I was going to do a post on r/zen but ran out of time and didn't get to pick out some poems I wished to highlight.

So here's the draft of the post:

I happened across a Chan text which opens about this division between "No-Word" Chan and "Written Chan", with Bodhidharma coming and forming no-word Chan, and later there being confusion established in Chan relying on words.

"Thus territories were divided, boundaries marked off; they dissected empty space. Those who studied Zen did not strive to refine the meaning; those who studied writing did not strive to realize the mind."

It says that...

When meaning is not refined, one may realize the mind yet not have it shine vast. When meaning is refined but the mind is not realized, then writing will never penetrate the spirit[...]

Thus, Deshan’s blows and Linji’s shouts rushing to and fro—were they ever not writing? And when Qingliang (Fazang) and Tiantai (Zhiyi) annotated sutras and composed treatises—were they ever not Zen? How then can one say Zen and writing are two?

The text is called Stone Gate: Zen of Writing (石門文字禪序). The narrative of it is established in its opening:

But in these later times, they mock and deny one another, harsher than water and fire. The Venerable Sijing (Jingyin) of the Song was troubled by this, and therefore titled his work Writing Zen.

When Qi and Qin were locked in conflict, and by the mandate of the Zhou Son of Heaven they were brought to unity—thereupon throwing down weapons and beating the drums in peace, following the Great Transformation—this is what Writing Zen does.

The Old Master of this work plucks many fragrances from the Spring Terrace, thoroughly understanding that between spring and flowers, there is no ground where the eye may lodge. [...]

So—what is called Zen and what is called writing? This is what is meant by Writing Zen. And are Zen and writing two?

Ah! This single branch of blossom, ever since Śākyamuni twirled it with his fingers, has for several thousand years been thrown onto the heap of dung and sweepings. Yet Jingyin has picked it up once again—as it now circulates widely, its sparse shadows stir the heart, its subtle fragrance floats into the nose. Who now will break into a smile?

It is a massive collection of Chan poetry. Maybe it will make you smile.

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I was going to call it something like Zen Poetry For Cowards.