Seeking out the Dharma in India, I crossed the sea arriving here,
Climbing the mountain and suffering cold with much hardship and few pleasures.
Not cutting beard or hair, it became unkempt and tangled,
No thoughts of being a renunciate or layman – flower and leaf are of the same trunk.
Thus, just training, abiding in the great path;
Monk, nun, freeman and slave – in the void there are no differences.
Day by day sitting in meditation, prostrating and reading scriptures,
The words of masters perfume the mind – mindful of Buddha, becoming Buddha.
The red cloaked monks all possess the mind of the path,
Palms together, smiling faces – though it is cold, hearts are warm.
Hearing the sound of the yaks, mind and body are in order,
Seeing the snowy mountain peaks, I think of the skies back home.
Verses of a Wanderer 游士文
Having spent some months doing meditation in the high Himalayas of northern India, I was inspired to write some verses as best I could in Classical Chinese, which I present here along with a loose English translation.