In filthy ditches, whales and leviathans lie,
Where ants and termites hold them, make them die.
A place unfit for such a noble frame,
Brings sighs from Jia Yi, who mourned the same.
I doubt the sage of Luoyang saw so clear,
His vision limited, his thought not sheer.
Coiled up, it cannot stretch its form with grace,
Perhaps the body's burden seals its case.
I came beside the Yao River's flow,
And bowed my head where Dragon Mountain's temples show.
In water clear, a foot or so in deep,
The dragon chose this quiet place to sleep.
To drink from it can make one's spirit small,
Or wallow in the mud, and have no thrall.
But wait until its time to rise and soar,
Clouds ride and rains pour, forevermore.
From nothing into being, it can glide,
No one can see where its beginnings hide.
This dragon, thus a dragon, stands alone,
Above all creatures, it has surely grown.
That whale across the river, fierce and grim,
Ships and oars it swallows, on a whim.
It knows not how to bend or to extend,
Once huge, it cannot to smallness descend.
The vast sea may, in time, be drained and dry,
What use then are its fins, against the sky?
The dragon's might is heaven's own design,
No trace in mud can its true worth confine.
Great waves may churn and toss with all their might,
Or in a spoon of water, take delight.
Rivers and seas are where it finds its ease,
But caves and cliffs can also give it peace.
It may lie hidden in the deepest deep,
Or swiftly leap, a vigil it will keep.
Greatness and smallness have no fixed name,
Its changes none can wholly hope to claim.
I've heard the yellow-faced elder's lore,
The Dharma gate that speaks of nothing more.
The small can enter where no space appears,
The large can circle through the cosmic spheres.
A mustard seed holds Mount Sumeru's span,
Such wondrous words the truth reveal to man.
The dormant dragon lingered long in thought,
Perhaps this very meaning it has caught.