The First Vision
The very night of his vow, Shandao beholds the western sky itself made manifest — jeweled mountains beyond counting, light turning the earth to gold, buddhas and bodhisattvas in every posture. And from that night forward, an unnamed monk visits his dreams each night, instructing him in this commentary's own structure, until the work is finished.
A Vision the Very Night of This Vow
於佛像前結願已，日別誦阿彌陀經三遍，念阿彌陀佛三萬遍，至心發願。即於當夜見西方空中如上諸相境界悉皆顯現，雜色寶山百重千重，種種光明下照於地，地如金色。中有諸佛菩薩，或坐或立，或語或默，或動身手，或住不動者。既見此相，合掌立觀，量久乃覺。覺已不勝欣喜，於即條錄義門。
Having formed this vow before an image of the Buddha, day after day I recited the Amitābha Sūtra three times, and was mindful of Amitābha Buddha's own name thirty thousand times, giving rise to this vow with utmost sincerity of mind.
That very night, I beheld, within the western sky, every one of these conditions and marks just described manifesting in full: mountains of jewels of every hue, a hundredfold, a thousandfold, with light of every kind shining down upon the earth, so that the earth itself became the color of gold. Within it were buddhas and bodhisattvas beyond number, some seated, some standing, some speaking, some silent, some moving their own bodies and hands, some remaining perfectly still.
Having beheld this vision, I stood with palms joined, gazing upon it for what seemed a long while, before at last I awoke. Upon waking, my own joy was beyond containing, and it was then that I set about recording, point by point, the structure of this commentary.
Shandao reports this vision with the same plain, unadorned diction he has used throughout four fascicles of doctrinal analysis — no heightened rhetoric, simply a careful record of what was seen: jewel-hued mountains, golden earth, buddhas in every posture from stillness to speech. The restraint of the telling is itself notable; this is offered as evidence, not as ornament, and Shandao's own response to it — joy, followed immediately by the practical work of recording this commentary's structure — treats the vision as confirmation to act on, not an experience to dwell in.
A Monk Who Taught Him in His Sleep
自此已後，每夜夢中常有一僧而來指授玄義科文，既了更不復見。
From that time onward, each night within my dreams, a monk would constantly come to instruct me in the profound meaning and textual structure of this commentary; once this work was complete, I no longer beheld him again.
The monk is never named, and Shandao offers no speculation about his identity — only the plain fact of his nightly presence throughout the writing of this commentary, and his equally plain disappearance the moment the work was finished. This anonymity is itself telling: whatever this figure was understood to be, Shandao does not claim him as personal validation of his own authority, but presents him as bound entirely to the completion of the task — present exactly as long as the commentary needed him, and no longer.
Part 109 Complete
This closes Part 109. Part 110 turns to Shandao's second act of verification, once the commentary's draft was complete — a further seven days of recitation and recollection, and three more nights of visions, each with its own distinct sign.
Continue to Part 110 — Three Nights, Three Signs →