MY 43RD YEAR
(1882/83)
Over twenty years had passed since I cut off my family ties in order to leave lay life. As my spiritual attainments were as yet incomplete, and as I was still drifting about, I felt very ashamed. In order to pay back my debt of gratitude to my parents, I decided to go on pilgrimage to Pu-tuo in the east and thence to Mount Wu- tai (Five-Peaked Mountain) in the north. I stayed a few months at Pu-tuo, where I made excellent progress with my spiritual training in the mountain stillness. On the first day of the seventh lunar month, I set out from the thatched temple of Fa-hua carrying burning incense on the way to Wu-tai. I vowed to prostrate myself at every third step on this long journey until my destination had been reached. On the first leg of the journey I had with me the four Chan monks, Bian-zhen, Qiu-ning, Shan-xia and Jue-cheng. After crossing the sea by ferry, we were not many days on the road before stopping off at Huzhou. My four traveling companions went their way at Suzhou and Changzhou and carried on alone. When I arrived at Nanjing,12 I paid reverence to the stupa (round building erected as shine) of Master Fa-rong on
12
Modern-day Nanjing is on the site of what used to be the ancient city of Jin-ling. Master Fa-rong (594-657) was a disciple of Dao-xin, the Fourth Chan Patriarch, and had a temple in Mount Niu-tou, south Nanjing.
Mount Niu-tou (Oxhead Mountain) and then crossed the river proceeding to Shi-zi Shan (Lion Mountain) and Pu-kou, where I stopped to pass the New Year in the temple.
MY 44TH YEAR
(1883/84)
That year, I walked holding incense-offerings from Mount Shi-zi to the north of the Jiangsu Province and entered Henan Province, subsequently passing through Feng-yang, Hao-zhou, Hao-ling and Mount Song, site of the Shao-lin Temple. Passing on, I eventually reached the Bai-ma (White Horse) Monastery at Luo-yang. I walked by day and rested night, no matter whether it blew or rained, in either fair or foul weather. Thus, prostrating myself at every third step, I recited the name of Manjusri Bodhisattva with singleness of mind, oblivious of either hunger or the warmth of my fill.
On the first day of the twelfth month, I reached the Tie-xie ferry on the Huang-he (Yellow River), passed the tombs of Guang-wu, and stopped at a nearby inn. The next day, I crossed the river and when I reached the other bank it was already dark, so I dared not walk on. As the place was deserted I stopped there, entering an empty thatched hut by the roadside where I sat. That night the cold was intense and there was also a heavy snowfall. When I opened my eyes the following morning, I saw the whole countryside was white with over a foot of snow. All roads were blocked and the place was devoid of travelers. As I could not resume my journey, I sat reciting the Buddha’s name. I suffered greatly from hunger and cold since the hut had no enclosure. I huddled myself up in a corner. As heavier snow fell, the cold became more intense and my hunger greater. It seemed as if only
my breath remained, but fortunately my ‘right thought’ (right mindfulness, even under duress) was intact. After three days, with the same snowfall, the same cold and hunger, I gradually sank into a state of confusion. In the afternoon of the sixth day I dimly saw a faint image of the sun, but I was by then gravely ill. On the seventh day a beggar came and, seeing that I was sleeping in the snow, asked me some questions, but I could not speak. He realized that I was ill from the cold, swept away the snow, took some straw from the hut, kindled a fire and cooked a gruel of yellow rice, which he gave me. I was thus warmed and brought back to life.
He asked me, ‘Where did you come from?’ ‘From Pu-tuo,’ I replied.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked. ‘On pilgrimage to Wu-tai,’ I replied. ‘What is your name?’ I inquired. ‘Wen-ji,’13 he said.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘I came from Wu-tai and am returning to Xi’an,’ he replied.
I asked, ‘Since you came from Wu-tai, do you know people in the monasteries there?’
‘Everybody knows me there,’ he said.
I asked, ‘What places do I have to pass through from here to Wu- tai?’
13
According to tradition, Manjusri vowed to accompany every pilgrim to his holy site (Bodhimandala) at Wu-tai. He is said to appear as a beggar and in other guises in order to help pilgrims. The Chinese Buddhists believe that ‘Wen-ji’ who figures in the text here was actually manjusri (Chin. Wen-shu) and that he wished to help Master Xu-yun.
He replied, ‘Meng-xian, Huai-qing, Huang Shanling, Xinzhou, Tai- gu, Taiyuan, Taizhou and E-gou, thence straight into the mountains. As you first reach the Bi-mo Grotto, there is a monk there called Qing-yi who hails from the south and his self- cultivation has been excellent.’
I asked, ‘How far is it from here to the mountains?’
‘A little over two thousand li (about 620 miles),’ he replied.
At sunrise, the beggar cooked up a gruel of yellow rice using ice- water to boil it with. Pointing to the contents of the pot, he asked, ‘Do you have this in Pu-tuo?’14
‘No,’ I replied.
‘What do you drink there?’ the beggar asked. ‘Water,’ I replied.
As the snow in the pot had fully melted, he pointed his finger at the water and asked, ‘What is it?’15
As I did not reply, he asked, ‘What are you seeking for in your pilgrimage to the famous mountain of Wu-tai?’16
I replied, ‘I did not see my mother when I was born; my purpose is to repay my debt of gratitude I owe her.’
14
Here, Wen-ji (Manjusri) probed the Master by his question, which means, ‘My mind is pointing at the ice and asks you this question,’ and also ‘Were you taught to realize your mind at Pu-tuo?’ The bodhisattva continued probing the Master with subsequent questions which the latter did not understand, for he was as yet unenlightened.
15
Water symbolizes the self-nature and the question is loaded with meaning.
16
Again, a meaningful question, because in the practice of Chan, a student is taught to avoid seeking after anything in order to realize the absolute state which is beyond gain and loss.
He said, ‘What with a bag on your back, the distance involved, plus the cold, would you be able to reach Wu-tai? I advise you to cancel your pilgrimage.
I replied, ‘I have taken my vow and will fulfill it regardless of the distance and time required.’
He said, ‘Your vow is a difficult one to undertaken. Today, the weather has improved, but all the roads are still blocked with snow. You can resume your journey by following my tracks. Some twenty li further on there is a temple in which you can stay.
We then parted company. As the snow was deep I could not prostrate myself as I had before, but only looked at the footprints to pay my respects. When I reached the Monastery at ‘Little Jin- shan (Xiao Jin-shan) I passed the night there. Next morning, carrying incense, I continued my pilgrimage and passed through Meng-xian. On my way from there to Huai-qing, an old Abbot by the name of De-lin saw me from there to Huai-qing, an old Abbot by the name of De-lin saw me prostrating on the road, came up, took over my stool and incense sticks and said, ‘The Venerable Sir is invited to my monastery.’ Then he called his disciples to take my baggage to the temple, where I was treated with great courtesy.
After food and tea had been served in the temple, my host asked about the starting-point from which I had begun my walk and prostrations. I spoke of my vow to repay the debt of gratitude I owed my parents which I had begun to fulfill when leaving Pu-tuo two years before. During our conversation, the Abbot came to know of the fact that I had been ordained at Mount Gu. With tears rolling down his cheeks, he said, ‘I had two Chan companions, one from Heng-yang and the other from Fuzhou. We three went on pilgrimage together to Mount Wu-tai. After staying together at this monastery for thirty years, they left and I have
not heard news of them since. Now that I hear your Hunanese accent, and since you are also a disciple from Mount Gu, I feel that I have met my old companions again, which moves me deeply. I am now 85. Our monastery’s source of revenue was originally regular but has been somewhat reduced owing to the bad crops in recent years. This heavy snowfall augurs a good crop next year, so you can stay here, Venerable Sir.’ Earnestly and sincerely, he urged me to stay over the winter.
MY 45TH YEAR
(1884/85)
On the second of the first lunar months, I went from Hon-fu Monastery to Huai-qing carrying incense offerings en route, returning to the monastery again for another short stay, intending to leave soon. On the third day, I bade farewell to the old Abbot De-lin, who was tearful and did not like losing my company. With parting good wishes I left, and in the same day reached Huai-qing again. Inside its walls was ‘Little Nan-hai’, also known as ‘Little Pu- tuo’. There, guest monks could not even hang up their things or stay for the night. Thus, I had to leave the town and pass the night by the roadside. That evening, I felt severe gripping pains in my belly. On the fourth, I resumed my journey at daybreak, but that night I shivered with malaria. On the fifth, I contracted dysentery but forced myself to continue my walk and prostrations and the same for successive days. By the thirteenth, I arrived at Huang Shaling on the peak of which there was a ruined temple without much shelter. As I could no longer walk, I stopped there without taking food. Day and night, I stooled a dozen or more times. I was completely exhausted and had not even the strength to get up and walk about. Since the temple was on top of a mountain
where there were no residents, I closed my eyes and waited for my end without a single thought of regret.
On the fifteenth, late at night, I saw someone making a fire under the west wall. I thought it was a thief but when I looked at him carefully, I saw that it was the beggar Wen-ji. I was overjoyed and called out, ‘Wen-ji!’ He brought me a fire-brand to lighten the place and said, ‘How is it that you are still here, Venerable Sir?’ I told him what had happened and he sat at my side to comfort me, handing me a cup of water to drink. After seeing Wen-ji that night, I felt purified in body and mind.
On the sixteenth, Wen-ji washed my dirty garments and gave me a cup of medicine. The next day I recovered from my illness, and after taking two bowls of yellow rice-gruel, I perspired profusely and felt great cheer and well-being within and without.
On the eighteenth, with my heath recovered in full, I thanked Wen-ji, saying, ‘Twice I was in danger - and twice you saved me; words fail to express my gratitude.’
Wen-ji said, ‘It was nothing really.’ When asked where he had been, he said, ‘Xi’an.’ When asked where he would be going, he said, ‘I am returning to Wu-tai.’
I said, ‘As I have been unwell, and what with my prostrations to do en route, I cannot follow you.’
He said, ‘You have not covered much distance this year - when will you reach your destination? As you are still weak, it will be difficult for you to continue. Prostrations are not absolutely necessary, nor is your pilgrimage.’
I replied, ‘I am most touched by your kind words, but when I was born I did not see my mother, who died at childbirth. I was my father’s only son but I fled from him and because of that, he resigned his post and this shortened his life. As my parents’ love
for me was as boundless as heaven is vast, I have been unhappy about this business for several decades. Thus, I vowed to go on pilgrimage to Mount Wu-tai to pray for Manjusri Bodhisattva to protect them and deliver them from suffering so that they can secure birth in the Pure Land as soon as possible. However, many difficulties there are to face, I must reach the holy site for it would be better to die than to fail in fulfilling my vow.’
Wen-ji said, ‘The genuineness of your piety is indeed rarely found. I am now returning to the mountain and since I am in no hurry, I will carry your things to the mountain; and since I am in no hurry, I will carry your things and accompany you. Thus, you will be able to make your prostrations, be relieved of your burden and achieve singleness of mind.’
I said, ‘If so, your merits will be measurable. If I succeed in continuing my prostrations until we reach Wu-tai, I shall divide my merits into two portions, one for my parents so that they can attain enlightenment (bodhi) as soon as possible, and the other portion for you, Sir, to repay you for saving my life. Do you agree?’ He said, ‘I am not worthy of this. You are motivated by a serious thought of filial piety, whereas my involvement is just a happy coincidence - so please, do not thank me for it.’
Wen-ji then took care of me for four days while I continued to convalesce. Since Wen-ji had offered to carry my baggage and cook for me, I resumed my journey and prostrations on the nineteenth although I was still weak. All delusory thoughts came to a sudden halt and I was no longer tied up by eternals, free from erroneous thoughts within. My health was gradually restored and my body gained strength daily. From dawn till dusk I continued my walk and prostrations for a distance of forty-five li (about fifteen miles), yet I did not feel tired.
At the end of the third lunar month, I reached Li-xiang Monastery at Da-gu, where I was told that the Abbot was currently instructing his monks - or so the director of guests said. He scrutinized Wen-ji and asked me, ‘Who is this man?’ When I told him my story, he said harshly, ‘You are a wandering monk and ignorant of what is going on here. In recent years there has been a great famine in these northern parts, yet you are still going on pilgrimage to Wu-tai! How important you look, what with a man to serve you! If you only want to enjoy yourself, why wander about? Besides, at which monastery have you seen laymen being lodged?’
I dared not answer his reprimand so I excused myself and set about leaving. The director of guests said, ‘There are no rules to allow this sort of thing. You came as you pleased, but who invited you here?’
Seeing that he was unreasonable, I said, ‘This gentleman will stay at an inn; perhaps I could trouble you for a night’s lodging?’ The director of guests said, ‘This can be arranged.’ Wen-ji said, ‘Wu-tai is not too far away. I will return there first, you can come at your leisure. As for your things, there will soon be someone to take them on to the mountain for you.’
Though I did my best to keep him around, Wen-ji would not stay. I took out some small change to give him but he refused it and went his way.
After that, the director of guests changed his mien, which became pleasing and he then kindly took me to the dormitory. He boiled water to prepare tea and cooked some vermicelli, which he shared with me. Surprised at this new attitude, I looked around and nobody was in sight, so I asked, ‘How many monks are there staying here?’
He replied, ‘I spent many years in places beyond the river Jiang but returned here to take charge of this monastery. Over the last few years there has been a great famine, so I am now alone here and this vermicelli is all the food I have. I was only joking with what I said outside, please do not take it seriously.’
Upon hearing this, I was struck dumb with sadness and struggled to swallow half a bowl of vermicelli. I then bade farewell to the monk and while he did his best to detain me for company, I had no mind to stay.
I left the monastery and wandered about the town visiting inns in search of Wen-ji - but without success. It was the eighteenth of the fourth month and there was a bright moon. Deciding to catch up with Wen-ji, I walked at night in the direction of Taiyuan, prostrating at every third step. I was very impatient so that next day, because of my hot mood, my nose bled incessantly. On the twentieth, I reached Bai-yun (White Cloud) Monastery at Huang Du-gou. The director of guests there noticed that my mouth was smeared with blood because of the nose-bleed and refused to let me stay for long, but reluctantly allowed me to pass the night. Early on the twenty-first, I arrived at Ji-luo Monastery in Taiyuan where I was not allowed to stay and given much abuse and rebuked.
On the twenty-second, I left town early and met beyond its northern gate a young monk called Wen-xian. He approached, took over my stool and baggage and invited me to his temple with the same respect and affection as if we were relatives. He led me to the Abbot’s room and we had tea and food together. During our chat, I asked, ‘Venerable Sir, you are only a little over twenty years old and not a native of this place. Who made you Abbot?’ He replied, ‘My father was an official here for a long time but when he was transferred to Bing-yang Prefecture, he was
murdered by a treacherous minister. My mother succumbed to anger and sorrow while I held back my tears and joined the Sangha. The gentry and officials who knew me asked me to take over this temple, which I have long wished to leave. Now that I have seen how much respect you inspire, it gladdens me to have