佛果圜悟禪師碧巖錄 2.11

2.11

The pointer says: Clouds congeal over the vast wilderness; nothing in the entire realm is concealed. Snow covers the reed blossoms; traces and signs are hard to discern. Where it is cold, it is cold as ice and snow; where it is minute, it is fine as powdered rice. In the deep recesses, even the Buddha's eye can hardly peer; in the dense secrecy, Māra and outsiders cannot fathom it. Raising one and clarifying three is set aside for the moment; when sitting and cutting off the tongues of everyone under heaven, how do you speak? Tell me, whose affair is this? Try to bring it up and see.