Not a Christian, not a Buddhist, not a Confucian either
Not a Christian, not a Buddhist, not a Confucian either,
in a blind lane peddling my writings, I managed to amuse myself
What fragrance did I gather, passing through the gardens of art?
How many greens have I wandered, there on poetry fields?
In the ashes of the burned book the book lives, I know;
in Dharma-less worlds the Dharma may spring to life again
Beat the gods till they're dead, and when no shadow remains,
clear, sharp in the formless void, wise and foolish will appear.
in a blind lane peddling my writings, I managed to amuse myself
What fragrance did I gather, passing through the gardens of art?
How many greens have I wandered, there on poetry fields?
In the ashes of the burned book the book lives, I know;
in Dharma-less worlds the Dharma may spring to life again
Beat the gods till they're dead, and when no shadow remains,
clear, sharp in the formless void, wise and foolish will appear.
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