The Four Kinds of Samādhi

The Great Calming and Contemplation, Fascicle Two, Upper Part
Spoken by the Great Master Zhiyi of Tiantai, of the Sui dynasty
Recorded by his disciple Guanding

Second: encouraging entry into the bodhisattva stage through the four kinds of samādhi. In expounding this calming-and-contemplation: to ascend to the wondrous stage, there is no climbing it without practice; skillfully churning and shaking the cream, ghee may be obtained. The Lotus Sūtra says: "And I see the Buddha's disciples cultivating manifold practices, seeking the buddha-path." The practices are many; stated briefly, there are four: first, constantly sitting; second, constantly walking; third, half walking and half sitting; fourth, neither walking nor sitting. What all four are alike called "samādhi" means a well-regulated and direct concentration. The Treatise says: "A wholesome mind abiding in one place, unmoving — this is called samādhi." The dharma-realm is that one place; correct contemplation is what can abide there unmoving; the four practices serve as its condition, the contemplating mind, by means of that condition, regulated and made direct — hence it is called samādhi.

First, constant sitting: this comes from the two Prajñāpāramitā sūtras, the Sūtra Spoken by Mañjuśrī and the Sūtra of Mañjuśrī's Questions, where it is named the one-practice samādhi. Here, first, the method is explained; next, encouragement to cultivate it. As for the method: for the body, what is permitted and what is forbidden is discussed; for speech, what is spoken and what is kept silent; for the mind, calming and contemplation. For the body, sitting constantly is permitted; walking, standing, and lying down are forbidden. One may practice among an assembly, though practicing alone is even better. Dwell in a single quiet room, or an open, unoccupied place, apart from every clamor and disturbance; set out a single rope-seat, with no other seat beside it. Ninety days make one period: sit cross-legged and upright, neck and spine straight, without moving, without swaying, without slumping, without leaning — holding to the vow of sitting itself. The ribs should not even rest against the bed-frame, much less should one lie down flat, wander about, or stand up. Except for walking meditation, eating, and relieving oneself, one should sit facing directly toward a single buddha's own direction, upright and correctly oriented, continuing hour after hour without a moment's lapse. What is permitted: single-minded sitting. What is forbidden: any violation of this. One does not deceive the Buddha, does not betray one's own resolve, does not deceive sentient beings.

As for speech, spoken and silent: if, while sitting, one grows utterly exhausted, or is beset by illness, or overcome by the hindrance of drowsiness, and inner and outer obstructions invade, seizing hold of the correct mindful state so that it cannot be dispelled, one should single-mindedly call out the name of one buddha, with shame and repentance, entrusting one's own life — and this is of exactly equal merit to calling out the names of the buddhas of the ten directions. Why is this? It is like a person's grief, joy, gloom, or indignation: raising the voice in song or wailing brings relief through sorrow or laughter. The practitioner is exactly the same. Wind striking the seven places forms the karmic act of body; the sound issuing from the lips forms the karmic act of speech; both together assist the mind and complete the occasion, moving the Buddha to bend down and descend. It is like someone hauling a heavy load: by their own strength alone they cannot advance, but with the help of others at their side, they find it lifted with ease. The practitioner is exactly the same: when the mind is weak and cannot repel obstruction, calling on the name and beseeching protection keeps evil conditions from doing harm. If one has not yet fully understood this dharma-gate, one should draw close to those who understand the Perfection of Wisdom, and, learning and cultivating as one has heard, be able to enter the one-practice samādhi, behold the buddhas face to face, and ascend to the bodhisattva stage. Even reciting sūtras or reciting mantras still disturbs the stillness — how much more, then, ordinary worldly speech?

As for mind, calming and contemplation: sit upright with correct mindfulness, sweeping away every unwholesome thought, letting go of every scattered notion, not mixing in discursive thinking, not grasping at any mark or appearance — simply binding the mind's attention wholly to the dharma-realm, a single thought the dharma-realm itself. Binding the attention is calming; the single thought is contemplation. Believe that every dharma whatsoever is itself already the Buddhadharma, with no before and no after, with no boundary or edge left at all, with no knower and no speaker. If there is no knower and no speaker, then it is neither being nor non-being, neither one who knows nor one who does not know. Departing from these two extremes, abiding nowhere at all, one abides just as every buddha abides, dwelling securely within the quiescent dharma-realm. On hearing this profound Dharma, do not be alarmed or afraid! This dharma-realm is also named "bodhi"; it is also named "the inconceivable state"; it is also named "prajñā"; it is also named "neither arising nor ceasing." Every dharma of this kind is, with the dharma-realm, neither two nor separate. On hearing that they are neither two nor separate, do not give rise to doubt! One who can contemplate in this way is contemplating the Tathāgata's own ten epithets. In contemplating the Tathāgata, one does not take the Tathāgata to be the Tathāgata; there is no Tathāgata to serve as "the Tathāgata," nor any wisdom of the Tathāgata either. The very wisdom able to know the Tathāgata — the Tathāgata and the Tathāgata's wisdom — has no mark of duality, no mark of motion, no mark of being made, is not located in any direction and does not depart from any direction, is not the three times and not other than the three times, is not a dual mark and not other than a dual mark, is not a mark of defilement and not a mark of purity. This contemplation of the Tathāgata is exceedingly rare, like empty space itself, without any fault, and it increases correct mindfulness.

Seeing the Buddha's own auspicious marks is like a reflection in still water: one sees one's own form there. First one sees a single buddha; next one sees the buddhas of the ten directions. One does not need supernormal power to go and see the Buddha — simply abiding in this very place, one sees every buddha. Hearing the Buddha expound the Dharma, one attains its meaning exactly as it truly is. One sees the Tathāgata for the sake of all sentient beings, and yet does not grasp at any mark of the Tathāgata. One transforms every sentient being toward nirvāṇa, and yet does not grasp at any mark of nirvāṇa. One sets forth great adornment for the sake of every sentient being, and yet sees no mark of adornment at all. Formless and markless, beyond seeing, hearing, or knowing — the Buddha does not "realize" or "attain" any of it, and this is what is so exceedingly rare. Why is this? The Buddha is himself already the dharma-realm; were the dharma-realm to realize the dharma-realm, this would itself be a kind of contention. There is no realizing, no attaining! Contemplate the mark of sentient beings as the mark of every buddha; the measure of the realm of sentient beings as the measure of the realm of every buddha. The measure of the buddhas' realm is inconceivable, and the measure of sentient beings' realm is exactly as inconceivable. The realm of sentient beings abides as empty space abides — abiding within prajñā by means of a dharma that abides nowhere, a markless dharma. If one does not see any dharma of the ordinary being, what is there to abandon? If one does not see any dharma of the sage, what is there to take up? Birth-and-death and nirvāṇa, defilement and purity, are exactly the same: neither abandoned nor taken up, abiding only in true reality itself. Contemplating sentient beings in this way is the true dharma-realm of the Buddha himself.

Contemplate craving, anger, delusion, and every affliction as forever the very conduct of quiescent extinction, conduct that never moves at all — neither a dharma of birth-and-death nor a dharma of nirvāṇa. Without abandoning any view, and without abandoning the unconditioned, one cultivates the buddha-path — neither cultivating the path nor not cultivating it. This is called "correctly abiding within the dharma-realm of affliction." Contemplate that among heavy karma, none is heavier than the five heinous crimes. The five heinous crimes are themselves already bodhi; bodhi and the five heinous crimes bear no mark of duality between them. There is no one who is aware of this, no one who knows it, no one who distinguishes it. The mark of the crime of rebellion and the mark of the true mark of reality are both alike inconceivable, indestructible, originally without any fixed nature of their own. Every karmic condition abides within true reality itself, neither coming nor going, neither cause nor fruit. This is what is meant by contemplating karma as itself the seal of the dharma-realm. The seal of the dharma-realm cannot be destroyed by any of the four demons; the demon can gain no advantage over it. Why is this? Because the demon is itself already the seal of the dharma-realm — how could the seal of the dharma-realm destroy the seal of the dharma-realm? Applying this same sense across every dharma whatsoever, the rest should likewise be understood.

Everything stated above is the sūtra's own text. As for encouragement to cultivate it: praising its true merit, to spur the practitioner onward. The dharma of the dharma-realm is the Buddha's own true Dharma, the bodhisattva's own seal. One who hears this Dharma without alarm and without fear has already, over a hundred thousand myriad koṭis of buddhas, long planted the very root of virtue. It is like a wealthy elder who lost a maṇi-jewel and later recovered it, his heart filled with great joy. If the fourfold assembly does not hear this Dharma, the heart suffers; if they hear it and believe and understand it, the joy is exactly the same. One should know that such a person has already seen the Buddha, and has already once heard this very Dharma from Mañjuśrī. Śāriputra said: "To clearly understand this meaning is what is called a bodhisattva-mahāsattva." Maitreya said: "Such a person sits near the Buddha's own seat, because the Buddha has awakened to this very Dharma." Hence Mañjuśrī says: "To hear this Dharma without alarm is itself already to see the Buddha." The Buddha said: "Such a one abides at once in the stage of non-retrogression, complete with the six pāramitās, complete with the whole of the Buddhadharma."

If a person wishes to obtain the whole of the Buddhadharma — every auspicious mark and dignified bearing, the very sound of the Buddha's own voice expounding the Dharma, the ten powers and the fearlessnesses — they should practice this one-practice samādhi, diligently and without slackening, and will thereby be able to enter it. It is like the polishing of a maṇi-jewel: with each polishing it grows brighter, and one comes to realize inconceivable merit. A bodhisattva who can know this swiftly attains bodhi; a bhikṣu or bhikṣuṇī who hears it without alarm has already, in that very moment, gone forth from home in the Buddha's own following; a layman or laywoman who hears it without alarm has already taken true refuge. This praise comes from those same two sūtras, and so on.

Second, constantly-walking samādhi: first the method, next the encouragement. As for the method: for the body, what is permitted and forbidden; for speech, what is spoken and kept silent; for the mind, calming and contemplation. This method comes from the Pratyutpanna Samādhi Sūtra, and is rendered "the Buddha standing present." "The Buddha standing present" has three meanings: first, the Buddha's own majestic power; second, the power of the samādhi itself; third, the power of the practitioner's own root merit. Within concentration, one is able to see the buddhas of the ten directions, present now, standing directly before one. It is like a person with clear sight gazing at the stars on a clear night: seeing the buddhas of the ten directions is exactly as manifold as this — hence it is named "the samādhi of the Buddha standing present." The Daśabhūmika-vibhāṣā's own verse says: "As for where this samādhi abides, there is a difference of little, middling, and much; distinctions of this kind should also be discussed." As for "where it abides": whether in the first dhyāna, or in the second, third, fourth, or the intermediate stage, this power is brought forth, able to give rise to the samādhi — hence it is called "where it abides." The first dhyāna is "little"; the second dhyāna is "middling"; the third and fourth are "much." Or: abiding for a short time is called "little"; or seeing few world-systems, or seeing few buddhas, is called "little" — and "middling" and "much" are exactly the same.

For the body, constant walking is permitted. In practicing this method, avoid bad companions, foolish people, relatives, and fellow-villagers; dwell constantly alone. Do not hope for anything from others, nor seek anything from them; always beg for food, and do not accept private invitations. Adorn the practice-place with care, and provide every offering-implement, fragrant food, and sweet fruit. Bathe the body, and, whether coming or going, change one's robes. Devote oneself solely to walking in a circuit; ninety days make one period. One must have an enlightened teacher, well versed in both the monastic and the broader moral discipline, able to remove every obstruction. Toward the place from which one has heard of this samādhi, regard it as one would regard the World-Honored One himself — without resentment, without anger, without noting any fault or merit in it. One should even cut one's own flesh to make offering to one's teacher — how much less anything lesser than that? Serve one's teacher as a servant serves the head of a great household. Should one give rise to any ill will toward one's teacher, this samādhi will, in the end, be very hard to attain. One must have an outer protector, as a mother rears her child; one must have companions in practice, as those who cross danger together. One must set a fixed vow: "Though my very sinews and bones wither and crumble, if I fail to attain this samādhi, I will still never rest." Give rise to great faith, that nothing can destroy; give rise to great diligence, that nothing can equal; and the wisdom one enters will be such that nothing can surpass it. Constantly devote oneself to a good teacher. Throughout the full three months, one must not entertain any worldly thought or desire, not even for the space of a finger-snap. Throughout the full three months, one must not lie down to rest, not even for the space of a finger-snap. Throughout the full three months of walking, one must not cease, except for sitting, eating, and relieving oneself. In expounding the sūtra for others, one must not hope for robes or food in return. The Daśabhūmika-vibhāṣā's own verse says: "Draw close to a good spiritual friend, diligent without any slackening; let wisdom be exceedingly firm and secure, the power of faith never moved by falsehood."

As for speech, spoken and silent: for ninety days the body walks constantly, without rest; for ninety days the mouth constantly chants the name of Amitābha Buddha, without rest; for ninety days the mind constantly holds Amitābha Buddha in mind, without rest. Sometimes chanting and mindful recollection proceed together; sometimes recollection comes first and chanting after; sometimes chanting comes first and recollection after — chanting and recollection following one upon the other, with no time of rest at all. Chanting the name of Amitābha is itself already chanting the merit of the buddhas of the ten directions equally; it is only that Amitābha alone is taken as this dharma-gate's own presiding figure. To state the essential point: with every step, with every sound, with every thought — all rest in Amitābha Buddha alone. As for mind, calming and contemplation: recollect Amitābha Buddha in the west, ten myriad koṭis of buddha-lands from here, seated amid a jeweled land, jeweled pools, jeweled trees, and a jeweled hall, at the center of a great assembly of bodhisattvas, expounding a sūtra. Throughout the three months, constantly hold the Buddha in mind. How does one hold him in mind? Recollect the thirty-two marks, beginning from the thousand-spoked wheel mark on the soles of the feet, dwelling on each mark in reverse order one by one, up to the crown of the head, invisible even to the highest gaze; one should likewise proceed from the crown mark in forward order, down again to the thousand-spoked wheel, so that oneself, too, might attain these very marks.

One further reflects: shall I attain the Buddha through the mind, or attain the Buddha through the body? The Buddha is attained neither through the mind nor through the body. One does not attain the Buddha's own form through the mind, nor attain the Buddha's own mind through form. Why is this? As to mind — the Buddha has no mind; as to form — the Buddha has no form; hence perfect bodhi is attained neither through form nor through mind. The Buddha's own form is already exhausted, and consciousness, too, is already exhausted. What the Buddha teaches by "exhausted," the foolish do not understand, while the wise fully comprehend it. The Buddha is attained neither through body nor speech, nor attained through wisdom. Why is this? Sought for, wisdom cannot be found; seeking for a "self," in the end, it too cannot be found, and nothing at all is seen. Every dharma is, from the very root, without anything at all — its very root destroyed, its very root cut off. This is the first simile. It is like dreaming of the seven treasures, and of relatives rejoicing together; on waking and recalling it, one does not know where it has gone. One should hold the Buddha in mind in just this way. Again, it is like a woman of Śrāvastī named Sumana, of whom, on merely hearing her name, one's heart delights, and that night one dreams of being with her; on waking and recalling it, she did not come, nor did one go to her, and yet the pleasure of it remains vivid and entire. One should hold the Buddha in mind in just this way. It is like a person crossing a great wilderness, hungry and thirsty, who dreams of obtaining fine food; on waking, the stomach is still empty, and one reflects that every dharma whatsoever that exists is exactly like this dream. One should hold the Buddha in mind in just this way. Recollect again and again, without ever resting; by means of this recollection, one shall be born in Amitābha Buddha's own land. This is called "recollection according to its true mark."

It is like a jewel resting against a slab of lapis lazuli, and its reflection appearing within it. It is also like a monk contemplating bones, from which every kind of light arises — no one brought this light in from outside, nor is there truly any bone there at all; it is the mind's own doing, and nothing more. It is like the image in a mirror, which comes from nowhere outside and is not generated within — because the mirror itself is clear, one simply sees one's own form there. When the practitioner's own form is pure, and everything they possess is pure, then, wishing to see the Buddha, one sees the Buddha at once; seeing him, one asks a question; asking, one receives an answer; hearing the sūtra, one is filled with great joy. This is the second simile. One further reflects: from where has the Buddha come? Nor have I myself gone anywhere at all — what I hold in mind is precisely what I see. Mind makes the Buddha; mind itself sees mind; seeing the Buddha is mind — this very mind is the Buddha's mind, and it is my own mind that sees the Buddha. Mind does not know itself as mind; mind does not see itself as mind. Mind possessed of conceptual thought is delusion; mind free of conceptual thought is nirvāṇa. This Dharma has nothing that can be pointed to or shown — all of it is simply what recollection itself has done. Even granting that recollection occurs, in the end it, too, has nothing at all to it — sheer emptiness, and nothing more. This is the third simile. A verse says: "Mind does not know mind; possessing mind, one does not see mind. Mind giving rise to conceptual thought is itself delusion; mind free of conceptual thought is itself nirvāṇa." "Every buddha attains liberation through mind; mind, being without stain, is called pure. The five destinies, bright and unsullied, take on no form at all — one who understands this accomplishes the great path." This is called "the seal of the Buddha": nothing craved, nothing clung to, nothing sought, nothing conceived; every possession exhausted, every desire exhausted, nothing from which anything arises, nothing that can be extinguished, nothing that can be broken or destroyed. This is the very essence and root of the path, a seal that even the two lesser vehicles cannot break, much less any demon or deviant force, and so on.

The Daśabhūmika-vibhāṣā explains that a bodhisattva newly resolved on enlightenment first holds in mind the Buddha's own formal marks — the substance of the marks, their function, their fruit, their use — and thereby attains the lower power; next holds in mind the Buddha's own forty unshared qualities, and thereby the mind attains the middling power; next holds in mind the real Buddha, and thereby attains the highest power of the Buddha, no longer attached to either the form-body or the Dharma-body. A verse says: "Not craving or clinging to the form-body, nor clinging even to the Dharma-body — skillfully knowing every dharma whatsoever, forever quiescent, like empty space itself."

As for encouragement to cultivate it: if a person wishes to gain wisdom as vast as the great ocean, such that no one could any longer serve as their teacher; if, seated right here, without exercising any supernormal power, they can see every buddha, hear everything taught, and hold it all in mind — the constantly-walking samādhi, among every kind of merit, is foremost of all. This samādhi is the mother of every buddha, the eye of the Buddha, the father of the Buddha, the mother of unborn great compassion; every one of the Tathāgatas is born from these two dharmas. Were one to grind the whole earth of the great trichiliocosm, together with every plant and tree, into dust, and take each single mote of that dust as one buddha-land, and fill every one of those world-systems with treasure and give it all away — the merit of this would already be very great; yet it does not equal merely hearing of this samādhi without alarm and without fear, much less believing it, upholding it, reciting it, or explaining it to others; much less still fixing the mind and cultivating it, even for as long as it takes to milk a cow; much less actually accomplishing this samādhi. Hence it is measureless, measureless indeed. The Daśabhūmika-vibhāṣā says: "That the fire at the end of an eon, officials, bandits, poisoned enmity, dragons, wild beasts, or manifold illness should ever assail such a person — there is no such possibility. This person is constantly protected, held in mind, and praised together by the eightfold host of gods and dragons and by every buddha alike; all alike wish to see them, and all come together to where they are." If one but hears of this samādhi, the four kinds of merit described above are all matters for rejoicing; the buddhas and bodhisattvas of the three times all rejoice in it as well, surpassing even the four kinds of merit described above. If one fails to cultivate a Dharma such as this, one loses a measureless, weighty treasure, and gods and humans alike grieve over it on one's behalf. It is like a person with a blocked nose holding sandalwood and never smelling it; like a farmer's child trading a maṇi-jewel for a single head of cattle, and so on.

Third, explaining half walking and half sitting: again, first the method, next the encouragement. As for the method: for the body, what is permitted and forbidden; for speech, what is spoken and kept silent; for the mind, calming and contemplation. This comes from two sūtras. The Vaipulya Dhāraṇī Sūtra says: "Circle one hundred and twenty times, then sit back and contemplate." The Lotus Sūtra says: "Should that person, whether walking or standing, recite this sūtra; or, sitting, contemplate this sūtra, I shall mount the six-tusked white elephant and appear before that person." From this it is known that both together make use of half walking and half sitting as their method.

The Vaipulya samādhi is utterly exalted, and must not be undertaken carelessly; if one wishes to cultivate it, the divine and numinous stand as its witnesses. First seek a sign in dream, the King of dreams; should one obtain a single such vision, this grants permission for the repentance to proceed. In a quiet and secluded place, adorn the practice-place with care: smear fragrant paste on the ground, and, both within and outside the room, paint a round altar; hang banners of five colors; burn incense of aloeswood; light lamps; set out a high seat; and invite images of the twenty-four venerable ones — more than this is also no hindrance. Prepare offerings of food, exerting the utmost of one's own effort. New, clean robes, sandals, and slippers are required — never new mixed with old; whether putting them on or taking them off, never let them be mixed together with anything else. Observe a full fast for seven days, bathing three times each day. On the first day, make offerings to the saṅgha, in whatever quantity one is able. Separately invite one teacher who is thoroughly versed in both the monastic and the broader moral discipline, and receive from them the twenty-four precepts and the dhāraṇī-mantra. Confessing one's offenses before this teacher should be done on the eighth and fifteenth days of the month. Seven days should be taken as one period, which must never be shortened; should one be able to continue further, this may be done according to one's own capacity. No more than ten people should take part in this. Lay practitioners, too, are permitted to undertake it, provided they prepare a single-layered set of the three robes, in keeping with the Buddha-dharma's own proper form.

As for speech, spoken and silent: first recite the dhāraṇī-mantra through once, until it is fluent. In the first watch of the first day, with every voice in unison, invoke the Three Jewels, the ten buddhas, the father and mother of the Vaipulya samādhi, and the ten Dharma-princes, three times over. The method of invocation is found in the Guoqing Bailu. Once the invocation is complete, burn incense and set the mind in motion, making offering through the three karmic actions. Once the offering is complete, pay reverence to the Three Jewels just invoked. Once the reverence is complete, with a mind of utmost sincerity, weeping tears of grief, set forth one's confession of every offense and fault. Once this is complete, rise and circle one hundred and twenty times, one mantra-recitation for each circuit, neither too slow nor too fast, neither too loud nor too soft. Once the circling and chanting are complete, pay reverence to the ten buddhas, the Vaipulya samādhi, and the ten Dharma-princes. Having done this, sit back and contemplate; once the contemplation is complete, rise again to circle and chant; once the circling and chanting are complete, sit back once more to contemplate — round and round, beginning again each time. Throughout the full seven days, this same method is followed. From the second watch onward, the invocation may be abbreviated; everything else remains exactly as before.

As for mind, calming and contemplation: the sūtra instructs one to contemplate — to contemplate the "Mahā-dhāraṇī of Grasping," rendered as "the great secret essential that restrains evil and upholds the good." This secret essential is nothing other than the true mark of reality, the middle way, correct emptiness. The sūtra says: "I come from within the truly real. The truly real is the mark of quiescent extinction; the mark of quiescent extinction is that there is nothing to be sought, and the seeker, too, is empty. The one who attains, the one who clings, the real, the one who comes, the one who speaks, the one who asks — all alike are empty. Quiescent extinction and nirvāṇa, too, are both alike empty; every division and boundary of empty space, too, is likewise empty." This is the first. "Within this state where nothing is sought, I nonetheless still seek it — such an empty, truly real dharma of pure emptiness, where, then, is it to be sought? It is to be sought within the six pāramitās." This is the second. This is the same as the eighteen kinds of emptiness in the Larger Sūtra. In the Nirvāṇa Sūtra, the emptiness of Kapilavastu, the emptiness of the Tathāgata, and the emptiness of the great nirvāṇa are, again, no different from this. Applying this wisdom of emptiness across every single matter, there is nothing that does not become a genuine contemplation.

As for "Vaipulya": it may also be rendered "vast and level." What is here called "vast" means "the Dharma." The Perfection of Wisdom has four kinds of method, namely the four gates entering the cooling pool — this is what is meant by "vast." The principle thereby engaged, the great wisdom of equality, is what is meant by "level." Seeking a sign in dream, the King, is the preliminary expedient means for the two contemplations. The practice-place is the pure and clear state itself. Removing the husk of the five abodes of affliction to reveal the rice-grain of the true mark of reality is likewise concentration and wisdom adorning the Dharma-body in their function. The fragrant paste is the unsurpassed moral discipline itself. The five-colored canopy stands for contemplating the five aggregates, freeing them from the snare that binds the hare, and giving rise to great compassion that covers over the whole dharma-realm. The round altar is the true mark of reality's own unmoving ground. The silk banners turn the delusion resting atop the dharma-realm into the understanding that both moves outward and emerges from it; banner and altar are never separate from each other, just as the moving-and-emerging and the unmoving-and-emerging are never separate from each other. The fragrance and the lamp are precepts and wisdom. The high seat is the emptiness of every dharma — every buddha alike dwells within this emptiness. The twenty-four images are the wisdom of awakened understanding, contemplating the twelve links of dependent origination both forward and backward. The food offerings are the contemplation, aiding the path, of impermanence and the bitterness of suffering. The new, clean robes are the forbearance of quiescent extinction — where anger and delusion have long accumulated, this is called "old"; where anger is turned around and forbearance arises, this is called "new." The seven days are the seven factors of enlightenment. The single day is the one real truth. The threefold bathing is contemplating the one real truth, cultivating the three contemplations, sweeping away the three obstructions, and purifying the three wisdoms. The single teacher is the one real truth itself. The twenty-four precepts are the path-conascent precepts brought forth by contemplating the twelve links of dependent origination both forward and backward. The mantra-recitation is an entrusting correspondence: the Yingluo Sūtra explains that the twelve links of dependent origination each have ten aspects, making one hundred and twenty branches in all — one mantra-recitation for each branch. Gathered together, these are simply the three paths: suffering, karma, and affliction. The mantra recited here upon this causal chain is thus a mantra upon these three paths, discussed here in terms of repentance. Repentance through phenomenal conduct repents the path of suffering and the path of karma; repentance through principle repents the path of affliction. The text says: "Should one who has violated the novice's precepts, down to the fully-ordained monk's own precepts, fail to be restored to that standing, there is no such possibility" — this is the text repenting the path of karma. "The eyes, ears, and every faculty made pure" is the text repenting the path of suffering. "On the seventh day, seeing the buddhas of the ten directions, hearing the Dharma, and attaining non-retrogression" is the text repenting the path of affliction. Once the three obstructions are gone, the very tree of the twelve links of dependent origination collapses, and the house of the five aggregates, too, stands empty. To contemplate the true mark of reality is precisely to break through all of this — hence this is named "repentance through the buddhas' own real Dharma."

As for encouragement to cultivate it: every buddha's own attainment of the path comes by means of this Dharma; it is the father and mother of every buddha, the unsurpassed great treasure of the world. One able to practice it in full obtains the whole portion of this treasure; one able only to recite it obtains the middle portion of this treasure; one who makes offering with flowers and incense obtains the lesser portion of this treasure. The Buddha, in conversation with Mañjuśrī, said that even the lesser portion of this treasure could not be exhausted in the telling — how much less, then, the middle or the whole? Were one to pile up treasure from the earth all the way up to the Brahmā heaven and offer it all to the Buddha, this would still not equal giving a single meal to sustain the body of one who upholds this sūtra, as the sūtra explains at length, and so on.

In terms of the Lotus Sūtra, the method and the encouragement to cultivate it are likewise explained. As for the method: for the body, what is permitted and forbidden; for speech, what is spoken and kept silent; for the mind, calming and contemplation. For the body, ten things are permitted: first, adorning and purifying the practice-place; second, purifying the body; third, offering through the three karmic actions; fourth, inviting the Buddha; fifth, paying reverence to the Buddha; sixth, repentance through the six faculties; seventh, circumambulation; eighth, reciting the sūtra; ninth, sitting in meditation; tenth, verifying the resulting mark. There exists a separate single fascicle, named Fahua Sanmei (Lotus Samādhi), composed by the Tiantai Master himself, circulated widely in the world, and taken as authoritative by practitioners. This already covers both speaking and silence together, and need not be discussed separately here.

As for mind, calming and contemplation: the Samantabhadra Contemplation Sūtra says: "Single-mindedly reciting the Mahāyāna, even without entering samādhi, throughout the six periods of day and night, repent the offenses of the six faculties." The "Course of Ease and Bliss" chapter says: "With regard to every dharma, there is nothing to be done, no doing, and no discriminating." These two sūtras were originally meant to complete each other — how could one cling to the words of one and reject the other in competition? They were simply spoken according to differing conditions, appearing at different points, and are not truly, fundamentally at odds. Does not the "Course of Ease and Bliss" chapter's own guarding, upholding, reciting, explaining, and bowing with deep sincerity all count as phenomenal conduct? Does not the Contemplation Sūtra's own explanation of markless repentance — "my own mind is itself empty, offense and merit alike without any master," "the sun of wisdom is able to dissolve them away" — count as principle? When the Nanyue Master spoke of "the course of ease and bliss with marks" and "the course of ease and bliss without marks," was this not precisely a matter of naming things according to phenomenal conduct and principle respectively? A practitioner upholding this practice, engaging with phenomenal conduct to cultivate repentance through the six faculties as a way of coaxing oneself toward awakening, is why it is called "with marks"; one who takes contemplating the emptiness of all dharmas directly as the expedient means is why it is called "without marks." At the moment of wondrous realization, both alike are set aside entirely. Grasping this sense, there is no cause for doubt between these two sūtras.

Now, working through the text to cultivate this contemplation: what is meant by "the six-tusked white elephant" is the bodhisattva's own uncontaminated six supernormal powers. The tusks have their own sharp function, likened to how swift and unimpeded these powers are; the elephant possesses great strength, standing for the Dharma-body's own capacity to bear every burden; uncontaminated and undefiled, it is called "white." The three figures upon its head — one holding a vajra pestle, one holding a vajra wheel, one holding a wish-fulfilling jewel — stand for the three wisdoms dwelling atop the uncontaminated, and so on. The pestle, aimed so the elephant may proceed, stands for wisdom guiding practice; the turning wheel stands for emerging from the provisional; the wish-fulfilling jewel stands for the middle. Above the tusks is a pool, standing for the eight liberations, the very substance of dhyāna; the supernormal powers are the function of concentration, and substance and function are never separate from each other. At the tip of the tusks is the pool, and within the pool is a lotus flower; the flower stands for the wondrous cause — purifying the buddha-land and benefiting sentient beings by supernormal power is itself the cause. The cause is born from the supernormal power, just as the flower issues from the pool. Within the flower is a woman; the woman stands for loving-kindness. Without objectless loving-kindness, how could one, by supernormal power, contract the body and make it small enough to enter this world of Sahā? The supernormal power is set in motion by loving-kindness, just as the flower bears up the woman. The woman holds a musical instrument, standing for the four means of attraction. Loving-kindness cultivates body and speech, manifesting every kind of shared endeavor, beneficial conduct, and the two forms of giving, material and Dharma, drawing beings in through manifold means — like the five hundred musical instruments, their sounds beyond number. Manifesting the body of joyful appearance is the samādhi of universally manifesting a physical form, appearing according to whatever is fitting and pleasing, not necessarily always taking the form of a pure white jade image. The dhāraṇī of language is the manifold dharmas spoken by loving-kindness's own perfuming of speech — all of these are simply other names for the Lotus Samādhi, and, grasping this sense, one may act freely and without hindrance through the whole dharma-gate found within the elephant's own body.

As for encouragement to cultivate it: the Samantabhadra Contemplation Sūtra says: "Should any of the seven assemblies have broken the precepts, and wish, in the space of a single finger-snap, to remove and extinguish the offense of birth-and-death accumulated over a hundred thousand myriad koṭis of incalculable kalpas..." "Should one wish to give rise to the bodhi-mind, without severing affliction yet entering nirvāṇa, without departing from the five desires yet purifying every faculty and seeing beyond every obstruction..." "Should one wish to see the divided bodies, Prabhūtaratna, and Śākyamuni Buddha..." "Should one wish to attain the Lotus Samādhi and the dhāraṇī of every language..." "To enter the Tathāgata's own room, wear the Tathāgata's own robe, and sit upon the Tathāgata's own seat..." "To expound the Dharma in the midst of the eightfold host of gods and dragons..." "Should one wish that Mañjuśrī, Bhaiṣajyarāja, and the other great bodhisattvas hold flowers and incense and stand in attendance in the sky..." — "one should cultivate this Lotus Sūtra, recite the Mahāyāna, and hold the matters of the Mahāyāna in mind." "Let this wisdom of emptiness correspond with the mind." "Recollect that every bodhisattva's own mother, the unsurpassed and supreme expedient means, is born from contemplating the true mark of reality." "Every offense is like frost and dew — the sun of wisdom is able to dissolve it away." "Accomplishing every one of these matters, nothing at all is left incomplete." "One able to uphold this sūtra shall thereby come to see me, and shall also see you, and shall also make offering to Prabhūtaratna and to every divided body, causing every buddha to rejoice." So the sūtra explains at length. Who, hearing a Dharma such as this, would fail to give rise to the bodhi-mind? Excepting only those unworthy people, benighted in delusion and without wisdom.

Fourth, neither-walking-nor-sitting samādhi: the practices above made exclusive use of walking and sitting; since this one differs from those, and is needed to complete the fourfold pattern, it is named "neither walking nor sitting" — though in truth it extends through walking, sitting, and every activity whatsoever. The Nanyue Master called it "following one's own intent," since the samādhi is cultivated the moment any intent arises. The Larger Sūtra calls it "the samādhi of awakened intent," since wherever the intent turns, it is at once awakened and clearly understood. Though it bears three names, it is, in truth, a single dharma. Here the name is explained according to the sūtra. "Awakened" means illuminated and understood; "intent" means a mental factor; "samādhi" is explained as before. When the practitioner's own mental factor arises, turning the light of contemplation back upon it, one finds no motion, no root or origin, no beginning or end, no place it comes from or goes to — hence it is called "awakened intent." The mental factors are without number — why, then, is "awakened" spoken of specifically in relation to "intent"? Because, tracing every dharma back to its very source, all of it is fashioned by intent alone — hence "intent" is taken as the leading term. Awareness directed toward an object, distinct from wood or stone, is named "mind"; the deliberation that follows upon mind is named "intent"; clear, distinct discernment is named "consciousness." Distinctions made in this way still fall within the inverted view of mind, conception, and view — how could this be called "awakened"?

"Awakened" means understanding that within mind there is neither intent nor the absence of intent; within mind there is neither consciousness nor the absence of consciousness; within intent there is neither mind nor the absence of mind; within intent there is neither consciousness nor the absence of consciousness; within consciousness there is neither intent nor the absence of intent; within consciousness there is neither mind nor the absence of mind. Mind, intent, and consciousness are not one — hence three names are established for them; they are not three — hence a single nature is spoken of. If one knows that the name is not truly a name, then the nature, too, is not truly a nature. Because it is not a name, it is not three; because it is not a nature, it is not one. Because it is not three, it is not scattered; because it is not one, it is not combined. Because it is not combined, it is not empty; because it is not scattered, it is not existent. Because it is not existent, it is not permanent; because it is not empty, it is not annihilated. If one does not see permanence or annihilation, one will, in the end, never see oneness or difference. If one contemplates intent, mind and consciousness are thereby included as well, and every dharma is exactly the same. If intent is broken through, ignorance itself collapses, and every remaining affliction departs along with it. Hence, though the dharmas are many, intent alone is raised to clarify this samādhi. Contemplation is thereby made regulated and direct — hence it is called "the samādhi of awakened intent." "Following one's own intent" and "neither walking nor sitting" may be understood along these same lines.

This is further divided into four: first, by way of the sūtras in general; second, by way of every kind of wholesome state; third, by way of every kind of unwholesome state; fourth, by way of every kind of indeterminate state. As for the practices given in the sūtras: whatever is not already included in the three practices above belongs to "following one's own intent." Take, for instance, the Sūtra of Invoking Avalokiteśvara for how this looks in practice: in a quiet place, adorn the practice-place with banners, canopies, incense, and lamps; invite an image of Amitābha, and images of the two bodhisattvas Avalokiteśvara and Mahāsthāmaprāpta, set in the west; and prepare a willow branch and pure water. Whether relieving oneself or otherwise, anoint the body with fragrance, bathe until clean, and put on new, clean robes. On the fast-day, at the outset, face directly toward the west, prostrate the five limbs to the ground, and pay reverence to the Three Jewels, the seven buddhas, Śākyamuni, Amitābha, the three dhāraṇīs, and the sacred assembly of the two bodhisattvas. Having paid reverence, kneel upon one knee, burn incense, and scatter flowers, setting one's mind in motion with utmost sincerity, according to the usual method. Once the offering is complete, hold the body upright and the mind correct, sit cross-legged, and bind the attention to counting the breath, ten breaths making one count. Once ten such counts are accomplished, rise and burn incense. For the sake of sentient beings, invoke the Three Jewels above three times over. Once the invocation is complete, recite the names of the Three Jewels three times, adding the name of Avalokiteśvara. Join the ten fingers in añjali, recite the four-line verse through, and then recite the three sections of mantra, either once or seven times, depending on the time of day. Once the mantra-recitation is complete, set forth one's confession, recalling for oneself every transgression. Once this disclosure and cleansing is complete, pay reverence to those invoked above. Having paid reverence, one person ascends the high seat, and either chants or recites this sūtra's text, while the others listen attentively. Before noon and in the first watch of the night, the method proceeds in this way; at other times, the usual observances apply. Should this account seem incomplete, one may consult the sūtra itself for further detail, and so on.

The sūtra says: "The eye, corresponding to form — how is it to be gathered in and made to abide?" — down to "intent, corresponding to whatever it clings to and pursues — how is it to be gathered in and made to abide?" The Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra says: "Like mind, it abides" — "like" here means "empty." Every clause of this text, one by one, enters into the very brink of true reality itself — "like" and "empty" are simply different names for the same thing. As for "the earth has no solidity": if one holds the earth to be existent, existence would mean it is real, and reality would mean solidity; if one holds the earth to be non-existent, or both existent and non-existent, or neither existent nor non-existent, this too, in fact, amounts to the very same claim of solidity. What is explained here is that, in the end, it can never be found at all — its very solidity is thereby lost. As for "water's nature does not abide": to hold water to be existent is already to make it "abide"; and so too holding water to be neither existent nor non-existent is likewise to make it "abide." Here it abides in none of the four alternatives of existence, none of the four alternatives of non-existence, nor in the inexpressible either — hence it is said that water's nature does not abide. As for "wind's nature is unobstructed": to contemplate wind as existent is already to make it an obstruction, down to holding wind as neither existent nor non-existent — this too is no different, under any of the four alternatives — hence it is said that wind's nature is unobstructed. As for "the element of fire is unreal": fire does not arise from itself, down to it does not arise without cause; fundamentally without any fixed nature of its own, it exists only by relying on conditions — hence it is said to be unreal. Contemplating form in this way, sensation, perception, formations, and consciousness, too, each and every one, enter into the very brink of true reality. Contemplating the aggregates in this way, the twelve links of dependent origination are like an echo in a valley, like the pith of a plantain tree, like dew, like lightning — setting the mind in motion toward all of this at once, so that the contemplation of emptiness is accomplished, one must diligently cultivate it until it truly corresponds. This is the very root of contemplative wisdom, and cannot be left out.

The Dhāraṇī That Dissolves and Subdues Poisonous Harm can break through the obstruction of karmic retribution — the people of Vaiśālī were restored to health exactly as before. The Dhāraṇī That Breaks Unwholesome Karma can break through the obstruction of karma — one who has violated the pure conduct of brahmacarya is cleansed of that filth and made pure again. The Dhāraṇī of the Six-Syllable Passage can break through the obstruction of affliction, purifying the very root of the three poisons, so that the accomplishment of the buddha-path is beyond doubt. The six syllables are the six forms of Avalokiteśvara, each able to break through the three obstructions of one of the six destinies. Namely: Avalokiteśvara of Great Compassion breaks the three obstructions of the hell-destiny — this destiny's suffering is severe, and so great compassion is fitting for it. Avalokiteśvara of Great Loving-Kindness breaks the three obstructions of the hungry-ghost destiny — this destiny suffers hunger and thirst, and so great loving-kindness is fitting for it. Avalokiteśvara the Fearless Lion breaks the three obstructions of the animal destiny — the king of beasts is majestic and fierce, and so fearlessness is fitting for it. Avalokiteśvara of Great Light Universally Shining breaks the three obstructions of the asura destiny — this destiny is given to suspicion, envy, jealousy, and doubt, and so universal illumination is especially fitting for it. Avalokiteśvara, Man Among Gods and Humans, breaks the three obstructions of the human destiny — the human destiny has both phenomenal conduct and principle: in phenomenal conduct, arrogance is subdued, hence "man among gods and humans"; in principle, the buddha-nature is seen, hence "man" in the sense of a true adept. Avalokiteśvara of Great Brahmā, Profound and Far-Reaching, breaks the three obstructions of the heavenly destiny — Brahmā is the lord of the heavens, and naming the lord implies gaining the ministers beneath him as well. Extended in full, the six forms of Avalokiteśvara are the twenty-five samādhis: great compassion is the stainless samādhi; great loving-kindness is the samādhi of a joyful mind; the lion is the samādhi of non-retrogression; great light is the samādhi of delight; the man among gods and humans is the fourfold samādhi of illusion and the rest; great Brahmā is the seventeenfold samādhi of the unmoved and the rest. Reflecting on this for oneself, the rest may be seen, and so on. This sūtra provides repentance for practitioners of all three vehicles alike: one who tames and delivers only oneself, slaying the bandits of the fetters, accomplishes arhatship; one of thick merit and sharp faculties, contemplating ignorance, formations, and the rest, accomplishes the pratyekabuddha's own path; one who gives rise to great compassion, the body like lapis lazuli, seeing the Buddha through every pore, attains the Śūraṅgama and abides in non-retrogression. Other Mahāyāna sūtras belong to this same class of practice as well — such as the Repentance of the Seven Buddhas and Eight Bodhisattvas, or Ākāśagarbha's eight hundred days of cleaning latrines — all such things belong to the category of following one's own intent, and so on.

Second, going through wholesome states: this is divided into two — first, distinguishing the fourfold moment; next, going through the various wholesome states themselves. First, explaining the fourfold moment: mind and consciousness are formless and cannot be seen, and so are distinguished by way of four marks — not-yet-thought, about-to-think, thinking, and having-thought. Not-yet-thought means the mind has not yet arisen; about-to-think means the mind is about to arise; thinking means it correctly abides, fastened upon its object; having-thought means its attention to that object has already passed away. If one is able to fully penetrate these four, one thereby enters the one mark that is no mark. Question: "Not-yet-thought" has not yet arisen, and "having-thought" has already passed away — both of these are without any mind at all, and if there is no mind, there is no mark; how, then, can they be contemplated? Answer: Though "not-yet-thought" has not yet arisen, it is not, in the end, simply nothing at all. It is like a person who has not yet acted, but will act later — one cannot, simply because they have not yet acted, say there is no person there at all. If there were truly no person, who would act later? Because there is a person who has not yet acted, there is bound to be an act to come. Mind is exactly the same: because of "not-yet-thought," there comes to be "about-to-think"; if there were no "not-yet-thought," how could "about-to-think" ever arise? Hence, though "not-yet-thought" does not yet exist, it cannot be said to be, in the end, simply no thought at all. Though "having-thought" has ceased, it too can be contemplated. It is like a person who has finished acting — one cannot say there is no one there; if there were truly no person, who acted just before? "Having-thought," the mind having ceased, is exactly the same — one cannot say it has been permanently extinguished; were it permanently extinguished, this would be the view of annihilation, with no cause and no effect. Hence, though "having-thought" has ceased, it too can still be contemplated.

Question: The past has already gone, the future has not yet arrived, and the present does not abide — if one departs from the three times, there is no separate mind left at all; what mind, then, is there to contemplate? Answer: Your question is mistaken. If the past were permanently extinguished, it could never, in the end, be known; if the future had not yet arisen, it could not be known; if the present had no abiding, it could not be known. How, then, could the sages know the mind across all three times? Even spirits and ghosts know their own and others' three times — how, then, could a practitioner of the Buddhadharma give rise to the view of annihilation, as absurd as a tortoise's fur or a hare's horn? One should know that, though the mind across the three times has no fixed, real existence, it can nonetheless still be known. Hence a verse says: "What all the buddhas teach: though empty, it is not annihilated; though continuous, it is not permanent; wholesome and unwholesome karma, too, is never lost." If one gives rise to the view of annihilation, it is like a blind person facing color — within the Buddhadharma, one has no eye of correct contemplation, and gains nothing but emptiness. Once the practitioner knows that mind has these four marks, then, whatever wholesome or unwholesome thought arises in the mind, they turn the light of unattached, non-abiding wisdom back upon it in contemplation. Next, going through wholesome matters: wholesome matters are many; here, take the six pāramitās for example. Where there are sense-objects present, one must relinquish the six kinds of receiving; where there is no material wealth, one must exercise the six kinds of action. Taken together, relinquishing and exercising make twelve matters in all.

First, discussing the eye receiving form: not-yet-seeing, about-to-see, seeing, and having-seen — the mind at each of these four moments cannot be seen, nor can it be said not to be seen. Turning the light of contemplation back upon the very mind that is aware of form, it does not come from outside — were it to come from outside, it would have nothing to do with me; nor does it emerge from within — were it to emerge from within, it would not need to depend on causes and conditions. Since it is neither outside nor inside, nor is it in between, nor does it exist fixedly on its own. One should know: the mind aware of form is, in the end, quiescent and empty. The form contemplated is the equal of emptiness; the one who contemplates form is the equal of a blind person. Down to the mind taking a mental object: not-yet-taking, about-to-take, taking, and having-taken — the mind at each of these four moments cannot be found either. Turning the light of contemplation back upon the very mind that is aware of a mental object, it does not come from outside, nor does it emerge from within — there is no mental object there at all. Where there is no dharma, everything is the equal of emptiness. This is the contemplation of the six kinds of receiving as awareness, and so on. The eye-faculty, the visible sense-object, space, and light — each and every one of these has no seeing of its own, nor any discrimination. The coming together of causes and conditions gives rise to eye-consciousness; eye-consciousness, through causes and conditions, gives rise to mind-consciousness; and once mind-consciousness has arisen, it is able to discriminate. Depending on mind-consciousness, there then comes to be eye-consciousness; eye-consciousness is able to see, and, having seen, gives rise to craving; craving defiles the form seen, and violates the precepts one has undertaken — this is the fourfold moment leading to hell. The mind truly loves the form but conceals and denies it, saying it does not — this is the fourfold moment leading to the ghost-realm. Giving rise to attachment toward the form, and reckoning it as "I" and "mine" — this is the fourfold moment leading to the animal realm. "My" form against "another's" form, "I" superior and "the other" inferior — this is the fourfold moment leading to the asura realm. Another freely gives me a form, neither given nor taken by force, and upon this form the five precepts and the ten wholesome deeds of benevolence, deference, fidelity, trustworthiness, and clarity arise — this is the fourfold moment leading to humans and gods. Contemplating the fourfold-moment mind itself, its mark arising and ceasing, thought after thought never abiding, thought after thought bound to the three kinds of feeling, thought after thought never free, thought after thought belonging to causes and conditions alone — this is the fourfold moment of the two lesser vehicles. Having contemplated the faults of one's own fourfold moment in this way, one contemplates the fourfold moment of others exactly the same way, and thereupon gives rise to compassion and practices the six pāramitās. Why is this? The sense-object of the six kinds of receiving has, by its very nature and mark, always been just this — and for measureless kalpas, stubborn folly has clung to it and been unable to let it go, clinging without ever being able to make it disappear. Now, contemplating the sense-object as no sense-object, there is no receiving of it; contemplating the faculty as no faculty, there is no attachment to oneself; contemplating the person as unfindable, there is no receiver either. All three matters being empty, this is named the pāramitā of giving.

The Diamond Sūtra says: "If one gives while dwelling on form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or mental objects, this is called giving while dwelling on marks — like a person entering darkness, seeing nothing at all. Giving without dwelling on sound or taste is giving without marks — like a person with eyes, when sunlight shines brightly, seeing every kind of form clearly." To simply say "not seeing any mark" remains, in brief, still hard to understand. Here, one does not see form as having a mark, as having no mark, as both having and having no mark, or as neither having nor having no mark; if one clings to a mark wherever one turns, one is drawn out of it until none of the sixty-two views arise — only then is it called "markless giving," reaching the far shore. Every dharma whatsoever tends toward giving, accomplishing the Mahāyāna — this is the bodhisattva's own fourfold moment. Again: contemplating the fourfold moment as the equal of empty space is itself "permanence"; not being subject to the fourfold moment is itself "bliss"; not generating karma on account of the fourfold moment is itself "self"; the fourfold moment being unable to defile it is itself "purity" — this is the fourfold moment of the Buddhadharma. Though this fourfold moment is thus empty, within that very emptiness every kind of fourfold moment is seen in full, extending even to seeing the whole of the Buddhadharma, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, accomplishing the Mahāyāna — this is the fourfold moment as provisional name. If it were merely empty, it could not be complete with the ten dharma-realms; the dharma-realm arises from causes and conditions, and its very substance, again, is not existent. Because it is not existent, it is empty; because it is not empty, it is existent; not grasping at either emptiness or existence, illuminating both emptiness and existence at once, the three truths stand out vividly, complete with the Buddha's own knowledge and vision, fully and clearly present within the fourfold-moment mind. Contemplating the fourfold-moment mind of the other five kinds of receiving — sound, smell, taste, touch, and mental objects — the perfect awakening to the three truths, inconceivable, is exactly the same. This may be understood following the pattern above, and need not be recorded in further detail.

Next, contemplating giving through the six actions: contemplate not-yet-acting, about-to-act, acting, and having-acted — the fourfold moment, whether slow or fast, can never be found, nor can it even be said that it "cannot be found." Turning the light of contemplation back upon the very mind aware of this, it does not come from outside, does not emerge from within, is not in between, and does not exist fixedly on its own — there is no action and no one who acts, only quiescent emptiness in the end. And yet, because the mind is set in motion, there is a coming and going: sometimes for the sake of breaking a precept, sometimes to deceive another, sometimes for one's followers, sometimes to surpass another, sometimes out of righteous deference, sometimes for skillful dhyāna, sometimes for nirvāṇa itself, and sometimes out of compassion, relinquishing the six sense-objects and exercising the six actions. This coming and going by skillful means, every raising and setting-down of the foot, is all like a magical illusion, indistinct and unreal, with no agent and no object lost either — a thousand-mile road is not called far, and a few steps of ground are not called near. Whatever action is undertaken, its merit is never wasted, and no reward is ever hoped for. Abiding in giving in this way, it gathers together the whole of the Buddhadharma, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, complete with the Mahāyāna, able to reach the far shore. Again, contemplating a single arising thought, the ten dharma-realms are already complete within it: the one is not fixed as one, and so can be ten; the ten are not fixed as ten, and so can be one. Neither one nor ten, illuminating both one and ten at once — the three truths are complete within a single thought of mind. Abiding, sitting, lying down, speaking, keeping silent, every action whatsoever, is exactly the same, and may be understood following the pattern above. Hence the Lotus Sūtra says: "And I see the Buddha's disciples give away fine garments and upper robes, seeking the buddha-path." This is exactly that same sense.

Above, giving was discussed jointly across all twelve matters; now each single matter is discussed in terms of all six pāramitās in turn. When the practitioner walks, contemplating sentient beings with the eye of great compassion, finding no mark of "sentient being" at all, so that sentient beings, in relation to the bodhisattva, feel no fear — this is giving within walking. Doing no harm at all to sentient beings, finding no mark of offense or merit — this is called moral discipline. When walking, no thought arises in the mind, nor any agitation; there is no place where it abides; the aggregates, sense-bases, and elements, too, are all alike unmoved — this is called patience. When walking, there is no raising or setting-down of the foot as such, the mind has no thought before and no awareness after; within every dharma there is no arising, abiding, or ceasing — this is called diligence. Finding no body, no mind, no birth-and-death, no nirvāṇa, no receiving or clinging within any dharma whatsoever, neither savoring it nor disturbed by it — this is called dhyāna. When walking, the head and the other five parts of the body are like clouds, like shadows, like a dream, an illusion, an echo, a magical transformation — without arising or ceasing, without permanence or annihilation, the aggregates, elements, and sense-bases quiescent and empty, with nothing bound and nothing freed — this is called prajñā. This is explained in full detail in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra. Again, within walking, there is a still, concentrated mark of its own; if one does not examine this closely, one gives rise to defilement even within concentration, craving and clinging to the very flavor of dhyāna. Now, contemplating this concentrated mind — the mind itself has no fixed mind at all, so where could this concentration even be located? One should know that this concentration arises only from an inverted view. Contemplating in this way, one sees neither emptiness nor non-emptiness, and thereby breaks through the mark of concentration itself, giving rise to no craving or clinging, arising instead through skillful means — this is the bodhisattva's own understanding. A practitioner not yet awakened may suppose that they themselves are able to contemplate the mind, taking this to be wondrous wisdom; clinging to this wisdom and growing self-important is called an obstruction of wisdom, no different from a non-Buddhist practitioner, and liberation is not attained. Rather, one turns the light of contemplation back upon the very mind that is doing the contemplating, and finds no place where it abides, nor any arising or ceasing at all — in the end, there is neither a contemplator nor a non-contemplator. Since the contemplator itself does not exist, who is there to contemplate any dharma at all? Not grasping at a "contemplating mind" is itself departing from every notion of contemplation. The Treatise says: "Thought, conception, and contemplation already removed, the mind of idle theorizing entirely extinguished, measureless offenses removed, the pure mind ever one — such a person, honored and wondrous, is then able to see prajñā itself." The Mahāsaṃnipāta Sūtra says: "Contemplate mind's very own mind" — this is exactly that same sense.

In this way, walking is already complete with the three samādhis: the initial contemplation that breaks through every kind of mark of existence, seeing neither inside nor outside, is the samādhi of emptiness; the next contemplation, able to break even the mark of emptiness itself, is named the samādhi of marklessness; the final contemplation, in which no agent at all is found, is the samādhi of the unconditioned. Moreover, this breaks the three inversions and the three poisons, crosses beyond the three streams of existence, subdues the four demon-enemies, accomplishes the pāramitās, gathers in the dharma-realm, and increases and completes every dharma-gate whatsoever — how could it be limited to merely the six pāramitās and the three samādhis alone! If walking alone is already complete with every dharma, the remaining eleven matters are exactly the same. Next, further, going through the six sense-objects, striving to uphold them with careful purity, like carrying a bowl of oil without spilling a single drop; and, within the six actions, maintaining a solemn and dignified bearing, orderly in every advance and retreat — this alone is merely called "upholding the precepts." The fruit and reward of upholding the precepts in this way is rebirth into pleasure, but this is not samādhi, and cannot be called a pāramitā. If one attains contemplative wisdom, the precepts, across all twelve matters, are accomplished of themselves. Namely: contemplating the fourfold-moment mind of not-yet-seeing form, about-to-see it, seeing it, and having-seen it, seeking it out in every way, one finds neither the mind that arose nor the mind that contemplates it, neither inside nor outside, no coming or going, quiescent and without arising or ceasing. This is the first. Able to contemplate in this way, the seven karmic branches of body and speech become as pure as empty space itself — this is upholding the threefold monastic discipline that is not deficient, not broken, and not perforated. Breaking through every unwholesome discursive thought across the fourfold moment is upholding the precept free of contamination. Not being disturbed by the fourfold moment is upholding the precept conascent with concentration. The fourfold-moment mind not arising at all is upholding the precept conascent with the path. Distinguishing every kind of fourfold moment without any obstruction is upholding the precept of non-attachment. Distinguishing the fourfold moment without error is upholding the precept praised by the wise. Knowing that the fourfold moment gathers in every dharma is upholding the precept of Mahāyāna freedom. Recognizing the fourfold moment's own four virtues is upholding the ultimate precept. This is the second. The mind, once clear and pure, negates both extremes at once, entering correctly into the middle way, illuminating both truths at once — the inconceivable state of the Buddha, complete and lacking nothing. This is the third.

Form, the dharma of form, and the one who receives it, all being unfindable, and all three matters vanishing together — this is "giving." Settling the mind, unmoved, toward form and the one aware of form — this is named "patience." Form and the one aware of form being free of defilement and without interruption — this is named "vīrya." Not being disturbed by form or the one aware of form — this is named "dhyāna." Form and the one aware of form being like an illusion, like a magical transformation — this is named "prajñā." Form and the one aware of form being like empty space — this is named "the samādhi of emptiness." Not grasping even at this emptiness — this is named "the samādhi of marklessness." Neither an agent nor an object — this is named "the samādhi of the unconditioned." Why stop at only the three truths, the six pāramitās, and the three emptinesses? The whole of the Buddhadharma, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, may all likewise be understood following this same pattern. Contemplating the sense-object of form in this way, the other five sense-objects are exactly the same, and the six kinds of receiving and the six kinds of action are exactly the same as well. The Lotus Sūtra says: "And I see the Buddha's disciples, complete in dignified bearing, seeking the buddha-path." This is exactly that same sense. Next, going through the wholesome state of patience: this again is discussed in terms of both acting and receiving, each having what goes against and what accords. What accords is agreeable; what goes against is disagreeable. Toward what goes against, no anger arises; toward what accords, no craving arises. No seeing and no one who sees, no acting and no one who acts — all exactly as explained above. Next, going through the wholesome state of diligence: the old teachers said, "Diligence has no separate substance of its own — it is simply the thoroughness of every other practice." Reasoning it through, however, it should have its own separate substance — just as ignorance, though it pervades and enters every other affliction, is nonetheless itself a distinct thing. Here, taking sūtra recitation as an example, diligently spurring on the mind serves as a model for diligence — reciting without fail day and night, one eventually attains fluency. Yet this alone is not samādhi or wisdom. Now, contemplating the breath itself, touching the seven places, blending together to produce a sound like an echo — neither inside nor outside, with no one reciting and nothing recited — examining all of this thoroughly through the fourfold moment, no receiver arises toward any sense-object, no agent arises toward any condition, affliction never interrupts the recitation, and thought after thought flows into the great ocean of nirvāṇa. This is called "diligence," and so on.

Next, going through the various dhyānas: the root dhyānas, the nine contemplations, the eight liberations, and the rest are merely dhyāna, not yet a pāramitā. Contemplating the fourfold moment of entering concentration, one finds not even a mind there at all — where, then, could any concentration be found? This is directly penetrating the true mark of reality within dhyāna, so that dhyāna gathers in every dharma. Hence the Treatise, in its fifth fascicle, having finished explaining the eight contemplations, goes on to explain the ten powers, the four fearlessnesses, and every dharma whatsoever. Various commentators, failing to penetrate this profound intent, all claimed the Treatise had erred, and that this should not have been discussed there. But this is the Treatise's own author showing that the eight contemplations already constitute a Mahāyāna mark, and so explaining every dharma at length precisely for that reason, and so on. Next, going through wisdom: the Śāstra explains prajñā in eight different ways. Here, taking only worldly wisdom as an example, apply it to contemplating the six kinds of receiving and the six kinds of action. Examined through the fourfold moment, worldly wisdom, too, cannot be found, exactly as explained above. The same holds for every other wholesome dharma as well. Question: If a single dharma already gathers in every dharma, then contemplation alone should suffice — why is calming needed as well? A single pāramitā should suffice — why are all five others needed? Answer: The six pāramitās turn upon and complete one another in sequence, like donning armor before entering battle — one cannot afford to leave any part unsecured, and so on. Contemplation is like a lamp; calming is like a sealed room; it is like washing a robe, or cutting grass, and so on. Again: prajñā, as the dharma-realm, pervades and gathers in everything, and so needs no other dharma; every other dharma, as the dharma-realm, likewise gathers in everything, and so needs no prajñā either. Again: prajñā is itself every dharma, and every dharma is itself prajñā, with no two of them, no separateness at all, and so on.

Third, going through every kind of unwholesome matter by way of "following one's own intent": good and evil, in truth, have no fixed nature. Take, for instance, how the various afflictions are evil while the practices of giving and the rest are good — yet once the reward of rebirth among gods and humans is exhausted, one falls back into the three evil destinies, and this, again, is evil. Why is this? Because neither affliction nor the mundane pāramitās actually move beyond birth-and-death — their very substance is, in either case, evil. The two lesser vehicles' escape from suffering is called good. Though the two lesser vehicles are good in this sense, they are able to deliver only themselves, and so do not have the mark of a truly good person. The Treatise says: "I would rather give rise to the mind of an evil, mangy jackal than give rise to the resolve of a śrāvaka or pratyekabuddha." One should know that birth-and-death and nirvāṇa are, in this sense, both alike evil. The bodhisattva of the six pāramitās, with compassion, benefits both self and other together — this, then, deserves to be called good. Yet though able to benefit both, it is like storing food in a poisoned vessel: the food itself will kill anyone who eats it — and this, again, is evil. That the three vehicles alike sever this — this, then, deserves to be called good. Yet without seeing the distinct principle, this still belongs to one of the two extremes, ignorance not yet expelled — and this, again, is evil. The distinct teaching counts as good — though it sees the distinct principle, it still carries expedient means with it, and cannot yet fully correspond to principle. The Nirvāṇa Sūtra says: "Before this point, we were all, every one of us, called people of wrong view." Is wrongness not itself evil? Only the perfect teaching's own Dharma may be called truly good. What accords with the true mark of reality is called the path; what turns its back on the true mark of reality is called not-the-path. If one penetrates that every evil, not truly evil, is itself already the true mark of reality, then one walks upon not-the-path and thereby penetrates through to the buddha-path itself. But should one become attached even to the buddha-path, then even ambrosia cannot be digested, and the path itself turns into not-the-path. Discussed in this way, the sense of good and evil runs through everything alike. Here, taking them in their particular sense, the practices of giving and the rest are good, and the various afflictions are evil. How to contemplate the wholesome dharmas has already been explained above; how to contemplate evil will now be explained.

Even though wholesome states were contemplated above, one's own afflictions do not thereby cease — affliction surges on vast and unbroken, arising at every moment without exception. If one contemplates others as well, their evils, too, are without measure. Hence, when one cultivates the perception that nothing in the entire world is truly pleasurable, one finds no good person and no good land anywhere — everyone wrapped up purely in every kind of affliction and evil. Even granting that one does not possess every affliction all at once, one still gives rise, in some skewed way, to what is unwholesome — excessive stinginess and greed in some, frequent violation of the precepts in others, much anger, much sloth, much fondness for the taste of wine. Character and disposition are easily overturned, and fault is bound to follow — who, then, is entirely without failing? One who has gone forth from home, leaving the world behind, still has practice yet incomplete; a layperson still receiving the pleasures of the senses is not one truly walking the path, and evil is simply their lot. Even an arhat retains residual habituation — how much more, then, an ordinary person? Should an ordinary person indulge every evil affliction without restraint, they will be broken and cast down, with never any escape in sight — hence, it is precisely within evil itself that contemplative wisdom must be cultivated. It was exactly this way in the Buddha's own time: laypeople with wives and children, engaged in official duties and worldly affairs, were still able to attain the path. Aṅgulimāla, ever more given to killing, was ever more given to compassion; Jeta was entirely given to wine, while Mallikā was entirely given to the precepts; Vasumitrā practiced licentiousness and yet lived the pure conduct of brahmacarya; Devadatta's own wrong views were themselves precisely correct. If it were true that, within every evil, evil alone is present, so that the path could never be cultivated there, then every one of these people would have remained an ordinary being forever. Because there is a path present even within evil, though they carried out every kind of affliction, they nonetheless attained sagehood — hence it is known that evil does not obstruct the path. And likewise, the path does not obstruct evil. A stream-enterer's own desire may grow even stronger; Pilindavatsa still had pride; Śāriputra still gave rise to anger — what loss or gain could this possibly bring to their own freedom from contamination? It is like how, within empty space, "brightness and darkness do not cancel each other out, and buddha-bodhi is thereby made manifest" — this is exactly that same sense.

If a person's own nature is given heavily to craving, its filth and turbidity blazing fiercely, and yet, though treated with antidotes and subdued by force, it only grows more severe still — then simply let it run its own course. Why is this? If the affliction does not arise at all, there is nothing for contemplation to work on. It is like fishing with a line: when the fish is strong and the line weak, one cannot fight and haul it in by force — one need only let the hook and bait enter its mouth, and, following it near or far, letting it sink or rise freely, before long it will be caught. Cultivating contemplation upon affliction is exactly the same. The affliction is the fierce fish; contemplation is the hook and bait. Were there no fish at all, the hook and bait would be useless. But given that there is a fish, the larger and more numerous the better — following it constantly with the hook and bait, never letting go, this affliction will, before long, be entirely brought under rein. How, then, does one contemplate it? Should craving arise, contemplate closely that craving has four such marks: not-yet-craving, about-to-crave, actively craving, and having-craved. Does about-to-crave arise from not-yet-craving having ceased, or from not-yet-craving not having ceased, or from both having ceased and not having ceased, or from neither having ceased nor not having ceased? If about-to-crave arises from cessation, is this arising identical with that cessation, or separate from it? If identical, then arising and ceasing contradict each other; if separate, then the arising has no cause at all. If not-yet-craving has not ceased, and about-to-crave nonetheless arises, is this identical or separate? If identical, then two arisings stand side by side, and arising would be endless; if separate, then again there is no cause for it. If it arises from both having ceased and not having ceased, then, if it arises from the ceased aspect, the not-ceased aspect is unnecessary; if it arises from the not-ceased aspect, the ceased aspect is unnecessary — how could an indeterminate cause ever produce a determinate effect? If the two are one and the same in substance, their natures contradict each other; if they are different in substance, they have nothing to do with each other in the first place. If about-to-crave arises from neither having ceased nor not having ceased, is this place of double-negation itself existent or non-existent? If this double-negation is existent, in what sense is it "double-negation" at all? If this double-negation is non-existent, how could non-existence give rise to anything? In none of these four alternatives is the arising of about-to-crave to be found; turning the same four alternatives around, the cessation of not-yet-craving is not to be found either. Whether craving arises, does not arise, both arises and does not arise, or neither arises nor does not arise, may likewise be examined exactly as above. Contemplating the affliction of craving as, in the end, quiescent and empty, while illuminating both aspects clearly at once, all exactly as explained above — this is what is called "the hook and bait."

If the affliction constantly arises, this contemplation constantly illuminates it; one sees neither the arising nor the illuminating, and yet there is arising, and there is illuminating. This is the first. Again, contemplate through what sense-object this affliction arises — form? or something else? Through what action does it arise — walking? or something else? If through form, is it not-yet-seeing, about-to-see, seeing, or having-seen? If through action, is it not-yet-acting, about-to-act, acting, or having-acted? For what matter does it arise — for breaking a precept? for one's followers? for deceit? for jealousy? for benevolence and deference? for skillful dhyāna? for nirvāṇa? for the four virtues? for the six pāramitās? for the three samādhis? for the whole of the Buddhadharma, numerous as the sands of the Ganges? This is the second. Contemplating in this way, there is no receiver toward any sense-object, no agent toward any condition; and yet sense-object, receiving, faculty, and condition are all illuminated clearly at once. Magical illusion, emptiness, and the Dharma-nature do not obstruct one another at all. Why is this? If affliction obstructed the Dharma-nature, the Dharma-nature would have to be destroyed by it; if the Dharma-nature obstructed affliction, affliction should never be able to arise at all. One should know that affliction is itself already the Dharma-nature: affliction arising is itself the Dharma-nature arising, and affliction ceasing is itself the Dharma-nature ceasing. The Sūtra on the Practice of Non-Action says: "Craving is itself the path; anger and delusion are exactly the same; within these three dharmas, the whole of the Buddhadharma is complete. Should a person leave craving behind and seek bodhi elsewhere, this is like heaven separated from earth — craving is itself bodhi." The Vimalakīrti Sūtra says: "Walking upon not-the-path, one penetrates through to the buddha-path." "Every sentient being is itself already the mark of bodhi, and cannot be attained all over again; is itself already the mark of nirvāṇa, and cannot be extinguished all over again." "For those of overweening pride, leaving behind lust, anger, and delusion is taught as liberation; for those without overweening pride, the very nature of lust, anger, and delusion is itself taught as liberation." "Every worldly affliction is itself the very seed of the Tathāgata." Mountain and sea, form and flavor, are neither two nor separate. This is contemplating every evil as the inconceivable principle itself. This is the third. Constantly cultivating this contemplative wisdom, corresponding to the principle within affliction, like a form and its shadow, is named "the stage of contemplative practice." Being able, in every unwholesome dharma and every worldly occupation, to remain never at odds with true contemplation, is "the stage of resemblance." Advancing into the copper-wheel stage, breaking through the very root of affliction — its root being ignorance — the root toppled and its branches broken, the buddha-nature manifested, is "the stage of partially realized true reality." And on up to the buddhas, who exhaust affliction to its very source and depth, is named "the ultimate stage." Within the affliction of craving, the six identities are already complete vertically, and every pāramitā complete horizontally — every dharma follows this same pattern, as explained above, and so on.

Fourth, contemplating neither good nor evil, that is, the indeterminate, drowsy, and dulled kind of dharma. The reason this too must be contemplated is that there are people whose very disposition neither does good nor does evil — such a person has no causal condition at all for world-transcending practice through following one's own intent; what, then, is to be done with such a person? The Treatise says: "One who has prajñāpāramitā even within the indeterminate is thereby able to cultivate this contemplation." Contemplating this indeterminate state — is it different from good and evil, or the same? If the same, it would not be indeterminate at all. If different: does the indeterminate arise from the determinate having ceased? From the determinate not having ceased? From the determinate having both ceased and not ceased? From the determinate neither having ceased nor not having ceased? Even the determinate itself, sought for, cannot be found — how much less, then, could sameness or difference between the determinate and the indeterminate be found? Because they are not the same, they are not joined together; because they are not different, they are not scattered apart. Because they are not joined, nothing arises from them; because they are not scattered, nothing ceases either. Again, going through the twelve matters: in which of them does the indeterminate arise? For whose sake does the indeterminate arise? Who is it that is indeterminate? Contemplating in this way, it takes on the mark of empty space itself. Again, this one dharma of the indeterminate gives rise to the ten dharma-realms and to every dharma whatsoever. Again, the indeterminate is itself already the Dharma-nature; the Dharma-nature's own constant quiescence is the meaning of "calming"; that same quiescence, constantly illuminating, is the meaning of "contemplation." Within the indeterminate, though not-the-path, one penetrates through to the buddha-path; the indeterminate, as the dharma-realm, gathers in every dharma horizontally and every one of the six stages vertically, lofty and vast, complete and lacking nothing, exactly as explained above. Furthermore: to explain "following one's own intent" only in terms of the final, wholesome state alone is the gradual sense of it. To explain "following one's own intent" through good and evil together at once is the sudden sense of it. To explain "following one's own intent" through wholesome states folded and layered one upon another is the indeterminate sense of it, and so on.

Furthermore: though the methods of the four kinds of samādhi each differ from one another, the contemplation of principle within them is the same throughout. It is only that the three other practices' own methods often bring forth dharma-gates that assist the path, while also stirring up obstructions to the path; "following one's own intent" has, by comparison, few external methods, and so brings forth few such matters. If one understands only the method, then whatever assists the path in the phenomenal sense cannot be fully penetrated; if one understands the contemplation of principle, then there is nothing in the phenomenal sense that is not penetrated. Moreover, without grasping the sense of contemplating principle, the phenomenal assistance to the path will not succeed either; grasping the sense of contemplating principle, the phenomenal samādhi is accomplished of itself, spontaneously. If one practices the path only in its phenomenal form, one can apply the mind while within the practice-place, but not once outside it; "following one's own intent," by contrast, knows no such interruption. The method is confined to three of the four; the contemplation of principle runs through all four alike, and so on. Question: Each of the three samādhis above comes with its own encouragement to cultivate it — why does this one alone lack any such encouragement? Answer: The six afflictions, as not-the-path, are themselves already the path of liberation. Those of dull faculties and heavy obstruction, on merely hearing this, sink into confusion — and were encouragement added on top of that, the true intent would be lost all the more severely. North of the Huai River there lived practitioners of a supposed Mahāyāna emptiness who handled snakes without any restraint — let this now be told. Their founding teacher had, for a long time, practiced contemplation upon wholesome dharmas without ever penetrating through; releasing the mind instead toward contemplation upon unwholesome dharmas, he gained a slight measure of concentrated mind and a thin taste of understanding emptiness, yet, without recognizing capacity or condition, and without penetrating the Buddha's own actual intent, he took this one method alone and taught it to everyone without exception. Having taught it this way for a long time, he happened upon one or two people who genuinely benefited — like an insect gnawing at wood that happens to trace the shape of a character — and thereupon took this as proof, declaring it the real truth, and dismissing everything else as false speech. He mocked those who uphold the precepts and cultivate wholesome practice, calling it not-the-path, and taught everyone, purely and simply, to commit every kind of evil without restraint. Blind, sightless people, unable to distinguish right from wrong, their own spiritual faculties dull, their afflictions heavy besides, heard what he taught, found it accorded with their own desires, and all believed and submitted, following along. They abandoned every precept and restraint, leaving nothing undone, until their offenses piled up like mountains. This eventually caused the common people to regard the Dharma as worthless as weeds, and the king and his ministers, because of this, destroyed the Buddhadharma itself — a poison whose effect runs deep, and has not been undone even to this day.

The Records of the Grand Historian says: "At the end of the Zhou, there were those with disheveled hair and bared bodies who no longer followed ritual propriety — and so the Rong barbarians invaded the state, its fortunes hanging on like a single thread, and the house of Zhou gradually came to its end." Again, Ruan Ji, a man of untethered talent, went about with tousled hair and loosened robes, and afterward the sons and grandsons of ministers and nobles all imitated him. Those who insulted one another like dogs and slaves were then said to have attained the natural and spontaneous; those who kept themselves restrained and disciplined were mocked as rustic and provincial — and this was the very mark of the House of Sima's own downfall. Yuwen Yong's destruction of the Dharma, too, came about through Wei Yuansong's own demonic karma. All of this is the specter that destroys the Buddhadharma, and likewise the specter of the age itself — but what does any of it have to do with the true intent of "following one's own intent"? Why is this? Such foolish people, their minds without wisdom or understanding, trust in their own founding teacher, and, admiring those who came before, decide firmly that this is the path. Moreover, following one's own desires feels easy, and indulging the mind in pleasure never corrects the delusion. It is like Xi Shi, who originally suffered from a heart ailment and often winced and sighed — every one of her hundred captivating expressions only made her more beautiful still. A plain-looking neighbor girl, imitating her wincing and sighing, only became all the more unbearable to look at. The poor moved far away, the rich shut their doors, burrowing creatures sank deep underground, and flying creatures soared far off. These people are exactly the same: like a mad dog chasing after thunder, they build up the karma of hell — how sorrowful, how pitiable! Having grown addicted to sensual pleasure, they cannot restrain themselves, just like a fly stuck fast to spit. This, in brief, is the fault of reckless, undisciplined practice.

As for the teacher's own fault: he failed to penetrate his students' actual capacity and disposition, and failed to understand the Buddha's own actual intent. When the Buddha teaches that "craving is itself the path," the Buddha, seeing what was fitting to the occasion, knew of one kind of sentient being, of the lowest capacity and thinnest merit, who could, in the end, never cultivate the path through wholesome means at all. Left to their own karma, they would drift on and on without end; hence, only because there was truly no other way to make them stop, he had them cultivate calming-and-contemplation within craving itself, and taught it in this way for that reason alone. It is like parents who, seeing their child fall ill, find no other medicine will serve, and must resort to a decoction of realgar and dragon's blood, breaking the child's teeth open to pour it in — and once taken, the illness is cured. The Buddha is exactly the same: he taught according to the occasion. A swift horse, seeing merely the shadow of the whip, arrives at once on the correct road. "Craving is itself the path" — this is the Buddha's own actual intent. Where there are sentient beings for whom it is not fitting to cultivate calming-and-contemplation through evil, the Buddha teaches the various wholesome practices, and calls these the path instead. The Buddha provided both teachings — how, then, can you now condemn the good and embrace evil instead? Were this truly right, you would then have to be greater than the Buddha himself — a flagrant contradiction, right in the Buddha's own presence. Furthermore: in times of hardship and difficulty, constrained by the affairs of kings, unable to cultivate the good, one might have to practice calming-and-contemplation within evil itself instead. But you, now, face no such hardship, no such constraint — why, then, do you take what should be nourishing milk and turn it into poison, destroying others' own wisdom-life? The Āgama tells of a cowherd who knew well the good fording-place, and so kept his herd of cattle safe. Should the good fording-place become dangerous, then, only when there was truly no other choice, one would have to cross by the dangerous ford instead. The dangerous ford holds many perils, and not one in a hundred crosses it safely. You, now, facing no such circumstance, are fortunate enough to have the good fording-place available — why, then, drive the cattle by the evil path, sinking both yourself and others together? Destroying the Buddhadharma, diminishing its own majestic light, leading multitudes of sentient beings astray — this is the fault of the great evil counselor who fails to grasp the Buddha's own actual intent.

Furthermore: both the level road and the perilous one can lead through — one takes the perilous road only when facing genuine difficulty. Good and evil can both lead through, but one enters affliction only after carefully discerning the occasion. You abandon the good and devote yourself exclusively to evil, claiming to penetrate through by not-the-path — why, then, do you not also tread through water and fire, or pass straight through mountains and cliffs? If even the perilous roads of this ordinary world cannot be crossed by you in this way, how much less could practicing evil ever meet with the correct path — how could this possibly be attained? Moreover, unable even to know a single person's own capacity and condition — even one single person delights in the good at one moment and delights in evil the next, their likes and dislikes never fixed — how much less, then, could this be known for countless different people, and yet you teach them all, purely and simply, through craving alone? Vimalakīrti said: "I recall that the śrāvakas, without examining a person's own capacity, ought not to teach the Dharma to them." Even the two lesser vehicles, without examining capacity, already err in matching the occasion — how much more, then, you, blind and benighted, a teacher with no eyes of your own, guided only by your own arbitrary mind? This is, of itself, already a violation of the sūtras, failing to match capacity to principle — how has such foolish delusion come to this?! Should one see a person who fails to recognize what is fitting to the occasion, and yet acts and teaches in this way, they are a corpse floating in the ocean of the precepts; they should be expelled and dealt with according to the Vinaya, lest a poisonous tree be allowed to take root and grow within the elder's own household, and so on. Furthermore, examining this evil practice closely, its own conduct is itself already partial and deviant. You claim that craving is itself the path — yet can you violate every woman without ever giving rise to anger, and call this the path? Can you harm every man, loving only smooth and pleasant sensation as the path, while fearing beatings and bitter, harsh sensation, with no path found there at all? Practicing one and not the other, with a path in one case and no path in the other, is delusion as thick as pitch, a partial and defiling practice — like a corpse befouling a beautiful garden, and so on. Challenged on this partiality as above, some fall silent; some answer, "But you fail to see that I can always enter it regardless" — but this itself already contradicts their own mind, a statement free of any shame or conscience, and one that has failed to grasp the sense of the six identities as well. The reason this whole matter must be discussed here is this: the three practices explained above are demanding and difficult to carry out diligently, and so encouragement to cultivate them is genuinely needed; "following one's own intent," by contrast, blending its own light with evil to enter it, is, at first approach, easy — and so what is genuinely needed here is caution and restraint instead, like taking a purgative decoction of rhubarb, which must be followed with a bland gruel to settle and restore the body afterward, and so on.

Question: If correct contemplation of the middle way already unifies the mind as one, practicing with it alone should suffice — why is such a bewildering array of four kinds of samādhi needed, going through every wholesome and unwholesome state, across twelve separate matters? When water is muddied and a jewel dimmed, when the wind blows hard and the waves are churned up — how could any of this benefit stillness and clarity? Answer: It is like a poor person, content with the little they have, who no longer wishes for anything better. But if the mind that contemplates is only ever one kind, while the mind itself is actually manifold — what is to be done about that? To leave it this way would already be a failure in one's own practice. And if one uses this to transform others, the capacities and dispositions of others are mismatched and varied — a single person's own afflictions are already without measure, how much more, then, many people together? It is like a physician who gathers together every kind of medicine to treat every kind of illness — a single kind of patient needs a single kind of medicine to treat a single kind of illness, and yet one finds it strange that the physician keeps so many medicines on hand. Your question seems reasonable, but is not. The afflictions of the mind, as illnesses, are measureless and boundless — even for a single person, let alone for many people together. How is this so even for a single person? If a person wishes to hear of the four kinds of samādhi, and rejoices on hearing of them, all four must be explained to them in full — this is the worldly siddhānta. Having heard of all four, and practicing them in sequence, able to give rise to wholesome dharmas — explaining all four together in this way is the siddhānta for the individual. Whether it is fitting to treat their various evils within constant sitting, or within following one's own intent, and so on — this is called the siddhānta of the antidote. Such a person, needing all four methods together, suddenly attains awakening — this is the siddhānta of ultimate meaning. If even a single person still needs all four explained, how could they possibly be dispensed with? And if teaching many people at once: one person delights in constant sitting, and finds no desire for the other three; another wishes for constant walking, and finds no delight in the other three. Meeting the desires of every person in the assembly is itself the worldly siddhānta; the other three siddhāntas apply in exactly the same way. Moreover, even within a single one of the four samādhis, all four siddhāntas are already present: if one delights in walking, walk; if one delights in sitting, sit. If, while walking, wholesome roots open and unfold, entering various dharma-gates, this is the moment to walk; if, while sitting, the very ground of the mind grows cool, joyful, and at ease, this is the moment to sit. If, while sitting, one grows sunk in dullness, one should rouse oneself and walk instead; if, while walking, one becomes scattered, agitated, and exhausted, one should then sit. If, while walking, one feels vividly open and empty, this is the moment to walk; if, while sitting, one feels lucid, clear, and sharp, this is the moment to sit. The other three siddhāntas follow this same pattern, and so on.

Question: The good supports principle, and so calming-and-contemplation may be cultivated through it; evil goes against principle — how, then, could calming-and-contemplation be cultivated through it? Answer: The Treatise explains capacity and hindrance as fourfold: first, sharp capacity without hindrance; second, sharp capacity with hindrance; third, dull capacity without hindrance; fourth, dull capacity with hindrance. The first is the highest grade — Śāriputra and others in the Buddha's own time were people of this kind. A practitioner who cultivates calming-and-contemplation within wholesome dharmas, through diligently cultivating the good, incurs no hindrance in the future, and, constantly practicing calming-and-contemplation, makes their own capacity sharper still. If, in past lives, one was already complete in these two qualities, then, in this present life, even slight cultivation brings correspondence at once, moving from the stage of contemplative practice into the stages of resemblance and true reality. Those in this present life who fail to enter these stages simply lacked these two qualities in the past. Cultivating the good now causes swift entry in the future. The second case is sharp capacity for attaining the path, yet with heavy, accumulated karmic hindrance — King Ajātaśatru and Aṅgulimāla, in the Buddha's own time, were people of this kind. Though their heinous crimes carried heavy hindrance, deserving rebirth in hell, on seeing the Buddha and hearing the Dharma they suddenly became sages — because their capacity was sharp, the hindrance could not obstruct them. A practitioner of the present day who cultivates calming-and-contemplation within unwholesome dharmas is acting on exactly this same principle: because evil is generated, hindrance arises for the future; yet because calming-and-contemplation is cultivated, one's capacity in a later life is sharpened. Should such a person meet a spiritual friend who drives them onward into the correct path, how could one still say that unwholesome dharmas go against principle, and refuse to cultivate calming-and-contemplation through them? Next, dull capacity without hindrance: Cūḍapanthaka, in the Buddha's own time, was a person of this kind — though his three karmic actions carried no fault, his own disposition was extremely dull, and he spent ninety days simply reciting the verse of Kumāra: "The wise, in body, speech, and mind, commit none of the evils; mindfulness constantly present before them, they take no delight in clinging to the desires, nor do they undertake the useless austerities of the world." A person of the present day who, though upholding the precepts and practicing the good, does not study calming-and-contemplation, incurs no hindrance for the future, but finds awakening to the path exceedingly difficult all the same. The last case is every person who practices evil, and who, moreover, does not cultivate calming-and-contemplation at all. Not cultivating calming-and-contemplation, they do not attain the path; their capacity being dull, though taught a thousand times over, they remain stubbornly uncomprehending. Committing much evil, their hindrances arise in ten thousand forms, like a leper whose body has grown numb — a needle pierces through to the bone, and they neither know nor feel it — wrapped up purely in their own manifold evils alone. For this reason: though the good supports principle, the path comes by way of calming-and-contemplation; though evil goes against principle, sharp capacity can still break through its hindrance. Only the path itself is to be honored — how, then, could calming-and-contemplation ever be set aside merely on account of evil? The Nirvāṇa Sūtra says: "One lax in the precepts is not, on that account alone, called lax; one lax in the vehicle itself, this alone is truly called lax." The full fourfold pattern of laxity and urgency should be explained, matching the sense of capacity and hindrance given above, and so on. A sūtra also says: "I would rather be Devadatta than Udraka Rāmaputra" — this is exactly that same sense. One should diligently listen, reflect, and cultivate, without ever resting from the start — like a drunken brahmin shaving his head, or an actress dressed as a nun in a play, and so on.

Third, in order to clarify the bodhisattva's own pure and great fruit and reward, this calming-and-contemplation is taught: practice that goes against the middle way brings the fruit and reward of the two extremes; practice that accords with the middle way brings an excellent, wondrous fruit and reward. Even before one has gone beyond birth-and-death of limited span, the blossom-reward already obtained differs from that of the seven expedient means — how much more, then, does the true fruit and reward differ? The seven-walled fragrant city, its bridges and fords laid out like a painting, is exactly this mark. This sense will be explained at length further on, in the eighth section. Question: The Shi Chan Boluomi Cidi Famen's own account of cultivation and realization — how does it compare with this account of fruit and reward? Answer: There, "cultivation" is named "habituated practice," and "realization" is named "what is brought forth"; or "cultivation" is named "the habituation-cause," and "realization" is named "the habituation-fruit" — both obtained within this very life. Here, what is discussed is the fruit within the [six] realms, separated off into a life yet to come — this is where the two accounts differ. The two lesser vehicles possess only the habituation-fruit, with no fruit-and-reward proper; the Mahāyāna possesses both, and so on.

Fourth, in order to tear apart the great net of the manifold sūtras and treatises, this calming-and-contemplation is taught: if a person skillfully applies calming-and-contemplation to contemplating the mind, their own inner wisdom becomes clear and bright, penetrating through to every one of the gradual and sudden teachings alike — like breaking open a single mote of dust to release the sūtra-scrolls of the great trichiliocosm from within it, so that the whole Buddhadharma, numerous as the sands of the Ganges, is understood within a single mind. Should one then wish to benefit sentient beings outwardly, matching the teaching to their occasion, one speaks according to whatever each person is capable of receiving — down even to the moment of accomplishing buddhahood and transforming beings, whether as Dharma-king expounding the sudden and gradual teachings directly, or manifesting as a bodhisattva, a śrāvaka, a deva, a Māra, a human, a ghost, or any of the forms of the ten dharma-realms, setting forth and drawing out the teaching in dialogue; or being questioned by a buddha and answering at length on the sudden and gradual; or seeking out the occasion to question a buddha, who then answers by turning the Dharma-wheel of the sudden and gradual teachings. This sense will be explained at length when the ninth section is reached, and is likewise shown in brief within the section on the scope of the teachings.

Fifth, returning to the great abode. Because every dharma is, in the end, empty, this calming-and-contemplation is taught: glue on the hand is easily stuck fast, but a dream once spoken is hard to wake from; clinging to the letter as though it matched one's own intent, one takes oneself for right, competing to grasp tile and rubble while calling it lapis lazuli. If even close-at-hand matters and plainly stated words still go unrecognized, how much more, then, might distant principles and hidden teachings lead one astray? For this very reason, where it all leads must now be discussed. "Where it leads" means where the text's own intent tends toward. As water flows toward the sea, and flame rises toward the sky, so too does deep understanding penetrate far without ever getting stuck along the way. It is like a wise minister who alone understands the king's own secret code: hearing whatever is said, he grasps it all at once, and thereby reaches the ground of all-knowing wisdom. One who grasps this sense has thereby understood where it all leads. "Where" means turning toward the three virtues oneself; "it leads" means drawing others in to enter the three virtues together — hence it is called "where it leads." Or: entering the three virtues oneself is called "leading"; causing others to enter the three virtues is called "where" — hence, again, "where it leads." Here, "where it all leads" will be explained both as a whole and in its particulars. Every buddha appears in the world for the sake of the one great causal condition, manifesting every kind of form, so that sentient beings alike come to see the Dharma-body together; once the Dharma-body is seen, both buddhas and sentient beings alike return to the Dharma-body. Again, the Buddha teaches every kind of dharma, so that sentient beings alike come to the Tathāgata's own ultimate wisdom that knows all things in every one of their modes; once that wisdom is complete, both buddhas and sentient beings alike return to prajñā. Again, the Buddha manifests every kind of skillful means, supernormal transformation, and liberation from every bond, never causing a single person alone to attain extinction, but bringing every being to extinction by means of the very same extinction the Tathāgata himself has attained; once that extinction is attained, both buddhas and sentient beings alike return to liberation. The Nirvāṇa Sūtra says: "I have placed all my children within the hidden treasury, and before long I too shall dwell within it myself." This is called "where it all leads, as a whole."

As for the particulars: the body has three kinds — first, the physical body; second, the body of dharma-gates; third, the body of the true mark of reality. Once transformative activity is set to rest and where it leads is discussed, the physical body returns to liberation, the body of dharma-gates returns to prajñā, and the body of the true mark of reality returns to the Dharma-body. Prajñā, too, is spoken of as three kinds — first, the wisdom that knows the seeds of every path; second, the wisdom that knows all things generally; third, the wisdom that knows all things in every one of their modes. Once transformative activity is set to rest and where it leads is discussed, the wisdom of the seeds of every path returns to liberation, the wisdom that knows all things generally returns to prajñā, and the wisdom that knows all things in every mode returns to the Dharma-body. Liberation, too, is of three kinds — first, freedom from the bond of not-knowing; second, freedom from the bond of grasping at marks; third, freedom from the bond of ignorance. Once transformative activity is set to rest and one returns to the real, freedom from the bond of not-knowing returns to liberation, freedom from the bond of grasping at marks returns to prajñā, and freedom from the bond of ignorance returns to the Dharma-body. For this reason, where it all leads, in its particulars, likewise returns to the three virtues' own hidden treasury.

Furthermore: the three virtues are neither three nor one, and are inconceivable. Why is this? If one holds that the Dharma-body is simply and only the Dharma-body, this is not truly the Dharma-body at all. One should know that the Dharma-body is likewise body, non-body, and neither body nor non-body: abiding in the Śūraṅgama, it manifests every kind of form in various ways — hence it is named "body"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to liberation. Wisdom, illuminating that every form is not truly form, is hence named "non-body"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to prajñā. The body of the true mark of reality is neither a body of physical form nor a body of dharma-gates, and is hence neither body nor non-body; once this task is accomplished, it returns to the Dharma-body. Penetrating that these three bodies bear no mark of difference between them is called "leading"; expounding that these three bodies bear no mark of difference between them is called "where." Both alike enter the hidden treasury — hence it is called "where it all leads." If one holds that prajñā is simply and only prajñā, this is not truly prajñā at all. One should know that prajñā is likewise knowing, non-knowing, and neither knowing nor non-knowing. The wisdom of the seeds of every path, as prajñā, knows the conventional universally — hence it is named "knowing"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to liberation. The wisdom that knows all things generally, as prajñā, knows the ultimate universally — hence it is named "non-knowing"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to prajñā. The wisdom that knows all things in every mode, as prajñā, knows the middle universally — hence it is named "neither knowing nor non-knowing"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to the Dharma-body. Penetrating that these three kinds of prajñā bear no mark of difference between them is called "leading"; expounding that these three kinds of prajñā bear no mark of difference between them is called "where." Both alike enter the hidden treasury — hence it is called "where it all leads." If one holds that liberation is simply and only liberation, this is not truly liberation at all. One should know that liberation is likewise freedom, non-freedom, and neither freedom nor non-freedom. Liberation through the purity of skillful means tames sentient beings without being defiled by them — hence it is named "freedom"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to liberation. Liberation through perfect purity sees no mark of sentient beings and no mark of liberation itself — hence it is named "non-freedom"; once this task is accomplished, it returns to prajñā. Liberation through the purity of one's own nature is neither freedom nor non-freedom; once this task is accomplished, it returns to the Dharma-body. Whether penetrated or expounded, these three kinds of liberation bear no mark of difference, and both alike enter the hidden treasury — hence it is called "where it all leads."

Furthermore: the three virtues are neither new nor old, and yet are both new and old. Why is this? The three obstructions obstruct the three virtues: ignorance obstructs the Dharma-body; grasping at marks obstructs prajñā; not-knowing obstructs liberation. The three obstructions, having existed already, are named "old"; the three virtues, once the three obstructions are broken through, are only now made manifest — hence they are named "new." The three obstructions are themselves already the three virtues; the three virtues are themselves already the three obstructions. The three obstructions being themselves the three virtues, the three obstructions are not truly "old"; the three virtues being themselves the three obstructions, the three virtues are not truly "new." Not new, and yet new, there is the three virtues attained at the arising of the resolve, on up to the three virtues attained at the ultimate stage; not old, and yet old, there is the three obstructions treated at the arising of the resolve, on up to the three obstructions treated at the ultimate stage. Neither new nor not-new, neither old nor not-old, there is the three virtues as inherent principle itself. If one fully penetrates that the three virtues are neither new, nor old, and yet both new and old, bearing no mark of difference at all — and, expounding this for others, it is exactly the same — this is precisely where it all leads, within the hidden treasury. Again, to state it further: ignorance, having existed already, is named "old"; the Dharma-body is illumination, and breaks through ignorance, hence named "new." Ignorance is itself illumination; illumination is itself ignorance. Ignorance being itself illumination, ignorance is not truly "old"; illumination being itself ignorance, illumination is not truly "new." Grasping at marks, having existed already, is named "old"; marklessness breaks through marks, and marklessness is named "new." Marks are themselves marklessness, and marklessness is itself marks — what, then, is truly new, and what truly old? Not-knowing, having existed already, is named "old"; knowing breaks through not-knowing, and knowing is named "new." Not-knowing is itself knowing, and knowing is itself not-knowing — what, then, is truly new, and what truly old? If one penetrates both the whole and the particulars, new and old bear no mark of difference; and expounding this for others is exactly the same — this is called "where it all leads," entering the hidden treasury. Vertical and horizontal, opening and closing, beginning and end, and every such pair, all follow this same pattern.

Furthermore, "where it all leads" is likewise exactly the same: it is "where," "not-where," and "neither where nor not-where"; it is "leads," "does not lead," and "neither leads nor does not lead" — each and every one of these must enter into the hidden treasury alike, and may be understood following the pattern above. "Where" is because of practice for oneself; "not-where" is because of transforming others; "neither where nor not-where" is because there is no self or other at all. Where it all leads, the three virtues being quiescent just as this — what name could possibly be spoken or shown for it? Not knowing what else to call it, it is forcibly named "the middle way," "the true mark of reality," "the Dharma-body," "neither calming nor contemplation," and so on; it is likewise forcibly named "the wisdom that knows all things in every mode," "the great wisdom of equality," "the contemplation of the perfection of wisdom," and so on; it is likewise forcibly named "the Śūraṅgama concentration," "great nirvāṇa," "the inconceivable calming of liberation," and so on. One should know that every kind of mark, every kind of teaching, every kind of supernormal power, each and every one, enters into this same hidden treasury alike. What, then, is "where it all leads"? Where does it lead to? Who is it that leads there? The path of language is cut off, the place where the mind moves is extinguished, forever quiescent like empty space itself — this is what is named "where it all leads." This will be explained at length when the tenth section is reached.