---
title: "鴈山志 · 逰靈峯硐記"
description: "雁山志是明代学者朱谏编纂并由胡汝宁重编的一部佛教山志经典。该书成于明代中后期，正值中国佛教与传统文化深度融合、地方志编修兴盛之时。全书系统记载了雁荡山的自然景观、人文古迹与佛教发展，重点收录寺院沿革、高僧传记及佛教诗文，融合地理志与佛教史的特色。作为雁荡山首部系统山志，它不仅是中国佛教地理志的重要文献，为研究东南佛教传播与名山佛教文化提供了珍贵史料，更体现了佛教与中国山水文化的交融，在佛教名山志中具有承前启后的学术地位。"
url: "https://rushiwowen.co/en/r/cmgn8ux6109cnjy04k2x2d4zk"
---

### 逰靈峯硐記

> Record of a Visit to Lingfeng Cave

自石梁南出五百步，折而西行，過謝公嶺嶺東居，人多謝姓，故名或曰地舊。屬臨海郡謝靈運為臨海開山，適至此人因以名之。既渡，縁澗南石路欲登觀羅漢洞於篁竹窺見水西大石壁下有谷，若竪槖子約曰譆。此或一竒也，不可失呼家僮扶過澗入谷中，見谷口石嶄然下垂如懸戶卷，然中抱如壞壁，坐其下而嘯如語甕盎。中居頃有人語聲漸近，則吾家弟思誠子撝與諸生也。因皆屏從者，從洞下入寺。未至見道，傍有石潭方丈，而深莫可測。仰視潭南上有山孤起如偃芝，北上有山，離立平地，上如駢笋。稍入，始見兩大石，相倚如合掌，入天數千丈，從合掌根入雨，傍植石闌，直上千歩，乃至掌中望見出嶨中青天如懸一片冰旁設大士一羅漢十八設應真像，懸崖上五百，然皆為人縁。取持去空遺土，坐如燕巢栖崖上岩罅泉水下滴唧唧，如秋雨鳴。屋檐間，令人大呼呼聲繞洞中，不即出泉墜半。未至於地，為聲所軋，則飄吹衣冠，草木盡濕，家僮戱馳石闌中脚頓道上石淵淵作鼓聲。既下出家，僮守槖者私自更守竊登之，顧見主者皆已下，即擊羅漢繩牀傍小鍾鍾聲奔谷中，如鸞鳳行鳴半，天上倚杖聽不可去。憶吾兒時，從先君子来列胡牀坐客洞隂令侍者先登雜吹笙簫擊懸鍾眾音縹緲鏗喤飄飄客新從他縣來，或駭愕不敢上，因大笑以為樂俛仰隔世凄。然久之，凡山寺僧皆為美名。擬之若龍虎鳳凰、麒麟、蓮花芝草之屬，皆不錄録。尤勝者谷中恒有雲氣，是日又欲雨山木黯然戶牗黝黑，因呼守槖者，持槖中筆硯，就屋上亭，修遊事所，舍亭曰看不足。盖取昔人山前向見白頭翁，自道此山看不足者詩云。

> Five hundred paces south from the Stone Bridge, I turned west and passed by Lord Xie's Ridge. Most of the families living east of the ridge were named Xie—that's how it got its name. Some say the place once belonged to Linhai Commandery; when Xie Lingyun opened the mountains of Linhai, he happened to come here, and people named it after him. After crossing the ridge, I planned to climb the stone path south of the stream to view Arhat Cave. Through the bamboo grove, I glimpsed a valley beneath the great stone wall west of the water. It looked like an upright sack, and I exclaimed, "Ha! This could be something special—we can't miss it." I called for a servant to help me across the stream into the valley. At the mouth, jagged rocks jutted downward like a hanging door rolled up, while the interior curved like a broken wall. When I sat beneath them and shouted, my voice echoed as if inside a clay jar. After a while, I heard voices approaching—it turned out to be my younger brother Sicheng, my son Hui, and some students. So I dismissed the attendants and entered the monastery from beneath the cave. Just before reaching it, I noticed a stone pool by the path, about ten feet square and too deep to fathom. Looking up, I saw a solitary peak to the south rising like a fallen lingzhi mushroom, and to the north another peak stood on level ground like twin bamboo shoots. Going further in, I first saw two great stones leaning together like pressed palms, soaring thousands of feet into the sky. Entering from the base of these "palms," with stone railings planted on both sides, I climbed a thousand steps up to see the blue sky through the rocky crevice like a suspended shard of ice. Beside it stood a statue of Guanyin and eighteen Arhats; five hundred more likenesses of perfected beings hung upon the cliffs, but all had been taken away by people collecting them. Only empty earthen platforms remained, like swallow nests clinging to the cliffs. Spring water dripped through rock crevices with a chirping sound, like autumn rain on the eaves. When I shouted, the sound coiled through the cave and wouldn't leave immediately; the falling drops, still midair, were pressed by the echoes and scattered, soaking clothes, hats, grass, and trees. A servant boy ran playfully along the stone railings, and his footsteps on the path rumbled like a drum. After descending, the servant who'd been guarding our luggage secretly switched places with another and climbed up. Seeing all the masters had already come down, he struck the small bell beside the Arhats' rope bed. The bell's sound rushed through the valley like phoenixes singing midair; leaning on my staff, I couldn't bear to leave. I remembered when I was a child and had come here with my late father. We lined up folding chairs in the cave's shade, letting attendants climb up first, playing sheng and xiao flutes mixed with striking hanging bells. The sounds drifted ethereally, ringing clearly. Guests visiting from other counties looked startled and dared not climb, and we laughed heartily at the fun. But now, looking back across lifetimes, I felt a lingering sadness. All the mountain monastery monks gave these places beautiful names, comparing them to dragons, tigers, phoenixes, qilin, lotuses, and lingzhi—I won't record them all. What I will record is the exceptional: mist and clouds fill the valley constantly; on that day it was about to rain, making the forest dark and doorways gloomy. I called for the luggage guard to bring inkstone and writing brush from the bags to the pavilion above to record our outing. The pavilion was called "Cannot See Enough," taking its name from an old poem: "Facing the mountain, I saw a white-haired old man, who said this mountain could never be seen enough."