Translated By Tony Qin
Bai Juyi (772-846 CE), the renowned poet of the Tang dynasty, was known by his courtesy name Letian and the sobriquet Xiangshan Jushi (Lay-Sage of Fragrant Mountain). After passing the imperial examination during the Zhenyuan era of Emperor Dezong’s reign (785–805 CE), he was appointed to a prominent post as Left Remonstrator. Yet Bai Juyi’s enduring legacy lies not in his political career, but in his poetry.
Unsettled by the unchecked influence of eunuchs in the imperial court, Bai Juyi boldly submitted critical memorials and composed satirical verses to express his concerns. His candor, however, led to his exile to a minor post in Jiangzhou.
During this period of demotion, Bai Juyi frequently visited the Buddhist monasteries of Mount Lu, where he formed deep connections with the local monastic community. Immersed in Dharma discussions and drawn to the tranquility of the mountain temples, he deepened his understanding of Buddhist teachings and composed verses inspired by spiritual insight.
The Peach Blossoms of Dalin Temple
One day, while lodging at Dalin Temple, Bai Juyi took a solitary walk outside the meditation hall after completing the morning recitation. In the world below, most of the peach blossoms of April had already withered and fallen. Yet here, in this mountain temple, far removed from the dust of the mundane realm, the peach trees had only just begun to bloom. Their fragrance was sweet; their blossoms, a delight to the eyes—lifting the spirit and dissolving worldly worries. In that moment of quiet clarity, he composed the following verse:
“In April, earthly blossoms fade and fall,
But in the mountain temple, peaches bloom anew.
Long have I grieved that spring departs, nowhere to be found—
Unaware it has turned and entered here.”
As spring fades, the poet laments its impermanence. He yearns to recover the breath of spring within the mountains—yet how could a vanished spring return? Thus he writes, “Long have I grieved that spring departs, nowhere to be found.”
The closing line—“Unaware it has turned and entered here”—presents a subtle metaphor. In the mundane world, people drift ceaselessly in pursuit of wealth, status, and fleeting pleasures.
Even those who profess detachment are not immune to the afflictions of greed, anger, and delusion, nor to the inevitable suffering of aging, sickness, and death. So why not let everything go and enter a secluded mountain temple instead?
Here, the spirit of spring abides eternally. Among forested halls and ancient stupas, the life of spiritual practice brings a serenity that reaches far and deep, harmonious and pure. Immersed in meditative contemplation from dawn to dusk, far from the clamor of the world, it is a state of mind that can only be experienced in mountains.
Clouds Without Mind, Waters Serene.
Bai Juyi once spent time in an ancient temple on Mount Tianping in Suzhou. Near the temple was a clear spring, known as White Cloud Spring. One afternoon, after his vegetarian meal, he stood beside the spring with beads in hand, reciting the Buddha’s name. His mind became suddenly clear and serene, and he composed the poem White Cloud Spring:
“On Mount Tianping, the White Cloud Spring—
Clouds without mind, waters serene.
Why rush down from these mountain heights,
To churn the waves of the human realm?”
The white clouds on Mount Tianping drift effortlessly with the wind, coming and going in freedom, without attaching or clinging to the landscape. Clinging arises from the mind of attachment; to be without attachment is to be without mind. Hence the verse: “Clouds without mind, waters serene.” The spring flows on without pause, just like the clouds—unburdened, unbound, never lingering for even a moment.
“Why rush down from these mountain heights, to churn the waves of the human realm?” Why should the spring’s gentle flow leave the quietude of the Buddhist temple to plunge into the mundane world below, just to churn up needless ripples in the human realm?
The Famed Lay-Sage of Fragrant Mountain
As one of the foremost poets of the Tang dynasty, Bai Juyi left behind a vast literary legacy of over 2,800 poems and 800 essays. His masterpieces, such as The Song of Everlasting Sorrow and The Song of the Pipa, have been cherished for centuries. Timeless lines from his works, such as— “As fellow wanderers in this world adrift, need we to have met before?”, “We come like a spring dream, fleeting and brief; we leave like morning clouds, disappearing without a trace”, “In heaven, let us be birds flying in unison; on earth, let us be branches intertwined.”, and “A thousand miles apart for years on end, tonight, only this lonely lamp shares my sorrow.”—have etched themselves into the cultural memory of generations. Alongside Li Bai and Du Fu, Bai Juyi is celebrated as one of the greatest poets in Chinese literary history.
Beyond his literary achievements, Bai Juyi was deeply engaged in Buddhist practice. He often gathered fellow lay practitioners at Xiangshan Monastery for Buddhist ceremonies and meditation, earning him the sobriquet Xiangshan Jushi (The Lay-Sage of Fragrant Mountain). It was there that he composed the following verse:
“In the quiet of the Empty Gate, this old man listens,
Accompanied by birds and clouds that come and go.
At home, wine bottles brim and bookshelves overflow;
Half my livelihood has shifted into Fragrant Mountain.
I delight in the brisk wind and austere peaks, climbing amid the pines,
Enamored with the moon beside the pool, seated upon a stone ledge.
Let me form a bond with the realm of clouds and springs—
And in my next life, become a monk of this mountain.”
Xiangshan Temple, located near Longmen Mountain in Luoyang, Henan Province, is renowned for its exquisite scenery. In his later years, Bai Juyi withdrew to Xiangshan Temple; for him, the serene life of the Empty Gate—where one is accompanied by birds and drifting clouds—was far more meaningful than the worldly grandeur of the imperial court. The relentless intrigues and struggles for power, fame, and status not only harmed the nation but also placed one’s very life at stake.
Here at Xiangshan Temple—devoting himself to the Buddha and monastic practices, scaling pine-clad ridges in the gentle breeze, and silently chanting by the moonlit poolside—he discovered boundless tranquility. This is why he declared:
“Let me form a bond with the realm of clouds and springs—
And in my next life, become a monk of this mountain.”
The tranquil environs filled him with a deep longing: to return in his next life as a monk of Xiangshan Temple.
Practicing Chan in His Middle Age
After taking refuge in the Buddha, Bai Juyi began to study Chan (Zen). He followed Master Ninggong of Shengshan Temple, employing a gradual method of contemplative meditation to observe the mind. In his practice, he composed a Zen inquiry suffused with profound insight:
“One must know that all forms are false forms,
And to cling to ‘Nirvana Without Residue’ is to cling to residue.
Truths become delusion the moment they are spoken,
And to speak of dreams in a dream is twofold illusion.
How can one expect fruit from a hallucinated flower?
How can one catch fish in a shimmering mirage?
To still motion is Zen, yet Zen is motion;
Beyond Zen or motion, suchness is suchness itself.”
The Diamond Sutra states: “All manifested forms are illusory; to see that all forms are false forms is to see the Tathāgata.” If the practitioner clings to the notion of “Nirvana Without Residue” as an attainable state, this itself becomes an attachment, and enlightenment will naturally elude them. Hence, “To cling to ‘Nirvana Without Residue’ is to cling to residue.”
Ultimate truth cannot be expressed through words or concepts; the moment it is spoken, it becomes delusion. Awakening lies beyond the realm of discrimination, thus he writes, “Truths become delusion the moment they are spoken.” And since ordinary beings are like dreamers unaware they are dreaming, to talk of dreams whilst in a dream is to fall into a “twofold illusion.”
How can a hallucinated flower that has no reality possibly bear fruit? And how can stillness be Zen if it means clinging to a dualistic notion in opposition to movement? Zen is without discrimination. When the practitioner clings to neither “Zen” nor “movement”, and even the conceptual notion of “non-attachment” is relinquished, naturally, that is “Beyond Zen or motion, suchness is suchness itself.”
Practicing Pure Land in His Later Years
In the 6th year of the Kaicheng era of the Tang Dynasty (841 CE), Bai Juyi initiated the carving of a grand relief sculpture in Xiangshan Temple. Nine feet high and thirteen feet long, the sculpture depicted the Pure Land of Amitābha Buddha. At its center stood Amitābha himself, flanked by Avalokiteśvara and Mahāsthāmaprāpta, surrounded by ranks of reverent celestial beings. Palatial towers, musicians, flowing waters, jeweled trees, blossoms, and birds were rendered with exquisite reverence, faithfully portraying the Western Pure Land as described in the Amitābha Sutra.
Once the relief was completed, Bai Juyi made a vow before the Buddha: “May the merit from this work be shared to all sentient beings. May all beings who, like me, are old and ill, be freed from suffering and find joy. May they cut off evil and cultivate good, and, according to their vows, be reborn in the Western Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss.” To this day, remnants of this sculpture remain carved into the cliff face near the Ten Thousand Buddhas Ravine at Xiangshan Temple.
In his later years, Bai Juyi turned away from meditation alone and embraced the Pure Land practice of mindful recitation. He composed a verse titled Essential Words on the Pure Land, which has been passed down to this day:
“Now seventy-one, I no longer sing of worldly things.
Scripture strains the eyes, and to gain merit is too much striving.
How best to free the heart and mind? One phrase: ‘Amitābha’.
Walking—‘Amitābha’. Sitting—‘Amitābha’.
However hectic the world becomes, I keep reciting ‘Amitābha’.
The sun is setting and the road is long, my life already squandered.
With a clear mind from dawn to dusk, I recite ‘Amitābha’.
The awakened ones may laugh at me—always repeating ‘Amitābha’.
But what is awakening, truly? And if I’ve not awoken, so what?
I urge all beings in the Dharma Realm: Just recite ‘Amitābha’.”
