宏智禪師廣錄 8.167

8.167

Scraps of down woven into clothing wrap a withered form;
What matter in your chest alone stays fully awake?
Bereft of contrivance, functioning freely, wondrous when applied;
A living eye coldly peers into the numinous in the void.
Refined words are like brocade clouds, fragments of spring;
Pure breath is like plum snow, scattered stars at dawn.
Now that merit is exhausted, Niutou turns lazy;
Flowers and birds do not come; the wind sweeps the courtyard.