《中和集》Vol. 2

When a great wind rises, it shakes trees in the mountains and stirs waves on water—how can one say wind does not exist? Yet the eye cannot see it and the hand cannot touch it—how can one say it truly exists? The substance of the Golden Elixir is the same.

Therefore, at the start of refining the elixir, one must let “being” and “non-being” work together and let movement and stillness support each other. When cultivation succeeds, all entangling conditions subside, the myriad phenomena are empty, movement and stillness are forgotten, and both being and non-being are released. Only then does the Mysterious Pearl (the rounded body of the inner elixir) appear, and Taiyi (the root of the Dao) returns to what is real.

When both nature and life are preserved, body and spirit reach a state of rounded wonder, one can move between being and non-being and wander freely above the clouds—only then has one realized the rank of the Golden Immortal (the highest transcendent attainment in Daoist teaching).

Scriptures and alchemical texts use many different names to lead the learner from what is plain toward what is subtle, step by step into the finer ground of practice. When one sees one’s nature and awakens to emptiness, truly grasping original nature and the principle of emptiness, that matter lies beyond books and words. It is like the ferry that carries people to the far shore: once ashore, the boat is no longer needed. The ancients said: “When you have the rabbit, forget the snare; when you have the fish, forget the trap.” That is the idea.

What I say to you now—you must not cling to words on the page. You should turn the meaning over and over and probe the root. If a single phrase opens the mind and you enter directly into Wuwei (non-action), it is not difficult. As for the key on the next level, it cannot lightly be spoken; it must be grasped beyond language.

Golden Elixir—Questions Answered

In the elixir scriptures and Daoist books I have read, later commentators and practitioners do not agree: some fixate on bodily forms, others cling to the literal wording; some take “quiet clarity” to mean ascetic hardship and empty stillness, while others treat mercury and lead as physically tangible substances. Views diverge in every direction—how could later students not be confused? In truth, the highest principle is one; how could there be two? Among recently compiled books on the elixir path, many statements also stray from the correct way—for example, explanations of “seven reversals and nine returns,” and reckoning from Yin and Zi through to Kun and Shen—are all more or less absurd. I have now gathered the main points from these texts into thirty-six questions and answers, hoping thereby to dispel later students’ doubts and to let those who are clear-minded reflect on them carefully.

Someone asked: “What is meant by ‘nine returns’ (jiu huan)?”

Answer: “Nine” is the numerological completion of Metal; “return” means returning to the original root—that is, using nature (xing) to govern and integrate emotion (qing). Emotion belongs to Metal; when emotion returns to nature, it is called “nine returns.” The elixir texts say: “When Metal returns to its own nature, only then can it be called returning the elixir (huan dan).” That is exactly the point. To count from Zi through to Shen and call that “nine returns” is incorrect.

Someone asked: “What is meant by ‘seven reversals’ (qi fan)?”

Answer: “Seven” is the numerological completion of Fire; “reversal” means turning back to the root—namely, refining spirit (shen) and returning to emptiness (xu). Spirit belongs to Fire; when spirit is refined and returns to emptiness, it is called “seven reversals.” To say that counting from Yin through to Shen is “seven reversals” is incorrect. The Awakening to Reality (Wuzhen pian) says: “Do not take Yin and Zi through to Kun and Shen as the measure; take the Five Phases (wuxing) alone as your standard.” That is precisely this principle.

Someone asked: “What is meant by the ‘three passes’ (san guan)?”

Someone asked: “What are the Three Passes (Sanguan)?”

The answer: “The Three Passes are the pivotal stages in the transformation of the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, and Shen). Refining Jing to transform Qi is called the first pass; refining Qi to transform Shen is called the middle pass; refining Shen to return to emptiness is called the upper pass. Some people call the three regions of the coccyx, the spine between the shoulder blades, and the jade pillow the Three Passes—that is only a concrete practice method, not the most essential teaching. The Three Passes that matter for attaining true realization—how could they have fixed locations? The crucial point lies in oral transmission of the secret formulas.”

Someone asked: “What is the Mystery Gate (Xuanguan)?”

The answer: “The Mystery Gate is an extremely subtle and profound pivot; it has no fixed location. Nowadays some point to the navel wheel, the crown, the hall between the eyebrows, the space between the two kidneys, or the area in front of the kidneys and behind the navel—all of that belongs to side paths. Alchemical texts say: ‘The single aperture of the Mystery Gate is not in the four directions or above and below, not inside or outside or to either side, and not in the exact center; it lies where the four great elements and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cannot reach.’”

Someone asked: “What are the Three Palaces (Sangong)?”

The answer: “The Three Palaces are the dwelling places of the Three Treasures: Shen resides in the Qian Palace, Qi in the Central Palace, and Jing in the Kun Palace. Nowadays some call the upper, middle, and lower fields (the three regions in the body often used to describe cultivation of Jing, Qi, and Shen) the Three Palaces—that is incorrect.”

Someone asked: “What are the Three Essentials (Sanyao)?”

The answer: “The Three Essentials are the aperture of returning to the root, the pass of restoring life, and the valley of emptiness. Some call the mouth and nose the Three Essentials—that is incorrect.”

Someone asked: “What is the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin)?”

The answer: “‘The valley spirit does not die’—that is called the Mysterious Female. Some identify the Mysterious Female with the mouth and nose—that is incorrect. Ziyang Zhenren said: ‘The place where a thought first arises is the Mysterious Female.’ That is correct. I would add that the place where thought arises is also the root of birth and death—is that not precisely the Mysterious Female? Still, this remains at the level of concrete practice; at the highest level of cultivation, the crucial point again lies in oral transmission of the secret formulas.”

Someone asked: “What is the true seed?”

I replied: “The place where thoughts arise is the root of birth and death—is that not the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin), the womb of all things?” Still, this is only one method of practice. At the highest level of cultivation, what matters is the secret oral formula passed heart to heart.

Another asked again: “What is the true seed?”

I replied: “Before Heaven and Earth were yet divided, that single point of luminous awareness was it.” Some hold that because a person is born from one qi, qi is the true seed; some hold that because the body exists through thought, thought is the true seed; some hold that because a person receives the refined essence of yin-yang and the Five Phases, essence is the true seed. These three views each seem plausible, yet none is correct. A Buddhist scripture says: “From countless kalpas, the root of birth and death has always been there, yet the deluded take it for what was originally real.” That is exactly the point.

Someone asked: “What is the cauldron and furnace?”

I replied: “Body and mind are the cauldron and furnace.” An alchemical text says: “First take Heaven and Earth as the vessel, then gather the medicine of the black crow and white rabbit to cook.” Qian stands for the heart; Kun for the body. Nowadays some set up cauldron and furnace outside the body—that is mistaken.

Someone asked: “What is the medicine?”

I replied: “True lead and true mercury are the medicine—that is, the two things originally complete in oneself.”

Someone asked: “What is inner medicine? What is outer medicine?”

I replied: “Refining essence, refining qi, and refining spirit rest on one and the same foundation, but in application there is an inner and an outer side. Essence produced in male–female union, qi of breathing, and spirit in the activity of thinking—all belong to outer medicine. Innate supreme essence, qi in emptiness, and the undamaged original spirit belong to inner medicine. When alchemical books speak of ‘two kinds of operation, inner and outer,’ they mean precisely this.”

Someone asked: “How should the line ‘Knock bamboo to rouse the turtle; it swallows the jade fungus’ be understood?”

Someone asked what “knocking bamboo” (qiao zhu) means.

The answer: “Knocking bamboo” is a way of speaking about regulating the breath and nurturing Qi; “calling the turtle” (huan gui) is a way of speaking about gathering and refining Jing. Refine Jing into Qi, then use Qi to gather Jing again, so that Jing and Qi merge and condense into “jade fungus” (yu zhi)—the image in Neidan (internal alchemy) of Jing and Qi congealing. When that is gathered and taken inward, life can be preserved.

Someone asked how to explain “playing the zither to summon the phoenix” and “drinking the knife-shaped elixir” (dao gui).

The answer: “Playing the zither” means making the heart-mind (xin) empty and still; “summoning the phoenix” means nourishing Shen (spirit). When the heart-mind is empty and still and Shen is nourished, the mind can clarify and spirit can transform, so that the “two soils” (er tu) congeal into gui—the Neidan term for the state in which yin and yang harmonize and condense. Gather that and take it inward, and the nature-body can become complete and luminous.

Someone asked what “Five Qi Returning to the Origin” (wu qi chao yuan) means.

The answer: When the body does not stir recklessly, Jing can be held firm—this is “water returning to the origin.” When the heart-mind does not stir recklessly, Qi can be held firm—this is “fire returning to the origin.” When the heart-nature is quiet, hun (the ethereal soul) is kept in store—this is “wood returning to the origin.” When emotional thoughts subside, po (the corporeal soul) settles—this is “metal returning to the origin.” When the four greats of the body (the constituents of the person—earth, water, fire, and wind) are settled and in harmony, intention (yi) can be stable—this is “earth returning to the origin.” That is “Five Qi Returning to the Origin.”

Someone asked what “Yellow Matron” (huang po) means.

The answer: “Yellow” is the color of the center; “matron” (po) is a term for mother. The ten thousand things are born from earth; earth is the mother of the ten thousand things, hence “Yellow Matron.” In the bodily metaphor, the Yellow Matron refers to yi (intention). To call the spleen spirit the Yellow Matron is mistaken.

Someone asked what “Golden Duke” (jin gong) means.

The answer: In principle, the yang of qian (Heaven) enters kun (Earth), forming kan (Water); kan belongs to water, and metal is the father of water, hence “Golden Duke.” By the method of symbolic composition, placing “gong” beside “metal” gives “lead” (qian).

Someone asked: Kan belongs to greater yin (tai yin); why is it also likened to an infant?

The answer: Kan’s form is originally that of kun, so it is said to belong to greater yin. It receives the yang of qian and becomes kan, turning into lesser yang (shao yang); hence the infant metaphor—it carries yin on its back while embracing yang.

Someone asked: “The Li trigram belongs to the sun—why is it also explained through the image of the chanü (a young woman used as a metaphor)?”

The reply was: “The Li trigram originally takes the Qian trigram as its substance, so it is called the sun. Later it receives the yin of the Kun trigram and becomes the Li trigram—the lesser yin—so the chanü is used as a metaphor, meaning that within yang there is yin.”

Someone asked: “What is true gold?”

The reply was: “Gold refers to the Yuanshen (original spirit, one’s fundamental spirit). It does not decay through kalpas; the more it is refined and tempered, the brighter it becomes—hence it is called true gold.”

Someone asked: “What are ‘mother and child’?”

The reply was: “This refers to gold within water. Gold is the mother of water; gold is hidden in water, so it is said that the mother is concealed within the fetus. By this analogy, Shen (spirit) is the mother of the body, and spirit is hidden in the body—like a mother concealed within a fetus.”

Someone asked: “What are ‘guest and host’?”

The reply was: “Xing (nature, one’s true nature) is the master of the whole person; the body is like a guest. Now one borrows the body to cultivate nature, so the body can also be regarded as master. A alchemical text says: ‘Let him be master and I be guest’—that is the idea.”

Someone asked: “What is the pre-heaven primordial Qi?”

The reply was: “Before heaven and earth were yet divided, there was only a single point of numinous clarity. It is also the single point of true yang within the human body. Because it precedes heaven and earth in covering and bearing all things, it is called pre-heaven.”

Someone asked: “What are water and fire?”

The reply was: “Heaven uses sun and moon as metaphors for water and fire; the Yijing uses the Kan and Li trigrams; Chan uses samadhi and prajna; sages use clarity and moisture; medicine uses heart and kidney; Neidan (internal alchemy) uses Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). I state plainly: within your own body, whatever rises, ascends, and is hot belongs to fire; whatever descends and moistens belongs to water. These different names are all metaphors, so that the learner may grasp the meaning for himself.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘water within fire’?”

Someone asked: “Why is it said that spirit water (the internal-alchemy name for the body’s vital fluids) flows from a source on high?”

The reply was: “In principle, water cannot moisten by itself; it must rely on fire to steam and transform it before it can become moistening qi. In the correspondences of yin-yang and the Five Phases, fire is strongest at the wu hour (noon); water receives qi at wu hour—hence we know there is water within fire. If we apply this to the human body, this is the fluid within qi.”

Someone asked: “Why is it said that there is fire within water?”

The reply was: “In principle, the sun rises from the sea. In the correspondences of yin-yang and the Five Phases, water is strongest at the zi hour (midnight); fire receives its embryo at zi hour. If we apply this to the human body, this is qi within jing (essence).”

Someone asked: “What is ‘already completed’ (jiji)?”

The reply was: “Water rising and fire descending is called jiji (yinyang, water and fire, in harmony). The Yi says: ‘Below the mountain is a marsh—Loss (sun). The noble person restrains anger and checks desire.’ That is the method of reaching jiji: restrain anger and fire descends; check desire and water ascends.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘not yet completed’ (weiji)?”

The reply was: “If anger is not restrained, fire blazes upward; if desire is not checked, water flows downward and scatters. The fire of ignorance burns fiercely; the waves of the sea of suffering surge—water and fire cannot merge. This is called weiji (water and fire not yet harmonized).”

Someone asked: “What is ‘metal and wood united’?”

The reply was: “When emotion returns to nature (xing), that is called union. Emotion belongs to metal; nature belongs to wood.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘separation’?”

The reply was: “When emotion chases outer things and nature turns with each thought, emotion and nature turn away from each other—that is called separation.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘clear and turbid’?”

The reply was: “When the heart-mind does not move, water returns to its source—therefore it is clear. When the heart-mind moves, water follows the current away—therefore it is turbid.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘two-eight’?”

The phrase “one jin” is merely a way of speaking about balanced quantities. The saying “half a jin of lead and eight liang of mercury” does not refer to actual weights on a scale; it means only that the two medicinal components, lead and mercury, must be blended in equal proportion—hence it is called “two-eight” (er-ba). The alchemical texts say: “After the front bowstring, before the back bowstring; the medicines are evenly matched, and the firing process is complete.” This uses the waxing and waning of the moon’s yin and yang as a metaphor: once yin and yang are in harmony, it is like the equal length of day and night in the second and eighth lunar months.

Someone asked: “What is ‘bathing’ (muyu)?”

The answer: “Purifying the inner mind and washing away stray thoughts—that is bathing.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘elixir complete’ (dancheng)?”

The answer: “When body and heart become one, spirit (Shen) and qi (vital energy) merge into a single whole, and emotion (qing) and nature (xing) gather without dispersing—that is elixir complete. It is also called the ‘sacred embryo’ (shengtai), a term in inner alchemy (Neidan) for the fruit of cultivation.” The immortal master said: “Your original true nature is the Golden Elixir; use the body compounded of the four [elements] as the furnace, and refine it into one mass.” That is the meaning.

Someone asked: “What is ‘nurturing the fire’ (yanghuo)?”

The answer: “Cutting off scattered thoughts is nurturing the fire.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘shedding the shell’ (tuotai)?”

The answer: “When there is a body beyond the body—that is shedding the shell.”

Someone asked: “What is ‘completion’ (liaodang)?”

The answer: “Becoming one with the Great Void (taixu)—the boundless empty expanse—that is completion. As for transcending the realm of worldly creation and transformation, it is not easy to speak of lightly; one must realize it for oneself.”

The Quanzhen Way of Living

Instruction to all disciples:

A Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practitioner should cultivate the Quanzhen path. “Quanzhen” means preserving one’s original true nature—that is, cultivation brought to fulfillment. Only when jing (essence), qi, and shen are fully intact can one be called Quanzhen; wherever there is loss, wholeness is broken; wherever the slightest impurity clings, purity is lost.

Preserving jing and qi nourishes the physical person. To preserve jing, one must first settle body and mind; when body and mind are settled, desire does not arise, and thus jing is preserved.

When primordial Qi is ample, it can nourish the spirit of the heart-mind. To make true Qi full, the heart must first be clear and still; when the heart is clear and still, wandering thoughts fade and Qi can fill the body.

When spirit and Qi are sufficient, one can return to empty stillness. To make the spirit full, intent must first be sincere; when intent is sincere, body and heart-mind unite, and one returns to empty stillness. Thus Jing, Qi, and Shen are the three fundamental resources used in cultivation, while body, heart-mind, and intent are the three aspects that matter most.

The method of cultivating immortals does not require many complicated tasks. One need only take Jing, Qi, and Shen—the three treasures—as the root of elixir work, gather the three treasures in the central palace (the body’s inner center), and the Golden Elixir can be refined. Is this principle not easy to grasp? What difficulty is there in putting it into practice? Those who find it hard to understand or hard to do are confused by heterodox doctrines and deluded thoughts.

The key to refining Jing lies in the body. When the body does not move recklessly, “the tiger roars and wind rises” and “the dark tortoise hides”—imagery for how original Jing gathers and condenses. Talk of tiger and tortoise describes symbolically how essence withdraws and concentrates.

The key to refining Qi lies in the heart-mind. When the heart-mind does not stir rashly, “the dragon sings and clouds rise” and “the vermilion bird folds its wings”—imagery for how primordial Qi settles. Dragon and vermilion bird likewise describe breath becoming steady and contained.

The key to refining Shen lies in intent. When intent does not move rashly, the two forces within body and heart-mind unite, Jing, Qi, and Shen merge as one, and the Sacred Embryo (a symbolic term in neidan for the fruit of practice) takes form.

When Qian and Kun (symbolizing the yin-yang of Heaven and Earth) stir, there appear “dragon singing and clouds rising” and “the vermilion bird folding its wings,” and primordial Qi settles accordingly.

The key to refining Shen lies in intent. When intent does not move rashly, the two forces unite, Jing, Qi, and Shen become one, and the Sacred Embryo takes form.

Terms such as Qian and Kun, the cauldron and vessel (symbols of alchemical work), Kan and Li (Water and Fire, or yin-yang), medicinal ingredients, the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the three treasures, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the four emblems—all of these, in the end, come back to the three words body, heart-mind, and intent. At the utmost of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practice, one still cannot leave body and heart-mind. Leave body and heart-mind behind and you fall into the heterodox path. Yet one must not cling to body and heart-mind either; once you cling, you are dragged about by them again. One should work right within body and heart-mind while not being bound by them. The body and heart-mind spoken of here are not the visible flesh or ordinary daily thoughts, but the invisible body and heart-mind. What are invisible body and heart-mind? Like clouds rising from a mountain, or the moon reflected in the heart of the water.

“Body” is the pure body accumulated through countless kalpas, subtle being manifest from nothingness; “heart-mind” is the numinous source before the ten thousand phenomena, true nothingness held within being. Being within which there is no image appears as the figure of the Li trigram; nothingness within which there is image appears as the figure of the Kan trigram.

The Patriarch said: “Take the solid Yang from the center of the Kan palace (symbolizing the kidneys and the body’s Yang qi), and use it to transform the Yin softness within the Li palace (symbolizing the heart and the body’s Yin). Thus forge a firm Qian body (symbolizing a purely Yang constitution); whether you remain hidden or ascend, all is governed by the heart-mind.” I hold that the two words “body and mind” are precisely the crux of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) cultivation at its utmost—what room is there for doubt?

The secret of refining the elixir lies solely in taking the solid Yang from the center of Kan and transforming the Yin within Li. Thus forge a firm Qian body; whether you remain hidden or ascend, all is governed by the heart-mind. I hold that the two words “body and mind” are precisely the crux of Quanzhen cultivation at its utmost—what room is there for doubt?

The secret of refining the elixir, in the end, comes down to the two words “Xing and Ming” (nature and life). To speak of cultivation apart from Xing and Ming is to follow a side path; to grasp only one side is to fall into partiality.

The Patriarch said: “Shen (spirit) is Xing; Qi (vital energy) is Ming”—that is exactly the point.

Refining Qi is for preserving the body; refining Shen is for preserving the heart-mind. When the body is settled and unmoving, it is like a tiger’s roar; when the heart-mind is settled and unmoving, it is like a dragon’s chant. When the tiger roars, lead enters mercury; when the dragon chants, mercury enters lead. “Lead” and “mercury” are other names for Kan and Li: the Yang qi within Kan is the utmost Jing (essence) in the body; the Yin qi within Li is the primordial Qi in the heart.

Refining Jing into Qi is to preserve the body first; refining Qi into Shen is to settle the heart-mind first. When the body is settled, the form is stable; when the form is stable, one can comprehend the Way of life (Ming). When the heart-mind is settled, the spirit is whole; when the spirit is whole, one can comprehend nature (Xing). When body and mind unite, Xing and Ming are both complete, and form and spirit reach subtle harmony—this is called the elixir perfected.

That Jing becomes Qi and Qi becomes Shen is not especially marvelous in itself. Why? Because there is still the subtlety of refining Shen, which is not easily spoken of lightly.

I have said before that the great medicine of the Golden Elixir (Jindan)—the achievement sought in neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation—can only be truly understood from this perspective; then one will believe that the great work of cultivation is not found on paper. If you have not yet grasped it, you must first clarify where to begin; once you know the starting point, proceed step by step from there. First refine jing (essence); when jing is settled, refine qi (vital energy); when qi is settled, refine shen (spirit); when shen is gathered, return to deeper emptiness and stillness; entering that deeper emptiness, both Dao and De are complete.

Refining jing hinges on understanding “timing.” The “timing” spoken of here is not hours on a clock or fixed moments. If you cling to a particular hour, you are mistaken; if you say there is no timing at all, how can you begin? What should you actually do? The ancients said, “When the time comes, mind and spirit know it by themselves”; the patriarchs also said, “When lead appears at the birth of gui, you must gather it swiftly”—meaning that when the signs of internal alchemy appear, you must seize them promptly. At this point, the meaning is fully stated.

Refining qi hinges on tiaoxie (harmonizing and adjusting). Tiaoxie means harmonizing the true breath (the inner breathing spoken of in cultivation) and adjusting the true primordial yuan (the root vitality of life). Laozi said: “The gate of the mysterious female (xuanpin)—this is called the root of heaven and earth. Continuously, as if present; use it without forcing.” This is precisely the gist of tiaoxie.

Some people today take the mouth and nose as “the gate of the mysterious female,” which is wrong. Xuanpin refers to the fundamental pivot of heaven and earth’s opening, closing, and transformation. The Book of Changes, Xici: “Closing the door is called kun; opening the door is called qian; one opening and one closing—this is called change.” One opening and one closing is also one movement and one stillness. This is exactly what Laozi meant by “use it without forcing.”

The Dan Shu (Elixir Writings) says: "When exhaling, connect with Heaven's root; when inhaling, connect with Earth's root. Exhaling is like a dragon's roar, with clouds rising; inhaling is like a tiger's growl, with wind arising." I believe that "exhaling connects with Heaven's root, inhaling connects with Earth's root" refers to what the Yijing (Book of Changes) calls "when the gate closes, it is called Kun; when the gate opens, it is called Qian." The opening and closing of breath is precisely the process of transformation; the dragon's roar bringing forth clouds and the tiger's growl giving rise to wind show that this transformation is applied continuously without forcing or exhausting one's strength—this is the meaning of "using it without strain."

To take the mouth and nose directly as the Xuanpin (the Mysterious Female, the generative gate spoken of in Daoism)—is that not a misunderstanding? The breathing spoken of here refers to the Zhenxi (true breath), the inner vital breath that cycles back and forth without end.

Verse:

In the exchange of outer yin and yang lies the “external medicine”; only when inner Kan and Li qi gather is there “internal medicine.” Cultivating the external medicine deliberately applies methods; cultivating the internal medicine relies chiefly on what comes of itself. Jing, Qi, and Shen operate in outer and inner aspects, yet their root is one.

As for the external medicine: the refined qi produced in union between man and woman must first be kept from leaking; breath must grow finer until it seems almost absent; mind and spirit must be settled and clear. As for the internal medicine: refining jing means refining primordial jing (the innate root jing), drawing primordial yang (innate yang) from Kan. When primordial jing is firm, the jing of union will not leak by itself. Refining qi means refining primordial qi (the innate root qi), replenishing primordial yin (innate yin) in Li. When primordial qi is stable, breath no longer goes in and out of its own accord. Refining shen means refining primordial shen (the innate root spirit), merging Kan and Li into one body as Qian (symbol of pure yang). When primordial shen is concentrated, the everyday thinking spirit becomes calm and still. Above this there is also the stage of “refining emptiness,” which must not be spoken of lightly; the key is silent realization and inward understanding. Strive in practice! Strive in practice!

Zhonghe ji, juan 4

Composed by Li Daoyuan (Qing’an Yingchanzi), of Duliang

Edited by his disciple Cai Zhiyi (Sun’an Baochanzi)

On Nature and Life

What is called “nature” (xing) is the most subtle spiritual nature before heaven—the single spirit; what is called “life” (ming) is the most refined root of life before heaven—the single qi. Spirit and jing are the foundation of nature and life.

How nature changes depends on the heart; how life changes depends on the body. Views and knowledge arise from the heart; thought and intention make the heart pull on nature. Conduct and how one treats others issue from the body; whether one speaks or is silent, looks or listens, all wearies the body and burdens life. When life is burdened by the body, there is birth and death; when nature is pulled by the heart, there is coming and going.

From this we know that “body” and “heart” are where spirit and jing dwell, while spirit and jing are the root of nature and life. Nature cannot stand without life, nor life exist without nature. The names differ, but the principle is one.

It is lamentable that among those who study cultivation today—whether Buddhist monastics or Daoist adepts—many treat nature (xing) and life (ming) as separate matters, each clinging to one side and disputing which is right or wrong, unaware that when Yin and Yang stand alone and one side is overemphasized, no great achievement is possible. To cultivate only the bodily life without understanding nature—how can one escape the turns of calamity and fate? To glimpse nature alone without knowing how to nurture life—in the end, where will one go?

The immortal master said: “To refine the Golden Elixir (Jindan) (the core practice of Neidan (internal alchemy)) without penetrating nature is the foremost flaw in cultivation. To cultivate only true nature without refining the Golden Elixir, even a yin-spirit that has endured myriad kalpas can hardly enter the sacred realm.” These words are indeed well founded.

Accomplished cultivators can unite nature and life: first they hold precepts and cultivate concentration, stillness, and wisdom, so the mind rests in emptiness and quiet; then they refine and nourish Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) to preserve the body. When the body is settled, the root of life can long endure; when the inner mind is empty, still, and clear, nature can fully manifest. When nature is round and bright, one is no longer bound by coming, going, birth, and death; when the root of life is firm, one can transcend death. Ultimately one reaches a state of seamless unity and sudden enlightenment, entering directly the realm of Wuwei (non-action), with nature and life both complete and form and spirit both wondrous.

Still, one cannot say that nature and life were originally two utterly unrelated things, nor can one call them entirely the same: they have always been mutually connected, yet in practice each has its emphasis. If one is biased and sets up a separate school for each, yet hopes thereby to enter Wuwei, achieve the dual fulfillment of nature and life, and attain wondrous form and spirit, that is failure to understand the principle of nature and life. Once nature and life are not understood, what was originally one connected teaching is split apart. If nature and life cannot support each other, how can one become a true person or ascend to the immortal realm?

On Trigrams and Lines

Haiqiong Zhenren (a Neidan (internal alchemy) master of the Daoist tradition) said: “In the highest grade of elixir method there are no trigram lines.” Then why do so many elixir books employ Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and line positions? It is because the sages, in establishing their teaching, used these devices to make the Great Dao (the Way) visible. An old saying runs: “The Great Dao is originally without words, yet if one does not rely on language, the Great Dao cannot be shown either.” That is precisely what is meant.

A gua (hexagram) means to hang up or display—as when something is hung high for others to see; it also suggests how Heaven reveals signs so that fortune and misfortune are easier to read. What we call xiang (images) means to take these forms as models and compare by them; what we call yao (lines) means to imitate the changes within them.

A trigram has three lines, standing for the “Three Powers” of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, and likewise matching the “Three Origins” (sanyuan) in one’s own body. Drawn as six lines, it stands for the “Six Vacuities” (liuxu) and matches the “Six Harmonies” (liuhe) in the body. Both “Three Origins” and “Six Harmonies” are terms used in Daoist neidan (internal alchemy) to describe the body as an integrated whole.

Danshu—works on neidan—employ gua images and line positions so that practitioners can set up the luding (furnace and cauldron) according to the hexagrams and advance the firing and refinement (jinhuo yunlian) in the order the lines indicate, giving practice a clear method. Hailong Zhenren said “those without hexagrams and lines” to warn later generations not to be trapped by line symbolism: in cultivation one may borrow them as methods, but one must also know how to go beyond these forms.

Before this body came into being, it rested in stillness and unmoving quiet, like Taiji (the primordial source before heaven, earth, and the myriad things had divided. Once the body had formed, xing (nature) and ming (life-destiny) were also fixed—much as Taiji gives rise to the two modes of Yin-Yang. When the body gained a physical shape, it also gained xing and qing (nature and temperament)—as when the two modes produce the Four Images. When jing (essence), shen (spirit), hun, po, yi (intent), qi (vital energy), the physical body, and the heart-mind are all complete, it is like the Four Images unfolding into the Bagua (Eight Trigrams).

The ancients said: “To revere the Buddha-dharma, cultivate concentration in the Li palace; to turn toward the Dao, seek the mysterious in the water palace.” This is speaking of the essentials of dual cultivation of xing and ming. “Cultivating concentration in the Li palace” means keeping precepts and cultivating samadhi and wisdom so that dust of worldly thoughts no longer sticks, realizing that the ten thousand things return to emptiness, and thus removing the yin lines within the Li trigram. “Seeking the mysterious in the water palace” means refining and nurturing jing, qi, and shen so that the three flowers gather in the cauldron and the five qi return to the root source—this is preserving yang qi within Kan (the water palace).

Those who truly understand can practice both teachings together: carrying yin on the back and embracing yang in the arms, emptying the heart while filling the belly—drawing the yang in Kan to replenish the yin in Li, so that the self again becomes the purely yang body of the Qian hexagram. The Perfected One of Purple Yang (Ziyang Zhenren) said: “Take the solid yang in the heart at the Kan position to transform the yin breath in the belly of the Li palace; from this one turns into the firm Qian body; whether hidden or soaring, all is ruled by the heart’s intent.” That is precisely this principle.

Practitioners who regulate fire timing according to hexagram lines take their cue from the mutual coordination and alternating movement of the Qian and Kun hexagrams (symbolizing firmness and yielding). Through this, the operation of heaven and earth fixes the four seasons and completes the year, and the four virtues (of Qian) unfold in endless transformation.

In cultivation, advancing fire, retreating fire, extraction and addition, increase and decrease—all must be arranged according to this pattern of change. In other words, one may compress the changes of a year into a month, a month into a day, a day into an hour, an hour into a quarter-hour, and finally a quarter-hour into a single breath (yi xi). From the largest scale—yuan, hui, yun, and shi (the traditional tiers of vast cosmic time)—down to a single breath, each level has its own cycle of coming full circle. Whoever grasps this principle holds the key to advancing fire and retreating the symbolic phase (jin huo tui fu) in practice.

Inner alchemy (the path of neidan cultivation) borrows hexagram images to explain methods and uses line positions as metaphors for huohou—grasping timing and pace in practice. These are all figures of speech; one must not cling to the hexagrams and lines themselves. As the saying goes, “cross the river with a raft; once ashore, there is no need to keep riding the boat,” and “when the fish is caught, forget the fish trap; when the rabbit is snared, forget the snare.” Master Ziyang said: “Understand the meaning here, and there is no need to seek further in the hexagrams; if you insist on parsing every line, you will only waste your mind in vain.” He also said: “There is no need to split the day into zi and wu hours on purpose, nor to arrange Qian and Kun within the hexagram lines.” All of this points to the same principle.

I hold that those who grasp things by nature need neither seeking to understand nor forcing to fit—they need no guides or metaphors at all. Thus the highest grade of elixir methods does not depend on hexagrams and lines. People of middle and lower capacity cannot penetrate at once; they must advance step by step, so various alchemical texts use hexagrams and lines as standards for practice. Those who truly penetrate will reflect carefully and naturally grasp the reasoning within.

Discourse

Discourse on Life and Death

The Supreme One (here, Laozi of the Daodejing) said: “People treat death lightly because they pursue life too intensely; that is why they treat death lightly.” He also said: “Only those who do not fix on nurturing life surpass those who treat life as supremely precious.” This means that single-mindedly chasing long life will never succeed; if one can release attachment to living, what would “death” even refer to?

Where there is life, there is death; without death, life would have no meaning. Thus in the great matter of Xingming (dual cultivation of nature and life), birth and death matter above all. To grasp death, one must first grasp life; once life is understood, death becomes understandable as well.

When Zilu asked Confucius what death is, Confucius answered: “If you do not yet know the principle of life, how can you know death?” The sage’s words are truly profound. The Commentary on the Appended Phrases in the Book of Changes says: “Tracing things from their beginning to their end, one can comprehend the principle of birth and death.” That is exactly what is meant here.

I believe that those who study the Way and wish for a good end must first trace back to the starting point of their practice; to understand their final destination, the key lies in seeing clearly the present moment. If one can be free and at ease in the present, one will be free and at ease at the end; if one can be self-mastered now, one will be self-mastered then.

From antiquity to the present, successive holy masters have been able to shed the body and transform the spirit, responding to circumstances without limit, precisely because they had long since winnowed away all distracting thoughts and entanglements—thus in the end they could rise lightly and ascend. If someone, in every situation encountered in daily life, sees through it and discerns it clearly, neither deluded by outer things nor pulled by karmic conditions, then at the final juncture no situation can delude them and no affinities can bind them.

I see that people who meditate today, as soon as they close their eyes, all sorts of illusory visions and demonic states appear before them. Once they fall into a demonic state, they mingle with yin demons (dark, mind-disturbing phantoms that arise in practice) without knowing it. Occasionally someone notices, yet cannot break free—like a corpse that still breathes, with all six senses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind) intact but unable to act on their own, only left to be disturbed and manipulated. If they are not at ease even now, how can they gain freedom at the gate of life and death?

Those of firm will are as clear when their eyes are closed as when open; they do not cling to any illusory state, coming and going without obstruction, and thus attain great freedom. If one is already free and at ease in the present, why worry at the end about not being free and at ease?

The Qing'an Daoren spared no effort in speaking repeatedly to people of the Sun'an type. The work of cultivation one is doing now is a matter bearing on the final outcome: what is present is the cause; what comes at the end is the fruit.

All thoughts and deliberations in the present belong to the yin side; all illusory entanglements and circumstances belong to demonic states. If one can clear them away in ordinary daily life, one will not be confused and disturbed in the end. Thoughts and deliberations should be resolved by principle; illusory entanglements should be cut off by firm resolve. When thoughts and deliberations cease, yin qi will recede; when illusory conditions dissolve, demonic states vanish, and yang qi grows accordingly. Accumulate cultivation over the long term until yin is exhausted and yang qi is wholly pure—this is called attaining immortality.

If thoughts keep multiplying and entanglements arise in their wake, and one indulges oneself and lets them run their course, yin qi will increase, demonic states will grow heavier, and yang qi will accordingly decline. Accumulated over the long term in this way, yang qi is exhausted and yin qi fully prevails, and the person dies. A great practitioner of cultivation, if even one portion of yin qi is not yet exhausted, cannot attain immortality; an ordinary person, if even one portion of yang qi is not yet exhausted, will not die. To hold this view is to deserve the name of a lofty adept of the Daoist gate.

Fellow cultivators must set a resolute aspiration, leave no doubt in the mind, sweep away scattered thoughts in one stroke, until the inner heart is clear and empty, letting not the slightest dust of thought cling—this is the body of stillness and purity (qingjing fashen): the innate nature unstained by defilement.

If you do not fix on the outer form of anything, outer forms cannot pull you. If you are not stained by any method or principle, they cannot affect you. If you do not grasp at anything, things cannot bind you. If you do not keep affairs in mind, affairs cannot disturb you. If you are not drawn by any sound, sounds cannot unsettle you. If you do not cling to any feeling, feelings cannot move you. The same applies to the Five Aggregates (wuyun—the components of body-mind: form, feeling, perception, volition, consciousness) and the Six Consciousnesses (liushi—the discerning functions of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind).

Then the six sense objects (liuchen—color, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) no longer enter the heart; the six sense faculties (liugen) are pure; the Five Aggregates are empty; and the five eyes (wuyan—the graded modes of insight in Buddhist usage) are complete and penetratingly clear. Reaching this state, the six faculties can interchange their functions, as if the whole body were eyes; every kind of yin stagnation is exhausted, the whole body is pure Yang, nature (xing) and life (ming) are both fulfilled, form and spirit subtly unite, and in the end you merge with the Dao as one. What birth and death remain to transcend? What “final barrier of the present moment” need you worry about? There is neither cause nor effect, and even “nothing” is not held—thus you gain the greatest ease and freedom. Ah! The subtlety of non-arising dharma patience (wusheng faren—the abiding realization that dharmas have no birth or death) is exhausted at this point.

On the Upper Yuan Festival of the renchen year of the Zhiyuan era, Qing’an Yingchanzi wrote this at Zhonghe Hermitage and presented it to Cai Sun’an and others.

The Supreme One said: "Attain the utmost emptiness and stillness; hold fast to tranquility; the ten thousand things all grow and change together, and I observe how they return." This means that when stillness reaches its extreme, it turns into movement. "The ten thousand things flourish and grow, yet each in the end returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; this is called reverting to one's original nature." This means that when movement reaches its extreme, it turns into stillness. It also says: "Reverting to one's original nature is called the constant." That is to say, the shift from stillness to movement and from movement back to stillness is the constant way of the Dao.

If one treats movement merely as movement and stillness merely as stillness, that is only the ordinary condition of the ten thousand things. The sages of old said: "From stillness to movement and from movement to stillness is divine transformation; movement without stillness or stillness without movement is the dead condition of mere things." They meant precisely this. From this we can see that the essential secret of nurturing body and mind cannot be separated from harmonizing movement and stillness.

Those who cultivate the Dao gather body and mind inward until the heart-mind reaches a state of utmost emptiness and deeply guards stillness; then they can observe how things shift from stillness to movement and cycle back again. The Yijing says: “What Fu reveals—is it not the heart of heaven and earth?”

The Fu hexagram marks the turn from Kun (pure yin, utmost stillness) to Fu: beneath five yin lines, a single yang at the bottom line begins to stir. That is precisely the process in which stillness reaches its extreme and movement is born. Observing this cyclical change, one can grasp the pattern by which the myriad things come into being; knowing the pattern of change, one is not pulled about by change and finally returns to the root. Returning to the root is called “stillness”—that is, “fu ming,” restoring life to its original state. This is exactly the path from movement back to stillness.

The Yizhuan says: “Closing the door is called Kun; opening the door is called Qian; one opening and one closing is called change; coming and going without ceasing is called penetration.” One opening and one closing is one movement and one stillness; coming and going without end is movement and stillness continuing without break. Movement and stillness alternate in turn, the pivot of change keeps turning, and the myriad things are thereby generated—this is called “transformation.” Following transformation, extending and applying it, one can respond to limitless change—this is called “penetration.”

The Supreme One (Taishang) said: “The valley spirit does not die; this is called the mysterious female (xuanpin).” This means that the empty-still yet luminous original nature does not grow dim, so the mechanism of movement and stillness always remains and cannot be covered over.

The Daodejing says: “The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth.” This refers to the opening and closing of Qian (Heaven) yang and Kun (Earth) yin, from which change arises. It also says: “Endless and continuous, it seems to exist, yet one need not force it.” This means that coming and going never cease, and therefore thorough penetration is possible.

The root of Heaven and Earth opens and closes like human breathing: exhaling connects with the root of Heaven—this is “opening”; inhaling connects with the root of Earth—this is “closing.” When exhaling, it is like a dragon’s cry and clouds rising; when inhaling, it is like a tiger’s roar and wind stirring—this is called “change.” When wind and cloud meet, dragon and tiger unite, movement and stillness depend on each other, the manifest and the subtle interpenetrate—this is called “penetration.”

The breathing spoken of here is not the breathing of mouth and nose, but the “true breath” (zhenxi)—an inner current that runs on without break, coming and going without ceasing. If one clings to mouth-and-nose breathing and treats that as the Mysterious Female, how can one fully grasp the subtle wonder of Heaven and Earth’s transformations? One who understands that the changes of Heaven and Earth arise from wondrous functioning is called a superior practitioner (shangshi).

Once this is clear, one knows: the way of Qian is firm and unceasing, corresponding to the mind’s activity without clinging or artificial striving—cultivation too should never stop; the way of Kun is deep and bears all things, corresponding to the body’s quietness and responsive engagement in affairs, with inexhaustible effect. The mind takes Heaven as its model, hence clarity; the body takes Earth as its model, hence stillness. By constantly preserving clarity and stillness, one can grasp for oneself the pivot of Heaven and Earth’s opening and closing. The Jing says: “Clarity is the root of turbidity; activity is the foundation of rest. If people can constantly keep purity, the myriad things of Heaven and Earth all return to oneness.” That is precisely this meaning.

When Jingxian’an and others asked me for the essentials of preserving body and mind, I answered them with “movement” and “stillness.” The point was to gather body and mind inward and emulate the functioning of heaven and earth in their cycles.

Preserving the body hinges on harmonizing; preserving the inner mind hinges on gathering inward. Harmonizing emphasizes movement; gathering inward emphasizes stillness. In movement, take heaven as model; in stillness, take earth as model. When both body and mind are quiet, they align with heaven and earth. When stillness reaches its depth, the living, authentic spiritual responsiveness of one’s nature naturally appears—an activity unlike the ordinary. The pivot that sets this transformation in motion is the Heart of Heaven (Tianxin—the inner authentic heart).

When the Heart of Heaven appears, the Mysterious Pass (Xuan Guan—the key gateway of inner transformation in Neidan) opens through; when the Pass is open, the “medicine” (the inner essence used in alchemy) is present, the “cauldron and furnace” (the foundation of practice and the locus of body-mind) is present, and the “fire timing” (the measure that regulates the stages of practice) is also present. The various deployments of the Three Origins, Eight Trigrams (Bagua), Four Images, and Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) are all contained within this. When practice reaches this stage, body and mind merge into one; movement and stillness support each other, and the pivot of heaven-and-earth’s opening and closing is entirely within oneself.

Further on, the heart returns to empty stillness, the body enters the state of Wuwei (non-action); movement and stillness are both forgotten, essence congeals and Qi transforms. At this point, essence naturally becomes Qi, Qi naturally becomes Shen (spirit), Shen naturally becomes emptiness, and one merges with the Great Void (the vast empty ground of being)—this is called returning to the root and restoring the origin. Alas! The way of long life and lasting vision is fully spoken at this point.

On the fourth day after the Upper Yuan Festival in the renchen year of the Zhiyuan era, the Clear Hermitage Yingchanzi wrote this at the Zhonghe Hermitage and presented it to Jingxian’an and the others.

Song

Song on the Original Dao (for Yeyun)

If one can thread the subtle Qi through the Mysterious Pass and lightly ascend the immortal realm to attain the true Dao, it is indeed not difficult. Only that hair’s-breadth secret seems as hard to see as the eye of a needle; to the confused it feels as if ten thousand mountains stand between them and it.

Even if there are people in the world who cultivate the Golden Elixir, most merely cling to written doctrines and fixate on outer things. Though they toil bitterly within the teaching, they are like a foolish cat guarding an empty mouse hole—they never find the real key to practice.

Some take mineral stones as the foundation of elixir-making; others say the mouth and nose are the “mysterious female” (xuanpin)—the deep gateway from which the myriad things arise. Some compare heart and kidney to Kan and Li (the water and fire trigrams), and still others treat essence and blood as the stuff of yin–yang pairing.

Thus they wear out the body and drain the spirit, scattering the subtle root instead, so the way of cultivation stays blocked. When the inner root of spirit is exhausted, they still cling to error and will not turn back.

Everyone already holds the medicine of long life and each has the method of cultivating the Way—only they often do not know how to use it. Glittering sights confuse the eyes: who can gather the mind and turn the light inward? Shallow desires tug at the heart: who can look back and reflect?

The Yingchuan elder Wild Cloud, whom I know, is an extraordinary person who has penetrated both Daoist and Buddhist teaching. He has loosened every bond and can withdraw in time when things turn chaotic and perilous, honoring the mysterious, quiet style of the Way.

Now that I have met a kindred spirit, I tell you the crux of cultivation: within the “Kan water” lies a bit of true gold—seize it quickly and gather it into the “Li fire.” Here Kan and Li are inner-refinement terms for water and fire, not merely physical organs.

Having told you this about the mind of the Way, from now on you need not study at random. Through the whole summer, watch only the sign of “the dragon taking water,” and you will grasp the true formula heaven shows.

Once you grasp this key, you will know how to “gather the medicine” (caiyao—refining inner essence and qi). When “earth thunder” stirs, it is like bellows pumping: the qi of heaven and earth moves with it. In an instant clouds and rain gather; every breath converges, and true ease arises.

Take the “jade toad” (a image of the inner elixir) from the water and store it in the “suspended womb cauldron” (a metaphor for the body or dantian in inner alchemy). When you master the timing of advancing fire and withdrawing the talisman, you can condense the “mysterious pearl” (xuanzhu—the refined essence of neidan) from formlessness.

Gaining the mysterious pearl is not the end: regulating the mind and nurturing it remains profound. Lead must circulate and mercury must rise; water must not be too cold, nor fire too fierce. “Lead,” “mercury,” “water,” and “fire” are symbolic language in neidan—they speak of yin–yang harmony and measured firing.

When the cycles of firing are complete, you must know how to hold fullness without spilling. After stillness and settling, the “great treasure of the three originals” (the refined essence, qi, and spirit) will form. At last, breaking through the crown gate, the spirit sheds its shell and ascends—you may then bow with you before the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing).

Song of Refining Emptiness (with preface)

The root of the Way is utmost emptiness; from emptiness qi is born. Hold this awareness so the spirit stays full yet not overflowing; in stillness and fixation, the great treasure of the three originals condenses. Finally breaking through the crown gate and the spirit shedding its shell and ascending, you may bow with you before the Three Pure Ones.

The substance of the Dao is utterly empty and void; from within that emptiness and void, primordial Qi arises. When Qi differentiates, the twin aspects of Yin-Yang take shape. What is clear and light rises to become Heaven; what is turbid and heavy settles to become Earth. Heaven is round and moves without ceasing; the North Star stays fixed—so Heaven is chiefly motion. Earth is level and still; water flows eastward without running dry—so Earth is chiefly rest. The North Star stands for the pivot of Heaven and Earth; water flowing east stands for the living breath of Heaven and Earth.

Nourish spirit and mind through emptiness and stillness, and the mind can settle; nourish primordial Qi through emptiness and stillness, and Qi can circulate. When the mind is as unmoving as the North Star and spirit is empty, luminous, and clear, one who understands this may say the Way of Heaven is in oneself. When primordial Qi keeps moving like an eastern stream that never fails, the body can long endure; one who understands this may say the Way of Earth is in oneself. When the ways of Heaven and Earth both appear in oneself, form and spirit together reach a subtle depth, Yin-Yang can no longer pull one about, and one passes beyond the limits of creation and transformation.

From this we know that “emptiness” is the substance of the great Dao and the beginning of Heaven and Earth; motion and rest come from it, Yin-Yang move by means of it, and the myriad things are born from it. Thus emptiness is the root of all under Heaven.

The lay adept Wang of ancient Hangzhou (Hangzhou) named his study “Bamboo,” taking his meaning largely from this. Upright in conduct, yielding in the world, gentle in mind, quiet in body—that is bamboo’s integrity. In action, forgetting moods; in sitting, forgetting stray thoughts; responding as things arise without clinging to self; facing change without grasping outer things—that is bamboo’s hollowness. Firm in resolve, without doubt in the heart, inward and outward flowing as one, never changing the first aim—that is bamboo staying green through the cold. Visiting accomplished cultivators widely, seeking clear teachers everywhere, receiving wandering practitioners, and mingling freely with the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—that is bamboo growing in clusters.

Add to this plain clarity and simplicity, few desires and little selfishness, regulating the breath and devoting oneself to practice, watching the changes of things and knowing how to return to the source—unless one has reached the utmost emptiness under Heaven, who could do all this? To name the study “Bamboo” for such reasons is indeed fitting.

In the xinmao year, a Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist came to the Zhonghe Hermitage in Jinling and spoke of profound virtue; I held him in great esteem. After that, I received three letters from him. Reading his words, I could see his resolve to cultivate empty stillness (xujing). Therefore I flew my sword through the air to visit the master—it happened to be the Double Ninth Festival in the jihai year.

Observing his conduct and examining his speech, one could see he had already penetrated deeply into subtle principle. I then inscribed a plaque with the title “Juechan.” The character jue is formed from two jade pieces side by side, meaning that emptiness and fullness interpenetrate so that body and spirit both reach completion. Emptiness is the root of substance; substance is the function of emptiness; when emptiness and fullness connect, coming and going meet no obstruction. Jade also suggests purity, like “the empty room gives birth to white light”: when the mind is clear and empty and spirit and qi are settled, heavenly light naturally appears, shining on all things without partiality. When cultivation reaches this ground, what immortals, Buddhas, and sages can accomplish is complete. When our talk ended, I wrote this piece as a record.

The song says:

Whether you cultivate immortality, study Buddhism, or follow Confucian learning, the three teachings transmit only one word: “emptiness.” From ancient times until now, every achievement beyond the ordinary has been won through work in empty stillness.

Immortal cultivation takes empty stillness as the heart of refining the elixir; Buddhist study must sink the heart into emptiness, and seated meditation is included in that. You ask what one must do to learn the way of the sage: in empty stillness forget the self and awaken to heavenly principle.

The substance of the Dao is empty; its marvelous use is inexhaustible. Heaven and earth operate within emptiness; qi circulates in rounded flow. Yin-yang change and the birth of the ten thousand things also shift and move within emptiness. If a person sinks the heart into emptiness, he can penetrate transformation and respond to endless change.

The subtlety of Neidan (internal alchemy) lies in the realm of emptiness and non-being. At the outset one must empty the mind and firmly hold stillness; when empty stillness reaches an extreme and goes further, original qi (yuanqi) gathers and condenses. Stillness within stillness, and yang qi is reborn.

To cultivate the Way, the root is to empty the mind while filling body and spirit; the right moment to “gather the medicine” is when awareness is clear and luminous, not dulled or confused. Day by day, empty yourself to align with the times—that is authentic practice. When practice matures, you merge with the vast void and become someone who can truly bear responsibility.

When gathering and refining “lead” (a Neidan term for foundational substance), stay empty and still in wuwei (non-action). When advancing the fire and working the phases, take “emptiness” as the pivot of the bellows. “Advancing the fire” means applying the right timing and heat in inner cultivation. Increase and decrease, draw out and add—all depend on this emptiness. Keep going until even clinging to emptiness is shattered and great awakening appears.

In the end, the body of the Dao is empty and formless, yet its functioning is inexhaustible. To settle disorder and wear away sharp edges, you must hold to this emptiness throughout. Gather in your light and blend with the world, no longer fixated on self and other; the realm before the ten thousand things can only be known in your own experience.

Before any hexagram existed, how could there be hexagrams to speak of? Qian is not above, Kun is not below. At the center is one point, utterly empty and supremely subtle; on all four sides it is round and penetrating, without the slightest gap.

On every side firm and sealed, once chaotic clutter is cleared away, what appears is the empty center—the Xuanpin zhi men (Mysterious Female Gate), the pass where Dao-qi moves and yin and yang are generated. If you work from within emptiness and stillness, naturally you will open and close like heaven and earth.

When the Mysterious Female Gate opens, cultivation reaches its utmost. Spirit goes out from here and returns here; going out and coming back, it finally merges again into nothingness. Suddenly, it is as if spring thunder rolls across level ground.

When the thunder shakes, heaven and earth seem to part; a wheel of light bursts forth from the void. Whole and vast, its radiance nothing lacks; it shines through the bamboo study.

The master of the bamboo study is indeed a rare person. Reflect deeply and you can accord with the ten thousand things as they are now. Settle spirit in emptiness and practice within emptiness; even in words, the message of “emptiness” can be revealed.

When emptiness reaches its limit, even “emptiness” is not held onto; every bias and idle claim falls away. The hidden void and heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things all return to one. Empty in heart yet upright in character—like green bamboo—that is the chief secret of refining emptiness.

Song for Dispelling Delusion

Alas for the world’s practitioners of the golden elixir: their views differ in a thousand ways. Clinging to outer forms and words, they act at random—plucking branches and chasing details, only wasting effort!

Gathering the sun’s essence, drawing the moon’s splendor, holding light and swallowing qi, inhaling and exhaling cloud and mist; bending and stretching the body as cultivation—all superfluous. Rolling the eyes or pressing the eye sockets with the hands only conjures illusions from nothing.

Refining thick saliva, swallowing jinye (saliva), then pressing and kneading weilu (the end of the spine) and jiaji (the middle of the spine) with the fingers. Fixing attention on the tip of the nose, churning the body like overturning seas, and even taking excreta as food.

Clinging to quiet and plainness, falling into stubborn empty stillness, drowsy and wuwei all day yet calling it cultivation—plus massage and shuxi (counting breaths for calm). These diverge from the rationale of the jindan (Golden Elixir) Dao.

Practicing baduanjin, tuna with liu zi qi (six-character breath), or bigu (grain avoidance)—what help can they truly give? Clinging to so-called “three peaks” yin-gathering techniques, using “nine shallow and one deep” as advance and retreat, is also not the right path.

Kneading the waist and cupping the kidneys, guarding shengmen (the gate of life); bending and stretching the body and doing daoyin, tossing jing, qi, and shen. Taking milk at the furnace fire as a strength method—such paths are not worth discussing.

Also tightening the penis, holding the breath, and imitating a bear’s stretch or a bird’s flight—all vain expenditure of effort. Those who massage the waist claim warmth in the belly; those who circulate qi claim redness in the face.

Raising the hands to “strike the heavenly drum” (covering the ears and tapping the back of the head), both hands embracing Kunlun (the back of the head), clicking teeth to gather shen, and fixing the gaze on the crown. Taking hollow sounds for a male tiger’s roar, calling belly rumbling a female dragon’s chant.

Using intent to “burn” the dantian, regulating breath as if boiling the sea, not sleeping day or night, straining the eyes in bitter effort. Wearing thin clothes and going barefoot through cold torment, as if paying a debt of hunger and cold from a past life.

Often keeping the mouth shut in silence is still in vain; silently bowing to the Lord on High—how could that alone bring promotion? Some warm the hands with exhaled breath and carry a medicine pouch, calling themselves “jiubo”; others rub the urinary opening—methods even more absurd.

Playing with so-called “golden spear” and lifting so-called “golden well,” taking a beautiful woman as the ding (cauldron). Drawing her blood and essence and calling it “zhenqian” (true lead)—even when one’s own yuanqi is harmed, one may not know it.

Some mouths are tangled in obscure Chan talk, competing in lip service and clever tongues. Pointing at emptiness while talking emptiness, reckless speech to deceive; raising fist and finger without grasping the root.

Raising a huatou (meditation phrase), contemplating Dharma gates, jifeng debate clamoring without end. Some pick up a mallet or raise a whisk to lead disciples, or wink and lift eyebrows and at once think they are “pointing” others to awakening.

Investigating gong’an (Chan cases for awakening) while guarding a single phrase—true great monks need not do only that. Broad fluency in doctrine and reasoning is not wisdom; to mingxin jianxing (clarify the mind and see nature), one may have to wait until the proverbial “donkey year”—forever.

Practitioners of the Dao, Confucian, and Buddhist paths should not cling to lineages or verbal doctrines; they should turn the light inward and examine themselves. Only when they suddenly grasp the principle for themselves will they see that their earlier understanding was mistaken.

Those who seek the way of immortality should stop idle talk and trace the root of the moment when one receives Qi and takes bodily form. Do not fix on thoughts that have visible shape or definite objects of pursuit; and even when speaking of what has no form or image, do not treat it as something you can seize and hold.

The heart is not simply the same as fire, and the kidneys are not simply the same as water; ordinary seminal fluid cannot be casually called “heavenly dew” (tiangui). Huangpo (the “Yellow Matron,” an inner-alchemy term often denoting spleen-earth or a harmonizing function) is not confined to the spleen alone; Xuanpin (the “mysterious female,” the dark gateway that nurtures all things and a key term in cultivation) should not be reduced to the mouth and nose.

Mao (the “Rabbit” branch) is not only the rabbit, and You (the “Rooster” branch) is not only the rooster; the zi hour cannot be equated in a simple way with Kan, nor the wu hour with Li. The so-called “single yang” is not locked to the third or fourth day of the lunar month; cultivators should not insist that only at the full moon can one practice “holding fullness” (chiying, keeping the full).

The liver cannot be mapped straight onto the dragon, nor the lung onto the tiger; how could the refined essence of Jing and Qi be taken directly as the root of the elixir? At bottom the Five Phases (Wuxing) reduce to Yin-Yang; the four emblems likewise rest on the two Xuanpin principles born of Yin-Yang.

It is not easy to know where the “river source” of gathering the medicine lies. In Neidan (internal alchemy), the saying that “mercury arises in the east and lead in the west” uses direction and symbolic images to describe the interplay of Yin and Yang in practice: the “sun soul” in the Li position is called the “charming maiden” (chanü), and the “moon soul” in the Kan palace is called the “infant” (ying’er).

One must act in Wuwei (non-action), and also learn not to cling to what one has learned; for now, set aside even the methods relied on by pratyekabuddhas and śrāvakas (two kinds of Buddhist practitioners). I will reveal the crux in a single line: body and mind are at once fire and medicine.

When body and mind are settled, the subtle teaching runs through without obstruction; when Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) are empty, quiet, and in mutual accord, they naturally merge into one. After three hundred days of practice, the “embryo spirit” (taishen, the inner numinous presence spoken of in Neidan) completes its transformation and “breaks from the shell”; the cultivator seems to turn over and rise, breaking through the great void.

The highest Dao has no fixed form or fixed abode, yet one still depends on the rules transmitted by a teacher. In practice one borrows the hexagrams Tun and Meng to align with morning and evening, and takes Fu and Gou as names for the zi and wu hours.

Within the formless, one applies the “fire” to refine the great elixir; in a stable furnace and cauldron one seeks the true earth. When body, mind, and intent are settled and united, it is as if the three families have gathered; lead, mercury, silver, and cinnabar likewise share one source.

Increase and decrease of the “fire timing” follow an order in time; in sustaining the work one must distinguish host from guest. The red child of the southern mountain rides the azure dragon, and the golden lord of the northern sea rides the white tiger—these are all symbolic language of Neidan for describing cultivation.

When two kinds of elixir-nature substances are blended together, a pair of turtle and serpent churn and transform within the body, from which one obtains true earth (neidan term for the key that harmonizes yin and yang and causes the medicine to coalesce). When body, mind, and intent are settled, it is as when the Three Families (neidan term for the three inner elements required for the elixir work) unite; lead, mercury, silver, and sand likewise spring from one source.

Increase and decrease of the medicine must follow the right moment, in proper sequence; guarding this inner “city,” one must distinguish primary from secondary. The crimson child of the southern mountain (neidan term for true yang or the original spirit within) rides the azure dragon; the golden lord of the northern sea (neidan term for true yin or inner metal-qi) rides the white tiger.

The two medicines fuse with each other; turtle and serpent churn and transform within. Cultivation from here reaches the authentic realm and enters the Great Vehicle (Buddhist term for the broad path that leads beings to liberation); in an instant one grasps fullness and penetration, and the benefit gained is no small matter.

The true key to practice must be understood naturally in stillness and secrecy. Alas, some rely only on shallow minor methods and barely hold on. Clever speech and sharp debate they take for real skill; bold air and high spirit—who truly sees through it?

If one has not yet stilled the mind and gone deep into the subtle, why trouble to resolve on reclusion in a humble hut? Beginners who think they need no teacher, when old still achieve nothing, can only accept the hardship.

Accumulate merit and good conduct until the count reaches three thousand; turn the light inward (neidan term for gathering the spirit and looking back into oneself) and exhaust the interplay of two and five (neidan term for the pairing of yin-yang with the Five Phases). Fire rises in the east, the tiger roars and wind is born; the west washes away dust, the dragon moves and brings rain.

Drive thunder and lightning, command the Celestial Gang (star deities); support the right way and cut down heterodox qi, as the Dark Warrior (northern star deity, often shown as turtle and serpent) is dispatched. The fair maiden (neidan term, often mercury or yin-qi) has just left the Purple Pole Palace; the golden lord (neidan term, often lead or yang-qi) has already reached the Vermilion Mound Mansion.

The great medicine in the furnace is at last refined into one pill; in the quiet chamber the embryonic immortal (neidan term for the inner refined qi or immortal embryo formed in practice) dances again and again. The Four Images and Five Phases all harmonize and join; nine revolutions and seven returns (neidan term for the repeated transformations in elixir work) complete the course.

A bright moon-like radiance appears from the hermitage; splendid light fills heaven and earth. To govern affairs and accord with Heaven’s way, nothing surpasses restraint and cherishing; what restraint means is ceaselessly accumulating De (Virtue/Power).

If one insists on probing the nature-heaven (human nature), one only deepens entanglement in root-dust (Buddhist term for the senses and their objects); if one ranges too far on paths of principle, karmic consciousness (Buddhist term for discriminating mind shaped by karma) also grows. Cleverness and talent are not as good as returning to simplicity; eloquent debate is not as good as silence.

Cast off stray thoughts and forget contrivance, and one no longer clings to right and wrong; gather in brilliance and nourish the inner, and one does not chase fame or outer things. Fewer desires, plainer food—the root of goodness can grow; fewer affairs, simpler ties—the foundation of De can stand firm.

When one thought penetrates, myriad thoughts become clear; when the three minds (Buddhist term for past, present, and future mind) are transparent, every attachment ceases. Read closely the scriptures of the sages of Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism—the character for “ceasing” (xi) is the most direct.

If one works on that character “ceasing,” whether becoming Buddha or immortal, one need not strive by force. Ceasing outer conditions and reaching the root is the essential point of Chan; ceasing the deluded mind and understanding affairs is the height of Confucian cultivation.

When breath is regulated and spirit is gathered, one touches the subtle mystery of the Dao; when the three rhythms of breathing work together, no difficulty cannot be overcome. I have explained these principles to Zhitang Tian Jiaochao, but in the end one must still take one’s own inner mind as the standard for practice.

Song on the Principles of Nature

When heaven and earth first separated, yin and yang opened as the two modes; from them came the three powers—heaven, earth, and humanity. Qian stands for firm, single-minded strength; Kun for opening and gathering in. Between heaven and earth there is a subtle gate called the “mysterious female gate” (xuanpin men)—in Daoism a metaphor for the root pivot of life and the changes of yin and yang. The more its activity shows outward, the more, in stillness, it turns inward.

The orthodox transmission of the Dao lineage points the way of return: Confucius passed to Zeng Shen, Zeng Shen to Zisi. When the tiger roars, wind rises; when the dragon ascends, clouds form; fire seeks what is dry, water seeks what is moist. Such things show that what shares the same nature or responds to one another will mutually resonate.

Reaching centrality and harmony and fathoming the principles of things each has its level and order; yet entering sainthood and transcending the ordinary has no fixed rank or boundary. The noble person rests in the ordinary Way and awaits heaven’s mandate; examining oneself until the heart is without guilt, one is free of worry and unrest.

Tracing how things function reveals the mechanisms of life and death; to preserve oneself, one must finally gather and hide away like dragon and snake in winter sleep. Turn the light around and look inward, and the dreamlike body and mind are seen through; in this moment, overturn old views and learning completely.

Grind away the dust on the heart and cut off clinging to outer things; set down burdens, clarify the inner mind, and no longer be ruled by staining habits. Concentrate and enter deeply into the mysterious realm, and through resonance one penetrates—as if in one breath drawing in the Yangtze for ten thousand li.

There is no need to refine golden essence in a Qian cauldron, nor to cook jade fluid in a Kun furnace. If practice penetrates to the original realm before Fuxi drew the eight trigrams, the vast world can be gathered and stored inside a single grain of millet.

Song on Fire Phases (Huohou)

To enter the mysterious realm, one must be careful of mind and intent when alone. “Being cautious in solitude” means upright, careful thoughts even when no one sees or hears; the key to this work lies in inner observation. Cutting off immersion in outer sounds and forms is not harming oneself; only when the inner mind is clear and empty does it shine like jade.

Take emptiness and stillness to the utmost and hold deep, steady quiet. In stillness, movement suddenly arises, like the return of yang at its first stirring. Then, as in Qian’s first nine—“hidden dragon, do not act”—one must gather in and subdue the newly risen yang; when one reaches the second nine—“dragon appearing in the field”—one must still not be hasty.

When yang in Qian gradually flourishes and inner light appears, one enters the fourth nine—“or leaping in the deep”—and nurtures body and mind as in bathing. At the fifth nine—“flying dragon in heaven”—yang’s work matures and can transform and nourish the ten thousand things; but when yang reaches its peak, yin begins to arise, and then one must timely gather in and retreat.

Kun’s first six warns one to guard against small faults. Retreating to the second six—“straight, square, great”—yin and yang must be harmonized in parallel, like metal paired with wood. At the third six, one must not crave glory and gain; after tightening the bag and closing carefully like “the tied pouch,” the inner elixir is complete. Here the lines of the Yijing are borrowed to explain the advance, retreat, and gathering of fire phases in inner refinement.

If yin and yang meet in conflict, one must restrain will and hold carefully; only when yin is exhausted and yang cut off are the fire phases sufficient. Finally one swallows a single pearl into the belly and becomes a complete true person.

When the moment of “dragon and tiger contending” arrives, you must carefully gauge the huohou (timing of the firing cycle); when yin has waned and yang is cut off, the season for refinement is ripe. Swallow one pearl-like baozhu (the inner elixir as symbol) into the belly, and you may become a Quanzhen immortal whose nature-and-life cultivation is complete.

One man and one woman dwelling in lasting harmony, yin and yang qi joining at the proper season—Sunü and Qinglang (emblems of the two polar forces) share one chamber, and black mercury with cinnabar lead (alchemical images for yin and yang) gather of themselves.

In empty space one raises a wuwei (non-action) dwelling—the master within is no ordinary person. Cloud and mist lie deep among the peaks; heaven and earth are hushed in stillness; the bright changuang (toad-light, often the moon or the elixir’s radiance) shines into the hidden valley.

Dragon and Tiger Song (with introduction)

“Dragon” and “tiger” are two names for yin and yang. The turning of yin and yang is wondrous and hard to fathom, so dragon and tiger are used as likenesses. The Xici (Appended Remarks on the Book of Changes) says: “One yin and one yang—this is called the Dao; yin and yang beyond reckoning—this is called shen (spirit).” Alchemical writings say: “When yin or yang is one-sided, that is called affliction.” Yin and yang are the movement and stillness of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). Taiji divides into the two sides of yin and yang: clear qi ascends, turbid qi sinks. From the vast heaven and earth down to the smallest things, all receive the dual qi of yin and yang and thereby take shape and name. Thus, in the space between heaven and earth, nothing fine or great escapes yin and yang.

Though danjing (alchemical scriptures) and the books of the masters employ countless different terms, in the end they all speak of yin and yang. Generations of immortal masters have borrowed names and images and used dragon and tiger as a likeness, so that those who study the Way may more easily follow the rule of cultivation and bring their work to fruition.

The emblems of dragon and tiger shift in many ways; related classics offer diverse accounts, yet none of them depart from the two words yin and yang. Immortal masters of successive ages have used names and images and taken dragon and tiger as a likeness, so that students of the Way may more easily adhere to the law of cultivation and attain success.

The images of the Dragon and Tiger shift in countless ways, so subtle that they cannot be exhausted; therefore different names are used as metaphors: they are called “medicinal ingredients” (the yin-yang essences and other elements of internal alchemy), set up as “furnace and cauldron” (the body-and-mind arena where those elements are refined), called “timing of the fire (huohou)” (the moment and measure of yin-yang transformation in practice), compared to Kan and Li (Water and Fire, yin and yang), and borrowed as Metal and Wood (forces of firmness and yielding in mutual response). They are named “male and female” and paired as “husband and wife.” These various names are all expressions of the wonderful function of the Dragon and Tiger.

Because they respond with spiritual subtlety, they are called “medicinal ingredients”; because they can generate the myriad things, they are called “furnace and cauldron”; because they can transform, they are called “timing of the fire (huohou)”; because they can mutually adjust and harmonize, they are called Kan and Li; because they are firm, upright, and straight, they are called Metal and Wood; because they rise and fall, they are called “male and female”; because they can unite with skillful fit, they are called “husband and wife.” If the Dragon and Tiger were not used as metaphors, what other language could gather these ideas completely?

The Wen Yan (Commentary on the Words of the Text) says: “Clouds arise with the dragon; wind arises with the tiger; when the sage rises, the myriad things come forth into view.” This clarifies the yang virtue symbolized by the fifth line of the Qian hexagram (qian yuan jiu wu). From this one knows that the subtle principle of Dragon and Tiger—unless it is borne by virtue like that of a spirit and achievement like that of a sage—how could it be upheld?

Turning inward to examine oneself refers to human original nature and emotional nature. Applying transformation, regulation, and correction refers to body and mind, hun and po (soul aspects), and jing and qi (essence and vital energy). Extending this practice further involves the “Mysterious Female Gate” (xuannpin zhi men)—the fundamental portal that nurtures the ten thousand things and connects yin and yang—and the pivot of opening and closing operation.

The Daodejing says: “The Valley Spirit does not die; this is called the Mysterious Female. The gate of the Mysterious Female is called the root of heaven and earth. Continuous, as if present; use it and it is never exhausted.” That is: the Dao that is empty and still yet generates and transforms endures without perishing—this is the Mysterious Female. Like the root source of the ten thousand things, it stretches on as if absent yet present; employed, it does not run dry. The Yijing says: “Closing the door is called Kun; opening the door is called Qian. One open and one close is called transformation; coming and going without ceasing is called penetration.”

Alchemical texts say: “On exhaling one connects with the heaven root; on inhaling one connects with the earth root.” This is precisely the pivot of Qian and Kun opening and closing. In practice, exhaling is like the dragon’s cry and clouds rising; inhaling is like the tiger’s roar and wind arising—this is the transformation produced by one open and one close. Wind and clouds interact and unite, generating “Golden Liquid” (the name in internal alchemy for the gathering and transformation of jing and qi); this is unceasing interchange and penetrating transformation. When Golden Liquid turns back and gathers, it congeals into the “Great Elixir,” hence the name “Dragon-Tiger Great Elixir.” Gathering, refining, and ingesting it enables long life and enduring vision.

What is meant here by “breathing” is not the breathing of mouth and nose, but the gateway through which true Qi (vital energy) circulates within the body and subtle responsiveness arises in going out and coming in. If one can thoroughly comprehend this pass, the dragon-and-tiger elixir can be refined, and there is hope of attaining immortality. For those who cultivate the Way, if they can fully penetrate the principle of dragon and tiger, the way of true constancy, though exceedingly deep and subtle, need not be feared unattainable. Planting the root of goodness, cultivating virtue and power (De), and nurturing the sacred embryo—none of these can be accomplished without understanding the principle of dragon and tiger.

The Real Person of Purple Yang (Ziyan Zhenren) said: “Gathering in body and mind is called subduing dragon and tiger.” When the mind-spirit does not move recklessly, that is dragon’s roar; when the body does not move recklessly, that is tiger’s roar. When the dragon roars, Qi is stabilized; when the tiger roars, essence (Jing) is gathered. When original essence is gathered, it suffices to nourish the physical form; when original Qi is stabilized, it suffices to concentrate spirit (Shen). When both form and spirit reach a refined state, one can unite with the Dao in truth, and the work of cultivating immortality is complete. Such a state—who but a person of supreme spirit in all under heaven could reach it?

Zhao Shuzhai was from Hangzhou. In youth he served as an inner attendant at court. Seeing through the vanity of worldly change, he set aside fame and gain and sought the Great Dao. Though he lived among people in the dust of the world, his mind rested in the subtle realm—truly one not dragged down by the mundane. He wished to fuse and fix spirit with breath, and so gave careful study to the dragon-tiger path—the language of internal cultivation in which yin and yang, essence and qi, and their interplay stand as symbols.

One day he brought this diagram to me and asked for explanatory text. I could not refuse and had to take up the brush perfunctorily. He said to Zhao Shuzhai: “The ancients drew images according to the Great Dao; I now write words according to the images. You should observe with special care and discern the true core—do not mistake what matters. If you can grasp meaning through words and intent through the diagram, you will know that the real dragon and tiger are not on paper but in your own person. When words and images can both be set aside, Dao and De are complete.”

Ah! The true dragon and tiger are not hard to find—simply rouse yang to nourish yin. The four virtues of the Qian hexagram turn without ceasing—hidden, rising, manifest, leaping—all governed by mind and spirit. Though this looks like ordinary affairs, astonishing transformation is concealed within, as if flat ground suddenly heaved into waves or clear sky burst with thunder. Strive in practice! Strive in practice!

The song says:

The true dragon and tiger have no fixed form from the start—who first made a model and handed down this shape? If you insist on recognizing them in what has no form or image, you may fall into extremes of annihilation or permanence and end with nothing gained.

Drawing green and white too sharply may also be “windless waves.” Those who wish to know the real dragon and tiger today must not reduce them simply to being or non-being, or to the hour of zi or wu.

Do not swallow the two as one lump; apply the Five Phases in their opposing order. The root sprout originally issues from the Palace of Grand Mystery (symbol of the subtle source); the work of creation unfolds at Zhuling Mansion (a numinous realm name in Daoist texts).

Though in application there are methods and a master principle, in the end…

Even when there is a certain mastery in practice, in the end the nature of empty spirit has no fixed abode. To penetrate this great Way, one must grasp it in the heart; the subtle workings within are not something the eyes can see.

Suddenly the gateway at the crown (in cultivation discourse, the opening of the “muddy pellet” at the top of the head) clears and opens wide, and one sees that Wood and Metal share a single source. On a lofty peak, the Heavenly Gang (the star in the Big Dipper that symbolizes vigorous, yang force) drives the turning; in the bright Milky Way, the Dipper’s handle seems to scoop and pour the river of stars.

To raise clouds and mist, one relies on Ding Gong (the spirit general invoked in Daoist ritual technique); to flash lightning and drive thunder, one commands the Dark Warrior (the northern deity, often shown as turtle and serpent entwined). In an instant heaven and earth meet; in a flash, Kan and Li (the trigrams of water and fire, emblems of yin and yang) are harmonized.

The tiger rises from the bottom of the water, bringing clear wind; the dragon descends in fire, sending sweet rain. When clouds move and rain falls, the world is at peace; the Qian dragon (the dragon of heaven’s vigorous virtue) turns its power, and its efficacy spreads everywhere.

People say six dragons drive the celestial body in its course—who knows the true master is actually one dragon? People say five tigers pierce the mysterious pass (a metaphor for inner gates in practice)—who knows one tiger alone gives birth to true earth (inner alchemy: the central true intent or root qi)?

Understand why tiger and dragon constantly unite in harmony, and you will see the meaning of turtle and serpent swallowing each other in turn. The sage sets up hexagrams like hoofprints or a fish trap (symbols that point to something beyond themselves); if one clings to words apart from the symbols, one falls into empty talk.

Beyond words, one must still pursue the root meaning. Originally Taiji (the undifferentiated ground of the cosmos) was without form. To grasp the meaning and forget the symbols is not yet the utmost; to forget even the act of grasping—that is the highest reach.

I bow respectfully to Hermit Zhao of Shuzhai (the Zhao recluse styled Shuzhai). He has utterly overturned old fixations; his study has here reached completion.

Song of “No One”

The substance of the Dao is emptiness; originally Taiji was without form. To grasp the meaning and forget the symbols is not yet the utmost; to forget even the act of grasping—that is the highest reach.

I bow respectfully to Hermit Zhao of Shuzhai. He has utterly overturned old fixations; his study has here reached completion.

Song of “No One”

The great Way rests in emptiness; from it arises Taiji. Taiji transforms, and “One” first appears; One divides into Two, Two gives birth to Three, and the four images and Five Phases come into being.

“No-one” is the root of heaven and earth; the Daoist teaching takes “One” as the gate to all wonder. The Book of Changes unfolds the myriad transformations from One; the human heart also relies on One to gather affairs and arrange them.

Heaven receiving One becomes clear; earth receiving One becomes still; valleys receiving One are filled; spirits receiving One manifest power—thus the ten thousand things take shape, and human life is born. If lords and kings hold One, the realm is settled.

Chan passes the true Dharma within One; Confucians read opening and closing from the single character “one.” Lord Lao used One to expound constant truth; Zeng Shen answered Confucius with “yes”—such subtle principle cannot be measured.

Daoism has three vehicles, Chan has five schools—yet in the end a thousand lamps share one light. Guard the root and keep singleness un scattered, and the mysterious pass opens; purity and single-mindedness are what the sages’ teaching always stresses.

“Great Mystery and Authentic Unity” (Tai Xuan Zhen Yi)—the profound, mysterious way of authentic being—is the crucial pivot for returning to one’s original destiny. Therefore one must know that “One” (Yi) is the way of true constancy. But do not imagine that once you have obtained “One,” everything is finished; after obtaining it, you must still guard and hold it, careful never to lose it.

When you thoroughly awaken to “One,” the myriad principles can flow together in understanding, and the principle of Heaven (Tianli) becomes clear. That the ten thousand methods return to “One” is nothing strange: at first “One” gives birth to the ten thousand things; the ten thousand things and emptiness (xu) depend on each other, and only then can they endure. If you can truly make the ten thousand things return to “One,” and then from “One” return again to emptiness, you can grasp the meaning of “facing south while gazing at the Northern Dipper”—the symbolism of turning inward in reflection and steadfast guarding. At that stage, after obtaining “One” you must also forget “One,” so that you can rise and fall with the source of creation and transformation.

If you cling to “One” and cannot forget it, it is as futile as a foolish cat guarding an empty den. The numbers three and five meet and merge into “One”; “One” then returns to emptiness; after returning to emptiness, even “emptiness” no longer remains. When even “nothing” (wu) is absent, that is the realm of clear stillness. The saying “the barbarian of the Western Heaven has no beard” uses hyperbole to mean that even every image that could be grasped has vanished.

People today treat “nothing” as a solid “nothing,” and easily fall into empty, stubborn void— a frightening wrong path. They also treat “One” as something fixed to hold onto, and through one-sided fixation grow stiff and waste effort. If you can understand “the nothing that is not mere nothing,” you will see when guarding “One” that there is no fixed “One” to hold. When both the notions of “One” and “nothing” are fully released, the great work is truly complete.

Song of Embracing the One (Bao Yi Ge)

Limitless (Wuji)—the undifferentiated primordial state—stirs and becomes the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), the whole in which Yin and Yang are not yet split but already hold the possibility of generation and transformation. Taiji unfolds its subtle function, beginning from “One.” “One” divides into two and gives birth to Yin and Yang; the ten thousand things, and the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, arise from this.

The original authentic One is empty, numinous, and subtle; from antiquity to the present it has never changed. Only after form takes shape does spirit begin to produce awareness, and the distinctions of good and evil and the various karmic ties appear.

If a person follows desire and chases illusions, turmoil gradually grows in the heart; objects of scent, taste, color, and sound also bewilder the person. If you can trace the root from “One,” you can return to the origin and restore the source—this is not arduous.

“One man and one woman unite in centered stillness” refers to Yin and Yang joining in quiet concentration; “three women and three men obtained from within the void” uses images of Yin-Yang and number lore to show how change is recognized within emptiness. The Three Origins (Sanyuan—Daoist teaching on layers of primordial Qi in cosmos and human body) and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) meet at “Ren”; the Four Images (Sixiang) and the Five Phases (Wuxing) ultimately return to utmost stillness—meaning that the changes of the ten thousand things revert to the silent source.

Suddenly, the cultivator feels as if the crown gate (the acupoint at the top of the head used in cultivation) has opened; golden light shines forth, filling the realm of spirit-consciousness. The empty cavity like a deep, silent mountain valley connects naturally, and the Mysterious Pass (Xuanpin, the acupoint where Yin and Yang generate and transform within the body, where breath enters and leaves) opens and closes on its own.

When one yang is first born and yang qi returns, the subtleties are inexhaustible; the four virtues symbolized by the hexagram Qian (yuan, heng, li, zhen) cycle without end. Vast qi gathers in the deep and remote; spirit-intention moves in trance between being and non-being.

What truly holds sway within? It is your innate “Da Qing’s original possession.” (The phrase is kept as in the source: the master that the cultivator already has.)

Song of the Wisdom Sword

Since the perfected one transmitted the sword formula, the complete precepts were solemnly handed down with earnest resolve. When someone asked where this sword could be found, I answered: it is not ordinary iron.

This metal comes from the Kun direction (the yin-associated quarter symbolized by Kun); in my hand it shows its extraordinary nature. It is fired again and again in blazing heat, refined through countless trials, until it becomes fine steel.

When one who studies the Dao grasps this secret, the yang spirit (the yang spiritual force spoken of in cultivation) grows fierce and strong, and yin demons (yin forces that disturb the mind in cultivation discourse) disperse. Such wondrous power cannot be fully described; I now lay it bare for you.

I explain to you this heaven-leaking method: begin from the moment of “one yang returning” (when yang qi starts to revive). First let the Six Jia (spirit-generals symbolizing yang force) fan the furnace bellows, then the Six Ding (spirit-generals symbolizing yin force) swing hammer and tongs.

When the firing is complete, the treasured sword is forged. Fresh from the furnace its light flashes like lightning; swung horizontally it cuts with icy wind; raised upright it gleams like the bright moon appearing.

Moon-bright blade-light appears, auspicious radiance blazing, illuminating earth and sky so that ghosts and spirits tremble. It stirs the muddy and clears the pure, sweeps away evil and filth, and slays dragon, tiger, flood dragon, and horned beast (here mythical creatures stand for forces that must be subdued).

The six thieves (in Buddhist and Daoist texts, the six sensory desires that disturb the mind) perish, the three corpses (Daoist spirits said to dwell in the body and hinder cultivation) are cut off, and the nets of attachment and emotional desire break apart. Where the divine edge points, mountains collapse; demon kings in the three realms are destroyed.

This sword was originally formless; only because of its miraculous function was it reluctantly given the name “sword.” Studying the Dao and cultivating truth depend on this sword; without it, the Dao cannot be completed.

It can open chaos and divide heaven and earth, remove obstacles and dissolve worldly toil—every needed function is present. Someone asked whether they could borrow it to look; I drew out the sword and asked you: do you know how to use it?

Song of Turning from Deviation Back to the Correct

The Dao arises from emptiness and gives birth to one qi. Who named it and divided out the “Five Greats” (the five stages before the cosmos took form)? One qi divides and generates the two modes (Yin and Yang); clear qi rises and turbid qi sinks, forming heaven that covers all and earth that bears the myriad things.

Yin and Yang—the two opposing yet mutually acting forces—interweave like the shuttle in a loom, while the opening and closing of heaven and earth is like the bellows expanding and contracting. When Yin and Yang combine in their subtle union, the Three Powers of heaven, earth, and humanity take form; when the seven orifices (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and the rest) open, the myriad things come into being.

The true nature of Wuji (the undifferentiated origin) manifests from a state of undivided wholeness; it is present in everyday life, everywhere at once. The countless mechanisms of growth and change never depart from this body here and now.

If one can truly investigate one’s own root, one will see that the Four Images (the four states arising from further transformation of Yin and Yang) and the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) were complete from the start. By examining this ceaselessly day and night, keeping the mind from scattering, and single-mindedly clearing away stray thoughts, the fruits of practice can be doubled.

When the passes of essence and qi (the blockages in the circulation of vital essence and energy in cultivation) are opened, one can inwardly connect with the sounds of heaven and earth (the natural voices of the cosmos). In every matter there is measure; in every place there is rule. Body and mind are bright and unobstructed throughout, without hindrance.

If one can truly see the principle here, the two images of distinction can be merged into one. To lift the head is as if striking Mount Sumeru (the great mountain in Buddhist cosmology); to set down a step is as if overturning a mysterious encampment. To clarify one fundamental truth is to gather the ten thousand differences back to the correct path. To refine the Yang spirit (the purely yang spirit spoken of in Daoist inner alchemy) and allow it to emerge from the body is to transcend from the realm of form (the dimension of visible substance) to the formless realm (the dimension beyond visible substance).

I see that many cultivators today indulge in strange tricks and fabricated marvels. They are overbearing, look down on fellow practitioners, and show off their abilities, claiming to master everything. Quick of speech and sharp in debate, they seem clever; they talk of emptiness and display cleverness, but it is only self-styled wisdom. Beginners are easily misled by them; truly learned cultivators do not esteem them.

They care only for momentary display and give no thought to the trouble they will bring upon themselves later. Chattering endlessly before others is like carrying water to the river to sell it. When a stray thought stirs, it is like smoke and fire rising; when the mind follows outer conditions, the heart grows narrow. They loosely parade spiritual energy and restlessly struggle in conflict.

Painfully churning refined qi and circulating breath often yields only wasted effort; methods such as counting breaths and massage can at best bring momentary ease to the mind. When dullness and distraction arise, it is hard to keep the spirit under one’s own control; and even when not dull, the mind often drifts—what is to be done?

When spirit and qi are weak and breath is scattered, remedy is difficult; when essence is exhausted and the body wasted, regret comes too late. To find the true path and leave delusion behind, one should avoid incurring further karmic debt from past excess.

Gather in the once dissolute mind; change the former proud and harsh manner. Serve your teacher as you would a father; to receive the essential transmission, you must first hold firmly to precepts.

Extend the forgiveness you grant yourself to others—be lenient, quick to blame yourself and slow to blame them, and not stingy in giving. Do not fancy yourself wise; let the inner mind be truly clear. Do not stand on height; only then can true vastness be achieved.

Be without contrivance, without craving, without clever knowing; cast off excess, luxury, and arrogance. At the start of practice, when laying the foundation, hold strictly to discipline; when meeting outer circumstances and opportunities, keep examining and winnowing stray thoughts.

In refining the elixir, take “lead and mercury” alone as the root of the medicinal work—do not mistake smeared mud for treasure. Kan and Li must also unite above and below; do not treat the directional trigrams of east and west as the crux of practice. “Crossed pear” and “fire jujube” do not mean kidney and heart; “wood fluid” and “metal essence” do not mean liver and lung. Such phrases are Neidan language and must not be read only as organs or physical things.

Do not fix on the ranks of “conditioned awakening” and “hearing the voice” (Buddhist stages of attainment), and do not confine cultivation to what the senses hear and see or to intellectual understanding alone. In the end, nurture the “Infant”—the Neidan symbol of realized fruit—in the realm without form or appearance; let the stillness of dhyana be so pure that not a speck remains. “Nine returns and seven reversals” name the process in Neidan whereby refined qi returns and cycles; these keys lie neither in a spot inside the body nor outside it.

The true nature originally has no shape; the endlessly enduring, empty-and-luminous heart-mind is always clear and undimmed. Embrace primordial qi and single-point the spirit so that stored attachments settle into emptiness; fix the will and practice diligently without slackening.

Harmonize the Four Images and gather the Three Origins; collect the Five Phases and unite the Eight Trigrams. “Cooking geng and refining jia” is symbolic Neidan speech: within it are extraction and supplementation of refined qi, and the measures by which yang fire and the yin talisman advance and retreat. In empty stillness and deep clarity, turn the subtle pivot of creation; in trance within obscurity, let inner transformation revolve and run.

When the two numinous substances enter the central palace (the core locus of Neidan refinement), a beam of golden light shines to the four quarters. The “yellow-clad old wife” of the southwest, in compassion, brings harmony so that the “ding maiden” of the south joins with her; the green-robed woman has barely returned to the chamber when she withdraws again. These figures and marriage images are all Neidan symbolism, describing the union and transformation of yin-yang, the Five Phases, and related forces.

In empty stillness and deep clarity, turn the subtle pivot of creation; in trance within obscurity, let inner transformation revolve and run. When the two numinous substances enter the central palace, a beam of golden light shines to the four quarters.

In the southwest, the Huang clan (Huang symbolizes earth and the Kun position) works like a devoted mother to harmonize and bring about the marriage of the maiden Ding from Nanling (Ding symbolizes fire and the Li position). The woman in green (symbolizing wood and liver qi) has just returned to the inner chamber when the white-haired Golden Lord (symbolizing metal and lung qi) enters the dwelling.

Husband and wife unite in joy; yin and yang interact as if cloud and rain mingled, forgetting day and night. Breath settles firm, essence qi gathers and forms the sacred embryo (the inner elixir fetus spoken of in neidan practice); an arcane pearl is also produced (symbolizing the condensed inner elixir)—truly marvelous.

It is open on all four sides and radiates great light; the eight directions are round and whole without the slightest gap. In the end it is nothing but a consummate state refined from subtle work—ten thousand taels of gold could not buy it.

Homage to those who study under the Quanzhen path: remember what Qing’an said. If you can grasp and shoulder it in this very moment, you have seized the essential pointer he indicated.

Once the secret is in hand, what then? The Real Person without rank (true nature unbound by name or station) mounts the crane and departs.

Zhonghe ji, juan 5

Composed by Li Daochun, styled Yuansu, Qing’an Yingchanzi of Duliang. Edited by his disciple Cai Zhiyi, styled Baochanzi of Sun’an.

Poems: On the Work of Cultivation (seventeen pieces)

“Meng” (Beginner’s Enlightenment)

The nine-turn return elixir (the neidan process of repeatedly refining until essence and qi return to unity) must begin from the point where you first apply the work. Understand that “spring issuing below the mountain” is the image of Hexagram Meng in the Yijing—starting from first learning and awakening. Setting up the elixir furnace, the subtle use lies in Kun earth (the yin force of bearing and harmonizing); applying the firing times depends on Xun wind (the force of movement and stirring).

Once Dui’s tiger (metal) and Zhen’s dragon (wood) are tuned together, Kan’s male (water, kidney qi) and Li’s female (fire, heart qi) mutually harmonize. From the moment the four symbols (yin-yang, water-fire, dragon-tiger, and related forces) return to central harmony, the pivot of creation and transformation rests in your own hands.

Gathering the Medicine

Refining mercury and cooking lead (mercury and lead stand for paired essences in practice) has no fixed hour; the student of the Way should discern this in stillness and concentration. Outer dust may wish to stain the mind, yet the mind does not move; when Heavenly Gui (signs tied to kidney qi and the rise of essence qi) first appears, spirit naturally can detect it.

When emotional thought grows still, metal qi returns to true nature; when essence qi condenses, Kan water can nourish Li fire. After the two numinous substances unite, yin is exhausted and yang is pure—then the Way can be attained.

Advancing the Fire

Once you know the moment when Heavenly Gui first stirs, true yang will return on schedule in response. The samadhi fire (inner firing of focused refinement in practice) is kindled from the Li position; a clap of thunder comes from the Zhen palace.

Qi and spirit unite and produce numinous substance; heart and breath follow each other and form the sacred embryo. When you grasp the key message within, the three passes and nine apertures (bodily gates spoken of in cultivation) open together.

Daily Practice

True yang returns on schedule in response. The samadhi fire is kindled from the Li position; a clap of thunder comes from the Zhen palace.

When Qi (vital energy) and Shen (spirit) intermingle, a subtle form is produced; when heart and breath rely on each other, what coalesces is the “sacred embryo” (shengtai—the fruit of gathering essence, Qi, and spirit in Neidan). Once you grasp the secret pivot, the “three passes and nine orifices” (sanguan jiuchiao—a cultivation shorthand for the body’s key gates and openings) open together.

Daily Practice

True lead and true mercury (zhenqian, zhengong—Neidan symbols for yin–yang vital forces) are the root of forging the great elixir; gathering and refining them must be sought in that dim, elusive realm. Deliberate striving and forced unceasing effort in the end only bind you; seeking nothing and clinging to nothing leaves no worry.

When the heart stays constantly clear and still, the inner luminous pearl appears; forgetting outer things and laying down clever contrivance, the treasure of life fills full. Whether in movement or stillness, all passes through without obstruction; not leaving the place where you stand, you are as if on the immortal isle Yingzhou.

Preserving Form

Keeping true nature and realizing subtle principle is not hard to do; what is hard is following circumstances while chasing sounds and colors. When every phantom can no longer intrude, lust naturally cuts off; when thought stays single and unstained, spirit–mind settles firm.

Put aside the split between self and other, preserve Heaven’s principle; grasp yin–yang change so body and heart harmonize and circulate smoothly. For one who cultivates Neidan (internal alchemy), if you are not seduced by sounds and colors, life and nature can be complete and bright.

Union

Realizing the great Dao is not hard in itself; the crux of effort lies in settling spirit–mind. Yin–yang Qi rises and falls through the body; gold and water (jingshui—Neidan terms for yin–yang vital currents) cycle and naturally return to the source.

In the Purple Court (zifu—the inner landscape seat in Daoist cultivation), the azure dragon and white tiger (symbols of yin and yang) meet; in the dark palace, earth’s axis joins heaven’s pass. When Qi mingles and dissolves like cloud and rain, the spirit embryo is complete. That a man forms a “sacred embryo” within is no ordinary affair.

Passing the Passes

The constant true Way is not hard to find; the key lies right in daily life. When yin and yang unite, you understand the pattern of heaven and earth opening and closing; sun and moon run, and naturally turn and return.

Returning to the root has its own gate; restoring life has its own pass. If you can traverse these two layers of gate and grasp their pivot, transcending the vulgar and reaching sagehood is like an everyday matter.

Entry and Exit

The “valley spirit” (gushen—the Dao-body image in the Daodejing) does not die—that is the work of the mysterious female (xuanpin, symbol of the root of generation in all things), the pivot of opening and closing in Qian and Kun. It comes and goes without ceasing, shifts and turns, always smooth and without conflict.

The white-haired old man rides the dragon away; the green-eyed foreign child returns riding the tiger—images of yin–yang Qi turning back and forth. After cultivation succeeds, what is the proof? The body’s Qi passes through everywhere, inner and outer bright and clear, as moonlight fills heaven and earth.

Admonition to the Assembly

Only talking on the lips about cultivation secrets, boasting that you know samadhi (sanmei—a deep, focused state in Buddhist and Daoist practice), is empty talk; the wider and loftier the discourse, the easier it is to miss the point. If you fix on what has form to seek the real realm, it is like rubbing your eyes with your hand and seeing flower-shadows for nothing.

Following external things in cultivation ultimately leads to illusion; if one can turn around in the present moment and break through attachment, one can return to the root. Do not blame Qing'an (the author's self-chosen style name) for speaking harshly—he means to open the heart's aperture so that people no longer obscure their original mind.

Resisting Evil

Among the three thousand six hundred methods, if one merely clings to outer forms and seeks truth from them, it is like pressing the eyes and seeing phantom flowers in empty space. Heterodox methods are many; those who fixate on them only sink deeper into delusion, day after day lost in their own views—when will they awaken and let life return to the root?

Cleverness and worldly penetration do not mean one understands cultivation; vast learning is nothing to boast of. All formed things—names, sounds, and appearances—are in the end only what drains the spirit and bewilders the mind.

Displaying the Correct

In refining the elixir, mastering the fire phases (timing and stages in practice) is within reach; the medicinal ingredients are not far away. When Heavenly Gui (the vital essence tied to growth and yin-yang transformation) arises, it is like the ocean tide surging. One must know how to gather the yin-yang essences signified by lead and mercury in neidan terminology, and at the same time dissolve every worldly desire.

Turn the myriad distinctions back into oneness; unite the Three Origins (jing, qi, and shen as the core elements of practice); refine away all turbid yin qi until the five qi gather as one. After ten months of gestation the elixir work is complete; when the infant-like elixir embryo appears, one may ascend to pay homage in Shenxiao (the celestial realm where Daoist immortals dwell).

Harmonizing

The great medicine of the Three Origins lies within intent, mind, and body; yet if one deliberately fixates on intent, mind, and body, one is instead bound by the dust of the world. Regulate the breath until it is truly natural; refine shen until it is spirit that no longer obeys forced contrivance.

Forget the split between self and things, and the Three Flowers (the condensed states of jing, qi, and shen) will gather; utterly abandon scheming and calculation, and the five qi will return to unity. When thus unobstructed in every direction, one can expound the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) at any time and place.

Clarifying the Root

The body is empty by nature, yet we insist on giving it a name; once we grasp that name, the heart is tangled in cares. The waxing and waning of yin and yang runs through past and present; the rising and setting of sun and moon likewise drive birth and death.

If amid change the inner heart stays settled, one understands that midday can be like the third watch—meaning the cultivator is not enslaved by outward hours and flux. Though in the world one may rely on a master's transmission, the work of transcending the world must still be realized by oneself.

Forging the Sword

A master who has attained the Dao taught me to forge and refine the Divine Edge—a metaphor for the cultivator’s sharpened spiritual power—using entirely the transformations of Yin-Yang and the craftsmanship of Heaven and Earth. The firm strength of the Qian trigram (Heaven) serves as the forging force; the Kun trigram (Earth) is the furnace. The Li trigram (Fire) blows the flame; the Xun trigram (Wind) fans it.

When the work is complete, spirit and mind grow clear and bright, moving with dragon-like ascent and elephant-like stride, applied with subtle skill. Will is bold as a commander’s, able to sweep away deviant thoughts and inner turmoil. Those who truly succeed on the path grasp its secret; with a lifted hand they seem almost to cleave the boundless void.

Toad’s Cave

The Toad’s Cave—in Neidan, a metaphor for a cultivation realm or the inner elixir chamber—is pure, still, and deeply hidden: the finest ground. Within it the adept practices by inverting Yin-Yang and reversing the work of creation. Golden elixir fluid is refined in a jade furnace; snow-white essence is cooked in a golden cauldron.

The microcosmic orbit turns like the handle of the Dipper; fire phases are tuned in time so qi rolls on like thunder-wheels. Once every pass and blockage is cleared, body and mind ride freely, like a raft gliding smoothly across the River of Stars.

Pure Hermitage

My hermitage is no common retreat; I do not lightly admit ordinary visitors. “One man and one woman working together,” “three men and three women fused in one”—such lines are Neidan symbols for the union of Yin and Yang and the gathering of essence, qi, and spirit.

Inside, heaven and earth were always vast; the empty space outside proves too narrow. Ask what the hermitage master is doing: he answers, “Face south and behold the Northern Dipper”—a riddle of direction and stars for tuning body-mind and turning the inner landscape.

Songs on True Joy (Twelve Pieces)

I

Buddhas and immortals were people in the world like us; many simply lose the way and never know it. Some crave reputation and wrangle with others; others chase profit and wear themselves out.

Year after year they toil over household affairs, all to feed wife and children. Riches may pile up and a spouse may be fair—but when impermanence comes, none of it goes along.

II

The Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) path is stranger still; its true delight only the practitioner knows. The elixir is not forced in the furnace, yet in practice it forms of itself. Seek the Dao through wuwei (non-action), yet act within that non-action.

Still the mind and cut off outer ties; harmonize innate primordial qi. Forget what ears and eyes report; nurture the inner infant—the newborn primordial spirit of Neidan. Once the elixir foundation stands firm, five-colored light shines through the curtain.

The furnace and cauldron respectively take the images of Kun and Qian: the furnace stands for Kun, the cauldron for Qian. When the subtle principles within them are thoroughly understood, the path to transcendence opens. “Refining mercury and combining lead” means nothing other than gathering in and subduing desire and emotion so that mind and nature return to their original truth.

Cut off deluded thoughts and clever contrivances, and the elixir becomes bright and pure crimson; hold to right concentration, and the treasure coalesces firm and solid. This is the method of extracting and adding—the way of regulating Yin-Yang and advancing or withdrawing the fire phases. There is no need to keep pressing for more arcane detail.

Four

Applying the fire phases is not hard to grasp, and the “medicines” are not far away. The transformations in practice rise and fall just like the tides of the great sea. The medicines are gathered from formlessness; the fire phases are applied entirely within settled stillness.

When the “nine-three” count gathers, the various causes and conditions come to rest; when the “two-eight” count intercourse, the five qi pay homage. These numbers and “qi” are Neidan terms for Yin-Yang harmonizing and vital energy converging. When yin qi is exhausted and yang qi is wholly pure, the work is complete: the true person appears and may pay homage in the divine azure heavens (Shenxiao) of high Daoist cosmology.

Five

In refining the elixir, first harmonize qi and shen, and use dharma water again and again to moisten wisdom fire. Dharma water and wisdom fire are Neidan images for methods of nurturing body and mind. Let the three elements merge as one and the three natures accord; yang qi begins to return and yin qi gradually fades.

The golden furnace stands upright; a thousand spirits assemble; the “two-eight” count intercourse, and the five qi pay homage. Yin qi is exhausted, yang qi is wholly pure, the work is finished, the true person appears, and one may pay homage in Shenxiao.

In refining the elixir, first harmonize qi and shen, and use dharma water again and again to moisten wisdom fire. Let the three elements merge as one and the three natures accord; yang qi begins to return and yin qi gradually fades.

The golden furnace sits steady and true; myriad spirits gather; when the treasure cauldron’s work is done, the ten thousand phenomena pay homage. After the medicines are perfected and the golden elixir is complete, spirit sheds its old form and transforms, revealing an unobstructed original state.

Six

The primordial supreme principle is endlessly subtle. Lead is said to arise in the west and mercury in the east—Neidan shorthand for the two complementary forces of yin and yang. Water and fire lie above and below; the mysterious pass (xuanguan), the crucial aperture, lies between them.

If you treat what is grasped as truly existent, that is not true existence; if you take emptiness as mere emptiness, that is not real emptiness either. Only by not clinging to the meanings of “being” and “non-being” can you taste the inner point: on the vast floor of the sea, the sun burns red.

Seven

Stillness, wuwei (non-action), and freedom from disturbance by outer things accord with the constant true Dao. When the host of yin recedes, yang qi naturally returns. In Kun, the Yellow Old Woman (huangpo, the mediating agent in Neidan) gives birth to the red child; in Li, the charming maiden (the yin refining component) weds the dull youth (the yang refining component).

Water descends from the mountain and yellow sprouts grow; thunder rolls under the earth and white snow flies. Yellow sprouts and white snow are Neidan images for stages of transformation, painted as landscape. The river of stars for ten thousand li is without a single veil; the golden toad alone appears, radiating divine light.

Eight

The fair maiden weds the Golden Lord (a Neidan name often standing for lead or the yang component)—all through the Yellow Old Woman’s matchmaking. Once husband and wife unite, their joining is as harmonious as clouds and rain.

In leisure they drink together in Zhuling Palace (a Daoist immortal realm); drunk, thunder rolls under the earth and white snow flies. The river of stars for ten thousand li is without a single veil; the golden toad alone appears, radiating divine light.

A fair young maiden weds the Golden Lord (Jin Gong, inner alchemy’s “true lead” or metal nature); the Yellow Matron (Huang Po, the harmonizing, matchmaking power) makes the union possible. Once husband and wife meet and their feelings blend, they harmonize like clouds and rain in union.

In leisure they drink together in Zhuling Fu (a legendary Daoist paradise); drunk, they sleep again in Ziji Gong (a Daoist immortal palace). Morning and evening they share joy; affection runs deep. In a year they bear a small child—symbolizing in inner alchemy (Neidan) the condensation of true qi and the forming of the elixir embryo.

Nine

Within every person’s body there is a pair of “husband and wife,” yet people cling in folly and cannot grasp it. They do not seek transformation within themselves but go outside the body to refine the elixir (Waidan).

Some rashly use the “Three Peaks art of controlling women” (a sexual cultivation technique of borrowing yin to supplement yang) and pass it off as the marvel of the Yellow Emperor’s Nine Tripods (legendary alchemical methods). Such people are like beasts, hard to repent; the King of the Underworld will soon send envoys to seize them.

Ten

Speaking of the inner couple: one side is a woman in green, the other a white-haired old man. Metal’s disposition and wood’s nature join; black mercury and red lead (inner-alchemy terms for paired yin-yang essences) naturally resonate.

Facing the moon in the breeze, spirit is refreshed; yin and yang qi circulate and unite, and vitality is inexhaustible. These truths are hard to grasp, yet with proper practice the true embryo can coalesce quickly.

Eleven

Nine returns and seven reversions (jiu huan qi fan, the cyclic transformations of the elixir) are the root of the great elixir (Golden Elixir, Jindan). Practitioners should seek them in stillness and deep absorption. If you grasp that one pivotal secret, the two numinous substances naturally unite.

Three years’ work of creation can be fulfilled in an instant; nine rounds of refinement can be completed in a moment. Then overturn the cauldron and furnace—the elixir light shines over the whole land.

Twelve

Transmission is not through written words but beyond the teaching; everyone originally possesses complete nature. The subtle Dao breeze gently clears the three realms (san jing, the three heavenly tiers in Daoism); the bright moon of wisdom shines cleanly over a hundred streams.

The three passes of Tusita (Dou Shu, cultivation thresholds) are only metaphors; what the heavenly dragon points to is not the real secret. Grasp the message from before the time of Weiyin Buddha; this is not the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) diagram painted by Zhou Dunyi.

Ode on the Four Bonds as Warning to the World

Body, mind, worldly affairs, and reputation are all empty labels; many deluded people are bound and entangled by them. Calamity often comes from striving for power and gain; rebirth is tied to craving and desire.

To settle the heart, withdraw from compulsive action and hide your tracks; in the world, drop clever scheming and let things follow their pattern. Meet every situation and karmic tie as it comes—only then can the root of life and destiny be firm and original nature round and bright.

Ode on the Gourd

The seed of luminous clarity is born in the pre-heaven (xiantian) realm: its root is firm and principle unfolds naturally. Each day one banks soil in the Kun position (the direction symbolizing yin and earth), and at the proper times waters it with the spring in Kan (the inner-alchemy image of water within water).

When the flower opens, it is bright as white jade; the elixir fruit that forms is round and solid as gold. When cultivation succeeds, an aperture opens above the crown (an inner pass in practice); within it lies a world unlike the ordinary one.

Heart Mirror

Gather the ore of Qian (yang essence) and place it in the furnace of Kun (the yin cauldron); take the void of the six directions (heaven, earth, and the four quarters) as the mold. When the dharma-body image appears, light is full and round; refined like quicksilver, it becomes clear and unmoving.

Its radiance fills the three thousand worlds; gathered in, it is stored in a pearl no larger than a grain of millet. Lift it, and the whole body plainly appears; one must go further and break it, returning to the pivot of primordial unity.

Pointing Out the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin) for Fu’an

The “female gate” (xuanpin) of the profound path is not hard to understand: collect body and mind and seek inward. Understand how the two modes (yinyang) shift and stir, and you will grasp when the one Qi (yuanqi, the primal energy that animates all things) comes and goes.

Qian and Kun open and close without rest; Li and Kan (fire and water in the trigrams) rise, sink, join, and part. For Fu’an I make it plain: where thought returns to the beginning—that is where you lay the root of forming the elixir.

Matching the Rhyme of Weng Xuelu’s Record

With a deeply focused mind I investigate the teachings of Bai Yuchan: to exhaust principle is, in the end, to reach the immortal path. If you do not see how the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) gives rise to the “three-fives,” it is like walking all the way to Penglai—the road is endlessly far.

The Buddhist line relies on the patriarchs’ confirming seal; the lineage of the sage of Fuxi (Xi Huang) must be transmitted within the heart. On the blue heaven the jade terrace moon appears alone, shining on ten thousand pools—each one equally full and round.

For Deng Yichan

Chan, Neo-Confucian learning, and Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) each set up a gate to guide later students. Buddhism holds emptiness—you must see nature for yourself; the Ru study things—you must keep sincere intent.

On the elixir platform (dantai) a trace of star-fire still remains; in the spirit hall (lingfu, the inner heart), every kind of dust is melted away. Know that ten thousand differences finally return to one, and you will see that within and without the radiant terrace (xitai) it is spring everywhere.

Self-Attainment (seven pieces)

One

After breaking through the pass where chaos has not yet divided, you will find that the distinction between Buddha and immortal no longer holds. Subtle principle is not outside the mind, nor is it something grasped only through talk.

All day one is free and at ease; through the night one sleeps in peace. Body and mind are entrusted to depth and quiet purity; every affair is left to the natural order of heavenly principle.

All things that involve contrivance and deliberate action are each as shifting and insubstantial as dust. Once you have thoroughly pursued the principles of the ten thousand things, you must let go of attachment to body and mind. Wherever you are, you can abide in meditative stillness; following the times, you enjoy drawing near to the way of utmost truth. I often use the essentials of the Book of Changes to remind and awaken people.

Once you have understood the subtle principle of wuwei (non-action), you can cultivate without leaving your door all day. Cut off cleverness and deluded thoughts, and heavenly principle appears of itself. In daily life, emulate heaven’s vigorous, unceasing movement and earth’s gentle bearing and support. I admonish my disciples to return to their original nature and to the root of life.

When every pass and bond is fully opened, you naturally grasp the principle that all things are one. Turtle fur was always green; the crane’s crown was always red—such impossible sayings point to a realm beyond ordinary distinctions. What can be put into words is not the constant Dao; effort piled up in deliberate cultivation is still only outer practice. The true wonder of creation and transformation dwells in a vague, deep state that words cannot reach.

Naturally body and mind settle; spirit gathers and essence is held firm. When the body is at ease, one transcends the “leaky” condition still bound by affliction and birth-and-death; when the mind is still, one realizes the unborn. The sun and moon run as ever; heaven and earth change as they will. The inner heart is open and unobstructed, with nothing in the way, and vast light shines forth alone.

Daily life holds no other task than guarding one’s own sincerity. In sitting, regulate the breath; in action, follow human feeling and what is reasonable. Blunt your edge and hide your virtue; live among the world without showing your light. True leisure and joy lie in keeping to quiet and clarity.

Quietly guard the nameless, formless true suchness, and do not let worldly feelings intrude. In the image of the cauldron, mercury and lead are refined to powder and rubble turns to gold—metaphors for the transformation that occurs in practice. One sees face to face the original countenance since the time of Fuxi, and merges the heart-methods of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. In a sudden emptiness and stillness, one goes beyond what the world calls real: there is neither antiquity nor the present.

Neither antiquity nor the present.

Self-inscription on a portrait

This yellow-faced, thin Daoist—what is there to see in his looks? His eyes are wide open, yet he insists he has heard nothing and knows nothing. He has penetrated three thousand dharma gates and mutually verified with seventeen masters. [The text breaks off here.]

What is so special about a yellow-faced, emaciated monk? He plainly only puts on a look of penetrating insight, yet insists he has heard nothing and knows nothing at all.

He has exhausted three thousand gates of practice and visited seventeen teachers. When he bows with palms joined, the true intent in his heart is already fully revealed.

Lamp in the Mirror (Two Poems)

The precious mirror has no fixed image from the start, yet the transmitted Dharma lamp shines with the light of wisdom. True Suchness (zhenru—the real, unchanging nature) is originally clear and pure; the Dharma body (the ground of all phenomena) was bright and resplendent from the beginning.

True fire burns in the golden cauldron (jinding); the sun bathes the flower pond (huachi). The precise meaning within never strays from the Central Yellow (zhonghuang—the middle Huangting region in internal alchemy).

In the quiet chamber, the idle mind is like a mirror; in the empty room, the wisdom lamp is bright. Outside is dazzling clarity, and within, radiance flows.

Images appear in millet-grain fine light; the silver toad (yinchán—the moon) lies clear at the bottom of the water. Within the golden cauldron where the embryo is suspended, one great elixir (dadan) condenses into a single pearl.

Ode to the Lotus Root (Two Poems)

One

There is a numinous plant unlike any other. Its Dharma body (the pure body realized in cultivation) is white by nature; its true nature (zhenxing) is lucid and penetrating from the start.

Outward it bends everywhere, yet the hollow channels within connect at every point. Mud cannot drown it; in the end it rises above the water, and red flowers fill the pond.

Two

I am seed of pure emptiness, lucid and open, running through past and present. Weary of the clamor of fame and gain, I hide for now in deep mud.

I always harbor the will to help others, and always keep a heart that restrains itself. How many come to dredge me up—yet who truly understands me?

Establishing the Hermitage (Two Poems)

One

Choose a ground of emptiness and non-action (wuwei); the opportune moment lies in the Jade Capital (yujing—the celestial realm in Daoism). The foundation (zhuji) must be firm, and the cauldron (ding) must be set square. Raise a pillar like Mount Sumeru; let the ridge beam that symbolizes the Supreme Ultimate (taiji) stand secure for long ages. With the blue sky as the roof, the master of the hermitage can rest at ease in the realm of non-birth.

Two

Level the ground, and the hermitage base can be finished in a day. The mountain comes from the bing direction (south-southeast); water flows westward. The door stands fully open; the window lattices are clear and bright. Who keeps company in the hut? Only the bright moon and the clear breeze.

Zhonghe Ji (Collection of Central Harmony), fascicle six

I

Once you receive genuine transmission, you know where to begin—success in cultivation is not hard. When Gui water (the yin fluid of the body) rises, you draw off lead essence and replenish mercury qi; the fire phase (huohou) must not be too strong, nor the water phase too cold. You rouse Xun wind (wind as a symbolic force) and work the bellows in the furnace; martial fire for refining and civil fire for nurturing each have their rule. In the golden furnace, the two numinous substances are smelted together until they form the elixir pill.

First you must break through doubt in the mind, then you can penetrate the pass (guanqiao) of returning to the root and restoring the original life. Let the Red Child (symbolizing true intent) ride the dragon to fetch water from the Li palace (the seat of heart-fire); let the Golden Lord (true yang) ride the tiger and drive fire to burn the mountain. The Golden Lord falls silent; the Maiden (true yin) draws in her sleeves—and within one double-hour the elixir is complete. Swallow the pill, and you may attain the vajra body that neither decays nor dies, and transcend the world.

II

If you are in the Mysterious Gate (the Daoist path) yet never meet a true teacher, your effort ends in empty toil. Without understanding wuwei (non-action), how can you grasp opening and closing, waxing and waning? Even wide learning and a sharp memory may not free you from worldly entanglement. Clinging to “nature” can land you in blank void and extinction; clinging to being or non-being is likewise not the real Dao. Every doctrine is a provisional form—the one subtle point must be sought from someone of clear insight.

One sentence from the master breaks the root and points straight at the elixir head: jing, qi, and shen. The mysterious pass (xuan guan) has no fixed place; the two numinous substances likewise dwell in heart and body. Movement and stillness depend on each other; being and non-being interpenetrate. When the five qi return to the origin (wuxi chaoyuan), every fine efficacy gathers. In the hidden and wondrous, primordial qi is gathered to a single point—and within one double-hour there is achievement.

III

Daoism speaks of the Five Phases; Buddhism of the five eyes; Confucianism of the five constants. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom all take faith/trust (xin) as root; metal, wood, water, and fire take earth at the center. The White Tiger, Azure Dragon, Black Tortoise, and Vermilion Bird are all governed by Gouchen at the center (the central earth spirit-beast). Heaven has the number of the Five Phases; the human has jing, shen, hun, po, and yi (intent)—and yi belongs to central yellow (zhonghuang, the qi of central earth).

The Five Phases (Wuxing) qi of Heaven and Earth (Qiankun) fully manifest; the numbers of Three and Five converge and return to the primordial source, and the subtlety within is beyond measure. Fire belongs to the south; the number of wood in the east is three, which with the number of fire in the south forms five. The north belongs to Mysterious Water, whose number is one; the west belongs to metal, whose number is four. The center belongs to earth, where Three and Five gather. The qi of Three and Five blend and interpenetrate, turning yin back into yang. Those who grasp the arcane Way hold the substances used in elixir work—lead, silver, cinnabar, and mercury—and refine them into a pill hard as diamond.

The substance of the Dao is emptiness (xuwu)—the formless, imageless origin. From emptiness arises the One; the One and the Two unite to become Three; Three then begets the ten thousand things. Things seem to have form, yet all arise from change in emptiness; shapes succeed one another, and the myriad things intermingle. The essence of every form was originally emptiness; the root of each thing has always returned to the One. Such teaching is not for casual talk. The wonder of emptiness can show forth form, name, and appearance; within invisible emptiness lies everything.

One must probe deeply the principle hidden in emptiness. The utmost stillness and emptiness require the practice Laozi (Laodian) taught. That realm of quiet clarity is inquiry into the ultimate within “nothing”; having penetrated emptiness, one can also examine and grasp the teaching of Gautama (Qutan, the Buddha). The Dao existed before Heaven and Earth took shape, and before the age of the Buddha King of Awesome Voice in ancient Buddhist lore; who can truly bear and comprehend that state of pure, empty stillness? All who belong to the Mysterious Gate should harmonize the Great Way through the principle of emptiness and bow in reverence before the Dao.

Who is it that bows with hands crossed? Who joins palms? Who clenches a fist? These are only outward postures, yet people often misunderstand them. Who truly knows and holds the subtle principle of wuwei (non-action)? I will make it plain for you: Laozi, Gautama, and Zhongni (Confucius) speak of the same root teaching. Looking through past and present, what the thousand sages and ten thousand worthies expound is ultimately human cultivation and realization.

It is lamentable that later students do not see this and argue right and wrong without end. Moreover, Heaven, Earth, and humanity share one source that divides and appears as many; how can the teachings of the Daoist, Confucian, and Buddhist paths be doubted? Seeing one’s nature and illuminating the mind (jianxing mingxin), plumbing the hidden and mastering nature and life—the key to becoming a Buddha or an immortal lies here. When the work is complete, though paths and schools differ, all finally return to the same place.

You must tell those who study the Way: in cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy—the practice of refining an inner elixir from Jing, Qi, and Shen), there is no medicine that can be weighed out in ounces, and one does not calculate firing times by hexagram lines. There is neither “drawing out and adding in,” nor deliberate contrivance; since it has no fixed form, there is no need to treat it as something to cook in a furnace. All things that can be seen and grasped are not real; forced effort is only in vain. Do you understand? Every phenomenon of sound and form easily leads people astray.

Let go of all seeing, hearing, knowing, and perceiving, so that the depths of the spirit platform (Lingtai) are utterly still, without a trace of stray thought. Speak no more of the “furnace and cauldron,” and do not seek for “medicine”; only keep the inner mind empty, bright, and undimmed, with resolve firm. When the spirit’s dwelling (Shenshi) is empty and quiet, the root of spirit is clear and pure, Yin and Yang of heaven and earth will naturally unite. Those who practice the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)—if they cannot preserve their true nature, how can they escape the calamities of the cosmic cycles?

Again (Verses for Jing’an)

The primordial spirit (Yuanshen) that survives the kalpas, the ancestral Qi (Zuqi) that extends through the ages, and the original Jing (Yuanjing) born at the Great Beginning—these three treasures share one root. To seek their inner meaning, do not cling to bodily appearance. When breath is settled and the spirit is clear, nature can be preserved; otherwise, how can one escape the kalpas?

Again (Verses for Jing’an)

The primordial spirit that survives the kalpas, the ancestral Qi that extends through the ages, and the original Jing born at the Great Beginning—these three treasures share one root. To seek their inner meaning, do not cling to bodily appearance. With breath settled and spirit clear, follow the natural state of emptiness to make the root firm; in quiet Wuwei (non-action), refined essence naturally gathers. Once the “cinnabar head” (the first coalescence in Neidan practice) has formed, regulate the firing in accord with the law of Yin-Yang change, and harmonize gradually.

Above all, guard carefully so that the fruit of practice is full and not lost; keep lead, mercury, and silver sand (terms in Neidan for aspects of Jing, Qi, Shen and related processes) together for refinement. When the Four Images (the four interacting forces including Yin and Yang) are in harmony, the root of life stays firm for long ages; when the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen) unite, the nature of awakening becomes empty, bright, and wondrous. With both nature (Xing) and life (Ming) preserved, body and spirit reach the subtle realm, and one can merge with the Dao in truth without changing. Then one is free to wander at will through the eight directions, unhindered in every direction.

Again (For Chan Master Chungu Qing of Chungu)

With wisdom firm and resolute, and determination bold and decisive, one can penetrate the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan—the crucial gate to the Great Dao). Lightly apply the means that cut through delusion, then gradually reveal the ways to save beings. Like a sword suspended in the void, sweeping away all attachments—then one truly believes that what Qu Tan (Shakyamuni) and Lao Dan (Laozi) taught is one in principle. The subtle teaching spreads widely, as spring stirs in a cold valley, so that people feel compassion and warmth face to face.

Let snow cover a thousand peaks as it may—only the lone peak that stands apart stays green as jade. As for knocking bamboo to transmit the teaching or holding up a flower as a sign, such devices are already stale; raising an eyebrow or winking are no more than vague hints. The vision that transcends worldly kalpas is right before you and should be grasped in this moment; only when fixation is shattered and the truth laid bare is inquiry complete. What is the Patriarch’s intent? Join palms and bow in respect.

(To Zhang Xixian of Kuocang, styled Jian)

One

The state that is beyond knowing and beyond sound is called “x subtle”—so fine it can hardly be discerned. This is the subtle root of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) cultivation; one who penetrates it can at once see where things first show their edge. Listening to doctrine, reading scriptures, talking Chan or discussing the Way—if you cling to outward forms or bind yourself to words, you miss the point. Once you awaken, the hidden pivot appears in ordinary daily use everywhere.

You must also rely on resolute, decisive practice to gather the Four Images and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) back into one. Let Yin and Yang refine and unite; let the three treasures (essence, Qi, spirit) gather and merge; keep the luminous nature from being dimmed, so that the myriad changes all return to a single body. Condense essence and Qi, fix the spirit, turn desire and wandering thought back to original nature—then burst forth a light like the toad-moon, shining in all directions. When form and spirit unite in transformation, beyond the great void (Tai Xu) the lofty true nature alone stands revealed.

Two

The paths of cultivation wind and run straight—three thousand six hundred in all, each with its own subtlety. If you insist on seeking only inside the body, you will end up bound by what has form; if you leave the body to seek elsewhere, you fall into stubborn emptiness (treating blank void as the ultimate). If you do not join both sides in practice, where do you begin? If you discard both sides entirely, that too cannot be justified. Those who refine the true without knowing the “mysterious aperture” (Xuan Qiao)—the place within where essence, Qi, and spirit converge and Yin and Yang meet—only toil in vain.

Its subtlety cannot be fully told; only after direct experience do you reach the root of the work. You cannot hear it by listening, nor find it by searching; it seems to be there, yet when you look, there is no trace. Originally everyone has it, yet almost no one truly knows it. I tell you this celestial secret: the pass of the mysterious gate (Xuan Guan Qiao) and empty non-being creating and transforming—all lie within this.

The supreme art of cultivation: listen for it and it seems inaudible; try to grasp it and it slips away. It appears to exist, yet when you seek it, it is nowhere to be found. Everyone is born with it, yet few recognize it. I will tell you its secret: the pass of the Mysterious Gate (where body, mind, and the Dao meet in practice) and the void from which creation unfolds—all lie within this.

In the supreme art, you “raise the cauldron” in the Qian palace (the yang direction) and “set the furnace” in the Kun position (the yin direction). What is called fire timing—the subtle handling of yin–yang change and advance or retreat in practice—is hard to put into words; it does not depend on forced effort. Adjusting increase and decrease, advancing and circulating, need not be strained. Yin and yang move back and forth like clouds and rain; the pivot that governs and turns lies here. When the heart settles, empty clarity does not grow dim and can illuminate what was dark.

When the nature school (practice centered on seeing one’s true nature) is fully realized, you obtain the Mysterious Pearl (an image of original nature or the Dao); life work is then complete, like the whole yin–yang unity symbolized by the Taiji diagram. From outside the circle, rounded light bursts forth; in steady, close guarding, you alone verify Suchness (true, unfabricated nature). Yuanqi (original qi) returns to the root; the six gates (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) work together. Even at this stage, you still need De (virtue/power) to support you. In the dusty world, draw in your sharpness and hide your edge, and be an ordinary person who finishes what is yours to finish.

The true cauldron and true furnace cannot be said to be utterly absent, nor can they be said to fully exist—the key is uprightness and balance. Work in stillness, operate in concentration; outwardly still and unmoving, inwardly you can sense and penetrate in secret. The old oyster holding a pearl and the tale of the Ant moth adopting another’s larva (in old lore, as if turning a stranger’s offspring into one’s own) both illustrate this inexhaustibly subtle mechanism. Once you completely break through the doubts in your heart, you can awaken in an instant…