宗鏡錄 41.11

41.11

Answer: To say 'it is' is already a second head; to say 'it is not' is a third hand. The path of mind and intellect is cut off; the sentiments of delimitation and calculation are extinguished. Therefore, the Mañjuśrīprajñā-sūtra says: 'That which cannot be understood is prajñā. Prajñā is neither understandable nor not understandable.' The Zhao Lun says: 'The mysterious Way lies in a realm cut off from extremes; hence it is attained through non-attainment. Wondrous wisdom abides beyond things; hence it is known through non-knowing. The Great Image hides within the formless; hence it is seen through non-seeing. The Great Sound conceals itself within the soundless; hence it is heard through non-hearing.' Only at the time of faithfully entering it does one naturally possess penetrating discernment. When one penetrates clearly, luminously, and thoroughly, it is not even dependent on mental thoughts, how much less could one seek one's own Dharma from another, or borrow their eyes to achieve complete penetration? Counting another's treasures never relieves poverty; talking of food can never bring fullness. Only by reaching it directly oneself does one頓-enter the gate beyond learning; only through personal discovery does one attain the purport of the unconditioned. If one can reflect upon the principle in such a manner, then it will manifest clearly in such a manner. Naturally the two extremities merge, and object and self are without difference. Tallying with all conditions in emptiness and profundity, one shares the tranquility of the one mind. All stand relying on emptiness and are born embracing oneness. Thus, clouds drift and unfurl, relaxing across the clear sky; mountains remain secluded, at leisure amid green plains. Tall pines lean against crags and naturally grow; slender bamboo brushes the path, ever fresh. Internally, the heart-mind is serene; externally, the nature of the Way is ever so. Therefore, the Xinyao jian says: 'If a single thought does not arise, the boundaries of past and future are severed. The luminous substance stands alone; object and self are both as such. One reaches straight to the source of the mind—without knowing, without attaining, neither grasping nor abandoning, without opposition and without cultivation. Yet delusion and awakening mutually depend; the true and the false face each other. If one seeks the true and discards the false, it is like running to escape one's shadow, wearying the body. If one realizes that the false is identical with the true, it is like staying in the shade so that the shadow disappears. Therefore, when there is no intention regarding forgetting and illuminating, myriad entanglements are completely cast away. If one accords with natural functioning in tranquil knowing, all practices will arise. Wander freely, letting coming and going take their course; in quiet reflection, awaken to the source and stream. Speech and silence do not stray from the mysterious subtlety; motion and stillness never depart from the dharmadhātu.' The Venerable Elder sang: 'I wished to learn bodhi, but lost to Śākya who came before; / I wished to learn the icchantika, but fell behind Devadatta. / Not stepping into the ways of either house, / I could not avoid treading the middle path. / Even if both are entirely wrong, / on what basis could one open one's mouth? / Opening the mouth or not opening the mouth, / be strictly careful not to offend the Venerable Elder! / If you understand the meaning herein, / gaze south to behold the Northern Dipper.' Mahāsattva Fu chanted in praise: 'People say traveling the path is hard; / I say traveling the path is easy. / Living in the mountains for over several years, / I sleep with both legs stretched long. / Traveling the path is easy— / if it is easy, do not deliberate! / In a single kṣaṇa, the mind does not differ; / where is it not a heavenly hall?' Although the sincere words of past masters have been extensively cited above, as soon as one enters into the Mirror of the Source, by natural principle the path of words and thought is cut off; consciousness and wisdom are both extinguished; victory and defeat are alike obliterated. The four unimpeded eloquence cannot exhaust it; the multitude of worthies cannot measure it. Therefore, the Private Record of Vimalakīrti says: 'Vimalakīrti kept silent. From the past up to this point, this was the ultimate; actual wisdom was fulfilled. It is also like Sudhana meeting Maitreya and entering the tiered tower, only then attaining the ultimate. Now remaining silent without words is itself the substance of the tiered tower.' The Mahāsaṃnipātasūtra says: '"Luminosity, stillness, non-contention"—these three lines of Dharma being completed, Śākya remained silently abiding.' This is no different from now. Moreover, in the western land of India, on Mount Vindhya, there was an arhat named Pūrṇa. Aśvaghoṣa went to see him; [Pūrṇa] was sitting upright in the forest, his aspiration vast and subtle, seemingly immeasurable, his demeanor humble and deferent, appearing easy to defeat. [Aśvaghoṣa] then said to him: 'Śramaṇa, speak! If you dare to illuminate anything, I will certainly defeat you. If I do not win, I will slit my throat in apology.' The śramaṇa was silent, his face showing no sign of defeat, nor any countenance of victory. After questioning him three or four times, there was not the slightest response. Aśvaghoṣa withdrew and reflected to himself: 'I have lost; he has won. He abides in wordlessness, so there is nothing to defeat. Because of my speech, although I know speakers can be defeated, I could not avoid speaking myself. Truly, this is shameful!' He thereupon took refuge and went forth into homelessness.