《青天歌注释》

The blue sky does not mean the sky overhead; it is a metaphor for a person’s original nature, while floating clouds are a metaphor for distracting thoughts. These two lines are the guiding principle of cultivation: at every moment of ordinary life, one should keep the mind pure and the thoughts settled, not giving rise to the slightest selfish thought, so that original nature manifests of itself, just as the blue sky is free of any cloud to block it. If the inner mind cannot remain in charge, and whenever one meets external circumstances or comes into contact with things one is always led along by thoughts, one will drift ever farther from original nature, just as clouds and mist rise and veil everything before the eyes.

“The myriad phenomena, densely arrayed, subdue the hundred evils” means that when original nature rests securely in its proper place, every kind of deviant thought naturally subsides. At this time, within body and mind, the various currents of energy return to a single Qi (vital energy), and the many stirrings of Shen (spirit) likewise return to a single thought; the mind within is settled and can of itself subdue deviant thoughts. “When nature is still, the feelings are at ease” means that original nature is quiet and the emotions are open and relaxed; “When the light does not shine forth, evil influences thrive” means that if the light of original nature cannot appear, deviant thoughts readily arise by seizing the moment. “When the mind stirs, the spirit grows weary” means that a confusion of thoughts will exhaust the spirit.

If one cannot restrain anger or curb desire, and lets the emotions run unchecked without knowing how to draw them back, one is easily held by deviant thoughts. This is precisely when the light of original nature does not appear and deviant thoughts grow apace.

“When I first open and clear the mind, heaven and earth are pure” means that when the inner mind begins to become open, bright, and lucid, body and mind are as clear as heaven and earth. “Restrain the self and return to ritual propriety; ten thousand households and a thousand gates sing of great peace; all under heaven returns to humaneness” borrows Confucian language to mean restraining selfish desire and bringing word and deed back to the proper Dao (the Way). In this way, the inner mind is like myriad households at peace, and all under heaven returning to humaneness and De (Virtue/Power).

The Kun hexagram of the Yijing says: “The yellow center penetrates principle; correctly positioned, it dwells in the body; it flows freely through the four limbs; beauty resides within.” This passage means that one who has attained the Dao (the Way) sees through the fact that human life originally contains nothing fixed and unchanging. One simply remains clear and still, guarding what is true, often as plain and free of desire as an infant. In this way the mind-nature naturally becomes empty and tranquil, and the Qi (vital energy) of life is likewise naturally firm and stable. Then, throughout the four limbs and hundred bones of the whole body and its eighty-four thousand pores, Qi and blood circulate freely, with not a single place obstructed. This is like heaven and earth clear and bright, and the myriad things settled and at peace.

Sometimes a mass of black cloud rises: anger has not subsided, and desire has not been stopped. The nine orifices and hundred bones all find no rest, and water and fire cannot be brought into harmony.

What is said here is that once a person gives rise to an evil thought, it is like black clouds covering the sky. At that moment one must quickly become aware and turn the light back upon oneself—that is, turn the mind and Shen (spirit) to examine oneself and nurture the conscience originally possessed. If one does not restrain this, but lets the senses—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and the rest—indulge themselves, driven by the desires of the bodily form, the mind-nature will be as though veiled by black clouds, and the sea of desire will surge with waves. Thus the nine orifices and hundred bones of the whole body all find no peace.

The Daodejing says: “Open its gate, further its affairs, and to the end of life one comes to no ruin.” A saying in the Chan tradition goes: “Do not fear that evil thoughts arise; fear only that awareness comes too late.” Mencius also said that if one loses a chicken or a dog, one still knows to go look for it, yet if one loses the original mind, one does not know to seek it—this is lamentable. How can those who cultivate and study fail to take this as a warning?

Therefore one should constantly make the wind of wisdom blow with force. The moment the movements of Shen scatter outward, gather them back at once. In this way the mind and Shen no longer drift through the three realms and the ten directions, but can wash the inner heart clean and purge away stray thoughts.

This section admonishes the cultivator: the mind should always be kept within the body, remaining firm, upright, and pure alike in movement and in stillness, and should not become entangled with external conditions of every kind. When one meets all manner of forms and appearances—the images and things of the outer world—one must steady the will and must never allow thought to be stirred on their account. The Perfected Yin Xi said, “When things come before me, I respond to them with my original nature, and do not treat them with a mind of discrimination and attachment.” The Diamond Sutra likewise says that one should not cling to form, sound, scent, taste, touch, or mental objects and thereby give rise to a discriminating mind; one ought to give rise to the mind while dwelling in non-attachment, and only thus can this mind be subdued. Confucius also said that the gentleman is content to act from the station he occupies and does not covet what lies outside his proper share. The meaning here is that if the mind, as the ruling master, can be set upright, wisdom will of itself become fully integrated and freely penetrating, and the Three Treasures within the body—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), as spoken of in Daoist cultivation—will return to unity. Within and without will then be clear, bright, and settled, and one will no longer be obstructed.

When the clouds disperse, the original substance of empty space reveals itself of its own accord. True nature constantly abides, as though every household displayed a bright full moon, and nowhere in the whole body is there anything that is not the Dao (the Way).

This continues what precedes: the Three Realms and the ten directions—the entire cosmos—are all limpid and clear; when no thought arises, true nature can constantly abide. Its wondrous function extends throughout the body, shining everywhere like the stars and the moon. This describes the stage of practice in which one inwardly contemplates body and mind and sits in stillness, forgetting thought. The Duren Jing (Scripture of Salvation) says that “the various heavens return to their places,” meaning that each celestial realm recovers its proper order. Yan Hui’s “often being empty” is likewise used to illustrate a mind that is empty and luminous, seldom troubled by stray thoughts.

Only beneath the moonlight is it fitting to play the flute; when Gui water begins to sprout, it must be gathered and refined in good time. The sound of the flute rings clear, stirring Hua and Yi—all the regions of the world—while the breath circles back and blends together.

From here onward, the text sets out the method of cultivating the Qi of life. “Beneath the moon” refers to the zi hour within the body, comparable to the winter solstice—that is, the moment when the first Yang begins to stir. “The arising of Gui” refers to the moment when the Qi of Gui water first begins to sprout.

At this moment one must hasten to gather and refine. Using intention and breath, one causes Qi (vital energy) to return into the apertures; then, within the inner body, one blows this Qi into motion, closes the outer portals, harmonizes the Yin-Yang breaths, and brings the Shen (spirit) and Qi of the body into union. It is like blowing the holeless flute within the body, sending forth a single resonant sound that shakes Huaxia and the four directions. Without the oral formulas transmitted by a true master, these methods cannot be known.

“Startling awake the jade lad of the east, one seeks the mystery in the Water Palace. Riding backward on a white deer, swift as a shooting star. Taking Kan to fill Li.”

“Startling awake” means steaming, a movement from below upward. “The east” means that Jia Wood of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) gives birth to fire at the Yin position. “Jade lad” refers to flowing intention and the Shen and Qi in circulation. “Riding backward” means turning the movement in reverse. “White deer” refers to the white Qi, white vital energy, into which Jing (essence) is transformed after it has been refined. In general, when the practitioner enters stillness to refine the elixir, the heart-spirit must rest securely within the body, and intention must be guided down into the Water Palace—the region of the lower Dantian (energy center)—to be warmed and nurtured. One guards the root of the middle region and, once the Yang fire has gradually grown strong, activates the passes that open upward. The movement of Qi runs from the Yin position to the Si position; the Qi of Wu Earth drives the Yang fire, hastening the golden Jing—the name in internal refinement for essence and Qi—through the three passes and up to the Southern Palace, the region of the heart, filling out the Yin line of the Li trigram of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) so that Li is transformed into Qian. The whole process must be swift, like stars racing and lightning flashing.

“Holding back, one turns to another kind of music, leaving being and entering non-being. It is neither the sheng nor the jiao. An image of no image.”

“Holding back” means preventing the change from advancing gradually; it is a movement from above downward. “Turning to another kind of music” means that after the six Yang have gathered in Qian, Yang Qi cannot continue without end. Beneath five Yang a single Yin arises, so one must then promptly restrain the gradual growth of Yin Qi. Moving from the Wu position to the Hai position, one uses the Qi of Ji Earth to drive the Yin tally—the phase of circulation opposite Yang fire—sending the Qi down from the Golden Portal, a name for a pass in internal refinement, along the Magpie Bridge and the Flower Pool, terms in internal refinement for the area beneath the tongue and the related pathways of Qi, then through the Storied Tower and the Crimson Palace, until it comes to rest in the Earth Cauldron of the Kun Palace, the name in internal refinement for the lower Dantian. From this a bright pearl is formed, round as the moon. It is not something to which instruments such as the sheng or the jiao can be compared; it is a formless image.

Like a waterfall three feet long, the breath of Qi (vital energy) pours forth abundant and unceasing. It enters the Storied Tower (the inner landscape around the throat) and the Crimson Palace (the inner landscape where the heart resides), and comes to rest only when it has been sent all the way to the Earth Cauldron of the Kun Palace (the place of internal refining that symbolizes the spleen and stomach and holds the medicine). A luminous pearl is then produced, round as the moon, which no worldly instrument, such as the sheng or the jiao, can match.

The three-foot cloud ao (an image of immortal music in Daoist internal cultivation) has twelve studs, symbolizing the three medicines gathered in the cauldron. They pass through long kalpas and are hewn and refined within the Hunyuan (the state in which heaven and earth are not yet divided and primordial Qi is blended together); the five Qi (the Qi of the Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) converge upon the original Shen (spirit).

This carries forward the sense of the earlier words, “the music undergoes a further change.” Here the “three-foot cloud ao” means that the three great medicines—Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen—return into the cauldron and wondrously fuse and congeal into the true. With only the work of a single breath, one can gather back the creative transformation of the twelve months of a year. What the elixir scriptures (Jing) call “clustering the year into the month, the month into the day, and the day into the hour” is the gathering of a year’s work into one month, of one month into one day, and of one day again into one hour. Within that hour only two fire phases are set in motion, turning according to the fire phases of the celestial circuit: the medicine is gathered and brought into the chamber for internal refining, the medicines are blended and calcined, and the sacred embryo is formed. This is why it is said that they are hewn and refined within the Hunyuan across long kalpas.

The Scripture of Salvation (Duren Jing) says: “Regulate the five Qi so that the hundred spirits merge; after ten revolutions, spiritual nature returns, and the myriad Qi together become immortal.” Liaozhenzi therefore says: “The great medicine is constituted of Jing, Qi, and Shen. They join by nature, as intimate as mother and child. Turn the wind-Qi back so that they fuse and return to the true body; the work of calcination advances day by day.”

The jade-like tones are clear, bright, and lingering, entirely free of the music of Zheng (which the ancients regarded as licentious). No drifting clouds veil the sky; light, pure Qi spreads everywhere and reaches the human heart, and the Qi of the four seasons likewise becomes bright, clear, and harmonious.

This carries forward the sense of the earlier “hewing and refining in the Hunyuan.” Here “jade tones ringing clear” means that, calcined by the true fire, the defilement contracted in former days is removed, and one reaches a state in which Shen is harmonious and Qi is harmonious, as pure and concordant as the Shao music of Shun’s time; from then on the licentious Qi of music like that of Zheng is cut off. One then feels as if the inside and the outside of the body have both turned to green jade, without any mixed color, while clear, harmonious Qi naturally pervades the whole body and reaches the heart. The Scripture of Salvation says: “The golden true is bright and clear, and its sound flows abroad among the clouds; jade tones gather the breath, and the numinous wind collects the vapors.” Without true transmission and solid practice, how could one know this wonder?

From the time I “obtained the One” (obtaining the root and returning to the Great Dao (the Way)), ghosts and spirits have aided me, and demonic obstructions have been unable to intrude. Above, I can ascend to heaven; below, I can enter the earth, passing beyond the limits of past and present. Every transformation that appears is under my own command.

This passage speaks of what follows when Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation is brought to completion: the practitioner can transform freely, as if the whole cosmos were held within oneself and the transformations of all things likewise returned to one’s own awareness. Taking the root from the “One,” one is aided by ghosts and spirits, and deviant demons cannot intrude; one may enter the earth and ascend to heaven, pass beyond past and present, and remain master of every transformation that answers the moment.

What is said here is that, once Neidan cultivation reaches completion and the realm of free transformation, Yin-Yang turns at one’s own direction and the Five Phases obey one’s command; wind and rain may be summoned, and thunder called into motion. One can therefore manifest a vast bodily form that extends throughout the finest dust, and can also gather in a minute bodily form that holds Mount Sumeru. Ghosts and spirits cannot fathom the mystery within; instead they draw back in reverence and come forward as guardians. Entering the earth, ascending to heaven, and passing beyond past and present all lie within one’s grasp, so transformation in response to circumstances is without end.

The practitioner ranges freely in every direction, unbound by constraint and unfettered by bodily form; the mind does not cling to glory and splendor, and the body suffers no humiliation from external things. Both within and without can be set aside.

This carries forward the sense of “passing beyond past and present” above. To range freely means to take the Dao (the Way) as one’s own root, to remain unshaken by the shifts of worldly affairs, and to deploy oneself with flexibility and change as one wishes, and thus to be without constraint. In this realm, wealth, rank, and splendor are not enough to move one—how then could one crave honor or suffer humiliation? To set out on this path of cultivation without the decisive, steadfast will of a person of great resolve is to find it hard to arrive.

At ease, the practitioner sings the “Song of White Snow” within the world inside the gourd; the substance of the Dao is vast, empty, and still. Quietly one harmonizes the “Melody of Sunny Spring” beyond the world, and thereby passes beyond the Three Realms (the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm, as spoken of in Daoism).

“Singing at leisure” here means that the practitioner finds true joy in oneself. It is as if there were within oneself another immortal realm of the gourd-heaven, where white snow drifts endlessly across the sky, the realm clear and pure, with not a speck of defilement able to enter. The Zhuangzi says, “In an empty room brightness is born, and spiritual illumination comes of itself,” and Perfected Yin also says, “In a single breath, still the feelings, and ascend the great Dao.” This means that mind and spirit return to emptiness and stillness, gradually reaching the state of the nine harmonies and ten unions and the pure Yang of a single Qi (vital energy), and thus one passes beyond the Three Realms—just as when one sings the “Melody of Sunny Spring.”

The melody I sing arises entirely of itself, and within it both form and spirit are wondrous beyond words. It is like a wind instrument, yet without holes; like a zither, yet without strings. This is to accord with the Dao (the Way) and to commune with what is real.

What is spoken of here is this: once the ninefold elixir has been achieved—in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), “nine transmutations” signifies that the work of refining the elixir is complete—the practitioner sheds the mortal embryo, and spirit is transformed and born anew. This is the Dao of what is natural. The fundamental substance of body and mind is one with the void; it is not a concrete image that can be seen. The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun) said: “You cannot see me, and you cannot hear me; only when one transcends every opposition and distinction is it called the wondrous Dao.” How could this mean that a pipe truly has holes, or that a zither truly has strings? The principle can only be taken to heart by entering into what the ancients meant. The Dao is originally without form, and the “I” is not fixed and unchanging either. Even when one faces a barrier as impassable as an iron wall or a silver mountain, one must pass straight through. If a student of the Dao can grasp a single crucial phrase here, then inquiry and cultivation may be counted as having reached their result—what doubt could remain?

Only after attaining the Dao does one awaken in astonishment to find that this floating life is like a dream, and that even the void seems to shatter. Day and night, clear and lofty immortal music fills the grotto-heavens (dongtian), and only the wondrous realm of golden perfection is revealed.

This passage sums up the wondrous meaning of the whole text, what comes before and what follows. What is called “attaining it” means obtaining the true Dao and thereby realizing a body and mind that never perish. One then understands that everything in the world that comes of deliberate doing is like a dream or an illusion. Now one may ascend into the unsurpassed wondrous Dao, and within the body, day and night, immortal music seems to sound, filling the grotto-heavens.

This passage also reminds later students of the Dao: even if one’s rank and reputation are illustrious and one’s writings outstanding, without the true transmission and without having cultivated the ultimate Dao, it all remains, in the end, empty and unreal. If one goes on craving and deluded, unwilling to awaken, one will sink into the dream of this floating life, transmigrating without end, unable to escape birth and death. Only a person of firm resolve, who truly believes, sees through, and lets go of attachment, who awakens and turns back, may pass beyond the formless realm and turn to cultivating the Great Dao. Inwardly one must preserve Shen (spirit) and nourish Qi (vital energy); outwardly one enters ordinary life and associates with others without displaying anything out of the ordinary. This is to dwell in the world while surpassing the worldly. In this way one can stand alongside immortals and Buddhas—and this is no empty talk.