六字真言 The Seal of Six Syllables
如來又稱謝了，叫阿儺、迦葉將各所獻之物一一收起，方向玉帝前謝宴。眾各酩酊。只見個巡視靈官來報道：「那大聖伸出頭來了。」佛祖道：「不妨，不妨。」袖中只取出一張帖子，上有六個金字：「唵、嘛、呢、叭、咪、吽。」遞與阿儺，叫貼在那山頂上。這尊者即領帖子，拿出天門，到那五行山頂上，緊緊的貼在一塊四方石上。那座山即生根合縫，可運用呼吸之氣，手兒爬出，可以搖掙搖掙。如来又称谢了，叫阿傩、迦叶将各所献之物一一收起，方向玉帝前谢宴。众各酩酊。只见个巡视灵官来报道：「那大圣伸出头来了。」佛祖道：「不妨，不妨。」袖中只取出一张帖子，上有六个金字：「唵、嘛、呢、叭、咪、吽。」递与阿傩，叫贴在那山顶上。这尊者即领帖子，拿出天门，到那五行山顶上，紧紧的贴在一块四方石上。那座山即生根合缝，可运用呼吸之气，手儿爬出，可以摇挣摇挣。
逐句解 Line by line
The Tathāgata again gave thanks, bade Ānanda and Kāśyapa gather up one by one the things that had been offered, and then before the Jade Emperor gave thanks for the banquet.
將各所獻之物: disposal-jiāng. 一一: the first 一 takes yì, the second the original tone — "one by one." The Buddha's courtesies wind down; the banquet is ending, and his true business — sealing the mountain — remains.
All were dead drunk. Then a Patrolling Officer came to report: "That Great Sage has poked his head out." The Buddha said: "No matter, no matter."
酩酊 (mǐng dǐng), dead-drunk; 酊 = dǐng. 不妨 (bù fáng), "no harm." The monkey, even sealed, is already straining at his confinement — and the Buddha's unconcern signals the perfect adequacy of the seal he is about to apply.
From his sleeve he took out a single slip of paper, on which were six golden words: "Oṃ, ma, ṇi, pad, me, hūṃ." He handed it to Ānanda and told him to paste it on the mountain's summit.
唵嘛呢叭咪吽 (ǎn ma ne bā mī hōng) — the Chinese transliteration of Oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ, the six-syllable mantra of Avalokiteśvara, the most revered mantra in Mahāyāna. 一張: yì (before zhāng, 1st tone). It is sound, not stone, that finally holds the monkey — the spoken Dharma made seal.
The venerable one took the slip, carried it out of the Heaven-gate, came to the summit of the Mountain of Five Phases, and pasted it fast upon a square stone.
尊者 (zūn zhě), the venerable one (Ānanda). 五行山: 行 = xíng. 一塊: yí (before kuài, 4th tone). The mantra-slip on the square stone completes the apparatus: Five-Phases mountain below, six-syllable seal above.
That mountain at once took root and sealed its seams; yet he could still draw breath, and work a hand out to scrabble and wriggle a little.
生根合縫, "grew roots and closed its seams" — the mantra fuses the mountain into a perfect prison. Yet the confinement is not total: he can breathe and work a hand free. 搖掙: 掙 = zhèng (to struggle/wriggle). The small allowance — a breathing, scrabbling captive — is what keeps him alive for the deliverance five hundred years hence.
The chapter's final instrument is not force but a mantra. The Buddha takes from his sleeve a paper slip bearing six golden words — 唵嘛呢叭咪吽, the transliteration of Oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ, the six-syllable invocation of Avalokiteśvara — and has it pasted on the mountain's summit. At once the mountain "takes root and seals its seams." What holds the monkey, in the end, is sacred sound: the spoken Dharma made into an unbreakable seal.
This completes a deliberate progression. Heaven tried metal (blades), fire (the furnace), and thunder, and failed; the Buddha used first his palm (the encompassing real), then the mountain (the Five Phases, cosmic order), and finally the mantra (the Dharma as sound). Each is subtler and more decisive than the last. The mantra is the subtlest of all — a few syllables that no strength can tear away — and it is fitting that the unbound 心猿, a creature of pure restless energy, should be fixed at last not by a heavier weight but by a word.
The crucial detail is the seal's incompleteness: the monkey can still breathe and work a hand free "to scrabble and wriggle a little" (搖掙搖掙). This is mercy disguised as oversight. A perfect tomb would end the story; a breathing prison preserves the captive for the redemption to come. As Anthony C. Yu emphasizes, the five hundred years under the mountain are punitive and refining at once — and the small gap left for breath is the narrative's promise that this 心猿, stilled but not extinguished, will live to be freed and to walk the pilgrim road. The very next chapter begins the long preparation for that release.