenance
A gust of wind, the calendar blows open
Yesterday has already been torn out
Today has not passed
What’s to be seen by turning the page to tomorrow?
a burst of wind, an old tree uprooted
falls onto a bridge, left unrepaired
people in an endless clamor . . .
How is it that an ancient tree is carried away by the flood waters
How is it that the singer regularly goes off time
How is it that the dancer’s step undergoes cross turbulence?
Intertwined illusory net of conditions and karma interweaving
Stars setting off stars, harmony bright and brilliant
Within the placid sea of dreams
Wind force of passion somehow continuing to strengthen
An irreversible sailboat drops anchor in its native land and waits
The Wanderer takes multiple steps on the beach
Eastern sea lighthouse at the Hualian Port
guiding the fisherman back to port before the typhoon
Forty-two letters spinning above
Footprints of fifty-three encounters flowing below
It’s said that there are three generations of living buddhas at the Hanging Temple on Mount Heng
Floating halls adhering to a sheer cliff
Grade-7 waves rise up on the Pacific coast
Like the summer lotus flowers of Baihe in full bloom.
A moment of tacit understanding
Skimming past from the dark material of the black-light black hole of ignorance
Behold that jeweled net hung on the miraculous medicinal tree
crystallite as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, it’s all
autumn frost white dew formed of the solidified tears of sentient beings
A pair of eyes, releasing endless meaning
Beautiful butterfly quietly waiting at the juncture between sleeping and waking
A celestial myth handed down in the Milky Way
The story of an earth spirit inside flower seeds
whispering with countless tree spirits
Wind shaking an optical spectrum ablaze with splendor
feathered flames glistening
The wisdom mind of the extraordinary state lights a candle in the valley of darkness
From the gates of the six senses the force of mindfulness converges into the single window of my mind
A ray of moonlight, cuts across the blue of depression
Sudden enlightenment illuminating the present moment
as ephemeral as a dragonfly skipping on the water
Visualizing ten trillion western paradises of the past
without you, me, him
Yet someone still sits erect inside the golden drum.
Millions of memories deeply
woven into the cloth of the past
When the esoteric cause of the Tathagata logs in with a mote of dust
The defiled thoughts of sentient beings as countless as the sands of the Ganges
Can all be tallied up
A single precious bottle holds the world seas of the ten directions
numinous space responding to supernatural powers
The bright orb of the moon appears in the water of a thousand rivers
Depending on a vow one advances like a rakish skiff pulled along by the wind
Empty pervading all form
by seeing one’s inherent nature in all things, the green hills are beautiful indeed
Not empty inhering in all things wondrously existent
essence of consciousness and primary brightness mingled with the scent of red sandalwood
an old tree in the spring gently stirring a lake of green water
Empty and not empty manifesting
that inconceivable spirit in all enlightened beings
The Shepherd Boy already possesses the virtuous character of the big white ox
A pair of eyes still can’t get rid of that flame-like dazzling scene.
The secret treasury of three points empty • not empty • empty and not empty
Combined into a subtle scripture
People, events, time, place, things east, south, west, north, center
The common within the common formed into an opera continuing since time immemorial
The soil that receives the peasant’s dripping sweat
Planting the seeds of awakening
Empty sigh of the rainwater that can’t wash away the tears flowing down the Maiden’s cheeks
Strengthening the Youth’s inclination to move
Yesterday peals of thunder came in thru the window in the clouds
attracting a purple light that filled the sky, giving the impression of an early sunset
Tonight in the clear sky, the bright disk of the moon
quietly sees off a shooting star
like the waning wick of a candle . . .
The tactile sense of the fingertips gently agitates the moon in the water
Eyelash inverted inserted, irritating the numinous perceiving subject
The bridge of communication between the mind and spirit
washed away by the flood of emotion
Access road of knowledge and awakening
Obstructed by defiling ignorance
July 5, 2001 the first partial lunar eclipse of the twenty-first century
The southern summer sky is particularly lively
Because the moon is located in the summer Milky Way of Sagittarius
that is, next to the six stars of Sagittarius
At the same time, a glimmering Mars will accompany Scorpio
appearing 30° west of the moon
Lighting up the seed flame
of the starry summer sky □ □ □ □ □ □ □

May 25, 2003
Hall of Fragrant Recitation
==back to top==

Book 97 Northeast Purity and Impurity Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001
—Dragon lying in a Chan cloud startled awake

West coast the Fangyuan Wanggong seashore with a red sun slowly falling
East coast aborigines quietly light a campfire illuminating a Pacific beach
Past memories and future aspirations
Will all appear in tonight’s dream
Instantly turning—
The same idea replicated three thousand times.
The Youth riding a bike full speed through small puddles
Splashes the Wanderer’s clothing
Air-dried mud marks left behind
scruples henceforth in mind
At the end of the endless moonlight corridor, a door
with a pair of radiant eyes, beautiful and sincere
Like glistening beads of water in a celestial net
Instantly turning—
Searching for a sound
catering to two ears
Sobs sound pure and soft, reining in the mind
Sight going from the end of the past century to the beginning of the new century
Perception transmigration of the source of life
that primal spiritual luminosity full of affection
The Wanderer searches for his true self
in the unreal aggregate of form
Night, under the firmament the world sea supports a dew collector
Early morning turns into a round water-sky mirror
Flowing glass from top to bottom
Knowing the sound, closely observing
Then seeing that bright flower bud opening in the center of the sky
Instantly turning—
Two pairs of clouds laden with water
Strung together by a rainbow to form a celestial city filled with butterflies
A thick southerly wind moves heaven and earth
Nine days of Great Heat
Look of compassion and expression of wisdom lock horns
Two genetic groups, the common within the uncommon interlinked with each other.
Mountains are the shield of the earth
Standing firm against the surging waters
The sea is the mirror of heaven
Wherein appear all things in the boundless universe
Lake lying quiet and lonely in the valley
Full of floating spatterdock observing forms and attached to its mooring
At the click of the shutter, time comes to a halt
Yet even before the camera is focused, time has already quietly departed
With the tips of its toes, a spider perceives a highly subtle vibration in the net
Yet the sharp claw of the praying mantis knows its weak point
A mudskipper bouncing happily on the beach
A group of seagulls cast a greedy glance
The sun and moon take turns waiting for that window of the aggregate of form
the word “knowledge” goes in and out the window
yet few people get it
The Traveler crosses a suspension bridge linking mountain and mountain
Fish swim thru a ravine stream
A farmer reaps a tassel of yellow glistening rice
The same rice reproduces a hundred different faces
Like a towering old waterwheel
each paddle following a pair of feet brightly whirling
foaming spindrift, singing out
the mystery of the vicissitudes of history. . . .
North wind blowing in summer to see who is more tolerant
Grade-13 waves soaking the coast
Elegant scenery shot down by the dark clouds
The earth covered with rain
Who is who diverted the rivers and streams to cause flash floods in the mountains
A mobile bamboo cage slides down on a rope
On his way home the Wanderer encounters a landslide
Impermanence, no old worries, just updated dejection
Eternal, facing yonder awe-inspiring sound with folded arms
Place of fear and loneliness forgotten
in the corner of time secretly sad
An old sacred tree in the forest, twisted roots firmly grasping the soil in the mountains
Dragon lying in a Chan cloud startled awake
not by the sound of thunder
but rather by the avarice of humanity
When the sky so clearly indicates that a mountain storm is coming
How could someone be so headstrong as to climb a peak
Tonight a dream of white caps in wind and rain
Wondering what the Wanderer promised himself
Water comes water goes
Not for drought relief
Bodhisattva tears cannot flow
Due to the sorrow in the hearts of sentient beings, swept into
a bottomless abyss
Could it be that heaven wants to temper the mettle of sentient beings
When a baby in its mother’s arms doesn’t get any milk
it cries bitterly.
From the vantage point afforded by the windsailing Youth
The Wanderer observes his own younger days
The Traveler goes all over the world just to taste every kind of idea
A nimble hourglass waits in the tunnel of time
Sunflowers waiting for the sunrise to bloom in droves
Polaris lights up the night sky
Striving to re-create for the world's children
a fairy tale of the native place
A condor sets out from the southern celestial gate, flying into
the abstruse garden of the universe
liberating the energy of people deeply sleeping
Causing the magnetic field in the sea of dreams to spin in a bright pistil-banner
Never ceasing. . . .
In accordance with nonabiding
What kind of world is it that makes worldlings
without any purpose but to eat and sleep
Just crossed over the arched bridge spanning sleeping and waking
Instantly washed away by the surging waves of desire tossed up by the winds of illusion
On the last long night of summer
behold the one who is the first to catch a whiff of the breath of autumn
Sunlight piercing through all the garments below the blossoming white clouds
Wax candle in a lantern good at using light and shadow to make sketches inside and out
Candle flame in the house listening to the Visitor pour out his homesickness
Moonlight is the harbor where the Wanderer drops anchor, increasing
the excellent efficacy of the pure factors delivered by tacit understanding into
the inherent nature, the radiance of perpetual peace
Dreams like dew coursing in the night sky
New sprouts shoot forth from the bodhi tree
Repentance like a refreshing breeze blowing over the moon
White lotus flowers blooming in the broad clear river
Chaotic Saha world instantly whirling—
Dew coursing in the night sky
Fortuitous awakening in the light of tacit understanding
Initial thought arriving from the center of heaven
Yesterday’s vow, a deep-seated intention
still drifting about on the sea of dreams
But today there is not a clue
Thoughts tangled into a morass
unable to let go of that perpetual obsession
Rosy clouds of dawn bright and dazzling, a ray of light slices thru the horizon
Darkness disappears
A serene awakening
Three thousand vexations completely disappear
Unfortunately, that bright clarity cannot be permanent, always trapped by dark clouds
When the joyous fairies touch someone’s eye lashes
if he’s not careful
then external influences drag him into the afflictions of views and perceptions
all day bobbing up and down on the sea of ignorance
objective images manipulating the tired mind like a puppet
Late at night shouting out inwardly
The bodhisattva mind, like a loving mother
Sewing a gem into a garment
Weaving in thousands of thoughts to be remembered
Golden drum of the setting sun born in the memory of the twilight glow
A bright idea stops between eyebrows and rotates
suppressing his unhappy mood
See those emotions like insects boring into a bamboo tube
Inexplicably advancing
Breaking through section after section
effort in abundance, ever striving to emerge
A little tacit understanding shows where to bore the hole
And out it comes
like blowing a flute!
Chess board of the galaxy born in the night sky
yet not knowing oneself
This is where to enter, step by step onto the path of adornment
Who is it who can recover, thought by thought, the native place of immaculate purity
Sweeping away all the adventitious defilements out of tune with one’s self-nature, clambering all over
Who is it who can sketch in a single stroke the simple yet complex journey of youth
In the end, the subtle vexations born of ignorance
are self-produced.
The light shines through—
Lighting up five eternal candles
Raising a pair of bright eyes like unstained lamps
Freely coursing in the world, accumulating dust no more
A thought like a white crane dashing out of the clouds and fading into the Milky Way
One color surpassing the next
Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet suddenly disappear
The knack of letting go of words
views and perceptions · dust · ignorance gradually returning to zero
Awakening in a moment
other power, a tailwind
takes you a thousand li in a single day
In the native place someone
Is now making tea, waiting for you
□□□□□□ ◎

May 26, 2003
The Hall of Fragrant Recitation next to the Wind Pavilion in the Land of Felicity on the slope of Hongming Mountain on the Pacific Coast
==back to top==

Book 98 Northeast Discrimination Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001
—Thick white silver candle of the fifth watch

Totality, distinction, sameness, difference, formation, and disintegration
The six characteristics of conditioned phenomena left behind by the dreamer
The invisible and signless ten mysterious gates of the ninth dimension, all tightly locked up
From a virtual abyss my heart quietly logs in
Striding out of that window of spiritual luminosity
All the way stepping on Mercury
repeatedly looking back
at a red apricot inside a bamboo fence riding the moonlight
rubber necking—
Hearing • the ears engage with countless sounds without being tarnished
Ancient Saha rhyme enlivens the beguiling song of the five aggregates
Each note out of harmony with the will of heaven
Seeing into the original nature • beyond the window a corridor
beyond the door a courtyard
beyond the mountain the blue sea
beyond the firmament the galaxy
beyond the personality, there is yet
Another person impervious to the bewildering Kapila Incantation.

In an extraordinary environment
There is a mysterious hut covered with wisteria flowers
Tonight in the hand of an unknown caller
A bamboo pole dappled with golden tears
Inlaid with a hexagonal amethyst
Strikes the copper ring hanging on the door; the stars flash
There is a boat crossing the creek, is it
someone from afar traversing three thousand li in search of someone
In the sky a few clouds drifting down, divulging the song of the wind
leaving him waiting in the dark
Suddenly awakened from a dream by a burst of sadness
Yearning, all because of habitual attachment
the world fluctuates impartially
The Wind Pavilion under the moonlight
The Windsailing Youth says to the Marvelously Turning Youth:
“Tonight’s red attire is all wet;
Tomorrow put on something white.”
The night scratches its head and nose, saying:
“The deep clear blue can’t shake off the green of a thousand mountains.
How can a few white clouds pass themselves off as that ancient ice peak of surpassing beauty?”
The Marvelously Turning Youth says to the Windsailing Youth:
“I'll send another ship to accompany you in your wanderings.
Look! It's a fine night—"
In the harbor where the Traveler has dropped anchor, someone sets sail and follows him out. . . . . .

Seabirds combing their white plumage on the beach
A beautiful garden with a million green banner-trees
Below the moonlight, breathing with the same nose
Someone on the tramp, how is it that he misses not that mountain home of abundant beauty
The song of the native place wafts up from the leisurely river
Even the forgetful fish know how to go upstream • returning.
The old earthen wall still retains the murals hand-painted back in childhood
Raised paths between the fields, the dream-chasing trails of childhood
—entering here
The Child reveals the original mind in conversation with the rice growing in the mud
Road, an old farmer's feet sliding
a hundred meters in ten seconds . . . quiet dense shift
Quiescent mirror early autumn sunset
Rows of trees daily shedding seven layers of green clothes
Releasing the chilly winter moon
Heavy snow piles the world of sentient beings into the thick white silver candle of the fifth watch
Old friends have already taken a flight
That eternal yearning ensconced in the heart somehow slips out thru the mouth
Who is it who can rely on the dominant condition
To perfect himself in the great function, unhindered
In the native place the lighthouse is still flashing
Eager to ask how the story ended
In the eyes of all the spectators • broken.
Clouds, are the hat of the mountain cooling
the turban of the tree elegant
the eyebrows of the moon turning
several images of the sea sketching
A sun plume emerges from her sleeve
A sparrow fooled by hues of varying intensity
From the boundless clear sky outside the temple gate
Flies in flies out
A wild goose comes with a shadow but leaves without a trace
Who’s eyes look out for it, transforming into eternity
A touch of moonlight
A pair of sal trees
Three ancient mountains
Stubborn emotions on the blink
Driven by the innate force of karma, how can one
cross over the danger point of illusory space-time intersecting
Autumn storms fond of waking sleeping dogs
Passers-by lost in the fog of worry, how to interpret the dream
Sun setting on yonder sand bank
waving to the passengers speeding by inside a train
Wind can’t restrain the glistening beads of sweat pouring off the contestants like a hurricane
The first to cross the finish line
Moved to tears not flowing
At this point the sky suddenly drops a northwest rain
Unclear, whether the wetness of water
comes from sweat, tears, rain, or dew. . .
Obviously this door is very narrow
What’s the point of insisting on squeezing thru
Terrible flames are burning in that sea of dreams
Time has passed
diligent people often fall behind the time
Neither increasing nor decreasing
those who delight in generosity are always in front of the time
Meditators sport a shining mouth
and a compassionate heart like flowers sheltering thousands of butterflies
Free of fear, terror, apprehension
Wise people have ears of spiritual luminosity
Behold that pellucid river nurturing immeasurable species
Worldlings understand only after the teachings are explained on many different levels
The Wanderer on the beach imitates the reclining Buddha, waiting for the stars
as well as the moon
The big white ox looks up from the hillside
Tail waving incessantly in anticipation of a refreshing breeze
and for the flower to drop and the lotus to grow
A large black rhino charges out of the numinous palace of the moon
A large white lotus flowers and leaves
pointing towards the sky
Clouds wandering far and wide
hovering above
An eagle lying in wait at the top of a topless tree
Fish concealed in the depths of the sea
Groups of cicadas display their affections in a clamorous wall of sound
Autumn, wondering what all the cicadas are now thinking
Tide stacked high pounding the shore
Monstrous waves surpass the red lighthouse
There’s no holding back the vermillion glow filling the sky
Heaven and earth follow day and night to weave an illusory net, a virtual game in a virtual world
Birds fly over, the central temple gate disappears
Leaving behind only a strand of thermal energy hovering in space
The wind blows thru, the side gates disappear
Leaving behind only that contemplative notion between the eyebrows.
Night how is it that the Youth bereft of arrows
Can still shoot down that joyous bird in the stars filling the sky
Images of the unpredictable future
suddenly appear in the vast Milky Way
The erstwhile raindrop sound of the realm of the awe-inspiring sound outside of the aeon
Is now restored in a modicum of tacit understanding flashing past
a boundless dream
Depressed melancholy, two fireballs of intertwining light and shadow
Wondering who it is who is always trying to make life difficult for himself
Behold that white egret riding on the back of a black water buffalo
Seemingly having forgotten how to fly
An old man on the riverbank winks at a child
The child darts down to the river to fetch a bucket of water
The moon at night winks at the Maiden
The Maiden darts into the reed catkins, only to see a white horse
Carpeting the ground are leaves fragrant and crisp
Hey, Visitor! How can you be so gruff as to trample them to pieces?
Dark sky
Naked true color
First white snow of Frost Descends
Green moss covering the summer
Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches
5 × 5 woven into 25
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, four seasons merged into full marks
One point of sensitivity bumps into another
the nose being the most sensitive
Tenderness meets tenderness
the taste of understanding is the most responsive
Ridge and peak run into peaks and ridges
wind rises, peak relaxed; the smooth sky makes no thud
rain falls, summit hides; lively bubbles on the ground
A big tree harbors countless creatures
insects, birds, bees, and butterflies
A forest of wisdom displays a mountain beyond a mountain
In the daytime the clouds turn into a timely rain moistening the earth
At night, the west wind opens wide its mouth
blowing out the silver candle of the fifth watch
The Traveler sticks his hand out the window
Picks up a slice of fallen moonlight
Suddenly someone comes and knocks on the door
He opens the door but no one is there
Closing the door the knock comes again
Listening closely, it turns out to be a lost woodpecker
pecking on his wooden door.
The sea is fond of blowing a conch
The mountain is fond of weaving stories with the wind and clouds
The boundless void
hides itself inside the tip of a blue quill pen
A clever primordial bug dives into the net
Devouring the swift-moving spider
A sevenfold green screen waves to the sightseers and warns them not to intrude
How could people fond of sleep suffer from insomnia
All due to the accumulation of excessive dreams
Fishermen set out before sunrise
Farmers return home after sunset
A flying bird lays down an arc, following the circular firmament
Fish swim in curves, following the curving pellucid water-sky
People follow a road which is unknown yet fixed
Rushing from the primordial past into the present, seemingly not knowing
the way back home

May 28, 2003
Yu Hsi next to the Wind Pavilion: Cypress, garcinia, ancient cedar.
Outside the Hall of Fragrant Recitation: The old coconut, the Indian Almond tree.
Bodhi tree. Ballnut tree. A common contemplation and responsiveness.
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Book 99 Northeast Seed Condition, Originating in a Profound Memory, 2001
—Can a silver ribbon or a jacket of golden thread restrain a flying immortal?

The six kinds of sensory ability, because of
entering into the experiential world and kicking up the dust
instantly dyed with chaos
The true self of innate awakening and spiritual luminosity
Sealed off by the god-like mind of ignorance
Power of mindfulness eager to break through the seven-fold dust to meet the reflected moonlight
Tumbleweed enclosed in a gulch
bereft of sunlight throughout the year
Practice and study the early rising cicada is the first to sound
Night comes, entering a dream; waking without being startled
Prior to the coming of daylight, taking up a thought conferring clarity and brightness
Return to listening a frog announces the arrival of the Summer Solstice
Sunlight filters thru the screen window
Feet in motion, prior to stepping out the door, one ought to know the road
Back to observation birdsong accompanying the sunset clouds back to the forest
The declining sun, bright and dazzling, impels a throng of people
Anxious and lost, clueless as to the way home
Thought turning around wind-blown trees with leaves swaying
Twilight deep stars beseech someone to temporarily rest
Tonight dreaming under the Traveler’s tree.
Arising independently are the waves inside
precluding understanding of the tide pulled by the moonlight
disclosing, indicating, awakening, entering
How can a wrong turn be repeated
Sound of the wind discoursing on wisdom
Light rain drops of dew . . . blue-green bamboo sings the song of the heart
Great Heat, thousands of flowers with leaves dark green
fond of competing in splendor with the white clouds
Tranquil sea
Moon laying down a pathway of moonlight on the horizon
Up above, the Milky Way gradually distant
Many a youth fallen into the space-time of a dream, meandering
sleepless all night, not knowing why
Mountain gradually tranquil
Lights on fishing boats increasingly bright
A pure land with chanting accompanied by a thousand cicadas
Tide rising and falling with the moonlight
The scenery here is really good
And everyone is free to choose what for them is the ideal way of life
why then does the heart of the Visitor still knock about
why then is the heart of the Traveler still adrift
why then is the heart of the Wanderer still unsettled
A red cloud appears in the east
Thousands of fishing boats shift south
The west is waiting for the return of those who left long ago
Hokkaido gardens are already full of blooming purple lavender.
Close your eyes dusty memories
of past events . . . surging up
Open your eyes the mind gets involved in
the dream unfolding right in front of you
yet covered by the magic-like sights and sounds of the present
A pair of eyes slightly open
The power of mindfulness hovering above with the clarity of a condor’s vision
Now I have seen thru all the phenomena of the world
no longer confusedly chasing after shifting objects
Steel gouge turning a tree into a boat
Cloth woven for clothing bamboo woven into baskets
The white clouds cover the misty peak
Opal tree tops eager to emerge
Silvery moonlight covering a silvery world
Pouring out, strand by strand, the primary luminosity of the essence of consciousness of the natural world
fantasy . . . illusion . . . . . . one after another
wondering who is coming up with all these extravagant notions.
Night long and sleepless
The Night Traveler steps into the homeland of dreams
At the moment of departure
Still waiting for the eternal idea
Now left, now right, now forward, now back
Heaven and earth, night and day, repeatedly putting on the sunrise and sunset
The fruit ripens in the blink of an eye
Painting my hometown—
One hundred eleven perfumed seas
Above, below, east, south, west, north; I’m nowhere to be found
Yet in the center there is someone dreaming
from morning to evening.
To the sea shore comes a new hermit
Knocking on the door of the wisteria house, wanting to visit the old monk in the secluded valley
The Child opens the door and says: “The Teacher has gone out to sea!”
The Hermit asks the Child:
“Can a silver ribbon or a jacket of golden thread restrain a flying immortal?”
The Child replies:
“Some people are fond of placing a canary inside an Indra’s net of golden light
just before dawn, when it’s getting ready to fly away
Some people are fond of hiking deep into a mountain valley
to peek at the mountain god writing his daily diary
Some people are fond of going to the seashore at dusk
to eavesdrop on people sharing their inner feelings with the setting sun
Some people are fond of hanging out with Polaris, all night
dreamily bumming around in the Milky Way. . .
It’s said that the people beyond the mountain often use a red ribbon
To bind the feet of a white crane eager to fly up to the heavens.”
The moon falls into a stream
flowing thru a portal, it becomes two
following a thousand rivers, it becomes three thousand
In samadhi, entering—
All phenomena in the ten directions, past, present, and future
With a single finger restraining the realm of delusion
On the primordial sea of aeons there arises a typhoon strong enough to topple a mountain and overturn the sea
In the Land of Felicity on Hongming Mountain, suddenly
cicadas as numerous as the sands of the Ganges together call out
forming a sound-wave deflector wall
That turns back the typhoon sending it to
The empty space of the ninth dimension.
Who is it who can leave behind the dusty world of the ten directions and return to purity
Recovering the memory of the road one came in on
Oblivious to the esoteric cause by which a single thought embraces three thousand worlds
Originally self-produced and self-transforming
Feeling, hidden by ignorance
obscuring the true face of the world
Illusion, hiding the interdependence of
all phenomena, body, mind, nation, universe
Contact, covering up the two aspects of subjective and objective
causing the cognitive faculties to become entwined with their objects
Who is it who can catch a glimpse—
Of the functional error of the mind, thought, and cognition
sometimes clear, sometimes scattered
sometimes in samadhi, sometimes in a dream
sometimes in chaos. . .
The scripture of the sea of consciousness releases three types of mysterious elements
dependent on another fond of pursuing deluded views and perceptions generating defilements
fabricated accumulating countless worries and anxieties
endless dark matter covering
the bright and effulgent jeweled mirror of consummate nature.
The phantom city disembogues three kinds of interdependent energy
Delusions born of desire, forming into
the net of consciousness on the sea of illusion
Then you, me, and him meet up with a familiar sound we haven’t been able to find for years. . .
The developed mind dissimilates dichotomies, forming
the net of inherent nature, the sea of original awakening
Wondering who will be a companion on the road of the defilements
Enlightenment and confusion sporadically arising and ceasing
wondering who is in the lead. . .
The bodhisattva with an immutable idea
Intends to rescue all sentient beings, forming
the net of the world, the sea of light
Extending over the triple world, subtle and profound
Appearing everywhere in the ten directions as needed.
A cloud passes over the surface of the water who is it who is so
fond of using a dusty gaze to inspect sights and sounds
dragging the sense faculties into the dusty world
Clouds pass over the green slopes, stopping for a moment
for a group photo with the blue-green crags
Strings of light spill over the fresh green trees washed in the rain
The bodhisattva’s face of boundless commiseration covered with moonlight
Rolling waves on the east coast . . . thoughts surging like the tide
Suddenly rising at a quarter past four, increasing sadness of departure
Tears born of inner grief
Sentient beings momentarily unable to let go of what permeates the eye
See that wish-fulfilling tree in heaven hung with 13 banners
Half hanging down forming a canopy of fragrant clouds
Half stretching upwards turning into dew receptacles on the world sea
Cloud in the sky, making an offering to a condor swirling above
Fog soaks the earth, so that the butterflies become more and more confused
Autumnal Equinox • golden drum • in love with the westerly wind
The Marvelously Turning Youth raises the irreversible sail
setting out towards the spiritual homeland
Boundless clouds and water, waves from ten directions
A green raft courses through the white corridor
Accidentally colliding with a ray of sunlight.
The single orb of the moon separately travels in the water of a thousand rivers
Every night journeying at will
Moonlight touching down on the roof tiles . . . tips of leaves . . .
halting on the fingertips . . . between the eyebrows
A dragonfly spreads its two wings passing between
waking and sleeping, the two mountains of the spirit
Bamboo in the wind, shadows laying down a splash-ink painting
Moonlight on the silver earth
Depicting the conditions of the mind
Suddenly the wind whistles rain like a knife
Clouds, fog, and waves submerge the sentient sky
Now real now unreal
Half in the mind half in the object
It’s principle, it’s secondary
It’s direct, it’s circumstantial
One mind like clear water
One wave sets ten thousand in motion
One hundred and eight kinds of trouble
Seal off the door of suchness
Eighty-four thousand vexatious defilements
Are the penal servitude of the six senses indentured to samsara
Continuing without rest since time immemorial
Thought, filtering out from someone’s expression
falling into the dark abyss
snorkeling in the waters of the aggregate of consciousness
see those waves rolling in the wake of thoughts
Thought, sneaking out from someone’s ears
sometimes traveling in space, riding the starlight
sometimes chasing after fallen leaves with a sigh
Stars and moon depart, where is thought
Leaves swept away, how is it that thoughts are still on their marks
A thought follows the wind blowing over the temple
Ears stop in the sound of the chime
A thought follows the water passing under a bridge
Seeing the fallen flowers, mind dyed
A thought like the needle of a compass
like a mother thinking of her child
Late at night, there is always someone deeply calling out in the old garden of the heart

No beginning three thousand defilements, wondering how they entered a dream
An eternal virtual play, both real and unreal
No end the Wanderer gains a moment of concentration
another beautiful solemn promise
again and again . . . again . . .
There is no rest □□□□□□□

May 29, 2003
Yu Hsi in the Hall of Fragrant Recitation
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