嵆叔夜好鍛。阮遙集好蠟屐。當其意之所適。視世之他好。雜陳於前。無足移也。此不必明哲。第無二子之僻者。皆能喻鍛與屐無足尚。交𠷣其失所好已。而以二子之才之美。方其跌宕鑪韛婆娑火蠟之間。雖窮極要眇以開之。使勿好有嗑然而笑耳。終不為之移已。及其既喻。則天地此鑪韛也。萬有此火蠟也。孰足控搏。孰足容與。程伯子浮雲堯舜之業。以玩物喪志。目輯錄五經語者。意不若是乎。人之好不齊。乃或尊鍛而卑屐。君屐而𨽻鍛。不亦過乎。予垂髫則好讀竺墳。尤好宗門家言。及歲乙亥夏。侍管師東溟先生於郡之竹堂寺。幸以焦芽與霑甘露。開蔽良多。既而師則朝徹蟬蛻五宗掩耳不欲復聞。予則沈醋。於是恒語同輩。聖人六蓺之精蘊。諸所訓詁。非讀竺墳。不能得其真。生於萬物之中。而得為人。人而男。男而知讀書。於書知竺墳。於竺墳知宗門。是猶𣪬乳而得雪山之牛。復能得酪於乳。得生酥於酪。而熟酥。而醍醐哉。雖有他好。吾不移矣。此正予跌宕鑪韛。婆娑火蠟時語也。於是在架之書。率多宗門家言。每讀之。如一瓶一鉢。從諸耆宿於長林深壑。雖人間世波濤際天。埃𡏖蔽日。予席枕此如握靈犀。得辟塵分流之妙。彼浡潏堀堁莫能我侵矣。意適處輒手錄之。當點筆意適。雖圭組見逼必謝之。兒穉牽挽必謝之。寒暑之薄肌骨。饑渴之迫臟腑。有不暇顧。肯復移意他好之雜陳耶。僻而至是。奚必人𠷣。予固自𠷣矣。至乙未。積錄有三十二卷。適友人陳孟起。見而誤賞焉。孟起遂為錄二本。會有黃州之役。過故里。嚴道徹至齋中。亦誤賞焉。遂以孟起本遺之。道徹遽欲授梓。予笑曰。此予嵆氏之鍛。阮氏之屐也。凡所云意適者。皆鴆毒也。道之所以塞也。予既已喻其僻矣。子乃欲使有目者。共𠷣其僻耶。堅止之。逮辛丑。予自昭武乞骸歸。道徹欲梓。此意益堅。且曰。子謂此為僻。子則謂然。然可以已眾僻。古之人不云乎。惟楔出楔。至為發願偈率其弟侄若子梓行之。予既不能止。遂不敢藏其僻。為次第緣起於其端。題之曰水月齋指月錄。水月幻也。而云指月。果有如盤山所云。心月孤懸。光吞萬象者乎。吾不可得而知也。其質之鑪韛火蠟。

Ji Shuye loved to forge iron. Ruan Yaoji loved to wax his wooden clogs. When their hearts were content in their pursuits, all the other hobbies and delights the world had to offer, arrayed before them, could not sway them. One need not be a sage to understand this; anyone without such a particular passion as these two men could see that forging and clogs were nothing to revere, and could laugh at their misplaced devotion.

Yet with the talent and excellence these two possessed, while they were immersed in the rhythm of the bellows and the glow of the fire, or absorbed in the careful waxing of their clogs, even if someone had exhaustively argued the most profound reasons for them to stop, they would only chuckle and never be moved. Once they understood their own passion, the whole world became their forge and bellows, all phenomena their fire and wax. What was there to grasp? What was there to linger over?

Master Cheng Bozi regarded the achievements of Yao and Shun as floating clouds, seeing the compilation of the Five Classics as a trivial pursuit that could distract the mind. Was his intention not similar? People’s passions differ. Some may honor forging and belittle clogs, or treat clogs as noble and forging as lowly—is that not also excessive?

From childhood, I loved to read Buddhist scriptures, especially the teachings of the Chan school. In the summer of the year Yihai, I attended my teacher, Master Guan Dongming, at Zhutang Temple in the prefecture. Fortunately, as a withered sprout, I was moistened by sweet dew; my obstructions were greatly opened. Later, my teacher attained clarity, shed his mortal shell, turned away from the Five Schools, and no longer wished to hear of them. But I became deeply immersed. I often told my peers: “The profound essence of the sages’ Six Arts and all the classical commentaries cannot be truly grasped without reading Buddhist scriptures. To be born among the myriad beings and become human; to be human and male; to be male and know how to read; among books to know Buddhist scriptures; among Buddhist scriptures to know the Chan school—this is like obtaining milk from the Snow Mountain ox, then from milk obtaining curd, from curd obtaining fresh butter, then ripe butter, and finally the ghee of awakening. Even if there are other delights, I will not be moved.” This was precisely my own “rhythm of the bellows” and “glow of the fire.”

Thus, the books on my shelves were mostly Chan teachings. Whenever I read them, it was as if holding a single bowl and staff, following the venerable elders through deep forests and valleys. Even when the waves of the human world reached the sky and dust obscured the sun, I rested upon these texts as if holding a luminous rhinoceros horn, enjoying the wonder of parting dust and dividing currents. Those turbulent winds and rising dust could not invade me.

Where my mind found contentment, I would copy passages by hand. When the brush touched paper and my spirit was at ease, even if official duties pressed, I declined them. If children pulled at me, I declined. The chill or heat piercing my bones, hunger or thirst pressing my organs—I had no leisure to attend to them. How could I shift my mind to other miscellaneous delights? To be this particular—why wait for others to laugh at me? I already laugh at myself.

By the year Yiwu, my accumulated notes filled thirty-two volumes. By chance, my friend Chen Mengqi saw them and mistakenly admired them. Mengqi then made two copies. Later, when I passed through my hometown on official business to Huangzhou, Yan Daoche came to my studio and also mistakenly admired them. I gave him Mengqi’s copy. Daoche immediately wanted to have it printed. I laughed and said, “This is my Ji-style forging, my Ruan-style clogs. All that is called ‘contentment of the mind’ is actually poison—it is what blocks the Way. I have already recognized my own peculiarity. Do you really want to make all who have eyes share in laughing at this peculiarity?” I firmly stopped him.

By the year Xinchou, I had retired and returned from Zhaowu. Daoche’s desire to print it grew even stronger. He said, “You call this peculiar, and you may be right. Yet it can help end others’ peculiarities. Did the ancients not say, ‘Only a wedge can remove a wedge’?” He then composed a vow verse and, together with his brothers, nephews, and sons, proceeded to publish it. Since I could not stop him, I dared not hide my peculiarity. I have thus set down the origins and sequence of events here, titling it *The Water-Moon Studio Pointing at the Moon Record*.

Water and moon are illusory. Yet to speak of “pointing at the moon”—could there truly be, as Panshan said, “the solitary moon of the mind, its light swallowing all phenomena”? I cannot know. Let it be tested against the forge, the bellows, the fire, and the wax.

Records of Pointing at the Moon (指月錄)

Records of Pointing at the Moon (指月錄)