菩薩化凌虛 行者變仙丹 Guanyin Becomes Lingxu; the Pilgrim Becomes a Pill
爾時菩薩迺以廣大慈悲，無邊法力，億萬化身，以心會意，以意會身，恍惚之間，變作凌虛仙子：尔时菩萨迺以广大慈悲，无边法力，亿万化身，以心会意，以意会身，恍惚之间，变作凌虚仙子：
行者看道：「妙啊，妙啊！還是妖精菩薩，還是菩薩妖精？」菩薩笑道：「悟空，菩薩、妖精，總是一念；若論本來，皆屬無有。」行者心下頓悟，轉身卻就變做一粒仙丹：行者看道：「妙啊，妙啊！还是妖精菩萨，还是菩萨妖精？」菩萨笑道：「悟空，菩萨、妖精，总是一念；若论本来，皆属无有。」行者心下顿悟，转身却就变做一粒仙丹：
逐句解 Line by line
Then the Bodhisattva, by her great and vast compassion, by her boundless power of the Law, by her hundred million transformation-bodies, met intention with mind and body with intention;
爾時, at that time, is the phrase a sutra opens with, and the whole sentence is written in the cadence of scripture. 迺 is simply 乃. 以心會意，以意會身 — mind meeting intention, intention meeting body: the transformation is described as an inward act, not a conjuring trick.
and in a moment of blurred seeming she was changed into the Immortal Lingxu.
恍惚之間, in the space of a blur, is a phrase out of the Daodejing. 凌虛仙子 takes the lexical 子, zǐ. She takes the name of the wolf whose brains are still on the road behind her.
A crane-feather cloak, and the immortal wind blowing; fluttering, she seems about to pace the void.
鶴氅, a cloak of crane feathers, is the Taoist adept's costume. 步虛, pacing the void, names both a Taoist hymn and the ritual walk that goes with it. This poem is a regulated five-character 詩, rhyming 虛, 無, 殊, 軀.
A weathered face, old as pine and cypress; a beauty not to be found in ancient time or now.
秀色古今無 — a beauty that neither antiquity nor the present day possesses. The line is describing a disguise.
Going and going, she yet abides nowhere; suchness upon suchness, each with its own difference.
還 is the adverb hái. 無住 renders apratiṣṭhita, the non-abiding of the Diamond Sutra; 如如 renders tathatā, suchness. A Buddhist poem about a Taoist costume.
All comes home at last to a single Dharma; only the fiendish body stands between.
總來歸一法: the 一 before third-tone 法 gives yì. 隔邪軀 — only the fiendish body stands in the way. The couplet states the chapter's doctrine and locates the entire problem in a shape.
The Pilgrim looked and said, "Marvellous, marvellous! Is it the fiend that is the Bodhisattva, or the Bodhisattva that is the fiend?"
Two instances of adverbial 還, hái. The question is put as a jest and is the most serious thing the Pilgrim says in the chapter.
The Bodhisattva laughed. "Wukong: Bodhisattva and fiend are together a single thought. If you speak of the original state, both belong to non-being."
總是一念: the 一 before fourth-tone 念 gives yí. 皆屬無有, both belong to non-being. The Bodhisattva answers a joke with the doctrine of emptiness, and in doing so settles the bear's fate before a pill has been swallowed.
The Pilgrim was enlightened on the instant. He turned about and changed himself into one pellet of elixir:
頓悟, sudden awakening, is the technical term of the Southern school of Chan — enlightenment arriving all at once rather than by degrees. It is applied here to a monkey who is about to turn himself into a poison pill.
Rolling on the tray, it is never unsettled; round and lucid, it has no quarter.
走盤, running about a tray, is the standing image for a pearl so perfectly round it will not sit still. The 不 before fourth-tone 定 gives bú. This poem rhymes 方, 商, 光, 量.
Thrice three, and it accords with Goulou; six times six, and it takes counsel with Shaoweng.
勾漏 is the mountain in Guangxi where Ge Hong went looking for cinnabar; 少翁 is Li Shaoweng, the court magician of Emperor Wu of Han, and its 少 reads shào, not shǎo.
Potsherd and bright metal, a flame of yellow gold; a mani jewel, a light in the white day.
牟尼 renders maṇi, the wish-granting jewel. 瓦鑠, potsherd and bright metal, is the base stuff the elixir gets made out of.
The lead and quicksilver of the outer arts may not lightly be weighed against it.
鉛與汞, lead and quicksilver: the outer alchemy the three fiends were discussing when the Pilgrim first laid eyes on them, and which his own autobiography dismissed as wasted labour. 論量 — 量 is the verb, liáng, to weigh, in line with the ruling at 不可量 earlier in the chapter.
The doctrinal centre of the chapter is a joke and its answer. The Pilgrim, looking at a Bodhisattva wearing a dead wolf's face, asks: 還是妖精菩薩，還是菩薩妖精？ Is the fiend the Bodhisattva, or the Bodhisattva the fiend? And Guanyin does not laugh it off. 菩薩、妖精，總是一念；若論本來，皆屬無有。 Bodhisattva and fiend are a single thought; speak of the original state and both belong to non-being. The poem on her disguise has already said as much — 總來歸一法，只是隔邪軀, all comes home to one Dharma and only the fiendish body is in the way.
Then the monkey, 頓悟, suddenly awakened, turns himself into a pill of poison. The second poem describes him in precisely the vocabulary of the outer alchemy those first fiends were talking when he killed one of them — Goulou, Shaoweng, lead and mercury — and finishes by declaring that vocabulary inadequate to him. He has understood the teaching perfectly and drawn from it the conclusion that he may now do anything at all. The bear, who has cultivated the Way for two hundred and seventy years and is about to be poisoned at his own birthday party, is not consulted.