續高僧傳 19.17

19.17

釋僧定。丹陽人。本學成實。博綜有功。討擊既繁便感風癘。乃惟曰。形異同倫學當徙轍。遂屏絕還顧歸宗禪府。初栖鍾山林阜獨靜空齋。侍者道遊供給左右。唯以粳米白粥日進一杯。餘則繫念相續不愧空景。經于數年不涉村邑。遊仞定心更增幽績。故使門牖重隱吐納自新。牆宇崇峻違順斯薄。微誠獲應故所苦忽銷。致令身首面目一時圓淨。鬢眉並生有逾恒日。雖福感所及儀貌倍常。而雙眉最濃可長數寸。蒼赤通顏乃成奇異。定既屬斯靈瑞翹厲晨夕。山中多虎蹤跡成蹊。本性仁慈來入于室。床前庭下惟繁虎迹。或禪想乍浮未能安靜。便通夜山行無問榛梗猛獸鷙鳥見等同群。而定安之若遊城市。其含育之感不可類也。隋文於西京造寺。遠召處之。業定之心無庸世務。至於受戒師禮畢志岠違。預在尊嚴聞便避隱。嘗遇傷寒通身蒸熱。遂如常跏坐斷食三日。沙門保恭道場上首。定之徒也。親喻令食。答曰。疾勢將陵。命非可保。應以法援。何用食為。便閉口靜坐。七日既滿所苦頓痊。其立操要心為此類也。大業末歲。栖南山大和寺。群盜來劫。定初不怖。盜曰。豈不聞世間有奴賊耶。定曰。縱有郎賊。吾尚不怖。況奴賊耶。因剝其衣服曾無悋色。至於坐氈將欲挽掣。定捉之曰。吾仰此度冬。卿今將去。命必不濟。乍斷吾命於此。氈不可離吾命也。群賊相看便止之。以武德七年六月因有少疾。跏坐如常。不覺已逝。春秋八十餘矣。

Śramaṇa Sengding was a native of Danyang. Originally he studied the Tattvasiddhi, synthesising it broadly with achievement. As his investigations and critiques grew strenuous, he contracted leprosy. Thereupon he reflected, 'My physical form has become different from my peers; my learning must change its track.' Consequently, he cut off all worldly concerns and took refuge in the school of dhyāna. At first he resided on the forested hills of Zhongshan, resting alone in quietude in an empty study. His attendant Daoyou served and provided for him, presenting him only with a single bowl of plain non-glutinous rice congee each day. Otherwise, his mindfulness continued unbroken, feeling no shame before the empty void. For several years he did not enter villages or towns. Traversible depths of his concentrated mind produced ever greater secluded results. Thus his doors and windows were further hidden away, and his breathing renewed itself; his walls and courtyard were high and steep, and worldly attachments grew slight. Because his subtle sincerity gained a response, his ailments suddenly dissolved, causing his body, head, face, and eyes to become simultaneously whole and purified. His sideburns and eyebrows grew in, surpassing ordinary days. Although his appearance was doubly extraordinary through the working of merit, his eyebrows were thickest, measuring several inches long, and a bluish-red complexion spread across his face, making him an extraordinary figure. As Ding met with such spiritual omens, he exerted himself day and night. The mountain was full of tigers, their tracks forming paths. By virtue of his compassionate nature, they would enter his room; before his bed and in the courtyard, tiger tracks abounded. Sometimes, when dhyāna thoughts temporarily surfaced and he could not remain settled, he would walk the mountains throughout the night, heedless of thorny brush, and wild beasts and birds of prey would see him as one of their herd. Yet Ding was as at ease with them as if walking in a city. His capacity to nurture sentient beings was beyond compare. When Emperor Wen of the Sui built a monastery in the western capital, he summoned him from afar to reside there. Ding's heart, devoted to the practice of dhyāna, found no use for worldly affairs. As for accepting precepts or receiving the rites of a master, he set his will against them to the end; whenever an occasion involving exalted formality arose, he would hide away upon hearing of it. Once he contracted a typhoid fever, his whole body burning with heat; he sat cross-legged as usual and abstained from food for three days. Śramaṇa Baogong, the leader of the bodhimaṇḍa, was Ding’s disciple. He personally urged him to eat, but Ding replied, 'The momentum of the illness is about to overwhelm me; life cannot be guaranteed. One should rely on the Dharma for aid; what use is food?' He then closed his mouth and sat quietly; when seven days had passed, his illness was suddenly cured. Such was the determination and dedication of his conduct. In the closing years of the Daye era, he dwelt at the Dahe Monastery in the Southern Mountains. A band of bandits came to rob him, but Ding showed no fear at all. A bandit said, 'Have you not heard that there are low-born brigands in the world?' Ding replied, 'Even if there were high-born brigands, I would not fear them; how much less low-born brigands!' Thereupon they stripped off his clothes, yet he showed no sign of stinginess. When they were about to seize and drag away his sitting felt, Ding grasped it and said, 'I rely on this to get through the winter. If you take it away now, my life will surely not survive. You may rather take my life here; this felt cannot be separated from my life.' The bandits looked at each other and stopped. In the sixth month of the seventh year of the Wude era, because of a slight illness, he sat cross-legged as usual and quietly passed away before anyone realized it, at the age of over eighty.