My Dharma name is in my heart, and I only believe in Buddhism......

Because I don't know where I came from, who my parents are, when were I born, I just know that I am an ordinary novice, and even the temple where I meditate has no name, and people call it a mountain temple, hidden in a valley stream where pine branches and bamboo shadows are as lush as the shadow of bamboo.

Ten miles of valleys and streams, thousands of doors, hundreds of cliffs and clouds, the incense is extremely prosperous, because the legend has lit the lamp of the ancient Buddha to manifest the spirit, so that this piece of heaven and earth is shrouded in a glass flame pattern.

The first abbot saw the mountain temple Jinshan swaying, and it was fortunately completed... Looking at it from afar, the sun halo is innumerable, looking at himself, as if all the gods and Buddhas are coming, more wonderful, the Sanskrit sound of nature sings from it, clear and peaceful, magnificent and majestic, to the effect that there will be a Buddhist power here in the future, and the world Zen machine ...

But who he is, and even if his teachings can reach the end of the world, what does it matter to me?

I only know that the uncovered assembly will descend, respect the abbot's decree, dress up the mountain temple, and promote the vast Buddha grace of my mountain temple...

So on every strange morning, I was like a beautiful woman on the street just to see his favorite Langjun walking by. I'm going to sweep away the eaves where the swallows roost and wander, and drive away the chattering that surrounds my bald head. Legs muddy in the field, picking and storing green vegetables and bamboo shoots for fasting. The stool ladder dusts the Buddha statue, gently and carefully like waking up a peerless guqin, and it can't go to the incense scale, so as to highlight the "profound" of the incense inheritance of my mountain temple. I never get tired of it, the morning bell and the twilight bell, the sunrise and the moon set.

Gathering the hearts and minds of the senior brothers, the quaint mountain temple was finally dressed up like a big peony, the master dislikes vulgarity, it seems that the aesthetics of this flower cluster are incompatible with him, so he simply doesn't look at it, hiding in the second door of the Jing Pavilion and not stepping out, the door is not out, I feel okay, at least festive, Teasing the master, only a white horse and a sedan chair to enter the door...

Every time I heard this, the master always scared me with a dark and calm face, the six roots are not pure, I don't chant the scroll and memorize the sutras every day, and I will be reincarnated as an asura. I don't mind if Dawu Buddha Hall clears the portal for itself.

What is Asura?

I can't imagine myself turning into a blue-faced fang, chasing all the brothers and sisters all over the mountain, and finally being slapped by the law enforcement monk of the Martial Buddha Hall and pressed into the Demon Suppression Tower...

Let's memorize it, my Prajnaparamita, my Diamond Sutra, my Karang Sutra, and the Lotus Sutra...

I didn't cry red candles, only lit the window paper, and with the help of the lazy twilight and moonlight through the carved wooden lattice, I began to speak for it softly. My gaze cautiously twined between the lines, lest I might alarm it.

Close the roll, close your eyes, be warmed by the cold moonlight, and silently go to insomnia...

This moment is my own meditation, I have also thought carefully, if the mountain temple will really produce a Buddhist power, then I think it must be a Buddha brother, and it must be a Buddha brother...

After all, he didn't have to live like a miscellaneous servant like other senior brothers, carrying water and farming, splitting wood, cooking and feeding horses and sweeping gardens, because this was because his master and abbot were more spoiled, but he also suffered too much jealousy. Because they secretly rumored that he was born as a future Buddha, wearing a beautiful gold-threaded robe, swinging without wind, like a gust of autumn wind sweeping the fallen leaves, brilliant and making people sad from the bottom of their hearts.

I don't know why? Is it the obscure Buddhist scriptures that he can memorize after reading them? And then he talks about the wisdom of the monks who confuses the monks? Or is it the golden Dharma on the birthmark on his forehead? In short, the abbot said that there is a great thought, which will bless all sentient beings, and the day of the light is the time to bless all sentient beings.

Perhaps this uncovered conference is the best proof of him, the stakes of the debate are his own head, heroic and terrifying... Can we deter the inheritance of the Buddhas in the West and Zhongzhou, and shine all over the world? Or can I cut off my own excellent head to apologize for the sins of thousands of monks...

Too much pampering thinks it's too bloody, and this kind of extremely cruel gambling should be stopped... Too much jealousy fanned the flames, and its sinister intentions are well understood... Only Yifo admires the moon and stargazing, the clouds are light and the wind is light...

I am different from them, I accept all this indifferently, because Master said that Buddha, split into Buddhas... It means that a person who has no self, a person who does not even have himself, how can he care about pain and life... If you can't realize this level, what can you talk about enlightening the Buddha? Enlightenment is not skillful discernment, it is spiritual wisdom... At least according to the Buddha, there is an obsessive heart, obsessed with becoming a Buddha...

The ghost knows that my elm pimple, and only knows how the master who sorted out the scriptures knows so much Zen theory? But if you think about it carefully, although this old guy is muna, he is definitely not stupid, but very clever... He seems to always know where there is a winding bamboo forest to realize "gluttony", he seems to have endless wine, endless meat...

I vaguely remember that Master held my hand, the first time I trance into this bamboo forest, the meat he took out made me gobble up, and he took out the altar of wine that made me forget to linger... The mottled bamboo shadow is like a green wattle in the water, lingering in the moonlight like I wandered through the water, maybe this is happiness, although occasionally, the wish is eternal...

The master is still the master, but he is changing the cup and changing the lamp, changing the heaven and earth... These are all from the world, and he has a beautiful name, called Hongchen...

Since then, the winding bamboo forest has made my master and apprentice sink into the mud and can't extricate themselves...

It has also become a secret word between Master and me, and it has also become a mantra for me to chant Master... The moment the four eyes met, the essence flashed, and they knew each other tacitly, where is the guilt? Everything nourishes me when I am alive, and I nourish all things after I die. Fuck the "Lengyan Sutra"... Drinking wine and eating meat, I like...

"For the teacher to realize the "gluttony", people understand the Buddha, what do you realize?"

"I want to understand Hongchen..."

"Wu Hongchen, Wu Hongchen has to go to a brothel, stay in the temple and do something..."

The master gave me a blank look, the long nails picked out the muddy feet and picked the yellow teeth, it seemed to have an aftertaste and unwillingness, maybe this is called obscenity...

If the desires that are close to you are suppressed so much that they are out of reach, they will breed a trace of petty evil, called obscenity...

I couldn't help but feel ape, so I had to take a sip of wine, so that the wine could wash the barrenness in my heart at the moment, but although I knew that it was a pool of untouchable heart lake, Yu Fu Yu rippled... It's better to simply let the desolation trust the horses... Dream up...

The old guy saw that I was drinking more and more, and for fear of losing money, he snatched the wine jar and drank like a cow...

The old guy drank fast and got drunk quickly, staggered to his feet, and finally broke a thumb-thick bamboo pole with his hands and feet, and stumbled and played...

The big gun is nameless, the nameless big gunman, the small one is stuck in the ground... Dacheng can slaughter immortals and kill Buddhas...

In front of a big stone, even the thorn and stab, even the splitting and picking, the stone was beaten and crackled three times, the old guy snorted and gasped in his mouth, scolded trivially, and couldn't hear the number clearly, just like a peasant woman in the field with a pickaxe in the mud splashing and rolling, Sensei said that the slaughter of the immortal and the Buddha is enough to hurt the fox that stole the chicken.

But I've played it so many times that I can't even remember it in my heart... If you want to forget, you can't forget it...

The old guy seemed to be playing more and more energetically, and when he got interested, he actually sang loudly:

The teenager invited the bottle to the moon and had no wine

How do you know that the most bitter thing in life is red dust

Farmers work hard, and they don't encounter many poor doors

The armor is buried in red snow, and the pearls are covered with dust

It's easy to get a lucky person

Love is also early in the morning, and hate is also early in the morning

Don't confuse the old man, all big bowls, clumsy words

How do you know that the happiest thing in life is red dust

There are three or five people in the village of holding the remnants of the qin

Half a pot of turbid wine A few strings of beautiful sounds

It's rare to have a lover

Drunk is also dusk, and waking up is also dusk

The stone still stinks hard as thatch... Finally, with the last "gun" being too strong, it rebounded on the bare head, highlighting a purple bruise, and the sound stopped abruptly...

The master lay on the ground, and the bamboo forest instantly became quiet, and even the sound of the moonlight pouring slowly could be heard...

"I'm old, and I don't have the demeanor of my youth... One shot breaks through 10,000 armors, and all armors bloom..."

The voice came faintly, blending into the moonlight, and seemed to be both aggrieved and cold...

I never pay attention to it, because this old fellow is very good at acting, but after a while, he will get up, because he is afraid that I will eat and drink more and sigh...

Sure enough, before a piece of meat was chewed, the old guy sat cross-legged in front of me, drinking the wine in the jar and eating the meat on the lotus leaf...

Master gradually began to talk endlessly, talking to me about Hongchen. Don't enter the red dust, how to see through the red dust, don't be afraid of the red dust, the red dust is the most refined, and lightly experience the beauty of the red dust...

Reading thousands of books, not into the red dust, that is a bookworm; traveling thousands of miles, not looking at the red dust, that is a chariot and horse footman; reading countless people, not knowing the red dust, that is the bartender tea doctor of the wine shop tea house;

Layers of red dust, layers of color, stacked years, how can it be in a small temple can understand the world?

"The mountain temple is not big?"

The master didn't answer, in short, his eyes were like looking at an idiot, and a weak sigh didn't seem to be enough to wake up a well frog, but it was a pity...

As I became silent with the ignorance brought on by the wine, the master spoke less and less, and finally fell into a deep sleep...

The breeze blew a whisper, like a pair of immortals muttering, and I just wanted to hide the wine and meat, but I was instantly haunted by the hurt inside...

"Amitabha, the female donor must not look for the little monk again, the little monk is dedicated to the Buddha, vowing not to be contaminated with red dust for half a point, the little monk let the donor fall in love wrong..."

The back is dusty... The white clothes are drifting away...

"Then I also want to tell you, my feelings are overwhelmed..."

Qingqing, my female pilgrim, a certain senior brother who doesn't understand the amorous feelings, is even more wonderful than the abbot's teaching, this is the best appetizer... I looked up at the remnants of the wine in the altar, and looked at the secret silhouette of the female pilgrim who was crying, and felt pity...

I think if there is a Buddha, he must have gone through the red dust and is by no means a shelving pavilion, so I don't understand Zen, only the red dust.

I think if there is a Buddha, he must be happy. That's why I don't practice cause and effect, I only practice happiness.

But what is Red Dust? What is happiness?

Where there are people, there is red dust, and where there is red dust, there is happiness?

And is the cause and consequence of happiness full of too many regrets? Without regrets, no matter how much happiness you are given, you will not feel happy?

But where does regret come from? I don't know anything...

A jar of mash that is about to be empty? A beautiful female pilgrim passing by? Is there a twilight sunset? Or do I see the flowing water and flowers falling all over the mountain temple?

But this is a kind of addictive pity, a loss that can't be stopped, and it will spread in my heart like a plague, even if it is the green mountains outside the mountain temple building that are getting bigger and fainter in the distance...