圓悟佛果禪師語錄 11.4

11.4

Informal gathering on the eighth day of the fourth month: 'Directly this is it—one has already stepped upon the ladder; entirely not thus—one still falls into emotional consciousness. Even if before King Bhīṣmagarjitasvararāja there is no connection, and after the Seven Buddhas there is no connection, transcending or descending there is no connection at all; nevertheless, though adept masters of comprehensive ways understand as soon as it is raised, they still linger on the skin and find it difficult to escape the rutted path. Therefore, facing the gate of secondary meaning, within not-thus sometimes there is thus, and within thus sometimes there is not-thus. The pure dharmadhātu body originally has no appearing or disappearing; by the power of great compassion and vows, it manifests receiving birth. Although this is talk that falls into the grass, within the grass there must also be a way out through the whole body. I dare ask everyone: Do you want to know the principle of having originally no appearing or disappearing?' He then held up his whisk and said: 'Just this is it. Do you want to know manifesting receiving birth?' He held up his whisk and said: 'Just this is it. Arriving here, dual withdrawal and dual release, complete darkness and complete light: for faculties of medium and low capacity this is acceptable; yet when the nine dragons spout water, it is altogether a fabrication, looking around in all directions only admits blunders. Only Great Master Yunmen understood how to produce flowers on an iron tree, saying: "If I had seen him, with one blow of the staff I would have beaten him to death and fed him to the dogs." What kind of eye did Great Master Yunmen possess that he could speak like this? Do you want to see Great Master Yunmen? This mountain monk will not begrudge his eyebrows and will open a single thread of a path for you. Do you understand thoroughly? "Unless you enter waves of a thousand fathoms, / It is hard to meet the fish that satisfies your wish."' He further said: 'Before leaving Tuṣita he had already descended into the royal palace; before leaving his mother's womb he had already finished delivering people. Looking at it for a moment, it seems to be so; yet examining it closely, it still lingers in the two extremes. Little do people know: galloping horses in Pūrvavideha, dancing in Jambudvīpa, clapping hands in Aparagodānīya, doing somersaults in Uttarakuru—there is neither right nor wrong, neither gain nor loss. And tell me, ultimately how is it? An eight-cornered millstone runs through empty space.'