Apr 30 2017
The gorge is long rocks,
and rocks and rocks,
jut up,
The torrent's wide,
reeds almost hid the other side.
The moss is slippery
even without rain.
The pines sing:
the wind is real enough.
Who's ready to leap free
of the worlds' traces:
come sit with me among white clouds?
— Han shan (8th c)
Apr 29 2017
Translating Holy Books

We go unwinding the woof
from the web of meaning.
Words of the sutras
day by day come forth.
Head on, we chase the mystery
of the dharma.
— Hui Yung (4th-5th c)
Apr 28 2017
Slant light igniting cliffs never lasts long,
And echoes vanish easily in forest depths:
Letting go of sorrow returns us to wisdom,
Seeing the inner pattern ends attachment.
O but to set out on the sun’s dragon chariot
And soar; that’s solace to nurture my spirit,
For these aren’t things people understand:
I need to talk them over with a true sage.
— Hsieh Ling-yun (385-433)
Apr 27 2017
The trail is dangerous
Among snowy, silent peaks.
With the Master gone,
Who goes this way to meditation?
Dust slowly gathers
On the tea table;
Before his death,
Tree colors already had changed.
The pagoda stands
In blowing pines;
Footprints fade
Along the roaring stream.
Passing by the grieving temple,
The tiger
Hears the sutra,
Weeps.
— Chia Tao (779-843)
Apr 26 2017
Far up this cold mountain,
A steep rocky trail
Leads to places men dwell
In white clouds.

I stop my horse-drawn cart,
Sit and enjoy sunset through the maples,
Whose frosted leaves are redder
Than early spring flowers.
— Tu Mu (803-852)
 
 
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