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