A Single Mote of Dust

A single mote of dust
Displaying our original face.
Body and mind both drop off;
Unsure of what to call them.


Eyes shining out from the clouds,
The empty sky has no inside or outside.
Destitute of words,
Become passersby.


Mind, just mind, Original 
Nature. Body, just body, 
True Self.
Not different or alike.


An ocean wave is billowing,
The wind, it drifts along.
Movement and rest, no different,
A very natural song.


One light
Continuing from the first
Ultimately becomes
Fully illuminating.


Which does not entangle
Or distress, aside
The teachings of the world,
Clouds of doubt and delusion.


Sitting in peace
As empty as a 
Cold forest on
A green day.


Wisdom of meditation,
Practice of the Way.
Don’t think about it,
Nothing is achieved.


Business is corruption,
Money is polluting;
Throw it away
And be clean.


Some ink and paper,
Used for writing;
Don’t use them,
Forget they exist.


Abstaining from the world,
Floating on an existence,
The misleading mind extinguished
In a wordless actuality.


Fine garments and nice things
Do not a virtuous person make.
You may profit in the game of appearances
But you look like a dead dog on a dung heap.


Harmony is the playing of
Multiple independent sounds at
Once. And when you do
They all sound well together.


But that does not
Mean that there is such a
Thing as disharmony for that’s just
A harmony you aren’t yet used to.


All goes with all;
Nothing out of place.
Myriad combinations of things
That do not judge each other.


For words are just unnecessary,
Judgments give a sour face,
Things will be what they will be
No one decides the case.


Breathing in air,
Existing in a gaseous sea,
Dependent on the elements,
Part of One.


How do you feel?
How do you think?
How do you know?
Don’t create a stink.


Traditions,
You ought not to look at them,
Read them, or listen to them
In too great a measure.


Only a fool seeks disciples,
Only the disreputable seek fame;
A quite home, a peaceful existence,
These are your best friends.


There is nothing you need to know,
There is nothing to need to think,
There is nothing you need to feel;
There is nothing.


Having nothing that the body
Needs to do,
The ten thousand things,
Joyfully unhindered.


A silent metamorphosis,
A multitude of things;
Simplicity in process
What need to make sense?


A naked body exposed
For all to look at and stare, 
No shame is felt, no need to look, 
For nothing's really there. 


I'm free at last, I'm free, you shout
Into the wide abyss, 
Drop to your knees, take out the snake, 
Embrace the serpent's kiss. 


The dogs of old who wore a cloak 
Knew how to walk the way, 
Ignore the customs of the old
And, liberated, say:


Money and fame are not for me
For I would virtue seek, 
Simplicity and peacefulness, 
A harmony of the meek. 


Through dogs of clouds and heart of war
And treasure, Lust and pain, 
Repeat this pome twice after me
And ne'er say it again. 


I laugh at silly egotism, 
I ignore your gormless pride, 
I sit here in humility
With virtue at my side. 


With nature set before me
Her offspring all around, 
I fade into the background
Til no one hears a sound. 


A single mote of dust
Displaying our original face.
Body and mind both drop off;
Doesn’t matter what you call them.