Master Tradition
Buddhism
Date
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The Classics
Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. Although its light is wide and great, the moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. The whole moon and the entire sky are reflected in one dew drop on the grass. Joyful in this mountain retreat, yet still feeling melancholy. Studying The Lotus Sutra every day; practicing Zazen single-mindedly. What do love and hate matter when I am here alone, listening to the sound of the rain late in this autumn evening? Drifting pitifully in the whirlwind of birth and death, as if wandering in a dream, in the midst of illusion I awaken to the true path. There is one more matter I must not neglect... But I need not bother now, as I listen to the sound of the evening rain, falling on the roof of my temple retreat, in the deep grass of Fukukusa…
Coming, going, the waterbirds don’t leave a trace — don’t follow a path…
Seeking The Way, amid the deepest mountain paths, the retreat I find, none other than my primordial home — Satori.
All last night, and this morning still, snow falling in the deepest mountains… Ah, to see the autumn leaves scattering in my home.
Day and night, Night and day, The way of Dharma as everyday life… In each act, our hearts resonate with the call of the Sutra.
The mystical cry of monkeys Resounding from the mountain peaks Echoing in the valleys below The sound of the Sutra being preached. Attaining the heart of the Sutra, Are not even the sounds of the bustling marketplace… The preaching of the Dharma…
Colors of the mountains, Streams in the valleys, One in All, All in One… The voice and body of our Shakyamuni Buddha.
Everyone admires a graceful horse, galloping past the streaming sunlight… But few realize that this fleeting image is itself The Way of Dharma.
The Dharma, like an oyster, washed atop a high cliff… Even waves crashing against the reefy coast, like words, may reach, but cannot wash it away.
The Four Horses of Suffering, The Four Chariots of Compassion, How can one find the True Way, without riding upon them?
The True Person is not anyone in particular, But like the deep blue color of the limitless sky, It is everyone, everywhere in the world.
Contemplating a clear moon: Reflecting a mind empty as the open sky, Drawn by its beauty, I lose myself in the shadows it casts.
Mind has no substance that one can see. The only binding of the body is like the dew and frost.
Not only earthly blossoms but this mind, Pure as a celestial garden of an immaculate sky, Offered to all The Buddhas, Manifest here, there and everywhere.
The moon, mirrored by a mind free of all distractions, Even the waves breaking are reflecting its light.
Because the mind is free, Listening to the rain, Dripping from the eves, The drops become one… With me.