Latter Collection 3 (nos. 91–134)後集

Bai Letian said, "Better to let body and mind go and leave them in darkness to what heaven makes." Chao Buzhi said, "Better to gather body and mind in and return in stillness to quiet concentration." The one who only lets go drifts into wildness; the one who only gathers in falls into dry emptiness. Only one who handles body and mind well holds the handle in their hand and gathers in or lets go as they please.

Meet a snowy night under a moonlit sky, and the state of the mind clears through at once. Meet the mild air of the spring wind, and the world of thought melts of itself. The making of things and the human heart mingle without a seam between them.

Writing advances by awkwardness and the Way is completed by awkwardness, and there is endless meaning in the one word awkward (拙). A dog barking in the village of the peach blossoms, a cock crowing among the mulberry trees: what a plain and sturdy air they have. Come to the moon on a cold pool or the crow on an old tree, and in all that fine craft you feel at once an air of decay.

For one who turns things by themselves, gaining brings no joy and losing brings no grief, and the whole earth is a place to roam free in. For one whom things make their servant, what goes against them breeds hate and what goes with them breeds attachment, and a single hair is the start of a bond.

When principle is still, affairs are still too. To cast off affairs and hold to principle alone is to get rid of the shadow and keep the shape. When the mind is empty, the outer world is empty too. To cast off the outer world and keep only the mind is to gather up rank meat and then drive away the flies.

All the clear pleasures of a person in retirement lie in following their own feeling. So wine is a joy when it is not pressed on anyone, and a game of go is a victory when it is not fought over. A flute is fitting when it has no holes, and a lute is noble when it has no strings. A meeting is genuine when it is not appointed, and a guest is at ease when they are neither met at the gate nor seen off. Once a person is drawn by outward show and stuck fast in forms, they fall into the sea of suffering of the world of dust.

Try to think what shape you had before you were born, and think again what sight you will make after you are dead. Then the ten thousand thoughts go cold as ashes and one nature remains still, and of yourself you can pass beyond things and roam where form has not yet begun.

To think only after falling ill that health was a treasure, and to think only after being caught in disorder that peace was a blessing, is not wisdom that comes early. To know beforehand that hoping for good fortune is the root of disaster, and to know first that craving life is the cause of death: that is clear sight indeed.

The actor puts on powder and mixes their rouge and mimics beauty and ugliness at the tip of their brush; but soon the song ends and the stage breaks up, and where is beauty or ugliness then? The go player contends for the lead and struggles for the last move and measures victory and defeat in the placing of stones; but soon the game is over and the stones are gathered, and where is victory or defeat then?

The freshness of wind and flowers and the empty clearness of snow and moon: only the still are their masters. The flourishing and withering of water and trees, the growing and fading of bamboo and stones: only the unhurried hold the right to them.

Talk to an old farmer or a country elder of yellow chicken and white wine, and they are glad at once; ask them about food from the great cauldrons, and they do not know it. Talk to them of a plain cotton coat and a short hempen jacket, and they are easily pleased; ask them about robes of state, and they do not know them. Their nature is whole, and so their desires are plain. This is the first of all states in human life.

If the mind has no mind of its own, what is there to watch? When the Buddha spoke of watching the mind, that only doubles the hindrance. Things are of themselves one thing, so what is there to be made equal? When Zhuangzi spoke of making things equal, that is to split apart of oneself what was already the same.

To shake out your robe and go far away just where the pipes and singing are at their height: how enviable is the person of understanding who lets go their hold at the cliff's edge. To walk the roads at night without rest when the water clock has already run out: how laughable is the common scholar who sinks their body in the sea of suffering.

One whose grip is not yet firm should cut off their steps from the noise and the dust. Let this mind not see what may be desired, and so not be thrown into disorder, and thus their still substance may be cleared. One whose hold is already firm should mix their steps again with the wind and the dust. Let this mind see what may be desired and still not be thrown into disorder, and thus nourish the rounded working within them.

Those who love stillness and hate noise often shun people in order to find quiet. They do not know that to set the mind on having no one about is already to make a self, and that to fix the heart on stillness is the very root of motion. How then are they to reach the state where others and self are seen as one and motion and stillness are both forgotten?

Living in the hills the breast is clear and cool, and every thing you touch brings a fine thought. See a lone cloud or a wild crane, and thoughts of rising above the world arise. Meet a spring running among the rocks, and the wish to be washed clean stirs. Stroke an old cypress or a cold plum, and firm integrity stands up along with them. Keep company with the gulls of the sandbank and the deer, and the scheming heart is forgotten along with them. But once you walk into the world of dust, then, never mind that outward things have nothing to do with you, this body itself has already become a wart.

When the mood comes with its season, walk at leisure over the fragrant grass with your shoes cast off, and the wild birds forget their wariness and keep you company. When the scene meets the heart, open your collar and sit still beneath the falling blossoms, and the white clouds, saying nothing, drift over and stay beside you.

The blessed places and the ruined places of a life are all made by thought. So the Buddha said, "When greed and desire blaze up, that is the pit of fire. When craving and attachment drown a person, that is the sea of suffering. Let one thought be pure, and the fierce flames become a pool. Let one thought awaken, and the boat reaches the far shore." Let the turn of thought differ a little, and the state you stand in differs at once. How can a person not be careful?

A rope saw cuts through wood and dripping water bores through stone: one who studies the Way must add force to their searching. When the water arrives the channel forms and when the melon ripens the stem drops: one who would gain the Way leaves all to the working of heaven.

When the scheming mind rests, the moon arrives and the wind comes, and the human world need not be a sea of suffering. Where the heart is far off, there is of itself no dust of carriages and no track of horses, and what need is there to pine for the hills as though for a chronic illness?

Grass and trees have hardly withered and fallen when they push out new shoots at the root. The season may be locked in cold, yet in the end it turns the warm breath back in the flying ash. In the midst of the force that kills, the will that makes things live is always the master. In this the heart of heaven and earth can be seen.

Look at the color of the hills after rain, and the scene is felt at once to be fresh and lovely. Listen to the sound of the bell in the stillness of night, and the ringing is clearer and higher still.

Climbing high makes a person's heart wide; standing over running water makes their thoughts reach far. Reading on a night of rain or snow makes their spirit clear; whistling out over the crest of a hill makes their mood soar.

When the heart is wide, a stipend of ten thousand measures is like an earthen jar. When the heart is narrow, a single hair is like a cart wheel.

Without wind and moon and flowers and willows, the making of things is not complete. Without feeling and desire and liking, the substance of the mind is not complete. Only let me turn things and not let things make a servant of me, and then liking and desire are nothing but the working of heaven, and the feelings of the dusty world are themselves the realm of principle.

Only one who comes to their own single body and settles that single body can leave the ten thousand things to the ten thousand things. Only one who gives the world back to the world can pass beyond the world while still in it.

When a life is too idle, stray thoughts steal in. When it is too busy, the true nature does not show itself. So the gentleman cannot do without some care for body and mind, nor can they do without delight in wind and moon.

The human heart most often loses its truth where it moves. Let not one thought arise, and sit clear and still: then the clouds rise and you drift away with them, the rain falls and you grow cool and clear with it, a bird cries and you feel a glad understanding, a blossom falls and you gain something of yourself in its lightness. What place is not a true realm? What thing has not the true working in it?

A child is born and the mother is in danger; strings of cash pile up and thieves are watching. What joy is not also a grief? Poverty can teach a person thrift and illness can preserve their body. What grief is not also a joy? So the person of understanding looks on fortune and misfortune as one and forgets both gladness and sorrow.

Let the ear be like a whirlwind casting its sound into a valley: what passes is not kept, and right and wrong both fall away. Let the mind be like the moon steeping its light in a pool: being empty, it takes hold of nothing, and things and self are both forgotten.

People of the world, bound fast by glory and gain, say at every turn that this is a world of dust and a sea of suffering. They do not know that the clouds are white and the hills green, that streams run and rocks stand, that flowers welcome them and birds laugh, that the valley answers the woodcutter's song. The world is not dust and the sea is not suffering. It is they who make their own hearts dusty and full of suffering.

Look at the flower half open; drink the wine until you are barely warmed by it. In this there is a great and lovely delight. Come to blossoms in full riot and a body dead drunk, and it has turned into an ugly state. Those who stand in the place of fullness should think on this.

Mountain greens take no watering or tending from the world and wild birds take no feeding from the world, yet the taste of both is fragrant and clean. If we too can keep from being stained by the ways of the world, how plainly different our flavor will be.

In planting flowers and setting out bamboo, in enjoying cranes and watching fish, there must also be something you gain for yourself. If you only linger over the scene and toy with the splendor of things, it is no more than the learning of ear and mouth among our Confucians, or the stubborn emptiness of the Buddhists. What lovely delight is there in that?

The scholar of hill and forest is poor and clean, yet their quiet delights are of themselves abundant. The farmer of the fields is rough and plain, yet their natural truth is wholly kept. Should a person once throw themselves away to become a broker in the market, better to roll into a ditch and die with spirit and bone still clean.

Fortune beyond your due and a gain without cause are, if not the bait on the hook of the maker of things, then a trap of the human world. If a person's eye is not set high in such a place, few escape falling into that snare.

A human life is from the first a puppet; only keep the root of it in your own hand. Let not one string be tangled, let the winding and the unwinding be free, and going and stopping are yours. Take not a hair's worth of pulling from another, and you have already risen out of this playing ground.

Where one affair rises, one harm is born. So the world always counts having no affairs a blessing. Reading the poems of earlier ages I find, "I beg you, speak no more of being made a lord; where one general wins their merit, ten thousand bones go dry." And again, "If all things under heaven could be kept at peace, I would not begrudge a thousand years of rusting in the scabbard." Though a person have a bold heart and a fierce spirit, before they know it these melt into ice and sleet.

A woman who has run wild in lust turns about and becomes a nun; a person burning after fame and gain is stirred and enters religion. So it is that the gate of purity is forever a haunt and covert for lewdness and evil. Alas, it is fit to be laughed at.

When the waves reach the sky, those in the boat do not know fear, but those outside the boat go cold at heart. When a madman curses the company, those at the mat do not know to be wary, but those outside the mat click their tongues. So the noble person, though their body be in the midst of an affair, must keep their heart beyond it.

Take one part away from a life, and you are free of one part. Cut down your company, and you escape confusion. Cut down your words, and your faults grow few. Cut down your worrying, and your spirit is not worn away. Cut down your cleverness, and the undivided whole in you can be kept. Those who seek not to take away day by day but to add day by day truly put this life of theirs in fetters.

The cold and heat of the turning year are easy to avoid, but the warmth and chill of the human world are hard to be rid of. The warmth and chill of the human world are easy to be rid of, but the ice and coals in my own heart are hard to throw out. Throw out the ice and coals within, and the whole breast is filled with mild air, and wherever you go there is a spring wind of itself.

Tea is not sought for its fineness, yet the pot is never dry; wine is not sought for its strength, yet the jar is never empty. The plain lute has no strings, yet it is always in tune; the short flute has no holes, yet it pleases of itself. Though it is hard to pass beyond the age of Fuxi, one may still be matched with the company of Ji Kang and Ruan Ji.

The Buddhist teaching of following conditions as they come (隨緣) and our Confucian teaching of keeping to the place one stands in (素位): these four characters are the float that carries a person across the sea. The roads of the world stretch away without end, and if one thought seeks completeness, ten thousand threads rise in confusion. Only be at ease wherever you are lodged, and there is nowhere you can go and not find yourself.