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