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Poem

The moon shines in my body,
but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me,
and so is the sun.

The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me;
but my deaf ears cannot hear it.

So long as man clamours for the ‘I’ and the ‘Mine’,
his works are as naught:
When all love of the ‘I’ and the ‘Mine’ is dead,
then the work of the Lord is done.

For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge:
When that comes, then work is put away.

The flower blooms for the fruit:
when the fruit comes, the flower withers.
The musk is in the deer,
but it seeks it not within itself:
it wanders in quest of grass.

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