Sections 161–180161~180단

Some say the height of the blossoms is one hundred and fifty days from the winter solstice, and some say seven days after the spring equinox. But seventy-five days from the start of spring is, on the whole, not far wrong.

The shoji (承仕) monk of Henjoji had for many days been taming and feeding the birds of the pond. He scattered feed even inside the hall and left one door open. When birds beyond counting had gathered within, he went in himself, barred the door, and caught them and killed them. The noise of it was heard far off.

A boy cutting grass heard it and told others, and the men of the village crowded in to look. Among the great geese flapping about, the monk was in their midst, pressing them down and wringing them dead.

They seized this monk, and the district handed him over to the shicho (使廳). They made him hang the birds he had killed about his neck, and shut him in prison. It was in the time when the Major Counselor Mototoshi was the chief of the police office.

There was a dispute among the masters of yin and yang over whether the character tai (太) in taicho (太衝) takes a dot or not.

The lay monk Morichika said, "The imperial record (御記) written on the back of Yoshihira's own divination text is in the house of the Konoe kanpaku. It is written there with the dot."

When people of the world meet, they are never silent even for a moment; there is always talk. And when you listen to what they say, most of it is useless.

The floating rumors of the world and the right and wrong of others bring much loss and little gain, to oneself and to others alike.

While they talk of these things, neither heart knows that the matter is useless.

A man of the eastern provinces mixing with the people of the capital; a man of the capital going to the eastern provinces to make his way; and again a monk of the kenmitsu (顯密) teachings who has left his home temple and home mountain — for any of them to be mixed among others where they do not belong is unsightly.

When you look at the works men busy themselves with, it is like making a Buddha of snow on a spring day, and then setting about ornaments of gold and silver and jewels for it, and meaning to raise a hall and a pagoda. Can you wait for that preparation and then enshrine it well?

Even while a man's life still seems to be there, it melts away from below like snow; and the things he prepares and waits for are very many.

When a man who follows one path attends a gathering of another path and says, or feels in his heart, "Ah, if this were my own path, I would not be looking on as an outsider" — it is a common thing, but the world thinks ill of it.

If a path you do not know seems enviable, it is enough to say, "How enviable. Why did I never learn it?"

To bring out your own knowledge and contend with others is of a kind with the horned beast lowering its horns and the tusked beast baring its tusks.

For a man, it is a virtue not to boast of his goodness and not to contend with others. To have something in which you surpass others is a great fault.

Whether it be high birth, or excellence in the arts, or the fame of his ancestors, a man who thinks himself better than others has no small fault within him, even if he never puts it into words. He should take care and forget it.

What makes a man look a fool, brings scorn upon him, and calls down misfortune is only this pride.

A man truly accomplished in one path knows clearly for himself where he falls short, and so his ambition is never satisfied, and in the end he boasts of nothing.

When an old man has one outstanding talent, and people say, "After this man, whom shall we ask?" — his age has an ally, and his living on is not in vain.

Even so, if nothing in him has fallen off, people think, "His whole life has gone by in this one thing," and he looks small. It is enough to say, "I have forgotten it now."

On the whole, even if he knows a thing, to pour it out without restraint makes him sound as though his skill were not so great after all, and mistakes will creep in of themselves. To say, "I do not know it for certain," makes a man seem all the more the true master of his path.

Worse still is to sit listening and thinking "That is not so," while a man who knows nothing speaks with a knowing face — a man one cannot decently contradict. It is very dreary.

Someone said, "To say the shiki (式) of such and such was not done down to the reign of Go-Saga, and is a word used only from recent times."

Yet Ukyo no Daibu of Kenreimon'in, speaking of how she lived in the palace again after Go-Toba In had ascended the throne, wrote, "The shiki (式) of the world too has not changed, and yet."

To go to another man's house with no particular errand is not a good thing. Even if you went on business, you should return quickly once the business is done. To stay long is very tiresome.

When you sit facing another, words grow many, the body tires, and the heart is not still. Everything is hindered and the hours pass. There is no profit in it for either of you.

It is bad, too, to speak as though you found it irksome. When something is not to your liking, it is better to say so outright.

When a man you would gladly face with the same heart is at leisure and says, "A little longer. Today let us take our ease," that is not of this kind. The blue eyes of Ruan Ji are a thing anyone may have.

When a man comes with no particular errand, talks quietly a while, and goes home, it is very good. And a letter that says no more than "It has been long since I wrote" is very welcome.

A player at shell-matching leaves the shell before him and looks about him, casting his eyes even into the shadow of another's sleeve and under another's knee; and while he does, the shell before him is taken by someone else.

One who matches well does not seem to reach far afield by force. He seems to cover only what is near him, and yet he takes many.

When you set a stone at the corner of a go board and flick it, you will not hit if you watch only the stone opposite. Look well at your own hand, and flick straight along the line here before you, and the stone you set up is sure to be struck.

In all things, do not seek outward. Only make straight what is under your own feet.

Duke Qingxian said, "Do good, and do not ask about the road ahead." The way of keeping the world must be like this too.

When a man is not careful within, and acts lightly and as he pleases until all is in disorder, then only when the distant provinces are certain to revolt does he first look for a plan. It is as the medical books say: "To stand in the wind and lie in the damp, and then complain of the illness to the gods, is a foolish man."

He does not know that if he stops the griefs of the men before his eyes, bestows kindness, and makes the way straight, that influence will flow far.

When Yu went and attacked the Sanmiao, it was less good than turning his army back and spreading virtue.

In youth the blood and spirit overflow within, the heart is moved by things, and the passions are many. To put oneself in danger and be easily broken is like setting a jewel rolling.

He loves fine things and spends his wealth; then he throws them away and wears himself thin in mossy sleeves. His fierce heart is at its height and he contends with others; in his heart he is ashamed and envious; what he likes is not settled from one day to the next. He sinks into lust and is taken with passion, and thinking to keep his conduct pure he ruins a body meant for a hundred years. He longs after the examples of those who threw their lives away, and never thinks of keeping himself whole and lasting long. His heart is drawn where his liking pulls it, and he becomes a tale told for many years.

To ruin oneself is the work of youth.

In an old man the spirit has weakened. He grows plain and indifferent, and nothing stirs him. His heart being still of itself, he does no useless work; he cares for his body and is free of grief, and thinks only of being no trouble to others.

That an old man's wisdom surpasses a young man's is as a young man's face surpasses an old man's.

The matter of Ono no Komachi is not clear at all. Her fallen state is seen in a work called the Tamatsukuri (玉造).

There is a view that this work was written by Kiyoyuki, but it is entered in the list of the writings of the Great Teacher of Koya. The Great Teacher died at the beginning of the Jowa era. Komachi's prime must have been after that, and so the matter is not to be trusted.

They say that a dog good for the small hawk, once used for the great hawk, becomes bad for the small hawk. The principle of taking the great and letting go the small is truly so.

Among the many affairs of men, there is nothing deeper in savor than delighting in the Way. This is the true great matter.

Once a man has heard of the Way and set his heart on it, what occupation would he not give up? What business would he pursue? However foolish a man may be, is he less than the heart of a clever dog?

There are many things in the world one cannot understand. Why it should be counted good sport, whenever friends are together, to press sake on a man first of all and force him to drink, one cannot understand at all.

The drinker's face is as though he could hardly bear it. He knits his brows, watches for a chance to pour it away, and tries to escape; and they catch him, hold him back, and make him drink without reason. Then even a well-ordered man becomes a madman on the spot and looks ridiculous, and a man in sound health becomes before your eyes a gravely sick man and falls down senseless.

On a day of celebration it is past all bearing. Until the next day his head aches, he can eat nothing, he lies groaning, and it is as though he had passed into another life: he remembers nothing of the day before, fails in great matters public and private, and brings trouble on himself.

To make a man suffer such a thing is without mercy, and it goes against courtesy as well. Will a man who has been put through so bitter a thing not think it galling and grievous?

If such a custom were reported of another country, as a thing not found in this land, it would surely seem strange and past understanding.

Even seen in another man it is dispiriting. A man who seemed deep in thought and admirable laughs and shouts without a care, his words many, his eboshi askew, his cords undone, his shins hitched high — a careless sight, and not the man of ordinary days.

A woman sweeps her forelocks up bare, lifts her face without shame and laughs, and clings to the hand that holds the cup. A low fellow takes a morsel and holds it to another's mouth, and eats himself as well. It is unseemly.

They sing and dance, each at the top of his voice. They call out an old monk and strip his black and filthy body to the shoulder, and he twists about so that one cannot bear to look — and even those who watch and enjoy it are repellent and hateful.

One man tells his own great deeds at a length that shames the hearer; another weeps in his cups; the lower sort quarrel with abuse, so that there is nothing but the shameful, the fearful, the disgraceful, and the dreary. In the end they snatch up things they have no leave to take, fall from the veranda, fall from horse and carriage, and are hurt.

Those too low even to ride go staggering down the main street and do unspeakable things against earthen walls and beneath gates. An old monk with his kesa on leans on a small boy's shoulder, saying what cannot be understood, and reels along. It is very pitiful.

If, after doing all this, it were a thing of profit in this world or the next, what of it? But in this world it brings much wrongdoing, loss of wealth, and sickness. They call it the chief of all medicines, but every kind of illness arises from sake. They say it makes one forget one's cares, yet it is the drunken man who calls to mind the sorrows that are past and weeps.

In the world to come it takes away a man's wisdom and burns his roots of goodness as fire does. It increases evil, breaks every precept, and must cast him into hell. The Buddha, they say, taught, "A man who takes up sake and makes another drink it will be born without hands for five hundred lives."

Though it is a thing one finds so repellent, there will be times when it is hard to put aside.

On a moonlit night, on a snowy morning, or beneath the blossoms, to bring out the cup while talking at ease is a thing that adds to every pleasure. On an idle day, when a friend comes in unlooked for and sets out a drink, it comforts the heart.

From within the blinds of a house where one is not on easy terms, to have sweets and sake set out in fine style is very good. In winter, in a narrow place, to roast something at the fire and drink deep face to face with an unreserved companion is very good.

In a traveler's hut, or out in the fields and hills, to say, "And what shall we have with it?" and drink on the turf is good too. When a man who suffers badly from it is pressed and drinks a little, that is very good.

When a person of quality says with particular kindness, "One cup more. Your cup is low," that is welcome. And when a man one would like to be near is a drinker, so that the two fall easily into friendship, that is welcome too.

Say what one will, a drinker is amusing, and his faults are forgiven.

When the master throws open the room where a man lies asleep late, worn out with drink, he starts up in confusion; and with a dazed face he thrusts out his thin topknot, cannot get his clothes on, gathers them up in his arms, and is pulled about as he flees — the back of that figure with the skirts hitched up, and the hairy thin shins, are amusing and fitting.

The Kurodo (黑戸) is the room where the Emperor Komatsu, after he ascended the throne, did not forget the rough work he had done in the days when he was an ordinary man, and went on doing it always. They say it is called Kurodo because the soot of the firewood blackened it.

There was kickball at the Prince of the Secretariat's (中書王) in Kamakura, and after rain the garden was not yet dry. While they were considering what to do, the lay monk Sasaki of Oki sent in a great quantity of sawdust piled on carts, and it was spread over the whole garden, so that there was no trouble with mud.

"It is rare that he had the forethought to save it up," people said in admiration.

When someone brought this story out, the Middle Counselor Yoshida said, "Was no dry sand made ready?" — and I was ashamed.

The sawdust that had seemed so splendid was a low and outlandish thing. For the man who has charge of the garden, they say, preparing dry sand is the old usage (故實).

The samurai of a certain house, telling others of the kagura (神樂) they had seen at the Naishidokoro, said, "So-and-so was carrying the sacred sword," and the like.

Among the ladies in the palace, one said quietly, "For a progress to the betsuden (別殿) it is the sword of the daytime seat," and that was admirable.

That person, they say, was an old naishi no suke (典侍).

The monk Dogen Shonin, who had gone to Song China, brought back the whole canon and enshrined it at a place called Yakino near Rokuhara. He expounded the Shuryogon sutra in particular, and named the place Narandaji (那蘭陀寺).

That holy man said, "It is handed down as the view of Gonosochi (江帥) that the great gate of Narandaji faced north. But it is not seen in the Xiyu zhuan or the Faxian zhuan, and there is no evidence for it at all. On what knowledge Gonosochi said it is not to be trusted. That the Ximing temple of Tang China faced north is of course beyond doubt."

The sagicho (左義長) is the burning of the mallets struck at the New Year, carried out from the Shingon'in to the Shinsen'en and there set alight.

When they chant, "At the pond of Hojoju (法成就)," it is the pond of the Shinsen'en that they mean.