Once you preach, the point is gone.
Ordinary mind is the Way.
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
Spring comes: grass grows.
Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
Fire is hot; water, cold.
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?
All things that exist are like a dream, a phantom, a bubble, a reflection; they are like dew or lightning; thus should you view them.
Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.
Worldly passions inseparable from satori.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .
No ugliness in a loved child.
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
No good thought, no evil thought.
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.
A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.
A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.
However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
From the origins nothing exists.
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
It rains: the earth wet.
Watch your own steps!
Walking is Zen; sitting, too.