釋門自鏡錄 1.3

1.3

I left home [for the monastic life] at the age of nine, and now more than sixty [years] have passed. As for strolling at ease through spacious halls, wandering in fragrant shade, resting the body in soft and light [garments], and dwelling in leisure and quiet—before the starlight has faded, fine viands of the ten benefits are already laid out; when the sun shines at noon, the choice delicacies of the three virtues are fully gathered. Knowing nothing of the exhausting toil of plowing and harvesting, unaware of the arduous labor of cauldron and cooking, sustaining a six-foot frame and preserving a hundred-year lifespan—by whose doing has this come to pass? It is indeed through the vow-power of our original teacher. Moreover, calculating roughly a span of fifty years: the food and drink [consumed] morning and noon has cost more than three hundred piculs; the clothing and medicines for cold and heat have cost more than two hundred thousand [cash]. Furthermore, the lofty gates and profound halls, the turquoise steps and vermilion pillars, the retinue of carriages and servants, the tables, desks, couches, and mats—the expense of these is boundless. Or again, when ignorance secretly arises, heterodox views proliferate, things are unlawfully discarded and consumed, and food and drink are taken at improper times—the cost of these is again difficult to measure. All of these come forth from the efforts of others to supply and support my use. Compared with the busy toil of [worldly] offices, how could one equate them and compare their suffering and joy? Thus we know that the teaching of great benevolence is supreme, and the power of great compassion is profound. What is more, the Tamer of the ten epithets regards me as a son and covers me; the devas, nāgas, and the eight classes regard me as a teacher and serve me. Though imperial monarchs are noble, they dare not treat [a monk] with the etiquette of a subject; hence his nobility can be known. Though venerable parents are weighty, they dare not regard [him] with the duties of a son; hence his venerability can be known. As for the vast four classes of commoners and the boundless nine lands, whose household is not my granary, and what person is not my son or younger brother? Therefore, when one raises the alms bowl and enters a chamber, sealed delicacies are promptly opened; when one shakes the tin staff and steps onto the thoroughfare, lax and haughty countenances turn solemn and reverent. The ancients, for the favor of a single meal, were still able to pledge their loyalty, and for the regard of a single word, would even lay down their lives. How much more so when, from crown to heel, all is the nourishment of the Tathāgata? From birth to death, all is the shelter of the Tathāgata! If formerly I had not encountered the Buddhadharma and had not met with renunciation, I would now be braving the frost and dew morning and night, toiling diligently in the fields dawn and dusk, rushing about in ten thousand ways, harassed by a thousand plights. Tattered rags and dusty hemp might not suffice to cover my form; wild greens and coarse porridge might not suffice to fill my mouth. How would I have leisure to look about in spacious halls, walk with a staff in quiet courtyards, trail my slippers in pure conversation, or bare my chest in idle banter; avoiding cold and heat, selecting the sweet and bitter, scolding youngsters, demanding carrying and drawing [of water], giving rein to the mind-horse to harm the herd, and letting the monkey of passion disport in the trees? Yet the three obstacles tower like clouds, and the ten fetters entangle and bind; illusory attachments disorder the mind, and wild foolishness brings distress and affliction. Repenting and reproaching oneself, but after a mere instant it has already shifted; grieving over it and lamenting it, but after a decade or a month it has suddenly changed. Or again, ascending the hall to pay reverence, weeping like rain in shame before the venerable icons; facing the shelves and opening the texts, shedding tears in remorse before the sacred teachings. Or wearing quails' clothes and eating wood, disciplining oneself through hardship and humiliation; diminishing wealth and casting off friends, enduring distress in solitary poverty—yet in the end one cannot bend the mountain of pride, quench the fire of desire, cast away coarse and vile sounds and sights, or escape the severe retribution of the boiling cauldrons. How painful! How painful! Therefore, ever grieving and ever weeping, the bitterness is limitless; Ākāśagarbha and Kṣitigarbha bring rescue and aid, yet there is no way. Furthermore, I repeatedly reflect upon myself and turn within to examine myself: my appearance, ears, and eyes are not inferior to ordinary people; my understanding, spirit, and feelings can mingle with renowned figures. By what merit was I born in the Central Land? By what good did I participate in renunciation? By what sin do I violate so many monastic restraints? By what fault am I obstinate and difficult to transform? Therefore, my mind is troubled as the sun sets, and I linger in sighs in the middle of the night, not knowing the way of salvation, nor discerning the method of reform. However, having received family training in youth and been moistened by the Śākya teachings early on, I have heard quite a few of the elders' bequeathed words, and frequently attended the lofty discourses of eminent monks. Gentlemen of three-fold deliberation rely on the flexible leather and bowstring as aids; guests on nine-fold winding roads look to proverbs and inscriptions for guidance. Therefore, I have thoroughly investigated successive generations and perused various treatises, gathering those low persons of like affliction and visiting wayfarers who have lost the ferry. Wherever there are those who slight the sacred words, make light of karmic burdens, indulge in dissoluteness without shame, and are recalcitrant, negligent, and unrestrained, which may serve as warnings and admonitions—all these I have collected and recorded. Thus I have selected ten categories and divided them into three scrolls, so that by viewing them morning and night, it may perhaps assist in one ten-thousandth. As for those who while sitting incur the retribution of a dragon, or while standing verify the body of a snake; the ox weeping as it ascends the slope, the camel braying as it circles the monastery; or beatings arriving together, the whole body burning with fire; or halberds and spears coming and going, blood flowing on cue; or tongues melting and eyebrows falling off; or losing one's nature and going mad; or taking a handful of vegetables and becoming a slave; or encroaching on a bundle of firewood and burning one's feet; lodging one's spirit in garden trees, slicing one's flesh to repay the kindness of donors; taking refuge within prison walls, transformed bones suffering the punishment of defaming others—what was not seen in the past is seen today; what was not known before is now first known. Crying to heaven and beating the earth cannot undo it; broken gallbladders and shattered livers are beyond remedy. At such a time, parents with a hundred bodies cannot ransom one; relatives and guests rushing in all four directions cannot rescue one; stored-up bribes are laid out in vain; those at one's left and right beating their chests—of what help is it? Where is the past mirth and fine joy now? On what can the former companions and kin be relied? Alas! In the morning a person of supreme virtue chants the pauses in the long gallery; in the evening he is an untimely deceased youth mourned in sorrow within the dark chamber. This does not belong to those people alone; reflecting on my own body, it may well happen to me! If in a hundred years one should encounter it even once, how could shame and remorse ever end? Can one not be grieved? Can one not be terrified? Therefore, I have compiled their beginnings and ends and placed them at my side, intending to encourage the admonition inscribed on the sash, hoping to pray for the merit of overcoming the enemy. Wherever there are elegant proclamations of renowned sages, remarkable traces of wise men, the decline or flourish of the transforming Dharma, and the praise or blame of contemporary events, these too are appended and recorded, to entrust to comprehensive scholars. The ancients said: 'Though the hundred-year shadow departs, the thousand-year mind remains.' I truly hope that after a thousand years, people will know where my mind resided.