45Zhaozhou's Seven-Pound Shirt
Introduction 垂示
要道便道，舉世無雙；當行即行，全機不讓。如擊石火，似閃電光，疾焰過風，奔流度刃。拈起向上鉗鎚，未免亡鋒結舌。放一線道，試舉看。
Need to speak? Then speak: nobody alive can match you. Time to act? Then act, full force, holding nothing back. Like sparks off flint, like a flash of lightning. A blaze that outruns the wind, a river pouring over a sword's edge. But take up the real hammer and tongs, the ones that work from above, and even a master goes blunt and tongue-tied. Let me lay down a single thread of a path. Here is the case. Look.
僧問趙州：「萬法歸一，一歸何處？」州云：「我在青州，作一領布衫，重七斤。」
A monk asked Zhaozhou, "The ten thousand things all come back to one. What does the one come back to?"
Zhaozhou said, "When I was in Qingzhou I made a shirt. It weighed seven pounds."
Verse 頌
編辟曾挨老古錐，
七斤衫重幾人知。
如今拋擲西湖裏，
下載清風付與誰。
He cornered the old awl with a tight, pressing question.
That seven-pound shirt, how many know its weight?
Now I fling the whole thing into West Lake
and ride the clean wind home, but hand it to whom?