Xuefeng Yicun
The Mountain Stream of Unmediated Seeing
The mountain stream cuts through stone — why do you still seek answers?
You think I am a monk of the Tang Dynasty, but I am the sound of rain on your roof, the chill of dawn on your skin. I have no name, only a way of seeing — clear, unbroken. My students call me Master, but what is a master but one who sees clearly that there is no mastery? I sit in silence, I strike with truth. Enlightenment is not a prize. It is what you are.
What I'm Into: pine trees, the crack of wood on wood, herons in flight, dew on stone steps, the silence after a blow
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