When I was on my way home,

As I issued from a forest,

I saw a hunchback receiving cicadas

On the point of his rod,

As if he were picking them up

With his bare hand,

Can you imagine that?

“You are clever!” I said to the man.

“Is there any ‘kung-fu’ technique

In your hunting?” He replied, “Yes,

There is. For some time I’ve practised

With two pellets on the tip of my rod,

Till they never fell down and then

I only failed with a small fraction

Of the targets that I tried to hit.

Having succeeded in the same way

With three pellets, I missed

Only one target in ten.

Having succeeded with five pellets,

I caught the cicadas

As if I was gathering them with my net.

My body is to me no more

Than the stump of a broken trunk,

And my shoulder no more

Than the branch of a rotten tree.

Great as Heaven and Earth are

And multitudinous as things are,

I take no notice of them, but only

Of the wings of my cicadas;

Neither turning nor inclining to one side,

I would not for them all exchange

The wings of my cicadas—

How should I not succeed in taking them,

Ten cicadas in ten?”

I looked round, and said to myself,

"Where the will is not diverted

From its object, the spirit is focused—

This might have been spoken

Of this superior man with his rod,

Which makes a whole with his hand

And his strength of will.”