法苑珠林 83

English (machine translation) 83

Language: English

83.1

Compiled by the Śramaṇa Shi Daoshi of Ximing Temple

83.3

Division 4: Vigour (vīrya) (comprising four sections)

83.4

Section on Stating the Intent
Section on Laziness and Laxity
Section on Exhorting Practice
Section on the Benefits of Progress

Now, the sentiment of practicing patience is still obscure, and its precise purport has not yet been clarified; therefore we spur on laxity so that the mind does not slacken. For this reason the sūtra says: "You monks should be diligent and vigorous. The sun of wisdom of the Ten Powers having already set, you will be covered by ignorance." It also says: "When an icchantika lies like a corpse all day long, to say that he will accomplish the Way is impossible." The Treatise says: "For the householder, laziness causes the loss of worldly benefits; for the monastic, laxity causes the forfeit of the Dharma jewel." Thus was Śroṇa's courage extolled by the Buddhas, and Kāśyapa's exquisite dedication praised by the Tathāgata. The Book says: "Rising early and going to sleep late, exhausting one's strength in devotion to duty: only then is one called a loyal minister, only thus is one praised as a filial son." Hence we know that negligence and laziness are not valued, while diligence and hard toil are suitable at all times. How could one indulge one's foolish thoughts and give free rein to arrogance and dissipation, causing the seeds of good roots to bloom no more and the branches of the Bodhi-tree to become ever more withered? How much more so when one's life belongs to the King of Death and one's name is bound to the nether realms: suddenly returning to the long night and abruptly depleted of provisions, how will one answer the interrogations of the underworld tribunals? When that time comes, how could regret avail? Therefore, practitioners are now exhorted: while you still have remaining bodily strength, prepare provisions for what lies ahead. You must constantly inspect your three actions (trividhadvāra) and not allow them to violate the six periods of the day. Every day and night—from dawn to noon, from noon to dusk, from dusk to night, from night to dawn, down to a single hour, a single moment, a single thought, a single kṣaṇa—inspect the three actions: How many minds cultivate good? How many minds cultivate evil? How many minds cultivate filial piety? How many minds cultivate rebellion? How many minds cultivate revulsion and detachment from wealth and sex? How many minds cultivate greedy attachment to wealth and sex? How many minds cultivate the karma of good roots for humans and devas? How many minds cultivate the unwholesome karma of the three destinies? How many minds cultivate revulsion and detachment from renown and attachment to the self? How many minds cultivate greedy seeking of renown and attachment to the self? How many minds joyfully cultivate the world-transcending mind of the three vehicles? How many minds show contempt for the three vehicles and take deep pleasure in the world? As good and evil thus conflict day and night, the practitioner must constantly examine himself and not allow negligence to let him fall into the net of heresy. Constantly examine the three actions, mutually warning and exhorting them, with mind and mouth mutually admonishing each other: the mind says to the mouth, 'Always speak good and do not speak what is contrary to Dharma'; the mouth replies to the mind, 'Contemplate the true Dharma and do not contemplate what is contrary to Dharma'; the mind further says to the body, 'Be diligent and vigorous, and do not practice laziness.' In this way, my mind restrains itself, my mouth guards itself, and my body controls itself. Spurring oneself on in this manner, one will surely attain high elevation; why trouble others to rein one in and give rise to pointless resentment? Therefore the sūtra says: 'If the body does good, the mouth does good, and the mind does good, one will definitely be born in good destinies. If the body does evil, the mouth does evil, and the mind does evil, one will definitely be born in bad destinies.' Moreover, it is like a fine steed that gallops at the sight of a shadow, unlike an inferior draft animal that requires the application of whips and beatings. If one does not admonish oneself and must rely on the scolding of others, it will instead increase annoyance and multiply offenses all the more.

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Section 2: Laziness and Laxity

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As the Pusa benxing jing says: The Buddha told Ānanda: "Now, laziness is an encumbrance to all practices. For a householder, laziness means that clothing and food are not supplied and livelihoods are not established. For a monastic, laziness means that one cannot escape the suffering of birth and death. All undertakings flourish by virtue of vigour (vīrya)." At that time, Śakra, Lord of the Gods, spoke a verse:

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"One who wishes to seek the supreme Way / Does not begrudge his bodily life;
Discarding the body like dung and dirt, / He thoroughly understands that there is no self.
Although giving wealth and jewels, / This matter is not difficult;
One who is courageous like this, / Through vigour quickly attains Buddhahood."

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Furthermore, the Ekottarika-āgama says: "If someone is lazy and lax, planting unwholesome deeds, there will be loss in his affairs. If one can refrain from being lazy and lax, this is most exquisite. Why is this? Bodhisattva Maitreya was destined to become a Buddha after thirty kalpas; by the power of my vigour and a courageous mind, I caused Maitreya to become a Buddha after me. For this reason, you should mindfully practice vigour and have no laziness."

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Furthermore, the Avadāna-sūtra says: At the time of Kāśyapa Buddha, there were two brothers who both became śramaṇas. The elder brother upheld the precepts, sat in meditation, and single-mindedly sought the Way, but did not practice generosity (dāna). The younger brother practiced generosity and cultivated merit, but was fond of breaking the precepts. Under Śākyamuni, the elder brother went forth from the household and attained the fruit of arhatship, but his robes were constantly insufficient and his food was never plentiful. The younger brother was born among elephants; because as an elephant he was very strong and could repel enemies, he was beloved by the king. Gold, silver, and precious jewels adorned his body, and a fiefdom of several hundred households was assigned to supply this elephant with whatever he needed. At that time, the elder brother monk encountered a severe famine in the world; he went about begging for food, but for seven days obtained nothing. At the very end he received a little coarse food, barely sustaining his life. Knowing beforehand that this elephant had been his younger brother in a previous life, he went to the elephant, took the elephant's ear with his hand, and said to him: 'In the past, you and I both committed offenses.' When the elephant contemplated the monk's words, he immediately recognized his past lives, and seeing his former causes and conditions, he grieved and would not eat. The elephant-keeper was terrified and went to inform the king. The king asked the elephant-keeper: 'Did anyone previously offend this elephant?' The elephant-keeper replied: 'There was no other person, only a śramaṇa who came to the elephant's side and departed after a short while.' The king immediately sent men to find and bring the śramaṇa, and asked: 'What did you say when you went to the elephant's side?' The śramaṇa replied: 'I only told the elephant: "You and I both committed offenses."' The śramaṇa explained fully to the king as above. The king's mind awakened, and he immediately released the śramaṇa.

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Furthermore, the Ekottarika-āgama says: At that time, the World-Honoured One was preaching the Dharma for an immeasurable assembly. There was an elder monk who slept facing the World-Honoured One with his legs stretched out. There was a novice named Sumana, nearing eight years of age, not far from the World-Honoured One, sitting cross-legged with mindfulness set before him. From afar, the World-Honoured One saw the elder monk sleeping with his legs stretched out, and also saw the novice sitting upright in contemplation; he then spoke a verse:

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"One who is called an elder / Does not necessarily have shaved hair and beard;
Even though one's years are advanced, / One is not exempt from evil conduct.
If someone sees the truth of the Dharma, / Harms no one among the multitude,
And abandons all defiled and evil conduct, / He is called an elder.
What I now call an elder / Is not necessarily one who went forth first;
One who cultivates the fundamental good karma / And distinguishes correct conduct,
Even if he is young in years, / If his faculties have no leaks or flaws,
He is called an elder / Who distinguishes the practice of the true Dharma."

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At that time the World-Honoured One told the monks: "Do you see this elder sleeping with his legs stretched out?" The monks replied: "Indeed, we all see him." The World-Honoured One said: "This elder monk, throughout the past five hundred lives, has constantly taken the body of a dragon (nāga). If he were to die right now, he would be born among dragons. Why is this? Because he lacks reverence for the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṃgha. If one lacks a mind of reverence for the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṃgha, upon death one will surely be born among dragons. Do you see the novice Sumana, nearing eight years of age, sitting upright in contemplation not far from me?" The monks replied: "We all see him, World-Honoured One." [The Buddha] said: "Seven days from now, this novice will attain the four bases of supernatural power (ṛddhipāda) and attain the Dharma of the Four Noble Truths. For this reason, you should constantly and diligently increase your reverence for the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Saṃgha."

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Furthermore, the Sūtra Spoken by the Buddha on the Simile of the Eight Faults of a Horse Compared to Humans says: The Buddha told the monks, "Horses have eight vicious faults. What are the eight? The first fault is that when its halter and reins are loosened, it pulls against the chariot and wants to bolt. The second fault is that when the chariot is harnessed, it leaps about and wants to bite people. The third fault is that it raises its two forelegs, pulls against the chariot, and bolts. The fourth fault is that it kicks the sides of the chariot. The fifth fault is that it rears up on its hind legs while the driver holds the yoke, rubs its body against the chariot, presses against it, and backs up. The sixth fault is that it walks sideways and veers off course. The seventh fault is that it pulls the chariot into a run, but upon reaching muddy quagmires, stops and will not go on. The eighth fault is that when a feed-bag is hung up to feed it, it stares fixedly at it and will not eat; yet when its master leads it away intending to harness it, it suddenly gulps, chews, and snaps at the food, but can no longer eat it. The Buddha said: Humans also have eight vicious faults. What are the eight? The first fault is that when hearing the exposition of a scripture, one bolts away and takes no pleasure in listening, just like the horse that bolts and pulls against the chariot when its halter and reins are loosened. The second fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, without understanding the meaning and without knowing the direction of the words, one becomes angry, leaps about, and has no desire to listen, just like the horse that leaps about and wants to bite people when harnessed to a chariot. The third fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one immediately rebels and refuses to accept it, just like the horse that raises its two forelegs, pulls against the chariot, and bolts. The fourth fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one begins to curse, just like the horse that kicks the sides of the chariot. The fifth fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one gets up and leaves, just like the horse that rears up while the driver holds the yoke, rubs against the chariot, presses back, and retreats. The sixth fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one refuses to listen, tilts one's head, looks sideways, and whispers into others' ears, just like the horse that walks sideways and veers off course. The seventh fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one seeks to exhaust it with difficult questions, and when unable to receive a corresponding answer, stubbornly resists and speaks falsely, just like the horse that stops and goes no further upon reaching muddy quagmires. The eighth fault is that upon hearing the exposition of a scripture, one refuses to listen, turning instead to lustful desires and excessive acquisitiveness, unwilling to hear and receive it; only when dying and entering the evil destinies does one hastily wish to study, inquire, and practice the Way, but can no longer practice the Way, just like the horse that stares fixedly and refuses to eat when the feed-bag is hung up, yet when its master leads it away intending to harness it, hastily gulps and chews, but cannot eat it." The Buddha said, "I have spoken of the eight evil faults of horses; humans also have eight evil faults." The monks rejoiced upon hearing the scripture, bowed in homage, and departed.

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Section 3: Exhortation to Cultivation

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As the Sūtra of Dhāraṇīśvara-rāja says: Bodhisattva Ratnaprabha generated vigor in the presence of the Buddha Jambūnadaprabhāsa merely to enter such expedient gates of the Dharma; for two billion years, an evil thought or a thought of personal gain never arose in him. Moreover, Bodhisattva Ratnaprabha was vigorous in this way for 1.2 billion years, during which thoughts of lust, anger, or ignorance never once arose. Moreover, Bodhisattva Anantamati and Bodhisattva Anantavīrya did not sleep at all for forty thousand years, never ate their fill, and neither lay down, sat, nor walked back and forth, but solely contemplated the characteristics of the five aggregates of grasping.

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Furthermore, the Mahāsaṃnipāta-sūtra says: The monk Dharmabhāṇaka did not sleep for twenty thousand years. Afterwards, he ascended into the sky to the height of a tāla tree, sat cross-legged, and remained motionless and unshaken for a full thousand years, taking the joy of the Dharma as food, and obtained comparative knowledge and unhindered delight in speech.

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Furthermore, the Avadāna-sūtra says: A śramaṇa in the kingdom of Rājagṛha sat and vowed: "If I do not attain the Way, I will never give rise to the desire to sleep." He made an awl eight inches long and stabbed his two thighs with it; due to the pain he could not sleep, and in one year he attained the Way.

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Furthermore, the Vakkula-sūtra says: Vakkula declared, "Since I left the household life, for eighty years, my side has never once touched a bed in reclining, nor has my back leaned against anything."

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Furthermore, the Sūtra of the Buddha's Bequeathed Teaching says: "You monks, if you practice diligent vigor, nothing will be difficult. Therefore, you should always be diligently vigorous. It is like a small stream of water constantly flowing, which can pierce stone. If a practitioner's mind is frequently indolent and negligent, it is like rubbing sticks for fire and stopping before they grow hot; though one desires fire, fire is hard to obtain. This is called vigor."

83.22

Furthermore, the Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra says: Bodily vigor is minor; mental vigor is major. External vigor is minor; internal vigor is major. Moreover, the Buddha taught that the power of mental karma is great; for instance, when a ṛṣi becomes angry, he can cause a great kingdom to be obliterated. Moreover, when body and speech commit the five grave sins, their great retribution is one kalpa in the Avīci hell; yet under the power of mental karma, one can be born in the sphere of neither-perception-nor-non-perception with a lifespan of eighty thousand mahākalpas, or have an immeasurable lifespan in the Buddha-lands of the ten directions. For this reason, vigor of body and speech is minor, whereas vigor of mind is major. In this way, the various sūtras extensively praise vigor: with single-minded right mindfulness one quickly attains the fruits of the Way; it is not necessary to have broad learning.

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Furthermore, the Mahāprajñāpāramitā-śāstra says: If one wishes to retain all that one hears, one should single-mindedly recollect it to cause mindfulness to increase. In matters of resemblance, one should focus one's mindfulness so as to know what is not seen. For example, the monk Cūḍapanthaka focused his mind on a shoe-cleaning cloth, recollected meditative absorption, and eliminated the defilements of the mind, thereby attaining the fruit of an arhat. That man was dull-witted and obtuse; when told to recite the two words "sweep" and "broom", he still could not master both: remembering "sweep", he forgot "broom"; remembering "broom", he forgot "sweep". If one so dull could still attain the noble Way, how much more so the sharp-witted! How could anyone in the world be duller than this? The Buddha's Dharma values practice, not non-practice. If only one can practice diligently, even if of little learning, one will still be the first to enter the Way.

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Furthermore, the Mahāvibhāṣā-śāstra says: It is like two men traveling together to a region: one rides a swift horse, and one rides a slow horse. Although riding a slow horse, because he started out earlier, he arrives first. Those who are liberated by faith, by diligently practicing vigor, arrive first at nirvāṇa; this refers to Cūḍa[panthaka] and the like.

83.25

Furthermore, the Saṭpāramitā-saṃgraha-sūtra says: The Buddha told the disciples, "You should be diligently vigorous in listening, chanting, and reciting; do not be indolent or covered by the hindrances. I recall that countless kalpas ago, there was a Buddha named Sarvatāra-rāja. At that time, there were two monks in the assembly: one named Vīryapratibhāna, and the other named Guṇaratikṣānti. Together they listened to the Dharma. Vīryapratibhāna rejoiced upon hearing the scripture, and immediately attained the stage of non-retrogression (avaivartika) and full endowment of supernatural powers. Guṇaratikṣānti slept without waking, and alone attained nothing. Then Vīryapratibhāna said to Guṇaratikṣānti, 'Buddhas are difficult to encounter; only once in hundreds of millions of generations does one appear. You should be diligently vigorous and serve as an exemplar for the multitude. Why do you sleep?' Hearing his instruction, Guṇaratikṣānti immediately practiced walking meditation. Just as he began walking among the Jeta trees, he stopped again and fell asleep. Agitated and confused like this, unable to calm himself, he went to the side of a spring, sat down intending to contemplate, and fell asleep again. Then Vīryapratibhāna, using skillful means, went to deliver him. He transformed into a king of bees and flew toward his eyes, as if about to sting him. Guṇaratikṣānti was startled awake and sat up; fearing this king of bees, after a short while he fell asleep again. Then the king of honeybees flew under his armpit and stung him on the chest and belly. Guṇaratikṣānti was startled, frightened in his heart, and dared not sleep again. At that time, in the spring water there were multicolored flowers of various pure colors. The king of honeybees flew and rested upon a flower, feeding on the taste of sweet nectar. Guṇaratikṣānti sat upright and watched it; fearing it would fly back, he dared not sleep, and contemplated the bee king, observing its origin. The bee king fed on the nectar without leaving the flower; in a short while, the bee king fell asleep, fell into the foul mud, and bathed its body therein; afterwards, it flew back and rested upon the flower. Then Guṇaratikṣānti spoke a verse to the king of honeybees:

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"You who feed on sweet nectar,
Your body attains peace and ease.
Should you not bring it back
To share with your wife and children?
Why fall into the mud,
Defiling your own body?
To act like this is without wisdom,
Ruining its taste of sweet nectar.
Furthermore, in such a flower,
It is not fit to stay for long.
When the sun sets, the flower closes again;
Should you seek to escape, you will not be able to.
You must wait for the sunlight
Before you can emerge once more.
The weariness and darkness of the long night—
Such is exceedingly bitter and painful."

83.27

Then the king of honeybees spoke a verse in reply to Guṇaratikṣānti:

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"The Buddha is likened to sweet nectar;
In hearing him, one is never satiated.
One should not be indolent,
Which brings no benefit to all.
The sea of birth and death in the five destinies
Is likened to falling into foul mud;
Bound and entangled by desire and craving,
Lacking wisdom, one is deeply deluded.
When the sun rises, the many flowers bloom,
Likened to the Buddha's physical body;
When the sun sets, the flowers close again,
Likened to the World-Honoured One's parinirvāṇa.
Meeting and seeing the Tathāgata's era,
One should receive it with diligent vigor,
Cast away the hindrance of sleep,
And not claim that the Buddha remains forever.
The essential wisdom of the profound Dharma
Is not based on physical causes and conditions;
That he now manifests attachments
Should be known as skillful means.
Those delivered through skillful means
Derive benefit and do not strive in vain;
And manifesting this transformation
Is also for the sake of all."

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When Guṇaratikṣānti heard this spoken, he immediately attained the endurance of the non-arising of dharmas, understood the foundation of all dharmas, and attained the dhāraṇī. The Buddha told Ānanda, "At that time, Vīryapratibhāna was my own person; Guṇaratikṣānti was Maitreya. At that time, I listened to the scriptures and Dharma together with Maitreya. Maitreya slept at that time and alone attained nothing. If I had not employed skillful means to rescue and deliver him, Maitreya would still remain in birth and death today, not yet having attained deliverance."

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Furthermore, the Dharmapada-avadāna-sūtra says: In the past, there was a monk who went daily outside the city to a charnel ground in the wilderness. The road passed through another person's field before he could arrive. When the owner saw him, he became angry, saying, "What kind of man of the Way is this, coming and going here every day without cultivating the Way and virtue?" He then asked the man of the Way, "What mendicant are you, crossing back and forth in my field, creating a trodden path?" The man of the Way replied, "I have a lawsuit and have come looking for witnesses, which is why I walk through your field." The field owner, possessing connected past karmic conditions that warranted deliverance, followed the man of the Way secretly. In the wilderness charnel ground, he saw corpses strewn about in disarray, swollen, stinking, and putrid, devoured by birds and beasts, scattered in different places; some were completely eaten, some half-eaten; some had the color of gray pigeons; maggots and worms sucked and gnawed at them, foul and repulsive to approach. The monk raised his hand and said to the man, "These birds and beasts are my witnesses." The man asked, "How are these birds and beasts your witnesses? With whom are you, monk, disputing?" The monk replied, "The mind's affliction has many outflows and troubles. I contemplate these skeletons to distinguish foul impurities, and then return to my room to contemplate my own body from head to foot, which is no different from them. Yet this mind runs astray in myriad directions, pursuing the illusory and false phenomena of forms, sounds, scents, tastes, and fine touches. I now wish to admonish the source of the mind: 'You, mind, should know! When giving rise to such thoughts, do not lead me into the hells and hungry ghosts!' I am currently an ordinary mortal not yet free from the fetters, yet this mind-thief does not obey commands. For this reason, I go daily to the wilderness to preach the notion of foul impurities to it, and speak to the mind again: 'The mind is impetuous, chaotic, and unsettled. Mind, you must now reform and create no evil conditions.'" When the field owner heard the instruction of the man of the Way, he wiped away tears with his hands, choked with emotion, and could hardly speak. Now, that field owner had cultivated the contemplation of impurity for ten thousand years under the Buddha Kāśyapa; he immediately distinguished the thirty-six foul and impure substances. At that time, the monk and the field owner attained the path of a stream-enterer (srotaāpanna) right there in that terrifying charnel ground in the wilderness. Thus we know that the former and later sages all admonished with earnest diligence: one must not be careless or indolent, harming one's future retribution. Relatives do not last long; they come together briefly through conditions. Good and evil return in mutual retribution; how can close and distant relations be fixed? One must not cling stubbornly with greed and attachment to family and home. Even if one attains glory and high status, it is temporary and does not last. Recently we see the foolish worldly people who do not understand impermanence: they lavishly build houses and acquire fields, cherish and dote on wives and children, and greedily seek fame and wealth without satiety; during their lifetime they do not know how to cultivate merit, and upon dying, everything belongs to others.

83.31

Furthermore, the Sūtra of Parables from the Dharmapada states: In the past, in a foreign land, there was a faithful layman (upāsaka) who made offerings to the Three Jewels without ever growing weary. At that time, there was a śramaṇa who was his close friend, who had attained supernormal powers and ended birth and death. Later, the layman fell gravely ill, and medical treatments could not cure him. At that time, his wife was at his side in bitter sorrow, saying: “Having lived as husband and wife, why must you alone suffer this pain? If you should die, upon whom shall I rely? Our children will be left orphans—whom shall they look up to for support?” Hearing her sorrowful yearning, the husband died immediately, and his spirit was reborn inside his wife's nose, transformed into a maggot. The wife wept bitterly, unable to restrain herself. At that time, the man of the Way came to visit the wife, having perceived that the husband had passed away and turned into a worm in her nose, wishing to advise and admonish her so that she might cast aside her sorrow. When the wife saw the man of the Way arrive, her sorrow only increased: “What can be done, Upādhyāya? My husband has died!” At that moment, the wife blew her nose, and the maggot fell to the ground. Feeling ashamed, the wife was about to step on it with her foot. The man of the Way told her: “Stop, stop! Do not kill it. This is your husband, transformed into this worm.” The wife said to the man of the Way: “My husband upheld the scriptures and kept the precepts; his vigor was hard to match. By what cause, at the end of his life, did he fall into being this worm?” The man of the Way replied: “It was because of your affectionate love, sorrowful cries, and lamentations, which gave rise to affectionate attachment, yearning, and sorrow in him. Because of this, at the end of his life, he fell straight into being a worm.” The man of the Way then expounded the scripture for the worm: “You vigorously upheld the scriptures and maintained the Dharma; by your merit, you ought to have been born in heaven before the Buddhas. Yet merely because of the thought of affectionate longing and yearning, you have fallen into being this worm; is this not shameful?” Hearing these words, the worm's mind opened and understood; it reproached itself, immediately ended its life, and was reborn above. Therefore, nowadays, one should only examine oneself to know the good and evil in the mind, correct faults to create merit, and scrutinize oneself for the sake of others, never being negligent and bringing loss upon one's future retribution.

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Section 4: Incremental Benefits

83.33

As the Candrapradīpa-samādhi-sūtra states: The Buddha said: If there is a bodhisattva who can practice vigor, they will obtain ten kinds of benefit. What are the ten? First, they are not overcome by others. Second, they are embraced by the Buddhas. Third, they are protected by non-humans. Fourth, having heard the Dharma, they do not forget it. Fifth, what they have not yet heard, they are able to hear. Sixth, they increase their eloquence. Seventh, they attain the nature of samādhi. Eighth, they have few sicknesses and few afflictions. Ninth, whatever food they obtain, once eaten, they can digest it. Tenth, like the utpala flower, they do not decay.

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Furthermore, the Mahāratnakūṭa-sūtra states: The fourth [perfection], vigor, has ten recollections: first, recollecting the Buddha's immeasurable merit; second, recollecting the Dharma's inconceivable liberation; third, recollecting the Saṃgha's purity and freedom from defilement; fourth, recollecting the practice of great loving-kindness to establish sentient beings; fifth, recollecting the practice of great compassion to rescue beings from all sufferings; sixth, recollecting those of the correctly determined group to encourage them joyfully to cultivate good; seventh, recollecting those of the wrongly determined group to rescue them and make them return to the origin; eighth, recollecting the hunger, thirst, heat, and torment of the hungry ghosts; ninth, recollecting the animals' prolonged endurance of various sufferings; tenth, recollecting the hells' full experience of burning and boiling. When a bodhisattva contemplates the merit of the Three Jewels through these ten recollections with single-minded, undisturbed focus, this is called vigor of right mindfulness.

83.35

Furthermore, the Ṣaṭpāramitā-sūtra states: There are also four kinds of vigor that are complete with wisdom. What are the four? First, diligence in hearing much; second, diligence in dhāraṇī; third, diligence in delighting in discourse; fourth, diligence in right conduct.

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Circumstances of Sympathetic Resonance (briefly citing five proofs):

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The Jin śramaṇa Bai Sengguang
The Jin śramaṇa Zhu Tanyou
The Song śramaṇa Shi Senggui
The Zhou śramaṇa Shi Huijing
The Sui śramaṇa Shi Tanxun

83.38

Under the Jin, at Mount Yinyue in Shan, there was Bai Sengguang, also called Tanguang, though where he was from is not known. From youth he practiced the discipline of dhyāna. At the beginning of the Yonghe era of the Jin, he traveled to the region east of the Yangtze and went to Mount Shicheng in Shan. The mountain folk all said: “In this area, there have long been calamities caused by ferocious beasts, and the mountain spirit behaves with violent abandon, so human traces have long ceased.” Sengguang showed no trace of fear; he hired men to cut a path and went forward carrying his staff. After walking several li, a great wind and rain suddenly arose, and a pack of tigers roared. Sengguang saw a stone chamber south of the mountain, so he stayed within it, peacefully seated in dhyāna with palms joined, making it his place of dhyāna dwelling. When dawn came, the rain ceased, and he entered the village to beg for food, returning inside in the evening. After three days, the mountain spirit appeared, sometimes in the form of a tiger, sometimes in the body of a serpent, vying to terrify Sengguang. Sengguang was not frightened at all. After three more days, he dreamt that he saw the mountain spirit, who said of himself: “I am moving to Mount Hanshi in Zhang'an County to live, and I yield this chamber to offer it to you.” Thereafter, woodcutters passed through, and both monastics and laity honored and served him. Those who delighted in dhyāna and came to learn built thatched huts beside the chamber, which gradually became a monastery, taking the name Yinyue. Whenever Sengguang entered concentration, he would not arise for seven days. He dwelt on the mountain for fifty-three years and lived to the age of one hundred and ten. At the end of the Taiyuan era of the Jin, he covered his head with his robe, sat peacefully, and passed away. The assembly of monks all thought he had entered concentration as usual. When seven days had passed, they wondered why he had not arisen, so they went together to look at him: his complexion was as usual, only that there was no breath in his nose. Although his spirit had departed long before, his physical body had not decomposed. In the second year of the Xiaojian era of the Song, Guo Hong took office in Shan and entered the mountain to pay homage. He tested it by touching the chest with a ruyi sceptre; a sudden wind arose, and the robe and flesh dissolved and scattered, leaving only white bones. Guo Hong was filled with great shame and fear; he gathered them into the chamber, piled bricks outside, and plastered them with mud, painting his likeness on it, which still exists today.

83.39

Under the Jin, at Mount Chicheng in Shifeng, there was Tanyou, also called Fayou, a native of Dunhuang. From youth he lived in ascetic practices and cultivated dhyāna concentration. Later he traveled to the region east of the Yangtze and stayed at Mount Shicheng in Shan, begging for food and sitting in dhyāna. Once, he went to beg for food at the home of someone who practiced witchcraft (gu); after Tanyou finished his dedication of merit, he suddenly saw a centipede leap out of the food. Tanyou ate heartily with no ill effect. Later he moved to a stone chamber on Mount Chicheng in Shifeng to sit in dhyāna. Several tens of ferocious tigers crouched before Tanyou; Tanyou recited the scriptures as before. One tiger alone fell asleep, so Tanyou tapped the tiger's head with his ruyi sceptre and scolded it: “Why do you not listen to the scripture?” Soon all the tigers left. Moments later, pythons and serpents vied to come forth, the largest being more than ten spans around; coiling around and circling back, they raised their heads toward Tanyou. After half a day, they also departed. The next day, a spirit appeared in form, came to Tanyou, and said: “Since the Dharma Master's majesty and virtue are weighty, and you have come to stay on this mountain, this disciple promptly yields his chamber to offer it to you.” Tanyou said: “This poor monk searched the mountains hoping to meet with you; why not dwell together?” The spirit said: “It is not that this disciple is unwilling, but my subordinates are not yet accustomed to the transformation of the Dharma, and it is difficult to restrain them at once. When people come and go from afar, they might infringe upon or offend each other; the paths of humans and spirits are different, which is why I am leaving.” Tanyou said: “What spirit were you originally? How long have you lived here, and where do you wish to move?” The spirit said: “This disciple is a son of the Xia Emperor. I have lived on this mountain for more than two thousand years. Mount Hanshi is ruled by my maternal uncle; I shall go there to dwell, and soon return to the Shanyin Shrine.” When parting, he took Tanyou's hand and presented him with three caskets of incense. Thereupon, beating drums and blowing horns, he soared through the clouds and departed. On Mount Chicheng there was an isolated crag, standing alone and exceptionally steep, brushing the clouds. Tanyou chipped the rocks to make a ladder, ascended the crag to sit in ease, and connected bamboos to convey water for his daily use. More than ten practitioners of dhyāna came to study under him. Wang Xizhi heard of this and purposely went to look up to him; gazing from afar at the height of the peak, he paid his respects and returned. The crags of Chicheng are connected to the Tiantai Waterfall, Lingxi, and Siming; and the hanging cliffs of Tiantai are steep and towering, its peaks cutting into the sky. The elders handed down the tradition that above there was an ancient monastery where those who had attained the Way resided. Although there was a stone bridge spanning the ravine, a horizontal stone blocked people, and the moss was green and slippery, so from antiquity onwards no one had been able to reach it. When Tanyou reached the bridge, he heard a voice from within a chamber say: “We know your sincerity, but now you cannot cross; ten years hence you shall naturally come.” Tanyou felt disappointed at heart and stayed overnight. He heard the sound of circumambulation and chanting of sādhu. At dawn, wanting to proceed again, he saw a man with snow-white beard and eyebrows, who asked Tanyou where he was going. Tanyou answered with his intentions in detail. The elder said: “You possess a body of birth and death; how could you go there? I am the mountain spirit, which is why I inform you.” Tanyou then withdrew and returned. On the road, passing a stone chamber, he stopped inside to rest. Soon, clouds and mist merged in darkness, yet inside the chamber it was completely bright. Tanyou's expression remained undisturbed. The next morning, he saw a person wearing an unlined robe and a qia cap arrive, saying: “This is my dwelling. Yesterday I went out and was not present, which caused a disturbance in my household, for which I feel deeply ashamed.” Tanyou said: “If this is your chamber, please let me return it to you.” The spirit said: “My family has already moved; please remain and dwell here now.” Tanyou stayed for a short while. Tanyou regretted not being able to cross the stone bridge. Later, having purified himself and fasted for many days, he wished to go once more. He saw the horizontal stone opened wide; crossing a little beyond the bridge, he beheld the monastery and divine monks, just as had been said. Thereupon he burned incense and took his midday meal. When the meal was finished, a divine monk said to Tanyou: “Ten years hence you shall naturally come here; now you cannot yet dwell.” Thereupon he returned; looking back, the horizontal stone had closed again as before. During the Taiyuan era of the Jin, an ominous star appeared. The Emperor issued an imperial edict to virtuous śramaṇas in all states, ordering them to fast, perform deśanā, and avert the calamity. Tanyou prayed with sincerity and had a hidden resonance: on the morning of the sixth day, he saw a boy in blue clothes come and repent his fault, saying: “I have troubled the Dharma Master in vain.” That evening, the star retreated. Another account says that the one who averted the star was Bai Sengguang; it is not clear which is correct. At the end of the Taiyuan era, Tanyou passed away in his mountain chamber; his corpse remained sitting upright, and his whole body turned green. At the end of the Yixi era of the Jin, the hermit Shen Shibiao entered the mountain and climbed the crag, still seeing Tanyou's corpse undecayed. Thereafter, whenever people wished to go and view it, they were bewildered by clouds and mist, and none could catch a glimpse. (The above two proofs are from the Liang Gaoseng zhuan.)

83.40

The monk Senggui of the Song was a monk of Wudang Temple. At that time, Zhang Yu of Jingzhao often invited Senggui to his home in this county to make offerings. On the fifth day of the twelfth month of the first year of Yongchu, without any illness, he suddenly died abruptly, but revived and recovered after two days. He recounted: During the second watch on the night of the fifth day, he heard a clamour in the alleyway outside the gate. Presently he saw five men holding blazing torches and carrying messenger banners come directly into the room. They shouted at Senggui, and Senggui thereupon collapsed, falling dazed onto the bed. The five men then bound him with a red cord and led him away. They came to a mountain completely devoid of grass and trees; the soil was hard and black, resembling stone and iron. White bones were piled up on both sides of the mountain. After several tens of li along the mountain, they came to a three-forked road. There was a man who was extremely tall and robust, clad in armour and holding a staff. He asked: 'How many have come with the five men?' They answered: 'Just one person.' The five men then led Senggui down one path. Soon they reached a city; outside were several tens of houses made of rammed earth. In front of the houses was an upright timber over a hundred feet tall, atop which was an iron beam shaped like a well-sweep. To its left and right were chests storing earth. The earth had various grades: some amounted to ten bushels, yet appeared only as large as five pints. There was a man whose clothes and turban were all red, who said to Senggui: 'What sins and merits did you have during your lifetime? Speak truthfully; do not speak falsely.' Senggui was terrified and had not yet answered when the red-clad man, who seemed to be a bureau officer, said: 'We can open the ledger to examine his sins and merits.' After a short while, the officer went beneath the tall timber, lifted a chest of earth, and hung it on the iron beam to weigh it. It seemed to tilt high and low. The officer said to Senggui: 'This is a scale for weighing sins and merits. Your merits are few and your sins are many; you should first receive punishment.' Suddenly there was a senior man dressed in robes and a cap, who said to Senggui: 'You are a śramaṇa. Why do you not be mindful of the Buddha? I have heard that repenting one's faults can save one from the eight difficult conditions.' Thereupon Senggui single-mindedly invoked the Buddha. The man in robes and cap said to the officer: 'You may weigh it again for this man. Since he is a disciple of the Buddha, he may fortunately be delivered.' The officer then put the chest back on to weigh it, and the scale became completely level. Afterwards, they brought Senggui before a presiding official to interrogate him. The presiding official held a brush, looked at the ledger, and hesitated for a long time. There was another man in vermilion robes and a black cap, wearing a seal on a ribbon and holding a jade tablet, who came and said: 'On the ledgers of lifespans, this man's name is not yet present.' The presiding official was astonished and ordered his attendants to make an arrest, saying [the name]. Presently the five men from before were seen brought in, tied backward. The presiding official said: 'You deadly demons, why have you brought someone arbitrarily?' and had them flogged. After a short while, a messenger claiming to be from the Heavenly Emperor summoned the man of the Way to come. When he arrived at the Emperor's palace, all that he experienced and walked through was mostly gold and jewels, radiating brilliant light that could not be gazed upon steadily. The Emperor's attendants wore vermilion robes and jewelled caps, adorned with blossoms and precious gems. The Emperor said: 'You are a śramaṇa. Why were you not diligent in your practice, and instead were unlawfully arrested by petty demons?' Senggui bowed his head to the Buddhas, praying for grace and entreating for blessings. The Emperor said: 'Your lifespan is not yet exhausted; you shall now return to life. You should be diligent and energetic, and do not frequently visit the houses of laypeople. The deadly demons who seize people also make many wrongful and arbitrary arrests, as in your case.' Senggui asked: 'By what means may one be saved and spared from the disaster of arbitrary capture?' The Emperor said: 'Broadly establishing meritorious deeds is best. If you cannot manage that, you may observe the Eight-fold Uposatha; to avoid accidental calamity in life and to escape hell after death is the next best.' Having finished speaking, he sent Senggui away. Senggui had not walked back long when he saw a monastery with a great many śramaṇas; he saw White Dharma Master, the abbot of Wudang Temple, and his disciple Huijin, all present there. The dwellings were vast and neat, and the necessities of life were spontaneously provided. Senggui requested to reside there. A śramaṇa said: 'This is a land of merit; it is not a place you may occupy.' The messenger brought Senggui back to Zhang Yu's house and then departed. He Danzhi of Donghai was the Grand Minister of Agriculture under the Song. He did not believe in the scriptural teachings and committed many cruel harms. During the Yongchu era, he fell ill and saw a demon, extremely tall and robust in form, with an ox's head and a human body, holding an iron pitchfork and guarding him day and night. Terrified and panic-stricken, he had Daoists write petitions, talismans, seals, and registers, preparing all kinds of exorcisms, yet he still saw it as before. The śramaṇa Huiyi, an acquaintance of his, heard of his illness and went to visit him. Danzhi recounted to him what he had seen. Huiyi said: 'This is the ox-headed horse-faced warder. Sins and merits are not obscured; they are incurred solely by oneself. If you can turn your mind toward the Dharma, this demon will naturally disappear.' Danzhi was obdurate in his delusion and would not reform. Shortly afterward, he died. (The one verification above is from Mingxiang ji.)

83.41

In the second year of Datong of the [Liang], Dharma Master Huijing was the temple abbot; his moral conduct was pure and lofty. Earlier, Dharma Master Huizhen had built two dhūta huts on the mountain behind the temple, which were constantly guarded and protected by benevolent deities. On the twentieth day of the fourth month of the first year of Putong, there was a newly ordained monk, Huizheng, who went into the huts to recite the precepts. Becoming slightly weary and slack, the mountain deity manifested in bodily form, also wearing black clothes, ten feet tall, holding a cord in his hand. Huizheng was frightened and returned to the temple. On the fifteenth day of the fourth month of the eighth year of Putong, the temple monk Sengfu went to these huts, vowing to recite sūtras for the whole summer retreat. On the very first day, he recited and studied without flagging. On the second day, he returned to the temple to rest. In an instant, a rock fell from the mountain, the sound like thunder and lightning, and a boulder struck the hut. Sengfu leapt up in alarm, apologized, and recited sūtras, not daring to sleep again. Around midday on the twelfth day of the fourth month of the fourth year of Datong, there was a visiting monk named Fazhen whose family was in Shouyang; he came to the temple to worship, and proceeded to the mountain behind the temple. Seeing that there had long been a fine spring in a rock cave, with extremely clean and pure water, he then sat in meditation there. In an instant, a voice in the air told him to move away, but he did not budge at all. Presently a tiger came and grabbed his head with its forepaws, blood streaming down his face. After more than forty days, his wounds healed and he left. On the fifth day of the second month of the first year of Zhongdatong, the mountain deity of Sheshan manifested his form, wearing a bodhisattva's kerchief and draped in a kāṣāya, with an extremely handsome appearance, attended by more than thirty followers to his left and right, with one person in front holding an incense burner. He came into the meditation hall to the quarters of Dharma Master Hongshi, seated himself on a folding chair, conversed with the Dharma Master, and invited the temple assembly to practice the Way. Further, on the night of the fourth day of the fourth month of that year, at that time there was a great wind, and the monks of the meditation hall, Zhiyuan and others, heard what sounded like the footsteps of several tens of people outside. In the latter part of the night, they saw that beside the doorway there was a wooden image. Zhiyuan and the others then returned to the main temple to conclude the fast. By the time they returned and opened the door of the meditation hall, they saw this image already seated on the meditation bench. They found a sheet of writing instructing them to place it in the rock cave behind the old meditation hall. When Huiqian first tried to lift it, it would not move; once he said, 'It shall be moved to the rock cave,' it was lifted with ease. On the fourteenth day of the fifth month of that year, [the deity] further wrote on a piece of stone for the two monks Huijing and Zhiyuan, instructing them to plant bamboo behind the meditation hall, referring to himself by the name Bodhi.

83.42

During the Sui dynasty, Shi Tanxun of Baijian Mountain Temple in Huai Prefecture had the secular surname Yang and was a native of Huayin in Hongnong. He disciplined himself and practiced austerities, taking mind-learning as his guiding principle. Searching afar for hermits in the rocky heights, he traveled to Linluoquan Temple north of Bailu Mountain, where he met Meditation Master Tanzhun, who transmitted the meditation method to him. He also went to Meditation Master Chou's place to inquire about the crossing and the Way; he was treated with great courtesy and deeply savoured the taste of dhyāna. After three summer retreats, he moved to reside in Lutugu to practice meditation. It happened that a dry spring welled forth again, and roe deer and elaphures encircled the courtyard; thus obtaining sweet water and tamed beasts, he daily aided his neighbors in the Way. The disciples who followed his study congratulated each other on these auspicious omens. Once, while on a brief journey to Yunmen to request the Dharma, he encountered a path obscured by dark fog and lost his way; suddenly he was guided by a mountain deity who showed him the path, whereupon he met the original route. This was his spiritual influence moving the unseen world, such that the spirits defended and escorted him. At that time, a thief came to steal vegetables; just as he was about to leave the garden, he was stung by a swarm of bees. Xun heard of it and came to the rescue, treating him with a compassionate mind so that his remaining life was preserved. Once, a man from Zhao came from afar, earnestly paying homage and stating: 'Your disciple died of an illness and revived; I went and saw King Yama, who interrogated me, and I was about to be cast into hell. Fortunately, I relied on Master Xun, who came to plead for my life, and the King therefore released and pardoned me. Having never met you in this life, I inquired afar to confirm it.' Moreover, while walking in the mountains, he came upon two tigers fighting, which did not cease for days on end. Xun held his staff and separated them, shielding them with his own body, and said: 'Living together in the forest, by rights you have no great estrangement. I hope you will each go your own way; why must you persist in anger?' Hearing this, the tigers hung their heads, swallowed their wrath, and dispersed. He repeatedly encountered bears and tigers fighting incessantly; in all cases Xun went to save them, roughly as related above. When he entered samādhi, birds were not disturbed, and beasts looked upon him as their kin. Furthermore, his secret merit moved living beings, his manifest application concealed benevolence. Every time he entered meditation, seven days was the period; a white tiger entered his room and dwelt together with him in the cavernous chamber. He lived alone in a quiet courtyard, not leaving for ten years. Emperor Wen of the Sui revered his virtue, repeatedly sending imperial letters with royal seals, along with successive gifts of incense and offerings over many years. In the early years of the Kaihuang era, his wind rash suddenly worsened, and he died at Baijian Mountain Temple at the age of eighty. When he first fell critically ill, suddenly a divine light shone brightly, and a fragrant breeze brushed the door. Moreover, it moved a strange bird with a white neck and red body, which flew circling in the air around the courtyard, its cries sorrowful and mournful. When his breath reached its final extremity, the bird rested on the base of the hall, naturally tamed and close, not fearing humans or animals. Sometimes it was at the door of the chamber, or beside his sleeping mat, mourning even more intensely, tears of blood welling in its eyes. Once he passed away, the bird flew out into the open sky, wheeled around, and suddenly vanished into flight. It also moved a fierce tiger to roar around the courtyard. For two nights there was dark fog, and for three days a gloom hung heavy; in addition, mountains crumbled, rocks fell, forests were destroyed, and gullies blocked. Humans and beasts were startled and panicked, losing their footing. How could one exhaustively record his moving spiritual omens? (The two verifications above from the world are from Tang Gaoseng zhuan.)

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法苑珠林 — 道世, Classical Chinese