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