《文始真经注》Vol. 4

The five flavors—sour, salty, sweet, pungent, and bitter—produced by the transformations of nature can nourish the Qi of the five organs when people consume them. All things are generated from the Qi of the Five Phases, and our bodies, too, are generated from the Qi of the Five Phases. From this, we can see that everything is composed of my Qi. Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things can all be said to be my body and my Qi. Thus, the five flavors can nourish Qi, and everything in Heaven and Earth belongs to my Qi. This chapter explains that Heaven and Earth came into being together with me, and that the myriad things and I are seamlessly one.

Guan Yin Zi said: “Those who farm become coarse from their familiarity with oxen; those who hunt become brave from their familiarity with tigers; those who fish become skilled at diving from their familiarity with water; those who wage war become nimble and strong from their familiarity with horses. Anything among the myriad things can influence me.”

Here, “coarse” means rough and fierce, dull and slow. Those who farm, after long driving and keeping company with oxen, gradually become rough and forceful in temperament. Those who hunt, after long pursuing and killing tigers and leopards, become brave and bold. Those who fish, after spending a long time by the water, gradually grow accustomed to diving in to catch fish. Those who go to war, after riding horses for a long time and keeping company with fine steeds, become nimble and light in their movements. Human nature is originally quiet and still, but prolonged exposure to habits and external things leaves attachments, gradually making people resemble what they encounter. This shows that the qualities of external things can, through long familiarity, become qualities in a person. That is why anything among the myriad things can influence us.

Within my body, small roundworms and large intestinal worms can arise; on its surface, lice and fleas can breed in warmth and dampness. When sores develop, they may even resemble turtles, fish, rats, or insects. I, too, may become any of the myriad things.

Roundworms are small worms in the abdomen, while intestinal worms are large ones. When people eat different foods, the Yin-Yang Qi within their bodies changes, and these worms may arise. Lice and fleas, meanwhile, breed when the body and clothing are warm and infused with the vapor of sweat. The term “hen” refers to a sore. In ancient times, someone developed a sore on his back, and a turtle gradually grew inside it. It stretched out its head and craved flesh, causing him such suffering that he died. Another person developed a sore on his waist, from which something like a fish grew; whenever it moved, the pain was unbearable. The term “huan” also refers to a sore: someone developed one on his neck, where a lump of flesh resembling a rat grew. There was also a monk who disliked the mantises on a railing and burned them with fire. A few days later, sores appeared on his own body, and when they burst open, many mantises were inside.

Roundworms and intestinal worms arise within the human body; lice and fleas breed on its surface, nurtured by the vapor of sweat. Illness can also cause sores, in which creatures resembling turtles, fish, rats, and mantises may appear. From this we can understand that I, too, may become any of the myriad things. Thus it is said: worms arise within the body, lice and fleas on its surface, and sores may produce turtles, fish, rats, and mantises; I, too, may become any of the myriad things. This chapter explains that attachment to the self makes one believe that the myriad things and oneself transform into one another. If one can be without a self, the transformations of creation can no longer control one.

This concludes Chapter Seven.

Guan Yin Zi said: The way I became “myself” is like gold hidden in ashes, not like gold in ore or sand. Break apart ore and you can obtain gold; wash sand and you can obtain gold. But if you merely stir ashes, you could search your whole life and never find gold.

The “I” spoken of here is the mind that can act autonomously and distinguish between objects and itself. The mind is like fire. When there is no attachment to an “I,” fire depends on conditions such as oil and wood to appear in the form of flame. Once the oil and wood are used up, only ashes remain. The mind has no fixed self to begin with; it merely distinguishes things in response to external conditions. To forget one’s original mind is like searching for gold in ashes.

The “I” is the mind that senses and distinguishes external things, and imagines that it is in control. The mind is like fire: in itself, it has no fixed “I.” Its flame takes shape only because of oil and firewood. When they are used up, the fire turns to ashes. The mind is originally without a self; it is only when it encounters external conditions that feelings and distinctions about them arise. If we let go of this distinguishing mind, we also dissolve the imagined “I” that thinks it is in control. So the so-called “I” is like gold supposedly hidden in ashes: there is no gold in the ashes, just as there is no “I” in the mind.

Ore is mineral rock that contains gold. Gold-bearing sand serves as a metaphor for the six sense objects—form, sound, fragrance, taste, touch, and mental objects, which are encountered through the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. The gold in the sand represents the mind. To extract gold, one must search for it in the ore: break up and smelt the rock, then wash away the sand and stones before the gold can be obtained. If one merely scatters ashes, one could spend an entire lifetime searching and never find any gold.

This metaphor shows that the mind is originally without a self and appears only through the conditions of the six sense objects. To see the mind, one should carefully observe those objects and realize their source through the changing flow of experience. This is the subtle art of awakening by following the flow back to its source, and finding the source by tracing it. When the six sense objects are entirely purified, the mind returns to true emptiness. Even a divine eye or a dragon’s eye could not see it, much less the eyes of ordinary people. Thus the mind is not like gold in mineral sand, which can be obtained by breaking up ore and washing away sand. Scattering ashes will never yield gold, even after a lifetime. This chapter explains that the “I” is originally no self at all; it is only falsely established through external conditions.

Guan Yin Zi said: Even a tiny bee can travel about and take in the world between Heaven and Earth; even a tiny drop of water can roam freely through the vast ocean.

Bees and tiny shrimp, though minute, can roam and observe between Heaven and Earth, and swim freely in the vast sea. Heaven and Earth and the sea serve as metaphors for the Great Dao. Though human beings are small, they can comprehend the boundless Great Dao. The Great Dao transcends the distinction between ordinary people and sages, and extends far beyond the domain of Yin-Yang. “Roam and observe” and “swim freely” both describe ease and contentment. This chapter explains that although human beings are small, they can comprehend the Great Dao.

The foregoing is Chapter Nine.

Guan Yin Zi said: “Clay figures may be made as nobles or commoners, as scholars or women, but their substance is all clay. Can they truly be called human beings?”

Whether shaped as officials or servants, men or women, clay figures are made entirely of clay. Seeing their outward forms, people distinguish rank and gender, forgetting that they are all originally clay. This means that although people differ in rank and gender, their bodies are only temporary unions of the four elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—like dust gathering together or foam congealing on water. Why arbitrarily distinguish between noble and lowly, male and female? This chapter explains that people are deluded by forms assembled only temporarily, and arbitrarily distinguish between rank and gender.

The foregoing is Chapter Ten.

Guan Yin Zi said: “The eyes see, yet the eyes themselves have no color; the ears hear sounds, yet the ears themselves have no sound; the tongue tastes flavors, yet the tongue itself has no flavor; the mind weighs and judges, yet the mind itself has no fixed object. Ordinary people pursue external things, the worthy hold fast to the mind within, while sages see that both are human fabrications.”

The foregoing is Chapter Eleven.

The eyes are one of the six faculties, the senses through which we perceive the outside world. Forms and colors are among the six sense objects, external phenomena that enter the senses and give rise to distinctions. Only when the eyes stop chasing external forms and colors and turn inward can we experience their original purity: from the beginning, there has been no sense object of color. Hence the saying, “The eyes look within themselves; in the eyes, there is no color.”

The ears are one of the six faculties, and sounds are among the six sense objects. Only when the ears stop chasing sounds and turn their hearing inward can we experience their original purity: from the beginning, there has been no sense object of sound. Hence the saying, “The ears listen to themselves; in the ears, there is no sound.”

The tongue is one of the six faculties, and flavors are among the six sense objects. Only when the tongue stops chasing flavors and turns its tasting inward can we experience its original purity: from the beginning, there has been no sense object of flavor. Hence the saying, “The tongue tastes itself; on the tongue, there is no flavor.”

The mind, too, belongs to the six faculties. “Things” refers to phenomena such as objects and ideas, which are also sense objects. Only when the mind stops attaching itself to these phenomena and instead turns inward to observe, assess, and reflect on itself can we experience its original purity: from the beginning, there have been no external objects or ideas as sense objects. Hence the saying, “The mind assesses itself; in the mind, there are no external things.”

Sentient beings are drawn along by the six sense objects—forms and colors, sounds, scents, flavors, tangible things, and mental phenomena—and chase after external things, thereby losing their original nature. Hence the saying, “People chase after external things.” The worthy try to leave external things behind and grasp what is inwardly true. But as long as they distinguish what to abandon and what to take up, and cling to what they hold fast, they become attached to principle. This becomes an “obstruction of principle”—being bound by what one oneself accepts as principle—and leads them away from the Great Dao. Hence the saying, “The worthy cling to what is within.”

Sages are not tainted by the external six sense objects, and so see through the illusory nature of the obstacles posed by things. Nor do they accept or reject, or cling to, inward principle; they therefore see that the obstruction of principle is just as illusory. Hence the saying, “The sages regard all of these as illusory.” This is because sages do not remain fixed in the past, present, or future—the “three divisions of time”—and do not cling to either side of any division, such as inner and outer. This chapter explains that the mind is originally pure and should not settle at either end of time or on either side of inner and outer.

The above is Chapter Eleven.

Guan Yin Zi says: My body is composed of the Qi of the Five Phases, yet the nature of the Qi of the Five Phases ultimately belongs to one and the same thing.

The Qi of the body’s five viscera each corresponds to one of the Five Phases: Liver Qi corresponds to Wood and harbors the Hun; Heart Qi corresponds to Fire and harbors the Shen; Lung Qi corresponds to Metal and harbors the Po; Kidney Qi corresponds to Water and harbors Jing; and Spleen Qi corresponds to Earth and harbors the Yi. When the five spirits—Jing, Shen, Hun, Po, and Yi—each return to their original nature, this is called “the five Qi converging at the origin”: the Qi of the Five Phases returns to its source. Thus, although the human body contains the Qi of the Five Phases, their nature is in fact one. The return of the five spirits to their original nature and the return of the five Qi to their source both describe the wondrous nature in which all things are originally undivided; all things are simply the wondrous workings of that nature.

For example, a single place can yield fire and water, produce wood, condense into metal, and transform into earth. This is because the original nature can contain and manifest the Five Phases, which are originally without distinction.

After the five spirits return to their original nature and the five Qi return to their source, this same nature can still give rise to spirit-fire, essence-water, Hun-wood, Po-metal, and Yi-earth. In other words, the original nature contains the Five Phases, which are indistinguishable when viewed from their source.

Thus, when feathered creatures flourish, furry creatures cannot reproduce; when furry creatures flourish, scaled creatures cannot reproduce. One who understands how the Five Phases interact can forget the self.

The passage mentions three of the five kinds of creatures; the other two can be understood by analogy. The five kinds are scaled, feathered, furry, shelled, and naked creatures—the last being creatures without shells or feathers. Feathered creatures correspond to Fire, and furry creatures to Metal. When the Qi of Fire is at its height, Metal cannot arise; thus one can forget the self.

Three of the five kinds of creatures have been discussed, so the remaining two can be inferred. The Five Worms are scaled creatures, feathered creatures, furry creatures, shelled creatures, and naked creatures—those without scales, feathers, fur, or shells. Feathered creatures belong to Fire, and furry creatures belong to Metal. When Fire is at its height, Metal cannot grow; therefore, when feathered creatures flourish, furry creatures cannot reproduce. Here, “grow” means to grow and reproduce.

Furry creatures belong to Metal, and scaled creatures belong to Wood. When Metal Qi is at its height, Wood cannot grow; therefore, when furry creatures flourish, scaled creatures cannot reproduce. From this, we can infer that when scaled creatures flourish, naked creatures cannot reproduce. Naked creatures belong to Earth, and when Wood is flourishing, Earth cannot grow. When naked creatures flourish, shelled creatures cannot reproduce. Shelled creatures belong to Water, and when Earth is flourishing, Water cannot grow. When shelled creatures flourish, feathered creatures cannot reproduce, because when Water is flourishing, Fire cannot grow.

From this we can also infer: if the heart does not arise, intention cannot take shape; if intention does not arise, the Po soul cannot take shape; if the Po soul does not arise, Jing cannot take shape; if Jing does not arise, the Hun soul cannot take shape; if the Hun soul does not arise, Shen cannot take shape; and if Shen does not arise, the heart cannot take shape. If the heart does not arise, there is no “self” to forget. Thus, by understanding how the Five Phases interact, one can forget the self. This chapter explains that the Dao is the source of the Five Phases, and that one’s nature is the source of the Five Shen.

The above is Chapter Twelve.

Guan Yinzi says: A dried tortoise shell has no self, yet can reveal great wisdom; a lodestone has no self, yet can reveal great power; bells and drums have no self, yet can produce grand sounds; boats and carts have no self, yet can carry people far.

“Having no self” means having no mind attached to the idea of “I.” A dried tortoise shell has no mind of its own, yet when people consult it in divination with sincere intent, they can read the signs and discern good and ill fortune in the future. Does this not reveal remarkable wisdom? Thus the dried tortoise shell, having no self, can reveal great wisdom.

A lodestone has no intention of its own, yet bring a needle near it and the needle is drawn toward it. Does this not reveal immense power? Thus the lodestone, having no self, can reveal great power.

A bell or drum has no intention of its own. When people strike it, its sound carries far. Does this not produce a resounding sound? Thus bells and drums, having no self, can produce a great sound.

A boat or cart has no intention of its own, yet powered by water or oxen, it carries goods to distant places. Does this not make long journeys possible? Thus boats and carts, having no self, can make long journeys.

So, although this body of mine has perception, strength, voice, and the capacity to act, there has never been within it a self that clings and will not let go.

The sage has no mind, yet nothing is unknown to him; he sees through the principles of all things. The sage has no strength, yet there is no power he cannot bring into play, and no demon dares invade him. He has no voice, yet can utter all manner of wondrous sounds. He does not cling to action, yet there is nowhere he cannot reach; in an instant, he can travel through the Ten Directions—the four quarters, above, and below. Yet he never clings to a self, nor to the thoughts of his own mind.

This chapter explains the principle of having no self, and presents it as a state of perfect goodness.

The above is Chapter Thirteen.

Guan Yin Zi said: Even an ant, if it strikes a shadow, can bring about my death. If you understand that even what has no awareness or sensation is also me, then I am everywhere under Heaven.

“Domain” refers to an aquatic animal, also called “Short Arc” or “Water Crossbow.” It resembles a turtle with three legs and is three to five inches long. It is mostly found in the south. It can hold sand in its mouth and shoot it at a person’s shadow, causing that person to die. Thus, when the Domain strikes someone’s shadow, it can take their life.

From this we can understand that a shadow itself has no awareness. The Domain strikes only the shadow, yet it can cause a person to die. This shows that even something without awareness can be called “I.” Once we understand that unaware things, too, may be called “I,” we will know that everything under Heaven, whether conscious or without feeling and awareness, is “I.” The “I” spoken of here is the “I” beyond personal distinctions, the “I” of no-self: its essence is like empty space and is present everywhere. Thus, understanding that unaware things also belong to “I” reveals that there is nowhere under Heaven that is not within “I.” This chapter explains that this “I” of no-self is the wondrous Dao, and that the wondrous Dao is everywhere.

Guan Yin Zi said: When the mind is occupied with something, one may forget hunger; when the heart is angry, one may forget the cold; one who is skilled at nurturing the heart may forget illness; when stirred to action, one may forget pain.

If a person’s thoughts are focused on the wondrous Dao, they can experience that it is present everywhere.

Guan Yin Zi said: When the mind is occupied with something, one may forget hunger; when the heart is angry, one may forget the cold; one who is skilled at nurturing the heart may forget illness; when stirred to action, one may forget pain.

A person who is wholly absorbed in something may go the entire day without noticing hunger. Hence, “One whose mind is occupied may forget hunger.” In the bitter cold of midwinter, amid ice and snow, someone inflamed by anger may stand bare-chested and bare-armed in the freezing wind, sweating profusely and even forgetting the cold. Hence, “One whose heart is angry may forget the cold.” Some virtuous people in the world are skilled at nurturing their spirit. Even when faced with danger or struck by serious illness, they remain unshaken and untroubled, as if they had forgotten their pain. Hence, “One who nurtures the heart may forget illness.” When two people provoke one another and fight, they may even injure each other’s bodies without noticing the pain for a time. Hence, “One stirred to action may forget pain.”

If one can regulate the breath and nourish Qi (vital energy), keeping the body calm and balanced, who could make them hungry? If one gathers the spirit and nourishes Qi, warming the body from within, who could make them cold? If one cares for the five organs in accordance with the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the body will not be harmed; who could make them ill? If one brings the five organs into accord with the Five Phases without clinging to sensations, who could make them feel pain?

The commentator explains that ordinary people, though they have thoughts, may temporarily forget hunger, cold, illness, and pain because of such states as remembering, anger, nourishment, or excitement. How much more so for someone who has understood the Great Dao and harbors no attachments? They harmonize their original Qi, making the breath long and steady. Thus it is said that they could eat a hundred times in one day, or go a hundred days without eating and feel no hunger. This describes the state brought about by regulating the breath and nourishing Qi; it is not advice about everyday eating.

Someone who has understood the Great Dao gathers the spirit and nourishes Qi. Their spirit is full, and the true fire within warms them, enabling them to withstand severe cold. When the five organs are at peace and in harmony, Qi and blood flow freely, the five spirits are clear, and the five Qi are abundant, illness is less likely. The commentator further says that each of the five organs corresponds to one of the Five Phases: the heart to Fire, the liver to Wood, the spleen to Earth, the lungs to Metal, and the kidneys to Water. If one no longer clings to sensations, then even with a sharp blade at the neck, one can feel no pain, as though having one’s hair cut or dirt removed. These statements explain the state of Daoist cultivation described in the scripture.

This chapter says that people attached to the self find it hard to escape hunger, cold, illness, and pain, while those who understand the Great Dao and harbor no attachments can transcend the hold of these sufferings.

This is the fifteenth chapter of the right-hand section. Guanyinzi said: Do not think that only ignorance and inaction count as selflessness. Even with knowledge and purposeful action, one may still attain a state free of self.

The earlier examples of the dried tortoise shell, lodestone, bells and drums, boats and carts were meant to prevent people from taking “not knowing and not acting” simply to mean “no self.” Here, those who cultivate the Dao are again cautioned not to think that being as insentient and inactive as lifeless objects is what “no self” means. Understood this way, one would fall into a dark, obstructed state, wandering as if in a ghost’s lair beneath a black mountain.

The true state is “not knowing, yet knowing everything; not acting, yet doing everything.” The mind remains still and quiet, yet responds to whatever arises and naturally understands it. Knowing and acting do not prevent one from attaining “no self.” So do not take not knowing and not acting as the only standard for no self; one can know and act and still be without self.

Take fire, for example: it is ceaselessly restless, yet it has never had a fixed “self.”

It has already been explained that knowing and acting do not prevent no self. To make this easier to accept, the author offers fire as an analogy. Fire has no fixed form of its own; it appears through fuel such as firewood. As it burns, it is ceaselessly restless, yet it has no independent, unchanging self. True emptiness and stillness, too, can adapt to circumstances while abiding in quiet and remaining without self.

This chapter explains that true emptiness and no self are not bound by limitations or confined to knowing or not knowing, acting or not acting.

Right: This concludes Chapter Sixteen.

The sixth volume of Annotations on the True Scripture of Wen Shi ends here.

The following notes record textual variants and emendations. In the first two sentences, the Guan Yin Zi reads, “People in the world regard what they see briefly as a dream, and what they see for a long time as waking life.” In one sentence, both the Guan Yin Zi and the Supreme and Unexcelled Wondrous Dao True Scripture of Wen Shi read, “There has never been one who was not so.” The phrase “a person who is devoted to practicing what is right and fitting” is likely a corruption of “a person devoted to practicing what is right.” In another sentence, both texts read, “Yet in a dream one may hear of some matter.” Before “the dream also changes accordingly,” both texts read “struggle.” In the sentence about “self and others,” both texts read, “Others do not see me.” In another sentence, both texts read, “All things can become me,” without the character “by means of.”

The seventh volume of Annotations on the True Scripture of Wen Shi, directly explained by Niu Daochun, the Carefree Master of Shenfeng, is entitled “The Chapter of the Seven Cauldrons.” “Cauldron” carries the sense of transformation. This chapter has thirteen sections.

Guan Yin Zi says: The Dao is originally utterly empty and without form. When a matter is entrusted to the Dao, one who has attained the Dao needs only a single breath. Matters themselves are real and substantial; when the Dao is applied to them, every kind of affair can be handled completely.

“Nonbeing” refers to genuine emptiness and stillness. The highest Dao is empty and still in its original state. To return from function to essence, one need only realize this in the space between a single inhalation and exhalation. Thus, the root of Dao lies in “the utmost nonbeing.” Likewise, when one turns from concrete things back toward Dao, what one gains is found within a single breath. Here, “things” refers to function, while “being” refers to subtle existence. When this subtle existence gives rise to function, essence and function become mutually present and mutually sustaining, and responses to change have no end. Thus, the root of things lies in “the utmost being.” When Dao is used to engage with things, it can bring forth countless functions.

Those who attain Dao and reach a state of supreme eminence can assist the world; those who attain Dao and reach a state of uniqueness can establish the true self.

“Eminence” means the highest honor. By abiding in Dao’s supreme state, one can assist the world, bringing stability to society and benefiting others. Hence, those who attain Dao and become eminent can assist the world. “To use” means to apply; “unique” means without equal; and “self” refers to the essence of true emptiness. By abiding in Dao’s state of uniqueness, one can govern its subtle functions and return the essence to true emptiness, thereby fulfilling oneself. Hence, those who attain Dao and become independent and unequaled can establish the true self.

Those who understand that Dao is not bound by time can regard a single day as a hundred years, and a hundred years as a single day.

To realize the Dao is to understand the truth. The “Dao” spoken of here is the Dao of wondrous presence within true emptiness, beyond the grasp of words and thought. Those who truly realize this Dao have a mind like the Great Void, beyond the limits of time and lifespan. Everything that has form eventually passes away: the sea can dry up, mountains can collapse, the sun and moon can grow dim, and Heaven and Earth can be destroyed. Only the Dao of true emptiness is beyond time. It can take a day as ten million years, or ten million years as a day. Thus, one who understands that the Dao is not bound by time can take a day as a hundred years, or a hundred years as a day.

One who understands that the Dao is not bound by location can take one li as a hundred li, or a hundred li as one li.

The Dao is formless by nature and unobstructed by the Ten Directions, a Buddhist and Daoist term for all directions. Its mystery is supreme and free of self-interest, unconstrained by the Eight Extremities, the farthest reaches in the eight directions. It needs no haste to move swiftly, and need not walk to arrive. Its substance is like the Great Void, and so are its workings. Realizing this, one can travel within a single li as though reaching beyond the Eight Wilds, the most distant and desolate places; one can also treat a journey across the Eight Wilds as a single li. Thus, one who understands that the Dao is not bound by location can take one li as a hundred li, or a hundred li as one li.

One who understands that the Dao itself has no Qi, yet can transform Qi that has taken form, can summon wind and rain.

To realize the highest Dao is to understand the Dao as it was before Qi came into being. The Dao transforms and brings forth Qi, then sets Yin-Yang in motion, giving rise to wind and rain. Those of profound cultivation can quietly work its wondrous power from within true emptiness, at once drawing clouds and thunder and summoning wind and rain. “Summoning wind and rain” here describes the Dao’s power to transform the Qi of Heaven and Earth.

One who understands that the Dao itself is formless, yet can transform things that have form, can change the forms of birds and beasts.

Those who attain the Dao possess boundless spiritual powers and can roam freely with the forces that bring forth and transform all things. They can turn the formless into the formed and return the formed to the formless. They move at will between appearing and disappearing, and can even transform birds into beasts and beasts into birds. Their wondrous powers extend in every direction, with transformations without end. Thus, one who understands that the formless Dao can give rise to form can even change the shapes of crows and beasts.

Those who attain the Dao and are pure and still are not burdened by external things. Their body and mind are light and nimble, so they can ride phoenixes and cranes.

The Dao itself is neither pure nor turbid, yet it can manifest as both. Those who attain the Dao are pure and unstained, like empty space. How could anything burden the void? Their body and spirit reach a wondrous state and merge with true emptiness—a state beyond form and substance, with nothing to impede them. They are so light that they have not the slightest weight; without needing a mount, they can reach beyond the ten directions—the farthest reaches in every direction—in an instant. At times they reveal miraculous transformations to awaken the foolish and deluded. At other times they ride phoenixes or travel on colored clouds, inspiring people at different levels to set their hearts on the Dao. Thus, those who attain the Dao and are pure and still are not burdened by external things; their body and mind are light and nimble, and they can ride phoenixes and cranes. The legends tell, for example, of Wei Shuqing riding a white crane, and Prince Jin playing a flute as he rode a phoenix up to heaven.

Those who attain the Dao and are deep and generous are not overwhelmed by external things. Their bodies can disappear from view, so they can sit upon flood dragons and whales as though they were mats.

Those who attain the Dao live in the world among ordinary people without being stained by worldly customs. They mingle with the light and dust without displaying themselves, concealing themselves to the utmost. Thus, those who attain the Dao and are deep and generous are not overwhelmed by external things, and their bodies can disappear from view. “Not being overwhelmed” means remaining unstained; “the body disappearing” means being able to hide oneself. At times they also reveal spiritual powers, using flood dragons and whales as seats and riding them as they roam through the Great Void, the boundless expanse of Heaven and Earth. Ancient tales, for instance, say that Yu the Great rode a dragon to channel the many rivers, Li Taibai rode a flood dragon, Liu Zhigu rode a golden carp, and Qin Gao rode a red carp up to heaven.

Being is nonbeing, and nonbeing is being. Those who understand this can command ghosts and spirits.

“Being” is the function through which the mysterious Dao manifests; “nonbeing” is the Dao’s true, empty essence. Function is essence, and essence is function. To understand this principle is like the ancient legend of riding a golden carp, or of Qin Gao ascending to Heaven on a red carp: one can move freely between being and nonbeing.

Being is nonbeing, and nonbeing is being. Those who understand this principle can subdue spirits and deities.

“Being” is the function of the mysterious Dao; “nonbeing” is the Dao’s true, empty essence. Essence and function are originally one. Realizing this allows one to subdue and command spirits and deities. The commentary cites Liu Gen, who was skilled at commanding spirits and deities, and a Celestial Master (Tianshi) of the Han dynasty who subdued them in Chengdu.

The solid is the empty, and the empty is the solid. Those who understand this principle can enter metal and stone.

“Solid” means substantial existence, and “empty” means true emptiness. True emptiness and substantial existence are the essence and function of the Supreme Way; the two are inseparable. Realizing that essence and function are one makes it possible for emptiness and solidity to interpenetrate, so that one can pass through water and fire and enter metal and stone without hindrance.

Above is below, and below is above. Those who understand this principle can attend upon the stars.

“Above” refers to the mysterious Great Dao that precedes the Five Greats; “below” refers to the Highest De and the various practices. The mysterious Great Dao is essence, and virtuous conduct is function. Since essence and function arise from the same source, above and below are one. Realizing this principle makes all things and phenomena capable of serving as attendants—that is, what the scripture means by “attending upon the stars.”

The past is the present, and the present is the past. Those who understand this principle can divine with tortoiseshell and milfoil.

In ancient times, people spoke of the principles underlying things; today, they speak of particular events. Take principle as the foundation and events as its application: both foundation and application accord with nature. Someone who truly understands this principle is inwardly still, without reckless movement. When responding to things encountered in the world, they can meet them with understanding. It is like divination with milfoil stalks: the auspicious sign that appears will surely come to pass, because the heart is sincere and free of delusion. Thus, ancient times are the present, and the present is ancient times. Those who understand this principle can divine with tortoiseshell and milfoil.

Others are myself, and I am others. Someone who understands this principle can discern what is in another person’s heart.

Here, “others” refers to external conditions, while “I” refers to one’s own mind. When neither mind nor circumstances are clung to, understanding of the Dao opens into clarity. Understand this, and you can both see nothing and see everything, thereby discerning the deepest thoughts in another person’s heart. This is called “the ability to know the minds of others.” Thus, others are myself, and I am others; for this reason, one can discern what lies in another person’s heart.

External things are myself, and I am external things. Someone who understands this principle can cultivate the Dragon and Tiger within the abdomen.

Heaven, Earth, and I came into being together; the myriad things and I are one. Understand this, and you will know that your liver is no different from another person’s liver and lungs.

External things are myself, and I am external things. Someone who understands this principle can cultivate the Dragon and Tiger within the abdomen.

Heaven, Earth, and I came into being together; the myriad things and I are one. Someone who understands this can transform the spirit housed in their liver into a dragon, and the spirit housed in their lungs into a tiger, ride them, and roam through the realm of Great Purity (the pure celestial domain of Daoism). Thus, external things are myself, and I am external things. Someone who understands this principle can cultivate the Dragon and Tiger within the abdomen.

Understand that the myriad forms change through the mind, and use this to contemplate your own mind; then you can cultivate the Girl Child.

The myriad forms of the world all appear through transformations of mind and spirit. Contemplate this closely, and you will understand that the mind’s true substance is originally empty, yet contains subtle workings. The spirit housed in the heart transforms into the “Maiden,” while the spirit housed in the kidneys transforms into the “Infant Brother.” The Maiden and the Infant Brother unite, joining nature and life as one and thereby transcending life and death. Thus, understanding that the myriad forms change through the mind, and using this to contemplate the mind, enables one to cultivate the Girl Child.

Understand that Qi arises from the mind, and use this to draw in spirit and Qi; then you can cultivate the “cold furnace.”

Where the mind directs its thoughts, Qi (vital energy) follows. From this we can understand that Qi arises from the mind. When the mind understands the state of true emptiness, it becomes clear and pure, like still water. By regulating the breath and guiding Qi, so that breath and spirit energy flow long and continuously without interruption, the heart’s fire descends and the kidneys’ water rises. When water and fire are harmonized, the “Great Elixir” can be refined—the Neidan (internal alchemy) state in which Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit) are gathered together. If a person can cultivate and ingest it, they can forever transcend the afflictions of birth and death. Thus, by understanding that Qi arises from the mind, one can use the breath to regulate spirit energy and treat the body as the furnace and vessel for refining the Elixir. The “tiger and dragon” and the “infant” mentioned earlier, and the “furnace and forge” discussed here, show that later sages took alchemical refinement as a metaphor for cultivating the Dao; its source lies here.

By means of this Dao, one can prevail over external things and tame tigers and leopards. By means of this Dao, one can become one with all things and enter water and fire without harm.

Those who attain the Dao possess the highest Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Their radiance is resplendent, and all things honor them. Tigers and leopards submit to them and may even serve as their mounts. Thus it is said that by means of this Dao one can prevail over external things and tame tigers and leopards. Those who attain the Dao take the Supreme Dao as their substance and are one with the Great Void—the vast, formless emptiness. How could water and fire drown or burn the Void? Those who understand the Great Dao are not separate from the myriad things. Even when floods cover the sky, they are not drowned; even when severe drought melts metal and stone and scorches earthen hills, they feel no heat. Thus it is said that by means of this Dao one can become one with all things and enter water and fire.

Only those who are Adepts of the Dao can do these things. They are capable of doing them, yet may choose not to.

The eighteen wondrous abilities mentioned above range from assisting in worldly affairs and achieving great deeds to traveling a hundred miles in a day, summoning wind and rain, transforming birds and beasts, riding phoenixes and cranes, using a patterned whale as a seat, subduing ghosts and spirits, passing through metal and stone, attending upon the stars, divining good and ill fortune, seeing into people’s hearts, transforming into dragons and tigers, refining infant girls and working furnaces, subduing tigers and leopards, and entering and leaving water and fire. Only sages who have penetrated the Great Dao might possess such abilities. Yet even when they can perform them, they can choose not to.

Those who truly understand the Great Dao and cherish sincerity consider it best to keep their brilliance subdued and their traces hidden. Sages do not casually display wonders that alarm the ignorant and shock ordinary people. The eighteen abilities described above are all ways of dealing with particular matters. People of the Dao can use the Great Dao to master every kind of affair; in this sense, they can do anything, yet can also choose not to do it.

This chapter explains the substance and function of the Dao and De (Virtue/Power), whose transformations are inexhaustible. Sages, however, know how to conceal their radiance and avoid disturbing the ignorant people of the world with extraordinary displays.

The first chapter above

Guan Yinzi said: “At times, human power can wrest from Heaven and Earth the workings of creation.”

If people can understand the Great Dao, they can roam alongside the workings of creation in Heaven and Earth and grasp the mysteries by which Yin-Yang gives rise to the myriad things. That is why it is said that human power can sometimes wrest from Heaven and Earth the workings of creation.

For example, making thunder sound in winter and producing ice in summer; making a corpse walk and a withered tree blossom.

Those who realize the Great Dao can reverse Yin-Yang and alter the seasons: make thunder sound in winter and ice form in summer; turn creatures that fly into those that walk, and those that walk into those that fly. It is said that Lao Chengzi, who studied the Dao under Yin Wen, could bring life and death at will and perform such transformations, yet never used this ability to show off. Since ordinary people could not pass down these secret arts, the phrases “thunder in winter” and “ice in summer” came to describe them.

In ancient times, the Supreme Lord Lao cast the Tàixuán Life-Giving Talisman—a Fulu said to restore life—onto Xu Jia’s dry bones. Xu Jia immediately revived and could walk, hence the saying “a corpse can walk.” The Pure Yang Patriarch, Lü Dongbin, is said to have used an elixir to revive a withered willow in Anzhou and a withered locust tree in Laizhou, their branches and leaves growing lush again. Hence the saying “a withered tree can blossom.” These events, too, were regarded as miraculous arts beyond ordinary people’s ability to learn and pass on, so they were likewise described as “thunder in winter” and “ice in summer.”

Capturing Ghosts in Beans

In ancient times, the Perfected Master Guo Pu scattered several hundred small beans outside a wall, and every bean turned into a red-clad ghost. He summoned divine generals with Fulu, had them bind the ghosts one by one, and threw them into a well. Hence the saying “capturing ghosts in beans.”

Fishing in a Cup

In ancient times, the Perfected Master Zuo Ci was drinking with Cao Cao when he filled a bronze basin with water and cast in a fishing hook and bait. Before long, he caught a golden carp more than a foot long and cooked it to eat. Hence the saying “fishing a fish out of a cup.”

A Painted Door Can Open

This means that a door painted in a picture can be opened.

Emperor Taizong once ordered Wu Daozi to paint on the wall of a palace. Wu Daozi splashed ink onto the wall and covered it with a curtain. Much later, he drew back the curtain and invited Taizong to look. The painting contained mountains and rivers, plants and trees, people and dwellings, birds and beasts—everything was there. Before long, a cave entrance appeared beneath a rock. Pointing to it, Wu Daozi said, “Immortals live in here.” As he spoke, he knocked on the wall with his hand, and the cave entrance suddenly opened. Wu Daozi leapt inside, then beckoned Taizong to follow. Taizong did not dare enter. A moment later, the entrance closed again, and Wu Daozi had vanished. Thus, a door in a painting can open as well.

The phrase “earth spirits can speak” means that spirits and demons molded from clay can also open their mouths and talk.

Long ago, clay figures of spirits and demons in a temple on Mount Lu could foretell good and bad fortune. The Perfected One Le Ba, Ruan Zhi, believed that they were actually wild-cat spirits manifesting through the clay figures. If even wild-cat spirits can make clay demons speak, how much more so can immortals? Thus, clay figures of demons can open their mouths and speak.

The eight events described above—thunder in winter, making ice in summer, a corpse walking, a withered tree blossoming, hiding a demon in a bean, fishing in a cup, a door opening in a painting, and an earth spirit speaking—are all brought about by Qi that is pure and unmixed. It reaches the realm of the wondrous Dao of True Emptiness, where one can use the One Qi to transform the myriad things. This is precisely what was said earlier: human power can sometimes surpass the transformations of Heaven and Earth. These transformations, then, all arise from pure Qi, which can bring forth the myriad things.

Even now, people’s desires and thoughts continue without ceasing, and these too are caused by Qi. But when Qi condenses, it forms things; sometimes it gathers, and sometimes it disperses.

The thoughts of those who have lost their original nature flow without pause, like rippling water. This, too, is the work of the strong Qi within the body. A person’s strong Qi gradually gathers and fills out from birth to adulthood, then gradually disperses and declines from adulthood into old age. Thus, the ceaselessly changing thoughts of the present moment are also the work of Qi. Qi can gather, and it can disperse.

What I call “moving Qi” (setting Qi in motion) has, at its root, neither gathering nor dispersing.

Having realized the Dao of “true emptiness,” the sage can recognize the “ancestor of primordial Qi,” the source of primordial Qi. This source has, from the beginning, neither gathered nor dispersed. Thus, what I call moving Qi has never gathered or dispersed at its root. “Root” means source, the beginning from which all things arise.

Where there is gathering, there is birth; where there is dispersal, there is death.

Deluded people each receive a portion of original Qi: men receive sixteen liang. Men are calculated according to the number eight. At sixteen, their Jing and Qi begin to leak away. The author estimates that, without proper care, one liang is lost every three years: ten liang over thirty years, then the remaining six liang over eighteen more years. In all, sixteen liang are lost over forty-eight years, and the original Qi is considered exhausted. Add these forty-eight years to age sixteen, and the result is sixty-four—the end of the “eight times eight” cycle. Once the original Qi is exhausted, a person is sustained only by the Qi produced from the five grains. Though still called a human being, the author says, in reality they are like a ghost.

Women receive fourteen liang of original Qi, calculated according to the number seven. At fourteen, the Tiangui—the physiological changes associated with reproductive and menstrual development—appears, and the original Qi begins to leak away. The author estimates that one liang is lost every two and a half years: ten liang over twenty-five years. The remaining four liang are exhausted over the next ten years. These twenty-five years plus ten make thirty-five; add age fourteen, and the result is forty-nine—the end of the “seven times seven” cycle. At this point, the Yang count within Yin-Yang is exhausted and the Tiangui has dried up; the person is sustained only by the Qi of the five grains. The author likewise says that, though called a human being, the person is in reality like a ghost. Once the original Qi of men and women is exhausted, they are simply awaiting death. From this we can understand that when Qi gathers, there is life; when Qi disperses, there is death. Hence the saying: “Gathering brings life; dispersal brings death.” Here, “joining” means gathering.

As for beings that have never undergone the gathering or dispersal of Qi, they have neither life nor death. What comes and goes is merely an external object; the self remains unchanged.

Later in the passage, the text repeats the claims that “when Qi gathers, there is life; when Qi disperses, there is death,” that “joining means gathering,” and that “those who have never joined or dispersed have neither life nor death; the guest comes and goes, while the self remains.”

The sage who understands the Great Dao realizes that the Dao is the root of primordial Qi. The Dao itself has never gathered or dispersed; therefore, it has neither birth nor death. You is a post station, and ke refers to travelers passing to and fro. Travelers come and go, while the post station remains peacefully as it is: it neither moves nor changes, and is not said to come or go. Here, the travelers symbolize Qi; their coming and going symbolize Qi’s gathering and dispersing; and the post station symbolizes the Dao. The Dao sets Qi in motion, causing it to rise and descend, to come and go. When Qi gathers, life appears; when it disperses, death follows. Yet the Dao that sets Qi in motion is not Qi itself. Since the Dao is not Qi, it has no gathering or dispersing, birth or death, coming or going. Those who understand the Dao therefore transcend the view of gathering and dispersing, birth and death, coming and going. Hence it is said: though travelers come and go, the post station remains peacefully as it has always been. “As it is” means unmoving and unchanged. This chapter explains that the Dao is the root of Qi: it can bring about limitless transformations, yet itself has no coming or going, birth or death.

The above is the second chapter.

Guan Yinzi says: reciting incantations, serving spirits, writing talismanic characters, and making hand seals can all command the spirit, control Qi, and bring about transformations in the myriad things.

Those who practice the methods recorded in registers, and who transmit and receive these instructions, devote themselves to prayer and recite incantations. The text then mentions serving spirits, writing talismanic characters, and making hand seals. All these methods are believed to command the spirit, control Qi, and bring about transformations in the myriad things.

Those who practice ritual registers—the Daoist masters’ traditions of talismans, registers, and ritual arts—teach and receive incantations and methods. They pray and recite incantations with full concentration, thereby demonstrating their efficacy. For example, it is said that someone who silently recites the “Nine Characters in Mutual Correspondence” 108,000 times can then use it at will, with results as certain as an echo answering a call. Thus, some demonstrate efficacy through reciting incantations.

Some people in the world set up images of deities and worship them with wholehearted reverence, praying and making supplications as they wish. It is said that none of these prayers go unanswered. Thus, some demonstrate efficacy through serving the spirits.

The Gonglu tradition, whose practitioners oversee ritual transmissions involving official documents and registers, has a method in which a descending message is inscribed at a ritual altar. The words are written in ink on paper to foretell future good or ill fortune, and are said never to be wrong. Thus, some demonstrate efficacy through written characters in ink.

The ritual-register tradition also has a method called “hand-descending finger divination.” The initiate stretches out a hand over an incense burner while the master forms the ritual signs and summons divine generals. After a time, the fingers change in size. The master uses these changes to identify the cause of disturbances by ghosts and spirits, and the diagnosis is said to be accurate. Thus, some demonstrate efficacy through changes in the fingers.

These four methods—reciting incantations, serving the spirits, writing in ink, and changing the fingers—are said to command ghosts and spirits and direct primordial Qi, bringing change to the myriad things and making the spirits’ power manifest. Thus, they can all command spirits, direct Qi, and transform the myriad things.

Only those who lack sincerity find it hard to believe in themselves and are instead quick to believe in things outside themselves. The sages therefore make temporary use of these methods to awaken people.

Everyone inherently possesses the “wondrous Dao of true emptiness”—the Dao’s original nature and its mysterious workings. Its radiance is immeasurable, and it is complete everywhere, lacking nothing. With but a single thought of awakening, one’s state can stand equal to that of the sages; one can also command ghosts and spirits and summon thunder and rain, wielding vast spiritual powers. Everyone has these extraordinary abilities, but when they are described to people in the world, people are often unwilling to believe them. They find it hard to believe in themselves, yet readily believe in things outside themselves. Out of compassion, the sages use reciting incantations, serving the spirits, writing in ink, and changing the fingers to awaken people’s faith in the Dao by demonstrating their efficacy. Thus, those who lack sincerity find it hard to believe in themselves and are quick to believe in external things, so the sages temporarily use these methods to awaken them.

If one understands sincerity as fundamental, one will see that the desired effects can be achieved without relying on external practices. The scriptures use chanting incantations, serving deities, writing talismanic characters, and forming hand seals to display their efficacy and lead people to believe in the power of the Dao. Those who lack sincerity find it difficult to trust themselves, yet readily believe in external things, so these practices are used to guide them.

Once one understands that sincerity is fundamental, one knows that these external practices are not necessary to achieve the same results.

Here, gou means “sincere.” If one truly understands that chanting incantations, serving deities, writing talismans, and forming hand seals can connect with the spirits, one will know that their efficacy comes from sincerity within, rather than from the forms themselves. Once one understands that only sincere intention can reach the spirits, one can command ghosts and spirits even without chanting incantations, serving deities, writing talismans, or forming hand seals. Thus, when one understands sincerity as fundamental, one need not rely on these external practices. This chapter explains that sincerity is the basis for commanding spirits and the way into the Dao.

Guan Yinzi said: Each time a person breathes in and out, the sun travels four hundred thousand li. Change, then, is exceedingly rapid.

The ancients called one inhalation and one exhalation a “breath.” They held that a person takes 13,500 breaths in a day and night, and that with each breath, Qi travels six cun. Over the course of day and night, it travels 810 zhang, roughly equivalent to fifty circuits of the celestial bodies. By the scripture’s calculation, the sun travels a total of 5,400 zhao li in a day and night. This shows how swiftly all things in Heaven and Earth change.

Only the sage can remain unattached both to existence and to change.

The sage has fully realized the Way of True Emptiness. He therefore clings neither to the self nor to the distinction between being and nonbeing. The Way of True Emptiness runs through past and present and never changes. The ancients said, “Add one year, and it is called a year.” Though the years accumulate, the Way of True Emptiness itself remains unmoved. Thus only the sage neither clings to any particular form nor lets change alter his fundamental nature. “Not abiding” means having no fixed self. This chapter explains that the Dao is not governed by the changes of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things; rather, it brings about their transformations.

The above is Chapter Four.

Guan Yinzi said, “Qingluanzi lived for a thousand years and underwent a thousand years of change; Taozi served as an official five times and underwent five changes of mind.”

Qingluanzi was a sage of antiquity. A sage’s physical form changes with time, year after year, shifting continually until a thousand years have passed. Yet amid all these changes, something remains unchanged: the constant, unaltering Dao.

Even by the age of sixty, a sage’s mind may have changed sixty times. He does not assume that what he first understood must always be right, or that what he understands later must be wrong. Thus it is said that Qingluanzi lived through a thousand years and underwent a thousand years of change.

Taozi was a worthy man of antiquity. He served as an official five times, and his mind changed along with his circumstances. Like Qu Boyu, whose mind continued to change even at sixty, he did not insist that what he understood at sixty must be right or that what he understood at fifty-nine must be wrong. The ancients said that as a lamp burns, the later flame is not the earlier flame. Though a person’s appearance may seem the same, the person I am now is not the person I was before. Thus it is said that Taozi served as an official five times and underwent five changes of mind.

The sage treats affairs as guests and does not cling to external things. Does this mean he has no wish to accomplish anything in the world? It is simply that anything with a form and a fixed span of time brings the worry that its changes are impossible to foresee.

Here, “affairs” refers to function. The sage treats affairs as guests and does not cling to their function. Thus it is said that Taozi served as an official five times and his mind changed along with his circumstances.

The sage treats affairs as guests and does not cling to external things. Does this mean he has no wish to accomplish anything in the world? It is simply that anything with a form and a fixed span of time brings the worry that its changes are impossible to foresee.

Affairs and actions are the manifestations of function. The sage treats all affairs as guests and does not take function itself as fundamental. The substance of the Great Dao is true emptiness. It clings neither to external things nor to appearances, and so these naturally fall away. For this reason, the scripture says that the sage treats affairs as guests and remains free of attachment to external things.

The sage does not make displaying wondrous abilities or accomplishing great deeds fundamental, but abides in the substance of true emptiness. Only when moved to respond does the sage act, and after responding, remains in stillness. Does the sage not wish to display wondrous functions and benefit the world? It is not so; the sage simply does not make function fundamental. If displaying wondrous functions were made fundamental and the substance of true emptiness were given a secondary place, one would fall into the realm of things with form and number, becoming a cause of karmic results in the human or heavenly realms that are flawed and cannot endure. This is like a shadow following a body: though visible, it is not real. To fall into the realm of things with form and number is to change and shift along with the transformations of all things in Heaven and Earth.

Thus, things with form and number make people fear being swept along by the Great Transformation—the process by which all things in Heaven and Earth move and change. Those who study the Dao must understand this. So, does the sage not wish to act in the world? It is simply that people bound by form and number fear change, because it cannot be predicted. What cannot be predicted means that as soon as thoughts and understanding begin to arise, they have already fallen into the transformations of the Great Transformation.

This chapter explains that one should take the substance of true emptiness as fundamental and treat the creation of various wondrous functions as secondary. With both substance and function, one can continually respond to change while never losing what remains constant.

This concludes Chapter Five.

Guan Yin Zi says: All things change without cease, sometimes disappearing and sometimes appearing, yet their root is nothing but the same Qi. Only the sage understands that all things are originally one, and so is not altered by change.

All things suddenly come into being, suddenly grow, suddenly decline, and suddenly die; not a moment passes without change. Spring belongs to Wood, when Wood Qi lies hidden. Summer belongs to Fire, when Fire Qi becomes manifest and then lies hidden again. Autumn belongs to Metal, when Metal Qi becomes manifest and then lies hidden again. Winter belongs to Water, when Water Qi becomes manifest and then lies hidden again. When spring returns, Wood Qi becomes manifest once more. All things grow, decline, and die, changing without end. The Wood of spring, the Fire of summer, the Metal of autumn, and the Water of winter alternately lie hidden and become manifest; Earth Qi likewise appears and disappears throughout the four seasons. The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—turn with the seasons, appearing and disappearing in relation to one another, transforming and generating without cease. All this is set in motion by the same primal Qi, the foundational energy on which the transformations of all things depend. It propels and stirs things in relation to one another, giving rise to subtle, mysterious transformations like those of ghosts and spirits. Thus, although all things alternately disappear and appear, continually changing, they still depend on the same primal Qi. The sage understands the wondrous Dao of nonduality and knows that it is like empty space, so the sage is not carried along by the changes of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. That is why it is said that the sage understands the One and is not changed by change. “Knowing” means understanding. This chapter explains that the Dao sets the transformations of all things in motion, yet does not itself change with them.

On the right is Chapter Six.

Guan Yin Zi said: Fingernails grow, hair grows, and the body’s Qi of nourishment and defense circulates without a moment’s pause. Ordinary people can see only the obvious signs; they cannot see the subtle changes.

A person’s fingernails and hair are continually growing and wearing down. The body’s “nourishing” Qi, which governs the circulation of blood, and its “defensive” Qi, which governs the movement of breath, also flow through the body day and night. The growth of fingernails and hair, and the circulation of nourishing and defensive Qi, never cease. Hence it is said that fingernails grow, hair grows, and nourishing and defensive Qi circulate without stopping. “Visible” means an apparent, observable sign. Ordinary people can see only what comes to the surface; they cannot see the subtle growth of fingernails and hair or the circulation of nourishing and defensive Qi.

The worthy can perceive these subtle changes, but still cannot follow them freely as they unfold.

Guo Ziqian’s version originally contains these eleven characters. Their meaning and order are clear, so I reproduce and explain them here. The worthy person can perceive what is subtle and profound, but still cannot fully understand the “mind.” As a result, they cannot follow change or enter the state of Wuwei (non-action). Thus, the worthy person sees what is subtle, but cannot let the myriad things change of their own accord.

The sage follows change and can therefore attain Wuwei.

The sage understands the constant source that “stands alone and does not change,” and also follows its action, which “circulates everywhere without ceasing.” “Stands alone and does not change” refers to the Dao’s fundamental constancy; “circulates everywhere without ceasing” refers to the Dao’s pervasive, unending movement. Following this movement means responding to change; understanding the constant source means attaining Wuwei. Thus, the sage follows change and can attain Wuwei. This chapter explains that the Dao stands alone and does not change, while its movement reaches everywhere and never stops.

This concludes Chapter Seven.

Guan Yinzi said: When people are inside a house, what they see and hear is limited in particular ways. Then they step outside, go to a neighbor’s home and through their village, and continue to the outskirts, into the mountains, or to a riverside; what they see and hear differs in each place. People’s likes and dislikes arise in turn, as do harmony and rivalry, and so gain and loss take shape.

The rooms, courtyards, gates, neighbors, and fellow villagers within the residence, extending to the fields beyond the city walls, are all places where people live and go about their affairs. People live in the main hall and rooms, and in daily life they often see and hear only familiar people and things. Thus, inside the house are the sights and sounds one ordinarily encounters.

“Going to” means proceeding from one place to another. A person may leave a room for the courtyard gate, then go among the neighbors and through the village, and sometimes venture beyond the city to the countryside, or even to mountains, forests, rivers, and lakes. The scenery before one’s eyes and the sounds one hears differ from place to place. Thus the scripture says that as one goes from the doorway to the neighbors, the village, and the surrounding community, and then on to the countryside and the mountains and rivers, what one sees and hears changes.

In response to different sights and sounds, people may feel liking or dislike, live in harmony or quarrel, and gain or lose. These circumstances change with people’s emotions and also take shape through their reactions. Thus likes and dislikes arise in response to them; harmony or contention follows; and gain and loss take shape from them.

Therefore, the sage is cautious both in action and in stillness. “Stillness” means being at rest; “caution” means restraint and vigilance. The sage teaches students to restrain their reactions to sights and sounds, and to be careful in advancing and withdrawing, whether active or at rest, so that they are not led astray by what they see and hear. This is instruction for students. The sage, having already understood the Dao (the Way), is naturally not moved by these circumstances. This chapter explains how those who are deluded change along with the circumstances of sight and sound.

Chapter Eight

Guan Yin Zi said: It is like the great sea, which can transform into countless millions of dragons and fish, while the water itself remains one and the same.

The ocean can serve as a metaphor for the process by which the Dao drives the transformation of all things, while the dragons and fish can represent people who are wise and foolish. The ocean allows countless dragons and fish to grow and change within the same waters; the Dao drives the transformation of all things, allowing countless wise and foolish people to live together within the same Dao. Thus, the ocean can transform trillions of dragons and fish, yet the water on which they depend is one and the same. This is the metaphor set out at the beginning.

I and all things exist in profusion within the Great Transformation—the process by which the Dao drives the transformation of all things—and the nature we possess was originally one. Those who understand that nature is one will not cling to distinctions between self and others, or to the difference between life and death.

“Cangran” describes grass and trees growing thickly together; “weiran” describes their flourishing profusion. I and all things are like wild grasses growing in dense thickets and trees flourishing in thick woods: countless in number, yet all within the Great Transformation, with no distinction in their Dao-nature. This applies the preceding metaphor to people and all things. Those who grasp the Dao of true emptiness and nonduality will not cling to others’ faults as something outside their own nature, nor cling to the self within their hearts. Their state of mind will be like vast empty space, in which there is neither extinction nor arising. Here, “death” means extinction. This chapter explains that within Dao-nature there is no distinction between self and others, and that life and death do not belong to Dao-nature.

The text on the right is Chapter Nine.

Guan Yin Zi said: Among the principles of the world, what is right can change into what is wrong, and what is wrong can change into what is right. Kindness can turn into enmity, and enmity can turn into kindness.

The principles governing the world shift with people’s deluded personal feelings. Whatever accords with one’s wishes is called right. If the principles of public affairs conflict with private feelings, what was once thought right can become wrong. Whatever goes against one’s wishes is called wrong. If private affairs happen to satisfy those same feelings, what was once thought wrong can become right. Thus, among the principles of the world, right and wrong sometimes turn into one another.

The greatest bonds of affection in the world are those between ruler and subject, and between father and child. At times, when the principles of public affairs conflict with personal feelings, what was once regarded as the deepest affection can be seen as the greatest enmity. That is why people have murdered their rulers and fathers. The greatest enmity in the world is between enemy states. At times, when the circumstances of private affairs accord with personal feelings, the greatest enmity can become deep affection. That is why enemy states have made peace and formed bonds through marriage. So affection can sometimes turn into enmity, and enmity can sometimes turn into affection.

Therefore, the sage abides by the constant Dao (the Way) in daily life, while carefully considering the changes that things may undergo.

“Therefore” links what came before to what follows. “Abide” means to remain settled in something; “consider” means to think things through carefully and stay alert. The sage teaches those who seek the Dao to abide by the constant principles of their original nature, and to be alert to subtle deviations brought about by private feelings, rather than acting from selfish desires. This chapter explains that when we follow deluded personal feelings into change, judgments of right and wrong, affection and enmity lose their proper basis. By abiding in the constant Dao inherent in our true nature, we can transcend the distinctions between right and wrong, affection and enmity.

The text above is Chapter Ten.

Guan Yin says: In youth, one should keep the teachings of one’s father and elder brothers firmly in mind. In adulthood, one should heed the advice of friends. In old age, one should take warning from the words of the young and the middle-aged. Even as all things continually change, they cannot bring me into hardship.

When people are young, they should keep their fathers’ and elder brothers’ teachings in their hearts, remember them at all times, and put them into practice without forgetting them. Thus, in youth, one should hold fast to the teachings of one’s father and elder brothers.

In adulthood, one may have fellow disciples or like-minded friends who offer one another advice and reminders, like medicines that treat an illness. When they hear useful counsel, people should understand its reasoning and not be afraid to correct their faults, so that their De (Virtue) improves day by day. Thus, in adulthood, one should understand and take to heart the advice of friends.

In old age, after experiencing many things and gaining a full understanding of right and wrong, gain and loss, people should share with the young the lessons they have learned through experience, explaining and teaching them patiently. This is the intention of a kind and generous person. Thus, in old age, one should use one’s own words to remind the young.

As described above, if people heed the teachings of their fathers and elder brothers in youth, understand their friends’ advice in adulthood, and remind the young in old age, they do not go against the principles of how to conduct themselves in life. By following these principles, they can live at ease in the world. Even as all things change, they will not oppose the workings of creation or bring danger and disaster upon themselves. Thus, although all things are constantly changing, they cannot bring me to ruin. This chapter explains that by following the principles of things, one can move together with the workings of creation and avoid calamity.

The above is the eleventh chapter.

Guan Yin Zi said: “The principle of the world is that what is light and slight is easily transformed, while what is heavy and dense is difficult to transform.”

This means that when a person’s received Qi (vital energy) is clear and light, and their innate nature is intelligent and keen, they are easily taught and brought to awakening. When their received Qi is heavy and turbid, and their innate nature is dim and dull, they are difficult to teach and bring to awakening. Thus, what is light and slight is easily transformed, while what is heavy and dense is difficult to transform.

It is like wind and clouds, which can change and disperse in an instant, whereas the nature of gold and jade remains unchanged for a long time.

“Dissolution” means change and dispersal. Like the energy of wind and clouds, something may transform and vanish in the blink of an eye. This illustrates the light, subtle things mentioned earlier, which are easily changed. Gold is firm in nature, and jade is hard; they endure without changing. This illustrates the deep, weighty things mentioned earlier, which are difficult to change.

When a person’s inborn nature is light, clear, and perceptive, they can change along with the transformations of creation—the generation and change of all things under Heaven—without becoming stuck in them. “Not remaining” means not being held back or confined. If one can pass freely through change without losing one’s root, one can respond to subtle changes without violating the constant principle. Thus it is said that there seems to be something that has never been lost through change. Here, “remain” means not losing the constant principle. This chapter explains that those whose innate nature is clear and perceptive can readily awaken to the Dao: they can respond to change without being bound by it.

Guan Yin Zi says: Two people who were close companions in childhood may meet again as adults and fail to recognize each other. Two people who were close in their prime may also meet in old age without recognizing each other. This is like the transformations among sparrows, clams, eagles, and doves: there is no fixed past or present.

When two people are young, they love one another and enjoy playing together. After many years apart, they have both grown up, and their appearance and bodies have changed. When they meet again, they no longer recognize one another and are not as familiar as they were in childhood. Thus, two children who are close when young may fail to recognize each other when they meet again as adults.

Two people may be close friends in their prime and study together. After many years apart, their appearance and bodies have changed: their hair has turned gray, their faces have aged, and their skin has grown loose and wrinkled. When they meet again, they may not recognize each other either, and are no longer as familiar as they were when they became friends in their prime. Thus, two people who are close in their prime may fail to recognize each other when they meet again in old age.

People pass from childhood to adulthood, then from adulthood to old age, just as sparrows enter the water and transform into clams, or as doves change into hawks. The Book of Transformations (Huashu) speaks of snakes turning into turtles and sparrows turning into clams; it means the same thing. The Liezi also says that hawks transform into cranes, cranes into cuckoos, and cuckoos back into hawks. “Cuckoo” is another name for the dove.

Therefore, the scripture says that such transformations are like those between sparrows and clams, or hawks and doves: they are difficult to define in terms of past and present. The sparrow is the clam’s past, and the clam is the sparrow’s present. After the sparrow transforms into a clam, the clam as a whole is still the sparrow. After the dove transforms into a hawk, the hawk as a whole is still the dove. Although the body changes, nature has no distinction between past and present.

This chapter explains that the body continually changes through transformation, giving rise to new forms without end, while nature transcends past and present and does not change along with the body.

The Shenfeng Guanyinzi and the Wushang Miaodao Wenshi Zhenjing both read, “and are easily led to believe things.” According to the scripture passage above, this should read, “Travel forty thousand li each day.”

Annotations to the Wenshi Zhenjing, Volume Eight

Direct explanation by Niu Daochun, the Unfettered Master of Shenfeng

Chapter on the Eight Counters

“Counters” refers to things. This chapter has six sections.

Guanyinzi said: Those in ancient times who were skilled at divining with yarrow stalks and scorching turtle shells could reveal the past through the present, and the present through the past. They could reveal what was low through what was high, and what was high through what was low; the great through the small, and the small through the great; the many through the one, and the one through the many. They could reveal things through people, and people through things; the other person through themselves, and themselves through the other person.

Commentary: This section discusses the principles of divination and observing the myriad things. In ancient times, people cast yarrow stalks to form a hexagram and also scorched turtle shells, judging good and ill fortune in the future, past, or present from the resulting cracks. The commentary says that those skilled in this art could discern the connections between things from what was happening before them, and could reflect on themselves by considering another person’s circumstances.

The ancients were skilled at divining with tortoiseshell: they heated the shell and then read its cracks to infer good and ill fortune in the past, present, and future. They could use what was happening before them to explain principles from ancient times, and use ancient principles to judge the gains, losses, and good or ill fortune of present events. Thus divination can reveal the past through the present, and the present through the past.

“High” refers to Heaven. Heaven belongs to Yang, and Yang signifies good fortune. “Low” refers to Earth. Earth belongs to Yin, and Yin signifies ill fortune. Divination can discern danger within an auspicious sign, and good fortune within an inauspicious one. Thus it can reveal what is low from what is high, and what is high from what is low.

“Small” refers to an individual, while “great” refers to the realm, the state, or the country. Divination can reveal the fortunes of the realm and country through an individual, and an individual’s good or ill fortune through the condition of the realm and country. Thus it can discern the great through the small, and the small through the great.

“One” refers to the ruler, while “many” refers to the people. Divination can reveal the people’s fortunes through the ruler’s circumstances, and the ruler’s good or ill fortune through the people’s circumstances. Thus it can discern the many through one person, and one person through the many.

“Things” refers to material possessions. Divination can reveal the abundance or scarcity of possessions through a person’s gains and losses, and infer a person’s gains and losses from the abundance or scarcity of possessions. Thus it can reveal possessions through a person, and a person through possessions.

“Others” refers to one’s parents, siblings, spouse, and children. From a person’s birth date and time, divination can infer whether relatives live or die, what they gain or lose, and how many there are; it can also infer the nobility or lowliness, good fortune, and misfortune of one’s own fate from the circumstances of one’s relatives. Thus it can reveal others through oneself, and oneself through others.

This Dao (the Way) has no “present” when traced back, and no “past” as it extends forward. It is so high that nothing can cover it, and so low that nothing can support it. Even seemingly small things can reveal themselves through the survival or death of relatives such as parents, siblings, and spouses, and through gains and losses, abundance and scarcity. From these they disclose to me eight aspects of fate: long life, premature death, nobility, low status, poverty, wealth, hardship, and joy. Thus “the other” can appear within “me,” and “I” can appear within “the other.”

This Dao (the Way) has no “present” when traced back, and no “past” as it extends forward. It is so vast that it has no bounds, and so small that it has no interior. At its root there is no fixed “One,” and at its extremity no complex “Many.” Outside it there are no other things; within it there is no fixed person. Nearby there is no “I” as subject, and far away there is no “other” as counterpart.

“Is” means “so” or “thus.” The “this” mentioned here refers to the ineffable Way of true emptiness, not to the various relative distinctions people cling to: divination, judging the past and present as superior or inferior, large or small, many or few, or distinguishing people from one another.

The Dao is not bound by time. It exists independently and does not differ between past and present. Thus it is said: the Dao’s origin does not belong to the present, and its destination does not belong to the past. Nor is the Dao bound by form or direction. It fills the empty space above and below and is everywhere, unlike Heaven and Earth, whose forms are fixed as covering and supporting all things. Thus it is said: the Dao is so high that nothing can cover it, and so low that nothing can support it.

The Dao is not bound by distinctions between inside and outside, center and edge. Call it great, and it is vast without limit; call it small, and it is too small to see. Thus it is said: it is so great that it has no outside, and so small that it has no inside. The Dao is not bound by number either; it cannot be defined as “one” or “many.” The Dao is the source of the “Five Ultimates”—the original stages from which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things arose in Daoist thought—the Two Modes (Yin-Yang), and all things. It moves as a single Qi (vital energy), transforming and bringing forth Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Nothing can exist independently of the Dao; separated from it, things decline and perish. From this we can see that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are the Dao’s final manifestations. Thus it is said: the Dao’s root is not limited to one, and the myriad things at its end are not merely many separate things. The Guo Ziqian edition includes here the eight characters “Its root is not one; its end is not many.” The sequence of ideas is quite apt, so this commentary follows that version.

The Dao is not bound by distinctions between people and things; inside and outside are not two separate matters. Thus it is said: outside it there are no things independent of the Dao, and inside it there are no people independent of the Dao. The Dao is not bound by distinctions between self and other, or near and far. Thus it is said: nearby there is no independent “I,” and far away there is no independent “other.”

The Dao cannot be divided or pieced together. It cannot be explained through metaphor, nor grasped by thought. Precisely because it is whole and indivisible, it can be called the Dao.

The Dao is like empty space, with no distinction between dispersal and gathering. Thus it is said that it cannot be divided or pieced together. Nothing resembles the Dao, and there is nothing with which it can be compared; therefore it cannot be explained through metaphor or grasped by thought. Precisely because it is whole and indivisible, it can be called the Dao.

The Dao is like empty space: it neither disperses nor gathers. Thus, it cannot be taken apart or put together. There is nothing like it with which it can be compared; it does not belong to human feelings or consciousness. It cannot be discussed in words, explained through analogies, or known and understood through thought. Thus, it cannot be likened to anything or grasped by reflection.

If a person truly understands the Dao, they will see that it is already complete within them, already fully manifest, and already whole and pure. It need not be attained through embellishment or contrivance, nor through forced distortion. Only by forcing a name upon it do we call it “Dao.” Because it is entirely whole and indivisible, it is called the Dao. This chapter explains that the Dao does not belong to the realm of concrete forms or quantities and cannot be understood through analysis.

Guan Yin Zi said: Water sinks inward, so it contains the vital essences of five kinds of living beings. Fire rises and spreads outward, so it gives off five kinds of odors. Wood grows lushly, so it displays the five colors: blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black. Metal is hard and solid; when struck, it produces the five notes—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—which are heard as five kinds of sound. Earth is gentle by nature, so it can give rise to the five flavors: sour, salty, sweet, pungent, and bitter.

Here, “essence” refers to the vital essence of spirit and life. Water tends to sink inward, so its vital essence accumulates within. In the correspondences between the Five Phases and the human body, Water corresponds to the kidneys and also to Jing, one of the Five Spirits. Fire rises and moves outward; its qi passes through the nose, giving rise to the five odors: rank, muttony, fragrant, scorched, and putrid. Wood grows luxuriantly, blossoms, and displays color, corresponding to blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black. Metal is hard and produces the five notes—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—when struck; what people hear is sound in its various forms. Earth is gentle by nature and nourishes all things, producing the five flavors: sour, salty, sweet, pungent, and bitter.

The Five Constant Virtues, as described in Confucianism, are five in number, but their transformations cannot be counted. There are five fundamental categories of things, but the forms they take through interweaving and combination are likewise beyond counting.

The Five Constant Virtues are benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness. A commentary says that benevolence corresponds to Wood, righteousness to Metal, propriety to Fire, wisdom to Water, and trustworthiness to Earth. The five fundamental categories of things are Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth. “Transformation” means that they interweave and combine with one another. These Five Phases correspond above to the Five Stars and below to the Five Sacred Peaks. They are distributed across the five directions, transform into the five colors, produce the five tones, and give rise to the five surnames. In material things they appear as the five metals; in scents, as the five odors; in what lies hidden, as the five essences; in flavors, as the five tastes; among living creatures, as the five kinds of animals; among plants, as the five kinds of vegetation; in what is good, as the five virtues; in what is harmful, as the five thieves; in the body, as the five organs; at the level of spirit, as the five spirits; and in consciousness and feeling, as the five emotions. Thus, the fundamental categories are five, yet their transformations are countless; things fall into five categories, yet the forms they take through combination are countless.

The myriad things between Heaven and Earth cannot be rigidly said to number only “ten thousand,” nor can they be rigidly said to number only “five” or “one.” As described above, the transformations of the Five Phases give rise to the myriad things, filling Heaven and Earth with intricate, uncountable forms. How could they be assigned a fixed number?

The myriad things cannot be rigidly said to number only “ten thousand,” because they can all be grouped under the Five Phases. But the transformations of the Five Phases are endless, so they cannot be rigidly said to number only “five.” The Five Phases, in turn, return to “one.” This “one” encompasses the myriad things, continually generating and transforming them; therefore, the myriad things cannot be rigidly said to number only “one.”

Likewise, one cannot rigidly claim that the myriad things “are not ten thousand,” “are not five,” or “are not one.”

Among the lush, flourishing, varied, and restless things between Heaven and Earth, are there really only tens of millions of kinds? Why, then, are they all called “the myriad things”? Thus, one should not cling to the claim that they are “not the myriad things.” Nor should one cling to the claim that they are “not the Five Phases,” much less that they are “not One.”

Although the myriad things are numerous and diverse, they ultimately belong to the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Thus, one should not cling to the claim that they are “not the Five Phases.” Although the transformations of the Five Phases cannot be counted, they are ultimately governed by a single Qi (vital energy). Thus, one should not cling to the claim that they are “not One.”

At times, the myriad things and the Five Phases are gathered together as One; at other times, the single Qi is divided in speech into the Five Phases and the myriad things. In this way, the myriad things acquire forms, things acquire numbers, and the Five Phases undergo transformations of Qi. Making such distinctions is merely a futile strain on the mind. The myriad things do not know that I exist, and I do not know that the myriad things exist.

To gather the myriad things and the Five Phases as One, or to divide the single Qi in speech into the Five Phases and the myriad things, is what is meant by “sometimes joining, sometimes separating.” Once there is joining and separating, one can use these distinctions to identify the forms of the myriad things, the numbers of the Five Phases to which they belong, and the single Qi to which the Five Phases return. Yet all the distinctions previously made among the myriad things, the Five Phases, and the single Qi arise from deluded feelings—a discriminating mind estranged from what is genuine. They have already fallen into forms, numbers, and transformations of Qi, and are merely a futile strain on the mind. When deluded feelings return to true nature, the original and genuine state, things and self are each at peace. They no longer distinguish themselves from one another, and thus go beyond the constraints of form, number, the movement of Qi, and change.

This chapter explains that as soon as deluded feelings arise, one falls into forms, numbers, and the movements and transformations of Qi. When deluded feelings return to what is genuine, these forms, numbers, and movements of Qi can no longer constrain a person.

Guanyinzi says: All things can arise from within one’s own mind. Once a thought inclines toward something, feelings of attachment follow; when those feelings are left unchecked, they continue to grow.

The Commentary on the True Scripture of Wenshi explains: A person’s original mind is pure and empty, with nothing in it, like the Great Void. If a deluded thought suddenly arises in this pure mind and one fails to recognize it as delusion, feelings and thoughts follow one after another, accumulating into all kinds of emotions. These emotions then cause a person to become attached to and stained by the things of the world. This is why it is said that all things can arise from the mind.

When a thought inclines toward something, it follows what one loves. Feelings of attachment correspond to “water,” and water corresponds to Jing (essence, a person’s vital essence). Thus, when the mind loves something, the spirit and vital essence go with it. The character “zhi” means “to go.”

When something weighs on the mind, it first gathers as water: admiration for something makes the mouth water; sorrow brings tears; shame brings sweat.

Primordial Qi (the fundamental vital energy that sustains the activities of human life) responds to the movements of the mind and manifests throughout the body. When the mind clings to something, the state it clings to becomes a bond. Thus, when the mind is attached, Primordial Qi becomes stagnant with it. When the mind is first drawn toward an external thing and comes to rest there, Primordial Qi turns into water. When the mind desires a particular food, Primordial Qi becomes saliva in the mouth and flows out. Thus, when the mind first congeals into water, desire causes saliva to flow.

When the heart feels desolate—when a friend or relative dies and grief suddenly arises—Primordial Qi becomes tears in the eyes and flows out. Thus, when the heart grieves, tears flow. When someone has done something wrong and, on seeing another person, suddenly feels ashamed, Primordial Qi becomes sweat on the face and flows out. Thus, when the heart feels shame, sweat flows.

Nothing transient fails to continue, and nothing enduring fails to change.

“Transient” means brief; “enduring” means lasting and still; “change” means movement and transformation. If one cannot understand thoughts that arise and vanish in an instant, one cannot realize true emptiness (the stillness of emptiness that transcends attachment) and the ever-still nature of the mind. Thus, nothing transient fails to continue. If one cannot realize the ever-still nature of the mind in true emptiness, one cannot meet the many changes while keeping the heart inwardly still. Thus, nothing enduring fails to change.

Water gives rise to Wood, Wood to Fire, Fire to Earth, Earth to Metal, and Metal to Water. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) engender and overcome one another, giving rise to changes too numerous to count.

The heart belongs to Fire among the Five Phases. It harbors Shen (spirit), whose emotions tend to appear as joy. The liver belongs to Wood and harbors the hun (a part of spiritual activity), whose emotions tend to appear as anger. The spleen belongs to Earth and harbors yi (thought and intention), whose emotions tend to appear as worry. The lungs belong to Metal and harbor po (spiritual activity associated with the body and perception), whose emotions tend to appear as sadness. The kidneys belong to Water and harbor Jing (life essence), whose emotions tend to appear as fear.

Jing gives rise to the hun, so fear brings on anger, just as Water generates Wood. The hun gives rise to Shen, so anger brings on joy, just as Wood generates Fire. Shen gives rise to yi, so joy brings on worry, just as Fire generates Earth. Yi gives rise to the po, so worry brings on sadness, just as Earth generates Metal. The po gives rise to Jing, so sadness brings on fear, just as Metal generates Water. Here, the character “attack” should be “generate”; it may have been written incorrectly during transmission. The related account should describe the Five Phases’ cycles of generation and overcoming. In the overcoming cycle, Water overcomes Fire, Fire overcomes Metal, Metal overcomes Wood, Wood overcomes Earth, and Earth overcomes Water. Through their cycles of generation and overcoming, the Five Phases bring forth all things between Heaven and Earth. All things, in turn, generate and overcome one another in numberless ways.

“Infant,” “Medicine Maiden,” “Golden Tower,” “Crimson Palace,” “Azure Dragon,” “White Tiger,” “Precious Cauldron,” and “Red Furnace” all refer to the same thing. However, some accounts use these names to refer to something else.

The kidneys correspond to the Kan trigram. Its central yang line is called the “Infant,” referring to the primordial yang Qi (vital energy) transformed from Jing (essence) and Qi. The heart corresponds to the Li trigram. Its central yin line is called the “Medicine Maiden,” referring to Shen (spirit) transformed from the heart’s fluid. The lungs correspond to the Dui trigram, which is associated with Metal and with the twelve sections of the throat passage. They are therefore called the “Golden Tower,” also known as the “Twelve-Storied Tower.” The heart belongs to Fire, whose color is red, so it is called the “Crimson Palace.” The liver belongs to Wood and stores the hun (ethereal soul); Wood is green, so it is called the “Green Silk,” also known as the “Azure Dragon.” The lungs belong to Metal and store the po (corporeal soul); Metal is white, so they are called the “White Tiger.” Thus, the Infant, the Medicine Maiden, the Golden Tower, the Crimson Palace, the Green Silk, and the White Tiger are all Daoist symbolic names for the body’s internal organs and for Jing, Qi, Shen, and related aspects.

The body’s primordial Qi is yang; yang corresponds to the Qian trigram, which in turn corresponds to Metal. The body is therefore called the “Precious Cauldron.” The Shen in the heart is yin; yin corresponds to the Kun trigram. The heart also belongs to Fire, whose color is red, so it is called the “Red Furnace.” The body and heart together are called Qian and Kun, and so they are also known as the “Qian-Kun Cauldron and Furnace.” Since the body and heart are the cauldron and furnace, Shen and Qi are the substances refined within them. Thus, the “Precious Cauldron and Red Furnace” refer to the relationship among body, heart, Shen, and Qi in internal cultivation. Here, “cauldron and furnace” is a symbolic expression in Neidan (internal alchemy): the implements used for refining medicines serve as metaphors for regulating body and mind and cultivating Jing, Qi, and Shen.

“This thing” refers to Shen and Qi. Yet the Dao is originally formless and nameless, and is the source of Shen and Qi; the source of Shen and Qi is the Dao, which cannot be fathomed or fully expressed in words. The Dao, then, is not simply Shen and Qi; its foundation also extends beyond them. This chapter explains that the Dao transforms and circulates Shen and Qi, giving rise to inexhaustible change.

The third chapter above

Guan Yin Zi says: Birds and beasts sometimes chirp and call, sometimes fall silent, and sometimes flee into the distance. Plants and trees sometimes sprout and grow, sometimes stand still, and sometimes wither and fade. Neither Heaven and Earth can hold these changes in place, nor can the sages restrain them.

“Yoyo” is the cry of young birds and animals just after they are born. “Xunxun” describes how they gradually grow over several dozen days. “Taotao” describes their aging and dying, as if they had vanished after running away. “Zhuozhuo” describes plants just putting out tender shoots. “Tingting” describes them standing upright and growing as they mature. “Xiaoxiao” describes plants withering in old age until their leaves have all fallen.

Birds and animals pass from birth to maturity, then in the blink of an eye grow old and die. Thus, in a brief span they experience “yoyo, xunxun, taotao.” Plants are the same: from sprouting to full growth, they soon wither and die, passing in a brief span through “zhuozhuo, tingting, xiaoxiao.” Birds, animals, and plants must be born when it is time for them to be born, grow when it is time to grow, age when it is time to age, and die when it is time to die. These four changes—birth, growth, aging, and death—are part of the workings of natural transformation. Though Heaven and Earth are vast and sages possess great spiritual powers, neither can hold these changes back, even for a moment. Thus it is said that Heaven and Earth cannot make things stay, and sages cannot bind them.

Within natural transformation there is a force that sets things in motion and brings about change.

Transformation turns through the One Qi, the fundamental vital energy from which the changes of all things arise. Yin-Yang, the Five Phases, and the four seasons shift and surge against one another, giving rise to endless transformations among the myriad things. Thus it is said that nature contains a force of motion and change.

If one side of a pair is there, the other is here; without the drumstick moving, the drum will not sound. One of a pair is there, the other here; unless the hand swings, the drumstick will not strike.

The workings of creation and transformation act upon deluded feelings and perceptions, bodily form, and the allotment of Qi and destiny. Thus it is said, “Being belongs over there.” The Dao, which is nothingness and true emptiness, is present when this mind awakens and joins with the Dao. It is not governed by bodily form or the allotment of Qi and destiny, so how could creation and transformation move it? Thus it is said, “Nonbeing belongs here.”

Once the mind awakens, it gives rise to no deluded thoughts and is stained by no external things. It is pure and clear, like empty space. How could the Creator mold empty space? When the mind understands this fully, it is like a drum that makes no sound without a drumstick. Thus it is said, “A drum without a drumstick will not sound.” What stands in relation to creation and transformation is the side governed by deluded feelings, so it is said, “What stands in relation belongs over there.” What does not stand in relation to creation and transformation is the mind of true emptiness, alone and dependent on nothing; thus it is said, “What is alone and dependent on nothing belongs here.”

Before the mind of true emptiness stirs, how could deluded feelings stain it through contact with external things? The mind of true emptiness is likewise like a drumstick with no hand to hold it: it cannot strike the drum. Thus it is said, “A drumstick without a hand cannot strike.” This chapter explains that those deluded by external things and stained by them cannot escape the governance of creation and transformation; when one awakens to the Dao of true emptiness, creation and transformation can no longer alter the mind.

Guan Yin Zi says: All things are originally one. Ordinary people are misled by names: they see things but do not see the Dao. The worthy discern the principles of things: they see the Dao but do not see particular things.

“Oneness” is the Dao of nonduality. Here, “things” means all the myriad beings between Heaven and Earth. All beings come into existence through the Dao of nonduality, so the Dao and the myriad beings are originally one. The Dao exists within all beings between Heaven and Earth; it is everywhere. Ordinary people, however, are misled by the names of things. Their minds cling to particular objects: they see the objects but not the Dao of nonduality. The worthy can discern how things work and see them clearly. They apprehend the underlying principle and forget external things. Thus, the worthy understand principle, see the Dao, and do not cling to things.

Sages, by contrast, accord with the Dao of Heaven and no longer distinguish the Dao from things: everywhere is the Dao.

Once sages have awakened completely, they silently unite with their inborn nature as it is in Heaven. They realize the substance of the Dao and do not cling to the name “Dao.” If they can even forget the name of the Dao, how much more can they forget the myriad beings? Thus, sages accord with the Dao of Heaven and do not distinguish the Dao from things. The source of the Dao is nondual and is everywhere; therefore, everywhere is the Dao.

To cling to nothing is to be with the Dao; to cling to things is to remain bound to particular objects.

When the mind has no fixed point of attachment and one lets go of body and mind, one accords with the Dao of true emptiness and wondrous presence. This is what it means to say, “To cling to nothing is to be with the Dao.” When the mind clings to something and becomes stained by the many external conditions, one is drawn by deluded feelings into pursuing objects and circumstances. This is what it means to say, “Clinging makes one bound to things.” This chapter explains that before complete awakening, the wise and the foolish are alike in being deluded. After true awakening, the ordinary and the sage are no longer distinct.

Guan Yin Zi said: Knowing that things are illusory does not necessarily mean one must discard them. For example, a clay ox or a wooden horse: one may still keep the names “ox” and “horse” in mind, yet no longer cling to the belief that real oxen and horses exist.

“Knowing” means awakening: understanding that everything and every scene before you is illusory and unreal, so the mind naturally ceases to cling and becomes clear and quiet. It does not mean that the things before you must be removed. Thus, one who knows that things are illusory need not remove them.

When you understand that things are illusory and unreal, the mind is naturally no longer moved by them. For example, though you can still recognize a clay figure shaped like an ox or a wooden carving shaped like a horse as an “ox” or a “horse,” you do not take them to be real oxen or horses. Thus, when you see a clay ox or wooden horse, the names and forms of ox and horse remain, but the mind no longer clings to real oxen and horses.

This chapter explains that when you awaken to the illusory nature of the scenes before you, the mind naturally becomes clear and free of defilement.

This concludes Chapter Six and Volume Eight of the Commentary on the True Scripture of Wenshi.

“Medicine” here carries the meaning of treating and regulating various conditions. This section contains thirty-one chapters.

Guanyinzi said: Do not take small matters lightly; even a tiny crack can sink a boat. Do not take small creatures lightly; even an insect can harm the body. Do not take people of low status lightly; even an insignificant person can endanger the state.

Those who cultivate the Dao should build up good deeds little by little and promptly correct minor faults. They must not dismiss or ignore something just because it seems insignificant.

Consider a great ship carrying ten thousand hu of cargo. Even a hole no larger than a needle’s point, if left unrepaired, will let water seep in little by little until the ship finally sinks. So do not dismiss small things: even a tiny gap can sink a ship. “Do not” is a prohibition, and “gap” means a hole.

Do not dismiss small creatures either. Lizards and snakes may be small, but if you approach them thinking they are harmless, they may bite and poison you. So do not dismiss small creatures: even a tiny insect can harm a person.

Do not dismiss people of low station. Huang Chao, the Red Eyebrows, and the Yellow Turbans were at first called “small men,” yet later they brought disorder to the Han and Tang realms—how much more so in other countries? So do not dismiss people of low station, for they too may endanger a state.

Only by taking small matters seriously can one accomplish great things; only by accumulating small gains over time can one achieve a great undertaking; and only by treating people of low station with due care can one find accord with those of lofty virtue and exceptional insight.

“Affairs” means putting principles into practice and bringing them to bear in concrete ways. In carrying out affairs, one should benefit everyone equally and overlook nothing, however small. Only then can one attain the highest De, which does not claim virtue as its own. The highest De is great De, and great De is the Dao at work throughout the world. Thus the scripture says: “Only by bringing small matters to completion can one accomplish great things.”

“Small things” refers to minor acts and modest merits. One should protect even plants and insects, refraining from harming them. Like a timely rain, one should benefit all without preference, making no distinction between thorny ground and a field of grain, or between what is clean and what is impure. One should offer aid equally. Like the sea, one should accept waters both clear and turbid and make room for all things; in this way, one becomes the “king of the valleys,” to whom all rivers flow. As deeds and merit accumulate little by little, one can ultimately become a worthy or a sage, an outstanding person of great stature. Hence the saying: “Only by accumulating small acts of goodness can one accomplish great works.”

Those skilled in benefiting everyone through benevolence and De make no distinction between the noble and the lowly. With an impartial heart, they care for all living beings and so do not lose the people’s support; everyone will esteem and revere them. In this way, they accord with the path followed by the “great person.” Hence the saying: “Only by treating the lowly well can one accord with the state of the great person.”

Heaven does not allow people to foresee everything, and people cannot make events unfold exactly as they wish. Only by letting go of attachment to external affairs and to other people can one return to oneself. Then, by attending to what one can do in the present moment, one can act with ease.

A person’s status as noble or lowly, poor or wealthy, long-lived or short-lived, thwarted or successful all depend on Heaven’s decree. Goodness or evil, delusion or awakening, however, make a person a petty man, a gentleman, a worthy, or a sage. But how can Heaven’s decree be divided into fixed, absolute categories? Thus, there is nothing about Heaven that can be judged absolutely.

“Deeds” means what people do. When directed toward evil, they make one a petty man; when directed toward good, a gentleman; when directed toward Virtue, a worthy; and when directed toward the Dao, a sage. How can people’s actions be sorted into fixed categories? Thus, there is nothing about people that can be judged absolutely.

If you let go of attachment to every circumstance and encounter, leave behind distinctions based on people’s outward appearances, gather your mind into subtle activity, and remain in Wuwei and stillness, you will no longer cling to the self and can meet your own survival or death with equanimity. Nothing is necessarily possible, and nothing is necessarily impossible; thus you become free, at ease, and unbound. This is why it is said that only by letting go of attachment to affairs and leaving behind distinctions between people can you return to your original nature. Act as the situation calls for, and let things follow their natural course.

There is no situation in which, when complexity is called for, it is acceptable to be simplistic; in which, when caution is called for, it is acceptable to hold back from being cautious; or in which, when diligence is called for, laziness is acceptable.

One must not be constrained. This is why it is said that only by letting go of attachment to affairs and leaving behind distinctions between people can you return to your original nature. Act as the situation calls for, and let things follow their natural course.

There is no situation in which, when complexity is called for, it is acceptable to be simplistic; in which, when caution is called for, it is acceptable to hold back from being cautious; or in which, when diligence is called for, laziness is acceptable.

When methods of cultivation must indeed be established and various practices pursued together, one cannot abandon every method, sweep them all away, and return to the source by following only the simple Way. Therefore, one cannot simplify what calls for complexity: this is what is meant by “when complexity is called for, it is not acceptable to be simplistic.” When caution is called for, one must persevere in practicing the way of caution and cannot go without taking precautions: this is what is meant by “when caution is called for, one cannot fail to be cautious.” When one should diligently cultivate goodness, one cannot be lazy or refuse to make an effort: this is what is meant by “when diligence is called for, one cannot be lazy.” This chapter teaches one to nip problems in the bud and not overlook even small actions; in this way, one can become a worthy or a sage.

That concludes Chapter One.

Guan Yin Zi said: One whose wisdom reaches its utmost knows that wisdom alone can never suffice to respond fully to the myriad things, and so appears foolish. One whose powers of debate reach their utmost knows that argument alone can never make all things understood, and so appears inarticulate. One whose courage reaches its utmost knows that sheer force can never overcome all things, and so appears timid.

Those who attain the utmost wisdom can see deeply into how things work and understand their principles. Yet they also realize that cleverness alone is not enough to care for all things fully. In that case, it is better to seem dull and keep one’s sharpness in check, thereby aligning with the Dao. Thus, those who attain the utmost wisdom know that cleverness cannot meet the needs of all things, and so they appear simple and unrefined.

Those who attain the utmost skill in debate can explain how things work clearly. Yet they also realize that eloquence alone cannot make everyone in the world understand. It is better to speak little and nurture one’s spirit and Qi. Thus, those who attain the utmost skill in debate know that argument cannot enlighten all things, and so they appear inarticulate.

Those who attain the utmost courage and strength can overcome ten or a hundred people. Yet they also realize that courage and strength alone cannot overcome everyone in the world. It is better to appear timid, humble, and gentle, thereby cultivating De. Thus, those who attain the utmost courage and strength know that force cannot overcome all things, and so they appear timid.

This chapter discusses the drawbacks of wisdom, debate, and courage, and the principle of knowing how to restrain them.

Guan Yinzi said: “Among all things between Heaven and Earth, not one truly belongs to me. Things are not ‘me,’ yet I must respond to them; ‘I’ am not a fixed, unchanging self, yet I must still care for myself.”

The One Qi (the primordial vital energy from which all things in Heaven and Earth are formed) transforms Yin and Yang, bringing forth all things in Heaven and Earth. Yet the source of the One Qi is originally empty of anything. Since it was originally without things, it is true emptiness. When external things come before us and interact with us, we cannot help but respond; yet as we respond to them, the mind within remains still and unmoving. Thus, among all things in Heaven and Earth, there is nothing that truly belongs to “me”: the myriad things are not mine, yet I cannot help but respond to them.

The “I” spoken of here is also originally empty of anything. The One Qi transforms Yin and Yang, forming a body temporarily brought together from the four great elements of earth, water, fire, and wind. Yet at the source of the One Qi, this “I,” formed from the temporary union of the four elements, did not originally exist. Since we temporarily dwell in this body, we have no choice but to depend on clothing and food to sustain it. Hence the saying: “I am not a real self, yet I must still care for this body.” What is meant by “not-self” is precisely our original state.

Though we respond to external things, we do not become attached to them; though we care for the body, we do not become attached to the existence of a real, unchanging “I.”

“True emptiness, wondrous existence” (the way functions can appear in response to conditions within true emptiness) is like an echo in an empty valley: the valley responds to sounds and changes with them, yet remains forever still; the valley itself has no sound. True emptiness responds to external things in the same way. Thus, though we respond to external things, we do not become attached to them. If we can realize true emptiness, we will see the body, formed from the union of the four elements, as a house we rent temporarily. Though we still need clothing and food to care for the body, throughout the twelve hours of daily life, our true nature of emptiness remains manifest; and within true emptiness there is no real, unchanging “I.” Thus, though we care for the body, we do not become attached to the existence of a self.

Do not think that you must first forget external things before you can forget the self; nor think that you must first transcend bodily form before you can transcend the mind. The principle is one: there is no need to divide it into a sequence of stages.

Here, “external” means forgetting and letting go of attachment. Since the body, formed from the union of the four elements, is like a house we occupy temporarily, it is just like external things: both are illusory, insubstantial, and temporary. The fundamental principle of transcending bodily form and transcending the mind is the same; there is no need to put them in order.

To devote all one’s attention to external things is to forget them. The human body is a temporary gathering of the Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, which make up the body. Like a rented house, it is no different in its essential nature from external things: both are illusory and unreal. Once we understand that they are illusory, we should let go of them together. We cannot say that we should first forget all things and then forget ourselves. So do not think that external things must be cast off before the self can be cast off.

Here, “form” refers to the body, a temporary gathering of the Four Great Elements; “mind” refers to thoughts formed through the illusory gathering of the Five Aggregates, the five elements that make up human bodily and mental experience. The body is no different in its essential nature from external things, and thoughts formed from the Five Aggregates are likewise no different. External things and the self, the body and thoughts, are all illusory and unreal. Once we understand this, we should let them go together. We cannot say that we must first forget the body and then forget thoughts formed from the Five Aggregates. So do not think that the body must be cast off before the mind can be cast off. The Dao is originally one whole, with no distinction between inner and outer, things and self. How could cultivation be divided into stages that must be followed in order? The Dao is one; it cannot be attained step by step. This chapter explains how to dispel the delusion of attachment to things and self, mind and body.

Guan Yinzi said: Examine the tip of a fine hair with great care, and you will not see the vastness of Heaven and Earth. Focus your hearing on a faint sound, and you will not hear the thunder’s roar.

“Examine carefully” means to look closely. The “tip of a fine hair” is the point of a hare’s hair in autumn, exceedingly minute. If you focus on observing that tiny point, your attention is caught by minute forms and colors, and you cannot see the vast scene of Heaven and Earth. “Faint sounds” means sounds that are barely audible; thunder is the immense crash of a thunderclap. If you focus on listening to faint sounds, you will not hear thunder’s roar.

When you see what is large, you do not see what is small; when you see what is near, you do not see what is far. When you hear what is loud, you do not hear what is faint; when you hear what is near, you do not hear what is far.

If one fixes one's gaze on the tip of an autumn hair (qiuhao, the finest down on birds and beasts), one cannot see the vastness of heaven and earth. If one concentrates on the vastness of heaven and earth, one cannot see the tip of the autumn hair. Therefore, to see the large is to fail to see the small. Er means near. If one sees only what is great, one fails to see what is small, and if one sees only what is shallow and near, one fails to see what is deep and distant. This describes the true state of human cognition in this life: to see what is near is to fail to see what is far.

If one concentrates on hearing faint sounds, one cannot hear the rumble of thunder (leiting). If one concentrates on thunder, one cannot hear faint sounds. Therefore, to hear a loud sound is to fail to hear a soft one. If one hears only shallow, worldly sounds, one also cannot hear the Weiyin, the solemn sound of the remote past beyond the kalpas (jiewai), which transcends worldly space and time. Thus, to hear what is near is to fail to hear what is far.

The sage does not cling to what is seen, so nothing is unseen. The sage does not cling to what is heard, so nothing is unheard.

What the eye sees is form and color (xingse), and what the ear hears is sound (sheng). Although the autumn hair and heaven and earth differ greatly in size, both are form and color. Although faint sounds and thunder differ in volume, both are sound. The sage's phrase "no seeing, no hearing" refers to not clinging to form, color, and sound. When the mind is not held by form and sound, it attains zhenkong mingcong, a state of true emptiness, clear illumination, and keen hearing, and so it sees and hears everything. This chapter addresses how to cure the delusion of clinging to color and sound.

This concludes Chapter Four.

Guan Yinzi said: The things the eye can see are beyond counting, yet some prize gold and others prize jade. This is fixing upon one particular form and color as the object the eye values. The sounds the ear can hear are likewise beyond counting, yet some favor one particular sound. This is the ailment of attachment to color and sound.

Guan Yinzi said: The eyes see countless things. Some people love gold, while others love jade. Each takes one color to be the only thing the eyes ought to see. The ears, too, hear countless sounds. Some people love the sound of bells, while others love the sound of drums. Each takes one sound to be the only sound the ears ought to hear.

The eyes can see many colors. Some people love the yellow of gold and dislike the white of jade; others love the white of jade and dislike the yellow of gold. To love only one color and reject the rest is to be biased in one’s seeing. The ears can hear many sounds, too. Some people love the clear, ringing sound of bells and dislike the deep, resonant sound of drums; others love the deep, resonant sound of drums and dislike the clear, ringing sound of bells. To love only one sound and reject the rest is to be biased in one’s hearing.

The sage who understands the great Dao neither covets these sights and sounds, nor rejects them, nor clings to them. The “true void” spoken of here means that nothing has a fixed, unchanging nature that can be grasped. Seeing into the true void, the sage does not covet colors and sounds, nor need they deliberately be swept away, because sights and sounds cannot abide in the true void in the first place. “Not dwelling” means not allowing them to occupy the heart and become objects of attachment. This chapter explains that cultivating the Dao requires letting go of preference and aversion toward sights and sounds.

This concludes Chapter Five.

Guan Yinzi said: Those skilled at grasping the present can put the principles of the ancients into practice; those skilled at grasping the end can establish the beginning.

“Present” refers to the people and affairs before us; “ancient” refers to the principles of the time before the Five Great Beginnings; “branches” refers to the Five Constant Virtues and the myriad ways of conduct; and “root” refers to the fundamental Great Dao. Those skilled in using the concrete functions of present-day affairs and the Five Constant Virtues can respond to changing circumstances without becoming attached. They quietly accord with the principles that precede the Five Great Beginnings and stand firmly within the fundamental Great Dao. Thus, those skilled in handling present affairs can put the ancient Way into practice; those skilled in handling the branches can establish the root. Here, “practice” means not to linger or become attached. This chapter explains that when people lose sight of what is fundamental and what is secondary, they cannot understand the relationship between essence and function.

Guan Yin Zi said: “Only those whose cunning surpasses that of thieves can catch thieves; only those whose strength and courage surpass a fierce tiger’s can capture it.”

This illustrates the principle by analogy: a person must outwit thieves to catch them, and must have greater strength and courage than tigers and leopards to subdue them.

Only by overcoming oneself can one fulfill oneself; only by surpassing attachment to external things can one benefit them; only by forgetting the Dao can one truly possess it.

“Overcome” means to surpass, and “self” refers to one’s selfish desires. Only by overcoming selfish desires can one fulfill one’s highest De (Virtue/Power). Only by surpassing one’s attachment to external things can one benefit people and all things widely, accomplishing countless wondrous deeds. And only by letting go even of the wisdom gained through awakening and realizing the Dao can one accord with true emptiness without losing the Dao’s wondrous presence. The “possession” mentioned here means not losing that wondrous presence. This chapter explains that if people cling to awakening or to the wisdom of realizing the Dao, they cannot truly accord with the Dao.

Armor may be sturdy, yet arrows shot from powerful bows and crossbows can pierce and destroy it. So anything excessively hard will eventually meet something that can break it. A blade may be sharp, yet hard objects can damage its edge. So anything excessively keen will eventually be blunted. Both statements use objects as metaphors.

The phoenix of auspicious omen, a wondrous bird of legend, seems miraculous because it is rarely seen. For this reason, the sage takes deep reserve and inwardness as the foundation of conduct. The musk deer is easily hunted because it leaves behind its fragrance. For this reason, the sage takes simplicity as the rule for action.

The two analogies discussed earlier explain why the phoenix is considered a divine creature: it is majestic and noble, and rarely seen by ordinary people. If the phoenix appeared often, people would no longer find it extraordinary. Hence the saying, “The august phoenix is wondrous because it is rarely seen.”

From this we can understand that the sage draws in his radiance and keeps himself hidden, quietly corresponding to profound principles and becoming the source of the “Five Great Beginnings, the Two Principles, the Five Constant Virtues, and the Hundred Conducts.” The “Five Great Beginnings” are the stages before the cosmos came into being; the “Two Principles” are Yin-Yang; the “Five Constant Virtues” are the five enduring virtues of Confucian thought; and the “Hundred Conducts” broadly refers to all kinds of behavior. Hence the saying, “The sage takes depth as his root.”

When a musk deer is pursued in desperation, it will deliberately injure the area around its navel, causing its musk to fall away. Seeing that it has no musk, people stop hunting it. Hence the saying, “The fleeing musk deer sheds its scent and escapes capture.”

These analogies also show that the sage restrains his wisdom and spiritual powers, keeping his mind and spirit quiet in true emptiness—a tranquil state untouched by external things. Only when external things call upon him does the sage respond, and then only because he must. Though he responds to the myriad things, his mind remains quiet, never departing from the highest Dao. It is like a fishing net, with its frame and cords: lift the main cord, and all the meshes open together. Hence the saying, “Therefore the sage…”