佛果圜悟禪師碧巖錄 5.28

5.28

“In the empty hall, the sound of raindrops; (From the start without interruption. Everyone is right here.)
even an adept finds it hard to reply. (Sure enough, he does not know. The mountain monk has never been an adept. There is provisional and real, releasing and taking back, killing and giving life, capturing and releasing.)
If one says he has entered the flow, (Plunging his head into a bowl of glue. If not called the sound of rain falling, what sound should it be called?)
as before he still does not understand. (When did the mountain monk ever ask you? This lacquer bucket! Give me back my unpierced iron hammer!)
Never having understood— (Both ends cut off. The two places not divided. Not on these two sides.)
south mountain, north mountain, torrential downpours.” (Head above, feet below. If you call it the sound of rain, you are blind; if you do not call it the sound of rain, what sound should it be called? Arriving here, one must have one's feet planted on solid ground to begin with.)