《一贯天机直讲》Vol. 9

Giving away the seven treasures of an entire great trichiliocosm is still inferior in merit to understanding even a four-line verse from this sutra, because all Buddhas and all Buddha-Dharma arise from this sutra and from such verses. So-called “Buddha-Dharma” is not in fact any fixed, unchanging “Buddha-Dharma”; it is precisely because one does not cling to any particular dharma that one can take “no-dharma” as dharma.

What follows concerns the “Four Fruits” (the four stages of attainment in Buddhist practice). The fruit of stream-enterer (Srotapanna) is called “entering the stream,” meaning one is no longer pulled by the six sense objects (what eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind contact). Only when the mind does not cling to the six objects can one realize this fruit. If the mind still holds on, realization is impossible. Stream-entry belongs to the level of the yin spirit; if even at that level one must be free of clinging in the mind, how much more so for the yang spirit.

Once-returner (Sakadagami) is called “not coming and going.” “Not coming and going” means the mind is no longer moved by sense conditions; only when there is no attachment to the six objects in the mind can one realize this fruit. If the mind still holds on, realization is impossible. Non-returner (Anagami) is called “not coming,” but in truth there is no fixed “not coming.” If one insists that one “does not come,” the mind still has attachment, and one cannot realize the fruit. Arhat is the realm of the yang spirit; here it is called the “Way” rather than a “fruit.” The Arhat’s way lies in “truly having no dharma”; the moment a thought arises in the mind, realization is lost.

If one thinks “I want to obtain the Arhat’s way,” one is clinging to the four marks (mark of self, mark of person, mark of living being, mark of life-span)—how then could one attain the Way? Harboring a mind that seeks cultivation and attainment is clinging to the mark of life-span; thinking “I want to attain the Way” is clinging to the marks of self and person. Subhuti realized the samadhi of non-contention (a meditative state in which one does not quarrel and the mind does not resist conditions), and therefore became a practitioner who had left desire behind. He left the desire realm and did not keep desire in his mind, so he was called “foremost among those who have left desire.” Precisely because there was no thought in his mind of “I want to attain the Way,” he could attain it; if one deliberately and with attachment sought the Way, the World-Honored One could not call such a person one who had truly attained the Way.

“Practicing without adhering to any single dharma—this is Aranya conduct” means not clinging to any one dharma; that is Aranya conduct (quiet, non-contention practice), which is also the practice of non-contention.

The Buddha asked Subhuti: “When the Tathagata was with Dipankara Buddha in the past, did he obtain any dharma?” Subhuti answered: “The Buddha obtained nothing.” This is not mere adornment; it is precisely because there is no clinging to adornment that adornment is real. “No adornment to adorn” is also the practice of non-contention.

The Buddha asked Subhuti: “In the past, when the Tathagata practiced under Dipankara Buddha, did he obtain any dharma?” Subhuti replied: “The Buddha obtained nothing at all.” What is called “adornment” is not achieved through outward embellishment or contrived effort; only when the mind does not cling to the idea of adornment is adornment truly adornment.

“One should give rise to a pure mind in this way—do not give rise to discriminating attachment based on form, sound, smell, taste, touch, or mental objects.” If the mind turns with these external conditions, it is not pure. Giving rise to a pure mind is true adornment; the Buddha-mind is anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (supreme, perfect, complete enlightenment). Letting go of attachment to form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and mental objects is what is meant by “give rise to a mind that abides nowhere.” A pure mind is a mind that does not cling to any appearance or mark. Throughout the twelve hours of the day (from morning to night), a mind that at every moment can arise without clinging is the pure mind—also called the mind of the Way (the mind devoted to practice) and divine/spiritual awakening (lingming awareness).

“Having a body like Mount Sumeru, king of mountains” refers to the Dharmakaya (the body of truth realized by the Buddha). Not giving rise to a single thought is called “pure” (qing); having no obstruction within the mind is called “clear” (jing). A mind free of clinging thoughts is the pure mind.

The merit and virtue spoken of below all arise from this mind of non-clinging—that is, the mind of the Way and spiritual awakening. “Having a body like Mount Sumeru, king of mountains” refers to the Dharmakaya; not giving rise to a single thought is called pure, and having no obstruction within the mind is called clear. A mind free of clinging thoughts is the pure mind.

What is discussed here is the merit produced by giving without attachment to merit. Precisely because the mind does not cling, that merit becomes vast. The sands in the Ganges are already innumerable; if one counted the sands of many Ganges together, the number would be beyond reckoning. Even if someone gave in charity as many of the seven treasures as would fill three thousand great thousand world-systems (the vast cosmological scheme spoken of in Buddhism)—multiplied by as many as the sands of countless Ganges—the merit could not be counted. Yet compared with upholding the Diamond Sutra or explaining it to others, the former still falls short.

Asuras (a class of non-heavenly beings in Buddhism, often regarded as contentious) belong to the demonic path. The sutra says: “All devas and humans in the world, and asuras, should make offerings to this sutra and to its four-line verse.” If one can uphold and recite this sutra and the four-line verse, one can already be free of attachment to appearances; one may be said to have gained some realization. What the Buddha teaches is the supreme method of the mindless/non-clinging mind; practicing accordingly, the merit is extremely great.

This sutra is called the Diamond Prajna Paramita; it is the 579th fascicle of the Great Prajna Sutra. Its meaning endures through endless kalpas without decay; only by cultivating with a mind that is non-clinging and without attachment can one grasp it—otherwise one cannot obtain its meaning. The sutra says that the motes of dust in three thousand great thousand worlds are not fixed, unchanging “dust,” and therefore are called motes of dust; the world too is not a fixed, unchanging “world,” and therefore is called world. To understand these points, one must see them in this way. If the mind clings to right and wrong and sets up opposition, one cannot comprehend; only by not clinging to right and wrong and transcending opposition can one comprehend.

Suppose there is a teacup before you: someone says it is a teacup, and someone else may deny it and say it is not a teacup. Once a name exists, discrimination and dispute arise. The sutra uses “motes of dust are not motes of dust” and “the world is not the world” to show that only by not clinging to names and fixed views can one know motes of dust and the world as they are. The sutra also says: “One cannot see the Tathagata by means of the thirty-two marks.” The thirty-two marks (the thirty-two excellent physical signs of a Buddha’s body) are still outer appearances; only by not clinging to appearances can one see the true meaning of the Tathagata.

Even if one gave in charity as many lives as there are sands in the Ganges, the merit would be great; yet the merit of upholding and reciting this sutra is greater still. To hear the name of the Diamond Sutra and give rise to faith can give rise to a pure mind and to suchness (reality unobscured by deluded discrimination). Suchness is not a fixed form but subtle being that manifests from formlessness; hence it is called “foremost merit.” Leaving all forms is formlessness; leaving all appearances is Buddhahood—hence “foremost rare merit,” which is also “foremost paramita” (the highest wisdom that reaches the other shore). Yet even “foremost paramita” must not be clung to as a fixed first; even when we speak of suchness, it is not an graspable appearance.

In the past, when the Buddha was the Patient Endurance Immortal in the time of King Kali, the king cut his body apart piece by piece. At that time he had no attachment to the four notions of self, person, sentient being, and life span, which is why he was called the “Patient Endurance Immortal.” “One should give rise to a mind that abides nowhere” is the same as “one should give rise to a mind while abiding nowhere”: the mind should not cling to any object, yet it still gives rise to the mind that acts for the benefit of others.

The bodhisattva’s mind is the mind of giving that wishes to benefit others through merit. When practicing giving, one does not cling to the object of giving, the act of giving, or the merit gained; one acts only for the sake of sentient beings, without private motive. The sutra says that those who have a mind and have marks of form are not truly sentient beings in the full sense meant here; those without mind and without marks of form are the “sentient beings” spoken of in this context. Giving without clinging to the marks of form (visible body and outer appearance) is what truly allows one to see form; once the mind has attachment, one cannot see clearly. One who understands cultivation may, upon seeing forms and colors, give rise to a good mind yet not cling to those forms and colors, so that form at that moment no longer becomes an obstacle.

Receiving, holding, and reciting this sutra brings immeasurable and boundless merit. Even if good men and good women were to give their bodies in charity every day for countless hundreds of thousands of millions of kalpas, the merit would be great, yet it would still not equal the merit of writing and reciting this sutra. The meaning of this sutra is inconceivable, and its merit cannot be measured; such a person has realized the Tathāgata’s anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (perfect, complete enlightenment). Those who cling to outer marks and prefer only shallow, near-at-hand teachings cannot truly study this sutra, nor can they write it, recite it, or explain it for others.

Wherever this sutra is found, it should be honored as one honors a stūpa or temple. If one who receives and holds this sutra is looked down upon by others, it is because of misdeeds in past lives; now, by receiving and holding this sutra, past misdeeds can be cleared, and one will ultimately attain the Way. In the past, when Śākyamuni Buddha was under Dīpaṃkara Buddha, though he made offerings to buddhas and broadly accumulated merit, he did not gain nothing—yet compared with the merit of receiving and reciting this sutra, it still falls far short, not even reaching one part in ten million billion. To explain such a person’s merit in full might so overwhelm listeners that their minds become confused, they doubt and do not believe, and thereby create further misdeed. Because the meaning of this sutra is inconceivable, the results that follow from it are naturally inconceivable as well.

The “mind of unsurpassed, perfect enlightenment” (sanmiao sanputi xin)—the heart of supreme, correct, and complete awakening—is the pure mind that has left behind the “four marks”: the mark of a person, the mark of a self, the mark of sentient beings, and the mark of a life span. From this we can extend the point: every form we can see or conceive is illusory; only by not clinging to any form do we have the mind of correct and complete awakening.

The Mahaprajnaparamita Sutra (Da Prajna Sutra) is a major scripture in the Buddhist canon, comparable in stature to the Confucian Book of Changes (Yijing) or the Daoist Lingbao scriptures. The aim of Chan (Zen) is to clarify and personally realize prajna—wisdom that sees reality as it is—so it is called the orthodox teaching of Mahayana Buddhism. Tiantai and Pure Land also belong to Mahayana, but the author holds that the methods they use differ and belong to skillful, provisional means. Prajnaparamita means reaching the other shore through wisdom; with prajna wisdom one can cross over. Here “the other shore” is again compared to the “other” (bi) in Daoist talk of “the other house” and “other and self.”

Both the Diamond Sutra and the Heart Sutra are important texts in the Prajna division. The nature of prajna wisdom is emptiness. The Mahaprajnaparamita Sutra runs to six hundred fascicles: the first fascicle speaks of seeing emptiness; by fascicle five hundred seventy-nine we reach the Diamond Sutra. Near the end, the text treats the work of “returning to emptiness”: inwardly removing the “three minds,” outwardly eliminating the “four marks,” until one sees that all forms are illusory and the mind returns to purity.

When the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind) meet the six dusts (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, mental objects), the six consciousnesses arise. Only when all six consciousnesses dissolve can one obtain the pure mind; only when the mind is pure can one truly be in wuwei (non-action). Wuwei here does not mean doing nothing at all. Even sitting still, if the mind is still churning with stray thoughts, that is not genuine non-action. The mind must first be purified; only then can the body be non-active. In that natural non-action, one can accomplish all that needs doing. Body and mind do not act rashly or arbitrarily, while qi and shen (spirit) do act—only with a pure mind can qi and spirit function. This pure mind is spontaneous spiritual awareness.

When the mind is still and unmoving, it rests in a state of empty stillness; when thought is about to stir, what appears is spontaneous luminous aware knowing. Only this natural luminous knowing can set creation and transformation in motion. For emptiness and non-being are the Dao; the Dao is also this natural luminous knowing. At this stage, when the mind is clear and pure, Shen and Qi can truly act. This clear, pure mind is precisely natural luminous knowing.

Only by relying on this natural luminous knowing can one draw in external Qi and thereby obtain the “medicine.” Using Shen to govern the medicine is cultivation. Bai Yuchan said: “Using fire to refine the medicine and form the elixir is using Shen to steer Qi and complete the Way.” (See Zhiguan Xuanji, “On the Manifestation of the Mysterious Pass”) In fact, “medicine” and “fire” refer to the same thing: when it is taken at the right moment it is called medicine; when it is refined and applied it is called fire. What operates from beginning to end is this natural luminous knowing. Alchemical texts call it “true intent,” also “mind of the Dao”—meaning that without deliberate contrivance, it nonetheless moves and acts of itself.

From effortful practice one arrives at ease and naturalness. Patriarch Lü said: “From effort one enters ease; from the subtle one gradually enters divine transformation.” When practice reaches the realm of ease and naturalness, one can pass from visible cultivation into wondrous transformation; then Shen naturally can hold the aperture.

This natural luminous knowing is both the medicine and the “mysterious aperture” (the aperture in internal alchemy where yang Qi becomes manifest). Zhang Ziyang said: “The medicine arises at the mysterious aperture; the firing of the furnace stirs the yang furnace.” (See Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir) Only when the medicine appears does the mysterious aperture manifest. Here “mysterious” (xuan) belongs to yang: yang Qi arises from empty space; what appears outwardly is called “image” (xiang), what appears inwardly is called “scene” (jing); the inwardly seen scene is what is meant here by “mysterious aperture.” The aperture is revealed through natural luminous knowing and the action of its firing. “The medicine arises at the mysterious aperture” speaks of the cauldron; “the firing stirs the yang furnace” speaks of the furnace.

The ding (cauldron) and the lu (furnace) are essentially one and the same thing; only their names and functions differ. When it comes to refinement and nurturing, the ding is also the lu. What is meant here is a kind of natural awareness—the clear mind that is not pulled by the six sense objects (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects).

The Daodejing says: “The two emerge together yet differ in name; both are called xuan (mystery); mystery upon mystery is the gate of all wonders.” Still, the relation between pre-heaven (xiantian) and post-heaven (houtian) has an order in time and levels of depth—for example “pre-heaven within pre-heaven” and “post-heaven within pre-heaven”—and these should be distinguished; yet in the root they are one body.

In practice one uses visible methods to accomplish genuine inner work, and from this arise true mercury and true lead (terms in Neidan for the refined yin and yang subtle qi used in cultivation). The whole process depends on true intent (zhenyi)—focused, undistracted intention—which is this natural awareness, or the clear heart that does not cling to the six sense objects. This will be discussed further below.

The lower fascicle of this sutra, like the upper, opens with “subduing the mind.” Subhūti asked the Buddha how one should settle that mind and how one should subdue it. The Buddha answered that one should give rise to the mind in this way: by not clinging to the six sense objects—form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects (what the senses meet and what the mind takes as its object)—one can subdue the mind.

When one does not cling to those six objects, the mind becomes clear; when the mind is clear, one can naturally abide without fixating on any place. Not dwelling in the six objects is the method of subduing the mind; not clinging to the four marks—self, person, sentient being, and lifespan (grasping at ideas of “I,” of others, of living beings, and of lasting life)—is the work of practice. The mind is as hard to tame as dragon and tiger; only by not clinging to the six objects can it be subdued; once it is subdued, the four marks can be dissolved and one can abide. To abide is to be pure; it is also for the mind not to move—this is what “give rise to a mind that abides nowhere” means.

The sutra says: “I should bring all sentient beings of past, present, and future to liberation, yet in truth there is not a single sentient being whom I liberate.” That is because if in one’s mind one holds to “I am saving people,” the four marks appear. To think “I” am the one who saves people is to have the mark of self and the mark of person; to cling to saving people and to seeking the fruits of the path is also to have the mark of lifespan. In that way one cannot become a buddha, nor can one become a bodhisattva. Only when one does not keep the obsession “I must save people” can one truly guide sentient beings; sentient beings, too, must leave the four marks behind before they can receive the teaching and free themselves.

Anuttarā samyaksaṃbodhi—the mind of unsurpassed perfect enlightenment—is not something forced into being by outer power; it arises of itself. Since this mind cannot be forced into being, one also cannot use it as a lever with which to save people.

Sentient beings must awaken and liberate themselves, yet they must not cling in their minds to the thought “I must liberate myself.” Once that thought is held, the four marks appear—the fixation on self, on others, on sentient beings, and on lifespan. Whether one thinks of saving others or saving oneself, one may be bound by such attachment.

Subhuti, what do you think? When I was with the Buddha Dipankara (the past Buddha who predicted Shakyamuni’s buddhahood), was I enlightened by him? Did I obtain any dharma from him? Subhuti replied: “No, World-Honored One. At Dipankara Buddha’s place the Tathagata obtained no dharma at all, nor did Dipankara Buddha transmit any dharma to the Tathagata.” The Buddha said: “Exactly so. If at that time I had had any dharma to obtain, Dipankara Buddha would not have made his prediction that I would become a Buddha in the future.”

If there had been a dharma to obtain then, the four marks would have arisen. At that time mind matched mind; awakening arose naturally, and therefore Dipankara Buddha predicted my buddhahood. The Tathagata neither comes nor goes; relying on the dharma of wuwei (non-action)—no contrivance, no grasping—there is neither birth nor death; likewise no true arising or ceasing in all dharmas. If someone says the Buddha attained the dharma of anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (complete, perfect enlightenment), in truth the Buddha attained nothing. What seems to exist yet does not, is empty, clear, and bright, yet does not fall into either real existence or mere void.

This is what the sages of the three teachings call the “middle”: the middle is also emptiness. Dharmas dwell in true emptiness; hence it is said there is no dharma to grasp. All dharmas may be called Buddha-dharma, yet no dharma can be fixed as Buddha-dharma, because dharmas from the outset neither come nor go, and are not fixed as either empty or real.

When the Tathagata speaks of the human body growing larger, that is not a fixed “growing larger”—it is only provisionally so named. Once “growing larger” is spoken, measure enters: one zhang may be called long, ten thousand zhang may be called long; yet ten thousand zhang, having a number, still has a boundary, and so cannot yet be called truly vast. Only what has no limit, like empty space, can be called the vast body.

When a bodhisattva vows to save sentient beings, if he insistently says “I will save sentient beings,” he cannot yet be called a bodhisattva. “I” is the mark of self; “I will” already involves the mark of person. With the four marks present, how can he be called a bodhisattva? Only one who does not cling to the idea that any dharma can be obtained deserves the name bodhisattva.

To free oneself from the four marks—the mark of self, the mark of persons, the mark of sentient beings, and the mark of longevity—the mind must come to emptiness and stillness so that deluded thoughts are subdued and a pure mind can arise. Only then may one be called a bodhisattva. As long as one clings to “I” and to persons set over against that “I,” the four marks remain and one cannot be called a bodhisattva. Only when one does not cling to any fixed characteristic of dharmas does one truly deserve the name bodhisattva.

If a bodhisattva keeps the idea of deliberately adorning a Buddha-land, that land cannot be truly adorned; true adornment is not clinging to the thought of adornment. One who has penetrated the teaching of no-self is a bodhisattva. Where there is no fixed “I,” there is no fixed dharma either; hence the saying that there is no fixed dharma with which to deliver others. Among the four marks, the mark of self is the root; only by breaking through attachment to self can one penetrate the true dharma and become a genuine bodhisattva.

The Buddha asked Subhuti: “Does the Tathagata possess the divine eye?” The divine eye refers to the divine-eye power—the ability to see distant things as a spiritual faculty. He asked again: “Does he possess the wisdom eye?” The wisdom eye can survey the vast trichiliocosm (the expansive world in the Buddhist cosmology). He asked again: “Does he possess the dharma eye?” The dharma eye can contemplate worlds past and future, going a step beyond the wisdom eye. He asked again: “Does he possess the buddha eye?” The buddha eye goes a step beyond the dharma eye; its nature is absolute emptiness, and it can illuminate everything—first observing, then further contemplating. Subhuti answered: “The divine eye, wisdom eye, dharma eye, and buddha eye—the Tathagata has them all.”

The Buddha also said: “Among sentient beings in worlds as numerous as the sands of the Ganges, there is not one whose mind the Tathagata cannot illuminate.” Since the thoughts of sentient beings are not a fixed, substantial entity, the Tathagata can know and see them all completely. What is meant here by “mind without mind” is a mind that does not cling to thoughts.

“Past mind cannot be grasped, future mind cannot be grasped, present mind also cannot be grasped.” This brings together the three kinds of thought—past, present, and future—to explain: past is retrospective brooding, present is immediate deliberation, future is advance worry; none of these can be held. One’s original mind is inherently empty, so it cannot be seized. The three minds also correspond to the buddhas of the three times and the trichiliocosm; distinctions of past, present, and future all arise from thought. When brooding, deep fixation, and excessive worry are removed, various thoughts return to still emptiness, and only that still emptiness accords with the buddha-mind. If one clings to these three kinds of thought, one cannot realize anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (supreme perfect enlightenment). One must first let go of thoughts of past and future, then let go of present thought, until the mind is empty. “Subdue the mind” means precisely this—taming and gathering in these three kinds of thought.

To give in charity with the seven treasures of a trichiliocosm would indeed be great merit; but what is emphasized here is giving with a mind free of attachment. It is precisely because there is no clinging in giving that the merit gained is said to be great; if the mind has attachment, the merit cannot be counted as great.

The Buddha asked Subhuti: “Can one see the Tathagata by the Tathagata’s physical form—the body of visible appearance?” Subhuti replied: “No. Any body that has form and color is not the Tathagata’s true body; one cannot see the Tathagata by such a body.” Only when one is not attached to physical form can one “see” the Tathagata. What the Tathagata speaks of is the dharmakaya—the body that transcends form—not something that a visible body can display.

The Buddha asked again: “Can one see the Tathagata by outward characteristics?” Subhuti answered: “Outward characteristics also cannot reveal the Tathagata. Characteristics have no fixed self-nature to begin with; when every characteristic is seen as empty, that is the real characteristic. Within true emptiness, nothing is impossible; only from true emptiness do change and creation arise. What are called the Tathagata’s ‘thirty-two marks’ are precisely the various transformations that appear within true emptiness.”

The Buddha also told Subhuti: “When the Tathagata teaches the Dharma, there is in fact no fixed Dharma that can be proclaimed—and that is what is called ‘teaching the Dharma.’” The nature of Dharma is empty; since there is no fixed Dharma, teaching the Dharma likewise should not be clung to as something solidly real. At this point, as Subhuti listened to the Buddha’s teaching, his wisdom had already opened—hence he is spoken of as having a “life of wisdom” (huiming): a life in which wisdom is sustained and carried on.

Subhuti asked the Buddha: “When beings of later ages hear this teaching, will they give rise to faith?” The Buddha replied that “beings” is only a name provisionally applied. The nature of beings is empty: there is neither a fixed “nature of beings” nor a fixed “nature of Buddhahood.” When one accords with “beings,” one is called a being; when one accords with “Buddha,” one is called a Buddha. To awaken to emptiness is to be a Buddha; not to understand emptiness is to be a being. Thus it is equally valid to say that someone is a being or is not a being. If a person can understand this sutra and give rise to faith, that person is a Buddha and no longer merely a being. The Tathagata regards all beings as no different from the Buddha, yet they still remain within the state of beinghood—this is what each person’s own causes and conditions bring about.

Subhuti asked again: “When the Buddha realized anuttara-samyak-saṃbodhi (supreme, perfect enlightenment), did he actually obtain nothing at all?” The Buddha said: “Exactly so. The Tathagata has nothing obtained in any Dharma.” It is not only supreme enlightenment—even the slightest Dharma within the totality of Dharmas is likewise nothing obtained. Only when all grasping is released and there is nothing to obtain does the mind become pure.

The Buddha told Subhuti: “The Buddha-Dharma is equal; there is no higher or lower.” Only the supreme One Vehicle—the path that leads directly to Buddhahood—is the true Buddha-Dharma. The Sixth Patriarch says in the Platform Sutra: “The Buddha-Dharma is only the One Vehicle; the other two vehicles are not real.” The Middle Vehicle and Small Vehicle are not the ultimate Buddha-Dharma. When attachment to the four marks (self, person, being, and life-span) is removed, the mind is naturally pure; the innate luminous awareness has never had any distinction of great or small, high or low.

“All good mind” means a mind that does not cling to the six sense objects (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects). “All good dharmas, and one immediately attains anuttara-samyak-saṃbodhi” means that through such Dharma one realizes supreme, perfect enlightenment. Only when there is no fixed, unchanging Dharma is it a good Dharma. Much of what the Buddha says employs analogies drawn from things and events; the subtle meaning within requires careful, attentive reflection.

The Buddha said to Subhuti: In each world there is one Mount Sumeru—the central great mountain in the Buddhist cosmology, also called the summit of the world, situated in the western regions. If one were to give away all the seven treasures of every Sumeru-king in all the three thousand great thousand-worlds (the vast cosmos as Buddhism describes it), the merit would already be immense; yet compared with the merit of receiving, reciting, and explaining this sutra to others, it would still fall short by far—less than one part in ten million.

What this sutra teaches is formless merit—merit that does not cling to appearances or marks. Formlessness connects with Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); when the mind can reach such a state, merit has no fixed limit. If a person can achieve no-mind (wuxin), they can share in the virtue of Heaven and Earth and in the brightness of sun and moon. Confucius said, “What has Heaven ever said?” Heaven is vast precisely because it has no deliberate mind; if a person can be without mind, they align with Heaven, and how could merit be measured by numbers? Mencius said, “All things are complete within my mind.” This means that when the mind’s function unfolds, it can fill the four quarters of Heaven and Earth. If one can put aside the three minds of past, present, and future, dissolve the four marks of self, person, sentient being, and lifespan, and arrive at no-mind, merit merges with the Great Void (vast, boundless emptiness). The three thousand eight hundred kinds of merit can be fully present in a single thought; this is not something words or figures can tally.

“Subhuti, I do not have the thought that ‘I must save sentient beings.’” If one believes there are beings whom the Tathagata personally liberates, one again clings to the four marks. “Where there is a self, that is…” The text below this point is incomplete in the original; on the basis of what remains, it appears to speak of “having a self” as sharing the same body as emptiness, of the three thousand eight hundred kinds of merit being complete in one thought, and of merit being beyond reckoning in words and numbers.

Subhuti, in the Tathagata’s mind there is no thought such as “I must save sentient beings.” If one holds that there are sentient beings whom the Tathagata saves, one again clings to the four kinds of distinction: a mark of self, a mark of person, a mark of sentient being, and a mark of a lifespan.

When the text speaks of “having a self,” the “self” here is not the self of the physical body—the ego tied to flesh and blood. The Tathagata’s “I” is one with the vast, boundless void: emptiness is I, and I is emptiness. For those who cultivate the Way, if an ordinary person can truly empty the mind into stillness, that person can become a Buddha. Hence the line: an ordinary person is not really an ordinary person; he is only called an ordinary person.

Subhuti, do you think the Tathagata can be recognized by the thirty-two marks—the Buddha’s thirty-two outward signs of majestic appearance? “Contemplation” here means to look and to identify. If one identifies the Tathagata by the thirty-two marks, then a wheel-turning sage king—the ideal ruler endowed with merit and power—would also be taken for the Tathagata. Wheel-turning kings are classed as gold, silver, copper, and the like, so one should not identify the Tathagata by the thirty-two marks. To treat outward form and color as the Tathagata is to enter a deviant path and fail to truly see the Tathagata. Form and appearance belong to the yin spirit—spirit still bound to the body and not yet free of visible form—so one cannot see the Tathagata through them. The Tathagata is originally empty; the thirty-two marks appear from that emptiness.

Subhuti, you should not fix on whether marks are complete or incomplete and from that raise the mind of anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi—supreme, perfect enlightenment. If you fix on “incomplete marks,” you will take right awakening to mean that all dharmas are utterly annihilated. The mind of right awakening is pure; marks can also be fully present—purity does not mean cutting off and destroying. When this is understood, the mind can be empty like the vast void, naturally complete in marks and signs, yet neither arising nor ceasing, and not falling into the view of annihilation.

Subhuti, if someone gave away the seven treasures filling as many worlds as there are grains of sand in the Ganges, and someone else completely emptied himself and cultivated kṣānti—patience that does not waver when faced with pain and harm—the latter’s merit would be greater. Only by emptying the four marks and realizing that “all dharmas are without self” can one abide in unmoving patience. Even if the body were cut into many pieces, one could endure it because the mind does not cling to the body; if one still clings to the body, even slight injury is hard to bear.

A bodhisattva who has perfected kṣānti has merit surpassing that of the one who gave the seven treasures, because the bodhisattva does not grasp at merit. Though the bodhisattva accumulates good and merit, he does not cling to the mark of merit; there is no greed in the mind—this is true emptiness, and merit formed in such emptiness is greatest.

What is called the Tathagata comes from nowhere and goes nowhere; therefore he is called the Tathagata. If someone says the Tathagata comes and goes, sits and lies down, that person has not understood the Dharma the Tathagata teaches, for the Tathagata is entirely empty and has no mark of coming or going.

The Buddha asked Subhuti: “If the three thousand great thousand worlds—the Buddhist scheme for the vast cosmos—were ground to fine dust, would there be many such particles?” The explanation says that “ground to fine dust” means shattering empty space itself. Subhuti replied: “Very many.”

These particles arise from nothingness; their nature is originally empty, which is why they can be shattered and split into countless motes. If they were truly substantial, they could not be pulverized in this way. The three thousand great thousand worlds spoken of in the sutra also exist within the mind; they were never a fixed, real world to begin with. If one takes the world as real, it is only mountains and rivers formed by the transformations and illusions of yin and yang.

What is called the “one aggregate mark” refers to spirit uniting with qi, heart resting on breath—that is, yin and yang mingling in chaos. When yin and yang meet, they can unite and form this one aggregate mark. It arises from nothingness; its substance is originally empty, so it cannot be fixed in words. Within no-mark, marks appear; being and non-being unite. Yet one must not cling to being or to non-being; only when the mind does not posit being or non-being can they merge into one.

Ordinary people easily cling to marks: if they do not cling to “being,” they cling to “non-being”; if they do not cling to the marks of things, they cling to the “mark of no-dharma” (the idea that there are no such marks). For this reason the one aggregate mark is unspeakable, and ordinary people find it hard to cultivate immortality. Only when one does not cling to being or non-being, and lets being and non-being unite into the one aggregate mark, can one be called a “Great Awakened Golden Immortal” (a sage who has reached great awakening). After the Dharmakaya—the body of the ultimate beyond form—is formed by the union of being and non-being, it must again be shattered and dispersed into billions upon billions of emanations. Therefore the Buddha finally says of the one aggregate mark that it “simply cannot be spoken of”: it is an formless whole in which non-being holds being and being holds non-being united together.

Subhuti (a disciple in the Diamond Sutra) once asked: People often say the Buddha spoke of four kinds of view—“view of a self,” “view of a person,” “view of sentient beings,” and “view of a life span”—but do they really understand what the Buddha meant? The Buddha replied that such people do not grasp his intent. Ordinary people take these four “views” as genuinely existing notions; what the Tathagata teaches is knowledge and seeing free of attachment: when things arise, one responds in accord with conditions while the mind stays settled; when they pass, one does not cling—able to respond as conditions call for without fixing on any standpoint.

Therefore, those who arouse the mind of unsurpassed perfect enlightenment (Sanskrit anuttara-samyak-sambodhi, the resolve to awaken and become a Buddha) and attain a pure mind should know and see things in this way: when something comes, respond; when it goes, let it go. Faith in and understanding of the Dharma should be the same—without clinging to the “mark” of the Dharma or to the idea that “I am cultivating the Way.” When practice matures, one naturally acts as circumstances require; the mind holds no preset agenda from the start.

When the Tathagata says “the mark of the Dharma is no mark of the Dharma,” he means: what we call the mark of the Dharma is not a fixed, truly existent mark. Because one does not give rise to attached views, one does not even treat “no-mark” as a mark to hold on to.

The Buddha also told Subhuti that to receive, uphold, and recite this sutra, or to explain its meaning to others, brings merit surpassing that of giving. Even if, over asamkhyeya kalpas—an immeasurably long span of time beyond counting—one gave away limitless treasures to beings in countless worlds, that merit, though great, would still fall short of receiving, upholding, reciting, and explaining this sutra to others.

This is because in upholding this sutra one does not cling to marks: one does not treat the scripture as a fixed “mark of the sutra,” and in reciting one does not cling to “I am upholding the sutra.” The state of mind is like empty space—neither clinging to movement nor to stillness; neither taking emptiness as something truly existent nor clinging to “not empty.” For that reason, the merit of explaining and upholding this sutra is immeasurable.

All teachings that involve fabrication and deliberate action are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows, or like dew and lightning—they vanish in an instant. Though the realms realized by various immortals and buddhas differ, they all take the way of wuwei (non-action) as their foundation; to them, methods of deliberate action are all like illusions. The subtle awareness within my mind sees all things as empty as flowers in the sky. Therefore, from monks and nuns and male and female lay devotees down to earthly demons, all can hear the Buddha’s teaching, rejoice, accept it in faith, and practice in accord with the dharma.

Chapter 32 of the Diamond Sutra teaches us to contemplate all marks as empty—from the four attachments of self-mark, person-mark, sentient-being mark, and life-span mark, through dharma-mark and non-dharma-mark, everything is to be seen as empty. Going further, the “one combined mark” through which being arises from non-being—the whole formed by the convergence of myriad conditions—is the root of the generation and transformation of heaven, earth, beings, and things. After perceiving this one combined mark, one must still not cling to being or non-being and keep the mind unmoved as such; only then is one aligned with the true dharma. This is the pre-heaven Primordial Qi (xiantian yi qi) and the root nature of the Primal Beginning (qian yuan zu xing); nameless and formless, it is the origin of heaven, earth, and the myriad things—profound and mysterious, the gateway from which all wonders arise. After obtaining this one combined mark, one must go further and break attachment to it, letting it transform into countless forms; only then is cultivation complete and the work fulfilled. Students should reflect carefully on the meaning within.

Lecture Twenty

Inverting Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li (the four trigrams), then inverting and transforming the pre-heaven and post-heaven orders.

“Reversal” (diandian) is a common phrase in Daoist books. Many past seekers never grasped what it really meant, which led to mistaken readings. Some took “heaven above, earth below” and simply flipped the phrase, linking it to the hexagram Ditian Tai (Earth above Heaven, Great Peace); in human affairs, placing the man below the woman was also called “reversal,” which only spread confusion. In fact, the two characters carry a deep, subtle meaning, and the crux of Daoist practice lies here: the shift from pre-heaven to post-heaven, and the return from post-heaven to pre-heaven, both depend on reversal.

After birth, when the body has matured and childlike innocence is lost, the single line of Qian (pure yang) drops into Kun (pure yin) and becomes Kan (Water, yang within); the central line of Kun rises and becomes Li (Fire, yin within). One line moves from above to below, another from below to above—this is what is meant by “reversal.” After the body is “broken,” the practitioner takes the yang line from Kan to fill Li, hoping thereby to recover the pure state of childhood—is that not reversal again?

Qian corresponds to nature (xing), Kun to life (ming). When Qian’s line sinks into Kun and becomes Kan, the yang line within Kan is “life”—the pre-heaven true yang. What one uses every day is this true yang; every movement of the body relies on it to function. Yet the more true yang is spent, the more the person becomes a purely yin body. This true yang is like qian metal—the nature heaven bestows. The post-heaven body cannot by itself sustain life and preserve that nature. After the body is broken at sixteen, the text says that by sixty-four the true yang can be used up entirely. Post-heaven breath from outside enters through the body’s openings, clings to and nourishes pre-heaven Qi, and preserves the true yang—only then can one go on living.

The true yang (the vital life energy inherent in the human body) is depleted day by day; when it is exhausted, death follows. The true yang in our body is already somewhat depleted, but how much varies from person to person. What is depleted must be replenished, and what has sunk to the lower regions must be drawn upward. So-called qukan tianli—drawing the true yang symbolized by the Kan trigram to fill the true yin symbolized by the Li trigram—means raising the true yang upward.

There are two layers of practice here. The first is gathering: since true yang is already depleted and insufficient, one must gather true yang from the empty void to supplement it, restoring it to the fullness one had in childhood. The second is raising: draw out the true yang trapped in Kan and lift it upward into Li.

The sunken true yang lies deep and does not show itself easily. One must first allow the true yang in the void to resonate with the body, then stir the true yang at the mingmen (the region below the navel, regarded as the root of life), so that the two respond to each other and can interact and rise together. If one relies only on the yang qi already present in the body, the force is insufficient and it is hard to raise it; hence inner and outer must be cultivated together. Success is difficult if one cultivates only the inner or only the outer.

Raising the true yang at the mingmen is a method of “inversion”; gathering true yang from the void is the same in principle. What is gathered in foundation building is “pre-heaven within post-heaven”: because the human body already belongs to the post-heaven form and is not complete, the practitioner starts from there, and this is called pre-heaven within post-heaven. At the stage of the great celestial circuit, it is called “pre-heaven within pre-heaven.” The two are fundamentally the same; the labels differ only because the condition of the body differs. The first step is huanxu—returning to utmost emptiness and stillness—so that true yang comes to the body and can then be gathered.

True Yang (the innate yang energy spoken of in Neidan internal alchemy) is originally born in emptiness (xu); it is purely pre-heaven. When it connects with the body, one becomes aware: sometimes feeling yang rising, sometimes numbness or tingling. Once yang is felt on the body, it has entered the post-heaven realm; after it is captured and gathered, pre-heaven has turned into post-heaven.

True Yang born in emptiness is round and formless, pure and luminous. When it connects with the body and merges with it as one, from a relative standpoint it counts as post-heaven; from the standpoint of essence it is still pre-heaven. That is what “pre-heaven turning into post-heaven” means.

The True Yang in emptiness is the pre-heaven Ancestral Qi (zuqi)—the life-root qi—that one experiences before one’s parents have conceived one. When True Yang connects and responds, and essence-qi is full, the parents’ jing and blood wrap it, and a fetus takes shape. The Ancestral Qi spoken of here is also the primordial root-nature (xing).

What is now generated in emptiness is still the same reality; the cultivator captures and gathers it to establish life (ming)—destiny—not nature (xing). Before one’s parents have conceived one, it is called xing (nature); now one borrows it to establish ming. Xing and ming are one reality with two names.

At the moment of conception in the pre-heaven state, nature (xing) and life-destiny (ming) have not yet parted, because there is as yet no formed body. Only once the physical body (se shen, the “form body”) exists do we speak of “ming.” Lu Xian Qianxu said: “To clarify xing, begin from ming; to clarify ming, begin from xing.” In the pre-heaven condition, xing and ming were originally a single whole. From the post-heaven standpoint, once the body has taken shape, one must rely on gathering and refining to make up for loss and restore the original condition—this is what is meant by “establishing ming.” In truth xing and ming remain one substance, which is why the texts speak of “inversion”: in actual practice, when ming transforms, that is xing; when xing transforms, that is ming. What dwells in the “Heaven Valley” (tiangu) is xing; what dwells in the “Response Valley” (yinggu) and “Spirit Valley” (linggu) is ming—yet xing and ming are fundamentally one.

The “inversion” so often mentioned in the books means that when a person reaches the state of no-mind (wuxin), one establishes the root of life in the pre-heaven and thereby cultivates nature. In the dark, undifferentiated depth, to perceive xing is to perceive ming. Hence the Yijing “Shuogua” says: “Investigate things to the utmost, fully develop human nature, and thereby attain ming.” Since xing and ming were always one, it adds “and thereby attain ming.”

From the side of xing, this is called “pre-heaven, and Heaven does not go against it”: pre-heaven Qi (the fundamental breath that exists before Heaven and Earth) gives rise to Heaven and Earth; once they are born from this Qi, they cannot contravene it. From the side of ming, it is called “post-heaven, and one follows Heaven’s seasons”: after Heaven and Earth have formed, this Qi remains in the void and, in accord with the seasons, brings forth the ten thousand things. Thus both “Heaven does not go against it” and “following Heaven’s seasons” refer to this single Qi of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) in empty space.

Pre-heaven and post-heaven turn into one another, and the ten thousand things arise thereby. The coming-to-be of things belongs to the post-heaven; their root and substance belong to the pre-heaven—yet the two are really one. Heaven, Earth, and all things are contained within this one Qi, yet it cannot be fully grasped by the senses; hence it is said to be “great without outside, small without inside.” Lü Zu said: “Great—it can embrace the cosmos; small—it can be hidden in a mustard seed.” That is the idea.

Human xing and ming are likewise one body, so the Daoist classics say: “Xing is established through ming; ming is fulfilled through xing.” Before birth there is as yet no talk of xing; once the form body appears, the root of life shows itself—hence “xing is established through ming.” A person’s ming is formed by receiving true yang (the pre-heaven yang) at conception—hence “ming is fulfilled through xing.” The two cannot be split; therefore within the cultivation of xing there is already the cultivation of ming, and within the cultivation of ming there is already the cultivation of xing.

The highest level of cultivating the Great Dao of the Innate lies entirely in reaching extreme emptiness and profound stillness, letting everything follow its natural course. What is meant by “extreme emptiness, profound stillness” (xuji jingdu) is entering a state before primordial chaos divides, when mind and body are utterly still; only at this level can one return to the innate. The crux is whether one can achieve “returning to emptiness” (huanxu)—making spirit and mind settle into emptiness and stillness; once one can return to emptiness, one naturally enters the state of primordial chaos.

Whether pre-heaven primordial Qi (xiantian yiqi) can be sensed in the body depends first on whether one can attain extreme emptiness and profound stillness. After that is reached, pre-heaven primordial Qi comes to the body, and “yang arising” (yangsheng)—the bodily and mental signs of yang stirring—appears. Once yang has arisen, if one still keeps emptiness and stillness and does not act rashly, yang can remain in the body and not dissipate; otherwise, life cannot be established at all, and mind-nature cannot be cultivated.

Thus cultivating the Great Dao of the Innate must take extreme emptiness and profound stillness as the root: the mind must be empty, the body must be still. By constantly maintaining emptiness and stillness, the true yang within pre-heaven primordial Qi arises at every moment; by constantly maintaining quiet, true yang can arise and reach the body. The first step on the path is to quiet both body and mind. Only then can inner awareness (shenjue) trigger true yang, so the practitioner can grasp and hold it. Otherwise, if true yang appears only in the body without being noticed by the mind, or only in the mind without being grounded in the body, it cannot be grasped; even if grasped for a moment, it is soon lost and cannot be preserved.

This also involves the distinction of “clear versus turbid source”—whether the root from which true yang stirs inward is pure or not. Only with extreme emptiness and profound stillness is the source clear; otherwise it is turbid. What is clear is genuine true yang; what is turbid is a delusive response. When true yang from empty stillness reaches the body and stirs the Life Gate (mingmen, the locus at the lower back tied to vital life-force), causing the reproductive organ to engorge, that is a clear response; engorgement from images or thoughts held in the mind belongs to a turbid response.

When yang qi first stirs, it is naturally pure and clear. If at that moment fear arises in the mind, or one flusters and loses composure, that clear qi turns turbid. The moment a fixed thought appears— as soon as intention moves— clear qi becomes muddy. Once qi is turbid, it can no longer be used or gathered and refined. Without careful discrimination, one may mistakenly gather turbid qi; before long symptoms such as headache, restlessness, and red eyes appear. This is because true yang has already turned into “ministerial fire” (xianghuo)— a fiery quality inclined to agitation and upward flaring. Ministerial fire surges upward and thus causes illness.

If body and mind are both quiet, and one calmly gathers true yang, the source of qi stays clear; the body feels light and at ease, and spirit and mind are peaceful and smooth. The difference lies precisely here. Water and fire were originally one substance: fire within water, water within fire. When body and mind are clear and still and one gathers pure qi, what is obtained is “gold within water” (shuizhongjin)— in internal alchemy, the pure, living “medicine.” If what is gathered is turbid qi, what is obtained becomes ministerial fire. Though the difference may seem slight, the outcomes can diverge greatly. One must therefore rely on natural awareness, letting body and mind settle without disturbance; otherwise body and mind split apart and one clings to outer signs.

When a person first notices yang qi stirring, the qi is still clear; but after that noticing, in an instant it turns into post-heaven qi and the source of qi becomes turbid. What the alchemical classics mean by “the medicine is overripe and cannot be used” (yao lao er bu ke yong) refers to this situation. “Medicine overripe” (yao lao) is neidan terminology for the moment suitable for gathering and refining having passed.

Since spirit and qi embrace and give rise to awareness, why do they separate and change as soon as awareness appears? The crux is whether daily work in refining the mind (lianxin) is mature. If thoughts cannot be stilled, then even when spirit and qi occasionally embrace, as soon as one is aware, thoughts immediately rise again and clear qi turns turbid with them. Here lies the gongfu that must be cultivated.

Those who are just beginning cultivation, at first gradually nourishing body and mind through practice, naturally find it hard to keep Shen and Qi continuously embraced; they need methods to refine and nurture. This method is called “clepsydra martial fire” (ke lou zhi wu huo). In antiquity people used bronze clepsydra vessels with marked hours to drip and measure time, hence “listening to the water’s drip while counting the clepsydra marks”; here it means listening to the breath.

When Shen and Qi are mutually held and yang qi begins to stir and become perceptible, and the mind is about to become active, one should begin the practice of tingxi (listening to the breath). Lengthen the breath slightly and listen with intent, and thoughts can be stopped and cease to stir. This is applying clepsydra martial fire during the “capturing” stage (grasping the phase when yang qi first arises). Practiced thus, the mind becomes clear, as if water too has settled and cleared. This way of stopping thoughts is very important, but it must be used when a thought has just begun to move; if many thoughts have already linked one after another, using it then will not work.

In daily life one may also use clepsydra martial fire to stop thoughts. If one often listens to the breath, ordinary breathing too becomes something one can notice. Ordinary breathing here means breathing without deliberate effort; with this method, though thoughts keep appearing, they can gradually be stilled. People on the Daoist path often still have worldly duties and cannot leave the world, so it is not necessarily only in seated meditation that one can hear the breath.

“Clepsydra martial fire” is paired with “gentle fire of steaming” (xun zheng zhi wen huo). The old saying is “civil cooking, martial refining”: cooking is harmonizing, martial is restraining. When a person is in emptiness and stillness, if they faintly feel as though a warm whitish vapor rests outside the nose, the whole body tingles and numbs, as if about to sweat yet not sweating, this is called “gentle fire of steaming.” When yang qi is first stirring, being able to hold the huohou (timing in the furnace) of ding and wang—remaining settled without clinging to thoughts—also belongs to gentle fire. In the moment when yang qi is about to arise but has not yet arisen, using tingxi and counting clepsydra marks to stop thoughts is clepsydra martial fire.

Therefore the sequence in cultivation is: first use martial fire, then gentle fire, and finally stop the fire. For beginners at the entry point, it is roughly these three steps: first wait in stillness for yang qi to stir, then rise and capture; fearing that emotional impulses and mental turning will arise, one should rise slowly, and while rising continue to listen to the breath so the mind stays clear.

Some do not understand what clepsydra martial fire is and mistake it for shuxi (counting breaths)—that is a misunderstanding. When using martial fire in daily practice to stop thoughts, it is also not a matter of counting breaths from start to finish; one must listen to the breath with the ear, not tally numbers in the mind. This distinction must be kept clear.

The first step in entering the path of cultivation is to settle both body and mind in quiet. If you wish to achieve bodily and mental stillness while awake, you must first learn to remain still even in sleep. The Cantong (Zhouyi Cantong Qi, a classic on internal alchemy) says: “In sleep, spirit and qi embrace one another; upon waking, grasp the moments when yin and yang wax and wane.” That is to say, while asleep, spirit and qi stay joined, and inner clarity can still be aware—thus one can experience “living zi” and “living wu” (names in neidan for key moments in the shift of yin-yang vital breath). If you cannot be still in sleep, it will be even harder when awake. Therefore, what beginners must emphasize above all is the practice of sleep cultivation.

Since we are all just beginning, we should give special weight to sleep cultivation. Before bed, do not turn things over in the mind again and again; if you can fall asleep as soon as you lie down, you will naturally reach the state of “in sleep, spirit and qi embrace,” and there is something here you can verify: if your head touches the pillow and you sleep at once, that night you will usually dream calmly and your spirit will stay serene; if after lying down your thoughts keep running and sleep comes only after a long while, dreams tend to be many and chaotic and the spirit dull. Thus the cultivator must first overcome dullness and stray thought in sleep. What you think before sleep shapes your dreams: many thoughts, many dreams; few thoughts, few dreams. The dreams of Tang Sanzang in Journey to the West—the author treats them as fa xiang (images embodying Buddhist teaching), not ordinary dreams.

After lying down, if thoughts start as soon as the pillow is touched and you cannot sleep, you may use a provisional aid: mentally draw a circle “○” and regard it in a way that seems intentional yet not quite intentional; or imagine a circle outside the nose and attend to it in the same half-present, half-absent way. This can check wandering thought and help sleep. Practice again and again until it becomes habit; then you will naturally have fewer thoughts, even none—but you must train this until it is thoroughly familiar before it becomes second nature.

When you have just fallen asleep, keep the mind from scattering. First, in that border between seeming intent and seeming no-intent, unite spirit and qi in the empty space outside the nose so that spirit and qi embrace. Then, when “one yang returns” (a neidan term for the first stirring of yang) arrives, inner awareness will naturally awaken—this is “when the time comes, spirit knows”: when the moment is right, consciousness notices. When yang begins to stir, you may wake.

As soon as you wake, sit up at once and practice; if you stay lying down, you may sink into dullness or give rise to reckless movement. Dullness turns yang into post-heaven qi; reckless movement wastes what you have cultivated. Rise slowly to sit, and work according to the “vigorous fire” of the clepsydra rhythm (a paced manner of exertion in neidan). When sitting up, first settle spirit and mind; after they are settled, let go of thoughts. You may cross the legs or not—it makes no difference. Clothing and the like must not touch or disturb the external kidneys (in men, the external genitals); this point is especially important and must not be neglected.

Cultivation that fully realizes one’s nature and reaches the root of life is called “Tianyuan” (Heaven Origin). It is a method of Chan at the utmost simplicity and ease—the highest level of practice.

This series has explained the pre-heaven Great Dao (the path of cultivation rooted in what is innate), the method of the supreme vehicle, and related matters of huohou (timing, pacing, and method in practice), and has largely covered the subject; though some points were omitted, the whole is fairly complete. Students who practice accordingly can integrate and master it. I originally intended to continue with the Awakening to Reality (Wuzhen pian), but having already lectured on the Yellow Court Classic, I assumed students could grasp the Awakening to Reality on that basis, so I will not lecture on it further; today’s teaching ends here.

Last year the lectures happened to begin at the winter solstice—I learned that only afterward. Today, as the teaching concludes, it happens to be the day commemorating Shakyamuni Buddha’s enlightenment. Both teaching sessions aligned with the season without any prior plan. From this one can see that intention in the unseen realm has its own course; those who study the Way should rouse themselves promptly and strive with diligence.

Today I will again explain the difference between Tianyuan and “Renyuan” (Human Origin), and the relative difficulty of practice under “upper De” and “lower De,” in broad outline, as the closing of this teaching series.

The discussion of Tianyuan (Heaven Origin) and Renyuan (Human Origin) elixir methods—the different approaches within Neidan (internal alchemy)—has already been covered above. Li Xian’s Hanxu “Nine Layers of Refining the Heart: A Discourse on the Way” treats the Renyuan method: one must guide the process with deliberate yi (intention), practice it consciously until it becomes skillful, and in the end let yi ripen into zhenyi (true intent).

The “Second Layer of Refining the Heart” adds that people in ordinary post-heaven life, with their many scattered thoughts, cannot straightaway enter a deep, silent stillness or open the xuanqiao (the subtle aperture emphasized in practice). The method is to “hold the sword” and form hand seals (qianyin), using yi to cut away the various kinds of sensory awareness. Only after yang qi has been generated and has filled the body does one use yi to lead it to the weilu (the pass at the base of the spine) and draw it up to the niwan (the upper gate in the head).

“Renyuan” means that at the outset one still needs yi to guide the work. When you first begin, you send the breath to a point one cun and three fen below the navel. Hence it is said: “Rest behind the navel, before the gate of life—there is a circle of emptiness.” It also says: “My heart rests here and looks inward; on inhalation yi sends the breath in, on exhalation yi receives it, and rests in the empty space one cun and three fen below the navel on the outside.” When qi within the body has gathered below the navel, on exhalation you let the breath leave through the nose and settle the spirit-mind in the space outside the body.

“Using yi to send and receive the breath” means first joining post-heaven ordinary yi and ordinary breathing together within that place. Once they have joined, spirit and mind enter a state of hundun (primordial chaos), and only then can one hold to the measure within rule and compass and move to and fro within the square and the circle. Here “rule and compass” refers to where the golden cauldron stands; “square and circle” refers to the square-and-circle aperture I have described. After qi has condensed, you again settle the spirit-mind in the empty space outside the nose; when yang qi rises, you still use yi to lead it to the weilu and draw it up to the niwan. This is the work of refining jing (essence) to transform qi. After the Tianyuan elixir method has coalesced, you likewise settle the spirit-mind in the empty space outside the nose; when yang qi rises, you again use yi to lead it to the weilu and up to the niwan.

This is a method of refining essence to transform qi—a path distinct from the Tianyuan approach, which works entirely through emptiness and stillness. In Tianyuan one must not casually add intentional effort: arbitrary intention is the thought of “doing something,” whereas true intent is formless and leaves no trace.

Renyuan begins with what is visible and intentional, to extend postnatal life. Once accomplishments in life-cultivation (minggong) are in place, one goes on to nature-cultivation (xinggong). This road seems easier at first, but later it is hard to fully realize one’s nature (liao xing), because the foundation of practice is not sufficiently pure. Starting from Renyuan, one must still pass through nine years of “facing the wall,” refining spirit and returning to emptiness (lianshen huanxu), reaching emptiness and realizing nature; only after those nine years does original nature become fully clear and complete.

Daoists speak of beginning from “refining the form”—here “form” means the physical body. Those who practice Tianyuan refine the form within true emptiness from the outset: when xinggong succeeds, minggong succeeds with it. Those who practice Renyuan first refine the form to preserve life; after minggong bears fruit they cultivate xinggong. After the major heavenly circuit (da zhou tian) in inner alchemy, there must still be three years of “nursing” (san nian ru bu)—continued gentle nurturing—before spirit becomes bright and responsive. Add to that the hundred days of foundation-building (bai ri zhu ji) and nine years facing the wall, and the whole course takes thirteen years.

In the early stage of practice, one’s own intention leads the way; through concentrated application, change arises within intent. Opening the gates, expanding the orifices, and the like all begin as intention-guided work. Intention is originally the ruler of the postnatal body: before birth one speaks of yuan jing (original essence); after birth it appears as intention (yi). When intention moves, shen, qi, and jing move with it. When intention can be single-pointed, postnatal jing, qi, and shen naturally unite—this is spoken in terms of minggong.

As for xinggong, original nature is originally the empty, still ground. Unless spirit and mind first return to emptiness and stillness, one cannot see nature. Those on Renyuan complete ming first, then xing; only after three years of nursing and nine years facing the wall can one break attachment to emptiness and merge with emptiness. That, too, is phrased from the side of minggong.

In Renyuan (Human Origin) cultivation, one first completes “ming gong” (cultivation of life/destiny), then cultivates “xing gong” (cultivation of nature). Only after three years of nursing nurture and nine years of wall-facing seclusion can one reach the state of “shattering the void.” Its sequence of practice differs from that of Tianyuan (Heaven Origin) cultivation.

Tianyuan cultivation is the highest level of practice acknowledged jointly by Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—what is called “investigating principle to the full, exhausting nature, up to destiny.” Here “principle” means the way yin and yang operate in heaven and earth and give rise to the ten thousand things; it originally stems from li qi in Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate)—innate qi that constitutes the ten thousand things and embodies root principle. “Principle” (li) and “ritual propriety” (li) were linked in antiquity, which is why there are stories of Confucius asking Laozi about ritual, and sayings such as “restrain the self and return to propriety.”

The arising of all things in the cosmos is the working of li qi; human beings too receive li qi and take form in the womb. This qi, in heaven, is called ming (destiny/life); in the human being, xing (nature): what heaven bestows is ming, what one receives as endowment is xing. Principle, ming, and xing are originally one body. It is originally empty, still, and without form, yet is the common root of the ten thousand things.

If one single-mindedly cultivates this “One,” so that body and mind are quiet and inner and outer are clear and empty, one can again generate a trace of li qi. Once it is gathered, refined, and sealed firm, both xing and ming can be completed—so one can skip the three years of nursing and nine years of wall-facing. In the early stage one refines the form in true emptiness (vacuum); after the great microcosmic orbit is complete, when the spirit goes forth it can connect with numinous perception. This is first attaining xing, with ming included within it—hence “investigating principle to the full, exhausting nature, up to destiny.”

Xing is li qi within Taiji. Exhausting one’s own nature, one can also grasp the nature of heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things. Taiji is undivided wholeness: in movement it generates yang and becomes li qi—the root of heaven; in stillness it generates yin and divides into the two modes (liang yi)—the root of earth. From Wuji (the Limitless), Taiji, yin-yang, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), heaven and earth progressively give birth to the ten thousand things. Thus, one who can exhaust one’s own nature can exhaust others’ nature; one who can exhaust others’ nature can exhaust the nature of all things—and can then assist heaven and earth in nurturing and transforming the ten thousand things. Heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things are originally one body, sharing the same source with me. What Mencius meant by “the ten thousand things are all complete in me” is this same idea.

Innate li qi is originally possessed by every person; only because of the limits of temperament and the obscuring of desire for things is it lost on the path of practice. Cultivating the Dao means recovering this scattered li qi. The paths of the three teachings differ in many outward ways, but the root is here, and is not different.

Buddhism speaks only of xing and not of ming because once xing is attained, ming is naturally attained as well—it is not a one-sided neglect of either. Nor should cultivating xing be mistaken for cultivating the yin spirit (yin shen). Cultivating the yin spirit means nourishing the postnatal shi shen (discriminating spirit—the postnatal consciousness and faculty of distinction) so that it gains numinous perception. Because the yin spirit belongs to the postnatal, it still undergoes birth and death; and without the work of returning to emptiness, one cannot obtain innate xing. That method exclusively nourishes and refines shi shen yet does not unite it with qi; its effect can only reach yin-spirit numinous perception. Compared with Tianyuan cultivation, this approach stands on a lower level. These distinctions must not be left unclear.

Cultivating the supreme Great Way of the Prior Heaven, the Tianyuan method (a practice that takes innate nature as its root) begins with huanxu—returning to emptiness and stillness—and first requires refining the heart. There is no fixed timetable for the work of lianji (refining the self), because each person’s capacity, intelligence, and temperament differ, so progress is faster or slower accordingly. Those with deep roots and greater accumulated merit find the work easier and finish sooner; otherwise it is harder and takes longer.

Those who practice the Renyuan method (cultivation from the acquired that gradually returns to the innate) must first lay the foundation, so they must first generate and obtain the “medicine.” The practitioner coordinates intent with breath so that this “medicine” appears; this belongs to acquired medicine. Gathering and obtaining the medicine likewise depend on acquired effort—this is foundation work. Lianji is arranged after foundation building, so compared with the Tianyuan method it adds two stages. One who practices the Tianyuan method and seeks the supreme Dao of the Prior Heaven actually needs only the step of lianji; the rest proceeds naturally and is attained naturally, without deliberate contrivance.

Buddhists cultivate prajna (wisdom of insight), Daoists cultivate the supreme Dao, and what Confucians call “investigating things to the limit, fully illuminating nature, and thereby penetrating Heaven’s mandate” all point to the same path, without real division. Renyuan practice is easier at the start but harder at the end. Some who cultivate for many years still cannot ascend, mostly because heart-and-nature work is insufficient.

The upper-grade elixir method that Bai Yuchan’s Discourse on Dispelling Doubts describes as “without hexagram lines and without ounce-weights” is precisely this Tianyuan great elixir. Its method is simple; completion in one year is possible, and it is transmitted mind to mind. The middle-grade method is the Renyuan way, with results often in three years; the lower grade can only dispel illness, not extend life. How many years cultivation takes and whether it succeeds have no fixed number. The Renyuan path returns from the acquired to the innate; the Tianyuan path is wholly grounded in the innate.

From antiquity, more people practiced Tianyuan, fewer Renyuan. After the Tang and Song, Renyuan methods flourished in Daoism while Chan still cultivated the innate way, so the two sides debated each other. In the Yuan, Wang Chongyang appeared and the Tianyuan way revived. Because Tianyuan teaching overlaps much with Buddhism, some thought it came from Buddhism. In truth, the highest cultivation has always been one source shared by Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, without fundamental difference. Thus the rationale of Tianyuan elixir can also be cross-checked against Confucian classics and Buddhist scriptures.

Since ancient times, most transmitted Daoist scriptures have expounded the Tianyuan (Heaven Origin)—cultivation that takes clarity and naturalness as its main thread—which differs from Daoist writings of the Tang and Song. People of shallow insight have argued among themselves, treating one approach as higher and another as lower, when in fact they simply have not studied deeply.

Those who cultivate the Way of Tianyuan are bound to attain realization; hence Bai Yuchan held that this path can surely be practiced and the Golden Elixir can surely be refined. Once body and mind are fully stilled, a divine awareness (an inner luminous knowing, shenjue) naturally presides over the “fire phases” (the timing of internal alchemical work), so nothing goes wrong. Renyuan (Human Origin) is different: wandering thoughts have not yet been exhausted, and true intent has not yet arisen; at every step of applying the fire one must guard against danger and handle things with care—therefore it is hard to cultivate and hard to succeed.

Daoists before the Qing called Tianyuan “qingjing” (purity and stillness) and Renyuan “zaijie” (patching and supplementation)—adding repair because true yang is insufficient. Renyuan practitioners are led by their own mind-intent, so there is often an element of forcing; Tianyuan wholly follows nature: body and mind are clear and still, Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing left undone. Spirit and Qi (vital energy) naturally oversee the work—it is not something one achieves by deliberate striving.

After obtaining the great elixir on the Renyuan path, one must still obtain the xuanzhu (mysterious pearl); the xuanzhu is the pearl of xing (nature), belonging to the final stage of completing the work of nature. After the three commentaries on the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality), the Jindan Zhenzhuan (True Transmission of the Golden Elixir) states that only after laying the foundation does one begin “refining the self” (lianji), and only after nursing the great elixir does one obtain the xuanzhu. In this method, xing and ming (life) are cultivated separately—first completing the work of life, then the work of nature.

The Tianyuan Way is different: when you realize xing, you simultaneously realize ming; at every turn in practice you gain xing, and at every turn you gain ming—xing and ming were always one. If one cultivates Renyuan alone and does not go on to Tianyuan, that is what Patriarch Lü meant by “longevity equal to Heaven, yet still a simpleton.” Renyuan practitioners may gain the five penetrations (five kinds of extraordinary faculties) during the three years of nursing the elixir; Tianyuan practitioners differ in root capacity and merit, so the time of completion varies. Those of the finest root may turn to Tianyuan before foundation work is even finished.

Tianyuan cultivation—Neidan (internal alchemy) aimed directly at cultivating the Dao and realizing the Great Dao—varies in speed according to each person’s root capacity and accumulated merit. Those with the highest root capacity may attain realization even before they finish the foundation-building stage (zhuji); those with weaker capacity, once they complete foundation building and enter the nurturing phase, can also attain realization. After attainment, they proceed to the Great Circulation (dazhoutian), the stage in which internal Qi (vital energy) is guided to flow through the entire body. This is one way Tianyuan differs from Renyuan (methods centered on internal alchemy and step-by-step advancement).

In the late Qing, many fields saw new ideas, and Neidan interpretations multiplied. Some who succeeded in alchemy and were said to become immortals called Tianyuan the “Divine Elixir” (shendan) and Renyuan “refining the elixir” (liandan), and spoke of practicing Tianyuan as “cultivating the Dao.” They held that those of superior root should practice Tianyuan directly, while those slightly less gifted should first practice Renyuan and then move on to Tianyuan.

In Buddhist terms, ordinary people can all practice Tianyuan; it is the path to becoming a Great Perfectly Awakened Golden Immortal (dajue jinxian)—once realized, that state can be maintained for a long time, and successful cultivation leads to full awakening. Those who practice Renyuan, however, remain among the ten kinds of immortals described in the Surangama Sutra, still within the three realms (desire, form, and formlessness) and unable to transcend them. Only through Buddhist practice can one become a Great Perfectly Awakened Golden Immortal, leave the three realms behind, and endure through long kalpas without decay. Hence the saying: “There is only the One Vehicle Dharma; the other two are not true.” The “other two” refer to pratyekabuddhas and śrāvakas; here they are linked with those who attain through Renyuan practice.

The first seven chapters of Journey to the West, in which Sun Wukong cultivates the Dao, depict Tianyuan practice; the journey from Tang Sanzang’s departure to the completion of fetching the scriptures shows Tang Sanzang’s path—first Renyuan, then advancing to Tianyuan. Tang Sanzang’s road is far harder than Sun Wukong’s: only after passing the Flaming Mountains can wandering thoughts be turned into true intent; only after subduing the Rhinoceros Demon is one’s original nature fully understood. The eighty-one tribulations largely arise from mishandling the “fire times” (huohou) in practice—showing how difficult full accomplishment is. Thus Tianyuan belongs to sudden-and-perfect combined cultivation (yuandun jianxiu), while Renyuan is gradual cultivation. That is another distinction between Tianyuan and Renyuan.

Cultivation of the Tianyuan (heaven-origin) method—practice grounded in the innate nature—must first empty that nature: both kinds of post-heaven nature are returned to emptiness. Nature divides into good and not-good. When Buddhism says “natures are likewise the same,” it always means post-heaven nature. Innate nature is the “primordial-ancestor nature” (the root nature at the beginning); only when post-heaven nature is emptied does innate nature appear. The primordial-ancestor nature is right awakening (clear, enlightened awareness).

Cultivation of the Renyuan (human-origin) method—practice grounded in person body and mind—first removes not-good nature while still retaining good nature. Only after nine years of wall-gazing does one go further and remove good nature as well, so both good and not-good post-heaven natures return to emptiness, and right awakening is achieved.

The Buddhist term “body born of intent” (yisheng shen) has a very broad meaning. The flesh body can also be said to arise from intent’s responsive generation: when man and woman unite, each side gives rise to affection; that affection mutually resonates, attracts and gathers incoming Li-qi (the qi that constitutes life) into the body, and thus the flesh body is formed. When mutual joy and pleasure reach their peak, intent no longer has separate form or image—it becomes a pure-yin body; this is true intent (real intent undisturbed by stray thoughts). True intent can move pure-yang qi to condense into an embryo. This is the forward path of yin–yang union begetting an ordinary person. The Daoist reverses this process, cultivates the Great Dao, and obtains the Dharma body (the body achieved in practice)—the overall pattern is similar, but the methods split into Renyuan and Tianyuan.

Renyuan cultivation takes single-minded use of intent as the main thread: with intent, lead qi to one inch and three fen below the navel, unite spirit and qi, and condense them into one ball of qi. At that point wayward intent (scattered, false thoughts) is exhausted and true intent is restored; true intent resonates with this ball of qi, draws in true-yang qi into the body, and condenses the Dharma body. This is what Renyuan calls “body born of intent.”

The first step on the path of cultivating the Tianyuan (Heaven Primordial) is to remove deluded thoughts. Through “returning to emptiness” (huixu)—allowing mind and spirit to settle into quiet void—one obtains true intent (zhenyi), can resonate with incoming true yang (zhenyang) qi, and condense it into a dharma body (fashen). At the outset one does not rely on deluded thoughts; compared with cultivating the Renyuan (Human Primordial), the method is more direct. This is what is meant by “the body born from intention” (yisheng shen) in Tianyuan practice. Thus whether it is the ordinary human body or the body attained in cultivation, both are produced by intention—the same in that respect. The difference is that the ordinary body arises from deluded intention, while the dharma body arises from true intent.

For a person, casting off deluded intention is difficult. Here the Bull Demon King (Niu Mowang) from Journey to the West is invoked as an illustration: the Bull Demon King was originally transformed from the Great White Bull of Snow Mountain. The ox belongs to kun earth; here it symbolizes intention (yi). When intention departs from what is real, it becomes deluded intention and turns into the Bull Demon King; when deluded intention returns to what is real, it becomes the white bull. Intention works the same way: arising from deluded intention one becomes a demon; returning to true intent one becomes a buddha. True intent turning into deluded intention is the demon; deluded intention reverting to true intent is buddhahood.

When subduing the Bull Demon King, the vajra (jingang) first encircles him—symbolizing the attainment of qian metal qi—so that deluded intention can return to truth. Only when deluded intention returns to truth can one refine the indestructible vajra body. In the whole of Journey to the West, the image of “vajra” appears only here, which is especially worth noting.

Nezha the Third Prince is the “Great Spirit of the Three Altars Sea Assembly” (San Tan Hai Hui Dashen); here he symbolizes the discerning spirit (shishen)—the mind that distinguishes and cognizes—in the heart. Only by turning the discerning spirit into the original spirit (yuanshen), one’s innate luminous nature, can true intent be generated. When Nezha’s head is cut off and grows back, it symbolizes thought following thought in succession, not easily severed. His spitting lotuses and the blue smoke above his head symbolize that true intent, though dwelling amid impurity, is not defiled—that is, even while one is within deluded intention, removing deluded intention can still restore true intent. Threading the demon-binding rope through the bull’s nose symbolizes the nose as the “central peak mountain” (zhongyue zhi shan) in the body—belonging to earth and representing intention—meaning the earth of intention returns to truth, and from then on one moves from delusion back to truth.

Threading the demon-binding rope through the ogre’s nostrils symbolizes the nose as the bodily “mountain” that corresponds to the Central Peak (Zhongyue), which belongs to the Earth phase in the Five Phases and also stands for mind-intention (yiyi). The point is that the “earth” in one’s intention returns to what is real, so deluded intention (wangyi) turns into true intention (zhenyi). Once deluded intention becomes true intention, true yin and true yang can meet—which is why one can obtain the Plantain Fan and cross the Flaming Mountain.

Those who cultivate the Human Origin (ren yuan)—practice grounded in the human body and lifespan—only gain true intention after the great heavenly circuit (da zhou tian) has run its course. Refining the self (lian ji) and comprehending nature (liao xing) likewise come only after the great circuit. As for the sequence of first establishing the foundation and obtaining the elixir, then refining the self and comprehending nature: practitioners of the Human Origin have their own rationale. A human body is hard to obtain, the Great Dao is hard to encounter, and life is like a candle in the wind. If one does not first lay the foundation (zhuji) to extend life, one may die just when practice should deepen—then the aim is unfulfilled, a lifetime is wasted, and regret comes too late. So one should first use methodical arts (shu) to prolong life, then use the way of the Dao (dao) to cultivate nature; first lay the foundation to stabilize the physical form. If the root can be made firm enough to preserve a lifespan of one hundred twenty years, one can devote oneself to practice and clarify nature.

Extending life requires deliberate action, which is why it is called “technique” (shu). Yet while deluded intention is not fully cleared and true intention is not yet gained, the foundation that is laid is not solid, because refinement of the heart is still impure. An analogy: alone in a sealed room, faced with a beautiful woman, or at midnight suddenly given gold—a person whose will is unsteady will almost inevitably be moved. Once the mind moves, the elixir foundation (dan ji) is harmed. Those on the Human Origin path easily fall into the fault of rushing for quick results; therefore it is better to cultivate the Heaven Origin (tian yuan)—practice centered on primordial Dao—directly, which is more straightforward. This is one respect in which Heaven Origin and Human Origin methods differ.

Those who cultivate the prenatal Great Dao and the Tianyuan (Heavenly Origin) elixir method must first refine the self (lian ji)—cultivating heart-mind and character—by clearing away wandering thoughts so that what is false turns toward what is true. Once true intent (zheng yi—the clear, non-deluded mind-intention) is established, it must still be continually expanded and nourished. In that way, ordinary breathing can turn into true breath (zhen xi), and the acquired discerning mind (shi shen—the heart that divides and calculates) can turn into original spirit (Yuanshen—the innate, as-it-is spiritual clarity), so that lucid awareness arises naturally: one understands nature (xing) and at the same time can cultivate life (ming).

At the first moment of receiving prenatal mandate, a person originally has only a single thread of li-qi (the root yuan qi that constitutes life). After entering the postnatal state, it divides into three and then into five, and various functions stir one after another. Before birth there is only li-qi; yet li-qi is still “something.” Before Taiji (the undifferentiated root state of all things) has stirred, there was originally nothing—an empty body. Only by returning to Wuji (the source before Taiji divides) does one reach true emptiness. Therefore cultivation must gather the Five Phases back into the “three families,” then unite the three families into the two polarities (Liangyi), return to Taiji, and finally revert to Wuji—this is returning to the root and restoring the mandate.

Foundation-stage work is the path from the Five Phases back to the three families; completing the great circulation (da zhou tian—the stage when qi moves through the whole body) is the work from Liangyi back to Taiji; the final work of returning to emptiness is from Taiji back to Wuji. Thus the whole course of practice is refining essence (Jing) into qi, refining qi into spirit (Shen), and refining spirit back into emptiness.

In the Tianyuan method, while refining Jing into qi, one also refines spirit and qi so they merge with primordial essence (yuan jing); while refining qi into spirit, one also refines Jing so it merges with Yuanshen; while refining spirit to emptiness, essence, qi, and spirit together return and unite in emptiness. The three interpenetrate: they can be spoken of as one, or as three.

True intent is called the “Yellow Matron” (Huang Po): yellow symbolizes the center, and “matron” suggests kindness and harmony, so Huang Po points to Kun earth—the “true emptiness” spoken of here. True intent acts like a go-between, drawing essence, qi, and spirit together so they condense and unite, and the elixir can form.

The spirit in the heart is like the sun, the qi in the body like the moon, and true intent in the middle like a star. When true intent is present, sun and moon can unite and become the elixir. The Yijing is the Confucian classic of principle; “sun” and “moon” together form the character for “change” (yi). Buddhism speaks of illuminating the mind and seeing nature; “sun” and “moon” together form “bright” (ming). The Daoist “elixir” (dan) is likewise tied to the meeting of sun and moon. The crux is “union”: where there is union, realization becomes true.

To grasp the true meaning, one must first practice “returning to emptiness.” Laozi said: “Reach the utmost of emptiness; hold fast to deep stillness.” Release all attachments and let body and mind cease clinging; persist in this over time, and one will naturally turn from illusion back to reality and comprehend the genuine meaning.

“Utmost emptiness” and “profound stillness” are mutually linked: only when emptiness reaches its extreme can one hold stillness to its depth; without reaching emptiness to the utmost, it is hard to achieve profound stillness. The Great Learning says: “Only after settling can one become still.” Even after settling, one may not yet be truly still; further effort is needed to reach a tranquility undisturbed by outer things.

Pre-heaven true yang (the pre-heaven yang qi spoken of in Neidan practice) arises only within emptiness and stillness. The Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir says: “From emptiness arises white snow; in silence grows the yellow sprout.” Yellow belongs to earth; the yellow sprout growing from earth refers to pre-heaven true lead (a Neidan term for pre-heaven refined essence), born from true intent (a clear, natural mind free of stray thoughts). White snow also denotes this same thing: lead belongs to qian metal and is naturally white, hence the saying “white qian, black kun.” Because it is pre-heaven and pure white, it is called “white snow.”

White snow is born from emptiness; the yellow sprout grows in silence. When emptiness is extreme and stillness profound, one can return from delusion to truth: the acquired consciousness (shishen—the mind ruled by later thoughts and desires) fades, the original spirit (yuanshen—the inherently clear spirit) appears, spirit and qi naturally unite, the “medicinal ingredients” (the refined qi generated in practice) arise, and the mysterious aperture (the key point in Neidan) reveals itself.

True intent is the natural spiritual awareness; when it governs the firing (the timing and measure of breath, advance, and retreat in practice), mistakes are naturally few. If deluded intent leads, control of the firing easily goes wrong. The methods of uniting the elixir in the human-yuan and heaven-yuan paths are broadly similar; the main difference lies in the firing: heaven-yuan follows nature, so errors are rare; human-yuan involves deliberate action. Thus the time required for cultivation and the degree of attainment differ greatly.

Still, the intent used in human-yuan practice should also be “intent without intent,” not deluded intent. Forcing things with deluded intent produces deviant fire; one not only fails to attain the Dao but may fall ill. In human-yuan, intent guides opening the gates and expanding the apertures (making the practice’s gates and points open and flow), intent first establishes embryonic breathing (the deep, fine inner breath of Neidan), then intent guides the celestial vehicle (the path of refined qi moving within the body). Heaven-yuan is different: everything follows nature without extra intent; opening gates and apertures also happens of itself. When refining the self (tempering the heart-mind and clearing distractions) is mature, laying the foundation (establishing the base of practice) is firm—there is no need to lay foundation apart from refining the self. This too is a difference between heaven-yuan and human-yuan cultivation.

Cultivators are divided into those of “upper De” (shangde) and “lower De” (xiade): upper De refers to people who cultivate while still intact in body—before “breaking the body”—in childlike purity; lower De refers to those who begin cultivation only after the body has been broken. In upper De, primordial Jing and primordial Qi still remain in the body and have not yet turned into manifest semen, so innate nature is thick and desires are few.

The acquired mind, or conscious spirit (shishen)—the postnatal faculty of discrimination and thought—moves like the sun, constantly scattering outward; only primordial Qi can restrain it. Those of upper De already have primordial Qi holding the conscious spirit in check, so the mind does not easily run outward and the postnatal seven emotions and six desires are not especially strong.

After the body is broken, in those of lower De primordial Qi has already stirred and entered the Mingmen (gate of life)—the root of life in Daoist teaching—where it becomes manifest semen and is often lost outward; the conscious spirit likewise becomes restless and hard to control, so cravings are many and both spirit and breath are relatively dull.

The work of cultivation lies in restoring primordial spirit and primordial Qi and using them to subdue the conscious spirit. For those of upper De, primordial spirit and primordial Qi are already present: when the mind is active it is the conscious spirit; when it is still and unmoving it is primordial spirit. Thus they have a better foundation than those who cultivate only after breaking the body.

Therefore a year of cultivation may be enough for upper De to achieve results. They already have the root of the path and need not perform “foundation building” (zhuji)—the work of repairing and nurturing the root of practice—but only “returning to emptiness” (huanxu), letting body and mind settle into emptiness and stillness. Day to day they are at ease, naturally settling body and mind, clear and non-active yet leaving nothing undone; with their own emptiness and stillness they penetrate the void of heaven and earth and can shed the corporeal form and emerge as spirit (tuotai chushen) without other techniques.

Those who cultivate after breaking the body must first build the foundation, then practice non-action; the difficulty is far greater than for upper De. Upper De need only the practice of “forgetting”—forgetting body and mind and entering a state without sharp distinctions—while spirit and breath remain clear; returning to emptiness and entering that undifferentiated realm, accomplishment comes naturally.

Long ago on Mount Emei there was a girl surnamed Song, thirteen years old, who every day walked to her door and looked up at the sky. After doing this for a long time, she attained the Dao. She was able to do so because she already possessed primordial spirit (Yuanshen) and primordial Qi (Yuanqi), and united her own spirit and Qi with the spirit and Qi of the vast void (Taixu)—the boundless empty expanse—and thus completed the path. This was likely because her innate endowment was deep and she had carried a vow from past lives, so that without trying her conduct aligned with the Great Dao; outwardly she did not seem to cultivate, yet in fact she was cultivating, and naturally became a Daoist.

Those who practice the Tianyuan great elixir (Neidan methods based on pre-heaven primordial Qi) must restore the childlike body (the pure state like that of a child). After ten months of nurturing warmth, they still use the method of cultivating truth in a childlike body, joining the emptiness within themselves to the emptiness of heaven and earth. Wild mind and wild intent have already been worked on in the early stage of refining the self (cultivating mind and clearing stray thoughts), so they become clear and still; if one then devotes oneself solely to the work of returning to emptiness (bringing spirit and mind back to quiet void), success is also possible. Those who practice the Renyuan path (Neidan based on human cultivation) have not yet fully removed the wild mind or fully restored true mind, and therefore cannot cultivate in this direct way.

Those who cultivate the Tianyuan Great Dao can make walking, standing, sitting, and lying down all part of the practice. Only make the heart empty and still, and the belly will naturally feel full. Zhang Sanfeng said: “Even in play and idle amusement, one is still cultivating the Dao.” When people amuse themselves, what they do is still cultivation of the Dao—it is only that others do not know, while the cultivator’s gongfu is already accomplished. Those with deep endowment can lay a foundation within a year or two; then continue nurturing, choose a quiet mountain forest, and practice the skills of ding (stillness), wang (forgetting), ping (equanimity), and jun (evenness). After that, give single-minded attention to “forgetting,” and the Dao will naturally be realized.

Ba Yuchan’s “achievement in one year” excludes the time spent refining the self: first use a hundred days to establish the foundation, then ten months for the great heavenly circuit (Da Zhou Tian), which together come to about a year—hence “achievement in one year.”

Obtaining the elixir does not necessarily take a long time; once refining oneself (cultivating mind and heart and clearing away stray thoughts) is fully mature, one may obtain the elixir in a moment. Cultivating the human foundation (Renyuan—inner alchemy based on the human body) traditionally takes thirteen years; cultivating the heaven foundation (Tianyuan—practice oriented toward the Way of heaven) has no fixed term except for how long refining oneself takes. How quickly one succeeds differs according to each person’s root capacity (innate endowment and insight), but with steadfast faith, achievement will come sooner or later.

Faith is the root of the Great Dao and the foundation of merit and virtue. With unwavering trust and persistence without retreat, even those of shallow root capacity will eventually reach great accomplishment, though the time required may differ somewhat. As for the “three thousand eight hundred meritorious deeds,” cultivators should strive toward them, yet one must not count them rigidly by number. If one truly wishes to deliver all sentient beings, a single thought may fulfill that vow.

In former times, Patriarch Zhongli taught Patriarch Lü the earth-foundation (Diyuan) method of firing and refining. Diyuan is a material, tangible elixir method; here it refers to refining yellow and white (the art of producing gold and silver). Patriarch Lü said: “Doing this would harm people five hundred years from now; I will not do it.” Patriarch Zhongli said: “People five hundred years hence each have their own karmic ties. Even if what is refined later decays, it will not matter; it can be reclaimed then. But because you refuse to harm people five hundred years ahead, that single thought has already fulfilled the three thousand eight hundred meritorious deeds.” This shows that merit cannot be tied to a fixed tally, and one cannot insist on completing exactly three thousand eight hundred good deeds one by one.

After the Earth Origin Elixir (Diyuan Dan)—the method of refining elixir pills from tangible, material substances—is completed, it is said that one can turn stone into gold, or ingest it and become an earth immortal (Dixian). To become a heavenly immortal (Tianxian), one must still cultivate further from the earth-immortal stage. The Earth Origin Elixir transforms what is tangible and material into what is intangible and immaterial, and can also become wealth and goods; therefore the cultivator must possess the corresponding fortune and allotted destiny. Tradition holds that Patriarch Zhang once transmitted this method to Shen Wansan, because Shen Wansan shared the same year, month, day, and hour of birth as the Ming founder Zhu Yuanzhang: Zhu Yuanzhang’s destiny was noble and he became Son of Heaven; Shen Wansan’s destiny was wealth and he was richest under heaven—so the Patriarch transmitted the Earth Origin Elixir method to him.

When the Earth Origin Elixir is about to be completed, mountain spirits and ghostly beings often come to seize the elixir. Thus those without great fortune find it hard to complete the refinement; even if they do, they may not be able to keep or use the elixir. Those who practice the Human Origin Elixir method may likewise encounter heavenly demons coming to tease and test them; those who practice the Heavenly Origin Elixir method do not meet such situations. The Heavenly Origin Elixir method begins with nature work (xinggong)—cultivating the heart-nature and nourishing spirit—until the nature pearl is round and bright and becomes a purely yang substance, able to subdue all kinds of yin evil, so demons and monsters all hide and keep away. Only when passing through the Great Heavenly Circuit (da zhou tian)—a major circulation phase in internal alchemy cultivation—may yin demons accumulated since past tribulations appear before the cultivator’s eyes; but if the mind does not move, they vanish in an instant, the host of demons withdraws, and there is no danger. At this point the cultivator already has natural divine awareness and can guard against the mind wavering and the elixir cauldron overturning. All the above must be understood; hence they are repeated here.

From last year until today, forty-nine sessions have been given in all—exactly matching the number “seven sevens” (qi qi)—which accords with the pattern of creation; therefore the exposition ends here. Students should each exert themselves and continue to advance.

End of Yiguan Tianji Zhijiang (Direct Explanation of the Consistent Heavenly Mechanism).