國清百錄 4.17

4.17

I have heard that the Qian origin provides the inception, and the three luminaries manifest their forms in Heaven; the Kun way provides nourishment, and the myriad things stir their forms upon Earth. Thereupon august monarchs established states, and sages and worthies bequeathed their writings. They instituted the teaching of names without uniformity, and devised deportment with distinctions. As for delineating the hexagrams and contemplating the lines, they merely took the signs appropriate to the times; gathering the warp and weaving the weft, they brought together words for government. Great ritual shares harmony, and great music shares rhythm, comforting superiors and governing the people, transforming customs and mores—these are merely the bare outlines of affairs in life. What can be said of after death? When questioned, Confucius did not speak of it. Even if crimson snow swirls in the sky and dark frost brushes the trees; even if one ingests the golden elixir through nine transmutations or swallows jade marrow for a thousand years; mounting the clouds, one may ride a nine-colored dark dragon; roaming the Milky Way, one may rein in the white cranes of the Three Mountains; strolling leisurely upon agate terraces or dallying among jade palace gates—yet one has not glimpsed the gate of liberation, and ultimately drifts toward the realm of afflictions and bondages.
Only the Rightly Awakened One is profound and tranquil, the wondrous reality of true suchness: unarising and unceasing, formless and wordless. Responding to dispositions according to conditions, he borrows physical colors to fashion a form; perceiving voices according to kinds, he manifests discourses based on sounds. Therefore, there are bodies of white silver a thousand feet tall, forms of purple-gold sixteen feet high, the texts of the eight divisions of Prajñā, and the meanings of the four types of siddhānta. His spiritual powers are unimpeded, his power of wisdom boundless. Guiding and transforming, he opens, reveals, awakens, and causes entry; those who take refuge all give rise to bodhi, and those who dedicate merit universally ascend to constant bliss. Thus, a monkey building a stūpa was born into Trāyastriṃśa Heaven; a wild goose holding a flower went to the realm of Amitābha. How could it merely be that the Sūryagarbha monk wandered alone upon the correct path, or that Candraprabha Kumāra alone beheld the Tathāgata? The four types of birth are thereby liberated, and the six destinies rely on this to be revived; it is truly the grand carriage from the burning house, the great raft across the murky river.
As for King Zhao's reign in the Zhou house, a shadow surpassed the fixed stars; in Emperor Ming's time under the Han dynasty, a luminous dream was like the sun. Envoys returned from the Western regions, and the transformation gradually spread to the Eastern Capital; an image was placed in the Southern Palace, expressing devotion facing north. From the time Mātaṅga entered Luoyang and Kumārajīva traveled to Qin, the teaching of names was further expanded, and the wind of the Way flourished. Sūtra terraces, image pavilions, precious stūpas, and fragrance mountains—their splendors spilled over mountain recesses, their beauty filled capitals and towns.
Who would have anticipated that in the Zhenjun years of the Later Wei and the Jiande years of the Northern Zhou, sacred shrines were once eradicated and saṅghārāmas twice destroyed? Images and figures were ruined and discarded, writings and texts dispersed and lost; sounds faded from the jade chimes, and notes sank from the precious bells. Senior figures cultivating dhyāna rolled up their tongues and spoke not; former worthies protecting the precepts changed their appearance and hid their traces. The world lacked the path of regulating the mind; the era lacked the way of guiding and saving. There was no ford or bridge to leave the world; the great hopes of the living beings were lost.
Our Emperor of the Great Sui, mounting Heaven and governing the realm, grasping the mirror and unfurling the charts, loves the multitudes as a father and reigns over China as a sovereign. Heaven and Earth share his great virtue, and the sun and moon join his repeating light. He stirs them with thunder and lightning, and moistens them with wind and rain. Ridding of violent disorder, he brought about supreme peace; stretching the four cardinal ropes, he held court for the ten thousand states. When his merits were accomplished, he made music; when governance was settled, he instituted rituals. The correct Way is non-action, and the realm has boundaries. He opened the road to nirvāṇa and unlocked the gate of prajñā; he propagated the twelvefold division of sūtras and disseminated the Dharma of four thousand years. Diligent elders once again abandoned secular life to return to the saṅgha; pure-dwelling novices held their minds and upheld the precepts. Not only did the wheel of the Dharma turn anew and the drum of the Dharma sound again, but within the four seas there were no anxieties, and the myriad millions jointly found reliance. Kingdoms wearing feathers and clad in skins, admiring his transformative wind, came to pay court; the auspicious omens of sacred fowl and felicitous gifts, answering to charts and books, gathered in the imperial park. How majestic—it cannot be measured by ordinary cognition and wisdom! How boundless—how could it ever be exhausted by speech and discourse?
Yuquan Monastery was founded on this mountain; it was the chosen dwelling of Dhyāna Master Zhiyi. By imperial decree, the official name was given and inscribed on the mountain's plaque. The peaks are towering and craggy, rugged and precipitous; some summits seem like tilted umbrellas, and ridges resemble overturned boats. There are forms like the monstrous giant strength of the Qiongqi beast, and shapes perilous and deceitful like vast cliffs. The winding ridges embrace to form a rampart; the swirling waters meander and produce stalactites. Green maples stir their leaves, reflecting distant golden clouds; emerald willows sway their branches, drooping over the jade pond. Apes chant above the white clouds; orioles chirp among the azure trees. The sun and moon are eclipsed and sheltered by them; mist and vapor disperse and gather through them. In front, it looks out upon the river roads; behind, it gazes toward the peaks of Jing; to the left, it is girdled by the mounds of Zhao; to the right, it connects to the gorges of Ba.
The Master's original surname was Chen, and he was a man of Yingchuan. Endowed from youth with innate knowledge, he shaved his head while still a child. He followed his master on the Southern Peak, and accumulated the Way on Tiantai. The resonance of his sagacious wisdom and vast talent was not merely broadcast south of the Yangtze; the renown of his knowledge of springs and subtle debate was certainly heard north of the Yellow River as well. His Majesty's son-in-law, Grand Defender the Prince of Jin, was by nature endowed with filial piety and compassion, his feelings encompassing sympathy and care. Able as an official and able as a son, he rectified the state and stabilized the household. Harboring the wisdom of spiritual insight, he bestowed an all-embracing love; spreading the wind of a gentleman, he bent the grass of the common people. Formerly, when the false Chen dynasty harbored rebels, he received the military commission, led the forces, plotted wonderful directions, and let loose his majestic terror across rivers and seas; thereupon he pacified Jinling and quelled the Bronze Pillars. Over the Three Wu regions, the mists rolled away; across the Hundred Yue, the dust was settled.
The Master, reliant on the Prince, had smooth passage; the Prince, thereupon reliant on the Master, received the precepts. When the Master arrived here, he practiced dhūta; the Prince memorialized the throne and erected this monastery. Thereupon men of talent and passion from foreign domains, admiring his Way, arrived like clouds; monks of refined practice from other lands, relishing his manners, gathered like rain. The Master then spoke with precise words to guide to the principle, exhaustively discoursing on the profound; his speech verified the limbs of dhyāna, his mind opened the root of samādhi. His mysterious tenets and broad meanings were inexhaustible like dipping into the sea; his eloquent phrases and pure expressions poured forth like a cascading river. Although companions residing in fellowship exceeded measure and vied to take refuge, disciples dwelling in solitude never returned from the precipitous cliffs.
Thereupon, faithful dānapatis and men of pervasive knowledge who accumulated goodness all contributed a timber or jointly donated a tile; relying on the power of this assembly, the task seemed like divine workmanship, and without many days of building, its decoration was completed. Constructed over time, it had tiered platforms and distant pavilions, duplicate halls and connected rooms. Winter and summer had different forms; yin and yang had separate layouts. Carved eaves and embroidered brackets vied in height with the precarious crags; chiseled plinths and carved foundations were as solid as rock cliffs. Wind and radiance issued from its doors and windows; clouds and mist arose from its beams and rafters. Flowers dazzled on golden plates; fragrances wafted from jade trees. Artisans painted the primary marks, pure as a golden mountain; craftsmen portrayed the true countenance, settled like the full moon. The hall was raised with three tiers of pillars, suspending a bell that sounded of itself; the chamber opened into a thousand petals of flowers, with lotuses upholding the airborne seat. The lamplight never went out, surpassing brightness even if filled with ocean oil; the flagpole pillars both bowed low, the banners they bore rising by themselves. Auspicious and soft grass grew luxuriantly along the courtyard; incense opposing the wind with harmonious air filled the precinct with rich fragrances.
Slantedly connecting to caves, a congealed spring directly poured down, its color like lapis lazuli, its taste identical to sweet dew. Waves surged into cauldrons and tripods; billows spilled down to the staircases and halls; drinking into the belly dispelled illness, and washing the body cured sickness. The shapes of stone pillars and copper beams cast their shadows into the lotus pond; the flowers of Peach Spring and Chrysanthemum Beach drifted their fragrance into the mango garden. It may be called a mountain akin to Gṛdhrakūṭa, a monastery like that of Revata; appearing as if from a Dragon Palace, or alighting as if flown from the Deer Park.
I humbly reflect that former kings who carved tripods merely discussed their achievements in ordering the state; now we jointly erect this stele to record forever the path of bodhi. Holding office as magistrate of this subordinate town, with the monastery situated in my mountain sector, though my writing expresses the intent, words cannot exhaust all there is to say. The verse says: