《纯阳真人浑成集》

In ancient times, writers seldom strove deliberately for literary fame. Their words therefore arose from sincerity, and their writings could preserve what was fundamental. Later generations sought reputation on purpose, so writing easily outran genuine feeling, and ornate diction overwhelmed original intent. The root of writing comes from what is natural, while florid language comes from human arrangement. The natural accords with Heaven; artificial embellishment admits human cunning. The intentions expressed in writings differ in depth, and they can be distinguished without much explanation.

The sun and moon are bright, and the Milky Way shines in splendor; mountains and rivers gather together, while grasses and trees spread across the land. Looking upward to observe and downward to examine, one finds the myriad phenomena of heaven and earth displayed in abundance. These are the patterned elegance of Heaven and the ordered structure of Earth. In the movements and transformations of heaven and earth, what is there that has been deliberately arranged? Heaven and earth do not speak, yet the myriad things grow; they add no artifice, yet the myriad things change. All of this occurs of itself.

My ancestral master, the Perfected Elder Lü Chunyang (Lü Dongbin, a patriarch revered by the Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] school of Daoism), possessed learning that joined Heaven and humanity and grasped the hidden workings of creative transformation. When he opened his mouth, writing took form; when he set brush to paper, whole pieces were complete. This did not come from deliberate reflection or clever calculation, but from the natural outflow of an innate spiritual capacity, so abundant that nothing could hold it back.

When he exhorted and transformed people, he taught according to the person and the place. His language was plain, yet his principles were profound. Reading him, one suddenly understands; the mind grows easeful, and insight opens into clear comprehension. He makes the greedy become upright and the harsh become sincere and generous, and he stirs in people the resolve to leave worldly dust behind. When he wrote of the slaying sword, he used concrete things to illuminate principle, with a bold spirit and an expansive mind. Reading these pieces, one’s doubts disperse and the heart and spirit grow lucid, as if dust had been brushed away and a hidden luster polished forth, and one lightly conceives the thought of rising aloft into the void.

The Immortal Elder passed into the realm of spirit and entered sagehood, his transformations without end. His writings are scattered through the human world, and I fear they cannot all be gathered. From my collection I found more than two hundred of his poems and prose pieces, arranged them in two volumes, and entitled the work Huncheng ji, the Collection of Natural Wholeness, because these writings are complete of themselves and are not something human contrivance can attain. Those charged with affairs at Chunyang Palace discussed having the text carved and printed, so that it might circulate widely and be shared with readers everywhere, and they asked me to write a preface. Unable to decline, I have briefly set forth the general purport of the book.

Here and there a word or two may well be suspected of copyist’s error. How would I dare alter them according to my own judgment? Where doubt remains, I leave the doubt as it stands, awaiting a person of thorough understanding to examine and correct it. If, alas, one can seek the author’s intention in these poems, come from that intention to know his conduct, and follow his conduct toward an embodied understanding of the sage’s Dao (the Way), that will be nearly enough. For this I place my hopes upon readers of talent and learning.

On the fifteenth day of the intercalary tenth month of the qing-xinhai year, He Zhiyuan, the Qingzhen Daoist of Tiaoyang, knocks his head and bows twice, respectfully composing this preface.

“Exhortations to the World”: Twenty-Nine Regulated Poems in Seven-Character Lines

A person must not cling with craving to the clamor and turmoil of the dusty world. Within this illusory, ever-changing body there originally exists a “dharma-body” that does not perish along with the physical form—the pure nature of which cultivators speak. Do not merely show off talent in the breast; treasure the mind and Shen (spirit) all the more, and do not let it scatter and wear itself out among external things.

Turn the heart and redirect the will, and go seek the immortals; if one goes on being lost, it is hard to escape the entanglements of worldly kinship. This warns those who are clever and valiant: do not lose the original true nature.

Many times I have ridden a whale out to roam Lake Dongting; who would know that I am someone free and unfettered, weary of the dusty world? In a realm like the first opening of primordial chaos, ten thousand golden lotuses bloom in splendor; a single moon of the heart shines upon emptiness.

I do not seek to dwell myself in palaces of gold; I wish only that everyone might live in an immortal realm like a pot of white jade. Hiding a green serpent in my sleeve, I return, and to the sound of the phoenix flute I step into the celestial palace.

The stars and the Dipper shine bright, their radiance like patterned writing; the body follows idle clouds and leaves the imperial homeland. Beyond the world a single Golden Elixir is refined, and in a mood of drunkenness a hundred poems are written. Within the pot-heaven there is of itself a realm of everlasting spring through all four seasons, and on the sea islands there are halls that know no distinction of day and night. Treading the road beyond the blue empyrean and the clouds, one stands proud above the ninefold heavens, surpassing Xi Huang (Fuxi, the legendary sovereign of high antiquity).

Tall trees spread a dense shade, set off against the evening glow; the scenic places of famous mountains all seem the dwellings of those who cultivate the Dao (the Way). From cold ashes the cauldron kindles its flame anew; after the withered tree returns to its root, it blossoms once more. The rise and fall of the human world come at last to an end, yet the years within the jade palace (the palace of the immortals) have no bound. The wind of heaven stirs the pendants worn on the body, sounding clear and resonant; riding a carriage of the purple phoenix, one comes and goes in flight.

People of the world do not understand that worldly conditions are empty and false; they only clamor in stubborn folly, and in the end leave the mountain of treasures empty-handed. Glossy black hair gradually turns white, and the countenance of youth grows old in the blink of an eye. One ought to pursue the lasting Dao with a single true heart. A person’s body and mind are only the temporarily assembled “four provisionals” (the account, in Buddhist and Daoist texts, of the body as a temporary conjunction of earth, water, fire, wind, and the like); where is there even one day of true leisure? Those wishes to raise pillars, inscribe bridges, and resolve upon deeds of merit may in the end also trap a person within the cycle of birth and death.

The Daoist amid the cloudy mountains is at ease and unhurried; the dusty turmoil outside his gate has nothing to do with him. Mind is transmitted by mind, as if moonlight were sent a thousand li away; on his head he wears the crown of the Five Marchmounts and Seven Stars (a Daoist cap adorned with symbols of the sacred mountains and the stars). He opens the Jing (scripture/classic), burns incense, and recites what has been secretly transmitted; finding no one who understands his music, he plays the qin facing his own shadow. Far off a white crane flies away; beside the elixir furnace the vermilion top of the vessel stirs slightly, as if a single purple-gold elixir were about to fly forth from the furnace.

The “mind-seal” is the method of the Dao transmitted from mind to mind; the “purple-gold elixir” refers to the Neidan (internal alchemy) obtained through cultivation. The two characters “xu gan” at the end, together with the verses repeated after them, are interpreted here according to the text as it now stands.

One opens the classics, burns incense, and recites them; yet those who truly understand are few, and one can only play the qin to one’s own shadow. The crane has flown far off, and the red-crested elixir crane beside the medicine furnace seems to stir, so that one wonders whether it means to carry the purple-gold elixir away in flight.

The vast void is boundless and without limit; only the light of Shen (spirit) can pass up and down through it. A single flash of the poet’s inspiration is like a cosmic pattern newly raised; the five thousand words of the Daodejing (the Classic of the Dao, the Way, and of De, Virtue/Power) carry on an ancient family tradition.

When bewildered, one may well inquire into the affairs of the human world; once awakened, one ought to cultivate the work of rising free of worldly dust. Wings spread to meet the wind—this is just the moment to return. Do not lightly let yourself be shut inside the cage of the ordinary.

In solemn, far-reaching majesty there is a descent upon the court of heaven, yet what meets the eye is a scene that leaves one worn and gaunt, and the grief of it is real. Deep in the Camp of Slender Willows, mosquitoes swarm in ranks; the surface of the Yangtze spreads vast, and towers conjured by mirage vapors lie stretched across it.

Wine-banners toss as if turned into the flags of war; the sounds of xiao and drum rise, and again it is as if battle drums were urging men on. The world holds countless people contending for fame and profit—how many of them can truly behold clarity, peace, and quiet?

Dwelling within the vermilion gates of rank and power, one must not long idle the days away. The gain so far in hand is still not much, yet the harm already drawn down is considerable. Do not let a sharp edge become a sword that wounds others; one ought to calm the mind and bring strife to rest.

The bee sets its whole heart on gathering flowers to make honey; the silkworm, having spun out all its silk, dies—and who will weave its cocoon into fine gauze on its behalf? To covet wealth and rank by unrighteous gain is in the end no more than floating cloud. How long can it last?

Once one sees through the hardships and the open passages of a life, both as if arranged by the Maker of things, one can set aside selfish desire and dwell at ease in oneself. Perfect radiance shines on the moonlight among the thousand peaks above and below; a numinous form ranges freely among the Mountains of the Seven Treasures.

It is as if one could gather heaven and earth in the palm, turn the sun and moon, and shake the gate of heaven. The teeming multitude bustles in turmoil and never has the chance to see; only a single Mysterious Pearl—symbol of inner luminous clarity, or of the true nature of the Dao—lights the world for those who would inquire of it.

After waking, every turn of the yellow-millet dream returns to emptiness, and upon the misty waves the mirage towers are nowhere to be seen. Through three thousand days of refining and nurturing lead and mercury—terms of Neidan (internal alchemy) for the transmutation of Yin-Yang Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy)—one at last passes beyond the transformations of Yin and Yang, as if attaining the length of eight hundred autumns.

A treasured sword hangs south of the Dipper mansion and north of the star Kui; its sword-qi shoots beyond heaven and skims the moon. As it comes, it is like a bright mirror without flaw, hung high in the blue sky, unwilling to draw in its light.

Yin and Yang interweave in change and hold the authority of creation, yet the human heart is often left without peace because of this. The river of stars all at once becomes a river of cloud; a day of snow at times turns again into a day of rain.

Ice and snow melt, and kingfishers take the warmth to drift and float; plum blossoms open to meet the cold, vying in beauty. Alas for this scene of beauty like everlasting spring—who can bring it into the human world?

The road through the clouds is distant and long, and the messenger travels riding a crane. The fine lines that are chanted are fresh and free of worldly taint, leaving mind and spirit lucid and clear. The soul and savor of the plum blossoms seem quietly carried off by the wind, while the shadows of the bamboo appear only because the moonlight shines upon them.

The beauty of mountains and waters is appreciated only by the humane; mellow wine best suits the wishes of the elderly. With whom can one grow drunk together and escape the constraints of military service and the net of the law? One wanders freely through gardens and groves, enjoying days of peace.

One still remembers descending that year upon the wind from the place of halcyon splendor, when dense fragrant clouds veiled the dragon carriage. There had been a promise to meet in the garden where immortals gather, yet afterward one lay drunk in the home of a recluse in the mountains.

The story of Zhuang Zhou dreaming of the butterfly is indeed rich in meaning; the perplexity of the prime minister of Zheng, who dreamed that he himself had become a deer, moves one to sigh still more. Who can grasp this mysterious purport? Better to boat together upon the Milky Way and roam through the moonlit night.

Do not forget to nurture the source of spiritual nature and leave descendants; preserve the root of life, so that life may return to its origin. When withdrawing into seclusion to cultivate the self, do not summon singing girls; remain plain and simple, and do not drink with unrestrained pleasure.

The purple phoenix has not yet mounted the carriage of the heavenly court to return to the Crimson Towers (the red palace gates, referring to the realm of the immortals); the black robes have already been laid aside, and one has left the vermilion gate. May you not covet the stipends of a starving people, but follow me in repaying the grace of the Jade Emperor.

The merit accumulated in a former life can already be seen in this present life; the karmic causes and conditions of a life to come can likewise be seen in the circumstances before one’s eyes. Only one who remains wise through all three lifetimes is fit to hold office; only one who passes through five lifetimes without losing the original mind may truly be called an official.

Do not deliberately plant thorns in the ground of the heart, nor loose weapons of war to harm the common people. Take up the blade of wisdom and return to original truth; then one need no longer hurry about amid warfare, hunger, and cold.

Half awake and half drunk, one leaves the capital. Rivers and mountains lie in gloom, and the sky has not yet cleared. The rain of the Dharma (in Buddhist and Daoist teaching, the moisture of the Dharma that nourishes all beings) falls for a time together with the unbroken rains, and the clouds of compassion rise at ease beside the evening clouds.

The sorrows of the human world have already dispersed, and the dust gradually settles; the mystery beyond this world nourishes the power of the Dao (the Way) and brings it to flourishing. As the power of the Dao grows and flourishes, the vexations of the dusty world have also been stilled; within the Numinous Terrace (the inner heart), one rejoices that all under Heaven is clear and at peace.

The De (Virtue/Power) of the sage is not something the feelings of ordinary people can match. To wave a light fishing rod toward the heart of the sea is nothing but vain effort. Fragrant bait hangs from a single silken line, and he sits upon the fishing rock of the Seven-li Rapids.

The bright moon fills the sky and casts a ruddy light on the banks thick with smartweed; a clear breeze blows, and the one wrapped in a green straw cape has both sleeves empty. The night is deep and the water cold; the fish do not take the hook. Laughing, he points to the Yangtze and sighs that the way of the world has declined.

The sun and the moon rise in the east and set in the west; in the blink of an eye a hundred years, a thousand years, have already passed. Do not chase the shadowed head of the rapids and sit upon the fishing rock.

The bright moon fills the sky and casts a red glow on the cold, lonely shore. A clear breeze blows; wearing a green coir raincoat, my sleeves flutter freely. The night is deep and the water cold, and the fish will not take the hook. Smiling, I point toward the Yangtze and sigh that time is drawing to a close and the affairs of the world are in decline.

The sun and the moon rise and set in turn, and the years, in the blink of an eye, have already passed by the hundreds and thousands. Do not follow the yin-demons—the yin-evil Qi (vital energy) that disturbs the mind and spirit and hinders cultivation—lest one deplete the jade mercury, a symbolic term in the practice of Neidan (internal alchemy). One should apply oneself with care and, by means of the elixir cauldron—the vessel for refining the elixir, which also symbolizes cultivation—smelt and transform the golden lead.

The fear is only that people awaken too late amid the dust of the world. Cultivating the Dao (the Way) should begin early; one ought first to set to work beyond the secular realm. If one can break through this bondage of the void, one may flick one’s sleeves and depart, ascending into the cloudy heavens.

The clear and pure spiritual source—the innate root of spiritual nature—has never been stained by so much as a speck of dust. It is radiantly bright, like the bright moon, and leisurely and free, like white clouds.

Break through the cages and nets between heaven and earth, and leap beyond the pass of Yin-Yang transformation. If someone in the ordinary world should chance to awaken to the Dao, one need only turn and look within the heart, and the homeland is before one’s eyes.

True nature—one’s original and genuine heavenly nature—is free from the beginning; do not let human feelings and worldly affairs bind it by force. Disputes of right and wrong surge like waves, so one should speak little; set in the arena of fame and profit, it is best to draw back and yield.

After awakening to the Dao, turn and look within the heart, and the homeland is before one’s eyes.

True nature is free from the beginning; do not let human feelings and worldly affairs bind it by force. Disputes of right and wrong surge like waves, so one should speak little; set in the arena of fame and profit, it is best to draw back and yield.

Wife and kindred, enemies and old grudges, are all settled, and facing the path of life and death one can let it go in peace. Thus one sits at ease among mountains screened by green pines, watching the last blossoms drift away with the water.

A single pellet of the Golden Elixir, after long cooking and refining, is at last completed. Its light shines high upon Kunlun—in the Daoist art of Neidan, often the head or another important site of cultivation—bright and dazzling. The benevolent cauldron—the tripod-furnace used in refining the elixir, and also the inner furnace of cultivation—naturally subdues the dragon and tiger, metaphors in Neidan for Yin-Yang and for the powers of body and mind. When the furnace is opened, even ghosts and spirits seem astonished.

So large is it that, holding heaven and earth, it still finds them narrow; so small that, entering a mote of dust, it does not appear full. Dull stone, once transmuted, can become gold; if a person succeeds in cultivation, how could long life be beyond reach?

After the Longquan sword was forged, no one knows how many years have passed. It guards and upholds dharma-nature—the pure nature one originally possesses—keeping it whole and unlost. Divine light shoots from the sword case, illuminating the sun and moon; a cold, clear flame rushes straight into the clouds and shines through Dou and Niu, the names of constellations.

When the sword is held, the ten directions and the three realms—the worlds of every quarter, together with the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm—all return to purity. When the sword is brandished, monsters and demonic obstructions of every kind are without exception afraid. This sword comes by command of the celestial capital, the capital city of the heavenly realm, and is bestowed upon persons of resolve in the human world.

Before Yellow Crane Tower, the family of Lü takes heaven and earth as a gourd and keeps company with clouds and roseate mists. A formless white deer drives a vermilion phoenix; a tortoise twines about a red snake. In the sixth month snow flies from the mountaintop, yet in the depth of winter yellow sprouts grow beneath the water. If everyone could recognize these principles, immortals of the land would be as numerous as the crowds in a bustling market.

The scenes before the eyes differ in a thousand ways, yet within the breast there remains a single point of pure stillness and calm. Once one truly understands the principle in this, the state of mind becomes as clear and bright as the moon of Chan; since one has already come to the treasure mountain, one must not return empty-handed.

Broad sleeves brush away the obstacles of vexation, and straw sandals step across the pass of life and death. Since the decisive move was settled long ago, one will no longer be pushed about or made sport of by the transformations of Yin-Yang.

Mists and roseate clouds drift faintly, and the palaces of the immortals can just be glimpsed; a surging flood of vast, upright Qi (vital energy) rises and fills the sky. On pure lotus leaves there seems reflected a bright moon from the Milky Way; the great peng beats its wings and strives across ten thousand li, while long winds roll mightily between sea and mountain.

The light of spiritual clarity shines back beyond the realm of the Prior Heaven, and the perfectly integrated form (a complete and whole image) is embraced within the Great Dao (the Way). Lord Baiyuan (the name of a Daoist immortal) is moreover close at hand, yet the people of the world bustle and clamor, unable to grasp the deep meaning within.

When pressing forward, do not covet wealth that runs counter to what is right; when drawing back to hold one’s ground, recognize the true nature that is originally one’s own. Practice goodness and compassion, and simply accumulate boundless merit and virtue; lessen desire, and do not injure the limited body.

Jet-black hair at the temples will in the end be streaked with white, and those who dwell in the red dust will find it hard to meet with youth again. If you can thoroughly awaken to these words that seem wild and unrestrained, you can become a person free and at ease, transcending the ordinary world.

Among the Daoists of Mount Luofu, who can share my aspirations and tastes? I wear coarse cloth and take grasses and trees for food, and I look lightly upon the wealth and rank of princes and lords. The changing years of the human world cannot restrain me; within the pot there is a heaven and earth of its own, and I seek only to be free and unfettered.

I play out the remaining game until the moon sets by the river and the sky grows bright; one long whistle echoes amid the autumn colors of sea and mountain. When the wine is drunk dry, I turn and speak of the road home, pointing far off toward the white clouds at the edge of the sky.

Heaven’s net is high and remote, and the myriad things grow sparse and scattered; when a single pine falls, Mount Hua too seems withered and still. After the cold clouds disperse, only a crescent of waning moon remains; when snow flies in the twelfth month, one’s figure turns toward the vast emptiness of the Grand Void.

The dragons and serpents of the grotto-heavens in the ten directions all return to the Purple Prefecture (the abode of immortals as spoken of in Daoism), and the luan and feng of a thousand years alight upon Mount Cangwu. Ever since parting from the master, between south and north, east and west, there have been few who are truly possessed of resolve.

Five-Character Regulated Verse

In the deep of night, when all is still, I fish alone upon the cold river; I draw in the line, and ripples gather layer upon layer on the water. Alas, the fragrant bait is too little: one can only look on as the brocade fish are many, yet they are hard to catch.

I wish to turn the boat and depart, only because on both the east and the west there are few who share the same aim.

Five-Character Regulated Verse

In the deep of night, when all is still, I fish alone upon the cold river; I draw in the line, and ripples gather layer upon layer on the water. Alas, the fragrant bait is too little: one can only look on as the brocade fish are many, yet they are hard to catch.

I wish to turn the boat and depart, because chasing external conditions and moving as those conditions move will in the end yield little. I linger beneath the bright moon, and in vain I prove unworthy of the old fisherman’s straw raincoat.

To cultivate the true Dao (the Way), one must follow the laws by which Heaven and Earth bring things into being. The Azure Dragon swallows purple cloud-Qi (vital energy), and the White Tiger breathes out green mist; pure white primordial Qi rises through the Three Realms, and sunlight shines all the way to the Nine Springs. Once a single Golden Elixir (Jindan) is refined, one can return to the original state before life had yet been born.

Do not covet glory and wealth, nor cling to the wish to serve as prime minister or high official; among mountain forests and springs, there is everywhere a place to withdraw and cultivate oneself. Do you know that those who once fled the tyranny of the Qin have now become the inhabitants of the Peach Blossom Grotto?

People hurry about the gates of the powerful in search of profit, exhausting every scheme and laboring at their designs; when they arrive they gather like floating bubbles, and when they depart they scatter like waves. Even if one becomes a chief minister in the Jade Hall, who today can still be counted a Xiao He of the Han (the renowned chancellor of the early Han)?

Cutting away and exhausting the spiritual root damages one’s original nature; even with a skeleton wrapped beneath the skin of the face, one still hopes for a radiant spirit. When people meet, they all say they will go seeking immortality—yet who has truly seen the immortals on the isle of Penglai?

Gather in the true Jing (essence) and nurture it into the Elixir; with nothing weighing on the heart, one is naturally clear, still, and at ease. When practice succeeds and merit is complete, and the time comes to depart, a purple phoenix arrives in the human world with a letter in its beak.

The Yin Qi of grasses and trees disperses, and earth-thunder (the sound symbolizing the stirring of Yang Qi, the Yang of Yin-Yang) resounds; the stars and the Dipper lie aslant, and the night sky stretches vast for ten thousand li. Awaken the Qi of pure Yang and return it to its proper place; though it is clearly still before noon, one just then hears the drum of the third watch.

The human body lasts a single lifetime, yet cultivation must pass through ten thousand kalpas—why worry endlessly over household affairs? In the end the family estate is left for children and grandchildren to manage; why willingly toil on like an ox or a horse?

The dragon is weary and no longer roars with vigor; the tiger too is weary and no longer bellows, yet the general has still not removed his campaign robe and armor. A fierce wind sweeps the ground and comes overturning the heavens; Heaven and Earth shake, and a Qi of slaughter spreads all around.

Break through the void; the moment the true realm is seen, seize it at once. Once it is grasped, take it as the root of cultivation. Do not pursue only the way of facing the wall, closing the eyes, and sitting in stillness with the head covered, or you will be laughed at by the Patriarch Who Came from the West (Bodhidharma, who in Chan legend came to China from the West).

Do not boast of the romantic ease of your youth; even a strong body will in the end decay. If you do not believe it, look in the mirror: beneath the skin of the face there is nothing but a skeleton.

Draw back the heart that covets wealth and turn instead toward seeking the true Dao; withdraw the gaze that clings to beautiful form and turn instead toward the Peach Blossom Spring of Wuling (a symbol of a pure place of reclusion). When climbing the immortals’ cassia, remove the jade ornaments from the wrist; when treading the clouds, also undo the bonds of feeling that tie the heart.

The suffering common people have long been caught in the chaos of war; merely frowning and sighing cannot change their plight.

The suffering people have long been sunk deep in the chaos of war; merely frowning and sighing does no good. Not far ahead there has all along been a place of peace and security—what is to be feared is only that the human heart cannot be clear, quiet, and calm.

Be as still and unmoving as a wooden carving or a clay statue, and do not let the mind be stained by even a speck of dust. Persist in silence and stillness without breaking off; only a realization of cultivation like this accords with the Dao (the Way) of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection).

Do not inquire into the world’s tangled strife and contention. Across from the dust and clamor of the marketplace lies the pure realm of cloud and mountain. So long as there is not the slightest obstruction in the heart, one can taste a leisure like that of the hutian (the immortal realm of which Daoism speaks).

Officials who meet with hardship are buried in obscurity, even if they are like Xiao He; writings that surpass those of Cao Zhi are equally a cause for sorrow. Thinking carefully about this desolate and disordered age, it is on the whole better to withdraw and return home.

I revere this worthy white-haired elder. He is kind and courteous, refined and yet plain. Why not invite him to ride the wind and depart? He is fit to keep company with the clouded mountains and to be master among the hills.

The clothing, food, blessings, and emoluments of sons and grandsons should be sought by the sons and grandsons themselves. If one greedily forces the matter and insists on pushing oneself forward, it is only wasted effort. When troubles arrive, the years and months are spent, and one rails against Heaven and blames others, the level ground before one’s eyes may already have become a barren mound.

To rest content in pure poverty and to dwell in a low place is no disgrace; to occupy a high position and enjoy a moment of glory does not count as true strength and flourishing either. Consider the days when all under Heaven is at peace and nothing occurs—when that time comes, who gains and who loses, who remains and who perishes, and who can say for certain?

Abstaining from Wine

One must abstain from wine; one must abstain from wine. Only then can one long preserve that single point of primordial radiance (a person’s primordial Qi [vital energy] and spiritual clarity). In cool clarity and transcendence one flies up to Yujing Peak (a mountain of the immortal realm in Daoism), and between Heaven and Earth the jade nectar will brew of itself.

Abstaining from Lust

One must cut off sexual desire. The moment a lustful mind arises, the primordial Shen (spirit)—the root source of a person’s spirit—disperses. If one can maintain purity and stillness, body and mind will naturally become like the clear and bright realm within the jade hall, and the spirit will be pure, like a thousand zhang of white snow.

Abstaining from Wine

One must abstain from wine; one must abstain from wine. Only then can one long preserve that single point of primordial radiance. In cool clarity and transcendence one flies up to Yujing Peak, and between Heaven and Earth the jade nectar will brew of itself.

Abstaining from Lust

One must cut off sexual desire; one must cut off sexual desire. Only then can one avoid the stirring of a lustful mind and the dispersal of the primordial spirit. In this way body and mind are naturally clear, bright, and pure, like the realm within the jade hall, and the spirit is white and clean like a thousand zhang of snow.

Abstaining from Wealth

One must cut off greed for money and goods, and not bring suffering upon the people of the world by coveting wealth. Within one’s own grove of the seven treasures and fine jade (a metaphor for precious inner cultivation), there is of itself a jade terrace built by the True Person.

Abstaining from Anger

One must cut off willful temper and anger; one need only nurture in a soft, continuous, and unbroken way, and must not let the work fall into neglect. There will come a day when the inner primordial spirit is full and manifest, flies up into the blue empyrean, and has audience with the Jade Emperor.

Abstaining from Sorrow

One must cut off worry and sorrow. When will craving for fame and profit ever cease? How long can glory, wealth, and rank be maintained? When the span of life reaches its end, how can one keep them?

Heart-Sword

I have a Longquan sword, a legendary treasured blade, hidden in its case. It can make the liver and gallbladder clear and pure, and the spirit bright and vigorous. Once it is lifted from the Central Palace—in Neidan (internal alchemy), the central region of the body—the demons of grass and wood for ten thousand li dare not resist.

Heart-Seal

The mind-seal, the principle realized or verified in the heart, is cool, bright, and perfectly still; this is its original state. When affairs arise, it can adapt to circumstances, turning freely with each person and each situation. Once this verification is settled, one knows that there is no fixed, unchanging “self” within it. This life is just like a return to the time before birth.

Heart-Mirror

The mind-mirror hangs long and high upon the Spirit Terrace, the dwelling place of heart and spirit. It need not be polished; of itself it reflects the myriad things. Let dust and grime settle on it; there is no need to hurry and blow them away. If the dust is blown off, what then remains to be reflected?

Heart-Lamp

A single mind-lamp burns bright. Without being trimmed, it is naturally clear through and through. To gain it is to shine through and break the darkness of the human world, alone sending forth a cool radiance that fills the Taiqing, the pure, empty, and lofty celestial realm.

Heart-Moon

A single mind-moon draws near the celestial court, its radiance especially pure and clear. A few idle clouds can hardly hide it. It reaches through heaven and earth and naturally comes to perfect fulfillment.

Mind-Ground

The mind-ground need not be tilled with toil; in quiet stillness the sprout of the Dao (the Way) grows of itself. I fill the mind-ground solid, leaving no ditches or ravines, and so rest securely, at ease and level.

The Most Mysterious Radiance

Six years of cultivation on the snowy ridge—for what? Because the resolve was firm, harmonizing Qi (vital energy) and Shen (spirit). Within a hundred ke, an ancient unit of time, all can be condensed into a single breath. Only then does one understand that the Great Dao manifests the Three Vehicles, methods of cultivation at different levels.

The Jade Emperor sent me to teach ordinary, deluded people, so that living beings everywhere would no longer grow distant from the Great Dao. The four seasons secretly steal away the essential vitality of the body, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water)—the five basic elements that constitute all things—plainly wear down a person’s Jing (essence) and Qi. Year after year one clings to fame and profit; day after day one disputes right and wrong. Turn back toward the Three Islands, the legendary sea-mountains where immortals dwell, and there is no need to wait for the Supreme Lord to send down a celestial tally, the mandate-token of the Celestial Emperor.

Ninefold cooking and refining refine only this one cinnabar. When the fire-phases arrive of themselves, it is like a flower opening. The essential brilliance of the stars is refined into an elixir-pearl like a blue lotus; the essential brilliance of sun and moon is then gathered into it, nurturing a numinous sprout like a white horse. After seven reversions it becomes emerald mist; after nine returns it breathes out crimson clouds. If someone seizes and swallows the Mysterious Pearl, the precious numinous thing that symbolizes Neidan, the road to the Three Islands is not far.

The Jade Maiden of the West, a deity in the imagery of Daoist alchemy, gives birth to a golden sprout. This is originally the fire of Heaven and Earth refining of itself. The Water Tiger lies crouched in disordered clouds at the foot of the mountain, while the Fire Dragon shines in the sea, harmonizing and circulating.

When the yang hun (the yang aspect of the hun and po souls) is flourishing, the Dao (the Way) of Heaven is by no means beyond reach.

The Jade Maiden of the West (symbolizing the yin partner in alchemy) conceives the golden sprout; this is in fact refined of itself by the fire of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth). The water tiger crouches beneath the mountain, stirring the clouds of Qi (vital energy); the fire dragon harmonizes within the sea and gives off a radiant glow.

When the yang hun is vigorous, the Dao of Heaven is not far off; once the yin po enters into union, the earth is no longer distant either. When one’s practice reaches fulfillment, five-colored radiance appears of itself, and one may ride a luan bird and soar freely beyond the clouds.

A single inborn form of Jing (essence) and Qi transforms into the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity). Yin-Yang interact and congeal into the sacred embryo—the Neidan (internal alchemy) formed in cultivation. When dragon and tiger proceed in the forward course, yin ghosts withdraw; when tortoise and snake move in reverse, the fire dragon appears.

The infant unites with the marrow of yellow gold, and the old woman (symbolizing the yin partner in alchemy) time and again pours the white jade cup. When practice is complete, one naturally withdraws beyond the dusty world; the alternation of cold and heat in the world may come and go as it will.

The stars gather and enter the position of Li (the Li trigram of the Bagua, the Eight Trigrams, associated with Fire); the waxing and waning of sun and moon help bring the Medicine King (referring to Neidan) to completion. The fire of the three phases (the three stages of alchemical firing) smelts the treasure in the golden cauldron, and the water of the five talismans is refined into the liquid in the jade pot.

Qian and Kun circulate in reverse, like a dragon in motion bringing rain; Mao and You (corresponding to east and west, and also the yin and yang orientations in alchemy) meet and engulf one another, and the White Tiger gives forth light. When one enters the chamber to cultivate, one applies the formula of the method and seizes it, and a single pellet of elixir marrow is refined into a medicine of pure yang.

The numinous Qi of the Bagua communicate with one another, and Kan and Li (the Kan and Li trigrams of the Bagua, symbolizing water and fire) come together; when Zhen and Dui (the Zhen and Dui trigrams of the Bagua) conjoin, the Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth unite as well. At the start of gathering and refining, one must take it in good time; once the refining has matured, one must not delay.

Nurtured in the mother’s womb for eighty-one years, this is done so as to complete the pure-yang practice of nine times nine. In broad daylight one mounts the clouds and ascends to the upper realm, and to this day still roams and rests in the Purple Tenuity Palace (a palace of the celestial realm).

The four images within the pot (four symbolic forces in alchemy) appear of themselves. People know only that, from among the common folk, it becomes a sovereign for all ages. Although arms and armor are deployed to pacify the world, the two orbs of sun and moon still, day after day, mount the clouds and ascend, and to this day roam in the Purple Tenuity Palace; the four images within the pot appear of themselves, and people know only that, from among the common folk, it becomes a sovereign for all ages. Although arms and armor are deployed to pacify all under Heaven, the two orbs of sun and moon still come and go without cease.

Why should one need to mobilize armies and stir the multitudes in order to pacify Heaven and Earth? The portals of north and south in the end communicate. What is employed here is nothing other than dragon and tiger, and the divine light of the eight directions is clear and penetrating.

Every thing must arise from the One. True gold meets and joins, each with the other. Where the yang hun is wholly spent, yin Qi must also disperse, giving rise to the essential brilliance of Qian and Kun and of the sun and moon.

The Five Phases (Wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) must be matched as husband and wife—the man of Kan and the woman of Li (Kan and Li symbolizing yin and yang, male and female)—and few understand the principle within. If the two forms conjoin and respond to one another, they can restore the aged Bing fire to vigorous strength once more.

Each year brings different methods of shedding the embryo and transforming the bones, and dragon and tiger must be cooked and refined at the center. Completing the practice takes only three thousand days: the blood then takes on the luster of fine jade, and the marrow becomes as white as frost and snow.

The quintessence of the Five Phases (wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) is entirely contained in the “Center.” The stages of firing must be arranged in sequence while one waits for the fire to refine. Only after one has waited until “Water” returns to the Spirit Chamber—the place in Neidan (internal alchemy) where Shen (spirit) is stored and nurtured—can one rise straight from level ground to the blue heavens, an image of the ascent of the realm of cultivation.

The North belongs to Kan and symbolizes Water; the South belongs to Li and symbolizes Fire. The East belongs to Zhen, symbolizing Wood, and also represents the first sprout of life coming forth. In cultivation one must wait for Bing Fire, a term for Yang fire, to come and lead the way, so that within the furnace and cauldron—a metaphor of Neidan practice—the Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang meets and contends.

The Four Images, which usually refer to the transformations of the Qi of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases, cycle round and round, with Wu and Ji—that is, Earth—held in honor above the rest. What is prized in cultivating the Dao (the Way) is clarity, stillness, and freedom from worldly desire, and this is precisely what the practitioner should observe. When Metal and Wood come into conjunction, Water and Fire join with them, as if a ribbon of red glow reached to the edge of the sky.

One must treasure that single grain of elixir in the vessel and keep it firmly hidden in a deep, secluded grotto-abode. It is concealed within Kunshan, the divine mountain of immortal legend. What is spoken of here is no medicine of the mundane world; once it is taken, one may be ranked among the immortals and sages.

The work of refining the elixir must pass through the Nine Reversions, the name given in Neidan to the stages of refining and nourishing. After the Tiger and the Dragon, symbols of the two powers of Yin-Yang, have reached a sufficient degree of firing, they must be driven on by the force of the fire. The practitioner should advance in the Dao at the proper moment, as though standing in the imperial court; and when the firing grows fierce, one must further rely on the Gate of Xun—Xun stands for Wind and refers to the method of regulating the breath and circulating Qi—to fan the wind and assist the refining.

After the medicines have been pounded and combined, if the timing does not agree they are difficult to fuse; one must therefore concentrate with a single mind and examine them with care. The Lovely Maiden, often used to symbolize true Yin or the Qi of Water, should be discerned within the Crow’s Shadow, which symbolizes the Yin within Water; the Infant Brother, often used to symbolize true Yang or the Qi of Fire, stands at the rim of the moon’s disk, which symbolizes Yang contained within Yin.

Within the mystery there is a mystery still deeper, and even words repeated with earnest effort can hardly say it all. If one suddenly meets a critical pass in cultivation and finds it hard to know what to take up and what to set aside, and if one has no method for entering the gate, how can the root ever be seen?

If one nourishes a Shen split off like a brother until it is as one’s own body, one’s own person will grow withered and haggard, while that divided Shen becomes radiant and robust. Generation after generation people have done this; how can it compare with gathering Shen inward and nurturing one’s own self?

Long Poem in Five-Character Lines

The Hundred-Character Poem

Original nature delights in clarity and stillness. One nourishes mind and Shen so that the inner state grows calm. Wealth I do not seek, nor do I contend with others over strength.

Wine I have never drunk, and sexual desire I have already cut off. What I see is as though I had not seen it; what I hear is as though I had not heard it.

Do not discuss the faults of other people; only look for one’s own defects. In office, do not set fame and rank upon the heart; in private conduct, act by sincerity and good faith.

When something comes up, do not act rashly or without due thought; when nothing is afoot, rest content in your proper station. Do not shut yourself inside the outer shell of other people, lest the mind grow vexed and oppressed.

In dealing with the world, draw in your sharp edge and accord with the customs and human affairs around you. Why not contend for fame and profit? Because one has once discussed these principles with a person of high attainment.

Five-Character Regulated Verse: Chanting of Oneself

The immortal in the mountains is known to no one; bearing a precious sword, he comes to the Great Tang. He turns and gazes out over the regions north and south, yet has no thought of returning to his native place.

Yesterday he arrived at Nimo Hall, and had already perceived that he wore a yellow Daoist robe. The wind rose all at once, a stretch of darkness descended, and the hundred ghosts all hid themselves away.

Five-Character Regulated Verse: Chanting of Oneself

The immortal in the mountains is known to no one; bearing a precious sword, he comes to the Great Tang. He turns and gazes out over the regions north and south, yet has no thought of returning to his native place.

Yesterday he arrived at Nimo Hall, and had already perceived that he wore a yellow Daoist robe. The wind rose all at once, a stretch of darkness descended, and the hundred ghosts all hid themselves awayWhen something comes up, do not act rashly or at random; when nothing is happening, rest content in your proper place. Do not shut yourself inside other people’s outer shells, lest the heart grow vexed and weary.

In dealing with the world, draw in your sharp edges and accord with the ways of human affairs around you. Why not contend for fame and profit? Because one has once discussed these principles with a person of high attainment.

Self-Chant, in Five-Character Regulated Verse

The immortal in the mountains is known to no one; sword at his side, he comes to the Great Tang. He turns and gazes toward north and south, yet has no thought of returning home.

Yesterday he came to Nimo Hall, and had long since perceived that he wore a yellow Daoist robe. The wind suddenly rose, a darkness descended, and the hundred ghosts all hid themselves away.

Self-Chant, in Five-Character Regulated Verse

The immortal in the mountains is known to no one; sword at his side, he comes to the Great Tang. He turns and gazes toward north and south, yet has no thought of returning home.

Yesterday he came to Nimo Hall, and had long since perceived that he wore a yellow Daoist robe. The wind suddenly rose, a darkness descended, and the hundred ghosts all hid themselves away

When cultivation reaches the point at which thoughts come to rest, the mind is like cooled ashes that raise no ripple; the body is forgotten, as though it were nothing but a clod of earth. Abiding in silent depth, a person is filled with light that shines throughout the Three Realms (the various worlds of heaven and earth spoken of in Daoism).

Reclining

Holding to the cultivator’s tradition of clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action) on the Dao (the Way), one grasps the wondrous secret of Xiyi (the faint and remote, scarcely to be perceived). Set down the Four Great Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind, the four constituents of the human body), and every kind of disturbance disperses at once.

Six-Character Verse

Spring days are warm, and the grasses, trees, and flowers have just begun to open; I wander at ease upon the rocks. Alone I keep the jade statutes and golden instructions (precious rules of cultivation), and leisurely tread the green sedge and emerald moss.

I have lived nineteen years in an ancient cavern, and drunk I know not how many cups of liuxia (the fine wine of immortal legend, “flowing rose-clouds”). Meeting people, I do not speak of worldly affairs; I only smile and point to the white clouds, watching them come and go.

Song of Carefree Ease

Carefree and at ease, I lodge in the villages by night and roam the city walls at dawn. In idle hours with nothing to do, I keep the golden instructions and leisurely tread the green sedge and emerald moss.

I have lived nineteen years in an ancient cavern, and drunk I know not how many cups of liuxia. Meeting people, I do not speak of worldly affairs; I only smile and point to the white clouds, watching them come and go.

Song of Carefree Ease

Carefree and at ease, I lodge in the villages by night and roam the city walls at dawn. In leisure I wander the green hills; when vexed, I go to the marketplace and sell elixir pills.

I do not reckon how much the money comes to; I buy fine wine and pour for myself. Drunk, I chant poems and sing, as though ghosts and spirits might be stirred; I let the sun sink away to the west.

End of the Upper Scroll of the Huncheng Collection of the Perfected Chunyang

Lower Scroll of the Huncheng Collection of the Perfected Chunyang

Seven-Character Regulated Verse

After merit and practice are complete, the chance to come forth, aid the world, and deliver people is rare; word comes, too, that one must pack and set out for the Altar of the Apricot Immortal. At the tip of the staff there seems to hang a pot of wine flushed with spring, and cloud-vapor coils about the Five Peaks crown (the cap worn by Daoist priests, symbolizing the Five Sacred Peaks).

The sea-turtle lad who drinks (a numinous figure in the poem) goes unrecognized by ordinary people; when the mountain talisman is burned (Fulu, talismans and registers used in Daoist rites of prayer and the averting of harm), even ghosts and spirits can scarcely catch a glimpse. After you, Master, have departed, this body of mine will in the end grow old; I beg you to bestow on a poor scholar one pellet of bone-transforming elixir.

A single Golden Elixir (Jindan) can grant long life, yet it must be refined by joining True Lead (an important medicinal substance in alchemy) with Jia-Geng (an alchemical term for a particular season or relation of combination). The fire is to be taken from the marrow of the Red Phoenix of the south, and the water from the Jing (essence) of the Black Turtle of the northern sea.

The cauldron must accord with the four seasons and gather the Qi (vital energy) of the center, while the medicines revolve according to the Three Origins (the Upper, Middle, and Lower Origins spoken of in Daoism) and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). After fasting and abstinence one begins the work, passing through nine reversions (the stages of repeated refinement in alchemy); once the elixir enters the mouth, even ghosts and spirits are astonished.

Searching in the depths of an emerald pool, one meets a Perfected Person: a countenance as fair as peach blossom, a body as pure as white silver. The hair at the temples does not whiten, because the art of long life has been mastered; the ruddy face does not age, because the Dao of Shen (spirit) has been fully penetrated.

Wishing now to go to Penglai (the legendary immortal mountain upon the sea), one sets out at once; the yellow robe upon its stand turns into clouds and rose-mist. Let the blue sea become mulberry fields as it will—one pellet of elixir can still grant a person a lifespan of a thousand years.

In the depths of the emerald pool dwells a Perfected Person (Zhenren, an immortal adept who has succeeded in cultivation). His countenance is as ruddy as peach blossom, and his form is as pure as white silver. His temples do not turn white because he has mastered the arts of nurturing life and cultivation; that his face does not age is the sign of having attained communion with Shen (spirit).

Should he now wish to go to Penglai (the legendary immortal mountains upon the sea), he sets out at once. The yellow robe upon the stand turns into cloud, as though he rides the clouds away. Let the vast sea become mulberry fields, and the mulberry fields turn back into the sea: a single elixir pill can still grant a person a thousand years of life.

By refining and nurturing cinnabar in the elixir furnace, one can keep the temples from whitening; this has nothing to do with the pursuit of fame and profit or attachment to the dusty world. He has now met a lofty person possessed of the Dao (the Way), who transmits wondrous methods of medicine, and he joyfully gathers and laughs with those of like aspiration.

The methods of the Dao personally transmitted by Laozi I have already grasped; the Shaowei star (the asterism symbolizing recluses and worthies) also permits me to draw near it. Happily I have received the warm guidance of a superior adept (Shangshi, a lofty person accomplished in cultivation). A life of ease and leisure in the human world truly cannot compare with this leisure of yours.

Who would wait for me for the sake of long life? When true Qi (vital energy—the life-energy gained through cultivation) is refined to completion, it congeals into the immortal embryo (the inner foundation in Daoist cultivation that symbolizes casting off the mortal body and becoming immortal). One knows full well that ascent to heaven in broad daylight is possible, yet one deliberately follows the red dust and comes into the human world.

When the White Tiger (an image in Neidan, internal alchemy, symbolizing Yin Qi or the Qi of Metal) moves, rain and dew pour down; where the Red Dragon (an image in Neidan symbolizing Yang Qi or the Qi of Fire) plows, there lies precious fine jade. One need only swallow a single pellet of cinnabar medicine to fly into the blue clouds and never return to the dusty world.

Amid heaped and tangled clouds, the place where the stars dwell is revealed, and one recognizes that a lofty person lies deeply hidden there. He drinks green wine and lies drunk through years of leisure; when the river wind subsides, he sets out in a boat to fish.

He constantly brings his bearing into accord with the Dao of Heaven, and does not use words to inquire into the paths of the mundane world. Mountains and waters lie far off, and human traces seldom reach them. Of news from Maoruo (a place-name or designation as it appears in the original)—has any been heard of late?

With the crane as carriage and steed, and wine as food, one can reach the realm of deathless long life. If even the veins of the great earth can by some means be shortened, how could a human lifespan not be lengthened?

Stars often appear within the hairpin, and sun and moon are ever hidden beneath the quilt. If people of the present age wish to see me with their own eyes, they may come every day to the banks of the Quicksilver River (here apparently a river of mercury within cultivation or an immortal realm).

The numinous mushroom needs no sowing and has no root. One who understands cultivation through diet can return life to its original truth. So long as mist, rosy clouds, mountains, and waters keep one company through the years, let the sun and moon—“Wutu” being a traditional name for the sun and moon—run their course between heaven and earth.

The infant clings only to the mother within Yang Qi; the Maiden (a feminine image in Neidan) should pay homage to the venerable spirit atop the crown. Once cultivation bears fruit, one never turns back and endures through all ages; nor need one leave a grave for children and grandchildren to mourn.

Who in the world can comprehend these words? Do not set fame and profit upon the heart. In leisure, drink wine to the full; when the mood arises, chant a hundred poems aloud.

I take the clouds and rose-tinted mists beyond the dusty world as my companions, and within the world inside the pot I enjoy the clear radiance of sun and moon. When the merits of cultivation are fulfilled, where then shall I return? At that time I shall mount a cloud carriage and enter the grotto-heavens of the immortals.

The imperial son of the Mysterious Gate (the Daoist tradition) sits upright at the center, long-lived and lucid of mind, mindful of the Jade Emperor’s grace. Mountains and rivers throughout the world are bathed in rain and dew; sun and moon seem gathered into the sleeves, becoming one with Xiaoxiang (a general name for scenic mountains and waters).

The man of Kan (symbolizing water, yang within yin) comes from afar to wed the daughter of the Metal family (symbolizing Metal and the Qi (vital energy) of the lungs), while the woman of Li (symbolizing fire, yin within yin) joyfully marries the Wood Lad (symbolizing Wood and the Qi of the liver). If this couple can hold fast to their resolve, they can establish a teaching whereby the Qi of Yin-Yang is drawn into mutual union.

The ordinary body has already fallen away for I know not how many years. On a lofty emerald peak I ingest Mysterious Frost (a symbolic immortal medicine in Daoist cultivation). Green mountains lie under ancient snow, and pines encircle the couch; cold clouds wind about Immortal Palm Peak, and in a stone chamber the methods of the elixir are practiced.

I often climb the shell-towers (immortal palaces and pavilions like shells) to gather fresh, tender herbs of jade, and I often go to the Toad Palace (the palace of the moon) to pluck fragrant cassia. An immortal realm, brilliant as emerald brocade, once opened before me and allowed me to roam in company through the Township of the Five Emperors (an immortal realm).

From afar I point toward a high peak and give a long whistle, and red clouds and purple mists rise before my eyes. Whenever I am in the marketplaces of the dusty world, no one recognizes me; when I return to the mountains, immortal cranes always come to greet me.

I wave the jade toad on my staff (a jade ornament shaped like a toad) to drive off ghosts and demons, and at night I decoct the elixir in a golden cauldron, as if refining the stars into it as well. Should one someday reach the immortal grottoes of Penglai, one will know that I too have a name among the immortals.

People of the world often ask with a smile where my home is. I carry my staff upon my shoulder, and my sleeves trail cloudy Qi and rosy mist. Between my brows there seems to lie a gleam like lightning—this is no empty boast. I plant golden lotuses with my own hands, yet I never flaunt them.

A scorched-paulownia qin three feet long (the ancient zither) is the skill by which I make my living, and a pot of spring wine is my daily life. I ride a dragon to wander far among the three immortal isles; deep in the night, when no one is about, I stroll in the moonlight.

I sit beside the river of nine bends and gaze into the distance; all I see is one long road running straight to the edge of heaven. Auspicious clouds throng about the ruddy infant (the Realized Person who has succeeded in cultivation) as it comes to pay homage, and propitious Qi lingers where the white smoke rises.

At this moment lead and mercury (commonly used in Daoist alchemy to symbolize the Qi of Yin-Yang) become the most precious medicines; today Kan and Li (water and fire, Yin-Yang) conjoin and crystallize into Neidan (internal alchemy). Efficacy such as this can prolong life and spare one from aging. The key lies in the cultivator’s own heart; it is not difficult to accomplish.

Only through unceasing cultivation, carried all the way to union with the Heaven of Qian, can one be called a drunken immortal in the human world. Time in the world hurries the sun’s shadow swiftly past, yet the flowers and trees of the grotto dwelling grow on for long, left to the turning of the years.

Once the bodily form has flown past the sheer cliffs, one comes to know the mystery of the dragon bones; when the Shen (spirit) and soul take up dwelling in the Mysterious Palace (the secluded inner realm spoken of in Daoism), there is another world altogether. I only wish that you, sir, would often look this way with favor; there is no need to go beyond the mysterious and press for a still deeper mystery.

The principles of the Mysterious Gate are profound and far-reaching by their very nature. The root of long life lies in mercury and lead (alchemical terms, commonly used for the Yin-Yang medicinal substances required in elixir refinement). Once one knows that they are originally one and the same truth, harmonizing the Six-One (a term in Daoist alchemy) brings one into accord with the Dao (the Way) of Heaven.

At the foot of Jade Capital Mountain the sheep clamor; in the Golden Water River the stone tiger sleeps in peace. The mysterious essential method can give rise to the true original substance; so long as one cultivates with diligence, in every place things come about of themselves.

Though the station of dukes and ministers is exalted, it has not received the immortals’ reward; at the mention of the immortals, one feels that one too is in accord with the Dao of Heaven.

At the foot of Jade Capital Mountain the sheep clamor; in the Golden Water River the stone tiger sleeps in peace. The mysterious essential method can give rise to the true original substance; so long as one cultivates with diligence, in every place things come about of themselves.

Though the station of dukes and ministers is exalted, it has not received the immortals’ reward; the moment the immortals are mentioned, one goes straight off to visit them. To cradle the stone liver, one comes to the Sea of Mirages; to seek sweet snow, one sets out for Yingzhou (the legendary immortal mountain in the sea).

Once drunk, mountains and rivers seem all gathered into the gourd; in idle hours, spirits and ghosts seem all shut away in the casket. What stands before the eyes, no one can recognize; better to drink a cup of wine and mingle among ordinary people.

I once called upon the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning and sought out the immortals; I climbed Mount Kunlun to my heart’s content and swallowed the radiance of the moon. Jade maidens gathered the verdant and graceful scenery; a mountain lad carried white vessels.

I often pour and drink the fine wine of a thousand years in the human world, and am long accustomed to plucking the flowers of the four seasons from within the gourd. Now I am in the world of people, yet no one recognizes me; in a moment I flick my sleeve and depart, vanishing into cloud, mist, and rosy light.

When the spark of fire is set moving in the Dantian (energy center—the place in the human body where Neidan, internal alchemy, is refined and nourished), the Golden Elixir forms of itself, and tier upon tier of towers and pavilions appear in clear view. Accumulating three thousand merits and practices takes only a hundred days; Penglai, ten thousand li away, can be reached in a single day.

The bodily form is transformed and enters the underworld offices (the official bureaus of the netherworld), yet the ghost registers hold no record of one’s name; within the Jade Capital (the palaces of the immortal realm), an immortal name is kept throughout. This morning one is able to attend the gathering at the Jasper Pool, and within the grotto nine-sectioned banners (Daoist ritual implements used in ceremonial processions) come to receive one.

Because one has read Lord Cui’s Ruyao Jing (Mirror for Compounding the Medicine—a Daoist classic that sets forth the cultivation of Neidan), the ground of the mind turns clear and bright. The yang dragon emerges from the Palace of Li (the Li position in the Bagua, or Eight Trigrams, often symbolizing fire and yang), while the yin tiger is generated in the position of Kan (the Kan position in the Bagua, often symbolizing water and yin).

The meeting of these two powers is the root of cultivating the Dao; when the Qi (vital energy) of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) circulates through its full round, one obtains the name and standing of the elixir Dao. The superior adept who cultivates the true is like a bright mirror; having read the Ruyao Jing, the ground of the mind turns clear and bright. The yang dragon emerges from the Palace of Li, and the yin tiger is generated in the position of Kan.

The meeting of the two kinds of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang is the foundation of cultivating the Dao (the Way). When the Qi of the five directions—east, west, south, north, and center—circulates throughout, the Elixir is brought to completion. If a superior adept who cultivates the True can grasp these principles, he will in the end ride the Red Dragon, symbol of Yang Qi and wondrous power, and return to the Jade Capital, the celestial realm of the immortals.

Human life is empty and insubstantial, and often makes people rash and negligent. If one can gather in body and mind and store and nourish Jing and Qi, an extraordinary endowment will appear. Only one who has already seen clearly the rights and wrongs of the world can rise above the secular—how then could such a person be bound by external things?

In conversation with others, one is often drawn along by the feelings of the dusty world; in solitary practice, body and mind are light and at ease. A single daogui—a Daoist alchemical term for a small measure of elixir or a key medicinal substance—divides into five-colored radiance; the Qi of the Elixir ascends and enters the dwelling of the immortals.

Do not wonder that I love to chant the poems of heaven, for in the human world I seldom meet one who understands me. I have dined in the grotto of the Queen Mother, and I have worn the robes of the Penglai grotto. A fine steed treads the wheel of the sun and rolls up red mist; a phoenix holds the crescent moon in its beak and flies among azure clouds. When shall I again grasp the reins of blue-green silk, raise the golden whip, and enter Ziwei, the abode of the Celestial Emperor?

Yellow Sprout and White Snow—terms of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the Yin and Yang Jing and Qi within the body condensed and refined into the Elixir—fly and move like golden light. When one walks, one sings aloud; when a mood of intoxication comes, one chants verse. Sun and moon secretly help you prolong your years, and Heaven and Earth of themselves commune with your intent.

With the Sword of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), a divine sword symbolizing the power of Daoist methods, one makes spirits hide their traces; a melody plucked upon the qin seems to send wind and rain soaring into the air. After roaming south, where in the end is one to return? Do not let the immortal crane fly off to heaven in search.

When spring comes, one visits and enjoys the immortal household; before the gate stand arrayed the extraordinary flowers of the second month. The merits of your cultivation have all been reckoned through the jiazi—the sexagenary count of stems and branches, also a figure for the passing years. The merit of gengshen—in Daoist belief, the days associated with keeping the gengshen watch and the recording of good and evil—has been realized, and there is no need to boast. Everyone originally possesses a clear, bright, and refined nature that transcends the dusty world; how could one willingly forget it and instead sink into turbidity, pride, and luxury? If one can comprehend the work of a thousand days of cultivation, one will at last enter the immortal realm of mist and rosy clouds, long enduring and undecaying.

The cloud-like hair at the temples shines, and the bones of the body grow ever lighter and more vigorous. He says that, seeking the crane, he reached Pengying—Penglai, Yingzhou, and the other immortal mountains of the sea. Each day he speaks of herbs and woody medicines and understands their savor; asked about the affairs of immortals, he can name them as well. At night the Azure Dragon seems to pass through the emerald grotto-mansion; he pillows himself on clear cold and sleeps in the silver-white city of the immortals. In the spring of the coming year he means again to travel far with his staff of authority, for he cherishes the story of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan seeking immortals upon the sea.

Dragon Essence and Tortoise Eye—metaphors in Daoist Neidan for Yin and Yang Jing and Qi—harmonize with one another; even a youth of one zhang and six chi, a towering image of a lad, or the pure Yang body formed in cultivation, can hardly compare. With nine vessels of water one decocts and refines the “Infant,” a Neidan term for the original Shen (spirit) or true Qi within the body; then with a single round of fire one gently warms and nourishes the Yellow Sprout. When the moon is full, one naturally knows how to leave the net of Heaven; only after merit and practice are complete does one know how to slip free of the snares of Earth. Half intoxicated, one may as well swallow the marrow of luan and phoenix—an immortal image for a precious spiritual medicine or for Jing and Qi. I urge you no longer to take Misui as the orthodox way of cultivation.

I can scarcely bring myself to live amid scenery such as this, and yet I have no kindred spirit. Though the countryside offers many views, they are not suited to the chanting of verse. Should lines of poetry reach the ears of ministers and high officials, even a name would stir the heart of the sovereign.

I have no belt; I simply lie idle by myself. The hide cap woven of flowering branches and bamboo leaves I am too lazy even to put on properly. Beyond this there is nothing else: a jug of country wine, and a zither.

In the mountains of Huayang there is much scenery of this kind, and yet no kindred spirit. Though the countryside offers many views, they are not suited to the chanting of verse. Should lines of poetry reach the ears of ministers and high officials, even a name would stir the heart of the sovereign.

I have no belt; I simply lie idle by myself. The hide cap woven of flowering branches and bamboo leaves I am too lazy even to put on properly. Beyond this there is nothing else: a jug of country wine, and a zither.

In the mountains of Huayang there are many fields of zhi herbs, and because of them the old men of Huayang prolong their years. Beneath tall trees ringed by green pines, among mountains where white clouds pile up, they drink the springs that cascade down.

The body feels neither cold nor heat; the spirit is calm and at ease. Qi (vital energy) stretches on without break from east to west. Once the three thousand merits have been fulfilled, one should depart, and not speak to the people of the world about the Dongtian (cavern-heavens, the realms where immortals dwell).

One is born with a natural heart undisturbed by external things. From ancient times to the present, success and failure are forever changing. Those who have attained the Dao (the Way) ought to understand that cultivating the Dao is, in the end, a transcendence of the dusty world; practitioners who lose their way will in the end only sink in vain.

The supreme joy close at hand can be gained only through attentive cultivation; the cinnabar beyond the world—the material used in alchemy, and also the immortal elixir sought in cultivation—must still be carefully sought. The immortal realm lies within arm’s reach; do not drift with the current and squander the years in vain.

I live in seclusion in Xuandu (the immortal realm of Daoist legend), and have long since forgotten how many springs have passed. How many times the blue sea has turned to dust, and how many years have slipped away, I do not know. I once paid court to Yuanshi Tianzun (a revered deity of Daoism) in the halls of Yujing, and paid homage to Laojun (Taishang Laojun) in the palace of Jinque.

When vexed, I mount a thousand-year immortal crane; when at leisure, I roam among the clouds of the Nine Heavens on high. I have now learned the method of long life, yet I am unwilling to transmit it to the people of the world.

The Northern Emperor and the Southern Asterism (stellar deities of Daoism) seem both to appear in the palm of the hand, secretly communicating the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth and quietly transmitting the mysterious principle. A golden hammer is hidden in the sleeve, and one dwells in the Yuanzhai (a term of Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the place of cultivation within body and mind); from the Jade Portal and the starry palaces (celestial palaces spoken of in Daoism) descends the Qi of the Upper Mystery.

Everyone in the world seeks this Dao, yet who can truly awaken, within emptiness, to the Xuanguan (the crucial pass in cultivation at which one realizes the Dao and the movements of Qi)? The Great Dao lies plainly before the eyes and deserves careful discernment; sun and moon rise and set at the edge of the shoal, departing and returning.

In the radiance of the sun, the myriad things accord with what is natural; thunder and lightning race forth and enter the Central Plain. For a long time one rides the crimson horse and dwells in the Eastern Hall; the vermilion palace gates are flung wide, and a blue-green spring surges before the door.

He angrily drew the Kunwu precious sword and sang a song in praise of sacred transformation; then, gladly, he kept company with the solitary moon and celebrated the New Year. Only then did one come to know that this thing was originally a possession of the immortals, and that it is transmitted to him only when he has gained the recognition of a person of benevolence and virtue.

Six dragons together celebrated his ascent into the Qian Heaven (the celestial realm). His horn seemed, in secret, to open through to the authority of cosmic transformation. The true Dao (the Way) is ever as pale and clear as the autumn moon, while words of the utmost depth are like emerald waves, flowing on for a long time, clear and cold.

By day he rode a white deer and roamed the immortal isle of Penglai; by night, a golden crown upon his head, he stood upon the ancient altar. Medicine brought to completion in a single year surpasses in efficacy a thousand years. Who, then, would stain his sleeves with the filth of the mortal world?

At the shores of the Five Marchmounts the scene was wholly renewed, and only then did the person of benevolence and virtue penetrate the deep and mysterious realm. Heavenly songs set the great Dao turning and settle the Three Origins (in Daoism, the three forms of primordial Qi (vital energy) of heaven, earth, and water, or the domains governed by the Three Officials); the channels underground run through, and the myriad things therefore grow.

One should know that medicine brought to completion in a single year surpasses in efficacy a thousand years. Who, then, would stain his sleeves with the filth of the mortal world?

At the shores of the Five Marchmounts the scene was wholly renewed, and only then did the person of benevolence and virtue penetrate the deep and mysterious realm. Heavenly songs set the great Dao turning and settle the Three Origins; the channels underground run through, and the myriad things therefore grow.

One need only understand that the Valley Spirit (a Daoist term referring to the empty, still, and inexhaustible body of the Dao) cultivates this Way, and one will no longer talk emptily of doctrinal principles, but turn instead to seek the true Dao. The scripture clearly points to the path of the Central Yellow (in Neidan (internal alchemy), the path of cultivation related to the Central Palace and the Yellow Court); amid a sound like a thunderclap, one will of oneself attain a wondrous and divine realm.

If one wishes to accompany the immortals in song and dance and make the body light and agile, one must fly beyond Penglai and go straight to Shangqing (the Clear Subtle Heaven revered in Daoism). A vermilion-crowned immortal crane comes from beyond the clouds to welcome one, and a purple-scaled fish also comes from the sea to meet one.

Where Chang’e dwells, the tender cassia has already blossomed first; the Queen Mother’s immortal peaches, too, are gradually ripening. Looking down below, the sun rises and dawn is about to break; from this one knows that the human world as well will long remain at peace and endure.

Within the four seas everyone is busy, and only one person is at leisure and content; all speak of the fated ties of the dusty world. Knowing that you possess the Dao and have come to the mountain, why still dwell in the human world like a person without a name?

Within the twelve towers and terraces are hidden the secret methods of cultivation; within the Five Thousand Words (usually referring to the Daodejing) lies concealed the Mysterious Pass (the key to entering the cultivation of the Way, or the inner aperture). Only then does one know that the cauldron stores a numinous medicine like the stars; please grant me one pellet, and let me see.

Casting aside splendor and throwing off glory and riches, from the moment he first obtained the true Dao he had already set foot on the road of long life. He once left at the Jin River a shed remnant like a cicada’s molt, then came to Penglai, changed his name, and concealed his former identity.

Within the twelve towers and terraces are hidden the secret methods of cultivation; within the Five Thousand Words lies concealed the Mysterious Pass. Only then does one know that the cauldron stores a numinous medicine like the stars; please grant me one pellet, and let me see.

Casting aside splendor and throwing off glory and riches, from the moment he first obtained the true Dao he had already set foot on the road of long life. He once left at the Jin River a shed remnant like a cicada’s molt, then came to Penglai, changed his name, and concealed his former identity.

Coming and going through the human world many times, one does not always meet with either smooth success or hardship; everywhere the dusty world is bound up with worldly human feelings. No one knows where he will go once merit and practice are complete; one only sees him mount straight upon an azure dragon and ascend to Yujing (the celestial capital of the immortals spoken of in Daoism).

In those years my fame as a poet spread throughout the capital; now, turning westward to return without the least attachment, I may truly be called a person of resolve. Boundless acres of white cloud are mine alone to enjoy; and as for a single branch of the immortal cassia, symbolizing the glory of success in the examinations or of ascent to immortality, who does not have a chance to obtain it?

In ordinary times I am led by the fisherman at the bend of the Wei River; after drinking, I climb Lotus Peak, supported by a Daoist. If we should meet again in the future, we shall call to one another at night in the thatched hut beside Bamboo Creek.

The golden hammer flashes as it is brandished upon the heavenly steps; alone I ride a dragon, going and coming again. I recline high among the white clouds, watching the grotto-heaven where the sun rises; lying at ease beneath the autumn moon, it is as though the canopy of heaven had been split open. The Li trigram of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) belongs to Fire, and the so-called “Li flowers” spring forth like blossoms from between heaven and earth; the Kan trigram belongs to Water, and the “Kan medicine” takes form gracefully, like a spirit drug. Both are arrangements of the creative work of heaven and earth. At dusk I lie drunk among the Nine Cliffs, meet you once more, and call to you at night in the thatched cottage by Bamboo Creek.

In forming friendships one always places moral duty and affection first, and simply lets the sun and moon rise and set. If one wishes to see the immortal crane beyond the clouds, one must cultivate with single-minded devotion; if one wishes to refine the “gold within water”—in Neidan (internal alchemy), the true gold produced through the transformations of water and fire and of Yin-Yang—one must hold one’s resolve firm.

Once the elixir is completed, one fears only that heaven and earth are too narrow to contain oneself; having taken the elixir, why worry that illness might intrude? Not yet having left the Jasper Terrace, the realm of the immortals, and still living in the human world, one may as well drink for pleasure and recite poetry at leisure.

By chance I take up zither and sword and walk out along the mountain path of mist and vines; happily, today I may come for a joyful visit, if only for a moment. Appearance and inner nature may both seem acceptable enough at first, yet the effects of treatment by acupuncture are often limited.

I have read three thousand scrolls of immortal Jing (scriptures), and I have also practiced twelve ancient methods. If one does not believe these modest immortal prescriptions, one may simply let go upon the golden steps and make a trial; yet the effects of treatment by acupuncture are often limited. I have read three thousand scrolls of immortal Jing, and I have also practiced twelve ancient methods. If one does not believe these modest immortal prescriptions, one may simply loosen one’s hand upon the golden steps and try.

At Huayang I drank until I was thoroughly intoxicated; after several such times, at evening I rode a dragon down to Nanlei. When I struck the sword, a flash like a meteor seemed to pass between my brows; when I lay upon the clouds, my robes were stained with the blue-green mountain mist. The golden liquor—the precious elixir fluid spoken of in Neidan—once transformed, becomes rain and dew; returning to the Jade Capital, the immortal realm, one keeps company with ancient pines and firs. I once used an iron mirror to examine ghosts and spirits, and searched like thunder until the waters of the pool overflowed.

The iron mirror refines gold, and the firelight shines through the whole sky; beyond the emerald pool the setting sun casts its light. The qilin’s intent accords with heaven and earth; as the dew disperses, the hidden mechanism of heaven and earth becomes manifest with the course of the sun and moon.

A three-foot sword lies across the space between two shores, and the Five Strongmen—legendary deities of immense strength—stand crowned in the Palace of the Hundred Spirits. In my leisure I spread out kingfisher plumes and cultivate in the Cave That Confines the Spirits; with my own hands I employ the golden lotus and practice the work of creative transformation.

I follow karmic affinity and the force of deeds, letting life rise and sink as it will. My state of mind is like water and like clouds—clear, still, and free of obstruction. Beside me are two scrolls of the Dao Jing (scriptures of the Way), a three-foot sword, a splendid staff, and a seven-stringed qin.

Elixir medicine is hidden in the gourd, and I bestow it on whomever I meet; new poems lie within me, and I chant them whenever a guest appears. Swallow one mouthful of the drug refined from mercury, and it is said that a thousand years may be added to one’s life; project a single elixir pill, and a pound of gold can be made to change.

Half drunk, I pass the forked road, no longer knowing how many autumns have already gone by. Ride a dragon and drive a phoenix, and one may be forever free of care. The wealth and rank of princes, marquises, and chief ministers mean nothing to me; Kan and Li—alchemical terms for water and fire and their Yin-Yang transformations—are the wondrous gate of the method.

Alone I sit on Penglai, gazing out over heaven and earth, then draw my sword and roam the sea. For the wrongs that weigh on my heart, I undo old grievances, wash away disgrace, and even take human life.

The qin, the sword, wine, and chess, together with the dragon, the crane, and the tiger, are all images of a free, untrammeled, and unconventional life. In leisure I ride a white deer through the Three Isles; at times I drive a black ox across the Ten Continents.

Looking far toward the emerald grotto, the bright moon seems to rest in my palm; secluded high in the green mountains, I take the clouds as my companions. If people of the world wish to live in this way, they should set down fame, profit, and empty show.

In the Palace of the Purple Culmen I have come to my own realization. I carefully temper the sword of Shen (spirit), until the sword seems able to fly. First I send Yuzi to open the southern hall, then dispatch the Azure Dragon into the northern reaches.

Stored in the Nine Tripods—the vessels used in alchemy—is Yellow Sprout, a Neidan (internal alchemy) term for the nascent essence of the elixir, resting as peacefully as a sleeping phoenix. By this one cultivates the immortal frame of the whole body and nurtures the lingzhi. Penglai is no place for ordinary people to dwell; one fears only that fools will divulge the secrets of the world.

Only by turning back does one truly leave the dusty world; the work of creative transformation lies, in the end, within the person. Had the Kang dragon—symbol of a dragon in which Yang Qi (vital energy) has grown excessive—been released earlier from the net of earth, how would one have known that the White Tiger, a Neidan term often linked with Yin Qi and the Qi of Metal, could still manifest its innate true nature?

On the long, unbroken road of cultivation, who can hold me back? Silent and forgetful of words, one naturally accords with the mysterious and marvelous. At night I strike the sword and ask where I am bound; under stars and moon, I slay the qilin.

I have looked through ordinary scenes and falling petals; each time I dance the sword, a sigh escapes me. I often grieve that the white sun’s daylight is too brief, and always resent that the road to the blue heaven is too far.

All my life my aspiration has not been fame or profit; in my heart I have only ever looked up to flowing water and the clouds of dawn.

I have watched the idle hours drift past with the falling blossoms. Sometimes I dance with the sword, sometimes I sigh. I often grieve that the daylight is brief and that time slips so easily away, and I always regret that the road leading to the blue heavens is long and far.

My true intent seeks neither fame nor profit; in my heart I long only for the gleam of water and the colors of the mountains. Of all the rises and falls, the ebb and flow of the world, who can comprehend the principle within them as thoroughly as I do?

By day I set forth my reasons; beneath the moon I sigh and gaze upon the cinnabar clouds. The feudal lords of Huaxia, however, look at me only with ordinary eyes. The way of benevolence and righteousness appears vastly different in people’s eyes, as far apart as the lands of the Hu and the lands of Yue; the feelings and principles of the world are harder still to fathom, as difficult to set side by side as Mount Tai and Mount Heng.

The Eight Immortals, through their cultivation, each in the end attained an achievement of their own; tempered across the four seas, they can still light the way ahead on a cold night. I mean to set right ten thousand kinds of injustice, strike my sword, mount a dragon, and soar up to the ninth heaven.

After we parted, the rising river flooded and spread over the east. With drunken eyes half-closed I chant and give voice to feeling, and body and mind still know no weariness. The golden sword thunders and shakes heaven and earth; the jade furnace is sealed, as if cooking and refining the sun and the moon. All of this borrows the imagery of elixir-refining to depict the might of cultivation and of sword-Qi (vital energy).

Staff in hand I travel far, walking three thousand li through the land of Chu; riding a crane I fly over the ten thousand folds of the Qin hills. To carry word to the immortal maiden of Jincheng, we agree to meet again at Lotus Peak when the colors of spring return next year.

I shave away my hair, and blood drips down; my eyes are like iron that has been quenched and tempered. With a single exhalation, cloud-Qi rises, and my anger surges straight into the world. Unable to endure a thousand injustices, I must wait for one secret art with which to sweep away the vicious and the obstinate.

Where the flood-dragon is slain, the dark sea churns; when the savage tiger is removed, distant mountains shake. To root out the heartless and the faithless, sword-light like stars leaves mottled traces.

Rain and snow whirl, and the sky has already grown late. Wine is poured full in a golden zhong-cup, and I play the qin of scorched paulownia. The poems chanted at the feast have not gone on long before the sword dance before the banquet is already as swift as a gale.

Why do I so often set out at midnight? Suddenly I rise with glaring eyes and soar into the air. I do not know who has fallen short in loyalty and filial piety; I bring that person’s head into the gathering.

A three-foot blue blade bears wind and frost, and even ghosts and spirits are struck with fear. In wide sleeves and a tall cap I move with ease. When glad, I boast of former days and sing the songs of Yue; when angry, my brows draw tight and I draw the Wu hook (an ancient curved blade).

Since leaving the three immortal mountains in the emerald sea, I no longer ascend vermilion gates or pay court to the powerful. Half drunk, I draw myself up, raise an arm, and stand asking who still harbors a grievance in the heart.

Before the Huandan has been refined—the Neidan (internal alchemy) sought in Daoist cultivation—one first cultivates mind and nature; only after the elixir is complete does one understand the root of the Great Dao (the Way). I often keep guests to drink, spending money to buy wine and entertain them. Who, after all, would believe that you have no immortal medicine for turning stone into gold?

The wind and thunder within the cavern are all gathered into the palm, and the sun and moon within the gourd are kept in the breast. The work of the immortals is hard for ordinary people to grasp; cultivating the mind and nature and seeking long life can only be realized and savored by oneself.

An iron ox plows the earth, yet what it sows is gold coin; the boy who carves stone strings the coins together. A single grain of rice seems to hold an entire world, and in a pot of only half a sheng one can boil forth mountains, rivers, and the myriad things.

The white-bearded Laozi lets his eyebrows hang to the ground; the blue-eyed foreigner points with his hand toward the sky. If one can grasp the mystery in this, then at the end of that mystery there is no deeper mystery still.

The Ji star and the Xu mansion descend from the high, distant sky, and even ordinary sights never fail to astonish. When the dragon leaps from the water, its scales are already complete; when the crane shoots up into the clouds, its feathers are already full.

In the dusty world one teaches and transforms the many, so that thousands of pairs of eyes may come to see clearly; yet people of the world find these elegant and profound passages hard to read. It is only that the fortune and allotted span of ordinary folk are slight—how could one bear to transmit such subtle principles lightly?

In a moment of leisure he swings his arms and enters the Gate of Heaven, lightly brushes his sleeves, and slowly gathers in the colored clouds. In silence he looks down upon Huang Guzi, and with a smile exchanges an equal bow with Lord Zixia.

He means to ascend the Jasper Hall and draw near the Golden Towers, then to visit Yingzhou again and watch the disk of the sun. It happens that Chang’e is setting out a feast; the jade nectar has just been brewed, and its fragrance is rich.

He once followed Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao, drunk, wandering through the Peach Spring; only upon waking did he find that he still owed the wine money of the human world. So for the time being he pawns a cloth robe, and when he returns to the Nine Heavens he will redeem it.

A jacket made of phoenix feathers is not reckoned especially precious, and even a pure white fox-fur robe can hardly compare with it. This alone is the priceless treasure of the world; if you do not believe it, you may put it in the fire and see whether it can withstand the flame.

Thinking of things past, the heart is stirred with countless feelings: he once read the thirteenth line of the Thousand Character Classic. When Lady Wu died she ought still to have been a young girl; after Prince Chen passed away he became a boy. The two orbs of sun and moon are left to run as they will, and the nine rivers seem borne upon a single carrying pole.

All day long no one speaks of these tidings; better to drink a pot of spring wine alone, and for the moment grow mildly drunk.

With wide sleeves drifting, he stands aloof from the dusty world and wanders everywhere with a gourd. Fame, rank, and profit all lie outside the self and are in the end not the Great Dao (the Way); only upon reaching the Dragon-Tiger Gate can one discern what is true.

Unawares, the Shen (spirit) and soul of his dreams have already turned toward the Purple Prefecture (the immortal palace where immortals dwell). For many years his traces have lain hidden in the dusty world. Should you meet him in the marketplace of Huayin, do not take him for an ordinary seller of medicines.

He is versed in ten thousand scrolls of immortal Jing (scriptures) and cradles a three-foot ancient qin; Liu An (the Prince of Huainan, who in legend attained the Dao and became an immortal) is said to have been his true intimate. He walks leaning on a staff, as if carrying a pot of spring feeling and fine wine; the cinnabar in the elixir furnace is not refined into gold.

More than once he has lain drunk beside a mountain path, and in idle hours he sails and fishes, within his heart, upon Lake Dongting. Though many in the human world meet and encounter him, they fear that once he mounts the void and ascends, there will be nowhere left to find him.

He once fought Chiyou before the Jade Prefecture, riding a carriage drawn by six dragons, its bells ringing out. Behind the south-pointing chariot followed gongs and drums, and beside the black banners were set iron helmets.

Drunk, he grasped his black beard, and the Three Isles seemed to darken because of it; in anger he drew his frost-bright sword, and the Ten Continents grew cold on his account. After ranging freely from the age of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan, he withdrew to steep and secluded places, and for a long time has been hard to seek.

His hair is white as waves, his voice resonant as a bell; his features are cold and pure as ice and snow, his frame upright as a green pine. The precious sword in its case sounds from time to time, and a golden hammer lies hidden in his sleeve, revealing a martial bearing.

When wine is drunk, he can keep company and add to the cheer; if one can recite verses, one may talk with him of the Dao of the elixir. “Cantong” may refer to the Zhouyi Cantong Qi, a classic that sets forth the theory of elixir-refining. In recent years he is sure to attend the immortal banquet on Kunlun, riding a fierce nine-colored dragon.

The gateways of the immortals lead to the Yellow Palace, while the courts of the powerful and of generals and ministers lead to the White Jade Capital (the palaces of the immortal realm in legend). How could the grotto-heavens lack fine scenery? And under heaven there are still many living beings.

He strolls alone with his qin, at leisure following the immortal crane; the sword case catches the glow of the sunset clouds, waiting to cut down the scourge of the whale. In advancing and withdrawing, the rites on both sides have not gone amiss; may you point out for me the road ahead.

The affairs of the world shift like dark rain, so that one comes to suspect each stands alone; lightning flashes and thunder rolls, shaking the eight directions. He has remained long among the tangled mountains, and the mountain mist and dew only thicken; yet he does not come down to level ground to rescue those who are distressed and withered.

The mild harmony of spring leaves a name behind; when the autumn wind rises, it again hinders the journey. He puts up three broken thatched huts, and for the present waits to see what the years to come will bring.

Autumn is bleak and desolate, and fallen leaves whirl about on every side. I sat for a long while in the shadow of the pines in the courtyard. Cloud and mist hid the path of the immortal crane, and I do not know where it has flown. I had meant to go to the immortal cavern to pay homage to Yuanshi Tianzun (the Celestial Worthy of the Primordial Beginning, a revered deity of the Dao, the Way), but I missed the appointed time.

I seize the golden essence (the Jing, essence, and Qi, vital energy, needed to cultivate life) as the foundation of nature and life, and I gather in the solar soul and the lunar radiance (images of practice symbolizing the essential Qi of the sun and moon). In this cultivation I refine the medicine of long life; once it is taken, I can endure as long as heaven and earth.

At dawn I am still chasing empty fame in the dusty world; by evening I return to the cavern abode. The sun and moon within the cavern seem to lie under my command. The treasured sword in its case rings out again and again; if I do not meet a person of true resolve, I swear I will not transmit it.

The treasured sword leaves its sheath and races like starlight, flying ten thousand li to cut down the wicked. Wind and thunder rise with the sword, and the sound of rain carries everywhere. After the enemy’s head is struck off, his mouth is still speaking. I step up into the void, chant and whistle aloud, and fly across the Five Lakes.

Master—ah, the Master’s face is fierce. He draws his sword and points it straight before the chest, distinguishing right from wrong for others. Three times he shouts, “Quickly, quickly, in accordance with the statutes and ordinances!” (Jiji ru lüling, a Daoist command in the form of a legal order). A crash resounds in the air, and a person comes plunging down.

Master, ah, Master, please do not hesitate. The methods of the Dao need someone to carry them on, and the art of the sword must also be imparted with solemn care. Today we have met beside the sea; let us at once go after the village’s fine wine and drink freely together.

His eyebrows are thick and his bearing resolute. With a single leap he soars ten thousand li into the void. Hidden in the case on his back is a three-foot treasured sword, meant to cut down injustice on Heaven’s behalf.

I hone the blue blade (a keen treasured sword) and conceal a golden hammer in my sleeve, and my hand never strikes at random. If I meet someone worthy of help, I am sure to repay and support that person—how could I let anyone say I am not a true and upright man?

His eyebrows are thick, and his speech is like thunder. The moment he hears that someone has suffered a wrong, he sets down his wine cup, takes up his sword, and mounts the void, flying a thousand li: at the first watch he parts from me, and by the second watch he has already returned.

This morning he rose while the sky was still utterly black. Avenging a grievance and clearing an injustice a thousand li away seemed already accomplished in an instant. From his sleeve he poured out a dead man’s head, his mouth still murmuring words.

East of the Southern Mountains we suddenly met. We clasped hands and charged one another earnestly, and the sound of our talk was like a bell. He said, “After I left you, my sword art was already perfected. Wherever I meet a flood dragon, I slay the flood dragon.”

In a single day one can travel the whole world, and there is no longer any need to ride a phoenix or fly mounted on a dragon. On a sudden impulse I put my supernatural powers to work and sent a divine sword flying forth, and it actually destroyed the foremost peak of the Zhongnan Mountains.

In the morning I was still in Nanyue; by evening I had already reached Cangwu. A green snake was hidden in my sleeve, and my courage was bold and full. Three times I came to Yueyang, and no one recognized me, so I chanted aloud and flew away across Lake Dongting.

Those who study the Dao (the Way) must be content with utter poverty, with only a few coins in the purse. When someone asked me the method of cultivation, I pointed far off to the sun and moon at the edge of the sky.

Do not fail the three lights of sun, moon, and stars, nor fail the people of the world; do not deceive the gods and spirits, nor let yourself lose heart. Three times I came to Yueyang, and no one recognized me, so I chanted aloud and flew away across Lake Dongting.

Those who study the Dao must be content with utter poverty, with only a few coins in the purse. When someone asked me the method of cultivation, I pointed far off to the sun and moon at the edge of the sky.

Do not fail the three lights of sun, moon, and stars, nor fail the people of the world; do not deceive the gods and spirits, nor oppress the poor and the weak. When someone asked me the method of cultivation, I said that one need only cultivate this field within the heart and carefully nurture one’s own person.

The Dantian (energy center)—the place in the human body where Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are refined and the Neidan (internal alchemy) is nurtured—is like three mu of farmland, yet it has no seed ready to hand. To sow, one must let the red dragon do the plowing. I once taught this method to others, but if one does not know how to persist in cultivation, the Dao will not appear.

There is no need to seek outward through some intermediary. The reverted elixir, once accomplished—the Neidan that the arts of Daoist internal alchemy describe as formed by the condensation of Jing and Qi—lies within one’s own body. Do not say that the great Dao is hard to obtain; it is only that the work of practice has not yet been carried all the way through.

In drinking, one should drink a hundred cups; gathering up one’s robe and sash and traveling west by boat—these are all merely intermediaries that point the way. If the Jing of the sun unites with the radiance of the moon, a bright pearl will rise forth.

Tiger and dragon—symbols, in the cultivation of Neidan, of Yin-Yang and of the mutual response of Jing and Qi—flash with light, and wondrous things dart and fly. One should cultivate by relying on oneself, without going against its inherent pattern. To transmit this secret formula, one must have the aid of the power of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth); only then can one pass through the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest celestial realm revered in Daoism, and arrive directly at Ziwei, the stellar palace where the Celestial Emperor dwells.

Hunyuan Qi—the original Qi from the time before Heaven and Earth had divided—lies hidden and circulates at the bottom of the sea, and within it are the Yellow Lad and the Jade Emperor Lord. Within the divine talisman of white snow the young maiden is concealed, and the Numinous Origin stands guard with the ten Yuanjun.

Do not think it strange that word from the Jasper Pool is scarce; it is only that the affairs of the dusty world have cut off the heavenly secret. If someone finds the “fire within water”—a cryptic phrase in the Neidan arts for the mutual refinement of water and fire—a jade lad will ascend to Taiwei, a stellar palace in the heavens.

Leaning against the ridge and clapping one’s hands, one dances like a gourd; crossing the ranges and passing through cloud and mist, one can fly even while leaning on a staff. Coming and going over eight thousand li takes only half a day; south of Jinzhou there is a door of pine.

Turning the gourd upside down and casting the qin aside as well, one walks inverted up Crouching-Ox Ridge. Spring water splashes onto the stones and bursts open like snowflakes; standing, one gazes up at the sky, and upon sitting down one chants poetry.

The bottle of elixir medicine is as precious as gold and jade, and the medicine inside is yellow. The cultivator causes the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) within the body to circulate upward and downward, so as to sustain the “spirit-grain” that life requires (the Jing and Qi that nourish Shen, the spirit). After the Three Origins (the upper, middle, and lower vital energies, or the three primordial spirits, as spoken of in Daoism) have come together, and after many years of quiet cultivation, one feels as if the sun and moon in the heavens remain forever unchanged.

The secret writings of the elixir method are transmitted at the elbow—this is an art handed down for a thousand years; in the mouth one recites the Huangting Jing (a Daoist classic of internal cultivation), in two scrolls altogether. Immortal cranes roost upon the ancient altar, and the shadows of locust trees envelop the surroundings; the place is hushed and empty of people, and the doors have long remained closed.

My family originally lived at Tianqi; later we were scattered and dispersed, and white clouds sealed the stone steps. The immortal isle of Penglai lies ten thousand li away, yet I return all the same, and I still know the road back.

The Daoist of Lotus Peak is lofty, pure, and refined, and for long years he does not leave Lotus Peak. At night he worships the stars, and his jade hairpin is ice-cold; at dawn he opens the furnace to refine the elixir, the “dragon and tiger” within the furnace (a metaphor in the alchemical arts for Yin-Yang, the medicinal substances, or the furnace fire) rise aloft, and the golden cauldron grows blazing hot.

I forget distracting thoughts, and joy arises naturally in the heart; crossing the water and passing through the clouds, I come to pay a visit. We do not speak of the secret formula of the “Yellow Sprout” (an alchemical term referring to the elixir medicine, or to an important medicinal substance in internal refinement), nor of the secret arts transmitted at the elbow; the mysterious principle reaches deep into the subtle and hidden—how could it be easily made clear?

If people of the world wish to go to Yingzhou (the legendary immortal mountain in the sea), they must first pass the towering Twelve Towers (the towers and terraces of the immortal realm). Of themselves there come sounds like thunder and lightning that shake the four directions, and a pool of golden water flows off to the east.

Standing alone on a high mountain and gazing afar in all eight directions, after the black clouds disperse the moon still appears solitary. The cosmos is boundless, and people number in the tens of millions—among them, how many can be counted true men and heroes?

A small wheel of fire rises from the Divine Land; what pulls and hauls it with force is an iron ox. With a heart of pure sincerity one ascends the summit of Kunlun—and who knows that this Reverted Elixir is called “Purple Roaming”?

One carefully nurtures the numinous root, using Qi to nourish Shen; this alone is the true truth, and apart from this there is no other truth. The immortals are unwilling to speak plainly, and so countless myriads of people are thereby left bewildered.

Five-Character Regulated Verse

The twenty-four deities are pure and still, and the three thousand merits and practices have already been fulfilled. Cold clouds spread continuous across the earth, and holy sunlight illuminates the whole sky.

The prince is especially suited to planting; as for the so-called “golden field,” how could it be obtained by tilling? Of the truly mysterious principle within it, who says that it cannot grant a person long life?

One penetrates the great Dao (the Way), and also penetrates the mysterious principle, and one’s fame spreads throughout the four seas. When keeping company with kin and friends one brings only a single staff, and then one may…

The prince is especially suited to planting; yet how could the Golden Field—a metaphor in Daoist cultivation for the field of body and mind, or of inner Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy)—be gained by mere tilling? Who would say that the true wondrous principle within it cannot bring long life?

One who fully understands the Great Dao (the Way) and can also penetrate its mysterious principles will have a reputation that spreads in all directions. When kin and friends come and go, he is accompanied only by a single staff; the means by which he makes a living are nothing more than empty hands.

To obtain the fruit, one must sow in due season; pondering what lies in the cup, one at once transforms it into sacred coins (the ritual money of Daoism). Who would have known that, having come to mingle in the human world, he would turn about and return to the lofty heavens?

Within the wondrous there is further wonder; within the mysterious there is still deeper mystery. Every gesture and every word sets forth the Great Dao; even in silence, the way of becoming an immortal is already revealed.

The Dao rests in the palm, marvelous as a pearl; suspended in the void, it is as bright and clear as the full moon. When cultivation reaches completion, one ascends directly to Daluo Heaven (the supreme heaven spoken of in Daoism).