出三藏記集 12.22

12.22

I have often heard the saying about weeping tears to swell the Yellow River, and the discussion about carrying a handful of earth to augment Mount Tai. Though the mockery originated in antiquity, the shame gathers upon me today. Swept along by former causes, I, Sengyou, was reborn into Jambudvīpa. In my youth I donned the dyed robes and early on filled the ranks of the Saṃgha. Yet my wise understanding has not matured, and the flavor of dhyāna has left no trace. The breaths of each kṣaṇa have accumulated in vain; of minuscule diligence, not even a foundation has been laid. Therefore, dread knots within me at the morning incense, and shame stirs at the evening bell; through vast dusty kalpas I have fruitlessly watched the tallies be counted down. Yet I have privately taken a steadfast vow, setting my resolve on the Mahāyāna, receiving the Vaipulya atop my head and letting my mind roam through the four Āgamas. Furthermore, my mountain chamber was quiet and remote, the springs and pines serene and dense. During intervals between lecture seats and in the spare days from monastic affairs, I broadly inquired into the scriptures, taking perusal as my task. At times I forgot my meals for whole days; at times I kept the lamps burning through the night. My short-lived strength competed against the rushing waves; my shallow knowledge vied for every inch of shadow. Although peering through a tube leaves one blind to the sky, and measuring with a conch leaves one bewildered by the sea, still, through letting my eyes roam and accumulating my thoughts, I had some slight awakenings. Thereupon I compiled what I had heard into admonitions called treasures of the Dharma: reverently drawing upon the sūtras and consulting external records and traditions, grouping matters by category and distinguishing principles by rule. To illuminate the enlightened response, I prefaced the genealogy of Śākyamuni; to delineate the six destinies, I recounted the records of the worlds; to correct the translations of sūtras, I compiled the catalogue of the Tripiṭaka; to revere the vinaya source, I selected the traditions of masters and disciples; to encompass the fountain of merit, I composed the chapters of the Dharma Garden; to protect and uphold the correct teaching, I collected the treatises illuminating the great truth. Moreover, in my youth I received the vinaya studies and devoted my mind to the Vinaya, reciting and upholding it morning and evening for some forty years, and lecturing on it through the seasons more than seventy times. Having received its principles from my late master, I did not dare let them fall away. I drew up its rules and sections into a vinaya record in ten fascicles, and together with miscellaneous stelae and inscriptions I compiled it into one wrapper. In total, what I have collected amounts to eight works. I hope they may slightly inspire present endeavors and provide something to rely on for future ferries. How could I claim to narrate well? I only hope it is not reckless fabrication. Yet the principles are profound while my understanding is shallow, and there is much that is incomplete. If the wise and discerning should perchance examine them, may they grasp them with their minds, so that along different paths they may together attain the fruit of the place of awakening.