Deep in the night, awake and restless,
I hear the neighbors' breathing sounds.
My household boy also joins the chorus,
Thunderous snores hidden by the bed's edge.
The sick man silently leans on his pillow,
Feeling more and more the tossing and turning.
The sounds of nature are silent, unheard;
Only this sound is round and full.
I know for sure the snoring man
Is surely not a literate one.
Otherwise, entangled in affairs,
How could he keep his nature whole?
Children in the world who learn to write
Often tie themselves to troubles' cause.
Knowing one character more,
They wish to grasp the eight directions.
Who would willingly freeze like a turtle shrinking,
Competing to chirp like a cold cicada?
What time is it today?
They sleep soundly, seeking comfort.
Often in the middle of the night I rise,
And pace about, dancing in vain.
Great is the scholar who transcends the world,
Making heaven and earth his quilt and pillow.
His head rests on the western mountain's peak,
His spirit covers the northern sea's shore.
Life and death are but a dream's awakening,
Cold and heat are like bending and stretching.
Sometimes between the two heels,
The out-breath seems like mist swirling.
Butterflies also flutter lightly,
Guest and host—who is distant, who is close?
Like a man skilled in drinking,
Who shouts and watches the guests.
Or like a wealthy family's elder,
Managing affairs, laughing at the poor.
Leisurely between the wood and the goose,
Who, at year's end, wields the axe?
You ask me about eyeless Zen,
I answer you with wondrous insight.
I too rise and wash the cup,
Soften my feet in Chang'an's spring.
Hang down my roc's great wings,
Grease my divine horse's wheel.
Not yet having passed through Huaxu land,
I merely follow the Ge Tian people.
Awakening from the dream, again bewildered,
I rouse myself, calling out from the thicket of thorns.