Jun 18 2017
Do not sweep the fallen leaves,
For they are pleasant to hear on clear nights
In the wind, they rustle, as if sighing;
In the moonlight, their shadows flutter.
They knock on the window to wake a traveler;
Covering stairs, they hide moss.
Sad, the sight of them getting wet in the rain;
Let them wither away deep in the mountains.
— Kim Shi Sup (1435-1493)
Jun 17 2017

A Buddhist Retreat

In the pure morning, near the old temple
Where early sunlight lights the tree tops,
My path has wound, through a sheltered hollow
Of boughs and flowers, to a Buddhist retreat.
Here birds are alive with mountain light,
And the mind touches peace in a pool,
A thousand sounds are quieted
By the breathing of a temple bell.

— Ch’ang Chien
Jun 16 2017
Lake water enters the bamboo fence,
Mountains surround the cottage.
A recluse’s life avoids this world.
The unused door hides behind
A green moss hue;
When a stranger passes,
The white birds fly in alarm.
Selling herbs, I taste and comp
But charge no price.
I do some gardening,
But love to do it unplanned.
Why is the wooded path leading
To T’ien-chu monastery
Still in autumn
Deeply dreaming in blue?
— Lin Pu
Jun 15 2017
All my life I have yearned for true reclusion,
Days on end sought wonders beyond this world:
Here old peasants enter their fields at dawn,
And mountain monks return to their temples at night.
Clear sounds come from pine-shaded springs,
Mossy walls filled with ancient truths.
I will lodge on this mountain forever,
I and the world are done with each other.
— Meng Hao-jan
Jun 14 2017
A bamboo path leads through the First Stage
Where the City of Illusion appears from Lotus Peak.
Up in its windows all Ch’u is encompassed,
Above its forests Nine Rivers lies level.
Pliant grasses accepted for sitting meditation,
Tall pines echo with sutra chanting.
Then dwelling in void, beyond the Clouds of Law,
Observe the World, attain Non-Life.
— Wang Wei
 
 
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