續傳燈錄 23.20

23.20

嘉興府華亭性空妙普菴主。漢州人。久依死心獲證。乃抵秀水追船子遺風。結茅青龍之野。吹鐵笛以自娛。多賦詠。得之者必珍藏。其山居曰。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。又警眾曰。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。又曰。不畊而食不蠶衣。物外清閑適聖時。未透祖師關棙子。也須存意著便宜。又曰。十二時中莫住工。窮來窮去到無窮。直須洞徹無窮底。踏倒須彌第一峯。建炎初。徐明叛。道經烏鎮。肆殺戮。民多逃亡。師獨荷策而往。賊見其偉異。疑必詭伏者。問其來。師曰。吾禪者欲抵密印寺。賊怒欲斬之。師曰。大丈夫要頭便斫取。奚以怒為。吾死必矣。願得一飯以為送終。賊奉肉食。師如常齋出。生畢。乃曰。孰當為我文之以祭。賊笑而不答。師索筆大書曰。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。遂舉箸飫飡。賊徒大笑。食罷復曰。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。賊方駭累稽首謝過。令衛而出。烏鎮之廬舍免焚。實師之惠也。道俗聞之愈敬。有僧覩師見佛不拜歌逆問曰。既見佛為甚麼不拜。師掌之曰。會麼。云不會。師又掌曰。家無二主。紹興庚申冬造大盆穴而塞之。修書寄雪竇持禪師曰。吾將水葬矣。壬戌歲持至見其尚存。作偈嘲之曰。咄哉老性空。剛要餧魚鼈。去不索性去。秖管向人說。師閱偈笑曰。待兄來證明耳。令遍告四眾。眾集師為說法要。仍說偈曰。坐脫立亡不若水葬。一省柴燒二省開壙。撒手便行不妨快暢。誰是知音船子和尚。高風難繼百千年。一曲漁歌少人唱。遂盤坐盆中順潮而下。眾皆隨至海濱望欲斷目。師取塞戽水而回。眾擁觀水無所入。復乘流而往。唱曰。船子當年返故鄉。沒蹤跡處妙難量。真風遍寄知音者。鐵笛橫吹作散場。其笛聲嗚咽頃於蒼茫間見以笛擲空而沒。眾號慕圖像事之。後三日於沙上趺坐如生。道俗爭往迎歸留五日。闍維設利大如菽者莫計。二鶴徘回空中。火盡始去。奉設利靈骨建塔于青龍。

Hermitage Master Xingkong Miaopu of Huating in Jiaxing Prefecture was a native of Hanzhou. Having long relied on Sixin and attained realization, he then arrived at Xiushui to follow the lingering style of Chuanzi. He thatched a hut in the wilds of Qinglong and amused himself by blowing an iron flute. He composed many chants and verses; whoever acquired them would surely treasure them. His verse on living in the mountains said: / "Mind and phenomena both forgotten, delusion still intervenes; / When form and dust are non-dual, dust yet remains. / The hundred birds do not come, and spring passes once more; / I do not know who this person dwelling in the hermitage is." / He also admonished the assembly, saying: / "Studying the Way is like guarding a forbidden citadel; / By day beware of the six bandits, by night stay alert. / If the commander of the central army can execute orders, / Without moving weapons, great peace will be governed." / He also said: / "Eating without plowing, wearing clothes without sericulture; / Leisure beyond worldly things accords with the sacred times. / If you have not yet penetrated the Patriarch's mechanism, / You must still keep your attention and seize advantage." / He also said: / "During the twelve periods of the day, do not cease your work; / Exhausting and probing along, you arrive at the inexhaustible. / You must directly penetrate to the bottom of the inexhaustible, / And kick down the first peak of Mount Sumeru." / At the beginning of the Jianyan era, Xu Ming rebelled. Passing through Wuzhen, he slaughtered indiscriminately, and most of the people fled. The Master alone carried his staff and went forward. When the rebels saw his towering and extraordinary appearance, they suspected he was surely an ambusher. Asking where he came from, the Master said, "I am a Chan practitioner wishing to reach Miyin Temple." The rebels grew angry and wanted to behead him. The Master said, "A great man takes a head when wanted; why be angry? My death is certain. I wish only for a meal as my farewell." The rebels offered him meat; the Master served it out as in his regular vegetarian meal. When the offering [to spirits] was finished, he then said, "Who will compose a funeral eulogy for me to make an offering?" The rebels laughed without answering. The Master asked for a brush and wrote in large characters: / "Alas, O spirit! / To toil me with life is the fault of the Great Earth; / To burden me with longevity is the lapse of yin and yang; / To impoverish me with destitution is the irregularity of the five elements; / To distress me with fate is the ill fortune of the season and day. / Ah, how profound! / Fortunately there is the way that transcends the dust, / Awakening to my nature and its wondrous mind. / Then, with what is this wondrous mind a neighbor? / Above, it accords with the true transformation of all Buddhas; / Below, it unites with the ignorance of common mortals. / Without a fine speck of dust stirring, it is fundamentally complete of itself. / How wondrous! How wondrous! / The sun and moon are not sufficient to be its brightness; / Heaven and earth are not sufficient to be its greatness. / Lofty and unrestrained, without hang-up or hindrance. / For over sixty years blending the light with the dust of the world, / For forty-two monastic summers unfettered and at ease. / Meeting people I am glad, seeing the Buddha I do not bow. / Laughable, oh laughable! / What a pity for the handsome young fellow, / Whose refined elegance was so radiant! / Calmly returning, entrusted to the spring wind; / The body is like empty space, never decaying in the end. / May you enjoy this offering!" / He then raised his chopsticks and ate his fill. The band of rebels laughed heartily. After eating, he spoke again: / "Having met with chaotic times in the kalpa's course, / I am a joyful and resolute hero. / Now is precisely the right time to take advantage: / Pray cut me in two with a single blade!" / He then shouted loudly, "Chop! Chop!" The rebels, utterly astonished, bowed repeatedly to apologize for their fault and ordered guards to escort him out. That the huts of Wuzhen were spared from burning was indeed the Master's kindness. Both monastics and laypeople respected him all the more upon hearing this. There was a monk who, seeing the Master's song about seeing the Buddha and not bowing, confronted him with the question: "Since you see the Buddha, why do you not bow?" The Master slapped him and said, "Do you understand?" The monk said, "I do not understand." The Master slapped him again and said, "A family does not have two masters." In the winter of the gengshen year of the Shaoxing era, he made a large tub, bored holes in it, and plugged them. He wrote a letter to Chan Master Chi of Xuedou, saying, "I am going to have a water burial." In the renxu year, Chi arrived, saw that he was still alive, and composed a verse to tease him: / "Bah, old Xingkong! / Bent on feeding the fish and turtles! / If you are going, why don't you just go straight off, / Instead of constantly talking to others about it?" / The Master read the verse, smiled, and said, "I was only waiting for my elder brother to come and witness it." He ordered the fourfold assembly to be notified everywhere. When the assembly gathered, the Master expounded the Dharma essentials for them and further spoke a verse: / "Passing away sitting or dying standing is not as good as a water burial; / First, it saves firewood for burning; second, it saves digging a grave. / Letting go of hands and walking off does not hinder joy; / Who is the sympathetic friend? Upādhyāya Chuanzi! / His lofty style is hard to continue for hundreds and thousands of years; / A single tune of the fisherman's song has few to sing it." / He then sat cross-legged in the tub and drifted down with the tide. The assembly all followed him to the seashore, gazing until their eyes were nearly strained. The Master removed the plug, bailed out the water, and returned. The assembly crowded around to watch; no water had entered. He rode the current again and went off, singing: / "Chuanzi in those years returned to his native village; / The place where traces are lost is wondrous and hard to measure. / The true wind is entrusted everywhere to sympathetic friends; / Blowing the iron flute horizontally marks the end of the show." / The sound of his flute was plaintive. Soon, amidst the vast expanse of waters, he was seen tossing the flute into the air and disappearing. The assembly cried out in longing, made portraits of him, and made offerings to them. Three days later, he was sitting cross-legged on the sand as if alive. Monastics and laypeople vied to welcome him back, keeping his remains for five days. At the cremation (jhāpita), the relic grains (śarīra) as large as beans were countless. Two cranes hovered in the sky and left only when the fire was extinguished. Reverently taking the relic grains and holy bones, they built a stupa at Qinglong.