---
title: "五燈會元 · 隆興府泐潭洪英禪師"
description: "五燈會元由宋代高僧普濟編撰，成書於南宋淳祐年間，是中國禪宗重要典籍之一。該書彙編了禪宗五家七宗的傳法譜系與公案語錄，包括法眼、雲門、曹洞、臨濟、溈仰五宗祖師的機鋒對話與悟道因緣，系統整理了禪宗從初祖達摩至唐宋時期的發展脈絡。全書共二十卷，以燈燈相傳為喻，展現了禪宗心法傳承的歷史軌跡。作為研究唐宋禪宗思想的核心文獻，五燈會元不僅是佛教史學的重要資料，更是禪門修行者參究心性的權威指南，在中國佛教史上具有不可替代的地位。"
url: "https://rushiwowen.co/en/r/cma8xehl10nrtl404zsm3byim"
---

### 隆興府泐潭洪英禪師

> Chan Master Hongying of Letan, Longxing Prefecture

邵武陳氏子。幼頴邁。一目五行。長棄儒得度。訪道曹山。依雅禪師。久之。辭登雲居。睠其勝絕。殆終于此山。因閱華嚴十明論。乃證宗要。即詣黃檗南禪師席。檗與語達旦。曰。荷擔大法。盡在爾躬厚自愛。所至議論奪席。晚遊西山。與勝首座棲雙嶺。後開法石門。久之遷泐潭。僧問。逢場作戲時如何。師曰。紅罏𪹼出鐵烏龜。曰。當軒布皷師親擊。百尺竿頭事若何。師曰。山僧不作這活計。僧擬議。師曰。不唧𠺕漢。又僧禮拜起。便垂下袈裟角。曰。脫衣卸甲時如何。師曰。喜得狼煙息。弓弰壁上懸。僧却攬上袈裟。曰。重整衣甲時如何。師曰。不到烏江畔。知君未肯休。僧便喝。師曰。驚殺我。僧拍一拍。師曰。也是死中得活。僧禮拜。師曰。將謂是收燕破趙之才。元來是販私鹽賊。問。臨濟栽松即不問。百丈開田事若何。師曰。深著鉏頭。曰。古人猶在。師曰。更添鉏頭。僧禮拜。師扣禪牀一下。乃曰。問也無窮。答也無盡。問答去來。於道轉遠。何故。況為此事。直饒棒頭薦得。不是丈夫。喝下承當。未為達士。那堪更向言中取則。句裏馳求。語路尖新。機鋒捷疾。如斯見解。盡是埋沒宗旨。玷污先賢。於吾祖道。何曾夢見。祇如我佛如來。臨般涅槃。乃云吾有正法眼藏。囑摩訶迦。付囑摩訶大迦葉。迦葉遂付阿難。暨商那和修優波毱多。諸祖相繼。至於達磨西來。直指人心。見性成佛。不立文字語言。豈不是先聖方便之道。自是當人不信。却自迷頭認影。奔逐狂途。致使竛竮流浪生死。諸禪德。若能一念回光返照到自己脚跟下。褫剝究竟將來。可謂洞門豁開。樓閣重重。十方普現。海會齊彰。便乃凡聖賢愚。山河大地。以海印三昧。一印印定。更無纖毫透漏。山僧如是舉唱。若是眾中有本色衲僧聞之。實謂掩耳而回。笑破他口。大眾且道。本色衲僧門下一句作麼生道。良久曰。天際雪埋千尺石。洞門凍折數株松。上堂。釋迦老子。當時一手指天。一手指地。云天上天下。唯我獨尊。釋迦老子。旁若無人。當時若遇箇明眼衲僧。直教他上天無路。入地無門。然雖如是。也須是銅沙鑼裏滿盛油始得。上堂。顧視大眾曰。青山重疊疊。綠水響潺潺。遂拈拄杖曰。未到懸崖處。擡頭子細看。卓一下。上堂。寶峯高士罕曾到。巖前雪壓枯松倒。嶺前嶺後野猨啼。一條古路清風掃。禪德。雖然如是。且道山僧拄杖長多少。遂拈起曰。長者隨長使。短者隨短用。卓一下。上堂。顧視大眾曰。石門𡾟嶮鐵關牢。舉目重重萬仞高。無角鐵牛衝得破。毗盧海內作波濤。且道不涉波濤一句作麼生道。良久曰。一句不遑無著問。迄今猶作野盤僧。師因知事紛爭。止之不可。乃謂眾曰。領眾不肅。正坐無德。吾有愧黃龍。敘行脚始末曰。吾滅後火化。以骨石藏普同塔。明生死不離清眾也。言卒而逝。

> A son of the Chen family of Shaowu. As a child he was bright and quick, reading five lines at a glance. Grown, he abandoned Confucianism and received ordination. He sought the Way at Mount Cao and studied under Master Ya. After a long while, he took his leave and went up to Yunju, and so delighted in its surpassing beauty that he resolved to end his days on that mountain. Then, reading the Ten Profound Gateways of the Avatamsaka, he awakened to the essentials of the school. He went at once to the seat of Chan Master Nan of Huangbo. Huangbo spoke with him until dawn and said, "The bearing of the great Dharma rests entirely on you. Take good care of yourself." Wherever he went, his discussions swept the field. In later years he wandered the Western Mountains and dwelt with the chief seat Sheng at Shuangling. Afterward he taught at Shimen, and in time moved to Letan. A monk asked, "What of one who plays his part on the stage?" The Master said, "A red furnace belches out an iron turtle." The monk said, "The master himself strikes the drum set before the eaves—what of the matter at the top of a hundred-foot pole?" The Master said, "This mountain monk does not do such business." As the monk hesitated, the Master said, "A good-for-nothing fellow." Another monk bowed and rose, then let the corner of his robe hang down, saying, "What of one who takes off his clothes and lays down his armor?" The Master said, "Fine that the wolf-smoke has ceased; the bow's tip hangs on the wall." The monk thereupon gathered up his robe again and said, "What of one who dons his armor once more?" The Master said, "Before you reach the banks of the Wu River, I know you will not stop." The monk gave a shout. The Master said, "You'll frighten me to death." The monk clapped once. The Master said, "So—life found in the midst of death." The monk bowed. The Master said, "I thought you had the talent to take Yan and break Zhao, but it turns out you are a salt smuggler." A monk asked, "About Linji planting pines I do not ask—what of Baizhang opening the fields?" The Master said, "Sink the hoe deep." The monk said, "The ancients are still here." The Master said, "Add another hoe." The monk bowed. The Master rapped the Chan couch once and said: "Questions are endless, answers are inexhaustible. Yet as questions and answers come and go, one drifts further from the Way. Why? Because in this matter, even if you grasp it at the point of a staff, you are no true man; even if you take it up at a shout, you are no accomplished person. How much less should you seize upon rules in words or chase after meaning in phrases, with fresh word-paths and swift flashes of wit. Understandings like these all bury the essential teaching and defile the sages of old. Of our ancestral Way, they have not even dreamed. Take our Buddha, the Tathagata: as he neared parinirvana he said, 'I have the treasury of the true Dharma eye,' and entrusted it to Mahakashyapa. Kashyapa then passed it to Ananda, and on through Shanavasa and Upagupta, the patriarchs succeeding one another, until Bodhidharma came from the West, pointing directly at the human mind, seeing one's nature and becoming a Buddha, not relying on words or language. Is this not the skillful means of the sages? Yet people today do not believe it. Instead they lose their heads and mistake shadows for the real, racing down deluded roads, so that they wander alone and adrift through birth and death. Good practitioners of Chan, if you can turn the light around for a single thought and look back at what is under your own feet, stripping everything away and carrying it through to the end, then the gate of the cave opens wide, tower upon tower, and the ten directions appear everywhere, the whole assembly shining together. Then ordinary and sage, worthy and foolish, mountains and rivers and the great earth—all are sealed with the ocean-seal samadhi by a single seal, with not a hair's breadth leaking through. If, among you, there is a true patch-robed monk who hears this mountain monk proclaiming thus, he will truly cover his ears and turn away, splitting his sides with laughter. Now, tell me—how does a true patch-robed monk speak the one phrase at the gate of such a one?" After a long pause he said: "Snow at the sky's edge buries rocks a thousand feet high; at the cave's mouth frost snaps several pines." At the assembly: "Old Shakyamuni at that time pointed one finger at heaven and one at earth and said, 'Above heaven and below heaven, I alone am honored.' Old Shakyamuni had no regard for anyone. Had he then met a clear-eyed patch-robed monk, that one would have made him with no road to heaven and no gate into earth. Even so, it must be a bronze gong filled brimful with oil for that to be possible." At the assembly, he looked over the great crowd and said: "Green mountains layered on layers; green waters murmuring and babbling." Then he took up his staff and said: "Before you reach the cliff's edge, lift your head and look carefully." He set it down with a thud. At the assembly: "The lofty one of Baofeng has rarely been here. Before the crag the snow weighs down the withered pine. Before and behind the ridge, wild gibbons cry. A single ancient road, swept clean by the wind. Practitioners of Chan, even so—tell me, how long is this mountain monk's staff?" Then he raised it and said: "Long, use it according to its length; short, use it according to its shortness." He set it down with a thud. At the assembly, he looked over the great crowd and said: "The stone gate is steep and perilous, its iron barrier firm; raising the eyes, peak upon peak ten thousand fathoms high. A hornless iron ox charges through, and within the ocean of Vairocana it stirs up waves. Now tell me—how do you speak the phrase that does not touch the waves?" After a long pause he said: "One phrase left no time for Asanga to ask; to this day he remains a wild-dwelling monk." Because he saw the administrators quarreling and could not stop them, the Master said to the assembly: "I have not kept the assembly in discipline; it is precisely because I lack virtue. I am ashamed before Huanglong." Recounting the whole course of his wandering, he said: "After I die, cremate me and place my bones and ashes in the common stupa, to make clear that in life and death I do not part from the pure assembly." As his words ended, he passed away.