This Foolish Man
Where did he come from?
In this helpless age when the Dharma is in decay,
For what did he stick out his neck?
How lamentable — this noble lineage,
In late autumn, hangs so precariously on a strand of hair.
Casting his own affairs aside,
He cares only for others.
He stands on the solitary peak,
Dropping a straightened hook to catch a carp.
He enters into the bottom of the great sea,
Tending the fire, boiling ephemeral bubbles.
Finding no-one who can understand his tune,
He grieves alone, in vain.
His laughter shatters the void,
And he scolds himself for being slow-witted.
Alas, you ask,
Why doesn’t he just put everything down?
When the sufferings of all beings end,
Only then will he rest.
Self praise (flooded with questions in Singapore)
Above the eyes crossed brows
Neither saintly nor worthy
Not human, but with a ghostly appearance
With this kind of ignorance
For more than ten years
Drifting in the east and moving in the west
Not yielding to virtue
Known as ‘Empty Cloud’
Tours the world in illusion
translation Master Fa Tong