In the third volume of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, the Buddha said that the seven intrinsically existing great seeds (earth, water, fire, wind, space, seeing, consciousness) are by nature perfectly fused, are originally the tathāgatagarbha, neither arising nor ceasing, pervading the entire dharma realm, lucidly and eternally abiding, manifesting according to karma. Since the seven great seeds are by nature originally the nature of the tathāgatagarbha, like the tathāgatagarbha they neither arise nor cease, neither increase nor decrease, have never been defiled, and are perfectly fused with one another without obstruction, forming the illusory world. The seven great seeds, like the tathāgatagarbha, neither come nor go, are neither empty nor existent, unchanging and without difference, purely and eternally existing, yet without any images. So what exactly is the world constituted by the seven great seeds like, and what is its nature?
The seven great seeds are not empty, because they possess their own functions, operations, and attributes, and can give rise to the myriad dharmas; moreover, they neither arise nor cease, and are truly existent dharmas within the substance of the tathāgatagarbha mind. Although the seeds are not empty, they are without marks, possessing none of the worldly conventional appearances whatsoever; therefore the eyes of worldly people cannot see them, cannot perceive them, cannot know them, and so they are called "empty"—in reality, they are emptiness (śūnyatā).
Since the seven great seeds are without marks and empty, and neither arise nor cease, they cannot be generated out of the tathāgatagarbha, nor can they cease and return back into the tathāgatagarbha. Since the seven great seeds do not exist outside the tathāgatagarbha, yet can form the various dharmas of the world, then markless dharmas cannot form marked dharmas, and the worldly dharma-marks that are formed are still empty and markless, being emptiness (śūnyatā). Furthermore, because the tathāgatagarbha is without marks, the markless cannot hold marked dharmas; because the marked and the markless are mutually incompatible, all the worldly dharmas manifested and formed by the seven great seeds must also be without marks in order to exist within the markless emptiness of the tathāgatagarbha.
Then why is it that all the worldly dharmas seen by sentient beings have marks? On account of what do sentient beings see the marked appearances of worldly dharmas? For example, sentient beings see that there are the four great elements forming a material body and the seven great elements forming a body of the five aggregates, moving from place A to place B, with the five aggregates vividly manifesting—there is self, there are others, there are objects, there is time, there is space, there is location; every dharma-mark is there, not one missing. What are all these dharma-marks? Why are there marks of form, marks of mind, and dharma-marks that are neither form nor mind? The four great elements and five great elements have never arisen and will not go out from the tathāgatagarbha—so why do the conventional appearances of the material body and various object-appearances appear? The great element of seeing and the great element of consciousness have never arisen and will not go outside the tathāgatagarbha—so why are the worldly mind-marks born and made manifest?
The material body is a false and illusory appearance; in reality it does not exist. The body of the five aggregates is a false and illusory appearance; in reality it does not exist. Place A and place B are false and illusory appearances; in reality they do not exist. Time and space are false and illusory appearances; in reality they do not exist. All these dharma-marks are what sentient beings illusorily see; the seeing itself is illusory, and even the illusion is illusory.
Since none of these dharmas has ever arisen, there can be no talk of ceasing. The seven great seeds have never gone outside the tathāgatagarbha; they have never emerged from the tathāgatagarbha at all, nor have they ever ceased, nor has there ever been a time when they ceased and returned into the tathāgatagarbha—such things simply never happened. If they had, then there would be dharmas outside the tathāgatagarbha that do not belong to the tathāgatagarbha; then what would be the boundary between such dharmas and the tathāgatagarbha? What would be the relationship between the two? This would be hard to say. Since all worldly dharmas have neither arisen nor ceased, who exactly saw these dharmas arise and these dharmas cease? By what means were they seen? Has the one who saw them ever arisen? Will he cease? What dharma-marks are the process and result of seeing? Is there arising? Is there ceasing?
Within the tathāgatagarbha there is also no such thing as the five-aggregate body going from place A to place B, no such thing as entering the womb, leaving the womb, or departing from the body, no such thing as some dharma arising or some dharma ceasing. All phenomenal appearances and dharma-marks are the deluded seeing of the seven consciousnesses, illusory seeing; that is why illusory dharmas are seen. In reality there is no such thing—there is nothing at all. Everyone go to sleep! If you cannot sleep soundly or sleep with peace of mind, then get up and study the Buddhadharma; study and then realize it, realize as fully as possible the true substance and true reality of all dharmas, and clearly recognize all dharma-marks, and you will awaken from the great dream. In the false play of the world there is fundamentally no one, no play, and no spectator. Then what is there? A dream. It is not even a dream; there is not even a dream. Who sees the dream? Who watches the play? No one.
When you finally truly realize these dharmas, you will be unable to hold back and will weep bitterly! For beginningless kalpas you have simply died in vain—so unjustly—having engaged in so many karmic actions for nothing, suffered so much pain, all the various graspings and rejections, cravings and attachments, deluded stirrings, all the various afflictions and distresses, exerting such effort, entangled in such knots—and in the end there is nothing at all. Is that not grievous, is that not pitiable?
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