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.
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.
However priceless, a piece of gold In the eye is nothing but grit.
No good thought, no evil thought.
From the origins nothing exists.
Fire is hot; water, cold.
No ugliness in a loved child.
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
Spring comes: grass grows.
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
Watch your own steps!
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?
Ten thousand laws end in One : Don't stick to that, either!
Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?
Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.
Worldly passions inseparable from satori.
Day after day a very good day: Winds come and trees bow.
Once you preach, the point is gone.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
It rains: the earth wet.
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!
Ordinary mind is the Way.
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
A smiling face offers mercy; A troubled mind contains vicious poison.
Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .
Every Thursday 06 pm.
Every Saturday 05 pm.