續高僧傳 15.28

15.28

釋志寬。姓姚氏。蒲州河東人也。祖宗仕族不交群小。父任隋青州刺史寬。自幼及長清約知名。歷聽諸經以涅槃地論為心要也。東西訪道無釋寸陰。業成登器遊講為務。生常履信言行不乖。望似專正而懷抱虛蕩。嘗以遊學長安詣市買絹。有人曰。可見付直明當送絹。於此便付直。還寺為諸僧所笑。寬曰。自憶不負於人。豈有人而乖信。至期果獲。以事陳之。彼人云。兵食可亡信不可廢。弟子俗人奉之。豈意釋門綴斯慮也。寬常誦維摩及戒本。所居住房每夜必有振動介冑之響。竊而觀者咸見非常神人遶房而行。又一時夜中房重閣上有打物聲。同學寶通。聞之驚迷不安其席。寬就而慰之。猶打物如故。至旦看之。乃舍梁將折。即令拄之得免其命。其為幽靈所衛如此。而性好瞻病無憚遠近。及以道俗知無人治者。皆輿迎房中。躬運經理。或患腹癰不可膿出者。乃口就𠲿之遂至於差。往往非一。其慈惠之懷信難繼也。後於中夜室內大明。及觀房外與晝無異。乃自縫綻衣帛。不謂神光所照。後召諸徒方知半夜此相數現。後遂不怪。加以開務誘引弘濟為業。道俗胥悅慶其幸遇。屬煬帝弘道海內搜揚。以寬行解同推。膺斯榮命。既處慧日講悟相仍。會梟感作逆齋事拘纏。寬便下獄待罪。有來餉遺一不自資。通給囚僧歡笑如昔。後並配徒隷役於天路常令負土使裝滿籠。盡力輦送初不懈息。役僧曰。此無監檢。當可小停。寬曰。業報如此。何能自欺。違心行事誠未安耳。未又配流西蜀行達陝州。有送財帛祖餞之者。並即散而不遺。唯留一驢負經而已。路次潼關。流僧寶暹者。高解碩德足破不進。寬見臥于道側。泣而哀焉。即捨驢與乘。自擔經論。徒行至蜀雖有事勞而口不告倦。其仁恕之性登苦知其人矣。既達蜀境大發物情。所在利安咸興敬悅。時川邑虎暴行人斷路。或數百為群。經歷村郭傷損人畜。中有獸王。其頭最大五色純備威伏諸狩。遂州都督張遜遠聞慈德遣人往迎。寬乃令州縣立齋行道。各受八戒。當夕虎災銷散。莫知所往。時人感之奉為神聖。然寬因名立行弘裕有儀。凡所宣化如風之靡。每至散席禮䞋相仍。或至十萬二十萬者。皆即坐散盡了無資己。告施者曰。財猶種子聚則難繁。故為散之。令從用有在耳。其虛懷應物為若此也。兼又輕生疎素弊服尋常。一經御形動經累稔。愛護之甚有過身肉。時逢儉歲躬煮糜粥親惠飢餒。銜泣說化令誦佛名。又以所服衣之與氈。或割或減用充貧乏。每年冬首預積坐氈履替。觀諸沙門少者便給。以此為常。貞觀之初還反蒲壤緇素慶幸歡詠如雲。屢建法筵重揚利涉。時州部遇旱諸祈不遂。官民素承嘉績。乃同請焉。寬為置壇場。以身自誓。不降雨者不處室房。曝形兩日。密雲垂布。三日已後合境滂流。民賴來蘇有年斯在。昔在蜀土亦以此致譽。故使遍洽時諺號為一代佛日。有沙門神素者。架業相隣尤所欽友。以先卒於栖巖。寬住州寺先絕凶問。忽降形歡敘欣若生平。明晚來告乃知其死。寬致書慰曰。等同幻境俱稟泡形。不意之情非復言象。素法師俗風清美道器冲深。包總義門研幾至實。但正業久成必之淨土。此方薄運頓失所歸。老病之僧早應先去。罪重福微猶守餘報耳。法師不遺故舊。昨二十五日夜降神共聚同臥一床。通夕言議至曉方別。情猶今昔。事即存亡。冥感之誠未可陳述。素以貞觀十七年春二月二十四日卒。素見別傳。寬以其年夏五月十六日卒於仁壽寺。春秋七十有八。初未終之前右脇而臥枕於右臂。告門徒曰。生死長遠。有待者皆爾。汝等但自觀身如幻。便無愛結自纏。吾命亦斷。當取椽兩根𥱿篨一領裹縛輿送。無得隨俗紛紜為不益事也。言訖而卒。時蒲虞等州。道俗奔赴號慟川野。屯於壙側七里人滿。自寬從釋種。靜攝居形。不臥全氈不畜疋絹。櫃篋之事由來絕心。騎乘勞具終身不涉。口不及利手不執錢。或有忤之。便掩口私默。不行讚毀於人物也。曾用錢一千五百。買驢負經。既至東京。值卒科運大貴。或頭至數萬者。同侶欲為賣之。寬不許曰。已勞負荷豈復過本乎。便詣市自出之。但取元價。此雖小事廉恥本矣。

Śramaṇa Zhikuan had the secular surname Yao. He was a native of Hedong in Puzhou. His ancestral line belonged to the official elite and did not mingle with the base rabble. His father served under the Sui as the regional inspector of Qingzhou. From childhood through maturity, Kuan was known for his purity and restraint. Listening extensively to various scriptures, he took the Mahāparinirvāṇa Sūtra and the Daśabhūmika-śāstra as his essential core. Inquiring into the Way east and west, he did not squander an inch of daylight. When his training was accomplished and his vessel was complete, he made touring and preaching his pursuit. In daily life he always practiced trustworthiness, his speech and deeds never parting. From the outside he appeared single-minded and upright, yet his inner embrace was open and unattached. He once traveled to study in Chang'an and went to the market to purchase silk. Someone said, 'You may pay me the price now, and tomorrow I shall deliver the silk.' Thereupon he paid him the price. On returning to the monastery, the other monks laughed at him. Kuan said, 'I remember that I myself never fail others; could another person go contrary to trust?' When the appointed time arrived, he indeed received it. Relating the matter to the seller, that person said, 'Weapons and rations may be abandoned, but trust cannot be discarded. I, your disciple, am a layman who respects this; how could I have expected the school of the Śākya to entertain such doubt?' Kuan regularly recited the Vimalakīrtinirdeśa Sūtra and the Prātimokṣa. In the chamber where he dwelled, every night there would certainly be the sound of vibrating armor. Those who secretly watched all saw extraordinary divine beings walking around his room. At another time in the night, in the upper chamber of the room's multistoried pavilion, there came the sound of something being struck. His fellow student Baotong heard it, was alarmed and bewildered, and could not remain calm on his mat. Kuan went over to comfort him, while the striking sound continued as before. When they examined it at dawn, the chamber's beam was on the verge of breaking. They immediately propped it up and were spared their lives. Thus was he protected by the spirits. By nature he was fond of caring for the sick, heedless of distance. When monastics and laypeople were known to have no one to nurse them, he carried them all into his room on litters and personally managed their care. When someone suffered from an abdominal carbuncle whose pus would not discharge, he approached with his mouth and sucked it until the patient finally recovered. This was not just a single occurrence. His heart of compassionate kindness was truly difficult to match. Later, in the middle of the night, the inside of his room shone brightly. When he looked outside the room, it was no different from daytime. He then sewed and mended his robes and silk, unaware that it was illumined by divine light. Only after summoning his disciples did he realize that this sign had appeared repeatedly at midnight; thereafter he no longer found it strange. Moreover, he took guiding and leading others, and bringing broad deliverance, as his career. Monastics and laypeople rejoiced together, celebrating their fortunate encounter with him. Under Emperor Yang's promotion of the Way, there was a nationwide search and summons. As Kuan's conduct and understanding were acclaimed together, he received this honorable appointment. Once settled in Huiri Monastery, preaching and awakening followed one upon another. When it happened that the rebel Xiao Gan started an uprising, the affairs of the vegetarian feast were implicated. Kuan was then put into prison to await sentencing. When someone brought him food or provisions, he used not a single bit for himself, giving everything to the imprisoned monks, and conversing and laughing as of old. Later, he was sentenced to hard labor alongside convicts on the imperial road, and was constantly ordered to carry earth, filling his basket to the brim. He exerted his utmost strength in wheeling and carrying, never resting in indolence. A fellow monk in the labor battalion said, 'There is no overseer inspecting here; you may pause for a little while.' Kuan said, 'Karmic retribution being such, how could I deceive myself? Acting contrary to my heart would truly leave me uneasy.' Soon afterward he was exiled to western Shu, and the journey reached Shanzhou. When people gave him money and textiles as farewell gifts, he distributed them all without keeping anything, leaving only a single donkey to carry his scriptures. Passing by Tongguan on the road, an exiled monk named Baoxian, a man of profound understanding and great virtue, could not advance because his feet were torn open. Kuan saw him lying beside the road and wept with sorrow. He immediately gave up his donkey for the other to ride, while he personally carried the scriptures and treatises on his shoulders. Walking on foot all the way to Shu, though the toil of the journey was great, not a word of fatigue issued from his mouth. As to his benevolence and forgiveness, when one encountered hardship, the man became truly known. Once he reached the territory of Shu, he deeply moved the hearts of living beings. Wherever he went, benefit and peace followed, and all felt respect and joy. At that time, violent tigers in the river towns blocked the paths of travelers, moving in packs of hundreds. They passed through villages and walled towns, harming people and livestock. Among them was a beast king whose head was exceptionally large, of five fully distinct colors, subduing the other beasts with awe. The Area Commander of Suizhou, Zhang Xun, having heard of his compassionate virtue from afar, sent men to welcome him. Kuan thereupon instructed the prefecture and county to establish vegetarian fasts and practice the Way, each person receiving the eight precepts. That very evening, the tiger calamity vanished, and no one knew where they had gone. The people of the time were moved by this and revered him as a sage. However, Kuan established his practice based on his reputation, acting with broad generosity and propriety. Wherever he preached and transformed, people swayed like grass before the wind. Whenever the assembly dispersed, gifts and donations arrived in succession, sometimes reaching one hundred or two hundred thousand. He distributed them completely on the spot, using nothing for himself. He told the donors, 'Wealth is like seeds: when gathered together it is difficult for them to multiply; therefore I scatter it, so that its use may be wherever it is needed.' His selfless accommodation to living beings was like this. Furthermore, he regarded worldly life lightly, maintained coarse simplicity, and always wore tattered garments. Once a garment was worn on his body, it often remained for consecutive years; he took care of it even more carefully than his own flesh. When encountering lean years, he personally boiled porridge and gruel to feed the starving himself. Weeping, he preached to transform them and urged them to recite the Buddha's name. Moreover, with the clothes and felts he wore, he either cut them or reduced his share to supply the poor and destitute. At the beginning of every winter, he stockpiled sitting felts and shoes in advance, observed the śramaṇas who were lacking, and supplied them. He made this a regular practice. At the beginning of the Zhenguan era, he returned to the land of Pu. Monastics and laypeople rejoiced and sang praises like clouds gathering. He repeatedly established Dharma assemblies, once again promoting beneficial crossings. At that time, the prefecture was afflicted by drought, and various prayers had been ineffective. Officials and commoners, having long recognized his praiseworthy achievements, joined in requesting his help. Kuan set up an altar for them and made a vow with his own body: if rain did not fall, he would not stay inside a room. He exposed his body for two days, and dense clouds hung low. After the third day, torrential rain poured across the entire territory. The people relied on him to be revived, and a bountiful harvest followed. In the past, while in the land of Shu, he had also attained renown through this. Thus his fame spread far and wide, and a contemporary proverb called him the Buddha Sun of an Entire Generation. There was a śramaṇa named Shensu whose learning and practice were on par with his, and whom he especially esteemed as a friend. Shensu had previously died at Qiyan. Kuan, dwelling in the prefectural monastery, had not received the sad news. Suddenly, Shensu's form appeared to talk cordially and converse joyfully, as if alive. Only the following evening, when messengers arrived to announce it, did Kuan learn of his death. Kuan sent a letter of condolence, saying: 'All are equal to an illusory realm, both endowed with bubble-like forms. Feelings over the unforeseen are beyond words and forms. Master Su's secular refinement was pure and beautiful, and his religious capacity profound and deep. Embracing all doctrinal gates, he investigated the subtle to reach the ultimate truth. But his correct karmic deeds have long been completed, and he must have gone to the Pure Land. In this world of meager fortune, we have suddenly lost someone to turn to. An old and sick monk like me ought to have departed first, yet with heavy offenses and faint merits, I still abide in the remaining retribution. The Master did not abandon an old acquaintance: on the night of the twenty-fifth, his spirit descended to gather with me, sleeping on the same bed. We conversed throughout the night until dawn before parting. The feeling was as if of now and then, though the reality is of life and death. The sincerity of this unseen resonance cannot be fully expressed.' Shensu died on the twenty-fourth day of the second month in the spring of the seventeenth year of Zhenguan. Shensu has a separate biography. Kuan died at Renshou Monastery on the sixteenth day of the fifth month in the summer of that year, at the age of seventy-eight. Earlier, before his death, he lay down on his right side with his right arm as a pillow, and told his disciples: 'Samsāra is long and vast; all who possess conditioned life are like this. You need only contemplate your own body as illusory, and no fetters of attachment will bind you. When my life ends, take two rafters and a single bamboo mat, wrap and tie me, and carry me on a litter. Do not follow the bustling confusion of worldly customs to do unbeneficial things.' Having finished speaking, he died. At that time, monastics and laypeople from prefectures such as Pu and Yu rushed forward, wailing in mourning across the valleys and plains. Crowding beside the grave pit, people filled the space for seven leagues. From the time Kuan joined the lineage of the Śākya, he quietly controlled his bodily conduct. He never slept on a whole sheet of felt and never kept a bolt of silk. As for chests and trunks, he had long cut off any thought of them. In riding mounts and laboring implements he never engaged throughout his life. His mouth never spoke of profit, and his hands never held money. If someone offended him, he would cover his mouth and keep silent in private, never engaging in praising or disparaging people or things. He had once used one thousand five hundred coins to buy a donkey to carry scriptures. When he reached the Eastern Capital, it coincided with a requisition of labor and provisions, and donkeys became extremely expensive, sometimes reaching tens of thousands of coins per head. His companions wished to sell it for him. Kuan refused, saying, 'It has already toiled in carrying burdens; how could I take more than the original cost?' He then went to the market himself to sell it, taking only the original price. Although this was a minor matter, it was the foundation of integrity and shame.