《纸舟先生全真直指》

Zhikou Xiansheng Quanzhen Zhizhi (Direct Pointing of Quanzhen, by Master Paper Boat) was compiled by Jin Yueyan, a transmitter of orthodox Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), whose teaching descends from Huang Gongwang (a Yuan dynasty painter who also entered the Quanzhen order).

The learning of Quanzhen inquires directly into the profound and subtle essence and expounds only the supreme Dao (the Way). It cannot be compared with the miscellaneous studies and minor arts of the "Lesser Vehicle" (lower attainments). Since the Five Patriarchs and Seven Perfected (the five founding masters honored by Quanzhen and the seven disciples of Wang Chongyang) appeared in the world, all who have attained the Dao have pointed directly to the original mind and realized it for themselves, sealing mind with mind and setting down not a single written word. Therein lies the wonder. Many have studied the Dao in later ages. If their teacher is suitable, what is taught accords with the Dao. If the teacher is not the right person, some teach rigid sitting and a mind guarded to desiccation, some teach swallowing Jing (essence) and gulping Qi (vital energy), some teach visualizing the heart and kidneys, and some mix in side paths. These not only bring no benefit but do harm.

The crux of Quanzhen is this: before one's parents gave birth to one, the true nature was already complete and fully present, neither increasing at birth nor diminishing at death. If a person can use the mind to verify emptiness and awaken to the original true nature, the truth becomes naturally whole, the way of the Golden Elixir is fully present, and the foundation of the Great Medicine (the root of forming the elixir) is established. Some say that the Golden Elixir is the way of the immortals and requires a master's oral transmission of secret words. Others say that if one cultivates only the school of nature and not also the school of life, one cannot become an immortal. Here I will dispel this doubt for everyone.

Consider a fish turning into a dragon, rotted wheat into a butterfly, a sparrow entering the water and becoming a clam, a clam becoming a flying quail, and a chaste woman turning into stone. In some of these transformations the sentient becomes insentient, and in others the insentient becomes sentient. Some come about through the firmness of a single thought, and others through contact with the two Qi of Yin-Yang. In terms of nature, there are the differences among birds, aquatic creatures, animals, and plants. In terms of form, there are the differences among scales, shells, feathers, and fur. If things are marvelous and unfathomable to such a degree, what need is there for the wondrous secret formula of a true master's private oral transmission? Compared with the myriad things, humans are worlds apart. A human being is the most spiritually endowed of all creatures. If one can awaken to the wonder of Quanzhen, with thought following thought in unbroken succession, guard the primordial Qi alone until it becomes soft and harmonious, illumine a single point of spiritual brightness without dimming it, withdraw the outward functioning of the six senses so that they cling to no external thing, hold to the One and then forget the One, one reaches utmost emptiness and utmost stillness. When stillness reaches its extreme, mind and nature cease. When mind and nature cease, life is stayed. When life is stayed, the elixir is completed. When the elixir is completed, the Shen (spirit) transforms without limit. A person who cultivates and becomes immortal is no different from the myriad things that change through the firmness of a thought or through contact with the Qi of Yin-Yang.

Unfortunately, today's learners have shallow capacities and unsteady faith in the Dao. Their doubts grow daily and their correct foundation fades daily. They refuse to labor hard, yet hope to attain the Dao on the spot. They do not realize that those who attain the Dao on the spot have cultivated good fruits through a thousand lives and ten thousand ages, and only now, with their merit and practice complete, do they succeed in this way. We are ordinary people in mortal bodies, with improper conduct and no cultivation of practice, yet we want the elixir way to be accomplished at once. That is very far from the mark. Below I set out the methods of the Seven Perfected for making form and spirit both wondrous, the verification of the sevenfold return and union, and the stages of cultivation in the meditation chamber. This is admittedly like clouds veiling empty space, or waves rising where there is no wind. If you do not believe what I have said, you can only wait for Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin (Zhong-Lü, the ancestral masters of the elixir way) to transmit it to you in person. Even then you would get only half. What is the other half? The stone woman flies, and the wooden man calls out.

The Golden Elixir (Jindan), the core attainment of Neidan (internal alchemy), is the source of creative transformation and the sovereign of the changes of the myriad things. Heaven and Earth arise from what has neither form nor image, and the Dao (the Way) of true wholeness runs through past and present.

One must begin from within oneself, and must never seek outside.

From empty non-being the Dao gives birth to the One Qi (vital energy), the primordial energy of which all things are constituted. The One Qi divides into Yin and Yang; Yin and Yang in turn give rise to the myriad phenomena. If one has truly grasped this principle, why go looking in the water for “lead”—a Neidan term often used for the yang within yin and similar objects of cultivation?

A human being is at root a mass of flesh and blood. That one can be clear, awake, and luminous depends entirely on the yang spirit, the person’s luminous spirit (Shen). In daily rest and activity, in speech and movement, who after all is in charge? If the spirit leaves the body to seek outside, there is no longer any way to take hold of it.

From empty non-being the Dao gives birth to the One Qi; the One Qi divides into Yin and Yang; Yin and Yang in turn give rise to the myriad phenomena. If one has truly grasped this principle, why go looking in the water for “lead”?

A human being is at root a mass of flesh and blood. That one can be clear, awake, and luminous depends entirely on the yang spirit. In daily rest and activity, in speech and movement, who after all is in charge? If the spirit leaves the body to seek outside, there is no longer any root that can be grasped.

To set forth all manner of names and explanations only leads people astray. From this day on, once one awakens to the Dao of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), one no longer lightly trusts words that are abstruse and extraordinary.

Radiant light shines through the void above and below. Every person is originally complete and perfect, lacking nothing. The Dao of Quanzhen reveals its subtlety within the real; what is truly realized is the realm of Wuwei (non-action) and of non-duality.

Sweep away superfluous names and tangled explanations, and leave not the slightest obstruction in the mind. What the Seven Perfected and the Five Patriarchs—the principal groups of patriarchs in Quanzhen Daoism—taught comes to no more than this. Once it is understood, one can pass beyond the ordinary and enter sagehood.

The yang spirit is like the solar hun (yang soul); the yin form is like the lunar po (yin soul).

Only when both form and spirit have been verified can one be said to have truly awakened to the supreme reality. The hun belongs to the yang spirit, and the po belongs to the yin form. The body moves by means of the spirit’s luminous clarity, just as the moon reflects the radiance of the sun.

Yin and Yang join, and form and spirit depend on each other.

The son ever clings to the mother, and the wife complies with the husband. When form and spirit settle into union, Yin and Yang have a foundation. As thoughts continue without a break, they become luminous of themselves over time. If cultivation and realization never cease, one can ascend to the Jade Capital (Yujing), the immortal realm of which Daoism speaks.

The matching seal of the seven reversions and the seven perfected.

Form and spirit regard each other. In ordinary life people hurry along in a drunken, dreamlike haze; only when one suddenly turns and looks back does one recognize this “other” before one’s eyes.

The initial truth of entering the Dao. When one has just entered the Dao, if one can recognize the original reality face to face, there is nothing to avoid; only at the crucial point does one distinguish the near from the far.

Form and spirit accompany each other. One day they suddenly know one another, and thus one draws near the supreme reality. From then on, guest and host grow close.

This is called obtaining the true. This is what is meant by obtaining the true. In the vast universe people are without number; who would believe that fire lies hidden in the ice of deep winter?

Form and spirit enter each other. Form and spirit mingle, intimate as child and mother. If one can recognize the original reality face to face, there is nothing to avoid; only at the crucial point does one distinguish the near from the far.

Form and spirit accompany each other. One day they suddenly know one another, and thus one draws near the supreme reality. From then on, guest and host grow close.

The realm of “attaining the True” (dezhen) is like this: in the vast cosmos there are countless people, yet very few believe that, in the depth of winter, fire can actually arise from within ice.

Form and Shen (spirit) fuse together, as intimate in feeling as mother and child—how could they bear to part? They walk together, sit together, and even dwell in the same clothing.

In the realm of “guarding the True” (shouzhen), if one did not turn and look closely, people would simply laugh and say that Hanshan and Shide had become husband and wife.

Form and Shen embrace one another: true Yang clasps Yin Qi (vital energy), and the two become a single whole, with no need to seek or ponder on purpose.

If the guidance of the breath strays even slightly—by as little as a single hair—the elixir Qi may scatter and fly away. This is the principle of “within the water of long life, metal is contained.”

When both form and Shen reach the mysterious and wondrous realm, it is as if one wears a brocade robe and rides a fine horse with a jade bridle, traveling back and forth several times to the immortal land of the Peach Blossom Spring.

You toil and contrive, reversing the ordinary course, treading the green and clad in red—what, in the end, is it all for? Now you stop to rest, and have already forgotten the way back.

When both form and Shen are let go, it is like opening a golden lock: both ends are empty, and this is no longer the same as the lonely, formless Taiji (Supreme Ultimate).

The realm of “verifying the True” (zhengzhen) is to grasp the Guanghan Palace upside down and return to the undivided state of primordial chaos; within the folds of the robe, stars seem to surge, and the winds of heaven swell and beat.

Ferrying later students across is like working the oar to meet the boat, going back and forth; those with an affinity then board this vessel.

By true awakening one verifies what is true, transcends the world, reaches the other shore, and accomplishes genuine awakening. After one has oneself gained the benefit, one must also help others to gain it.

The arrangements for entering the chamber to cultivate: the size of the cultivation chamber follows fixed regulations in each case.

In entering the chamber to cultivate, the general aim is to settle and concentrate the spirit and to gather the breath. When true Qi is abundant, Shen naturally becomes keen and responsive; when Shen is keen, transformation can arise. Yet concentrating Shen and gathering Qi depend entirely on purity and stillness, so one must not neglect small points and thereby spoil the great work. Heavy, turbid meat makes the Qi turbid; rank, pungent vegetables easily foster anger; the five flavors deplete original Jing (essence). All of these should be given up. One must not suppose that they do no harm and will not obstruct the great Dao (the Way); otherwise the breath will not be clear, the spirit cannot settle, and it will be difficult to accomplish anything.

When one first begins seated meditation, dullness and drowsiness often arise. Moderating food and drink can make the breath flow freely; when the mind is empty and still, the spirit becomes clear, bright, and settled.

When drowsiness and sleepiness set in, there is no need to force yourself to go on sitting in meditation. Forced sitting drains the mind and spirit; once the mind and spirit are fatigued, Qi (vital energy) easily scatters, and when Qi scatters, consciousness also grows dull. This does you no good and is of no help in cultivating the Dao (the Way). When you are drowsy, simply stand up and walk slowly for a few steps, then sit down again, rouse your spirits, and regulate the breathing until it is calm and steady. When the breath settles, Qi can become full; when Qi is full, consciousness can rest securely. As the days pass, the urge to sleep will naturally recede.

After sitting for a long time, you may sometimes feel true Qi (the inner breath spoken of in cultivation) moving upward from below, rising and falling back and forth; at times the kidney region feels hot, or the body seems to throb. These are only occasional signs that appear as Qi gradually gathers. There is no need to regard them as extraordinary; let them arise naturally and pass naturally.

After prolonged sitting, if at night you suddenly open or close your eyes, lights like the sun, the moon, or a lamp may appear before you, or a field of brightness, which after a while fades gradually or may vanish all at once. This is the light of Shen (spirit)—the name used in cultivation for an inner sense of light—appearing together with delusive thoughts. It is not a true realm of cultivation; do not deliberately endure it or pursue it.

After sitting for a long time, you may sometimes see mountain forests, towns and cities, or people you especially like or especially dislike in ordinary life. All these scenes are manifestations of delusive thoughts that have not yet been fully exhausted. There is no need to heed them; simply let them go.

After sitting for a long time, you may suddenly forget both body and consciousness. Even if a so-called genuine realm appears within the body, do not rejoice in it or cling to it on that account. Once you take it as real and hold fast to it, deviation may arise in the mind.

If, after many days of sitting in a quiet room, the mind and spirit suddenly become overexcited and you see all manner of scenes at random, do not casually tell others about these things. This is the working of spirit-consciousness (the activity of consciousness). If the mind and spirit are so agitated that they are hard to calm, relax a little and ask someone to prompt and awaken you; once you are clear, the scenes will disperse.

When, during seated meditation, you suddenly feel a slight discomfort, you may compose body and mind, regulate yourself, and clear the discomfort away. If for the moment you cannot regulate it well, stop first, recover gradually, and only then sit again. The small measure of Qi (vital energy) moving for a time within the body cannot withstand the shifts of cold and heat in the climate of heaven and earth; on no account should you harm the body on this account.

After long practice in seated meditation, once the skill has matured, a formless and rankless “True Person” may suddenly appear—referring to a visionary image that arises in cultivation—now emerging and now vanishing. Let it take its own course; do not take it for a real realm and cling to it. If you decide that it is real, that is still an illness. Even so, remember: the shadows of flowers in empty space seen by diseased eyes must not be mistaken for actual things. What follows in the original is a damaged passage; its sense is roughly that, faced with such appearances, one should let them change as they will and not hold fast to them.

Yuechu looked up in admiration to the mysterious and subtle Dao (the Way) and reverently practiced the supreme Dao. He was willing to temper himself, and would rather abandon the dust and toil of the secular world. Since his heart’s wish had been granted by Heaven’s intent, he was to study with single-minded attention and extend his mind broadly. Later he met Master Zhizhou and received from him confirmation of the wondrous method of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection). A book of the Great Dao ought not to be treasured by one person alone; it was therefore circulated widely, so that people might loosen what clings, cast off what binds, cut off delusive thoughts, and dispel doubts.

If both mind and method are clear, a single glance makes them as plain as looking into the palm of the hand. If one clings to the circle-image—a diagram used in cultivation to symbolize the realm of perfect integration—it is like searching for a pearl in the water. Turning the light back upon one’s own mind, one can grasp the crux of Quanzhen cultivation. The final line borrows an event to set forth a principle; how, then, is it to be understood?

“One true reality, without a single stain; the seven zhen are not. The mud-dragon of the Eastern Sea roars at the purple turtle. Penetrate the pivot of yuanhe, and under a sky full of frost and moon a crow cries in the night.”

These lines express the aim of cultivating the Dao through symbolic images: once the realm of pure, single reality is reached, one goes beyond discriminating among names and marks such as the “seven zhen.” If one can thoroughly master the crux of yuanhe—the harmonizing of primordial Qi—it is as if, on a night when frost and moon fill the sky, one hears a crow’s cry. Related sentences in the original are repeated, and the ending bears a mark of textual damage; the sense of certain characters cannot be determined with certainty.