宏智禪師廣錄 6.57

6.57

For those who have attained great rest and great cessation, mold grows around their mouths and grass sprouts upon their tongues. Directly let everything drop away completely; wash it clean and polish it glistening bright, like autumn in the water, like the moon printed in the sky. When it is so clear and bright, one must still know that there is a path for turning the body. When you turn your body, there is no other face for you to discern; yet at the place where there is nothing to discern, it must not be obscured. This is the moment of penetrating from top to bottom, exhausting the root and reaching the source. For thousands and myriads of sages, there is no different track. The wonder lies in returning along the path, borrowing the road to plant one's feet. Amidst brightness there is darkness; where it functions, it leaves no trace. At the tips of the hundred grasses, in the bustling marketplace, lightly swaying the body, grandly advancing the steps, naturally riding on sound and striding over form, surpassing listening and transcending looking—being so seamlessly blended is truly the affair of the patch-robed monk's gate.