Written and Left at Hyewon Temple留題惠元寺
城中望北嶺。一髮雲外揷。杳然飛鳥背。誰謂着脚躡。可恠一箇身。已度碧千疊。高樓出樹杪。勢若飛來鴿。道人出門迎。霞襯半肩衲。步惜紫苔破。笑憐空谷答。件件淸景多。一一似可拾。秋光濃欲滴。山氣欝相襲。異石或千鱗。奇松皆七鬣。刳木作飛溝。遠與泉脉接。解敎他山水。繚繞走自及。大勝倒甁斟。何煩抱甕汲。上有聖僧居。華構高岌嶪。危階挾兩崖。七十有三級。未登頭已旋。已陟心彌讋。道人隨我來。身快猿猱捷。如行氈毯中。擧足輕躞蹀。相將禮眞容。雙手蓮花合。朅來臥匡床。窓樹風颼颯。穹豐一蒼巖。鼇伏堂之脅。中虛容幾人。大或屋許立。僧言此一穴。伊昔盎口狹。有僧曰惠元。於此修白業。後輩競鑿開。伋以廣栖集。雲屛任舒卷。石戶能開闔。嗟我本狂直。世味備相涉。不如早歸來。得此幽興愜。學道師應癯。遺形我方𢟯。塊然兩槁木。相對度小劫。
From inside the city wall I looked toward the northern ridge: a single hair was planted beyond the clouds. So far off it was the back of a flying bird — who would say a foot could be set there and tread it? Strange it is that this one body has already crossed a thousand folds of blue. A high loft juts up at the treetops, its posture like a pigeon come flying. A man of the Way comes out the gate to meet me, the sunset glow shimmering on his one-shouldered robe. My steps begrudge the breaking of the red moss; my laughter delights that the empty valley answers it. Each and every thing is full of clear scenery, as though one could pick them up one by one. The autumn colors are so deep they are about to drip, and the mountain air is so dense it seeps into everything. The strange rocks are, some of them, a thousand scales; the strange pines are, every one, seven manes. They hollowed out wood to make a flying conduit and joined it far off to the vein of the spring. They know how to make the water of another mountain wind around and arrive here of itself. It is far better than tilting a bottle and pouring, so why go to the trouble of hugging a jar to draw water? Above there is the place where a holy monk dwells, its splendid framing standing high and sheer. A perilous stairway flanks two cliffs: seventy-three steps. Before I climbed, my head was already swimming; once I had climbed, my heart trembled the more. The man of the Way came up behind me, his body cool, as nimble as a monkey. As though he were walking on a woolen rug, he lifted his feet lightly, softly, softly. Hand in hand we paid our respects to the portrait, joining our two palms like a lotus flower. Coming back, I lay down on the couch while the wind soughed in the trees by the window. One hollowed, huge blue boulder lay prone like a soft-shelled turtle at the flank of the hall. Empty within, it holds several people; so big that one might even raise a house in it. The monk said that this cave, narrow as the mouth of a jar in the old days, had a monk called Hyewon (惠元) who cultivated pure works here, and that those who came after vied in digging it open, widening it so that people could lodge and gather. The cloud screen leaves its spreading and furling to itself; the stone gate knows how to open and to close. Ah, I was mad and upright by nature and have tasted the world through and through. Nothing is better than returning early: this hidden pleasure has found its fill. Studying the Way, the monk has grown thin, as he should; forgetting my shape, I am just now grown idle. Blankly, like two withered trees, we face each other and pass a small kalpa.