A Taoist Priest

Into a soul absolutely free

From thoughts and emotion,

Even the tiger finds no room

To insert its fierce claws.

One and the same breeze passes

Over the pines on the mountain

And the oak trees in the valley ;

And why do they give different notes ?

No thinking, no reflecting,

Perfect emptiness;

Yet therein something moves.

Following its own course.

The eye sees it,

But no hand can hold it-

The moon in the stream.

Clouds and mists,

They appear midair transformations;

Above them eternally shine the sun and the moon.

Victory is for the one,

Even before the combat,

Who has no thought of himself,

Abiding in the no-mind-ness of Great Origin