In the pasture of the world, I endlessly push aside the tall grasses in search of the bull. Following unnamed rivers, lost upon the interpenetrating paths of distant mountains, My strength failing and my vitality exhausted, I cannot find the bull. I only hear the locusts chirping through the forest at night.
Along the riverbank under the trees, I discover footprints. Even under the fragrant grass, I see the prints. Deep in remote mountains they are found. These traces can no more be hidden than one’s nose, looking heavenward
I hear the song of the nightingale. The sun is warm, the wind is mild, willows are green along the shore. Here no bull can hide! What artist can draw that massive head, those majestic horns?
I seize it with a terrific struggle. Its great will and power are inexhaustible. It charges to the high plateau far above the cloud-mists, Or in an impenetrable ravine it stands.
The whip and rope are necessary, Else it might stray off down some dusty road. Being well-trained, it becomes naturally gentle. Then, unfettered, it obeys its master.
Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward. The voice of my flute intones through the evening. Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony, I direct the endless rhythm. Whoever hears this melody will join me.
Astride the bull. I reach home. I am serene. The bull too can rest. The dawn has come. In blissful repose, Within my thatched dwelling I have abandoned the whip and ropes.
Whip, rope, person, and bull – all merge in No Thing. This heaven is so vast, no message can stain it. How may a snowflake exist in a raging fire. Here are the footprints of the Ancestors.
Too many steps have been taken returning to the root and the source. Better to have been blind and deaf from the beginning! Dwelling in one’s true abode, unconcerned with and without – The river flows tranquilly on and the flowers are red.
Barefooted and naked of breast. I mingle with the people of the world. My clothes are ragged and dust-laden, and I am ever blissful. I use no magic to extend my life; Now, before me, the dead trees become alive.
