A master of letters from the mountain of Dao,
With staff and sandals, he makes a secluded dwelling.
Brush and inkstone are but playful things,
His craft spills over, turning ink to dragons.
A lifetime's million words,
Initially never stray from settled marks.
He pities more the scholars of the world,
Deeply ensnared in the dusty web.
Laughing, he follows the tracks of twin forests,
Vowing to break ten thousand doubts.
Eight sides array divine kings,
Swords and halberds bristle, held in hand.
Angry eyes confront the dragon palace,
Mechanisms and secrets cut off all schemes.
Buddha's words vast without bounds,
Heaven and earth seem they could be filled.
A turn in talk and laughter ends,
The Jade Dipper's time has not yet shifted.
Those who see all understand clearly,
Dull roots transform to divine mechanism.
Otherwise, dividing the three treasuries,
Who could leave none behind?
White-haired, he delves into old papers,
When is the time to raise his head?
This grace now wishing to repay,
Looking around, on whom to rely?
In Buddha, originally nothing said,
For you, sir, what is there to do?
Treasure the exiled immortal,
Climbing mountains, strength not yet weary.
The horizon stretches ten thousand miles vague,
Wherever he settles becomes home.
Following conditions, he makes praises,
Marvelous words, how wondrous and strange.
Placed between heaven and earth,
For a thousand years, none dare oppose.
My life has many fleshy obstructions,
Troubling you to show the precious comb.
Please make one phrase to cover all,
Mani is Zhongni.