Two thirds of the morning has passed—the late sun is beautiful over the landscape, this sacred place is, not at all, rubbed or polished, the flowers and grass are fragrant in the spring breeze.
Craving life, day by day, merely departs—the mud melts, and the young swallows fly. Call upon me, my head won't turn—how can we contend, whilst the Mandarin ducks sleep in the warm sand?
Everyone at Qingliang presses in, to sing poetry aloud—do you yet have the guiding eyes of the ancestors?
[Silence]
Without penetrating the cuckoo's cry,
Blood flows when the mangosteen is torn open.
上堂。三分光陰二早過。遲日江山麗。靈臺一點不揩磨。春風花草香。貪生逐日區區去。泥融飛燕子。喚不回頭。爭奈何沙暖睡鴛鴦。大眾清涼夾頌念詩。還有綱宗眼目麼。啞。杜鵑啼不徹。血流山竹裂。
(CBETA.T48n2002A_001.0122b02)
Submitted July 14, 2022 at 04:33PM by surupamaerl2 https://ift.tt/fBnHmp6
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