《悟真集》

Song of Burning the Medicine Bag

Medicine bag, ah, medicine bag—you have left my elbow’s side, and for twenty years you have been my old friend. For your sake I once wore fine silks and gauzes, and for your sake I once enjoyed the pleasures of flowers and wine.

In order to gather herbs and treat illness, I went to every household, rich and poor alike; not a day and not a moment passed without my hurrying through the countryside. Yet I could not clearly discern the illness, nor could I accurately read the pulse. Calamity and sickness came one after another instead, and acupuncture and moxibustion lost all sense of measure.

I once hoped that by accumulating De (Virtue/Power) and doing good I might avert disaster for you, yet because of you I only drew disputes and karmic entanglements. Today I burn you with not the slightest hesitation in my heart, simply because my intention has already changed.

The medicine bag burns in the fire. The blaze is fierce, the sound like thunder, deafening to the ear. Compared with my bringing you medicinal decoctions, your present repentance and awakening in body and mind can all the better begin from the root.

The source of blessing thereupon becomes clear and pure, and the root of transgression withers and decays with it; you leap free of the bodily shell of the dusty world. Obstacles rise like a mountain a thousand zhang high, their force soaring into the clouds; the sea of suffering is too deep to fathom, its waves rushing straight toward the stars.

However high the Dao (the Way) of Heaven may be, how high can it really be? However thick the Dao of Earth may be, how thick can it really be? Earth has its openings, and Heaven has its stairway. The sun and moon move in their courses, cloudy and clear weather alternate, and day and night are no longer dim.

Azure clouds and white Qi (vital energy) mingle and become pure; black mist and red aurora merely wind about one another in the void. The various Qi of Yin-Yang blend at the center and condense into a precious light; this radiance penetrates all the way to the blue heavens.

From this the original form and wondrous body appear, bringing a person peace and joy throughout life, and a longevity as boundless and limitless as the Great Void.

Song of the Dim Mirror

Alas, dim mirror! The pure face of the mirror is covered with dust and grime, and is no longer bright and clear. Picked up and examined, it is still a hard bronze mirror, yet compared with what it once was, the mirror’s face is not bright at all.

Although the mirror’s shape remains round and intact, its inner nature of perfect clarity has been obscured. A wondrous medicine must be applied, and then it must be polished, so that the former filth and defects may be washed away.

Only when the whole is thoroughly transparent, exquisite and luminously clear, can it reflect what is not upright in others. Then treasure the mirror in a jade case and place it in the inner chamber, so that it may long remain pure and clear.

This passage, the “Song of the Dim Mirror,” appears repeatedly in the original text; the words that follow supplement the process by which the mirror passes from being covered in dust to recovering its brightness.

Song of Awakening to the Toil of Steamed Buns

Awaken, awaken! Once awakened, one is content to drink the crude wash of wine lees. The scenery of Mount Shouyang holds only vain regret, and the surging waves of the Miluo rage in empty anger.

After his merit was achieved, Wu Zixu was given a sword and put to death; after loyal remonstrance, Bi Gan suffered the calamity of having his heart cut out. Even the ancients did not understand that such disasters would befall them—why do people today, knowing this full well, still repeat the same course?

When it is time to come forth, one may come forth; when it is time to hide, one may also hide. To know that the road ahead is hard and still refuse to withdraw is truly foolish. Burning the body and swallowing charcoal (Yu Rang, in order to avenge Zhi Bo, disfigured himself and altered his voice) is ill-considered; casting the gourd into the water and concealing one’s name (Fan Li, after his success, sailed away) is the wiser move.

We ordinary people are dull and obstinate, while those who wear blue and purple official robes and enjoy a moment of eminence contend in strength and vie for supremacy. One ought to decide at once, gather in the Three Treasures—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—and not delay until the hair has turned white.

It is time to awaken: to know that the road ahead is hard and still refuse to withdraw is truly foolish. Burning the body and swallowing charcoal is ill-considered; casting the gourd into the water and concealing one’s name is the wiser move.

We ordinary people are dull and obstinate, while those who wear blue and purple official robes and enjoy a moment of eminence contend in strength and vie for supremacy. One ought to decide at once, gather in the Three Treasures, and not delay until the hair has turned white.

Waking from the dream and rising above worldly turmoil, one exchanges light, warm furs and splendid sashes for a robe of coarse cloth. One holds a bamboo staff seven feet long, its shaft lean and straight as bamboo joints, and taps the road ahead with it; with a cord three xun in length one binds the robe, restraining body and mind as one would tether a fierce tiger.

With a cloth sleeve one brushes open the path to stillness and freedom from affairs, and in straw sandals steps out of the cage of entangled desire. Planting golden millet in the Palace of Eternal Light and nurturing jade ointment in the Garden of Living Qi—these are symbolic ways of speaking, in cultivation, of Neidan (internal alchemy) and the nourishment of Jing and Qi.

A chicken can transform into a phoenix, and a carp can become a great ao; the aspiration to cultivate the true and seek the Dao (the Way) rises into the clouds. One’s name reaches the Crimson Towers (in Daoist legend, the palaces of the immortals), and one can proclaim the great Dao, like immortal birds calling across deep and distant lakes and marshes.

Song of the Village Ugly

Heaven is lofty and far-reaching, Earth thick and solid; Yin-Yang, the Two Modes, unite, and from this the myriad things come into being. Among the myriad things, the human being is most precious—yet how many can preserve this preciousness?

Only yesterday I was still sighing over this life of mine: I have neither suffered disgrace nor risen to eminence, and for this I thank Heaven’s protection. I too once gathered companions of the same Dao and befriended heroes; I never rushed about for hunger and cold, nor did I suffer hardship as Jizi did.

Now I am old and my body has grown weak. What I regret most is being mocked by others as coarse and ugly. I am like the deaf and the blind, half-foolish and half-dazed, limping and stooped, my mouth closed and my words few.

Ordinarily I do not readily speak to others; once I offer counsel, it is so that my friends may benefit. I circulate the Flowery Pool (in Daoist internal cultivation, a name for the fluids of the mouth or a related inner landscape), refine the Eight Jade Nectars (symbolizing pure and essential fluids), and use them to water the Rootless Tree (a metaphor in Neidan cultivation for the body’s Jing and Qi), so that it may long endure without decline.

Others bustle about, chasing possessions that can be seen, yet are often empty within; my practice seeks fullness within the formless. Whether deep in the night or in the daytime, whether sitting, lying down, or walking, I never leave off cultivation.

While others busy themselves chasing things that have form, I devote my practice wholly to the formless. Whether deep in the night or in the daytime, whether sitting, lying down, remaining still, or walking, I never forget to examine and inquire within.

When the mind is still and lucid, I also reflect constantly on my own cultivation. I turn the celestial wheel within the body—a metaphor, in practice, for the movement of Qi (vital energy)—and set the inner pivot in motion. Earthly Qi rises, heaven sends down a great rain, and the rivers swell until they seem to fill all of heaven and earth.

The turtle and the snake follow and stir one another, chasing in turn; the tiger roars and the dragon intones, vying to join. All of these are metaphors for the union of Yin-Yang and the movement of Qi. The Chonglou, referring to the throat and other upper parts of the body, towers like jade, and a numinous wind howls through the caverns of the Jingshan apertures, the cavities within the body.

Riding this wind, one ascends back into the Great Void, charging straight at the Gate of Heaven as if breaking through and out. Fragrant clouds, rich and dense, bear up the moon; auspicious clouds of Qi gather in profusion, veiling the stars.

In cultivation one should not suppose that it is not difficult, nor, merely because one has not yet understood, blame oneself or doubt what one has learned. Realms not yet reached, one vows one will surely reach; work not yet completed must in the end be completed.

One makes a vast vow and, with a pure mind, offers the incense of the heart—an intangible offering made in sincere reverence—praying to cultivate for a long time together with the immortal masters.

Song Lamenting the Failure to Recognize Nature (Xing) and Life (Ming)

If in cultivation one does not recognize the nature of true emptiness—the original nature that transcends form, color, and sound and cannot be grasped—it is like polishing, in a basin of glue and lacquer, a mirror caked with filth. However much effort one spends grinding it over and over, in the end it is still hard to make the mirror fully bright.

Nature of true emptiness, nature of true emptiness: without form or color, without sound or echo, hard to see and hard to hear. It lies hidden and does not show itself, yet it pervades the void; to call it empty is not to say that nothing exists at all. Seek it, and it cannot be seen; call to it, and a response can be obtained. This is what is called the nature of true emptiness.

If in cultivating the true one does not recognize true original life—the original Qi at the root of life, and the mechanism of life—it is like merely picking leaves and searching among branches, or halfheartedly rapping on the nails of a door. One can see the shoots and leaves grow and blossom, yet no fruit is borne; having lost the nourishing of original Jing (essence), the practice is hard to bring to realization.

True original life, true original life: it is the fundamental pivot by which Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) divides and takes form. The myriad things arise and transform in Wuwei (non-action); if the work of cultivation can surpass ordinary creation and transformation, the realm of sagehood can be attained.

To cultivate life alone and not nature is like adorning, with black gold—a dark metal—a stone chime made of stubborn rock. Shatter the outer form of that stubborn rock, and there is still nothing there; to the end of one’s life one can hardly avoid sinking into empty stillness.

To cultivate nature alone and not life is like water and fire that cannot join, so that the rice is never cooked through. If life has not been fully cultivated, nature is not truly complete either; clinging to stubborn emptiness, one will in the end still wander in the shadowy yin realms.

Both nature and life must be cultivated if one is to be freed from the root illness of confusion with which one is born. When nature and life are both complete, it is mysterious and still more mysterious; once one has transcended, one can leave far behind the road of cyclic rebirth.

How lamentable are the people of the world: foolish and obstinate, they do not understand the principle of emptiness and stillness. Even when they speak of emptiness and stillness, in the end they still revolve within the yin realm.

Only by cultivating mind-nature and also cultivating life—the dual cultivation of nature and life—can one cast off the illness of delusion and obscurity contracted upon coming into the world. When both nature and life are cultivated to completion, the principle therein is mysterious and profound; once one transcends, one can leave far behind the path of rebirth.

Song of Lamenting the World for One Who Truly Knows Me

Only when the primordial Qi (vital energy) of chaos not yet divided disperses do the forms of the myriad things arise. The myriad things are born and perish; cold and heat alternate in their course. The way of the world knows both peace and violent disorder, and the calamities of the human realm often arise from people’s karmic offenses; emotion knows both sorrow and joy, and worldly affairs always include meeting and parting.

People have bodies and mind-natures, yet when they come into the world they are muddled and unknowing; a lifespan may be long or short, and at the time of departure one may still be lost. Because I have seen through these things, I keep far from turmoil and misfortune, dwelling in a humble lane, while my state of mind remains peaceful and at ease.

A year passes in a flash, as spring and autumn succeed one another; a day is soon gone, as daylight and night take their turns. I live carefree and content within a bamboo fence and thatched cottage; as for honor and disgrace in the arena of fame and profit, what have they to do with me?

Disputes over right and wrong are like struggles upon the horns of a snail—why trouble to distinguish them any further? The immortal realm amid mist and rosy clouds, the isle of Penglai, is what truly deserves one’s hope. Even ghosts and spirits revere the great Dao (the Way) of Wuwei (non-action); Heaven and Earth know the principle of ultimate truth that has been thoroughly realized.

Song of Regret at Not Meeting One Who Knows the Music

The gateway of Daoist cultivation is hard for people to find; even when one meets those who seek to cultivate, they are often busy with other arts. Those who chase fame and profit may appear dignified on the outside; if one is bewitched by empty talk and dogma, inner cultivation falls to waste.

The fundamental substance of the Dao is subtle and hard to fathom; the working of De (Virtue/Power) lies deeply hidden and is not shown. To argue over these principles only lands one in a state of emptiness and stillness with nowhere to rest. In speaking, do not merely say that others are lost; in worrying, worry only that one’s own cultivation is not yet in time.

Have you not seen? A thousand rivers and ten thousand currents—though the force of their waves differs, if one traces them to the source and follows them downstream, they return at last to a single place. And have you not also seen? Though the roads are various, a wrong direction leads one astray; if one understands the wheel-ruts and the tracks, one can be shown the way and find the right direction.

Bring forth original nature, and realize that movement and stillness are alike perfectly integrated and luminous; nurture true life, and discern the patterns of the transformations of Heaven and Earth.

Sit in stillness facing the wall, pursuing the manner of cultivation left by Bodhidharma (patriarch of the Chan school); pillow the head high and sleep at ease, emulating the leisurely Wuwei legacy of Xiyi (the sobriquet of Chen Tuan).

When mind-nature is settled and the Qi of life is stable, one naturally enters a deep and mysterious realm; when mind and Shen (spirit) enter meditative absorption in clarity and perfect integration, the consummate radiance of the luminous source appears; nurture true life, and discern the patterns of the transformations of Heaven and Earth.

Sitting in stillness facing a wall is to follow the manner of cultivation left by Bodhidharma, patriarch of the Chan school; sleeping with one’s head pillowed high is to emulate the reclusive bearing of Master Xiyi (Chen Tuan). When temperament is settled and the Qi (vital energy) of life gathers and holds, one naturally enters a deep and mysterious realm; when mind and Shen (spirit) grow clear and one rests securely in meditative concentration, the signs of the luminous original source appear.

Sometimes, in dreams, one enters the grotto-heavens of the immortal realms; sometimes one seems to rise into the air and roam at ease. Sometimes one sees jade maidens carrying vessels of broth; sometimes one sees golden lads presenting things that bring aid. Although the three thousand meritorious practices are not yet complete, one’s name has already been entered in the immortal register of the nine-times-transmuted Golden Elixir (Jindan). When cultivation is fulfilled in time to come, one’s achievements will be recorded in the roster of the immortals.

Hearing the principle, one cultivates according to it, and the principle can of itself be gradually mastered. Those willing to settle the mind and accept instruction should at once set down confusion and attachment.

I earnestly admonish you: these words must be carefully taken to heart, lest delay and slackness let the time pass by in vain. When the mind-nature is dim, wipe and polish it bright without delay; when the lamp within grows faint, tend the wick diligently until it shines clear again.

Preserve Jing (essence) and Qi, and refine the spirit-fluid—in cultivation, a name for the essence, vital energy, and bodily fluids within. Morning and evening practice, and the work of gathering and containing, must be understood for oneself. The Mysterious Pass here—the crucial point in cultivation where body and mind meet, and one returns to the root and recovers the true—is the real place of practice. If one does not apply effort here, where else is there to cultivate?

One may speak with perfect fluency on the tongue, yet the heart may not truly have understood; an inward falsehood dressed in outward sincerity is nothing but crude ornament. Have you not heard that when Zhong Ziqi, the one who truly knew Yu Boya’s music, died, Boya laid aside his strings and played no more? And have you not heard that after Zhang Hua died, though a keen and mighty treasure sword remained, who was left to wield it?

Once given a place of service, one settles body and mind upon a single mat no larger than a square zhang. The body seems free of constraint, able to wander to the ends of the earth like drifting tumbleweed. One hopes to meet companions of like mind, to speak together of cultivation and of whether to emerge into the world or withdraw, and to pour out fully what the heart has realized, as if breathing in and breathing forth rainbow light.

A Song on a Daoist Friend’s Grave Illness

Alas, alas, this bodily form! If one says that it truly exists, why must it in the end die? If one says that it does not exist, why then was it born?

Could you yourself have chosen the womb you entered? I do not know whether it was my own craving that brought me to be conceived and born. The body is in the end only a thing of decay, and at last it must be sent to burial.

This time, setting the body aside, let others drag it away and bury it as they will. Do not pour wine in offering before the coffin, nor seek splendid funeral trappings, bearing the coffin while singing dirges.

Those of superior spiritual capacity praise the great Dao (the Way), while those of inferior capacity only laugh at it. All of this is like a children’s game, and it becomes a means of ushering people toward death. The heart is anxious within, yet the mouth breaks into hearty laughter; the feelings of worldly society bustle and churn, like schools of fish drawn up in ranks.

The fish do not recognize the bait of “non-arising,” so I put away the rod and leave the fishing terrace. From then on the pure wind of all ages brushes collar and sleeve, and the bright moon hangs on high, shining upon the immortal realm of Penglai.

A Song of Counsel to Disciples

Listen, disciples of my household: I have a few words of admonition to leave with you. If I fall ill, there is no need to treat me; if I leave this world, there is no need to weep for me.

Once a person’s three inches of true Qi (vital energy) are cut off, the four limbs are left with nothing but stiff sinew and bone. For the funeral there is no need of a coffin decked in colored ornament, and for the burial there is no need to invite a Yin-Yang master to choose a site and cast divinations.

Do not calculate auspicious or inauspicious days and hours; simply let me pass away at ease, seated in meditation, amid valleys of cloud and mist. Memorial offerings and funeral rites need not be arranged, nor need relatives and friends present gifts of mourning.

The guiltless remain in the human world or in the heavens; the guilty return to the hells. Do not beg sages and worthies for compassionate protection, and do not fear ghosts and spirits.

Even by relying on the merit of praise and prayer, it is hard to cancel sins already committed. If anyone has the opportunity to leave the dusty world, that person should cultivate beforehand and store up the blessings through which realization is attained.

Seven-Character Regulated Verse

Stating What I Feel

Clear, quiet, and at ease, with nothing to cling to, mind and will stand aloof. Coarse tea and plain fare, and clothes worn and ragged, let me cut off every worldly care. When the eyes grow tired of looking, I look no more at that tattered painting scroll; when the hand is too lazy to move, I no longer take up the qin whose strings have broken.

I often draw in and restrain the movements of the mind, and yet I still remain attached to writing poems. If I would have my inborn nature be glad, why should I spend money to buy wine? Whether to stretch forth or to bend and yield, I leave it all to the play of conditions, and like floating duckweed I drift on through the years.

I am content to wear old, thin clothing, and I do not fear a wild wind that blows a chill through to the bone. I dread that the least movement will tax my spirit, so I am too lazy even to wash my face; I fear wearying my ten fingers, so I am unwilling even to put on a cap.

When drowsy I sleep on a stone bed, cool, fresh, and at ease; when the mood comes I sit in a soft, nest-like couch, warm and roomy. All at once I feel that body and mind seem already to have passed beyond physical form, and the conscriptions, forced labor, and commotion of the outer world have nothing to do with me.

My Own Joy

Everywhere in the world are chains and reins of fame and profit. Poor though I am, I rejoice that I can obtain quiet leisure. The pure, still scenery within the mind has many rare excellences; the dusty world outside the body I leave to come and go as it will.

Since I contend with no one, why cast myself into the waters of Dongting? Since I have renounced glory, why seclude myself on Mount Shang? Deep in the willow shade the rope-strung seat is steady and secure; all day I sit silent and still, and do not open the door.

With no distracting affairs in the mind, the breath is calm and the Shen (spirit) is settled. When the song is finished, one chants aloud once more. The lingzhi grows thick and lush, drawing in the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) of the earth; a nectar like jade liquor circulates without cease, as if it opened a passage through to the Heavenly River.

Cut away worldly thoughts and keep the thought of cultivating immortality. Drive off the “poetry demon” that poetic inspiration brings, and turn it into strength for cultivating the Dao (the Way). If you understand how to use these “demonic” thoughts, you will be even more skillful than I am at putting them to work.

Although good and evil arise together, they are not employed in the same way; both kinds of thought come originally from one and the same mind. Gentle words and a joyful heart are like the spring rain that nourishes flowers and trees. Do not let anger become a malign wind that brings wind and snow.

Beside the phoenix house in front of the dwelling, the willows have already grown old; outside the village, beside the tiger’s den, an old man plants melons. The worthies of old were not without talent and wisdom. They simply gave their whole mind to contemplating the Dao, forgot speech, and found their own delight in resting content with pure poverty.

Warning the World, Harming the Many

Sweet words in the mouth while malice is hidden in the heart—this most readily invites disaster. To associate with such people is to sink, step by step, into the abyss. Watching others’ faces and flattering them, even to the point of breaking the precepts one ought to keep; clever, ornamented speech only makes a person forget the warning to be careful with words.

Once the thought of deceiving oneself arises, what the mind intends no longer matches what the mouth says. Once lying begins, speech itself conceals the inner heart. Do not grow lax, thinking only that you can always come out ahead. When failure brings calamity, the disaster will lie as deep as the sea.

Diligent Cultivation

In cultivating and awakening to the true Dao, do not cling to the mountains and waters of the Five Lakes. Once the mind is clear, there is no need to wander among ten thousand folds of mountains. In practice one reverses Qian and Kun, so that Yin-Yang rises and falls in crossing alternation; the gathering and release of cloud and rain all take place between one breath out and one breath in.

One refines the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and gathers it in the upper, middle, and lower Dantian (energy centers), where it becomes a treasure. One sets the myriad transformations turning, so that the nine Qi return to a single place. A body of six feet is nothing but flesh and blood, with no fixed form. Given this, what affair could still keep a person from quiet ease?

Expressing Feelings on an Idle Day

Willows before the gate, pines in the courtyard, and melons planted in the fields: keeping company with the medicine furnace and scrolls of Jing (scripture/classic) is my ordinary round in old age. I strike the fragrant trees and startle the crying crows into flight; in idle moments I tease the roaming bees and set them fluttering among the wildflowers.

When collar and sleeves spread and fly in the wind, I simply let them drift. I take hairpin and cap for a pillow, rest against a stone, and do not mind if the hat sits askew. Someone asks with a smile where I live. My home lies deep within ten thousand layers of cloud and mist.

A Shared Inquiry with Great Master Zhang

The Great Dao takes Wuwei (non-action) as its foundation and follows what is naturally so. Only by borrowing the methods of Chan to investigate and verify can one see true Chan. Mind and nature fuse emptiness and form and no longer draw distinctions. One observes the movement of life and of Yin-Yang, and brings Yin-Yang to reverse and to meet.

Wind springs up beneath the soles of the feet, as if the body had grown wings and were flying close along the ground; moonlight shines beside the head, and the back seems to brush the edge of the sky. Who would believe that a true realm could actually arise from what at first seemed mere emptiness? The luan bird and the immortal crane soar at ease, with no need of a whip to drive them.

Seeing Off Master Zhang on His Departure for Shaanxi

A recluse from beyond the world is not easily met. Joy attends the welcome and sorrow the farewell, and the feeling runs long. The radiance of your De (Virtue/Power) falls like spring rain over the Qin plains; the Qi (vital energy) of your Dao (the Way) drifts lightly away, as if leaving only a clear breeze over the land of Jin.

Today we gather amid song and laughter, yet meetings hereafter are hard to foresee—perhaps there will be a bond, perhaps none. You will wave your whisk in the immortal capital beyond the clouds and rose-colored mists; how could you spare a thought for one like me, drifting like duckweed and tumbleweed, old and white-haired?

An Admonition to Those Weary of Worldly Toil

Ordinary worldly toil ought to be taken as the occasion for awakening to the Dao, yet toil instead wearies a person and gives free rein to craving. Every kind of contrivance fills the heart with regret, and a hundred anxious thoughts bring a sorrow hard to dispel.

The seven po (one of the soul-aspects that make up a person’s spiritual activity) scatter with transgression, while the three hun (the three souls of the human body in traditional Daoism) are left for the demon of sleep to seize in secret. If one is absorbed in matters outside these principles and takes that for cultivation, when will one ever board the boat that leads to the sea of the Dharma?

Counsel to Those Who Have Not Yet Awakened to the Dao

If practice has not yet passed the five barriers, how can one grasp the wondrous workings and complete the nine reversions (a term of Neidan (internal alchemy) for refining and nurturing Jing (essence) and Qi and returning to the origin)? If one clings only to fasting and precepts, endless dispute follows; if one seeks only to take medicines and elixirs in order to stay young, it is still hard to truly understand the Dao.

The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cannot leave the sphere of Yin-Yang, and the two, Yin and Yang, are themselves bound by the creative work of Heaven and Earth. Once one comprehends the principle of Wuwei (non-action) and of having no marks, one need not cling either to leaving worldly affairs or to drawing near them, and can find one’s own contentment in ease.

An Admonition Against Being Lost in Books

Gathering up a tangle of worldly thoughts only furrows the brow in vain; gain and loss have from of old been two different roads. A thousand scrolls of ancient books are learning as the Confucian scholar understands it; a single pot of immortal scenery is the realm as a person of the Dao knows it.

In youth one should first pass through the affairs of the human world; in one’s prime one must seek the root of the great Dao. I urge the clever to discern the direction early, and not let quick wit end at last in obsession.

In Mourning for Master Wei

Mourning you, I stroke all day the coffin amid the clouds, certain that you have perfectly accomplished the Dao of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection). The cicada has flown into the blue sky, and its golden shell has grown cold; the immortal crane has returned to the Purple Palace (the immortal realm of Daoist legend), and the jade nest too looks pure and chill.

Your joy rises with wind and moon above the Three Heavens, and your pure and lofty bearing will be revered for ten thousand generations. Please open Penglai once more to welcome your companions in the Dao. I do not know when we may meet again, and only wish that, riding the luan and guiding the crane, you travel all the way in peace.

I pored over the Sanfen, the ancient classics, with a mind quick to reflect and thoughts turned over again and again; in the end I felt my schemes were shallow, and I was still entangled in the affairs of the world. One ought to emulate Confucius the Sage, as he gazed up at the bright moon in the sky, and establish a pure and lofty character, so that the myriad generations to come may behold it. Setting out once more for Penglai, one makes a covenant with companions in the Dao (the Way); not knowing when the meeting will come, one hopes then to ride the luan bird and meet at ease.

Sent to Master Wang: Turning One’s Back on the Dao to Face the Books

I labored over the Sanfen and grew quick in thought; in the end I felt my schemes were shallow, and I was still caught up in worldly affairs. One ought to follow the “Hymn of the Four Meditations” of Confucius the Sage—and why not also uphold the Hundred-Character Poem of the Perfected Chunyang?

When the work of the seven reversions and nine returns is accomplished—a technical term of Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the successive transformations of refining Jing (essence) into Qi (vital energy), refining Qi into Shen (spirit), and the like—the principle of the Three Vehicles has likewise been fully penetrated, and one’s work in the Dao is complete. With a heart as clear as the bright moon in an azure sky, how could one still envy worldly splendor, or success in the examinations and the plucking of the cassia bough?

Reflections in Early Winter

Autumn has only just passed, and winter comes again. The Northern Emperor, the principal deity of the north honored in Daoism, exerts his authority and brings a season of piercing cold. Pale grasses interlace and cover the paths; crimson clouds, red or dark red, hang low and dim, and snowflakes fall in flurries.

Only now does one hasten to gather in mind and spirit and awaken to cultivating the Dao, yet one feels the awakening has come too late; only now does one hurry to set one’s hand to the practice, and still one feels it is too late to begin. Alas, a human life is like a red leaf drifting down: only when one returns to the root and recovers the origin does one find that the moment has already come to enter the kiln and be refined.

Snow

Crimson clouds mass on every side, as if they had long foretold the coming of snow; the wind drives the flakes in flight until they fall to the ends of the earth. Lonely shoals and reedy banks are all sheathed in silver-white, and the trees of the wild and the plum at home alike hang heavy with snow-laden branches.

One only regrets that nights like Sun Kang’s, reading by the light reflected from snow, are too few, and resents that times like Han Yu’s, pressing on through the snow, are too many. After tea, when the smoke is warm and one is idle with nothing to do, talk turns to the lines about immortal flowers falling upon the leaves.

Asking about the Beginning and End of Cultivation

A perplexed cultivator wishes to know how a person of the Dao practices: one need only temper the Qi of pure Yang, and when the cultivation is complete one may rest. A traveling bag three feet long holds one’s joy; a single staff brushes sorrow aside.

Where the green mountains offer a place to dwell, one settles there at ease; where the green waters invite wandering, one roams them with an open heart. If someone asks where the road of my return lies, I say nothing, and only smile and point to the place where the white clouds rise.

Matching Wang Zhiyin’s “New Spring”

In casting off old abuses and welcoming new life, the gentleman comes to grasp the principle of creative transformation; at this season of renewal, the spring light is brilliant and the scene flourishes. Orioles fly up into the tall trees, and the wind is still gentle; swallows draw near their nests, and the day grows gradually longer.

Rain falls for a while, then the sky clears, and the peach blossoms wear a smile; the cold slowly recedes and warmth slowly rises, and the willow branches unfurl like brows. Year after year, a person too grows older year by year; once the hair is wholly white, for whom, after all, does one pursue rank and fame?

Urging a Friend Moved by Spring

Why do you always grieve over spring for no reason at all? Even when you see the light of spring, what is there to sorrow over? Year after year passes, and human life vanishes along with it; when a hundred years have run their course, a lifetime comes to an end.

While you still have this life, practice cultivation, clear away the karmic offenses of former days, and accumulate new good affinities, lest in the next life you fall again into a realm of suffering. The “Hutian” (Pot Heaven), the immortal realm imagined in Daoism and not far from the human world, is a land of ultimate bliss. Its gates stand wide open, yet truly few people go there.

The Dao (the Way) of Heaven is in harmony, and the Qi (vital energy) of spring moves in due order. Heaven and Earth display a sign of peace and stability, and the Qi of Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang) joins and mingles. The roots are shaped and forged by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), while the tender shoots grow nourished by the two Qi of Yin and Yang.

In the painted towers, songs and pipes sound clear and lingering as a gentle breeze brushes past; on the great roads beyond the city, carriages and horses come and go through a fine drizzle. Look at how fruit forms after the blossoms fall, and you will understand: everything depends on seeking downward to the source and making the foundation firm.

The ghost of impermanence drives and presses one on, and it is hard to lodge an appeal; even a thousand pieces of gold cannot buy a single smiling face. Can a wealthy household really make a poor household bear its suffering in its place? How can today’s calamity be put off until tomorrow before one seeks a remedy?

The deep courtyards of the red mansions lie in silence, and black mist drifts before the Ghost Gate. Boundless sorrow and pain all arise from the craving and attachment of a human life.

From ancient times, people have often laid their faults at the door of Dukang, the legendary first ancestor of wine-making, yet in truth the liquor itself often harms people. Wine injures the liver and the lungs, and the harm is hard to remove; it also brings pain to the stomach and intestines and makes one ill.

Drinking readily invites misfortune, as though one were casting one’s very life into wind and waves; after drinking, the mind grows confused, and one loses composure and suffers disgrace. I urge you not to drink to excess: even if you do no harm to others, you will harm yourself.

When the Yin-Yang Qi of Heaven and Earth falls out of balance, the evil karma wrought by the people draws disaster upon one another. The poor are fawning and deceitful, the rich are extravagant and unrestrained, and those who hold high position grow arrogant and overbearing.

Summer turns cold instead, while winter burns with heat; when rain ought to fall it comes out of season, and in drought all is scorched and withered. The harvest fails and grain runs short, and many suffer from epidemic disease. Resentment toward the Lord of Heaven has already grown great, yet the calamity has still not been remitted.

More than ten years have passed since I parted from the immortal’s gracious presence, and I have kept him ever deep in my heart, longing to meet again. Even when a fine season comes, I can only sing the old songs, and I have no chance to send you the poems I have newly written.

Though I may see you in dreams, it is hard to get my words through; in the end we dwell apart in two places, yet our hearts have not been separated. How many times I have come to the crossroads of farewell, my heart unbearably pained; before my eyes there is only the spring breeze blowing gently, and the sunlight slowly shifting west.

Sent to Master Zhang

You have taken up lodging in the Western Mountains, while I am held back by affairs; like fish and wild geese we have had no news of each other, and letters can scarcely pass between us. The movement and stillness of body and mind rise and fall without settling, like catkins flying on a spring day; my comings and goings drift at ease, like tumbleweed spun by the wind in autumn.

Only when body and mind are made pure and unstained can one, in a place deep, secluded, and faintly glimpsed, find the road that leads to the Three Mountains (the mountains where immortals dwell in Daoist legend). The crucial first step in entering the cultivation of the Dao (the Way) must not be missed in confusion; I fear that if it is put off again and again, one will in the end become a white-haired old man.

Early Summer Rain at the River Ford

The rains of early summer have been abundant, bringing the farming households a good harvest; a rich harvest is a joy in itself, and there is no need to boast of it on purpose. A faint fragrance comes through among the branches and leaves of the mulberry, set off by an ocher-red hue; the cherries are nearly ripe, red and vivid as the clouds at the sky’s edge.

Before and behind the courtyards the prickly ash has already borne fruit, and north and south of the village the wheat is coming into flower. Emerald willows and green locust trees cast deep shade; the sound of the spinning wheel never ceases, and the households of the village are busy reeling silk.

A Summer Day at the Mountain Hall

The dwelling in the mountains is hushed and still, and the summer day seems especially long. The cool scene seems able to wash away the dust and vexation on the heart. I open my collar and choose a stone by the stream to sit upon; then, leaning on my staff, I stroll slowly along the willow shade.

I pluck a wildflower at random and draw the butterflies near; suddenly I tap the fragrant bamboo and startle the birds into flight. I linger greedily over stretch after stretch of snow-white scenery, drawing laughter from the children; before I know it, the sun has already sunk halfway toward the west.

Passing the Days

I pass the days in a hazy, peaceful way, no longer chasing fame and profit, those trifling gains that snails and flies pursue. By night I diligently tend the elixir furnace and regulate and refine the Neidan (internal alchemy); at dawn I play the qin before the window, content in myself.

The cuckoo’s cry breaks the dream of Huaxu (the realm of peace and ease in which, according to legend, the Yellow Emperor wandered in a dream), and a woman’s call rouses the mind and Shen (spirit) from meditative stillness. Who can understand the clear, leisurely, and untrammeled life within all this? I then gather the white-jade-like Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), and use them to refine a Neidan like gold. “White jade” and “gold” here refer figuratively to the Jing and Qi, and to the elixir, in the work of cultivation and refinement.

Sent to Lecturer Chen

Since we parted, the immortal’s figure has vanished far away, and I do not know where he is now. My thoughts fly southward together with the documents of the teaching. Mist and haze veil the winding, unbroken stretches of water, and clouds shine upon the mountains that rise and fall, range upon range.

Dust lies thick on the stone inkstone. Left unused for a month, it has grown dull and lusterless. Beyond the brushwood gate no visitor comes; once it is shut at dawn, no one knocks. I set aside the meditation cushion and the bamboo staff and sit in the shade of the trees. Looking back toward the north and stroking my beard, I feel as though I were about to travel far in a carefree carriage.

To Marshal Shi

To keep company with outstanding people has been a joy all my life. Whether advancing or drawing back, going or staying, I often reflect on how favor and disgrace never remain constant, a thought that fills one with alarm. Although my arms lack the strength to steady a carriage, there is still, truly, in my throat the sound of a voice calling the cock to crow.

In our talks of those years we spoke mostly of loyalty, righteousness, and moral integrity. The words that reach me now seem all the more earnest and sincere. It is in vain to look forward to a meeting appointed for some fine day. Life and death have cut us off, and I can no longer say all that is in my heart.

Expressing My Feelings

Why watch another’s face and bend low to curry favor? Green mountains, clouds, and waters are not far away. How could an old pine wither merely because of frost and cold? How could unpolished jade be destroyed by fierce fire?

At cockcrow, my thoughts have already gone far.

Expressing My Feelings

Why watch another’s face and bend low to curry favor? Green mountains, clouds, and waters are not far away. How could an old pine wither merely because of frost and cold? How could unpolished jade be destroyed by fierce fire?

The cock’s crow carries beyond three li, and the crane’s call, deep and resonant, rings through the ninefold heavens. Once glory and disgrace are forgotten, what remains to be enjoyed? Holding to the Great Dao (the Way), wearing one’s cap and dwelling alone, one finds contentment amid purity, stillness, and solitude.

A Distant Visit to Lecturer Chen

Thick calluses have been worn on my feet, and new calluses have grown over them; sweat falls like rain. However long the road, I do not refuse the toil of visiting a kindred spirit. Where moral principle is esteemed, the bond weighs heavier than hills and mountains. Having received kind regard, my gratitude runs so deep it seems to reach the very bottom of the rivers and the sea.

Even the temperament of an idle guest can be tempered into the respectful manner of a retainer, and the mind of one who understands thoroughly can inspire another who understands thoroughly. Talk and laughter at the feast show a bearing of lofty grace, worth a thousand in gold; a single smile is enough to equal ten thousand.

A Warning That Power and Influence Cannot Last

The rise and decline of human affairs follow a fixed measure. Winter departs and spring arrives, the same in ancient times and now. Frightening waves and surging billows turn in an instant into ripples, gathering and scattering without constancy. Idle clouds conceal the rain, and the weather shifts suddenly from clear to overcast.

The road ahead, counted on the fingers, soon reaches its term. Looking back on what has passed, where is one to seek it? I try lying down to dream a midday dream in the spring breeze. When I wake, the red sun has already sunk early in the west.

An Admonition to a Monk Not to Rely on Power and Show Strength

A monk in black robes (ziyi, the color of a monk’s dress) speaks in a way that is altogether ridiculous. Even if one alone seizes every advantage, what of it? Some words are like pits and ditches dug in the mouth, and the three-inch tongue is like a net that has been woven.

The grime on the mirror has not yet been cleaned away, and dust still veils it. The awl in the bag is already sharp, yet one goes on wiping and honing it. Even if you hold in your arms the fine jade of Mount Jing, why fear that the world lacks a Bian He, someone who can recognize true jade? The jade of Mount Jing stands for precious talent and virtue; Bian He is the legendary man who recognized the fine jade.

Sighing over Myself

This old Daoist of mine is white-haired and gray, a hairpin crown upon his head, and all his life he has passed his days at ease by the gift of his inborn endowment. In this life he will not be reborn into another person’s bodily shell, and so in the life to come he may likewise be free to follow his heart.

To live to seventy is already reckoned rare, and sixty may also be called long life; three thousand fruits of immortality have been gained, and his cultivation has lasted two thousand years. What was done amiss in the past, and what is understood now, have all been brought to a close; when the mood arises he chants poetry, and when weary he rests.

Calling on a Friend in the Cold on the Double Ninth

In the season of the Double Yang, the wind blows the leaves and they rustle, and the chill strikes through a worn-out robe. Goosebumps rise all over me and I shiver with cold, yet still I go, chanting poetry, to call upon a man of heroic spirit.

My heart is full, and I wish to offer a thousand poems; he, however, pays no heed at all and will not spare even a single hair. Still less do those wild and unrestrained friends show me any sympathy. So I tap the brushwood gate with my staff and call them to climb the heights together.

Master Pei’s Seated Passing

In the night I dreamed of a golden lad bearing an edict and proclaiming it; this morning the old immortal Pei underwent feathered transformation and departed (in Daoism this means that the remains of one who has attained the Dao do not decay, while spirit and soul ascend as an immortal). His spirit-consciousness suddenly became clear and penetrating and returned to the true Dao (the Way); his body and four limbs were upright and dignified, and his countenance remained serene.

Like a dragon he leapt up and, bearing his majestic force, cast himself toward the sea islands; like an immortal crane he spread his wings and flew up to the Nine Heavens. From this day on, among those who cultivate the True, few indeed can stand shoulder to shoulder with Master Pei.

Sighing over a Heart Set at Rest

In those years his bearing was free and graceful, and he learned to live in romantic style; after he grew old his state of mind changed, and he set the ten thousand affairs aside. Fame and profit departed with the flowing water, and right and wrong scattered like falling blossoms.

I am too idle to join poetry societies of wind and moon, and unwilling to go again to the wine houses and indulge. When a guest wishes to speak of honor and disgrace, gain and loss, I several times keep my mouth closed and say nothing, only shaking my head.

Setting Forth My Feelings to Admonish My Disciples

In my thatched hut I drink down the elixir used in cultivation (“daogui” refers to the medicine or elixir preparation employed in Daoist refinement and nourishment), enter a deep and mysterious realm, and verify the attainment of practice. Riding a vermilion dragon, I roam at ease through the Golden Palaces (the palaces of the immortal realm); a dark crane keeps me company, and my hand rests upon a jade flask.

When the myriad transformations return to settled calm, the Three Realms (the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm) likewise return to stillness; the Nine Heavens are bright and clear, and only a single bright moon hangs on high. I do not know how many who cultivate the True have truly grasped this manner of the practice lineage.

A Warning to the World

When the times are critical, there is no need to hasten to adopt the plans of forthright ministers; once one sees clearly that the situation is like being sunk in a basin of glue, one should not rashly thrust one’s head in. Han Xin of Yunmeng was without guilt yet was put to death; Bai Qi of Duyou had merit in war yet was imprisoned.

Beneath the green pines, temples stand on both the high ground and the low; along the embankment of fragrant grass lie burial mounds both old and new. If one tries to read from the inscriptions how these people conducted themselves, not one of them can truly satisfy the heart.

Exhorting the Worldly and Informing My Uncle

The eyes of the secular world can hardly see through to the realm of those who cultivate the Dao (the Way). Within such cultivation there is a further subtlety of essential method: first make the mind clear and pure as the bright moon, then gather the two lights of Shen (spirit) inward into the inner realm.

The long and short lines of the hexagrams (the Yin-Yang lines within the hexagram images) change as what is lacking is filled and as fissures open. Bing and Geng, together with the Qi (vital energy) of water and fire, are added or drawn off according to the method of practice. At a single clap of spring thunder, the cultivator ascends to a vast and lofty realm; body and mind, pure and clear, range freely all the way to the end of the heavens.

I have seen clearly that fame and rank can never be had as one wishes. After returning, neither favor nor disgrace can stir me any longer. I draw in my gaze and no longer chase outward after scenery; I restrain my tongue and do not readily speak. The heart is as calm as a bamboo pole standing still in a deep pool, and the body drifts at ease like a wisp of wild cloud. Recalling what has passed, I cannot help laughing up toward heaven: I very nearly let illusory appearances waste an entire life.

Sent to a Disciple, the Gentleman Who Studies Books

Sir, why do you disdain the thatched hut, keeping away from those who possess the Dao and drawing near only to Confucian learning? You strain in greed after the meaning of the Three Tombs (three ancient books of legend) on the bookshelf—how could you spare a thought for the seven treasure pearls within the gourd (the precious inner essence of Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy)?

You do nothing but rebuke others while chasing glory, profit, and salary, yet you do not know that you lack the destined affinity to contend for fame and rank. When age comes and the body fails, and disease of the eyes grows daily more severe, then you will surely heave a long sigh and repent your own folly.

A Warning to Those Who Cling

In learning the Dao, one must first be sincere in mind and firm in what one holds; yet if clinging is taken for an ability, one becomes harsh and overbearing. Lin Xiangru (a man of Zhao in the Warring States) once deliberately yielded to Lian Po and did not count yielding a disgrace; Lian Po later carried a rod of thorns on his back to beg pardon and acknowledged his fault.

Gentle harmony can penetrate thick earth; a spring, though faint, can pass through a high ridge. Only by dwelling in a humble place can one gain anything, and in the end avoid fault. Learning the Dao requires sincerity and firmness, but if the mind clings in self-conceit and strives to prevail, one will go against everyone, depart from the true Dao, and bring great misfortune.

Delighting in Oneself

Break through the net of earth, burst open the pass of heaven, ride the flying dragon with a steady hand, and come and go in freedom. Right before the eyes one knows this to be perfect joy; in quiet sitting one discerns the break of dawn, as if one were upon Mount Peng (the immortal mountain of legend).

Sun and moon hasten on their courses—let them go as they will; the clear and constant true nature remains at ease. Whether cultivation of the Dao is already complete need not be clung to and reckoned over; though white hair gradually appears, one may still laugh with an open heart.

Asking My Dharma Kin and Brothers

I ask you: if doubt arises in the heart, do not mock it or treat it with contempt. Cultivating the True (xiuzhen—cultivation undertaken so as to return to the origin and recover what is genuine) does indeed require meeting someone who truly understands the Dao (the Way). Teaching like a timely fall of sweet rain can wash the grime from the heart; the wind of the Dao can scatter the dust from the eyes.

Within a single pot, every kind of transformation seems to appear, like a dream within a dream; the body seems able to fly through the Three Realms (the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm), and there is yet another body beyond the body. If you still do not believe a principle so mysterious, then what else could be called the Yang Spirit (yangshen—the spiritual form attained through cultivation and held to be able to leave the physical body and act on its own)?

Warning Against Delusion

I too once sought the Dao and visited teachers, practiced Chan and studied the Buddha’s teaching, traveled all the cloud-covered mountains, and lost track of the years. A monk, the moment he opens his mouth, boasts of the spiritual capacity of the Buddhist gate; a Daoist, as soon as he speaks, shows off the arts of the immortals.

The principles in the Six Classics and Ten Treatises (a general term for Buddhist and Daoist scriptures) are not necessarily truly understood by those who study them; the methods of the Seven Returns and Nine Reversions (terms, in Neidan (internal alchemy), for Yin-Yang transformation and the process of refining and nourishing) are likewise often dressed up in baseless tales. A person is already bound and afflicted by this fleshly body, and yet still talks emptily of the state before father and mother had given birth.

Sent to Lei Youzhi, Written in Illness After the Great Army

The net of Heaven is vast and tightly woven, and all living beings are firmly enclosed between Heaven and Earth. Who can live forever secure within Heaven and Earth? In the human world, how much gathering and scattering, how much resentment—after a season of flourishing, all returns in the end to emptiness.

Corpses by the roadside are still to be seen in the wind; on the battlefield after the rain, the blood has not yet faded. I ask you: of those warriors of that year, fierce as tigers, how many lived on to white hair?

From My Uncle: A Warning Against Treating Life Lightly

War upon war, and years of cruel famine—these affairs of the world I have all lived through myself. Now I seek only to withdraw and keep to myself, to pass the days as conditions allow, and to nourish my true nature. Think back to those years: the young were too many to count; today, of old friends, only one or two remain.

Nature and life have no firm foundation, like a carp that has bitten the hook and may at any moment meet with disaster; the bodily form, too, has its end, like a silkworm trapped in its cocoon. Flourishing and decline have their own fixed allotment and will not go astray. Do not deceive your own conscience, or covet what lies beyond your share.

Sighing over the Dao

The Pearl of Nature (xingzhu—a person’s original nature, or inner spirituality) has no fixed shape, and holds within it the deep and mysterious Dao. It can respond to change and move freely in every direction, and so is naturally without obstruction. It reaches the four quarters and is luminous through and through; it can set the myriad things in motion and follow along with their transformations.

When it lies hidden, it is silent and still, as if gathered back into the utmost subtlety; when it manifests, it is empty and numinous, without form, and yet seems to fill Heaven and Earth. From the beginning it has simply been an existence free of all hindrance, and the wondrous function it displays is truly without bound.

Desire and attachment bind a person like ropes and draw forth sighs. Only then does one realize that, seeking release through external things, one has instead come to harm. Fearing a needle in the eye, one heaps brambles upon the road; fearing pitfalls along the way, one digs a still deeper ditch.

Calamity is often what the foolish invite out of good fortune, while good fortune is often what the worthy obtain from misfortune. If a hero cannot judge with impartiality, then even if Xiang Yu raises troops again after defeat, the outcome will be hard to change.

On the Genuine and the False

To speak of the reversals and transformations within the mysterious Dao (the Way), one must enter another realm above the heavens. If the mind still clings to external things, do not speak of the Dao; if nature and life have no foundation, do not speak of Chan.

If at the outset the lotus root is not planted in the mud, how in the end can a lotus bloom upon the water? Do not recklessly conjecture and distort the classics of the sages, lest false words bring blame upon you.

The Perfected Song Instructs at Hezhong

The Perfected Song Piyun expounded the Dao and manifested in the human world, making two journeys to and from Hezhong within a single year. By his De (Virtue/Power) he delivered the souls of the dead and opened the Ninefold Dark Hells; by compassion and awesome power he shook the Three Mountains.

Within the space of a breath, Kan and Li—Daoist terms for water and fire, and for Yin-Yang—transform into one another; the movements of Qi (vital energy) expand and contract like wind and cloud coursing between heaven and earth. He warned the world: if from this day forward one does not turn the heart back to goodness, one is foolish and obstinate.

Night Sitting

The night is long, and the hour is the third watch. The mysterious body seems to fly forth from Yujing, the celestial palace of Daoist legend. Wind drives the wild clouds, and a thousand li lie clear; moonlight drifts, and the full moon shines bright as a wheel.

Silver stars glitter point by point, their cold light pure and white; the Milky Way is lucid, and the lofty heavens are filled with clear, bright air. Why does the sun rise again from the sea? A single stroke of the bell startles the one absorbed in meditation.

The Realm of Joy

The Great Dao is profound and far-reaching; one must contemplate it inwardly. Bland and without flavor, it yet brings true joy. A clear wind passes through the Three Mountains, and the radiance of the bright moon shines across ten thousand li.

There is no need to arrange meetings or strain after lofty states; let transformation proceed of itself. Nor need one distinguish inner from outer, and one may rest at ease and in joy. Waking, one faces all this alone—to whom can it be told? Better to entrust one’s state of mind to the wind in the pines and the sound of the qin.

The Dao Is Not Two

Buddhism and Daoism, traced to their roots, originally sprang from a single source; the Tathagata Buddha and Laozi alike in the end attained the Dao (the Way) and ascended to heaven. “An arrow piercing an iron drum” conceals a profound principle, and the refining of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) in the elixir furnace likewise harbors a mystery of the utmost subtlety.

A white horse came bearing the scriptures (Jing) and transmitted the secret essentials; a black ox went westward and disclosed the true teaching. Practitioners of the Buddhist and Daoist traditions today do no more than bury themselves in the study of elixir texts and Buddhist scriptures.

In Praise of Knowing When to Advance and When to Withdraw

In moments of leisure I recall the heroes of successive ages. Fan Li of the state of Yue and Zhang Liang of the early Han were both distinguished by knowing when to advance and when to withdraw. Fan Li offered his counsel during the siege of Kuaiji, and when Yue’s work was accomplished he withdrew into retirement; Zhang Liang, amid the contest between Chu and Han, laid plans at Gaixia and put extraordinary stratagems into play.

Xi Shi was once used to carry out a beauty stratagem, and Empress Lü likewise contrived to trap Han Xin, yet these devices in the end could not retrieve the situation. To seek a great affair by petty cleverness is like taking a fish bait to hook a whale or a giant sea turtle—an ambition beyond one’s measure.

A Reply to Someone Who Asked about Leisure

Since I admire the free and unhurried life among mountain forests and springs, I take up the flask and bowl—the vessels monastics use for water and food—and keep company with the green hills. I often read the Yinfu Jing and the Daode Jing (the Classic of the Way and of De, Virtue/Power), dwelling in a humble house whose windows are covered with peng grass and whose door pivots are made of mulberry wood.

In the Purple Prefecture (the abode of the immortals), spirit birds busily welcome and see guests off, and on Cinnabar Mountain (the immortal mountain of legend) the carriages of the immortals come and go without cease. My heart is at ease, with nothing that clings or obstructs; by day I close the courtyard gate and listen to the pine wind filling the court.

Keeping Vigil at the Tombs of the Two Immortals Zhao and Bai, and Inquiring with Reverence

Deep in the night, thin threads of smoke rise from the precious stove (the furnace used for refining the elixir). Facing the tombs, I pour out my heart and pray that the two immortal masters, Zhao and Bai, will give me guidance. In cultivating eight hundred kinds of good deeds, on what day will they be brought to completion? In accumulating three thousand merits, when will they be counted finished?

People say that even the immortal isle of Penglai is hard to behold in person; how, then, could the otherworldly Luotian (the celestial realm of Daoist legend) be easily known? I wish to receive clear instruction in a dream, to devote my body to cultivating the Dao, and to await the day of return to the realm of the immortals.

I entrust what is on my mind to Yin Cong, keep vigil by the tombs, and ask about the way of advancing and withdrawing in cultivation, reverently kindling a furnace of incense within my heart. For thirty years I have held to poverty through hardship and cultivated with bitter effort; I have also been anxious and uneasy, passing through thousands of perilous encounters of life and death.

Whether dwelling, walking, sitting, or lying down, my body has already grown old; after years of nourishing body and mind and of quiet practice, the hair at both temples has turned white. Yet the step of “non-birth” (the state of transcending birth and death) remains unfinished to this day. If for this reason I cannot fulfill loyalty and filial piety, upon whom should the blame fall?

On Being Cast Aside by Others

Shouldering a double load, I wander in search of the Dao, my person like a wisp of floating cloud, adrift to the ends of the earth for twenty years. In my youth I studied the Cantong Qi and gained no little benefit; now my face has aged, and on returning to my native place few kin or friends remain.

Will the great households behind vermilion gates receive a visitor from a brushwood door such as I? And who will pity the poor man clad in coarse fur rather than the wealthy man clad in fine fur? The immortal mountains of the sea isles I have not yet been able to find, so I rest content with whatever I meet and, between bending and stretching, advancing and withdrawing, nourish my natural disposition.

Delighting in Poverty

The fourth watch has been struck and the drum has fallen silent. The streets and markets have grown quiet, and I can sleep to my heart's content. My pillow is no more than a sheet of paper and a stone; beneath me lies a rush mat, padded with a little cotton.

At times I seem to follow a white crane and roam to Penglai, the fabled immortal isle in the eastern sea. Then, suddenly, I am riding a vermilion dragon to view the grotto-heavens of the realm of immortals. Such experiences are hard to explain to the world, and I would only be mocked as mad by those who chase after fame and profit.

Admiring the Moon at the Mid-Autumn Festival

The clouds and mist have dispersed and the dust has settled; it is just past the midpoint of autumn. The stars and the Dipper shine clearly, and the full moon hangs in the sky. On the White Jade Tower, someone I cannot name is playing a flute; in the Crystal Palace, I pluck the strings and make music.

Moonlight washes over sea and mountain, gleaming like ice; its pure radiance spreads across heaven and earth, bright and limpid. Since ancient times, only on this one night each year is it like this. In the human world, who would not stay awake all night to gaze at the moon?

Presented to the Pingyang Inspector

The common people cry out in suffering, almost beyond endurance; yet wherever a high official passes, it seems clarity and stability follow. You comfort the people with gentle words, and wherever you go your achievements in office grow; your kindness nourishes them like a sweet spring found by the thirsty.

Authority attends you wherever you go, with no need to wield power like a raging storm; your fame spreads in every direction, fragrant as musk and orchid. Your moral influence leaves even the powerful in their vermilion-gated mansions with nothing to fear; they hear only the thunder of your reputation and receive favor and honor.

Farewell to Wang Jinzhi

We raise our cups in parting, the wine rippling, to send off a kindred spirit; we clasp hands to say farewell, sorrow rising in our hearts, tears soaking our robes. As you pass narrow paths and perilous bridges, watch your step; when you lodge in a lonely inn among tangled mountains, do not forget to take care of yourself.

Sunset clouds glow upon the red leaves as the desolate village slowly recedes; dawn is near, and pale frost blankets the deep, silent fields. You will set out with your staff, traveling among the clouds and waters at the edge of the world. I do not know when we shall meet again, nor whether you will once more be drawn in by the rank, fleshy stench of worldly affairs.

Admonition to Master Yang

I want to speak with you plainly about when to advance, when to withdraw, and what to accept or refuse: a practitioner of the Dao should be content with poverty and encourage themselves onward. Guard carefully the Five Gates (the key passes used in cultivation to protect body and mind), and it will benefit you; hold fast to the Three Treasures (in Daoism, Jing, Qi, and Shen), and your actions will meet no obstruction.

When you recommend the worthy and promote good deeds, both sides benefit; if you are content with yourself while slandering others, both will be harmed. A gentleman should strive to learn and to practice the conduct proper to him, and then blessings will naturally last long.

The conduct of one who cultivates the Dao (the Way) is truly out of the ordinary: be humble in character and firm in purpose. Raise the sword of wisdom (a ritual implement symbolizing wisdom, used to cut away delusion), and perverse falsehood retreats. Swallow the knife-tip measure of elixir (in Daoist cultivation, a pill or a small dose of medicine), and all baneful qi (vital energy) is drawn in and restrained.

In the Five-Glow Cauldron, the golden medicine is refined; in the Seven-Treasure Furnace, the jade liquor is perfected. By cultivating in accord with the workings of creation and transformation, one can strengthen the body. The road of the Dao reaches through Heaven and Earth, broad and unobstructed.

Lamenting the Times

Since you have left the dust of the world and set your will on the Dao, do not betray your own heart's wish. Heaven and Earth turn and change, and human affairs shift along with them. When petty people read the mood of the moment and rise with the tide, the humble gentleman often goes unrewarded.

Disheartened, he yields up his seal of office, as the ancients did, enduring repeated invitations to serve. Keeping himself pure, he refuses to accept gifts, for he knows that Heaven knows, Earth knows, you know, and I know (the "Four Knowings": even a gift no one else knows of must not be accepted). In sum, the tangled gains and losses of the world need not concern you. It is better to sit quietly in stillness and enjoy a life of Wuwei (non-action).

Lamenting the Times

Since you have left the dust of the world and set your will on the Dao, do not betray your own heart's wish. Heaven and Earth turn and change, and human affairs shift along with them. When petty people read the mood of the moment and rise with the tide, the humble gentleman often goes unrewarded.

Disheartened, he yields up his seal of office, as the ancients did, enduring repeated invitations to serve. Keeping himself pure, he refuses to accept gifts, for he knows that Heaven knows, Earth knows, you know, and I know. In sum, the tangled gains and losses of the world need not concern you. It is better to sit quietly in stillness and enjoy a life of Wuwei.

Guiding the Multitude

The study of immortality holds a subtle secret, and it lies entirely in following the principles by which all things arise and change. As water and fire move and shift, when the moment comes, return them to their proper places; as wood and metal transform, restore them too to where they began.

When the sun and moon complete a single round, the qi of Yin-Yang waxes and wanes accordingly; within the Six Directions (above, below, and the four quarters), Heaven and Earth keep their own settled order. If you can perfect this practice, you will understand that the immortal mountain of Penglai is not far away, and that any place may serve as a place of cultivation.

Exhorting My Disciples

Even those of slow tongue and stubborn mind should study the Dao. I counsel you again and again, and I warn you in earnest, so do not be angry at me for it. Youth slips quietly away year after year, and people gradually grow old; white hairs multiply day by day without our noticing.

Clinging to desire keeps adding grime to the heart, and chasing after glory and splendor clouds the eyes with dust. Once your original true essence (the innate true qi and the root of a person's life) is spent, you can only lie sick in bed, sighing in vain that you came to the Dao too late.

Warning Against Idle Years

At the start, I urged you as one casts a fishing line, yet you would not turn back. Even if you change your mind later, your practice may come to nothing. Year after year, searching for fish up a tree, you merely grow older each year, and white hairs multiply day by day without your noticing.

Clinging to desire keeps adding grime to the heart, and chasing after glory and splendor clouds the eyes with dust. Once your original true essence is spent, you can only lie sick in bed, sighing in vain that you came to the Dao too late.

Warning Against Idle Years

At the start, I urged you as one casts a fishing line, yet you would not turn back. Even if you change your mind later, your practice may come to nothing. If, like someone climbing a tree to look for fish, you bustle about from morning to night, you only waste your effort; if, like someone scooping the moon from the water, you let spring go and autumn come, you will still end with nothing.

Darkness and light, favor and disgrace, a long life or a short one: all are as fleeting as a dream. How much sorrow, too, comes from the spirit, from reputation, and from the rise and fall of fortunes. Try wiping the bronze mirror clean and look at your head of white hair: this year's white hairs are more than last year's.

This Daoist robe is so tattered that not a single thread still holds it together, and there is neither a main seam nor a loose end by which it might be strung back up. The front panels are riddled with square and round holes, and the two sleeves hang down, one long and one short.

Wash away the grime, and the stains drift off one by one with the flowing water. Brush away the dust, and the specks scatter piece by piece on the wind. Now I lie at ease wrapped in moonlight and keeping company with the clouds, having put down every external thing, and I spend my late years bare and unencumbered.

A Warning Against Reckless Interpretation of the Yuanjue

The Scripture of Perfect Enlightenment (Yuanjue Zhenjing, a Buddhist scripture on complete and perfect awakening) originally has nothing to say, and to discuss it at all is only to squander one's practice. To truly understand "perfect enlightenment" is to leave no trace in the mind; to reach the fullness of great awakening is to be bound by no fixed form.

Life and death, gathering and scattering, are all like transformations in empty space. Clouds come and go, as impermanent as people bustling about in toil. Know that sometimes not speaking is the truest expression, and I have no wish to hold forth before others.

Sitting at Night in the Liaoyang Palace

Alone I sit in the Liaoyang Palace. The night is deep, the Milky Way is bright, and the moonlight is cold and clear. When I play the zither, it seems that Chang'e, who plucked the cassia, is listening too. When I dance with my sword, it seems that the spirits of the evil dragons I have slain are watching.

On every side it is open and transparent, like a bright mirror of ice. Heaven and earth are clear and vast, like a wide vessel of jade. The world asks how many people are busy chasing fame and profit, yet does not know that I am content with coarse tea and plain rice, cradling the "Great Elixir" (Dadan, the state sought in Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy, practice).

An Admonition Against Reckless Interpretation of Writings

To interpret scriptures on wild guesswork and to argue about them carelessly comes from not understanding the root of the "True Constancy" (zhenchang, the real and unchanging). It is like scrubbing an ash heap with roadside mud, or washing a glue basin with lacquer-laden water: the more one does, the worse it gets.

To take Zhang Liang for the uncle of Meng Liang, or to call Yang Zi a descendant of the Liu family, is to pin one man's hat on another's head and confuse one person with another. Such people still hope to enter the hall and the inner chamber to study, never knowing they are several layers away from the threshold.

Urging a Daoist to Travel to Distant Lands

What matters most in cultivation is to leave one's native place. If one has not endured the journey through cloud-wrapped mountains, one's practice of the Dao may be obstructed. When the moon rises into the sky, it is naturally bright and luminous; when water flows into the sea, it is naturally boundless and vast.

Willow catkins, once they leave the branch, drift north and south with the wind, and the quarrels on a snail's horn no longer count who wins or loses. "Beneath the turtle's cauldron there is no firewood, and the fire goes out of itself" means that where there is no fuel under a fire, it dies on its own. What need is there to point at the boiling water and turn away to ladle it up and pour it back?

A Warning to Those Who Dwell in Hermitages and Meddle in Private Affairs

When you gain, do not rejoice; when you lose, do not grieve. This six-foot body is like foam on water, illusory and impermanent. If there is happiness today, enjoy today's happiness; when sorrow comes in the future, face that sorrow then.

When the breath ceases, the body becomes withered bones; once the skin and flesh begin to decay, it turns into a skeleton. Yet people pretend not to hear or see the teachings left by the sages, and are content to toil like oxen and horses for the sake of their children and grandchildren.

A Warning Against Blind Practice

Studying the Dao (the Way) requires precious lineage transmission and guidance. The principles concerning primordial Qi (the fundamental vital energy inherent in the human body) and true breath (the deep, long, and settled breathing spoken of in cultivation) are profoundly subtle. If one does not seek them by consolidating the root and nurturing the foundation, but instead chases after the illusory and insubstantial tips of the branches, one's effort will be wasted.

By concentrating on regulating the breath and preserving Jing (essence) and Qi, one can make the inner self full and replete; by embracing primordial Qi and focusing the Shen (spirit), the mind naturally becomes empty and still. It is lamentable that some who consider themselves clever and ingenious, though plainly afflicted with many faults, refuse to let anyone treat them with a single good remedy.

Urging People to Draw Near to Zhongnan and Yongle

Awakening from the Yellow Millet Dream, one takes teaching and transformation as one's foundation; guided from amid the clouds, one reveres the Perfected Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, an important patriarch of Quanzhen, Complete Perfection) as ancestral master. One travels a thousand li to Mount Zhongnan with a joyful heart, yet upon reaching the stretch to Yongle, one is too lazy to take another step.

The root was in fact manifest long before the flowering, and the root precedes the sprout, as it has been since ancient times. The rumors heard in the past can now be believed; only now does one understand that what is called the "skin" is, in truth, a layer deeper than another layer of skin.

Resting at the Chunyang Palace in Summer

In the season when the wheat ripens, who does not dread the scorching sun? Yet the wind through the pines sweeping across the meditation couch brings coolness. A full cup of tea is as clear as fresh dew, and sandalwood smoke curls and gathers, fragrant as white clouds.

Emptiness and form (concepts in Buddhist and Daoist thought concerning void and tangible phenomena) in one's nature merge into a single whole, and the toils of the worldly realm beyond the mind can therefore be set down, entering the state of sitting in forgetfulness (zuowang). Gazing outward, the clouds over Tiao Mountain disperse of their own accord; as the sun moves, the shadows of flowers gradually fall upon the eastern wall.

Exhorting Liu Zigao

The Daoist carries himself with uncommon bearing and holds fast to his principles; even if he wears tattered robes all his life, he feels no shame. His heart is entrusted to like-minded companions beyond the world, yet he still pays heed to the people and affairs of the world.

One's aspirations should be supple and broad like water, while one's spirit should not be as lofty and proud as Mount Taihua. May I ask whether you will shrink back from now on? For the time being, use bait to fish for whales and giant sea turtles, which signifies cherishing great ambitions and awaiting an opportunity to accomplish great things.

Escaping the Heat at Guanque Tower

The summer heat is not fierce atop Guanque Tower, and a gentle southern breeze blows into the heart. The dust of the mortal world seems to leave the body entirely, and a thousand li of mountains and rivers lie fully within view.

Reclining to drink in the clear breeze, my heart and spirit (Shen) are lost in the Dao (the Way); sitting in stillness, I forget the world's tumult, and my nature settles as though I had entered a state of meditative calm. The scenery of Mount Zhongtiao glows beneath a half-setting sun, red blossoms and green trees merging into one, slowly fading into the mists of dusk.

Visiting a Mountain Hermitage

The secluded, lofty hermitage in the mountains is wrapped in mist; clouds seal the deep, winding path, and the streams run off east and west. After the rain, monkeys by the mountain brook climb the trees to pick fruit; the sunlight is warm, and among the pine tips it seems that immortal cranes soar upon the wind.

In the herb garden, an aged elder diligently tends his medicinal plants; at the foot of the Kunlun Mountains, young people play and gather lingzhi mushrooms. When the day comes that I cast aside the affairs of the human world, my Qi (vital energy) will rise like a rainbow and return to the great void.

Reflections in Old Age

My hair is white and gray, and a ceremonial cap no longer suits my head; I go to bed early each day, yet always rise late. The moon has waxed and waned, and I do not know how many times I have watched it; who has suffered disgrace and who has won honor, I no longer keep in mind.

I idly discuss the principles of the noble person, and chant aloud the poems of the Daoists beyond the world (cultivators who have transcended worldly life). In this life I no longer concern myself with earning a living; apart from this I seek nothing, and I no longer deliberately strive to do anything.

Admonishing the Strange, the Greedy, and Those Who Rely on Power

To covet what is unreasonable is truly excessive; the heart, as if tangled in a net, only brings itself torment. Even heat and cold must follow the turning of the seasons, and day and night still obey the course of the sun and moon.

However fierce the drive to fill the sea, it would only make Xu Fu (the legendary man sent across the sea to seek immortals) laugh; though one exhausts one's strength trying to uproot a mountain, all that remains is the tale that Zifang (Zhang Liang, a strategist of the early Han) once sang. Do not say that gain and loss are wholly of human arrangement; when one's allotted fate runs out, there is in the end nothing to be done.

A Warning on Consulting Teachers

In seeking the Dao, one must rely on an enlightened teacher to guide one to the end, and not merely hunt for other people's cultivation insights and anecdotes. To ascend to Heaven, one needs a lamp for ascending to Heaven; to cross the sea, one must have a boat for crossing the sea.

All things begin from their root; even grasses and trees drifting upon the waves each have their own source and stream. How lamentable are those who, like ants longing for the heights, cultivate blindly; or like swallows who vainly show off their strength and end up toying with mirages.

Written on Returning Home

In former days I ran about everywhere to seek the Dao; now I return to my native village with only simple food and utensils. I wish only to rein in my ambitions and hide my urge to advance; I have no desire to speak of poverty or prominence.

Human feelings turn warm or cold with changing circumstances; the rise and fall of worldly affairs are likewise never the same. Those who once wore fox furs and sable caps and held commanding presence may now, like the old events at Baling (the area of Emperor Wen of Han's tomb), see their splendor come to an end.

Exhorting My Disciples

I wish only to rein in my ambitions and hide my urge to advance; I have no desire to speak of poverty or prominence.

Human feelings turn warm or cold with changing circumstances; the rise and fall of worldly affairs are likewise never the same. Those who once wore fox furs and sable caps and held commanding presence may now, like the old events at Baling, see their splendor come to an end.

Exhorting Disciples to Endure Labor

Accumulate blessings and virtue (De), and do not shirk toil and hardship. If you wish to achieve lofty heights, you must first lay a solid foundation. Daily work does not prevent a person from uniting with the Way (Dao) of Heaven and Earth, and physical labor does not hinder the movement of the sun and moon.

In cultivation, one must proceed in order through stillness, perfect awareness, and the four dhyana stages (the four levels of meditative absorption), and also accord with the "three thefts" described in the Yinfu Jing (the interplay among Heaven and Earth, humans, and the myriad things). From beginning to end, maintain an original, genuine awareness and never let it grow dim. Through long cultivation, you will nurture the "Dao embryo" (a metaphor for the inner fruit formed in practice) within emptiness.

Mid-Autumn Night

The autumn wind parts the curtain of clouds, just as the Mid-Autumn festival arrives. I invite my friends, bring my zither, and set out a banquet in the small upper chamber. I take a full handful of sandalwood powder and add it to the clay incense burner; I roll the reed-woven blinds high and hang them on silver hooks.

Joyfully I gaze at the full, bright moon in the sky, with not a trace of sorrow in my heart. Drunk on the autumn wind, I forget all distinctions between self and others, and before my eyes it seems I can always see Yingzhou (the legendary immortal isle in the sea).

Presented to Registrar Zhao

The constant principle is non-action (Wuwei) and profound subtlety; people of the world have too many desires and often see only its surface. Those who are lost drift apart in separate streams and forget the true source; one should steady the will, remove crookedness, and return to the right path.

When people of superior capacity hear of it, they believe and practice it; when people of shallow capacity hear of it, they slander and mock it. For this reason, I am disinclined to cast my hook into the great waves: the giant turtle (a legendary great sea turtle) is hard to catch, and ordinary bait cannot hold it.

Exhorting Practitioners to Leave Home Early

If a practitioner does not leave behind family and loved ones, they are often merely bound by the worldly affairs of this life. People first come into the world because of these affairs, and in the end may be dragged down by them.

Master Diaoma Does Not Consent

One drifting in the sea of suffering wishes to catch the giant turtle; yet when they truly see it, they dare not cast the hook to seize it. Alas, once the wind and waves surge, the boat capsizes; when furious billows rise, the storm only grows fiercer.

Contemplating the Heart-Moon Within

My own palace (the inner heart, or the place of cultivation within the body) is vast and boundless, and from it hangs a round white jade disk. Its light is clear and bright, without any obstruction; with the curtains deeply drawn, I gaze at this heart-moon to my full satisfaction.

Locking the Ape

In the Mountain of the Red Emperor lives a black ape, climbing blossoms and plucking fruit, mischievous and untamed. Now I bind it with a vajra rope and lock it in the Yellow Court (Huangting, in Daoist inner cultivation, the inner region around the abdomen), so that it no longer stirs, but lowers its head and settles in stillness.

Tethering the Horse

The red horse in the Numinous Terrace (the dwelling place of the heart-spirit) is proud in temperament and full of vigor, and loves to neigh before the wind and beneath the moon. Fortunately the people are at peace and there is no war, so I tether it firmly beside its old trough and no longer lead it out to ride.

Asking Once, Never Leaving the Hermitage

During the days of closed-door retreat, all effort is directed to the Wu-Ji (戊己) position, which in Neidan (internal alchemy) stands for the spleen, the stomach, and the central Earth. With diligence I have deliberately built three ritual carts to clear the ancient road and cross Kunlun, so that the Dao (the Way) may circulate everywhere without obstruction.

I drink deeply of the Daogui (刀圭), the finished elixir of Daoist alchemy, and let the Jade Flower (玉花), the essence-qi or elixir bloom of inner cultivation, nourish my body. Drunk and at peace, I fall asleep and let the sun sink in the west. The guest knocks and calls several times, yet I remain lost in a dream of wandering among the immortals, not yet returned home.

The Realm Within the Gourd

Beyond the heavens lies another heaven, whose scenery few have ever known. The true realm of Wusheng (無生), the state beyond birth and death, takes this as its foundation. A Daoist once traveled here, and there is no need to ask any longer whether cultivation involves action or not.

I drink deeply of the Daogui and let the Jade Flower nourish my body. Drunk and at peace, I fall asleep and let the sun sink in the west. The guest knocks and calls several times, yet I remain lost in a dream of wandering among the immortals, not yet returned home.

The Realm Within the Gourd

Beyond the heavens lies another heaven, whose scenery few have ever known. The true realm of Wusheng takes this as its foundation. A Daoist once traveled here, and there is no need to ask any longer whether cultivation involves action or not.

Trying the Brush

Heart and hand seem to have forgotten one another, and the jade-handled brush moves freely, its sound like cold rain falling in sheets. On the paper there are barely two or three sheets, yet they hold the flying strokes of ten thousand dragons and snakes.

Spring Melancholy

When spring arrives, people often feel weighed down, though in ordinary days it is not easy to let such sorrow show on the brow. Yet I think of how white hair is without feeling, and how it keeps increasing without asking whether its master consents.

Visiting the Yuan Residence

In deep autumn, the wind on a morning after rain feels bleak. Fearing the coming cold, I try asking myself what clothes to add. A modest household that wishes to become wealthy draws near the rich and noble. So for the time being I shut my brushwood gate and go to call on the grand houses.

A Warning Against Slander and Pride

When my many scattered thoughts grow still, a single breath runs through body and mind, and morning and evening I dwell in a deep and mysterious realm. When someone comes to discuss me, I am too lazy to reply. Having seen through all the affairs of the human world, I know that everything finally returns to emptiness.

Mistaken Recognition

Do not seek the Buddha in places of music and sensual pleasure, and do not look for immortals in fragrant cave dwellings. Look at the monkey reaching for the moon in the water: only when the reflection shatters does it learn that this was not the moon in the sky.

Snow

Clouds rise, and the wind brings swirling snow. Who can fathom the hidden workings of Heaven and Earth's creation? Before the Green Jade Peak, a boy looks on smiling as a black ox returns turned white.

Drinking in a Dream

After reading the zither books for a long while in my small pavilion, my mind grows weary, and in my dream I follow Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao, the two men said to have met immortals on Mount Tiantai, to drink wine in the Peach Blossom Spring. I wake and am drunk again, and drunk, I wake again. All around is silence and no one is there, only the cry of gibbons at dawn.

Visited by Fellow Seekers

Yesterday a good friend came to visit, wearing wooden clogs. We talked and laughed on the gao (high ground or level land by the water) and were still unwilling to go home by evening. The woodcutter boy sat with me by the stream, and even without composing a new poem I felt completely at ease.

Nurturing Aspiration

Put away the zither and the books and return to the mountain forest. The cranes' feathers are lush and full, and the clams have already formed their embryos. Once the Dao (the Way) is attained, one can soar into the clouds without hindrance; high above, the divine pearl blazes with light and illuminates the mortal world.

A Caution on Funeral Rites

The rotten can be transformed into the wondrous, and the wondrous can in turn decay into the rotten. The cycle turns and returns: the old passes away and the new arises. Since you understand that the transformation of all things is naturally so, why must the living still hold funerals for the dead?

Dwelling in the Mountains

I have lived in seclusion in this thatched hermitage for several years. On ordinary days, with nothing to do, I wander in front of the mountain. Do not say that this leisure and joy are not mine to decide; in truth, it is the heart that clings lovingly to the green of the grass and trees filling my eyes.

The roof reflects the peaks in the setting sun, and half a grove of red leaves and emerald green encircles the thatched hall. When the tea is finished and the guest has gone, I close the brushwood gate and, in the chill of evening, idly stir the flowing spring.

Parting from Master Ma of Hejin, Matching His Rhyme

I delight in my mountain hermitage and do not yet know when I will return. The wild geese flying far away stir my reflection and leave my heart reluctant to part. Now that I have grasped the joy of free and unfettered roaming, I mean to learn from the solitary cloud and drift about in freedom.

The heart of the Daoist (one who cultivates the Dao) is as at ease as a white cloud, and every advance and retreat is calm and unhurried. When I wish to leave the mountains, I leave them; when I wish to retire into them, I return at once.

Lament on Life and Death

Do not grieve for the dead, just as you would not grieve for a walking corpse. When a father departs, it is like watching a solitary cloud drift freely away; after the father has gone, the son too will in time follow. The Registers of the Yin (the ledgers of the underworld that record life and death) state it clearly: human life is limited, and the only question is whether one is summoned away sooner or later.

A Moonlit Night

The wind has stilled, the curtain of clouds has parted, and the blue sky stands revealed. Heaven and earth are as clear and pure as a jade vessel made of ice. Ten thousand stars shine sparsely, the Milky Way is faint, and a single bright moon hangs alone, full and radiant.

Yang Fire

The light of Yang rises beyond one heaven, then plunges down through the boundless nine layers of the earthly realm. Stars and moon withdraw, and the strange creatures of the Yin world scatter. Only one blazing orb appears, hanging alone at the edge of the sky.

Herding the Ox

At dusk the herd boy sings a happy song by the river. He lets the white ox go and no longer leads it by the rope. Beyond the reed blossoms and the river mist all is silent, and only a single bright moon shines on the blue sky.

Self-Contentment

Outside, there is no vexation; within, no stray thought. One is neither drunk and lost nor deliberately holding on to sobriety, neither clinging to closeness nor deliberately keeping distance. Why, then, speak of going to the riverbank? Once the white ox (a metaphor for the root of the mind or of cultivation) is set down, there is no longer any thought of leading it by the rope. Quiet reed blossoms drift beyond the misty waters, and a bright moon shines on the blue sky.

Self-Contentment

Outside, there is no vexation; within, no stray thought. One is not drunk, yet does not insist on being awake; not clinging to closeness, yet not deliberately keeping distance. The mind is clear and at ease, like a gentle breeze beneath an azure sky when the bright moon hangs high.

On Obscuring the True Mind

Everyone speaks of cultivating the mind, yet no one knows the true mind. The true mind lies hidden deep within the grotto-heaven (in Daoist belief, a realm of immortals and their cavern dwellings). If you wish to know where it is, there is no need to ask those who practice the Dao; even if you travel to the ends of the earth, you will not find it.

Sent to Master Yang

When the precious sword was passed on before the great Dharma hall, the instruction was to entrust it to someone able to bear responsibility. Why has it now fallen into the hands of a frail person? The sword laments in its sheath, and who can understand its sorrow?

Encouragement to Study

The true Qi of the Heavenly Origin (the primordial Qi of heaven and earth) is the foundation for climbing the ladder to heaven, and one must learn how to gather and nurture it. If you truly understand the whole course of cultivation from beginning to end, you will neither slacken nor retreat; whether success comes early or late is only a matter of time.

A Warning Against Greed

Some pursue petty gains and bribes without relief, heedless of others' hardships and of the "Four Knowings" (Heaven knows, Earth knows, you know, I know, meaning that even secret deeds are known). When transgressions accumulate enough, they summon karmic debt, and at that time, to whom could one turn for help?

Remonstrance on Zhao Houji's Melancholy

Of ten admonitions, nine go unheard; outwardly one complies grudgingly, while inwardly the heart has already changed. Fan Li saw how matters stood and departed, and so escaped later calamity; Fuchai, because of the affair of Zixu (Wu Zixu), met a shameful end.

Despising Profit and Fame

Go home! Snow has already covered your head; you should let go of thoughts of fame and profit completely. Repay your old debts of reincarnation in good time, and in this life you will have gained something.

Secluded Dwelling

By the railing grow a few stalks of bamboo, the gentleman's plant; beneath the low window rest a few volumes by the sages. The dream of seeking immortals and visiting the Dao has ended, and the shadows of the pines shift with the sunlight; I play a piece on the zither, and my heart still holds much joy.

Inner Ingenuity

It is as if one blew a furnace fire into flame at the bottom of the sea, and the two sheets of ice on the mountaintop melted along with it. When the fire dies down of itself, the ice vanishes together with it; sunlight and moonlight together…

Blow on the furnace fire deep in the Dantian (the energy center; in Neidan, or internal alchemy, practice, the abdominal reservoir of qi), and the two patches of ice on the mountaintop melt away with it. When the fire dies down of its own accord, the ice is gone completely, and sunlight and moonlight shine together, full and bright.

Praising the Treasure of the Dao

The Creative Transformation that forges all things and brings life to completion is my own way of life. Its radiance spans past and present without a single flaw. When the power of the Dao (the Way) is released, it can also be drawn back in. It is so vast that heaven and earth seem unable to contain it, and its wondrous, towering majesty works without end.

Tuning the Zither Again

In idle moments I pluck at the silk strings and wood (the zither) as I please, sitting at ease and carefree beside the furnace fire. Lost in the lingering melodies that rise beyond the zither's markers, I forget even that the snow before my door has not yet melted.

A Daytime Nap

I doze by the bright window in the daylight, and there is a subtle, lofty pleasure in it; all worldly thoughts are swept from my mind. In sleep I am comfortable and serene, as if drifting between waking and dreaming through a realm of immortals, visiting once more the Pot Heaven (Hutian, a paradise of Daoist legend).

Touring Hezhong Prefecture After the War

The towers and halls of Shun's capital once surpassed all others under heaven. How many times they have been reduced to ashes and ruin, and how many times rebuilt! Only the forests of Mount Tiao remain, towering as ever, having passed through the long years.

The West Pavilion of Liaoyang Palace

The west pavilion of Liaoyang Palace is lofty and secluded, and my spirit (Shen) gradually grows hazy. After drinking, I face the west wind, as if dissolving into boundless space. How many true transformations lie hidden within the stillness and emptiness! All of them appear naturally in joy, with no need for words.

The west pavilion is quiet, far from the clamor of the marketplace. Its breadth seems to hold the entire Dharma Realm (the totality of all things, in Buddhist and Daoist usage), and I love it deeply. When people from noble houses come to call, I am too lazy to receive them. I wish only to be an idle man, sitting alone in silent meditation.

Clouds and mist fill the vast sky around the west pavilion. How many true transformations lie hidden within the stillness and emptiness! All of them appear naturally in joy, with no need for words.

The west pavilion is quiet, far from the clamor of the marketplace. Its breadth seems to hold the entire Dharma Realm, and I love it deeply. When people from noble houses come to call, I am too lazy to receive them. I wish only to be an idle man, sitting alone in silent meditation.

Among the clouds of the west pavilion I lean on my pillow to read, then fall peacefully asleep. Mountain sandalwood burns in a clay censer, and auspicious smoke curls upward. A clear, ringing sound is especially moving, as though a jade zither were being played by the wind itself, producing a delightful melody.

Ascending Guanque Tower to Watch the River

The great river rushes across the earth, and the mountains stretch on beneath the horizon. Heaven seems to rage in anger, stirring the waves into swirling eddies. Yet none can compare with the nameless idle guest on the tower, who raises no wind and stirs no waves, free and at leisure.

Summer Evening Inspiration

The south wind blows, and the evening turns unexpectedly cool. Wearing loose robes, I lay my zither across my knees and face the setting sun. When I finish three pieces, the bright moon has risen, and the young attendant comes to ask me to burn incense for the night.

After the First Rain

After a welcome rain, the sky has just cleared, and the days are slowly growing longer. A light chill lingers, yet the spring flowers and trees are already fragrant one after another. To whom can I describe the delight of the Dao and the beauty before my eyes? Alone, I face the setting sun and stand proudly in the east wind.

Rising Early at Liaoyang Terrace

A few strokes of the bell send off the morning chill. The dream of wandering among the immortals breaks, and sleep will not return. I rise and gaze at the moon above Mount Taihua, its light slanting across the Tiao Mountains, their shadows seeming to sink into the edge of the sky.

Questions of the Dao from Scholar Wen

If one can truly and constantly examine the ordinary principle, one will come to know it. To understand this constant Dao (the Way) and walk in it is Wuwei (non-action: following nature and not acting rashly). Only within Wuwei can one grasp a realm that cannot be put into words. The moment one speaks of the so-called "true and constant Way," one has already strayed from it.

Sent to Master Ren South of the Mountains

Since we parted from our talks on the Dao in the dusty world, ten years have slipped by. Letters have gone back and forth like wild geese, and I cannot say how many times they have passed. I look toward the mountain ahead, and even when the wind rises and the moon climbs, I still cannot see you. I imagine that you and I are now alike, each living at ease and keeping to ourselves.

Presented to Master Zhang on Entering the Garden

Restrain the self, gather in body and mind, and cultivate diligently. Forget outward forms and words, and sit quietly in calm meditation. When awakening is complete and unobstructed, one can see clearly with the five eyes (the five kinds of perception described in Buddhism). Right here, in this very place, one already dwells in the Luotian (the heavenly realm in Daoism).

Lamenting How the Sun and Moon Hurry People On

The Mid-Autumn Festival has only just passed, and the bright moon is full. Then comes the Double Ninth, and the chrysanthemums bloom in abundance. The four seasons turn without pause and hasten us toward old age. Year follows year, and in a blink they are gone.

A Warning on Facing Funerals

From dawn to dusk, life and death follow the course of nature without error. Whether a life is long or short, it is like a dream beneath the southern bough (a metaphor for the brevity of life and the uncertainty of rise and decline). When you attend a funeral, do not give yourself over only to grief and sorrow. Everyone must die in the end, and when that time comes, what then?

Revisiting Hezhong

Forty years ago I traveled to this place, and the splendor of those days has since passed through many turns of spring and autumn. The Yellow River does not change with the rise and fall of worldly affairs, but flows on eastward, vast and unceasing, as it always has.

An Evening Stroll in Secluded Retreat

Dressed in hemp robes whose hems brush the ground, lean yet upright in bearing, I tread a mountain path wreathed in mist as the sun sets. When I return to my dwelling, the incense ritual of dusk has already ended. Smiling, I wrap myself in wind and moonlight and step into the meditation hall.

Lamenting That Those Who Harm Others Are Finally Harmed

The cicada sings on the pine branch, its delight not yet spent. The mantis stretches out its hooked, sharp claws, intent only on seizing the cicada and savoring the feast, never noticing that behind it a yellow oriole is about to prey on it.

Understanding One's Proper Lot

Having accomplished little in life, and being by nature dull and clumsy, I carry a single begging bowl and wander through a thousand households for my meals. In the cold of winter I wear a robe of a hundred patches (a garment sewn full of mends).

I am content in everything and wear no frown over anything. Why can contentment in poverty preserve one's integrity? Xuanyuan (an honorific for the Dao) taught that we should honor frugality and compassion.

Journeying to Hejin in Autumn, Building a Hermitage and Praising Poverty

Wearing a straw rain cape and a bamboo hat, I left my hometown just as frost was coloring the leaves. I cast aside my zither, my books, and my friends, and went with bottle and bowl to visit the worthy.

The roof tiles are broken, and frost seeps onto my bed. The eaves have collapsed, and rain drips onto my sleeping mat. Tracks of tigers and wolves appear outside the door, and moss grows thick beneath the window.

When I walk, it is as though I were in the humble lane where Yan Yuan (a disciple of Confucius, famed for finding joy in poverty) lived. When I sleep, I have only a thin quilt, coarse like the cotton Hou Ji (the legendary founder of agriculture) used. On my table there is hardly a Dragon-Tail inkstone (a prized type of inkstone), and on my shelf there is no Crow-Head stand (here, a shelf or stand for holding books).

With a worn brush I dip lightly into the ink and grind a thick pool from a battered ink stick. When inspiration comes, I inscribe the Biography of Yuan Xian (an account of Yuan Xian's life); in idle hours I leaf through the Chapter on Fan Dan (a text on Fan Dan's contentment in poverty and steadfast integrity).

I do not resent others for treating me harshly, and I often reflect that my own blessings are slight. Content in hardship, I do not indulge myself, and my resolve to hold to the Great Dao (the Way) grows ever firmer.

In deep stillness I sit quietly; in dim silence I enter meditative absorption. In a small hermit's cell (a tiny chamber for the quiet practice of monks and Daoists) I nourish this illusory body, so that my true nature may penetrate the depths of the profound and mysterious.

Inner and outer merge into one, with no distinction between them; wherever I roam, vertically or horizontally, I fill the great thousand-fold world. The Five Phases (Wuxing; the five basic elements that compose all things) no longer generate the myriad things, and the two qi of Yin-Yang no longer press upon me and scorch me.

Dwelling in a realm of supreme bliss, pure and clear, I wander free and unbound like an immortal. The principle of the profound mystery cannot be put into words, so I keep my lips sealed and quietly live out the rest of my days.

Admonition to My Disciples

Do not practice blindly; hold your aspiration with sincerity and devotion. Even if the heavens collapse, do not be afraid; even if the earth caves in, do not be alarmed.

Let your heart be unburdened by poverty and lowliness, and do not grow arrogant in high station. Seek tranquility amid clamor, and find release at the very brink of life and death.

Within, guard the pure original substance; without, sever worldly entanglements. Perfect and clarify the Five Eyes (the five kinds of insight described in Buddhism), and attain the fruition of the Three Vehicles (the three Buddhist paths of practice).

These words I have repeated again and again to my disciples and fellow practitioners. The phoenix spreads its wings and departs, leaving its true traces behind; the lame giant turtle is too listless to move forward.

To agree to your face and slander behind your back; to prize money and belittle loyalty; to play recklessly like frolicking monkeys, yet scuffle like fighting chickens when it comes to action.

Seek release from the predicament of life and death.

Within, guard the pure original substance; without, sever worldly entanglements. Perfect and clarify the Five Eyes, and attain the fruition of the Three Vehicles.

These words I have repeated again and again to my disciples and fellow practitioners. The phoenix spreads its wings and departs, leaving its true traces behind; the lame giant turtle is too listless to move forward.

People agree with you to your face and slander you behind your back; they prize wealth and make light of righteousness. They chase after pleasure as monkeys frolic, and they fidget and scramble for advantage as fighting cocks do.

Their nature and mind (xing) are bewildered by sounds and sights, and their thoughts are fixed on fame and rank. Ask yourself: what do any of these things have to do with the path ahead in cultivating the Dao (the Way) and seeking the true?

Verse on Leaving the World

People hear the clear, ringing sound of the horn, yet they do not hear the crash of thunder. I am about to depart now; a human life must come to its end.

I wish to speak words of benefit to you, but when spoken they are hard to make anyone believe. My younger brothers and elder brothers, the road of cultivating the Dao can still be carried on.