宏智禪師廣錄 5.40

5.40

At an informal gathering, [the Master] said: "Good brothers! An ancient said: 'If we discuss this matter, it is like a guest on the boundless ocean dreaming of drifting in a magnolia boat, letting his feelings wander freely amidst the moonlit islets and misty waves.' Those of the house of patch-robed monks must possess this kind of capability before they can succeed: piloting a bottomless boat upon hairless ground, carried by the moon and driven by the wind, lodging on water and sleeping on clouds. Across ten thousand leagues of misty waves, freely coming and freely going; within a bend of snowy reeds, suddenly appearing and suddenly vanishing. Not residing on either shore, how could one be stranded in midstream? The vast sky has not yet dawned, wild clouds lie across; at the ancient ferry with no wind, the nocturnal moon hangs at midnight. If not a single sail is hoisted and the short oar suddenly stops, heaven and water blend without a trace, and the cool and clear family style is present." He then held up his whisk and said: "Just at such a time, the oar handle is instead in the hands of senior monk Jue! Thereupon, parting the clouds and bursting through the mist, braving the waves and cutting off the current, moving at will and wandering leisurely, changing forms freely in every direction. Therefore it is said: 'Stopping the boat, one discerns the currents of the water; raising the oar, one distinguishes the billows.' However, when it comes to the functioning of cutting off the myriad streams, exposition cannot reach it. And what about the phrase that follows the waves and pursues the billows—how do you express it? Do you want to understand? If it is not cold in winter, look toward the year's end. Tonight's chill is palpable. I recall that a monk asked Caoshan: 'When snow covers the thousand mountains, why is the solitary peak not white?' Caoshan said: 'You must know there is a difference within difference.' The monk said: 'What is the difference within difference?' Caoshan said: 'It does not fall into the colors of the various mountains.'" The Master said: "Where that monk asked was like a fledgling phoenix leaving the nest without leaving behind shadow or trace. When Caoshan answered, it was like an old dragon shedding its bones, sloughing off every trace of trivial attachment. Even if for a thousand leagues there is the same wind and the ten directions are of one color, this is still not the place where a patch-robed monk casts down body and life. In the end, what is the place where a patch-robed monk casts down body and life? The divine creature is nowhere to be sought; the platter is thoroughly dry."