《玄宗直指万法同归》Vol. 2

What does “inclusive interpretation” mean? The answer is: Although people’s physical forms differ, their inner nature and principles have never been different. Although the teachings of different traditions vary, how could the foundations of Daoism and Buddhism ever have been at odds? Forcing a division between “you” and “me,” between one side and another, is something only the narrow-minded do.

Someone asked: “People in later generations may not understand. Won’t they think you are a Chan Buddhist?” The answer was: “Alas, is that really a concern? I began with the Immortal Way to cultivate and correct nature and life, then studied the Buddhist Way to broaden my wisdom. The Immortal Way speaks of not dying; the Buddhist Way speaks of not being born. To be neither dead nor born is what is called the ‘Niwan’—the upper divine chamber in the brain in Daoist teaching, often also referring to the state of spiritual awareness in cultivation. People of the world do not understand this principle. They cling to one side and cannot realize the Mahayana, the Buddhist teaching whose aim is to save all beings. Their minds are not broad enough: they care only for themselves and not for living beings. Thus the Shurangama Sutra says that there are ten kinds of immortals in the world. Because they have not attained perfect awakening in the human realm, once their store of merit is exhausted, they reenter the various paths of rebirth.

Someone asked: “Can the methods of Zhaijiao (Daoist purification and prayer rituals) be used to realize the sacred state and become a perfected person?” The answer was: “Before the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, there were no such rituals; originally, they were simply forms of sacrifice. In the tradition of Laozi, they are called ‘jiao’; in Buddhism, they are called ‘zhai.’ The texts used in these rituals do no more than praise good deeds. They also offer three benefits: they can inspire reverence in people, awaken their willingness to give, and bring benefit to monastics. But to suppose that these rituals can lead one to realize sagehood and become perfected is to mistake them for something more substantial than a dream, an illusion, a bubble, or a shadow.”

Someone asked, “What does ‘reversing Yin and Yang’ mean?”

The reply was: The middle two lines of the Qian trigram, which symbolizes Heaven and Yang, change to form the Li trigram, which symbolizes fire and the sun. The middle line of the Kun trigram, which symbolizes Earth and Yin, changes to form the Kan trigram, which symbolizes water and the moon. Li belongs to Yin, yet represents the sun; Kan belongs to Yang, yet represents the moon. Qian withdraws to Kan’s position, and Kun withdraws to Li’s. When Kan and Li unite, Qian and Kun recover their original functions.

Returning upward from below is called “returning”; going back from the end to the root is called “restoring.” This is the Way of return and restoration, also known as the reversal of Yin and Yang. Thus, when Li and Kan unite, Qian and Kun return to their proper positions. For those who cultivate the Dao, returning upward from below is “returning,” and going back from the end to the root is “restoring.” Together, these are return and restoration—reversal. The sages move against the current, while ordinary people move with it. Moving against the current can refine the Elixir; moving with it brings forth the myriad things.

Someone asked, “Elixir texts match the sixty hexagrams to a month, equate two months with a day, and then use the waxing and waning of the lines to set the firing times—that is, to guide the timing and stages of Elixir refinement. Surely this is not the simplest, most direct method?”

The reply was: The single Qi of Taiji, the source from which all things emerge before they divide, differentiates into Qian; two Qians then form Kun. Qian and Kun further transform into the sixty-four hexagrams, which unfold into three hundred and eighty-four lines. These accumulate layer upon layer until their number reaches the thousands and tens of thousands. This is the process by which the Great Dao flows from its root toward its many branches. The sages, having no choice, borrowed the images of the Yijing to correspond with the Great Elixir, the attainment sought through Neidan cultivation. Those with wisdom move upstream to reach the source, as if cutting through tangled threads with a single stroke. They should begin their cultivation with that “One”—that is the proper method.

If you cling to the hexagram images in the diagrams and investigate only the branches, everything will seem more and more like towering white waves and floodwaters covering the earth. If you seek nothing within yourself and instead search outside, how much greater could your confusion be?

Someone asked, “What does ‘bathing’ mean?”

The answer was: In terms of the stages through which Yin and Yang Qi move, Fire is in the “embryo” stage at the Zi hour, is “warmed and nourished” at the Chou hour, reaches “long life” at the Yin hour, and is “bathed” at the Mao hour. Water is in the “embryo” stage at the Wu hour, is “warmed and nourished” at the Wei hour, reaches “long life” at the Shen hour, and is “bathed” at the You hour. Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, and the other terms are the Twelve Earthly Branches, which also mark the passage of time and the changes of Yin and Yang.

From Zi to Yin, Yang Qi gradually grows. This is called the “Three Yang,” corresponding to the Tai hexagram in the Book of Changes. At the point where Fire Qi emerges, Yin and Yang Qi are balanced and unite above and below. After the Mao hour, Yang Qi becomes stronger and continues to grow, while Yin Qi is about to recede. This turning point is called “bathing.” Thus, elm seeds fall in the second lunar month because Yang Qi still contains an energy of punishment and injury.

From Wu to Shen, Yin Qi gradually grows. This is called the “Three Yin,” corresponding to the Pi hexagram in the Book of Changes. At the point where Water Qi emerges, Yin and Yang Qi are likewise in balance. After the You hour, Yin Qi grows gently while Yang Qi is about to recede. This, too, is called “bathing.” Shepherd’s purse sprouts in the eighth lunar month because Yin Qi still contains the Virtue of giving life and nourishment.

Yin is contained within Yang, and Yang within Yin. Thus punishment and Virtue accompany one another, and day and night begin to divide clearly at this point. When Neidan (internal alchemy, a Daoist practice based on changes in Yin and Yang within body and mind) reaches this stage, one stops turning the “talisman”—the practice’s rhythm for guiding changes in the firing process—nourishes the original Qi, and bathes the “pearl of Zi,” a symbolic term in Neidan practice. One must keep the mind and spirit free of distracting thoughts, while allowing the alchemical images of cinnabar, lead, and mercury to remain present in the Golden Cauldron, a symbolic place of alchemical work. This is like a newborn infant, who needs bathing and care. At this time, the mind should be pure and unstained, clear and calm, like the full moon in an autumn sky or a bright pearl resting on a balance.

Someone asks: “The alchemical texts say that Neidan can prolong life, while Waidan can enable one to ascend and become an immortal. Does Waidan simply mean medicines found in the world?”

Answer: Neidan is the original Qi within oneself, the vital energy at the root of life. Waidan is the original Qi between Heaven and Earth. But in truth, the Elixir has no distinction between inner and outer: the original Qi within oneself is the original Qi of Heaven and Earth, and the original Qi of Heaven and Earth is the original Qi within oneself. Inner and outer cannot be separated for even an instant; if they could, they would not accord with the Dao. The ancient immortals feared that people would know only of inner medicines and fail to understand the Great Dao, so they provisionally established the names “Neidan” and “Waidan” to guide people toward understanding their connection. Later practitioners often mistake Waidan for medicines found in the world, such as minerals, metals, and plants. How could such things accord with the subtlety of a person’s original Shen, the spirit at the root of life?

Someone asks: “Some people in the world collect Yin Qi to strengthen their Yang. They also freely eat the five pungent foods—such as scallions, garlic, Chinese chives, Chinese onions, and asafoetida—drink alcohol, and eat meat, seeking to nourish the body and attain long life. Does this count as cultivating the Dao?”

Answer: These are false teachers who mislead people with mistaken methods of cultivation: they cast the purest Yang into the filthiest Yin, and mix the clearest Shen with the murkiest Qi. This is no different from the way of cattle, sheep, dogs, and horses. It is not the human path of cultivating the Dao; it plants the seeds of a fall into hell. How could it be called the Dao? Those who attain the Dao enrich themselves with original Jing, the vital essence at the root of life, and restore their original Shen to its rightful place. This accords with the natural principles of Heaven and Earth; it is not a technique contrived through supernatural power.

Someone asks: “How can Neidan and Waidan be brought into harmony?”

Answer: The human body resembles Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth are not much greater than my body, and my mind contains nothing beyond what Heaven and Earth contain. The Qi of Heaven and Earth is my Qi; their Jing is my Jing; their Shen is my Shen. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, whether seeing, hearing, or perceiving, the Dao has never left my side. People simply do not understand this and cannot turn inward to examine themselves, so they think they are far from the Dao. If they can gather their spirit and turn its light inward, thereby realizing the source of life, then the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, along with all things and phenomena, are held within their breast. How, then, could inner and outer still be distinguished?

Someone asked, “What happens if a person understands internal cultivation—refining Jing, Qi, and Shen within the body, for example—but does not understand the Great Dao?”

The reply was: “If internal cultivation is undertaken without understanding the Great Dao, it can only prolong life. One becomes like a dead person whose Jing, Qi, and Shen have not dispersed. When the allotted years run out, one is still reborn in this world: those with good fortune are reborn as human beings, while those with little fortune are reborn as other kinds of beings. This is the result of failing to understand the Great Dao.”

Someone asked, “What happens if a person understands the Great Dao but does not practice, or knows about the inner medicine—the Jing and other substances spoken of in internal cultivation—but does not refine it?”

The reply was: “Knowing without acting is like talking about food: it will never make you full. Talking about treasures will not free you from poverty. What use is knowledge if you do not put it into practice?”

Someone asked, “What happens to those who practice diligently but fail to find the true Way; who study and listen, understand the principles, yet do not put them into practice?”

Someone else asked, “What happens to those who practice diligently but fail to find the true Way; who study but never encounter genuine instructions and methods?”

The reply was: “There are countless people in the world who cultivate blindly and stray onto crooked paths. Though they are willing to work hard, they do not understand the Great Dao. Each clings to their own opinions, takes pride in their efforts, and refuses to seek the company of good teachers and friends or look for true fellow seekers. They waste their whole lives this way.”

Someone asked, “There are people who spend years saying they will seek out the Dao, yet grow white-haired without gaining anything. Whose fault is that?”

The reply was: “These days, some people who study the Dao are like travelers carrying a corpse on their backs, wandering aimlessly from place to place. They only ask where it is best to escape the summer heat or winter cold, where alms are easiest to obtain, and where food is convenient. As for the inner and outer medicines and the key principles of movement, stillness, and transformation, they have not truly grasped even a little. The Great Dao has not failed them; they have wasted their own lives.”

Someone said, “Yang governs movement, Yin governs stillness, and human nature is utterly still…”

Someone asked, “Yang is active and Yin is still. Since human nature is profoundly still, does that mean Buddhist teachings belong to the Yin side?”

The answer was, “Nature existed before Heaven and Earth. It is the Dao in its utmost stillness and subtle emptiness. Heaven and Earth, human beings, and all things arise from it. It is the foundation of true Yang, the source of true life, the root of true spirit, and the origin of every mystery. People often fail to understand this and call still nature Yin, and active life Yang. In fact, activity must have stillness as its foundation, and stillness must find its expression in activity. This is an inescapable principle of Heaven and Earth.

“They also fail to recognize that within Heaven and Earth there is an unmoving mystery that governs Heaven and Earth, human beings, and all things. This stillness does not rise and fall with the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang, change with the turning of the seasons, vanish with life and death, or alter with the passage from past to present. It is neither within Yin and Yang nor beyond activity and stillness. It cannot be separated from clarity, yet it is not mixed with turbidity. Buddhist teachings point to precisely this principle. To call it Yin is to show that one has not grasped the true mystery and is instead criticizing it carelessly. Anyone who practices the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir, the Daoist method centered on Neidan (internal alchemy), but cannot see this clearly, has yet to move beyond a shallow understanding.”

Someone else asked, “It is said that Xu Jingyang, also known as Xu Xun, an immortal revered in Daoism, once mixed a pill into other medicines and sold them, but none of those who bought them ultimately became immortal. Xu sighed that people with the capacity for immortality were hard to find. Does this mean immortals really do have pills that can deliver people, but ordinary people simply have not encountered them?”

The answer was, “If you do not cultivate the original elixir within yourself and do not understand the Great Dao of the Most High, yet expect an immortal to make you immortal with a pill, that is like finding food in a dream and expecting to wake up full, or finding treasure in a dream and expecting to wake up rich. It is not that there are no elixirs. In ancient times, people used elixirs to extend their lives. Although these could replenish Yang energy, they could not by themselves enable someone to attain the Dao of immortality. How could Waidan (external alchemy), refined from metals, minerals, and plants, relying as it does on external substances, take the place of the true elixir already within oneself? When Xu handed out the pills, he was letting people of De (Virtue) receive them according to their karmic affinity. If he encountered someone with an affinity for immortality, he would then teach that person to cultivate the Dao. How could a single pill alone make anyone immortal?”

Someone asked, “Becoming an immortal and attaining the Dao must depend on affinities accumulated in past lives; it cannot be accomplished overnight. We ordinary people probably lack the capacity for this, so is it difficult for us to study and practice?”

The reply was, “Everyone is originally endowed with a complete and perfect nature; there is nothing missing in the heart. If you are willing to resolve firmly, you will not go astray. If you can, here and now, refrain from killing, stealing, and sexual misconduct; abandon greed, anger, delusion, and attachment; turn away from worldly turmoil; and remain steadfast in your quest for the Dao, seeking out an enlightened master and learning from virtuous teachers, then suddenly you may penetrate the true principles of cultivation and understand the roots of nature and life. In that very moment, you can become an immortal or a Buddha. Why must you pass through three or four lifetimes, chasing after outward forms and shadows? To say you lack the capacity is really to lack resolve: you are shrinking back and undervaluing yourself. If you say you had no affinity in a past life, have none in this life, and will still have none in the next, then with each successive life you will drift farther from the Dao.”

Someone asked, “Setting aside all the elaborate metaphors and expressions, what is the most authentic, upright, essential, and direct principle of the Golden Elixir? Please offer a single sentence.”

The reply was, “Golden Elixir cultivation is not inherently complicated; people themselves add all the complicated methods. What is called ‘most authentic’ lies in the Shen and Qi within oneself; ‘most upright’ lies in lead and mercury amid Great Emptiness—terms in Neidan that symbolize Yin-Yang essence and Qi; ‘most essential’ lies in the joining of the two arcs, meaning the union of Yin and Yang Qi; and ‘most direct’ lies in harmonizing the firing times, meaning regulating timing and breath during cultivation. Everything else is metaphor and talk. No matter how much more one says, what need is there?”

Someone asked, “What does ‘seven returns and nine restorations’ mean?”

The reply was, “Seven is the completed number of Fire; nine is the completed number of Metal. When seven and nine combine, they make one jin. ‘Return’ means returning to the root; ‘restore’ means going back to the source. There is no need to say more.”

Someone asked, “What does ‘seven returns and nine restorations’ mean?”

The answer was: “Seven” is the completed number of Fire, and “nine” is the completed number of Metal. Paired together, seven and nine are called ‘one jin.’ ‘Return’ means going back to the root; ‘restoration’ means returning to the source. Together, these ideas also correspond to expressions such as ‘two and eight’ and ‘the two crescents.’ All are symbolic terms used in Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Seven and nine are Yang numbers. When the cultivation of Metal and Fire reaches the point of union, Yin energy and Kidney energy dissolve, and spirit and essence merge into one. It is like the precious moon just reaching fullness and the waves of the Milky Way growing still; like a solitary boat reaching the far shore, or a traveler returning home. At that point, one has gained the root and forgotten the branches, hence the term ‘return and restoration.’

Someone asked, “Gathering the Five Phases, harmonizing the Four Forms, the Three Flowers gathering at the crown, and the Five Qi paying homage to the Origin—all these take place within the human body. Yet the Perfected One Ziyang says that the place of cultivation is neither the chest, the nose and mouth, the spleen and stomach, nor the Dantian (energy center); nor is it the anus, bladder, or Niwan. How should this be understood?”

The answer was: “The Wuzhen Pian says that what is refined as essence is ‘Original Essence,’ not the essence produced by sexual desire between men and women; what is refined as Qi is ‘Original Qi,’ not the breath drawn through the nose and mouth; and what is refined as spirit is ‘Original Spirit,’ not the thoughts and deliberations of the mind. The objects of cultivation spoken of here are not specific parts of the body, such as the bladder or Niwan. Original Spirit and Original Qi share their root with Heaven and Earth and are one body with the myriad things. With them, one can live; without them, one dies. The principles spoken of by the sages are as clear as the sun and moon.

“Yet without this body, where could a person experience the Dao? And without understanding the Dao, the body would exist in vain. A person must therefore accord with the Dao, and the Dao must also take form within the person’s body and mind. Hence the saying: ‘Spirit and form, both wondrous, unite with the Dao in truth.’

“Perfected One Ziyang feared that people would misunderstand the ‘single aperture of the Mysterious Female’—the Daoist term for the source of life and the key to cultivation—and would focus only on swallowing fluids and taking in breath, moving Qi, and probing sensations. They might become attached to the physical body, maintaining it as though it were a house, and mistakenly believe this to be the Great Dao. So he used expedient language to expose the attachments of later generations. The body is what cultivation of the Dao relies upon, and the Dao must be realized through the body; the two cannot be separated even for an instant.”

Someone asked: “Taking the month from within the year, the day from within the month, and the hour from within the day to preserve and secure the dwelling, and treating this as the Great Dao—is this merely an expedient way of speaking, meant to break the attachment of later generations? The dwelling spoken of here is really the human body. The Great Dao has never been apart from the body, so could it ever be separated from it, even for a moment?”

Someone asked: “Taking the month from within the year, the day from within the month, the hour from within the day, and the moment from within the hour—so that in a brief instant the Dao of the Elixir condenses into form. If this is truly so, then is the whole practice of the circuits of the heavens and the regulation of the firing times—the adjustment of Qi’s movement and the timing of cultivation—pointless?”

The reply was: “The essential methods grasped by the sages are as swift as lightning. Their wondrous effects may appear in the space of a single breath in and breath out. Yet even though the Dao of the Elixir can condense in a brief moment, one should not assume that the Golden Elixir can be refined in that same moment. One must still investigate it continually and cultivate it day after day, without interruption and without deliberate force, until returning to the root and restoring one’s original life. Only upon reaching a state of calm and constancy can one say that something has been accomplished. One should neither seek only momentary effort and thereby waste a lifetime, nor cling to words and appearances until they mislead oneself.”

Someone asked: “The River Chart and the Luo Writing both speak in terms of numbers. The Great Dao has no form, while Qi—the fundamental breath that constitutes life and all things—and numbers have their own appearances. Is the Golden Elixir, then, also bound by the laws of number?”

The reply was: “Before the Taiji emerged, appearances and numerical principles were blended with the Great Dao, without distinction. When the Taiji first emerged, appearances and numerical principles arose from ‘One.’ ‘One’ is the root of the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and of all things; it is also the source from which the Five Phases and the Eight Trigrams arise. The Great Dao is originally formless. It manifests through appearances and finds its place through numerical principles: beginning with the Taiji, it gradually appears as number and ultimately takes the form of appearances and numerical principles; from there, one returns to the Great Dao. When sages speak of the Golden Elixir through appearances and numerical principles, they do so only because they have no other choice. Sages must transcend the bounds of appearances and all things, as well as the constraints of Qi and fate. How could they be confined within appearances and numerical principles?”

Someone asked, “Why must the Way of the Golden Elixir be explained through numbers?” The answer was: “The realm before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the undivided source of the cosmos) cannot be discussed in terms of numbers. Things below Taiji, however, must be explained with their help. Those of the highest capacity forget the trigrams and numbers and directly grasp the ‘One’ within them. Those of middling capacity rely on trigrams and numbers to hold fast to this ‘One.’ Those of lesser capacity must study the trigrams and numbers in order to seek it. Without numbers, there would be no way to guide later students into the practice. Trigrams are therefore established only as a provisional teaching method.”

Someone asked, “Kan and Li oppose one another, yet they both overcome and unite with each other. Zhen and Dui also oppose one another and overcome each other, but do not unite. Why is this?” The answer was: “When the two middle lines of the Qian trigram (symbolizing Heaven and Yang) change, they form the Li trigram (symbolizing Fire); when the middle line of the Kun trigram (symbolizing Earth and Yin) changes, it forms the Kan trigram (symbolizing Water). When Kan and Li unite, the original substance of Qian and Kun is made whole again. The Book of Changes says, ‘Water and Fire shoot at one another.’ Thus, the union of Kan and Li is called ‘Already Fulfilled’ (Jiji), meaning that Water and Fire mingle and Yin-Yang is harmonized. Only the union of the four trigrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li is centered and proper; the unions of Zhen, Xun, Gen, and Dui are partial. In Golden Elixir cultivation, Qian and Kun serve as the vessel (the fundamental framework for refining the elixir), while Kan and Li serve as the ingredients. This follows the principle of a centered and proper union. When Zhen and Dui meet and shoot at one another, they create obstruction; in the trigrams, this corresponds to the hexagram Gui Mei. The meeting of Gen and Xun corresponds to the hexagram Gu. Both symbolize an improper union.”

Someone asked, “What is meant by the Golden Liquid Returning Elixir?” The answer was: “The number of Kan, one, combines with six to make seven. Seven is the completed number of Fire, signifying that true Fire is hidden within Kan. The number of Li, two, combines with seven to make nine. Nine is the completed number of Metal, signifying that true Metal is hidden within Li. Metal, refined by Fire, becomes liquid and descends to the kidneys, where it is called Lead. Fire, restrained by Water, transforms into essence and Qi and rises to the heart, where it is called Mercury. The wonder of the Returning Elixir lies in Metal and Fire; the wonder of their union lies in Kan and Li. Bringing the Golden Liquid in the heart back down to the kidneys is called the ‘Golden Liquid Returning Elixir.’”

Someone asked, “If a person does not understand the ‘timing of the great medicine’ in Neidan cultivation, but relies only on accumulating merit, doing good deeds, and building up blessings, can they attain longevity and become an immortal of the highest rank?”

The reply was, “Among the immortals in the Three Realms and the Buddhas in the ten directions, none attained their rank without accumulating merit, practicing good deeds, and cultivating wholesome causes. Of the beings in the Five Paths, only humans can study the Great Dao. To attain longevity and become an immortal of the highest rank, one must understand the timing and conditions involved in cultivating the Great Dao. Without understanding its subtle workings, even if one accumulates merit and does good, one can only enjoy blessings in the human and heavenly realms in the future. Once those blessings are exhausted, one will reenter the cycle of rebirth and will not attain the state beyond birth and death.”

Someone else asked, “Buddhist precepts are explained with great rigor and detail, while Daoist alchemical texts speak only of cultivation and treat fasting and purification rather briefly. Why is that?”

The reply was, “Wisdom is the root of the precepts. Without fasting and purification, how can one cultivate the Dao? The Celestial Worthies—a Daoist title for revered deities—established the Nine Precepts and the Forty-Nine Precepts. The Western Mountain school also has the Ten Precepts for Cultivating the Real and the Twenty-Four Precepts. How could these be anything but rigorous and detailed? Precepts are not exclusive to Buddhism.

If those who study the Dao do not fast and purify themselves, they will find it hard to put an end to thoughts of killing living beings. If they do not keep the precepts, they will find it hard to still their desires. Even neglecting a single precept allows all manner of faults to disturb the spirit; failing to eliminate one desire lets countless errant thoughts trouble the heart. If the Six Desires are not removed and the Three Poisons not extinguished, evil thoughts in the heart remain alive like snakes, while the mind runs wild like a horse without reins. Can this still be called cultivating the Dao?

If someone says that cultivating the Dao consists only in understanding the Great Dao and has nothing to do with fasting and purification, that is the sort of talk demons and spirits speak; it is not worth considering.”

Someone asked, “Laojun says that those who cling to things do not understand Dao and De. Does the alchemical method—cultivation through refining the Elixir—not also come close to clinging?”

The reply was: “Clinging to the head of a dead snake and failing to adapt; being stuck to the five desires—wealth, sensual pleasure, fame, food, and sleep—and unable to break free; mired in greed, anger, and delusion without knowing to turn back; committing killing, theft, and sexual misconduct without coming to your senses; and acting only to seek blessings or hope for merit—all these are called clinging, and so they do not accord with Dao and De. The way of the Golden Elixir—the method of internal cultivation—sets Water and Fire in motion in stillness, truly uniting with the Mysterious Source, the root of the Great Dao. It involves action, but does not seek results through it; it neither insists on acting nor deliberately refrains from action. At the beginning, it enters from nonbeing; in the end, it returns to being. Yet in the end it does not cling to being, and at the beginning it does not fall into nonbeing. This is precisely the way of the Golden Elixir. It is like the autumn moon shining across the open sky, or idle clouds drifting out of a mountain valley: clear and unbound, lively and free. This is the wonder of the Golden Elixir. What clinging could there be?”

Someone asked, “I hope you will tell me about the practical work of beginning cultivation.”

The reply was: “Use a single mind without distraction, and steadily nourish one Qi until it becomes gentle. It should move like the Big Dipper’s handle circling across the heavens, or like two wheels turning around an axle. An ancient immortal said, ‘Qi is the medicine that adds years to life; the mind is the spirit that commands Qi. If you know how to move Qi in the Qi Cavity, you have obtained the method of the immortals.’ If you can harmonize mind and Qi so they unite like mercury and lead, terms that symbolize the union of Yin and Yang in alchemy, and know where the Qi Cavity is and how Qi enters and leaves it, then you understand the work of beginning cultivation. This Daoist method is worth a thousand pieces of gold and is not lightly taught.”

Someone asked, “In cultivating the medicine and forming the Elixir, and in such practices as cooking and refining, sealing, warming and nourishing, guarding against danger, defending the city, and waging battle in the wilderness, are there still secret instructions that have not been made public?”

The reply was: “In works such as the Wuzhen Pian, the Jinwen, the Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir, Returning to the Source, Restoring the Mandate, and Discerning Delusion, as well as the Marrow of the Yinfu and the Mirror for Entering the Medicine, the immortal founders and masters have long explained the essentials plainly, as clearly as sunlight. They have kept nothing back, and have already taught the world a great deal. If you can see through and fully understand them, all the classics have already covered the matters you ask about. Why explain each one separately?”

Someone asked, “What does ‘Metal and Wood kept apart’ mean?”

The reply was: “Metal corresponds to the lungs, the nose, and the Po soul, and also to the sense of smell. Wood corresponds to the liver, the eyes, and the Hun soul, and also to sight. When the eyes are drawn by forms and colors, the Hun becomes unsettled; when the nose pursues fragrances, the Po is depleted. Wood is in the east and Metal in the west; each remains apart, unable to join of its own accord. This is called ‘kept apart.’ To bring them together requires the aid of Wu and Ji, the symbols of Earth. Metal is born from Earth and can therefore restrain Wood; when Wood is restrained by Metal, it returns to Earth. Unless they restrain and reunite with one another, the Elixir cannot form. The eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and mind each pursuing things outward are also called ‘kept apart’; this condition is not limited to Metal and Wood.”

Someone asked, “What is the general aim of Golden Elixir cultivation?”

The reply was: “It is to use the principle of central harmony to regulate the Five Qi, so that the hundred spirits—the various spirits and functions within the body and mind—can merge into unity. Then one forgets the body and nourishes Qi, forgets Qi and nourishes Shen, and then forgets Shen and nourishes emptiness. That is the general aim.”

Someone asked, “What is the general aim of warming and nourishing?”

The reply was: “It is to regulate body and mind and bring them back to central harmony. That is the whole point.”

Someone asked, “What is the general aim of the firing process?”

The reply was: “It is to guide Qi with the mind and spirit, unite Jing and Shen, and keep the front and rear arcs—the phases or rhythms of Yin-Yang ascent and descent in cultivation—circulating without interruption. The essentials of the firing process lie in this.”

Someone asked what “returning to the Real” means. The answer was: When both spirit and form reach a state of mystery, and you become one with the Dao, this is called returning to the Real.

Someone asked what “guarding and sustaining” means. The answer was: Protect it as you would a throne; shoulder it as you would a minister’s duty. From beginning to end, do not stray from it; let neither the inner nor the outer be lost. Even amid boiling water and blazing fire, or when facing knives and saws, do not lose sight of this. This is called guarding and sustaining.

Someone asked what “practice and cultivation” means. The answer was: Harmonize with external things without being swept along by them, like spring returning to a cold valley and bringing all things back to life. Keep moving without pause, like the bright moon hanging high in a clear sky. Throughout the twelve double-hours of day and night, forget external things in your heart, as though your ties to the world of dust were gradually coming undone.

Someone asked what “transcendence” means. The answer was: In the end, cast off external burdens and hold fast to the inner sovereign; discard what is false and keep what is real. An ancient immortal said, “Once your work is complete, you must leave the Divine Capital; though the inner court is splendid, do not become attached to this body.” The meaning is that, once cultivation has succeeded, one should transcend the ties of the world and not become attached to the body or its pleasures.

Someone asked what “True Origin” is. The answer was: True constancy, true stillness, true emptiness, Original Jing, Original Shen, and Original Qi—all six return to the One Mind. If ordinary people can attain them, they can immediately enter the realm of the sages.

Someone asked how the vessel, the ingredients, and the firing times should be brought together in practice. The answer was: The ancients took Heaven and Earth as the vessel, Kan and Li—the trigrams representing water and fire in the Book of Changes—as the ingredients, and coordinated the four trigrams Zhen, Dui, Xun, and Gen in cycles to represent changes in the firing times. These are external symbols used to illustrate internal cultivation; what they actually refer to never lies outside oneself.

Someone said: In recent times, students of the Dao have offered many conflicting opinions, each insisting on a different view. Among a thousand people, not one agrees with another. Why? The answer was: No sage has transmitted the principles of the ingredients, and no teacher has passed down an efficacious method. Since no one has received the correct transmission, people learn a great deal, yet none succeeds in cultivation.

Someone asked what state one reaches after cultivating for a time. The answer was: At first, it is like an infant nestled close to its mother; then like gradually becoming tipsy after drinking fine wine. It is also like entering samadhi, a state of focused and settled practice.

Someone asked, “What is it like when cultivation reaches a certain stage?”

The reply was, “At first, it is like an infant nestled against its mother. Then it is like having drunk fine wine and feeling slightly intoxicated. It is like bathing in a cool breeze during the summer heat, or basking in the warm sun in the cold. At that time, the mouth forgets how to speak, the eyes forget how to see, the nose forgets how to smell, the ears forget how to hear, the mind forgets how to think, and the body forgets that it exists. One simply feels a harmonious original Qi—the vital energy at the source of life—moving and flowing naturally. Later, even awareness of this is forgotten. One no longer clings to the thought that one is awakening, and does not even know how any of it happens. This, broadly speaking, is the state reached through cultivation.”

Someone asked, “Can this state be called a wondrous condition in which both spirit and body have been perfected?”

The reply was, “The feeling then is like a fish drinking water: only the fish knows whether the water is cold or warm.”

Someone asked, “Could the Golden Elixir (the state sought through internal alchemy) be anything more wondrous than this?”

The reply was, “To speak of anything beyond this state would be to stray into an unorthodox path. It would not deserve to be called the true Dao.”

Someone asked, “The six faculties of sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought are not like wood or stone. How could they remain still through all twelve double-hours of the day?”

The reply was, “I am not telling you to stay rigid and unmoving, like wood or stone, at every moment. It is simply that when your eyes see colors, you do not follow them; when your ears hear sounds, you are not drawn along by them; when your nose smells scents, you do not pursue them; when your tongue tastes flavors, you do not become attached to them; when your body seeks pleasure and comfort, you do not follow desire; and when thoughts and delusions arise in your mind, you do not follow them either. The desires stirred by the six faculties cannot seize my will, and the myriad circumstances cannot confuse my mind. When the mind does not cling to external things, how can they hinder me? If you can do this, then even spending the whole day amid the five desires—sights, sounds, scents, tastes, and sensations—poses no hindrance. The key is to remain master of yourself. Why sit still, motionless, all year and all day?”

Someone asked, “In ancient times, some people left their physical bodies behind and lived among the people of the world. Yet after living with them for only a few years, they later vanished without a trace. Why?”

The reply was, “The physical body easily becomes a burden in the world. Even numinous beings such as dragons and phoenixes, if kept by ordinary people, are bound to have their bodies confined and their nature restrained. In the end, they may even be slaughtered, their bodies left in pieces. The Lord Lao once said, ‘My greatest affliction is that I have a body.’ Cultivation ultimately requires a transformation of body and bones. How could one remain forever in an old body without changing?”

Someone asked, “The monk of Biling once said, ‘If you cannot live for a thousand or a hundred years, what kind of person of this world are you?’ Wouldn’t that claim be false?”

The reply was, “If flowers by the roadside did not bloom like brocade, why would orioles fly to the willow branches? If people were not told they could live for a thousand or a hundred years, why would they enter the path of cultivation? This was a skillful expedient used by the ancients. If one truly grasps the mystery of the Golden Elixir—the goal of Daoist internal alchemy—life can be prolonged beyond the years it takes for a stone to be worn away by brushing against it, until it equals the emptiness of space. A thousand years are no more than a bubble rising in the ocean. How could that be called lasting?”

Someone asked, “Why must Kan and Li be governed by Wu and Ji? Please explain the principle.”

The reply was, “The two middle lines of the Qian trigram change to form Li, while one middle line of the Kun trigram changes to form Kan. Once the Four Images are established, Wu and Ji occupy the central palace. Thus Kan corresponds to Wu, and Li to Ji. When Kan and Li join, they cannot do so apart from the place occupied by Wu and Ji. Kan’s Water and Li’s Fire are naturally in conflict. With Wu and Ji at the center to harmonize and unite them, Water and Fire do not clash; they can then interact. The Perfected Master Ziyang, a Daoist internal alchemist, said, ‘Without Wu and Ji, Kan and Li may contain the Four Images, but they cannot refine the Golden Elixir.’ That is why Kan and Li must be governed by Wu and Ji.”

Someone asked: “Metal and Wood are separated, so are Geng and Jia separated as well?”

The answer: “Metal is in the west and Wood in the east, so they are said to be separated. With Kan and Li—trigrams symbolizing Water and Fire, and also the use of Water and Fire in cultivation—at the center to regulate their movement, Wood conceals its form in Li and Metal conceals its form in Kan. Thus the two become one. Geng marks the point where the moon first rises: on the third day of the month, the moon rises at the Geng position. Jia marks the point where the moon is full: on the fifteenth day, it reaches fullness at the Jia position. Thus Geng arises from Kun, the trigram representing Earth, while Jia is received in Zhen, the trigram representing Thunder and symbolizing the eldest son. Zhen receives the form of Kun; it is the eldest son, the place where the ‘Great Medicine’—the key substance in Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation—arises, and where the firing process, the timing and degree of refinement, begins. That is why it is said, ‘The medicine arises in the southwest, its native place.’ Geng and Jia mark the moon’s first appearance and its fullness; they are not separated from each other.

“Someone asked: ‘Why do some people, without understanding the foundations of cultivating the Dao, simply push themselves through severe austerities—burning themselves, leaping from cliffs, fasting, or harming their bodies—in their haste to attain the fruit of the Dao?’

“The answer: ‘The body is like a tree of the Dao. Only when the tree stands firm can fruit grow; if it withers too soon, the fruit disappears with it. Foolish people do not understand this. They treat the body as an enemy and, before their own minds have awakened, burn themselves, cut off their arms, leap from cliffs, throw themselves into water, or starve themselves, seeking out suffering. As a result, they move farther from the Dao. A Buddhist scripture says: “Outsiders each practice all kinds of austerities: leaping from cliffs, throwing themselves into water, entering fire, or scorching the body with the five blazing fires. These practices only multiply countless misguided views.” This is precisely whom those words address.’

“Someone asked: ‘Ancient people also burned themselves, cut off their arms, and gave up their flesh. Why?’

“The answer: ‘Confucius said, “If I hear the Dao in the morning, I can die content that evening.” Those people of old had already heard the Dao and understood it thoroughly, so they regarded death as no more than taking off old clothes or throwing away worn-out shoes.’”

Someone asked, “Foreign monks and Daoists slaughter cattle and horses for sacrifice, and even take blood and meat as ritual food. Are their rules allowed to permit this, while ours forbid it?”

The reply was, “The flesh of living beings is our own flesh. Monastics can differ from the secular world because they are able to observe a vegetarian diet and keep the precepts. In this way, they can serve as models for people and heaven, protect all living things, and thereby rise beyond the realms of people and heaven. Those who drink blood and eat meat, living like primitive people, follow a different heterodox path. They abandon the foundation of great compassion and increase their karmic burden. What is there to praise in that?”

Someone asked, “Some people today say that fish and meat are warming and nourishing, while vegetables are cooling and will weaken a person if eaten over a long period. Should those who cultivate longevity simply eat meat?”

The reply was, “People who like fish and meat will insist that vegetables are cooling; people who like vegetables will insist that fish and meat are rank. But to eat fish and meat is to eat the flesh of living beings. Living beings devour one another without end. Those who cultivate the Dao place killing among the foremost prohibitions. How could they fail to be careful?”

Someone asked, “Where does human perception come from?”

The reply was, “Before the human form takes shape, there is no perception. Form joins with Qi; from Qi comes Shen, and from Shen comes awareness. Once form, Shen, and awareness are all present, emotions such as joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure, and sufferings such as hunger, cold, illness, and pain, can all be felt. This is true of every living creature endowed with blood and Qi.”

Someone asked, “Can Shen live forever? Can the body, too, escape death?”

The reply was, “The body is the foundation from which Shen arises. If the body can be nurtured so that it does not die, how could the cultivation of Shen ever come to an end? When form and Shen both reach the subtle and wondrous, that is the Dao of the Highest Immortals. Yet those who preserve their form in the human world, even if there are cases of people living five hundred or a thousand years, must ultimately undergo ‘seizing the embryo and changing the cauldron’—casting off the old form and taking on a new body. The body seems to have a limit, while Shen will be without end; the two cannot be compared.”

Someone asked, “If the spirit is one, why do people speak of a Yang Spirit and a Yin Spirit? Please explain what this means.”

The answer: The Yang Spirit is not a spirit-consciousness produced by deliberation and deluded thoughts. It is pure and lucid, complete and radiant, pervading the entire Dharma realm, with no place it cannot reach. Therefore, even when it manifests, it remains inseparable from fundamental wisdom—the source wisdom shared by all things. As the Avataṃsaka Sūtra says, the Buddha remains beneath the Bodhi tree and yet ascends to the summit of Mount Sumeru. This means that wisdom itself does not move, yet can reach everywhere.

The Yin Spirit, by contrast, is a spirit-consciousness brought forth through intention and imagination. It takes on different states according to its activity, and is easily obstructed when it encounters things. When it manifests, it therefore departs from fundamental wisdom and often resembles ghosts and spirits. The Yang Spirit belongs to the heavenly path and appears as numinous awareness, stillness, and mystery. The Yin Spirit belongs to the path of ghosts and appears as confused and inverted, like a dream. Those who cultivate the Dao should distinguish between the two.

Someone asked, “What is fundamental wisdom?”

The answer: Fundamental wisdom existed before Heaven and Earth took shape. The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and all things possess it. It neither separates nor gathers; it is neither color nor sound. One cannot say that it exists, nor that it does not exist. It comes from nowhere outside, and departs to nowhere beyond. All living beings possess this wisdom equally. It does not increase when a person is born, nor diminish when a person dies.

It remains in its own place, yet can appear throughout the worlds in the ten directions. It does not move, yet can contain and interpenetrate all things. It mingles with everything without being defiled, and dwells amid countless affairs without being disturbed. This is perhaps what fundamental wisdom is.

Someone asked, “There are hundreds and thousands of alchemical texts. Most speak only of long life and rarely mention death. Since they speak so constantly about life, what, in the end, are life and death?”

The answer: “Immortality is the constant, unchanging Dao transmitted by the Most High. It is not something the ancients made up out of thin air. Yet people do not understand its principles or the aim of transcending life and death. They often pursue strange and splendid things, clinging to the preservation of the physical body. Many people study the Way, but almost none truly attain it. I speak of life and death precisely to help people understand their principles, and thereby put an end to life and death. I do not speak of them idly.”

Someone asked, “After the master has passed away, will he remain as he was in life?”

The answer: “The physical body is the source of suffering. I will relinquish it.”

Someone asked, “After the master has passed away, will he remain as he was in life?”

The answer: “The physical body is the source of suffering. I will cast it aside as one would a wart or a boil. This is what is meant by ‘crossing beyond all suffering and affliction.’ Yet my original nature has never been born or destroyed. Even without a body, what would there be to seek?”

Someone asked, “If life and death are no different, will you still concern yourself with worldly affairs?”

The answer: “Though I take no part in worldly affairs, my wish to save the people of the world remains.”

Someone asked, “Since the body cannot endure forever and death cannot be avoided, what use is it to cultivate the Golden Elixir and master the firing times?”

The answer: “Everything between Heaven and Earth that has form and color must eventually die. The Golden Elixir refers to my original nature and divine spirit; the firing times refer to the transformations of Yin-Yang. Cultivating the Golden Elixir brings one’s De into accord with Heaven and Earth, and one’s radiance into correspondence with the sun and moon. Why, then, prize a physical body as fleeting as a dream or illusion?”

This concludes volume three of The Mysterious Tradition’s Direct Indication: All Dharmas Return to One. Volume four was written by Mu Changchao of Yangshan Daoist Monastery in Jian’an and edited by his disciple, Huang Benren of Yishan.

Someone asked, “Regarding the Taiji…”

Someone asked, “Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—all arise from Taiji (the fundamental state from which the universe takes shape). What, then, is Taiji rooted in?” The reply was, “Taiji is rooted in Wuji.” They asked again, “What is Wuji rooted in?” The reply was, “Wuji has no root; if it had one, it could not be called Wuji.”

Someone asked, “What does Wuji look like?” The reply was, “Wuji has no form. Once it has form, it has boundaries and is no longer Wuji.” They asked, “If Wuji has neither boundaries nor form, why call it Wuji?” The reply was, “It cannot truly be named in words; we call it ‘Wuji’ only as a makeshift name.”

Someone asked, “Are Wuji and Taiji one and the same, or are they two things?” The reply was, “Wuji is the ‘nonbeing’ of Taiji, and Taiji is the ‘being’ of Wuji. They are not two different principles.” They asked, “Since being and nonbeing are opposites, how can you say they are not two things?” The reply was, “Nonbeing is revealed through being, and being is established through nonbeing. Each is rooted in the other. They have two names, but their principle is one.”

Someone else asked, “If the Way of Taiji is rooted in nonbeing and governed by stillness, why does being arise, and why does movement occur?” The reply was, “When nonbeing reaches its utmost, being arises; when stillness reaches its utmost, movement arises.” They asked, “Since being and nonbeing, movement and stillness, are opposites, does the essence of Taiji still exist?” The reply was, “Being arises from nonbeing, but nonbeing has never been separate from being. Stillness arises from movement, but stillness has never turned into movement. The essence of Taiji is therefore neither increased nor diminished.”

Someone asked, “Does the Way of Taiji have distinctions of above and below, or inside and outside?” The reply was, “Taiji has no fixed position. If it had distinctions of above and below, inside and outside, there would be two Taijis.” They asked, “If Taiji has no above or below, why speak of it as earlier or later?” The reply was, “Before the One Qi (the undifferentiated primordial vital energy) has manifested in form, Taiji precedes Heaven and Earth. Once the One Qi differentiates, Heaven and Earth take shape after Taiji.”

Someone asked, “Is human nature the same as or different from the Taiji—the fundamental source of all things in the universe?”

The reply was, “Human nature is the nature of Taiji. If, in principle, it is the same as Taiji, then it is the same; if, in principle, it is different, then it is different.”

Someone else asked, “Is the nature of all things also the same as Taiji?”

The reply was, “The forms and kinds of things differ, but their nature is the same.”

Someone asked, “The Wuji—the formless, imageless primal state—has no appearance. How can it give rise to Taiji?”

The reply was, “Wuji is purely ‘principle,’ the fundamental order of things. Only when there is principle can there be Qi, the original energy that constitutes all things. Principle and Qi blend together; this is called Taiji. This does not mean that Wuji first produces Taiji.”

Someone asked, “How can Taiji, by gathering and then stirring, give rise to Yang, and by becoming still give rise to Yin?”

The reply was, “After stillness reaches its utmost, movement begins. When movement continues without ceasing, Qi takes shape. When Qi takes stillness as its foundation, it appears as Yin; when it takes movement as its foundation, it appears as Yang. When movement reaches its utmost, Yin arises; when stillness reaches its utmost, Yang arises. It never departs from movement and stillness.”

Someone asked, “How does Taiji give rise to the Two Modes, Yin and Yang?”

The reply was, “Qi and principle contain one another, and the qualities of Yin and Yang are already present. Once things come together, they must eventually separate; thus they divide into movement and Yang. When movement reaches its utmost, Yin arises; when stillness reaches its utmost, Yang arises. It never departs from movement and stillness.”

Someone else asked, “How does Taiji give rise to the Two Modes?”

The reply was, “Qi and principle contain one another, and the qualities of Yin and Yang are already present. Once things come together, they must eventually separate, dividing into two kinds: what is above physical form is called Heaven, and what is below physical form is called Earth.”

Someone asked, “How should one practice in order to unite with Taiji?”

The reply was, “First understand Taiji’s true meaning and grasp the subtle workings of principle and Qi. Then contemplate them silently in your heart and put them into practice. If you have not understood these essentials and only argue over words or speak abstractly about principles and names, it will do no good.”

Someone then asked, “Once this principle is understood, what state should cultivation attain?”

The reply was, “It should attain a state of utter stillness. If even the slightest stirring arises and gives birth to a thought of selfish desire, it is not true stillness.”

Someone said, “‘The human heart is precarious’—it can easily stray from the right path. How could the mind ever be entirely free of thoughts? Would that not make a person like wood or stone?”

The reply was, “The human heart has both a tendency to stir and stray, and a subtle aspect that is difficult to perceive. This subtle aspect is still. To quiet delusive agitation and return the heart to stillness is the stillness of Taiji. Even when no thought stirs, a person is still unlike wood or stone.”

Someone asked, “Isn’t it enough to make things clear? Why pursue them to their roots, even with a cautious, reverent mind and a subtle, tranquil one?” The answer was: “What is called ‘subtle’ is tranquility: stilling agitation and returning to quiet. This is the tranquil state of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). At this point, although no thought is stirring, the mind is unlike wood or stone.”

Someone else asked, “Isn’t it enough to explain things clearly? Why pursue the matter so far? Isn’t this being overly pedantic?” The answer was: “The Dao is something that Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—as well as all things cannot be without for even an instant. If they could be without the Dao, stars could rise up from the ground, mountains and seas could hang upside down in the sky, spring could turn into autumn, and winter into summer. If you think that explaining things clearly is the Dao, then Confucians would have no need of Confucius, Buddhists no need of Shakyamuni, and Daoists no need of Laozi.”

Someone asked, “Are the methods Confucians use to cultivate the mind and body and put their practice into effect the same as those of Laozi and Buddhism?” The answer was: “The methods of cultivation are the same; their aims in applying them differ.” Asked what the differences were, the answer was: “Confucians cultivate themselves through Taiji—the fundamental source and order of all things—in order to govern the world. Daoists cultivate themselves through Taiji in order to preserve the body and spirit. Buddhists cultivate themselves through Taiji in order to regard life and death as equal.”

Someone asked, “In essence, there is only one Taiji, yet the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, along with the various schools of thought, speak of so many similarities and differences. How should we understand this?” The answer was: “If you seek understanding only in words and texts, even after three lifetimes you will not grasp it fully.” Asked how, then, one could understand, the answer was: “Bring the myriad things back to unity, then return that unity to its root. Comprehend Taiji and return to Taiji.”

Someone asked, “Is it wrong to hold firmly to this mind as the Dao?” The answer was: “At first, you may hold to it; once you have comprehended and reached understanding, you should let it go. If you cling to it and refuse to let go, you will become stagnant and blocked. If you let go without clinging, you will be open and unobstructed.” Asked, “Won’t letting go make the mind unrestrained?” the answer was: “Let the mind follow its own nature and return to Wuwei (non-action); do not let it drift into what is perverse.”

Someone asked, “Does Buddhism also speak of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate)?” The answer was: “What Buddhism calls ‘beginninglessness’ (having no beginning), ‘true emptiness’ (the real and tranquil ground of being), and ‘original nature’ are all different names for Taiji. The mystery of Taiji also has a further level that transcends it.”

Another asked, “If these principles are discussed too freely, might that lead to unrestrained behavior?” The answer was: “It is acceptable to let things follow their course through Wuwei (non-action), but one must not allow oneself to stray into crooked paths.”

Someone else asked, “After Heaven and Earth divided, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the various mathematical patterns were so subtle and exact; human relations and the myriad things were so finely fashioned, as if carved. In the midst of chaos, was there not a creator?” The answer was: “Before Taiji appeared, the Five Phases and mathematical patterns were concealed within ‘true nonbeing.’ After Taiji divided, they manifested within ‘wondrous being.’ The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—took shape from this, and the myriad things were born and nurtured from it. All of this is the natural unfolding of the One Qi, the primordial energy of the cosmos.”

Once Taiji had taken shape, Heaven and Earth came into being. Once Heaven and Earth were established, images and numbers—the forms of things and their mathematical patterns—arose. When images and numbers were complete, people and other beings appeared. Once they had taken shape, their forms and endowments differed; and with those differences came variations in the length of their lives. Flourishing and decline, ugliness and beauty, good and evil—all follow the inherent principles of things and the inevitable course of events. Yet the myriad things arise from the formless, begin with the One Qi, and transform into the many. Each accords with the bounds allotted to it by nature. What need is there for a separate creator?

Someone else asked, “When Heaven and Earth first came into being, which appeared first: the sun and moon, or water and fire?” The answer was: “Taiji divided, forming Qian (Heaven) and Kun (Earth), and the principle of Qian was established first. When two Qian combined to form Kun, the principle of Earth was established. Separating the central line of Qian formed the Li trigram, bringing forth the symbol of the sun; joining the central line of Kun formed the Kan trigram, bringing forth the symbol of the moon. Once the Four Images were established, the Eight Trigrams were arranged. The Five Phases manifested, and the myriad things followed. None of this can be separated from the action of water and fire. Thus, as Heaven and Earth set the sun and moon in motion, water and fire—the two images—came first.”

Someone asked, “Does the Way of Heaven—the natural order of things—have consciousness?” The reply was, “The Way of Heaven has no fixed will of its own; it takes the intentions of all people as its own.” The questioner then asked, “People often say, ‘When something resonates, it can connect.’ Why is that?” The reply was, “Do you know water? Go to its edge, and you will naturally see your own reflection. Do you know a valley? Call into it, and you will surely hear an echo. Do water and valleys have consciousness?”

Someone asked, “Heaven is associated with Metal. Is it really made of metal?” The reply was, “Kun represents the earth, and the earth is indeed soil. So why can’t Qian, which represents heaven, be real metal?” Here, Qian and Kun are the trigrams in the Classic of Changes (Yijing), representing heaven and earth respectively.

Someone asked, “Standing on earth and looking up at the sky, people think it is the limit. But once in heaven, where is the limit?” The reply was, “Above is emptiness and the natural order. What people call a limit is, in fact, no limit at all.” The questioner then asked, “If so, do heaven and earth have no foundation?” The reply was, “Heaven and earth arise naturally through the transformation of a single, empty Qi—the vital breath at the root of all things. Why would they need some other foundation?”

Someone asked, “Confucianism speaks of rectifying the heart, Buddhism of illuminating the heart, and Daoism of emptying the heart. What do these three have in common, and how do they differ?” The reply was, “To harbor no distorted thoughts is to rectify the heart; to turn one’s gaze inward is to illuminate the heart; and to keep the heart from being obscured by selfish desires is to empty it. Though these are called three kinds of heart, they express the same principle. In the cultivation of ordinary people, each tradition follows a different path; at the level of the sages, there is no distinction.”

Someone asked, “Buddhism says both ‘the mind itself is Buddha’ and ‘neither mind nor Buddha.’ Do these statements contradict each other?” The reply was, “‘The mind itself is Buddha’ is like having already caught the fish or the rabbit. ‘Neither mind nor Buddha’ means forgetting the fish trap and the rabbit snare. The trap and snare are tools for catching fish and rabbits; they stand for teachings and methods that one no longer clings to after understanding.”

Someone asked, “Buddhists always speak of the mind, while Daoists always speak of Qi. Are mind and Qi one or two?” The reply was, “When the mind stirs, Qi changes accordingly; when Qi changes, the mind is affected as well. When the mind is focused, Qi is focused too; when Qi is focused, so is the mind. Yet Qi embodies principle, while the mind is the pivot through which principle is set in motion. In practice, it is ultimately the mind that must take the lead.”

Someone asked, “Why does Buddhism say that all thoughts of the mind are empty?” The reply was, “Only emptiness can hold all things.”

Someone asked, “If the mind can contain all things, doesn’t that mean it is no longer empty?” The reply was, “It can contain all things without obstructing them, just as the Great Void—the boundless expanse of emptiness—encompasses all things without being obstructed by them. Why does Buddhism say that every mind speaks of ‘emptiness’? Because only what is empty can contain all things.”

Someone asked, “The mind has principles and states. What do ‘principle’ and ‘state’ mean here?” The reply was, “Pure and undivided, the mind’s fundamental principle is its root. Concrete things are the states the mind encounters. When the mind is subtle and profound, open and unobstructed, and engages with all things without becoming attached, that is the mind’s principle. When the mind is restless and competitive, driven by external things, chasing sights and sounds and making itself evident in outward behavior, that is the state the mind experiences.”

Someone asked, “Whenever a thought arises, I stop it; when another thought arises, I stop that too. Can this lead to the Dao?” The reply was, “This is precisely a state in which thoughts arise and vanish without ceasing. You should stop delusive thoughts so that they no longer spring up repeatedly. Only after long practice and thorough self-mastery can the mind’s thoughts be brought into unity.” The questioner then asked, “Is unity the Dao?” The reply was, “At this point, to cling to the belief that this is the Dao is like seeking water with a fangzhu, an ancient vessel used to collect dew. Even if you collect water, you remain limited by the vessel. How much more subtle is the state in which both the mind and what it clings to are forgotten?” Someone else asked, “Have sages throughout history understood the mind in this way?” The reply was, “If understanding the mind does not reach this point, it is not enough to be called the Dao.”

Someone asked, “People say that everyone’s mind is different. Can these different states of mind also lead to the Dao?” The reply was, “They may all be called the Dao, but they have not yet reached the state of the sages.”

Someone asked, “Some people are good at first and later become evil; others do evil at first and later become good. Is this a case of habit shaping one’s nature?” The reply was, “Indeed, habit shapes it. This happens because people fail to guard themselves carefully. Those who begin good and later become evil gradually move from conduct in accord with human relations toward behaving like animals. Those who begin by doing evil and later become good gradually turn from animal-like behavior back toward conduct in accord with human relations.”

Someone asked, “Every illness has a corresponding medicine to treat it. What should be used to cure ailments of the heart?” The answer was, “Ailments of the heart all come from a lack of care in how one holds to what is right. If someone begins by doing good but ends by turning bad, they fall from conduct befitting a human being into something like the behavior of beasts. If someone begins by doing evil but eventually turns toward good, they leave beastlike conduct and return to a condition befitting a human being.”

Another person asked, “Every illness has medicine to treat it. How should illness of the heart be cured?” The answer was, “By treating it with reason.” The person asked, “What if someone refuses to be persuaded by reason? What should be done?” The answer was, “Then the root of the illness has sunk deep. It must be treated with powerful remedies, like the painful use of acupuncture and moxibustion. If it still cannot be cured, the only course is death.”

Someone asked, “What should I do when my heart is unsettled?” The answer was, “It is simply that your thoughts have not ceased, and your delusions have not stopped.”

Someone asked, “In the end, are the heart and nature not one and the same principle? Is there some nature apart from the heart?” The answer was, “Nature is the heart’s original substance; the heart is the functioning of nature. Nature is still, while the heart moves. When the heart’s functioning does not move in delusion, the substance of nature can appear and become harmonious. Foolish people leave the heart to seek nature; wise people understand that nature is the heart, and that there is no other nature.”

Another person asked, “Isn’t the heart just within the space of a square inch? Could there be another heart beyond that space?” The answer was, “That square inch is the hub where the heart’s workings operate. The heart extends throughout the whole universe. When the hub moves, the heart’s functioning moves; when the hub is still, the heart’s functioning is still. To leave the square inch and search for the heart is to search for something that is not the heart. But it is also wrong to confine the heart within that square inch.”

Someone asked, “There is only one principle of the heart, yet you also say that the heart is the gathering place of many principles. Why is that?” The answer was, “There is only one moon in the sky, yet it is reflected in countless bodies of water. A person has only one heart, yet affairs take countless forms. The reflections of the moon in countless waters are all governed by the same moon; countless affairs are likewise governed by the same heart. Does this not show that the heart is where many principles converge?”

Someone asked, “Confucians say that only by first stopping deluded activity can the mind become settled; once settled, it can become tranquil; once tranquil, it can become stable; once stable, it can reflect; and through reflection, it can achieve something. Buddhists also speak of concentration and stillness, yet say that no teaching can be attained. Why?”

The reply was, “Confucians regard stopping, settling, and stillness as the foundation, and stability, reflection, and attainment as what follows from it. If the mind cannot settle or reflect carefully, one cannot understand the Virtue of Supreme Goodness; without understanding it, one cannot govern the world. Buddhism is different: after deluded thoughts have ceased, the mind becomes concentrated; when it is still, it becomes stable. From there, the mind ceases to reflect and no longer clings to what it might attain, reaching a clear and empty stillness. Reflecting, achieving something, and then governing the world are the constant principles taught by Confucianism; ceasing to reflect, letting go of attachment to attainment, and entering emptiness and stillness are the constant principles taught by Buddhism.”

Someone asked, “The Book of Documents says, ‘The human mind is precarious; the Dao mind is subtle and elusive’—that is, the human mind is easily swayed, while the Dao mind is subtle and difficult to discern. Must the human mind and the Dao mind be two different minds?”

The reply was, “‘Precarious’ refers to movement; ‘subtle’ refers to stillness. When the human mind becomes still, it is the Dao mind; when the Dao mind begins to move, it is the human mind. In truth, there is only one mind. It is called ‘precarious’ or ‘subtle’ according to whether it is moving or still.”

Someone asked, “Must the principles governing the operation of Heaven and Earth involve movement and stillness?”

The reply was, “The Taiji, the root from which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things arise, establishes Heaven and Earth through movement and stillness: where there is Yang, there is Yin; where there is a host, there is a guest. The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and the myriad things cannot be apart from movement and stillness for even an instant. Whatever can be separated from movement and stillness is not the Dao.”

The questioner then asked, “Why is it said that the Great Dao takes stillness as its governing principle?”

The reply was, “Precisely because the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and the myriad things are all active in their functioning, the Great Dao takes stillness as its governing principle.”

Question: Is the Way of Utter Stillness—the most fundamental principle, silent and unmoving—separate from the movement, stillness, and transformations of the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity and of the myriad things, or are they one?

Answer: The Way of Utter Stillness refers to the Ultimateless (Wuji), the fundamental reality before the myriad things have differentiated. Within this reality lie the subtle workings of generation and transformation. They are not something separate from the reality, nor should the various transformations be blended with it and treated as one and the same thing. Before the two Qi of Yin and Yang begin to stir, this principle is silent and unmoving. When the forces of movement and stillness interact, the principle responds and communicates, manifesting as transformation.

Question: Everyone knows that movement and stillness depend on the two Qi of Yin and Yang, but I truly do not understand why the Way of Utter Stillness does not move.

Answer: One generation replacing another, and one thing going out and another coming in, describe the transformations of Yin-Yang Qi. Through them, the myriad things undergo life and death, and day and night alternate between light and darkness. If there were no unmoving principle between Heaven and Earth, then the Way of the sages would have to rise and fall with Yin and Yang and come and go with life and death. It would have nothing worthy of praise.

Someone asked: Is there an unmoving principle within the human mind?

Answer: The unmoving principle within the human mind is the same unmoving principle between Heaven and Earth.

The questioner continued: Besides this unmoving principle, are there other subtle principles?

Answer: It is this principle that governs the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity and sees through the transformations of life and death.

Another person asked: Buddhism speaks of “emptiness of nature”; Mencius speaks of “the goodness of human nature”; Xunzi speaks of “the evil of human nature”; and Yang Xiong says that human nature is a mixture of good and evil. Can human nature really differ from person to person? Is this because humans are different from the myriad things?

Answer: “Emptiness” refers to the subtlety of human nature; “goodness” refers to its fundamental basis. Xunzi and Yang Xiong did not grasp the subtlety and fundamental basis of human nature. All things share the same nature. Although humans receive its subtlety and fundamental basis, they do not know how to use them. Although the myriad things have lost awareness of their nature, they still act in accordance with it. The difference lies only in whether one understands it and can put it to use. How could the nature itself truly differ as good or evil?

Someone asked, “You often say that the human body is temporarily assembled from various conditions. But I have my own body, and there is nothing outside it. How can you say it is ‘temporarily assembled’?”

The Master replied, “At first, the body takes shape through the vital blood and essence of the parents. It is then nurtured in the mother’s womb through the two Qi of Yin and Yang—that is, the Qi formed when Yin and Yang unite. At that stage, where is there any distinction between good and evil?”

Someone else asked, “You often say that the human body is temporarily assembled. But I have my own body, and there is nothing outside it. How can you say it is ‘temporarily assembled’?”

The Master replied, “At first, the body takes shape through the parents’ vital blood and essence and the two Qi of Yin and Yang. In the womb, it also depends on the mother’s breathing; after birth, it depends on her feeding. The eyes rely on the light of the sun and moon in order to see, and life depends on food and drink to continue. The ears rely on sounds to hear, the nose on scents to smell, and the tongue on flavors to taste. The body relies on clothing for adornment and protection, while the mind relies on cognition to think. In hot weather, it relies on the wind to cool it; in cold weather, it relies on fire to warm it. From the crown of the head to the soles of the feet, nothing is not borrowed from surrounding conditions. If even one of these is missing, a person cannot be whole. All things between Heaven and Earth exist in dependence on conditions. You say there is nothing outside the body on which it can rely. Is that not mistaken?”

Someone asked, “If the body is temporarily assembled, then seeing with the eyes, hearing with the ears, smelling with the nose, tasting with the tongue, grasping things with the hands, and walking with the feet are all things I do. How can that be explained?”

The Master replied, “Consider the puppet made by Yan Shi, the legendary craftsman who could build moving wooden figures. Are its movements not also brought about through external things?”

Someone else asked, “If the body is temporarily assembled, then seeing with the eyes, hearing with the ears, smelling with the nose, tasting with the tongue, grasping things with the hands, and walking with the feet are all things I do. How can that be explained?”

The Master replied, “It is like the puppet of Shun made by Yan Shi: was it not fashioned from lacquer and wood? When these materials are joined together, the puppet takes shape; when they are separated, its shape no longer exists. Our bodies are the same. While we live, we rely on the body to act; after death, the body is discarded, and we no longer perceive. If the body did not take shape through conditions, it should not break apart and die. Since it is formed from borrowed conditions and will eventually perish, where, then, does the so-called ‘I’ reside?”

Someone asked, “If the body is only temporarily assembled, what, then, is real?”

The Master replied, “It is not only the human body that is temporarily assembled; all things and events in the world are so as well. Only our nature and principle do not belong to the class of things temporarily brought together through borrowed conditions.”

Question: All things and events in the world are false and unreal. Does that include Heaven and Earth and human relationships?

Answer: Anything with form, shape, sound, or color is a provisional combination, brought together by causes and conditions and never constant. Though Heaven and Earth endure for a long time, they too are subject to change. The relationships between ruler and minister, parents and children, brothers, and spouses, along with houses, fields, possessions, servants, and the necessities of daily life, all come together through various conditions. As long as this body of mine remains, these things are connected to me; once I die, they no longer exist for me. If they were not provisional combinations, we should be able to keep them forever. Since we cannot hold on to them forever, how could they not be provisional?

Question: If Heaven and Earth and human relationships are all provisional combinations, what should we draw close to and rely on?

Answer: Heaven and Earth shelter and support us. The relationship between ruler and minister helps bring about education and good governance. Our parents bring us into the world and raise us; brothers love and support one another; spouses and children carry on the family line. Fields sustain our lives, while possessions and servants meet our daily needs. These relationships and things seem close to us because we have this body; without it, they would be distant from us. What, then, is not a provisional combination? People of the world draw close to concrete things; what I draw close to is the Dao.

Question: Is the human mind also false?

Answer: When the mind clings to things that are provisional combinations, it too becomes provisional. When it understands what is true, it is true. There are, in all the world, very few things that are truly free of falseness.

Question: The human mind has no form. How, then, can it cling to provisional things?

Answer: To reach a state entirely free of clinging to provisional things is to be free of falseness. So long as the mind retains even a trace of emotion or attachment to anything, it cannot escape provisionality.

Someone asked, “Confucius said, ‘If you cannot yet serve the living well, how can you serve the ghosts and spirits?’ He also said, ‘If you do not yet understand life, how can you understand death?’ Did Confucius not understand these principles?”

The answer was, “Ghosts and spirits have no physical form, yet there are sound principles concerning them. Life and death each have their allotted course and enduring patterns. Confucius understood this; he simply spoke mainly about the principles for governing worldly affairs and did not often discuss such matters, for fear of confusing people throughout the realm. Ji asked about them directly, so Confucius answered as he did. Had Gautama (Shakyamuni) or Lao Dan (Laozi) asked him, Confucius certainly would not have answered that way.”

Someone else asked, “Are Gautama and Laozi the only ones who understand life, death, ghosts, and spirits?”

The answer was, “When people die and return, they are called ghosts; when they are alive and present, they are called spirits. Ghosts and spirits, life and death, are in fact governed by the same principle. Apart from life and death, there is nothing to be said about ghosts and spirits. Anyone who has attained understanding knows these principles. Why suppose that only Gautama and Laozi understand them?”

Someone asked, “You often say that all things are impermanent. What does that mean?”

The answer was, “‘Permanent’ means enduring without change. All things come into being and pass away illusorily; they cannot endure. That is why they are called impermanent.”

The questioner continued, “Why are people who cultivate the Way still subject to impermanence?”

The answer was, “The human body is ultimately made of pus and blood. After youth comes decline; after birth comes death. Thus the sages regard themselves lightly and thereby preserve themselves. How could they alone escape impermanence?”

The questioner asked again, “If impermanence cannot be avoided, why cultivate the Way?”

The answer was, “Correct your conduct so that it accords with the conduct of the sages; cultivate your heart so that it accords with the hearts of the sages. There is nothing else to seek.”

Someone else asked, “Which is superior: the teachings of Confucius, Laozi, or the Buddhists?”

The answer was, “They are like the premises and shops of different physicians, each with its own way of doing business. So long as they seek to save people, each is of lasting benefit. I cannot judge which is better or worse.”

Someone asked, “You often say that the most fundamental truth was never taught by the many sages of the past. Surely that cannot be right. If it was never taught, why speak of ‘a separate transmission outside the teachings’—a transmission by other means, apart from scriptures and written teachings?”

The reply was, “The truth called ‘a separate transmission’ is not found in the passages and phrases of the classics. People fail to grasp this and insist on seeking it from others, without knowing to turn back and look within themselves. The Great Dao can be encountered everywhere between Heaven and Earth; even the things we pick up at hand contain its principles. To go searching everywhere for some so-called separate transmission—is that not a mistake?”

Someone said, “The scriptures say that those who have realized the Way can transmit the sacred Way. Doesn’t that show that it can be transmitted?”

The reply was, “Only after realizing it do you know that it was yours all along. Such a person can transmit the sacred Way. But if someone has not truly realized it, what is there to transmit?”

Someone asked, “Can people who observe fasting and abstain from meat and fish attain the Dao?”

The reply was, “The essential point of fasting is to abstain from killing. If you merely eat a vegetarian diet but have not rid yourself of the impulse to kill, it does no good.”

Someone else asked, “Can observing precepts lead to the Dao?”

The reply was, “Precepts are meant to prevent wrongdoing. All sages and worthies attained the Dao by following them. But if you do not rid yourself of wrongful thoughts, simply keeping the precepts does no good.”

Someone asked, “When a practitioner dies, will they still enter a womb and become bound by a body again?”

The reply was, “You must cultivate until you can be master of your own body and mind. Only then, at the moment of death, can you avoid entering a womb again.”

The questioner continued, “How can one become master and avoid entering a womb?”

The reply was, “Through daily practice, you must attain results, strengthen your concentration, and become thoroughly familiar with your own nature. At the moment of death, if your thoughts do not scatter, you can remain in command and avoid entering a womb again.”

Someone asked, “Where was this body before my parents gave birth to me?”

The reply was, “Before your parents came together, there was no formed body. When the causes and conditions came together, an embryo took shape, and then a body came into being. From that point on, you were bound by bodily form.”

Someone asked, “Where was I before my parents gave birth to me?” The answer was, “Before your parents, there was nothing. Only when conditions came together did an embryo form, gradually becoming bound by a physical body.” The person then asked, “Where will I be after my body dies?” The answer was, “Again, it will be as before your birth: there will be nothing.” Asked further, “If there is nothing, why do you say we will be born again?” The answer was, “Fire has no fixed shape; wood is what it depends on to arise. A water bubble has no fixed shape; water is what it depends on to arise. A person has no fixed body; their parents are what they depend on to be born. Since there is something to depend on, how could there be no rebirth?”

Someone else asked, “Do people undergo samsara—that is, are they reborn after death?” The answer was, “If someone lives with the thoughts of an animal, they will surely be reborn as an animal after death. If they live with the thoughts of a human or a heavenly being, they will surely return to the state of a human or a heavenly being. This is an unchanging principle. How can anyone say there is no samsara?” Asked, “Will you also undergo samsara?” the answer was, “If I have a mind that clings to samsara, I cannot escape it. If I have no such mind, I will not fall into samsara.”

Someone asked, “After your cultivation, where will you go when you die?” The answer was, “I will neither be born in heaven nor fall into hell, nor will I be in the Southern Continent of Jambudvipa—the human world—or in the Western Land, such as the Pure Land in the west.” Asked, “Then where will you go?” the answer was, “In stillness, without movement, there is no coming or going. Pure and unconditioned, it pervades the entire Dharma Realm, the totality of all things in the universe. Having realized the mind-made body, which appears at will and is free of all hindrance, one can move about freely.”

Someone asked, “Ghosts and spirits have no visible form; they seem to be only empty space. Why, then, do you say they exist?” The answer was, “Living beings sustained by blood and vital energy have bodies and consciousness. Things such as wood and stone have bodies but no consciousness. Beings such as ghosts and spirits have no bodies but do have consciousness. ‘Form’ means something substantial that offers resistance; ‘thought’ means inward reflection. Though ghosts and spirits have no substance or resistance, their awareness and perception of things are much like those of humans. When people think in secret, for example, their consciousness remains while their body stays where it is, yet in the blink of an eye their thoughts can seem to travel ten thousand miles. They may feel that fame, wealth, possessions, desire, sensuality, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are as if experienced firsthand. The condition of ghosts and spirits is much the same.”

Someone asked, “What are spiritual powers?” The answer was: “Spirit is the subtle, luminous awareness within one’s original nature. It pervades Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—the Three Powers—and all things. It can arrive swiftly, and it can reach everywhere without moving. Hidden within Heaven, it keeps Heaven enduring; hidden within Earth, it keeps Earth enduring. It cannot be drowned in water or consumed by fire. The sun, moon, and stars; wind, clouds, and climate; metals, stones, plants, and trees; mountains, rivers, and seas; and the eighty-four thousand kinds of orthodox and heterodox teachings—none can surpass this wondrous awareness. It understands everything and meets no obstruction wherever it goes, which is why it is called ‘penetrating power.’ This principle must be realized inwardly to be understood; words alone cannot fully express it.

Someone asked, “Are the Golden Elixir—the attainment sought through Daoist internal alchemy—and Buddha-nature the same in principle, or are they different?” The answer was: “Although Buddhist teaching begins with the school of nature, which focuses on explaining original nature, it ultimately cannot be separated from the school of life, which focuses on cultivating life and the body. How do we know? When the Buddha taught the Dharma, he always began in the east and extended it throughout the ten directions—the four cardinal directions, four intermediate directions, above, and below, as described in Buddhism. The Flower Garland Sutra mentions the number ‘ten’ repeatedly from beginning to end, corresponding to the five numbers of Heaven and the five numbers of Earth. The youth Sudhana visited fifty-three spiritual mentors; together with himself and Vairocana Buddha, here called Kunlu, they make fifty-five. Does this not accord with the numbers of Heaven and Earth?

“The Lotus Sutra also contains the image of two Buddhas seated together in one jeweled stupa. The Dragon Girl transformed herself and became a Buddha in the south. The dragon belongs to the Qian trigram, and the south belongs to the Li trigram. Is this not the central yin line of Qian changing into Li? The Dragon Girl changed from a female body to a male one. Is this not the central yang line of Kun changing into Kan? The subtle transformations of Qian, Li, Kun, and Kan are secretly contained in these teachings. The sutra also speaks of a four-line verse, two venerable figures joining as one, the twin trees of the sal grove, two kinds of adornment and two kinds of wisdom, the ‘ten-thousand’ sign on the chest, and the paired wheels revealed beneath the feet. Do these not all signify the intermingling of nature and life? From this we can see that Buddha-nature and the Golden Elixir are no different. Those who think Buddhist teaching concerns only the school of nature and has nothing to do with the school of life have shallow understanding and insufficient learning.”

Someone asked, “Is the Chan Buddhist practice of nurturing and refining the same as Golden Elixir cultivation?”

The reply was, “Chan Buddhism takes awakening as its foundation. Those of the highest capacity can reach the state of a Buddha as soon as they awaken to the Way. They need not undergo stages of cultivation, nor do they involve themselves in Yin-Yang transformations. The movements of thought cease, and words cannot express what appears: the wondrous realm of pure, absolute emptiness. This is the highest teaching of the One Vehicle, and beginners find it difficult to attain. The methods of seated meditation and quiet contemplation are broadly similar to embryonic breathing and breath retention—a practice that makes the breath subtle and still through breath regulation—and they also have much in common with the work of nurturing and refining.

“Chan Buddhism also speaks of cultivation after awakening: like a minister serving a ruler or a son relying on his father, it brings about the wondrous state in which the two sides form a continuous lineage and are both complete. This is the same principle as returning to the root and restoring the origin in Golden Elixir cultivation.”

Someone asked, “What is the difference between true emptiness and inert emptiness?”

The reply was, “True emptiness is profound and still, yet lucid and unobstructed. Inert emptiness is like cold ashes or withered wood: dry, still, and without awareness. Stillness without movement is the substance of true emptiness; responding to things and thus reaching through to them is its function. Inert emptiness, by contrast, is total extinction, without awareness or spirit, like a lifeless thing.”

Someone asked, “Buddhism insists on emptiness, saying that the four great elements—the earth, water, fire, and wind that make up the human body—the six faculties of perception—sight, hearing, smell, taste, bodily sensation, and thought—and the perceptions of consciousness are not truly ours. Then what, exactly, is the Dao?”

The reply was, “Before my parents gave birth to me, this body did not exist. Only after birth did the six faculties and four elements come into being; only with them came consciousness and perception. Everything we possess in this body is no more than an illusory transformation, a temporary coming together. If we trace it back to its source, it was originally nonexistent. Buddhism does not say this merely to make a point. Its insistence on emptiness is meant to bring the mind’s substance into accord with the Great Void, so that not even the slightest entanglement remains in the mind. This is what is called the Dao.”

Someone asked, “Is the Great Way of the Golden Elixir like this too?” The reply was, “The method for cultivating into a Supreme Immortal is no different.” Laozi said, “Contemplate emptiness, and understand that emptiness itself is also empty. There is nothing to cling to as empty. Since the thing emptied does not exist, even ‘nothingness’ cannot be established.” This means that only when one reaches a state of complete stillness and emptiness can this be so.

Someone asked, “The Heart Sutra says, ‘Clearly see that the Five Aggregates are all empty.’ Does cultivating the Golden Elixir also lead to this state?” The reply was, “The scripture begins with the words ‘the Bodhisattva who contemplates in freedom.’ ‘Contemplate’ means turning one’s awareness inward to examine the mind; ‘in freedom’ means that the mind is unbound. It then says, ‘Clearly see that the Five Aggregates are all empty.’ This means that, while contemplating the mind, one directly sees that the five aggregates that make up oneself—form, sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness—are entirely empty, with only a spark of original Yang wisdom, the innate Yang Qi and clear spiritual awareness, shining undimmed. The state described in these two lines is beyond the reach of the methods cultivated by people in the human and celestial realms, revealing the profound attainment of accomplished Buddhist practitioners. ‘Contemplation’ is samadhi; ‘illumination’ is wisdom. Sages attain the Dao through contemplation and illumination. The method of cultivating the Elixir is no exception: this is precisely the Way of the Supreme Immortals.”

Verses on the Golden Elixir

The essentials of returning the Elixir come down to true gold and fire: gold refers to original Jing, and fire to the mind. Use the spirit-fire to refine the essence-gold, until true gold melts into the fire and the fire, in turn, melts into the gold.

If the fire burns too fiercely, the Qi of gold will disperse. If the nature of the gold is too stubborn and the fire too weak, they will also be difficult to harmonize. Only when the radiance of gold and fire continually fills the furnace can a numinous Elixir be refined that never decays.

Mercury refers to Shen, and lead to Qi. The source of Qi and Shen lies in the Great Void, before it was divided. They must be drawn from the root of Heaven and Earth, gathered into the suspended cauldron, and refined there.

Gold, silver, copper, iron, and the other metals, along with the eight minerals, are all ordinary things with form. The roots and stems of plants and trees are likewise materials with form. To understand that the medicine used to return the Elixir is formless, one must refine it within the mind.

Take your own mind as the cauldron and furnace, then use original Shen to refine the Great Returning Elixir. Refine a furnaceful of the essence of Heaven and Earth, and its cool, precious radiance will shine forth continually.

Do not seek the time when gold and fire arise among the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—or in the Bagua. Know that this medicine existed before Heaven and Earth; it appeared long before the Three Powers and the Bagua took form.

Since ancient times, people have sought the elixir of alchemy, but it is not something one can easily obtain simply by looking for it. The precious light born of Metal and Fire may be pure, cool, and bright, yet it cannot be found just anywhere.

Do not search only among Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—the “Three Powers”—or within the Eight Trigrams for the times when Metal and Fire arise. Know that this elixir existed before Heaven and Earth, appearing long before the Three Powers and the Eight Trigrams.

Since ancient times, people have sought the elixir of alchemy. Yet even when Metal and Fire fill Heaven and Earth, one must know where, within one’s own heart, the elixir resides.

The primordial Qi that existed before Heaven and Earth were divided is the Qi inherent in me. My own original Shen, or spirit, is also the spirit of Heaven and Earth. The spirit of Heaven and Earth and my own are originally one. The wonder is that this Qi can set the transformations of Heaven and Earth in motion.

There are countless formulas for the elixir arts, but unless one understands the Mysterious Female, the fundamental gateway through which life and change are born, there is little else to discuss. A person of insight can bring the Dragon and Tiger, Tortoise and Snake—images of Yin and Yang joining in the elixir arts—into a single, integrated understanding, as though swallowing them whole.

One may also speak of the regulation of the firing process: the crow in Kan and the rabbit in Li, which respectively symbolize Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, must be brought into balanced harmony. When the mind is calm and still, intention settled, and spirit gathered into unity, the tiger’s roar and the dragon’s cry awaken the vitality of spring throughout Heaven and Earth.

The rabbit pursues the Golden Crow through the Sea Gate, while the Golden Crow follows the rabbit’s shadow up to Kunlun. This describes the ceaseless return and meeting of Yin and Yang. In an instant, the firing process circulates through Heaven and Earth—but who in the world truly understands the source?

When the seven emotions do not arise, the heart is free of distracting thoughts. The Five Qi converge at the Origin, and intention does not wander into delusion. Bathe and harmonize within the “Gate of Two Eights,” the aperture where Yin and Yang meet in the elixir arts, gathering a single mass of harmonious Qi and keeping the two Yin-Yang energies in balance.

Nourish the pearl of the Black Dragon—a metaphor for the precious Neidan—within your embrace, and hold the Heavenly Treasure Vessel, a vessel symbolizing the gathering and containment of Jing and Qi. Guard it without neglect, moment by moment. When the firing process has completed one full circuit of the cosmos, the Infant will form, symbolizing the achievement of Neidan.

At its root, the firing process lies in the heart. When the heart concentrates and gathers Qi, the fire becomes gentle and luminous. Let steadfast concentration be the waves and wisdom the torch; working together, they quickly refine the Great Medicine and the Returned Elixir.

People in the world do not understand the root of the fire. They merely pass on confused teachings about gentle and fierce fire, and about drawing in, adding, advancing, and withdrawing. In truth, this fire has no fixed seasonal changes. It pervades the vast Dharma Realm and circulates throughout the three thousand worlds.

When one’s observances are pure, worldly defilements can be cut off. When concentration is as clear as still water, the moon of wisdom shines bright. Its light illuminates all alone, clear and undimmed, and through this the Returned Elixir can be brought to complete fulfillment.

Observing the precepts can root out every kind of fault and dispel all evil. Cultivating concentration stills distraction and gathers the numinous, open heart. The lamp of wisdom turns its light inward, shining through the darkness. Why then worry that the water of the Flower Pool—the image in the elixir arts for the body’s inner fluids—will not be clear?

In alchemical cultivation, one should first uphold the precepts. Only firm meditative concentration can subdue a scattered mind, while wisdom and contemplation dispel drowsiness. To understand and put the three—precepts, concentration, and wisdom—into practice is to attain what may be called “Immortal Zen,” a state that combines Daoist cultivation with meditation.

An iron ox and a wooden horse race along the great river; a stone tiger and a clay dragon sing out together. No one knows where these four strange creatures have gone. All that remains is to wave and call out in vain to the “Yellow Matron,” the intermediary who harmonizes and connects the two Qi energies of Yin and Yang.

Once the Six Thieves are subdued, they are brought back to the “Mercury Chamber,” the inner place where mercury is housed during alchemical work and which represents the mind and spirit. The Five Yin, the five elements that make up the body and consciousness, are gathered in and sent to the “Lead Ford,” an inner place associated with lead and the foundation of Jing and Qi. The fire of primordial Yang is set in motion to smelt them into an Elixir, perfectly rounded and radiant like the full moon on an autumn night.

The “Crimson Palace,” the inner palace where the mind and spirit reside, is silent, its gates shut fast. The “Yellow Hall,” the body’s inner center, commands that the city defenses be kept secure. Enemies arrive from all four directions, yet they lower their banners and surrender. The Five Thieves are captured and subdued without a single weapon being raised.

Seek the front waxing phase within the rear waxing phase, and seek the rear waxing phase within the front. These two forces remain at the body’s left and right, never parting; together they form a full moon that casts its light over the autumn colors of the Five Lakes.

The dragon moves through fire, riding the Yang energy; the tiger in the heart of the water steers the lunar orb. Breath flows back and forth in cycles, as if coursing around Heaven and Earth. Even at the seabed beneath Mount Kunlun, it can bring forth life.

The “Purple River Cart,” a term in Daoist Neidan for the movement of Qi within the body, rises from the seashore, passes through the “Ninefold Tower,” the region of the throat’s gateways, and proceeds toward the Jade Capital, a symbol of the upper divine court. It passes through the palaces of the sun and moon, then travels straight from the Crimson Palace into the Yellow Court, the inner Dantian at the body’s center.

Once the tiger’s Qi in Kan roars by the riverbank, it draws the dragon’s Qi in Li into the surging waves of the sea. They fly over the summit of Mount Kunlun, filling every opening in the body with Yang harmony.

Know that the nature of the lead body is constant stillness, while mercury’s function takes movement as its root. When moving mercury can be joined with ever-still lead, the fire in the Golden Cauldron will naturally keep warming and nourishing the Elixir without pause.

Heaven and Earth are the cauldron and vessel; there is no need to seek them elsewhere. Nor should one grasp outwardly for the essence of the sun and moon—the Crow and Hare, symbols of Yin and Yang. Let the Maiden and Infant, symbols of the Yin and Yang energies or of the essence of the heart and kidneys, nourish one another within the body; then let the Yellow Matron harmonize them, so that they remain united for a long time.

The Qian and Kun trigrams in the Classic of Changes are the foundation of the Crow and Hare’s Yin-Yang transformations. The ancients explained the Golden Elixir according to the principles of the Classic of Changes. Kun’s dragon and Qian’s horse work in a continuous cycle—why worry that the Golden Elixir cannot be brought to completion?

Understand the Dao within the human body, and you will understand the Dao of Heaven. Grasp the heart of Heaven, and it will be as though your own being has been nourished. The Yellow Matron harmonizes the two from within, keeping Yin and Yang united for a long time.

The Qian and Kun trigrams in the Classic of Changes are the foundation of the Crow and Hare’s Yin-Yang transformations. The ancients explained the Golden Elixir according to the principles of the Classic of Changes. Kun’s dragon and Qian’s horse work in a continuous cycle—why worry that the Golden Elixir cannot be brought to completion?

Once you understand the human way, you can also understand the Way of Heaven. When you grasp the heart of Heaven, you discover that it resonates with your own heart. The Bagua (Eight Trigrams), symbols of change in Heaven, Earth, and all things, and the Five Phases (Wood, Metal, Water, Fire, and Earth) are already contained within you. Why cling to seeking outside yourself, or travel far to the West in search of them?

Before things divide, Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) contains three fundamental aspects: Yin, Yang, and their union. Its first manifestation is Qian; when Qian’s Qi divides, Kun takes form. The Fire Dragon and Water Tiger transform and alternate, each reversing into the other: this is the most subtle method for cultivating the Golden Elixir.

Half a jin of gold and half a jin of silver together make exactly one jin. Do not look for the secret in the waxing and waning of the sun and moon at their two crescents. When the moon first appears within your own alchemical vessel, that is the sign of a new beginning.

The child born of the mother has snow-white hair; the “Maiden” born of the father has eyes red as cinnabar. They are naturally paired, without equal, and are born at the same moment, on the same day, month, and year.

The timing and intensity of the practice must be applied continuously and with fine attention, until thought and concern fall away and the mind returns to a state before birth. Follow the morning and evening warming of Tun and Meng, the names of hexagrams from the Book of Changes that here indicate stages in the practice, and the infant can be brought to maturity. Yellow sprouts, a sign that essence and Qi are beginning to emerge, spring up everywhere, shining clearly in the moonlight.

Though there are countless books on the Elixir, they all plainly explain the Great Dao. If you cling to hexagram images and written words, you still have not grasped the essential point. Remember the subtle Elixir instructions of the ancients, which guide you to experience emptiness beyond attachment and obstruction throughout the day.

If you do not understand the true meaning of Lead and Mercury in the Golden Elixir, blind practice will only waste your energy. Even if you sit for years in a thatched hut in a garden, you will merely deceive the people of the world.

How many people have studied the Dao since ancient times? They have failed because they did not understand both nature and life: the cultivation of mind and character together with the cultivation of life. In the Tiantai school, only Zhang Ping-shu (Zhang Boduan, an internal alchemist) also mastered the highest teaching of Caoxi, the ancestral home of the Southern Chan school.

Another passage:

Before Taiji had divided, how could there have been distinctions or discernment? If you can understand it this way, the infant of internal alchemy can form at once.

The Five Phases are established according to principle, while people derive the Bagua. Before Heaven and Earth came into being, who could have known their hidden workings?

When you truly understand, it is as though you do not understand; when you truly know, it is as though you do not know. Reaching a state beyond understanding and knowing is the foundation for cultivating the Great Elixir.

Buddhists take precepts, meditation, and wisdom as the essentials of practice; Daoists take Qi, Jing, and Shen as the essentials of cultivation. The fundamental principles of the two traditions are originally one. In the end, both are like springtime, when life force flows in harmony.

Once you preserve the work already accomplished and settle the guiding awareness, deliberate seeking will cause you to lose your awareness. Reaching a state beyond understanding and knowing is the foundation for cultivating the Great Elixir.

Buddhists take precepts, meditation, and wisdom as the essentials of practice; Daoists take Qi, Jing, and Shen as the essentials of cultivation. The fundamental principles of the two traditions are originally one. In the end, both are like springtime, when life force flows in harmony.

After maintaining your proper place and protecting the sovereign, you must pray for and report peace and safety at all times. If you relax even slightly and give yourself free rein, Yin soldiers—the troops of the underworld, also a term for sinister Yin energy—will seize the opening and enter.

The ancients used familiar metaphors to explain the methods of the Elixir. Once you have caught the fish or captured the rabbit, you can set aside the bamboo fish trap and the rabbit-catching gear. The point is that once you grasp the true essentials of cultivation, you need not cling to the metaphors or the methods themselves.

One, two, three, four, five are the foundation from which all things come forth without end. If you keep deriving things from the foundation, there is no limit; lose the foundation, and you depart from the source of the Great Dao.

Five, four, three, two, one: from complexity, return to the foundation and to the Limitless, the undifferentiated origin. Reverse the sequence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the Golden Elixir is refined.

When the mind and spirit are quiet, the Yellow Sprout—a sign of life first stirring in Neidan cultivation—begins to grow. When the mind is clear, White Snow appears, symbolizing pure, condensed essence and Qi. With a clear mind, Spirit Water, a Neidan term for the clear, moist state in which essence, Qi, and spirit gather, becomes limpid; with a settled mind, the Great Elixir can be refined.

Guard and regulate body and mind with meticulous care, and maintain steady control of the firing times—the adjustments of advance and retreat, speed and slowness in cultivation. Where Kan and Li, symbols of Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, meet, a single Great Elixir will condense.

Qi dissipates with the movements of the mind; Jing is depleted by scattered thoughts. When Shen ranges in all directions and loses its guiding center, how can it return to its normal state?

When subtle, stray thoughts cease in the heart, Shen settles with them. If you can understand clearly without being burdened by external things, where would you need to look for the Returning Elixir, the Neidan that returns to the source and is condensed into an elixir?

Greed, anger, and vexation are like thieves; ignorance and desire are like demons who rob you of life. They will seize the treasure that is the Golden Elixir, so you must firmly guard the forbidden city of body and mind.

Treat others with equality and practice the Ten Good Deeds, a Buddhist teaching on ten forms of virtuous conduct. Hold to the One by keeping Shen focused, and eliminate the Three Corpses, Daoist spirits said to dwell within the body, stir up desire, and hinder cultivation. Yin-Yang transformation has many skillful methods; attaining spiritual powers and realizing the Dao need not be beyond hope.

When the Ten Evils accumulate, sinister energy grows day by day. If the mind’s eye is constantly obscured by dust, when will you complete the way of the Elixir?

From the Return hexagram, when Yang energy first arises, one gradually advances to Approach and Peace. Afterward, Encounter, Retreat, and Obstruction follow in turn. Yin and Yang each wax and wane; after the Yellow Flower, a symbolic image in Neidan cultivation, has been bathed, it appears.

(Return, Approach, Peace, Encounter, Retreat, and Obstruction are names of hexagrams in the Book of Changes. Here they illustrate the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang and the stages of cultivation.)

The two turning points are not the winter solstice. The twin bridges join, forming a single stream of spring water. Draw up Lead, a Neidan term often referring to the essence and Qi of Kidney Water or true Yin, and replenish the Red, often associated with Heart Fire or true Yang, keeping it in circulation over time. After ten months, one circuit of the Celestial Circuit is complete.

Yi and Geng correspond to the dark and new moons, the end and beginning of the lunar month; Ding and Jia correspond to the full moon and the stages of its waxing and waning. When three and five unite and Yang energy is strong, the moment of fullness and clarity has arrived.

The River Cart begins to turn, and Qi rises along the spinal channel through the middle of the back, passing through the Three Passes: the tailbone, the middle of the spine, and the jade pillow at the back of the head. The twin wheels, like the sun and moon, turn swiftly; Qi moves back and forth through Kunlun, here referring to the head or crown.

Golden Liquid descends from the position of Li, symbolizing Fire and the Heart; Yang essence rises from the position of Kan, symbolizing Water and the Kidneys. Kan and Li return to one Qi, the primordial Qi of Heaven, and the two phases before and behind—the two stages of Yin-Yang energy—come into balance.

The External Medicine belongs to the Qi of Great Nonbeing, the formless Qi of the origin; the Internal Elixir comes from the Mysterious Female’s Gate, a symbol of the source from which Yin and Yang unite and all things arise. Grasp the Mysterious Female’s Cavity within yourself, and you can penetrate the source of Great Nonbeing.

The practitioner must understand how the two principles of Yin and Yang join, and must truly open the Three Passes—the bodily gates spoken of in cultivation. The moon rises from the vast sea, while the sun glows red above the mountains.

In silence, nurture your true nature; in deep stillness, hold fast to “the One,” as described in Neidan cultivation, where the spirit is gathered and kept in unity. Cultivation involves withdrawing and adding, advancing and retreating: regulating the firing process and knowing when to advance or withdraw. There is no need to explain or proclaim this to your own thoughts.

The two Qi of Yin and Yang pass through the Three Passes, and the Three Corpses—the inner spirits or distracting thoughts said to hinder cultivation—naturally subside and lie still. The Yellow Hall, an important site in Neidan practice, appears in its solemn splendor; the sun rises above the mountains.

In silence, nurture your true nature; in deep stillness, hold fast to “the One.” Regulate the firing process and know when to advance or withdraw; there is no need to explain or proclaim this to your own thoughts.

The two Qi of Yin and Yang pass through the Three Passes, and the Three Corpses naturally subside and lie still. The Yellow Hall keeps its commands in order, and the Five Thieves—the senses and desires that dissipate Jing, Qi, and Shen in Neidan terminology—each settle into stillness.

True emptiness contains wondrous existence, and wondrous existence is joined with true emptiness. Emptiness and existence interpenetrate without obstruction, and in the end both return to a state of stillness and luminous awareness.

The Dragon and Tiger, common Neidan symbols for the two Qi of Yin and Yang within the body, no longer contend; the Tortoise and Snake, images of Yin and Yang joined together, cease driving one another. The Yellow Woman, the mediating force that harmonizes Yin and Yang in Neidan, acts without contrivance, and the Mysterious Pearl, a symbol of the inner elixir or true nature, forms naturally.

The body born of one’s parents already carries Yin turbidity. Whoever wishes to learn how to live forever must seek the genuine Samadhi, a term shared by Buddhism and Daoism for a state of focused stillness.

Birth and death belong to ignorance, the delusion of not understanding truth; the perfectly integrated and unobstructed fundamental nature is originally pure. If you know the way to transcendence, seek the principle of non-birth beyond the physical form.

Non-birth does not mean that nothing comes into being. To understand the Dao as total extinction and emptiness is mistaken. If you insist that spirit and form are completely separate, you will find it hard to accord with the timeless springtime of transcendence.

All things with form and substance must eventually pass away; things without life, too, will decay. If you are to transcend the traces of the mundane world, what is there in this fleeting, dust-like world worth coveting?

End of Volume Four of Direct Guidance from the Mysterious Tradition: The Myriad Dharmas Return as One

Volume Five of Direct Guidance from the Mysterious Tradition: The Myriad Dharmas Return as One

Written by Mu Changchao of Yangshan Daoist Abbey in Jian’an; compiled and edited by his disciple, Yishan Huang Benren.

Two Poems on the Patriarch of the Elixir

There is a patriarch of the Golden Elixir who abides always among the myriad forms. Heaven and Earth are called father; the sun and moon, elders.

He is the master of the spirit of all creatures and the root of the nature and life of all beings. Whoever can grasp this principle may speak with him about the work of Golden Elixir cultivation.

To learn the first steps in cultivating the Golden Elixir, begin with Taiji, then proceed through the trigrams and images of Qian, the Dragon, and the rest. Xun belongs to Yin and symbolizes a woman; its root lies in the Zhen palace. Kun gives rise to an infant, who dwells in the Dui palace.

The figures formed by the Hare and Crow, and the Tiger and Dragon—symbols of Yin and Yang in cultivation practice—lie beyond ordinary forms and traces. Mercury and lead, water and fire—terms in Neidan for Yin and Yang within the body and for Jing and Qi—are all within oneself. Who can grasp the principles indicated by the cyclical signs geng, ding, xin, and bing? One might ask the progenitors of Heaven and Earth.

Five Poems on Delusion

Where was a person before their parents conceived them? Only when deluded thoughts stir does a bodily form gradually take shape. The Six Roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) combine with the Four Great Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind), receiving the Qi of Yin and Yang; this is what we call a human being.

The eyes, ears, nose, and tongue each perform their functions, encountering such objects as sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. The body is where greed, anger, ignorance, and desire take up residence; the mouth is the gateway for food and for disputes.

Where was a person before their parents conceived them? Only when deluded thoughts stir does a bodily form gradually take shape. The Six Roots combine with the Four Great Elements, receiving the Qi of Yin and Yang; this is what we call a human being.

The eyes, ears, nose, and tongue each perform their functions, encountering such objects as sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. The body is where greed, anger, ignorance, and desire take up residence; the mouth is the gateway for food and for disputes.

Earth, water, fire, and wind temporarily gather to form the body; wives, children, gold, silver, and treasures are only temporary companions. This body exists by borrowing the Qi of Yin and Yang. Once the Qi disperses, how could the body continue to exist?

Everything within the body is no more than a temporary illusion. Only the primordial Yang—the innate Yang Qi that was there from the beginning—is the luminous nature of one’s true being. It is called adamantine: enduring and indestructible. Even after a thousand hammerings and a hundred refinings, it becomes ever more refined.

All things in the world are illusory and temporary; the original source, prior to birth, is empty. To see through delusion and illusion and return to one’s true nature is to be a true hero in this world.

Five Poems of Admonition

If you do not root out the Ten Evils—the ten kinds of wrongdoing in Buddhist teaching—from body and mind, your cultivation is wasted effort. The Ten Evils are seeds of rebirth in the Six Realms; to hope to become an immortal is ultimately just a fantasy.

As long as even a little wine, sex, anger, wealth, or other craving remains, it is hard to draw near the Great Dao. These desires are like bottomless pits into which many people in the world have already fallen.

If even the slightest attachment remains in the heart, the mind is not clear. If even half a trace of anger or delusion remains, the Dao has not been cultivated to completion. Only when there is originally not a single thing can one speak of non-arising—the state beyond birth and death—when meeting one another.

Eating one’s fill of meat and the Five Pungent Plants, such as onions and garlic, is said to replenish strength and nourish the spirit. “Gathering Yin, nine to one,” a method of drawing in and replenishing Yin Qi, is a deviant practice that ultimately brings ill consequences.

The ancients avoided desire as they would flying arrows, and kept clear of deep pits and venomous snakes. If one does not get out of the way in time, one will soon lose one’s life. Where, then, would there be time to ask about refining the Elixir and seeking the Dao?

Hide your radiance and your traces, quietly guard the mystery within you, and even dragons, snakes, tigers, and leopards may not notice you. Favor and disgrace seem opposed, yet both can bring a person into difficulty. And in a troubled age like the closing years of the Zhou dynasty, where could one find uncles, aunts, or other kin to rely on and take shelter from calamity?

Fame and fortune are like a rope tightening around the throat; wealth and status are like shackles binding the hands. If you can free yourself from these burdens, you can retreat among the clouds and mists of the deep mountains, quietly cultivate yourself, and experience “Xiyi”—the Daoist description of the Dao as soundless, formless, and beyond perception.

Calamity often springs from good fortune, and good fortune may arrive after calamity, so do not act recklessly. When powerful families are at the height of their influence, do not rush to attach yourself to them. Keep company only with the apes and cranes in the green mountains, and let others laugh at me for being foolish.

The toils of the everyday world are pitfalls at every turn. The world is in turmoil, as though weapons lay scattered across the ground; do not step carelessly into danger. Keep away from the Six Desires—the desires of the six senses—and the Five Forms of Wealth. Adapt to the times, live at ease, and enjoy your own life.

If you wish to cultivate the art of long life, first learn to preserve yourself and avoid harm. A fish hidden deep cannot be caught on a hook; a bird flying high cannot be struck by an arrow.

Five Poems on Equalizing Self and Things

If you wish to cultivate yourself and reach the true state, you must forget distinctions, external things, and emotions. If your heart still holds attachments and obstacles, you will find something unfair in everything you see.

I forget my calculating mind, and external things seem to lose theirs as well. Self and things forget one another, as though neither had ever existed. Birds sing freely and flowers fall naturally: who can truly understand the principle behind it?

The “Four Marks” taught in Buddhist scriptures—the four attachments concerning the self and its relations—should all be cast aside. Laozi’s “Three Emptinesses,” the Daoist cultivation of a state of stillness and emptiness, should accord with them. Life and death, existence and extinction, are one; so where could I find a fixed, unchanging “self”?

Heaven, Earth, and humanity, the Three Powers, come from one source; the myriad things share one root and origin. Taiji, the primal state from which the cosmos unfolds, encompasses them all in undivided wholeness. How, then, could one distinguish between self and others? I do not even know whether this body is “me”; how, then, could distinctions of intimacy and distance arise?

Among the myriad forms, the body seems to stand alone; yet body, thoughts, and all things can together return to quietude. The subtle teaching passed down from ancient times to the present is not complicated: wherever you are, if your heart clings to nothing, you can return to the Great Dao. This is the “Great Return,” the Daoist state of returning to the source.

Five Poems on Returning to the Real

The body’s Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—its Six Roots of perception—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind—and consciousness are all impermanent and unreal. Let go of every attachment throughout the body: where, then, could you find an independent, unchanging “self”?

Before Heaven and Earth divided, in the primordial state of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), there was nothing at all. This body of mine, too, arose from illusory causes and conditions. If we do not cling to sensations such as awareness, sight, and hearing, who could sorrow, grieve, suffer, or feel joy?

At their root, Heaven and Earth and the myriad things are not truly existent; forms as dreamlike as these are not real or unchanging. Only the Great Perfect Wisdom of Equality, which observes all things impartially, makes no room for emotions, distinctions, or the ordinary mind.

The subtle key to returning to the real lies in keeping to constancy at all times. If we fail to understand constancy and act recklessly, we will bring calamity upon ourselves. We must recognize that past and present are one, that the subtle principle brings all things together, and that all returns to balance and harmony.

Beyond physical form, something real still exists; yet nothing in the world can be grasped as real, for even what seems real is impermanent. When the mind and its external surroundings merge and both fall into stillness, the original person then reveals itself.

Five Poems on Breaking Attachment

Tun, Meng, Ji Ji, and Wei Ji—the names of hexagrams from the Book of Changes—cannot necessarily determine the timing of cultivation. They warn people not to speak carelessly. The Elixir can form in a moment; to insist that five or nine years must pass is, in the end, empty talk.

To grasp the mystery of Qian, Li, Kun, and Kan—the hexagrams from the Book of Changes often used to explain Yin-Yang and Neidan cultivation—why follow the hexagrams to circulate the microcosmic circuit? Simply guard the single flame of original Yang, a Neidan term for primordial Yang Qi, and refine it until you reach the emptiness before the Supreme Ultimate.

Searching for a thousand-mile horse by following a picture is a waste of effort. Clinging to outward forms and being bound by words is just as futile. Tell those who seek immortality: at midnight by the sea gate, the sun has already risen. This paradoxical image warns against being constrained by what seems reasonable on the surface.

Recognize the one point of true vitality in original Yang, and there is no need to cling to the Five Phases and the Eight Trigrams as though they were real in themselves. Before Heaven and Earth came into being, there was already a wondrous thing, whole and undivided. Why, then, cling to outward forms and rules of language?

It is easy to speak of this and hard to put it into practice. Learning the books on the Elixir does not mean one has truly obtained it. What worn-out shoe soles cannot find may sometimes be attained in an instant.

Five Poems on Teachings and Rites

The Dharma Realm—the totality of all that exists in Buddhist and Daoist usage—is filled everywhere with the Great Dao, yet the foolish still seek it in the Great Luo Heaven, one of the highest celestial realms in Daoism. They do not know that the Primordial Fuli Land, a name for an immortal realm in Daoist texts, is right within the square inch of every being’s heart.

The ancients established teachings and rules of practice as skillful means to guide ordinary people onto the path of the sages. If the streets were not radiant with flowers in full bloom, why would princes and nobles flock there to admire them?

Cranes cry and phoenixes call, their voices pleasing to the ear; dragons descend and tigers submit, and even ghosts and spirits stand in awe. The subtle mystery should be sought within the Numinous Terrace, the seat of a person’s mind and spirit—not in paintings on white silk.

The document and its talisman seal are enclosed together. The flying talisman dispatched under orders can be sent out in an instant. If you have not yet grasped the mystery between stillness and response, the spirits of the Three Days will not communicate with people at will.

Those in the world who cultivate the Dao and practice Daoist methods must value focused attention and keep the spirit within. Only when their spirit accords with the Great Dao can they approach the Dao’s true state. To seek it only through ritual, appearance, sound, and outward forms is to be obscured by appearances and may even mislead others.

“Twelve Poems on the Wutong Tree”

People of the world, awaken to this: human life is hard to attain. Do not let this life go to waste, or squander your time. Do not merely covet outward sights, sounds, and rituals, and so be deceived by others.

People of the world, awaken to this: human life is hard to attain. Do not let this life go to waste, or idle away your time. Within the human heart lies a Penglai immortal realm (here, an inner state of Daoist cultivation), yet many spend their whole lives rushing about and never reach it. I urge you to seek the Way of longevity soon.

Cultivate early and heed this advice. Black temples and a rosy complexion can change in an instant; time rushes by like flowing water.

Wife, children, gold, silver, and treasures are only temporary companions. When life ends, which of them can you take with you? Do not keep such attachments in your heart.

Attaining a human body is already no easy matter. Do not foolishly believe erroneous views and keep doing evil; only by accumulating goodness can you attain peace and happiness.

Fortunate to be born human, and in the land of Huaxia, turn back soon and investigate the mysterious principles. Do not let worldly toil bind you.

Those who study the Dao should understand its key: they must recognize the original “One,” the Daoist source from which all things arise. Do not seek outside yourself.

All things first take form from the One Qi, the primordial energy that makes up Heaven and Earth, and then arise and transform through the union of Yin and Yang. Our bodies, in truth, also come from the Mysterious Origin, the source of the Dao.

Mercury represents the heart-mind in alchemical language; lead represents primordial Qi. When heart-mind and Qi congeal, they form the foundation of the Elixir. This takes place in the southwest, a symbolic direction in Neidan.

The symbols of Kan, Li, the dragon and tiger, and the principles of nature and life and of Yin and Yang all arise from this; they speak precisely of heart-mind and Qi. I urge you to attend to this and understand it soon.

Guard the true origin and focus on the One Qi. Nurture the infant within until it takes shape, as if gestating within your own body. After ten months, the Elixir embryo is complete.

In the end, no set of metaphors can fully explain this. The key lies in the mind and intention. Seeking outside yourself will only be in vain.

There is no second principle in cultivating this Golden Elixir. I urge you to attend to this and understand it soon.

Guard the true origin and focus on the One Qi. Nurture the infant within until it takes shape, as if gestating within your own body. After ten months, the Elixir embryo is complete.

In the end, no set of metaphors can fully explain this. The key lies in the mind and intention. Seeking outside yourself will only be in vain.

There are not two different principles for this Golden Elixir. Keep the mind and intention close to true Water and true Fire, symbols of Yin and Yang essences in Neidan. Let Kan Water and Li Fire, which symbolize Yin and Yang, mingle with each other, and do not let them become reversed or disordered.

When practicing cultivation methods, one need not fear hardship, but one should let the breath sink deep into the Dantian (the central area of internal cultivation in the abdomen), so that the upper and lower parts respond to one another and the treasure of longevity, Neidan, can emerge.

The Elixir’s root must be firmly gathered and held. At the movement of a thought, the spiritual elixir can easily scatter. Thus, when guarding the elixir, the key is to seal and secure it thoroughly, preventing Jing and Qi from leaking out.

Let an unbroken stream of Original Qi (pre-Heavenly Qi) pass through the Three Passes (the Qi gates described in cultivation), turn the Celestial Wheel (a metaphor for the movement of Qi within the body), and maintain the proper firing time (the timing and degree of regulating the breath and moving Qi). In the Golden Cauldron (a metaphor for alchemical practice), the toad’s light (moonlight symbolizing the radiance of the elixir) encircles it.

The Dao has no other key: the mind is primary. Clinging to outward forms and written words only brings needless trouble. Remember the immortals’ teaching: the metaphors in the alchemical scriptures are countless, yet in the end they speak only of Yin and Yang. Recognize where their root lies.

Those who investigate the mysterious principles, listen to this counsel: a hundred years pass in an instant, and flowers bloom and fall in the blink of an eye. The great matter of human life is centered on the mind. Clinging to forms and words only adds to one’s suffering. Remember the immortals’ teaching: though the metaphors in the alchemical scriptures are many, they ultimately all speak of Yin and Yang. Grasp their essential root.

Those who investigate the mysterious principles, listen to this counsel: a hundred years pass in an instant, and flowers bloom and fall in the blink of an eye. If the conditions for the great matter of cultivating the Dao have not yet ripened, you must be all the more quick to awaken yourself and open the eye of the mind. Do not be misled by misguided teachers.

Study Wuwei (non-action), following what is natural and avoiding forced action, and leave worldly life behind. Build a simple hut from thatch and branches, and live among green mountains and clear waters, at ease and unconfined.

On South Mountain, a jade-like ox appears; person and ox gradually come to know one another. Take off the rain cape and play a tune.

Leisurely and composed, without deliberate effort, wander freely and eat and drink whenever you please. This is a life of true peace, ease, and contentment.

Fortunately, the throat and hands have not been entangled by fame or profit. Like a lone cloud and wild crane high in the vast sky, they are free. Who could ever perceive such a state?

Five Lyrics to “Moon over the West River”

The Great Dao depends on nothing else; it is cultivated within the mind. At the first stirring of thought, Mercury and Lead (terms in internal alchemy for the Yin and Yang energies or alchemical ingredients) scatter. The key is to settle the spirit and regulate the breath with undivided focus.

Do not violate the precepts against killing, stealing, or sexual misconduct, and do not become infatuated with fame, profit, gratitude, or desire. Being free of thought and affairs is the foundation of alchemical practice. Put plainly, the principle is simple.

Many people search outside themselves for the trigrams, not knowing that they should turn their gaze inward and return to Original Qi in its authentic state. The human body itself is the gateway to understanding the principles of the Book of Changes. Kan and Li (the Water and Fire trigrams of the Book of Changes, here referring to the transformations of Yin and Yang) move ceaselessly, day and night.

The Crow, Rabbit, Horse, Ox, Dragon, and Tiger are all images used to symbolize the fundamental principle. The hexagrams Tun, Meng, Jiji, and Weiji (names of hexagrams in the Book of Changes) likewise illustrate that the transformations of Qi follow no fixed schedule of dawn and dusk. The foundation of cultivation lies in settling thought and focusing the mind and spirit.

With single-minded intent, guard the central palace—the place of inner cultivation at the body’s center—without moving, and the Four Directional Beasts, the Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise, will submit like ministers. When internal alchemy and external medicine come together, they accord with the natural Way. The image that appears is the foundation of cultivation. The hexagrams Zhun, Meng, Ji Ji, and Wei Ji cannot be divided simply according to morning and evening. Single-minded concentration is the foundation.

With single-minded intent, guard the central palace without moving, and the Four Directional Beasts will submit like ministers. When internal alchemy and external medicine come together, they accord with the natural Way, revealing a scene like a precious mirror.

In this scene, at this moment and in this state, there is no distinction of thoughts, no self and no other. It is impossible to say what the original mind is; all that appears is a wondrous realm of clarity, stillness, truth, and permanence.

The Buddhist Chan scriptures, precepts, and treatises; the Confucian biographies, Odes, and Documents; and the thirty-six divisions of the Lord Lao’s divine talismans all, in the end, discuss just two words: “single mind.”

If you can understand this mind, why cling to anything else in the world? Forget the body and the breath, and all things return at last to emptiness. This state truly cannot be explained through metaphor.

The human body is temporarily formed from the coming together of the four great elements: earth, water, fire, and wind. The six faculties—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—and the Five Skandhas—form, feeling, perception, volition, and consciousness—also obscure one’s true nature. Only the place where primal Yang resides is one’s true home. Do not mistake the body for your true self; do not let your mind and spirit gallop outward like a wild horse.

The divine capital within the inner court must manifest from within. Heaven and hell, too, are like flowers conjured in the air and must not be grasped as real. This mysterious and profound realm is hard to fathom; who can know its wondrous workings?

Five Lyrics to “Immortal by the River”

At midnight, the Golden Crow, symbol of Yang energy or the sun, seems to rise from beneath the sea. Just as the hour of Chou begins, it gradually emerges from Fusang, the legendary tree from which the sun rises. The sun ascends in the east, in keeping with the Three Yangs, the gradual flourishing of Yang energy.

Spring light fills the courtyard, and brightness springs forth everywhere.

Ride the River Chariot, the image of conveying vital essence in internal alchemy, straight up to the imperial palace, and drink the jade nectar in the Muddy Pellet Palace, an image of cultivation within the head. Then pour the divine water of the Flower Pool—the saliva or essence produced through cultivation—into the Central Yellow, the place of cultivation at the body’s center.

Until the infant has formed, the mother’s body must continue to nurture it for a long time. The energy of the Three Yangs, too, must keep accumulating so that cultivation becomes firm and enduring.

Spring light fills the courtyard, and brightness springs forth everywhere.

Ride the River Chariot straight up to the imperial palace, drink the jade nectar in the Muddy Pellet Palace, then pour the divine water of the Flower Pool into the Central Yellow.

Until the infant has formed, the mother’s body must continue to nurture it for a long time. Cultivation must carry on without interruption if it is to endure.

Bring together the essence of every month of the year in a single instant. Kan and Li, symbols of water and fire, Yin and Yang, unite; the Dragon and Tiger, symbols of the two Qi energies, communicate.

At the proper time, the Three Flowers—the images of Jing, Qi, and Shen in internal alchemy—gather in the cauldron, and in an instant their wondrous efficacy appears.

Yellow sprouts, symbols of the Qi from which the internal Golden Elixir begins to emerge, spring up across the land; white snow, a symbol of condensed essence, gleams, its radiance shining in every direction. The two crescents, symbols of Yin and Yang, unite in fullness, as Jia and Geng correspond.

The pearl of the Black Dragon, a treasure beneath its jaw and here a symbol of the internal Golden Elixir or precious essence, has just appeared from the water. The fire of wisdom then kindles of itself, illuminating the open void.

Shatter the Yang furnace and Yin cauldron, images of the process or implements by which Yin and Yang are refined together, and let black Mercury and red Lead, terms for Yin and Yang essences in internal alchemy, leap into transformation. The Tortoise, Snake, Dragon, and Tiger are all merely borrowed terms for describing cultivation.

Set aside the six faculties and the body of the four great elements as well.

Within the human body there is a naturally arising, innate Qi of True Unity. It belongs neither to the heart nor to the kidneys, and it is not some mysterious substance in the ordinary sense. It cannot be transmitted through words, thought, or emotion. One who cultivates the Elixir Way in accordance with it may be called a Great Luo Immortal, the highest kind of perfected immortal in Daoism.

Some practice absorbing Qi, swallowing vital essence, and taking in the essences of the Seven Luminaries—the sun, moon, and five planets. They also use visualization to transform the Three Vehicles, a symbolic expression in Daoist cultivation; step the Dipper and tread the stars; spray water and scatter flowers; diligently write memorials to the heavens; and chant and drink rosy clouds, a name for immortal wine. What do these outward activities have to do with inner cultivation? How much can be achieved through deliberate effort alone? Even if one amassed merit and virtue as plentiful as river sand, without understanding the Mysterious Female, the subtle source of life and aperture where Yin and Yang unite, one would remain far from the Great Dao.

To study the Dao, one must understand the seal of the mind-ground, the inner confirmation of awakening to the Dao, and know how Yin and Yang support and accompany one another. If one cannot extend this understanding to all things and attends only to one’s own cultivation, the Lesser Vehicle—practice aimed only at personal liberation—lacks the wisdom to comprehend the Great Dao. How, then, could one realize it?

Some grow arrogant and boast that they have understood the Great Dao, using false words to confuse people in pursuit of profit and fame. They give no thought to the sufferings of birth and death, and so will remain lost along the long road of transmigration.

Quatrain

One night, I received two lines of verse in a dream. After waking, I pondered them repeatedly and felt they concealed the wondrous secret of the Golden Elixir, as though the Most High were instructing me. So I completed the poem:

Beyond the sky, towers hang with sun and moon;

Within the body, Qi stirs the transformations of Yin and Yang.

No one understands the immortals’ wondrous secret;

Only by the river, among red smartweed, the waters of Chu flow on.

On Inferior Attainments: Two Poems

In the famed garden, flowers bloom in profusion. First, the golden phoenix carries a flowering branch into the green mountains. Yet bees and butterflies swarm by the fence, ignorant of the secret, circling in vain around the rapeseed flowers.

The tavern keeper brings his wine jar; the poet chants and delights in verse. Year after year, they never miss the pleasure of admiring flowers. Yet they do not know that spring’s spirit rests at the tip of the plum branch, and instead compete to seek the commonplace peach and plum blossoms.

Looking Up at the Mountain

Once the vital point is grasped, it bursts forth like thunder; the sea gate’s mist clears in an instant. However far the ten thousand miles of waves may stretch, if I have not found the Li Pearl—the treasure said to lie beneath a dragon’s jaw, often a metaphor for a precious Daoist secret—I will not return.

The Mountain Realm Gazed Up At

The ancient road has fallen into ruin, choked with brambles, while fierce snakes and beasts roam across it. The mountain forests lie deep and shadowy, dense clouds and mist obscure the way, and the streams are far off. Many travelers dare not go on.

Pointing to What Is Real

I have a hidden place, a cave-like ground that metaphorically points to the true realm of cultivation. It has no boundaries on any side and cannot be fixed by any direction. It is not on a high mountain or on level ground; not in a river or in a city; not in the middle or at the edge.

It does not dwell outside the human world, yet it exists only within it. To buy it, you need no broker to bring buyer and seller together; to sell it, you need no contract.

Those intent on investigating the Dao should not indulge in baseless guesses. When you meet a clear-sighted master, ask for guidance toward the true direction, and let him show you where the true dragon—the real Dao or the root of cultivation—actually lies.

Thirty Zen Koans

What follows are verses commenting on Zen koans, the stories used in the Zen tradition to awaken insight.

The World-Honored One Raises a Flower

There was nothing to begin with, yet somehow it gave rise to endless questions, leaving gods and people alike to speculate. The matter was plainly before them, yet no one understood. The World-Honored One simply raised a flower, and the gesture brought forth only laughter.

Kashyapa Smiles

The golden-headed monk, the Venerable Kashyapa, is truly a figure of pity: why did he smile before the old foreigner, the Buddha? At that moment the Buddha’s gaze was steady and clear as a blue lotus. That flower-raising almost became a secret teaching passed down in error.

Bodhidharma Faces the Wall at Shaolin

If not a single word can ring true, it is hard to find one’s footing. Bodhidharma’s years of austere practice facing a wall seem almost like a futile imprisonment of himself. A ladleful of water flung casually from Mount Shaoshi, where Shaolin Temple stands, has kept waves surging across the four seas to this day.

Nanquan Cuts the Cat in Two

The gathered monks argued without end, then fell silent as if struck by a heavy hammer. Nanquan cut the cat in two with a single stroke, and that was the end of it. Yet over a thousand years, who in the Zen halls has pleaded the cat’s case?

Linji Enters and Immediately Shouts

Linji’s shout cracked like thunder, rousing the sleepers. Who would have thought that one shout could bring someone back to life from utter stillness? Obstacles piled high as silver mountains and iron walls were all swept away by a single sword stroke through the air.

Deshan Enters and Immediately Wields the Staff

The cane should plainly come down without hesitation, yet it startles those who pride themselves on their strength until they are beside themselves. Even if they had hands all over their body and could catch the cane, they would still take a blow and be left with a mark.

A monk asked Master Zhaozhou, “Does a dog have Buddha-nature?” Zhaozhou replied, “No.”

Life and death have never had anything to do with it. If the thought of “becoming a Buddha” still lingers in your mind, then you know that becoming a Buddha is no easy matter. Even after hearing the answer “No,” you cannot simply conclude that you have understood. The words are plainly like a sword whose cold gleam presses close.

Master Bajiao said, “If you have a staff, I will take it from you; if you have no staff, I will give you one.”

Old Bajiao insists on making people doubt: he takes a staff from those who have one, and gives one to those who do not. This taking and giving shows the skill of teaching in response to the moment. But how does it compare with the time when no force need be used?

Whenever Master Zihu saw a monk, he would shout, “Look at the dog!” When the monk turned around, Zihu would return to his abbot’s quarters and shut the door.

At the cry “Look at the dog!” the monk turns in haste, as though bitten and bleeding all over. When he goes back, how could the pain subside unless he shuts the door to the abbot’s quarters?

A monk asked Master Xianzi, “What, exactly, did the monk bring from the West?” Xianzi replied, “The offering table with wine before the statue of a deity.”

These words point straight to the wine table before the deity, directly breaking through the deepest barrier. Those who seek blessings by praying to the gods are often the very ones deceived by spirits.

A monk asked Master Zhaozhou, “What profound meaning did Bodhidharma bring from the West?” Zhaozhou replied, “The cypress tree in the courtyard.”

The cypress stands upright, its green carrying a chill. It is neither a plum blossom nor bamboo like jade. It reveals its natural form on its own, yet how many passersby mistake it for a sight to admire?

Layman Pang asked Mazu, “Who is it that is not a companion to the myriad things?” Mazu said, “When you can drink the entire West River dry in one gulp, I will tell you.”

That which exists reveals itself alone, filling the whole void at every moment. Its eyes are horizontal, its nose vertical, and its mouth like a donkey’s. Even if someone could drink the entire West River dry in one gulp, still no one could be its companion.

A monk asked Zhaozhou, “Did you meet Master Nanquan in person?” Zhaozhou replied, “Zhenzhou produces large turnips.”

A monk asked Chan Master Zhaozhou, “Did you meet Nanquan in person?” Zhaozhou said, “Zhenzhou produces large radishes.” He answers with an everyday thing, apparently missing the question, to keep people from clinging to the urge to question and distinguish.

When chance brings people together, a few words can say everything. Clouds drift, mountains remain, and water flows on. I point it out to you directly, without detours: that radish plainly comes from Zhenzhou.

Xuansha sent a letter to Xuefeng. Xuefeng took it and opened it; inside were only three blank sheets of paper. He said, “A noble friend who understands you is like sharing the same breeze, even across a thousand miles.” The blank paper expresses their mutual understanding: words are not needed.

Though a friend who understands you may be a thousand miles away, your intentions are still like the wind; the three sheets of paper remain blank from beginning to end. Do not say Xuefeng missed anything: a thread of lotus fiber, though fine as a hair, can lead an elephant through the pass into Guanzhong. The verse uses a seemingly frail thread leading an elephant to suggest that a subtle Chan prompt can guide someone toward deep understanding.

Shoushan held up a bamboo pointer, a strip of bamboo a Chan master uses to instruct or admonish disciples, and said, “Call it a bamboo pointer, and you cling to its name. Don’t call it a bamboo pointer, and you go against what is right before you. Tell me, what should it be called?”

To pick up the bamboo pointer and say plainly what it is does not work; to say what it is not is just as hard to make sense of. There is another way beyond these two distinctions. And what do reeds and smartweed growing opposite each other have to do with it? The verse uses the question about the pointer to remind us not to get trapped in judgments of “is” and “is not.”

A monk asked Chan Master Linji, “What is the true person without rank, the true nature unbound by status or names?” Linji said, “What true person without rank? It’s nothing but a dried shit stick,” using a deliberately crude term for an ancient latrine implement.

The true person without rank is a dried shit stick. How many truly understand these words and can feel the kindness behind them? Generals establish peace, yet are not allowed to see it with their own eyes. The verse compares this to a general stepping aside after victory: those who bring a state of being into existence may not get to enjoy it themselves.

A monk asked Chan Master Zhaozhou, “What is the true person without rank?” Zhaozhou replied, “A dried shit stick.” The next two lines of the verse make the same point: the true person without rank is a dried shit stick, and few can grasp its deeper meaning. A general lays the foundations for peace, yet cannot see that peace with his own eyes.

A monk asked Zhaozhou, “When all things return to the One, where does the One return?” Zhaozhou said, “When I was in Qingzhou, I made a cloth shirt weighing seven jin.” He again answers with an everyday thing instead of following the abstract question into further reasoning.

The myriad things surge up in their profusion, yet when they are gathered together, not the slightest bit has been added. It is a pity that Zhaozhou held nothing back and said plainly: the cloth shirt from Qingzhou weighs seven jin.

Chan Master Ruiyan called out to himself, “Master of this very moment,” meaning his own awake and true mind, and answered himself. Then he reminded himself, “Stay awake. From now on, don’t let anyone deceive you.”

Calling to yourself and answering yourself may seem like a series of actions, yet even the belief that you are awake can become a deception. Heard amid sorrow, the oriole’s song is unbearable; the green willows, meanwhile, are just right to behold in the rain. Through images of the scene and the feelings it evokes, the verse reminds us not to treat the “master of this very moment” as some separate thing we can grasp.

A monk asked Manjushri Bodhisattva, “How many sentient beings are there?” Manjushri replied, “Three threes in front, three threes behind.”

Three threes in front and behind are already there before our eyes. Yet how many people mistake them for a fixed measure? The moon seen by the ancients is the same moon seen by people today; the moonlight shining now once shone on the ancients. The verse uses the moon, ever present through the ages, to show how the sights of past and present are connected.

The monk Yanguan asked his attendant for the rhinoceros fan. The attendant replied, “The fan is broken.” Yanguan said, “Since the fan is broken, give me back the rhinoceros horn.” Here, the image of the rhinoceros in “rhinoceros fan” becomes the pivot of a Chan exchange: the broken fan is the pretext for asking after the fan’s true nature.

When Danxia burned a wooden Buddha, the abbot challenged him, asking what he was doing. Danxia said, “I’m burning it to obtain relics.” The abbot replied, “How could a wooden Buddha have relics?” Danxia answered, “If it has no relics, what harm is there in burning two more?” This encounter uses the burning of a wooden Buddha to break attachment to Buddha images. Its point lies in the quick-witted exchange, not in prescribing a ritual of burning images.

The wooden Buddha burned, and the warmth was just as real. Poor abbot—Danxia’s words caught him off guard. Had there been no fire in the brazier, Danxia might have spent the whole night shivering in the cold.

Just as Mazu had mounted the teaching seat and begun to speak, Baizhang rolled up the mat before him. Mazu immediately stepped down.

Those who truly understand one another need not wait for words to be spoken; they already know. Clouds gather over the southern mountain, and rain follows. Baizhang rolled up the mat, and Mazu stepped down. No words were needed. The two were like gulls on the sea, free of schemes toward one another and responding naturally.

Yaoshan climbed to the summit and suddenly burst out laughing. People living within fifteen miles below the mountain all heard him.

Alone atop the peak, his heart and mind opened wide. A strong wind swept across the sky, clearing away clouds and dust. If he had not seen such a sight, beautiful as Chang’e herself, how could he have laughed with such abandon, his laughter carrying into the distance?

As Mazu sat in meditation, Chan Master Nanyue Huairang ground a brick in front of him. Mazu asked, “What are you doing?” Huairang said, “I’m grinding the brick into a mirror.” Mazu said, “How can grinding a brick make a mirror?” Huairang replied, “If grinding a brick cannot make a mirror, then sitting in meditation cannot make a Buddha.” Mazu understood.

There was a reason Huairang ground the brick into a mirror. Though the gesture was small, it startled the whole neighborhood. Gently turn this exchange over, and the awakened one will spring to life like a golden-maned lion.

The Sixth Patriarch said, “It is neither the wind moving nor the banner moving. It is your mind, venerable sir, that is moving.”

The subtle principle by which the true mechanism operates remains unmoving, and the Way naturally appears in perfect harmony. Listen with your ears and look with your nose; the eyes, by contrast, seem deaf. Wooden people, flowers, and birds are never an obstacle. Let the wind and banners flutter freely through the vast emptiness.

A monk asked, “What does the cold spring in the ancient ravine taste like?” Chan Master Zhaozhou replied, “Bitter.” The monk asked again, “What happens if you drink it?” Zhaozhou said, “You die.”

The spring tastes bitter indeed. Who would willingly give up their life to drink it? Do not blame Chan Master Zhaozhou for speaking so harshly: bitter medicine has always been the best medicine.

The Buddha is born.

In Lumbini Garden, where the Buddha was born, Lady Māyā grasped a branch and gave birth to the Buddha from her right side. From the moment he was born, the Buddha’s whole body carried poisonous roots. Without the water sprayed from the mouths of the Nine Dragons, how could this wronged spirit ever be washed clean?

The Buddha enters nirvana.

Long ago, the Buddha vanished from sight among the twin sāla trees, and for a time the calamities between heaven and earth subsided. Yet who could have known that, like wildfire that cannot burn through the grass, it would spring up again and again with the spring wind?

The Patriarch comes from the West.

Crossing mountains and rivers, he traveled through years beyond counting, carrying his robe and bowl alone to the South. The Chan insight the Patriarch brought from the West is already present in every household. Why treat poison as a secret transmission beyond the teachings?

Returning West with one shoe.

He entrusted the robe, bowl, and religious duties to Shenguang, later the Second Patriarch Huike. The stone horse turned back, its plan far-reaching. Before Forgetting-Ears Mountain, the spring dream came to an end: one shoe split in two, and he returned to his homeland.

Twenty-Four Verses on the Mysterious Origin

The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning suspends a precious pearl, no larger than a grain of millet, in the depths of the mysterious void.

A pearl as small as a grain of millet rests in empty space, yet countless beings on earth and in heaven are bewildered by it. They cannot see that Jade Capital, the dwelling place of the Heavenly Emperor, is close at hand. Instead, they follow wind and rain through Hangu Pass.

All beings without number enter the pearl.

Gather heaven and earth into a single picture, leaving no direction out. Travelers need no longer search for the road to Chang’an: within the space of a square inch lies the imperial capital.

Once inside the pearl, one no longer knows where one is.

Step through the Mysterious Pass, moving deeper with every step.

Gather heaven and earth into a single picture, leaving no direction out. Travelers need no longer search for the road to Chang’an: within the space of a square inch lies the imperial capital.

After entering the mouth of the precious pearl, one no longer knows where one is.

Cross the Mysterious Pass, the gateway to subtle and hidden realms, and go deeper with every step. Understand that there is nothing there at all, and even thoughts fall silent. The person you seek seems to be somewhere on an autumn river. The bright moon shines on the reeds—where could you possibly find him?

The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning finished expounding the scripture within the precious pearl.

The clear breeze and bright moon remain as they were. Who is speaking, who is listening, and what age does it belong to? If you ask what happened inside the precious pearl in those days, it is like a clay ox bellowing beneath the moon in a long river.

The ritual proceedings are nearly complete, and the divine beings of the heavens each return to their places.

Winds and clouds gather and disperse within the precious pearl, murmuring softly of home as their delight grows. Turning back to seek an old friend, one no longer knows where he is. The green mountains remain, and white clouds still drift among their peaks.

In an instant, all falls silent; not an echo remains.

Auspicious splendor flourishes, bringing honor to the family’s traditions, while millions across heaven and earth look up together. Suddenly, six dragons dance away in flight. Heaven and earth stretch vast and empty—where can one search for traces of their divine powers?

The Venerable Lord of the Mysterious Gate said: “A Dao that can be explained is not the constant Dao; a name that can be clearly defined is not the constant name.”

The Dao that can be spoken and named is not the constant Dao. Pay no heed to others’ talk of its merits and faults. That subtle chant has no fixed tune; there is no need to distinguish the notes of gong, shang, and the other musical modes.

The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.

Above, there is no form; below, there is no abyss. In the clear, still emptiness, let things be as they are. If you can grasp this moment and this realm, you will understand: this is the wondrous state before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) came into being.

The named is the source of the myriad things.

Vast and boundless.