鐔津文集 19.19

19.19

When I first read Chan Master Song's *Fujiao bian*, I loved the unconventional and magnificent spirit of his prose, and how he was able to expound the Way of Śākya to instruct those famous Confucians and Buddhist disciples of his time who did not understand the roots of the teachings, causing them to comprehend the mysteries of nature and destiny, and see the mind with which sages and worthies bestow teachings and spread transformation, rather than drowning in a battleground of right and wrong. (Here, the convoluted parts of the preface are all omitted.) As for gathering the lineage into its main source and plumbing the deep and subtle, I still feared that scholars of the two schools might not easily understand its boundaries, much less fathom his Way and perceive it in full! After he manifested passing into quiescence, he was cremated (*jhāpita*), and five items were not reduced to ash. Yet although these were merely the Master's chaff, it was only after his death that he came to be trusted by his followers; thus much of the exquisite, essential, and wondrous qualities he harbored within remained unrecognized by men. Alas, is the Way so difficult to transmit as this? I grieve deeply over it. Although his Way could transform the famous Confucians of the day, it could not completely transform his own followers. Therefore, after the Master's death, his authentic style and superior conduct were not remarkably celebrated and resplendent in the world. Perhaps this rare talent and bell-like tone were not suited to the ears of the common village? How petty the vessels! As a junior student of late times, I had no leisure to sweep his courtyards or catch a glimpse of his lingering light; facing the wind and wiping my tears, I can only sigh, 'Why did he not live for ten thousand years?' Now, gathering his lingering fragrance, I bow my head in long contemplation, appending this eulogy: