宏智禪師廣錄 9.1

9.1

True vigor is departing from delusion. Dharma offering is free from blemish. Wondrous adornment follows conditions. Wise expedient means is unbound. Vairocana's nature is empty, yet the wisdom body is clear and distinct; Samantabhadra's pores encompass the Dharmadhātu layer upon layer. Looking up to it, it is lofty; drilling into it, it is hard. It can be steeped in dark dye without turning black, ground without wearing thin. The nighttime tide of the vast ocean of coral drinks in its radiance; the spring tune of the campaka groves washes away its cold hue. Evening out all things, the butterfly flutters in a dream; cutting off the flow, the gull keeps its covenant. At Linglongyan Temple in Siming, I gathered bundles of bamboo splints and dwelt on the mountain for nearly thirty years. The assembly gathered and endured poverty, personally going forth with begging bowls, while still relying on monks assigned to convert others to beg sequentially for provisions. To sketch this illusory form requires coarse words, so that wherever people meet, it may serve as an aid to conversation. Now that the monastic compilation is to be carved on blocks, family ugliness should not be broadcast. Furthermore, he who knows it is foolish; he who speaks of it is at fault. The Patriarch certified it through personal arrival; the Buddha expounded it fearing people would become lost. Facing the wall, the lamps connected; the mind emptied, light emanated. The spirit roams its depths; luminously self-illuminating, its substance is empty. The Way attains its wholeness; continuous as if existing, its function is subtle. The nostrils cannot be carried even by a cart; the tongue cannot be extended even when pulled with pincers. The Patriarch's intention is thoroughly plumbed and clear; the Buddha's work is radiant and complete. The sword brandished in the void moves freely without obstruction; the pearl receiving shadows matches what it embraces or leaves behind. Clouds and birds have no fixed pattern; the wind-chime resonates of itself. The chirping of autumn insects, the patterns of wood-boring worms: tradition says the vessel of the Buddha's selection is one and the same, yet when pointing toward the Way, the lineage is whole while speech is only half. The monk Shiyan requested this preface. Written by Zhengjue on the day of the summer retreat in the twenty-seventh year of Shaoxing [1157].