宏智禪師廣錄 4.20

4.20

The Master said: "Fine, good Zen practitioners! Jade grove soaked in the moon: the fledgling on the cinnabar mountain soars up and down, fluttering and calling. Snowy reeds floating in autumn: the geese on white sands follow one another, forming written characters. Passing the thread in the dark, casting the needle at the wondrous point. In illuminating the mind-ground, they share a single lamp; in thoroughly reflecting the spiritual tower, there is no separate shadow. The father, the green mountain, has always been towering; the son, the white cloud, drifts everywhere. Although a thousand leagues share the same wind, how could that compare to not a single thread intervening? When crossroads are almost cut off, one must shift positions to circulate. When words are exhausted, one must borrow light to make provisions. Good Zen practitioners! Such a season, such a place, such transmission and maintenance, such establishment—it must be such a person to begin with! I dare ask you all: what is such a person? As for the affair of making provisions, do you understand thoroughly? / On the Wagtail Mound, the preceptor's words; / on the cherry apple branches, the splendor of spring."