虛堂和尚語錄 4.47

4.47

One phrase: the ancient Buddhas could not utter it, though jade turns and pearls revolve. One phrase: the old barbarian did not bring it, though it fills trenches and dams valleys. Unuttered, not brought—laughingly pointing to Mañjuśrī on Mount Wutai, going on like this, one has already fallen into everyone's trap. Therefore, when the ancients taught people to investigate Chan, they first demanded that they investigate the Chan within the Nirvāṇa Hall. As for transmitting the Buddha's mind-source and continuing the Buddha's life of wisdom, put that aside for a while. Why? Because nirvāṇa is the crucial ground of life and death: when the light of the eyes is about to set but not yet set, when fire and wind are about to scatter but not yet scattered, like a knife slicing flesh, like arrows piercing the heart—if at that moment you wish to employ [what you have practiced] in the slightest, yet before you know it, you are shifted by karma into the womb of a donkey or the belly of a horse, from which it is exceedingly hard to escape. Sons who have left home should apply the whip all the more: to lose the human body beneath the kāṣāya means not recovering it for ten thousand kalpas! Daily, do not merely mind others' idle affairs. In your own lot, since measureless kalpas past, it has been like billows and great waves without a moment's rest. In the twelve two-hour periods of a single day, which single hour has been without slipping away? Eating a bowl of gruel or a bowl of rice, has there been no slipping away? Unrolling the mat and opening the bowl, has there been no slipping away? Advancing, retreating, bowing and yielding, has there been no slipping away? Speaking and conversing, has there been no slipping away? Suddenly dropping off into sleep, you fall straight into the realm of the skandhas, sinking and surfacing. When you are awake, that stretch of solitary illumination, distinct and vivid—who is its master? If there is no one acting as master, then before the fire and wind have scattered and the yang soul has flown, you have already become a person of a different lifetime. Greatly difficult, greatly difficult! A staff strikes the head of a stone man; thoroughly let us discuss real matters. The seasons quickly change, and the way of the Dharma becomes ever fainter. Those whose aspiration is pressing on this point seek teachers and choose friends as if extinguishing a fire on their own heads, never spending the days idly for clothing, food, or gazing at mountains and enjoying the waters. If you truly have total faith, let not a day pass before you penetrate through the hundreds and thousands of Dharma-gates and measureless wondrous meanings to their end; then you will be able to accomplish all dharmas and destroy all dharmas, transcend the three realms and the twenty-five states of existence, and penetrate all being and non-being without obstruction. Spring flowers and autumn leaves, clouds soaring and birds flying, are all within our treasury; there is not a single matter that does not accord with True Suchness, not a single dharma that does not conform to the correct principle. It is simply because light and dark oppress each other that one cannot reach the ground of non-reliance and solitary liberation; thus there are novice learners and long-time practitioners who cause the righteous energy of the monasteries to fade by the day, leaving the life of wisdom of the Buddhas and patriarchs hanging by a thread. Take, for instance, a newly learned monk: no sooner has he entered the gate than he excuses himself on the grounds that the great matter of life and death is not yet clarified; setting down his wicker hat, he sits for a year or six months. Failing to apply effort skillfully, he finds no entry; then he gives rise to a misguided mind, rolling into the nest of ignorance, taking verbal expressions and doctrinal phrases as daily increasing study. As the months and years pass, his arrogant spirit grows daily higher, while his aspiration for the Way grows daily more distant. Little does he know that gain and loss reside in the mind, tormenting him in ten thousand ways; to be like Linji, who did not leave the saṃgha hall for three years, can no longer be attained. Look at how [Linji] one day aroused himself, startling the crowd and shaking the assembly, meeting circumstances and adapting freely like a swift eagle or a rapid falcon fighting the wind and soaring toward the sun; if you try to seek his tracks, they are completely unattainable. To reach this ground, you must urgently cast away all previous intellectual understanding, the divergent forks of clarity and obscurity, pressing on until your whole body is like a red-hot iron ball, bordering on death itself. Pick up a word-head of the ancients and cast it before you like a living mortal enemy, sitting day and night as if on thorns, and of itself the time of breaking through will arrive. By all means, do not cling to the outward form of sitting; when sitting, there must be skillful means—if there is no master within, you merely labor your spirit in vain. An ancient said: 'Mind empty and realm tranquil is solely due to long stagnant obstruction.' In investigating Chan, one must investigate living phrases, not dead phrases. If you understand under a dead phrase, you will not even be able to save yourself: this is the course for a newly learned monk. Meanwhile, among long-time practitioners who are about to set out to transcend the mundane, there are also those who, having not met an adept with fierce and piercing methods at the very start, remain seated in their own views. Though willing to wither their aspiration and forget the body, boring into it and looking up to it, sifting and straining it, they merely pack on their own heavy views and cannot shed the foul-smelling hawk-feather robe. Once their conditions mature and they come forth to teach people, in taking and giving, their responses to circumstances lack skill; because what they attained came from extraordinary realms, when they are covered over by others, they fail to discern them. Therefore, those of sharp nature mostly fail to attain the Way, and those who hold themselves high are mostly ashamed to ask of those below them; this is an evident principle. In the assembly of Fayan there was a monk named Director Ze. Having long relied on Fayan, whenever [Fayan] ascended the hall, gave informal gatherings, had private interviews, or gave general discourses, he never attended. One day Fayan ran into him and said: 'Brother Ze, you are a junior; in the boundless daylight, why do you not inquire into the matter?' The monk said: 'I truly cannot deceive the upādhyāya. I once met Venerable Qingfeng and obtained a gate of peace and joy, so I ceased my investigation.' Fayan said: 'Through what cause and condition did you gain entry?' The monk said: 'I once asked, "What is the student's self?" Qingfeng said to me: "The boy Bingding comes seeking fire." Thereupon I settled.' Fayan said: 'Fine words, but I fear you misunderstand them.' Without needing an inch of hook or three feet of line, the monk was hooked at once, saying: 'Bingding belongs to fire; using fire to seek fire is like using oneself to seek oneself.' Fayan laughed loudly and said: 'I told you so—you do not understand Qingfeng's meaning.' The monk, stirred with anger, packed his mat and departed. It was because the time of the maturation of his prajñā conditions had arrived: after traveling for two or three days, he suddenly reflected: 'Upādhyāya Fayan is a living Mahāsattva of five hundred people; if he said I was wrong, there must be something of value.' He returned, offered his sincere devotion, and requested instruction. Fayan said: 'You ask me.' The monk then asked: 'What is the student's self?' Fayan said in a stern voice: 'The boy Bingding comes seeking fire!' The monk had a sudden great awakening. Mountain monk [I] usually like to ask the brethren: the question was the same, and the answer was no different—where was that monk's awakening? Those among you whose footing is not yet steady cannot avoid hesitating. If you wish to attain ease, you should be like Director Ze seeing Fayan a second time, as proof of long investigation. However, the empty and mysterious Great Way, the non-clinging true school, cannot be sought superficially. There are those who know it by birth, and those who know it through study, each according to their capacity. Who was one who knew it by birth? Venerable Zhaozhou was such a one. At just a few years of age, he accompanied his original master to Nanquan to request the precepts. His original master first exchanged greetings with Upādhyāya Nanquan, and then led the śrāmaṇera to pay homage. It happened that Nanquan was resting and received his bows from his bed. Nanquan said: 'Where did you receive your ordination training?' Zhaozhou said: 'At Auspicious Image [Monastery].' Nanquan said: 'Do you still see the auspicious image?' Zhaozhou said: 'I do not see the auspicious image; right now I see a reclining Tathāgata.' Seeing that the object had found its master, Nanquan's eyes opened wide; he sat up with a start and asked: 'Are you a śrāmaṇera with a master, or not?' Zhaozhou said: 'I would not presume.' Nanquan said: 'What is your master?' Zhaozhou stepped forward, folded his hands, and said: 'In early spring it is still cold; I humbly wish the upādhyāya ten thousand blessings.' If this had not been refined and matured through measureless kalpas, how could he have reached this? Though he had not yet plumbed its deepest mysteries, looking at his opening move, he was already clear. Was he not one who knew it by birth? Daozhe Leng was a man from Yanguan County here. On pilgrimage he arrived at Lingyun in Fuzhou; encountering an ascending of the hall, he came forth and asked: 'What is the exact, great meaning of the Buddha Dharma?' Lingyun said: 'Before the donkey's business has departed, the horse's business arrives.' In this way he studied with the three great elders—Xuefeng, Xuansha, and Lingyun—for twenty years without awakening. One day, while in Xuefeng's assembly, on rolling up a screen, he suddenly had an awakening, and presented an enlightenment verse. Xuansha said to Xuefeng: 'I fear this is an annotation composed by the conscious mind; we must examine him further before approving.' Daozhe Leng suddenly appeared before them. Xuefeng said: 'Daozhe, the ascetic Bei does not yet approve of you. If you have truly had an awakening, you must speak further.' Daozhe Leng immediately took up the challenge and uttered another verse: 'Alone revealing the body amidst the ten thousand forms, / Only when one approves oneself for others does it become intimate. / In former years I mistakenly sought it upon the road; / Today, seeing it, it is ice within fire.' Xuefeng looked back at Xuansha and said: 'Can this still be called an annotation? Was he not one who knew it through study?' Today's people exhaust their minds wishing to reach his ground, yet in the end it is hard to achieve. Later, the King of Min invited him to dwell at Changqing. Seeing that the patch-robed monks were attached to 'Alone revealing the body amidst the ten thousand forms,' he used a mouth-locking formula, saying: 'Alone revealing the body amidst the ten thousand forms: does it sweep away the ten thousand forms, or not sweep away the ten thousand forms?' None of the dragons and elephants in the assembly could utter a word, so that Fayan, Master Xiu, Wukong, and their fellows all failed to accord, and subsequently traveled south of Quanzhou. One day, wishing to leave Hunan and returning to Zhangzhou, torrential rain poured down outside the city wall without ceasing. They entered a small cloister by the city wall to escape the rain, gathered dry firewood, went into the earth hearth of the saṃgha hall to warm themselves by the fire, and solely discussed 'the three realms are mind-only, the ten thousand dharmas are consciousness-only,' as well as the lines from the Zhao Lun, 'Heaven and earth share the same root with me; the ten thousand things form one body with me.' Suddenly an old monk entered to share the fire, and asked: 'Are the mountains, rivers, and the great earth identical with, or different from, your Reverence's own self?' Master Xiu said: 'Not different.' The old monk held up two fingers and left. Only then did they realize he was Chan Master Dizang Chen; inevitably, each harbor a bit of doubt in their hearts. When the rain cleared slightly and they were already on their way, the old monk came again to see them off. Walking to the front of the Buddha hall, he pointed to a stone in the flower terrace and said: 'Gentlemen, you just said that the three realms are mind-only. Tell me, is this piece of stone inside the mind or outside the mind?' Fayan said: 'Inside the mind.' Dizang said: 'A traveler keeping this piece of stone in his heart—how much discomfort that must be!' Thus, the three of them snapped their staffs and studied under this old upādhyāya; each had an awakening, and their names filled the world. Later, the Fayan school flourished greatly in the world, having come from the lineage and vigor of Xuefeng and Xuansha—just as it is said that the grandfather had the hidden virtue of a rustic farmer. Look at Xuefeng: as soon as he came out from the ranges, he first bought a ladle and tied a towel to it, going everywhere serving others and making affinities, vowing never to eat the first-turn meal. When he arrived in Deshan's assembly, he was the first to take up the duty of cook; furthermore, he went three times to Touzi and nine times up Mount Dong, enduring a thousand hardships and ten thousand bitternesses to accomplish his work in the Way. Later, he established a great saṃghārāma and opened great Dharma-giving, gathering fifteen hundred people, often saying: 'These fifteen hundred patch-robed monks were scooped up by this old monk with a ladle!' Take also Venerable Xuansha, who strictly kept ascetic practices: by day he cleared wasteland, planted millet, and channeled water to irrigate vegetables; by night he was diligent with incense and lamps, keeping clean and sweeping the ground. The King of Min frequently summoned him into the palace; after returning from preaching the Dharma, his ascetic practice did not change in winter or summer. Look at his instruction to the assembly: 'Directly like the moon's reflection in an autumn pool, or the sound of a bell on a quiet night: it responds to strikes without deficiency, and touches the waves without scattering.' These are still matters on the shore of life and death—how could they be the words spoken by an ordinary guide? Take also Venerable Yaoshan: traveling the mountains, he reached Liyang and saw a fine mountain owned by a family; he wished to convert them to build a place of practice, but the people would not consent. Thereupon he entered their ox pen to sit in Chan. The family, annoyed beyond measure, led the cattle into the house and set fire to burn down the ox pen, but he simply sat in Chan upon the pen's foundation. The prefect heard of this, bought the mountain for him, and built a hermitage, inscribing the plaque 'Ox Pen.' Later it became a monastery housing a large assembly, so that Cloud Cliff [Yunyan], Daowu, Chuanzi, the Śrāmaṇera Gao, and Minister Li Ao found it a place to receive the Way. He often said: 'This old monk lacks blessing and dares not eat with the assembly.' Daily he ate only two bowls of gruel. The head monk, seeing his eyes and mind clear and bright, assumed he had other food prepared. One day [the head monk] did not go to the hall, but hid in a secluded part of the abbot's quarters, waiting for Yaoshan to go up to the hall. Entering the door, he saw steam coming from a pot; uncovering it, it was merely yellow vegetable leaves boiling with a few wheat brans. Yaoshan said: 'In recent years this old monk has lacked the strength to accompany the assembly; it has been like this for ten years. Now that the head monk has discovered it, do not let outsiders know.' Thus there was eating wheat bran and sitting in Chan in an ox pen. The ancients endured bitterness to such an extreme; therefore their radiance illumined later generations, and their spiritual descendants have continued unbroken to this day. Take also Chan Master Baizhang Dazhi: 'A day without work is a day without food.' At the advanced age of ninety-five, hoe, knife, axe, straw cape, and bamboo hat never left his body. Huangbo, Wufeng, Pingtian, Guling, Guishan, and Lan'an—dragons and elephants filled his gate; unable to bear his laboring, they secretly took away his tools. Baizhang said: 'This old monk lacks blessing, sitting and consuming the offerings of the faithful.' Thereupon he abstained from food and passed away. Take also Old Nan when he dwelt at Huangbo: whenever he retired from interviews in his room, he would inevitably weep. When someone asked the reason, he said: 'This old monk is a sinner in the Buddha Dharma: in a whole hall of brethren, there is not one person who can utter an apt turning phrase. From this, the rise and decline of the Dharma-gate can be known.' In his room he often brought up: 'Chanting praises atop the bell tower; planting vegetables beneath the bedpost.' Head Monk Sheng uttered a turning phrase: 'A fierce tiger sits blocking the road.' Thereupon he yielded Huangbo for him to dwell, while he himself resided in the Jicui Hermitage. Such was the urgency of the ancients for the Dharma-gate! Such was their urgency for the Way! If the brethren of today can look up to and embody the style of high antiquity, without waiting for the ox's head to be forced down to eat grass, diligently forming a monastic assembly on their own so that their praise spreads in all directions—would that not be magnificent? Truly, it would not disappoint this old, clumsy one warming his hands here to add to the heat! Those whose own affair is not yet clear must be cautious not to produce many novel phrases; novel phrases are merely a self-attained marvel, unable to penetrate and harmonize with the marvel attained and transmitted by the ancient sages. Deeply fearing that the ancient Way would perish, whenever mountain monk [I] conversed and debated with men of the rivers and lakes who embrace the Way, I mostly cited the departed words and past deeds of the predecessors to encourage one another, hoping clearly to let the spirit of the ancients be seen. Confucius was the Confucian master of a generation; he transmitted but did not innovate. Had he innovated, would one fear that Confucius lacked literary brilliance? Because he saw the Zhou house decline and rites and music collapse, he culled the Odes and the Documents and determined rites and music, painstakingly establishing teachings to illuminate the Way of Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, Wu, and the Duke of Zhou, so as to bequeath it to later generations. Yangzi composed the Classic of the Great Mystery, and the world condemned him, saying Confucius had never composed a classic, because its language approached being terse and obscure. When his disciples reported this to him, Yangzi said: 'The world does not know me; there will surely be another Ziyun reborn.' From the Han until now, the Way of Yangzi has flourished greatly. In general, in establishing words, one only requires that they be appropriate; down through a thousand ages, could there be no one who understands? Now the solstice festival is near; having long conducted private interviews in the head monk's quarters feels quite inconvenient. Fearing to disrupt the monastery's order of inviting personnel, the plaque is returned to the abbot's quarters. Since our affinity has lasted this long, for the sake of the righteousness of the Way, I have cited some of the ancients' practices to serve as a final earnest offering. But in my old age and debility, my words have been excessive; I will be fortunate indeed if the brethren forgive me. I recall that while Guishan was warming himself by the fire, he asked Yangshan: 'Warming by the fire all day, why is there no warmth at all?' Yangshan made the gesture of warming by the fire. Guishan said: 'You have only attained the physical object; subject and object are not yet there.' Yangshan said: 'I am just like this; what about the upādhyāya?' Guishan also made the gesture of warming by the fire. Yangshan said: 'The upādhyāya has only attained the physical object; subject and object are not yet there.' Guishan said: 'So it is, so it is.' Everyone says that Gui and Yang transmitted [the Dharma] as water poured from vessel to vessel, but little do they know that in the principle of father and son, each turned his back on the other. If tonight a patch-robed monk suddenly came forth and said: 'Old Upādhyāya, do not constantly scrutinize the ancients! Beneath the guest eaves, in the bitter cold of midwinter, and atop a solitary peak and precipitous summit—who does not know your warmth?' Mountain monk [I] could only cover my face with my hands and pull in the billows. Why? Whether they understand me or condemn me. It is late at night; you have been standing a long time.