---
title: "吹萬禪師語錄 · 閱寒山詩數偈"
description: "吹万禅师语录由明代高僧吹万广真所述，其弟子灯来重新编撰。本书成于明末佛教禅宗兴盛时期，收录了吹万禅师的机锋对答、开示法语、禅理阐释及诗歌偈颂，集中体现了临济宗的禅学思想与实践方法。作为明代禅宗重要文献，该语录不仅展现了吹万禅师直指人心、见性成佛的禅风，更是研究明末禅宗思想流变与修行体系的关键典籍，对后世禅学发展具有深远影响，在佛教典籍中占有重要地位。"
url: "https://rushiwowen.co/en/r/cmgn0k7cb2ioel404mnshk9et"
---

### 閱寒山詩數偈

> Cold Mountain Poems

我愛寒山子，拈語不粘唇，因風吹野火，喚惺眾生心。又愛拾得子，言麤而理真，言麤令人怕，理真令人欽。豐干太饒舌，寒山太做作。拾得雖風狂，去後無蹤跡。好箇呂臺州，眼中添三屑。打鼓弄琵琶，還須吹萬訣。寒巖三貧士，卻也愛風流。在在捏空花，處處泛虛舟。一朝被人破，只得向石遊。問取均提兒，金毛豈是牛？廚下洗器者，解泛火中波。不吹離騷韻，便唱紫芝歌。衲衣披破雲，木履登愛河。相看只一笑，吾莫如之何。丈中獨無事，寒山傍雪飛。謂我閒些箇，勞他相似危。出錫煙霞捲，歸來泉石輝。不是愛如此，身心已離微。老人怕我笑，我怕老人哭。哭非陵行婆，笑是彌勒佛。一箇肚皮大，兩眼光如燭。手裏把豬頭，舌上青蓮出。窮子不就父，含飴枉弄孫。箇裏須知機，可中自有人。何以樂吾趣，笑指松柏新。吩咐善財兒，無勞過百城。紅塵飛野馬，朽御莫可把。擬欲烹小鮮，誰是陶漁者。不然化人居，虛心不肯下。歸之塞上翁，得失無生也。野里有人家，輕煙深樹杪。溪鳧岸上飛，停停落箇小。園翁不厭貧，山叟豈辭老。我去喜相逢，笑殺芝蘭草。郭外羊腸路，灣灣曲轉斜。薄暮馬蹄輕，行人不耐些。綠火山頭出，驚心入鬼家。回向月輪孤，滿地灑銀沙。

> I love the monk Han Shan, Whose words never clung to lips. Like a wildfire blown by the wind, He awakened the hearts of sentient beings. I also love the monk Shi De, Whose speech was rough but whose truth was pure. Rough speech makes people wary, But true principles earn their reverence. Feng Gan spoke too freely, Han Shan was too contrived. Though Shi De seemed wild and mad, After he left, there was no trace. What a pity for Governor Lü of Tai Prefecture, Three grains of dust got stuck in his eyes. Beating drums while plucking pipa, One must still master the art of ten thousand variations. Three destitute recluses on Cold Mountain, Yet they too cherished refinement and grace. Everywhere they shaped flowers from emptiness, Everywhere they floated a phantom boat. Once unmasked by another, They had to wander in solitude among the stones. Ask the boy bringing offerings, A golden-haired lion is no ox! The one washing dishes in the kitchen Knows how to navigate flames on water. He neither chants the poetic laments Nor sings songs of freedom. His monk's robe is patched with clouds, His wooden sandals tread the river of love. We meet and share but one smile, And I find myself helpless to change his ways. In the hermitage he sits alone, untroubled, As snow drifts beside Cold Mountain. He says I seem too idle, And worries I might harm myself by seeking danger. When he lifts his staff, mist and clouds roll away; When he returns, springs and stones shine bright. It's not that he truly loves such solitude, But his body and mind have already transcended all subtleties. The old man fears my laughter, And I fear his weeping. His crying is not like that of the laywoman Ling; His laughter is like that of Maitreya Buddha. One with a great big belly, Two eyes shining like candles. In his hand he holds a pig's head, Yet from his tongue springs a blue lotus. The prodigal son refuses to return to his father; Holding candy, he vainly dotes on his grandson. One must grasp the hidden principle here — Within this scene, a true person exists. How do I find delight in my own path? I smile and point to the fresh green of pine and cypress. Give this directive to good Sudhana: Don't wear yourself out wandering through a hundred cities. In the worldly realm, dust stirs like wild horses; A broken chariot cannot be driven. If I intend to cook small fish delicately, Who among us is a true potter and fisherman? Otherwise, I'd dwell in the realm of transcendence, But my humble heart refuses to bow down. So I return to the old man at the border pass, Where gain and loss no longer arise. In the countryside there is a small home, Light smoke rises above the treetops. Wild ducks fly along the riverbank, Then pause and land, one after another. The orchard keeper doesn't despise poverty; The mountain elder doesn't fear old age. When I go to meet them with joy, We even laugh at the orchids and angelica. Outside the city wall, a winding road Curves and twists along a goat's path. At dusk, horses' hooves tread lightly, But travelers can no longer bear the journey. Green mountains suddenly rise before us, Shocking the heart as we enter ghostly realms. We turn toward the lone orb of the moon, As silver sand scatters across the earth.