明覺禪師語錄 5.42

5.42

Frosty leaves wither and fall, the cliff wind is chillingly cold;
That elder of Chan suddenly descends the lofty peaks.
The patch-robe has clouds: once rolled up, yet unrolled;
The zither has no strings: skilled in playing, yet unplayed.
Having set off on the long journey, you should listen to these words:
The paths of brightness and darkness, the islands of birth and death.
From now on, whether you know or know not,
The fallen net has collapsed to the ground—upon whom can we rely to lift it up?