“When I was staying at Tiantong-jingde-si, I came upon a monk named Lu from Qingyuan in front of the Buddha Hall. He was drying mushrooms in the sun. He had a bamboo stick in his hand and no hat covering his head. The heat of the sun was blazing. It looked very painful; his back was bent like a bow and his eyebrows were as white as the feathers of a crane.
I went up to him and asked, “How long have you been a monk?”
“Sixty-eight years,” he said.
“Why don’t you have an assistant do this for you?”
“Other people are not me.”
I was moved . . . I asked, “What is practice?” and was told, “Nothing in the entire universe is hidden.”