Huiyuan may refer to:
Huiyuan (Chinese: 慧遠; Wade–Giles: Hui-yüan; 334–416 AD) was a Chinese Buddhist teacher who founded Donglin Temple on Mount Lushan in Jiangxi province and wrote the text On Why Monks Do Not Bow Down Before Kings in 404 AD. He was born in Shanxi province but after a long life of Buddhist teaching he wound up in Hubei province, where he died in 416. Although he was born in the north, he moved south to live within the bounds of the Eastern Jin Dynasty.
Huiyuan was posthumously named First Patriarch of the Pure Land School of Buddhism. His disciples included Huiguan (慧觀), Sengji (僧濟), and Faan (法安).
Huiyuan began studying the Zhuangzi and Laozi at a young age, as well as the teachings of Confucius. However, at the age of 21 he was converted in Hebei Province by the Buddhist Dao An, who was a Chinese disciple of a Kuchan missionary. Hearing the sermons of Dao An convinced Huiyuan to "leave the family" and embark on a life of Buddhist teachings. Later, he became a patriarch of Donglin Temple (East Forest Temple) at Mount Lushan. His teachings were various, including the vinaya (戒律), meditation (禪法), abhidharma and Prajna or wisdom. Although Huiyuan did not take the initiative in establishing the relations with the secular world, he had contacts with court and gentry families. Huiyuan was on two occasions invited by the dictator Huan Xuan to take part in the discussions about the status of the clergy and Huiyuan defended the independence of the clergy. Members of the cultured classes came to live on Mount Lu as Huiyuan's lay disciples to take part in the religious life. Besides his teaching and interaction with lay followers of the Buddhist faith, he also upheld a learned correspondence with the monk Kumarajiva.
Wenn die bunten Fahnen wehen, geht die Fahrt wohl über's Meer.
Woll'n wir ferne Lande sehen, fällt der Abschied uns nicht schwer.
Leuchtet die Sonne, ziehen die Wolken,
klingen die Lieder weit über's Meer.
Sonnenschein ist unsere Wonne, wie er lacht am lichten Tag.
Doch es geht auch ohne Sonne, wenn sie mal nicht scheinen mag.
Blasen die Stürme, brausen die Wellen,
Hei, die wilden Wandervögel ziehen wieder durch die Nacht
singen ihre alten Lieder, daß die Welt vom Schlaf erwacht.
Kommt dann der Morgen, sind sie schon weiter,
über die Berge wer weiß wohin?
Wo die blauen Gipfel ragen, lockt so mancher steile Pfad,
immer vorwärts, ohne Zagen, bald sind wir dem Ziel genaht.
Schneefelder blinken, schimmern von ferne her,