《中和集》Vol. 4

When body, mind, and intention are settled, the body’s nine orifices—the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, the mouth, and the front and rear openings—can function smoothly. Human nature varies in quickness and dullness, and the ten thousand things were never alike to begin with; yet whether quick or dull, all can be gathered in and held in reserve. If even one of the nine orifices is unsettled, the rest will be affected as well.

Only when body, mind, and intention are settled do the nine orifices open properly. Fire arises from wood, just as the “Five Thieves” (wǔ zéi)—the various desires that disturb the spirit—lodge in the heart; once calamity breaks out, harm follows. The heart is where the Five Thieves dwell, and the myriad transformations spring from the body; when the body moves rashly, those transformations may slip beyond control. To understand this and cultivate accordingly is to be like one who skillfully guards against bandits—careful to prevent fire and treachery. Such a person may be called a sage: able to settle the inner self and, as in governing a state, make oneself full and at peace.

Heaven gives birth to the ten thousand things and also brings them to extinction—this is the way nature runs. The ten thousand things constantly grow and change; that is simply how things are. Heaven and earth nurture the ten thousand things and also bring them to extinction; the ten thousand things nourish human beings and also wear them down; human beings can make use of the ten thousand things and also deplete them.

When the nurturing and the wearing-down among heaven and earth, the ten thousand things, and human beings are each in their proper measure, a person can master affairs and harmonize the changes among the three, so that heaven and earth, people, and the myriad things each keep their place. Therefore it is said: when eating and drinking suit the season, the parts of the body can be in harmony; when movement and stillness both follow the right moment, the changes of the ten thousand things settle into stability.

If someone treats a certain mysterious efficacy as if it were the numinous itself, that is like taking a thief for a son. One must understand that what is called “mysterious efficacy” is not a thing that can be grasped as an object—only then can one truly apprehend it.

The sun and moon move according to fixed patterns; things great and small each have their proper form. When large and small are not confused and each keeps its place, the work of the sage arises from this; when sun and moon unite and yin and yang are in harmony, the action of the numinous (Shen) appears. To grasp the pivot of this change lies in the square inch of the heart—that is, the inner mind. Though it pervades all things, no one can see it and no one can truly know it; even face to face, one may not recognize it.

The noble person who grasps this principle can hold fast to self and handle affairs fittingly. The petty person who obtains it may treat life and fate lightly and rashly.

“Those who are blind have keen hearing” means that sounds all gather in the ears; “those who are deaf have keen sight” means that jiang se (deep crimson) stands out especially clearly, as if attention were all concentrated in the eyes. “Cutting off the single source of profit” means letting that crimson color be hidden in the heart, not pulled by outer things. “Using troops tenfold” means the heart fixes on one point, and the effect can increase tenfold.

“Turning back three times by day and night” means turning the gaze inward, gathering in hearing, then looking back at oneself, so that the inner mind is sincere. “Using troops ten thousandfold” means never forgetting what one cultivates morning and evening, and the effect can increase ten thousandfold. “The heart arises because of outer things” means thoughts rise with things, and all dharmas (thoughts and phenomena appearing in the mind) arise accordingly; “the heart ceases because of outer things” means when thoughts settle, all dharmas cease accordingly.

“The pivot is in the eyes” means the key lies in the eyes—that is, how one uses the senses and the mind. The scripture borrows the Buddhist phrase “no eye element up to no consciousness element,” meaning that in contemplation one does not cling to the senses such as eye and ear, nor to the corresponding divisions of consciousness.

“Heaven has no partial favor” means heaven will set killing in motion; “yet great favor is born from this” means the myriad things can thus follow change and continue to grow. When thunder is fierce and sudden gales rise, the junzi (noble person) feels awe in the heart and examines himself. Nothing among the myriad things fails to be stirred thereby. “Fear” is here treated as the occasion that prompts careful self-cultivation and the gaining of blessing.

“Supreme joy rests in surplus of nature” means the highest joy returns to “constant joy, self, and purity” (a Buddhist phrase for abiding, ease, freedom, and clarity); “supreme stillness rests in restraint of nature” means reaching extreme stillness, and in action one is also sparing and simple. “Heaven’s utmost privacy” says heaven and earth have both giving life and taking life; “using it with utmost fairness” says heaven and earth’s operation has no faction and no bias.

“Control over birds lies in Qi” means the key to subduing qin-dao (here, things or forces that steal and disturb) lies in regulating Qi (vital breath—the life dynamism and breath spoken of in cultivation). “The root of life is in death” means when Qi is too exuberant, Shen (spirit) grows dim; “the root of death is in life” means when Qi sinks and fades, Shen can instead appear lively and clear. “Favor is born from harm” means stopping and resting can increase wisdom; “harm is born from favor” means subduing what steals and disturbs can achieve results.

The foolish take heaven and earth’s order as sagely clarity; the penetrating follow heaven and earth and the order of things and times, and are therefore called clear and wise. Contemplating the Dao of Heaven and grasping the patterns of heaven’s Dao—within that, the matter of cultivating the Dao is fully contained.

Others rely on foolish guessing to pose as sages; I do not use foolish guessing for sagely clarity. Others expect sainthood through strange events; I do not seek sainthood through strangeness. If one sinks into water or throws oneself into fire, one only brings on one’s own destruction. The way of nature is originally tranquil, so heaven and earth and the myriad things can be generated; the way of heaven and earth gradually operates, and Yin-Yang thus alternate in waxing and waning. Yin and Yang push each other, and change can proceed smoothly. Therefore the sage knows the way of nature cannot be violated, and arranges and carries things out by following it.

The way of supreme stillness—even calendrical systems and pitch pipes (ancient institutions for reckoning time and fixing musical pitch) cannot fully match it. Cherishing and employing wondrous implements, from this the ten thousand images arise; the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), the sexagenary cycle (jiazi), and divine pivots and deep transformations are all included. The patterns by which Yin and Yang overcome each other are already clearly shown in the forms of the myriad things.

The Cantong qi explains that the subtle art of cultivating the great elixir consists in emulating the way heaven and earth operate. “Great” means reaching the utmost; “elixir” means complete and without lack. Master Dadian asked: “Do you still recognize this circle?” Neither the vastness of heaven and earth nor the fullness of sun and moon can compare with it. The sage teacher said: “The original true nature is called the golden elixir; with the four kinds of provisionally combined things as furnace and vessel, it is refined into one mass.” From this we know that the great elixir means true nature; emulating qian and kun is emulating heaven and taking earth as model.

Here qian and kun refer to a person’s body and mind; the five phases refer to a person’s spirit, hun, po, and yi. When body and mind turn and circulate, the five phases arise; when body and mind move so that the five qi are complete, that is emulating heaven and taking earth as model.

When the five phases run in the usual forward order, that is the ordinary path of birth and extinction. The patriarch said: “When the five phases proceed in order, the dharma realm is like a pit of fire.” The five phases in motion give rise to the ten thousand things—this is the way of the five constants; and the way of the five constants belongs to what has birth and extinction.

When the five phases reverse, the elixir body can long remain luminous and imperishable. The patriarch said: “When the five phases are inverted, the great earth turns into the seven treasures.” Reversal means gathering the five phases so they return to the path of true constancy; the path of true constancy can endure without decay.

Laozi said: “The Dao gives birth to one.” From empty non-being the Dao produces one qi. Corresponding to the human being, this is emptying and refining until spirit arises.

Laozi also said: “One gives birth to two.” One qi divides and the two modes are thereby established. Corresponding to the human being, this is establishing nature and life.

Shao Yong said: “Two divides into four.” The Yijing says: “The two modes give birth to the four images.” Corresponding to the human being, this is the further differentiation after nature and life are established.

The eight trigrams succeed one another, each as ancestor and descendant to the others.

The Yi Jing (Book of Changes) says: “The Four Images give birth to the Eight Trigrams.” What “ancestor and grandson” means here is that the Qian and Kun trigrams beget the six “child” trigrams, and those six are further grouped into four kinds. The Yi Jing also says: “The Two Modes give birth to the Four Images.” That same pattern can illustrate human temperament and the way one establishes and sustains life.

The Eight Trigrams as Mutual Ancestors and Grandchildren

The Yi Jing says: “The Four Images give birth to the Eight Trigrams.” By the ancestor–grandson relation, Qian and Kun beget the six child trigrams, and from those arise the sixty-four hexagrams. Qian and Kun are the ancestors; the rest are the “grandchildren.” Those who truly understand will turn back from this to seek their own root and gain insight.

Myriad Forms Arise from Change

As the eight trigrams transform into one another, the sixty-four hexagrams appear. It is like the moment the mind stirs: causes, conditions, and all manner of thought follow.

Good Fortune, Misfortune, Regret, and Embarrassment in Turmoil

Zhou Dunyi said: “Good fortune, misfortune, regret, and embarrassment all arise from change.” Alas—genuine good fortune is of one kind only; how can one not be careful? From this we see that fortune and misfortune, regret and embarrassment, all spring from activity within change.

The People Use It Daily without Knowing

Everything in ordinary daily life rests on this principle. People live by it every day yet do not notice, because emotion and narrow views obscure them. Hence few can truly enter the way of the exemplary person (junzi).

The Sage Can Probe the Source

The sage looks up to the patterns of heaven and looks down at the myriad things, pursues root and source, discerns the way of heaven and sets standards, then devises the hexagram figures and writes the line texts—thus the line-and-trigram writing of the Yi Jing came to be.

How the Way of Change Exhausts Substance and Function of Transformation

The hexagram figures of the Yi Jing fully express the substance (ti) and operation (yong) of creation and transformation. Through it one can grasp change under heaven and settle affairs in the world, spanning the vast and penetrating the subtle—hence it is called the Zhou Yi (Changes of Zhou).

Entrusting Images to This Classic

The teaching of the Yi is broad and complete. Study Buddhism with it and it opens the Buddhist path; study immortality with it and it opens the immortal path; use it for purification rites (zhai) or for governing the realm, and it serves ritual and statecraft alike. Therefore Wei Boyang took the Yi’s hexagram images to explain the elixir way and wrote the Zhouyi cantong qi (Token for the Agreement of the Three According to the Book of Changes).

When Pi and Tai Interact, Yin and Yang Rise or Fall

When the Pi and Tai hexagrams meet and exchange, yin and yang may ascend or descend.

The hexagrams Pi (Obstruction) and Tai (Peace) speak to the critical junctures where yin and yang meet. In Tai, the three yang lines rise; at that moment one must guard against turning toward crisis. In Pi, the three yin lines descend; then one should hold firm and steady. As Pi and Tai alternate, yin and yang accordingly ascend or descend.

The hexagrams Zhun (Difficulty at the Beginning) and Meng (Youthful Folly) stand for the opening phase of cultivation, where timing matters—movement and stillness, early and late. Counted by the year, the six days after the winter solstice belong to Zhun, and the six days after that to Meng. Counted by the month, from the first day at the zi hour through the si hour is Zhun, and from wu through hai is Meng. Counted in the body, when tian gui—the bodily sign that yin and yang are stirring—has just begun to move, that is Zhun; when the fresh mechanism appears like spring water welling at the foot of a mountain, that is Meng.

Kan and Li stand respectively for the middle son and middle daughter, and also for water and fire. When Kan and Li unite, that is “fire and water already fulfilled”—yinj and yang harmonized and mutually completing. Ping Shu said: “Take the one solid yang in the middle of Kan, and use it to transform the yin in the belly of the Li palace.” This is the symbolic language of neidan (internal alchemy): using the yang within Kan to nourish the yin within Li.

Zhen stands for the dragon and for hun (the yang soul); Dui stands for the tiger and for po (the yin soul). Together they express human nature and temperament. The patriarch said: “Only when metal returns to its original nature can the work be accomplished.” This is what is meant by huandan—the elixir returned to its source and condensed within.

To “hold the center” is like “yellow lower garment; supreme good fortune.” Holding the center means neither leaning nor tipping, neither excess nor deficiency. In the retreat phase (tuifu), when one reaches the sixth line of Kun, holding the center while acting from below avoids both excess and lack; hence “yellow lower garment; supreme good fortune.”

When things reach extreme height, one is lofty yet without a proper place. Here “nine” means the top line of Qian— “the arrogant dragon has regret.” When advancing the fire (jinhuo) in practice reaches that upper ninth position, one must know when to stop and how to hold fullness; if one does not hold fullness, what was achieved before may be entirely lost.

“Jimo” means the fire phases are already complete. After completion the cycle begins again, so one must be careful at the end and the start of all things.

The hexagrams Fu (Return) and Gou (Encounter) show yin and yang coming and going in mutual contact. Qian and Kun are the gateways of change among the eight trigrams; Fu and Gou thread through all sixty-four. Yin and yang run without end in their coming and going, and from this ceaseless exchange creation takes shape.

The moon waxes and wanes, which can stand for how human spirit alternately weakens and fills. The moon’s phases also point to the rules of adding and subtracting in cultivation.

The sun rises and sets, which can stand for how nutritive and defensive qi (the two kinds of qi that move within the body and sustain its functions in Chinese medicine) shift between cold and warm. Sunrise and sunset likewise suggest ways to nourish the body and harmonize yin and yang.

“To set forth words in order to clarify what is obscure” means using language to explain truths that are deep and hard to grasp. For example, taking heaven and earth (qian and kun, yin and yang) as the cauldron and the sun and moon (the “crow and hare”) as the medicine—all such images use metaphor to expound the way of Golden Elixir (jindan) cultivation.

“Having obtained the image, forget the words” means that once you grasp what the metaphors point to, you need not cling to the metaphors themselves. The way of the Golden Elixir has many names, all of them figures for methods of nourishing and harmonizing. To see the heart of the matter, you must ponder the text again and again; after insight comes, you can release the text.

Metaphors only show the meaning. When the metaphor is clear, you must still go further and seek the principle it expresses. It is like crossing a river with a raft: once you reach the shore, you need not carry the boat on your back.

Those who penetrate the matter know that the root teaching is in fact simple and easy to practice. Qian’s role is to generate the myriad things; kun’s role is to complete them. Those who penetrate proceed from this into practice and can hold to the principle of simplicity.

Those who are confused find study ever more tangled and feel it ever harder. If they fix on metaphors and cling to concrete images such as furnaces and cauldrons, copying diagrams literally, they grow more bewildered and may end a lifetime without achievement.

Therefore, cultivators who read the Cantong Qi (Scripture of the Kinship of the Three, a Daoist classic on Golden Elixir practice) should not be bound by the letter of the text or by its images. In reading, they should reflect repeatedly and seek the deeper intent. To cling only to words and images—what benefit is there in that?

Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji): Non-ultimate (Wuji), and yet the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji).

The symbol “○” refers to the empty, spontaneous root-nature. It begins before any beginning; it cannot be named or fully expressed in words, so the symbol “○” is used only as a makeshift sign. Sages, wishing to reveal it to the world and to later generations so that people might follow the course of things back to their source and not forget their root, established symbols and left written records, calling it “Wuji er Taiji” (the Ultimateless, and yet the Supreme Ultimate). The meaning is: its limit cannot be known, yet it is the foundation; it is not something one can grasp by private guesswork. Nor does it mean that before Taiji there is another Wuji—Taiji itself is Wuji. Those who awaken need only attend to the character “er” (and), and the sense within will naturally appear.

What Buddhism calls “the luminous root before kalpas” and what Laozi means by “before the Lord of Images” point to the same principle. Chan master Dadian said: “Do you recognize this ‘○’? Heaven and earth are not vast enough to compare with its breadth; sun and moon are not bright enough to compare with its light. Gathered in, it is so small it has no interior; spread out, it is so great it has no outer boundary. Is this not the subtlety of Taiji?” Turned inward, “Wuji er Taiji” is the spirit of empty transformation. The greatest things in the ten thousand beings ultimately have bounds; only the vastness of spirit is nowhere absent, flowing and transforming, giving birth to heaven and earth—nothing is greater than this. Because its subtle function cannot be fathomed, it is called “shen” (spirit). Spirit is precisely the true body of Wuji.

When Taiji moves, Yang arises; when movement reaches its extreme it turns to stillness, and Yin arises. When stillness reaches its extreme it turns again to movement. Movement and stillness become each other’s root; Yin and Yang differentiate, forming the Liangyi (the two basic modes, Yin and Yang).

The symbol “⊙” stands for change within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). Before Taiji had split into distinct forms, the principles of movement and stillness were already complete. When the two qi of yin and yang began to part, the pivot of transformation between movement and stillness was set in motion. When Taiji moves, yang is born; when movement reaches the point of change, it turns from movement into stillness, and yang becomes yin. When stillness reaches its limit, it turns again into movement, and yin becomes yang. Yin and yang cross and support each other—this is “yang within yin and yin within yang.” Through one movement and one stillness, yin and yang are distinguished; clear qi rises and turbid qi sinks, and the two qi of heaven and earth become clear.

Rising clear qi becomes heaven; sinking turbid qi becomes earth. Heaven moves and earth is still; yin and yang never cease to operate, so the tracks of change cannot be pieced back into a single whole. Laozi says: “The gate of the mysterious female (xuanpin)—that is called the root of heaven and earth.” Here, xuanpin means the pivot at which yin and yang, movement and stillness, open and close and transform; through that opening and closing, heaven and earth come into being.

Turn these ideas around and look at the human being, and it becomes clear: from emptiness and nothingness spirit (shen) is produced; where there is spirit, there is responsiveness. When spirit is stirred, qi arises—this is yang born from movement. When qi gathers, essence (jing) is produced—movement at its extreme turns into stillness, and stillness gives birth to yin. When essence solidifies into form, stillness at its extreme turns again into movement. Essence and qi transform each other, nature (xing) and life (ming) are fixed, and body and mind are distinguished. Qi circulates in the heart-mind, embodying the way heaven runs; essence holds sway in the body, embodying how earth is established. Thus body and mind are like the two aspects of the yin-yang pair (liangyi). Yang transforms and yin joins with it, producing the Five Phases (wuxing)—Water, Fire, Wood, Metal, and Earth; as the Five Phases run in order, the four seasons follow in turn.

This line about change refers to the Two Aspects (Liangyi). Why say “liang” (a pair) rather than “er” (two as a mere count)? Because “liang” carries the sense of matching and joining. When they join, resonance appears; through resonance, change occurs. Yang transforms and yin couples with it; yin and yang resonate and unite, and the Five Phases are generated. “Heaven’s one gives birth to water; earth’s two gives birth to…” describes the sequence in which heaven and earth bring forth the Five Phases.

“Two Forms” (Liangyi) refers to the transformations of yin and yang qi. Though “two” also means “pair,” the emphasis falls on yin and yang working in mutual accord; when yin and yang unite, resonance arises, and from that come change and movement. Yang qi stirs, yin qi gathers, and through their mutual interaction the Five Phases are generated.

“Heaven generates Water at one, Earth generates Fire at two, Heaven generates Wood at three, Earth generates Metal at four, Heaven generates Earth at five”—this is the numerical order in which the Five Phases come into being. As the Five Phases ceaselessly turn and change, the four seasons alternate in turn, and the myriad things grow accordingly. In the human body, once body and mind are established, jing and qi (the vital breath of life) circulate and run; when the five viscera take shape, the five spirits are also present: Water corresponds to the kidneys and jing, Fire to the heart and shen (spirit), Wood to the liver and hun (ethereal soul), Metal to the lungs and po (corporeal soul), Earth to the spleen and yi (intention). As the Five Phases operate, human emotions and character also come to light. Those who grasp this principle can at every moment adapt to change and follow the Dao.

The Five Phases ultimately reduce to yin-yang; yin-yang ultimately reduce to Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); and the root of Taiji is Wuji—the undifferentiated, formless, imageless state.

Heaven-one, heaven-three, and heaven-five belong to yang numbers; earth-two and earth-four belong to yin numbers. Thus it is said that the Five Phases return to yin-yang: yang is the activation of Taiji, yin is its stillness. Movement and stillness are originally one body; understanding this allows one to return to the root, hence the saying that yin-yang return to Taiji. Returning to the root merges with yuanxu (the primordial void), hence the saying that the root of Taiji is Wuji.

The practitioner circulates qi so that it moves in cycles, turning round and round without end, while shen remains unchanged. Precisely because shen does not change, transformation and operation can be inexhaustible. What gathers and holds the Five Phases is shen; what harmonizes yin and yang is also shen—and the nature of shen lies in emptiness. Refining jing into qi, refining qi into shen, and refining shen back to emptiness—this sequence of cultivation is called “returning to the root and restoring the origin”; “restoring the origin” means returning to Wuji.

After the Five Phases have been generated, each possesses its own distinct nature.

“Each of the Five Phases has its own nature” means that Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth each embodies one Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the fundamental principle of all things in the cosmos. When the birth numbers of the Five Phases are increased by five, they become their completion numbers: Heaven’s one gives birth to Water, and adding five yields Earth’s six completing Water; Earth’s two gives birth to Fire, and adding five yields Heaven’s seven completing Fire; Heaven’s three gives birth to Wood, and adding five yields Earth’s eight completing Wood; Earth’s four gives birth to Metal, and adding five yields Heaven’s nine completing Metal; Heaven’s five gives birth to Earth, and adding five yields Earth’s ten completing Earth. In other words, each of the Five Phases contains within itself the logic of transformation among all five.

The earlier passage said that the Five Phases each have Yin and Yang and that Yin and Yang stem from one Taiji—that is speaking from the standpoint of root and substance. Here, that each Phase has its own character is speaking from the standpoint of function and effect. In substance, the Five Phases all issue from one Taiji; in function, each Phase manifests one Taiji. Substance is about returning to the source; function is about extending and applying widely. Substance uses reverse inference to trace back to the origin; function uses forward inference to unfold development. Reverse inference clarifies where things come from; forward inference clarifies how they reach their terminus. To know only the origin and not the development is to fail to reach breadth; to know only the development and not the origin is to fail to exhaust subtlety.

Tracing the origin, the myriad things are undifferentiated unity, merging with Wuji (the undifferentiated ground before differentiation). Unfolding development, the myriad things are ceaselessly generated, transform, and operate without end. Reverse and forward inference depend on each other, so beginning and end are not two separate things; between the manifest and the hidden there is no barrier, so nature and principle can interpenetrate. This is what it means for substance and function to be complete and to accord with the Dao.

The true and subtle principle of Wuji combines and condenses with exquisite precision with the Two—Yin and Yang—and the Five Phases’ vital qi (“the Two and the Five” means Yin-Yang and the Five Phases), and thus the myriad things are formed.

“The True of the Limitless” refers to the wondrous functioning manifested by the primordial spirit (yuan shen)—the innate, originally present, subtle and vital spiritual substance. “The Essence of Two and Five” refers to the refined essence where yin and yang qi and the qi of the Five Phases subtly interweave. When they unite and condense, the myriad things of the world come into being.

The True of the Limitless is vast and boundless; it is the root of the pre-heaven realm, the foundation of Taiyi (the primordial qi spoken of in Daoism), the matrix of the Three Origins (Heaven, Earth, and Water), and the root of countless subtle phenomena. From antiquity to the present it remains unchanged. Heaven receives it and firmly establishes its place; earth receives it and calmly takes form. When the qian image (representing heaven and yang) establishes position, the myriad things gain their beginning; when the kun image (representing earth and yin) takes form, the myriad things receive nurture and growth.

The Essence of Two and Five is utterly subtle: one cannot simply say it exists or does not exist; it is neither turbid nor clear, dwelling in a state of indistinct depth that words cannot fully capture. It has no fixed shape, yet it can merge with the myriad things. Heaven and earth are established through it; sun and moon move by it; primordial qi (yuan qi, the source qi of heaven and earth) flows and transforms through it; the myriad things are generated through it.

People know only that they are nurtured by heaven and earth, yet do not know that they also partake of the yuan qi of the True of the Limitless; they know only that they stand between heaven and earth, yet do not know that the body is condensed from the Essence of Two and Five. When the True of the Limitless is unchanging, spirit can transform and generate yuan qi; when the Essence of Two and Five subtly unites, yuan qi can change and form the body. To cultivate the primordial spirit, one must first preserve the original true; to strengthen the body, one must first nurture jing (essence). When the true and jing are not dissipated, yuan qi can be stable and spirit can be luminous; when both body and spirit reach the wondrous realm, one unites with the Dao in truth, and the work the cultivator should complete is fulfilled.

The way of qian (yang) generates the male; the way of kun (yin) generates the female. Yin and yang qi mutually interact and generate the myriad things; things endlessly multiply and grow, and change knows no end.

The symbol “○” stands for the root and the ultimate in human beings. At birth, receiving the way of Qian (Heaven, yang) makes one male; receiving the way of Kun (Earth, yin) makes one female. In hexagram terms, when the bottom line of Qian meets Kun, Zhen forms—Zhen is the eldest son; when the bottom line of Kun meets Qian, Xun forms—Xun is the eldest daughter. When the middle line of Qian meets Kun, Kan forms—the middle son; when the middle line of Kun meets Qian, Li forms—the middle daughter. When the top line of Qian meets Kun, Gen forms—the youngest son; when the top line of Kun meets Qian, Dui forms—the youngest daughter. These six “children”—Zhen, Xun, Kan, Li, Gen, and Dui—all arise from the mutual joining of Qian and Kun. When the six interact again, the sixty-four hexagrams take shape. As those sixty-four change without end, the ten thousand things are born and transform in an unceasing flow.

Viewed through the body, Qian corresponds to the head and Kun to the abdomen—Heaven and Earth each have their place; Li to the eyes and Kan to the ears—fire and water each follow their course without clashing; Zhen to the feet and Xun to the hands—thunder and wind stir one another; Gen to the nose and Dui to the mouth—the qi of mountain and marsh interpenetrate. This is the doctrine of the eight trigrams (Bagua) mapped onto human form.

If one reads dispositions instead, Qian and Kun stand for body and mind; Kan and Li for spirit (shen); Zhen and Dui for hun and po (soul and corporeal soul); Gen and Xun for intent and qi (vital energy). Once the eight trigrams are arrayed, spirit moves within them; being and non-being blend, inner and outer respond to each other, and the full range of causes and thoughts arises from this. Is this not the ten thousand things contained in a single person? The “Appended Remarks” on the Book of Changes says: “When the qi of Heaven and Earth mingle, things are transformed and nurtured; when male and female unite, the ten thousand things multiply.” That is exactly this principle. Heaven and Earth beget the ten thousand things and turn through change without pause, so generation and transformation never exhaust themselves. “○” is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the root of the arising and changing of all things.

Only humans receive the finest, most refined spiritual qi of Heaven and Earth, and therefore possess the greatest spiritual intelligence. Once the bodily form is born, spirit awakens to perception; the five qi mutually resonate, good and evil are distinguished, and every affair unfolds from there.

Heaven is above, earth is below, and human beings stand between heaven and earth. Heaven and earth are the parents of the ten thousand things, and among them humanity is the most spiritually endowed; because people receive the balanced and harmonizing Qi, spirit and Dao are fused as one and have never been apart. Heaven and earth each hold their place, and within that turning and change unfold; in a person, this appears as body and mind settled in their roles, with spirit moving within.

Originally heaven and humanity are not separated—why then do people feel small? Because they do not know their own root source. Tracing back to before birth, the person is nourished from the primordial origin (the state before heaven and earth divided and the ten thousand things took form), whole and without lack, never for a moment leaving that source. After birth, Qi transforms and forms the body; once the body exists, Qi gathers, and spirit arises as knowing and awareness.

The true nature of original spirit and awareness is the truth of Wuji (the undifferentiated, boundless fundamental state). When the Five Qi stir in response, the true mechanism (the subtle working of inner life) shows outward: essence-Qi in the ears becomes hearing, paired with “earth’s six completing water”; spirit in the mouth becomes speech, paired with “heaven’s seven completing fire”; hun in the eyes becomes sight, paired with “earth’s eight completing wood”; po in the nose becomes smell, paired with “heaven’s nine completing gold”; intent in the body becomes action, paired with “earth’s ten completing earth.” These numbers and the Five Phases belong to the traditional cosmology of correspondence.

Once the true mechanism moves, right and wrong begin to be distinguished, and the myriad affairs arise from this. If one gathers body and mind, dissolves emotional knowing, collects the Qi of the Five Phases and harmonizes the three, holds the original Qi and guards the one; gathers the gaze, turns hearing inward, closes the mouth and adjusts breath, neither letting outer scenes enter nor letting inner thoughts drift outward, so that one Qi returns to emptiness and stillness and spirit hides in deep quiescence—then from where would the distinction between good and evil arise?

Going further, one nourishes the essence of Yin and Yang Qi, holds the great harmony (pure, balanced Qi), returns to the truth of Wuji, and enters the realm of emptiness—this is called returning to the root and restoring the origin, returning to the root and recovering life. Jade Toad said: “Before one’s parents conceived you, inexhaustible vitality was already there; after body and mind are settled and unmoved, the true mechanism of Wuji appears again.” That is precisely this principle.

The sage probes deeply into subtle and profound principles and extends understanding far into the future; in action, he always follows the way things truly work. Nothing under heaven can stand against such principle. Therefore, to keep raising virtue and achievement, one must first exhaust principle; and to exhaust principle, the root lies in taking centrality, uprightness, benevolence, and righteousness as the foundation. Thus the sage establishes centrality, uprightness, benevolence, and righteousness as the supreme standard and sets up teaching accordingly.

“Centrality and uprightness” are human nature; “benevolence and righteousness” are the unfolding of that nature. They are what link heaven and earth and turn the key of the myriad things. The mind is still and unmoved, yet can discern the ten thousand things without violating their nature—this is called “centrality” (zhong); open, straight, gentle and generous, holding to the constant way with stillness as the mainstay, responding to affairs without limit—this is called “uprightness” (zheng); restraining selfish desire and following ritual, broadly aiding and giving, fully completing others, treating people without partiality—this is called “benevolence” (ren); whether in office or retirement, speaking or silent, responding in accord with what is felt and fitting the occasion, benefiting both self and others, dwelling with the ten thousand things without contention—this is called “righteousness” (yi).

“Centrality” is the root of all affairs under heaven; “uprightness” is heaven’s most enduring norm; “benevolence” is heaven’s most impartial principle; “righteousness” is heaven’s most harmonious norm. The Wenyan (Commentary on the Judgments) says: “Benefit is the harmony that righteousness brings.” It also says: “Making the myriad things benefit—enough to complete righteousness.” From this we know that benevolence and righteousness are the key to raising virtue and achievement; centrality and uprightness are the key to exhausting principle and fully realizing one’s nature.

Centrality, uprightness, benevolence, and righteousness embrace heaven, earth, and the myriad things and can measure and arrange every kind. Apply them to self-cultivation and body and mind are brought to completion; apply them to governing the state and the state is settled. Whether meeting affairs under heaven or coordinating what lies between heaven and earth, and whether the matter is great or small, all are contained in these principles. If the gentleman who cultivates the Way can day and night turn them over in mind without wavering, I say that realizing the great Way is not far off.

With stillness as the mainstay, one can establish humanity’s supreme standard.

What is called “stillness” (Jing) is not complete lack of movement. If motionlessness alone counted as stillness, then mud and stone could be called sages. The Tongshu (Penetrating the Classic) says: “If there is only movement and no stillness, one is merely a thing.” True stillness is stillness within movement.

After the Beginning of Winter, the myriad things close and store themselves away and enter winter—this is stillness. Sun, moon, and stars never cease their course—how could one say they are utterly unmoving? On the winter solstice, the ancients closed their doors and dwelt in seclusion, teaching people to await new change through stillness. This shows that within movement there is stillness, and within stillness there is movement—the very pivot where change occurs. When stillness reaches its utmost, the heart-mind of the Dao of Heaven can appear. The Analects says: “Does not the hexagram Fu (Return) reveal the heart-mind of Heaven and Earth?” From this we know that among the roots of the myriad things, nothing is more precious than stillness.

When the spirit-mind (Shen) is stilled, one can return to right principle; this is also the path of investigating one’s nature, fully realizing life’s potential, and thereby transcending ordinary bounds. Laozi’s “Purity and stillness are the correct way under Heaven” and the Great Learning’s “Only after being settled can one be still” both speak to this principle.

For human beings to take stillness as foundation is to follow innate nature. If one can start from daily life—reining in restless thoughts, clearing away deluded emotions, calming upright Qi (Zhengqi, the body’s true vital energy), and nourishing original essence (Yuanjing, the root life-essence)—then when the inner mind is settled and undisturbed by outer things, one can resonate and connect with the myriad things. Then in stillness one is still, and in action one can still keep the inner mind quiet; responding to outer things while the inner root remains settled—this is true stillness.

Maintaining true stillness over time, the spirit-mind gradually becomes clear and subtle; clarity deepens into transparency, then extends into responsive penetration. Reaching a state of transparent clarity and unobstructed responsiveness in every direction is supreme purity and stillness. When the heart is pure and still, the body too becomes settled and pure; one body pure, then many bodies pure; many bodies pure, then mountains, rivers, the great earth, and all things are pure; when the myriad things are pure, the world naturally returns to the correct way. A scripture says: “If people can constantly remain pure and still, Heaven and Earth will all come to rest in them.” This is exactly what is meant.

The ancient sages said that in governing the myriad things one should take stillness as primary, thereby establishing the root of being human and living in the world. This is the efficacy of the sages in teaching the world; if one cannot grasp the principle of return and rebirth and see through change, who could reach such a realm?

Therefore, the sage—one whose virtue and wisdom have reached the highest level—aligns in virtue with heaven and earth, matches in clarity the sun and moon, acts in step with the order of the four seasons, and is in accord with the auspicious and inauspicious signs shown by ghosts and spirits.

Toward all things under heaven, the sage is like heaven toward the myriad things. Thus the sage’s virtue equals heaven and earth, his discernment matches sun and moon, his conduct follows the four seasons, and his actions fit the patterns by which the myriad things arise and change. The sage understands the movement of yin and yang and sees clearly the principles of things. “Before heaven and earth” means the sage acts in accordance with heavenly principle as it naturally is, so that principle does not turn against him. “After heaven and earth” means he does not oppose heavenly principle but follows the season’s mandate. An ancient text says: “Go ahead of heaven’s intent, and heaven still will not oppose you; follow heaven’s intent, and you carry out heaven’s season. When even heaven does not oppose you, how much less people? How much less ghosts and spirits?”

When the noble person cultivates himself and follows heavenly principle, he meets with good fortune; when the petty person violates heavenly principle, he brings on misfortune.

The noble person follows the season’s mandate, straightens the inner mind, and makes intention sincere, and so often receives good fortune. The petty person violates reason and justice, indulges desire, and chases what is empty and false, and so often meets misfortune. The key to cultivation lies in following the times; the key to following the times lies in clean stillness. When the mind is still, one can overcome every difficulty; when one can overcome difficulties, the depth of attainment cannot be measured; only when attainment is deep can one align with the sage. After aligning with the sage, one understands the way of the prior heaven and thus returns to the true self.

Guang Chengzi—the legendary ancient immortal—said: “Do not look, do not listen; guard the spirit and keep clean stillness. After clean stillness, you will naturally be upright; be sure to be quiet and clear. Do not weary the body, do not stir the refined essence. Let the spirit guard the form, and the form can endure long.” From this we know that clean stillness is the root of entering the sage’s realm. Master Zhou (Zhou Dunyi) summed the essential teaching in one phrase, holding clean stillness as the foundation. He may be called the teacher of the human way and the way of heaven for ten thousand generations.

Thus it is said: the pattern of Heaven consists of Yin and Yang; the pattern of Earth consists of softness and hardness; and the Dao that humans follow consists of benevolence and righteousness.

Heaven has its Yin and Yang, like the two forces of Qian and Kun in the cosmos; Earth has its softness and hardness, also embodying the way of Qian and Kun; and humans have their benevolence and righteousness, likewise possessing the principle of Qian and Kun. This is how, at the beginning of the formation of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), each came to possess its own realm, its own Taiji (the root from which all things arise), and its own law of change and operation. Tracing their origin, all fundamentally spring from the same Taiji; turning inward to examine oneself, one finds that the principles of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity are all present within one's own person.

Specifically, the Yin and Yang of Heaven correspond to Shen and Qi in the heart-mind (spirit and vital energy in Daoist terms); the softness and hardness of Earth correspond to Jing and Po in the body (the essence and corporeal soul that constitute the life activity of the human body); and the benevolence and righteousness of humanity correspond to emotion and nature in intention (feeling and original nature). When body, heart-mind, and intention are settled, the Three Flowers (a Daoist cultivation term for the gathering of Jing, Qi, and Shen) will coalesce, and the work of cultivation is accomplished.

Tracing things to their beginning and investigating their end, one can comprehend the principle of birth and death.

Tracing things to their beginning, all alike emerge from one Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); examining them at their end, all alike return to Taiji. Turn inward upon yourself: primordial Qi is the root of the body. Qi exists before the postnatal and enables the postnatal to be; it moves through the four quarters of heaven and earth, fills the eight directions, penetrates heaven and earth, and passes through metal and stone. Heaven, earth, and humanity are established through it; the sage comprehends and attests to it, and thus can return to the root and recover the source of life.

Return to the original state of nature: in a dimness beyond words, the ten thousand things naturally harmonize and become true. Whatever has form lives when it obtains Qi and perishes when it loses Qi. When Qi gathers inward, it hides in the utmost subtlety; when it expands outward, it fills the vast void, embracing all things—so vast it cannot be measured. Trace its origin: it precedes heaven and earth in bearing the ten thousand things; blended as one, it is real and not empty, and it is the root of the body.

The root of the ten thousand things is, for lack of a better name, called primordial Qi. The body has form because of Qi; form changes and there is life; life changes and there is death. Birth is the gathering of Qi; death is the dispersal of Qi. The ten thousand things are born by this pattern and return into it. Birth and death, one gathering and one dispersal—these are the pivot by which Taiji turns from movement to stillness and from stillness to movement. Movement must return to stillness; going forth must return; birth must lead to death. Therefore, tracing the beginning and examining the ultimate return clarifies the principle of birth and death.

Only the wondrous nature of Shen (spirit): its beginning cannot be fathomed, its end cannot be known; through myriad ages it does not change—neither ancient nor modern, neither born nor destroyed. Precisely because it does not change, it can drive change and keep the ten thousand things ceaselessly alive. What is called “spirit” is presence that is sacred and unfathomable. Those who penetrate this principle will sit in stillness to nourish Shen, will sleep in peace to tune Qi, letting thoughts and desires settle in utter quiet and the mind hide in the utmost depth. Thus they can grasp the way of long life and sustained vitality.

The Book of Changes speaks of change in terms that are truly profound and vast.

The Way of Change (Yi Dao) pervades heaven and earth; there is never a moment when it is not changing and generating. The myriad things ceaselessly grow and transform without end—this is the subtlety of the Way of Change. The marvellous Dao has no fixed direction; the Way of Change has no fixed form. What can thread through all changes under heaven is the Way of Change; what can exhaust all change under heaven is the marvellous Dao.

The Xici (Commentary on the Appended Phrases) says: “Change has the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); from the Taiji arise the two modes; from the two modes arise the four images; from the four images arise the eight trigrams (Bagua); the eight trigrams determine fortune and misfortune; fortune and misfortune bring great undertakings to completion.” The Taiji—the root of change in all things—is the starting point of transformation. The two modes (Yin and Yang) are the transformation of the Taiji; the four images are the transformation of the two modes; the eight trigrams are the transformation of the four images; fortune and misfortune are the changes that the eight trigrams display. The sixty-four hexagrams encompass the principles of all affairs in the world; all sentient beings likewise fall within the changes symbolized by the eight trigrams.

The Way of Change itself never changes, and therefore its transformations are inexhaustible. Tracing things to their beginning, primordial Qi (Yi Qi)—the original breath from which the myriad things are formed—gives rise to the ten thousand things; pursuing change to its end, the ten thousand things return to the one undifferentiated whole. The marvellous Dao itself never changes, and therefore it can turn and transform without cease. Dispersing the one into the ten thousand things is the work of the marvellous Dao; gathering the ten thousand things back into the one is likewise the work of the marvellous Dao. The marvellous Dao and the Way of Change—how lofty and how vast they are.

Recorded Sayings of Master Qing’an Yingchanzi

“When adepts meet, they often speak from the heart the moment they face each other.” Is that not exactly how adepts encounter one another on the Dao?

From youth I studied the Confucian classics; in adulthood I loved to discuss empty principle. Even when I met someone of shallow understanding, if he could say something solid, I was willing to set aside rank and ask him; I did not hold myself above others as a Confucian, and only regretted that I had never met a true adept.

One day I returned to my old dwelling on Mount Mao. Master Qing’an, the Yingchanzi Li, came to visit. We had barely sat down when he spoke a few sentences—each word fresh, without the dust of the world. Then he explained the Yi before Fuxi had yet drawn the Eight Trigrams, and laid bare the pivot in the patriarchs’ transmission, pointing straight at the root. He swept away the words of Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist scriptures alike, so that we who had been dazed suddenly saw clearly. Clarity and harmony filled the room; I hardly knew whether the “toad cave” (that quiet, abstruse place of legend) had moved into me, or I had entered the toad cave.

That night, overwhelmed with joy, I gathered my mind, burned incense in reverence, and kowtowed before his bed, saying: “You are truly my teacher, truly one who deeply understands this path. I beg you not to disdain me, but to instruct me further.”

After that I followed my teacher for a long time; our questions and answers were many, and I arranged them into one scroll, which I often took out to read with respect. Only when one day I could, at Master Qing’an’s seat, kick over the subtle fortress and shatter the great void did I truly settle the matter.

If someone had then stepped forward and asked Master Qing’an: “At this point, what use are these old sayings?” he would surely have answered: “This is precisely what I spoke of when I first met an adept.”

In the summer of the wuzi year of the Zhiyuan reign, when the rains were abundant, the Mao Shan daoist He’an Guangchanzi respectfully recorded this.

Qing’an zi’s Recorded Sayings and Answers, Volume One

A monk asked Master Cen, “Two mice are gnawing at a vine—how is a person to get free of such a fix?” Master Cen said, “People today must learn to hide themselves.”

Someone asked, “What does it mean to hide oneself?” The master said, “Why wait until everything has withered before you know that all was empty from the start? Right here and now, in every matter, do not cling and do not be stained. I do not treat anything as truly real, and then things cannot hold me—that is what hiding oneself means.”

Someone asked, “‘One wishes to speak yet cannot get there in words’—how should that line be understood?” The master said, “If you try to put this matter into language, you will never finish saying it. The last word is already vast without limit and already holds everything—what is left to add? The phrase ‘cannot get there in words’ has already spoken the meaning.”

Someone asked, “Do you want to know what this sutra is about?” The reply was, “To the west is Aparagodaniya; to the north is Uttarakuru.” Why name only those two? The master said, “I would not answer that way. If someone asked me what this sutra is, I would only say: ten thousand li from east to west, eight thousand li from north to south.”

Someone asked, “The four lines ‘It is the great spiritual mantra, the great bright mantra, the supreme mantra, the mantra equal to the unequaled’—in the classics of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, what can they be likened to?” The master said, “They can be likened to Daoist language such as ‘wonder within wonder, mystery heaped on mystery, nothing higher to ascend to, yet so without being so’; or to what Confucian texts call ‘true viewing, true clarity, truly surpassing the one.’ Still, the highest truth in the end lies outside words and texts.”

Someone asked, “When the bodhisattva Obscure Radiance had just entered the first bhūmi and left the household, why could he leave the samādhi of the female form? Mañjuśrī is teacher to the seven buddhas—why could he not leave it?” Master Chou’an said, “A dog greets a guest who once lodged there; a crow shields the chick that fell from the nest.” That answer is well put and the point is plain—there is no need to doubt further.

The teacher asked me, “In the old Chan case of ‘a woman’s samadhi’—the story in which Manjushri had Ming Wang Bodhisattva inquire into the gate of non-duality—Manjushri said, ‘Do not move; if you move, you get thirty blows of the staff.’ How should that be understood?” I was about to reply when Ding’an happened to shift in his seat, as if he had casually bumped into the very point of the case. I then told this gong’an to my master, and he approved.

The teacher went on, “A mud snake dances at the bottom of a well; between the window frames flicker the shadows of the zhizhi dance; the moon shines on plum and pear trees—how is this to be understood?” I thought a long while and said, “From the aperture a tune is blown, piercing the illusory scene before the eyes.” The teacher said, “No.” I tried again: “The skull splits open and only I remain; the eyes bulge out and nothing else is left.” The teacher said, “That’s closer.”

I asked, “In the old case of the two monks rolling up the blind, one was right and one was wrong—what does that mean?” The teacher answered, “The humane see humanity in it; the wise see wisdom in it.”

Someone asked Jiashan, “What is the Dharma body (the body of Buddha’s truth)?” Jiashan replied, “The Dharma body has no fixed form.” They asked again, “What is the Dharma eye (the wisdom that sees truth)?” Jiashan replied, “The Dharma eye is without flaw.” When Daowu heard of this, he did not approve of the answer and later would not allow that monk to come for study anymore. When Boat Monk returned and brought up the same exchange, Daowu answered as he had before. Boat Monk said, “This time there is a real lion.” Daowu asked, “I asked the same question and gave the same answer as my teacher—why did you not approve before but approve now?” Boat Monk replied, “Cloud and moon may look the same, but streams and mountain ridges each differ.” The point is that the same words spoken by different people in different situations may express different levels of understanding.

Someone asked about Dongshan’s “Samadhi of the Precious Mirror” (a Chan method using the precious mirror as metaphor) and the “Five Ranks in Explicit Phrases” (five modes clarifying the relation of the absolute and the relative): “How are we to understand the five phrases—‘the absolute within the relative,’ ‘the relative within the absolute,’ ‘coming from within the absolute,’ ‘arriving in the midst of the relative,’ and ‘simultaneous realization in both’?” The reply was: “If you cannot experience the relative within the absolute, you will not see the relative; if you cannot experience the absolute within the relative, you will not manifest the absolute. The absolute returns to the center, the relative also reaches the center; when relative and absolute unite as one, that is simultaneous realization in both. At that point, relative and absolute are both set aside—only the center remains.” The teacher said, “Still a bit short. Only when you realize it within movement and stillness do you truly understand.”

One day the teacher sat with four people. The teacher said, “Old Chuan said: ‘It is mind yet not mind—not mind.’ How do we explain this?” Everyone answered, but none fit. One person answered: “To call it mind is wrong; to say it is not mind is also wrong.” The teacher asked, “What would be right?” That person gave a shout (he). The teacher said, “Hold it well.”

The teacher asked again, “What is the Way?” The person slapped the desk. The teacher then asked, “What is one who is in the Way?” The person said, “I am not either.” The teacher asked, “What would be right?” The person shouted again. The teacher said, “Hold it well.”

The teacher asked once more, “What is the Way?” The person slapped the desk again. The teacher asked, “What is one who is in the Way?” The person slapped again. The teacher said, “Still a bit short.” The person immediately shouted. The teacher said, “Eight watches early”—meaning that in responsive teaching, timing and measure matter; the same shout or gesture, at the wrong moment, yields a different understanding.

Someone asked: “Thirty spokes gather at a hub—how should we understand this?”

The master said: “Spokes and hub are only parts of a cart; when spokes converge on the hub, the cart becomes useful. It is like thirty days making one month, so the moon can illuminate; or like the ten thousand things returning to emptiness, so original nature can function. The principle is the same.”

Someone asked: “‘Those of life are one in three; those of death are one in three’ has many analogies—please explain clearly, Master.”

The master said: “The category of life refers to water and fire mutually aiding; the category of death refers to water and fire opposing. Water’s completion number is six, fire’s is seven—six and seven together make thirteen. The ancients said, ‘Seven and six make thirteen—spring colors in the moon palace,’ meaning just this. Some explain thirteen as the seven emotions and six desires—that can barely hold; some use the Eight Trigrams and Five Phases—that misses the mark. Have you not heard in the lower part of the Daodejing: ‘The strong and hard belong to death; the soft and weak belong to life’? Here ‘strong and hard’ means anger and desire; ‘soft and weak’ means restraining anger and moderating desire. When anger and desire rise, fire flares above and water dampens below—water and fire oppose. When anger and desire cease, yang descends and yin ascends—water and fire aid each other. What doubt remains?”

Someone asked: “Heaven and earth—are they not like a bellows? Empty in the middle, yet never exhausted; the more you pump, the more breath comes forth. Can the bellows explain the subtlety of heaven-and-earth creation? Please tell me plainly, Master.”

The master said: “‘Tuo’ is a bag without a bottom; ‘yue’ is a pipe with three holes—together they are the leather bellows used to fan the fire. Here it likens heaven and earth as utterly empty yet holding inexhaustible principle; it also likens the human mind as empty and still yet clear, unclouded. ‘Not bent’ means it opens and flows freely; ‘moved, more comes out’ means in responding to change it has no end.”

Someone asked: “How should ‘morning Tun, evening Meng’ be understood?”

Someone asked: What does “morning Zhexie, evening Meng” mean? The master said: The four hexagrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li form the overall framework; the other sixty hexagrams operate and change within it. Change begins with Zhexie and Meng and ends with Jiji and Weiji—this is the pattern of huohou (a metaphor in alchemy for timing and measure in the firing process). Alchemical texts compare Qian and Kun to the cauldron and vessel, Kan and Li to the medicine, and the other hexagrams to the mechanisms of transformation.

The sixty hexagrams have three hundred sixty line images, corresponding to three hundred sixty days in a year. By the year: from after the winter solstice one starts with Zhexie and Meng, and by the last day of Major Snow one returns to Jiji and Weiji; by the month: on the first day one starts with Zhexie and Meng, and at month’s end one returns to Jiji and Weiji; by the day: at the zi hour one starts with Zhexie and Meng, and at the hai hour one returns to Jiji and Weiji. Speaking from the work of practice, in a single moment one can also encompass the seasonal changes of a year: at the start it is Zhexie and Meng, and when gathering and settling the work it is Jiji and Weiji. So “morning Zhexie, evening Meng” is only a summary of this process. One who understands this principle can in one instant complete the count of a zhoutian (one full circuit of the cycle); the transformations of all sixty hexagrams are contained therein. What the patriarch meant by “without hexagrams, within, Qian and Kun are settled”—that is exactly this.

Someone asked: What does “raising a golden goose in a treasure vase” mean? The master said: From the perspective of wuwei (cultivation without deliberate contrivance), these are two gong’an (koan-like phrases or cases for inquiry); from the perspective of youwei (cultivation with deliberate method)—that is, completing the count of a zhoutian in a moment and containing the transformations of all sixty hexagrams within it—what the patriarch meant by “without hexagrams, within, Qian and Kun are settled” is exactly this.

Someone asked: “How should we understand the phrase ‘raising a golden goose inside a precious vase’?”

The master replied: “From the perspective of wuwei (non-action), these are two Chan koans—question-and-answer stories meant to spark awakening. From the perspective of youwei (deliberate cultivation), they describe a process of practice. First, the meaning in terms of wuwei. A monk asked Master Zhaozhou: ‘Does a dog have Buddha-nature?’ Zhaozhou said: ‘Yes.’ The monk asked: ‘Why do you say yes?’ Zhaozhou answered: ‘No.’ The monk asked again: ‘Why do you say no?’ Zhaozhou said: ‘Because it is already completely gone.’ In antiquity another master also said: ‘The little goose in the bottle has grown into a big goose—how can it get out of the bottle?’ Many people cannot penetrate these two koans; if someone can break through with a single phrase, their study is complete.”

“Turning to the youwei reading: the ‘dog’ stands for being-within-nonbeing, yang within yin. The dog is also like the guard in the minister of justice’s tent, warding off theft from within. ‘Raising a golden goose inside a precious vase’ refers to gold in water—that is, the elixir refined in the furnace. Nurturing the golden goose is nurturing the sacred embryo (the inner foundation that gradually forms in Neidan practice). When the sacred embryo matures, it is like the goose in the bottle that has already grown large. The dog in the bottle guards against disturbance from within; the golden goose in the precious vase symbolizes gold in water and the elixir in the furnace. Once the sacred embryo is formed, it is as when the goose in the bottle has fully grown. Ordinarily, for the goose to emerge, the bottle must be broken; yet here the goose comes out while the bottle remains intact—symbolizing the profound realm of ‘casting off the shell’ (tuotai). Therefore the patriarch said: ‘A jade dog hidden in a brocade canopy; a golden goose nurtured inside a precious vase’—speaking precisely of the subtlety of Golden Elixir cultivation.”

Someone asked: “Some say that divorcing one’s wife is simply cutting off yin and yang for nothing—what does that mean?”

The master replied: “The Perfected One Ziyang said: ‘Without obtaining true lead (a key term in Daoist internal alchemy for the essential medicine or true primordial element), do not retire to the mountains.’ That line is very close in meaning to what was said before. Nowadays people who study the Way are often misled by teachers who do not understand the principle; they learn one method of cultivation and think they have already attained the Way. They divorce their wives, abandon their children, and go into the mountains; when practice brings no result, regret arises. Some return to lay life, some marry again—there are many such cases.

“There are also foolish people who do not understand the sages’ teaching and say that divorcing one’s wife is not cultivation, or even call the wife a ding (the vessel used in alchemy to hold and harmonize yin and yang), saying there is medicine in the woman’s body, or calling the birth passage the place where life begins. These are serious departures from the correct path. They do not know that the patriarchs originally meant to show people: if you cannot cut off desire, merely divorcing your wife accomplishes nothing. Some also misread the patriarchs and say: ‘Nature provides a ding to refine dragon and tiger (names in internal alchemy for yin–yang and refined essence); why cling to household and wife and children?’ Today those who lack understanding seize only the first sentence and never reflect on the second—they are truly at fault.”

Another asked: “My master said that in cultivating the internal elixir one must not fix on year, month, day, and hour—so why does it also say that gathering the medicine requires knowing dusk and dawn?”

The master replied: “This is the same idea as Tun and Meng (hexagram names in the Book of Changes, here the turning points of yin and yang), only the application differs slightly. Beginning of spring and beginning of autumn are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a year; first-quarter and last-quarter moon are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a month; the yin and shen hours are the ‘dusk and dawn’ within a day; the moment when yin and yang meet is the ‘dusk and dawn’ within the body. Understand the principle of day and night turning, and you understand how yin and yang advance and retreat; investigate the causes of hidden and manifest change, and you understand the principle of life and death. The essential point of Buddha, immortals, and sages lies largely here.”

Someone asked: “The Daodejing says: ‘What cannot be seen is called “xi” (obscure); what cannot be heard is called “yi” (rare); what cannot be grasped is called “wei” (subtle).’ Is this the same as ‘When I am not seen and not heard, far from all distinctions and boundaries—this is called the subtle Dao’?”

The teacher replied: “They are broadly similar, but the actual meaning differs. The former speaks of the substance of the Dao; the latter speaks of how to apply it. The Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean) says: ‘Be cautious in what you cannot see; be wary in what you cannot hear. What is hidden is easiest to reveal; what is subtle is easiest to become plain.’ Therefore the noble person constantly guards the thoughts of solitude. Only when one can reach the state of ‘not being seen and not heard,’ and be far from all distinctions and boundaries, can it be called the subtle Dao. If one merely says that because it cannot be seen, heard, or grasped it is called ‘xi, yi, wei,’ then what distinctions and boundaries would there be to leave behind?”

Yin Yule asked: “In the twelve months of a year there is one zi month; in the twelve double-hours of a day there is one zi hour. I wish to know: where is the zi hour within the human body?”

The teacher replied: “The Daodejing says: ‘Attain the utmost emptiness and stillness; the ten thousand things arise together, and I observe how they return.’ Perhaps this refers to that?”

The other answered: “That is when gui water (Water phase) stirs. Once qi moves, it inevitably disperses. What do you think of this explanation?”

The teacher said: “So it is.”

Yin asked again: “Yuanshi Tianzun (Primordial Celestial Worthy) suspends a single precious pearl five zhang above the ground—what does this mean?”

The teacher asked in return: “What is your view, sir?”

Yin answered: “Five is a yang number.”

The teacher said: “That is not so. ‘Five zhang above the ground’ means rising above the five turbidities (the defiled worldly realms in Buddhist and Daoist thought); ‘dwelling in emptiness and mystery’ means concentrating the spirit and entering the wondrous realm.”

The other asked again: “Above the five turbidities—is that the Gate of the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin zhi men), the portal from which heaven and earth and the ten thousand things are generated?”

The teacher said: “Even if that is so, without earnest cultivation and direct experience, merely voicing such images—what problem can that solve?”

Someone asked: “Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs for sacrifice. The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs for sacrifice. How can such a lowly thing be used as a simile?”

The master replied: “Heaven, Earth, and the sage do not treat benevolence as a deliberate gift bestowed from outside—that is why the straw dog is used as a simile. The ten thousand things and the people appear small within the natural operation of Heaven and Earth; each grows on its own and each perishes on its own. Though there is birth and death, in the end all return to the root and revert to the original state of life. The Yizhuan says: Benevolence (ren) shows itself in the growth of the ten thousand things, yet its working remains hidden and does not display itself; Heaven and Earth impel the ten thousand things to run their course, unlike the sage, who harbors anxious concern. This is the meaning of ‘Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the ten thousand things as straw dogs.’ The Zhouyi also says that the way of Qian (Heaven’s operating principle) benefits all under heaven through beauty and profit, yet does not claim to have bestowed any benefit. That is precisely the meaning of ‘The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs.’”

Someone asked: “Is the state of an infant before it can even laugh the same as what Mencius meant by ‘the great person never loses the heart of a newborn child’?”

The master replied: “They refer to the same state: one’s undivided original nature has not yet been scattered and lost; to return to that nature is not far off.”

Someone asked: “Laozi says: ‘The Dao, as a presence, is dim and indistinct; in the dimness there is something; in the indistinctness there is an image; in the dark there is essence (jing); this essence is real and not empty; within it there is trustworthy evidence.’ Among these layers of description, why is essence alone said to be most real and to contain fidelity (xin)?”

The master replied: “The sage says ‘There is something undifferentiated and whole, born before Heaven and Earth’—this existence that precedes Heaven and Earth is the form in which the Dao manifests. Form appears in dependence on Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth, in turn, take shape because of this undifferentiated whole. This ‘something’ is the subtle qi of Yin and Yang (here called ‘two and five’) congealing and combining. Therefore the essence of ‘two and five’ is the substance (ti) of the Dao, while form and the ten thousand things are the function (yong) of the Dao.”

Someone asked: “The passage on ‘Be vigilant in what you do not see,’ together with the four lines such as ‘Look and you do not see me’—all are used as metaphors for …”

Someone asked: “In the passage about ‘be cautious in what you do not see’ (jie shen hu qi suo bu du), using ‘cannot see me’ to explain those four lines is a very apt analogy. If one explained it only in Confucian terms, it would probably fit even better—please say a word, Teacher.”

The Teacher said: “The first two lines mean: even when you are where no one is watching, you must always keep sincerity. The last two mean: even when you are face to face with others, you must often guard against the unexpected. Take the way Heaven moves: there is no sound and no odor, yet heavenly principle (tianli) is clear and bright, and sincerity in the end cannot be hidden. Is this not precisely the point of examining what is hidden and reading the first signs? Heaven, though without sound or odor and not knowable by hearing, has principle that is plainly manifest; sincerity cannot be covered up.”

Someone asked: “How should one explain that worry, regret, and faults arise from subtle signs?”

The Teacher said: “‘Jie’ means the will is firm—as in ‘my heart is not stone’ (wo xin fei shi), it cannot be turned. Whenever a thought arises, first hold to this firmness; once the mind is settled, even the slightest movement becomes an omen. How then could there be regret and fault? The key is to notice early.”

Someone asked: “What do ‘three days before jia and three days after jia’ and ‘three days before geng’ mean?” [End]

Someone asked: “Do ‘three days before jia and three days after jia’ mean the same as ‘three days before geng and three days after geng’?”

The master said: “They do not mean the same. The hexagram Gu (Decay) concerns ruin and disorder. When you notice trouble and guard against it before disorder has set in, it need not turn into chaos; when you notice and set things right only after disorder has already appeared, the situation may already be messy, yet it can still be salvaged; if you never notice at all, the disorder grows worse.

Jia suggests a beginning or a fresh start. Noticing and staying alert three days ahead is called xian jia (before jia); noticing only after three days have passed is hou jia (after jia). If you wait longer than three days, that is no longer timely notice.

Xian geng and hou geng appear in the hexagram Xun (The Gentle). The fifth line belongs to Xun; Xun stands for wind and also for Heaven’s command. Once a command is changed, people may cease to trust. So one should wait until the work is done and people are convinced (ri nai fu—“on that day there is sincerity”) before reforming. Three days before the change, explain clearly what helps and what harms; then make the change, and people will comply and believe. Three days after the change, warn again so that people are glad to turn toward what is good.

From jia through wu is the middle stretch; once the middle is passed, things shift, and that turning point is called geng. Geng means to alter and to transform.”

The Master said: “Dao is that Dao which cannot be put into words—so how is one to speak of it? Speak quickly, speak quickly.” I answered according to the Master’s intent, and the Master approved.

The Master said: “Dao cannot be spoken, nor can it be named. What is your view?” I replied: “Though I have spoken, I fear my understanding is shallow; I hope the Master will explain.” The Master said: “What manifests from the natural origin is the unspeakable Dao; since it originally has no name, it is the ‘name’ that cannot be named. What manifests from the Dao is the appearance of the Dao; once it can be called ‘Dao,’ it is the ‘name’ that can be named. The unspeakable and unnameable is the origin of Heaven and Earth; what can be spoken and named is the root of the ten thousand things. To apprehend its origin, one should often be without desire and observe its mystery; to apprehend the root of the ten thousand things, one should often have desire and observe the margin where it shows forth. ‘Mystery’ (miao) is deep and subtle, beginning from an origin beyond tracing; ‘margin’ (jiao) is the boundary—the edge manifest in things that can be seen. These two issue from the same source and differ only in name; both may be called mysterious.”

The Master also said: “When I formerly attended Master Shi’an, he gave me a couplet to match: ‘Essence Gate, Spirit Gate, and Qi Gate—the three passes in one convergence.’ I answered: ‘Heaven’s sounds, Earth’s sounds, and human sounds—the myriad sounds all resounding together.’ The Master changed ‘resounding’ (ming) to ‘clear and pure’ (cheng). What couplet would you offer?” I answered: “Gentle fire, martial fire, plus wisdom fire—the total fire in full accomplishment.” The Master said again: “I have a couplet: ‘Using prior awakening to awaken those who come after.’ What would you match it with?” I answered: “From external observation to internal observation.” The Master said: “Changing ‘from’ (you) to ‘turn back’ (fan) would be better.”

On the night of the winter solstice, the master said: “At the winter solstice, one yang returns and is reborn. Ancient sage-kings closed their doors and rested quietly on this day—what was that for?” The disciple replied: “When the Kun hexagram (all six lines yin) is complete, the noble person accordingly cultivates merit at the right moment.” The master expressed approval.

One day the master said before the assembly: “The heart of the sages’ Yijing is the Yijing in the hearts of those who come after.” He asked each person to compose a couplet. Someone answered: “The Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) within my body are originally primordial Qi (yuan shi qi).” Shen Zhanzai said: “Is not the true nature of the Grand Beginning precisely today’s own nature?” The true master said: “I too have a couplet—please listen carefully.” He said: “The scriptural treasury this junior has read is originally the same as Laozi’s canon.” No one could answer.

The master asked again: “The lung belongs to metal; metal naturally sinks—why does the lung float? The liver belongs to wood; wood naturally floats—why does the liver sink?” No one replied. The master explained: “The lung receives Qi and contains wood of the east within it, so it floats; the liver receives Qi and contains metal of the west within it, so it sinks.

“From the trigrams: Dui belongs to metal and metal’s nature is to sink; yet metal generates water as the first position of the north—water is the Kan hexagram, and the true fire within Kan burns upward, so metal also rises with it. Zhen belongs to wood and wood’s nature is to float; the lower part of Zhen is solid, and because wood generates fire as the second position of the south—fire is the Li hexagram, and the true water within Li descends—so wood also sinks with it.

“From the medicinal substances: lead belongs to metal and naturally sinks; meeting fire it rises, so it floats. Cinnabar (mercury) belongs to wood and naturally floats; meeting water it falls, so it sinks. From the imagery of cultivation: the moon belongs to Kan and naturally sinks; after applying fire (employing the fire phases in refinement and nurturing) it floats upward. The sun belongs to Li and naturally floats; after withdrawing the tally (following the fire phases to gather and subdue the breath) it sinks downward. The ancients said: ‘At the bottom of the pool the sun is red—the yin demons are destroyed.’ This means the sun image sinks because of water. ‘On the mountain peak the moon is white—the medicinal sprout is newly born.’ This means the moon image floats because of Qi.

“In sum, when metal is empty it floats; when wood is solid it sinks—that is the principle being spoken of.”

The master said: “The lord within the mind is the lord of lords; the guest within the mind is the guest of guests. A lord within the guest is the lord-in-guest; a guest within the lord is the guest-in-lord. How do you understand this?” No one could grasp what he meant.

Zhan Zai answered: “There is yet another body outside the body—this is ‘lord-in-lord.’ Within a dream there is again a dream—this is ‘guest-in-guest.’ When true nature shows itself amid feeling, that is ‘lord-in-guest.’ When feeling arises from true nature, that is ‘guest-in-lord.’” The master said: “That is getting closer.”

Zhan Zai went on: “I only keep to myself, yet I talk about others; others rule me, and I also command others—that is what this means.” The master said: “You still have not seen it clearly.”

Zhan Zai tried again: “Mind is guest-in-guest. When true nature appears within feeling, that is lord-in-guest. When feeling arises from true nature, that is guest-in-lord.” The master still said: “That is getting closer.” Zhan Zai once more explained it as “I and others ruling and commanding each other,” and the master again said: “You still have not seen it clearly.”

Later Zhan Zai said: “Outside mind there is no other mind—this is lord-in-lord. Within one thought another thought arises—this is guest-in-guest. To be aware before a thought stirs is lord-in-guest. To be aware only after a thought has stirred is guest-in-lord.” The master said: “To explain it through movement and stillness fits best.”

When stillness reaches its utmost, that is lord-in-lord. When movement has begun and goes on without pause, that is guest-in-guest. To hold to calm while in activity is lord-in-guest. To be outwardly still yet inwardly scattered is guest-in-lord.

The teacher asked: “All six lines of the Hexagram Qian (Modesty) are auspicious—why?” The reply was: “Because modesty keeps to the lower place, it can bring good fortune.” The teacher said: “That is so. Every line speaks of modesty—so why does the fifth line not speak of it?” Because the fifth line occupies the ruler’s position: if one is not excessively deferential, one does not lose authority. Hence the judgment says it is “favorable to undertake an expedition; nothing is unfavorable.” Practitioners of cultivation should unite strength with gentleness; they cannot be soft and yielding alone.

The teacher asked again: “What is meant by ‘acting before Heaven, yet Heaven does not oppose it; acting after Heaven, yet following Heaven’s seasons’?” The answer was: “What comes before birth is called xiantian (prior-to-heaven), so there is nothing to violate; what comes after birth is called houtian (after-heaven), so there is something to follow.” The teacher said: “This can be explained by prior awakening and later awakening: prior awakening arises from nature and is called xiantian; later awakening arises from what cannot be avoided and is called houtian. Following the Way of Heaven without going against it is spontaneity itself; when one acts from necessity, one still does not go against the Way of Heaven—hence ‘following Heaven’s seasons.’”

The teacher asked: “When joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have not yet appeared, this is called zhong (equilibrium); when they appear and all accord with measure, this is called he (harmony). I ask you: when emotion is about to arise but has not yet arisen, how should one grasp it?” After a long while someone answered. The teacher said: “That is already expressed.” I remained silent. The teacher said: “That is not yet expressed.” Someone answered again once; the teacher approved and said: “Keep this insight for your own reception—if it were spoken out, it might cover over the eyes of those who come after. Only when one realizes it for oneself can one truly put it into practice.”

Qing’anzi’s Record of Questions and Answers, Volume Two

Compiled by the disciple Ding’an Zhao Daoke

Essential Points of the Heart in the Dao and Its Virtue

Qing’an’s transmitted lectures on the Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Its Virtue).

At the Daode assembly (a transmission gathering in the Daoist gate), Qing’an transmitted the teaching of the Dao; Yuan’s attainment of the Dao was fitting. The disciples received instruction together and grasped the meaning of the scriptures beyond words. Their questions and answers in joint inquiry are gathered here for those of like mind to contemplate and awaken. Because these words must be felt in the heart and their depth understood, the piece is titled Essentials of Mind.

The master said: “The word ‘Dao’—it cannot be assigned to the side of having words and phrases, nor to the side of having none; it belongs neither to form nor to formlessness. How do you understand this?”

Ding’an said: “Tuo!” (a shout). Hei’an gave a shout.

The master said: “The word ‘De’—it is neither something produced by cultivation nor something obtained without cultivation; if there is no cultivation, how can it be called De?”

Hei’an replied: “Act, yet without the mind of deliberate action.” Ding’an repeated this to the master.

The master said: “Fellow disciples in the Dharma, leave the bondage of language and text and bring forth your own scripture.” Hei’an wrote characters in the air; Chengan answered with a clenched fist.

The master said: “The closing line of chapter one of the Daodejing says: ‘Deep again deep, the gate of all wonders.’ I hold that the thirty-six sections of revered scriptures all flow from this scripture. Then from where does this scripture flow? Leaving the mouth your parents gave you, speak one sentence.”

Hei’an assumed the posture of proclaiming the opening of scripture and repeated: “The closing line of chapter one of the Daodejing says: ‘Deep again deep, the gate of all wonders.’ I hold that the thirty-six sections of revered scriptures all flow from this scripture. Then from where does this scripture flow? Leaving the mouth your parents gave you, speak one sentence.” Ding’an gave a shout.

The master said: “Chapter two of the Daodejing says ‘being and non-being give birth to each other.’ Then, one sentence that does not fix on being or non-being—how should it be put?” After the assembly answered, the master judged that none had hit the mark. Chengan asked: “What counts as right?” The master said: “Just like this, just like this.”

The master said: “Chapter three of the Daodejing ends with ‘by acting without deliberate action, nothing is left ungoverned.’ Since it speaks of wuwei (non-action), why is there also the word ‘act’ (wei)? If the first half were youwei (deliberate action), how could the second half be wuwei?”

Ding’an said: “Substance and function are both present.” Wei’an said: “It is precisely in using it that one also leaves fixation on it.”

The master said: “In chapter four of the Daodejing, the line ‘before the Lord on High’—speak it with the mouth and you will wear out the root of the tongue; look at it with the eye and you will bulge the eyeballs. Holding the light in silence, you still deserve the staff.”

At this, everyone raised a hand; Bao’an drew a circle figure.

The master spoke on Chapter 5 of the Dào Dé Jīng: “Between heaven and earth—is it not like a tuó yuè?” (a bellows). In verse he said: “It has no bottom.” Because the bellows has no bottom, it is called tuó; because it has three openings, it is called yuè. In the middle there is still a tiny opening—no one can touch it, yet it can blow wordless music for you. What, then, is that tiny opening? Heyan said: “Watch the nostrils well.” Baoan said: “Hong.” And what is that wordless music? The master answered for them: “Bì luò kōng gē”—as if a song were ringing in the clear blue sky, yet no sound is heard.

The master spoke on Chapter 6: “The gate of the mysterious female” (xuán pìn zhī mén). He said: “When you exhale, do not be dragged by the ten thousand things; when you inhale, do not linger in the realm of yin. Neither going out nor coming in—how is one to grasp it?” Heyan replied: “Still and unmoving.” The master said: “The ten thousand sounds all become clear.” This uses breath to speak of the state of quiet absorption: when mind and spirit settle, it is as if the sounds of all things have fallen silent.

The master spoke on Chapter 7: “Is it not because he is selfless that he can fulfill his self?” (fēi yǐ qí wú sī yé, gù néng chéng qí sī). He said that a cultivator who acts only for himself is “private”; to save all sentient beings, if it comes from emotional attachment, is not true selflessness either. How should one put the line “not belonging to private feeling”? Dingan answered: “Others first, oneself last.”

The master spoke on Chapter 8: “The highest good is like water” (shàng shàn ruò shuǐ). He said: “Put this little thing down.” How many times has the Yellow River run clear? Then where should this “little thing” be placed? Dingan and Heyan gave the same answer.

He asked again: How should one put the line “not belonging to private feeling”? Dingan answered: “Others first, oneself last.”

The master again took up Chapter 8, “The highest good is like water.” He said: “Put this little thing down.” How many times has the Yellow River run clear? Where should this “little thing” be placed? Dingan and Heyan again gave the same answer.

The master spoke on Chapter 9: “When merit is complete and fame established, withdraw the person—this is the way of heaven” (gōng chéng míng suì shēn tuì, tiān zhī dào). He asked: “Withdraw to where?” Dingan said: “Shout once into empty space and there is no trace.” Heyan said: “Nowhere to go.” The master said: “Both wrong.” Someone asked: “Then what is right?” The master said: “Two feet slack as a bellows, hiding the Northern Dipper (Běidǒu).” The meaning is: the two feet relaxed and at ease, as if one could tuck away the stars of the Northern Dipper.

The master said: “Chapter 10 of the Dao De Jing speaks of ‘loading and carrying the soul’ (zai ying po). Po—the aspect tied to the physical body and instinctive qi—loves to run about and also loves boldness and fierceness. What method can restrain it? If you govern it with the mind, you fall into emotional thoughts; if you do not use the mind, you cannot govern it. What is one to do?” Heyan snapped his fingers.

The master said: “Chapter 11 says, ‘Thirty spokes share one hub; it is precisely because of the emptiness at the center that the cart has its use.’ Before the spokes have gathered on the hub, where is the cart?” Heyan said: “Turning the windlass.” Ding’an struck the pose of pushing a cart.

The master said: “Chapter 12 says, ‘The five colors make the eyes go blind.’ Leave behind form and color, and you become blind. How do you all understand this? Where is the ‘hey’?” Heyan said: “Turning the windlass.” Ding’an struck the pose of pushing a cart.

The master said again: “Chapter 12 says, ‘The five colors make the eyes go blind.’ Leave behind form and color, and you become blind. How do you all understand this?” Heyan said: “You see, yet it is as if you had not seen.”

The master said: “Chapter 13 says, ‘Value great suffering as if it were the body.’ Where there is a body, there is worry; without a body, how can one see the Dao? What is right after all?” Ding’an said: “Let go.” Heyan said: “Nurture what has no image.”

The master said: “Chapter 14 says, ‘Look at it and you do not see it.’ How do you all understand this seamless jar?” Shi’an said: “Wholly undifferentiated, like an egg.” The master said: “Still not right.” Someone asked: “What does the master say?” The master answered: “Face to face, yet you do not recognize each other.”

The master said: “Chapter 15 says, ‘Subtle, mysterious, and penetrating—deep beyond measure.’ For water you probe depth with a staff; for a person you probe with words. Then what do you use to seek the Dao?” Ding’an and Heyan both raised their fists. The master said: “Both of you receive the same penalty.”

The master said: “Chapter 16 says, ‘Reach emptiness to the utmost; hold stillness in earnest. The ten thousand things arise together; I watch their return.’ Some say that ‘return’ is seeing the heavenly heart. Where is the heavenly heart after all?” He added: “No moving—whoever moves gets a penalty.”

The master said again: “Chapter 16 says, ‘Reach emptiness to the utmost; hold stillness in earnest. The ten thousand things arise together; I watch their return.’ Some say that ‘return’ is seeing the heavenly heart. Where is the heavenly heart after all?” He added: “No moving—whoever moves gets thirty blows with the staff.” Ding’an snatched away the staff.

When the master expounded Chapter Seventeen, “Under the greatest rulers, the people only know they exist,” he said: “It belongs neither to the realm of form and appearance nor to that of formlessness without appearance. You must personally taste your own ‘Supreme’—your highest nature, your root.” No one replied. The master added: “Right now, in this very act of teaching, it is showing itself.”

On Chapter Eighteen, “When wisdom appears, great hypocrisy arises,” he said: “Cleverness makes people lose the root; crafty intelligence injures innate simplicity. How do you read this?” Zhi’an said: “Wuwei (non-action).” Sun’an said: “Sometimes wisdom is not as good as plain simplicity.”

On Chapter Nineteen, “Abandon sageliness and discard wisdom,” he asked how they understood it. Ding’an said: “Forget where you came from.”

On Chapter Twenty, “Abandon learning and there is no worry,” he asked: “What do you mean by ‘abandoning learning’?” Heian said: “Like trying to tie down the wind or catch a shadow—it cannot be done.” The master said: “To study with a mind that does not cling to study can repair the faults people usually fall into.”

On Chapter Twenty-One he asked: “There is something blended and complete, with shape and feeling—does it really exist? If you say it exists, investigate this ‘eye’—the mind that sees and knows; if you say it does not exist, investigate this ‘eye’ too. How are we to speak of it?” Heian said: “Not lodged in the two sides of being and non-being—only the one real aspect.” Sun’an drew a circle to show a rounded wholeness that words cannot catch.

On Chapter Twenty-Two, “The crooked is whole, the bent is straight,” he said: “Trees that are not ‘good timber’ may live long; geese that are not ‘good for the pot’ get slaughtered—how do we understand this?” Again no one answered. The master said: “Whether useful timber or not, each must follow the times and circumstances it is in.”

On Chapter Twenty-Three, “Few words accord with nature,” he said: “Keeping silent still belongs to a second level. What is the first?” Their answers missed the point. The master said: “When you open your mouth to speak, the crux is not on the tongue.”

On Chapter Twenty-Four, “On tiptoe you do not stand; straddle and you do not walk,” he asked for their understanding. Ding’an said: “The root of stepping is not in the heel.”

On Chapter Twenty-Five, “There is something undifferentiated and complete,” he asked: “What thing is that?” After Ding’an gave an example, the master asked: “Heaven and earth have four greats—is there something greater still?” Heian answered with a great shout.

The teacher said: “Chapter twenty-six teaches that levity makes one lose the root, and restlessness makes one lose mastery. How can one be neither reckless nor agitated?” Ding’an replied: “When the Great Dao prevails, the world is clear and orderly.” Hei’an replied: “Let one’s true nature keep showing forth and never be lost.”

The teacher said: “Chapter twenty-seven says that one who is good at walking leaves neither rut nor footprint. Do you all grasp the meaning?” Hei’an replied: “Someone of great power?” Ding’an replied: “When the Great Dao prevails, the world is clear and orderly.” Hei’an replied: “Let one’s true nature keep showing forth and never be lost.”

The teacher said again: “Chapter twenty-seven says that one who is good at walking leaves neither rut nor footprint. Do you all grasp the meaning?” Hei’an replied: “One who truly has great power does not display that power even when lifting a foot.” Here, leaving no trace illustrates acting naturally, without deliberate show.

The teacher said: “Chapter twenty-eight: holding to obscurity, softness, and accepting disgrace is the functioning of the Dao; the Limitless Origin, the Great Uncarved Block, and the infant state are the substance of the Dao. When primal simplicity splits apart into things and tools, how do you understand this?” Ding’an replied: “The ten thousand things constantly grow and change.”

The teacher said: “Chapter twenty-nine: whoever wants to take the world and act upon it—I see that this will never succeed. Here I think the text is wrong; where is the error?” Ding’an replied: “The error lies in the word ‘act’ (wei).”

The teacher said: “Chapter thirty: one who assists the ruler with the Dao does not rely on force to dominate the world. If enemy troops invade, how should one resist?” Hei’an replied: “Transform them through De (virtue/power).” The teacher said: “Better to guard them with loving-kindness (ci).”

The teacher said: “Chapter thirty-one: fine weapons are ill-omened things.” The teacher asked again: “Without arms one cannot repel the enemy; with arms one goes against the Dao—what should one do?” Ding’an replied: “Act against the usual rule, yet follow change.” This means responding flexibly under unavoidable circumstances and aligning with how things develop.

The teacher said: “Chapter thirty-two: the Dao is eternally Wuwei (non-action). Though the uncarved block of Dao is small, none under heaven dares treat it as a subject. How do you understand the line ‘the block is small’?” Ding’an replied: “Mount Sumeru can be held within a mustard seed.” This means the extremely small can contain the extremely great. Hei’an replied: “Though it stays in a lowly place, nothing surpasses it.”

The teacher said: “Chapter thirty-three: when the body dies yet the Dao does not perish, that counts as long life. What is it that does not perish?” Hei’an replied: “Being within non-being.” Mi’an replied: “Empty stillness yet spiritually clear, not veiled by dullness.”

The master said: “Chapter 34 explains that the sage does not take themselves to be great, and so can realize genuine greatness; they are content to stay low, yet nothing can go beyond them.”

The master said: “Chapter 33 explains that true long life is when the body may die but one’s original nature does not perish.” He asked again: “What is it that does not perish?” He’an replied: “It is within the void.” Mi’an replied: “The empty spirit is never dimmed—that is, the mind-nature is empty and clear, without obscuration.”

The master said: “Chapter 34 explains that because the sage does not take themselves to be great, they can realize genuine greatness.” He asked again: “What does it mean not to take oneself as great?” He’an replied: “Vigorously entering through the pearl gate.” The master said: “The highest good is like water.”

The master said: “Chapter 35 speaks of holding fast to the wholeness of the Dao (the Way).” He asked again: “If you say it has form, it cannot be called vast; if you say it is formless, how can you hold it?” He’an replied: “A world within the millet pearl”—meaning that within a pearl as tiny as a grain of millet, there is also a boundless world. The master said: “Because it seems like nothing in particular, it is therefore vast.”

The master said: “Chapter 36 explains: if you wish to contract something, you must first let it expand.” He added: “The eyebrows have already grown over the eyelashes—yet you have long missed it. Tell me, where did you go wrong?” Ding’an replied: “Right here in this very moment.” He’an replied: “The harrier has flown past Silla.” Shi’an replied: “Don’t wander off.” The master said: “These answers all count as passing.”

The master asked again: “Tell me, where did you go wrong?” Ding’an replied: “Right here in this very moment.” He’an replied: “The harrier has flown past Silla.” Shi’an replied: “Don’t wander off.” The master said: “These answers all count as passing.”

The master said: “Chapter 37 explains that the Dao (the Way) is always wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone.” The master also said: “I have a verse: ‘All that is done with deliberate action is illusion; wuwei (non-action) in turn falls into empty stillness; neither of these two paths is entered—each of you, speak one line of verse.’” He’an replied: “Face to face, yet no meeting.” Zhi’an replied: “Surely guard the middle.” Mi’an replied: “One naturally has great spiritual power.” The master said: “Right now, expound the essential teaching of the school.”

The master said: “Chapter 38 explains that one whose De (Virtue/Power) is deep does not claim to have De, and therefore truly has De.” He asked again: “What is De?” He’an replied: “Not treating what one already has as one’s private possession.” The master said: “That is not self-praise.”

The master said: “Chapter 39 explains: in antiquity, those who obtained the ‘One’—when Heaven obtained the One, it became clear.” He asked again: “Say where the ‘One’ is obtained.” He’an replied: “In the place of wuwei (non-action).” The master said: “With no deliberate doing, one naturally has all that is needed.” The master also said: “That is not self-praise.”

The master said: “Chapter thirty-nine: In antiquity, those who obtained the Way and merged with the ‘One’—when Heaven obtained the ‘One,’ it became clear and luminous.” The master asked: “Tell me, where is it that one ‘obtains the One’?” Heyan replied: “In the place of wuwei (non-action).” The master said: “It is even better in the place of the useless.”

The master said: “Chapter forty, in the final line: ‘All things under Heaven are born from being (you); being is born from non-being (wu).’” The master asked: “Apart from ‘non-being’ and ‘being,’ what else is there?” Heyan answered: “There is also ‘this’—I’ll bring it out for you to see.” Here, “jusi” means to hold something up for others to look at, to speak it so others may hear.

The master said: “Chapter forty-one: When people of the lowest grade hear the Dao, they burst out laughing.” The master asked: “What are they laughing at?” Heyan offered a line: “They laugh at ‘this.’” Mian Abbey said: “They laugh at wuwei.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-two: Sometimes through decrease one gains; sometimes through increase one is diminished.” The master asked: “When there is neither decrease nor increase, what is that situation?” Heyan answered: “There is neither lack nor surplus.” The master said: “You have picked apart what was originally whole and undifferentiated.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-three: The softest things in the world can move among the hardest things in the world.” The master continued: “When external things provoke you, do not contend with them; when the matter has passed, the mind grows cool and clear. What is this cool, clear state?” Heyan replied: “There is no feverish turmoil or vexation.” The master said: “There must also be no avidyā—no darkness of not knowing the truth.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-four: ‘Fame and the self—which is closer? Body and goods—which counts as more?’” Chuan the Elder said: “If one can employ the treasure one originally has at home, then crying birds and mountain flowers will all seem equally fresh.” What is this treasure one has at home? Heyan answered: “Li-li-lo.” Ding Abbey gave a shout. The master said: “That is one day’s compassion.”

The master said: “Chapter forty-five: The previous chapter spoke of ‘knowing contentment, one is not disgraced; knowing when to stop, one is not endangered’—that is speaking of always being content. This chapter says that great completion looks as if it were flawed, and great fullness looks like emptiness—as if it were not complete. So what counts as complete, and what as incomplete?” Sun Abbey and Zhi Abbey answered: “Fullness invites loss; humility brings benefit.” The master said: “When virtue is more than enough yet one considers oneself insufficient, that is called longevity; when wealth is more than enough yet one still feels it is not enough, that appears base and petty. That is why it is put this way.”

The master spoke on chapter 46 of the Daodejing: “No guilt is greater than giving in to desire”—meaning there is no fault worse than indulging desire. The text also says, “The sage does not show what is desirable, so that people’s hearts are not disturbed”—that is, do not chase what stirs desire, so the heart is not thrown into turmoil. The master asked: if you turn back at once to heal this, you only save half—where is the other half? Ding’an replied: “It does not leave the present place”—what you must realize and rescue is right here; there is no need to seek elsewhere.

The master spoke on the closing line of chapter 47, “Without seeing, yet named; through wuwei, yet accomplished,” and asked what “name” is and what “accomplishment” is. Ding’an and He’an answered: “When virtue is accomplished, it is called Dao”—when De is fully realized, that is what is named Dao.

The master spoke on chapter 48, “In learning, daily increase; in Dao, daily decrease,” and asked what is increased and what is decreased. Ding’an answered: “Decrease the self, benefit others”—reduce selfishness so others gain. He’an answered: “Decrease emotion, nourish nature”—lessen emotional entanglements so original nature is nourished.

The master mentioned chapter 49 without further question and answer.

The master spoke on chapter 50, “Those of life are three in ten; those of death are three in ten”—those oriented toward life and those toward death each account for roughly three tenths. The master said the nirvana heart (the mind that transcends birth and death, still and without clinging) is easy to grasp, but discriminating wisdom (the wisdom that distinguishes things) is hard to explain, and asked what discriminating wisdom is. No one answered. The master said: “The benevolent call it benevolence; the wise call it wisdom”—different people, according to what they see, understand it differently. He asked again what the nirvana heart is; still no reply. The master said: “Before, no ancient past; after, no fixed present”—meaning this mind is not bound by the split between past and present.

The master spoke on chapter 51, “Dao gives them life; De rears them,” and asked what Dao gives birth to and what De nourishes. Shi’an answered: “Giving life and rearing—nothing but this.” The master said: “Still a bit short”—the answer had not yet hit the essential point.

The master spoke on chapter 52, “The world has a beginning; take that as the mother of the world,” and linked it to chapter 1’s “the named is the mother of the ten thousand things,” asking what “name” really is. No one could answer. Cheng’an asked: “What do you call this name?” The master called “Cheng’an,” and Cheng’an responded. The master said: “The name is already in place”—when you address someone, the name is already manifest.

The master said: “Chapter 53 of the Daodejing says: ‘If I understood the Dao even a little and walked on the great Way, my only fear would be straying from it.’” The master asked: “What would you fear?” Heian replied: “Fearing to go against Heaven’s mandate.”

The master said: “Chapter 54 of the Daodejing says: ‘Use the method of observing one country to observe the whole world.’” The master continued: “Observing a country is not easy; observing one’s own body and mind is harder still. When the sea dries up, you can still see the bottom; when a person dies, no one knows what has become of their heart. Is there anyone who can truly know the human heart?” The assembly answered out of turn. Chengan asked the master: “Is there anyone who can truly know the human heart?” The master replied: “Who is it that asks this question?”

The master said: “Chapter 55 of the Daodejing says: ‘One who embodies De deeply is like an infant.’” The master said: “This is what Mencius meant by ‘the great person does not lose the heart of a newborn child.’ Tell me: is the infant’s heart already a mind in motion?” Heian replied: “It is pure and undivided.” Dingan replied: “It is still and unmoving.” The master said: “You have not yet hit the point. You do not understand that returning to the root is precisely the working of the Dao.”

The master said: “Chapter 56 of the Daodejing says: ‘Those who truly know do not speak much; those who speak much do not truly know.’” The master asked: “Is this a mind already in motion?” Heian replied: “It is pure and undivided.” Dingan replied: “It is still and unmoving.” The master said: “You have not yet hit the point. You do not understand that returning to the root is precisely the working of the Dao.”

The master also said: “Chapter 56 of the Daodejing says: ‘Those who truly know do not speak much; those who speak much do not truly know.’” The master asked: “What counts as speaking? What counts as not speaking?” No one in the assembly answered to the point. The master said: “The mouth your parents gave you cannot, in the end, speak this matter through for you.”

The master said: “Chapter 57 of the Daodejing says: ‘Govern the state with the upright Way, use surprise in war, and win the world through wuwei (non-action).’” The master asked: “How can winning the world be called wuwei? And how does wuwei win the world?” No one answered. The master said: “Lead the people by De (Virtue).”

The master said: “How should the closing line of Chapter 58, ‘bright yet not dazzling,’ be understood?” The assembly had nothing to say. The master said: “Wearing coarse hemp cloth while keeping fine jade hidden in the bosom”—meaning inner virtue without display or boast.

The master said: “Chapter 59 of the Daodejing says: ‘In governing the people and serving Heaven, nothing is better than restraint and care.’ How is this line to be understood?” Zhian replied: “Frugality.” The master said: “Begin from frugality.”

The master said: “Chapter 60 of the Daodejing says: ‘When the Dao is used to govern the world, ghosts and spirits do not manifest to cause harm.’ How is this to be explained?” Heian replied: “Ghosts and spirits have no opening to show their power.” Dingan replied: “What is deviant cannot disturb what is upright.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-one: A great state occupies the lower stream.” He also said: “Simply extend the hand of wuwei (non-action); without raising weapons, one can still settle the realm. What is meant by ‘the hand of wuwei’?” Hei’an said: “Overturn the three teachings.” Cheng’an said: “A great state occupies the lower stream.” The master repeated: “Simply extend the hand of wuwei; without raising weapons, one can still settle the realm. What is meant by ‘the hand of wuwei’?” Hei’an said: “Overturn the three teachings.” Cheng’an said: “Break through the empty void.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-two: Can guilt be remitted through this?” He asked again: “Where is the fault?” Ding’an said: “You look for fault and cannot find any.” The master tossed the scripture aside and said: “Stop turning the same doubt over and over.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-three: To deal with what is hard, begin with what is easy.” He also said: “To call it easy is not truly easy; to call it hard is not truly hard. The marvel within this—each of you, add a further line.” Hei’an said: “It was always in the middle.” Shi’an said: “It never strays from the xuanguan (the mysterious pass, the pivotal gate in mind-and-body cultivation).” The master said: “Face south and look at the Northern Dipper.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-four: When things are still stable, they are easy to hold.” He asked: “How do you understand this?” Hei’an said: “Check them while the first signs barely show.”

The master said: “Chapter sixty-five: Those of old who were skilled in the Dao did not try to make the people clever; they tried to keep them plain.” He also said: “Every deliberate, contrived method splits into three thousand six hundred schools. See them through from beginning to end, and you know they are only spirit-wearing labor in the end. I alone embrace the nameless uncarved simplicity; countless demons lower their crimson banners. Do you understand?” Ding’an said: “The moment you fix on something, you are already wrong.” Hei’an threw the scripture aside.

The master said: “Chapter sixty-six: Rivers and seas become kings of the hundred streams because they are good at staying low.” He asked again: “Tell me—is it that rivers and seas lie below the hundred streams, or that the hundred streams lie below rivers and seas?” Hei’an said: “Gathering and scattering, in the end, all return to the One.” Ding’an said: “Those above yield; those below comply.” The master said: “Low, low, low.”

The master took up Chapter 67 of the Dao De Jing: “If one abandons compassion yet acts fierce and bold; abandons frugality yet lives in display; abandons yielding yet races to be first—such a person is headed for ruin.” The master added: “Do not drink the water of ignorance (wuming).” He then asked: “What is the water of ignorance?” Ding’an replied: “On level ground, one sinks for no apparent reason.” Hei’an replied: “Waves swell though there is no wind.” These impossible scenes stand for a person clouded over, no longer seeing clearly.

The master turned to Chapter 68: “A leader who is good at command does not flaunt martial prowess.” He went on: “Do not cling to the literary, and do not cling to the martial; there is nothing to gain and nothing to lose. When you touch the nostrils, sweat breaks out over the whole body. Tell me: before your parents had given birth to you, where were the nostrils?” Ding’an said: “Where exhalation and inhalation occur.” Hei’an said: “In the interval between opening and closing.” Shi’an said: “Right below the eyebrows.” The phrase “before your parents bore you” is a standard Chan topic of inquiry; here it is used to turn the listener back toward one’s original condition.

The master continued with Chapter 69: “There is a saying among those who use armies: I would not presume to play the host who attacks, but would rather be the guest who responds.” He then asked: “How are host and guest to be distinguished?” No one could answer. The master said: “Who are you? And who am I?” He added: “Two eyes facing two eyes.” The host–guest relation is posed as a question so that hearers may directly feel the situation of mutual facing.

On Chapter 70 the master said: “My Dao is easy to understand and easy to put into practice—so why is it said that no one can understand it and no one can practice it?” He continued: “If here you can utter one phrase that hits the mark, your study is complete; if not yet, go on with the investigation.” Ding’an replied: “The common people use it every day without knowing they do.” Hei’an replied: “It is right before the eyes, yet people fail to recognize it.” The master said: “Simply because it shows itself too plainly.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-one says that to know that one does not know is to be enlightened; not to know yet to think one knows is a fault. How is this fault to be cured?”

Hei’an replied: “By keeping the mind clear and free from delusion.” The disciples present all answered in ways that did not satisfy the master. The master said: “I use the nameless, formless, plain Dao to settle it.” He added: “Otherwise, swallow a whole red-hot iron ball.” He added again: “Those whose foundation is shallow must first take medicine to purge mistaken views.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-two says that when the people no longer fear authority, a greater authority will descend upon them. What is this ‘great authority’?”

Hei’an replied: “Life and death are the weightiest matters.” The master said: “The transformations of impermanence arrive swiftly.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-three says that one who presses forward aggressively invites destruction, while one who is cautious and does not act rashly can preserve life. What is the key that can destroy and can preserve life?” No one answered. The master said: “It is like a king who holds a sword in his hand.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-four says that whoever takes the place of a master carpenter in hewing wood seldom avoids cutting his own hand. How are we to understand this?”

Ding’an replied: “It is work that belongs to another’s trade, not one’s own.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-five concludes that only one who does not treat staying alive as supremely important surpasses those who cherish life above all. How do you understand this?”

Ding’an replied: “Because such a person is not afraid of death.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-six says that while alive the body is soft, but after death it becomes stiff. How are we to understand this?”

Ding’an replied: “Softness is the condition of life.”

The master said: “Chapter seventy-seven says that the Dao of Heaven reduces what is in excess and supplements what is lacking, whereas the way of the world often cuts down the insufficient to supply those who already have more than enough. For the moment, tell me: when there is neither reduction nor increase, what is that like?” No one could answer. The master said: “That, too, is the soft state that has life in it.”

The master spoke again: “Chapter seventy-seven says that the Dao of Heaven reduces what is in excess and supplements what is lacking, whereas the way of the world often cuts down the insufficient to supply those who already have more than enough. For the moment, tell me: when there is neither reduction nor increase, what is that like?” Again no one could answer. The master said: “Neither surplus nor shortage—take what is at hand, and it is exactly right.”

The master said: “The Dao De Jing, chapter seventy-eight, says: ‘One who bears the nation’s misfortune can become the ruler of all under heaven.’ How should we understand this?” No one answered. The master said: “Do not hold back out of caution.”

The master said: “The Dao De Jing, chapter seventy-nine, says: ‘Even when deep resentment is reconciled, some resentment remains. How can that be called complete?’ How should we explain this?” Wei’an said: “Restraining oneself is doing good.” Ding’an said: “Restraining oneself so that words and conduct accord with ritual propriety.” He’an said: “Compassion and forbearance are doing good.” The master said: “Each of these takes on a share of the fault.” Someone asked: “Master, how would you put it?” The master said: “Forget both favor and resentment.”

The master said: “The Dao De Jing, chapter eighty, ends with: ‘The people do not travel back and forth to one another even until old age and death.’ How should we explain this?” He’an said: “Let each household dwell in peace.” Ding’an said: “No strife or contention.” The master said: “The inner realm does not leak outward, and the outer realm does not enter in.”

The master said: “The Dao De Jing, chapter eighty-one, says: ‘The sage’s Dao is active in doing, yet does not contend.’ What is meant by not contending?” Everyone answered, but none hit the point. The master said: “Raise the banner pole (shagan) before the gate.”

The master also said: “Each of you use one paired line to grasp the two characters ‘Dao’ and ‘De.’” He’an said: “Dao holds all functions within; De appears in humaneness and love.” Ding’an said: “Dao is not obtained through cultivation; De is not obtained through seeking.” Wei’an said: “Dao is not absent in emptiness; De is not confined only to what has form.” Shi’an said: “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; highest De does not take De as its name.”

The master said: “Dao is still and unmoving; De, once stirred by responsiveness, follows and flows through change.” He also said: “Dao is clear, quiet, and luminous; De is humble, soft, and compliant in its going.”

The master said: “Each of you must compose a couplet to verify the two words ‘wuwei’ and ‘daode’ (Dao and De).” No one replied. The master said: “When speaking of Dao, raise your fist in gesture; when speaking of De, bow your head in respect.”

The master pointed at a candle and said: “Each of you compose a couplet that shows this candle’s substance and function.” Heyan said: “Its substance fills empty space; its function pierces darkness with light.” Shian said: “Its substance is perfectly round and complete; its function is radiant shining light.” The master said: “The substance is originally thus—unmoving and unshaken; the function is bright and complete, shining through and illuminating.” He added: “The substance props up heaven and supports earth; the function illuminates heaven and earth and glorifies the ten thousand things.”

The master said: “Each of you must compose a couplet that shows the candle’s substance and function without using words.” Again no one answered. The master raised the candle and said: “Substance perfectly round and complete, function radiant shining light; substance originally thus—unmoving and unshaken, function bright and complete, shining through and illuminating; substance props up heaven and supports earth, function illuminates heaven and earth and glorifies the ten thousand things.” After hearing this, everyone gained some insight.

Qing’an Zi’s Q&A Records, Scroll Three

Compiled by Zhizhang Shian Miao Shanshi

Just inside the Zhonghe Hermitage (a Daoist center for practice and teaching), before you stands a silver mountain and iron wall—who built this barrier? If you can penetrate it, it neither closes nor opens. Say how this barrier is to be passed through. The master struck his staff on the ground and said: “Hey! Enter the sacred hall right from here.”

As soon as one speaks of “the golden pass taking form” (the image of the golden barrier appearing as a body), heaven’s secret is already leaked; add outward solemn imagery on top of that, and it is another mistake. What is to be done? The master shouted: “Tut! To see the form of the golden full moon, all of you step inward one pace further in inquiry.”

This sage is utterly compassionate and humane, utterly numinous and sacred; he holds the gate of life and death and issues the command to kill and revive (in Chan parlance, the skillful means that sever attachment and grant new life), stirring the muddy and clearing the pure, driving out the deviant and upholding the correct. Even when he displays such great spiritual power, he must still seek his life from Qing’an’s hand. Given that, what should one bow to? The master said: “Hey! Since you bow because of me, who would dare not show respect?”

Winter Solstice: Ascending the Hall to Lecture on Scripture

After ascending the dharma seat, offering incense, and reciting the prayer, the master raised his staff and said: “The Dao is originally beyond words, and I am not skilled at saying much, so I will borrow this staff to make the point. Sometimes in my hand it appears as ti (substance, the root and body); sometimes as yong (function, action and application).” He pressed the staff horizontally and asked: “Is this substance or function?” After a silence he went on: “When it functions, it can prop up heaven and support earth. This staff’s spiritual power is hard to fathom; its wondrous uses are inexhaustible. Just now, when I raised it, the boundless hosts of the ten directions—the Flying Spirit Kings, the Great Gods of Long Life, and all the rest—stood respectfully to one side; even the Supreme Lord Laojun (Taishang Laojun) pleaded for mercy beneath the tip of the staff. Why? Once authority is in your hand, you can issue commands at will.”

The master lifted the staff and said: “Look, everyone.” Then he struck once and said: “One blow, and empty space leaps and bounds.” He stirred with the staff and said: “One stir, and primordial chaos blends into one.” He drew a line and said: “One stroke, and the fence between the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) is cut open.” He tapped the ground with the staff and said: “One tap, straight through your nostrils.” That is to say, the staff’s movements point directly at the aperture of the heart-mind. The master added: “Though it has such great power and reaches the whole earth, it has not truly struck a single person. Why? Qing’an’s staff does not strike the dull and obtuse.” He shouted: “Who wants to take this blow? Step forward.”

Shian stepped forward, bowed, and asked: “Snow at the winter solstice—what does it mean?” The master replied: “This one question—drip water turns to ice. You cannot take it purely as an auspicious sign, yet you cannot fail to take it as an auspicious sign either. Without the eye that comes from earnest study, you cannot see it as auspicious; if you still lack that eye, what then can you say? Yi!”

When earth thunder shakes, it symbolizes the birth of the first yang. The Pure Maiden and the Green Youth meet in the Crimson Palace; after singing, dancing, and drinking wine, the clouds and rain disperse, as if scattering broken jade into the sky. Is this not the sight of snow falling at the winter solstice? Know that these images must not be grasped as real states of attainment.

Why? To guard body and mind, one need not seek the winter solstice outside. Within the human body there is its own moment when the first yang is born. In a year there is the year’s winter solstice; in a month, the month’s; in a day, the day’s; in each two-hour period, that period’s as well. The “Festival of One Yang” is the winter solstice of the year; the first day of the month is the winter solstice of the month; the Zi hour at midnight is the winter solstice of the day. Then what is the winter solstice within the body?

Shi’an said, “Master, please instruct us.”

The master said, “The moon rises to the center of the sky, a clear breeze stirs the water—such quiet, fine meaning is understood by few. Do you understand?”

Shi’an replied, “I understand.”

The master said, “I fear there is still something you do not understand. Do you remember the chapter of the Dao De Jing on ‘Reaching Utmost Emptiness’?”

Shi’an said, “I remember.”

The master said, “First recite the opening four lines.”

Shi’an recited: “Reach the utmost of emptiness; hold firmly to stillness. The ten thousand things arise and change together; from this I observe how they return to the root.”

The master said, “Confucius said that thunder hidden beneath the earth symbolizes the hexagram Fu (Return)—one yang returning and vital force reviving. The ancient sage-kings on the winter solstice closed the passes: merchants and travelers did not pass, and the ruler did not tour the realm. This means that in high antiquity the emperor withdrew at the winter solstice, letting people settle in quiet and await the renewal of yang. After yang is renewed, the four seasons run in order and the five grains yield abundantly. When the first yang returns, one should keep still: inwardly the mind does not chase outward, and outward things do not disturb the inner heart, waiting quietly for yang to revive. Once yang revives, body and mind are at peace and every part of the body is in harmony—this is the way of long life and clear vision.”

“For example, today it snows at the winter solstice, so travelers naturally do not go out—is that not auspicious? Yet however many such omens there may be, none equals your own inner stability.”

“Now recite the next four lines: ‘The ten thousand things flourish and grow, yet each returns to its root; returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to life’s source.’”

The master said: “These four lines speak of observing the changes of the ten thousand things, and thereby understanding that all things ultimately return to the root. Take the Fu hexagram (Return, in the Book of Changes, symbolizing yang qi beginning to revive) as an example: it shifts from Kun to Fu; Kun represents stillness. Every auspicious sign is inferior to returning to wuwei and quiet.”

He then recited four more lines: “The ten thousand things flourish in abundance, yet each in the end returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to one’s original nature.”

The master said: “These four lines speak of observing change and understanding return to the root. Again using the Fu hexagram: it moves from Kun to Fu; Kun is stillness, yang is movement. When stillness reaches its extreme, movement arises anew, and the Heavenly Heart (the inherent heart of heaven and earth that generates the ten thousand things) appears.”

He recited four more lines: “Returning to one’s original nature is called the constant; knowing the constant Dao is called clarity. Not knowing the constant Dao yet acting recklessly invites misfortune.”

The master said: “If people in the world can grasp these principles, they can reach the true constant directly—hence it is called ‘clarity.’ If yang has only just begun to revive yet one remains dull and unaware, acting on one’s own, one will surely endanger life—hence it is called ‘danger.’”

He recited four more lines: “One who knows the constant can be all-embracing; being all-embracing, one can be impartial; being impartial, one can become leader of the multitude; as leader of the multitude, one can align with the Dao of Heaven.”

The master said: “‘Embracing’ means widely receiving and containing; ‘impartial’ means extending equally to all. When one is impartial and universal, one can become ruler and teacher. Heaven and humanity follow the same principle.”

He recited what followed: “Heaven aligns with the Dao; the Dao endures without ceasing; a person will never fall into peril for life.”

The master said: “Emulating heaven and uniting with the Dao—the teaching on long life and clear vision is complete. From here, going further, one can realize the subtle realm of ‘patience with the dharma of non-arising’ (firm insight into the principle of neither birth nor extinction). If someone truly grasps and immediately receives this teaching, continuing to cultivate stillness and concentration until reaching the utmost of emptiness and stillness and the depth of steadfast quiet, the Heavenly Heart will appear. Once the Heavenly Heart appears, great light will shine forth in the present moment, illuminating the three thousand great thousand worlds (the vast cosmos in Buddhist cosmology). In each world there are again three thousand great thousand lands; in each land, three thousand great thousand dharma gates; in each gate, three thousand great thousand good and wise guides (sages who lead others in practice); each guide has three thousand great thousand followers; and each follower likewise possesses such eyes…”

When each person manifests such a mind of heaven (the clear, selfless heart within one’s original nature) and each radiates such light, it illumines the three thousand great thousand worlds (the vast, boundless cosmos in Buddhist cosmology). Reaching this state, people on earth are as if breathing through a single nostril—hearts and minds in mutual accord.

Only then does one understand that every month and day is the winter solstice, and every moment is the winter solstice too; today’s solstice is nothing but an ordinary day. An ancient master said: “Most of the time, days are ordinary from the start.” Yet restless sentient beings stir everyone into a flurry of busyness. If the winter solstice is said to be an ordinary day, why hold a ritual today? Is it superfluous? Even so, one can only follow local custom and offer the usual explanation. Does anyone grasp this explanation?

Shian said: “I do not.”

The master said: “Ask me.”

Shian asked: “What is this winter-solstice explanation?”

The master said: “Today is mid-winter; we happily meet with auspicious snow. May you be well in rising and resting; may all affairs be fortunate and smooth. Do you understand?”

Shian answered: “I understand.”

The master said: “Since you understand, why do you not bow?”

Shian bowed.

The master said: “Wait a moment—there is still a higher layer of meaning.”

Shian asked: “What else is there?”

The master said: “Qing’an raises and says: Auspicious snow answers the winter-solstice festival—a sign of good fortune. May you receive the blessings heaven bestows. Take care; take care.”

Having spoken, he stepped down from the seat and dismissed the assembly.

The master again raised the whisk (the fly-whisk a Dharma teacher holds, often standing for preaching the Dharma) and addressed the assembly: “The substance of the Dao has no form; the Dao has no fixed name. Originally it cannot be spoken, and once spoken it cannot be exhausted. Since I have ascended the seat to preach today, I will let this whisk speak for me.”

He lifted the whisk for all to see and said: “This whisk is no ordinary whisk—it is a thing that stirs up turmoil. Why? The moment it is raised, it makes people doubt the patriarchs’ teaching, can blind the assembly’s eyes, and even provokes dispute. This whisk is all mouth, all hand, all eye; its spiritual power is hard to fathom and its transformations are endless.” He held the whisk upright and said: “Look—does it have eyes?”

The master struck the sounding board and asked, “Do you hear the sound?” Then he threw down his whisk and shouted, “Eh! Does that count as spiritual power?”

The attendant picked up the whisk and handed it back to the master. The master said, “You can use it right in this moment, and you can also use it apart from this moment.” After a pause he added, “Mountains, rivers, and the great earth are all on this whisk; the myriad things of the world, the three worthies and ten sages, and all the people on the whole earth are also on this whisk.” He shook the whisk and asked the assembly, “Is there anyone who is not on the whisk? If so, come out and meet me.”

Layman Huang stepped forward and said, “When thunder rolls like a bolt splitting the sky, even the stars in the heavens turn cold.” He asked the master, “What is the ‘one-yang message’?” The master drew a circle in the air and asked, “Do you understand?” Layman Huang said, “I understand.” The master asked again, “Then what is the ‘one yang’ in the body?” The master swept the whisk and gave a great shout. Layman Huang said, “I understand it in this moment.” The master said, “Go on just like this.” Layman Huang bowed and said, “If the master had not personally broken through the point for me, I would almost have missed the gate of ‘one yang arising.’”

Dai Jia’an asked, “Days are ordinary by nature, yet sentient beings are busy and in turmoil. Why is this day called the winter solstice, and why do we speak of ‘one yang arising’? Yet now it is snowing—how are we to understand this?” The master answered, “The earth is level; heaven and earth are one white expanse. Do you understand?” Dai Jia’an said, “I still do not understand.” The master said, “Come closer; I will tell you.” Dai Jia’an went up to the master, who said, “Even when great snow covers a thousand mountains in pure white, that lone peak still stands tall on its own.” Dai Jia’an bowed and withdrew.

The master added, “I have a hidden phrase for you all to investigate. The scripture says: In the vague and indistinct there is an image; in the vague and indistinct there is a substance. Tell me, what thing is this?”

If someone truly penetrates this teaching, they could pull Li Qing’an down from the Dharma seat, give him a sound thrashing, then bury him deep in a pit so no trace remains—and that would not be going too far. If they fail to penetrate it, Li Qing’an will bury them instead. If it is still unclear, I will add a note and put it in verse:

I have one thing:

It can shrink or swell;

Its substance is the same as Taixu (the vast empty void),

Yet its function fills the Dharmadhatu (the whole cosmos).

Lift it up—heaven cannot hold it;

Set it down—the earth cannot bear it.

Those who see it stare with bulging eyes;

Those who hear it feel as if their skulls might split.

If a Daoist grasps it, he can shake Peng Island and the Three Immortal Peaks;

If a monk grasps it, he can hold the Caoxi lineage (the Southern Chan tradition).

Use it to govern a state—the realm is stable and the people prosper;

Use it to aid cultivation—the age is clear and the Dao flourishes.

Ask its price—it is worth ten thousand taels of gold;

Meet a kindred spirit—and he would give it for not one cash.

Why not one cash?

Because he seeks no profit, only the thrill;

Right now he shows it to you.

“Do you understand?”

Shian answered: “I do not understand.”

The master said: “Leave aside for now whether you understand or not. At this moment I am only buying and selling with myself.”

He then drew a yuanxiang (the Chan circle signifying completeness or the mind-seal) and said: “Look—in the gap where these two palms meet, fragrance naturally rises.”

Dharma hall sermon on the birthday of Taishang Laojun (the Supreme Old Lord / Laozi)

The master ascended the ritual seat and said: “The supreme Great Dao originally has no fixed form, yet it is always present in the midst of daily life. Alas, those who have never applied themselves to study insist that they have already transcended the hidden realm and passed beyond the gate of birth and death.”

The master then asked the assembly: “Where exactly is the Supreme Venerable One (Taishang)?” He added: “Look—right now the teaching is being given here. Do you understand? Even if you grasp it in this moment, you are still a hair’s breadth away from truly and intimately experiencing the Great Dao. Why? If you call that ‘the Supreme Venerable One,’ then what are you yourself? You must investigate all the way to the bottom of your own being before you can genuinely and closely know the Great Dao.”

The Scripture on Constant Clarity and Stillness Spoken by the Supreme Venerable Lord Laozi (Taishang Laojun Shuo Chang Qingjing Jing) says: “The way of true constancy—those who awaken can naturally apprehend it.” That is precisely what is meant. The scripture also says: “Living beings fail to attain the true Dao because they have a deluded mind.” Once the deluded mind stirs, all sorts of distinctions and conditioned entanglements arise; caught in these conditions, one loses the root of the Dao.

Seeing that living beings had lost their true nature, the sages established various skillful means to guide the world to leave defilement and escape delusion. For this reason this scripture was composed. What is called a “jing (scripture)” is a path that leads one back to the Great Dao.

When reading this scripture, you should understand: “Jing” is only a provisionally assigned name; originally there is nothing that can be spoken. It cannot be grasped, nor can it be discarded; it cannot be added to, nor can it be reduced; it cannot be depicted in words, nor can it be held up for others to see. It does not belong to disputation, does not belong to knowledge or sensory experience, and does not fall under “being” or “non-being.” Do not understand it as some concrete image, and do not take it as mere emptiness; do not understand it only through textual meaning, and do not understand it as annihilation or as permanence. Yet those who cultivate the Dao should still…