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A Taoist Priest
Into a soul absolutely free
From thoughts and emotions
Even the tiger finds no room To insert its fierce claws.
One and the same breeze passes Over the pines on the mountain
And the oak tree in the valley;
And why do they give different notes?
No thinking, no reflecting,
Yet therein something moves,
Following its own course.
The eyes see it,
But no hands can take hold of it
The moon in the stream.
Clouds and mists,
They are midair transformations;
Above them eternally shine the sun and the moon.
Victory is for the one,
Even before the combat,
Who has no thought o himself,
Abiding in the no-mind-ness of Great Origin.