廣弘明集 23.30

23.30

In the past, Master Daoan's
teachings of the Way were truly pervasive.
When the Great Dharma was on the verge of ending,
the collapsing guidelines were entrusted to him.
Subduing the physical into stillness, he rested all movement;
embracing the true, he set right the false.
He served his teacher with filial piety;
he nurtured his disciples with righteousness.
Looking up, he broadly propagated the Tathāgata,
proclaiming and scattering the rain of the Dharma;
looking down, he transmitted it to the Dharma Master,
whose deportment was truly exemplary.
In learning he did not peek through windows;
his discernment did not pass beyond the door.
Though grain food was served to him,
he remained like the lone carambola.
Bright was the high hall;
solemn and calm, the courtyard of the Dharma.
Both strict and tranquil,
it was ever loftier and purer.
Placid was his speech and instruction;
easy and graceful was his deportment.
Broadly exercising compassion,
he abundantly benefited sentient beings.
Grand was his capacity;
untiring was his endowment.
With hair bound in tufts, he tasted the Way,
leaving his parents to follow his master.
He made offerings to the triratna,
analyzing the subtle and clarifying doubts.
His grand transformation was abundant;
his benevolence and virtue were joyful.
Thereupon people came to inquire of the Way;
the four seas received his wind.
Those with resolve came galloping;
bowing respectfully before his precept virtue.
His fine reputation continued to resound;
the five defilements were temporarily suppressed.
Broadening the Way and singing its praises,
he became ever more empty and ever more subtle.
Like the sixteen prince-sons,
as a youth he was already an enlightened one.
When the Master left the household,
he had not yet reached the age of fixing his mind on learning.
Like the Deng Forest,
moistened and nourished by amṛta;
like fine jade,
already polished and carved.
When the Great Master arrived,
the audience gathered like dragons.
Coming to inspect the terrain,
how could the spiritual monastery not be established?
Those of established renown investigated the subtle;
new students practiced at proper times.
The Master exhorted them,
continually harmonizing and gathering them.
He cultivated ties with Master Kumārajīva,
their shared prestige reaching a grand harmony.
He invited the dhyāna assembly,
personally receiving the samādhi.
The confluence of all virtues
can endure long and become great.
Majestic was his moral virtue,
transcending profit and harm.
The six directions are all in ruin;
the mountains collapse and the seas run dry.
The sun and moon sink their radiance;
the three luminaries suspend their clarity.
Branches of all mountain slopes are snapped;
the surging waves are frozen mid-course.
The grand transformation leaves its threads;
his exemplary wind is forever extinguished.
Alas, how sorrowful!
In life he exhausted modesty and simplicity;
in death, grief and sorrow only increase.
A single resting place in an earthen vault,
showing that his gathered remains were just like any others.
Humans and devas are moved to grief;
Śakra's heart is racked with sorrow.
Gentle is his lingering influence;
lingering is the leftover chill.
How sorrowful, O Dharma Master,
that at last you rest here!
The room no longer holds his voice;
the steps have broad paths grown over them.
Alas, how sorrowful!
Duanmu mourned for Confucius,
his grief lasting a full six years.
Looking up in longing toward the Zhu and Si rivers,
looking down, he dreaded relying on traps and nets.
Now your disciples
indeed share this very distress.
In the morning they sweep the empty room;
in the evening they weep upon the desolate mountain.
Alas, O Dharma Master,
when will you ever return?
The wind howls through the bamboos and cypresses;
clouds cast shadows on the rocky peaks.
The rivers and gorges seem like burial mounds;
the mountains and forests have changed their appearance.
Ever since I first heard of your wind,
my resolve was to take refuge in you.
Mountains and rivers made the road distant;
my heart went forth, but my body could not.
From beginning to end I bear this regret;
my past karmic affinity was slight.
In the Land of Peace and Nurture there is a dwelling;
in Jambudvīpa there is nothing left to hope for.
Alas, how sorrowful!