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The clear water sparkles like crystal,
you can see through it easily, right to the bottom.
My mind is free from every thought,
nothing in the myriad realms can move it.
Since it cannot be wantonly roused,
forever and forever it will stay unchanged.
When you have learned to know in this way,
you’ll know there is no inside or out.

Han Shan

A Buddhist monk named Han Shan got tired of life in the monastery and moved off to the wilderness. He wrote verses expressing his thoughts about life on rocks and trees, which were collected and assembled in a text called Cold Mountain.

The clear water sparkles like crystal,
you can see through it easily, right to the bottom.
My mind is free from every thought,
nothing in the myriad realms can move it.
Since it cannot be wantonly roused,
forever and forever it will stay unchanged.
When you have learned to know in this way,
you’ll know there is no inside or out.

Yes, there are stingy people,
but I’m not one of the stingy kind.
The robe I wear is flimsy? The better to dance in.
Wine gone? It went with a toast and a song.
Just so you keep your belly full-
never let those two legs go weary.
When the weeds are poking through your skull,
that’s the day you’ll have regrets!

Today I sat before the cliff,
sat a long time till mists had cleared.
A single thread, the clear stream runs cold;
a thousand yards the green peaks lift their heads.
White clouds – the morning light is still.
Moonrise – the lamp of night drifts upward.
Body free from dust and stain,
what cares could trouble my mind?

Cold cliffs, more beautiful the deeper you enter –
yet no one travels this road.
White clouds idle about the tall crags;
on the green peak a single monkey wails.
What other companions do I need?
I grow old doing as I please.
Though face and form alter with the years,
I hold fast to the pearl of the mind.

Cold Mountain is full of weird sights;
people who try to climb it always get scared.
When the moon shines, the water glints and sparkles;
when the wind blows, the grasses rustle and sigh.
Snowflakes make blossoms for the bare plum,
clouds in place of leaves for the naked trees.
At a touch of rain, the whole mountain shimmers
but only in good weather can you make the climb.

Story on story of wonderful hills and streams,
their blue-green haze locked in clouds!
Mists brush my thin cap with moisture,
dew wets my coat of plaited straw.
On my feet I wear pilgrim’s sandals,
my hand holds a stick of old rattan.
Though I look down again on the dusty world,
what is that land of dreams to me?

My mind is like the autumn moon
shining clean and clear in the green pool.
No, that’s not a good comparison.
Tell me, how shall I explain?

On Cold Mountain lives a naked insect,
its body is white and its head is black.
In its arm it carries a couple of books,
one “The Way” and the other “The Power.”
At home it doesn’t bother with kettle or stove,
on a journey it takes along no clothes,
but always it carries the sword of True Wisdom
to cut down the thieves of senseless desire.

You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist. Nietzsche

It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger.

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.

There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.

“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.

Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth because they don’t want their illusions destroyed.

In heaven, all the interesting people are missing.

There are no facts, only interpretations.

The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies but also to hate his friends.

The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.

In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.

No one can construct for you the bridge upon which precisely you must cross the stream of life, no one but you yourself alone.

Is man merely a mistake of God’s? Or God merely a mistake of man?

The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.

The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.