everything comes from your own heart


 

When you stop your

compulsive mind, to reach the point

where not a single thing is born, you pass

through to freedom, no longer falling

into feelings and not dwelling

on concepts, transcending

all completely.

 

Then Zen is obvious everywhere

in the world, with the totality of everything everywhere

turning into its great function. Everything comes from your

own heart. This is what one ancient called bringing

out the family treasure.
 

 

Yuanwu

zen letters

 

the practice of true reality

yanik chauvin

 
The practice of true reality is simply to sit serenely in silent introspection. When you have fathomed this you cannot be turned around by external causes and conditions. This empty, wide open mind is subtlety and correctly illuminating. Spacious and content, without confusion from inner thoughts or grasping, effectively overcome habitual behavior and realize the self that is not possessed by emotions.

You must be broad-minded, whole without relying on others. Such upright independent spirit can begin not to pursue degrading situations. Here you can rest and become clean, pure, and lucid. Bright and penetrating, you can immediately return, accord, and respond to deal with events.

Everything is unhindered; clouds gracefully floating up to the peaks, the moonlight glitteringly flowing down mountain streams. The entire place is brightly illumined and spiritually transformed, totally unobstructed and clearly manifesting responsive interaction like box and lid or arrow points meeting.

Continuing, cultivate and nourish yourself to enact maturity and achieve stability. If you accord everywhere with thorough clarity and cut off sharp corners without dependence on doctrines, like the white bull or wildcat helping to arouse wonder, you can be called a complete person.

So we hear that this is how one of the way of non-mind acts, but before realizing non-mind we still have great hardship.

 

Hongzhi Zhenjue

 

eventually we have to taste to know

grow a pistachio tree

 

Bahauddin’s notebook,

and Rumi’s poetry, are reminders of experience,

larger and deeper ways we readers and listeners might live.

The words describe a taste of grandeur and love, and as they keep

telling us, you cannot do that: it’s impossible to describe such

wonders. The great winetasters may come as close as one

can get. But try to tell me, really, about a pistachio,

or something you have never tasted. Say what

you want, eventually we have

to taste to know.

 

Coleman Barks

commentary on The Drowned Book