《太上老君说常清静经颂注(刘通微)》

When the source of heaven and earth is clear, the vitality of the myriad things is as limpid as the waves of the ocean of the Dharma; when the root is firm, pure Yang Qi (vital energy)—the harmonious, life-giving energy of which Daoism speaks—can circulate. Fullness and depletion, waxing and waning, and transformation flow throughout the four quarters of heaven and earth. To inquire into why heaven and earth manifest their signs, one must examine the pivot of Yin-Yang change.

Human beings receive their bodily form from heaven and earth and ought ultimately to return to clarity, stillness, and naturalness. Uniting as well the Qi of Yin and Yang, they have the capacity to accord with change and return to the true and constant. What is called “clarity” means that even when stirred it does not grow turbid; what is called “stillness” means that once settled it does not waver. Heaven is clear by obtaining the One, earth is at peace by obtaining the One, and human beings possess spiritual nature by obtaining the One; this One refers to Shen (spirit). When the source of spiritual nature is clear and transparent, the sacred Dao (the Way) can proceed unhindered. The mind within is silent and unmoving, yet it can respond and transform as occasions arise, without fixed limit. When it meets with stimulus and response, communion follows, and birth, nurture, and transformation never cease.

Heaven and earth constantly preserve their nature of clarity and stillness, and so remain pure and unmixed. Human beings, however, often lose this constant mind and fall into darkness and confusion. Who can bring turbidity to rest? One need only become quiet, and the turbidity will gradually clear. Thus the Most High Lord Lao, out of great compassion, proclaimed the Dao of “constant clarity and stillness,” established a teaching to instruct the world, and upheld and safeguarded the transmission of the Dao, so that people might return to the source, embrace the true, and guard the One. In this way one can unite with Xuanyuan (the original source of the Dao), refine and nurture the spirit so as to join with the Dao, and at last ascend as an immortal through feathered transformation—this is no absurd doctrine. It is hoped that all who trust and receive this Jing (scripture) will grasp its essential meaning, cultivate according to its method, and obtain a verifying response. If everyone takes clarity and stillness as the standard for the world, the way of the age can be set right; the true immortals and sages of successive generations have never departed from this principle.

The Five Tai (a Daoist concept used to explain the successive levels before and after the opening of heaven and earth) are the prior signs of the generation of the myriad things. The Dao abides in emptiness and non-being, spontaneous of itself. Hunyuan (the state in which heaven and earth are not yet divided and primordial Qi forms one undifferentiated whole) manifests, by expedient means, the ancestral and orthodox Dao, and its mysterious fundamental substance accords with the central purport and the profound principle. The Most High Lord Lao expounded the unsurpassed teaching, enabling people to recognize the constant Dao, and clarified it by means of analogy. From this he revealed the De (Virtue/Power) of clarity and stillness, elaborated the transforming instruction, and composed this scriptural text.

The Great Dao (the Way) has no concrete form, yet it gives birth to and nurtures Heaven and Earth.

The Great Dao is hidden and without form. True Jing (essence)—the subtle origin of which the myriad things are constituted—is blended within what is profound and hard to fathom. When Heaven and Earth first divided, the Two Modes of Yin-Yang (Yin-Yang, the two fundamental forces of Heaven and Earth, or of yin and yang) appeared from this; primordial Qi (vital energy) moves on without cease. The Great Dao covers and bears up the myriad things, and its working is truly hard to measure. The myriad things are generated and nourished by it, and each finds peace. As a potter shapes vessels, it fashions and transforms the myriad things, and even the smallest living creatures hold a spiritual nature within them.

The Great Dao shows no partiality, yet it sets the sun and moon in motion.

The sun and moon travel through the void, their light shining everywhere with perfect impartiality. Receiving the Way of Heaven, they shine on for long, meeting the myriad things so that all may obtain light. Whatever has form receives the warm touch of the sun and moon; things without feeling or awareness are likewise gathered into the prospect of Heaven and Earth. Yin and Yang ever embody the Dao, moving without rest in the Great Void (the vast, formless emptiness).

The Great Dao has no fixed name, yet it nurtures the myriad things through long ages.

The mysterious Great Dao is truly hard to name, yet it contains and brings forth the myriad things. It moves with the four seasons and fills the veins of the earth. The myriad things follow what is natural to them, each receiving the clear Qi bestowed by Heaven. By blowing upon them and warming them, it stirs the changes of life, so that the myriad things are transformed and brought to completion within harmonious, blending Qi. The Great Dao is perfectly integrated and all-pervading, and the myriad things at last return to one. High or low, all rest in equal peace.

I do not know what it is called, and can only, for want of a better name, call it “Dao.”

The Great Dao has no image, and no trace of it can be sought. Within chaos, there is not yet even a name. Before Heaven and Earth had begun to emerge, where could rain, clouds, and wind have come from? The Great Dao opened the still-undivided state of chaos, broke through the dark, and let the forms of the myriad things appear. From this, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things began to differentiate and come into being. The name “Dao” is only a provisional designation for this inexhaustible origin.

The Dao has the clear and the turbid, and also movement and stillness.

Clear Qi and turbid Qi—that is, the Qi of Yin and Yang—circulate between Heaven and Earth, passing from above to below and blending above with below. They respond and transform of themselves, and in the end accord with the perfectly integrated and all-pervading Great Dao. The myriad things are established by relying on the Dao, and their generation and transformation are endless. Every kind of being is nourished. The Three Origins—Heaven, Earth, and the human—answer one another. Heaven and Earth mingle and grow settled, and the myriad things at last converge upon the clear, still, and true origin.

Heaven is clear and Earth is turbid; Heaven moves and Earth is still. The male belongs to the clear and the moving, the female to the turbid and the still. Traditional notions of Yin-Yang are used here to explain the differing qualities of things.

(In the original, “The Great Dao is without partiality and sets the sun and moon in motion,” together with the related verses that follow, appears more than once. At “The sun and moon travel the void,” the wording seems incomplete. The above is read according to the text as it survives.)

When Heaven and Earth first began to divide, the Two Modes of Yin-Yang took form. Human beings are the most numinous of all things, and their station is exalted. The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—settle the cosmos, while the two realities of Yin and Yang establish Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth). All things are endowed with true Qi (vital energy), the primordial breath between Heaven and Earth, and the root of each opens onto the gate of the true source. The firm and the soft complement one another: who can truly preserve the fundamental substance of the great Dao (the Way)?

The great Dao spreads outward from the root and gradually transforms and gives birth to the myriad things.

Trace matters back to the root, and one can reach the true substance; return to the source, and one can see clearly the causes by which the myriad things arise. In spring, Yang Qi unfolds and all things flourish and grow; when autumn comes, all things wither and decline. Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the primordial state in which Heaven and Earth have not yet divided and Yin and Yang are about to emerge—gives rise to form, and pure, harmonious Qi renews all things. The hinge on which Heaven and Earth move drives the turning of the great transformation, and a wondrous power governs the changes within it.

Clarity is the source of turbidity, and stillness is the foundation of movement.

The principle of clarity and stillness is profound and remote; who can investigate it to the end? Contemplating emptiness and stillness, one removes the pull of the myriad external appearances; passing beyond form and image, one awakens to every kind of thought. The moon of wisdom shines upon the red river of heaven, and clouds of compassion cover the green peaks. Body and mind remain silent and unmoving, yet respond to affairs as they arise, and clear, penetrating insight appears.

If a person can constantly maintain clarity and stillness, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things all return to the source.

If a person realizes the Dao of constant clarity and stillness, that person can know the subtle mystery of the source. At the Great Beginning there was no defilement or obstruction—utter stillness, and yet light was held within. In silence it embraces the vast world; in hidden depth it opens through to the heavens. After the rising and falling changes of the Three Origins—the upper, middle, and lower origins and the related celestial levels spoken of in Daoism—Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things will at last return to the source.

A person’s primordial Shen (spirit) originally delights in clarity and stillness, yet is disturbed by the thoughts of the mind; a person’s mind originally delights in quiet, yet is drawn along by desire.

The mind is the dwelling of spiritual nature; only when Shen abides in stillness can peace be attained. Greed, anger, and delusion—craving, irritation, and confusion—arise easily, whereas precepts, concentration, and wisdom—keeping the precepts, settled concentration, and lucid awareness—are not easily achieved. What matters in cultivation is to set right the mind of central uprightness and to guard one’s inner clarity and ease. If the six desires—the cravings of the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind toward external things—are constantly not allowed to arise, the sphere contemplated by the mind naturally becomes vast.

So long as the desires in the mind are regularly cleared away, the mind naturally grows quiet; when thoughts are clarified and purified, the primordial Shen naturally becomes clear and bright.

If the various passions can be cast out and the thoughts made pure, subtle contemplation can penetrate the principles of things. One accords with the great Dao and does not cling to the myriad things; one returns to stillness and lets go of every distinction. Water meets the sky, vast and tranquil; the high mountains wear the moon, clear, cold, and solemn. In perfect harmony and free understanding, wisdom then appears, holding its quintessence within like a golden pellet in a pot.

In this way the six desires naturally do not arise, and the three poisons of greed, anger, and delusion are also brought to an end.

When right mindfulness—upright thoughts free of partiality—rests even and unbiased, and the mind is harmonious, empty, and still, one can accord with the natural Dao (the Way). The dusty conditions touched by the six faculties of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind all settle into quiet, and the illnesses of the three poisons—greed, anger, and delusion—can thereby be healed. The mysterious Dao transcends the empty kalpa; by gathering Shen (spirit), one can reach through to Heaven. In that deep and subtle place, the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin, the root from which the Dao brings the myriad things into being) continues of itself, faint yet unceasing.

The reason this has not yet been achieved is that the inner mind has not yet grown clear, and desires have not yet been dispelled.

Losing the path and leaving one’s original home both come from covering over the light that is inherently one’s own. When thoughts drift, one is easily drawn along by external conditions; circumstances to which one has grown accustomed are also hard to forget. Once stained by desire, how can they be lightly cast off? Deviant thoughts and cunning only leave the mind and Shen more scattered and disordered. If only one turns back and awakens, looking inward upon oneself, one can see the King of Emptiness (Kongwang, the true nature that is empty, quiescent, and free of obstruction).

One who can dispel desires looks inward at one’s own mind, until one understands that the mind has no fixed, unchanging “mind.”

When one perceives and knows the various dust-stains and afflictions, the clear eye of the Dao opens. Treacherous and deviant thoughts leave the mind and Shen scattered and disordered; turning back to awaken and looking inward upon oneself, one can see the King of Emptiness. One who can dispel desires looks inward at one’s own mind, until one understands that the mind has no fixed, unchanging “mind.”

Form and sound do not in themselves constitute obstacles; what matters is letting go of clinging knowledge and views. When the thought of Shen is quiet, a thousand calamities disperse; when the mind is empty and still, ten thousand cares dissolve. As a clear breeze passes the Jade Gate, a wondrous sound naturally comes through.

Looking outward at one’s own bodily form, until one understands that the body has no fixed, unchanging “form.”

In observing the various appearances, one finds that appearances have no fixed self-nature; what is called the body is, from the start, only temporarily formed by various conditions. Within is held the true dharma-realm; the inherent substance of body and mind accords with the vast void. When the clouds are calm, moonlight appears; when the pool is clear, it is as if white silk had been spread out. With a principle so plainly manifest, why seek some other special path?

Looking still farther at the myriad things, until one understands that the myriad things likewise have no fixed, unchanging “thing.” Once these three contemplations—contemplating the mind, contemplating form, and contemplating things—have all been realized, what is seen is emptiness alone.

Observing the myriad things in stillness and clear illumination, one understands that sentient beings have no fundamental differences. Accorded with the true Dao, it cannot be seen through outward traces; once one has gone beyond traces, there is no way to depict it. The elder in the hall is lucid and at ease in himself; beyond the dharma there is nothing else. Mystery upon mystery: even the distinction called “mystery” melts away, and so the mind opens wide, letting the eight directions of heaven and earth extend freely.

In contemplating emptiness, even “emptiness” must be contemplated as empty—empty until there is nothing left that can be emptied.

With an open heart one penetrates the realm of true emptiness; turning back to contemplate, one finds that not a single thing can be grasped. The myriad things fuse into one, like a vast and boundless void; the fundamental substance is limpid and still, returning to nothingness. When illumination is thorough and clear, sound and silence no longer stand as distinctions; when all is perfectly interfused and unobstructed, one’s nature is naturally as it ever is. All distinctions of inner, outer, and what lies between melt away. This is not a process of “returning to the root and origin” that one might cling to.

Since what has been emptied does not exist, even “nonexistence” is likewise no longer clung to.

Once one thoroughly understands, nothing remains in the mind to cling to; one does not cling even to “non-being,” and in fact there is no “non-being” to be obtained. Why take pains to eliminate delusive thoughts? And why distinguish the subtle from the coarse? Following the state of clarity, stillness, emptiness, and quiescence, one cultivates with flexibility; after returning to the original truth, one remains ever unchanged. Who would dare force a name upon this profound and subtle realm?

When “non-being” itself no longer exists, the mind becomes clear and luminous, constantly quiescent.

All things and all phenomena are originally empty and quiescent; only by not clinging even to “non-being” does one accord with the cultivation of the sage. The clear and luminous realm lies neither within nor without; in quiescence, the distinction between east and west also disappears. When mind and external objects are both forgotten, the differences of round and square, large and small, are all the same. It is deep, mysterious, and far-reaching, surpassing the creative transformations of nature; though not one of the myriad things can be clung to, all of them can be penetrated.

True quiescence is not clinging to some particular quiescence; how, then, could desires arise? When desires do not arise, that is true clarity and stillness.

One may for the moment take quiescence as the root of cultivation, yet one should go further and remove the very root of desire. Delusive thoughts and entanglements thus come to rest, and true clarity and stillness naturally appear. Only in accord with the method of “non-arising” does one know that the mind always holds an undying vitality like a day in spring. Released from the constraints of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, body and mind open freely and at ease.

When the original truth is constant, one can respond to the myriad things; when the original truth is constant, original nature is restored. Constantly meeting external things while the mind remains constantly still—this is true clarity and stillness.

Cultivating with single-minded attention and penetrating the constancy of the original truth, the wondrous light becomes immeasurable. It illuminates the chamber of the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusion) and penetrates the Hall of the Five Clarities (in the text, a symbol of the mind and Shen (spirit) becoming thoroughly lucid). Like a precious moon revealed in a clear sky, the clouds, mists, and traces that confuse the mind and spirit disperse. The Qi (vital energy) of clarity and harmony spreads its message, and in responding to the myriad things one naturally extends and applies it with ease.

Cultivating clarity and stillness in this way, one gradually enters the true Dao (the Way). To enter the true Dao is called attaining the Dao.

Through countless kalpas it remains perfect and unchanged, neither dim nor bright. The Valley Spirit (the deep and inexhaustible vitality of which Daoists speak) abides forever in silence, and the Sea of the Dharma (a metaphor for the vast and profound methods of the Dao) is calm and clear. With an upright mind one walks the path of return to the true, letting the mind grow clear and luminous, penetrating the mysterious realm, forever freed from the bondage of birth and death, and moving at ease through the Three Realms (the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm).

Although this is called “attaining the Dao,” in reality there is nothing to be attained.

After one thoroughly awakens to quiescence, words and the faint sound of breath also fall silent, and one deeply comprehends the most subtle ultimate principle. Within true emptiness, what is there to obtain? True nature has never required adornment. Food, drink, and daily life pass as conditions allow, and one’s bearing and manner are likewise natural and free. All manner of conjecture and discrimination is suddenly cleared away; one rests peaceful in clarity and stillness, preserving the wholeness of body and mind.

It is for the sake of teaching and transforming all beings that one is said to have “attained the Dao (the Way).” Those who can realize this may transmit the sacred Dao.

To show that all beings can indeed be taught and transformed, one ought to set aside every kind of pursuit. In this way one can at once go beyond the fruit of no-outflow (the fruition no longer bound by afflictions and the force of karma). Why, then, cling to any fixed cause? The mind that grasps and rejects can no longer unsettle one, and the pull of causes and conditions is likewise cut off. If, in a single moment, one lets everything go, one may transmit the sacred Dao.

Lord Lao said, “The superior person does not contend; the inferior person delights in contention.”

Why does the superior person not contend? Because such persons cultivate diligently and hold steadfastly to their resolve; they abide in the true Dao, and their hearts are calm and still; they nurture their plain and simple nature and dwell concealed in a realm that is deep and mysterious. In the ordinary movements of looking up and looking down, they observe the principle of Heaven, comprehend the principles at work in both favorable and adverse conditions, and enter deeply into the great Dao. Alas for those who delight in dispute—

Why does the superior person not contend? Because such persons cultivate diligently and hold steadfastly to their resolve; they abide in the true Dao, and their hearts are calm and still; they nurture their plain and simple nature and dwell concealed in a realm that is deep and mysterious. In the ordinary movements of looking up and looking down, they observe the principle of Heaven, comprehend the principles at work in both favorable and adverse conditions, and enter deeply into the great Dao. Alas for those who have not yet understood: they contend over methods and teachings, and thereby obscure their own minds.

Persons of superior De (Virtue/Power) do not cling to “De”; persons of inferior De cling to “De.” One who clings to De cannot be said truly to possess De.

Truly transforming others through De is not done in order to seek a return; in bestowing kindness and generosity, they do not praise themselves. They draw in their sharp edges and conceal profound ability; they clarify their nature until it is pure and clean as solid ice. In silence they accord with the lofty Dao of Heaven and deeply penetrate the vast and boundless great Dao. How could they resemble the foolish, who cling to distinctions and strain to speak of what abilities they possess?

Beings fail to attain the true Dao because delusive thoughts are present in the mind.

Beings often turn their backs on the great Dao and seek outward in an inverted way. From this, delusive thoughts arise, and the true spirit (the innate clear and luminous nature) is also obscured. Original nature lacks nothing to begin with; why force oneself to cling to cultivation? If one suddenly brushes away the clouds and mist that confuse mind and nature, the bright moon will illuminate the jade tower (here a metaphor for the clear inner state).

Once delusive thoughts arise, the spirit is startled and disturbed; when the spirit is startled and disturbed, one clings to external things; clinging to external things gives rise to craving; and when craving arises, afflictions follow.

Scheming over affairs easily gives rise to delusive thoughts, and turning away from the true Dao disturbs the spirit. All of this originates in love and desire retained in the mind, in clinging to external things, and then in the arising of greed and anger. The fire of ignorance (the confusion of not understanding truth) constantly accumulates, and the dust of affliction is continually added. From then on one receives retribution according to karma and sinks without end in the six paths (the six destinations through which beings transmigrate).

Afflictions and delusive thoughts make body and mind sorrowful and pained, and a person thereby suffers defilement and humiliation.

Because of delusive thoughts, anger and desire arise, and craving and ignorance become obstructions. Sorrow keeps one bound for a long time, and afflictions continually entangle and do not depart. From this one loses the true Dao and creates all kinds of karmic faults. If one can turn the mind back and reflect upon oneself, one will perceive the subtle and profoundly remote principle within.

Afflictions and delusive thoughts make body and mind sorrowful and pained, and a person thereby suffers defilement and humiliation.

Delusive thoughts give rise to anger and desire, and greed and ignorance then become obstacles to cultivating the Dao (the Way). Sorrow is forever binding a person, and afflictions wind about them without cease. Thus one loses the true Dao and thereby commits faults. If one can gather in the mind and Shen (spirit) and turn inward to observe oneself, one can perceive the subtle mystery deep within the heart.

Sentient beings drift through the cycle of birth and death, often sinking into the sea of suffering, and for a long time lose the true Dao.

When afflictions stir up thoughts, when has a person ever perceived their own original mind? In bewilderment they suffer bitterness and disgrace; amid turmoil, how are they willing to grow still and examine themselves? They drift without pause on the waves of birth and death, and even to this day they still pass a whole life in vain. Precisely because of this, people lose the true Dao, and every kind of delusive thought comes to invade and trouble the heart.

The constant and true Dao must be realized by the awakened person for themselves. One who truly awakens to the Dao can keep the mind ever clear and still.

If a person can commune with the Dao of Heaven and Earth, they can receive the nourishment of Dao-Qi (vital energy)—the Qi generated by the Dao and circulating among all things between Heaven and Earth. One should hold fast to the root so that the foundation is deep and secure; remove the disturbance of the po (the spiritual part joined to the bodily form), and restore the hun (the spiritual part of the person) to peace. To comprehend the path of long life, one must open the gateway of lasting nurture and the continuation of life. Wholly guarding the true, the spirit can of itself transform and flourish, attaining the realm of the Unsurpassed Dharma King (the supreme exalted station of the methods of the Dao).

Hymns and Commentary on the Scripture of Constant Clarity and Stillness Spoken by the Most High Lord Lao.