One day a girl in geisha house hailed the Japanese Zen master Mokudo by name. He went inside and discovered that the girl was a childhood acquaintance. The crops had failed one year in their village, and she had become a courtesan...
I hear the song of the nightingale.
The sun is warm, the wind is mild, willows are green along the shore,
Here no bull can hide!
What artist can draw that massive head, those majestic horns?
Comment:When one hears the voice, one can sense its source. As soon as the six senses merge, the gate is entered. Wherever one enters one sees the head of the bull! This unity is like salt in water, like color in dyestuff. The slightest thing is not apart from self.