Translated By Tony Qin
“From the front, they seem like lofty ridges; from the side, steep peaks.
Standing far or near, high or low, each unveils a different form.
It is impossible to perceive Mount Lu’s true visage—
Whilst immersed in the mountain itself.”
— “Inscribed on the Wall of Xilin” by Su Dongpo
When the great Song Dynasty poet Su Dongpo (see Note 1) visited Mount Lu, he was deeply enchanted by its transcendent and unique landscape. From the front, the mountain appears as lofty ridges cleaving the sky; from the side, it rises in steep, majestic peaks. Depending on one’s vantage point, the mountain’s form shifts endlessly, revealing countless faces. So, what, then, is the true visage of this magnificent mountain? It is indeed difficult for a traveler to grasp its reality while situated within the mountain, bound to their limited perspective—thus Su Dongpo observed, “It is impossible to perceive Mount Lu’s true visage whilst immersed in the mountain itself.”
The “true visage” of Mount Lu varies with each observer’s condition and perspective, just as Suchness gives rise to the manifold phenomena of the world—a principle the Buddhist teachings describe as “unchangingly following conditions” (see Note 2). Though all things manifest in myriad forms, their inherent nature remains unaltered—aptly described as “following conditions, yet unchanged.”
When one becomes attached to transient appearances—entangled in greed, pride, delusion, or desire—one loses sight of their true nature and cannot perceive the ultimate reality.
What, then, is this true nature? Simply lay down the notion of self, and clarity will naturally arise.
The Murmuring Stream Is the Buddha’s Endless Tongue
One day, Su Dongpo visited Donglin Temple to pay his respects to Chan Master Zhaojue and participate in a seven-day meditation retreat.
Throughout the retreat, the assembly practiced with great diligence, seeking to deepen their realization. At the conclusion of the seven days, the master asked everyone to compose a verse reflecting the insights they had gained through meditation. Although Su Dongpo was a literary genius of his time, his meditative understanding was still in its early stages. To write a verse overnight that conveyed genuine awakening to a Chan master was no easy task.
That evening, as he pondered on the challenge, he pushed open his window. In the dim moonlight, he gazed out at a mountain stream flowing in the distance. Its gentle murmuring echoed through the valleys, clear and melodious. A deep tranquility filled his heart. The sound of the water was like the Buddha himself expounding the Dharma, dissolving all his restlessness and doubt.
As he took in the vast expanse of mountains and lake, he saw with sudden clarity the wondrous interwoven conditions of nature—seamlessly whole, perfectly in harmony. In that moment, understanding dawned upon him. Inspired, he took up his brush and composed a verse:
“The murmuring stream is the Buddha’s boundless tongue,
Are these mountains not his pure dharma-body?
Through the night, eighty-four thousand verses resound—
But how shall I convey them to the others tomorrow?”
The stream’s ceaseless murmur is like the Buddha speaking the Dharma to all beings—fluid, continuous, and without end; the silent stillness of the moonlit peaks mirror the Buddha’s pure dharma-body of ultimate reality.
The interplay of sound and silence, movement and stillness, coalesced in the poet’s mind as an unimpeded, all-encompassing wisdom, flowing out as 84,000 verses like the ceaseless waters of the stream, stretching endlessly like the boundless mountain ridges. Thus, he exclaimed:
“Through the night, eighty-four thousand verses resound—
But how shall I convey them to others tomorrow?”
Such an experience was too deep, too ineffable to capture in words. How could he possibly describe it to the Chan masters and fellow practitioners the next day?
A Swan’s Fleeting Tracks in the Snow
“To what can we liken human life?
Perhaps to a swan’s fleeting tracks in the snow—
By chance, its claws leave imprints in the mud,
Before soaring, never looking back, east or west.
The old monk has died, replaced by a new pagoda.
The crumbling walls no longer bear the poems we once inscribed.
Do you still remember the rugged mountain road,
The long journey, the weary traveler, and the lame donkey’s cry?”
— “A Reply to My Brother Ziyou, Reminiscing on the Old Days at Mianchi” by Su Dongpo
On this fleeting journey of life, wherever we go, we leave only temporary traces—like a wild swan that brushes briefly against the earth, pressing its claws into the mud before lifting off again. All that remains are fading footprints in snow and soil.
“The old monk has died, replaced by a new pagoda”—Such is the natural order of human existence: birth, aging, illness, and death. In the blink of an eye, a once-vigorous monk has grown old and passed away. The one Su Dongpo speaks of was a close friend—now cremated, his ashes enshrined in a stupa built in remembrance.
“The crumbling walls no longer bear the poems we once inscribed.”—Even the monastery’s walls have succumbed to time. The poems once etched upon them have vanished without a trace. Just as human life undergoes birth, aging, illness, and death, so too do things pass through the cycles of arising, abiding, decay, and dissolution. These lines quietly reflect the Buddha’s teachings on impermanence, suffering, and emptiness.
As a devoted student of the Dharma, Su Dongpo understood that true liberation comes only by uprooting the deep afflictions—greed, hatred, delusion, pride, doubt, and false views. Only by cutting through these inner obstacles can one be freed from the endless cycle of birth and death across the three realms and six paths.
To him, life is just like a wild swan’s tracks on snowy ground.
(Note 1) Su Shi (1036–1101), also known by his literary name Su Dongpo, was a native of Meishan, Sichuan during the Northern Song Dynasty. He was one of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song Dynasties, renowned for his poetry, essays, calligraphy, and painting. His poems, noted for their boldness and vitality, was praised alongside the works of Huang Tingjian, while his unrestrained lyric verses stood in celebrated parallel with that of Xin Qiji. His major collections include The Complete Works of Dongpo and Dongpo’s Lyric Verses.
(Note 2) Unchangingly Following Conditions: True Suchness ( or True Mind) is the essence of all phenomena beyond time and space, formless, unborn and undying, and eternally abiding—referred to as “unchanging.” At the same time, this unchanging essence responds to both pure and impure conditions, manifesting the myriad phenomena of the world—this is “following conditions.”
“Following conditions, yet unchanged” refers to phenomena arising, changing, and ceasing, in accordance with cause and effect (“following conditions”) while the underlying nature of Tathatā remains constant and unaffected (“unchanged”). Thus, True Suchness has two aspects: “unchanging” and “following conditions.” For a more detailed explanation, refer to The Awakening of Faith in the Mahayana, The Five Teachings of Huayan (Ch 4), and The Profound Discussions of Huayan (Ch 4).
