Not that mind is stopped and thoughts are put away,
But that there is really nothing to disturb my serenity.”
This is not to convey the idea that he is idly sitting and doing nothing particularly; or that he has nothing else to do but to enjoy the cherry-blossoms fragrant in the morning sun, or the lonely moon white and silvery: he may be in the midst of work, teaching pupils, reading the Sutras, sweeping and farming as all the masters have done, and yet his own mind is filled with transcendental happiness and quietude. He is living in God as Christians may say. All hankerings of the heart have departed, there are no idle thoughts clogging the flow of life-activity, and thus he is empty and poverty-stricken. As he is poverty-stricken, he knows how to enjoy the “spring flowers’’ and the “autumnal moon.” When worldly riches are amassed in his heart, there is no room left there for such celestial enjoyments. The Zen masters are wont of speaking positively about their contentment and unworldly riches. Instead of saying that they are empty-handed, they talk of the natural sufficiency of things about them. Yogi (Yang-ch‘i), however, refers to his deserted habitation where he found himself to be residing as keeper. One day he ascended the lecturing chair in the Hall and began to recite his own verse[7.39]:
“My dwelling is now here at Yogi; the walls and roof, how weather-beaten!
The whole floor is covered white with snow crystal,
Shivering down the neck, I am filled with thoughts.”
After a pause he added the fourth line:
“How I recall the ancient masters whose habitat was no better than the shade of a tree!”
Kyōgen (Hsiang-yen)[7.40] is more direct apparently in his allusion to poverty:
“My last year’s poverty was not poverty enough,