佛所行讚 5.6

5.6

The venerable Ānanda, seeing the earth tremble everywhere,
Was startled in mind and his body's hair stood on end; he asked the Buddha what the cause might be.
The Buddha told Ānanda: "I shall abide in life for three months,
And have relinquished the remainder of my life-formation; therefore the earth shakes greatly."
Ānanda, hearing the Buddha's teaching, was overcome with grief, his tears streaming down,
Just like a mighty elephant shaking a sandalwood tree,
Agitating it with pressing distress so that its fragrant sap flows down like tears:
"He is close, revered, the Great Teacher and Lord; his kindness is deep, and I have not yet abandoned desire;
Only because of these four matters can I not bear my sorrowful pain.
Now that I hear the World-Honoured One's definitive instruction on entering nirvāṇa,
My entire body withers and collapses; I lose my bearings and my ordinary voice fails,
All the Dharma I have heard is forgotten, and in wild panic the heavens and earth vanish.
How monstrous! The Savior of the world—how swiftly he passes into extinction!
Like one who meets cold water and is near death, then encounters fire which suddenly goes out again;
In the wilderness of the defilements, bewildered and having lost his way,
He suddenly meets an excellent guide, yet before being led across, suddenly loses him again.
Like a man journeying through a vast desert, parched with heat and long deprived of water,
Who suddenly comes upon a cool, clear pond, but running toward it, finds it completely dried up.
Your eyes with dark-blue lashes and fixed pupils clearly illuminate the three periods of time;
Your wisdom shines upon the dark and hidden—how can that darkness fall so quickly?
Just like sprouts in an arid field, looking up with hope for rain as clouds arise,
Yet a sudden storm quickly dispels the clouds, leaving them in despair, guarding an empty field.
In the great darkness of ignorance, all living beings lose their way;
The Tathāgata lit the lamp of wisdom, yet suddenly it is extinguished, leaving no way to emerge."
The Buddha, hearing Ānanda's speech, so bitter in appeal and tragic in sentiment,
Spoke soothing words to comfort him, expounding the true Dharma:
"If one understands the nature of reality, one should not dwell in sorrow and grief;
All conditioned things are phenomena destined for destruction.
I have already told you that separation is the nature of every gathering;
Affectionate love is by principle impermanent; you should abandon your sorrowful longing.
Conditioned phenomena are flux and movement, rising and perishing without self-mastery;
To wish to make them endure long is utterly impossible.
If conditioned things were permanent and without alteration,
That itself would be liberation—
Where else would one seek it? What do you and the other living beings
Seek from me now? What you all ought to attain,
I have already finished explaining; what use is this body of mine?
The wondrous Dharma-body endures forever; I abide in my tranquility,
And what is essential lies solely in this. Yet toward living beings,
I have never grown weary. You should cultivate the thought of weariness and detachment,
And dwell well on your own island. Know that to be your own island
Is to be dedicated, diligent in skillful means, dwelling quietly alone in retirement,
Not following reliance upon another. Know that to take the Dharma as an island
Is to be a lamp of certain, bright wisdom that can dispel the darkness of delusion,
Contemplating the four domains. Attaining the supreme Dharma,
One is free from self and free from what belongs to self: a skeleton of bone daubed with skin and flesh,
Moistened with blood and bound with sinews. Looking closely, it is all impure;
How could one take delight in this body? Feelings all arise from conditions,
Like bubbles upon the water, impermanent and suffering in arising and ceasing,
Far removed from any thought of pleasure. The mind and consciousness arise, abide, and perish,
Renewing anew without pausing for an instant. When one contemplates cessation,
Any thought of permanence has long been broken. All formations arise from conditions,
Gathering and dispersing, never permanently together. The foolish give rise to the idea of a self;
The wise have nothing that belongs to a self. In these four domains,
Reflecting and contemplating correctly: this is the One-Vehicle path,
Where all sufferings are completely extinguished. If one can dwell in this,
With authentic, correct contemplation, whether the Buddha's body remains or perishes,
This Dharma is eternally inexhaustible." While the Buddha spoke this wondrous Dharma
To comfort Ānanda, the Licchavis heard of it,
And, filled with terror, all gathered together. Abandoning their worldly courtly manners,
They hastened to the Buddha's place; having paid homage, they sat to one side,
Wishing to ask, but unable to speak. The Buddha, already knowing their minds,
Forestalled them with skillful words: "Now observing you,
Your minds hold unusual thoughts: you have cast aside worldly concerns and duties,
With hearts only mindful of the Dharma. What you now wish from me
To hear and to know: regarding my remaining or perishing,
Take care not to give rise to grief and sorrow. The nature of impermanent, conditioned things
Consists of restless, mutable phenomena, unstable and without benefit,
Having no character of long endurance. The ancient ṛṣi-kings,
The ṛṣi Vasiṣṭha and others, the Cakravartin Māndhātṛ,
And their peers were very numerous. All such former superiors,
With power like Maheśvara, have long since perished,
Not one surviving to this day. The sun, the moon, and Śakra Devendra,
Very numerous as they are, all return to extinction;
There is none that endures permanently. The Buddhas of the past,
In number like the sands of the Ganges, whose wisdom illuminated the world,
Have all been extinguished like lamps. The Buddhas of the future
Will pass away in just the same manner; how could I alone be different?
I must enter into nirvāṇa. Since there are those there who should be delivered,
It is now fitting to proceed forward. Vaiśālī is pleasant and joyful;
You should remain at ease. The world offers no refuge,
And the three realms are not fit for delight; you should halt sorrow, grief, and pain,
And generate a mind free from desire." Having thus resolved upon long farewell,
He wandered toward the north, slowly proceeding along the long road,
Like the sun approaching the western hills.
At that time the Licchavis followed along the road, weeping and chanting,
Looking up to heaven and lamenting: "Alas, what an astonishing thing!
This form like a mountain of true gold, fully adorned with the marks,
Must before long crumble away? How uncompassionate is impermanence!
In birth and death, long parched with thirst, the Tathāgata was the mother of wisdom,
Yet now he suddenly abandons us; how can this suffering without a savior be borne?
Living beings have long been in darkness, relying on bright wisdom to proceed;
How can the sun of wisdom suddenly conceal its light?
Ignorance is a swift current, sweeping living beings away in its waves;
How can the bridge of the Dharma suddenly collapse in a single day?
The great Physician King of loving-kindness and compassion, with the supreme medicine of wisdom,
Cures the sufferings of living beings; how can he suddenly depart far away?
The wondrous heavenly banner of loving-kindness and compassion, adorned with wisdom,
Interwoven with a diamond-like heart, which the world never tires of viewing,
The lofty banner adorning the sacrificial rites—why does it suddenly fall in a single day?
How meager is the merit of living beings! Whirling in the current of birth and death,
The gate of liberation is suddenly shut, with long suffering and no time of escape!"
The Tathāgata comforted them well, severed emotional ties, and bade a long farewell.
Controlling their minds, they bore their sorrow and longing, like withered karṇikāra flowers;
Lingering and halting, sorrowful and despondent, they walked along the road,
Like people who have lost their parents and, the burial finished, return after their final parting.