The Mustard Hut is extremely small. Barely room for the knee.
Peaceful and drowsy, the day moves on by itself.
Suddenly the four walls in reality are without substance.
When substance is not an object of knowledge, the walls do not stand.
ln illusion’s darkness, how is the Mustard Seed entered
Who can by stealth make one’s way into the interior of the Mustard Hut
Losing the Way causes the Deva Maro to weep.
When hunger comes, eat one’s fill and drink from a begging bowl.
Fresh water poured into a pitcher slakes the thirst.
Sleep at high noon on the pillow of a wicker bed.
Truly, here is utter happiness.
The sutras! Do not read them. The “Buddha nature” is not delineated there.
Why treat one’s eyes? They are of entirely trifling value.
When a visitor comes and one asks who he is, he is simply a man.
To recognize by sight depends on the past, which is entirely unreal.
Desist from making an effort to seek what is outside.
When a gentle breeze blows on one’s nostrils, past and present are the same.
The Mustard Hut, after all, is not an extraordinary effort.
I am simply an ordinary old man.
Trần Minh Tông (1300 - 1357) Vietnam
Translator not stated, but possibly W.O. Walters
Source: Religious Poetry of Tran king Minh Tong (1300-1357) Primary Source w/DBQs, Asia for Educators, Columbia University,
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