A monk came to say good bye to Ch'an master Niaowo (Bird's Nest). He said:
-Thank you, Sir, for everything you've done for me. Now I got to go.
-Where will you go?
-Any place where I can learn Buddha dharmas.
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.