Forsake worldly glory.
Forsaking worldly glory, the Way is long.
Strive diligently to learn the three admonitions,
Admonish my body and mind to return to the native land.
Admonish the mind-root, let not thoughts arise.
Admonish the mouth-root, let not words be proclaimed.
Admonish the hand-root, wield no whip or staff.
Three admonitions, three kings, the kings naturally fragrant.
Spontaneously reaching the immortal hall in emptiness.
The immortal hall is neither near nor far,
Lingering only amidst the multitude's center.
If you wish to dwell in the immortal hall,
Do not grovel in another's land.
If you wish to seek and chant Amitabha Buddha,
East, west, south, north—all are the Western Land.
The Western Amitabha is everywhere,
Before your face, behind your back, in sevenfold arrays.
Some yellow, some red, some crimson or white,
Some large, some small, some short or long.
The sky's canopy is Amitabha's house,
Wood's holes and perforations are Amitabha's rooms.
The paths in the sky above are Amitabha's roads,
Grass and trees are precisely Amitabha's homeland.
Day and night, before and after, the noisy clamor,
Is precisely Amitabha's mouth radiating light.
If you wish to bow to Amitabha Buddha,
Do not think and force yourself in haste.
If not deceiving others, that is bowing.
If not seeking from others, that is the place of enlightenment.
Strive to make the three efforts yourself,
Be diligent and exert strength to sow clothing and food.
Mountains and rivers are home's inexhaustible treasury,
Grass and trees are people's ever-full granary.
Mud and water are people's ever-full storehouse,
Vines are people's bottomless sack.
Do much work, achieve it yourself,
Use your own hands and feet, skillfully adorn yourself.
If you wish to be reborn in the Land of Bliss,
Just this very thing is the Western Land.