ONE WHO RISES,
RISES OF HIMSELF,
ONE WHO FALLS,
FALLS FROM HIMSELF.
AUTUMN DEW, SPRING BREEZE —
NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY INTERFERE.
REMAIN APART,
THE WORLD IS YOURS —
A BUDDHA IN THE FLESH.
THE FLUTE WITHOUT HOLES
IS THE MOST DIFFICULT TO BLOW
CICADA — DID IT
CHIRP TILL IT
KNEW NOTHING ELSE ?
FIRST FROST.
MY WAY LIES NORTHEAST
FACING THE STARS.
A WINTRY GUST
DISAPPEARS AMID THE BAMBOOS
AND SUBSIDES TO A CALM.
THE MIND CANNOT
BECOME THE BUDDHA;
THE BODY CANNOT
BECOME THE BUDDHA.
ONLY WHAT CANNOT BECOME THE BUDDHA
CAN BECOME THE BUDDHA.
BUTTERFLIES SETTING OUT
TO CROSS THE SEA,
HAVE DISAPPEARED:
MY SELF COMES BACK TO ME.
DON'T ASK WHY THE PINE TREES
IN THE FRONT GARDEN
ARE GNARLED AND CROOKED.
THE STRAIGHTNESS
THEY WERE BORN WITH
IS RIGHT THERE INSIDE THEM.