龍舒增廣淨土文 12.2

12.2

Regarding this very physical body, who believes that the body is the root of suffering? Wholly coveting worldly pleasures, they do not realize that pleasure is the cause of suffering. A transient life is easily passed; how could it be an enduring abode? An illusory physical form is not solid; it all returns to annihilation. Before the day of entering the womb, how could there be these forms of male and female? It is merely formed through the provisional combination of earth, water, fire, and wind; it cannot escape the ravaging suffering of birth, old age, sickness, and death. Above, there is no thread on which it can be hung; below, there is no root from which it grows. Empty and floating like a bubble upon the water, it lasts but a moment. Fragile and brittle like dew upon the grass, in an instant it is gone. Those who live long do not exceed sixty or seventy before all have died; those who are short-lived mostly die young at twenty or thirty. Furthermore, today one does not know the affairs of tomorrow; and there is the time of getting into bed that is the parting from getting out of bed. As soon as a single breath fails to return, one is separated forever across a thousand autumns. (Xuefeng's verse says: "A single lonely lamp illuminates the night chamber; / Getting into bed, one takes off socks and shoes. / The three hun and seven po depart into dreams; / One does not yet know whether tomorrow morning they will return or not.") / Lament how this body has nothing good about it! Alas, who is not deceived by it? Tendons wrap seven feet of bones; skin wraps a bag of meat chunks. The nine apertures constantly flow with impurity; the six sense organs indulge in ignorance at will. Hair, nails, and teeth gather like a pile of dust; snot, tears, saliva, and bodily fluids are filthy as a walking latrine. Within it, maggots and worms assemble entirely; outside it, gnats and lice cluster together. Afflicted by a single disaster or single ailment, any can kill a person. Moreover, extreme heat and extreme cold urge a person to age easily. The eyes are dragged by forms into the realm of hungry ghosts; the ears follow sounds into Avīci; the mouth eats a thousand kinds of flavors, but after death it merely adds a few drops of oil. (Changqui's poem says: "Red and white, do not deceive one another; / The true person without rank is a lump of red flesh. / Decayed, it is inferior to the appearance of pigs and dogs; / Right now, regard it simply as a corpse.") / This body holds nothing worthy of love or cherishing; everyone should vow to escape it. Why do those who are confused still display gallantry, and foolish fellows still give rise to delusion? Some pin flowers and grass upon skulls; some carry musk and perfume beside stinking leather bags. Gauze robes cover a sack of pus and blood; brocade quilts conceal a tub of excrement and urine. Exhausting treacherous minds and a hundred schemes, they assume they will dwell in the world for ten thousand years. They do not realize that when the head aches and the eyes grow dim, King Yama has arrived to receive them; or when the temples grow gray and the teeth decay, the ghost of impermanence has sent a letter to seek them out. Each person longing for sex and coveting wealth—all these are shortcuts to losing the human body. Daily drinking wine and eating meat—these are nothing other than planting deep roots for hell. Before one's eyes, one seeks a moment of delight; after death, one undergoes tens of thousands of kalpas of suffering and toil. (The Pure Land text says: "Skin wraps blood and flesh, bones are bound by tendons; / Deluded ordinary people mistake this for the self. / Only at death do they begin to know it is not me; / What once was gold and jade attaches to others.") / Once the life-root is severed, when the wind-knives of the four elements slash, externally the hands and feet twitch and cramp, and internally the liver and intestines tear with pain. Even though wife and children cherish you, they have no means to keep you; even if flesh and blood relatives fill the room before you, who can take your place? (An ancient verse says: "Though parental kindness is deep, in the end there is parting; / Though husband and wife's bond is weighty, they too separate. / Human relationships are like birds roosting together in the forest; / When the great limit arrives, each flies on its own.") / The living can only weep and wail bitterly; the deceased cannot prevent their consciousness from racing away. On the road ahead, no light is seen; raising the eyes, there is utterly no companion. Crossing the bank of the Nai River, no one who sees it fails to grieve; entering the Gate of the Dead, all who arrive are sorrowful. When merely seven days have passed in the world, in the underworld one is escorted to face the Ten Kings. The recording officials hold their records without human feelings; the prison guards hold tridents without smiling faces. Those who did good throughout life are sent to the heavenly destiny, the immortal destiny, or the human destiny; those whose actions were evil while alive are thrust into the path of boiling cauldrons, the path of fire, or the path of knives. The boiling cauldrons surge like collapsing cliffs; the sword-trees stand tall like towering mountains. Molten copper is poured, and flesh rots over the whole body; iron pellets are swallowed, and smoke rises to fill the mouth. Suffering chopping and pounding, blood and flesh drip copiously; entering freezing ice, skin freezes and cracks. When the body is shattered, the karmic wind blows it back to life; when life ends, the rākṣasas shout, making one revive. After a hundred springs and autumns have passed in the human realm, in the hells it is only a single day and night. (The Yanguang Collection says: "Boiling cauldrons and hearth coals rumble in the dark netherworld; / Sword-trees and knife-mountains tower into the highest heavens. / To exhaust the retribution for offenses takes tens of thousands of kalpas; / Only then does the ox-headed prison guard let one go.") / Although the soul has returned to the realm of ghosts, the corpse still lies in the coffin. Whether after three or five mornings, or in the sixth or seventh month, as it rots and decays, worms emerge and blood flows; filthy and foul-smelling, it stenches earth and heaven. Swollen and bloated, it cannot bear to be seen; hideous and repulsive, it is truly terrifying. In haste, it is consigned to a pile of wilderness fire; sent off to be buried in ten thousand miles of desolate mountains. The delicate, fair face of former days turns into an ash pit; the bleak white bones of today turn into a heap of mud. (Hanshan's verse says: "Rouge painting the face, a thousand kinds of charm; / Dragon-musk scenting the clothes, a hundred kinds of elegance. / Today, none of the romance can be seen; / Amid green willows and fragrant grass, the skull is cold.") / Former affections and love turn to void at this point; where are the heroes of old now? When the rain of tears falls, all is quiet and still; where the sorrowful wind stirs, it is chilling and bleak. As the night wanes, ghosts weep and spirits howl; as the years drag on, crows feast and sparrows peck. By the desolate border, stone steles remain in vain; amid green willows, paper money hangs for nothing. In the end, it is hard to avoid being like this; arriving at this point, how can one not awaken? (Hanshan says: "Sparrows peck and crows feast until the skin and flesh are gone; / Wind blows and sun scorches until the skull is dry. / Right now, try asking the onlookers: / Look closely at your own physical form!") / May everyone have eyes, and no longer bury your heads! Turn around and escape the ford of delusion; in the snap of a finger, tear apart the net of love! Stop making a living inside the ghost cave; one must know that upon the lump of flesh there is a true person. Whether man or woman, all are capable of practice; whether wise or foolish, all have a share. Simply please turn the light around and reflect inward, and you will know that the fundamental substance is originally void. If you are not yet able to study the Way and practice Chan, then diligently keep the vegetarian fast and practice recollection of the Buddha: abandon evil and return to good, reform the past and cultivate the future, transform the six thieves into the six divine superknowledges, leave behind the eight sufferings and attain the eight masteries. Then it will be good to assist Heaven in carrying out transformation, and there is no harm in receiving people on behalf of the Buddha. Preach it before the assembly for the great assembly; explain it upon returning home for the whole family. Make it so that everywhere they awaken simultaneously, and cause all people to completely avoid sinking down. Above, assist all Buddhas in turning the wheel of the Dharma; below, pull sentient beings out of the ocean of suffering. If you do not believe the words of the Buddha, what words can be believed? If you do not cultivate in the human destiny, it will be hard to cultivate in other destinies. Do not allow your skin to be changed one day; even if there were a thousand Buddhas, it would be hard to save you. With urgent speed advance, for time does not wait; let each one directly take responsibility, and do not let this life pass in vain! (Hanshan says: "When the hundred bones scatter and leave the dust and mud, / Who is that one thing that is ever-numinous? / If at this time you do not clear the path, / When the skull hits the ground, how many will know?")