南極仙翁 慈悲訓示
善愿壇 — 台南善愿佛堂, Tainan, Taiwan · 2025.09.14 · 率性進修班, the Cultivation-of-Nature refresher class, held within a 三天法會
20250914TWsy1 — the Airtable UID matches exactly
南極仙翁（本篇吾乃自稱南極壽星）奉老Φ之命降至台南善愿壇，先向皇Φ參叩行禮，再以一句「寶寶可安矣」的家常話問候滿堂修子，全篇的溫度就此定住。鎮壇詩四聯以「中」字貫串：執中而不偏倚、發而中節、抱中孚以至誠、致中和而天地位——四句分別借《中庸》《尚書》《金剛經》《孟子》《易經》《論語》之語，卻編成同一條由內而外的次第。本訓整篇借〈彎彎的月亮〉之調而唱，句句頂真相扣：先說「靈明的生命 本具的慈悲與智慧」——這份光本來就有，只待不輟綻放；再問「聖賢豪傑今何在 看願承擔的是誰」，而後以搖船、濟渡、解脫苦業、體性真如會心扉層層推進，答以「是心作佛無誰」：不是別人，就是當下這一念心。第三段寫佛心圓滿無缺卻不戀棧天上的果位，反而入世證天爵，把最精純的醍醐一味傳承給一切有情。末段一字不改地把開頭四句唱了回來——同樣的問句，走過這一趟之後，已不再是懸問，而是邀請。
The Star of Longevity of the Southern Pole — the white-browed elder of the pantheon, who opens by calling himself this old and worn one — comes bearing the Eternal Mother’s decree, bows before the Sovereign Mother’s countenance, and before teaching a word asks the hall whether his precious ones are well. The four opening couplets that settle the altar are one sustained argument built on a single character, 中: hold to the center and lean to neither side, which the same couplet immediately restates in the Diamond Sutra’s vocabulary as dwelling nowhere and yet the mind arises; let feeling come out at the right size, following the principle of Heaven; hold sincerity the way a bird broods over its eggs, so that the change one works moves like wind over a lake; and carry centrality and harmony to their utmost, at which point Heaven and Earth take their places. Then the whole body of the teaching is handed over to a popular melody and sung, each line beginning on the phrase the line before it ended on. It begins by claiming that what is needed is already present — compassion and wisdom, inherent from the very first, needing only to break open into radiance and never cease — and then empties the room: where are the sages, worthies, and heroes now, and who is willing to shoulder it? Between the stanzas the answer is deferred three times into a single sung word, Who. The second stanza puts a boat on the ancient wheel of rebirth and asks who is at the oar, then descends by chain-link — the wheel can be loosed, suffering’s karma and ignorance go out, essential nature meets Suchness at the door of the heart — to the answer: this very mind makes a Buddha, no one else. The third asks why a complete mind would come back down at all, and answers that it will not cling to its station of fruition in the heavens; it enters the world to realize the nobility Heaven confers, and hands the purest distillate of the teaching on to all sentient beings. Then the opening stanza returns word for word, and the question that was about history the first time through is about this afternoon the second.
About this editionAI-assisted study edition — the Chinese original is canonical; English is pending our elders’ review.
鎮壇詩 Opening Verse · sung
「執中」是儒門相傳的心法。《尚書・大禹謨》裡被視為堯舜禹相傳的十六字作「允執厥中」，《中庸》再說得更細：「君子而時中」——「中」不是尺上的正中間，而是在每一個不同的當下都拿捏得恰恰好，不過頭，也不欠缺。下半句換了《金剛經》的話：「應無所住而生其心。」「住」是黏住、停留，心黏在一個念頭上、一件事上、一種感受上就叫住；「無所住」不是把心變成木頭，而是不被任何一處黏著，反而在這個不黏的底子上生出一顆清淨、靈活、遇事能應的心。兩句合看是在回答同一個問題：憑什麼能不偏倚？因為心不黏——心一旦黏在自己喜歡的那一邊，人就自然偏過去了，偏了還不自知。所以真正的中，不是咬牙站在中間硬撐，是黏著鬆開之後自然站住的。
執中, holding to the center, is the mind-method handed down in the Confucian line: the sixteen characters of the Book of Documents (尚書・大禹謨), passed from Yao to Shun to Yu, give it as 允執厥中, “hold sincerely to the center,” and the Doctrine of the Mean (中庸) sharpens it further with 君子而時中 — the center is not the midpoint on a ruler but whatever is exactly fitting in each different present moment, neither overshooting nor falling short. The second half then switches vocabulary entirely, to the Diamond Sutra (金剛經): 應無所住而生其心, let the mind arise without settling anywhere. 住 is to stick, to stay — a mind glued to one thought, one affair, one feeling is a mind that has settled; 無所住 does not mean turning the mind to wood, but not being stuck at any single point, and on that unstuck ground raising a mind that is clear, supple, and able to meet whatever comes. Read together, the two halves answer one question: what makes it possible not to lean? Because the mind does not stick — the moment it grips the side it prefers, the person tilts that way, and tilts without noticing. So the real center is not standing in the middle with teeth gritted; it is where you naturally come to rest once the gripping lets go.
《中庸》說：「喜怒哀樂之未發，謂之中；發而皆中節，謂之和。」所以「發中節」不是要人沒脾氣——人有喜怒哀樂本來就正常，關鍵在發得對不對、當不當時；「循天理」則交代了拿捏的標準：合不合分寸，不由個人的好惡說了算，而是照著天地本有的道理。下半句的「可欲之善」出自《孟子・盡心下》「可欲之謂善」——一個人身上顯出來的德行，讓旁人看了心生嚮往、願意跟著走，這就叫善。而訓文說的是「善因」：修行不是先盯著結果，是先把那顆種子種下去。
The Doctrine of the Mean says: before joy, anger, grief and delight arise, that is called the center; when they arise and all strike their proper measure, that is called harmony. So 發中節 is not a demand to have no temper — having feelings is simply normal; what matters is whether they come out rightly and at the right moment. 循天理 supplies the standard for that measure: whether something is proportionate is not settled by personal likes and dislikes but by the principle inherent in Heaven and Earth. The 可欲之善 of the second half comes from Mencius (孟子・盡心下), 可欲之謂善 — a virtue so evident in a person that others are drawn toward it and want to follow, that is called good. But the line names 善因, the seed: cultivation does not begin by fixing your eyes on the result; it begins by putting the seed in the ground.
「中孚」是《易經》第六十一卦。「孚」的古字形畫的是鳥用爪子孵蛋的樣子，引申為誠信；「中」指內心——合起來就是發自內心、不摻一點假的誠。卦象是巽在上、兌在下，巽為風、兌為澤，《象傳》說「澤上有風，中孚」：風行在水面上，無孔不入，沒有一處進不去。所以下半句是直接把這個卦象接過來用：一個人若真抱著內心的至誠，那份影響就像風掠過水面，自然而然地遍及萬類眾生。這一聯也是全詩的一個轉身——前兩聯講的是自己身上的功夫，這裡開始往外走；而往外走靠的居然不是本事、不是方法、不是口才，是一個「誠」字。
中孚 is hexagram 61 of the Book of Changes (易經). The ancient form of 孚 pictures a bird brooding its eggs with its claws, extended to mean trustworthiness; 中 points to the inner heart — together, a sincerity that comes from within with not a trace of falsity mixed in. The hexagram is 巽 above and 兌 below, wind above and lake below, and the Commentary on the Images says simply 澤上有風，中孚: wind moving over the surface of the water, entering everywhere, with no place it cannot reach. The second half takes that image up directly: if a person truly holds this utmost sincerity within, the influence spreads like wind across water, reaching the myriad kinds of beings of itself. This couplet is also the poem’s turn — the first two couplets concern the work on oneself; here it begins to move outward, and what carries it outward is not ability, not method, not eloquence, but the single character 誠.
《中庸》的原話是：「致中和，天地位焉，萬物育焉。」「致」是推到極處。當一個人真把「中」與「和」推到極處，影響就不止在人與人之間了——天地各安其位，萬物各得其所；這不是說天地在物理上會挪動，而是說整個秩序回到它本來該有的和諧。「立本」出自《論語・學而》「本立而道生」，根本一站穩，道自然就生出來；「達道」出自《中庸》，指人人都該遵循的普遍準則。四聯讀到這裡，會發現它本是一條完整的次第：先在心上不偏（執中），再在事上恰當（發中節），然後以至誠向外感人（抱中孚），最終與天地的秩序相應（致中和）。
The Doctrine of the Mean reads: 致中和，天地位焉，萬物育焉 — carry centrality and harmony to their utmost, and Heaven and Earth take their places, and the myriad things are nourished. 致 is to push a thing all the way to its limit. When a person truly carries the center and its harmony that far, the effect no longer stays between people — Heaven and Earth settle into their places and each thing finds where it belongs; this is not to say the cosmos physically shifts, but that the whole order returns to the harmony it was always meant to have. 立本 comes from the Analects (論語・學而), 本立而道生 — when the root is established, the Way is born; 達道 comes from the Doctrine of the Mean, the universal norms everyone alike should follow. Read this far, the four couplets turn out to be one complete sequence: first not leaning in the mind (執中), then striking the measure in action (發中節), then moving others outward by utter sincerity (抱中孚), and at last answering to the order of Heaven and Earth (致中和).
鎮壇詩四聯開壇，講的是「什麼是中」以及一個人要怎麼把「中」活在每一天裡——留意四聯開頭同一個位置上的四個「中」字：執中者、發中節、抱中孚、致中和，這不是巧合，是同一件事被翻來覆去說透了四遍。起句先給定義：執中不是站在尺的正中間硬撐，《尚書》「允執厥中」與《中庸》「君子而時中」講的是在每一個當下拿捏得恰恰好；而下半句立刻換了一套語言，用《金剛經》「應無所住而生其心」把下手處交出來——心不黏在任何一邊，人才可能不往任何一邊斜過去。第二聯把功夫從心體移到心用：《中庸》說情緒發得合分寸叫「和」，所以「發中節」不是要人沒脾氣，而是發得對、發得當時，標準不由個人好惡說了算，而是「循天理」；末了以《孟子》「可欲之謂善」收在一個「因」字上——要種下的是那顆讓人看了願意跟著走的種子，不是急著要結果。第三聯轉身向外：「中孚」是《易經》第六十一卦，巽風在上、兌澤在下，「孚」的古字畫的是鳥爪護卵，至誠、耐煩而無人看見；而它向外發生作用的樣子，正如風掠水面——什麼都沒推，整片水卻都動了。末聯把話說到最大處又立刻收回最小處：「致中和，天地位焉」是整個秩序各安其位，而「立本」出自《論語》「本立而道生」，那個「本」不過就是把最平常的人倫站穩。四聯讀完是一條完整的次第：心上不偏、事上恰當、以誠感人、與天地相應。而所借的話分別出自《中庸》《尚書》《金剛經》《孟子》《易經》《論語》，編在同一組詩裡卻毫無扞格——它們本來就流自同一個源頭，只是在不同的時代被用不同的語言說了出來。
The four couplets that settle the altar set the keynote for everything after them: what the center is, and how a person lives from it on an ordinary day. Watch the same word standing in the same position four times — hold the center, strike the measure at the center, embrace Inner Truth, carry centrality to its utmost — one matter said through four turns rather than four separate counsels. The opening couplet defines it and then, in its second half, hands over the way in. To hold the center is not to brace at a midpoint; the Book of Documents and the Doctrine of the Mean mean what is exactly fitting at this moment, which is why it is called razor-thin and easy to lose. And then the vocabulary changes entirely: the Diamond Sutra’s sentence — let the mind arise while settling nowhere — names the same act from the other side. What keeps a person from tilting is precisely the refusal to grip. The second couplet moves from the interior to its test: the Doctrine of the Mean calls it harmony when joy, anger, grief and delight come out and each strikes its proper measure, so the standard is not that feeling is suppressed but that it comes out at the right size, and the measure is not personal preference but the principle of Heaven. The aim then lands on a seed — Mencius begins his ladder with the goodness others are drawn toward without argument, and the line ends not at goodness but at its cause. Plant the seed; do not perform the fruit. The third couplet turns outward and credits the turning to sincerity alone: Inner Truth is hexagram 61, wind above and lake below, and its character originally pictures a bird brooding over eggs — patient, warm, unwitnessed. Its effect is described exactly as wind on water: nothing is pushed, and the whole surface moves. The last couplet states the payoff in the largest possible terms and immediately undercuts it with the smallest — carry centrality and harmony to their utmost and Heaven and Earth take their places, and then, in the next breath, the Analects: establish the root, and the Way is born from it, where the root is nothing more exalted than ordinary decency close to home. Read whole, the four couplets are one staircase — no tilt in the heart, fitness in action, sincerity that reaches others, accord with the order of Heaven and Earth — and the classics they draw on sit together without friction, because they flow from one source and were only ever spoken in different languages in different ages.
吾乃 Self-Introduction
「老朽」是老人家對自己的謙稱，一開口就把姿態放得極低——這位仙佛不是以權威的姿態登場，而是以一位長者的口吻走進來。接著交代來歷：這一趟不是自己要來的，是奉了老Φ之命而來；而即使是仙佛，進到壇裡的第一件事，也仍是先向皇Φ參叩行禮。這個先後次序本身就是一句教導：修到什麼位次都一樣，源頭永遠在自己之上，禮敬永遠排在做事之前。最後一句語氣忽然全鬆了——前面是奉命、是參叩，何等鄭重；一轉身面對壇中的修子，卻是一句家常話。整篇的溫度就在這裡定住：接下來要講的道理雖深，說話的人是把你當自家孩子在看。
老朽 is what an old man calls himself when he wants to take up as little room as possible — the posture is set at its lowest with the very first word: this is not an arrival in the bearing of authority but the entry of an elder. Then the provenance: this journey is not undertaken on personal impulse but under the Eternal Mother’s decree; and even for a divine being, the first act upon entering the hall is still to bow and pay homage before the Sovereign Mother’s countenance. That order is itself an instruction: however high the station attained, the source is always above one’s own head, and reverence always comes before work. And then the last clause loosens completely — everything before it was decree and kowtow, weighty in the extreme; turning to face the cultivators in the hall, it becomes a household question. The temperature of the whole teaching is fixed right there: the principles to come may be deep, but the one speaking them is looking at you as his own child.
自報家門一段極短，而次序本身就是教誨。開口先自稱「老朽」——這位仙佛不是以權威的姿態登場，而是以一位長者的口吻走進來，姿態放得極低。「領 Φ命」是說這一趟不是自己要來的，是奉老Φ之命而來；接著進門的第一件事，是先向皇Φ參叩行禮，然後才開口。修到什麼位次都一樣：源頭永遠在自己之上，禮敬永遠排在做事之前。而開口的第一句不是訓誡，是一句家常的問候——「再問寶寶可安矣」，先問的不是修得勤不勤，是人好不好。這一句短，卻把整篇的溫度定住了：接下來要唱的道理雖深，說話的人是把你當自家孩子在看。
The self-introduction is brief, and the order in which it moves is itself the teaching. It opens by calling the speaker old and worn out — the register drops all the way down before a single line of instruction, and it is the very figure who in the popular imagination is old age itself who takes up as little room as possible. The coming is not self-appointed: it is made bearing the Eternal Mother’s decree. And the first act on entering the gate is reverence paid upward, a bow before the Sovereign Mother’s countenance; only then does the teaching speak. Whatever station one has attained, the source remains above it, and homage comes before work. Then the first words are not instruction but a question, and not whether the disciples have been diligent — whether they are well. Are my precious ones well? The line is short, and it fixes the temperature of everything that follows: what comes next is deep, and it is being sung to you by someone who checked first that you were all right.
本訓 Main Teaching · sung to 〈彎彎的月亮〉
「靈明」形容心性本來的那份靈妙光明——不必向外求、自己就能照見的澄澈狀態；這兩個字後來也成為宋明學者描述人心本體的常用語。「本具」是佛門用語，意思是本來就具足，這四個字劃下一條分界：慈悲與智慧不是修出來的、不是別人給的、更不是少數人才有的，而是你一生下來就帶著的。所以修行不是把外面的好東西裝進來，而是把遮住這份光的塵擦掉。「慈」是給人快樂，「悲」是拔人痛苦；「智慧」在佛門特指般若，不是聰明伶俐，是能看透事情實相的那份根本的明白——兩者並提，因為缺一不可。
靈明 describes the numinous luminosity that belongs to the mind-nature from the start — a clarity that needs nothing sought outside and can illuminate of itself; the two characters later became standard vocabulary among Song and Ming scholars for the substance of the human mind. 本具 is Buddhist usage, meaning already complete from the beginning, and these four characters draw a line: compassion and wisdom are not cultivated into existence, not conferred by anyone else, and certainly not the property of a chosen few — they came with you at birth. So cultivation is not loading good things in from outside; it is wiping off the dust that covers this light. 慈 is to give others joy, 悲 is to draw out others’ suffering; 智慧 in Buddhist usage means specifically prajñā — not cleverness, but the fundamental clarity that sees through to how things actually are. The two are named together because neither will do without the other.
「會須」是舊詩文裡常見的說法，意思是「應當」「定要」；「不輟」是不停。既然本來就有，就定要讓它不間斷地綻出光來。這一句點出一個責任：本來具足，不等於已經顯現；光要一直發著，才算數。
會須 is a common turn in older verse and prose, meaning “ought to,” “must surely”; 不輟 is without ceasing. Since it is there already, it must surely break open into radiance without interruption. The line points to a responsibility: being inherently possessed is not the same as being manifest; the light only counts if it keeps shining.
歷史上那些德行圓熟的聖賢、氣魄過人的豪傑，就是這份光真的發出來以後的樣子。
The sages and worthies of ripened virtue and the heroes of outsized capacity in history are what this light looks like once it has actually come out.
下一句立刻把讚嘆收住了：他們如今在哪裡？這一問不是感慨人事凋零，而是把眼光從歷史拉回眼前——古人已經做完他們該做的了，那麼現在呢？「承擔」是把這副擔子接到自己肩上。問到這裡就停住，答案沒有給，因為這個問題只能自己回答。
The next line reins the praise in at once: where are they now? The question is not a sigh over things passing away — it pulls the gaze back from history to what is in front of you. The ancients have finished what was theirs to do; what about now? 承擔 is to take this load onto your own shoulders. The question stops there, and no answer is supplied, because this is a question only you can answer.
這一聲「Who」不取英文的詞義，是隨著曲調唱出來的襯詞，回應著上一句尾巴上的那個「誰」。它把問題懸在半空，讓它一直迴響——不要歷史給答案，要唱的人自己給。
This “Who” is not taken for its English sense — it is a vocalized syllable sung along with the melody, answering the 誰 at the tail of the line before. It leaves the question suspended in the air so that it keeps echoing: it wants no answer from history, but one from the person singing.
上一段懸著的那個「誰」，在這一段有了畫面：有人在搖著一艘船。「濟」是救濟，「渡」是渡過，本義就是搖船把人從這一岸載到那一岸，後來用來比喻幫助眾生離開苦海。「古老」二字下得很重：眾生因無明而起心動念、造作行為，行為留下業力，業力又牽著再受生，一輪接一輪從沒停過；而那條船，也就在這條無盡的河上搖了不知多久。要問的不是有沒有船，是誰在搖。
The 誰 left hanging in the previous stanza is given a picture here: someone is rowing a boat. 濟 is to rescue, 渡 is to carry across — literally, rowing a boat to carry people from this shore to the far shore, later used as a figure for helping beings out of the sea of suffering. 古老, “ancient,” carries real weight: out of ignorance beings stir thought and act, action leaves karma, karma draws them into being born again, round after round without pause — and that boat has been rowing on this endless river for who knows how long. What is being asked is not whether there is a boat, but who is at the oar.
但這個輪子不是解不開的。「解脫」的字面意思就是解開束縛、得到自在——輪迴之所以可解，正因為它是一條有起點的鎖鏈。
But this wheel is not unbreakable. 解脫 means literally to loosen a binding and come into freedom — the round of rebirth can be undone precisely because it is a chain with a beginning.
這條鎖鏈的次序是「無明生煩惱、煩惱造業、造業受苦」，所以只要把最前頭的無明滅掉，後面的苦與業自然跟著鬆脫——修行不是一項一項去對付眼前的苦，而是回過頭去照破那個最初的不明白。無明一滅會看見什麼？「體性」指最根本、不會變動的內在本質；「真如」的「真」是真實不虛、「如」是如常不變，合起來指萬有本來的樣子，也正是每一個眾生本具的那份佛性。這裡的「會」是相會、顯現：塵擦乾淨了，那個清淨的本體就與你相見了。
The order of that chain is: ignorance breeds affliction, affliction makes karma, karma brings suffering — so extinguishing ignorance at the head lets the suffering and karma behind it come loose of themselves. Cultivation is not tackling the sufferings in front of you one at a time; it is turning back to see through that first not-knowing. And when ignorance goes out, what appears? 體性 is the most fundamental, unshifting inner nature; 真如, Suchness, joins 真 — real and not false — to 如 — constant and unchanging — for the way all things originally are, which is also the Buddha-nature every being inherently possesses. 會 here is to meet, to become manifest: once the dust is wiped clean, that pure essence and you meet face to face.
「會」再推近一步——它一路來到心門前，把門叩開。然後是全篇的關鍵：「是心作佛」出自《觀無量壽經》「是心作佛，是心是佛」，意思是你眼前這一念心本身就具備成佛的功能，佛不在心外，也不在別處。所以「無誰」二字，就是把前面所有的問句一併答了：那個搖船的人是誰？那個願意承擔的人是誰？答案是沒有別人——不是某位更了不起的人物，不是某位遙遠的聖者，就是此刻正在讀、正在唱、正在問「是誰」的這顆心。
會 presses one step closer — it comes all the way to the door of the heart and knocks it open. Then the hinge of the whole piece: 是心作佛 quotes the Contemplation Sutra (觀無量壽經), 是心作佛，是心是佛 — this very mind before you already carries the capacity to become a Buddha; Buddha is not outside the mind, and not anywhere else. So the two characters 無誰 answer every earlier question at once: who is rowing that boat? who is willing to shoulder it? The answer is that there is no one else — not some more remarkable figure, not some distant sage, but this very mind that is at this moment reading, singing, and asking “who.”
第二聲「Who」落在「無誰」之後。問句剛剛得到答案，襯詞卻又把它唱回半空——答案給了，還得由唱的人自己認下來。
The second “Who” falls just after 無誰. The question has only just been answered, and the refrain sings it back up into the air — the answer has been given, but the one singing still has to claim it.
「圓滿無缺」是說它沒有一處欠缺、沒有一角是暗的。「不落於執妄的偏邪」從反面補足：「執」是死抓不放，「妄」是虛假不實，把虛假的東西當真、還緊緊抓著，人的偏差幾乎都從這裡開始——認錯了又不肯鬆手，於是一步一步偏出去。所以「圓滿」不是多了什麼，而是不再抓錯東西；與鎮壇詩首句「執中者不偏倚」一正一反，說的其實是同一件事。
圓滿無缺 says there is no place lacking in it and no corner left dark. 不落於執妄的偏邪 completes the thought from the other side: 執 is gripping and refusing to let go, 妄 is what is false and unreal — taking the false for real and then holding on tight is where nearly all human crookedness begins; mistake something, refuse to loosen your hold, and you drift further with every step. So 圓滿 is not a matter of having added anything; it is no longer grasping at the wrong thing — the exact converse of the 鎮壇詩’s opening line, 執中者不偏倚, saying one and the same thing.
「果位」是修行所證得的階位；「戀棧」原本形容馬捨不得離開自己的馬棚，後來用來說一個人捨不得放下已有的位子。修到了、證到了，本可以安住在那份清淨安樂裡——但他不留戀，回頭走進這個混濁的人間，只為了讓還在睡的人能醒過來。這是整首歌的重心：圓滿之所以圓滿，不在於停在高處，而在於肯下來。
果位 is the station of fruition attained through cultivation; 戀棧 originally described a horse unwilling to leave its own stall, and later a person unwilling to give up the position already held. Having cultivated and realized it, one could rest in that purity and ease — but it does not linger; it turns back and walks into this muddied human world, only so that those still asleep can wake. This is the center of gravity of the whole song: what makes completeness complete is not staying up high, but being willing to come down.
這一聲拉開的感嘆，是全篇情緒的最高處。「天爵」出自《孟子・告子上》：「仁義忠信，樂善不倦，此天爵也；公卿大夫，此人爵也。」人爵是人間給的官位名聲，別人給得了，也收得回；天爵是自己修出來的德行，是天賦於你、誰也奪不走的尊貴。而要緊的是「證」的地方——不放在天上，放在人間：真正的高貴不是離開世界去證明的，是走進世界、在人與人的往來裡一件一件做出來的。與上一句正好是一組：放下天上的位子，來人間掙那份天賦的貴。
This drawn-out exclamation is the emotional summit of the piece. 天爵 comes from Mencius (孟子・告子上): benevolence, righteousness, loyalty and trustworthiness, delighting in goodness without tiring — that is the nobility Heaven confers; ministers, high officers and grandees are the nobility men confer. Human rank is the office and reputation the world hands out, which others can give and others can take back; Heaven’s rank is the virtue one cultivates oneself, bestowed by Heaven and beyond anyone’s power to seize. And what matters is where it is realized — not placed in the heavens but in the world: true nobility is not proven by leaving the world, but by walking into it and being made real one act at a time in the traffic between people. It pairs exactly with the line before: set down the station in the heavens, and come into the world to earn that Heaven-given nobility.
「醍醐」是從牛奶裡層層提煉出來的最精華的部分，《大般涅槃經》用乳、酪、生酥、熟酥、醍醐五個階段比喻佛法由淺入深，並說「醍醐最上」；「有情」指一切有情感、有心識的生命。既然嘗到了這最精純的一味，就要傳下去，傳給一切有情——這條道的尊貴，正在於它是一代一代傳下來的，也正在於接到手的人願意再傳出去。承接第一段「看願承擔的是誰」，到這裡要承擔的內容才終於說明白：不是承擔一個位子，是承擔這份傳。
醍醐 is the most refined essence drawn out of milk through successive distillations; the Nirvana Sutra (大般涅槃經) uses the five stages of milk, cream, curd, clarified butter and 醍醐 as a figure for the Dharma deepening from shallow to profound, and calls 醍醐 the highest of them. 有情 means all beings possessed of feeling and consciousness. Having tasted this purest of flavors, one must hand it on, and hand it on to all sentient beings — the nobility of this Way lies precisely in its having been passed down generation by generation, and equally in whoever receives it being willing to pass it on again. It picks up the first stanza’s “who is willing to shoulder it,” and only here is the content of that shouldering finally made plain: what is shouldered is not a position, but this handing on.
第三聲「Who」唱在「傳承」之後。同樣的襯詞，這時已不只是懸在半空的問——問題問到了要接手的人身上。
The third “Who” is sung after 傳承. The same vocalized refrain, but by this point it is no longer merely a question left hanging in the air — the question has arrived at the person who is to take it up.
末段一字不改，把開頭整段唱了回來，但這一次聽起來已經不一樣了。中間三段走了一趟路：先問是誰在搖船，再答「是心作佛無誰」，然後看見那顆圓滿的心不戀棧高位，反而走進人間去證天爵、去把最精純的一味傳下去。走過這一趟，同樣的「本來就有」，分量已全變了。
The closing stanza repeats the opening stanza back word for word, without a character changed, and yet it no longer sounds the same. The three stanzas in between walked a road: first asking who is rowing the boat, then answering that this very mind makes a Buddha and there is no one else, and then watching that complete mind refuse to cling to a high station, walking instead into the world to realize the nobility Heaven confers and to hand on the purest taste there is. Having walked that road, the same “inherent from the very first” carries an altogether different weight.
同樣的一問，第一次唱的時候是一個懸著的問題，這一次回過頭來，就不再是問題，而是邀請。答案其實前面已經給了：不是別人，就是那顆本來就靈明、本來就具足慈悲與智慧的心，而它此刻正在你身上。回頭再看鎮壇詩，也會發現本訓正是把那四聯一句一句唱開了——古今之所以貫得起來，並不是因為道自己會延續，而是因為每一代都有人肯接。
The same question: sung the first time, it was a question left hanging; come back to now, it is no longer a question but an invitation. The answer was in fact given already — not anyone else, but the mind that is numinous and luminous from the first, already possessed of compassion and wisdom, and it is in you at this very moment. Looking back at the 鎮壇詩 from here, the main teaching turns out to have sung those four couplets open line by line — and antiquity and the present thread together not because the Dao continues of itself, but because in every generation someone is willing to take it up.
本訓是一首整篇唱出來的板訓，借〈彎彎的月亮〉這首人們熟悉的曲子填上訓詞——借世間的調子承載道理，為的是讓人容易記、容易唱、容易在日常裡反覆咀嚼。它的形式本身就在說話：幾乎每一句的尾巴都變成下一句的開頭（慈悲與智慧、光輝、聖賢豪傑、輪迴、苦業、體性真如會），這是頂真，唱起來像一條扯不斷的線，也很像因果本身的樣子——前面那一節，就是後面這一節的起點。起頭第一句先把最要緊的話說完：「靈明的生命 本具的慈悲與智慧」。「本具」是本來就具足——慈悲與智慧不是修出來的、不是別人給的、更不是少數人才有的，所以修行不是把外面的好東西裝進來，而是把遮住這份光的塵擦掉；而它綻放用的是花的意象（「綻」是花苞裂開），不是點燈：不必添什麼，只是別再把它捂著。接著由「光輝的歲月」推到「造就多少聖賢豪傑」，讚嘆卻立刻被一問收住——「聖賢豪傑今何在」。這不是感慨人事凋零，是把眼光從歷史拉回眼前：古人已經做完他們該做的了，那麼現在呢？「看願承擔的是誰」。問到這裡就停住，接著是一聲拉長的「Who」——那是隨曲調唱出的襯詞，回應著上一句尾巴上的「誰」，把問題懸在半空。答案沒有給，因為這個問題只能自己回答。
第二段給那個「誰」一幅畫面：有人在搖著一艘船，濟渡那古老的輪迴。說它「古老」，是因為這件事從來沒有停過——無明生煩惱、煩惱造業、造業受苦，一輪接一輪。而「輪迴可得解」點出關竅不在一項一項對付眼前的苦，而在回過頭去照破最初的那個不明白：無明一滅，苦業隨之鬆脫，清淨的體性便與真如相會，一路來到心門前。然後是全篇的關鍵——「是心作佛無誰」，出自《觀無量壽經》「是心作佛，是心是佛」。這四個字把前面所有的問句一併答了：搖船的是誰？願意承擔的是誰？沒有別人。不是某位更了不起的人物，不是某位遙遠的聖者，就是此刻正在唱、正在問「是誰」的這顆心。第三段接著問一個更難的問題：既然心本來圓滿，為什麼還要下來？「圓滿無缺」不是多了什麼，是不再抓錯東西——「不落於執妄的偏邪」正與鎮壇詩的「執中者不偏倚」一正一反，說的是同一件事。而真正的轉折在「只為那眾生能醒覺 不戀棧天上的果位」：「戀棧」原是說馬捨不得離開自己的馬棚，這裡用在最高的安樂上——修到了、證到了，本可以安住在那份清淨裡，卻不留戀，回頭走進混濁的人間。圓滿之所以圓滿，不在於停在高處，而在於肯下來。所以「入世證天爵」這一聲拉開的感嘆是全篇情緒的最高處：《孟子》分別天爵與人爵，人爵是人間給的官位名聲，天爵是仁義忠信、樂善不倦那份誰也奪不走的尊貴——而這裡沒有把「證」放在天上，是放在人間。末了以「醍醐味」收：那是從牛乳層層提煉出的最精華一味，而最精純的東西不是留著自用的，是「傳承有情」傳下去的。第一段那個問題到這裡才說明白：要承擔的不是一個位子，是這份傳。
最後一段一字不改，把開頭整段唱了回來——同樣的四句，聽起來已經不同。第一次唱的時候，「看願承擔的是誰」還是一個懸著的問題；中間三段走了一趟路：問過搖船的人是誰，答了「是心作佛無誰」，又看見那顆圓滿的心不戀棧高位、反而入世證天爵、把最精純的一味傳下去。走過這一趟，同樣四句回過頭來就不再是問題，而是邀請。回頭再看鎮壇詩，會發現本訓其實是把那四聯一句一句唱開了：「執中者不偏倚」唱成「不落於執妄的偏邪」，「無住而生心」唱成「不戀棧天上的果位」——不黏在喜歡的一邊，連天上的位子也不黏；「發中節……期於可欲之善因」唱成「慈悲與智慧生發，會須不輟綻光輝」；「抱中孚以盡信，風澤垂化於萬品」唱成「傳承有情道尊貴」，至誠所到之處，就是道傳到的地方。而「立本達道貫古今」正是「聖賢豪傑今何在」那一問的底氣：古今之所以貫得起來，並不是因為道自己會延續，而是因為每一代都有人肯接。整首歌因此是一個圓——從「你本來就有」出發，繞過輪迴、無明、真如、佛心、天爵、傳承，最後回到「你本來就有」；只是回來的時候，多了一句沒有唱出口的話：那就接下來吧。
The main teaching is sung from beginning to end, filled to the borrowed melody of a familiar popular song, “The Crescent Moon” — a worldly tune made to carry the teaching because a song that can be sung travels farther than an essay that was read. Its form is doing work before its content does: the phrase that ends each line begins the next — compassion and wisdom, radiance, sages and heroes, the wheel of rebirth, suffering’s karma, the meeting of essential nature and Suchness — an interlocking chain that sounds like an unbroken thread and behaves like cause and effect, where each link is the starting point of the one after it. The first line says the most important thing immediately: the numinous, luminous life, with compassion and wisdom inherent from the very first. Inherent is the load-bearing word. These are not qualities to be imported from outside by enough effort, not conferred by anyone, not the property of a gifted few — which means cultivation is not the adding of good things but the wiping away of what covers a light already burning. And the image for their expression is a flower rather than a lamp: they must break open into radiance, the way a bud splits. Nothing has to be added; something has to stop being held shut. From there the song widens — those radiant years, and how many sages, worthies, and heroes they made — and then closes the warmth off with a single question: and where are they now? It is not a lament about decline. It pulls the eye back from history to this room: the ancients finished what was theirs to do, so what about now — who is willing to shoulder it? There the line stops, and a long sung Who follows, a vocalized refrain answering the rhetorical who the line just ended on, leaving the question hanging in the air. No answer is given, because this is a question only the singer can answer.
The second stanza gives that who a body: someone is at the oar, ferrying beings across the ancient wheel of rebirth. It is called ancient because it has never once stopped — root unknowing gives rise to affliction, affliction produces deeds, deeds bring suffering, turn after turn. And the chain’s release is located not in fighting each present pain in turn but in going back to see through the original not-knowing: when that goes out, suffering and its karma loosen with it, the pure essential nature meets Suchness, and the meeting comes all the way to the hinged door of one’s own heart. Then the hinge of the whole song: this very mind makes a Buddha, no one else — quoting the Contemplation Sutra exactly. That line answers every question asked so far at once. Who is rowing? Who is willing to shoulder it? No one else. Not a greater figure, not a distant sage — the very mind that is at this moment singing and asking who. The third stanza asks the harder question: if the mind is already complete, why come back down? Completeness here is not an addition but a subtraction — nothing false is being gripped — and the crookedness of clinging to what is false is the exact mirror of the opening verse’s leaning to neither side. The turn comes with the refusal to settle: only so that living beings may wake, the attained rank in the heavens is not clung to. The idiom is unspiritual on purpose — a horse that will not leave its comfortable stall — and it is applied to the highest comfort there is. Completion is precisely what makes the descent possible; what makes it complete is the willingness to come down. So the one open exclamation in the song is also its emotional summit: Ah — entering the world, to realize the nobility Heaven confers. Mencius set the rank Heaven gives — benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, trustworthiness, delight in goodness without tiring — against the rank men give, the titles and offices; and here the realizing is placed not in the heavens but in the world, earned by going down into it rather than up out of it. The stanza closes on taste: the finest cream, the last and purest distillate drawn out of milk, the traditional figure for the most complete teaching there is — and the most refined thing in existence is not kept. It is handed on to all sentient beings. Only here does the opening question finally become legible: what is to be shouldered is not a position but a transmission.
The closing stanza repeats the opening word for word, and nothing is the same. The first time, who is willing to shoulder it was a question left hanging. Between then and now the song has crossed a distance — it asked who was at the oar, answered that this very mind makes a Buddha and no one else, and then watched a complete mind decline its own station, enter the world to realize the nobility Heaven confers, and pass the purest thing it had along. Coming back to the same four lines after that journey, they are no longer a question but an invitation. Read against the opening verse, the whole song turns out to have been singing those four couplets open one at a time: leaning to neither side becomes not falling into the crookedness of clinging to what is false; letting the mind arise while settling nowhere becomes refusing to cling even to a station in the heavens; feeling that strikes its measure and plants the seed of an attractive goodness becomes compassion and wisdom breaking open into radiance that never ceases; and embracing Inner Truth until sincerity is complete, with wind moving over the lake, becomes the handing on of the honored nobility of the Dao — wherever sincerity reaches is exactly how far the Dao has been carried. As for threading the root and the universal Way through antiquity and the present: that is what stands behind the question where are the sages and heroes now. Antiquity and the present hold together not because the Way continues by itself, but because in every generation someone was willing to take it up. The song is therefore a circle — it starts at you already have this, goes by way of the wheel of rebirth, root unknowing, Suchness, the Buddha-mind, Heaven’s nobility and the transmission, and arrives back at you already have this — except that on returning there is one more line, never sung aloud: then take it up.