鐔津文集 10.66

10.66

I state: In the third month of last year, I received your letter, Gonghui, along with the postface you composed for the 'Lament of the Autumn Wind.' Your consolations and instructions were diligent and thorough. If not for a deep and intimate friendship, who would be willing to act thus? I am grateful beyond measure. Yet your preface is remarkably fine, whereas my virtue is meager and unequal to such praise; this is truly shameful for me. Having been parted from you, Gonghui, for so long, how is it that you become ever wiser as you age, as shown in your instructions? I am extraordinarily pleased. I, on the other hand, am merely white-haired, dispirited, and unable to rouse myself, let alone have leisure for the teaching of the Dharma. Looking upon this, how could I not feel ashamed? I have resided at Stone Cliff for almost two years. Although I am quite happy following my own inclination, when looking upon human life, it is like a dream—how could it be relied upon? Apart from a paper quilt and an earthenware bowl, there are only books and paintings lying scattered in my room. Of what the common world values, not a thing is kept. Recently I composed the Xiaolun in twelve chapters, modeled on the Confucian Classic of Filial Piety to elucidate the Buddhist intention; it also seems presentable. Though I am unworthy, as a monk and as a person, it may indeed be said that my aspiration lies in the Yuanjiao and my practice in the Xiaolun. I send it to you now because you, Gonghui, are good to your parents. Although my dwelling is desolate, my mind does not dare to be indolent regarding the Buddha Dharma. In time I shall compose a great work for the gate of the teaching, but I worry that the labor is immense. If it is indeed completed, I shall inform you first. You, Gonghui, have already propagated the Way in your region; what more can I say? Only that taking good care of yourself in this life is my utmost prayer. I send this specially via a returning courier.