出三藏記集 7.51

7.51

Now, the six lines [of the hexagrams] produce one another, suspended alongside the sun and moon without changing; once two characters are uttered, they outlast heaven and earth without altering. Although writing does not fully express speech, speech cannot be made clear without writing; although speech does not fully express thought, thought cannot be articulated without speech. Therefore, one listens attentively and reflects well, receiving this benefit and joy; bowing the head and bending the knees, one reverently receives and upholds it. Whether reading or reciting, whether spoken in the past or spoken now, not a single sound or single verse fails to be a boat or bridge; every single praise and every single invocation constantly becomes a cart and track. How much more so when the five powers are rounded out and the four means of embracing are unflagging, opening the gate of expedient means, revealing the true mark, disseminating the subtle teachings of the vaipulya, and attaining the supreme cause of bodhi! Bathing in this jeweled pool and illuminated by this Dharma torch, fragrant clouds drift gently and the dew of wisdom flows abroad; issuing from the marvelous city of Gayā, springing forth from the jeweled trees of the śāla. His Highness the Prince of Jian'an harbors refinement; his fundamental nature nurtures virtue to form his character. His reputation for benevolence overflows like autumn waters; his moral beauty shines like the winter sun. His deeds surpass the Ancestral Mound and the Rabbit Park; his fame eclipses the earlier Yi and later Cang. He diminishes himself to benefit others, forgetting the self to save beings; broadly conversant and universally benevolent, he is without hindrance or partiality. Like an empty valley that must echo, like a great bell that receives in emptiness, he protects the Dharma and promotes the Dao, delighting in doing good. Furthermore, he planted manifest causes through eternal kalpas and inherits marvelous fruits in this present life; lodging his intention in continuation and prosperity, he focuses his mind on taking refuge. He subtly penetrates emptiness and existence, deeply discerning expedient and real. Yet his jade body has been unwell, compromised by cold and heat. In practicing benevolence none was more evident, yet the Lord of Chu daily saw his recovery; in bestowing virtue without words, the Chancellor of Han only then enjoyed his pleasure. Cassia leaves and turtle brains are certainly easy to dispel wind and cold; litchi blossoms and luan bones may further cause one to soar aloft. How much more so with the body of wisdom gradually developing and roots of goodness planted from past lives! There is no need to wash the bowels and cleanse the stomach; there is no waiting to observe the complexion and examine the voice. There was a resident of Nanhai Commandery in Guangzhou named He Gui. In the fourteenth year of the Tianjian era, with the year in xieqia and the month in huangzhong, on the twenty-third day of the tenth month (515 CE), he gathered medicinal herbs on Mount Huyi in Yuzhang. Fortunately not an exiled son or banished minister, he was rather akin to one seeking immortals or inviting hermits. Climbing the peak for some ten li, there was a rustling sound as if someone were coming. As he was about to follow a winding path, he was first blocked by a clear stream; at times it seemed like stagnant water, then suddenly had a pure flow. Just as he was about to wade across and gather up his clothes, before crossing over, he suddenly and unconsciously saw an elder on the western bank of the stream. He told He Gui not to cross. He Gui immediately stopped. That person's facial complexion was purely dark green; he went barefoot without shoes. His age was around eighty or ninety; his face was already wrinkled, his beard five or six inches long, his mustache half the length of his beard. His ears extended beyond his eyebrows, and his eyebrows both hung downward. The long hairs of his eyebrows were two or three inches long, swaying with the wind. His lips were very red, and his voice was resonant and clear. His fingernails were purely yellow, and the hair on his fingers was also two or three inches long. He wore an ochre cloth cape, and underneath he had an ochre cloth antarvāsa. In his hand he held a scroll of scripture, which he cast from afar to He Gui. He Gui immediately received and held it, bowing three times from a distance. He told He Gui: 'You may give this sūtra to the Prince of Jian'an,' and also mentioned the Prince's surname and given name. 'When this sūtra arrives, he should hold a three-week fast for illness. If he does not understand the method of the fast, he may ask Master Fu of Xialin Temple.' Master Fu was someone whose observance of the precepts was rigorous and ascetic, tranquil and non-acting; he abandoned cravings, treated the noble and base alike, sustained himself on greens and beans, and was unflagging in dhyāna quietude. When this elder finished speaking, he departed. Within ten or so paces, he was suddenly seen no more. He Gui opened the scroll and reverently inspected it; its title was the Huiyin sanmei jing (Jñānamudrā-samādhi-sūtra). The purport of the sūtra takes the non-characteristic ultimate Dharmakāya as its substance; its principle transcends the hundred negations, and its doctrines and metaphors go beyond names and marks. Serene, it is identical with the nature of dharmas; subtle, it equals suchness. It means that wisdom merging with this principle is like a perpetual seal, with the mind illuminating in congealed tranquility; hence it is named samādhi. Afterward there was also the Ji zhu fangdeng xue jing. Below this it was also inscribed: 'Sangha of Tianzhu, Sahobhe(?), gave it to King Haihu.' The purport of the sūtra is to circulate the ultimate teaching with proper norms and forms; thus it admonishes and instructs great beings on the methods of transforming beings, saying that if one is to deliver all the common people, one should promote the teachings of the vaipulya. 'Vaipulya' is the general name for the Mahāyāna, the ultimate and vast principle. Its roller inscription states: 'Produced by the Bodhisattva-śramaṇa Zhi Fahu (Dharmarakṣa) of Dunhuang, with Zhu Fashou as scribal recorder; joined into a single fascicle and copied for circulation.' The roller used pure lacquer; the writing was extremely tight and neat, and the punctuation and layout were impressive. Investigating its doctrinal purport, it is at times subtle, at times manifest; it states that on Mount Luoyue (Rājagṛha) one practices dhāraṇī, having neither coming nor going, neither abiding nor ceasing. This is indeed a separate record from Vulture Peak and the Crane Grove, a subsequent account from the Jeweled Palace and the Solitary Garden; it is no different from a jade tally, no different from a jeweled casket. Its principles transcend the subtle and imperceptible, and its words profoundly elicit deep meaning. This is indeed an authentic discourse, never a heterodox teaching. Even Wang Zun's obtaining the Forty-Two Sections or An Qing's producing the One Hundred and Sixty Chapters could not cause any doubt or divergence.