The master ascended the platform. A monk asked, "The Buddhas of the three times turn the great Dharma wheel within the flames. Is this truly so?" The master laughed heartily and said, "I have my doubts about that." The monk asked, "Why does the master have doubts?" The master replied, "Wild flowers scent the path with fragrance, yet the secluded bird knows not the spring." The monk bowed and said, "Today I have met my match."
The Master then said: Willow buds vie in beauty, wind and mist blend in splendor. Where not yet revealed, spring's hues subtly shift; before sprouting, they secretly dye the stream's glow. On cold cliffs, woodcutters sing ballads; at wild river crossings, fishermen drum their bellies. Therefore it is said: When upright, the dragon holds rare treasure; when biased, the crane nests in a silver cage. Now tell me, without falling into upright or biased, how can this be entrusted?(After a long pause, he said:) Where all affairs cease, a single melody is selflessly harmonious.
The master ascended the platform. A monk asked, "It is said that when passing through a land of poison, one must not let even a drop of water touch it. I am not clear—what is the meaning of this?" The master said, "Only when it is exhausted does one become wholly free." The monk asked, "What happens after one becomes wholly free?" The master said, "Then you realize it cannot be broken."
The master then said: No need for words to speak, It blazes without cease. In the deepest, most secret place, light suddenly arises; In the clear, vivid moment, all blends into pure brightness. If you can let go completely, follow the flow, and be as you truly are, Then you will finally believe: all scheming and calculation come to nothing. Its function is inherently complete, lacking nothing. Yet even so— Though gold dust is precious, If it falls into your eye, it becomes a blur.
The master ascended the platform. A monk asked, "When all the grasses on the head are laid down, and one's entire life is abandoned, what then?" The master said, "There is no place left to hide." The monk said, "If so, then the whole world is revealed, open and clear." The master said, "Be careful not to make a face." The monk said, "If one does not make a face, then what should one do?" The master said, "A clay ox breaks through the clouds on the mountain ridge."
The master then said: "When there's not even a speck of ground to stand a sharp point, where can one settle? When a blink of the eye cannot pass through, how can one linger? Therefore, holding fast with the eye that encompasses heaven and earth, continuously without the slightest leak; merging with the workings of creation, the precise mechanism leaves no gap. Precisely at such a moment, how can the phrase that shatters the painted vase be entrusted?" (After a long pause, he said:) "The clouds scatter, the water flows away; in stillness, heaven and earth are empty."
The master ascended the platform. He approached the profound meaning through indirect inquiry, wondrously grasping the essence of the mysterious teaching. The words existed before the primordial chaos; how could they be confined to the path of the present moment? The tongueless understand speech; the insentient all hear. The great thoroughfare wears away without distinction of time; the spiritual current flows vast and unceasing. Now, tell me, how is it with that which does not borrow yet borrows? (After a long pause, he said:) The whole mass is fully exposed, just so, never concealed.
The master ascended the platform. A monk asked, "Without revealing one's brilliance, is one still allowed to turn around?" The master said, "The stone maiden's path differs in its merit." The monk asked, "What about the ultimate matter?" The master said, "The wonder lies before a single bubble—how could it be seen by a thousand sages?" The monk bowed. The master said, "I'm just afraid it isn't so."
The master then said: "Where wisdom cannot reach, if you speak of it, horns will sprout. When the mind is not yet extinguished, if you recognize it, shadows will appear. A hundred coils, a thousand layers—all cast aside. Soaring through the present, illuminating the past—originally without flaw. The wooden rooster crows, breaking the sea clouds' dusk. The stone tiger roars, opening the mountain's splendid colors. Light and realm both vanish—set that aside for now. The one who does not offer a hand—who is this?"(After a long pause, he said:)"Green pines give birth to ancient rhythm. White hair laughs in the cold cliff."