廣弘明集 24.62

24.62

Now, birds dwell atop the mountains, tiering their nests at the tips of trees; fish submerge beneath the deeps, boring caves in mud and sand. How could they take pleasure in being eccentric? It is simply their nature to be so. Thus, some disdain white jade and delight in dangling the fishing line; others shoulder jade caldrons to seek ministerial office. Activity and retirement are tangled and manifold; emergence and obscurity are varied and uneven; they are no different from fire flaming, water flowing, the round moving, and the square coming to rest. Hence, whether courtly halls or rivers and seas, thatched doors or golden chambers, each is so by what makes it so, and is pleased by what pleases it. How could it be worth picking faults and pointing out flaws among them? I was born in the wild plains, quick to fear and hard to draw near to. My heart shrinks from cloud terraces and vermilion halls; my hopes are severed from high carriages and green ribbons of office. Furthermore, drenched by mists and dew, I desire leisure and solitude all the more. Constantly thinking of washing in clear rapids and resting on peppered hills, my waking and sleeping thoughts have long cherished this; it has been so for ages. An earthworm solely swallows dirt; what a person desires, Heaven accords. Thus, when grey hairs arrived, I was able to dwell in cliff caves. The place where I dwell is Mount Jinhua in Dongyang Commandery. Dongyang is in truth the western part of Kuaiji; here arrow bamboo grows, mountains and streams are elegant and fair, and marshlands are lush and verdant. When its peaks rise in ranks, they join the Milky Way and connect with rosy clouds; when tall forests spread abroad, they are verdant in spring and green in winter. Winding torrents flow deep and wide, ten fathoms clear to the bottom; clouds gathering in square inches invariably scatter rain across a thousand li. Truly it is eminent, bright, and dry—an arcane abode where spirits dwell. For this reason, Dihong roamed here to cast caldrons, and the Rain Master lodged here to ride the smoke. Hence the ravine was engraved with the name of Chisong, and the mountain was bequeathed the appellation of Jinyun. In recent times, Wang the summoned scholar, who held the post of Zhizhong of Jiang, shook himself free of the mire; standing tall above the wind and dust, like dragons coiling and phoenixes roosting, they all gathered in this place. Surely it is because green rapids and white stones can summon recluses! Mount Jinhua is the ancient Mount Ma'an; cherishing spiritual efficacy and concealing holy beings, its name is listed in the annals of immortals. Zuo Yuanfang praised this mountain, saying: 'It can avert the great flood and the five weapons; it can compound the divine elixir of nine transmutations.' At the crest of Jinhua there is Mount Ziyan (Purple Cliff); the mountain's hue is reddish-purple, and it took its name therefrom. Winding and sloping, it descends to meet deep shoals; towering and craggy, it reaches up to obscure the sun and moon. Ascending from the mountain foot, it grows ever higher and steeper; the path is remote, narrow, and perilous, climbed in single file like swimming fish. Beside the path is a sheer ravine, yawning and roaring wide open; looking down upon the treetops, the dangers of Jiaoyuan and Shiyi are not alone in hanging precariously. Reaching nearly halfway up the mountain, there are wide marshes and great rivers, with high shores and undulating ridges; the dwelling I thatched is situated right here. The residence is surrounded on three sides by curving mountains, encircling it like outer city walls; before it, the flat wilderness stretches desolate, with views extending as far as the eye can see. To the east and west it is girded by two ravines, where springs cascade in all four seasons. Clear billows mist lightly, dripping with sound; white waves leap in foam, churning with noise. Water channels convey streams, intertwining like brocade; suspended torrents pour over eaves and ridgepoles, rushing currents swirl round the steps and pavements. Supplying the household requires no drawing-ropes; washing and rinsing need no pitchers or basins. Trees like maple, catalpa, chair-tree, and oak, timber like roxburgh, cypress, cassia, and camphor, divide into forms and differ in colors in thousands of kinds and myriads of sorts, bearing vermilion fruits and holding green melons, rooted on white stalks and shooting up purple stems. Tall and luxuriant, brushing the wind and sounding the pipes, their trailing branches shade the eaves and doors, their spreading leaves screen the chambers and windows. In the valleys and along the ravine banks, blossoms and stamens cluster together; when the green spring yields to summer, and duckweed sprouts as springs stir, there is Duliang herb holding fragrance, and Zhixiang wafting sweet odors, Changle braving the frost, and Yinan glistening with dew. Red lotus flowers illumine the water; pale leaves of Gaosu follow the wind. Leaning on the railing to gaze afar, one dispels sorrow and forgets disease. In the bends of the hills and curves of the mounds, medicinal plants form dense thickets: 'earth marrow' rears its stems, and 'mountain sinew' shoots out its nodes; 'gold salt' is more prized than plain jade, and 'five condiments' are treasured above bright pearls. With them one can nourish one's nature, dispel maladies, restore youth, and retain one's complexion, without relying on Cui Wen's yellow powder, nor needing to use the purple pills of the Burden-bearer. Fluttering birds fly in the wind, their chicks bred in the rains, with green wings, red feathers, plain plumage, and kingfisher crests; briskly beating their wings, they make harmonious, lovely sounds, taming themselves in garden ponds and foraging alongside chickens and ducks. Then, the day-announcing fowl watches the hours with sounds like bells and drums; the chirping cricket waits for dawn with notes resembling zithers and lutes. Black gibbons trill clearly in the light mist; flying squirrels chant long notes riding the vapor. Clamorous, crisp, and bright, pleasing the heart and delighting the ear, they truly surpass pipes and flutes and outshine reeds and mouth organs. East of the dwelling stands the Zhaoti Monastery; backing against the cliff and facing the gorge, its tiered verandas invite sunlight; its profound halls border the void, wide, spacious, peaceful, and vacant, receiving good fortune and giving rise to brightness. Looking left and gazing right, it is a dwelling for the humane and wise. Therefore, eminent and virtuous monks of renowned virtue shake their staffs and gather like clouds, taming their minds with the seven factors of awakening and reproving the five sense objects; the rich incense of the precepts is fragrant, and the water of samādhi provides a cleansing bath. When the incense burner is lit at night and the Dharma drum is heard at dawn, I slip on my sandals, gather my robe, and personally perform prostrations, inquiring after the Way from wise men and drinking the harmony of the ultimate teaching. Constantly hearing that this shore is full of turmoil and obstacles while that shore is eternally serene, I feel joyous as if ascending a spring terrace and transcending the cosmos. 'Only goodness brings joy'—how could this be an empty saying? Southeast of the monastery is a Daoist pavilion; perched beside a cliff, it looks down upon clouds and rain. Orchis chambers and thoroughwort pavilions lie half-hidden among groves and bamboos; soaring turrets and rows of balustrades glitter in the smoke and mist. Daily there dwell people who abstain from grain; yearly there lodge guests who pray for immortality, feeding on stellar marrow and drinking flowing rosy clouds, soon to put on cloudy clothes and rainbow skirts to ride dragons and steer cranes. Below the temple is a stone well, towering in the midst of the ravine; carved and chiselled, it looks much like human work. Leaping streams rush and pour, gushing, surging, sweeping, and choking, flashing like lightning and roaring like thunder, startling the eyes and alarming the soul. In front of both monastery and temple, slender bamboos are planted everywhere; dense and rustling, they blanket the knolls and line the mounds. Beyond the bamboos are fertile fields, their borders interconnected, nourished by rich fluids of mountain springs, moist and fertile, so that neither the Zheng and Bai canals nor the diverting of the Zhang could be compared to it. This causes red grain to overflow, and wild ducks and geese to be sated. In spring, turtles and fragrant green chickens are delicacies; in winter, mushrooms and frosted quail are treasures. Silken headscarves are obtained from the mountain hills; short coarse garments come from the middle garden. Bulrushes and reeds crowd the ponds and lakes; sedges and rush grasses pack the plains and lowlands. Materials for sustaining life and things used for daily existence are completely abundant along the fences and fill the cliffs and peaks to overflowing. When the year begins or ends, and farming is at leisure, when turbid brew is newly fermented and clear wine freshly matured, the old elders of peasant homes bring their jugs and arrive together. Spreading rushes beneath the forest, they set out vessels and arrange cups. As the wine warms and their ears grow hot, they dance repeatedly and make merry din, praising the fullness of granaries and loudly discussing the grain harvest, laughing aloud and chanting songs, raising cups to toast one another. Human life is just for joy; how could this happiness be blamed? As for weaving silk to be clothed and plowing to be fed, working when the sun rises and resting when the sun sets, treating late eating as meat and taking non-affair as precious, seeking nothing from the world and offending no creature, distinguishing neither honor nor disgrace, knowing neither blame nor praise, wandering vast and free between heaven and earth with no alarming fear in one's heart—how could this be compared in superiority and inferiority to Master Ji who faced the sword, or Master Yang who leaped from the pavilion?