《盘山栖云王真人语录》

A blind person cannot distinguish colors such as blue-green and yellow; a deaf person cannot understand the sounds of pipes and strings. This is true not only of the body, but of the mind as well. Everyone is born with an unspoiled nature, yet layer upon layer of dust has settled over it, obscuring clear vision. People then chase sounds and sights, search for traces, and sink into evil paths, passing through long ages of tribulation without realizing it. They are like those who mistake the shadow of a bamboo tube for sunlight, or the reflection in a bronze plate for the sun itself.

Without meeting an enlightened master, how could one distinguish black from white? Clinging to isolated phrases and written words only deepens confusion. So Master Qiyun, compelled by necessity, tailored his teachings to his disciples’ afflictions: he helped people escape deafness and obstruction as one clears the ears, and dispel ignorance as one wipes the eyes and scrapes away a cataract. He hoped that everyone might see clearly and hear distinctly, attain a lucid and free state of mind, and return to the right path instead of losing their way like a lost sheep.

The disciple Mr. Liu Gong followed the master for many years, quietly recording his admonitions and teachings, then collecting and arranging them into a volume of a little over one hundred entries. This is indeed a guide for those beginning to cultivate the Dao. He therefore asked craftsmen to carve and print it so that it might circulate widely. I, the Daoist Gufeng, was also fortunate enough to sit among the last of the master’s disciples. I read the book with great delight, and so, after fasting and bathing, respectfully wrote this preface. Written on the first day of the first month of the Dingwei year, by the disciple Lun Zhihuan.

At that time, the master gave a public teaching at Mount Pan, a place of Daoist cultivation:

In general, when people first begin to study the Dao, if they immediately try to ponder states that cannot be put into words, they may feel there is no way to begin and nothing to rely on. Doubts will inevitably arise. Since they have not yet applied themselves inwardly, their faith is not deep. Without deep faith, they cannot put the teaching into practice; unable to persist, they will study in a haphazard way and, as time passes, become lax and fall back.

I will now explain principles you can see with your own eyes, hear with your own ears, and rely on. If you can trust these principles and put them into practice, you will not be hindered from proceeding step by step from what is near and simple toward what is subtle and profound. Though these principles appear among sounds, sights, and all things, they are themselves the workings of the Dao.

What principles can you trust and put into practice? Have you not seen the vast open sky, as well as Heaven and Earth, the sun and moon, mountains and rivers, wind and clouds? These plainly visible scenes before you are models for cultivation and gateways into the Dao.

For example, clouds rise among the mountains, drifting freely back and forth, untroubled and at ease, unbound by external things. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this. Or consider the wind, which stirs all things, coming and going without obstruction and leaving no trace. It cannot be stopped by grasses, trees, or forests. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this.

A great mountain, too, is lofty and steadfast, neither swaying nor moving; external things cannot shake it. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this.

Water is gentle by nature and flows toward low places, nourishing plants and trees without competing with anything. It takes a square shape when it meets a square vessel and a round shape when it meets a round one, yet its nature remains clear and pure. When water gathers into rivers and seas, it receives a hundred streams without distinguishing among them and can shelter fish, turtles, shrimp, and crabs alike. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this.

The light of the sun and moon shines everywhere, impartial and selfless. They move through day and night, their radiance without limit. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this. Heaven is above, always clear and able to encompass all things. It covers everything, nourishing all things without harming them. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this. Earth is calm and still, bearing all things without favoring any one of them. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this.

The open sky is vast and boundless; nothing lies beyond its capacity to receive and contain. It covers Heaven and Earth and holds all things without distinction. It is neither moving nor still, neither existent nor nonexistent. It does not depart from the myriad things, nor is it confined by them. Within it are Heaven’s clarity, Earth’s stillness, the radiance of the sun and moon, and the transformations of all things. The open sky itself remains constant. The mind of a person cultivating the Dao should be like this.

The Dao is one with Heaven and Earth, and its workings are like these. The Dao’s fundamental reality is present within them as well. When the work of cultivation has ripened, understanding will arise naturally, and one’s daily conduct will accord with the Dao; an inner guiding principle will take shape of its own accord. If you then deliberately pursue states beyond words and thought, you will instead lose the right path. Now that you have entered the mysterious gate of Daoist cultivation, all of you should devote yourselves to practice.

Someone asked, “How should beginners enter the practice of cultivating their mind and nature?”

The Perfected One replied, “Completely cut off the thoughts that once kept you absorbed in affection and attachment, scheming at every turn, turning things over again and again, and contriving ways to harm others. Then let go, one by one, of your attachments to wine, sex, wealth, and anger; disputes over right and wrong; distinctions between self and others; affection that clings to external connections; and your selfishness, deluded thoughts, desire for profit, and cravings. When nothing outside entangles you, your body becomes light and at ease. When nothing inwardly taints you, your mind becomes light and peaceful. Persist in this over time, and as the practice gradually ripens, deluded thoughts will naturally fade.

“Guard and watch over your mind at every moment. Be careful with your words, moderate your eating, and sleep less. Let the inner and outer work together: clear away the dust and grime, leaving no attachment behind. In time, your original spirit—the innate spiritual nature each person possesses—will naturally reveal itself. You will then enjoy freedom and ease, and become a supreme Daoist.”

Someone asked, “How can a practitioner attain stillness and purity?”

The Perfected One replied, “When the mind does not chase after external things, this is called settling the mind. When the mind does not crave external things, this is called emptying the mind. When the mind is both settled and empty, free of attachment, this is stillness and purity. Stillness and purity are the Dao.”

Someone asked, “Practitioners often say they must rid themselves of emotional thoughts and eliminate desires. Is there any further principle beyond this?”

The Perfected One replied, “Rid yourself of emotional thoughts until there are none; eliminate desires until there are none. Then tell me: what, exactly, is this state of being without emotion or desire?”

Someone asked, “People who practice always need to keep their minds clear and alert, free from dullness. How can they do that?”

The Realized Person replied, “When people first begin to practice, their minds have not yet been thoroughly refined. They do not notice thoughts as they come and go, nor do they know how to gather the mind in or let it open. When they encounter situations and things, they simply follow along with them, muddled inside, until they grow tired and stop. Not understanding one’s own mind is dullness. It is like being born into another life: one enters a new body without realizing it and returns only when the karmic consequences of that lifetime have run their course. That is why it is called dullness. But if you deliberately rely on awareness at every turn, awareness itself can also cloud you. If practitioners examine their minds at every moment in daily life and let nothing stain them; if, when they encounter situations and things, they can pass through them with ease and are not led along by them, then they are free from dullness.”

Someone asked, “How should one safeguard one’s nature and life?”

The Realized Person replied, “When living amid the bustle of the world and dealing with all kinds of things, even if you can respond to them, remain your own master. Do not simply follow external things wherever they lead. Let affairs leave the mind undisturbed, and let the mind leave affairs unobstructed. Safeguard your nature and life as you would protect your eyes: even a speck of dust is reason to close them and turn away. Keep protecting them this way, and in time you will see results. As soon as the mind accepts something and is drawn along by external things, it follows them and can no longer remain its own master.”

Someone asked, “My thoughts follow one after another, and I can never clear them all away. What should I do?”

The Realized Person replied, “If you sweep the ground of the mind every day, the more you sweep, the more unsettled it becomes. To quiet the ground of the mind, set aside those scattered thoughts.” Hearing this, the person bowed in gratitude.

Someone asked, “Practitioners throughout the ages have all said that one must first set one’s resolve. How should one do that?”

The Realized Person replied, “Whether active or still, and in every kind of circumstance, one must…” Hearing this, the person bowed in gratitude.

Someone asked, “Since ancient times, those who cultivate the Way have first had to set their resolve. How should one do so?”

The Perfected One replied, “Whether active or still, whatever circumstances you encounter, whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, keep your thoughts fixed on the Dao (the Way). When confronted by demonic obstacles, do not abandon your original resolve; when you suffer harm, do not waver. Be the same in safety as in danger. Resolve to dedicate this life and never turn back. Advance with courage and diligence, pressing straight ahead without fearing even life or death. Only then can one be called a person of resolve. Thus the scripture says, ‘Those who can persist in cultivation are people of resolve.’”

The master arrived at the Southern Palace and sat in quiet meditation at night in Changzhen Abbey, a Daoist temple. Facing the assembled people, he spoke about the Dao:

Those who have only just left home to cultivate the Dao cannot yet stand firmly on their own, so they need the support of a Daoist monastic community. They may also make friends with fellow cultivators, helping one another and avoiding misguided paths.

There are, however, three kinds of Daoist companions: cloud-and-mist friends, good and learned friends, and wild and strange friends. Those who are committed to cultivation refine their nature and understand the causes and consequences of wrongdoing and good fortune. They sever their attachments to the world and roam freely beyond worldly concerns. When they share the same aims and interests, they become friends. These are called “cloud-and-mist friends”: their minds, like clouds and rosy mists, are unbound by worldly affairs.

Others study scriptures and teachings, play the zither, read books, compose poems, and enjoy grand talk and debates about right and wrong. These are called “good and learned friends.” Although they do not cultivate their nature, they do not commit evil deeds.

Then there is another kind: they do not cultivate their nature or read the classics, and they give no thought to the consequences of wrongdoing and good fortune. They speak wildly and act without restraint. At the slightest offense, they fight without end, compete for dominance, use force to bully others, mistreat the good, and form factions. These are called “wild and strange friends.”

After death, each of these three kinds meets a different fate and receives consequences in keeping with their deeds and merits. Cloud-and-mist friends can ascend to the formless realm and roam freely through the Jade Capital, the celestial city of the immortals. Some become immortals; others become celestial officials. Good and learned friends have not yet severed all their worldly attachments. They continue to move among human relationships in the world, undergoing cycles of rebirth and retribution. Wild and strange friends have accepted offerings from the ten directions—the four quarters, above, and below—but have accumulated no merit with which to repay their debts for food and drink. They may therefore fall into the underworld of Dengdu or be reborn as animals, continuing to endure hardship. By then, it will be too late for regret.

The wise and perceptive should think carefully and choose the path that benefits them.

Someone asked, “What is awakened awareness—the ability to recognize afflictions and see one’s own mind clearly?”

The Master replied, “Don’t just wave your hands around and talk about vague abstractions. It’s better to put in steady, practical effort. Suppose your heart is caught up in desire, afflictions, distinctions between self and others, and ignorance. It is like a vast, deep well of slippery glass right before you: lose your footing for even a moment, and you may fall in, with no way out for countless ages. If you can see this clearly and quickly step back just as you are about to move forward, that alertness and care in stepping back is your awakened awareness. If you are already trapped in distinctions between self and others, yet keep pointing at emptiness and talking grandly about profound principles, what has that to do with awakened awareness?”

Someone asked, “What is settled nature—the mind’s stable, unmoving quality?”

The Master moved closer, sat upright, and remained silent for a long while. The questioner did not understand. A gentleman standing nearby rose and bowed in thanks. The Master said, “Zhang drinks the wine, but Li gets drunk.” Hearing this, the man simply burst out laughing.

Someone asked, “People who study the Dao do so because they want to resolve the great matter of life and death. But what is the reason when someone seeks liberation without understanding it, and ends up behaving wildly and without restraint?”

The Realized One replied, “If not a single deluded thought arises, even for a moment, there is no burden of birth and death. When this cannot be done, it is because feelings and thoughts stir within the heart-mind, while the nature of mind is obscured by dust and grime. Feelings and thoughts pull against that defilement, and birth and death cannot cease. To seek liberation, let go whenever something arises. Then keep letting go, until not the slightest trace remains and the original source is clear again. Do not chase after sounds and colors; then you can be at ease wherever you are, empty, still, and free. Keep this up, and in time you will understand the inner master, the True Master.

“When the heart-mind is upright, the things it encounters can be set right; when it is crooked, they too become distorted. Once there is a master within, you are no longer pulled along by the things people love and desire. The six consciousnesses—the activities of knowing associated with the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—become empty and still, while the true nature remains at peace. What, then, is there to fear about life and death?

“If someone reaches this state but simply gives free rein to themselves and cannot gather their mind, if they cannot govern even their hidden thoughts and behave as though possessed—rushing outward, wild and unrestrained—then their spirit and Qi are scattered, and they cannot be their own master. To mistake this condition for true joy and happiness is a mistake. Joy without craving is true joy; pleasure without attachment is true pleasure; knowing that is not ruled by discriminating consciousness is true knowing.

“Now, they are led about by the conscious spirit—the mind that discriminates and deliberates—and evil Qi has entered the heart. So they remain wild and unrestrained, beyond any remedy. Those who imitate the ancients by singing as they walked and dancing as they rose do not understand that the ancients were loosening what had become stagnant and releasing their bonds, and had gained something else; that was why they were joyful. Would they really have let their minds run loose and behaved recklessly, making fools of themselves to deceive and mislead the world?”

Someone asked, “When I open my eyes, I see the scenes of the world; when I close them, dreams arise. Among people, I also encounter favorable and unfavorable circumstances. How can I remain at ease and undisturbed?”

The master replied, “For a practitioner, gathering in the thoughts is fundamental. When adversity comes, accept it gladly and let it pass. When things go well, pass through them without attachment. What do the many scenes of the world have to do with your original mind? It is the same among people. Even when facing a three-year-old child, do not oppose or offend them; in daily life, yield to others often. When others oppose or offend you, too, you should often give way. Patience and forbearance are themselves part of the practice. Respect everyone, and bear difficulties yourself. Keep doing this over time, and your heart will naturally mature; wherever you are, you will be at ease. Meet every kind of circumstance in an ordinary way, without letting it stir your mind. Amid the bustle of human affairs, your mind can remain settled, unstained by a speck of dust, clear and bright, never clouded day or night. This is to be in accord with the minds of sages and worthies.”

Someone asked, “Some say, ‘Know the One, and all things are complete’; others say, ‘Embrace the Origin and hold fast to the One.’ What exactly is this ‘One’?”

The master said, “It refers to the original nature in its undivided wholeness, before thoughts of distinction arise. But as soon as you treat it as an object to know or grasp, you fall into number and distinction, and can no longer preserve the true ‘One.’ One gives rise to two, two to three, and three to the myriad things—how could you hold fast to it? Better not to cling even to ‘One.’ Thus the patriarchs said, ‘Embracing the Origin and holding fast to the One’ is a practice; in the fullness of time, even the ‘One’ disappears. It is precisely where you no longer cling even to ‘One’ that your original face appears. This does not mean that original nature ceases to exist. The scriptures say: to know that emptiness is not annihilating emptiness, and that form—the appearances of the myriad things—is not fixed and unchanging form, is called seeing clearly and understanding fully.”

Someone asked, “Some monastics study the old koans—the sayings and stories used in Chan to awaken insight—while others read the scriptures. Some also say that the teachings of the ancients call for contemplating one’s own mind. Is this the right approach?”

The master replied, “Practitioners should cultivate their own minds and move from ordinary personhood toward sagehood. Yet after leaving home, they refuse to devote themselves to cultivating the mind. Instead, they search for answers in the words of the ancients, treating written texts as their practice and probing every word and phrase. In the end, they become tangled in tedious language and exhaust their efforts. What problem does that solve? When King Yama, ruler of the underworld who governs life and death, summons them, not a single sentence will be of any use, and not one word will help them. They might as well be people who understand nothing and muddle through their days; in some ways, they are closer to the truth. If you turn the effort you now spend chasing words toward the practice that is truly your own responsibility, you will not waste your time.”

Someone asked, “What is the matter that is truly one’s own responsibility?”

The master replied, “It is the mind that governs the body and has clear, aware perception. Received from the Dao, it has remained pure and unchanged from ancient times to the present. What could it lack? Once you have understood the principle for yourself, you have proof that you can transcend the ordinary and enter sagehood. If you can truly trust this, begin applying yourself to understanding it here and now. There are koans within your own mind, too—why treat another’s treasure as your own? Hurry and realize it for yourself, and make use of it; then you will no longer be misled by others.”

While his master was at work, he spoke to those gathered around him about the Dao: “Long ago, there was a man named Zhang Xian who worked as a carpenter in the eastern hall. He never went against anyone. He was humble and gentle, and never showed anger on his face. Everyone approved of him and often praised him. In time, their words reached the Perfected One.

“The Perfected One said, ‘We cannot judge him yet. He must be tested first. Gold, too, must be melted before its authenticity and quality can be revealed.’

“One day, the Perfected One asked him to make a couch, a piece of furniture for sitting or reclining. Zhang Xian immediately agreed. Before he had finished, the Perfected One asked him to make doors and windows as well. He set about doing so, though he had begun to grow impatient. When he was halfway through the doors and windows, the Perfected One asked him to make several boxes. This time, he refused. In the Perfected One’s presence, he explained that he wanted to finish one task before starting another.

“The Perfected One said, ‘Earlier, everyone praised you, saying that you accepted others’ requests without resisting and that your mind remained undisturbed. Now that you have been tested, you want to make excuses.’

“Those who cultivate should refine the mind as they deal with things. First establish an inner master, so that you are at ease and calm within; then you can respond to external affairs and handle them well. Which task should come first, and which should come later? When something urgent is before you, you should respond even if it costs you your life, while keeping your mind unmoved. What difference does it make whether you do one task first or another? These things are all temporary; none has a fixed, unchanging nature.

“The mind should be still and firm, while your responses to circumstances should remain flexible. Respond only to what is most urgent before you, remaining steady and composed, neither shaken nor confused. This is called ‘always responding, always still’—meeting each situation while keeping the mind always calm.”

Someone asked, “Some people say that karma extends across the Three Ages—”

Someone asked, “People say karma runs through the three ages of past, present, and future. Is that really so?”

The reply was, “Have you not heard what the ancients said? ‘When you truly understand, karmic obstacles are empty from the beginning. Until you understand, you must repay the debts you incurred in the past.’

Once, a man developed a malignant sore on his back. The pain was unbearable, and pus and blood flowed without end. He went to a deserted place and hanged himself. A person like this has neither understood his own nature nor been willing to endure the debt of pus and blood left over from a past life. Even if he takes his own life, he will still be reborn in the next life to make repayment.

How do we know this was karmic retribution from a past life? In the time of Emperor Zhangzong of the previous Jin dynasty, a prince consort was appointed governor of Zhangde Prefecture. He was cruel and tyrannical, and often flogged his servants for no reason, simply because he disliked the way they looked. One day, his buttocks began to itch and hurt. When he scratched them, the skin came away; before long, the flesh split open and bled, as if he had just been flogged and tortured. The pain was unbearable, and he eventually died from it. From this we can see that debts incurred by inflicting wounds that draw pus and blood will surely be repaid.

Retribution is not limited to such matters. Joy and anger, slander, beatings and insults, quarrels, even mutual dislike when people meet—all these, great or small, may arise from past connections and old grievances that must be repaid in this life. When such things happen, one should accept them willingly and not argue or make excuses. To bear them patiently is to settle the debt. If the parties fight each other, it is like refusing to repay a debt: resentment only grows deeper, grievances accumulate one upon another, and there is no end to the feud. What is more, the Way of Heaven requires repayment. The harm people inflict on one another through gratitude and resentment may all be regarded as debts born of grievance.

I recently heard that when Perfected Changchun (Qiu Chuji) first arrived in the north, a great general was returning from there. An official happened by the household of a hereditary thousand-household commander from Shandong. The commander’s wife had been taken captive. Since the family had followed the Dao for many years, the official wanted to ransom her and have her enter religious life, so he went to ask the Perfected One. The Perfected One remained silent and did not agree. While they were discussing the matter, the woman had already been taken north. The official then asked why the Perfected One had not agreed. He replied, “This woman has a debt from a past life of three years with her master. Now they have met again, just in time for her to repay it.”

Three years later, the woman did indeed escape her former circumstances, put on Daoist robes, and entered religious life. She later came to Changchun Palace to pay her respects to the Perfected One. Seeing that she had always followed the good path yet had still met with this retribution, everyone believed his words and could only bow and offer their thanks.

Because a Daoist practitioner was ill, the master spoke to everyone about the Dao. Those who cultivate the Way eat in moderation, keep regular hours and habits, remain calm in mind and spirit, and do nothing reckless. If they happen to fall ill, that is determined by Heaven’s decree. How could they refuse to accept it? It is also the course of their personal fate, or perhaps an illness brought about by karmic ties from a previous life.

First, one must see clearly that the “Four Great Elements”—earth, water, fire, and wind, which make up the body—are all illusory and impermanent. If you are ill, let yourself be ill; if you die, let yourself die. Recognize in your heart that this is Heaven’s decree, and accept it calmly. Keep your mind peaceful and let the body change as it will, without becoming fixated on illness. Even a serious illness may ease, and a mild one may heal on its own. When one’s original nature is calm and steady, turbid and harmful Qi will dissipate. This is both repaying a debt incurred through illness and passing through a trial.

If you do not understand this, your mind will find no peace. At the first sign of pain, you panic and lose control, cry out without stopping, complain of aches and pains, and blame Heaven and Earth. You resent others for not coming to support you, finding a doctor for you, or comforting you; you even fault them for not asking after you. Giving yourself over to anger and delusion in this way, you allow karmic thoughts to cloud your inner mind, and gain nothing from it. People do not know that their life and death follow a fixed course. Even if they panic, what can they change? They disturb themselves for no reason, without understanding that the mind governs the body. When the governor is unsettled, the whole body falls into disorder. Did the ancients not say, “A mind in turmoil is the gate to hell”? By bringing trouble upon yourself for no reason, what can you hope to escape, even if you somehow avoid fear? The more disturbed the mind, the more a mild illness may worsen, and a grave illness may even prove fatal. This happens because one’s nature is disrupted by turbid confusion.

If you fail to exercise restraint in anything and fall ill through excess, then you brought the illness upon yourself and must bear it. Whom can you blame? Those who cultivate their nature would never act this way. Everyone should think this over carefully.

When the master saw people so gravely ill that they could not pass away, he would offer this general counsel:

“Those who practice must first see through the illusion of all things. Then they must see through the idea that this body is anything more than a heap of dust. If, in daily affairs, you can act freely and at ease, then when death comes you will truly be free.

“Long ago, an abbot in Shandong was on the verge of death, yet for many days he could not depart. He sent someone to seek the advice of Perfected Changchun. The Perfected One said, ‘In his daily life, he clung only to people, affairs, and things outside himself. He never truly cultivated, so at the end he was entangled and could not be released.’ He then sent him this message: ‘The body does not belong to me. The source of life is itself empty. Let not a single thought arise; release the whole body.’

“Hearing these words, the abbot understood something. He told his fellow disciples, ‘I was blinded by external conditions. In ordinary life, I did not work on my mind, so at the end I could not make a clean break. Now I urge each of you to apply yourselves, cultivate body and mind, and settle the great matter of life and death.’ After saying this, he passed away.

“Another Daoist hesitated at the end of his life and asked those around him, ‘How can I depart?’ Someone said, ‘Call to mind the true appearance of your master.’ He tried for several days but still could not depart. Someone else said, ‘Imagine the open void.’ Still he could not depart.

“An old immortal heard about this and came to see him. The man told him how he had called his master to mind and imagined the void. The old immortal rebuked him: ‘What did you bring with you when you came into the world? What will you need to think about when you leave it? Set your mind at ease and await your allotted time. When the moment comes, you will naturally go.’ The sick man bowed his head in thanks, then passed away.

“In general, practitioners may temporarily deal with all kinds of external conditions, but they must work earnestly at cultivating their own true nature. If, in daily life, you can meet things freely without becoming entangled, how could you fail to be free at the end? If you are attached to and stained by external things and affairs in ordinary life, how can you be released at the end? You should cultivate without delay, for life and death are hard to predict, and their day will come. When it does, what help will external ties be? Please consider this carefully.”

Practitioners must first establish their resolve and uphold their principles. Yet once they have resolve and principles, they often become stubborn and inflexible; when something happens, they do not know how to adapt. And after learning how to handle situations and respond flexibly, they may become prone to delay and waste their time. Thus, those who study the Dao are as numerous as ox hairs, while those who truly attain insight are as rare as a qilin’s horn. Someone who has made a resolve may not yet understand the principles; someone who understands them may not be able to put them into practice; and even one who has begun to practice may not persevere for long. In general, those who study the Dao must first take refuge in the founding master of their tradition, then establish their resolve and uphold their discipline, learn to respond with insight and flexibility, and practice with wholehearted diligence. If they persist without slackening, nothing will be beyond their reach.

Someone asked, “What is the Dao of True Constancy—the Dao that never changes?” The master replied, “Set ‘True Constancy’ aside for now. At every moment of daily life, observe your own mind: before a thought arises, notice what the mind is like; after a thought arises, see whether it is a deluded or a sound thought. Deluded thoughts should be eliminated; sound thoughts should be put to use as circumstances require.

“What are deluded thoughts? When nothing is happening, anticipating and worrying about all sorts of things—these are all false, deluded thoughts. What are sound thoughts? When something is before you, responding to others in accordance with reason and circumstance, benefiting living beings, honoring those above you, bringing stability to the community, and every kind of wholesome thought that seeks no personal gain—these are all sound thoughts. In stillness, the mind is settled; in action, conduct is upright. Neither indulge nor become rigidly attached. Remain clear by day and night; respond to each situation while keeping the mind still, steady, and at ease. This is the Dao of True Constancy.”

The Realized Person said: What practitioners must overcome is this stubborn, clinging mind. Since time without beginning, people have passed through one life after another in the cycle of rebirth, leaving behind mountains of bones and undergoing countless deaths and births. Only now have they recognized their past errors and begun to seek liberation. Some therefore dare not eat during the day or sleep at night, hoping to discipline this stubborn mind.

But cultivating the mind is truly beneficial only when thoughts no longer run counter to the natural order and stir up delusions under the influence of worldly habits. If you do not refine the mind and merely force yourself to stay awake, it is ultimately of no use. Such forced effort leaves thoughts as tangled as hair; the moment an external circumstance stirs them, they flare up like fire. Even if you went without sleep for a hundred years, what would that accomplish? If the stubborn mind has not been removed, you will still wander through the cycle of rebirth.

To replace this old mind, you must shatter it completely, day and night, at every moment, whether moving or sitting still. Only then can you gain the true benefit of cultivation. The original, true spirit—clear and pure in its innate nature—accords with Heaven and Earth; only then is there real stillness. To move is the Dao; to be still is also the Dao. To speak is the Dao; to keep silent is also the Dao. What else is there to seek? Such a person is a Daoist who has cast off the bonds of the mundane world.

Practitioners should put in the effort to overcome the habits and scattered thoughts that have accumulated in their hearts over a long time and become deeply rooted. What is hard to relinquish must still be relinquished, until even at the end of life they can let go of what needs to be let go. Besides, the thoughts in the heart are all illusory to begin with. Remove them one by one, and afflictions and obstacles will naturally disappear.

Nothing outside oneself, whether an affair or an object, is worth keeping in one’s heart. Such things come and go before one’s eyes like mosquitoes; brush them away and that is all. If one can let go even of what is hardest to set aside in the heart, one has let go of the very seeds that give rise to the cycle of rebirth.

In the past, when Perfected Changchun (Qiu Chuji, a Daoist of the Quanzhen school) lived at Panxi, tigers and leopards often came and went in the middle of the night. Some people were afraid and planned to build a fence at daybreak. Perfected Changchun reflected: faced with such a situation, fear arises in the heart and one tries to shield and protect oneself—but can one ultimately escape birth and death that way? So he let the matter go, remained at ease, and accepted life and death without further fear. Later, even when facing life-and-death crises, he remained steady and unmoved, and all kinds of bonds were released at once. This is the practice of putting the teaching into action where it is hardest to do so.

Practitioners who seek to understand the great matter of life and death must work at it themselves, day and night, keeping the heart focused and clear, and purifying the six faculties of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. When encountering external stimuli such as sounds and sights, see as though one had not seen and hear as though one had not heard, so the heart is not stirred. When other people’s commotions have nothing to do with oneself, let them pass like wind blowing before one’s eyes. If they truly concern oneself and a response is unavoidable, then deal with them. Persist in this practice, and in time its effects will naturally become apparent.

Practitioners should notice what others do well and learn from it. They should not fixate on others’ faults and thereby hinder their own progress, nor should they argue with one another or pass judgment. If they are always preoccupied with deciding who is right and who is wrong, they will find it difficult to set their own minds straight or advance in cultivation.

The Orthodox Way can dispel deviant thoughts, while those who stray from the Way often slander it. Anyone who clings to the self and is always criticizing others fails to recognize their own shortcomings; such people belong to heterodox schools that have strayed from the Way. Those with genuine right knowledge and right views examine their own minds for deviations and seek out their own faults. One who does nothing but discuss other people’s failings cannot be called a person of the Orthodox Way.

Someone asked, “What are merit and practice in cultivation?” The master replied, “Keeping silent is merit; speaking is practice.”

The person then asked, “What does it mean that keeping silent is merit?” The master said, “It means quietly reflecting until understanding arises, without giving rise to stray thoughts or engaging in deliberation; keeping silent and forgetting words, seeking no recognition from others, restraining one’s brilliance and concealing one’s traces. This is what it means for silence to be merit.”

The person asked again, “What does it mean that speaking is practice?” The master said, “It means using every suitable means to teach people in their cultivation, bringing benefit to all beings and guiding them onto the Orthodox Way. This is what it means for speaking to be practice.”

Someone asked, “Are seeing, hearing, eating, breathing, reaching out, walking, and thinking what nature is?” The Realized Person replied, “The Dao nature—the fundamental nature endowed in each person—is not identical with these activities, yet it does not stand apart from them. Movement and stillness, speech and silence are all workings of nature, not its underlying substance. That substance belongs neither to movement nor to stillness; it is neither speech nor silence. The ancients said that the essential point of the Great Dao is to know the source without leaving movement and stillness, speech and silence. To mistake movement and stillness, speech and silence themselves for Dao nature is like mistaking a servant for the master. The master can direct the servant, but how could the servant be the master? All activities—raising a hand, taking a step, speaking, looking, assuming countless forms—and even sitting motionless for a long time are merely servants, not the master. The master is within and cannot ultimately be revealed directly on the outside. But if one can grasp and make use of it, one can personally realize that one is the master.”

Someone asked, “If I practice austerities for three years, can I escape the cycle of rebirth?” The Realized Person replied, “Practitioners should firmly set their resolve and diligently refine the heart-mind at every moment. They should not calculate in advance what the outcome will be, much less harbor a sense of superiority and assume they are certain to transcend the cycle. Once, a Daoist who had just left home boasted, ‘Escaping the cycle of rebirth doesn’t seem difficult to me. I can do it as long as I put in the effort.’ Later, however, he unexpectedly contracted a serious illness that lingered for years without recovery, and his resolve to practice gradually faded. How could such a thing be done with a self-assured attitude?”

Someone asked, “As I walked and sat in meditation alone in the mountains, I saw with my own eyes a mountain spirit foretelling the merits I would attain in the future…” (A mountain spirit is a deity associated with a mountain.)

Someone asked, “When I walk alone in the mountains or sit quietly, I have seen mountain spirits with my own eyes predicting the future. Is this real?”

The reply was: Ordinary people are pulled along by all kinds of worldly affairs, so their minds are clouded and unclear. Those who have only recently left home to cultivate the Dao work to refine their worldly minds. When they occasionally find a moment of quiet, they may suddenly see images in that stillness and think something extraordinary has appeared: figures resembling gods or ghosts may seem to come into view. They mistake these phenomena for states of their own mind, become overjoyed, and may even dance about.

Some people seem able to foresee the future. Others hear a voice in the air foretelling past events that later prove true. Still others see with their own eyes a former teacher, an adept, or an immortal appear before them and offer counsel on cultivating the mind. If they insist that these phenomena are real, they will fall into wrong views. If they refuse to let them go, they may develop a mental affliction that is difficult to cure. Did the ancients not say, “Seeing, hearing, perceiving, and knowing are themselves afflictions”? What is more, all the phenomena seen by the eyes, heard by the ears, or entertained in the mind belong to the realm of sound and form—the realm made up of sensory objects such as sounds and shapes. The scriptures say, “Look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard. Words cannot express it, and thought cannot reach it.” To take phenomena within the realm of sound and form as real is to stray onto a deviant path.

Once, a person cultivating the Dao was sitting quietly when he suddenly tasted wine in his mouth. He also dreamed that someone brought him wine. The next day, someone indeed brought him wine. This was a response that arose when his mind had become quiet and clear; there was nothing extraordinary about it. To take it as real and cling to it would lead to wrong views.

Another person cultivating the Dao was sitting quietly when he suddenly felt his spirit leave his body. It seemed to travel several hundred paces outside before returning, and he saw his body still sitting there. This happened several times, but it was nothing extraordinary. It was like an ordinary thought wandering elsewhere, only felt more vividly. To regard it as an achievement in cultivation would lead to wrong views.

As the saying goes, “It is better to have no auspicious signs at all. Steadiness and a settled mind are what accord with the Dao.”

When people first begin practicing the Dao, they withdraw from disturbances in the outer world. Their minds become like mirrors newly polished: wisdom suddenly opens, and with a single thought they can speak with eloquence. But they must not become attached to this state. If someone believes they have already attained realization and, though unmoved by external things, uses this ability as they please, they will fall into reckless cleverness. In the end, they may have subtle and wondrous abilities but no genuine practice. This is merely a trick of the spirit, not the essence of the Dao. They must not let themselves run wild or rely on this ability. To preserve and cultivate oneself: that is genuine practice.

Someone spoke of retreating to the mountains to practice. The master said, “When practitioners encounter things, they must see through them; when they encounter a situation, they must respond to it. Each time they undergo a test, it is like putting their response into practice.”

Long ago, a Daoist lived in the mountains. He wore clothes woven from grass, ate wild fruit, and vowed never to descend from the mountain, believing this would free him from the entanglements of worldly affairs. One day, two men suddenly appeared, each carrying a weapon, and asked him for food. The Daoist quickly cooked some mountain fruit for them. Before it had softened, one man reached into the pot, grabbed some, and tasted it. Angrily, he said, “Serving people this sort of thing deserves to have the pot smashed.” At first, the Daoist said nothing. But when he saw the two men seething with anger and heard them provoking him with harsh words, he secretly made a plan. On the pretext of going outside, he found a club he had hidden, gripped it, and shouted, “You two, come out! You won’t get near me.”

The two men came out and laughed. “You live in the mountains to practice, yet you’ve developed such a competitive, combative mind. You’d be better off coming down and living as an ordinary person.” With that, they left. The Daoist watched them and saw them suddenly vanish. Only then did he suspect that they had been sages in disguise, come to test him, and he regretted what he had done. This is what it means to fail the test of a situation.

When everyone was discussing whether it was possible to keep the mind unmoved during cultivation, the teacher told this story. Long ago, in Shandong, a Daoist practitioner declared before his master that he had purged himself of the “fire of ignorance”—the anger born of delusion and vexation. The teacher said, “When the fire of ignorance has been extinguished, the mind will no longer waver. Only then can one be called a successful practitioner.”

Later, the teacher secretly sent someone to put him to the test. After dark, the man came to the door. The gate of the hermitage was already shut, so he shouted angrily and struck it hard with his staff. When the Daoist answered from inside, his voice was already unsettled; he got up to open the door only reluctantly. The visitor behaved roughly, and the Daoist’s expression changed when he saw him. In the main hall, the man kept his shoes on and climbed straight onto a seat, behaving with utter disrespect. The Daoist flew into a rage, reached out, and demanded to know what he was doing. The man clasped his hands and smiled. “I did not mean to be so disrespectful. My master sent me to test whether your mind was truly unmoved. Before I had even finished testing you, the answer was already clear. There is no need to continue.” The Daoist was deeply ashamed and had nothing to say.

In general, even if practitioners have made some progress, they should not boast about themselves. If they are not watchful, a test from someone else will expose their weakness. When the mind is truly like cold ashes and the body withered—meaning that one is unmoved by external things—there is no impulse to boast. The moment one takes pride in oneself, the weakness has already shown. And even if one truly reaches a state in which the mind does not waver, there are still higher levels of cultivation.

The teacher spoke about “dwelling in stillness within a circle”—sitting upright and maintaining stillness in a quiet room:

Long ago, there was a Daoist who sat in a quiet room for many years. One day, people invited him to come out, and he began walking around freely. An old friend saw him and asked, “Brother, can the practice you gained in quiet surroundings also serve you amid bustle? I don’t know whether you have truly reached a state in which external conditions cannot affect you.” The man remained silent, with an air of pride. His friend continued, “I have a touchstone that can tell what is genuine from what is false. Why not describe the state of mind you have gained through all these years of sitting meditation, and let’s see whether it is genuine?” The man replied, “What is there to say when one is still?” His friend asked again, and he gave the same answer. So his friend said, “If you are weary and exhausted, you should grow fur and horns”—a metaphor for falling to the level of animals—“and repay the debt you incurred with your words.” The man flew into a rage and even began hurling insults. His friend laughed and said, “This is what you cultivated in your quiet room. Now it has been tested, and the result is clear.” The man resented his friend for this and cut off all contact with him for the rest of his life.

This man had never tempered his nature amid external conditions. Even if he sat in meditation for a hundred years, he could not be said to have truly practiced. He was like a horse tied up and brought temporarily to a halt; once its reins were loosened, it would run as before.

The teacher often said that practitioners should be like skilled carpenters cutting timber: first they set the ink line straight, then gradually use an axe to remove the crooked, excess parts, shaping the wood into sound material and making it into whatever object is needed. They must not let the ink line in their hearts waver; once they lose this standard, they have nothing to follow. When every crooked part has been cut away and the standard in the heart is straight and firm, they can naturally respond to things and fulfill many different purposes.

The teacher also said that practitioners should ordinarily keep their hearts free of attachment. If they lose the standard in their hearts, they have nothing to follow. Only by removing every crooked tendency and setting the standard in the heart straight can they respond to things and fulfill many different purposes.

The Perfected One said: Those who cultivate the Dao should keep their hearts free of distractions and conduct themselves with integrity and steadiness. At every moment, they should observe their original life-spirit—the spiritual source of life—and discern exactly where it is. They should let this clear awareness remain undimmed, merging it with the void. This is the state of mind of one who cultivates the Dao. With practice sustained day after day, efficacy will naturally arise. So rather than seeking out all manner of cultivation practices, it is better to set them aside, rest, and turn back to observe oneself. If the mind is always fixed on external things and one keeps putting off the work while letting life slip away, one’s concerns are no different from those of ordinary people.

Because everyone was discussing whether to take charge of the monastery’s affairs, the master said: “Those who cultivate the Dao and live in a monastery should arrange their work and daily routine according to their abilities. Their lives should be simple, unburdened, and clear. They must not compete for fame and profit like worldly people, losing their original mind and forgetting the great matters of cultivating themselves, nourishing their nature, and freeing themselves from birth and death. This is the most basic principle.

“If you can use such responsibilities to temper your character, willingly take on what you would rather avoid, and do the hard work, then, once your mind is settled and no longer swayed by circumstances, you will be able to welcome practitioners from every direction. You will help both yourself and others, cultivate in peace, and accumulate merit, bringing both cultivation and merit to fulfillment.

“If you do not temper your character and take external things to be yourself, you will only grow more grasping, letting narrow habits rule you. Your errors will pile up, and in the end you will hinder your progress in cultivation.”

The master then urged everyone to live in a communal monastery, where monastics cultivate and live together. He said: “The Realized One of Danyang, a Daoist figure, wrote in a lyric: ‘To study the Dao, live in a communal monastery. Compare and examine different places, then choose a suitable one; choose people of good character as close friends. If you still do not understand the fundamental principles, someone must guide you by pointing out the essentials.’

“In a communal monastery, everyone should guide and teach one another, grasp the essentials of cultivation, and practice together the supreme Dharma of the mind-ground, a path centered on cultivating the mind and nature. This is no small matter. Some people have shallow understanding. They do not seek fellow practitioners with whom they can learn from one another; they do not live in a communal monastery or discuss cultivating the mind. Instead, they wander north and south, crossing mountains and rivers, wearing out their straw sandals for nothing. They only want to find an easy, comfortable place. At the first thing that displeases them, they leave at once.

“When they finally want to settle down in a hurry, they choose comfortable lodgings for themselves and look for opportunities to cultivate along the way. Yet they do not know what matters most to them or how they should spend their days; they think it is enough simply to feel at ease. They do not realize that the great matter of life and death lies ahead and will eventually arrive. What will they do when it comes? How can they keep putting things off and wasting their time? Why did they leave home in the first place? Those who are clear-minded and understand the truth should think this over carefully.”

Seeing the practitioner’s mind waver, the teacher said: “Although practitioners know that all the conditions and circumstances of the outside world are temporary, they still have to respond when things arise. In responding, they should not cling to ‘me’ in their hearts. They should let the mind be as spacious as the open sky, so that nothing obstructs it when events come. Then the open sky will not hinder the myriad things, and the myriad things will not hinder the open sky. It is like the world between Heaven and Earth, where all things move according to their own nature without obstructing one another.

“If the mind clings to the self, it will resist everything as soon as it arises. The person will be unsettled and agitated, unsure whether to advance or retreat; when something displeasing happens, the mind will waver. Once it wavers, it is hard to remain steady. Even laboring hard all day will then be wasted effort. When among others or engaged in work, focus on guarding your own mind and do not let the outer world easily stir it. Examine your own faults often instead of dwelling on what others have done wrong: this is the true work of cultivation. When a task comes before you, take responsibility for it. Face changing circumstances and disturbances without letting them lead you around; keep your inner clarity, and do not feel compelled to argue at every turn. Live this way, and as long as you do not lose the resolve with which you first began to cultivate, progress will come naturally.

“The teacher said: ‘With even a little progress in cultivation, practitioners can easily begin to think themselves superior to others; with great progress, they can just as easily develop an even greater sense of superiority. Once this impulse to outdo others arises, the self becomes an object of attachment. Clinging to the self and the desire to excel become major obstacles. How can one reach a state in which the mind is empty and still, and the outer world no longer entangles it? Instead, redouble your efforts: place your body and mind beneath all things, and be content to remain behind others. Often remind yourself that you are far inferior to them; only then can you dispel the urge to surpass them. When the mind is like the Great Void, the boundless open sky, there is no clinging to the self. Without this clinging, one can accord with the Dao.’”

The master said: During meditation, practitioners may experience many different states. These are all manifested by their own cognitive spirit—the activity of the mind and its discriminating consciousness—and appear when they enter stillness, tempting the mind to waver. The ancients said, “All forms that appear are illusory.” If one tries to suppress the mind’s activity while the cognitive spirit has not yet quieted, it will conjure all kinds of shapes, grotesque faces and ghostly heads, to disturb the mind.

If the mind’s ruler is unmoved by these visions, seeing them as though they were not seen, and the body and mind are like empty space, clinging to no place and remaining nowhere, the visions will naturally fade away. No vision can bewilder such a person, and no external thing can harm them.

Once there was a Daoist whose mind had settled. One day, while meditating, he suddenly saw countless evil spirits riding through the air toward him. He rested in this mind, letting body and mind be like empty space. He did not distinguish among the appearances or spare his own body, but accepted life and death as they came. The demonic scene then vanished of its own accord. Because his mind had a master and remained still and unmoving, what demons or spirits could there be? These visions appear because the mind’s thoughts have not yet fully quieted. As long as one’s nature is clear and still, body and mind are like empty space, and one neither distinguishes nor clings, accepting life and death as they come, the demonic scene will disappear by itself.

Someone asked, “How well does a person who keeps to a secluded retreat to cultivate in a quiet place practice?”

When Perfected Changchun was once traveling in Shandong, he passed by a Daoist temple. Behind it lived a man who had shut himself away to practice cultivation. The people at the temple were conducting a Zhaijiao purification ritual. Someone told Perfected Changchun that the gentleman in seclusion wished to speak with him. The Perfected One asked them to wait until the ritual was over. But then he left the temple and went to the man’s quarters, where he struck the door several times, hard, with his staff.

Thinking the visitor was an ordinary person, the gentleman inside answered angrily. The Perfected One then turned and left. When the ritual ended, the others again invited him to meet the gentleman. “I have already tested him,” the Perfected One said. “He still holds to the distinction between self and others, so there is no point in speaking with him.” With that, he departed.

In general, withdrawing to cultivate in stillness is meant to nurture life and nature and to cultivate body and mind. The measure of one’s practice is whether one remains undisturbed when faced with external circumstances. The sound of the knocking was an external circumstance; the emotion in the man’s reply revealed his inner state. If the mind can forget the self, it should be still as ashes. Even when stirred and made aware of what is happening, it should not give rise to anger. Only when one can meet external circumstances with composure does this show that one has truly cultivated the mind.

If the mind is unsettled by the slightest sound, how can one pass through more difficult circumstances calmly when they come? What can be achieved by living in a quiet room? To accept others’ offerings is to incur a debt of gratitude and an obligation to repay it. How could that debt go unpaid? Better to devote oneself to refining the mind amid everyday affairs and real circumstances. Such a person can truly be called discerning.

Someone asked, “Why do practitioners sometimes say that one must be aware, and at other times say that awareness is an affliction?”

The master replied, “True knowing does not cling to the thought ‘I am knowing’; true awareness does not cling to the thought ‘I am aware.’ The original, true numinous nature within us—our innate clarity—was obscured for many kalpas, and only now has it awakened. This is what is called awakening. All knowledge and views arise from this. If you insist that you possess knowing and awareness, and deliberately strive to remain aware at every moment, you bind yourself. It is like treating yourself with moxibustion when you were never ill. But if you strive blindly to be unaware, you will lose your original nature, as though you had taken birth in another body. Once you have awakened to the root, you should understand that awareness is simply a function: use it when needed, but do not cling to making it last forever.”

The master said, “When a practitioner’s worldly mind suddenly comes to rest and ordinary thoughts fade away, their original, true nature—the fundamental nature they have always possessed—stands revealed. This is their innate, original master. If they can personally recognize and take responsibility for this, they will be free and at ease, and will have access to the various Dharma realms, the states encountered in practice. At this stage, they should be all the more careful to restrain their brilliance and conceal their traces, guarding and nurturing their nature with care. The longer they do so, the greater the benefit. If they intend to make themselves known, they will unknowingly and quietly damage their inner light.”

The master said, “Practitioners differ in how keenly they awaken: some are quick, others slow. Those who are slow should not cling stubbornly to their own opinions. They are better suited to live in a communal monastery, where Daoist practitioners gather, and to approach life humbly and open-mindedly, forming ties with people who understand the principles and know their original mind. When the conditions are ripe, they will naturally receive guidance and enter the Dao, gradually coming to awakening. But if someone is slow by nature and also lacks understanding and aspiration, and spends every day with people much like themselves, associating with worldly companions, their ties to the world will grow deep over time and their desire to cultivate the Dao will surely fade. If they then encounter demonic states, mistake them for hell and become ensnared, with no one to rescue them, they may sink ever deeper. This is truly heartbreaking.”

The Master said: Long ago, a person lived inside a “circle.” Hearing others speak of “ground,” he formed the thought: since I am inside a circle, I must see the ground. He held on to this thought, and the scene appeared in accordance with it, though he did not know it was illusory. What the ears hear belongs to sound, what the eyes see belongs to form and appearance, and what the mind produces belongs to delusion. Even if, in broad daylight, one sees golden boys and jade maidens, perfected immortals, or sages appear, these are still illusory states. If one mistakes a scene created by delusion for “ground” and refuses to break free of attachment, one will remain confused for a lifetime, and may even fall prey to malign spirits.

He did not know that “ground” was an expression used by the ancients for the place where the workings of the mind reach stillness and rest. It is like clearing thorns and sweeping away broken tiles from a dwelling until the ground is level and fit to live on. When a practitioner’s mind is calm and undisturbed by external affairs, this is called “the unmoving ground.” When it is unstained by the myriad dusty realms, this is called “the pure ground.” When one’s Dharma body—the true nature of life originally present within—comes to light and is clearly understood and affirmed, this is called “the luminous, perfect ground.” Yet anything called “ground” still has limits and a location. Only upon reaching a state without position or place, beyond words and names, does one arrive at what is called “the mysterious within the mysterious.” How, then, can scenes seen by the eyes, heard by the ears, or imagined by the mind be taken as the ultimate in cultivation?

The Master said: Wuwei (non-action) accords with the Way of Heaven; action accords with the way of human beings. Wuwei is in harmony with the Way of Heaven, and action is in harmony with the way of human beings. It is like a person carrying a pole with a load at each end: only then is the pole balanced. Remove the load from one end, and the balance is lost. Remove both loads and set down the pole as well, and one returns to the original state.

The Realized One said: “Long ago, it began to rain at the East Hall, and the steward called everyone together to help move the unfired bricks. There was no distinction between young and old. Everyone hurried to answer the call, except for one elderly immortal, who remained seated and did not come out. After the work was finished, the group sat together, and someone told Changchun Zhenren about it. Changchun Zhenren rebuked him, saying, ‘Moving these bricks is worth very little. If a person can refine the heart and truly reach a place of calm rest, that is as precious as a jewel and cannot be measured against such things. What matters is each person’s heart and intention.’ In the religious community, when all is said and done, those who attain the Dao are the ones most valued.”

The Realized One said: “Long ago, there was someone in charge of the kitchen at Changchun Zhenren’s hall. Everyone thought he was gentle and humble, and no one had ever seen him get angry. When Changchun Zhenren learned of this, he secretly sent someone to test him. One morning, all the utensils needed in the kitchen had been moved elsewhere. The man had soaked the rice and prepared the pot to cook porridge, but he could not find the ladle. The porridge boiled over, and he flew into a rage. Changchun Zhenren saw this and taught him, ‘Even if all the porridge boils over, it is still only an external possession. Why let it disturb your state of mind?’ Only then did the man understand. He bowed and gave thanks.”

Someone asked a physician, “I practice medicine and have saved more than a hundred people. What karmic reward will I receive for this merit?” The answer was: “Even saving everyone under Heaven is not as good as saving yourself from birth and death. The blessings of the world eventually run out. But if you cultivate yourself until you are no longer bound by birth and death, that merit and blessing will have no limit.”

A craftsman asked, “I built a great hall without charging for my labor. What karmic reward will I receive for this sincere good deed?” The answer was: “That is not as good as a pure-hearted person sitting quietly in meditation for one hour. Blessings accumulated through purposeful action may fade away; blessings gained through Wuwei (non-action) will not.”

The Realized One often instructed the assembly: “Life in this world…”

The Master often said to everyone: Whatever we do in this life brings corresponding results. Those who realize the Great Dao can attain the Dao; those who do good and accumulate blessings can receive blessings; those who do evil will bear the consequences. Those who care for others will be cared for in return, while those who dislike others will be disliked themselves. Respect others, and they will respect you; slight them, and they will slight you. Those who are humble in their dealings with others will be met with deference; those who are honest and trustworthy will earn others’ trust. Those who help others will be helped in turn, while those who harm others will suffer harm themselves. If you think yourself superior, others will suppress you; if you always try to get ahead of others, they will compete with you. If you insist on showing your strength, others will become your opponents. Thus, plant orchids and you harvest fragrance; plant grain and you harvest food. This is the principle of cause and effect. If you harbor thoughts of personal gain and use deceit and falsehood to win others’ favor, you have lost your sincerity.

The Master said: For those who cultivate, the greatest taboo is discussing other people’s merits and faults, or asking about the rise and fall of worldly affairs. Do not talk about worldly matters that have nothing to do with you, and do not dwell on them in your mind. If you keep discussing right and wrong, you will lose your way. If you devote yourself to cultivating your inner self and often reflect on your own faults, where will you find the time to meddle in other people’s affairs? In your conduct, when you see something good in others, learn from it and follow their example. When you see them do something wrong, avoid it and do not take it to heart. Gradually, your mind will grow calm.

The Master said: People think that those who cultivate…

The teacher said: People often say that practitioners can attain the Dao by living away from their hometown, ascend to the heavens by abstaining from wine and meat, or become immortals by having no family. All these claims are wrong. Do not crave what everyone else loves, and do not love what everyone else considers wrong. Do not take everything upon yourself, nor reject everything outright. Even if you think about cultivating the Dao in your sleep, do not force yourself to stay awake when it is time to sleep. Do not associate with unsuitable companions, and do not speak words that serve no purpose. When things go well, do not become complacent; when they go badly, do not grieve. Learn from those who are better than you, and teach those who are not as capable. When others treat you poorly, it may be a blessing for you; when you treat others poorly, you invite misfortune. To say more than you do is empty talk; to do more than you say is genuine. Desire and passion belong to worldly affairs; freedom from mundane distractions in the heart is the Dao of the immortals. Willingness to be humble is true greatness; contentment with poverty is true wealth. Returning to the constant Way accords with the Dao; following the principles of things accords with human nature. The proper Way should be practiced; crooked paths should not be entered. To understand the Great Dao, make De (Virtue) manifest, and bring body, mind, and practice to harmonious completion—this is called “Complete Perfection” (Quanzhen).

The teacher continued: In ancient times, when people studied the Dao and still lacked understanding, they thought nothing of traveling a thousand miles to seek a teacher and ask for instruction. If teacher and student were well matched, like needle and plant fluff drawn together, and the student came to understand inwardly and was free of doubt, then wherever they lived—in a garden or house, among mountains and springs, begging in the marketplace, or in a Daoist temple—they could settle their hearts and hold to the Dao without wavering. Such a person is a superior practitioner of the true.

Some people leave ordinary life behind, yet remain unclear in their nature and too lazy to seek a teacher or ask about the Dao. Arrogant and competitive, they think themselves right and pretend to be accomplished Daoist priests. As a result, they harm their cultivation and lose their De, ending up with nothing on either side. They accept offerings from others without asking whether their own De makes them worthy of them. Such people are neither suited to living in a garden nor to going out to beg. When death approaches, everything they have studied is of no use. This is because they refuse to work at the root. Even if they live to a hundred, they will achieve nothing.

A practitioner must gather in the mind, like a carved wooden statue sitting quietly in a hall. It remains so even when no one sees it all day, even when surrounded by many people, whether offered incense and flowers or slandered by passersby. Whatever changes in the world around it, the mind remains unmoved.

A practitioner must gather in the mind, like a carved wooden statue sitting quietly in a hall: so when unseen, so when surrounded by people, so when offered incense and flowers, and so when slandered. Yet a practitioner is different from a wooden statue. He understands the spiritual and the sacred Way; his mind is alive and clear, and he understands the Dao and De. In facing all manner of things, he does not cling to them or linger.

A cultivator of the Dao tempers the mind like gold cast into the shape of a rooster. Its form and color resemble a rooster, yet its mind never stirs; it stands alone among a flock. Even if the flock is combative, none dares approach it. One who has realized the Great Dao has a mind like cooled ashes and an outward bearing like withered wood. Even if people under Heaven are contentious, they cannot contend with him. Thus the scripture says, “Precisely because he does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with him.”

This true mind has both substance and function. It contains no division between “you” and “me”; it is upright and genuine. It was received before human history and the formation of Heaven and Earth, yet one cannot say that it exists, nor that it does not exist. Sages and those who attained the Dao, from ancient times to the present, could truly put it to use only after attaining it. The myriad scriptures and treatises, even the entire Buddhist Canon, speak of this very point. The heavens turn by its power, and the earth descends by it; it governs the transformations of all things between Heaven and Earth, and of boundless space. One who grasps this will not be pulled along by external circumstances, ruled by passing thoughts, or deceived by the six faculties of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. This is the daily way of the immortals, the path walked by sages, and the road that cultivators of the Dao are to follow.

The master said: Those who live in a Daoist monastery come from all directions. How could they all be alike, or be the same in every respect? They are like the plants and trees on a great mountain: some are not fit for timber, while others grow into fine timber; some stand alone, while others grow by clinging to something else. There are graceful, auspicious seedlings and plants, as well as tangled shrubs and thorns. All things differ, each growing according to its nature and following its own natural order. The great mountain stands firm, choosing nothing and containing everything. Flowing water, piled stones, dense woods, abundant plants, roaming beasts, and birds that fly and sing all express the wondrous workings of nature. They benefit one another, like the mugwort that grows among hemp and stands straight without support. As time passes, each can come to fruition. If you insist on cutting down what is tall and making up for what is short, or changing what is green to yellow, you will unsettle all things and damage their original nature.

The master said: In the past, when I served as abbot of a Daoist monastery in Shandong, I kept the doors shut all day and turned away outside affairs. For more than ten years I treated stillness as cultivation, yet achieved no practical merit. I sat alone in an uninhabited place, where no one stirred me and I encountered no circumstances or events. How, then, could my mind reveal its changes, its successes and failures? I was merely wasting time. If Heaven did not benefit all things, the four seasons could not turn; if Earth did not nourish all things, they could not grow. If you cannot bring yourself to fruition or help others, how can you speak of merit and virtue? That is why Perfected Changchun said, “Set things in motion, bring peace to others, and benefit all things.” This accords precisely with the way Heaven and Earth operate.

The master said: If a practitioner’s Mysterious Gate—the crucial aperture in cultivation connected with the inner spirit and the movement of Qi—is blocked, and the heart-mind cannot benefit all things, it is like land that does not nourish anything: nothing can grow. If you cannot bring yourself to fruition or help others, how can you speak of merit and virtue? That is why Perfected Changchun said, “Set things in motion, bring peace to others, and benefit all things.” This accords precisely with the way Heaven and Earth operate.

The master said: If a practitioner has not opened the Mysterious Pass—the crucial aperture of inner cultivation—their mind remains unclear, their spirit is pulled along by tangled karmic consciousness, and they cannot cultivate through Wuwei (non-action). The root cause is often a lack of blessings and virtue. At such a time, one should begin with deliberate action: do one’s utmost within the religious community, accumulate merit and establish good works, guide and welcome those who come seeking the Dao, remain humble, show respect to teachers and fellow practitioners, regularly help others, and remove selfishness and misguided thoughts. With steady accumulation over time, conditions will ripen, and cultivation will advance day by day until one naturally reaches understanding.

Do not become trapped in a state where both paths come to nothing: unable to practice Wuwei, yet unwilling to take deliberate action, simply letting the days pass without cultivating merit or carrying out good works. One refuses to leave a comfortable place, covets ease and pleasure, meddles in worldly affairs when idle, and insists on stepping forward when one should not. One indulges body and mind and shows no reverence for the spirits; in time, a day of retribution will come. Perfected Changchun once said: “Those who work on their inner cultivation should set worldly affairs aside; those who devote themselves to the religious community will take up many tasks amid the dust and toil of the mundane world.” If you cultivate neither the inner life nor the affairs of the religious community, but merely drift through life, consider for yourself what kind of person that makes you.

The master also said: Conditions have their own allotted course and cannot be determined by human effort alone. One should follow the natural order and wait calmly for the right moment. Inner cultivation and outward acts of kindness both depend on one’s own heart. Only through one’s own effort can one build merit; whether one acts or refrains from acting, each person bears the corresponding consequences. If the religious community has not yet come into view, one should cultivate quietly in seclusion, bringing the heart into accord with the Way of Heaven. Once the community has emerged, outward deeds should also expand, in keeping with Heaven’s will and in response to the needs of the people. Merit is never excessive, and good deeds are never too broad in scope; the key is firmness of heart, for only then can one accomplish something.

The Master said: The Dao (the Way) is everywhere and can be seen at every turn; all things are real and true. The key is whether people can put their original mind to use in the present moment. Beyond this, there is nothing mysterious. Sadly, people’s minds are deeply obscured by worldly entanglements. They do not understand the root, but seek only among branches and leaves, rising and falling with external circumstances. Few can turn their body and mind back and contemplate the root. Even those who study may not seek what is real; instead, they deliberately contrive things and conjure delusions of spirits and ghosts. It is like placing another head on one’s shoulders: they turn this way and that, their minds unsettled, without realizing it. The human body is illusory and finite, and time cannot be held back. When a single breath stops, what can be done?

The Master said: Those who practice in daily life should keep their minds free of stray thoughts and not let their attention race outward. Be open without being unrestrained; keep within bounds without becoming rigid. Understand the original mind and the principles of practice; discard clever distinctions and do not cling to emptiness. Throughout the twelve double-hours of the day and night, let right mindfulness appear at every moment. Yet clinging to the idea of “right mindfulness appearing” is also contrary to reason; and if one leaves the present moment, there is nowhere else to begin practicing. Those who can understand movement and stillness, and know coming and going, can let go of all things without being held back by worry. Such people are free and at ease. Words themselves do not express the ultimate principle; each person must grasp and consider it for themselves.

The Master said: Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things. There is nowhere Heaven does not cover and nothing Earth does not bear. They do not distinguish one thing as good and another as bad, but cover and bear everything, shining equally upon all things. Thus, those in positions of authority hold them by Heaven’s mandate. They should be like Heaven, sheltering, nurturing, and caring for everyone below them, without dividing people into “I am honored, you are lowly.” Those in subordinate positions occupy them by Heaven’s arrangement. They should, like Earth receiving Heaven, respect and obey those above them, and not dare show the slightest negligence. Since people live between Heaven and Earth, they should follow the way of Heaven and Earth. Otherwise, they overstep their station and act recklessly, and may invite misfortune and punishment.

The Perfected One said: Practitioners should be true to the fundamental purpose of cultivation, attentive in their daily practice, and quick to let go of external things and circumstances, without becoming entangled in human affairs. Let no selfish thought or misguided impulse arise, not even in the slightest; leave no trace of them behind. Remain unstained by the dust of the world, with a mind clear and open. Do not cling to emptiness or existence, to the forms of the Dharma—the ideas and images used in cultivation—or to personal views centered on the self. Gather the light of all people and support one another over the long term, bringing the inner and outer into harmony. This is the realm of sages and worthies. What could there still be to doubt?

The Perfected One said: In advancing or withdrawing, in revealing or concealing themselves, practitioners should remain true to their proper place. Their choices of what to accept or set aside should depend on the circumstances. Let humility guide the heart and upright balance serve as the standard. Examine the source of movement and stillness, and regulate the use of sight and hearing. Cut off scattered attachments and devote yourself wholly to the constant, authentic Dao. If this practice continues without end through the passage of ages, it will not change or decay.

The Perfected One said: In their daily practice, Daoists should take Heaven and Earth as their models, remain calm and still, clear and awake, and help all things and benefit living beings. Even amid the bustle and shifting circumstances of the world, the inner source of truth remains clear and tranquil, without interruption. In this way, one can naturally escape the bonds of birth and death. This is a great opportunity in human life. Sadly, those who do not awaken have no inner master: desires assail them from within, while the things encountered by the senses continually tempt them from without, leaving them unable to govern themselves. Thus beings cycle through the Four Births—the womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born—and wander through the Six Paths, the six destinations of existence. Reborn in another form, they may find it difficult to have another opportunity to cultivate as they can today.

The Perfected One said: Those who seek the Dao should hold to simplicity and cultivate a generous, grounded nature. They should quietly apprehend the workings of the Great Dao, cast off emotional attachments and desires, and persevere in both reducing and preserving. Treat all things without selfishness; act with clarity and honesty; yield to others and adapt to them; cultivate kindness and accumulate De. Remove even the slightest fault and accumulate even the smallest good deed. Let go of distinctions between right and wrong, and cease to be constrained by the mind or by the principles to which it clings. Then one can naturally reach a higher realm of cultivation.

The Perfected One said: In cultivation, act with clarity and honesty; yield to others and adapt to them; cultivate kindness and accumulate De. Remove even the slightest fault and accumulate even the smallest good deed. Let go of distinctions between right and wrong, and cease to be constrained by the mind or by the principles to which it clings. Then one can naturally reach a higher realm of cultivation.

The master said: Those who cultivate the Way should originally have left the household life and devoted themselves wholeheartedly to the fundamental matter of nature and life. Yet as time passes, they may be influenced unwittingly by external things and turn to honing their eloquence, competing to win and lose, and mastering all kinds of skills. These are merely ways of becoming another person’s servant. Why say this? Those who rely on their skills are often eager to show them off before others. Are they not then being controlled by their skills? How could this be the cultivation of purity and Wuwei (non-action), in which one is master of oneself? Thus, the wise are not ruled by their wisdom, while the dull can put wisdom to use; the nimble are not governed by their nimbleness, while the clumsy can make use of it. For example, the eloquent speak without pause, while the silent listen from the side. On reflection, who is truly busy, and who is at ease? To cultivate the Way, one must understand one’s own mind and keep to a plain, unassuming manner. Then the wisdom and skills of the world can all be put to one’s use.

The master said: The essential instructions passed down by the highest masters—realized beings or teachers who have attained the Dao—accord with Heaven’s intent in their actual practice. How, then, can one seize on a particular form and declare that it is the Dao? In outward methods, the ancients practiced in different ways, but the mysterious source to which they were attuned was the same. It is like the workings of the human mind: it sees through the eyes, hears through the ears, speaks through the mouth, thinks through the mind, takes hold through the hands, and walks through the feet. Its functions differ, but the mind’s underlying nature does not. What is more, the intention secretly transmitted by the masters—what is called “a separate transmission outside the teachings,” a method passed on without being confined to written doctrines—lies beyond the reach of words and thought. Those who understand will naturally receive it. This is the subtlety of the true master’s secret transmission.

The master said, “My Dao is transmitted in secret. You cannot seek it with a mind that pursues it deliberately, nor can you seek it as though there were nothing to be gained. You must truly know without knowing, and truly gain without gaining. People in the world who are deluded think they can seek the Dao through clothing, speech, dignified bearing, or ritual forms and images, but none of these can reveal the Dao in its entirety. They do not realize that the Dao has no fixed traces. If you search by following outward traces, what you find is no longer the Dao. If you investigate where these traces come from and understand their source, you will see that within there is something that depends on neither sound nor form, neither human contrivance nor dignified bearing and ritual forms. Ordinary ways of knowing cannot recognize it. Yet our innate nature is complete from the beginning, true and real, and in accord with Heaven and Earth, sages and worthies, ghosts and spirits, and all things. How could such a profound affinity be seen if it were obscured by worldly dust and by the traces pursued by the śrāvakas—practitioners attached to hearing the teachings and seeking their own liberation? The Perfected One of Danyang said, ‘True joy and ease need no discussion. What is most subtle and wondrous cannot be understood through deliberation. When deliberation has nowhere further to go, you are drawing near.’

The master said, “Monastics who live for many years in a Daoist monastery, receiving instruction and undergoing discipline morning and evening, may still become careless and lax. They may fall into habit and delay, making no progress; their Dao-mind gradually weakens while worldly concerns multiply. They indulge their impulses and fail to maintain emptiness and stillness. How much more difficult it is for someone to cultivate alone amid worldly life, where worldly desires keep growing and attachment to passion and external circumstances entangles them. Obstacles to cultivating the Dao arise everywhere, yet the person does not recognize them. Even when they encounter sages and worthies, they refuse to heed their advice. Instead, they invent all kinds of excuses, deceiving and misleading the people, and gradually sink further. Their blessings diminish and their karmic offenses grow, accumulating ever more deeply. If they are willing to turn back, there is still time to be saved. But if they follow worldly ways and turn away from the Great Dao, nothing can be done; they are not far from hell.”

The master said, “Those who study the Dao should not grow weary of asking questions and visiting teachers. A person walking along a road is less likely to lose the way if they ask for directions often. Even a minor skill cannot be learned without a teacher’s instruction. If you follow worldly ways and turn away from the Great Dao, nothing can be done; you are not far from hell.”

The master said: Those who study the Dao should not tire of asking others for guidance. Like travelers on a journey, they are less likely to lose their way if they often ask for directions. Even learning a minor skill requires a teacher’s instruction; how much more so the cultivation of the Great Dao? The Great Dao cannot be seen or heard. If beginners do not meet a true master, how can they come to understand it fully? No suffering in human life is harder to bear than birth and death. Without drawing close to someone with genuine cultivation, how can one escape the suffering of birth and death? Thus the ancients said, “Those of old who studied the Dao did not take it up casually; they served a true master until they were old.” If you do not know where to begin and do not draw close to people of insight and cultivation, then even with the will to practice, you may stray down many wrong paths.

The master said: Since ancient times, those who study the Dao should hold themselves to high standards, do all they can to help others, and quietly accumulate merit. If they indulge their desires and act against what is right, they not only damage the reputation of the Daoist tradition but also bring trouble upon themselves. Careless words and conduct, and a life that is neither pure nor frugal, are no different from the life of an ordinary person. To enjoy offerings made from all directions—the wealth that bears the donors’ toil and heartfelt effort—is no real gain: what you spend in pleasure, you will ultimately repay through hardship, and when birth and death are at stake, there will be no evading the debt. Since you have already entered the path of Daoist cultivation, why not refine your mind?

Someone asked, “Why do people who study the Dao stay awake all night?” The master replied: Those who study the Dao stay awake in order to refine the mind. If they cannot gather and steady their thoughts, what use is it to stay awake? People who gamble, play chess, spin thread, or work at their trades also sometimes stay awake all night. Does that mean they have all attained the Dao? Day and night, such people are driven by the desire for profit. They think only of greedily pursuing wealth, their minds and spirits in turmoil, like mosquitoes biting the skin and making sleep impossible. Practitioners are different. Sleep, too, is a desire; if it is not regulated, deviant thoughts and delusions will grow, and the mind will become clouded and dim. This is a state of darkness. It is like guarding against thieves: sit calmly and keep watch, and the robbers will naturally retreat. Practitioners focus on refining the mind because they fear that their thoughts will scatter and run unchecked. The mind has no fixed form: in a bright state, it is bright; in a dark state, it is dark. When ingrained attachments no longer remain and one reaches the purity of Wuwei (non-action), the inner “pearl of nature”—a metaphor for one’s original nature—will become clear and radiant. This is why practitioners stay awake day and night.

Someone asked, “Why are those who study the Dao willing to endure poverty and hardship?” The Perfected One replied, “If poverty, hunger, and cold were themselves a form of cultivation, would all the poor and struggling people on the streets then be immortals? Those who cultivate take Dao and De as their foundation and purity as their guiding intention. They cast aside deceit and hypocrisy, greed and reckless desire, letting go of each in turn. They forget their physical form and forget the self, and do not set their hearts on things outside themselves. As an old saying goes: ‘If clothing serves to cover the flesh, why choose what is good or bad? If food serves to fill the belly, why fuss over what is fine or coarse?’ Those who cultivate seek only release from birth and death, and make refining the heart their chief concern. That is why they do not dwell on the hardships their bodies endure.

“Someone asked, ‘Do the consequences of sin and blessings in the future truly exist?’ The Perfected One replied, ‘Set aside the future for now and look only at what is before you. When a good thought arises in you and you wish to burn incense and bow before a sage teacher, holding incense in your hands and praying for your family’s safety, greater blessings, and long life, that too is a mind turned toward goodness. If you expect blessings when you do good, even if blessings come, you may not recognize them. Good deeds are done openly, while blessings arrive unseen, so people often fail to notice them. Conversely, if an evil thought arises in you and you take a knife to kill someone, that very thought and action have already planted the cause of a life owed in repayment. Those who do evil often do it in secret, beyond anyone’s notice; later, when their deeds come to light, they receive clear punishment. It is not that they are punished because they deliberately sought punishment. Rather, their evil acts were done in secret, while the consequences become plainly visible. These are things that inevitably happen in the world before our eyes. What is more, Heaven watches people’s actions. How could deeds unknown to others escape its notice? This is something to be wary of.’”

Someone asked, “Since ancient times, people have spoken of Heaven and Hell. Do they really exist?” The Perfected One replied: “Heaven is the realm of Yang, which governs goodness and blessings; Hell is the realm of Yin, which governs evil and misfortune. The ancients used Heaven and Hell to teach people. In truth, both arise from the human heart: a person’s thoughts and actions quietly correspond to the results that follow.

“If someone keeps their mind clear and calm, does things that benefit others, practices all kinds of good deeds, and understands inwardly without being deluded, they are already in the realm of Yang. But if they commit all kinds of evil, harm others, act unjustly, and follow a crooked path, they fall into the darkness of ignorance, and their evil thoughts keep growing. All this filth and defilement is recorded in the Black Ledger, the register of misdeeds. Such a person is accepted neither by people nor by the spirits. Troubled within, tormented by suffering, and with no one to help them—that is Hell.

“The ancients said, ‘A clear heart and quiet thoughts are the road to Heaven; a disordered spirit and scattered thoughts open the gates of Hell.’ It is like traveling along a mountain road after hearing that bandits are lying in wait to kill and rob travelers. If you believe the warning and stop, you will naturally avoid harm. If you disbelieve it and press on while drunk, then meet the bandits in the mountains and fall into their hands, it will be too late to regret it. The principle of Hell is the same.

“In short, doing good is better than doing evil. If you do good and receive no reward, what fault is there in that? If you insist on following an evil path, danger and disaster will come. If you refuse to correct your mistakes and repent even when the truth is plain before your eyes, how much less can you know beforehand what lies in the unseen world?”

Someone asked, “People say the highest principle is already complete within everyone. Why, then, is further cultivation needed?”

The Perfected One replied, “The ordinary person’s mind has not yet been refined. It is like ore that contains platinum: before smelting, it looks like nothing more than a rough stone. Put the ore into the great furnace, where gold is smelted; burn away the impurities and separate out the pure metal. Once it has been refined into gold, it is no longer ore. Cultivators are the same.

“Regard your former, deluded and defiled mind as raw ore. Use steadfast resolve and discipline as the furnace fire, and the illumination of wisdom as the craftsperson. Refine it diligently until not a trace of impurity remains, bringing forth your original, clear, unobstructed true mind. Once the true mind appears, it is no longer a deluded mind. Then guard it yourself and preserve it firmly, so that you may personally make use of it. This is the jewel, perfectly luminous through all ages, without equal.”

Someone asked, “If one reaches a state of purity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action), has one fully awakened?”

The Perfected One replied, “If we speak only of the fundamental nature, it may seem so, but in truth it is not complete. At the truly ultimate point, nothing can be expressed in words or grasped by thought. It cannot be inferred through knowledge or understood by the discriminating mind. Only when it surpasses words and concepts is it truly in accord. It is neither movement nor stillness, yet it is not apart from movement or stillness. How, then, could it be confined to purity, stillness, and Wuwei?”

Someone asked, “I once heard that Master Danyang quickly understood the Great Dao because he awakened to the question of life and death. What does this mean?”

The master replied, “A practitioner should regard himself as a condemned prisoner being led to the execution ground, each step bringing him closer to death. By keeping death constantly in mind, he can let go of all kinds of things. Even surrounded by sensual pleasures and splendid, dazzling sights, he neither looks nor listens; he releases each thought in turn. He can even relinquish his own body, let alone other things. Training the mind in this way makes progress in cultivation come quickly. If you can awaken to life’s potential within death, you can transcend life and death. Those who have just begun to learn the Dao and wish to be freed from life and death should contemplate it this way. Human life is brief: if the next breath does not come, death is at hand. So practice with urgency and diligence, eliminate worldly thoughts, and help both yourself and others, guiding one another toward deliverance. Do not delay or grow lax.”

Someone asked, “If the heart is unstained, open and at ease, and responsive to circumstances, does that accord with the Dao?”

The master replied, “If you deliberately form the thought ‘I will cling to nothing,’ you are already clinging to something. If you set out to pursue ‘being unstained,’ you are still attached to being unstained. The moment you try to quiet the heart, you have already entered the activity of thought. Letting yourself drift and following external things can also lead to mistaken views. Ideas such as being unstained and unattached are like medicine for an illness: once the illness is cured, keeping the medicine means the medicine itself becomes an illness. Only when words and thoughts have both ceased have you truly arrived. Then there is no need to ask further about the path of cultivation.”

The master said, “The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; one can only point out good and evil. Doing good can bring about the highest conditions for transcendence, with the possibility of ascending to heaven rather than falling into hell. Doing evil leads into boundless suffering, with the possibility of descending into hell and no chance of ascending to heaven. People take these two paths through delusion or awakening: with awakening, one can become a sage in an instant; in delusion, one sinks for a long time. Since you have been fortunate enough to receive a human body, how could you fail to reflect seriously on these truths?”

The master said: Ordinary people and sages follow the same path. The only difference is whether the mind is clear or clouded. When the mind is clear, one can become a sage; when it is clouded, one remains an ordinary person. Ordinary people are unwilling to examine their feelings and thoughts or let go of their attachments. They do not wish to abandon delusions and remove wrong thoughts, so they are led by external circumstances and tossed about by their emotions. They care only for momentary pleasure, and as a result accumulate lasting misfortune. They neither reflect nor think, and they cannot awaken.

The master said: A practitioner must first understand the essential matters of their own cultivation, and then become well versed in the way of teaching and guiding others. If they do not understand the cultivation methods of their own tradition, they are like a person without eyes, unable to recognize the road and bound to go astray with their first step. If they do not understand the way of teaching and guiding others, they are like a person with eyes sitting in darkness, liable to fall into rigid views and self-righteousness. Only by understanding both can one respond with ease and harmony. If one understands neither, it is like sitting in darkness without eyes—when will one ever find the way out?

Someone asked, “The Daoist tradition often speaks of the Golden Elixir. What exactly is it?”

The master replied: “The Golden Elixir is one’s original true nature, the authentic nature that each person possesses from the beginning. It is keen and bright, strong and vigorous, and able to transform and adapt; that is why it is called ‘gold.’ Through refinement it becomes whole and complete, and it will not be destroyed even after countless kalpas; that is why it is called ‘elixir.’ Its substance is like empty space: clear and luminous within and without, free of the slightest obstruction and untouched by dust or defilement. Its radiance shines forth, able to illuminate all things without being confined to any place. Thus the patriarchs said: ‘Original true nature is the Golden Elixir. Use the Four Temporarily Assembled Conditions that make up the human body as the furnace and vessel to refine the perfect elixir. Remain untouched by external things and do not let deluded thoughts and reflections draw you along. Remove delusions, and true nature will appear of itself, allowing you to ascend to the realm of the immortals.’”

If people mistake the Golden Elixir for something with form and shape that can be made externally, or even connect it with matters of sexual desire, they fall into the mistaken view that leads to hell, as well as into licentious conduct. This violates the human way and will ultimately lead to rebirth among the lower animals.

The master said, “Those who study the Dao (the Way) should turn inward and examine themselves deeply where they are not burdened by the myriad things, where worldly troubles cannot touch them, and where they are connected with Heaven and Earth, until they understand completely. Act before Heaven’s timing, and Heaven will not oppose you; act in accordance with Heaven’s timing, and you are following the Way of Heaven. If even Heaven will not oppose you, how much less will ordinary people and spirits?”

Someone asked, “What is the mysterious?” The master replied, “Who taught you to ask that question?” The person clasped his hands and said, “I thought of it and asked on my own.” The master said, “If so, you already understand.” The person smiled, bowed, and touched his head to the ground.

Someone asked, “If we do not regret the past or worry in advance about the future, what should we do now?” The master replied, “Let deluded activity come to rest, but do not extinguish awareness—the clear and discerning mind. Also understand: who is it, exactly, that can let deluded activity come to rest? Once you understand, the initiative is in your own hands; whether to let it rest or not is up to you.”

Someone asked, “If we need not inquire into the mind of the past or the mind of the future, what is the mind of the present?” The master looked straight at the person and said, “This is not the present.” Then he lowered his head and said again, “This is not the present.” He followed by asking, “Do you understand?” The person smiled and said, “I still don’t understand.” The master said, “Your eyes are wide open, yet you cannot even recognize the present. What, then, can you say about the past and the future?”

Someone asked, “What are misfortune and good fortune?” The master replied, “Pile up enough wood, and it becomes a forest; pile up enough stones, and they become a mountain; gather enough water, and it becomes a sea. Accumulated good deeds become good fortune; accumulated evil deeds become misfortune. The roots of misfortune and good fortune lie in a single thought. They become visible only after they have accumulated, so how can we afford to be careless?”

Someone asked, “What are good and evil?” The master replied, “Every thought that arises from good intent is good; every thought that is unjust is evil. Goodness unknown to others is great goodness; evil unknown to others is great evil. If we stop judging and thinking in terms of good and evil altogether, there is an even higher principle.”

Someone asked, “People who cultivate the Dao get sick, and ordinary people get sick too. What is the difference between them?” The master replied, “Goodness unknown to others is great goodness; evil unknown to others is great evil. If we stop judging and thinking in terms of good and evil altogether, there is an even higher principle.”

Someone asked, “People who cultivate the Dao also fall ill, just as ordinary people do. What is the difference between them?” The master replied, “In the past, when Master Danyang, a senior Daoist adept, fell ill, doctors could not diagnose his pulse. When Hu Qiuzi, a legendary ancient cultivator of the Dao, sat upright, even physiognomists could not discern his true condition. Why? When the mind is not stirred by external things, body and mind are not ruled by the changes of creation and transformation. When one’s nature does not depart from the fundamental principle, even spirits and deities cannot peer into it. How much less could ordinary doctors and diviners? This is the difference between cultivators of the Dao and ordinary people.”

The master said, “If practitioners have not awakened to right understanding and have not brought forth a supple, all-embracing wisdom, but search for answers only in other people’s conduct or try to measure the truth through words and phrases, they will never find the real principle. They are like a blind person who hears others say that the sun and moon shine brightly but can never see them with their own eyes, and can only picture them in the mind. This is because they have not done the work within themselves.”

Someone asked, “In situations of activity and stillness, what does it mean to accord with the Dao?” The master replied, “When your own mind is clear, even amid the crowded, noisy bustle of the marketplace, you are undisturbed by the outside world, as if dwelling in an empty, silent room. Conversely, even when alone in a quiet room enclosed by four walls, or in a deserted place, you should feel as if standing at a crossroads in the presence of sages and perfected beings, not daring to give rise to a single deluded thought. Then you will face no hindrance in activity and no hindrance in stillness. What external thing could confuse you?”

Someone asked, “If we are told to ‘blend with the light and mingle with the dust’—to temper our brilliance and live among ordinary people—and also told not to cling to things, how should we understand this?” The master replied, “Heaven is heaven, earth is earth, mountains are mountains, waters are waters, all things are all things, and I am I. Though I live in harmony with all things, how could I cling to them?”

Someone asked, “Since all things take different forms, how can they be seen as one?” The master replied, “Heaven is the Dao, earth is the Dao, and all things are the Dao. The Dao is there, and the Dao is here. Though outward forms differ, the Dao is present everywhere. How could they not be seen as one?”

Someone asked, “Everyone seeks happiness, but happiness takes different forms for different people. How can we regard them as one and the same?”

Perfected Master Wang replied, “Heaven is Dao, Earth is Dao, and all things are Dao. Dao is in that place, and Dao is here too. Though their forms differ, Dao is everywhere. How could it be different?”

Another person asked, “Everyone pursues happiness, yet those who cultivate the Dao seem to endure hardship. Why is that?”

Perfected Master Wang replied, “People in the world do not know what true happiness is. They take whatever they desire in their hearts to be happiness. Led by desire into suffering, they mistake suffering for joy. Every day they rack their brains, devoting themselves to pursuing worldly pleasures. When they fail to attain them, they grow anxious and distressed, disturbing their spirit and never finding ease. This is the greatest suffering.

“Those who study the Dao do not deliberately pursue happiness; they settle their hearts in the Dao. When hardship comes, they are not trapped by it. Free from distress, they can remain joyful and inwardly at ease. Wherever there is pleasure, there is suffering that accompanies it. If you do not chase after pleasure, you will have no corresponding suffering. To cling neither to hardship nor to joy in your heart—that is what is meant by true happiness.”

Someone asked, “How can one transcend the consequences of sin and virtue?” The Perfected One replied, “The consequences of sin and virtue belong to the realm of Yin-Yang. If you can transcend the realm of Yin-Yang, you will naturally no longer be bound by those consequences. What is the realm of Yin-Yang? The moment a selfish thought, a crooked intention, a desire for profit, or ill will arises in your heart, that belongs to Yin. The arising of even one benevolent thought belongs to Yang. On the Yin side, there are bad consequences; on the Yang side, there are good consequences.

“If you have cultivated your nature and mind so that the mind itself is like empty space, attached neither to good nor to evil, with not the slightest obstruction within, and you are able to govern yourself, then neither fortune nor misfortune can control you, and cause and effect cannot bind you. Only then can you be said to have transcended the realm of Yin-Yang.

“If a layperson never harbors a benevolent thought, and spends all day scheming for wealth and profit, competing to prevail, and harming others, with a heart full of ignorance and darkness and a life spent doing evil, that person will remain trapped in the realm of Yin-Yang. They cannot even move toward the Yang side, so how could they transcend it? How could they hope to escape the consequences of sin and virtue, or cause and effect? These are all of their own making—how could they evade them? They can only bow their heads, close their eyes, and wait for King Yama, the deity who presides over judgment in the underworld, to deal with them.”

Someone else asked, “Surely the consequences of the rebirth that awaits us will also be hard to escape?” These, too, are of one’s own making—how could they be evaded? One can only bow one’s head, close one’s eyes, and wait for King Yama to deal with them.

Someone asked, “What exactly happens when a person is born again in a future life, according to the force of their karma?”

The answer was: “During a single lifetime, a person shapes a form for the next life through their desires and actions. Good deeds create a good form; evil deeds create an evil one. When the body that receives this lifetime’s retribution comes to an end and consciousness leaves its shell, it is like melting old iron into liquid and pouring it into a mold of one’s own making. One may then be reborn as a human or as an animal. In either case, one reaps what one has sown.

The Creator does not deliberately make you become an animal or consign you to the Six Paths—the six destinations within the cycle of birth and death. You are simply bound by the form you have shaped through your actions in this life, trapped within it with no way out. First comes a certain disposition; later, a form corresponding to it takes shape. For example, a cruel person may become a snake, a peculiar and miserly person a dog, a lustful and murderous person a pig, and a greedy and ferocious person a wolf. These are, broadly speaking, the kinds of things that happen. Between Heaven and Earth, life takes countless forms, and each bears the consequences of its own making. That is why the ancients said that a nature like metal or stone becomes metal or stone, and a nature like water or fire becomes water or fire. This is indeed true. Once the human body is lost, countless ages may pass in an instant before it can be regained. How, then, could one fail to reflect seriously on this?”

Someone asked, “I am old now and cannot study much. Master, please give me one sentence about the supreme and most subtle truth.”

The answer was: “Let go of this very thought of seeking the supreme and most subtle truth. That is it.”

Someone asked, “The many religious schools in the world each put forward their own teachings, all believing themselves right and others wrong. How should we distinguish the deviant from the orthodox?”

The answer was, “Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of practice: cultivating one’s own mind and nature, and dealing with worldly affairs. A practitioner makes the mind as tranquil as Heaven and Earth, as clear as the sun and moon, and as responsive to change as the four seasons. They can handle worldly affairs while keeping the foundation of their actions rooted in the Dao. There is no need to cling to questions about what lies beyond this, in still higher realms. This is the work of the orthodox Dao, and only a true practitioner can accomplish it.

“If someone merely knows how to recite scriptures, dresses outwardly in accordance with the rules, and puts on various displays to please onlookers, these are no more than the ornamental branches and flowers that religious institutions present to meet worldly expectations. What have they to do with cultivation or the orthodox Dao? They are only expedient measures. What is more, if in their hearts they still contend over who is right, and fight over wealth and profit, they are no different from ordinary people. How, then, can they claim to follow the orthodox teaching? Those who understand will recognize the truth.”

End of the Recorded Sayings of Perfected Wang of Qiyun at Panshan.