《文始真经言外旨》Vol. 2

When a person acts, if thoughts stir the mind and give rise to consciousness, the Po comes into play. Only the sage understands that the “self” has no fixed, substantial existence, and neither do the myriad things. All of them are distinctions made through thought and deliberation. So when things come before me, I respond through my original nature, not through a mind that makes distinctions. Here, “nature” means the original state before thoughts arise. When thoughts do not arise, consciousness has no occasion to emerge; when consciousness does not arise, the Po has no occasion to emerge. When the root is not established, the other Five Phases also cease to function. If I can unite all the mysterious transformations of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things with my own Hun, and unite all that exists in Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things with my own Po, then nothing can control me.

Baoyizi says: In my earlier explanation of the previous chapter, I took the passage from the myriad things through Jing to Po to describe a shift from clarity to turbidity. The more the Po grows, the closer one comes to death; hence the saying, “When Metal is in excess, Wood is deficient.” The sage cultivates in the opposite direction: the body arises from intention, and cultivation continues until one becomes a Shen. The Hun, corresponding to the power of Wood, then grows abundant, while the power of Metal becomes relatively deficient. Those with an excess of Hun are more often awake; those with an excess of Po dream more often. Though waking and dreaming differ, it is not the Hun or Po themselves that distinguish between them. Rather, true nature is present within them, and accumulated habits over time give rise to this discriminating awareness.

Only the sage understands that neither the “self” nor the myriad things has fixed, substantial existence; all arise from the mind’s distinctions and calculations. Thus, when facing external circumstances, sages forget discriminating awareness and do not let consciousness arise in delusion, but respond through their original nature. Original nature is the state before thoughts arise; when thoughts do not arise, consciousness does not arise either. When consciousness is absent, the Five Phases all cease to function. In this way, every mystery within the transformations of Heaven and Earth can be united with one’s own Hun, and everything manifested by those transformations can be united with one’s own Po. Then the myriad things can all serve me, and I will not be controlled by them.

Guan Yinzi said, “Add the character for ‘cloud’ to the ‘ghost’ radical and you get hun; add the character for ‘white’ and you get po. In terms of how the characters are formed, this is indeed so. A ghost is the transformation that takes place after a person dies.

“Cloud corresponds to wind, and wind corresponds to Wood; white corresponds to Qi, and Qi corresponds to Metal. Wind disperses, so it is light and clear; its light, clear part rises to Heaven. Metal is solid, so it is heavy and turbid; its heavy, turbid part sinks into the earth. The light, clear part is the po rising along with the hun; the heavy, turbid part is the hun descending along with the po.

“After death, those who practiced benevolence and Virtue in life rise and become attendants of Jupiter. Those who practiced righteousness and Virtue become attendants of Venus; those who practiced propriety and Virtue become attendants of Mars; those who cultivated wisdom become attendants of Mercury; and those who kept faith become attendants of Saturn. Those who were unbenevolent in life and sink are harmed by the power governed by Jupiter; the unrighteous are harmed by Venus; those who failed to observe propriety by Mars; the unwise by Mercury; and those who failed to keep faith by Saturn.

“When hun and po each make up half, one remains between the human and spirit worlds. When hun rises, it appears noble; when po descends, it appears lowly. The numinous clarity of hun belongs to the wise, while the fierce, baleful po belongs to the foolish. The light, clear hun is bright; the heavy po is dark. The soaring hun is like a feathered creature, while the sluggish po is like a furry creature. The luminous hun becomes a spirit; the shadowed po becomes a ghost. A person’s body, dwelling place, knowledge, and preferences—another version of the text has ‘name’ in place of ‘preferences’—can all be explained by correspondence with the Five Phases.

“The numbers and assignments of the Five Phases do not align uniformly. This is why the myriad things between Heaven and Earth are so numerous, and why new things continue to appear even now. Can their variety be exhausted by assigning five kinds of things to the Five Phases, then deriving five categories of creatures from those phases? It is like divining by burning a tortoise shell and reading its cracks, or counting yarrow stalks: when one’s intent is sincere, it can accord with what is being asked. The responses of the Five Phases work in the same way. Without sufficient sincerity, neither reading the cracks nor counting the stalks will produce any response. The sages act in the world with the aid of the myriad things, and so the Five Phases, too, must provide corresponding explanations.”

Bao Yizi says: The characters “cloud” and “white” discussed today are written in regular script. Regular script began in the Qin dynasty and gradually took shape after Cheng Miao transformed seal script into clerical script; the forms of the characters at that time differed from those used today. The ancient forms of “cloud” and “white” also differed from their modern forms. According to interpretations of ancient character forms, “ghost” and “soul” each have their own distinct meaning. Among the related character forms, some suggest emptiness, lightness, and clarity, and so signify “wind”; others suggest the human body, heaviness, and turbidity, and so signify “qi” (vital energy). This shows that the ancient people may have embedded a certain rationale in the characters they created.

Wind belongs to Wood, and qi belongs to Metal. Wood governs ascent, while Metal governs descent. What rises in accordance with the principles of the Five Constants can assist the Five Stars; what sinks in defiance of those principles is harmed by the Five Phases. The differing karmic results of rising and sinking through delusion, as described in the Surangama Sutra, mean the same thing.

When soul and spirit are present in equal measure, this is the condition of ordinary people. But ordinary people have only three souls and seven spirits. Those with more soul are nobler, wiser, and more perceptive, and belong among the feathered creatures and divine beings; those with more spirit are lower and more foolish, and belong among the furry creatures and ghosts. Their ways of knowing and their inclinations each correspond to the Five Phases. Since the combinations of the Five Phases differ, the beings between Heaven and Earth reproduce without end in many forms: born from the womb, hatched from eggs, born from moisture, or transformed; with form or without form, with thought or without thought, and so on.

The sage is originally without a self and cannot find a place in the world without relying on external things, just as fire has nowhere to manifest its form if it does not depend on wood. Yet how could anything in the world remain unchanged for long? The sage must make the Five Phases work together so that life may continue and renew itself. Water and fire overcome one another, yet can bring about their mutual harmony; Metal and Wood overcome one another, yet can bring about the union of husband and wife. These are all principles formed through opposition.

Putting this principle into practice is like using a tortoiseshell and milfoil stalks to make a divination. As long as one’s intention is sincere, one will naturally accord with the Dao. If one’s sincerity is insufficient, none of the Five Phases will respond.

Guan Yinzi says: Only when the three conditions of eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and mind are present does the hun (soul) arise. The hun is awareness. The forms and colors seen by the eyes belong to Jing (essence); the capacity to illuminate forms and colors belongs to Shen (spirit). Seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and thinking are all activities of the hun’s awareness.

In this life, desire belongs to Jing and serves as the father principle through which life in the next existence can arise. Contemplation belongs to Shen and serves as the mother principle through which that life can arise. Though desire and contemplation differ, together they bring awareness into being and become the foundation of the next life. In that life, one parent is the father, so the child receives the father’s Qi (vital energy), like water; the other is the mother, so the child receives the mother’s blood, like fire. With both father and mother, a new life comes into being.

If desire involves only union and no awareness, it is like two locks fastened together. If contemplation involves only seeing and no awareness, it is like lamplight illuminating an object. If my awareness did not arise, where would my life come from?

Bao Yizi says: The eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and mind are called the “five faculties”—the organs of perception and the mind. Sound, form, scent, flavor, and events are called the “five objects,” what the senses encounter. Contemplating, listening, smelling, tasting, and thinking are called the “five consciousnesses,” the acts of knowing that arise from perception. Jing governs the five faculties: it is an existence with a distinct self as its subject. Shen governs the five objects: it does not cling to a self, and can appear in response to things. The hun governs the five consciousnesses, which is why the hun is called awareness. Only when faculties, objects, and consciousnesses are all present does the hun arise.

The father gives rise to desire through Jing; the mother contemplates through Shen. Desire belongs to water, contemplation to fire; water represents Qi, and fire represents blood. When the father’s Jing and the mother’s blood unite, awareness is present within them. This is how life flows from its source into its branches and continues without end. If desire involves only union and no awareness, it is like two locks fastened together. If contemplation involves only seeing and no awareness, it is like lamplight illuminating an object. If my awareness had never arisen, how could my life exist?

Guan Yinzi said: It is like striking a drum with a mallet. The drum’s body is like the Jing I possess; the sound it produces is like the Shen that arises in response. The mallet has already moved away, yet the reverberation remains. In the end, however, even the reverberation disappears. The drum’s body is like my Jing, its sound like my Shen, and the reverberation like my hun and po souls. Once you understand that these phenomena come and go without warning, you will know that the Qi of the Five Phases—the five currents of energy that constitute all things—has no fixed, enduring substance in me.

Baoyizi said: Comparing Jing to the drum, Shen to its sound, and the hun and po souls to the reverberation is indeed apt. Yet without striking the drum, no sound would arise; likewise, without Jing being stirred in response, Shen would not arise. A mallet is needed to strike the drum. Once the mallet moves away, even if the reverberation lingers, it will eventually disappear. Jing is stirred by Qi; once Qi disperses, even if the hun and po souls linger, they will eventually disappear. This shows that the Qi of the Five Phases comes and goes, and that I have no fixed substance of my own. What I possess is only a condition that acts for a time, like the mallet that strikes the drum or the Qi that stirs Jing.

Someone asked: “If I now wish to make the sound continuous and the drum endure, what method should I use to stir it?” The reply was: “First set down the mallet in your hand, and then I will tell you.”

Guan Yinzi said: For a fruit to develop a seed, it must wait until water, fire, and earth are all present and can interact continuously to bring forth growth. If any one of the three is lacking—for example, in a severe drought, under extreme heat, or where the soil is poor—they cannot nourish and generate the myriad things. Jing is like water, Shen like fire, and intention like earth; in themselves, these three do not meet. Only when a person joins them through the “root” do various activities temporarily appear within them. It is like a magic performance, in which many things appear within what is originally empty.

Baoyizi said: A magic performance in the world can make many things appear out of emptiness. The human “root” joins Jing, Shen, and intention, and various activities appear within them. This is like magic, which can make many things appear out of utter nothingness.

Baoyizi says: Strange and marvelous events in the world can bring many things forth from nothing. Zhang Xie’s spell that creates a five-mile fog, and Zuo Ci’s act of tossing a cup up onto a beam, both arise from the workings of spirit, thought, and intention. When these three come together, it is like a fruit containing a kernel. It is also like a seed, which can grow only when the three conditions of water, fire, and earth are all present. If the three do not work together, it is like a severe drought, a great flood, or barren soil: none can give life to the myriad things. Yet these three cannot unite by themselves. Only a person can bring them together through their own root, just as a man and a woman unite, and Jing and Qi combine to form life. Heaven has its own root, Earth has its own root, and humans have their own root; Creation, too, has its own root. If a person can draw forth the roots of Heaven and Earth from the root of Creation, they can bring being forth from nothing and understand the Way of transformation.

Guan Yinzi says: The hun belongs to Wood. In winter, trees send their roots into water; in summer, they flower amid the Qi of fire. Likewise, a person’s hun is hidden in Jing—the vital essence—at night, and appears in Shen, mental activity, by day. When the hun joins with Jing, one sees only oneself, because Jing contains no one else. When the hun joins with Shen, one sees as others do, because Shen contains no self.

Baoyizi says: This chapter uses Wood alone as a metaphor to clarify the “root” discussed in the previous chapter. Wood can stand for the hun, and it can also stand for the human being. What makes a person human is simply the way the hun’s awareness appears and disappears between Jing and Shen, day and night. Jing is single and undivided, so when the hun’s awareness joins with Jing, one sees only oneself. Shen engages with external things, so when the hun’s awareness joins with Shen, one sees as others do. This is like trees putting down roots in winter and flourishing in summer, and like the hun being hidden in Jing at night and appearing in Shen by day. Understand the root of trees, and you can understand the root of the hun; understand the root of the hun, and you can understand the root of Heaven, Earth, and Creation.

Guan Yinzi says: If you know that your body appears with each thought, like the body in a dream, you can let your spirit transform into yourself and wander through the Great Purity, the clear and empty celestial realm described in Daoism. If you know that external things, too, appear with each thought, like the things in a dream, you can gather Jing and Qi and transform them into a body in the dream. You can also let your spirit transform into yourself and wander through the Great Purity, or gather Jing and Qi and transform them into things, traveling across the Eight Wilds, the most distant regions. This is the Dao: those who can perceive and use the spirit can prolong life; those who can forget the spirit can transcend life and death.

I once said that drawing in breath to nourish Jing is like Metal giving rise to Water, while drawing in wind to nourish the spirit is like Wood giving rise to Fire. These are ways of prolonging the spirit by relying on external things. Rinsing the mouth with water to nourish Jing keeps Jing and Qi from being exhausted; warming the spirit over fire keeps the spirit and Qi from being exhausted. These are ways of prolonging the spirit through internal methods. As for the principle of forgetting the spirit and transcending life and death, I have discussed it before.

Bao Yizi says: People depend on the spirit for life. Those skilled at nurturing the spirit can perceive and use it, thereby prolonging life. This is precisely what the Yinfu Jing means when it says, “Heaven has five thieves; those who see them prosper.” The ability to forget the spirit and transcend life and death corresponds to the Yinfu Jing’s words: “People know that their spirit is spirit, but do not know how what is not spirit becomes spirit.”

Some people dream that their spirit travels through the Great Purity; others dream of roaming across the Eight Wilds on some kind of vehicle. The body and external things are both like dreams and illusions. In a dream, one can do these things because the spirit is free to move; upon waking, one cannot, because one is constrained by the body. Only those who directly experience the spirit can understand that waking and dreaming are no different. They can then let their spirit transform into themselves, or gather Jing and Qi and transform them into things. These are all wondrous workings of Daoist methods.

Drawing in breath or wind to nourish the spirit with the external Qi of Metal and Wood, and rinsing the mouth with water or warming oneself over fire to nurture the spirit through internal methods, can also prolong the spirit, but these are relatively elementary approaches. Forgetting the spirit and transcending life and death is the Dao. This principle is expressed only subtly and indirectly in the texts; ultimately, each person must realize it for themselves.

Guan Yinzi said: When a person is diligent in performing ritual, the spirit does not scatter outward, and can therefore be gathered in. When a person is diligent in exercising wisdom, Jing and Qi do not dissipate outward, and can therefore be gathered in. Benevolence belongs to Yang: it is bright, clear, and harmonious, and can make the Hun light and nimble. Righteousness belongs to Yin: it is deep and still, and can bring the Po under control.

Baoyi Zi said: The sages established the Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and trustworthiness—in accordance with the ordinary feelings already present in the human heart. These follow nature rather than being imposed by force, so they are called “constant.” If people act in accordance with the Five Constant Virtues, they can gather in their spirit and Jing and Qi, making the Hun light and nimble and bringing the Po under control. The five spirits associated with the human organs are governed by the Five Constant Virtues, just as the five planets in the sky each preside over one of five functions.

Mars presides over ritual. Ritual’s function is to rise, and fire also rises. Spirit belongs to fire, so diligence in performing ritual keeps the spirit from scattering outward and enables it to be gathered in. The other virtues work in the same way: Jupiter presides over benevolence, Venus over righteousness, and Mercury over wisdom. Wood Qi is light and buoyant, Metal Qi is deep and still, and Water Qi descends. Thus benevolence makes the Hun light and nimble, righteousness brings the Po under control, and wisdom gathers in Jing and Qi. The principle is the same in every case. Only four are mentioned here because, once the four are present, Earth is included; once the four constant virtues are present, trustworthiness is included; once the four spirits are present, intention is included; and once the four directions are established, the center is included. The Mengzi speaks only of the Four Beginnings—the sprouts of benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom—and says nothing of trustworthiness for the same reason.

Guan Yinzi said: When a pill has been formed and then undergoes transformation, focus your attention on it and you will see that a white mosquito is inside. After a while, it leaves its shell and transforms into a cicada. If the process of transformation had not been observed with attentive thought, how could the mosquito have appeared white?

Baoyizi says: This chapter discusses the principle of responsive transformation: how things without feelings can be affected and change. The yuan, a grub-like creature, has no awareness or feeling. When the tuiniang, an insect that can prompt the yuan to transform, turns its thoughts inward and concentrates, a worm develops inside the yuan. Before long, the worm sheds its shell and becomes a cicada.

Waidan (external alchemy), the elixir refined in a furnace and crucible, arises within the Golden Cauldron’s Spirit Chamber. The Spirit Chamber is an empty vessel; everything depends on the furnace keeper remaining clear-minded and undisturbed, concentrating on the work day and night as they observe the refining. Only then can the divine elixir take shape within it. Once the Waidan is complete, Neidan (internal alchemy), cultivated within the body, is also accomplished, and the cultivator can transform their body and become an immortal. The Cantong qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three), a Daoist alchemical classic, says: “All things arise by means of emptiness, and each responds and transforms according to its kind.” The transformation described here, too, may be brought about by the transforming creature’s concentrated thought.

Guan Yin Zi says: A cook boiled a luo, a kind of snail, to make soup, but one of its feet was left on the table. The snail had been cooked into soup, yet the foot left behind was still moving. This shows that life and death are simply changes in which Qi gathers and disperses. Qi itself has no life or death, but people insist on distinguishing these changes as life and death.

Baoyizi says: People think that only animals are alive. Yet the ge, a clam-like creature, has been cooked in the pot, while the foot left on the table still moves. This shows that what we call life is Qi gathering, and what we call death is Qi dispersing. But does Qi itself truly gather or disperse, live or die? People merely insist on making these distinctions.

Guan Yin Zi says: Some people die standing, some sitting, some lying down; some die of illness, and some die after taking medicine. Since they all die, there is no difference in rank among them. Those who truly understand the Dao do not cling to life, and so they do not cling to death.

Bao Yi Zi says: People do not know that, from the beginning, I was never born and will never die. They see someone die while sitting upright or standing and think that person has mastered life and death. They see someone die of illness or by accident and think that person has not mastered them. In truth, all simply die in the same way; there is no difference in rank between them. Only those who truly understand the Dao have never clung to the idea that there is such a thing as “life,” and so do not regard birth as something that truly occurs. They have likewise never clung to the idea that there is such a thing as “death,” and so do not regard death as something that truly occurs.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who abhor life and death and wish to transcend them are deeply attached. Suppose someone born through transformation develops a desire to reject life and death or to transcend them. That can only be called “monstrous fixation,” not the Dao. Here, “monstrous fixation” means an attachment that departs from the natural Dao; it does not refer specifically to ghosts or monsters.

Bao Yi Zi says: Laozi said, “Concentrate the Qi and make it supple; can you be like an infant?” This means that by gathering the Qi in undivided focus and making body and mind supple, one can reach a state like that of an infant. Ask an infant, “Are you alive?” It does not know. Ask, “Are you dead?” It does not know that either. The desire to transcend life and death can only be called “monstrous fixation,” not the Dao.

Bao Yi Zi also says: Laozi said, “Concentrate the Qi and make it supple; can you be like an infant?” Ask an infant, “Are you alive?” It does not know. Ask, “Are you dead?” It does not know that either. From this, isn’t the desire to abhor life and death a profound attachment? And isn’t the deliberate desire to transcend life and death an attachment that departs from the natural Dao?

Guan Yin Zi says: When people discuss what happens after death, some say that one continues to exist, while others say that nothing remains. Some say that one both exists and does not exist; others say that one is neither existent nor nonexistent. Some say we should feel fortunate, others that we should be afraid; some say we should follow things as they are, others that we should transcend them. These views keep shifting, and the mind’s distinctions and thoughts chase after them without rest. Yet people do not know that my life and death are as impossible as a horse growing hands or an ox growing wings: from the beginning, no such thing has existed. There is neither real existence nor even emptiness to speak of. It is like facing fire and water: even if one is within them, the fire cannot burn one and the water cannot drown one.

Baoyizi says: A horse has no hands, and an ox has no wings. This may serve as a metaphor for the fact that I have never had birth and death to begin with. Water rushing into water and fire meeting fire may serve as metaphors for my entering into birth and death. Since birth and death are like a horse having no hands or an ox having no wings—they do not exist to begin with—how, then, can one speak of entering birth and death? This means entering death on the basis that there has never been birth, and entering birth on the basis that there has never been death. Seen in this way, what is called entering is not really entering, and what is called transgressing is not really transgressing.

If one believes that birth and death sometimes exist and sometimes do not, and feels either relief or fear, either resignation or transcendence, then the emotions and discriminating thoughts in one’s heart will multiply, and one’s pursuit will move ever farther from the truth. How, then, could one understand this principle?

End of Volume Four of The Hidden Meaning Beyond the Words of the Wenshi True Scripture

The Hidden Meaning Beyond the Words of the Wenshi True Scripture, Volume Five

Written by Baoyizi Chen Xianwei

Chapter Five: Mirror

“Mirror” refers to the mind. This section contains twenty chapters.

Guan Yin Zi said: Those whose minds are obscured by thoughts of good and bad fortune, calamity and blessing, are drawn in by numinous ghosts. Those whose minds are obscured by sexual desire are drawn in by lustful ghosts. Those whose minds are obscured by gloom and sorrow are drawn in by sunken ghosts. Those whose minds are obscured by indulgence and aimless wandering are drawn in by wild ghosts. Those whose minds are obscured by oaths and curses are drawn in by uncanny ghosts. Those whose minds are obscured by medicines and food are drawn in by ghosts of things.

Some of these ghosts take darkness as their form, others take the hidden and obscure as their form; some take the wind as their form, others take Qi (vital energy) as their form. They may also manifest through clay figures, painted images, aged livestock, or worn-out objects. A ghost joins its Jing (essence) and Qi with a person’s Jing and Qi. When the two respond to one another, the ghost answers.

People drawn in by ghosts may sometimes speak of strange, bizarre, or auspicious events. They become proud and arrogant in spirit. They do not say a ghost has possessed them, but only that the Great Dao has manifested within them. In time, some die by wooden objects, metal, ropes, or in wells.

Only a sage can command ghosts and spirits without being misled by them. The sage puts all manner of spirits to work and grasps the key to their power. He can summon them, disperse them, and command them. Each day, the sage responds to all things, yet the mind remains still.

Bao Yi Zi said: The sage can command ghosts and spirits without being misled by them; ordinary people, by contrast, are misled by ghosts and spirits and cannot command them. Those who can command ghosts and spirits respond to all things each day, while their minds remain still. Those who are misled by ghosts and spirits have their minds obscured by affairs, and so they seek to rely on ghosts and spirits to handle everything. Even as they respond to all things each day, their minds cannot remain still.

Baoyi Zi says: The sage can command the wondrous workings of the spirit without being misled by them. Ordinary people, by contrast, are drawn to wondrous phenomena and lose the ability to command them. Those who can command the workings of the spirit respond to all things as they arise while remaining inwardly still. Those who become fascinated by wondrous phenomena have their minds obscured by external things and may even come under the control of ghosts and spirits.

What are called “ghosts” are also a purely Yin state of the spirit. They have no independent identity and depend on external things. Once they mistake an external thing for themselves, their vital essence and Qi become lodged in it. The self and external things then influence one another, and the spirit responds accordingly. That is why people under the control of ghosts and spirits may sometimes display strange signs or foretell good and ill fortune. Such people often think themselves proud and exceptional, believing they have attained the Dao, yet they do not realize that they have long been controlled by evil forces. In the end they lose their lives, are harmed by the Qi of the Five Phases, and perish along with the things on which they depend. The twenty-five demonic states described in the Buddhist Śūraṅgama Sūtra express the same idea. Though Buddhism had not yet reached China at the end of the Zhou dynasty, this book already discussed these principles. Compared with the related passages in Buddhist scriptures, the account here is more detailed yet more concise. How, then, could the Guan Yin Zi be understood by someone with only partial knowledge?

Guan Yin Zi says: If the mind cannot be single, the five senses—sight, hearing, and the rest—will all chase after external things, and the mind cannot truly be single. If the mind cannot be empty and still, the Qi of the Five Phases will fill it, and the mind cannot truly be empty. If the mind cannot be calm, all things will continue changing unseen, and the mind cannot truly be still. Even if one forces the mind into single-mindedness, it will still divide into opposing sides; even if one forces it to be empty, it will be filled by material things; even if one forces it to settle, it will stir again.

Only the sage can gather all things within a single thought, so that nothing can command the mind’s clear awareness; the sage can also scatter that thought throughout all things, so that nothing can obstruct their response or action.

Baoyi Zi says: The sage’s mind can both contract and expand. When it contracts, it can gather the myriad things within a single thought; when it expands, a single thought can extend throughout the myriad things. This does not come from first deliberately striving for one-pointedness, emptiness, or stillness. If you deliberately work to achieve one-pointedness, the mind is already divided; if you deliberately seek emptiness, the mind is not empty; if you deliberately seek stillness, the mind is not still. Only when you do not deliberately seek one-pointedness, emptiness, or stillness is the mind never divided in two, never attached to substantial existence, and never stirred by delusion. Though the sage often contracts and expands, in truth, how could he be attached to either contraction or expansion?

Thus, though the sage responds each day to myriad changes, the mind within remains still and settled. Nothing can enslave his clear mind, and nothing can sway his actions. The sage uses the “Five Mirrors”—a way of cultivating the inner self by reflecting it as a mirror does—to see the original mind clearly; indeed, it is as clear as a mirror.

Guan Yin Zi says: A fire may burn for a thousand years and be extinguished in an instant; a person’s acts of consciousness may continue for a thousand years and disappear in an instant.

Baoyi Zi says: Fire has no self by nature; it comes into being as clarity and turbidity separate. No fire arises on its own in the world. Fire depends on human effort: it is kindled by drilling wood or striking stone. Only then does it catch. This is what the Liezi means when it says, “Human beings produce fire.” Fire has no fixed form by nature, so even after burning fiercely for a thousand years, it can be extinguished in an instant.

Acts of consciousness are the same. From the time a person takes shape in the womb, they do not possess from the beginning the acts of consciousness they have now. Rather, these gradually take shape through the six sense faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—meeting external things and receiving impressions. This is what the Guan Yin Zi means when it says, “When things meet the mind, consciousness arises.” Acts of consciousness have no fixed location by nature. Even if one clings to the belief that they have continued for a thousand years, they can disappear in an instant. Yet extinguishing a fire is easy; preventing it from catching again is difficult. Removing acts of consciousness is easy; preventing them from arising again is difficult. The Commentary says, “Attaining the Dao is easy; keeping to the Dao is difficult.” This is indeed so.

Guan Yin Zi says: The boat floats on the water; what makes it float is the water, not the boat. The cart moves along; what makes it run is the ox, not the cart. The mind thinks; what makes the mind think is intention, not the mind. People do not know why things are as they are, yet they happen naturally. Precisely because they do not know why, there is nowhere to trace a thought’s origin and nowhere to find where it goes. Since a thought’s coming and going cannot be grasped, it is intention, not the mind, that can accord with Heaven. When thoughts arise naturally, without knowing why, and have no traceable origin or destination, they can accord with the source of Heaven and Earth and transcend past and present.

Bao Yizi says: The mind belongs to Fire, intention to Earth, and deliberation also to Earth. Thus it is intention, not the mind, that makes the mind think, just as water makes a boat float and an ox makes a cart move: the mind thinks by means of intention. The ancients said that when a cart stops moving, one can strike the cart or strike the ox. Today, when the mind is driven by deliberation, one can remove the mind or remove intention. The sages of the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—advocated having no intention, but did not advocate having no mind; there is good reason for this. When practitioners reflect, they should investigate where intention arises from. Pursue the inquiry to its end, and they will find that it happens naturally, though they do not know why; there is nowhere to trace a thought’s origin and nowhere to find where it goes. In this way, intention does not cling to intention; when intention does not cling, deliberation does not cling, and thoughts do not cling either. Reaching “thinking without thought, and thought without thoughts” in this way allows one to accord with the source of Heaven and Earth, transcend past and present, and endure. This differs from forcibly cutting off deliberation and making the mind as insentient as earth or wood.

Guan Yin Zi says: Understand that there is nothing substantial within the mind, and you will understand that the myriad things have no fixed substance. Understand that the myriad things have no fixed substance, and you will understand that the Dao has no fixed substance. Once you understand that the Dao has no fixed substance, you will neither venerate contrived acts of exceptional refinement nor be stirred by subtle and arcane words.

Bao Yizi says: The ancients had a saying: understand that the myriad things have no fixed substance, and you will understand that the Dao has no fixed substance; once you understand that the Dao has no fixed substance, you will neither venerate contrived acts of exceptional refinement nor be stirred by subtle and arcane words.

Bao Yizi said: The ancients once said, “If you regard another person as a sage, you become a madman yourself. If you blindly revere extraordinary conduct and are astonished by subtle, mysterious words, then you are chasing outward appearances and will never see the Dao (the Way).” The Dao is not confined to past or present, nor divided between sages and madmen; it is not bound by words or actions. No one in the past truly understood the Dao before it existed, and no one in the future can create it. Once this is clear, what counts as an external thing, and what as the inner self?

Guan Yin said: The mind arises through the interaction of external things and the self, just as fire appears when two pieces of wood rub together. We cannot say that the mind is located only within me, or only in external things; nor can we say that it belongs to me, or to external things. To insist on assigning it to either “me” or “external things” is foolish.

Bao Yizi said: The mind is like fire: it appears only through the interaction of two sides. The mind arises through the interaction of external things and the self, just as fire comes from rubbing two pieces of wood together. Some insist that the mind is on their own side or on the side of external things; others insist, on the contrary, that it is on neither side. All these views are foolish. How could they truly know the mind?

Guan Yin said: Do not rely on your own judgments of benefit and harm, right and wrong. Can you really judge these things accurately? Even sages do not cling to distinctions and knowledge, so how much less should you?

Bao Yizi said: The more people cling to gain and loss, the less harmony there is among family members; the more they cling to judgments of right and wrong, the harder it is to bring things to completion. Even sages do not cling to distinctions and knowledge, so how much less should you?

Bao Yizi also said: The more people cling to gain and loss, the less harmony there is among family members; the more they cling to judgments of right and wrong, the harder it is to bring things to completion. Even sages do not cling to distinctions and knowledge, so how much less should you? Can you really judge clearly what counts as benefit or harm, right or wrong?

Guan Yin said: At times, a dream at night seems to last longer than a whole night. The mind has no fixed time. Someone born in the state of Qi naturally sees and thinks of things in terms of Qi; later, on arriving in Song, Chu, Jin, or Liang, the images retained in the mind are different in each place. The mind has no fixed location.

Bao Yizi said, “Deng Zheng dreamed that a lifetime of honor and disgrace seemed to pass through many seasons. When he awoke, the millet in the pot had not yet finished cooking; only a brief moment had passed. Does the human mind really have a fixed measure of time? A child from Chu was born and raised in Chu, then later taken to the bustling Zhuangyue district of Linzi, the capital of Qi, where he lived for several years. Even if he were beaten every day and told to speak the language of Chu, he could no longer do it. Does the human mind really have fixed habits tied to a particular place? Those in the world who cling to fixed times and places in search of their original mind are like someone who dreams of a long lifetime, only to wake and find that a moment has passed. Does the human mind really have a fixed measure of time? A child from Chu was born and raised in Chu, then later taken to live in Zhuangyue for several years. Even if he were beaten every day and told to speak the language of Chu, he could no longer do it. Does the human mind really have fixed habits tied to a particular place? How could those who cling to time and place in search of their original mind ever come to know it?”

Guan Yin said, “A skilled archer should take the bow as his teacher, not Yi. A skilled boatman should take the boat as his teacher, not a master boatman. One who is skilled at cultivating the mind should take their own mind as their teacher, not a sage.”

Bao Yizi said, “Bian the Wheelwright’s exquisite skill at making wheels could not be passed from father to son. The essential thing is to grasp it in the heart and put it into practice with the hands. How could this be transmitted through a teacher and student? Feng Meng learned archery from Yi and mastered all of Yi’s skill. Does that mean he had truly learned everything? If he really had, he would not have thought that Yi was the only person in the world more skilled than himself. Yet those who study the sages, if they think they have exhausted the sages’ teachings, are like a mouse drinking from a river: they can take in only as much as their own bellies can hold.

“The comparison between the skilled archer who takes the bow as a teacher, the skilled boatman who takes the boat as a teacher, and the person skilled at cultivating the mind who takes the mind as a teacher is apt. The bow offers the arrow, the target, the stance, and strength as things to learn from. The boat offers the sail, the oars, the wind, and the water as things to follow. As for the mind, when it is clear, it can perceive; when it is clouded, that is simply how it is. Where, then, could one find a teacher to instruct it? Still, if those who cultivate themselves can discern a hint of what is happening as the mind shifts between clarity and obscurity—whether they are active or sitting quietly, speaking or silent—they will understand that the original mind itself is an inexhaustible source of guidance.”

Guan Yin Zi said: Right and wrong, good and bad, success and failure, fullness and lack are all results of the workings of creation and transformation. Only because people cling to their own understanding do they take these distinctions to be real. So they try to use “nothingness” to erase the distinctions, but the distinctions remain. They then use the idea that things are “neither being nor nonbeing” to erase them, yet the distinctions remain just the same. Even when they say that everything is utterly silent and merged into one, those distinctions still linger in the mind.

It is like visiting a place in the past and returning to it later: the memory remains vivid. Such memories cannot be cleared away by forgetting or rejecting them. Those skilled at releasing attachment can transform “consciousness”—the recognition and differentiation of things—into “wisdom,” a clear seeing that does not cling to distinctions. Do you know how consciousness can be transformed into wisdom?

Consider it this way: “thought” is like thinking of ghosts and spirits and then trembling inwardly, or thinking of thieves and then becoming tense. “Consciousness” is like mistaking millet for glutinous millet, or jade for stone—unsteady, baseless misperceptions. For example, when you see something strange, strange imaginings arise in your mind about it, and you form judgments about it. These imaginings and judgments do not originate in the thing itself, but in the activity of human understanding. Today is simply today; what tomorrow will be like cannot be known in advance. When tomorrow arrives, people form all sorts of understandings and distinctions, which likewise arise along with the appearance of things.

Again, a rhinoceros gazes at the moon, and the moon’s image seems to be reflected on its horn. In truth, the image of the moon on the horn exists only through the activity of consciousness; the real moon is not inside the rhinoceros’s horn. The myriad things between Heaven and Earth in the mind are the same. Those who understand this do not cling outwardly to the things they see, nor inwardly to their own emotions and feelings.

Bao Yizi says: The myriad things between Heaven and Earth, and all the events of past and present, remain in the human heart, like the image of the moon seeming to arise within a rhinoceros’s horn. If the rhinoceros has not looked up at the moon and imagined it in its heart, no moon image will appear in its horn. Since the image is already there, however, one cannot say that the image of the entire rhinoceros does not exist. This is a metaphor for how everything remains in the human heart: we cannot simply forget it or drive it away. For example, when we revisit a place we once traveled through, our memories remain vivid. This is the work of consciousness.

Moreover, what we see today or encounter today gives us no way of knowing what we will see tomorrow. Yet when tomorrow arrives, all kinds of thoughts and memories arise in turn. But before tomorrow comes, before those things have appeared, where do the roots of these thoughts and perceptions lie? From this we can see that the thoughts and perceptions arising today are merely delusive thoughts and mistaken perceptions.

Suppose there are no ghosts, yet someone thinks of ghosts; or there are no thieves, yet someone thinks of thieves. These are delusions, but they can still give rise to baseless feelings such as fear and dread. Mistaking millet for broomcorn millet, or jade for stone, is simply a mistake in recognition, yet it can lead someone to the false belief that there really is broomcorn millet or stone. So how are seeing strange things or encountering unusual events any different from these baseless feelings and perceptions? If we cling to the conviction that they are real and beyond doubt, holding them in our hearts and refusing to let them go, we cannot be called wise.

Understanding this makes it possible to grasp the saying “transforming consciousness into wisdom.” Here, “consciousness” means the mind that distinguishes and recognizes things; “wisdom” means insight that is not stirred by such distinctions. To transform consciousness into wisdom is to avoid clinging to things perceived outside oneself and, within, to avoid clinging to one’s own feelings.

Guan Yinzi says: All things emerge from earth and, in the end, change and return to earth. Events arise from thought and, in the end, change along with thought. Understand this, and you will see that the same thing may at one moment seem right to thought and at another seem wrong; at one moment good, and at another bad. Thought changes, but the mind does not change with it. Thought makes distinctions, but the mind itself does not therefore make distinctions. If you hold fast to the single, clear original mind, you will understand that the external things thought encounters come and go like dust, and that events arise and disappear like phantoms. If my mind rests on an enduring, unchanging foundation, it can remain still and undisturbed.

Baoyizi says: Understanding and discernment arise from thought, and thought arises from the mind. Those skilled at putting an end to discernment need only remove its source: thought. All things, for example, emerge from earth and eventually return to earth; understanding arises from thought and ultimately changes along with it. Although understanding distinguishes right from wrong and good from evil in events, all these judgments change with thought. When thought fixes on right and wrong, understanding follows by distinguishing right from wrong; when thought fixes on good and evil, understanding follows by distinguishing good from evil. It is like a son turning wherever his mother turns.

Yet although thought changes, the mind does not change because of it; although thought perceives, the mind itself does not therefore make distinctions. Understand that the mind neither changes nor makes distinctions, and you will see that thought comes and goes like dust, while events arise and vanish like phantoms. Neither can disturb the original mind, which is the master. As long as my mind remains unified, an enduring, unchanging foundation is present.

Guan Yinzi says: Feelings arise from the mind, and the mind arises from innate nature. Feelings are like waves on water, the mind like flowing water, and innate nature like water itself. External things touch me only for the briefest instant. If I receive them through innate nature, the mind will not stir in response, and external things will simply drift past.

Baoyizi (the author’s self-designation) says: Those in later generations who discuss “nature” all say that nature arises from the heart. They regard the heart as the mother and nature as the child, and believe that the Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness—are all rooted in a single heart. None of these views reaches an understanding of what true nature is. When the sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism explained true nature, their insights seemed to come from one voice. The worthy, however, clung to their respective doctrines and so did not enter the realm of the sages.

Confucius said that only after investigating things and principles can one fully realize one’s nature; the “principle” spoken of here is the heart. Mencius, too, said that by fully realizing one’s heart, one can know one’s nature, and by knowing one’s nature, one can understand Heaven’s intent. Buddhism likewise teaches that one must clarify the heart before seeing one’s nature, and so advocates pointing directly to the human heart, seeing one’s nature, and becoming a Buddha. To say now that the heart arises from nature, regarding nature as the mother and the heart as the child, accords with these teachings as well.

To make this easier for students to understand, Baoyizi uses water as an analogy: nature is like water, the heart like its flow, and emotions like waves. In this way, root and branch, and the order of what comes first and later, become clear and easy to distinguish. If external things stir us incessantly and we then use the heart to respond to each one in turn, is that not exhausting? The things in the world are endless, while human spirit is limited. Using a finite heart and spirit to deal with endless things leaves the heart and spirit depleted. Only the sage receives things through nature, so the heart is not stirred. Though things come and go in profusion, they cannot enter the sage’s inner heart.

Guan Yin Zi says: Some people can distinguish the worthy from the foolish, and the true from the false; others cannot. Those people may be worthy or foolish, true or false, but whether they are called worthy or foolish, true or false, depends on my discernment. Once we understand that such judgments are formed through discernment, we know that even what is real may be taken for false.

Baoyizi says: The worthy and wise deserve admiration and respect, while the foolish do not. What is true readily draws one’s attention, but is not easily remembered firmly; what is false does not readily stir my discernment. Once we understand that the true and the false are determined through discernment, we know that even what is real may be taken for false.

Baoyizi says: The wise are worthy of admiration and esteem, while the foolish are not worthy of either. What is real readily draws attention, yet is difficult to remember firmly; what is false receives little regard, yet is easily forgotten. But what we call wise or foolish, real or false, is distinguished by our own understanding. If we see clearly our own nature and cognition, we will understand that even the wise may be regarded as foolish, and even what is real may be regarded as false. In this way, we can turn rigid understanding into wisdom and let go of distinctions that are easily forgotten.

Guan Yin says: When the mind is touched by external things, the mind itself does not thereby come into being; only emotions arise. When external things meet the mind, those things themselves do not thereby come into being; only cognition takes shape. If external things are not real and unchanging, how much less so is our cognition of them. And if cognition is not real and unchanging, how much less so are the emotions it gives rise to.

Those deluded cling to the belief that something exists amid utter emptiness, and that things remain constant amid ceaseless change. Once an emotion is recognized and accumulated, it gives rise to many emotions; as these accumulate, they give rise to the manifold world of things. External things come and go without end, while my mind has its limits. Thus my originally clear mind is ruled by emotions, and my inner, authentic nature is ruled by external things. Things may be allowed to come or go, but their coming and going is not originally under my control. They are driven by the transformations of creation, without end or pause.

People do not understand that although Heaven and Earth are vast and can govern things with form, they cannot govern what is formless. Although Yin-Yang is subtle and can govern things with Qi, it cannot govern what has no Qi. Wherever the mind directs itself, Qi moves accordingly; wherever Qi reaches, the body responds. This is like the Great Void—the vast, empty expanse of cosmic space—in which the One Qi transforms and forms the myriad things. Yet this One Qi itself cannot be called the Great Void. My mind can transform into Qi and into form, but the mind itself has neither Qi nor form. When we understand that our mind is originally without Qi and form, Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang can no longer govern it.

Bao Yizi says: Although Heaven and Earth are vast, and the transformations of Yin and Yang are subtle, their power can govern things that have form and Qi, but not things without form or Qi. My own mind is originally without form or Qi; even Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang cannot govern it. Yet it is controlled by emotions and made a servant of external things. Why is this? Because people insist that something exists where there is utmost emptiness, and that something is eternal amid constant change. Understanding gives rise to emotion, and emotion binds the mind to external things. External things are without limit, and the transformations of creation are unpredictable. As the human mind follows external things back and forth, it cannot be free.

Someone says, “My mind can transform into Qi and take on form. Once it becomes Qi and form, it is governed by the Five Phases and constrained by Yin-Yang; its waxing and waning, its comings and goings, are beyond its control. If it is governed by creation, how can it be free?” Alas, this is like a painter or sculptor who creates phantoms of ghosts and spirits, then becomes afraid of them, forgetting that the mind is originally one with the Great Void (the vast, formless source that contains all things). The Great Void transforms within the One Qi (the primordial Qi through which all things come into being) and takes shape as the myriad things, but the One Qi is not the same as the Great Void. The deluded mistake the One Qi for the Great Void itself. How, then, could they escape the governance of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang?

Guan Yin Zi says: When people suddenly see something strange in their ordinary lives, it is because Jing-Qi has gathered and formed that phenomenon. When they suddenly see something strange while ill, it is because the mind has been impaired, and the phenomenon appears as a result. If you understand that your mind can manifest something from nothing, you will know that it can also manifest nothing from something. People simply do not believe this, and so the mind’s capacity cannot be revealed. Someone asks, “If a person’s understanding is already clouded, who could still disbelieve it?” I answer, “A snake catcher has no fear of snakes; even if he dreams of one, he will not be frightened.” Thus the Yellow Emperor said, “The Dao makes no distinctions between ghosts and spirits; it moves by itself, coming and going without end.”

“Straining the eyes by staring” means keeping the eyes open and gazing for a long time until they grow tired. When this fatigue persists, the spirit gathers, and one suddenly sees something unusual. Some people therefore believe that what they saw truly exists. What is so strange about that? I would answer: A snake catcher is not afraid of snakes in his heart, so even if he dreams of a snake, he feels no fear. That is why the Yellow Emperor said, “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits; it simply comes and goes alone.”

When prolonged staring tires the eyes and gathers the spirit, causing one suddenly to see strange things, this is no different from someone with an eye ailment seeing flowers in the air or seeing one moon become two. Sometimes a person preoccupied with a particular worry will suddenly see the image of someone they resent. Such things all appear out of nowhere. Once someone has seen them with their own eyes, who could fail to believe in them?

A snake catcher, for example, is not afraid even when he dreams of a snake because he is accustomed to them, as though this were simply his nature. Long ago, someone lived in the mountains and practiced stillness and concentration. Mountain spirits appeared before him in all kinds of uncanny forms, changing in countless ways to disturb him. He closed his eyes and refused to look. “Your tricks will eventually run out,” he said, “but my practice of not listening and not looking has no end.” The mountain spirits then withdrew and never appeared again. This is how what appears to exist can be made to become nothing: simply refuse to believe in it, and it will naturally cease to seem supernatural.

As for creating all kinds of things in the mind—seeing images of infants, women, Azure Dragons, White Tigers, and the like—these are all created by one’s own mind. Whether they appear or disappear is up to oneself. This is different from suddenly seeing something unusual. Yet even when sages see such things, they act as though they have not seen them. Why? Did the Yellow Emperor not say, “The Dao has no ghosts or spirits; it simply comes and goes alone”?

Guan Yin Zi said: “My thoughts change every day. It seems as though some force is driving them, but the one driving them is not truly me; it is fate. If I can understand that everything is brought about by fate, then outwardly I will not cling to the self, and inwardly I will not cling to the mind.”

Bao Yi Zi said: “A person’s thoughts are different every day. No one deliberately arranges them, yet they arise of themselves. What, then, makes them so? It is fate. Since we say it is fate, are these changes decided by me, or are they beyond my control? If my fate is arranged by Heaven, then I cannot control my thoughts. If my fate is in my own hands, why should I still think and worry? That is why one should not cling to the self outwardly or to thoughts inwardly.”

Guan Yinzi said: The eyes can see all things between Heaven and Earth. But if, for a moment, you draw your attention back and turn inward, everything before your eyes suddenly disappears from view.

Bao Yizi said: This chapter should be understood together with the previous one. People have all kinds of thoughts, just as the eyes can see all things between Heaven and Earth. If they can turn the light around and reflect inward—drawing back attention that has scattered outward—then all things between Heaven and Earth temporarily disappear from awareness. If so, why cling to thought? Yet few people in the world understand this principle.

Guan Yinzi said: When the eyes keep gazing at finely crafted things, their sight is harmed all the more. When the ears listen to a jumble of sounds, their hearing is harmed all the more. When the mind dwells on abstruse and profound questions, the spirit is harmed all the more.

Bao Yizi said: This chapter, too, should be read together with the previous one. If the eyes cannot turn inward to observe, but keep gazing at fine details, their sight will be harmed. If the ears cannot gather in their hearing, but keep listening to a jumble of sounds, their hearing will be harmed. If the mind cannot put aside scattered thoughts, but keeps dwelling on abstruse principles, the spirit will be harmed. The meaning is complete only when the three chapters are read in sequence.

Guan Yinzi said: Do not use your own mind to speculate about others; use their minds to understand them. Those who grasp this principle can handle affairs thoroughly, put Virtue into practice, penetrate the Great Dao, and associate with others. They can also “establish others,” helping them to fulfill themselves. In this way, they can forget the self.

Bao Yizi said: If you use your own thoughts to speculate about others, everyone’s understanding and views will differ. Once self and other are distinguished, boundaries and barriers arise between them. How, then, can affairs be handled thoroughly? If affairs cannot be handled thoroughly, how much less can one associate with others, put Virtue into practice, or penetrate the Great Dao? Only by using another’s mind to understand them does one follow the sage’s teaching of selflessness. Once this is achieved, no affair is beyond thorough handling, no person beyond association, no Virtue beyond practice, and no Great Dao beyond penetration.

Guan Yin Zi said: In the affairs of the world, if a small problem is not kept in check, it will grow into a large one; if a large problem is not kept in check, it will reach the point of becoming uncontrollable. Thus, one who can restrain an emotion can cultivate De (Virtue); one who can forget an emotion can accord with the Dao (the Way).

Bao Yizi said: Those who seek learning know only to guard against faults in small matters, but do not know to restrain emotions at their earliest stirrings. One who can restrain an emotion can cultivate De; one who can forget an emotion can accord with the Dao. From this, we can see that cultivating De is not difficult, nor is according with the Dao; it is only emotions that are difficult to restrain. Though an emotion may be slight, if it is not kept in check, it will grow into a major problem. If a major problem is not kept in check, it will become uncontrollable. Who could fully describe the harm it brings? This is true of all the principles of the world.

End of Volume Five of The Meaning Beyond the Words of the True Classic of Wenshi.

The Meaning Beyond the Words of the True Classic of Wenshi, Volume Six

Written by Bao Yizi Chen Xianwei.

Chapter Six: The Dagger-Spoon

“Bi” means to eat; eating is connected to the human body. This chapter contains sixteen sections.

Guan Yin Zi says: People think that my thoughts are different from other people’s thoughts, and other people’s thoughts are different from mine; so they divide things into “self” and “others.” They do not realize that people in dreams also feel their thoughts differ from those of others, and that others’ thoughts differ from their own. So who, after all, is “me,” and who is “other”?

People think that the pain I feel differs from the pain others feel, and that the pain others feel differs from mine; so they divide things into “self” and “others.” Yet people in dreams likewise feel that my pain differs from others’ pain, and that others’ pain differs from mine. So who, after all, is “me,” and who is “other”?

Fingernails and hair feel no pain, and hands and feet have no thoughts, yet they are still part of my body. How, then, can thoughts and pain alone distinguish me from others? People assume that what only they themselves see is a dream, while what many people see together is waking reality. They do not realize that when a person’s Jing and Qi gather, that person may sometimes see something alone in broad daylight; and when people’s spirits come together, two people may sometimes share the same dream at night. Both situations involve the human spirit. Which, then, is a dream, and which is waking?

People also assume that what they see briefly is a dream, while what they see for a long time is waking reality. They do not realize that brief visions are formed by Yin-Yang Qi, and lasting visions are formed by Yin-Yang Qi as well. Both arise from the Yin-Yang Qi within oneself. Which, then, is a dream, and which is waking?

In the past, someone who did not understand what “I” was tried to find it in outward appearance, but could not. They then searched for it in sound, but still could not find it. They looked next in smell, taste, sensation, and thought, and found nothing there either. Only then did they realize that the true “I” cannot be seen, heard, or touched. To cling to any particular thing and identify it as “I” is mistaken. How, then, could one know what is called the true self?

People take the activities of body and mind that can think and feel pain to be “I,” and the parts that cannot think or feel pain to be “not I.” Both views are wrong. Is what can think really me? The “I” has no ideas or thoughts to begin with. Where, then, does thought come from? It arises when consciousness attaches itself to external things and these attachments accumulate into habitual activity. Thought appears in this way; such reflections are not inherent in the true self. The “I” has no form or substance to begin with. Where, then, does pain come from? It arises when the vital energies and conditions come together temporarily and, upon being touched, give rise to sensation. Pain is not a feeling inherent in the true self.

But are the parts that cannot think or feel pain really not me? Fingernails and hair do not feel pain, and the hands and feet themselves do not think, yet they still belong to me. The things in a dream—the lands and all that they contain—do not think; the people, spirits, birds, and beasts in a dream do not feel pain either, yet they appear in the dream all the same. How, then, can “I” be sharply separated from these images?

People call images that appear only in one person’s mind and last briefly “dreams,” and images that everyone can see and that last longer “waking life.” These judgments, too, are incomplete. Are images that appear only in one person’s mind and last briefly truly dreams? The “I” does not dream to begin with. Dreams arise when the Yin night, sleep, and consciousness meet. Nor does the “I” have a waking realm to begin with. The images of waking life arise when the Yang day, the waking state, and what is seen meet.

But are images that everyone can see and that last longer truly not dreams? When people’s spirits resonate, two people may have the same dream at night. The accumulated tendencies of Yin and Yang may also cause all things in Heaven and Earth to appear for a long time like a dream. How can waking life and dreams be sharply divided solely by the different ways they appear?

There is no fundamental difference between people and me, nor between waking life and dreams. From this we know that the worlds filling the expanse of space, and the people and things between Heaven and Earth, are all manifestations of the true self. Yet not one of them can be fixed upon as “I.”

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who cherish benevolence often dream of pine trees, parasol trees, peach trees, and plum trees. Those who cherish righteousness often dream of weapons, swords, and metal. Those who cherish ritual propriety often dream of baskets, winnowing trays, and grain vessels. Those who cherish wisdom often dream of rivers, lakes, and marshes. Those who cherish trustworthiness often dream of mountains and open country. Human dreams are influenced by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); none escape this. Yet if, in a dream, one hears of something or thinks of something, the dream changes accordingly. So the Five Phases cannot bind dreams completely. The sage uses the mind to master external things and uses innate nature to gather in the mind. When mind and the workings of creation accord, the Five Phases can no longer bind him.

Bao Yi Zi says: People in the world cannot escape the influence of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases because they harbor thoughts and concerns in their minds and are therefore constrained by things. An ancient text says, “No calamity is greater than Yin-Yang; people cannot escape the space between Heaven and Earth.” It also says, “The Five Thieves lie hidden in the heart and act upon Heaven.” The “Five Thieves” here refers to the way Yin-Yang and the Five Phases constrain people. Human thoughts and concerns always settle on some event or thing, and things all fall within the scope of the Five Phases. People are therefore governed by the Five Thieves and find it hard to break free.

This constraint appears as what is seen before one’s eyes in the yang state, and as dreams in the yin state; while awake, it appears as events, and in sleep, as things. For example, those who cherish benevolence often dream of pine trees and parasol trees: this is all due to the influence of the Five Phases. But if, in a dream, one suddenly hears of something else or thinks of something else, one’s understanding and perspective shift, and the dream changes too. The Five Phases can no longer confine it completely. Once we understand that the influence of the Five Phases in dreams can be changed, we can see that all events and things can be mastered by the mind, rather than having to be ruled by them. If we are not ruled by things, how can Yin-Yang and the Five Phases become calamities or thieves?

The sage masters things without relying on thought, using the mind to gather in the mind; without relying on notions, following innate nature. This is why the sage’s mind accords with the workings of creation and is therefore not bound by the Five Phases.

Guan Yin Zi said, “If you see someone with a snake’s head and a human body, arms like an ox’s, or fish scales growing on their body—or someone with a ghostly appearance and the wings of a bird—you need not be surprised. Such strange sights are no stranger than dreams, and dreams are no stranger than everything we see while awake. The fact that people have ears, eyes, hands, and arms is stranger still. The greatest truth cannot be fully expressed in words, and the highest wisdom cannot be reached through thought.”

Bao Yi Zi, a Daoist figure who comments here, said, “Heaven does not speak, yet the sun and moon move without pause, and the seasons take their turns. Though Heaven says nothing, it sets the sun and moon in motion and the seasons in their course. This is the greatest of utterances. The sage understands it without deliberation; this is the highest wisdom.

“When people see something they have never seen before, such as a figure with a snake’s head and a human body, they find it strange. Yet they do not ask where the scenes in dreams come from, or how they are seen. In sleep, when the spirit is at rest, heaven and earth and all manner of people suddenly appear in dreams. People are accustomed to dreams, so they do not find them strange. But if we examine the matter closely, is it not astonishing that our originally clear and tranquil spirit can transform itself into dreams?

“Once you recognize how strange dreams are, look again at your own body: it has ears and eyes, hands and arms, and what you see and hear, and the way you move and act, are all far more substantial than the scenes in dreams. Is this not stranger still? And the wonders of a mouth that can speak and a mind that can think are beyond telling.

“Someone might say, ‘My appearance was given to me by the Dao, and my body by Heaven. Though I have ears, eyes, hands, and feet, I need not think about them, so I see nothing strange in them.’ Can this really dispel the sense of strangeness?”

I replied, “What is the Great Dao?” The person raised the earlier question again. I said, “The greatest truth cannot be expressed in words, and the highest wisdom cannot be attained through thought.” Hearing this, the person grew afraid and withdrew.

Guan Yin Zi said, “Someone asked me, ‘What is your surname, what is your given name, what is your courtesy name, what clothes do you wear…’”

Guan Yinzi said: Someone asked me, “What is your surname? What is your given name, and what is your courtesy name? What do you wear and eat? Who are your friends and servants? What qin do you play, and what books do you read? Are you versed in ancient affairs or those of the present age?” I remained silent then and did not answer a single word. The person kept pressing me, and at last I had no choice but to reply: “You have not even seen yourself. How, then, can you determine what sort of person I am?”

Baoyizi said: Everyone has a true self, an essential nature that exists independently of outward appearance, social identity, and labels. Even sages and people of wisdom may not readily come to know it for themselves. Because people cannot know their true selves, some seek the “I” in outward appearance, while others seek it in the voice; this makes finding it even less possible. How much less can one find the “I” by asking about surnames, names, clothing and food, friends and servants, the qin and books, or affairs of past and present?

The sage remained silent and did not answer. On the surface, this seemed to be no response, but in fact it was a profound answer. The other person did not understand the sage’s meaning and continued to press him. Was this questioning an act of belief or of doubt? If it was belief, then the “I” he took himself to be and the “other” I took him to be were one and the same. The person he saw was like the person I saw. Since neither of us could take the other as our own true self, I could not make him understand through words. If it was doubt, then the sage had answered by not responding in terms of the outward self, rather than by responding in terms of the “outward self.” Since he had answered, yet not in the usual sense of answering, what was there to doubt about answering through silence? Why keep pressing him?

The sage then guided the other person by following the way he clung to deluded views, saying: You want to know me by “seeing,” rather than by letting go of attachment to what is seen. You want to know me from what I manifest, though it cannot be seen outwardly, but you do not recognize me through what is unseen. So the sage replied: “You have not even seen yourself. How, then, can you determine what sort of person I am?” Ah, this already carries a second layer of meaning.

Guan Yin says: The body can divide and unite, prolong its life, and conceal itself. One man and one woman can give birth to two children; this shows that the body can divide. Two people can also combine to form one child; this shows that the body can unite. Eating giant sesame (sesame seeds) can prolong life; this shows that the body can endure. At night, when there is no moonlight or lamplight, others cannot see me; this shows that the body can conceal itself.

With the One Qi, the fundamental energy from which all things are formed, all things come into being, just as fallen hair can grow back; thus the body can divide. With the One Qi, all things are brought together, just as a split lip can heal; thus the body can unite. By keeping Shen with Qi, and sustaining the body with Qi, the body can endure. Let the body return and unite with Shen, and Shen return and unite with nonbeing, the state without form or trace; thus the body can conceal itself. Do you wish to understand these principles? Do you wish to achieve them for yourself?

Bao Yizi said: “There are three levels of Daoist cultivation. The highest takes Shen (spirit) as its basis, the middle takes Qi (vital energy) as its basis, and the lowest takes the body as its basis. Nourishing Qi through Shen, and the body through Qi, can prolong the life of the body. When the body and Shen are brought into harmony, and Shen is then returned to emptiness, the body can disappear. These two methods of cultivation…

“Though the methods described above differ in subtlety, both take Shen as their basis and belong to the highest level. The view that all things arise from the One Qi—the primordial Qi of the universe—and that all things return to unity through the One Qi, as well as methods such as seeking the ancestral Qi, consuming primordial Qi, cultivating embryonic breathing through breath retention, and receiving the mother of Qi, all take Qi as their basis and belong to the middle level. Consuming giant sesame seeds can prolong life; taking lunar fire, a substance said in Daoism to be refined and cultivated, can make the body disappear. Other methods, such as consuming metals, minerals, plants, and trees, or visualizing a particular part of the body, take the body or external things as their basis and belong to the lowest level.

“Among these three, however, Shen is the most clear and numinous, the body the most dense and turbid, and Qi lies between clarity and turbidity. If the body, dense and turbid as it is, can still gather and disperse, and thereby endure or disappear, how much more so can Qi and Shen? For those who study the Dao and wish to understand and put these principles into practice, the key lies in their own resolve.”

Guan Yinzi said: “If there is nothing that cannot be seen, then all things may be called what I see. If there is nothing that cannot be heard, then all things may be called what I hear. The five kinds of material nourish the body, yet nothing is wholly unrelated to my body. The five flavors nourish Qi, yet nothing is wholly unrelated to my Qi. Thus my body and Qi extend through all things between Heaven and Earth.”

Bao Yizi said: The five grains and other staple foods nourish the body, while the five flavors regulate the breath. In that case, there is nothing between Heaven and Earth that does not form my body and breath. More than that, there is nothing that I do not see or hear. What, then, are hearing and seeing? If the body is what hears and sees, why can a corpse neither hear nor see? If breath is what hears and sees, why can I neither hear nor see when sighing or exhaling? It is clear that beyond body and breath, something else governs and sustains hearing and seeing.

Doesn’t a classic say: “In a hazy, indistinct state, there seems to be something; in the deep, shadowy darkness, there is essence and vital energy”? To know what this is: it is spirit. Shen (spirit) does not belong independently to some “me”: the forms and colors of all things in Heaven and Earth allow my Shen to appear. Jing (essence) likewise does not belong independently to any one person: the sounds of all things in Heaven and Earth allow my Jing to hear. Thus my body and breath are all things in Heaven and Earth, while my Shen is connected with the sounds, forms, and colors of all things.

Guan Yinzi said: A farmer who knows oxen becomes rough and rugged; a hunter who knows tigers becomes brave; a fisher who knows water can dive beneath it; a soldier who knows horses becomes strong. All things can become part of me. Within my body, roundworms and pinworms can arise; outside it, lice and fleas gather. When scars appear on my body, I resemble turtles and fish; when I grow thin and weak, I resemble mice and ants. Thus I, too, can become all things.

Bao Yi Zi says: The human body does not truly belong to us in the first place. If we become accustomed to external things over a long period, we change along with them. If our breath and Qi (vital energy) go awry, we too change as the Qi changes. The ancients told of someone who painted a tiger so vividly that he eventually turned into one. The story means that when we are constantly exposed to something, we come to resemble it. There was also someone who developed a tumor; when it was cut open, it was found to be full of lice. This is like weak and delicate things transforming into pinworms, roundworms, and the like. Our bodies change when we become accustomed to external things, and they change when our breath is diseased. People cling to their bodies, mistakenly believing they truly belong to them. How could they understand that Heaven and Earth have only temporarily entrusted them with their physical form?

Guan Yin Zi says: The way I have become “me” is like gold hidden in ashes. This is worse than gold hidden in furnace slag, where it can still be shoveled out, or gold hidden in sand, where it can still be washed free. If all you do is scatter ashes in search of gold, you will never find it, even in a lifetime.

Bao Yi Zi says: If you do not understand that the “I” has no fixed substance, yet exhaust your efforts searching for a real “I,” it is like scattering ashes to find gold: you will never find it, even in a lifetime. Understand that there is no fixed “I,” and you will stop insisting on searching for one. Then the “I” is like gold hidden in ore, or jade concealed within unworked stone. The ancients also used the examples of saltiness contained in water and clear glue hidden within colored glue: they are truly there, yet have no visible shape. These are apt comparisons.

Guan Yin Zi says: Even a tiny bee can roam and survey Heaven and Earth; even a tiny shrimp can move freely through the great sea.

Bao Yi Zi says: Every living, sentient creature possesses this mind and also possesses the Dao (the Way). The ancients spoke of a tiny creature called “Jiao Ming” that could build a world on a mosquito’s eyebrow. In terms of physical form, there are indeed differences in size; in terms of mind and the Dao, there is no difference in size. So a bee can roam and survey Heaven and Earth, and a shrimp can move freely through the great sea. We should not look down on them because their bodies are small.

Guan Yin Zi says: Clay figures are molded into people of high rank and people of low rank, into scholars and women; yet their substance is all clay. Does that mean the clay itself is a person?

Bao Yizi says: When people meet, they see differences in the other person—male or female, noble or humble—and form thoughts of liking or disliking, reverence or contempt. They are being ruled by distinctions in their consciousness and have not used wisdom to observe clearly. But when they encounter a figure molded from clay, they may also recognize its male or female, noble or humble appearance without forming thoughts of love or aversion, high or low, because they know that its true substance is only clay. This, too, is wisdom that recognizes the nature of things. That is why the passage above says: Once you know that such distinctions are created by consciousness, even when facing real people you can regard them as though they were mere fabrications. This is the subtle power of transforming discriminating consciousness into wisdom.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the eyes look at themselves, there is no color in the eyes; when the ears listen to themselves, there is no sound in the ears; when the tongue tastes itself, there is no flavor in the tongue; when the mind weighs itself, there is nothing fixed within it. Ordinary people pursue the outer world; the worthy cling to what is within; sages regard both as illusory.

Bao Yizi says: The eyes pursue colors, the ears pursue sounds, the tongue pursues flavors, and the mind pursues external things: these are ordinary people. The eyes turn inward to observe, the ears draw back their hearing to listen within, the tongue gathers its fluids and tastes itself, and the mind gathers its thoughts and turns to look within: these are the worthy. Pursuing the outer world is certainly mistaken, but clinging to what is within is also delusion. An earlier poet wrote: “Though you have let go of worldly burdens, your mind is still entangled. What difference is there between the two?” Thus sages regard both inward and outward attachments as illusory.

Guan Yin Zi says: The human body is formed from the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), whose nature is originally one. It is like a single place from which one can draw fire and water, where plants can grow, metal can take shape, and earth can form. Its nature can contain these transformations, yet at the source there is no difference. Thus, when winged creatures flourish, furry creatures find it difficult to reproduce; when furry creatures flourish, scaled creatures find it difficult to reproduce. One who understands that the Qi of the Five Phases can interact with one another is able to forget the self.

Bao Yizi says: The birds and beasts, insects and fish between Heaven and Earth all possess the attributes of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Compared with humans, however, each kind receives a different balance of the Qi of the Five Phases. Those with an abundance of Fire Qi become feathered creatures; those with an abundance of Metal Qi become furry creatures; those with an abundance of Water Qi become scaled creatures. The Vermilion Bird dwelling in the south and the White Tiger in the west are examples of the same principle. When one kind of Qi is abundant, another is deficient. From this we can see that humans and all things each possess the Five Phases, whose Qi circulates endlessly and interacts. Looking back at one’s own body, it too is merely a temporary gathering of the Qi of the Five Phases. How deluded are those who cling to this body in their ignorance! Those who understand this principle can forget the self.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the mind is occupied with other things, one may even forget hunger; when anger fills the heart, one may even forget the cold; when one devotes oneself to nourishing body and mind, one may even forget illness; when emotions run high, one may even forget pain. Indeed, it is so! Those who understand this principle can forget the self.

Guan Yin Zi says: When the mind is occupied with other things, one may even forget hunger; when anger fills the heart, one may even forget the cold; when one devotes oneself to nourishing body and mind, one may even forget illness; when emotions run high, one may even forget pain. If one regulates the breath to nurture Qi in a state of calm, who could still make one feel hungry? If one preserves and nourishes the spirit to bring warmth to the body, who could still make one feel cold? If one nourishes the Five Viscera—the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys—in accordance with the Five Phases, the body will suffer no harm; who could still make one fall ill? If one brings the Five Viscera into accord with the workings of the Five Phases, one will no longer be aware of them; who could still make one feel pain?

Bao Yizi says: Human hunger, cold, illness, and pain are all connected with the deluded mind—the false thoughts that divide and discriminate. For example, when you are thinking about something else and temporarily forget your hunger, one deluded thought is merely suppressing another.

If you understand that deluded thoughts all arise from the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), you can also use their generating and overcoming cycles to regulate them and make them dissipate. Harmonizing the breath through inhalation can temporarily make you forget hunger; gathering the Shen (spirit) and holding the mind steady to kindle warmth can temporarily make you forget the cold. These are methods of regulation within the Five Phases: using Metal to support Earth and Fire to restrain Water. Regulating the five organs so they correspond to the Five Phases can treat illness; this applies the phases’ cycles of overcoming and generating, along with methods of supplementing and draining. Understanding the five organs in terms of the Five Phases can make you forget pain; this is a state of nonattachment to the body and breath.

But to be nourished without inhaling, to be warm without gathering the Shen, to heal without regulating the five organs, and to forget pain without relying on the Five Phases—who could attain such a state, if not someone of the utmost depth and insight in the world?

Guan Yinzi says: You cannot assume that someone has attained selflessness simply because they have no awareness and take no action. Even with awareness and action, one may still abide in a state of selflessness. Consider fire: it is in ceaseless motion, yet it has never had a fixed “self.”

Bao Yizi says: Chapter by chapter, this text discusses the body and food, and also examines selflessness in detail. The sages were concerned that those who study the Dao might mistake selflessness for being insentient like wood or stone. So the final chapter explains once more the wondrous workings of selflessness, using fire as an example: though fire is constantly in motion and changing, it has no fixed self. Once you grasp the principle, speaking, acting, and doing things throughout the day will not prevent you from attaining selflessness. This is what the Zhuangzi calls “deeply knowing the mindless state.”

“Fu” means transformation. This section consists of thirteen chapters.

Guan Yinzi said: “The Great Dao is originally utterly empty. If you can return concrete affairs to the Great Dao, you can experience it in the space of a single breath. Affairs are originally diverse and substantial; if you can put them to use through the Great Dao, you can handle every kind of matter throughout the world. Those who attain the Dao and can shoulder great responsibilities can assist the world; those who attain the Dao and stand on their own can establish themselves.

“Those who know that the Great Dao is not bound by time can regard a single day as a hundred years, or a hundred years as a single day. Those who know that the Great Dao is not confined by space can regard one li as a hundred li, or a hundred li as one li. Those who understand that the Great Dao itself has no Qi, yet can work with Qi that has form, can summon wind and rain. Those who understand that the Great Dao itself has no form, yet can transform things that do, can change the forms of birds and beasts.

“Those who attain the Dao in clarity are not burdened by external things. Their bodies and minds become light and nimble, as if they could ride phoenixes and cranes. Those who attain the Dao in undifferentiated wholeness are not overwhelmed by external things. Their bodies and minds merge with the Dao, as if they could use flood dragons and giant whales as mats. Those who understand that being and nonbeing can connect can command ghosts and spirits. Those who understand that the substantial and the empty can transform into one another can pass in and out of metal and stone. Those who understand that above and below can exchange places can serve the stars. Those who understand that past and present are connected can divine with turtle shells and milfoil stalks. Those who understand that others and the self are connected can see into other people’s hearts. Those who understand that all things and the self are connected can cultivate the dragons and tigers within the belly—the dragons and tigers that symbolize the union of Yin and Yang in Neidan practice.

“Those who understand that forms change through the mind’s intent can turn their attention inward and cultivate the ‘infant girl,’ a symbolic state in Neidan practice. Those who understand that Qi arises from the mind can absorb spirit-breath through this practice and bring about ‘the cooling furnace,’ a symbolic state in Neidan practice. With this power of the Dao, one can subdue tigers and leopards; in union with all things, one seems able to enter and leave water and fire. Only those who follow the Dao can do these things; even when they have the ability to perform them, they may choose not to.”

Bao Yi Zi says: The Book of Changes teaches that those who understand the Way of change can perhaps know how wondrous transformations operate. Mencius says that the state attained by a sage is profound and unfathomable, and for this reason is called “spirit.” Scholars in the world today are far removed from the sages of antiquity. They look up to the Great Dao but have not yet truly grasped it; hardly anyone has even heard of those who seek to approach the sages’ state, much less the wondrous realm that cannot be fathomed. So when people speak of “spirit,” they often cite Confucius’s refusal to discuss strange phenomena, violence, disorder, and ghosts and spirits as a way to avoid the subject. Those who understand the Great Dao then keep silent as well, concealing even the principles of life and death.

But did Confucius truly say nothing about spirit or life and death? He spoke of “understanding life and death,” and said that the transformations of Yin and Yang are too subtle to measure, and are therefore called spirit. He also said that Yin and Yang move through and animate the myriad things, thereby revealing wondrous transformations. These are all Confucius’s words. The chapter “Seven Cauldrons” gives a detailed account of the Way of change. A cauldron is a vessel that transforms things through the action of water and fire. Few later scholars who read its teachings fail to find them astonishing; it is hardly surprising that some denounce it as heretical or forged.

The Zhuangzi says that the blind cannot appreciate writing and pictures, and the deaf cannot grasp the sound of bells and drums. The senses may be deaf or blind, and understanding, too, can suffer a kind of “deafness” or “blindness.” This is precisely what is meant here. The Book of Changes says that the many movements and transformations under Heaven all return at their root to the One. By tracing particular things back to the Great Dao, one can grasp the fundamental principles of their changes; by applying the Great Dao to particular affairs, one can manage every kind of matter comprehensively and accomplish the work of the world. This is what it means for one way of governing to respond to many different considerations.

Those who grasp the honor and independence of the Great Dao can assist the world and establish themselves; they can also assist Heaven and Earth, allowing the myriad things to find what is fitting for them. The sage’s greatest treasure is the ruler’s position. The Great Dao is not limited by the seasons or hindered by direction. Understand the principles governing day and night, and you can understand how one may move swiftly without hurrying, and arrive without walking. To summon wind and rain and command the stars is to spread things with the wind and nourish them with the rain: this is what is called the aid of spirit. To transform birds and beasts, ride phoenixes and cranes, use a dragon as a mat, and master ghosts and spirits is to understand that Jing and Qi gather to form things, while wandering souls transform without fixed form—and thus to know the nature of ghosts and spirits.

One can enter metal and stone because Dui corresponds to metal and Gen to stone. The Qi of mountains and marshes communicates, enabling the myriad things to transform and come into being. One can consult the cracks on turtle shells and the stalks of milfoil because the signs revealed by divination present good and ill fortune as clearly as an answer to a call.

If scholars understand that the opening and closing of Qian and Kun constitute change, they can also understand the workings of Kan and Li joining, water and fire stirring one another, mountains and marshes exchanging Qi, and thunder and wind pressing upon each other. Further, if one can bring the Qi of one’s own Zhen and Dui into communication with another person’s, one can glimpse that person’s inner state. One’s own hun and po are like the essence of dragons and tigers. If one can gather the Qi of the hun and po, one can transform the dragons and tigers within the abdomen. Kan contains an infant, and Li contains a maiden. Take the solid Yang within Kan and use it to replenish the empty Yin within Li; then the infant and maiden meet and each takes visible form.

To cultivate this Way is to use “spirit fire”—the intention and regulation of the fire during internal refinement—to illuminate the Kan position and drive the Yang hidden within Yin upward until it reaches the place where the spirit fire is. Then, when one encounters Yin within Yang, the two are drawn in and congealed, like a golden crow gathering a jade rabbit or a magnet attracting an iron needle. The two Qi join and give rise to transformations. At times the form of a maiden or infant appears; at others, the form of a dragon or tiger. These transformations are endless, flying and roaming without restraint, yet they all take place within the cauldron and furnace. One must also stir the “Xun wind”—the breath and assisting force of refinement symbolized by wind—to help Li fire cook vigorously until the true Elixir is refined and the supreme treasure congeals.

This practice includes two methods, “observing the mind” and “drawing in the spirit,” both of which help nourish the firing process. Buddhist methods of contemplation and observing the mind may seem similar, but in fact they are different. The methods of adepts who ingest Qi and swallow saliva abandon the root in pursuit of the branches. How could they understand the subtle use of spirit fire to illuminate the true mind, or of stirring Xun wind to draw in the true spirit? Once the Elixir is refined, one can naturally subdue tigers and leopards and enter water and fire. These are the hidden essentials of cultivating nature and life, and they are also expressed in the Book of Changes. The Book of Changes says: Who, unless they are the most wondrous, most subtle, most capable of transformation, and most able to penetrate all things under Heaven, could take part in such cultivation?

The Great Dao is not put into practice indiscriminately for those unsuited to its cultivation. Therefore, only those who possess the Dao can accomplish these things. The sage brings forth benevolence and conceals its workings, fulfilling the principles of inner cultivation and outward governance. Thus it is said: even when one has the ability to do something, one does not necessarily do it.

Guan Yinzi says: Human power can sometimes wrest from Heaven and Earth the power to transform things: making thunder sound in winter and producing ice in summer; making a corpse walk and a withered tree bloom; summoning ghosts from beans and fishing in a cup; drawing a door that then opens; and making earth spirits speak. All these are effects produced by refined Qi, which is why it can transform the myriad things.

People today have thoughts that never cease, and their feelings and ideas continually change. These, too, are effects of Qi. Qi can gather or disperse. But the fundamental thing by which I set Qi in motion has never gathered or dispersed. What gathers is born; what disperses dies. What has never gathered or dispersed is beyond birth and death. Those who come and go are merely visitors; the inn remains as it has always been.

Bao Yizi says: The Liezi records that Liezi asked about the Dao: “The Perfected can move beneath the water without being obstructed because they have never gathered or dispersed. What gathers is born; what disperses dies. What has never gathered or dispersed is beyond birth and death. Those who come and go are merely visitors; the inn remains as it has always been.”

Bao Yizi said: Liezi asked, “How can a perfected person who has attained the Dao move beneath water without hindrance, tread on fire without feeling heat, and walk above all things without fear?” Guan Yin replied, “This comes from keeping the Qi pure and unified. It is not achieved through clever schemes or displays of strength and courage.

“People are constrained by their physical form, making it difficult for them to change. If they can cultivate the body until it is completely transformed into Qi, then when Qi gathers, it becomes form; when it disperses, it becomes Qi. In this way, they can transform into the myriad things. Observe how clouds change, and you will understand that Qi, too, can transform. Though the mirage creature is not as intelligent as a person, by accumulating Qi over a long time it can still conjure towers and human figures, creating a ‘mirage city.’ Hawks become doves, leopards become tigers, cicadas emerge from their shells, and fish transform into dragons. If birds, beasts, insects, and fish can change their own forms, why should people be less capable than they are?

“It is because the six desires and the seven emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, aversion, and desire—wear away people’s innate nature from within, while the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) and the six sense objects—forms, sounds, scents, tastes, touch, and mental objects—deplete their spirit and original Qi from without. Even those who understand the cultivation of the Dao and can restrain their Jing, nourish their spirit, and refine their form until it becomes Qi often interrupt their practice, sometimes diligent and sometimes lax. To refine Qi until it is pure and unified is so rare that, even in a densely populated world, it is hard to find one person who has achieved it.

“The practice of the Dao is open to everyone, wise or foolish, high or low; it is not far away. People’s thoughts and feelings now run in disorder without end because of these influences. Yet within each person there is a nature that is not made up of them. When students of the Dao understand this, they will know how to circulate Qi. Knowing how to circulate Qi, they will know how to refine it; knowing how to refine it, they will know how to transform it, bringing it to a state of pure harmony.

“This supreme treasure does not gather when Qi gathers, nor disperse when Qi disperses. It does not come into being with the birth of the body, nor die with its death. Thus, as external form and Qi come and go and change, it remains undisturbed and constant.”

Guan Yin Zi says: Some people recite incantations, some serve deities, some write talismanic characters, and some form ritual hand signs with their fingers. All these methods can command spirits and direct the movements of Qi, bringing about changes in all things. But those who lack sincerity find it hard to believe in the power within themselves and readily believe in external things, so they rely on these methods. One who truly understands the power of sincerity need not depend on such external methods and can still accomplish the same.

Bao Yi Zi says: Sincerity can move Heaven and Earth and elicit a response from ghosts and spirits. Thus reciting incantations, serving deities, writing talismanic characters, or forming ritual hand signs with the fingers can all command spirits and direct the movements of Qi, bringing about changes in all things. Those who lack sincerity do not believe in the inner power that seems insubstantial, yet readily believe in external things. So the sages use these transformations to awaken their faith. If they truly understand the power of sincerity, they need not rely on these methods and can accomplish the same on their own.

Guan Yin Zi says: Each time a person breathes, the sun travels four hundred thousand li. Change, then, can be said to happen with extraordinary speed. Only the sage neither clings to change nor is moved by it.

Bao Yizi said: Heaven and Earth are vast and cannot be measured by ordinary standards. A scripture says that between one human breath and the next, the sun travels four hundred thousand li. A person breathes about thirteen thousand five hundred times in a day and a night; therefore, the sun travels fifty-four hundred million li in that time, which is counted as one circuit of the heavens—the course celestial bodies complete around the sky, as described in ancient times.

The ancients studied how far the sun traveled by measuring the length of the shadows it cast, and they also used the common unit of length called the xunwen. Since they could calculate in xunwen, they could also convert the measure into paces and li. In my foolish view, if the sun travels four hundred thousand li in a day, how could there be no fractional remainder? Perhaps this is simply a rough calculation of a large number. If the remainder were truly included, the figure might be fifty thousand five hundred million, matching the number fifty-five, the number of Heaven and Earth in the Classic of Changes.

The sages could calculate when the sun, moon, and the Five Planets—the ancient names for Venus, Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, and Saturn—converged and parted, and when they moved direct or retrograde, and could use these calculations to establish the calendar. Those in the dark, however, often see these celestial phenomena without understanding their patterns. This is why the Yinfu Jing says, “Everyone under Heaven can see it, yet no one can know”: it describes just this situation.

No change is swifter than the transformations of Heaven and Earth. The ancients said that Heaven and Earth continually shed the old and turn toward the new, and that even burdens as heavy as mountains are constantly replaced by what came before. The transformations of creation never pause for an instant, and nothing among the myriad things remains unchanged for even a moment. Mountains and rivers change day by day, yet people think they are as they were yesterday. Each day brings a new age, yet people think everything remains as it was. In the space between one gesture and the next, time has already passed, and many things have vanished without anyone noticing.

Thus, my former self is no longer my present self, and who I am today is no longer who I was before. Both I and the present moment are continually passing away. Those in the dark do not understand this. They insist that the things before them can be fixed and preserved, unaware that in the span of a single breath, the transformations of Heaven and Earth have already carried them four hundred thousand li.

The sage alone neither resists the transformations of creation and clings to what should endure, nor goes along with the current and changes arbitrarily. Hence it is said that he “neither preserves nor changes.” In this passage, “yi” means ten thousand times ten thousand.

Guan Yinzi said: “The Azure Phoenix lived for a thousand years, undergoing a transformation once every thousand years. Taozi held office five times, and his state of mind changed with each appointment. The sage regards worldly affairs as a temporary lodging and is not entangled by external things. Does this mean he has no wish to accomplish anything in the world? Form and destiny each have their allotted course, and people worry that change is hard to foresee.

“Bao Yizi said: ‘Everything that has form and an allotted course undergoes change. The sage does not try to force a way around it, either. Why? Once something has form, it must have its allotted course. Form does not belong to me; Heaven and Earth have entrusted it to me temporarily. Heaven and Earth themselves cannot halt change, so how could the human body defy it?

“‘Yet the sage relies on the myriad things as he moves through the world, entrusting his form to the Five Phases (the five fundamental forces that shape the transformations of all things). When faced with all kinds of affairs, he does not dare to put himself first in every matter. He therefore does not act as a ruler, but takes the place of a guest. He directs the myriad things without being made their servant, and so can stand on his own and preserve himself, independent of external things. To be a guest is like staying somewhere temporarily: one can come and go freely. To be independent of external things is to have no entanglements of dependence, and so to face life and death, existence and extinction, with equal calm. How, then, could form and destiny bind him?

“‘The sage is still unwilling to remain in the world for long. In this way, he shows that this body is a heavy burden to him, because he fears that change may come without warning. The Azure Phoenix was an ancient adept who lived in the world for a thousand years and eventually underwent transformation; this is what the story means. Taozi’s five appointments and five changes of mind convey a similar idea. So does Confucius’s saying that at sixty “his ear was attuned,” suggesting that even after passing sixty he continued to change. The same is true of Zengzi, who held office twice and changed his state of mind twice.

“Guan Yinzi said: ‘The myriad things continually transform and shift. Though at times they disappear from view and at times emerge, in the end Qi is one. Only the sage understands this unity at the root of things, and so is not changed by change.’”

Bao Yizi says: The meaning of this chapter carries on from the previous one. Things in Heaven and Earth that have form may appear at one time and vanish at another, but the “One Qi” (the primordial energy of the cosmos) that constitutes them does not change. If even the One Qi does not perish, how much less the source that transcends Qi? What is this source beyond Qi? The previous chapter explained it in detail. In this chapter, the Sage speaks of the numinous, true nature within human beings. If we regard it as dependent on the body, then even if the body endures for a thousand years, it will eventually change. But understood at the level of Qi, it returns to oneness and remains unchanged.

Guan Yinzi says: Fingernails keep growing, hair keeps lengthening, and Rong and Wei—the Qi and blood that, in traditional Chinese medicine, circulate through and nourish the body—keep moving without a moment’s pause. Ordinary people can see obvious changes but not subtle ones. The Sage accords with change, and so, amid change, there is no change.

Bao Yizi says: Ordinary people see only how quickly Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon move and change. These visible phenomena are easy to notice, but people do not realize that Rong and Wei circulate through the human body day and night: Yin travels twenty-five circuits, and Yang travels twenty-five, making a total of 13,500 breaths in one day and night—a traditional way of measuring time by the breath. The channels and vessels circulate and return without a moment’s pause. Fingernails grow and hair lengthens, too, without ever truly stopping. These subtle changes are hard to notice, but who can escape them? The Sage alone does not cling to maintaining any particular state or deliberately alter anything, but lets things change naturally. Thus, amid change, there is no change.

Guan Yinzi says: When people are indoors, what they see and hear has a certain range. When they go outside, into the neighborhood, then on to the villages, outskirts, mountains, and rivers, what they see and hear differs at each stage. Their preferences change accordingly, bringing agreement or rivalry, and giving rise to gain and loss. Therefore, whether acting or still, the Sage remains guarded and self possessed.

Baoyizi said: What the sage sees and hears is no different from what ordinary people see and hear. Ordinary people’s perceptions shift with their circumstances, giving rise to likes and dislikes, rivalry, and thoughts of gain and loss. If the sage deliberately sets himself apart from everyone else, never allowing likes or dislikes, rivalry, or thoughts of gain and loss to arise, this still involves deliberate effort and still preserves a sense of self. This is the cultivation of a worthy person who strives to keep the mind unmoved but has not yet reached the state of the sage.

The sage, by contrast, goes out and engages with others, following their likes and dislikes, joining them in harmony and contention, and experiencing success and failure, gain and loss. As Laozi says, when others praise, he praises too; when others laugh, he laughs too. Confucius said that he had reached the state of “ear-wholeness,” in which the heart could follow its own course freely. Liezi studied under his teacher for three years and did not dare think about right and wrong or speak of benefit and harm. After five years, he began thinking about right and wrong again and once more spoke of benefit and harm. These accounts all show that the sage and ordinary people do not differ in what they see and hear, and that ordinary people are not wholly unlike the sage. How could the sage ever deliberately make himself seem different from others because of what he sees and hears?

The sage is cautious about acting rashly. The Book of Changes says, “Going out to meet others in the wilderness, one cannot prevail by force,” and “Meeting others in the outskirts, one’s aim remains unfulfilled.” This means that hastily seeking to associate with others in the wilderness or outskirts may not achieve one’s purpose. The sage does not enter dangerous states or dwell in states in turmoil; he simply takes care in when to act and when to stop.

Guanyinzi said: The sea can bring forth countless flood dragons and fish, yet water, in the end, is only one. I and all things flourish together amid the great transformation—the changes of Heaven, Earth, and all things—and our nature is originally one. Those who understand that nature is one no longer distinguish between others and themselves, nor cling to life and death.

Baoyizi said: The ancients once said that fish and dragons do not know that water is what sustains their lives, just as people dwell in empty space without recognizing it. I and all things stand together in abundance amid the great transformation, and our nature is originally one; just as flood dragons and fish live in the sea, whose water is one. Once they understand that the sea contains only one water, fish and dragons no longer distinguish themselves from one another. Once people understand that the Great Void—the boundless expanse of empty space—contains only one nature, they no longer distinguish between self and others. At that point, what is death, and what is life?

Guan Yinzi said: The principles of the world sometimes turn from right to wrong, and what is wrong may also become right. Kindness may turn into resentment, and resentment may in turn become kindness. Therefore, the sage accepts ordinary conditions while remaining mindful of change.

Baoyizi said: The principles of the world sometimes turn from right to wrong, and what is wrong may also become right. Kindness may turn into resentment, and resentment may in turn become kindness. Therefore, the sage accepts ordinary conditions while remaining mindful of change.

Baoyizi said: Nothing in the world remains unchanged forever, and no principle remains unchanged forever. The distance between a sage and a madman seems as vast as heaven and earth; the difference between life and death seems as great as that between ice and charcoal. Yet if a sage does not remain alert, he too may become a madman. And if a madman can restrain selfish desires, reflect, and keep himself in check, he too may become a sage. Life, at its furthest point, may turn toward death; death, at its end, may turn toward new life. How much more readily, then, can matters of right and wrong, kindness and resentment—so often hard to distinguish and subject to repeated change—be transformed?

The confused cling stubbornly to the belief that they are always right, unmoving as a mountain. Relying on the kindness others have shown them, they assume that gratitude will never run dry, like the sea. Before long, what was right may become wrong, and kindness may turn into resentment. Those who once believed themselves right may suddenly become the target of everyone’s criticism; those who once received kindness may become people burdened by deep resentment. Just as a high bank may become a deep valley, and a deep valley may become a hill, change sometimes occurs without anyone foreseeing it. Alas, this is truly cause for caution!

Only the sage does not cling to the belief that he is right or insist on arguing over who is right and who is wrong. He does not presume upon kindness or keep resentment in his heart. He can quiet his own stubbornness and dissolve the barriers between people, living calmly amid the ordinary conditions of the world while keeping in mind the changes that may occur. He does not seek to control others in advance, but acts in accordance with their circumstances. His chief concern is simply to avoid error.

Guan Yinzi said: When young, one should keep the teachings of one’s father and elder brothers in mind. In adulthood, one should heed the counsel of friends. In old age, one should also pay attention to the views of the young and those in their prime. Though all things are constantly changing, they cannot thereby hold me captive.

Bao Yizi said: Living in the world, people cannot avoid making their way and acting in it, or interacting with others. If they are always self-centered and do everything according to their own ideas, each action may bring one of four outcomes: good fortune, misfortune, regret, or distress. Only good fortune is beneficial; danger, regret, and hardship can all cause harm. Only a sage can set aside fixed opinions and heed others’ advice. In youth, they remember their parents’ teachings; in adulthood, they accept friends’ counsel; and in old age, they remain alert to themselves, taking heed of what they learned when young. In this way, from youth through old age, they do not cling to the self. Though worldly affairs are constantly changing, how could they entrap such a person?

Guan Yinzi said: Among the things under Heaven, what is light and insubstantial changes easily, while what is substantial is hard to alter. Wind and clouds, for example, can disperse and change shape in an instant, while the substance of gold and jade endures unchanged. Those whose minds are nimble and clear can change along with the transformations of nature without becoming stuck or attached. Even so, there may still be some underlying basis that has never changed.

Bao Yizi says: The soul is what is light and nimble in a person; the spirit is what is bright and clear. The soul belongs to Wood, so it is light; the spirit belongs to Fire, so it is bright. The sun rises at the hour of Mao, when the soul’s Qi is vigorous; at noon, when the sun is directly overhead, the spirit’s Qi is vigorous. When the sun tilts westward at the hour of Shen, the soul’s Qi declines and fades; by the hour of Hai, long after sunset, the spirit’s Qi has likewise declined and faded. Thus, over the course of a day, my soul and spirit both change along with the transformations of Heaven and Earth; neither remains fixed.

Only Jing and the corporeal soul are heavy and shadowy, and can therefore endure. They give rise to the soul and spirit, sustaining them into the next day. On the following day, the soul and spirit, light, nimble, and bright, arise anew through Jing and the corporeal soul: they awaken at daybreak and grow vigorous upon waking. We can see, then, that the light and bright soul and spirit take the heavy, shadowy Jing and corporeal soul as their foundation. If, after the soul and spirit decline at the hours of Shen and Hai, Jing and the corporeal soul also decay and vanish, the soul and spirit could not arise again the next day.

Practitioners who understand this principle cultivate Jing and the corporeal soul until they are as firm as gold and jade, enduring and unchanging. In this way, the soul and spirit have lasting support and a stable vessel in which to grow. The Cantong qi (a Daoist alchemical classic) says, “The worthy ride upon one another and bear one another; secure and steady, they may attain long life.” This means that when Jing and the corporeal soul are refined into something as firm as gold and jade, the body becomes a stable foundation that bears the soul and spirit.

Thus, in cultivating the Golden Elixir, the Taiyi Fire Talisman focuses on only two things: Jing and the corporeal soul. Add Earth, and there are three. Bao Yizi draws on the Cantong qi’s line, “The three proceed without entering; the two of Fire go with them,” to explain that the soul, whose number is three in Wood, and the spirit, whose number is two in Fire, need not be placed inside the furnace and cauldron for refinement. Instead, they circulate the firing phases around the circuit beyond the furnace and cauldron. Since the soul and spirit combine to make five, they can circulate the fire without becoming clouded. Jing, associated with the number one in Water, and the corporeal soul, associated with the number four in Metal, also combine to make five; thus they can generate liquid gold and form the Golden Elixir.

All four forces can combine to make five. In practice, this uses the number five of the central Earth, Wu and Ji, to bring about transformation. Zhang Wuzhen, a Daoist Neidan master, says, “Only because both sides hold true Earth within them can the Golden Elixir return.” This is what he means. He also says, “East three and South two together make five; North one and West four join them. Wu and Ji remain in their original place; when the three families meet, the infant is formed.” This means that Wood’s number three in the East and Fire’s number two in the South combine to make five; Water’s number one in the North and Metal’s number four in the West also combine to make five; Wu and Ji Earth remain in their own place. When the three families meet, they form the “infant,” a term for the embryonic elixir in Neidan cultivation. Understanding this principle makes it possible to grasp how something seemingly present within the body does not vanish amid transformation.

Guan Yinzi said: Two children may be close to one another, yet when they meet again after growing up, they may no longer recognize each other. Two people in their prime may be close, yet when they meet again in old age, they too may fail to recognize one another. This is like sparrows, clams, hawks, and doves changing their forms as the seasons turn: there is no fixed, unchanging boundary between past and present.

Baoyizi explained: The human body is just one thing among Heaven and Earth, constantly changing with the transformations of creation. A person’s appearance in childhood differs from their appearance in their prime; their appearance in their prime changes again in old age. Sparrows, clams, hawks, and doves alter their forms as the Yin-Yang Qi of the four seasons shifts, beyond their own control. How, then, could the present be exactly the same as the past? Since this is so, my appearance, too, is continually changing in the present, changing along with all things. Should I not be aware of this?

End of Volume Seven of the Wen Shi Zhen Jing Yan Wai Zhi

The collation notes say: Here, the two collated editions add the lines, “The worthy perceive this through thorough insight, yet cannot command transformation.” Here, the two collated editions add the character “neighbor.” “To gain the husband” is suspected to be an error for “gain and loss.”

Wen Shi Zhen Jing Yan Wai Zhi, Volume Eight

Written by Baoyizi, Chen Xianwei.

Chapter on the Eight Counters

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

Guanyinzi said: Those in ancient times who excelled at divination with tortoise shells could make the past appear in the present and the present in the past; make what is high appear low and what is low appear high; make the great appear through the small and the small through the great; make the many appear through the one and the one through the many. They could make all things appear in a human being and a human being appear in all things; make others appear through themselves and themselves appear through others.

This is the Dao (the Way). Where it comes from, there is no such thing as the present; where it goes, there is no such thing as the past. It is so high that nothing can cover it, and so low that nothing can bear it. It is so vast that it has no boundaries, and so small that it has no interior to divide. Outside it, there are no other things; within it, there is no separate person. Nearby, there is no fixed “self”; far away, no fixed “other.” The Dao can neither be divided nor joined together. It cannot be explained by analogy, nor grasped through thought. Because it is a seamless whole, beyond distinction, it is called the Dao.

Bao Yizi says: “The Book of Changes says that to investigate the patterns of things, seek out what is deep and hidden, grasp profound principles, and understand changes across time; to draw the trigrams of all under Heaven, nothing is more important than milfoil. From this we can see that milfoil may serve as a metaphor for the Dao.

“Milfoil is originally nothing more than withered stalks and decayed wood. Where does its marvelous power come from? And where do sages arise from? People today can infer the ancient past from the present, just as they can infer the present from the ancient past. Its origins, then, are not confined by the present, nor its destination by the past. Thus it can illuminate what has gone before and discern what is yet to come.

“It can reveal what is low from what is high, and what is high from what is low. So the heights have no cover above them, the depths have no boundary beneath them, and above and below have no fixed positions. It can reveal what is large from what is small, and what is small from what is large. So the large has no boundary beyond it, the small has no end within it, and small and large are equal and interpenetrate. It can reveal many from one, and one from many. So numbers shift and mingle, while different lines of thought ultimately return to a single principle. It can reveal all things from humanity, and humanity from all things. So nothing beyond all things exists in absolute independence, and the human heart is not cut off from the myriad things. Far and near, hidden and deep, cease to be barriers, and what is about to happen can therefore be known.

“It can reveal ‘the other’ from ‘me,’ and ‘me’ from ‘the other.’ Thus there is no fixed ‘me’ nearby, nor any fixed ‘other’ far away. When speaking of what is far away, one is not obstructed; when speaking of what is near, one can remain still and accord with principle.

“Why, then, are withered stalks and decayed wood so marvelous? This marvelous power resides within the withered stalks of milfoil, yet it cannot be divided or pieced together, explained in words, or exhausted by thought. From this we can see that the subtle Dao also resides within the human body of flesh and blood. It too cannot be divided or pieced together, and cannot be put into words or fully grasped through thought. Does the Book of Changes not say: ‘The virtue of milfoil is complete and marvelous’? Because it is whole and undivided, it embodies the Dao.”

Guan Yin Zi said: When water gathers and becomes still, it contains five kinds of vital essence; when fire rises and blazes, it gives off five kinds of odor; when wood grows luxuriantly, it displays five colors; when metal is hard and solid, it produces five sounds; when earth is balanced and harmonious, it nourishes five flavors. The Five Phases ordinarily fall into five kinds, yet their transformations are countless. Things may be grouped into five kinds, but the forms they take when intermingled are countless.

Therefore, the myriad things between Heaven and Earth cannot be rigidly declared to be “ten thousand,” “five,” or “one.” Nor can they be rigidly declared not to be ten thousand, five, or one. Things sometimes gather and sometimes separate. To use these categories to determine their forms, numbers, and vital energies is only to labor in vain: things do not know me, and I cannot know things.

Bao Yi Zi explained: The Five Phases between Heaven and Earth ordinarily fall into five kinds, but their transformations are beyond counting. Things can be grouped into five kinds, but the forms they take when intermingled are beyond counting. In brief, water contains five kinds of vital essence, fire gives off five kinds of odor, wood displays five colors, metal produces five sounds, and earth nourishes five flavors. The myriad things between Heaven and Earth are endless, all generated through the interweaving and mixing of the Five Phases. Things sometimes gather and sometimes separate, so we cannot cling to calling them five kinds, ten thousand kinds, or one kind; nor can we insist that they are not five kinds, ten thousand kinds, or one kind. To force distinctions about which kind a thing belongs to, what number it has, or what vital energy it possesses is only to exhaust the mind in vain. Thus it is said: things do not know me, and I cannot know things.

Guan Yin Zi also said: Within one’s own mind, the myriad things can appear as well. The realm toward which thought turns cannot be confined by “five,” “ten thousand,” or “one.” To insist on distinguishing what thing it is, what number it belongs to, or what vital energy it possesses is only to labor in vain.

Guan Yin Zi says: “All things can take shape within my mind. Whatever the mind attends to draws affection after it; when affection follows the mind, Jing and Qi gather in turn. What the mind clings to first condenses into water: delight in something, and saliva wells in the mouth; sorrow, and tears fill the eyes; shame, and sweat breaks out on the body. What is fleeting does not remain fleeting forever, and what endures does not remain unchanged forever. Water generates Wood, Wood generates Fire, Fire generates Earth, Earth generates Metal, and Metal generates Water. The Five Phases generate and overcome one another in countless transformations. Terms from cultivation such as ‘infant,’ ‘medicine maiden,’ ‘treasure tower,’ ‘crimson palace,’ ‘azure dragon,’ ‘white tiger,’ ‘treasure cauldron,’ and ‘great furnace’ all refer to transformations of this kind in body and mind, though these terms are also used in ways that do not refer to such transformations.”

Bao Yi Zi says: “The Scripture of the Yellow Emperor on the Hidden Talisman says: ‘Heaven has five thieves; those who can perceive them will flourish. The five thieves operate within the heart and can also be put to work in Heaven. The universe seems held in one’s hand, and the transformations of all things seem to arise from oneself.’ From this we can see how wondrous and subtle the workings of the Five Phases truly are. Yet people breathe in and out every day without noticing the principle at work.”

Bao Yizi says: The Yinfu Jing states, “Heaven has five thieves; those who see them will prosper. The five thieves are hidden in the heart and put to work between Heaven and Earth. The universe seems held in one’s hand, and the transformations of all things seem to arise from oneself.” This refers to the wondrous workings of the Five Phases. They are subtle and unfathomable, but people simply do not understand how they work. If one can understand and master these workings, all five thieves can be put to one’s use. The images symbolized by Neidan terms such as the infant, the medicine maiden, the jeweled tower, the crimson palace, the blue silk, the White Tiger, the jeweled cauldron, and the great furnace will also appear rather than remain hidden. This is why the text says, “those who see them will prosper.” “Seeing” means seeing one’s own spirit and souls gather in the spirit water—a term for the inner vital essence and fluids cultivated in practice—coalesce into images, and manifest within the Yellow Court, a site of cultivation inside the body.

This phenomenon is also like the body’s responses to stimulation: the kidneys are stirred and produce semen; the eyes feel sorrow and shed tears; the nose encounters cold wind and runs; the body feels shame and perspires. All these arise from feelings within the heart, and the spirit water responds in turn. Scenes seen in childhood can reappear in dreams in one’s prime or old age, and may even remain unforgettable for a lifetime. This is because images are imprinted on the heart and gathered in the spirit water. Even fleeting impressions can endure for a long time, and may remain unchanged long afterward. Yet the results differ depending on whether the heart is focused or unfocused. To gather and master the five thieves and refine the Five Phases, one must keep thoughts still. The spirit water will then naturally coalesce, and the five thieves will reveal their forms, transforming without end. Although this principle concerns the myriad things generated by the Five Phases, there is also something within it that does not belong to the Five Phases and serves as their governor.

Guan Yinzi says: Birds and beasts sometimes cry out, sometimes fall silent, and sometimes flee; plants and trees sometimes sprout, sometimes stand upright and grow, and sometimes wither. Heaven and Earth cannot make these changes stay, and sages cannot bind them. This is simply because there is a force that sets change in motion. The “presence” of sound is on one side, and its “absence” is on the other; if a drum is not struck, it will not sound. Even numbers are on one side, odd numbers on the other; unless a hand strikes the drum, it will make no sound.

Bao Yizi says: The sage observes the changes in all things and so is not drawn along or bound by the transformations between form and breath. Heaven and Earth cannot detain him, and even the worthy cannot restrain him.

Birds and beasts arrive calling, then quickly depart. Plants sprout and grow, stand lush and tall, and in the end wither and fall. All this happens in the blink of an eye, showing how swiftly things change. The sage remains unmoved by change, just as a drum makes no sound without a drumstick: the sound depends on something outside the drum, not on the drum itself. And unless a hand swings the drumstick, it cannot strike. The earlier passage, “If the hand does not touch the blade, the blade cannot wound anyone,” makes the same point.

Guan Yin Zi says: All things originally come from one source, but people are confused by names. They see particular things but not the Dao those things embody. The worthy analyze the principles of things and can see the Dao, but are liable to overlook the things themselves. The sage, by contrast, follows nature and clings neither to the so-called “Dao” nor to “things.” He deliberately distinguishes neither, and accords only with their natural character. If you call any one thing “Dao,” then every thing is Dao. But only by clinging to no particular thing can you experience the Dao. Once you fix on something and declare it to be Dao, it becomes a particular object.

Guan Yin Zi says: Those who understand that things are merely appearances need not therefore cast them aside. It is like seeing an ox made of clay or a horse made of wood: although the names “ox” and “horse” remain in one’s mind, one does not mistake them for real oxen and horses.

Bao Yizi says: Whether things are regarded as real or false depends on people’s discriminating judgments. When the sage encounters something real, he too regards it as false; once discriminating judgment is set aside, even what is real appears illusory. If one understands that all things under Heaven carry this illusory quality, why go out of one’s way to reject them? It is like looking at idols made of clay and wood.