Xixi Monastic Seclusion Gazetteer (西溪梵隱志)

In ancient times when people tied knots to keep records, customs varied among different groups, and even within the same group, habits differed. Paths of practice diverged, and methods of cultivation stood apart. This is evident in historical records, requiring no further investigation. Yet, those who dwell in profound emptiness or indulge in worldly detachment often display contrasting behaviors—some prominent, others reclusive—each acting according to their own nature. Those who engage with the world reveal their intentions through worldly affairs, while those content within themselves dissolve their delusions inwardly. Thus, the emperors had their recluses like Chao Fu and Xu You, and Confucius encountered hermits like Ju and Ni. Among them, the ways of conduct were truly diverse, not to be forced into uniformity.

Yet, when the fire dies to ashes and the heart withers like dried wood, a lone lamp rests in silence, and half a room supports meditation. Without serene, secluded places where clouds mingle with robes and alms bowls, and streams echo with temple bells, where could exquisite incense and pure chants find their home?

I recall thirty years ago, when I first journeyed to West Creek. Towering old bamboos and pines shaded the sky, while plum blossoms filled the air with fragrance, and a vast expanse of snow-like blooms stretched before me. Strolling leisurely through the mist of incense, I felt my bones cleansed and my heart cooled. Yet, pressed by haste, I had no time to explore its depths.

Between the years of Jiashen and Yiyou, I resided there for an extended period and finally had the chance to wander freely with companions. In every retreat where hermits cleared thatched huts and released smoke—whether with meditation mats, bamboo tables, straw hats, alms bowls, or incense lamps—even the smallest tile or beam carried an aura of ancient tranquility. It seemed as though heaven had created this land solely for people to dwell in seclusion.

Now, how much time has passed? The once majestic, cloud-piercing pines and the graceful, phoenix-like bamboo tails have dwindled to barely a tenth or a fifth of what they were. What remains untouched by turmoil and disaster are only the pure structures of Buddhist temples, where the Dharma King’s high seat allows their banners to stand with dignity.

Alas! White clouds turn into gray dogs; illusions and realities are ever-changing. Judging by principle, what is there to sigh about? Yet, after all, the transformations in the mountains are not the same as the chaos of the bustling world. How can we forbid recluses like Chao Fu and Xu You from speaking proudly?

The *Record of Seclusion in Buddhist Temples* was initially compiled by the monk Xin Hai. Over the years, the Daoist practitioner completed it. It records four or five scenic spots and temples, along with two or three poems and essays. West Creek was not famous in earlier dynasties; it was only since the Southern Song, with the opening of the Dongxiao path, that this imperial route began. Thus, few ancient writings mention it. The current record speaks of seclusion primarily in terms of Buddhist temples.

Yet, as for the dwellings nestled in mountain hollows, by water’s edge, shaded by bamboo, or nestled among plum blossoms—these exquisite retreats and elegant cottages of refined individuals—reading Wang Baigu’s poems reveals that seclusion exists everywhere, not just in temples.

However, I often lament how people in the pursuit of fame and market roads swarm like ants and flies, caught in turbulent currents. Is it any wonder? Even those who recently turned their hearts to learning the Dao now bristle with excitement, their spirits soaring. If given a single gourd and robe to dwell here, I know that the lush growth facing the bright summer would hardly wither suddenly like frost or recede like water.

Thus, this record by the Daoist practitioner may for now stand alone in its solitary journey.

Written by Qian Chaoyan in Hulin, in the sixth month of the Guisi year.