宗鏡錄 42.5

Answer: Although Patriarch Aśvaghoṣa formulated the single phenomenon of mind-only, he opened up the two gates of tathatā and arising-and-ceasing. Bodhidharma pointed directly to the one mind, and established the four practices of according with conditions without obstruction. Upon examination, the source is fundamentally without difference, yet it receives names according to people. Therefore it is said: The patriarch's sudden awakening and direct entry is called the Chan source; the fundamental root of the fruitional virtues of all buddhas is called the buddha-nature; the source cavity of the bodhisattva's myriad practices is called the mind-ground; the place where sentient beings' transmigration arises is called the storehouse consciousness; that upon which the myriad phenomena rely is called the dharmatā; that which can give birth to prajñā is called the ocean of wisdom. One must not rigidly fixate on the one or cling to the many, giving rise to various emotional views. Thus the Suvarṇaprabhāsasūtra states: "The dharmatā is profoundly deep and immeasurable." "Immeasurable" does not mean there is a separate phenomenon named "immeasurable." Vairocana pervades all places; all phenomena are buddhadharma. "Profoundly deep" also does not mean there is a separate phenomenon named "profoundly deep." Reaching phenomena, it is true; there is nothing that is not the real mark. It may be called the many within the one, which, precisely when preserved, is utterly extinguished; and the one within the many, which, while folded, also unfolds. As the Avataṃsakasūtra says: "The bodhisattva mahāsattva knows that the three realms are mind-only and the three periods of time are mind-only, yet fully comprehends that this mind is immeasurable and boundless: this is the matchless abode." Furthermore, a former worthy said: "Although words cannot speak it, yet without words there would be no means to transmit it. Therefore the sage speaks all day yet has never spoken." Because he speaks all day, he does not sever the mind of upāya; and because he has never spoken, he does not lose the nature of prajñā. By means of upāya, he does not contravene the gate of great transformation; by means of prajñā, he sees no traces of words and forms. Furthermore, a sūtra says: "The buddhas always rely on the two truths to preach the Dharma. If one does not attain the conventional truth, one cannot attain the ultimate truth." Because fully comprehending that the conventional lacks self-nature is itself the gate of the real, why pursue objects and follow emotions, arbitrarily generating divergent views, restricting the distances of directions and corners, or fixing the shallowness and depth of vessels' capacities? It is like an inchworm traversing a twig: setting down its front legs before advancing its rear legs; or like a foolish monkey finding a tree: letting go of a high branch to grasp a low branch. If one can remove the vessel and contemplate space, square, round, long, and short will naturally vanish of themselves. Knowing that the mind is the objective realm, how could there be high or low, right or wrong? Moreover, within the gate of the conventional truth, there are eighty-four thousand afflictions of worldly toil. Among the vain thoughts of ordinary persons, the single phenomenon of birth-and-death is the greatest. Because there is birth-and-death, mind and objective realm arise together; if there is no birth-and-death, person and phenomena are both tranquil. Therefore know that understanding must reside in the present day; one cannot procrastinate. Now, bound by karma in the four modes of birth, with bodies dwelling in the nine realms of existence, those who obtain a human body are like dust on a fingernail, while those who lose a human body are like the soil of the great earth. Dwelling in the realms of the three evil paths, one is forever buried for dust-eon durations. Residing in the four formless heavens, one is perpetually submerged in the factors of absorption. Even if one is temporarily born among humans, there are a thousand kinds of hindrances and difficulties: either one's faculties are dull and difficult to awaken, or one's faculties are sharp but one believes in false views; either one's physical vessel is incomplete, or obstructions and hindrances are all heavy. In all such cases, they cannot be transformed, and have no way to realize the real. As the Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa states: "One should know that a human body is difficult to obtain, and a buddha's world is difficult to encounter. Favourable opportunities are easy to pass by; once one falls into the difficulties, it can never be cured. If one falls into the hells, being roasted, slaughtered, and cut to pieces, how could one be taught and transformed? If one falls among animals, mutually harming one another, they also cannot be transformed. If one falls among hungry ghosts, tormented by hunger, thirst, and burning heat, they also cannot be transformed. If one is born in the heaven of long life, tens of millions of buddhas pass by, yet because of attachment to the taste of meditative absorption, one remains completely unaware. Those born in Parthia and various frontier lands all have foolish human bodies and cannot be taught and transformed. Even if born in the central kingdom, either their six sense faculties are incomplete, or their four limbs are deficient; or they are blind, deaf, mute, and dumb; or they do not understand right principle; or sometimes their six sense faculties are complete and all faculties are sharp and clear, yet they are deeply attached to wrong views, saying there are no sins and blessings—they cannot be taught and transformed." Therefore it is said that favourable opportunities are easy to pass by, and one falls into the difficulties. Even if free from the difficulties, one's afflictions and karma are deep, and one is still scorched by the fires of the eight sufferings and thrown into disorder by the five turbidities. Now, the suffering spoken of is immeasurable: either the three sufferings, the five sufferings, the eight sufferings, up to the one hundred and ten sufferings of the Yogācārabhūmiśāstra, and the sufferings of the eighty-four thousand afflictions of worldly toil. None go beyond the suffering of saṃsāric wandering, the suffering of conditioning, and so forth. Yet ordinary persons gladly dwell in them, never becoming aware of them. As a verse in the Abhidharmakośabhāṣya states: "Just as a person is not aware / of a single eyelash placed on the palm, / but if placed upon the eye, / it causes extreme pain and unease; / so the ordinary person is like the palm of the hand, / unaware of the conditions of the suffering of conditioning, / while the wise are like the eye: / the eyelash produces extreme aversion and dread." Therefore know: regarding the suffering of birth, old age, sickness, and death, who can escape it? The four mountains constantly come to press upon humanity. As a former worthy said: "Thus the worthy and the unworthy, the mighty and the frail, are alike subjected to the four shifts; not a single one escapes. Brahma kings and Śakra, the poor and base, Yao and Shun, Jie and Zhou, the Three Sovereigns and the Four Perils—all together return to the dust and ashes, and all serve as the bases for suffering." As for the eight sufferings: The suffering of birth is the cause for the accumulation of all sufferings, the root of receiving bodies in the six destinies. It is like eating fruit found in excrement, or partaking of the root of a poisonous tree; like reaching for ambrosia and falling into a pit, or buying fine food and incurring death. Merit and Darkness—the two maidens follow one another; a master of wisdom accepts neither of them. The Abhidharmasamuccaya states: "The suffering of birth is because it is that upon which all sufferings depend; because it is pressed and tormented by all sufferings. For nine or ten months one dwells in the womb as if in a pit of foul excrement, constantly enduring various sufferings such as cold and heat. Between the stomach and the bowels, it is as if pressed between two mountains. When approaching the birth canal, the suffering is unbearable. Suddenly emerging and blown upon by the wind, it is like being cut by knives and pricked by awls, so that one cries out involuntarily, abandoning and forgetting all previous activities. This is called the suffering of birth. The suffering of old age is the suffering due to the transformation of time. One's body becomes heavy, the sense faculties become dull and clouded, the skin sags and wrinkles, one walks hunched and bent, sleeping and dining are uneasy, one groans when rising and sitting, the breath pants in reversal, whatever one does is sluggish, one is held in contempt by others, worldly sentiments grow ever more intense, while worldly affairs all cease. This is called the suffering of old age. Furthermore, the aged forget like infants, and become deranged as if possessed by ghosts, having a physical form that is frail, decaying, and withered."

When [the body] is about to easily rupture and decay, the setting sun sinks in the west, and the withered flowers are about to fall. Like the dregs of pressed sugarcane, it lacks the threefold flavor of monastic meditation and recitation. One's vigor and strength are utterly robbed by the thief of old age; one's robust countenance is seized and about to be handed over to the King of Death. It is like a lotus crushed by hail, or like a cart rendered useless with a broken axle. Like a dried-up river lacking water, it brings no benefit to others; like an expiring lamp-wick with no oil, how could its state last long? As for the suffering of illness: because the four great elements alter and conflict, there is suffering. The hundred joints ache, the four limbs are afflicted with agony, and all peaceful and happy matters can be destroyed. Thus a sūtra states: 'Just as a man who is vigorous and handsome, secretly loved by the king's consort, sends a message to have an illicit liaison, whereupon the king catches him, gouges out his eyes, cuts off his ears and nose, and amputates his hands and feet, so that his appearance suddenly transforms and he is despised and reviled by others—pressed by the suffering of illness, it is hard to bear in this way, and being despised by others is also just like this.' It is the root of anguish, sorrow, and worry, and serves as the cause of fear of death. Like hail ruining sprouts, or like being cornered by an enemy, it plunders correct livelihood, destroys one's robust complexion, diminishes the power of merit to cause one to retrogress from great bodhi, and increases heedlessness so that one loses the root of true goodness. This is called the suffering of illness. As for the suffering of death: because the life-span alters and is destroyed, there is suffering. Wind-knives sever the limbs and joints; nowhere is without agonizing pain. One's mouth opens with gasping sighs, hands and feet flail in confusion, one's eyes roll back and foam spills, and hands grope at empty space. Sweat flows profusely, and feces and urine leak out. Though in the past it was treated with bathing, it inevitably returns to impurity; though in the past it was treated with ointments and incense, it inevitably returns to foul stench. One's former royal throne, abundant treasures and glory, and tens of thousands of relatives, wives, and concubines are all abandoned in an instant. One departs alone to future existences, with not a single one accompanying. One lies prostrate on the bed and pillow, a corpse stretched out face-up. Parents, wife, and children beat their chests and choke with sobs; the multitude wails in longing, disheveling their hair and beating their heads. Though they produce the sorrow of loving attachment, it ultimately results in the pain of eternal parting. Some are buried in graves and mounds, where their flesh dissolves and bones rot; some have their exposed corpses given over to donate bodily flesh, crisscrossed and torn apart by birds, beasts, mole crickets, and ants; or [the corpse] is incinerated by fire, where foul smoke billows up and fills all four quarters. Others grieve and sigh; weeping bitterly until their voices fail, they all return to their hometowns, while only ashes and filth remain, left solely to the wind and earth. One's lifelong spirit and drive once towered above the clouds at every turn; yet once one bids farewell forever, one is stranded beneath the frost and moon. Hence we know that where one's allotted lifespan ends, at the verge of death, it is like being dispersed by the kalpa-winds or swept away by a torrential cataract: nowhere can halt one's departure, and upon arrival one cannot escape. Toward a deep and distant destination, frightening realms perpetually terrify; amid gloomy darkness, the solitary soul departs alone. Resentful enemies constantly pursue without one ever being aware; pursued by the King of Death, no one can be spared. The Mahāparinirvāṇasūtra states: 'Death means that in a perilous and difficult place, one has no provisions; where one goes is suspended far away, yet there are no companions. Constantly travelling day and night, one knows no boundary. Profound, deep, and darkly obscure, there is no lamp-light. One enters without doors, yet there is a location. Although there is no specific aching spot, it cannot be cured. In going there is no halting; upon arrival one cannot escape. Nothing is broken or destroyed, yet those who see it are filled with sorrow and bitterness. It is not an ugly form, yet it makes people terrified. Laid out beside the body, it cannot be perceived.' An exposition states: ''In a perilous and difficult place' means the world of fright and fear of the twenty-five realms of existence. 'One has no provisions' means having no good dharmas with which to sustain oneself. 'Where one goes is suspended far away' means birth-and-death is inexhaustible. 'Yet there are no companions' means the soul departs by itself. 'Constantly travelling day and night, one knows no boundary' means drifting along in accordance with karma, cycling without limit. 'Profound, deep, and darkly obscure, there is no lamp-light': death is the final characteristic; once entering the division of death, it is a torpor from which it is difficult to emerge, the long night of birth-and-death, hence called 'profound and deep.' Having died, one mostly enters the great dark places of the three bad destinies, hence it is said 'there is no lamp-light.' 'One enters without doors, yet there is a location': death enters inside the body without relying on doors; right upon the body one distinguishes death, which is termed 'having a location.' 'Although there is no specific aching spot': at the verge of death, although one has the five sense faculties, there is no sensory awareness. 'It cannot be cured': when retribution ends, one inevitably dies; worldly physicians fold their hands. 'In going there is no halting; upon arrival one cannot escape': karma is exhausted and retribution concludes; when the time arrives, one inevitably departs; pursued by one's own karma, there is no one who binds one. 'Nothing is broken or destroyed, yet those who see it are filled with sorrow and bitterness': although the retribution form is extinguished, the skin and body are not damaged, yet among those who see it with aching grief, none is not filled with sorrow and bitterness. 'It is not an ugly form, yet it makes people terrified': there is no frightening human appearance, yet those who see it are panicked and afraid. 'Laid out beside the body, it cannot be perceived': this clarifies that a person's death lies at the body's uttermost limit, yet one cannot know the time and season of death.' Furthermore, all consciousnesses are dim and murky, the six viscera are empty, the remaining breath lingers faintly, and the mind and soul are anxious and sad. A verse in the Sūtra on Impermanence states: / 'When the breath of the life-faculty is about to end, / The limbs and joints all separate. / All sufferings accompany death; / At this moment, one laments and regrets in vain. / Both eyes roll upward together; / The knife of death falls according to karma. / Thoughts and perceptions are entirely flustered and alarmed; / No one is able to rescue and deliver.' / Therefore, past worthies stated: 'Human life is impermanent: once a breath is not followed by another, one departs for a thousand years. The dark road stretches far and vast, without any provisions; the sea of suffering is profoundly deep, where can a boat or raft be relied upon? Admonished and abandoned by sages and worthies, there is nothing to depend upon. As one's years gradually slip away, the wind-knives brook no delay. How could one remain at ease, sitting and awaiting aching pain? For instance, when a jackal lost its ears, tail, and teeth, it feigned sleep hoping to escape, but upon suddenly hearing its head would be cut off, its mind was exceedingly terrified. When encountering birth, old age, and sickness, it is still not urgent; but the matter of death brooks no delay—how could one not be terrified? When the terrified mind arises, it is like treading on boiling water and fire: for the six sense-dusts and five desires, one has no leisure to covet or be stained by them. It is like the younger brother of King Aśoka, a great imperial king, who heard a caṇḍāla ringing a bell morning after morning: one day had passed, and in six days he was to die; though he had the five desires, not for a single thought-moment did he enjoy them. A practitioner's fearful and thoroughly contrite repentance spares neither body nor life, like the jackal's desperate resolve, with nothing else to contemplate, like that terrified king. From this we know that [this] is the cause of myriad calamities, the root of all sufferings.

All are produced from the fabrications of a single thought. One must secretly guard the sense-doors and constantly protect the ground of the mind, never letting delusion arise or momentarily pursue external dusts. As the *Sūtra of the Buddha's Brief Admonition at His Final Parinirvāṇa* states: "For these five senses, the citta is their master. For this reason, you should control the citta well. The terror of the citta is worse than poisonous snakes, savage beasts, resentful thieves, or raging fires bursting their bounds; none of these serve as adequate analogies. It stirs and shifts with restless haste; it sees only the honey and fails to notice the deep pit. It is like a mad elephant without an iron hook, or a monkey having found a tree—leaping and bounding about, scarcely to be curbed. You must urgently subdue it and not allow it to be licentious. Giving free rein to this citta destroys a person's good deeds; curbing it in one place, there is nothing that cannot be accomplished. Therefore, monks, you should be diligently vigorous and subdue your citta." Hence we know that saṃsāra is difficult to escape; one must be watchful and prudent. Consider, for example, the sages of the two vehicles and the sovereign bodhisattvas: both have transcended the three realms, yet they still possess transformational bodies and the four kinds of saṃsāra. How much more so within the three realms, with actively manifesting kleśas, does the ordinary person bound by karma undergo fragmented death! As for the four kinds of saṃsāra, they refer to all arhats, pratyekabuddhas, and bodhisattvas on the great grounds, who due to four kinds of hindrances fail to obtain the four virtues of the Tathāgata: first, the saṃsāra of expedient means; second, the saṃsāra of causes and conditions; third, the saṃsāra of having existence; and fourth, the saṃsāra of non-existence. The *Anuttarāśrayasūtra* states: "The Buddha told Ānanda: 'Within the three realms there are four kinds of difficulties: first, the difficulty of kleśa; second, the difficulty of karma; third, the difficulty of retribution in rebirth; and fourth, the difficulty of faults. The saṃsāra of expedient means arising from the ground of avidyā is like the difficulty of kleśa within the three realms. The saṃsāra of causes and conditions arising from the ground of avidyā is like the difficulty of karma within the three realms. The saṃsāra of having existence arising from the ground of avidyā is like the difficulty of retribution in rebirth within the three realms. The saṃsāra of non-existence arising from the ground of avidyā is like the difficulty of faults within the three realms. It should be known thus. Ānanda, because the four kinds of saṃsāra are not yet eradicated, the three kinds of mind-made bodies do not possess the pāramitā fruits of permanence, bliss, self, and purity. Only the Buddha's dharmakāya is the pāramitā of permanence, bliss, self, and purity. You all should know this.'" As for the suffering of separation from what is loved, the *Mahāparinirvāṇasūtra* states: "From love arises sorrow; from love arises fear. If one is free from love, what sorrow or fear is there?" The *Lotus Sūtra* states: "That which is the cause of all sufferings has lustful craving as its root." The *Vimalakīrtinirdeśasūtra* states: "From moha arises love, and then my sickness is born." As for the suffering of meeting with what is hateful, the *Mahāparinirvāṇasūtra* states: "Contemplating all receipts of birth in the five destinies, all are meetings with what is hateful, coalescing into great suffering. If one has not yet realized the unproduced, in every place where one is born, there is nothing that is not hateful, nothing that is not suffering. Why is this? Because one is bound by objects and does not attain sovereignty." As for the suffering of not getting what one seeks, there are two kinds: first, seeking in a desired object and being unable to obtain it; second, laboring with much effort without obtaining the retribution of results. As for the suffering of the burning of the five skandhas, it consists of: the suffering of birth, the suffering of old age, the suffering of sickness, the suffering of death, the suffering of separation from what is loved, the suffering of meeting with what is hateful, and the suffering of not getting what one seeks. Hence it is named the suffering of the burning of the five skandhas. Because one grasps the skandhas as real, one is enclosed by the skandhas, which then become the skandha-māras, the gathering of all sufferings. As for the five turbidities: first, the turbidity of the kalpa. The other four turbidities intensify and gather at this time: dveṣa intensifies and weapons of war arise; rāga intensifies and famine arises; moha intensifies and pestilence arises. Because the three calamities arise, kleśas double in abundance, views become ever more ablaze, physical and mental states become coarse and wretched, evil names and foul designations multiply, and human lifespan is crushed and shortened. The various turbidities converge together like rushing, murky water; winds and waves roar in rage; fish and dragons stir up chaos; there is nothing to rely upon. It is the time that causes this to be so. It is like the Ābhāsvara devas falling to earth at the beginning of the kalpa, where the earth caused desire to arise; or like the Trāyastriṃśa devas entering the Parūṣakavana, where the garden gave rise to combative minds. This is named the characteristic of the turbidity of the kalpa. As for the turbidity of kleśas: the ocean of rāga admits every stream yet is never sated; the viper of dveṣa inhales poison and burns the worldly realms; the darkness of moha is stupid and obstinate, surpassing black lacquer; māna stands tall and looks downward, insolently scorning beyond measure; the net of vicikitsā lacks faith and cannot be spoken to with truth. This is the characteristic of the turbidity of kleśas. As for the turbidity of views: asserting a person where there is no person, asserting no path where there is a path; the sixteen views and the sixty-two views, like nets or like dense thickets, entangle and twist, preventing escape. This is the characteristic of the turbidity of views. As for the turbidity of sentient beings: grasping body and mind to establish a single sovereign master, like sticky birdlime to which nothing fails to adhere, drifting through the six destinies and receiving birth everywhere; being poor as if suffering carbuncles, yet being named elder or wealthy. This is the characteristic of the turbidity of sentient beings. As for the turbidity of life: born in the morning and perishing in the evening; emerging by day and disappearing by dusk; turning like waves and swirling like smoke, not halting for a wink or a breath. This is the characteristic of the turbidity of life. Living in this time of turbidity and chaos, obstacles intensify: objects stir and the flames of consciousness burn away all wholesome roots; karma moves the wind of citta and blows away the pure dharmas. One clings to the ghost-realm of dveṣa-haunted demons; falls into the net of moha-afflicted rākṣasas; is detained by the king of lustful craving; and is driven and enslaved by the master of māras and adversaries. Who is able to suddenly awaken and imitate this complete cultivation? Having already been born in the central land, yet finding it difficult to encounter the era of a Buddha, one should now rejoice at having encountered these bequeathed texts. Moreover, gathered within this Mirror of the Source, from beginning to end there is nothing that is not genuine truth. Every word can awaken one to the Path; every character simply indicates the source. One must straightforwardly forget fatigue day and night and diligently investigate it. If one suddenly awakens through hearing and understands one's true mind, one immediately becomes a person who has attained the Path, perpetually inheriting the seed of bodhi. If one has not yet seen the Path, thought after thought encounters error; once the human body is lost, it will not be regained for myriad kalpas. Therefore the ancient teaching says: 'In a single breath there are four hundred arisings and ceasings; life hangs between inhalation and exhalation.' If one is a person who has not yet attained the Path, there is only the saṃsāra of transmigration, with life hanging as if by a thread. If one can hear it in the morning, one may die in the evening without regret. Hence the *Tiwei Sūtra* states: 'It is as if there were a person on Mount Sumeru lowering a fine thread...'

[and] one person below holding a needle to receive it, with fierce whirling storm winds blowing the thread between them, it would be difficult for it to enter the eye of the needle. To obtain a human body is far more difficult than this. Furthermore, a verse in the Bodhisattva Garbhastha Sūtra says: / 'A blind turtle [encountering] a floating piece of wood with a hole in it / may still meet with it from time to time; / once a person loses the life-faculty, / for a hundred million kalpas it is again difficult [to gain] this [human state]. / The ocean waters are deep and vast— / three hundred and thirty-six [yojanas]; / if a single needle were cast to the bottom of the sea, / one might still find it by searching.' / Another verse says: / 'From countless kalpas past, / I have come and gone along the path of birth and death, / discarding bodies and receiving bodies again, / never departing from the way of the womb. / If I reckon what I have passed through, / recording one and not the rest, / simply taking the form of a white dog, / my bones would pile up into a hundred million Mount Sumerus. / If one sowed the earth with sharp needles, / none would fail to strike my body; / how much more so with dogs of variegated colors! / Their number is immeasurable. / Therefore I gather my mind / and am not greedily attached to heedlessness.' / Ever since the ancestral teachings came from the West and the sages and worthies traversed back and forth, it has all been to illumine the mind and discern birth and death. The arising of birth and death does not go beyond the sense faculties and sense objects. Because of un-awareness, deluded thoughts suddenly arise; bewildered about the dharmadhātu, illusory realms secretly appear. From this, one grasps at persons and grasps at dharmas, establishing self and establishing other; following dualities, agreeable and disagreeable circumstances tug at the feelings; pursuing distinctions, love and hate concern the mind. Consequently, one stumbles through the five destinies and crawls through the four modes of birth. Now, wishing to investigate back to the origin of delusion, one must understand the place of its arising. Therefore the Śūraṅgama Sūtra says: 'The Buddha told Ānanda, "As you have said, that which is truly cherished and loved is due to the mind and eyes. If you do not know the location of the mind and eyes, you cannot subdue the afflictions of sense-dust. For example, when a king's country is invaded by bandits and he dispatches an army to suppress and eliminate them, the army must know where the bandits are. That which causes you to transmigrate has the mind and eyes as its fault."' Hence we know that the mind is the origin of the host of delusions, and the eyes are the root of all views. Therefore, at the beginning of birth and death and the initial arising of confusion, because of being bewildered about one's own citta, one makes external sense-dust; because of grasping at the deluded consciousness, one takes it as an inner self. From the self, one forcibly acts as a master; from conception, one establishes self and other. Clinging to illusion and relying on emptiness, inversion is consequently formed. The methods of inversion, briefly stated, are three: first, inversion of mind; second, inversion of view; third, inversion of thought. The mind is like the host who harbors the bandits; views are the bandits' bodies; thoughts are like the bandits' feet; sense faculties and sense objects are the bandits' go-betweens. Conniving inside and outside, they plunder all the family treasures. Therefore, sights plunder the eye faculty; pleasant sounds plunder the ear faculty; pleasant fragrances plunder the nose faculty; pleasant tastes plunder the tongue faculty; pleasant tangibles plunder the body faculty; pleasant dharmas plunder the mental faculty. The wealth of wholesome dharmas is exhausted and the treasury of wisdom is emptied. Like an enemy feigning friendship, who can know it? If one recognizes the bandit, the bandit can do nothing. If one understands objects and recognizes the mind, one will ultimately no longer be invaded by external sense-dust or bound by internal knots. Moreover, take for example the eight dharmas of the mind-king and up to the six unconditioned [dharmas]—the condensed summary of the one hundred dharmas—all are the daily functioning of sentient beings; there is no time when they are not complete, no single thought in which they do not arise. Estimating by this, it is indeed no trivial matter. If it could not profoundly rescue from birth and death, perils, suffering, and urgent crises, then the past sages and ancient worthies would have vainly labored in their compositions. It is because there is profound benefit that it could be put into practice. The sages do not deceive the ordinary person; how could the true bewilder with the false? What is recorded now briefly proves this source. Searching ten thousand fathoms, one has not yet obtained a hair's breadth; pointing to a hundred parts, one has barely spoken of one or two. I ask that you do not weary of its prolixity, [but] quiet your intentions and examine it in detail: reading it is like climbing a treasure mountain; having faith in it is like roaming the ocean treasury. Furthermore, although this relies on written words, each and every one points to its true reality. One must not give rise to attachment following the words and obscure our correct source. As a sūtra says: 'A wheel of knives severing the heads of the people of Jambudvīpa—that offense is still small; but to speak the Mahāyāna with a mind of gain—its sin surpasses that.' The Mahāprajñāpāramitopadeśa says: 'Grasping at existence disputes with non-existence, and even non-existence-and-non-non-existence disputes with existence and non-existence; like the cowhide and the dragon rope, neither avoids calamity.' The Madhyamakaśāstra says: 'The Buddhas taught the Dharma of emptiness originally to transform those [attached to] existence; if there are those who attach to emptiness, the Buddhas do not transform them.' If one definitively says that all dharmas are neither existent nor non-existent, this is called the treatise of the foolish. If one loses the meaning of the four siddhāntas, one's own practice and transforming others are both called attachment to dharmas. If one obtains the meaning of the four siddhāntas, self and other are both without attachment. That treatise also says: 'In the Buddha-Dharma, one does not attach to existence, nor does one attach to non-existence; one also does not attach to existence-and-non-existence; one also does not attach to neither-existence-nor-non-existence or not-neither-existence-nor-non-existence. One also does not attach to non-attachment. In this way, objections find no entry. It is like striking empty space with a knife: ultimately nothing is harmed. For the sake of sentient beings, one teaches the Dharma in accord with conditions, while oneself being without attachment.' Therefore the preface to the Prajñāpradīpaśāstra says: 'Contemplating and illuminating the middle way, yet holding to the middle loses contemplation; emptiness reveals the foremost, yet grasping at the one violates emptiness. Thus a south-pointing chariot was originally to show those who are lost; a mirror that reflects the gall bladder is to scrutinize the crooked. Without the crooked, the mirror has nowhere to be applied; without being lost, the chariot is not used. The refutations and expositions of this treatise indeed stem from this.' If it is like this, how could one be permitted to grasp at the teachings and be turned about by verbal expressions? Therefore, if one has not yet encountered the Great Record of the Mirror of the Source, the subtle and fine correct intent of the ancestors and Buddhas, and gained insight into the nature within, but merely learns externally through extensive hearing, then although the body has left household life, the mind has not entered the Way. Therefore the Mahāparinirvāṇasūtra says: 'The Buddha said, "You monks, although your bodies have been able to don the dyed robes of the kāṣāya, your minds have not yet been able to be dyed by the pure Dharma of the Mahāyāna. You monks, although you have practiced begging for food and traversed many places, you have never yet begged for the Mahāyāna Dharma-food."' Therefore it is said: 'Even if one has the supernormal powers of Viśeṣacinti and the eloquence of Sunakṣatra, if one does not know the principle of the true mark, one cannot avoid the calamity of having one's soul sink into the split earth.' As the Śūraṅgama Sūtra says: 'Like the unlearned monk of the fourth dhyāna, who falsely claimed to have realized sagehood; when his heavenly retribution was exhausted and the signs of decay appeared, he slandered the arhats, underwent further existence in the body, and fell into the Avīci Hell.' It also says: 'Sunakṣatra falsely preached that all dharmas are empty, and in his living body sank into the Avīci Hell.' Hence we know that if one has not entered the Mirror of the Source, one must first awaken to the true mind of the true mark.

Even if one possesses great eloquence and supernormal powers, or engages in dhyāna and recitation for long kalpas, in the end one cannot escape this fault. If one penetrates this purport, then in whatever one does, raising a foot or lowering a foot, one naturally does not depart from the path of the one mind and nirvāṇa. As the Candrottarādārikāvyākaraṇasūtra states: Śāriputra said to the maiden Candrottarā, “Where do you wish to go now?” The maiden Candrottarā replied, “You ask where I wish to go now; I go just as Śāriputra goes—I go in just such a way.” Śāriputra replied to the maiden Candrottarā, “I now wish to enter the city of Vaiśālī, while you are just now coming out of it. Why do you say, ‘I go just as Śāriputra goes; I go in just such a way’?” Thereupon the maiden Candrottarā again replied to Śāriputra, “Well, Śāriputra, in raising a foot and lowering a foot, upon what does it depend?” Śāriputra said, “My raising a foot and lowering a foot both depend on empty space.” The maiden replied, “I too am like this: raising a foot and lowering a foot all depend on empty space, and the realm of empty space makes no distinction. Therefore I said that I also go as Śāriputra goes, going in just such a way.” The maiden said, “Śāriputra, let that be as it is. Now, what practice does Śāriputra practice?” Śāriputra said, “I practice in this way toward nirvāṇa.” The maiden Candrottarā said, “Śāriputra, do not all dharmas practice toward nirvāṇa? I now also practice toward it.” Śāriputra asked Candrottarā, “If all dharmas practice toward nirvāṇa, why do you not now enter extinction?” The maiden Candrottarā said, “Śāriputra, if one is toward nirvāṇa, then one does not enter extinction. Why is this? The practice of that nirvāṇa is neither born nor destroyed, cannot be seen, its substance is free from differentiation, and there is no one who can enter extinction.” To explain: That the practice of nirvāṇa is neither born nor destroyed means the unproduced of one's own citta. Even across thousands of paths of appearing and disappearing, it never departs from the gate of nirvāṇa; though ten thousand dharmas crisscross in full sway, how could they transcend the path of the unproduced? Therefore a verse in the Lotus Sūtra says: “The Buddha's sons abide in this ground, / which is the Buddha's own enjoyment; / they are constantly within it, / walking, sitting, and lying down.” What has been stated above may seem unpleasant to the ear, but the fundamental, correct intention is entirely to arouse and stimulate the mind. It is like the fire within a stone: if no one strikes it, for thousands or myriads of years it remains merely a stubborn rock and never functions as fire. As the Kongzi jiayu states: Confucius said, “Good medicine is bitter to the mouth yet benefits the disease; loyal words grate on the ear yet benefit conduct. Tang and Wu flourished through outspoken remonstrance; Jie and Zhou perished through subservient assent. A ruler without remonstrating ministers, a father without remonstrating sons, an elder brother without remonstrating younger brothers, a scholar without remonstrating friends—that there should be none with faults among them has never been the case. Therefore it is said: When the ruler errs, the minister rectifies it; when the father errs, the son rectifies it; when the elder brother errs, the younger brother rectifies it; when oneself errs, the friend rectifies it. Thus the state has no omens of peril and ruin, the family has no evil of rebellion and disorder, father and son, elder and younger brother suffer no estrangement, and friendship is never severed.” Now in the Mirror of the Source, although distressing and cutting words are widely cited, they are all to make instruments of future learners, universally causing them to reform evil and follow good, to admire the Way and advance in practice, so that the Buddha-land will have no subjects who turn their backs on the Way, and the Mahāyāna family will have no sons of wrong view. Thus, although bodhisattvas can benefit themselves, they also reprimand others, constantly acting as uninvited friends to sentient beings. Therefore the Śrīmālādevī-siṃhanāda-sūtra says: “Because of gathering in and subduing, the Buddha-Dharma is made to abide long.” For this reason Guishan composed his text of admonitions, none of which was not bitter to the mouth; and Vimalakīrti displayed the power of reproof, entirely shattering the clinging mind. If there are remonstrating friends within the Buddha-Dharma, companions studying the path of prajñā are guaranteed to have no faults. Hence the Book says, “He who speaks of my faults is my teacher; he who speaks of my merits is my thief.” It also says, “When three persons walk together, there is sure to be a teacher for me among them.” How much more so for inner study within the Buddha-Dharma, the excellent cause of world-transcendence—how could one not rely on an instructing master? Now, if within the access of assisting the path for initial faculties, the text of this Mirror of the Source deeply aids the power of contemplation, then direct realization will occur right under the words, and cultivated wisdom will be immediately accomplished. As it is said, “For the Tao, one decreases day by day; for learning, one increases day by day.” What is decreased is decreased in emotion and desire; what is increased is increased in understanding and insight. This is not like externalist heterodox masters or those who merely study the words of the Mahāyāna: though their mouths speak of emptiness, they do not decrease kleśas. This is not a proper penetration of the true Dharma; it is entirely an improper grasping of perverted emptiness. Only complete faculties that are vessels of the Dharma can have faith in and receive it. How lamentable are those whose defilements of wrong view are heavy, who do not believe even upon hearing it! As Que’s commentary states: “Passing through thousands of buddhas without being startled, lighting ten thousand lamps without dawning into day.” The explanation states: For sentient beings in the immeasurable worlds of the ten directions, the Buddha leaves home, accomplishes the Way, preaches the Dharma, and delivers sentient beings right within their bodies, yet sentient beings are entirely unaware of it. It is entirely due to avidyā obscuring the nature of original awakening, failing to know that it appears from within the tathāgatagarbha. The tathāgatagarbha is the eighth vijñāna of sentient beings. Hence it is said: “Passing through thousands of buddhas without being startled,” because they do not know that citta itself is the Buddha. Furthermore, it is like a drunken guest in a single room: though hundreds of thousands of lamps illuminate it, he does not awaken. This is an analogy for hearing the Dharma without recognizing its principle, unable to influence the spirit, entirely devoid of reflection and awakening. Therefore it is said: “Lighting ten thousand lamps without dawning into day.” “Dawning” means becoming bright. What serves as the lamp? Expedient wisdom is the lamp, illuminating and perceiving the cognitive sphere of citta.