《玄教大公案》

The Daoist tradition has a long history. In ancient times, the Most High Primordial Ancestor (Taishang Hunyuan Laozu)—that is, Laozi—used the mysterious principle that transcends form, and reluctantly called it the “Dao.” He also set forth the teachings of “De” to help explain it, composing the five thousand words of the Daode Jing. The book also contains meanings beyond words: subtle and profound, mysterious and difficult to fathom. Some principles cannot be fully expressed in language and are difficult to grasp; they can only be described as best one can.

Later, Laozi transmitted the teachings of the Dao and De to Yin Xi, Guardian of the Pass. His disciples each understood their subtle meanings in their own way. Pre-Qin thinkers such as Liezi and Zhuangzi, along with immortals and perfected beings such as An Qisheng, Li Xianqing, and Ge Xianweng, passed the teachings down from generation to generation, each leaving scriptures of their own. Thereafter, Daoist lineages multiplied, and practitioners of the Dao lived in blessed grotto-heavens from one generation to the next.

From the Zhou and Han dynasties onward, Yin Xi continued the ancestral succession. The Sovereign Lord of the Golden Towers inherited the Daoist transmission and passed it on to the Sovereign Lord of Donghua. Donghua transmitted it to the Immortal Lord Zhongli of Zhengyang; Zhongli transmitted it to the Immortal Lord Lü of Chunyang; Lü transmitted it to the Immortal Lord Liu of Haichan; and Liu transmitted it southward to Zhang Ziyang. The lineage of the Five Patriarchs and Ziyang was also transmitted northward to Wang Chongyang and the Seven Perfected Ones of Quanzhen. Thus the Daoist transmission divided into two branches.

Master Li of Qing’an received instruction from the Perfected One Wang Jinchang, a disciple of Bai Yuchan. He became a patriarch of the Mysterious Gate and inherited the orthodox transmission of the Dao, carrying on the true Way. He left behind many writings, which have been passed down to the present day. Miao Taisu of Shian became his student, grasped and carried on the essentials of his mind teaching, and may be said to have surpassed his teacher. Shian embraced the Great Dao and took as his standard the mind teachings of the Daoist transmission handed down by the patriarchs of successive generations. He taught later students by gathering the essential and subtle points from various scriptures, arranging them from the simple to the profound, and setting out their central teachings in outline. He also offered guidance beyond the words of the patriarchs and recorded it in verses. Following the numerical principles of the Yi, he composed sixty-four cases and added three further instructions for entering the inner chamber. His disciples, including Wang Cheng’an, compiled them into a book entitled The Great Cases of the Mysterious Teaching.

Every line in this book illuminates the fundamental principles, and every passage returns to the Daoist transmission. Essence and function are one, and the book brings together the Three Teachings. It enables readers to understand freely the principles that preceded Fuxi’s drawing of the trigrams, and to roam through the formless realm beyond the Sage’s images. Its depth is truly extraordinary. The Perfected Recluse Tang of Huayang funded the printing of this book so that it could circulate widely, a deed of far-reaching significance. If people of purpose study and investigate this Great Cases with care, cultivate an unobstructed insight, and see the principles through and connect them in every direction, then the Daoist transmission will become clear and manifest, continuing unbroken from generation to generation. Would that not be a fine thing?

The Daoist recluse Yuanhei of Jinling, Ke Daochong, respectfully writes this preface.

The mind of Heaven, boundless and undivided at the source, embraces the principles of all things. The wisdom eye that existed before the myriad phenomena appeared can behold everything completely. When human nature reaches a state of utmost emptiness, it can penetrate in all directions and exercise spiritual powers through the six senses. But when the mind is clouded by obstructions like mist, what it sees becomes manifold and divergent. Therefore, to open one’s vision beyond the mundane world, one must first see clearly into the human mind.

From childhood I studied Confucian learning; as I grew older, I came to admire the teachings of the mysterious Daoist tradition. I often investigated the roots of nature and principle, and sought to understand the mysteries of the Way of Heaven. The more widely I searched and the more deeply I explored, the more I felt that its principles were difficult to hear. Fortunately, blessings from a former life brought me to Zhonghe, where I often listened to Master Shian explain the essentials of the teaching. His instruction gradually clears away accumulated vexations and brings clarity to the mind, allowing one to return to the source. It also stills the spirit and calms the breath, thereby settling one’s nature and life and aligning them with the principles of Heaven. The Master taught repeatedly from many angles, patiently and carefully guiding his listeners toward understanding.

One day, a senior disciple of Zhonghe brought out the Master’s verses on the essentials of practice and the heart-method of the Dao’s transmission. This work, which expounds the essence of the Daoist teachings, was titled The Great Casebook of the Mysterious Teaching. I read it in quiet concentration and found that it clarifies how all things share a single source, gathers the many paths of practice into a coherent whole, reveals the essence of the Realized Ones’ cultivation of the Dao, and connects the heart-methods of the patriarchs through the ages. Like a sharpened sword of wisdom, it can cut away the Three Corpses—the corrupt influences said to reside within the body and hinder cultivation—and drive off the Six Thieves, the six sensory desires that disturb the spirit. It loosens bonds and breaks fetters, dispels the net of worry and doubt, and cuts through the obstacles of affliction. It can also awaken those lost in delusion, save living beings, and guide those with understanding, enabling them to grasp the wondrous workings and essential pivots of the Dao, reach the highest state, and dwell in peace and freedom, tasting a true joy unconfined by birth and death.

The book brings together the mysteries of nature and principle and the Way of Heaven, as well as methods for clarifying the mind and seeing one’s nature, explaining each point distinctly. If one can truly grasp these principles, how could one say they are impossible to hear? Yet even these are only the lingering traces of the Daoist teachings transmitted by the Master.

Having received this instruction, I was filled with joy. Though I knew my own limitations, I asked that the book be printed, hoping that Daoist practitioners blessed with good fortune and wisdom throughout the world might open the eye of wisdom through these words, unlock the crucial gateways, cast off attachment to emptiness, recover their original nature and return to simplicity, wander freely in the realm of the Limitless, and quietly unite with the primordial Great Dao. This is my wish.

I, Tang Daolin, a recluse at the Nine-Bend Qingxi in Jinling (present-day Nanjing), respectfully record this with a bow.

The sages, immortals, and supreme Dao take the subtle, precelestial Dao as their essence, and through its wondrous workings they bring all things into harmony. With sincerity and stillness, and by guarding their practice with care, they strengthen their original nature. With humility, reverence, and gentleness toward others, they bring benefit to the world. The Great Cases of the Mysterious Teaching, written by Master Shian, fully reveals the essence and workings of the Dao, and presents a complete and well-rounded method of cultivation. It gathers the pure and unified true Dao and enters the mysterious realm; it brings together the myriad principles and returns to the source. It enables people to nurture their original Qi (vital energy), harmonize with the realm of openness and emptiness, and safeguard their wise life—the luminous life within. It quiets their nature and steadies their Dao-heart. This is truly a magnificent achievement. How could it be, as some fear, a plunge into empty stillness and uselessness, or a heretical pursuit that relies only on words?

I had earlier heard that Master Shian had supplied annotations for one third of the principles left unexplained in Master Yichuan’s Commentary on the Changes. I was silently astonished and said, “Master Yichuan was one of the six great masters of earlier times, and even he left matters unfinished. Now Master Shian has clarified them. What manner of person can he be? It is a pity I cannot go and pay my respects at once.” Later, by chance, I took up a post at the Southern Terrace. In my spare time, I went with three or five colleagues to visit him in Zhonghe. At our first meeting, he appeared serene and composed, unassuming and gentle. When I respectfully asked him questions, he answered with ease and openness. His replies were grounded and clear, and suddenly everything became lucid.

I was also able to read his annotations on the unfinished parts of the Commentary on the Changes, as well as his Resolving Doubts about the Net of Changes. As expected, his language was concise and his reasoning comprehensive, pure and penetrating. The questions that had accumulated through years of study dissolved at once, like ice and snow. The first case in the Great Cases lays bare the essential subtleties of the Three Teachings, the proper relationship between essence and function, and the errors of one-sided views. Drawing on the classics of various schools, the book explains matters, mysteries, and subtle meanings one by one. It is like looking into a mirror: the fine and the coarse alike come clearly into view.

The book explains how the three bodies—the distinct levels of body and spirit in Daoist cultivation—return to unity, and how the six desires—the cravings of the six senses—settle into stillness and emptiness. When quietude and emptiness reach their utmost, they return to the source; movement and stillness alike embody the Great Dao. It also teaches that generosity and compassion nurture one’s nature, frugality and simplicity nurture the Dao-heart, and humility and gentleness nurture mysterious De (Virtue/Power). It discusses matters of daily life, including the five tones as a poison and the ten kinds of chronic illness. It uses the Gen hexagram from the Book of Changes to clarify the true practice of stillness and stability, and the setting sun in the Li hexagram to show that life and death are like empty illusions. It further reveals the utmost subtlety before the hexagrams take shape, and the deeper mystery that lies beyond them.

Wielding the treasured sword handed down from the Sovereign of Fu Xi, the Master cleaves open the mysterious barriers set by the sages of past ages. He brings forth the primordial millet pearl, an image of the subtle original source, and illuminates the celestial valley where the immortals dwell. Earlier masters of Daoism and Confucianism never explained these matters in this way. It may be said that his insight surpasses past and present, and that his mystery extends through beginning and end. Without a precelestial kind of wisdom, who could reach such a state? Confucius said, “When one acts before Heaven, Heaven does not oppose.” These words are indeed trustworthy. How could I fail to honor him with the respect due a teacher? I have therefore briefly described the Master’s moral cultivation, the essence and workings of the Dao, and the related principles and actual deeds. As for the mystery of the precelestial state, before words have arisen, those who share the same aspiration must cultivate it closely through the power of wisdom and grasp the methods of practice within.

True gold withstands the trial of fire, and through refining becomes purer and brighter still. Fine jade has not a flaw in it, yet only through carving and polishing can it become a treasured vessel. Rotten wood and brittle iron are difficult to work, even in the hands of master craftsmen. Thus the Nanhua Zhenjing—the Daoist honorific title for the Zhuangzi—says: “Those who are endowed with a sage’s qualities and can receive the Great Dao of the sages find the cultivation of the Way easy.” But how many people are born already understanding the Great Dao?

Even someone with deep foundations and keen insight, who can grasp one point and thereby comprehend the whole, still needs the guidance of a true teacher to reach the highest state. We, with our scant blessings and dull foundations, are often more burdened by karmic forces than strengthened by the power of the Dao. If we boast that we can transcend in an instant and awaken all at once, we may only be deceiving ourselves. But if we follow a teacher and undergo repeated refinement, moving from honesty and clear understanding toward emptiness, stillness, and transparency, it is like progressing from upholding precepts and entering samadhi to the wisdom of awakening. Step by step, with our feet firmly on the ground, we continually bring the mind into accord with the vast, luminous emptiness of space. Cleansed over a long time without becoming clouded, and struck and shaken without breaking, we will naturally become pure and firm. Is that not a fine thing?

My teacher, Xianfang of the Shian Hermitage, surpasses the worldly in his cultivation of Dao and De, and expounds the fundamental principles of Heaven and Earth through his teaching. He elucidates the profound principles of the Supreme One’s (Laozi’s) teaching of the mind and analyzes the essence transmitted by Fuxi, the legendary sage ruler of high antiquity. He brings the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—together as one, returning them to the primordial unity. He sweeps away erroneous doctrines and reveals the right path. He also refines later students, helping them establish their fundamental aims, cultivate a noble mind, and reach the prenatal realm. Thus kindred friends and fellow Daoists gathered around him, while worthy officials came seeking him by reputation. People arrived with empty, unknowing minds and departed laden with understanding. The teacher needed few words for people to trust him. Those close to him rejoiced, and people from afar came to follow him; many things came to fruition of their own accord.

From this we can see that true teaching does not cling to words. It carries forth the myriad mysteries, far beyond the reach of thought and discussion. If the “Way that can be spoken” were a fixed and unchanging constant Way, it would not be the true, constant Way. The Great Dao embodies all Virtues and stands alone before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things came into being. Who could accomplish such things without attaining the highest clarity and understanding the deepest transformations?

Each day I serve my teacher in the Mysterious Hall, fortunate to receive his instruction as if bathed in the rain of the Dharma. I have recorded and gathered the subtle teachings he delivered in the hall, and also compiled the precious methods of the Dao that he imparted to his inner-room disciples. Though the principles are expressed in many ways, they ultimately return to one foundation. The difficult questions left by sages and perfected immortals throughout the ages, my teacher has resolved and explained one by one. For this reason, the book is titled The Great Cases of the Mysterious Teaching. It is arranged in sixty-four cases, symbolizing the sixty-four hexagrams of the Zhouyi; three further teachings for inner-room disciples symbolize the Three Ultimates—the fundamental levels of Heaven, Earth, and humanity.

Those who are truly decisive and steadfast, if they can receive the teaching here and now, accept its refinement, silently comprehend it in their hearts, and strive to put it into practice, can transcend attachment to sounds and forms, discern the workings of consciousness, clarify their original mind, and open the eye of the Dao. They can suddenly transcend birth and death, their luminous wisdom illuminating past and present. The workings and essentials of the Great Dao are all present in this cultivation, and its true joy is beyond measure. If one can truly do this, one will not have failed the teacher’s earnest, repeated instruction or squandered a rare opportunity that comes once in a thousand years.

Even so, I am no more than a boatman ferrying people across.

In the Jiazi year of the Taiting era, disciple Cheng’an Wang Zhidao respectfully bows his head and writes this preface.

The Great Cases of the Mysterious Teaching, Volume One

The Daoist master Jinlian, Master Shian Miao Taisu, presented these cases, which his disciple Cheng’an Wang Zhidao compiled.

He took his place in the hall and spoke about ancient precedents, presenting sixty-four cases in all.

First Case

The Supreme One’s True Classic of the Dao and Its De says: “The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name.” These two lines sweep away all teachings about being and nonbeing, sound and form found in the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. They remind those who study the Dao to quietly experience its true meaning beyond the everyday movements, stillness, and speech.

The Dao has no fixed body or outward appearance. It does not belong to the realm of forms, nor is it the same as nothingness. The Dao is manifest in all things, and everyone possesses it from the outset. It is the fundamental state before Heaven and Earth took shape, and the numinous, lucid nature that existed before one’s parents gave birth to one. It cannot be attained through thought and pursuit, nor understood by words alone. The Dao has no fixed form, and the wondrous workings of the mind are not limited by direction or place. Thus, the Dao that cannot be fully expressed in words is the true and constant wondrous Dao; the name that cannot be accurately named can only be called, as a makeshift, “the name of what is so of itself.” To cling to a particular name is to fall into an outside path; to cling to a particular explanation is to adopt a view that departs from the right way.

Since people cannot truly explain the Dao, how should they understand it? Sincerity—sincerity.

The verse says:

To call it “Dao” as a makeshift is like feeding a child food already chewed. Clinging to words, thought, and deliberate seeking is like feeling along a wall in search of a fence. Becoming absorbed in nothingness and settling into stillness leads down a dark and remote path; clinging to movements of bending and stretching or to ideas held in contemplation binds one to methods and rules. Even when raising the word “nothing” and sitting silently, one must remain alert and clear.

To force a name for it and call it the “Dao” is like chewing food and then feeding it to a child. Deliberately seeking it through words and thought is like feeling along a wall in search of a fence. If you become absorbed in emptiness and stillness, you will drift into a secluded byway. Deliberately bending and stretching the body, or holding ideas in mind, is to cling to methods and rules. Outwardly, you may appear quiet and sit motionless, while inwardly your mind remains clouded and confused. Watching the mind and trying to transform external things only traps you, leaving you dull and foolish. If you simply indulge what is called “nonbeing,” you will become aimless and scattered, lost in ignorance. Trying to cast off discriminating thoughts and rely on inward awareness alone still leaves you like someone walking with water in hand and dragging mud along: it only adds to the obstruction.

To display quick-witted Chan exchanges, raise a whisk or pick up a rattle; use words or silence, strikes or shouts, a blink or a raised eyebrow to make your point. Expound according to the situation, and deliberately set up questions whenever something arises. If these gestures are merely imitated on purpose, they agitate the spirit and let the discriminating mind show off its clever tricks. If all you can do is talk grandly, the very foundation will fall apart. To treat such things as learning and understanding and call them the Dao, without truly comprehending it, is ultimately to fall into heterodox paths.

Better to remain simple and sincere, with the breath fine and even. In a state of indistinctness, experience a complete merging with the Great Void, revealing the original nature that existed before birth, standing firm and unmoving. Truly grasp the meaning of “spiritual without being spirit-like”—without deliberately displaying spiritual powers, yet naturally manifesting wondrous activity—and you can open up the many mysteries and peacefully enjoy the subtle realm of Xiyi, unseen by the eye and unheard by the ear.

Second passage

The Most High says, “The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words.” He also says, “Practice what is without action.” And again: “The Dao constantly follows its own nature, yet nothing is left undone.” These words are profound: attend to them with the heart and mind, and see for yourself; then the Dao will naturally appear. It stands distinctly before the myriad forms and the sovereign, and transcends the body and its shape. This is the wonder of teaching without words.

“Wuwei” does not mean being like a clay or wooden idol, unmoved when pushed, unresponsive when called, and motionless even under pressure—a rigid lump of matter. The key is to preserve a spark of inner clarity, so that body and mind are whole, integrated, lively, and natural. Act without selfish intent; stop when it is time to stop and move when it is time to move, in accord with the natural character of all things. That is why it is said, “The Dao constantly practices Wuwei, yet nothing is left undone.” Then who is it that practices Wuwei? Ah! The verse says:

“The wonder of what is left unsaid” means that the wonders of the Great Dao cannot be expressed in words. “The benefits of Wuwei (non-action)” means the benefits that come from following nature without imposing arbitrary actions. The Great Dao is still and formless, yet it can resonate with and reach all things—a state few in the world can attain. It runs through every principle, bringing all things together again in the “Great One” (the unified source before things differentiate). Once returned to the One, where does one go? One returns to “Primordial Chaos without Limit” (the undivided, boundless source). Within the Limitless there is a governing presence, and the processes of generation and transformation never cease. All things continually come forth, yet it is as though there were no fixed “one who gives birth.” This process extends finely and continuously, without end.

Transformation takes place in stillness, as if refining purple gold; function is carried out through Wuwei, as if tempering fine jade. Alas, do not misunderstand these words.

Third Passage

The Most High (an honorific title for the Dao) says: “The valley spirit never dies; this is called the Mysterious Female (the hidden source that gives rise to and transforms things). The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It continues without interruption, seeming to exist; use it, and it will never be exhausted.”

This chapter speaks of the wondrous and real presence within the Dao-heart, and of the true, empty source on which the wisdom-life (the inner foundation of life for a Dao cultivator) depends. It has no specific form, yet contains numinous awareness; it has no image, yet is the true image. It is not a spirit in the ordinary sense, but the Original Spirit (the innate numinous awareness of life). This is called the “valley spirit.” To be empty, still, and numinously aware without falling into dullness is what is meant by “the valley spirit never dies.”

This undimmed, empty awareness is reluctantly called the “Mysterious Female.” It is rounded and responsive like a pivot, which is why it is called “the gate of the Mysterious Female.” This is the deeper Mystery Gate (the key to perceiving the Dao in inner cultivation), the subtle opening of emptiness. It is the root of Heaven and Earth and the source of nature and life. Original Qi (the primordial energy of life) opens and closes within it, while rising and descending flow naturally. If people can turn the Mystery Gate and keep it continuous and fine, they can make clear the Supreme Pole (the central principle that governs all things) and the precelestial state (the original condition before Heaven and Earth took shape).

The verse says:

When the valley spirit is undimmed, human nature becomes bright and complete;

As the Mysterious Female opens and closes, creation moves with it.

Like a lion’s gaze, bright and clear;

Like an elephant king’s breath, fine and unbroken.

All things harmonize and come together, continuous and unceasing;

The Three Origins (threefold sources such as Heaven, Earth, and humanity, or Jing, Qi, and Shen) merge as one and flow naturally.

Thought and breath depend on each other, never breaking off;

In a hazy instant, it is as though one has returned to the original state before one’s parents gave birth to one.

Fourth Passage

The Most High says: “Continuous…”

The Most High said: “Within the hazy and indistinct, there is something real; amid the indistinct and hazy, forms appear; in the deep darkness, essence is stored.” What, then, are these “things” and “forms”? They are neither sheer nothingness nor ordinary, visible, material objects. They belong to neither Yin nor Yang, and lie beyond the reach of the Five Phases, before the Seven Emotions have stirred: the original, true image, the real state of life at its beginning. They are the utmost truth of the Limitless, the ancestral Qi (vital energy) of the pre-heavenly state, and the primordial Jing (essence) that endures through vast eons. These three are one in essence, yet take three forms: the Pure Dharma Body, the Wondrously Existing Empty Body, and the True Nothingness Dao Body.

If you can preserve primordial Jing until the sea of desire dries up, the Pure Dharma Body will be perfected. Harmonize the True Breath—the long, fine breathing cultivated in practice—and extinguish the karmic fire, the fierce turmoil stirred by karma and desire, and the Wondrously Existing Empty Body will be made whole. Gather primordial Shen (spirit) until the deluded mind comes to rest, and the True Nothingness Dao Body will appear. When the three bodies merge into one, you can unite with the myriad teachings, shine throughout the cosmos, fulfill De (Virtue/Power), and return to the primordial chaos, the original state before Heaven and Earth were divided.

People may ask: How can this be achieved? The key lies in stilling the mind, regulating the breath, and redoubling one’s efforts in practice.

The verse says:

It is neither mind, nor nature, nor immortal; the three bodies are one, blending in perfect wholeness.

In stillness, gather primordial Shen and enter the depths of the subtle and secret; let the breath flow unbroken, nourishing a profound and wondrous state.

The wind of wisdom sweeps away the snow piled on the mountain peaks; the fire of the eons dries up the springs beneath the sea.

This is the highest method of the mysterious Dao. Only those of De who can recognize one another may receive it through heartfelt transmission.

The Most High—a Daoist honorific for the supreme deity or the Dao—said, “There is something naturally formed, existing before Heaven and Earth came into being. It is silent and empty, independent and unchanging. It circulates without ceasing and can serve as the source of all things under Heaven.”

In ancient times, my patriarch, the Sovereign Lord Pure Yang (Lü Dongbin), explained these words and, together with Chan Master Yan of South Crag, guided He, the patriarch of Hunan, to realize the fruit of the Dao. To this day, the Dao lineage of these three perfected beings continues, and their incense offerings have never ceased. Later, Chan Master Yan of South Crag composed a verse based on this meaning:

“There is something that exists before Heaven and Earth, without shape or form, silent and empty in its original state. It contains the myriad phenomena, yet does not decline as the seasons change.”

Assembly, what could this thing be? After a long silence, the master said, “It does not keep company with the myriad dharmas, so it is independent and unchanging. It is complete and unobstructed, never cut off or extinguished, so it circulates without ceasing. Those who attain the Dao can transform the myriad things without being ruled by change themselves; they can bring forth the ceaseless flourishing of the myriad things without falling into arising and ceasing themselves. Therefore, it can serve as the source of all things under Heaven. What is called the ‘Mother’ is the Dao.”

Ah, truly so! Truly so! Truly so!

The verse says:

“Utterly sincere, silent and profound; a dark pearl, symbol of the original essence, shines through the vast expanse. Still and all-pervading, it leaves no trace; empty and independent, it is unlike the myriad things. Before Heaven and Earth, it gathered primordial Qi, then raised the patriarch’s Dao to prominence within the Limitless. The key to essence and function is fully clear; the myriad things arise and transform without end, their wondrous workings inexhaustible.”

The Sixth Case

The Most High says: Let the body and the hun and po souls remain together, holding fast to the Primal One without separation. Focus the mind on regulating the breath until it becomes gentle, like that of an infant. Wash away the mind’s distracting thoughts so that inner contemplation is without blemish. See clearly and understand fully, yet do not cling to knowledge. Let the spirit’s coming and going flow naturally, without any show of force. Care for the people and govern the state while allowing things to follow their natural course, without imposing action.

This chapter speaks of the practices of clarifying the mind and seeing one’s nature, nurturing the heart-mind, cultivating the noble Qi, and realizing the subtle workings of Golden Elixir cultivation. Holding fast to the One and focusing the Qi means making body and mind wholly unified, with no separation between them. Cleansing the Mysterious Mirror means washing away distracting thoughts so that the celestial mind becomes clear and bright. When the mind is without blemish, it is pure and luminous. To understand and reach everywhere is to move without obstruction after seeing one’s nature. “Knowing nothing” means keeping one’s radiance within and cultivating it deeply, without showing off one’s cleverness. The opening and closing of the Gate of Heaven refers to the unceasing flow of spirit and breath as they come and go. The body is likened to a state and Qi to its people: when the breath flows in harmony, the body is at peace. This is acting while also following the natural course of things. If you can truly grasp this chapter, the Way of the Golden Elixir is complete.

If you have not yet grasped it, reflect carefully on the following verse:

The Yin po soul grows restless and agitated, leaving the Yang hun soul unable to find peace. Hold fast to the Primal One and harmonize the primordial Qi, and you can pass through the hidden, mysterious gateways. The mind is pure and bright as the open sky; one’s nature is like the moon’s reflection in a cold pool. Recover the original form of a child, and return, like an infant, to an unadorned countenance. The ruler enjoys the peace of the state, while the people no longer divide themselves or contend with one another. With the hun clear and the po numinous, one reaches sagehood; the person of great wisdom rests at ease.

The Most High (a Daoist honorific for the supreme deity) says: “Thirty spokes converge at the wheel’s hub; it is the empty space at the center that makes the wheel useful.” This chapter teaches people to recognize what is fundamental through concrete things, to let go of illusory appearances, and to preserve their true nature.

The spokes come together at the hub to form a wheel, enabling the cart to move. A cart does not exist in itself: wood is shaped into an object, which is provisionally called a “cart” and thereby gains its function. The human body is much the same. From the Niwan at the crown of the head (an acupoint) to the Yongquan on the sole of the foot (another acupoint), it has the Five Viscera within and the four limbs without. These are all illusory forms temporarily brought together through conditions. A person, too, has no fixed, unchanging substance. Only because this form exists can it provisionally be called a “person” and perform the various functions of human life.

What is above form is called the Dao; what is below form is called an implement. Visible things make use of what is empty and invisible, while the empty space inside an implement becomes useful because the implement is there. An implement and a room follow the same principle. The Dao governs in the formlessness of the present moment. How can one come to understand it? Stand upright.

The verse says: The spokes converge at the hub, and the wheel then serves its purpose; when thoughts return to the heart, one can reach the great Dao. The cart moves, and the implement takes shape—but who, in truth, sets them in motion? At this very moment, who is the true master?

Eighth Passage

The Most High says: “Attain the utmost emptiness; hold fast to profound stillness. As all things grow and change together, I observe how they return to their root.” This chapter concerns deep concentration in secluded inner cultivation: returning to one’s original life and source, and attaining a true state of emptiness and stillness. It describes practical, profound work in cultivation.

To regard all illusory existence as empty, with nothing clinging to the heart, is called “emptiness.” To remain undisturbed within while the myriad things undergo ceaseless change is called “stillness.” When cultivation reaches its utmost, the six channels (in the language of cultivation, the pulses within the body) all become clear and still. The one true nature rests in serene brightness and returns to its original state.

At this point, the whole body is like a mouth, yet it is hard to express the experience in words. If I reveal it, I fear you may reach this state suddenly in your practice and then accuse me of talking too much. If I keep it to myself, I fear you may arrive here and stray onto a wrong path. This is precisely what is meant by: “Not knowing the constant Dao, one’s reckless actions bring misfortune.” What, then, should I say? The verse says:

Within the Great Void there is another Great Void; within stillness there is another stillness. The practitioner forgets body and mind, harmonizes the breath, and settles the spirit, as though dwelling in a clear realm of Jade Void, with the mind of Heaven bright and pure. Returning to the state before the myriad things of Heaven and Earth came into being, how could one distinguish an ordinary person from a sage? One cannot say that it is real, nor that it is immortal; it is neither the mind as ordinarily understood nor nature as ordinarily understood. By its very nature, it cannot be spoken of, nor can it be attained through some kind of proof. Within stillness there is a sense of sincerity and unity; to abide in the centered, upright, subtle realm is the inner confirmation.

Ninth Section

The Highest One (Taishang), the Daoist honorific for Laozi, said: “To look at it and not see it is called ‘Yi’; to listen for it and not hear it is called ‘Xi’; to seek it and not find it is called ‘Wei.’ These three cannot be pursued to their furthest limits.” The true void has no form, so it cannot be seen; the greatest sound makes no sound, so it cannot be heard. This subtle realm is like clouds drifting out of a mountain cave, or the moon reflected in a pool: elusive, impossible to grasp, and impossible to find through searching. It cannot be perceived by the ears or eyes, seized by the hands, or fully expressed in words.

Question: What, then, is this?

Answer: It is the Dao. It appears clearly above, yet does not shine with a blinding light; it lies hidden below, yet is not dark or obscure. Look up to it, and it seems ever more distant and high; let it expand, and it fills the four quarters of Heaven and Earth. Probe it, and it seems ever more substantial; draw it in, and no trace can be found. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. It illuminates past and present, without beginning or end. Tell me, then: at this very moment, who is directing and governing the Great Dao?

Ode:

Formless and shadowless, silent and still, it illuminates past and present; it is called “Red Script,” the wondrous pattern in which the Dao manifests. Its subtle presence is like the moon’s reflection at the bottom of a pool; its true emptiness is like clouds drifting over a mountain ridge. When responding to circumstances and engaging with things, it is often silent, yet the light of its numinous clarity shines without end. In facing things, do not give rise to deluded distinctions, lest the fire of karma burn you. Let the Three Origins, the three primordial sources or vital energies in Daoist thought, converge and return to the highest unity; the master of cultivation dwells in carefree ease throughout the day.

The Most High (a reverential title for the Dao) says: Those skilled in acting leave no trace that can be followed; those skilled in speaking make no verbal errors; those skilled in planning have no need of counting devices. Those skilled in closing a gate use no bolt, yet no one can open it; those skilled in tying a knot use no rope, yet no one can undo it. Even spirits and deities cannot fathom such people, and even the adepts cannot discern them. From this we can understand the Sage’s subtle use of the Great Dao: there is no entryway through which to approach it, nor can it be guessed at by thought. Everything follows its own nature, without deliberate rules about what may or may not be done.

The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower (Zhuangzi’s Daoist honorific) says: The Sage walks all day, yet seems not to have walked; speaks all day, yet seems not to have spoken. This does not mean that the Sage truly refrains from acting or speaking. Rather, every action accords with the Dao, and every word is apt and fitting. Whatever the Sage does is done with perfect appropriateness. Why rely on counting devices? Follow things as they are, and matters are accomplished naturally. Why bind them with rope?

Thus the Sage’s principles extend through all things, naturally just and balanced; benefiting the world, they are naturally comprehensive and generous. The Sage is therefore always skilled at helping people and aiding all beings, serving as the ruler and teacher of the people, yet does not esteem himself or boast with self-satisfaction. Even with great wisdom, he remains humble, like a fool.

Alas, we act without following the Dao and speak without reason. We are forever scheming and calculating, secretly guarding against others, showing off our cleverness, and eager to set ourselves up as teachers. Thinking ourselves right, we bring disaster upon ourselves and have strayed far from the Dao. If we do not repent and reform at once, earnestly practice the right way, and cultivate De (Virtue/Power), how can we receive the Most High’s true knowledge and luminous understanding of the Dao, shine upon the world, and benefit all living beings? If we cannot do this, then listen as I recite:

Actions reach throughout the world, yet bring no resentment; words reach throughout the world, yet contain no error. Holding the sword of wisdom upside down, I stand leaning against the open sky; when the myriad methods come before me, each is resolved with ease. When it is time to act, I act; when it is time to sit quietly, I sit. When hungry, I eat; when tired, I sleep. In stillness and silence of heart, I receive the luminous Great Dao. The world within the pot (the Daoist vision of another realm within) is but a few inches across, yet boundless and vast.

The Eleventh Passage

The Supreme One—the Supreme Dao Ancestor, referring to the Dao—said: The Dao has never had a fixed name. It is simple and uncarved, like an unworked log. Though it seems small, it is boundless; everything that comes before it finds its way through. Act when it is time to act, and sit quietly when it is time to sit. When hungry, nourish the body; when tired, rest without oversleeping. Keep the heart still, receiving the principle of brightness in silence. Even while dwelling in the “world within a pot”—a Daoist image for a small world complete in itself—the world still feels vast.

Eleventh Passage

The Supreme One said: The Dao has never had a fixed name; it is plain and unadorned. Though it may seem small, all under Heaven dare not treat it as a subordinate. The human heart’s original nature has no visible form, and the Dao has no fixed name. The Dao is so plain it seems like a speck of dust, yet its wondrous workings are endless. It contains the source of creation and exists before the myriad forms appear, so nothing under Heaven can govern it.

Those who awaken to this Dao can suddenly transcend the constraints of external things. Their nature of mind becomes as spacious as the open sky, extending throughout the Six Directions—up, down, and the four quarters—and remains unhindered whether in motion or at rest. The Dao moves through all under Heaven like streams flowing into rivers and seas: it reaches everywhere and is present throughout. It is subtle and elusive, beyond the grasp of color or sound. It seems to be before us, then suddenly appears to be behind us.

Even so, only when all manner of concerns are brought to an immediate halt and a single thought returns to the Center can one understand that the Dao has always been within oneself and need not be sought outside. Do you all understand? The verse says:

The heart is the Dao; the Dao is the heart. There is no need to ponder or seek elsewhere.

Wealth, rank, and fame melt away like snow, clearing the spirit’s terrace—the mind and spirit. Gratitude and affection melt like ice, making the sea of wisdom vast and deep. Wind scatters the dust, and the Golden Tiger—an image of inner Qi or cultivation—settles into repose. Clouds disperse and mists lift, while the Jade Dragon—also an image of inner Qi or cultivation—sings out at length. The sky is clear, and the bright sun shines in full radiance. All sounds fall silent, and even the great sound comes to rest.

Twelfth Passage

The Most High, a Daoist honorific for the Dao and revered deities, says: “Returning is the way the Dao moves; weakness is the way the Dao works.” Consider the principle behind this: when thoughts stray, correct them with right understanding; when delusions arise in the heart, dispel them through awareness. Though right understanding and awareness work in subtle and far-reaching ways, they too are expressions of the Dao’s movement.

The sage’s heart is like the vast empty sky, naturally clear and still, untouched by the slightest deviation or delusion, and in accord with the Middle Way. Since it is already right and awake, why cultivate it deliberately? Thus it is said: “Study that puts an end to grasping has no worries.” Clarity and stillness can serve as the model for all under Heaven. Humility, yielding, harmony, and gentleness embody ritual and are also ways the Dao works.

All things under Heaven appear through birth; without birth, there would be no things. People should correct what is wrong with what is right, and dispel delusions through awareness. This, too, is the Dao’s movement and function. But if one is proud and self-righteous, neither reflecting to correct one’s errors nor practicing humility and gentleness, the Dao will be lost.

The verse says:

The world is at peace; it is the human heart that makes itself restless.

After the rain stops, the mountains appear green;

when the clouds and mist disperse, the moon shines round and bright.

When one attends to the Great Dao, the spirit becomes clear, calm, and at ease;

when one abides by the constant Dao, De and righteousness blossom of their own accord.

With sincerity at the center, even a reckless person can become a sage;

with fixation and delusion in the heart, even a sage can become reckless.

Our nature is free of deceit and obscurity from the start;

there is no need to seek understanding through deliberate effort.

Thirteenth passage

The Most High—a Daoist honorific for the supreme divinity or the Great Dao—said: “Without leaving your doorway, you can understand all beneath Heaven; without looking out through a window, you can see the Dao of Heaven. The farther you travel, the less you come to know. Therefore, the sage can arrive without making a journey, understand the principles behind things without seeing them with their own eyes, and accomplish things through Wuwei (non-action).”

All beneath Heaven is like a person’s body, and the Dao of Heaven is within the heart-mind. When the heart-mind is empty, still, and clear, heavenly principle becomes apparent; when one’s own person is upright, all beneath Heaven can be settled. From this we know that the Dao is within oneself: seeking it outside takes one farther from it. Understanding principle lies in the heart-mind: looking outward instead only brings confusion. So the sage turns inward, bringing words and actions into accord with their nature, as though returning home. By reflecting inwardly on what is subtle and hidden, one’s inner light and De (Virtue/Power) become apparent. By refraining from reckless action and responding to the way things are, change naturally unfolds as it should.

“Everyone, how effortless this is! It takes no strain of mind or spirit. Do you understand?” Then he said, “Stop, stop.”

The verse says:

No need to travel a long road to return home. Why cling to the outer world and toil over its trivial branches?

In autumn, the sky is high and clear, and every home sees the bright moon; in spring, the air is mild and harmonious, and flowers bloom everywhere.

With an easy breath, slowly pour the Queen Mother’s immortal wine. With a clear heart-mind, why still drink Zhaozhou tea—the tea in a Chan Buddhist story used to awaken students?

At ease and untroubled, with nothing weighing on the heart—why go on talking endlessly and read through five cartloads of books?

The Supreme One said, “When people of the highest kind hear of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. When people of the middle kind hear of the Dao, they seem to remember it and then seem to forget it. When people of the lowest kind hear of the Dao, they burst out laughing. If it were not laughed at, it would not deserve to be called the Dao.” This is why an old saying has been handed down.

People of the highest kind are naturally clear-minded and noble, with deep and solid roots. A single word of guidance is enough to turn them toward the right path and help them understand its principles. Their resolve is not easily shaken, nor altered by the conditions of Heaven and Earth. They advance in cultivation with ease and steadiness, patiently and without slackening, never losing their way from beginning to end.

Ordinary people, by contrast, are entangled in the karma and thoughts of the past, and constrained by fame and profit. They cannot help but feel uncertain, now remembering the Dao, now forgetting it. Small-minded people are arrogant and complacent, absorbed in worldly wealth and status. They boast of empty reputations, pursue only outward splendor, and scorn simplicity. So when they hear the sages’ Dao, they laugh. If small-minded people heard the Dao and did not laugh, it would not be the supreme Dao spoken of here. There is nothing surprising about their clever mockery and insults toward those who cultivate the Dao.

Why is this so? Those who understand the Great Dao can suddenly forget their own bodies, and may appear dull and ignorant. They do not cling to things, so at first glance they may seem lazy and withdrawn. They are humble and accommodating, living among all people without ranking them by kind or status. Their inner nature is bright and pure, yet outwardly they seem disgraced. Their De is abundant and full, yet they often appear deficient. They quietly accumulate De and do good, yet seem to be acting in secret. Their nature is plain and genuine, yet others think it has become muddied. Such appearances are easily misunderstood and ridiculed by worldly people.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless; a great vessel takes a long time to be completed. The greatest sound is heard as silence; the greatest image cannot be seen. The Dao cannot be seen with the eyes, heard with the ears, named in words, or touched by hand. It is still and empty, precisely the opposite of worldly pursuits, and so is easily mocked by those with shallow understanding. Those who cultivate the Dao should be broad-minded and forgiving, make good use of skillful means, and adapt to circumstances to guide others with tact. This is what it means to be “good at giving and helping all things come to fruition.”

Everyone, those who cultivate should strive to complete “three thousand merits and eight hundred acts,” a traditional Daoist expression for accumulating merit and good deeds, and put all the teachings of this chapter into practice. Strive on, strive on. The verse says:

All things contain Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental principle from which the universe arose. Yet people often cast it aside at will and fall into ignorance. The dull-witted are stubborn and narrow-minded, their hearts as if choked with thatch; those of superior capacity are open and receptive, their nature as pure as jade. To understand that nature is originally empty and still, without a name, is to know true nature. If ordinary people can fully grasp this, they too become perfected people—those who have realized the Great Dao. Turn the light of the mind inward and enter directly into the Mysterious Origin, the primordial realm of the Dao; perhaps then you can escape rebirth.

Section Fifteen

The Most High (Laozi) said: “Of those who seek life, three in ten do so; of those who move toward death, three in ten do so. And of those who could have lived, but through their various activities move toward death, three in ten do so. Why is this? Because they place too much importance on nourishing life.”

The sage has no attachment to coming or going and has wholly transcended life and death. Thus, sage and Great Void—the boundless, empty, formless realm—are one, without remaining in either movement or stillness. Alas, ordinary people’s minds have no governing center: thoughts arise and vanish, now stirred into action, now withdrawn into concealment, without end. Why is this? Because they pursue the nourishment of life too intensely.

Those who want to make their lives rich and abundant are never satisfied: the greedy feel they lack food and clothing, while the wealthy and powerful feel they lack fame and profit. Since their hearts are never content, they indulge their thoughts, letting them arise and vanish, advance and retreat without certainty or end. Why is this? Because…

As life continues to grow and accumulate, people often become increasingly eager to pursue abundance and comfort in caring for their health. The greedy always feel that they lack enough food and clothing; the wealthy and powerful always feel they lack enough fame and profit. Because their hearts are never satisfied, they indulge the six desires and seven emotions—all manner of desires and feelings—and let the Three Corpses and Six Thieves, Daoist terms for forces that disrupt body and mind and obstruct cultivation, run rampant. They exhaust themselves with worry and effort, allowing clever scheming to deplete their spirit. As a result, the heart-fire blazes upward while the essence-water leaks downward. Fire and water fall out of balance, bringing illness and suffering that offer no respite even at death.

Only those who have understood the Great Dao can see that emotional entanglements and karmic consciousness—the delusion formed by desire, habitual tendencies, and karma—are illusory. They therefore gather in their desires, return to their original nature, and empty their minds to realize the Great Dao. Then the heart-fire naturally ceases to blaze upward, and the essence-water no longer leaks downward. Fire and water support one another, Yin and Yang come into harmony, and spirit and Qi merge as one. In the end, they realize the state of non-birth and are no longer bound by death.

From this we can see that people move toward death because fire and water fall out of balance and spirit and Qi separate. This is why the text says, “three out of ten.” Fire is associated with the number seven, water with the number six; together they make thirteen. This chapter has long been interpreted in many different ways, with commentators insisting on their own views and fixating on appearances until their explanations become fragmented. Some say it refers to the nine openings and four gates, claiming that of ten parts, three belong to life and seven to death. Others explain it through the waxing and waning of the moon, piecing together numbers to support their claims. Such interpretations do not help with practical cultivation. Only the Patriarch, Perfected Yu Chan, who explained it in terms of the seven emotions and six desires, and my former teacher, who explained it as water and fire not yet joined—Yin and Yang still out of harmony—offer interpretations that fit most closely and flow naturally from the surrounding text. Practitioners can benefit from them.

If desires cannot be stilled and fire and water cannot be brought into harmony, the heart has no steady ruler within. How, then, can one escape the fear brought by tigers, rhinoceroses, and weapons—symbols of terror and danger? Once spirit and Qi merge as one, one naturally forgets the distinction between self and things. You should understand the central meaning of this chapter and put it into practice; there is no need to keep treating life and death as the greatest source of worry.

The hymn says:

Human life and death depend on Yin and Yang;

transcend Yin and Yang, and return to the constant Dao.

When water and fire mingle, death is forgotten;

when spirit and Qi settle into harmony, the way of nurturing life is fulfilled.

Human and ox both vanish without a trace, and original nature becomes whole and radiant;

the gull and I are free of attachment or contention, and calculating thoughts disappear together.

Images are used to point the worthy back to the source;

do not cling to appearances and numbers or show off with words.

The Most High said: The Dao gives rise to all things, and De nurtures them. Each thing takes shape in its own way and comes to fulfillment through particular conditions and circumstances. There is nothing that does not honor the Dao and cherish De. The Dao is held in such high esteem and De so greatly prized because no one grants them rank or title: they always follow their natural course.

The Great Dao ceaselessly gives rise to all things, without end. Mysterious De nurtures them all equally. As Qi transforms, each thing takes shape in its own way and comes to fulfillment in its own time. Thus all things take the Dao as their root and De as their source. The Dao is supreme and has endured since ancient times, yet it does not place itself before all things. De is most precious: it brings all things to fulfillment, yet does not claim precedence or take credit. Therefore, one who has realized the Great Dao does not let the people of the world treat them as a lord, nor regard lords and kings as friends. They are simply at ease with what is natural.

In the past, Emperor Yao wished to yield the imperial throne to Master Xu You, but Xu You declined and withdrew into seclusion. Emperor Shun wished to yield the throne to Master Shanjuan, who likewise withdrew into the mountains. Zhuangzi, too, while living in seclusion at Ziling, declined a hundred yi of gold (the yi was an ancient unit of weight) and refused the post of chancellor. Throughout history, many people of resolve who understood the Great Dao repeatedly received imperial summons but did not take up office. This shows that the Dao’s honor and De’s worth do not come from titles or rewards.

Today, we have not yet penetrated the truth, attained genuine skill in cultivation, or understood the Dao’s depths and subtle mysteries. Yet, with our narrow understanding, we mislead the ignorant, promote ourselves with boastful talk, and pursue fame and gain. This is truly shameless. Above, we betray the way of the immortals and sages; below, we take on the dusty air of the marketplace. How could such conduct fail to make us heed the Most High’s compassionate teaching? We must correct ourselves at once. All of you, are you willing to recognize this and make amends in time? Are you willing to set your resolve and practice diligently? Ah, this old man has said a few words too many again.

The verses say:

People of the world all envy high office and noble rank, fine robes and ornate headwear. Daoists see through it all and can only smile.

Life is like a bubble on water: it appears, then vanishes. There is no need to be troubled by such things. Flowers bloom and fade—how many days can they last?

Live simply and follow nature, steadying the mind’s “galloping horse”—its scattered, restless thoughts—and nourishing body and mind. How could one abandon the numinous tortoise, a symbol of spiritual clarity and longevity? Take ease and contentment as your own; do not make the pursuit of noble rank and fame your ambition. If others look down on you or fail to understand you, what is there to resent?

The Seventeenth Discourse

The Most High (a Daoist honorific for the supreme divine being) says, “One who contains profound De is like a newborn infant.” Nurture De until it is simple and natural, and you can be like an infant. At birth, an infant’s original Qi is pure, and its original Shen is quiet and profound. It does not yet know how to distinguish movement from stillness, or sounds from colors. Its hands are tightly clenched, its body soft, and its whole being suffused with harmonious Qi: innocent and complete. Thus, though it may cry all day, its throat does not grow hoarse; venomous insects and fierce beasts cannot harm it. This is because the infant makes no distinctions among external things and has no desire to contend for them, so external things do not harm it.

The Most High uses the infant as a metaphor for those who cultivate the Dao, offering them earnest instruction. If we wish to return to our source, go back to the root, and restore our original life, is it not both simple and subtle to take the infant as our model? Yet today the human mind has no master, and the heart and nature are unsettled. How, then, can we let original Shen become still and concentrated, and original Qi grow abundant, empty, and harmonious, as in an infant?

Everyone, take an axe handle to carve an axe handle: the right measure is close at hand. The principles of cultivation are not far away. Ah, become still, and let the breath flow on and on, as though it were there, yet seemed formless.

The verse says: The work of nurturing is subtle, fine, and continuous in the depths of the heart. The infant’s mind is undivided; the child’s nature is pure and whole. From ancient times to the present, who has discerned the secret? And who can alter or shift life and death? In the Great Void there are vast and wondrous scenes; beyond the mysterious, nothing is more mysterious.

The Most High said, “Act with an attitude of Wuwei (non-action), without becoming attached to making things happen; savor the Dao (the Way) that has no taste.” Everyone, if you fully understand the subtle meaning of these three phrases for yourselves, you will be able to reach the one true Dao and cultivate all manner of virtues. If you do not yet understand, I will explain it to you in words.

If we realize that everything in the world is illusory, we may grow weary of worldly affairs and often long for quiet places. We may set aside every concern all at once, like an incense burner in an ancient temple, with nothing left but cold ashes, silent and still. Whatever human affairs appear before us, we may regard as clearly separate from us, like clay figurines, and no longer become involved. This has some merit, but it is not yet the subtlety of the sages’ pure and tranquil state.

Why? The sage’s mind is like a precious mirror hanging in a hall: when things arrive, it reflects them; when they depart, it returns to emptiness. It responds flexibly to the changing nature of things, alive and harmonious, empty, bright, and open, clear and luminous. It helps all things in accordance with their own conditions, allowing them to develop naturally. Without clinging to whether something must or must not be done, this is “acting through non-action.” It moves freely through every change and remains with the Dao wherever it goes.

It is like a king wielding a sword: when ten thousand methods come before him, each is resolved as readily as a blade cutting through. This is “dealing with affairs by having no affairs.” To contemplate the subtlety of the Dao De Jing, letting understanding penetrate the mysterious depths, and to nourish the primordial Qi (vital energy, the source of life) and the Qi of balanced harmony is like drinking nectar and jade liquor. This is “savoring what has no taste.”

Everyone, would you like to know these principles? Would you like to strive to put them into practice? Ah! The verse says:

No clouds obscure the sky; the sun stands at its center in the deep blue. Its perfect, radiant light shines throughout the cosmos, illuminating the empty expanse with clarity.

It reflects all things without bias, reaching from the hidden depths to the vast beyond. My mind bears not the slightest stain; what, then, cannot flow freely and harmoniously?

Skillfully respond to human feelings and worldly affairs; follow the moment in proclaiming the ancestral tradition.

The Most High—the Daoist title for the supreme deity or the Dao—said, “A thousand-mile journey begins with the first step beneath your feet.” The key lies in that first step: where, exactly, should one begin? Do you all understand?

The Master was silent for a long time. Then he drew a stroke in the air and said, “The Great Dao is straight and level, broad and boundless. It extends in all ten directions and all eight regions, open and unobstructed in every direction. The Old Immortal of the Southern Florescence—a title for Zhuangzi—said, ‘You may walk all day and never feel that you are walking.’ How much effort this saves, and it leaves not the slightest trace. If you can truly understand this, then turn back and practice steadily: suddenly, you will arrive at the original state that is like your home. All the realms and paths that once seemed familiar will be completely forgotten. This is to transcend the ordinary world, roam through immortal realms, and enjoy the true happiness of carefree freedom. Is that not wonderful?”

The verse says:

One need not cling to the feet when taking a step, yet one is still walking.

The wonder of walking lies in not setting out to walk; everywhere is broad and level.

When the path within the heart is empty, still, and unobstructed,

the great road to Heaven lies open.

Break through the hidden gateway, and you may celebrate the joy of nonbirth.

Twentieth Case

The Most High said, “I have three treasures, which I hold fast to: the first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to be first among all under Heaven.” If your heart is generous and you act with benevolence and virtue, aiding others and benefiting all things, showing compassion and kindness to everyone, you can enjoy the happiness of nonbirth.

The Most High—an honorific in Daoism for the supreme divinity or for Laozi—said, “I have three treasures that I must keep and never lose. The first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to place myself ahead of everyone under Heaven.”

To be broad-minded, act with benevolence, help others and benefit all things, and show compassion and kindness to every living being is called “compassion.” Compassion can nurture one’s innate nature. To be content with one’s place and with the constant Way, reduce selfish desires and needless concerns, speak with care, act conscientiously, and remain focused, sincere, and free of falsehood is called “frugality.” Frugality can nourish the heart of the Dao. To welcome others with an open and humble heart, restrain oneself through humility, treat people gently and modestly, and yield at every turn instead of striving to be first is called “not daring to place oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven.” Not striving to be first can cultivate profound De.

Everyone, if you can truly embody compassion, you will have nothing to fear under Heaven; that is why it can make a person courageous. If you can truly embody frugality, your heart will be content and at peace; that is why it can make a person generous in spirit. If you can truly refrain from striving to be first, humility will instead earn you respect and make your De more evident. Though you take a low position, no one can surpass you, and so you can become a leader among the people. If those who cultivate the Dao are neither compassionate nor frugal nor humble, they will not only lose the Dao; calamity will follow as well. How could they fail to be vigilant and restrain themselves, so as to preserve lasting good fortune?

The master stepped down from his seat, bowed respectfully and sincerely to the assembly, then recited:

Wealth and honor take humility as their root; high rank and distinction take lowliness as their foundation. The humble gentleman enjoys good fortune, while arrogant and boastful conduct readily invites criticism.

Restrain yourself, and your heart will become clear and free of deceit. Forgive others, and your heart will harbor no deception. Quiet the mind and let go of desire, and you will find harmony and peace, enjoying the happiness of stillness and Wuwei (non-action).

Section Twenty-One

The Most High said, “Words have their roots, and actions have their governing principle. It is because people are ignorant that they do not understand me.”

Those who understand me forgive others and harbor no deception in their hearts. They quiet the mind and let go of desire, finding harmony and peace and enjoying the happiness of stillness and Wuwei (non-action).

The Supreme One said: Every statement has a root, and every action has a master. Because people in the world do not understand this root, they do not understand the Dao I speak of. Few truly understand me; those who can act in accordance with the Dao are precious. Thus, the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside yet keeps jade within. People of purpose take joy in seeking the Dao and do not dwell on low status; they are content to uphold De and do not dwell on poverty. Even when their outward circumstances are difficult and unsettled, they carry a priceless treasure within.

The sage’s nature is complete and luminous, so the actions that flow from it are beautiful and beneficial, without limit. For this reason, sages speak with measure and act with fairness and propriety. Before words are spoken, their root is already present in the heart; before events unfold, their master is already present there. Those who do not understand this subtlety often speak inappropriately and act in a biased way. They do not understand that the substance of the Dao is vast and still, and that its inner master can respond without end as things change.

Few truly understand this principle. If one can turn inward to observe the inner root and master, letting it rest steadily in the heart, then one’s words and actions will both be fitting, and one will find things go smoothly wherever one goes. Such a person can be a ruler or a teacher, revered by heavenly beings and by people. Is this not to stand out above the rest? That is why it is said that those who can act in accordance with the Dao are precious.

Tell me, all of you: at this moment, who directs your words, your silence, and your actions?

The verse says:

Before the seven emotions stir and the six desires arise,

all is quiet and wordless; the heart truly forgets itself.

Who, then, is the master dwelling within?

What do the words in each sentence express?

How can every action be carried out through Wuwei (non-action)?

Jade is hidden in the heart; the spirit pearl naturally shines.

Alas, the heart is clear and still, truly forgetting itself;

who, then, is the master dwelling within?

What do the words in each sentence express?

How can every action be carried out through Wuwei (non-action)?

Jade is hidden in the heart; the spirit pearl naturally shines.

Alas, the treasure in the house has been clearly pointed out,

yet people are deluded and do not know it is already within them.

Twenty-Second Lesson

The Supreme One said: “Knowing that you do not know is the highest understanding. Not knowing, yet thinking you know, is a fault. Only by treating this fault as a fault can you avoid falling into it. The sage has no such fault, because he recognizes it as a fault and is therefore unharmed by it.”

An earlier passage in the Jing says: “Though intelligent, one appears utterly bewildered; this is the subtle essence of the Dao.” Thus, those who understand the Great Dao often seem clumsy, as though…

A dull person may appear dim-witted and slow on the surface, yet inwardly sees to the root of things. They draw in their light and quietly illuminate themselves, allowing the bright virtue of De to shine forth naturally, without dazzling display. Thus it is said: “To know that you do not know—that is true insight.”

Some people today have not yet understood, but imagine that they have; they have not yet grasped the meaning, but believe they have. Their knowledge is shallow, yet they claim to be well versed. They show off their mental acuity through forceful argument and empty talk. This is the failing of “not knowing, yet insisting that one knows.”

The sages are pure in nature and sincere and simple in virtue. Their knowledge is broad and far-reaching, yet they often seem to know nothing. They understand the principles governing Heaven, Earth, and humanity, yet always feel there is still something beyond their grasp. Their minds are empty and still, calm and detached, humble and yielding. They are neither confused nor self-deceiving, and are free of the many failings of striving to outdo others, showing off their abilities, and assuming they are always right. Thus it is said: “The sage has no faults because he treats faults as faults; therefore, he has no faults.”

If you can truly recognize at once your own failings—obscuring your original mind, forcing yourself to seem clever, and assuming you are right—and restrain yourself and correct your errors, then the bright virtue of De will naturally renew itself day by day, and you will enjoy an inexhaustible delight in your innate nature.

The verse says:

A clumsy, incapable person, carefree and at ease, follows their nature with calm composure and has no troubles in their heart. Silent and slow among the crowd, they seem to be of no use; inwardly, however, they are generous and receptive, like a treasure at a banquet.

The mind-nature is pure as fine gold, without falsehood or impurity; the heart is like beautiful jade, free of flaws. Do not boast of a sharp tongue or quick wit, lest you waste words and become entangled in the turmoil of fame and gain.

The Most High says: “The sage stores up nothing for himself. The more he helps others, the more complete he becomes; the more he gives to others, the richer he becomes.”

On reflection, Heaven and Earth are like sages without intention, while sages are like Heaven and Earth with intention. The Way of Heaven moves without accumulating private gain. Thus, all things continually grow and transform, bringing beauty and benefit to the world without harming it. The sage’s heart is empty and still, free of accumulated private desires. Thus, he preserves his integrity and purity, aids the world through the Dao, and does not contend with others. Therefore, the more fully the sage nourishes the people, the more fulfilled he becomes; the more widely he gives kindness and helps the multitude, the richer he becomes. This may be called a sea of Dharma, vast and boundless, from which one may draw without end.

Everyone, to bring benefit without causing harm, and to act without claiming credit: this wondrous principle of the Dao should remain constantly in your hearts. The virtue through which Heaven and Earth move each day and nurture all things, and the spirit with which sages spread their teachings and show compassion to the world, can both be realized within you. Please cherish this.

The verse says:

The supreme Dao is mysterious, empty, and still, beyond words;

It is the pivot that drives transformation and governs the generation of all things.

Through their firm and yielding qualities, Heaven and Earth enable all things to grow and transform without cease;

With sincere and pure hearts, worthy people and sages enable all things to come forth and flourish without end.

Shun and Yu followed the Way of Heaven—how could they harm anything?

Xi and Yao united their hearts with the Great Dao, without the slightest wish to contend.

All things flourished, the seasons moved in order, and the people lived in peace;

The customs of the world were honest and kind, and all enjoyed an age of peace.

Twenty-Fourth Passage

The Wondrous Dao of Wenshi says: “When feelings and thoughts are dark and still, one is a sage; when they are good, one is a worthy person; when they are wicked, one is a petty person.”

Everyone, setting aside for now whether feelings and thoughts are good or bad, how should we understand their becoming still and quiet? Ah, if you can grasp this directly, the heart of Heaven will become clear, and your inborn nature can be preserved for a long time. If you cannot yet grasp it, then listen as I explain it again:

Good and evil may follow different paths,

Yet the cultivator is better off letting them both go.

As the seven emotions grow still, the self gradually fades from view;

A single, perfect radiance shines across the Great Void.

Twenty-Fifth Passage

The True Scripture of Wenshi says: “If a fish wishes to set itself apart from its kind, it will die when it leaves the water and leaps onto the shore; if a tiger wishes to set itself apart from its kind, it will be captured when it leaves the mountain forest and enters the marketplace.”

The sage does not seek to set himself apart from others. When feelings and thoughts are still and the self is forgotten, a single, perfect radiance shines across the Great Void.

The Wenzhi Zhenjing says: A fish that tries to distinguish itself from its kind by leaving the water and leaping onto land will soon die. A tiger that tries to distinguish itself from its kind by leaving the mountain forest and running into the marketplace will be captured. The sage does not deliberately set himself apart from others; he is simply not bound by worldly affairs.

From this we can see that the recluses of ancient times who understood the Great Dao saw clearly into all things, yet remained silent and peaceful, appearing dull and inept. They kept their brilliance in check and moved among ordinary people, so even the fangshi could not see through them. They acted when it was time to act and stopped when it was time to stop, responding to each situation as it arose. Thus even ghosts and spirits could not fathom them. Because of this, they were not constrained by worldly affairs and could attain freedom.

Today, we rely on shallow learning and limited insight, yet love to show off and instruct others. We put on airs, praise ourselves, insist that we are right, and compete for fame and praise—without realizing that this only invites demonic obstacles and may even bring disaster. Everyone, the sage’s parable of the fish leaping onto land and the tiger entering the marketplace teaches that they will meet their deaths. The warning could hardly be clearer. Take it to heart: be content with poverty, cultivate the Dao within, keep to your proper place, and follow the natural order. Persist in this over time, and you will come to know boundless joy. Is it not better to be a Daoist who keeps to his proper place?

The verse says:

Showing off your cleverness only makes you seem foolish; keeping humble is better than displaying your brilliance. Relying on your talents can invite loss; keeping to your proper place brings a settled mind and steadfast sincerity.

Seeking hidden things and deliberately making yourself seem extraordinary invites criticism; chasing fame leaves you unable to find ease. Being content with your ordinary lot reduces your troubles. With lasting peace and calm, joy has no end.

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: “A sage can gather the myriad things within a single breath, and nothing can disturb the clarity of his mind. He can also unfold that breath and let it merge with the myriad things, and nothing can obstruct his actions.” This state is truly vast. The numinous nature within us is expressed, in both its root and its workings, in a single breath. When it unfolds, it fills Heaven and Earth, broad and unobstructed; when it gathers in, it hides within a single grain of millet, leaving no trace. The mind is lucid and free of dullness, and both root and workings are fully present, unchanged by affairs and undisturbed by external things. If people can understand this thoroughly, then whether speaking or silent, acting or still, they can be at ease. How, then, should we observe each breath in this moment? The verse says:

In a haze, beyond Heaven and Earth; in a flash, within a pearl of millet.

Standing alone above the slightest hair, lucidly joined with the vast emptiness.

Face it, and no beginning can be found; follow it, and no end can be seen.

Suddenly we meet it, yet it is neither the other nor myself.

Case Twenty-Seven

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: “At times the sage speaks, acts, and thinks, and so is like ordinary people; at other times, he neither speaks nor acts nor thinks, and so is unlike them.” The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower, Zhuangzi, says: “One may speak all day and still accord fully with the Dao; every sentence can embody the Dao. One may discuss the myriad things all day, and every sentence can speak of the myriad things. The ultimate of the Dao and the myriad things can be expressed neither in words nor by simply lapsing into silence.” From this, should we conclude that the two ancestral masters meant the same thing, or different things? If people can grasp this completely, then speech and silence, action and rest, can each follow their own course; no particular way is necessary in every circumstance. If they have not yet understood, they should turn back and observe their own minds. The verse says:

A precious mirror hangs in the hall, perfectly round and bright, untouched by a speck of dust.

What illuminates the myriad things is the mirror’s radiance…

A precious mirror hangs before the hall. It is bright and perfectly round, without a speck of dust. The mirror naturally reflects whatever is before it; how people look at things and what they listen to are up to them.

Beauty and ugliness alike appear in the mirror, yet it makes no distinctions. To see with the eyes and hear with the ears is to truly understand its principle.

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: “The Way of the sage changes with the speed of a leaping tiger, yet in action is as steady as a crawling turtle. Its principles may seem intricately intertwined, yet its actions are as orderly as pieces arranged on a board.” It also says: “Clouds unfurl and gather, birds fly—all within empty space. Thus their transformations are without limit. The Way of the sage is the same.”

From this we can understand that when sages govern the world, their hearts remain still, yet they can wondrously nurture and transform the myriad things. Their abilities and understanding shine forth fully: they adapt to circumstances and act according to what each situation requires, allowing the Great Way to spread widely and remain in harmony. How can they do this? Because the sage’s fundamental state is like Jade Emptiness—a clear, still openness without obstruction. Pure and unimpeded, it can follow the transformations of all things. Cloud dragons, flying birds, wind and thunder, rain and mist are constantly changing, yet the vast empty space itself never changes.

Friends, we are often held fast by sights and sounds, confused by being and nonbeing. We cling to external things and give free rein to our emotions, forcing ourselves to take on one burden after another. As a result, our words and actions lose their measure, and every step forward or back meets an obstacle. How, then, can we recover the vast clarity and openness of our original nature and attain ease and freedom? Alas, what can be done? Each of you, reflect on this carefully.

The verse says:

Solemn and majestic, beyond the measure of spirits and gods;

Gentle and unhurried, bringing benefit to all things.

Acting, yet not attached to action;

Desiring, yet not led by desire.

Moving freely, without obstruction, arriving swiftly without haste.

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: A dung beetle rolls feces and earth into a ball, concentrating its mind and spirit upon it. A small white worm then appears inside the ball. After some time, the worm sheds its shell and becomes a cicada. The cicada does not think as it transforms, so how could the white worm inside the ball wriggle and grow? From this we know that jade cannot become an object without being carved, and ice will not form unless the weather turns cold.

Everyone, we are not born sages. To learn the Way of the sages, we must undergo practice. Only through sincere, steady effort, kept simple and single-minded, can we achieve anything. What can come of merely muddling through, making noise with our mouths, and fidgeting aimlessly? The sage uses the dung beetle rolling its ball as an example: when the mind is focused and sincere, without wavering, inner clarity emerges. In the end, the old shell is shed, as in the cicada’s transformation. If all things must undergo effort before they can change and reach fulfillment, should we not take this to heart?

Thus, practice that reaches the point of no longer clinging to “practice” is true practice; learning that reaches the point of no longer clinging to “learning” is the highest learning. If we are now as dull and ignorant as a stubborn stone, yet claim that no effort or learning is needed, it is like scratching an itch through a shoe: we only busy ourselves with empty striving and aimless fidgeting, and after a long time achieve nothing. How could we fail to apply ourselves to practice? I feel I have said too much. I respectfully ask you all to take care.

The verse says: To hear profound, wondrous truths and grasp them at once is possible because one’s foundations of merit and wisdom are deep, and one has favorable conditions. Nature and life unite, rounded and whole like Taiji; form and spirit both attain refinement and return to their original, precelestial state.

Bodhidharma faced a wall for nine years, clarifying his mind until it was like jade. The Patriarch Wen practiced for six years, making his resolve firm as metal and stone. Throughout the ages, immortals who attained the Dao and transcended the ordinary have all achieved this through the merit of practice.

Section Thirty.

The Scripture of Wenshi says: In ordinary people, the Po leads the Hun, as though Metal Qi were excessive and Wood Qi insufficient. In sages, the Hun guides the Po, as though Wood Qi were abundant and Metal Qi scarce. Wood thus symbolizes the Hun and one’s nature, while Metal symbolizes the Po and one’s emotions. Ordinary people follow their emotions and deluded thoughts, so their emotions become excessive and their nature deficient. Sages gather in their emotions and return them to their nature, so their nature is full and their emotions do not stir recklessly.

Those who cultivate the Dao can bring deep and powerful emotions to rest and let discriminating awareness fade; then their nature becomes complete and clear. If they can settle the Po and harmonize the Hun, the life-force of wisdom cultivated through the Dao becomes firm and stable, suffering no loss. Nature and emotion merge into one, and Metal and Wood no longer obstruct each other.

Yet joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure, love, dislike, and desire all belong to emotion. Stillness and clarity, completeness and brightness, belong to nature. Nature is one, while emotions are seven. Nature is few and emotions are many, so people are often overwhelmed by karmic forces and their power to follow the Dao. How can you overcome these seven “beasts”—the seven emotions? Alas, others can do little to help you.

The verse says:

Seven great demons

constantly harm their master.

When the master lacks resolve and strength,

the Hun and Po run wild.

With the wisdom sword, slay the White Tiger

(symbolizing Metal Qi, the Po, and desire);

let the Jade Dragon

(symbolizing Wood Qi, the Hun, and nature)

rest within the numinous palace.

All beneath heaven is at peace; nothing disturbs the heart.

At ease and content, one enjoys the mysterious breeze of the Dao.

Case Thirty-One

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: When people speculate about life and death, some say that we continue to exist after death, some say that nothing remains, and others say we can speak of neither existence nor nonexistence. Some believe death should be welcomed, others that it should be feared; some say we should let nature take its course, and others that we should transcend it. These ideas shift without end, all arising from the mind’s discriminating thoughts and calculations.

You who practice today all say that life and death are the great matter of human existence. Yet, as this passage of the scripture suggests, such thoughts often amount only to needless worry. Whether we are caught up in existence and nonexistence, or in welcome, fear, acceptance, or transcendence, these shifting responses all arise from the discriminating mind. People do not realize that I never truly came into being in the first place—so who says I will die?

I have said that life and death are like the alternation of day and night, a natural constant; therefore, the mind should not be moved by them. Coming and going are changes between motion and stillness; therefore, one’s nature should remain clear and unobscured. Thus the Old Immortal of the Southern Flower, Zhuangzi, said: “Life and death are indeed a great matter, but do not let them disturb your mind.”

Even so, one must truly understand this here and now to count as awakened. Why? If, in daily life, the mind remains unchanged amid both favorable and adverse circumstances, then it will not be clouded in sleep. When dreams and waking are one, there will be no obstruction in facing life and death. If you have not yet reached this point, continue to investigate until you have gone to the root.

The verse says:

I never came or went—who says I have life or death?

The sun and moon still rise and set; where in the vast emptiness is darkness or light?

Facing favorable and adverse circumstances, the mind remains unstained, and dreams become clear of themselves.

The subtle, profound joy of the truth beyond birth endures through kalpas, still celebrating peace.

Case Thirty-Two

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: Our thoughts change, but the essential nature of the mind does not. Thoughts become aware of things, but the mind’s essential nature does not follow them into awareness. If we hold fast to the one true mind, thoughts are merely like dust, drifting in and out, and things merely arise and disappear in an instant, while within us remains a constant and unchanging foundation. Thus the mind is like fire, and thought is like earth: fire gives rise to earth, just as the mind gives rise to thoughts. Without mind, there would be no thought; without thought, there would be no feelings. So when feelings arise, thought becomes aware of them; when thought stirs, the mind can illuminate it.

Everyone, if in daily life you observe and become aware in this way, feelings and discriminating consciousness will both return to stillness and emptiness, and you will no longer cling to things. Act in accord with circumstances; thoughts and events arise and vanish suddenly, like drifting clouds. How is this possible? Because within our mind there is a constant and unchanging master. Do you understand? Ah! The verse says: Feelings and awareness both return to stillness and emptiness; we no longer cling to things. We respond as circumstances unfold, while thoughts and events arise and vanish suddenly, like drifting clouds. How is this possible? Because within the mind there is a constant and unchanging master. Do you understand? Ah! The verse says:

Clouds come and go; the mountain stands serene as before.

Tides rise and fall; the sea remains clear and calm.

Tides and clouds come and go without intent;

the mountain and sea, too, are without intent,

and day after day remain verdant and clear.

Thirty-Third Case

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: Someone asked me, “What clan do you belong to, what is your surname, and what are your name and courtesy name? What clothes do you wear, and what do you eat? What friends and servants do you have? What music do you play, and what books do you read? What is your view of the past and the present?” At the time, I remained silent and did not answer a word. The person kept pressing me, and at last I had no choice but to reply: “I have not yet even seen myself. How, then, could anything belong to me?”

I once read this statement in Zhu Wengong’s (Zhu Xi’s) recorded sayings: “Chan Buddhism arose from Daoism. Buddhists took material from Daoist classics, changed its appearance, and displayed it as a treasure.” At first, I had doubts about this. Zhu Wengong’s recorded sayings also state: “Chan Buddhism arose from Daoism. Buddhists took material from Daoist classics, changed its appearance, and displayed it as a treasure.”

Some people flaunt these passages as precious treasures. At first I was skeptical, wondering how Daoism could contain Zen Buddhist teachings. But after carefully studying this scripture, the Nanhua Jing (Classic of the Southern Florescence, or Zhuangzi), and other texts, I understood that Master Wen’s words were not false; they were indeed true. Venerable Master Feng said, “The Nanhua Jing and Liezi existed long before Kumarajiva, the famous Buddhist scripture translator, was born.”

The Perfected One of Wen Shi, a Daoist immortal revered by later generations, posed these questions and said, “Do not answer with even a single word.” Everyone, can you truly grasp the practical truth in them and suddenly understand the subtle realm of the True Immortal, the Daoist who has attained the Way? If you can, then you have answered already. If you have not yet understood, first consider this: if you cannot even see yourself, what can you take as the object of your inquiry and reflection?

The verse says:

Someone asks me, “What am I?”

I settle my mind before him and throw a straight punch,

leaving him nowhere to hide.

Nowhere to hide, nowhere to hide.

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: The sea can transform into countless myriads of dragons and fish, yet in the end they are all water. I and all things flourish in manifold forms amid the great transformation of Heaven and Earth, yet in the end our natures are the same.

Those who understand that all things share one original nature will not cling to the distinction between others and themselves, nor be bound by the ideas of birth and death. The Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, together with all things, transform from the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Once each takes shape, every thing has its own Taiji, containing the principles of Heaven. Amid Heaven and Earth’s nurturing transformations, things are constantly born, die, and change without end.

What is more, thoughts stream through the human mind, and worldly affairs surge like wind and waves, never settling for even a moment. Thus, from ancient times to the present, people have continually changed form and been reborn in the cycle of transmigration, unable to escape it. If you can truly see all this as illusory flowers in the air, release your attachment to external things, lessen the turmoil of worldly affairs, turn inward, and quiet delusive thoughts, your nature will naturally become whole and clear, no longer mixed up in the myriad ways of things. Then you can become one who truly governs himself, rising above the world in ease and freedom. Why, then, let distinctions between self and other, life and death, confuse or obstruct you? Take good care.

The verse says: If you can truly see all this as illusory flowers in the air, release your attachment to external things, lessen the turmoil of worldly affairs, turn inward, and quiet delusive thoughts, your nature will naturally become whole and clear, no longer mixed up in the myriad ways of things. Then you can become one who truly governs himself, rising above the world in ease and freedom. Why, then, let distinctions between self and other, life and death, confuse or obstruct you? Take good care.

Fish and dragons may take myriad forms, yet in essence they are all water. People and all things may each come into being in their own way, yet at root they share the same mind. Set aside both sameness and difference, and forget all distinctions between one and another. Gold and clay, clay and gold: cling no longer to distinctions of worth.

Ah, the pure and undivided nature is like the expanse of the sky: still and clear, beyond past and present.

Section Thirty-Five

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: All things originally come from the One, but people give them separate names. They see only particular things and fail to see the Dao. The worthy understand the principles underlying things and can see the Dao, but no longer see particular things. The sage accords with the natural world of Heaven and Earth, attaching neither to the Dao nor to things. All things can be called the Dao. When one does not cling to the Dao, it manifests as the Dao; once one clings to it, the Dao becomes a particular object.

Confucius says in the “Appended Statements” of the Book of Changes: “What is above form is called the Dao; what is below form is called a vessel.” A vessel, too, is a particular thing. Thus, the exemplary person can perceive all things and overlook none. This is a subtle teaching. Buddhism also says: “If a person can turn things, that person is the same as the Tathagata.” (“Turning things” means not being constrained by external objects, but meeting all things freely.)

To examine the subtle principle of this chapter closely takes considerable thought. Why? External things are external things, and I am myself. Why transform external things, or reject them? The sage’s mind is therefore pure and undivided, free of distracting thoughts and in harmony with Heaven and Earth. Naturally, the distinction between things and self falls away, and the Dao-mind returns to unity.

Friends, if you can truly grasp this completely, merging with all things until no distinction remains, and following the order of Heaven, then the “protagonist” within—the true self—will be alive, whole, free, and unobstructed. There will be nothing to cling to and nothing that cannot be accepted. In this way, you can experience the subtle principle before the myriad forms appear, transcend the constraints of external things, and attain boundless true joy. Why, then, cling stubbornly to the sense of self? Take care, take care.

Ode:

Cling to “being,” and you will ultimately fall into illusion; cling to “nonbeing,” and you will eventually sink into barren emptiness. Transcend being and nonbeing, and the mind opens into understanding. Even if you have not yet grasped what lies beyond, you can gradually come to understand it there.

Thirty-Sixth Entry

The Wenzhi Zhenjing says: Nothing among the myriad things between Heaven and Earth truly belongs to me. Since nothing belongs to me, I should respond appropriately when events arise. The so-called “I” is not a fixed, unchanging self, so I must still care for body and mind. Though I respond to external things, I do not cling to them; though I care for myself, I do not cling to a fixed self. Do not suppose that you must first reject external things before you can reject the self, or that you must first reject the body before you can reject the mind. The Dao is one. There is no need to arrange the myriad things in an order of precedence, or to cling to distinctions between stages of gradual cultivation.

How profound the words of the sage! When something comes, respond with sincerity; when it passes, let the mind return to stillness and emptiness, holding on to no concern. This is neither clinging nor fleeing. Wear hemp in summer and fur in winter; eat when hungry and drink when thirsty. Be content with your place and respond to the season: act when it is time to act, stop when it is time to stop. These are all ordinary, natural things. Do what you can, rest when it is time to rest, and adjust as circumstances change, following nature. There is no need to apply the mind deliberately or force yourself with effort. This is responding to events without making a fuss, acting without clinging to action—how easy and carefree! Why distinguish between external things, the body, and the mind?

Everyone, respond to external things without clinging to them, and care for yourself without clinging to a self. Then you will naturally attain open, unobstructed understanding, and your nature will be free and unbound. Thus it is said: the Dao is one; there is no need to cling to an order of precedence.

The verse says:

Face each circumstance as though there were none; live amid the dusty world without being stained by its dust. Neither self nor others can obstruct you; the whole Earth is the body of the Dharma King (the Dharma King is an awakened, liberated sage in Buddhist and Daoist practice).

Once you awaken completely, the myriad things all flow together, and nothing remains to obstruct the mind. Within and beyond Heaven and Earth, everything is connected with your own being.

End of Xuánjiào Dà Gōng’àn, Volume One.

Xuánjiào Dà Gōng’àn, Volume Two

The Daoist master Jinlian, the Venerable Shian, Miao Taisu, presented these cases; his disciple Wang Zhidao of the Cheng’an Studio compiled them.

Case Thirty-Seven

The Wenshi Zhenjing says: Do not think that everyone in the world is wrong and only you are right. Do not belittle others and elevate yourself. Do not treat others with contempt while boasting that you revere the Dao. Do not mock and slander others while proclaiming your own De. And do not disparage others’ abilities while showing off your own.

Thinking that everyone else is wrong and only you are right is self-righteousness. Looking down on others and elevating yourself is conceit. Treating others with contempt and exalting yourself is arrogance. Slandering others while praising your own De is claiming to be capable. Calling others base and foolish while boasting of your own abilities is showing off.

Everyone, these five faults are what the Perfected One of Wenshi, a celestial being revered in Daoism, earnestly warned us students of the Dao against. You should grasp their meaning at once and examine yourselves. If you have committed any one of them, repent quickly and become Daoists of upright character. If you deny cause and effect, remain confused and unenlightened, and refuse to change, these five faults will grow into five harmful habits: persisting in self-righteousness will build up a fierce and malevolent disposition; persisting in conceit will build up a domineering and overbearing disposition; persisting in arrogance will build up a disposition that bullies others; persisting in claims of one’s own capability will build up anger; and persisting in showing off will build up a disposition of affected arrogance.

These habits are all connected with a frivolous, restless temperament and with habits formed through being tainted by worldly ways. Once they take root, they bring resentment, distress, misfortune, and suffering. They become obstacles on one’s path of cultivation and damage one’s De. In this way, one’s inborn true nature grows dim and unclear, as if veiled by smoke. At that point, to claim that one has understood the mind and seen one’s nature, and stubbornly boast of mysterious Chan insights, is like covering one’s ears while stealing a bell: one deceives oneself and others. Alas, take great care; take great care.

A verse says: “I was born poor and dull, with no experience, no learning, and no knowledge. There is no one in the world more base and clumsy than I. How could I dare show off my skills before others?”

The Wenshi zhenjing (also known as the Guan Yin Zi) says: In the past, those who spoke of the Dao described it in different ways. Some said it was still and tranquil, some that it was profound and hidden, some that it was clear and penetrating, and some that it was empty and undifferentiated. When you encounter these descriptions, do not be frightened or draw back. The most fundamental truths of the world cannot, in the end, be expressed through words or grasped through thought. If you understand that they cannot be fully spoken or seized by thought, you have already gone beyond subtle words and mysterious ideas, and truly accorded with the Dao I speak of.

Everyone, this chapter gives us a practical reminder: do not cling to words or mistake any particular description for the mysterious Dao. Otherwise, you will become attached to one side and be unable to open into the unity of all things. Only by truly understanding the ineffable subtlety can you transcend the highest realm and accord with the true teaching of the Wenshi zhenjing. This must be realized beyond language.

The verse says: To take “stillness and tranquility” as the Dao is to fall into rigid immobility; to take “profundity” as the Dao is merely to sink into illusory obscurity. What real substance is there in what is called “emptiness and undifferentiation”? Pursuing “clarity and transparency” single-mindedly may instead lead to dullness. Dark, silent stillness without illumination, and even the most subtle words, can become dharma dust—ideas and appearances that practitioners become attached to. If you can let all these distinctions flow together without obstruction, you may rejoice in having accorded with the heart of Heaven.

Thirty-Ninth Case

The Chongxu jing (another name for the Liezi) says: Someone worried that Heaven and Earth might be destroyed. A perfected person—one who has realized the Dao—answered: That side and this side are originally one. Therefore, while I am alive, I need not know what happens after death; once dead, I need not know what happened before life. When I come, I need not know what happens when I go; when I go, I need not know what happened when I came. Whether Heaven and Earth are destroyed or not, why should I concern myself with it?

The scripture also says: The spirit returns to its root, and the bones return to their root. What, then, is left of me?

Everyone, life and death are like day and night; coming and going are like winter and spring. The sage understands their mysteries and the principles of life, death, coming, and going. The mind becomes one with the Great Void—the boundless expanse of emptiness—letting go of all distinctions and knowledge, and following things as they are. The human body belongs to Heaven and Earth, so the two are said to have been one all along. From this we can understand that the spirit returns to its root and changing things return to still emptiness. True nature is identical with the present moment, standing free and independent. Why ask again, “What is left of me?”

If each of you can grasp this principle, you can realize it for yourselves now; there is no need to wait until the end and discuss it then.

The verse says:

The physical body has form and appearance, and in the end it cannot escape decay. The original Qi (vital energy), true to its nature, has neither form nor appearance, and so endures forever. Now all things can be understood completely and without obstruction, transcending the Three Realms and standing supreme above all.

Fortieth Passage

The Classic of Chongxu records that the ruler of Lu heard that Kang Cangzi had deeply grasped the Dao of the Great One and could see with his ears and hear with his eyes. He sent his senior minister with lavish gifts to invite him to court. The ruler of Lu humbly asked him to explain. Kang Cangzi said, “Those who speak of my abilities have got it wrong. I can see and hear without relying on my eyes and ears, but I cannot change their natural functions.”

The ruler of Lu said, “That is already extraordinary. May I ask how it works? I have always hoped to hear you explain it.” Kang Cangzi replied, “I can unite the body with the mind, the mind with Qi, Qi with Shen (spirit), and Shen with emptiness. Whether it is something extremely subtle or a faint sound, even if it comes from a remote corner of the world or lies close between my brows and lashes, once it reaches me, I know it. Yet I do not know whether it is perceived by the seven apertures and the four limbs, or sensed by the six organs within the body. They simply know of themselves.” The ruler of Lu was delighted and told Confucius what he had heard. Confucius only smiled and said nothing.

People, forget yourselves and enter the mysterious depths. Empty and still the mind, and realize the Great Dao; then body and mind will merge in perfect harmony, and Shen and Qi will wondrously intermix. Thus human nature is empty and bright like the Great Void, and the six faculties—the capacities of perception associated with the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—can communicate with one another. How vast is the state of this realized person, who has attained such perfection!

It is a pity that although the ruler of Lu was delighted by and honored Kang Cangzi, he remained distracted by wealth, fame, and sensual pleasures, and did not truly understand. He merely told Confucius what had happened. Why, then, did Confucius not reply? Reflect on this verse:

The wondrous harmony of the Three Primordials returns to the Limitless; the radiance of the perfectly clear, unified nature merges with the vastness of space. Those who truly grasp that the six faculties share one undivided source can bring them into harmonious unity, even if their realization is not yet complete.

Forty-First Passage

The Chongxu Jing records that Long Shu suffered from ten strange ailments, so he asked Wen Zhi to diagnose and treat him. Wen Zhi asked about his symptoms. Long Shu replied, “When people in my hometown praise me, I feel no honor; when the state condemns me, I feel no shame. I am not happy when I gain something, nor worried when I lose it. I regard being alive as though I were dead, and being wealthy as though I were poor. I regard others as myself, and myself as others. I regard my home as an inn, and my hometown as a foreign country. These are my ailments: rank and reward cannot lift my spirits, and punishment cannot make me afraid. Prosperity and decline, gain and loss, cannot alter my heart; grief and joy cannot move me. What kind of illness is this?”

After examining him carefully, Wen Zhi said, “Alas, the space within your heart is already clear and empty, nearly approaching sagehood. Six of its apertures are open, but one remains blocked. Now you take a sage’s wisdom to be an illness. My limited medical skill cannot cure it.”

Everyone, Long Shu’s illness lies in his treating distinctions between honor and disgrace, gain and loss, life and death, wealth and poverty, and self and others as insignificant. That is why it is called an “illness.” This shows that complete and unobstructed sage wisdom can arise naturally. Why, then, is one aperture still said to be blocked? Settle your minds and contemplate this: if you can see through that aperture and open it, you will reach a state in which nothing is left out.

The verse says:

Long Shu suffered ten ailments; those who understand must realize their meaning.

Though six apertures are unobstructed, one barrier remains. Know that distinctions are empty by nature, and you will see your innate nature.

The upper aperture opens wide, and the principle of the One Truth unites wisdom and life.

Nature and life attain completion, pure and radiant, firm as jade and adamantine gold.

Case Forty-Two

The Chongxu Jing says: “That which arises constantly without relying on any external cause is the Dao. Things that arise through particular causes and conditions do not vanish completely even when they come to an end; this is constancy. Thus, arising without relying on an agent is called the Dao. Realizing the Great Dao, and reaching an end without losing one’s nature, is called constancy. Dying without depending on external things is the Dao’s natural course; following the Dao through death and still returning to constancy is its fulfillment.”

Everyone, this passage explains that the substance of the Great Dao is constant and unchanging; it is never extinguished. To say that it “arises constantly without relying on any external cause” means that it has no point of origin and does not treat “birth” as a fixed kind of coming into being. This is the Dao. Though life is present, one does not cling to life; even when the body dies, one’s nature does not perish. This is constancy. Therefore, to arise without relying on external things is called the Dao; to realize the Great Dao and pass through an ending is called constancy. Understand the wondrous Dao of true constancy and follow nature, and there will be no need to worry about impermanence.

The verse says: The sun and moon have brightness and darkness, but the vast Great Void—the boundless, empty substance—has neither. Human nature takes the Great Void as its original substance, so how could arising and perishing alter it? Alas, amid the world’s endless transformations, like seas becoming fields, a point of clear radiance remains, constant and unchanged.

Forty-Third Passage

The Old Immortal of the Southern Florescence, an honorific title for Zhuangzi, says: “Understand the Way of Heaven and grasp the principles of the sages; when your awareness extends through the six directions and reaches in all four quarters, your mind becomes deep and tranquil, and nothing remains that cannot be stilled. The sage’s tranquility does not come from possessing some extraordinary power like a dragon’s, but from being skilled at maintaining stillness. Nothing among the myriad things can disturb his mind, and so he is able to remain tranquil.

“When water settles, it can clearly reflect a person’s eyebrows and whiskers; when its surface is level, it can serve as a standard, and craftsmen take it as their model. If settled water is clear and bright, how much more so is the sage’s spirit, with its tranquil and lucid mind!”

Everyone, this chapter focuses on a single word: “stillness.” Those who practice often find themselves stirred and obstructed by favorable and difficult circumstances, and by all kinds of events. Unable to settle their minds, they seek out a quiet place to rest. They fail to realize that this adds yet another thought: the desire for stillness. Even in a remote and secluded place, many disturbances still arise. It is truly lamentable.

The Old Immortal of the Southern Florescence, Zhuangzi, uses the word “goodness” to point out the essentials of genuine, clear and wondrous cultivation. Here, “goodness” does not mean goodness in opposition to evil; it refers to the innate knowing and capacity of the sage. The sage’s mind is open, luminous, pure, and complete, like a precious mirror suspended before us: when things arrive, it reflects them clearly; when they depart, no trace remains in the mind. Unaffected by the beauty, ugliness, or forms and colors of external things, the inner mind is clear and bright, like a cloudless sky stretching for thousands of miles—simple yet subtle.

When water stills, it becomes clear and calm, able to reflect all things. How much more so the innate, numinous emptiness within us. If we can truly understand and embody this, then events may come without disturbing us, and the mind will no longer be busy chasing after gain. We can then become practitioners of the Dao who are at ease and free, with body and mind both much lighter.

The verse says: “Attached to neither movement nor stillness, unimpeded by coming or going; in the ordinary acts of walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, one finds freedom. One acts in accord with nature, without acting recklessly; one benefits living beings without causing harm. This mind-nature, like empty space, extends boundlessly throughout countless worlds, as numerous as grains of sand.”

In the opening of the “Discussion on Making All Things Equal,” the Immortal of the Southern Flower (Zhuangzi’s other name) uses a dialogue between two people to introduce three kinds of sound: the sounds of people, the sounds of the earth, and the sounds of Heaven. The sounds of people and the sounds of the earth differ, just as Mencius said: “Things are all different; that is the nature of things.” At the end of the chapter, Zhuangzi turns to the sounds of Heaven. When the wind blows through the myriad things, each gives voice in its own way; when the wind stops, the countless sounds fall silent as well. At that moment, who is making them sound, and who is making them cease?

The chapter begins with the different ways things are, then goes on to explain the principle behind them: principle is one, yet it branches into different expressions, each with its own relation of priority and subordination. Thus, although the myriad things differ, in a deeper sense they can be brought to unity. The chapter also uses many metaphors to show that the generation and transformation of things have no end, and that their countless changes all arise from the same wondrous power of creation.

Finally, Zhuangzi uses his dream of a butterfly to bring out the chapter’s central idea. Suddenly, in a dream, he vividly became a butterfly; in the blink of an eye, he woke and was clearly Zhuang Zhou again. Did Zhuang Zhou dream that he had become a butterfly, or did a butterfly dream that it had become Zhuang Zhou? Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly must be different, but here Zhuangzi leaves the answer unstated.

Everyone, consider this: who is dreaming now, and who has already awakened? If you can fully understand this in the present moment, you will see that life and death, dreaming and waking, ultimately return to the Great Transformation—the encompassing movement and change of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Within it, there remains a presence that stands apart, retaining its own nature through all transformations. Thus only one who has truly awakened can understand that this world is like one great dream. If you still cannot see this, listen as I offer the following verses:

The myriad things and I are one body, with a single source;

Though things are each distinct, in their unity each keeps its form.

Following their desires and attachments, they fashion different bodies through the cycles of existence;

Returning to the source, all enter together into Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the source of the cosmos.

The countless sounds have fallen silent, and the sounds of Heaven have ceased as well;

The mind grows clear and still, and awareness settles into concealment.

Let the myriad things carry change and transformation onward;

Forget dreaming and waking alike, and you may calmly behold the source of all things.

Forty-Fifth Section

The Immortal of Nanhua said: Confucius once taught Yan Hui to practice “fasting of the mind.” Yan Hui asked, “May I ask what fasting of the mind is?” Confucius replied, “Make your mind wholly unified. Do not listen only with your ears; listen with your mind. And do not listen only with your mind; listen with Qi. The hearing of the ears stops at sounds, and the mind’s response stops at understanding things and matching itself to them. Qi, however, is empty and still, able to receive all things. Only the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness. This is what is meant by fasting of the mind.”

Yan Hui said, “Before I received your teaching, I did indeed feel that there was an ‘I.’ After receiving it, I no longer feel that there is an ‘I.’ Can this be called emptiness and stillness?” Confucius said, “You have already understood it to the utmost.”

Everyone, Confucius used the single word “empty” to teach Yan Hui the method of fasting of the mind; its meaning is profound. Yan Hui heard it and immediately awakened, going straight beyond the ordinary realm of sages and worthies. When he said that he no longer felt there was an “I,” he meant that he had suddenly forgotten himself and no longer clung to the self called “Yan Hui.” Confucius affirmed that he had understood it to the utmost.

The eyes, ears, mouth, and nose each have their functions. Why did Confucius begin with “listening” and point Yan Hui directly to this? Listening with the ears is how ordinary people listen: they simply follow sounds. Listening with the mind is how the worthy listen: they can understand things and align themselves with their principles. Listening with Qi is how the sages listen: they return to the root. From birth, each person receives the Great Void—the vast, formless ground of being—and original Qi, the primal energy with which life is endowed. When the mind is empty and still, original Qi flows in harmony and fills it; when the breath is peaceful, spiritual clarity becomes bright and penetrating. The two neither separate nor become confused with one another; they interpenetrate and work in wondrous, inexhaustible ways. At this point, the mental pathways drawn out by deluded thoughts are cut off, and one’s innate nature is clear and flawless.

Thus it is said: “In the empty, still chamber, brightness is born; good fortune and peace come to rest.” When emptiness and stillness reach their utmost, an insight like heavenly light appears of itself. This is a subtle realm that goes yet deeper. In Buddhism, Guanyin Bodhisattva also began with hearing, practiced the method of perfect penetration, and ultimately realized the fruit of the Dao; hence the name “Guanyin,” “Perceiver of Sounds.” The essence of what the sages of old said about nature, life, and the Way of Heaven lies here. How could such a teaching not be heard and understood? Ah, it should be cherished.

The hymn says:

“The mouth may be pure while the mind is not; how then can one reach the original root? Not deceiving oneself, being honest and free of falsehood—that is the precept for keeping to the Dao. When the mind is free of obscurity, this is fasting of the mind.

The spirit-valley—the realm in which the spirit-mind is empty and still, able to receive all things—is unstained by a speck of dust; the spirit terrace—the mind-spirit—holds not a trace of dust. The Great Void is clear and bright; the sun of wisdom… Ah, it should be cherished.”

The hymn says:

If the mouth is pure but the heart is not, how can one understand the true nature of things? To deceive no one—not even oneself—is to truly hold to the Dao. A heart free of delusion is what is truly meant by fasting the mind, a practice that makes the mind quiet and focused.

The spirit within is still and empty as a deep valley, untouched by the slightest stain. The mind is bright and clear as a sacred terrace, every speck of dust swept away. The heart is lucid and radiant as the Great Void, the boundless sky, and the light of wisdom illuminates the steps leading to the Way of Heaven.

Forty-Sixth Case

In “The Floods of Autumn,” a chapter written by the Old Immortal of the Southern Flower, an honorific title for Zhuangzi, the River Earl, the god of the Yellow River, and Ruo of the Sea, the god of the sea, exchange six rounds of questions and answers. The force of their dialogue is like wind and waves battering the rocks, like snowy breakers surging into the sky; it leaves one shaken and dazed. Yet at the end of the chapter, the scene becomes like a clear blue sea reflecting the heavens, leaving the mind and spirit refreshed and composed, returned to stillness and original simplicity. Why, everyone, does this transformation take place? At its root lie three words: Dao, principle, and adaptive judgment.

Thus, one who understands the Great Dao must understand principle; one who understands principle must understand how to adapt; and one who understands how to adapt will not let external things harm them. “The Floods of Autumn” also says that if one can discern safety and danger, remain steady amid misfortune and good fortune, and decide carefully when to advance or withdraw, nothing can harm them. This is what is meant by “Heaven within, the human outside”: one’s innate nature remains within the heart, pure and unmixed, while one holds fast to the root; outwardly, in responding to things, one adapts flexibly so that one’s actions are appropriate and balanced. Thus the heart is at once whole and responsive: principle runs through the myriad things, while adaptive judgment guides one’s response to particular circumstances. When facing safety and danger and deciding whether to advance or withdraw, one both attends to innate nature and responds to reality. Where, then, could troubles or demonic obstacles arise?

At this point, the River Earl understood in his heart and resonated with the Dao, and asked no more questions. Su Dongpo said, “Go three days without reading ‘The Floods of Autumn’ from the Southern Flower Classic, and your mouth will stink and your writing will lose its brilliance.” If one can truly grasp its meaning and put it into practice naturally in daily life, one will not be troubled by all manner of demonic obstacles and will also attain immeasurable joy. Treasure this.

The hymn says:

When the River Earl saw the autumn floods, he saw only the waters overflowing to the banks. Only after seeing Ruo of the Sea did he gaze upon the boundless ocean and sigh in awe.

A frog at the bottom of a well can glimpse only a small patch of sky through its opening. A sea turtle has little experience, yet seeing a much vaster world can make it feel ashamed. People’s perspectives may be broad or narrow; what matters is that each understands the truth of the matter.

Grasp the whole of things and their essential points. When good or ill fortune comes, one should reflect on oneself. Those who understand the Great Dao are content with the ordinary course of life; they follow Heaven’s mandate and face both beginnings and endings with equanimity.

Forty-Seventh Saying

The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower (Zhuangzi) said: “Sweep away fixations of purpose, untangle errors of the heart, remove burdens on Virtue, and clear the obstructions on the path to the Great Dao.”

Prestige, wealth, distinction, authority, fame, and profit—these six disturb a person’s purpose. Appearance, conduct, expression, matters of reason, breath, and thoughts—these six confuse the heart. Aversion, desire, joy, anger, grief, and pleasure—these six emotions burden Virtue. Leaving, approaching, taking, giving, knowing, and ability—these six distinctions and actions block the way to the Great Dao. Each of these four groups has six items, making twenty-four in all. If we do not let them churn and stir within the heart, the heart can become upright. When the heart is upright, it can be still; when still, it can be clear; when clear, it can be open and unobstructed. Once open and unobstructed, we can follow things as they are, practicing Wuwei (non-action) while leaving nothing undone.

Everyone, each of these four tasks—sweeping away fixations of purpose, untangling errors of the heart, removing burdens on Virtue, and clearing obstructions on the path to the Great Dao—has six items, all of which may hinder us. When we go against principle, the Way of Heaven cannot flow freely, so we must sweep the obstruction away. When our thoughts are confused, we are easily entangled in affairs, so we must untangle them. When Virtue is burdened, it becomes difficult to judge and act properly, so we must remove the burden. When external things block the heart, it cannot be empty, still, and clear, so we must clear the way. All of this arises from human desire. If we do not let these twenty-four things stir within the heart, we can attain balance, stillness, clarity, and openness. In this way, we can honor the Great Dao, deepen our Virtue, fulfill our nature, and awaken to the heart.

In this passage, the Old Immortal of the Southern Flower points out the practical work that later students must undertake in their cultivation. Proceeding step by step and carefully contemplating its meaning will lead to clarity and openness. Cherish this teaching.

The verse says:

Ordinary people’s desires are tangled and diverse; twenty-four things obscure Heaven’s subtle workings. Examine affairs, and errors in the heart will grow few; forget what weighs on you, and your purpose will no longer stray.

When emotional attachments have vanished, even virtue and conduct cease to be burdens. The mind and nature are undivided; thoughts are clear and free of doubt. The heart is upright and still, empty and transparent. One follows nature through Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing remains unaccomplished.

Forty-Eighth

The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower, Zhuangzi, once said: There is such a thing as a “beginning.” There was also a time before there had begun to be a beginning. And there was a time before even that—before there had begun to be a time before a beginning. In the world there is “being,” and there is “nonbeing.” There was also a time before there had begun to be being and nonbeing, and a time before even that—before there had begun to be a time before being and nonbeing. Before long, “being” and “nonbeing” seemed to appear. But who can tell whether this “being” and “nonbeing” truly count as being and nonbeing? Or whether there is, in fact, no such thing as being and nonbeing at all?

This passage discusses the meaning of the “Five Never-Beginnings.” Earlier commentators have offered differing explanations, each with insight as well as some bias, and their accounts often become convoluted. Some have explained the idea through the Immortals and the Five Primordials, which seems plausible in part. The key, however, is to begin with the presence and absence within oneself: within true Nonbeing there is wondrous Being, and wondrous Being and “Never-Beginning” interpenetrate in successive layers, each leading into the next. The principle involved is subtle and pure.

Since this body exists, where did it come from? It exists because of a single thought, so thought is the beginning of this body. Thought arises from the heart-mind, so the heart-mind is the beginning of thought. The heart-mind arises from one’s nature, so nature is the beginning of the heart-mind. When Qi (the energy that sustains life) is present, nature comes to be; thus life is the beginning of nature. Innate wisdom-nature belongs to “true Nonbeing”; the wise life within the true void belongs to “wondrous Being.” When true Nonbeing and wondrous Being interpenetrate, they reach the reality before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) first opened and before one’s parents gave birth to the body. This is the “wondrous body of Jade Void,” the clear, empty, mysterious and wondrous ground of being; it is also the “pure and still Dao-body,” the quiet, untainted embodiment of the Dao. This is the beginning before all beginnings.

People should trace the inquiry backward from here, going deeper with each layer until they gradually grasp its wondrous realm. At this point, they will understand that Heaven, Earth, and I came into being together, and that all things and I are one. All distinctions between right and wrong, self and other, sound and color, Being and Nonbeing are like flowers conjured in empty space or shadows in sunlight—not things to cling to as real. True joy arises naturally. Is this not at once simple and mysterious?

The verse says: South Flower’s five kinds of “Never-Beginning” must be pursued back to their source. This thought arises from the heart-mind; the single heart-mind springs from nature. Nature arises from the root of life, and nature and life follow the same fundamental principle. Wondrous Being and true Nonbeing interpenetrate: this is the mysterious ground of Jade Void. If those with lofty aspirations can understand this and grasp it with sincere conviction, they can attain true joy, free from the entanglements of birth and death.

The Nanhua Immortal—Zhuangzi—uses a parable to guide people from the principles of things before their eyes toward discerning the original mind, grasping the subtle workings of Heaven and Nature, and ultimately understanding the Great Dao. His meaning is deep and subtle, and his conception both ingenious and unusual. He tells of six beings: Kui, a legendary one-legged creature, envies the centipede; the centipede envies the snake; the snake envies the wind; the wind envies the eyes; and the eyes envy the mind. The centipede here is the many-legged insect.

The story begins with three creatures—the Kui, the centipede, and the snake—then turns to the wind, the eyes, and the mind, gradually revealing how things function and the subtle workings of natural change. The Kui and the centipede differ in how many legs they have, much as droplets and mist differ in size when saliva is sprayed. The snake has no legs yet can move, and move very quickly. In the same way, the actions and stillness, movement and transformation, bending and stretching, advancing and retreating, and quick or slow responsiveness of the sage all accord with Heaven’s workings and unfold naturally.

The story then says that the wind rises vigorously from the Northern Sea and blows toward the Southern Sea, as Yin and Yang cycle back and forth, appearing suddenly and vanishing just as suddenly. Compared with things that have form and appearance, the wind reveals another marvel. Finally, the story speaks of the connection between the eyes and the mind, but leaves its principle unstated. Can you grasp it? If not, Shian will use this passage to offer a brief explanation. You must still contemplate it silently and with sincerity.

When a person looks, it seems as though the ends of the earth, thousands of miles away, are reflected before the eyes. When a thought arises, it seems to contain the mountains and rivers of the whole world. This movement of Heaven’s workings can be said to reach its destination without walking, and to accomplish things swiftly without hastening. How could we fail to observe it carefully and turn our gaze inward? When the wind first begins to blow, its force seems slight, yet later it can shake mountains and uproot trees. The creative power at work in our breathing is like this as well. If you can grasp, right here and now, the wondrous workings of the Great Dao, there will be no need to pursue them through effort.

The verse says:

The Great Dao is everywhere; all things contain it.

The Kui limps along as swiftly as the centipede; the snake flies with astonishing speed, yet is as slow as the wind.

The Heavenly Mechanism merges with the highest heavenly realm, while profound principles are embodied at the center of Heaven and Earth. Dissolve the distinction between being and nonbeing; forget desires and emotions, and cling neither to emptiness nor to nonemptiness.

Turn your gaze inward to the subtle, mysterious depths of the heart, and you can see at once the master of life: the original mind.

Fifty

The Yellow Emperor heard that Lord Guangcheng lived in seclusion on Mount Kongtong. He therefore gave up the realm and set aside the affairs of government. He built a chamber for quiet contemplation, laid out white thatch, and spent three months there in stillness. Then he went to ask about the Dao.

Lord Guangcheng was lying facing south. The Yellow Emperor approached on his knees from downwind, bowed again, and asked, “I have heard that you understand the highest Dao. I venture to ask: how should I cultivate body and mind so that life may endure?”

Lord Guangcheng sprang up and said, “A good question. Come, and I will tell you. The subtlety of the highest Dao is deep and difficult to see; its ultimate reaches are darkly still, without sound or trace. See nothing and hear nothing; simply keep the spirit guarded and the mind quiet, and the body will naturally become upright. Be sure to remain still and clear. Do not weary the body or disturb the vital energies. Let the mind be clear and settled; do not let it become agitated and restless. When the mind makes no reckless distinctions, the spirit will remain within the body. The Dao’s course has no end, yet people all assume that life has a limit. Those who attain my Dao may enter the gate of the boundless and roam the realm without limit.”

Everyone, a person’s innate primordial Shen—the spiritual essence present from birth—often fails to remain within the body because emotions arise and disturb the mind and spirit. As thoughts stir, Jing and Qi are unsettled as well. Lord Guangcheng’s teaching to the Yellow Emperor—to keep the mind undisturbed by delusive thoughts so that the primordial Shen may naturally abide in peace—is deeply insightful. The Yellow Emperor was a great sage, yet he laid out white thatch and spent three months in stillness, then approached Lord Guangcheng on his knees to pay respect and seek the Dao. What kind of people are we, if we cannot do the same? How, then, could we enter the gate of the boundless and roam the realm without limit? Alas, a verse follows:

When the mind lets go of restless striving, the spirit settles in the body; when Jing and Qi are undisturbed, Qi returns to its root.

When Qi and Shen unite in subtle harmony, and breath settles quietly at the center of body and mind, one can enter directly through the gate of the Mysterious Origin—the source of the Dao—and its myriad wonders.

Fifty-One

The Nanhua Jing says: The Yellow Emperor was traveling by the Red River. He climbed Mount Kunlun and gazed southward, and on his way back he lost the Mysterious Pearl, a symbol of the inward, luminous nature of the heart-mind. He sent a wise man to search for it, but he could not find it. He sent Li Zhu, a man with keen eyesight, but he too could not find it. Then he sent Chi Gou, skilled in speech and debate, but still the pearl was not found. At last he sent Wang Xiang, one who did not cling to appearances or distinctions. Wang Xiang found it. The Yellow Emperor exclaimed, “How strange! Wang Xiang was able to find it?”

Everyone, this Mysterious Pearl is something each person already possesses. Its radiance shines through past and present, illuminating Heaven and Earth. But worldly desires and the turmoil of daily life cloud the mind; things and thoughts, like mist and clouds, obscure the original heart-mind. People are also busy chasing external things and relying on cleverness and knowledge, and so they lose the pearl. Even when they try to recover it, some seek it only through words, some try to infer it through cleverness, and others pursue it with knowledge and deliberation. The more deliberately they try to see clearly, the farther away they move from it; the more they rely on ingenuity, the harder it is to find. That is why the Yellow Emperor sent those three kinds of people in turn, and none succeeded. Later, he sent Wang Xiang, and Wang Xiang found it.

Why is this so? Practitioners must set aside distinctions based on language and knowledge, and not cling to clever opinions. They should sincerely hold to stillness at Danqiu, a place symbolizing the quiet state of cultivation, and quiet the mind in Wang Xiang, a state of not clinging to outward appearances. Then a single, inward light, whole and harmonious, will naturally appear, clear and transparent. Is this method not both simple and wondrous?

Consider the verse that follows:

A priceless pearl lies buried in mud.

Cleverness and ingenuity seek it through endless distinctions and calculations.

Gather the spirit and return to non-attachment and formlessness;

Unawares, the pearl’s light begins to emerge.

It leaps from the clear, deep abyss,

Its perfect radiance illuminating boundless space.

Fifty-Second Passage

The Nanhua Jing says: Nie Que asked Bei Yi about the Dao. Bei Yi said, “Set your body upright and focus your gaze, and the harmony of Heaven—the natural harmonizing energy—will come. Gather your perceptions and make your thoughts single, and Shen (spirit) will come to dwell within you. De will become your beauty, and the Dao your home. Be as clear and unknowing as a newborn calf; there is no need to ask about what came before.” Before he had finished speaking, Nie Que seemed to fall asleep and had already forgotten his own body. Bei Yi was delighted. He sang as he went away.

People, when the ancients heard of the highest Dao (the Way), they forgot their bodies, became absorbed in spirit, and returned to their original state of pure goodness. This means keeping the body upright and the gaze steady, while the heart remains sincere and whole without showing its edge; gathering in the mind until it is single, free of thought, and focused in stillness. Their hearts filled with joy, they sang as they departed.

People, when the ancients heard of the highest Dao, they forgot their bodies, became absorbed in spirit, and returned to their original state of pure goodness. This means keeping the body upright and the gaze steady, while the heart remains sincere and whole without showing its edge; gathering in the mind until it is single and free of stray thoughts, and focusing the spirit in stillness. It is like a newborn calf, whose nature is whole and pure, without cunning. The spirit settles completely into unity; self and things are both forgotten. Without knowing why, things simply happen of themselves. No wonder the Master, the teacher who transmitted the Dao, was truly joyful and sang as he departed. This was his genuine experience, not a state he had forced himself to attain. How wondrous!

Today, our karmic burdens are heavy and our blessings meager, so for now we cannot yet do this. But if we can truly believe and accept it, remain sincere within, and calmly keep to the practice, then we should continue in this way. When our practice becomes mature, we too will arrive there naturally.

Ode:

Put aside clever schemes and discard self-satisfied wit;

Conceal the light, and through sincerity return to the subtle unity.

Bei Yi did not speak of it fully; Nie Que had already forgotten his body.

United with the Dao, the heart is pure as jade;

Desire and feeling lie empty and still, the nature clear as ice.

In the Great Void, the wind’s breath falls silent;

The natural sounds of Heaven and Earth, too, return to wordless stillness.

The Fifty-Third Passage

The Old Immortal of Nanhua said, “The Dao does not concern itself with petty affairs, and De does not take narrow understanding for wisdom. Narrow understanding harms De; petty actions obstruct the Great Dao. So it is enough simply to set oneself right. To make preserving the joy within one’s heart one’s aim is to be truly fulfilled.

“When the ancients spoke of being fulfilled, they did not mean holding high office and enjoying distinction. They meant that nothing could add to the joy they already possessed. Today, people speak of fulfillment as gaining high rank and generous emoluments. Official rank and titles may be bestowed upon someone, but they do not belong to a person’s nature or life. They are merely external things that happen to come one’s way and lodge there temporarily.

“Everyone, the sages cherish the spirit, bring nature and life into harmony, and consider it enough to preserve the joy within their hearts. Thus they are content in poverty and take delight in following the Dao. They do not regard high rank and generous emoluments as honors, much less lose their noble integrity for their sake. How much worse, then, to be in straits and pander to worldly convention, clinging to narrow understanding and petty actions, only to burden one’s virtue. What is praiseworthy about losing oneself for the sake of external things, or losing one’s nature to conform to the world? Be alert and cautious.”

Ode:

The things of the world shift like clouds; cold and warmth, rise and decline, reverse in the blink of an eye.

Let the heart be as indifferent to fame and profit as water; let innate virtue be fragrant as the iris and orchid.

Those who chase after things are driven here and there; those who seek nothing hold their purpose steady as Mount Tai.

With a mind beyond the world, free of burdens and hindrances, one carries great aspirations and rests at ease.

Section Fifty-Four

The Nanhua Immortal was resting when Dongguo Zijing asked, “Where exactly is the ‘Dao’?”

The Perfected Man replied, “It is everywhere.”

Dongguo Zijing said, “You must point to a specific place.”

The Perfected Man pointed to an ant before him and said, “It is in the ant.”

Dongguo Zijing asked, “How can it be in something so lowly?”

The Perfected Man said, “It is in the tares and millet grass.”

Dongguo Zijing asked again, “How can it be in something even lower?”

The Perfected Man pointed to the ground and said, “It is in the broken tiles and rubble.”

Dongguo Zijing asked, “Why does it become more and more base?”

The Perfected Man said, “It is in excrement and urine.”

Dongguo Zijing heard this but did not understand.

This exchange uses Dongguo Zijing’s repeated questions about where the Dao is to show that the Dao is everywhere, even in things usually considered lowly or filthy.

How confused! The Most High Lord Lao says, “The Dao exists throughout the world, like streams flowing into rivers and seas.” He also says, “The Great Dao spreads far and wide and is everywhere; it can be reached from every direction.” Confucius says, “What transcends physical form is called the Dao; what lies within physical form is called a thing.” From this, we can see that the Old Immortal of Nanhua, Zhuangzi, used the things before him to explain the foundation of the Dao. Sadly, Dongguozi, the figure in Zhuangzi’s parable, failed to understand him at all.

The Dao is fully expressed in all things, and every thing possesses the Dao; therefore, the Dao is everywhere. Consider this point I have just made: look in any direction, and it has no bounds. Where, then, is the Dao absent? We can see that the Old Immortal of Nanhua revealed his meaning completely in his opening sentence. His four replies that followed were a second, more pointed instruction, offered only because it was necessary. Everyone, if you can truly understand before the Realized One speaks his first words, you will stand apart, at ease and free, with nothing to constrain you.

Virtuous elders, do you understand? Alas, the Chan Buddhist koans often cited today—“the cypress tree in the courtyard,” “the wine stand in the hall,” “three pounds of flax,” “three fists in reply,” “a dried shit-stick,” and “a heap of Buddha’s dung”—all arise from this. The elder Feng Zunshi said, “Before Kumarajiva was born, there were already the Nanhua Jing and the Liezi.” Zhu Xi also said, “Chan Buddhism originated in Daoism; monks today merely use different words to explain it.” Is this not so?

If your minds are free of doubt in this very moment, and you understand completely, all things will become clear to you, and the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—will be seen as one. Why contend to prevail, or quibble over self and other, right and wrong? Then you can live joyfully and peacefully in an age of peace, as a great person free from worldly entanglements. Would that not be wonderful?

The verse says:

The Dao is present in all things, yet its source is one;

Before it is spoken, it is already plainly revealed.

The Old Immortal of Nanhua fully displayed its hidden mystery;

Dongguozi remained doubtful and could not enter that mystery.

Turbid Qi clouds the nature and leaves it obscure;

A clear wind scatters the mist and reveals the original nature from before birth.

Open in all six directions, unobstructed everywhere;

The Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—return to a single circle.

Fifty-fifth Case

The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower (Zhuangzi) said: It is unfortunate for later generations of students that they cannot grasp the original simplicity of Heaven and Earth, nor understand the fundamental Dao held by the ancients. As a result, Daoist arts and teachings have split apart and scattered throughout the world. Hui Shi’s theories, for example, claim both that all things are entirely the same and whole, and that the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—can be reduced to a single “○.”

Fifty-Fifth Passage

The Old Immortal of the Southern Flower said: It is unfortunate for later generations of students that they cannot grasp the original simplicity of Heaven and Earth, nor understand the fundamental Dao held by the ancients. As a result, Daoist arts and teachings have split apart and scattered throughout the world.

Hui Shi’s theories maintain that all things are both completely the same and completely different, and that Heaven and Earth are one. Debaters throughout the world delighted in discussing these ideas with him. They put forward many strange claims: eggs have feathers; chickens have three feet; Ying, the capital of Chu, is the whole world; a dog can be called a sheep; horses have eggs; tadpoles have tails; fire is not hot; mountains grow mouths; a wheel never rolls over the ground; the eye cannot see; a finger cannot reach; even at the very end, there is no end; a tortoise is longer than a snake; a carpenter’s square is not square; a compass cannot draw a circle; a hole cannot fit a tenon; the shadow of a flying bird does not move; when an arrow flies extremely fast, there are moments when it neither advances nor stops; a dog is not a canine; a yellow horse and a black ox make three; a white dog, a black fox, and a foal have never had mothers; and if half of a one-foot staff is removed each day, it will never be used up, even after ten thousand generations.

The debaters went back and forth with Hui Shi over these claims, never exhausting them throughout their lives. Hui Shi himself took great pride in discussing such matters and considered himself supremely wise. He could embellish other people’s thoughts and change their minds, and he could defeat them in argument, but he could not convince them in their hearts. He was always trying to win against others to gain a reputation, yet his De was shallow and he exerted himself too forcefully in the realm of things. His mind and spirit wandered without a place to settle; he pursued external things and could not return. He chased after sounds, echoes, and forms, like shadows racing one another—truly a sad sight.

Fellow cultivators, the Immortal Elder of Nanhua, Zhuangzi, deliberately cited the wit of Huishi, the Warring States thinker famed for his skill in debate, at the end of an essay. His point was that people in later generations, with their diminished vitality and meager blessings, no longer preserved the natural simplicity of Heaven and Earth, nor understood the fundamental bearing of the sages. They focused only on quick thinking and clever argument: when asked about the long, they answered about the short; asked about the east, they answered about the west; asked about existence, they answered about nonexistence. And when pressed until they had no answer, they would instead tell others to figure it out for themselves.

This way of doing things teaches the young to let their tongues run loose and show off their debating skills, while gentlemen, being inarticulate, find themselves at a disadvantage. People become bent on winning arguments, full of pride and self-importance. They stir up vulgar customs, deceive and confuse the ignorant, and talk at length about empty ideas, all the while imagining they are instructing the public. That such habits should gradually take hold is truly painful. The Book of Changes says, “To move others, rely only on the cheeks and tongue”; it also says, “When thoughts and schemes come and go in confusion, friends follow your intentions.” These words describe precisely this situation.

Good people, if you can see through these failings and understand their cause, you should restrain your outward brilliance and keep your inner mind clear. Cherish and cultivate your natural equanimity. Do not behave like these people, making a show of yourselves, exaggerating, deceiving, and speaking falsely. Instead, return to simplicity and sincerity. That is enough.

The eulogy says:

In studying the Dao and cultivating the mind, return to simplicity and sincerity. Once you have returned to the uncarved and the sincere, there is no need to seek anything further. The so-called “samadhi of the mouth”—a lofty state displayed only in words—is nothing but pointless wagging of the tongue. The turmoil before your eyes all comes from putting the mind to improper use.

Mozi’s frugality and diligence had their merits; Huishi’s slippery, ever-shifting sophistry was hard to set right. The subtlety expressed in silence is what true understanding reaches. Profound stillness holds a vast power within, like thunder that shakes the world and gives forth a mighty sound.

Section Fifty-Six

The Sovereign Lord of Pure Yang, Lü Dongbin, said: “To grasp only the principle of True Permanence without understanding the Dao of nature and life is the greatest failing in cultivation. To cultivate only ancestral nature, without cultivating the methods of the Elixir, is to remain an unsettled, unliberated soul through countless kalpas, unable to enter the realm of the sages.”

The Perfected One of Purple Yang, Zhang Boduan, said: “Even if you have already awakened fully to your true and suchlike nature, if you have not yet reached a state of profound stillness that contains immense power within…”

The Lord of Pure Yang said, “To grasp only the principle of the Truly Constant, without understanding the cultivation of nature and life, is the greatest failing in practice. To cultivate one’s nature but not practice Neidan (internal alchemy) is to remain far from transcending the ordinary and becoming a sage, even after countless kalpas.” The Perfected Person of Ziyang said, “Even if you have realized your true nature, you may still die in this life and be reborn as a human being. How much better to go further and cultivate the Great Medicine, suddenly transcending the bonds of life and death and becoming a Perfected Person!”

Everyone, those who speak nowadays of illuminating the mind and seeing one’s nature often take gestures and responses—raising the eyebrows, blinking, pointing a finger, extending a fist, striking, shouting, remaining silent, or answering—as signs of such realization. Relying on these views and experiences, they mistake the conscious mind for their original true nature and believe it to be ultimate reality. They claim to have no doubts left and to have completed their Chan inquiry. Yet even in illuminating the mind and seeing one’s nature, they have not truly found their footing. How much farther away they are from the wisdom and life-root of True Emptiness—the wisdom and vital foundation that transcend discriminative thought—and from the ultimate work of practice. This is truly regrettable. The patriarchs used these two poems to awaken those committed to practice, speaking with great earnestness. Sadly, our blessings are meager and our strength weak, making it hard for us to press on.

Others fix their attention on such places as the kidneys, navel, heart, or brain, laboriously moving the breath and performing bending, stretching, and other movements. They take bodily postures and outward signs as the work of cultivating the foundations of nature and life. This, too, is regrettable. What, then, is the true essential method? Become still. Become still.

The verse says: Open and responsive, like an elephant’s trunk; revealed and unmistakable, like a lion’s eyes. Bring these two together as one, gathering the myriad transformations into harmony and stillness. The mind and spirit continue without interruption through a state of hazy indistinctness, subtle and profound, naturally becoming perfectly integrated and returning to Supreme Clarity. With resolve firm as a mountain, one who truly understands can enjoy lasting spring and transcend life and death.

Section Fifty-Seven

In the Appended Statements of the Zhouyi, Confucius says that one should probe things to their utmost, fully understand one’s nature, and thereby comprehend Heaven’s mandate. He also says that the sage uses this to cleanse the mind and spirit, gathering them inward and withdrawing them into a profound, quiet, and hidden place. Everyone, this “hidden” place is where the sages settle body and mind and establish the root of life. It cannot be sought through knowledge and deliberation, nor grasped by listening with the ears or looking with the eyes.