Along the riverbank under the trees,
I discover footprints !
Even under the fragrant grass, I see his prints.
Deep in remote mountains they are found.
These traces can no more be hidden
than one’s nose, looking heavenward.
Understanding the teaching, I see the footprints of the bull.
Then I learn that, just as many utensils are made from one metal,
so too are myriad entities made of the fabric of self.
Unless I discriminate, how will I perceive the true from the untrue?
Not yet having entered the gate, nevertheless I have discerned the path.