Mi Zenria

 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.
Along the riverbank under the trees,
I endlessly push aside the tall
paths of distant mountains,
Deep in remote mountains they are found.
These traces can no more be hidden
than one's nose, looking heavenward.
In the pasture of the world,
I hear the song of the nightingale.
I seize him with a terrific struggle.
His great will and power
are inexhaustible.
Better to have been blind and deaf
naturally gentle.
Dwelling in one's true abode,
unconcerned with and without -
I direct the endless rhythm.
The voice of my flute intones
through the evening.
This heaven is so vast,
no message can stain it.
Here no Ox can hide!
I discover footprints.
Here are the footprints of
some dusty road.
I see his prints.
How may a snowflake exist
from the beginning!
Too many steps have been taken
in a raging fire.
Within my thatched dwelling
the Ancestors.
The dawn has come. In blissful repose,
all merge in No Thing.
My strength failing and my vitality exhausted
Whoever hears this melody
far above the cloud-mists,
will join me.
I cannot find the Ox.
I return homeward.
I cannot find the Ox.