Between heaven and earth, human life drifts,
Like a rootless plant, adrift and free.
High or low, long-lived or short, all forms,
Are but playthings of the Creator's decree.
The wise remain serene and at ease,
Never scheming for a secure fate.
How can idle plants and trees,
Just endure human flattery and state?
Cold pines are named 'Grand Officers,'
Withered trees hailed as 'Recluses.'
Then come those seeking blessings, of course,
Bringing axes, a destructive force.
Aloof and high, it never sought fame,
But gained a burdensome, cumbersome name.
This tree too endures the winter's chill,
Standing lush and green, graceful and still.
In autumn, its fruits hang in dense array,
Numbering far more than five hundred, they say.
Whose measure shaped its rounded head?
Who bestowed its purple hue widespread?
None can answer when asked, it seems,
The Dharma Gate reveals non-dual themes.
Tall and unique, aloof from worldly trend,
It finds in me a kindred friend.
It grants me a branch to break and take,
To steep in a jar by my window, for art's sake.
Stripped of leaves, the bough lies bare,
Yet a vibrant life stirs from within, rare.
Three summers and winters pass, slow and fleet,
It scorns all things that wither in defeat.
Reflecting on masters of Yin and Yang,
Who trace life's benefits to water and wood's gang.
Just keep your integrity firm and strong,
Don't marvel if roots seem twisted or wrong.
Yandang and Tiantai, with streams and stones,
Are the lifelong aims my spirit owns.
The wooden seat is free and洒脱,
The bamboo尊者 has its own flavor.
When shall we meet with a laugh, so free,
And return together to the First Truth's decree?