續傳燈錄 1.7

1.7

Chan Master Guisheng of Guangjiao Monastery in Yexian, Ruzhou, was a son of the Jia family of Jizhou. In his young adulthood he went to Baoshou Monastery in Yizhou to leave household life and receive full ordination. Later he went on itinerant pilgrimage and called upon Shoushan. One day Shoushan held up a bamboo stick and asked, "If you call it a bamboo stick, you infringe; if you do not call it a bamboo stick, you turn your back on it. What do you call it?" The Master snatched it and threw it to the ground, saying, "What is it?" Shoushan said, "Blind man!" At these words, the Master had a sudden, penetrating awakening. Opening the hall, a monk asked, "Patriarchs transmit from one to another, transmitting the patriarchal seal. Whose Dharma heir are you today, Master?" The Master said, "Within the empire, the Son of Heaven; beyond the frontier, the general." The monk asked, "Receiving the Master's pointing like a single drop of the ocean, what is the affair of the supreme lineage?" The Master said, "Before Emperor Gaozu's palace hall, Fan Kuai grew furious; you must know that for ten thousand miles all smoke and dust are cut off." A monk asked, "Vimalakīrti's ten-foot room did not take the sun and moon as its illumination; what does the Upādhyāya's ten-foot room take as its illumination?" The Master said, "Eyebrows parting in the shape of the character eight." The monk asked, "I do not understand what the meaning is." The Master said, "Both ears hanging down to the shoulders." A monk asked, "What is an act that surpasses the teachers?" The Master said, "How long are this old monk's eyebrows?" A monk asked, "What is the solitary, exposed body amid the dust?" The Master said, "A thousand-man tent north of the frontier; a ten-thousand-bushel boat south of the Yangtze." The monk said, "Then it is not dust!" The Master said, "Followers of mimicry write ten thousand lines in a single letter." A monk asked, "What is the Upādhyāya's profound place?" The Master said, "A cat has the merit of smearing blood on its lips; a tiger has the virtue of raising corpses." The monk said, "Could it be just this?" The Master said, "The pestle pounds in the southeast, the mill turns in the northwest." A monk asked, "What is the adamantine indestructible body?" The Master said, "A hundred shattered fragments." The monk asked, "What is the meaning?" The Master said, "In the end, a single mound of ash." A monk asked, "Not falling into any conditions—please, Master, speak directly." The Master said, "Falling." A monk asked, "What is the pure Dharma body?" The Master said, "The latrine-pit scraper." A monk asked, "What are precept, concentration, and wisdom?" The Master said, "Broken furniture." One day the Master ascended the seat. A monk asked, "What about just when coming up to the Dharma hall?" The Master struck the Chan couch once. The monk said, "I do not understand what this meaning is." The Master said, "With no one bidding a higher price, I strike three hundred." A monk asked, "If suddenly a great icchantika arrives, will you still act on his behalf or not?" The Master said, "When the Dharma lasts long, it turns to abuses." The monk asked, "Where is compassion?" The Master said, "Growing old, one turns into a demon." Ascending the hall, [the Master said,] "The ancestral masters' bloodline—some are ordinary, some are sacred. Nāgārjuna and Aśvaghoṣa; heavens and hells; boiling cauldrons, burning coals, and ox-headed jailers; all phenomena in profusion, the sun, moon, and stars; other realms and this land; the sentient and the insentient—" He drew a line with his hand and said, "All enter this school. Within this school's gate, it can kill people and it can bring people to life. To kill people, one must have the sword that kills people. To bring people to life, one must have the words that bring people to life. What is the sword that kills people and the words that bring people to life? Those who can speak, come forth and try speaking to the assembly! If you cannot speak, you have wasted your entire life. Take care!" A monk asked, "What are the Upādhyāya's four immeasurable minds?" The Master said, "Arson and murder." The monk asked, "Where is compassion?" The Master said, "When you meet someone with eyes, cite it to him." A monk asked, "Not inside, not outside, and not in between—where on earth is it?" The Master said, "Six in the Southern Dipper, seven in the Northern Dipper." A monk asked, "What is the master of Vairocana's Dharma body?" The Master said, "Monks line up by summer retreats; laymen rank by seniority of years." The monk asked, "Is there still an affair beyond?" The Master said, "There is." The monk asked, "What is the affair beyond?" The Master said, "Ten thousand miles to Yazhou you must go yourself; when about to depart in melancholy, whom do you blame?" Ascending the hall, after a long pause, he said, "You itinerant Chan practitioners must really reflect: when investigating and studying, you must possess the eye of investigation and study; in your view and ground, you must obtain the phrase of view and ground—only then will you have a share of closeness; only then will you avoid being deluded by the various objects and not fall into the evil destinies. Ultimately, how do you understand it in detail? Sometimes the phrase reaches but the meaning does not: forgetting conditions, the former dust discriminates shadow-affairs. Sometimes the meaning reaches but the phrase does not: like the blind feeling the elephant, each speaks a divergent account. Sometimes meaning and phrase both reach: shattering the realm of empty space, radiant light illumines the ten directions. Sometimes neither meaning nor phrase reaches: a sightless person rushes about in all directions, and suddenly, unaware, falls into a deep pit." A monk asked, "What is the path where past and present do not differ?" The Master said, "All commoners wrap their heads." The monk said, "What is the meaning?" The Master said, "Ācārya, you have no woven-mat hat." A monk asked, "When one's own affair is not yet clear, what is used as proof?" The Master said, "Striking the silence gavel in a bustling market." The monk asked, "What is the meaning?" The Master said, "Lighting a golden lamp at noon." A monk asked, "When a cloth drum is struck right in the courtyard, who is the one that understands the tune?" The Master said, "There is an astringent nail in the eye." The monk said, "I do not understand what this meaning is." The Master said, "Old man Qiao offers sacrifice to the southern spirit." A monk requested instruction on the story of the cypress tree. The Master said, "I would not refuse to explain it to you, but will you believe it?" The monk said, "The Upādhyāya's weighty words—how could I dare not believe them?" The Master said, "Do you still hear the sound of water dripping from the eaves?" That monk was startled and unwittingly cried out, "Ye!" The Master said, "What principle have you seen?" The monk then replied with a verse: "Water dripping from the eaves, / distinct and clear! / Smashing heaven and earth, / in that moment the mind is put to rest." The Master was pleased. He asked a monk, "At nightfall entering the woods, where did you leave this morning?" The monk said, "A newly ordained monk has never studied Chan." The Master said, "Enter hell in your living body—get out!" Later, a monk brought this up to Upādhyāya Kuan of Zhimon. Zhimon said, "Why didn't you say, 'The key is in the Upādhyāya's hand'?" Once, the Master went to the infirmary to see a sick monk. The monk then asked, "Upādhyāya, the four great elements are originally empty; from where does sickness come?" The Master said, "It comes from where the Ācārya asks." The monk gasped for breath and asked again, "What about when not asking?" The Master said, "Dropping your hands, lie in the vast empty sky." The monk said, "Ye!" and passed away.