緇門警訓 8.41

8.41

I have a pewter staff, fashioned according to standard form. Upper, middle, and lower sections in threefold division, its towering shaft is six feet tall. Its twelve rings are round and without flaw, showing how dependent origination leads to death and to birth. Its two prongs part and yet join together again, revealing that emptiness and existence are neither separate nor identical. It is not used to support the frail; it is carried solely to beg for food. Held in hand, it is serenely silent; shaken, its ringing is distinct and clear. It aims directly to cause the gates of the realms of existence to open, and the sufferings of the three evil destinies to cease. Wherever one stays, it is hung upon the room's wall; dust and grime easily gather, so it must ever be wiped clean. Hurling it beyond the clouds is not considered difficult; parting fighting tigers requires no strenuous effort. How fortunate are ordinary fools to tread in the footsteps of the sages! Yet with rough coarseness shown on the outside, and thistles and brambles harbored within, whether employing it or laying it aside, can one fail to be watchful day and night?