《玄宗直指万法同归》Vol. 1

“Wuji” is pure principle: the nature of reality itself, also called “Taiji.” It is the true “nonbeing” within “being,” nameless and formless, and the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

“Taiji” is the state in which principle and Qi remain blended and undivided; it is also called “Yuanji.” It is the subtle “being” within “nonbeing,” with name and form, and the mother of the myriad things.

Preface to the Diagram of Wuji and Taiji

“Wuji” means without boundaries or end, and also refers to the true “nonbeing” within “nonbeing.” The primordial Qi of the cosmos has not yet taken shape, and the two Qi of Yin and Yang have not yet stirred. Heaven and Earth are empty, still, and mysterious, without movement. This is the nameless, formless beginning of Heaven and Earth. Later generations gave it the name “Wuji,” or “Taiyi,” the Great Change.

When stillness reaches its utmost point, movement arises. As movement continues, Qi comes into being. Qi and principle blend without dividing, giving rise to the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and to the Way of change. This is the mother of all things, now with name and form, and is therefore called “Taiji.”

The classics say, “The Changes contain Taiji; from Taiji arise the Two Modes, Yin and Yang.” Here, “the Changes” means Wuji. Wuji gives rise to Taiji, and Taiji in turn gives rise to Qian and Kun. When the Qian trigram joins with Li, the sun appears; when Kun joins with Kan, the moon appears. The Four Images—young Yang, great Yang, young Yin, and great Yin—take shape, and the Eight Trigrams are arranged. Yin and Yang unite, giving rise to men and women and establishing the human relationships between them. Changes in the Li, Zhen, Kan, and Dui trigrams mark the division of day from night and set the four seasons in motion.

Thus, the various celestial phenomena form in the heavens, while the forms of the myriad things arise on Earth. What congeals and does not disperse becomes mountains; what flows without stagnating becomes rivers. Plants grow from the land, while scaled creatures and shellfish dwell in deep waters and marshes. Animals that walk on the ground are called furred creatures, and those that fly are called feathered creatures. In this way, cold and warmth alternate, dampness and dryness respond to one another, the qualities of the myriad things interweave, and their vital essences mingle. All kinds of tiny, sentient creatures, along with living things that lack awareness, continue to multiply and thrive.

Wuji (the Formless Ultimate), without trace or describable form, is the true “nonbeing.” Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the source from which all things arise, is the wondrous presence contained within Wuji. True nonbeing is the source from which original nature begins; wondrous presence is the source from which Qi (the subtle force that constitutes life and all things) begins.

Wondrous presence exists in an undivided state and first appears as the image of Qian. Two Qian images join to form the image of Kun. Once Qian and Kun are established, human relationships and the myriad things arise from them, and the Way of nature and life is established as well. Thereafter, the Four Images take their places, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) move, the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) arrange themselves in a ring, and the Three Primordial Energies circulate. The myriad things change in turn, their rise and decline following one another. All this results from the movement and transformation of Yin-Yang qi; none of it increases or diminishes the root of Wuji.

Wuji lies above Taiji: still and without form, it does not change along with forms. It also lies beneath the Two Modes of Heaven and Earth, and does not move along with the myriad things. “Great Change,” “Great Beginning,” “Great Simplicity,” and “Great Commencement” have different names, but refer to the same principle.

Taiji receives its endowment from Wuji, Qian and Kun from Taiji, and people and things from Qian and Kun. Traced through, they are in truth one whole. Taiji does not exist apart from Wuji, Qian and Kun apart from Taiji, or the myriad things apart from Qian and Kun. Everything begins in the true nonbeing of principle and takes form in the wondrous presence of Qi.

Wuji refers to pure principle. Principle comes first, followed by Qi; when principle and Qi are blended and undifferentiated, they are called Taiji (the origin of all things before they divide). Taiji is the source of all named things. Once the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—are established, all things come into being from them.

Principle is imparted equally to all things and is called nature; the Qi endowed in all things is called life. Examining human nature and life, we find that they are, at their root, the principle and Qi between Heaven and Earth. Once the principle and Qi between Heaven and Earth are bestowed upon humans and other things, they become each being’s own nature and life. At first, principle and Qi blend into Taiji; later, when Heaven and Earth take shape, both possess principle and Qi. Principle cannot exist on its own apart from Qi, and Qi cannot take form on its own apart from principle. Principle and Qi move with the Three Powers and all things, without end.

The substance of principle is still and formless. The workings of Qi are active, though its form is settled and still. What is still and formless is the Dao; what has an active form is a vessel—that is, a concrete thing. All things arise from Wuji, take shape as Taiji, divide into the two forms of Yin and Yang, and then spread into the myriad kinds. Principle and Qi have never been separate or at rest, nor have they increased or diminished.

The Source of Nature and Life (the origin of nature and life)

Taiji (the fundamental state before the cosmos had divided) originally had no form. From it, “one” began to arise. As “one” divided, the numerical relationship between Water and Fire became manifest; when “one” joined with “two,” the form of Qian took shape. This was the beginning of nature and life, Yin-Yang, and the source from which human relationships and all things came into being. Thereafter, Qian divided into Kun, the two forms of Yin and Yang were established, the Four Images took shape, the Eight Trigrams were arranged, and day and night began to alternate. From the initial division of Qian’s primal power, nature and life were each established.

The Book of Changes says, “The Way of Qian transforms, and each thing is made correct in its nature and life.” This means that while the Way of Qian had not yet divided, the workings of Water and Fire were already inherent within it. When the Way of Qian transformed and divided into Kun, all things each received the Qi apportioned by Qian and Kun, and were born with their own nature and life. This is how Qian’s primal power—the fundamental Qi of Qian—descends as the root from which all things manifest in form. The portion received in full from Qian belongs to Yang; the portion divided into Kun belongs to Yin. Nothing can come into being without Yin. What is received from Qian is called “nature”; what is received from Kun is called “life.” The number one, received from Water, is Jing; the number two, received from Fire, is Shen. When nature, life, Jing, and Shen are all present, this is called the Dao.

The union of Water’s one and Fire’s two forms Qian. This shows that Qian’s primal power inherently contains the wondrous workings of Water and Fire. The primal life and original nature also begin here. When one divides into two, the whole recedes and its two parts appear; when two unite as one, the whole appears and the two parts recede. This is how being and nonbeing transform into one another. The Great Dao takes nonbeing as its substance and being as its function: Wuji, the fundamental state not yet made manifest, is true nonbeing; Taiji, the state in which Yin and Yang have not yet divided but change is already contained, is the wondrous presence within nonbeing. Qian’s beginning was originally nonbeing; only when “one” was established did a visible image take shape. Kun’s beginning, too, was originally nonbeing; only through Qian’s division did concrete form take shape. The joining and separation of being and nonbeing are the root of Yin-Yang and the generation of all things.

Qian’s primal power, Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, nature and life, Jing and Shen are all originally contained within oneself. Thus, Qian’s nature has its source in the Dao, and human nature has its source in Qian. By joining with Qian and following the course of Kun, one can fulfill one’s nature and return to one’s heavenly mandate. Qian divides into Kun, and Kun in turn joins and returns to Qian. Only through the division and reunification of the two parts can nature and life become complete.

Bo Yang (Wei Boyang, author of the Daoist alchemical classic Cantong qi) used the Book of Changes to explain the cultivation of immortality. He held that nature and life are simply Qian and Kun, while Jing and Shen are simply Kan and Li, the trigrams representing Water and Fire in the Book of Changes. Qian and Kun, Kan and Li, ultimately are all “one”; “one” is Taiji, and Taiji in turn returns to Wuji. Before “one” takes form, it is Taiji in its beginningless state; once “one” is established, Taiji has a beginning. The beginningless is the starting point of nature, while the state with a beginning is the starting point of life. Only when these two starting points are joined does the Way of Qian take shape.

Nature begins in nonbeing, from which awareness of the numinous and empty arises. Life begins in being, from which movement and change, and the succession of arising and ceasing, emerge. Nonbeing and being stand in relation to one another; movement and stillness alternate, and the Way of change is thereby established. Yet the whole already contains both aspects, and the body of Qian already contains Kun: Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, are present even before division occurs. One who can unite Taiji, preserve Qian’s primal power, and use a formless body to contain the two starting points of nature and life has attained the state realized by the sage.

“Nature” exists prior to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). As Nature is expressed in all things between Heaven and Earth, it is called “principle.” The subtle awareness within principle is called “spirit.” The empty, numinous nature of spirit joins with Qi (vital energy). Qi gives life to all things; this is called “life.”

The Book of Changes says, “Silent and unmoving” describes the substance of Nature; “when stirred, it responds and communicates” describes the function of spirit. Nature reaches everywhere; principle treats all things equally; spirit can respond to all things; and Qi enables all things to come into being. What is inherent and acts without deliberate effort is Nature; what all things share in receiving is principle; what is profound, subtle, and aware is spirit; what moves without ceasing is Qi. To take Nature as one’s root, accord with principle, preserve and nurture spirit, and be born through Qi—this is life.

“One” is the source of the myriad methods. When two “Ones” join, they form “principle.” (The original text later repeats its explanation of the meanings of spirit, Qi, and life.)

“One” is the source of all methods. From “one,” two “twos” are formed; the two twos combine into four. The four are then doubled to make eight, the eight doubled to make sixteen, and together they make thirty-two. The thirty-two are doubled again to make sixty-four. The sixty-four hexagrams then give rise to three hundred and eighty-four lines. Excluding the four hexagrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li, the remaining twenty-four lines correspond exactly to three hundred and sixty, matching the cycle of the year.

The number of counting rods for the Qian hexagram (the number calculated from its hexagram lines) is two hundred and sixteen; for the Kun hexagram, it is one hundred and forty-four. Their totals add up to three hundred and sixty. From one number, a thing takes shape; each thing contains a principle, and within each principle many more principles arise. Taken together, they are called “the myriad.”

At first, all methods are named on the basis of “one.” Meaning is established through names, affairs take shape through meaning, capacities arise from affairs, duties are assigned according to capacities, functions are carried out through duties, achievements follow from functions, similarities and differences are distinguished by achievements, and oddities arise from differences. These oddities are then judged as right or wrong. Once right and wrong are established, distinctions follow between the ignorant and the wise, the obstructed and the open, the few and the many, the small number and the multitude, the same and the different, equality and disparity, what is centered and what is biased, what is proper and what is deviant, what is vast and what is minute, and what is fine and what is coarse.

These distinctions accumulate layer upon layer, continuing to multiply. From then on, even a skilled calculator cannot exhaust them. Names of all kinds are established according to things; they all arise from things interweaving and human minds changing. At the beginning of the Non-Polar Origin (the undifferentiated source, without limits), how could any of these distinctions have existed? The wise should bring all methods under a single order, uniting them in “one,” returning to the source and restoring the root. Once they return to “one,” all methods return to their origin. Thus the sage uses “one” to link everything, saying, “Though the myriad things are many, there is only one root for governing them.” If they cannot be linked through “one,” all methods will multiply without end.

Unifying all methods through “one”: bringing all methods under a single order and linking them through “one.”

Faced with the countless and varied methods in the world, even if the sea were one’s mouth and the Yellow River one’s tongue, one could not finish discussing their rights and wrongs; even if Mount Kunlun were one’s brush and the blue sky one’s paper, one could not fully describe their forms. As society declines, methods proliferate and change; as people grow more deceitful, the Dao strays further from the right path.

Thus, as soon as a single source begins to stir, all kinds of methods surge forth. It is like driving rain battering plants and trees, or a gale rushing through every opening: a noisy, chaotic scene, with no one knowing how to stop it. Even if Fuxi and Xuanyuan, legendary sage kings of high antiquity, were to return and establish laws anew, or Gautama, the Buddhist name for Shakyamuni, and Lao Dan, Laozi, were to speak again on the mysteries, they could not suppress a source already set in motion.

Though the many methods are vast and numerous, the mind can investigate them and bring what differs into unity. How can these differences be brought into unity? The key lies in “returning to the One.” How does one return to the One? By bringing all methods into accord with their ultimate root and returning them to that root.

Yet the myriad methods are themselves illusory and unreal, and the “One” too is born of deluded thought. So long as this “One” no longer stirs and arises, the myriad methods have no means to come into being. I will use the “One” to connect all methods, bringing distinctions between things and between Heaven and Earth into unity. What, then, could not be made equal? Those who believe the “One” cannot be reversed and the myriad methods cannot be brought into accord have yet to understand that all methods can be made equal.

Diagram of the Three Teachings Sharing One Origin

The Buddhist Three Vehicles and Four Fruits, and the various practitioners within Buddhism; the Confucian Hundred Schools and their masters, and the various practitioners within Confucianism; and the Daoist immortals of the Three Realms, and the various practitioners within Daoism—all are gathered into the metaphor of the three teachings, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Daoism, sharing a single source.

In governing the world and pursuing the principles of things, no tradition surpasses Confucianism. In transcending life and death and probing the nature of life, no tradition surpasses Buddhism. In returning to one’s original nature and commanding the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, no tradition surpasses Daoism. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all arise from Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) and share in the principles of nature. They stand like the three legs of a tripod throughout China and the lands beyond, each taking the transformation and education of all beings as its guiding purpose.

The three traditions share the same foundation: they accommodate and bring together all kinds of principles. They are like a walled city holding its people, rivers and seas gathering a hundred streams, a cauldron blending every flavor, or a body receiving its nine openings; Heaven and Earth, in turn, encompass all things. What is precious is stillness without agitation, clarity without turbidity. When the mind is still, stray thoughts do not arise; when it stirs, countless affairs spring up. When the mind is clear, the spirit gathers; when it is clouded, ignorance settles in.

Bringing Heaven and Earth under one’s command, accommodating all things, gathering spirit and vital energy, and harmonizing the Six Qi—the six kinds of energy between Heaven and Earth—all depend on how the mind is used. The ancients could find no single name that fully expressed it, so they created a written character to represent it, using it as a symbol of the Three Powers and the myriad methods.

Nature is the inborn nature that is complete and fully present in a person in the state of Wuji (the undifferentiated origin, before forms appear). Life is the endowment that takes shape through differentiation in the state of Taiji (the fundamental principle from which all things begin to differentiate). The natural principles ordained by the Dao are called patterns; that which can encompass all patterns is called the heart-mind.

The “heart-mind” is said to encompass all the myriad phenomena. Its scope is vast; at its root it is empty, still, and formless, with the subtle capacity for awareness and mysterious responsiveness, and it contains all things. At the outset, the heart-mind makes no distinctions between good and evil, or small and great. These names arise only when people and things put it to use. Its functions differ in their details, and it is these differences that led later generations to become divided from one another.

For example, three brothers were born to the same parents. Their parents died early, and the brothers were scattered across different lands. When they grew up, each inherited one of three houses and changed his surname. The rulers of these houses suddenly went to war over land and people. All three brothers possessed extraordinary intelligence. Each devised unusual strategies and commanded troops, until they met on the plains of the Central Kingdom: one attacked from the left, another from the right, and the third from the center. Even as arrows flew and weapons clashed, neither side could gain a decisive advantage. Why? Their strength and intelligence were evenly matched, so the outcome was hard to determine.

A discerning person asked, “They were once brothers born to the same parents, but now they have become enemies. What can be done?” Even if one wished to end the fighting and avert disaster, one could only do one’s utmost to reconcile the sides, helping them temper their hostility and blend into the world. Yet even with every effort, resolving the conflict would not be easy.

The heart-mind appears in Heaven as Heaven’s heart-mind, on Earth as the human heart-mind, throughout the world as the heart-mind of the world, and among the myriad things as the heart-mind of the myriad things. At root, it is simply one and the same heart-mind. If one seeks the name “heart-mind” apart from particular things, one finds that it has no fixed, unchanging form. It manifests its ordinary character according to its function, takes measure according to its function, moves according to its function, and gives rise to thought according to its function. When used for good, it is called a good heart-mind; when used for evil, an evil heart-mind; when used for small matters, a small heart-mind; and when used for great matters, a great heart-mind. The heart-mind is like a city wall, containing and governing what lies within it. From this we can see that the heart-mind is the root that encompasses the many principles.

Human nature and life are set in motion. The heart has no fixed thoughts to begin with; only when it responds to events do thoughts appear. When directed toward what is good, it is a good heart; when directed toward what is evil, an evil heart. A narrow heart is small, while a broad heart is great. The heart’s many expressions are thus like the different features of a city. From this we can see that the heart governs many principles and affairs.

An Explanation of the Diagram of Nature, Life, and Body as One

“Nature” refers to the subtle workings of the Original Spirit, a person’s innate spiritual nature. All things receive it equally. Its essence is utterly still, utterly empty, and profoundly mysterious. It does not increase in sages or diminish in fools, and it does not change from age to age. The transformations of the world cannot alter it, and even the world’s most profound mysteries cannot surpass it. This is what is meant by “nature.”

“Life” refers to the proper flow of Original Qi, the primal vital energy. When Qi joins with things, this is called “life”; the word also carries the meaning of “command.” People embody the dispositions of Heaven and Earth, and this is how their command is expressed in the human body. In the myriad things, it appears as circumstances that are either favorable or difficult. In principle, life has neither birth nor death. The myriad things are impermanent only because their forms and material bodies are bound by a finite span of years. Yet the Original Mandate is never interrupted or resumed: it flows naturally without waiting to be summoned. This is why it is called “life.”

The “body” is the foundation in which nature and life reside. At first the body has no form; later, through the convergence of causes and conditions and by way of one’s parents, it takes shape. It receives the proper Qi of Heaven and Earth, so its form mirrors Heaven and Earth. The eyes see, the ears hear, the nose smells, the tongue speaks, consciousness knows and feels, the hands grasp, and the feet walk. This is the body.

Without a body, nature and life have nowhere to reside; without nature and life, the body has no ruler. When these three unite and complete one another, they are called a “person.” Understanding one’s own nature is called the “Dao.” To cherish only the body and life while neglecting one’s nature is merely to lodge a breath temporarily in a form.

Someone asked, “The body cannot last forever, and life has an end. When body and life are gone, where is the spirit?” The answer was: “The body is formed by borrowing from external things, and must eventually be returned. Life, meanwhile, is the flow of Original Qi. Forms are born and perish: when Qi gathers, it comes together as a person; when Qi disperses, it returns to the Dao. Sages do not cling to the body, and thereby preserve both body and mind. How, then, could the Original Spirit and Original Mandate ever truly be lost? To seek life and nature apart from the body is like looking for fish and dragons away from water, or the sun and moon away from the sky.”

The human body naturally undergoes life and death, just as an ox cart will eventually break down and the ox will die. Yet when Qi, the vital energy that constitutes life and drives its processes, disperses, it returns to the Dao. Sages do not cling to the body and are therefore able to preserve themselves. Have the original spirit and original life—the fundamental spirit and source of life in a person—ever truly been lost? To seek life and one’s nature apart from the body is like looking for fish and dragons somewhere other than in the water, or seeking the sun and moon somewhere other than in the sky.

The Parable of the Ox Cart and the Treasure: Body, Nature, and Life

Human nature is something everyone possesses, and all things likewise have their own nature. The body is the foundation of a person, the place where nature and life take their dwelling. Life is the order in which Qi moves, and the source from which life continually renews itself. People are born by receiving Heaven’s mandate, and live according to the feelings and dispositions bestowed by Heaven and Earth.

Without life, the body cannot be formed; without a body, life has nowhere to dwell and cannot be sustained. Without body and life, nature has nowhere to lodge its spiritual clarity and cannot bring goodness to completion. Thus body, nature, and life cannot be separated from one another, even for an instant.

Here, a treasure represents nature, a cart represents the body, and an ox represents life. The treasure is precious, the cart carries it, and the ox pulls the cart forward. First place the treasure on the cart, then have the ox pull it. The ox draws the cart along, and the treasure moves with it. The ox can pull the cart but cannot carry the load; the cart can carry the load but cannot move by itself. Though the treasure is precious, it cannot be transported without ox and cart. Without a cart, the ox has nowhere to exert its strength; without the treasure, the cart has nothing to carry. So the treasure rests safely on the cart, while the ox and cart bear the labor.

The cart is something formed through the temporary coming together of conditions: it depends on the ox to travel along the road and to carry the treasure. Without these conditions working together, it cannot serve its purpose. Yet whatever comes together through conditions will eventually fall apart, and whatever bears the burden of movement will eventually wear out, just as the ox will die and the cart will break. The treasure is not something formed through such a temporary gathering, and so it can be preserved on its own.

From this we can see that the body’s death is a natural part of life, and the ending of life’s movement is also a law of nature. After body and life have perished, only the principle of nature—our inherent nature and the truth it contains—remains. Failing to understand one’s nature is like abandoning a treasure without valuing it; failing to understand life is like not harnessing the ox to pull the cart; failing to cultivate the body is like abandoning the cart instead of using it. In the end, the ox dies, the cart breaks, and even the treasure is lost. This is truly tragic.

Yang governs movement, Yin governs stillness, Yang is clear and Yin turbid: everyone knows this. But when it is said that stillness is fundamental, people do not understand. Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental state before the differentiation of all things, is originally still; movement arises by depending on stillness. Stillness comes first, and only then can movement follow. Thus, in the workings of Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—stillness takes precedence.

Nature arises in stillness, while Qi (the vital energy that sustains life and the activity of all things) arises in movement. Stillness gives rise to benevolence, and movement gives rise to wisdom. All things in the world come forth through movement. Though Yang moves, its root must be stillness; though Yin is turbid, its root must be clarity. Stillness is the substance of movement, and movement is the function of stillness. From this we can see that stillness is restful and movement strenuous, stillness noble and movement lowly. Without stillness, how could the movements of the world be governed? Without clarity, how could the world’s turbidity be discerned? Thus the sages take utmost stillness as the Dao. This does not mean they disparage Yang and esteem Yin; rather, they follow the original, pristine state of Taiji.

Though Heaven moves, there is stillness within its movement; though Earth is settled, there is movement within its stillness. Without stillness, Heaven could not accord with the nature of the myriad things; without movement, Earth could not bring them to growth. The Qian hexagram contains Yin and thereby forms the Li trigram, symbolizing the sun; the Kun hexagram contains Yang and thereby forms the Kan trigram, symbolizing the moon. This shows that Yang takes stillness as its substance, while Yin takes movement as its foundation. Heaven takes stillness as its root and so is vigorous and ceaseless; Earth takes movement as its root and so brings forth life without end. Herein lies the subtle principle that Heaven and Earth’s workings are ever responsive to change while also containing enduring stillness.

Yang’s movement and Yin’s stillness are the substance of Heaven and Earth; Yang’s clarity and Yin’s turbidity are their forms; Yang’s firmness and Yin’s softness are their principles; Yang’s nobility and Yin’s lowliness are their respective positions. Rising and lifting, sinking and descending are the ascent and descent of Yin and Yang; pausing and coming are their alternation; day and night are their changes of brightness and darkness; cold and heat are their succession.

Yet there is a state that fills the space between Heaven and Earth and never changes, that moves through the four directions without ever shifting. Seek it in the depths and no endpoint appears; trace it forward and no beginning can be found. It is silent and unmoving, preserving its original stillness. This state cannot be measured by the forms of Yin and Yang or by the Qi of cold and heat.

Chen Dunzhai says: This diagram is exceedingly subtle. It leads from the profound principles of Buddhism to the gateways of Confucian learning, presenting ideas that the great Buddhist teachers of the past, learned in the Dharma, never touched upon in their explanations.

Buddhists write this character on the chest as a symbol of principle. Like a wheel, its parts interweave and turn in relation to one another. It corresponds evenly to the Four Forms, the four patterns formed by changes in Yin-Yang, and accords with the Bagua (Eight Trigrams); its lines cross like warp and weft, connecting with one another and circulating without end. Gathered at the center, it corresponds to the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the Five Constant Virtues (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness), the Five Qi, or original vital energies, and the Five Precepts that Buddhists are to observe. In the scriptures, it corresponds to four phrases; in the human body, to the Four Great Elements of earth, water, fire, and wind. It contains the mysteries of Yin-Yang, nature and life, the Dao and De, benevolence and righteousness, spirit and vital essence, the hun and po souls, mercury, lead, dragon, and tiger—symbolic terms in Neidan (internal alchemy)—and Qian, Li, Kun, and Kan, four of the Bagua.

It advances smoothly and turns back smoothly; it can move with the current or against it. It can correspond to four and five, or to eight and nine. Its vertical and horizontal dimensions are inexhaustible, encompassing every principle of Heaven, Earth, and the human world. Thus Buddhists write this character on the chest to symbolize the Dharma wheel, the symbol of the Buddha’s teachings, turning ceaselessly in the heart. It is pronounced “wan,” meaning that all things arise from this Dao. Traced back to its root, it is the character for “ten”: beginning with one, reaching completion at five, and becoming whole at ten, it then embraces the myriad things. The character is formed by bending and turning the strokes of “ten,” expressing how both the curved and the straight can reach through and connect.

For this reason, from beginning to end, the Avatamsaka Sutra often uses “ten” as an example, conveying equality above and below, the interpenetration of essence and function, nothing lacking and nothing in excess, and no distinction of higher or lower. This is like the meaning contained in the Wheel Treasure, the precious wheel symbolizing perfection and power: it circles everywhere, complete in its adornments, and all principles take it as their root. Its meaning is so profound that words cannot express it fully.

The so-called “Mean” is the principle that is constant and enduring. “Mean” means neither excessive nor deficient; “constant” means unchanging and not deviating. The “Mean” is the most fitting standard between the Two Principles of Yin and Yang. Its meaning is so profound that words cannot express it fully.

The Mean is the principle that is constant and enduring.

To be neither excessive nor deficient is “the Mean,” the standard of what is fitting. To remain unchanged and unbiased is “the Constant,” the standard that endures. The Mean is the highest principle between the two powers of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth, and the most fundamental truth in the human heart. The Constant is the supreme truth that stands alone in the world, the enduring principle unchanged from ancient times to the present. Buddhism calls it “abiding permanence”—that which never changes or vanishes through the flow of time. Daoism calls it “true constancy”—that which is free of delusion and disorder and is not arbitrarily altered.

Yao and Shun yielded the imperial throne in accordance with this principle; Confucius and Mencius taught and received the Dao lineage in accordance with it. Buddhism uses it to transform all things, while Daoism uses it to govern the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. All of this speaks of the same Dao. The Mean and the Constant is the highest principle of Confucianism; abiding permanence is the highest principle of Buddhism; true constancy is the highest principle of Daoism. Because eras differ between ancient and modern times, and the Dao’s application may flourish or change, the three traditions share the same foundation but apply it in different ways. This does not mean that the principle revealed by the sages itself differs.

The sages simply chose different expressions for it.

The way of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental principle shared by all things in the universe, begins with human nature and is ultimately embodied in life itself. The ordering of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity rests entirely on this principle, and nothing in the creation of the myriad things falls outside it.

Heaven and Earth are vast; the customs and conditions of different regions vary, and the people of the world are many. Yet all are born endowed with their own nature and life. Though their kinds differ, the Taiji on which they depend has never differed. Thus Buddhists use it to teach the world and help people recover their original nature; Daoists use it to teach the world and help people recover their original Qi (the fundamental vital energy that constitutes life and all things); and Confucians use it to teach the world and help people recover their original life, the root of life itself.

Without original nature, one cannot understand the mysteries of the Great Dao. Without original Qi, one cannot reveal the source of Taiji. Without “nonbeing”—the source and formless state spoken of in Daoism—one cannot carry out a far-reaching teaching. These three transcend visible things, concern the source of Qi, and establish the guiding principles of human relations. They are fundamental to Heaven, Earth, and humanity, which can never be separated from them.

In applying these principles, each has its own substance and function; in understanding them, there are also differences of sequence. This does not mean that one goes too far or falls short. If we trace them from beginning to end, Buddhism is Dao, Dao is Confucianism. Today, some people believe that Buddhism’s extinction of desire is at odds with human feeling, that Daoism’s quietude and emptiness are inadequate for governing the world, or that Confucian distinctions and principles cannot free people from birth and death. Such views each cling to one side and, amid gains and losses, lose sight of the whole. The teachings of the sages were originally one; they had no differences of rank or depth. When put into practice in the world, they simply took different forms.

If people can remain quiet and still, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things will all come into accord.

“Constant” means never changing. “Clarity” is Heaven’s nature, and “stillness” is Earth’s nature. The workings of Heaven and Earth regard constancy as precious, so constancy is taken as a fundamental Way. If Heaven were not clear, it could not hang high above and encompass the myriad forms; if Earth were not still and substantial, it could not bear all things. If the virtues of Heaven and Earth were not constant, Heaven might collapse and Earth might sink; the sun might grow cold and the moon hot; the seasons might fall out of order, and the myriad things might become confused and chaotic. Because Heaven and Earth are constant, the fundamental order in which all things move has remained unchanged from ancient times to the present.

How much more so for human beings, whose form comes from Heaven and Earth, whose life arises from the union of Yin and Yang, and who have received a wondrous nature: they are naturally capable of being clear and still. But when the mind and spirit are submerged in afflictions and thrown into confusion by desires, their constant nature is disturbed, clarity is obscured, and stillness turns to agitation. Thus they cannot endure as Heaven and Earth do, nor accord with the reality of the Great Dao. If they can truly understand the Way of Constancy and bring themselves into accord with clarity and stillness, then the wondrous principles of Heaven and Earth will naturally become manifest and return to them.

From the “Discourse on the Primordial Beginning’s Precious Pearl” in the Scripture of Salvation (Duren Jing).

“Primordial Beginning” is the starting point of the vastest and most tranquil realm. It lies above Taiji and before the Nine Qi—the nine kinds of primordial energy that constitute heaven, earth, and all things. The Qi of Primordial Beginning descends and forms Heaven; it divides and forms Earth; Heaven and Earth join and give birth to humanity. The sun, moon, and stars, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the four seasons, and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) were all established by the Three Qi of Mystery, Origin, and Beginning. The Book of Changes (Yijing) says, “Great indeed is the primal power of Qian! All things depend on it to begin.” This is precisely the principle at work.

The single Qi of Primordial Beginning is supremely pure and still, utterly empty, free of action, and perfectly concentrated. It is the source of the myriad Dao, the nature of the myriad spirits, the beginning of the myriad transformations, and the foundation of all things. Originally, it cannot be described by names or words, so the Celestial Worthy uses names and words to explain it.

The scripture says that the Celestial Worthy suspended a precious pearl, as small as a millet grain, in the empty Mystery, where all around was utterly silent. This passage uses a skillful metaphor to teach living beings, and every detail in it carries symbolic meaning. The pearl symbolizes an aperture of the mysterious female, the wondrous source that gives birth to all things. It also symbolizes the wondrous presence contained within true emptiness, the foundation of Water and Fire and of primal Qian, and the nature and wisdom of the myriad spirits. The pearl hangs within the “empty Mystery”: “empty” indicates that its origin is formless, while “Mystery” indicates that being arises from nonbeing.

The pearl hangs five zhang above the ground. This symbolizes the complete number governing the movement of the Five Phases, and the five phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—running through one another as a unity. Among the Five Phases, Earth occupies the center and governs the four emblems of Kan, Li, Zhen, and Dui. The pearl hangs neither too high nor too low. This indicates that the aperture of the mysterious female begins from the foremost of the Five Phases and ultimately rests amid the Five Qi, passing through them all.

Primordial Beginning leads the Heavenly Perfected Great Spirits and the other gods into the pearl together. This symbolizes how the subtle single Qi can contain the empty reaches of the ten directions and encompass Heaven and Earth, while also entering the tiniest places. When the heavenly beings and gods look up, they see them entering one after another through the opening in the pearl. This shows that the aperture of the mysterious female is the gate of all wonders. Primordial Beginning guides living beings through the wondrous power of the One Truth; they all enter through this gate. After entering the opening, the gods do not know where they are. This symbolizes how all beings return to their source through the same wondrous gate: wisdom moves through a deep and tranquil realm, and the nature of the spirit joins with the Great Void. Thus the scripture says, “They did not know where they were.”

Seeing the wonders of the pearl, people all comprehend the Dao of Primordial Beginning. Their worldly afflictions then fade away, and their minds regain clarity and balance. The pearl within the mind is vast and formless; Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—as well as all things are contained within it. Once the principle symbolized by the pearl has been fully explained, there is no need to say more. Thus the scripture says, “The expounding of the scripture was complete.”

Primordial Beginning does not expound through words, yet expounds in silence; the Perfected do not ask questions, yet hear without being asked. Each person understands the truth and returns to the source, so the scripture says that the heavens return to their respective places. The wisdom inherent in human nature is subtle and difficult to perceive, without form or sound by which it can be detected. When it is understood, the entire Dharma Realm appears; when it is lost, even the subtlest things cannot be seen. Thus, when the expounding ends, all around is silent.

The Great High One first reveals the traces of mind, nature, and the Dao through a tiny precious pearl, then finally guides people back to emptiness through utter silence. This expresses the unity of wondrous presence and true emptiness, and the wondrous efficacy that encompasses all and is present everywhere. The intent of the sages is subtle and difficult to grasp, so they devise skillful means to instruct living beings, enabling them to seek and attain understanding for themselves. The Perfected enter through the pearl’s opening and awaken; this also symbolizes that beings in the human realm and the heavens must enter through this gate.

In truth, this pearl has always been within every living being, unchanged from ancient times to the present; it is not possessed by the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning alone. Yet people carry this treasure while losing sight of their own source, and few are able to find this gate. The myriad teachings are countless and words are endless, but a single pearl is already enough to contain everything. Beyond the pearl, why say any more?

The eulogy says: Primordial Beginning enters the pearl, and the pearl is Primordial Beginning; Primordial Beginning and the pearl have always been one. When the expounding of the scripture is complete, the myriad teachings return to oneness. Seeing and hearing are no longer divided, and all things merge within Taiji.

The “Four-Line Verse” in Confucianism

“The human mind is precarious” means that people’s everyday thoughts are easily unsettled. Distractions arise one after another, and emotions and desires can easily lead people astray. Once we chase after external things and act on our emotions, the mind becomes difficult to settle. This is what is meant by the “human mind.”

“The mind of the Dao is subtle” means that the mind of the Dao is profound and delicate, resting in a state of great stillness and not easily discerned. Only by realizing the principles of the Dao can we bring it forth and sustain it. If we try to judge it through emotion and speculation, we cannot grasp it. It is not something the eyes can see or the ears can hear.

“Be refined and be single-minded” means becoming pure and focused: seeing the turbulence of the human mind clearly, letting it subside, and returning to stillness. Both the human mind and the mind of the Dao should reach a pure state, without the slightest admixture of selfish desire.

“Hold firmly to the Mean” means maintaining this purity and focus in everyday life, so that all one does accords with reason, without bias or hidden, distorted anxieties. This is called “holding to the Mean”: keeping to a fitting and upright standard.

The “Four-Line Verse” in Daoism

“Look, but do not see me” means turning inward to observe one’s own mind and seeing that it has no fixed, substantial existence. Observe the body in turn, and one finds that it, too, has no enduring, unchanging substance. Mind and body both merge into a mysterious, empty and still state, which cannot be known through emotion, thought, or consciousness. This is what is meant by “look, but do not see me.”

“Listen, but hear nothing” means listening inward instead, entering a clear and empty state in which there are no sounds or forms. It is like the Primordial Beginning (a revered deity in Daoism) expounding scripture within a precious pearl. The instant the teaching ends, all around is silent, with no echo left behind. This is what is meant by “listen, but hear nothing.”

“Be free of every extreme” means not clinging to wrong views or falling into rigidity, and avoiding both excess and deficiency. Leave behind every form of bias and abide in the very center. This is what is meant by “be free of every extreme.”

“This is called the wondrous Dao” means reaching a state without self, without anything heard, without boundaries, and without a distinction between inner and outer. Words cannot describe it; sound and form cannot touch it. It lies beyond what sight, hearing, and names can express. This is what is meant by “the wondrous Dao.”

The “Four-Line Verse” in Buddhism

“Not establishing words and letters” means that insight in the mind must be realized for oneself; it cannot be conveyed through words alone. Truth can be directly realized, while written teachings cannot explain it fully. This is why it is called “not establishing words and letters.”

“Transmitted outside the teachings” means that truth is not passed on through written words or fixed methods of teaching. Instead, it is transmitted from mind to mind, through direct accord and understanding that transcend the distinction between learning and not learning. Once its meaning is understood, there is no need to cling to words. Taking awakening as one’s guide makes it possible to go beyond what language can express.

“Pointing directly to the human mind” means that the principles of the Mind School are simple and direct. There is no need to take a roundabout path or rely on passages from the scriptures. Once a person understands, the original source becomes clear at once. This is what is meant by “pointing directly to the human mind.”

“Seeing one’s nature and becoming a Buddha” means that the true substance of awareness—the innate nature of awakening—is utterly pure and still. By carefully examining and recognizing one’s own original mind, one can reach the subtle ultimate principle. When that principle is clearly understood, this is called “seeing one’s nature and becoming a Buddha.”

The passage quoted above from the Diamond Sutra says that giving up one’s body and life as many times as there are grains of sand in the Ganges is not as great as receiving and upholding a four-line verse from the sutra. This means that if one does not understand the Buddha’s principles and gives only one’s body and life, the reward is merely conditioned merit. It is better to understand and uphold the sutra’s subtle meaning, thereby seeing one’s nature and becoming a Buddha. “Four lines” means that the passage is very short. If one understands it fully, there will be few scriptures left in the world that need to be seen or read. For this reason, the author gathered the essential teachings of the Three Teachings and, following the Diamond Sutra, called them the “four-line verse.”

Volume One of Directly Pointing to the Mysterious Teaching: The Myriad Dharmas Return to One ends here.

Directly Pointing to the Mysterious Teaching: The Myriad Dharmas Return to One, Volume Two

Written by Mu Changchao of Yangshan Daoist Temple in Jian’an; compiled by his disciple Yishan Huang Benren.

An explanation of “constantly responsive, constantly still.”

The celestial expanse is inherently still, yet the sun, moon, clouds, and rosy clouds appear within it. The earth is inherently still, yet rivers and all things appear upon it. The four seasons are inherently still, yet spring, summer, autumn, and winter appear in their turn. The human heart is inherently still, yet joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure arise within it. Wherever there is stillness, corresponding manifestations arise.

Stillness is the principal; manifestation is its attendant. Stillness is the ruler; manifestation is the subject. Stillness is the inner foundation, while manifestation is its outer function. Thus, the sage’s heart-mind remains constant, yet responds to the circumstances of all things; it remains unmoving, yet responds to the changes of all things. Though it encounters all things and responds to every affair, the heart-mind never shifts or wavers along with them. In this way, it can govern all things. Even when dealing each day with countless matters, it is not diminished in the least. The Most High—a Daoist honorific for the supreme being—grasps this principle and uses it to govern the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, along with all things.

To respond continually while remaining still throughout is the sage’s highest De (Virtue/Power) and the true original heart of Heaven and Earth. For those who study and practice, this is an essential point in daily cultivation and must never be overlooked.

This is a commentary on the “The Valley Spirit Does Not Die” chapter, the chapter of the Dao De Jing that discusses the undying Valley Spirit.

Wuji (the Limitless) is the profound root of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); Taiji is the root of Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth are the root of all things; and the human heart-mind is where all principles converge. The “valley” is a place that can contain all things without being filled, and that answers whenever it hears a sound, like the human heart-mind.

“Shen” (spirit) is the most fundamental principle between Heaven and Earth, and the most subtle function within the human heart-mind. Empty, numinous, and perceptive, it responds in accord with the heart-mind, just as a valley answers a sound. Though the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity rise and decline, this wondrous perceptive nature is never extinguished; hence it is called “undying.” This is the deepest and most subtle meaning of the “Mysterious Female.”

“Xuan” (mysterious) refers to the form at the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “pin” (female) refers to the utterly still, real substance. Before the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity were established, and before Yin-Yang and the four images arose, the Dao was already complete. This is what the scripture means by saying, “There is a single, undifferentiated existence, born before Heaven and Earth.” Taiji, nature and life, lead and mercury, and water and fire are all different names for the subtle root called the “Mysterious Female.”

The “Gate of the Mysterious Female” is the foundation of Heaven and Earth. The “single aperture of the Mysterious Female” is the root of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth). All paths of the Dao issue from it, and the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity are born from it as well. Some explain it as the coming and going of clear and turbid breaths between the mouth and nose. This may be one valid interpretation, but it does not reach the subtle meaning of the “Valley Spirit.”

“Continuous, as though it were there; use it without exertion” means that its function flows on without interruption, seeming present and seeming absent. When using it, one should neither strain urgently nor let it lapse through neglect. “Continuous” also means without end: the Valley Spirit is never extinguished. It cannot be destroyed even by the fierce burning of a kalpa-ending fire, and it endures through the transformations of Heaven and Earth. If people can make use of it without excessive urgency or careless neglect, they can accord with the Dao and endure without end.

The School of Nature and the School of Life are originally one whole. Though Heaven and Earth undergo change, they remain like the Mysterious Female: indestructible and enduring. This is the teaching that nature and life are one in substance.

People call Chan Buddhism the “School of Nature,” because it centers on realizing the mind and seeing one’s true nature. “Chan” is short for the Sanskrit term dhyāna, translated as “meditative stillness.” Chan practice takes purifying the mind and spirit and quieting scattered thoughts as its foundation. Its aim is to forget the burdens of the body, still desire, and stay free of greed. Applied to the body, this means keeping the precepts; applied to the mind, entering meditative concentration; applied to one’s nature, awakening wisdom. For this reason, the Chan school regards precepts, concentration, and wisdom as its most important principles of practice.

“Life” refers to the original life received amid primordial chaos, before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) divided. The study of life takes following nature and holding wondrous being within emptiness and stillness as its foundation. Its aim is to gather Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), soften body and mind, and preserve original Qi and one’s inborn nature. Jing is stored in the kidneys, Qi circulates through the body, and Shen (spirit) governs the heart-mind. For this reason, the School of Life regards Jing, Qi, and Shen as its most important subjects of cultivation.

Precepts, concentration, and wisdom are fundamentally the same as Jing, Qi, and Shen: precepts nourish Jing, concentration nourishes Qi, and wisdom nourishes Shen. Without keeping the precepts, one cannot enter a state of concentration; without concentration, wisdom is difficult to awaken. If the precepts are not upheld, Jing is depleted; if concentration is weak, Qi becomes scattered; if wisdom does not awaken, Shen withers. Thus, precepts, concentration, and wisdom are established through Jing, Qi, and Shen, while Jing, Qi, and Shen are also preserved through precepts, concentration, and wisdom. No sage of the Three Teachings can attain the Dao without these six forms of cultivation.

Today, those who study Buddhism say, “Originally, there is nothing at all, so why speak of Jing, Qi, and Shen?” Those who study the Dao say, “I already have Jing, Qi, and Shen, so why speak of precepts, concentration, and wisdom?” Neither view understands the foundations of cultivation; both instead make arbitrary distinctions. As a result, those who study the Dao are as numerous as the hairs on an ox, while those who truly succeed in cultivation are as rare as a qilin’s horn. This is truly lamentable!

The “Treatise on the Principle of the One Composite Form” in the Diamond Sutra discusses the unified appearance formed by the gathering of all phenomena and the principle behind it.

Whatever is formed by the combination of different appearances belongs to the myriad things of heaven and earth. What has no appearance yet can unite is the nature and principle of the Tathagata—our inherent nature and fundamental principle. The coming together of the myriad things cannot be separated from the human body and life; nor does the union of Yin-Yang and nature and principle extend beyond the wondrous existence of true emptiness—the principle by which emptiness and stillness can also give rise to the myriad things.

In the phrase “the principle of the one composite appearance,” “appearance” means the form of a thing, while “principle” means its nature and underlying order. Every thing in heaven and earth that has a shape, image, or disposition follows certain laws and has its own principle. Even flying insects and crawling creatures, whether sentient or insentient, who could be outside this “one composite appearance”?

Thus, when the Tathagata teaches the Dharma, he must proceed from appearances to what is without appearance. All beings must first rely on concrete appearances for the principle within them to become clear. Without appearances, the principle of true emptiness cannot be revealed; without nature and principle, where could the living power of wondrous existence appear? Therefore, one uses appearances to explain nature and principle, and lets nature and principle run through appearances, so that beings understand that “form itself is emptiness” and “mind itself is Buddha”—that the nature of mind and Buddha-nature are connected.

The scripture says, “When the Tathagata speaks of the great trichiliocosm, there is in truth no world; it is called a world only in accordance with worldly convention.” This describes how the myriad things of heaven and earth come together as one, and how vast the world is. Before Taiji had taken form, the world did not yet exist. Only after heaven and earth divided did it come to be called a world.

The scripture also says, “If the world truly existed, it would be a single composite appearance.” This means that at the beginning there was no form of a single composite appearance. The world now appears to exist, but its form is merely the result of various factors coming together. Heaven and earth join; the sun and moon join; Yin and Yang join; man and woman join. Though other instances are not listed one by one, they can be inferred from these. This is what is called “a single composite appearance.”

The Tathagata’s true nature has no name or appearance. Provisional words point toward the real: visible things are used to explain the principle without appearance. Following worldly convention, it is called “a single composite appearance.” Yet this composite appearance cannot truly be spoken of. This union is the union of true emptiness and wondrous existence, and the union of sentient beings with Buddha-nature. This is what Laozi meant by “spirit and form both reaching the wondrous”—both spirit and body attaining a mysterious state. This is a principle that sages throughout the ages have never fully expressed; hence it is said to be beyond words.

Yet ordinary people covet and cling to things themselves. They do not understand Buddha-nature, but become entangled in worldly toil and afflictions, seeking without satisfaction. They cling to appearances without understanding the principles within them, remaining deluded about everything and unable to awaken. Thus their luminous true nature continues to turn through birth and death, repeatedly entering and leaving the cycle of rebirth. All this results from coveting and clinging to worldly things.

The explanations in different scriptures vary and depart from the Tathagata’s original intent, giving rise to errors. The scripture has already stated clearly, “If the world truly existed, it would be a single composite appearance.” From this we can see the principle of form and disposition coming together. The scripture then goes on to break this attachment, saying, “It is not a single composite appearance.” This explains the principle of nature and underlying order coming together. I have offered an explanation of part of this chapter to clarify it for those who come after.

The “Chapter on Valuing Life” in the Laozi says: “Moving toward birth, one also moves toward death. Those who belong to the category of life account for three tenths; those who belong to the category of death account for three tenths. And those who are alive yet, through reckless action, move toward death account for three tenths as well.”

“Life” is like the sun rising; “death” is like the sun setting. Zhuangzi said that death and birth are like night and day, making the same point. The “three tenths” here refers to the twelve stages—longevity, bathing, capping, approaching office, imperial flourishing, decline, illness, death, tomb, womb, fetus, and nurturing—together with oneself, making thirteen in all. These describe the cycle through which things grow, decline, and perish, only to begin again.

All things have a beginning and an end, and Yin-Yang moves in recurring cycles. The flourishing and decline, life and death, of people and things all follow certain patterns of change. This principle of Yin-Yang waxing and waning is reflected in the Book of Changes: after the Kun hexagram comes the Fu hexagram, and after the Qian hexagram comes the Gou hexagram. The alternation of cold and heat, and the transformations that give rise to life between Heaven and Earth, also continue in endless cycles. Every living thing is born according to this pattern and dies according to it. Those who are alive yet keep acting in ways that lead toward death cannot escape this process of growth, decline, existence, and extinction. Perhaps only the sage can transcend it. The Buddhist teaching of birth, aging, illness, and death also arises from this principle. What is called “taohui” may refer to these three groups, each accounting for three tenths.

The Laozi then asks: “Why is this so? Because people are excessively greedy in their pursuit of preserving life.”

If things had never been born, they would not die. Once life exists, death must follow; after death, new life arises again. This is an inevitable law of Heaven and Earth.

“Why do people meet with this kind of fate? Because they place too much importance on the desire to stay alive.”

The scripture explains that if things are never born, they do not die. Once life begins, death is inevitable; after death, new life arises. This is a necessary principle of Heaven and Earth. People cannot escape the calamity of the “thirteen paths” because their pursuit of life and desire to cling to existence never cease. The more tightly they cling to life, the harder it is for them to evade death. The Old Master feared that people would fail to understand the passage from life to death, so he first asked “why,” then explained: people place too much importance on the way of seeking life and cannot reach a state free from death’s constraints. They therefore remain caught in the life-and-death cycle of the “thirteen paths.” To stop being counted among such people, one must transcend the transformations of life and death governed by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Here, “Five Phases” refers to Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water, and to their cycles of change.

“Those skilled at preserving life need not avoid rhinoceroses and tigers when walking on land, and need not fear injury from weapons when entering battle.”

The explanation that follows this passage repeats what came earlier about clinging to life, death, and transcending the life-and-death cycle governed by the Five Phases. “Skilled at nurturing life” means adept at tending and preserving life. By describing people who walk without fearing wild beasts and enter battle without fearing weapons, the scripture shows that such people are not held captive by fear of life and death.

The Daodejing says that those skilled in preserving life need not evade rhinoceroses or tigers when walking on land, nor avoid blades and spears when entering a battlefield. The rhinoceros has nowhere to use its horn, the tiger nowhere to strike with its claws, and weapons nowhere to pierce him. Why? Because he has not put himself in a situation that brings death.

To be “skilled in preserving life” means understanding how to follow the patterns of life’s waxing and waning, and grasping the key to the coming and going of life and death. One cultivates the body, regulates the breath, keeps Jing and Qi secure, and nourishes Shen; one does not show off one’s cleverness or become immersed in desire. The seven emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and the rest—are not allowed to disturb the heart within, nor are the six sensory objects of the outside world, as they are commonly called in Buddhism and Daoism, allowed to unsettle it. Since one does not bustle about in the pursuit of fame and profit, there is no need to evade tigers and rhinoceroses while walking on land. And since one does not enter dangerous states, live in places of turmoil, indulge private desires, or rush to invite disaster, there is no need to take special care to avoid blades and spears on the battlefield.

Thus, those skilled in nourishing life must cleanse the heart, keep Shen deeply within, forget external things, and avoid attachment to the body. In this way, the six desires cannot bring their claws and horns to bear, like rhinoceroses and tigers; and the three poisons of greed, anger, and delusion—Buddhist terms for afflictions that disturb the mind—cannot wield their blades, like weapons. When Shen and the body both reach a subtle state and unite with the Dao in reality, one can be said not to have entered a place of death.

Another interpretation holds that sages can transcend the body and escape the burdens of what are called the “thirteen afflictions,” so external things cannot harm them and worldly affairs cannot trouble them. Laozi says, “My greatest affliction is that I have this body; if I had no body, what affliction would I have?” By not clinging to the body, one can avoid entering a place of death. Different schools explain the “thirteen afflictions” in different ways: some say they are the nine openings and four limbs; others say the seven emotions and six desires; still others identify them as six parts Water and seven parts Fire, or as the six sense faculties, the four elements, and the three poisons combined to make thirteen. These explanations all seem at odds with the main point of the scripture, so this interpretation is offered here to guide later students.

It is like an infant before it has learned to laugh.

“Infant” refers to a fetus that has not yet left the mother’s womb; only after leaving the womb is it called a “child.” In the womb, the fetus simply rests in a state of harmonious Qi. Emotions such as joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure have not yet appeared, and the capacity to see, hear, perceive, and know has not yet arisen. After birth, people develop these emotions and the mind’s capacity for perception and knowledge. The Dao, therefore, cannot be compared with the condition of a person after birth.

The ancients spoke of “gently nurturing the pearl-child” (nurturing one’s precious inner nature) and “preserving the Great Harmony” (safeguarding the complete, peaceful primordial Qi). They also spoke of the “sagely embryo,” the “Dao embryo,” the “immortal embryo,” and “embryonic breathing.” These expressions do not refer to the physical body still being in the mother’s womb. The methods of cultivation taught by sages of the Three Teachings all point to this same meaning. Laozi’s teachings of “embracing the Origin and guarding the One” (holding to primordial Qi and keeping one’s focus on the One) and “concentrating Qi and attaining softness,” the Buddhist practice of sitting in stillness, and Yan Hui’s “sitting in forgetfulness” all point toward a state like that of an infant, undisturbed by emotions and perception.

On the Center of the Two Extremes

The Non-ultimate is the center within nonbeing; the Supreme Ultimate is the center at the utmost limit. Utter stillness and quiescence are the fundamental state in which primordial Qi gathers and governs the myriad things. This state cannot be described by any particular shape, and has none of the faults of imbalance, stagnation, excess, or deficiency. It is the beginning of Qian’s primordial potency and the root of the myriad things. The Non-ultimate and the Supreme Ultimate have different names, but the “center” within them is the same.

The Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, along with the myriad things, never depart from this “center,” even for an instant. Before joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure have appeared, Confucians call this center “pure unity” or “preserving the spirit”; Daoists call it “embracing the Origin” or “guarding the One”; Buddhists call it “meditative concentration” or “silent contemplation.” All these expressions refer to the balanced nature that people possess from the beginning.

When one’s own innate “center” accords with the original center of the Non-ultimate and the Supreme Ultimate, Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, oneself, and external things become one. Since people and the myriad things all come from a single Origin, a mind in stillness does not cling to arising or ceasing, movement or stillness, coming or going, or imbalance. In this way, one can regard all things as equal, no longer bound by distinctions of life and death, and abide in the utmost state of centeredness and uprightness.

On Sitting in Forgetfulness

“Sit” means allowing agitation to subside; “forget” means letting scattered thoughts grow quiet. If you cannot settle into stillness, the body’s restless activity will not cease; if you cannot forget your thoughts, your deliberations will not stop. When bodily restlessness continues, the spirit can scarcely become settled; when thoughts do not cease, the mind and spirit can scarcely become calm. Unless you can quiet the body, stop its exertions, still your thoughts, and forget distracting notions, you cannot experience the Dao spoken of here.

The ancients therefore established two methods, “stopping” and “observing,” to address the two faults of a scattered or drowsy mind. “Stopping” means halting distraction and bringing the mind to rest. “Observing” means noticing drowsiness and transforming it into clear wisdom. Without the power of concentration, distraction cannot be stopped; without turning inward to reflect, drowsiness cannot be dispelled.

Most people of deep attainment in ancient times began in this way. Yan Hui relaxed his limbs, cast aside cleverness and artifice, forgot his body, and relinquished discriminating thought in order to commune with the Great Dao. Ziqi leaned against a table in quiet sitting and forgot himself. Mingdao sat as calmly and motionlessly as a clay figure. Master Xu said, “Nourish the spirit through stillness and concentration, and let no distracting thought arise.” Guangchengzi said, “Do not look or listen; guard the spirit and keep it still.” The Queen Mother of the West said, “Do not weary the body or deplete the vital essence.” Some practitioners cultivated on Mount Lingshan for six years or on Mount Shaoshi for nine. Others refrained from lying down for long periods and remained seated upright, their body and mind unmoving, entering a state of profound stillness. There are many such practitioners in Buddhism as well; their methods amount to stopping distraction and noticing drowsiness.

If you do not use quiet sitting to nourish and cultivate yourself, how can the sacred embryo, a term for the inner fruit of cultivation, be brought to completion? Once the great matter of concentration and wisdom is understood, you can roam freely and at ease. If it is not yet understood, you should not abandon quiet sitting. But if you sit in a dull, rigid stupor, you fall into what is called the “dark mountain cave of ghosts,” a metaphor for a stagnant and benighted state. If your outward appearance is still while your mind remains agitated, this is called “sitting while galloping”: the body sits, but the mind races. Such a state cannot be called “sitting in oblivion.”

On Subduing the Mind (on how to settle and discipline thoughts)

The human mind is ancient and treacherous, and easily shaken. In the blink of an eye, it can range through all things. When greed rises, it is as fierce as a tiger, wolf, hawk, or falcon; when malice takes hold, it is as cruel as a pit viper, scorpion, or venomous snake. Let it run unchecked, and it is like ten thousand horses galloping into the wind; indulge it, and it is like a troop of monkeys leaping among the trees. The stray thoughts born in the mind wound like halberds, spears, swords, and lances; when it schemes, it lays ambushes everywhere, like nets, hooks, and awls. Even with a stipend of a thousand measures of grain, it feels no satisfaction; even in a nine-storied pavilion, it feels no glory. Most things in the world can be understood, but the human mind alone is hard to fathom.

So how can this mind be subdued? First teach it contentment, then restrain it firmly. Curb its indulgence and gather in its scattered thoughts. Dissolve the sharp edges within it and remove its hidden snares. Forget wealth and status, and bring the racing, scattered mind to unity; settle your thoughts and let go of grievances. Let joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure subside, no longer flaring up at will; silently turn away from deluded imaginings. Let the six desires—the various cravings for external things—arise no more, and the seven emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, aversion, and desire—fall into disorder no more. Keep the principles and circumstances of the world from taking hold in the mind, like moonlight reflected on water or clouds dispersing into the sky. Follow things as they are, without contrivance, calm and unmoving. Only then is the mind subdued.

It is like foreign enemies surrendering to the Central Plain, or ministers submitting to their ruler. From then on, the mind is settled and free of worry; weapons are laid aside, the six desires cease to arise, and the Three Poisons—greed, anger, and delusion—are extinguished. The world is then at peace within this mind.

Inscription for the Study at Yangshan

When dark clouds disperse, the wisdom of prajna shines forth; use compassion to aid living beings. Delusion is ignorance; awakening is wisdom flowing across the open sky like moonlight.

Compassion should fill all twelve periods of the day. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, hold all living beings in compassion. Let every action accord with Suchness—the true, unchanging nature of things—and keep the mind constant.

Guard against every desire: this is precept. Put an end to every failing, and use wisdom to relieve the poor. When the Five Skandhas—form, sensation, perception, formations, and consciousness that make up body and mind—are empty and still, all Five Aggregates are empty, and one can become a bodhisattva. Practice generosity widely and accumulate hidden virtue, and one’s innate nature can become perfectly radiant.

The Buddhist Way is within the mind; the Buddha is the mind. Focus on the mind, and the Buddha can be settled within. With the mirror of great wisdom, turn the light back upon your own mind. If craving can be brought to an end, surely there is no need to rely on anything else. In wisdom there is no greed.

The ear faculty (the root of hearing) can enter the realm of the bodhisattva. Practice generous giving and quietly accumulate De, so that your original nature becomes perfectly radiant.

In cultivating the Buddhist path, the heart-mind is essential: the Buddha is the heart-mind, and settling your own heart-mind is itself drawing near to the Buddha. Reflect on your inner life with the mirror of vast wisdom. When craving and attachment have been dispelled, you will know that this does not depend on external things. Wisdom contains no craving.

The six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—are all empty in their nature and can illuminate the darkness of delusion; afflictions then naturally dissipate. The Dao is not far removed from ordinary people. People can carry the Dao forward; the Dao does not depend on people to do so. The responsibility for upholding the Dao rests with oneself.

Strive diligently day and night without slackening, cleansing the dust from consciousness. Through vigorous cultivation, purify the six faculties and become attuned to the Tathagata. When wholesome intentions do not waver, a pure body naturally appears. Settle the mind and spirit, quiet scattered thoughts, and enter meditative stillness. Calm the mind in reflection, and let the spirit grow clear.

In daily life, awareness, seeing, and hearing are all wondrous functions. The ability to endure humiliation brings completeness wherever one goes. Cultivating forbearance makes merit and virtue grow day by day, and the burdens of the world cannot obstruct practice. When the mind is blocked, it becomes agitated; when it is open and unobstructed, the bodhisattva realm can emerge.

When awakened nature—one’s innate nature of awakening—shines forth, body and mind themselves are the Buddha’s teaching; there is no need to seek it in outward forms. Understand this, and you will know that truth is not divided into ancient and modern. The great, perfect, impartial wisdom is the original heart-mind. The three foundations of practice—precepts, meditation, and wisdom—must be firmly established, and then craving, anger, and other afflictions cannot intrude. If one clings to the six sense objects before one’s eyes—forms, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and mental objects—or to the five aggregates—form, feeling, perception, formation, and consciousness—they become obstacles that obscure the nature of the mind. Understand this, and you will feel that the whole earth has turned to gold, revealing a realm in which all things are clear, pure, and precious.

This teaching is the most direct: it begins with realizing the mind and seeing one’s nature. The Tathagata appeared in the world to reveal a matter of supreme importance. Truly understand its meaning, and you can become a Golden Immortal, the Daoist term for an accomplished immortal. Practice giving, compassion, and forbearance, and cultivate freedom from greed; remain upright and balanced at all times. If you treat others and handle affairs with equality and impartiality, your mind will not grow clouded, like a lotus blooming in the depths of winter.

Awareness, seeing, and hearing are wondrous functions; in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, remain at ease and as you naturally are. Morning or evening, do not be constrained by time or external circumstances. To cling to no thing or its appearances: this is the work of cultivation. When there is no self, no other, and no attachment to any appearance, you can truly contemplate the profound principle of stillness and emptiness. The perfectly radiant nature is complete from the beginning and lacks nothing. Having reached the top of the pole, you must still go onward; at midnight, the moon hangs alone in the sky.

Inscription on the left side of the seat in Yangshan’s alchemy chamber

(An inscription placed to the left of the seat in the alchemy chamber)

Yin and Yang are harmonized and balanced. To be gentle and accommodating without following the crowd is “bathing”—a method in cultivation for regulating body and mind. Even out the breath, letting it gradually grow mild and gentle, like fragrance wafting through the limbs.

The nose faculty (the root of smell).

The Po (the spirit activity associated with the lungs) dwells in the lungs and harmonizes body and mind. The breath is long and fine, seeming to be present and yet almost absent. This is how one gauges the proper measure of the fire during cultivation. Ultimately, the mind must be free of thoughts: know strength, yet remain gentle and still. Keep the original Qi (the fundamental, innate vital energy) constantly present; draw in your radiance, conceal your traces, and govern the Six Roots—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind.

When the Five Qi in the eyes gather and return to their source, this is gathering the medicine. Let the Hun dwell in the liver and the Po in the lungs, harmonizing body and mind. Return to thoughtlessness and bear Yin while embracing Yang. The Gate of the Mysterious Female (a symbol of life’s source and the meeting place of Yin and Yang) holds the true Qi within. Embrace and guard the original unity; stop stray thoughts and quiet anxiety. The body one is born with is the elixir furnace.

The Shen and the Spleen are both within oneself. The Root of Heaven (the source of life) is also within the body, and the original spirit naturally rests there. Keep the intention in the Spleen, and use it to refine Mercury and Lead (terms from alchemy that here refer to the Yin-Yang vital essences refined internally). Everyday thoughts are the pivot of the Golden Elixir; keep them within the square inch of the heart and do not let them scatter.

Stop listening to sounds and draw in the hearing; restrain Jing, Qi, and Shen. When the Three Blossoms in the ears form leaves (an inner alchemical image symbolizing the gathering of Jing, Qi, and Shen), this is the Elixir Seed. Let Jing and Qi remain settled in the kidneys and merge into one. Know clarity, yet remain in obscurity. Keep the original Jing from dispersing, and remain diligent through all twelve double-hours of the day. This is the work of cultivation. Eat plainly, speak little, and keep the mind focused at all times. Let the spirit of the mouth dwell in the heart, so that even the subtlest thoughts do not wander outward. Make everything whole and complete, without leakage: this is Firming and Sealing, the containment of the Jing and Qi gained through refinement.

Do not disturb the Numinous Terrace (the mind and spirit); regard the heart as a Mercury cauldron and the body as a Lead furnace. Mercury and Lead, the two substances of internal refinement, congeal into a Mysterious Pearl, a single grain as large as a millet seed. The moment the Intention Horse (the wandering mind) bolts, Mercury is lost; at the slightest stir of the Mind Monkey (the restless mind), Lead dries up. If you can settle yourself and pass through the “Thirteen Followers” (the factors of body and mind that must be governed and brought under control), what have life and death to do with you?

The Hun, Po, spirit, and consciousness, along with form, body, fragrance, and taste, are all like attendants. Gather them under a single Qi, pour it into the Mysterious Pearl, and then return it to the Central Realm (the central region of the body in internal alchemy). Make the Mysterious Garden (a symbol of a pure and still realm) clean and level, with Jing and Qi flowing unobstructed. If the mind wanders, Mercury is lost; if the Mind Monkey stirs, Lead dries up. If you can settle yourself and pass through the “Thirteen Followers,” life and death will no longer bind you. The Hun, Po, spirit, consciousness, form, body, fragrance, and taste must all be gathered by a single Qi, poured into the Mysterious Pearl, and returned to the center within the body.

The Abode of Mystery, the dwelling place of immortals, is pure and level, and the field of the heart has been cultivated until it is no longer overgrown. The Great Elixir, the essence formed through Neidan (internal alchemy), shines brilliantly, clear as an ice vessel. It appears alone, radiant and majestic, with no one to accompany it.

Jing (essence) is the foundation from which Shen (spirit) arises; Qi (vital energy) is the source that nourishes life. When these three coalesce, they accord with Heaven and Earth. The handle of the Dipper, the part of the Big Dipper shaped like a handle, circles through the heavens.

At midnight, true Qi rises from the root of body and mind; at the first moment of noon, it flows toward Kunlun, the place within the body where Qi moves in Neidan practice. The Golden Crow, symbol of the sun, and the Jade Rabbit, symbol of the moon, come to rest together. One sees clearly that the Five Aggregates, the five elements that make up embodied experience, are all empty.

The True Dao Cannot Be Transmitted

The arts of the world can be transmitted, but the Dao cannot. The arts can be explained, but the Dao cannot be made clear in words. Laozi said, “A Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; a name that can be precisely defined is not the constant name.” The Dao has no words to begin with, so what is there to say? The Dao is originally empty and still, so what is there to pass on? One must first realize it within one’s own heart, then use a teacher’s explanation to confirm one’s understanding. When one’s words and actions accord with what one has realized, the teacher may be said to have guided one to attain the Dao.

A teacher is like a huabiao, a marker set beside an ancient road, showing the way. If people do not follow that road, it is not the marker’s fault. A teacher can discern right from wrong, but cannot make everyone attain the Dao. The Diamond Sutra says, “If one says that the Tathagata liberates sentient beings, one falls into the notions of self, person, sentient beings, and lifespan.” This means that sentient beings’ inherent nature is already complete. A teacher merely awakens them, helping them understand the truth and liberate themselves. To say, “I can liberate sentient beings,” is to cling to worldly names and distinctions. Laozi also said, “Those who realize the constant, true Dao attain it of their own accord.” He did not say that a teacher could attain the Dao on someone else’s behalf.

These days, practitioners pursue the strange and bizarre. They claim that some can leave the body in spirit, while others can communicate with the holy; that some have seen hell or traveled through heaven; that spirits associate with them, or ghosts bring them dreams and retribution. They use calamity and blessing to mislead people, and good and ill fortune to deceive them. They treat abstaining from grain as spiritual practice and walking at night as meditation; they call drinking wine and eating meat a way to nourish Jing, and bending at the waist with the head lowered a way to sit in stillness. They mistake delusion for meditation and confusion for Buddhist teaching; they take counting breaths as cultivating life and identifying with the mind and its awareness as cultivating nature.

Some even go naked, ingest Qi, gather Yin-Yang energies, and play with sexual organs, engaging in filthy, licentious, and perverse acts. They call these practices secret and forbid others to question them; then they bow and prostrate themselves, claiming to be disciples. Such things are too numerous to describe. If truly discerning and virtuous teachers, those able to guide practice correctly, refuse to go along with these bizarre practices, they are looked down upon. Their views are not respected; instead, they are faulted, condemned, and slandered everywhere. How pitiful! Would people in the world rather believe what is false than what is true?

Any Dao that can be transmitted is ultimately an art. Yet even if one realizes something inwardly, one should not therefore regard it as delusion. If one does not realize it within oneself but instead seeks ceaselessly outside, that is not the True Dao. Thus, the arts can be transmitted.

The bodies of humans and animals are different: humans stand upright, with straight bodies, while animals lie prone, with bodies set horizontally. The human form resembles Heaven and Earth, so humans should follow the nature of Heaven and Earth. The forms of animals run counter to the shape of Heaven and Earth, and they are chiefly there for human use. Animals with feathers, scales, or shells mostly hold their bodies horizontally. Their prone, horizontal posture also symbolizes a violent temperament. Wolves, tigers, eagles, owls, venomous snakes, and dragons are among the fierce, greedy, quick-tempered creatures of the world.

Humans have upright heads and square feet, broad backs and wide bellies. They should also uphold the Dao and De (the Way and Virtue), and observe benevolence and righteousness. For this reason, they are considered the noblest of all beings. An upright body also symbolizes walking the Dao with integrity. If people can keep integrity in their hearts, govern the people, and serve their ruler, they can become the leading force among the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, and humanity. In the character “upright,” the central stroke descends between the other strokes, embodying the idea of occupying the center. Confucius said, “Human life is upright.” Only those whose bodies and minds are upright can truly be called human; those whose bodies and minds are crooked and deviant are like animals. In this world, few people manage to keep their bodies and minds from becoming crooked.

On Grafting Trees

There are many kinds of flowers and trees. Some trees have colors that are not pleasing to the eye, and their fruit is unpalatable. They are ordinary trees. Yet trees can be improved through grafting.

When a tree first puts out tender shoots, an experienced gardener cuts off the tips of its original branches and grafts on superior ones, then wraps the graft with straw and packs it with soil to hold it in place. Afterward, as the spring wind blows and rain and dew nourish it, new growth emerges from the old branches. The fruit that was once sour and bitter becomes sweet. Ordinary trees can bloom with unusual flowers and bear fruit that is both beautiful to look at and good to eat. Everyone admires their beauty and is willing to taste their fruit.

From this, it is clear that the claim that a person’s nature cannot change is mistaken. When a thought first arises, if one can cut away evil thoughts and replace them with good plans, sustain them with patience, secure them with sincerity, nurture them with harmony, and nourish them with wisdom, good thoughts will grow and evil thoughts will cease. Someone who was once crooked and corrupt can become upright; someone who was once deceitful and dishonest can become truthful and trustworthy. In this way, flowers of wisdom can bloom and fruits of truth can ripen. People will respect his abilities and praise his aspirations. To say that one’s nature cannot change and evil conduct cannot be reversed is to deny what makes a person truly human.

I observed the grafting of trees and came to understand the principle of removing evil and turning toward good. I therefore wrote “On Grafting Trees.”

Diagram of the Three Bodies with One Root

The Dao is expressed through the workings of the Three Bodies;

in principle, they accord with one true source.

On the Three Bodies with One Root

The Dao gives rise to “one,” and “one” divides into “two,” called Qian. From this also begin the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, and humanity. When the ancients created symbols, they always took their model from Qianyuan, the generative source represented by Qian. Daoism has the three realms of Jade Clarity, Highest Clarity, and Great Clarity; Buddhism has the three bodies of Dharma Body, Reward Body, and Transformation Body. Shakyamuni is aided by the two bodhisattvas Manjushri and Samantabhadra, while Amitabha is accompanied by the two bodhisattvas Avalokiteshvara and Mahasthamaprapta. All of these express the idea that the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) contains three. What is called “three” is Qianyuan.

Qian belongs to Metal, which is why Daoism uses names such as Golden Elixir, Golden Cauldron, and Golden Lord. Buddhism likewise speaks of the Diamond, the Golden Immortal, and the Golden Form. Whatever bears “gold” in its name is generally used to symbolize Qian. Here I will speak only of one Buddha; there is no need to explain the rest one by one, since the same principles can be inferred from this example.

Avalokiteshvara, beside Amitabha, wears white robes, while Mahasthamaprapta wears blue robes. Blue belongs to the East, and white to the West. Blue belongs to Wood and symbolizes compassion, benevolence, and the teaching of living beings; white belongs to Metal and symbolizes wisdom, awakening, and the guidance of living beings. The Buddha stands between the two bodhisattvas, his hands empty and his bearing balanced between high and low. This symbolizes a nature in harmony with Heaven and Earth, following what is natural and acting through Wuwei (non-action). Each bodhisattva holds a ritual implement, symbolizing the different ways in which living beings are taught. Their feet rest on lotus flowers when they stand, symbolizing purity untouched by defilement; their fingers always point somewhere, symbolizing adherence to the Middle Way and conformity with principle. Their garments are often pure red, symbolizing Yang Qi; their bodies are firm like gold, symbolizing strength and vigor; and their bare feet symbolize freedom from worldly concerns. There is no need to discuss the other symbols in detail; they too can be understood from these examples.

The Dao’s true substance is empty, still, and without form. It has no color or shape and cannot be seen or heard. Yet Buddhism and Daoism present it to the world through concrete images. Does this not seem contradictory in principle? Alas, the longer the sages have been gone, the more the lineage of the Dao has divided and branched. Without images, how could later generations transmit the teachings or inspire those who came after them? The ancients had no choice but to adopt this method. Indeed, seeing these borrowed images and recalling the ancient Dao can itself serve as a path to awakening faith.

Still, creating images and using them to teach inevitably involves a degree of convention, while the sages’ original intent has never differed. The true substance beyond images is difficult to explain in words. Seen as a whole, the myriad distinctions all arise from the same root; seen separately, the single root appears as myriad distinctions. In awakening, one body encompasses all three bodies; in delusion, the three bodies cannot return to unity.

The Diamond Sutra says: “The mind of the past cannot be grasped; the mind of the present cannot be grasped; the mind of the future cannot be grasped.” The “three minds” can be understood in terms of time: what is applied to what came before is called the mind of the past, what is applied to the present is called the mind of the present, and what is applied to what comes after is called the mind of the future. They can also refer respectively to the preceding thought, which has already passed away; the present thought, which is arising now; and the following thought, which has yet to appear. Although past, present, and future are distinct, their underlying principle is the same.

The sage’s mind remains constant, transcending past and present. It is not altered by changes in worldly affairs or carried along by the passage of time. The sage uses the mind to govern the realm, teach the people, nourish the myriad things, and order the four seasons. Though these activities arise from reason and feeling and take shape in concrete affairs, the sage clings to none of them. Looking back to their beginning, we find stillness and motionlessness; observing their present state, we find openness and Wuwei (non-action); contemplating their ultimate end, we find depth without limit. The sage nurtures and transforms living beings, yet they do not know its beneficence; its influence extends throughout the realm, yet the realm does not credit it with the achievement. Thus, the past does not cling to reputation, the present does not cling to outward appearances, and the future does not cling to any principle. This is what is meant by “the three minds cannot be grasped.”

The “Diagram of Six Pairs” sets out six pairs of opposing ideas. The first pair discussed here is “wisdom” and “ignorance”: upon awakening, ignorance can turn into wisdom; under delusion, wisdom can become ignorance. Another pair is “Buddha-nature” and “sentient beings”: when sentient beings are deluded, Buddha-nature is obscured, and they therefore appear different from the Buddha.

Wisdom and foolishness are opposites: with awakening, foolishness turns into wisdom; when one is lost, wisdom can also become foolishness. Buddha-nature—the innate capacity for awakening that all beings possess—stands in relation to sentient beings: when they are lost, Buddha-nature appears as their deluded state; when they awaken, sentient beings reveal Buddha-nature. Affliction and Bodhi, the wisdom of awakening, are opposites: with awakening, affliction can turn into Bodhi; when one is lost, Bodhi can also become affliction. Joy and anger are opposites: with awakening, anger can turn into joy; when one is lost, joy can also turn into anger. Self-interest and benevolence and righteousness are opposites: with awakening, self-interest can turn into benevolence and righteousness; when one is lost, benevolence and righteousness can become the pursuit of private gain. Delusion and truth are opposites: with awakening, delusion turns into truth; when one is lost, truth can also become delusion.

These opposing states interact and depend on one another, each serving as the other’s substance and function, and they can transform into one another. The highest sages and the most sincere people, as well as the most foolish and stubborn, all possess these same possibilities. These six pairs of opposites are like water and hot water: both are water in essence, differing only in their function and state. Hot water cools back into water, and water becomes hot water when heated. They can transform into one another and cannot be sharply separated; they differ only in temperature.

Hot water comes from water, just as foolishness is wisdom appearing when one is lost. Water can also be heated into hot water, just as Buddha-nature appears in sentient beings. Hot water cannot exist apart from water, and water cannot exist apart from hot water; likewise, none of these six pairs of states exists apart from the other. Thus, when foolishness appears, wisdom is not manifest; when sentient beings are lost, Buddha-nature is not manifest; when delusion appears, truth is not manifest; when anger appears, joy is not manifest; when affliction appears, Bodhi is not manifest; when self-interest appears, benevolence and righteousness are not manifest. This is like water becoming hot water: its original state as water is temporarily concealed. When the hot water cools, the state of water appears again.

Although these states wax and wane in relation to one another, at root they do not have two different natures. Anger and joy do not each possess a separate nature, nor does joy arise somewhere else only after anger has been removed. At their root, they follow one principle. It is like a stick with anger at one end and joy at the other: whichever end a person picks up determines the state that appears. Water heated becomes hot water; hot water cooled becomes water. The six pairs of relations above are the same.

Therefore, there is no basis for seeking Buddha-nature apart from sentient beings, wisdom apart from foolishness, or Bodhi apart from affliction.

Someone asked: “The alchemical texts contain many passages and explanations that describe cultivation through metaphor. I have only just begun to follow the Dao and cannot investigate them one by one. I hope to hear something direct and to the point.”

The reply was: “When the Five Qi each remain in their proper place without disorder, the five emotions are not stirred by thought, and there is no craving for the five flavors; when desires are not excessive and one is not tainted by external things; when the six senses are pure and the heart is clear—this is the true Elixir, the genuine original essence formed through inner cultivation. This is the most direct method of cultivation.”

The questioner asked again: “What, in practice, is the method for refining what is called the ‘Two True Elixirs’?”

The reply was: “Cut off worldly affairs and sit quietly in meditation. Bring down the Azure Dragon, subdue the White Tiger, extinguish the Vermilion Bird, still the Black Tortoise, and keep the Hooked Array in its place. Then the five weapons are not used, and the four directions are at peace. Such is the Elixir method. ‘Azure Dragon,’ ‘White Tiger,’ ‘Vermilion Bird,’ ‘Black Tortoise,’ and ‘Hooked Array’ are terms in alchemical texts that symbolize states of body and mind and stages in cultivation; they do not refer to external spirit beasts. Here they describe settling body and mind and quieting all disturbances.”

The questioner asked again: “Then can everyone do this at once?”

The reply was: “Although the method is as described, one must first cultivate to this state before one can say the Elixir method is already at hand. Until one has reached this state, one cannot say it is already at hand.”

The questioner asked again: “Are true lead, true mercury, true water, and true fire actual substances, or are they metaphors among the countless words written about them?”

The reply was: “The Dao cannot be sought in external things; pursuing it outward is not the Great Dao. What are called true lead and true mercury are the foundations of Heaven and Earth; what are called true water and true fire are the sources of Yin-Yang. In the human body, they correspond to nature and life, and to spirit and vital energy; they are not substances that actually exist in the world. The ancients did not wish to reveal the principle directly, so they used many external things as metaphors, leading people from distant symbols back to themselves, so they might understand the transformations of Yin-Yang beyond outward forms and bring their own spirit and vital energy into harmony. Apart from the original spirit of one’s innate life, all visible things—the vessel, ingredients, dragons, tigers, tortoises, snakes, and the rest—are metaphors.”

Someone asked, “People in the world say that if you set up an altar and a quiet room, arrange a furnace and cauldron, and refine worldly medicines according to the laws of Yin-Yang change, you can take the elixir once it is ready and thereby live forever and ascend to immortality. Is this true?”

The reply was, “True returning elixir practice means taking the body as the furnace and the heart as the cauldron. The method of refinement is thoughtlessness; the medicine is emptiness and stillness. The fire of spirit and intention tempers it, while the water of one’s original nature harmonizes it. When all of this comes together in an instant, one attains the subtle benefits of cultivation. Persist over time, and you can be certain of becoming an immortal. Refining ordinary worldly medicines, by contrast, wastes both money and effort. Among the ancient emperors and eminent figures, many were deceived by alchemists who sought immortality through elixir making. Of the many thousands, scarcely one succeeded.”

Someone asked, “Elixirs, furnaces, and stoves are still found in caves and dwellings in famous mountains. Could the ancients all have been mistaken?”

The reply was, “Those who attained the Dao set up furnaces and cauldrons: outwardly they refined ordinary medicines, while inwardly they cultivated the elixir of the heart. They practiced according to the times of day and night, applying the timing methods of gentle and fierce fire, drawing out and adding in. They used the effects of the external furnace fire to bring the fluctuations of their inner emotions under control. If inner cultivation does not slacken, the timing of the outer fire will not go awry. Once inner cultivation slackens, the outer practice also loses its effect. Guard the furnace and cauldron outwardly, while inwardly setting Kan and Li—the terms that symbolize Yin-Yang and Water and Fire—in motion. When the inner elixir is complete, the outer medicine can be completed too. After taking it, how could one fail to ascend?”

People today know only how to refine the outer medicine, but do not understand the cultivation of the inner elixir. The six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—are not clear; the three poisons—greed, anger, and delusion—have not been eliminated. Stillness and wisdom have not arisen, deluded thoughts have not been cast off, Kan and Li cannot unite, and Mercury and Lead—the terms that symbolize Yin-Yang and the vital energies in internal alchemy—cannot congeal. Even if they possess the outer medicine, they have not yet truly glimpsed the gateway to the Way of the Immortals.

Question: Now that we know the substances used in elixir cultivation, we must also understand the firing process. How do the substances coalesce, and how should the firing process be applied?

Answer: When Jing, Qi, and Shen resonate with one another, and the mind and consciousness remain free from reckless movement, this is called forming the elixir. Kan and Li, symbols of Water and Fire and of Yin-Yang, revolve silently within. When the mind is free of stray thoughts throughout all twelve double-hours of the day, this is the firing process. If one fails to practice with focused attention at every moment, the firing process will go awry. If one’s vital essence and spirit are continually dissipated through restless activity, the “Great Medicine”—the substance formed from the coalescence of Jing, Qi, and Shen in Neidan cultivation—will not come to fruition. Knowing only the substances, without understanding the firing process, is ultimately of no benefit.

Question: In cultivation, must one practice according to the Qi corresponding to the solar terms and hexagrams, following the appointed hours?

Answer: The true firing process has no fixed season, and the Great Medicine has no fixed method. The ancients spoke of seasonal markers and the Qi of the hexagrams to help people understand the changes of Yin-Yang, recognize the hexagrams and their numerical principles, and use them to check the hours before practicing accordingly. The purpose is to let Jing, Qi, Shen, and the movements of the mind accord with the workings of Heaven and match the hexagrams without going against them.

If the workings of Heaven and Earth lose their proper sequence, Yin-Yang falls into disorder, and wind and rain become irregular. If the mind is constantly stirred by reckless thoughts, the firing process will go awry, and the Neidan will be difficult to refine. Practitioners must remain in accord with the transformations of nature at every moment, so that the Five Phases move in accordance with their proper order. For this reason, the ancients established hexagrams and appointed hours as standards for regulating the mind.

Question: Could you explain how to regulate the gentle and forceful fires, and how the fire’s advance and retreat work?

Answer: The use of the fire is exceedingly subtle, and few have taught it through the ages. I will offer a brief explanation. Its essential point is simply to harmonize “Metal” and “Fire”: Metal refers to lead, and Fire to mercury. Lead symbolizes darkness; mercury symbolizes Shen (spirit). Shen corresponds to nature, while Qi (vital energy) corresponds to life. When nature and life merge, and Metal and Fire are harmonized, the way of the Elixir is complete.

If the fire is too fierce, it makes one restless and agitated; if it is too gentle, it becomes lax and diffuse. So it must be neither too forceful nor too gentle. At the rear, draw it in and gather it; at the front, let it touch and join. The head advances, and the tail retreats.

Let the practice continue without interruption, seeming both present and absent, gentle and precisely balanced. It is like tuning a stringed instrument: a string pulled too tight will snap, while one too loose will make no sound. Only when it is neither too tight nor too loose, and responds to the fingers as they press and pluck, can it produce the right tone. The art of regulating the fire is the same.

Question: After the Holy Embryo—the inner accomplishment cultivated through Neidan (internal alchemy)—has formed over ten months, should the fire continue to advance?

Answer: This is like smelting ore: once it has been refined into gold, there is no need to put it back into the mine. At this point it is solid, clear, and pure, without admixture; its original nature no longer changes. This is called the “indestructible body of vajra.” Having reached this stage, one may rest at ease. There is no need to advance the fire, and the fire’s balance will not be lost. One need only hold the light within and keep it silently, letting the practice continue without end but without deliberate effort. It is like a fish drinking in water: only the fish knows whether the water is warm or cold.

Question: Is cultivation complete once the Holy Embryo is perfected?

Answer: When the Holy Embryo is perfected after ten months, cultivation has fused into a unified whole. To reach ultimate realization, however, one must still break through that unity, rise into the formless realm, and free oneself from every attachment and boundary. This is called the wondrous Dao.

Question: Both Boyang’s Cantong qi and the Ancient Classic of the Dragon and Tiger were written through the images and principles of the Yijing. Their language is archaic and their meanings concealed, making their main ideas difficult to grasp. Apart from these books, is there a way of cultivation that is clearer and easier to understand?

Answer: The immortals worried that if people obtained methods of cultivation too easily, they might also lose them just as easily. So they used the trigrams of the Yijing to explain the principles. Human beings take Heaven and Earth as the basis of their form, while the Yijing takes the Dao of Heaven and Earth as its model. If you can understand the Yijing, the Dao of Heaven and Earth will also be present in your own heart. The most concise teaching concerns nature and life: nature is the true, formless reality of Taiji, which contains the principle of Yin-Yang before Heaven and Earth are divided; life is the subtle, real presence contained in Wuji, the source that has not yet taken visible form. The Confucian classics, the Buddhist Tripitaka, and countless alchemical texts all remain within the scope of this teaching.

Question: Apart from nature and life, is there a deeper principle?

Answer: That is the heart-mind. It is the dwelling place of Shen, the master of Jing, and the commander of Qi. When the heart-mind comes to rest, Shen becomes settled; when it is focused, Jing becomes focused; when it is calm, Qi becomes calm. When the heart-mind stirs, all kinds of thoughts arise; when it grows still, tangled concerns subside. In its expansive activity, it fills Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang; when it draws inward, it brings the Four Images—the four states of Yin-Yang transformation—into harmony. It can gather the Five Phases and unite the Bagua, harmonize the transformations of Jing and Qi represented in Neidan by lead and mercury, water and fire, and bring Shen, the ethereal soul, the corporeal soul, and the other aspects of the spirit back to their proper places. Becoming an immortal, becoming a Buddha, becoming a master, or becoming a Confucian scholar—all come about through the activity of the heart-mind.

Question: In cultivating the Golden Elixir, which should be cultivated first, nature or life?

Answer: Those who begin with the school of nature take nature as primary and life as its complement; those who begin with the school of life take life as primary and nature as its complement. Cultivating nature requires life: without life, there is only empty wisdom. Cultivating life requires nature: without nature, one becomes withered, with Yang Qi rigid and stagnant. Nature and life come from a single source, yet each has its own distinction; one cannot cling to only one of them.

Question: The human being is rooted in the physical body, original Qi, spirit, innate nature, and life. From beginning to end, where does all this ultimately return?

Answer: The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the source from which Heaven, Earth, and all things had not yet differentiated, blended together and formed Qi, the fundamental force that constitutes all things. Qi changes through different levels; one should not cling to the idea that it is only one thing.

Question: The human being is rooted in the physical body, original Qi, spirit, innate nature, and life. From beginning to end, where does all this ultimately return?

Answer: The Taiji blended together as Qi. Qi condensed into Jing; the subtle function of Jing manifested as Shen; and the subtle function of Shen manifested as nature. When Qi descended into the human being, it became life. Within the human body, Qi governs the physical form: when Qi is abundant, Jing is abundant; when Jing is abundant, Shen becomes clear; when Shen is bright, nature reaches its fullness. Nature is the beginning, and life is the end: human transformation ultimately returns to these.

Question: Is it enough simply to hold to the origin and preserve unity—that is, to keep to the root and focus body and mind as one? The trigrams and Yin-Yang are merely metaphors; why trouble ourselves to investigate them?

Answer: The Way of the immortals cannot be understood by those with shallow learning. If one cannot understand the Taiji as the beginning and Heaven and Earth as the source, or recognize the trigrams, the configurations of Qi, Kan and Li (symbols of Yin-Yang and Water and Fire), and lead and mercury (symbolic terms in Neidan), one cannot be considered well versed in the principles of things. If one merely clings to the origin without understanding change, speaks only of unity without seeking understanding, and remains ignorant of where the Dao lies, how could that be called profound? Those who practice the Way of the immortals cannot succeed if they are rigid and closed-minded; nor can those who do not study attain it.

“‘The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth.’ Is this Mysterious Female something with form and substance?”

The Mysterious Female is the source of the great Dao that preceded Heaven. The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and all things arise from it, and every principle and law ultimately returns to it. Among the myriad things it is called “nature and life”; in the language of alchemy, “lead and mercury”; in the human body, “essence and spirit”; in the images of the trigrams, “Kan and Li”; in the Book of Changes, the “Supreme Ultimate” (Taiji); in Buddhism, “the original nature”; and in Daoism, the “Mysterious Pass.” It is a pivotal opening that contains subtle principles of cultivation, difficult to express fully in words. Whoever comprehends it can endure as long as Heaven and Earth. It is not something with form and substance.

“Since refining and consuming elixirs is unreliable, what can be relied upon?”

Lead, mercury, Jing, Shen, the cauldron and vessels, the medicines, the dragon and tiger, Kan and Li—all refer to things within oneself. In Neidan (internal alchemy), terms such as “lead and mercury,” “dragon and tiger,” and “Kan and Li” are symbolic expressions. Only by understanding them as aspects of one’s own cultivation can one accord with the Great Way of the Golden Elixir. To abandon the treasures one already possesses and search instead for cinnabar in the world is like steaming sand to make a meal or mistaking leaves for gold: it is simply a waste of effort.

“Zhang Boduan (courtesy name Pingshu, a Daoist Neidan practitioner) said, ‘To dismiss one’s wife merely cuts off Yin and Yang in vain; to abstain from food only leaves the stomach and intestines empty.’ Does this mean that cultivating the Golden Elixir need not interfere with family life, eating, or the pursuit of fame and profit?”

The immortals speak this way because people often believe that dismissing one’s wife or abstaining from food is all it takes to follow the Great Way, and then stop seeking their own original spirit of life. If one can live among ordinary people without being entangled in worldly affairs, and remain in the mundane world without being tainted by its customs, one need not forget kindness and abandon duty, abstain from food, or dismiss one’s wife. Nor need one deliberately make oneself seem different from others. That is what it means to cultivate the Dao. But if one seizes only upon the verses of the ancients and assumes that one can become an immortal while remaining attached to family, food, fame, and profit, one will also stray from the path.

Someone asked, “Did people in ancient times have to meet a teacher before they could attain the Dao? Were there also people who attained the Dao without meeting a teacher?”

The answer was: “Before awakening, one needs to meet a teacher for guidance. After awakening, one can take one’s own mind as one’s teacher. Zhuangzi said, ‘If the Dao could be passed on to others, people would all pass it on to their descendants.’ In general, one must rely on one’s own mind to understand. Seeking a teacher only outside oneself often brings no benefit.”

Someone asked, “Can one make sense of the teachings without a teacher to transmit them?”

The answer was: “People who understand on their own, without a teacher, are common in the world. Zhuangzi said, ‘If you follow your own sincerity in taking someone as your teacher, who could be without a teacher?’ Buddhist scriptures also say that in past lives the Buddha had countless teachers. When one now attains the Dao through the spontaneous manifestation of wondrous qualities, this too can be called attaining the Dao without a teacher. ‘Without a teacher’ does not mean having no lineage of transmission at all. It means that instead of seeking help from others, one should turn inward and seek within oneself. If the lineage of transmission is unsound, it can lead one astray; finding a truly suitable teacher is not easy.”

Someone asked, “The ingredients used in the Golden Elixir—the substances and results of Neidan cultivation—are relatively easy to identify. The fire times, the timing, sequence, and measure of the cultivation process, are the hardest part. How should one cultivate to get it right?”

The answer was: “Most alchemical texts, both ancient and modern, do not explain where to begin with the fire times. Only Master Zhang and Bai Yuchan used diagrams and images to explain them, making the essentials very clear. The Lotus Sutra also says that this matter is not easy.”

Someone asked, “The ingredients are easy to recognize, but the timing and intensity of the firing process are the hardest to master. How should it be practiced to be considered correct?”

The reply was, “Most books on alchemy, both ancient and modern, do not explain in practical terms how to apply the firing process. Only Perfected Zhang and Bai Yuchan used diagrams to explain it, making it very clear. The Lotus Sutra calls this ‘the great matter of causal conditions’—a matter that concerns what is fundamental. This shows that it is no small matter and must be truly understood. Throughout the twelve two-hour periods of the day, whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, one should be as peaceful as an infant resting in its mother’s arms. Let Shen and Qi be calm and balanced, while Kan and Li—the symbols of water and fire, Yin and Yang—turn quietly within. Let no deluded thoughts arise in the mind, and let no distracting thoughts stir from outside. When a deluded thought moves, the firing process falls out of control; when a distracting thought arises, the moment is lost.

This state should be gentle and settled, like the sun rising in a cold region; it should also be clear and still, like the full moon in an autumn sky. One must guard it patiently, like a hen brooding over her eggs or a young dragon nourishing its pearl. It is like the primal state in which Heaven and Earth’s Yin and Yang have not yet divided, and primordial Qi remains undifferentiated. Confucians call it the state before joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure have arisen; Buddhists say that sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness have all returned to emptiness. Only through this kind of cultivation can the alchemical path reach completion. If one departs from it, I do not know what the outcome will be.”

Someone asked, “What are the two crescents—the waxing and waning phases that use the moon to illustrate the stages of Yin-Yang waxing and waning?”

The reply was, “The body has its own two crescents. First, consider the Way of Heaven. On the first day of each month, Kun, which symbolizes Yin, begins to turn into the Fu hexagram, like the first appearance of the new moon. By the eighth day, Kun has turned into Lin, like the Moon at its first quarter. On the fifteenth day, it turns into Tai, like the full moon. On the sixteenth day, Qian, which symbolizes Yang, begins to turn into Gou, like the Moon beginning to wane. By the twenty-third day, Qian has turned into Dun, like the Moon at its last quarter. On the thirtieth day, Qian has almost entirely transformed and returns to Kun, like the Moon disappearing at month’s end. After that, Zhen emerges again within Kun, and light reappears after the Moon has vanished. The cycle repeats without end.

“From the eighth to the twenty-third day is exactly sixteen days, called ‘one jin.’ At this point Yin and Yang are equal, hence the name ‘two crescents.’ The alchemical path uses the Moon’s phases as an analogy, making them a standard for observing the changes of Yin and Yang within the body.”

Someone asked, “Could you explain the two strings in the inner image?” The answer was: “Half a catty of gold and half a catty of silver come together above and below, like the full moon. If there is even the slightest error, the Dao of the Elixir cannot succeed. This principle is profoundly subtle and can only be passed on through the mind.”

Someone asked, “What are the two solstices?” The answer was: “Speaking of what is close at hand, the sun has its two solstices, the hours of the day have their two solstices, and even the divisions of the hour have their two solstices. Kan and Li, the trigrams that symbolize water and fire in Daoist internal alchemy, and Zi and Wu, the directions and times that symbolize the convergence of Yin and Yang, interact within the body. There is no need to seek the winter and summer solstices as solar terms.”

Someone asked, “Are the mind and intention one thing or two?” The answer was: “The mind is awareness; intention is thought. When the mind becomes aware of something, thought arises along with it. The mind’s workings cannot be separated from intention. Both are within oneself; there is no need to seek the winter and summer solstices. Mind and intention are bound to one another: intention is governed by the mind, and the mind cannot be apart from intention. The two cannot be cleanly divided. The spleen governs intention. The character for ‘intention’ contains the character for ‘heart,’ showing its connection to the mind. The spleen belongs to Earth and governs deliberation; the character for ‘thought’ is made up of ‘field’ and ‘heart.’ Most characters expressing intention, deliberation, aspiration, imagination, gratitude, resentment, and similar meanings contain the ‘heart’ radical. This shows that the mind is primary in intention. Thus it is said: everything is created by the mind.”

Someone asked, “Could you explain the mystery of the five spirits working together?”

The reply was: The hun (ethereal soul) arises from the liver and corresponds to the eyes; the po (corporeal soul) arises from the lungs and corresponds to the nose; Jing (essence) arises from the kidneys and corresponds to the ears; Shen (spirit) arises from the heart and corresponds to the tongue; and intention arises from the spleen and corresponds to the limbs. Hun, po, Jing, Shen, and intention work together, enabling people to see, hear, sense, and perceive. The eye faculty needs intention to distinguish colors; the ear faculty needs intention to hear sounds; the nose faculty needs intention to smell odors; and the tongue faculty needs intention to discern flavors. Without intention, these faculties cannot function with agility.

Therefore, when the mind does not deliberate, the hun does not venture outward; when it does not consider, Jing does not stir; when it does not cling to imaginings, the po does not become scattered; and when it does not dwell on concerns, Shen does not waver. Inwardly, spirit, Jing, hun, and po gather within intention; outwardly, the eyes, ears, nose, and tongue are all governed by the spleen’s intention. In terms of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), Metal, Wood, Water, and Fire are thereby brought into harmony with Earth. Regulating the five Qi (vital energies) and bringing the myriad spirits together both depend on the intention governed by the spleen. An old saying goes: “When not a single thought arises, the whole is revealed; as soon as the six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—stir, it is as though clouds have covered them.” This, too, is one of the essential principles of cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy).

Someone asked, “What do nature, spirit, and mind have in common, and how do they differ?”

The reply was: Nature is the true emptiness, still and unmoving. Shen (spirit) is the wondrous, responsive activity within that true emptiness. The Shen within nature can reach through in response to what it encounters. The mind is nature’s hinge and Shen’s activating mechanism. When the hinge and mechanism are still, nature and Shen are settled; once they are set in motion, nature and Shen begin to waver. Although nature and Shen have different functions, they do not depart from the same underlying substance. Nature itself does not manifest its numinous power; Shen is what enables it to do so. Nature itself does not respond and communicate; Shen is what enables it to do so. Settling one’s nature and nurturing one’s spirit are accomplished through the mind. Every kind of activity arises from the mind.

Someone asked, “What is wisdom?” The answer was: “Wisdom is not something a person can possess in their heart. Intelligence belongs to Kan, the Water trigram; insight belongs to Li, the Fire trigram. Water represents intelligence, flowing without cease; fire represents insight, shining without cease. As the water of intelligence and the fire of insight continue to move, they treat all things equally. Intelligence enables a person to understand everything; insight enables a person to see everything clearly. To understand fully and discern clearly is wisdom. The wisdom spoken of in Buddhism is what Laozi called spirit. The awakened person’s original nature is one with the Great Void, the boundless expanse of emptiness; the deluded person sees principle as though in the darkness of night. Ordinary people and sages alike possess wisdom; the difference lies only in whether they are awakened.”

Someone asked, “What is grain abstention?” The answer was: “The ancients had ample Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence). After practicing for a long time, they naturally no longer needed food. People today do not understand the principle. They force themselves to go without eating for five or seven days, mistake hunger for cultivation, and take pride in how long they can endure it. As a result, their heads become coated with dust and grime, their bodies grow thin, and their vital essence is depleted. The elderly and frail become anxious, yet still call this the Dao. Is it not foolish to put oneself through hardship in practice, hoping only for a reward of pleasure in the future?”

Someone asked, “Is it right to lay the foundation for alchemical practice by relying solely on foods that replenish essence and strengthen Yang?” The answer was: “People depend on food to sustain life. It is enough for food to support the body and preserve life. If you indulge in the pleasures of eating, you are feeding the Three Corpses—the spirits said in Daoism to dwell within the body and hinder cultivation—and the Five Demons, here referring to evil influences that deplete vital essence. This damages the spirit and disperses the original Qi. How could it be a way to prolong life? If you neither observe fasting and abstinence nor discipline body and mind, how can you be called a pure cultivator of the Dao?”

No sage or worthy person has ever said that drinking oneself drunk and eating one’s fill of meat can make one an immortal.

Someone asked: “People in the world who do not understand the principles of the Dao only want to preserve their bodies and pursue immortality. If their cultivation does not achieve this, what should they do?”

The reply was: “This question is like a lotus blooming in the snow: from ancient times to the present, very few people have raised it. Most people who study the Dao seek only to preserve their bodies and gather Qi, cherishing and nourishing their physical forms in the hope of long life. They do not understand that life and death are the great matter. When life is about to end and death draws near, they will be thrown into confusion and helplessness, and cannot avoid being carried by karma into the various realms of rebirth. A scripture says, ‘The ghost realm is always fierce in itself.’ This is what it describes. Those who cultivate must thoroughly investigate this final passage and not treat it as an ordinary, minor matter.

Someone asked again: “Life and death are the great matter. Please guide me through the confusion and explain what this final passage is.”

The reply was: “A person receives a body from their parents, forms a body modeled on Heaven and Earth, relies on the Five Qi—the energies that constitute and nourish life—to sustain life, and survives through the help of various conditions. From the crown of the head to the soles of the feet, everything is subject to change and impermanence. Life and death are therefore truly the great matter. A verse by Maitreya says, ‘Even if you were granted eighty thousand kalpas, in the end you would still return to emptiness.’

“Only the original primordial Yang contained in the beginning of Great Nonbeing—the primal state before the myriad things appeared—will not be destroyed, even when the kalpa-ending fire burns fiercely. Of all else that exists by virtue of external conditions, what could escape death?

“Laojun said, ‘I have my greatest trouble because I have a body.’ He also said, ‘The sage does not cling to himself, and so is able to preserve himself.’ This means that the body will ultimately become a source of trouble, while only the Dao can endure alone. The ancients sought the Dao for the sake of the Dao, not for the sake of the body. If one can realize the Dao of long life and deathlessness, the clear and silent state of extinction in which nothing further arises, and reach the realm beyond both death and birth, why worry about life’s final passage?”

Someone asked, “All things change without cease; this has been true from ancient times to the present. Is there another way in the world to escape death?”

The reply was, “The ancients said, ‘There is an existence that came before Heaven and Earth. Its form is silent and empty, yet it can govern the myriad phenomena and does not wither as the seasons change.’ This is what the Old Lord meant by ‘the Valley Spirit never dies.’ All things change and pass away, but only ‘my Dao’ endures. All things are bound to die, while I alone can escape death—is this not the way to escape death?”

Someone asked, “Buddhism concentrates on investigating life’s ultimate destination. Some even abandon the body to seek the Dao or sacrifice their lives for the benefit of all beings. Why?”

The reply was, “Buddhism holds that before Heaven and Earth took shape, the myriad things had neither names nor forms. The things that now have names and forms are only temporary gatherings of deluded thought and causal conditions, yet people regard them as real and unchanging. If one can grasp this truth, one will understand that body and life are impermanent and will ultimately perish; they can therefore be cast aside like decayed things. The aim is to benefit all beings, seeking the Dao without making plans for oneself. One should devote a lifetime to pursuing the ultimate Dao; this is especially something one must truly understand and grasp at the moment of death.”

Someone said, “According to what you have said, there is no need to pursue the way of long life.”

The reply was, “Long life without death is the true heart of Heaven and Earth. Among the sages of high antiquity, many attained this state. To say it does not exist is to slander the Dao; to say it does exist is to acknowledge how difficult it is to encounter. I fear that people in the world cannot escape death, so I hope they will understand the essentials of life’s ultimate destination as early as possible, lest at death they be born again into another womb. I am not saying the way of long life does not exist; I only fear that beings will not attain it.”

Someone asked, “People who are alive do not even know what tomorrow will bring. Who, then, can know what happens after death?” The reply was: “The ancient books say that perhaps only sages can know the workings of life and death. Ordinary people cannot understand their principles. Yet if you understand where life comes from, you can also understand where it returns; if you understand how life arises, you can also understand how death comes about. Yin and Yang follow the same principle, and life and death are originally one continuous path. Without understanding this key point, how can anyone be qualified to speak of the Dao?”

Someone asked, “When the four great elements that make up the human body—earth, water, fire, and wind—dissipate, where do they ultimately go?” The reply was: “Since ancient times, few have spoken of this. When the illusory body formed from the union of the four great elements dissolves, the four great elements of True Emptiness—the fundamental existence that transcends form, pervades everywhere, and endures forever—remain. The Surangama Sutra says, ‘Pure and original, it pervades the entire Dharma realm.’ If deluded thoughts arise at the moment of death, they will hinder this passage, forming the conditions for rebirth once more and causing one to fall again into a womb-born body. This is a gateway exceedingly difficult to fathom and not easy to clarify.”

Someone else asked, “Do the four great elements of True Emptiness still have awareness?” The reply was: “Look for them, and they cannot be seen; listen for them, and they cannot be heard. The Three Caverns (Dongzhen, Dongxuan, and Dongshen), profound beyond measure, are silent and still, yet possess a wondrous resonance like the sound of bells.” Someone else said, “If there is a clear, ringing sound, how can it be called True Emptiness?” The reply was: “Alas, if it were as insentient as wood or stone, how could it be called the Dao? How could one understand the subtle workings of the sages?”

Someone asked, “You first practiced Chan meditation, and now you are studying the Immortal Way. May I ask who your teachers were, and whether you can tell us how these connections came about?”

He replied, “When I was young, I heard the Chan master Zihu speak of ‘observing the dog’s cry.’ After returning to the abbot’s quarters, I shut the door and sat in meditation. In this way, I awakened to the School of Nature, a method of cultivating one’s original nature and mind. Later, through the meaning of the ‘Millet Pearl’ in the Wuzhen pian (Understanding Reality), a classic of Daoist internal alchemy, I came to understand the School of Life, a method of cultivating life through practice. For more than twenty years after the turmoil of war, despite all the hardships I endured, I never forgot my practice or let it slacken. Once, while traveling, I met a perfected person of profound attainment, who taught me the mysteries of the firing times—the mastery of timing and stages in internal alchemy practice. I followed the method he transmitted and verified its effects in due course. It is only a pity that there are so few people in the world with right understanding, with whom I can discuss, refine, and spread the Great Dao. This is truly lamentable.”

Someone asked, “Why is the Quanzhen school, by and large, so similar to Buddhism?”

He replied, “What Laozi says about emptiness, naturalness, Wuwei (non-action), and stillness already has much in common with Buddhism. As for methods of preserving the body and nourishing life, the sages established these only because circumstances made it necessary. They belong to a lower level of practice and are meant to guide those who advance step by step. As for the highest lineage, who besides the sages can truly enter it? Quanzhen teaches sudden cultivation, which is why it appears similar to Buddhism.”

Someone asked, “What is meant by sudden cultivation?”

He replied, “‘Sudden’ means arriving directly. One does not take a side path or enter through a garden gate, but cultivates the highest way without detour: this is the Way of the Golden Immortal. Entering by a side path, then going from the gate to the hall and from the hall to the inner chamber, is called gradual cultivation. The Qingjing jing (Scripture of Clarity and Stillness) says, ‘Gradually enter the true Dao.’”

Someone asked, “Which is superior: ascending to the heavens, never dying, or departing through a borrowed corpse?” (No answer to this question is preserved here. “Ascending” refers to rising up to become an Immortal; “never dying” means attaining immortality; and “departing through a borrowed corpse” refers to a Daoist way of demonstrating one’s departure from the world by means of a corpse or bodily remains.)

Someone asked, “Of the three states—ascending to Heaven, attaining immortality, and corpse liberation (leaving one’s body behind or departing under the pretense of a corpse)—which is the highest?”

The reply was, “Only when both body and spirit have reached a refined state can one ascend to Heaven. By preserving the spirit and nurturing primordial Qi, one can attain immortality. When the body perishes but the spirit endures, one can achieve corpse liberation. Ascending to Heaven and attaining immortality are rarely seen in this world; people who pass away sitting upright or depart through corpse liberation can be found in every age. Which state is higher or lower depends on what each person has actually attained; it cannot be judged lightly.”

Someone asked, “Has everyone who achieves corpse liberation attained the Dao?”

The reply was, “Those who pass away sitting upright or shed the body while standing must also spend their whole lives cultivating and seeking realization. They cultivate talismanic methods inwardly, and their words and actions show this outwardly. Only when someone truly understands the source of the Great Dao and meets death with a clear, composed, and peaceful mind can they be called one who has attained the Dao. If they do not understand its mysterious principles and leave no words behind, but simply pass away sitting as people ordinarily do, how are they any different from everyone else? What is remarkable about that?”

Someone asked, “What does it mean that Shakyamuni entered Nirvana lying on his side?”

The reply was, “‘Nir’ means stillness and cessation, so that nothing arises again; ‘vana’ means long life without death. Reaching a state beyond birth and death is called attaining the Dao. He lay on his right side and entered the coffin to transform, demonstrating conduct in keeping with the rites of the world. He did not make himself seem different from ordinary people, and he set an example for later generations so they would not recklessly invent strange practices. When a person of the Dao leaves the world, whether sitting or lying down, these are simply different postures of the body.”

Someone asked, “Many classics say that the Dao does not leave the body. They also say that tears, saliva, semen, Qi and blood, and bodily fluids, along with the four great elements that make up the body—earth, water, fire, and wind—are all Yin. So in the end, people cannot escape aging and death. Where, then, is the Dao?”

The reply was, “Before our parents gave birth to us, we had no body. After birth, once we had a physical form, we came to have eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and heart, as well as spirit, hun and po, thoughts, and intentions. We also came to suffer the pains of aging, illness, and death, and to experience joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure. Gathered together, these make what we call a body; considered separately, they are the four great elements; formed temporarily through the convergence of various conditions, they are what we call a person. That is why they are said to belong to Yin. Only the original true nature, that single spark of primordial Yang, is called the Valley Spirit, or the Mysterious Female. Within us, it is the Dao. This is what is meant by long life without death.”

Someone asked, “Does this mean that the physical form can be cast aside and disregarded, and that the Dao can exist on its own, apart from the body?”

The reply was, “The body is the foundation, and the heart-mind is the ruler. Without a foundation, life has nowhere to take root; without a ruler, the Dao has nowhere to dwell. This Dao can be cultivated only when there are both body and heart-mind. If you do not understand the principles of movement and stillness, change and changelessness, or recognize how the ‘master’ of body and heart-mind remains or perishes, but simply cling to the living physical form, then neither casting it aside nor cherishing it will do you any good. The Dao is neither outside the body nor inside it. To leave the body entirely is mistaken, but to cling to the body leads to delusion. Only when you realize the wondrous union of spirit and form can you transcend attachment to the physical form while still preserving the body.”

Someone else asked, “There is preservation and loss…” The original text then repeats the earlier passage about the futility of clinging to physical form, the Dao being neither inside nor outside the body, and the wondrous union of spirit and form.

Someone asked: Can one attain the Dao without relying on symbols and methods of cultivation such as Qian-Kun, Kan-Li, the Dragon and Tiger, the Tortoise and Snake, the cauldron and furnace, the firing process, lead and mercury, and cinnabar? Can one attain it apart from these teachings?

The answer was: In Daoism, this is called “Fuli Yuanshi”; in Buddhism, “Kongwang Rulai”; and in Confucianism, “Xiantian Taiyi.” This Dao exists from the beginning; it need not be acquired through cultivation. If one can realize it all at once, then the world’s scriptures and metaphors, its many images and sounds, and the principles represented by the Dragon, Tiger, Tortoise, and Snake no longer require investigation. Entering this state is called the “highest vehicle,” a high level of cultivation.

If one has not yet realized it, one should begin with concrete methods of cultivation and their symbols: distinguish lead and mercury, symbols in alchemy for Yin-Yang, Jing, Qi, and other principles; investigate things and their underlying order, and fully understand one’s nature; trace the source and restore life to its original state; and truly recognize the foundation that depends on nothing. Only then may one’s embodied experience of mind and body accord with the states of Yuanshi, Kongwang, and Taiji.

To attain realization directly, without following prescribed methods and symbols of cultivation, is called “sudden awakening.” To attain it gradually by means of these concrete methods and symbols is called “subtle learning.” The time required may be shorter or longer, but the state ultimately reached is the same.

Someone asked again: “In ancient times, those who cultivated the Dao…”

Someone asked, “In ancient times, before writing existed and before the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, what did people rely on to learn the Dao?”

The reply was, “People in ancient times did not yet understand the distinctions between wisdom and folly, ability and ineptitude. They knew nothing of benevolence, righteousness, and morality, and understood nothing of wonders, techniques, writing, numbers, or calculation. Their hearts were then simple and pure, which made it easier to cultivate the Dao. Later, Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor established Daoist methods, while Yao and Shun laid down laws and institutions. The three teachings stood side by side, and the various schools of thought arose in succession. People immersed themselves in written works, argued over right and wrong, and clung to words and doctrines; clever embellishment and falsehood grew along with them. Thus, more and more people pursued learning, while fewer and fewer truly attained its fruits.

“For this reason, the Great Master Bodhidharma came from the West to China, taking as his guiding principle ‘not establishing words and letters, a separate transmission beyond the teachings’—that is, not relying on scriptures and written texts, but transmitting directly beyond the formal teachings. He pointed straight to the human mind, enabling people to see their nature and become Buddhas, and made this the standard for Chinese practitioners. This was precisely a way to realize the principle of ancient times, when there were no written words. If one awakens suddenly and directly understands the mind’s source, then one need not rely on the Buddhist canon of the Three Baskets—the scriptures, monastic rules, and treatises—and may set aside the Six Classics as well. Laozi said, ‘Cast off learning, and there will be no worries’; Yongjia said, ‘Cast off learning and abide in non-action’; Zhuangzi said, ‘Reject sageliness and abandon wisdom’; and Confucius said, ‘If only I could refrain from speaking.’ Did any of them ever take written words to be the Dao itself?”

Someone asked, “The Book of Changes is a Confucian classic. Why do those who cultivate immortality also take it as their standard?”

The reply was, “The human body receives its form from Heaven and Earth, and the Book of Changes accords with Heaven and Earth. That is why those who study and cultivate take it as their standard.”

Someone asked, “Is there a Dao beyond the Book of Changes?”

The reply was, “The Dao described in the Book of Changes begins with Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li. This is the Dao that has visible forms, and the life tradition—the approach centered on refining life and cultivating Jing and Qi—is founded upon it. But before the One Qi, the undifferentiated primordial energy, has condensed, and before the Four Images, the four states formed by changes in Yin-Yang, have separated, there is the formless Dao, upon which the nature tradition—the approach centered on realizing one’s original nature—is founded. With the Book of Changes, one can use images to explain it; without the Book of Changes, there is no way to name or describe it. The realm beyond naming and speech is the Dao beyond the Book of Changes.”

Someone asked, “If the cultivation of the Golden Elixir follows the Book of Changes, does that not make it excessively complicated?”

The reply was, “Our Dao exists within the Great Change, the primordial state before Heaven and Earth were divided and before the myriad things took form. It also exists before the two Qi of Yin and Yang have been distinguished. How could there be anything complicated about it?”

Someone asked, “If a Confucian understands the Book of Changes, does that not mean he has attained the Dao and become an immortal?” The reply was, “There is only a thin sheet of paper between a Confucian and an immortal. Yet Confucians often seek knowledge by studying widely and investigating external things, asking questions everywhere and listening to everything. Does that not strike you as tedious?” Someone else said, “Our Dao was already present before the myriad things of Heaven and Earth had separated, when the two Qi of Yin and Yang had not yet divided. Where is there anything tedious in that?”

Someone asked, “As I read the Cantong qi on the Golden Elixir, it feels as though I am walking through a thicket of brambles. Master, please point out its most essential teaching.” The reply was, “Elixir texts merely borrow images of things to explain principles, using external things to illuminate the inner mind. Once you understand the source of nature and life and the subtlety of the firing times—the timing and process of Neidan cultivation—you can set aside all the book’s various metaphors and forget the principles expressed in words. Why let the written text lead you by the nose?”

Someone asked, “You are a Daoist. Why do you always bring up Buddhism when you speak?” The reply was, “Though people’s heads may differ, their nature and the principles governing it have never been different. Though the religious traditions vary, when have Dao and Buddha ever had different roots? To insist on dividing them into ‘you’ and ‘me’ is the mark of shallow understanding.”

Someone asked, “People in later generations may not understand this. They may think that because you were born a Daoist and, whenever you speak, always…”