Hôkyôzanmai : Precious Mirror of the Samadhi

Buddha’s patriarchs have touched Her in secret.

Now that you’ve got,

I beg you, keep Her intact.

Like a silver bowl covered with snow,

Or a crane hidden in the glare of the moon,

Things look like it without being equal.

Even taken together, we know where they are.

Her meaning is not in words,

It evolves over circumstance.

Touched, and here you are at the bottom of a hole.

In contradiction, and you’re hesitant.

Move away or touch:

Both wrong.

Neither one nor the other, mustn’t be

She is as massive fire.

Express with elegant words,

And it gets dirty

The middle of the night brought forth in full,

And it fainted at dawn

She is the norm that governs things,

Use Her to abolish suffering.

Even if She is not conditioned,

Words do not fail to speak about.

Just like your face and their reflection

Each one seeing them in a precious mirror

You’re not Her,

But She is you

She has five brands of a newborn

Who does not go nor coming,

Who does not rise or remains in place.

And with the chatter, phrase or not,

Finally gets nothing:

The speech is not yet right.

She interacts as the hexagram “Fire”,

These scripts we arranged,

And which superimposed, give three,

Become five when they are swapped.

She embraces the wonderful Interdependence

In the world of the infinite things variety,

Like Shiso grasses have five tastes,

Like sceptre diamond.

She is the accompany drum

The sing is in unison

She passes through the beginning,

She runs through the path,

She fits in any area,

She slithers through any means of access.

If we take great care to respected Her,

Prophecy will be happy.

Nothing can be opposite

Her things order

Mysterious in Her natural state,

She is neither an illusion nor enlightenment.

According to causes, conditions and opportunities,

She shines in silence.

So slim, She get into where no fissure

So great, She exceeds all limits.

However, from the tiniest gap,

We are outside Her harmonic.

Today there are

Sudden awaken, and gradual enlightenment.

Religious systems appear,

And, therefore, divide.

Immediately, they are standards.

Those religions that follow these standards,

Come to apprehend or not,

Reality pursued Her course.

Quiet outside, vibrating within,

Like a horse or a rat lurking hampered,

Buddhas of the past were moved to pity,

Offering Reality of the Buddha,

Offering the Dharma that leads to the other side

Of because to follow the misconceptions,

You take the black silk for the unbleached.

But these misconceptions once between-destroyed,

Exhausting the false thoughts,

Your mind is opening up to be transform.

If you aspire to follow the old trail,

I beg you contemplate the former wisdom,

As this Buddha who, on the verge of achieving his enlightenment,

During ten eons gazing tree.

Of that misery life,

That of be the treasure Buddha Nature open

Like the missing ear of a tiger,

Like white markings of a horse

His miracle is that even the obtuse beings are affected by

As by Yi his perfect flying arrows from a hundred paces.

And if a spear reaches his arrow in flight,

Is achievement is it invalidating?

A barren woman gets up to dance

When a booby sings,

There, neither feeling, nor conscious.

Better! Did she even need to think about it?

A vassal serves his lord,

A son obeys his father.

Do not obey is not be a good son,

Do not serve, is does not help.

The practice of Buddha patriarchs

Daily, seriously and without ostentation

In ordinary behaviour

Silly seems and absurd.

Yet the fact that it is perpetuated

By perfect mutual transmission,