Ching-yuan Wei-hsin, a Chinese Ch'an master, once said this:
Thirty years ago, when having not studied Ch'an, this monk saw mountain was mountains and water was water.
Later, when following the good teacher's guide, this monk...
Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.
The voice of my flute intones through the evening.
Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony, I direct the endless rhythm.
Whoever hears this melody will join me.
Comment: This struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated. I sing the song of the village woodsman, and play the tunes of the children. Astride the bull, I observe the clouds above. Onward I go, no matter who may wish to call me back.