《西云集》

Freed from the bonds of fame and profit, one returns to seclusion in the mountains and forests and no longer leaves any visible trace. When weary, one sits or lies beneath the tall pines, brushes aside the grass mat, and rests with a stone for a pillow.

The grotto dwelling is filled with a mild and genial air, which nurtures a subtle and wondrous form. When the work of cultivation is complete, one reclines in intoxicated ease amid the green mountains and woods, listening to the birds and chanting passages on changsheng jiushi—long life and lasting clarity (living long while keeping the spirit full and vigorous).

When the heart-mind and Shen (spirit) are settled and no longer caught by worldly ties, one steps out of the cage of the mundane world. The body is like cloud and water, coming and going freely east and west. After drinking, one leans aslant in the shade of the pines, as if the sound of shenghuang—the sheng and reed-pipe instruments—fills the sky.

A solitary cloud drifts at its own ease, and sun and moon follow their appointed courses. If one who cultivates the Dao (the Way) can be equally free, one may withdraw into the green mountains and seek no renown.

A stream winds past the brushwood gate, and green hills rise in layers all around. No carriage or horse brings a guest to the door, yet wild clouds often drift into the grotto dwelling.

All day the hall in the mountains receives no visitors. On a still night one occasionally hears a tiger strike the door. When mind and nature are clear and settled, it is as though one dwelt in a palace. The harmonious Qi (vital energy) within the body gathers and rises to Kunlun—in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), this commonly refers to the head or to another vital region of the body.

One agrees to meet a friend before the green mountain cliff. The two talk and laugh with delight and, deep into the night, are still unwilling to return. No scene of the dusty world meets the eye; white clouds on the summit shine in the moonlight.

Nurturing one’s innate nature among mountain forests and springs, far from ordinary human attachments, and with no dusty thoughts in the heart, one comes to possess the refined delight of the immortals. Strolling at will among mountains and waters, one returns to lie with pillow raised high, dwelling at ease amid clouds and roseate mists.

Stirred to rise on a quiet night, one wanders through the mountain scenery, as if soaring aloft, letting body and mind go free, and entering among the purple clouds. On the wondrous lofty peak, apes and monkeys cry to the moon; beside the clear shallow stream, a tiger’s roar gives rise to the wind.

For ten years one has lived in seclusion among the green mountains, at ease within five-colored clouds of Qi. A person so far beyond the ordinary world cannot be known by others; traveling north and south, east and west, one remains leisurely and content.

Weary of life in the dusty world and fond of what is natural and true, one transcends the secular, body and mind free and unrestrained. Deeply hidden in the mountains of blue-green mists, without a companion, one takes lofty peaks and flowing waters as neighbors.

In my youth I practiced in the Mysterious Gate (Xuanmen, the gate of Daoist cultivation), though I was not yet outstanding. Since I was able to find a place to conceal myself, I withdrew for a time into seclusion. I sought neither rank and fame nor wealth in the world; I wished only to be someone who kept to the mountains, forests, and springs, content in plainness and simplicity.

In the Grotto-Heavens (Dongtian, the immortal realms of which Daoism speaks), the wind and moon were clear and bright, and flowing water kept company with white clouds. Lingzhi grew, lotuses bloomed in abundance, and the Jade Fluid (Yuye, the sweet, rich fluid of Daoist cultivation) was mellow and full. Last night a blue-robed messenger brought the decree of the gods, saying that all this was to be entrusted to one who dwells in leisure.

Fifty Poems Setting Forth My Feelings

Even if someone were to come to my study, I would fear that he might bring quarrels of right and wrong in with him. I have no wish to dispute who is right and who is wrong, for that would spoil true quiet leisure and happiness.

When I was young I cut off the worldly ties that entangled mind and Shen (spirit), turned my gaze back within, and lived in seclusion in the tradition of the Old Master (Laozi and the Daoist school he represents). I took free wandering among waters and clouds as my livelihood, and pure poverty and yielding softness as my daily life.

The mind’s thoughts are like foam on the water; turning to contemplate within, one sees clearly that their traces have nowhere to remain. If someone understands this principle of cultivation, harmonious Qi (vital energy) will course through the whole body and flow of itself.

I do not envy the high officials and nobles of the human world. Forget reputation and set aside profit, and there are not so many cares. When hungry, I beg from door to door according to my strength; once full, I return to the hermitage and, following the example of Cook Ding carving an ox, move with the grain of things, easy and unhurried.

When no dusty thoughts remain in the heart, one can step out of the cage of the mundane world; grasping the meaning without clinging to words, one understands that the myriad things are originally empty and still. On the green mountain there is a stone flat as a pillow, and I am content to be an old man who lies sleeping in the human world.

Having seen through the vanity of profit and fame, I cultivate nature and life and bring the work of cultivation to completion. A tinkling sound reaches my ears, as if some lofty tone were ringing among the clouds; and so I ride a crane and journey in Shen, flying up to the Jade Capital (Yujing, the celestial immortal realm of which Daoism speaks).

Living amid the red dust, I am too lazy to open my eyes to those disturbances. Whatever I encounter, I am not pulled by outside things, and my true nature is not buried. The clouds part; in the clear blue sky the autumn moon is bright. Leaning on a bamboo staff I stroll alone and ascend the Jasper Terrace (Yaotai, the storied tower of the legendary realm of immortals).

Though I am in reduced circumstances, I am at leisure and at ease, like a free and wandering immortal. When drowsy I rest on a high pillow and sleep peacefully among the clouds. In the dream not a mote of dust remains; it turns to golden light and shines through the whole great thousand-world.

The subtle knack of cultivation need not be deliberately sought out. Let body and mind go completely, and enter the state of Wuwei (non-action). To remain, even in stillness, able to respond to the myriad things—this is the very substance of true emptiness. Only upon reaching this point can one be said truly to have awakened.

When the true Dao (the Way) has been thoroughly realized, every attachment comes to rest, and one no longer wastes time rushing about at the whim of desire. When Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are full and the work of cultivation is complete, one may ride a whale away to Yingzhou (the legendary immortal mountain in the sea).

Let body and mind go completely, and the Dao draws near. The heart is like cold ash, no longer stained by the vexations of the world. The radiance of spiritual clarity runs through heaven and earth, and one may come and go freely north, south, east, and west.

Within death one goes on transcending death; after letting go, one must let go yet again. Edicts from the immortal realm come flying time after time; once the summons is received, one rides a luan bird and wanders at ease through the nine heavens.

Sword in hand, one battles the demonic obstructions within the heart; once they are overcome, they are brought back into the transforming work of the Dao. Steadily driving a white ox, one roams the grotto abodes. One who looks idle on the outside is not, within, without cultivation.

The capacity to penetrate the Dao of Heaven is hard to fathom, and the secret of cultivation beyond the world is difficult even for ghosts and spirits to know. After an audience with the Celestial Emperor in the Ruique and Lingong (the immortal palaces), one sets one’s rainbow immortal robes in order and goes to the feast at Yaochi (the mythical place of immortal banquets).

When the will is plain and the body spare, the strife of the world comes to rest. It is as if even the body of flesh and blood has melted away, and one ascends to Daluo Tian (the high heaven of which Daoism speaks). Looking down on the carriages and travelers in the red dust, one sees them still hurrying each day after trifling fame and gain.

Forget worldly cleverness, and one accords with the sacred Dao; break through the heavenly pass, and one proceeds to Yaochi. Who can understand a flute played without holes? The wonder of a tune played on a stringless zither is known only to oneself.

If, on meeting outer conditions, the mind can still remain settled, one may be free of every demonic obstruction. Grasp the true intent without clinging to words, and contention comes to an end. The changes of the human world seem endless; better simply to nurture in quiet, within one’s hermitage, the Qi of Great Harmony (Taihe—the harmonious and peaceful primordial energy).

To be content with pure poverty, gentle and humble—this is true cultivation. Fame, profit, and vain display should all be laid down. When the mind within is lucid and free of stray thoughts, clear breeze and bright moon seem to fill the Qionglou (the jade towers of the immortal realm).

If in cultivation one can awaken all at once, the delusions of the dusty world disperse, and true nature appears like the bright moon. Refine the primordial Qi of the beginning of chaos and gather it back into one’s own realm of the Dao; without moving a single step, one may still arrive at Penglai (the legendary immortal mountain).

Clear radiance shines bright, unstained by dust. The vast Qi flows on without cease, and is used to nourish the Valley Spirit (Gushen, the inner spiritual nature of which Daoism speaks).

If in cultivation one can awaken all at once, the delusions of the dusty world disperse, and true nature appears like the bright moon. Refine the primordial Qi of the beginning of chaos and gather it back into one’s own realm of the Dao; without moving a single step, one may still arrive at Penglai.

The light of clarity is bright and transparent, untouched by the least speck of dust. The flood-like Qi (vital energy) stretches on without end, and is used to nourish the Valley Spirit—the primordial spirit within the body and the true ground of life, as Daoists understand it. When affairs arise, it is better simply to be a person with nothing to attend to; only by keeping no selfish mind does one truly surpass those whose hearts are fixed on what they seek.

A harmonious Qi fills the space between Heaven and Earth. The azure dragon steadily draws its carriage, coming from the Ten Continents (the legendary ocean realms where immortals dwell). In the Hall of Penetrating Brightness, pipes and reeds sound, and one drinks freely of the ambrosial wine of purest essence—what unbounded delight!

Last night that wild and unrestrained Daoist who arrived riding a dragon came expressly to discuss with me the mysterious and subtle principles. The elixir was brought to completion, yet after several further cycles of refinement its radiance still shifted between brightness and dimness; the work of cultivating purity while living in the human world was evidently still lacking.

When all things are seen through, one understands that they are empty in their original nature. A vast clear wind fills the Great Void (the boundless expanse of space). Once the true face within is recognized, the fleshly body is taken for a house in which one only temporarily lodges.

At once one casts off restless noise and cuts off attachment to worldly feelings and affairs, forgetting clever devices, external things, and even the bodily form. Shen (spirit) concentrates and breath congeals, as though the infant’s primordial Qi had been refined to completion. Whether gathered in or let go, all can return to a realm profound, dark, and mysterious.

When the mind no longer clings to any scene or image, one steps out of the river of delusion. If thought does not sink into empty stillness, cultivation of the Dao (the Way) advances without cease. Clouds and mist disperse, and the emerald pool is clear and bright; the light of numinous clarity is free of obscuration, and Qi and Shen alike return to peace.

A bamboo table and a rush cushion, set with one plain little thatched hall; at ease and with nothing to do, one for the moment draws in one’s light and conceals one’s brilliance. From this day on one will no longer compose poems and rhapsodies at will, lest others be drawn into talk of right and wrong.

When the delusive dream amid the red dust dissolves, one can be released from confusion. If thought does not sink into empty stillness, cultivation of the Dao advances without cease. Clouds and mist disperse, and the emerald pool is clear and bright; the light of numinous clarity is free of obscuration, and Qi and Shen alike return to peace.

A bamboo table and a rush cushion, set with one plain little thatched hall; at ease and with nothing to do, one for the moment draws in one’s light and conceals one’s brilliance. From this day on one will no longer compose poems and rhapsodies at will, lest others be drawn into talk of right and wrong.

When the delusive dream of the red dust is cut off, joy has no end. Meeting external things without giving rise to attachment, one gains freedom. When Shen and Qi are harmonized and the work and merit of cultivation are complete, one may ride the azure luan (a legendary immortal bird) and go steadily on to Yingzhou (a legendary immortal mountain in the sea).

Awakening to the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), one has not a single coin on one’s person; only by not keeping wealth in the heart can one be counted as Quanzhen. No wonder that, covered with a quilt of coarse cloth, one still feels warm in the depth of winter, as if granted half a thread of spring from the immortal’s gourd.

Jealousy, stinginess, and craving—when will they ever cease? Clinging to temper, wealth, wine, and sensual beauty—when will it ever be laid down? Turning back in sudden awakening and casting all of this aside, one can let go, return, and attain freedom.

Of a hundred years of life, forty have already passed, yet nothing has been accomplished, and the hair at both temples is streaked with white. Last night, in a sudden and thorough awakening, one took lodging in a cramped and humble room, nourishing a mind that is peaceful, mild, and open in its emptiness.

Because one recited the Scripture of the Reverted Elixir in Nine Cycles (a classic that sets forth the cultivation of Neidan, internal alchemy), ten years of drunken, delusive dreaming were startled awake in a single morning. From then on one no longer contends for superiority in the world, but is willing to live hidden in the mountains and not let anyone know one’s name.

Traveling north, south, east, and west, wandering everywhere like clouds and flowing water and withdrawing into seclusion as circumstances allow, one may well count this as ease and freedom. Worldly life is always noisy and full of turmoil, yet the practice of one who cultivates immortality is deep and subtle.

Sitting in quiet, one silently examines one’s own thoughts, considers the path ahead, and step by step moves toward the realm of the immortals. How can the realm of the immortals be shown to people? When Yin Qi (vital energy) is entirely dispersed and Yang Qi is abundant, the great Dao (the Way) manifests of itself.

Sitting in quiet, one silently examines one’s own thoughts, continues cultivating and moving forward, and steps beyond the bounds of the world of dust. In the Dantian (energy center)—the place within the body where Jing (essence) and Qi are refined and nurtured—a treasure is stored, one that can free a person from birth and death; when the mind is no longer drawn by external things, that is the realm of the immortals. How can the realm of the immortals be shown to people? When Yin Qi is entirely dispersed and Yang Qi is abundant, the great Dao manifests of itself.

Sitting in quiet, one silently examines one’s own thoughts, continues cultivating and moving forward, and steps beyond the bounds of the world of dust. A treasure is stored in the Dantian, one that can free a person from birth and death; when the mind is not stirred by external things, that is the realm of the Dao.

Resolved to cast off worldly attachments and aspiring wholeheartedly to the cultivation of immortality, one finds that when the cultivation of body and mind is harmonious and complete, one can follow the natural course of things. Meeting outer circumstances, the mind is no longer moved, and one becomes a person of leisure with nothing to cling to; thus one lies at rest in a cave, sleeping with clouds for a pillow.

Good and evil seem to arise from two opposite ends, yet a mind stirred by the world of dust will not come to rest. Even if one stakes one’s very life, cultivating and contending bitterly for ten years, once the practice is accomplished one can roam alone through the Taixu (the vast and boundless void).

Dwelling in seclusion among green mountain ridges, one gives the heart full play; reclining high amid clouds and mist, one is leisurely and content. Mind and Shen (spirit) occasionally leave the world of dust, then suddenly awaken and return to the clarity of ordinary days.

Amid green waters and blue mountains, not a speck of dust remains; the place where the Dao is attained lies right before the eyes—why seek Penglai anywhere else? A little hut built of thatch may be humble, yet who without such fortune could come to live in it?

Drawing in mind and Shen, one sees through human feelings and the ways of the world; turning the gaze inward, one illuminates the many thoughts that arise amid worldly conditions. When one no longer clings to those conditions, to human feelings, or to one’s own thoughts, one may lie at ease high on the summit of Mount Yao.

One does not pursue wealth and rank, but is content to keep to plain poverty and leisure. Why let people look coldly upon the affairs of the world? Better to flick one’s sleeves and withdraw to the green mountains, reclining high upon the white clouds.

Fame, merit, wealth, and rank are all cast aside, and worldly business together with the give and take of human relations is set down as well. One goes straight into the deep mountains to live in seclusion, and in a thatched hut carefully studies the subtle and wondrous methods of the Dao.

In person one is thoroughly plain, artless, and sparing of words, and the state of mind is thoroughly still; one accepts poverty and is also at ease in leisure. Jin’ge Mountain is deep and remote, and few people come, so within the small hut whose brushwood gate is shut fast, one burns incense and cultivates in quiet.

Though set amid a thicket of cares, one can remain far from care; though placed in a heap of disputes over right and wrong, one can stay distant from such disputes. Silently grasping the principle of advancing and withdrawing, of entering and leaving, one comes to understand that the principles spoken of in heaven and in the human world are indeed not false.

Between heaven and earth, tiger and dragon press and surge against one another, like lightning streaking past and thunder crashing. This is precisely the working by which creation and transformation operate. One who cultivates the Dao (the Way) roams at ease through heaven and earth, like an idle wanderer bound by nothing. How could people of the world understand this manner of cultivation?

I have been inside the Mysterious Gate—the gate of Daoist practice—for twenty years, gathering in mind and Shen (spirit), no longer letting the heart run wild like a monkey or a wild horse. Returning before the cliff, I clap my hands and laugh: so the Heaven of Qian has always been the Heaven of Qian; the original nature of all things is simply thus.

My hair is tangled and my face covered in dust and grime, so that I look like a dull, simple person; yet the inner luminous clarity—the mind-nature that is clear and never obscured—transforms and nurtures its functioning. One who cultivates the Dao roams at ease through heaven and earth, like an idle wanderer bound by nothing. How could people of the world understand this manner of cultivation?

I have been inside the Mysterious Gate for twenty years, gathering in mind and spirit, no longer letting the heart run wild like a monkey or a wild horse. Returning before the cliff, I clap my hands and laugh: so the Heaven of Qian has always been the Heaven of Qian; the original nature of all things is simply thus.

My hair is tangled and my face covered in dust and grime, so that I look like a dull, simple person, while the inner luminous clarity does not show its light. Only when the blue-robed messenger brought good news did I come to believe that I had awakened to the mysterious principle.

I draw in every thought of self and other, of right and wrong, and let the single thought return to the root, so that the eye of the Dao—the mind’s eye that discerns the Great Dao—grows clear. From then on I pass beyond the bonds of cause and effect, singing and drinking in freedom and enjoying the realm of the unborn.

Suppose the great limit of impermanence—the changing of worldly affairs, and the fact that every life must come to an end—were about to arrive. Rather than wait until that moment, one should cultivate early, while still alive. Stop, stop: only by returning to Wuwei (non-action), according with the Great Dao and not acting out of willful contrivance, can one leave the current of the secular world and enter the ranks of those who cultivate the Dao.

Once one seizes the authority of Yin-Yang creation and transformation, one becomes an immortal in a grotto dwelling of the Penglai Isles. Lead the flood-dragon to lie at rest upon the mountain, and draw the fierce tiger down to sleep at the bottom of the sea.

A single stroke of the bell startles the dreaming soul awake; at the third crowing of the cock, one leaves the imperial city. Alone, one climbs to the summit of Mount Kunlun and looks down upon the people of the world contending for profit and chasing after fame.

Five Poems of Lingering Inspiration

Ever since the spirit sword was put away in its case, the demon armies have stirred with a furtive clamor, chilled to the bone with fear. One who cultivates the Dao travels through the worlds of the ten directions, and the single point of inner luminous clarity remains peaceful and at ease wherever one may be.

Having passed through kalpic calamities and the cycles of rebirth, today one finally awakens, seeing through everything in every place and casting off the confinement of the ordinary. In a leisure hour one stands gazing before Honghai Peak, and now and then boards the spirit raft—the mythical wooden raft that travels to and fro on the Heavenly River—to roam the heavens.

With sword at the waist and a dragon for a mount, one’s bearing is bold and strong; soaring at ease, one ranges across the whole vault of heaven. Passing the Three Mountains by night, while the hour is still early, one lodges on the foremost peak of the Jasper Terrace.

A stretch of green mountains rises beneath the blue sky, and in the evening sun a few calls of a hidden bird are heard. Though the bird’s voice and the mountain’s colors lie before the eyes, no one in the world awakens to them. Only one who can awaken to them comes to understand creation and transformation.

Seeing through the many attachments of the world, one can rise above the dusty realm and, deep among the blue-green cliffs, enjoy quiet ease and freedom. Lying down, one hears the stream murmuring as it flows; looking out, range upon range of mountains still stretches toward the southwest.

Seven Occasional Pieces

Seeing through the illusoriness of human feelings and worldly affairs, I drift with the clouds and waters like duckweed, lodging myself at the edge of heaven. I hide away in a thatched hut deep among the mountains, and no longer parade this illusory body before others.

I have already seen through the affairs of the world and know that they cannot be relied upon. I live in seclusion among mountain forests and springs, nurturing the vast Qi (vital energy) within my breast. I wait until the divine elixir is completed through nine transmutations, then ride a dark crane seated backward and ascend above the Three Heavens. The “nine-times-transmuted divine elixir” is, in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), a way of speaking of the perfection of elixir practice; the “Three Heavens” are the celestial realms spoken of in Daoism.

Whether it is the hidden workings of the Heavenly Dao (the Way) or the devices of the world, I recline among the pines and watch the white clouds drift. If someone comes to ask about cultivation, I smile and point toward the western peak: its cold emerald clarity seems already to set forth the quiet meaning of the practice.

When matters come to hand, the outer scene dissolves and the mind returns to empty luminosity; a harmonious Qi circulates through the whole body, and the work of cultivation runs clear through. When the mood arises, I chant aloud among the green mountains; when weary, I lie high amid the white clouds.

Mountain colors on every side enclose the setting sun, and the sound of the spring flows around the thatched hall. How laughable that worldly minds are so turbid, insisting on going out to sea in search of the immortal realm of Penglai. “Pengzhuang” here refers to sea-borne immortal mountains of the Penglai kind.

Cloud-mountains thrust straight into the azure vault from all four sides, and within the mountains lies a Daoist’s dwelling of pure stillness. Most beautiful is the third month of late spring, when fallen blossoms carpet the ground and the stream seems to flow away bearing their fragrance.

Mountain colors on every side enclose the setting sun, and the sound of the spring flows around the thatched hall. How laughable that worldly minds are so turbid, insisting on going out to sea in search of the immortal realm of Penglai.

Cloud-mountains thrust straight into the azure vault from all four sides, and within the mountains lies a Daoist’s dwelling of pure stillness. Most beautiful is the third month of late spring, when fallen blossoms carpet the ground and the stream seems to flow away bearing their fragrance.

Hidden in the Jin’ge Mountains is a grotto-heaven (dongtian) like an immortal realm. From ancient times, many worthies have come here to withdraw from the world and live in seclusion. A stream passes through cloud and mist, winding about the green ridges; broad banks of mist and rose-colored vapor veil the emerald summits.

Two Poems Chanted at Leisure

At every moment one realizes the profound and mysterious principle, and everywhere one can see the source of the myriad things. The true essential point lies hidden in wordlessness and is hard to fathom; true action issues from Wuwei (non-action) and is likewise hard to explain in words.

The true feeling in the heart need not be told to the world, nor need one be drawn into the devices of worldly sentiment. One has only to chant freely as the heart moves, and lines that content the mind will come. Having affairs is no match for the quiet of having none, and Wuwei also surpasses deliberate action.

Two Playful Pieces

The tall pines beneath the pavilion stay green through all four seasons; beside the pines I stand quietly on ground grown thick with sedge. At night I walk out onto the riverbank, and willow fluff comes drifting on the wind and settles on my clothes.

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter each have their cool and warmth, and life rests secure. Sweet, bitter, pungent, and sour—every flavor can be borne with equanimity. Even when words of right and wrong reach the ear, the heart is not stirred by honor or disgrace.

Xiyun ji (The Western Clouds Collection), upper volume

Xiyun ji, middle volume

When a person can rise above worldly attachments, the heart grows open and unburdened, and from “Wu” (non-being) one recognizes one’s originally true self-nature. When the Heavenly Pass (Tianguan, an aperture in cultivation symbolizing access to the heavenly Dao, the Way) emerges, one turns toward Peng Island (Pengdao, the legendary sea realm where immortals dwell). This style of practice is called “Gushen” (the Spirit of the Valley).

Two Poems on Letting the Mind Die

How can one keep all manner of stray thoughts from arising? The more one chases after a thought, the more stray thoughts are born from the heart. If the mind, even as it arises, can be made as still as death, so that stray thoughts do not arise, one may settle the spirit, govern the state, and in the end accomplish the great Dao.

Where is the effect of the work of cultivating the true to be seen? When the mind’s thoughts sink into stillness, desires and stray thoughts of every kind no longer arise; Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are full, the practice of cultivation is complete, and the light of numinous clarity shines through the Divine Capital (Shenjing, here the inner realm of body and mind).

Four Poems on Awakening to the Dao

The teacher transmits secret words, opening and clarifying the mind of awakening. A style of practice that transcends the worldly can also be nourished amid everyday affairs. What cannot be found though one searches the whole world, a crow seems to carry back from among the flowers—the lines use this image to express that what is gained in awakening to the Dao is hard to seek outwardly.

The mind is no longer pulled by cleverness and stray thoughts, and one calmly realizes the Dao of true constancy. Dharma-nature (Faxing, the true nature inherent in things) is vast and manifest, filling heaven and earth. Lead and mercury, symbolic terms in Neidan (internal alchemy), are gathered into the cauldron and furnace and refined into a single field of crystalline light.

The way of the immortals must from the outset be cultivated by oneself. Only by cutting off stray thoughts and forgetting the bodily form can one leave the bonds of the dusty world. After thorough awakening, one understands that at the beginning the myriad things had no fixed form; even without stepping outside the hermitage gate, one can reach Yingzhou (the legendary immortal isle).

The teacher transmits secret words, enabling one to realize the primordial beginning. In coming there is no lack; in going there is nothing added. The grime accumulated over many years is gradually wiped clean; the whole body is numinously clear and transparent, its light shining upon the Great Void (Taixu).

Clouds and Water

Once one leaps free of the cage of the ordinary, one is no longer entangled by the faults of the dusty world. To drift at ease like a cloud and to move with conditions like water is a fine opportunity. Green sand covers the ground and pine shade spreads like a canopy, leisurely keeping company with one who dwells in seclusion, lying down in drunken ease and peaceful sleep.

Twenty Verses for the Assembly

When one does not cling to what is seen and heard, the mind grows pure and still; when one is not stirred by grief and joy, breath and Shen (spirit) come into harmony. Thoroughly awakening to the primordial beginning of the myriad things, one understands that the great Dao has neither coming nor going. Can you grasp this style of practice?

Do not let your thoughts suddenly presume that you have already become a person free of worldly dust and desire; even if you have a moment of sudden awakening, you must still go on cultivating. Human nature is as clear as the autumn moon in the high, distant sky, and in the realm of pure stillness and emptiness it moves along with the drifting clouds.

The black hair of youth gradually takes on white. One bustles about, yet fame and profit are never truly gained. Even if one is wealthy and eminent, what use is it? Such things cannot buy a life that transcends the cycle of rebirth and is no longer bound by birth and death.

Where now are the dynasties of Zhou, Qin, Han, and Wei? Illusory merit and fame are in the end not worth clinging to. If you are willing to follow worthies of old such as Zhang and Fan, retire with me, and live out your remaining years in a dwelling among the clouds.

Entrust all right and wrong to the realm of non-contention, and return the distinction between self and others to forbearance. If you can go further and lay down body and mind entirely, the light of spiritual clarity will illuminate the vast expanse of heaven and earth.

Do not use abstruse doctrines to bind others; as I see it, what is called the mysterious is equally empty. Only when even the trace of “emptiness” is at once removed does one enter what elixir refinement calls “advancing the fire” (jinhuo: applying the firing times so as to propel cultivation). The cinnabar in the furnace will of itself turn red.

Day and night one busies oneself with managing fame and profit, and morning and evening one frets over setting this illusory body in order. Even if one is as honored as a high official in purple robes and a gold seal, how can that compare with a nameless, rankless Daoist, at leisure and at ease?

People idle away their years on the road of birth and death and wear away their time on the path of rebirth. It is a pity that they misdirect their mental effort toward these things, and do not study the way of the immortals or pursue “long life and lasting vision” (changsheng jiushi: enduring existence while preserving spiritual clarity).

Do not take the illusory body for an eternal body, nor turn talk of the mysterious into a one-sided pursuit of ever greater mystery. Within what has neither form nor image, thoroughly investigate the true principle; where no words are spoken, awaken to the true meaning of the Dao (the Way).

To leave entanglements behind and cast off desire is to be a true man; to chase profit and crave fame is not to count as a person of real stature. The fleshly body, which has form and image, will in the end turn to dust; the nameless, formless spiritual nature is one’s original life.

Remove sensual desire and moderate food and drink, and you can drive off the yin demons (yinmo: the dark forces in cultivation that obstruct the clarity of body and mind). Sleep a little less, and the spirit grows clear while the Qi (vital energy) naturally comes into harmony. Remain awake and lucid through all twelve double-hours of the day; once three thousand merits and deeds have been fulfilled, you may seek the immortal realms amid mountains and forests of mist and roseate clouds.

Everyone has the possibility of cultivating into an immortal; they are only entangled by worldly conditions. If one can set all worldly ties aside, one can step from level ground into the cloudy heavens.

How laughable that some like-minded cultivators lose the root and take only outer images for what is real. If practice does not understand the principle of forgetting words, it will in the end be hard to reach the realm beyond form and image.

I carefully charge you concerning the path of cultivation yet to come: even where thorns grow thick, proceed with caution. Only after ten years of diligent practice is the work complete; then the Great Elixir of Nine Reversions (jiuzhuan dadan: in Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy, the state signifying that the elixir way has been realized) is naturally accomplished.

Lead and mercury, the two medicinal substances, are gathered into the cauldron and furnace and smelted into a single expanse of light as bright as crystal. Do not cling to admiring this state; those who study and practice should examine it with particular care.

Externally, expel Yin demons; internally, hold firmly to Yang Qi (vital energy). Apart from this method there is no other. Let practice be pure and single-minded; only after ten years of diligent effort is the work complete, and then one can naturally refine the great elixir of nine reversions (a term of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the elixir formed through successive stages of refining and nourishing).

Lead and mercury, the two medicinal substances, are gathered into the cauldron and furnace and smelted into a single expanse of light as bright as crystal. Do not cling to admiring this state; those who study and practice should examine it with particular care.

When pure Yang is refined to completion, Yin demons are wholly extinguished; only then can nature and life be made to last.

The body of an ordinary person is a conjunction of the Four Great Elements (a term common in Buddhism and Daoism, referring to the basic constituents of the body, such as earth, water, fire, and wind) and cannot endure. Even if one lives to a hundred years, dispersal is in the end unavoidable. Only when the ten thousand thoughts in the mind are as ash does one begin to realize the substance of true emptiness; a sound as clear and resonant as a jade melody rings through the vast heavens and earth.

The wondrous principles of Qiu and Liu are hard for ordinary people to grasp; the secret methods of Tan and Ma are not transmitted in the world. Only when one has obtained this pure tradition of the house may the practitioner come to realize Chongxuan (in Daoist thought, a realm entered ever more deeply, layer upon layer, transcending all opposites).

Idle onlookers should not guess at random. With hair unbound and robe hanging open, one nurtures the aptitude for cultivating the Dao (the Way). Last night in a dream, after roaming afar, I returned to my own celestial palace; the light of Shen (spirit), shifting and changing, filled the Jade Terrace (a pavilion of the immortal realm in legend).

When the pool is shallow, a breath of wind rolls up turbid waves; a deep pool, though it stirs, keeps waters that remain clear. Only one who truly cultivates may come to realize Chongxuan.

Idle onlookers should not guess at random. With hair unbound and robe hanging open, one nurtures the aptitude for cultivating the Dao. Last night in a dream, after roaming afar, I returned to my own celestial palace; the light of Shen, shifting and changing, filled the Jade Terrace.

When the pool is shallow, a breath of wind rolls up turbid waves; a deep pool, though it stirs, keeps waters that remain clear. If the work of cultivating the True is shallow, the mind is hard to settle; if the work of learning the Dao is deep, innate nature is easily made clear.

Three Poems Cautioning Mr. Liang against Traveling to Pay Visits

Please do not toil and rush about any longer; consider what the purpose of everyday practice really is. Good and evil should both, in the end, be laid down, and then Shen and Qi can naturally settle and come into harmony.

Know that good and evil are nothing but illusory causes and conditions; if one cannot go beyond them, how can one be counted wise and worthy? After body and mind have been set down, do you understand this as well? Reach the state of utter emptiness and stillness, and one returns to what lies before Xiangdi (a name for the Dao in Daoist scriptures).

A true immortal who wishes to cut off grasping and attachment must first settle original nature, and only then understand that nature and life are originally complete. This principle need not be sought by visiting outside; otherwise one merely wears out straw sandals to no avail.

Shown to Mr. Liu

A skilled artisan should set to work at the fitting time, kindling a new fire in the furnace and taking up once more the old tongs and hammer. What is forged is something that cannot be named, and it is by no means an ordinary form. Such a person—who could it be but a True Person (Zhenren)?

Four Poems Expressing My Feelings

One passes through this life at ease and in contentment, unstirred by gain or loss, and taking favor and disgrace lightly. Who, after all, first made this principle plain? When it is time to let go, one steps back; when it is time to act, one acts.

Beside the stream, following the lie of the hills, I put up a small hut, and with my own hands planted many crops in the fields along the water. Others laugh at me for living this way, yet in truth I have no other skill.

A person who withdraws from the world and lives in idleness has no special ability. All my life I have been clumsy and slow of speech, and poor at dealing with others. There is no need to speak further of the affairs of the human world; I ask only to sleep soundly and stretch out my legs.

Paint the savor of my life upon a screen: a slender rattan staff, a straw rain-cape and bamboo hat, light straw sandals. Beyond these, I likewise have no other skill.

A person who withdraws from the world and lives in idleness has no special ability. All my life I have been clumsy and slow of speech, and poor at dealing with others. There is no need to speak further of the affairs of the human world; I ask only to sleep soundly and stretch out my legs.

Paint the savor of my life upon a screen: a slender rattan staff, a straw rain-cape and bamboo hat, light straw sandals. I have wandered through the human world, and little remains in my heart to cling to; I carry only the free and idle feeling of a lone cloud or a wild crane.

The Difficulty of Studying the Dao (the Way)

One often hears it said that the hardest thing is to leave the household life; one tries every means to seek quiet leisure, yet never manages to become idle. The heart is troubled, and thought remains tangled in the affairs of the dusty world. When will one be able to return and dwell in seclusion among the clouds?

In Reply to a Daoist Friend Who Asked about Cultivation

There is no need to pore laboriously over these words. I tell you this: only by casting off the bonds of fame and rank can one become a free person. Cling neither to the inner, nor to the outer, nor to what lies between the two. When the whole body returns to emptiness, that is the Dharma-body (the true body that transcends distinctions of form).

In Reply to a Daoist Friend Who Asked about the Wondrous Teaching

What, after all, do the so-called wondrous teaching and mysterious words actually say? Their essentials are in fact few: set down the entanglements of body and mind and be a person at ease, while keeping clear awareness so that mind and Qi (vital energy) remain calm and harmonious.

A Daoist Friend Asks How to Transcend Yin-Yang and the Workings of Creation

Make no new faults, and let past faults gradually disappear. When neither new nor old faults remain, spirit and breath come into harmony. When the numinous pearl is refined (an image in cultivation of the gathering of Jing (essence) and Qi, and of light brought to fullness), radiant and brilliant, one can pass beyond the constraints of Yin-Yang change and the natural fashioning of things.

Fellow Daoists Ask What Evidence There Is for Cultivation

What evidence is there for cultivating the true? By holding to practice through pure and quiet conduct, one knows where one ought to go. Look at those who have entered the path of non-birth: forgetting external conditions and dissolving attachments, they are as much at ease as if dwelling in Penghu (the immortal mountain of legend).

A Friend Asks about Chang’an

Endure time after time, and quiet leisure comes time after time. When the realm arrives before one’s eyes… (The original breaks off here; the sense seems unfinished.)

Fellow Daoists Ask What Evidence There Is for Cultivation

What evidence is there for cultivating the true? By holding to practice through pure and quiet conduct, one knows where one ought to go. Look at those who have entered the path of non-birth: forgetting external conditions and dissolving attachments, they are as much at ease as if dwelling in Penghu (the immortal mountain of legend).

A Friend Asks about Chang’an

Xiyun Ji (The Western Clouds Collection)

Endure a thing once, and the heart gains one measure more of ease. When circumstances stand before you, do not let outside things disturb you. Others may provoke you, yet your own mind is not moved. Reckoned up, a state of mind like this is true peace.

In Reply to a Question on Long Life

After the six sense faculties and the dusty realms of sense have all come to rest, the mind grows secluded, still, and clear. Arriving there, there is no longer any so-called distinction between life and death. If someone can cultivate to this stage, they will understand that a nameless, formless spiritual nature fills the Great Void (the vast emptiness of which Daoism speaks).

In Reply to Someone Asking about Refining Mercury and Lead

Water Qi (vital energy) rises and cloud Qi flows, gathering at the Muddy Pellet (a Neidan [internal alchemy] term for the upper Dantian [energy center] in the head). The body’s form and appearance gradually wither, stray thoughts in the mind gradually disperse, and nature and disposition then appear of themselves. This is the method of cultivation; there is no need to press to the end what mercury and lead ultimately mean.

Presented to Yang Fuying

The whole Yang family reveres the Supreme Perfected (an honorific Daoists use for lofty perfected immortals), burning incense and paying homage morning and evening with great devotion. The blessings received in this life were accumulated in a previous life; the good causes cultivated in this life will become the karmic conditions of the life to come.

Presented to Master Li

Cut off desire and forget emotional attachment, and the mind is naturally empty and bright. Penglai (the immortal mountain of legend) is not far ahead. I urge you to devote yourself to guarding the One (the Daoist practice of concentrating the spirit and holding to the One). When you have thoroughly awakened to the primordial Dao (the Way), you will understand that even this One does not exist.

Two Poems Presented to Liu Boda

The transformations born of thoughts in the mind are hard to measure. One who has penetrated through ought to understand the constant principle of the Great Dao. If you can set down body and mind entirely, a vast, flood-like Qi fills heaven and earth.

I write a humble, unpolished poem and send it to Pengcheng (a place name). A thousand methods cannot compare with guarding clarity and stillness. When the mood comes, I chant aloud among the green mountains; when weary, I recline high among the white clouds.

Two Poems Presented to Liu Boda

The transformations born of thoughts in the mind are hard to measure. One who has penetrated through ought to understand the constant principle of the Great Dao. If you can set down body and mind entirely, a vast, flood-like Qi fills heaven and earth.

I write a humble, unpolished poem and send it to Pengcheng. A thousand methods cannot compare with guarding clarity and stillness. When the mood comes, I chant aloud among the green mountains; when weary, I recline high among the white clouds.

Presented to Yang Quhua

For ten years I have sought, in the dusty world, worthies who have attained the Dao, and have met only one old immortal of Hongnong (a place name). With a wave of both hands he cast off the bonds of fame and profit; his whole being merged among water and clouds, as if heaven and earth were his to roam at will.

Two Poems Presented to Lu Yantong

I look down upon the numinous ao (the divine turtle of legend) sporting in the black waves, and wish to fish it out of the river of delusion. Yet it will not take the fragrant bait, so I can only turn back empty-handed and go on toward Daluo (the highest heaven in Daoist legend).

Only by shaking off the fetters of fame and profit does one transcend the dusty world. In leisure I take up a fishing rod and climb the fishing terrace. The night grows deep, and the bait I have cast still draws no interest; better to invite the clear wind and the bright moon and go into a grotto-heaven (dongtian).

Presented to Master Su

Rushing north and south for rank, fame, and profit, and sinking into the red dust, is truly something to laugh at. Rather than plant grievance and bitterness in the heart, it is better to chant poems, talk, and laugh, and enjoy a life of innate genuineness and natural ease.

Two Poems Addressed to Scholar Du

Only by contemplating with an emptied mind can one see clearly the principles of human affairs; only by filling what lies within can one grasp the laws of Heaven and Earth’s creative transformation. Facing the myriad things before one’s eyes, when the mind is pure and still, wondrous principles naturally appear in the course of action.

One roams freely between Heaven and Earth and passes the years in carefree ease. Although one has not yet grasped the subtle joy of long life, so long as outer conditions fall away and the mind within clings to nothing, there is no need to fear the approach of death.

Addressed to Wang Zheju

A descendant of the Miao clan of Taiyuan holds a resolve that is firm and single-minded; his heart is unstained by dust, and both his dispositions and his nature and life (xingming) are preserved intact. He wishes to deliver the deluded far and wide and free them from the bonds of the mundane world; I too wish to go with them and pay respects together before the ancestral master.

Addressed to Lu Yantong

Set your hands to unlocking the chains of love and attachment, and turn to leap down from the stage of disputes over right and wrong. I wish to be one who cultivates the Dao (the Way), dwelling hidden amid the mist and roseate clouds of the deep mountains; whenever I hear a knock at the gate closed among the pines, I will wait to open it and welcome you.

Two More Poems

Lu Yantong has the thought of leaving home to cultivate the Dao, yet he lacks a firm and decisive will.

The original Qi (vital energy) and the fluids in the Dantian (energy center)—the place within the body where Daoists cultivate—have already dried up; the hair at the temples is sparse, the teeth have fallen out, and the eyes are diseased. He came to a mountain of treasures only to return empty-handed; the path of cultivation before him is near, yet what lies ahead remains hard.

As time has passed, I have seen your mind clearly: your mouth speaks of mysterious principles, while your heart clings to desire. Only by casting aside lust and truly seeking the mysterious principle may you follow me and live in the mountains of Cuicen.

Presented to Master Fu

Gain and loss, flourishing and decline in the world—I have seen through them all. Now I have returned and lodge at Juyang Hermitage. Since you, sir, have already risen above the secular world, you ought not readily grow old; and you still often point the way for those who are deluded.

Two Poems Presented to Those Who Study the Dao at Home

While still young he cultivates immortality, wishing to escape the cage of the mundane world, yet he has not awakened to the true nature of the original source. To discourse at home on the principle of Xiyi (the realm that Daoists say cannot be perceived by the senses) is enough to make even lofty recluses such as Lord Pang (Pang Degong, a recluse of the Eastern Han) and Lord Xu (Xu You, a recluse of the Eastern Han) laugh.

Living amid desire, it is hard to master the essentials of leaving the world to cultivate the Dao; dwelling in the dust of the world, one should not merely look up to the realm of Xiyi. If one relies only on talking of cause and effect, it is like drawing a cake to stave off hunger and can never meet a real need.

Presented to Yin Guo

Advancing the fire to refine the elixir cannot be separated from the work beside the furnace and stove; only after the elixir is finished and swallowed does one realize Chongxuan (the profound and mysterious principle of which Daoism speaks). Seek true subtlety from within the mysterious and wondrous; there is no need to put the qianchui (tools used in refining the elixir) to use, for the sincerity and efficacy within will show themselves of their own accord.

A Friend Comes to Visit

The splendor and turmoil of the world are truly hard to bear. I have drawn in my reputation and withdrawn to the mountains and forests, living amid the mist that wreathes the mountain haze. Were it not a kindred friend coming to call, who else would find the way to this thatched hermitage?

Visiting a Friend

Green waters and blue mountains lie close by, and clear wind and bright moon may keep one company. Once I have eaten my fill and have nothing else to do, I stroll at leisure past pine woods and rocky slopes to call on an old friend.

A Friend Seeks Elixir Medicine in Verse and Asks Me to Match the Rhyme

Let nothing hang upon the mind; meet whatever comes without clinging, and the nature of awareness will settle. Guard firmly the treasure within your own body; there is no need to look elsewhere for the divine elixir.

Parting from a Friend

The thatched hermitage stands where streams wind about and a bamboo fence encloses it. I dwell there with an immortal friend, and together we discourse on the mysterious Dao (the Way). I do not know in what year after this parting we shall meet again; when that day comes, we shall ride the clouds to pay homage to the ancestral master.

Two Pieces Requested by Master Li

There is no need to ask how cultivation ultimately stands. Overcome the many demonic obstacles in the mind, and once the struggle has quieted, the celestial palace is close at hand and not far off. So long as the mind holds no worldly dust, that itself is Daluo Heaven (the supreme heaven of which Daoism speaks).

If you still wish to look up to those who have risen above the dusty world, you must cut off stray thoughts and keep away from worldly dealings. The house tradition of the Dao beyond the Dao need not be sought far away; it lies plainly within the heart of a square inch, where a yaotai (an immortal realm) is found of itself.

Presented on Someone’s Birthday

There is no need to wish the worthy long life in the manner of the zhuangchun (the legendary tree of longevity). I will simply offer you a few plain words. Please be diligent in nurturing Shen (spirit) and primordial Qi (vital energy), and you will naturally extend the sun and moon within the hu (an image Daoism often uses as a figure for the inner cosmos) and lengthen your life.

For the Birthday of Commissioner Liu

To nurture honest depth and hold to plain simplicity is a character everyone admires; affairs of government and literary writings are likewise celebrated by the world together. I wish you long life, with no need to borrow the blessing of a man of the hills and wilds; the sun and moon within the hu will of themselves stretch on without end.

Elegy for Master Fu

The master spent thirty years within the Xuanmen (Daoism), yet never had a mind to leap beyond the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Now he has cast off this fleshly body and returned to the heaven beyond images that was originally his own (a realm transcending form and the mundane world).

Elder Song’s Yuhua

“Yuhua” is Daoism’s term for the death of a cultivator of the Way, and there is also the saying of ascending to immortality through feathered transformation.

Once the various karmic causes are seen through, karmic force gradually diminishes. Forget clever contrivance and deluded thoughts, settle into calm stillness, and Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) come into harmony with the mind and Shen (spirit). The great work of cultivating longevity was already brought to completion in earlier years; now, remaining in the human world like a rabbit, one lives out a life of pure quiet and lonely solitude.

Two poems written to the rhymes of Lu Yantong

Cut away the entanglements of fame and profit that once bound you, and the inner light of spiritual clarity will appear, shining through Liaoyang (the pure and empty realm of which Daoism speaks). Only then does one understand that the life of cultivation beyond the dusty world has a beauty of its own; the spirit-soul no longer dreams of returning to one’s old home, nor remains attached to the world of dust.

Sever the shackles of fame and profit, cast off the bonds of the dusty world, and wander among clouds and waters, seeking teachers and instruction, until one meets Zhengyang (here perhaps referring to an elder teacher in the Daoist tradition, or to a lineage of cultivation). Keeping company with the immortals of the grotto dwelling, one already understands that one will leave the dusty world where the cycle of birth and death turns.

Two poems written to the rhymes of Abbot Rang

The illness of the mind must be discerned by oneself and contemplated by oneself. Walking or standing, attend to the inner heart at every moment; sitting or lying down, remain at ease. Sever every entanglement of love and attachment, and one may be spared the suffering of cyclic rebirth while still in the human world.

Green mountains and blue waters never weary the eye; this body is as free and unhurried as a white cloud. Within that idle quiet there is still one matter: in a moment of haze the spirit roams to Langyuan (the immortal realm of legend) and goes to visit it.

A poem written to the rhymes of Master Sun

A thatched hermitage stands beside the water, next to a bamboo fence; immortal friends dwell together, discoursing on the mysterious principles. The moment the mind-monkey and intention-horse appear—a metaphor for restless, unsettled thoughts—they are firmly held in check. Cultivating in this way, one naturally obtains the numinous and subtle method of practice hidden deep within oneself.

Middle Volume of the Xiyun ji

Lower Volume of the Xiyun ji

Composed by Dongmingzi

A poem written to the rhymes of Professor Gao

Only when one has grown pure and still does one understand the realm beyond the dusty world; only by practicing Wuwei (non-action) is one no longer driven on by birth and death. All the affairs of the human world are set aside; with a smile one points toward the cloud-wrapped mountains and returns to cultivate the Dao (the Way).

Nine poems matching rhymes, requested by Great Master Liu of Taiping

I urge you to reflect carefully day and night: break every entanglement clean through, and no calamity will be drawn in. Turn the Mysterious Pass—in Daoist cultivation, the inner aperture or the crucial point of practice—escape the nets of the dusty world, and together turn back toward Peng Island (the legendary mountain of immortals in the sea), to pay reverence to Chongyang (here perhaps referring to Wang Chongyang, founding patriarch of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)).

Cultivation has no other mysterious method. What matters is guarding the One—holding exclusively to mind and Shen so that it does not scatter—forgetting the bodily form, and cutting off the entanglements of love and attachment. To face outer conditions while the inner mind is not stirred is truly to understand; thereupon one rides a white deer backward and ascends to the Jasper Heaven (the realm of the immortals).

Across ten thousand li of empty sky there is not a wisp of cloud. Mind and spirit (Shen) are settled, and one no longer weighs whether things are mysterious or not. The spiritual terrace within the heart—that is, mind and spirit—is clear and transparent, revealing the original substance of true emptiness. Facing the myriad things, it remains like a precious mirror hung on high, reflecting them distinctly and free of obscuration.

Where the white clouds have fully dispersed, the blue sky comes into view; after the black mist recedes, the moon of mind-nature grows full and bright. If someone grasps this principle, the empty yet subtle original substance naturally becomes complete.

The course of Heaven, the Dao (the Way), has its waxing and its waning, like the movement of sun and moon. If the human heart is without worldly dust, it is likewise clear and spontaneous. Drinking half a cup of tihu—a figure for a sweet spiritual medicine or a wondrous teaching—one seems to rise into the heights. Music as pure and resonant as jade sounds forth, celebrating a fine year.

Setting aside restlessness and vain delusion, one probes the great Dao until things and self are both forgotten; only then does one begin to awaken to the mysterious and subtle. Letting go of every attachment reveals the pure original substance, its radiance shining straight into the space between the Dipper and the Ox—that is, the most remote reaches of the sky.

Those who pursue glory and splendor cannot, in the end, escape disgrace. Knowing full well that seeking the false means losing the true, they still persist in it. If one can grasp the principle here, the heart no longer clings or remains attached, and one passes the late spring in peace.

Day and night one tempers mind and nature, with the practiced ease of Cook Ding carving an ox; from morning to evening one studies the principle of the equality of things, looking up to true cultivation. Once the black mist before the eyes has entirely dispersed, the golden Jing (essence) behind the elbow—a term of Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the essence and vital energy (Qi) refined through cultivation within the body—naturally circulates and flows.

Cultivation does not lie on the tip of the brush or the tongue; it depends on genuine practice until merit and conduct are complete. After ten years of cultivation, one reaches a state free of deliberate mind and free of attachment, and the luminous spiritual nature manifests of itself.

Two Poems Matching the Rhymes of Commissioner Yuan

To be able to remove what is false is precisely to avoid injuring what is true. When one no longer clings to either the true or the false, outer circumstances can no longer disturb the inner mind. After the bones of the Dao—that is, the innate constitution and bearing of one who cultivates the Way—have been refined, it is as if a desolate note of pipes is heard. Drinking flowing rose-mist, the legendary wine of the immortals, one celebrates amid the jade forest, the grove of fine jade in the realm of the immortals.

Yin-Yang Qi is harmonized as if placed in a furnace, slowly turned and refined over a gentle fire. What is most to be avoided is defilement by disputes of right and wrong, by wealth, and by sensual desire. If one can ingest and refine this, one may hope to lengthen one’s years.

Matching the Rhymes of Professor Gao

When one comprehends the Way of the immortals, pure merit and practice can be brought to completion. Even if one’s outward appearance is disheveled and grimy, one does not on that account look down on others. When stray thoughts in the mind-ground are all removed and nothing else remains, and one thoroughly investigates the divine and subtle principle, only the great Dao can nourish life.

Four Poems Matching the Rhymes of Counselor Li

(At this point the original text has only the title; no verses are attached.)

The jasper liquor in my studio—the fine wine that immortals call jade nectar—fills both pot and cups, and emerald peach blossoms are in full bloom as far as the eye can see. I made a special trip down the mountain to the hall to invite friends of like mind, but the matter could not be carried through, and I had no choice but to return alone.

I have sought out nearly all the scenic wonders of Yunzhou; among the mountains of the Golden Pavilion the views are especially abundant. A stream in the hills runs clear and full, and on every side lofty peaks stand green and steep.

From youth I left my native place and the dusty world, taking a natural delight amid encircling mist and rosy clouds. Although I have not yet attained the Dao (the Way) and become an immortal, I may for the time being be master of these green mountains.

Withdrawn among mountain forests and springs, I study the Taixuan. I gather in mind and Shen (spirit), and do not let the mind-monkey and will-horse—a figure for thoughts that scatter and will not settle—run unchecked. I take none of the various vulgar affairs to heart, and a vast light of Shen fills the grotto-heaven, the immortal realm of which Daoism speaks.

Four Poems Matching the Rhymes of Master Fu

I have cut off my pursuit of worldly rank and fame, withdrawn into retirement, and lie among clouds and mist with a high pillow. Boundless realms of leisure all belong to me, and the bright moon and clear breeze do not cost a single coin.

After waking I am too lazy to go climbing after fame and profit again. A life in the company of clouds and waters is free and unhurried.

Four Poems Embodying the Rhymes

I have cut off my pursuit of worldly rank and fame, withdrawn into retirement, and lie among clouds and mist with a high pillow. Boundless realms of leisure all belong to me, and the bright moon and clear breeze do not cost a single coin.

After waking I am too lazy to go climbing after fame and profit again. A life in the company of clouds and waters is free and unhurried. One’s essential nature is clear, bright, and still, and returns to the grotto dwelling; at once there is no anxiety, and this remains so even while one is in the human world.

The affairs of the world, even when one has understood them all, are in the end hard to bring to completion; better to withdraw and lie high in the depths of the white clouds. When the wisdom-light of sun, moon, and stars—the Three Luminaries—shines down, the host of demons disperses of itself; when a single thought reaches non-arising, one transcends the constraints of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).

Where there is mind, one must inquire into the original substance of no-mind; only where there are no affairs is there the mysterious and subtle, yet right and wrong still arise from it. I only hope that people will awaken to these words early; if one waits until returning before setting about cultivation, I fear it will still be too late.

The Double Ninth

Autumn frost falls on the Wu River, and the maple leaves show vivid color; golden chrysanthemums bloom in abundance beside the hedge. When shall I see Tao Yuanming? I would face the autumn wind with him and laugh freely to my heart’s content.

Mid-Autumn

The night is deep, the clouds have scattered, and the breeze is clear; the moonlight is especially bright and pure. I am minded, once drunk, to chant poems and admire the moon together with the company; I also long for a flying immortal to invite me to roam the Divine Capital, the celestial city where immortals dwell.

Two Poems on the Double Ninth

Chrysanthemums beside the path bloom in the evening sun, and red leaves fill the wood against the autumn frost, a sight to intoxicate. Resigning office and returning home is the joy of my whole life; I do not envy Adjutant Yuan Yanbo, a man of the Eastern Jin, whose unrestrained gesture at a Double Ninth banquet was to grow drunk and let his cap fall.

The Double Ninth season is just suited to quiet rest. Red leaves drift on the west wind, and the scene is light and at ease. The interest of west wind and red leaves is something most people in the world do not grasp; those who can grasp it are able to understand the subtle principle of nature’s creative work.

Spring Rain

A youth, bearing a command, conveys the decree from Yujing (the Jade Capital, abode of the Celestial Emperor); the flood dragon then surges up from the sea and travels, riding the cloud-Qi (Qi, vital energy). Heaven and earth at once send down cool, refreshing rain, nourishing the yellow sprouts—Huangya, a term of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), which may also denote the tender new shoots of plants—so that they grow across the land.

Rejoicing in the Rain

Long drought had brought dearth and failed harvests, and the people prayed to the spirits. The flood dragon rose from the sea and came riding the clouds; sweet rain fell in abundance. The farmers rejoiced at this and praised it as equal to the work of cosmic fashioning.

Spring Rain

A youth, bearing a command, conveys the decree from Yujing; the flood dragon then surges up from the sea and travels, riding the cloud-Qi. Heaven and earth at once send down cool, refreshing rain, nourishing the yellow sprouts so that they grow across the land.

Rejoicing in the Rain

Long drought had brought dearth and failed harvests, and the people prayed to the spirits. The flood dragon rose from the sea and came riding the clouds; sweet rain fell in abundance. Glad and stirred to action, the farmers put on bamboo hats and coir capes and, in the rain, guided the plow as they tilled the fields.

Hearing the Cuckoo

Before Jinge Mountain the cuckoo calls again and again, as if saying, “Better to go home.” Among the travelers, who truly understands what going home means? Only then does one realize how rare are those who, amid the dust of the world, come to penetrating insight.

Two More

In the renzi year I was living at Lequan Hermitage in Yunzhou. Five days after the summer solstice, a sudden driving snow fell from the sky; more than a zhang above the ground the flakes turned to rain.

Half the snowflakes drifted away with the mist and haze, and half danced on the wind, falling from heaven and melting on the ground. They were like that leisurely Daoist of Yunxi, who had cultivated a primal Qi—Yuanqi, the fundamental Qi that constitutes life and the workings of heaven and earth—filling his whole body.

The summer heat had drawn one into a deep midday sleep; on waking, the snowflakes—liuchu, the six-pointed crystals of snow—had already gathered across the sky. That the transformations of Yin-Yang could reverse so completely: the whole spirit-terrace, Lingtai (a person’s mind and Shen, spirit), was cold and clear as ice.

Fishing Alone on the Cold River

Wrapped in a coir cape amid the misty rain, sitting alone in a little boat—this is still not as good as sitting with hands tucked in one’s sleeves, letting things come and go, and simply letting it be. One knows full well that this is a night of bright moon and clear wind, yet which fish would be willing to take the hook?

Tumi

A trellis of tumi (the name of a flower) is blooming in full splendor. The one who dwells in seclusion is silent, pacing alone. In years past I returned only after spring had gone; this year spring has come, and I have come back here again.

The White Cloud Immortal Summons to Reclusion

True reclusion need not mean fleeing into the depths of the cliffs; even living in the city, one may revere the true Dao (the Way) and cultivate body and mind. Do you know that, by according with circumstances and mingling in the ordinary world, one can still keep the inner heart clear? Though the outer form seem withered and the inner heart like ashes, a person’s innate nature can remain free and at ease.

When Heaven and Earth had not yet separated, and the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang were still a turbid, indistinct chaos, even the principles by which Heaven and Earth move were hard to discern. Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, could grasp these principles without going against them; Zeng Shen appeared slow-witted, yet he too had strengths of his own. Meaning this profound can truly be understood only by a sage.

Inscribed on a Paper Fan

The realm of the immortals lies close at hand; the journey is not far. When the mind is pure and free of dust, one can comprehend the constant, unchanging truth. The summer heat in the sanjiao (the upper, middle, and lower parts of the body, as spoken of in Chinese medicine) seems to burn straight through the stomach and intestines; as soon as a cool breeze blows, one feels a chill to the bone.

Inscribed at the Nine Dragons Abbey of Longmen

The waters of Longmen murmur day and night. Mist and haze shroud the mountains, and even the nearer hills vanish within them. Verdant grotto-abodes conceal scenery without end. Who would have thought that a wondrous realm like the immortal isle of Penglai lies here in the human world?

Inscribed at Huaqing Palace in Lintong

The withdrawal of Yin Qi and the return of Yang Qi are transformations of nature. Deep among the cloudy mountains, a grotto-heaven lies hidden. Through however many times the seas have turned to mulberry fields, the cinnabar in the cauldron is still being refined.

Inscribed at Mingzhen Abbey on Juyang Mountain

Behind Mingzhen Abbey is Juyang Mountain, its green peaks towering into the clouds. Many people free of all attachments live in seclusion in the mountains, at ease and unhurried amid encircling white clouds.

Passing Jinbian on an Autumn Day in the Dingsi Year

In a dream the heart that longed to return flew to Guanghan Palace (the moon palace); on waking, one was still a sojourner in the dusty world. All night the west wind hastily lifted the curtain, blowing the yellow flowers into full bloom until they covered the winding railing.

In the Guiyou Year of the Zhiyuan Era, Sent by Imperial Command to Offer Incense at the Sacred Mountains and Rivers, Passing through Jinan

In the guiyou year of the Zhiyuan era, I traveled together with the Censor under imperial command to offer incense at the famous mountains and great rivers, and on the way we passed through Jinan. As the post horses left the capital, the light on the water and the colors of the mountains stirred a surge of poetic feeling. Mountain sources and watery valleys stretched on without end in every direction; set aside distracting thoughts and forget deliberation, and the mind instead grows clear of itself.

Two Poems on Mount Tai

When I had just stepped onto the stone stairs, the mountain path seemed arduous and I could not help feeling a little timid; as I gradually rose above the clouds, my heart grew calm. A mountain breeze from afar lightly brushed my face, as if I had already left the dusty world and arrived at Guanghan Palace.

In the middle of the third month I climbed Mount Tai to pay my respects. The fresh air along the mountain path brought a chill. In order to watch the sunrise I stood at the summit and looked down upon the human world, and all at once the view opened wide.

The wind sets my sleeves fluttering as I come to pay my respects at the altar of the immortals. The altar is empty of anyone else; I alone come and go. I fill a jade cup with wine and drink as I please. Amid the blue of cloud and sky, who is it that plays the reed pipes of the sheng?

Two Poems on Casting the Dragon Tablets

The First

After leaving the capital, I came to the Altar of Heaven. There I burned incense and prayed for peace throughout the realm. To my joy I encountered the appearance of immortal lamps, like an auspicious omen; and so, in the beauty of that night, I leaned on the railing and quietly watched.

The Second

At the sovereign’s command I set out from before the palace steps, crossed waters and passed through forests, and entered a place of deep, verdant mountains. On the day for casting dragon tablets—slips inscribed with words of prayer and offered to the deities—into the Cave of the Queen Mother, I saw immortal cranes in attendance and colored clouds drifting by.

Crossing Lake Dongting with the Introducer, Lord Cui Shuwen

The waters of Lake Dongting were clear and the wind gentle, and the auspicious vapors appeared especially bright and pure. Reverently I burned precious incense and prayed for the well-being of the enlightened sovereign. This poem happened to be written, and I use it for the moment to express my mood; I inscribed it on a wall beside Lake Dongting to record this journey.

Inscribed at Zhurong Peak

The affairs of the world and the feelings of men are not worth clinging to. After I returned, I concealed my traces and shut the gate amid the pines. Zhurong Peak (the principal peak of Hengshan, the Southern Marchmount) rises sheer and solitary, and few can ascend it; alone I ride an azure dragon, coming and going freely there.

Two Poems Inscribed at Juyong Pass

The First

In half a year I passed through Juyong Pass many times. Who would have thought that one who seems at leisure is in fact not at leisure? White hair gradually hangs down—what, after all, has this life achieved? The green mountains are still there, and the stream still murmurs as it flows.

The Second

The sound of wind among the pines and the cries of crows send me on my way home; a light rain has just stopped, and the road is not muddy. I tell my friends at Juyong Pass that before long I shall reach Changchun.

Longmen

Since autumn I have twice passed through Longmen. My every movement has received the sovereign’s grace. Treading auspicious clouds, I return to my homeland; with the blue sea in hand, I ascend Kunlun.

Mount Peng

After leaving the human world, I came to Mount Peng (the legendary mountain of the immortals), and from then on I did not return to the world of men. At the foot of the green hills there are a thatched hut and a bamboo fence; at my ease I face the white clouds and live a life of quiet leisure.

Passing through Huizhou

Leaning on a bamboo staff, in straw sandals and a short cloth robe, I drift like duckweed with the clouds and waters as I pass through Huizhou. Wind and rain urge me to write poetry, yet I cannot produce a fine line; I am intent only on watching the flood dragons sport in the emerald current.

After the jiao ritual (jiaoyi, a Daoist rite of offering and prayer for blessings) at the Lin Palace (lingong, a Daoist abbey) had ended, I received the charge of Heaven. Bearing the dragon slips bestowed upon me (longjian, tablets used to announce the rite to the deities), I set out to deliver them to the Water Palace. In late winter, auspicious signs appeared; a genial warmth filled heaven and earth, and a numinous turtle swam freely in the clear current.

Casting the Slips

Reverently holding the dragon slips, I left the imperial capital and, by Heaven’s command, went to deliver them at the two sites of Jidu and Mount Song. Heaven protects the sagely and enlightened sovereign and makes the world a happy land of enduring blessing and long life; the green mountains stretch on without end, and the waters run on for ages.

Matching Cui Shuwen’s Rhymes at Mount Song

The immortal envoy on mission was glad to travel out with you; amid the mild and harmonious Qi (vital energy), an auspicious aura emerged. Many graceful peaks came to meet the horse’s head, each lovelier than the last, each more secluded than the last.

Lodging at Qiuyang Abbey in the Ninth Month, Caught in Rain

After the rain, the fragrance of the yellow chrysanthemums was especially rich; the wind in the red leaves hurried autumn swiftly on. The mountain birds kept silent, and the scene seemed all the more remote; though the wild grasses have no names, the principle within them runs deeper still.

Mount Hua

I was asleep when the sound of the spring woke me. Before the wind and beneath the moon, I sought the realm of nature’s original truth. I sprang to the summit of the Southern Peak, looked back at the afterglow of the setting sun, and, gathering my Shen (spirit), gazed upon the Beichen (the Pole Star).

Passing Jingxing: Two Poems

At dawn I spurred my horse through Jingxing; the long, rugged road stirred the impulse to chant verse. If this journey is broken by the cock’s crow, the beautiful dream of roaming among immortals is, time and again, hard to bring to completion.

Cold clouds rolled as if rising beside the horse’s hooves; wherever the horse’s head turned, range upon range of green mountains lay across the view. Faced with the beauty of cloud and mountain, I could write no fine lines, and only listened to the cries of apes and the roars of tigers.

Inscribed at Hidden Spring

The mountains encircle the place, and a gushing spring lies among them; the lofty cave gate stands open, and mist and cloud drift out. Far from the bustle and splendor of the world, it is as if one had secured, here in the human realm, a grotto-heaven and blessed land (dongtian fudi).

In My Own Words

When thirsty, I drink tihu (a figure for a sweet and perfectly pure draught), as if drawing up the quintessence of heaven and earth; when hungry, I partake of rare delicacies, as if tasting the Jing (essence) and Qi of the tiger and the dragon. These free and unfettered enjoyments seem leisurely and ordinary, yet unless one is a person who dwells within them, they are not easy truly to know.

〔Quatrain〕

I once greatly loved the stretch of land west of the Chunyang Palace at Yongle in Hezhong. The terrain there was excellent, and I had planned to rebury my late master, the Perfected Piyun, in that place. The matter had not yet been settled when, one day as I sat in quiet meditation, I suddenly saw my late master passing before the gate. I hurried out after him, but already no trace of him could be found. So I wrote a quatrain:

Before one is even aware, one may simply depart;

when the mind is perfectly clear, one should also know the moment.

The principles of both aspects may be put to use by you;

near or far, in accord with Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing that cannot be done.

Two Poems in Reply to Someone Asking about Cultivation

I will briefly share my shallow views with you. The subtle principles transmitted by my teacher enabled me to realize the fundamental truth. Although I have not yet fully penetrated them, I no longer wish to set myself up as a teacher and instruct those who remain in ignorance.

When a thought arises in the mind, every worldly entanglement arises with it; when intention subsides, one accords everywhere with the wondrous principle of the sages. If someone can understand this, then without moving a single step they may reach the Jade Pool (the immortal realm of Daoist legend).

Two Poems Expressing My Feelings at Fanghu in Changchun Palace

Winding railings encircle a secluded garden, and the scenery is especially fine. Pines and junipers stand dense and tall, with the evening sun shining among them. Fine wine is prepared and drunk by moonlight; the wind brings the fragrance of jade-hairpin flowers, filling the whole courtyard.

I would turn the vast sea into fine wine, and with a casual gesture unfasten my gourd to make a great wine cup. Respectfully I invite the elders to drink their fill all night long; the pine breeze, the shadows of bamboo, and the bright moon gladly keep us company.

Four Poems from the Upper Hermitage on Mount Peng

I have lived in the mountains for ten years, far from the ways of the secular world. Lately it seems that both my dreams and my Shen (spirit) have grown light and easy. Unable to sleep in the deep of night, I sit in quiet delight, and see only the bright moon filling the hall, the evening breeze unusually fresh and cool.

Sheer peaks on three sides rise like an emerald screen; in the deep crags ancient trees grow hoary, and auspicious clouds stretch across them. I came here meaning to forget the time of my return; yet alas, my cultivation is still unfinished, and the work is not yet complete.

Yellow flowers bloom in the courtyard through all four seasons; cloud-wreathed mountains, flowing water, and green bamboo surround the towers and terraces. Do not say that scenery so fine has no one to enjoy it—the clear breeze and the bright moon, without waiting for an invitation, come at every hour.

Set against the mountain and beside the water, a thatched hut was built. Its door faces the green pines, and the shadows of the pines fall beside the house. A grotto-heaven (dongtian)—the realm of the immortals spoken of in Daoism—lies close at hand, yet few people come. White clouds and birds of the quiet hills come and go as they please.

On the Central Marchmount, Mount Song

Green peaks stand like a screen, and Jade Pillar Peak and Golden Pot Peak are among them. Having walked over all the peaks, one feels that nowhere else can compare with this place. In the courtyard the fragrance of lingzhi and orchid spreads on every side, and the gleam of water and the colors of the mountains surround the thatched hut.

The Filial Son

He holds firmly to a loyal, honest, yielding, and good character, and pays no heed to the fashions of the world. During mourning he carefully observes the rites and casts aside empty display. How many filial sons are there, after all, in the human world? Of people so sincere in the utmost of filial devotion, how many households are there?

Two Poems on Seeing a Pavilion at Wutai on Mount Feng

The pavilion on Wutai overlooks a clear stream, surrounded by trees like brocade and mountains like a screen. Mist and rosy haze drift about, and no one is anywhere near. Leaning on a bamboo staff, I wander alone and watch the clouds sail past.

Fine wine is brewed from Solomon’s seal and atractylodes, and small earthen cups and porcelain bowls take the place of jade goblets. I specially went down to Wutai to invite an old friend, but it did not turn out as I wished, and I could only return alone.

Addressed to the Assembly

Whether one is in the south or the north, the east or the west, heaven and earth remain ever the same. The principle and the inner savor within them can be transmitted only by one who has truly grasped them. When the tangled affairs of the world are not hung upon the mind, the luminous clarity within follows of itself.

[Thanks to Zhang Junyu]

In the fourth month of summer in the Zhiyuan year guisi (1293), Zhang Junyu, Vice Director of the Palace Library, received an imperial command to deliberate on building a shrine in the mountains and wilds. Because I was old and frail and my illness was critical, I could not go, and so I composed this poem to thank him.

Glad to meet one who understood me, I spoke of how the matter had arisen. As for the principles of our own tradition, how could I dare not set them forth with all my heart? I am ashamed to lack the talent to aid the age and save others, and can only keep company with the green mountains and be master of the mountain woods.

On White Cloud Hermitage

At the Double Ninth Festival, people vie to go out and enjoy the scenery. Trailing a goosefoot staff, I went about with the rest. Coming to the dwelling of the immortals, I asked where Cloud Dwelling was, and learned that White Cloud Hermitage stands near White Cloud Tower.

Returning to the Old Retreat on Mount Jinge

After growing old, I live out what remains of my life among the mountains and woods, and call to mind a couplet left by those who came before. Let the heart be a little more ample, and pass the time through ordinary days; with a quiet mind open the eye of one who cultivates the Dao (the Way), and look up into the blue sky.

Presented to a Tile-Maker

Green tiles and white tiles clink and ring, and the four corners are laid even and true. They are made according to length, width, and thickness, and nowhere is there any deviation. If the house is damaged, it is returned to the original owner to repair. After the line “Should damage arise, return it to the original master,” the text continues as “And so I make a rough poem…,” and the sense seems incomplete. What follows—“I recall a couplet left by those before. With an ample, auspicious mind, while away the bright day; in quiet, open the eye of the Dao and look upon the blue sky”—repeats the preceding piece, “Returning to the Old Retreat on Mount Jinge.”

Tiles made of jade are pure white with a cool, lustrous green sheen; when struck they give a clear, crisp sound, and their four corners are even and true. In length, width, and thickness they all meet the required standard, and they do not differ from one another. If one should crack or be damaged, return it to its original owner. This rough poem is written on purpose to serve as a voucher of inspection and acceptance.

Two Poems on Departing the World

From this day on, I shall no longer concern myself with the myriad affairs of the world; for ten years I have lived freely and at ease in seclusion among the mountains and forests. When the three thousand meritorious practices are brought to completion, I shall go to audience with Yuanshi Tianzun (the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning), and at midnight ride a dragon and fly to Guanghan Palace (the Palace of Vast Cold).

Harmonious Qi (vital energy) circulates through the whole body, and true nature is thereby brought forth; one refines and nourishes Shen (spirit) so that it accords with the Dao (the Way) and leaves the dusty world. Rising into the void, one lets go with both hands and rides the wind far away; looking back toward the human realm, one never returns.