《文始真经注》Vol. 3

Water is first in the sequence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), so it is called “the father.” At the beginning of human life, a person first receives the father’s Jing (essence), which forms the fetal origin. Jing belongs to Water, so Water is said to be one of the roots of life’s ceaseless continuation. “The One is the father” means that a person receives Jing from the father, and Jing belongs to Water.

The mother’s blood and Qi (vital energy) belong to Fire. Fire is second in the sequence of the Five Phases, so it is called “the mother.” At the beginning of human life, a person then receives the mother’s blood and Qi, which form the fetal foundation. Blood and Qi belong to Fire; thus “the Two is the mother” means that a person receives blood and Qi from the mother, and these belong to Fire.

With both father and mother, life reproduces and continues. The Yin-Yang of parents joins to create successive generations of parents, allowing life to continue without end. Hence the saying: “With father and mother, life goes on without end.”

“Loving without awareness” means benefiting all beings equally through expansive benevolence, without clinging to the thought “I am doing a kindness” or seeking repayment. People engage with the world like links joined in a chain, but without private attachment or distinctions. Hence the saying: “Loving without awareness is like links joined together.”

“Observing without awareness” means illuminating all things with the mind’s clear, complete stillness and wisdom, as a lamp lights the darkness. The lamp reveals all things, yet forms no distinctions or attachments toward what it illuminates. Hence the saying: “Observing without awareness is like a lamp shining.”

If one can benefit all beings equally in this way, and meet all things with a mind made clear and complete through stillness and wisdom, without distinctions or attachments, then consciousness no longer stirs. Where, then, could birth and death arise? This chapter explains that consciousness caught up in distinctions and attachment is the root of birth and death. By letting go of all clinging, one can escape the bonds of the cycle of birth and death.

Chapter Seven

Guan Yin Zi said: This is like striking a drum with a mallet. The drum’s form is what I possess; the sound it makes is a response to being struck. The mallet has already moved away, yet the drum’s sound lingers for a while before finally fading.

A person lives in the world, where things from outside arrive and provoke a response, just as a mallet strikes a drum and sound arises from the impact. The drum’s form is like the spirit I possess; its sound is like my response to external things. Though the mallet has moved away, the sound does not vanish at once. Likewise, even after the external thing that provoked a response has passed, traces may remain in my spirit, soul, and consciousness. If I turn my awareness inward, see these traces clearly, and let them go, they will eventually fade away.

The drum’s form is like my Jing (essence), its sound is like my Shen (spirit), and its lingering echo is like the soul.

My clear and bright state of spirit is like the drum’s sound while it still reverberates; in time, however, it too will disappear.

My lucid, perceptive state is like the drum’s form; my still, unmoving state, which responds when something stirs it, is like the drum’s sound. After feelings stirred by external things have passed, memories may remain in the soul and consciousness, just as the mallet has moved away while the drum still echoes. Thus the lingering sound is likened to the soul.

When we understand that thoughts and responses suddenly arise and then suddenly disappear, we see what place the Qi of the Five Phases—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—could possibly have in my true nature.

When a person realizes that their nature is originally empty and still, the mind can remain still as it responds to change, even while external circumstances come and go in an instant. The Qi of the Five Phases—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—can therefore neither define nor confine this true emptiness. This chapter explains that true emptiness does not belong to the Five Phases.

For seeds within fruit to grow and reproduce from one generation to the next without end, three conditions must all be present: water, fire, and earth. None can be missing. Severe drought, flooding, or soil dried into hard clods all make it difficult for living things to grow.

Fruit-tree seeds buried in the earth also need the nourishment of rainy, overcast weather and the warmth of sunshine on clear days. Only then can they sprout and grow into trees that bear new fruit and seeds. When those seeds fall back into the earth, nourished and warmed by water, fire, and earth, they sprout, grow into trees, and bear fruit again. This cycle continues without end. Thus, seeds within fruit must have all three conditions—water, fire, and earth—to keep reproducing. If a seed is not buried in the earth and receives neither rainwater nor the warmth of sunlight, how could it sprout and grow into a tree? During severe drought there is too little water; when floods occur, water is excessive; and when the soil dries into hard clods, it is unfit for growth. Crops sown under these conditions can hardly survive. Here, “flood” means water that has filled and overflowed its bounds, while “sufficient” means having or receiving what is needed.

Essence-water, spirit-fire, and intention-earth do not naturally come together. Only when a person unites them through the “root” can various things manifest within them. Here, water, fire, and earth also serve as metaphors for inner elements such as essence, spirit, and intention; the “root” means the basis that brings them together.

Jing (essence) belongs to Water, Shen (spirit) belongs to Fire, and intention belongs to Earth. These three do not, in their original state, interact to produce tangible things. Rather, when a person’s parents join in their male and female forms, Jing, Shen, and consciousness mingle in a hazy, indistinct state and delusively manifest the form of a fetus. Thus pregnancy and birth take place, continuing without end. This is like a fruit’s seed having the conditions of Water, Fire, and Earth: it takes root and sprouts, grows into a tree, then bears seeds in turn, cycling without cease. So Jing and Water, Shen and Fire, and intention and Earth do not originally mingle. Only through the union of male and female bodies do they combine, from which all manner of births are mistakenly perceived.

This is like an illusionist who can make many things appear out of absolute nothingness.

Before the parents come together, each is by nature utterly empty and still, with nothing there at all. When the male and female forms unite, Jing, Shen, and consciousness produce a child. This is like an illusionist or sorcerer summoning ghosts and spirits out of what was originally empty, causing people to mistake all manner of strange transformations for real. Hence the saying that an illusionist can make many things appear out of absolute nothingness. This chapter explains that human nature is originally still and pure, beyond birth and death; people sink into the cycle of birth and death only because they become attached to sexual desire.

The passage on the right is Chapter Nine.

Guan Yin Zi says: The hun soul belongs to Water. In winter, trees send their roots into Water; in summer, they blossom and belong to Fire. Thus, a person’s hun soul is stored in the essence-energy at night and appears in the spirit-energy by day.

The hun (ethereal soul) belongs to Wood. Just as trees return to their roots in winter, resting and replenishing their vital energy as they receive nourishment from winter Water, they blossom in summer when warmed by Fire. Thus the hun belongs to Wood: in winter, Wood takes Water as its root; in summer, it blossoms through the influence of Fire.

Jing (essence) belongs to Water, and the hun belongs to Wood. Since Water generates Wood, it is said that a person’s hun hides within the jing at night. Night belongs to Yin, and Yin to Water; daytime belongs to Yang, and Yang to Fire, while the shen (spirit) belongs to Fire. During the day, the hun dwells in the eyes and manifests as their brightness. Thus the hun hides within the jing at night and manifests through the shen by day.

When united with the jing, one sees only oneself, because there is no other within the jing. When united with the shen, one sees everyone alike, because there is no self within the shen.

Jing belongs to Water, and there is no “person” in Water; likewise, there is no “person” in the jing. United with the utmost jing, one sees clearly and transparently, alone, without being swept along by the movements of things. Thus it is said that when united with the jing, one sees only oneself, because there is no other within the jing. United with the utmost shen, one is deep and unfathomable, responding only when moved to do so; in responding to the affairs of the human world, one does not cling to the self. The shen belongs to Fire, and there is no “I” in Fire; likewise, there is no “I” in the shen. Thus it is said that when united with the shen, one sees everyone alike, because there is no self within the shen. This chapter explains that upon attaining the state of utmost jing and shen, one no longer clings to the distinction between oneself and others.

Guan Yin Zi says: “Those who understand that this body is like a body in a dream, appearing only as it is perceived by the mind, can cause the shen to ascend, take the shen as the self, and roam through the Great Clarity—the Daoist realm of clear emptiness.”

Here, “knowing” means awakening. When people realize that the body is temporarily assembled from the “Four Great Elements”—the constituents of the body, such as earth, water, fire, and wind—like dust gathered together, they can understand that within it there is no fixed ‘self’ or ‘other.’

“Knowing” means awakening to the truth. A person can recognize that the body is a temporary gathering of the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—like foam formed from dust, or like an illusion and a dream floating on water. It is neither solid nor real. We think there is a substantial “self,” but this sense of self arises only through deluded thoughts and emotions. If we see through this completely and grasp the principle of true emptiness, our spirit-consciousness can move swiftly and without obstruction: it arrives without hastening and reaches its destination without traveling, abiding always in the “Great Clarity,” the realm of stillness, Wuwei (non-action), and the wondrous Dao of true emptiness. Thus, one who understands that the body is like a body in a dream, appearing only as thoughts arise, can use spirit-consciousness to roam through the Great Clarity.

One who understands that external things, too, are like things in a dream, appearing only as thoughts arise, can gather Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) to transform them into things, then command them to roam through the eight directions and distant wildernesses.

All things are functions and manifestations. If people can understand these six spiritual powers—the extraordinary abilities—they will see that these, too, are like dreams and illusions, not real. Fully grasping this and penetrating the emptiness at the heart of all things, where nothing has a fixed, inherent nature, allows them to gather pure, subtle Qi and bring forth its many wondrous uses. They can command the vast reaches of the world and travel through them in an instant. Thus, knowing that the things before one are like sights in a dream, appearing with each movement of thought, makes it possible to gather Jing and Qi to create things, command them, and journey through the vast reaches.

The “Eight Wastes” is a name for the most distant regions. Beyond the Four Seas are the Eight Reaches; beyond the Eight Reaches, the Eight Expanses; beyond the Eight Expanses, the Eight Regions; beyond the Eight Regions, the Eight Extremes; and beyond the Eight Extremes, the Eight Wastes. Beyond the Eight Wastes lies the Great Wilderness, a boundless expanse. The Great Purity Heaven is the celestial realm where the Most High dwells. It lies above the four heavens of the common people and is also known as the Immortal Realm of Great Purity.

Those who have attained the Great Dao take the emptiness of the Great Void as their essence. They can reach beyond the Eight Wastes, yet seem to be right before one’s eyes. Their transformations of Yin-Yang are impossible to fathom, and even ghosts and spirits cannot perceive them. Without relying on anything else, they can bring the Immortal Realm of Great Purity from beyond the Eight Wastes to within arm’s reach, making it a place they can visit in an instant. At times, they reveal their transformations to awaken the ignorant and deluded, inspiring them to trust and turn toward the Dao. At other times, through spirit flight, their consciousness travels beyond the body and forms a second body; they ride the air and tread the void, ascending to wander in the Immortal Realm of Great Purity. They can also gather Jing and Qi and transform them into forms such as dragons and tigers, phoenixes, turtles and cranes, carp, and the constellations Liang and Ji, then ride them to journey beyond the Eight Wastes.

Cultivating this Dao can make the spirit manifest and extend one’s life, or it can mean forgetting spirit and body and transcending life and death.

“Is” means “this,” referring here to the Dao mentioned earlier. The “Dao” is the wondrous Dao, beyond comprehension and difficult to put into words. Once one realizes this wondrous Dao, one’s outward form becomes like dry wood and one’s inner state like cold ashes. The spirit settles naturally, and Jing and Qi gather together. In this way, one can regain the vigor of youth and extend one’s life. Guangchengzi, for example, lived for twelve hundred years, and his body never grew old. Thus, embodying this Dao can make the spirit manifest and sustain life for a long time.

When body and mind are still, like dry wood and cold ashes, one has also forgotten attachment even to the spirit. In this way, one transcends the changes of life and death. Hence, one can forget the spirit and rise beyond life and death.

Inhaling Qi can nourish Jing, just as Metal generates Water. The Qi referred to here is white and belongs to Metal; Jing belongs to Water. There is a simple method of preserving health: inhale through the nose, hold the breath briefly, then exhale gently, using this to nourish Jing and treat illness. Nourishing Jing with Qi is like Metal generating Water. Hence the saying, “Inhale Qi to nourish Jing, as Metal generates Water.”

Inhaling a clear breeze can nourish the spirit, just as Wood generates Fire. There is a simple method for calming the mind: draw a clear breeze in through the nose and let the breath flow gently in and out, keeping the mind from scattering and the spirit settled, thereby nourishing it as well. Wind belongs to Wood, and the spirit belongs to Fire. Hence the saying, “Inhale the wind to nourish the spirit, as Wood generates Fire.”

Thus, one draws on the breath from outside to preserve and nourish the spirit, keeping it from dissipating.

Rinsing the mouth with water can nourish Jing and keep Jing and Qi from being depleted.

There are simple methods of cultivating health in the world: swishing saliva in the mouth nourishes Jing and Qi and prevents them from leaking away, so they can remain abundant over time. Thus, swishing saliva is like using water to nourish Jing; it keeps Jing and Qi from being depleted.

Heat generated by rubbing can nourish Shen, allowing Shen and Qi to remain abundant over time.

There is a simple method in the world: focus the mind, and rub the area around the navel—the navel wheel—with the hands until it gradually grows warm. Practiced over time, this makes Shen and Qi more abundant. Thus, generating heat through rubbing nourishes Shen and keeps Shen and Qi from being depleted. These methods rely on conditions within oneself to sustain the spirit.

The water of swishing saliva and the fire of rubbing the navel wheel described above depend on no external things. Instead, they rely on oneself to preserve and nourish the spirit, preventing it from dissipating. Thus, they sustain the spirit by means of conditions within oneself.

As for methods of forgetting the spirit and transcending life and death, I have spoken of them before.

If one can fully understand the principle of true emptiness, return the spirit to its source, and enter a deep and unfathomable realm, one will no longer perceive any spirit that needs to be forgotten, nor any life and death that needs to be transcended. I have explained these principles to students. But I have not discussed the various minor arts and methods that rely on external things or on one’s own physical conditions. Thus, I have spoken before of methods for forgetting the spirit and transcending life and death. This chapter explains that the Dao must be realized inwardly; practicing these minor arts and methods is no match for that.

The above is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin says: When a person is diligent in propriety—careful and respectful—their Shen and Qi will not scatter outward but can gather together.

In the Five Phases, propriety belongs to Fire, as does Shen. Propriety means being careful and respectful. When someone devotes themselves to maintaining reverence and care, and does not deceive themselves even in solitude, their mind and Shen will not wander in all directions but will gather and become settled. Thus, diligence in propriety keeps Shen and Qi from scattering outward and allows them to gather. Here, “diligence” means wholehearted attention.

When a person is diligent in using wisdom, Jing and Qi will not shift outward, allowing them to be gathered and contained.

Wisdom belongs to Water among the Five Phases, and essence also belongs to Water. “Wisdom” means being able to distinguish truth from falsehood, right from wrong, and to focus on preserving what is real while discarding what is illusory. In this way, one honors what is right and rejects what is wrong, preventing essence and Qi from being recklessly dissipated outward and gathering them in for nourishment. Thus, when a person directs the mind toward wisdom, essence and Qi do not flow outward, and can be nurtured. “Gathering in” means nourishing.

Humaneness belongs to Yang and has a bright, tranquil nature. It can bring the Hun to a calm, light, and pure state. Righteousness belongs to Yin; it is quiet and profound, and can restrain the Po and settle it.

Among the Five Phases, humaneness belongs to Wood, as does the Hun. Humaneness benefits oneself through stillness and purity, while helping others through compassion. Compassion is Yang; stillness and purity clarify the heart, so the Hun-spirit, too, becomes light, pure, and clear. Thus, the transformations of humaneness have a bright Yang nature that makes the Hun light and pure. Among the Five Phases, righteousness belongs to Metal, as does the Po. Seeing through true emptiness and uniting with the Dao, one enters a hidden and profound state that can quiet the corpse-soul, making it clear and penetrating. Thus, righteousness has a dark, Yin nature that can restrain the Po. “To govern” means to make it cease and settle. This chapter explains that the Five Constant Virtues—humaneness, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are the Dao’s subtle workings.

The above is Chapter Twelve.

Guan Yin says: A dung beetle rolls a ball of dung. Once the ball takes shape, it burrows into the earth and clings to it, concentrating its thoughts on it. Before long, a larva appears inside the ball. After a while, the larva sheds its outer shell and becomes a cicada.

A dung beetle rolls feces into a ball. Once the ball is ready, it burrows into the earth, embraces it, and concentrates its thoughts upon it. The beetle’s spirit and breath also enter the ball, where they transform into tiny white grubs. Nourished by the breath of autumn, winter, and spring, and then warmed by the heat of summer, the grubs emerge from the earth and crawl onto grass, trees, walls, and other surfaces. Before long, their backs split open and they shed their shells, transforming into cicadas. They fly among the trees, breathe the wind, drink the dew, and begin to sing. Thus, when the dung beetle rolls its ball and concentrates its thoughts upon it, tiny white grubs appear inside; later, the grubs shed their shells and become cicadas.

If the dung beetle did not concentrate its thoughts, where would the white grubs come from?

If the dung beetle did not embrace its ball of feces and concentrate its thoughts upon it, how could the tiny white grubs come into being? It is all due to deluded thoughts that the body transforms accordingly. Hence the saying: “If the dung beetle did not concentrate its thoughts, where would the white grubs come from?” “Xi” means “where.” This chapter explains that transformations between life and death arise from deluded thoughts and attachment.

The above is Chapter Thirteen.

Guan Yin Zi said: When a cook was preparing crab soup, he accidentally left one of the crab’s legs on a peachwood table. The crab had already been cooked into soup, yet the leg left behind was still moving. This shows that what we call life and death are simply the gathering and dispersal of a single Qi.

When the cook made the crab into soup, he left one of its legs on the table. The crab was already cooked, yet the leg left behind was still moving. From this we can understand that life and death are merely the gathering and dispersal of Qi: when Qi gathers, there is life; when it disperses, there is death. The crab leg’s continued movement shows that its Qi had not yet dispersed completely.

In truth, there is no distinction between life and death; people simply cling to the idea of seeing them as life and death.

Those who cling to an aversion to life and death and long to transcend them instead fall into profound distress.

“Cessation” is itself a problem. Those who are deluded have not understood that the Dao has no birth or death, yet can manifest birth and death. To seek immortality only on the surface shows that one has not truly understood this.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who detest life and death and wish to transcend them have a serious affliction.

If one has not yet understood the principle, but begins to detest life and death and single-mindedly seeks to transcend them, this is a major illness in the study of the Dao. Thus, detesting life and death and seeking to transcend them is itself a great trouble.

For example, if someone who teaches others also harbors the desire to detest life and death and transcend them, that person can only be said to be teaching people strange and uncanny arts, not the study of the Dao. Here, “one who transforms others” means someone who guides and teaches others. This chapter explains that those who understand the Dao know there is nothing to detest in life and death, and no need to make a deliberate effort to transcend them.

Guan Yin Zi says: People hold different views about what follows death. Some say that one continues to exist after death; some say that nothing exists after death; and some say that after death one both exists and does not exist.

People who take life and death very seriously hold different views. Some say the human body is like a rented house: when the house falls apart, the person living inside it still remains. When the body dies, nature or spirit continues to exist. Thus, some believe that people still exist after death.

Others say that a person’s life is like the brief growth of plants in autumn, lasting only one season. When a person dies, it is like a lamp going out; death leaves nothing behind. So some believe that after death, everything returns completely to nothingness.

Still others say that although the dead leave no visible trace, they seem able to attach themselves to the living and pass along messages. They therefore suspect that after death one both exists and does not exist. These views give rise to different attitudes: some think we should rejoice, others that we should fear; some say we should let things take their natural course, while others believe we should transcend them. But as these ideas multiply, people’s judgments shift with them, and their minds rush ceaselessly from one thought to another.

Some say, “While alive, consciousness is dull, but after death it becomes lucid. While alive, one is unhappy; only after death does one find joy. When consciousness has a body, it is like a body burdened with a growth. Without that burden, how could consciousness fail to be as it should?” From this, should death not be treated as a cause for celebration? Thus some say we should greet death with joy.

Others say, “After death, a person becomes a ghost, trapped for a long time in darkness. No sun, moon, or stars shine there; there is no home to live in, no familiar face to rely on, and no food or drink to enjoy. The dark realm of the dead is truly frightening.” Thus some say we should fear death.

Still others say, “Life and death come and go so suddenly that there is no need for joy or fear. Simply let things follow their natural course.” Thus some say we should accept life and death as they come.

And others say, “It is not difficult to transcend life and death. One need only devote oneself to studying the Dao, and one can go beyond life and death directly.” Thus some say we should seek transcendence in the face of life and death.

Those who earlier made reckless claims about life and death said, some, that after death one both exists and does not exist, and others, that one both exists and does not exist. They each advocated joy, fear, acceptance, or transcendence. The eight people’s claims only nourished deluded cognition—false understanding—causing confused emotions to race on without end. Their arguments, then, only make cognition and emotion more disorderly, driving them into ceaseless activity.

Yet they do not know that my life and death are like “a horse’s hand” or “an ox’s wings”: they never existed in the first place. But it would also be wrong to say that they are wholly nonexistent. “A horse’s hand” and “an ox’s wings” are figures for things that cannot be established and cannot be grasped. It is like facing water and fire: even on contact with them, one can neither be burned nor drowned.

People in the past who clung to life and death had no idea that, from the beginning, there was no life and death. They imagined life and death just as someone might insist that a horse has hands and then maintain that this is true, or insist that a cow has wings and expect it to fly. Horses and cows have neither hands nor wings, yet people insist that they do. This comparison makes clear that life and death do not exist from the beginning. There is no need to cling even to the idea that “nothing exists.” Thus, the life and death I experience are like a horse’s hands or a cow’s wings: they were never there, and there is no separate “nothingness” to grasp at.

Original emptiness and wondrous existence (the idea that, although things have no fixed inherent nature, they can appear in response to conditions) are one with the Great Void (the boundless expanse of emptiness). When emptiness joins with emptiness, it is like one flame being cast into another. There is no need to ask whether the light is bright, for fire cannot burn fire. Water cast into water need not be questioned for its clarity, for water cannot drown water. Thus, like fire and water, even when they enter fire or water, they are not burned by fire or drowned by water.

This chapter explains that once emotional judgments and attachments of consciousness cease to arise, life and death have no existence from the beginning.

Here ends Volume Four of the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing.

In the first note, “wu dang” should be a mistaken form of “wu chang” (the Five Constants). The second note observes that “qu yi” is incorrect; both the Guan Yinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing read “qu ke,” meaning “remove the shell.” The third note states that the lines beginning “Only water, as a substance...” are absent from both the Guan Yinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing. The fourth note says that the sentence should read “In humans, the five spirits are thereby spirit,” and that the words “ze ren wu shen” are superfluous. The fifth note says that “wang shen” should be a mistaken form of “wu shen,” the five spirits. In the sixthnote, both the Guan Yinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing read “all are gathered by a single breath.” In the seventh, both read “to know things as without things.” The eighth suspects that “fan bi” is a mistaken form of “fan bei.” In the ninth and tenth notes, both texts read “only the numbers of the Five Phases.” According to the preceding scripture, the eleventh note says that the sentence should read “all alike arise with consciousness.” In the twelfth note, the Guan Yinzi reads “The hun-soul is Wood.” In the thirteenth, “As for forgetting Jing” is read in both the Guan Yinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing as “As for forgetting Jing and Shen.” The fourteenth suspects that “what eight people say” is a mistake for “what everyone says.”

Volume Five of the Commentary on the Wenshi Zhenjing

Straightforward Explanation by Shenfeng Xiaoyaozi Niu Daochun

The Jian Chapter

“Mirror” refers to the human mind. The text consists of twenty chapters.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the mind is clouded by good fortune and misfortune, calamity and blessing, it comes under the sway of numinous ghosts. When it is clouded by desire between men and women, it comes under the sway of lustful ghosts. When it is clouded by gloom and sorrow, it comes under the sway of sunken ghosts. When it is clouded by pursuit and indulgence, it comes under the sway of frenzied ghosts. When it is clouded by vows and curses, it comes under the sway of strange ghosts. When it is clouded by taking medicines, it comes under the sway of material ghosts.

Here, “clouded” means being fixated and thereby losing clarity. If a person’s mind clings single-mindedly to good fortune and misfortune, calamity and blessing, the Five Phases and Yin-Yang, it will be governed by numinous ghosts and lose its clarity. If it clings to desire between men and women and the arts of the bedchamber, it will be governed by lustful ghosts; if it sinks into gloom and sorrow, by sunken ghosts; if it clings to pursuits, indulgence, hunting, and similar activities, by frenzied ghosts; if it clings to vows and curses, by strange ghosts; and if it clings to preparing and taking medicines, by material ghosts. The text uses “ghosts” to describe how fixations constrain the mind and spirit, trapping a person in delusion.

Some of these ghosts take shadows as their form, some take darkness, some whirlwinds, and some Yin Qi. Others appear through earthen idols, painted images of people, old livestock, or broken and worn-out objects.

The six kinds of ghosts mentioned earlier—the numinous, lustful, sunken, frenzied, strange, and material ghosts—are, in the commentator’s view, linked to and delude six kinds of people clouded by ignorance and attachment. Hence they are called “such ghosts.” Ghosts have no fixed form, but may sometimes attach themselves to things and appear, thereby misleading people. A ghost attached to a shadow is said to “take Yin as its body”; those attached to darkness, a whirlwind, or Yin Qi are said respectively to “take darkness as their body,” “take wind as their body,” and “take Qi as their body.” Those attached to earthen idols, painted images, old beasts, or broken objects are likewise said to “take an earthen idol as their body,” “take a painted image as their body,” “take an old beast as their body,” or “take a broken vessel as their body.”

One side responds through its own Jing and Qi, and the other side responds through its own Jing and Qi. As these two sets of Jing and Qi act upon each other, the spirits appear in response.

“Those” refers to ghosts attached to eight kinds of things: dark places, secluded places, wind, Qi, earthen figures (clay images of deities), painted images, old livestock, and battered objects. “These” refers to people whose minds are clouded by six kinds of concerns: good and bad fortune, men and women, hidden sorrow and anxiety, expulsion and exile, oaths and curses, and medicines. Such people concentrate on these matters with unwavering fixation. The ghosts’ vital energies clash and struggle with the people’s vital energies, and the ghosts then display uncanny responses. Hence the saying: “Those have their own vital energies, and these have theirs. When the two kinds of vital energy clash, uncanny responses appear.”

People controlled by ghosts can sometimes explain strange events, bizarre occurrences, or auspicious signs. They carry themselves with arrogance and do not say that a ghost is within them; they say only that the Dao is within them. People whose minds are clouded may also be governed and confused by six kinds of ghosts: those associated with the uncanny, the depraved, the extravagant, the deluded, and the unusual. They can explain rare, strange, or auspicious things, and may even make predictions that come true. Others then respect them and regard them as sages. Yet those who explain strange and auspicious events often become self-satisfied and arrogant. They do not say that a ghost has possessed them; they say that the Supreme Dao is within them, which is why they have such uncanny powers. This is what the scripture means by “being controlled by ghosts.”

In time, they may die in connection with trees, metal, ropes, or wells.

Those misled by ghosts and spirits often make strange, auspicious predictions in advance, then arrogantly believe they have attained the Dao. In time, some meet their deaths by striking trees; some take their own lives with a blade, others hang themselves with a rope, and still others jump into wells. Thus the scripture says that, as time passes, some die beside trees, some by swords, some by ropes, and some in wells.

Only a sage can wield marvelous powers without being ruled by them. The sage can command the many spirits and grasp the key to their workings, causing them to gather or disperse and directing them as needed. In this way, the sage can respond to all things while remaining inwardly still.

Only a sage who has truly attained the Dao can fully understand “wondrous being within true emptiness”—a state beyond attachment that can nevertheless manifest every kind of activity—and comprehend the “spirit that is not spirit”: the Dao, which does not display the supernatural yet can bring forth marvelous effects. The changes of Yin-Yang are beyond measurement, and ghosts and spirits cannot see through them. The sage’s manifestations extend throughout immeasurable worlds; their marvelous effects are boundless, yet remain hidden from view. Thus the scripture says that only a sage can wield marvelous powers without being swayed by them.

A sage who has attained the Dao can summon wind and rain, command the myriad spirits, and grasp the key to their workings. “Grasp” means to have mastery. The sage can not only summon wind and rain and command the myriad spirits, but also make spirits gather or disperse, or direct them to stop. Hence the text says they can be gathered, dispersed, and directed.

The sage’s mind is like the moon reflected on many bodies of water, like wind passing through and sounding different instruments, like a hanging mirror that reflects whatever appears before it, and like an echo in an empty valley. It responds to changes in the world around it while remaining still, clear, bright, and calm. Thus the scripture says that the sage responds to all things, yet the mind remains unmoved.

This chapter explains that a mind held fast by attachments and clouded by delusion is a deviant mind; free from attachment and delusion, it accords with the Dao.

The above is Chapter One.

Guanyinzi says: Do not insist on keeping the mind fixed on “the One,” because the five activities of perception—seeing, hearing, eating and drinking, breathing, and thinking—operate all at once, so the mind cannot remain a separate unity. Do not insist on making the mind empty, because the various functions represented by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) are all present in the mind, so it cannot be empty. Nor should you insist on holding to stillness, because all things continually change unseen, and the mind cannot be fixed in a state of rest.

Here, “not” means refraining from attachment. The wondrous mind innate in each person is originally undivided. The scripture cautions practitioners not to concentrate deliberately on keeping to “the One.” As soon as the intention to keep to the One arises, it operates alongside seeing, hearing, eating and drinking, breathing, and thinking, and the mind can no longer be single. Understanding this shows that the mind cannot be settled by deliberately keeping to the One. Thus it says: “Do not make the mind one: the five senses race together, and the mind cannot be one.”

The wondrous mind innate in each person has nothing fixed in it; it is like the Great Void. The scripture cautions practitioners not to keep the mind deliberately in a spacious, empty state. As soon as this intention arises, the mind still contains the functions of the Five Phases: joy corresponds to Fire, anger to Wood, thought to Earth, sorrow to Metal, and fear to Water. The mind therefore cannot be called empty. Understanding this shows that one should not cling to the thought of emptiness. Thus it says: “Do not make the mind empty: the Five Phases are all present, and the mind cannot be empty.”

The wondrous mind innate in each person is originally clear and still. The scripture cautions practitioners not to keep to stillness deliberately. As soon as the intention to keep still arises, all things continue to shift and change unseen, and the mind cannot be held motionless. Understanding this shows that the mind cannot be kept still by deliberately holding to stillness. Thus it says: “Do not make the mind still: the myriad transformations shift in secret, and the mind cannot be still.”

If you deliberately keep the mind fixed on “the One,” you divide it into two opposing sides. If you deliberately seek emptiness, the mind instead fills with things that are real and present. If you deliberately keep to stillness, the mind instead becomes unsettled.

The wondrous mind innate in each person is originally undivided. If the intention to keep to the One arises within this undivided wondrous mind, that intention forms two opposing sides with it. Thus deliberately keeping to the One instead creates division; deliberately seeking emptiness instead makes the mind full; and deliberately keeping to stillness instead makes the mind restless.

Guan Yinzi said, “Fire asks me about my daily words and conduct.” This chapter explains that the original, subtle nature of the mind does not divide things into self and other. It is empty and still, yet able to respond to change; advancing or withdrawing, accepting or letting go, one can move freely without obstruction.

The above is Chapter Two.

Guan Yinzi said, “A fire may burn for a thousand years, yet be extinguished in an instant; cognition—the mind that distinguishes and perceives—may continue for a thousand years, yet vanish in an instant.”

Fire has no fixed form of its own. It appears only by relying on fuel such as oil or wood. Even if it burns for a thousand years, when its fuel is suddenly exhausted, the fire goes out with it. That is why it is said, “A fire may burn for a thousand years, yet be extinguished in an instant.” This is an analogy.

Those who are deluded are drawn along by karmic consciousness—the mind shaped by karma that clings to distinctions—and busily struggle without finding anything fundamental on which to rely. Even after countless kalpas, vast spans of time, they still cannot escape samsara. The cause lies in this consciousness. Consciousness itself has no fixed self; it appears by relying on external circumstances. Even if it continues for millions of years, a sudden awakening brought about by a teacher’s guidance makes one understand that the original, subtle nature of the mind is inherently pure and still, like the Great Void, boundless and empty. In an instant, appearances disappear, and consciousness recedes with them, just as a flame goes out when its fuel is exhausted. That is why it is said, “Cognition may continue for a thousand years, yet vanish in an instant.” This chapter explains that consciousness is the root of birth and death, and that when external circumstances are forgotten, consciousness recedes. This is essential to escaping samsara.

The above is Chapter Three.

Guan Yinzi said, “A boat drifts because water carries it, not because the boat makes itself drift. A cart moves because an ox pulls it, not because the cart makes itself move. Thinking is an activity of the mind; what makes the mind think is intent, not the mind itself.”

People see the boat drifting, but do not see that water is what truly makes it drift. They see the cart moving, but do not see that the ox is what truly makes it move. They see the mind thinking, but do not see that intent is what makes the mind think.

People see only the boat moving across the water, without realizing that it is the flowing water that carries it forward; the boat does not move by itself. The boat is what moves, but the water is what truly moves it. People see only the cart traveling along the road, without realizing that it is the ox pulling it forward; the cart does not move by itself. The cart is what travels, but the ox is what truly propels it. These two examples are both metaphors.

People know only that the mind thinks, without realizing that it is actually the consciousness that engages in thought, not the original wondrous mind—the inherently present, mysterious substance of mind. The mind is what thinks, but the intent is what truly makes it think. This brings the preceding metaphors together to explain the point.

People do not know why things are as they are, yet see that they are so of themselves. Precisely because they do not know the reason, their origin cannot be traced, and no trace of their destination can be found.

The original wondrous mind takes true emptiness as its substance and wondrous existence as its function. Substance and function naturally unite, allowing it to respond to the transformations of things without end. Even spirits and ghosts cannot fathom it, and Yin-Yang cannot be used to predict it. This is what it means to say, “We do not know why it is so, yet it is so of itself.” The original wondrous mind existed before the Five Great Stages—the five phases preceding the formation of Heaven and Earth—and before the Image of the Emperor, the Daoist image of the ruler of all things. It is lucid and penetrating, yet no one knows where it came from; it is profound and hidden, and its destination is likewise unknowable. Thus it comes from nowhere and has nowhere to abide.

Coming from nowhere and having nowhere to abide, it can unite with the source of Heaven and Earth and transcend past and present.

The first two sentences repeatedly explain that the original wondrous mind—the clear, innate mind-nature—has no known origin. It is obscure and profound, and no one knows where it returns or can point to where it truly resides. Heaven, Earth, and I therefore share the same source. The wondrous mind gives rise to the root of all things, yet is not bound by time; there is no distinction between ancient and present. It cannot be found when it comes, nor pointed to when it departs. Thus it shares its root and source with Heaven and Earth, beyond distinctions of past and present. This chapter explains that the original wondrous mind is received from a stage before the “Five Great Beginnings,” the subtle phases preceding the formation of Heaven and Earth, and cannot be known through deliberation or inquiry.

Fourth chapter

Guan Yin Zi said: Understand that there is originally nothing in the mind, and you will understand that the myriad things have no fixed, unchanging substance. Understand that the myriad things are so, and you will understand that the Great Dao is also formless and without substance. Then you will neither esteem extraordinary conduct that sets one apart from the world nor marvel at subtle and mysterious words.

The original wondrous mind takes the Dao as its essence and the myriad things as its function. Fully awaken to the mind of the Dao, and you will understand that it is originally empty of all things, like open space. Essence and function both remain naturally as they are: they respond to the changing things around them while remaining still and silent throughout. Hence, understanding that the mind contains nothing leads to understanding that the myriad things have no fixed substance; understanding that they have no fixed substance leads to understanding that the Great Dao is formless and without substance. Here, “understand” means to awaken to something, while “things are without substance” means that although the myriad things change with circumstances, their nature remains still and silent.

When you fully awaken to the essence and function of the mind of the Dao, you see that neither has a fixed form or trace. You will therefore not esteem outstanding or unusual conduct, since even the loftiest conduct leaves traces, while the Great Dao has none. Nor will you marvel at subtle and mysterious words, since even the most mysterious words depend on names and distinctions, while the Great Dao has none. Thus, understanding that the Great Dao is formless and without substance means that you will neither esteem extraordinary conduct nor marvel at mysterious words. This chapter explains that the mind of the Dao can respond to changing things while remaining still and silent throughout; it cannot be attained through words or deeds.

Fifth chapter

Guan Yin Zi said: When external things and the self act upon each other, thoughts arise. When two pieces of wood rub against each other, fire arises.

The mind has no fixed, unchanging nature of its own. It appears only when external things stir it. When the self and external things interact, the mind emerges, just as fire is produced when two pieces of wood rub together.

Guan Yin Zi said, “When external things meet the self, the mind appears; when two pieces of wood rub together, fire is produced.”

We cannot say that the mind exists only on the side of the self, nor that it exists only on the side of external things. We cannot say it has nothing to do with the self, nor that it has nothing to do with external things. To cling to a rigid division between self and other is foolish.

The “I” has no fixed nature of its own. When external things stir it, the mind suddenly appears; it does not arise from the self alone, so we cannot say it exists only on the side of the self. When external things elicit a response, the mind appears, yet it is like empty space and does not obstruct them, so we cannot say it exists only on their side. Without the self, the mind would not appear even if external things stirred it; since the mind does appear, we cannot say it has nothing to do with the self. Conversely, if external things did not elicit a response, the mind would not appear. The mind does not arise on its own but comes forth in response, so we cannot say it has nothing to do with external things.

Those who are deluded do not understand that neither the self nor the mind has a fixed self-nature, or that the mind and external things can connect freely, without obstruction. They wrongly assume there is an independent “mind of mine” and set it against external things. They cling to a division between self and other, and so encounter obstacles at every turn when they come into contact with external things. Is this not foolish? Here, the word “er” means “you”: clinging to the relationship between self and other as you have defined it, and being unable to let it go, is precisely delusion. This chapter explains that the mind does not cling to self and other, and that it is naturally unobstructed in relation to external things. Yet those who are deluded wrongly impose a division between self and other, setting the self against external things.

Guan Yin Zi said, “Do not rely on your judgments of benefit and harm, right and wrong. Can what you call benefit and harm, right and wrong, truly be attained?”

So-called “not relying” means not depending on or clinging to one’s own judgments about benefit and harm, right and wrong. What you consider beneficial or harmful, right or wrong, is only a passing judgment in the midst of deluded thoughts. How can you be certain that benefit is always benefit, harm always harm, right always right, and wrong always wrong? Such judgments change along with a person’s thoughts. Since they cannot be fixed, they are merely calculations made in response to each moment and each thought. In that case, can you really determine what counts as benefit or harm, right or wrong?

Even sages do not cling to knowing or understanding such things. How much less should you?

What drives the continual changes and shifts in benefit and harm, right and wrong, is the Creator—the power that generates and transforms all things. The Creator is deep and unfathomable; no one can understand how it operates. Even sages, whose wisdom is vast enough to penetrate the deep principles of the Creator, still do not cling to knowing or understanding them. How much less should ordinary people? Hence the saying: “Even sages do not cling to knowing or understanding such things. How much less should you?” This chapter explains that benefit and harm, right and wrong, change under the impetus of the Creator, and that ordinary people cannot predict or determine them in advance.

The above is Chapter Seven.

Guan Yin said: “A dream made at night sometimes continues into the daytime; the mind is not limited by time.”

The phrase “lasting into the night” should read “lasting into the day” for the passage to make sense. “Day” may have been mistakenly copied as “night.” A deluded person’s nighttime dream sometimes continues into the daytime. This shows that the originally subtle mind is not limited by time. Hence the saying: “A dream made at night sometimes continues into the daytime; the mind is not limited by time.”

For someone born in the state of Qi, everything seen in the mind consists of things from Qi. Later, after going to Song, Chu, Jin, and Liang, the images retained in the mind differ accordingly. The mind is not limited by any fixed place.

A person born and raised in the state of Qi sees only Qi in the mind. Here, er means “you,” and zhi means “to go to.” If you later arrive in the state of Song and then travel to Chu, Jin, and Liang, each of the four states has a different landscape, and the scene held in the mind changes accordingly. This shows that the original wondrous mind is not limited by place or direction. Thus, someone born in Qi sees Qi in the mind; after traveling to Song, Chu, Jin, and Liang, the realm held in the mind differs in each place, yet the mind itself has no fixed location. This chapter explains that the original wondrous mind is not limited by time or direction.

The passage above is Chapter Eight.

Guan Yin Zi said: One who is skilled at archery studies the nature of the bow rather than imitating Yi, the legendary archer. One who is skilled at sailing studies the nature of the boat rather than imitating Gua, an expert sailor of ancient times.

“Yi” was a title for people in ancient times who were skilled at archery. According to legend, Emperor Ku once gave Yi a bow and arrows and appointed him as an official in charge of archery. Yi lived at Qiongshi. In the time of Yao, ten suns appeared in the sky at once. Yao ordered Yi to shoot them down, and Yi hit nine of them. The suns then fell from the sky. Later, Yi seized the throne of Xiang of Xia, declared himself ruler of the state of Youqiong, and took “Yi” as his name. His minister Han Zhuo killed him and took his wives. One of them later gave birth to Jiao. Jiao was immensely strong and could push a boat along on land. He was eventually killed by Shaokang, the son of Xiang of Xia.

“Take as a model” means to emulate and follow. A skilled archer should take the bow as his standard and aim to hit the target. Since hitting the target is his standard, he need not take Yi himself as his model. Thus it is said: “A skilled archer takes the bow as his model, not Yi.” A skilled boatman should take the boat as his standard and aim for smooth, unobstructed travel. Since unobstructed passage is his standard, he need not take Jiao as his model. Thus it is said: “A skilled boatman takes the boat as his model, not Jiao.” Archery and boatmanship are used here as analogies.

One who is skilled at cultivating the mind and nature should take their own mind as their model, not the sages.

Those who are skilled at realizing the wondrous mind they inherently possess understand that it is originally pure and still, free and at ease, untouched and unconfined by external things. Since realizing this wondrous mind is their standard, they need not take the sages as their model. Thus it is said: “One skilled at cultivating the mind and nature takes the mind as their model, not the sages.” This extends the earlier analogy to the cultivation of mind and nature. The chapter explains that cultivating the mind means taking realization of one’s original mind as one’s standard, thereby transcending the realm of ordinary sages.

The passage above is Chapter Nine.

Guan Yin Zi says: Right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, success and failure, fullness and emptiness—all arise from the workings of creation and transformation. People regard these distinctions as real because of selfish desires and attachment.

People regard goodness and beauty as right and pleasing, and ugliness and evil as wrong and hateful. They regard the flourishing and glory of things as success and fullness, and their decline and abandonment as failure and emptiness. Yet they do not realize that right and wrong, good and ugly, success and failure, fullness and emptiness are all part of the natural workings of creation. Why, then, should I fix my thoughts on these distinctions? Those who are deluded cling to such judgments, believing they truly exist. They do not see that these distinctions arise from personal bias and unfounded calculation. Thus, right and wrong, good and ugly, success and failure, fullness and emptiness are outcomes of creation’s workings; people perceive them as real because their private desires and deluded understanding cling to them.

So people try to use “nonexistence” to dispel their attachment to what seems real, but the attachment remains. This is because they are still making judgments through their own biased and deluded understanding. Thus, right and wrong, good and ugly, success and failure, fullness and emptiness are outcomes of creation’s workings; people perceive them as real because their private desires and deluded understanding cling to them.

Next, even if they use “nonexistence” to cast these distinctions aside, attachment remains. If they then use “neither existence nor nonexistence” to cast them aside, attachment remains as well. Even when they stop calculating in terms of existence and nonexistence, a “dim and obscure” state still lingers in the mind. And when they stop calculating in terms of “neither existence nor nonexistence,” a “muddled and indistinct” state still lingers; attachment has not entirely disappeared. It is like revisiting a place one once explored: memories of the past suddenly come back into sharp focus.

Once people understand that right and wrong, good and ugly, success and failure, fullness and emptiness seem to exist only after private desires and deluded understanding have become attached to them, they try to use “nonexistence” to undo that attachment. Yet the idea “it is nonexistence” still remains in the mind. That is why it is said, “Use nonexistence to dispel it, and attachment remains.” They then use “neither existence nor nonexistence” to dispel the idea “it is nonexistence,” but the idea “it is neither existence nor nonexistence” is left in the mind. That is why it is said, “Use neither existence nor nonexistence to dispel it, and attachment remains.” Even when they stop calculating in terms of “not existence” or “not nonexistence,” the thought “dim and obscure” remains. Even when they stop calculating in terms of “neither existence nor nonexistence,” an understanding that is muddled and free of all calculation still lingers. That is why it is said, “The muddled and indistinct attachment remains.” Using one understanding to dispel another is like coating mud with mud to wash the mud away. It is also like revisiting a place one went to long ago: when one returns today, memories of the past still come back into sharp focus. In the end, one cannot completely forget them by relying on another understanding.

Such perceptions must neither be forgotten nor deliberately cast aside. Those skilled at dispelling deluded perceptions can transform cognition into wisdom.

Do you understand how cognition can be transformed into wisdom? For example, when you think there is a ghost, your heart trembles; when you think there are bandits, your heart fills with fear. This is “thought.” Or, if you mistake millet for panicled millet, or jade for stone, this is “cognition.” Such thoughts and judgments are like drifting, unstable illusions, with nowhere to settle or come to rest.

The commentary goes on to explain: “Thought” is like suspecting that a demon or ghost is here, and so trembling with fear; or suspecting that bandits are here, and so feeling afraid. “Cognition” is like mistaking millet for panicled millet, or jade for stone. These deluded thoughts and perceptions are insubstantial and unreal, leaving one unable to settle. One should rest in the wondrous mind, originally empty and calm. Here, “void” means emptiness, and “rest” means coming to a stop.

For example, when you see something strange, strange thoughts about it arise, and you form corresponding perceptions. The source of these thoughts and perceptions does not lie within oneself.

The previously mentioned “thought” and “perception” can be understood this way: when a person sees something strange, the thought and recognition arise that “this thing is strange.” Such a thought did not originally exist in the mind’s true nature; it arose only after seeing that strange thing. Thus, seeing something strange gives rise to thoughts and recognition of it, whose source does not lie within my own mind.

“Thought” means the mind’s reflections; “perception” means the mind’s discernment of things.

Consider, for example, what happens today. Once it has happened, it can be known. But we cannot determine in advance what thoughts and perceptions will arise tomorrow. When tomorrow comes, as events and things continue to appear, all kinds of thoughts and perceptions arise in turn. This shows that “thought” and “perception” do not spring from my mind out of nowhere; they arise in response to the appearance of things. “Conditioned by” means relying on something or arising because of a cause.

“Thought” and “perception” are also like a rhinoceros gazing at the moon. According to legend, when a rhinoceros raises its head to look at the moon, the moon’s reflection seems to appear on its horn. The moon’s image appears only through the activity of perception; the real moon was never on the rhinoceros’s horn in the first place.

The mind’s original subtlety is free from the many thoughts and acts of discrimination. Fearing that people might not believe this, a further metaphor is offered to explain it. The horn of a rhinoceros, for example, contains no image of the moon. Only when the rhinoceros looks up at the moon and imagines, “The moon is reflected in my horn,” does an image of the moon in the horn seem to appear. The actual moon in the sky has never entered the rhinoceros’s horn. In the same way, our everyday thoughts and awareness of the sun are like the rhinoceros looking at the moon and supposing its reflection has entered the horn. In fact, the image in the mind appears only after awareness arises; the real moon has never been inside the horn.

The myriad things of Heaven and Earth as they appear in the human mind are just the same. Those who understand this do not cling outwardly to the things they see, or inwardly to their own emotions and thoughts.

Our understanding of the myriad things of Heaven and Earth held in the mind is also like mistaking the moon’s reflection for the moon itself when the rhinoceros looks up. Those who grasp the preceding metaphor will not take external things to be fixed, unchanging realities, nor cling to their inner emotions and thoughts. This chapter explains that the mind’s original subtlety is free from emotions and discriminating awareness; all such mental perceptions arise falsely when the mind has lost its way.

Guan Yin Zi says: “All things grow from earth and, in the end, change back into earth. Events arise from thoughts and, ultimately, return to thought.”

All things are born from earth; when they perish, they eventually become earth again. This serves as an introductory metaphor. In terms of the human body and cultivation, earth corresponds to the spirit of the Spleen, that is, “intention” (yi). All affairs arise from intention; when every affair has been forgotten, they ultimately return to intention. This explanation corresponds to the metaphor above.

Once we understand that all affairs arise solely from intention, we can see that in one moment intention may judge something right, and in the next, wrong; in one moment it may judge something good, and in the next, bad. Intention changes, but the mind itself does not; intention is aware of things, but the mind itself makes no distinctions.

Following the preceding metaphor, all affairs arise from intention and, ultimately, return to intention.

When we understand that every change is brought about by “intention”—consciousness and discriminating thoughts—we see that the same thing can, in an instant, be judged to be or not to be, good or evil. Thoughts change, but the original mind does not. Thoughts give rise to awareness, while the original mind itself has no such discriminating awareness.

The analogy given earlier shows that the existence and nonexistence of all things arise from the “root of intention,” the source of thought. What this root produces can transform in an instant: what is not becomes what is, what is becomes what is not, evil becomes good, and good becomes evil. Thus intention can continually affirm or deny, judging things good or evil. The root of intention changes, but the originally subtle true mind does not. The root of intention has discriminating awareness, but the originally subtle true mind has no such awareness.

Once I recognize that I have only one original mind, thoughts are merely dust-like objects and circumstances coming and going. All things arise and vanish swiftly, while within my mind the fundamental reality remains eternal and unchanged.

The originally subtle true mind is, from the beginning, undivided; hence the phrase “only my one mind.” Here, “dust” refers to external things and phenomena. The root of intention can bring forth the myriad things and make them disappear: when they fade, it is as if they depart; when they arise, it is as if they arrive. The arising and vanishing of all things are swift, like flames burning wood: the flames flare up as the wood burns, and when the wood is consumed, the flames go out with it. Thus all things merely arise and vanish in rapid succession. The word “qin” means swift. “Great constancy” refers to the empty, true substance of the originally subtle true mind: vast and boundless, it transcends past and present and remains unchanged. Because it is so constant, it is said to exist always. This chapter explains that the constant true mind encompasses the fleeting changes of intention.

The above is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin Zi says: Emotions arise from the mind, and the mind arises from nature. Emotions are like waves on the surface of water, the mind is like flowing water, and nature is like water itself.

Human deluded feelings arise from the mind, and the mind arises from one’s original nature. Thus feelings arise from the mind, and the mind arises from nature. A person lost in emotions is like waves rising on the surface of water; the thoughts that pursue external circumstances are like flowing water; and a person’s original nature is like the source of the water. Waves, flowing water, and the source have three different names, but in essence they are no different, because they are all water. Feelings, mind, and nature are the same: they have three names, but in essence they are no different, because they are all true nature. Thus feelings are like waves, mind is like flowing water, and nature is like the water’s source.

When external things touch me, it is like the flash of fire struck from clashing stones: it vanishes in an instant. If I receive them through my original nature, thoughts do not arise, and external things pass by like floating clouds.

All things touch me only for a brief moment, like a flash of lightning or a spark struck from stone. If I receive them through the nature of true emptiness—an open, clear nature that does not cling to things—thoughts do not arise. My understanding of things and the external world are like floating clouds in the vast void; they do not obstruct empty space. It is also like sound echoing through an empty valley: though it responds to things as they come, the mind within remains still and silent. This chapter explains that mind and nature are originally one, and that one can face change without being hindered by it.

Chapter Twelve

Guan Yin Zi said: In the world there are the wise and the foolish, the genuine and the false; some people can discern the difference, while others cannot.

In the world there are people who are truly wise or foolish, as well as people who merely appear wise or foolish. Some can distinguish these differences, while others cannot. Thus, among the wise and the foolish, the genuine and the false, some people can discern them and others cannot.

Even when people differ as wise or foolish, genuine or false, they are called wise or foolish, genuine or false because these distinctions stir my discriminating mind.

People speak of wisdom and folly, truth and falsehood, and make judgments accordingly, all under the sway of their own deluded consciousness. Thus, even when someone truly is wise or foolish, truthful or false, it is one’s own consciousness at work in judging that person wise or foolish, truthful or false.

Once we understand that these judgments are formed by consciousness, we see that even what is true may be called false.

If we know that distinguishing the wise from the foolish, and the true from the false, arises from deluded consciousness, we will understand this: since consciousness is deluded, even things that are truly real may be called false, deceptive, or unreal. Hence, understanding that all judgments are formed by consciousness, we see that even what is true may be called false. This chapter explains that deluded consciousness is not the true mind.

The character “right” indicates that the text above is Chapter Thirteen.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the mind is affected by external things, it does not give rise to another mind, but to emotions. When external things meet the mind, the mind does not give rise to those things, but to perceptions of them. External things themselves are not real; how much less real, then, are perceptions of them? Perceptions are not real either; how much less real, then, are the emotions that arise from them?

The subtle mind is originally still and clear. When it is affected by external things, the mind itself does not arise; what arises is emotion. Thus it is said that when the mind experiences external things, it gives rise not to another mind, but to emotion. When various external scenes appear before the mind, distinctions and views of those things form within it. These are not the things themselves, but the mind’s perceptions of them. Thus it is said that when external things meet the mind, the mind gives rise not to those things, but to perceptions. All external scenes appear and vanish like illusions and are therefore unreal; how much less real, then, are perceptions of them? Since perceptions are unreal, how could emotions be real? Thus it is said that perceptions are not real; how much less real, then, are emotions?

Those who are deluded insist that entities exist in a realm that is originally empty, and insist that things in constant change remain eternal and unchanging.

Once the mind becomes deluded, it follows the emotions and arbitrarily takes various external conditions as real. This does not arise from the clear, awakened original mind. Instead, it is driven by deluded emotions: the mind, originally clear and beautiful, comes under their control, like a minister ruling the sovereign. Thus the original mind is said to be controlled by emotion.

When proper feelings lose their way, they become attached to external things and are drawn along by them, like the common people constraining their ministers. Thus original feelings are said to be controlled by things. The deluded mind pursues emotion, and emotion in turn becomes enamored of and attached to external things, leading to false attachment to outward conditions. After life ends, one is still drawn by the conditions to which one’s loves have become attached, and is reborn where attachment is deepest. So the cycle of birth and death continues through hundreds of thousands of kalpas without end, with ceaseless coming and going. Hence, one can be driven away by external conditions and driven back again.

At first, this coming and going is not governed by me; instead, I am subject to the workings of creation and transformation—the changes of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang that bring forth the myriad things. Thus it never ceases.

The five human emotions correspond to the Five Phases: joy belongs to Fire, anger to Wood, thought to Earth, sorrow to Metal, and fear to Water. The workings of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases bring forth Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, and propel birth and death, coming and going without end. Traced to their source, all this coming and going, birth and death, results from the delusion of the five emotions. Before the five emotions arise, how could there be birth and death, coming and going? From this we can see that such movement is not governed by me. Rather, deluded emotions become attached to external things, drawing one into the formative workings of the Five Phases, where one is driven into an endless cycle of rebirth.

People do not understand that although Heaven and Earth are vast and can govern things with form, they cannot govern what is formless. Although the changes of Yin-Yang are subtle, they can govern things endowed with Qi (vital energy), but not things without Qi.

People who have lost their original nature give rise to desires without warrant and become attached to external circumstances. They are then governed by Heaven and Earth, Yin-Yang, and the changes of nature, and fall into a ceaseless cycle of rebirth. In truth, before deluded thoughts and feelings arise, there is already a pure and beautiful mind, formless like empty space. However vast the changes of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang may be, they can govern only consciousness clouded by delusion and endowed with form. How could they govern this pure and beautiful mind, as clear and formless as empty space? Thus it is said: Heaven and Earth are vast and can govern things with form, but they cannot govern what is formless.

Once deluded thoughts and feelings arise, primordial Qi—the fundamental energy that gives rise to life and change—moves with them. A person then falls under the governance of Yin-Yang and the transformations of creation, entering the cycle of rebirth. Before such deluded thoughts and feelings arise, primordial Qi returns to its source and becomes one with True Emptiness, the original state beyond concrete form and distinctions. However subtle the transformations of Yin-Yang and creation may be, how could they govern True Emptiness? Thus it is said: Yin-Yang is subtle and can govern things endowed with Qi, but it cannot govern what has no Qi.

When the mind returns to its source, it becomes one with True Emptiness. However subtle the transformations of Yin-Yang and creation may be, how could they govern True Emptiness? Thus it is said: Yin-Yang is subtle and can govern things endowed with Qi, but it cannot govern what has no Qi.

Wherever the mind turns, Qi follows; wherever Qi moves, a corresponding form appears.

The word “go” means to move toward. Qi follows wherever the mind is directed. The mind is like a commander, and Qi like an army: Qi moves with the mind just as an army follows its commander. Thus it is said: wherever the mind turns, Qi follows. When the mind is absorbed in delusion and clings to external circumstances, Qi moves with it, and the bodily forms of the cycle of rebirth take shape. Thus it is said: wherever Qi moves, a corresponding form appears.

This is like the Great Void, the boundless expanse of empty space: from utter nothingness, a single Qi comes into being, and from that single Qi, the myriad things arise. Yet this “single Qi” can no longer be called the Great Void.

The Dao’s essence has no name or form. It is like the Great Void—the vast, empty expanse—yet it can set a single Qi (vital energy) in motion, the primordial energy between Heaven and Earth. This single Qi divides into Yin-Yang, and Yin-Yang then transforms to bring forth Heaven, Earth, and all things. Once it is called “single Qi,” it can no longer be called the “Great Void.” The formless, imageless source itself is what is called the Dao—how much more so the myriad things that arise from it? Thus, saying that it is “like the Great Void” means that from a state of utter emptiness, a single Qi comes forth, and from that Qi, all things arise. But that Qi itself can no longer be called the Great Void. This is a metaphor used to explain the essence of the Dao.

My mind can transform into Qi and take on form, but the mind itself has neither Qi nor form.

Our originally clear and wondrous mind takes true emptiness—the formless source that cannot be grasped—as its root. Before thoughts arise, its essence is the same as the Great Void. Once thoughts arise, wherever the mind directs them, Qi moves accordingly; wherever Qi reaches, form appears. This is like a single Qi arising from the Great Void, and all things arising from that Qi. Hence the saying that my mind can transform into Qi and take on form. Before thoughts arise, the originally clear and wondrous mind has neither Qi nor form. Hence the saying that my mind itself has no Qi and no form.

If you can understand that your mind itself has neither Qi nor form, you will know that Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang cannot command it.

Here, “knowing” means awakening. Fully realizing the mind’s original nonduality is like the Great Void before it transforms into Qi and form: Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang have not yet appeared, so what power could command it? Even after Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang have come into being, how could they command emptiness? Thus, understanding that the mind itself has neither Qi nor form means that Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang cannot command it. This chapter explains that when the mind is deluded, it falls into the transformations of Yin-Yang and cycles endlessly through rebirth; when the mind awakens, it transcends those transformations and is no longer reborn.

This concludes Chapter Fourteen.

Guan Yin Zi says: When a person is ordinarily healthy and suddenly sees strange, unusual sights, this happens because the spirit and what is seen have become intertwined, causing the sights to appear.

When a person is ill and suddenly sees strange sights, this happens because the mind and spirit are deficient, making the sights seem abnormal. For example, during a fever, the heat can make one’s vision blur, so that strange things suddenly appear. This is connected to the deficiency of the mind and spirit during illness. “Deficient” means lacking.

If you understand that your own mind can make something appear out of nothing, you can also understand that it can make something appear as nothing. In other words, these unusual sights, whether they arise in ordinary life or during illness, can help you realize that the original wondrous mind is empty, like the Great Void, yet can make all kinds of sights appear. You can also see clearly that these sights have no real existence, and that the wondrous mind that makes them appear is itself empty.

So long as you do not believe in these illusions, they will naturally lose their uncanny power. Someone asked, “If consciousness is already confused, who could still refuse to believe?” I replied, “A snake catcher is not afraid of snakes. Even if he dreams of a snake, he will not be frightened by it…”

If, in everyday life or when ill, someone suddenly sees unusual ghosts and spirits or strange visions, they need only realize that their original mind is clear and still, empty from the outset. Everything that has form or appearance is illusory. Once they understand this, they will neither believe in nor cling to those visions, and the strange apparitions will naturally cease to seem supernatural. Hence the saying: “If you do not believe in it, it will naturally cease to seem supernatural.”

“Jue” means “its,” and “shu” means “who.” Someone might ask: if a person’s consciousness has grown dim and they falsely see unusual spirits, ghosts, or strange phenomena, who could possibly avoid believing in them? That is why the scripture asks: “When consciousness is dim, who can refrain from believing?” It first raises the question, then answers with the example of a snake catcher. Someone skilled at subduing venomous snakes feels no fear when catching them; even if they see a snake in a dream, they do not become frightened. This example shows that if one neither believes in nor clings to strange visions, they will naturally cease to seem supernatural. Here, “a master who uses arts to subdue snakes” refers to someone skilled in using magical arts to control snakes.

Thus the Yellow Emperor said: “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits; it simply comes and goes on its own.”

Someone used the story of catching snakes as an analogy in answer to a questioner. Worried that the other person might still not believe him, he cited a passage from the Book of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan as proof. The book says: “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits. Ghosts belong to Yin, and spirits to Yang. The wondrous Dao—the profound and subtle Dao—belongs to neither Yin nor Yang, and so has no ghosts or spirits. Even if ghosts and spirits exist, they cannot perceive the wondrous Dao. The wondrous Dao moves and transforms, and Yin and Yang follow it in their comings and goings, but Yin and Yang cannot rival the Dao. Therefore, the Yellow Emperor said: ‘The Dao has no ghosts or spirits. It moves alone, coming and going by itself.’”

This chapter explains that by following change and realizing the wondrous mind and the wondrous Dao, one becomes beyond the ability of ghosts and spirits to fathom. Even if ghosts and spirits exist, they cannot perceive the wondrous Dao.

Guan Yin Zi said: “My thoughts change every day, as though some force makes them so. That force is not me; it is fate. If I understand that everything is simply the operation of fate, then looking outward I cannot find a ‘self,’ and looking inward I cannot find a ‘mind.’”

There was never a fixed, unchanging “self.” It is only through discriminating thought that we mistakenly believe one exists. Thoughts swirl and shift, changing countless times each day. These changes are not governed by a real, unchanging self, but arise from the operation of fate: something that happens naturally, though no one knows why. Hence the saying: “My thoughts change every day, as though some force makes them so. That force is not me; it is fate.”

Here, “fate” refers to a state that arises naturally for reasons unknown, while “the force that makes it so” refers to the operation that drives change. Truly realizing this natural process is to experience the Dao of true emptiness. “Fate” is also another name for the Dao. After realizing the Dao of true emptiness, one can find no image of a “self” by looking outward, nor any image of a “mind” by looking inward.

This chapter explains that the nature of both self and mind is empty, and that the Dao lies beyond the reach of thought.

Guan Yin Zi says: This is like a person’s two eyes, which can see all things between Heaven and Earth. Once the gaze is drawn back, nothing in front of us can be seen for a time.

The true-empty ground of the mind—the inherently empty and still nature of the mind—originally contains no things. It is profound and remote, beyond measure. When thoughts and delusions suddenly arise, all things appear clearly within the mind. If the mind’s light is then drawn back to its true-empty nature, as a person draws back their gaze, all things between Heaven and Earth temporarily cease to appear. This chapter explains the “daily changes in thought” described in the previous chapter, attributing them to the workings of life.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the eyes fix their attention on exquisitely carved objects, sight is harmed. When the ears fix their attention on many sounds mingling together, hearing is harmed. When the mind dwells entirely on pondering profound principles of the Dao, the spirit is harmed as well.

The ability of the eyes to see things clearly is called “brightness.” If one gazes for a long time at finely wrought gold and jade objects or intricate patterns, one’s sight will be harmed. This is close in meaning to the saying in the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Dao and De), “The five colors make the eyes blind.” The ability of the ears to distinguish sounds clearly is called “acuity.” If one listens for a long time to many musical tones mingling together, hearing will also be harmed. This is close in meaning to “The five tones make the ears deaf.”

The mind is inherently clear and still, without fixed principles or thoughts; this is the very source of the mysterious. If one does not realize the original mind and instead devotes oneself to pondering the mysterious methods spoken of by the ancients, one may cling to these principles and make them a burden. This instead obscures the original mind and harms the spirit. The scripture’s phrase “cleanse and clear the profound mirror” speaks precisely of removing what obscures the mind so that it becomes lucid. This chapter explains that the inherently subtle nature of the mind is not bound by external things encountered through the eyes, ears, and other senses.

Chapter Eighteen

Guan Yin Zi said: Do not use your own thoughts to measure others. Instead, begin with their thoughts to understand them.

“Do not” expresses a prohibition, while “measure” means to assess or infer. Here, those who study the Dao are being cautioned: in the world, do not guess at or judge others solely by your own ideas. When appointing people or associating with them, judge and make arrangements according to their abilities or limitations, so that decisions about advancement and withdrawal, acceptance and rejection, accord with their actual circumstances. In this way, you will not lose the people’s trust.

Understanding this principle enables you to handle affairs properly, put De into practice, grasp the underlying principles, associate with others, and even forget yourself.

If a person can act without a fixed mind—that is, without clinging to personal preconceptions—and judge people’s abilities or limitations and decide whether they should advance or withdraw according to their actual circumstances, then they will neither harbor selfish motives nor lose the people’s trust. Affairs can be handled thoroughly, De can be put into practice, principles can be understood, relationships can proceed smoothly, and even attachment to the self can be forgotten. Only the way of clarifying the mind can bring everything to a fitting and complete resolution. Thus, one who understands this principle can handle affairs thoroughly, put De into practice, understand principles, associate with others, and forget the self. This chapter explains that meeting the world with a mind free of fixed attachments allows one to fulfill oneself and benefit others, bringing many good results in its wake.

Chapter Nineteen

Guan Yin Zi said: In the affairs and principles of the world, if a small problem is not stopped in time, it will grow into a major one. If a major problem is left unchecked, it will eventually become impossible to remedy.

This is true of all things in the world. Consider water and fire: if a small leak is not stopped, it will gradually swell into a flood; if a tiny flame is not put out promptly, it will be difficult to contain once the fire is raging. Likewise, a great quantity of wood can become a forest, stones piled up can become a mountain, and accumulated evil deeds can bring calamity. How, then, could one fail to be cautious? Thus, in the affairs and principles of the world, small problems often grow into great ones when left untreated, and great problems become impossible to contain when left unchecked.

Thus, one who can regulate an emotion as soon as it arises and guide it toward what is upright and good can cultivate virtue. One who can clearly perceive an emotion as soon as it arises and let it go can accord with the wondrous Dao of Non-Extremity.

“Thus” links this passage to what came before, and “regulate” means to govern. When an emotion begins to emerge, if one can promptly guide it onto the right path, one can cultivate virtue. If one can clearly perceive that emotion and let it go, one can accord with the wondrous Dao of Non-Extremity. This passage points out that the difference between ordinary people and sages lies in whether they are deluded or awakened when faced with emotion.

This is the right-hand text of Chapter Twenty.

End of Volume Five of Commentary on the True Classic of Wenshi.

Volume Six

Direct Explanation by Niu Daochun, the Carefree Master of Divine Peak

The Spoon Chapter

“Spoon” refers to food; eating is connected with the human body. This chapter contains sixteen sections.

Guan Yin says: People in the world think that their own thoughts differ from the thoughts of others, and that others’ thoughts differ from their own, so they distinguish between “self” and “others.” Yet they do not know that people in dreams also have thoughts that differ from those of others and from their own. So who is the self, and who are the others?

“Others” refers to other people. Those deluded in the world believe that because their thoughts differ from other people’s, they can use this difference to distinguish “self” from “others,” and they develop all kinds of views. They do not realize that as soon as deluded thoughts arise, their original, innocent nature follows illusory circumstances into a dream. Dreams do not occur only at night while we sleep; by day, when our nature and mind move with deluded thoughts, we are just as if dreaming. The scenes imagined in dreams may differ from the things we imagine while awake, but the mind that gives rise to these thoughts is no different. So who is “self,” and who are “others”? People distinguish themselves from one another by saying, “My thoughts differ from his, and his thoughts differ from mine.” But, in the end, who is self, and who is other?

People also distinguish themselves from one another by saying, “My pain differs from someone else’s, and their pain differs from mine.” Yet they do not realize that in a dream, too, we may feel that our pain differs from another person’s. At that point, who is self, and who is other?

Those deluded in the world believe that pain can distinguish self from others. Suppose two people receive moxibustion at the same time—a traditional treatment that warms the body with burning mugwort—at different points on the body. Their sensations of pain are still no different in essence. How can we arbitrarily use pain to divide sameness from difference, or self from others? People in dreams may also feel that one person’s pain differs from another’s, but on waking they discover that no other person was truly there in the dream. This shows that pain in dreams arises from deluded distinctions, and that pain experienced by day is likewise deluded perception, shaped by attachment. Seen this way, who is self, and who is other?

When the nails and hair are cut, we feel no pain; the hands and feet do not think for themselves. Yet they are still parts of my body. How, then, can we regard them as separate from “me” simply because they can think or feel pain?

The commentator first explains that “thought and pain are neither real nor unchanging.” Knowing that this may be hard to accept, he uses the body as an analogy: nails and hair belong to oneself, though they have no sense of pain; hands and feet belong to oneself, though they do not think for themselves. These parts differ in sensation and thought, yet they are all “me.” So we cannot divide the self on the basis of such differences.

People often call what only one person sees a dream, and what many people see together the waking world’s reality. Yet they do not realize that this distinction, too, may be an arbitrary separation. A scene formed by the gathering of Jing and Qi may sometimes be seen by just one person in the daytime; a dream revealed when minds and spirits accord may sometimes be shared by two people at night. Both are scenes presented by the spirit. Which, then, should be called a dream, and which waking reality?

People in the world who are confused regard visions that only they can see, and others cannot, as dreams, while they take visions seen by everyone as reality when awake. In truth, they do not know that when a person’s spirit gathers with things outside them, they may suddenly see strange visions in broad daylight. Others cannot see them; only that person can. So dreams are not confined to what one sees at night. When a person’s spirit gathers with things outside them, a vision that only one person sees may appear in the daytime as well.

When one person’s spirit resonates with another’s, the two may also have the same dream at night. So even when everyone sees a certain vision together, it does not necessarily follow that they are seeing reality with clear awareness. A gathering of spirit can make one person see alone; a resonance of spirits can make people see together. Both are changes produced by the activity of spirit, giving rise to realms that seem either alike or different. Seen this way, which is the dream, and which is wakefulness? The dream is an illusory dream, and wakefulness is illusory wakefulness. If neither is real, what distinction is there between them? Both are transformations of spirit. Which one, then, is the dream, and which is wakefulness?

People in the world take visions seen briefly as dreams, and those seen for a long time as reality when awake. They do not know that what is seen briefly comes from the Qi of Yin-Yang—the two Qi, Yin and Yang, that shape the transformations of all things—and what is seen for a long time comes from the Qi of Yin-Yang just the same. Both are visions presented by the Yin-Yang Qi within oneself. Which, then, is the dream, and which is wakefulness?

People in the world who are confused believe that what they see night after night is merely fleeting.

People in the world take visions seen briefly as dreams, and those seen for a long time as reality when awake. They do not know that what is seen briefly comes from the Qi of Yin-Yang, and what is seen for a long time comes from the Qi of Yin-Yang just the same. Both are visions presented by the Yin-Yang Qi within oneself. Which, then, is the dream, and which is wakefulness?

Ordinary people are confused by appearances. They take what they see occasionally at night to be dreams, and what they experience over long stretches during the day to be waking reality. Thus, people regard what they see briefly as a dream and what they see for a long time as waking life.

They do not know that dreams appearing briefly at night arise from changes in the mind, the hun and po souls, and the Qi of Yin-Yang. The scenes seen over long stretches during the day are also merely visible forms conjured up by the mind, the hun and po souls, and the Qi of Yin-Yang. What is seen briefly, then, comes from the Qi of Yin-Yang, and what is seen for a long time comes from it as well. Dreams and waking perceptions are both forms of knowing and sensing produced by changes in the mind and the Qi of Yin-Yang. Since this knowing and sensing are inherently illusory, neither dreaming nor waking is real and unchanging. Which, then, should be called a dream, and which waking? Without true awakening, no one can see through the illusion of dreaming and waking. Dreams and waking, then, are both workings of one’s own Yin-Yang Qi. Which is the dream, and which is waking? This chapter explains that, for the confused, neither dreams nor waking states are real.

This concludes Chapter One.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who delight in benevolence often dream of pine trees, paulownias, peach trees, and plum trees. Those who delight in righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and metal. Which is the dream, and which is waking? This chapter explains that, for the confused, neither dreams nor waking states are real.

This concludes Chapter One.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who delight in benevolence often dream of pine trees, paulownias, peach trees, and plum trees. Those who delight in righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and metal; those who delight in ritual often dream of ritual vessels; those who delight in wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes; and those who delight in trustworthiness often dream of mountains, plains, and open country. Such dreams are shaped by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); they do not arise by chance.

Benevolence corresponds to Wood. Those who devote themselves to acts of benevolence often dream, through the discriminating consciousness (the acquired mind that distinguishes and judges), of trees and other woody plants, such as pines, peach trees, and plum trees. Thus, those who cherish benevolence often dream of pines, gang trees, peach trees, and plum trees.

Righteousness corresponds to Metal. Those who devote themselves to righteousness and doing what is appropriate often dream, through the discriminating consciousness, of weapons, swords, and metal. Thus, those who cherish righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and bronze or iron.

Ritual corresponds to Fire. Ritual means ceremonies and rules of conduct. Those who devote themselves to observing ritual often dream, through the discriminating consciousness, of fierce fires burning weeds, or of vessels used in sacrificial rites, such as peng, gai, and dou. The gai vessels are made of bamboo: one is round both inside and out, while the other is round outside and square inside. The peng is square outside and round inside, and is used to hold dry offerings. The dou is made of wood and used to hold moist offerings. All these vessels are lacquered red, to correspond with the color of Fire.

Wisdom corresponds to Water. Those who devote themselves to using wisdom to distinguish truth from falsehood often dream, through the discriminating consciousness, of rivers, lakes, marshes, and other bodies of water. Thus, those who cherish wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes.

Trustworthiness corresponds to Earth. Those who devote themselves to keeping their word and being truthful in speech and action often dream, through the discriminating consciousness, of mountains, plains, and other scenes of the land. Thus, those who cherish trustworthiness often dream of mountains and plains.

Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and trustworthiness correspond respectively to Wood, Metal, Fire, Water, and Earth. When a person concentrates on these five virtues in daily practice, they are drawn into the framework of the Five Phases and dream of images corresponding to them. This is what is meant by being inclined toward the Five Phases.

Deluded thoughts that arise in the mind during the day take the form of illusory dreams at night. In a dream, suddenly hearing something or thinking of something can cause one’s thoughts to shift with the images encountered, and the dream changes along with them. Thus, when the mind clings to the Five Phases, the dream is constrained by them; when the mind does not cling to them, the Five Phases cannot bind the dream. This is the meaning of the saying: “In a dream, one may hear or think of something, and the dream changes accordingly; the Five Phases cannot bind it.”

The sage uses the mind to direct the myriad things, then gathers the mind back through one’s original nature. The mind thus accords with the natural workings of creation and transformation, and is not constrained by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water, together with their patterns of movement).

“Directing things” here means making use of the myriad things. The sage takes the nature of true emptiness—the clear, still, formless nature—as the basis of the mind, and the wondrous things that exist—the myriad things as they appear—as its function. Basis and function flow together without obstruction. Even amid change, the mind remains settled and still: above, it can roam alongside the power that brings the myriad things into being; below, it can befriend those who transcend life and death and are not bound by beginnings and endings. Yin-Yang and the Five Phases therefore cannot constrain it.

“To use the mind to direct things” means letting the mind make use of the myriad things. “To gather the mind through one’s nature” means returning the mind to the nature of true emptiness and taking that as its basis. This chapter explains that when the mind is deluded, it is constrained by the Five Phases; once the mind is clear, it can escape their limits. The dreams mentioned in the commentary refer to instances when the sage hears or thinks of something in a dream, and the dream then takes shape accordingly. This likewise shows that the mind is not confined by the Five Phases.

The passage on the right is the second chapter.

Guan Yin Zi said: “If you see someone with a snake’s head and a human body, arms like an ox’s, or scales on their body, or someone shaped like a ghost or with the wings of a bird, do not be surprised.”

“ You” here refers generally to people in the world. Someone might see a person with a snake’s head and a human body, or with arms shaped like a bird’s and wings. If you encounter such things, do not be astonished.

“You” generally refers to people in the world. Some have seen people with a snake’s head and a human body; others have seen people whose arms resemble a cow’s and are covered in fish scales; still others have seen people shaped like ghosts, with wings like a bird’s growing beneath their arms. People should not be startled by such sights. The ancient Fuxi, a legendary sage ruler of remote antiquity, was said to have a snake’s body and a human head; Shennong, a legendary ancient emperor, was said to have a bull’s head and a human body; and Cen Peng, an ancient figure, was said to look like a ghost. These accounts are familiar to Chinese readers.

Dongfang Shuo recorded the strange peoples of distant lands in the four directions. In the northwestern wilderness were people whose faces, hands, and feet were like those of ordinary people, but who had wings beneath their arms and could not fly. In the southwestern wilderness were people covered in hair and with pig’s heads. In the northeastern wilderness were people with red hair, snake bodies, and human faces, but no hands or feet. In the southern wilderness were people with crow-like beaks and wings who could fly but had no feet. In the western wilderness were tiger-like, hairy people with human faces, tiger’s feet, wolf’s teeth, and tails eighteen feet long. In the northwestern wilderness there were also tiger-like people who ate humans, had wings and could fly, and understood human speech. All these forms arose because they were affected by Qi resulting from an imbalance between Yin and Yang. What, then, is there to be surprised about? So when people see someone with a snake’s head and human body, a bull’s arms and fish scales, or a ghostly form and bird’s wings, they need not be startled.

These strange forms are less extraordinary than the oddities of dreams, and the oddities of dreams are less extraordinary than those seen while awake. The fact that people have ears, eyes, hands, and arms is itself even stranger.

The body a person inhabits throughout life changes constantly. As I said earlier, this is not especially strange; such strangeness is less than that of a dream. When someone falls asleep, all kinds of scenes appear in dreams: people, heaven and earth, mountains and rivers, plants and trees, towers and terraces, birds and beasts. Sometimes one even encounters auspicious and wondrous events. Yet when one wakes, everything has vanished. What is it that enables people to dream up all these scenes? That is truly astonishing. Hence the saying: “Such strangeness is less than that of a dream.”

After waking, we see that a person is merely a mass of flesh, yet has ears that hear sounds, eyes that see colors, hands that grasp things, and arms that move. We can see no trace of what guides them, nor know who governs them, yet they act swiftly and with perfect precision. This is stranger than any dream, but people in the world do not find it strange. Hence the marvels of dreams are less than the marvels of waking life: having ears, eyes, hands, and arms is itself far more wondrous.

The great principle cannot be fully expressed in words, and true great wisdom cannot be attained through thought and conjecture.

If we trace the source of the functions of the ears, eyes, hands, arms, and the rest, we find that it has no name and no feelings. It belongs to the Dao of “true emptiness and wondrous presence”: it takes no concrete form, yet manifests in countless functions. Because it has no name, the great principle cannot be expressed in words; because it has no feelings, true wisdom cannot be attained through thought. We should realize it before words and thoughts arise. Only when the mind opens completely can we understand the Dao of true emptiness and wondrous presence.

The great, constant Dao governs small changes. People use it every day without knowing it. The marvels described earlier, too, do not yet count as true marvels. Hence the saying: “The great principle cannot be fully expressed in words, and true great wisdom cannot be attained through thought and conjecture.” This chapter explains that the great, constant Dao governs small changes, while ordinary people use it in daily life without realizing it.

The above is Chapter Three.

Guan Yin said: Someone asked me, “What clan and lineage are you from? What is your name, and what is your courtesy name? What clothes do you wear, and what do you eat? Who are your friends and servants? What zither do you play, and what books do you read? Do you belong to ancient times or to the present?” At the time, I remained silent and did not say a word.

Someone asked me, “What is your family name? What are your given name and courtesy name? What clothes do you wear, and what do you eat? Whom do you befriend, and whom do you employ as servants? What qin do you play, and what books do you read? Which ancients do you take as your teachers, what principles do you follow, and what sort of things do you do in the present day?”

I remained silent and did not answer, without saying a single word. This was a subtle demonstration of “teaching without words,” a way of teaching that does not rely on speech. So why ask what I wear and eat, whom I befriend, whom I employ as servants, what qin I play and books I read, which ancient I follow as a teacher, or what I do in the present day? I remained silent the whole time and gave no answer.

The person kept pressing me. With no choice, I replied, “You have not even seen me. What, then, could you take to be mine?”

These words hint at a more profound level of verbal insight—words that guide a person to sudden awakening. The person did not understand and continued to question me. I had no choice but to reply again: “You cannot even see the ‘I.’ In the realm of true emptiness, what could there be to call mine?” Hence the saying: “You cannot even see me; what, then, could you take to be mine?”

The passage on the right is Chapter Four.

Guan Yin said: The physical form can divide and it can combine; it can endure and it can disappear. One man and one woman can give birth to two children: this is the physical form dividing. Two people, one man and one woman, can combine to form a single child: this is the physical form combining. Eating giant dodder seeds (a kind of sesame) can prolong life; this is the physical form being extended. At night, without moonlight or lamps, people cannot see; this is the physical form disappearing.

Those who have attained the Dao to a profound degree seem to have their flesh and bones dissolve. Their body and spirit together reach a mysterious state. They can divide themselves into hundreds of millions of forms without considering that too many, or combine into a single whole without considering that too few. They can also make their physical form disappear.

Those who have attained the Dao deeply have shed their flesh and bones, and their body and spirit have become equally wondrous. They can divide themselves into hundreds of millions of bodies without finding them too many, or gather hundreds of millions of bodies into one without finding it too few. Even after countless eons, they will not be destroyed. The body can therefore prolong life or disappear from sight, in ways too subtle to fathom. Thus, the body can divide and unite, endure and vanish.

Knowing that people might find this hard to believe, the text explains it through familiar things. A couple who have twins can serve as an analogy for the body dividing. Two people who unite and have one child can serve as an analogy for the body becoming one. When people eat giant sesame, a plant related to sesame, they can live longer; this can serve as an analogy for the body enduring. At night, without moonlight or lamplight, people cannot see themselves; this can serve as an analogy for the body vanishing from sight. Thus, a couple having two children symbolizes the body’s ability to divide; two people uniting to have one child symbolizes its ability to become one; eating giant sesame and living longer symbolizes its ability to endure; and being unable to see oneself on a moonless, fireless night symbolizes its ability to vanish.

Giant sesame: the small-seeded kind is called husk-seed, while the large-seeded kind is called giant sesame. It grows in Shangdang County in Youzhou, mostly in open fields, and its stalks rise more than three feet high. Its seeds resemble tiny burdock seeds and are blue-black. They are gathered in the eighth month. Immortals cook and eat them, and they are said to bring long life. Legend has it that Han Zhong ate them for a hundred years before he began to age. His life was extended to a thousand years, after which no one knew where he went.

All things arise from a single Qi, the original vital energy. This is like fallen hair being replaced by new hair, and so the body can divide. A single Qi brings all things together, like a split lip that can still be mended, and so the body can become one. Guard Qi with Shen, and sustain the body with Qi, and the body can endure. Bring the body together with Shen, then bring Shen together with nothingness, and the body can vanish. Do you wish to know these principles? Do you wish to put them into practice?

In the past, I often used worldly things as metaphors to help students understand the principles. Now I will explain them through the workings of the true, wondrous Dao.

Those who have attained the Dao deeply reach a mysterious state in both body and spirit, and their transformations are beyond measure. They can use a single Qi to bring forth countless forms, like human hair, which falls out and grows again without end. This shows that forms can divide. Thus, a single Qi can give rise to the myriad things; just as hair grows back after falling out, so forms can divide.

Gather the countless forms born from a single Qi and bring them together again as one body, just as a split lip can heal and become whole. This shows that forms can unite. Thus, a single Qi can bring the myriad things back together; just as a damaged lip can mend, so forms can become one.

Use the spirit that seems to be Wuwei (non-action) yet is wondrous in its workings. Maintain emptiness, stillness, and clarity, and the original Qi—the vital energy at the root of life—will become balanced and cease to dissipate. Persist in this over time, and both body and spirit will reach a mysterious state, bringing long life without death. This shows that forms can endure. Thus, spirit guards Qi, and Qi nourishes the body: this is the way to extend bodily life.

Bring body and spirit together, then bring spirit into union with the wondrous Dao of the limitless. This Dao is hidden and profound, beyond the sight of spirits and ghosts and beyond measure in its Yin-Yang transformations. This shows that forms can disappear. Thus, the body unites with spirit, and spirit unites with emptiness: this is the way to conceal one’s form.

Do you students wish to know this wondrous Dao? Do you wish to practice it? This Dao cannot be known through thought or attained through deliberate action. It can only be realized within the heart and silently attuned to the Dao. That is why I ask: “Do you wish to know it? Do you wish to practice it?” This chapter explains that those who understand the Great Dao can freely divide, unite, preserve, or conceal their forms.

Guan Yin Zi said: If there is nothing that cannot be seen, then nothing lies outside my sight. If there is nothing that cannot be heard, then nothing lies outside my hearing.

The forms taken by the myriad things in the world belong to “forms and colors,” the external shapes and colors seen by the eyes. Once the Dao Eye, the vision that perceives the Great Dao, is fully opened, all things can be seen. In everything one sees, one can experience the Dao. Thus, there is nothing that cannot be seen, and nothing that lies outside my field of sight and awareness.

The movements, stillness, and sounds of the myriad things in the world belong to “sounds,” the external sounds heard by the ears. Once the Heavenly Hearing, the faculty that perceives the Great Dao, is fully opened, no sound goes unheard. In everything one hears, one can experience the Dao. Thus, there is no sound that cannot be heard, and no sound that lies outside my hearing and awareness.

The five kinds of material things can nourish the body, and all things are connected to my physical form. The five flavors can nourish the breath, and all things are also connected to my breath. Thus, my physical form and breath are linked to all things between Heaven and Earth.

As the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) shift and transform, Yin-Yang circulates and transforms, giving rise to the grains in forms with ridges, chambers, awns, horns, and ears, which nourish the human body. The physical forms of all things between Heaven and Earth are generated through the transformations of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases; my own physical form comes from them as well. From this, we can see that nothing between Heaven and Earth is unrelated to my physical form. That is why it is said that the five kinds of material things can nourish the body, and all things are connected to my physical form. As for the Qi of the Five Phases…