《明道篇》

The Dao (the Way) is eternally bright by its very nature; it only needs human beings to elucidate it. That a person can comprehend and elucidate the Dao likewise depends on the Dao if one is to bring oneself to fulfillment. Thus everyone who is wise and penetrating writes and teaches in order to make the Dao manifest, and follows the Dao so as to preserve both body and mind.

In my youth I studied the Confucian classics and gained a general command of the Six Classics. I also understood the civilizing way of benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and music, together with the principles by which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things transform. I once wondered: Heaven, Earth, and humanity are together called the Three Powers, and all alike are endowed with the Dao—why, then, do Heaven and Earth endure so long, while the human span of life is so brief?

Later, when I read the words of the Laozi, I suddenly understood: “Heaven and Earth can last because they do not live for themselves alone, and therefore they can long endure. People die young and live only a short while because they set their whole hearts on greedily clinging to survival, and in doing so neglect life itself.” Among the myriad things, birds, beasts, creatures that move, and grasses and trees can all undergo change: dung-insects can become cicadas, rotting grass can turn into fireflies, a sparrow entering water can change into a clam, a pheasant entering the sea can change into a great clam, a field mouse can become a brocade-furred beast, and fish, too, can transform into dragons. How much more, then, human beings, the most spiritual of all things—can they not preserve the root of life originally their own, and become immortals who live long and do not die?

Yet the six desires and seven emotions—all manner of desires and feelings—wear away body and mind, and the entanglements of fame and profit do deep harm as well. When the depletion is too great, an early death is hard to avoid. People therefore often do no more than cling to life, while having no means of lengthening it; everyone loathes death, yet has no method for keeping far from it. Having come into the world, and having moreover the good fortune to be born in the land of China, how can one fail to take the great matter of life and death to heart, and seek a way of cultivating the Dao that may be transmitted through ten thousand generations?

I therefore sought widely beyond the ordinary world for the learning of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and for the supreme Dao. The scriptures of the Three Teachings, thunder rites, prayer, medicine, divination, and the study of stars and fate—I applied myself to all of them as best I could. Worthy persons and ordinary teachers and friends alike—I consulted them all, yet I could never reach the realm of the Great Dao all at once. Day and night I cultivated with diligence; worry and thought accumulated over a long time, until at last I fell ill. Perhaps my sincere heart moved Heaven above, for I was able to meet an accomplished master who personally transmitted the unsurpassed, supremely true, and wondrous Dao. A single sentence brought out the essential point, so that I directly grasped the true method of cultivation.

Afterward, studying it again and again, I found that the Dao has nothing strange about it. What matters is to apply the mind with utmost sincerity, to inquire into the principles of things, and to obtain true knowledge. Remove one’s private selfish desires and preserve an impartial heart that accords with the principle of Heaven, and one will naturally discover that within the heart there are “medicinal substances” that can be drawn upon without end, and within the body a “fire-phase” that turns without ceasing. These medicinal substances and fire-phases are, in the cultivation of the Golden Elixir, ways of speaking of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), of the conditions of cultivation, and of the timing of their use. The more deeply one searches, the more inexhaustible the substances appear; the more one refines and nourishes, the less the fire-phase ever comes to rest.

Once I had obtained this Dao, I dared not keep it as my private possession, and so I set down what I had learned in eighty-one poems, to match the nine-times-nine number of pure Yang. Sixteen of them are seven-character poems of four rhymes, corresponding to the number “two eights”; sixty-four are quatrains, corresponding to the sixty-four hexagrams of the Classic of Changes; one is a five-character poem, symbolizing the singular odd number of Taiyi (the Great One); and I further composed twelve lyric stanzas to the tune “Moon over the West River,” corresponding to the twelve pitch standards. I named the book the Mingdao pian (Treatise on Elucidating the Dao).

The medicinal substances, fire-phases, measures, and standards that the various elixir scriptures have not explained in full I have tried, so far as I could, to clarify in this book, so that later people may follow the intention of the former worthies, who wrote in order to elucidate the Dao and relied on the Dao to preserve true nature. Yet the hidden workings of Heaven are deep and obscure; how could one be free of the fault of divulging them rashly and of treating the methods of the Dao with negligence? I, Wang Weiyi, make this vow: I hope that all who seek learning throughout the world may reach the ultimate Dao. If one sets one’s mind on spreading this Dao widely, why worry over fortune and misfortune, or carry on the fears of those who came before? Should those of like mind and shared purpose read the words with care and grasp their meaning, not clinging to surface formulations but pursuing the true principle, then, once they have obtained the Dao, they will never lose it. This is my wish.

Mid-autumn of the jiachen year of the Dade reign: respectfully prefaced by Wang Weiyi, Jingyangzi, a later student of Songjiang.

Composed by Wang Jingyang, a later student of Songjiang.

Sixteen regulated poems, arranged in the sequence of the “gate of the twice-eight persons.”

Human life is like a dream, and time passes very quickly. People toil in vain to accumulate wealth, yet allow desires for sound and sight to damage their inborn nature, and let the spirit chase after fame and profit. Trapped in the bitter sea of passion, they drift among the wave crests and can hardly extricate themselves; they are also like those who live in a burning house and suffer its scorching, while the karmic obstructions they create grow ever deeper. If one wastes a lifetime in this way, then even if in a future life one changes form, it is not as good as turning back now, in good time, to cultivate.

To study the Dao (the Way), one must first understand these three: Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Only when they are cultivated to completeness does the Dao draw near. To speak only of emptiness and nonbeing, or to cling to what has form and appearance, is in either case a deviation; only by investigating the root and seeking the source can one obtain the true principle. When the mind’s thoughts are upright and unbiased, and a single thought is kept clear and bright, one becomes perfectly integrated and luminous, free and unobstructed, untouched by the finest dust. If one can comprehend this mysterious principle, one will understand that what the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—set forth can in the end all be brought together within oneself.

The Dao of spontaneity is originally Wuwei (non-action); if one deliberately clings to “non-action,” it instead becomes intentional doing. Once the meaning has been grasped, one need not be bound by words, and only then can one be truly penetrating; clinging to bodily form and outward appearance only increases confusion. When body and mind are quiet and deeply settled, they can contain heaven and earth; when Shen and Qi are harmonized, Kan and Li—symbolizing water and fire, and also referring to the inner Qi of Yin-Yang—can intersect and merge. As for such a wondrous secret, how many people, one wonders, truly comprehend and know it?

The single aperture of the Mysterious Pass—in Neidan (internal alchemy), the crucial locus that points to the root of body and mind and to the meeting of nature and life—is the most difficult to explain. Without a teacher’s transmission from mind to mind, one should not cultivate rashly. Only if one can discern where a thought arises will one know that the Dao lies within it. When Yin and Yang have not yet been distinguished, the primordial beginning is originally without form or image; when sun and moon join, where is there any human feeling? To understand its exact meaning further is like the sun at noon standing in the third watch of midnight—seemingly opposite moments used to describe the subtle, hard-to-perceive crux in the transformations of Yin and Yang.

All things grow together within creative transformation; once self and other are divided, the Dao can hardly course through. When spring returns to the valleys, every household feels the warmth; when the moon rises to the center of the sky, every household sees the same moon. Fish leaping from the water and hawks soaring in the air all embody one and the same principle of creative transformation; the crane’s cry answered by its young likewise springs from innate nature and true feeling. The vast Dao embraces heaven and earth; yet to call it wholly mindless and empty of all things still falls into one-sided attachment.

Li and Kan—representing fire and water, and also symbolizing inner Yin and Yang—are originally one, like an iron ox that day and night turns the river chariot, a Neidan term for the pathway along which Jing and Qi circulate within the body. When nature returns to the primordial sea, golden liquid is produced; when life returns to emptiness, jade blossoms are generated. When the Four Images—in Neidan, the mutually coordinated transformations of Yin and Yang—are harmonized and return to the one Earth, the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) gathers and forms the Three Flowers, commonly a symbol of the condensation and sublimation of Jing, Qi, and Shen. Circulating in silence in this way the firing times of the celestial circuit—a metaphor, in Neidan cultivation, for the movement of Qi within the body—golden flowers burst forth and fill the Nine Blossoms, symbolizing the realm of perfect manifestation.

The movement and stillness of Yin-Yang cannot be understood by deduction alone; strained conjecture and reckless action only waste the spirit in vain. The Dao (the Way) is right before one’s eyes and often manifests of itself, yet the treasure deep within the heart—the true nature, or the inner cultivation gained through practice—is known to very few.

Yan Hui lived in a humble alley and still often felt joy in his heart; Shun dwelt deep in the mountains, and his aspiration never changed. The principles of the world are not originally of two kinds; to force them into separate schools only makes them ever more scattered.

The root and sprout of the Dao already lie within oneself—why search everywhere for herbs and burn thatch? Heaven and earth, sun and moon, seem to revolve with the intentions of the mind, and the hun and po souls, together with the spirit, can be harmonized along with them.

Those who understand the Mandate of Heaven often discern the root in the state of the Qian hexagram before its Yin-Yang lines have been drawn; those who delight in according with the Way of Heaven constantly savor the renewal of the myriad things symbolized by the first line of the Fu hexagram. Good fortune, misfortune, regret, and remorse all arise from action. Even if one appears dull all day long, one can rest content within and enjoy the happiness brought by the sagely Dao.

The supreme Dao has never been easy to transmit; only by grasping the way of the “Central One” can one penetrate the true meaning of creation and transformation. The cultivator must investigate the root as if opening primal chaos and dividing heaven and earth, and must cultivate Neidan (internal alchemy) as if cleaving open the primordial murk and gathering mercury and lead (terms such as mercury and lead symbolize the process of refining and nourishing Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)).

If desires have not been removed, studying the Dao is labor in vain; if greed has not been cut off, the quest for immortality is empty talk. To understand where the return to the origin and the reversion to the source are found, one must know that the running of the hare and the flight of the crow—the movement of the sun and moon—have never left the Way of Heaven.

Once the principle has been grasped, one should forget attachment to words—this is earnest teaching, given again and again. If students of the Dao cling to phrases and sentences, they only sink deeper. The Dao is like the clear moonlight of mid-autumn, and like the spring scene of green willows and red blossoms in the second month.

Why travel far to Putuo (the legendary sanctuary of the Bodhisattva Guanyin) to seek the Buddha, or enter a grotto abode in search of a Perfected Person (Zhenren)? The original text is missing a character here; the next line reads, “If one knows this true message”: if one understands this true principle, one is a person who has risen above the mundane world and roams free and at ease.

There is no need deliberately to subdue the earthly po or control the heavenly hun (both are terms, in Daoist inner cultivation, concerning the hun and po souls); if the mind is filled with delusive thoughts, the Dao is hard to attain. To cut off selfish intention and forget cunning calculation is to return to the root.

Attaining the Dao does not lie in deducing the line images or arranging the hexagrams; even if one exhausts every thought in seeking the “One,” one may still fail to meet the true root. Let me tell you the principle of the immortals: it does not lie among the three thousand six hundred gateways.

The myriad phenomena in all their profusion are contained within Kun (symbolizing the earth and the yin power that bears the myriad things); the principle before one’s eyes cannot be exhausted in words. Only when the mind and spirit are clarified and desires are cleared away can the spirit shine forth; when one’s nature is nourished and the bodily form forgotten, the Dao naturally endures.

Let the mind and Shen (spirit) be clear, still, and inwardly guarded, so that Yang Qi (vital energy) returns into Yin Jing (essence) and Yin Jing is not allowed to dissipate. Broadly speaking, if one cultivates for only a short while until the firing process matures, a single pellet of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) can be formed and taken into the mouth.

A fundamental thing originally inherent in Prior Heaven divides into the two powers of Yin and Yang. It has no fixed form, yet it appears in response to the thoughts of the mind. Ordinary people do not know that it is at work in everyday life, whereas the sage can discern its pattern and apply it in accord with the proper moment.

Neither increasing nor decreasing, one abides in the central and upright Dao (the Way); neither coming nor going, one holds to single-minded sincerity. The myriad scenes before the eyes are all like illusions. However freely things of red and purple, of every kind, crowd into view, one is not disturbed by them.

One draws on the wind of Xun (the wind among the Bagua [Eight Trigrams], often used in Neidan [internal alchemy] as a figure for the power that moves Qi) to stir the mechanisms of Qi; when the first Yang begins to stir, one applies a wondrous art. The Yellow Dame (a symbol in Neidan of harmonizing Yin and Yang and linking the heart and the kidneys) rides a tiger and returns into the Golden Portal (an immortal realm or elixir palace), while the Red Infant (symbolizing the true nature not yet stained by the desires of Posterior Heaven) rides a dragon and descends into the Jade Palace (symbolizing the Dantian [energy center], or the spirit chamber, within the body).

Sun and moon conjoin, producing the phases of the moon, such as the dark moon and the new moon; water rises and fire descends, in keeping with the Yin-Yang transformations symbolized by the hexagrams Zhun and Meng in the Zhouyi. The Xuanji (symbolizing the motion of the heavenly bodies, and also the circulation of the mechanisms of Qi within the body) moves according to the numbers three and five, and the numinous elixir then appears in the cauldron, showing red.

If one has not yet fully investigated the original face from before one’s parents were born, and yet cultivates in blind confusion, one will only suffer toil in vain. Closing the eyes and visualizing may still fall into delusive thoughts, and sitting in dead, withered stillness is not true practice either.

To understand movement and stillness, one must take the patterns of heaven and earth as a guide; one must also recognize floating and sinking, and distinguish the primary from the secondary, and the inner from the outer. When nature and life (in Daoist cultivation, spiritual nature and the Jing and Qi of life) fuse into one, there is no longer any distinction between self and other.

Those who study the Dao speak emptily of all sorts of methods; if they never meet a true immortal to instruct them, they often only deceive themselves. As with washing gold from sand, the true instructions are not easily obtained; as with seizing the moon in the water, the more one chases it, the harder it is to grasp.

Only when the Six Thieves are cut off (the traditional Buddhist and Daoist name for the desires arising from eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) can the mind become quiet; only when the Three Corpses are eliminated (the spirits, or desires, which Daoism says lie hidden in the human body and disturb body and mind) can the spirit find peace. When one’s nature is clear and limpid, with no stray thoughts within, one understands that birth and death have nothing to do with original nature.

Sixty-Four Quatrains, Arranged According to the Sixty-Four Hexagrams

The wondrous principle of Prior Heaven cannot originally be expressed in words; the moment one opens one’s mouth and speaks it, one has already fallen into the discriminations of Posterior Heaven. Those who study the Dao therefore produce all sorts of differing views, and must still inquire into the original face from before their parents were born.

There is originally a profound and subtle fundamental thing, neither born nor dying—who can truly know it? The moment a thought arises and one lifts one’s gaze, it is present everywhere; in rising and resting, sitting and lying down, it constantly accompanies body and mind.

Heavenly Qi (the Qi that moves between heaven and earth) differentiates into numinous Qi, which then gives rise to the various mechanisms of Qi. The principle in this is exceedingly mysterious and subtle, and cannot be seen by relying on outward appearances.

The Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth differentiates into spiritual nature and sends down primordial Qi, so that the myriad things may grow. The principle in this is extremely profound and subtle, and cannot be fully fathomed by thought. To subdue the Six Thieves—the six sensory desires that disturb mind and spirit—and constantly preserve clarity and stillness, one must pass through a thorough tempering.

In refining the elixir, one must first refine primordial Jing (essence), the fundamental essence-Qi spoken of in cultivation. Only when primordial Jing is refined does Qi become pure and genuine. When Qi gathers, Shen (spirit) can settle. Guard Jing and Qi and do not let them dissipate, and one may become a Zhenren, a person who has attained the Dao (the Way).

The ultimate Dao is truly divine and wondrous. It resides in the human heart-mind and has endured, undiminished, from antiquity to the present. Worldly people are veiled by dusty thoughts and know nothing of it; those of clear understanding should seek it “within the valley.” “Valley” here is a Daoist figure of speech for a place of emptiness, stillness, and deep concealment.

Tears, saliva, Jing, fluids, Qi, blood, and liquids—these bodily secretions and Qi and blood—should not be clung to as the foundation of elixir refinement. Within the human heart-mind there is already a natural medicine. The practitioner must understand this and come to realize it in everyday practice.

Elixir refinement uses only the “gold within water,” a Neidan (internal alchemy) term for the crucial essence-Qi innately generated in cultivation, and it must be sought at the root of the Prior Heaven. When the “first stirring of the one Yang,” the sign that Yang Qi is just arising, appears, one must set to work at once and not hesitate.

If one does not understand the “Yin crystal,” a Neidan term for the factor in cultivation related to Yin essence-Qi, one should not practice rashly, or one will only waste effort in vain inquiry. So long as one holds to the principle of Heaven and harbors no selfish bias, there is no need to ride an ox while searching everywhere for the ox—what one seeks already lies within oneself.

To refine the reverted elixir, a Neidan term for the internal elixir formed through cultivation, one must first employ “lead,” a Neidan term often used as a metaphor for Prior Heaven true Qi and other elements of practice. Extraction and replenishment, together with the firing times—the grasp, in cultivation, of breath and of the measure of practice—must all be precise and single-minded. During the “bathing of the hare and the rooster,” a Neidan term for particular stages in cultivation, one must especially guard against points of danger; yet if one remains utterly motionless, it is also hard to accord with natural change.

In studying the Dao, one should understand the beginning of receiving Qi: at that time there is a single undifferentiated breath, as if one dwelt within the mother’s womb. Form is born from Kun, symbolizing Yin and Earth, and then returns to the seed of Qian, symbolizing Yang and Heaven, until at last a point of spiritual light penetrates the Great Void, the vast and boundless emptiness.

The golden crow in the sky, symbolizing Yang, responds to the red light at the bottom of the sea, symbolizing the Yang within Yin. When the Yin demons—the Yin forces that disturb cultivation—withdraw, it is just the time to apply effort. Do not let Qi grow turbid or Shen grow dim and scattered; otherwise “mercury runs and lead flies,” a Neidan expression for the dissipation of Jing, Qi, and Shen, and the elixir cauldron is left empty.

Concentrate Shen and sit in stillness in the “Crystal Palace,” a Neidan term for the place where mind and spirit dwell in clarity and quiet, and spiritual light can penetrate the Great Void. When still sitting reaches the point at which body and mind are cool and clear and the ground of the heart is empty and bright, water, fire, wood, and metal—cultivation symbols among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)—return to one place, and there is no longer any distinction of south, north, west, and east.

In leisure, it is as if one draws the bright moon up from the bottom of a pool; when the moment arrives, it is as if one binds the clouds upon a high peak. Within stillness and concentration, the pivot of Heaven and Earth suddenly opens, and the myriad phenomena all return to silence, with no sound to be heard.

To refine cinnabar and bring mercury to life, one must know that silver is precisely the wondrous aspect of the cinnabar. In the end they are originally one thing and need not be taken for two: the host sinks and the guest floats, sinking and floating serving as a metaphor for the relation of primary and secondary, and of Yin and Yang, in cultivation.

What gives birth to the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity is only this one true root. If a name is forced upon it, it is called the Dao and called mind and spirit. It walks and sits together with the person, accompanying them always; regrettably, the foolish and deluded are unwilling to draw near to it.

Cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy), one must first understand the “mind of the great return” (the method of mind that returns to the root and restores the origin), and not go looking for it among heterodox side paths and minor arts. Not even for thirty thousand ke (a general expression for a long and continuous stretch of time) may the work be interrupted; only then can rubble be transformed into gold.

In gathering the medicine, one must gather the pre-heaven Qi (vital energy) of True Unity—the primordial energy originally inherent—and in applying fire, one must seek the Jing (essence) of the Taiyi (Great Unity) in undivided primordial chaos, the source-essence before that unity has divided. One must grasp the secret of using medicine and fire: only when Qi is abundant and Jing and Shen (spirit) are complete will the elixir be refined.

In the moon there is a rabbit, symbolizing Yang; concealed in the sun is a rooster, symbolizing Yin. If one can understand how the rabbit and the rooster return to Wu and Ji (which represent Earth and also symbolize the power that harmonizes Yin-Yang), what need is there to enter the mountains and forests to cultivate the Dao (the Way)?

The Dao is originally without form; people only force a name upon it. Look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard. It embraces heaven and earth, and its wondrous functioning is inexhaustible. For those of shallow fortune and slight affinity, how could attainment come easily?

Shen delights in life, yet people deplete their spirit; toiling with the mind and consuming primordial Qi brings harm to oneself. Alas, most people in the world are like this. How many truly penetrate the great Dao and commune with spiritual luminosity?

Life and death both arise from the “thirteen.” Who can awaken and rest content in clarity, stillness, and ease? Originally there is not a single thing; one constantly abides in emptiness, stillness, and silence. When thoughts are exhausted and the mind is empty and luminous, one can transcend the dusty world.

Cherish Jing and Qi, and nourish the original Shen (the root source of a person’s spirit). If one merely cultivates through bitter toil and wearies the body, it becomes all the harder to draw near the Dao. Only in silent stillness and Wuwei (non-action), attached to nothing at all, does the True Person (one who has attained the Dao) appear, enabling one to leave the mundane. In dealing with the world, drawing near… The Dao gives birth to heaven and earth; heaven and earth separate out Li and Kan (symbolizing Yin-Yang, and water and fire); Li and Kan in turn generate the myriad things. Over the long passage of time, the myriad things will in the end turn to dust. Only by forgetting bodily form can one see the reality that was originally so.

Human beings in the world are the most numinous of the myriad things, yet they too have all along changed along with the myriad things, never ceasing. Only if one understands the place where the myriad things return to the root can one be said to see the principle by which cold Qi congeals and water freezes into ice.

If one wishes to catch fish and rabbits, one must rely on fishing gear and devices for snaring rabbits; without these implements, capture would likely be difficult. But do not take the implements themselves as the goal. Only by understanding this can one comprehend the chaotic state before heaven and earth had yet differentiated.

The medicine is produced in the southwest, yet the road does not go through. To open the way, one must seek instruction from the “master of the house” (the mind-spirit that presides over inner cultivation). Riding the wind along the embankment of green willows, yellow sprouts (a symbol of the medicinal substance in Neidan cultivation) lie everywhere, and one may gather them without end.

This poem, the Mingdao pian (“Illuminating the Dao (the Way)”), mainly discusses “gathering the medicine,” “refining the medicine,” fire timing (huohou), and “forming the embryo” in the practice of Neidan (internal alchemy). The “medicine” in the text is not an ordinary drug; it refers to the Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) within the practitioner’s body, and to the states they take on once condensed and refined. “Lead,” “mercury,” “true earth,” and the like are likewise terms of Neidan.

To refine the great medicine, the key lies in the essential Qi of heaven and earth. Once it has been gathered, it must still be refined and transformed through fine, careful work. Because cultivation stresses returning to the root and recovering what is true, the process is not simple; if the timing or the steps are even slightly amiss, undesirable consequences may follow.

“Gathering the medicine” must wait for the so-called moment when “gui is born.” Gui is one of the heavenly stems; here it means the moment in Neidan practice when Jing and Qi begin to stir and are fit to be gathered and refined. It does not mean a woman’s menstruation. If cultivation is understood as nothing more than regulating the breath, one has not touched the heart of refining the medicine; nor can the “great medicine” be formed by relying on other methods alone.

The true work of beginning is known to very few. Those who understand it are often cautious and unwilling to speak, fearing that the hearer will misunderstand. Although writings have now let slip the heavenly secret involved, one must still carefully appreciate the changes of Yin-Yang symbolized by the “lines of Kun and Fu”: after the Kun hexagram one passes into the Fu hexagram, which means that yang Qi begins to return to life.

Forming the elixir and forming the embryo require that the originally real Jing, Qi, and Shen be condensed, and this cannot be done apart from one’s own person. Cultivation must gather them step by step and must not be interrupted. Only after the work of “ten months” may one speak, by way of comparison, of the embryo being complete and a True Person (zhenren) being brought forth. The “ten months” here is a metaphor of Neidan practice; it does not necessarily mean the ten months of natural gestation.

After the refining is accomplished, even if true lead has been used, one must know how to set it aside at the proper time and not cling to it. In practice one should be like a hen brooding on her eggs, letting the breath continue in an unbroken thread. Then, through “warming and nurturing in the jade furnace,” and by carrying on that nurturing with “three years” as a figure of speech, the ordinary body can be transformed into an immortal body.

From “Fu” to “Qian,” yang Qi gradually becomes full; the changes of yin Qi are traced from “Gou” to “Kun.” This sentence uses hexagram images to describe the order in which Yin and Yang wax and wane in the course of cultivation. An ancient and far-reaching principle lies within it, and the practitioner must continually grasp from it the key to the beginning.

Among the twelve double-hours of a day and a night, only one time is truly suited to advancing the fire, and very few people know it. At the symbolic moment when primordial chaos first opens and the Qian hexagram first appears, the work of advancing the fire does not depend on being fast or slow, but on whether the moment is seized.

Even if one reckons all one hundred ke as a single ke, the medicine and the fire timing must still match one another and must not be at odds. Only when a pure and unstained state is reached can one speak of “nurturing the child within nothingness”—forming the Neidan out of the formless.

Even if one recognizes the “mercury” and the “lead” in the body, the effort is still in vain if one does not know “true earth.” “Mercury” and “lead” are paired symbolic terms in the art of Neidan; “true earth” is what harmonizes Yin and Yang and holds them together. If “earth” is taken only as a concrete image, such as an earthen cauldron or a yellow chamber, how could one ascend to the nine heavens on that account?

Only by understanding the moment when true earth appears can one be said to have received the orthodox transmission; if one does not understand fire timing, it remains of no benefit. If one clings to hexagram images and line images and works mechanically according to them, one merely wastes one’s spirit and cannot become an immortal.

Fire timing should be Wuwei (non-action) and in accord with what is natural; apart from the natural there is no other path to immortality. Let right mindfulness remain constantly in the heart, and rest securely in the middle way; there is no need to cling to distinguishing “Prior Heaven” (xiantian) from “Later Heaven” (houtian).

“Shedding the embryo” must not be regarded lightly; this stage demands a great outlay of mind and effort. The poem closes by stressing once again that fire timing must be Wuwei and in accord with nature, and that the practitioner should constantly keep to the middle way, without clinging to the distinction between Prior Heaven and Later Heaven.

When cultivation reaches the stage of “shedding the embryo” (tuotai), do not treat it as an ordinary matter. The work of this stage must be done with accuracy and steadiness. When the moment arrives, seize it firmly, so that life returns to the root and recovers its original condition, and at last ascends into the Heavenly Altar.

Bringing the cultivation of life to completion is not as good as first understanding original nature. Only when original nature is clear is the cultivation of life unlikely to go astray. One must know where nature and life (xingming) are settled: before any thought has yet arisen, they accord with Great Harmony (Taihe, the fundamental state of peace and harmonization).

The methods of cultivating life may perhaps be taught, but original nature is hard to make clear in words. Blind cultivation in foolish ignorance is truly pitiable. Without instruction spoken in person by one who truly possesses the Dao (the Way), one will only exhaust Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), and instead incur fault.

The subtlety of my method of the Dao lies in the single word “sincerity” (cheng). Without sincerity, one cannot unite with the Dao. In stillness there is neither sound nor visible trace; only in a vague, elusive, and dimly subtle state can the original reality be seen.

The sage is without selfish desire and concentrates on guarding purity and single-mindedness. In stillness the mind is empty and luminous; in movement one’s conduct is impartial. If there is even the slightest interruption, the Qi of harmful Yin (Yin-Yang) will cloud the mind and spirit, and one will be unable to reach through.

Only by not leaving the Dao for even a moment does one truly practice the Dao; it should be so through all twelve double-hours of the day. Guard Central Harmony (Zhonghe: neither biased nor partial, peaceful and measured), and do not let stray thoughts mix in; then one can take part in the transformative nourishing of Heaven and Earth. The marvel in this is hard to surpass.

The sage is without selfish desire and concentrates on guarding purity and single-mindedness. In stillness the mind is empty and luminous; in movement one’s conduct is impartial. If there is even the slightest interruption, the Qi of harmful Yin will cloud the mind and spirit, and one will be unable to reach through.

Only by not leaving the Dao for even a moment does one truly practice the Dao; it should be so through all twelve double-hours of the day. Guard Central Harmony, and do not let stray thoughts mix in; then one can take part in the transformative nourishing of Heaven and Earth. The marvel in this is hard to surpass.

Before selfish desire has yet arisen, Heavenly Principle is in the heart; the instant a thought stirs, ghosts and spirits already know it. Do not deceive yourself. Even in what is hidden and minute, where no one else knows, be cautious and reverent. Everyday words and deeds must not go against the proper Dao.

Good and evil both arise in the space of a single thought. If the thought deviates even slightly, it is as though a thousand barriers stand between. If one can understand not clinging to the distinction between good and evil, the mind can rest settled and unshaken, like a high mountain.

Human nature is originally natural and simple; only because of the lure of external things is it drawn along by feeling. If one can grasp the meaning in the line statements of the Qian hexagram, one should constantly maintain the state of “the dragon appearing in the field.” Here “the dragon appearing in the field,” from the Qian hexagram of the Classic of Changes (Yijing), is borrowed as an image, meaning that latent De (Virtue/Power) begins to manifest.

The human mind is easily shaken, while the mind of the Dao is subtle and hard to discern. The noble person should at all times accord with the sages’ method of the mind. In a dark room where no one sees, one should be as free of self-deception as in broad daylight, constantly cautious in solitary self-examination, and never depart from the proper Dao.

If a person can lessen desire, one can become settled. If only one quiets the mind and looks inward, a single thought can be made clear and empty. Do not rashly do what does not accord with ritual propriety or with humaneness, and naturally one will not incur regret or fault.

The Dao lies in daily life and ordinary conduct. Do not speak only of what is lofty, profound, and mysterious, or of empty void and vacant stillness. So long as one practices the proper Dao in everyday ordinary activity, and in solitude remains always cautious and self-examining, one does not go against the proper Dao.

If a person can reduce desire and settle body and mind, keeping in the heart only a single thought of clear awareness and concentrating on inner contemplation—observing one’s own thoughts and the state of body and mind—one will not act recklessly or do what goes against propriety, righteousness, humaneness, and virtue. In this way, one will naturally be unlikely to invite regret and distress.

The Dao (the Way) lies within everyday life; there is no need to talk emptily of lofty mysteries or of vacant stillness and void. So long as one acts according to the way of being human, with nothing to be ashamed of in one’s heart, and fully realizes human nature, one can come to understand the principle that human beings and Heaven and Earth are connected.

Consider what the Qian hexagram—the hexagram in the Book of Changes that symbolizes Heaven and vigorous strength—is like before it has been drawn. Once the first line is drawn, the myriad phenomena unfold from it. Regret, distress, good fortune, and misfortune are all related to human action. A person ought to remain diligent and unremitting throughout the day, always holding fast to a sincere heart.

Everything in the human world arises from thoughts of the mind. The mind originally has no fixed form; where, then, is one to look for it? Only when one can experience the state before a thought has arisen does one begin to see the true mind.

To study the Dao is to inquire into the original mind of the workings of Heaven and Earth, yet few people in the world can truly understand this level of principle. Such a principle is not easily spoken to the full, so people often turn instead to seek it along side paths and winding byways.

At the juncture where the Kun hexagram meets the Fu hexagram, there lies an extremely subtle principle; even ghosts and spirits, though they possess numinous subtlety, can scarcely glimpse it. If one wishes to understand the true message within it, one may read carefully the “Poem on the Winter Solstice” by Shao Yong (the Northern Song Neo-Confucian and scholar of the Book of Changes).

When the Yin-Yang of Heaven and Earth conjoin, the myriad things grow thereby; only after spirit and thought appear does the working of the Dao become manifest. One should often observe the marvel of the movement and transformation of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate)—the fundamental state in which Yin and Yang are not yet divided, yet which contains the transformations of Yin-Yang. If the myriad things lack sincerity, they cannot truly come to completion.

To grasp, from within the “One,” the principle of creative transformation is the essential point of mind-to-mind transmission. When thirsty, drink; when hungry, eat; when tired, sleep. Whatever situation one encounters, one can experience the wondrous functioning of the Dao. Once the relation between sincerity and destiny is understood, one knows that a person’s fate is not arranged entirely by Heaven.

As soon as a deluded thought arises, affliction follows; only when the thoughts of the mind become empty and luminous does the external realm also appear pure and still. What is called “emptiness” is not a matter of knowing nothing, but the capacity to illuminate all things clearly and to discern them within a vast, unobstructed realm of emptiness.

If one does not yet understand true “emptiness,” one should not speak lightly of emptiness. Clinging to emptiness, on the contrary, easily causes one to lose one’s fundamental mind-nature. If one wishes to know the true principle within emptiness, one must return to the state before primordial chaos was differentiated—when Heaven and Earth had not yet separated and the myriad things had not yet appeared—and experience it there.

Although the myriad things are empty, their nature is not mere nothingness. Practice must be worked at from within emptiness; when the mind is emptied until not a thread of dusty thought can take hold, the states of “golden light filling the chamber” and the “mysterious pearl”—symbolizing inner spiritual luminosity and the nature of the Dao—will appear.

To study the Dao, one must understand the matter of life and death; if one does not understand life and death and only talks emptily of becoming an immortal, it is in vain. Only when one understands how life arises can one understand death; then one is no longer bound by coming and going, by life and death, but lets them follow what is natural.

The Dao (the Way) originally has neither birth nor death. Only when a single thought slips awry do the tangled forms of the myriad things come into view. If one can clearly recognize the place where thoughts arise and vanish, it is like a bright moon illuminating the courtyard, and the mind grows clear.

There is no fixed method before the eyes to cling to and chase after, just as the mountains are green of themselves and the rivers flow of themselves. Through all twelve two-hour periods of the day, hold to this one thought; remain within thought, yet do not let thought drag you along. This alone is true cultivation.

To break open emptiness, one need not rely on the fist. Attachment must be laid down at the very place where thoughts of the mind arise and cease. If one merely seals the mind shut and sits blankly in empty fancy, the effort is vain in the end. The wondrous method transmitted by the master is not complicated. It only teaches one to refine “mercury and lead,” a metaphor in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) for the inner factors of cultivation, such as Yin-Yang, Jing (essence), and Qi (vital energy).

In cultivation one must recognize one’s own “master of the house,” that is, the true ruler within. If one does not know it, cultivation comes to nothing. Only by awakening to the constant, unchanging truth can one be said to have attained the Dao, transcend the Three Realms (the realm of desire, the realm of form, and the formless realm), and manifest spiritual powers.

The myriad dharmas are empty from the beginning and return to a single void, like a flake of snow falling into a red-hot furnace and melting in an instant. Trigram images such as Qian and Kun, Li and Kan, and the rest are likewise not objects one must cling to. The Great Dao is, from the outset, a level and direct path.

A Regulated Verse

Mysteriously joined as one with the Dao of true constancy, it is utterly seamless, without the least trace of yin obstruction. Within the profound and the elusive a supreme treasure lies hidden; between seeming presence and seeming absence, true gold is brought forth. The “true gold” here is a symbol in Neidan cultivation, not a material thing.

Once the “Dao” is spoken of as something fixed, it is already no longer the Dao. Only when the mind grows clear and still can one truly see the original mind. The genuine transformations of the Prior Heaven can be sought only within the “One.”

Twelve Stanzas to the Tune “Xijiang Yue” (West River Moon)

Before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) had yet differentiated, heaven and earth were a single chaos, and the two modes of Yin and Yang had not yet taken form. The moment the Qi of the single Yang began to stir, it broke through the chaos, and from then on the work of creation set itself in motion.

Water and fire rise and fall, one above and one below; wood and metal stand apart, east and west. Turn the handle of the Dipper ever so slightly—the part of the seven stars of the Northern Dipper that marks direction—so that it points toward the position of Kun, and the relations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) can be set interweaving and turning anew.

Sun and moon succeed one another, forming the dark of the moon and the new moon (the moonless end of the month and the new moon at its beginning). The tortoise and the snake, an image of Yin and Yang joined as one, appear amid Xu and Wei (names of lunar lodges). The wind of Xun blows unceasingly into the position of Kan. Fire is by nature dry and fierce, and must be harmonized with the aid of spiritual water.

Movement and stillness alike are guided by the mind’s intent. When they accord with the Dao of Heaven, they do not go against what is natural. The principle is clear and plain—what doubt remains? Why cling to the length of a lifespan, or to birth and death?

Within the position of Kan there is a single point of true Yang Qi. Bring it across to transmute the Yin Qi in the position of Li. These principles of creation are profound and hard to fathom; only by illuminating the mind and seeing one’s nature can they be understood.

The subtlety of cultivation lies in the inner mind remaining unstained by worldly dust, and in the mind not being drawn away when one faces outer conditions. Sadly, few people in the world truly understand this. If one can grasp it, one can transcend the ordinary and reach the realm of the sage.

The great Dao (the Way) has continued in a single line from ancient times to the present, transmitted orally by sages from generation to generation. Yet ordinary people often do not know the principle within it, and only chase after sounds and sights, absorbed in the pleasures of the senses.

The great Dao is close at hand. There is no need to seek it far away, nor to go elsewhere to meet immortals. It is plainly before one’s eyes, yet hidden within everyday life, and people often fail to notice it.

The Dao of which I speak is supreme and most precious. Without deep capacity and favorable conditions, it is difficult to understand. One must restrain selfish desire and reach the state of Wuwei (non-action) before the heavenly principle, originally complete, can become manifest.

All the myriad transformations of the world arise from an inner fundamental principle. From ancient times to the present it has neither increased nor decreased. If action and quiet cultivation can be brought into harmony and not set against each other, there is nothing different from the realm of the immortals.

To study the Dao one must have a firm and courageous resolve, holding to the original intention from beginning to end and not allowing the slightest selfish desire to disturb body and mind. Only then can the Shen (spirit) become concentrated and settled, and the Qi (vital energy) calm and stable.

Whether in action or in quiet cultivation, one must be free of bias and hold to the center and the upright. When Yin Qi recedes to its limit, Yang Qi arises. In Neidan (internal alchemy), the dragon and the tiger are often used as images of Yin-Yang Qi; the saying “the dragon descends and the tiger submits” means harmonizing and taming the Yin-Yang Qi within body and mind. When the work of cultivation is complete, one may ascend to the immortal realm.

After the “single grain of the Golden Elixir” has been achieved—a name, in Neidan cultivation, for the state in which the Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen of body and mind coalesce—one must still hold to the original intention throughout and not allow the slightest selfish desire to intrude, so that the Shen can become concentrated and settled and the Qi calm and stable.

Both action and quiet cultivation must hold to the center and the upright, so that Yin is exhausted and Yang is born, the dragon descends and the tiger submits, and even ghosts and spirits pay reverence. When the work is complete, one may ascend to the immortal realm.

Once the Golden Elixir is formed, the work of cultivation is already complete, and one need no longer cling to images such as the “White Tiger” and the “Azure Dragon.” If one is bound by the written word and attached to outward forms, the principle is hard to understand; nor can the subtlety of cultivation be simply equated with symbols such as “lead” and “mercury.”

One should gently nourish body and mind, settle the state of the heart, and always keep the breast peaceful, warm as a spring breeze. If, all at once, there are no thoughts at all and one also ceases to apply effort, that is still not proper. One must still rely on the “Yellow Dame”—a symbol in Neidan for harmonizing and mediating Yin and Yang—to regulate and direct the work.

Even if one reads through ten thousand volumes of elixir classics, without understanding “true mercury” and “true lead”—terms in Neidan symbolizing the Jing and Qi of body and mind and the transformations of Yin and Yang—it is still of no avail. Moreover, if one has never received a genuine transmission of the fire times, one may only be cultivating blindly.

A single true oral formula can bring the subtlety to light and make one understand that one’s own mind is originally clear. Let the Shen return to stillness and the Qi rest in peace, without bias or leaning, maintaining at every moment a state in which mind and spirit are connected and wholly unified.

The so-called “great medicine” originally has no fixed measure. The more one understands how to gather and refine it, the more inexhaustible is what one obtains. The road toward the secluded depths of the southwest is hard to find; once mind and intention accord, there is no need to strain in pursuit.

Kun-gui—a symbol in Neidan related to the Yin and to transformations belonging to Water—condenses into the true seed, which is then transplanted to the Qian palace, a position symbolizing the Yang and belonging to Heaven. Thereafter, even if violent rain and fierce wind strike the mountain peak, they cannot shake its foundation.

True fire originally has no fixed hour or set term, and one need not be bound by the sun and moon, the seasons, or the years. Consider the moment when Heaven and Earth had not yet divided and chaos had not yet opened: by what day or time could one verify it?

To transcend the bonds of the Five Phases (Wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) is to remain unstained by the dust of worldly attachments. Even when wind and rain beat fiercely upon the mountaintop, the foundation stands firm and unmoved.

True Fire is not, in its original nature, governed by fixed hours; one need not cling to the sun and moon, to the hours, or to the years. Consider the age before Heaven and Earth had differentiated and before chaos had yet opened—where, then, were there hours and years by which anything could be verified?

To transcend the bonds of the Five Phases is to remain unstained by the dust of worldly attachments. Only then does one come to understand the mystery within, and a precious “treasure pearl” appears. This “treasure pearl” is a symbol in the cultivation of Neidan (internal alchemy).

What is called bathing need not be carried out strictly at the mao hour or the you hour, nor need one cling to the zi hour or the winter solstice. So long as one proceeds along the Dao (the Way) of centrality and uprightness, there is from the outset no trace of deliberate cultivation; only then can one trust that, within the formless, the formed may arise.

The cosmos seems to lie within my grasp, and I often roam at ease as though riding an iron horse. Unconstrained and leisurely content, I wear flowers in my hair and drink wine by day and by night. Here the images of free roaming and of drinking express a state of unobstructed ease.

Li and Kan—the Li and Kan trigrams among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), commonly symbolizing fire and water respectively—need not be divided into south and north, nor need Wood and Metal be fixed in west and east. One need only guard the inner center and uprightness with a sincere and undivided mind, and not let the mind and Shen (spirit) run loose at will.

To recognize one’s true root, one must look deeply within: neither external things nor the self possess any fixed, unchanging substance. Settle into quiet until one reaches the Hongmeng, the state of primordial undifferentiation as when Heaven and Earth had not yet divided; then the Four Images and the Five Phases are of no further use.

Jindan Zaowei Lun (Treatise on the Subtle Attainment of the Golden Elixir)

The Dao (the Way) exists fundamentally where there is neither sound nor form and where words can scarcely reach, and it also appears in everyday life and conduct. However vast heaven and earth may be, they cannot depart from the Dao; however subtle the human heart may be, it too possesses the Dao. The Dao has always dwelt in the human heart, the same through all ages. If people can realize it beyond speech and come to a tacit understanding of one another, that is enough.

Ever since the ways of pure simplicity were lost, human hearts gradually ceased to understand the Dao. Had the sages not explained it, from where would later generations have come to know it? Thus the sages of the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—appeared according to their times and established teachings suited to those times. Their wisdom was wholly a matter of guiding all people under heaven back to the Dao. Unfortunately, once the schools had divided, scholars each clung to a single doctrine, exalted their own teaching, and mixed in private opinions, so that the impartial Dao was gradually lost.

People have not considered that the former sages established their teachings in order to answer the ills of the age and to rescue the world. Although the paths differ, the destination is the same; teachings change with circumstances and are not, like the vessels of which Zigong spoke, limited to a fixed use. If the world does not understand Confucius’s principle of the “four abstentions”—not conjecturing without grounds, not being dogmatic, not being obstinate, and not taking the self as the center—then the Buddhist nature school (the teaching that stresses direct realization of the nature of mind and of original nature) can hardly truly prevail. These meanings are precisely contained in Confucius’s “four abstentions.” Nor can the principles of the nature school be grasped by those who let mind and nature run loose and cannot gather and discipline body and mind. The rise of Laozi’s Way of the Golden Elixir (the Daoist method centered on cultivating Neidan, internal alchemy) was likewise intended to remedy the ills of the age.

Alas—does the very flourishing of the Way of the Golden Elixir show that the way of the world has already declined? Later practitioners of the Golden Elixir not only failed to inquire fully into its essential purport, but did not even understand such sayings in the Wuzhen pian (the Neidan classic written by the Perfected Ziyang, Zhang Boduan) as “the firing process does not follow the hours,” “the winter solstice does not fall at the hour of zi,” and “bathing is taken at mao and you,” nor the metaphors of “sincerity” and “emptiness” found there. Master Bai of Hainan said that the medicine is to be gathered from within stillness, and the firing process is to be carried on within Wuwei (non-action). Although some can recite these words, I have yet to meet anyone who truly understands their meaning.

Many people take lead and mercury as actual medicinal substances, apply zi, wu, mao, and you according to year, month, day, and hour, and calculate the firing process from the solar terms; thus they have not yet reached the Way of the Golden Elixir. Some know that lead and mercury are only other names for the medicine, that civil fire and martial fire are only approximate ways of speaking of the firing process, and that years, months, days, and hours, together with zi, wu, mao, and you, are merely traces left from the time when chaos had not yet divided. Such understanding is indeed extremely rare. But if one takes the very “production of the medicine” itself to be the firing process, how is that to be understood? Before one’s father and mother had given birth, where was this body? Before heaven and earth had separated, and before the one Qi (the primordial unitary vital energy), where were heaven and earth? If one remains muddled and uncomprehending on this point, how can one claim to have exhausted the principle? This is only a failure to think carefully and to observe the transformations of nature.

The sun and moon hang in the sky, grasses and trees grow upon the earth, wind and thunder appear, and rain and dew moisten and nourish—none of this happens by chance. What, then, causes them to move as they do? There must be a fundamental reality: it generates the myriad things, yet is not bound by particular things; it brings forms into being, yet is itself not limited by form. Is this, then, the true earth (a Neidan term for the fundamental power that governs the generation of the medicine)? Is this, then, the handle of the Dipper (the handle of the Northern Dipper, which in Neidan symbolizes the pivot that regulates the firing process)? The true earth governs the medicine; the Dipper’s handle is the key to the turning of the firing process.

In the Xici, Confucius says: “Jing (essence) and Qi coalesce and thereby form things; the wandering soul disperses and thereby gives rise to change.” The elixir scripture of Zhang Pingshu (Zhang Boduan) says: “True earth subdues true lead, and true lead controls true mercury; the Dipper’s handle revolves through the celestial circuit, and the crux lies in knowing how to gather the myriad phenomena into one place.” These words have already been stated completely.

Master Haiqiong (Bai Yuchan), in his Letter Submitted on the Wuzhen pian, says: Within the bodily form, Shen (spirit) is the ruler, and Shen is the life of the form; within Shen, nature is the root, and nature is the life of Shen. To go on from the Shen within the form and enter the nature within Shen is called “returning to the root and restoring life.” Students should grasp the meaning beyond the written words. If one cannot understand in this way, and merely takes the medicine and the firing process as concrete things and practical steps, then how does cultivating the Golden Elixir differ from looking for a horse by a picture, or fixing the bridges in place and only then trying to play the zither?

The essentials of Golden Elixir cultivation are, in broad outline, to keep far from the seductions of sound and sensual form, to restrain selfish desire, to remove the division between self and other, to fulfill loyalty and filial piety, to set the inner heart right and treat others with sincerity; one’s cultivation should be as honest and plain as Yan Hui’s, and as diligent and solid as Zeng Shen’s. Take the Great Void as cauldron and vessel, the sun and moon (the crow and the hare) as the medicinal ingredients, natural spontaneity in Wuwei as the firing process, clarity, stillness, and peace as gentle nurturing, “a body beyond the body” as a figure for the transformation of shedding the embryo, and the breaking open of empty space as the completion of cultivation. Only when these are accomplished can one accord with what the Master of Hainan said: comprehend the transformations of the myriad things and return them to the one Dao, so that all under heaven is naturally transformed and nourished and each thing finds its place; gather the hundred affairs into the one mind, and the sage can then practice Wuwei and yet leave nothing undone, attaining the profound and subtle realm free of attachment.

From this one can see that what Zhou Dunyi meant by “from the Non-Ultimate (Wuji) comes the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); the Taiji is originally the Non-Ultimate” is this same principle; and “the one numinous wondrous being, the Dharma-realm perfectly interpenetrating” is the supreme wondrous method of which Zhang Ziyang spoke. At this point, the so-called true earth and the Dipper’s handle are only means of leading people toward understanding, just as the trap is for catching fish and the snare for catching rabbits: once the meaning is reached, one need not cling to them. I wish to use this principle to awaken the people of the world; it is not that I deliberately show off with words and disturb the correct Dao. Should there be the slightest misleading, Heaven above will of itself examine and know it. As for the heterodox arts of side paths and the sayings that beguile people’s minds, students ought to know how to discern and choose.

Those who share the same aspiration and follow the same Dao, if only they cultivate earnestly and accumulate progress day by day, will be able to do more than cultivate themselves; they may also benefit the world and take part in the transformative nourishing of heaven and earth. Can such a principle be something other than the great Dao of the world?

The Dao (the Way) is hard to enter and hard to find. It is easy to speak of its principles, but how many people truly put them into practice? Heterodox teachings that beguile the mind number in the tens of thousands throughout the world; those who truly attain the Dao are hard to find even as one in ten thousand.

Lately some who study the Dao are unwilling to seek instruction with humility—truly a pity. They deceive Heaven, Earth, and other people: though they have not yet learned even a little genuine skill, they magnify what they have gained tenfold. Becoming an immortal is not utterly impossible, but a cultivator must possess the corresponding capacity and De (Virtue/Power). Those who are not such people should not attempt it at random; the slightest deviation may invite yin-demons (malign obstructions regarded in cultivation as disturbances of body and mind) and bring on calamity.

Cultivating the Dao is no minor art; it depends entirely on virtuous conduct and good deeds done in secret. One must cut off delusive thoughts, still greed, and practice steadily, step by step. Only when the heart is sincere, one’s footing is rooted, and one understands that original nature communicates with the inner mind may one speak of the genuine principles within it.

Learning the way of the Golden Elixir (Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy) is not hard at the outset; one should read thoroughly and savor the Zhongyong and the Zhouyi. Clinging to intentional effort and deliberate contrivance is not the correct path, and talking all day of dragon, tiger, and other terms of cultivation brings no benefit either. Human beings first came to have bodily form because passion and desire were stirred; if one is lost on that account and yet insists on forced cultivation, the way only grows more difficult.

One should often turn back in thought to the state before Heaven and Earth had differentiated and primal chaos had not yet opened, and savor that subtle principle which is hard to put into words and follows what is so of itself. The whole human body belongs to Yin, and within it there is a current of yang Jing (essence—the yang energy of life), only people commonly fail to recognize it. It is wholly round and without form, yet always accompanies one; call it empty, and it is not utter nothing; call it formed, and it is not a concrete shape. When it disperses, it becomes the Qi (vital energy) that pervades Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, and within each thing Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate—the root of Yin-Yang transformation in all things) is likewise contained. It withdraws and lies stored in a deep, hidden place, abiding in human nature—unseen, and impossible to seek out.

My elixir methods each have their own character: one need not cling to days, hours, and years, nor attend to concrete procedures such as the timing of the fire and adding or withdrawing; there is no division of self and other, nor any comparison of people’s natural endowments. It has neither birth nor extinction; one clings neither to the names of cultivation nor to words. When hungry, eat; when sleepy, sleep; at leisure, sit in meditation; when weary, rest. Meeting things, accord with things; meeting wine, one may also drink. One need not necessarily keep fasts and abstinences, but the inner mind must be clear and lucid. Do not set the heart on glory and riches; cut off attachment to fame, profit, and right and wrong; quietly and with settled concentration nurture the original Shen (spirit—a person’s fundamental spirit). When not a single thought arises, one can experience a true realm unlike the ordinary.

Entering the true realm, one is naturally joyful. Day and night one can taste its fullness, like the autumn moon hanging in light; it has no coming or going, and rests in centered balance, its brightness shining on every side. It neither increases nor decreases, like a flake of snow in a red-hot furnace. Though effort has already been applied, one must still break attachment to “emptiness” before true and thorough awakening is possible. Thereafter one roams free and at ease, and the vexations of the human world no longer entangle one.

Those who study the Dao should seize the moment early. A hundred years pass in a flash; to meet the methods of the Dao and not cultivate them is great folly. Do not wait until old age, when Jing, Qi, and Shen have all declined, and only then regret it. Turn back at once and cultivate with firm resolve, as if cutting entanglements with a single stroke of the knife; genuine determination must be shown. If one wishes to shed the ordinary body and accomplish the dharma-body (the cultivated body that transcends the ordinary), one must devote oneself to refined practice, with a will as firm as iron and stone.

I say these words because my heart is urgent, and I have all but let the heavenly secret slip out. If those who study the Dao hear them as ordinary talk and let them pass, I fear that when the end of life comes, regret will already be too late.