續高僧傳 19.23

19.23

釋智晞。俗姓陳氏。潁川人。先世因宦流寓家於閩越。晞童稚不群幼懷物外。見老病死達世浮危。自省昏沈愍諸淪溺。深加厭離如為怨逐。誓出塵勞訪尋勝境。伏聞智者抗志台山安禪佛隴警訓迷途為世津導。丹誠馳仰遠泛滄波。年登二十始獲從願。一得奉值即定師資。律儀具足稟受禪決。加修寂定如救頭然。心馬稍調散動辭慮。受命遺旨常居佛隴修禪道場。樂三昧者咸共師仰。宴坐之暇。時復指撝創造伽藍。殿堂房舍悉皆嚴整。惟經臺未構。始欲就工。有香鑪峯山巖峻嶮林木秀異。然彼神祇巨有靈驗。自古已來無敢視其峯崖。況有登踐而採伐者。時眾議曰。今既營經臺供養法寶。惟尚精華豈可率爾而已。其香鑪峯檉柏。木中精勝。可共取之以充供養。論詳既訖。往諮於晞。具陳上事。良久答云。山神護惜不可造次。無敢重言。各還所在。爾夜夢人送疏云。香鑪峯檉柏樹。盡皆捨給經臺。既感冥示。即便撝略。營辦食具分部人工入山採伐。侍者諮曰。昨日不許。今那取之。答曰。昨由他今由我。但取無苦必不相誤。從旨往取。檉柏之樹惟嶮而生。並皆取得一無留難。先師智者陳曰。勸化百姓。從天台渚次。訖於海際。所有江溪。並捨為放生之池。永斷採捕。隋世亦爾。事並經勅。隋國既亡。後生百姓為惡者多。競立梁滬滿於江溪。夭傷水族告訴無所。乃共頂禮禪師往先師龕房。燒香呪願。當有魚人。見僧在滬上立。意謂墮水。將船往救。僅到便無。因爾梁滬皆不得魚。互相報示改惡從善。仍停採捕。時有僧法雲。欲往香鑪峯頭陀。晞諫曰。彼山神剛強。卿道力微弱。向彼必不得安。慎勿往也。雲不納旨。遂往到山。不盈二宿。神即現形驅雲令還。自陳其事。方憶前旨深生敬仰。有弟子道亘。在房誦經。自往喚云。今晚當有僧來。言竟仍向門下。即見一僧純著納衣執錫持鉢。形神爽俊有異常人。從外而來。相去二十餘步。纔入路東隱而不現。俄頃之間即聞東山有銅鍾聲。大振山谷。便云意喚吾也。未終數日。語弟子云。吾命無幾可作香湯。洗浴適竟。山中鳥狩異色殊形常所不見者。並皆來集房側。履地騰空悲鳴喚呼。經日方散。十二月十七日夜。跏趺端坐。仍執如意說法。辭理深邃。既竟告弟子曰。將汝等造次相值。今當永別。會遇靡期。言已寂然無聲良久。諸弟子哭泣。便更開眼誡曰。人生有死物調始必終。世相如是。寧足可悲。今去勿爾鬧亂於吾也。又云。吾習禪已來至於今日四十九年。背不著床吾不負信施不負香火。汝等欲得將吾相見。可自懃策行道力不負人。弟子因諮啟。未審和上當生何所。答云。如吾見夢。報在兜率。宮殿青色居天西北。見智者大師。左右有諸天人皆坐寶座。唯一座獨空。吾問所以。答云。灌頂却後六年當來昇此說法。十八日朝語諸弟子。汝等並早須齋。吾命須臾。爾日村人登山參疾。食竟辭還。又曰。既苦遠來。更停少時。待貧道前去。其人不解。苦辭不住。當爾之時皎日麗天全無雲翳。謂參人曰。既已不住可疾去雨尋落。去者少時驟雨如瀉。春秋七十有二。以貞觀元年十二月十八日午時。結跏安坐端直儼然。氣息綿微如入禪定。因而不返。時虛空中有絃管聲。合眾皆聞。良久乃息。經停數日方入石龕顏色敷悅手足柔軟不異生平。所窆龕墳在先師智者龕前二百餘步。

Śramaṇa Zhixi had the secular surname Chen and was a man of Yingchuan. An ancestor had held office and lived as an itinerant official, taking up residence in Minyue. From childhood, Xi was aloof and bore ambitions beyond worldly affairs; seeing old age, sickness, and death, he comprehended the impermanence and peril of the mundane world. Looking inward at his own confusion, he took pity on those sinking in delusion, developing a deep aversion [to samsāra] as if pursued by a foe, and vowed to abandon worldly toil and seek out superior realms. Having heard of Master Zhizhe striving high on Mount [Tiantai], peacefully meditating at Folong, warning and instructing the lost, and serving as a ferryman for the world, he directed his sincere devotion from afar across the dark waters, and upon reaching the age of twenty, finally achieved his wish. Upon meeting [Zhizhe], the teacher-student bond was settled at once; he received the complete precepts and the instructions on meditation. He pursued tranquil concentration with the urgency of extinguishing fire on his head, the unruly horse of his mind became somewhat tamed, and scattered thoughts were cast aside. Bound by his master's bequeathed instructions, he permanently resided at the Folong meditation site; those delighting in samādhi all revered him as a teacher. In the leisure of his silent sitting, he occasionally oversaw the construction of monasteries, the halls and quarters all being solemnly arranged. Only the scriptural terrace had not yet been built; as work was about to begin, there was Incense Burner Peak with its steep cliffs and distinctive trees, yet its local spirits possessed great supernatural responsiveness, and since antiquity no one had dared even gaze at its precipitous crags, much less scale them to fell trees. The assembly conferred, saying: 'Now that we are constructing the scriptural terrace to make offerings to the jewel of the Dharma, we must prioritize what is rare and pure; how could we act carelessly? The tamarisks and cypresses of Incense Burner Peak are the finest of woods; we can gather them together to serve as offerings.' Having deliberated, they went to consult Xi and laid out the matter before him. After a long pause he replied: 'The mountain spirits guard and cherish them; one must not act rashly.' None dared speak further, and each returned to their quarters. That night, [Xi] dreamed of someone delivering a message that read: 'The tamarisks and cypresses of Incense Burner Peak are entirely relinquished to the scriptural terrace.' Having received this hidden indication, he at once gave directions, prepared provisions, and divided the laborers into teams to enter the mountain and fell the trees. An attendant asked: 'Yesterday you did not permit it; why take them now?' He replied: 'Yesterday was up to others, today is up to me. Just take them without worry; there will surely be no mistake.' Following his instructions, they went to harvest them; although the tamarisks and cypresses grew exclusively on perilous heights, they were all collected without any obstacle. In former times, the late master Zhizhe had converted the common folk during the Chen dynasty: from the shores of Tiantai out to the ocean's edge, all rivers and creeks were relinquished to become life-release ponds, with hunting and fishing permanently forbidden, a practice also followed under the Sui dynasty, with both instances mandated by imperial decree. After the Sui fell, many among the later generations turned to wickedness, vying to erect fishing weirs across the rivers and streams, slaughtering aquatic creatures who had nowhere to appeal. [The monks] therefore bowed before the meditation master, went to the shrine of the late master, and burned incense with prayers. At that time, a fisherman saw a monk standing atop the weir; thinking he had fallen into the water, he steered his boat to rescue him, but upon reaching him, the figure vanished. Consequently, none of the fishing weirs caught any fish, and the people reported this to one another, reforming from evil to good and ceasing their fishing. There was a monk, Fayun, who wished to practice dhūta on Incense Burner Peak. Xi admonished him: 'The mountain spirit there is unyielding, while your Dharma power is weak; if you go there, you will certainly find no peace. Beware and do not go.' Yun did not heed his words and went to the mountain; before two nights had passed, the spirit manifested its form and drove Yun back. When he related the matter, he remembered the previous advice and developed profound reverence. A disciple named Daoxuan was reciting sūtras in his room; Xi came to call him, saying: 'This evening a monk will come.' As soon as he finished speaking, he went to the gate and saw a monk dressed purely in a patched robe, carrying a khakkhara and holding an alms bowl, of extraordinarily lofty bearing unlike ordinary men, approaching from outside. When they were twenty-odd paces apart, as soon as [the monk] turned east of the path, he vanished. A moment later, a bronze bell was heard from the eastern mountain, echoing loudly through the valleys; Xi then said: 'It was meant to summon me.' A few days before his death, he said to his disciples: 'My life has not long; you may prepare scented water.' Just as he finished bathing, wild birds and beasts of odd colors and rare forms never before seen in the mountains all gathered beside his room, treading the earth and soaring in the air, crying out mournfully, dispersing only after a day had passed. On the night of the seventeenth day of the twelfth month, he sat cross-legged and upright, holding a ruyi scepter, and expounded the Dharma with profound wording and principles. Having finished, he said to his disciples: 'It was by happenstance that I met you; now we part forever, with no set time to meet again.' Having spoken, he remained silent for a long time. Seeing the disciples weeping, he opened his eyes again and admonished them: 'Where there is life, there is death; everything that has a beginning must have an end. Such is the nature of the world; why should it grieve you? Now as I depart, do not disturb me in this way.' He also said: 'Since I began practicing meditation forty-nine years ago, my back has not touched a bed. I have not betrayed the faithful donors nor the incense and lamps. If you wish to see me again, you must diligently exert yourselves, for the power of walking the path does not fail anyone.' A disciple then inquired: 'May we ask where the Upādhyāya will be reborn?' He replied: 'According to what I saw in a dream, my karmic reward is in Tuṣita, in a blue palace located in the northwest of the heaven. I saw the Great Master Zhizhe, with celestial beings seated on jeweled thrones to his left and right, with only a single throne left empty. When I asked why, the reply came: 'Guanding will ascend here to expound the Dharma after six years.' On the morning of the eighteenth day, he told his disciples: 'You must all take your noon meal early; my life will last only a moment.' That day, villagers climbed the mountain to inquire about his illness; when they finished eating and took their leave, Xi said: 'Since you took the trouble to come from afar, remain a little longer until this poor monk departs.' The people did not understand and insisted on leaving without staying. At that time, the bright sun shone in the sky without a single cloud. He told the visitors: 'Since you will not stay, leave quickly; rain will soon fall.' Shortly after they departed, a heavy rain poured down. At the age of seventy-two, at the hour of the horse on the eighteenth day of the twelfth month in the first year of the Zhenguan era (627 CE), he sat cross-legged, upright and solemn, his breath subtle and faint as if entering meditation, and did not return. At that time, the sound of string and wind instruments was heard in the sky, audible to the entire assembly, and ceased only after a long time. After several days, he was placed in a stone niche; his complexion was blooming and pleased, his hands and feet supple, no different from life. The stupa-niche where he was interred was two hundred-odd paces in front of the niche of his late master, Zhizhe.