《云山集》

Volume One of Collected Writings from Cloud Mountain contains a piece titled “Rhapsody on Nature.” It begins by praising human nature for carrying forward the wisdom of those who came before, enlightening those who come after, and understanding both antiquity and the present. When a person is born, nature comes into view; when a person dies, life reaches its end. In stillness, it is expressed as nature; in activity, it appears as mind. Nature has deep and distant roots, and is profound and subtle. It embodies the wondrous workings of the unborn, sometimes hidden, sometimes manifest, and ever changing. The text then continues, “When it had not yet carved the One,” leaving the sentence unfinished.

Its radiance shines through past and future: it understands antiquity and knows the present. To emerge from the world and appear is birth; to return to hidden stillness is death. In stillness, what appears is one’s nature; in movement, what is set in motion is the mind. Its spiritual source is profound and subtle, hazy and hard to grasp. It embodies the wondrous function of non-birth, now disappearing, now appearing, its presence rising and sinking without fixed course.

Before chaos had opened and before thoughts had stirred, it revealed the patterns of the earth, silently gathering and returning to stillness. It sent forth the light of heaven, suddenly opening into clarity and wisdom. It had already transcended the illusory realm and could scarcely be named in words; it also accorded with the constant, true Dao, free and unrestrained. Thus it can appear in movement and stillness, in speech and silence, yet its essence belongs to none of the sensory realms of taste, color, sound, or fragrance. When it unfolds, it extends everywhere, near and far; when it gathers in, it can hide in the tiniest place. It is like a fierce fire rekindled in cold ashes, or a withered tree blooming once more.

By cultivating the true Dao, one refines the Elixir, beyond even the spirits’ ability to fathom. By gathering emptiness into substance, one becomes impervious to weapons. As for the many forms of action and cessation, though they differ in appearance, their source is shared. Those who wield their insight with agility should seize the moment; those who cultivate themselves in quiet detachment can draw from it a rich and lasting benefit. The realm symbolized by the white ox is vast without limit; the jeweled tower is exquisite and seamless. Even when a saying is hung on the wall, it does not blunt the force of a sharp, illuminating exchange. To turn and transform amid shouts and blows is no different from casually taking up an object, selecting a topic, and composing a verse. Here, Chan Buddhist expressions such as “saying” and “shouts and blows” describe how practitioners use a pointed exchange to awaken the mind.

When things from outside come before it, the mind sees clearly; when touched, it responds and connects. It is like stars reflected in a clear, deep pool, or the features of Hu and Han reflected in a bright mirror. Its wondrous function turns like a pivot; like flowing water, it returns to great harmony and quiet balance. It expands with a freedom no mountain cloud can match, and is perfectly rounded and luminous, unlike even the moonlight over a river.

Some people know no restraint in eating and drinking and indulge the seven emotions. Unable to preserve their nature and roam freely at ease, they instead struggle against one another over the senses and desires of body and mind. Their pursuit of wealth and wielding of swords are no match for a loose roof tile or an unmoored boat, free of all attachment. They are simply confined by form and objects, turning away from the mysterious Dao on which they could rely. The way of widely spreading teachings is unobstructed; universal teaching is as natural as a donkey’s bray. Teaching without words is perfectly clear, and amid primordial chaos all things leap with delight.

How wondrous! Some clasped hands and walked together at Tiger Creek, laughing as one; another stood alone in the southern suburb, gazing at the sky and sighing deeply. Shuxue spent nine years attaining the wondrous principle of the Great Dao; with a single night of recognition by a teacher, another realized perfection. Great or small, coarse or fine, the supreme Dao is everywhere. All that flies, swims, moves, or grows embodies suchness.

Gongsun Long used sophistry to make the claim “a white horse is not a horse” seem reasonable, while Huishi questioned the happiness of fish from many angles. Alas! The old villager looked on with new respect, and the mountain boy answered by cutting off a finger. When Zeng Can heard his teacher’s words, he answered, “Yes,” and grasped the principle completely. Yan Hui, through “sitting in forgetfulness,” reached a state beyond body and distinctions. In delusion, one is like Jingwei carrying earth in its beak, trying to fill the sea; in awakening, one is like Wangxiang finding the pearl in the Red River. A slight misstep in action leaves one a pace behind; a deviation in speech puts one a thousand miles away. Even following the course of events without deliberate interference may not be a hindrance, but once one takes up the brush to write, what results is ultimately only dust-like discourse.

The mind’s nature and essence originate in the Dao. When emotions arise, the mind takes shape. It gathers the influences of the senses and external things, and becomes the source of thoughts of good and evil. Thoughts shift and flow without end: the past never ceases, and the present is no different. One thought follows another, appearing when the mind stirs and falling silent when it settles.

The mind cannot be said to exist entirely, nor can it be said not to exist at all; it shows itself in all kinds of thoughts and awareness. As soon as a thought appears, it attaches itself to events and clings to external things. When the mind is active, it follows sounds and pursues colors. Try to cast it off, and you cannot be rid of it completely; try to grasp it, and you cannot truly possess it. It has long been the chief of all afflictions, and it also governs the three karmas of body, speech, and mind—the actions produced by the body, words, and thoughts—over which it is always difficult to keep control.

When worldly distractions have completely subsided, the mind and spirit become calm and still, like a flame kindled in cold ashes, or an auspicious sign appearing in emptiness. Though vast and without limit, the mind can also be concealed in what is minute. Once fine attachments have been cast off, it seems impossible to put into words, yet somehow close at hand. Truly and steadily taking it up, one can act appropriately in every situation.

Whether tending a fire and burning incense, making tea and sweeping the floor, or simply handling whatever task lies before you, you can respond to things as they are. Let go of your concerns, and you are at ease wherever you go. The Yangtze, Yellow, Huai, and Hai rivers differ in their courses, but water’s nature is the same. Hairpins, bracelets, cups, and plates differ in shape and use, but the gold from which they are made is no different.

When the mind changes with events and responds to circumstances, it settles like the earth when still and rises high like the sky when active. Acting through the feet, it can walk or sit cross-legged; acting through the hands, it can open the palm or clench a fist. Whether moving or resting, raising a hand or picking something up, all are governed by this independent, formless foundation. Seeing, hearing, and awareness also arise from it, responding as circumstances require.

It surpasses the Buddhist stages of the Ten Grounds and the Three Vehicles, and encompasses concepts such as the Five Phases and the Four Symbols. It abides at the center without leaning to either side, guarding itself inwardly without wavering. If one tries, even for a moment, to boast of some so-called “higher” state, one only falls into attachment and confinement in the present. Where lies the heart of the Chan traditions of Guiyang and Linji? In entering the gate and making one’s way into the hall. How does one experience the subtlety of Zhuangzi’s “Discussion on Making All Things Equal”? By pushing open the door, setting down one’s walking stick, and understanding it firsthand.

How vast this state is: one opening leads freely in every direction. In the mystery and emptiness, it shines like a brilliant pearl; within the precious vessel, the Elixir is perfected. It fuses Heaven and Earth into one and turns together with the workings of creation. Formless and selfless, it is like spring sunlight shining on all things; it does not linger or obstruct, like the autumn moon moving across the open sky.

Ah, to meet events with ease is to follow the road home. To work through external things is to move with change and understand its subtlety. The mind is as vast as rivers and seas, able to contain everything; its light hangs high like the sun and moon, reaching every place. External things and oneself return to the same realm, while being and nonbeing each return to their source.

This is the key to the Five Constant Virtues and the myriad forms of conduct—the ethical principles and actions of daily life—and the essential teaching shared by the many sages and perfected beings.

After a lifetime of long calamities, why am I still so enthralled? Entanglements of every kind wind around one another like lotus roots buried in blue-black mud.

Who could have known that Creation was playing tricks on us? In the dead of night, the boats in the valley quietly shifted position, and east and west were turned upside down.

Craving fame and profit unsettles the mind. Like powerful court officials—the “Yellow Gate” refers to palace attendants and eunuchs—we become caught in struggles for power. The play of light before our eyes dazzles us, and we mistake illusion for reality.

Calamity descends from the sky like knife-sharp winds and blazing fire. The flames rage across Mount Kunlun, consuming even its jade.

All worldly attachments are swept away, as though everything has returned to emptiness and stillness. Then comes a pardon, and at last we break free of our prison.

Only then do we understand: the yellow millet is not yet cooked when suddenly the bell sounds, and the wind rises at the top of the tower.

Looking out, we see that what we experienced in the dream was a realm of misfortune. Thinking carefully over the past, we realize that everything that happened was mistaken.

Heaven grants me a blessed affinity, allowing me to leave the dusty world behind and find true joy.

Someone asks me: now that you have reached a state of emptiness with nothing to rely on, why not set the deep and wondrous pivot in motion?

With my work accomplished, I shed the fleshly garment born of my mother and ride the wind back to a palace encircled by auspicious clouds of five colors.

Recognizing Strange Delusions

The Daoist adept freely wields the true Samadhi, displaying manifold transformations and miraculous powers with the skill of a master conjurer.

In silence, he is deep and soundless; when he speaks, his voice thunders through the nine heavens. He seems to sit motionless, yet his light shines throughout the world.

The golden rooster crows at dawn; the clay ox runs. A withered tree gives voice to a dragon’s roar, and even stubborn stones seem to open their mouths and bellow.

A Jade Maiden plays the flute, its sound like a phoenix’s cry; wooden figures turn and leap in time with the rhythm.

(The following four lines repeat what came before.) The Daoist adept freely wields the true Samadhi, displaying manifold transformations and miraculous powers with the skill of a master conjurer. In silence, he is deep and soundless; when he speaks, his voice thunders through the nine heavens. He seems to sit motionless, yet his light shines throughout the world. The golden rooster crows at dawn; the clay ox runs. A withered tree gives voice to a dragon’s roar, and stubborn stones bellow; the Jade Maiden plays the flute like a phoenix, while wooden figures tumble and leap in time with the rhythm.

Subtle signs, almost impossible to discern, hold the key to the turning of Heaven’s gate. They fill empty space and have no end.

One cannot say they exist, nor can one say they do not; they are truly beyond measure. Sometimes they move against the current, sometimes with it, and no one can predict their course.

“The Great Mystery must advance in due course over nine years; along the winding path, even the Seven Sages lose their way.” This means that mysterious cultivation has its own stages and time frame, yet the path is tortuous, and even the “Seven Sages” may lose their direction.

He questions the other and asks him to set down his staff, but the other still fails to understand. The two exchange a glance, then can only look at one another.

Recognizing Dream Delusions

Long ago, it is said, King Mu of Zhou journeyed to a wondrous heavenly palace. The Scarlet Palace of Pure Capital, a dwelling in the immortal realm, rose high above, with clouds gathering in the sky.

Later, he moved to an even higher place, perhaps becoming frightened there. A gust of heavenly wind blew him back down into the prison of the dusty world.

It is also said that the Yellow Emperor once visited the Land of Huaxu, an imagined paradise, where he walked lightly through the air as if he were on level ground.

As the clouds and rosy mists part, the valley comes fully into view, yet still seems to emerge from a forest of tombs inside a wall.

In a dreamlike wandering of the spirit, what one sees seems not to have left its original place. To ride the wind and roam beneath the moon is no ordinary occurrence.

If one could suddenly transcend and ascend straight to the summit of Kunlun Mountain—the Daoist realm of the immortals—who could truly bear and comprehend what was there from the beginning?

The world of dust stretches on like an upside-down dream. Truth and falsehood contend in the mind, as people endlessly dispute who owns the deer.

The honors and achievements beneath the locust tree seem like a struggle over a space as small as a snail’s horn. The battle for fame and profit is no more than the fabled war between the kingdoms of Man and Chu on a snail’s horns.

Awake or dreaming, we remain in a state where all is undifferentiated. Whether I am awake or asleep now seems to come from the same source.

I wonder whether the master of the house has opened his eyes. A bell rings, carried from the upper floor on the wind.

An Invitation to Reclusion

Have you not heard? Someone found what they wished for inside a pillow. Before the mirror had even been polished clear, the world had already changed beyond recognition.

Have you not heard, too? The officials of the Kingdom of Huai’an still held authority like a golden branch, but in the blink of an eye—before a meal of millet had finished cooking—war and fame had both vanished like passing clouds.

The whole world seems like a dream dreamed while awake, and the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth play their tricks as freely as a magician.

Life is like a puppet pulled by threads, performing in a theater tent. How could it remain forever still and secure, like a mountain untouched by change?

Human understanding has no bounds, but life has its limit. Through the long ages, some have still not found their way home.

Though home is there from the start, we do not know where it lies. Who can ride the east wind and admire the flowers of awakening?

Better to return early, clearing away afflictions and burning passions step by step.

Time slips by in an instant. If you delay beginning your cultivation, then once the body has withered with age, it will be too late.

Written on a Whim

Someone asks: All things are as weightless as drifting clouds, waxing and waning, arising and passing away with every change.

The wind may turn prosperity into the decline of a frosty dawn; it may also blow over what is withered and bring it back to spring.

Who can make the heart and guts as hard as iron and stone? Who can widen the field of vision until it is as broad as a wheel?

People busy themselves to their hearts’ content, chasing illusions, yet in the blink of an eye all return to dust.

Better to set one’s mind on the cultivation that truly matters. All things remain as drifting clouds, waxing and waning, arising and passing away with every change.

The wind may turn prosperity into the decline of a frosty dawn; it may also blow over what is withered and bring it back to spring.

Who can make the heart and guts as hard as iron and stone? Who can widen the field of vision until it is as broad as a wheel?

People busy themselves to their hearts’ content, chasing illusions, yet in the blink of an eye all return to dust.

What must one truly do to enter the realm of “truth within truth”? Only by sweeping away every stray thought can the mind and spirit become clear.

Once the Golden Elixir has been refined, one rides a crane alone on the journey home. Even as Heaven and Earth grow old, this body endures.

Guo Ziyuan Comes to Bianjing to Ask for a Poem

I was born lazy, and love to dwell among mountain forests and springs. My thatched hut is humble, and there are no treasures in my home—truly, it invites pity.

I have no talents and can accomplish nothing. I can only drag this cumbersome body along and try to pass my days in peace.

An elder’s instructions lie before me, and I dare not take them lightly. I only fear that complications will arise and bring further trouble.

Alas, this superfluous body is truly a great burden. Even when I travel, I dare not casually exchange greetings with others.

The master invited me to go south. I know my abilities are limited; how could I possibly see the matter through to completion?

When I see a crow unable to rise in flight, I feel that even the wind is beyond my command. As soon as I am about to lift my feet, I worry that I will wear thick calluses and walk in pain.

As we parted, you hoped I would give you a poem. But my mind is empty, and I cannot produce any fine phrases.

I take up paper made from streamside vines and begin to write, only to lose my natural simplicity. A few strokes dabbed in the ink pool can hardly be called mysterious.

How I wish I could wield my brush with the ease of the craftsman who made the wind rise with his axe! Alas, I lack that skill, and when urgent matters arise, I can scarcely cope.

With deep reluctance, I write these words, hoping they will stir a thunderous force. When I finish, I laugh and toss them aside like broken tiles, as though cracking my whip and riding away.

Wishing Professor Zhu’s Mother a Happy Eightieth Birthday

Health, abundance, and longevity are rare blessings in this world. A person who lives to one hundred is said to have reached the age of “completion,” while those in their eighties and nineties are called venerable elders. To attain such a great age is rarer still.

May she flourish like a deep green pine and stand firm like steadfast stone; may she be as serene and long-lived as a dark-feathered crane standing alone and a numinous turtle gliding at ease.

All things in the world have form and measure, and dwell among mountains and marshes. Yet the power of creation can move mountains and change hills in the middle of the night.

Better to roam far and wide in the company of Magu, seated at ease in an otherworldly paradise, while the yellow turtle repeatedly pokes out its head.

Her pearl-like teeth are even and white, surpassing even a house of precious jade. She can walk through valleys without stumbling and roam freely among the rosy clouds.

Immortal fruits such as the intertwined pear and fire date now seem quite ordinary; jade fungus and stone marrow are no different.

The immortals’ realms, where a mustard seed contains Mount Sumeru and years pass on a stone, are beyond counting. No one knows how many times the immortal isles of Penglai have witnessed the sea turn into mulberry fields.

Wishing the Perfected Zhenchang a Happy Birthday

Auspicious energy gathers between the eaves and halls. The god of the East arrives with the dawn at its appointed hour, and the gentle spring breeze rises in his wake.

May the Perfected One remain ever within the true Dao and the mysterious realm, as nine-colored clouds shine upon the immortal palace of Penglai.

A ceremonial procession like a rainbow, with moon-shaped emblems, bears up the qilin’s carriage. As the head of the Daoist tradition, the Perfected One greatly raises the prestige of the mysterious Daoist teachings.

The human world’s sixty-year cycle has completed only one revolution, while the bronze immortal has endured through long ages, witnessing all that has come and gone.

The halls of gold and chambers of jade are spotless, free of dust; the jade groves and precious trees of the immortal realm are graceful and beautiful. The light of longevity shines quietly, reaching the hidden depths where the principles of the Dao are explored. The pivot of Heaven’s Way turns in perfect harmony, moving in accordance with nature.

The celestial capital bestows blessings forever; spring light endures, and youth does not fade with age. What are the fleeting instant of brushing a stone or the vast span represented by a mustard-seed city? The roots of life must be cultivated from a profound and solid foundation. This boundless life is not won by asking or praying to others.

I have specially kindled the incense burner in my heart. This incense is no ordinary worldly smoke; I only hope to express my sincere intent, still looking up to Heaven. So I offer this long song before the immortal’s cloud-side table, wishing that my rosy complexion may remain unchanged through countless kalpas.

In the old, quiet studio at Xilei, someone may smile and say: “This tree stands several feet tall. Please compose a poem for it.”

In winter, the tree lies hidden in a cave-like solitude, storing abundant vitality, lushly winding around itself and embracing the Dao of emptiness. It grows in accord with the seasons, its force impossible to restrain; from spring through summer, it remains amid swirling dust. It longs to stretch outward, yet for a time cannot, becoming one thing among all things. Its roots twist and tangle, and it can only wait for the right moment.

Wild, tangled plants offer no support; only this tree stands tall and distinct at Xicha Palace. It sends out fresh shoots, breaking free of its constraints, graceful yet resilient. Its branches unfurl and leaves spread wide, displaying a vigorous strength. A master of the Dao sought to enter the inner chamber to study the Way, but while waiting by the gate, he was transformed into a blue-robed youth. Before news of Xiangyan’s realization had even arrived, the wondrous teaching had already been passed down by Lord Gourd, the immortal renowned for healing the world.

Within, it is empty and still, holding the power to gather the veins of the earth. In an instant it can travel ten thousand li, as if borne away by the wind. Take good care of this young dragon, the elegant name for bamboo; do not let it suffer harm or let the jade-like bamboo gather even a trace of dust. When the work is complete, its power will help us roam freely through the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, without end.

Feng Quan taught Qing to celebrate a birthday, offering “Poison Mountain” as a blessing.

Before the undivided chaos, Heaven, Earth, and all things were contained within it; being and nonbeing, great and small, were already present there. The Primordial Void Sovereign, a revered Daoist deity, established the central pivot, and the towering pillar of Heaven was named Kunlun.

Above Kunlun there is no covering; it governs the whole celestial realm. Beneath Kunlun, the depths are unfathomable, and it supports the axis of the Earth.

At the mountain’s summit, palace buildings coil in tier upon tier; within its slopes, mechanisms like astronomical instruments—the Youji, an ancient device for observing the heavens—turn and move.

The peak rises high, its cliffs sheer, like a jade summit standing amid parched earth. It thrusts beyond the bounds of worldly imagination, with no other mountain able to rival its height.

The great Miaoguye Mountain and Mount Taihua (Mount Hua) seem no more than small mounds before it; even famous peaks such as Qiaoshan and Mount Song appear low.

The immortal’s skin is white as ice and snow, and his mind is clear as a deep spring, the sun, and the moon.

Though the mortal world passes through calamities and transformations, and seas become mulberry fields, he knows neither past nor present and has no time of decline.

May the aged immortal, too, remain forever youthful like this mountain, his rosy beauty never fading.

People gaze up at the mountain and climb its paths. Its sights seem to open wondrous, mysterious apertures even for those who are deaf and blind.

Inscription: Peach Blossoms Out of Season

All things flourish and fade in their proper seasons. When flowers bloom out of season, against the natural order, it is hard not to feel perplexed.

This peach tree did indeed blossom at the wrong time, yet it concealed the truth; after it bore fruit, no one knew what became of it.

Frost and cold wither the grasses, trees, and flowers, yet it stands apart in solitary bloom, displaying its inborn nature.

The Daoist admired its uncommon character. He plucked a flowering branch to show it off, praising its marvel.

Alas, the peach tree had not put down deep roots. Had it been transplanted to Everlasting Spring Cave, it could have flowered and borne fruit for three thousand years. Few in the human world would ever taste such wondrous fruit.

Written to Lu Caiqing

The affairs of the world toy with people like marbles, conjuring illusions for no reason and skillfully deceiving us.

I still remember the second and third months of the Guiwei year, when the chill of war filled my old home and turmoil unsettled the land.

Those who survived were hunted down and forced to scatter, each fleeing alone. They traveled a thousand li, and the roads were exceedingly hard.

My life and body found shelter elsewhere as I was driven from place to place. Thanks to your protection, sir, I came through safely.

I do not know when June arrived. Just then, amid the summer rains, news suddenly came that Jin had crushed the forces of treachery.

Haor was on the road, slipping in the mud; even tigers, wolves, and leopards came to grief. The Wen family, meanwhile, remained at ease, their spirits as calm as clouds and water.

Of late, carriages and horses have been setting out morning and evening. I imagine they will surely return home in glory.

The longing for home stretches along the road to the southwest; it is as though the returning traveler’s figure is already moving up and down among the mountains.

How can a wild man of the mountains, lost and troubled, cling to a fine horse’s tail and use it to climb?

Encouraging the World

A human life lasts perhaps no more than a hundred years; in the blink of an eye, it is gone. We seem to be toyed with by the Creator, swept into turmoil and busyness against our will. From morning until night, we are restless and uneasy, our sorrows and joys endlessly taking turns. Even matters that concern us may ultimately come to nothing—how much more so those that have nothing to do with us?

Endless extra burdens, favorable and adverse circumstances alike, appear before you. Evil thoughts pile up like mountains, while the original goodness of the heart has nearly vanished. Once the old lord of the Yan family, King Yama, arrives, he cannot be held back for even a moment. I urge you to stop clinging to delusion and quickly seek a way back and a place to rely on. Leap out of the pit of karmic fire, and stop following the old path. Turn the Mysterious Gate—the key in cultivation that transforms body and mind and opens the way to the subtle realm—and long life begins from that moment.

A Letter to My Daoist Friend on Boyu

Long ago, beneath Purple Peak Mountain, we faced the clouds and rosy mists and talked with such pleasure. We spoke softly in the high pavilion, keeping each other company morning and evening, never tiring in our hearts. The autumn wind scattered the cares of the dusty world. Leaning on our staffs and wearing our shoes, we walked together. When we parted, I saw you off in Zhenyang with a heavy heart, watching you go for a long time. We agreed to meet at Crane Mountain, yet afterward we drifted apart like flowing water, unable to know what lay ahead.

The affairs of the world turn and whirl like a whirlwind, and the slightest touch brings sorrow, as though white silk, once dyed, could never be restored. My thoughts race of their own accord toward your dwelling, deep among the clouds and waters of the southwest. Good fortune and adversity alike follow Heaven’s order; neither action nor rest is entirely ours to decide. Your intent is upright as a cord, while my state of mind is rounded and harmonious as a compass. Though separated by a thousand miles, we still admire the same bright moon, with not the slightest barrier between us.

Our spirits soar back and forth, their comings and goings hard to foresee. We roam together between Heaven and Earth—how could we part after only a moment? It is as if we tread upon the sun’s shadow and rise together into the void, drifting freely. What is there to doubt? From now on, the Three perfected beings will meet, and I will often be honored by your presence.

Residing in the Academy

Living among people does not mean truly dwelling in a courtyard, so why concern myself with whether the courtyard prospers or declines? To live in a courtyard without companions who share the Way is no different from being bound in shackles among worldly people. Even lofty halls and pavilions wreathed in clouds, gazed upon long enough, come to seem no more than weeds. After so much effort has gone into building them, once their allotted span is exhausted, they will in the end be destroyed.

Better to seek out genuine practitioners of the Way and recite and discuss each word together. Drink jade dew—the sweet dew spoken of by immortals—morning and evening, and in silence grasp the wondrous principles. Let body and mind drift free of the Six Dusts, the six realms that stain us, and swiftly transcend the Three Realms: the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm. Once a pearl-like radiance first appears within the heart, how could one be willing to take it to the human world and sell it?

I have come here to stay for a while, without caring whether the courtyard is spacious or cramped. I seek only friends among the clouds and rosy mists, as though I owed them a debt of affinity spanning many lifetimes. Even amid clamor, I can be at ease; fame and profit cannot purchase my resolve. Heaven endowed me with a stern, cool disposition, so that sitting quietly, I can look beyond worldly opinion. That I should seem ever more solitary is truly astonishing; yet if one suffers from this profound and mysterious malady of the heart, how can it be easily cured? Without holding oneself in check, how can one show quickness and agility? A gentle, auspicious wind brushes my heart. With staff in hand, I set out, light and carefree. North, south, east, or west, I drift along the road.

Secluded Dwelling

A quiet dwelling suits my mountain-dwelling nature; I never trouble myself with the daily business of making a living. Friends come together and part, while the servants simply keep one another company. Living on opposite sides of a wall, we seem like enemies; all year long, we exchange no words. The ways of the world are cold as ice, and human feeling thin as water. My quail-feather coat, worn and tattered, is patched again and again; eating coarse, plain food, I forget its taste. Unrestrained and at leisure, with no cares in my heart, I can take pleasure in myself—and that is enough.

With this body come all kinds of troubles. If the self is forgotten, what is there to worry about? The body is what lies closest to us, yet in the end it becomes a heap of dust. What is more, everything beyond the body is an illusory castle in the air. The myriad things of Heaven and Earth wear people down, leaving them troubled and busy, with little chance to be at ease. In broad terms, all things follow their own course. Who needs to strive for anything more? Doubts in the heart will naturally fade. Rest for a while, and rest again. Do not mistake this illusory body for something real to rely on, only to be imprisoned by it. When the mind is open and spacious, the heart can settle, moving in harmony with the transformations of all things. There is no need to force a livelihood; set it aside for now and let go of attachment. Free of the world’s constraints, one is no longer entangled within or without. When one’s original, unadorned nature comes to light, it is like the rising full moon, its radiance shining across a clear autumn sky after the rain.

The Falseness of the World

Shut indoors, too listless to go out, one finds no peace amid the talk of others. Leaning on a staff and walking through the streets, one grows weary of people rushing everywhere. The whole city condemns one’s faults; yet when ties are severed, one resents the other’s coyness and deceit. On reflection, being human is truly difficult: the slightest misstep in one’s conduct can invite criticism. Examining the heart, one finds that its thoughts have not truly quieted. On the surface one seems simple and unadorned, but within one remains deluded. If the thoughts can be stilled and even attachment to the body let go, what demonic obstacle is there to fear?

The human world, full of turmoil, has no fixed and unchanging appearance. People each cling to their own prejudices, wishing only to hear voices that agree with them. The earth is covered in the red dust of the world, while human dealings stir up disputes like white-capped waves. By apprehending “Twofold Mystery” (the Daoist insight that transcends two layers of attachment), one can suddenly understand what it means to reach the realm of truth. The original nature is like a full moon hanging alone in the sky, and the heart is as spacious as the heavens. From there, one steps beyond the passage of life and death and enters a realm where light lies hidden deep within.

When I first began studying the Dao, I sought only to remain unassuming and conceal my ignorance. My mind was muddled and dim, not yet clear. After a long period of quiet cultivation, I developed a restless, boastful streak: I talked too much and spoke in grandiose terms. Like stinking meat that draws flies, goods always find someone waiting to trade; events followed one after another, leaving me trapped in difficulty and so busy that I had not a moment to spare. If I still could not let go of my dependence on you, how could we live together without deception? A dark bird flew upward into a cage, and a white horse was driven into its harness and hitched to a carriage. Yubu (ritual steps imitating the Dipper and constellations in Daoist ceremonies) and the art of gathering clouds are both merely things governed by change.

The world delights in chasing the extraordinary, taking hearsay for truth. Why should purity and uprightness, or aiding what is true, provoke astonished talk? What does a crane soaring through the sky care about a crow’s alarm? Laughing off the myriad concerns of the world, one can find a moment of ease at any time. Once the truly lofty principle is understood, neither party need rely on the other. Enter directly into “the realm of nothing whatsoever,” free of attachment and constraint, and savor its delights, like eating sugarcane from the bottom upward, finding it sweeter with every bite. What, in the end, is it like? Vast as the world may be, it remains contained within the world.

Dharma Body

The wondrous Dharma Body of the Twofold Mystery (the Daoist ground of being that transcends form and is profound and subtle) contains all things and the self alike. A world can unfold within a mote of dust, while vast space can encompass Heaven and Earth. Things may be immense or minute, differing in countless ways, yet they share the same source. It is like the depths of the sea, where fish of every kind, whatever their scales, are nourished alike.

How sad that living beings fall into the world of feeling and are burdened by bodily form, sinking into birth and death and passing through one kind of form after another. Having lost sight of the root from the beginning, they endure long eons of suffering, as though everything were turned upside down. The sages therefore employed skillful means and did all they could to save them, refusing to abandon anyone. Yet some, despite their intelligence, cannot understand; before the sages, they are like dreamers who have not woken.

The Pot-Heaven

The Pot-Heaven (a Daoist vision of a pure realm of immortals) meets the human world, yet is free of even the slightest trace of dust, clear and pristine. Its halls and pavilions rise against the blue-green sky, their vistas joined to verdant mountain ranges. A mild southern breeze blows, and even Zhurong (the fire god) seems to retreat into hiding. Zhuangzi and Huizi (Warring States philosophers who often engaged each other in debate) wave their horsetail whisks as they discuss “what can be done”—perhaps lamenting that some people, though intelligent, fail to understand the Great Dao, and face one another as if still caught in a dream.

The immortal realm within the gourd, as Daoists describe it, is connected to the human world. All around is serene and pure, with a chill as if the cold had congealed. Pavilions and halls rest against the blue sky, their scene meeting a range of verdant mountains. A southern breeze arrives and at once dispels the summer heat, as though even the Fire God Zhurong had withdrawn into hiding. Zhuang Zhou (also known as Meng Zhuang) and Hui Shi (also known as Bian Hui) wave their horsetail whiskers and discuss frost and ice.

Then climb again to the Tower Overlooking the Water, and gaze down at the long, flowing stream. Wild cranes roam freely, each on its own; tall willows sway in the clear sunlight. The host is in an elegant mood, yet serves no goose-yellow wine. Instead, he has specially prepared a delicacy like flakes of jade, helping me search for poetic inspiration, now dried up. Quiet thoughts unfold in fine detail, leading straight to the Land of Nothingness, that Daoist realm of freedom and emptiness. The four supreme joys gather here together—how could such delight be measured? Who would still ask about the Lord of Donghua, or wonder what there is to cherish in the bustle of the mortal world?

Inscribed after the handscroll “Huang Gen’s Dream,” by Deputy Director Dong

Awake by day, one lives a waking dream; asleep at night, one dreams within a dream. Whether the eyes are open or shut, all that one sees is indistinct. The world’s cycles of arising and passing away, flourishing and decline, are no more than a careless play. One cannot know whether one has become a butterfly or Zhuang Zhou. In the blink of an eye, in a glance upward, for whom is it all done?

Deng Tong, Shi Chong, and other powerful men once gained their hearts’ desires, yet their fame, unmatched in its day, was as fleeting as a pot of millet cooking. How swiftly time passes in the mortal world: the sun hurries back and forth, and in an instant dawn becomes dusk. Though we know that all things ultimately return to nothing, how many have truly understood the hurried workings of Heaven and Earth? Only you have penetrated the profound mystery. Looking out, you clearly discern the difference between dream and waking life. You would not conceal the truth, take another’s place, or contend for the deer in a dream; long ago, you returned to the heavenly palace beneath its five-colored auspicious clouds.

In Memory of the Perfected One Wuyu

The old immortal of Longyou lived so long he seemed to have been there since before Heaven and Earth began. With compassion in his heart, he came among the people and, before closing his eyes, saw all the sights of the mortal world. He lived to eighty-six, yet his life passed as swiftly as a snap of the fingers. Longing to return to his home amid circling white clouds, he left behind the well of cinnabar used for refining elixirs.

The immortal revealed a countenance like colored clouds, then his figure sank into a darkness like that of a golden pheasant, entering directly into the boundless unity of the void. Before long, his mind was still as a bright mirror. The jewel-like sound of his parting words no longer rang out. People gazed toward him, yet no one truly grasped their deeper meaning. Night had not yet ended; the empty hall was silent, and cold moonlight hung over the pine branches.

The affairs of the world.

The forms of all things dwell within the vast, empty expanse between Heaven and Earth. Their movement and stillness alike follow the profound and encompassing patterns of Heaven and Earth. The power by which Heaven and Earth transform and nourish the myriad things moves through its workings, while the principles of those things change continually with the seasons. In the blink of an eye, today becomes the past; life, too, may turn from withering to flourishing, or from flourishing to decline. Even things without feeling continually change their forms. When people insist on forcing their way, they merely amuse themselves in vain amid this fleeting life.

Hongmengzi (a Daoist name or title) guides and drives the myriad things, as though setting up a puppet stage. It is like egging children on to play, or arranging ants into battle lines. All things in the world are no more than a mass of illusions, yet they give rise to countless joys and sorrows. Life and death turn without end like a wheel, while the cycles of calamity are beyond measure, like filling a city with mustard seeds. Living beings make their own deeds, as though building prisons for themselves, and willingly sink into the deep pit of karmic fire. The cycles of rebirth flow on without pause, and suffering seems to have no end. To awaken fully and attain liberation, one should turn back and walk the path of the Dao (the Way). Do not seek elsewhere: the Dao is within the heart, whose ground has always been complete.

Sent to Lu Caiqing

Now you have pressed forward with all your strength, while I have fallen far behind. When next autumn comes, the long rains cease, and the cold winds rise, may you turn back and walk the path of the Dao. Do not seek elsewhere: the Dao is within the heart, whose ground has always been complete.

Sent to Lu Caiqing

Now you have pressed forward with all your strength, while I can only gaze after you and feel that I have fallen behind. When next autumn comes, the accumulated rains will clear and cold winds will sweep across Heaven and Earth. Wearing straw sandals, carrying your pack, and leaning on your staff, you will set out with them. Keep walking, without counting the miles; take each day’s necessities as they come. Let us agree to divide between us the finest scenery of the Western Mountains. I wonder whether elder brother will truly agree?

In the spring of the Guichou year, seeing off Daoist Registrar Fan on his journey to the capital

We have known each other for only a few months, and it has been a rare pleasure to hear your gentle conversation. Soon we must part again. You set off at an unhurried pace, your carriage and horses lightly laden. In the late spring of the north, the willows still trail gracefully. Your party’s carriages and horses stream northwest, dust scattering behind the steeds. The capital seems almost within reach of Heaven. May you remain true to your original resolve and fulfill your aspiration to aid the world, bringing blessings to the people like a timely rain. I look up and see a bright full moon; countless households share the same moonlight. This old man, who has made his home among mountains and waters, will wait for you to return in glory.

Collected Poems of Cloud Mountain, Volume One: Seven-Character Regulated Verse

In Praise of the Dao

Vast, surging divine light pervades the entire Great Void, governing and establishing the first foundations of Heaven, Earth, and all things. It contains the whole cosmos without boundaries, yet penetrates to the tiniest hair’s breadth, still filled with light. It sets the myriad forms in motion and lets the transformations of creation flow; the growth and passing of plants, too, depend on its impulse and nourishment. Each thing has its own nature, and none can communicate its inner state to another. Animals, plants, and all creatures that fly or hide below the surface each live according to their own nature.

Celebrating Eternal Spring

The mist disperses, and a thousand mountains seem gathered into the tiniest hair’s breadth; the light remains abundant.

The transformations and workings of all things accord with the natural process of creation. The growth, flourishing, and withering of plants, too, depend on the stirring of vital breath.

Each thing has its own character, and none can pass messages to another. Whether moving or still, flying or hidden, each exists according to its own nature.

Celebrating Long Spring

The thick mist lifts, and the mountains and distant lands suddenly clear beneath the sky. In the gourd-heaven, that Daoist realm within a gourd, spring is in full bloom and life brims everywhere.

Dewdrops fall from the petals, as though untouched by worldly cares. The spring breeze unfurls the willow leaves, and the branches stretch softly, yet not in the manner of worldly human feelings.

Young children lose themselves in play, as if wandering through a vast, boundless world. The old immortals gather in joyful company, arranging to journey to Penglai and Yingzhou, legendary realms of the immortals.

Everyone drinks their fill of jade-green wine, their delight without end. Once drunk, they ride cloud chariots, seats turned backward, and travel on in carefree abandon.

Asking for a Paper Quilt

This shape of mine is like a body guarding its own tumors. Once I have seen through what is real, I can let many things go.

Let others call me horse or ox; I will not answer. Let chickens and dogs be nearby; I will not chase after them or seek anything from them.

A single gourd ladle is enough to sustain me. Wearing a patchwork robe sewn from many scraps of cloth, I have all I need for the year.

And now I must go to a nobleman’s gate to ask for a paper quilt, so that at night, in a cold and humble hut, I can pull it over my head and sleep.

Years Ago I Wanted to Make a Paper Quilt; Now at Last It Is Done

Soft, close-woven sheets of paper, layered one upon another, are made from Xiteng paper. Crafted by hand, the quilt looks like a new one of blue damask.

By day I roll it up, like a wild cloud resting quietly in place. At night I spread it over myself, like moonlight stretching without end across the river.

Its texture is plain, yet its use is extraordinary; it has a warmth and gentleness of its own, as warm as spring.

In old age, when the body grows weak and fears the cold, this is just what I need to add a little warmth. With a low bed and an old table for company, I can pass my quiet days in peace.

Awakening from Delusion

Once the simple, honest spirit of an age has faded, the world grows ever more shallow. Those who have lost their roots drift aimlessly, unsure where to go.

Who, after all, governs our seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing? To linger in delusion and refuse to return brings nothing but exhaustion.

To use the Marquis of Sui’s pearl to shoot at a sparrow is sheer folly: the smaller the gain, the heavier the price paid.

When will I see through the saying that “neither person nor ox is real”—that neither is one’s true self? Then I can tread upon the white clouds and return to the imperial realm, the celestial dwelling place of the immortals.

Another

Storing up gold and silver, piling up silks and brocades, only leaves one exposed to calamity. What disaster can come from a shrine built of gravel and scattered window lattices?

Jade reveals its luster through its rich sheen, and even a rough stone can be carved and polished. A pearl shines at night because the shell has been split open to reveal it.

I hide away in seclusion, untroubled by a place that is deep and remote. Once I understand that external things arrive only by chance, there is no need to cling to them.

If I were to advise him plainly like this, he would probably still find it hard to believe. And as for the mysterious pass, that subtle gateway spoken of in cultivation, how could it be opened so easily?

Weary of Serving as Abbot

Weary of managing the affairs of a Daoist temple.

I left home to become a Daoist, moved into a Daoist residence, and changed into clean, plain clothes, as cold and hard as iron. “Pure, Empty, Cold Iron Garment” refers to the clothing worn by those who quietly cultivate the Dao.

Now that I understand that the vivid scenes before my eyes are not real, unchanging things, how could I be like someone with diseased eyes and mistake phantoms in empty space for solid objects?

My broad but shallow understanding falls short even of the leopard on South Mountain. To boast of my limited skill at poetry is like a frog at the bottom of a well.

I hope I may borrow ten years of leisure, take up my staff and sandals, and travel among rivers, clouds, and waters, with no end to my delight.

When Guo Ziyuan was heading north, he asked me for a poem in Tongzhou.

With this parting, I must leave behind the blossoms of Yan.

This poem is for Guo Ziyuan as he travels north: it marks the first leg of his journey after leaving the Yan Mountains. Snow covers Dichuan as I see you off.

A Daoist treats simple daily tasks as a busy undertaking. When receiving guests, he may seem indifferent, yet his heart remains warm.

When the Kunpeng rises, the wind is strong enough to carry it far. May you now ride the wind, spread your wings, and embark on a great journey.

The spirit roams through the realms in all directions, with no end in sight. Who knows when we will meet at Yujing, the fabled dwelling of the Celestial Emperor?

Auspicious Snow

All the minute things upon the earth appear illusory and impermanent. I raise my eyes to the distant sky, where heaven and earth merge into one.

At night, the cold gathers and seeps into the pure soul of the plum blossoms and the moonlight. At dawn, the snow drifts gently past, like a white silk sash stirring in the wind.

It is as though my life has quietly moved beyond the dusty world, and all of heaven and earth have been gathered into a jade vessel.

In the empty hall, auspicious plants and trees like precious jade stand in gleaming contrast. The grandeur of the snowy scene seems to surpass even the highest peak of Penglai, the isle of immortals.

Falling Asleep

I relax and lie down; as soon as I close my eyes, I fall asleep. The noisy sounds of the dusty world continue beside me, but I let them ring on.

Deep in the murky realm of sleep, I forget the teacher’s rebuke. With my nose cut off, how could I know the disciples were laughing at me? This alludes to an ancient fable and describes being wholly unaware of the outside world in deep sleep.

What harm is there in dreaming of fish swimming in a marsh? Nor is there anything wrong with becoming a butterfly flitting among the blossoms. These lines allude to the tales of Zhuang Zhou’s dream of the butterfly and describe the freedom of transformation within dreams.

A single point of clear awareness suddenly stirs. It can then reach everywhere without obstruction, extending to all things and leaving nothing beyond its embrace.

Mid-Autumn

No one in the dusty world can ease my sorrow, so I invite a companion to climb South Tower with me.

What pleasure does a Daoist find at midnight? Simply sitting in silence, gazing up at the sky, while the spirit sinks into a deep inner realm.

Suddenly, everything within and beyond heaven and earth becomes bright and clear. The boundless world seems to gather even the tiniest things within itself.

The mind opens wide. I forget the distinction between myself and other things, and forget where I am. This true realm and its joy seem to have no end.

Once body and mind, along with all external things, have been set aside, one no longer clings to where one is. The true state and its joy are without end.

The Moon’s Veiled Light

On an autumn day, all sounds fall silent and the autumn air is clear and bright. The clouds are thin, and the sky seems especially vast and high.

Even famed places for moon viewing, such as Yulou and Yuanzhu, hold no appeal to me now. Leaning on the oar, I pause with my cup and gaze at the moon, feeling only that I am wasting my thoughts.

The moon is full and bright as ever. Only the season has changed: when clouds and mist obscure it, it is fitting for its radiance to recede for a while.

Life is like a traveler lodging for a time amid all things under heaven. Sorrow and joy come and go, and neither can be escaped.

Awakening and Dreaming

The person speaking now also dreams at night; the person who dreams at night is speaking now.

The one who speaks and the one who dreams are both this “I.” Why, then, distinguish waking from dreaming?

Zhuang Zhou dreamed he had become a butterfly, then woke unable to tell one from the other. This is simply one instance of the transformations of all things. To see through its truth is like pulling out nails and wedges, loosening the knots in the heart.

With a single thought turned back to one’s original mind, one realizes that waking and dreaming are both empty. The numinous, lucid nature then becomes apparent, transcending the layers of delusion accumulated over countless worldly kalpas.

Longing for an Encounter

An encounter may be rare across ten thousand generations, while long years pass in an instant, like morning and evening. A worthy person a thousand miles away can seem as if close at hand.

The sun and moon hurry by like a colt flashing past an open gate. In a drought-stricken land, tangled weeds scatter like willow fluff filling the sky.

Human feelings and perceptions rise high one moment and sink low the next. As soon as thought divides self from external things, it is bound by countless entanglements.

Right and wrong in past and present are often turned upside down. In the midst of a dream, who could attend to rescuing someone from an urgent crisis?

Sitting Alone

Awake from the dream, how are the Duke of Zhou and the butterfly to be distinguished? There is no need to speak of riding a crane to immortality or wearing a golden seal at one’s waist.

The companions who truly endure are the pine and the stone, two neighbors. The moon and clouds, too, can be good friends who clear the mind.

The crow’s cry and the passing wind make the natural music of Heaven and Earth; the mountain hues and stream light reveal the earth’s patterns.

The true state is clear and free, far removed from worldly affairs. There is no need to go out of one’s way to seek the immortal Bai Yuanjun, a transcendent figure in Daoist lore.

Losing the Self

Those who cultivate the Dao abide where there is nothing to cling to, applying their whole mind and responding as circumstances arise.

If one insists on observing with the mind, one only fails to see the truth. Once the self is lost, the paths taken by speech and intention are lost as well.

Even calling out as in “Summoning the Soul” from the Songs of Chu may not bring a lost spirit back. Chasing fame and profit will only lead, in the end, to decline and disappointment.

The faint Yang Qi stirs and surges, subtle as grains of hemp and millet. Merely showing off one’s words and making a show of force is not the true key to cultivation.

Self-Illumination

The numinous wind stirs, and the myriad things respond; there are no fixed, unchanging laws. Turning the light back and contemplating oneself, one can preserve the original radiance everywhere.

Before the Cliff of No Forms grows lush, auspicious numinous grass; on the Branch Without Buds remains a true fragrance that does not wait for sprouting.

The Immortal pears and fiery dates are nothing other than this; the august phoenix and benevolent qilin naturally bring auspicious signs. Once the golden key and jade clasp are opened, one may follow the agreement and arrive in the land of water and clouds.

The petty states on a snail’s horns fight without cease, unaware that they are confined to a tiny world. The altar ground beneath the locust tree is left to suffer the ravages of wind and frost. Mountains and rivers reveal to people that prosperity and decline are both illusory; the sun and moon rise in the east and set in the west, never stopping from ancient times to the present.

Gain and loss keep changing like the turning of a hand; right and wrong have no fixed measure, and love and hate shift with the heart. Who can possess a vision as broad as a wheel? Once one sees through the things before one, as illusory as flowers reflected in the air, one discovers that in the end they will all fall silent and fade away.

When the heart loses its way, one spends the day moving about in dreamlike realms, entangled in disputes amid the scramble for fame and profit. The complications of human affairs bring too much trouble; what need is there for such petty busyness? Why not return to a place of stillness? The axe of the eyebrow has feeling, yet it is sad that it can only hew away at itself; the invisible axe of the nose—who is it being swung for? “The axe of the eyebrow” and “the axe of the nose” are metaphors for people’s attachment to distinctions and rivalry, which instead harms them. When will we break through the city of sorrow, turn the profound, mysterious key to cultivation, and advance toward a higher state?

Taking up my first post at Changchun Abbey

Now I am destitute and worse off even than Fan Li or the man from Laiwu. The cooking pot is broken, the kitchen empty, and there is nothing to eat. Leaning on my staff, I hunch my neck and gaze at this desolate scene; entering the door, I cover my mouth and give a Lu-hu laugh. “Lu-hu” refers to the sound made when suppressing a laugh.

I make plain simplicity the substance of daily life and take the Way of emptiness as the heart’s aim. I hold no worldly thoughts in mind, but simply sit in stillness and ease. Where else, beyond this, could I search for the pearl in the robe? “The pearl in the robe” alludes to a jewel hidden in one’s garment and symbolizes the precious Dao nature that everyone already possesses.

Former retreat

My heart is drawn to the mountains and fields, and lingers only in the depths of the woods. Often I take up my staff, put on my shoes, and tread the soft green grass. My view opens wide and clear, with no external things to obstruct it; my ears are quiet, no longer hearing the clamor of the dusty world. The flowers and trees by the distant fence seem to speak of their recent growth. Coarse rice, plain meals, moss salt, and vegetables still follow the old way of frugal living.

To spend day after day and year after year free of cares is, in its own way, better than the great Peng riding the wind high into the sky. “Peng’s flight” alludes to the great bird’s soaring ascent and here symbolizes lofty worldly ambitions.

Receiving visitors

With such a narrow capacity, how can I contain both the turbid and the clear? Faced with the urging and entreaties of social obligations, I can only accept them reluctantly. Upright conduct naturally puts one at odds with the god of wealth; sitting in quiet cultivation, I let poverty keep me company.

How can words of parting be as sweet and mellow as fine wine? In the exchange between us, there is instead much blame, cold as ice. Look closely: is the true nature that once rested unmoving still unharmed? The old kudzu vine west of the hermitage is still winding around there.

The Ways of the World

Cawing crows and fragrant flowers both belong to spring; every scene in the world has its own marvelous transformations. The lofty and the lowly, the wriggling and the tiny, all change with the times. Sparrows, wagtails, hawks, doves, and other birds likewise keep adapting and renewing themselves.

The many conditions of the world are confused and disordered, often turned upside down and put out of place. The forms of all things surge ceaselessly, spreading chaotically before our eyes. The dust of the mundane world hangs thick, veiling the markets at dawn and dusk. People see only gold, and fail to see other people.

Visiting a Friend

My heart is firm as iron and stone, yet I am as helpless as a puppet, unable to act of my own accord. With a sincere heart and an open gaze, I go to visit someone who shares my aspirations.

The story of wielding an axe to shave the white clay from the nose of a man from Ying tells of extraordinary skill, yet it is hard to find someone suited to receive it. One may wish to scrape away the dross from a furnace and preserve what is whole, but that does not necessarily lead to what is real.

The dust of the mundane world hangs thick, veiling the markets at dawn and dusk. People see only gold, and fail to see other people.

My heart is firm as iron and stone, yet I am as helpless as a puppet, unable to act of my own accord. With a sincere heart and an open gaze, I go to visit someone who shares my aspirations.

People are deluded by worldly affairs, blinded by bewitching illusions. The conventions of society repeatedly toy with the human heart, as though spirits and ghosts were at work. The subtle truth of a meeting cannot be explained in words; even after spending a lifetime together, each person must still make their own decision.

On the Same Theme

Try the craft of the luan-blade, said to be razor-sharp, and learn from Cook Ding as he carved up an ox. Yet worldly relationships pull and push at us, like a boat struggling upstream against a swift current.

Knowing full well that I am fortunate to have escaped the bonds of the mundane world, how could I willingly become a prisoner confined by earth and wood? When someone marked a boat to search for a lost sword, the sword had long since drifted away with the current. When someone raised a pole by the sea to look for his father, his father could not be found. Once a thought stirs, everything may turn upside down and fall into confusion. See through illusion and emptiness, and all things can be let go.

Last Words

Thinking himself highly perceptive, he talks boastfully and refuses to hold back at all; half his life has passed in a commotion like bees swarming in a hive. The demonic obstacles of words disturb the spirit and make the mind waver; a sudden itch to show off his skill makes his tongue grow reckless.

Beneath the banana leaf, he has not even determined whose deer lies hidden there. He knows perfectly well that one may forget the sheep while holding the tally in one’s hand, yet still cannot let go.

Alas, what can so much talk accomplish? Break through the knot of doubt in the heart, and learn to say little, like a tightly cinched sack.

Keeping Silent

Fortunately, I have escaped the bonds of the mundane world and the net of convention, yet sadly I remain enthralled by the names “sage” and “worthy.” The many attachments in my heart have not yet been cleared away; my boundless thoughts merely surge in vain across the page.

Only after attaining understanding did I realize that I was still like “San Chuangluo.” Only then did I know that there remains a state beyond words, a “Wuhe” that is difficult to describe.

From now on, it is best to speak less and remain silent, conserving original Qi and spirit, and nurturing a calm, even temperament.

Clinging to the False

This fleshly body is like a leather sack, carried about on two legs. Who, then, is the master within it?

It commands the body’s many bones and connects its nine apertures, yet it also gives rise to the six ghosts and three worms—the impure forces said in Daoism to disturb body and mind and hinder cultivation.

This mass of flesh and bone is illusory from beginning to end. However intricate its workings may be, in the final analysis they are all empty.

Even if our original true nature really exists, speak of it earnestly and the listener will hear nothing, as if deaf.

The Working of Transformation

The workings of creation and transformation change from moment to moment. In Jambudvipa, the human world, people are like dreamers, caught up in petty disputes.

It is rare to meet a kindred spirit who sees through life and death and understands them as one. The clamor of those forever chasing fame and profit grows tiresome.

At Huayang, I found no companion suited to a life of ease, and could only return empty-handed. In the tale from the Qi dynasty, too, the old man who cut the wheel was put to use in vain.

The transforming world and the transforming body both bewilder us. They reveal only illusion, never what is real.

Receiving the Light

The key to passing on the flame and keeping the light alive is renewed understanding. The fire-controlled alchemical furnace—the metaphor for alchemical cultivation—rests in stillness, cold as ice.

In the sea of awakening, a new moon rises at night. In the sky of one’s nature, auspicious clouds continually appear.

The gourd-like realm within the heart is planted with no useless flowers or grasses; beyond the world, no clinging vines entangle us.

The highest principle must be understood through what is real. Never let the mind’s thoughts and the words of the mouth contradict each other.

Cultivation

In cultivation, what is most worth drawing near to? One should be pure and practice Wuwei (non-action), thereby reaching the root of reality.

The subtle principle has been complete since the beginning of time. When illusory thoughts and dust-like notions disperse, all returns to an undivided whole.

The numinous, lucid root of one’s nature appears in its own time, and its complete and wondrous workings unfold day by day.

If you cling to a single direction in pursuit of attainment, in the end it will all prove illusory and have nothing to do with genuine cultivation.

In cultivation, what is most worth drawing near to? One should be pure and practice Wuwei (non-action), thereby reaching the root of reality.

The subtle principle has been complete since the beginning of time. When illusory thoughts and dust-like notions disperse, all returns to an undivided whole.

The numinous, lucid root of one’s nature appears in its own time, and its complete and wondrous workings unfold day by day.

If you cling to a single direction in pursuit of attainment, in the end it will all prove illusory and have nothing to do with your own cultivation.

Purifying the Heart

In a cultivator’s heart, distracting thoughts spring up like thorns covering a field. Clear them away, and “fire jujubes” and “crossed pears”—images in Daoist texts for the precious fruits of internal alchemy—can grow within. The inner spirit is whole from the beginning, lacking nothing. Delusive thoughts are like flowers reflected in the air; once they naturally fade, everything becomes perfectly clear.

The mind and nature are perfectly rounded and still, like a precious pearl or a bright mirror; they are also pure and lucid, like jade and ice. Do not say that the mysterious principles cannot be taught: their living workings often reveal themselves before us.

Noncontention

Conflict in the wilds subsides, and the impulse to fight comes to an end. Thousands of households celebrate peace throughout the land. The night sky is clear, the clouds and mist have dispersed, and the moon shines bright. In this age of peace, the seas are calm and the Yellow River runs clear.

Such peace surpasses a dream journey to the Land of Huaxu, the legendary realm of ideal contentment. There is no need to dwell on changing times or on being confined within Mustard Seed City, a metaphor for an exceedingly small and cramped situation. The pure nature is like this from the beginning; it cannot be altered or corrupted. The pearl-like original mind contains and reflects a vast radiance.

Contentiousness

Opposition between people rises like a mountain, separating each person on their own side. Peaks block the way, as though halberds and spears were crossed before them. Dust seals the old road, leaving people unable to find their way home; smoke and mist enshroud the source of the spirit, keeping them from returning to their true home.

Those who fight refuse to rein in their thoughts. Restless like a tethered tiger, they can only glare and rage, like croaking frogs. At the slightest stir in the heart, the urge to fight springs into action, often leaving the ground strewn with corpses and the dead and wounded in great numbers.

Following the Current

Sit at ease beside the stream and let a small boat drift with the waves. Only by awakening fully to the source of the spirit does one know that it is the place of return. Scripture scrolls and poetry satchels are merely pastimes for leisure; the medicine stove and elixir cauldron make up the Dao cultivator’s enduring way of life. A Daoist by the clear stream invites the bright moon for company; a master on a white stone reclines, gazing at green clouds. Facing one another, they forget all distinctions and become three beneficial friends. Together they read a passage from “Autumn Waters,” then share a cup of tea.

Dwelling in the Mountains

A lofty, flat rock serves as a throne, and soft, dense sedge takes the place of a green felt mat. Mountain crags among the clouds and caves beneath the moon are all secluded places of beauty. The Wind Earl, spirit of the wind, and the mountain spirits lend their aid, helping bring this Daoist gathering to completion.

Mountain streams and dense woods are expounding the Great Dao; wildflowers and flying birds, too, understand its mysteries. In the blink of an eye, one arrives at the realm of “No-Thing” (a Daoist state free from attachments and limitations). No words are needed to teach it: the Immortal Way is revealed everywhere.

Worldly Customs

Someone lets out the chickens and dogs, then cannot find them again; a stubborn mind, too, refuses to be gathered in and made calm. The ears and eyes are always drawn by sounds and sights, while body and mind are often bound by fame, profit, and gain.

Long ago, someone fought another over firewood and a deer, too lazy to learn the art of cutting up an ox as Cook Ding did. Right and wrong are turned upside down without a pause; life and death keep revolving—when will the cycle ever cease?

Seeking the Mystery

Investigate the mysterious Dao until you fully grasp its layers of profound meaning, and only then will you know the true nature of things. Golden flowers (an image in Daoist cultivation symbolizing the gathering and manifestation of inner vital essence) rise from the water, pure and free of dust.

The scenes in the Pot-Heaven (a Daoist realm of immortals) change from moment to moment; the clouds and rosy mists in the grotto dwellings are new at every instant. Manifestations arising through karmic conditions are all illusions, while the tidings that have endured since time immemorial naturally open onto the wondrous and the numinous. Mountains, forests, plants, and trees make no distinctions. Among people, those who can awaken to this Dao are the true humans.

Lost from Home

Like someone who has lost their home, one drifts and takes the wrong road. For thousands of years, like a moth larva, one remains mired in hardship and never finds the way home. The cycles of life and death in sandalwood, locust trees, and other trees are no different from the lives of maggots. The fable of the rival states Man and Chu fighting over a patch of land on a snail’s horn, too, shows how small the world’s struggles are.

Entanglements of sights and sounds are thick as honey; the turmoil of right and wrong is tangled as hemp. Who can set their sights beyond the common world, escape the path of delusion, and ascend to a pure realm like the moon palace?

Walking Alone

Once you have verified and fully understood the mysterious Dao, you can move freely between gathering in and letting go. From eyebrows and beards to the tiniest hairs, all things move according to their own nature. Forget the pursuit of things beyond yourself; there is no need even to go looking for chickens and dogs. Simply follow the world’s demands, letting yourself be driven like a horse or an ox.

Though shaped things are struck and carved with axe and adze, their noses remain unharmed; though insentient things fall into one’s food, they do not turn back to chase after them. These two lines allude to old stories, describing how to follow nature without being moved by external things. On a moonlit, wind-clear night, all around is still, and only a small leaf-shaped boat drifts across river and sea.

Tasting the Real

In stillness and Wuwei (non-action), one’s nature is subtle and far-reaching. Let even a trace of defiling thought arise in the field of the heart, and it is stained. The brow has only just relaxed, yet in a moment many troubles arise; the moment one speaks, one falls into two sides—opposing ways of seeing.

Why gather together like clods of earth or wooden stumps? So many people are pointlessly entangled in worries like creeping vines.

What does it matter that you gather together? See through it all, and none of these things is worth a thing.

Obscured Form

From the very beginning, people are confined within the prison of this body, rushing through their days without a moment’s rest.

They manipulate this heap of bones and display all kinds of skills; they stir up dust, but what can they make of it?

Amid disputes over right and wrong, they compete to speak; amid divisions between self and others, they vie to stand out.

When the breath grows too faint to stir the nostrils, can a skull still claim the barren hill for itself?

The Toil of Life

This body is like a useless growth, life’s great affliction. From the very beginning, people insist on treating it as their true and unchanging self.

In poverty and hardship, urgent toil never ceases; in pursuit of wealth and status, there is not a moment of ease.

They expend their strength in the arena of fame and profit, and nourish their spirit along paths of selfish desire and corrupt thoughts.

What, in the end, comes of it all? It is sad that even now you are still being taken in by all kinds of tricks.

False Views

Those who crave the bait and imagine they can swallow a giant whale rush forward one after another to gulp it down before the lure is even cast. In the end, they have only shown off in vain.

Like duckweed resting on the water, they willingly drift with the current; like flying fluff carried by the wind, they are easily swayed.

When the eyes are diseased, what is true appears false; when the mind and spirit are disordered, good intentions are mistaken for demons.

Long-held delusion is hard to correct, and some even return to strengthen these false thoughts.

True Virtue

As soon as a thought arises, the spirits and gods already know; no one can deceive the conscience they were born with.

Aid living beings and benefit others without calculating gain or loss; accommodate others, restrain yourself, and act with humility and respect.

Selfish thoughts, corrupt intentions, stubbornness, and arrogance must be cleared away again and again. Loyalty, filial devotion, benevolence, and compassion should be practiced from above to below, and from within to without.

Those who are respectful and cautious, sincere in heart, and free of flattery and pretense will find harmony with others, whether in the human realm or the heavens.

Worldly Entanglements

To discern the directions of east and west takes its own kind of skill; this heart finds it hard to share the ways of the world.

Speaking of stillness is like tasting jade nectar without knowing its flavor; drinking turbid wine amid the clamor only breeds more turmoil.

The moment you deliberately adorn your cultivation, flies gather around you. If you can rest at ease like an empty boat, you will join with flowing water and open sky.

Even when no one sees it, the orchid does not complain; it continues to send its fragrance into the evening breeze.

Conceal your own dullness. Drinking turbid wine amid the clamor only breeds more turmoil.

The moment you deliberately adorn your cultivation, flies gather around you. If you can rest at ease like an empty boat, you will join with flowing water and open sky.

Even when no one admires the orchids, they do not resent it. They continue to give off their fragrance, brushed by the evening breeze.

Keeping One’s Treasure Hidden

Set aside all distractions and devote yourself to guarding a heart of utmost sincerity. Only sincerity accords with the Dao.

The Mysterious Pearl, a symbol of precious Daoist methods and one’s true nature, and the treasure must be kept securely hidden. The jade elixirs and fine blossoms, metaphors for precious results of cultivation, bloom late. Once the elixir is refined, let no one know. When divine talismans are used, even ghosts and spirits can scarcely glimpse them. The practitioner’s Dharma Body accords with emptiness, and its subtle workings become clearly manifest, beyond doubt.

Idols

Setting up idols to proclaim the truth may instead cause the truth to be lost. Clouded eyes and unclear understanding only deepen confusion. From then on, painted images obscure the profound meaning; when will figures molded from clay and wood reveal the Dharma Body?

To invent causes and conditions out of thin air is simply to deceive the world. To devise cunning schemes is to bind others in secret. They babble about gods and ghosts, their lies reaching to the heavens. Do they not fear the King of Hell? Be careful.

The Net of Teachings

The moment one enters the gate, it is as if an iron bridle has been put on, pulling one this way and that until freedom is lost. People are made to submit to rules and obey only my instructions; their speech is then stifled, and they are forbidden to seek learning and the Dao elsewhere.

Dreams of heaven are held out to win blessings; empty talk of hell is used to instill fear. Long exposure to such teachings breeds the habits of demon-mongers, those who delude people through superstition. Demons and evil spirits bewitch people’s hearts and do not stop until death.

Courting the Times

The gates of the powerful are deep as the sea, yet I am like a fish seeking their favor. Curtains hang before their grand doorways, but people still flock to pay visits one after another. Their mouths falter, afraid to speak plainly; their hearts are uneasy, their bodies bent forward, their steps hurried.

Here, the talk of honoring the Dao and valuing De has become empty words. Worldly ties and earthly affections naturally bind people. Since one has already left home to cultivate the Dao, what more is there to seek? Thinking it over, I realize that all this effort has been spent in the wrong place.

Worldly Desires

The vast sea of suffering has no shore, and tangled worldly passions are always confused and upside down. Truth and falsehood are mixed together, impossible to distinguish; right and wrong are muddled, and who can explain them clearly? In the whole city, people mistake madness for wisdom; throughout the world, the upright Way is seen as deviance. Everyone scrambles for an advantage—who dares go against the will of the crowd? And in what year will a lotus finally take root and live amid the flames?

A Troubled Mind

The poor covet what they have no right to; the rich indulge in arrogance and excess. People are never content: they toil and bustle about, still chasing more beyond what is their due.

Everywhere they go, they contrive false behavior; whenever they act, they scheme in secret with deep calculation.

No thoughts of justice or compassion arise in their hearts. They harbor only selfish and crooked intentions, greed for gain, and desire.

When their accumulated evil reaches its limit, nothing can be done to undo it. Calamity and unexpected misfortune will suddenly befall them.

Deliberate wrongdoing

They damage their natural, unspoiled nature, and everything they do goes awry. Human artifice and deceit increase day by day, though they do not realize how much they have amassed.

Idle spirits and wild ghosts compete to conjure illusions; people who are like walking corpses become their own demons.

To benefit themselves and harm others, they are always setting traps. Clinging to life and competing for possessions, they bustle about scheming for advantage.

They bear the burden of evil karma wherever they go. In the end, they must suffer the corresponding retribution. When it arrives, what can they do?

Reading the scriptures

Reading the scriptures is better than not reading them at all. Yet some people become all the more ridiculous in their words and conduct the more they read.

They merely chew over the scriptures in speech. How many truly turn inward to examine themselves and reflect with care?

After reading, their disputes over right and wrong and their attachment to self only grow. How could they be willing to cast off their pursuit of gain and desire, their selfishness and crooked thoughts?

If they cannot grasp the essential point that leads upward on the path of cultivation, what use is it to recite “zhi, hu, zhe, ye”—the particles of classical writing?

Curbing cleverness

This does not mean rejecting intelligence and deliberately becoming foolish. Rather, the clever should be especially wary of being misled by their own cleverness.

Elegant writing and broad knowledge can certainly be acquired. But can one truly grasp the state of purity, wholeness, and clarity?

Many display their skill only on the tip of the tongue; few are willing to apply themselves steadily to inner cultivation.

When will the mind become peaceful and the light of Heaven shine forth? Only then will they believe that emptiness, stillness, and ease are the pivot of the Dao.

Ordinary people

Ordinary people are anxious, greedy, jealous, and eager to get the better bargain. Driven by these thoughts, they act without regard for danger or consequences.

When their allotted fortune is spent and their influence exhausted, they have nothing left to rely on. When disaster strikes, they are powerless to control events.

Some call upon gods and ghosts and ask spirit mediums to perform; others scorn the law, draw talismans and chant spells, or seek help from those who claim to be skilled healers. This depicts ordinary people running in all directions for help when trouble arises.

As soon as they light incense, hoping to do good and receive blessings, they expect the Old Master at home—the deity revered in Daoism—to protect them along the way.

Intoxication of the heart

A Daoist tastes the wonders of the Dao as if drinking from a numinous spring. Why rely on yellow wine—another name for liquor—to get drunk and behave wildly?

There is no need to delve into the abstruse and difficult doctrines of the Six Classics. What matters especially is to grasp the “Three Essentials”—the three key points in cultivation—and “Profound Mystery,” the subtle and profound principles valued in Daoism.

Fame appears and vanishes like a hook, tempting people to take the bait like fish. Profit is like a scent, drawing people into a frantic chase. Drunk on the profusion of green, they ask after nothing, watching only as a solitary moon rises into the jade-blue sky.

Bare Emptiness

Set aside cleverness and artifice, and let your original nature return to luminous emptiness. The worldly attachments accumulated over long kalpas must also be opened up and cleared away, one by one.

From then on, be utterly bare, as if only a skeleton remained, and refuse to be confined by illusory realms. When the oxherd reaches the point of no longer seeing the ox, where is the person? Let everything go until nothing remains—not even an awl.

Exhaust everything, and still “bare emptiness” cannot be exhausted. Once its lively vitality is released, everywhere can be “I.”

Returning to the Right

Old habits and desires often run unchecked, disturbing the mind and bringing unbearable distress.

Once the command of the right way is put into practice, wrong thoughts also disappear. A slight accord with genuine practice is enough to let one realize the Great Dao. Only after many lives and kalpas does one recognize familiar thoughts as thieves, understand that one has lost one’s way, and turn with single-minded intent toward the right way.

Life after life is like eating huangbo, an exceedingly bitter medicinal herb. Once one tastes the sweetness of milk sugar, one can tell the difference.

Putting It into Practice

Be strict with yourself and yielding toward others. Be content with your place and keep a peaceful heart; then you will naturally be upright and free of greed.

Support living beings and deal with others in a spirit of kindness, without losing a sense of measure. Follow reason and understand what is true, while also attending to practical matters. Do not disturb ordinary people with illusory and bizarre claims, or deceive them with fabricated tales of the uncanny.

Accumulate virtue and good deeds generously in daily life; then there is no need to grasp deliberately at the essentials of upward cultivation.

True Practice

There is no need to seek out famous mountains such as Hengshan in the south or Tiantai, nor to cling to empty names and appearances.

Only by forgetting possessions and sights and sounds can the mind become settled; only by dissolving judgments of right and wrong can one’s original nature become clear.

Act with sincerity and quietude, without concern for gain or loss. Only with upright and compassionate virtue can one become complete. Accumulate both outward conduct and inner practice without interruption, and in the end achieve fulfillment like a jeweled flower dais.

Liu Fuzi’s Grief at the Loss of His Daughter

Creation is merciless, as if it meant to toy with us. Amid laughter, sorrow arrives before we know it.

The spirit who oversees flowers conjures a truly lovely young woman, as if she had spent ten years preparing this joyful dream.

When the dream ends, all is emptiness. People make every effort to arrange and adorn her, then send the beauty who could captivate a city out through the door.

The sounds fade, as if the strings that held them have snapped. Each person returns home. This vivid encounter has, in the end, come to nothing but wasted effort.

Transforming into Emptiness

The transformations of creation are endless, yet people cannot see them clearly. Who could fully understand the subtle workings and effects within them?

Events change as swiftly as lightning, catching people unprepared. The road ahead is dim and hazy, as if shrouded in darkness.

In the time it takes to turn a hand, life and death, survival, flourishing and decline have all changed. Things shift unpredictably, turning back and forth like the saying “three in the morning, four at night.”

Sorrow and joy arise without cause, leaving people helpless. They mistake an illusion for reality.

Turbulence

The turbulence of worldly affairs readily gives rise to resentments, while habits formed over a long time are hard to forget; so joy, anger, sorrow, and worry take hold.

For thousands of years, people have never stopped arguing over right and wrong. A whole lifetime passes in keeping score against one another and quarreling without end.

The honors won by heroes with their own hands become their chains; even the bold and capable are often imprisoned by profit and desire.

They pay no heed to life’s great matters or the conditions that shape it. Busy all day long, they worry on behalf of others.

Establishing and Transforming

Original Reality has no fixed form; what has form is not the real. The methods of teaching and transforming people, and the institutions built around them, ultimately belong to the worldly realm.

Amid the worldly realm, who can open their eyes and see the truth? Among the myriad things, who can reveal their complete nature?

Few can undo lifelessness and break free of restraints. And how many can rise above the crowd and distinguish themselves?

I know that neither my natural gifts nor my practice are exceptional. Even so, I should remain quiet and self-contained, and preserve my spirit.

Life in the Monastery

Visits and social obligations never cease; dealings between people leave one weary and constrained.

The disciples shoulder a heavy burden. A life as abbot within the monastery gates may seem carefree, but in truth it is like being held in a worldly prison.

With the slightest lapse, the mind merges with the ways of the world. Gathering and shaping lumps of clay is no more than bathing in mud; it is hard to escape worldly defilement.

I am ashamed that the west wind blew with such force and scattered the clouds. Like a broken cloud, I drift indistinctly, dwelling beside a mountain valley.

On Expounding the Scriptures

Expounding the meaning of a scripture and provisionally setting out a teaching is like stepping onto a ladder that reaches heaven. One plucks a yellow leaf to quiet a child’s cries for a time. Here, “a yellow leaf to quiet a child” is a metaphor for teaching as a provisional means of guidance, not as ultimate truth.

After the rain, one can watch the lotus leaves emerge from the water. When the wind rises, one can also take delight in willow fluff clinging to the mud.

A mole’s narrow capacity is hardly suited to riding in a carriage. Nor have I ever seen a crow or a great roc take pleasure in war drums and battle.

Collected Poems from Cloud Mountain

Songs of the common people—popular folk tunes—have almost become the way of the world. When the refined music of “Spring in the Sun” is sung, people are all the more bewildered.

Self-Imprisonment

The living bustle and struggle in the dusty world, unaware that all things are empty at their core. It is as though their hearts were stuffed with interlocking spears and halberds, leaving them vexed and uneasy.

The depths of the sea have not been fully plumbed; yet we are like strange peaks that keep rising from the mountainside, layer upon layer, with no end in sight.

We bind ourselves with the ropes of delusion, winding them around us three thousand times, then are imprisoned across and through by the nets of the Law, fold upon fold.

We dream of escaping the prison of birth and death. How could we know to ask Laozi whether he would agree to take us along?

Dharma Forms

The solemn forms of the Dharma are displayed with great fanfare, only to end in futility, like searching and looking about in the valley for a lost sheep.

We wander deluded along the road of birth and death, coming and going, and debate again and again along the road of names and words, yet gain nothing of substance.

We burn incense and stir the fire, inviting the sacred into the hall; then we beat drums and ring bells, hurrying to take our places and perform the rites.

With the pursuit of fame and profit still unspent, how could one become a true knower of the principles of the Dharma?

Ritual Altar

People gather together, striking all kinds of poses and deftly currying favor with one another. The result is simply that the foolish are content to take the lower place.

Making the false appear true only turns the truth into illusion. What use is there in claiming that what is absent is present?

Pointing at emptiness and sketching emptiness does not necessarily bring realization of emptiness. To rely on what is real and grasp what is real, one must still cultivate within reality.

They display all manner of pointless tricks, yet those being taught are made blind and deaf without even realizing it.

Not Yet Across

As the age of calamity gradually wanes, evil deeds too begin to change. How many people have ever formed a wholesome connection?

The pit of fire scorches body and mind, as though flames were rising over the whole body. The sea of suffering has no shore, its waves stretching to the horizon.

How many have rushed with their poles toward the irrigated fields, and how many have rowed out in boats to fish?

Where is Ren Gongzi now, who once went fishing? No longer can we see his rainbow hook and dangling bait.

Awakening to the Real

To loosen the growths that cling to us and lay down the burden of suffering, turn the light of the mind inward amid all the toil of the dusty world, and behold what is real.

Peel away, layer by layer, the habits accumulated over many lifetimes; forget, one by one, the selfish and distorted thoughts gathered through kalpas of tribulation.

Cling to no trace of form. Though the body may be hidden from sight, one’s bearing carries on through the ages, upright and dignified.

The scenery of the immortal realm of Everlasting Spring is unlike the human world: jade trees and forests of precious stone bloom in succession.

Content with Poverty

To lodge for a time in a humble thatched hut is not to take it as one’s true home. Even if its four walls are bare and the chime hangs silent, what hindrance is there?

People of this kind have the ability to break free from worldly constraints; they simply cannot accept the idea of sinking into degradation.

What do piles of firewood and clods of earth amount to? Even paired pieces of fine jade and gold are as light as rubble. Once all kinds of illusions have been erased at a stroke, one’s true original nature becomes clear.

Dharma Body

The body of the True Person without rank—the true nature unconstrained by worldly identity or position—seems empty and formless. Yet when things arrive from outside, it responds at once.

Open the inner treasure, and even Heaven and Earth seem small; release its perfect radiance, and it is as though the sun and moon appear together. The greatest vastness and the tiniest detail are both contained within it; existence and nonexistence, height and depth—nothing lies outside it. Boundless realms of sand, too vast to fathom, can be gathered in an instant into a tiny pearl no larger than a millet grain.

Forgetting the True Person’s body seems empty; when things arrive, it responds without delay.

The body of the True Person without rank seems empty and formless; yet when things arrive from outside, it responds at once.

Open the inner treasure, and even Heaven and Earth seem small; release its perfect radiance, and it is as though the sun and moon appear together. Great and small, coarse and fine are all contained within it; existence and nonexistence, height and depth—nothing lies outside it. Boundless worlds can be gathered in an instant into a tiny pearl no larger than a millet grain.

Forgetting the External

The Daoist sanctuary is solemn and complete, ancient in style and pure; the magical fungus and the fragrance of the soul-restoring herb, said to revive the dead, seem to bring life back. The true realm of the entire Dharma-realm—the world formed by all things together—is fully revealed, yet the radiance of the tradition itself remains concealed.

There is no need to judge between the right and wrong of Yao and Jie, or to distinguish the crane’s long legs from the duck’s short ones. There is no need to proclaim that peace has arrived; it can be found in every home. With a sweep of the sleeves, one returns and rests serenely in a state of inebriation.

Unhitching the Axle

One is lucid and awake in dreams, and can awaken even while drunk; inner and outer remain equally clear. Remove superficial adornment from every matter, and truth will naturally be complete; wash away the dust and grime, and the Dharma Body becomes light and free.

Living with a broken gourd, one seeks food only when hungry; in winter, one first finds a cave for shelter, then sets out when the weather grows warm. Body and mind are not bound by the snares of the world, and one passes a lifetime in freedom and ease.

Worldly Burdens

Caught up in all manner of worldly toil, one is still willing to shoulder the load. Clothes must be fresh and fine; food must be delicious and pleasing. Every expense weighs on the mind and is calculated over and over. In pursuing one’s every desire, one only stirs up greed.

Reputation is like a rope that binds a person into the world’s prison; gain is like a restraint that one willingly accepts. Taking added worries for happiness, one stays busy from dawn to dusk and, without realizing it, uses up an entire life.

If you clearly know that all things in the world arise from the mind, why seek outward for what the mind already contains?

Within you lies cinnabar—the refined essence formed by cultivating Jing, Qi, and Shen in Daoist Neidan. You need only seek it within. Whoever is driven by a “monkey mind and horse thoughts,” the image of unruly, scattered thoughts, should find a way to master them.

Faces that shift like spirits and ghosts can change in an instant; strange, frantic behavior, too, soon fades away.

Without first smelting and forging in a great furnace, no matter how high you scatter the ashes, you will never refine gold.

Seeking the Mountains

Ah, I have loved seeking mountains since I was born. Yet once I reach them, I find myself longing to return.

The slopes rise and fall, making every step difficult and tiring; the stone steps are rough and uneven, and a long climb leaves one weary.

Hungry bears and tigers sometimes appear nearby, while fierce hunters and woodcutters knock at the door at dusk, seeking lodging.

Rather than roam about like this, it is better to let the mind settle, firm as jade. Wherever one may be, one can stand independently, composed and at ease.

Wandering Among the Immortals in the Human World

I stroll up to a height and gaze into the distance, learning from the ancient immortals how to gather and refine true Qi. This place lies near the traces left by Gong, and close to Crane Mountain.

Clouds and rosy mists accompany this Daoist refuge. Set in a remote place, it has never known the clamor of carts and horses.

A numinous spring beneath the rocks reflects the cold moon; deep among the ancient cypress branches before the hall, spring seems to linger.

In my thatched hall, I call a mountain boy and ask: Are there still immortals here who summon the wind and give a long, ringing shout?

Visiting the Five Cliffs

Five cliff peaks rise like walls, ranged across the mountains; deep grotto dwellings are encircled by layers of verdure.

Mount Huagai, a sacred Daoist mountain, is like a row of jade palaces. Its stone gate is deep and remote, as if it opened onto a mysterious realm.

Years have turned and the world has changed. Where have the people of old gone? They have departed to pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning, while the immortal cranes have yet to return.

No one hears their noble spirit now, yet their traces remain. The bright moon fills the vast sky, and the terrace of whistling stands empty and still.

Putting Away the Hook

White duckweed and red smartweed have endured for thousands of years; yet the golden fish, hungry though it may be, will not take the hook.

The cloud bait is tucked into its pouch and treasured in vain; the rainbow-colored fishing rod is put away—it is better to stop altogether.

Even Li Zhu, famed for his extraordinary eyesight, cannot see through it and can only gaze southward; Kuang Qu cannot explain it and can only wander north.

A thousand-zhang swell stretches without end, the vast sea dim and boundless. Beneath a sky full of bright moonlight, there is only an empty boat.

Torrents a thousand fathoms high spread across the vast blue sea. Beneath the bright moon filling the sky, a small boat seems to drift through empty space.

The Day Wen Bangrui Was Poisoned

At dawn, the courtyard is clear and lovely. Blessings and long life have quietly come to your home.

When others ask about this dreamlike realm, they will understand in time. The wind that lifts one beyond the dusty world is worthy of praise today.

Store crimson snow—Jing or vital energy, as described in Daoist cultivation—in a jade vessel that preserves life; refine cinnabar, used in Daoist alchemy and often a symbol of the elixir gained through cultivation, in a golden cauldron that prolongs life.

If you wish to come with me to Xuanzhou, the fabled land of immortals, to drink, then sit and watch the Peaches of Immortality bloom again and again.

A Chance Encounter

Awaken the drowsy, languid spirit of meditation; strong wine breaks through the world that seems to form within a porcelain cup.

The boundless realm stretches so wide. Grasp its essential secret completely, and yet its wonder remains hard to put into words.

By the water’s edge, following the mountain’s contours, I begin a new life. The clear wind and bright moon remain as they were, bound to me by an old affinity.

Every plant and tree before my eyes understands the Way. Even the crickets’ cries on an autumn night seem to speak of mysteries.

Self-Reproach

The Creator is plainly making sport of this body of flesh and blood, yet people still bustle about, chasing fame and profit.

Even in old age, I cannot help talking too much. This sound body, for no good reason, seems to injure itself out of sheer idleness.

When I meet a good friend, partings and reunions are unavoidable. This illusory body, in its comings, goings, and movements, drifts like a dream.

The world’s turmoil allows no peace, and so my thoughts return to a hermitage deep among the white clouds.

A Visit to Qionghua Island on the Double Ninth

On the Double Ninth, the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, a friend and I arranged to wander Qionghua Island with our walking sticks.

We pushed aside branches and leaves along an overgrown path and passed through an ancient grotto. Leaning against a rock on a lofty cliff, we gazed out across the land of China.

Ancient pines and parasol trees stood deep and vigorous in the autumn light; red leaves and yellow flowers set off the season’s quiet beauty.

With nothing weighing on my heart and the elegant pleasure of the outing fulfilled, I sought the way back and boarded a light boat.

Seeing Off Elder Jin Po

Our parting words were hurried, and the season bitterly cold with ice and snow. We lingered in farewell, as though mounted together and gazing toward the western hills.

The chest holds newly transmitted Fulu, Daoist talismanic writings; a sharp sword lies hidden in the sleeve. How could these be left unused?

The scene is just like last year, when I left the capital. Now once again I set out from here, bound for the human world.

At last, the matter that weighed on my heart is settled. Taking advantage of the spring breeze, I hurry toward the imperial capital.

Seeing Zhang Wenshu Off to Helin

The foundation of governance lies in following the Dao of Heaven, so that the right way may prevail. The spring days grow longer, the wind is mild and the sun warm, and the horse’s hooves quicken.

Messages arrive from the Dark Waters of the North, a realm associated in Daoist thought with the netherworld. Green mountains stretch along both sides, as though seeing travelers off and welcoming them.

I, too, once searched in secret and sought with all my strength. You must rouse your spirit and strive toward the great journey ahead.

Helin is close at hand, near the place where imperial authority resides. Together, we await blessings descending from Yujing, the celestial capital of Daoist belief.

As above.

The older I grow, the deeper my affection becomes, and the harder it is to part. My talents are modest; I have managed, with some effort, to write this farewell poem.

The day is bright and clear; the wind sends petals dancing through the air. Spring comes slowly, the earth gradually thaws, and swallows murmur.

After we part, I cannot help but grieve again. Gazing into the distance, I am helplessly absorbed in thoughts of you.

Evening clouds and waves recede mile by mile. I look back and wonder whether we will ever have the chance to renew our old promise.

Seeing He Juchuan Off as He Follows the Perfected One to Court

He Juchuan follows the Perfected One, an honorific for someone accomplished in Daoist cultivation, to court. Light as a crane-drawn carriage, he sets out from Yan and rides the wind upward, as if bound for Juntian, the legendary celestial realm.

The Longdui desert stretches for thousands of miles. Traveling south and north, the journey takes half a year from beginning to end.

After we part, who will there be to make me laugh freely? No one else at the table will talk with me about the mysteries of the Dao.

My heart, usually as steadfast as iron and stone, is shattered by this parting. My old eyes meet yours, and tears nearly fall.

As above.

You will meet Ruoshi and learn the tale of Lu Ao, the legendary traveler to the realms of the immortals; with a single leap, you will soar ten thousand heights into the clouds.

You go now to draw near the imperial throne; when you return, you will take up office in the Immortal Bureau.

Your profound cultivation can reach the netherworld and extend its blessings even to an old man like me.

Even if you cannot put your abilities to use in the human world, and must live as one of no account, you can still drink wine among the mountains and forests and admire the peaches of immortality.

Reminiscing at the Northern Palace

Leaning on my staff, I walk slowly in search of the old palace grounds. The world has changed; the palaces have vanished into desolate darkness and distance.

The plants and trees have been bathed in fresh rain again, but the pavilions no longer bear their former painted colors.

The jade steps lie in ruins, their remains all that is left. The palace’s jade stairways have also crumbled; the institutions and ceremonies of old survive only as traces.

The water birds know nothing of how many times the human world has changed. The setting sun still shines on the sandbank, and the birds still gather there.

An Autumn Excursion to Qionghua Island

In that lofty place, like the Moon Palace, the wildflowers have turned yellow. Thickets of brambles spread everywhere, hiding the ancient grotto chamber.

Rubble piled high, and the ruined walls have taken on a new aspect; withered lotus and dead grass still linger in the old pond. Where are the grand processions of carriages that once crowded like clouds? The world changes swiftly, and even the boats and carts in the mountains are nowhere to be found. I ask the west wind about the past; only the pines still stand, lush and green against the sky.

As above

In early autumn, the immortals arrange to travel together, drifting down from the Taiqing Realm—the Daoist celestial realm—on their swift, light wind-borne carriages. Adorned with countless treasures and touched by dew, they peer toward the Moon Palace; nine-colored rosy clouds veil Penglai and Yingzhou. They gaze down at the blue heavens, where clouds roll like brocade; leaning over the water, they seem to dip jade blossoms into its crystal-clear ripples. With light steps they arrive at the Guanghan Palace, the Moon Palace, and leisurely make their rounds, pausing to look about. How many companions travel beside the Yuxiao Palace?

As above

In early autumn, the immortals arrange to travel together, drifting down from the Taiqing Realm on their swift, light wind-borne carriages. Adorned with countless treasures and touched by dew, they peer toward the Moon Palace; nine-colored rosy clouds veil Penglai and Yingzhou. They gaze down at the blue heavens, where clouds roll like brocade; leaning over the water, they seem to dip jade blossoms into its crystal-clear ripples. With light steps they arrive at the Guanghan Palace and leisurely make their rounds, pausing to look about. How many companions travel beside the Yuxiao Palace?

Remembering the Former Palace

Buildings rose in great clusters, like piled blocks, to form the Jianzhang Palace; the laborers who once marched in great numbers built its sturdy defenses. Struggles for power bred the force that would conquer all under Heaven, only for the battlefield to become like maggots fighting over food amid the thickets of Tanluo. In a single night, the palace quarters were reduced to embers; the figures of a hundred years vanished, leaving desolation and silence. Recalling the clamor and splendor of former days, who could have imagined that now the west wind would blow, and even the plants and trees would soon turn yellow?

Xihua Garden

The imperial carriage, covered in dust, never returned; all the towers once shrouded in five-colored auspicious clouds have turned to ash. The great achievements of the past shone for a thousand feet, but now only an empty name remains, a cup of wine’s worth. The workings of Creation seem to have deliberately arranged these theatrical upheavals; day and night the sun and moon alternate, hastening the world’s changes. Do the flowers and grasses in the imperial garden still remember the past? They have since been moved elsewhere and planted in the spring breeze.

Remembering the Past at Yanyan

The golden figures seem to have lost their ruler and fled toward the Central Plains; in the blink of an eye, the Five-Phoenix Tower turned to flying ash. The palace guard posts became wasteland overgrown with weeds, and all the people of rank and refinement were buried beneath the dunes. The war drums shattered the peace of sleep; only then did I begin to yearn to roam the four directions with the clouds and waters. Looking back as the west wind stirs the plants and trees into decline, I wonder how many autumns have passed for the white duckweed and red blossoms.

In Memory of Lecturer Hao

I recall the days long ago when we spoke in Zhangchuan. They are truly unforgettable. Now you have returned in your majesty to the Dao, back to your original realm.

You cast off your feathered robe, the garment of a Daoist, and first left behind the traces of your former life. Then, like a crow rising into the sky and leaving its old home, you gained a new life.

It was as though you awoke from a dream and stepped the astral pace, the ritual steps of Daoist star-walking, as you departed the world of dust. Then you rode the clouds away, returning to the Imperial City, that spring-filled land of immortals.

The yellow incense coils in the jade censer have turned to ash. Only their fragrance remains, for those who come after to remember you.

Lodging at Mount Wuhua

The True Immortal has renovated Wuhua Palace, setting it amid layered, winding mountains, lovely as an embroidered sedan chair.

In the quiet night, clear springs murmur; in the fair breeze, slender bamboo sways.

This remote place has scenery of secluded beauty, its finest views arising naturally. Human craft has also shaped it, blending harmoniously with what nature has made.

Where, one might ask, is the place for refining the Elixir? Only towering trees fill the mountains, all turned red by the setting sun.

True Nature

The moment one tries to discuss or portray True Nature in words, its original appearance is already lost. As soon as words are spoken, True Nature falls into the distinctions of the dusty world.

All things flow from one source, and its presence appears everywhere. It is like six gates, the senses, each reflecting its own light, presenting new changes at every moment.

True Nature responds to things with perfect ease, moving with the subtlety of a turning pivot. Touch the essential point, and one can reach the wondrous realm.

How many people are ruled by illusions and made their servants? But who, from the very beginning, has truly been the master?

A Guest Displays a Phoenix’s Beak Kept in a Brocade Pouch

As soon as the phoenix left Mount Danshan, its virtue had already waned. How much more so when only its remnant flavor remains, while people still recall its former splendor.

Now people speak only of its five-colored feathers and bearing. But where are its subtle essence and its nine marks, the legendary traits of the phoenix?

The great tortoise was cut open; it did not seek honor for itself. The benevolent qilin broke its leg; what was that for?

Tortoise, qilin, phoenix, and dragon: these four numinous creatures are no ordinary beings. Yet even they ask people: who can escape the calamity symbolized by the ash of the cosmic conflagration?

Same as Above

The nimble workings of the Dao have been passed down through many years. Now it seems that both the human way and the way of Heaven can be upheld.

It stands out above all, lifting my teaching beyond the ages; it also brings principle and circumstance into perfect accord, encompassing the Three Profound Principles.

It opens wide its treasure house and does not use pincers or spears to constrain the multitude. It follows the pivot in secret, bringing what is upright and what is partial into harmony.

It turns the Milky Way into a roof, while auspicious radiance shines without end, guarding Yanran.

Seeing Off the Yeci Envoy on His Journey to Court

Since your youth, you have received the favor of the imperial house. Even after submitting that memorial, you may still hasten to the capital to attend court when your term of office is over.

Steadily rising into the crimson heights, he sits far above the Silver River, as though riding a crane through the sky.

One day, the Golden Urn, symbol of an undivided realm, will become the royal residence. On an auspicious day, the court will present an edict written on white hemp paper.

All look up to the True One for support, longing for the warmth of spring to return to the world. Spring spreads across heaven and earth, reaching even the sands of the River.

Wishing the Perfected One Qinghe a Long Life

The Perfected One rises as if bearing up the sun, opening the Jade Capital—the Daoist realm of immortals—to the world. He is a pillar of the Mysterious Gate, Daoism, and a distinguished figure among the mountains and across the land.

It is rare for anyone in this world to live so long, as though he had passed through three thousand cycles of sixty years. He has also formed an otherworldly bond with ninety thousand numinous immortals, beyond the dust of worldly life.

His life endures, firm as a pine turned to stone. Though advanced in years, he remains sprightly, as if able to leap across a mustard seed or fill a city.

The Perfected One’s sacred form has endured countless kalpas and remains unchanged. He sits at ease, watching the Yellow River turn clear time and again.

On the Fifth Day of the Ninth Month, Wishing Master Yanzhan a Long Life

The Master’s conduct is pure and upright, worthy to keep company with Magu and the Golden Mother, female immortals of Daoist legend. Once, riding a wind-driven immortal carriage, he descended to the Central Plain.

He generously gave peaches of immortality to Dongfang Shuo and personally passed fire dates to Xu Youyou. Fragrant mists curl around the quiet elegance of his chambers, where the clouds are mild. In the dwelling of immortals, guests feast on jade fungus and precious elixirs.

At Penglai, the immortal isle, they chat and laugh at leisure. In the blink of an eye, red leaves and yellow flowers have witnessed autumn return again and again.

Seeing Lecturer Jia Off to Dongping

Amid the fragrance of water caltrop leaves and lotus blossoms, I see you off as you set out, your face bright with joy as you leave the imperial city.

Warm sunlight shimmers, and your returning boat speeds along. A gentle southern breeze brushes past, making your clothes billow lightly.

This parting awakens my old dream of the homeland, cherished for three years. Counting the way ahead, twelve stages of the journey still lie before you.

After we part, each of us will drift in a different direction, east or west, north or south. Who knows when we will meet again and speak together of the old days?

Matching the Rhyme of Yang Xian’an

The cloud gate of the grotto dwelling has yet to open. Red blossoms fall, and spring’s vitality slowly fades.

The valley has only just begun to warm when cold winds suddenly rise again, and sleet falls once more between river and sky.

The wind drives a broken boat toward the Land of Ghosts, while the traveler, borne by wind and snow, arrives in Huaian, the illusory kingdom glimpsed in a dream.

Creation has always changed without warning, like a mischievous child at play. Set your worries aside for now; there is no need to sigh over it.

Same as Above

The gate is shut. Red blossoms fall, and spring’s vitality slowly fades.

The valley has only just begun to warm when cold winds suddenly rise again, and sleet falls once more between river and sky.

The wind drives a broken boat toward the Land of Ghosts, while the traveler, borne by wind and snow, arrives in Huaian.

Since ancient times, the making of all things has been like children at play. Let these thoughts rest for now; there is no need to sigh over them.

Same as above

Probe deeply into the principles of Heaven, and even what is subtle and hidden becomes clear. Amid the world’s many disputes and confusions, the truth often shows itself readily.

After bathing, one shakes out one’s clothes to remove the dust; in all things, one should wait for the right moment. To press ahead in haste, like rushing to pluck the zither, only invites ridicule.

Seizing the moment and exploiting loopholes, one uses crooked ways to harm the right. To throw things into confusion and turn them upside down is to reverse right and wrong as well.

Keep the heart upright and establish standards in accord with the right way. Use what should be used, and set aside what should be set aside.

Sending Peng Zongdao North to Study with a Master

How could this parting fail to leave one troubled with sorrow? You will meet a worthy adept and learn from him the story of Lu Ao, the legendary immortal often associated with those who seek immortality and visit Daoist masters.

The crane seems to call with intent, crying out from time to time; the clouds have no intent at all, yet rise higher of their own accord.

Those with lofty aspirations need not worry that they will lack a chance to display their talents. And one as skilled as Cook Ding at carving an ox need not worry that there will be nowhere to put his abilities to use.

The patriarch will put your talent to use, as one uses a fishing rod and hook. May you sail to Yingzhou, the fabled island of immortals, and catch the great Ao, the legendary giant turtle, a symbol of extraordinary achievement.

Sending Cui Tingyu to the Court

For years, bamboo shadows and moonlight, and the wind in the pines, have kept me company. As the plum rains fall, you will leave Yanran, a place name also used for the frontier.

The distant mountains delight the heart, making it a fine time to seek out lines of poetry at leisure. With no companion across the desert, you must spur your horse onward.

Plan early for a grand undertaking in the Red River, a legendary place linked to the quest for treasure and the founding of great achievements. Do not lose the blue felt handed down by your ancestors, a metaphor for the family enterprise of old.

Make your way earnestly to the Hall of Clear Light. May you gain the support and recommendation of a worthy person, and appear before the Son of Heaven.

Sending Zhao Zizhen to Present the Daoist Canon to the Court

Do you remember how we once toured Golden Phoenix Terrace together, climbing high to gaze into the distance, our thoughts wandering far?

Now we have returned, only to part at Mount Yan once more. Who would have thought that the post horses would suddenly hurry your departure?

The precious Daoist Canon, radiant with mysterious light, is being sent to the court, while the autumn colors of the frontier have already touched your temples.

We have agreed on when you will return; we shall meet after a year has passed. Do not let your heartfelt devotion grow cold.

Mourning Guo Chaoran

Precious texts are copied and recopied, and some distortion is inevitable; incomplete manuscripts and scattered pages are left to gather dust.

It is as though, waking in surprise, I see once more your outstanding and venerable countenance and voice. Only when the dream ends do I suddenly realize that your presence belongs to the past.

You gradually reached old age, then departed this world. Now you ride in peace upon a heavenly steed, bound for the Imperial Realm, the abode of immortals.

Sorrow came too swiftly. Even before the Hall of Clear Light, I cannot keep my tears from soaking my clothes, so deep is my longing for you.

Sending Master Wang to the Court

You go in person to the Emerald Radiance Palace, the imperial residence, to take part in the great work of repairing the breach in Heaven; you have also helped draw down the Milky Way.

Immortal cranes deliver a golden letter—an official document from the Daoist heavens—to the Purple Palace, the realm where immortals dwell. The clouds part, and brilliant colors appear across the sky.

Grace is bestowed, and even withered, declining things are nourished. The clear breeze of benevolence and virtue blows, scattering delusion and gloom.

Auspicious signs should be proclaimed to Heaven. Sitting quietly, one watches the great roc spread its wings and once more soar on the wind.

Written at the Yu Xian Terrace, on the tomb of the living dead

I drank deeply from the numinous source, the wellspring that nourishes life, and only then understood the intent of our tradition. After enduring a great tribulation, the master’s true countenance appeared, merging with the clouds.

My drunken eyes suddenly opened, and Heaven and Earth seemed to shrink. My dream soul awoke in alarm, as if the sea and mountains, too, had fallen into stillness and emptiness.

Flowers like gold and jade gleam as they bloom in profusion; trees like luminous pearls shine brilliantly, their branches and leaves thick with growth.

What, I ask, is the meaning that Zhongnan Mountain has held for a thousand years? The myriad rivers fall silent and, of their own accord, flow eastward.

Seeing Off Pan, the Supervisor, to Yongle

The Immortal Lord first took office as a Five Radiances official. The sound of jade pendants rings out, recalling Liezi, the legendary Daoist, riding the wind.

Three clouds of auspicious vapor rise, showing white above the head. The Ninefold Reversion Elixir is complete, and a rosy glow spreads across the face.

Damingtong grasped the profound intent of his former master and carried on the work of the patriarch Chunyang, Lü Dongbin.

I think of the bright moon over Zhongtiao Mountain: its auspicious light, clear and pure, shines upon ten thousand homes.

Seeing Li He-fu Off as He Returns to Qin

This friend travels west, returning to Qin from the Phoenix City, the capital. A fresh breeze like the scent of lotus passes by, and his feather robe seems light.

Within the lotus retreat, Heaven and Earth open wide, holding a heart of utter sincerity. The cloud wrapped mountains seem close at hand, yet walking toward them feels like a journey of a thousand miles.

How fortunate that we once met and came to know each other in person. How regrettable that we must part again; the quiet yet deep affection is hard to leave behind.

You, above all, understand the original intent of the patriarchs of Zhongnan Mountain. Now you set out alone on the road to Chang’an.

Seeing Du Tian-fu Off as He Returns to Zhongnan

We hurry through our farewells, our thoughts stretching far away. The clouded mountains lie distant, and the road home is long.

Your heart is set on the ancestral sanctuary, and you forget the summer heat. You follow the willows beside the post road, arriving as the chill of early autumn sets in.

While you are still in the prime of life, strong and vigorous, strive to advance with diligence and dedication. When old age brings a quiet heart, you will naturally withdraw from public life and live in seclusion.

Remember the day we parted at the Daoist temple: the evening breeze drifted softly by, carrying the fragrance of lotus blossoms.

Mourning Feng Quanjiao

The man of letters restrained his sharpness and took as his model the mysterious subtlety of the Dao. Looking back at the human world, he came to see that life is like a dream, where truth and illusion are hard to distinguish.

When the heart clings to no outward appearance, no fixed true face is left behind. Those of genuine accomplishment possess the key to adapting with ease.

Shuangliang crossed beyond the frontier, vanishing into the distance with the white clouds. The short flute could no longer be heard, and the yellow crane never returned.

The flowers and trees of old before the tower stirred a sorrowful feeling. The west wind, bearing dew, seemed to weep beneath the morning sun.

Seeing He Juchuan Off to the Ancestral Court

In the empty, still mountains, the waters flow on without end. Cranes cry in sorrow, and apes call out—who knows how many years have passed?

Yesterday I stood with the others before the altar, accompanying them in the ceremonial ranks and bowing in reverence. Today you are setting out to travel through Qin and Long, to claim the highest place—a figure of outstanding achievement.

Wind and moon keep you company before your horse as the road stretches on, one stage after another. Across passes and rivers where crows fly, autumn has arrived everywhere.

If you can grasp how the One encompasses the myriad things, you can gently set the lively mechanism in motion. Then return soon and rest.

Master Zifeng’s Journey South

All things between Heaven and Earth can be seen through clearly, as though gathered within a small lotus hut. Change flows on without cease as one roams through the Great Void, the vast formless cosmos.

In meeting the myriad things, light and shadow shift alongside one another. In responding to others, bending and rising with them, he is as nimble as a well-sweep used to draw water.

At the vast crossing, the boat of compassion ferries all beings across. On the ancient, perilous road, the carriage of De proceeds steadily.

So many follow in his footsteps, staring up in awe. Yet he speeds far ahead, leaving no trace, and reaches the land of Huaxu, the fabled realm of peace and ease.

On the Same Subject

The revered master had long understood the truth at its heart; he was once the lord before Purple Canopy Peak.

Between each breath, the sound of wind becomes the myriad sounds of nature. The solitary moon, full and bright, shines along every road in every direction.

In the north, as far as Yan and Ji, his form mingles with the shifting lights and shadows of the world. Crossing south to Liang Garden, he renews the trees and grasses wherever he goes.

He need not send warm winds everywhere. With calm composure, he puts his Daoist power into practice and brings spring back to the cold valleys.

The Picture of Laozi Passing Through the Pass

White-haired yet child-faced, he appears in a body that is forever changing. Riding a green ox, he crosses the dim yellow dust.

Moonlight and song accompany the streams of Tianzhu Mountain, greeting the mountains and rivers at daybreak. A fresh breeze passes through Hangu Pass, bringing life to trees and grasses.

He crosses between past and present, riding the sun’s wheel. Entering and leaving the formless and the formed, he becomes a wheel swift as a gale.

To plumb the mystery at its heart, names and appearances alone will not suffice; nor can this painting in ink and color capture it completely.

Mourning Zhang Wenshu and Lin Fanzhen

The moment for refining the elixir has passed; the winds and clouds lie idle, and I no longer feel like composing poetry. The time has come to break through the eight directions of Heaven and Earth and let the spirit roam far away; the time has also come to see through the cycle of three lives and watch the dream dissolve.

Even summoning the soul with words like those of “Summoning the Soul” in the Songs of Chu can do no more than express a little of what is in the heart. What use is there in recalling the past? Only the bones remain, buried beneath the cold woods; spring passes and autumn comes, while grief stays lodged in the heart.

Seeing off Master Zuo as He Goes to Court

Master Zuo is descended from the line of Ge Xuan, whose courtesy name was Yuanfang. For years he has conducted himself with integrity, and now he goes to pay his respects at court. I had only just heard that he had left the Heavenly Gate—the abode of the Celestial Emperor, or the imperial court—when word came that he would once again enter the palace to see the emperor.

He should, like Lord Wang, admire the Daoist arts of Ji Xun; he should also strive to summon and command spirits and ghosts, following the example of Liu Gen. With a mountain-burning talisman at his side, he can use it whenever needed to uphold the righteous way and eliminate evil, relying on the command of the Supreme One.

Seeing off Master Zhao as He Goes to Court

The courier road stretches far, with ice and snow without end. Our farewell is hurried; we can only raise our cups and share a single drink. The bamboo basket holds feathered talismans, adding to his authority; a divine sword lies hidden in its case, its light flickering.

He goes at the court’s command to take up his duties and dispel baleful forces. He will also summon the wind and thunder as he travels to the imperial capital. May a single word from him bring the mountain spirits to bow and obey; may they no longer flee in alarm when searched for and hunted.

In Mourning for Jia, Deputy Director of the Xiantian Office

He once governed affairs and perceived the subtle workings of change between Heaven and Earth. Now he has suddenly departed, as though the date of his journey to the imperial realm had long been set. The dream on the pillow has ended, and the rooster has crowed three times; fame beneath the locust tree has also run its course, lasting no longer than the time it takes to cook a pot of millet.

He grew weary of this illusory, ever-changing world and departed; there is no need to grieve. He changed out of his old clothes; there is nothing to lament. Look at the moon above the Golden Terrace: waxing or waning, its clear light at night is still as it was before.

Parting from Prefect Li

The sun keeps moving west, and time slips away. How readily can one encounter dark temples and bright eyes again? A life’s dream, however long or brief, is an illusion; human feelings and worldly affairs do not always remain as they began.

The Jade Forest, a grove of trees in the realm of immortals, lies far beyond the dusty world, while Zhizhu Mountain stands firm amid towering white waves. Clouds drift out from the mountain peaks, their course uncertain; let them come with the rain and go with the wind.

A Eulogy for Master Yu Gong

The venerable master—a respectful form of address for a monk—was originally an immortal banished from the Purple Palace in the celestial realm. In the end, he was bound to return to the unconfined realm of immortal wandering. His heart had already understood a hundred thousand kinds of samadhi, states of meditation and insight. He spent seventy-one years in the human world, and now his time here has come to an end.

He departed like a flying leaf, while the mountains seemed to hold the moon between them. The flute music of the land of E lingered, echoing through Yellow Crane Tower. Gazing far into the distance, one sees the vast, hazy sea and drifting clouds broken apart, as if flying toward Fenglin Isle, a legendary immortal realm.

A Warning to the World

Spring passes and autumn comes; the years never pause. The sun and moon turn in their courses, driving people toward old age without mercy. Yet people struggle for fame and profit in a space as small as a snail’s horns, and entrust their lives and deaths to a span of time as brief as a spark from flint.

The elder judge of the underworld, who governs its records and the fate of the dead, delivers a verdict that is hard to resist. Once a destination in Dendu, the legendary realm of the dead, has been decided, there is no knowing when one might return. A clear, level road lies plainly before us, yet those who have lost their way refuse to take it.

Heaven’s Net

Heaven’s net is vast and wide meshed, yet it cannot be deceived. The underworld is dark and obscure, and the final destination is hard to foresee. Good causes and evil consequences both arise from one’s own thoughts and actions. Whether in hell or in heaven, each person reaps what they have sown.

The sufferings of hungry ghosts and animals in the lower realms are brought on by greed. The souls that remain sunk and unable to rise are trapped by their own delusion. I urge you to seek the way back to the true path while there is still time. To wait until the appointed hour is at hand and then regret it will be too late.

Sent to an Old Friend in Nangong

Amid drums and flutes, we mount the stage and perform our parts, rushing about like puppets pulled by strings. We do not know that the creator, the power governing all things, arranges it all with ease; instead, we let others idly pass judgment on us.

What appears through a moment’s cleverness is no more than an illusory vision. Once you see through its workings, there is no need to calculate further. In an empty, quiet hall, the moon shines bright and the night breeze is cool. Sitting still before a warming brazier, we watch a single stick of incense curl into the air.

Same as Above

I laugh at myself for always losing my way: seeking the Eastern Sea, I end up heading west. What is there to say of affection and resentment, closeness and distance? The human world turns and changes; it was never possible to make everything conform.

Chew over the flavors of worldly life, and they taste as rich as honey. See through human affairs, and you are drunk as mud. Now neither of us clings to anything in our hearts. The moon hangs freely in the blue sky, and the stream flows quietly by.

Postscript to the Hall Where Truth and Principle Converge

In the end, what can one achieve? Nothing but let this body pass through life and death in vain.

Creation and Transformation

Creation and transformation, the power by which nature brings forth all things, have always treated human hardship and success as a game, making our fleeting lives seem like a dream.

Being and nonbeing, fame and profit shift without end; right and wrong, self and other, vie to come out on top. The habits accumulated over many lifetimes are illusory and insubstantial from the start. Once all the affairs of the world have run their course, everything returns to emptiness.

Drunk beyond measure, one cannot even tell who is host; fallen blossoms and flying willow fluff drift with the east wind.

Composed to the Rhyme of Dong Deqing

For ten years I gave no thought to studying in the book room. I devoted myself to tending my original nature, and my conduct fell out of step with the common world.

I smile deeply at Kui and Xuan, each taking pity on the other; I look on coldly at the squabbles between Man and Chu, so petty they seem. (Kui and Xuan, and Man and Chu, are all figures from stories used to illustrate rivalry and entanglement.)

The wind and moon beneath the broad sky make fitting companions for a life of ease; the cloud-wreathed mountains a thousand miles away remain the old refuge to lean on.

There is no need to burden one’s traveling gear with worldly possessions. I carry only a broken gourd and a flowered staff, dressed in simple clothes.

Remembering the Three Mountains, While at Changchun Palace in Yanjing

Long ago, I sang and laughed in Liangyuan, the garden built by Prince Xiao of Liang in the Han dynasty; my bearing as one who gathered and ate lingzhi, a common image of the reclusive Daoist life, was lofty.

The winding stream and pond were so lovely, while slender bamboo and sparse plum trees added a quiet grace.

At the head of the great turtle in Xuanpu, the legendary land of immortals, the heart finds its own understanding. And what sort of scene is the tortoise-backed thatched hall?

Only the moon over the Three Mountains, the fabled mountains in the sea, rises night after night as before, its golden light reflected on emerald waves.

End of Volume Two of the Cloud Mountain Collection

Cloud Mountain Collection, Volume Three: Five-Character Regulated Verse

Written by Perfected One Zhichang, Ji Zhizhen

The Nature of the Dao

The nature of the Dao, the original nature of one who has attained the Dao, is perfectly clear, yet it is no concrete thing; it is lucid and distinct, yet not the mind in the ordinary sense. It is vast without limit, linking Heaven and Earth; deep and mysterious, it runs through past and present.

Being and nonbeing are always appearing and changing, while birth and extinction are illusory fluctuations. Even spirits and ghosts cannot fathom it; where could ordinary hearsay possibly find it?

The human body is born of the earth, while its luminous nature is received from Heaven. Once the yin demons (malign yin influences that disturb the mind and spirit) within the six gates of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind have been subdued, the everlasting Valley Spirit (the Daoist spirit that is empty, still, and inexhaustible) remains whole and unharmed.

The light of the moon of one’s nature shines everywhere, and the bright pearl within the heart reflects in its fullness. All manner of scattered thoughts dissolve and settle; body and mind come to rest in the profound mystery (a deep and wondrous state in Daoism).

Expelling Evil

Turn free of the world’s entangling net; with strength, cut through the cords of delusion.

The light of the moon of one’s nature shines everywhere, and the bright pearl within the heart reflects in its fullness. All manner of scattered thoughts dissolve and settle; body and mind come to rest in the profound mystery.

Expelling Evil

Turn free of the world’s entangling net; with strength, cut through the cords of delusion. If one does not engage in deceitful schemes that mislead the world, who would build a stage for manipulating puppets?

Carefully cultivate an invisible tree; light a lamp without oil. When the whole room is filled with a realm of empty stillness and clarity, how would evil spirits dare to rely on their power and wreak havoc?

Seeking the Real

White jade is quarried from stone, and gold is refined from ore. When the mind is freed from desire and attachment, one’s nature becomes naturally clear and radiant.

Its light pierces countless kalpas (ages of immeasurable length), breaking open prisons as tiny as motes of dust. From then on, one escapes the cycle of rebirth and is no longer bound by arising and passing away.

Entrusting the Body

Follow the laws of nature and settle the body; as all things transform, dance with the flourishing Yang Qi. The turmoil of the world is a sea of rights and wrongs, where people hurry about, hemmed in by the pursuit of fame and profit.

A hundred years of life pass in a blink; the events of a thousand ages are like a distant dream. Suddenly rising beyond the world, the Original Spirit returns to the Imperial Realm (the heavenly domain where immortals dwell).

Right and Wrong

Right and wrong have no fixed standard, and the weight of things is hard to judge. The nature and order of things are always changing, while time flows on without pause.

People toil for petty gains until body and mind are exhausted; over disputes as tiny as those between snails’ horns, they set beings of mere bodily form against one another. For thousands of years, arguments have multiplied, yet no one has raised a question that commands conviction.

The Dusty World

The world is full of turmoil, yet those caught up in it believe themselves wealthy; the sun and moon move like rapidly spinning pellets. People struggle endlessly in a narrow realm, while officials are driven by power and affairs of state.

The honest often lament that their fine jade has gone unrecognized, while the cunning may weep over a lost pearl dish. The world’s illusions mislead without end, and those living a fleeting life are often deceived by their own eyes.

The Great Body

Heaven and earth are gathered within the vast body and mind; between looking up and looking down, they seem no larger than a small lotus hut. Myriad stars hang high like bright mirrors; plants and trees grow, each in its own kind and number.

Between being and nonbeing, wondrous transformations unfold; waxing and waning, flourishing and decline, are like the breath of Qi. If one has not yet emerged from the great furnace of Heaven and earth, how can one roam through the Great Void?

Sitting at Night

As one sits in meditation, worldly distractions gradually fade away. Without saying much, one can still experience the Dao’s profound and enduring meaning. This state is neither a cramped world like a snail’s shell nor the snowbound realm glimpsed in a dream.

Leaves are often burned beneath the kang to keep warm. The stove gives off its heat, and soon a fragrance drifts through the room. Deep into the night, the heart finds endless delight; the bright moon fills the silent, empty hall.

Simplicity

Sitting steadily on a meditation cushion, one grows warm from sitting for a long time, dressed in a coarse hemp robe. One lights incense to welcome visitors from the mountain wilds, and asks a young attendant to bring tea.

When guests are about to leave, one feels too lazy to see them off. The clamor of the outside world reaches the ear as though it were not heard. Life in the mountains suits simplicity and plainness; this is the charm of a home’s way of life.

Idleness

When a guest arrives, one is too lazy to pick up the whisk and greet them. Asking a young attendant to strike the bell feels like a chore. Embers remain in the alchemical furnace, and dust has settled thickly on the scripture scrolls.

There is no intention of raising chickens or dogs, nor any talk of the union of Dragon and Tiger—the union of Yin and Yang in Daoist Neidan practice. One depends on nothing and makes no arrangements; all that remains is this idle, unhurried way of life.

The Abbey

Moss creeps over the newly laid steps, and pine shadows fall across the ancient altar. Leaves are burned to boil tea; the fire is stirred, and mountain sandalwood is used for fuel.

The bright moon passes through the thatched hut, while fragrant breezes stir the herb garden. Life is carefree and quiet, its pleasures plain and spare. Those who share one’s interests need no solemn pledge of lifelong fidelity.

The One-Room Retreat

The one-room retreat—a small chamber for residence or quiet practice—holds a realm of true stillness, while a lotus-shaped hermitage reflects the jeweled terrace. Between its doors, the Three Realms—the Desire, Form, and Formless Realms, the divisions of existence in Buddhist and Daoist texts—seem to vanish. As the curtains are raised, a scene of the Nine Heavens unfolds.

Cloud cakes, shaped like jade chimes, gather together. The golden bell rings, as though summoning the crane-drawn carriage. The one who dwells in the grotto lives without aging, with blue-green immortal wine always at hand.

Worldly Affairs

The affairs of the world are without end, while a human life has its limits. Unless one understands the turning points and beginnings of things, one will ultimately be confused by worldly circumstances.

When faced with ridicule, one must guard against letting it blind one’s eyes. When danger comes, regret is as futile as trying to bite one’s own navel: it is already too late. Grasp the essentials before events unfold, and one can help oneself climb the ladder that reaches heaven.

Wandering

Loosen the mooring of an empty boat and let it drift freely; loosen the ling tiejia—a term in the original that seems to refer to an item carried or a restraint associated with wandering. Keep daily life simple, carrying nothing but a single old patchwork robe sewn from scraps of cloth.

They move through the world with graceful ease, as if living beyond the dusty realm. Skilled at putting away their rainbow-colored fishing rod, they use clouds and rosy mists as bait, content in unhurried ease.

Remembering the Mountains

I am lazy and carefree, proudly dwelling among mountain forests and springs. Why speak of Buddhas and immortals? I have slipped the reins and shackles that bind body and mind, and cut through the vine-like worries that endlessly entangle me.

No longer constrained by worldly affairs, I forget what lies beyond myself, and let my mind roam outside the dusty realm. Wild clouds, flowing streams, and moonlight keep me company; my delight in leisure has no bounds.

At Ease

Wherever I may be, what matters most is peace of body and mind. Nothing deserves a settled place more than the mind within. The hardships and good fortune of life are shaped by the times; life and death are bound to one’s allotted fate.

My nature transcends Yin-Yang, and I forget my form amid Heaven and Earth. In silent accord with the lord of creation, I quietly turn through the cycles of right and wrong, gain and loss.

Paper Quilt

This paper quilt did not come from the Wang family; it follows the method handed down by the Cai family. It is easy enough to make, and no wonder it keeps one warm.

Hung on the wall, the paper quilt is like a cloud returning to the mountain ridge; drawn over the head, it is like snow falling among the hills. It makes no bid for worldly esteem, and suits a life of quiet leisure perfectly.

Composed at the Eastern Estate of Ziwei and Sent to a Friend—Twelve Poems

Spring

Choosing a site and building a home, I delight in planting and tending things as all beings grow with the transformations of nature. The vegetable beds lie by the well, and the herb garden rests against the foot of the wall.

Peach and plum trees flower and fruit in turn, and even the grasses and trees stir affection. The people here pay no heed to worldly turmoil; their daily lives unfold in unhurried ease.

Summer

The flower hedge reaches out toward the open fields, and broad, hazy views meet the spacious hall. Tall trees spread their interlocking branches, and deep shade on every side brings coolness.

Plums crowd the branches, and when ripe their fragrance drifts throughout the garden. There is no need to spend money to buy them; the neighbors will invite people over to taste.

Autumn

The farm families gather all kinds of grain, while a crisp autumn wind blows in from the western outskirts. People sweep the fallen leaves from the steps again and again, and add fresh thatch to the roof.

After the frost, the trees are red as brocade, and the chill makes the tulip buds grow even denser. The herdsman and his ox are nowhere to be seen; only the shepherd boy’s laughter reaches the ear.

On the mountain ridges after the Frost’s Descent, trees glow like red brocade against the chill, while the cold air has driven the tulip buds tightly shut. No herdsmen or cattle are in sight; all that can be heard is a shepherd boy laughing nearby.

Winter

The heavy doors are shut, and the curtains remain drawn. Inside, the heated brick bed is warm, and light shines through the paper windows. I pay no heed to the scene in the courtyard. I set my thoughts aside and quietly watch the trees and flowers in the snow.

As incense burns, its smoke gathers into mistlike shapes; as tea brews, the water’s sound seems like wind. I sit peacefully on a meditation cushion, body and mind at rest. Someone asks what I am doing.

Day

The thatched cottage is quiet and plain; no chopping sounds come from the kitchen. The mountain boy does not try to catch the wily fish, and a wanderer from the wilds invites me out for a stroll.

A narrow path appears only when someone clears it. The field ridges lie overgrown, and I stroll nearby with my staff. My heart is free of worldly burdens, and true joy arises on its own.

Night

Deep night has come, and the doors no longer open or close. Wearing coarse cloth, I focus my mind and contemplate the Valley Spirit, the Daoist spirit that is still and empty yet ceaselessly brings life forth. A bright moon hangs beside the woods; icicles by the eaves resemble cords of jade.

A live ember remains in the stove, and a clear lamp burns on beneath the window. After sitting for a long while, my form seems to grow still along with the mountain woods. I lie down fully clothed, using my arm as a pillow.

Morning

At first light, I strike the golden bell, raising the Daoist way handed down by the Patriarch in the quiet, empty hall. Acting in accord with the moment can make anything wondrously effective; at times, I also call upon all my spiritual powers.

Cloudlike incense smoke coils and gathers in the ritual censer, and the air beneath the thatched eaves is fresh and rich. How could those who ceaselessly chase profit share this moment of quiet with me?

Evening

I break through every worldly thought, one by one; even the many-storied buildings seem at ease and serene. To wear coarse cloth is to accord with my true nature; the meditation cushion, too, is something I have always needed.

I put away and seal the ruyi, cherishing and guarding the inner light like a night-bright pearl. I go straight into the realm of Nothingness, free of attachment and beyond the world. In this moment, I have forgotten who I once was.

Walking

I follow my staff wherever I please, forgetting schemes and contrivance; even the dogs do not bark in alarm at me. Insects chirp beside the sparse hedge, and crows call from the tall trees.

All things follow the changes of Yin-Yang, and people too live by nature’s unfolding and transformation. The fields and wilds hold treasures that never run out, while orchids and fragrant grasses grow with endearing grace.

Dwelling

I settle in peace, attuned to the seasons; having fewer concerns is better than possessing more. I do my best to lessen the burdens of worldly affairs and refuse to be led by fame and profit.

Yesterday and today are no different, and next year will be like last year. With no desire to contend, why chase fame and profit like ants drawn to a pungent morsel?

Sitting

Wearing coarse cloth, I sit quietly on my meditation cushion, with the turmoil of the world unable to reach my door. To set aside the distractions of the senses is not to sit in silence doing nothing. Once the self is forgotten, the true self can endure.

The ancestral intention is not drawn along by fame and profit.

Yesterday was much like today, and next year will be like last year. Cast off distracting thoughts as a sheep sheds its fleece; why cling like an ant to things that are rich and savory?

Sitting

Clad in coarse cloth, seated on a meditation mat, I keep the turmoil of the world beyond the door from entering. Letting go of the ears and eyes’ pursuit of external things is not merely sitting in silence with one’s mouth shut. Forgetting the private self can instead reveal the true self.

There is no need to make a deliberate record of the ancestral masters’ teachings, nor to speak at length, for now, about the mysterious principle of emptiness and stillness. The root lies in what is natural; peacefully pass each dawn and dusk.

Nanhua

Read the Nanhua Jing—another name for the Zhuangzi—closely, and its subtle workings are not difficult to grasp. Open the heart wide, and it can contain the boundless heavens and earth; gather the spirit inward again, and it can condense into a single sphere of joy.

When the spirit is put to use, dust and defilement mingle even with its brightness. Return to the source, and it is as if rivers and seas have run dry and all things have returned to one. Even in a bustling marketplace, one stands as motionless as a bronze horse. Chang’an, the very image of worldly splendor, is right before one’s eyes, yet nowhere to be found.

A Life of Clarity

With an elegant staff, brush aside the clouds beside the stream; in straw sandals, cross the snow piled on the mountain paths. Carefully gather the life-saving lingzhi, and often take medicinal powders said to prolong life.

The moon is full above the pine boughs, and the breeze beyond the bamboo grove is exceptionally clear. Few can understand this secluded state; do not speak of it in terms of fame and profit.

Make No Distinctions

There is no need to insist on distinguishing everything; even when insight comes, do not boast of it. Guard body, mind, and life closely; cultivate them diligently and remove selfish thoughts and delusions.

In the shadowy, profound distance, illusory forms gradually fade from memory, and the solid true body and Yang Shen—the pure-Yang spirit spoken of in cultivation—come into view. Then one may come and go freely, no longer troubled by the transformations of life and death.

In the Rhyme of Qian Dongdeqing

What is precious in life is being content and at ease. When the mind is untroubled, the body naturally rests in peace. New seats have been added to the thatched hall, while the old cotton cushions remain spread in the meditation room.

The wind sweeps through the courtyard, leaving it quiet all around; moonlight enters the window, bringing a cool clarity. A stringless zither hangs on the wall. Its refined resonance can be felt without a single note being played.

Following the Realized One’s “Heavenly Sounds” in Rhyme

First

Stir the unadorned spirit wind—the breath of natural stillness—and wherever it blows, a sound arises. The wind passes through countless openings, brushes all things, and brings life to growth.

The sounds left in its wake settle into perfect stillness, as though the courtyard had been swept clean and moonlight had fallen upon a cool, clear window. A stringless zither hangs on the wall; without being played, it has its own refined resonance.

Stir the unadorned spirit wind, and wherever it blows, a sound arises. The wind passes through countless openings, brushes all things, and brings life to growth.

The echoes fade into silence, yet the movement of Qi suddenly shifts. Just as one is about to seek the precise meaning, what room is there for sound when the mouth opens?

Second

Leaning against the table, I sit quietly, no longer bound by past or present. A wondrous wind blows from the Great Void, the vast expanse of emptiness and stillness. Everything with form dances in its wake. What could escape the wind’s touch and stirring?

The subtle and wondrous original essence transcends Yin and Yang. Its sound seems to come from the moment when heaven, earth, and all things first came into being. Playing alone upon a flute without holes, its clear, pure tone rings through Huaxu, the legendary ideal realm.

Praise for Knowing the Constant and Transmitting the Spirit

This strange appearance has been withered like a dead tree since ancient times. Try as one might to paint it as it truly is, the likeness never comes right. And what use would a false likeness be?

It leaves the painter exhausted, yet it always dwells in emptiness and clarity, a mind still and bright. Looking back on a hundred years, the past is like trying to tie the spring breeze with a rope of straw: in the end, it cannot be held.

Daily Life

Walk when it is time to walk, sit when it is time to sit. Sing while eating, sleep when drowsy. Like one who has no tongue yet understands speech, pass the days freely and at ease. There is no need to play the clouds-and-qin zither in the high pavilion, nor to seek the pine wind to accompany it.

Nature and Life

In motion, flow like water; at rest, be steady as a mountain. Sit upright as Qi moves freely through the body’s gateways; in quiet stillness, let the breath turn back within. The hinge of body and mind revolves, bringing being and nonbeing into one. Do not cling in the heart to outward things such as sound and color. Understanding one’s nature is relatively easy; cultivating life is especially difficult. The transformations of Yin and Yang are unfathomable, beyond the interference of spirits and ghosts. All things are in transformation, turning silently everywhere and in every affair, never at rest. Who governs the gentle east wind? Unseen, it carries spring into the human world.

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)

Nature is whole and without flaw; the true and the primordial are not illusory. It is whole from the beginning, true from the beginning: they seem alike, yet each has its own aspect. The moment one speaks, one falls into names and words; the moment one raises an eyebrow, one becomes an outward image. The master, the inner true self, sweeps back with a flourish of the sleeves. How should the homecoming song be sung?

The Mysterious and Wondrous

Once every attachment has been set aside, what is there left to say? The deeper key cannot be passed on in words. If one still seeks some mysterious principle beyond this, everyone will become entangled in a tangle of words.

True Emptiness

One opening leads into emptiness, clear and transparent in all directions. Open the inner treasure house and reveal the traces of the wondrous. Without the power to disperse the fine clouds, how could the pure, cold radiance shine across the whole sky?

Harmonious Equilibrium

For a time, the nature of Heaven within returns to clarity, and the Qi of harmony flows full and free. It leans neither toward Yin nor toward Yang; there is neither joy nor sorrow. To probe further upward is beyond words. The tall willows face the wind, smiling and nodding.

Spirit

The ancient spirit commands supernatural powers, roaming freely in every direction without hindrance, its transformations without end. It can pass in and out of metal and stone, and tumble and play in the void. A light touch of Heaven and Earth seems to shatter all things; a single shout leaves a person’s skull unable to hear for three days. Its force is like a tiger’s, its bearing like a horned dragon’s—but do not become ensnared in tangled vines of attachment and confusion.

Wuwei (non-action)

Add a hair and it is too much; take away a hair and it is too little. Stillness and clarity are simply as they are; authority, too, is not contrived. The Dharma Body, embodying the Dao, fills the vast emptiness, yet can also stand within a single speck of dust, revealing its subtlety.

Wuwei (non-action)

Add a hair and it is too much; take away a hair and it is too little. Stillness and clarity are simply as they are; authority, too, is not contrived. The Dharma Body fills the vast emptiness, yet can also stand within a single speck of dust, revealing its subtlety.

Knowing the Mind

What is this “knowing,” and what is this “mind”? Grasping at it still seems insufficient; letting it go, one feels something is lacking. It is like putting a second head atop the first, or a jellyfish needing a shrimp for eyes: both are needless additions. One who returns to the old home cuts away the flowering branches and plants pines and chrysanthemums.

Seeing One’s Nature

The ears hear, the mouth speaks; raising a hand, taking a step, blinking, and lifting the eyebrows are all ordinary functions. Does one who truly understands their principle know, or not know? These functions are set in motion by you—what is there to doubt? If you take the scene you see as real, you fall into the second tier of artifice in a heterodox path, a mistaken understanding of cultivation that departs from the true Way.

Hun and Po

Nature is the master; the body is its dwelling. When the nature’s spirit is active, it is called Hun; when it rests, it is called Po. If you discuss the mysterious principle through distinctions and calculations, even the slightest deviation will put you as far from its true meaning as Heaven is from Earth.

Awareness and Illumination

Who is it that sees? And who is it that perceives? Talk of swan poison binds one in endless entanglement for a lifetime; vagueness and confusion bring a double error. If you can pass through the mysterious barrier here, the distinctions between both sides fall away into emptiness. The west wind rustles through the evening woods; a shower of red leaves falls with a soft, sighing sound.

Concealing the World Within the World

Where there is no Way to follow, turn back at once; where there is a Way to follow, do not linger. Return emptiness to emptiness, and neither the Heavenly Eye nor the Dragon’s Eye can see it.

Substance and Function

Water is what the waves depend on; waves are the form that water takes. Where there is substance, there is function; through function, substance is revealed. The two cannot be cleanly separated, yet neither should they be confused with one another. To say they are one body is not quite right, and to call them two things is inaccurate. When hidden, the body seems to contract into the subtlest recesses; when manifest, its radiance shines over Heaven and Earth. The myriad paths all return in the end to the subtle source; the four seasons turn in secret and together make a year.

No Person, No Self

In substance, there is no fixed “person”; in function, there is no fixed “self.” The two are neither separate nor confused, and can both sing and respond. One clings neither to the “Dharma” nor to what is “not Dharma”; nothing must be taken up, and nothing must be rejected. What exists and does not exist in the past, present, and future can all flow together without obstruction. To insist on establishing any one thing is to fall into error at once.

The Solitary Peak

The solitary peak of the past is like a blind person or a deaf person, neither seeing nor hearing; the solitary peak of the future is sealed so tightly that not a drop can escape. The solitary peak before us is both in the west and in the east. It is embodied everywhere under Heaven, so where else could one seek something that accords with it? The towering solitary peak stands beside a pool a thousand fathoms deep, as though reflecting what has no root; above and below, all is empty and without support.

The Solitary Peak

The solitary peak of the past is like a blind person or a deaf person, neither seeing nor hearing; the solitary peak of the future is sealed so tightly that not a drop can escape. The solitary peak before us is both in the west and in the east. It is embodied everywhere under Heaven, so where else could one seek something that accords with it? The towering solitary peak stands beside a pool a thousand fathoms deep, as though reflecting what has no root; above and below, emptiness joins emptiness.

Life and Death

One thought arises, then another vanishes. Abandoning one body and taking birth in another, when will one be truly and completely liberated? Changing appearance again and again without ever realizing it, one wastes this life and goes needlessly to death, repeating the cycle without end. When the mind is empty and still, scattered thoughts naturally cease; remove the root, and the branches have nowhere to grow. When one’s true nature shines forth without obstruction, one can transcend the bonds of repeated rebirth across long eons.

Host and Guest

Who is the host who relies on no external master? When called, he opens his eyes and looks back. The body’s six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—each radiate light, while the gates in the four directions are always guarded. The host is the guest, and the guest is the host. The true master must not grow slack or careless. Walk beneath the Moonlight Pavilion; dwell in the Withered Tree Hall. Once free of this soiled skin-bag, one can roam at ease through the Three Realms and the ten directions.

These are the eighteen matters offered in response to Mr. Kang’s questions.

On the Head of a Guest’s Fan

Within a chest firm as wax-hardened metal, profound thoughts coil in concealment. Walk beneath the Moonlight Pavilion; dwell in the Withered Tree Hall. Once free of this soiled skin-bag, one can roam at ease through the Three Realms and the ten directions.

These are the eighteen matters offered in response to Mr. Kang’s questions.

On the Head of a Guest’s Fan

Rake apart the ashes that have already cooled, and the cold embers of the fire can still be seen. Let the wind and waves rise high enough to overturn the sky; let them be.

The troubles at the frontier have come into view, tangled into a chaotic mess. Illusions and distractions leave travelers dazzled and confused.

Cut through the troublesome affairs, tangled like kudzu vines, and you can leave without a care, returning to the old life accompanied by a pavilion, a clear breeze, and moonlight.

“Praise and Blame” is the title of the piece. “Drilling into skin and growing feathers” means burrowing into the flesh and sprouting feathers; it is commonly used to describe making trouble for no reason and stirring things up to no purpose. “Idly making trouble” means creating problems out of nothing.