《一贯天机直讲》Vol. 7

Joy arises from a feeling of loving kindness, much like the generative vitality that heaven and earth display in spring and summer; sorrow and anger arise from grief and indignation, much like the austere, cutting qi that heaven and earth display in autumn and winter. Their root is the same—both lie in the one heart-mind; their outward forms differ because the flow of qi is stirred and activated in different ways.

The Nanjing (Classic of Difficult Issues) says: “Great anger injures the liver; great joy injures the kidneys.” This shows that the activity of qi within the body is already allotted to the five viscera; when it manifests outward, it takes the form of the different seven emotions (joy, anger, worry, pensiveness, grief, fear, and fright).

Ordinary people, even when nothing particular has happened, find their moods shift with different surroundings: fine weather in spring often brings joy; gloomy weather in autumn may stir a tangle of feelings. This is because the qi one receives differs, touching the generative or restraining mechanisms of the five viscera in the heart-mind, and thus giving rise to different emotions.

“Eat at the right time, and the hundred parts of the body will be in order” means that when eating follows the seasons, every part of the body can be harmonized. The Record of Rites, “Evolution of Rites,” says: “Food and drink, male and female— these are among the great desires inherent in human beings.” In the heat of summer one may eat plums and melons; as autumn deepens, viewing chrysanthemums and eating crab is fitting. To eat in season is not to demand what is out of season; to insist regardless is greed. Eating melons in summer or bamboo shoots in spring is simply following the time. Eating against the season is like what Liezi says: “Drinking ice water in winter—is it because I am burning inside?” In winter one drinks hot soup, in summer cool water; that is normal. Only someone with inner heat would drink ice water in winter. When the body is out of balance, one often eats at the wrong time; eating at the wrong time can also upset the body, until illness harms life. That is the bodily level.

From the perspective of cultivation, to make the “three thefts mutually fitting” (san dao xiangyi)—three ways of taking and applying the living potency of heaven and earth—the first step is to understand the root principles of Yin-Yang creation and transformation. All things are generated from the “principle-and-Qi” (li qi)—the fundamental law and vital energy contained in the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); hold to this principle, and life can endure. The arising of principle-and-Qi seems to have no fixed moment, yet it follows its own pattern. When one seizes the right timing, one can wield the pivot of generation and killing in heaven and earth. Thus the principle-and-Qi of Taiji can be “stolen” (appropriated); the living potency of heaven and earth can also be appropriated. Here “stealing” means gathering and securing. After gathering and sealing, one may seek longevity; going further to fill and expand, one can share virtue with heaven and earth and shine with sun and moon.

The alchemical scriptures speak entirely of this logic of appropriation: circulating Qi can be gathered, and the principle-and-Qi of Taiji can be gathered; only when one truly obtains principle-and-Qi does one count as having attained the Dao (the Way). When the one theft is right, the three powers—heaven, earth, and humanity—are settled, and the person can take part in the transforming work of heaven and earth and share their long duration. What the Classic calls “when the three thefts are fitting” (san dao ji yi) likely points to this.

Here “time” means the moment of firing in elixir work, and also the moment of gathering the medicine and ingesting it. Those who understand the changes of generation and killing in the heavenly Dao can summarize the whole inner path—when to gather, when to warm and nourish, when to circulate the small heavenly circuit—in the single word “time.” “Eating at its time” is acting in accord with opportunity until one enters sagehood; hence Confucius was called the sage of the timely mean. The celestial mechanism is invisible, yet can be discerned through timeliness; when the mechanism stirs, the moment arrives; when the moment arrives, the mechanism stirs with it. Ingesting the “great medicine” (the subtle true Qi of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice) and appropriating true yang from the void each have their time and their mechanism. Grasp the mechanism, and you grasp the time. Here “mechanism” is both the mechanism of life and of killing, and the key to advancing yang fire and retreating the yin tally in inner practice. Qi-mechanism and timeliness both hide in movement and stillness. For example, “one yang returns” (yiyang laifu)—when yang begins to revive—comes from the stirring of Qi-mechanism and corresponds in the body to the zi hour (midnight). To gather and ingest then is to follow the time and activate the mechanism.

When the mechanism first stirs, it means the moment when qi has just begun to activate. At that point, what may appear can either become a thread of sheng ji—a life-giving opening—or a sha ji, a turning point that damages and drains that vitality. If you turn awareness inward and bring the mind and intent back to honesty, even a sha ji can be converted into sheng ji; if you follow private desires, sheng ji can just as easily flip into sha ji.

At the instant when qi is activating, if you nurture yourself in accord with the right moment, the body will naturally grow strong. The “time” spoken of here refers in practice to the “living zi hour” and “living wu hour” in cultivation—that is, timing read from the changes of qi: when qi has only just begun to stir, that is the living zi hour; when qi flows vigorously, that is the formal zi hour; when you yourself notice qi stirring, that is the living wu hour; when you then notice qi flourishing, that is high noon. If at these junctures you seize the moment, gather in, and seal and fix [the qi], body and mind can settle into transformation, the elixir can be refined, and one can reach a state of spiritual transmutation.

Yet when yang qi has only just been aroused, extra caution is especially required. In this phase it can still become a sha ji that wastes life; only after yang turns back and is gathered and refined does it become sheng ji. Therefore, when qi is activating, one should enter stillness and cultivate, so that true yang—the pure yang qi of the practice—rises and circulates through the whole body. If the work is not done according to rule and there is leakage midway, a sha ji will form.

From the perspective of “fire timing”—the grasp of when and how much to apply in practice—when yang qi is recovering, one enters stillness; entering stillness is to prevent qi from dispersing. When returning [qi inward], one must forget distinctions and grasping; it is this letting go that helps sheng ji show itself. What is meant by “gathering without gathering, taking without taking” all occurs when body and mind are both forgotten; then qi naturally turns sha ji into sheng ji, which is why it is called “inversion” or “turning back and forth.”

People know the marvelous effects, yet do not know that the place where the marvelous does not show itself is precisely the root of the marvelous. The sun and moon run in fixed cycles; great and small each have their measure. The sage’s achievement arises from this; spirit and clarity manifest from this.

The “spirit that appears within spirit” refers to the shi shen (conscious spirit)—the awareness responsible for thinking, judging, and making distinctions. The spirit that seems inactive yet can respond to the myriad things is the yuan shen (primordial spirit), one’s inherent luminosity. When the right moment arrives, only the yuan shen can perceive it. The Scripture of Conscious Union of the Three (Zhouyi Cantong Qi) says: “In sleep, spirit and qi embrace; upon waking, one can discern their continuation and change.”

To restore the yuan shen, one must first work hard at “refining oneself” (lian ji)—tempering the heart-mind and gathering in scattered thoughts. Only after the yuan shen is restored can one perceive the movement and stillness of qi. The shi shen excels at thinking but cannot detect changes in qi during deep stillness. People usually know only the shi shen and not the yuan shen; if they do not inquire why the yuan shen can be luminous, the spirit’s responsiveness loses its sharpness. If the shi shen is left to scatter everywhere and the mind churns all day, it is very hard to expect spirit and qi to embrace and to perceive the moment with sensitivity.

To experience the luminosity of the yuan shen, the method is first to reach a state of empty stillness and profound concentration: the heart-mind unified and quiet, the shi shen gathered in. Then the yuan shen appears, able to sense things and penetrate their principle. One who is clever and ingenious yet cannot quietly observe—that is the shi shen. One who outwardly seems dull and unknowing yet responds to change with inexhaustible subtle function—that is the yuan shen. Laozi’s “the greatest skill seems clumsy; the greatest wisdom seems foolish” expresses exactly this.

To seek the luminosity of the yuan shen, the shi shen must first be stilled. The six faculties of perception and discrimination—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—must be reined in so the heart-mind is clear and empty and not pulled by stray thoughts. Only then does the yuan shen act, able to embrace qi, perceive change, and grasp how qi continues, grows, and wanes.

The yuan shen is spirit that appears inactive, hence it is called the “chaotic primordial spirit” (hundun yuan shen). Precisely because it does not show the activity of thinking and distinguishing, it possesses profound luminosity; if it displayed cleverness like the shi shen, that luminosity would be lost. Though the yuan shen seems inactive, to grasp the changes of yin and yang in heaven and earth one still relies on it. The yuan shen is empty; it is of the same kind as the li and qi of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), and therefore can resonate with them. When qi stirs, right awareness arises accordingly.

“Refining oneself” (lian ji) is the practice of cultivating the yuan shen. The yuan shen appears in utmost stillness and is adept at noticing the slightest impulse; hence it is said: “When the moment comes, the yuan shen knows it by itself.”

“The sun and moon move by fixed patterns, and the waxing and waning of yin and yang each has its measure”—this means that the primordial spirit (yuan shen, one’s original spiritual nature) is born from emptiness and appears within purity and stillness, as fixed and reliable as the cycles of the sun and moon.

Each month the moon passes through new moon, dark moon, first and last quarter, and full moon; its waxing and waning are especially easy to observe. On the third day a sliver of new moon appears—called “one yang returns” (yiyang laifu), marking the first stir of yang. By the eighth day, at first quarter, the moon grows brighter—“three yang open the way” (sanyang kaitai). At the fifteenth, on the full-moon day, all six yang lines are present and the moon is full. After the sixteenth it begins to wane—“the birth of the soul’s decline” (zai sheng po); by the twenty-third, at last quarter, half the disk is gone—“heaven and earth blocked” (tiandi fou); and on the dark of the month the moon vanishes entirely, the pure Kun (Earth) hexagram image. The moon completes one cycle each month; the sun fixes cold and heat through the four seasons and completes one cycle each year. Sun and moon together embody the Dao of yin-yang change described in the Yijing.

Yin-yang transformation follows a fixed pattern. What is called “the spirit that is not spirit” (bushen zhi shen) is the subtle efficacy that seems formless and non-active yet can perceive and respond to change; it can know these patterns because it belongs to the same order as yin-yang change and can resonate with it. “Large and small have their measure” means yin is small and yang is large: when yin recedes, yang grows; when yang recedes, yin grows—like the sun and moon rising and setting, waxing and waning in turn.

In one year the sun completes one circuit of heaven; in one month the moon completes one. The ebb and flow of yin and yang, however, completes one cycle in a single day and night. Because each motion has its fixed measure, the sage can infer the future from the past, know when the qi movement (qi ji) will stir, and when the moment arrives, take and apply it in accord with the trend. This is the crux of becoming a sage. Grasping the moment of this stirring and ascending from it—sages, immortals, and buddhas all attain through this; the numinous also manifests through this. Only when one reaches utmost emptiness and profound stillness (xu ji jing du) does sage-power arise and the numinous appear.

When qi movement stirs, zi and wu correspond. Here “zi and wu” stand for paired poles and their mutual response: the north pole is zi, the south pole is wu; when zi stirs, wu perceives—just as when qi moves, spirit-intent knows at once. Cultivation practice lies in the moment when zi and wu respond: as soon as there is resonance, one answers immediately, like raising a pole and seeing its shadow. “Living zi” (huo zi) means the actual stirring of zi-period qi in practice; with living zi comes the corresponding “living wu” (huo wu). But if spirit-intent has not yet returned to the formless, non-active state of “not-spirit,” living zi will not come and living wu cannot appear. “The spirit that is not spirit” is precisely this wondrous function showing itself in such emptiness and stillness. Resonance when there is stimulus, numinous self-arising when emptiness is extreme and stillness deep, and the practices of gathering qi and ingesting qi—all of this is here.

“Daoji” means grasping in one’s hands the crucial moment and the essential secret; only when one has obtained this secret can one be said to have achieved “daoji”—without it, there is nothing to obtain. In the world today no one can see or understand this secret, because there are no sages; if there were sages, they would surely see and understand it. Only when the mind does not first hold fixed preconceptions can one see this secret; only by extinguishing discriminating consciousness and cutting off clinging views can one truly understand it. If one first relies on one’s own preconceptions and intellectual judgments, in the end one will see and understand nothing at all.

When a junzi (noble person) obtains “daoji,” he can preserve life and body and share longevity with Heaven and Earth—hence the saying “the junzi obtains it and secures his person.” The Daoist classic says: “When the heart dies, then the spirit lives.” This means that after the shi-shen (the spirit of conscious activity, the postnatal thinking mind) that clings to mental activity has stilled, the yuan-shen (the original spirit, the innate pre-heaven spirit) that does not depend on thinking can manifest. Only when the turmoil of the shi-shen is extinguished can the yuan-shen be restored; only when postnatal consciousness returns to primordial stillness can one return to innate nature. This is also what the Great Learning means by “when things are investigated, knowledge reaches its utmost,” and the idea that only after restraining deluded thoughts can one become a sage.

Petty people who are lost in material desire often use only the cunning of the shi-shen; even if they hear the Dao, they cannot bring the spirit-mind back to wuwei (non-action) and tranquility. They use the shi-shen to seek the essential secret, and the result is damage to the root of life itself. Indulging desire and violating the norm, unable to restrain themselves or return to ritual propriety, they ultimately harm rather than benefit—hence “the petty person obtains it and treats life lightly.” Those who nurture the yuan-shen are junzi; those who rely on the shi-shen are petty people. When a junzi hears the Dao, he believes and practices diligently; when a petty person hears the Dao, he treats it lightly and thus neglects his own life. In the past some explained “petty person” as one of insufficient virtue: one of insufficient virtue who still cultivates the Dao may instead shorten life. That reading also holds, though it stays rather on the surface.

The Wuzhen pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “The life-treasure should not be lightly played with.” Here “life-treasure” refers to the innate qi (pre-heaven vital energy) carried in the outer yang (the external reproductive organ). The scripture holds that when body and mind are empty and still, if Heaven and person resonate, the pre-heaven true yang from the void arrives, rushes along the yin qiao (a meridian region related to lower-abdomen practice) into the mingmen (the “gate of life,” the root of vitality in traditional medicine), causing outward arousal while also surging to the heart palace so the yuan-shen becomes aware. This pre-heaven qi that stirs mingmen and the heart palace is the “life-treasure.”

“Should not be lightly played with” means that in this cultivation context one must not treat it rashly. To indulge desire and recklessly emit is harm to the postnatal body; the “light playing” the scripture speaks of here refers to chaotic gathering and reckless action in alchemical work, violating the firing times. Petty people know only a scrap of surface knowledge and act without probing the real principle—that is “treating life lightly.”

Primordial Qi (the source energy that precedes physical form and the transformations of yin and yang) has no shape, no appearance, and no sound or scent—who can see it, who can know it? The Wuzhen pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “When you see it, you cannot use it; when you use it, you cannot see it—in a daze you meet it, in deep silence and obscurity it transforms.” Primordial Qi leaves no trace, so it can be used yet cannot be seen directly; once it is seen, it has already turned into post-heaven phenomena and the critical moment is lost.

When one returns to the beginning of the source, things are still undivided in chaos; yin and yang unite, and the person neither knows nor perceives anything—yet at that very moment qi stirs, and one can only notice that it has already stirred. Then spirit and qi merge, and the medicament (the refined essence generated in neidan practice) remains in an undifferentiated whole. Only after the medicament is formed and gathered, and qi has returned to its root, can one perceive and distinguish—by which point one is already in the phase after use.

At the moment of “stealing the mechanism” (grasping the pivotal timing when creation runs its course), body and mind do not force anything, yet spirit and qi move of themselves. When spirit and qi move in this way, how could they be seen or known? Thus one who attains the Dao has nothing really to gain; if one insists on grasping for it, one is rashly toying with the treasure of nature and life.

The blind excel at listening, the deaf at seeing. Cut off distraction from one sense, and the power of heart-and-mind increases tenfold; practice this three times day and night, and that power increases ten thousandfold.

People who cannot see often have sharp hearing, because when vision no longer scatters energy outward, spirit gathers in the ears. People who cannot hear often have keen sight, because when hearing no longer scatters energy outward, spirit gathers in the eyes. From this we know that the body’s nine openings (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and other orifices) are all places where Jing, Qi, and Shen enter and leave. If the mind is upright and intention single, and enticements from outside are cut off, Jing, Qi, and Shen will naturally stay firm. Then, even when the eyes look they do not cling to what is seen, and when the ears listen they do not cling to what is heard; the “true person” (the inner authentic nature of life) rests in the body as if hidden in a deep abyss, quietly abiding within.

Yuanshen (original spirit—the clear, true spirit) and shishen (acquired spirit—the mind that moves with the senses and thought) are originally one mind-spirit, differing only in movement and stillness. Cutting off outside enticement and letting mind-spirit stay where it belongs is the wondrous state in which Yuanshen “does not show its function.” When spirit does not display its use outward, it can settle within.

Resonance of Qi between heaven and earth is inherently very swift. For example, when blind or deaf people lose one sensory function, they often grow sharper in other respects. The eyes can see through the work of Shen; the ears can hear through the work of Qi. A blind person who hears well is Shen’s activity gathering in the ears; a deaf person who sees well is because Jing concentrates in the eyes.

By this principle, if a person can let go of everything and not be pulled by outer things, the ears and eyes will naturally grow keen, and Yuanshen and original Qi will naturally return to the Huangting (the central region of inner cultivation in Daoist Neidan). Jade Fluid and Golden Fluid (names in Neidan for refined essences and fluids within the body) arise accordingly. “Cut off benefit from a single source” (jue li yi yuan) means to stop scattered pulls and keep mind-spirit fixed on one root—a metaphor for telling clear water from muddy. The Laozi says, “The highest good is like water,” meaning supreme goodness is as clear and pure as water.

“Water” is soft and yet nourishes all things. Among the Five Phases, plants and trees cannot grow without soil, and all things depend on soil to live. Those who cultivate the Dao must employ the “True One Water” (Zhenyi zhi shui—the pre-heaven subtle qi spoken of in Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation), that is, the utmost clear water; it is the root of water, namely water-qi. To obtain it is to obtain the “pre-heaven primordial qi” (xiantian zhi yi qi—the original qi before heaven and earth were formed). All visible water is generated from this qi.

“Cutting off one source of profit” (jueli yiyuan) means cutting off external disturbances so that spirit and mind are single-mindedly fixed on one root. When one uses True One Water, the effect is ten times stronger than using visible water. Here the text compares using the “Earth-Water Army” (Di Shui Shi) from the Classic of Changes (Yijing): water hidden in the earth is visible, post-heaven water; True One Water is formless, pre-heaven water, and its source is exceptionally pure. Di Shui Shi symbolizes earth restraining water so that water does not move recklessly, and thus water becomes clear. But True One Water is “water within Li” (li zhong zhi shui), also called “true water within fire” (huo zhong zhen shui—a Neidan term for the true yin qi contained within fire), and therefore it is ten times purer than water within the earth.

The cultivator must discern the source of water and adopt the utmost clear water; if even the slightest impurity is mixed in, it cannot be used. How then can it be made clear? The scripture uses the deaf and the blind as a metaphor: cut off external disturbance, and inwardly one becomes clear. This is the “medicine” (yao) used in cultivation, namely “Qian metal” (qian jin—a Neidan term for the pre-heaven refined qi symbolized by the Qian trigram) and metal within water.

Cutting off external disturbance and exclusively seeking this pure root, together with the practice of “return” (fanhuan), enables post-heaven Kan and Li (symbolizing water and fire respectively) to return to pre-heaven Qian and Kun (symbolizing heaven and earth respectively). Therefore the scripture says: “Three returns day and night, employing the army ten thousandfold.” Here “day and night” refers to the alternation of yin and yang, encompassing Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li. Reversing the order of yin and yang and applying the practice of return enables post-heaven Kan and Li to revert to pre-heaven Qian and Kun; its efficacy surpasses that of the water within the earth symbolized by the Shi hexagram by ten thousand times.

The "day and night" spoken of here refers to the alternation of yin and yang, and also encompasses hexagrams such as Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li. Reverse the direction in which yin and yang circulate, then bring them back to their source—such practice yields effects far greater than relying on military force alone.

The cultivator first obtains "true one water" (in Neidan, water symbolizing primordial refined qi), and through "seven returns and nine reversions" (the Neidan process of repeated refinement and returning essence to its source), one can refine what is called "jade fluid" and "golden fluid." The imagery of the Shi (Army) hexagram is borrowed to explain: Shi belongs to Kan, and Kan is water. That water is restrained by earth, like still water without ripples. Yet even clear water may not be water from the ultimate source. Only when one takes water at its root and causes it to return does the efficacy of cultivation appear.

Why use "army" (shi) to illustrate? Here "shi" means troops and the deployment of force. This kind of cultivation shares something with warfare. Laozi says "fine weapons are ill-omened"; the scripture also uses war as a metaphor: cultivating the Dao, like using troops, requires knowing how empty and full transform—the pivot lies in mind-intent. One must also align with timing and deploy flexibly to prevail.

Neidan cultivation is often called "battle," as in "dragon and tiger do battle" or "one great battle"—what is meant is the union of yin and yang. "Three reversions of day and night" also carries the meaning of the Tun and Meng hexagrams: in the evening one withdraws the talisman according to Tun's image; at dawn one advances the fire according to Meng's image. That is, on one side water "draws off lead," on the other fire "adds mercury"; "return and reversion" is this drawing and adding. Applying Tun and Meng in sequence morning and evening is harmonizing fire and water. First obtain true one water, then balance fire and water; repeating this through three cycles of day and night, the effect naturally far surpasses mere military force.

The heart arises because of outer things, and may also perish because of outer things; the crucial pivot is in the eyes. "Heaven's lack of partial favor gives rise to great favor" means that heaven and earth seem to show no biased kindness, yet from this arises vast beneficence. When lightning is swift and violent winds rage, the ten thousand things are shaken and stirred into activity.

The mind is stirred by the myriad things and also fades away with them; the substance of the mind is originally empty and still, without fixed form—it is only when outer appearances touch it that thoughts arise. When the mind sees things, it knows them; when it hears events, it perceives them. It forms thoughts in response to whatever it contacts, and almost nothing can hide from it, just as a mirror reflects a person when a person stands before it and reflects things when things stand before it.

At first a small child has none of this knowledge in the mind; only later, under the influence of environment and habit, does knowledge gradually develop. This means that human thoughts arise because of external things. It is not only that thoughts are caused by things—the world too is made of various things: from great mountains, rivers, and earth down to grass, trees, birds, and beasts. Without these things, whence would the world come? And human thoughts would have no way to arise. Precisely because there are things of every shape and kind, the outer realm forms the world and the inner realm gives rise to thoughts.

For example, only when there are markets do people develop thoughts of buying, selling, and speculation; without such affairs, those thoughts would not exist. People’s minds rise because of things—whether the things are visible or invisible, it is the same. When a person sleeps, there is no clear awareness; usually some external thing must startle them before they wake. The human original mind is also like sleep: empty and open, originally without a single thing; when the outer environment stirs it, the mind follows the outer environment and moves. Therefore, before a thought has yet arisen, that is innate nature (xian tian ben xing); after a thought has arisen, it becomes the post-heaven conscious spirit (shishen—the awareness that is shaped by the outer world and discriminates among things).

Thoughts are born and die, and so people too have birth and death. Affairs grow more complex day by day, yet people use one mind to cope with everything, thus expending energy and wearing down the spirit through birth, aging, sickness, and death. If one can avoid being pulled by knowledge and discrimination, keep the mind empty and still, and reach the point of seeing without being moved by sights, hearing without being moved by sounds, and eating without clinging to flavors, then thoughts do not arise; when they do not arise, they do not perish.

Yet people in the world often exhaust heart and spirit on external things and sink into them. Even over small things they must strive for refinement and beauty; from youth through prime to old age, greed never stops until death ends it. Because things stir the mind, the mind in turn chases external things, and in the end one’s own life is harmed. Such scenes are everywhere in the human world—hence the saying that people “die because of things.”

The saying “the mechanism is in the eyes” means that the eyes are where the light of Shen (spirit) dwells: Yuanshen (Original Spirit), the master of human consciousness, ordinarily rests in the eyes. When something from outside enters the eyes, the heart-mind is aware at once; the pivot on which thought begins to stir lies precisely in the eyes. Guanyin Bodhisattva can manifest in seventy-two forms yet cannot change her own eyes. The ancients therefore said that most of the human body belongs to the postnatal (what is formed after birth—body and circumstances), while only the spiritual light in the eyes belongs to the prenatal (the innate state untouched by the postnatal form)—and that is not without reason.

Whenever thought stirs, it must pass through three vital passes; among them, the link between eyes and heart-mind is the most direct. Thought often arises from the eyes: for example, when one sees beauty on the road, the eyes take it in and the heart-mind moves at once, with extreme speed. If the ears hear lewd sounds, they must pass through the ears to the heart-mind; only after a turn of reflection does the heart-mind stir. Because Shen resides in the eyes, when an outer object enters the eyes, it has already entered the heart-mind. Hence when a person is dying, the spirit in the gaze scatters first; when an infant is born, the gaze is clear and pure. To understand that the spiritual mechanism is in the eyes is to grasp the essentials of “refining oneself” (lianji—cultivating one’s own heart-mind and spirit).

Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons run their course and the ten thousand things grow thereby. The vault of heaven is empty and without form; standing on level ground and looking up, one sees only a stretch of blue sky and does not feel it especially high; even from the summit of Mount Kunlun looking far, the sky’s lofty aspect does not change. This is because the sky is originally empty and formless; as for “seeing” it, there is nothing to…

Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons run their course and the ten thousand things grow accordingly. Heaven’s form is vast and boundless: gazing upward on level ground, one sees only a stretch of azure sky and does not feel how high it is; even from the summit of Mount Kunlun, heaven appears unchanged. Heaven is empty—without viewing, hearing, speaking, or acting—yet cold and heat, yin and yang, come and go in due order, never out of step since ancient times. It seems to confer no favor on the ten thousand things, yet within it lies immense grace. Precisely because heaven is originally empty, it can embrace and shelter the whole cosmos; precisely because it does not deliberately bestow favor, the ten thousand things can grow together.

If the human heart-mind can be as empty and clear as heaven, the principles of heaven-and-earth’s creating and transforming can all be reflected within it; the heart is as vast as heaven and earth and can take part in their nurturing work. Boundless emptiness can cover and bear heaven and earth, and the human heart can be one with the Great Void (the vast, boundless ontological body of the cosmos). Only when the heart is wholly still and empty can it fulfill the role of embracing and nurturing all without exception, manifesting countless transformations and responding as things stir and connect.

Heaven’s way gives rise to creation and transformation, and it never departs from the four words “when there is sensing, penetration follows”—when something is sensed, response and thorough connection arise. In times of drought or flood, if people hold sincere hearts, they can reach heaven through that sincerity, and heaven responds in turn. Stories such as the prayer for rain at the Sanglin grove and the legend of “burying a child and receiving gold” are both cited to illustrate this point. Heaven seems not to grant favor, yet can produce great grace; hence fierce thunder and strong wind also show spiritual response in the void.

At the winter solstice, the Yi Jing hexagram is called “Earth over Thunder, Fu” (Fu: the return of yang)—one yang arises from within yin, thunder stirs beneath the earth, opening the changes of spring growth. At the summer solstice, the hexagram is “Heaven over Wind, Gou” (Gou: yin first appears)—one yin descends from yang, wind moves between heaven and earth, gradually forming the autumn scene. Heaven’s way of giving life and taking life is chiefly shown through spring and autumn: thunder sounds in the second month and falls silent by the ninth; thunder stands for yang, that is, the breath of life. In autumn, the metal wind (autumn wind—in the Five Phases, “metal” corresponds to autumn) rises, representing the qi of killing and restraint.

Wind and thunder seem without knowledge and without form—we hear their sound but do not see their bodies; sound itself is not fixed in place either, but arises when wind and thunder act on things. Yet wind and thunder are indeed expressions of yin-yyang change: yang qi gathering becomes sudden thunder, yin qi gathering becomes fierce wind. Thunder and wind drive the alternation of life and death; swift thunder and wind make the seasons of birth and slaughter appear in turn. This alternation of the ordinary and the extraordinary is not something heaven deliberately arranges; it happens naturally through responsive connection.

The Yi Jing takes thunder as the eldest son and wind as the eldest daughter; the two, one yin and one yang, stand in for the parental pair Qian and Kun (the hexagrams representing heaven and earth) and carry out their work. Thus the life-and-death changes of heaven and earth can be seen in thunder and wind, and the subtlety of creating and transforming is contained therein. Heaven seems without favor yet can produce great grace—this is exactly how. If sages wish to join in heaven-and-earth’s nurturing and extend grace to the ten thousand things, they must grasp this principle of “not granting favor”: without a mind set on deliberately transforming the ten thousand things, those things can instead grow and change on their own.

When joy runs extremely deep, one’s inborn nature appears at ease and unhurried, as if there were spare leisure; when stillness is extreme, the inborn nature becomes peaceful and open, as though walking a broad, level road. (In some versions, the line rendered here as “when stillness is extreme, the inborn nature is peaceful and harmonious” reads instead as “when stillness is extreme, the inborn nature is upright and incorrupt.”)

This passage develops the idea of “no favor” (wu en) a step further. “No favor” aligns with wuwei (non-action). When the mind reaches utmost stillness, the inborn nature is naturally harmonious; when the practitioner refines and nurtures the self (lian ji—tempering and harmonizing body and mind) until reaching a state of primordial chaos, the heart suddenly clears and opens—this is “when stillness is extreme, the inborn nature is peaceful and harmonious.” Shortly afterward, an indescribable lightness fills the mind; this is “when joy is extreme, the inborn nature seems to have surplus ease.” Here “ultimate joy” (zhi le) means genuine, not merely worldly, delight.

“Heaven is ultimately private in what it holds, yet ultimately public in how it acts” means: the inborn nature seems to belong to each person alone, yet it comes from Heaven and every person possesses it equally—whether sharp or dull, worthy or unworthy, all alike. Thus what looks like private possession is in truth utterly impartial and without favor. Human inborn nature is as vast as Heaven’s emptiness; the nature Heaven bestows has no division into good and bad. Heaven sometimes sends wind and thunder, which can seem partial, yet all such stirrings follow the seasons and never change across endless ages—enough to show that Heaven is ultimately private in what it holds, yet ultimately public in how it acts.

Birds and beasts are bound by qi (vital energy); birth is the root of death, and death is the root of birth. Favor can arise from disaster, and disaster can arise from favor. Sinking into water or throwing oneself into fire are ways of bringing ruin upon oneself. (The last two sentences are not in the original text.)

The character qin (often written for “bird”) is the same as qin (“to capture”): in antiquity the two forms were used interchangeably. The phrase “capture lies in qi” means that qi (vital energy) always tends to rush outward, and the mind scatters along with it. To bring the mind back, you must apply effort to restrain it, as if seizing it from outside and drawing it in again. Only then does the mind return to its proper root, align with the seasonal patterns heaven displays, and settle into peace and quiet. This is using qi to check the mind, so the mind no longer moves recklessly and returns to its original state.

This is what the first chapter of the Golden Elixir Four Hundred Characters means: “True earth captures true lead; true lead governs true mercury. Lead and mercury return to true earth, and body and mind are still and unmoving.” Here, “true earth” is true intent—the clear mind unstained by worldly thoughts; “true lead” is innate true yang; “true mercury” is true yin. True intent can gather true lead, and true lead can subdue true mercury. When lead and mercury both return to true earth, body and mind become stable and unmoving. That requires cultivating the heart-nature first—lian yi, “refining the self.” In Journey to the West, the Ox Demon King’s submission can serve as an image of this stage of practice.

The crux of the great Dao of the pre-heaven realm lies in true intent, and one must also rely on pre-heaven qi to subdue the post-heaven shishen—the discriminating, calculating consciousness. The Li trigram here stands for the post-heaven heart-spirit racing outward; it must be gathered back with pre-heaven qi. It is like taming a dragon: pre-heaven qi is also called “metal in water,” that is, “true lead.” Subduing shishen is like turning the Li trigram into the Qian trigram—“qu kan tian li” (taking Kan water to fill Li fire)—moving from the post-heaven back to the pre-heaven.

“The dead are the root of life; the living are the root of death” means that birth and extinction are mutually embedded and turn into one another. The four seasonal nodes zi, wu, mao, and you both overcome and generate one another, so within death lies the root of life, and within life lies the seed of death; the relation of favor and harm works the same way. If water can be sunk into fire, fire is checked by water and goes out; filling Li fire with Kan water, shishen fades and yuanshen (the originally clear spirit) appears. These lines all concern the shift between shishen and yuanshen: as shishen withdraws, yuanshen arises—that is the return from post-heaven to pre-heaven. As the human mind recedes, the mind of the Dao appears, which is the emergence of yuanshen. At this point the work of cultivation is complete; hence the key to cultivating the Dao lies entirely in this step of lian yi, refining the self.

Ordinary people believe that true wisdom means mastering astronomy, geography, and the patterns of heaven and earth; I believe it matters more to grasp the present situation and the principles of things—that is, to understand the qi (vital energy) by which heaven and earth create and transform, and the particular principles of each thing. With these two kinds of understanding, one can be called a person of wisdom.

Ordinary people show their wisdom by wide learning and strong memory and by discussing past and present; I do not prove my wisdom by knowing everything. Ordinary people take what is strange, unusual, and astonishing as a mark of wisdom; I hold that what is plain and natural is what counts. Deliberately shocking the world and chasing novelty does not accord with the Middle Way. The Dao lies in reining in sharp edges and blending into daily life; to understand the principles in everyday use is to be a true sage.

The creating and transforming of heaven and earth cycle without end, according to fixed patterns, and the key lies in qi—the movement and change of vital energy. Those who study the Dao should return from vast knowledge to the root, recognize what is essential, and gather the many and diverse back to a common source. Then, even living a thousand years later, they can still grasp how things change. Those who can cultivate in accord with this principle are sages who carry forward the past and open the way for those to come.

The way of nature is still and wuwei (non-action), and from it heaven, earth, and the myriad things arise. The working of heaven and earth gradually appears, and yin and yang alternate in waxing and waning. Yin and yang push each other, and change can proceed smoothly.

The Laozi says: “Human beings take the earth as their model, the earth takes heaven as its model, heaven takes the Dao as its model, and the Dao takes nature (ziran) as its model.” The way of nature lies in stillness: still and unmoving, so heaven, earth, and the myriad things come to be. This is the way of nature—it is also Taiji (the primordial state before the myriad things have differentiated). Empty and silent, without form and without movement, heaven, earth, and the myriad things arise from it.

The principle by which heaven and earth operate is gradual progression. “Gradual soaking” (jin) means changing step by step in accord with the constant patterns of nature. Heaven and earth have no will; they are empty, still, and wuwei (non-action). When yang qi rises, it gradually ascends; when yin qi sinks, it gradually descends. Thus yin and yang sometimes predominate on one side. The natural way represented by Taiji itself is neither biased nor leaning. As yin and yang shift gradually, imbalance shows: as yin gradually increases, yin gains the upper hand; as yang gradually increases, yang gains the upper hand. This is the law of yin and yang pushing each other and cycling without end. Viewed as a whole, balance still holds; but people are affected by yin-yang change, and so pass through birth, aging, sickness, and death.

What is meant by “yin and yang pushing each other” is that when yang predominates it corresponds to spring and summer; when yin gradually grows strong, it corresponds to autumn and winter. “Change in accord with the flow” means following the way of nature.

Therefore the sage knows that the way of nature cannot be opposed, and conforms to it to adjust and master things. Another version reads: “The sage knows that nature cannot be forced, and so follows the Dao to hold and regulate.” The way of utmost stillness cannot be fully captured by calendrical reckoning or the calculation of pitch pipes. Hence there is a marvelous instrument through which the myriad forms appear. The Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and the jiazi cycle (the symbolic and stem-branch system used to trace changes in heaven and earth) hold unfathomably subtle mechanisms; the laws of yin-yang waxing and waning and mutual overcoming are also clearly displayed in the various changes of image and number.

All things in heaven and earth arise from the Way of nature—the patterns by which nature itself runs. Even when yin sometimes outweighs yang, the ten thousand things still follow nature. Sages understand that the Way of nature cannot be violated; if one cultivates in accord with it, becoming an immortal or a sage follows naturally. Relying on this unchanging Way of nature, sages devised methods of cultivation, established norms and laws, and handed down oral formulas. Those norms and formulas also have fixed standards and must not be changed at will. If cultivators keep body and mind empty and still, without forcing, and follow nature, the possibility of becoming an immortal or a buddha is there.

The Way of nature stems from the Way of utmost stillness (profound quiet). When one can become still, creation and transformation appear on their own. The Way of utmost stillness is not something calendars and seasonal reckoning can fully measure. The mechanisms of heaven and earth’s change and movement are stored within utmost stillness; when stillness reaches its depth, even in a single instant one can gather and display the climatic shifts of all four seasons. What cultivation calls “yang arising” corresponds to the winter solstice; “yin descending” corresponds to the summer solstice. These are the “winter solstice” and “summer solstice” of the practice process, not the actual solar terms on the calendar. If one reaches empty to the utmost and still in earnest (xuji jingdu), one can, in a trance-like state, apprehend the creation and transformation of heaven and earth.

There is a wondrous vessel that can give birth to the myriad forms; the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) and the sexagenary cycle (jiazi) all arise from it—this is Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the root from which yin and yang are undivided and the ten thousand things are generated. In the cosmos it is the root of heaven, earth, humanity, and the myriad things; in the human body it is the root of the merging and transformation of spirit (shen) and qi (vital energy). The logic of yin and yang waxing and waning is clear to see, not obscure or strange. Though the inner rationale is hard to explain in words, the signs that appear are easy to recognize.

This is the Mysterious Pass and single aperture (xuanguan yiqiao)—the Taiji within the human body, the same as the Taiji of heaven and earth, containing changes such as the Bagua and jiazi, its subtle workings deep and hard to fathom. Yet these changes also show observable signs. Inferring the principle from the signs, the root of yin-yang creation is as clear as if it lay in the palm of one’s hand.

The Oral Transmission of the Full Moon Formula from Master Shi (Shizi Xinchuan Yueyuan Koujue) fixes directions as “Mao in the east, You in the west, Wu in the south, and Zi in the north”: Mao is east, You is west, Wu is south, and Zi is north.

Elixir scriptures often say: “In the child of the hour, the wonder lies in heart transmission; in the full moon, the secret rests in the oral formula.” That is, the crucial moment in elixir practice is passed heart-to-heart between master and disciple; the knack of the moon at full phase is preserved in the koujue (oral formula). These two lines are weighty in the elixir tradition.

The True Person Bai Ziqing wrote in the Discourse on Resolving Doubts (Bianhuo Lun): “In the superior grade of elixir method, spirit, psyche, soul, hun, po, and intent serve as the medicinal ingredients; walking, standing, sitting, and lying serve as the firing process (huohou); clarity, stillness, and natural spontaneity serve as the application.” Here huohou means the work of cultivation; “application” means the concrete operation and method. To cultivate the pre-heaven (xiantian) Great Dao, one must first release body and mind and follow nature, without the slightest forcing; once there is forcing, the elixir cannot form. What is called “pre-heaven” is empty void; cultivation must merge with empty void to count as pre-heaven.

The inner mind must be empty, and the body must also be let go; when inner and outer are both empty, one can cultivate the Dao in the void. “Nature” (xing) relates to the heart; “life” (ming) relates to the body. Only when both body and heart can be released can nature and life unite and transformation occur. If one can forget the body but not the thoughts, or can release thoughts but not the body, that is still not reaching pre-heaven.

“Emptiness” divides into true vacuum and stubborn emptiness. True vacuum is not sheer nothingness; within it there is still subtle living potential—that is true vacuum. One does not deliberately think “empty”; at utmost stillness it can be felt naturally. For example, just after waking, when wandering thoughts briefly subside and the heart has no entanglements, that approximates true vacuum. If one purposely tries to think oneself “empty,” one cannot empty after all—that is stubborn emptiness.

Many elixir classics teach cultivating until the heart is empty, yet empty heart is hardest. Forcing thoughts down makes emptiness less attainable the more one suppresses. One should follow nature: when a thought arises, notice it at once; after noticing, the thought stops—That is emptiness by natural course. What is meant by “stopping at supreme goodness” (zhiyu zhishan): this “awareness” is the noticing that stops thoughts; “supreme goodness” is precisely this noticing.

If you know that a thought has already arisen yet deliberately produce another thought of “stopping thoughts,” you still cannot reach emptiness, because the mind still holds on to the act of suppressing thoughts. What is called “returning to emptiness” (huan xu) is the refining and dissolving of thoughts; only when thoughts are cleared can one return to empty stillness.

Forget the outer world and also forget the inner mind, forming a state of empty stillness, so that something can arise from nothing—in the utmost stillness, yang qi is generated. After yang qi arises, the spirit-mind must be able to gather and hold it; only then can yin qi withdraw. If it cannot be gathered, yang qi cannot return to the body. After gathering, yang qi must also be retained; if it cannot be held, it will soon dissipate. Therefore in practice one speaks of “timing of fire” (huohou)—grasping the right moment and the measure of advance and retreat.

After yang qi is obtained, it must also be sealed and fixed. Day by day it accumulates until yang is full and yin naturally fades; then one can “return to youth” (fan lao huan tong). What was depleted before can be made up with newly gained yang qi; not only can losses be repaired, new yang can keep being stored—hence it is called “return” (fan huan). When cultivation restores the state described as the “5400-period living yellow track” in the body, light fills and flourishes and vitality flows freely; as the scriptures say, teeth can grow again and hair turn black, an old woman becomes a young girl, and an aged man becomes robust again.

The root of this practice lies in returning to “pure Kun”—the hexagram in the Book of Changes (Yijing) that is wholly yin and empty-still—and forming a body of empty stillness. But reaching empty stillness is not easy, so the path emphasizes dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu): forget thoughts so the mind is empty-still; forget clinging to the body so the body is empty-still. An empty mind is called “inner Kun”; an empty body is called “outer Kun”; inner and outer Kun mean emptiness inside and out. When the two Kun unite into the Kun hexagram (Kun gua), one has truly returned to emptiness; only then can yang qi be generated.

Yang qi arises from outer Kun; inner Kun must also respond in a state of empty stillness. By the method one obtains yang qi and keeps it in the body, so yin retreats and yang advances; then another kind of vision appears.

Why is it called the “Living Zi Hour”? Zi hour originally refers to midnight. One day and night begin at Zi hour and end at Hai hour; when Hai hour arrives, Yin qi reaches its peak. As soon as Zi hour comes, Yang qi begins anew. People often fail to notice this, but the rooster senses it first and lifts its head to crow. The rooster is keenly attuned to qi: when Yang qi rises from below ground and surges upward through its body, the bird feels that breath, wakes, and crows. Yang qi rises from beneath the earth every day without fail, so the rooster’s crowing follows the same pattern. The “Living Zi Hour” is precisely the moment when Yang qi begins to stir.

In some southern regions roosters crow at Chou hour; in the north they crow at Zi hour. This shows that Yang qi’s awakening moves from north to south, and the Kan palace (the trigram for the north and water) is the first to feel the qi. Zi hour also corresponds to the winter solstice. Shao Yong said: “At the midpoint of Zi in the winter solstice, the Heart of Heaven (Tianxin) never shifts. Where the first Yang stirs, the myriad things are not yet born.” Here “midpoint of Zi” means the middle of the Zi month, when Tianxin—the fundamental rhythm of cosmic transformation—becomes manifest, year after year, unchanged through countless kalpas. At this moment Yang qi has just begun to move, yet the myriad things have not revived, hence the name “Zi.”

Viewed through the changes of cosmic transformation, by the tenth lunar month Yang qi is gradually stripped away; at the junction of Hai and Zi, the hexagram becomes pure Kun (six yin lines, pure Yin). Thus in winter the myriad things store away, showing the image of pure Yin. At the winter solstice, the one Yang returns, forming the Fu hexagram (one Yang beneath five Yin), symbolizing the renewal of spring’s creative work. The half-month before the winter solstice is pure Yin, symbolizing pure Kun, evolved from the Bo hexagram (Yang lines retreating line by line). The Bo hexagram corresponds from the second half of the ninth lunar month to the first half of the tenth; Yang qi gradually exhausts, the weather turns cold, frost appears on the ground, and severe cold is imminent. Before Yang qi is fully spent, insects and plants can still barely hold on to life—so in early tenth month leaves have not all fallen and insects still chirp.

When yang qi is exhausted in the deep autumn and early winter, insects and snakes sink into torpor and hibernation. They cannot move without yang qi; when it is spent, they conceal themselves and cease activity. As frost, snow, and icy cold gradually fade away, the moment they are fully gone is the time of pure Kun; at the winter solstice, within that pure Kun, yang qi begins to arise anew.

Fu (one of the sixty-four hexagrams of the Yijing, symbolizing the return of yang qi) describes yang returning from below; Bo (symbolizing yin gradually stripping yang away) describes yang being peeled off from above. Once yang is fully stripped away, it hides within the earth—which is why in the depths of winter, if you dig six or seven feet below the surface, the soil does not freeze; farther down you may even feel warmth. That is the hidden yang. At this season heavenly qi ascends and earthly qi descends; the two currents are blocked and sealed off—a state called winter. When spring comes, yang qi is born again.

I once heard Mr. Chen, a geomancer, say that in winter the depth at which the ground freezes underground, when measured with a ruler and recorded, always yields a whole number when divided by six. He had dug and checked in many places across five northern provinces and found it always so. Perhaps this can illustrate the subtle point that the Kun hexagram takes “six” as its operative number—a claim grounded in field observation that may not be without reason.

In winter, yang qi is stored deep in the earth. Grass and trees may wither above ground yet do not die, because their roots remain in the soil and receive nourishment from yang qi. Insects and snakes that stayed on the surface would freeze to death; they hibernate in deep valleys and burrows, relying on underground yang qi to survive, and in that dormancy they also consume their own stored essence. From this it seems that without yang qi below, life could hardly endure. The Book of Changes says “the hidden dragon—do not act yet,” describing the time when yang qi lies hidden below and has not yet shown itself.

At the winter solstice, the one yang begins to return; this alternation of yin and yang is named the hexagram Fu, “Thunder within Earth,” in the Book of Changes. From then on, yang qi gradually revives. When the classic speaks of “returning, and the heart of heaven and earth is seen,” it means that in the cycling return of yang qi one can discern the fundamental pattern by which heaven and earth generate and transform. The way of heaven turns without ceasing; the true yang qi of heaven and earth appears at the winter solstice. People may not notice it, but the qi of heaven and earth has already shifted greatly.

At such times yang grows and yin recedes, and the sun’s yang power strengthens accordingly; the daylight slowly lengthens. Conversely, when yin waxes and yang wanes, the days gradually shorten, until the process turns at the summer solstice. Before the winter solstice the days are shortest, hence the phrase “the one yang returns”: yang sprouts from below and little by little increases again; by the hexagram Lin, with two yang lines, the change becomes still clearer.

Sap in tree branches is still scarce in the eleventh month and becomes abundant by the twelfth. Mulberry trees begin to put out leaves in winter; they are among the first trees to respond to vital qi (shengqi). In the tenth month, plum blossoms on mountain ridges open first, because the earth qi on the heights is warmer and yang qi arrives sooner there.

Although at the Winter Solstice there are signs of the return of one yang, the myriad things have not yet grown; they only begin to sprout when the “three yang” phases follow in succession—that is, in the first month of the year.

Viewed in terms of a single day, daytime belongs to yang and night to yin. At midnight in the zi period, yang qi starts to stir; the xu and hai periods are when yin reaches its peak. In ordinary reckoning, zi is the moment when yang first moves within the day. In Neidan (internal alchemy), however, “zi period” means “living zi period”: the zi on the clock at midnight is only a fixed time slot, called the “dead zi period.” The moment when yang qi stirs within the body is not fixed; it may appear whenever body and mind are quiet—hence “living zi period.” Even if one practices at the noon period, as long as body and mind are still and yang qi stirs, that too can count as living zi period. “Zi period” here means the occasion when body and mind are both quiet and yang qi arises—not a particular hour on the clock. The Four Hundred Characters (Neidan scripture) says “the summer solstice is not necessarily at wu, the winter solstice is not necessarily at zi”; it means the same thing.

Yang qi at its first arising is compared to living zi period because at that stage yang has only just returned and has not yet reached the point of making the myriad things grow. In refining the elixir, besides living zi period one also speaks of “proper zi period”: living zi is when yang qi begins to return; proper zi is when yang qi has already manifested in the body. When yang has just arisen it is extremely faint, like a speck of light; one must first nourish it so it gradually fills and increases before it can be felt in the body. While yang is still very weak and has not yet reached the body, one must not “gather” it; nurturing it until it is full—that process is huohou (fire phases, the timing of practice).

When Yang qi has just begun to arise and has not yet filled the whole body, one must not rush to gather and refine it. One should continue to nourish and store it, letting it gradually become full—this is “huohou” (the timing of the “fire” in practice), which requires the skill of ding (fixed, single-pointed concentration) to sustain and protect it.

In the early stages of practice, when body and mind have both settled into quiet, Yang qi will arise—this is called Di Lei Fu (Thunder in the Earth, hexagram ䷗). Before Yang qi has reached the whole body, one must still hold to Kun (the hexagram of pure stillness, receptivity, and inner nourishment); Yang qi arises within Kun’s stillness. If the mind shifts even slightly and no longer stays purely quiet, Yang qi breaks off and cannot continue to grow. Yang qi has its own moment of arising: once one knows the root and sees the signs, if one then stirs thoughts and speculates about how the qi will develop, it will not come again. Because the qi just born is extremely subtle, it cannot tolerate the slightest agitation; one must guard it and let it grow further—hence the need for the skill of ding.

Ding means single-mindedness: settling the Shen (spirit/mind) in the empty space within and without the body, so that Shen rests outside the body and is not tied to the physical form at all. When body and mind become still more empty and silent, Yang qi can arise fully. At that point the body may show signs—feeling comfortable and soft throughout—meaning Yang qi is ample; the heart-mind also feels joy.

Once Yang qi is full, one applies the skill of wang (forgetting): even the Shen that was settled outside the body is to be forgotten. Here wang is “gathering without gathering”—bu cai zhi cai—accomplishing the work of gathering without deliberately seizing; ding is the skill of preserving Yang qi. The flesh of the whole body may twitch as if fleas were on the skin; one must let go of these sensations all the more. If numb softness has spread through the whole body and one cannot forget even if one tries, one should zhi huo (stop the fire): one may rise and walk slowly, or read a little from Daoist texts. This is the time to stop the refining nurture and seal and store the Yang qi one has obtained. If one does not stop the fire and seal, when Yang qi is already at its peak it may turn to heat and sweating; Yang qi then disperses and becomes post-heaven Qi, so stopping is also a crucial skill not to neglect.

There is also a kind of huo wu shi (“live” noon hour). The noon hour corresponds to the summer solstice;

“Living wu hour” (huo wushi) means the moment within the body when yin first begins to arise; at that time one must apply the gongfu of “holding back” (zhi) to regulate and nurture the process—this point is especially important and must not be overlooked. The “wu hour” spoken of here is not merely noon on the clock: in the solar terms, wu corresponds to the summer solstice; in practice, “living wu hour” is the time when yin first arises within the body.

In principle, wu represents the beginning of yin; in cultivation, this juncture is related to the heart (xin). Moving from the body to the heart belongs to the Li hexagram (symbolizing fire and the heart, and also the empty center). When body and mind stir the Li hexagram, it is precisely the stage when yin has just begun to sprout. When yang qi stirs, signs appear: at first on the surface of flesh and skin, then from outside inward, touching the spirit-mind and giving rise to awareness. In empty stillness, perception feels dark and hard to discern—this is called “obscure darkness” (yaoming); when yang qi stirs, perception feels as if there yet as if not—this is called “trance-like vagueness” (huanghu). Once qi touches the heart, one may feel tingling or numbness in the body, or signs such as yang arousal (erection of the genitals)—this is what is meant by “living wu hour.” At this time one applies the gongfu of “fixing” (ding)—that is, settling the spirit-mind.

Zi hour and wu hour symbolize the two poles facing north and south. In practice, “living zi hour” is when the body perceives that qi has stirred; “living wu hour” is when the heart perceives the corresponding change. From zi to wu, though explained in relative terms as six hours, in reality it may occur in a single instant: the body notices first—that is living zi hour; the heart notices next—that is living wu hour.

Living wu hour corresponds to the summer solstice; it can also be illustrated by Heaven-Wind Gou (the Gou hexagram, symbolizing yin’s first arising). Six yang lines form the Qian hexagram, corresponding to the fourth month; when yang has developed to its peak, yin begins to be born—corresponding to the fifth month at the summer solstice, when one yin comes down from heaven to meet yang: this is “Gou.” When yang is at its extreme and yin is newly born, yin and yang unite and bring rain; at the summer solstice the day is longest, and afterward the days gradually shorten. By the sixth month, two yin lines form the Dun hexagram; in the seventh month, three yin form the Pi hexagram.

Third month’s Lake-Heaven Guai is the hexagram with one yin above and five yang below; the text uses myriad flowers blooming to show yang flourishing. At the fifth month’s Dragon Boat Festival, the sun hangs high in the sky—the time when yang reaches its utmost peak, hence it is called the “Mid-Heaven Festival” (tianzhong jie). From this one can see that heaven-and-earth’s creation, at the peak of yang, gives birth to yin; the cycle turns without pause.

Between the “living Zi hour” and the “living Wu hour” lie the junctures at which the myriad things stir into life and flourish. The line “On the fifth month’s Double Fifth, the sun stands high in the sky” describes the moment when Yang qi reaches its peak; for that reason the Double Fifth is also called the “Festival at the Middle of Heaven.” Once Yang has peaked, Yin begins to arise—an image of how Heaven and Earth ceaselessly turn through creation and transformation.

Within the span from the living Zi hour to the living Wu hour, the positions Mao and You are also included. Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, Chen, and Si are the six Yang hours; Wu, Wei, Shen, You, Xu, and Hai are the six Yin hours. Where Zi and Wu are established, Mao and You are already part of the same sequence.

Zi, Wu, Mao, and You are termed the “Four Cardinals,” matching the cardinal directions east, south, west, and north; the remaining directions are the “Four Corners.” Some works add the center to the eight directions and call the whole the “Nine Palaces.” The ladle of the Northern Dipper (Dou Kui) rests at the center while the handle (Dou Bing) circles it; that ladle is also known as the North Star and Purple Subtlety (Ziwei). As the handle swings toward different directions, it marks the seasonal shifts through the year. The climate of each of the twelve months varies with the direction the handle indicates, while the ladle itself stays central.

The same pattern can clarify the four temporal positions Zi, Wu, Mao, and You. The fixed star at the hub of the dipper is like the practitioner’s body-and-mind: when body and mind are settled and true intent holds the center, Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) naturally join, and from that union Zi, Wu, Mao, and You are distinguished. The first stirring of Yang corresponds to Zi and Wu; Purification—the stage of regulating and nourishing Yin-Yang in practice—corresponds to Mao and You. Zi and Wu face north and south; Mao and You face east and west. To speak of Wu is already to include Mao; to speak of Zi is already to include You. In cultivation, when one notices Yang qi activate, that may be treated as the Zi-Wu juncture, with Mao and You implicit within it.

The Kinship of the Three (Cantong qi) says: “At Zi, turn left; at Wu, wheel westward.” (Another recension reads: “At Zi, turn right; at Wu, wheel eastward.”) Zi above and Wu below operate at once: Yang at the Zi position advances to the Mao hour, and Yin at the Wu position advances to the You hour. What follows will be shown in diagrams.

Mao and You hours mirror each other in pairs: from the Zi hour through to the Wu hour, the quality symbolized by Mao is implicit within that span; from the Wu hour through to the Zi hour, the quality symbolized by You is implicit within that span. The Way of Heaven has four images—Heaven and Earth, Sun and Moon; in the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) these correspond to Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li; in terms of direction, south is Heaven and north is Earth, the sun is east and the moon is west. In alchemical language, Zi, Wu, Mao, and You likewise stand for Wu in the south, Zi in the north, Mao in the east, and You in the west. All of this borrows celestial images and directions as metaphors for what happens in practice; they should not be taken as literal places on a map.

In finer detail: at the Zi hour yang qi stirs; at the Wu hour yang qi turns toward stillness and stability. Mao signifies cessation, You signifies gathering the breath. Zi belongs to the north and Wu to the south; Mao and You lie east and west respectively. At Zi, yang rises; at Wu, yin descends. When the moments symbolized by Mao and You arrive, yin and yang tend toward balance—this is the time of “bathing” (muyu), the alchemical stage when yin and yang harmonize and the “fire” of practice is reined in. Bathing sits in the central palace (zhonggong), like the pivot star among the bowl of the Big Dipper (Doukui)—a sign of empty non-action (wuwei). Yang ascends from below while yin descends from above; by applying the work of “forgetting,” yang can naturally settle in the center and the elixir can coalesce. What the alchemical texts say here is all figurative; one must not cling to the letter. The Four Hundred Characters says: “When you reach the time of bathing, Mao and You are only empty comparisons.” From that one can see the point clearly.

When practicing the macro cosmic orbit (da zhou tian), the stirring of yang is relatively obvious, and one can discern its rise and fall. When practicing the micro cosmic orbit (xiao zhou tian), yang’s stirring is still very faint and yin within the body is still heavy, so it is hard to perceive fully. In the macro orbit one already has a “Dharma body” (fashen)—the transformed state spoken of in practice—and can be aware of yang’s ascent and descent; in the micro orbit one usually feels only tingling numbness. Forgetting the body and forgetting thoughts is what “nurturing warmth” (wenyang) means. If you try to forget and cannot, that shows yang is already full and you should stop the fire at once—cease pushing the “heat” of practice further. That is how the symbols of Zi, Wu, Mao, and You differ in meaning.

What has been explained above interprets the line “the hour is Zi, the subtlety lies in transmission heart to heart.” What follows will explain the meaning of “the moon is full—the secret rests in the oral formula (koujue).”

Alchemists liken Qian and Kun to Heaven and Earth, and Kan and Li to the Sun and Moon, using Kan and Li to explain what inner refinement does. The ancients held that the sun holds the golden crow and the moon the jade rabbit, so Wu and Tu became symbolic “medicines” in the work of the elixir. The moon’s cycle from wane to full was taken as a natural emblem of the Way left by Heaven and Earth—a pattern in nature that alchemy could mirror.

The sun always appears full and changeless; the moon waxes and wanes daily and changes shape. The moon has no light of its own—it is the essence of Taiyin (supreme yin), corresponding to the Kan trigram, which signifies yang within and yin without. Outwardly yin, it does not shine by itself; it appears bright only by borrowing the sun’s light.

Heaven and Earth meet at the summer and winter solstices; the sun and moon meet once each month. On the dark day at month’s end, the sun is above and the moon below; they cross beneath the earth. When sun and moon face each other, the moon takes in the sun’s light. The moon is wholly yin and empty; because it is empty it can receive, turning outward action into intake, and so it can absorb the sun’s radiance.

Three days later the moon first shows in the Geng direction (east), gradually gaining light, shaped like a moth’s eyebrow. That direction is called “Geng” because Geng belongs to the Zhen trigram—Zhen “receives” Geng. At that moment one sees only a thin new moon; three days before that, around the twenty-eighth, the moon is again a sliver, almost fully dark. The size of the new moon at first appearance matches how small the moon is just before it wanes away at month’s end.

After the fourth day the moon adds a thread of light each day—like yang in alchemy accumulating bit by bit. By the eighth day the moon is half round, appearing in the direction of Dui and Ding (west), called the “first quarter.” It is like a bow: one side the back, one the string; the string faces up, hence “upper string” (shangxian). Light and dark each occupy half—yin and yang balanced; of the whole disk, half is visible and half still hidden. That is the moon of the eighth day.

After that the moon again gains a thread of light each day until the fifteenth, the full-moon night, when it stands in the direction of Qian and Jia. The moon travels from west toward east; under the sun’s illumination the bright face fills the whole orb. The scripture continues: “The song says:”

The toad and the jade hare (tu po—the rabbit spirit in the moon) stand for the qi of sun and moon shining together. The toad watches the rhythm of the moon’s waxing and waning; the rabbit “exhales” its breath, as if the moon were releasing light. When the way of refining the elixir is complete, qi goes through cycles of bending, stretching, descending, and rising.

The toad symbolizes supreme Yin (tai yin); the crow and rabbit (wu tu) symbolize the sun. The scripture says the toad is yang essence: it lives in water, lifts its head toward heaven, and single-mindedly takes in the sun’s qi. The rabbit, seeing the moon, exhales breath; legend says it has no fixed sex—gazing at the full moon on the fifteenth, it conceives and brings forth young from its mouth. One inhalation and one exhalation image the sun and moon. The Huangting Jing says: “As the sun goes out and the moon comes in, in breathing there is preservation.” That is, within breath lies the pattern of sun and moon: on inhalation yin qi descends; on exhalation yang qi rises. The toad’s inhalation images qi turning inward; the rabbit’s exhalation images qi going outward—and from that outward breath, inward gathering again. Exhalation corresponds to the moon: at the fifteenth, the sun’s qi seems fully “exhaled” and complete.

On the day of conjunction (hui ri—the last day of the lunar month), sun and moon meet; a dark shadow falls in the moon. After that, sunlight gradually increases until the fifteenth brings the full moon. The moon’s light is here taken as the sun’s light. At the full fifteenth, sun and moon are both round and bright; this is not only a figure for a full moon—it means the sun is equally full. Pairing sun and moon is a way of speaking about xing (inner nature) and ming (life), shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy).

From the sixteenth onward, the moon again shows its po (the dark, receptive side), and yin qi arises. After the fifteenth, yang wanes and yin grows. The text again says: though the moon is round, the sun is round too; sun and moon together figure xing and ming, spirit and qi.

On the sixteenth day of the lunar month, the moon begins to wane and yin qi grows accordingly. After the full moon on the fifteenth, yang qi gradually fades and yin qi gradually increases; the originally full “Qiangan” (Metal of the Qian hexagram—a neidan image for abundant yang qi) slowly declines. Around the twenty-third, the moon appears in the southern direction associated with Xun and xin; half bright and half dark—this is the last-quarter moon. The bow of the last-quarter moon points downward: yang within yin, yin and yang each half. After that, the dark portion grows daily and the bright portion shrinks; by the twenty-eighth only a sliver remains, and at month’s end the moon vanishes entirely.

The moon changes this way every month with almost no error, so one can tell whether a month is long or short from its phases. China’s yin calendar (which takes the moon’s waxing and waning as a main guide) comes from this. Observing the phases clarifies new moon, first and last quarters, full moon, and the dark of the moon—all expressions of the moon’s roundness and waning.

Neidan cultivation uses the moon’s waxing and waning as metaphor: when yang qi has grown fully, it is like a full moon. The Wuzhen Pian (Understanding Reality) says: “On the fifteenth of the eighth month, enjoy the toad’s radiance—that is exactly when golden essence is at its strongest.” The meaning is that at full moon, “water full and metal full” appears—the image of abundant yang associated with the Qian hexagram; when the moon is wholly hidden at month’s end, it is like pure yin and emptiness—the “dark of the moon” (hui).

Sun and moon meeting in dantian lore stands for spirit (shen) and qi joining; after entering a chaotic state, faint yang begins to stir, like the new moon on the third day. The yang born at the Huozi shi (the moment when yang stirs in practice) is also like that first crescent. When yin and yang each hold half, it is like the first-quarter or last-quarter moon.

Take the first-quarter moon: the lower half stands for half yang, the upper half for half yin. When yang qi in the body has accumulated to the halfway point, yin qi has also retreated halfway; the yin that has retreated is like the dark upper half of the moon. The “round moon” spoken of in dantian methods is a circle formed when yin and yang each contribute a semicircle and meet—it is not the same as the ordinary full moon on the fifteenth. Do not read it as a wholly yang, fully bright full moon.

This passage uses the moon’s upper arc, lower arc, and full moon to illustrate the timing in neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation when yin and yang wax and wane and when one gathers the “medicine” and forms the elixir.

The text compares half of the growing yang qi to the upper arc, and half of the receding yin qi to the lower arc: the upper arc belongs to the body, the lower arc to the heart-mind; when body and heart-mind unite, it is like the moon at fullness. At this stage “Metal and Water” each occupy half, and one is in a phase of yin-yang balance; the “medicine sprout” is neither too tender nor too mature, which suits gathering the medicine. “Gathering” here does not mean forcibly taking something with deliberate intent; rather, through “bathing and nurturing” (nourishing body and mind in a calm, natural way), spirit and qi unite, Metal and Wood merge, and the elixir can form.

After “fixation,” the practice shifts to the work of “forgetting”—moving from focused holding to natural wuwei (non-action). According to the text, at the Zi hour yang qi rises from the east; by the Mao hour the upper arc is formed, called “advancing yang.” At the Wu hour yin qi recedes westward; by the You hour the lower arc is formed, called “retreating yin.” When Mao and You meet, they symbolize yin-yang fullness—the time suited to warm nurturing.

The upper arc is called the chord qi of the Azure Dragon; the lower arc, the chord qi of the White Tiger. Azure Dragon and White Tiger are terms in neidan for yin and yang qi. The text also uses “mercury” and “lead” for the yin and yang elements in practice, and “Metal and Wood intersecting” for their union, noting that this involves both mutual restraint and mutual completion.

The line from the Awakening to Reality (Wuzhen pian)—“On the fifteenth of the eighth month, the Metal essence flourishes”—is likewise used to stand for the moment when yin and yang are full and the “medicine” is ripe. “The moon’s fullness depends on the secret formula” means that the fire phases symbolized by the full moon are not read from the outer moon alone, but grasped through the oral instructions that track inner yin-yyang change.

Many people who speak about the Dao today drift into heterodox paths, so the teaching must be explained in detail. Without deep understanding, one easily goes astray at the first encounter with a side school; with thorough understanding, one can naturally tell true from false. In the past, master–disciple transmission relied entirely on heart-to-heart communion and oral instruction. The teacher did not analyze everything for the disciple; the disciple had to grasp it through personal experience, so it was very difficult. These subtle points are hard to clarify if left unsaid, yet in former times they were rarely explained at length. Even when the Seven Real Ones (Qizhen), the seven patriarchs of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) lineage, led the teaching, they only gave a general outline and did not spell everything out.

I explain the Dao in such detail because the Dao belongs to everyone and should not be hoarded in private. My master Wang also took universal salvation as his aim, and I carry on his wish. The Dao must not be treated as private property; once one has received it, one should take spreading the Dao as one’s own duty. Patriarch Lü’s (Lü Dongbin) vow to save all beings is still unfinished, which is why spirit-writing sessions through the phoenix medium (jiangluan) and public teaching are set up everywhere. As for attaining the true Dao, one must accumulate three thousand eight hundred meritorious deeds and practices (gongxing)—the good works and merit a cultivator performs. Yet with sincere intent, one can still fulfill one’s vow; one need not shrink from difficulty. We should keep helping and relieving others in mind: to help one person is less than helping many; to help many is less than helping all under heaven. Only when one can rescue the people of the world has one’s vow been even slightly fulfilled.

When the waxing and waning crescents join, they form a full moon; yet even at the full moon, the mouth of the moon still shows a gap. This line continues the image of the moon, picking up from “relieving all under heaven” above, and stresses that only by doing one’s utmost to help the world can one say the vow has been even slightly fulfilled.

In internal alchemy (Neidan), the waxing and crescent phases together form the full moon; the full moon then gradually wanes, just as described in the changes above. Neidan methods use the moon to symbolize the growth and decline of yang qi (vital energy): around the eighth day the moon waxes toward fullness, at the fifteenth it is full, around the twenty-third half is lost, and by the twenty-eighth only a thin crescent remains. Neidan also uses the moon to symbolize the Dao heart (one’s original authentic heart), and explains the nine-turn cultivation work through the moon’s phases.

Before one has cultivated this Way, the inner mind is like the dark moon—entirely without light, as on a day when no moon is visible. As practice deepens, worldly attachments fade and a trace of the Dao heart appears; this is called the “Crescent Moon Furnace” (yanyue lu)—an image in internal alchemy where the inner furnace is set up like the new moon on the third day: the Dao heart has just emerged, and the furnace is thereby established.

Islam also takes the crescent moon as a sect emblem. On Sandao Street in Daoli, Harbin, there is a mosque founded by Russians, with a crescent mark on the roof; Chinese mosques place the crescent emblem in the main hall. In Islam the crescent stands for the manifestation of true heart; using it here to symbolize the emergence of the Dao heart is a similar idea.

At the start of the nine turns, the moon’s color is wholly dark; only at the second turn does a thin crescent first appear. In the third turn the light grows by one part, becoming two parts, illustrating that the Dao heart shows itself more fully. In the fourth turn the light increases further; in the fifth it reaches the first quarter—half bright, half dark—signifying that foundation establishment (zhuji), the basic stage of practice, is complete. All nine turns are work of refining nature (xing); by the fifth turn the foundation is laid. In the sixth turn most of the moon’s face is lit; in the seventh, darkness has nearly withdrawn; in the eighth only a sliver of black remains; the ninth turn succeeds, like a full moon bright and whole. As the human mind recedes, white light gradually appears; at the ninth turn darkness is gone and the Dao heart is fully revealed. This matches what Understanding Destiny and Life (Xingming guizhi) calls the “nine cauldrons.”

Why “nine turns”? Because nine is the number of yang; when cultivation reaches the ninth turn, one returns to pure yang. Nine-turn elixir methods borrow the moon as metaphor because lunar change makes the process easy to grasp.

When a person is first born, their original nature is whole and pure. As knowledge gradually opens and human desires stain them, the heart-mind grows dimmer. When black and white are half and half, that is the “day of five thousand four hundred on the yellow path”—the stage suited to advanced cultivation; at that point one may cultivate without needing a separate foundation-building phase. After that, darkness grows heavier, so one must shed darkness and turn toward light. The waxing and waning of the conscious mind (shih-shen, acquired awareness) and the original spirit (yüan-shen, innate nature), and the advance and retreat of yang and yin, can all be illustrated by this analogy. By sixty-four, body and mind are almost entirely black; when the white light is fully gone and yang qi is exhausted, death follows.

The moon has no light of its own; it shines only when the sun shines on it. Innate true yang is likewise as if coming from outside—only pure Kun (pure yin, with no yang lines at all) can receive true yang. The black body stands for pure Kun, so it can take in the sun’s yang light; if even a speck of white mingles in the black, it cannot absorb. Hence when sun and moon meet and the moon takes the sun’s light, it must be on the last day of the lunar month (hui): then the white light is fully withdrawn and the moon is a purely black body. From this one can grasp the principle of yin–yang intercourse: only pure Kun can respond to pure yang—“response” here means absorption. Once the two touch, response occurs; after absorbing, one releases again, cycling back and forth—this is the subtle working of creation’s operation, the same for Heaven and Earth and for human beings. Thus it is said that “the moon is left by Heaven and Earth as the image of the elixir method”—the moon is the example Heaven and Earth preserved to symbolize the internal elixir (neidan) path.

In one month the moon goes from darkness to first crescent, to full round, then back to darkness—a cycle of thirty days, which is why the calendar fixes a month at thirty days. The moon is the essence of great yin (t’ai-yin); in the hexagrams it corresponds to Kun. Kun uses six as its operative number. A month passes through new moon, full moon, quarter moons, and last day—five phases; five times six is thirty, symbolizing Kun’s “six” through five phases completing one cycle of thirty days. Hence the Cantong qi says: “The moon’s nodes have five or six; warp and woof follow the sun’s command.” The moon shows light by receiving the sun’s light; its monthly circuit is truly following the sun; its exchanging light with the sun and absorbing brightness are all driven by the sun.

In calendrics, the lunar calendar follows the moon’s motion, so it is said to “derive from the moon”; the solar calendar follows the sun and is also called the terrestrial calendar. That is the distinction between the two.

When the moon reaches the last day of the lunar month (the day of darkness), its light is no longer visible, and it moves to the Kun position—the southwest. What is called a “solar calendar” is reckoned by the sun’s motion, that is, by the period of the earth’s revolution around the sun; this differs from the calendar that follows the moon’s course.

At the day of darkness the moon hides its light and travels to the southwest Kun position, where it shows the image of darkness. From this one can observe the transformations of heaven-and-earth creation: Kun symbolizes darkness, emptiness, and non-being; when the moon reaches Kun, it appears in a state of darkness, void, and formlessness. Kan and Li (the images of water and fire) take the place of Qian and Kun (the images of metal and earth): the sun stands in for heaven, the moon in place of earth. The “Li day” represents the motion of Qian heaven and symbolizes true yang—ever undying, never dispersing, unchanged since the opening of heaven and earth; the moon is different, changing day by day. Thus one may grasp the creative pattern of Qian’s vigor and Kun’s yielding.

Solar and lunar eclipses arise when the motion of celestial timing goes awry. In the method of refining the elixir, if fire timing is not handled correctly, there will also be changes such as fire qi too dry or water qi too cold. Hence when the way of heaven runs off course, anomalies and disasters appear; when human cultivation goes against the flow, change likewise occurs—the principle is the same in both cases. The waning and eclipse of sun and moon can be calculated in advance; though mistakes in alchemical fire timing are hard to know beforehand, larger shifts can still be inferred from subtle signs. All these phenomena stem from imbalance between yin and yang; the logic of the way of heaven and the way of humanity is not different.

In Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, fire timing must let yin and yang each attain their proper balance—this is called “twenty-eight in mutual balance,” also likened to “half a jin and eight liang,” meaning equal weight on both sides; it is also compared to the waxing and waning quarters of the moon. When the body is in the waxing quarter, mind and spirit must also cooperate with the waning quarter: treat body and mind as upper and lower quarters so that yin and yang on both sides harmonize. During the waxing quarter one advances yang fire until the Mao hour (roughly early morning); during the waning quarter one withdraws the yin tally until the You hour (roughly evening). Upper and lower quarters with equal yin and yang combine to form the elixir—that is, yin and yang unite to complete the Dao. True yin and true yang must be in equilibrium before they can unite; if not balanced, union cannot occur. This union is also called “dragon-tiger intercourse”: Mao belongs to eastern wood and symbolizes the azure dragon; You belongs to western metal and symbolizes the white tiger. Mao and You face each other across the compass, hence the name dragon-tiger union.

The Cantong qi (Commentary on the Unity of the Three) says, “The dragon breathes out toward the tiger, and the tiger draws in the dragon’s refined essence.” With the two words “breathing in and out” added, one can see the mutual relationship between them—namely, the union of the upper chord and the lower chord. The Yijing (Book of Changes) associates the Zhen trigram with the dragon and the Dui trigram with the tiger; thus when dragon and tiger unite, it is the meeting of the Zhen and Dui trigrams. The mind-aspect in a person belongs to the Li trigram, and the bodily aspect belongs to the Kan trigram—this is also called Kan-Li intersection.

The four directional positions zi, wu, mao, and you all converge in one place; therefore wu-zi intersection is also Kan-Li intersection, and mao-you intersection is also Zhen-Dui intersection. Their function all lies in the Central Palace (the central position); hence alchemical texts call it “harmonizing the four images and gathering the Five Phases.” Zi, wu, mao, and you correspond respectively to the Kan, Li, Zhen, and Dui trigrams. Yang above and yin below—Kan-Li intersection is at the same time Zhen-Dui intersection, because zi, wu, mao, and you meet and intersect within the Kun palace (the middle position symbolizing bearing and gathering).

Here a diagram makes it clear: a straight line passing through to the Central Palace is wu-zi intersection; yet the gate of union is the mao-you portal, so one may also speak of mao-you intersection. From this one can understand. What “gathering the Five Phases” means is the same principle: once they enter the Central Palace, they become the Five Phases. Zi, wu, mao, and you correspond to Metal, Wood, Water, and Fire; together with the true Earth of the Central Palace, they compose the Five Phases. When zi, wu, mao, and you converge in one place, wu-zi intersection is also mao-you intersection; mao-you intersection is the joining of Metal and Wood, and wu-zi intersection is the joining of Water and Fire.

These unions also divide into inner and outer: Metal and Wood are outer; wu and zi are inner. How inner and outer are distinguished in detail, and what form the union takes, must wait until the discussion of small heavenly circuit fire timing (the method in neidan practice for circulating qi and regulating the “fire” phases) for a fuller explanation.

Practitioners who cultivate huangxu (returning to emptiness—training that brings the spirit-mind back to stillness and clarity), when they reach the moment of yangsheng (the arising of inner yang in practice), should grasp the “heart-transmission of hour and child” (shizi zhi xinchuan) and the “oral formula of the full moon” (yueyuan zhi koujue). At that stage one may apply the methods of jiuhuan qifan (nine returns and seven reversals—the refining and nourishing practices of Daoist neidan).

Direct Teaching on the Consistent Celestial Mechanism, Volume Four

Lecture Fourteen

Gradual and Sudden Methods; Human Origin and Celestial Origin

Nine stages in sequence, one intent to generate the body

When we study the Dao and practice huangxu, at the time of yangsheng we must understand the “heart-transmission of hour and child” and the “oral formula of the full moon,” and only then apply jiuhuan qifan. The previous two lectures already explained this in detail. Here we quote Li Hancxu’s account of the nine layers of refining the heart-mind (jiuceng lianxin) and explain it step by step, so that the full scope of cultivation may be seen in outline. First the original text is given, then commentary. The title is Renyuan Dadao Jiuceng Lianxin Wen Zhongjing (Scripture on the Nine Layers of Refining the Heart in the Human-Origin Great Way), also known as Jiuceng Lianxin Daoyan (Discourse on the Nine Layers of Refining the Heart).

Preliminary refining of the heart means training a mind that is not yet pure. When the heart is impure, delusive thoughts arise easily and the mind wanders without control: such fantasies mostly spring from craving, while scattered thoughts come from inattention. When a practitioner sits in meditation and tries to shut out worldly concerns, as soon as one delusion is suppressed, another distraction surfaces. At this stage one may use the method of zhiguan (cessation and contemplation) to let stray thoughts gradually dissolve.

“Cessation” (zhi) means settling the heart in a vacant realm slightly below the navel, in the space before the Mingmen (Gate of Life—the area opposite the lower back along the spine). Once the heart rests there, turn inward in contemplation (guan): let spirit-mind watch this open clarity and keep company with Qi (vital energy). In practice, spirit-mind and breath must be held within definite bounds and measure, so that inhalation and exhalation move between square and circle and each breath returns to the root—naturally in tune with the creative transformation of nature. When you are thus settled and unmoved, you establish the foundation of purity.

From here, a thread of inner light meets a wisp of true Qi; body and heart become open, easeful, and at home. This is the first stage of refining the heart and nourishing Qi.

The method of cultivating the Dao and refining the heart-mind unfolds in nine stages, each explained below. What is meant by the “Human Origin Great Way” (renyuan dadao) is that internal alchemy (Neidan) divides into two lines: Human Origin and Heaven Origin. Even the so-called “Heaven Origin Great Elixir” (tianyuan dadan) must begin with Human Origin practice; when Human Origin work is advanced enough, it can merge with Heaven Origin.

Heaven Origin belongs entirely to the innate, pre-heaven Great Way: from start to finish the direction of practice is “returning to emptiness” (huanxu)—bringing heart and spirit back to empty stillness. Human Origin, at the entry stage, mixes in some purposeful (youwei) methods that use the post-heaven body and mind. Ancients mostly started from Human Origin and then gradually moved into Heaven Origin; Human Origin is the method of laying the foundation (zhuji) and mending or supplementing (zaibu). Those with sharp faculties and deep wisdom may go straight to Heaven Origin; those with duller faculties find it easier to begin with Human Origin. Heaven Origin is a sudden-and-complete (yuandun) method that works on several levels at once; Human Origin is step-by-step gradual cultivation (jianxiu). The saying “the Dao preserves the form, techniques extend life” means the Great Way is about keeping the body intact, while concrete arts are about lengthening life.

The teaching transmitted by Immortal Li and said to have been personally passed on by Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) is arranged in nine layers and counts as a concise, easy-to-practice supreme method. The first layer is refining the heart that is not yet pure—namely “refining the self” (lianji)—starting from the post-heaven body and mind.

The post-heaven heart is often full of idle thoughts and also gives rise to wandering thoughts. Idle thoughts are formed ideas; wandering thoughts are a sudden stirring in the mind before any clear idea has taken shape—without definite aim, coming and going unpredictably, rising and falling. Idle thoughts are ideas that were not there and suddenly appear, sometimes present, sometimes not; formed thoughts have a focus and follow intention, so they can be deliberately checked and gradually removed. Wandering thoughts have no obvious cause, so they are hard to guard against in advance.

For example, a poor person thinks of becoming rich—that desire arises from poverty and counts as idle thought. Wandering thoughts can surface whether or not the mind has a clear idea, with no discoverable reason.

The way for practitioners to refine idle and wandering thoughts is “cessation and contemplation” (zhiguan). “Cessation” (zhi) means stilling thoughts; “contemplation” (guan) means observing inward. Cessation and contemplation are trained through habituating stillness and settling the heart in utmost goodness. When the heart of utmost goodness abides in the “Gate of the Mysterious Female” (xuanpin zhi men)—the pivot of practice in the Daoist sense, where body and mind gather spirit—that is called “dual practice of cessation and contemplation.” That is Buddhist wording; in the Daoist tradition it is called “dual cultivation of nature and life” (xingming shuangxiu) or “dual cultivation of the subtle aperture” (miaoqiao shuangxiu).

Dual cultivation of cessation and contemplation—stilling discursive thought while observing the nature of mind—has many levels in Buddhist practice. At the outset there is “small cessation-contemplation”; beyond that is “Mahayana cessation-contemplation”; and there is also “celestial-human cessation-contemplation.” Small cessation-contemplation is a gradual, step-by-step method; Mahayana cessation-contemplation is an integrated approach that advances in a sudden, all-at-once manner; celestial-human cessation-contemplation is the final work of returning to emptiness and voidness, a concluding phase of cultivation rather than an entry-level method.

The “contemplation” spoken of here means quieting thoughts and observing the empty state, taking emptiness as the starting point. The Xiao Zhiguan (Smaller Treatise on Cessation and Contemplation) says: “Cessation means fixing the mind on its object.” That is, settling the heart-mind on one focal point. The mind may be placed between the two eyebrows or below the navel. “Fixing the mind” means to observe and abide in a single locus—this is “cessation.” When a mind that is empty, clear, still, and free of discursive thinking is placed at these three positions, three levels can be distinguished.

The method at the point between the eyebrows is the same as that used in the Tongshan Society. However, the place where the mind is settled should be withdrawn one inch inward from the brow—into empty space. When the mind is settled below the navel, it should likewise be one inch and three fen away from the surface of the body. The space between the eyebrows is regarded as where the light of nature manifests; hence it is said that the Tathāgata (an honorific title for the Buddha) once emitted white light from between his eyebrows—that light symbolizes the luminosity inherent in one’s original nature. The phrase “the empty chamber generates white” refers to light appearing between the brows; the region between the eyebrows is the “empty chamber” meant here.

One inch and three fen below the navel is called the place of embryonic breathing (taixi); the true breath—the inner breath of cultivation—resides here. Liao Chanhui said: “In front facing the navel wheel, in back facing the kidneys; in the middle is a true golden cauldron.” The “golden cauldron” here means where the true breath gathers; at a certain stage of practice one can naturally experience this. At one inch and three fen below the navel there is a mass of true qi, turning in a circle like a wheel—this is the “life root” (mingdi), the place that sustains the root of life. After birth, the life root is here; as the infant grows to adulthood, embryonic breathing gradually disperses, and this spot becomes an empty cavity.

Cultivation focused only on xing (refining mind-spirit and consciousness) begins from an aperture between the eyebrows; cultivation focused only on ming (nourishing the body and the root of life) begins from below the navel. Patriarch Lü said: “If one cultivates xing but not ming, even through myriad kalpas one can hardly attain the sage Way.” Such a person may become only a yin spirit or ghost immortal. He also said: “If one cultivates ming but not xing, though one’s lifespan equals heaven and earth, one is still a fool.” (See Qiao Yao Ge [Knocking on the Yao Verse], with slight wording differences.) Therefore the Way must be pursued through dual cultivation of nature and life—cultivating mind-spirit and the root of life together.

Dual cultivation of xing and ming begins from “yuan zhong.” “Yuan” means boundary or meeting place; “yuan zhong” is the void aperture where inner and outer emptiness meet—the central void aperture through which the human body connects with heaven and earth. The scripture treats this as the root of breathing and the gateway through which mind-spirit enters and leaves, so spirit and qi both gather here. The practitioner should first unite spirit, qi, mind, and breath here in mutual support.

Spirit belongs to xing; qi belongs to ming. One lives by qi and gains awareness by spirit; both are supreme treasures of the person. The text says qi comes from outside, drawn from the myriad things of heaven and earth, but spirit is needed to take qi into the body. When a person dies, spirit disperses and qi can no longer enter the body.

There are two patterns of death. In one, spirit disperses first: before death one is unconscious, only exhaling without inhaling; when the breath is exhausted, breathing stops. In the other, qi cuts off first and spirit disperses afterward: before death the mind is still clear, then breath stops suddenly; after death the eyes may stay bright for a while. If either spirit or qi leaves the body, the person dies—so spirit and qi must both be preserved to sustain life.

Cultivation means cultivating two things: Shen and Qi. Cultivating nature (xing) begins with Shen; cultivating life (ming) begins with Qi. To pursue dual cultivation of nature and life, one must start where Shen and Qi meet. The spot between the eyebrows and the area below the navel are not suitable starting points; only this one place called yuanzhong (the conditioned center)—where Shen and Qi enter and leave—is right.

Beginning dual cultivation of nature and life from this aperture includes all other subtle openings as well, which is why Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all use the character for “center” (zhong) to symbolize it. At first, however, this “center” is only an empty center, not the real center. True “center” appears only when Shen and Qi unite and mind-intent and breath rely on each other. Bai Yuchan said, “Where a thought stirs is the xuán pì” (the mysterious gateway of generation)—that is exactly this idea—so it is called yuanzhong. Yuanzhong means that from this arises the true center; Daoists also call it the “round center” or the “suspended center.”

“Fix the heart in yuanzhong” means settling the mind in yuanzhong. Daoists call this “dual cultivation at the subtle aperture”; Confucians call it “dual cultivation of nature and life”; Buddhists call it “dual practice of stopping and contemplation” (zhiguan). Great-vehicle stopping and contemplation follows nature and acts without contrivance (Wuwei); lesser stopping and contemplation is the work of knowing when to stop and gathering the mind. Master Si of Mount Nanyue specialized in great-vehicle stopping and contemplation: first make the mind empty, clear, and still, and nourish the breath, without deliberately practicing stopping and contemplation, yet naturally aligning with them—this is the sudden teaching (dunfa). We combine the sudden and gradual approaches, beginning by settling the mind in yuanzhong, so one does not go wrong on the path. This is the “work of the celestial origin” (tianyuan zhi gong)—cultivation based on the spontaneous mechanism of the Dao of Heaven itself.

What Li Xian calls the entry-level practice of the "Ren Yuan" (Human Origin) is to settle the mind in the region behind the navel, in front of the "Mingmen" (Gate of Life), and slightly lower, contemplating what is called the "circle of emptiness" there. This is the method of keeping the mind at the lower dantian (energy center)—a path of nourishing the body and extending life through cultivation—hence the name "Ren Yuan" (Human Origin). It differs from "Tian Yuan" (Heaven Origin) in that the practitioner uses mind-intent to initiate and form the "Xuanqiao" (the inner aperture spoken of in cultivation).

"Resting the mind there and contemplating it" means, first with the aid of post-heaven breathing, drawing the breath long and deep and gathering it below the navel to form a "circle of emptiness," then contemplating it with mind-intent. Hence the scripture says "the mind illumines the void within"; "within the void" here means below the navel, about one cun and three fen from the flesh. When breath reaches that place, mind-intent also dwells there, so that mind and breath rely on each other, one may enter a state of primordial stillness, and from that inner transformation is set in motion.

The order of practice is to cultivate "ming" (the root of life) first, then unite it with "xing" (one's innate nature). Xing is given by heaven; ming is established in the person—hence "Ren Yuan." In concrete terms, one first regulates breathing: on inhalation, lead with intent to the inner "golden cauldron"; on exhalation, lead with intent to the position below the navel spoken of externally. When primordial qi below the navel stirs, then unite spirit-intent with breath—above, dwelling in "yuan zhong" (the central affinity); below, stopping at the area beneath the navel.

The text takes "square" to symbolize earth and "round" to symbolize heaven: the round aperture connects with heavenly qi, the square aperture with earthly qi. "Within square and round" means the middle between heaven and earth; "between compass and square" means one cun and three fen below the navel, the center indicated by the compass—the so-called "true golden cauldron." Once primordial qi below the navel arises and the central position is formed, true intent is drawn from outside inward and moves back and forth within, sustaining this phase of practice.

The scripture holds that people over sixty-four, or those with weak constitutions, may use this method to preserve life. The nine layers of refining the mind begin with Ren Yuan and proceed to Tian Yuan; continuing with the highest grade of elixir methods, one ultimately enters the "supreme single vehicle" (the highest stratum of cultivation)—the same line of development is meant throughout.

Only after mind and breath rely on each other and mind-intent merges with breathing does what is called "true breathing" take shape. The earlier "circle of emptiness" condenses into the Xuanqiao—this is the pre-heaven root born within the post-heaven; when the two aspects of mind-intent are united, practice enters the pre-heaven state. At this point, the work of the first layer of refining the mind is complete.

"Intent" here means a guiding of mind that lies between deliberate effort and total absence of intent. If one forces the will or hurries for results, one may instead stir "deviant fire" and harm the body—so one must be cautious.

The second layer of refining the heart is the mind cultivated in the state of deep concentration (ru ding). Before this, a single thread of heart-light meets a wisp of true qi (Zhenqi); if one can remain in that deep, dark inner realm, the mysterious aperture (xuanqiao)—the subtle gate spoken of in mind–body cultivation—can naturally open. The difficulty is that the concentrated mind is unstable and is often tugged by the discriminating, thinking mind of post-heaven consciousness (shishen); when heart and qi part, one still cannot see one’s original face.

The method is this: while heart and breath rely on each other, set aside both awareness and discursive thought—the heart rests in the qi without “knowing” it, the qi enfolds the heart without the heart “feeling” it; the two blend and merge into one whole. This is the work of refining the heart and uniting it with qi.

What the second layer refines is the heart that enters concentration: letting the heart settle inside the qi. When the heart comes to rest in emptiness, that is “fixing in the One” (ding yu yi)—single-pointed stability. With long practice, when the skill is mature, one naturally moves from concentration to forgetting (wang), and returns to a state of primordial chaos: neither thinking nor distinguishing, inwardly not clinging to the heart, outwardly not clinging to the body—then the pass of mystery (xuanguan) opens of itself.

Zhang Sanfeng said: “The pass of mystery has no fixed location as it comes and goes.” He also said: “The whole Huangting circuit is nothing but passes of mystery.” “Huangting circuit” means the range covered by the movement of the breath. Breath enters and leaves through mouth and nose; wherever the breath can reach belongs to the Huangting circuit. Here the text marks that range according to the position of the dantian (energy center), as shown in the diagram below.

Scope of the Huangting circuit:

Upper, middle, and lower dantian

Outer crown, middle navel, to the yin heel vessel (yinqiao)

Inner celestial valley, responding valley, spirit valley

Mud Palace (niwan), crimson palace (jianggong), valley path (gudao)

From the crown of the head to the middle of the body is called the upper field (shangtian); from the middle of the body to the navel is the middle field (zhongtian); from the navel to the yinqiao region (the lower body and the area around the perineum) is the lower field (xiatian).

The dantian (energy centers) within the body only truly deserve the name “dantian” after the inner elixir (neidan) has formed. Without the elixir, one cannot say that place is already a dantian. It is like fields in agriculture: what you plant names the field—grass makes a grass field, wheat a wheat field. When the field holds the elixir, it is a dantian; before the elixir appears, that location is only an empty cavity where a dantian will later sit. The ground where a dantian sits is in practice just the “Huangting pathway” (huangting yilu)—the route of qi within the body known as the Huangting.

The whole Huangting pathway may be spoken of as the xuanguan (mysterious pass) in inner alchemy—the locus where qi shows itself and transforms—so the xuanguan has upper and lower aspects and inner and outer aspects; its position is not fixed and may appear in the upper or lower body. When it appears above, it is the upper xuanguan; when below, the lower xuanguan. Its form is like a ring, its color white as snow, its texture soft as cotton. Circles or other shapes drawn in texts refer to the outer xuanguan; the inner xuanguan is none other than the danyuan (root of the elixir)—what Buddhism calls the “dharma wheel constantly turning.”

When the danyuan first condenses, it is about the size of a soybean and often pulses within the lower field. In quiet sitting, one may become aware of it. The xuanguan phenomena that appear at the start of practice belong to the outer xuanguan; the inner xuanguan can only be seen after the three treasures (sanyuan) have blended, the danyuan has coagulated, and the true breath (zhenxi)—the body’s inward natural breathing—has formed. This pass is extremely hidden; in the past it was usually not explained plainly. It is described here in detail so that later students may understand more easily.

Settle the mind in the empty space below the navel, letting a thread of clear spirit meet a strand of true breath; one naturally enters a state of deep stillness. From stillness comes slight trance, and then the mysterious aperture may appear—this is the phenomenon of the outer xuanguan. If the mind is not sufficiently settled, the xuanguan is hard to see. Therefore one must first practice “returning to voidness” (huanxu): gathering the mind, dissolving discriminating perception, and entering quiet emptiness—heart relying on breath, spirit merging with qi, moving from stability toward self-forgetfulness and into a chaotic, undifferentiated state, only then may it appear.

Entering that chaos is the work of huanxu. Here the adept may enter huanxu in one step; another method divides it into three: first, treat the ball of qi below the navel as the treasure of life (mingbao), the root breath of life, and settle the heart into it; second, unite heart with breathing and spirit with qi; third, gradually enter deep stillness and undifferentiated chaos, returning to empty quiet. The two approaches differ slightly, but after huanxu is reached, obtaining the “medicine” (yao)—what inner alchemy calls the primal substance for the elixir—is the same.

The “three layers of refining the heart” refine the heart of laifu—the return of yang. Before that, yin and yang qi are fused into one; when yin reaches its utmost and yang begins to revive, this is called the Heart of Heaven and Earth, also known as the Mysterious Pass, the single aperture (xuanguan yiqiao)—the pivotal gate in neidan where yin and yang meet and pre-heaven qi appears.

At this point Jing, Qi, and Shen are all in the pre-heaven state; heaven and earth have just separated and are not yet distinguished as Jing, Qi, and Shen. If one can guard the heart with single-minded focus and not be pulled by outer conditions, one can immediately gather, refine, and circulate this pre-heaven qi. Yet practitioners often have never seen or heard of such a state; when the signs appear they do not know how to respond. As soon as the mind moves, one slips into the post-heaven, and pre-heaven qi splits into Jing, Qi, and Shen.

The method of practice is this: when the Mysterious Pass has just appeared, immediately steady heart and spirit. According to the neidan method of circulating qi, guide qi upward along the Governing Vessel from weilü (the gate at the lower spine) through the Three Passes—the gates through which qi must pass in neidan—and then let it rest at Kunlun (here, the region of the crown). While circulating qi, keep the will firm and the breath gentle. The scripture calls this the work of refining the heart and drawing in qi.

The three layers of refining the “heart of return” mean cultivating until the moment of “seven days’ return, when the first yang is born”—the firing phase when yang qi begins to rise. Amid deep yin, a trace of true yang starts to revive; as true yang gradually fills, the “single aperture of the mysterious pass” (xuanguan yiqiao—the key opening spoken of in practice) appears. One has then entered a hazy state between being and not being.

Once the mysterious pass shows, jing, qi, and shen merge and no longer scatter. If the mind is free of stray thoughts, one can gather and hold true yang. But if one is startled by sights never seen or sounds never heard, or if doubt and fear arise, spirit and mind at once drop back into the post-heaven state, and jing, qi, and shen separate again.

In renyuan cultivation (methods that use deliberate, “having something to do” work to guide inner qi), this step requires intentional action. When the mysterious pass has just appeared, do not fix on any vision; still use effort to settle spirit and mind so intention stays single and unmoved. After a while, when yang qi is sufficient, guide it with the lightest intention to weilu (the lower end of the spine, where the governor vessel runs). The “fire” spoken of here is yang qi.

When yang qi first reaches weilu, it has arrived within the body. The scripture does not say “the body” but says “weilu” because within the yinqiao point lies innate true yang of the same kind as the incoming yang, so it can attract and draw in external yang. Incoming yang first reaches weilu and joins the body’s true yang, then reaches mingmen (the vital region of the lower back); at that point the “external kidneys” (in men, the genitals) will engorge—this is called the “living zi hour”; when yang rushes to the heart region and one becomes aware of the engorgement, that is the “living wu hour.” After awareness, one must apply stillness and settling. Thereafter yang gradually strengthens through the second and third yang stages; when full, it naturally ascends from weilu to niwan (the crown region).

In renyuan practice, there is fear that cultivators will cling to visions and miss the moment, so yang is first guided upward with subtle intention to open weilu and pass the “three passes” (the three barrier points along the governor vessel’s ascent), clearing the post-heaven pathway first. Tianyuan cultivation (practice that chiefly follows natural non-action) lets things happen on their own: once the mysterious aperture opens, openings throughout the body connect with it. Renyuan practice leads with intention first, so the two approaches differ.

“Living zi hour” is the moment yang qi is generated; “living wu hour” is the moment one becomes aware of it. The human body is a post-heaven, “broken” form, yin-heavy; when yang has just risen, it is often hard to notice—one may only feel a slight twitch in the skin, while in fact yang has already reached the crown. What “firm heart, soft breathing” (jianxin rouxi) refers to is the work of “settling” and “forgetting”: spirit and mind stable, breath gentle, and gradually releasing stray thoughts.

The fourth layer of refining the heart is the cultivation of a mind that gathers inward and withdraws from outward engagement. After passing through “stepping on fire clouds” and the three barriers, spirit and qi move together and have already entered the Mud Palace (the upper dantian within the head). But if, within the Mud Palace, the acquired mind—the postnatal consciousness and its restless thinking—is stirred up, the qi turns cold, congeals, and stagnates. It cannot transform into true water to nourish the three palaces, and everything achieved in cultivation up to that point is lost.

The method of practice is this: at the Kunlun peak (the crown of the head), hold the mind steady and keep it quiet, so that heart and qi merge; then qi turns into fluid and flows down from the upper palate. At that moment, curl the tongue to receive the fluid and swallow it. Next, settle the mind in turn in the Crimson Palace (the heart region), the Yellow Court (the central locus of internal alchemy in the spleen–stomach region), and the Yuan Sea (the lower dantian), sending the fluid downward with audible accompaniment all the way. When that happens, the Mystery Pass (the key sign of transformation in internal alchemy) appears again. This is the work of obtaining qi through refining the heart.

The fourth layer is the mind of gathering-in and storing in cultivation—the “seven returns” (qifan) practice within the body. Yang qi arises from the yin qiao region and resonates with yang qi coming from outside; external yang enters the body, stirs the mingmen (the Gate of Life at the waist), and the kidneys respond with arousal. At this point the practitioner should settle the spirit and place awareness outward, not chasing inner movement and stillness. Yang qi then surges upward to the heart; even if one feels arousal at the external kidneys (the genitals), one should still settle the mind and not fixate on the sensation. Yang qi can continue upward to the crown—this is the path of yang qi circulating within the body.

The Tianyuan elixir method (neidan practice that follows nature and does not force guided circulation) lets breath rise and fall on its own. What the practitioner notices is only a tingling numbness in the body: at first like fleas jumping on the skin, then the numb tingling spreads over the whole body. Here one applies the gongfu of “forgetting”—not clinging to sensations, not deliberately pursuing—so yang qi transforms into fluid and descends from Kunlun (the crown region), passes through the heart, bringing a cool clarity. The inner joy at this moment is beyond words.

Renyuan youwei (neidan practice that actively guides with intention) applies mind-intent at each stage: when one feels the body twitch and then numb tingling over the whole body, one still uses the “forgetting” gongfu so yang qi becomes fluid, descends from Kunlun, passes through the heart with cool clarity, and the heart likewise feels inexpressible delight. When qi rises, quietly abide at the niwan (the central cultivation locus in the head); after concentrating for a time, use intent again to lead qi downward—touch the tongue to the palate to receive the fluid, swallow past the chonglou (throat), and continue with intent to the jiangong (heart region) and huangting (the abdominal cultivation locus), returning it to the yuanhai (the lower dantian). This is the small heavenly circuit (xiao zhoutian) within the “seven returns.” At this point one should immediately stop “firing” (further guiding the breath); if practice continues, the body will feel uncomfortable and qi will disperse.

When heart and kidneys interact and water and fire are mutually benefiting (shui huo ji ji—Yin-Yang in harmony), yang rises and cool fluid descends; in circulation it sounds like thunder rolling straight to the lower body. On the ascent, yang meets yin from above; on the descent, yin meets yang from below. This is the River Cart (he che) gongfu—using the metaphor of the cart for the rise and fall of qi in the small heavenly circuit.

The fifth layer is refining the mind. What follows describes qi running like thunder straight to the lower body: on the ascent yang meets yin from above; on the descent yin meets yang from below. This is the River Cart running gongfu in the small heavenly circuit.

The fifth layer of refining the mind is training the will during foundation building (zhuji). By then the practitioner has already guided qi into the Mud Pill Palace (niwan, the crown region), gathered it back into the qi centers (such as the dantian and other inner refining loci), and the Heavenly Cart (heche—the route of inner qi circulation) has taken shape. From that point on, one need only cultivate with single-minded persistence, day and night without slackening, and why wait a full hundred days before the foundation is firm? But if one slackens at times or is pulled by desire, practicing in bursts and then stopping, the elixir foundation (danji) will be hard to stabilize. The aim of foundation building is to gather and concentrate jing, qi, and shen; if effort is not steady, spirit still scatters, and how can one hope to extend life and ward off decline? Those who study the Dao should follow the rule of the zi and wu hours (meridian timing for practice), each day gradually “adding and subtracting” (choutian) and regulating yin-yang qi, “extracting Kan to fill Li” (qukan tianli—the inner-alchemy image of using Kan water to nourish Li fire), accumulating jing and qi until the dantian is full. This is the work of refining the mind while accumulating primordial qi (yuanqi).

The fifth layer of refining the mind is exactly training the will in foundation building. With steady diligent practice through three hundred circuits of heaven (zhoutian—full cycles of inner qi movement), foundation building counts as success. But if practice is on-again, off-again and not diligent enough, or the mind is unsettled by outer temptations, or the method is not performed according to rule, then even great effort will find it hard to amass the inner “gold” of the elixir, and progress will stall. “Foundation building” means establishing and consolidating the elixir foundation. If one is idle, scattered, and neglectful, how can effects accumulate day by day so the foundation stays firm for long? Therefore the crux of cultivation is to gather and concentrate jing, qi, and shen and to keep advancing. When effort is insufficient, one must become more diligent; when conduct does not match the method, one must correct it until it conforms. Each circuit of heaven should yield the fruit of one circuit; each day one should add and regulate according to the method, accumulating jing and qi until the dantian is full. Then three hundred circuits are naturally easier to complete, and foundation building can succeed.

In practice people are often diligent at first and gradually slacken later. If one puts more effort into correcting and urging oneself, one need not fall back into old habits and can gradually make real gains. This work of refining the mind and accumulating primordial qi is extremely important and must not be overlooked.

The sixth layer of refining the mind is training the will in refining nature (xing—the cultivation of recognizing one’s true nature). Before this, the Heavenly Cart has already turned, and jing and qi have already condensed…

The “six layers of refining the heart” continue the work of cultivating the heart that has already come to know its original nature. Earlier, through the “turning of the River Chariot” (the neidan image of circulating Qi through the body), essence and Qi gather and the spirit becomes single-pointed, so the spiritual root gradually fills and strengthens. From this point on, the heart’s fluid descends and kidney Qi rises—this is called “Kan-Li union” (the alchemical pairing of water and fire symbolized by the Kan and Li trigrams). In a depth that is dim and trance-like, one may feel Qi stir: the vast, surging part is like water vapor; the hazy, mist-like part is like cloud vapor. This is called the “initial stirring of Metal and Water”; only then does one begin to practice “Jade Fluid returning to the elixir” (neidan practice centered on transforming inner fluids and the circulation of Qi). But if the mind cannot hold to single-pointedness, the work of refining nature and clarifying the heart will be hard to complete.

The essential method is this: at the moment when Metal and Water first stir, let the Qi divide from the Dantian (energy center) and descend to the Yongquan acupoint, then quickly reunite at Weilü (the region near the base of the spine). Regulate the true breath (the natural breathing emphasized in practice) so that Qi is aroused and moves; only then can it surge upward in a steady stream to the Heavenly Valley (an inner locus in the head in neidan maps); then let the fluid descend slowly, swallowed down into Huangting (the inner landscape of the abdomen in neidan). Nourished day after day in this way, the mind grows cool and settled; blood transforms into a rich essence, intention congeals into “earth,” and from that earth, mercury is born. Here “mercury” is an inner-alchemy term for a condensed, luminous inner spirituality. Mercury’s nature is smooth, round, and bright: when things arise, one is not moved by outer objects, as if holding a spirit sword in the hand.

Mencius said: “When you fully extend your heart-mind, you can know your own nature” (see Mencius, “Jinxin Shang”). Daoists call this kind of practice the “Yin Elixir” or Neidan (internal alchemy)—that is, cultivation that refines the heart to clarify nature.

What the sixth layer refines is the heart that knows its original nature—the work of refining the self until true intent is born. In “Heavenly Origin” practice, refining the self is the first concrete step; once true intent has formed, true intent in turn adjusts the firing times of the practice, while one also follows what is natural. In “Human Origin,” one first uses post-heaven mind-intent to guide the movement of Qi, but that mind-intent is not yet true intent; one must go on refining the self after laying the foundation until true intent is formed and the true breath is established. This belongs to the work of cultivating nature.

When heart and kidney had intercourse earlier, kidney Qi rose and the heart’s fluid descended: what rose was the true fire within Kan, symbolizing the union of yang and yin; what descended was the true water within Li…