First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Operating superficially, the mind is random in its activity and stale in its insights and images. However, with practice and experience the mind is freed from the skull, and the fresh and new can appear as though for the first time. It