Table of Contents
Poem of the South.Prologue
Book 13 Imaginary Journey at the Mouth of the Caoxi River-Paean of the Sand
Book 14 The Nine-dragon Pearl and the Mouth of the Toad in the City of the Ancent Lion
Book 15 Eye Translation of the Pure Dew of the Vernal Equinox
Book 16 Returning Home-Remembering the Original Symbol of the Flock of Snow-White Sheep
Book 17 Penguin Jumps Out Of a Peach-Story of the Sensitization of the Fourth Me
Book 18 Record of the Shepherd Boy Tilling in the Rain
Book 19 Sunken ∴ Blueprint-Swallow Chirping next to a Bamboo Fence
Book 20 Five Birds and 12 Moons in between 13 Trees in Park Number Seven-Dream Spool of the Painter and the Bagpiper
Book 21 The Power of a Single Wise Thought
Book 22 The Traveler's Awakening-Original Emblem of Wisdom
Postscript : Comcerning the South-The Flower-adornment Sutra and Manjusri Pointing South


Poem of the South‧Prologue
Page of Heaven and Earth Mind of a Newborn Baby
Craftsman of Uncanny Ability: “Before the solemn assembly on Vulture Peak adjourns, Zhaozhou tea, of strong fragrance.” Will the gentleman please explain this.
Old Woodcutter cum Pine Tree Planter: Bring hearing and taste into a harmonious whole! Then everything will be smooth sailing.
Craftsman: “Before the solemn assembly on Vulture Peak adjourns, Zhaozhou tea, of strong fragrance.” Where is that old friend?
Woodcutter: Red dance, non-quadrant dream sequence, converging into a transparent chip.
Craftsman: How do you sing the Flower-adornment song?
Woodcutter: From the Waking of Insects to the Vernal Equinox, listen to the 1,000 mountains and the 100 grasses, bearing dew and beaming with joy.
Craftsman: Where is Samantabhadra now practicing his vows?
Woodcutter: It’s said that the ice fields around the North Pole are rapidly melting, but 10,000 years ago the air trapped inside that ice broke out.
Craftsman: Why does Manjusri point south?
Woodcutter: Following the wind and roaming through space, there is nowhere the condor has never been.
Craftsman: An ancient compass!
Woodcutter: The boundless mist never departs from that chill which is now below the feet.
Craftsman: The youth Sudhana visited 53 teachers!
Woodcutter: The mind of the bodhisattva is frozen inside a huge ice crystal that can only be melted through the heat of practice.
Craftsman: How can a single subtle song topple the 111 cities?
Woodcutter: There is a crane that nests under the moon and dreams a thousand dreams; the foolish person who lights a fire in an igloo is bound for regret.
Craftsman: The conductor swings his baton, laying down 10,000 notes, depicting his lover’s eyebrows.
Woodcutter: A single nasal hair of thought, soaked in a sea of ink depicts a senseless, far-fetched nightmare.
Craftsman: Seeking the sound, flowing past the harmony of a thousand voices; in hearing, the silent cracks in a palisades give off a deep howl. From then on, does Sudhana “listen without hearing the self”?
Woodcutter: In the mountains there is a theater; one of its patrons presently follows the moonlight in search of a cloud with flowing sleeves!
Craftsman: Old tune, new sound; Sudhana is now in front!
Woodcutter: A 3,000-year-old copper bell was unearthed; its sound was pure and deep; it touched men’s spirits.
Craftsman: What sort of story is capable of bringing today’s residents of the blue planet back to the path which returns to the native place?
Woodcutter: In an old cupboard there is an ancient scroll, but tonight it was stolen by someone! If Yajnadatta could but restrain his impetuous nature, then he could look into two mirrors and see himself with innumerable heads.
Woodcutter: How does one sing the Flower-adornment Song?
Craftsman: Before the solemn assembly on Vulture Peak adjourns, the gentleman has not heard the lingering eternal sound, gracefully coiling.
Woodcutter: Why does Manjusri point south?
Craftsman: Zhaozhou tea, of strong fragrance. The gentleman has not seen the surging waves; the water of the Caoxi River fills the heavens.
Woodcutter: Vulture Peak!
Craftsman: Page of heaven and earth; polish the mirror and place it in the great treasury of light
Woodcutter: Chaozhou tea! Is it bitter, or is it sweet?
Craftsman: The newborn baby has a pure and innocent nature; it often accompanies the God of Night on his tour of inspection. . .
Woodcutter: That’s right! It’s said that if a child is not being looked after, then at dusk he begins to cry.
Craftsman: Page of heaven and earth; the mind of a newborn baby!

—Xinyuanren Art Center; January 15, 2003

Note: “Flower-adornment” is a reference to the ideal state of being, which is characterized by depth, nobility, and beauty. “Manjusri” represents wisdom. “Pointing south” refers to the ideal mode of life, which can only be attained by diligent practice in the world. “Sudhana’s 53 visits” refers to a spiritual aspirant in the Flower-adornment Sutra who visits 53 teachers, each representing a different mode of wisdom current in ancient India. He imbibed their teachings, but didn’t become limited by any of them.
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Book 13 Imaginary Journey at the Mouth of the Caoxi River
—Paean of the Sand

Sky azure sea blue water green cloud white
by virtue of their brightness dying to be dyed.
Outside the cabin mountains shifting, rivers flowing backwards;
children playing adults waiting.
Passenger’s mind dives into the clouds, emerging high in the firmament;
An imaginary conveyance drifting upstream in the sea of consciousness.
A boat arrives at the mouth of the Caoxi River,
Spread with white lotus flowers vying for sunlight.
A passenger receives the rivers and tapered peaks into his heart,
Wild hills and flowering trees spreading out a marvelous scene.
Amongst the guests, the host happens upon
An old house, inside a paper lantern with a thousand flames;
a revolving circle of paper horses ushering in the first full moon of spring.
Passengers disappear without a trace;
Seamstress pulls a golden needle, stitching a cuff;
Ancestral arts handed down over endless generations.
Glistening light on waves stringing together beaded curtains;
A waterfall dyed red by the pulsating rays of the setting sun.

After a spring rain, courtyard of a tile-roofed house filled with the delicate fragrance of fresh cabbage;
Bank huge tree draped with a long silk ribbon;
stirring up a ripple in the pool.
A primordial mysterious symbol appears in space, trailing a bolt of lightning;
A young girl places a memory into a cherished corner of her heart;
heartstrings resonating with affection.
Thousand lilies floating on the boundless sea, the bathhouse of the gods;
desire storing seeds in a golden cage.
Shadow pulling out forms, not letting go sleepless, bound dream, not waking;
how can the Dharma realm be completely comprehended?
All over filling a triangle;
Thunder and lightning in pairs, instantly disappearing.
Circles and squares diameter accompanying curve;
Drawing in birds and beasts on the periphery, 360°, sun and moon in motion.
Whence this canal full of water and fish?
mutual response a flower path with dragonflies and butterflies.
Don’t show off the new an old tree with flowers and fruit;
Don’t flaunt the unusual cabbage has both leaves and seeds.
Dusty mirror 84,000 granules;
floating in from past space-time, distinct.
Phenomena in a lens a drifting buoy;
developed in a place rich with vain imaginings of the future.
Curvetting thoughts reborn disturbing sleep.
Coral is the bright bare pillar of the sea;
Crystal is the pearl in the palm of the sunlight.
A flowering crab apple tree on a jade cliff displays the coolness of summer;
Colorful rhododendrons vying to lay down resplendent arches to welcome the spring.
First thought manifests original understanding;
neither discriminating nor clamoring unrecognized by the foolish.
Childhood, using sticky paper to catch cicadas today using sentiment; how can wisdom grow?
Observing the past with the eyes of men and gods;
If you can’t get out of the mire how can you get cleaned up?
Gentle breeze, sleeping beneath a pine tree;
White clouds affectionately embracing the moon.
Night train rushes past streetlights at dusk;
The man of the house hangs the words “well-being” on a towering purple Cyprus.

Ground softened by spring rain and cow’s hooves; good for planting;
The Traveler follows railroad tracks formerly used for shipping coal;
walking all alone from sunrise to sunset.
Amidst withered lotuses an egret with a cane leans on the setting sun;
Clouds at dusk resembling those of yesterday.
Flower of materiality precipitous peaks as before, eagles soaring over a silvery waterfall.
Mount Mu in the glow of night, rather like yesterday’s evening glow.
Jewel of heaven promontory like that bright moon of old, lazily sailing past.
Leaf green like an emerald
Flower red like cinnabar
Heaven and earth sing in praise of the baby’s simpleheartedness;
Sound of the Saha pine extols the genuine ardor of early youth.
Tiny flame of contact, burning from within, sea releases its refreshing coolness;
Far, initial sensation on the tip of the tongue originates in true enlightenment;
Hidden, the gnosis set free by a supple mind imbued with affection;
Deep, the first wave which sets off millions of additional waves.
Blowing wind heaps up a sand dune condensation leaves its mark.
The sloppy person plays the role of chaos;
phantoms heaped up in a dream, concealing a lovely mood.
Who reveals the injurious nature of desire, so binding and obstructive?
Giving free rein to ear and eye amongst sound and sight, right intention is put on the shelf;
as though covering the eyes with the sleeve of erroneous conceptions.
A bat spreads its black wings, hunting by night;
An owl’s two magic lamps pierce through the veil of darkness.
Compassion originates in a response from above.
An idea of a glossy leaf binds not the fresh dew;
Ice sculpture and dancing snow magically disappear in the rising sun.
Waking of Insects peals of thunder summon the hundred grasses.
Network of green spreading out wave born of wave;
Red rachis greeting the spring wind billow sending off billow.
The Wanderer’s journey;
Is it that each step is directed towards that anticipated inner place of self-knowledge?

Thousand-year-old banyan tree inhabited by apes;
Nature’s tree house the original mysterious factor of the universe now in motion.
Rolling yellow sand, producing affection, teasing out the red dust of the world.
Millions of money-mice scurrying in all directions;
A person’s two feet, busy beyond belief.
Each in possession of the innate lottery ticket of life;
youth exhausted by so many games.
Old and young, powerful and weak none able to let go.
Worldling and saint alike, all bound by the contract of 42 letters.
Years spent on that stage of illusion ultimately returning to the starting point of the dream.
A bed, pillow, blanket, and a person dreaming;
dreaming of a million arhats.
A pair of eyes, a pair of ears, and one mouth;
Mouth speaks, million people obey.
A pair of hands, a pair of feet, and a set of dreams;
Eager to command a million hearts and minds throughout the four oceans and five continents.
One mind, one idea, one field with eight types of consciousness;
revolving in samsara, a thousand autumns, ten thousand lives.
Give give give again;
How to give? Who to give to?
Chill and sorrow on a silent snow-swept street
Who wakes up?
Night sky meteors, glittering blue waves;
Startled spontaneous compassion;
tears flow, wind blows like a flying waterfall.
It’s said that during a severe winter in a distant place
90 million monarch butterflies were frozen into specimens overnight.
Form and sound instantly swirl into the sea of the heart;
In the wink of an eye, clear water spins out bubbles.
A long gown worn for decades, drifting smoke and water, 100 cities;
At times moved to tears by a genial breeze at times moved to wailing.
The road back home, still 84,000 li to go up to now
the destination is like the summit of a virgin peak.
Rumor has it that outside of Heilongjiang there is a North Pole village
located at N53°27´
on the Summer Solstice the northern lights produce a lovely blue glow;
As is his wont, the Wanderer dashed off to have a look. . .

Spring, snowmelt noisily flows over the golden land;
I hear each and every grain cheering and singing.
On the side of the road is a lotus boat in a pond
With a person lighting a fluorescent light, for those returning at night;
all because early spring is always cold.
I see a child’s face;
The heart of a newborn baby, a pair of bright and clever eyes;
gently looking up with a half-smile.
Every day a chance meeting with a squirrel in the hot afternoon sun;
Heaven and earth, perfectly intimate.
Ruby glittering in the light of dusk;
Someone uses a silver vase to scoop water and receive the moon;
night silently spreading through the firmament;
countless activities of the day instantly put away.
In a mountain valley the nightingale sings;
An old pine fond of chatting with the east wind.
Bolt of lightning draws out a celestial bow rolling up light and
dark.
On the great dark mountain a nighttime traveler mistakes someone for someone else;
Morning fog not dispelled the Visitor can’t find the way out.
Sea waves and trees together sing the incantation of heaven and earth;
Joy always present on the occasion of a bumper crop in the old farming village.
Displaying 2002　0220　2002 an array of figures;
Stopping and observing concentration and wisdom
wisdom and emotion sentiment and nature.
Completion and contentment dance together;
With 18 others in a theater enjoying an opera from Poland;
Il trovatore, by Giuseppe Verdi.
Two minutes past 8.00 p.m. on February 20, 2002;
Once in a millennium.
A lucky figure; gypsies just before daybreak;
gather round a fire and sing a happy song.
Sorrow circles outwards and departs;
Compassion circles inwards and comes with awareness.
For the earth, flora wear black and paint from life;
For heaven, clouds take on colors.
A skipper piloting his ferry between this shore and the further shore;
On the surface of the sea of consciousness, there appears a lens, concave-convex, enlarging and shrinking.
A twisting and rugged route milestones at each stage;
Below the plum trees, a rooster crows on top of a grain silo.
phantom city‧treasury of dreams.
Instantly responding to 84,000 galloping pores;
Seedlings glowing red, scurry on fire light and dark dissolve into thinness.
Torch in hand, wind blows wavering shadows. . .
Sight lacks the dexterity of hearing;
finger pointing to the remotest corner of the world eyebrows remain encamped on a headland.
Scorching sand roasts the feet trotting
then it’s possible to breach this melancholy blue this illusory green.
One person directing a hundred voices, a symphony in an old opera house;
Song enters the skies an ancient legend unraveled scene by scene.
Right before their eyes, waving the baton, wearing space, drawing a dance;
always going forward smoothly.
In the palm also an ancient dew pan, as always pointing south.

Seeing red flames filling the sky, I make a loud cheer;
She opens her spiritual eye touch
like morning dew, each drop cool.
Fast asleep, she is startled awake by the celestial drum;
Mind unstill all because the qin string of pity continues to vibrate.
On the bodhi seat there is a type of force‧the Unshakable Wisdom King.
Confusion all because the eternally quiet and bright mirror of the mind has been obscured.
Dense weeds of ignorance, instantly burned up in the fire of wisdom.
Yesterday the sun dropped behind the mountain; today the sky has yet to brighten;
not overcome by sensory impingement, one part gnosis remains.
Sandstorm rolls in; road closed;
Winter and summer trade places, four seasons always true.
Three people traveling; there is a teacher who can ferry them beyond all suffering;
A single utterance of great compassion can eliminate all anxiety;
Reaching the finale, as before, sun rises and sets;
after all, what is her harvest?
Some want to understand zero;
Zero means returning to the source, primordial chaos;
Initial enlightenment moves forward intrinsic enlightenment moves back.

—February 17, 19 (Rain Water), 20, and 21, 2002
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Book 14 The Nine-dragon Pearl and the Mouth of the Toad in the City of the Ancient Lion

Two thumbs raised high then turning to wave.
Today the people of an ancient capital come out to see a relic in an old monastery—a finger of the Buddha;
suddenly the whirling fingerprints glow a dazzling red;
clouds turn into nine bows which release a shower of arrow-flowers.
A rhinoceros in the wild bows low;
praying that men will no longer engage in savage sports.
Above, eyes and ears observe the light and form of the people;
Mother Earth, endowed with a kind of spiritual intelligence, responds to the wisdom and emotion of sentient beings.
First full moon of the new year, flower-drum dance, hornet fireworks, falling cherries
Light up the sky, filled with sky lanterns.
Who is able to bare his chest and embrace the inexhaustible treasure of heaven and earth,
and leave behind that lake of dreams dredged by human artifice?
A young girl’s bamboo basket contains two peaches;
an old man of 93 years, celebrating 3,000 years of the dragon.
Star-filled sky, looking up at the North Star;
Minds, as many as the sands of the Ganges, a concentrated letter.
Who can use two hands to set samsara in motion,
setting oneself at the center of the spinning turntable?
Though a glacier may be shifting, it still contains solid ice;
Waves and billows surging on the great sea;
yet the depths remain perfectly still.
Ear and sound pursue one another;
listening to the uniquely silent sound of the celestial drum of the ten directions.
Time mysteriously moves, people slowly age;
That mind of the newborn baby, ever within;
seeking that genuine condition of a childhood dream
Spring breeze lightly kisses the eyes;
silently conveying the secret language of the universe precognition;
On the first day of Waking of Insects there will be six kinds of earthquakes; all small.


I dreamed of a pride of lions dwelling in an ancient lion city.
Inside and outside of that city, plays performed caused celestial maidens to release a shower of flowers.
On the face of an old wall pier is carved a female figure.
A Child says that it’s Qian Nu, whose soul left her body;
An old tree at the foot of the wall smiles at the child, causing him to look up.
Early morning trees hang down over the road, observing the people rushing by below;
silently swaying . . . releasing a few drops of ambrosia;
yet the Wanderer confusedly drenches his eyes.
A lone rooster crows on top a roof;
But the present generation hears not the call to awakening;
wanting to rest, the nightingale says:
“This place is full of people and spirits traveling by night. . .”
A deck chair in the park says:
“Last night I felt a virtuous and quiet intention from the Wanderer’s back.”
A seat on the train says:
“From the touch of that man’s toes, I sense that he is lonely and bored.”
A bench in the station says:
“From the expression in his eyes, I clearly see the outer limits of patience.”
A cicada buzzes out to heaven and earth, not going anywhere;
Yet colliding with a glass window, searching, wavering.
I stroke the belly of the earth with my ten fingers;
sensing the joy of the myriad creatures eager to come forth in Waking of Insects.
In a small boat on a lake, a swan gazes at a father feeding an infant;
Within the boundless frame of heaven and earth time paints picture after picture,
scarcely imagining that each person paints his own portrait, always and everywhere.
A female insect in the forest of magical illusion drills in and drills out;
A red-bamboo dragonfly touches the surface of a deep and serene pond in the wilds.
Butterflies as big as the palm of the hand spin on the slick moss-covered rocks;
traversing mountains and valleys no fear of the enveloping fog.
Rain falling, spring rings out;
praising the passion of heaven and earth.
Good friend, lofty sentiment, endless praise for the sea;
Birthday, everlasting best wishes conveyed by a mighty cavalry charging from New Zealand.
Flying 10,000 li through the clouds, approaching dusk;
all for a dream reunion on Yuanxiao.
Continuous . . . memory . . . forming an equation in a dream . . .
the Vagrant’s story endlessly replays.
Fine rain, verdant peaks like fresh flowing gold;
unsettled mind of the agitated Wanderer.
The light and function of affection follows you, me, him;
the territories laid out by the aggregate of form interact‧life after life, endlessly.
The heat and energy of affection responds to the mind consciousness;
manifesting the territory of the aggregate of perception, releasing 987654321 parts of truth.


Swaying across a rope bridge a bottomless chasm separating two cliffs;
billowing shouts roll up ears searching for the sound;
mountainous waves cover dazzled eyes.
A light passes by mountain a deep shade of green;
shadows arrive transforming mountain stream azure blue.
Gloom, tightly gritting teeth, without disentangling the vast realm of love;
Worry, deeply locked brow, without releasing the red center of the flame of defilement;
dreams retaining lost images.
Tears on a green pillow, like the trail of light made by a meteor;
Soaked blanket, spread and folded by herself.
A little girl had a dream—
She dreamed that an ancient nine-dragon pearl was dislodged by the six types of earthquakes,
and fell into the mouth of a toad.
Amidst gleeful cheers someone lit a torch;
in the night sky there appear
Millions up millions of brightly glowing stamens rising upwards towards the good;
the virtuous wishes of the people, carried aloft on sky lanterns.
A little girl chasing five butterflies
meanders onto the lily path.
Seeing countless blades of grass springing up repeatedly dazzling.
On one side comes the sound of a low snore and the rapping of wooden clogs;
blending into a kind of harmonious sonata.
In the dream a kind of bipolar force whispers and sobs;
Mother by her side concealing her worry. . .
a fog bank blown ashore by the wind;
The smell of fish remains in the fisherman’s nostrils.
The Wanderer takes odd jobs here and there the Visitor sleeps rough in the ten directions;
who looks after the loved ones back in the native place? how to advise?
A cloud encamps on a mountain peak and imbibes the mist;
Fog drifts outside the dew collector.
Searching for his past sweetheart, the Traveler arrives at a place 3,000 years in the future;
the ancient-yet-new copse of the twin sal trees;
all because of a deep impression left behind.
Who is it that wedged this unreal dream into the sea of consciousness?
Images appearing in the present moment;
are they due to past causes or future results?


Mountain squeezes the waist of a great tree;
Cloud embraces the feet of a great mountain;
Fog covers the daylight of the cosmos;
Rain shelters the Traveler’s peregrinations.
Space allows the wind to wander all about;
following that flash of lightning, searching all directions.
A rainbow hides away, 3,000 li distant;
Stars leave behind yesterday’s center of the Milky Way.
New moon secretly visits a lotus pool after tomorrow’s rain;
Heaven and earth instantly return to primordial chaos;
In a moment the universe returns to Pan Gu.
As before, mountain squeezes the waist of a great tree;
Tree watches over the impish and unruly little grass.


Escalator with sticky hand up, up, down, down, returning and again;
Elevator detaining feet inspecting one pair after another;
Revolving door greets the east wind sees off west wind with a sigh.
Vain imaginings seal off the true appearance of the universe;
figments surging up in the sea of consciousness.
Night sky of illusion;
a thousand lanterns, one after another, ignite a sacred incantation of old.
Who was the first to discover that ancient dragon palace at the bottom of the sea?
Chair stairway red tiles five green pines
green river hibiscus flower, and a stone hedge.
Beyond the wall an owl jumps for joy in a grove of Makino bamboo;
10,000 wonderful sites appear one after another;
mysterious night sets off the twilight glow on the Vernal Equinox.
A painter’s painting finally takes form;
yet still wondering how to include intention and energy.
Today a wonderful idea came and poked its head through the window of tomorrow’s dream.
Who is able to go beyond the phenomena in the mirror and find his true self?
Phenomena falling into a bottomless precipice; who crosses the lake?
Thoughts turn over road long and remote;
Why not just sit alone on the roof ridge and watch the wild goose fly off, free and unfettered?
Last night, a rugged road in a dream with
a group of travelers unaware of the potholes.
Is it not that the canary’s voice is not what it used to be?
That the old gallery road lies in ruins?
Planting an islet with the flora of antiquity‧Anisocampium cumingianum;
presently, once again seeing the light of day.
Wisteria braiding round a rope bridge swinging over an ancient mysterious ravine.
A fossil of Philippine lauan from the moss of a cliffside spring a million years past;
illusory tidbits flutter into the dream of a dancing butterfly.
Chipping ice for boiling spring tea;
memory continually perfuming the wind of that native place.
Picking up an image of the spring ox—
Shepherd Boy quietly standing behind the ox, willow whip in hand;
crowd of farmers dripping with sweat, plowing a field of blue-jade.
Slicing open a peach offered the other day by a virtuous man of the mountains;
Discovering three seeds bearing a remarkable resemblance to three proud penguins.
Excellent and magical. . .

—February 23, 27, and 28, 2002
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Book 15 Eye Translation of the Pure Dew of the Vernal Equinox

It’s said that the end of the world is drawing near.
Three minutes shy of midnight;
wondering who stopped the thunder from waking everyone up.
Fragrant soil of home still clings to the soles of his shoes;
Presently he arrives at a place 84,000 li from home.
Suffering merely due to the verbal insults of the demons of the mind;
the five states of mind arising from object-contingent mental factors are hard to settle.
Attachment born of pity caused the celestial scorpion to fall into the illusory net of the Kapila Incantation.
Mind of tolerance a water bottle filled with a dream of the future.
There is a mysterious valley at midnight
four owls stand guard in the four cardinal directions;
In the center is a pond with a big indigo rock, on top of which a frog leaps out the dance of the moon.
On a branch of an old pine a black spider weaves
a profound image of the eight trigrams and the ying-yang.
Suddenly a golden eagle swoops down and rips it to pieces with its claws!
Waving goodbye to the marvelous peak, then entering a certain dark forest in the south,
All the way contemplating the power of that original vow, like a graceful musical note.
On the bright road I see some grime, then search for a spot of purity;
but the grime moves in conformity with the purity. . .
All the way why are the shoes so kind to the feet?
originally seeking the light, but only increasing the obscuring fog.
From the beginning, mind consciousness so fond of toying with the waves of thought;
unwittingly planting the seeds of passion.
Now lifetime upon lifetime, yearning grows.
The bamboo basket of youth, filled with the age of innocence;
Dividing flowers each dimension a flowing heavenly sound;
Root like water‧dust like sand;
and mind like mud—
Wisdom, that legendary gem;
How is it that that precious garden of mystery
just swept clean now being swept;
Soon to be swept yet again?
all because of the mind’s incessant stream of guests.
Root, the original face;
on the Vernal Equinox rhododendrons fill the slopes with excellent color.
Dust, the phenomena of the universe.
Tonight is the sixteenth day of the first lunar month of 2002; the bright moon is big and round.
A green stalk says: “It seems that someone has extended the diameter of the moon!”
Consciousness, so fond of clambering and discriminating.
Oh world of dreams, you have become another me;
but I have turned into an uninvolved guest.


Without mud, the lotus grows not;
sentient beings don’t sow seeds.
See that old tree propping up the sky;
twisted roots interlaced with ancient wisteria;
everywhere yellow leaves and layered hills;
boundless exuberance of spring in a single sprout.
No consciousness, like a hollow bundle of rushes.
Water and sand forever separate; why do fallen flowers mix with the spring mud?
the four seasons pursue a blank space. . .
Who can fully comprehend a certain year, month, day?
a certain event happening in a certain place?
Just like everything in the twisting garden of the ten directions and three times, returning to ineffability.
No sense faculty; several clouds suspended in the sky, wondering who is in the mind.
Today good news arrives from the west;
—the seedpod of a lotus buried in the ground for five centuries has again bloomed.
A child gathering medicinal herbs in the mountains has lost his way and can’t return home in time for roll call.
No wisdom; sediment doesn’t settle, mire remains;
the path crossing the stream is slippery because the rocks are covered with moss.
If all the handiwork of the wheel of time had not formed the river,
Then how could the intermittent shadow and light sport atop the waves?
The sense faculties are the transient bright face of the jeweled lapis lazuli mirror.
The unconscious mind has an inconceivable and marvelous faculty of memory;
why so close, yet so unfamiliar?
Dust is the 42 letters lost on a frosty night and
a primordial child’s game of shuttlecock.
An orange peach contains three seeds;
A bosom friend visits from New Zealand, repeatedly insisting that it’s a good omen.
Consciousness is like a reflection of inspiration, or the powdery snow flying up while skiing.
An antique steam train slowly pulls into an old station in a quaint town;
On board is a guileless boy weary from a long journey;
a red-ribbon sports car zips through the green fields.
Who can separate consciousness and the sense faculties—
so that both host and guest drop into the dust zone?
Recollect the marvelous object of the primordial past;
Use your nose to breath in pure air, free and carefree.
The gurgling stream washes off the grains of sand on his toes;
On the bank, branches and leaves in harmonious array; serenity blows in on a light breeze.
A mysterious sight appears in the sky:
a pure-white cloud bearing a remarkable resemblance to a rakish sailboat,
sailing through an ocean-like blue sky.
It’s said that there is a realm of purity in the west,
connected to this Saha shore by a road a trillion li long;
arising and ceasing in a moment; alternating between billions of dimensions.
Beyond the Realm of the Awe-inspiring Sound, the River of Meditation where fish and prawn frolic.
Cloudless sky for days on end red heart of the sun glistening bright;
thin clouds, light wind; unable to turn into the magically lacquered king of spades.
A master from afar with exaggerated expression confidently writes down a movement which brings down the house.
Waking of Insects two jade-green silk brocades earn me the three volumes of the Luminous Purple Scroll of Crystalline Diamonds.
Rumor has it that the hoof prints of feral water buffalo have been seen along the Caoling Historic Trail.
This item was transmitted by a wireless device, three-D animation for training virtual beasts.
Rafting through rushing rapids, taking the helm;
vaulting pole carrying five or six people waving goodbye to a group of guests!


Dream whirling in memory tugging a virtual Arcadia;
eyes drawn to a realistic souvenir photo,
A peacock-blue meteor shooting through space, like a wavering flame.
An agitated state of mind, like two cat’s-eye-green crystalline pearls glittering and vague.
In the deep sea of the mind a stubborn notion stirs;
A lovely world in a dream, an extremely subtle factor of delusion clambers;
mind like the tidewater, coming ashore by gripping the waves and dashing the billows. . .
Pedestrian rushes by all in hopes of getting some peace of mind;
he was once devoted to practicing moral culture, but then ran into a ḍākinī.
Events long past today a golden cage beckons a silver bird.
Such people are found in the world;
forever searching for a lost ancient city;
only to be devoured by modern savages,
Thanks to hearsay, well acquainted even before meeting.
Night after night in a dream, a wonderful sound plucks the heartstrings.
Under the blazing sun the Shepherd Boy drops his head for a snooze;
A cloud rolls in to provide shade.
Since time immemorial as in the East, so in the West; a great ball of fire;
self-intoxication from dawn to dusk.
Laughing and joking! Chocolate with tomatoes;
each car heading to the metro station of youth.
Presenting a youth with a pair of special hiking boots.
Sunlight of early spring raises the blue and green curtain of nature;
The blue sea holds a reception in honor of the Surfer.
Phytoncides in a palm-green forest;
used by the Ranger to wash away the dust of yesterday’s dream.
Three children play in a pile of fallen leaves;
One cloud in the sky one orchid on the ground.
Following a rain shower, two types of moods turn into a spiritual luminosity;
The audience in the ancient theater is not amused.
Onstage, the performers continue joking all the same.
At night a mysterious flame gives off a peculiar radiance;
from his eyes.
A night-blooming cereus looks up at the smiling stars in the sky and drops from its stem.
But a water lily welcoming the future returns riding a vow.
How much distance is there between fact and fantasy?
How tall is that wave on top of which the Surfer is paddling?
I can hear the life-force of the hibernating earth presently drawing out the sprouts. . .
A white colt leaps over a thousand peaks and soars 10,000 li, yet no one can trace its tracks.
Sprouting seeds toss and turn in the soil;
A flower shouts to the sleeping boy so fond of playing with moss.
Ripe plums, each resembling the other.
Several peals of thunder flashing lightning patrols the highest heavens;
suddenly black clouds swallow up white clouds;
shifting a myth of the universe towards the dawn of primordial chaos.
Oh God of Spring, cover their ears! Let not the wind and rain hear the news at the time of the Qingming Festival.


Summit of a mountain with a visitor loud enough to overturn the heavens.
Corner of the sea the Vagrant recently departed from home;
never apart from his own lapel.
Adept at silence, yet missing the 800 virtues;
reticent, claiming that the Tathagata is ineffable.
Silence and cessation instantly alternating, road closed by moodiness.
Flowing constantly 10,000 year ice cliff;
carving out a pathway where light and shadow have earlier passed.
Dewdrops of the Vernal Equinox, supremely dazzling;
Rainy season flock of swans dancing wildly on the edge of a lake.
In the park a young child says to his mother:
“This year my feet have grown four centimeters!”
Then he points to the sky and asks:
“Where is that cloud going?”
Even during the time it takes to burn an incense pillar whence awakening?
Who can turn the child’s expression into a lithe and graceful musical note?

—March 1 and 6, 2002
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Book 16 Returning Home
—Remembering the Original Symbol of the Flock of Snow-white Sheep

Applying the equation of love to compare illusion and reality;
searching after the percentage of pure affection.
Stubborn heart, still brave;
Fire madly ravaging the savage virgin rain forest.
Incommunicado seeking not the sound;
sky-borne cloud forms into a letter free and easy as a sauntering fish.
Time moving at warp speed in the realm of dreams.
Bright to black, feigning ignorance, hauling in the net of embroiling emotion.
Butterflies leave no flower unvisited;
Leaves take care of the dewdrops, drawing on every innate ability they have.
Eye and heart compete to take a photograph;
impression and reflection remaining in mind consciousness and eye consciousness.
Sand cheering in the rainy season;
Light and shadow pile into a game with the sense faculties.
A hundred birds collaboratively creating a novel and vigorous tune on the Vernal Equinox.
An aeon of notions instantly approving the touch of experience.
A reshahar appears on the sea of consciousness worries of 10,000 voices equal to the waves.
Ruins below a cliff;
footprints left on the road of those yet to arrive.
On Biefeng an old palace, four spacious halls encircled by seven fire walls;
Glittering green rice shoots fill the theater of the earth;
Golden yellow unhusked rice covers the silent stage;
Age-old vent no longer dispels the smoke.
An 80-year-old grandmother reminisces about her youth;
conjuring up a youthful image worthy of a master painter.
A spring rain wakes a green titan from a deep slumber;
In an instant—verdant hills meet the eye on every side.
Morning fog joins a sea of clouds, sun peeks over a green peak;
shadows of trees arrayed throughout the land.
In Australia there is a huge sleeping mountain which since time immemorial has been attracting the flowers of the moon.
A train climbing and curving;
scroll upon scroll filled with tracks of lovers.
Setting sun fuller than full eye sockets redder than red;
all because his own story is so exceedingly bright and dazzling;
Resulting in two empty pages at the end of his diary.


Blizzard like a flock of pure white sheep;
Wild wolf stalking a voice wave upon wave rolling outwards.
Blessing of heaven;
that earliest symbol learned by heart can now lead the way home yet
Coming across unswept leaves piled high around the village and foot of the mountain, he loses the track;
Along the road the Visitor asks a passerby:
“That vagrant who was here yesterday; in which direction did he go?”
On the shore the Wanderer listens to the croaking frogs and follows the Traveler’s path.
On that side the master of the pavilion continues to operate the ferry;
In the winter, wild geese visit from afar, leaving in the spring;
white melancholy disappears. . .
Romantic strains of a flute rise up in a garden limpid and exceedingly beautiful;
dancing image of ice becomes a floating emerald about to drop.
Swings in a park, children vying to get on and fly high.
The ice cliffs of Hokkaido retain vestiges of the passage of time.
In childhood climbing up the wisteria for a swing.
Grown up giving up‧not giving up;
ideals and fantasies seem to mix and merge.
Night soaked with tears all because
of a childhood memory of dreaming of falling out of an old banyan tree.
Demons of the mind eliminate 99% of oneself;
The remaining 1% is the true self
—breaching a tight encirclement, personally meeting unsurpassable perfect enlightenment.


Mountain peak, high crags sprouting;
a supernova is born in a mysterious black hole.
Sea, river, water, stream, ocean gestation;
limpid lake turns turbid, good for growing lotus flowers.
During youth visiting and going in wondering where to mail tender regards.
Donning a shawl of two-tone lines, all because the ocean wind repeatedly summons the cold.
Winter, withered leaves drop from an old tree rolling up their vitality and storing it in a secret place;
Waiting for Waking of Insects, thunder shouts
a thousand seeds ready to burst, 10,000 buds revive, filling the garden with green.
Busy bee and butterfly meet up and enter the garden to have some fun.
Spring outing, hiking boots traversing the mire, kicking up a thousand piles of mud.
Ramp with nine S-rings;
easily going downhill on a mountain bike with good traction.
A drunk on the way home raps on a car window, expecting a reply;
Musing on how the mind relies on that mysterious sensitization of the waves of consciousness.
Traveling far and wide daily from sunrise to sunset;
during sleep the spiritual intelligence should have nowhere to abide;
why, then, is it that while dreaming a million times of you,
you suddenly appear in the ten directions, and then disappear?
Night after night who is it that sets in motion that cipher of primordial chaos,
and then sleeps deeply while having a late-night snack, the seal of enlightenment?
That cryptic book without letters, after drawing out the capacities of the sense organs,
Tells a story about going to a phantom city.
First rays of the rising sun opening daylight, decoding your dream.
Waking up, again falling in—
some other state of an unknown boundless dream within a dream.
From all the changing marks of the universe;
an inexhaustible treasury contained in heaven and earth;
from within experience and awakening.
From one to zero. . .


Five-year-old girl on in-line skates crosses over a mountain peak;
10,000 white horses gallop towards a forest of reed catkins, leaping over a single black horse.
Following the shadow of the light-tree of the sun, spring goes for a walk;
Round red setting sun illuminates my instantly-averted eyes, drops into the sea.
Old ox cart green peas
Luxuriant rape fields in the countryside;
Ancient riverbank mossy stones.
Cliffside waterfall dropping into a pool reflecting the moon;
Huge banyan tree small cottage
In a light rain, dew clings to the eaves before dropping into the sea of dreams, sounding, sounding.
Lao Tong was rather daft and dull in
stark contrast to his impeccably lofty bearing.
Youth pursuing emotional waves, fond of putting on false appearances.
The beings of the Heaven of Radiant Sound populated the Saha world countless millions of years ago;
an ancient myth stored in an old bottle. . .
I happen upon a cloudless sky in a speck of dust;
Holding up a rose to give to the traveler of the universe, that lover’s dream.
Sunlight rising from the eastern sea, warming the land;
Chlorophyll stirs lavender scent, igniting a spirit of prosperity;
meeting, the beginning and end of recollection.
Following a downpour, waterfalls suddenly pour down the clouded windswept cliffs;
Night scene, flowering shrubs of flowers shaken by the hands and feet of light.
Millions of shooting stars speed along the freeway of the galaxy;
the self-created mask developed under moonlight.
Who is able to make the compass-in-hand indicate one’s present position,
to make the peach blossoms fill the branches in the spring sunlight?
Curving parallel tracks, lanes without barrier;
The Traveler crosses multiple tracks, then turns back, seal unbroken;
only adding some headnotes.
Spring sun daily painting a lovely landscape picture‧changing;
Bright moon monthly seizing the water of a thousand streams and sending it to the rivers and seas‧quiet.
In a great desert there is a lonely farmhouse;
Fragrant thatch roof bamboo hedge, window, eave collecting dew.
Interlocking brackets and carved pillars rivalling those of heaven leading to
an old water pavilion moist, glossy green moss‧slippery.


A primordial seed-flame melts the North Pole glaciers.
The Visitor stands in the evening twilight, tasting the primeval yearning of dusk;
using it to sketch a map of the way home.
Chilling wind and snow, instantly trampling the spring sun underfoot;
Flowing cages at the mouth of a valley, repeating innumerable times.
How many times, in the water mirror,
reflecting a network of green?
Dark green mountain peak, most distant from the Milky Way;
Tender water, closest to the round smooth moon.
Lotus base of 20 levels, whirlpool issuing from a sea of fragrant water.
Countless long bows in staggered array;
Wheel of time turning out illusions like a skilled magician;
instantly transforming the appearance of heaven and earth.
It seems that we have met before. . .
Time flowing backwards into a memory, bound for regret.
The sound plucked by an old friend is beyond the strings.
Contemporary act and ancient legends joint performance,
a dream play of inverted right and wrong.
Sinking like an osprey diving into the river for fish;
Due to the fire of the defilements, plundering the garden of virtue;
making the all-pervasive weeds reel in a stiff wind!
It’s said that the original color of the universe was like that of clarified butter;
A compound frequency starts up in the night sky;
A passionate energy that never ceases flowing towards the other side of the primordial Milky Way.
Within, a tacit understanding never decreases all powerful;
Rolling up the story of the dreamy explorer of the sea of stars response without periphery.
Matrix candlelight, the all-illuminating sun writ small dependently arisen
inexhaustible treasure.
On the fingertips there are five dippers and five baskets just so
sways the universe; blessings together with wisdom—
Material phenomena mist flying in the sky, rolling up a stiff wind, a long river throws up thousand-foot waves.
Immaterial phenomena a bamboo-shaded path with footprints that can’t be swept away.
Flock of wild ducks on a lake in spring;
Intermittent spring gurgling up from the ground.
In the forest a thousand twisting green branches becoming bows;
wind pulls 10,000 strings, performing an enchanting twilight ensemble.
On a slope a swarm of butterflies disguised as a yellow lantana;
Gymnastic white crane standing on one leg, unmoved even by a heavy rain.
Under a cozy silk cotton quilt, woken by the first rays of light;
bursting
Basket upon basket of red.

—March 7, 9, and 10, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 17 Penguin Jumps Out Of a Peach
—Story of the Sensitization of the Fourth Me


Zero and one agitate the milk-white scripture of the sea of consciousness;
stirring up billowing waves;
disturbing the minds of all sentient beings.
An ancient ginkgo tree unruffled by the wind, clouds, and mud;
Yet by the gaze from a pair of eyelashes covering the eyes,
set on fire, flames filling the sky.
Asleep not waking, thoughts arise—
dreaming of being with him in an ancient ice field, searching for a seed-flame.
In the dream, opening my eyes seeing a child in the countryside happily flying a kite;
Green mountain, clear water; happily performing a conjuring trick on a spring day;
rolling that impish child into a bundle of flower buds.
Gentle light, transmits inspiring, all-embracing ideas;
interacting with the physical body.
Three parts attachment plus seven parts worry silk-attired loafer;
black no good, blue not right;
Only fond of looking for esoterica in a pile of green;
in red, playing the highest game.
Within the vast sea of gain and loss, not relinquishing one’s own little world in a cloth sack;
it’s action it’s result
Rhythm of the rain follows the wind-conductor;
falling in buckets. . .
The first me found an old leather case in a ramshackle house;
Opening the three locks discovering an old diary full of sad stories.
Muddled and reclusive, buried in the dust of the world, leaving behind a half-folded flower;
The second me suddenly woke up as if enlightened;
yesterday’s sky is not today’s sky;
today’s sun is not yesterday’s sun;
wondering who stole yesterday’s sky and replaced it with today’s sun.
The third me was walking alone on a narrow path deep in the mountains;
seemingly pulled forward by the wind and the glowing sunset;
Flashing fire irradiating the color of tomorrow.
Recalling again and again, surging up from the remote past.
Is there yet a fourth me?
Sleeping on a dark night unwittingly
arriving at a future world yet
lacking caution, bumping into my childhood self.


Traveler of original awakening from a dream of heaven and earth;
prying open the key to the sensitization of the sun and moon.
Peak condition in the east the Ranger presently tells a story to the mountain;
Deep seabed in the east the Surfer, riding the waves, dancing with the sea.
The universe, from sunrise to sunset;
each and every scene stored up by the great sun.
Setting in motion illuminating knowledge and vision;
silently removing the bolt of the heart.
Genial wind steadily blows in spinning the universally empowering wheel;
Wisdom transforming into a cold spring shuttling the scorching flame of the defilements.
No fear;
Qingming, spring hike in the mountains endless streams of visitors.
Old sacred tree, day and night shedding leaves, sweeping away the footprints on the ground;
No doubt;
An ancient village discovers a primeval forest 3,000 years old.
Huge Taiwan red cypress, holy ghost kept secret by the ancestors;
Form and mind, how can they cross over that chaotic section of the soul?
—gaining balance and freedom.
The hub of transformation abides in applying the physical marks to the secret treasury of three points;
Transitional space resides in destruction and creation.
From life to life, samsara is interwoven with three forces;
freedom from form‧freedom from mind ‧ freedom from thought,
capable of finding that brilliant gem ensconced in the sea of consciousness.
Little girl’s sleeve soaked with tears;
Vowing to mount a 4WD travel over mountains and rivers.
Purple air perfectly still;
Yet life after life drifting on the long river of history.


Who is it there on the arched bridge spanning the river surveying
the springtime rain forest brimming over with unruliness?
Fire ceremony;
Aborigines singing out their zeal for the pilgrimage of life.
A glossy leaf rolls up a mouthful of dew, then
thru the window of sculpted fog sees
that collection of wavering images, superb and secret.
The fig bears fruit throughout the year as an offering to the lovely hornbill;
a proverbial cornucopia of all the creatures of the forest.
An old pine extends its green parasol over the peaks;
Growth rings of an ancient tree, a climate record extending far into the past.
Who is it that transformed the plant hormones into an energy source of the animals?
In childhood, using a wooden bucket to collect last night’s rain, no longer seen;
Sound of raindrops under the eaves, disappeared like an empty cloud . . .
An old cupboard still containing a few ticket stubs;
Memory woken up, from the first station onwards.
Sunlight setting off the veins of a green leaf on a purple vine;
bunched grapes bathing in a glittering light,
Winding round bamboo poles, swarming, orderly, bustling.
Spring pond, drum-cheeked frog sings out his lovely hopes;
Countryside, throngs of white butterflies fond of picking up the scent of the wildflowers;
Dark-green cicada king, buzz enveloping the mountain.
Deep valley, suspension bridge from this side to the other side misty fog, boundless and indistinct;
monkey on top, dancing out a thunderclap;
wind wavers ropes sights and shapes under the sunlight, following shadowy images.
Imagine someone with the eye of an eagle, passing over craggy peaks and windy straits;
Depicting the movement of cloud and mountain;
writing down a diary of light and shadow;
Transmitting into the ten directions the brilliant light of the silver candle of the fifth watch;
folding the thousand-foot spindrift into the star-filled sky.


A boat sails past on the silvery surface of the water;
A light streams over the treetops.
The Wanderer puts up at a forest monastery in the city the Visitor gathers his friends;
With childlike sincerity, implicit commitment written on his happy face.
A great man holding the sun in his two hands;
one index finger holding up the bright orb of the moon.
That seven-lane avenue in the shade of the bodhi tree;
emerald wave glimmering in the sunlight.
Guests coming and going, yet flashing blue-tinged melancholy;
Distant siren sounding, hurrying the Traveler.
Pleasant dream, disappearing like smoke;
Like a grown sweet potato, not knowing who I am;
although all day the clothes on my body are misty with purple flowers and purple steam.
Moon in last quarter in sky, fond of plunging into the river and learning to fish;
I press a finger, qin key gives of successive awns;
notes handsomely printed in moonlight.
Spiraling meteor, silently falling into that boundless black hole;
unstoppable blazing flame coursing towards the endless Milky Way.
Native goshawk hovering in space;
flute notes encircle mountain and valley.
Who is it who self-replicated billions of times and entered the Saha realm,
Presently not knowing where that genuine original Self courses?
Innate wisdom wrapped into a secret treasury of three points;
Acquired knowledge fond of playing on the fringes of awakening.
Virtual sense organs flow not with genuine tears;
Expression of the intersection of sentient beings instantly transforms into eternity;
gem lost in childhood, hidden in the zone of illusion.
Who is it who can use the power of mindfulness to move that buoy on the sea of consciousness like the first peep of day;
sending forth the first ray of light, summoning the hundred birds to chirp in the wind?


A diary with 365 days;
day in and day out idled away.
Outside the window, spring rain dripping several months;
Night wind blows lantern light and shadow coyly stepping, waving red.
Following the Spring Equinox the sun rises earlier and sets later;
Verdant hills take on added charm.
Rain forest, nets of golden silk hung with jewels;
The Traveler leaves home with a bandana and bag, strolling on a road of red brick.
Home nest neglected from now onwards;
The Traveler, by day burning candles‧going astray;
who can cross the river without getting wet?
After dark, quietly slipping into the Vagrant’s pair of footprints;
Nimble lines losing their luster within crisscrossing thoughts.
Fairies of the night, riding red dragonflies;
requesting, one after another—
Factors exceeding reality, boiling over in the sky of essential nature;
Dreams not empty, completing basket upon basket.
Presently the peach pit is broken open;
Penguin-like seeds jump out.
Now knowing beyond the world there is a world;
beyond the universe there is a universe.
Yet, seeing a white cloud passing by in the sky;
roaming about the azure mountain top;
The great ocean, lucid and tranquil rainbow at the flick of a sleeve.

March 13 and 15, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 18 Record of the Shepherd Boy Tilling in the Rain

Thoughts, since time immemorial countless as the dust;
ungraspable, intangible.
Just so sky-borne moon leaps into the water;
Wheel meeting wheel meeting wheel;
The water of a thousand rivers can’t be drunk in a single mouthful.
An ancient sailing ship sails over from the eastern sea;
Fog spewed out by boundless Pacific spindrift
pours into Felicity Guanyin’s immaculate vase.
Willow branches directing white clouds coursing thru the sky;
illuminating space.
In the mountains there is a Shepherd Boy, born with unbounded strength;
wondering if he has come from outside of time and space as we know it, riding the force of a vow.
Looking forward to farming on a rainy Spring Equinox early grazing;
one fine cow!
Enchanting light flickers over the inverted image of green willow branches;
The Shepherd Boy contemplates and gauges the equidistance of you, me, and him;
empirical mind, spiritual mind, universal mind.
How to draw out the ingenious knack;
Meeting water, making a bridge, crossing over . . .


Several cloud-garments come over to plant black bamboo;
moistening those green stamens, 100,000 nodes.
Half-moon pool, water full;
frogs in a circle singing antiphonal style.
Outside the window spring wind turns to rain and cheers;
Inside a stove burning warm.
The Shepherd Boy rides his ox to the market;
echo silent country road, remote.
Wavering, not taking care;
destroying the illusory universe;
instantly leaving all phenomena.
Silver wing at night, speeding thru the firmament;
Stream water murmurs moonlight bathes ox’s head.
The Shepherd Boy idles away in ease;
Ending sentiment Spring Equinox, leading ox, smiling and yawning.


Clear blue sky wind brushes dust from the sleeves of the setting sun;
Mountain-filling red wind, the faithful waiting for the sun to burst into color.
Power of pure thoughts spiraling up in a favorable wind;
Desires quiescent in the unconscious mind, silently suppressing Saha sobs.
Spring wind blows off magical emanations obscuring fog rises in mountain valley;
a person from a distant place; why can’t he find the way home?
On a remote region of the sea a boat with a triangular sail enjoys the twilight.
From the ancient Milky Way the North Star
peeks out on the contemporary world clambering in the ten directions.
Rain and dew answer the naked self.
While meandering on the periphery of purity How is it
that the two hands habitually grasp the impurities of the eye?
Sad sobs, not knowing cause or result;
Idle sentiment, a sequence of ideas sweeps past an expression of understanding.
Lovely opera face ripples over lapis lazuli banners;
Due to amnesia, the fish are forever without defilement.
Heaven and earth pulls up its superb silvery curtain;
all that remains is a revolving horse lantern.
Fallen thought-seeds roll up ideas of 10,000 threads;
3,000 years later meeting the same condition—
instantly a tidal bore of every type of emotion;
how is it that the illusions of childhood always appear in a dream?
Lighting the lamp of wisdom, it’s possible to see 13 consecutive doors;
breaking through the fictitious net of delusion in a dream.


Ancient fir waving about a thousand fluttering green waves;
Hero in a savage world come to the new silk road in search of vestiges.
Colorful coral on the seabed playing with resplendent butterfly fish.
The light and spacious sound of the Shepherd Boy’s flute reverberates throughout the canyon;
Space a celestial drum with a boundless head;
struck by a mallet only in a dream.
A riprap wall singing to the wind;
never pausing.
Borsch on a charcoal fire, quite domineering one mouthful and the flavor remains for seven days.
Rural village one bamboo thicket, two rows of trees, three vegetable gardens, four paddy fields;
Consulting the heart, washing the mind, bathing the thoughts, cleansing consciousness;
Daily a self-portrait to see if
today yesterday, and tomorrow are all the same.
Digging the ground to look for the sky, treasure hunting on Spirit Mountain;
many decades up to the present, whereabouts unknown. . .
Dreaming of a person drifting on a skiff, in a lapse of vigilance, drawn into a whirlpool;
skiff turns into a white crane and lifts me into the sky;
seeing only countless peaks and deep blue water;
a blooming hibiscus tree clings to the fissures on a steep cliff.
Roaming clouds stacked high charging into cinnabar waves of dusk;
like a primordial jeweled candle, pure and eternal, in the scripture of the world sea.
Flame-seed forever bound to that brightest lamp within.
Essential nature revealed on Qingming Mountain wild lilies bloom on all sides!
Punting across a fragrant river lined with peach blossoms;
Lonely nose, by an invisible thread,
tethered to several peach trees on the opposite shore.
Wanting to be the master of all phenomena, yet presently unable to even draw a circle;
Dreaming of driving down the freeway, eyes closed.
Drowsy ears unimpaired yet
not hearing all the destruction going on outside.
A little child fantasizes about three-colored ice cream with thick chocolate;
A yogi makes bundles of grass and throws them into a flaming crucible.
Seeing forms as though real reactions creating the unreal;
Vain imaginings floating out of the sea of consciousness waves chasing the wind of the sense objects.
floodwaters fill the reed pond. . .
Chilly beach some surfing, others windsurfing.
A wild spindrift splashes the Youth’s face;
below his wet eyebrows and eyes;
celestial images like a screen enter.
Banquet by the sea spread with flowers ancient trees uniting the sky.
Pensive mood emitting fog in a mountain valley stupa of a tree spirit, towering gallery road;
floating clouds stacked up, covering the firmament.
Palace of Mara ever with a view on the sky;
The Wanderer stands next to a pine, just to photograph a nice memory.
Moon flying overhead, entering the stream to listen to its flowing song.
A solitary boat floating on the blue waters near the shore;
On a lone peak in the late night sky, a three-colored cloud
stops and recites the supreme mantra of great brightness;
Morning, sunrise Vernal Equinox has arrived.


Plow and hoe alternately enter the flowery path;
Wandering far and wide, yet never leaving the garden.
Heaven one leaf, earth one leaf kindness one leaf, beings one leaf;
waking up all leaves disappear!
High mountain, clouds collapse, road closed green pine path sealed;
Remote villages, going onwards, increasingly remote weeds getting thicker.
The Wanderer looks everywhere, but finds not that gem sewn into his lapel by his mother long ago;
The Visitor impatiently waits for his sweetheart in Eagle Valley, then leaves;
Bright northern lights still waver in the garden of dreams.
Night in a phantom forest, a miraculous story unfolds;
The Youth, originally keen on putting on a good pair of boots and climbing a mountain,
Completely not knowing that someone has secretly changed the script;
having him run into a reef in the sea of dreams.
Blue sky pine and cypress bridge the peaks of the sky.
Mysterious layered images appear in a the corridor of time ■■■
■■■■ in a future time-space, there is discovered
a secret from 3,000 years ago daily contained in
the red glow of the sun just before it drops behind the mountain.
In a deep and secluded valley someone tearfully complains—
“Why have yesterday’s dreams been forgotten?”
Sand storm like a surly black leopard kicking up the dusk;
stalking visitors from all over.
Particulate matter covering everything;
Gray sky welcomes Mara’s palace.
It’s said that on March 23 the whole world sleeps;
□□□□□□□
That strange creature of the unconscious mind caught in a silk net:
permeating and subverting the causes of the outflows.
Eyes skim over the past, present, and future;
three enfolded influences in the world.
Today on the road, meeting a stranger from the past in a doorway;
The master of the pavilion has a view looking out on 10,000 peaks.
Ice-bound volcano set off by a spiritual light;
Climbing Mount Lu, drinking tea fog as necessary companion.
No need to exaggerate liberation, still under the influence of chaotic emotion;
Heavy hearted to think that the buddha-spirit of old is gone for good;
why, after using affection to illuminate a splendid scene, again trying to seal it off?
Only seeing the children on the riverbank splashing each other with water;
cloud-waves touch the sky great sun sleeping high.
Far-ranging swallow finds not the way back;
Night-sky meteor shower, causing people to talk in their sleep.
Nightingale tugs sky and wind into singing a good mountain song welcoming the trees and peaks;
tonight a guest stays over.
An old wisteria fond of sitting in lotus posture clambering over objects;
Child riding a bicycle back and forth, then falling;
Hollaring!
Crashing right into a stop sign—

March 23–24, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 19 Sunken ∴ Blueprint
—Swallow Chirping next to a Bamboo Fence

Vernal Equinox living mountain, thick undulating fog;
purple lightning jolts the entire gorge.
Big cloud whistling opposite shore covered with fallen flower petals;
Garden with multicolored peach blossoms forming a splash-ink painting of an immortal.
Weaving a bamboo broom sweeping the dust off the eyebrows;
Memory not on par with reminiscence;
lofty sentiments taking emotion for a ride.
Nose suddenly groped by a snails outstretched antennae;
Tangram with nine rings, an ancient toy.
Boundless wisdom hidden at the center of an unnamed lake in the primordial chaos;
Modern little girl fond of chasing a balloon.
Imperishable sack of heaven and earth, giving off an innate energy;
Hollow shell ring seeking a mysterious finger.
Red-crested crane following the dance of the sun setting on the snowy land.
A spell conforms to the movement of the waves on the sea of consciousness, breaking through the sealed surface of the great sea.
Galloping horses enter a secret garden of childhood, then leave;
a tiny bird no longer sings.
From roads once traveled, past lives write out the future;
The future has innumerable channels;
in a digital web playing tricks on the wind and tide.
A small village where the fishing boats no longer go to sea as before;
that earlier vow already locked away in a gloomy old palace.
Buried in a barren desert for 3,000 years.
A pair of drunken eyes swaying in the glistening Milky Way.
Tonight on a bluish crag;
a gorgeous novel flower;
attracting that illusory wild beast;
Hissing and brandishing honey-tipped arrows.
Fangs and claws darkening the sky;
making compassion and joy lose their original color.
An endless road in a dream people scurry about;
colors of dusk gradually fade curtain of night drops.
A patient mother comforts a teary child to sleep.
Moon ascends its observation platform set atop the trees;
darkness gives birth to light.
This story spun in the night, how does it penetrate the spirit?
In the forest a blazing fire burns up a red rose;
And all things in the silent shout of the earth.
Rare sound of the celestial drum calls out from one end of the universe;
Sky-borne clouds sprint off.
Distant thunder repeatedly closes in;
Cold wind and frost crease the mother’s face throb of fear;
Impish child never quiets down.


Wax of time seals footprints
Dreams and innovative tricks
Sky weaves a blue curtain earth builds a green cage
Mountains outside Chinaberry tree blossoms,
the Wander sleeps below a grape trellis.
A bright consciousness rides the flower fragrance home in the moonlight
Contacting an object laying down a predisposition for memory incentives
Tears circulating in closed eyes
Sensory experience sets off a prairie fire in a virtual environment
Mind enslaved by form, image, sound, and color
instant bewildering illusion
Crystal wraps wisdom circle binds perspicacity
Both dispose of the food fried in an old pan!
Beautiful universe instantly turning into ruins
Old Lighthouse guides sails, no longer shines
Shipwrecks long covered with coral
Dance and song long made obsolete by solidification of time
Way of the heart sketched on both sides of the road
Thus come ↓↓↓↓↓
Thus gone ↑↑↑↑↑
Two kinds of tracks; on one, ideas run toward the past
on the other, ideas fly toward the future
Sometimes northwest rain accompanies southeast wind
Sometimes beautiful clear skies with dancing feathery light
If one can hold one’s ground with respect to objects, marks, events, and things
White snow will fall, covering sky and cinnabar rain.


A global village containing billions of people
Saha world, a candle lit in each nest
Salesman of the ten directions and three times using lovely words to tell a lovely story
Billions of ears drawn in by delicate and pure notes
Intrinsic enlightenment, like a crystal diamond eternally shining within
Initial enlightenment, like a bright emerald illuminating sentient beings
See that desert wilderness where some time ago
A stunning hibiscus began to bloom
On the beach a conch coming and going with the spindrift
News from home, competing, transmitted from the depths of the sea
Bright spirit of a bosom friend ever present in the expression in the eyes
Playful response, worry; “Thus have I heard” as the point of entry
I smile at a flower, receiving a lovely fragrance in return
dream last night, not finding him anywhere
but now meeting him in the post-rain foggy mist
Counting breaths, nose enters a cold, cold awakening
Compassionate mind instantly illuminates the lost amnesiac Wanderer
East wind moving graceful flowers
Dawn and sunset smearing color everywhere
dreamy eternal memory from an intermittent cycle
Modern people seeking to recover past events, to find a positioning
A deity of the past relates a legend to a dream of the future
A secret door leading to the heart of heaven, always existing everywhere
How is it that the ivy-woven fence blocks the east wind carrying away the flowers’ scent?


The Youth enters deep into the mountains to learn how to gather firewood
Two buckets of water on one shoulder going up bamboo steps
two moons in the rolling water, left and right
A variation on an ancient Saha rhyme trips his two feet
Waiting for dawn several eagles circling over a summit
Blue skies hosting clouds with foreknowledge of the coming storm
Any of the 48 tribulations
Bodhisattva eyes full of compassion
Mountain covered with cherry trees, petals falling into a rushing river
if they remember one another, the moment attains eternity
Meditation, closing the domain of delusion
Samadhi, forbidding wonderful thoughts from entering into the treasury of the phantom city
There is a square inside a circle
six lines extending infinitely from within
Moonlit creek throws up thousand-foot waves passing by
last night, the earth was covered with gold foil
∴ has an outer profile of fours sides and eight directions
After three thousand stars hide in a hazy moon
○ there is a circle dividing inner and outer
Innate city of sincere brightness encounters dust storms
Five boys from the south
One fond of watching the sunrise one fond of chasing the sunset
another fond of sailing out to sea
The other two absurdly hiding in the boat of the last quarter moon in a luxuriant growth of grass.


Homeland of contingent objects landslide in the dense forest of wisdom
Mysterious ancient plank road engulfed in a whirlwind of fire
thousand recumbent mountains adrift on the ocean
Pond in the dark night flashing a magical concept
Dew before dawn, passing the night on glossy leaves
Excellence of a mountain paper window opens to reveal a painting of sea and clouds
Spirit of water today wanting to step on the brake, again to no avail
Tree deity conjured rainbow on a blue screen
Brightness of a flower espousing restoration of ancient culture, yet daily wearing the latest fashion
Host outside, guest inside; you, me, and him like the legs of a tripod
Three thousand three hundred twenty-two steps in twos and threes, recalling the beach from sunset to sunrise
—all because the footprints are fixed by the night.
Affection manifests outwardly Love arises from inner feeling
Emotion, reason, and understanding partitioned into three
Spindrift and white snow, fond of endless involvement in color
Pollen filling the sky, arranging with the willow catkins to accompany the southerly wind and learn how to swim like a fish
Dreamer outside dreamed of inside
phantom cities endlessly recreated
Secret charcoal stamen at the core, the ignition point of tacit understanding
Wings of delusion on patrol, discovering a mass of ignorance in the net of desire
From the subconscious mind, drifting shadows automatically form into a borderless blueprint of ∴
Two palms join together ten rays of brilliant light which gracefully enter the lapis lazuli world of wondrous sound
An objectless thought turns out three thousand kinds of delusions
waiting to ambush the six sense doors from all sides
Dreamed meteor tours the universe eighty-four thousand times in an instant
sprinkling subtle seed-flames throughout the ten directions and three times
An eagle’s sharp talons make off with the mind of the newborn baby
swallow chirping beside the bamboo fence
Water marks reflecting layered mountain rolling up year after year.


Historic home collecting old memories
solitary moon on a frosty night calls out to the cold
Dew collector with a volume of fragrant rain
Bit by bit a village boy tirelessly builds it a thousand times
The Youth creates a beautiful realm in the peach grove
night crossing in a dream ─
Woken by the sound of an early morning flute
arising and ceasing, droplets of water condense on a cobweb
Waves embracing the clouds, fond of clambering into the sky
until immortality ......
Ten million blossoming buds welcome the sky
Green leaves by the trillion, neatly arranged, waving
moving over a bench, climbing on to see
Spring bluebirds on the treetops in the hills convoke a summit.

March 25–27, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 20 Five Birds and 12 Moons in between 13 Trees in Park Number Seven
—Dream Spool of the Painter and the Bagpiper

Cuff of the breeze lightly blows through the peach orchard
bright red buds appear in a moment
East wind touches the heels of the gem tree
Southerly wind swirling upward
Northwest rain flutters down over the mountain
Wish-fulfilling tree in the sky turns into Libra
scale unable to move that supple mist
Fog cloud lightning thunder
turning round the wheel of time twisting heaven and earth
Primordial chaos tacit understanding ensconced in the bright sky
Flower drops, lotus grows morning rain still dropping
The evening breeze still blows
White cloud wraps up red sun, hides it away in a secret
Golden drum rolls up spring wind, concealing it in the Milky Way
Tears‧return to zero transparent
Like a swallow‧gliding pure spirit
dreamless sleep
The gods inhabit a quiet realm beyond the sky above, a solitary chime
Once again waking up in the peach grove of charming demeanor shining bright.


A candle lit in a deep valley, fancy of the abbot
illusion night sky with faint ephemeral light
Moon filled with a new directive ─
Underground, an exotic seed about to sprout
Depths of the sea sequestering a mountain range formed millions of years ago
Waves of consciousness lurking in latent inspiration, flowery, fog-like
Flaming charcoal doused with cold water, cementing into ice
patch of twilight red feigning transparency
White edges of high peaks standing side by side lined up like camels
Snow-broth of an iceberg turns into a flowing milk spring
receiving the charming eternal love song composed by the moon and the brook
Green stones are not seen in a pristine rainforest, only long wet garments
A thousand-layered crag on the shore, folded rock pages storing away time
Colorful arched bridge set off against a waterfall
The muddy road of the five turbidities
tens of millions of feet contending to step through forty-eight gates
Temptation or confusion?
acting or playing?
How is it that each pushes, crushes, and grinds?
Last night Kaohsiung old train station at midnight, the last train out
carrying a group of people reluctant to let go of the old
Utterly unaware that cloud and wave soar all because heaven loves to make blustery wind
Spring returns to the earth boundless new flowers eagerly showing off
Sea of foolish dreams stirs up a mighty dust storm
shadowing bright perception and inspired ideas
Wisdom’s range of visibility returns to zero
suddenly eighty-four thousand weeds spring up
Instantly turning into kudzu vines binding up the venerable immovable one within
Lonely and desolate wild lilies surrounded by the high-handed earth
sleepless all night
a kind of obsessive memory gradually becoming ignorance ...
Tonight gone to the roof to watch for meteors
a type of impression quietly forgotten, quietly forgotten, turning into dullness ...
Naked vault of heaven, a sheet of pure color
Rich old woman at home every day, counting the number of wrinkles on her face
At home on the mountain, Grandma Incense daily chants in praise of that eternal flame of truth
Forest closed at night, by day birds come to play
Haughty wind and rain make the earth overly somber
Glittering foam after a summer afternoon thunderstorm
still flashing like a meteor
Wandering insects bent down, climbing from leaf to leaf
Butterfly scouring the flowers, moving from blackberry lily toward the camellias
Spreading wings and floating in the air, large birds concentrate and halt in the sky
nosediving from peak to peak.


Riverbank watercolorist painting a landscape
On one end of a bridge a bagpiper imitates the whistling birds
The night comes, all alone, deep sleep no thoughts
Why is it that we meet again in a dream?
A boy says he can keep his two lips shut,
How can a pair of ears block out external sound?
Gnat kept out by the window
─ sand flows out of a seam ─
Who stole the old person’s memories, rolling up dreams of former times?
Dreaming of an owl in the middle of the night
black bats contest for joys and delusions
Who connived to let that wild horse of desire dance all over the barren hills?
The Youth fond of searching for himself
But can he hear his own muttering mind?
Who can follow that spiral pathway leading to the center?
every little girl is a little princess in the hearts of her parents
Ancient creatures in a deep sea, resembling lapis lazuli‧king crab thinking
Forest of coral‧clownfish also thinks ......
Curious, the Traveler drills a hole in ancient glacial ice in search of fish
Child using a wooden ladle to scoop water to quench the thirst of the small fish
dreaming I see fallen leaves covering the mountain, chasing the wind
Appearing and disappearing in the ten directions gorgeous colors fill the sky
Really wanting to face the sky and cry out:
let color return to its original color let space return to original space!
Instantly an idea falls into the galaxy
an idea comes to the unshakable Kingdom of Miaozhan
sound of a rain drop comes in on a foreign wind
Scent of sandalwood floats up from the flowing water on the bank
a white-browed drunkard slightly opens his eyes winning half a night’s dream
There are rumors of a remote corner of the sea where Arcadia is found
beyond the mountains, where everything suits the occasion a good place where it’s always spring
Light up the long-wicked candle and illuminate the world-sea of the universe
Take up a spotless flower and cover your eyes block out all sights
Following the water-mirror, the daylight twists along to inquire about the glen
red orb of the sun moves in thru the green window to wake up the fairies of daylight
Trying to pinch a notion falls into a circular corner
Trying to turn concepts pass through a secret treasury of three points and turn into an all-pervasive mantra
Already slow-witted pillow-side memories unable to depict that original native place
Wandering manuscript of yearning still retained in that dreamlike scene
Gorgeous snow scene, peach blossoms of unrivalled beauty white with white, the most discerning
Baby in a cradle looking up to the sky
Swathed in silk, people don’t see beyond themselves
Ignorance and confusion as the cause dreamlike images suspended in space three thousand years
from all the bubble-like phenomenon picked up by the antennae of wisdom
Forever existing in the present moment.


Obscuration Who divided the pristine rainforest into so many pieces of tofu?
Illumination Who is that in the glen picking up a black feather but forgetting about the torch in his hand?
Silence multistoried mansion, all doors open, visitors coming, going, and coming again
Contributory cause moon roundest on the 15th of the lunar calendar
In Park No. 7 there appear between the trees 12 moons
and 5 birds
happily soaring up
Wish-fulfilling tree in the sky
─ tacit understandings tugging on one another.
Awareness cause basket of hearts in an endless dream garden
Laurel tree, each blossom rolling up heavy thoughts
Coming to Echo Valley, listening to one’s own heartfelt aspirations
Back home, a mother misses her child wandering abroad
Direct cause folding doors opening‧losing a chaotic sky
River with waves like gilt heaps of snow
Door of mutual containment opens‧taking in the pure lands of the ten directions
Children wondering what time today will be tomorrow
Provisional lapis lazuli bamboo turning in the wind
Excited roc soars into the vast fog ......
yet unable to grasp that red ball before it drops away
Emptiness the spring rain fell in love with the green screen
fruits growing on trees hugging a great cliff fall into a haystack
Brimming waves hit the shore and turn into a pair of wet shoes
Center crops growing according to the farming manual of the four seasons
Spring, summer, fall, and winter secretly turning atop a marvelous peak
outside the clouds a solitary moon
Arising worrying that knowledge and vision will be engulfed by the sandstorm of ignorance
Ceasing going over a collection of illustrative plates of ancient kites in an old book cabinet
lost three thousand years ago, a mysterious fire-washed fabric and a jasper-bone flute
Usual day, quiet and bright
daylight removes the curtain in front of the arch of the heavens
Last year a northwest rain intoxicated all the maples on the mountain
Moon like a gold curved bow
eyes retaining a ghost of centuries past
Today kudzu vines block the road
Fabric of the Milky Way, a golden sand with magical properties
Ravine so deep you can’t see the sky
Clamor of the ten directions, waves bypassing the ears ......

—March 28 and 30, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 21 The Power of a Single Wise Thought

Inn at dusk Sunset moving beds to both sides
Guests come and piece together three thousand three hundred fifty-five dreams
Teary expression flashing desolation
The Wanderer passes a sleepless night, nothingness circling a green pillow
Mysterious conditions wrapped around the edge of the night sky
The number of days up to now
─ fallen into fifteen hundred days
Startled, again in a vast temple ...
A boundless treasure hidden deep in the pages of a book of purple jade
Palm-leaf volumes, light containing subtle flowing sound
By day portraying yin by night embracing yang
Dream inverting upside down dream
Wonderland repeatedly reproduced
Sounds of the outside world entering the ears emerging from the mouth, stained
Inside staggered wind coming without form, going without
Outer phenomena like rain after the shower a rainbow appears in the azure sky
Under the sunset, countryside stoves puffing smoke
A bed bug flies in front of the door of a wealthy family and releases an evil stench
Coming back to his senses, the Wanderer sees his own footsteps
wondering if they are printed in mud water or space
Insects attracted by the light tapping on the glass all because their squinted eyes can’t see what’s above
Three eagles circling in the sky twisting and turning before taking a side road
There is a small piece of land supporting billions of people
cords of karma obstructing their freedom,
interacting conditions converging in the moment of a cough
The life force is like sowing seeds and waiting for a miracle
In a moment of wisdom
delusion completely returns to the source.


Tonight the stars over the hilltop are particularly numerous
quietly revealing tomorrow's world
Midnight coast flaunting mysterious moonlight
softly pointing out a symbol of the coming century
Silent mountain forest gurgling echo of spring water in the empty valley
a cipher pervading the entire universe
Withered bamboo fence spread with old vines
Green leaves sewn into a curtain a safflower serving as master
He observes the world-sea galaxy and strides into the ten gates of profundity
In the early days in dialogue with me
Above the clouds, drawing a circle and painting a sail
Pacific east coast, rain, fog and sea woven
blue-tinted water-sky mirror of that magnificent mountain
Birds using the amplitude modulation force of their wings
diving or freely circling in space
The lonely Traveler sinks into a nostalgic dream of home
returning again and again, year after year
Destructive power of fire
a dream of the future baptizes the rebirth of past memories
Yet even the water of eight merits can’t remove the stubborn stains of karma clinging to the mind
A group of swifts cuts thru the evening twilight
vying to piece up the colored plumes of the evening glow
Foam from the sea flying up in the wind before dropping down
accidentally pierced by the new-born buds
Lightning brushes past the sense of vision
eyes archiving delusive memories
Charcoal embers touch off a conflagration of ignorance
Heart following objects presently mired in tribulation
Chain of major reversals thunder rumbling the sky
lightning flashes, instantly releasing the shutter, recording the universe!
Heavy rain for several days, twig with buds of spring flowers quietly stitching a spring scene
Muller’s barbets shuttling thru crevices in the rain curtain, hiding amongst the banana leaves
Ancient tree growing by leaps and bounds in a single season
Silver-haired grandmother vows to spend her twilight years under an old banyan
Childhood memories seem to sprout thoughts of home, concentrated nostalgia
Tea cup, taste fading away charcoal embers still sparkling
Silent expression of the night sky
Guest or host? Still distracted ......


Millennium hospitality, yet to return
on the road home, who will go hand in hand
Daily pacing with measured steps
Not that the wife is impatient just afraid that the dream may be lacking
empty memory becomes the past
At that time the conditions were in place for the Vulture Peak assembly
today wondering where to find it
Trusty hands paint Rivers and Mountains Without End
selecting a special spot and building a gazebo‧waiting
Crossing over a maglev track of empty form
─ encountering dream images of waking and sleep
Who is merciful in the virtual city
An unknown tree full of blossoming yellow flowers
Tender-tasseled gilded buds with five cinnabar seals
Light rain quietly consoles the earth
Three rings of a solitary chime wakes the silent emptiness
Spring wind does not raise dust every day clear and bright
Wooden fish gently knock off the chains of the heart
Fishing harbor with a passenger ship sailing out at night returning in the morning
every day sending a raft to shore
Spring gushing out of an ancient ravine wind entering into the rock crevices
Newly fallen petals playing on the water
Fresh shoots tease the clouds
turning, turning, turning inverted views
All beings of the three times and ten directions have the same dream
flying, flying, flying carried by the wind without direction
Chinese bulbul on the end of a tree branch, wondering who will play host tonight
chaos, chaos, chaos weeds of ignorance cover the sky
The Visitor and the Traveler meet again under the moon
Brothers not recognizing one another
dancing, dancing, dancing moon lightly prancing on fingertips
Safflower bends down to ask a green leaf for directions
Blue sky offers clear water to the gods for bathing.


White heart boundless
Wondering when the butterfly flew south
In the north a magical moth barges in
In the east there comes a frog
In the west the trailing buzz of a cicada
Butterfly transforms into a lovely dream
Moth chants a powerful mantra
Frog musters up his courage and walks through the silent town
Cicada buzzes open a bright hub
playing out its super-fast rhythm
Under the moonlight the spider of the five turbidities spins a web in the night sky
plucking eighty-four thousand heartstrings, heaven and earth and the eight trigrams notwithstanding
touching the far-ranging Wanderer
Suddenly a meteor breaks thru the misty sky
six kinds of earthquakes shake
White heart, still boundless white
Obscuration thundering applause invading the sea of the ​​spirit
rolling waves of desire philander with the venerable immovable one within
Illumination source belongs to mountain, belongs to the sea, belongs to the blue sky, belongs to the white clouds
spring of purity accompanies the sacred tree eagle guarding the gorge
silence breeze of the three times halts, not mingling between breaths
raindrops of the ten directions and weeping dew, mutual consonance interlinked
Ancient moss on a wonderful peak never slips down but always goes up
first gain a foothold in a solemn vow
Trace park with other peaks, spring sights, Qingming
waiting for the Autumnal Equinox to stop receiving guests planning to set off early tomorrow
Origin Felicity Guanyin’s smile summons up gorgeous waves in the eastern sea
willow branches in her hands turning into three rainbows, dazzling the universe.


Saha south whirling dance using phenomena to foretell the future
Heart, always thinking about the ups and downs of the chisel on wood
busy, not knowing when to stop ... pondering without pause ......
due to the force of desire, accomplishing
Goals, mostly keeping in mind attention from others
hoping that all the stars in the galaxy will leave a record of me in the pages of history
Flowing in consciousness, current result of a vow from a previous life
Clouds flirting with heaven and earth, raining inside a circle
wind from abroad cruising throughout the universe
Using the word “me” to write about myself; yet losing my other self
Scenes of a childhood hometown flash in a dream
hallucinations drift past virtual eyes
Using the word “you” to describe you in the present;
But discovering that there is another you
encamped in the heart-palace of the opulent phantom city
The child said: "In last night's dream
I became a blue bird and flew up to the branches!"
All his thoughts are about himself
He rides a golden drum to the august Vulture Peak assembly, still in session
Dharma-eye scans over the sea of consciousness, ten powers of mindfulness
escorting the Scion Drifter back to his true home
The Wanderer takes an endless bus trip to have a look at each station
The Traveler waiting in the station repeatedly checking his wrist watch for the time ...
My old father, seeing that recently my belly has shrunk a bit exhorts me to eat more
Contributory-cause password of youth: 1972 10 683
Flushed red fresh leaves, each containing an incremental memory
1974 7 24 63306 bright branches waving about.


Daytime‧daily essentials, a brick, a shard, sand, gravel
a pair of feet and hands matching them up
See that purple rhododendron standing in between a pair of dragonflies painted red
Night overcast‧opening a door, converting time and space
Finding that the current century is the starting point of an old universe
Because the clean bright gem-mirror has been covered by dust and turned into an earth wall
when the eight winds blow they bring down an avalanche ......
The collapsed mud wall disintegrates and returns to earth
Snow fields return to water
Gnosis like a snail daily slowly climbing step by step
Nightly sincere and bright like the north sea tortoise coursing thru the depths
Door curtains sewn by his sweetheart, rolling up a beautiful dream
Food still in mouth, the Youth starts to think about the next time he will have that taste
Spear and shield turn into a pair of lovers singing a duet in the moonlight
Solitude and loneliness
─ mirror of consciousness in the ancient palace of the galaxy.
□□□□□□□□□□□□□

March 31, April 8–9, 2002
== back to top ==

Book 22 The Traveler’s Awakening
—Original Emblem of Wisdom

Movement misty vapor condensing into fresh dew
Advance and retreat rolling waves of thought
Outside the French windows, poinciana
brilliant scarlet flowers with shallots
spring wind blowing over countless verdant peaks
Towards sunset the Surfer approaches a wave
a feathery red glow trails across the surface of the sea
illusory scenes derailed from the track of the spirit
Roadshow of love, a reunion under the moonlight
collected by the foam, together returning to silence
Green willow branches wavering, countless
bamboo pole in front bamboo pole in back
A teenager rafting in the jet stream
riverbank villagers drumming overnight
Spring has arrived! Children in the countryside rambling out in boisterous crowds
Little bitty bugs hiding flying with the willow catkins
Big, big, big whale racing in the eastern waters
March 31, record of an earthquake 6.8 in strength
the cow of the open sea off Hualian turning around
I wait in the waiting room of the Songshan Airport
Instantly surprised by the expression on the faces of all the travelers
Suddenly a child’s innocent crying
brings everyone back their senses
Sense faculties meet a catalyst and the blood begins to boil
Chasing after sense objects, the latest fashion oblivious to the original benchmark
the full stop is the ancient lighthouse of the ten directions
Ear chases sound, fond of embellishing thunder rumbles
earth silent ......
Listening to a solitary chime, spacious; not adding any interpretation
passing above, red clouds blossoming on the flowing waves
Muse riding a horse galloping thru space, chasing the eastern wind
Heaven does not net the earth immaculate and free
how is it that wherever the source is met it turns into an impediment?
The Youth of yesteryear presently loses his way in the lovely snowy mountains
In the sky the wise yi bird closely follows his shadow,
as though not going back
At dusk wild geese fly high opening the night curtain
pressing the shutter of the stars ─
universe instantly overtaken by chaos
The goddess Nuwa opens an earthen jar
boiling the night into dumpling dreams
for the far-ranging wanderers in a foreign land.


Inside a sack holding the Wind Pavilion, a full-scale drama universe now being staged
Monarch butterfly, no match for the winter snow
Dragonfly touching down on water, the Traveler’s sleep dashed to pieces
Muller’s barbet tapping the wooden fish, an offering
One who is bitter ships in a container of boxes filled with sadness
One who would play the clown must borrow some humor from childhood memories
Patting a child’s chest and counting: 1, 2, 3, 4; don’t be frightened.
In an old-growth rainforest, waiting for a full three thousand springs
The Scion Drifter resting his head on a stout root, falls asleep, dreaming
depending on branch and leaf, climbing into a scene three thousand years past
Swing woven from former times sways in the wind
Old stone wall on the opposite shore, accompanying the sound of the wind, all night sobbing
Rustic wooden clogs stamp out a tap dance
On the highway a pair of running shoes runs a marathon
Rocky spine of a mountain, air-sole shoes clamber upwards
In the city, ten toes under a mask,
draping on shimmering golden waves of black and white
Open mouth twitching, spurring the horse, whipping a shadow, anguished words
Two ears taking sound for a joy ride, not knowing how to return
Five fingers unpracticed in the ways of the lyre
A pair of celestial feet step on the gorgeous mud of the five turbidities
Nominal mountains and water, turned into thick earth walls
Downturned mouth, tying down a melancholy sky
Eyebrows binding five Mount Sumerus lingering in the air
Desire exiled to a border city
thrown by the waves onto the shore of ignorance
Eyes in autumn waves, pacing in reverse
Nose allergic to the flowers of spring
A kind of love, a kind of sentiment, a kind of dream make the world go round
shrouding heaven, shrouding earth shrouding past memories
Shrouding the sun, shrouding the moon shrouding future fantasy
Shrouding heaven, shrouding earth shrouding gnosis in the present moment
Fool in the paint bucket, selling chaos,
accidentally falling into the pond in the heaven of five moons─
Saying goodbye to myths of yesterday meeting with the legends of tomorrow
who is it who restored the virtual memory chips?
Set up a mirror then observe yourself
that mercurial face.


Spring Equinox birds on top an olive tree chant a sacred mantra
In the pleasure grove of object-contingent mental factors cicada cries move a wind chime
delicate stepping stones covered with moss
a small white flower floats in front of a blue cliff
Old suspension bridge swaying back and forth
having missed the white-cloud train, the master of the natural world puts up here tonight
The convoluted Great Resting Stalactite has six apertures
Serving as six stone benches where the birds play chess
Not even a fool would try to cook sand
stored grain unpounded tonight we’ll have to go hungry
The Visitor doesn’t take clambering on conditions as his self-nature
Farmstead of moral character choked by the weeds of ignorance
How, then, shall you and I and him live in peace?
Blooming wild lilies, pleated skirt of five petals, turns into a mouth
turned outward, expounding the wondrous sound of the universe to deaf ears
Frog observing a dry pond, urging a farmer to call it a night
Aborigines dance and sing, praying, offering all their sincerity to 2002
Palm-leaf fans sitting on the futon
young monk meditating on the side of a stone
tempest rises on the sea of consciousness ......
Red-glowing divination sticks lit up by lightning
Mind-horse riding great waves, hunting for an ichthyosaur
Every night placing a new huatou in a storage closet
White snow piled up on the crest of a wave
Delusions oozing out of silent fissures
leaving a signature on the mind, on the romantic lake of a newborn baby
Washed moon, bright sky, lifting mist
Tacit understanding, soaking in by virtue of the remnants of a dream
placing a stamp on the sea of true nature.


Desolate winter of leaves spring comes again
Emblem of innate wisdom slightly uneasy ......
A single pole carrying two bags
An inch of light, an inch of shadow a thousand feet of blue, ten thousand yards of green
There is a cobweb, revealing traces of time
Abbot’s room
containing mountains and sea‧wind and rain
heaven and earth
a beautiful undertaking.
Solemn heart, a long drive into the night sky, straight into the spring equinox
Canyon and cliff clear meandering stream
Rain forest with dappled sunlight like threads of water
Pond with multiple copies of the moon
The Traveler imbibes the morning sunlight, slowly wiping away last night’s dream
Face of an innocent child, why so dejected?
because a small ant asked him for a leaf for crossing the river
A giant silk worm catches his eye
cocoon wrapping up one thousand burdens and ten thousand doubts
Truth and beauty, outside shaking hands
Secondary rainbow about to embrace a colorful ice crystal
carefully peeling the thin silk cocoon and slowly drawing out tying and binding
weaving a multilayer "human sarong."
□ □ □ □ □ □ □


See those wooded peaks holding up the starry sky
Two tall ginkgo trees hanging a bell
old wisteria climbing a tree house
Who painted the earth so dark?
Rime following the sunrise, putting on the dance of the water
Momentary‧moment of thought
turning into invisible walls, apperceiving according to conditions
fading out fading in
Wide-open blue sky falling into the center of the water
Trees laden with scarlet fruit
daylight calls the birds for breakfast
Under bright sunshine tender leaves covered with optical fibers
After several storms, turning round
turning into green leathery leaves
Last autumn lying on the fallen red leaves
Tonight passing over illusions
Dream of mind and consciousness turning into butterflies and soaring up ......
Early summer glossy leaves again refurbished
a heatwave bears down on the sea of the spirit
Sandy beach wrapping up waves
oh fish don’t come ashore
Sound of the tide wafting in the wind
scattered everywhere wrapped around wisdom
attracting waves of whale watchers!
Apologizing, it’s the mind of childhood
Some people love to move the seat covered in kudzu vine, looking for trouble
It’s said that on the Autumnal Equinox if you visualize a golden drum
Then you will be able to freeze the current moment
take hold of an eternal inner remembrance ─

April 9–10, 2002
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Postscript
Concerning the South—
The Flower-adornment Sutra and Manjusri Pointing South
By Yu Hsi

"South" is a flowing lyrical reverie describing a beautiful stately world. This world of sentient beings, this vast display of dazzling color, is reminiscent of Tao Yuanming’s romantic paradise, full of lovely mountains, wandering streams, flowered pavilions under the moon ...... tracks of birds in the air, trails of fish in the water, the bright moon over the mountains, a gentle breeze on the sea—all uniquely enchanting.


This metaphysical treasure chest of infinite transformation is the ideal realm of the people living on this blue planet. For this stately world of profound beauty is not silent and desolate, but rather a prosperous place bustling with creativity, ever new. In the scriptures of Mahayana Buddhism this world is often referred to as “Sahā,” which can be freely translated as "tolerance” or “endurance." In Buddhist cosmology Mount Sumeru is at the center of the cosmos, and is surrounded by four continents; the one in the south is Jambudvipa, our own world of defilement and tribulation which stands in stark contrast to the Western Pure Land. Yet, despite its confusing complexity, this blue planet provides the ideal conditions for spiritual growth.

Successfully navigating thru this majestically diverse blue space requires lots of wisdom; then it is possible to freely dwell in this vast expanse of wonders as long as one chooses! ...... By virtue of this wealth of wisdom, the sublimely beautiful Flower-adornment realm came into being.


Human beings—be they past, present, or future—always harbor an innate yearning for their native place, the ideal state of ultimate beauty which is to be attained by the cultivation of wisdom. Practicing and perfecting this art of living results in a state of perfect harmony free of obstacles. Deeply coursing in wisdom, one experiences perfect harmony in any situation; this is the essence of “Manjusri Pointing South.” Thru the attainment of such practical wisdom, one arrives at the place of ultimate beauty and truth, enters into unity with everything in the boundless universe, and gains insight which penetrates into the delicate beauty and magnificence of life.


The Flower-adornment Sutra transmits these profound spiritual teachings on the ideal way of life. “Manjusri Pointing South” is like an ancient compass ever pointing towards the truth inherent in this fickle and complex blue planet, leading people to true happiness that never fades, regardless of country and lifestyle. This is the practical wisdom which can only be brought to full perfection in the south, the Saha world of endless change!


An ancient village on the bank of the Ganges; clear and joyful flavor of life, extent in the south, revealing the essential wisdom of life—the Vulture Peak assembly is still in session, deeply fragrant Zhaozhou tea.


December 15, 2002
The premier of “The Flower-adornment Song”
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