鐔津文集 19.14

19.14

On the day after the full moon in the eleventh month of winter, the xinsi year, the first year of the Jianzhong Jingguo era, carrying Master Yuan's collected writings, I came east from Mount Lu, planning to carve them on printing blocks in Qiantang and circulate them throughout the realm. Thereupon, I made a special visit behind the Master's former residence, the Yong'an Vihāra. Covered in snow and frost at the ridge's peak, parting the brambles and underbrush, before the small stone pagoda containing the five kinds of indestructible śarīra from his cremation, I reverently prepared incense, delicacies, tea, candles, and the like, and prostrated in offering. Then I drew forth my humble thoughts into an ancient-style poem in five-character meter, consisting of a full one hundred rhymes. Kneeling upright with focused contemplation, with all my heart's sincerity, it was as bright as if facing him directly. Thereupon I chanted it in the southern accent, bowing down to recite it, hoping not to forget his root and briefly expressing my sincerity of longing and mourning. The Chan Master during his lifetime had a poem that said: 'The customs of a foreign land are not unpleasant to the guest; / I only wish for southern sounds to reach my ears.' My prefecture, Lianzhou, borders Tengzhou on the east and west, being exceedingly close. The Chan Master's passing occurred in the summer of the fifth year of the Xining era; I was then only eight years old. In truth, I am unworthy as a younger generation from the Master's native village; what I composed in southern sounds could not be otherwise. Provided it does not deviate from right concentration (samādhi), I hope he might deign to select from it.