法華傳記 3.40

3.40

釋智晞。俗姓陳氏頴川人。先世因官流寓家於閩越。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。誦法華如救頭燃。心馬稍調散動辭慮。受命遺旨。常居佛壟修禪道場。樂三昧者。咸共歸仰。宴坐之暇時。復指撝創造伽藍殿堂房舍。悉皆嚴整。惟經臺未搆。始欲就工。有香爐峯。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。豈可卒爾而已。其香鑪峯檉柏木中精勝。可共取之以充供養。論評既訖。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。當有漁人。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。時有弟子道亘。在房誦法華經自往喚云。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。噫喚吾也。未終數日語弟子云。吾命無幾。可作香湯。洗浴適竟。山中鳥獸異色殊形。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。吾習禪誦經已來。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。弟子因即諮啟。未審和上當生何所。答云。如吾見夢。報左兜率。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。爾曰。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。去者小時驟雨如瀉。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。所定龕墳。在先師智者龕前二百餘步。

Shi Zhixi. His secular surname was Chen, and he was a native of Yingchuan. An ancestor had held office and drifted to settle in Minyue. When Xi was a young child, he did not mingle with the crowd, and from his youth he cherished thoughts beyond mundane things. Seeing old age, sickness, and death, he understood that the world is fleeting and perilous. Examining his own torpor, he took pity on those sinking and drowning, and he developed a profound revulsion and renunciation, as though pursued by enemies. He vowed to leave the defilements of the world and seek out supreme realms. Having humbly heard that Zhiyi had set his mind upon Mount Tiantai, peacefully cultivating dhyāna at Folong, alerting and instructing those who had lost their way, and serving as a ford and guide for the world, Xi's sincere heart sped toward him in veneration. Crossing the deep blue waters from afar, when he reached the age of twenty he finally fulfilled his wish. As soon as he was received in audience, their master-disciple relationship was established. Fully observant of the monastic precepts, he received the decisive instructions on dhyāna, intensified his cultivation of tranquil concentration, and recited the Lotus Sūtra as if putting out a fire on his head. The wild horse of his mind gradually grew tamed, and scattered, agitated thoughts fell away. Having received the Master's testamentary instructions, he constantly dwelt at the Folong meditation sanctuary. Those who took pleasure in samādhi all came together to take refuge in and venerate him. In his leisure hours from seated meditation, he would also direct the construction of the monastery's halls, chambers, and quarters, all of which were neat and solemn. Only the sūtra platform had not yet been built. Just as work was about to begin, there was Incense Burner Peak (Xianglu Feng), with steep crags and extraordinary woods; however, the spirits of that peak were exceedingly potent in displaying their supernatural powers. From antiquity onward, no one had dared even to look upon its peaks and cliffs, let alone climb upon them to fell timber. At that time, the assembly deliberated, saying: "Now that we are constructing a sūtra platform to make offerings to the Dharma-jewel, we should value only the finest. How could we do this casually? The tamarisk and cypress wood on Incense Burner Peak are the finest and most supreme among timbers; we might take them together to supply the offering." The discussion having concluded, they went to consult Xi and presented the matter in full. After a long pause he replied, "The mountain spirit protects and cherishes them; one must not act rashly." None dared speak further, and each returned to his quarters. That night, [Xi] dreamed that a person delivered a document stating: "The tamarisk and cypress trees of Incense Burner Peak are entirely relinquished and given to the sūtra platform." Having thus received this unseen indication, he immediately issued instructions, prepared food and provisions, assigned the laborers, and sent them into the mountain to fell the trees. An attendant asked, "Yesterday you did not permit it; why take them today?" He replied, "Yesterday depended on another; today depends on me. Just take them without worry; there will surely be no error." Following his instructions, they went to take them without any hindrance. His late master Zhiyi had previously urged and converted the common people from the shoals of Tiantai all the way to the seashore: all the rivers and creeks were relinquished as ponds for releasing life, and fishing and hunting were permanently banned. This was also the case in the Sui era, all having been approved by imperial decree. After the fall of the Sui, many among the younger generations did evil, competing to set up weirs and fish traps that filled the rivers and creeks, causing untimely death and injury to aquatic creatures who had nowhere to appeal. Thereupon they joined together in paying homage to the Dhyāna Master, going to the late master's shrine room to burn incense and make vows. At that time, a fisherman saw a monk standing upon a fish weir; thinking that he had fallen into the water, he took his boat to rescue him, but just as he arrived, [the monk] vanished. From then on, neither weirs nor traps caught any fish. People warned one another, reformed their evil ways to follow goodness, and thereupon ceased fishing. At that time, his disciple Daoxuan was reciting the Lotus Sūtra in his room. [Xi] went in person to call him, saying, "This evening a monk will come." Just as he finished speaking, he headed toward the gate and immediately saw a monk, dressed entirely in patched robes, holding a khakkhara and carrying an alms bowl, whose form and spirit were crisp and handsome, extraordinary and unlike ordinary men. Coming from outside, when about twenty paces away, no sooner had he entered the east of the path than he faded away and did not appear again. In a short while, the sound of a bronze bell was heard from the eastern mountain, greatly shaking the mountains and valleys. [Xi] then said, "Ah, he is calling me!" A few days before his death, he told his disciples: "My life will not last long; you may prepare fragrant water." As soon as his bath was finished, birds and beasts from the mountains of unusual colors and rare forms, such as were never ordinarily seen, all came and gathered beside his room, treading the earth and soaring in the air, crying and calling mournfully, dispersing only after a day had passed. On the night of the seventeenth day of the twelfth month, he sat upright in the cross-legged posture, holding a ruyi scepter, and preached the Dharma with profound words and principles. When he had finished, he told his disciples: "It was by a fleeting encounter that I met you; now we must part forever, with no set time to meet again." Having spoken, he remained silent without a sound for a long while. As the disciples wept, he opened his eyes again and admonished them: "In human life there is death; what has a beginning must have an end. Such is the nature of the world; why is it worth grieving over? Now that I am departing, do not disturb me in this way!" He also said, "Ever since I began practicing dhyāna and reciting the sūtras until today, forty-nine years have passed during which my back has never touched a bed. I have not failed the faithful donations, nor have I failed the incense and lamp-fire. If you wish to see me again, you must diligently urge yourselves on in practicing the Way; effort never fails a person." The disciples then asked, "We do not yet know where the Preceptor will be born?" He replied, "According to the dream I saw, my rebirth is reported to be in the left of Tuṣita, in a blue-green palace situated in the northwest of the heaven. I saw the Great Master Zhiyi, with celestial beings on his left and right, all seated upon jeweled thrones; only a single seat was vacant. When I asked the reason, he answered: 'Guanding, after six years, will come and ascend this seat to preach the Dharma.'" On the morning of the eighteenth day, he told his disciples, "You should all take the midday meal early; my life will end in a moment." That day, villagers climbed the mountain to inquire after his illness; having finished eating, they took their leave to return. He said further, "Since you have troubled yourselves to come from afar, stay a little longer and wait until this poor monk departs." The people did not understand, and insisting on taking their leave, they would not stay. At that time, the bright sun adorned the sky, completely free of clouds. He said to the visitors, "Since you will not stay, you may leave quickly; rain will soon fall." Shortly after the visitors departed, a sudden downpour poured like a deluge. His age was seventy-two. At the hour of the horse on the eighteenth day of the twelfth month of the first year of Zhenguan, he sat peacefully in the cross-legged posture, upright and dignified; his breathing was soft and faint as if entering dhyāna concentration, and from this he did not return. At that time, the sound of stringed and woodwind instruments was heard in the sky, audible to the entire assembly, and ceased only after a long while. After a delay of several days, he was placed into a stone shrine. His facial complexion was radiant and joyful, and his hands and feet were soft, no different from when he was alive. The appointed site for his shrine-tomb was more than two hundred paces in front of the shrine of his late master Zhiyi.