Chán Zhōng Shuō Chán: Entanglement Is Not Entanglement, Zen Is Not Zen — A Dead Tree's Dragon Song Illuminates the Great Thousand Worlds (III)

2006/2/1 20:43:55

There is a type of fellow who recklessly turns Chan Buddhism into an academic subject, who with their pitiable discriminating mind establishes this principle, that characteristic, constructs grand interpretations and total systems — in the end they are nothing but bookworms measuring the ocean and counting grains of sand. If one recklessly speaks of "standing in truth wherever one stands," then what can stand is not standing, all that is stood upon is false — standing has nothing to stand on. Who is true? Who is false? If one recklessly speaks of "everything is already complete," then what is present cannot be present, what can be accomplished is not accomplishment — everything accomplished is not so. Who is present? Who is accomplished? If one recklessly speaks of the "gateway of non-duality," then non-dual becomes dual, dual becomes non-dual — discrimination has no duality. Who discriminates? What is discriminated? If one recklessly speaks of "not abiding in anything," then not-abiding is abiding, abiding is not-abiding — who abides in all? All abides in whom? If one recklessly speaks of "utterly nothing is attained," then understanding cannot be understood, attainment has nothing attained — no-attainment is still attainment. Who understands? Who attains? If one recklessly speaks of "both subject and object are extinguished," then subject and object produce subject, object and subject produce object — subject and object, object and subject, who is subject? Who is object? Subject who? Object who? Extinguished yet not extinguished, both yet not-both — can subject extinguish? Can object be both? Neither object nor subject!

A verse:

Birthless, all day long in joy — whence comes the doubt of life and death?
Doubt arises from the worry of having; worry itself winds silken threads.
Floating clouds — a name ten thousand ages; dung and dirt — a monument a thousand years.
This body has nowhere else to dwell; before settling, one has already left.
Gently swaying — willows by the river; calling softly — deer within the grove.
Every day is a good day; every moment is the time of flowers.
Tides rise and tides fall again; the moon waxes and the moon wanes.
The world has few troubles of its own — why bother with action or non-action?
Do not steal the pearl atop the dust; do not cling to wonders within the dharma.
The bright pearl — does it belong to existence? To call it nothing is also foolish.
Neither existence nor nothing can stand — still the ghost keeps thinking.
Sit and watch heaven and earth revolve; stand and see heaven and earth hang down.
Wild geese in formation — wind passing over water; falling blossoms — moon approaching the branch.
Every dharma — none is tainted; every mote of dust — none is left behind.
Vast and open, ordinary and sacred extinguished; serene and at ease, entering joy and sorrow.
Life and death met with a single laugh; purity and defilement — both left as they are.
Death and life — the grace of all sentient beings; purity and defilement — the compassion of all sentient beings.
Flowers of emptiness perform the Buddha's work; phantom mirrors play games with the demon master.
Through a thousand kalpas of calamity, a thousand bodies go forth; through impossible hardships, a single vow follows.
Avici — empty yet not empty; Bodhi — awaited yet not awaited.
The qin sings, serene and vast — do not peer into the moon.