Canonical Classics ← 第八十一回
第八十一回
鎮zhèn海hǎi寺sì心xīn猿yuán知zhī怪guài
黑hēi松sōng林lín三sān眾zhòng尋xún師shī

At the Sea-Calming Monastery the Mind-Ape Knows the Fiend · In the Black Pine Wood the Three Seek Their Master

髮長尋刀削
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script 繁
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition

髮長尋刀削 Long Hair And A Thin Robe

髮fà長cháng尋xún刀dāo削xuē,衣yī單dān破pò衲nà縫fèng。早zǎo晨chén起qǐ來lái洗xǐ著zhe臉liǎn,叉chā手shǒu躬gōng身shēn皈guī依yī大dà道dào;夜yè來lái收shōu拾shí燒shāo著zhe香xiāng,虔qián心xīn叩kòu齒chǐ念niàn的de彌mí陀tuó。发fà长cháng寻xún刀dāo削xuē,衣yī单dān破pò衲nà缝fèng。早zǎo晨chén起qǐ来lái洗xǐ着zhe脸liǎn,叉chā手shǒu躬gōng身shēn皈guī依yī大dà道dào;夜yè来lái收shōu拾shí烧shāo着zhe香xiāng,虔qián心xīn叩kòu齿chǐ念niàn的de弥mí陀tuó。


逐句解 Line by line

髮fà長cháng尋xún刀dāo削xuē,衣yī單dān破pò衲nà縫fèng。 发fà长cháng寻xún刀dāo削xuē,衣yī单dān破pò衲nà缝fèng。

"When the hair is long we look for a knife to shave it; when the robe is thin we sew up the torn patchwork.

Two matched clauses, each a thing plus the state it is in. 長 is cháng, long, standing parallel to 單, thin — the parallel is what settles the reading against the growing sense. 削 is xuē here, to pare or shave, not the xiāo of peeling fruit.

早zǎo晨chén起qǐ來lái洗xǐ著zhe臉liǎn,叉chā手shǒu躬gōng身shēn皈guī依yī大dà道dào; 早zǎo晨chén起qǐ来lái洗xǐ着zhe脸liǎn,叉chā手shǒu躬gōng身shēn皈guī依yī大dà道dào;

In the morning we rise and wash our faces, fold our hands and bow, and take refuge in the great Way;

著 is the sustained zhe, the washing held open as a habitual act. 皈依 is the technical term for taking refuge in the Buddha, the Law and the community — the formal act that makes someone a Buddhist.

夜yè來lái收shōu拾shí燒shāo著zhe香xiāng,虔qián心xīn叩kòu齒chǐ念niàn的de彌mí陀tuó。 夜yè来lái收shōu拾shí烧shāo着zhe香xiāng,虔qián心xīn叩kòu齿chǐ念niàn的de弥mí陀tuó。

at night we put things away and burn incense, and with sincere hearts we click our teeth and recite Amitabha."

著 is zhe again. 叩齒, clicking the teeth, is a Daoist devotional gesture that Chinese Buddhist practice absorbed — a small physical punctuation before prayer, rather like crossing oneself.


總評 Commentary

The rhythm changes completely and the chapter becomes, briefly, a poem about ordinary religious life. Hair grows and is shaved. Robes wear thin and are mended. Morning washing, evening incense.

Everything in it is maintenance. Nothing here is heroic or even interesting, and that is the argument: this is what a hundred lifetimes of monastic routine actually consists of, and none of it prepares a man for something that eats him in a garden.

The teeth-clicking is the detail that gives it away as lived rather than invented. It is a small Daoist habit absorbed into Buddhist practice, the sort of thing a real community does without thinking about where it came from.