《金丹正宗》

Before Heaven and Earth were separated, there was only a single mass of undifferentiated chaos. Once chaos was opened up, Yin and Yang came into being. The light, clear Yang Qi rose to become Heaven, while the heavy, turbid Yin Qi sank to become Earth. Human beings, endowed with both Yin and Yang Qi and dwelling between Heaven and Earth, came to be. Heaven, Earth, and humanity each took their place as the Three Powers, and the distinction between the precelestial and postcelestial realms arose from this.

The precelestial is the pure Yang, undivided foundation; the postcelestial is the pure Yin, taking shape in myriad forms. When the Lord on High grants people life and nature, all receive the Great One, containing the True—the ancestral Qi of the precelestial realm, the original Qi at the beginning of life. This ancestral Qi is supremely numinous and empty, wholly unified and pure. Thus everyone possesses the basis for becoming an immortal or a sage; whether clever or dull, all receive the same foundation upon coming to life.

Yet apart from this one point of pure Yang, the ancestral Qi of the precelestial realm, a person’s spirit, souls, thoughts, five viscera, bodily fluids, senses, bones, openings, hair, skin, and entire body are all formed from the postcelestial Yin Qi and the “four great elements”—the elements said to constitute the body: earth, water, fire, and wind. The ancestral Qi of the precelestial realm is elusive, indistinct, and profound. It seems as though something is there, yet it is no concrete thing; it seems to contain essence, yet not essence in the ordinary sense. It is as if present and absent, as if existing and then vanishing. It cannot be seen directly or obtained through seeking. It is vast without bounds, encompassing all things, yet so subtle that nothing can be divided from it further.

One should understand that within the human body there is a place of emptiness and stillness in which to preserve and guard this ancestral Qi of the precelestial realm. This is the single aperture of the Mysterious Pass, the pivotal gateway in internal alchemy practice; it does not refer to a visible opening in the body. Those who attain and guard it can become divine immortals; those who lose it fall among the lower ghosts. Very few can preserve it, while those who lose it are beyond counting. People in the world often fail to preserve this one point of ancestral Qi from the precelestial realm, and it gradually drains away without their knowing.

People do not understand that postcelestial transformations are inherently illusory. They even forget the precelestial roots of Original Jing, Original Qi, and Original Shen, turning instead to attachment to postcelestial things. The Three Corpses, Nine Worms, and Six Thieves are terms Daoism uses to describe inner forces that disturb body and mind and deplete Jing and Qi. The seven emotions consume Shen, while the five desires disturb the heart-mind. The myriad distractions of the outer world confuse people: the eyes see colors, the ears hear sounds, the mouth craves flavors, and the heart-mind responds with thoughts. Things from outside enter the heart-mind through the eyes, ears, and other senses, stirring emotions. Once emotions arise, the spirit is shaken; when the spirit is shaken, Jing and Qi are depleted; and when Jing and Qi are depleted, Original Qi is harmed. As Original Qi dwindles, the body, spirit, and source of life gradually separate.

Amid indistinct illusions, worry, and grief, people also tire their bodies through worldly affairs. Jing and Qi then become disordered, the spirit scatters, and True Unity—the pure, unified nature and Original Qi of the precelestial realm—leaves them. In this way, the ancestral Qi of the precelestial realm is gradually depleted, and people step by step pass through the cycles of postcelestial life and death.

The Daoist Patriarch, the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun), took pity on the people of the world. He therefore established the Great Way of the Golden Elixir and taught people the method of “returning.” To “return” is to go back to the root; to “restore” is to go back to the source. It means turning back from the acquired state to the prenatal state, no longer circulating through the cycle of birth and death in the acquired state.

Once the name “Golden Elixir” appeared, the Way of the Golden Elixir came into view, and books explaining it began to emerge. I believe the Golden Elixir refers to the Great Way of the empty, quiescent original nature: it is neither simply “being” nor “nonbeing,” but the primordial gives rise to being, and being arises within the primordial. The Great Way of the Golden Elixir itself cannot be described simply as either “primordial” or “being.” So are the “cauldron and vessel” and the “timing of the fire” things that actually exist, or are they symbols that use metaphor to explain the Great Way?

The words “Golden Elixir” easily call to mind concrete things: casting gold requires a furnace and cauldron; refining an elixir requires ingredients and the right timing of the fire. Such expressions gradually took shape. In Waidan (external alchemy), one first gathers ingredients such as the five metals and eight minerals, then prepares a ceramic or earthen furnace and cauldron, and uses true fire kindled by drilling wood to carry out the firing according to the prescribed method. Once refined, the elixir is said to bring the dead back to life and restore youth to the aged, to transform what is corrupt into something wondrous, and even to turn stone into gold.

From this, we can understand that the principles of Neidan (internal alchemy) correspond to those of Waidan. In Neidan, the prenatal ancestral Qi (the vital energy of the prenatal source) serves as the medicine; the “one aperture of the Mysterious Pass” (the crucial opening referred to in cultivation) serves as the cauldron and furnace; and the wondrous workings of the original Shen (spirit) serve as the timing of the fire. The work continues day and night, with the timing of the fire regulated according to the hours. Once cultivation succeeds, one is said to shed the mortal body and bones, transcend the ordinary and become a sage, ride a phoenix or crane into the highest heavens, ascend Kunlun, and roam in all eight directions. Such, in broad outline, is the essential meaning of the Great Way.

Although later books on the Elixir number in the thousands, with long songs and short verses, they often fail to point directly to the root of the Great Way’s creative transformation or explain the proper sequence for beginning cultivation. Instead, they rely on images and metaphors to express it. This way of speaking is like discussing emptiness within a void or speaking of a dream inside a dream. To seek the results of cultivation on this basis is like trying to catch something in the wind: it is difficult to grasp.

If what is discussed departs from the Buddhist teaching of “emptiness and quiescence,” it falls into deviant and winding paths, bringing confusion, disorder, and needless complications. People may mistake confused talk for truth and seek practical results from it, only to end up as lost as someone trying to catch the wind with bare hands. Students pursue schools of thought but cannot find their roots; they want to enter the path but do not know the way. They therefore mislead those who come after them and deepen their confusion. In this way, the Way of the Golden Elixir falls into decline.

As for the substances alone, Qian and Kun, Kan and Li; Yin-Yang, water and fire; cinnabar, mercury, lead, and silver; the father’s Jing and the mother’s blood; the liquid of Wood and the essence of Metal; cinnabar and mercury; the crow’s essence and the hare’s marrow; the sun’s hun and the moon’s po; the Azure Dragon and White Tiger; the dark tortoise and red snake; paired pears and fire dates; female and male Qi; the infant and the young maiden—these many names all refer to different forms of the alchemical substances. Can there be another so-called substance apart from the primordial Qi, the original source that precedes Heaven?

As for the cauldron and furnace alone—the symbolic vessel and place used in alchemical work—divine furnace and cinnabar grotto, Penglai’s divine chamber, jade furnace and golden cauldron, the Yellow Chamber and central palace, yellow Qi, the Yellow Matron and the Wu and Ji Earth phases, the Hall of Light and empty valley, the knife-measure and mysterious female, the silver cliff: these many names all refer to different forms of the cauldron and furnace. Can there be another so-called cauldron and furnace apart from the single aperture of the Mysterious Pass, the crucial pivot in cultivation?

As for the firing process alone—the attunement to timing, advance and retreat, and regulation in cultivation—calculating the circuit of Heaven, gauging the tides, following the hexagram lines, applying gentle and forceful methods, aligning with the dark and new moon, marking the first and last quarters, clarifying extraction and addition, alternating advance and retreat, beating the bellows, weighing ounces and pounds, embodying punishment and virtue, practicing bathing, dividing the Three and Five, and carrying out gestation and return: these many expressions all refer to different aspects of the firing process. Can there be another so-called firing process apart from the wondrous workings of the Original Spirit?

I will not repeat the words of earlier writers and thereby mislead those who come after. Instead, I will point directly to the foundation of the Great Way of the Golden Elixir and explain its necessary sequence: first, establish the cauldron and furnace; second, gather the substances; third, apply the firing process.

Apart from “nonbeing, being, and the relation between being and nonbeing,” I dare neither add nor subtract anything. What does it mean to “establish the cauldron and furnace”? It means to keep to the “one aperture of the Mysterious Pass,” the key opening spoken of in cultivation. This aperture is hidden within the primordial, undivided state, between nonbeing and being, and between being and nonbeing. It was already there before one’s parents gave birth to the body; only because this aperture exists does the body come to be. That is why it is said to be innate.

It is neither in the sky nor underground, nor at the center of the human body. It is like the place where the precious pearl of Yuanshi—the primordial origin revered in Daoism—hangs suspended in emptiness, five zhang above the ground. It is neither left nor right, above nor below, front nor behind; neither being nor nonbeing, neither inside nor outside. Upward, it reaches the Crimson Palace, the seat of the heart, and extends directly through the Muddy Pellet, the upper Dantian in the head. Downward, it connects with the Dantian and reaches all the way to the Yellow Springs. It rises to the open sky and descends into the hidden depths; the Yellow Path, here the cultivation channel linking above and below, runs through its center. This is the sacred place where the ingredients gather.

What does it mean for the ingredients to gather? It means preserving and nurturing a little of the innate, pure-Yang ancestral Qi, the primordial energy present from before birth. This Qi arises before form and appearance, and gathers within the Limitless and the Supreme Ultimate. Before one’s parents gave birth to the body, the essences of Yin and Yang had already wondrously joined and coalesced. The Qi existed before the body took shape. Only because this Qi exists does the body come to be.

This Qi circulates above and below and in all four directions. The body is formed from it; the heart is made lucid by it; the ears and eyes are made keen by it; the original spirit is set in motion by it; and the Five Phases are brought forth by it. When it disperses, it blends into an undifferentiated whole; when it gathers, it condenses into an elixir. This is the great medicine required to cultivate the Golden Elixir.

What does it mean to regulate the firing times? It means following the natural pattern of the original spirit’s subtle Qi as it comes and goes. The fire arises amid the elusive, indistinct state of true essence, the vital essence at life’s root, and steams through the whole body and all four limbs. It has no form to begin with, so how could it have fixed firing times?

When the original spirit (the divine clarity of one’s inherent nature) disperses, it becomes Qi (vital energy in its transformed state); when it gathers, it becomes fire. Gathering and dispersing, rising and descending, it cycles without end. It changes with the passage of time, and in time it reaches its end.

Some compare the practice to compressing years into months, months into days, days into hours, and hours into smaller intervals. They use the double hours of Zi, Wu, Mao, and You, the sixty-four hexagrams, the twenty-four solar terms, the seventy-two pentads, the twenty-eight lunar mansions, and the three hundred sixty-five degrees of the celestial circuit to calculate the firing times—the regulation of advance and retreat, intensity and ease in practice. Yet they do not consider that, in the primordial chaos before Heaven and Earth had separated, where were years, months, days, and hours? From what could the cyclical signs Jia, Gui, Zi, and Hai have been calculated?

Ultimately, the true fire is the movement of the original spirit, and the original spirit works its subtle effects through true fire. True fire moves with true breath—the harmonized, natural breathing of practice. True breath refines and nourishes true Qi; true Qi gives rise to true essence; and true essence returns to the Mysterious Pass, the crucial point where essence, Qi, and spirit converge in Neidan (internal alchemy). The original spirit sets true fire in motion, and true essence congeals into the Elixir. The coming and going of true breath is the advance and retreat of the firing times; these advances and retreats are the drawing back and adding of the gentle and forceful fires, metaphors for the different ways of gently nurturing or intensifying practice. All of this has its root in nature; it does not depend on artificial assembly or calculation.

One must also understand that a fire born from a stirring thought may spread as rapidly as a wildfire across open country, impossible to approach. How could it be easily extinguished? This is not the true fire of the precelestial state, but ordinary fire of the postcelestial state. Those who practice Neidan must first fully understand the key workings and roots of these three—true fire, true breath, and true Qi—personally experience the presence of the Dao (the Way), and grasp it inwardly, with genuine understanding and insight and no trace of obstruction in the mind. Only then can they begin the practice and lay its foundation.

At the beginning of practice, first put aside all thoughts and free yourself from delusion. Practice with courage and diligence, neither drawn along by external things nor attached to the self, until you forget both things and self. Focus as well on regulating the breath until it is gentle; gather the spirit and turn inward in self-observation. Let the mind be empty and still, the body settled, and awareness sink into a quiet, dim calm. In formlessness, hold fast to what is; keep practicing in the space between presence and absence. Through seated meditation, make the mind like still water without ripples, or the vast sky without clouds, reaching a state of profound stillness and complete immobility.

Then, at the “single opening of the Mysterious Pass” (the crucial point in body and mind spoken of in Neidan practice), employ a method that seems to return to the time before one’s parents gave birth, and settle into the true breath and true Qi. Let Qi never part from the breath, nor the breath from Qi, until the two merge. Internal Qi does not disperse outward, and external Qi does not enter. The breath circulates up and down through the body, yet returns entirely to this one opening, continuous and unbroken, seeming to exist and yet not to exist, as though one were still in the womb, not yet born. At this time, a trace of primordial ancestral Qi (the innate Qi regarded as the source of life) blends and fills the body, warm as spring and mellow as in a gentle intoxication. The practitioner feels an inner wonder filling them and flowing freely through the limbs and throughout the whole body. It has no visible form and cannot be sought as a form, yet it is always present within the Mysterious Pass.

When this state is reached, the medicinal substances (the name for the materials cultivated in Neidan, such as Jing, Qi, and Shen) return to the cauldron and furnace (the bodily and mental locus where the Neidan is refined), and the regulation of the firing process can begin. Thereafter, follow the subtle workings of the original spirit and let the true fire move of itself, circulating and revolving beyond the Mysterious Pass, gradually refining and gradually condensing. With long accumulation and deep practice, it grows from small to great and from subtle to manifest; the Mysterious Pearl (the Neidan that takes shape through condensation in Neidan practice) appears, and the embryo is formed and becomes a sage. All this happens naturally, and the practitioner does not know how it happens. The wondrous state comes from the wondrous, and it is difficult to explain how it appears.

In cultivation, one should breathe in and out naturally, like an infant in the womb, swallowing and circulating the Qi of Chongxu Taihe—the vital energy of emptiness, stillness, and harmony—to refine a firm, indestructible body. When Neidan cultivation has matured, it is like a fetus completing ten months in the womb and being born: an infant comes forth, in the same state as I was before birth, within my mother’s womb.

Afterward, one must diligently warm and nourish the Elixir—that is, protect and cultivate it through stillness and meditative absorption—so that the Qi becomes unified and gentle. One must remain attentive at all times, keeping to this state of cultivation while moving or sitting in meditation, speaking or keeping silent, even in moments of haste. When the work of warming and nourishing is complete, one sheds the womb and returns to emptiness; then one opens up primordial chaos, reveals one’s original true form, and reaches the state of having “a body beyond the body.” Only then does one understand: vast transformation can bring one to sagehood, while what is unfathomable is called Shen; grasp the fundamental One, and it can encompass all things.

From childhood I read the Confucian classics, and as I grew older I came to admire the Daoist arts. For a long time, I have been resolved to cultivate the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir. In the daily routines of eating and living, I have never forgotten this aim for a moment. I searched far and wide, hoping to meet a practitioner of the Dao in our own time wherever I went, stayed, sat, or lay—even in my dreams. But they often did no more than repeat what their predecessors had already said, using the stale words of old books to mislead people. It was like asking a deaf person for the power of hearing, or asking a blind person for directions.

So I turned inward to seek confirmation, believing that looking within myself would be enough to bring insight. Yet the more I sought, the more inadequate I felt; the more I practiced, the less progress I made. Only then did I realize that without a teacher’s guidance, it is difficult to receive the transmission and be brought through to realization. I had wasted years, and in the end had not succeeded.

Later I crossed the Huai River and traveled through the Zhejiang region, settling for a time in Guangling (present-day Yangzhou, Jiangsu). In my free time, I climbed the abandoned city walls and wandered about, taking in the mountains and rivers. I thought longingly of Song and Qiao, the legendary immortals Red Pine and Wang Ziqiao, but had no chance to meet them; I also regretted never having met Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin, immortals of Daoist legend. My mind felt dazed and forlorn. One night, I dreamed of a divine being who told me to hurry back. For several days afterward, my mind and spirit could not find peace.

So I took the road through Baisha and, along the way, suddenly met a Daoist. His bearing was cool and pure, his eyes green, his face youthful, and his appearance exceptionally handsome. He seemed detached from the world, as though he did not belong among ordinary people. I approached, bowed, and asked his name. He only glanced at me and did not answer. After I bowed repeatedly, he took out a fan and showed it to me. On it were written the words “Master Without Words.” Only then did I realize that he had attained the subtle mystery of “without words.”

I suspected that he was an extraordinary person. From then on, I followed him every day and served him as a disciple, hoping only that he might say a single word to enlighten me. When he went out, I went with him; when he entered a room, I stayed there with him. A hundred days passed. Though I pleaded with him many times, he never answered.

One day, he told me to accompany him out through Shuguan. We passed through the old market at Baisha and arrived at a deserted place. Then he had me sit on the sandy bank of the Qujiang River. He pointed to the water and swore an oath; with his staff, he traced characters in the sand and taught me the essentials of the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir. His explanation amounted to just over a hundred characters, yet it fully laid out the sequence and subtleties of the methods of cultivation—the crucible, ingredients, timing of the fire, and everything else—without withholding anything. He said, “The Dao has now been fully explained!” Then he urgently told me to memorize these signs and essentials. I had only been at it for a short while when he swept away the characters in the sand.

I bowed to him again and again, but the master did not look back. He boarded a small boat, crossed to the opposite bank, and vanished as if flying. I never learned his name. How could I know that he was not a disciple of one of the immortal adepts such as Qiao Song, Zhongli Quan, or Lü Dongbin?

Only after receiving my master’s teaching directly from his heart did I understand that my earlier, misguided cultivation had wasted my efforts. It was like trying to make fire by drilling into ice or searching for a lost sword by marking the boat: success was all but impossible. My master swore that anyone who revealed the teaching lightly would be punished, so I did not dare write down his words exactly. Instead, I recorded my own understanding, summarized what my master had taught, and added a short verse, giving it the title The Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Elixir. I offer it to those who share my aspirations. This is not in pursuit of recognition from the world; I hope only that it may be passed down.

Among those who read and consider it, some think it can be done, while others think it cannot. Some even think that what cannot be done can in fact be done, or that what can be done cannot in fact be done. Those who think something is right call it right; those who think it is wrong call it wrong. Perhaps that is close enough. I know what can and cannot be done, what is so and what is not so. Perhaps someone may gain insight from this, so I have written these words.

Twelve Short Verses on the Ding

The vessel: the one aperture of the Mysterious Pass

It came into being before Heaven and Earth. It exists without relying on any concrete form, suspended in the midst of chaos, where the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) is contained.

The medicine: the ancestral Qi of the precelestial

The ancestral Qi of the precelestial is a point of true Jing, the genuine spiritual medicine. Its source and its arising depend on one another.

The firing process: the wondrous workings of the Original Spirit

The Original Spirit transforms into Qi, filling the limbs and the whole body. It advances and withdraws naturally, cycling without end.

Establishing the foundation

Gather Qi with undivided attention until body and mind become gentle. Guard the original Qi and one’s nature, and cultivate in stillness. Apply this practice for a hundred days.

Gathering the medicine

Condense Jing and Qi, and focus the spirit. Proceed from the mysterious into the subtle; seek and draw from the numinous pass, then store it in the one aperture.

Refining

Spirit and Qi circulate together, while Water and Fire alternate in their movement. Follow their natural course, nurturing them with warmth at the proper time and refining them step by step.

Drawing out and adding

Do not increase or decrease excessively; let activity and stillness accord with the moment. When the sun reaches noon, it gradually inclines west; after the moon is full, it gradually wanes.

Forming the embryo

Jing, Qi, and Shen merge and grow abundant; when the true Fire joins them, an embryo congeals in an instant.

Bathing

Moisten and nourish the original embryo with spirit-water, cleansing it within and without until it is free of dust, and nurturing the numinous sprout.

The embryo reaches completion

With true accumulation over a long time, practice grows deep and powerful. After ten months, the embryo is complete, and gold is refined within the Ding.

Nurturing with warmth

Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, embrace and guard the Yang nature and hold to the Yin nature. Continue without interruption, yet let the practice remain almost imperceptible, keeping your attention on it throughout.

Shedding the Womb: Breaking through the primordial chaos—the indistinct state before Heaven and Earth were divided—and opening it up through cultivation to bring forth another self beyond one’s own body. Ultimately, one transcends the ordinary and enters the realm of the sage. In Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), “having a body beyond the body” usually refers to the extraordinary state achieved through cultivation, not simply to another physical body existing outside one’s own.