《磻溪集》

The Collected Works from the Pan Creek is a work included in the Quanzhen collected writings section of the Chinese Daoist Canon. It is divided into six volumes: the first four contain poems, and the last two contain lyric poems.

Volume One contains sixty-six seven-character regulated poems. Volume Two contains 115 seven-character ancient-style poems and quatrains of melancholy. Volume Three contains “Song of the Blue Sky,” six recited poems, three eulogies, two Bu Xu lyrics, one “Emperor Shizong’s Replacement Lyrics” (with its preface and introduction), fifteen poems in ancient meters, three short five-character poems, and five long five-character poems. Bu Xu lyrics are poems chanted during Daoist Zhaijiao (purification ritual) ceremonies. Volume Four contains twenty-seven five-character regulated poems and eighty-one five-character quatrains.

Volume Five contains lyric poems under the following tune titles: twelve “No Worldly Thoughts,” three “Spring in the Jade Pavilion,” five “Water Dragon Chant,” five “Fragrance Filling the Courtyard,” three “Ascending to the Moonlit Heavens,” three “Immortal in the Moon,” two “Moon over the Jade Terrace,” two “Slow Song of the Magnolia,” and two “Tide Watching the Sea.” It also includes works under the tune titles “Drunken Penglai,” “Joyful Heaven’s Music,” “Spring in the Han Palace,” “Guest, Please Stay,” “Plum Blossom Prelude,” “Six Minor Refrains,” “Lotus Blossoms Flourish,” and “Orioles Singing in Celebration,” among others.

Volume Six also contains lyric poems, under tune titles including “Phoenix Perching on the Parasol Tree,” “Pair of Swallows,” “Spring of Ten Thousand Years,” “Immortal Who Endures Humiliation,” “Immortal in the Yellow Crane Grotto,” “Gazing toward Penglai,” “Guest at the Green Lotus Pond,” “Repaying the Master’s Kindness,” “Golden Lotus Blossoming from Jade,” “Awakening in the Southern Branch,” “Refining Cinnabar,” “Mirror of the Serene Heart,” “Snow in Three Streams by the Jade Furnace,” “Words of Sincere Feeling,” “Untying Grudges,” “Playing with Cinnabar,” “One Without Leakage,” “Roaming Freely,” “Memories of an Old Friend in Peach Blossom Spring,” “Leaving Home Joyfully,” “Penglai Pavilion,” “Burning Heart’s Fragrance,” “Late to Begin,” “Heart-Moon Illuminates the Cloud Stream,” “Leaving the Sea of Suffering,” and “Spring at Wuling.”

The Ji of Panxi includes works such as “Wandering on Water and Clouds,” “Looking into the Distance,” “Crows Crying at Night,” and two poems titled “Celebrating the Sacred Dynasty.”

The Elder of Jade Peak has been explaining the scriptures for forty years, his bond with the Dao deep and unbroken. In the spring of the Bingwu year, he lectured on the Xi Changes (Zhouyi) in the northern suburbs of Tiaoyin. Three immortals came from Mount Long to visit his Daoist residence, where he lived and practiced. They took a text from their bag. It had been composed by Master Qiu Changchun of Panxi to expound the profound mysteries and guide those lost in confusion. Jade Peak broke its seal and read it. He found its spirit bold and its ideas novel, beyond the grasp of ordinary learning.

In the past, the Jade Official Li Leran and Jade Peak both studied under Zhanxiu Jue. Li Leran was exceptionally gifted; his insights when discussing the mysteries of the Dao were astonishing, beyond the reach of worldly learning. I have written a preface to this text and circulated it, which is cause for great joy. The wisdom of Daoists differs from worldly wisdom, and their words differ from worldly speech. How can we see the difference? Ordinary scholars, even when skilled at reciting and writing, produce little more than expressions of feeling and descriptions of scenery. Those able to investigate principles can clarify the relationship between the Way of Heaven and human affairs, support the teachings of the sages, and achieve works that shine alongside the sun and moon.

Those who have realized the Dao, however, are different. They speak of truths that ordinary language can scarcely express, clarify the workings of creation, reveal principles without form, and transcend the bonds of life and death. They write freely, without effort. A quiet stirring within them bursts forth like thunder; without deliberately composing, their words shine naturally like the stars. Now the Elder of Jade Peak has received the confirmation of a company of immortals. He seeks no eminence, yet is honored; he seeks no godhood, yet is wondrous. Is this not because he is attuned to the Great Dao and has opened all six senses—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind? His every gesture accords with subtle principle, and his words always accord with truth. This is his own attainment, not something gained through another’s instruction.

The Ji of Panxi says: “With the numinous pearl in hand, I write without pause; with Heaven’s music opening my heart, I need no flute.” It also says: “Wearing pine blossoms on my head, I eat pine nuts; by the pine stream, beneath the moon, I drink the wind through the pines.” It says: “I gather up all the midsummer heat from the mountain peaks and turn it into a single mass of ice.” It says: “Whether existence or nonexistence, all is settled by oneself; what is there to seek in greed and attachment?” And it says: “Wine pours, smooth as golden dew; tea is brewed, fragrant as jade fungus.”

One of the poems says: “When every attachment is set down, all things are just as they are; why distinguish the flower-lined street from the willow market?” This means that once every attachment is released, one can be at ease anywhere, so why concern oneself with whether one is in a bustling marketplace or somewhere else? “The body of emptiness: from the beginning, nothing is there to obstruct or cling” means that in one’s nature, like empty space, there is nothing to impede or remain stuck. Another line says: “Though I travel throughout the world, my body does not move; though I see all that is in the human realm, my mind has no need to act.” It means that even while traveling everywhere, body and mind remain settled; seeing the myriad things of the human world requires no deliberate scheming. Another says: “I wore out iron shoes in my bewildered search, yet found the way through without leaving the hermitage.” Even after wearing out iron shoes in a far-ranging search and still feeling lost, one may already have reached understanding without stepping outside the hermitage. These are only a few examples; from them, readers can learn more.

Alas, to form a bond with the Way of the immortals in this life must surely mean that one had a connection with the immortals in a former life. In the past, I formed a bond with the Quanzhen adept Wang Fengxian at the Eastern Hermitage, and with Ma Danyang in Chang’an. Last autumn, someone came from Junzhou, bringing me into a bond with Immortal Tan. Master Qiu lives far away in the Long region, and now I have formed a bond with him as well. Such connections cannot be brought about by one’s own strength. Yet Immortal Qiu’s Dao has not been made known for my sake. Its radiance is simply so vast that the world cannot conceal it, and so I too have had the opportunity to form a bond with it.

Preface written by Hu Guangqian, the Old Man of Jade Peak on Zhongtiao Mountain, in the fifth month of the Bingwu year of the Dading era (1126 CE).

Orchids grow deep in the mountains; even when no one sees them, they do not cease to give off their fragrance. Cranes call from deep marshes, and their voices naturally carry far. Some people of refined character withdraw to remote mountain forests and willingly live austere lives; others move among the crowds, living quietly within the world of dust. Even when their homes are close, they may seem far apart; if the mind is still, then even amid a bustling marketplace one may feel as though in a secluded place. They drift freely, like solitary clouds in flight or boats moving with the current, appearing and vanishing between the lofty sky and the vast sea. Where could they go and fail to find contentment?

They take Xuanyuan—the Daoist honorific for Laozi—as their teacher, and Great Harmony as their companion. Their minds are open, their conduct transcendent; their hearts are like deep pools of still water, and their humility like an empty valley. They follow those skilled in inward contemplation and cultivation of the mind, and the path of diligent practice pursued by accomplished adepts. They cultivate the Dao and nourish life, accumulating merit and benefiting the world. They also entrust their feelings to poetry and prose, giving voice to them in song and setting them down in writing. Following the Purple Brush of the Imperial Immortal—a fabled, mysterious writing brush associated with the transmission of Daoist scriptures—they expound the wondrous hymns of the Scripture of the Great Cavern of Perfect Truth. Their poems and writings thus often circulate in the world. This is like the fragrance of orchids and the far-reaching cries of cranes. After much reflection, I ask myself: is the present-day Master Changchun, Qiu Gong—Qiu Chuji, whose Daoist name was Changchun—not just such a person? If not he, then who?

Master Qiu was originally from Qixia in Dengzhou. Together with Master Liu, Master Tan, and Master Ma, he went to Mount Zhongnan to study with Master Wang Fengzi, Wang Chongyang, whose Daoist name was Chongyangzi. Later, his reputation spread far across the sea, and people near and far looked up to him. He became known alongside Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma. He is like the immortal Daoist described in the old work Treatise on Dispelling Confusion, and like those who live in quiet retreat within the human world, as described in The Most High’s Thirty-Six Methods for Nourishing Nature and Attaining Immortality.

Master Qiu’s disciple, Master Qi, brought me his poems, songs, and miscellaneous writings and asked me to write a preface. I have never had the chance to meet Master Qiu in person. Though I once glimpsed him from afar by the river, I was fortunate to see his rich and extensive collection of writings. I admire its calm and untroubled spirit. Even where some pieces are plain and unadorned, they remain unconstrained, as if wandering freely beyond the conventions of brush and ink. The writing does not strive for artifice or embellishment. It is like an earthen drum played without seeking a sound, with a bundle of grass for a drumstick; like dark sacrificial wine and the great soup, whose taste is not made a matter of concern. Those who know how to appreciate their meaning will surely find it here.

Jiang Fang of the Tang dynasty praised Liao Chong of Jingfu Mountain, saying, “Immortals’ books have no ornament, and immortals’ words follow no fixed phrasing. They transmit heart to heart, beyond the knowledge even of Heaven and Earth. They roam freely, unrestrained—who, across past and present, could compare with them?” I believe these words apply to Master Qiu as well.

Written on the winter solstice in the Dingwei year of the Dading era (1167), by Mao Hui of Pingyang, a gentleman of letters, formerly a Court Gentleman for Ceremonials and Collation Secretary, a Cloud-Riding Commandant, and now retired.

The Dao at its deepest is mysterious and subtle. It cannot be sought in sounds or shapes, nor glimpsed through outward traces. One must rely on a person who has truly attained the Dao to guide the way, drawing near to it step by step. Then, with the help of fine lines in written works, people may recite and chant them, gradually entering the realm reached by the sages and passing through the mysterious gate of the Dao. But if words lack the power to awaken the heart, and a text has no depth of meaning, how could it win admiration in its own time and inspire those who come after?

I have now read the Collection from Panxi by Master Changchun, Qiu Gong (Qiu Chuji). Even a few words or lines are enough to awaken the unenlightened and cleanse away the turmoil of worldly concerns. This is because he was endowed with exceptional intelligence and resolved to seek the Dao before he was twenty. For more than forty years he labored without cease, writing three thousand characters a day and traveling ten thousand li. The learning of the Three Teachings and the many schools of thought had accumulated within him, and his keen mind enabled him to bring them together and grasp their meaning. Thus his reputation reached the court and he received an imperial summons. He was also fortunate to encounter a true immortal, like one who had obtained a precious golden-scaled fish.

From this we can see that of the hundreds or thousands who practiced under Wang Chongyang, only four stood out above the rest: Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu. Of them, Qiu Chuji was especially renowned.

At this time, my old friend Gong Hengdao, a native of Longxi, came from Donglai to the prefectural offices at Fengcheng and earnestly asked me to write a preface for this collection of poems. He made his request several times with great courtesy. I know that I am merely a man who handles documents and military and administrative affairs, with too little literary skill to portray Master Qiu’s character. I have long admired his reputation and regret only that I have never met him in person. Now, with Gong Hengdao’s request so earnest, I find it difficult to refuse, and can only offer a few words with some hesitation.

Inscribed by Yelü Lin, General-in-Chief of Zhaoyi and Military Governor of Wuding, concurrently Commissioner of Observation for the Shengzhou region, Director of the Ever-Normal Granaries, Protector of the Army, and Founding Marquis of Qishui Commandery, with a stipend of 1,000 households and an actual fief of 100 households, on the day after the Dragon Boat Festival in the Bingyin year of Taihe (1126).

In the past, Zhuangzi wrote thirty-three chapters, most of them using parables to convey his arguments. Those who later spoke of the Dao mostly followed the same approach. They took the rejection of cleverness and sharp perception, and the letting go of greed and desire, as their guiding principles; they made nurturing the spirit and tending the original Qi their foundation. As for how to deal with worldly affairs and guide ordinary people, so that the stubborn might change and the deluded might find release…

In the past, Zhuangzi wrote thirty-three chapters, expressing principles largely through parables. Later people who spoke of cultivating the Dao often did the same. They advocated abandoning cleverness and cunning, letting go of craving, and making the calming and nourishing of the spirit and the cultivation of primordial Qi their foundation. Yet when dealing with people and guiding the secular world, changing stubborn views and dispelling ignorance, one cannot help but use words to express what one means.

The eminent man of the Eastern Region, Master Changchun, Lord Qiu, had for generations lived in Qixia, Dengzhou. Before he was twenty, he traveled to Mount Kunyu, where he met Master Chongyang, Wang Haifeng—Wang Chongyang. The two exchanged just one sentence and at once understood one another, whereupon Lord Qiu became Wang Chongyang’s disciple. Wang Chongyang gave him a poem, which included these lines: “I slowly draw in my fishing line and lead you to Penglai, where you will be free forever.” From this we can see how deeply Lord Qiu understood the Way.

Later, Lord Qiu and his like-minded companions, Lords Ma, Tan, and Liu, accompanied Master Chongyang on a journey to Nanjing. Those familiar with their reputation called Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma the “Four Friends of the Woods.” Before long, Master Chongyang died. The four escorted his coffin to Mount Zhongnan for burial and built huts beside his grave, where they observed mourning. When the mourning period ended, they discussed where each would go. Only Lord Qiu was fond of the landscape and customs of the Qin and Long region. He first lived for six years at the temple in Panxi, then spent seven years on Mount Longmen. He sustained himself by begging food from others, yet his fame continued to grow.

In the Wushen year of the Dading era, Emperor Shizong heard of Lord Qiu’s reputation and sent a relay courier to summon him to the capital. The emperor presented him with a ceremonial cap, a headcloth, and a silk Daoist robe, then received him in a side hall. Lord Qiu presented the emperor with four sets of lyrics, long and short, expressing his understanding of cultivating the Real—that is, cultivating body and mind in pursuit of the Dao. The emperor praised them and was deeply moved.

Afterward, when Lord Qiu returned to the mountains, he dealt with people and the affairs of the secular world, answering questions in ways suited to each situation. He left behind many poems, eulogies, lyrics, and other works. Their language is plain and their reasoning thorough. He was surely someone who had cast aside private desires to perceive the subtle, and who had gained understanding through deep practice. His disciples gathered these works into a collection and prepared to have them carved and published for wider circulation, so they asked me to write a preface.

In my view, the recluses of antiquity generally belonged to three kinds. Some lived freely in seclusion in the countryside; once their reputations spread, people went to seek them out, and even rulers treated them with respect and invited them to court. Others held to lofty principles and refused to yield to the ways of the world. Even when they did respond to worldly affairs, they were never entangled by them, and so everyone admired their example. Still others lived in poverty but took joy in the mountains and forests, withdrawing into emptiness and having no wish to return. Thus people everywhere often revered their De and did not dare criticize them lightly. Master Changchun possessed all three qualities. It was only fitting that people in every direction should remember and admire him for appearing before the emperor in a plain Daoist robe. He was nothing like those who chase profit, cloak themselves in the name of reclusion, deceive the ignorant, and imagine they have achieved something clever.

The Master now lives at the Taixu Abbey in Qixia. I have not yet had the chance to meet him in person and sit with him in conversation. So I have first written down this brief account, hoping that if fate grants us a meeting one day, he will not regard me as a stranger.

On the fifteenth day of the intercalary fourth month in the Wuchen year of the Taihe era, Chen Daren of Andong, Hanlin Academician, Middle-Serenity Grandee, Drafter of Edicts and Concurrent Director of the Directorate of Education, Light Chariot Commandant, Founding Earl of Yingchuan County, with a fief of seven hundred households and bestowed a purple-gold fish-shaped tally, wrote this preface.

Collected Works from Pan Creek, Volume One

Written by Qiu Chuji, Master Changchun of Qixia

Seven-Character Regulated Verse

Qin River Plain

Since ancient times, the Qin River Plain has been a place where emperors established their capitals. Its scenery lies veiled in mist, while auspicious Qi drifts above it. Looking out across the land, its mountains and rivers appear graceful and bright; its people, too, are distinguished in bearing and remarkable in their presence.

For ten years I have devoted myself to cultivating the Dao, long since forgetting the ease of secluded retirement. Now I willingly journey thousands of miles. I came here deliberately, like a lone cloud, to cultivate the true Dao in a grotto encircled by mist and rosy clouds.

Pan Creek

After parting from an old friend, I followed the workings of Heaven and wandered from place to place, traveling west to live at Haochuan. I passed through wind and dust along the way, covering thousands of miles, before settling for three years among the secluded ravines and rocky slopes.

Now I am content with poverty, seeking only to live well in the present. Who today can, like the immortals of old, hold fast to unadorned authenticity and carry on their Dao? Fortunately, this place is cool and free of worldly dust. Here I make my home, cultivate the Dao, and live at ease.

Digging the Changchun Grotto at Pan Creek

Lofty ridges reach into the clouds, and ancient cypresses, tall and low, spread across the mountains. Auspicious plants do not easily reveal themselves to ordinary people; numinous birds call only for those who cultivate the Dao.

Once the grotto was carved, it seemed as though a host of immortals had descended. When cinnabar is refined, all manner of demons can be subdued. Where in the world could compare with such a blessed mountain? The Changchun Grotto is a little Penglai paradise.

Secluded Abode

The ravine by the terrace is especially quiet and open, and life in the mountain hamlets is profoundly still. Clouds disperse above the frontier, leaving the sky clear and boundless; at night, the empty mountain woods are silent, with only the moonlight cold and clear.

As I relax my brow and turn my eyes, my heart and mind open wide. With my hair loose and robe open, I leave behind the dusty world of officialdom and the marketplace. I am content to spend my days secluded among rocky grottoes—but who here can spread the teachings and transmit the Dao?

After the spring rain clears, the spring landscape looks especially bright. The wind carries the sound of spring water out from the lush green mountain woods. The birds that roosted overnight call out again and again, as though skillfully paying homage to the Northern Dipper. Travelers from afar linger, unable to tear themselves away; even late into the night, they do not want to return.

Green trees of every height are just beginning to show their luxuriant growth. In the broad fields, the young shoots are also starting to grow strong. Cries from the cranes of the Three Immortal Isles come from the mouth of the mountain cave now and then, while at the edge of the sky a figure in a straw rain cape comes to visit.

Steadfast Resolve

My heart is set wholly on the Dao, and my resolve is firm. Since I was young, I have studied and upheld the Elixir scriptures, classics that describe Neidan cultivation. At nineteen, I withdrew to the depths of a mountain crag. Since then, I have wandered far and wide, traveling more than three thousand li.

When the heart is free of attachments, one no longer dreams of home. A person with resolve should seek to transcend the world and attain the immortal Dao. Even with little fortune and heavy demonic obstacles, if one persists in cultivation step by step, the work will eventually be complete.

A Song in My Own Voice

I wander alone among mountains and waters, standing apart from the crowd, with no longing for the red dust, that great pit of fire. The broad rivers and lakes are the world I know; a single straw rain cape amid mist and rain is the life I have chosen.

Drunk, I loosen my robe and lie on a rock; when I wake, I stroll freely through the woods. Whenever the night grows deep, the clouds disperse, and the moon shines clear, I learn to play the sheng beneath its light.

Reply to Scholar Meng of Ganbei Town, a native of Qianzhou

It has been exactly ten years, by my reckoning, since I left my home. Like drifting tumbleweed, I have journeyed along mountains and waters until I reached the Qin River plain. In autumn my clothes grow loose and tattered, so I have to patch them. Life is hard; once I have eaten my fill, I look for a place to sleep through the night.

In western Shaanxi I pay no heed to worldly affairs. Once, at the edge of the world, I met an Immortal of Great Luo, a high-ranking immortal in Daoist belief. My cultivation is not yet complete, and I have not received proof of long life. All I can do is wait quietly before the empty mountain valley for good news.

Reply to Scholar Li Si’s Invitation to Stay in Northern Wei

He once sent me a poem inviting me to visit, and before the New Year I promised I would cross the river and go.

By rights, this year I should have wandered far and wide, but my temperament is not yet settled, and my Daoist practice has not reached completion. So I let body and mind turn with the sun and moon, passing the seasons among mountain crags and secluded valleys.

Many thanks to the talented man from Guo who came from afar to visit me, a recluse living at Pan Creek. Even if I do not accept the invitation to stay in the northern quarter, we can speak here of true cultivation.

When a fellow Daoist invites me, I let body and mind turn with the sun and moon, passing the seasons among mountain crags and secluded valleys. Many thanks to the talented man from Guo who came from afar to visit me, a recluse living at Pan Creek. Even if I do not accept the invitation to stay in the northern quarter, we can speak here of true cultivation.

A Daoist friend invited me to visit the Temple of the Duke of Tai at Pan Creek, but I wrote a poem to politely decline.

I have lost the desire to wander and sightsee, and no longer chase after amusements. Having seen through the affairs of the world, I feel that everything can be set aside. Who would still go to Pan Creek to ease their boredom? I would rather live quietly among mountain cliffs and stream valleys, and settle there for a while.

In the past, I left the coast and traveled three thousand miles; then I trekked through the lands of Lu, passing through twenty prefectures. I have seen countless sights among famous mountains. Most are merely things outside oneself, not worth trading anything for.

Seeking fine horses at the Temple of Pan Creek.

I have heard that Jiang Taigong once lived in seclusion at Pan Creek. Its cliffs rise high, its trees grow thick, and its shrine is especially magnificent. When spring flowers bloom, it seems that dragons sing among the caves as mist rises. On moonlit nights, tigers seem to roar beside the mountain gate, and the sound of wind echoes.

The bear-emblazoned banner from the days when the Duke of Tai fished has kept its fame for ten thousand years. The fine horses galloping in spring are no less worthy of praise. I write this poem in the hope of finding more than a thousand horses. For now, I wield my brush and write verse to pass the days.

In reply to Master Zai and the licentiate Xu.

Green cypresses tower high, as if screening the distant view; deep within the sheer cliffs lies the dwelling of a hermit of the wilds. The green grotto has no lamplight year-round, while the verdant mountains are wrapped all day in clouds and rosy mists.

My mind is quiet and content with simplicity; I ask only for enough to eat. When welcoming guests, I do not even serve tea. I find joy in myself and have gained a little understanding from this leisurely life. Why should I boast to others of such a family way of life?

In reply to the Qinghe family.

Though the divine spirit was born into mortal life, its upright nature ultimately reveals the endowment of one who follows the Dao. I fear only that cinnabar may leak away from beneath the navel, and white snow flow out from the ears.

How can one leave the dusty world behind? It is like my climbing the green mountain heights. I wander freely, step by step, as though reaching the River of Heaven; I tread the clouds at every turn, and the mountain mists before my eyes part in response.

Presented to the Director □fu of Jingzhou and the successful candidate Liu.

Daoist friends who wish to visit need bring neither gifts nor observe formalities. The glitter of worldly possessions cannot buy the Dao; the constraints of social courtesy, on the other hand, can easily weary the mind.

I am lazy and poorly schooled, and my writing is crude. In a life of quiet simplicity, the days pass slowly. I no longer dwell on the many unusual cares that lie beyond the ordinary; I only wish to hear an elegant song amid the clouds.

Presented to the two scholars Wang and Zhou, who came to visit.

Why have you two gentlemen brought provisions to stroll in the fields beyond the city? You made your winding way to the village to seek the Dao, and, meeting by chance, took pleasure in pursuing it and stole a little time for leisure.

I knew deep down that I had long cherished a wish for carefree freedom. Gazing into the distance, I glimpsed Mount Emptiness, as if by good fortune. All day we talked freely and laughed with abandon; late into the night, we walked home together beneath the moonlight.

Daoist Friends Ask About Cultivation

I wander from place to place now, letting the years slip by. How could I spare a thought for how one ought to cultivate? I lack the insight to see the Great Dao and have no desire to bustle about in the world. The heart of Heaven—the innermost principle of the Way of Heaven—is hard to accord with, so for now I simply go along with worldly affairs.

When I am hungry, I know only to beg from one household to the next. Once full, I may stick out my belly and sing. Beyond this foolish, awkward appearance of mine, I take no interest in anything else.

Written to a Daoist Friend, Asking for Worn Cloth and Old Shoes

I have lived at the Western Lodge for six years and have never worn a new robe or a new pair of shoes. Each Mid-Autumn, I do no more than mend my worn brown patchwork robe.

The autumn wind suddenly rises, and the rain brings a chill. Leaves grow sparse, and the grass slowly turns yellow. My brown patchwork robe is as ragged as a quail’s feathers and needs mending again and again. The straw sandals on my feet are worn through, like a rabbit crouching low; I can no longer wear them to go about.

With this fleshly body, one cannot avoid the hardships of hunger and cold. Without good fortune, one cannot escape the ordeal of long years. I can only hope that my Daoist friends will take pity on me and help me set out together on the path to becoming an immortal.

Matching the Rhyme of the Scholar Yin Zhang Ba

In the valley, mist and rosy clouds gather thickly; my mind is quiet and deep, and my footsteps seem to merge with the void. I love to sing aloud as I walk beside the spring waters. Often I sit alone, watching the clouds and facing the morning wind.

To rely on the power of the Dao to stay clear of calamity is surely a real attainment. But though I give aid to others, I still do not know how to carry forward the merit of the spirits. You often study the profound scriptures. Why should you seek reflected light—turning inward to contemplate yourself—once more in the East?

Borrowing Books from the Scholar Yin Zhang Wu of Guo County

Your family has been renowned for its writing for generations, and your courtyard is filled with gifted young people, outstanding as orchids and jade trees. The family’s distinction has passed down through the ages, with heroes and men of talent always among you. Virtuous people often gather in your home to teach and discuss the Dao.

By comparison, my learning is shallow, and I came late to the work of spreading the Great Dao. I know that your knowledge is broad and your mind clear. One need not read many books to compose verses and hold discussions. Please lend me some more books for leisure, so I may pass the time in a remote and mysterious realm.

The Moon Unseen at Mid-Autumn

For many years the moon has failed to shine forth in all its brightness. Though people go to great lengths to arrange banquets everywhere, it is all in vain. Again and again I regret that rain kept me from it in years past; who would have thought that tonight the clouds would veil it once more?

Could it be that the fairy has fallen asleep with flowers in her hair? The Jade Hare is probably still busy pounding the elixir. There is little benefit in worldly feasting and revelry. Better to withdraw to a secluded place far beyond the world, gather in one’s radiance, and cultivate the mind in stillness.

Seeing the Moon

The thick clouds gradually recede, and the evening breeze is calm and clear. Bright moonlight spreads across the Nine Provinces. The night is mirrored in a cloudless sky stretching for ten thousand miles; yellow leaves flutter across the open country in the chill, revealing the season of late autumn.

From high above, one seems able to see the toad in the moon. Across the broad fields, one can almost sense the wangliang—legendary spirits of the mountains and wilds—exposed by the moonlight with nowhere to hide. The moon is full and clear, solitary and pure, drifting beyond the world of dust, unbound by worldly concerns.

The Moon-Osmanthus at the Wang Residence, Borrowing Its Meaning

The grounds of the Taiyuan household are deep and secluded. A single immortal flower surpasses all wonders of past and present. Its roots and trunk seem to have sprung from the clouds, while its ancestor came from the heart of the moon.

Its buds are vivid, as though dressed in rouge and powder; its abundant leaves layer upon layer, forming a dense green shade. Each blossom reveals an extraordinary spirit, graceful and distinctive, inspiring admiration.

Planting the Moon-Osmanthus Again

A skilled craftsman carefully mounds the earth with his own hands and plants the moon-osmanthus; a person who lives quietly in seclusion personally plants it on the terrace of precious flowers. This numinous plant is no ordinary species. Its beautiful and gentle nature is perfectly suited to the character of the Daoist.

The moon and sun take turns in their courses, yet this plant has remained wondrous through the ages. Between Heaven and Earth, it seems to reign alone, blooming through every season. Talented and worthy people should appreciate this evergreen scene and not treat it as one of the common flowers and plants.

Three Poems on Mountain Living

The waters of Longmen Gorge run clear and swift, surging south against the vermilion cliffs and raising high, snow-white waves. Springs from countless valleys rush to meet one another; a thousand rocky walls seem to compete in their roaring.

The winding waters cut off the dusty world of ordinary life; the twisting landscape seems to unfurl a pure essence, white as jade. The beauty here is endless, beyond words. Facing the wind, I often look back and set down lines of verse with my brush.

I do not complain of living deep in the mountains, nor of having to climb the slopes to gather firewood. The mountains hold another kind of elegance, far removed from the ordinary world. Living quietly in a stone chamber, one seems already close to the realm of immortals; there is no need to build high walls to keep worldly disturbances at a distance.

Strange sights often appear at the table: cranes flying in from beyond the sky. Looking up, I see eagles in the gorge surging toward the clouds. Scenes of light and shadow, black and white, rise and fall, appearing again and again and extending through the empty void. They help dispel my loneliness.

Alone in the deep mountains, the silence grows deeper still. Idle clouds keep me company, shutting out the clamor of the world. I have become absorbed in ease and no longer worry about the hardships of making a living. I delight in stillness, which lets me loosen my attachment to familiar surroundings.

Clinging to illusions only leads to fruitless longing for fame and gain. Once the truth is understood, why wait to become like Song and Qiao, the legendary immortals Red Pine and Prince Qiao? How could studying the limits of life span and relying on literary talent seize the foundation of creation’s empty transformations?

Banana Ridge Mountain

A single green leaf spreads open like a letter, its surface turned upward like a palm. White waves, foaming as if for a rinse, break apart and swirl like blossoms. A Yu Temple stands on the mountain, overlooking three deep pools below. Guests often come to admire the view by day; under the moon at night, no one keeps me company, and I alone enjoy it.

The transformations of Heaven and Earth are boundless. Among plants and trees, only the banana has leaves so large. Even ordinary wind and rain should not be allowed to break them. May you remain here day after day, like a treasured golden table, and raise cups with your guests in celebration at every hour. The golden table and jade cups are precious vessels.

When Mao Jun, an immortal of Daoist lore, studied the Dao in Qi, he saw no one there to attend him. Yet a golden table and jade cups came to him of their own accord.

In Praise of Danyang Changzhen’s Awakening to the Dao

The Ma clan’s Tan Jun—Danyang Changzhen, the Quanzhen Daoist patriarch Ma Yu—awakened to the Dao in an age of enlightened rule. In an instant, he surpassed doubts that had remained unresolved for ten thousand ages. He gathered herbs among the clouds and refined them in a golden cauldron. After the furnace fire had done its work, he collected the elixir and stored it in a jade ladle.

With a numinous pearl in hand, he often took up his brush to write. His mind was clear and open, as if heavenly music sounded of itself, without any need to play a flute. Soon he would mount a crane and ride the wind, leaving the sea and the human world behind as his figure receded into the distance.

The Crane

The crane is a numinous bird, noble in both bearing and nature: its crown is vermilion as cinnabar, and its feathers white as snow. It roams freely across the vast sea and among the three immortal mountains, rising proudly on its wings to call amid the long winds from the Nine Marshes, deep in the waters.

Its manner is untroubled and beyond the common world; its aspirations reach so high that it seems fit to stand among the immortals. It spreads its wings into the wind and soars into the clouds, roaming freely through ten thousand miles of open sky without weariness.

Jia Gu Qing, Western Capital Defender north of the mountains, asks…

The free spirit of the Eastern Sea still gazes into the distance, while the governor stationed in the Western Capital has yet to resolve his concerns. Last year, he received an imperial order to travel before winter; only this summer did he send a letter about the purification prayers, saying he would not arrive until September.

When will the honors and riches of northern officialdom come to an end? When will the hermit of South Mountain return? Plans to set out for Pengcheng should be made soon. The family traditions of Yan will surely not decline. Pengcheng refers to Lord Haichan, the Daoist figure Liu Haichan.

The Hall of Shǎn Gong on the Western Mountain of Yizhou

Beyond the clouds, Shǎn Gong’s hall rises high. Clouds and rosy mists shimmer, reflecting the radiance of the grotto. Peaks a thousand fathoms high stand in rows on either side, while ten thousand pines and cypresses rise and fall across the slopes.

The old man in the mountains is not skilled at discussing past and present, but visitors from the wilderness often come to speak of the profound, primordial chaos. Do not say that a whole life spent sitting quietly in cultivation is of no account; even so, it is better than rushing about amid the dust of the world.

The Response to the Yellow Register Ritual at Fushan County, with Preface

In the autumn of the jiayin year of the Mingchang era (1194), a Yellow Register ritual was held at Fushan County, a major Daoist purification liturgy. In the afternoon of the twenty-eighth, just as talismans and registers were to be transmitted and the ordination was about to begin, eleven cranes circled above the ritual altar and did not depart all night. The next day, during the ritual offering, a thunderous sound came from the Celestial Gate. Red light descended from the direction of the North Pole, illuminating the earth so brightly that even the smallest things could be seen. There was not a single scholar or commoner who failed to witness it.

Bright lanterns shine upon Mount Jijin, and Penghu, the legendary island of immortals in the sea, seems close at hand. With sincere prayers, even those of shallow cultivation open the gates of the underworld; the might of the exalted perfected beings shakes the Celestial Gate.

A thousand households set out offerings and burn incense with solemn care; ten thousand people pray aloud together, their faces alight with joy. The merits of the Three Realms and the Ten Directions are fulfilled, and colored clouds and immortal cranes return of their own accord.

Bitter Reflections After the Winter Solstice in the Ding Si Year of Cheng’an

At that time, war was raging along the northern frontier.

Around the winter solstice, heavy snow fell. The mild breath of life ebbed away, and all things withered. Warhorses sent beyond the passes were frightened by the rugged mountain roads; those guarding the frontier, clad in iron armor, suffered bitterly from the cold.

Though the hardships on the northern frontier weigh on my mind, I am also grateful that the people of Shandong are at peace. Thirty thousand in state funds are spent every day. If this continues, how can the people’s lives escape harm?

Four Poems on Pingshan Hall

The Taixu Abbey on Mount Qixia sees few visitors during the Three Summer Heats, the hottest days of the year. From the heights, clouds drift faintly across the blue sky; beneath the open heavens, the heart rests in ease and calm.

The mountain rises alone, far above the surrounding woods. Its broad view is unlike the seacoast and mountains of the eastern lands. Below, in the daylight, carts and horses hurry through the world, stirring clouds of dust. Who can come here, lean on the rail, and gaze into the distance?

The mountain hall is lofty, pure, and cool, as though it leans against the sky. Breezes from beyond the heavens flow continually into the room. The blue-black divine bird sometimes flies by and glances around; white clouds drift freely all day.

Where are the golden terraces and jade halls, the crimson gates and jeweled towers of the fabled immortals? The old records give no clear account. How much better is life in the mountains: resting here, with body and mind settled and still, one seems to have reached the land of immortals.

By day the mountain hall is quiet, with few visitors. Sitting around it, we see graceful green peaks as if arrayed before our eyes. The flawless blue sky holds the slowly moving sun; the green mountains stand still as white clouds float by.

All things in the world appear in profusion, revealing the wonders of creation. The vast and hidden forms of heaven and earth are all contained within the cosmos. From beginning to end, everything comes from the pure and still Dao (the Way). Those who understand this purity can see that all things in heaven and earth return to it.

The sun has risen three bamboo lengths, yet I am still asleep. Facing ten miles of green mountains, I sit at leisure with them. I never noticed anyone arrive beyond the quiet garden; now and then, I hear a dog bark among the white clouds.

With a mind free of distractions, one can naturally live in peace for a long time. Having already awakened, why ask about the “Great Return”—the Neidan practice of refining oneself to return to one’s root and recover one’s true nature? I fear I will soon hear the celestial Shao music, drifting down in a distant melody. There is no way to return, so I can only find joy here at Pingshan. These lines are merely a casual amusement.

Watching the Waves by the Sea

The North Sea is often swept by fierce winds, its cold biting to the bone. For ten thousand miles, waves surge like mountains of snow. The raging breakers leap toward the sky and darken the heavens; their thunderous roar rises from the sea and shakes the human world.

Even the River God secretly pays homage before these surging waves. The Earl of the Yellow River, faced with such power, loses his dignity and blushes in shame. The white horse and plain carriage—the grand procession of the water god in ancient myth—may look impressive, but their power is only for show. Without being an immortal, there is no way to climb up there.

Inscribed at the Residence of the Pan Brothers

More than ten li southwest of the prefectural city, spring water and mountain rocks complement one another, making this an ideal place to establish a secluded retreat. The mountains recede into the distance, and the sea spreads wide before them, each reflecting the other. Remote and quiet, this place lets the clouds gather and drift freely as they will.

Clear pools glimmer beside the road, seeming to lead toward a brighter place. Tall willows lean against the sky, their branches suspending a round moon. Playing the qin before a friend among the mist and rosy clouds, I smile and point out that a life spent rushing about is like an empty dream.

On the Mid-Autumn Festival, Traveling with Daoist Friends among the Zhu and Pan Families

At the time, I had a friend who was about to sit the autumn examination, the provincial civil service examination held in autumn.

The autumn air was clear and crisp, the summer heat nearly gone. The plants in the gardens gradually took on a tapestry of brilliant colors. A strong wind crossed the sea and blew in from afar. The days grew shorter; sunlight passed over the world and fell upon the Jade Gate, a frontier pass.

We set a banquet for our guests beside the Dragon Tree and played the qin by Tiger Creek as we waited for the moon. There is true joy in gathering with close friends; one need not wait to pass the civil service examinations and ascend to the Moon Palace—an image for earning the jinshi degree—to have cause for celebration.

On an Autumn Morning, Traveling with Daoist Friends from Penglai to West Creek

At dawn, riding the breeze, I approached the water and climbed the mountain, opening my heart and fixing my gaze on the vast autumn sky. Clouds and mist veiled the coastal ridges, while the heavens took on a deep blue-green hue. Sunlight fell upon the world, and the sky blazed with red.

My delight in the journey was not stirred by external things. I simply followed nature, blending with the mundane world. Four times in three years, we were fortunate enough to meet; now I had come once again to the Shanxi region, gazing far off as the sea swelled eastward.

Composed on the Road

In the tenth month of the second year of the Mingchang era, I arrived in Qixia. In the fifth month of the third year of Mingchang, Daoist friends from Penglai invited me to escape the summer heat. For several years afterward, we continued to meet by this custom each fifth month.

Each year when I came to Penglai in the fifth month, the wheat was putting forth ears and the silver blossoms were opening one after another. Country folk could gather purple mulberries to stave off hunger, while travelers waited for the yellow plums to quench their thirst.

Clouds rose in billowing masses, and mountain ranges stretched high into the distance. Our feet trod the damp road, as if the tide were surging up to meet them. The summer journey was magnificent, and my thoughts spread boundlessly, like a net cast across the sky.

Two Poems on Seeing Off the Scholar Chen and the Attendant Wanyan as They Depart for the Examination

All things grow between Heaven and Earth, and among them, human beings are the most intelligent. We can see through the patterns of Yin-Yang change that lie beyond the things of this world, and understand the gains and losses of wealth and fame in human life.

In former times, alchemy was said to require nine revolutions. Now the road to the celestial realm has only three stages—the “Three Trials,” or three tests. Li Taibai, whose extraordinary talent was said to mark him for immortality, faced no obstacles on his path ahead. We can sit and watch him ascend, entering the highest celestial realm of Great Purity.

A man of noble character sets his aspirations high and his spirit soaring. For ten years, he has devoted himself to studying ten thousand volumes of true books. A mind filled with poetry and learning may indeed accord with the Great Dao, but his outstanding talent has not yet astonished the world.

His strategies in warfare are unmatched, and his writing has a brilliance of its own. Once he has achieved success, his mind will be clear and open. Then, like someone waking from the dream of the Yellow Millet, he will suddenly realize that he had been dreaming.

The Third Day after Qingming in the Xinyou Year of Taihe: Frost

Only after the rain did the bright spring scenery appear; before the wind, we suddenly heard the flowers falling. In a single night the gardens lost their color, and the whole mood of spring grew especially desolate.

Just as the Spring Lord Dongjun was showing his skill, who would have thought that Qingnü, who commands frost and snow, would still wield such power? Living things throughout the world are struck down without warning and can scarcely escape this disaster. Human beings have not transcended the fundamental laws by which Creation moves.

The Third Day after Qingming in the Xinyou Year of Taihe: Frost

Only after the rain did the bright spring scenery appear; before the wind, we suddenly heard the flowers falling. In a single night the gardens lost their color, and the whole mood of spring grew especially desolate.

Just as the Spring Lord Dongjun was showing his skill, who would have thought that Qingnü, who commands frost and snow, would still wield such power? Living things throughout the world are struck down without warning and can scarcely escape this disaster. Human beings have not transcended the fundamental laws by which Creation moves.

Fallen Flowers

Yesterday, blossoms covered the branches, bright and red; today, the flowers have fallen, and the branches stand bare. The flourishing trees and plants drew their strength from all the nourishment of spring, yet the change that came in a single night seems to have carried everything away on the wind.

Time beyond the world follows its own freedom. Who among us can fully understand the changes of life and death in the human world? All the flourishing and decline of a hundred years, viewed in an instant, is like a dream.

Setting Out at Dawn for Penglai to Perform a Purification Ritual for the Di Family, and Climbing the Mountain

The crowing of roosters stirs the spirit; gathering my breath, I climb the mountain as though my body were rising lightly upward. The path is rugged, and after only a few steps I can no longer see ahead. The woods are deep, and I cannot make out the figures coming and going.

Parting the clouds, I gaze down toward the Eastern Sea. Standing alone on the summit, I rise high beneath the Northern Dipper. Those who diligently do good in daily life should remain open and humble, keeping their talents from display and living peacefully among ordinary people.

Setting Out for Beihai in Weizhou to Perform a Purification Ritual

Invited by the Wendi-hen chiliarch.

The Northern Pole’s Yin Wind

Parting the clouds, I gaze down toward the Eastern Sea. Standing alone on the summit, I rise high beneath the Northern Dipper. Those who diligently do good in daily life should remain open and humble, keeping their talents from display and living peacefully among ordinary people.

Offering a Jiao Ritual at Beihai in Weizhou

The Chiliarch Wendi Khan invited me to go there.

A bitter northern wind blew across the sea like Yin energy, leaving the coastal mountains bleak and desolate. Snow blanketed the shady slopes, and layer upon layer of ice seemed to stretch across the sea all the way to the horizon.

The wild geese and magpies had long since flown beyond the thousand-mile frontier, while dragons lay deep in the ninefold abyss. I am a Daoist who keeps to a plain and unassuming way—what could I do? I could only brave the bitter cold and frost and make my way to the ritual altar.

A Yellow Register Jiao Ritual at Changyang

In the tenth month, Changyang’s five grains had ripened in abundance. To recall the past, I held a Yellow Register Jiao ritual here, establishing a pure and solemn altar.

Bright lanterns were lit, and Daoist practitioners in feathered robes took their places in three halls. Red ceremonial banners and colored flags seemed to descend from the highest heavens.

The rites were performed at the altar, and thousands gathered. Incense smoke rose like clouds, forming a canopy, as though the myriad spirits had come to pay court. From then on, blessings would descend, and the power to avert disasters and dispel misfortune would fill the whole region. People throughout the county would quietly reflect that every kind of calamity had been driven away.

Crossing Gaigong Pass Mountain

The stone path on Gaigong Pass Mountain was so rugged that even horses could barely get through. A bleak wind sighed beside the stream, and even tiger tracks were hard to find. The ridges stretched across the land like jagged, crossing halberds, rising high into the clouds.

The mountain’s energy lay dense and still, while mist and rosy clouds filled its shadowy depths. Practitioners rarely come to wander through such quiet, secluded scenery. Yet every place at the edge of the world is, in truth, a woodland retreat for cultivation. I passed through Beihai along the way and held a Yellow Register Jiao ritual, then took a winding route to Donglai to visit its verdant peaks.

Passing Gaigong Pass to Avoid Affairs

In a quiet moment, I climbed the mountain with my staff, seeking traces of the immortals. Through stone paths and woods, I looked out toward Gaigong Mountain. Clouds hung heavily over the Western Sea, dimming its waves; the morning sun had just risen over the eastern mountain, leaving heaven and earth hazy.

Ravines and valleys stretched deep and rugged in every direction, with travelers’ tracks marking the gullies. The region around the three provinces lay desolate and still, and I drifted like tumbleweed on the wind. My comings and goings are not driven by attachment to worldly life. Let others strike at empty air with their staffs, if they will.

Sudden Rain

Heavy clouds gathered in layer upon layer, covering the sky. From a thousand feet above, a bright curtain of rain poured down over the mountain gate. Yin-Yang energy surged and clashed; the wind roared and thunder sounded. Trees and grass rustled in the storm, and heaven and earth grew dark.

Birds and beasts lost their way in the bleak rain and mist, while fish and dragons churned together in the muddy currents. A sudden downpour shook heaven and earth. In this narrow span of time, who could discern the source of Creation’s transformations?

Two Poems on the Great Snowfall on the Eighth Day of the Last Winter Month

Last night the south wind turned north. When I woke at dawn, heaven and earth were swallowed in a vast, indistinct haze. Snowflakes fell in scattered showers like tiny pearls, covering every ravine and rocky peak. All the varied features of the landscape seemed to merge into a single color.

The sun and moon move through their courses, yet nowhere can be found for them to settle; mountains, rivers, and all things sink into deep shadow. Turning inward to contemplate one’s own nature and life, and grasping the principles of Yin-Yang change, one comes to understand the workings of creation contained within the void.

Last night the south wind turned north. At dawn, heaven and earth lay in a vast, formless haze. The mountains were the same.

The sun and moon move through their courses, yet nowhere can be found for them to settle; mountains, rivers, and all things sink into deep shadow. Turning inward to contemplate one’s own nature and life, and grasping the principles of Yin-Yang change, one comes to understand the workings of creation contained within the void.

Last night the south wind turned north. At dawn, heaven and earth lay in a vast, formless haze. Each mountain village and roadside inn had its own character, yet willow fluff and plum blossoms looked much the same everywhere.

Once the clouds and mist had cleared above the stone chamber and pine hall, moonlight illuminated the pavilions and terraces of an immortal realm. Why ask again whether this is an omen of a good harvest? The scene before us is itself a wondrous manifestation of the creative power of the Dao.

Two Poems in Reply to Marquis Zhang, Assistant Commander of the Dinghai Army, Who Visited in the Snow

The Daoist temple is quiet and secluded, its curtains still raised. I sit alone in calm repose, forgetting all schemes. Snowflakes fall thickly across the earth; the mountains stretch wide, and moonlight lies hazy over the sea.

Pale sunlight drifts into the hall at dawn. The cold wind scatters the powdery snow, sending it swirling through the air. A snowy winter is indeed an auspicious sign, but since ancient times, who has truly understood what is right and wrong, or the reason behind it?

The auspicious snow falls in drifting sheets, making the countryside a delight to behold. I open the door, take up my staff, and stroll at ease for a long while, intent on watching six-sided flakes drift down like jade blossoms. Before I know it, the great hall of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), which enshrines Daoism’s highest deities, is buried beneath the snow.

In the darkened rooms and across the open fields, the snow’s sheen evokes jade horses. Snow mist sweeps diagonally past a corner of the palace, its shape faintly suggesting a golden dragon. A sage dwells in seclusion beneath a bitterly cold cliff; mountain ridges recede in layer upon layer, and it is impossible to tell which lies farther away.

The Bamboo Studio (a residence at Taixu Temple)

The little studio is quiet and secluded. No flowers grow beside its railing; only bamboo is planted, entrusted with the passing years. Its upright joints set it apart from ordinary plants, while its hollow heart accords with the Daoist way of following nature, keeping still and empty, and holding to nothing.

The wind sets the bamboo leaves whispering, carrying a cool fragrance; rain washes the branches, making them all the fresher and lovelier. There is no need to wait for the depths of winter to know their worth. When I recite before the window, morning and evening alike, my thoughts remain steady and upright.

Reflections While Climbing

As I climb the high ridge, my horse lifts its hooves; gazing down across the land, I cannot help but feel shaken. The mountains and rivers stretch vast, seeming to reach all the way to the horizon. The immortals of the cavern dwellings have withdrawn from the world, their traces distant and hard to find.

White jade and gold cannot be kept forever, and the beauty of spring blossoms and autumn moons cannot be held onto for long. A life of a hundred years is no more than a dream. Once awake, everything has changed, leaving only loneliness and regret.

Two Poems Presented to Liu Shilu

Liu Shilu, the retired military governor of Dinghai Army, came with his son to visit the author at Taixu Temple on Qixia Mountain.

Several riders set out briskly from the prefectural city, while the autumn wind stirred the elegant chrysanthemums. One may compose verse on horseback without carrying a spear like a military commander. Coming into the human world to visit a Daoist, one may briefly wash away worldly dust, as the ancients washed their cap tassels to symbolize leaving worldly life behind.

Dew settles, the sky grows vast, and the autumn air turns crisp. Several riders set out briskly from the prefectural city, while the autumn wind stirred the elegant chrysanthemums. One may compose verse on horseback without carrying a spear like a military commander. Coming into the human world to visit a Daoist, one may briefly wash away worldly dust.

The autumn dew is cool, the sky vast, and the autumn air clear and refreshing. The resonant tones of bells and stone chimes ring out beneath the bright morning clouds. Sitting quietly all day in the mountain Daoist hall, one seems to feel the floating dream of human life grow light and insubstantial.

Master Shilu has a place for rest and quiet sitting, which he named the “Central Chamber.” He also asked the author to write a poem for it.

When Yin and Yang join and harmonize, this is called the Dao. To have too much or too little is to lose the mean. The Dao runs through the Three Vehicles—the Buddhist paths of Hearers, Solitary Realizers, and Bodhisattvas—and its mystery is beyond measure. It embraces all things, and its nature has no end.

Even a person of great ability, if not yet awakened to the Dao, may remain trapped in narrow views. Someone of ordinary ability, if able to understand its principles, can thereby emerge from ignorance. The roots of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism are connected; the principles understood by sages throughout the ages have always been one.

Replying in the Rhyme of a Fine Poem from Yila Zhongze, Military Governor of Fengsheng Prefecture

There is no need to labor over lofty talk; simply forget scheming. Why should one who is truly reclusive have to live in a tiny hermitage? The ocean seal, a metaphor for a clear and still mind that reflects all things, gives off radiance, as if swallowing the jeweled moon. The heart of Heaven observes all things, clearer than a cold pool reflecting what lies before it.

Leisurely playing the “Yellow Court,” a Daoist classic, the zither’s tones circle in threefold repetition. Raising one’s voice in song in the Purple Palace, the dwelling place of immortals, one drinks until pleasantly half tipsy. The worthy governor of the northwest is so gifted in letters that he has deigned to send his precious poem to the southeast.

Seeing Off Zou Yingzhong, Military Governor of Penglai Prefecture, as He Moves His Command to Yanzhou

Since ancient times, a person who lives to seventy has been rare. You have accomplished your service; now, like the poem “Shiweii” in the Book of Songs, which speaks of returning to seclusion, you should resign and go home. You had meant to retire and plant chrysanthemums, yet accepted another appointment and took up the commander's banner, contrary to your own wishes.

A person’s advance, retreat, and choice of where to dwell remain subject to the workings of Yin-Yang and destiny. Even from day to night, no one can escape the laws of worldly change. When your service is complete and you withdraw from office to live in seclusion, it would be best to hang up your official cap and leave early, lest the recluses in the forest laugh at your delay.

In Praise of the Dao

The workings of creation are vast and far-reaching; the sun, moon, and stars turn without pause, day and night, through the chaos of Heaven and Earth. The essences of Yin and Yang meet in hidden subtlety, and wondrous transformations emerge one after another.

Spring passes and autumn arrives; all things grow and decline in their own ways. Heaven and Earth endure, yet the patterns of past and present remain the same. Within the human spirit platform—the heart and dwelling place of the spirit—lies a true message. If it has not yet been understood, how can one reach through to one’s nature?

The Adept

The adept responds to the times and engages with worldly affairs, living amid the world without being bound by it. In meeting change, the adept follows no fixed method, yet the heart can reach a wondrous state. Once the mind has risen beyond the sufferings of the Three Realms—the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm, the worlds inhabited by sentient beings in Daoism and Buddhism—one may wander among the grotto-heavens, the paradisal abodes of immortals, where every season is like spring.

The great Golden Elixir medicine takes years of practice to refine, while fiery dates and intertwined pears, fabled fruits of the immortals, seem fresh each day. A single dose can carry one beyond the sea of life and death; yet who, one wonders, is truly fated to receive it?

Viewing Pear Blossoms at Lingxu Temple

Lingxu Temple’s marvelous scenery has long been famed for its martial pavilion. To visit in late spring is to arrive just as Heaven and Earth turn through their cycle. A thousand pear trees gleam like white brocade, like frost and snow piled high; waves of fragrant wind drift by, seeming to breathe out musk and orchid.

An immortal guest strolls beneath the moon terrace, while a perfected adept seems to descend from the star altar. Wondrous power gathers unseen, forming Lingxu Temple’s beautiful landscape and transforming into boundless clusters of blossoms like shattered jade.

Old Travels

The journey through the Qin River and Wei River region is a delight; there is no need to count the long and short stages along the way. Once the clouds part over Mount Hua in the Western Peak, Palm Peak shines white; after rain over the Southern Mountains, their slopes turn green as a Buddha’s head.

The red clouds of the skies seem to unfurl the morning glow, while emerald peaks rise and fall like a painted screen. Friends across the sea have heard me speak of the Dao and come eagerly to listen, ears pricked in humble attention.

End of Volume One of the P’an-ch’i Collection

P’an-ch’i Collection, Volume Two

Written by Qiu Chuji, the Everlasting Spring Master of Qixia

Seven-Character Quatrains

The Proper Observance

The people of Guanzhong are simple and generous, and many are glad to turn toward goodness. The Daoist tradition honors “seven,” while the Buddhist tradition recites “eight.” At the end of each year, people gather in the afternoon before the holy images to bow, recite scriptures, and repent. This ceremony is called “Proper Observance,” and it continues until the end of the first lunar month.

After the snow, the sky clears and the light of spring appears, making the signs of peace all the clearer. The air is mild and the sun warm, and the scenery shines brightly. Everyone can sing aloud and gather together without a troubled heart; prepare the round cakes, and let us hold the Proper Observance together.

Do not keep asking about the changes of the Dao of Heaven or the ultimate good or ill of fate. Simply cultivate and accumulate hidden De (good deeds done in secret, without seeking recognition), and remind yourself of this at all times. The repeated changes in human relationships and worldly affairs can all become opportunities to cultivate the Dao; give your full attention to everything you do in daily life.

At the Request of Daoist Friend Liu Er

Troubled in spirit, this man boiled up a great many jiao yuan and brought them as a gift.

Reply to Fan

Do not keep asking about the changes of the Dao of Heaven or the ultimate good or ill of fate. Simply cultivate and accumulate hidden De (good deeds done in secret, without seeking recognition), and remind yourself of this at all times. The repeated changes in human relationships and worldly affairs can all become opportunities to cultivate the Dao; give your full attention to everything you do in daily life.

At the Request of Daoist Friend Liu Er

This man enjoys drinking wine and playing chess.

When the mood takes him, he drinks a thousand cups by day; in quiet moments, he sets out the board and plays a game. White hair reminds us that time is passing, and should be taken as a warning. There is no need to know too much about the trivial concerns of the dusty world.

Two Poems Cautioning Strong Ju of Jingyang

Sui He and Lu Jia, renowned in the Han dynasty for their eloquence and strategic skill, both came in the end to nothingness. Over a thousand years, clever and quick-witted people have amounted to no more than travelers passing through a dream. How much better to set aside cunning, speak little, and cultivate in stillness—so free and unrestrained it is as though one had grasped the winds of the Nine Heavens.

A hundred years of life, and all things end in emptiness; urgent time flies past like a shadow before a door crack. Why, in this fleeting world, do so many people still fail to understand? They cling stubbornly to foolish fantasies, vainly trying to seize the spring breeze in their hands.

Letter to Lay Follower Yang Wu

I wanted to write you a poem, but I did not even have any paper. I searched through books and manuscripts and found an old book. On its back I carefully inscribed a quatrain, urging you to do good and not hesitate.

Returning the Paper Fan Given by Yang Wu

Master Xie sent me a white fan made of banana leaf. In the mountain valley, the wind blows often, so there is no need to wave a fan to summon it. In the city, the summer heat is unbearable, and the air holds not a trace of coolness. Take this fan and wave it gently at your leisure.

Reply to Qiao

Qiao has just lost his wife and wishes to leave behind worldly attachments and enter the Dao to cultivate.

Turn your heart away from the dusty world, and you can dispel powerful troubles and temptations. In moments of leisure, give your feelings an outlet, and the urge to sing aloud will grow. Now that desire has diminished in your heart and your body is strong and healthy, it is as though you were riding the wind, ever more free.

Reply to Qiao

Qiao has just lost his wife and wishes to leave behind worldly attachments and enter the Dao to cultivate.

Turn your heart away from the dusty world, and you can dispel powerful troubles and temptations. In moments of leisure, give your feelings an outlet, and the urge to sing aloud will grow. Now that desire has diminished in your heart and your body is strong and healthy, you will grow lighter and freer in the days ahead, as though riding the wind.

Inscribed on Yang Wu’s Paper Fan

A towering peak rises abruptly, as if leaning against the edge of Heaven; distant, sheer cliffs are shrouded in mist. Since ancient times, the hermits of Songyang have opened their robes and roamed freely, while the immortals of Huayue have stood proudly beyond the world.

Inscribed on Wang Sheng’s Paper Fan

I love the vast, clear sky of summer days. Who could enjoy the blazing heat, like fiery clouds in the height of summer? For many years, the dryness and heat of the body’s Three Burners (the upper, middle, and lower regions through which the body’s Qi circulates, in traditional Chinese medicine) have long since subsided. With a fan in hand, I feel a cool breeze that has endured through the ages.

Inscribed on Qiao Sheng’s Paper Fan

The red sun blazes overhead, fiery clouds roil, and travelers on the road are drenched in sweat. Deep in the green caves of the mountains, a carefree guest sits calmly beneath a pine tree, playing chess.

Inscribed on Wang Er’s Paper Fan

After the Ruibin Festival, held in the fifth lunar month, the weather grows even hotter. Scorching heat hangs over the land like steam, leaving nowhere to hide. Only the Changchun Biyan Cave stays cool and pleasant, offering peace and comfort all day long.

Inscribed on Zhou Daoquan’s Paper Fan

A brisk breeze comes from the stream, as if bringing frost; the ravine water murmurs along, like snowflakes whirling in the air. With no hard labor to occupy the day, when would there be any stifling, bothersome heat?

Inscribed on the Pang Family’s Rattan Fan

Fine strands of rattan weave a delicate pattern. A gentle wave sends out a cool breeze. Once autumn arrives, the air will naturally grow pleasant; by then, surely, this fan will not be needed for much longer.

The Chen Family Thatched Cottage, Wrapped in Luoqi

The thatched cottage stands high on the shady side of the open fields, among scattered tall trees and deep green bamboo. No clamor of carts and horses can be heard here; far from struggles over fame and profit, one can spend the day at ease. It is an ideal place to dwell and cultivate the heart.

Duan Sheng Launches a Raft; the Flood Sweeps It Away, and He Returns Empty-Handed

Duan Sheng launches a raft and drifts downstream from the western mountain, just as the waters rise in a raging flood. Looking back, he does not blame the River Earl, the river god. Instead, he sings aloud, grateful to have returned safely, still able to walk lightly on his own two feet.

Flying Immortals

The immortals roam together among the three sacred mountains of Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou. United with the Nine Heavens, they have no worries or hindrances; they soar through the eight directions of heaven and earth, free to come and go.

Portrait of Zhong and Lü

With no self and no other, the mind and nature can be free and unbound. Master and disciple sit facing each other, speaking in perfect accord. They sit on the Three Mountains to expound the scriptures and teach the Dao, then ride mist and clouds on a journey of ten thousand miles.

Two Poems on Dwelling at Jingfu Mountain

A tiger’s roar booms like a fierce gale, terrifying the beasts; dreams of demons locked in battle drag on, disturbing the sleeping spirit. When will the plain, upright heart of the Dao reveal itself, so that the sun of wisdom may rise and the heavenly eye—the power of insight symbolized in Daoist cultivation—shine bright?

Jingfu Mountain is hushed and secluded, with few visitors; Longmen is quiet and spare, while Tiger Brook is tranquil and still. Birds call out from time to time, seeming to say “jieguo” and “jiazha”; then come the cries of birds sounding like “gouzhu” and “gezhe.”

In the mountains there is a kind of red chicken that calls out with a sound like “jieguo jiazha.” People who go into the mountains to cut firewood and gather things joke that it is saying, “xuetuo ye.” When it turns as it goes downhill, it makes a “gouxia gezhe” sound—the call of a partridge.

Four Poems on My Thoughts

I long to seek the Dao and become an immortal, living freely according to my nature; yet my journeys to Longmen are often met with obstacles. The fierce fire on the mountaintop burns even in the depths of winter, while the shadowy wind in the ravine remains bitterly cold even in the fifth month.

The wondrous principle of stillness and emptiness pervades the world; an unadorned, generous spirit fills the human realm. Though the Great Dao has a name, where can its substance be found? Those who understand need not speak: naturally, they comprehend and return to the Great Dao.

The foundation of entering the Dao can only be recognized by oneself. Who could know of the news that one has left the world behind? Zhuangzi was the first to experience the joy of wandering freely in the Nanhua Jing (Classic of the Southern Florescence); in the end, I too will cast myself into the boundless realm of the Dao.

I take wild cranes and solitary clouds as my life of leisure, and clear breezes and bright moons as my cultivation of the Dao. A thousand lofty mountains gather the clouds; the four seas, clear and still, reflect the sunlight.

Four Poems on Yang of Longzhou Bringing a Moon Laurel Sapling to Visit

It is truly regrettable to have sunk for so long in the world of dust. All these years, I have followed worldly fashions and lost count of how much time has passed. By chance, I met a cultivated and accomplished adept and traveled with him through mountains and waters. Only then did I come to know the High Perfected—the Realized Ones who have attained the Dao—and keep the company of sages.

A single branch of moon laurel stands in solitary splendor, leaning against a cold mountain. All the flowers beneath heaven seem ashamed before it. When clear breezes meet auspicious Qi, its celestial fragrance drifts through the air and fills the human realm.

This tree was born by receiving the primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth, and has attained the true principle. Its beauty passes on and its fragrance continues, like a flame handed from one generation to the next. No flower in the world can compare with the moon laurel; of all things in the human realm, it alone rewards a long gaze.

The trees grow thick and the mountains rise high, winding faintly through a secluded place. The mountain winds are strong and the dew is scarce; I fear it may not withstand the winter cold. One day, I hope to return to the moon palace and watch from there as the clouds part over the Five Great Mountains and the four seas come into view.

Releasing the Hawk

I release the hawk, hoping it will enjoy the same freedom as Zhidun’s crane. When I return it to its cage, am I trying to imitate Wang Xizhi, who raised geese? Though this may accord with the Zhuangzi’s account of birds calling out their longing for freedom, I also fear that, like Lord Mao, I may grow excessively fond of it.

The Clear Dream Studio Beneath the Hall in Longzhou

In the Clear Dream Studio lives a refined gentleman who rests at ease and nurtures his true nature. When the cultivation of true nature is complete and the mind is still, troubled dreams cease. Free of dreams, still and at peace, one has more than enough time for life.

Reply to the Summons in a Letter from Judge Xiao of Longzhou

I left Mount Long for an affair, passed through Tingchuan, and reached the Temple of the Ashen Walls. I stayed there for several days, still undecided about when to set out. Then your letter arrived unexpectedly, and I was so glad that I returned at once.

Before long, I heard that an imperial favor had been conveyed from the banks of the Qian River. I thought I might settle quietly in Longxi. The golden swan does not wish to spread its wings and fly a thousand miles; the white clouds still yearn for their old mountain.

Looking toward Mount Longmen on the return from Tingchuan

Looking south, Mount Longmen opened into view. The crane carriage, moving east, turned back to gaze as well. I know this place and I are bound by a deep affinity; perhaps elsewhere is not where I should put my cultivation of De into practice.

Reply to the invitation from Lady Cao, a Daoist known as Xiuxiu

Living in a mountain cave is no mark of nobility. I know my mind is clouded and my understanding shallow. Empty fame brings only disturbance, and I do not wish to sit idle until I grow dull and foolish.

Reply to the invitation from Jia Gu Longhu, commander of the Jingzhao garrison

The Daoist Xiuxiu had only just set out to return when another invitation came from a powerful prince. I am ashamed that my heart holds no Daoist art; only my worldly reputation spreads in vain.

Presented to Sun Kedao, the Cloud-Outside Daoist, on his westward journey to teach the Dao

In the western region, many seek the Dao, but Daoists often behave and speak in ways that fall short. As you travel to the distant mountain districts, you should make careful inquiries. Do not let heterodox teachings take the opportunity to mislead people.

Sent to Magistrate Rong of Fufeng

Study the nature of things, and you will understand why a fish’s scales are so broad. Why not regard a horse’s bones as large, if you look only at your own finger? If you act with sincerity in family and public life, you can still be trusted. Without wisdom, even leaving the hall to attend to affairs is no more than wasted effort.

Compassion

The dog is ill, yet no one boils it porridge or soup. The donkey lies in the cold, its limbs stiff. If people do not understand how to accumulate hidden virtue by doing good without seeking reward, how can they escape misfortune when reborn?

Too Late to Begin

The sun and moon hurry overhead; time slips past before our eyes in an instant. When we look back, we are already old. Even if we hasten to begin cultivation, it is still too late.

Intelligence

The most important thing in cultivation is clear discernment. The danger is that intelligence may show itself only on the outside. Outward falsehood and inward truth conflict with one another; only when one gives way can the other come to fruition.

Abandoning the Root to Pursue the Branches

When a single thought reaches the state of non-birth—no longer bound by life and death or delusive thoughts—one gains freedom. Once every kind of calamity has faded, what is left to worry about? Yet living beings are often unwilling to rest in stillness. They rush about all day, seeking things outside themselves.

Presented to Emperor Shizong

The emperor within the ninefold palace towers of the world holds a place of honor; the immortal beings of the ten directions, beyond the world of dust, are honored in the same way. Tell me: how can someone who stays in one place all day compare with one who sets out at once for a destination ten thousand miles away?

Reply to the Letter Summoning Me from Ninghai

Heavy snow blankets the mountains, and the roads are impassable. It is as though Heaven itself has made it impossible for carts and horses to travel either west or east. How moving that Ninghai’s officials and people have invited me so warmly; yet they can only gaze toward the western mountains and wait in hope for a long time, never seeing anyone arrive.

On Hearing Shaoqi at Yuyang Gong’s Playful Request

The red sun has climbed three pole-heights, and I still sleep at ease. Before me, ten thousand acres of white clouds face one another, each at leisure. I fear only that an empty reputation will reach the court and keep me from resting peacefully in the green mountains, with my head on a high pillow and no worries.

A Late-Spring Ascent for a View

Fading blossoms drift slowly down like a shower of red rain. The setting sun sinks reluctantly in the west, spreading a wash of white light. In the distance, a post station on the western mountains—used to relay official documents and mark the road—stands alone and high, as if leaning against the sky, no bigger than a fist.

Spring Chill

The spring wind over the sea blows wildly day after day. When will spring’s beauty brighten the mountain peaks? The Qingming season has already passed, and Vermilion Brightness, another name for summer, is near; yet not a single red flower has bloomed before my eyes.

Yangjiu and the Nine-Six Calamities

The cycles of calamity and disasters sent by Heaven cannot be resisted. Even the High Perfected and Supreme Sages, beings of profound Daoist attainment, have no power to turn them back. We can only endure this cycle of calamity to its end; when peace returns, we can enter the Daoist sanctuary and cultivate the Dao.

Fourteen Poems on Gong Mountain

My hometown, Gong Mountain, lies to the south of the range, and so I have written these poems.

Gong Mountain rises dimly into view, reaching straight toward the vault of Heaven. Dense pine woods cast layer upon layer of shadow, veiling the blue sky. Wearing pine flowers in one’s hair and eating pine nuts, one sits by the pine stream, drinking in the moonlight and the breeze through the pines.

A light wind passes through the pine woods, threading through the pine haze. Carried off by the wind, the haze rises toward the ninth heaven. Beyond the sky, it drapes lightly over all things, shining alongside the sun and moon as they move through their courses.

The waterfall, a thousand fathoms high, is clear and bright, its scenery lovely; a band of mountain mist moves with spirit and vigor, majestic in its sweep. Birds pecking at pine nuts among the flowers linger by the stream in the pine forest beneath the moon, drinking in the fresh breeze through the pines.

The pine wind blows softly through the haze among the trees. The haze scatters with the wind and rises straight to the ninth heaven. Lightly it veils all things between heaven and earth, making the radiance of sun and moon shine together as they move in concert.

The waterfall, a thousand fathoms high, is clear and beautiful; the mountain mists stretch in a band, grand and imposing. At times, a gentle wind turns the mist to rain, and fine showers fall across the open sky.

How could Qingcheng, Huayue, or Tiantai compare with the vastness of my mountain? Its peaks gather in a cluster, towering tens of thousands of ren high. Its grandeur is truly no less than that of Penglai, the immortal isle.

On Gong Mountain stands a temple hidden among the white clouds, perched on the mountain’s highest peak. White clouds drift constantly over the summit, wandering back and forth as they circle the green pines.

The mountain’s ridges overlap in shifting layers, at times visible and at times concealed. One half sinks into shadowy depths; the other merges with the sky. Looking toward the far horizon, it seems within sight, yet cannot be found. The peaks are light and elusive, often veiled in white clouds.

Since ancient times, white clouds have wound around Gong Mountain, layer upon layer rising like a canopy into the Great Luo Heaven, the lofty celestial realm of Daoism. The gathered immortals appear and disappear, often unseen; all one can hear is the Cave Immortals’ Song, sung from within the clouds.

The immortal song drifts faintly into Gong Mountain, then slowly rises into the air. Looking toward the far horizon, it seems within sight, yet cannot be found. The peaks are light and elusive, often veiled in white clouds.

Since ancient times, white clouds have wound around Gong Mountain, layer upon layer rising like a canopy into the Great Luo Heaven. The gathered immortals appear and disappear, often unseen; all one can hear is the Cave Immortals’ Song, sung from within the clouds.

The immortal song drifts faintly into Gong Mountain, then slowly floats toward the mountain’s Taiyi Altar, a ritual platform dedicated to the deity Taiyi. The immortals on the altar set out their medicine cauldrons and, from time to time, refine the Great Return Elixir, a fabled Daoist elixir of immortality.

Break through the Milky Way and brush past the stars; sit alone in the moon palace, embracing the sun’s orb. At night, tend the numinous tortoise; at dawn, summon the immortal cranes. When hungry, eat pine nuts; when cold, wrap yourself in clouds.

Light a lamp on the mountaintop, and demons throughout the world can no longer wreak havoc. Only the solemn Perfected One of Complete Awakening, a practitioner who has attained full realization, walks alone among the pines, turning a precious pearl in his hands.

Spring on Gong Mountain

At ease, guide the Azure Dragon to receive the moon’s radiance; then have the Azure Dragon and White Tiger together nurture the Yellow Sprout, an internal alchemy term for the first stirrings of vital energy within the body. As the Yellow Sprout is about to emerge, thunder crashes, and the teeth of the Azure Dragon and White Tiger burst forth.

Summer on Gong Mountain

The sunlight blazes, and fiery clouds gather; even the flood dragon beneath the sea seems to rise, driven upward by the steaming heat. Gather all the midsummer heat from the mountaintop, then transform it into a single mass of water.

Autumn on Gong Mountain

Clouds of vapor rise, and rosy light shimmers across the sky. Dense pine forests and towering mountains seem to press down upon the earth. The summit is steep and lofty, beyond anyone’s reach; only the bright moon hangs alone in the sky.

Gongshan in Winter

Dark clouds spread layer upon layer, and snowflakes drift down in a flurry. The bitter wind bears down with such force that it seems to sweep across the whole earth. It stirs the boundless mountain scenery, while white, jade-like snowflakes whirl through the air.

Twenty Poems on Mount Lao

Mount Lao, in the Donglai and Jimo region, is surrounded by the sea on three sides, with its back to the plain and a view over it. Its enormous rocks rise high, and its peaks are steep. It is truly a blessed grotto-heaven—a dwelling place of immortals and a land of spiritual beauty, in Daoist belief—and a celebrated local sight. Yet because it lies in a remote spot on the coast, few people have heard of it, and its name is not especially elegant. After completing a Jiao, a Daoist rite to invoke the gods, in Changyang, I came to the Yongzhen Temple in Wangcheng and glimpsed the mountain through the haze to the south. The Daoist community invited me to visit, but several days passed before I finally arrived. I then improvised twenty poems and renamed Mount Lao “Mount Ao,” using them to express freely the character and grandeur of the Daoist tradition.

Mount Ao rises distinct above the coast; its numinous beauty shimmers faintly and reaches into the clouds. Its peaks are steep as candles cut to a point, thousands of ren high; jagged rocks pierce the sky like ten thousand trees.

The two palaces of the Daoist Patriarch—the Shangqing Palace and Taiqing Palace—guard the coast to the south; the three peaks of Wangming stand opposite the road to the north. The Taiping Xingguo Temple lies south of the road. This makes clear that the place is a realm of transcendent wandering, beyond the power of ordinary human scenes to describe.

At first, I watched the mountain’s color appear and disappear in the distance. Ten days went by, and I still had not managed to visit. Though it was plainly close at hand, I never reached this blessed grotto-heaven; all that remained was a bag full of poems praising it.

Mist drifts around the mountain town, and the mountain’s deep green hues gather in layer upon layer. Ridge after ridge draws together like a painted screen. Nature has set its mark here, turning the peaks eastward toward the sea. Clouds spread and rosy vapors roll; the sky gradually darkens.

On three sides, the land is surrounded by the sea, while in the middle lies a stretch of flat fields. A great Ao tortoise, a mythical giant sea creature, rests beneath the mountain, whose summit reaches the sky. By day and night, the tides surge and the sea winds toss up snow-white spray; deep among the rosy clouds, immortals seem to fly.

Immortals dwell in this blessed mountain realm of surpassing beauty. Layer upon layer of valleys and a thousand rocky peaks enclose its deep, cave-like retreats. Nature has kept this place away from the main thoroughfares, unwilling to let the foul air of the human world disturb it.

Laoshan was once the mountain of the Ao tortoise, standing in the midst of the sea, beyond the reach of ordinary climbers. The Lord of Heaven wished people to attain the fruits of the Dao through cultivation, so he moved the immortals’ traces closer to the human world.

Mountain ridges overlap in towering succession, and green cloud-veiled peaks fill the view like piled jade. The mountain path winds around the slopes, turning as if through three hundred bends; at every step, travelers must pause to find their way.

Pines and crags rise densely together, while auspicious clouds drift gently overhead. The caverns are deep, their atmosphere quiet and pure. Who fashioned these strange stones and scattered peaks? They have been shaped by nature itself since Heaven and Earth first opened.

So I took up brush and ink to depict the scene before me, climbed a high ridge, and crossed twenty ranges. Looking south, I saw immense ridges piled one upon another, stretching without end, with one layer of cliffs rising above another of peaks.

At the fourth watch, the moon that had risen among the mountains still hung low in the sky. I climbed straight to the eastern peak to watch the morning glow. The sun rose, the sky brightened, and the sea shone in its light. Golden brilliance dazzled the eyes until everything seemed to sparkle.

The Heavenly Pillar Peak rises steep and solitary, a landmark among the mountains. Its summit pierces the clouds and reaches into the blue sky. People do not know how the sun, moon, and stars move and change; they only feel that here Yin-Yang is in harmony and the seasons are mild and balanced.

This cave bears a fine name: White Dragon Cave. The traces of immortals have remained within it since an age beyond memory. Through all the ages, the human world has changed again and again, yet the cave walls remain embedded in the mountainside, facing the ancient pines.

Immortals dwell in this cave, which is called Old Lord’s Cave. Within it, the spirit feels clear and refreshed, and the scenery is beyond compare. From its heights one can look down upon the sea, at ease and in quiet contemplation before the white clouds.

The Perfected One of the Canopy, an immortal who attained the Dao in the time of Emperor Taizu of the Song, ascended into the blue heavens. Since then, this Daoist mountain has grown even more serene and lovely. Even now, beneath its sheer cliffs and secluded crags, it seems that a company of immortals is listening to the sea’s roar.

I am a white-haired, weathered mountain recluse whose cultivation is not yet complete, and I am no gifted poet. Yet I came to the mountain of the Ao tortoise and wrote a few poems. I only wish to watch the sun rise over the sea in this blessed cavern realm; I need not pray for rain or clouds, nor wait to present a Blue Memorial, a prayer addressed to the gods in a Daoist ritual.

Though my hair is white and I have not yet attained immortality, I shall for now wander among the mountains and enjoy their scenery, lingering here awhile.

Those who seek the Dao through mountain practice are not celebrated men of letters, yet even they write poems when they reach Ao Mountain, the legendary immortal peak shaped like a giant sea turtle. He only wishes to watch the sun rise over the sea from within a heavenly grotto, the Daoist abode of immortals. There is no need to wait specially for clouds and rain to arrive, or to ask someone else to compose a petition to the gods, a prayer written for a Daoist purification ritual.

His hair is white and his face aged, yet he has not attained the immortal Dao. For now, he will wander among mountains and waters and linger awhile. He does not resent the many officials in the heavenly courts; he worries only that worldly attachments may still bind him to the human realm.

Cultivating the Dao is like climbing a difficult mountain: every step is hard to take, yet every step carries you higher. As long as you remain resolute and focused, without thoughts of turning back, you can head straight for the heavens and pluck the peaches of immortality, said to prolong the lives of the immortals.

Ao Mountain is surrounded by the sea on three sides, seeming to float in the air. The sun rises from Fusang, the legendary divine tree in the east where the sun emerges, and turns the sea surface crimson. Endless blue waves stretch for thousands of miles, while the whole mountain is bathed in gold.

Mountains and rivers all belong to the realm of the Dao. Though the myriad things are diverse, they share one source, like members of a single family. Without sages silently harmonizing and ordering them, how could Heaven and Earth preserve their light and order for so long?

One cannot help but marvel at the vast power of creation: mountains, rivers, and earth seem to rest upon empty space. The distant lands in all eight directions and the regions between the four seas contain countless things, all held within the primordial One Qi.

Further Poems on Laoshan (Twenty Poems)

In the year Jisi of the Daan era (1209), after the Zhaijiao purification ritual in Jiaoxi had concluded, the Daoist community agreed to visit Ao Mountain again and left behind twenty poems.

Ten Poems on the Shangqing Palace

After the ritual had ended, we returned and set out to visit the Daoist mountain. The forests were deep and secluded, surrounded by bays. We took a boat and gazed toward the waves; in the distance, the immortal peaks of Penglai seemed to appear among the clouds and mist.

The peaks rose steeply above the abyss; the highest summit stood alone, towering as if it reached the sky. Since ancient times, the vast sea has swallowed and released the sun and moon, while green peaks have sent up clouds at dawn and dusk.

Green mountains have always been the home of those who cultivate the Dao, and this immortal mountain lies close to the sea as well. The waters are broad and the peaks high, free of worldly impurity. The mist here is dense, people are few, and the scenery is all the more serene and beautiful.

Strange rocks are embedded in the open mountain walls, formed by nature in shapes too numerous to describe. At sheer cliffs and precipices, where no one can reach, sounds like immortal music are often heard, day and night.

At dawn, the sun rises dimly as clouds and mist gradually gather. The mountain’s outline grows dark and indistinct, and its full form cannot be seen. We should keep climbing to the summit and look out from there, as if riding the heavenly wind beyond the world of dust.

Rows of immense rocks rise along the mountain ridge. The summit towers steeply, with scarcely a path to climb. In late autumn, the water freezes and layer upon layer of snow and ice accumulates. Even in midsummer, the clouds remain cold, and banks of mist shroud the ranges.

Seen from the sea, the mountains appear all the more majestic: lofty and upright, set apart from the world of dust and bustle.

Rows of immense rocks rise along the mountain ridge. The summit towers steeply, with scarcely a path to climb. In late autumn, the water freezes and layer upon layer of snow and ice accumulates. Even in midsummer, the clouds remain cold, and banks of mist shroud the ranges.

From the sea, the mountains look more majestic still, their peaks rising abruptly as if leaning against the sky. At dawn and dusk, the rocks catch the light among the clouds, revealing a clear and radiant scene. The many transformations within the mountains are all wrought by Nature.

Western Shaanxi is rich in famous mountains, with Mount Hua especially renowned. Among the extraordinary and beautiful mountains and rivers south of the Yangtze, Mount Jiuhua is also remarkable. Mount Ao, backed by the Eastern Sea, rises gracefully in the region of Shandong, yet few people know of it.

Peak after peak rises in layers, screening and reflecting one another. The clustered summits vie in beauty, some high and some low. Standing among them, one feels the coolness and openness of the view, and the heart grows at ease. Since ancient times, the mountain realms where immortals dwell have been held up as ideal places to live.

Of the Five Great Mountains, I have visited four; the other ranges may not compare with them. But this mountain lies far away at the edge of the sea, unknown to most people, and so its fame has never spread throughout the Nine Provinces.

Ten Poems on the Taiqing Palace

Just after leaving the Shangqing Palace, I saw mountain mists rising. The morning sky was dim, and the mountain path only faintly visible. By the time I reached the foot of the mountain, people had not yet eaten breakfast. I had already sat down to gaze at the mountains and sea, where all beneath heaven stretched out in vast, indistinct expanses.

The clouds were dark, and a fine rain drifted down. The stone grotto seemed to hold its visitors back, unwilling to let them leave. Perhaps the grotto-heaven, the Daoist realm of immortals, takes pity on me. Alas, in this lifetime I have had so few chances to come here.

The sea of clouds stretches beyond sight; the tide surges, and only the tumbling waves can be seen. Myriad beautiful peaks reach up to the clouds, like clusters of screens surrounding the Daoist palace.

The wind through the pines and the water rushing in the mountain streams are especially serene. They sound this way throughout the day and never fall silent at night. Wild cranes often fly here, seeming never to tire of the place. And when a carefree traveler thinks of leaving, he finds it all the harder to go.

The stream runs through a secluded ravine, strewn with immense rocks and thick with pines. The mountain forest is dense and deep green, filled with the Dao’s quiet harmony. Had woodcutters not felled so many trees in recent years, drifting clouds would have screened the sunlight and filled the depths among the crags.

Wild cranes often fly here, seeming never to tire of the place. And when a carefree traveler thinks of leaving, he finds it all the harder to go.

The renowned and powerful have reputations that seem to reach the clouds, while recluses who cultivate the Dao and roam the mountains leave the crowds behind. The disciples of the Three Mao Lords are honored like guests in the realm of immortals; among the great families of worldly officialdom, the Wanshi Lords hold distinction.

The western mountains rise high into the clouds. Looking up, one sees the immortals on the mountain planting green peaches. The peaches have ripened many times, while the human world has undergone several transformations. Hair has even grown on the body of the Qin maiden in the cave—the woman said to live in an immortal grotto—as though she had spent ages there.

The immortals sing winding, melodious songs and dance to the rhythm of “Pacing the Void.” Beneath the moon they chant aloud, their phoenixlike movements light and graceful as they circle and dip. Laughing and talking, they take no heed of worldly affairs, but set off together straight toward the western reaches of the Ninth Heaven.

Mountain mists and rosy clouds appear in shades of purple and jade green, while white clouds float high above. The immortals in their grotto palaces feast drunkenly on wine made from green peaches. The drums’ sound pierces the blue-green cliffs, rumbling like thunder and striking fear; the birds and beasts across the mountain cry out in alarm.

The power and wondrous efficacy of the Dao cannot be fully expressed in words. It stands alone, transcending the transformations of all things. Great mountains and seas know their own weight, yet seem to drift through the bottomless void, unchanged through countless ages.

Fifteen Poems on the Mid-Autumn Festival

Written on the tenth day of the eighth month, on returning from Changle County to the Jade Clarity Abbey north of Weizhou city.

Traveling east from the western county, I reached the Jade Clarity Abbey. The autumn wind swept through, and the evening sky was clear. I opened my heart, eager to admire the Mid-Autumn moon, yet feared the sky might turn overcast and hide it.

The west wind sweeps across the Nine Provinces; in a single night, the bright moonlight streams westward. A fresh, otherworldly air seeps into one’s very bones. Everywhere, people sing and admire the moon, but their joy cannot linger for long.

When I had just left the seaside, the moonlight was still clear and bright. By the time I reached the Jade Clarity Abbey, the autumn wind had swept through and the evening sky was clear. I opened my heart, eager to admire the Mid-Autumn moon, yet feared the sky might turn overcast and hide it.

The west wind sweeps across the Nine Provinces; in a single night, the moonlight streams westward. A fresh, otherworldly air seeps into one’s very bones. Everywhere, people sing and admire the moon, but their joy cannot linger for long.

The moon has just risen above the sea, and its pure radiance already illumines the earth. The people of every land rejoice and celebrate peace. May the moon’s precious light never be obscured; may its true form suffer neither diminishment nor waxing fullness.

The moon is like uncarved gold and jade as it rises into the sky; it seems to hold snow in its embrace and be congealed with frost, illuminating the vast heavens. The four seas and a hundred rivers all reflect its light, and all things in the world dwell in peace.

A sheet of clear moonlight spreads for ten thousand miles, reaching humble thatched huts as readily as lofty towers. Every household can leisurely compose poems and admire the moon, while the breeze lifts the spirits.

A guest wanders, gazing up at the sky, and lays out wine especially to admire the moon. But the moon does not understand the human wish to hold it there; it merely scatters its faint light across the blue heavens and continues on its way.

The moon’s golden waves flow without pause, by day and night. Its gentle, open radiance invites one to linger and compose verses at ease; the breeze, too, lifts the spirits.

A guest wanders, gazing up at the sky, and lays out wine especially to admire the moon. But the moon does not understand the human wish to hold it there; it merely scatters its faint light across the blue heavens and continues on its way.

Golden moonlight flows ceaselessly through day and night, its clear, radiant glow rising from the sea and the mountains. The bright moon climbs high and roams beyond the dusty world; its gracious light spills downward, illuminating the human realm.

The blue heavens stretch far and wide, following their own cycles. Their light shines everywhere, without favor or bias. Yet the darkness of the human realm is troubling: the Qi of demons and evil forces weighs heavily, obscuring people’s eyes so they cannot see the golden moon appear.

The full moon hangs in the sky, pure white and bright; even a bronze mirror hammered and polished again and again cannot compare. Its reflection appears in waters everywhere. It can also strike terror into demons and disperse baleful Qi.

The shadow of the cassia tree falls hazily upon the human realm. Though ages have passed, people still do not understand where it comes from. When will we be able to ride a crane up into the clouds and gaze down from above at the white jade moon in the blue sky?

Clouds come and go without pause, and from dawn to dusk the sky shifts between brightness and gloom. Fortunate to face this bright moon tonight, I take the occasion to write a new poem and give free expression to the Daoist feelings in my heart.

Each year, when this season comes, many people take lives, committing grave sins; it is a helpless sight. Thankfully, the ruler has issued a stern prohibition against killing, allowing the lives of all beings to rest in peace.

When a wise and enlightened ruler takes the throne, all things are at peace; benevolent virtue rises from the court and puts an end to slaughter. Whether local officials or ordinary people, all should cultivate virtue, so that moonlight may shine upon everyone and all may admire it together.

In the long stillness of night, dark clouds rise, and living beings lose the chance to enjoy nature’s clarity and beauty. It is only clouds in the sky that block our view. When has the moon ever turned away from the human realm?

A hundred years pass in an instant. How many chances does a person have to spend the Mid-Autumn Festival in ease and leisure? Better to cultivate the mind and nature, making them as clear and radiant as the autumn moon, so that body and mind may rest in freedom and peace.

Written by Qiu Chuji, Master Changchun of Qixia, in Panshi Collection, volume three

[Ancient Songs and Hymns]

“Song of the Blue Sky”

Do not let floating clouds obscure the blue sky. When clouds rise, they cover the blue sky and all things beneath it. The myriad forms of the world are originally arrayed in orderly harmony and can suppress all manner of evil spirits; when their radiance cannot appear, demons and evil forces flourish.

When I first opened up Heaven and Earth, they were clear and bright, and every household sang of peace. Whenever a dark cloud rises, the nine apertures of the human body—eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and the other openings—and its hundred bones all fall into unrest.

Therefore, always let the wind of wisdom blow strong, passing through the Three Realms and the Ten Directions—the various worlds described in Daoism—and scattering the clouds and mists. Once the clouds disperse, the true clarity of the void’s original nature is revealed. Then one can naturally see the bright moon in every household’s heart.

A flute is best played under the moonlight. One clear, far-reaching note rings out, as if it could awe all within the Chinese realm and beyond. Startled awake by the sound, the jade youth of the East—a Daoist immortal attendant from legend—comes racing like a shooting star, riding backward on a white deer.

The flute’s sound turns and shifts, with a singular charm. It is neither a sheng nor a horn. The three-foot cloud gong, with its twelve marked pitches, seems to have been carved through countless kalpas from the Qi of Hundun, the primordial vital energy before Heaven and Earth were divided.

The music rings out with the clarity of jade, entirely free of the licentious quality of Zheng music. Its gentle, lucid tones reach the hearts of those who understand the Way. From this I grasp a principle and receive the protection of spirits: I can ascend to Heaven and descend to Earth, transcending past and present.

I roam freely in every direction, bound by nothing. My heart does not covet wealth and glory, so my body need not suffer humiliation. At ease, I sing “White Snow” from within the gourd, the Daoist realm of immortals, and quietly play “Spring in the Sun,” a melody from beyond the world.

The music I understand is entirely the sound of nature: flutes without holes, zithers without strings. Only after grasping its true meaning do I realize with a start that life is like a dream. Through day and night, subtle and wondrous music fills the grotto-heavens, the abodes of immortals.

Six Lyrics

Chant of the Primordial

In the empty, still mountains, thin clouds rise on a quiet night. Faint moonlight and scattered stars mingle across the cold sky. Suddenly, the Star of Long Life—Venus—lights the vast heavens. I look again at the Northern Dipper, now vanished in the distant reaches of the sky.

The forces that unfold and wither between Heaven and Earth shift from moment to moment. What sustains this teeming universe? Surely some subtle mechanism turns unseen, making all things in the void cycle, transform, and answer one another.

How vast and wondrous is the boundless, mysterious primordial Dao! All things receive its subtle nourishment. It sets the sun, moon, and stars in motion, turning the heavens, and nurtures the growth, flowering, and fruiting of all things.

It runs through past and present and has never been destroyed. It withstands hardship and assault without ever growing weak. The mighty current surges forth of itself, but who directs the myriad transformations of creation?

The single Qi of Hundun is the beginning of all change; the supreme and sovereign Dao is one and without equal. It strides across the void, manifesting in the deep and distant darkness, then cleaves the chaos and unfolds the transformations of all things.

The rising and sinking of Yin and Yang form the gateway to change, while the courses of the sun and moon are like keys that set transformation in motion. Heat gives way to cold, and day is clearly divided from night. Fortune may flow smoothly or meet with obstruction; each has its time of flourishing and decline.

Then it cleaves the chaos and unfolds the transformations of all things. The rising and sinking of Yin and Yang form the gateway to change, and the courses of the sun and moon are like keys that set transformation in motion. Heat gives way to cold, and day is clearly divided from night. The times may flow smoothly or meet with obstruction; flourishing and decline each have their appointed season.

Next, a Qian-Kun knob, a ritual implement symbolizing the pivot of Heaven and Earth, was set above, and a Master’s Teaching Bell, a ritual bell for transmitting the Dao and guiding people, was sounded below. Suitable measures were arranged according to local conditions, and teachings were established in keeping with the times, so that people would gladly accept them.

The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors all honored the Dao as their founding ancestor. The Six Paths, the six destinations of sentient beings, and the Four Kinds of Birth—womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born—also all obeyed in response. Even the most sacred person must still awaken the unenlightened. How vast, too, was Laozi’s learning in Dao and De, the sage of the Daoist tradition once praised as “a dragon among men.”

Song on Deliverance from the World

Deep in the mountains, the paths are remote and few travelers pass. I sit all day among quiet mountain cliffs, listening to birdsong. Beneath the bright moon, no guests keep me company; at times I stand alone where the clouds rise high.

I chant alone among the clouds, far from every baleful influence. I gaze toward the horizon, where all the mountains seem small. The melody soars, the wind rushes, and the verse lingers; refined and free of the common world, the sound of bugxu—Daoist ritual chanting accompanied by measured steps—makes the spirit seem to drift into an ethereal realm.

I recall the Double Ninth Festival of years past, when I traveled by boat to distant shores, composing clear, spare verses in an effort to illuminate the original simplicity of Heaven and Earth. I acted like one fishing for the man of Fufeng, yet no one knew; when measuring the ocean, I had already sensed what lay ahead.

Entering the wondrous realm, its mysteries are truly hard to fathom. Speaking of profound principles that transcend the mundane was not part of my original learning. Looking back today, my Daoist work has begun to show its strength. Only now do I know that the work of those earlier years would in time prove extraordinary.

At first, I promoted the way of benevolence and filial piety in Dongmou, but I had not yet managed to change local customs or dispel people’s ignorance. The Five Assemblies flourished, each with its own name: Golden Lotus of Ninghai, Jade Radiance of Dengzhou, Equality of Laizhou, Seven Treasures of Wendeng, and Three Luminaries of Fushan. In time, they would surely accomplish outstanding deeds.

At first, Master Chongyang taught the Way of benevolence and filial piety in Dongmu, but had not yet succeeded in changing worldly customs or dispelling ignorance. The Five Assemblies arose with great vigor, and each was given a name: Golden Lotus of Ninghai, Jade Splendor of Dengzhou, Equality of Laizhou, Seven Treasures of Wendeng, and Three Lights of Fushan. The three prefectures—Dengzhou, Laizhou, and the others—flourished. In households devoted to the Three Teachings, some people left their bodies in spirit or appeared in dreams, astonishing those around them. The “tossed parasol and cast-off crown” I speak of belong to these events as well.

Master Chongyang dwelt by the Eastern Sea, unlike ordinary people, as a dragon is unlike other creatures. When Ma Danyang reached Western Qin, he changed like a leopard. Danyang spread the Great Dao in western Shaanxi, and his influence grew steadily.

In the summer, fourth month, of the jichou year of the Dading era (1169), several of us, including Danyang, followed Master Chongyang from Wendeng to Ninghai. We passed through Longquan as the weather grew warm. The master told us to walk ahead while he followed behind with an umbrella, about half a li away. I suddenly looked back and saw the umbrella rise into the air, so I hurried back to ask him about it. The master said that a whirlwind of rising air had carried the umbrella upward, and he did not know how it had happened.

At first the umbrella flew northeast. We watched from afar as it slowly descended into the sand. We pointed toward where it had landed and went searching, but found nothing. At that time, my fellow disciple, Master Wang Huiyang, lived in seclusion on Mount Zha by the Eastern Sea. Mount Zha was 110 li from Wendeng, and the place where the umbrella had risen was another 70 li from Wendeng. The umbrella rose during the chen hour (7–9 a.m.) and came down in front of Master Wang’s hermitage during the shen hour (3–5 p.m.). Everyone then bestowed on Master Wang the Daoist name “Master Qianyang.” The character “qian” does not appear in dictionaries such as the Pianyun; it was coined by the master. Later, the umbrella was kept by the Zhai family at the foot of Mount Zha. It had originally been borrowed from Fan Mingshu of Ninghai. When Fan later learned where it was, he went to reclaim it, but the family refused to return it.

By “cast-off crown,” I mean that when the master first climbed the city’s northern wall to gaze at the sea, the bamboo-bark crown on his head suddenly fell into the water and was swept away, but later returned. “Qian” is pronounced like “zhu.”

The Song of Untroubled Wandering

The ten continents and three islands—the overseas realms where immortals dwell—lie amid the boundless sea. Jade towers and vermilion palaces rise and fall, half suspended in the air.

Dense pine shade screens the blazing sun. There is no need to wave a silk fan; a cool breeze comes of its own accord.

The sun burns like molten gold, yet the true immortals with jade pendants have never spoken of the heat. The crystal palace stands open, and stars are arrayed upon the throne.

Blue clouds of vital energy hang like a scene suspended in the air, encircling the towers and terraces; the pure transformed body is not made of flesh and bone.

The true body one possesses from the beginning can naturally commune with the spirits. A laugh and a word are enough to startle the immortals in heaven.

“Song of Freedom”

The Jade Terrace and Langyuan, the legendary palace gardens where immortals dwell, lie amid the blue River of Heaven. Auspicious clouds and radiant Qi fill the sky, rippling in layer upon layer.

The assembled immortals appear and vanish, scattering cool rain; all things unfold as they come into being, stirring fragrant breezes.

In the heat of summer, how could ordinary households understand its wonders? When the mists disperse, the grotto dwelling stands open, its gateways seeming to line the banks of the starry river.

I often meet honored guests above the Nine Heavens; there is no need to travel ten thousand li on a fine horse.

With body and mind released from the world, one is naturally clear and at peace. Who would still envy those who climb towers and wave fans to escape the heat?

“Song on Gazing at the Sea”

I have seen the magnificent scenery throughout the realm. East of Tongguan and north of the Huai River, none surpasses Dengzhou. So I composed “Song on Gazing at the Sea” to record what I see here.

Penglai lies far to the east. Its scenery is splendid, rare anywhere in the world. It borders the realm where immortals and sages dwell, its ridges leaning against the deep sea where fish and dragons appear.

I climb high and look toward Xihe, the mythical god who drives the sun’s chariot, stretching my gaze as far as it can reach, yet still seeing no end. Sky and water wheel together in a vast expanse; clouds and rosy mists drift and scatter.

The great wind lifts the waves, and across ten thousand li of sea, white crests roll like frost and snow. From the islands, the sea stretches boundlessly; distant hills and mounds vanish from sight.

At times the vital forces of Heaven and Earth flow in harmony, and the scene shifts in extraordinary ways, unlike anything found in ordinary landscapes. Before my eyes, the view unfolds in endless layers. I would describe each one in turn, but words cannot express them.

The sea is where all waters gather and flow. It is deep and remote, clear and bright. Its tides rise and fall in their appointed time. Through the passage of many dynasties, it has never run dry, even in drought.

Across the human world lie ponds and fields, large and small. Beside the sea, they are like tiny pools next to waves raised by a whale, or like the small patch of sky seen by a frog at the bottom of a well: insignificant by comparison.

The sea stretches boundlessly as far as the eye can see; the sky, too, is vast and clear.

The sea is where all waters gather and flow. It is deep and remote, clear and bright. Its tides rise and fall in their appointed time. Through the passage of many dynasties, it has never run dry, even in drought.

Across the human world lie ponds and fields, large and small. Beside the sea, they are like tiny pools next to waves raised by a whale, or like the small patch of sky seen by a frog at the bottom of a well: insignificant by comparison.

Seen from afar, the water lies calm and expansive, stretching beyond the reach of the eye. The sky is clear and bright, as though filled with a solemn, lucid presence. The currents of every stream are unclouded; their clarity has endured through the ages, beyond arising and passing away.

Song of Wandering among the Immortals

Langyuan, the garden where immortals dwell in legend, lies far from the world of dust. Yao Terrace rises high between the blue heavens. The immortals in the grottoes remain forever young, while the immortal guests beyond the clouds enjoy unhurried leisure.

A red phoenix sings from its boat-shaped cave, and a crimson roe deer barks beside the herb garden. A messenger in blue robes delivers an edict; a white crane brings back a letter.

I attend an immortal banquet in the Jade Grove, then wave my brush to compose a poem celebrating the immortal guests. I sing aloud in the Palace of the Golden Mother and let out a long cry atop Jade Tortoise Mountain.

The immortal fruit takes three thousand years to ripen. Towers rise high, encircled by twelve tiers of steps. When will King Mu of Zhou arrive? And when will Dongfang Shuo ascend to the immortal realm?

The skin of the immortal maiden of Gushe remains fair as ever, while Shuangcheng’s beauty grows more radiant. Feiqiong takes up residence in the Moon Palace; Nongyu combs her hair into a coiffure.

I ride out across the Three Islands and fly on the wind over distant, uncultivated lands. I roam to behold the seas and mountains, then leap with all my strength straight up to Heaven’s Gate.

Heaven and earth stretch empty and boundless; my delight surges on without end. My mind opens wide, rising beyond the world’s realm of forms, and I no longer yearn for the human world.

Three Eulogies

In Praise of the Dao

The worthy sages of former ages and the sages of generations to come are alike in their understanding of the Way. Though their schools differ, they share one source, and each can dispel delusion. The Primal One of the Undifferentiated Origin opens the gateway to cultivation; the wondrous, true Dao points directly to the ladder that leads to Heaven.

Dispelling Doubts

There is no need to believe what others say; the essential thing is to set one’s own heart straight. If we judge only by other people’s praise and blame, right and wrong, we will damage our own merit and nature.

A Warning to All against Lust

Life brings countless hardships, and none is more serious than becoming ensnared by lust. It not only damages the roots of nature and life, but also diminishes Yin merit—the blessings accumulated through unseen good deeds.

To give up this one failing is worth more than giving up many other desires. Those who admire the Great Dao and cultivate toward immortality have always held self-restraint in this matter as their model.

Two Songs of Walking in Emptiness

The teaching of cultivating the Real is vast and boundless, drawing one lightly beyond the gate of the dusty world. The former master opens the gateway to cultivation, as though setting returning horses galloping across Heaven and earth.

A humble dwelling far surpasses an immortal’s palace, and its renown rises above the gates of the Celestial Emperor’s court. Daoist companions gather like clouds and rosy mists, together paying homage to the revered spirit in the Great Void.

Precious incense is lit, and its smoke billows like clouds, seeming to form a gateway. The former master opens the gateway to cultivation, as though setting returning horses galloping across Heaven and earth.

Though modest, the dwelling stands far from the immortal’s sanctuary, yet its renown reaches high, all the way to Heaven’s gate. Immortal companions among the clouds and Daoist friends amid the rosy mists gather together to pay homage to the revered deity of the Great Void, honored by Daoism.

Incense rises from the burning sticks, its smoke winding like cloud patterns; ornate lamps cluster around the light in the night. The Milky Way has just begun to shine in splendor when the bells and chimes suddenly ring out, leisurely and clear.

The officiant of the Jiao (a Daoist purification ritual) receives the honor of this grand gathering and prays to Heaven with a devout heart. The immortals come to look upon the assembly and usher the Void Emperor, a revered Daoist deity, into their presence.

A Mourning Poem for Emperor Shizong, with Preface

I, Qiu Chuji, was summoned from Mount Zhongnan to the capital in the second lunar month of spring in the Wushen year of the Dading era (1188). I was granted a headcloth, cap, robe, and belt, and ordered to await an imperial decree at Tianchang Abbey. Eleven days later, the emperor appointed me a senior ritual master to preside over the Jiao ritual for the Wanchun Festival. On the first day of the fourth lunar month, I moved to an official residence in the north of the city. Two days later, by imperial decree, I was again ordered to have statues made of the perfected ones Chunyang, Chongyang, and Danyang, and to prepare the paintings, offerings, and ritual implements.

On the eighteenth day of the fifth lunar month, the emperor summoned me to Songchang Island. On the tenth day of the seventh lunar month, he summoned me again, and we discussed the principles of the Dao and human affairs. Our conversation was quite harmonious, and he did not send me away until evening. The next day, a palace messenger brought me a plate of peaches. For more than ten years I had abstained from tea and fruit, but in gratitude for the emperor’s generous favor, I ate one peach. At the Mid-Autumn Festival, I was permitted by imperial decree to return to the mountain on other business, and was granted one hundred thousand coins. I submitted a memorial to thank the emperor and decline the gift.

In the spring of the Jiyou year (1189), as I passed through Shanzhou, I suddenly received the decree announcing the emperor’s death. Dust swept through the air and the sky was dark; the people and officials all wore mourning clothes. Though I cultivate the Dao beyond the world of dust, I live among humankind and deeply remember the emperor’s favor. How could I not grieve? I therefore respectfully composed this mourning poem to express my heartfelt sorrow:

The grieving decree descends from Heaven; a sorrowful wind reaches Shanzhou. The Yellow River surges with waves like frost and snow, while dust veils the sun.

I remember meeting the emperor on Songchang Island, where his favor once more came upon me. He had granted me peaches on a golden plate. Such profound kindness, now recalled, fills me with sorrow.

Fifteen Poems in an Ancient Mode

“Cultivate promptly”: practice without delay.

Day after day, time keeps passing; life is brief, flashing by like lightning. Heaven and Earth have endured through the ages, as spring gives way to autumn and the seasons turn in their appointed order.

People seem to lie asleep in a deep dream, unaware of day or night. In a life adrift and uncertain, toil and ease take different forms. Human ties and worldly affairs bring endless concerns, yet life remains as fleeting as lightning. Heaven and Earth have witnessed all the ages, while spring and autumn continue their cycle.

People remain deeply asleep in a dreamlike life, each with a different share of toil and ease. Human attachments never cease, as though we still cling to things that are illusory. Though I have set my sights high, in my heart I still fret over gain and loss.

The foolish are like wandering spirits who have lost their way, as if cast into some forsaken place. Their hearts crave desire as a sweet tooth craves honey. Honey tastes so sweet—when will we ever forget it? The trap is dark and obscure—when will we ever escape?

To free ourselves from our predicament, we must rely on noble conduct. Cultivate ourselves and our nature; remain upright and composed, without resorting to illusory spells. If we can dispel the distinction between self and things, and let go of thoughts of closeness and distance, then naturally we will no longer be swayed by the fortunes and misfortunes of ghosts and spirits.

The Dao-nature within me has not yet awakened, so for now I dwell beside a purple door in an earthen house. I live among worldly people without losing my true nature, and follow the changing rights and wrongs of the world. We answer one another in words, yet do not interrogate one another.

[Seeking a Patchwork Robe]

In the eighth month, I sent someone carrying a poem to the county town, hoping to find a patchwork robe in Xiguo.

The White Dew season is nearly over, and the Cold Dew lies chill. Life in the mountain dwelling is austere and lonely, with scarcely a visitor in sight. Yellow leaves fall from the treetops throughout the forests, while I wear a hemp robe covered in patches.

The old cloth still has to be brought to town from a market seven li away, with someone’s help. A patchwork robe will not be ready until the deep snows of the third winter month. The wealthy townspeople are all kind; I hope to remain for a long time at Panxi, keeping to my simple, unadorned life.

[The Pine on Long Mountain]

I have lived on West Mountain for six years. There is a pine tree on the mountain, growing all alone. In the morning, thin clouds drift away toward the frontier pass; at dusk, a fine rain falls, veiling the grotto-heaven, the Daoist realm of immortals.

This landscape seems like a companion Heaven has granted me. Across the mountain stream, we keep each other company, gazing from afar. The pine is lush and green, a pleasure to behold; when the wind moves through its branches and leaves, they rustle mournfully.

Its branches and trunk intertwine, and it is so broad that several people could encircle it together. Its dense shade hangs in layer upon layer. It was destined to grow here, and has stood for a thousand years. Who would have thought that this early spring it would suddenly be felled on level ground by a woodcutter’s axe?

The sound of axes felling trees echoes without cease through the stream valley. Smoke hangs over the pine forest at the foot of the mountain, lending the scene a desolate, sorrowful air. I know this, too, is Heaven’s will: I am about to depart, and so I made a point of letting Lingyan be veiled first. There stands a temple to Xia Yu, where prayers are answered with great efficacy.

The landscape remains as it was, but the people and their affairs have vanished. What more can be said? The empty mountain lies dim and still, stirring sorrow in those who wander there. The white crane flies high, leaving behind the traces of its former path; the azure dragon lies motionless, seeming devoid of life.

I know, too, that the forms of things cannot endure forever. All that has form has its allotted measure. I sing aloud, rise above the world, and set out on the road home; those who are truly reclusive live amid the dust of the world, where their understanding can deepen all the more. The white crane flies high, leaving behind the traces of its former path; the azure dragon lies motionless, seeming devoid of life.

I know, too, that the forms of things cannot endure forever. All that has form has its allotted measure. I sing aloud, rise above the world, and set out on the road home; those who are truly reclusive live amid the dust of the world, where their understanding can deepen all the more.

Presented to Tangguo Gu of Weiyang

She was the younger sister of the late chancellor. At the time, I was in Longshan, and Lord Jiapu, commander of the forces in Jingzhao, sent someone with a letter summoning me. Tangguo Gu arrived soon afterward.

Tangguo Gu of Donglai had a nature attuned to the mysterious and the far-reaching. Within, she possessed De; outwardly, she was refined in her writing, and her bearing was exceptional. Before she had fully explored the affairs of past and present, she set out westward from Chang’an, with her belongings loaded onto a carriage.

She earnestly invited me to meet her at Longshan. At that time, I was leaning on my staff and making my way slowly eastward. When I returned to the old places where I had once wandered in Chang’an, my friends were still there, though most had grown old.

Please go back and tell Gu to reflect with a clear mind: a hundred years pass in no more time than one cold season and one hot season. She should set aside her household affairs soon, break free from worldly attachments, and become a carefree person, keeping company with the Immortals.

Roaming freely within the gourd, one finds the sun and moon stretching on without end. Once beyond the confines of the body, one is no longer troubled by aging or calamity. To penetrate past and present and transcend them—there is no other essential pursuit. It all depends on deep De and an open heart.

Written Because of the Drought

The Mysterious Origin, the Great Dao, governs Yin-Yang, bringing change to Heaven and Earth and giving life to the myriad things. When high and low each find their proper place, things can proceed in order from beginning to end, and people may be spared calamity.

Why, then, are there so many obstacles and disasters now? Perhaps it is because people’s hearts have become unrestrained. They pursue fine food, splendid clothes, and exquisite utensils; they associate with reckless and strange companions, and lose themselves in deviant and licentious affairs.

The intermingling of Yin and Yang has been spoken of since ancient times; blessings and disasters transform into one another according to the natural order. When people gradually lose the ability to moderate their way of life and let the days drag on, drought follows year after year.

The blue heavens stretch high and far, and for a long time no rain falls. Dust swirls along the roads; in the world of red dust, nothing can be seen but drifting dust. The blazing sun heats the stones until they seem ready to melt metal, scorching all things. Living beings suffer without respite, as if their entrails were melting and their backs were split by fire.

At times I lead the people in a ritual to draw water from the Dragon Pool and pray for rain. The coarse food set out on the plates is hard to swallow, even on an empty stomach. If we act with disrespect and take the lives of living creatures, how could all our clamor and shouting move the spirits?

How pitiful: worldly people are absorbed in sights and sounds, while everyone lives in danger, restless and afraid. How can I bring every heart to be like mine, so that people will not suffer when calamity strikes?

Presented to Commandant Liu of Shajian Stockade, Huazhou

The whole Liu family does good deeds, providing for those who live quietly in retreat, and never tiring of it. He does nothing hollow or deceitful, but serves the Dao with a sincere heart; for this, everyone admires him.

He diligently accumulates De and nurtures the spiritual foundations of the Daoist path. Among all the households in the commandery, how many can do the same? Let us quietly await the day when our practice is complete, then ascend together on auspicious clouds to the abode of the Queen Mother of the West.

Two Poems on Fools

This is because famine and epidemic have followed one another in recent years.

The high heavens look down upon the human world. Why do they not relieve the suffering of the myriad spirits? Living beings are tormented day and night, swallowing grief and enduring pain; when they die, not a sound is heard.

I cry aloud to the sky, but it gives no answer. I am only a negligible life, laboring in vain. How can the vast world be returned to primordial chaos, so that the Creator will no longer bring forth sentient life?

Alas, since Heaven and Earth were first opened, they have brought forth countless beings. They harm one another, their cruelty never ceasing; they suffer through the cycle of rebirth. When will it all come to an end?

Heaven and Earth both have spirits. Why do they watch living beings die without coming to their aid? Though I feel compassion for the beings below, I have no power to save them; all I can do is grieve in vain, day and night.

Delighted by Rain on the Gengwu Day in the Sixth Month

I have heard that for a thousand years the rain from East Mountain never reached the west. Why, then, has the rain poured down again and again this summer?

Yesterday afternoon, rain washed and moistened the earth, and fresh shoots began to grow again. Today, before the hour of Shen, another downpour came, torrents tumbling from the sky as thick as cart axles.

Darkness shrouds the thousand mountains, and thunder roars across the four fields. Water rises three feet across the plains, while the great river continues to swell until the fifth watch.

A flood dragon rises from the marsh, while the drought demon—said to bring drought—is buried in a ditch. Where now is the River of Heaven, like the Milky Way? From this moment on, the great road to the celestial realm lies open.

Inscribed on the Portrait of Zhuangzi, Painted by Emperor Xianzong and Kept by Commissioner Liu

Emperor Xianzong loved the arts of the Dao and was in the prime of his life. With his own hand, he painted the ancient, unadorned appearance of Zhuangzi, a leading figure of Daoism. Zhuangzi died more than a thousand years ago. Who can know what his appearance and bearing were like in his own time?

Only the Portrait of Zhuangzi, Painted by Emperor Xianzong, Is Kept

Emperor Xianzong loved the arts of the Dao and was in the prime of his life. With his own hand, he painted Zhuangzi’s ancient, unadorned appearance. Zhuangzi died more than a thousand years ago. Who can know what his appearance and bearing were like in his own time?

People today value only the teachings of antiquity, as though they could grasp Zhuangzi’s bearing through a painting and express that quality in their dress and conduct. The perfected person, whose cultivation has reached a high level, depends on nothing inwardly; the winds blowing through the myriad openings blend into the music of Heaven, the sounds of nature. Yang Zhu, Han Fei, Ji Kang, and Ruan Ji each had a different purpose, yet in the end all returned to the natural world.

Leisurely Walk on the Winter Outskirts

The plants and trees have withered. How bitterly cold the frost and ice! Across the vast sky, the crows have all flown away; in the sea, even the fish seem to have stopped moving.

Merchants no longer sail their boats, and insects have hidden in their burrows. Who, amid abundance, can put themselves in the place of those who are lonely and poor?

Autumn Wind over the Sea

On Penglai, the fabled immortal isle in the sea, lives a wanderer with no fixed home. He wishes to learn the way of immortality and roam between Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth are vast; floodwaters surge until they seem to cover the boundless sky. At the far edge of the Eastern Sea, for ten thousand miles, water and sky merge in a deep blue.

At dawn the rain clears and the west wind blows hard. Leaning on my staff, I climb to a height and watch the breath of Heaven and Earth flow. In the clear sky, wild geese fly in formation; fish and dragons play in the water, and boats sail across its surface.

A thousand-foot fishing line drops straight down, reaching toward the blue expanse ten thousand miles away. I fish for whales in the depths of the jade waves, but the many fish and turtles refuse to bite; they only churn the waves and lose themselves among them.

I raise the sail, yet still cannot cross to the far shore. I long to take a wooden raft once more and drift above the River of Heaven. It hangs high overhead, every form bright and clear. Who will be my immortal companion among the white clouds?

Establishing a Yellow Register Jiao at the Xiuzhen Temple in Dengzhou

The undivided Supreme Dao moves swiftly, like an arrow; the Qi of Yin and Yang cycles and changes, interacting and contending with one another. Taiji, the primordial state before Heaven and Earth were divided, unfolds without limit, and creation begins from it. In the spacious void, myriad wondrous transformations appear.

Living beings and all things come into being in forms of every kind, adorning the four quarters and eight directions of Heaven and Earth with abundance. From ancient times to the present, all things renew themselves day by day; their forms change with the seasons, then continually return to simplicity. A Yellow Register Jiao is a Daoist purification ritual, generally performed to pray for blessings and avert calamities through the establishment of an altar, the chanting of scriptures, and rites honoring the gods.

Sentient beings and insentient things have meanings without end; those of great wisdom and those of lesser wisdom often argue and attack one another. Without the instruction of sages and worthies, how could people understand that living creatures and insentient plants and things alike have no fixed, unchanging self-nature?

A thousand volumes of scriptures and ten thousand teachings are expedient means devised to guide living beings. Precious texts have been handed down through the ages, encouraging people to do good. Since ancient times, the source of the Dao (the Way) has been deep and unfathomable; even today, the radiance of the Dao and De (Virtue/Power) remains clear.

In recent years, religious communities have flourished throughout the realm. Those who understand the Dao adapt their teachings to local circumstances and guide sentient beings. I too have traveled far and wide for thirty years. Now I have returned to my native place and come once more to this coastal city.

South of the city stands the Xiuzhen Abbey, a grand place for cultivating the Dao and seeking genuine practice. Its scale is magnificent and its bearing lofty, as if it reached the River of Heaven. Looking down, one sees the vast, misty depths of the Bohai Sea; looking up, one gazes at stars bright and high.

Many people in the city follow Daoism. They rise above worldly concerns and meet others with warm accord. In the winter, during the tenth month of the fourth year of the Cheng’an era, a grand Yellow Register Zhaijiao (purification ritual) was held to pray for blessings and deliver souls, following the golden statutes and jade ordinances.

The sacred red writings in jade characters have long been transmitted, and the true talismans written on white slips have long been used to dispel evil spirits. The three-tiered Jade Terrace gleamed with precious light, while the radiance of nine divine lamps spread like a field of stars.

Mount Fengdu, realm of the underworld, rose steeply like a cliff, seemingly fraught with the danger of shattered coins. The levels of the realm of ascension to immortality were arrayed one above another, difficult to climb. The ritual continued for four nights, with incense and offerings solemnly set out; throughout the nine days, songs of treading the void could be heard.

Households throughout the city rejoiced, and every street was decorated. Golden flowers and silver candles shone together, making every place bright within and without.

Suddenly, word came that auspicious signs had appeared in the sky, and the dark, silent scene had undergone an extraordinary change. The Jade Emperor issued an edict proclaiming a general pardon; an immortal youth riding a white crane descended upon Nanchang.

All souls detained in the underworld were delivered. Young and old alike looked on with reverence and praise. News of such a grand event had never reached even distant places; its renown surpassed that of the lands of Shandong and Hebei.

The Newly Built Qianhu Abbey North of Weizhou City

Quiet and ease do not require retreating to some harsh and remote place. So long as the mind is free of worldly thoughts, any place will do. The vegetation around Beihai is lush, and the corner of the prefectural city is thick with flowers and trees, making the scenery especially beautiful.

In former years, carriages and horses crowded back and forth, filling the place with confusion. Now it has been turned into the Jade Purity Abbey, a Daoist temple. Who are the people at ease, strolling and resting within its grounds? They are travelers from all under Heaven, carefree wanderers bound by nothing.

The pond lies silent, as though locked beneath mist and rosy clouds. A great treasure lotus blooms, its flower ten zhang tall. Who paid for its construction? The Taijun family, heirs to a noble title and an estate of a thousand households.

Inscribed at the Abbey on Cloud-Gathering Mountain in Zhaoyuan County, Laizhou

Clouds over Cloud-Gathering Mountain hang dark and deep. The mountain wind sweeps through, and fine rain falls. The mountain’s wonders shift beyond all reckoning, changing a thousand ways and taking no fixed form.

When the clouds disperse and the rain stops, the mountain’s changing scenes quietly vanish. Only the ranges remain, lined up like green screens. With high peaks and deep valleys, what else is there to see? Only white stone layered upon white stone, and mist drifting among the pines.

Abbey on Cloud-Gathering Mountain

Clouds over Cloud-Gathering Mountain hang dark and deep. The mountain wind sweeps through, and fine rain falls. The mountain’s wonders shift beyond all reckoning, changing a thousand ways and taking no fixed form.

When the clouds disperse and the rain stops, the mountain’s changing scenes quietly vanish. Only the ranges remain, lined up like green screens. With high peaks and deep valleys, what else is there to see? Only white stone layered upon white stone, and mist drifting among the pines.

On a spring outing, the spirits lift and the valleys are full of springtime. Climbing straight up, one seems to be heading for the heavenly court. With a quiet, open mind, I gaze into the distance and feel the vastness of the sky; looking down, I see only a boundless expanse, as though the sea surrounded me.

In the past, an old hermitage stood here, and people came from three prefectures. Those from Dengzhou, Laizhou, and Ninghai, too, often hoped to come and pay their respects. Now this place has become a grotto-heaven, an abode of immortals in Daoist belief, and all numinous beings come to pay homage. A new abbey has risen on the empty old site, which people call “Emptiness.” This fine inscription will be passed down for ten thousand ages and never decay.

Three Short Poems in Five-Character Lines

A Warning to the World

Fine adornment and rare treasures, all the bustle and splendor—ultimately, they are but illusions that unsettle the mind. To understand that all things in the world are empty, consider them across the span of a hundred-year life.

Climbing North Mountain by the Jiao River

Climbing high, I gaze toward the South Sea; sky and water fade into a boundless haze. White clouds rise at the horizon, drift into the heights, and gradually disappear from sight.

Clearing After the Clouds

The moonlight over the Eastern Sea is clear and pure; the snow on the Western Mountain shines bright and white. Deep in the night, the air suddenly turns bitterly cold, while the moonlight grows all the more brilliant.

Five Long Poems in Five-Character Lines

Presented to the Assembly

The mind and nature chase after thoughts without end, through who knows how many rounds of rebirth. The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—turn with each change, while the Four Great Elements of earth, water, fire, and wind, which compose body and mind, are all impermanent.

Living for a while by relying on the circumstances at hand, one merely clings to the passing years and exhausts oneself in vain. One does not realize that the body itself is a source of affliction, yet strives single-mindedly after external things and seeks high position.

Though capable in worldly affairs, one lacks discipline in self-cultivation. The Six Dusts—the objects of perception that stir desire, such as form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental phenomena—churn in confusion, while beings in the Three Realms of Desire, Form, and Formlessness remain ceaselessly busy.

The delusions of sound and form weary the eyes, while covetous desire makes the hair at the temples turn white before its time. The heart is hollowed out and loses its courage; attachment to beauty clings fast, and desire sticks like grease.

The hair is white as snow, the face old and faded, no longer rosy as peach blossoms. Though one has yet to heed instruction, one still acts defiantly and violently. One moves nimbly as a magpie piercing the clouds and behaves wildly as an ape hanging upside down from a wall. At times one resorts to trickery, stirring up trouble even when nothing is amiss.

Sins pile up like mountains, and the mind and spirit surge like the sea. One cannot keep company with the pines and cypresses; only after death, when buried amid wild grasses, does it all come to an end.

Reflections at Sea

The sea breeze is bitterly cold, and sky and water stretch away in a vast haze. Even when the icebergs melt away, the summer heat will fade of its own accord.

Noble aspirations rise above the common world; an open, quiet heart accords with the Way’s vastness. Parting the clouds and mist, one roams through the boundless heavens and earth; oars in hand, one drifts across the dim, immense waters.

Standing alone, one’s reputation may shine through the ages; gazing in every direction, one journeys throughout the eight wilds. The stars in the heavens seem never to fall, and the earth’s veins run deep and without end.

All things transform, as though exhaling countless illusions; our floating lives are no more than a dream. The mind and spirit can change in an instant, while flowers, grasses, and trees flourish only for a time.

A human life of a hundred years is brief, while the road to the Three Immortal Mountains is far. Emperor Wu of Han’s quest for immortality inspires sorrow; Qin Shi Huang’s pursuit of long life, in which he lost the Way, invites reflection.

The youths who gathered herbs in search of immortality must surely have grown old by now. As for the traveler who set out on a raft, who can say where he went? All that remains are traces of three islands in the sea, where auspicious sights appear from time to time. Dazhu Mountain, Xiaozhu Mountain, and Che Niu Island together are called the “Three Islands”; “auspicious signs” refers to mirages.

Autumn at Mount Ai

Autumn winds sweep across the mountains, and the morning sun disperses the clouds. Golden chrysanthemums carpet the ground, while bright rosy clouds set off the deep green sky.

Climbing high to gaze into the distance, one’s thoughts turn to the coastal hills; in the course of the excursion, one cups a drink of mountain spring water. The great boulders rise steep and perilous, yet remain imposing; the older the cold pines grow, the more steadfast they appear.

The fragrance of flowers fills the rocky slopes, and green grasses stretch along the stream banks. Away from the dusty world, one cultivates the Great Way in seclusion; keeping the heart open and still, one does not become bound to seated meditation.

Ascending high and gazing into the distance, my thoughts soar toward the mountains by the sea. I wander freely among the peaks and drink from mountain springs. Great rocks rise steep and perilous, yet still seem majestic; old pines, though aged, grow ever more resilient.

Flowers among the crags exude a rich fragrance, and the plants along the streams are lush and green. I live in seclusion in the mountains, devoting myself to the Dao. My mind is empty and still, yet I do not sit in meditation until withered.

Contemplating the principle of emptiness and stillness, I can dwell at ease; yet when I encounter beauty before me, there is no harm in pausing to admire it. I wield my brush to set down a state of mind beyond the dusty world, and my name travels far, reaching the edge of the Purple Palace, the Daoist realm of the immortals.

I still feel that I have not fully grasped the secrets of the Queen Mother of the West, the Golden Mother. How could I dare claim to have conveyed the Jade Emperor’s will? I find peace in the world and enjoy its three pleasures; I move through life at ease, surpassing the Seven Worthies, the renowned recluses of the Wei and Jin periods.

I draw in my radiance and ultimately return to simplicity; in dealing with worldly affairs, I follow the conditions as they arise. The butterfly dream, the story of Zhuang Zhou dreaming he was a butterfly, awakens one from a dream spanning the ages. The journey of the spirit is left for a hundred years hence.

In time, everyone will have the good fortune to encounter this Dao. Passed from mouth to ear, it will endure from generation to generation.

The Military Official’s Pear Blossoms

The White Emperor, ruler of the West and autumn, departs from the Golden Palace, while the Azure Dragon, embodiment of the eastern Green Dragon, descends upon the Jade Capital, the Celestial Emperor’s dwelling. The Earth Spirit reveals the mystery within; pear blossoms are naturally endowed with an elegant and graceful beauty.

Moonlight shines through the pear blossoms’ color, making them especially luminous; their fragrance drifts through a place as serene as an immortal’s palace. Ten thousand pear trees, rising and falling in uneven ranks, gleam bright and pure in the deep of night.

The vivid apricot blossoms lose their luster beside them, and the charming peach blossoms must yield their place. Plum blossoms have long since faded from sight; how could willow catkins presume to slight the pear blossoms?

They are best admired in the gentle warmth of the spring breeze, especially on clear and bright days. Visitors look forward to roaming to their hearts’ content, while cultivators rejoice in peace throughout the land.

The pear blossoms remain untouched by dust, flourishing under the constant nurture of rain and dew. Their old traces are remembered west of the city, while north of the mountain they have gained new renown.

Orioles flit through the blossoms, filling the branches with delight; magpies alight on the sparse boughs, seeming to stir them. A Daoist palace stands beside the doors and windows, and an immortal’s chamber lies near the eaves and pillars of the veranda.

The pear blossoms’ graceful forms recall the loveliness of Mount Gushe, the legendary abode of immortals, and faintly resemble the numinous essence of Mount Hua. When the harvest is abundant, the Dharma bridge that guides all beings toward liberation will also be built.

Ascending Daoist Valley Mountain

The spring breeze is mild and warm, and the morning light is gentle; even sunrise seems slow to arrive. Wearing clothes against the cold, I climb the mountain’s winding, rugged path and reach the summit to admire its deep and wondrous scenery.

To the north, the sea tide stretches vast and wide; to the south, mountain ranges and great marshes loom rugged and steep. The eastern wind blows, and the Azure Crow, a legendary spirit bird, flies down; above the western ridge, white clouds hang low.

The spring breeze blows gently, and the weather is warm. In the soft morning sunlight, even the day seems to slow its pace. Dressed for the cold, I climb a winding, perilous mountain path and, from the summit, take in the secluded and wondrous scenery.

The waves of the Northern Sea stretch wide and mighty; among the southern mountains, great lakes lie high, steep, and deep. The east wind stirs, and a blue-black crow flies down; above the western ridges, white clouds hang low.

I gaze into the distance, where the view opens without limit; mist and rosy clouds drift and shimmer. How free the spirit feels, sustained naturally by the cultivation of virtue within.

The scene seems to lie beyond the Scarlet Empyrean—the Daoist celestial heights—and to draw faintly near the Azure River, the blue Milky Way. Why trouble to gather mushrooms and elixirs of immortality? Simply go straight to the realm toward which the immortals’ invitation points.

This concludes volume three of the Collected Works from the Pan Creek.

Collected Works from the Pan Creek, volume four: written by Qiu Chuji, Master Changchun of Qixia. Five-character regulated poems.

“Poem on the Catalpa in Zhan Gu’s Courtyard, Bozhou,” with preface: titled “Poem on the Catalpa in Zhan Gu’s Courtyard, Bozhou,” and accompanied by a preface.

In the Zou family residence south of Liaocheng lived a woman named Zhan Gu, originally from Penglai. She was naturally clever and resourceful, able to weave colored threads into the shapes of crows, fish, insects, flowers, grasses, and many other things. Her creations changed naturally with the forms they depicted. She needed no model to follow; her hands could produce them directly, with a finesse far surpassing nature.

After being widowed in middle age, Zhan Gu became a devout follower of Daoism. For many years, she maintained a hermitage, prepared meals, and welcomed Daoist practitioners from across the region. Later, some dissolute people spread rumors, slandering her chastity. Knowing that the matter would be difficult to clear up, Zhan Gu summoned her relatives and pointed to a dead Chinese catalpa tree in the courtyard. She swore, “The immortals and sages are above us. If I am without any fault, may this tree grow lush and leafy again. If not, then I have broken my oath. I swear I will no longer share this world with you.”

Nearly half a year passed after her oath, but the dead tree showed no sign of coming back to life. People in the village mocked her: “If this tree really does come back to life, it won’t just prove your chastity; we’ll all become rich and honored too.” Zhan Gu heard them as if waking from a spring dream, and paid them no mind.

The catalpa had been planted in the gengzi year of the Dading era, and died soon afterward. After nearly five years of exposure to wind and rain, its trunk had rotted and decayed; by all reason, it could not possibly live again. In the summer of the following year, in the very month when Zhan Gu had prayed, a shoot suddenly emerged from the tree’s roots, shaped like vermilion grass, an auspicious plant of legend. Day by day it grew into branches and thick foliage, gradually spreading around the steps.

When I was first in western Shaanxi, I heard the story many times, but had not seen it myself. In the xinhai year of the Mingchang era, I passed through this prefecture and heard the local people praise the event. Later, I lodged at Zhan Gu’s home and confirmed that it had indeed happened. Six years have now passed since the catalpa revived. It has grown to a height of more than two xun—a traditional measure roughly equal to the span of two outstretched arms—and its foliage is luxuriant, unlike that of ordinary trees. Its branches extend in all directions, twisting and strong, with an extraordinary air of rising into the sky and leaving the mundane world behind.

Master Changchun, the Daoist Quanzhen priest Qiu Chuji, said, “Perfect sincerity can move all things, and luminous virtue can move Heaven. These words describe Zhan Gu. Who can say that the Great Dao is far away? The only concern is that people may fail to cultivate their virtue with perfect sincerity.” He then composed forty characters to record this wondrous response. The final phrase, “written on such-and-such a year, month, and day,” is a conventional way of recording the date of composition.

Outside, people spread rumors and slander me. I pray with a humble heart and ask the gods to bear witness. The roots of the long catalpa have rotted, yet withered plants put forth fresh shoots and flourish anew.

Meng grieved when the yellow bamboo died; Tian Zhen sighed when the purple thorn tree withered. In the past, people heard of their filial devotion and righteousness. Now I, too, make my own loyalty known through them.

Reply to Meng’an Zhen’guo of Guo County

I deeply love this quiet place, like a bird soaring far away, free of its cage. In my leisure, I pass the days composing verse, quietly observing the changes of all things as I stand in the wind.

Leaning on my staff, I wander along the northern foot of South Mountain, then sing to my heart’s content east of the western slope. The many troubles of the dusty world cannot enter this place, where white clouds drift.

Reply to Scholar Li Si of Guo County

The depths of winter are especially clear and serene. The days are short, and time passes swiftly. Alone, I stand beyond the dusty world and compose verse before verdant peaks.

I lean to peer into the mouth of a mountain cave, then open my eyes to gaze at the summit. In the distance, snow blankets the green peaks, spreading a brilliant whiteness that lights the sky.

Visiting the Daoist South of Huaidao Village in Zhongnan and Staying Overnight in the Bamboo Garden

I have come with a heart set on seeking the Dao; our conversation, too, is about feelings far removed from worldly concerns. In this peaceful dwelling, the spirit grows naturally refreshed. Just as I am about to sleep, I wake with a start from a dream.

The Immortal’s courtyard is elegant, its trees like jade beneath the clear moonlight. A Confucian scholar, too, can find delight in a bamboo garden. Why cling to worldly splendor and riches?

In Praise of Master Changsheng

Among my fellow members of the Daoist lineage, I am poorly informed. Who among my fellow practitioners of the Immortal Way could be so fortunate? Master Changsheng is an outstanding recluse in the Donglai region, and he is renowned in Xiluo as well.

Later, he received the teachings of the ancestral tradition and became the last person in official circles to leave lay life; yet he was the first to establish a model of Daoist moral instruction. He understood the power of a child’s cultivation and was therefore grateful for the protection of the sages.

In Praise of Master Yuyang

He is a true Immortal of the former realm, and one of the most perceptive figures in the East. Lofty and free of worldly ways, openhearted and unrestrained, he is unlike ordinary people.

His inner virtue and outward bearing seem to have been bestowed by Heaven. Few in the world can match him in his conduct and bearing. He often senses signs of fortune and misfortune before they appear, and in silence he can communicate with the gods.

Composed for the Taigong Temple at Pan Creek

Here, the scenery opens between heights and depths, and three peaks stand guard through the ages. A road passes through a mist-shrouded cave, slippery and hard to cross; the Taigong Temple lies hidden deep beside the fishing stream.

A spring surges from a rocky hollow, while ancient cypresses rise into the clouds, their shade dense and cool. This place is tranquil and beautiful beyond compare; it truly lifts the heart of one who lives among the hills.

Climbing for a View on a Spring Day

I often set out from the Hall of Azure Clouds and climb high to look back in every direction. The clouds and mist disperse, revealing clear views for a thousand miles; the spring breeze carries the fragrance of a hundred flowers far and wide.

I wish to leave desire and the sorrows of the worldly dust behind, and let my thoughts wander far. A spring ascent to the mountains brings lasting delight. To lean on a staff and climb to a place of secluded beauty is enough to open the heart of a recluse.

A Spring Excursion

I often step out of the Hall of Azure Clouds and wander, looking all around at the world in every direction. The clouds and mist disperse, clearing the view across a thousand miles; the wind passes, scattering the fragrance of a hundred flowers.

I wish to leave desire and the sorrows of the worldly dust behind, and let my thoughts wander far. A spring ascent to the mountains brings lasting delight. After climbing high to gaze into the distance, I sink into a pleasant intoxication and savor the pleasures of a spring outing.

The First Snow

Last night, the rain turned to snow; by morning, the earth had become silver-white. The window is bright, but dawn has not yet come; the countryside is dim, though no dust is blowing.

Golden ripples on the sea appear hazy, while the sky is newly transformed into a vista of jade trees. The snow scene, appearing suddenly before the eyes, is fresh and moving, enough to stir a poet’s desire to sing.

Autumn Rain

Rain has fallen for two nights in a row, and the land in early autumn seems to surge with waves. Heavy clouds hide the sun and moon; rushing rainwater raises the rivers.

The returning geese over the northern frontier seem to carry the sorrow of parting, while the recluse among the green mountains gives voice to song. Since things are so, why not settle in a stone chamber, lie back with a high pillow, and sing of mountain mists and climbing vines?

Leaving the Capital

I have only just left the capital, and already I sing aloud, letting the wild country’s spirit of adventure soar. It is as if a parrot freed from its cage at last reveals its clever grace, or a phoenix spreads its wings in wondrous splendor.

The white horse runs lightly, and the green mountains seem to drift slowly past. Chang’an lies ahead like a brocade painting; I will reach it before long, without a doubt.

Climbing the Western Mountain of Yizhou

Gathering up my robe, I cross barren ground where no grass grows; from the summit, I gaze at distant, minute things. Deep valleys are dark and perilous; mountain ranges rise in overlapping folds, lofty and unbroken.

The stern mountain slopes make me tremble to the bone. Even a long gaze into the distance grows tiring. I laugh at myself, an idle guest with no concern for worldly affairs: how could I compare with the apes scrambling among cassia trees and stone cliffs?

Inscribed on Mount Ai

A dark cloud, cold with chill, hangs high among remote, mist-veiled mountains. The sky seems low, making the sea appear vast; the earth is still, and white clouds drift at ease.

Though the fame of the Five Great Mountains fades in the distance, the Three Divine Mountains—the legendary immortal isles of the sea—seem almost within reach. I often see Qi touch the rocks, then change and rise; sweet dew nourishes the human world.

Gazing Toward Kunlun

Kunlun Mountain was once my place of seclusion. Now I gaze toward it from the southeast, and the view is lovely. Jade-colored peaks stand in rows like mountains rising from the sea; clouds spread across the sky like brocade, drifting down like blossoms.

The mountain’s numinous Qi gathers there, giving rise to three kinds of beautiful sacred beings. My spirit is clear, surpassing even Mount Jiuhua, renowned for its celebrated scenery. Spring snow has just cleared, and everywhere I look I see white snow and vermilion-red hues.

Climbing the Penglai Pavilion

Climb the Penglai Pavilion, open your heart, and gaze into the distance. The clouds drift, and the mountains seem to grow ever higher and farther away. The waters flow into the sea, and the sea itself seems to vanish without a trace.

Look down at the deep pool where dragons dwell, then sideways at the bridge woven by magpies. Why worry that traveling far in search of immortality is so difficult? The celestial realm of Danxiao—the lofty sky where immortals are said to live—seems close at hand.

Gazing at the Sea

The sea’s color seems to swallow the color of the sky, while wind and water mingle in sound. Cloud waves surge, unsettling fish and turtles; thunder rolls as if even ghosts and spirits were shaken.

Waves pound the rocks, and the waters churn among steep cliffs. Yet from afar, the sea stretching ten thousand miles appears broad and calm. There is no one in the world today who can catch the giant ao turtle, so I can only cast down my fishing gear and hope to lure a great whale.

After the Rain Clears at the Mountain Hall

The rain has stopped, and the sun climbs high, bright and clear. Looking out, the mountains spread wide across the view. Raising my voice in song lifts my spirits; gazing into the distance clears my sight.

The eaves glisten after the rain, and the breeze brings a pleasant coolness to the seat beside me. If someone does not share my interests, I will not let him pass through my doorway.

Two Poems on the Moon in the Deep of Night

In the deep of night, the moonlight is bright and cold, and I gaze into the distance alone. Its light reaches down to the vast sea, turning the water white; above, it fills the sky, making the boundless Great Void seem clear and pure.

The moon rises with force, leaving the Three Islands—the legendary mountains of immortals in the sea—to roam through the heavens and illuminate ten thousand cities. How many people live in those cities, yet all sleep deeply, unaware.

In the deep of night, the moonlight is bright and cold, and I admire the moon alone. The Dipper at the edge of the sky looks dim, and the various baleful spirits of the earth seem stirred as well.

I glimpse the faint outline of a wild crane, as if dragons were coiling and soaring in a chorus of cries. Even on an ordinary full-moon night, the moon has never seemed so clear.

Caught in the Rain While Driving Horses in Early Winter

In the tenth month, rain pours down; by the third watch of the night, it rushes in torrents. Floating clouds join the hills along the coast, and swift currents flood the mountain town.

The wilderness is dark, the wind fierce and the waves surging. The road is deep with mud and difficult to travel. A traveler rides on through the night, until dawn.

First Snow

The tenth month is nearly over when snowflakes suddenly begin to fall. Driven by fierce gusts, they whirl and scatter in every direction, falling especially softly through the night.

The mountains and rivers seem veiled by a pale screen, and the stars have lost their jewel-like gleam. By dawn, the sky is clear and bright; snow reflected in the rosy clouds shines in dazzling splendor.

Mountains and rivers resemble elegant screens and curtains, while the stars have lost their pearly brilliance. The morning sky is clear and bright, as though reaching straight into the clouds; silvery clouds glow dazzlingly.

Spring Outing

A spring breeze brings warmth through the night. The sun rises high in the sky, shining brightly. The mountains everywhere seem draped in brocade, and not a patch of earth is without flowers.

Those in Golden Valley (a place name, often referring to a famous garden in Luoyang) are filled with emotion, while it is easy to lose one’s way on the road to Peach Blossom Spring (the legendary ideal realm). Looking back, everything seems like a dream. Tell these feelings to a Daoist practitioner.

Two Poems on Spring Rain at Night

The mountains still appear cool and distant, and spring has yet to fully unfold. A fine rain quietly moistens all things; a gentle breeze stirs without bringing a chill.

The weather grows warmer in the third lunar month, and the flowers renew themselves one after another. Lying at night in the quiet of a pavilion window, the poet leisurely recites the sight of spring arriving in the world.

Why has spring come so late? Even at Qingming, no blossoms are yet to be seen. Open the window to admire the verdant bamboo; brush aside the earth in search of yellow shoots (newly sprouted buds).

Night rain falls softly, and the mild spring breeze gradually begins to blow. The third lunar month is drawing to a close, and peach and plum blossoms spread across the land.

Cloud Peak

At the height of summer, the heat hangs heavy among a thousand mountains.