圓悟佛果禪師語錄 2.4

2.4

Ascending the hall, a monk asked, "What is the dust-by-dust samādhi?"
The Master said, "Not giving a single drop."
The monk continued, "Is it one or two?"
The Master said, "A precious land on the tip of a hair."
The monk continued, "Two colors in one contest."
The Master said, "Painfully receiving a question."
The monk said, "Heavens, heavens!"
The Master said, "I have not yet acknowledged it."
A monk asked, "The World-Honoured One held up a flower, and Kāśyapa smiled faintly. When the Venerable expounds the Dharma, what instruction is there?"
The Master said, "Not a single thing."
The monk continued, "Why is there not a single thing?"
The Master said, "Because you have no eyes."
The monk continued, "What can be done with the student?"
The Master said, "Leap about as you will."
He then said, "Before one's eyes, absolute opposition ends; the myriad realms are dense and vast; beyond things, there is a profound dynamic; standing prominently in the direct light. Striking and shouting, illumination and function—set them aside; paths of speech running across and vertical—let that move pass. If you people here can poke open a single path, it is directly solitary and perilous; if you have not yet poked it open, your nostrils are entirely in the mountain monk's hand." Holding up his staff, he said, "Pierced through!" Striking the Chan bench, he stepped down from the seat.