Let the Chan Mind be envied by beauties; The Buddha said that foes were originally kins. I return with a straw hat and raincoat, Without any love or hatred for others.
LIVING AT WEST LAKE’S BAIYUN CHAN MONASTERY
Snowy peaks enveloped deeply in white clouds, Tints of red revealed by a few plum trees. Entering meditation under the after-meal drowsiness, The bell’s faint reflection in the small temple pond.
After nine years of facing the wall, all becomes void, Returning, a sistrum staff in hand, I regret meeting you. A heartless one in the past, but now no longer so, This time, let others be the zither that is in play.
FEELINGS ON A RAISED PATHS THROUGH THE PINES
The lone lamp guides the dream which remains in haziness, The wind and rain approaches the hut upon midnight’s bell toll. When I’ve arrived once more, the people have gone. Who is wading in the river to pick the lotuses?
── from Su Manshu Quanji
(Complete Collection by Su Manshu)