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Consider the lilies of the field, how they
grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:
Fundamentally the marksman aims at himself.
If you cannot find the truth
right where you are, where else do you expect to find it?
Our life is frittered away by detail
It is good to have an end to journey toward;
but it is the journey that matters, in the end.
Knock on the sky and listen to the sound!
What is your original face before your mother
and father were born?
It is as hard to see one's self as to look
backwards without turning around.
Life is what happens to you while you're busy
making other plans.
When making your choice in life, do not neglect
to live.
Thus shall ye think of all this fleeting world:
1. Out of clutter, find simplicity.
Zen is not some kind of excitement, but concentration
on our usual everyday routine.
Work is love
made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with
distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit
at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with
joy.
He did each single thing as if he did nothing
else.
That is happiness: to be dissolved into something
complete and great.
Two monks were once traveling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was falling. Coming around the bend, they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the intersection. "Come on, girl," said the first monk. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her over the mud. The second monk did not speak again until that night when they reached a lodging temple. Then he no longer could restrain himself. "We monks don't go near females," he said. "It is dangerous. Why did you do that?" "I left the girl there," the first
monk said. "Are you still carrying her?"
In walking, just walk.
Comparisons are odious.
Teachers open the door, but you must enter
by yourself.
For everything that lives is holy; life delights
in life.
Anything more than the truth
would be too much.
Luis Ponce de Leon, returning to his university after five years' imprisonment by the inquisition, resumed his lectures with the words: "As we were saying yesterday "
Every day is a good day.
Do not, I beg you, look for anything behind
phenomena.
We shape the clay into a pot, but it is the
emptiness inside that holds whatever we want.
The notes I handle no better than many pianists.
But the pauses between the notes - ah, that is where the art
resides!
No one's mouth is big enough to utter the
whole thing.
When I dance, I dance; when I sleep, I sleep;
yes, and when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my thoughts
drift to far-off matters for some part of the time, for some
other part I lead them back again to the walk, the orchard, to
the sweetness of this solitude, to myself.
Chop wood, carry water.
Unformed people delight in the gaudy and novelty.
I can't go on.
And do not change.
Do not divert your love
from visible things. But go on loving what is good, simple and
ordinary; animals and things and flowers, and keep the balance
true.
Meditation is not a means to an end. It is
both the means and the end.
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