圓悟佛果禪師語錄 2.5

2.5

Ascending the hall, a monk asked, "Round and without a seam—why is it so extraordinary?"
The Master said, "Torn into seven blossoms and eight splits."
The monk continued, "There are echoes within the words."
The Master said, "Just slow down."
A monk asked, "When the solstice arrives and the single yang arises, how is it when the way of the gentleman grows?"
The Master said, "Under the patch-robed monk's gate, there are not so many affairs."
The monk continued, "How about 'the myriad dharmas are the light of mind'?"
The Master said, "Just right to look with high-placed eyes."
The monk continued, "Directly taking it upon oneself."
The Master said, "Swinging a sharp sword in empty space."
He then said, "Leaving behind marks and leaving behind names, entirely exhausted of traces; brought out once, it is renewed once; used once, it is delightful once. Horizontally covering the myriad existences, vertically piercing the golden wheel; inside without a fine hair, outside without an embellishment. If you can avoid generating sacred sentiments and worldly understanding, and shoulder and unfold it, entering the marketplace with open hands, every move possesses the dynamic of self-release; retiring to a solitary peak, everywhere passes through the realms of dust motes. In suchness, not such; in non-suchness, yet such. How do you speak the phrase of full presentation? Poking open the transcendent aperture, the thousand sages stand downwind together." He stepped down from the seat.