《清和真人北游语录》

Some people have discussed the story in the Zhuangzi in which Nanbo Zikui asks Nü Ou for guidance. Nü Ou says that she heard it from the son of Fu Mo, who heard it from the grandson of Luo Song; after them came Shanming, Nie Xu, Xu Yi, and Yu Shu, followed by Xuanming and Canliao, and finally, at the source, Yi Shi. This chain of transmission shows that unless one is born knowing the Great Dao and has seen it with one’s own eyes, one usually must cultivate the mind and refine one’s nature, practicing step by step and understanding step by step. One moves from continually adding to gradually diminishing, and from deliberate action toward Wuwei (non-action). Attaining the Dao, bringing one’s practice to completion, and even attaining long life all have their own stages. How, then, could the teachings for cultivating the Dao—and the words that point toward the Dao, which cannot be spoken—be dispensed with?

The Perfected Yin Zhiping of Qinghe inherited the Daoist teachings of Master Changchun, Qiu Chuji, and went on to lead Daoism throughout the realm, reviving the mysterious tradition and proclaiming its orthodox teachings. His reputation was exceptional, and people vied to pay their respects. More than a thousand disciples followed him and received his instruction; people from distant places traveled a thousand li or more to bring offerings and invite him to preside over ritual ceremonies. His moral reputation spread far and wide, and people throughout the realm honored and esteemed him. He was truly a great master of his generation.

The Perfected One was once invited to Beijing to preside over a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) for the Transport Commissioner, Hou Jindao, and others. His disciples gathered and organized the Record of the Northern Journey, which records exchanges between master and disciples, as well as discussions of the classics and Daoist teachings. Again and again, the Perfected One used sincere, practical words to explain the principle of an ordinary mind, set out the central teachings of the mysterious tradition, and offer fitting explanations of profound truths. This is indeed an important guide for beginning the cultivation of the Dao. Du Dekang, governor of Qin Prefecture, planned to have the book carved and printed so that believers in every region and those dwelling in mountain retreats could read it together. He therefore organized the whole work into two volumes, hoping that readers would grasp the principles through its words and then cultivate and realize long life together. Is this not a good thing?

Alas, the Perfected One has now left the lecture hall and withdrawn into quiet seclusion. He sits in meditation all day, as though he were about to wander with the transformations of creation through the realm of Nothing-Whatever, a place without trace or constraint. We can scarcely see his face again; how much less can we hear his teachings? On an autumn day in the year Gengxu, Li Jin of Gudao wrote this.

Confucius once said to his disciples, “I would like to stop speaking.” Zigong asked, “If our teacher no longer speaks, what will we students have to pass on?” When sages transmit the Great Dao, they must use words; otherwise, how could people understand it?

The Perfected Man Qinghe, Master Yin, entered religious life in childhood and studied for more than fifty years under Master Changchun. He sought instruction morning and evening without ever slackening, and was always outstanding among his peers. Master Changchun therefore personally entrusted him with instructional texts and placed him in charge of religious affairs. People throughout the realm respected him. In their leisure, when gathered in conversation, he often discussed with others the profound principles of the Quanzhen tradition. He could speak for an entire day without tiring. His words were concise and apt, and his explanations were easy to follow—quite unlike the abstruse talk that leaves listeners bewildered.

Fearing that his teachings might be lost, his disciples wrote down what each had heard and compiled it into two volumes, titled Recorded Sayings of the Perfected Man Qinghe. This made it possible for Dao practitioners in every region to read the work and more readily grasp the way of entering the Dao. The compilers had limited means and could not bring the project to completion. Later, Du Dekang, the prefect of Tongchuan, invited the Perfected Man to travel south. When he heard of the project, he warmly approved and ordered the text carved and printed, hoping that these recorded sayings would be passed down for generations.

One day, Wang Zhining and Li Zhifang, supervisors of the Temple of Great Peace and Flourishing Prosperity in Pingyao, earnestly asked me to write a preface. I could not refuse, and I admired the deep care shown by these benevolent gentlemen, so I have given a factual account of the matter from beginning to end. Written by Zhang Tianzuo, the Old Man of Nanxuan, on the day of the Beginning of Autumn in the seventh month of the Dingyou year.

The Great Dao originally has neither form nor image, and the most profound truths cannot be expressed in words. Since the formless, imageless Great Dao cannot be seen, how can truths that are wordless and soundless be made understood? How can they be made clear? They must be explained with the help of words. Yet once spoken, they inevitably lose something of their original character. That is why the exemplary people of antiquity resorted to words to express them.

Words must have a basis. With a foundation, words can serve as tools for bringing truths to light. From this we can see that truth exists beyond words; once it is truly understood, words can be forgotten. Thus the most profound truths cannot be expressed in words. When words cannot be grasped, images cannot emerge either, and so we say that the Great Dao has neither form nor image. Who could perceive the formless Dao and speak of wordless truth, if not someone who has truly attained understanding and genuine insight?

Once truth can be spoken of, whether in broad terms without excess or briefly without omission, one can act in accordance with the proper measure and, in stillness, accord with the utmost principle. This is called mysteriously joining with the Great Dao. Yet for someone seeking the Dao beyond the ordinary world, it is no easy matter to encounter a person of such attainments.

The Perfected Qinghe has now inherited the Dao lineage of the Perfected Changchun, Qiu Chuji, and has presided over the affairs of the Daoist tradition for many years. Practitioners from all directions often come to visit him, seeking instruction and guidance; throughout the year, he has no respite. The longer people spend in his company, the more they revere him; the farther away they are, the closer they feel to him. They come in a steady stream to behold him, in numbers no less than those who gather to see the auspicious star and phoenix. In his daily dealings, the great Perfected One treats people with sincerity and helps them with compassion. He does not seek anyone’s support, yet people are naturally willing to support him. Surely he is one to whom both Heaven and humanity have sincerely given their allegiance.

One day, the Palace Director Zhang Defang and others came to visit, carrying several volumes of records of conversations with the Perfected Qinghe during his journey north. They said, “Among the disciples of our late master Changchun, you alone understood the Perfected Qinghe best, and the responsibility our master entrusted to you was a weighty one. We are now preparing to have this book printed. Would it not be fitting if you could write a preface, giving voice to the hope of later students throughout the land to read it?”

I declined, saying, “How could my words be worthy of being called a piece of writing? The Perfected One’s cultivation is pure and his learning profound; he is an outstanding figure of our age. He has truly understood and truly gained insight, whether he speaks or remains silent. People have long recorded his every word and compiled them into a book. Why should it need my words to make it endure?”

Defang replied, “That is not so. To lift a fur robe, one must take hold of its collar; to enter a hall, one must begin at the steps. We hope you will use a few words to explore its deeper meaning and bring its essentials to light, placing them at the beginning of the book. Then students can begin by grasping its main thread and proceed step by step into the hall, gaining considerable help along the way.”

I dared not refuse further, and so wrote this piece and gave it to them. Written on an auspicious day in the seventh month of autumn, in the gengzi year. Li Zhichang, Zhenchangzi, successor to the teaching, inscribed this.

In the autumn of the seventh month of the Gui Si year (1233), the people at Huayang Abbey in Beijing gathered to sit together at night. The master said, “From now on, as the autumn nights grow cool and long, do not go to bed early, and do not wait for someone to call you. Come together in the evening to talk. Our conversations need not be full of profound principles in every sentence. The successes and failures of people in ancient times, and the good and evil in the world, are all connected with principle.

“When you hear someone praised as good, you admire him; when you hear someone called bad, you dislike him. If thoughts of admiring good deeds and disliking bad ones remain in your heart, you will naturally develop your own sense of what to choose and what to reject. If you put these distinctions into practice, you can gradually reach a state of pure goodness. And if your words are helpful, those who hear them can take warning and gain from them as well.

“But if your mind is scattered and you cannot distinguish good conduct from bad, you will surely act without choosing carefully, simply muddling through. Little by little, you will fall into bad ways and, in the end, refuse to reflect on yourself. Talking about success and failure, good and evil, may not be the whole of learning the Dao, but it is still beneficial. It is better than spending all day eating and drinking your fill and letting your thoughts run unchecked.

“Moreover, cultivation is most easily harmed by three desires: food, sleep, and sexual desire. Eating without restraint makes people greedy for sleep, and oversleeping is especially harmful; sexual desire often arises from this as well. For those who study the Dao, learning first to govern these three desires truly marks the beginning of the path of cultivation. Everyone knows this principle, but few can put it into practice. Restraining desire depends on resolve; what undermines restraint is one’s habitual Qi. Resolve governs habitual Qi. When resolve is weak and habitual Qi is strong, it is hard to overcome desire.

“If you truly wish to exercise restraint, begin by sleeping less during the day. Make a little progress each day and let it build over time. Do not expect immediate results. Naturally, you will not nurture a state of dullness and muddiness, and the effort will gradually become easier. I did the same when I was in Shandong: whenever I felt a little drowsy, I found something to do that would get my body moving. I kept at it day after day, and after twenty-four or twenty-five days, I gradually grew accustomed to it; my mind became clear and refreshed. You should follow this practice too.

“Even if those who study the Dao cannot yet reach a state that connects Heaven and Earth, they do themselves no disservice by first becoming upright and conscientious people. Indeed, all great sages and worthy ones began this way. People know only that indulging themselves brings pleasure; they do not know that restraining the mind is what brings true and boundless joy.”

The master said, “Lately I have very much wanted to stop speaking. But because of my ties to this tradition, there are some things I must still say. The methods used to guide people in cultivation can bring great benefit. When I lived at a monastery in Shandong, I practiced only generosity and harmony, and taught others the same principle. As a result, there were no disputes for more than ten years.

“When living in a communal monastery, one should urge everyone to respect the worthy, be tolerant toward others, and live in harmony without quarrels. This is truly a way to accumulate blessings and do good. At the time, one or two people would occasionally break the rules, and most people could not tolerate them. I treated them generously, worrying only that they might be led astray. If they sometimes disrupted things, I could not avoid offering a mild reprimand. But even then, one had to choose one’s words carefully so they could accept them. In this way, I would not be angered and made to suffer, and those who had done wrong would find it easier to repent.

“When the abbot of White Crane Monastery sat with everyone, someone brought out fresh plums, and they shared them around. The master then told an old story from the Sui dynasty. After the realm was unified, the palace gardens were laid out with three mountains, five lakes, four seas, and sixteen garden compounds, planted with rare flowers, trees, and fruit. In the western garden, a waxberry tree grew wildly overnight, its branches and leaves spreading over a whole mu of land. Yang was the surname of the Sui imperial house, so people at the time took this as a sign of good fortune and prosperity. A white plum tree in the eastern garden grew in the same way. When the fruit ripened, the waxberries were sour and the plums sweet, so people left the waxberries and ate the plums instead. There was also a large carp in the pond, with the character ‘king’ on its forehead. Later, when the Sui dynasty fell and the realm passed to the Tang dynasty, whose imperial house bore the surname Li, people understood what these signs had meant.

“From this we can see that the rise and fall of dynasties follow their appointed course, brought about by the shifting currents of the Five Phases—the ancient idea used to explain the changing movements of Heaven and Earth—and are difficult to avoid. Everything subject to the changes of Yin-Yang has its allotted course. Human beings cannot escape the realm of Yin-Yang. Only in Heaven is there no Yin-Yang; it is called ‘pure Yang.’ From there, looking down upon the movements of the sun and moon and the changes of worldly affairs, one stands beyond the currents of change, untouched by the cycles of cold and heat, spring and autumn, rise and fall, or fortune and misfortune.

“People live within Yin-Yang, and so are pulled along by its changes, without knowing that their original nature is not governed by them. Those who study the Dao do not contend with external things. When something comes, they meet it calmly. Even as changes of fortune and misfortune, long life and early death, and life and death follow one after another, their minds remain unmoved. This is the state of transcending Yin-Yang and standing beyond Heaven. In that state, the mind remains calm and ordinary, and all things can be seen as equal. Only then can one be free and at ease, living among all things without being controlled by them. One must first become free and at ease within before one can regard all things equally. That is why the Zhuangzi opens with ‘Free and Easy Wandering’; there is deep meaning in this.”

A disciple asked, “Is the ordinary just the Dao? Must the mind and spirit first become free and at ease before we can regard all things as equal? So there must be a profound meaning in the Zhuangzi’s opening chapter, ‘Free and Easy Wandering,’ mustn’t there?”

The disciple then asked, “Is the ordinary just the Dao?” The master replied, “The ordinary is what is truly constant. The mind can respond to all kinds of change without being moved by external things. It is continually responding to events, yet continually at rest; gradually, it enters the true Dao. This is what it means for the ordinary to be the Dao. People cannot remain ordinary because they have no inner master: their emotions chase after external things, and their Jing and Qi disperse and are depleted throughout the body. The Mencius speaks of ‘resolve,’ saying that resolve commands Qi. If a person can use resolve to govern Qi and prevent it from dispersing, it can be transformed into brightness; accumulated, it becomes great brightness. The master once said, ‘Great brightness envelops the purple-gold lotus.’ The lotus is a metaphor for the heart, where the spirit dwells. One must first attain the ordinary to reach this state. The ‘Middle Way’ spoken of by Confucius also carries the meaning of the ordinary. Another teaching says that Buddha-nature does not originally need awakening, and that sentient beings have never truly been deluded; to apply the mind in an ordinary way is, in this very moment, Bodhi (awakening). Those who do not understand the constant Dao act recklessly and bring danger upon themselves. Those who understand it see clearly within.”

The disciple asked, “Is what the Buddha teaches different from the principles we teach?” The master replied, “In principle, there is no difference. The Buddha’s teachings, my teachings, and worldly teachings may all contain subtle truths. If you can understand them through your own mind and nature, you will naturally see clearly. At that point, you need not cling even to the distinction of mind and nature. Someone said, ‘There is neither mind nor nature; only when there is neither nature nor mind can one attain spiritual powers.’ There is also a saying: ‘When someone comes to ask about the Dao, one should teach them through a person who has attained understanding.’ If a person’s inner understanding is not yet clear, how can words convey the Dao into their heart?”

Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) died on the ninth day of the seventh month. On that day, everyone set up memorial tablets for the Patriarchs and the Seven Quanzhen Masters—the seven leading masters of early Quanzhen Daoism—in the Fragrant Cassia Hall at White Crane Monastery, and held a memorial rite. After the Daoist community had completed its bows, they sat down and spoke of the affairs of the time, rejoicing together that their tradition could now enjoy peace and quiet. The master said, “Now that we can live in safety, eat our fill, and cultivate our virtue, how could we fail to know where all this came from? It is because the Patriarchs were exceptionally gifted, built up profound blessings and virtue, and realized the Great Dao. They first cultivated themselves, then taught and transformed others. The generations of perfected masters who followed them continued to instruct and guide their disciples, helping people understand their original mind and grasp fully the workings of sin and blessing. Many people thereby gained insight. Through countless trials and hardships, they deepened their merit and cultivation, and only then was our tradition able to spread so widely.”

Master Changchun once said that, in the past thousand years, Daoism had never flourished as much as it did in his day. Yet the master was modest and did not say all that could be said. Since the time of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, Daoism had never flourished as much as it did then. This truly was the work of Heaven’s timing. As the ways of the world gradually grew shallow, Heaven sent sages and worthies into the world to support one another and teach the people. In ancient times, people were guided through the Dao; later, society was governed through benevolence and righteousness. As customs declined further, Buddhism came to China and encouraged people to do good through teachings about heaven and hell. Now, once again, Patriarchs have appeared to spread the teachings. In only seventy years since its founding, the tradition has achieved such results. The perfected masters have used all kinds of skillful means to help the people.

Buddhism passed through more than twenty generations, accumulating profound merit and virtue. After it came to China, it greatly benefited the people. Later generations failed to follow and carry on the tradition, and it gradually declined. People long enjoyed the blessings accumulated by those before them, and karmic obstructions arose in turn. Everyone must understand this deeply and take it as a warning. Lately I have seen disciples of our tradition resting on their blessings and indulging their desires, gradually turning away from good conduct. This is the beginning of creating karma, and it will also take people ever farther from the Dao.

Human nature is originally not far from the Dao. It is only because people have been immersed in their appetites and desires over many lifetimes that returning to the Great Dao has become difficult. Thus Confucius said, “By nature, people are close to one another; through acquired habits, they grow ever farther apart.” If you are careful about your habits and do not let external things entangle you, and if you devote yourself to making your mind empty and still, then when you hear instruction, you will naturally understand it.

The teachings I received were all transmitted orally by perfected masters, heart to heart. I have practiced according to them to this day. Could I not wish to pass them on to later generations? Yet so few people listen with sincere hearts that I often prefer to say nothing. Even if someone hears the teachings but refuses to practice them, it is just as though they had never heard them. Teachings are like Fulu, Daoist talismans and registers that carry spiritual power and are used in cultivation: their efficacy appears only when one follows and practices them. If they are not upheld, they are empty words. What help can they be to either person?

Master Liu the Barefoot once said to me, “Master Tan ought to have realized the Dao sooner.” I had begged for alms with him, and watched him reflect on his thoughts each day: at night he reviewed the thoughts that had arisen during the day, and the next day he reviewed those of the previous night. He did this day after day without ever slacking. The master said, “Danyang took two and a half years to realize the Dao; Changzhen took five years, and Changsheng took seven. My blessings were shallow and my aspirations low. It took me eighteen or nineteen years to reach a state that penetrated Heaven and Earth. Only then did the sages grant me a little light, and before long they took it back.” I heard all this with my own ears.

Consider the merit and virtue they accumulated and the hardships they endured: even a fierce and violent person would be moved by them. They cultivated through hardship and built up virtue, gathering profound blessings over time; only then could their teachings spread throughout the world. Today, some disciples of our tradition have not yet accumulated enough merit and virtue, yet already enjoy the blessings of those who came before. Only by working on the mind, keeping the Dao in mind at all times, or by laboring diligently and welcoming visitors, might they be able to bear these blessings. Otherwise, they will lose their foundation.

Since you were born in China, encountered the Orthodox Teaching, and freed yourself from worldly entanglements, if you do not continue to cultivate but simply enjoy offerings and blessings for nothing, how could you enter the Dao again in a future life? If you indulge in blessings excessively and deepen your karma, you may even fail to retain a human body. Would that not mean losing your foundation? An ancient book says, “You bring upon yourself an unsatisfactory next life”; this is what it means. Good deeds accumulate into blessings, and evil deeds accumulate into karma. Neither takes shape in a single day. People often think that small acts of goodness bring little benefit, so they do not do them; they think small evils cause no harm, so they do not remove them. But as these things accumulate, they eventually become great matters that are difficult to undo. As someone said, “Drops of water falling without pause will eventually fill a large vessel.” How could we fail to be careful?

The Patriarchs and the perfected masters of successive generations were united in heart and De. They established this tradition and made people across the four seas one family. Among those who belong to the tradition, each person’s gains and losses are bound up with the others’: one person’s progress in cultivation brings honor to the tradition; one person’s wrongdoing becomes a burden on it. So we must be especially careful and never do anything that would lead us into hell. Once a person commits a transgression, hell is already within the heart. Buddhism speaks of the Avici Hell and the Hell of Uninterrupted Suffering; our Daoism speaks of Dengdu Hell. None of these should be dismissed lightly.

Daoist Nianhe asked, “I have asked fellow disciples for guidance in cultivation. Some tell people to train diligently; others say to let things take their natural course. Which approach is right?”

The Master replied, “The Dao cannot be conveyed directly in words. One must first attain some understanding within one’s heart, and only then can one enter the Dao. Even a true master cannot hand the Dao to another. He can only teach people to accumulate merit and virtue, making that the foundation for entering the Dao.

“Master Changchun once said that Danyang and I differed in the depth of our realization, and so we attained the Dao at different speeds. Danyang realized ‘death,’ and therefore attained the Dao quickly; I realized that all things are illusory, and so my progress was slower. To realize ‘death’ means to regard oneself, here and now, as already dead. If a domineering person is already dead, how could he still throw his weight around? Someone who realizes that all things are illusory, however, has not yet reached that state. He still makes plans and takes action, so his progress is slower. This principle is not difficult to understand. People simply differ in the depth of their realization, and each is also affected by how much good fortune and virtue they have accumulated.

“That is why our predecessors did not overlook even the smallest good deed, such as a single needle or a blade of grass. The ancients said that time is precious: if even one moment passes without accumulating merit or doing good, it has been wasted. How, then, can one take even a meal or a drink lightly? The study of the Dao must proceed from the coarse and simple toward the subtle and refined. Only by accumulating bit by bit can one accomplish anything. In the religious community, those with strength contribute their labor, while those with ideas give their attention and care. Managing affairs and coordinating people are all forms of merit and cultivation. Acting in this way, one may be worthy, in some measure, of the clothing and food offered in support.

“When I accept offerings from others in daily life, I do so by subduing my own mind, which lets me receive them in peace. When I first arrived in Weizhou, the old Longhu garrison commander’s family often invited a dozen or more of us to stay at their home, and agreed to provide for us for several months. In less than ten days, some of the group felt restless, others became unwell, and neither playing the qin nor playing chess could distract them. I alone remained calm and at ease, never feeling troubled for a single day. This was because I had no selfish motives: I had simply accepted an invitation and gone. I gathered my mind and would not let it scatter outward. Even though attendants served and provided for me, I did not recognize their faces or know their names. As for food, I never let myself eat beyond half-full. What, then, was there to feel uneasy about?

“People’s hearts always have their preferences. The key is whether those preferences are rightly placed. If one prefers external things, whether good or bad, they can easily lead the mind astray. If one devotes oneself to the Dao, the heart is directed rightly. Once the heart is right, external distractions naturally lessen, and it grows clearer and purer day by day, until it no longer clings to anything. One gradually removes the karmic consciousness—the accumulated thoughts and habits—that has followed one through countless lives and driven one through cycles of transmigration and transformation. In the end, one lets go even of the thought ‘I prefer the Dao.’ The heart is open and clear, yet contains a truth that is not empty. This is why it is said to be ‘neither existent nor empty’; this is called true emptiness.

“How can one reach this state without cultivating and refining one’s own heart? That is why the essential task of cultivation is to work on the heart. Once you understand what to relinquish and what to take up, you can inwardly reverse your attitude toward the things people do in the world. The Qi within the body will then flow in harmony; the limbs and whole body will naturally coordinate, the temperament will settle, the breath will become even, and the foundation of life will grow firm. In this way, you will not be far from the path of the immortals.

“People who study the Dao today do not follow this path. They speak of mysteries as soon as they open their mouths, and often fall into empty talk and delusion. Few achieve anything; when they pass these empty notions on to others, they mislead even more people. Everyone knows that the way of the immortals is worth longing for, yet they are unwilling to cultivate in earnest. Seeking immortality is like eating steamed buns: if you want to eat buns, you must plow the fields and sow the seeds. If someone said you could find food simply by digging in the soil, everyone would laugh at the absurdity. Yet when you trace a bun back to its source, everything begins with cultivation. Is the way of studying the immortals any different?”

The master said: Those who have only just begun cultivation do not understand the true meaning of “nature and life.” They take the thoughts behind their daily speech and actions to be “nature,” and the breath passing through the mouth and nose to be “life.” This is mistaken. How could nature and life be two unrelated things? First, one must devote oneself to careful observation and recognize one’s original true nature, which existed before one’s parents gave birth to one. Only then can one understand the life bestowed on human beings by Heaven. The Book of Changes says: “Plumb the principles of things, fully develop human nature, and thereby fulfill the mandate of Heaven.”

The master said: People are born through the Qi of the Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—and their dispositions often reflect these phases. For example, people of a Wood nature tend to be kindhearted, while those of a Fire nature tend to value ritual propriety. None of this is our original true nature. Only by moving beyond the constraints of the temperaments shaped by the Five Phases can our true nature emerge.

[Hao] In ancient times, people were exceptionally straightforward and unpretentious. If they accepted a meal from someone, they would surely repay them by silently reciting ten volumes of scripture. How could later generations neglect such care in even the smallest actions?

The master visited Youxian Monastery, where its abbot, Li Zhishao, asked him about passages in the Awakening to Reality that he did not understand. The master did not answer. That night, as he sat in meditation, he said to those gathered: “Zhang Pingshu”—Zhang Boduan, whose courtesy name was Pingshu—accumulated merit and good deeds throughout his life. He was profoundly able to awaken a seeker of the Dao, giving him clear understanding. That is why the verses he wrote are so exquisite. The master then recited three poems by Zhang Pingshu from “Moon over the West River”:

Heaven and Earth have just passed through adversity and ease; between day and night, one must also understand difficulty and obscurity. The wheel turns like water flowing back to the sea; the subtlety lies in mastering the use of addition and subtraction. Obtain the One, and all things are accomplished; make no distinctions between north, south, east, and west. Reduce, then reduce again, and carefully guard the work already done. Do not use the treasure of life—the Jing, Qi, and Shen treasured in cultivation—recklessly.

Whose is the Maiden of the Two Eights, a Neidan term often referring to Yin essence? Where is the young lord of the Nine Threes, a Neidan term often referring to Yang essence? They call themselves Wood Liquid and Metal Essence; when they meet Earth, the three unite. Then the power of Master Ding, a term for the force used in alchemical refinement, must aid their refinement, so that the Yin-Yang couple can join and give birth to true feeling. The River Cart, a term for the process of circulating essence and Qi in cultivation, must never stop, but carry them up to the summit of Kunlun, a symbol of the crown of the head or the upper Dantian.

The “Elixir,” the fruit of Neidan (internal alchemy), is a wondrous treasure within the physical body. Once refined, it can give rise to inexhaustible transformations. If one can also investigate the true source of the Great Dao within one’s own nature and fully understand the wondrous workings of non-arising, there is no need to wait until death: in this very life one can attain spiritual powers like those of a Buddha. Since the Dragon Girl accomplished this through such practice, who since then has continued in her footsteps?

Elder Li, like the other perfected adepts, attained the Dao by meeting an enlightened master. The teachings he left behind seem different from those of Ping Shu. Some say that Elder Li did not teach the arts of nature and life, while Ping Shu did not teach the school of nature. In truth, nature and life were never two separate things; this principle is quite clear. It is simply difficult to express in words, and can be taught only to someone who understands. Hence the saying, “When someone comes asking about the Dao, speak to one who has attained understanding.” Another saying goes, “It may be transmitted, but it cannot be bestowed.” It is like Yao passing the realm to Shun, and Shun then passing it to Yu: Shun and Yu were able to receive it because they possessed profound De (Virtue/Power) and the achievements of sages. Transmitting the Dao is the same.

If the Dao could be passed on to just anyone, the Patriarch would not have needed to leave Mount Zhongnan. If everyone could have succeeded there, why travel all the way to the eastern shore? The Patriarch received the teachings from four perfected masters, then passed them on according to kinship and seniority to his younger brothers, nephews, and disciples: Danyang was his younger brother, Perfected Tan his nephew, and Changsheng and Changchun were like his sons. All four perfected masters eventually attained the Dao, but they did so at different speeds: Danyang took two and a half years, Changzhen five years, Changsheng seven years, and Changchun eighteen or nineteen years. Changchun’s aspirations and conduct reached between Heaven and Earth; only then were the sages and worthies willing to recognize him. Each person had accumulated different depths of practice and merit, so they attained the Dao in their own time. If even the perfected masters were like this, how could people studying the Dao today hope to attain it directly without first accumulating practice and merit? That is simply impossible.

It is like someone wanting to buy goods worth a thousand gold pieces: they must offer goods of equal value in exchange. To admire the goods but fail to save enough capital is wishful thinking; in the end, they will not obtain them. The essential method of cultivation has no other basis: continually accumulate merit and virtue.

When the Patriarch first arrived in Dengzhou, an official surnamed Jie was known for doing good and giving generously, and often welcomed the Patriarch warmly. Later, after the Patriarch had taken Ma and Tan as disciples, he passed through Dengzhou again. Master Jie led a group in preparing a vegetarian offering, asked to be accepted as a monastic, and requested permission to leave the household life. He thought that the Patriarch had once taken much effort and two years before accepting Ma and Tan; since he was now making the request himself, the Patriarch would surely agree. He pleaded several times, but the Patriarch refused each time. Later he came to ask again and was still turned away, so Master Jie had no choice but to leave.

The Patriarch said to those present: “Two people each want to build a great hall. One has already laid the foundation and gathered ample materials. Even before he hires craftsmen, they will come to him of their own accord, because everything is ready and the work can be completed. The other has only pointed out where the hall should stand. The ground is uneven, and no work has been done. The craftsmen take one look, leave, and never return. It is like a field of good soil: if it is planted on time and weeded, it will yield a great deal of grain. Even a good farmer will not want to work barren land, because it takes effort for little return. From this we can see: if practice and merit are not made the foundation, how could anyone attain the Dao?”

In the past there was a Daoist called Grinder Liu who observed a vow of silence and begged for food in the Guanzhong region. He was resolute in his aspirations and worked hard in his cultivation. Once, he went sixteen days without food, yet did not dare even consider looking for another way to get by. He endured that trial. After sixteen years, his master too took pity on his hardship. But Liu was not gentle by nature: if anyone slighted him even a little, he would flare up in anger like a raging fire. When I was living at Yuqing Abbey, he came and asked to stay. Later he returned to his hometown and visited twice over the course of two years. Gradually I noticed that something was wrong with his complexion and the way he spoke. He was then nearly sixty years old. It later proved true, as I heard that he had returned to lay life. This came about for no other reason than that he had failed to make practice and merit his foundation from the start, and so ended in this way.

In the past, most people who begged for food, sat in stillness, and cultivated the Way had already gained some inner understanding, though they had not yet reached complete purity. They therefore lived in quiet places to nurture their nature and investigate true emptiness. Today, some who beg for food and sit in stillness are still young and have not truly understood, yet claim to be investigating the void. They often fall into vague and deluded imaginings. It is truly lamentable.

Today the gates of the religious community stand wide open, and ordinary conduct can all become practice and merit. Be sincere and humble, put an end to distinctions between self and others, take hardship upon yourself and bring benefit to others: this is the nature of the Dao. Persist without giving up, and in time understanding will naturally come. Today, when people see someone doing good, they say that person has a mind for the Dao; when they see someone doing wrong, they say that person has no mind for the Dao. If you think this way, does it not mean you already understand the Dao? There is no need for anyone to doubt.

The master traveled north to Beishan and, at night, lodged at Tongxian Daoist Monastery in Zhenxianying, where he sat and talked with the others. Li Zhishao quoted an old song that included the line, “The Jiazi of the Heavenly Origin has arrived.” When the song ended, the master joked, “The Daoist community’s Jiazi of the Heavenly Origin has already passed.” No one understood what he meant.

The master said, “This is something Master Changsheng, an elder of the Daoist tradition, often used to say. I once heard him say with my own ears: ‘Cultivation must be undertaken at the right time. The present is the Jiazi of the Heavenly Origin, a season suited to cultivation. Once this season has passed, cultivation will become very difficult.’ When I first heard these words, I did not fully believe them, because I had not yet experienced their truth deeply. Now, after many years on the Dao, I understand how important timing is. I once saw that in the early years of Master Changsheng’s leadership, cultivators would not have to practice in stillness for long before insights often arose in their minds. Such people could be counted one by one. In the later years of his leadership, however, it was rare to see anyone achieve much. Why? Because the times were different. It is like sowing seeds in the depths of winter: even if one works twice as hard as usual, there is little chance of a harvest. This applies not only to cultivation; all things in the world rise and decline with the times. Who can go against this principle?”

The master continued, “Master Changsheng said that when the Confucians discuss the Dao, the Analects and the Mencius have already explained it fully. When I was young, I read these two books and grasped their meaning; later, after entering the Dao, I came to understand their principles more deeply. Confucius said to Yan Hui, ‘When the Way prevails, I take office; when it does not, I withdraw and keep my principles intact. You and I, perhaps, are the only ones who can do this.’ Did the sage favor Yan Hui above the others? It was simply that the others had not yet understood this principle. And what is the principle? It is to follow the times. When it is right to advance, advance; when it is right to withdraw, withdraw. If circumstances call for staying, stay; if they call for acting swiftly, act swiftly. Do not cling to always acting or never acting. In action and in stillness, have no private intention; follow only the times, and then both action and stillness accord with the Dao.

“That is why Mencius praised Confucius as one who handled matters thoroughly from beginning to end, bringing together the achievements of all the sages and becoming the sage best able to follow the times. Sometimes one advances, sometimes one withdraws; sometimes one practices Wuwei (non-action), sometimes one acts. The underlying principle is one and the same. Mencius said that Yu, Houji, and Yan Hui followed the same Dao; had they exchanged circumstances, each would have made the same choice.

“When I was young, I once asked the master: ‘Yao and Shun governed the world with reverence, and their merit and virtue were lofty. This was action. Xu You refused Yao’s offer to yield the throne and wanted no part in worldly affairs. This was non-action. Why are both regarded as sages?’ The master replied: ‘Action and non-action are one and the same; they accord with the Dao. A cultivator who completely sets aside worldly affairs and devotes himself to cultivating the mind and nature practices non-action. Receiving visitors, building good connections, and accumulating merit and virtue are forms of action. Devoting oneself to cultivating the mind is the higher path; accumulating merit and virtue comes next. Both arise from the same Dao. If one does not understand this, one cannot grasp the principle that all things return to unity. People then cling to one side and argue with one another over right and wrong. In truth, movement and stillness are each other’s substance and function. And it is not only movement and stillness that are one: Yin-Yang, day and night, life and death, the visible and the hidden are also connected. Understand the principle of life, and you will know that death and life arise from the same source. Understand the visible world, and you will also understand the hidden realm; there is nothing to doubt.

“Zilu asked how to serve the spirits, and Confucius replied, ‘If you cannot yet serve the living well, how can you serve the spirits?’ Zilu then asked about death, and Confucius said, ‘If you do not yet understand life, how can you understand death?’ On hearing these words, Zilu ought to have grasped their profound meaning at once. But this principle can be understood only by those of keen intelligence. That is why the master, whenever he met someone of keen intelligence, always encouraged and supported them, never giving up on them lightly. For example, Sun Penglai, the young attendant of Master Danyang, was bright from childhood and, as he grew up, became widely learned. He was also well versed in fields such as literature and medicine. This shows that with such understanding, seeking the Dao is not difficult. He often lived alone, apart from others, and the master greatly regretted this. He wanted Sun to remain by his side, but Sun ultimately refused.

“Intelligence can certainly help one understand the Dao, but intelligent people often feel more deeply and have more concerns, which makes it harder for them to preserve stillness. Du Fu’s poem says, ‘At midnight I rise and sit, beset by a thousand feelings.’ It shows how many impressions intelligent people often carry. Even if people of keen intelligence are gifted by nature and may draw close to the Great Dao as they approach death, unless they put aside desire, they will still be caught in the cycle of life and death. But if they use their intelligence and ability to earnestly follow the Dao, restrain selfish desires, and make the mind pure and undivided, they can become as innocent and unspoiled as an infant, and attain the state of a true immortal. This is what human nature is originally like; everything beyond it is mostly the product of desire. Among the various thinkers, some said human nature is evil, while others said good and evil are mixed in it. Only Mencius maintained that human nature is good. For this reason, he stands just below the sages and is the most outstanding of the thinkers.

“Only people of keen intelligence can understand and put these words into practice. Could anyone’s intelligence come from nowhere? In fact, it is the blessing that comes from accumulated merit and practice over many lifetimes, which helps awaken one’s original nature. That is why some people are intelligent from birth. How could intelligence arise out of nothing, without any causes or conditions?

“Now the gates of the religious community stand wide open. This is an excellent time to accumulate merit and virtue, cultivate oneself, and enter the Dao. One should take action and lay a foundation for entering the Dao. If someone hears this and does not believe it, or believes it but does not act on it, idling and indulging themselves while living at others’ expense, few will avoid falling into ruin. How tragic!”

The Master said: Among those who seek learning, some have broad experience and extensive knowledge. They often calculate and reconsider the past and the future, and care deeply about gains, losses, and consequences. Their firm faith therefore grows weaker. Others have little experience and knowledge and do not know how to seek advantage or avoid harm, yet they can focus their minds and will on one thing. Such people may come to some understanding; even if they seem dull and unsophisticated, they are thereby closer to the Great Dao. In general, when concern for gain and loss is too strong, the mind is not upright. When the mind is not upright, sincerity is lacking. And without sincerity, how can one enter the Dao?

The Master said: I often want to use plain, honest words to urge people onward, but they usually find such words ordinary and so refuse to make greater progress. Instead, many think that communicating with spirits and becoming a sage are what the Dao is all about. I remember someone once advising me to reveal fewer of my abilities, saying that this would surely win the trust and respect of people in this age. I paid no heed. The person urged me again and again, with increasing insistence. I laughed and said, “It took me fifty years to learn a single word: ‘genuine.’ I am not willing to cast it aside all at once.” From this we can see that the Perfected do nothing to astonish or scandalize the world. They are like people who store away their wealth in deep, secure places: even when pressed by hardship, they will not readily bring it out. Though the Perfected have cultivated themselves, they seem as if they have not; though inwardly full, they seem empty. They reveal not the slightest trace, and may even deliberately act wild and mingle with ordinary people, for fear that others will see through them. If others discover their abilities and show them respect, this can in fact harm the Perfected themselves.

The Chan master Chou once settled a fight between two tigers, and afterward lost the Third Fruit, one of the stages attained through Buddhist practice. This, too, illustrates the principle. Yet people insist that communicating with spirits and displaying supernatural powers are what the Dao is all about. They do not understand that these things must begin with the gradual accumulation of merit and practice. Once merit and practice have accumulated deeply, the mind naturally becomes numinously clear, and outer circumstances naturally fall into alignment. None of this is obtained by deliberate pursuit. If one sets out to display spiritual powers and sagehood, falsehood will inevitably become mixed in. This harms one’s nature and diminishes one’s blessings, with consequences too numerous to recount.

This concludes Volume One of Records of the Perfected Qinghe’s Travels North.

Records of the Perfected Qinghe’s Travels North, Volume Two

Compiled by the disciple Duan Zhijian

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone sat outdoors at Qizhen Abbey and spoke of the sacred spring at Fanshan, said to be the holy place where the Yellow Emperor was born. Beside the spring stands a tree. It is said that the Yellow Emperor’s mother once hung her clothes there to dry, and that ever since, the tree has bent low, its branches and leaves shading the water—as though this were no accident. Local elders say that when the old tree is about to die, new shoots grow beneath it. Once they have matured, their trunks and branches take on the same shape as the old tree. No one knows how many generations of such trees have passed down in this way. Someone asked, “If there are sacred traces like these here, why have we never heard of grand local construction projects to celebrate them?”

The master said, “I once saw a small stone stele. From its inscription I learned that, in the Tang dynasty, a county magistrate used his own salary to erect a stele here. After the Song dynasty was founded, this area came under Khitan rule, and the place never again flourished. Grand construction projects are often followed by decline; what is plain and unadorned can endure. This is the ordinary course of things. More than three thousand six hundred years have passed since the Yellow Emperor’s time. Through all the changes and reversals of the world, this sacred trace remains as it was, still honored by generation after generation. It is precisely because it has endured in an ordinary way.

“My father read widely and investigated the principles of things. He knew well how often the Yellow Emperor’s De is praised. Many people do not examine the principles deeply and dismiss these accounts as baseless and absurd; few are willing to believe them. Some say the Yellow Emperor was not sent down to the human world as a punishment, but came of his own accord. At the time, Heaven was discussing the undertaking of great works. The Yellow Emperor believed there was no scope for him to act in Heaven, so he asked to come to the human world. In his first life, he was a commoner and spared no effort in doing whatever could benefit people. In his second life, he served as an official and used his achievements to help the people. In his third life, he became an emperor and left behind accomplishments from which generation after generation could benefit. From this we can see that heavenly beings must put their merit into practice among humankind, so that the people may benefit from it for a long time. Only then can they return to Heaven and dwell in their proper place.”

The eminent Daoist master Zhang asked, “I have heard that before the ancient emperors there were the Five Emperors of Antiquity, who ruled generation after generation. They all possessed sage-like virtue, and the people could live to ten thousand years. Can this account be believed?”

The master replied, “There are no written records by which to verify it, so judged by the historical record it seems absurd. But reasoned through in light of the Way, it may not be impossible. In the beginning, people received the Qi of the Dao and came into being; their lifespans must therefore have changed along with the flourishing and decline of the Dao’s Qi. When Heaven and Earth had only just separated, the Dao’s Qi was pure and refined. People were as simple and unspoiled as infants, and all could attune themselves to and absorb this breath. Their lifespans would naturally have exceeded ten thousand years. Later, as the Dao’s Qi gradually dispersed, lingzhi mushrooms grew from the earth. Everyone ate them and could still live a thousand years. Later still, when the Dao’s Qi had dissipated, the five grains grew. People selected the finest among them to eat, and their appetites grew along with them. Is it not only to be expected that their lifespans fell short of a hundred years? In light of reason, we cannot simply declare this legend false.

“When I was young, I read the Buddhist Lotus Sutra and saw that it described the size of the sun and moon, and nine heavens above and nine layers of earth below, giving the height and thickness of each in numbers. At first I thought this absurd. Only after I entered the Dao did I understand its meaning. The nine heavens can be understood as emptiness; emptiness has substantial existence as its counterpart, so the claim that the earth has nine layers also has its rationale.

“Gold, silver, copper, iron, and other substances emerge from within the earth. They are the Qi of the Five Phases stored inside, which takes on concrete form when it comes to light. This is the transformation from the formless into the formed. Even substances that are hard and strong will, given enough time, eventually return to their original state. Someone once spoke of the fashions of the time: garments were adorned with gold, and hundreds of ingots were spent on gold every day. Who would have thought that even hard gold could decay? This made me understand that people in the world do not grasp that this is how the Way of Heaven works. The Way of Heaven must return to its original state. It is not that Heaven’s Way deliberately makes things return; they return of themselves. This is the principle.

“Gold emerges from beneath the earth, with no intention of serving the needs of humankind. People use their ingenuity to mine it ceaselessly, and in doing so damage the original Qi of Heaven and Earth. Though its physical form is now destroyed, its Qi returns to its original state. If it did not, the principle by which all things continually generate one another would come to an end. This principle applies not only to Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth; it applies to all things.

“I once traveled with my master north of Yinshan and saw vast forests in the desert. No axes felled the trees, and regardless of their size, they withered away on their own. This was because the root Qi they had received had run low, and they could not help but die. Yet their branches would grow again in the same place. This is the Way of ceaseless renewal.

“From this, we can see that flourishing and decline, life and death, are all natural. In human life, too, wealth and poverty, rise and fall, long life and early death each have their allotted share. If people refuse to accept their allotted share, they exhaust their minds and damage their bodies in endless pursuit, yet cannot increase it by even the slightest amount. If their thoughts are misguided and they accumulate wrongdoing, the harm they suffer is beyond measure. Such conduct brings no benefit, only disaster. That is why having no intent is the Dao.

“When the world’s moral order declines and the people cannot understand this principle, Heaven sends forth great sages and worthies to save them. They teach through words and set an example through their conduct, elucidating the Three Principles so that people may recover their original, constant nature. The Patriarch founded the teachings for precisely this reason.”

The master said, “When ordinary people are deceived, slandered, humiliated, or even killed for no apparent reason, these experiences may be repayment for debts they incurred in the past. Those who truly understand how things work know this, and so they would not dare to deceive anyone, even in a single thought, or treat anything with the slightest disrespect. In speech and action, they are always afraid of wronging others. They would rather be wronged themselves than wrong anyone else. To deceive others is to deceive yourself; to harm others is to harm yourself, as if you were cutting your own body with a knife.”

The master was sitting with a group of people when they spoke of how many in the world exploit those beneath them and curry favor with those above them in order to protect themselves. The master said, “How can people be so foolish? Take what they need from the people, yet make sure the people live in peace. When you do not deliberately seek security for yourself, security comes of its own accord. If you care only about protecting yourself and ignore the people’s circumstances, you will instead put yourself in danger. This shows a failure to understand the principles of loss and gain. An old saying goes: what is reduced may, in the end, bring benefit; what is endlessly increased may, in the end, bring loss. This is something people of the world cannot understand.”

On the night of the seventeenth day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone at Qizhen Abbey sat together outdoors. Wang Caixing, a sculptor of religious images, bowed and asked how to sculpt figures of Daoism. The master said, “Of all kinds of images, images of the Dao are the hardest to sculpt. They are not only difficult to make; they are also difficult to explain clearly. One must first understand the rituals and standards of appearance within the Daoist tradition before one can discuss images of the Dao.

“The Great Dao, subtle and profound, eludes the senses: look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard. The sounds and colors of the world are right before us. It is not that we truly cannot see or hear them; rather, we must keep the mind and spirit from rushing entirely outward while maintaining an inward presence. If we say that we really see and hear nothing, we are like lifeless things without perception. If we keep nothing within and only chase after external things, then we are being led about by them. An image of the Dao must convey awareness of external things together with inward contemplation and presence. That is why it is difficult to sculpt.

“The appearance of the wealthy and powerful in the world is easy enough to recognize. The well-off often have a vigorous complexion and a solid build, with full cheeks and jaw, though they can seem heavy and dull. An image of the Dao, by contrast, must show both a refined, striking bearing and an air of dignity. This quality should shine through the brows and eyes and be reflected in the bones at the sides of the forehead. The back, too, should be solid, like a great ship able to bear ten thousand measures of cargo. Once you understand these general points, you may be able to sculpt an image that comes close to the ideal. Yet it must convey this spirit without letting its sharp edges and forceful features show too strongly. That is especially difficult.

“Even the worldly rich and powerful, up to and including emperors, can still be understood through physiognomy. An image of the Dao, however, must be grasped beyond the scope of physiognomy. Physiognomy examines outward features, pursuing them to the finest detail; but it cannot fully explain inner expression and meaning. Still, what is cultivated within must show itself outwardly, and can also be discerned in a person’s conduct. Conduct is the outward trace; the principles underlying it are within. Examine a person’s actions, and you can understand those principles, so the inner and outer can be joined as one. The Daoist tradition especially values discretion and concealment, and does not reveal itself lightly, so people in the world often cannot see it. Liezi lived in seclusion at Putiantian in the state of Zheng for forty years. His conduct embodied its own principles, yet no one recognized him.

“The Patriarchs and the perfected masters who followed them founded and spread the tradition, explaining its hidden essentials and expounding its mysteries wherever they went. The master once said: ‘The ancients had the will to realize the Dao but did not meet an enlightened teacher; people today meet an enlightened teacher but cannot realize the Dao.’ Many among the ancients had lofty aspirations, preserved simplicity, and held fast to what was true, yet never met an adept to guide them, and so never attained the Dao in their lifetimes. Today, some are fortunate enough to meet an adept and find the tradition widely open, yet still never realize the Dao. This is truly regrettable. The ancients said that a sage appears once in a thousand years and a worthy person once in five hundred. They were speaking of how rare sages and worthies are. Who could have imagined that, from the time of the Patriarchs onward, so many perfected masters who attained the Dao would appear one after another in the world?

“Though it is now difficult to meet a perfected master in person, the teachings they left behind are still here. People dismiss them without reading because their language is plain and direct, unaware that words close at hand can carry meanings far-reaching and profound. Literary scholars judge them by the rules of composition and inevitably find some parts long and others short. Adepts, intent on illuminating the Great Dao, do not concern themselves with literary form. Though Master Changsheng was not a man of learning, the words he wrote flowed naturally from within. He improvised one hundred and twenty poems in the ci form “Ruizhegu” and sixty in “Fengru Song,” then annotated the classics of the Three Teachings, writing without pause. His language was not ornate, but his reasoning was ample. Those who understand say that he did not deliberately imitate the models of the immortals, yet fully grasped their principles. Those principles are the Dao. When talented writers compose or skilled artisans practice their crafts, whatever reaches perfection comes from the Dao. People use it every day without necessarily knowing it.”

All things arise from emptiness. Pointing to the hall, he said, “The statues and paintings in this hall are all conjured forth from the human mind and nature; the human mind and nature, in turn, arise from the Dao (the Way). Is this wondrous functioning not the Dao itself? Though Heaven and Earth are vast and all things are myriad, they too arise from emptiness. Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the fundamental state from which the universe gives rise to all things) produces the Two Modes (Yin and Yang); the Two Modes produce the Four Images; the Four Images produce the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). Yin and Yang shift and stir against each other, bringing forth endless change. The Jing (scripture) says, ‘The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the ten thousand things.’ It also says, ‘All things flourish, then each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is a return to one’s original nature.’ This is the ultimate reach of the Dao’s subtle wonder.

“People are born from the Dao. If they can return to the Dao, they will not lose their enduring nature—their innate disposition. When the sages wrote thousands of scriptures and treatises, did they ever say that the purpose of cultivating the Dao was to fly and transform, or to ascend to Heaven in broad daylight? They only hoped that no one would lose their enduring nature. The coming and going of life and death are plainly in one’s own hands. If one cannot properly settle oneself and respond to external things, one will lose one’s enduring nature. Once it is lost, countless different outcomes may follow; one may even fall into the six realms—the six destinations of life in Buddhism—or the four forms of birth: womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born.

“After Hao Taigu attained the Dao, he once asked a group of people, ‘Among the teachings, what accords most closely with the Dao?’ Someone replied, ‘Neither coming nor going.’ Taigu smiled and said, ‘That is how the teachings put it. Coming and going plainly—that too is the Dao.’ When my master was in Jiaoxi, he asked a group the same question. I told him what I had understood in my heart. Later, when we reached the desert, my master asked the group again. I replied, ‘When a thought arises, respond to it as the moment requires; when one acts without obstruction, there is naturally a source for that action.’ My master agreed.

“Who has no thoughts? The essential thing is to discern whether they are right or wrong. What should be removed are wrongful thoughts. Any thought that harms Jing (essence), Shen (spirit), or Qi (vital energy) is wrongful. Those who study the Dao often fail to understand this and mistakenly think that the right approach is to cut off every thought. Should right thoughts—acting in accordance with principle and accumulating merit and good deeds—be cut off as well? If they were, a person would become a lifeless thing. How could such a person ever attain insight into the Dao?

“Some people are like those sitting within four enclosing walls: they dare not engage with anything or let a single thought arise, believing that if they remain there and wait, they will attain the Dao. They do not know whether the Dao can be gained by waiting. I would make Heaven and Earth my walls, roam freely between them, and engage and respond to the myriad things. With a spacious and untroubled heart, I feel no obstruction to the Dao.

“Some say, ‘Who has no thoughts? Who is not born? If one can truly achieve non-birth, then one can give birth to everything.’ There is also a verse that says, ‘Clouds come and go; the sky remains naturally serene. Flowers bloom and fade; the trees remain at ease.’

“Pointing to the moon, he said, ‘As long as drifting clouds do not cover the moon in the blue sky, it remains clear and bright, illuminating everything, and everyone can see it. People do not realize that each person also has a bright moon within the heart. It is only because drifting clouds cover it that it loses its light. Selfishness and wrongful thoughts are like drifting clouds. If a person can keep wrongful thoughts from arising, the bright moon in the heart can shine as brightly as the moon in the sky, remaining forever in the company of Heaven and Earth and never again growing dim.’”

The master said: “When earlier practitioners cultivated the Way, they carefully examined their thoughts at every place and every moment. As soon as they noticed an evil thought arising in their hearts, they would confess it to others and let themselves feel shame, hoping that the thought would never arise again or cloud their hearts.

“The master also said: “Today’s students do just the opposite. They boast about even a small good deed, afraid that others might not hear of it. Yet they hide their many faults and make excuses for themselves, afraid that others might discover them. Such people, I fear, will ultimately find it difficult to do good.””

When the master was resting at home, his disciples stood beside him. He invited them all to sit. They bowed and yielded to one another, but for a long time none of them took a seat. The master said, “Ritual propriety matters most when it is natural and sincere. If you have no wish to outdo others, what does it matter if you happen to sit in front of them? When sitting together in ordinary circumstances, there is no need to yield excessively; yielding too much can itself become a kind of pretense. Still, respect is the foundation of ritual, and it must also be guided by what is right. Otherwise it is difficult to put into practice. In cultivating yourself, be respectful; when things arise, deal with them according to what is right. This is the way of the noble person. Respect is the constant principle, while what is right must respond to changing circumstances. To understand the constant principle but not how to adapt is to become fixed on one side and unable to act effectively.”

“The four seasons of Heaven and Earth bring warmth, cold, and heat; wind, rain, thunder, and lightning each change in their own way. When things respond to one another, change occurs, and its subtle workings are difficult even for ghosts and spirits to fathom. People should handle affairs in the same way. This applies not only to ritual: in every gesture and movement, do not act hastily or carelessly. Respond to circumstances and bring things into proper measure. Do not neglect such matters because they seem small. The Dao does not lie outside these everyday affairs.”

“In the past, when Master Danyang [Ma Yu, one of the founders of the Quanzhen school of Daoism] first established his teaching, his guiding principles were to cast off extravagance, follow simplicity, and go against worldly custom. He did almost none of the things people in the world covet. This is because people are often drawn along by their desires and affections and cannot stop; in the end, they lose their original nature and cannot return to it. So there was a rule: no more than three companions in the Dao, and no more than three thatched huts. Later, when they built the ancestral hall, it too had only three rooms. The site was high and open, and the disciples asked to climb up and take in the view, but the master never allowed it. He said, ‘I have not even taken part in the building work here. How much less should I climb up to look far away, since that is something people enjoy? Those who cultivate the Dao should not covet it. The scripture speaks of “ascending a terrace in spring”; that means giving oneself over to sightseeing. Looking down at all things flourishing in spring naturally lifts the spirits. Once the mind is lifted, desire readily arises; when scenery and feeling mingle, one can slip into a state of attachment. The danger is that, little by little, one forgets to turn back. Besides, visiting famous places can also deplete one’s good fortune.’”

“I remember when the master first arrived at Changchun Palace. He went up to Baoxuan Hall, saw its splendid buildings and newly arranged furnishings, stood looking for a long while, and then left. Everyone asked him to sit, but he refused. There was no other reason: he was afraid of depleting his good fortune. At the time, someone knew he did not want to sit and deliberately found a way to ask me to sit instead. I went along and sat down. Some things cannot be avoided. If you had no firm intention of doing something yourself, but another person cleverly arranges for you to do it, what harm is there in going along with it? You had no desire to get it for yourself. But if you harbor a calculating intention, then even if you do not outwardly go along with another person, how can you say you have done nothing wrong?”

“When the patriarch lived on Kunjianshan, Master Changchun [Qiu Chuji] had already followed him for three years and was then twenty-three years old. The patriarch considered Master Danyang’s accumulated merits from previous lives to be profound, and often discussed subtle principles with him. Master Changchun’s merit had not yet reached that level, so the patriarch made him take on physical labor and never let him rest, even for a moment. One day, the patriarch shut the door and discussed methods of regulating the breath with Master Danyang. Master Changchun listened secretly outside for a while, then pushed the door open and went in. The two stopped talking. Master Changchun thought to himself: ‘The methods of regulating the breath are so subtle, yet the labor I do seems to be the very opposite of them.’ From then on, whenever he had a spare moment, he diligently practiced what he had overheard.”

“Later, as the patriarch was about to depart, he had spent these three years rigorously training the four disciples. The trials they endured in a single day were equal to hundreds or even thousands of days in the past. The patriarch deliberately made them do things wrong or in the wrong order; almost nothing they did met with his approval. They were often scolded for saying a single word or taking a single step. Master Changchun silently thought: ‘Since following the master, I have not learned what the Dao is. The things he teaches me seem to be of no use. I have questions I want to ask, but I fear the patriarch’s severity. I want to keep doing as I am told, but my desire to seek the Dao is urgent, and my mind cannot settle. My distress is extreme.’ One day, he took the opportunity to ask a question while seeking instruction. The patriarch replied only, ‘The Dao lies in one’s nature.’ He said nothing more, and Master Changchun did not dare to ask further.”

“The patriarch was about to leave just before the twelfth lunar month. The four disciples asked to go raise money. The patriarch told them to buy plenty of firewood and charcoal and build a great fire in the room where they slept. The room was small. He made Danyang and Changzhen stand inside, where the heat was unbearable, and Changsheng and Changchun stand outside, where the cold was unbearable. Those inside dared not come out, and those outside dared not go in. This went on for a long time. Master Changsheng could no longer bear it and ran away. On the fourth day of the first lunar month, as the patriarch was about to ascend to immortality, the three disciples stood beneath the trees. The patriarch said, ‘Danyang has attained the Dao, and Changzhen has come to know the Dao. I have nothing to worry about. Changsheng and Changchun have not yet reached that point. In everything Changchun has learned, he should follow Danyang’s direction; Changzhen should keep Changsheng in check.’”

The patriarch then said to Master Changchun, “You have a great fault that you must remove. In the past, you thought that the things your master taught you were of no use. You did not understand that the Dao is found precisely in those things that seem useless.”

“The master once said these words to me himself. When I first heard them, they seemed plain and unremarkable. Later, when I understood them, I saw that they express the highest truth. The things in the world that seem useful and keep people busy pursuing them often belong to the realm of desire and attachment. Only by not being drawn along by such things can one accord with the Dao. People often fail to leave the realm of attachment and so fall into harmful circumstances. In worldly affairs, good and evil are mixed in equal measure, just as Yin and Yang coexist; this is how things are. What matters is the choice a person makes. If you keep cultivating good actions without changing course, harmful circumstances will gradually recede, and you will eventually reach a state of pure goodness in which evil thoughts no longer arise. If you keep doing evil without turning back, harmful circumstances will become ever more familiar, and thoughts of goodness will gradually cease to arise.”

After the Zhenqi Monastery held a Jiao ritual, a Daoist ceremony of prayer and sacrifice, Qiu Chuji sat silently for a long time. The others rose, bowed, and asked him to offer instruction. He said, “Do not think I have deliberately kept things from you. I am silent because there is no one able to receive what I say and put it into practice. If I speak and you do not listen, or you listen but do not act, neither of us gains anything. Why should I speak?”

He went on to recall that, when he was young in Binzhou, he suddenly suffered a stroke. He thought to himself: “In this life, I was fortunate to meet my master. All the subtle and mysterious teachings I received came directly from him, passed from his heart to mine. I vowed to pass them on to later generations. If I die of this illness, I will have failed my master’s intention in transmitting the Dao. Now I have also inherited the religious lineage and taken charge of its affairs. How could I keep these teachings hidden? The lineage handed down by the patriarchs has a long history. People from all directions trust me because I once drew close to those who had attained the utmost truth, and must have received something from them. It is not that I am unwilling to speak about the Dao.”

He remembered following his master northward and encountering hardship on the way through Weizhou. There were many believers traveling with them, and for more than half a month they all hoped to hear his master say even a single word. Yet his master remained silent. One day, the elder Mr. Xiao asked the master to respond, at least a little, to everyone’s hopes. The master replied, “How have I not responded? I am like a bell: strike it, and it answers. Strike it hard, and its sound resounds through Heaven and Earth.” Qiu Chuji had heard these words with his own ears.

Qiu Chuji was born in the ninth year of the Dading era of the Jin dynasty. The following year, the patriarch ascended to immortality, so Qiu Chuji never had the chance to serve him in person. He did, however, personally serve several later masters who had realized the Dao. Master Taigu gave him special instruction in the Classic of Changes, explaining things the people of the world had never heard. Master Yuyang held his hand and spoke with him about the mysteries of the Great Dao. The teachings passed on by Master Changchun were too numerous to recount one by one. Qiu Chuji said that he was now nearly seventy, and his return was not far off. How could he be unwilling to pass on what he had learned to later generations? Everything he said was grounded in what he had personally received and experienced. Many people, however, prefer strange and extraordinary claims, so they cannot take it in.

Chen Xiuyu wholeheartedly admired Qiu Chuji. He once said that he respected Qiu Changchun because what he taught was the truth. Qiu Chuji also spoke about the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Daoism and Buddhism use expedient means to teach and transform people; this is a way of guiding ordinary people. Confucianism does not speak in this way. Confucius said that profound teachings could be given to those of above-average ability, but should not be explained too deeply to those of below-average ability. Thus, sages teach according to each person’s capacities and guide them step by step, making it easy to begin. In the end, they all lead toward the same good. The sages’ intentions do not differ: all hope that people will turn toward goodness.

Qiu Chuji said that what he was teaching that day was not his personal opinion, but the teachings passed down by the masters. When people first begin to study the Dao and practice good deeds, most are diligent and devoted. But before long they become lax and fall back. This often happens because they privately hope for a particular result, and when signs of progress do not appear for a long time, they grow doubtful and eventually give up halfway. The sages established teachings to help people in this world and in generations to come cast off deluded thoughts and recover their original nature. They sought to keep desires from disturbing the heart, to return it to a state of calm and balance, and to make this the foundation for entering the Dao. Sages are not without feelings; they simply do not let their hearts be stirred by external things. It is like the changing of the seasons and the movement of cold and heat between Heaven and Earth, with thunder, lightning, wind, and rain in constant flux, while the underlying emptiness of the Great Void remains unmoved. When practitioners understand this, they enter a state of ordinary calm. That is why it is said, “The ordinary is the Dao.”

One should first preserve this ordinary state within the heart, then continue to accumulate merit through practice. Do all that lies within your power. The manifestation of the Dao and its signs depend on the right time and conditions; they cannot be forced. If you work diligently to accumulate merit and practice, understanding will come in its own time. To deliberately seek signs of progress is to indulge in deluded thought.

Once, when Qiu Chuji followed his master to Xianzhou, a county magistrate stayed constantly at the master’s side and never left him. The magistrate said that he had devoted himself to the Dao and lived in stillness for fifteen years. Others considered him serene, but he knew that he had not truly reached that state. The master smiled without replying. After a while, he said, “There are different levels of stillness, inward and outward, Wuwei and action. What you practice is outward and active. Abstaining from relations between men and women is no small thing, since they are part of ordinary life, but this is not yet true stillness. Attaining the Dao naturally through Wuwei is true stillness, the state recognized by sages and worthies.”

Today, some people who study the Dao treat visualization, breathing exercises, and similar methods as their main practice. These methods may be beneficial, but they may not bring a person to the final attainment. It is like forcing flowers to bloom in a shady place in winter: the result may be unusual, but it is unlikely to bear fruit. Stillness through Wuwei is the highest stage of cultivation, with the retention of Jing and Qi as its sign. After three years without leakage, the lower elixir forms. After six years, the middle elixir forms, though the transformations involved are too subtle to explain in detail. After nine years, the upper elixir forms and enters the Niwan, the cultivation site within the crown of the head. The Three Palaces—the corresponding Dantian and the regions through which Shen and Qi move within the body—rise and fall in endless transformation, giving rise even to hundreds of millions of emanations.

How can all this be achieved? The key is to keep the heart in its ordinary state. When the heart is balanced, Shen settles; when Shen settles, Jing congeals; when Jing congeals, Qi becomes harmonious. These changes naturally appear in the face and limbs. The foundation is inner calm, which one can work to cultivate. Results that depend on the right time and conditions cannot be demanded. Continue accumulating merit, and in time something will naturally be attained.

Master Changsheng often said that those in the religious lineage today who sincerely devote themselves to the Dao must have formed deep ties in past lives with the Perfected Ones Zhengyang and Chunyang. Once you understand this, you should keep accumulating virtue; the progress that lies ahead is beyond measure. It is like the officials of the court, each with a rank, whose promotions and demotions depend on their merits and faults. Practitioners have already chosen a path different from that of ordinary people, like officials in the ninth rank. If they continue to earn merit and commit no faults, they will rise step by step and may eventually reach the highest rank. There is no reason in the world to expect the highest attainment without being willing to work steadily at cultivation.

The masters attained the Dao at different times and levels, according to the depth of the merit and practice each had accumulated. Master Danyang attained the Dao after two and a half years of cultivation, Master Changzhen after five years, and Master Changsheng after seven. Master Changchun cultivated at Panxi and Longmen for nearly twenty years. His resolve reached through Heaven and Earth and moved the sages. He was once promised the fruit of the Dao, but later all news of it disappeared. He practiced with even greater determination, and soon after he had achieved something, he lost it again. This was because his merit and practice were not yet complete. If the masters themselves faced such things, what of other people? Those who study the Dao should simply continue to advance in practice and merit, without seeking striking signs or giving way to doubt. When their merit and practice are sufficient, realization will come naturally.

People of exceptional intelligence, far beyond the ordinary, have not acquired it in a single lifetime; it must come from long accumulation. Qiu Chuji said that by the age of three he could firmly remember what he saw and heard. He began school at five, and in less than three months could recite the Classic of Filial Piety and the Analects. He could memorize more than a thousand characters a day and still have energy to spare. His grandfather understood the Yin-Yang arts. Qiu Chuji asked to study them, but at first his grandfather refused, saying he must first be able to memorize the sixty pairs of the sexagenary cycle in a single day. Qiu Chuji persisted in asking, and his grandfather finally began teaching him after noon. By sunset, he could recite them fluently.

His family had been a prominent clan in Cangzhou. In the Song dynasty, one of its members went to serve as an official in Donglai, and the family later settled there. One woman gave birth to nine sons, all of whom studied and passed the highest civil-service examination. Seven went on to serve as prefects, and the inscribed stone monuments commemorating them still remain. During the Dading era of the Jin dynasty, the family’s traditions had not yet declined: children as young as three were included in the ancestral rites.

When Qiu Chuji was five, he took part in the Qingming ancestor rites. Nearly a hundred people attended. They had to finish their bows before sunrise, after which they went their separate ways to feast and enjoy themselves. Only he was moved to reflect. He wondered silently where the ancestors had gone after death, and where the dead themselves returned. He sat bewildered beneath a great mulberry tree, looking up and down as he pondered why Heaven and Earth had been established and how the myriad things had come into being. What else between Heaven and Earth covered, supported, and held everything together? As his thought reached its limit, his thoughts gradually ceased. He no longer noticed the vastness of Heaven and Earth or the multitude of things, and felt only that misty waters flowed everywhere, connecting above and below like the inside of an egg. In the dim stillness, he forgot both his mind and his body. His family found him and brought him back to himself only after nightfall. At first, he did not understand what had happened. Later, after entering the Dao and meeting the masters, he came to understand the meaning of forgetting distinctions and letting the mind and spirit grow still.

At seven, he met the Grand Master Wang of the Western Pass, and they understood one another after a single exchange. At fourteen, he met Master Danyang and wanted to leave home to cultivate the Dao, but his father firmly refused. At nineteen, he was forcibly brought back to secular life and locked in the house. He often prayed silently beneath the North Star, bowing more than a thousand times on each occasion. One day, the military officer Mr. Liu was discussing teachings with a guest outside the main gate. Qiu Chuji knelt nearby and listened intently, unaware that his knees had sunk into the gravel. Later he escaped, but was caught and brought back. After being taken back three times, he finally left secular life for good.

Even when he was still living in the secular world, his heart was not in worldly affairs. At first, he lived in a hermitage west of Changyi County and often sat alone beneath a peach tree. Sometimes he would sit past midnight, unaware that dawn had come. One day at the fourth watch, a Perfected One suddenly appeared. He had the bearing of an immortal and was no ordinary person, his radiant presence as lustrous as gold and jade. At first sight, Qiu Chuji recognized him as the Perfected One Changsheng, and his heart remained calm and unshaken. The Perfected One arrived and cut off his head with a sword, yet Qiu Chuji remained unmoved. Delighted, the Perfected One then reattached it. When Qiu Chuji woke, he understood something: his master had replaced his worldly head and face. Ten days later, the Perfected One came again, cut open his chest and abdomen, and removed his heart. Qiu Chuji understood that this was meant to remove his worldly heart. Ten days after that, the Perfected One brought a dish of greasy food and told him to eat. Qiu Chuji ate until he was so full that he nearly died. The Perfected One then opened his abdomen and removed all the food. Qiu Chuji believed that his nature had always been proud, leaving him vulnerable to setbacks, and that his master was removing the part of him that could bring him harm.

He said, “Sincerity can move the spirits; this is certainly no empty claim. If you devote your whole heart to cultivating the Dao, you are not far from the sages. I have never told anyone about these things before; today I am revealing them publicly. Do not treat these words as idle talk and simply forget them after hearing them. You must put them into practice.”

During an evening conversation at Kaiyuan Temple in Jianzhou, everyone spoke about the rise and decline of things in the human world. The Master said, “Observe the workings of the Dao of Heaven and act in accordance with them: the principle is all here. But if people cannot perceive the Dao of Heaven in its subtle changes, how can they follow it in their actions?

“The Dao of Heaven is exceedingly subtle. Let me give one or two examples. A day is commonly reckoned as having one hundred ke, but that is only an approximation; in reality, it is not exactly one hundred ke. Again, the Ten Heavenly Stems combine with the twelve double-hours, shifting and interweaving with one another in endless change. If a day were exactly one hundred ke, and the double-hours matched the Heavenly Stems in a fixed, orderly way, change would be confined to a single pattern. It is precisely because things are in constant flux that the myriad beings can come forth and flourish without end.

“Every kind of thing, every plant, arises through transformation from the same primal Qi—the fundamental energy that forms Heaven, Earth, and all things—yet each has its own periods of flourishing and decline, all shaped by the times. Take the grains and the many kinds of plants and trees: their varieties are countless. When one kind encounters a favorable year, it grows more vigorously than the others. This, too, is due to the times. Thus the changes of all things become manifest in keeping with the seasons.

“If plants and trees, which have no feelings or awareness, are subject to this, how much more so are human beings, who receive the spiritual nature of Heaven and Earth? All things flourish and decline; naturally, affairs in the human world also rise and fall. This applies to matters of state and to every school and tradition. For example, the teachings of the West have been present in China for more than a thousand years. Had they not arrived at a fitting time, how could they have developed as they have? They rose with the times, and in time they will decline as well.

“Although the rise and fall of things are all connected with the Dao of Heaven, the Dao of Heaven itself remains constant and has never changed in the slightest. Why? Because it has no mind and harbors no private intent. Those who do not understand this principle give rise to groundless sorrow and joy. They change themselves as external things change, and in the end lose their original nature, which is difficult to recover.

“Thus, those who have attained understanding are free of attachment to things. They let the myriad changes unfold before them without disturbing their inner stillness. They know that their nature originates in Heaven and is one with Heaven; therefore, all they do follows the Dao of Heaven. Only when students of the Dao reach this state can they be said to have begun to enter the Dao.”

The Daoist disciples and lay followers at Yuxu Temple in Chuanzhou, Sichuan, respectfully served their master. They attended to him tirelessly throughout the day, and even late into the night could not bear to leave. The master said, “The Perfected Changchun, Qiu Chuji, wrote in a poem: ‘My hair is white, yet I have not attained immortality. I wander among mountains and drink from streams, content for now to roam at ease. I do not mind the many offices in Heaven; I fear only the ties of worldly life that bind me here.’”

Worldly attachments run deep and often hinder the cultivation of the Dao. People value formalities and grand displays, but these run counter to the Dao. Such devoted attachment belongs to love and affection. Where there is love, there will also be dislike, giving rise in turn to joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—all of which remain within the realm of emotion. If we cannot free ourselves from the bonds of emotion, how can we enter the Dao?

The love between parent and child is exceedingly deep, yet those who understand the Dao do not regard it as a burden. The Liezi records that when Dongmen Wu’s son died, he did not grieve. Asked why, he said, “Once, I had no son. Now that my son has died, I have simply returned to having no son, so I do not grieve.” To cling to neither closeness nor distance is to be truly close. To regard all the elderly in the world as one’s own elders, all the children in the world as one’s own children, and all things as belonging to the same kind, treating them equally with a benevolent heart—is this not the deepest form of love? Thus the Zhuangzi says, “Perfect benevolence is without personal attachment.” If you cherish only your own family, there will be people you do not cherish; if you love only those you already love, there will be people you do not love. This is merely worldly sentiment. Those who cultivate the Dao should take the opposite course: they need not especially crave what the world loves, nor especially despise what the world hates. Even when joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure arise, their expression should be kept within due measure, so that the heart’s inner harmony is not disturbed.

When the heart maintains its calm and ordinary state, one understands one’s original nature. As someone said, “Buddha-nature needs no realization; living beings have never truly been deluded. The mind used in everyday life is itself bodhi.” The foundation of the Dao is Wuwei (non-action); cultivation consists only in understanding one’s own heart. Settle the heart into its ordinary, peaceful state, and the Dao will appear of itself.

This is like farming: remove the stones and brambles, clear away whatever obstructs the seedlings, and sow at the proper season and in the proper way. There is no need to insist that the seedlings grow; they will grow naturally. So the Dao is Wuwei, and the essential point is simply to understand the heart. Someone else said, “The method of understanding the heart already contains every practice.” After receiving the teachings directly from their masters, the ancestral teachers still had to undergo countless trials to discipline and master their hearts. Human nature comes from the Dao, but once it takes up residence in a body, it becomes entangled in desires and emotions. The body is born of one’s parents and formed by receiving the Qi of Yin-Yang; it moves and rests according to the natural order. Even when a wholesome thought arises, it is often constrained by the body’s vital energies and cannot be put into action.

Those who aspire to cultivate the Dao know that the heart and nature have their source in the Dao, and so they do not let the body’s vital energies take over their resolve. Through long and steady cultivation, they can ultimately overcome these entanglements, gradually transforming Qi and body and returning wholly to their natural endowment. This begins with calming the heart: when the heart is calm, Shen (spirit) is settled; when Shen is settled, Qi is harmonious; then the Dao appears naturally. Hence the saying, “When form and spirit both attain refinement, they unite with the Dao in truth.” If one does not remove emotional entanglements and calm the heart, but only torments the body through hardship, one cannot enter the Dao.

Those of the highest capacity understand the principle of the Dao from birth and are not troubled by desire. Those of the lowest capacity are close to simple-mindedness and are likewise unmoved by desire. Emotional entanglements chiefly affect people of middling capacity: at times they understand, at times they lose their way, and they may rise or fall. Learning to do good moves them upward; becoming accustomed to evil moves them downward. The difference between good and evil is immense. Confucius said, “People are close in their nature, but grow far apart through what they acquire.” Therefore, people cannot do without learning.

I believe that all scriptures and teachings are established for people of middling capacity. Teaching explains what people do not yet know; learning helps them notice what they have not yet recognized. Once they know what they did not know before and recognize what they had not noticed, they must put it into practice. When practice is complete, the heart and the teachings accord with one another, and specific methods are no longer needed. Methods are like medicine: once the illness has been cured, there is no need to keep taking it.

Learning and recognizing the principles of the Dao are forms of wisdom and cultivation. Spreading the teachings, guiding others, and helping them benefit from them are forms of practice. Accumulating merit and cultivating oneself are the foundation of the path. In the end, one must even let go of the teachings one has studied before entering the realm of the Dao. Hence the saying, “End attachment to learning, and there will be no trouble.” Only when there is no trouble can one see true emptiness. Without relying on words, the Dao appears of itself. It is like the workings of Heaven: the seasons turn naturally, and all things grow naturally. Who deliberately makes any of this happen?

The people at the Chaoyuan Monastery in Yizhou were talking one night about why the rules followed by the Daoist tradition change with the times. The master said, “The Book of Changes says, ‘The principle of adapting to the times is profound indeed.’ Our actions and stillness should both accord with the circumstances of the moment. If they do not, we will inevitably stray from the right Way.

“Master Danyang, Ma Yu, made Wuwei (non-action) his main approach. The Perfected Changsheng, Liu Chuxuan, practiced Wuwei alongside purposeful action. By the time of Master Changchun, Qiu Chuji, purposeful methods had come to make up most of the practice. Wuwei was still present, but for the time being it was not used. The principle is the same; its application changes with the times.

“For example, in his Ten Admonitions, Master Danyang says that one should have no more than three rooms in a thatched hut. Today, that may not be suitable. If we rigidly followed the instruction, we might gain nothing. It would be like sowing millet in winter: however hard we worked, there would be no harvest. The Daoist tradition widely uses purposeful methods today, but that does not mean Wuwei has been abandoned altogether. The time is simply not right for it, so it is set aside for now. It is October: no one can sow millet now. Everyone knows this. Millet is not at fault; the season is wrong. When spring comes, it can be sown. We must understand this principle.

“When I first began to study the Dao, I realized that all things are illusory, so I kept reducing my efforts until I reached Wuwei. Later, I personally received instruction from a perfected master and explored the principles of creation in depth. Only then did I understand the importance of applying the right method at the right time. I remember the Great Master Yuyang, Wang Chuyi, once taking my hand and saying, ‘Seven golden lotuses will form seeds.’ Today, ten thousand jade lotuses bloom, but they are all empty, insubstantial flowers. This means that the Dao arises naturally, yet one must begin with purposeful practice, accumulating merit and works and making steady progress. Once one’s outward works are complete, one should not pursue anything deliberately; what is due will come of its own accord.

“Some say, ‘The crimson Golden Elixir is completed in a single day.’ The Golden Elixir is a Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) term for the state attained through cultivation. If students of the Dao cling to this saying and believe that one can succeed in a day without cultivating, they are mistaken. ‘Completed in a single day’ means that, after one’s works have accumulated to a certain point, Heaven brings a sudden realization to the mind. That is why it is called ‘completed in a single day.’ If one could truly attain the Dao in a day without accumulating any works, everyone could enter the Dao simply by hearing a single sentence from a perfected master. Why, then, would the Patriarchs and the perfected masters of every generation have taken such pains to teach people and urge them to cultivate diligently?

“Great Master Yongjia said, ‘The true nature of ignorance is Buddha-nature; the illusory body is the Dharma body.’ The same is true of blinking, raising the eyebrows, lifting an arm, or moving a finger. This is so in principle, but why do some people still fall into hell? Ignorance and illusion must be thoroughly refined away before nature and life can be attained naturally and brought into unity. Therefore, cultivation must begin with purposeful practice. Wuwei and purposeful action are not two different Ways; it depends only on which one is suited to the moment.

“Confucius said to Yan Hui, ‘When appointed, come forth and serve; when not appointed, withdraw and live in seclusion.’ Being appointed or set aside is a change in circumstances; coming forward or withdrawing is the principle of adapting to them. If we do not understand this, we will misjudge both advance and retreat. How, then, can we understand the principle or accomplish anything? The importance of adapting to the times is indeed profound.

“The state has always made use of both civil governance and military defense, lacking neither. When the realm is at peace, civil governance takes the lead; in times of turmoil, military defense does. Their roles shift with the times and work in turn, yet their underlying principle is one. Is the Daoist tradition’s use of different methods of cultivation at different times not the same? This is what I heard from Master Changchun. He was exceptionally humble and compassionate, and never exaggerated the things he said. He often remarked, ‘The Way of Wuwei cannot be seen or heard. Even when one puts it into practice, it can seem as though one will never reach it.’ The Perfected Changsheng and I still often had doubts; along the way, we nearly lost heart and changed course. That is why later generations find it difficult to cultivate through Wuwei alone. It is more effective to accumulate works.

“If you resolve to accumulate works, there is no better way than to welcome travelers: give food to those who pass by hungry and a place to rest to those who are weary. In cold or heat, make sure they find shelter and comfort. When you offer others kindness in this way, can your works really be considered small? Keep at it for a long time without wavering in sincerity, and the spirits will surely respond. Even if no response appears at first, you will certainly receive help from beyond. Some of the unseen responses cannot all be recounted. I have experienced them myself, but have never told anyone.

“When you have done one good deed, reporting it as one is still within bounds. But if you claim it as two, your earlier works may all be canceled out. Goodness done quietly and without display can double one’s merit. Hence the saying, ‘Do not seek to be known by others; hope only that Heaven sees clearly.’ A scripture says, ‘The highest virtue seems to have no virtue.’ When you do good, others may sometimes criticize you. If you can refrain from arguing with them, your merit may increase as a result. Once you argue, your good deed is no longer pure. Even if you win the argument, what have you gained? Practitioners are always under the gaze of the spirits. Why care whether other people know what you have done? A scripture says, ‘Those who do good do not argue.’ Students of the Dao should understand this principle.”

Late at night in the abbot’s room at Tongxian Monastery, Zhao Zhiwan sang the poem “Dream Journey to the Immortals,” composed by his master. When he had finished, everyone rose and bowed, asking the master to explain the poem’s meaning.

The master said, “Before Master Danyang left the household life, he was forthright and unrestrained in temperament and enjoyed drinking. Yet he had already begun to practice the exercises and cultivate himself, so he knew that within human nature there is an original source of the Dao. When he first met the Patriarch, he knew at once that the Patriarch was no ordinary person. He asked, ‘What is the Dao?’ The Patriarch replied, ‘It is where the Five Phases cannot reach, before your parents gave birth to you.’ Those words were wonderfully profound.

“When I was young, I made a rough study of Yin-Yang principles, so I knew that people cannot be separated from Yin and Yang. The Five Constant Virtues that a person possesses in this life are related to the inclinations carried over from previous lives: whatever someone has favored for a long time in the past will call forth a corresponding disposition. For example, a former fondness for benevolence gives a person the qualities of Wood in this life; a fondness for ritual propriety gives the qualities of Fire; and fondness for righteousness or wisdom gives the qualities of Metal or Water. If someone favored more than one virtue, the dispositions of the Five Phases become mixed and impure. This is called being imbued with habitual tendencies and transformed through resonance; it is also called cause and effect. The blessings, karmic burden, and fortunes or misfortunes of status that one experiences in this life are all bound up with the Five Phases and cause and effect.

“Original true nature has no acquired conditioning. Without conditioning, there is no corresponding resonance. To have neither conditioning nor resonance is to be where the Five Phases cannot reach—to be as one was before one’s parents gave birth to one. Since practitioners of the Dao understand that their present-day inclinations come from habits accumulated over many lifetimes, they should remove them one by one, beginning with the most deeply ingrained. Gradually they should let go of every attachment until they forget the distinction between mind and body and suddenly find themselves in the realm of the immortals.

“That is why the poem begins with ‘dream journey to the immortals’: the moment a deluded thought arises in the mind, it is like mist veiling the heart. Only by eliminating deluded thoughts can clarity return. So the poem also says, ‘Gathering Qi, pure and condensed, plain clouds drift through the boundless expanse.’ The Zhuangzi says, ‘The Perfected breathe from their heels; ordinary people breathe from their throats.’ Those without genuine practice cannot even reach the Middle Dantian, the inner cultivation area in the center of the body. How could they gradually penetrate deeper, until their breath reaches their heels? The master said: The Perfected do more than breathe from their heels; light fills their whole bodies, above and below. That is why the poem says, ‘Great radiance enfolds the purple-gold lotus.’ The golden lotus refers to the heart.

“Even when practitioners of the Dao encounter harsh circumstances, they should not let their minds waver in the slightest. There is a saying in the Chan tradition: ‘Even if an iron wheel spins above your head, the perfect radiance of meditative stillness and wisdom will not be lost.’ That is why the poem says, ‘All are endowed with the authority and power of Dao and De; spiritual powers are free and unhindered; the force of kalpas cannot alter them.’ This means one must keep refining oneself until habitual tendencies become soft as cotton and the resolve to seek the Dao becomes firm as gold and stone. One should always stand above the myriad things, untouched by them and free of attachment.

“Practitioners of the Dao should take Dao and De as their foundation. Though worldly affairs change in countless ways, they are all fleeting disturbances. Even when responding to each situation, one’s inner, tranquil and true essence remains unmoved. It is like making vessels of many different shapes from gold: though their forms vary greatly, the nature of the gold does not change. That is why the poem says, ‘It arrives whenever the thought arises, at any time; nothing obstructs it, for it has its own source.’

“If someone has yet to attain insight and cannot understand the meaning of this poem, they should accumulate merit and cultivate themselves. When their practice reaches a certain point, a clear response will naturally arise. Those who study the Dao but have not yet reached the realm of the spirits and the divine cannot truly see the Dao. These are all true words. Remember them.”

If a person has not yet gained insight within, they cannot understand the meaning of these words. They should therefore accumulate merit and practice good deeds. Once merit and good deeds have accumulated to a certain degree, a clear response will naturally come. Those who study the Dao cannot see the Dao until they have attained a state of communion with the spirits. Everyone should recognize and remember these true words.

End of Volume Two of the Recorded Sayings of Perfected Master Qinghe on His Journey North

Recorded Sayings of Perfected Master Qinghe on His Travels North, Volume Three

Compiled by the disciple Duan Zhijian

In the winter of the tenth month of the Guisi year, Qiu Chuji was at Tongxian Temple in Yizhou and instructed Guo Zhiquan to explain the Dao De Jing. When they reached “mysterious upon mysterious” in the opening chapter, Guo explained it as “the wondrous principle of the limitless.” Qiu Chuji said: “Some words in the book are repeated because language cannot fully express their meaning. This is not like ‘the time, the time’ in the Analects. Here, the repetition explains that within Heaven there is another Heaven, and that the wondrous principle deepens layer upon layer.

“People are born by receiving primordial Qi, and each person’s nature already contains a ‘Heaven.’ If everyone could understand their own nature and act in accord with the Dao, they could awaken to it even without instruction from the scriptures. But people are often drawn by material desires, and once they lose their way, they find it hard to return. The sages therefore take deep pity on them and establish teachings to awaken and help them. Those who study the Dao should use the scriptures to investigate how it works; what matters most is putting it into practice themselves. When practice becomes fully cultivated, they can act with ease and accord with the Mean. Until their study reaches that level, they must not give it up.

“Some say that people are born by receiving primordial Qi: those who receive clear Qi become worthy, while those who receive turbid Qi become foolish. This describes only the general situation and says nothing about the effects of cultivation. If that were truly so, the worthy could only remain worthy, and the foolish would remain foolish forever. The path of progress through study and cultivation would be closed.

“I once heard my teacher say: ‘The Dao and its Qi transform Heaven and Earth and nurture the myriad things; within them is the Way of the utmost sagehood. Those who receive more become sages and worthies; those who receive less become ordinary people. Creatures that fly, swim, or crawl receive only part of the Dao.’ This is an exceedingly clear principle. Though the myriad things differ, they all come from the Dao; since they come from the Dao, they all possess the nature of the Dao. Human beings are the most numinous of all things and have an even greater capacity to return to the Dao. But people often lose their way through habits accumulated over a long time, lose their original nature, and cannot return to their own minds. The teachings of the scriptures now make this principle clear. Those who study should grasp it here and now, remove the delusions and habits they have accumulated over time, and stop seeking the Dao outside themselves. Then the Dao will naturally appear.

“The three sections of the Yinfu Jing describe three levels. The first concerns immortals holding fast to the One and following Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness. The second concerns bringing prosperity to the state and peace to the people through the accumulation of good deeds and merit. The third concerns building a strong army and gaining victory; it also explains how material desires and acquired habits damage human nature. Material desires and our proper nature contend with each other. To overcome desire through the Dao requires firm resolve. Thus the text says, ‘Those who strive forcefully have resolve,’ and also, ‘Those who overcome themselves are strong.’

“To overcome oneself means to restrain one’s own likes and dislikes in turn: to do what harms oneself but benefits others, willingly accept loss and remain humble, and endure others’ mistreatment without being shaken by it. This is the practice of overcoming the self. At first, one must apply oneself with effort. In time, the practice becomes familiar and gradually natural. When material desires have been exhausted and one’s nature is clear and empty, Chan Buddhism calls this ‘empty stillness,’ while Daoism calls it ‘purity and stillness.’ But this is not yet the end. Only when one reaches the utmost stillness, without even clinging to ‘stillness,’ does one draw near to the Great Dao.

“Even after reaching this state, without genuine deeds and cultivation one still cannot enter the realm of transformation. Without entering that realm, one cannot enter the true Dao. Only upon entering the true Dao does the ‘Heaven’ within one’s nature become apparent. This is what ‘mysterious upon mysterious’ means. At that point, every word and action reveals the mysterious; hence the next phrase: ‘the gateway to all wonders.’”

In explaining the chapter “When All Under Heaven Know,” he analyzed six pairs of opposing concepts. On the line “The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei,” he said that this is not Wuwei understood as the opposite of action, but Wuwei that follows the Great Dao and leaves nothing undone. He illustrated this with the story of Emperor Yao offering the throne to Xu You.

On the surface, Yao took action while Xu You did nothing. From the perspective of the Dao, however, Yao did not fail to practice Wuwei, and Xu You was not someone who never acted. Though Yao ruled all under Heaven, he regarded it as something entrusted to him, not as his own possession. So even while he held the realm, it could not burden his mind. Was his abdication not precisely Wuwei?

When Xu You declined, he said, “You have governed all under Heaven, and it is already at peace. I seek no reputation; reputation is merely an appendage to actual achievement.” For this reason, he would not accept the throne. But he refused only because the realm had already been brought to order. What would Xu You have done if it had not yet been at peace? He, too, would surely have taken action.

Yao and Xu You followed the same Dao. Had their circumstances been exchanged, they would have made the same choices. Thus Yao was not without action, and Xu You was not without Wuwei. Both could adapt to circumstances and act in accordance with the Dao. Neither was attached to the position or choice immediately before them, and so both were called sages.

The Master said: In cultivating the Dao, one must distinguish the principal from the secondary. Cultivating the Dao is the principal; all the conditions and circumstances of the world are secondary. Whatever you encounter, whatever the burden or hardship, every virtuous deed and practice can aid the pursuit of the Dao. There is nothing that is absolutely forbidden. You must simply avoid becoming attached to anything. Once attachment takes hold, you stray from the right path.

Many people now accumulate merit, but few can complete good works without claiming credit for them, or act without relying on their accomplishments. If the mind depends on or clings to something, the result is conditioned merit and virtue—the blessings accumulated through deliberate effort. But if, while performing virtuous deeds and practices, the mind is free of self-reliance and attachment, the result is merit in emptiness and blessings that arise naturally. Though I have acted, I still call it Wuwei (non-action).

All virtuous deeds and practices, and all worldly labor, aid the pursuit of the Dao; they are not done to seek fame or status. This is like farmers who work hard in the fields and artisans who practice their crafts each day. Their chief purpose in doing these things is to make a living, so farming and craftsmanship are only “secondary.” One may attend to tasks all day without becoming attached to attending to them. Do sages never take care of affairs? They simply do not make the handling of affairs itself their foundation. As the saying goes, “Sages leave traces of managing affairs, but have no mind attached to managing them.” Everything they do is an outward trace. Once attached to those traces, one falls into opposition and distinction. Only by clinging to nothing and entering deeply into emptiness can one go beyond such oppositions.

I once said, “Shatter emptiness and leave behind the six pairs of opposites.” (“Six pairs” refers to distinctions between opposing things.) Yongjia, the Tang dynasty Chan master Xuanzhao, also said, “All conditioned things are impermanent; all is empty. This is the Tathagata’s great, complete awakening.” If practitioners can realize this, they enter the realm in which nothing has ever existed. The Divine Master said, “Where the Five Phases cannot reach is the time before one’s parents were born.” Here the principle is brought to its conclusion.

This explains “Do Not Exalt the Worthy,” the title of a chapter of the Dao De Jing. If practitioners can realize this fully, they enter the realm in which nothing has ever existed. The Divine Master said, “Where the Five Phases cannot reach is the time before one’s parents were born.” Here the principle is brought to its conclusion.

After finishing the chapter “Do Not Esteem the Worthy,” the Master said: “The principles in this chapter cover more than half of the Dao De Jing. Those who study the Dao must first understand the various terms and expressions, then read the different classics; this makes it easier to avoid confusion. Take expressions such as ‘Dragon and Tiger’ and ‘Infant and Maiden’: they all concern primordial Qi and Yin-Yang. Buddhism calls its teachings ‘doctrine’ or ‘Chan,’ and although the names differ, the principles are connected. If you can grasp them flexibly in your heart and bring them together as a whole, you can put all these different expressions to use.

“The chapter begins by discussing the Dao of governing a state. How is that different from cultivating oneself? The mind is like a ruler, and the various parts of the body are like its subjects. When the mind governs well, the parts of the body naturally come into harmony. I remember that when Master Dingwen was in deep stillness, he once discussed various methods of cultivation and held that visualization of the lower Dantian—keeping the attention settled at the Dantian below the abdomen—was best. But in the end, this is only one method; it cannot yet be called the Dao. Recently, Wang the Daoist of Yangzhou has treated it as the highest state and taught it to others, unaware that methods requiring deliberate effort cannot ultimately lead one into the true Dao. I once said: ‘If you use magic to make flowers and plants bloom in the depths of winter, they will never bear fruit.’

“Someone came to ask me for guidance, and I told him the true principles. After he left, however, he said: ‘What does it mean to speak of nature but not of life?’ If you can keep external things from entangling you and make your inner mind quiet, clear, and open, then you are accumulating merit at every moment of the day. If you do not deliberately seek to fill the abdomen, it will fill naturally. Keep reducing delusive thoughts until not a single thought arises. Let the mind’s intent grow gentle, and the sinews and bones will grow strong. These, too, are principles of following nature. As for what other kind of ‘life’ there could be beyond this, I do not know.

“Most people who study the Dao are initially committed to it, but often give up halfway. The reason is simply that they want to succeed too quickly. When results are slow to appear, doubts arise, and they abandon their studies. This is like someone suffering from a serious illness who goes from one doctor to another, taking the prescribed medicines. If there is no improvement for a long time, they change doctors. After several changes without improvement, they begin to doubt and refuse to believe even a renowned physician’s advice. Yet they never turn back to examine their own capacities and allotment of life.

“People see only that those who attain the Dao do so in this life. They do not realize that such people may have spent five, ten, or even a hundred lifetimes accumulating merit through cultivation, until their practice came to completion in this one. Have you not heard of the patriarchs and perfected masters? Before leaving home, they already carried the Dao in their hearts. Great Master Yuyang once said that when Grand Master Taigu was twenty-eight, he earned his living telling fortunes in Shanshu. One day, by chance, he wrote a poem whose vision would be beyond the reach of anyone who had not attained the Dao. Later, when he met the patriarch who led him into the Dao, he said that cultivating the Dao was not difficult; he attained it after practicing for forty days beneath the bridge at Wozhou. Without deep cultivation accumulated in past lives, how could he have done this?

“When I lived at the Jade Purity Abbey, I once saw the Gate of Heaven open in a visionary state and asked my master about it. He said: ‘That is nothing yet.’ Compared with attaining the Dao, there are many more wondrous states like this, too numerous to describe one by one. When the Dao’s Qi fills one within, the experience is indistinct and elusive, much like the phrase ‘perhaps leaping in the abyss’ in the fourth nine of the Qian hexagram in the Book of Changes: poised to leap but not yet leaping, at a point of change between advancing and retreating. I did not understand this at the time. Later, after entering the Dao, I came to know that everyone is inherently endowed with this principle.

“When Master Danyang first began teaching, he said only that success in cultivating the Dao was easy to attain. His disciples respected and trusted his words, but some had practiced for three or five years and still saw no results. One day, everyone gathered, and the master asked: ‘I said that cultivating the Dao is easy, yet you see that those who attain it seem to rely on conditions formed in past lives, rather than achieving it in a single lifetime.’ The master glared and shouted: ‘Since you know this, why don’t you start cultivating right away?’ Everyone withdrew, convinced by his words.

“Now, all you need to do is avoid doubt and keep up your daily practice without slackening. When you encounter adversity, do not let your mind be shaken. Each time you endure, you gain a little more. Never delay or treat your practice carelessly, allowing the roots of wrongdoing to take hold; you are sure to fall. Every word I have said is true.”

After the group had gathered explanations from various commentators and finished discussing the chapter “The Valley Spirit Never Dies,” they asked the master to correct them. The master said, “Each commentator’s explanation has its merits. However, Heshanggong was an enlightened spiritual being, so his commentary discusses the cultivation of nature and life in considerable detail, while treating outward matters more briefly. The other commentators rarely speak of cultivating and refining the inner body and mind. For practitioners, no commentary offers more practical help than Heshanggong’s.

“This chapter, ‘The Valley Spirit Never Dies,’ discusses the deepest application of the Great Dao. If beginners try to practice it right away, they may go astray. I believe one must first put the teachings of the first five chapters fully into practice before applying the Way of the Valley Spirit. That is why this chapter comes sixth.

“I remember that when the master was in Weizhou, he once rested in a thatched pavilion in a garden. Mr. Zhao Xujing, old Mr. Xiao, and the Thousand Household Commander of Longhu were attending him, along with me. At the time, the master explained the general meaning of this chapter:

“During the Dading era, I entered the palace for an audience. After presenting my petition, I was granted an audience with the emperor, and took the opportunity to ask to study the Dao. I thought of teaching him the chapter ‘The Valley Spirit.’ The emperor, honored as the ruler of all under Heaven, sincerely sought the Dao; moreover, he truly possessed virtue, so it would have been appropriate to teach him. But first he had to observe the precepts for seven days. He said he could not do it. The period was reduced to five days, but he still said he could not. When it was reduced to three days, even his attendants found the request difficult. So the matter was dropped.

“Danyang (Ma Danyang) and I both followed our founding master to study the Dao. Yet the master made me continue carrying out worldly duties and would not allow me even a moment’s rest. Danyang and I sometimes discussed abstruse principles in private. One day, he closed the door, and I secretly heard the master teaching the breathing method of ‘The Valley Spirit Never Dies.’ After a long while, I pushed the door open, and the master stopped teaching.

“Later, after finishing my worldly duties, I worked hard to practice the method I had overheard. Even though I practiced with great effort, I saw no quick results. Danyang attained the Dao in two and a half years; after enduring every hardship, I still saw no results after eighteen or nineteen years. The Dao taught by the master was clearly the same, so why was our progress so different? It was because each person’s accumulated merit and foundations in cultivation differ, and so people attain the Dao sooner or later. Danyang had not practiced only in this lifetime. By the time he came to this life, his cultivation and merit were already complete, and he was just right for practicing the Way of the Valley Spirit. That is why he saw results so quickly. My own cultivation and merit were not yet sufficient, so it was only natural that practicing this method for a long time brought no response.

“Practitioners must first set aside worldly affairs and cultivate many kinds of good deeds, so that their minds are not entangled by anything. Then they must bring the mind to a state of emptiness and stillness, until they are utterly quiet and Wuwei (non-action), with no thought of ‘stillness’ remaining. When merit and cultivation are both complete, blessings will come. When blessings arrive, the mind will open, and a glimmer of spiritual clarity will shine through. This is the root of Heaven and Earth. At that point, the two Qi of Yin and Yang naturally join as one. Only then can they be nurtured and filled through a continuous, unbroken method of cultivation, reaching the state of enduring life without death.

“Zhang Ping-shu (Zhang Boduan) said, ‘If there is no true seed in the crucible, no matter how you cook with water and fire, you are only wasting your effort over an empty pot.’ Entering the Dao has its own stages; one must advance step by step through blessings, virtue, and the work of stillness. Some people today refuse to build merit through steady practice and cultivate blessings. They only indulge in empty imaginings, hoping to enter the true realm of the Dao. In the end, they inevitably come to nothing. How tragic!

“Once, a visitor came to ask questions at the hall in Shandong. He had been a wealthy merchant from the western circuit and had encountered the Perfected Yang (Zhongli Quan), who taught him an oral formula. That very day, he abandoned all his wealth, regarded worldly desires lightly, and let go of every concern. The master only instructed him to accumulate merit, act with care, and avoid showing off to outsiders. If outsiders learned of his practice, they would surely treat him with special respect; over time, that could instead drain and obstruct him, making it difficult to attain the Dao. From this we can see that even after receiving a genuine transmission, one must continue accumulating merit through practice and cultivating blessings in order to achieve anything.”

A disciple asked what “entering life and entering death” in the classic means. The master said that we can understand it by consulting the Heshang Gong Commentary, an explanation of the Dao De Jing. “Three out of ten” means roughly three in every ten. It refers to a person’s four limbs and nine bodily openings, and can also refer to the seven emotions and six desires. Following these desires outward leads toward life; becoming immersed in them and continually accumulating more desires leads toward death.

When people excessively crave pleasure and indulge themselves, they gradually move toward danger. Therefore, those skilled at preserving life keep themselves from falling into a place of death. Even if they encounter tigers, rhinoceroses, or weapons, these cannot harm them. A “place of death” also includes circumstances brought about by harmful karma: when ordinary people accumulate harmful karma, they sow the seeds of misfortune. Harmful energy follows, and eventually they encounter adverse conditions and bear the consequences of their past actions. This is the repayment of old debts.

When a person has accumulated no harmful debts, it is naturally easier to live in harmony with others. Harmony, too, takes different forms. One kind is merely cordial on the surface, with pleasant expressions, while the people involved may still remain distant from each other. In another kind, goodwill is present in the heart from the outset: even people who do not yet know each other well can naturally feel close. This is because they have not accumulated harmful deeds in their daily lives. Yongjia once said, “When you understand, karmic obstacles are empty from the beginning; until you understand, you should repay your old debts.”

Good and evil alike receive a fitting return. For example, if I treat someone with a pleasant expression, they will respond in kind; if I treat them with an irritable and arrogant manner, they will often respond in the same way. This is the natural order. Even small instances of adversity or good fortune receive a corresponding response. How much more so do harmful acts that injure others and harm living beings…