From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Hearkening to the pealing of a bell on a silent night, one may be awakened from a dream of dreams. Gazing at the reflection of the moon on a transparent pool, one may visualize a spiritual body in one’s physical body.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Even if a phoenix is roasted and a dragon boiled for food, after the chopsticks are put down, their savors are not different from those of pickled vegetables. Even if gold and jade are hung for adornments, after they have been burned to ashes, they are not other than potsherds.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
When a man leisurely looks at the flies hurtling against a paper-screen, he may scornfully laugh at those idiots who make obstacles for themselves. When he quietly watches the jackdaws squabbling for a nest, he may sigh with regret for those eminent men who struggle with vain heroism.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Flowers display their beauty to the bright spring. But when they are pounded by a downpour of rain and a gust of wind, they are hastened back to dust. Bamboos persist in the integrity of their elegance. Even though they are beaten by frost one morning and snow another, they remain true to their green jade hue.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Straying from Enlightenment, a man finds a happy land to be a sea of suffering, as water is frozen into ice; but awakening to Enlightenment, he discovers a sea of suffering to be a happy land, as ice is melted into water. Hence, we know that suffering and happiness are not two different moods and that straying from, and awakening to, Enlightenment are not two different frames of mind.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
In every human heart, there is a Book of Truth, bound with worn-out strings and torn bamboo-papers. In every human heart, there is also a Symphony of Nature, drowned out by sensual song and voluptuous dance. A man must sweep away all externals and search his inner being in order to experience joy.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Suddenly gazing at the colorful clouds above the horizon, one wonders if all good things are not inane. Often-times beholding the idle trees in the mountains, one believes that a man of leisure is happy.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
A greedy man may be materially rich, but spiritually poor; a contented man may be materially poor, but spiritually rich. One who holds a high position may feel physically at ease, but mentally fatigued; one who has a low position may feel physically fatigued, but mentally at ease. Which of these is a gain and which is a loss, which is real and which unreal, a man of insight can, of course, distinguish for himself.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
The mind is like a bright pearl. If obstructed by material desires, it is like a pearl covered with mud and sand. But if clasped by passions, it is like a pearl adorned with silver and gold. Accordingly, a scholar is afraid not of an unclean malady, but of the difficult cure of a clean malady; and he fears not a barrier in events, but the difficult removal of a barrier in principles.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Insects in the autumn, like birds in the spring, cherish their nature. Why should one thoughtlessly be happy or sad? Old trees, like new flowers, sustain their vitality. Why should one recklessly distinguish between beauty and ugliness?
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Suddenly gazing at the colorful clouds above the horizon, one wonders if all good things are not inane. Often-times beholding the idle trees in the mountains, one believes that a man of leisure is happy.
From A Chinese Garden of Serenity (1959), by Hung Tzu-ch’eng, translated by Chao Tze-chiang:
Sitting by a teapoy in a room bathed with pure breezes and moonbeams, one can read the mind of Heaven in every thing. Walking along a running brook in the clouded mountain, one can observe the mysteries of the Tao in every moment.