《鸣鹤余音》Vol. 1

Echoes of Cranes is a collection of Quanzhen Daoist poems and lyrics compiled by Peng Zhizhong in the Yuan dynasty. It is included in the Zhonghua Daozang. The work has nine scrolls, and its base text comes from the Taixuan section of the Zhengtong Daozang. The following lyrics appear in Scroll One.

“Jiehong” — Lü Chunyang

Deep within the grotto-heavens, the Great Dao is not far away. It is only inches from us, though people find it difficult to comprehend. To investigate the changes within the body, one needs guidance from an experienced master as well as personal practice. Wait until dawn, when Yang Qi first arises, and the path to the mysterious realm can be opened. All of this lies hidden beneath the deep green waves.

Then the earth’s thunder stirs, and rain falls on the mountain peak. Gradually, it nourishes the Yellow Sprout, a term in Neidan practice for nascent vital energy or the elixir just beginning to form. It has only just broken through the soil. The practitioner gathers it and carries it away like an infant. Then it is placed amid true rosy clouds and the Six Yang, and refined in the cauldron.

Next, set the Qi in motion throughout the body, directing it through east, west, south, and north. Arrange it according to the positions of the Bagua and the Nine Palaces, and only then can the foundations of cultivation be discerned. Set out the Ten Heavenly Stems to the left and right to reveal the Dragon and Tiger, symbols in Neidan of the forces of Yin and Yang. The Black Tortoise is behind, the Vermilion Bird before, and auspicious clouds spread across the sky.

Above the River Bend, the gods gather. Yin and Yang unite, and the Gui Mother, a term symbolizing the Yin side, rides a red dragon back to her grotto. To seek the Golden Man, a term symbolizing the Yang side, one must ask for proof. When Yin and Yang meet and the cycle turns through three thousand revolutions, Heaven, Earth, mountains, and seas can all endure with equal strength.

“Wu Li Wang Zi”

If you wish to become an immortal, hold fast to primordial Qi, the original energy received from Heaven, and let embryonic breathing continue without interruption. Whenever the breath is full, undertake a round of refinement and nourishment. Yin and Yang unite, and the red dragon coils around.

The Earth Gate, an aperture in the lower part of the body, is firmly sealed, while the Mysterious Gate, an aperture leading to the mysterious realm in cultivation, opens. Set the cinnabar in motion so that it penetrates the Muddy Pellet, the upper Dantian in the head. Above Kunlun, which here refers to the head, a luminous pearl gleams and agate chimes.

When the furnace fire goes out, the elixir is complete. The mind grows still as ashes, and five-colored light appears. The breath flows continuously between the two passes, apertures through which Qi moves in cultivation, while true flowers gather in the upper Dantian. The Maiden and the Infant, terms in Neidan symbolizing Yin and Yang essence-energy, meet in delight. They mount the River Chariot, a method for transporting Qi, and set the earth-fire thunder in motion.

Drink the sweet spring water and remain forever intoxicated by it, resting in a fairyland like the Peach Blossom Source.

Looking back at the human world, people are always rushing about, laboring day and night without rest. How long can such a life last? A hundred years of life melt away in an instant, like snow in spring. It is a pity that our original, pure nature is pulled along by desire and attachment, manipulated like a puppet. Thinking of this, I sigh inwardly: all beings drift through a sea of suffering, changing their forms from one life to the next, never knowing when they will fully awaken.

It is said that those who pursued fame and profit throughout the ages have left behind only empty hollows where rabbits and foxes roam. The Six Dynasties and the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period have all vanished. Only the cloud and water heroes who cultivate the Dao can transcend worldly affairs. They take quiet simplicity and Wuwei (non-action) as their companions, nurture an unyielding spirit, and hold fast to integrity that does not change through the cold of winter. Who is there to share in this austere, detached life? Only the bright moon between the pine and the window keeps them company.

“No Vulgar Thoughts”

The principles of the great Dao of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) are inexhaustible; only a perfected person can truly grasp them. To speak of the mysteries of the primordial state, one must silently experience their secrets. The principles of all things emerge from this, revealing themselves in response to circumstances and conditions. Once awakened, one can understand the original foundation of life. Even after understanding this, what matters most in cultivation is steady, painstaking perseverance.

These words disclose Heaven’s secret. Without a master’s guidance, how could one understand this matter? Who governs the workings of the myriad things, Heaven and Earth, and the human world? There is no separate ruler who established Heaven and Earth. The great Dao changes without end, embraces all things, and operates without leaving a trace. Even after understanding this, what matters most in cultivation is steady, painstaking perseverance.

These words disclose Heaven’s secret. Without a master’s guidance, how could one understand this matter? Who governs the workings of the myriad things, Heaven and Earth, and the human world? There is no separate ruler who established Heaven and Earth. The great Dao changes without end, embraces all things, and operates without a trace. Break through the barriers of emptiness, and light will shine everywhere, without limit.

“Untying the Red Silk for the Perfected One”

After Primordial Unity—the original state before Heaven and Earth divided and primordial Qi was distinguished—shattered, people have wandered through the four modes of birth and six realms of existence described in Buddhism, with no knowing when they might escape the cycle of rebirth. They have changed bodies and forms again and again, passing through countless lives and deaths in a darkness beyond understanding. People are born because their parents unite, Yin and Yang come together, and essence and blood coalesce; the fetus takes shape through its response within the fetal membranes. People do not know what that foul-smelling place was originally, yet take it for a fine home and plunge straight into it, falling into the calamities of rebirth. Thus they allow flesh and bone to accumulate without end, piling up as high as a mountain.

In studying the Dao and cultivating the Real, do not stray onto an improper path. Do not speak only of the Dragon and Tiger, the Tortoise and Snake, and other symbols of cultivation; nor should you pursue exclusively the inner alchemy images of the infant and the Maiden. Instead, gather in the Four Emblems and Three Chariots, symbolic expressions in Neidan for the workings of body and mind and the movement of essence and Qi. The knife and measure, lead and mercury, water and fire, yellow sprout, and white snow are also terms from inner alchemy. Do not become absorbed in various breathing methods or techniques for transforming Shen and Qi. Add nothing to your nature, and keep all concerns severed from your mind. Then the inner, luminous nature will appear alone, like a deep, clear moon. Let the light of spiritual clarity shine brightly, reaching a state that is unobstructed, transparent, and free.

[Zhenggong] Black-Lacquered Crossbow

I live beside Parrot Islet, an illiterate old fisherman. A small boat drifts amid the river’s waves, while I sleep soundly in the mist and rain of Jiangnan. When I wake, poetry fills my view and the green mountains lie close beneath the evening sky. I shake the green rain cape from my shoulders and row home. Looking back, I see that I once wrongly blamed Heaven’s intent; all along, Heaven had arranged a fitting homecoming for me.

Immortal in the Moon

As the sun sinks in the west, I climb a high terrace and gaze across Heaven and Earth, where the four directions stretch open and vast. Sparse stars appear and vanish; overhead, a bright full moon shines with limpid, unimpeded radiance. It is pure white, as though beyond the Three Realms—the Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm—and like a bronze mirror, hammered and polished until clear. The moon’s grace spreads in all directions, shining on thousands of households and bringing courtyards and doorways into view from the darkness.

Across ten thousand miles of sky, a clear wind accompanies the moon, stirring the breath between Heaven and Earth so that clouds and mist cannot gather. On the jeweled halls of the Immortal Palace, rosy clouds blaze, gold and green gleam together, and colors interweave and reflect one another. This magnificent night scene shines down through the ages, unchanged: vast in its embrace, open and bright. Those with purpose may climb the green cassia tree and enter the moon palace to watch the Jade Rabbit pound its medicine.

The Great Dao is deep and mysterious, like the full moon in a cold sky or clear, still water in an abyss. It is bright and pure, reflecting all things without preference; yet its principles are truly hard to express. Asked about it, the adept points far ahead. There, fallen blossoms and flying catkins drift lightly in the breeze, while green grass stretches to the edge of the sky. One wonders: what difference is there between yellow flowers and green bamboo and the true meaning of Chan?

Cloud-wreathed mountains rise in layers, appearing and disappearing; quiet, secluded valleys lie in stillness, their stone fields—the places where practitioners cultivate or meditate—soaked in chill. Mist veils the pine pavilion, and a light breeze brushes the orchid terrace, where orchids grow. At times, leaning against a clean table, one forgets words and names. Facing a vacant, tranquil hall, the mind rests like cold ashes, free of distracting thoughts, calm and at ease. Who could share this state? Nearby are only a water flask, an alms bowl, lamplight, and the slow-rising smoke of aloeswood incense from an earthenware burner.

Part Two

The sun and moon move high overhead. This profound, mysterious secret is seldom heard in the human world. Taiyi, the Supreme One revered in Daoism as the highest deity or the source, dwells within a gourd. The clear river flows past the valley entrance; lingzhi grows, and orchids release their fragrance. Behold the splendor of golden lotuses in bloom: auspicious clouds gather, revealing the gateway to life and renewal. The Dao is supremely noble, yet it also nourishes the transformations of all things, covering and supporting Heaven and Earth.

How can one enjoy this state through every season? One must cultivate in silence, continuously and without interruption, until the foundation is firm and the roots run deep. One follows or masters the changes of Yin-Yang, understands the hardships and honors of past and present, and responds to circumstances with wondrous skill. This is the profound truth of stillness and quietude, beyond names and forms; it enables one to suddenly realize one’s true, natural nature. At the end of cultivation, one can meet in Huaxu, the legendary realm of ideal dreams, and together enjoy the beauty of spring.

Having seen through prosperity and decline, I set aside all worldly affairs and dwell peacefully among the fields and villages. Even great fame and astonishing wealth cannot keep one from being led about by external things. Life, I sigh, is like “a dream of Nanke” (a metaphor for the brief, dreamlike nature of wealth and splendor). How many wise and foolish people alike has it ruined? The countryside is open to everyone, yet who is truly willing to withdraw from the world?

Only I am carefree and at ease, unrestrained, living in accord with nature. My straw rain cape and bamboo hat lie unused to one side; my qin and books hang high on the wall. My days are simple and spacious. Among pines and on rocks, I sing to the wind and moon, expressing my affection for clouds and water. In quiet emptiness, I rest beneath the rosy clouds and enjoy boundless true delight.

Jiehong

Leaning on a staff of goosefoot, I walk slowly across a small bridge and wander at ease to Nanpu. The lovely spring light slips away in silence; in the blink of an eye, the red and green of plants and trees grow sparse. After rain, the eastern outskirts clear. From somewhere, an oriole’s lilting song rings out. I see clouds and mist reflected on the hills; beyond the stream winding through smoke and water, the sun has already sunk.

In the cool of evening, a breeze through the bamboo grove carries waves of fragrance. To whom can I confide these hours of leisure? A human life in this dusty world lasts a hundred years—how long is that, really? Life is like bubbles on water, appearing and vanishing; those who are deluded find it hard to awaken. I should return. I fear the fields and gardens have grown over.

By the eastern hedge, I laugh freely, playing the qin and reading. In the shade of green pines, beneath the eaves of my thatched hut, I tend what remains of my years. Let all things in the world change and surge, let them hasten the passage of ages; none of it compares with my idle life, content with poverty and simplicity. When inspiration comes, I sing; when sleepy, I lie down; when wild with joy, I dance. I take none of the world’s endless commotion to heart, and let others mock me as foolish. With the clear wind and bright moon for company, I withdraw to Penghu, the secluded island of legend.

Slow Tune: Erlang Shen · Ma Danyang

If you would seek the immortals and cultivate the Dao, you must begin now. First, cast off sexual desire and become a noble person as pure as jade and as unsullied as ice. Above all, do not let yourself be dragged through mud and stained with filth. Once the human life is lost, it is difficult to…

If you wish to cultivate immortality and attain the Dao, begin at once with yourself. First, give up lust and become a person as pure as fine jade and snow. Do not indulge yourself or let yourself be burdened by all manner of desires. Once human life is lost, it is difficult to obtain a human body again. Do not waste time and delay your progress in cultivation. Here, briefly, are five essentials for long life and enduring vision—that is, for living long and preserving life: first, cleanse yourself of distracting thoughts; second, forget greed and abstain from alcohol and meat; third, provide for the poor and aid those in distress; fourth, regularly do charitable deeds; fifth, nurture and preserve the spirit. Cultivate in accordance with these five essentials, and when your practice and merit are complete, you will be able to set out on the immortal road to Penglai.

“Song of the Golden Man Bearing the Dew Tray: The Perfected One of Panshan”

I delight in the quiet life of a mountain village, with wind and moonlight as my companions, letting the years flow by. All day I keep my rustic gate shut, living in a secluded dwelling, leisurely reading ancient books without tiring. I go about my days in calm ease, walking alone and leaving fame and worldly reputation behind.

I guard the primordial Yang—the vital energy of life cultivated in practice—and forget sensual desire and the disturbances of the outer world, allowing Qi and Shen (spirit) to harmonize and flow freely, rising and descending without obstruction. In the jade furnace, a metaphor in Neidan (internal alchemy) for the body or the place of cultivation, I refine and nourish the precious treasure, seeking inner coolness and restoring warmth and calm. My mind is still and clear, unattached to emptiness or form. I nurture my true nature, return to simplicity, and gradually become practiced in this cultivation.

I remain quiet and clear, observing and restraining the monkey mind and galloping thoughts—the image of thoughts that are disorderly and hard to control—so that they stir not the slightest disturbance. Open and unconstrained, I follow my nature in ease, free and at peace. When cultivation is complete, I will realize nonbirth, the state of transcendence beyond life and death. Let the sun and moon run their course and time pass; there is no need to worry over it. I keep far from the turmoil of the mundane world. Those who cultivate the Dao should begin early and not delay.

“Sweet Dew Dripping on Tall Pines”

Time flies, and it is lamentable that people spend each day clinging greedily to life. Those who cultivate should be open and unconstrained, at ease in following their nature, free and at peace. When cultivation is complete, they will realize nonbirth. Let the sun and moon run their course and time pass; there is no need to worry over it. Keep far from the turmoil of the mundane world. Those who cultivate the Dao should begin early.

Time passes quickly. It is sad that people in the world spend every day craving long life and are never satisfied. Even if one were richer and more powerful than Shi Chong, with heaps of gold and jade, in the end one’s karmic retribution would still follow. All day long, one would only deceive oneself and smother one’s conscience. When the King of the Underworld comes to summon you, who can bear the sins you have committed in your place?

Better to begin cultivating early, keep company with the immortals who have transcended the world, and leave ordinary life behind. Quietly enter a realm of clarity and stillness, and you can experience the “world within the gourd,” a hidden paradise unlike any other. All the myriad forms appear before your eyes beneath the bright moon. Contemplate the entire Dharma realm, and you will see divine light and all things as one. I am returning now; a gentle breeze carries me up to the court of the Celestial Emperor.

High mountains and flowing waters stir a sigh: how many kindred spirits are there in this world? Mists and rosy clouds stretch for thousands of miles across Zhongnan Mountain. It is time to return; the year, too, is drawing to a close. I take up my staff.

High mountains and flowing waters stir a sigh: how many kindred spirits are there in this world? Mists and rosy clouds stretch for thousands of miles across Zhongnan Mountain. It is time to return; the year, too, is drawing to a close. Beyond a staff, a medicine brazier, and scripture scrolls, what luggage could I need? At ease in simplicity, I uphold a household tradition of quietude, my mind clear and pure as if washed clean. The mysteries of cultivation depend on a master’s guidance; only through sustained practice can one overcome impermanence and death. A divine sword three feet long lies hidden in its case. Thunder crashes, and a fire dragon soars. With peace throughout the land, I roam freely and laugh among the white clouds. Those who chase fame and profit and have no wish to seek long life merely hurry through the dusty world.

Part Two

Seven golden lotuses. Since meeting at Ganhe, I have come to realize many truths without even seeking them. The six Perfected Ones—Qiu, Liu, Tan, Ma, Sun, and Wang—and Hao Taigu, along with many others, once sat together. Two fellow cultivators in felt robes also revealed more of the ancestral lineage’s causes and consequences. Jade blossoms opened, ten thousand blooms exuding fragrance together; their scent spread throughout the human world, while auspicious vapors hung overhead like clouds and mist.

Do not let the Heavenly Origin sexagenary cycle, an important calendrical cycle in the cultivation tradition, pass by in vain. The immortals are appearing in the world at this very time, and people congratulate one another. The teachings and lineage of the Quanzhen School are profound; what truly matters is forgetting the distinction between self and others. Nineteen branches later emerged, and those who dwelled on the Cinnabar Terrace, a dwelling or cultivation ground of immortals, became known by name. My merit and cultivation fall short of completion by only the slightest measure, so Heaven has not yet received me.

The teachings and lineage of the Quanzhen School are profound; what truly matters is forgetting the distinction between self and others. Nineteen branches later emerged, and those who dwelled on the Cinnabar Terrace became known by name. My merit and cultivation fall short of completion by only the slightest measure, so Heaven has not yet received me.

The text points straight to the road leading to Xuanyuan, the source of the Dao. It is sad that people are trapped in a sea of suffering, confused and unable to awaken. In truth, the road lies right before us: smooth and level, with no danger or obstruction. Once every concern is set aside, sagely insight will naturally show the way. Like broken clouds and wild cranes, one can soar freely and stroll at ease through the clear sky beyond the mundane world.

Gather joyfully with the immortals. When thirsty, drink wine brewed from the fabled flat peaches. Come and go among starry towers and moonlit halls, smiling at the changes of life and death in the human world, from ancient times to the present. Ride a colored phoenix and an auspicious luan bird up into the Great Void, the boundless sky; on returning, lie deep within the azure clouds. Such a life of freedom and ease is hard to put into words, and can only be entrusted to the immortal companions of Penglai.

The First Terrace of the Jade Tower: “In Praise of Tea”

As soon as Yin and Yang Qi join, they thunder into motion and give rise to the Yellow Sprout, a symbolic term in internal alchemy. The practitioner gathers the Yellow Sprout and stores it in the cauldron, then refines it according to the method, making no errors. Through repeated cycles, constant grinding and tempering, one persists through hundreds and thousands of rounds without slackening. When the subtle method is properly applied and the work is complete, one can dwell in peace wherever one goes.

Worthy of praise is the immortal attendant’s skill: the tea he pours is as lovely as spring snow. It dispels drowsiness, clarifies the path of cultivation, and reveals the emptiness of worldly splendor. The monk Zhaozhou understood the Chan meaning of tea, and Lu Quan (Lu Tong, the Tang poet and devoted tea drinker) also knew the Way of Tea; in the end, both reached the realm of the immortals. May this cup of tea awaken everyone soon, so that all may return together to the misty, cloud-veiled realm of the immortals.

Moon over the Jade Tower

Awakening from the dream of yellow millet, one should see through the splendor before one in time and come to a sudden realization. Step beyond the cage of ordinary life: what in the world could still hold you back? Let companions of rosy clouds and drifting clouds, fellow cultivators, stay by your side; wherever you go, the clear breeze and bright moon will accompany you.

Be a free and unrestrained person, wandering by green waters and admiring blue mountains, passing the days at ease. No amount of gold can buy such happiness. Let others chase fame and profit; I ask only for a quiet place to call home. Content with a simple life, I claim the full measure of leisure in this world. Happy and carefree all day, I sleep with my head resting high and my body stretched out in comfort.

People living amid the dust of the world, take a look: who can be as carefree as I am? It is truly enviable. Within this ease lies a remarkable power.

The Second [by Qiu Changchun]

All my life I have been carefree and at ease, asking only to lie high and sleep soundly, free of worry. I pay no mind to my tousled hair or unkempt appearance, nor to the wear and tear on my body. While the sun, moon, and stars continue on their ceaseless courses, I entrust body and mind to the mountains, forests, springs, and streams, letting them shelter and settle me. I dwell beside deep ravines and secluded cliffs, hidden among green mountains as if veiled by white clouds. Thunder, lightning, and calamity cannot come near me.

I rise at noon, walk a little, then sit down again, casting off one by one the habits I have carried from the past. This is all a life of leisure and ease amounts to: tiring of the chase for gain and finding joy in a simple life; cutting off desire and feeling no urge to pursue worldly ambitions. I have no grain stored away and no means to make elixirs, yet I sing in peace and answer freely. Since my quest for immortality is not yet complete, I will pass the days at ease for now.

No Worldly Thoughts

Hao Taigu, a Daoist figure, studied the Dao for ten years before meeting a wise master who revealed the true secret of becoming an immortal. At a single sentence, he understood what lies beyond the heavens, and doubts he had held for years suddenly dissolved. Seeing things, he could illuminate his mind; hearing sounds, he could awaken to the Dao. This truth is hard to put into words. As the mysterious gate—the crucial point in the cultivation of body and mind—begins to turn, boundless joy wells up within him.

Looking out, he sees clear breezes across the land and the mist dispersing, revealing the blue sky and bright moon. The world stretches for ten thousand miles, clear as water, its every corner gleaming with the moon’s cool radiance. He opens the jade gate, rolls up the beaded curtain high, and sits in stillness before mountains piled with snow. Reaching the state where neither person nor ox can be seen, he understands the truth of neither birth nor death.

The Second

Life is a ceaseless bustle. It seems governed both by Heaven’s decree and by fate, and also bound up with one’s personal share of good fortune. As cold and heat come and go, people gradually grow old; the world’s fortunes rise and fall, forever changing. Turning stones into gold and pointing to mountains as treasure cannot satisfy human desire. He opens the curtain and sits in stillness before mountains piled with snow. Reaching the state where neither person nor ox can be seen, he understands the truth of neither birth nor death.

Human life is busy and hurried. On closer reflection, our fate is governed by Heaven’s will and the allotments of destiny, and is also tied to our own blessings. The seasons of cold and heat alternate, people gradually grow old, and no one knows how many cycles of rise and decline the world has witnessed. Even the power to turn stones into gold or mountains into treasure cannot satisfy human desire. We pursue every possible means, but in the end, who is ever truly content?

Better to set aside some time amid the busyness and live among the mountains and forests, cleaning a hut overgrown with yellow grass. The bright moon and clear breeze keep us company, along with green mountains and flowing waters. Drink a few cups of wine, write some poems; eat when hungry and drink when thirsty, grateful to be free of the worries that come with wealth and loss. When drunk, wake again; once awake, sing another tune.

Third Poem [Qiu Changchun]

Alone and frustrated on life’s road, I crossed the Qin River plain and traveled west to the area around Pan Creek. Before the rocks in an open mountain valley, beside a secluded, deep stream, I carved out a high cave for my dwelling, where I could settle down and cultivate. There was no cooking smoke here, nor any store of food or daily necessities; I never accumulated what I needed to live. Hungry, I ate; thirsty, I drank. As the days passed, I went to the village lanes to look for food.

Whether the food was cold, hot, or left over, it was enough so long as it filled my belly. There was no need to trouble myself with cooking. Good or bad, whatever sustained me was enough, and I was spared the work of the kitchen. These lines from the scripture are repeated in the original. The passage then says that caring for this body and gently nourishing its inner apertures allows Jing and Qi to grow. Once the body becomes light and strong, the Dharma Body—the form beyond the physical body spoken of in cultivation—can more easily find its place.

Fourth Poem [Qiu Changchun]

Dark clouds gather, snow falls thickly: it is deep winter, and Heaven and Earth are shut tight beneath a heavy cold. My mountain dwelling is quiet and desolate; no one comes to speak with me all day. Wrapped in a patchwork robe made from many pieces of cloth, I sit alone in meditation beneath the cold sky. The long night weighs on me, its distress difficult to dispel. Even after enduring the night, I cannot sleep. The north wind blows through the doors and windows, its cold piercing to the bone.

At dawn I go to the western village to beg for food. Along the way, among the trees and springs, ice and snow have formed like jade flowers. My hands are frozen, so I keep breathing on them for warmth, yet I still lament that this ordinary body and dull nature are so inadequate. Day and night turn upside down; hunger and cold press in. I do not know when I will transcend life and death. I must rely on single-minded resolve to break through the barriers that have obscured the heart for a thousand ages, and reveal the heart-moon that has always been there—the clear, original mind.

Fifth Poem

We sit facing one another in a thatched hut. Though our surroundings are still, empty, spare, and plain, the incense of the heart continues to burn. We recognize and investigate our original true nature, our face from the beginning. Yet hunger and cold still press in. When will we transcend life and death? We must rely on unwavering resolve to break through the barriers of a thousand ages and reveal the heart-moon that has always been there.

Several people sit facing one another in a thatched hut, letting the pure, quiet fragrance of their hearts rise without end. Once they recognize their original nature from the beginning, they know that all things ultimately return to one place and are without distinction. Walking, they are like leisurely clouds; sitting still, like an empty, silent valley. Whether moving or still, they can rest in peace. The subtlety of the Mystery upon Mystery—the Daoist realm of transcending layer after layer and letting go of attachments—is truly hard to put into words. The more one looks up, the higher and farther it seems; the more one probes, the deeper and firmer it feels. One has only to look ahead, and suddenly it is as though one has arrived behind; yet in its original state, nothing is lacking. Whether speaking or silent, whether mortal or immortal, all can accord with this subtle principle. One can survey all things without forming distinctions, fill heaven and earth without sensing their boundaries, and move freely through both inner and outer realms. The dark, mysterious Heaven—the hidden, wondrous ground of being—appears alone, like a heart-moon without form.

Sixth

When investigating the mysterious principle and meeting an obstruction, forcing one’s way deeper only makes the Dao’s teachings seem hard as iron. The crow’s cry and the ape’s lament both speak of nonduality; the essential thing is not to follow them into making distinctions. Awakening the mind at a sharp rebuke or blow, seeing one’s nature through a hint from the staff: this principle has always been hard to explain. Once the knot of doubt is broken, one’s original true face naturally appears. Flowers bloom on a rootless tree, and the lineage runs through past and present. Cast off old attachments and rise beyond the cycles of kalpas. Beating a tortoise with a whisk and rinsing one’s mouth with a hare’s horn are images of things impossible in the everyday world. Yet even stone can gush forth a spring, whose waters seem to have tongues that proclaim the wondrous principle. The Five Schools of Chan and the six transmissions of the patriarchs’ intent—if one speaks of lineage as mere talk, it is like standing in vain in snow up to one’s waist. I present this principle to you like the autumn moon, coldly reflected in a blue-green pool.

Man Ting Fang

To sink wholly into emptiness and cling to barren stillness is only to waste one’s effort in foolishness. Grinding a brick in hopes of making a mirror, climbing a tree to catch fish—both are futile. Seeing the moon, why cling to the finger pointing toward it? Observing a flower and gaining insight are both ways of experiencing Suchness, the unchanging true nature of all things. The wise respond to circumstances as they arise, without resentment or attachment to joy. In matters such as cultivating immortality or attaining Buddhahood, the nature in question neither increases nor diminishes; it is neither truly existent nor nonexistent. Its radiance appears clear and open, brilliant as a divine pearl. Though living amid the dusty world, the spirit remains settled and unstained; though among the people, one is not bound by the world’s conventions. Knowing and applying the constant principle, one’s realm becomes majestic, vast, and free. What, then, is there that cannot be let go and made empty?

Drunkenly Facing the Moon

8. Perfected One Huangfu

Piercing through chaos, one sees the Qiantang region stretching southward to meet the Yangtze, whose waters gleam like deep green jade. Poets across the ages have pictured these scenes, but who has understood their true source? Year after year, the tides rise and fall on schedule on a certain day of the Geng cycle and a certain month of the Jia cycle. Why are they never off by a moment? Now let us explain the principle: one must understand the foundation of how Heaven and Earth move.

Though the Dao may be called “the One,” it contains the transformations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). These phases reverse and interweave, unfolding the laws by which Heaven and Earth move. Kan Water—the trigram that symbolizes water—flows upstream toward the gate in the Bing direction, waxing and waning with the moon. At the Mid-Autumn Festival, Metal generates Water, and the tide swells to twice its force, rising in a thousand layers of snowy waves. The immortals’ subtle arts follow the tides’ transformations without distinction.

“Tune of Water: The Celestial Master Xujing”

A High Perfected One has left secret instructions for those who understand the Dao to use in rescuing the deluded. With a clear heart and pure conduct, one wins the devotion and faith of heavenly beings, ordinary people, and sages alike. This does not depend on pacing the Dipper and treading the stars, nor on broad experience and extensive learning. When the mind and spirit are scattered, such things only lead to greater doubt. One need only cast off evil, delusion, and deceit, and bring the heart into accord with the divine.

Realize true emptiness, leave worldly entanglements behind, and put an end to scheming and calculation. Cultivate an expansive, upright spirit, and you can command thunder and lightning, rescuing people in times of danger. Bring the myriad spirits into unity, and let a single thought reach through Heaven and Earth; only then can one truly begin to attain Wuwei (non-action). At a shout, wind and rain arise: one supports the world and serves an age of clarity.

The Second

There is no need to seek divine water or ask about the Flower Pool, a symbolic name often used in Neidan (internal alchemy). Yellow Sprout and White Snow are also only borrowed names. So too are the Qian Ox, Kun Horse, High Dragon, and Kan Tiger: they are symbols used in cultivation, and need not provoke further doubt. The ingredients have no fixed weight, and the firing process need not be bound to the hours.

The Crescent Furnace and Cinnabar Cauldron are not physical objects either. Once True Lead and True Mercury—Neidan terms symbolizing the Yin-Yang essence and Qi cultivated within—have been encountered, what is the point of failing to refine and nourish them? The Golden Elder and Crimson Maiden within oneself, symbols of Yin and Yang Qi, gradually unite as one. Embryonic Breathing, the deep, fine, prolonged breath cultivated in Neidan, comes naturally, like that of an infant. If you do not believe Zhang Ping-shu, the Daoist Neidan master Zhang Boduan, whom else can you ask?

The spring breeze stirs the curtains, and the scene before my eyes takes on a fresh beauty. Beside a courtyard bright with peach blossoms, water murmurs beneath a small bridge while willow branches sway softly. It is the Qingming season: fragrant grasses by the pond are tender and vivid, and the scenery is pleasing everywhere. Purple swallows carry mud to build new nests, and light rain nourishes the fragrant flowers and plants. I still live as I did in days gone by, in easy contentment: buying wine to drink, walking with a staff, and fishing beside the rocky bank. The river and lake remain as they were; a few calls from gulls and egrets mingle with the faint glow of sunset. A hundred years pass in a flash, like sparks struck from stone; tier upon tier of cloud-wreathed mountains lies shrouded in mist. I look back and, in an instant, forget all clever schemes and calculations. As if transformed into a butterfly, I sleep peacefully beneath the pine-framed window, reclining at ease beside a path that leads deep into the blue clouds.

People in the sea of suffering drift with the waves, never knowing when they will find rest. They become entangled and lost in wine, sensual pleasure, wealth, and temper, deceiving their own hearts and betraying their conscience. They give no thought to where they will end up, yet treat their finite bodies as though they could enjoy them forever, as if making plans for a thousand years hence. Then one day, the officials of the underworld come to summon you. When that happens, let us see whom you can call to die in your place.

Even if you possess a thousand grand and splendid houses and rooms filled with gold and jade, what use will it be in the end? I urge you all to wake up in time and strive to break out of the cage of the ordinary world. Wander freely beyond worldly concerns. Let go of attachment and craving, and live simply and quietly, content like a quail in its nest or a fledgling taking its food. Cultivate yourself in stillness, calm your mind, and regulate your breath. When the Neidan (internal alchemy) is complete and your cultivation perfected, you will ride the colored clouds, mount a phoenix, and ascend to the realm of the immortals.

Look closely at the desires that drive human life, and you will find that beings in the Six Realms bring sorrow upon themselves for no reason. As soon as they have eaten their fill, they long for fine horses and splendid fur robes. Once they have these, they want to make a name for themselves, win success, and gain official rank. Even if gold and silver were piled as high as the Dipper, and they bought ten thousand acres of fertile land and built a hundred-foot tower, their desires would still not be satisfied.

Children and grandchildren have blessings of their own. Do not wear yourself out like a beast of burden on their behalf. Greed for wealth and rank, and the pursuit of empty fame, bring only turmoil and scheming. Who understands that the human body is like foam on the water, gone in the blink of an eye?

If people crave Qi, wealth, wine, and sensual pleasures, and refuse to board the fishing boat, they will neglect the Dantian (the place where the spirit is gathered and Qi is concentrated in Daoist cultivation), the very foundation of their practice, while distracting thoughts spring up like brambles. It is like a pearl stolen from a treasure house, or oil continually leaking from an iron lamp. Once mercury has spilled, it is hard to gather again. When, then, will the Great Cinnabar (the name for the elixir achieved through Daoist internal alchemy) ever be refined?

Again and again I have admonished and urged you. But after all that, how many have truly taken it to heart? The sea of suffering is vast and deep, its waves never still. Only when the mind is at ease and free of concerns does it seem fit to lower the fishing hook. How pitiable that those people, bright as brocade-scaled fish, never come to their senses. They toss their heads and tails, swim wherever they please, and play among the waves. You foolish, deluded people, wake up and stop grasping. For fame and gain no bigger than a needle’s point, you use up the years of your youth in an instant.

“Qitianle,” by Qiu Changchun

After leaving the shores of the Eastern Sea, four people from the lands of the Three Provinces first joined together as fellow practitioners. We found ourselves far from home, coming and going as though playing among the waves. You foolish, deluded people, wake up and stop grasping. For fame and gain no bigger than a needle’s point, you use up the years of your youth in an instant.

“Qitianle,” by Qiu Changchun

After leaving the shores of the Eastern Sea, four people from the lands of the Three Provinces first set out together. Far from home, we traveled and sat side by side, keeping one another company as we roamed each day, discussing the mysteries and seeking the quiet ease beyond worldly life, along with the true flavor of the Dao. We sang in response to one another at leisure. Among those bound by the same lineage under one master, what difference is there between us and kin?

Now we are clearly separated from one another. I can only hold fast to a steadfast resolve, devote myself to practice, and keep refining myself, so that the years do not slip by in haste. Since we have drifted apart, it is difficult for us to meet again; deep mountain passes lie far away, and the road stretches on. Heaven and earth divide us, and we gaze toward one another from afar, as distant as the sparse stars at dawn. Who knows in what year we will meet again and ride the clouds together to pay court to the Celestial Emperor?

Second

Ever since leaving Qingdu, the immortal capital in heaven, and coming to the human world, I have wandered here as if in a dream. Human nature is originally mysterious and still. You rule the realm and govern the state, bestowing deep blessings, bringing peace and well-being to the people. Mountain roads stretch far away; heaven and earth divide us, and we gaze toward one another from afar, as distant as the sparse stars at dawn. Who knows in what year we will meet again and ride the clouds together to pay court to the Celestial Emperor?

Second

Ever since leaving Qingdu, the immortal capital in heaven, and coming to the human world, I have wandered here as if in a dream. Human nature is originally mysterious and still. You rule the realm and govern the state, bestowing deep blessings, bringing peace and well-being to the people. Winter is warm and summer cool. Let the spring waters and autumn mountains pass before your eyes; open your heart and rest at ease wherever you are. The things of the world stir the feelings, while this illusory body cannot help but gradually grow weak. Study the methods and arts of the immortals in depth; firmly cultivate body and spirit, and harmonize primordial Qi through inner contemplation. Bring the body’s Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—into harmony, and make the Three Corpses, the spirits said to dwell in the body and obstruct cultivation, withdraw and disappear. Having seen through the familiar splendors of the human world, what is there to fear? Realize true emptiness and wondrous existence; how much more so the luminous nature that has been present since time immemorial, which naturally cannot wither or decay. When the dream ends and the heart opens, one suddenly transcends ten thousand years.

Eternal Joy

Let me ask you all: What is the human being’s original face? Even if a painter were asked to depict it, they could not portray this true nature, solemn and complete through countless kalpas. It has no form or shadow; it cannot be seen or heard, yet it is plainly present, unmoving and unshaken, right before us, clear and bright. If people can awaken to it, they should turn the light back upon themselves and look within, rather than rushing about outside. Let go of every concern and set aside all affairs, so that nothing in the world remains bound to the heart. When the clouds of delusion disperse, true nature appears on its own, and nothing veils the bright moon within the heart. In this, one is no different from all the immortals in the Three Realms—the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm.

When walking, there is no sorrow; when sitting quietly, there is no restlessness. At all times, one is peaceful and joyful. The breath grows long, fine, and gentle. Day after day, morning and evening without interruption, one nurtures the “spirit pearl” within—the inner essence formed by gathering Jing, Qi, and Shen. Idle talk and gossip need not be heeded; above all, avoid competing with others to prove who is stronger or right. Dispel ignorance, the delusion that obscures one’s nature, and quiet the mind until it is like cold ashes. This is the practice and attainment of a cultivator of the Dao.

Let the mind-monkey cease its agitation and rein in the intention-horse, so that the dragon and tiger—the Yin-Yang energies of body and mind—unite in stillness. Yang Qi descends and Yin Qi rises, like the cyclical movements of the sun and moon, refining the elixir of long life in the furnace. Regulate the breath in the cauldron and nourish it; there is no need to light a fire for cooking, for the “Nine-Yang True Fire,” a metaphor for the movement of Yang Qi in inner cultivation, will arise of itself. Frost-Heart Master explains the secrets of Heaven clearly and shares these principles with you.

Xuanjing Santai, Perfected Niu

Since childhood, I have wandered from place to place, disheartened and forlorn in body and mind. Most of my travels have been in Shandong. Seeing through the affairs of the world, I came to know that they are only vain thoughts. I share these principles with you.

Xuanjing Santai, Perfected Niu

Since childhood, I have wandered from place to place, disheartened and forlorn in body and mind. Most of my travels have been in Shandong. Seeing through the affairs of the world, I came to know that they are only vain thoughts; wealth and honor, too, are fleeting as a dream. Build a small hermitage beside mountains and waters, plant pines and bamboo, and let them grow into a grove. With a warm kang and bright windows, enjoy a quiet, unhurried life; it is better than striving for fame and profit. The moon shines clear over Shandong, a cool breeze stirs, and the green waters of the southern stream lie nearby.

Gradually refine and nourish the mind until it is cool and still as ashes. When the first Yang arises within, the Jade Cauldron, a metaphor for inner cultivation, warms of itself. Fine, beautiful Qi rises in misty vapors; immortal flowers bloom in profusion, their fragrance spreading throughout the Yellow Court, the inner region at the center of the body in Daoist inner cultivation. The Jade Maiden and Golden Youth, symbolic names in inner cultivation, gather this essence and refine it into a purple-gold substance. Qi circulates through the body’s Three Passes, the three gateways of inner cultivation, and the Four Images—symbols of the Yin-Yang and Five-Phase energies within—are harmonized, bringing the numinous, clear Qi to a single point. Qi congeals and Shen settles, as though one hears flutes and pipes playing celestial music.

A bond formed in a former life has brought me to encounter the orthodox Dao in this life; the wondrous Dao of Quanzhen is profound and subtle. When cultivation is complete and merit fulfilled, one may ride phoenixes and cranes upward to the Great Purity, the Daoist realm of clear emptiness.

“Song on Wuyi, No. 11,” Bai Yuchan

Recalling events of the Qin dynasty… The numinous, clear Qi is brought to a single point. Qi congeals and Shen settles, as though one hears flutes and pipes playing celestial music. A bond formed in a former life has brought me to encounter the orthodox Dao in this life; the wondrous Dao of Quanzhen is profound and subtle. When cultivation is complete and merit fulfilled, one may ride phoenixes and cranes upward to the Great Purity.

“Song on Wuyi, No. 11,” Bai Yuchan

I recall a Mid-Autumn Festival in the Qin dynasty, when I was near the Nine-Bend Stream on Mount Wuyi. The mist all around quietly dispersed, and a few feet of slanting sunlight fell on a withered tree where crows roosted. Thirty-six peaks held the verdant green of early morning, while the flowing stream reflected the clear green of autumn. It was the season when osmanthus blossoms scented the whole forest, their golden petals falling in a steady shower.

The immortal guest had completed his Golden Elixir. An imperial decree from the Jade Emperor descended, and auspicious clouds rose beneath his feet. The stones had only just exchanged their bones, yet still bore traces of red flesh and blood. At midnight, the moon shone as brightly as day. The Jade Emperor arrived in his chariot and laid out a sumptuous feast. But when that great-grandson turned to look toward Manting Peak, all that remained before him was the empty stillness of pines and bamboo.

Ode to the White Lotus

Last night, Chang’e wandered through the grotto dwelling and returned to the heavenly palace in a drunken haze. Perhaps something happened along the way: her jade hairpin fell into the human world, but the Water God would not say. Someone carried it into the Crystal Palace; at dawn, it was brought out again, stirring up talk among the people. Warm winds swept its fragrance across the sky. Who could still tell where that fragrance came from?

The white lotus is fragrant and dewy, graceful and pure, white as jade and cold as snow. Surely even the Jade Emperor’s rear garden has no flower like it. One can only admire it in verse and praise it from afar, unable to bring oneself to pluck it lightly. The coarse plum and the spare, delicate mei blossom are both inferior to the white lotus. What a marvel it is.

Eternal Spring — Qiu Changchun

Autumn has arrived, and gradually it feels just right to put on a jacket with sleeves. The sky is clear after the autumn frost, perfect for opening one’s heart and roaming freely, without fear of the fierce west wind. The blossoms and leaves are abundant; the poet can only praise them in verse, unable to bring himself to pluck them lightly. The plum seems coarse, the mei blossom spare and delicate; neither compares with it. What a marvel it is.

Eternal Spring — Qiu Changchun

Autumn has arrived, and gradually it feels just right to put on a jacket with sleeves. The sky is clear after the autumn frost, and the pleasure of roaming is boundless; there is no fear of the fierce west wind. The flowers and leaves are abundant, ready to be gathered by hand, threaded, and woven into ornaments. Their outward appearance seems free and unrestrained, while within they gleam like luminous pearls.

Joy of Wandering

The moon at the edge of the sky first looks like a bow, then vanishes. The dragon seeks the tiger, and the tiger seeks the dragon. When the two meet, they form a golden flower that sways in the wind. Here, dragon and tiger symbolize the Yin-Yang Qi that work together in alchemical practice.

The moon at the edge of the sky again resembles a pill furnace with its mouth raised. Lead and mercury are placed in the cauldron and must be refined by regulating the fire until they form a “flowing pearl,” which finally congeals into a gourd-shaped vessel of elixir. Three hundred and eighty-four zhu is an ancient unit of weight. Here, along with references to lead, mercury, and the pill furnace, it is symbolic terminology for Neidan cultivation.

The Qi of Yin and Yang responds and joins within the body, congealing into an elixir. It contains lead and mercury—alchemy terms that refer to Yin and Yang, Jing, Qi, and other forces—and also spreads out into the Eight Trigrams. Place the Yellow Sprout, the nascent true Qi spoken of in Neidan cultivation, inside the Golden Cauldron and refine it at the time when Yang first begins to arise. Only after the hour of Zi and before the hour of Wu does one begin to tend the fire, cooking the ingredients in the Jade Furnace until at last they transform into an elixir as white as snow.

This Mysterious Pass, the subtle aperture spoken of in Neidan cultivation, is profound and difficult to understand, and must not be revealed lightly. Only because my master gave me subtle oral instructions can I explain the method for cultivating the great Golden Elixir. Gather in the essences of the Tiger and Dragon—the Yin-Yang essences within the body—and the sun and moon will turn of themselves. How could ordinary people understand the workings of Heaven’s creation? Through cultivation, one can shed the mortal body and escape the disturbances of demons. Rise beyond the dusty world and gaze toward the immortal capital; bow before the Golden Palace in the realm of the immortals and pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning.

Since childhood, I have been like a solitary cloud, with nothing beyond myself to weigh on my mind. I drape one piece of cloth over my shoulders and another across my body; carefree and at ease, that is my way of life. A broken gourd hangs at my waist, and I carry no other baggage. Others laugh that I do not know how to manage a household, and I let them say what they will. Even in an ancient temple or ancestral shrine, I can play in the company of its clay statues. With a broken sand basin, a cracked earthen jar, and a ladle with a snapped handle, I wrap myself in a torn paper quilt and curl up to sleep. I await only the day when my cultivation is complete and my work accomplished; then, when I pay homage to the Jade Emperor, my manly resolve will be made clear.

Listen while I tell you a few things, some small matters worth knowing. To pursue everything relentlessly will in the end bring harm to yourself; when a good opportunity comes within reach, accept it as it comes. It is better to seem foolish than to be clever and quick-witted. In true cultivation, seek no other practice outside the mind. Take only what you see before you as real, and naturally you will no longer be entangled in worries, but will step by step enter the realm of Wuwei (non-action).

Time passes swiftly, so I urge you to turn back soon and seek a practice that truly benefits body and mind. Do not let profit and fame entangle you, or become absorbed in drink and sensual pleasures. Disputes and quarrels with others only bring needless distress. Once the “lead” and “mercury”—symbolic terms in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) for the essence, vital energy, and spirit cultivated and gathered in practice—have been depleted, it will be too late to preserve them; regret and sorrow will do no good.

Even if you begin practicing now, the sooner the better. Do not put it off. If you remain deluded and refuse to understand, you will only harm yourself. Even if you provide for a family of several thousand people, what fundamental problem will that solve? It will only exhaust body and mind, keep you restless day and night, and leave you gradually aged and haggard. Why make yourself suffer like this? Why not turn back and consider your own situation: when death comes, who can take your place and bear it for you?

End of Volume One of Minghe Yuyin (Resonant Notes of the Cranes).

1. Based on textual research, this song was likely written by Bai Ben of the Yuan dynasty as a sanqu song. The original attribution to Qiu Chuji may be mistaken.

2. This ci song also appears in Panxi Ji. The text below has been collated and supplemented on the basis of that work.

3. The original had no title. This ci song also appears in Panxi Ji and should be attributed to Qiu Chuji.

4. The original had no title. This ci song also appears in Panxi Ji, which includes the next song as well.

5. “True cultivation”: Panxi Ji has “precious delicacies,” which also makes sense.

6. “Essence and fluids”: Panxi Ji has “regulated fluids.”

7. “Cold sky”: Panxi Ji has “cold restraint.”

8. This ci song also appears in Changsheng Zhiyao, compiled by Lin Ziran.

9. The original had no title. Based on textual research, this ci song was likely written by Ge Changgeng of the Southern Song dynasty.

10. For “one teacher,” Panxi Ji has “one poem”; later in the text, for “what difference,” Panxi Ji has “what meaning.”

12. The original name of this ci tune was “Man Jiang Hong,” composed by Geng.

10. For “one teacher,” Panxi Ji has “one poem”; later in the text, for “what difference,” Cixi Ji has “what meaning.”

12. The original name of this ci tune was “Man Jiang Hong,” as was the next one. Both were composed by Bai Yuchan.

14. “Unrestrained pleasure in roaming”: the original mistakenly reads “unrestrained sorrow”; corrected on the basis of Panxi Ji.

15. For “at hand,” Panxi Ji has “up and down.”

Volume Two of Minghe Yuyin (Resonant Notes of the Cranes)

Compiled by Peng Zhizhong, Daoist of Mount Xianyou

“Su Wu Man,” composed by Master Feng.

After the meal, I stroll at leisure with my staff, taking in the countryside. What support or reliance could I need? A distant sail returns to the inlet; white egrets stand on the sandbar. Thousands upon thousands of trees have just put forth lovely blossoms. Fragrant grass grows thick beside the pond, and the pavilions of Brocade River are faintly visible. Green mountains lie veiled in mist and cloud. I gaze eastward across the suburbs, all the way to the horizon, but cannot see an old friend. My heart cannot help but feel forlorn.

I should turn back. The green hillside winds along a rugged path, and trees and mountains overlap in shade, just right for passing the evening hours. Hidden birds sing in lilting notes; slender willow branches droop with golden new leaves. Green tree shadows fall beside the little bridge, and clear water sounds rise from beneath it. I take up my brush and write strokes that dance like dragons and serpents, savor the scenery before me, and sing of mountains and streams, following the example of Tao Yuanming and Xie Lingyun in composing poems and painting. This lovely landscape among the cloud-wreathed mountains seems like a misty fairyland beyond the mortal world. How many people could come here to explore it?

Turning the light back inward—reflecting on oneself and gathering the spirit—is the way of life one can ultimately rely upon. What other dependable refuge is there? The old gardens of Zheng are gradually falling into ruin, yet the dwellings deep in the bamboo grove and the stream beside the pines remain fine places to wander and enjoy the mountains. I keep company with rosy clouds and take the vaporous clouds as my friends, admiring the colors of water and mountains, and dwelling among the forests, valleys, and caves shrouded in mist.

There is also a grandeur that soars to the heavens, while the noble energy in my breast stretches without bound. The pleasing sights are these: butterflies flutter among the flower tips, moss grows along the stone path, the breeze is soft, the sun climbs higher, and the curtains hang quietly. My mind is calm and clear, as though I could perceive the myriad things of Heaven and Earth in every detail. This freedom and elevation surpass the feasts and social gatherings of market streets and court. I wear a loose-cut robe of coarse hemp, with a jade hairpin like a slender bamboo stalk tucked crosswise in my hair, and laugh and sing poetry over wine by the eastern hedge. I would like to put these true feelings into words, but the mortal world stretches vast and hazy, and old friends are scattered and gone. I cannot help feeling lonely.

Seeing through the turmoil of worldly life and escaping the constraints of the ordinary, I have at last found freedom and ease. My path wanders as freely as a floating duckweed; my tastes are refined and aloof, like wild clouds and elk. When obstacles arise, I follow the moment’s course; even amid worldly life, I keep my brilliance hidden. Knowing when enough is enough, what honor or disgrace is there to contend over? I roam at ease between the sea and the human world, heedless of youth’s swift passing.

From now on, brush, ink, paper, and inkstone may gather dust. I will no longer dwell on petty disputes over fame and profit, small as flies or battles fought on a snail’s horns. I will live in a cloud dwelling among verdant mountains. I set everything down and let worldly affairs pass from my thoughts, quietly admiring the plum blossoms and green bamboo before my small window. Content with a life of ease and idleness, I return to an ancient simplicity and honest way of life. This is true, lasting peace and quiet. Let everyone else hurry day and night along life’s roads, fighting and striving like two kingdoms warring on a snail’s horns.

Part Four

Awakening from a dream, I leave behind the illusion of the locust palace. Leaning against the boundless sky, I give a long, mournful sigh, having seen through the ways of the world from ancient times to the present. I once studied by the light reflected from snow, like Sun Kang, and hunted tigers with a bow, like Li Guang; I even subdued dragons and tigers. As a young man, I was led astray by the pursuit of such achievements. The splendor of the Golden Valley Garden, the hunting parks of the Han, and the palaces of the Qin have all dwindled to falling blossoms and drifting willow catkins.

Life is brief, and people bustle about all day long. Who is willing, as death approaches, to look back on a lifetime of striving? Better to discuss the mysteries of the Dao, play graceful melodies on the zither, and rest at the gateway to a celestial grotto realm. I live freely among the fields, letting my heart roam, and watch the gulls and egrets by the water. I gather what I need for a simple life, wearing my rain cape on the river amid mist and drizzle, and savoring purple crabs and yellow citrus. Returning after drinking, I still dwell deep among the reeds, where moonlight brightens a secluded inlet.

Part Five

Consider the challenge of practicing meditation and awakening to the Dao: people investigate and seek countless times, yet many grow old in the end without attaining anything. The images of grinding a brick into a mirror and piling snow into roof beams describe clinging to painful austerities and losing years of one’s life. The smallest things can contain vast worlds: the ocean within a pore, Mount Sumeru within a mustard seed. The Golden-Hued Ascetic smiled in recognition. With true awakening, one goes beyond the ten stages of the bodhisattva path and the three vehicles of the voice-hearers and solitary realizers, and is no longer bewildered by the cycle of rebirth through the four forms of birth and six realms.

Who can hear the cuckoo call once before the cliff of severed thought, beneath the shade-less tree, as spring dawns? The road to Caoxi, where the Sixth Patriarch Huineng taught the Dharma, is steep; clouds and mist lie deep over Vulture Peak, where the Buddha preached, and news of old friends has long since faded. Among cliffs of ice a thousand fathoms high, five-petaled lotuses bloom; in an ancient hall, curtains hang low and incense smoke curls upward. Before the cliff of severed thought, beneath the shade-less tree, the cuckoo calls once, and spring dawns. The road to Caoxi is steep; clouds and mist lie deep over Vulture Peak, and news of old friends has long since faded. Among cliffs of ice a thousand fathoms high, five-petaled lotuses bloom; in an ancient hall, curtains hang low and incense smoke curls upward. Thus one can leave behind entangling words and the dreamlike confusion of inverted perception.

Six

To transcend the mundane world and attain the realm of the immortals, one must have unwavering resolve and determine to awaken inner wisdom at once. Wash away worldly stains, quiet scattered thoughts, cut off desire and love, and forget grief; with a tranquil, natural mind, savor what lies within. Suddenly, a thunderclap resounds, and flames rise in the Three Fields—the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, the bodily centers described in Daoist inner cultivation. At midnight, a crow flies a thousand miles. Passing through the curtains, the lead cauldron—an image in Neidan for refining and nourishing body and mind—grows warm and mellow. Drink your fill of fragrant, rich jade nectar.

Now is the time to begin cultivation: ride phoenixes and mount luan birds, refine between Metal and Wood, and wander among the auspicious visions revealed in the inner grotto-palaces. Radiance pours forth and vital essence emerges, seeming to fill the seas and sweep across the mountains, as true Qi spreads through heaven and earth. To ride the wind and clouds and gather the sun and moon is no ordinary game. Gather the Mysterious Pearl, symbol of the elixir gained through cultivation or of one’s original nature, and return to the Great Luo Heaven, the highest celestial realm in Daoism, to take your place among the sages.

Seven

The Great Dao is subtle and remote. How can one grasp its message? Once spoken aloud, it would startle even ghosts and spirits. It enfolds the cosmos and opens the mysterious origin; no joy in the world can compare with the truth it contains. Before Vulture Peak, the precious pearl plays. Gather the Mysterious Pearl and return to the Great Luo Heaven, to take your place among the sages.

The Great Dao is profound and mysterious. How can we fathom its workings? Once it is fully revealed, even ghosts and spirits would be astonished. The Great Dao contains the whole universe, opening up and dividing the mysterious source. The joy found within it has no equal in the world.

Before Vulture Peak, a precious pearl is raised, its five colors appearing and shining upon all beings above and below heaven and earth. Those who understand its principle may live as long as the mountains and seas. At the highest state, emerald clouds part gently, and jade flowers drift down to form a canopy in the sky. The cultivator’s body is of gold and bones of jade; wearing a moon cloak and a star crown, they join with the crystalline clarity of celestial music. Within the pure and quiet sanctuary, the bearing of the sages endures through the ages. May those who seek learning grasp this subtle, elusive, and inexpressible principle, and travel together beyond the world of ordinary life.

Part Eight

Avoiding the turmoil of the dusty world, they accept the times as they are, dwelling among people while following what comes naturally. Who could recognize those deeply quiet people who have attained the Dao? Their homes are humble, as plain as a quail’s nest or a fledgling’s search for food. They follow moss-covered paths into dwellings veiled by vines, cultivating their character in secluded places until their minds and spirits settle into perfect stillness.

There is a fitting time for movement and stillness, for advance and retreat; their actions have no fixed pattern. The wondrous transformations hidden in moving with or against the current are beyond measure. Content with simple meals, they laugh freely among the mountains, forests, and springs, refusing to compromise themselves for worldly affairs. Then, leaning against the table before a pine pavilion, they sing and play music, quenching their thirst with the spring colors of a jade flask. Their hearts hold the clarity of a bright moon, and their sleeves carry the ease of a clear breeze: this is true inner understanding.

Life beyond the ordinary world has its own pleasures, and the meaning found in a quiet mind is not easily attained. When the mist clears and the Jade Cord, a constellation, hangs bright in the sky, the true meaning will naturally become clear.

Part Nine

How pitiful the thoughts of the crowd, wandering in circles along a lost path—when will they ever come to rest? They compete for power and victory, toil desperately, clinging to household estates and grasping for more property. Fame and profit are chains and reins, desire a surging tide, and affection a mountain. They lose themselves in wine shops and pleasure quarters, rushing about in confusion. Like ants, they scurry without pause, driving servants to toil, never noticing that their own hair has already turned white as snow.

Who would choose to enter the forest where one returns to simplicity, and arrive in the land of Wuwei, spending their days at ease with Lao Dan (Laozi), Zhuangzi, and Liezi? Here, like Xiangwang who found the pearl, one understands the Great Dao, leaves behind the dream of Huaxu, and rests in the sun and moon of a heavenly grotto. The Three Realms—the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm—open wide; the eight directions of heaven and earth become clear and empty, and pure spiritual light flows through without obstruction. Such a life, free from the cycles of tribulation and at ease beyond restraint, is wondrous beyond words, beyond anything the world can express.

Time flies past like a swift horse racing by a narrow gate. All things in the world are as tiny as a hair’s tip or a speck of dust, yet without our noticing, they change the human heart and the state of the world. Life is full of turmoil. People turn away from their original awareness and chase after external things, ensnared by wine and sensual pleasures, wealth and profit, and fame. Consider the heroes of past ages, from Chu, Yue, Zhou, and Qin to Tang and Han. Today, all that remains of them are ruined tombs and toppled stone steles, while disputes over right and wrong have continued for thousands of years.

We should awaken early: in the jade green Gourd Heaven, the Daoist realm of immortals, and deep among the white clouds, there are other palaces amid emerald mists. There, the Three Heavens, the Daoist celestial realms, host elegant gatherings, their many-colored lights shining together. One may also attend a jade banquet in the Purple Tenuity Palace at dawn, then wander freely through immortal realms such as Langyuan’s jade ponds, the crimson palaces, and the pure capital. How foolish are those who remain deluded, laboring for their livelihood in this human world, a sea of suffering, toiling without rest as if trading in bones, circling endlessly through the cycle of birth and death.

Eleven

Awakening to the Dao at Caoxi, the sacred site of Chan Buddhism, is like a crane soaring into the clouds. This is the life of a wandering Daoist. Arriving at Linchuan, one takes up the oars and sets sail; facing the scenery, one casts a hook and fishes, and a bright red carp leaps from the water. The breeze carries the fishing boat past Twin Peaks, and between the mountain shadows a clear, sunlit scene suddenly appears. Gazing toward the mists and rosy clouds, one realizes the Golden Elixir, the essence sought through Daoist internal cultivation, at the farthest reach of one’s vision. This Elixir is of immeasurable value.

The mystery lies in the Great One, the origin and totality that contains the true Dao, while the Primordial Mystery, the source of the Dao, gives rise to the myriad forms. Yin and Yang rise, descend, and move within it without obstruction. Cultivation must be sustained for nine years; one must resolve to refine and nourish oneself for three years, and diligently cultivate the Fivefold Flower Jade Liquid, the essence of internal alchemy. All of this lies within the numinous source, the origin of life and the Dao. When one penetrates the Nine Lights of the Daoist immortal realms, the true realm comes clearly into view, beyond the ordinary world. This is the profound secret of long life and enduring contemplation of the Dao, the true teaching handed down by the highest immortals.

Construct the sacred altar—the ritual space for cultivation or the practice of Daoist arts—and begin working the alchemical furnace, a metaphor for Neidan cultivation. Protect and nourish the true life-root of Great Harmony: the peaceful, pure foundation of life within body and mind. The wind rises like a tiger’s roar; the fire flares like a leaping dragon. To harmonize Yin-Yang, follow the seasons. Metal and Wood unite; the Dipper’s handle turns the celestial gate. As the forces circulate, cleanse the mind of distracting thoughts. Visualize the Mysterious Pearl, the numinous, luminous thing that symbolizes the Golden Elixir. See it as a flowing mote of rosy light, flickering as it enters the golden cauldron, a symbol of alchemical refinement.

The scene within the pot reveals the hidden, subtle workings of creation. Its mysteries are exquisite: they can transform the soul and spirit, raising them beyond the ordinary to sagehood. Understand how “nothing” and “something” function in relation to one another, and grasp the principles at work; then you can awaken to your original true nature. Cultivation returns you to the boundless realm, gradually entering the Azure Yang, a state symbolizing the first stirrings of life. The immortal realm is clear, still, and spacious, filled with quiet emptiness. The original mind, like the full moon, had been obscured for a hundred years. Now, in an instant, it opens and shines forth.

Thirteen

Circulate the breath, draw in rosy light, ride the wind and drink the dew, following the laws of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The red phoenix of the southern mountain and the black tortoise of the northern sea symbolize the two Qi of Yin and Yang. Resolve your will and devote yourself to cultivation to achieve anything. Lead and mercury, symbols in Neidan of two Yin-Yang forces, unite and are refined in the furnace of creation until they condense at last into a single Golden Elixir. Emulate the transformations of Yin-Yang, make use of the subtle power of emptiness, and nourish the abundant, upright breath of true Qi.

Grasp the Mysterious Pass, the gateway to inner transformation in the cultivation of body and mind, and only then understand: the body and mind, once shut off as if blind and deaf, suddenly open through the guidance of someone who has attained the Dao. Apply the subtle Dao of talismanic methods, silently setting the hidden mechanisms in motion, so that the jade liquid—the essence produced by inner refinement—continually circulates and grows. Dwelling among clouds and flowing waters, you are tranquil and at ease. The mind returns to the Great Void, empty, still, and boundless, leaving no trace.

This oral teaching on the Golden Elixir makes the doubts of a lifetime vanish at once, like melting ice.

Fourteen

The sun and moon rise high and move across the sky, while golden waves of light flow in abundance. Through the Seven Returns and Nine Reversions, a term for the repeated transformation of Yin and Yang essences in Neidan cultivation, life can be prolonged. True Jing responds to the things it encounters; the Great Dao lies hidden within the body. In a state of seeming trance, one can reach the mysterious path. Wait until Yang Qi begins to stir and gives rise to the divine elixir. The Qi of the Dragon and Tiger, symbols of Yin-Yang forces, is bestowed by the Purple Empyrean, the realm of the immortals.

These jade writings and precious registers, documents and talismans that carry Daoist methods and heavenly secrets, can be understood only through the guidance of someone who has attained the Dao. The way to longevity lies in securing the roots and strengthening the source. As in immortal cultivation, the essential work is refining lead and mercury. Five-colored radiance glows within the furnace; the sun, moon, and stars shine upon the cauldron. Recognize your original true nature. Before the Tower of the Bright Moon, golden cicadas dance, and the emerald peaks and sky are clear. With an aspiration that reaches to the clouds, and with undivided sincerity and dedication in cultivation, you may join the ranks of the highest immortals.

With Qi abundant, wearing only a single hemp garment, and all things in the world passing in the blink of an eye, what is there worth clinging to? Yellow Sprout, White Snow, Black Water, and Red Clouds are all terms for cultivation arts passed down by Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor) and handed on through the ages. Deeply grateful to the enlightened master who explained the subtle and imperceptible principles, enabling others to understand their refined purity. First nurture the immortal embryo—the inner spiritual form formed through cultivation—then cultivate until the clouds resound with the music of celestial instruments and the myriad spirits are complete.

Grasp the principles of Creation, and all things can each attain their fullness; everyone is inherently complete. With a single Qi, return to one’s original endowment. Travel through the Eight Realms and admire the Three Mountains in their entirety: though you remain where you are, it is as if you had reached the realms of immortals in person. It is laughable that those who have lost the right path understand nothing of Yin-Yang. They mistake the ancestral founder for an evil spirit. The Golden Elixir is formed from the finest, most vital Qi between Heaven and Earth; one must cultivate with vigorous resolve and a spirit of striving to excel.

Sixteen

Cut off grain and stop cooking; instead, nourish yourself by absorbing the rosy clouds and drinking the dew, a Daoist cultivation practice, so that the body may harmonize through its cycles and return to its natural state. Lead produces five colors, and mercury gives rise to the three lights: only then do the first signs of the Great Elixir appear. Open the vermilion gate, and the Golden Crow—the divine bird symbolizing the sun—leaps out and flies into the Jade Toad Palace, the palace symbolizing the moon. Bring Yin and Yang together in the spirit furnace and refine them into a true, all-pervading form.

In the midst of emptiness, purple Qi coils and the Mysterious Pearl, an image of the inner elixir or the Dao itself, glimmers; its radiance pierces the profound wisdom of the undivided Origin, the fundamental mystery in which Heaven and Earth remain unseparated and all is one. Forget clever schemes and distracting thoughts; devote yourself to the Dao and conceal your traces as you seek immortality. Keep the mind quiet and free from decline. If you become attached to glory and honor, you will delay your cultivation and cast away the bright red radiance of the divine elixir. Whoever can recognize the Great Dao, cultivate with single-minded diligence, and guard it with care will naturally transcend ordinary people.

By discerning the subtle principles and deeply understanding the methods of alchemical cultivation, one can unite in purpose with the founding patriarch of a lineage. “The dragon plows and the tiger sows” is a metaphor for harmonizing the two Qi of Yin and Yang; “jade liquid and golden fungus” is a metaphor for the essence gained through cultivation. This is the Daoist art of practice. Light shines within the alchemical furnace, and a childlike vision appears; then one leaves the dust of the world behind—a wondrous sight. Riding purple clouds, one is met by an emerald phoenix: truly a descendant of the Immortals.

The Three Yang phases, when Yang Qi first flourishes, begin to rise. The jade elixir gives off a heavenly fragrance, while marvelous flowers and treasured trees appear among auspicious clouds. The scene is beautiful. Heavenly light flashes, the shadows of cassia trees sway in open, delicate patterns, and the great Peng transforms again and again. Do not think these words are wild talk. Their meaning is already clear within human nature; the key is whether one has the wisdom to understand it. A true hero is steadfast and brave, resolute in spirit, and lofty in aspiration.

Eighteen

Aspiration rises high into the clouds; the spirit is noble and refined. At last, one breaks free of restraints and searches everywhere for the truth. Taking emptiness as the furnace and the regulation of the firing process as the work, one undergoes transformation after transformation, like the great Peng. Do not think this is wild talk. Its meaning is already clear within human nature; the key is whether one has the wisdom to understand it. A true hero is steadfast and brave, resolute in spirit, and lofty in aspiration.

Eighteen

Aspiration reaches far, and the spirit is noble and refined. Once free of restraints, one searches everywhere for the truth. Treat emptiness as the furnace and cauldron, preserve your innate true nature, and cultivate when the opportunity arises. If the master lacks insight, even standing close by is like being a thousand miles away; therefore, distinguish a true master from a false one. Yellow Sprout and Red Marrow—terms in Neidan that symbolize vital essence and the elixir—are originally present in everyone. Sadly, people of the world are ignorant and do not understand how to cultivate them.

A truly resolute person uses the inner mechanism to open up primordial chaos and obtain a treasure like a luminous pearl. Its jeweled canopy shines brilliantly, its numinous light blazes; even hidden in the depths, it can move freely without hindrance. Do not let the mind-monkey and galloping horse run wild, lest they dissipate the Qi in the Golden Cauldron and make the cultivation of the Returning Elixir fruitless. Raise the true fire of the Three Yang, refining it constantly so that the alchemical work passes through nine revolutions without loss.

After enduring snow, frost, and bitter cold, facing the wind and braving the rain, one at last encounters an enlightened adept who offers guidance, and suddenly awakens to understanding. From then on, one comprehends what is subtle and obscure and enters the mysterious depths; one may even turn danger into safety and preserve life. This is the essential art of alchemical cultivation.

Bring the Li Fire and Kan Water into union, and set Yin and Yang cycling through their transformations. To do so, one must draw on symbolic terms of cultivation such as the Wood Dragon and Metal Tiger. Make Qian and Kun the furnace and cauldron, and arrange the Five Phases within them. Let the mind settle in “True Earth,” the point of cultivation that harmonizes Yin and Yang and governs them from the center. Nurture the Yellow Sprout, the sign that the Neidan is beginning to form, in this mysterious place, and refine it into an elixir. Who could explain the principles behind it in full?

A phoenix seems to take shape within; a dragon pearl, bright as green jade, flies out from deep among auspicious clouds. Lightning streaks across the sky, shaking Heaven and Earth. When cultivation succeeds, the Three Corpses, spirits said in Daoism to lurk within the body and hinder cultivation, flee in all directions, and the Six Thieves, a metaphor for the six sensory desires that disturb body and mind, retreat. The immortal embryo, a symbolic form that appears when Neidan cultivation is complete, emerges and dances; clouds of five colors swirl around it, and immortal music sounds all at once.

Twenty

Cultivate the mind in a quiet chamber and nourish the Dao amid cloud-wreathed mountains. After many journeys in search, one finally meets an enlightened adept who transmits the oral formula. The furnace gathers the Bagua, and the cauldron contains the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity. Thus the foundation of Daoist cultivation is established. Yin and Yang proceed together; turn the pivotal mechanism so that Dragon and Tiger meet, coil around one another, and congeal.

The heavenly secret of following the natural course and reversing it is unknown to ordinary seekers of the Dao. How, then, could they discern it? When the principle of Xiyi—the deep, unseen realm that is difficult to put into words—becomes manifest, auspicious energy rises, clouds fill the sky, and purple mist shrouds the Golden Palace. Only when the thousand spirits are all in place and the myriad transformations are complete is the Great Elixir considered finished. Jade trees and precious blossoms spread across the open sky; in the true realm of the immortals, emerald hues and crimson light shine together. Contemplate the mind until it is clear as the dawn moon; a fresh breeze fills the view, and the Grotto Heaven, the Daoist realm of the immortals, lies bright and open.

I laugh at myself for how brief my life has been: I could never sever my worldly attachments, and I readily abandoned the riverbank where I once fished. I once rode at a gallop to Chang’an, listening to orioles sing in the imperial gardens, and wasted the years of my youth in Luoyang. Later, I received an imperial summons in the Jade Hall, attended banquets with the emperor in the Golden Chariot Hall, and repeatedly drafted edicts within the palace. What year was that, after all? Like someone waking from a dream beneath a locust tree, I found myself still wearing my rain cape, back beside the waters of Jiangnan.

Heaven granted me tier upon tier of cloud-wreathed mountains as a screen, the vast misty expanse of the Five Lakes, and the company of monkeys and birds wheeling over sandbars. At dawn I reach Purple Pavilion; by evening I arrive at Dark Isle, a fabled immortal realm, and dry my hair among the treetops of the Great Rosy Clouds Forest. The Azure Dragon leaps into the sea; the White Crane soars into the clouds. All the world’s strange reversals have, for a time, come to an end. I gaze alone toward Pure Metropolis, the Daoist celestial capital, and walk amid the autumn wind and dew. The Grotto Heaven, the abode of immortals, has only just begun to brighten.

Part Two

I sweep aside the clouds and wind, brush away the troubles of the world, and at last find a place halfway up the mountain, where I quietly keep to myself. Green pines serve as my canopy, white stones as my bed; for now I set aside all things of the world and all human ties. I have visited Penglai, the legendary island of immortals, several times, dressed in a plain cloth robe and carrying a long sword, leisurely facing the clear waves of the sea. Whose immortal wine has finished brewing? With a wine gourd in hand, they invite me to join them in admiring the moon.

On my return, I see only the vast, silent jade firmament and the bright Milky Way. A single note from an iron flute seems to split the mountains. The Three Flowers, Jing, Qi, and Shen in Daoist cultivation, gather high above; the Nine Qi, the nine primordial energies of Daoist tradition, fill heaven and earth. In the distance, the jade palaces of the Great Clarity are faintly visible. Holding a lotus, I step through the air. How many people can go and pay their respects tonight? Then I turn and take the Northern Dipper as my wine ladle, scattering nectar like snow in every direction from my purple cup.

Part Three

The moon rises from behind the mountain. The wind over the sea is still and silent, and before my eyes, pavilions of white jade seem to appear on level ground. Osmanthus blossoms fill the air with fragrance; the dew is clear as water. Alone, I play the vertical bamboo flute, its sound carrying far into the distance. All around is deep and still, while the flute rings out pure and bright. The Azure Bird, divine messenger of the immortal realm, knows how to bring auspicious words. In Taiwei, the celestial region often associated with the abodes of immortals, phoenixes and cranes seek one another out; they are all old companions who knew one another well.

Have you heard? Layer upon layer of passes are guarded by leopard sentries; thunder drums resound, and the celestial realm has more official bureaus than the human world. A stone maiden wears flowers, and a wooden man urges me to drink. These strange sights seem to be trying to keep me here, asking me to stay a little longer. I sing aloud and chant softly, sweeping my brush across the page to write works of immense scope. The ages of the human world, past and present, seem ordinary here. Look at the mountain slopes, green with spring—why should I care whether the clouds disperse and the rain stops?

Part Four

The moon shines bright, and the frost is cold. A tiny boat, like a leaf, glides at ease along a clear, emerald stream. The Milky Way is soundless; a white rainbow stretches across the wilderness, and the handle of the Northern Dipper points toward the northern sky. I wear half a gauze cap, with a few strands of white hair, and have a pair of wild crows in view. I ask Huixian, the immortal who attained the Dao: how many memories of the past can still be seen beneath that old tree south of the city?

On the summit of Huashan’s Western Peak, flowers ten zhang high bathe in autumn dew from the Nine Heavens, forming emerald calyxes and fruit like fine jade. It is no hard thing to cast off one’s shoes and leave the dusty world; ascending through the air is not far away, either. After three swallows, icy fluid melts like snowmelt and enters the body. Fasting from grains has its wondrous methods of cultivation; feeding on rosy clouds has its secret for becoming immortal. Once I depart, there will be no news from me again. How laughable that people in the human world always wish to dwell forever in the void. Who can be as free as the red sun?

Part Five

I sail upon the Canglang waters. The setting sun’s afterglow lights the evening clouds. I briefly bring the boat to shore and follow a mountain path as it winds along. Geese fly in pairs, wild ducks follow one another, and broken reeds and drifting leaves are carried away by the current. In the late autumn dusk, I seem to be inside a painting. Rain sounds mingle with the water rushing over the shoals; the wind stirs the candle’s shadow, and late into the night I remain wrapped in my robe, reading a volume of poetry.

When I think about it, why must the pain of parting require a separation across the ends of the earth? Even when people are close at hand, the road can feel long and they can seem distant. I can only laugh at myself in vain: when will the scholar of Luoyang and my old friend from Xiangyang meet again in a dream? I am old now, composing poems to the moon like the immortal Fuqiu Gong, as though I held a sword a thousand fathoms long, pointing straight to the blue sky. After the snow, the sky clears and jade-like pavilions shine in pristine light. Spring arrives, warming a feast of precious jade; let me host a generous banquet among the mountains of my homeland. When the cock crows and the sun rises, I will fly from Mount Luofu across the shallow waves of the sea.

Singing before fine wine, with no sorrows to dispel: this is the bearing of a Daoist, one who follows the Dao. A fresh breeze passes by the ear, the bright moon fills the heart, and all before me is clear running water and tranquil mountain scenery. A thousand years pass in the human world, while in the mountains only seven days go by. I have long grown used to being a guest wherever I find myself. The Big Dipper in the north and the Southern Dipper among the stars lie before my eyes. Who could bear to dwell in such a realm?

I remember that blue-eyed foreign monk, clad in a cloth robe and facing the vast sea, letting down a thousand feet of fishing line. He hooked a giant whale, and in an instant the winds and thunder changed the world. This was no ordinary marvel. Cold and heat alternate; Heaven and Earth run their course. Even after countless kalpas, they do not become mere relics of the past. Yet it is poignant that a man forgets how old he has grown and still spends so long playing with children.

I think back to Su Dongpo’s night excursion at Red Cliff: a lone crane skimmed past the bow and flew westward. The heroes of old have long since vanished, and one’s own fate is bewildering. The moon was small, the river cold and clear, and the stars especially bright. How much better the fisherman, who asks nothing of past or present and lies drunk beside the smartweed blossoms and fireflies. In a dream, I met someone in feathered robes, light in form and movement. Perhaps the self in that dream was none other than me, here and now.

Who can say clearly: in old age, with the river wide and open, did I cross the eastern lands, relying on sail and moonlight, spear held at my side as I composed verse? Cool dew dampened my clothes; the evening wind swept over sandbars and riverbanks, and countless short songs and long melodies rose with it. The palaces in the distant sky are high and cold. Where are my old friends now? My thoughts reach far away, and my heart is filled with a melancholy I cannot dispel. I sigh that I wish to drift across the sea on a wooden raft, yet do not know who would travel with me.

Let me return. Only now do I see the mistakes of the past. My heart is heavy; I do not know how many short songs and long melodies can give voice to it. The sky is vast, high, and cold. Where are my old friends? Longing stretches on without end, leaving me helpless. I sigh that I wish to drift across the sea on a wooden raft, yet do not know who could accompany me.

Come back. Looking back, I realize I was wrong before; only now do I see things clearly. My heart is heavy with regret, yet I grieve alone, not knowing what to say. I have not strayed too far. The morning sun is just beginning to brighten, so I have my guide walk ahead and show me the way. My light boat catches the wind, and the children are waiting by the gate. Today, at last, I see my own home again. The wine is poured. Though the garden paths have grown wild, the pines and chrysanthemums remain as they were. For now, I take comfort in this proud contentment and live apart from worldly ways. My old friends have all grown distant; why take a carriage out to seek them? I play the zither, read, and talk at leisure with family and friends. I visit the valleys and stroll along the hillsides. A bird, tired from flying, rests at ease among the mountain clouds. A farmer tells me there is work to do in the fields to the west, so I set out alone by boat and compose verse in the spring rain. If I am content to follow what Heaven has allotted, what is there to worry about? I let all things change as they will, and let coming and going take their course.

Ninth

Ten years living at Yanshan, ten years drifting along the river: I have seen my share of wind and snow over half a lifetime. I wanted to sail through the snow, but had no boat; when I had a boat, there was no snow. I never managed to encounter both of these refined pleasures at once. Since fate has arranged it so, why worry? I leave things to nature’s design, and let coming and going take their course.

Ninth

Ten years living at Yanshan, ten years drifting along the river: I have seen my share of wind and snow over half a lifetime. I wanted to sail through the snow, but had no boat; when I had a boat, there was no snow. I never managed to encounter both of these refined pleasures at once. The broken bank is strewn with remnants of sand. What season is it now? The scene before me calls to mind the old tale of the man who carved a mark on his boat and then returned to Yue in search of his lost sword. I lift the boat’s canopy and see only a few branches of plum blossom. There are no travelers around, and not a bird sings. Have you not seen the Five Elders Peak rise high above, or Floating Mound Peak reach toward the distant sky? They seem to laugh at my hair, white before its time. I wish to regain youth and turn the crude into the refined, but I have only the formula for refining the Ninefold Return Elixir. After the rain and snow clear, the scene appears in the open air; daylight shines across the sea, and all things seem to merge, with no distinction between them. At such a moment, one may be called Immortal Lord Six Yi, like the moon that has endured through the ages, shining clearly across the Great Void.

Tenth

I returned at sixty; now I am past seventy. I am grateful for the emperor’s kindness and generous favor. I sleep early and rise late, drink when thirsty and eat when hungry. I have nothing left to trouble me. A few old books and half a broken inkstone are enough to show that I am, at least, still a man of letters. As for the Daoist scholars who wield their brushes swiftly and compose poems at a word, I fall far short. Now and then I take up my green bamboo staff, put on my double-layered straw sandals, and walk to the ferry to watch the water. The water that has passed rushes onward, while new currents follow without end. Before I know it, the sun has slanted westward and a gentle breeze is blowing. A fisherman suddenly calls to me, “What are you looking at?” I lean on him as we string up the fresh fish he has just caught, trade them for a jug of wine, and drink our fill together.

Eleventh

A small path winds into a secluded place, where emerald mountains rise like a green screen before the eyes. Following it into the depths of the white clouds feels like entering an immortal realm beyond the world: there are the fabled flat peaches that ripen once every three thousand years, sweet oranges by the well, and a celestial garden by the Jade Pond where lingzhi mushrooms grow.

A sandalwood clapper sounds softly as a plain zither is played at leisure, and delicacies made from phoenix fat and qilin flesh are served. The immortal realm remains deep in the white clouds, with flat peaches, fine oranges, and lingzhi all around. Music and zither notes accompany the immortals as they enjoy the feast.

The immortals dance with light steps, their white hair flowing; they still seem like the immortal companions of old. Look at the splendid halls filled with immortals, with gold and jade piled high. Yet this is only a fleeting scene, lasting no longer than the morning and evening of a mayfly’s life. The Penglai realm shimmers in five colors; in autumn, eagles wheel overhead. There is also another path, beyond the dusty world, to cultivate the Dao and become immortal. The wine brewed by Magu has matured, and clouds rise among the Wu Gorge. Bow farewell to the immortal grotto-heavens and return to cultivate. Let the sea grow shallow from time to time—where now are the immortal dwellings with green windows and cloud doors?

Twelve

The clouds are light and the breeze gentle as people stroll among flowers and willow shade, thinking this is no more than the carefree pleasure of youth. A tall pavilion stands in the woods, and a small carriage moves through the city; before my eyes, it is as though I have returned to the peaceful Western Luo of a thousand years ago. Gazing at the mighty current, I think of the noble person. The water still flows, just as it did before. Yet even on a quiet outing, faint clouds have gathered at the edge of the sky. Before I have noticed, the sorrow of parting has already come with the dusk.

I often recall those days when I went on outings with boys and young friends: bathing by the Yi River and returning with songs, while quietly reflecting on how all things find their proper place and grow freely. “What passes is like this”—time flows ever onward like water. I feel keenly that I am growing old; in all things I must tend to body and mind and act with care. Hearing the music of red strings in the ancestral temple and the bells and chimes in the old hall, I lean against the table and seem to hear the music sounding once more. A farmer tells me there is work to be done in the fields to the west. A book hanging from an ox’s horn faintly brings back memories of reading in years past.

Tune: “The River All Red” · For Venerable Master Feng

The changing seasons hasten time; before I know it, autumn has come again, bringing its tidings. Looking back, I see success and failure come and go in a few turns, and a hundred years of life pass like a single moment. My hopes for fame and office are not yet fulfilled, nor have I completed my resolve to study and set my purpose. Yet I have long been ready to withdraw to the mountains and forests. I would be content with a quiet life of Wuwei (non-action) amid the mist and moonlight of the Five Lakes, my mind unchanged by gain or loss. The affairs of this world bring much sorrow and resentment, while the pleasure of cultivating the Dao beyond the world has its own distinct charm. The immortal realm of Yingzhou cannot necessarily compare with the high office of the Jade Hall and the honor of a golden seal. A mind that chases outward things is merely entangled, like the attachments of lovers; the power to soar through the sky is the endowment of the immortals. Look: a colored phoenix comes to greet me in the blue sky, white clouds show the way, and I am about to return.

The second piece.

After the rain, the stream in the eastern suburbs has left only shallow traces of water, and the mountain cottages greet the morning. The loveliest sight is peach blossoms drifting away with the current, while idle clouds float in a secluded place. Beneath the red sun, all things show their colors; in the distance, a lone green mountain looks small. I make my way among the bamboo shadows and green shade, roll up the brushwood gate, and live out my days in peace.

Who could understand a life of quiet leisure? Recluses beyond the world are rarely found among ordinary people. For now, I will drink in the breeze, raise my cup to the moon, and lie drunk upon the fragrant grass. A great spirit can embrace Heaven and Earth; true feeling stands apart, profound and subtle, beyond words. For now, I will entrust the thoughts in my heart to mountains, forests, and flowing streams, and spend my final years amid mist and rosy clouds.

Third

From ancient times to the present, refined and tranquil feelings have found their home among mountains, forests, springs, and winding banks along the river. Knowing that this body is like an illusion, why envy fine clothes and grand houses? The refined scholar cherishes the moonlight over Diaopu; how could the clear-minded envy gold, silver, and jade? Sunlight filters through the shadows of flowers across the whole courtyard, bringing delight. I make my home among mountains, forests, and springs, and spend my final years amid mist and rosy clouds.

Third

From ancient times to the present, refined and tranquil feelings have found their home among mountains, forests, springs, and winding banks along the river. Knowing that this body is like an illusion, why envy fine clothes and grand houses? The refined scholar cherishes the moonlight over Diaopu; how could the clear-minded envy gold, silver, and jade? Sunlight filters through the shadows of flowers across the whole courtyard, and the moss shines green.

My final plan is to live beside the eastern hedge and admire chrysanthemums, like Tao Yuanming, and to keep a humble, open heart, like the bamboo by the southern veranda. With books and a zither for my pillow, I lie at ease, openhearted and free of disgrace. The rise and fall of dynasties across the ages pass like a dream of spring; the clouds reflected in a stream, its flowing waters, are enough to satisfy me. Behold the Three Blossoms of Wuling—the name given to the magical fungus—sending out their fragrance; the lingzhi in the fields of immortals has ripened.

Fourth

Where does Master Dongli live? At a bend in a stream in the mountains of Shan Yin. Facing an open plain, a few thatched cottages are half hidden from view. Last night, rain fell by the river, and the water before the gate is clear as jade. Willows circle the little bridge, reaching high and swaying with fresh green leaves.

Chrysanthemums bloom in clusters beside the sparse fence; bamboo rustles beyond the eaves. Reflecting on gain and loss, right and wrong, honor and disgrace through the ages, one must know that life eventually comes to its end. When will the myriad affairs of the world ever be enough? Better to ask how the new spring wine is coming along, and whether it has finished brewing today.

A tranquil, quiet state of mind is clear and open, in harmony with the Dao of Heaven, without the slightest distortion. Though I cannot yet transcend the body and ascend, for now I remain a Daoist practitioner in the human world. I often contemplate the movements of the sun and moon within the gourd, and do not envy the heaps of gold and jade in the world. Illusory scenes drift by with the passing years, while red and green robes cover my body. Cinnabar wells, golden chrysanthemums, lingzhi herbs, and langgan bamboo—said to be immortal herbs and bamboo like fine jade—can all keep me company. In a realm beyond feeling and desire, what distinction remains between honor and disgrace? A hundred years of life are like a great dream, and in the end we leave the dusty world behind; all the many things experienced in a lifetime have also found their place within the heart. I have seen the Yellow River run clear three times in the human world, and the peaches of immortality have ripened.

Six

Though the mind is tranquil and at ease, it is still pulled along by the changes of life and death. The body is like a skeleton, tossed about amid endless arising and passing away, manipulated by the workings of creation—the force that drives all things to change—rushing on without rest and enduring every kind of hardship. Like a dealer in bones, one piles them up like mountains; what, in the end, can this accomplish? Thoughts and passions churn like a sea, making escape difficult. How sad that, since the beginning, the luminous nature has long been buried beneath worldly toil, through countless kalpas—an immeasurably long span of time. To seek liberation, one must practice with all one’s strength. Seek wise friends who understand the Dao, and speak with them of pure and lofty matters. Only after earnest effort and refinement can the inner light become clear. When the wind stops and the waves grow still, one can see the bottom of the pool; when the clouds part and the sky clears, the cool moonlight shines upon the heart of Heaven. Ask a mute person what honey tastes like: they cannot put it into words.

Seven: Yunyangzi

Raise the empty fist with resolve; do not cling to outward appearances. A weight is ultimately iron, and things have their own true measure. Dare to shoulder great responsibilities; action calls for a man’s strength and decisiveness. The ancient Buddha raised a flower and smiled faintly. How many today are as pure and lofty as a snowy mountain? It is sad to hear the cuckoo cry until its call stains the branches with blood; who can understand its anguish? A mute person dreams and cannot make sense of it; the deaf, by contrast, understand what it means. Atop a solitary peak, even a wooden figure can speak. Crows caw and monkeys call out at length, all discoursing on the principle of nonduality; the wind in the pines and the water in the ravine are the very expression of profound mystery. Break through this barrier, look up at the cold sky, and see the bright moon everywhere.

The Great Dao is originally pure and still; at the beginning, there was nothing at all. All things remained in an undifferentiated chaos. It is lamentable that among fellow cultivators of the Dao, who is willing to let go completely of worldly thoughts while still alive? They clap their hands, throw a few punches, and make a lively display, raising their brows, blinking, and striking all kinds of poses. To see their wandering eyes and flurried hands and feet and imagine they are sages cultivating the Dao is truly laughable.

Put an end to deluded thoughts and forget both others and oneself. Abandon fame and profit, and keep clear of disputes. Take the clouds and rosy mists as companions, at ease amid deep mountain forests. When the external world falls away and the mind no longer clings, one can suddenly awaken to nonbirth. Clouds drift through the open sky, while the vast heavens stretch out in boundless stillness. A lone moon shines on a cold pool, and the mind is clear and undisturbed.

No. 9: Mo Yueding

The method of cultivation lies in the prenatal state, before the discriminating consciousness acquired after birth has disturbed one’s original nature; its mysteries are hard to put into words. The key is to hold to the center and remain upright, keeping the mind clear and open. The spirit of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) dwells in the Yellow Valley, a Neidan term for a place of inner cultivation; prenatal Qi (vital energy) resides at the Mysterious Pass, an aperture symbolizing the stirring of Qi in Neidan practice. The mind and spirit are still and unmoving, yet able to respond and communicate; this comes from firm, steadfast cultivation.

In this way, one can set wind and thunder in motion, pray for rain or snow, command ghosts and spirits, and drive away demons. These abilities come from holding to the center and keeping the mind clear and open, not from incantations, Fulu (talismans and registers), or the formulas for treading the Dipper used in Daoist ritual arts. When the mind and spirit are settled and return to the Primordial Valley Palace, one’s cultivation is complete and one takes a place among the immortals. At ease, one roams through the Great Void, riding steadily on auspicious clouds to pay a visit to the Golden Palace.

No. 10

Once I have bought a green mountain, I will put away my straw sandals and goosefoot staff and stop roaming about. I will no longer go to the worldly arenas of fame and profit beneath Zhang Palace or on the Ba Bridge. The struggles between people under heaven are as petty as two kingdoms fighting on the horns of a snail, or the tiny battle between the Man and Chu tribes. Fame, rank, and wealth are as illusory as the kingdom ants imagined beneath a locust tree.

Lately, my white hair has grown much thicker. From now on, I will escape the snares of the world and use a blue stone for a pillow, listening to the wind in the pines. I will wander at ease like the Four Elders of Shang Mountain, who withdrew from the world at the end of the Qin dynasty. Fire dates nourish like autumn dew, while jade pears must be warmed in spring; both are immortal fruits from Daoist legend. Looking across past and present, who could be as carefree as I am? Perhaps only Tao Yuanliang, Tao Yuanming.

“Looking South at the River: Spring” — Qiu Changchun

Life in the mountains is wonderful, especially in spring. Wildflowers mingle red and white, taking countless forms; secluded birds sing sweetly, their many calls weaving together. The green mountain slopes hold the mist, as if their dampness touched my clothes.

I gather tea myself, along with bamboo shoots, fiddleheads, and bracken. Wearing a coarse cloth robe mended many times, I forget worldly cares. I drink a few jars of village wine and follow my natural disposition. Drunk, I let myself wander east or west, going wherever I please.

Life in the mountains is truly wonderful, especially in spring. Wildflowers of every shade of red and white bloom across the hills. Birds call softly and sweetly, and the lush green mountains seem to glisten with moisture, soaking your clothes. Gather tea leaves for yourself, along with bamboo shoots, bracken, and lady ferns. Wearing a cloth robe mended with many patches, you no longer dwell on worldly affairs. A few jars of village wine suit the heart’s natural ease. Once drunk, wander wherever you please, east or west.

Summer

Life in the mountains is truly wonderful, and the long summer days are especially comfortable. Countless tall bamboo stalks shimmer in the sunlight with flecks of gold. A waterfall pours down from a thousand feet above, like a curtain of white jade. Where is the scorching summer sun here? Sit at ease in the shade of the pines, entirely unrestrained. Cool plums and melons chilled in well water offer relief from the heat. Recline on a mat, with green pines and white stones beside you, and play the qin or a game of chess. Once drunk, let the breeze blow as it will.

Autumn

Life in the mountains is truly wonderful; autumn’s scenery is not dreary. The new rice has ripened, and there is white wine and yellow-feathered chicken to eat. Purple cornel berries and golden chrysanthemums give off a fresh fragrance. Oranges throughout the forest turn from green to yellow, their skins still beaded with autumn frost. The moonlight is cool and bright, and the pines and junipers stand dense and green. You hear only the village elders singing songs to celebrate the community festival; you do not see young men coming and going by the doors. What harm is there in getting drunk once more?

Winter

Life in the mountains is truly wonderful, and winter is the best season of all. The paper bed curtains and rush cushions give off a faint fragrance; the fire in the bamboo brazier and tea stove glows red. People sit together, sleeves folded, chatting at leisure, their bodies and minds at ease as if in a dream. A century slips quietly by in this unhurried life. When plum buds open, underground springs begin to flow; when snowflakes whirl, write characters in the air. Once drunk, it feels as though you are bathing in the spring breeze.

“Moon over Shangtang”—Liu Tieguan

Through the cultivation of the Quanzhen school of Daoism, he has attained spiritual accomplishment and has not let his time go to waste. Dressed in a cloth robe and tied with a hemp cord, with a bag hanging beneath his arm, he walks freely from place to place, his cropped hair tousled and untidy. Carrying a begging bowl and a water gourd, he goes from door to door each day, asking for food and alms. He has just bowed his head in greeting and finished speaking when another demon comes to question him: “Sir, whose household do you belong to?” He answers as the occasion calls: “My masters are Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma.”

“Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma” refers to the Quanzhen patriarchs Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu.

The Second

Last night, as I passed Mount Beimang, the famous burial ground of antiquity, I saw a skeleton lying by the road. Beaten by wind and rain, it had also been smashed by a shepherd boy. Who knows whether in life he was Li the Fourth, Zhang the Third, or Wang the Elder? I lowered my head and fell silent, thinking of myself: when my appointed end comes, how could I escape it? A household with a thousand pieces of gold cannot avoid death. Do not argue with me; in the end, everyone dies.

I have urged and pleaded with thousands upon thousands, yet not one person has turned back decisively and truly awakened. I have taught them by every means, but they still say that family life in the dusty world binds them with too many obligations and is difficult to leave behind. They have not thought carefully about it, and keep putting off their time for cultivation. They worry that their children will have no clothes to wear or food to eat, and hope to stay by their family’s side for a lifetime. Only when the King of Hell sends his ghost messengers to their door to demand their lives and drag them away do they realize that, in the end, they never managed to set their household affairs in order.

“Willow Trees by the Mountain Pavilion”

The affairs of this world bring worry, yet time cannot be held back: spring passes, and autumn arrives. The four seasons ceaselessly hasten people into old age. A person’s hundred years are as brief and illusory as Zhuang Zhou’s dream of becoming a butterfly, in which, upon waking, he could not tell dream from reality. Once you see that all that came before was no more than illusion, why take needless sorrow upon yourself? Fortunately, you have encountered the Xiyi teachings, a school of Daoist internal alchemy; you should gather your resolve, wipe away worldly attachments, and commit yourself to diligent cultivation without delay. Some foolish, deluded people cannot be turned back even by Ma Danyang, an important figure in Quanzhen Daoism. Such people will ultimately become spirits burdened by karmic sin, without the affinity for the Dao; their share is to end as dry bones.

You inherit the Quanzhen lineage, which carried on and branched into the transmission of the Five Patriarchs. Here I offer a brief encomium to this tradition. Lord Lao (the Most High Lord Lao) personally transmitted the lineage to the Queen Mother of the West, who in turn passed it to the Eastern Florescence Patriarch. Donghua descended to transmit the teachings, and Zhongli Quan received the succession of the Dao. The profound principles were passed down by Liu of Fuchun, and Patriarch Lü awakened to the Dao through the dream of golden millet. After ascending to immortality, Patriarch Lü made a grand vow. He traveled to the Ganshui region and once again brought Wang Chongyang to the Dao. He journeyed through Shandong as far as the Eastern Sea, where he saw seven Golden Lotuses rise from the water. They symbolized his seven disciples: Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, Ma Yu, Hao Datong, Sun Bu’er, and Wang Chuyi. These disciples inherited the Daoist tradition and, at the Celestial Origin Celebration, caused ten thousand Jade Lotuses to bloom.

Part Two: Ma Danyang

My sword is no ordinary weapon; the Jade Emperor himself bestowed it upon me. Who but I would dare accept this charge? This three-foot Green Serpent Sword brought me all the way to the Eastern Sea, where I saw seven Golden Lotuses rise from the water, symbolizing the seven disciples Qiu, Liu, Tan, Ma, Hao, Sun, and Wang. They are disciples of my lineage. At the Celestial Origin Celebration, they caused ten thousand Jade Lotuses to bloom.

Part Two: Ma Danyang

My sword is no ordinary weapon; the Jade Emperor himself bestowed it upon me. Who but I would dare accept this charge? The three-foot Green Serpent Sword constantly shines with auspicious light, as if splitting open the marrow of Heaven and Earth and cleaving apart the true Yang Qi at the heart of the Great One, the source of all things. Who forged this sword? Ou Yezi of Xie Creek, who matched metal with water so that hardness and softness were in balance. What is it used for? To drive out evil and slay monsters, bringing peace to the four quarters. As it turns, it seems to open up the myriad forms, transforming everything into dark frost. Only the unwary in cultivation, lightly pointed at by the sword, would have their souls scattered. The sword rings in its case like rolling thunder, causing ghosts and spirits to hide within ten thousand miles.

Part Three

Consider a human life of a hundred years: it is like a dream. Why not, then, live with a little more ease? Be free and joyful; first bring peace to this body. The sun and moon race by like arrows. Before one knows it, age has come and one’s looks have faded. Looking back through past and present, even those who once commanded the world were ultimately buried on Mount Beimang, a famous burial ground of antiquity. Better to devote yourself to good deeds, free yourself from worry, and nurture body and mind so your spirit remains vigorous. To prepare for impermanence—the sudden arrival of death—keep the “horse of thought,” a metaphor for unruly, hard-to-control thoughts, firmly tethered. Do not let your Shen and Qi—the spirit and vital energy—dissipate and decline; guard them as you would a white ox shut inside its pen. Cultivation concerns your own nature and life; do not treat it as an ordinary matter.

Part Four: Perfected Zhang Sanfeng

Even those who are downcast and idle, carefree wanderers and lazybones, should still settle their minds. Cultivation concerns your own nature and life; do not treat it as an ordinary matter.

The disheartened, down-and-out wanderer, the carefree and easygoing fellow, does not make small talk when he meets people. All day he comes and goes in a daze, as if mingling with the dusty world. He begs for food in the front streets and back lanes, and makes his home in ancient temples and abandoned Daoist monasteries. Others ask him, “You lazy fellow, what tradition do you belong to?” There is no need to argue, everyone: he honors the supreme sages of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), takes Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin, legendary Daoist immortals, as his patriarchal masters, pays respect to the revered predecessors of his lineage, including Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu, and puts the practices of cultivation to use. He understands the subtle principles of the mysterious Dao, and his aspirations are for stillness and emptiness. His speech is composed and restrained. Having realized true emptiness, he also understands the principles of long life and the practices of the Three Teachings.

Fifth: Ma Danyang

When young disciples enter the religious life to cultivate the Dao, they should listen attentively to their master’s instructions. Rise early every morning. When sweeping, do not stir up dust. After washing and grooming, scrub the cooking pots and bring out the basins and bowls. Do not waste even the smallest amount of oil, rice, flour, or other kitchen supplies. Welcome visitors warmly. Walk slowly and speak softly. Keep to a life of poverty and simplicity, without longing for worldly honors. At night, sit upright and still, calming the mind and spirit; then the eyes will naturally grow bright. Do not abandon these practices. Keep at them over time, and a good future will come of its own accord.

Sixth

Yesterday the flowers bloomed; today they have withered. In truth, the time before us passes in an instant. People busy themselves building families and careers, but from one generation to the next, for whom are they really laboring? One moment they are young, and in the blink of an eye their dark hair has turned gray. What is lamentable is that people live out their lives without understanding impermanence, still exhausting themselves with toil. Better to wake up in time: even if you possess bushels of gold and silver, you cannot escape impermanence. When you reach Homesickness Ridge, the place to which the dead return, you can only weep in vain. None of your children can bear this in your place; in the end, you must face it alone. Take my advice: turn your light back and look within, gathering your spirit and reflecting on yourself, and cultivate the Dao together with Ma Danyang.

Seventh

Men are like walking corpses; women are like moving dry bones. Parents, too, are ultimately no more than skeletons. Children.

Men live like walking corpses; women live like running skeletons, and parents too are all skeletons. Their descendants, generation after generation, become little skeletons. When they grow up, they acquire possessions, marry, and make homes. The whole family gathers in the hall, □□ living ghosts, circling around skeletons all day long. The skeleton of a family patriarch rushes about, busy only with raising the next generation. When one day death comes, who will care for your skeleton? When the three inches of breath in your chest cease, the living skeleton sees the dead skeleton off. Do not grieve. I urge you to awaken soon and take good care of your own skeleton.

Part Eight

Go back—going back is better. Consider it carefully, and you will see that this is the wisest choice. There will be no worries, and you need not get caught up in disputes. Find a quiet place before a mountain crag and build a small hermitage. After dusk, sleep peacefully until the time for the morning meal. There is nothing else to do but live freely and happily. How many people understand the taste of such a life?

People say that becoming a high official is easy, but in practice it takes effort to manage all the social obligations. Even with attendants leading and following you, wearing a goldfish pouch—the insignia carried by officials—and your court robes crushed and creased, what is the point of it all? Think carefully: when you are buried, only a few spoonfuls of soup can fit in your mouth.

Part Nine

There is nothing else in a life of cultivating the Dao but to live freely and happily. How many people understand the taste of such a life? People say that becoming a high official is easy, but in practice it takes effort to manage all the social obligations. Even with attendants leading and following you, wearing a goldfish pouch—the insignia carried by officials—and your court robes crushed and creased, what is the point of it all? When you are buried, only a few spoonfuls of soup can fit in your mouth.

Part Nine

When Daoism first arose, Buddhism had yet to become prominent; one flourished while the other declined—that was broadly how things stood. Bodhidharma, the monk said to have brought Chan teachings to China, spread the Buddhist Dharma from the Eastern Land to the Western Heaven. Those who came later were only junior students, yet they were attached to wine and sex, damaging the foundations of cultivation. They fought over wealth and out of pride, failed to follow the teachings, and still hoped to reach the Western Heaven.

Only once every three thousand years does the great teaching of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) flourish, and this is the year of the Jiazi cycle. □ Qiu-gong spreads the teachings, as if ten thousand golden lotuses were blossoming. Immortals from the upper realm descend among humankind, subdue demons, and use the Dao to guide the worthy. Do you know? If you do not encounter such a time in this life, you will have to wait another ten thousand years or more.

Part Ten

Children are lovely as flowers, and a wife’s face is like jade; but consider it carefully: in the end, all these things pass with time. Accumulating millions in wealth cannot buy release from impermanence—the changes of life and death. Suddenly, the King of the Underworld, who governs life and death, sends someone to summon you. You cannot refuse, nor can you delay. You leave empty-handed, and your possessions pass to a new owner. Ten...

Children may be as lovely as flowers and jade, and a wife may have a beautiful face, but in the end their company lasts only briefly. Amass a fortune of millions, and you still cannot buy a life free from impermanence. One day, the King of the Underworld—the ruler who governs life and death—will suddenly send someone to summon you. No matter how you plead, you will not be able to refuse or delay. Then you can only depart empty-handed: your possessions will pass to new owners, and your children will scatter, each going their own way.

Those who are wise and clear-sighted leave early the “burning house” of the world—a metaphor for the turmoil and feverishness of worldly life—and free themselves from the entanglements of constant striving. They live at ease, without cares weighing on the heart. When hungry, they go door to door begging for food; when cold, they wear clothes made of paper and cloth. Free of attachments and restraints, even if their cultivation has not reached the realm of the immortals, it can still bring them longevity.

Eleven

The body is like a hermitage, one’s nature is its master, and the ears and eyes are its doors and windows. The body’s interior is a dwelling, and the abdomen is like a kitchen. The heart is like the steward of that kitchen: it sets water and fire in motion and refines primal Yang—the pure Yang energy spoken of in Neidan cultivation. When the heart and spirit are settled and held steady, “food” is refined at the proper time and offered to the master to enjoy.

Do not leave this hermitage. Once you lose your way, even slightly, it will be difficult to return to your homeland. Sit upright within the hermitage and cultivate the centered, balanced Qi within body and mind. Set the inner workings of your practice in motion, as though raising golden beams and jade pillars. The clear breeze, bright moon, numinous water, and numinous fire work together to refine primal Yang. When the heart and spirit are settled and held steady, “food” is refined at the proper time and offered to the master to enjoy.

Do not leave this hermitage. Once you lose your way, even slightly, it will be difficult to return to your homeland. Sit upright within it and cultivate centered, balanced Qi; set the golden beams and jade pillars in motion, allowing the clear breeze, bright moon, and numinous light to shine through. Sit quietly and at ease, without swaying or moving—why fear the ravages of wind and frost?

Twelve

The Great Dao has no visible form or trace and is difficult to explain in words. People of the world do not understand its source. Instead of relying on a clear and quiet mind, they merely count words and force their way through passages and phrases. If reciting scriptures alone could bring one to the Dao, then with so many learned people in the world, everyone should already have attained the Dao, and the Jade Emperor’s palace in the Ninth Heaven should be overflowing with them.

There is no need to argue endlessly and show off one’s eloquence, nor to probe the Book of Changes exhaustively or lecture on the Yellow Court Scripture. What truly matters is keeping the inner heart clear and free from worldly dust. Then immortals will come to guide you and lead you into the Mysterious Gate—the Daoist path and the way of cultivation. Once you reach the profound and subtle realm, you can roam freely and joyfully, at ease and glad throughout the day.

In years of such famine, disciples throughout the land suffer demonic obstacles and hardship. Only after enduring this trial does it become clear who is sincere. A Dao companion who generously faces the calamity in an instant can also make contact with the celestial immortals. The Celestial Worthy of Broad Transformation and the Loyal Martyrs need five thousand people during the Jiazi cycle. One must also strengthen one’s resolve further to reach the celestial palaces of the Ninth Heaven, where countless golden lotuses bloom.

When faced with demonic obstacles, the most important thing is to hold firmly to a single resolve at all times, keeping the mind free of evil thoughts and from straying from the right path. When raising the blade, the original spirit and innate nature must stand firm and unmoving like a mountain. The Three Pure Ones, the highest holy beings revered in Daoism, may manifest anywhere; they do not appear only when one’s merit and practice are complete. There is no need to complete every deed of spiritual practice. As long as one’s resolve is unwavering and free of doubt, the holy ones will encourage all the disciples. Even when faced with demonic obstacles, hold fast to your resolve and let no evil thoughts arise; when raising the blade, keep your innate nature as unmoving as a mountain, and the Three Pure Ones may manifest anywhere. If your mind is wholly free of doubt, the holy ones will encourage all the disciples: “If you are willing to forget the body and let go of your attachment to the flesh, you can ascend to Heaven with me.”

Fourteen

Licorice root, ginseng, gastrodia, peony, mint, schizonepeta, Sichuan lovage, frankincense, myrrh, angelica dahurica, spikenard, turmeric, veratrum, balloon flower root, wild chrysanthemum, ligusticum root, poria, saposhnikovia, and asarum should all be mixed in equal proportions. Whether for fever throughout the body, migraine, frontal headache, or wind-related headache extending to the back of the head, take a small amount of the powdered medicine and blow it into the nose through the mouth. It works with remarkable speed. Consort Li Gui once became blind in both eyes because of it. Emperor Zhangzong was greatly astonished when he saw this, and awarded an additional ingot of gold.

Fifteen

The two Qi of Yin and Yang cycle back and forth, while the three palaces—the upper, middle, and lower Dantian within the body—rise and descend in their workings, their transformations and exchanges without end. Spirit water, the saliva used in Neidan practice, passes through the gates; lead and mercury, terms symbolizing Yin and Yang energies in Neidan practice, pass through the three peaks, the name given in internal cultivation to important gates in the body. They circulate repeatedly through the eight vessels. Through the refining work of Wu and Ji, which symbolize Earth and other elements of internal cultivation, the Yin Tiger and Yang Dragon, terms symbolizing Yin and Yang energies in Neidan practice, are brought together. At the place where Jing and Qi gather, …

The golden flower shines brightly, as if taking shape somewhere. Its wondrous radiance comes from the workings of creation itself; the celestial mystery is profound and impossible to fathom. Those who concern themselves only with fame, wealth, wine, and sensual pleasures will find, in the end, that it is all like an autumn wind passing by. Cultivating the Great Dao is like tending the fire in a mysterious furnace and building skill in the upper, middle, and lower Dantians—the three places within the body cultivated in Daoist practice. When the work is complete, the Heavenly Book comes to summon you, and you may proceed calmly to the Jade Palace, a palace in the immortal realm.

Second of Sixteen [Zhang Boduan]

That true iron ox is ugly in appearance and fierce in temperament, fond of fighting and charging about. Everyone has this ox, but who knows how to tame it? Plant the yellow sprouts, a sign in Neidan practice that life is just beginning to stir, and let them fill the courtyard; then water them with divine water, the essence and Qi that nourish body and mind in cultivation. If this ox is absent from the central palace—the center within the body, and a vital place in Neidan practice—how can the infant, the refined elixir formed through Neidan practice, be born? The movements and stillness of Yin-Yang between Heaven and Earth, and the ceaseless work of generation and transformation, all depend on it. When hungry, eat tiger marrow; when thirsty, drink from the pool of mercury. At midnight, lead it into the furnace to tend the fire; radiance bursts forth, and light rises from the seabed, the lower Dantian region of the body in cultivation language. After feasting at the Flower Pool, the gathering place of saliva in the mouth, the herdboy returns beneath the moon.

Seventeen

Time is brief as sparks struck from stone, and human life is short; life and death cannot be foretold. Life appears suddenly and vanishes just as suddenly, like flashes of lightning competing to shine. See through the body as a mere temporary gathering, an illusory form, and find an immortal’s way of cultivation that transcends the world. Reflect, turn your heart toward the Dao, and recognize the supreme king of the Dao. You can meet at any time, go out together, sit together, and drink the rosy nectar of the immortals. □□□□□□□□□. With the clear wind and bright moon for companions, and kindred aims, you behold the light of Heaven together. You meet one another, seek a teacher and inquire into the Dao together, and sing “A Fragrant Courtyard Full of Beauty.”

“Full of Fragrance: Cultivation,” by Bai Yuchan.

With Heaven and Earth as the cauldron and furnace, and the Crow and Hare—the Sun and Moon, symbols of Yin-Yang—as the ingredients, the Golden Elixir can be refined only when the time is right. A tiger roars in the water; a dragon coils in the fire. Lead from the Dui trigram and Mercury from the Zhen trigram are also used as ingredients, rising all the way from the Dark Valley to the Muddy Pellet Palace, an inner alchemical site in the head. This may seem a small matter, but it concerns the union of Kan and Li and the encounter of the Gou hexagram. It can restore youth and bring back a child’s complexion.

When all Five Phases are present, the Four Images must be harmonized and the firing times mastered; the process cannot be allowed to lapse. The place toward which the six Heavenly Stems of the Big Dipper point is like fine jade emerging from Mount Kunlun. Without stirring even a trace of cloud or rain, one must pass straight through the Three Passes—the barriers through which Qi circulates in internal alchemy—in an instant. Within the Yellow Court, the return of one Yang brings the Golden Elixir to completion soon after.

Part Two

Daoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism return to one principle and may be said to stand as equals. The Dao gave rise to Heaven and Earth, and is the root of all change among the myriad things. The Buddha attained realization on Vulture Peak and once practiced for six years in the Snow Mountains. Confucianism teaches gentleness, kindness, respect, and frugality, and has been the teacher of emperors through the ages. The Great Dao transmits the secrets of cultivation; Buddhism teaches sentient beings through skillful means, emphasizing patience in the face of adversity and compassion. Nor is there any need to rank Confucius, the Most Sage and Great Accomplished Teacher, above or below them. They are all forebears of later generations of students. Yet those who come after them divide themselves into “us” and “them,” disputing right and wrong. Let us stop competing and contending. We should honor the Three Teachings as one, revering them and taking refuge in them together.

Part Three

This stick of renowned incense is naturally pure, elegant, and beautiful; it existed before Heaven, Earth, and all things. Burned in a golden censer, it sends auspicious smoke curling upward. It is neither aloeswood, sandalwood, frankincense, nor costus root, nor is it dragon’s-spittle incense blended from four aromatics. Gather it and offer it to the worthies of old and the sages of later ages, to the Five Patriarchs in the Great Luo Heaven, the highest celestial realm in Daoism.

This incense is wondrous and extraordinary, spreading throughout the entire Dharma Realm, the totality of worlds in Buddhism, with a fragrance pure and complete. It can open the nose and let its scent penetrate deeply, reaching the mysterious realm. May the people of all four quarters of the world receive the transforming influence of the Supreme Dao, and may the Qi of the Dao continue without end. From this day forward, may all share in blessings and celebration, and may their good fortune endure for ten thousand times ten thousand years.

Life is as light and nimble as a clear breeze; one’s nature is as bright and serene as the moon. Luminous and clear, it shines forth in its own brilliance. Its wondrous light illuminates all things. When and where does it fail to accord with the Great Dao? It is always present amid ignorance and unawareness; through every rising and transformation, every turn of the stars, it runs through all things. Understand the truth, and you will know that it is neither sheer nothingness nor something solidly real. Whether in motion or at rest, it follows the wondrous pattern.

How many truths lie within the space of a square inch—that is, within the human heart—sometimes one way, sometimes another. Everyone makes use of it, though people’s aims and understanding differ in depth. Those who have awakened to the Dao see it everywhere; before understanding it, one finds confusion everywhere. Those who cultivate the true Way should observe the Way of Heaven and follow it. When their practice is complete, they can ascend through the clouds and return.

Part Five

May the bamboo of long life stay evergreen, the pine of long life rise high, and the mountains and waters of longevity abound. May the Star of Longevity accompany the Night of Longevity, and an auspicious image of long life appear in the middle of the sky. May you enjoy eternal life. Light a stick of incense for longevity, while dragon’s-breath incense burns in the precious censer. A longevity child leads the way, accompanied by a longevity tortoise and crane; longevity candles shine like golden lotus blossoms. Fill the longevity platter with fruits of long life; the peaches of longevity have just ripened, and your years stretch on for three thousand. At the longevity banquet, sing songs of blessing and drink longevity wine in joyful company. From this day forward, may your blessings and years be boundless. May the benevolent enjoy long life, with the gates of longevity standing tall and blessings and years enduring without end.

Part Six

Leave in the morning and return to the hall at the hour of You, around five to seven in the evening; be sure to observe the rules at all times. Burn incense and bow in sincere reverence, paying homage to the true gods each morning and evening. Visit famous mountains and blessed places throughout the land. Do not worry about the hardships of the journey; seek out accomplished people who possess the Dao. Do not boast or show off your strength. Let go of attachment to distinctions between self and others, and keep your heart at peace.

Burning elixirs and refining medicines, playing the qin, writing, and painting each have their own roles and proper place. If you do nothing but pray and perform rituals on other people’s behalf, you will only waste your spirit and energy. Better to beg and receive alms as circumstances allow, easing your labor and conserving your energy. Let everyone gather and sit together, united in kindness and affection; even without blood ties, you can become family.

Part Seven

Eat less, abandon sensual desire, resist the demons of the mind, and overcome sleepiness: these are the foundations on which sages and worthies seek the Dao. Better to yield to others and keep to oneself; in carrying out affairs, act in accord with what is reasonable, and do not wear out the mind needlessly. Let everyone gather and sit together, united in kindness and affection; even without blood ties, you can become family.

Restraining food and drink, diminishing sexual desire, resisting external demons, and overcoming drowsiness are the foundation of the sages’ study of the Dao. In all things, think of others and discipline yourself; when dealing with affairs, follow the way things naturally proceed. Whatever circumstances you encounter, do not let your emotions run wild; in quiet moments, keep your mind and nature firm and free of doubt. Who could have imagined that the Dao is like something leaping up amid mighty waves, only to return at last to the subtle, silent realm beyond words? Let go of craving for wealth, beauty, wine, and pride; free yourself from the bonds of profit, and sever anger and delusion. When the cultivation of nature and life is complete, you will no longer cling to worldly concerns. See through to the original forms of all things, and, once your practice is perfected, return. Riding a cinnabar phoenix, arrive at the Palace of Penglai and go alone to pay a visit to Zhongli, the immortal Zhongli Quan.

Part Eight

I bow to all my fellow practitioners. Please hear this brief counsel: each morning, beg for alms according to circumstances, accepting what people offer to support your practice. Even if likes and dislikes still arise in your heart, hold fast to your original mind. After eating your fill, return to the hermitage and sit quietly. Speak less of what is useless; keep your mouth closed and your words measured. When you see another person’s faults, act as though you have not seen them; only then can your heart be at peace.

For now, do not rush to seek the mysteries. Fellow practitioners, please hear this brief counsel: each morning, beg for alms according to circumstances. Even if likes and dislikes still arise in your heart, hold fast to your original mind. After eating your fill, return to the hermitage and sit quietly. Speak less of what is useless; keep your mouth closed and your words measured. When you see another person’s faults, act as though you have not seen them; only then can your heart be at peace. Set aside the pursuit of mysteries for now. Keep the “mind-horse”—the mind’s restless, unrestrained thoughts—firmly tethered, and lock up the “heart-ape,” the agitated, unruly stirrings of the mind. Remove the distinction between self and others, and quiet the inner fires of anger and turmoil. Day and night, resist external demons and overcome drowsiness. Preserve constant stillness, and regulate your breathing until it is long and even. Do you know? With this practice, the two Qi of Yin and Yang, likened in the poem to mother and child, will naturally harmonize and gather together.

Part Nine

The honors and prosperity you enjoy today are the result of blessings and good deeds accumulated in a former life. If you awaken to this, it is best to continue your cultivation. A hundred years pass in an instant, and the changes of life and death are like bubbles on water. You toil without end for food and clothing; before one joy has run its course, sorrow follows close behind. How lamentable that people rush about, ceaselessly creating all manner of karma—how many are willing to stop and turn back?

Return to quiet and ease, leave the dust of the world behind, wander freely on your own, and quietly explore yourself. Turn the inner cinnabar lead and mercury—the terms in Neidan that symbolize Yin-Yang essence and Qi—upside down and bring them together; let the light of your nature shine clear as the autumn moon. Continue cultivating until your practice is complete, transcend the Three Realms of desire, form, and formlessness, and take your place among the immortals forever. Ride away on clouds, with your true body enduring without decay, and you will no longer need to lie in a desolate tomb.

The pure and tranquil family tradition accords naturally with the Great Dao. Do not lose the true face you originally possessed. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, the Dao is never absent. Understand its principle, and you can find release wherever you are; clarify the mind and realize your original nature, and you can act without contrivance, following things as they are. If you have already understood, do not allow even the slightest indulgence or slackness. A painted picture of food may ease hunger for a moment, but it can never truly satisfy.

Wise people throughout the ages have wielded the merciless sword of wisdom—a symbol of the insight that cuts away delusion. They cut through confusion and ignorance, drive off the Three Corpses—the three Daoist worms said to dwell in the body and obstruct cultivation—and scatter the Six Thieves, a metaphor for the six sensory desires that disturb the mind. When the clouds and mists disperse, the Celestial Heart, the clear and lucid original nature, stands revealed. They breathe out rosy clouds and refine Mount Sumeru, a metaphor for the Jing and Qi or inner cosmos within the body and mind. When true cultivation reaches its utmost, one can attain the Way of long life. How many people understand such a life of cultivation?

Eleven

A family tradition of calm detachment and purity; a life of quiet stillness and Wuwei (non-action), without contrivance, reckless action, or excessive speech. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, keep watch over your thoughts and do not let the mind, like a monkey or horse, race wildly. Harmonize your nature, making it gentle and humble. When external things stir you, let no anger flare within and no turmoil rise like smoke and dust. Understand the truth, and you can be free of hostility and desire, without guilt or fault.

Do not seek outside yourselves: your innocent, unadorned nature is already within. It is only obscured by clouds of delusion, so that you cannot see your destination or the span of your years. Let the clear wind disperse those dark clouds; where the mists clear, the blue sky appears. All things stand forth in abundance, like a full moon whose radiance shines without limit.

Twelve

Do not dwell on what has passed, do not fantasize about what is to come, and let go even of the thought arising in this moment. When the Three Minds—the minds of past, present, and future—fall away, the Way of the supreme Dharma King becomes manifest. This is the original face you possessed before birth: without form, yet clearly present on its own, majestic and upright.

The Dao’s profound and mysterious principle is formed when the true Qi of the four directions—the primal energy of Heaven and Earth—enters, condenses, and gathers in the Central Yellow, a term in Daoist inner alchemy for the Yellow Court or central palace within the body. Remain at ease and composed, and regularly hold to the inner; this surpasses the endless, arduous wandering through the sea of worldly suffering. Follow circumstances and accept your proper share, remaining gentle and humble, gathering light and mingling with the dust—restraining your brilliance as you live among others without drawing attention to it. Gradually you will leave the path of reincarnation, drawing near to the immortal realm of Penglai. When your practice is complete, you will ride the clouds alone and pay homage to the Void Emperor, a revered deity of the Daoist heavens.

The Jade Emperor issued an edict to seek out more than six hundred female immortals. Those selected would be appointed as immortal officials and granted ranks in the celestial order, filling vacancies among the immortals of the Great Luo Heaven. He therefore ordered the deities in every region to search far and wide for worthy people. On the Three Yuan days—the purification days of the Upper, Middle, and Lower Yuan—they were to record people’s merits and spiritual practice and report them to the imperial court. For disciples of the Quanzhen tradition, the most important things in cultivating merit and accumulating virtue are to keep their resolve firm, boldly subdue the dragon and tiger within the heart, and refine and nourish Neidan. One day, when selected by the Heavenly Book, they can ride the clouds up to heaven, stride swiftly to the Golden Palace and the Hall of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), and become the top scholar among the immortals.

A person’s hundred years of life pass like a dream, with spring and autumn coming and going before one knows it. The foolish worry day and night over household affairs. One’s share of clothing, food, and good fortune is already allotted, so why covet more beyond the world? Consider this: the mundane world is like a deep pit and a burning house. People are trapped in it all day, like prisoners. Friends, heed my advice: do not willingly toil like oxen for the wealth and rank of your children and grandchildren. Cut through the bonds of affection and devote yourself to seeking spiritual practice beyond the world. Let the sun set in the west and the moon rise in the east; do not let them trouble your mind. Subdue deluded thoughts and quiet the spirit. Turn back, and you will find the path to salvation; the immortal realm of Yingzhou is not far away.

People often say the smoke has cleared and the fire has gone out, yet when circumstances arise, ignorance and vexation still stir in the heart. If you do not notice this, how can you escape the afflictions of living beings? The Way is easy to practice and easy to understand; it is only because the heart is deluded that it becomes hard to grasp and follow. Demons of the mind obstruct practice, preventing people from attaining great goodness and even keeping them from settling their own minds. Fellow practitioners, heed my counsel: do not argue over right and wrong or compete over who is stronger or weaker. Do not contend with one another. A person is only a walking corpse, a frame of bones—why dwell on honor and disgrace? Hurry to protect your own life. Bring Qi (vital energy) and Shen (spirit) into harmony, and purify your true form. Keep your awareness clear, and Penglai, Langyuan, and the immortal isles of the Three Islands will lie ahead as the destination of your practice.

The affairs of this world are in constant turmoil, rushing eastward like flowing water. When will they ever end? Since ancient times, people have struggled and competed for fame, rank, and profit, fighting like tigers and leopards. Yet in the end, once they are buried in a desolate mound, they are left only with foxes for company. Among the brambles, the last rays of the setting sun fall on deserted tombs. Mound upon mound lies there—who can still tell who is buried beneath them? Do you know that a life spent laboring in vain brings nothing but furrowed brows and sorrow?

Better to return, and let body and mind be free, no longer burdened by attachments. Go back to the ancient cave among the green cliffs and preserve your innate nature and life. Welcome the wind and admire the moon, roaming freely, and smile as you contemplate the realm of stillness and Wuwei (non-action). Play and sing a tune, drink a thousand cups of wine, and drift at ease through the cycles of sun and moon, enduring for ages. Keep the face of youth and live as long as the tortoise and crane; then there is no need to sing “Yellow Rooster,” that lament for life’s brevity.

Part Two

I have no love for warm, light fur robes. I wear only cloth clothes and straw sandals, letting spring pass and autumn come as they will. Though others may laugh at my plain way of life, what, after all, are those rushing about in the dusty world pursuing? The immortal realm of Penglai lies beyond the world, yet it can also be found within the small space of the heart. This aim of the Dao is beyond price, and cannot be measured in material wealth. Who can understand the joy of Wuwei and freedom, without envying princes and nobles?

The more one schemes, the more worries one often has, as though one had swallowed a hook baited with fame and profit. Look at the rises and falls, the gains and losses before your eyes: after exhausting your spirit over them, what can you hope to gain? The immortal realm of Penglai lies beyond the world, yet also within the small space of the heart; this aim of the Dao is beyond price. Who can understand the joy of Wuwei, without envying princes and nobles? The more one schemes, the more worries one has, as though one had swallowed a hook baited with fame and profit. Watching the gains and losses rise and fall before you, you exhaust your inborn spiritual nature, yet still refuse to stop in time. Bees bustle after flowers; moths die pursuing the light of a lamp. People, too, are often captivated by what lies before them and forget the troubles that await. Alas, life is like Zhuang Zhou dreaming he had become a butterfly, while the butterfly seems to dream it is Zhuang Zhou—an illusion impossible to tell apart.

Part Three

The Great Dao originally has no name. The truly vast sound cannot be heard, and the truly great vessel often takes a long time to form. How laughable are those with shallow understanding, who insist on investigating the Great Dao through their limited perspective. If one can understand without saying much, there is no need to waste effort drilling ice to make fire or treating a stone as a rope. Even if one exhausts one’s spirit, all that comes of it is needless toil. It is like climbing a tree to catch fish—when will that ever succeed?

The dull-witted are like someone trying to make a mirror by grinding a brick: how could it ever reflect light? Why spend so much effort scheming and planning? Simply preserve an unadorned, sincere nature, untouched by love or aversion. Quiet the heart and fill the body and spirit. Guard the “Valley Spirit”—the Dao’s empty, still, life-giving nature—and it will not run dry. With deep and firm foundations, you can preserve it over time, prolonging life and extending your years.

Let the mind be clear and still, as though before Heaven and Earth took shape. The primordial Qi, before Heaven and Earth and all things were divided, quietly fills the expanse, mingled and profound. This is the principle of “the obscure and the unseen”—the Dao, deep and formless, beyond sight and hearing—like a bright full moon, luminous and complete. Why spend so much effort scheming and planning? Simply preserve an unadorned, sincere nature, untouched by love or aversion. Quiet the heart and fill the body and spirit; guard the Valley Spirit and deepen your foundations, and you can preserve it over time, prolonging life and extending your years. Let the mind be clear and still, as though before Heaven and Earth took shape. The primordial Qi quietly fills the expanse, mingled and profound. This is the principle of the obscure and the unseen, like a bright moon that is neither lacking nor full.

Fourth

Auspicious snow rolls through the clouds, and a strong wind raises the waves; the scene before me is like a painting from the immortals’ realm. Tell me, does that old tree south of the city still stand? Will the wealthy traveler from Luoyang come again? I climb Junshan alone and gaze into the distance at its layered rocks. All I see are eight hundred miles of clear waters rippling, spread across the vast expanse of Heaven and Earth.

How could I have been mistaken? I once set up a stove in tea, and I once met an immortal maiden in wine. In the end, I must still guide Shengwu—the legendary immortal—and then pay my respects to the elders of Zhongnan Mountain. After leaving a poem at Taiping Temple, did I once again return drunk from the Shen residence in Donglin? I often wander in Heaven and seldom come to the human world; I no longer go to Mount Lu to seek out the painter of fish. Do you still feel for me? Lend me your Yellow Crane, and let it carry me up to the Celestial Capital—the abode of the Heavenly Emperor, and a realm of immortals.

Fifth [Bai Yuchan]

As the flute sounded before the Yellow Crane Tower, the master raised his voice in song. Think of the sword’s gleam flying across the open sky, and of wandering the Northern Sea at dawn; the ink basket… [The text that follows repeats the earlier passage, again ending with the resolve not to seek out the painter of fish at Mount Lu, and the hope of borrowing the Yellow Crane to fly up to the Celestial Capital.]

Standing before the Yellow Crane Tower, with a flute at hand, the Master sings aloud. He imagines himself flying on a sword, roaming the Northern Sea in the morning, laying down his ink basket, then sleeping drunk at Donglin Temple by night. It is as if mountains and rivers simmer in his pot, and the whole world is hidden in a grain of rice. His heart is as open and free as the bright moon and a clear breeze. With a hearty laugh, he brews white wine and gives away all his gold. A kindred spirit will naturally come seeking him. Do not crush the gourd underfoot, and do not break the qin. He sings of white duckweed and red smartweed—plants that grow by the water—then of Mount Lu at dusk, leaves falling in the west wind, and late autumn on the Wei River. Three times he visits Yueyang, then travels again to Penpu. From that time onward, he has lived at ease, free and untroubled, to this day. The road to Peach Blossom Spring is open for coming and going; come climb and wander with a kindred spirit.

Part Six

I earnestly urge those who study and cultivate: seek realization within the numinous terrace, the heart and spirit; do not search outside yourself. The subtle workings of Heaven here are not easily understood, so today I will explain them to you in detail. The old woman without a mouth can somehow speak, while the child without feet excels at kicking a ball. This is the true message: clouds and mist veil the jade cave, while moonlight illuminates the golden tower. Who can cultivate as I do? I capture the lion and transform it into an ox. I face the surging waves of the Yellow River, turning somersaults, and catch the monkey in the Palace of the Sun. When white snow blossoms and a blue cloud seed forms, I claim first place at the Mysterious Pass, the key point in cultivation where body and mind are transformed. I take up residence in an immortal palace, then ride a black dragon home, forever bound for Yingzhou, the legendary island of immortals.

Part Seven

Last night I was still in Nanjing; this morning I am already at Mount Beiyue, arriving in the blink of an eye. I find wine in a cave and drink my fill when thirsty. I use Junshan as my pillow and sleep soundly after getting drunk. I enter and leave without boundaries, coming and going without restraint, half like a simpleton and half like a madman. Wherever I may be, my heart holds wind and moonlight, and my sleeves seem to carry clouds and mist.

After years of wandering in the human world, I am now preparing another banquet in Donghua, the Daoist realm of immortals. I topple the jade tower and plant trees of precious jade; I make the Yellow River run shallow and plant my golden lotus. I shatter the coral, then rise and climb aboard the immortal island of Penglai, paying my respects before the throne of the Primordial Sovereign, a revered Daoist deity. Nothing in the world is difficult: when my merit reaches eight hundred and my cultivation is complete at three thousand,

Part Eight

Break through the doubts in the heart and dispel illusory, unreal thoughts. Let the rhythms of daily eating and living follow their natural course. With a meditation cushion and a meditation board—the seat and the implement used to rouse the sitter during meditation—one may pass the day in their company. Enjoying the wind and admiring the moon can also carry one through the years. With a young attendant from the mountains and a staff of goosefoot wood, stroll at ease in the breeze among the pines, then sleep beneath the shifting shadows of the trees.

From now on, put away the golden needles and jade threads—the metaphorical, subtle secrets of cultivation—and teach them no more, as though everything had dissolved into mist. Why should they still be handed down from generation to generation? The wind in the pines beside the Wei River has already revealed the whole meaning of meditation. In the past, I tried to scoop the moon from the water; now I understand that a lotus can bloom in fire. The “Supreme Vehicle” of the tradition, the highest method of cultivation in Chan, holds no other mystery: ten times one hundred is simply one thousand. At the turn, one sees water bubbles dissolving into the sea; when the clouds disperse, the vast sky appears.

Ninth

Auspicious snow drifts across the boundless sky, covering heaven and earth; the landscape is as white as silver. The snow makes no distinction between rich and poor, nor between near and far: wherever it falls, it falls alike. Flake after flake descends, leaving no dust to soil it, and settles silently on the ground. The river and sky are still; snow, like heavenly flowers, blankets the world, and every scene before the eye seems newly transformed.

The sight brings a sudden joy, like a clear Milky Way visible from end to end. As the snow gathers, it seems to lay a sheet of white jade over the land; when it melts and vanishes, it leaves no trace or mark. This is the true transformation wrought by nature’s subtle workings, unlike anything fashioned by ordinary human effort. When the cold Yin energy has run its course and the count of the “Three Yangs”—the gradual return of Yang energy after the winter solstice—is complete, a new spring arrives.

Tenth

Since ancient times, the wise and the foolish…

Since ancient times, the worthy and the foolish alike have been driven onward by the years, until at last they are buried beneath the earth. Zhang Liang, Chen Ping, and others of the Han dynasty made their names through strategy, yet some people ruined their family fortunes by chasing fame and profit and indulging in luxury. Graves along the riverbanks and the open fields around the Han imperial tombs—however magnificent they once were—come to nothing when power is spent. The heroes of every age, too, have become ruined burial mounds by the roadside, surrounded only by spreading withered grass. Looking back on the past, one cannot help but sigh. People are stained by illusory desires and chase after splendor, like flower shadows vanishing with the flowing water. Rather than live this way, it is better to awaken early: let go of worldly toil and attachment, be content with a poor and quiet life, and guard and cultivate the Dantian (the place within the body where Jing and Qi gather in Daoist internal alchemy practice). In this way, one can transcend the cycle of rebirth, cross the sea of suffering, board the cool vessel of wisdom, reach the shore of freedom, seek the mysterious path of cultivation, and journey together to the ideal Peach Blossom Spring.

(Eleven)

Fame and profit are insignificant and groundless. How long will you keep chasing them? Better to transcend the cycle of rebirth, cross the sea of suffering, board the cool vessel of wisdom, reach the shore of freedom, gather on the mysterious Cloud Road, and seek the Peach Blossom Spring together.

(Eleven)

Fame and profit are groundless and so trifling; when will they ever end? Who would give up worldly life and devote themselves to cultivation for the sake of wealth and splendor, great renown, high rank, or wives, concubines, and children? The Daoist gate of cultivation is austere, and the pure, empty, wondrous Dao is difficult and demanding to follow. How many are willing to stay and practice? The path of cultivation can bring insight into the cycle of rebirth and death, and may also allow one to join the ranks of the immortals. Apart from oneself, most things in the world are merely sources of idle sorrow. Cut decisively through the ties of affection that bind body and mind, and you can let them go. Wear a cloth headscarf and plain clothes, live according to circumstances, and roam freely among the clouds and streams, journeying beyond the world of dust. Seek stillness in leisure and gradually diminish desire, until the heart’s fire is extinguished, deluded thoughts disperse, and you no longer seek anything outside yourself. When the time comes to depart, the road that once led to Fengdu, the Daoist underworld, will become an immortal path to Penglai and Yingzhou, the fabled islands of the immortals.

The finest dragon-phoenix tea cake, a rare and precious round tea, is made with exquisite skill and comes from distant Jianxi. At the spring tea harvest, the leaves are gathered on the southern mountain, then blended with the so-called “toad’s essence and crow’s blood” and the “Seven Treasured Spirit Buds” of the Northern Sea. The tea is brought into a secluded room, ground to a fine powder, and mixed with spices and water. It is served in a jade bowl, while a young immortal prepares it with deft hands until golden blossoms appear on the surface. This wondrous tea is fit to be offered to the immortals. After drinking it, one seems to feel fragrance rising from beneath one’s arms. Alas, Zhao Zhou the Chan master is hard to meet, and Lu Tong is nowhere to be seen. To whom can one praise this taste, bitter at first and sweet in the end? It washes away the worldly heart and opens the “Dao-eye” that perceives the Great Dao, making one seem young again, with black hair at the temples. This is truly an auspicious wonder. May everyone learn to savor it and journey together to the misty, cloud-veiled realm of the immortals.

Thirteen

Since ancient times, immortals have often dwelt in seclusion on Mount Zhongnan, and their deeds have been passed down through the ages. Legend tells that at the Terrace for Expounding the Scripture, someone revived a withered cypress with a needle; beside the alchemical furnace was a spring by the Stone of the Transformed Maiden. On Shang Mountain were the Four Elders; in an ancient cave, the Ten Elders. Yin Xi heard the Dao De Jing with his own ears. At the places where they built huts and practiced the Dao, stories remain of a green ox fighting and a white deer ascending to heaven. The traces of ancient sages can still be sought out, and the snowy landscape seems to paint these scenes before us. There are also tales of the Ravine of the Original True Writings, a dream beneath the pines, Zhongli’s awakening to the Dao, and an immortal riding a crane. The Second Patriarch practiced in a felt robe; Perfected Chongyang received guidance at the Gan River, and later transmitted the “Seven Lotus Blossoms” of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition. The grotto-heavens and blessed lands described by Quanzhen existed even before heaven, earth, and all things took form.

Fourteen

The ties of family in the mortal world are endless, day after day, with no pause from morning to night. People do not know what tomorrow will bring, yet they still rush about, toil, and pursue their desires without end. All the things they seek lie beneath the source of the Dao, which is said to precede even the Lord of Forms.

The affairs and livelihood of the worldly household bind people fast. Night passes and day returns, day after day without respite. No one knows what tomorrow will bring, yet people still rush about, toil, and pursue their desires single-mindedly. Human life is like a lamp flame in the wind or a dewdrop on a blade of grass: in an instant, it may vanish. Thinking of this, I cannot help but weep with sorrow. Life cannot last long; it is like a spark struck from stone or a bubble rising on the water. Awaken early, turn back, and leave this turmoil behind; wipe the splendor of the past clean away. Wear coarse clothes, eat plain food, and live according to circumstances. Let others laugh at me—why should I care? When the appointed end comes, neither rich nor poor can take anything with them, so why fret day and night? While still young, set aside the family estate, wander across the seas, and seek the path of cultivation.

Fifteen

True Unity (Zhenyi), the Daoist Way in its original and authentic form, endures forever and is one with the Great Void, the boundless expanse of emptiness; then the mysterious gate of the Dao will open of itself. Ever since the primal undifferentiated state first divided and Heaven and Earth, the Two Principles, spread out, returning to the root and restoring one’s original nature has depended entirely on the Numinous Terrace, the mind and spirit. The vast, noble Qi breaks through what obstructs it; the Valley Spirit, the wondrous power of the Dao’s still and empty body to generate and transform, merges with the myriad things, and a point of numinous light appears from the void. As you gather the spirit and remain quietly attentive, it is as though you can hear dragons roar and tigers howl, and feel wind and thunder shake Heaven and Earth. This mysterious Dao is truly wondrous and beyond conjecture; it can transform the ignorant and deluded into people of exceptional ability.

I will explain its principles clearly to you: its workings are like the moon’s reflection held within an oyster in a deep pool, or like an autumn hare conceiving a young one. Men of lofty aspiration and the eminent worthies of old should not let body or mind be stained by worldly dust. Once cultivation is complete, they can ascend to the Purple Palace, the celestial palace where immortals dwell, and take their place among the ranks of the immortals.

Sixteen

What difficulty is there in the work of refining the elixir if one wishes to become an immortal? Where thunder shakes, □□□□; the fire blazes in the jade furnace, while cold smoke coils above the earthen cauldron. The Maiden rides the dragon—the Maiden is an alchemical term for the yin or mercury-like ingredient—and the Golden Elder mounts the tiger, the Golden Elder being an alchemical term for the yang or lead-like ingredient. In an instant, the Great Return Elixir, the elixir formed through refinement, is completed. A white goose in the Dantian (energy center) flies into the Muddy Pellet, the upper Dantian in the head. The River Cart, a Neidan (internal alchemy) method for circulating the body’s Jing (essence) and Qi, turns and rises to Kunlun, a metaphor for the head region. As it passes through this gate, the body makes not even the slightest movement. Subdue and command the tortoise and snake, the crow and hare—alchemical symbols of the two Yin-Yang forces—and in an instant Yin and Yang unite, condensing a point of numinous Qi into an elixir. White snow blankets the sky and yellow sprouts cover the ground, both Neidan terms symbolizing changes in Jing and Qi during cultivation. Take this small dose of elixir, and your youthful appearance will endure. Keep warming and nourishing it, and you can shed the mortal body and transform your bones, your body borne aloft among the clouds.

Seventeen

The person of great wisdom is composed and content, broad-minded and free, unconstrained, allowing all things to follow their natural course. He entrusts himself to refined feelings and takes pleasure in quiet pursuits, singing aloud among pine woods and on mountain rocks, absorbed in the moment; beneath the moon and before the wind, he is at ease. Jade Maidens play the sheng, and golden youths dance with flowing sleeves, seeming to guide the original Qi within me—the innate vital energy—into the Great Mystery, a profound and subtle realm. Within the Great Mystery, all things rise and sink in vast surges, coming and going without end.

This wondrous scene is hard to put into words, as though there were another earthly paradise, a secluded realm beyond the ordinary world. In conducting oneself in life, one should be sincere and steadfast, letting the years pass. However the fickle may change, even if the sea becomes mulberry fields, one remains unmoved. Shen and Qi—spirit and vital energy—flow in harmony; Yin and Yang Qi rise, descend, and circulate in accordance with the Dao. Yet all things continue to rise and sink in vast surges.