廣弘明集 28.80

28.80

Secretariat Drafter Zhou possessed lofty and extraordinary elegance, his aspirations resting in peace and distance. His true sentiment and pure demeanor were equal in quality to ice and cassia. From the time we joined our talents in common dwelling, more than a decade elapsed; morning and evening we were united in service, never parting for a single day. Whenever we were granted leave to rest, wandering at ease with few affairs, how could we not stroll about the northern thatch and feast and lodge in the southern dwelling? On spring mornings listening to birds, on autumn nights facing the wind—these were not empty words, but all actual events. His voice and countenance fill my eyes; his words and laughter remain in my ears. The old grass has already withered, and the catalpa and rottlera trees will soon close together over his grave. Recalling the past and yearning for the man, my feelings cannot overcome the grief. In this life, his sincere faith was refined and deep; he was content with this diet of coarse greens. As seasons turned, hampers and baskets were repeatedly requested, and whatever vegetable dishes were made, he surely insisted on offering them. This disciple would stingily hold back before giving them, using it as a source of playful banter. Those events are not distant, yet the man has already passed away. The past jests have suddenly turned into mournful threads; last winter and this year, the living and the dead have been parted. Seeing stone-ear fungus and purple seaweed, my sorrowful memories arise, and my tears flow unrestrained. I specifically dispatch this to be respectfully delivered to serve as a single meal for the vegetarian monks. Dharma Master, your bond with Zhou was intimate and deep, far more than an ordinary friendship. Beholding these objects and preserving old memories, it must be all the more poignant and bitter for you. How painful! He is gone—what can be done? Disciple Shen Yue bows in reverence.