宏智禪師廣錄 1.62

1.62

Ascending the hall on the Winter Solstice festival, a monk asked, "What is it like when not a single line [of the hexagram] has yet moved?"
The Master said, "Qian is three unbroken lines; Kun is six broken lines."
[The monk] advanced and said, "It may be called: swept over the earth, the north wind is bitingly cold; filling the hall, the cloud-robed monks shiver."
The Master said, "Right at such a time, tell me: has the single yang arisen yet, or not?"
[The monk] advanced and said, "The jade hare lies among the clouds; the golden rooster crows toward the sun."
The Master said, "Where the power of spring does not reach, even withered trees blossom."
The Master then said, "The essential point of penetrating the ancestral school obliquely is: when strength is exhausted, to turn one's steps. The functioning of heaven and earth's mutual accord is: when yin reaches its extreme, yang arises. Spring conditions are subtly spread through the cold forest; the message of warmth is secretly transmitted to the withered trees. It brings about the moon rising at midnight and clouds gathering over the empty mountain. Right at such a time, the eye within the dream comes alive. Therefore it is said: 'In brightness there is darkness, but do not meet it as darkness. In darkness there is brightness, but do not see it as brightness. Brightness and darkness are mutually paired, like front and back footsteps.' Do you understand thoroughly? / On the withered tortoise's back, ancient hexagram marks; / In the Gen position, faint and moving patterns."