《鸣鹤余音》Vol. 3

At Ganhe Town, a fierce wind suddenly arose, and seven golden lotuses bloomed one after another in radiant clarity. Qiu, Liu, Tan, Ma, Hao, Wang, and Sun each had their own destined encounter with the Dao.

Part Two

I was originally surnamed Ma, and came from Banzhou. I told my first master about my origins and the doubts in my heart, then sat alone within the garden wall to cultivate. When my practice was complete, I was to journey to Yingzhou, the legendary realm of immortals.

Part Three

The human body is a temporary combination of the four great elements: earth, water, fire, and wind. I was originally surnamed Tan. Through karmic ties from a former life, I met my first master, abandoned worldly life, and wandered from place to place rather than dwelling long in a Daoist monastery. When my practice was complete, I went to the Immortal Altar.

Part Four

Wuguan in Laizhou is my hometown. Later I met a gentleman whose title was Changsheng, “Long Life.” Walking through streets and lanes did not hinder my practice; my heart remained unstained by worldly dust, and my nature was as clear as the bright moon.

Part Five

I was granted purple robes three times and lived in Tianchang. That was Yun Guang, the Iron-Footed Wang. Later I met my first master and went to Luoyang; when my practice was complete, I reached the Immortal Homeland.

Part Six

At nineteen, I left my family behind and cut off worldly ties. I resolved to cultivate the Dao at Panxi, and from then on my heart was at peace. Having realized the realm of Eternal Spring beneath a Heaven Without Night, I founded a great teaching that will endure for ten thousand ages.

I was granted purple robes three times and lived in Tianchang. That was Yun Guang, the Iron-Footed Wang. Later I met my first master and went to Luoyang; when my practice was complete, I reached the Immortal Homeland.

Part Six

At nineteen, I left my family behind and cut off worldly ties. I resolved to cultivate the Dao at Panxi, and from then on my heart was at peace. Having realized the realm of Eternal Spring beneath a Heaven Without Night, I founded a great teaching that will endure for ten thousand ages.

Part Seven

Today I speak of the karmic ties reaching back to high antiquity. I spent my years beneath the bridge at Zhaozhou, singing as I paused beside it, as though even the flowing water had stopped. When a leaf falls, one knows that autumn has come to all beneath heaven.

Part Eight

I was originally surnamed Sun and had once become related by marriage to the Ma family. Later, my first master awakened my heart. We then parted ways, each to seek the true destination of our cultivation.

The Wutong Tree · Lü Dongbin

Part One

At the first watch of the night, regulate Shen and Qi. Rein in the “mind-monkey and willful horse”—the restless thoughts that are difficult to control—and do not let them roam freely. Cultivate fetal breathing, a Daoist Neidan method of regulating the breath and nurturing Qi, in stillness and composure; open the Gate of Heaven and close the Earthly Door, terms for gathering in spirit and breath. In this way, you can understand the mysterious principles of the Dao.

Part Two

At the second watch, the secrets of heaven, earth, and the cosmos are transmitted. A spark of numinous light gradually becomes clear and accessible. When the Dragon and Tiger, Neidan terms often referring to Yin and Yang energies within the body, first begin to unite, guard them carefully so that the Three Corpses, spirits believed to dwell in the human body and obstruct cultivation, cannot escape. Raise the Wisdom Sword, settle old grudges in the sky, and cut down the host of demons.

At the third watch, Yang begins to stir into life. The Golden Ding seethes, and the Jade Furnace refines; true lead and true mercury take shape—terms in Neidan that symbolize Yin-Yang, Jing, Qi, and related forces. With a craftsperson’s deft hand, the jade lotus pod is opened, sending out two rays of rosy light that illuminate the Kun Summit, the crown of the head around the Niwan Palace. Ten thousand pearl-like points of light pour in.

Its Fourth Section

At the fourth watch, the clouds of Qi disperse. The starry tortoise at the bottom of the sea—the area around the lower Dantian—plays in the light of the full moon, and jade blossoms appear everywhere, images of the immortal realm that also symbolize inner refinement. The alchemical fire is adjusted according to the seasons. At midnight and midday, the vaporous Qi rises and falls, and the red essence descends with it. A sudden flash illuminates the Kun Summit, and ten thousand pearl-like points of light pour in.

Its Fourth Section

At the fourth watch, the clouds of Qi disperse. The starry tortoise at the bottom of the sea plays in the light of the full moon, and jade blossoms appear everywhere. The alchemical fire is adjusted according to the seasons. At midnight and midday, the vaporous Qi rises and falls, and the red essence descends with it. In an instant, the secret of Heaven—the mystery of Neidan cultivation—is revealed.

Its Fifth Section

At the fifth watch, the haze gradually settles. Within the heart, one nurtures a mirror like a full moon, whose light dispels the faults of greed and anger. This round of cultivation is enough to startle spirits and gods. Only by truly attaining purity can one reach true stillness. When one’s practice is complete, one may pay homage to the holy perfected ones.

Rising Step by Step

At the first watch, clear the mind and sit quietly with an open heart. Firmly subdue the monkey mind and galloping thoughts, and sharpen the will with the wisdom sword. The Six Thieves—the sensory desires that disturb cultivation—and the Three Corpses, spirits said to dwell in the human body and urge people toward wrongdoing, are roused; the host of demons scatters. When sleepiness comes, lie down fully clothed. When you wake, a gentle breeze arrives through the haze. In this way, one awakens to the Peach Blossom Source, a secluded immortal realm, and strolls at ease through the garden of the celestial realm, filled with endless delight. The wind outside the window stirs, waking the dream of wandering among immortals.

Its Second Section

At the second watch, sleep by White Ox Creek. The young herdsman, tipsy with wine, has piled his straw rain cape and bamboo hat to one side. Beneath the moon, it is just the right moment to play the flute; gladly he returns to the Land of Huaxu, a legendary realm of blissful dreams. With a relaxed heart, he leisurely plucks the jade zither, its music soaring high. A tortoise emerges from the fire, giving birth to a white crane. Cloud flutes sound, and purple mist and rosy light shine in every direction.

Its Third Section

At the third watch, the stars in the Milky Way grow faint. Step outside and observe the changes within yourself. The moon stands due south; the sixteen maidens unite with the boy—an image of Yin and Yang joining in Neidan practice—and the three threes are refined, through successive unions and transformations in inner cultivation. Grasp the Celestial Pass, a symbolic key opening in cultivation, and shake it with all your strength. The original essence gathers in the Palace of Five Brightnesses, then proceeds to the summit of Seven Treasures Mountain to pray to Jade Void, the Daoist celestial realm. The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning suspends a bright pearl the size of a grain of millet and displays the Golden Book, a sacred scripture or talismanic text, bringing peace to the state and well-being and prosperity to its people.

At the hour of the fourth watch, a gentle breeze stirs in the Mystic Garden (a realm of the immortals), moving freely with no obstruction. Cast off the soiled garments of the world; the bright moon within the heart hangs high, illuminating the cloudy stream. Climb the ladder that reaches to Heaven and, alone, pluck a cassia branch from the Moon Palace. Walk freely through the Three Realms and the ten directions; the path to Caoxi, the sacred site of Chan Buddhism, is already known. All things are empty, yet true joy and delight remain, like drinking ambrosia, the sweetest of flavors. There is no need to seek outside oneself. Sing aloud the song that has no sound.

Its Fifth

At the hour of the fifth watch, the golden rooster on its perch crows, and travelers on the road seem newly alert. As dawn breaks, the cultivator carries a bottomless basket on a staff and flies on the wind, journeying together to the immortal island of Penglai. Who can understand this lineage of cultivation? Once the Dao is attained, one no longer grows old. Strike the jade-stone ritual board and fish for whales and turtles in the depths of the blue waves; cross the surging waters and gather the medicine of long life.

Nanquzi

True mercury and true lead, symbols in Neidan of Yin-Yang essence and Qi, arise from the precelestial and postcelestial. The key lies in understanding the timing and diligently gathering and refining; the principles are profound and subtle. Find the right elixir cavity, and what need is there to worry that you cannot become an immortal? When advancing the fire, the practitioner must be focused and meticulous, carefully discerning the front and rear arcs, which stand for the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang and the changes in the firing process. The Tun hexagram is used to draw out and replenish; the Meng hexagram is used to stop the fire. These secrets are difficult to transmit. The slightest error makes it impossible to refine the Golden Elixir.

Its Second

With both hands, split open the vast primordial chaos, and send the wisdom sword flying to the highest peak. Outsiders and asuras, beings said in Buddhism to disrupt cultivation, recoil in fear. The power of spiritual abilities, it turns out, lies in the palm of the hand. The jade furnace burns red-hot, while the Xun wind, the wind trigram of the Bagua, fans the flames. After ten months of gestation, emerge from the womb, then swallow the elixir again and place it in the Kun Palace, a region in Neidan symbolizing the abdomen or Dantian. The venerable elder of the Three Pure Ones will then appear before you.

Its Third

Nourishing and warming should follow the course of the celestial cycle; the fire must be kept gentle and steady throughout. Cherish the inner elixir like an infant, relying on the mother Qi to nurture it for three years. Use the method of drawing out and replenishing, following the moon’s passage from crescent to full. When the Ox and Dipper mansions meet by the river, cast away the old and take up the Mysterious Pearl, a symbol of the inner elixir, planting it in the Jade Field, a symbol of the Dantian. Hold fast to your intention and tend the firing process calmly and as usual, remaining focused and diligent to the end. Open the belly and lay out the principles within, explaining them to the worthy.

“Generate Jia anew to generate Geng” refers to understanding the Yin-Yang transformations represented by Jia and Geng during alchemical cultivation. This is a key principle of the alchemical method. Gather the ingredients while they are still young and place them in an earthen crucible—the vessel used for alchemical refining. Apply the gentle and fierce fires, and the firm and yielding degrees of heat, in their proper sequence. Once the Elixir congeals in a short time, it must undergo “bathing”—a stage in which the fire is temporarily reduced and the Elixir brought into balance. Guard carefully against deviations, and tend the fire as if defending a city. At this point, there is no need to keep adding heat; the key is to preserve what is sufficient. Apply more fire, and the Elixir will be damaged.

Its Fifth Section

The Wood Rabbit and Metal Rooster use Wood and Metal, and Rabbit and Rooster, to indicate Yin-Yang and the timing of alchemical cultivation. Punishment and Virtue—the restraining and generative forces within the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang—approach the gate, sometimes in harmony and sometimes out of alignment. The Cinnabar in the furnace should be bathed to avert danger during refining, while Spirit Water—the Yin essence or fluid symbolized in Neidan—fills the Jade Pool, a site of cultivation within the body. Years, months, days, hours, and even finer divisions of time can all be derived according to the same principle. Study the alchemical method with care and leave no room for the slightest negligence; diligently guard it throughout the ten months.

Its Sixth Section

The cauldron and vessel take their pattern from Qian and Kun, Heaven and Earth: Heaven is above as the celestial origin, and Earth below as the terrestrial origin. If you can also reverse and alternate the movement of Yin and Yang, the cycles of opening and closing will pass through the Eight Gates, which symbolize the apertures through which Qi moves in and out. Carry the Elixir Qi to Kunlun, which in Neidan often refers to the head or upper body, and the Turtle and Snake—symbols of Water and Fire, Yin and Yang—will naturally breathe in and out through one another. At the very height of cultivation, hold firmly to the key and keep the Qi rising and moving. From then on, the Original Shen and life can endure forever.

Its Seventh Section

The apertures and closures follow the movement of the heavenly circuit, as Qi rises and descends in circulation through the three-inch field, the area of the body’s Dantian. Cultivation does not depend on deliberately forcing the breath or counting breaths; let it proceed naturally. During the Nine Revolutions of alchemical refining, the fire must be whole and without deficiency. Embryonic breathing, a subtle breath like that of a fetus, has been spoken of since ancient times, yet the key remains that Yin and Yang must not become unbalanced. Inhalation and exhalation both draw on the Xun wind, the force symbolizing wind and breath; the breath should be long and gentle. The subtlety lies in grasping the front and rear strings, metaphors for different stages in the movement of Yin and Yang.

Its Eighth Section

When the Returning hexagram appears, the hidden Dragon first stirs. Wu and Ji, which represent Earth and also the forces that harmonize the alchemical method, need only be adjusted slightly; it is not yet time to press ahead with refining. At the second line of the ninth, the emerging Dragon takes the hexagram’s central position, and wondrous transformations begin to appear as the Elixir in the furnace gradually turns red. Then, when the Tai hexagram arrives, use the Xun wind to aid the fierce fire in refining. The formation of Yellow Sprouts and White Snow—terms in Neidan for different stages in the condensation of the Elixir or vital essence—is the wondrous efficacy of alchemical cultivation. At last, one returns to the Way of Kun; only then has cultivation reached its end.

Its Ninth Section

When the Tai hexagram appears, use the Xun wind to aid the fierce fire in refining. After Yellow Sprouts and White Snow have formed—terms in Neidan for different stages in the condensation of the Elixir or vital essence—one finally returns to the Way of Kun, and cultivation reaches its end.

Once you understand how to gather and refine “metal within water,” you realize that the methods of firing and refining it are profound indeed. In cultivation, advancing and retreating, drawing out and adding in, all pass through nine revolutions—a process of repeated transformation that sets the movement of Qi rising and falling, sinking and floating. Then gentle practice nurtures it, allowing the hidden “dragon” to emerge once more. The subtle workings arise from the heart’s natural direction, and also depend on the “Yellow Woman” (the medium that harmonizes Yin and Yang) and the Yin-Yang pairings represented by terms such as Bing and Ren. When the work is complete, an essence like ambrosia descends from the crown of the head; savor it carefully at all times. Then slowly pluck the stringless qin and experience its subtle delight.

Ten

The eldest son (the Zhen trigram, symbolizing Yang Qi) arrives in the west, and the maiden (the Dui trigram, symbolizing Yin Qi) returns to the position of Qian, transforming into the image of six Yang lines. This is the right moment to begin refining “two-eight” (the timing of the firing process in which Yin and Yang, or essence and Qi, are brought into balance), but the measure must be kept with care and never allowed to go too far. Only when the nine revolutions are complete will you understand the flourishing transformations within yourself. The Ox and Dipper constellations seem to take part as well, jointly bearing witness to this process of transformation. The skill of this cultivation rivals the creations of Heaven and Earth and is beyond words. After Yin and Yang unite within the lofty Kan (the aperture where Yin and Yang join), the experience is unforgettable; only then do you understand the long enduring sun and moon within the vessel (the inner realm formed through Neidan cultivation).

Eleven

White Snow and Yellow Sprout (Neidan terms for the essence condensed during cultivation and the medicinal substance that develops) are two essences that share the same source. In gathering and refining them, one must discern the waxing and waning of the right moment; this is worthy of praise. The firing process must not miss its measure by even the slightest amount. Once the Three Flowers (the Daoist image of Jing, Qi, and Shen gathered together) form at the crown of the head, set the sheep carriage and deer carriage in motion (metaphors for different stages or paths along which essence and Qi are conveyed). The Raven and Hare (the sun and moon, symbolizing Yin and Yang) travel back and forth and meet between north and south. From then on, it is like riding a raft across the River of Heaven, secure and at ease.

Twelve

The secrets of Heaven within it have now been fully revealed; the only fear is that people remain blinded by attachment. The precious pearl hidden beneath the chin (a metaphor for the essence within the body) should be gathered in time, without hesitation. The Dao is within you—where else would you seek it? Quickly cast off the entanglements of the world. A hundred years of life pass in the blink of an eye, and few live to see seventy. Do not wait until old age, when Jing and Qi have dwindled, to grieve in regret; the karmic consequences that lie ahead cannot ultimately be escaped through self-deception.

An Inch of Gold

How sad that people are deluded: life is like a dream, like an empty flower, yet how many can awaken? Even with brocade curtains, copper mountains, vermilion shoes, and jade hairpins, what can these things ultimately do for you? Better to leave the bustle of the world and dwell in a humble thatched hut behind a bamboo fence, singing beneath green pines and smiling at the changing seasons and the passage of time.

In the Purple Palace (the Daoist realm of the immortals), spring is clear and bright; at its elegant gatherings, there is a wondrous delight. There is celestial music sounding of its own accord, starry towers and moonlit halls, and phoenixes dancing in flight. Deep in the white clouds, another immortal scene lies within the vessel. Yet how many are willing to turn back and seek it while still young? In a realm of carefree freedom, I return alone and enter the Luminous Yang (a name for a Daoist immortal realm) once more.

Two: Appreciating the Snow

At dusk, wild geese cry out and phoenixes dance. Deep among the white clouds lies a scene like an immortal realm within a pot. Who would still wish to look back with longing on the worldly life of youth? In a realm of carefree freedom, I alone return, entering once more the land of Liaoyang, a Daoist paradise.

Second: Admiring the Snow

At dusk, the wild geese call out clearly. Night falls, and the wind rises across the earth, with cold gusts blowing all around. The cold settles between Heaven and Earth, and dark clouds gather. Across the four directions, snowflakes appear like jade dragons, bringing auspicious signs. Snow scatters down, lending clear, bright scenery to countless households; pure white flakes bloom in the air, radiant and lovely.

This is the perfect time to invite poet friends to gather around a brazier beside a paper screen and drink freely. Compose verses and seek out fine lines: fragrance drifts beyond the bamboo grove, where golden buds send forth fresh shoots. At times the snow falls like silver sand; at others, like pink butterflies fluttering high and low through the air.

It is cause for celebration that snow foretells peace and signals harmony between Yin and Yang. Profound principles are contained in this. If one could meet Wang Ziyou, famed for visiting a friend on a snowy night, and admire the snow together, one would grasp the true delight of river and sky.

End of Volume Seven of Wuhè Yúyīn

The works listed below are all short tune poems.

Volume Eight of Wuhè Yúyīn

Compiled by Peng Zhizhong, Daoist of Xianyou Mountain.

“Moon over the West River” [Zhang Boduan]

The refinement of the inner-alchemy ingredients resembles external alchemy; the inner and outer must both be brought into harmony. When the Elixir’s head—the key ingredient or element in alchemical work—is blended and joined, the two connect, and the various effects of the warming and nourishing process unfold from this.

Within the body there is naturally a true fire. In the Elixir furnace, its flames burn fiercely and never go out. The heat of the outer furnace must be increased or reduced through diligent effort. Nothing is more wondrous than grasping the true seed, the fundamental condition required for alchemical work.

Second

This Way is supremely divine and sacred. The only concern is that your fortune may be too slight for you to bear it. Harmonize the lead cauldron, a term in internal alchemy for refining body and mind, and before long the signs of the Mysterious Pearl, a symbolic achievement of internal cultivation, will appear.

Those resolved to cultivate need not be bound by whether they live among common folk or at court. The work of cultivation is not difficult, and the ingredients sought are not far away. When the truth is spoken plainly, those who hear it may instead laugh.

Third

The White Tiger, a term in internal alchemy for an important ingredient or energy in cultivation, is the foremost treasure; the divine waters of the Flower Pool, often referring to saliva or the fluids used in cultivation, are most precious. The only concern is that your fortune may be too slight for you to bear it. Harmonize the lead cauldron, and before long the signs of the Mysterious Pearl will appear.

For those who aspire to cultivate the Dao, if they are able to practice, why be bound to living near the marketplace or the imperial court? The work of cultivation is not difficult, and the “medicine” it requires is not far away. If the principles behind it are laid bare, others may find them laughable.

Part Three

White Tiger, the First Menstrual Flow, the Jade Pool’s divine water, and true gold are all terms in Neidan practice. They refer to the Jing and Qi used in alchemical cultivation, along with the conditions of body and mind; they are not ordinary medicines. This shows that the most subtle and wondrous path of cultivation has deep roots and differs from ordinary medicinal treatment.

To refine the Nine-Turn Golden Elixir—a term in Daoist Neidan for the completion of the stages of cultivation—one must first refine oneself and steady the mind: that is, discipline body and mind and remain focused and settled. Gather and refine in accordance with the right timing, and discern what rises and falls, floats and sinks. Be especially cautious in applying the firing process, for even a slight error may bring danger.

Part Four

“Seven Returns of Cinnabar” and “Nine Reversions of Liquid Gold” are both Neidan terms describing Jing and Qi undergoing repeated refinement until they return to their original state. Do not become fixated on calculations based on the hours or directions associated with Yin, Zi, Kun, and Shen; it is enough to grasp the workings of the Five Phases.

The foundation of cultivation is like the single substance mercury, circulating through all the hours. When Yin-Yang Qi is abundant, its spiritual efficacy appears naturally. Its rising and descending, entering and exiting, all depend on the “Mysterious Female”—the deep source from which all things are generated, also used as a metaphor for the crucial point where Qi moves within the body.

Part Five

For true lead and mercury to unite, they need a companion to assist them in their intimacy. Wood and Metal cannot meet if they remain apart, so the “Yellow Matron” must serve as matchmaker—a force in Neidan that harmonizes and brings Yin and Yang together.

Wood by nature delights in Metal, expressing righteousness; Metal is drawn to Wood, expressing benevolence. Wood and Metal consume and mingle with one another, and also join in mutual harmony. Only then does the image of “a man becoming pregnant” appear: a metaphor for Yin and Yang uniting and giving birth to the Elixir within cultivation.

Part Six

The maiden in her sixteenth year and the young man of twenty-seven symbolize the Yin and Yang Jing and Qi of Neidan practice. They call themselves Wood Fluid and Metal Essence; only when they encounter Earth, which symbolizes the power of harmonizing and centering, can the three unite.

The “Lord Ding” must also be brought in to refine them, a reference to the firing process and the power of transformation. Only then can Yin and Yang, like husband and wife, join together. The River Chariot—a metaphor for the pathway along which Qi moves within the body—must not be allowed to stall. It must carry Qi upward, all the way to the summit of Mount Kunlun, often a name for the crown of the head or an upper aperture in cultivation.

Part Seven

The love between the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl symbolizes the union of Yin and Yang; the images of the tortoise and snake likewise embody the Yin-Yang qualities inherent in Heaven and Earth. On the new moon, the toad and the Golden Crow, symbols of the Moon and Sun, meet, as Yin and Yang Qi support one another and circulate in a continuous cycle.

These are all wondrous workings of Heaven and Earth and Yin and Yang. Who can truly grasp their deeper meaning? When Yin and Yang are cut off from one another, disorder arises. How, then, could their movement endure and continue without end, like Heaven and Earth?

Part Eight

Within the masculine is the feminine: bearing Yin and embracing Yang. Only when these two forces unite can the Elixir be refined. It then transforms the body, allowing the spirit and soul to transcend the bodily form.

Believe that although the Golden Elixir is but a single pellet, it has the power to transform: a snake that swallows it becomes a dragon, and a chicken that eats it can become a phoenix. These miraculous images of transformation describe how, upon attaining the fruits of cultivation, one is reborn and ascends to the “True Realm of Blue Yang,” a pure and tranquil immortal realm in Daoism.

Part Nine

After Heaven and Earth have just passed through Pi and Tai—the hexagrams in the Book of Changes symbolizing obstruction and free passage—one must learn to discern Tun and Meng, the hexagrams symbolizing the first stirrings of things and their obscurity, as dawn and dusk alternate. The myriad things gather like wheel spokes at the hub, just as all rivers flow into the sea. The subtle art of cultivation lies in knowing how to increase and diminish, and how to direct and employ.

Once the Dao is attained, all things are complete; there is no need to distinguish north from south, west from east. Cultivation requires continually diminishing scattered thoughts and desires, while carefully guarding the work already done. The treasures of nature and life must not be used lightly.

Ten

At the winter solstice, a single Yang energy begins to return. With each passing thirty-day period, one Yang line is added. In a lunar month, the dawn of the new moon corresponds to the Return hexagram. After the full moon, Yang energy reaches the end of the Qian hexagram, and signs of Yin energy’s gradual return begin to appear.

Daylight, too, has its cold and warm seasons; Yang energy begins to return at midnight. At noon, the sign of the Gou hexagram appears, with the birth of a single Yin line. In refining the elixir, one must understand the changes between dusk and dawn, Yin and Yang.

Eleven

Only one whose accumulated virtue exceeds eight hundred and whose hidden virtue totals three thousand, and who treats all things equally, showing the same regard for those close to them and those who bear them a grudge, fulfills the aspiration to become an immortal.

Tigers, leopards, rhinoceroses, and weapons cannot harm such a person; neither can the suffering of death and impermanence hold them back. Once they obtain the precious talisman, they may ascend to the heavenly court and ride safely in a carriage drawn by phoenixes and luan birds.

Twelve

Without understanding the Five Phases and the Four Images—the symbols of Yin-Yang, the Five Phases, and their transformations—how can one distinguish cinnabar, mercury, lead, and silver? One has never even heard of the timing and stages of the fire in elixir cultivation, yet already claims to have withdrawn from the world to cultivate the Dao.

Rather than reflect on their own mistakes, such people teach others erroneous methods of cultivation, delaying their chance to seek the Dao and ascend to Heaven. This kind of self-deception is truly intolerable.

Twelve

Without understanding the Five Phases and the Four Images—the symbols of Yin-Yang, the Five Phases, and their transformations—how can one distinguish cinnabar, mercury, lead, and silver? One has never even heard of the timing and stages of the fire in elixir cultivation, yet already claims to have withdrawn from the world to cultivate the Dao.

They refuse to reflect on their own mistakes and instead teach others erroneous methods of cultivation, leaving themselves forever trapped on a misguided path. How can anyone bear to deceive their own heart in this way?

Thirteen

The elixir is the most precious treasure of the physical body, and once refined, it brings transformations without end. If one can also investigate the true source within one’s nature—the root of the Great Dao—one can fully grasp the wondrous workings of birthlessness.

There is no need to wait for another life; in this very life, one can attain spiritual powers at once. Since the Dragon Girl, the figure from Buddhist lore who attained realization, accomplished this feat, who has since been able to follow in her footsteps?

Fourteen [Xiao Tingzhi]

With both hands, split open primordial chaos and reveal the foundations of the elixir path. The Sun’s soul and the Moon’s spirit, terms in internal alchemy symbolizing Yin and Yang, each move toward east and west. Hold them firmly; do not let them roam unchecked.

Evil paths and external demons will all recoil and retreat. The practitioner then gathers Jing, Qi, and Shen in the central palace, the area of the Dantian at the body’s center. The process called “nine returns and seven reversals” can soon be completed; throughout, it is guided by the Yellow Matron, an image of harmonizing Yin-Yang and connecting Kan and Li.

Fifteen

In silence, set the movements of Heaven and Earth, obstruction and progress, turning in their course. The mysteries of taking and adding belong to Zhun and Meng, the hexagrams that symbolize the beginning stages of cultivation. Begin with the Return hexagram, when Yang Qi first emerges, and end with the Splitting Apart hexagram, as Yang Qi gradually wanes. These encompass the two functions of warming and nourishing.

During the bathing stage, when breath is regulated and stillness maintained, guard against errors and dangers. Blowing and breathing, which guide the flow of breath, depend entirely on the Li wind, the movement of breath symbolized by the Li trigram. In the end, the work must return to the Kun palace, symbolized by the Kun trigram. Once the firing process has reached its proper measure, do not act again lightly.

Sixteen

Recognize the true workings of Heaven and Earth, obstruction and progress. The mysteries of taking and adding belong to Zhun and Meng. Begin with the Return hexagram and end with Splitting Apart; these encompass the two functions of warming and nourishing.

During the bathing stage, guard against errors and dangers; blowing and breathing depend entirely on the Li wind. In the end, the work must return to the Kun palace. Once the firing process has reached its proper measure, it should not be disturbed lightly.

Sixteen

Recognize true lead and true mercury, which in internal alchemy represent the two kinds of Yin and Yang vital energy. Ultimately, they come from a single source. The subtle firing process of cooking and refining is profound and obscure; without a true companion in understanding, it is difficult to discern.

When gathering the medicine—that is, collecting and refining vital energy—do not miss the right moment. Also distinguish the stage after the child and before the crescent moon, images for phases in the transformation of Yin and Yang. In the Jade Furnace, an inner image of the body as a crucible, the fire flares up in an instant, and the Real Person without a fixed position, the true nature unbound by form, appears.

Seventeen

Do not cling to numbers such as nine-three or two-eight. The essential point is simply the even and odd numbers that symbolize Yin and Yang. Broadly speaking, the aim is to unite Kan and Li, symbols of Water and Fire, Yin and Yang, as husband and wife come together. Understand Zhun and Meng, Already Fulfilled, and Not Yet Fulfilled, the hexagrams from the Book of Changes used to describe different stages of cultivation.

Once the first Yang has arisen, the fire may be advanced at the proper time. Errors often lie in the subtlest details, so the “wild battle,” a stage in cultivation involving the meeting of Yin and Yang and their changing advance and retreat, must be handled with particular care.

Eighteen

The vessel and crucible of cultivation take their pattern from Heaven and Earth; the use of Kan and Li must be without error. Yin and Yang meet like husband and wife and enter the Yellow House, the central palace or central Dantian, where together they apprehend the subtle principle of non-being.

When the intimacy of clouds and rain, an image of Yin-Yang union, has ended, set the chariot in motion at the ridge, an inner pass in the body. Then carry the movement of Qi to the crown of the head and form the nine-three flower, an alchemical image of the fruits of cultivation. Keep the firing process steady and contained; do not act rashly.

Eighteen

The vessel and crucible of cultivation take their pattern from Heaven and Earth; the use of Kan and Li must be without error. Yin and Yang meet like husband and wife and enter the Yellow House, where together they apprehend the subtle principle of non-being.

When the intimacy of clouds and rain has ended, set the chariot in motion at the ridge, then carry it to the crown of the head and form the nine-three flower. Afterward, firmly close the Jade Pass and Golden Lock, images of the body’s gateways and of gathering and securing vital energy.

Nineteen

Set in motion the pass at the crown of the head, and naturally the tiger’s roar and dragon’s cry will arise, describing the response between Yin and Yang Qi within the body. The meaning of nine returns and seven reversals is profound; the movement of Qi, as it enters and leaves, never departs from the Mysterious Female, the Daoist gateway of generation and transformation and a crucial pivot in cultivation.

Master the firing process in the Jade Furnace and refine true gold—the inner elixir—in the crucible. As after victory in battle, withdraw the troops and gather the mind. The subtlety lies in avoiding injury and preventing dissipation.

When reaching the number “one-two,” Yin and Yang alternate, and the Elixir Fire continues to be gently nurtured. This is like the rabbit and the rooster withdrawing after their bathing, gathering themselves in without displaying anything outwardly. The changes of Yin and Yang take place clearly at the center; in an instant, they can condense into the Mysterious Pearl, a term in Neidan cultivation for the result of Jing and Qi coming together.

One must also return to the root and experience the essence of the Great Dao. Guard body and mind as one would guard a city, embracing and protecting the Qi of primordial unity. The Qi of the Yellow Court, a Neidan term for the region within the body where Jing and Qi are refined and nurtured, naturally circulates back and forth. In a state of indistinctness, difficult to grasp, the movement of Qi unfolds and flows of its own accord.

Twenty-one

The movement of Qi passes from the Jiaji, the area along the spine, through the two passes and rises to the crown of the head. This is a crucial method within the mysterious gate of the Great Dao. The fundamental power of Golden Elixir cultivation lies in this principle; above all, one must understand how to seize the moment and move the Qi.

One must both nurture the warmth and guard body and mind, while also actively applying the timing of the Fire as in “field battle.” The Jade Fluid of the Flower Pool, the saliva gathered beneath the tongue, should be swallowed often. The Fire in the Jade Furnace, a Neidan metaphor for the organs or parts of the body used to refine and nurture body and mind, should always be kept gentle. When gathering the medicinal substance, carefully discern how mature it is.

Twenty-two

Regulating the Fire is no minor matter; the difference often lies in the finest detail. If it is mishandled, the Mercury in the crucible may escape, and the Black Lead may fly off. These terms commonly stand for Yin and Yang Qi, respectively. One then fears that the cultivator will lose confidence from that point on.

One must discuss the matter carefully with a true teacher and not act rashly. The deepest keys are hidden in the most subtle and profound principles, and one must still speak of these matters with caution and discretion.

Twenty-three

The Ninefold Oil rises to the head, surging upstream like a wave; in an instant it rushes past the Celestial Heart, an inner-cultivation site in the head. The clear water on the summit of Kunlun, a Neidan term often referring to the crown or head, brews into jade nectar, which can then be swallowed of its own accord.

At this moment, gather the medicinal substance, then keep moving it without pause by means of the River Cart, a Neidan term for the circulation of Qi along the body’s channels. Yin and Yang Qi naturally gather and settle downward. At last, firmly seal and guard the Jade Pass, a Neidan term for an opening that must be closed and protected.

Twenty-four

The medicinal substance is produced in the southwest, the Kun region, a Golden Elixir term that uses direction and trigram symbolism to refer to where the substance arises in inner cultivation. Here lies the foundation of the Golden Elixir. Cultivators should observe attentively and investigate repeatedly; nothing surpasses the true seed in subtlety.

Once this is understood, all principles become clear, and there is no need to distinguish south from north, west from east. How can one truly understand by clinging to words and symbols? What is understood inwardly is like a mute dreaming: it is difficult to explain in words.

Twenty-five

The Golden Liquid Return Elixir, a Neidan term for refining Jing and Qi into an elixir, is the Great Dao. The ancients passed it on only once in ten thousand eons. Now I lay it open with all my heart, writing it out as though I had opened my own heart and belly, to guide cultivators directly to the shore of the Dao, a metaphor for reaching the far shore of realization.

Do not be surprised that the secrets of Heaven seem to have been fully revealed, for within the mysterious there is nothing still more mysterious. These teachings were passed down to the sages of old and handed on to people of virtue. Those with ears to hear will understand them clearly.

Twenty-six

Eating too much harms the heart Qi and depletes primordial Qi; sleeping too much makes one prone to losing oneself in dreams and straying from what is real. Looking about in every direction stirs the mind and damages the primordial Shen; hearing external sounds also clouds the Numinous Terrace, the seat of the mind and spirit, leaving it dim and unclear.

To see life as it is in its original state, one must use the blade of wisdom to cut through worldly entanglements. Meeting all things with an unattached mind accords with one’s true nature. This is a shortcut in cultivation. When body and mind are harmed and one’s strength depleted, sleep grows heavy and dreams become chaotic, obscuring one’s nature. Letting the eyes chase after external things unsettles the mind and damages the original spirit; becoming absorbed in sounds likewise clouds the mind and spirit.

Once you suddenly understand the principles of cultivation, you must dispel sensual desires and overcome obstacles such as sleepiness. If you do not covet fame and profit, troubles will naturally lessen. Be too unhurried to compete and struggle, and live at ease with whatever comes. When hungry, go to the street to beg for food; when full, wander as you please and pass the time. In your leisure, sing a tune in an old temple. Who could surpass me in such carefree freedom?

Why compete to pursue wealth and rank? And what is there to worry about in poverty? Even those with good fortune and blessings often encounter disputes and troubles. If you are spared misfortune, disaster, and calamity, a plain and peaceful life is enough. Let others indulge in luxury; you can live on coarse tea and simple food. I urge you not to exhaust yourself scheming and rushing about: when your appointed end arrives, no one can escape it.

There are eight essentials in cultivation. First, do not slight your teacher or the Dao and its methods. Second, recite the pure scriptures of the immortals. Third, preserve and nourish true Qi, and nurture the spirit. Fourth, sweep away the burdens of worldly life. Fifth, extinguish the karmic fire arising from ignorance. Sixth, free yourself from the bonds of worldly relationships. Seventh, master the restless, unsettled mind and bring the spirit to peace. Eighth, drink the immortals’ nectar-like elixir. Here, “monkey and horse” is a Daoist cultivation metaphor for thoughts that are agitated and hard to rein in; “jade nectar” refers to the sweet elixir of the immortals.

Everyone in the world engages in cultivation, and some practice circulating and drawing in Qi, yet how many truly comprehend the Great Dao? The path of cultivation is winding and full of forks; lesser methods from side paths have misled many. Was Rongcheng really an immortal? Clinging to the gathering of herbs and the refining of elixirs only led to the needless accumulation of many alchemical furnaces. If one day one’s practice goes awry and one’s foundations are ruined, regret will come too late. Better to turn inward, maintain Wuwei (non-action) and stillness, and learn the natural Dao taught by Laozi and Zhuangzi. Methods of cultivation such as pairing Yin-Yang and drawing out and replenishing lead and mercury, along with the Eight Trigrams, are only signs and guidelines for practice. Life is a dream, and time flies like an arrow; it is best to awaken soon. Why remain enamored and lose yourself amid spring flowers and autumn moons? When will this infatuation ever end?

All things arise from mind. Therefore, to contemplate the entire Dharma realm is to recognize that every appearance is created by mind. The principle taught by Gautama (the Buddha) ultimately points to the same destination; though the methods of weighing and inquiry may differ, they do not depart from this mind. Once this is understood, one knows that mind is the Dao.

Since grasping the principle of Kan and Li, terms in Daoist internal alchemy often used to refer to Yin-Yang and Water-Fire, I have begun to join Yin and Yang and refine the inner elixir, gradually learning how Yin and Yang wax and wane through day and night. Watching the Golden Crow fly up to the Moon Palace and the Jade Rabbit race toward the Vermilion Gate of the Elixir, I am no longer troubled. Qi contains the true liquid, and the true liquid in turn contains true Qi; the two are harmonized in perfect measure. As the yellow sprout is nurtured and the red water refined, the Dragon and Tiger, symbols of the two Yin-Yang forces, circle one another. After the Ninefold Return and Sevenfold Reversal, the repeated condensation and transformation of the elixir in internal alchemy, when the work is mature, one can regain the youth of earlier days. When the three thousand meritorious deeds are complete, the cultivation is finished.

The Third

To study the Daoist teachings and cultivate the mind, preserve and nurture the spirit, and temper one’s nature: the aim is ultimately to lighten the body and ascend through flight. Nourish the brain and gather in Jing and Qi, so that the vital energy of life flows like water. Just as a door hinge that turns often is less likely to decay, so too is the body sustained by movement. The Sun’s Soul and Moon’s Po, symbols of the Yin-Yang energies of sun and moon, must be gathered and drawn into the furnace and cauldron, the body and mind where Jing, Qi, and Shen are refined and nourished. Then true Qi will naturally coalesce. Restrain the mind-monkey and call back the intent-horse—that is, gather in scattered thoughts and intentions so the mind can be free of worldly distractions. In stillness and concentration, insight arises of its own accord. When the Yang Dragon and Yin Tiger, Water and Fire, meet, cultivation can cease once the proper timing has been reached. The eight sections of wondrous writing and the thousand flexible methods all lead, in the end, to a single higher path of cultivation. Lord Lü, Lü Dongbin, attained a lofty realm yet remained among the people. Given the right affinity, one should be able to meet him. Make a pact to travel together to the Ten Continents and Three Islands, Daoist paradises, riding phoenixes and cranes and ascending together.

The Fourth

Nourishing Water, Jing, Shen, and blood must all begin with nourishing Qi.

The sun and moon, Yin and Yang, and the six lines and eight trigrams, the symbols of change in the Book of Changes, should be studied carefully in the Cantong qi, a Daoist internal alchemy classic. Though the body is insubstantial, Jing and Qi are precious. A thousand words come down to just two: Kan and Li. Work upon the summit of Kunlun, a Daoist internal alchemy term often referring to the head or another vital place within the body; return to the root and restore the origin, and only then can one understand the beginning and end of cultivation. Though the human body is small, it seems to contain Heaven and Earth, with Qi channels crisscrossing throughout. Within the Gate of the Mysterious Female, a Daoist term for the source of Yin-Yang generation or the portal of life, lie countless transformations of creation, all moving within the Qi of balanced harmony. Beyond this true principle there is no other truth. Only then does one believe that the Dao returns to unity. If, in the future, one meets Zhongli Quan or Lü Dongbin, immortals of Daoist legend, and still has questions, one can ask a teacher for guidance.

The supreme Dao (the Way) is not far away; it is close at hand. A difference of a hair’s breadth may also mean a distance of a thousand miles. The Great Dao seems difficult to seek, yet it is easy by nature. If one can accord with it, one can enter directly into the realm of the Tathāgata—the Buddhist state of awakening. When Water and Fire mingle, the state of “Already Fulfilled” is reached: Yin and Yang are harmonized, and things come to completion. The Three Corpses, the Daoist inner demons, and the Six Thieves, the six desires that disturb body and mind, will all retreat. In this way one can live long and see far. The three activities of body, speech, and mind become one, transforming into a single breath of balanced, harmonious Qi.

Second

Shen is nature, the spiritual nature of a person; Qi is life, the vital energy that sustains it. When Shen does not scatter outward, the mind naturally becomes still. In this way one can live long and see far. The three activities of body, speech, and mind become one, transforming into a single breath of balanced, harmonious Qi.

Second

Shen is nature, and Qi is life. When Shen does not scatter outward, the mind naturally becomes still. Fortunately, Cui Gong’s Mirror for Compounding the Medicine, a Daoist text on Neidan cultivation, is available as a guide. If one fully understands it, one can preserve one’s true nature, secure one’s foundation, and return to stillness and settledness. Within, host and guest are clearly distinguished; outwardly, one can respond to what is encountered. The mind’s inner terrace shines forth, luminous with heavenly light. The two vessels appear as a single scene. One should cultivate and examine oneself without delay, rather than waiting until thirsty to dig a well.

Third

Nurture Jing and Qi to cultivate the numinous root, and let Shen guard Qi. Jing and Qi are like natural mother and child; they have never been apart. Keep this in mind at every moment, day and night. In the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, gently nourish the harmonizing Water born of the union of Heaven and Earth. Before the Twelve Towers, white snow glistens; beside the Nine-Palace Terrace, yellow sprouts—the symbol of true Qi beginning to grow in Neidan cultivation—take root. Go to the summit of the Sun-Moon Mountain to pay homage to the Lord on High. As divine light rises, soar straight beyond the clouds.

Fourth

I possess a luminous pearl of immeasurable worth, whose light constantly shines upon the Zhitian, an image of the inner Dantian in Daoist cultivation. It transcends all words and names, yet, alas, there are few who understand it. Who in this world can truly cultivate in accordance with it? Ten thousand rays of refined light gather, while Shen remains within the body; the four hundred and four illnesses, a figure for every kind of disease, all recede. Pass through the Fire Dragon, an image of the firing process and Yang energy in Neidan cultivation, and return to the work of creation. Ride the immortal carriage back, with not a trace of dust following.

“Urging the Pace, Blossoms Fill the Road”

Hold fast to the original Qi and keep it whole; then the limbs and body will naturally be at ease. Let the mind continually turn inward and observe itself. When has there ever been a moment of neglect? The Golden Crow, symbol of the sun, breaks through the radiance and flies into the silver plate, symbol of the moon. Mind, you are the Dao; the Dao lies in the focused mind. Where else could one seek the Golden Elixir?

Second

Why bother with splendid robes and elaborate headwear? Even in the comfort of daily life, one should keep a mind detached from worldly concerns. How many days can wealth and glory last? They soon wither and fade. Practicing the true Dao is not difficult; what is difficult is accumulating good deeds and merit over a long time. I urge you to do all the good you can. Then, even in the evil age of the Five Turbidities—the defiled world described in Buddhist and Daoist teachings—and facing the Three Evil Paths of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals, you can transform them into a pure and beautiful realm like a divine island among the clouds.

Third

If people can remain tranquil and pure, all things between Heaven and Earth seem to return to them. The pure original nature contains many mysteries, through which one enters the realm of the ineffable and imperceptible, known in Daoism as Xiyi. Zhaowen does not [the meaning of this phrase is unclear]; the seasons wax and wane. When deluded thoughts have all subsided and dispersed, one can be content to sleep when tired and eat when hungry, without deliberately striving to accomplish anything.

Fourth

In Neidan practice, the furnace and cauldron—the inner alchemical vessels—form naturally, their radiance shining through the curtains. In the Jade Pool, an image of cultivation within the mouth or body, divine water wells up to nourish the body. As with a fish drinking water, only you know whether it is warm or cold. The great matter of one’s own nature and life must ultimately be understood, cultivated, and brought to fruition by oneself; it is also a practical concern of one’s own.

Fifth

As for methods of cultivating body and mind, there are countless paths. Search carefully for their final destination, and you will find it in the source of emptiness. The most true Dao is simple and easy to follow, in harmony with Heaven and Earth. Images from cultivation such as the Kan creature, Water, and Fire are ultimately only guides to the threshold. What truly matters is grasping that single point of true nature, gathered and enduring.

Sixth

To understand this principle is to have penetrated the five thousand words of the Dao De Jing. Golden Essence, an image of refined Qi in Neidan practice, rises from behind the elbow and passes through Kunlun, a bodily site or aperture in cultivation. The clear river winds through nine bends; a small boat cuts through the dark mist. The image of water surging three thousand miles and the Peng bird flying ninety thousand miles are also only metaphors and guides. In the end, all things arise from the deep, undifferentiated source.

Sixth

To understand this principle is to have penetrated the five thousand words of the Dao De Jing. Golden Essence rises from behind the elbow and passes through Kunlun. The clear river winds through nine bends; a small boat cuts through the dark mist. The Peng bird rides the wind for ninety thousand miles. Traced to its source, this transformation too comes from the deep, undifferentiated source.

Tune: Jiang Shenzi [Slow]

The serene life by mountain forests and springs makes one content with simplicity. Let go of disappointment and hardship; grow weary of being entangled in worldly affairs, and make your resolve as firm as iron. Living alone in quiet seclusion, one wishes only to preserve one’s purity, keeping distracting thoughts and turmoil at bay. By day, wander freely, keeping company with wild cranes by the mountain rocks. Beneath the pine pavilion, the incense smoke has yet to disperse. Deep in the night, listen alone to the cries of apes from the high peaks, as though they were calling out to the bright moon.

When the merit of cultivation is complete, ride auspicious clouds straight up to the immortal palace beside the Jade Pool. There, the spirit roams freely, and phoenixes and cranes come to welcome you. Celestial music and ceremonial retinues drift down from the sky to greet me. Then I will attend the immortal gathering in Peach Blossom Spring and wander through the jade groves, at last understanding the beauty of the immortal realm. There, I will roam without limit and become an immortal guest of Penglai.

“Spring Comes from Heaven”

Take joy in cultivating the Dao and be content with poverty. It is lamentable that, since ancient times, few heroes have been able to withdraw into the mountains and forests. People fill their homes with gold and jade, always hoping to leave it to their children and grandchildren, yet in the end it belongs only to their kin. Consider how we began with nothing, then were led astray by greed and attachment. Why not withdraw early? To be trapped in the Palace of Huai’an—a metaphor for the illusory realm of fame and wealth—is simply to exhaust oneself in vain.

How could the morning-born mushroom or the short-lived cicada believe that a pot contains another realm of eternal spring, where life never grows old? There, one can travel ten thousand miles for a time; a thousand years apart in the human world amount to no more than a brief parting. On returning, one can ride a phoenix and a qilin. Withdraw early; do not remain trapped in the Palace of Huai’an, wasting your energy.

Human life is brief, like the fleeting moment of the morning-born mushroom and the cicada. How could one imagine that a pot contains another realm of eternal spring? Even if one travels ten thousand miles for a time, a thousand years apart pass like a moment; on returning, one can ride a phoenix and a qilin. Consider how fleeting this life is: how many times can we witness the sea turn into mulberry fields? Do not delay or hesitate. Do not casually lose your innate nature for honors and riches as empty as flowers in the sky.

“Jade Embracing the Belly”

If you wish to hear this wondrous method of cultivation, listen to the formula passed down by Zhou Feng. Discern the relationship among the infant, the Maiden (metaphors in Neidan for Yin-Yang essence and Qi), and Wood and Metal (the Wood and Metal of the Five Phases), distinguishing each one clearly. First subdue the Six Thieves—the six sensory desires that disturb the mind—and dispel the Three Corpses, the spirits said in Daoism to dwell within the body and hinder cultivation. Then seize the Jade Rabbit, symbolizing Yin essence, and have it drink the blood of the Crow, symbolizing Yang essence.

With unwavering resolve, sweep away demonic obstacles and evil influences as though wielding a sword; all depends on a valiant will that never retreats. These methods are most wondrous: Dragon and Tiger, symbols in Neidan of Yin and Yang, essence and Qi, rush forth and unite. Their two forces must be gathered in and placed within the furnace and cauldron, where they are continually refined. Use the treasures of Heaven and Earth and the transformations of Yin and Yang to set the Tortoise and Snake, symbols of their union, in motion. When cultivation reaches the point where “the eastern rooster crows forth the moon over the western river,” one can grasp its hidden meaning. Enter the Yellow Court, the vital place within the body for visualization and cultivation, and experience the realm of White Snow, the refined Qi attained through cultivation.

The upper Dantian is gentle and warm, the middle Dantian grows hot, and the lower Dantian burns intensely; thus a treasure is formed in the three Dantians. The immortals then recommend me for an audience at the Golden Palace in Heaven. The wondrous beauty of the immortal realm of Liaoyang is truly beyond words.

Practitioners do not lack diligence. They understand the cycles of generation and restraint among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), and know how to work with or against their natural tendencies, turning them around and transforming them. The principles involved are profound and mysterious: in the jade furnace, a metaphor for Neidan practice, Dragon and Tiger coil around and unite; in the Golden Tripod, a metaphor for alchemy, precious elixirs are refined.

The Yang Spirit, the consciousness cultivated to leave the body and act independently, departs the body and enters distant, hidden realms. In an instant, it travels across the Three Islands, the legendary immortal mountains in the sea. Once it can come and go freely and be wielded with mastery, one gathers the spirit and seeks still deeper mysteries, ultimately uniting with the true void and the Great Void.

[Shuangdiao] “Wild Geese Descend” and “Victory Order”

If you wish to attend the feast of the Peaches of Immortality and savor its fine food and wine, you should put to rest the desire to contend for fame and profit, and resolve to cultivate your nature and practice the true Dao.

Better to wrap yourself in a paper quilt and sleep peacefully among the clouds, leaning by the stove to brew tea and boil herbs. Watch the deer carrying flowers in the mountain valleys, and the apes offering fruit on the peaks. You may pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning in the Hall of Luminous Yang in the Golden Palace, a celestial palace of Daoist legend; and dwell at ease as though in an immortal cave on Penglai.

[Shuangdiao] “Sweet Water Tune”

With a hemp cord around the waist, straw sandals on the feet, and a loose robe about the shoulders, one does not deliberately pursue fame or profit. Wearing a straw rain cape and bamboo hat, fishing rod in hand, fish by the green waters.

[Shuangdiao] “Sweet Water Tune”

With a hemp cord around the waist, straw sandals on the feet, and a loose robe about the shoulders, one does not deliberately pursue fame or profit. Wearing a straw rain cape and bamboo hat, fishing rod in hand, watch the green waters flow east.

[Shuangdiao] “Cassia Branch”

Drifting among the waves in a small boat, seek out lovely places among streams and wooded hills, and there ease your heart and forget your cares. Immersed in leisure, why bother asking after the seasons or the years? Like Xu You, wash your ears by the stream, unwilling to hear of worldly fame and profit. Smile at the tale of Zhuang Zhou’s dream of becoming a butterfly, and do not let life’s illusions trouble you. Live in a quiet thatched hut, pull the quilt up over your head, and sleep. Though the sun has climbed high, you can still rest easy with your head on the pillow.

The second

In old age, one should be all the more free and carefree, letting the garden find its own charm and crossing on a bridge made from a single log. Even with high office and generous pay, you remain amid the storms of dispute and strife. Better to wear hemp sandals and plain clothes, cut off the pursuit of fame and profit, and have fewer worries. When the mood strikes, drink a few cups of unfiltered wine; drunk, you seem to attend the feast of the Peaches of Immortality. In idle hours, stroll among cloud-wreathed mountains; when restless, go seeking fishermen and woodcutters.

The third

Human life is like a leaf parting from its branch; a hundred years slip away before we know it. Think it over: many people squander their lives and, in the eyes of the world, seem almost mad. Wealth and rank are like rushing into a fire wearing hemp clothes: the flames only grow more fierce. Chasing fame and achievement is like fighting a tiger barehanded or crossing a river on foot—perilous indeed. Why wear yourself out rushing about? The sun and moon dart like shuttles, and ten years pass like a dream of Nanke, a figure for life’s fleeting illusions.

The fourth

People are like bubbles floating on the water: illusory and impermanent. Better to withdraw to a mountain valley and live freely amid mist and rosy clouds, without taking reckless risks like someone attacking a tiger barehanded or crossing a river without a boat. Time flies, and the days pass in an instant; ten years of life amount to little more than a dream of Nanke.

People are like foam on the water: illusory and fleeting. Better to return to seclusion in a valley, admire the mist and rosy clouds, and be content with farming. Wu Zixu once sought troops for his state, while Shen Baoxu wept as he begged Qin to send forces to aid Chu. Then there were Shao Ping, who grew melons beyond the Green Gate, and Tao Yuanming, who planted chrysanthemums beneath the eastern fence: each chose a different path in life. After waking from wine in the afternoon, sit alone in a thatched pavilion, tap the jianzi and fish drum used in Daoist rituals, and recite the Dao De Jing and the Huangting Jing.

[Shuangdiao] “Wild Geese Descend, Victory Song”

Having seen through life’s brevity, my temples have already turned gray. Looking in the mirror, I find that my youthful face, too, has grown old. So I hastily resigned my post at court and laid aside my ivory tablet and goldfish pouch, the badges of an official. I planted green willows by the gate and golden chrysanthemums beside the fence. What I love is water clear as jade; why should I still yearn for the marquis’s mansion, deep as the sea? How peaceful and free it is: a sweep of the sleeve, and I seem to leave the mortal world and enter among the white clouds. Like Tao Yuanming, in quiet ease, I’ll return home.

The second

Time flows away like water; the sun and moon turn, and day gives way to night. I have crossed out worldly concerns and seen through the affairs of this world. When tired, I lie down with my head on a high pillow, free of worry; when restless, I take up my long staff and walk alone. When hungry, I carry a bowl and beg for alms, eating food offered by many households; when at leisure, I travel alone for thousands of miles. Before my eyes stretches the lovely scenery of Langyuan, the garden where immortals are said to dwell; looking up, I see Penglai, the secluded and far-off island of the immortals.

The third

Glory and riches are like a lamp flickering in the wind, gone in an instant; wealth and rank are like a dream in the Kingdom of Huai’an, an allusion to the tale “The Governor of Nanke” and a metaphor for life’s fleeting splendor. In the Six Dynasties, some celebrated peace, while wars flared among the Twelve Kingdoms. In the human world, fish and dragons mingle, fortunes rise and fall, and even heroes disappear into the shifting currents.

The third

Glory is like a lamp in the wind; wealth and rank, a dream in Huai’an. In the Six Dynasties, some celebrated peace, while the Twelve Kingdoms were once again engulfed in war. In the human world, fish and dragons mingle, and heroes, too, rise and fall amid its shifting fortunes. Han Xin, who once recovered the lands of Chu, and Jiang Taigong, who helped the Zhou house rise, both achieved great deeds. But what use are fame and merit in the end? It all amounts to no more than a dream of Nanke.

[Shuangdiao] “Sweet Water Tune”

In the furnace, I refine a miraculous elixir, like tea shoots gathered after the rumble of thunder. I carry the bright moon and clear breeze on my staff, take nothing else with me, and do not even bring a coconut-shell gourd.

The second

In the blink of an eye, I have passed middle age, and many more white hairs have appeared at my temples. Even if I had amassed countless treasures of gold and jade, what would it matter? Everything a person possesses in life comes to an end like a dream.

People have already restrained and settled their scattered thoughts and desires. Why, then, still contend for fame and chase profit? Even if they obtain court insignia such as ivory tablets and golden fish tallies, and rise to the rank of ministers, they are still only riding white horses and wearing red tassels.

〔Shuangdiao〕Water Immortal

Han Zhongli

Han Zhongli transcended the worldly realm and became a sage. After he gets drunk, who will help him down the jade steps? As he waves his fan, his beard stirs with it; his rosy face glows like crimson clouds. Tea, medicine, the qin, and chess are his companions. His hair is bound in a double-maple topknot, and he wears a robe pieced together from many scraps of cloth. He has visited the Blessed Garden and the Jade Pond, legendary realms of the immortals.

Second: Lü Dongbin

Awakening from his drunken dream, he left the Palace of Vast Cold and flew down from the twelve peaks of the Jade Terrace. From a single dream of yellow millet—a metaphor for fleeting, illusory wealth and glory—he gained the art of immortal transformation. Jade maidens and golden youths stand at his side. He gathers immortal herbs to seek longevity and refines cinnabar, cultivating the work of the nine revolutions. Each day he subdues the tiger and dragon, symbols of the forces and desires within body and mind.

Third: Lan Caihe

As the west wind blows, he dances in his wide robe, falling drunk before the steps each day. His black gauze cap sits crooked on his head; he tosses coins in his hand, sending the crowd scrambling after them. Beating a sandalwood clapper, he sings aloud, seeking only to enjoy himself freely and rejoice.

Fourth: Xu Shenweng

He neither steals nor clings to wife and children, but lives alone amid mist and rosy clouds, content with a simple life. Gold, silver, and treasure mean nothing to him; his body is wrapped in tattered, patched clothing. He makes do with austere simplicity, wandering the world at ease with a gourd slung over his back.

Fifth: Zhang Guolao

Bent at the waist and hunched over, he is past sixty, with white hair and beard, already old. He wanders far and wide, traveling the roads of the human world on a donkey as white as cloud. When he reaches Zhaozhou City, he even crushes the stone bridge beneath him. He leans on a mottled bamboo staff and wears a coarse cloth robe; he has also attended the Peach Banquet, the legendary gathering where immortals feast on peaches.

Sixth: Cao Guojiu

A minister holding a high office at court suddenly became a cultivator atop Kunlun Mountain. He no longer wore a gold official seal at his waist. In his leisure time, he traveled with Lü Dongbin, one of the Eight Immortals, cultivating his nature among mountain forests and spring waters as he pursued the Dao and refined its practices. With a gold token at his waist and a bamboo scoop in his hand, he was no longer a member of the imperial family.

Seventh: Li Yue

He no longer sought an official post or took what belonged to others. Leaving worldly life behind, he entered a realm of longevity and ease. The fine black cloth of his robe had grown worn, and he dragged an iron crutch in his hand, his hair as disheveled as pine needles. He gave no thought to lying on thick, soft bedding or listening to a beautiful woman sing. Each day, he simply passed his time freely and at ease.

Eighth: Han Xiangzi

He made his living with a medicine furnace and scripture scrolls, and felt no attachment to the households of princes, marquises, and ministers. Beneath Blue Pass, auspicious snow fell thickly, and Han Xiang’s horse was injured by the cold. Snowflakes swirled chaotically through the air, like disheveled hair. He gave no thought to lying on thick, soft bedding or listening to a beautiful woman sing. Each day, he simply passed his time freely and at ease.

Dark clouds hung over Blue Pass, and gusts of cold wind swept through. Flowers bloomed on the mountaintop.

A Hundred-Character Diagram of Perfected Pure Yang

By nature, I love stillness. Through cultivation, I nourish my spirit and settle it. Wine—I have never been one to drink it. Sensual desire—I have already given it up. Wealth—I do not seek it. Disputes born of pride—I take no part in them. Though I see, I do not look with deliberate intent; though I hear, I do not listen with attachment. I do not speak of other people’s faults, but examine my own failings. When I gain something, I do not become elated; when I lose something, I keep to my proper place. In public service, I do not seek fame; in private conduct, I act with integrity. I do not crowd among those chasing fame and profit, lest my heart grow troubled. I live among ordinary people without showing off, and let ordinary human ties find their place in daily life. Why not contend for fame? I once discussed this principle with a realized master.

A poem by Perfected Liu of Langranzi:

Drifting through life in disappointment, I have raised a cup of wine for several decades. Each day I follow my nature, often sleeping until the sun is high. The Tail Gate and the Muddy Pellet Palace have been opened, and the Elixir Furnace can discern and wield the transforming power of Heaven and Earth.

As long as one follows the path through the clouds, it will eventually lead to the realm of the immortals. On reflection, how could my destiny be determined entirely by Heaven’s will? Do not say that the Great Dao is hard to grasp; it is simply that ordinary people have not applied themselves to learning the way of the immortals.

Part Two

For decades I traveled north and south, journeying far and wide. I quietly explored the hidden and wondrous principles and secretly cultivated body and mind. I sought no endless worldly riches, but searched between Heaven and Earth for people truly in accord with the Great Dao.

Only after awakening did I understand how profound its meaning was. In practicing Neidan (internal alchemy), I often made the breath flow upward against its natural course. Even if we met again after a thousand years apart, it would feel just as it does today, as though everything had become new.

Part Three

I live in a quiet, secluded place in the Jing-Luo region, around the capital Luoyang, east of an old temple and an ancient moat. Though I live amid worldly affairs, my heart remains untouched by the secular world. Though I must deal with the concerns of ordinary life, my actions accord with the Dao and differ from the common ways.

I do not shrink from a thousand days of hardship in refining the elixir, and I often circulate Jing and Qi so that they flow freely through my limbs. The most precious thing in this world, the thing most worthy of care, is the human body. Apart from the body, everything else ultimately returns to emptiness.

Part Four

Those seeking immortality bustle about, crossing mountains and rivers and traveling like clouds. They all study methods of long life and search everywhere for external substances. Yet, on reflection, they have never heard of the true Great Dao.

Yang essence has already been depleted, and the Qi of true harmony has also weakened. Even with the aid of mineral medicines, one is merely scorched by the dry heat of their properties. How sad that ordinary people understand nothing, and willingly become graves in the wilderness.

Part Five

There is no need to devote oneself single-mindedly to studying the Nine Classics and Three Histories, for such learning has little to do with cultivating body and mind or attaining long life. It is better to preserve the original harmonious Qi, then go further and refine the medicine in the great furnace.

By preserving true Jing, one can ultimately prolong life. By refining a substance of golden purity, one can rise into the empty heavens. If one does not understand the path to long life, the nature of ordinary people will grow ever more lost.

Part Six

The pursuit of high rank and the craving for wealth have no end. What does it matter if one becomes a high official or amasses a vast fortune? Rather than bear the burden of power and wear oneself out managing affairs, it is better to live in poverty and be content.

Leaning back against a pillow, one lets the spring days pass at ease. One circulates Jing and Qi, keeping the temples from turning white too soon. When we meet beyond the dusty world, we will know that the immortals have their own appointed time for reunion.

Part Seven

True lead and true mercury, terms in Neidan for the Yin and Yang essences involved in cultivation, are not hard to find; it is simply that ordinary people set their minds on the wrong things. The principles of the moon’s soul and the sun’s spirit, metaphors for Yin and Yang Qi, are clear. What is so profound or difficult to understand about the essence of Wood and the timing of the Fire phase?

Cultivating Neidan requires years of diligent refinement and practice. It is said to take nine years to transform body and mind and awaken their numinous potential, then to transmute the Five Metals—a term in Daoist alchemy for transforming metals. Once cultivation is complete, swallowing a single pill of elixir is enough to transcend the world of dust. Even the immortals on such sacred mountains as Kunlun and Penglai will regard him as a kindred spirit.

Part Eight

Qi and breath pass along the Jiaji—the midsection of the spine, an important point in cultivation—through two gateways and rise to the crown of the head. The principles of the cultivation path and the timing and degree of refinement are truly profound.

The foundation of cultivation lies in guiding Qi and breath through the two gateways at the Jiaji and up to the crown. The Jade Nectar produced in the Pool of Flowers—the saliva in the mouth—should be swallowed often. The Primordial Lord in the Purple Palace, the brain’s inner palace in Daoist teachings, will then guide it upward.

Keep guiding Qi through the gateways, and Jing and Qi will naturally grow abundant, while the Grain Spirit—the subtle, mysterious vitality within the body in Daoist teachings—endures. Once you have attained longevity, you should remember with gratitude the person who first showed you the way.

Part Nine

The net of Heaven’s Way spreads wide, and all things seem scattered and sparse. A pine tree falls, and even Mount Hua seems withered. When the cold clouds disperse, only a lone moon remains; when snow falls in the twelfth lunar month, all things return to the Great Void, the primordial emptiness of Daoist teaching.

Dragons and serpents in stone caves return to the Purple Palace; a phoenix that has lived a thousand years alights on Mount Cangwu. Since leaving my teacher, I have traveled north, south, east, and west, yet have rarely met anyone truly accomplished in the Way.

Langranzi was a native of Qi. When Emperor Xuanzong of Tang traveled to Shu, Langranzi accompanied him and met the immortal Sima Chengzhen along the way. He received the oral instructions and learned the Great Method of Golden-Liquid Restored Elixir, a method of Daoist Neidan cultivation. After successfully completing his practice, he later returned to Luoyang.

According to village elders, during the Duangong era of the Song, Langranzi died drunk in Taohuafang. It was snowing heavily, but within a circle about ten feet across around where he lay, no snow fell. When officials examined his body, they saw a golden cicada—a miraculous creature of legend—moving in and out of his nose, mouth, and ears. After a long while, it flew into the sky. Everyone looked up to watch it; when they looked down again, the body on the ground had vanished.

The Daoist priest Zhao Yinwei of the Palace of the Myriad Spirits Paying Homage to the Origin gathered Langranzi’s poems, raised funds to have them engraved on stone, and circulated them widely. He came to my home, told me about them, and showed me the poems. I read them closely and felt that they spoke of little more than circulating Qi, swallowing saliva, preserving Yang-Qi and eliminating Yin-Qi—ideas that accorded with my own understanding. I was therefore glad to record them.

Respectfully inscribed by Fanghu Zhizu, a lay practitioner, on the second day of the third month of the first year of Huangtong in the Jin dynasty (1141).

Volume Eight of Lingering Echoes of Cranes’ Calls ends here.

The first thirteen lyric poems in this volume were all written by Zhang Boduan and also appear in Understanding Reality. The fourteenth through twenty-fifth poems also appear in Collected Works on the Great Achievement of the Golden Elixir. One poem was originally unsigned; a related poem also appears in Complete Tang Poems. The original text reads “vast and dark, obscure and dim,” which does not fit the lyric meter, so the text has been emended. The next twenty pieces are all sanqu songs, and therefore are no longer annotated individually in detail.

Lingering Echoes of Cranes’ Calls, Volume Nine

Compiled by Peng Zhizhong, Daoist of Mount Xianyou

“Song of the Great Void,” by Ma Danyang

“The Dao” can be explained in words, but what words describe is not the constant, unchanging true Dao. Cultivation means keeping the original mind unmoving and preserving it over time. Guard this clarity, like a cold light shining into the great emptiness, and a bright, pure spiritual radiance will appear of itself.

The “Dharma” can be spoken of, though some of it cannot be expressed in words. When the heart is clear and settled, its many concerns and entanglements gradually fade away. Only then does one understand that arising and ceasing have no fixed nature, and that old debts and resentments from past lives can be resolved. What, in the end, is arising, and what is ceasing? Simply become still and clear. Only after recognizing this clarity can one learn to protect one’s nature and preserve one’s life where thoughts arise.

Do not pursue what is called the real at all costs, nor deliberately reject the illusory appearances before you. Insisting on seeking the real and abandoning the illusory instead breeds cunning and deceit. Once cunning arises and one forsakes one’s true nature, it is like being flayed while trying to escape a blade. Become still and clear; only by recognizing this clarity can one protect one’s nature and preserve one’s life where thoughts arise.

Without practicing for yourself and experiencing it firsthand, trying to put an end to the afflictions of birth and death is exceedingly difficult. Take one step, and you will gain some understanding in that step. If you take no steps at all and merely talk about “Chang’an”—here, a metaphor for the state sought through cultivation—you will gain nothing in the end.

If you have not yet awakened, do not force yourself to boast, or claim that emptiness and all things are one family from the beginning. To speak of the great Dao when your heart has not yet understood it is like a blind person looking at fine jade: its beauty cannot be seen. If you keep comparing one side as good and the other as bad, you will wander aimlessly like an ox. When the heart has not yet become clear, close your eyes, settle your mind, and speak less for the time being.

Cultivation does not depend on grasping with your hands, tying things down with ropes, or insisting on keeping them firmly under control. If you try to seize with thought what is as fleeting as a shadow or the wind, your efforts will be in vain. Let things unfold naturally, until both movement and stillness can be forgotten.

In reading, do not stray from the scriptures, but do not cling to the written words either. Only by being bound neither by words nor by abandoning the scriptures can you experience the connection between inner and outer without clinging to either side. Without the scriptures, it is hard to explain the methods of cultivation; clinging to the written words, however, obscures the innate spiritual clarity within you. “The heart is Chan; nature is the Dao.” Cultivation must be carried out in every step of daily life; there is no need to argue over who is higher or how much greater.

At the teacher’s pointing finger, the source is revealed, and even a stone figure seems to clap and laugh aloud. Chan is the guiding principle; the Dao is the root. Cultivation requires breaking free from attachment to the ideas of the Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water. As lights reflect one another and encompass true emptiness, one is no longer confined by distinctions such as one, two, three, four, and five.

Even when the guiding principle and the methods are fully understood, everything ultimately depends on genuine practice and effort. Once effort and virtue are perfected, one no longer concerns oneself even with “cultivation and achievement”; only a trace of spiritual clarity remains, shining over the cool, boundless sky. Cling neither to the Dao nor to Chan; in deep stillness, merge with nature. Part the turmoil of a thousand affairs and look with a pure gaze: a radiant light will shine without limit.

Awaken within awakening, and understand more deeply within understanding, so that the small, numinous light in the heart is no longer veiled. Let it spread like a blazing fire, illuminating the saha world (the world in which sentient beings live); from then on, the realm of Dharma (the Buddhist domain of all that exists) opens wide in every direction, and only this is clearly revealed. These principles are profound and subtle, like a wooden figure pointing from afar toward the place where the white clouds return. This mysterious gateway, the crucial point at which one realizes subtle truths through practice, is hard to put into words. When you truly grasp it before your eyes, you forget the thought of going home.

This is no idle, endless chatter, but a wondrous secret born of compassion. It is like balancing a full moon on the tip of a staff, or like a furnace’s red flames holding the white snow of spring. I once cultivated the Great Enlightenment and the Immortal Way, and had the good fortune to understand the Chan of the Patriarchs, the meditation tradition handed down by the ancestral masters. Returning, I sing a tune whose meaning is hard to express, yet when you truly grasp it before your eyes, you forget the thought of going home. This is no long-winded emptiness, but a compassionate, wondrous teaching: the moon balanced on a staff, spring snow held in the furnace’s red flames. I once cultivated the Great Enlightenment and the Immortal Way, and had the good fortune to understand the Chan of the Patriarchs.

Returning, I play and sing a tune, but no one joins in; green bamboo and yellow flowers each grow according to their own nature. A wisp of aloeswood incense rises slowly through the painted hall, leaving only an empty sigh for the story of Manjushri visiting the sick. The moonlight is clear over Caoxi, where the breeze blows of its own accord; golden lotuses bloom throughout the Jetavana, the garden where the Buddha taught. Carrying a tiger-headed staff across my shoulder, I return, but heavy snow has sealed the paths of Cold Mountain, making them impassable. Who can understand such freedom? My only kindred spirits are a few plum blossoms.

Since I learned the road to Chang’an, I have no longer coveted wild flowers and grasses. In the dead of night, a cuckoo calls from the branches; before the tower by the wine pot, spring is in full bloom. Back home, I am peaceful and at ease, joyful in Wuwei (non-action); wherever I go, everything reveals its natural mystery. This is not only the thousand-armed, thousand-eyed Guanyin of great compassion. It is also like a jade maiden bringing forth an ancient wish-fulfilling jewel, a mani gem said to manifest treasures according to one’s wishes.

What wondrous treasure can explain this jewel? It is remote and deep, appearing and vanishing from sight. Sentient beings do not recognize the Tathagata, the Buddha’s title, while the Buddhas of the three ages—past, present, and future—all dwell in the lion’s den. To whom can one boast of true ease and joy? People of the world are like birds at the bottom of a well, seeing only a small patch of sky. A tune on the empty zither comes to an end; the green mountains remain wrapped in mist and rosy clouds.

The closing lines repeat: sentient beings do not recognize the Tathagata, and the Buddhas of the three ages dwell in the lion’s den. True ease and joy have no one to whom they can be proclaimed; people of the world are like birds at the bottom of a well. The empty zither falls silent, and the green mountains remain shrouded in mist and rosy clouds.

To understand the principle of true constancy—the truth that never changes—yet not understand the foundations of cultivating nature and life is the greatest failing in practice. To cultivate true nature alone without practicing the methods of the Elixir means that even after countless eons, the yin spirit will struggle to transcend and attain sagehood. To know the foundations of life cultivation yet lose one’s original nature is like looking into a mirror without possessing a precious mirror. If one cultivates nature and life together, one can become a person whose lifespan is equal to Heaven and Earth, and take the transformations of Yin-Yang as the foundation of cultivation.

When both nature and life have been fully cultivated, their mysteries are profound indeed, like crossing on a Dharma boat amid giant waves on the ocean floor. If, in cultivation, one can capture the dragon alive—a metaphor in Neidan for subduing the Yin-Yang Qi within the body—then one knows that the teachings of an accomplished master are truly reliable.

The Dao is difficult to enter fully and difficult to find. It is easy to talk about, but how many people truly understand and attain it? There are countless deviant paths that mislead the world. Though many people cultivate the Dao, very few truly attain it. Lately, some who study the Dao refuse to seek guidance with humility, which is truly regrettable. They deceive Heaven and Earth and other people: before they have attained anything themselves, they boast that they have already succeeded. Becoming an immortal is not inherently difficult, but it requires the right innate capacities and conditions. Those without the roots suited to becoming immortals should not attempt it recklessly, or they may attract yin demons (obstacles that disturb the mind and body during cultivation) and invite disaster.

This is no minor technique. It depends entirely on cultivating virtue and keeping a watchful eye on oneself in private. Cut off deluded thoughts, quiet greed, and act steadily in every part of daily life. Only when you understand how your original nature accords with the mind can I dare tell you the true principles involved. Learning the Golden Elixir (Jindan, internal alchemy) is not difficult to begin; you can study the Doctrine of the Mean and the Book of Changes with care. Deliberately striving to make something happen is wrong, and talking idly about alchemical terms such as Dragon and Tiger is of no use. Life takes bodily form when primordial feelings stir. If you remain confused by the outward practices of cultivation, you will instead fall into hardship and danger. Reflect often on the state before Heaven and Earth were divided, when chaos first began to open. Its wondrous principle is hard to express in words, yet the mind can understand it naturally.

The whole human body belongs to Yin, yet within it is one thing: the yang essence, the pure Yang source of life, which people do not recognize. It is complete and pervasive, always accompanying us. Call it empty, and it is not empty; call it form, and it is not form in the ordinary sense. It spreads through all things and fills Heaven and Earth; each individual thing, too, contains its own Taiji (the fundamental source complete within all things). It withdraws into a deep and hidden place, returning to original nature. Look for it, and it cannot be seen; seek it, and it cannot be found.

The Elixir instructions I speak of stand on their own. They require no attention to particular days, hours, or years, and involve none of the refining steps described by Neidan terms such as firing times, extraction, or replenishment. Nor do they distinguish between self and other, or superior and inferior. They are neither born nor destroyed; there is nothing to cultivate and nothing to explain. When hungry, eat; when sleepy, sleep. Sit in meditation when free, and rest when tired. When food is offered, eat; when wine is offered, drink. Do not cling to rules of fasting and abstinence, yet keep the mind clear at all times. Splendor and wealth have nothing to do with this; set aside fame, profit, right, and wrong.

Let the mind settle into stillness and stability, and nurture the primordial Shen (the spirit at the human root). When not a single thought arises, you enter a true realm unlike the ordinary one. Within it, joy comes naturally, and day and night seem to reveal an autumn moon suspended there. It neither comes nor goes, but rests at the center, bright and clear, with all directions of Heaven and Earth bathed in pure light. It neither increases nor diminishes, like a flake of snow falling into a blazing furnace, melting in an instant without a trace. Even after attaining this degree of practice, you must still break through emptiness to reach complete awakening.

Live at ease, carefree and content, and worldly troubles will no longer entangle you. Those who study the Dao should seize the opportunity early; a hundred years pass as swiftly as lightning. To encounter the chance to cultivate and fail to do so is a great folly. Do not wait until old age and waning vitality bring regret. Turn back at once, advance with vigor, and resolve to cut off old habits completely. To shed the mortal body and transform into the Dharma body (the body of cultivation that transcends the ordinary), you must cultivate with single-minded dedication and a will as firm as iron and stone.

These words come from earnest concern and disclose the secrets of Heaven. If those who study the Dao hear them as ordinary talk and simply let them pass, they may find themselves regretting it when death draws near.

The affairs of the world are endless, yet on close inspection they are ultimately empty and illusory. Since you have come to the mysterious gate—the entrance to Daoist cultivation—to seek guidance, you should work on your own mind and nature. The truly wise are at ease and unattached, taking everything as ordinary. But if you treat cultivation as just another casual matter, you may regret it deeply when death draws near.

To nourish your spiritual nature, first guard the mind-ground. When the Six Roots—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—are pure, all kinds of affliction diminish. When you see through the Three Realms of desire, form, and formlessness, tangled affairs can also be set in order. Seeing with the eyes, hearing with the ears, and the many forms of perception are the fundamental causes that obstruct cultivation of the Dao. Quietude, simplicity, emptiness, and freedom from desire are essential to nurturing one’s true nature.

If you are to study the Dao with resolve, you must understand your own mind. When the mind grows still, it becomes clear and illumines on its own. When the mind clings and refuses to let go, all manner of circumstances find an opening to disturb it. True nature is neither deficient nor excessive; it can be recognized while we are alive. Illusory forms may appear for a time, but in the end they decay. What is there in them worth pursuing?

Once you understand that all things are empty and that every attachment should be released, clinging to ritual work and seated meditation can itself lead you away from the Dao. Deliberately dispensing favors and charity can also become a way of seeking fame and feigning virtue. The highest skill seems clumsy because it lets everything follow its natural course. Truly skillful planning does not depend on calculation; it means letting go of attachment at every turn. If the mind remains undisturbed by external circumstances, the practices of daily life will naturally be complete. Then you can pass each day at ease, accepting the Mandate of Heaven and taking joy in the natural course of things.

Let spring, summer, autumn, and winter come and go. Eat when hungry and drink when thirsty. Amid wind, flowers, snow, and moonlight, walk steadily and sleep in peace. If you can live within your circumstances without being pulled along by emotion, responding as things arise, you will understand that the root lies within your own mind. Why insist on cultivating for so many lifetimes?

After awakening to the Dao, Chan Master Yongjia still reluctantly stayed the night before leaving. The layman Lu, still doubtful in his heart, waited in vain until the third watch before coming. These stories show that all things are empty and that worldly concerns should be put aside. Beyond one’s own nature, nothing is truly unchanging; everything before us is like a bubble. The Way of long life has a source that arises naturally and spontaneously, beyond the comprehension of spirits and ghosts. The Great Dao has no fixed form and is present everywhere, yet even Heaven and Earth cannot contain it.

Thus, the foundation of cultivating the Dao is to clarify the mind; there is no need to strain relentlessly. The key does not lie with others, but with whether you yourself can truly put it into practice. The highest eloquence is not bound by words, and a true classic is not confined to written characters. The principle can be conveyed through the cawing of a crow or revealed through falling flowers; it can even be taught by a stone maiden or a wooden person. These sayings use extraordinary images as metaphors to show that the Dao is everywhere and is not constrained by familiar forms or speech. Those with shallow understanding will say, “That is not so.” Those with a broad and discerning view will say, “That is exactly so.”

Therefore, wherever the awakened person goes, the way feels open and level; the deluded person finds thorns underfoot at every turn. In sum, if you wish to cultivate the Great Dao that transcends the world, do not be preoccupied with the petty concerns of human life.

The teachings distinguish between sudden awakening and gradual cultivation, but Zen has no division into before and after. Those who are lost think it lies far beyond countless eons; those who understand know it is right before their eyes. It neither comes nor goes, moving freely through the six supernatural powers. Neither born nor dying, it transcends the three realms of desire, form, and formlessness, complete and whole in itself.

There is no need to fear the clamor of the world, nor to make a show of carefree ease. The division into five schools was a view established by convention; to champion a single method is still a false distinction. Simply let your original mind show itself at every moment, and release attachment to everything. A thousand paths of clear wind sweep through, and in the pines it is as if a stone woman were singing; the bright moon hangs high as a shepherd boy plays freely on the mountain ridge. When wisdom is already complete, luminous awareness can open all at once.

In responding to things, let your nature express itself; in meeting circumstances, be sure not to let the mind be stirred. Bring the four symbols into harmony and attune them to the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity. Let the green waters flow on, bubbles rising and bursting as they will; let the blue mountains stand unmoved, clouds coming and going as they please. Through past and present, it neither declines nor decays. The dull-minded are trapped in sounds and forms; those who understand transcend distinctions between being and nonbeing. Dispel wind and clouds, as if reaching out to stroke the stars. A silent zither gives forth exquisite music, while the wooden horse before the hall seems to roar; few can answer the lofty melody, yet a jade dragon surges up from the depths of the sea.

There is no need to seek a bodhisattva in the east or west, or to search north and south for Amitabha. Everything reflected in the eye is the Dharma-realm, the real world formed by all things together. Where is there no Zen? Only when you understand this can you truly practice in this way.

Though dwelling in the dusty world, you are not stained by it; how could the myriad conditions turn you about? Though living amid desire, you are not ruled by it, and so do not become ensnared by the six thieves—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind that tug at the spirit. Wherever you are, you can understand; inwardly still, you illuminate all things and return to what is true. Those who endlessly entangle themselves in elaborate talk spend a thousand eons trading in old views. One who points directly to the source of numinous awareness has no need to say another word. Advance or withdraw as you choose; whether appearing stern or offering deliverance, you decide for yourself.

White clouds and blue mountains are true suchness everywhere; green bamboo and yellow flowers each embody true awakening. When distinctions vanish from the mind, the realm has no bounds and can contain the thousand worlds. The gesture of raising a flower before the assembly was truly unnecessary; so too, scolding the Buddha and insulting the patriarchs is out of place. Who can understand the realm where lotuses bloom with every step and one returns from Deer Park, as if moonlight filled a boat upon the river? Reveal the family style you have always possessed, and you can leap at once beyond the Ten Stages of the bodhisattva path; shatter the dreamlike illusion of stubborn emptiness, and make offerings alone to the heavens.

Some people only put on a shallow show, yet dare to argue recklessly. Their understanding is no more than dregs: how could they know the true flavor? How can strained interpretations of Zen koans grasp their subtle meaning? A mistake by even a hair’s breadth leads a thousand miles astray. The wooden man says, “If you wish to know the meaning brought from the West—the true intent of the Zen teaching transmitted by Bodhidharma from India—you must suck the essence from the marrow of the Golden Immortal of Nirvana, the Buddha who has entered nirvana.”

Cultivation begins with understanding the heart and the mind; only then can one realize one’s original nature. What is the heart, and what is the mind? The faculty of awareness is called the “heart”; the many thoughts and reflections that arise are called the “mind.” The mind follows thoughts as they arise, while the heart is stirred by external things. If we trace their source, it lies within the narrow space of the heart itself: the true heart we possess from the beginning.

The true heart is originally without form or thought, and the mind is not fixed or unchanging. But people find it hard to let go of familiar circumstances. Their hearts drift and their thoughts grow confused, obscuring the true heart and keeping it from appearing. So one should clarify the heart and settle the mind, turning inward to observe one’s own heart. A clear, tranquil state in which the heart does not stir is called “stillness”; remaining keenly aware within that stillness is called “wisdom.” Stillness is the foundation, and wisdom its function. When both are present, cultivation can advance without loss day by day.

When the heart casually loves and clings to external things, it becomes clouded. Who can truly cherish stillness? Yet an unmoving heart is “stillness,” and keen awareness maintained within stillness is “wisdom.” Stillness is the foundation, and wisdom its function. When both are present, cultivation can advance without loss day by day.

The human world, crowded with countless desires, is called a turbid age. Who truly loves quietude? Let every kind of worry wind through other people’s hearts; I would rather pass my life in ease. I have abruptly escaped the deepest bonds and settled in lasting peace and stillness. Freed from the plight of being caught up in trifles like snails and flies, I have awakened fully to the luminous clarity within. We ought to cut through worldly entanglements and grasp the fundamental order that governs the movement of primordial Qi.

Only by attending to the deep, mysterious realm of quietude and Wuwei (non-action) can one establish deep roots and a firm foundation. Dwelling in calm simplicity and repose, one may delight in longevity and clear awareness: living long while remaining lucid. Once this principle is understood, the mind is as clear as autumn water; in meeting the affairs of the world, one responds with the natural subtlety of a spring breeze. Distinct and self-possessed, one is still and settled, yet almost without form. One is upright and honest without harming others, like a mirror reflecting beauty and ugliness; bright and impartial, like moonlight shining over heaven and earth.

Rectify your nature and still the six faculties—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, the sources of perception and awareness. Keep your spiritual source solitary and pure, with the elegant steadfastness of pine and bamboo. With an open heart, move freely throughout the Dharma Realm, the domain in which all things exist; leave the dust of the world behind and return to the Mysterious Gate, the Daoist path of cultivation. Though living in the world, be unbound like a solitary cloud; when feelings arise, be free as a wild crane. Realize the subtle principle, and you can gather all things within the vastness; put an end to scattered thoughts, and you can nurture the Neidan (internal alchemy) in the depths. With mind and spirit clear and open, wander freely in boundless emptiness. With no concerns in your heart, let your spirit roam on Mount Gushe, the legendary home of immortals; forget both self and external things, and stroll like a cloud through the vast, lofty sky.

This realm belongs not to sages alone; it depends on one’s own cultivation. If you cannot let go of fame and profit, how can you realize the Dao beyond sound and form, beyond words—the Dao of Xiyi, the imperceptible and inaudible? The wise are at ease and unhurried, understanding the meaning of retreating to the southern mountains. Even those of lesser character, troubled and unsettled, can understand the teachings of Confucius, honored as Master Xuan. If you cling to desire while discussing meditation and mystery, or are busy with household affairs while speaking abstractly of profound truths, you may win the admiration of the shallow-minded, but you will also invite the criticism of the worthy. So work at quietude, and in repose and stillness turn your light inward to examine the heart.

Reaching the utmost in emptiness and stillness, and firmly keeping to quietude, is Laozi’s way of cultivation. Forgetting the body and setting aside attachment to the sharpness of the senses is the key Yan Hui grasped. Through such practice, mind and Dharma return to stillness, and both life and death are relinquished. Relying on purity, one cultivates the fruit of the Dao, understands spacious ease, and enters the mysterious heavenly realm. By leaving behind the causes and conditions that bring distress, one becomes free between heaven and earth; by entering deeply into Wuwei, one can roam proudly among the clouds and mist.

Alas, those who toil like ants labor all their lives; those who fly toward a lamp like moths meet their end. They drift in suffering for nothing, yet who is willing to cultivate and perfect their De (Virtue/Power)? Enough: better to enjoy quiet ease while there is still time, and return to the Mysterious Capital, the Daoist paradise, to pay homage to the Supreme Emperor.

Immortal sages and perfected beings descend into the human world to save all living beings with compassion and impartiality. They widely spread the Daoist teachings of profound mystery, while especially upholding the Dao of Complete Perfection. Who would have thought that exalted immortals from the farthest reaches of the ten directions would come into the world, broadly expound the ancient Way handed down from the age of the Three Sovereigns, and teach people in ways suited to their circumstances?

The virtue of those who cultivate the Dao of Complete Perfection runs through the teachings of many schools, while their hearts return to the correct path. Those who leave home to cultivate the Dao bid farewell to their families and let go of attachments. Those who are content with poverty gladly accept the course of Heaven and understand their circumstances. Thus, the study of Complete Perfection lies in cultivating one’s nature. Fame, wealth, and sexual desire are regarded as bubbles that vanish in an instant on the water’s surface; wisdom and spiritual clarity, by contrast, are revered as they were among the ancient sages of the religious tradition. In learning, one does not cling rigidly to fixed ideas; in practice, one aims to attain the Great Dao. By accumulating virtue, one extends practical aid and helps others in one’s outward conduct. Through deep cultivation and care for body and mind, one gradually achieves inner attainment.

Those who are skilled at abiding in the realm of Wuwei (non-action) and nonduality can also seek the truths shared by those who possess the Dao. They see all things clearly, their minds limpid as the moon reflected in a deep pool. They respond to every circumstance with natural flexibility, moving like a fresh breeze through the grass. They do their utmost to support people of every level of ability. Practitioners each have their own causes and effects, while those who understand the Great Dao realize that it is neither born nor destroyed. They cultivate themselves until they reach a state of utmost stillness and harmony, firmness and purity. They bring together the many virtues and, in their dealings with others, never abandon compassion. They expound the teachings of the three traditions—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—to enlighten those in confusion, while continuing to honor the worthy and the sages of old.

In general, practitioners of the Dao are not ashamed to beg for food, nor do they grieve over living in poverty. Willing to humble themselves and help others, they show kindness to the lonely and elderly. With lofty aims and steadfast integrity, they need not fear the powerful. Such people may be called the outstanding among those who follow Complete Perfection, and immortals who understand the Great Dao. In a flash, they grasp Heaven’s secrets, spread the mysterious teachings far and wide, and roam through sacred realms. They also extend benevolent ties and seek out like-minded companions, journeying together to the realm of immortals. In this way, they observe the myriad things and understand their original mind; they realize stillness and emptiness, and comprehend the Great Dao.

Those who study the methods of Complete Perfection should carefully follow the lineage of Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin. To investigate the mysteries of the Great Dao, they should respectfully uphold the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. Through clarity, stillness, emptiness, and calm self-possession, they refine and nourish body and mind as silver threads are refined in a furnace. Their practice is precise and subtle, like precious gold being smelted in a furnace. They cast aside the illusory body and its attachments, bringing forth their natural nature; they realize a deeper, more wondrous state within true reality and attain a complete and authentic practice. Five paths of silvery radiance pass through the Northern Dipper, and a full moon illuminates the sky. Riding a crane and carrying a golden text, they attend the morning court in the Hall of Nine Suns; they drink the jade nectar of the peaches of immortality and take their place at the feast of the myriad sages.

Alas, some foolish and confused people endlessly argue over self and other, this side and that. Merely proclaiming and reciting the scriptures does not necessarily mean one understands their mysteries; deceiving and confusing those of middling or lesser ability shows an even deeper ignorance of cause and effect. One should leave behind the entanglements and bonds of affection of this dusty world, like a burning house, yet some instead become trapped by fame and profit. How truly fine it is! To understand the root of the Dao of Complete Perfection, one must awaken in an instant to the principle of emptiness and nonbeing.

Among the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, Daoism is the most honored. Those who cultivate the Dao leave behind worldly entanglements of fame and wealth. Unbound by the rules of the mundane world, they withdraw to the mountains and forests to practice, far from reputation and profit, and indifferent to disgrace or honor. They wear star crowns and plain cloth robes; sometimes they let their hair hang loose and go barefoot, sometimes they tie up their hair and wrap it in a cloth. They gather immortal flowers to weave into rain hats, break wild grasses to make mats for sitting, and sustain themselves by drinking spring water and eating pine and cypress. They clap and sing, then dance and lie down among the clouds. With friends in the mountains they drink tea and chat; when they meet companions by the water, they raise their cups and discuss past and present. They take joy in a simple, carefree life, untroubled by external things.

Sometimes three or five of them investigate the mysteries together and seek the methods of the Dao; sometimes two or three talk over the past and present. When they speak of the rise and fall of past and present, they reflect on the fortunes of worthy people in earlier ages. When they investigate the mysteries, they do so to understand their own true nature. As the seasons turn cold and warm and the sun and moon move through the sky, those who cultivate the Dao can still regain the vigor of youth, their white hair turning dark again. Carrying simple eating utensils, they enter the towns to beg for food. They gather medicinal herbs to help the people, comfort the populace, and aid all things; at times, they can even revive those near death. Those who cultivate immortality have strong, finely formed physiques; those who have penetrated the Great Dao possess wondrous spiritual powers. They judge good and ill fortune, discern unusual signs, determine calamity and blessing, and examine human affairs. They expound the methods of the Dao and spread the orthodox teaching of the Most High, a Daoist title of supreme holiness. They wield Fulu (talismans and registers), ritual documents inscribed with the names of deities or magical signs, to drive away the world’s evil spirits. They can also subdue demons, regulate the flow of Qi, knock at Heaven’s Gate to summon a response from the perfected immortals, and strike the Earth’s Gate so that the myriad spirits obey.

Those who cultivate the Dao sit in quiet chambers, nurture their true nature, and gather Shen (spirit) inwardly, absorbing the vital energies of Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon. They apply the principles of Yin-Yang and Water and Fire to refine and nourish body and mind, bringing the Neidan (internal alchemy) to congeal. As Yin energy wanes and Yang energy grows, the process remains subtle and difficult to fathom. By refining and gathering in accordance with the four seasons, and completing nine cycles of cultivation, the Neidan is perfected. Then they ride the azure luan bird upward to the Purple Mansion, the abode of immortals, or mount white cranes straight to the Jade Capital, the dwelling of the Celestial Emperor. There they gather the numinous essence of Heaven and Earth and reveal the mystery of the Great Dao.

Compared with Confucianism, holding high office and enjoying wealth are like drifting clouds. Compared with Buddhism, taking delight in extinction may not necessarily free one from the mundane world. Having observed the three teachings, I consider Daoism the most honored.

Before Patriarch Chongyang manifested himself, this ancestral temple had no existence. It arose only later, when the Patriarch spread his teachings and expounded the subtle principles of the Dao. The Patriarch’s hometown was Chang’an in Jingzhao Prefecture, and his ancestral home was Taizi Village in Liquan County. According to tradition, when he was born, auspicious stars appeared in the heavens and immortals descended; auspicious light also shone upon the earth, and purple Qi rose into the air. His mother carried him for two years before giving birth, during the reign of Emperor Huizong of the Song. He was born on the twenty-second day of the twelfth month in the renchen year of the Zhenghe era, the second year of the era. His parents had three sons in all, and Patriarch Chongyang had two younger brothers.

As a child, he entered school, studied under a teacher, and immersed himself in the Nine Classics and other writings of the sages. At twenty-seven, he took the military examinations. He knew military strategy well and could draw a powerful bow. Equally accomplished in letters and arms, he commanded awe. The Song court bestowed on him the title “Mighty in Virtue,” and his fame spread widely. His mind was as clear as a mirror, and his voice rang out like a bell.

Once, while buying wine at Gan River, he met two immortal elders dressed in felt robes. They personally taught him five profound methods. Afterward, it was as though the seven apertures of his body had opened to spiritual perception, and his cultivation began to show results. After drinking the water of Gan River, his mind suddenly opened, and he attained clear understanding. At forty-eight, he encountered the orthodox teaching, abandoned worldly life, and entered the Daoist tradition. He withdrew to a tomb to cultivate in seclusion. There he observed the inner landscape and the signs of what is real, understood the transformations of the Five Phases and the principles of generation and transformation, and saw through the illusory, impermanent nature of worldly forms. He no longer told fortunes for people.

Later, he met He, Li, Ju, Liu, Jiang, and others, and they lived together for three years. He often thought of Qiu, Liu, Tan, Zhong, Ma, and the others, and changed his name, calling himself “Wang the Madman.” He burned down his thatched hut, took leave of the Qin region, and traveled southeast to Shandong. After covering three thousand li, he met people who shared his aspirations. When his cultivation was complete, he entered Nanjing. His master gathered his disciples and personally entrusted them with his final instructions, saying that he would return to the immortal realm of Penglai. In the gengyin year of the Dading era, when he was fifty-eight, he passed away and ascended to immortality at Chazi Inn, leaving behind the unadorned legacy of Quanzhen Dao.

Seven Golden Lotuses opened the way, and Changchunzi, an eminent master of Quanzhen Dao, taught his disciples for many years. The lineage was passed to Perfected Qinghe, who spread the principles of Quanzhen Dao, and then to such figures of the Daoist tradition as Haoran, Panshan, and Nanlifeng. Among them were also the immortal elders Dongzhen, Baiyun, Piyunzi, Wuyu, and Gaozhong. Eighteen great masters took part. During the gengzi years, they began building the ancestral temple. Disciples from across the land came to help, and Daoists from every direction lent their support. Heaven sent Cao, the supervisor of works, who was skilled in construction, and the halls and pavilions were built in Shuizhu Village.

The halls and pavilions rose a hundred feet, lofty and imposing, their blue glazed tiles reaching into the clouds. The dragon ornaments along the ridges seemed to spout water, while the beast figures at the four corners held their heads high, as if roaring into the wind. The thousand beams and ten thousand brackets were arranged according to the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), while the five ridges and six beasts followed the pattern of the Nine Palaces. From afar, the complex looked like the summit of Mount Sumeru; seen at a distance, it also resembled a lofty peak of Mount Hua. It reached upward into the clouds, almost touching the Northern Dipper, and extended downward to the deep springs. The eight streams behind the mountain all flowed eastward. Ten thousand rays of rosy light enveloped the treasure pavilions, while layers of emerald mist circled the jeweled halls. People had seen luan birds and cranes dancing in the sky, and heard immortal music resounding through the heavenly palace. All things seemed to pay homage to the Jade Emperor, while the immortals and sages together welcomed the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing). Red light and purple clouds enfolded the site, and auspicious white clouds covered it close around. A few red peach trees stood beside green bamboo, while green pines rose among groves of emerald cypress. One might travel to countless places throughout heaven and earth and still find no rare and splendid site like Chongyang Wanshou Palace.

The Sacred Patriarch Xuanyuan, revered in Daoism as the Patriarch of the Dao, opened widely the many profound and wondrous gates of the teachings. The Great Dao in its complete truth transforms and saves all beings. The Immortal Maiden of the Jade Pool passed down seven golden lotuses of Chongyang, while the Jade Palace in the Blessed Garden brought forth ten thousand leaves of jade flowers of eternal spring. Though the various branches differ somewhat, they all return to the same root, like countless leaves returning to their source. Though the lineages of the different schools flow in separate channels, in the end they come together like a hundred rivers emptying into the sea.

Teaching communities have been established throughout the land, gathering fellow seekers from across the realm; everywhere, bonds with the Dao have been formed, bringing together immortal friends from the Three Mountains. One may cultivate in a humble hut of thatch or in a splendid, solemn temple. Practitioners dressed in paper-patched robes and hemp garments, too, may receive favor and be granted starry caps and moonlit shawls, the vestments of Daoism. This shows that people can make the Great Dao flourish and carry on the teachings of the sages of old; the Great Dao, in turn, responds to the people of the world, giving guidance to generations to come.

In the Hall of Realizing the Dao, the heart should be free of even the slightest attachment. In the face of the myriad practices, this is the time for everyone to apply themselves diligently. Those in positions of authority should be generous and benevolent; those below should remain reverent and compliant. If worldly thoughts draw you into disputes, you will not grasp the bearing of those who understand the profound principles. If you accompany one another with Dao-centered hearts, you can carry on the work of cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy).

You were once practitioners who had transcended the mundane world; now you have become members of the Daoist community, bound together as kin in the teachings. Do not cling to the passing gains and losses of worldly life, and do not slight the precious teachings handed down by the sages. Cultivate together and attain the fruit of the Dao in this life; once you have transcended the ordinary, enter the ranks of the immortals together. A noble person who leaves home to cultivate the Dao should clarify the mind and study deeply. A person of resolve who withdraws from the world should discern all things with a sincere heart. Be cautious and cherish this.

Part Two: Venerable Master Feng

The highest Dao is deep and hidden; the mysterious Dao is beyond words and difficult to perceive. It existed before Heaven and Earth and is not confined by writing. In the realm of light, all things should be examined with a sincere heart. Be cautious and cherish this.

The highest Dao is profound and mysterious, so subtle that it can neither be seen nor heard. It existed before Heaven and Earth took shape and is not confined by words. Bright and transparent, it fills the ten directions; still, pure, and wondrously responsive, it moves through the Three Realms. Its transformations are endless, and it gathers Yin-Yang into itself. Both its substance and its function are real and enduring, without limit.

Alas, ordinary people are weighed down by deep impediments and find it difficult to understand or embrace. Some scorn the past and exalt the present, recklessly producing all sorts of opinions. Others cling to particular methods, practice Chan meditation, and inquire into the Dao, setting up separate schools. Thus the undifferentiated Qi of the Taiji disperses, teachings divide into different lineages, and people are pulled along by feelings and discriminating thought, unable to return to the source. Seeing this is truly pitiful. For this reason, many skillful means have been opened, and the boat of compassion set in motion, to rescue all beings in the sea of suffering, free them from grave afflictions and the cycle of the Six Paths, guide them back to the true Way, and let them again experience the original state before division.

A realm of tranquil stillness is opened, where people may wander among the palaces of immortal lands and pure capitals. On the Five-Cloud Terrace, the “Mysterious Pearl of Millet Grain” is transmitted, a symbol of the exceptionally subtle true Qi or Elixir in Neidan cultivation. Beside the Nine Luminaries Tower, the “Precious Sword Containing Light” is raised high, a symbol of inner wisdom and the power of cultivation. One moves freely through a boundless expanse, the heart open and untroubled, entering a state without attachment. Every gesture and step follows its own nature; body and mind merge completely with the Way’s unadorned simplicity. In this way, all impediments are swept away, and one roams freely in the realm of Bodhi, or awakening. Transcending life and death, with nothing gained or lost, one no longer clings to the sacred or the ordinary; emptiness and form, the nature of emptiness and the world of appearances, are both encompassed.

Even if such contrary-to-nature events occur as a clay ox bellowing at the moon or a wooden horse whinnying in the wind, they merely reveal a Chan gesture and offer a knowing person a laugh. When words cut sharply, they can shout down outsiders who claim superior insight; in silent radiance, they can also shatter fierce attachments to spiritual practice. “The flower gathers five petals” and “the pivot brushes aside the three mysteries” are expressions of Chan’s teaching gestures. Practitioners should set aside the pincers-and-hammer techniques of the Primordial Celestial Worthy and need not be bound by the many expedient means of Shakyamuni. They should make full use of “Xiangwang,” the fabled figure who seems both present and absent and who attains the Dao by forgetting images, without clinging even to Nirvana. Unconfined by the names and forms of Caoxi Chan, they may rest at ease in a pure place like Zheng Garden.

Long before Bodhidharma and Kumarajiva were born, the Daoist thought represented by Zhuangzi and Liezi already existed. Yet it is lamentable that students of the Dao forget the root and chase after the branches, abandoning the host to cherish the guest. Instead of investigating the Great Dao of emptiness and stillness, they cling to reciting Sanskrit; though their roots lie in China, they yearn for the West to seek proof. After wearing out their shoes in this futile pursuit, what are they looking for? A stone lion having its heart and liver gouged out, and the marrow of a wild fox soaked through with its own saliva, are exaggerated images mocking fixation and delusion. Some people indulge their desires while vainly hoping to become Buddhas, then deceive others with tangled, insoluble riddles.

How should such people be guided? For now, let us cast the medicine of the teachings into the world and bring forth the finest essence, a metaphor for the purest teaching, to help practitioners with the right capacities. Let us clarify the path of cultivation that is theirs by nature, so they may examine themselves and recognize their original face. Here I offer a few hints for kindred spirits to understand: what tune, in the end, does this lineage play? Its music belongs to no customary scale; it is the “Spring in the Sun” beyond the cycles of time. Though the zither has no strings, it can still sound the music of Heaven. There is no need to embroider splendid robes and phoenixes with threads of jade and needles of gold. Whoever understands may return and ascend with everyone to the tower that knows no night, joining a refined gathering.

A bottomless basket can draw water; an iron tree without roots can blossom. How could such a state be marked with a seal and handed down? At the threshold of the undivided, words allow no discussion; before Mount Lingbao, who can truly plant their feet and stand firm? Practitioners should be free and at ease, without scattered thoughts. With sudden insight into the mysterious principle, they may roam freely between Heaven and Earth. May you dwell for a long time among the ranks of immortals and perfected beings. Take good care of yourself.

A hundred years pass as swiftly as running water, and the work pursued throughout a lifetime ultimately comes to nothing. If one can suddenly grasp the wondrous truth, one may roam freely between Heaven and Earth and take one’s place among the immortals for ages to come. Please take good care.

A hundred years pass as swiftly as running water, and a lifetime’s work is as empty as bubbles on its surface. Yesterday, one’s face was still rosy as peach and apricot blossoms; today, one’s hair is already streaked white as frost and snow. Su Qin, the minister, wore the seals of office of six states at his waist, yet could not escape death. Guo Ziyi rose to the highest rank of the Three Ministers, yet in the end his allotted years came to a close. The rise and fall of human affairs are like termites gathering and dispersing, as insubstantial as a dream. The cuckoo’s repeated calls urge us to return, as though counseling us to return to our true nature without delay. Do not wait until disaster comes before realizing that everything is illusory.

Even if your halls are filled with gold and jade, how can you keep them? Your children and grandchildren may be before your eyes, yet all you can do is sigh in vain. Towering halls with green tiles and walls painted vermilion have nothing to do with you. White horses drawing carriages, gleaming red wheels, and jingling golden bells will, in the end, pass into someone else’s hands. You grieve over these things, never noticing that time has slipped quietly away. The ghostly messenger cannot be bribed, and the King of the Underworld shows no favoritism. What use are a thousand streams of tears? Regret comes too late. Your heart may be knotted with sorrow, but whom can you blame? Only then do you realize how wrong you have been, time after time.

Seeing fallen blossoms drift away on the water brings sorrow to the heart, yet nothing can be done. The autumn wind sweeps over withered grass, leaving a desolate scene too painful to look back upon. Wise and discerning gentlemen, generous men of purpose, should set aside all worldly affairs and awaken decisively at the hearing of a single sentence: regard gold as dung in order to seek immortality; regard white jade as dust in order to turn the course of Heaven and Earth. Stop weighing every possibility and calculating back and forth; there is no need to scheme over gains and losses from morning to night. Let your resolve be as hard as steel, and hold firmly to your course.

With this kind of cultivation, why continue refining medicines and elixirs? You can return to the Three Islands, the legendary immortal isles of the sea. There is no need to set up a furnace and cauldron for alchemical work; you can reach the Ten Continents, the legendary realms of the immortals. Xu Jingyang, the Daoist of the Jin dynasty said to have attained the Dao and become an immortal, ascended bodily with his entire family for this very reason. Liu An, King of Huainan, and his household likewise left the mortal world for no other reason.

More admirable still are those who possess the Dao. They can bring about momentous, world-shaking opportunities and command abilities surpassing those of people in every age. What they think accords with what they say, and what they say accords with what is in their hearts. Their names have already been entered on the Cinnabar Terrace, the Daoist register of perfected immortals, and their merit will surely be recorded in the Purple Palace, the abode of the immortals. If the words of sages and worthies were all false, they would have betrayed their kind-hearted followers indeed. I know my words are clumsy and dare not say more. I respectfully ask the immortal guests who have long dwelt among the immortals to take good care.

I have respectfully heard that when a single spring thunderclap shakes the earth, it quickens all things, and all things release their fragrance. Phoenix cakes and Dragon-rounds, names for finely made compressed teas, are among tea’s most precious offerings, revealing its purest and most subtle qualities. The Qi of Yin and Yang nourishes what is beautiful, while the Qi of Heaven and Earth mingles and gathers. Tea receives the vital force of the four seasons and brings together the clear, elegant flavors of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). It grows in early spring gardens, as precious as pieces of jade, and takes root among mountain crags beneath auspicious snow, where the workings of creation produce its delicate, spirited buds.

Tea pickers gather the leaves and skillfully prepare them at the proper season. The leaves are ground in a golden trough, their fragrance rising to meet the nose. They are placed in a stone cauldron to brew; the tea boils, and flowerlike froth surges and leaps. After Lu Tong drank seven bowls of tea, it was as though the dullness and confusion brought on by the six desires—humanity’s many cravings—had been washed away. After the Chan master Zhaozhou Congshen of the Tang dynasty drank three cups, it was as though the dreamlike delusions of living beings had been cleansed. Those who love tea feel their spirits refreshed; those who grasp its meaning find their minds cool and clear. Do not think this is merely the way of Buddhist monks: tea is also truly a pleasure enjoyed by Daoist practitioners. I shall take this one flavor of tea and share it freely with everyone. As you return home in joy, may you cherish this elegant taste.

“Chan Praises of the Seven Perfected,” with a preface by the Perfected One Piyun

Those who practice the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) feel their spirits refreshed; those who understand it find their minds cool and clear. Do not think this is merely the way of Buddhist monks: tea is also truly a pleasure enjoyed by Daoist practitioners. I shall take this one flavor of tea and share it freely with everyone. As you return home in joy, may you cherish it.

“Chan Praises of the Seven Perfected,” with a preface by the Perfected One Piyun

The Way of Complete Perfection has been transmitted for a long time. Zeng Zigu once explained it in great detail, yet later scholars still found it profound and difficult to understand. “Complete” means that all things are fully endowed; “Perfection” means that every thought is true and free of delusion. When all things are fully endowed, nothing is incomplete; when every thought is true and free of delusion, not a moment is untrue.

For all things to be fully endowed may be called “complete completeness,” yet it has not reached the root of completeness. For every moment to be true and free of delusion may be called “perfect perfection,” yet it has not reached the root of perfection. At the state of “complete yet not complete, perfect yet not perfect,” there is nevertheless nothing that is not complete and nothing that is not perfect. Even when cultivation and study reach this point, the wondrous depths of what is called “complete” and “perfect” remain far from exhausted.

Thus, those who have attained the Dao can move mountains and rivers, shift cities, walk through water and fire, and enter metal and stone. They act with ease and undergo transformations without end. The teachings of the Complete Perfection school originated with the Most High Lord Lao, who transmitted them to the Lord of the Eastern Florescence. The Lord of the Eastern Florescence passed them to the Perfected One of Pure Yang; the Perfected One of Pure Yang passed them to the Perfected One of Chongyang. Before the Perfected One of Chongyang, the first signs of the Complete Perfection Dao had only just appeared, and people did not yet believe in it. After him, its teaching spread widely. It has now continued for seven generations. Donglai Piyunzi, who inherited the teachings, observed fasting and purification with care and composed “Eulogies to the Seven Perfected Ones.”

Eulogy

The founding patriarch, the Perfected One of Chongyang, suddenly cast off his golden seal, a token of worldly glory and office. He received the secret method of Dongbin (Lu Dongbin) and drank the spirit nectar of Ganhe, a sign of the opportunity to cultivate the Dao. He ascended to the highest level and entered the hall of profound mystery. In the Eastern Sea he befriended four fellow Daoists; in the celestial realm he commanded the assembled immortals. Golden lotuses bloomed, giving rise to many patriarchs; jade leaves flourished, carrying the lineage through nineteen generations. Since the patriarch departed this world, Mount Zhongnan has remained as beautiful as ever.

The Second

Perfected One of Danyang (Ma Yu), your bearing is extraordinary, your three topknots seeming to dance. You secretly grasped the pointed lesson of the bestowed taro, then suddenly awakened to the deeper meaning of the words about dividing a pear. You gave up your old estate, half a province in extent, and answered the summons of the Three Pure Ones. You entered the place where the two Qi had not yet divided and wielded the wondrous principle that lies beyond the reach of the Five Phases. With a peal of thunder, you departed; clapping your hands and laughing, you watched flowers fall like rain.

I bow before the Way of Changzhen. He acted without fuss over minor conventions, with a boldness as stern as an autumn day and a footing firm as iron. Generously, he left behind his worldly family and kin, resolutely entering the Mysterious Gate of Daoist cultivation. He inherited Langranzi’s secret of the Ninefold Turning, the essentials of internal alchemy, and received the four phrase formula from Master Chongyang (Wang Chongyang). Thus he transcended the forging of Yin and Yang and the transformations of creation, and unlocked their hidden workings. In ten years of cultivation, he savored a freedom as sweet as spring in Luoyang. Why would he readily reveal its secret to the east wind?

The Fourth

The seeker of long life is truly extraordinary, with a strikingly graceful bearing. Weary of the filth and clamor of the world, he grasped the meaning passed down through the lineage. His spirit roams among rosy clouds beyond the world, while his body mingles with the clamor of drums and flutes in the marketplace. He wears red flowers in the fabled immortal realm of Langyuan and savors green peaches on the legendary Penghu Isles. He leaps beyond the vast, surging waves; though his numinous light is but a single spark, no one recognizes it.

The Fifth

The Perfected of Changchun is truly great, his character already pure and noble in youth. Alone, he traveled west through the dust and wind toward Hangu Pass, and sat in stillness beneath the moon at Panxi for seven years. Six times he received imperial summons, and four times he went to court. Dozens of states came under his teaching; he guided and transformed them through stillness and Wuwei (non-action). He also endured without complaint the snowy roads stretching thirty thousand li. In dreams, he roamed the immortal realms atop Baoxuan Terrace; dew dripping from the pine boughs revealed a hint of the immortals’ secrets.

The Sixth

He was bestowed the title “Embodying the Mysterious.” Within him lay true nature, naturally at rest in Wuwei. The image of bamboo was hidden in his name, while his rank was silently set above the golden lotus. In the sixth month, he stood for a long time facing the vital Yang; in the bitter winter, he slept peacefully amid wind and snow. A chicken had been cooked, yet crowed again; even after drinking poisoned wine, he lived on. He received four summonses from the Jin court and twice answered the Jade Emperor’s call. Tell me, moon beneath Tiezhi Mountain: are you willing to reveal this secret to the world?

The Seventh

He stood for a long time facing the vital Yang, and slept peacefully amid wind and snow in the bitter winter. A chicken had been cooked, yet crowed again; even after drinking poisoned wine, he preserved his life. He received four summonses from the Jin court and twice answered the Jade Emperor’s call. Tell me, moon beneath Tiezhi Mountain: are you willing to pass this secret on to the world?

In his youth, the author Taigu was fortunate to meet Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang). He rose above the mists of worldly life and withdrew far from the contests of fame and profit. In the city of Ninghai, he turned back the sun and moon; beneath Zhaozhou Bridge, he sat motionless, as though even frost could not touch him. He refined the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) into essence, and cooked the Bagua (Eight Trigrams, symbols of the forms of Heaven and Earth and all things) into food. After eighty-four years, he had repaid his debts to the world. When the east wind came, he looked back toward his former home.

Someone asked, “Are the accomplishments of the Seven Perfected (the seven patriarchs of Quanzhen Daoism) all contained in this poem?” The reply was, “No. This is like following the tracks left by a thousand-mile horse or gathering feathers fallen from a phoenix, then thinking you have grasped the full form of the horse and the phoenix. How could that be?” The questioner smiled and bowed.

Only a sage understands a sage; only a perfected person understands a perfected person; only a phoenix understands a phoenix; only a qilin understands a qilin. The Old Immortal Peiyun, a Daoist of the Quanzhen tradition, entered the Dao in his youth and served Perfected Changchun (Qiu Chuji) for more than forty years. He was especially accomplished in Quanzhen Daoism. He heard with his own ears and witnessed with his own eyes the Seven Perfected manifest their spiritual powers and conceal themselves while putting the Dao into practice. He therefore wrote these eulogies. Every line of the poems is rich in meaning. Their accounts are neither false nor extravagant, and their language is not dressed up for effect. Those in the world who study the Dao may read them as a trustworthy guide and have no further doubts.

“Song of Untroubled Wandering”

Live in accordance with nature, with an open and untroubled heart. Preserve yourself and keep your distance from worldly clamor. Draw near to the gulls and swim among the islets and sandbanks in clear water. Play the se and make music, meeting fishermen and woodcutters along the way. Be broad-minded: do not be ashamed of poverty or low status, and do not prize rank and distinction. Reel in your line and watch the anglers in the evening; stroll at ease and admire the plants sprouting in spring.

Even coarse hemp clothes can bring peace and contentment; grace, like rain, reaches even the quietest places. Study the Huangting Jing, a Daoist classic on cultivating health and practice, and all manner of worries will dissolve. Eat purple yams and pass the day in peace. Here, open a small path to your retreat and ride the wind through the highest heavens. When your spirits lift, play a short flute; clasp your hands in the Daoist meditation posture for gathering Qi, as though returning to childhood.

The emperor’s favor and gifts are no lasting support; quiet ease alone is enough to make one rich. Let others compose their writings and display their talents; I cherish only the realm of emptiness and stillness. Once your wish is fulfilled, bathe by the Yi River as Zeng Xi did, delighting in the springtime scene he described in the Analects. Tired of the clamor, you need not take to heart the tale of Xu You, who withdrew from the world and drank from a gourd. Be humble, and use a hoe when you work. Blunt your edge and keep company with those who cut grass and gather firewood.

When fortune turns against you, know when to withdraw and stop. Through the coldest years, let your integrity remain unchanged. Keep yourself within the bounds of propriety, like Master Five Willows, Tao Yuanming, content with poverty. Husband and wife may sometimes sow and till together; after retreating from public life, they would not bow for five pecks of rice. Water the vegetable beds, gladly carrying an urn to draw water by hand. Hearing the Shao music, they rejoice and forget the taste of food. Removing harm is worth more than valuing gold and jade; diligently cultivate De, and bring honor to the name of your ancestors.

Let your aspirations soar higher than a swift horse can run. Take wing, and give no thought to the tiny wren. Leave worldly learning behind and roam through Xuanpu, the legendary realm of immortals; sing in praise of a wise and flourishing age. Admire the parrots by the water and rest along the winding pond. The fabled deer mistaken for reality is futile, and the plantain leaf is only a dreamlike prop. It is useless to shut off the senses and focus only on storing up possessions. Cultivate the roots; do not rush like someone trying to pull seedlings taller. Settle disputes with candor and reason; nourish your nature and take joy in a long life lived naturally. Hide your inner depths well: appear simple, while brightness lies within.

Visit Chan masters and seek the Dao, exploring secluded towers. Even striking tiles and vessels can produce ingenious sounds. Once all things are seen as one, what is there to gain? The quarrels and divisions of the world can all be left behind. Alas, people fight like snails over fame and profit, while sitting by to watch crows fly to the high branches. I would rather be an old farmer working alongside others; why would I stoop to serve as a petty official? The sound of phoenix flutes comes from beyond the clouds, and spring seems to hang from the tip of a walking stick. Who has set the wooden kite flying? Even a stringless zither can tune itself. One day I will rise into the open sky, travel far, and return to what is true; then I will have no need of an emperor’s carriage.

The five kinds of beings between Heaven and Earth—immortals, humans, spirits, and ghosts—must all follow established rules to keep things in order. When the rules are broken, everything becomes inverted and confused; when they are followed, all things accord with nature. The Dao has existed since ancient times, while this Daoist hall was built only recently. It is a dwelling where immortals cultivate body and mind and nurture their nature, and a place where wandering sages—unconstrained practitioners of the Dao—can rest. Morning and evening, incense is burned and homage paid, praying for the emperor’s life to be without end. Morning and evening, scriptures are recited and explained, praying that the patrons—the dan-na, those who make offerings to support the hall—and their whole families may enjoy peace and good fortune.

Here, then, the hidden and the manifest are hard to fathom, and ordinary people dwell alongside sages. Practitioners live on little more than a bamboo hat, a rice bowl, and simple food, finding ease in a life of poverty. Like lone clouds and wild cranes, they are carefree people who have transcended the world, living freely and without constraint. When the dream of yellow millet fades, they rest peacefully with the breeze for a pillow; when the lead and mercury in the elixir furnace have been refined, they sit quietly before the half-windowed moon. When their cultivation and merit are complete, they will realize the mysterious and attain spiritual insight. They will subdue the dragons and tigers—a metaphor in Daoist internal alchemy for the forces of body and mind—leave the dark and bewildering path, and ride phoenixes and immortal cranes back to their grotto dwellings.

Anyone newly separated from worldly life and just entering the mysterious gate of Daoism, whose nature is not yet fully clear and whose heart is still troubled by doubt, should observe the rules. In time, they will naturally learn to act in accordance with them. Serve teachers and elders with respect, treat fellow practitioners kindly, and keep seeking the Dao and pursuing truth. Take constant care in cultivating nature and life; do not set your heart on fame and profit. Walk slowly and speak without shouting. Do not sing flirtatious, frivolous songs or gossip about right and wrong. Whether going out on official business or for personal reasons, do not return only after the lamps have been lit. Sit quietly until the sound of the bell calls you to rise. On arrival, register clearly and complete the formalities for taking lodging in the hall; on departure, publicly cancel your registration. Violations will be punished according to their severity: minor offenses incur a contribution of lamp oil or tea cakes, while serious ones are punished with a bamboo switch. Anyone who steals even a single coin, destroys or burns clothing or bowls, or drinks alcohol or gambles may not remain in the hall. Those holding official duties who commit offenses will receive double punishment. This notice is therefore posted so that everyone may know and observe these rules.

The verse says:

Daoist companions who have wandered here from the Five Lakes gather in one Daoist hall. Since so many fellow practitioners are gathered together, they must all observe the hall’s rules. If anyone holding an official duty violates them, that person must receive double punishment. This notice is therefore posted so that everyone may know.

Across the Five Lakes, clouds and waters join, and people gather in one place. Once kindred companions have come together, they should understand and follow the rules they share. Some are ordinary, some extraordinary; some often reveal themselves, while others remain hidden. Mysterious transformations have no fixed form, but the rules of the Daoist tradition remain constant.

What one can entrust is one’s own fate; what one can rely upon is Heaven’s will. People need not be bound by external things, and events do not happen without cause. Heaven brought me into the world, and Heaven will arrange my death. If I follow Heaven’s will in all things, what could be wrong with that?

The right moment awaits recognition; all things have their seasons of decline and flourishing. People have times of waning and rising, and affairs have times of ending and beginning. A dragon does not soar in winter, while fireflies can still dance through the night. The noble and the petty alike have times when fortune favors them and times when it does not.

Confucius reflected again and again, and Zengzi examined himself many times each day. Who am I to dare neglect self-cultivation and self-discipline? “People’s words make trustworthiness”: when people’s words accord, they form “trust.” “The sun and moon make brightness”: when sun and moon come together, they form “brightness.” “Stopping weapons makes martial strength”: to put an end to arms is what makes something “martial.” “Lamb’s goodness makes soup”: tender lamb can be made into a delicious broth. People may be wise or foolish, but every matter, great or small, deserves careful attention. What is gained is often hard to come by; what is lost is often easily lost.

When the time comes to decide, hesitation must not prolong the decision. Fail to cut through when you should, and you will only bring confusion upon yourself. If you see good conduct but do not earnestly follow it, notice your own faults but do not promptly correct them, and still claim to understand the Dao, how difficult that must be.

One’s conduct should be as pure and fine as gold and jade, as weighty as hills and mountains; one’s bearing should be as dignified as a phoenix, and one’s character as fragrant as orchids. Spring will not come again, and flowers will not bloom a second time. People will not grow young again, and time will not return.