宏智禪師廣錄 6.49

6.49

When a patch-robed monk roams the world, he should make his mind empty and vast, without a single speck of dust or dregs within; only then can he respond skillfully, unhindered by things, unbound by dharmas. Standing tall, emerging and submerging among them, he has a share of freedom. As soon as thought is involved, one becomes buried. If you embody it until it is thoroughly seasoned, you will naturally move the blade amid ten thousand mechanisms, neither colliding nor opposing—box and lid, arrow points meeting, fitting precisely without error. Knowing how to gather things up outwardly, severing leakages—this is called a person who can accomplish the family business. Yet returning from that place, white clouds enter the valley, the bright moon turns behind the mountain—there is a season of approaching the father and being of the same substance. Therefore it is said: 'Three people support a single staff and lie on a single bed.' Inside and outside are completely without trace, blending into a single whole, leisurely as clouds after rain, serene as water holding autumn. All virtuous ones, you must remember this single matter before you succeed.