With realization, all things are of one family; 
Without realization, everything is separate and different; 
Without realization, all things are of one family; 
With realization, everything is separate and different.


Everyone admires
A graceful horse
Galloping past the streaming sunlight,
But few realize that this fleeting image
Is itself the way of Dharma.


High, high from the summit of the peak,
Whatever way I look, no limit in sight!
No one knows I am sitting here alone.
A solitary moon shines in the cold spring.
Here in the spring – this is not the moon.
The moon is where it always is – in the sky above.
And though I sing this one little song,
In the song there is no Zen.


The true form is magnificently illuminated with gleaming fire.
The teaching’s voice is total silence amid the ringing wind chimes.
The moon hangs in the old pine tree, cold in the falling night.
The chilled crane in its nest in the clouds has not yet been aroused from its dreams.


Rice without millet from fields in the mountains, 
Yellow pickled vegetables - eat as you like.
Otherwise, leave it to east and west.
Please, fellow travelers, each of you make an effort.
Take care.


Seeing with ears and hearing with eyes,
there is no doubt that,
the jewel-like raindrops
dripping from the eaves
are myself.


A fish swims, making the water murky.
A bird flies, shedding its feathers.
The ultimate mirror is difficult to escape.
The great void is boundless.
Once you go, you go endlessly.
By virtue of causation, the one who practices completely lives five hundred lifetimes.
Thunder cracks the mountains and storms shake the ocean.
The color of purified gold does not change.

So-etsu Mineo 

The remaining snow still covers the temple-yard. 
Severe cold of this spring threatens my old bones.
I am too lazy to speak of birth and death, or nirvana. 
I only sit on the Southern verandah, 
taking a sun bath with a potted plum tree. 


The world before my eyes is wan and wasted, just like me.
The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all the grass withered.
No spring breeze even at this late date,
Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reed hut.


Bowing is originally to break the banner of pride:
Why should one’s head not reach the ground?
When you have ego, faults then occur:
Forget your achievement, and blessings are peerless.