Cast away Dharma, Not to mention non-Dharma.
One snowflake falling on a burning furnace.
Heaven, earth, and I: the same root. Everything and I: one thing.
Seek satori within yourself! Where else?
Fire is hot; water, cold.
All things that exist are like a dream, a phantom, a bubble, a reflection; they are like dew or lightning; thus should you view them.
Merciful words come out of the merciful mouth.
No good thought, no evil thought.
Sitting motionless, nothing happening — Spring coming, grass growing.
Reach for it, and you'll miss; let it loose, and it'll follow.
Watch all sentient beings with merciful eyes.
Spring comes: grass grows.
Pictured rice cakes dissolve hunger?
Worldly passions inseparable from satori.
Never comparable to anything: How can I preach it?
What is the color of the wind? Where does the rain come from?
Killing or vivifying is in these hands.
Much understand, much problem. Little understand, little problem. Complete DON'T KNOW, no problem.
To call heaven earth makes it earth? To name earth heaven makes it heaven?
Ordinary mind is the Way.
Open your mouth— instantly wrong; Move your tongue— against the truth.
Go a thousand miles not moving a foot!
He dies, I die - Where can we meet?
When cold say cold; When hot say hot.
Seeking words, chasing phrases: When do you have time for satori?
Once you preach, the point is gone.
With the slightest yes and no, Mind is lost in confusion.
Meeting Sakyamuni, kill him! Meeting Bodhidharma, kill him, too!
Not flattered by praise, not hurt by blame.
Watch your own steps!
Ten thousand laws end in One : Don't stick to that, either!
From outside the shoes, to scratch where you itch.
No ugliness in a loved child.
Everything is true just as it is: Why dislike it? Why hate?
One blind man leads many blind men Into the fire hole hand in hand.
A hungry dog bites a dry bone.
Angry waves: not so dangerous as man's mind.
Walking is Zen; sitting, too.
Rich food doesn't tempt the man who has eaten.
Where no Buddha, the Buddha works.
The Billion Worlds, a bubble on the sea; All Buddhas and Patriarchs, a flash of lightning.
It rains: the earth wet.
Coming back with satori but everything just as before: Hermit Mountain's drizzle and mist, Crooked River's waves . . .
From the origins nothing exists.
The man who's drunk water Knows if it's cool or warm.
Day after day a very good day: Winds come and trees bow.
Spring opens a hundred flowers — for whom?
Produce Mind Without attachment to anything.
Teaching beyond teaching; No leaning on words and letters.
Need fire? Best strike a flint. Water? Dig a well.
Every Saturday 05 pm.