In three huts have I dwelt this life,
But one mystic light has shone
To create a myriad of leisured states.
Do not test me with tales of right and wrong,
I have no truck with the floating life
Of forced fact and this and that.
There's nothing strange in mundane matters,
— Pang Yun
Harmony is the key.
No need for choice or gain or loss
But keep one's nature true.
Scarlet and purple differ but in name,
No dust stains the hills.
Enlightenment's mystic power
Is drawing water and hewing wood.
The single door that opens to the hills makes two,
— Bai Juyi (772-846)
Two temples were once the same.
From the east the streams run west to mingle
And from southern hills rise northern clouds.
Flowers bloom in front
But at rear are seen.
Bells above are heard below
And I think of my masters' meditation place,
Where cassia flowers drift down one by one.
All creation sounds of itself
— Wei Yingwu (731-791)
But space is still forever.
Sound springs from stillness
And to stillness returns.
I enter the old temple at dawn
— Chang Jian (708-765)
As the rising sun shines upon the lofty pines.
Through the bamboos a secluded path winds
To a Zen court in the depths of flowers and trees.
The birds rejoice in the mountain air
And reflected pools cleanse the heart.
The hubbub of the world is hushed
But the bell's chime lingers on.