宏智禪師廣錄 8.109

8.109

Beyond the night-bright screen, the sky is cold with frost; / The patch-robed monk returning home forgets all scheming. / When the withered wood sings to the clouds, one must reflect inward; / When the dead snake harbors venom, guard against it even more. / Hearing the zither and rising to dance was Mahākāśyapa's habit; / Letting go of the mirror and losing his head was Yajñadatta's madness. / How fine it is to return and carve the fly's wing again; / The ancestral teacher's nostrils must shine with light.