a toaist priest

into a soul absolutely free,  from thoughts and emotion, even the tiger finds no room to insert its fearce claws.

one and the same breeze passes over the pines and the mountain and the oak tree in the valley; and why do they give different notes?

no thinking, no reflecting, perfect emptiness, Yet theirin something moves, following its own course.

the eye sees it but no hand can take hold of it- the moon in the stream

clouds and mists they are mid air transformations, above them eternally shine the sun and the moon.

victory is for the one, even before the combat, who has no thought of himself, abiding in the no-mind-ness of great origen.