廣弘明集 27.21

27.21

Your letter arriving to honour me with its news truly left me disheartened. In my learning, I am ashamed of being eager to display my meagre skill, and as a person, I am no model. Although I once gave lectures, it was no different from peeking at the sky through a tube. How could it suffice to serve as a pattern for later generations or to follow in the footsteps of the former wise? My bodily illness has not healed, and my disciples have led each other away; the flourishing work of a single master has fallen into disuse without transmission. The age of fifty is suddenly upon me; through long nights of endless contemplation, how could my dejection ever end? Had enthusiastic people not pressed me daily with requests, I would merely have been an old and tired man once more urging himself on. You, Dharma Master, and several others originally hail from renowned families, being rare talents of Luoyang and the sharpest minds of today. If you resolve to investigate the treatises thoroughly and uphold the vinaya pitaka, you will become fine vessels and daily be seen outstripping the mundane world. There are also extraordinary monks from across the seas and bodhisattvas from among the assemblies, none of whom had fixed teachers, who have come from afar to seek the Way and resolve their doubts; this was indeed enough to be called the joy of an era. Unexpectedly, barbarian troops have offended the imperial retinue, and enemy horses drink from the Yangtze; stupas and shrines are burned down, and doctrinal followers lie starved by the roadside. Today, the venerable elders of the capital sit by their mats in silence; yet you once again turn to inquire of a recluse with an ailment, asking him to guide and instruct. Having long abandoned it without order, how could I teach others? Thus thorns grow in my mouth, and realgar errors slip from the tip of my tongue. Boiling water to seek ice is insufficient as an analogy. Looking forward to your visit nearby, I shall then present my petty sincerity. Yuan speaks.