大明高僧傳 7.6

7.6

釋妙普號性空。漢川人。未知姓氏。久依黃龍死心密受心印。品格高古氣宇宏邁。因慕船子遺風。抵秀水結菴于青龍之野。別無長物唯吹鐵笛以自娛。好吟咏。甞賦山居詩云。心法雙忘猶隔妄。色塵不二尚餘塵。百鳥不來春又過。不知誰是住菴人。示眾偈曰。學道猶如守禁城。晝防六賊夜惺惺。中軍主將能行令。不動干戈治太平。宋建炎初賊徐明叛。道經烏鎮肆意殺戮。民懼逃亡。普聞歎曰。眾生塗炭。吾盍救之。乃荷策而行。直詣賊所。賊見偉異疑必奸詭詢其來處。答曰。禪者。問何所之。云往密印寺也。賊怒欲斬。普曰。大丈夫要頭便取。奚以怒為。吾死必矣。願得一飯以為送終。賊奉肉。普供佛出生如常儀曰。孰當為我文以祭。賊笑不答。普索紙筆大書曰。嗚呼惟靈勞我以生則大塊之過。役我以壽則陰陽之失。乏我以貧則五行不正。困我以命則時日不吉。吁哉至哉。賴有出塵之道。悟我之性與其妙心。則其妙心孰與為隣。上同諸佛之真化。下合凡夫之無明。纖塵不動本自圓成。妙矣哉妙矣哉。日月未足以為明。乾坤未足以為大。磊磊落落無罣無礙。六十餘年和光混俗。四十二臘逍遙自在。逢人則喜。見佛不拜。笑矣乎笑矣乎。可惜。少年郎風流太光彩。坦然歸去付春風。體似虛空終不壞。尚饗。遂舉筯飫肉。賊徒大笑。食罷曰。劫數既遭離亂。我是快活烈漢。如今正好乘時。便請一刀兩段。乃大呼斬斬。賊駭異稽首謝過令衛而出。於是民之廬舍少長無恙者普之惠也。僧問。既見佛為甚不拜。普掌之曰。會麼。曰不會。又掌曰。家無二主。紹興冬自造大盆。鑿穴塞之。修書寄雪竇持禪師曰。吾將水葬矣。壬戌持至。普尚存。乃作偈嘲曰。咄哉老性空剛要餧魚鱉。胡不索性去。秖管向人說。普笑曰。遲兄證明耳。遍告遐邇眾集。普示法要說偈曰。坐脫立亡不若水葬。一省柴燒二免開壙。撒手便行不妨快暢。是誰知音船子和尚高風難繼。百千年一曲漁歌。少人唱。遂趺坐盆中。口吹鐵笛。順潮而下。眾皆隨至海濱。普去塞戽其水洄漩。眾擁觀水。涓滴不入。乃乘流而住。歌曰。六十餘年返故鄉。沒踪跡處妙難量。真風遍寄知音者。鐵笛橫吹作散場。人望目斷尚聞笛聲嗚咽於蒼茫之間。遙見以笛擲空而沒。眾號泣競圖像事之。後三日見於沙上。趺坐如生。道俗迎歸留五日。闍維舍利大如菽。有二鶴徘徊空際。火盡始去。塔于青龍菴。

Shi Miaopu, styled Xingkong, was a native of Hanchuan; his lay surname is unknown. Having long relied upon Sixin of Huanglong, he secretly received the mind-seal. His character was lofty and archaic, and his bearing expansive and heroic. Yearning for the legacy of Chuanzi (the Boatman Monk), he arrived at Xiushui and built a hermitage in the wilds of Qinglong. Possessing no surplus belongings, he amused himself solely by playing an iron flute. He was fond of composing poetry. He once composed a poem on dwelling in the mountains, which ran:

“When mind and phenomena are both forgotten, delusion still intervenes;
When form and dust are non-dual, dust still remains.
The hundred birds do not come, and spring passes once more;
One knows not who it is that dwells in the hermitage.”

He gave a verse to instruct the assembly:

“Studying the Way is like guarding a forbidden city:
By day guard against the six thieves; by night remain alert.
When the commander of the central army can issue commands,
Without moving shields and spears, peace is governed.”

At the beginning of the Jianyan era of the Song dynasty, the rebel Xu Ming revolted, passing through Wuzhen and slaughtering at will. The people fled in terror. Hearing of this, Miaopu sighed and said, “The sentient beings are plunged into misery. How can I not save them?” He shouldered his staff and went directly to the rebels’ camp. Seeing his extraordinary bearing, the rebels suspected he must be deceitful and asked where he came from. He replied, “A Chan practitioner.” They asked where he was going. He said, “Going to Miyin Monastery.” In fury, the rebels wished to behead him. Miaopu said, “A great man takes a head when he wants it; what need is there for anger? My death is certain. I wish only for one meal to send me off to my end.” The rebels offered him meat. Miaopu offered it to the Buddha and set out food for spirits as in the usual ritual, saying, “Who will compose a funeral oration for me?” The rebels laughed and did not answer. Miaopu demanded paper and brush, and wrote in large characters:

“Alas! O soul! That it toiled me with life was the fault of the Great Clod (Nature). That it burdened me with longevity was the error of yin and yang. That it deprived me with poverty was the irregularity of the five elements. That it distressed me with my fate was the misfortune of the days and hours. Ah, how supreme! It relies on the path of transcending the dust, awakening to my nature and its wondrous mind. Then with what can that wondrous mind be neighboring?
Above, it is identical with the true transformations of all Buddhas;
Below, it accords with the ignorance of common mortals.
Not a speck of dust moves; originally it is self-complete.
Wondrous indeed! Wondrous indeed!
Sun and moon are not sufficient to match its brilliance;
Heaven and earth are not sufficient to match its greatness.
Lofty and open, free of hindrance and obstruction.
For over sixty years softening the light and mingling with the worldly;
For forty-two dharma years wandering carefree and at ease.
Meeting someone, then rejoicing; seeing a Buddha, not bowing.
Laughable indeed! Laughable indeed!
What a pity! The handsome young youth had such radiant flair!
Calmly returning, I leave it to the spring wind;
The essence resembles empty space and in the end is never destroyed.
May this be enjoyed!”

Thereupon he raised his chopsticks and ate his fill of the meat. The band of rebels laughed heartily. When he had finished eating, he said:

“Since the kalpa’s cycle encounters upheaval,
I am a carefree and heroic fellow.
Now is just the right time to seize the moment:
Pray cut me in two with a single blade!”

He then shouted loudly, “Behead me! Behead me!” Terrified and amazed, the rebels prostrated and apologized for their fault, ordering that he be escorted out. Because of this, that the dwellings and the young and old of the people suffered no harm was due to Miaopu’s kindness.

A monk asked, “Having seen the Buddha, why did you not bow?” Miaopu slapped him and said, “Do you understand?” The monk said, “I do not understand.” Miaopu slapped him again and said, “A household does not have two masters.”

In the winter of the Shaoxing era, he made a large tub himself, bored a hole in it, and plugged it up. He wrote a letter to Chan Master Chi of Xuedou, saying, “I am about to undertake a water burial.” In the renxu year, when Chi arrived, Miaopu was still alive. Chi composed a verse teasing him:

“Bah! Old Xingkong,
You insist on feeding the fish and turtles.
Why didn't you just go ahead and do it,
Instead of constantly talking to people about it?”

Miaopu smiled and said, “I was merely waiting for my elder brother to serve as witness.” He announced it everywhere far and wide, and a crowd gathered. Miaopu demonstrated the essentials of the Dharma and recited a verse:

“Dying sitting or dying standing is not as good as water burial:
First, it saves on burning firewood; second, it avoids digging a grave.
Letting go of hands and immediately departing does not hinder joy.
Who is the intimate knower? The high style of Monk Chuanzi is hard to carry on.
Through hundreds and thousands of years, a single tune of a fisherman’s song
Few are those who sing it.”

He then sat cross-legged in the tub, blowing an iron flute, and floated down with the tide. The crowd all followed to the seashore. Miaopu pulled out the plug and let the water swirl in. The crowd crowded to watch; not a single drop entered. Thereupon he rode the current and stopped, singing:

“For over sixty years, returning to my homeland,
Where there are no footprints, wondrous beyond measure.
The true style is completely sent to those who understand the tone;
Blowing the iron flute horizontally marks the end of the show.”

The onlookers gazed until their vision failed, yet they still heard the flute’s sound sobbing in the vast expanse. From afar, they saw him cast the flute into the air and disappear. The crowd wept aloud and vied to paint his portrait to make offerings to it. Three days later, he was seen upon the sand, sitting cross-legged as if alive. Clergy and laity welcomed him back and kept him for five days. They performed the jhāpita; the śarīra were as large as beans. Two cranes hovered in the sky and departed only when the fire had burned out. A stupa was built for him at Qinglong Hermitage.