《中和集》Vol. 2

“Embryo” (tai) refers to the essence-qi (jing qi) nurtured within the human body. Some people call the spirit of the spleen the “Yellow Dame” (Huang Po)—that is incorrect.

Someone asked: “What is the ‘Golden Duke’ (Jin Gong)?”

Answer: In terms of principle, the yang of the Qian trigram enters the Kun trigram and forms the Kan trigram. Kan belongs to water, and metal is the root source of water, hence the name “Golden Duke.” In terms of symbolic form, the character for “metal” (jin) combined with “duke” (gong) denotes lead (qian).

Someone asked: “Kan belongs to greater yin—why is it compared to an infant?”

Answer: Kan originally has the nature of the Kun trigram, so it is called greater yin. After it receives the yang of Qian and becomes Kan, it is lesser yang; hence the infant metaphor—bearing yin on its back while embracing yang.

Someone asked: “Li belongs to greater yang—why is it compared to the ‘radiant maiden’ (chanü)?”

Answer: Li originally has the nature of the Qian trigram, so it is called greater yang. After it receives the yin of Kun and becomes Li, it is lesser yin; hence the radiant maiden—a symbol of the young woman—showing yang that contains yin within it.

Someone asked: “What is ‘true gold’ (zhen jin)?”

Answer: Gold here means the primordial spirit (yuanshen), the root spirit of a person. It does not decay even through long kalpas; the more it is refined, the brighter it becomes—hence “true gold.”

Someone asked: “What are ‘mother and child’ (zimu)?”

Answer: They refer to metal within water. Metal is the mother of water; metal hides within water, like a mother concealed in the womb nurturing a child. Spirit is the root of the body; spirit hidden within the body can likewise be compared to a mother hidden within the fetus.

Someone asked: “What are ‘guest and host’ (binzhu)?”

Answer: Ordinarily, nature (xing)—one’s innate nature—is master of the body, and the body is guest. But now one temporarily borrows the body to nourish nature, so for the moment the body is made master. The alchemical texts say: “Let it be master; I am the guest.” That is the meaning.

Someone asked: “What is ‘pre-heaven single qi’ (xiantian yi qi)?”

Answer: Before heaven and earth were yet divided, there was only this one numinous presence. It denotes a point of true yang (zhen yang) within the body. Because it exists before heaven covers and earth supports the myriad things, it is called “pre-heaven” (xiantian).

Someone asked: “What are water and fire?”

Heaven takes the sun and moon as symbols of water and fire; the Yijing (Book of Changes) uses the Kan and Li trigrams for water and fire; Chan Buddhism uses ding (meditative concentration) and hui (wisdom) for water and fire; sages use clarity and moistening for water and fire; physicians’ “kindling the true yang” means the same thing. Because they exist before heaven and earth and sustain all things beneath them, they are called “xiantian” (prior to heaven, innate).

Someone asked: “What are water and fire?”

Answer: Heaven takes the sun and moon as water and fire; the Yijing takes Kan and Li as water and fire; Chan takes ding and hui as water and fire; sages take clarity and moistening as water and fire; medicine takes heart and kidney as water and fire; alchemy takes jing (essence) and qi (vital energy) as water and fire. I state plainly: in the human body, whatever rises upward and generates heat belongs to fire; whatever flows downward and moistens belongs to water. These different names are all metaphors so that practitioners may grasp the meaning for themselves.

Someone asked: “What is water within fire?”

Answer: From antiquity there has been the saying “shen water emerges from the high plain.” In principle, water does not moisten by itself; it must borrow fire’s steaming to turn into nourishing moisture. By the law of yin-yang waxing and waning, fire is strongest at the wu hour (noon), and water also begins to receive qi at wu. Thus we know there is water within fire. In the human body, this refers to the fluid contained in qi.

Someone asked: “What is fire within water?”

Answer: In principle, the sun rises from the sea. By the law of yin-yang waxing and waning, water is strongest at the zi hour (midnight), and fire also begins to receive its embryo at zi. In the human body, this refers to the qi contained in jing.

Someone asked: “What is jiji (already completed, harmony achieved)?”

Answer: When water qi rises and fire qi descends, this is called jiji—water and fire harmonized and interpenetrating. The Yijing says: “Below the mountain is a marsh—Sun (Decrease). The noble person restrains anger and curbs desire.” That line points to the method of attaining jiji: restrain anger so fire descends; curb desire so water rises.

Someone asked: “What is weiji (not yet completed, harmony not achieved)?”

Answer: If anger is not restrained, fire surges upward; if desire is not curbed, water floods downward. The blazing fire of ignorance rages, and the waves of the bitter sea churn—water and fire cannot merge. This is called weiji—water and fire not yet harmonized.

Someone asked: What is meant by “metal and wood joining” (jin mu xiang bing)?

Answer: When emotion returns to original nature, that is called “joining.” Emotion belongs to metal; original nature belongs to wood.

Someone asked: What is meant by “separation” (jian ge)?

Answer: When emotion chases external things and original nature follows thoughts, so that emotion and nature turn away from each other, that is called “separation.”

Someone asked: What is meant by “clear and turbid” (qing zhuo)?

Answer: When the mind does not move, water returns to its source—hence clear; when the mind moves, water flows away with the current—hence turbid. Here water is used to illustrate the state of the heart-and-mind (xinshen).

Someone asked: What is meant by “two-eight” (er ba)?

Answer: This is the measure of “one jin”: half a jin of lead and eight liang of mercury. It is not literally about weighing substances, but that two things must be balanced. Alchemical texts say: “After the front bowstring and before the back bowstring, the medicinals are level and the fire power is full.” This illustrates balance of yin and yang. It is also like the second and eighth lunar months, when day and night are equal in length.

Someone asked: What is meant by “bathing” (mu yu)?

Answer: Cleansing the inner self and washing away stray thoughts is called “bathing.” In the language of neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, it means regulating the mind so that the mental realm is pure and still.

Someone asked: What is meant by “elixir complete” (dan cheng)?

Answer: When body and mind become one, spirit and qi (vital energy) merge into one, and emotion and original nature are thoroughly fused, that is called “elixir complete”—also compared to the “sacred embryo” (the inner fruit of cultivation). The immortal master said: “Original true nature is the golden elixir; the four provisional [elements] are the furnace that refines it into a mass.” That is the idea.

Someone asked: What is meant by “nurturing the fire” (yang huo)?

Answer: Cutting off stray thoughts is nurturing fire. Here “fire” refers to the firing process (huohou) that must be tended in neidan practice.

Someone asked: What is meant by “shedding the shell” (tuo tai)?

Answer: When there is a body outside the body, that is called “shedding the shell.”

Someone asked: What is meant by “completion” (liao dang)?

Answer: Becoming one with the great void (taixu)—the vast, formless emptiness—is called “completion,” meaning the final fulfillment of cultivation. Transcending the changes of worldly things is not easy to explain in casual terms; the practitioner must realize it for themselves.

The Living Method of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)

Instruction to disciples:

A Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) adept should practice the Way of Quanzhen. “Quanzhen” means preserving one’s original true nature. Only when jing (essence), qi, and shen (spirit) are all fully preserved does one deserve the name quanzhen; if any is lacking, preservation is not complete.

A Quanzhen adept (one who practices the Quanzhen way) should live out the Quanzhen path. “Quanzhen” means preserving one’s innate nature intact: only when Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) are all whole and unimpaired can one be called truly “complete and authentic”; any loss means incompleteness, and any defilement means loss of purity.

Preserving Jing nurtures the body. To preserve Jing, settle the body first; when the body is settled, desires lessen and Jing can be preserved.

Preserving Qi nourishes the mind-spirit. To preserve innate true Qi, still the mind first; when the mind is quiet, stray thoughts fade and Qi can be preserved.

Preserving Shen leads back to emptiness and stillness. To preserve Shen, unify the heart-mind with sincerity first; when heart-mind is unified, body and mind harmonize and one returns to emptiness and stillness. Thus Jing, Qi, and Shen are the “three-element medicine” used in cultivation, while body, mind, and intent are the three main keys of practice.

To practice the way of immortals, one need not do many things; the crux is to take the three treasures of Jing, Qi, and Shen as the foundation of elixir work, gather the three treasures in the central palace (the inner center of refinement), and the Golden Elixir can be formed. What is hard to understand or to do in this? The reason some find it obscure or difficult is that they are misled by heterodox talk and deluded thoughts.

The key to refining Jing lies in the body. When the body does not move rashly, it is like a tiger roaring as wind rises and a dark tortoise lying hidden—primordial Jing can coalesce. Here tiger and dark tortoise and similar images describe the gathering and concentration of essence and Qi.

The key to refining Qi lies in the mind. When the mind does not move rashly, it is like a dragon chanting as clouds rise and the vermilion bird folding its wings—primordial Qi can settle. Dragon and vermilion bird images depict the harmonizing and calming of Qi.

The key to refining Shen lies in intent. When intent does not move rashly, the two elements of cultivation—Jing and Qi—can unite; Jing, Qi, and Shen merge into one, and the Holy Embryo (the inner-alchemy term for the fruit of accomplishment) can form.

Heaven and earth (Qiankun), the cauldron and vessel (dingqi), Kan and Li (the trigrams of water and fire in the Yijing), medicinal ingredients, the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), the three origins (sanyuan), the Five Phases (Wuxing), the four images (sixiang), and other alchemical terms—all of them, when traced to their root, come down to three words: body, mind, and intent. When Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) cultivation is taken to its utmost, it still cannot go beyond the two words “body” and “mind.” If you cultivate apart from body and mind, you have entered a heterodox path. Yet you must not cling to body and mind either: once you cling, you will instead be burdened by them. You should use body and mind as the means of cultivation, without being bound by body and mind. The body and mind spoken of here are not the visible physical body and ordinary mind, but the invisible body and mind. What is invisible body and mind? It is like clouds rising from a mountain, or the moon’s image reflected in the center of the water’s ripples.

“Body” is the originally pure substance that remains tranquil through kalpa after kalpa—the wondrous existence that appears from “non-being”; “mind” is the numinous root that precedes and governs the ten thousand things—the true non-being contained within “being.” “Image within non-being” corresponds to the Kan diagram; “no image within being” corresponds to the Li diagram.

The patriarch said: “Take the solid yang from the center of the Kan position and use it to transform the yin substance in the belly of the Li palace. From this, change into the firm and vigorous body of the Qian hexagram; whether hidden or soaring, all is governed by mind-intent.” I hold that the two words “body and mind” are precisely the essential meaning of Quanzhen cultivation at its peak—what is there to doubt?

The crux of refining the elixir lies only in the two words “nature and life” (xing and ming). Cultivation apart from nature and life is a side gate; clinging to only one side is called one-sided and withered. The patriarch said: “Shen (spirit) is nature; Qi (vital energy) is life”—that is exactly what is meant.

Refining Qi (cultivating vital energy) focuses on preserving the body; refining Shen (concentrating spirit) focuses on settling the mind. When the body does not stir, there is the sign of the “tiger’s roar”; when the mind does not stir, there is the sign of the “dragon’s chant.” When the tiger roars, lead is cast into mercury; when the dragon chants, mercury is cast into lead. Here “lead” and “mercury” are other names for Kan and Li (terms for water and fire, yin and yang): the yang within Kan is the purest Jing (essence) in the body; the yin within Li is the primordial Qi in the heart-mind.

To refine Jing into Qi, one must first preserve the body; to refine Qi into Shen, one must first settle the mind. When the body is settled, the form is stable; when the form is stable, one can comprehend life (ming); when the mind is settled, spirit is complete; when spirit is complete, one can comprehend nature (xing). Body and mind unite, nature and life are both fulfilled, form and spirit reach a subtle perfection—this is called the elixir formed (dancheng).

Jing transforming into Qi and Qi transforming into Shen is not especially strange in itself. Why? Because there is still the subtle work of refining Shen, which cannot lightly be explained.

I said before regarding the great medicine of the Golden Elixir: only when you truly see it from here will you believe that the great matter of cultivation is not in words on paper. If you still do not understand, you must first know where to begin; once you know the starting point, cultivate from there. First refine Jing; when Jing is settled, then refine Qi; when Qi is settled, then refine Shen; when Shen is gathered, then return to emptiness and stillness. From emptiness to further emptiness, Dao and De are both complete.

Refining Jing depends on grasping the right moment. The “moment” spoken of here is not the usual fixed hour of the day; to cling to a concrete clock-time is wrong. Yet if one says there is no moment at all, how does one begin? What is one to do? Alas—the ancients said, “When the moment comes, spirit knows by itself”; the patriarchs said, “When lead appears at the birth of gui, one must hurry to gather and refine”—these words have already said all there is to say.

Refining Qi depends on tiaoxie (harmonizing and adjusting)—that is, harmonizing the true breath (the breath used in practice) and regulating true primal yuan (one’s root vitality). Laozi said: “The gate of the mysterious female (xuanpin)—the root of Heaven and Earth. Endlessly continuous, as if absent yet present; in using it, there is no need to force.” That is roughly the secret of tiaoxie.

Some people today treat the mouth and nose as the “gate of the Mysterious Female” (xuanpin)—that is mistaken. “Mysterious Female” refers to the pivot where heaven and earth open and close and yin and yang alternate: the place where one harmonizes true breath (the inner breathing spoken of in cultivation) and governs true primordial energy (the original qi of life). Laozi says: “The gate of the Mysterious Female is called the root of heaven and earth. Subtle, it seems to endure; use it and it is never exhausted.” That is precisely the gist of harmonizing true breath and making true primordial energy circulate.

The Appendices to the Book of Changes says: “Closing the gate is called Kun; opening the gate is called Qian; one close and one open is called change.” Closing and opening, stillness and movement—that is what Laozi means by “use it and it is never exhausted.”

Alchemical texts say: “On exhalation connect with the root of heaven; on inhalation connect with the root of earth; on exhalation, like a dragon’s cry and rising clouds; on inhalation, like a tiger’s roar and wind rising.” In my view, “exhalation to heaven’s root, inhalation to earth’s root” describes the opening and closing of yin and yang; “dragon’s cry and clouds, tiger’s roar and wind” describes the change produced by open and close—and again shows “use it and never exhaust it.” From this it is clear that taking mouth and nose themselves as the gate of the Mysterious Female is wrong. The breathing meant here is the ceaseless coming and going of true breath.

In outward exchange between yin and yang lies the external medicine; inward union of Kan and Li is the internal medicine. External medicine calls for deliberate effort; internal medicine follows what is natural. The work of jing, qi, and shen takes two forms, yet the root is one.

Regarding external medicine: the refined qi produced in union between man and woman must first be kept from leaking; breath should be gradually refined until it seems as if there is no breathing; the spirit of thought and reflection should be settled and quiet. Regarding internal medicine: refining jing means refining primordial jing—drawing forth the primordial yang within Kan (symbolizing kidney water, yin holding yang). When primordial jing is firm, the jing of union will not leak of itself. Refining qi means refining primordial qi—nourishing the primordial yin within Li (symbolizing heart fire, yang holding yin). When primordial qi is stable, breath no longer goes in and out of its own accord. Refining shen means refining primordial spirit—making Kan and Li one body and returning to Qian (symbolizing pure yang). When primordial spirit is concentrated, the spirit of thought is naturally calm and still. Beyond this there is the level of refining emptiness, not to be spoken of lightly; it is to be grasped in silence, heart meeting what cannot be fully said. Strive in practice! Strive in practice!

Zhonghe Ji, fascicle 4. Composed by Du Liang Qing’an Yingchanzi Li Daoxuan Yuansu; compiled by his disciple Sun’an Baochanzi Cai Zhiyi.

On Nature and Life

Nature (xing) is the primordial utmost spirit—what may be called the one point of true nature, luminous and clear. Life (ming) is the primordial utmost essence—what may be called the one breath. Spirit and essence are the root of nature and life.

What nature manifests is tied to the heart; what life manifests is tied to the body. Views and knowledge arise from the heart; deliberation and ideas make the heart enslave nature. Conduct and how one meets the world arise from the body; speech, silence, seeing, and hearing all make the body burden life. When life is burdened by the body, there is birth and death; when nature is enslaved by the heart, there is coming and going. Thus body and heart are where spirit and essence dwell; spirit and essence are the root of nature and life. Without life, nature cannot stand; without nature, life cannot endure. The names are two, but the principle is one.

Alas, among those who cultivate the Way today—whether Buddhist monastics or Daoist disciples—many treat Xing (nature) and Ming (life) as two separate matters, each clinging to one side and disputing the other, unaware that when Yin and Yang lean to one extreme, neither can accomplish the great work. To cultivate Ming alone without understanding Xing—how can one escape calamity and tribulation? To see one’s original nature yet not know how to cultivate Ming—where will one finally turn? The immortal master said: “Refining the golden elixir without penetrating original nature is the greatest flaw in practice; cultivating true nature alone without the alchemical method—even across myriad kalpas—one can hardly advance from the realm of yin spirits to sainthood.” These words are indeed correct.

Accomplished cultivators of the Way unite Xing and Ming: first they uphold precepts, concentration, and wisdom, so the heart-mind is empty and still; then they refine and nourish Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) to preserve the body. When the body is settled, the root of Ming can long endure; when the heart-mind is empty, still, and clear, original nature can be complete and luminous. When nature is round and bright, there is no coming or going; when the foundation of Ming is firm, one transcends birth and death. In the end Xing and Ming blend into one sudden awakening, entering directly the realm of Wuwei (non-action); both Xing and Ming are complete, form and spirit subtly united.

One cannot, however, say that Xing and Ming were originally two things, nor can one call them a single thing: in root they are one, in function they divide into two. To fix on one end and neglect the other, each establishing a separate gate of practice, is not to have truly understood Xing and Ming. When Xing and Ming are not understood, what was originally connected is cut apart. If Xing and Ming cannot guard and sustain each other, how can one ascend to the true realm or enter the immortal land?

On Hexagram Imagery

Haiqiong Zhenren said: “In the supreme dharma of the elixir there are no hexagram lines.” Then why do the various alchemical scriptures all explain matters through hexagram lines? This is because the sages established teaching to manifest the Great Dao. An old saying runs: “The Great Dao is originally wordless—yet if it is never spoken at all, the Dao cannot be made clear.” That is exactly the point.

The word “gua” (hexagram) carries the sense of suspension and display—as when something is hung in midair for people to see; it is also like Heaven hanging forth signs so people may discern fortune and misfortune. Thus hexagram imagery is a way of making the principle clear for understanding.

“Gua” (hexagram) means to hang up or display—as when something is suspended in the air for people to see; it also suggests heaven showing omens so people can discern fortune and misfortune. “Xiang” (images) means to take these phenomena as models and analogies; “yao” (lines) means to imitate them. A trigram has three lines, symbolizing the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, and also corresponding to the three yuan in the human body; when the figure is completed as six lines, it symbolizes the six vacuities and corresponds to the six harmonies of the body.

Neidan (internal alchemy) texts use gua and yao so that cultivators can set up the furnace and cauldron according to hexagram images and govern the sequence of “adding fire” according to line positions, giving practice a clear basis. Master Haiqiong’s saying “without gua and yao” is a warning to later generations not to cling rigidly to line symbolism: one may use gua and yao to support cultivation, but should not be attached to gua and yao themselves.

For example, before a person is born, they are in a state of stillness without movement, like the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) not yet differentiated. After birth, xing (nature) and ming (life-destiny) are established, like Taiji dividing into the two modes of Yin and Yang. Once there is a physical form, temperament appears as well, like the two modes giving rise to the four images. When jing (essence), shen (spirit), hun, po, yi, qi, body, and mind are all complete, it is like the four images giving rise to the Bagua (Eight Trigrams).

The ancients said: “To honor the Buddhist Dharma, cultivate samadhi in the Li palace; to turn toward the Daoist gate, seek the profound in the Water mansion.” This speaks to the essentials of cultivating xing and ming. “Cultivating samadhi in the Li palace” means upholding precepts, cultivating concentration, and applying wisdom so that worldly thoughts no longer stain the mind and the ten thousand things return to emptiness and stillness—as when the yin line is removed from the Li hexagram. “Seeking the profound in the Water mansion” means refining and nurturing jing, qi, and shen so that the three flowers gather in the cauldron and the five qi return to the primordial beginning, preserving the yang line in the Kan hexagram.

Cultivators of outstanding capacity hold both these principles together: the body carries yin while embracing yang, the inner mind is empty and still while the belly is full—which is to say, drawing the yang from the center of Kan and filling it into the yin in the belly of Li, so that the self is restored to the purely yang body of Qian. Master Ziyang said: “Take the solid yang from the center of Kan and point it to the yin in the belly of Li; from then on transform into the firm Qian body—concealing or soaring, all governed by the heart’s intent.” That is exactly this principle.

When cultivating inner alchemy, practitioners often use the hexagrams and lines of the Yijing (Book of Changes) to explain shifts in huohou—the “fire phases” of heating and cooling in the furnace. The Qian and Kun hexagrams stand for firm strength and yielding softness; they complement each other and turn in alternation, like the four seasons revolving to complete a year, with the four virtues (de) unfolding in turn without end. Advance fire, retreat fire, drawing and adding, increasing and decreasing—all are likened to these changes: compress a year into a month, a month into a day, a day into an hour and a quarter, down to a single breath. Whether the scale is as vast as the cycles of yuan, hui, yun, and shi, or as fine as one inhalation and exhalation, each contains a full cycle. Whoever grasps this holds the essentials of advancing fire and retreating the tally. “Advance fire and retreat the tally” is inner-alchemy language for adjusting huohou and arranging when to push forward in refinement and when to pull back in nurturing.

Still, when the Way of the elixir borrows hexagrams to speak of practice and lines to speak of huohou, it is all metaphor; one must not cling to the hexagrams and lines themselves. As with crossing a river and then leaving the raft behind, catching the fish and forgetting the trap, catching the rabbit and forgetting the snare—Purple Yang True Person (a master of inner alchemy) said: “Once you have caught the meaning here, do not keep chasing the hexagrams; if you insist on parsing every line, you will only waste effort in vain.” He also said: “There is no need to carve out zi and wu hours by the clock, nor to fix Qian and Kun by hexagram lines.” That is exactly the point.

I hold that those born with clear understanding need not seek deliberately to grasp the principle; without forcing, things fall into place—why then rely on guides and similes? Therefore the highest methods of the elixir do not use hexagrams and lines. Those of middle and lower capacity cannot see through everything at once; they need step-by-step progress, so the various elixir classics employ hexagrams and lines as rules of practice. Those who truly understand will reflect carefully and see the meaning for themselves.

On Life and Death

The Most High (Laozi) said: “The reason people treat death lightly is that they pursue life too intensely; thus they treat death lightly.” He also said: “Only those who do not make a big deal of staying alive surpass those who prize life above all.” This means: if you cling to seeking long life, in the end you cannot obtain it; if you truly do not fixate on staying alive, how could there remain any fixation on death?

Where there is life, there is death; without death, there would be nothing we could call life. Life and death are therefore the weightiest matters of our nature and existence (xingming). To grasp death, one must first grasp life; once life is clear, death becomes clear as well. When Zilu asked Confucius about what comes after death, Confucius answered: “You have not yet understood life—how could you understand death?” The sage’s words go very deep. The Xici commentary on the Yijing says: “Explore how things begin, infer how they end, and you will understand the way of life and death.” That is exactly the point.

In my view, anyone who studies the Way and wants to know where they are ultimately bound should first inquire into the root of life; anyone who wants to know how things will end should start from this very moment. Be free and unburdened now, and you can be free and unburdened at the last hour; be master of yourself now, and you can be master of yourself at the end. From antiquity onward, generation after generation of sage teachers could shed the physical form, transform in spirit, and meet change without being hemmed in—because they had already cleared away the clutter and entanglements of body and mind, so that in the end they could lighten the body and ascend.

If in every turn of daily life a person can see through things, judge them clearly, not be fooled by outer objects, and not be tugged by karmic ties, then at the hour of death those situations cannot deceive them and those bonds cannot hold them. I see many meditators today who, as soon as they close their eyes, find every sort of illusory image and demonic scene rising before them. Caught in it, they tangle with yin-demons—dark, ghostly states—without knowing it. Even when they notice now and then, they cannot shake it off, as though they were corpses that still breathe: the six senses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are all there, yet they cannot act on their own and can only be tossed about by demonic states.

If you are not your own master while alive, how will you win freedom at the gate of life and death? Someone of resolute will keeps the same clarity with eyes shut as with eyes open, does not cling to illusory scenes, and moves in and out without obstruction—that is great ease (zizai). Already free in the present, why doubt that you will be free when death comes?

The Qing’an Daoist master spared no effort in exhorting fellow cultivators. The work you do in the present is what decides your ultimate attainment: the present is the cause, the final outcome is the fruit.

Every thought that arises in the moment tends toward the yin side; every illusory entanglement likewise belongs to the demonic realm—the states that disturb cultivation. If in daily life you can thoroughly clear these away, at the end you will not be confused or thrown off by them. To handle thoughts, use reason to dissolve them; to handle illusory entanglements, rely on firm resolve to cut them off. When thoughts stop, yin energy fades; when entanglements dissolve, the demonic realm is extinguished, and yang energy can then arise and grow. Sustained over time, when yin is exhausted and yang is pure, one is called an immortal (xian).

If thoughts multiply without end and entanglements keep arising, and you indulge the mind and let them run free, yin energy will increase, the demonic realm will grow stronger, and yang energy will weaken accordingly. In the long run, when yang is spent and yin alone dominates, you die. A great cultivator cannot become an immortal as long as the slightest yin remains; an ordinary person will not die as long as the slightest yang remains. Anyone who can see cultivation in this light is a lofty adept of the Daoist tradition (xuanmen).

All you cultivators should set an unwavering resolve, leave no doubt in your heart, and at once sweep away scattered thoughts so that body and mind become clear and empty, letting not the slightest speck of defilement cling—this is the Pure Dharma Body (qingjing fashen): the originally pure, undefiled nature of body and mind.

If you do not fix on any outward appearance, appearance cannot bind you. If you are not stained by any teaching or phenomenon, nothing can stain you. If you do not insist on “seeing” all things, things cannot pull you. If you are not disturbed by affairs and sounds, affairs and sounds cannot disturb you. If you do not follow every feeling as it moves, feelings cannot lead you. The same holds for the five aggregates (wuyun—the factors that make up body and mind) and the six consciousnesses (liushi—the knowing activities of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind).

When the six sense objects (liuchen—form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) no longer stir the heart, the six sense faculties (liugen—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) return to purity. You realize that the five aggregates are empty, and the five eyes (wuyan—the five kinds of penetrating insight) are complete and bright. Cultivated to this point, the six faculties can serve one another, as if the whole body were eyes; various obstructions and stagnation dissolve, the entire person is pure yang, and both nature (xing) and life (ming) are kept intact—form and spirit both reach subtle refinement and merge with the Dao in truth. What birth and death remain to transcend? What is there to worry about in some “final gate” of today? With neither cause nor effect clung to, even the distinction between “being” and “non-being” is released—and you gain the greatest ease and freedom. Ah! The subtlety of “patience in the non-arising dharma” (wusheng faren—the mind’s unmoving abiding in the principle of neither birth nor extinction) reaches its utmost here!

On the Shangyuan (Lantern Festival) of the renchen year of the Zhiyuan era, the Qing’an master Yingchanzi wrote this at Zhonghe Hermitage and presented it to Cai Sun’an and others.

“Treatise on Movement and Stillness” (Dongjing Shuo)

The Supreme Venerable Sovereign said: “Attain the utmost emptiness and stillness; steadfastly hold to clarity and stillness; the ten thousand things all grow and change together, and from this I observe how they return to their original root.” This means that when stillness reaches its extreme, it turns into movement. He also said: “The ten thousand things flourish and grow, yet each in the end returns to its root; returning to the root is called stillness, and this is what is meant by reverting to one’s original nature.” This means that when movement reaches its extreme, it turns back into stillness. Again he said: “Reverting to one’s original nature is called the constant.” This means that stillness and movement transform into each other: when stillness reaches its extreme it gives rise to movement, and when movement reaches its extreme it returns to stillness—this is the constant pattern of the Dao.

If one treats movement merely as movement and stillness merely as stillness, that is only the ordinary condition of the ten thousand things. The sages of old said: “Within stillness there can be movement, and within movement there can be stillness—this is a wondrous realm; where there is only movement without stillness, or only stillness without movement, that is merely the state of ordinary things.” They spoke precisely of this principle. Therefore one may know that the crux of nurturing body and mind lies in nothing other than grasping the transformations of movement and stillness.

Practitioners who gather body and mind, empty the heart to the utmost, and single-mindedly guard stillness can observe how the ten thousand things return to their root. The Yijing asks: “Does the hexagram Fu (Return) reveal the heart of Heaven and Earth?” Fu turns from Kun into Fu, symbolizing the shift from stillness to movement: five yin lines sit in utmost stillness, and one yang at the bottom begins to stir—this is “return.” Is this not stillness reaching its limit and then sprouting motion?

Observing the changes of “return,” one sees how the ten thousand things transform; knowing transformation, one is not dragged by change and at last returns to the root. The Daodejing says: “Returning to the root is called stillness; this is called returning to one’s original destiny.” Is this not movement returning to stillness?

The Xici commentary on the Yijing says: “Closing the door is called Kun; opening the door is called Qian; one open, one closed, is called change; going and coming without ceasing is called penetration.” Open and closed are movement and stillness; unceasing going and coming is the ongoing play of movement and stillness. Movement and stillness turn into each other; the pivot of change never stops, and the ten thousand things arise—this is “change.” Following change and carrying it forward, responding to affairs without end—this is “penetration.”

The Daodejing says: “The valley spirit does not die—this is called the mysterious female (xuanpin).” It means: empty and luminous without dimness, and the pivot of movement and stillness is not obscured. Again: “The gate of the mysterious female is the root of Heaven and Earth”—Qian yang and Kun yin open and close, and change takes shape. Again: “Continuous, as if present; use it and it is never exhausted”—this is unceasing going and coming, penetration without limit.

The opening and closing of Heaven and Earth are like human breathing: exhaling connects to the root of Heaven, symbolizing open; inhaling connects to the root of Earth, symbolizing closed. On the exhale, like a dragon’s cry and clouds rising; on the inhale, like a tiger’s roar and wind stirring—this is change. Wind and clouds meet, dragon and tiger unite; movement and stillness depend on each other, manifest and hidden without break—this is penetration.

The breathing spoken of here is not the breath of mouth and nose, but the continuous, unceasing zhenxi (true breath—the inner qi that runs without pause). If one clings to mouth-and-nose breathing and treats that as xuanpin, how can one fully grasp the wonder of Heaven and Earth’s transformation?

Those who understand that Heaven and Earth’s change is the work of spirit are called superior practitioners (shangshi). Knowing this principle, one sees: the way of Qian is strong and unceasing—it corresponds to the human mind’s activity without clinging to contrivance, and cultivation never stops. The way of Kun is thick and bears the ten thousand things—it corresponds to the body’s quietness while responding to things, with inexhaustible function. The mind models Heaven, so it is clear; the body models Earth, so it is still. If one can be constantly clear and constantly still, the pivot of Heaven and Earth’s opening and closing can be upheld in oneself. The scripture says: “Clarity is the root of turbidity; movement is the foundation of stillness. If people can always keep clarity and stillness, Heaven, Earth, and the ten thousand things will return into them.” That is exactly this principle.

When Xian’an and others came to ask me about the essentials of nurturing body and mind, I answered them with “movement” and “stillness.” The point was to have them gather body and mind inward and take heaven and earth as their model. Nurturing the body stresses harmonizing; nurturing the spirit stresses gathering inward. Harmonizing leans toward movement; gathering inward leans toward stillness. In movement, take heaven as model; in stillness, take earth as model. When body and mind can both settle into quiet, they align with heaven and earth.

When stillness reaches its extreme, the true mechanism (the inner biochemistry of transformation) naturally appears, producing subtle resonance—this is not ordinary activity. The pivot of this arising is the Heart of Heaven (the inner natural sovereign). When the Heart of Heaven appears, the Pass (the critical gate in inner alchemy where body and mind transform) opens through; when the Pass is open, the “medicine” (the inner foundation of jing, qi, and shen used in refinement), the “cauldron and furnace” (the conditions of body and mind for cultivation), and the “fire phases” (timing and measure in practice) are all contained therein. The operational patterns of the Three Origins and Eight Trigrams, the Four Images and Five Phases, are likewise included.

When practice reaches this stage, body and mind become one, movement and stillness depend on each other, and the pivot of heaven-and-earth’s opening and closing is entirely within oneself. Going further, the heart returns to empty stillness, the body enters wuwei (non-action); neither movement nor stillness is clung to, jing (essence) condenses and qi transforms. At this point jing naturally becomes qi, qi naturally becomes shen (spirit), shen naturally becomes emptiness, merging with the Great Void (the vast empty realm)—this is called returning to the root and restoring the origin. Alas! The way of long life and lasting vision ends here.

On the fourth day after the Shangyuan festival (the fifteenth of the first lunar month) in the renchen year of the Zhiyuan era, Master Yingchan of Qing’an wrote this at the Zhonghe Hermitage and presented it to Jing Xian’an and the others.

Song on the Original Dao (For Yeyun)

If you can make the mysterious current (the circulating refined qi in inner practice) pass through the Pass, ascending the immortal realm and attaining true realization is indeed not hard. Yet the Pass is only a subtle aperture—yet for the deluded it seems blocked by ten thousand mountains.

Even when there are people in the world who cultivate the Golden Elixir, most are bound by words and attached to outer things. Though they toil in the teachings, they are like a foolish cat guarding an empty hole—waiting in vain with nothing gained.

Some people take minerals and metals as the foundation of elixir-making; others say the mouth and nose are the “Mysterious Female” (Xuanpin—the root of generation or the gateway of cultivation); still others treat heart and kidney as “Kan and Li” (borrowing the hexagram images for water and fire); and some call essence and blood the paired Yin and Yang of “odd and even.”

Thus they toil the body and drain the spirit, while the root of cultivation is broken into fragments, so the Dao cannot be fully realized. When the inner wellspring of spirit is utterly exhausted, they still cling to their old methods and will not turn back.

Everyone inherently possesses the medicine of long life, and the way of cultivation can in principle be practiced by all—yet people often refuse to grasp it. Showy things dazzle the eyes; who can gather the mind and turn inward? Desire, thin as mist, tugs at the heart; who can look back and reflect upon themselves?

I have seen Elder Wild Cloud of Yingchuan—truly remarkable—well versed in the teachings of both Dao and Buddhism. He has cast off the bonds of fame, profit, and worldly affairs; amid rushing currents he still knows when to withdraw, and he honors the subtle wind of the Dao.

Now that I have met a kindred spirit, I tell you all the essentials of cultivation: within the water of Kan there is a point of gold—gather it promptly into the fire of Li. “Kan water” and “Li fire” are hexagram images borrowed in internal alchemy (Neidan) to speak of Yin and Yang and water and fire within the body.

I reveal the heart-method of cultivation to the worthy; from now on you need not study at random. Throughout the summer, simply observe the scene of “the dragon drawing water”; heaven’s intent will show clearly, and the true teaching will appear.

Once you grasp this secret, you will know how to “gather the medicine” (in Neidan, refining and collecting vital Qi). When the earth thunder stirs, set the bellows in motion (tuoyue—the bellows, a metaphor for circulating Qi). In an instant clouds and rain pour down; myriad breaths converge, bringing genuine exhilaration.

Draw the jade toad from the water (a symbol of the Qi gathered in Neidan) and store it in the “suspended embryo vessel” (xuantaoding). When advance and retreat of the firing times are well regulated, something can arise from nothing—a Mysterious Pearl (Xuanzhu, the condensed Qi of inner cultivation) takes form.

Obtaining the Mysterious Pearl is not yet the finest point; regulating spirit and warming breath is the deeper work.

Draw the jade toad from the water and store it in the suspended embryo vessel. When the work of advancing and retreating the firing is complete, something arises from nothing and the Mysterious Pearl forms.

Obtaining the Mysterious Pearl is still not the finest point; regulating spirit and warm nurturing holds further depth. Lead must circulate and mercury must ascend; the water must not be too cold, nor the fire too fierce. “Lead” and “mercury” are borrowed terms in Neidan for the Yin and Yang essences in practice.

When the firing is complete, you must also know how to hold fullness without overflowing. Keep stillness and stability, and the Three Treasures (sanyuan—terms in Daoist cultivation for the inner foundations such as Jing, Qi, and Shen) will condense into a great treasure. When the work is fulfilled, it is as if the crown gate bursts open and the spirit sheds its shell—you may then bow with me before the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the supreme deities of Daoism.

Song of Refining the Void (with preface)

Dao in its origin is utterly empty and still; from that emptiness and stillness, qi arises. When the one qi divides, the two modes of yin and yang are established. What is clear and light rises and is called heaven; what is turbid and heavy sinks and is called earth. Heaven is round and moves without ceasing; the position of the Northern Dipper (Bei Dou) does not change, symbolizing what governs movement. Earth is square and still; rivers flow east and never run dry, symbolizing what governs stillness. The Northern Dipper is like the center of heaven and earth; water flowing east is like the qi that moves between heaven and earth.

When you nourish the inner mind with emptiness and stillness, the mind can settle; when you nourish qi with emptiness and stillness, qi can circulate. When the human heart is as steady as the unmoving Northern Dipper and the spirit is empty, bright, and subtle, to understand in this way is to have the Way of heaven embodied in oneself. When breath moves constantly, like water flowing east without drying up, the body can long endure; to understand in this way is to have the Way of earth embodied in oneself. When the ways of heaven and earth are both embodied in oneself, body and spirit can reach a refined state, no longer subject to the shifts of yin and yang, transcending the ordinary course of natural creation.

From this we know that “emptiness” (xu) is the substance of the great Dao and also the beginning of heaven and earth. Movement and stillness arise from emptiness; yin and yang operate through emptiness; the ten thousand things also spring from emptiveness. Therefore emptiness is the root of all things under heaven.

The Wang recluse of ancient Hangzhou named his study after bamboo—likely taking his meaning from this very idea. Upright conduct, harmonious dealings, a soft inner disposition, and quiet demeanor are the integrity of bamboo; forgetting moods when active and laying aside stray thoughts when sitting still, responding freely without clinging to self, facing change without being bound by outer things—these are the hollow nature of bamboo; firm resolve, an undivided heart, inner and outer in seamless accord, unchanged to the end—these are bamboo’s steadfast character in bitter cold. Widely visiting those who have the Way, seeking teachers everywhere, receiving wandering practitioners, and harmonizing the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism are like a grove of bamboo standing together. Add to this keeping plain authenticity, lessening selfish desire, regulating breath and devoting oneself to cultivation, observing how things change and knowing how to return to the root—such a state, unless one is the most empty and penetrating person under heaven, who could achieve it? To name the study “Bamboo” is indeed fitting.

In the xinmao year (by the sexagenary cycle), a Quanzhen Daoist came to the Zhonghe Hermitage in Jinling (present-day Nanjing). He often spoke of people of high virtue, and I held him in great respect. After that, I received three letters from him. Reading his words, I could see that he was committed to the cultivation of zhixu shoujing—making the mind empty and keeping it still. So I took up my sword and flew through the air to visit the master; it was the Double Ninth Festival of the jihai year. Observing his conduct and hearing his speech, one could tell he had deep insight into subtle truth. I therefore named his dwelling “Juechan.” The character jue is formed from two jade pieces side by side, meaning that emptiness and fullness interpenetrate and form and spirit unite as one. Emptiness is the root of substance; substance is the function of emptiness. When emptiness and fullness connect, coming and going meet no obstruction. Jade also suggests purity: in a dwelling of still emptiness, clear light arises; when mind and spirit are settled and even, the innate brightness naturally appears, shining everywhere without partiality. When cultivation reaches this level, what immortals, Buddhas, and sages can achieve is complete.

After saying this, I wrote this piece as a record.

The song says:

To become an immortal, a Buddha, or a Confucian sage—the secret teachings of the three traditions all come down to one word: “emptiness.” From antiquity to today, all who have surpassed the ordinary have worked from within still emptiness.

Those who study immortality take still emptiness as the aim of elixir refinement; those who study Buddhism take deep entry into empty stillness as Chan. If you ask what is essential for learning to be a sage: in still emptiness, drop the private self, and the principle of Heaven becomes clear.

The substance of Dao is empty and without form, subtle beyond measure; Heaven and Earth operate within emptiness, and qi circulates in harmony. The transformations of yin and yang and the birth and growth of the myriad things also unfold their work in this still emptiness. When a person enters deeply into still emptiness, they can penetrate change and adapt to all affairs.

The subtle point of Neidan (internal alchemy) lies in the “valley of emptiness”—the mind of empty, clear stillness. At the start of practice, one must reach emptiness, keep stillness, and be single-minded. When emptiness is pushed to the utmost and can still go further, primordial qi gathers; in stillness within stillness, yang qi sprouts anew.

Empty heart and full belly are the foundation of cultivating the Way; when one is empty and still yet spiritually clear and undimmed, that is the moment for gathering the medicine. Emptying the self (letting go of ego, keeping humility) and aligning with the right timing is the genuine daily work; to share one’s being with the Great Void (vast, boundless emptiness) is the mark of a true adept.

When gathering lead, keep empty stillness and do not act rashly; when advancing the fire (using intent to regulate the inner alchemical “fire”), take emptiness as the bellows and key (the hub that adjusts the fire). Withdrawal and addition, increase and decrease—all must be grasped from within empty stillness, until at last attachment to emptiness is broken and great awakening is reached.

The root of the Way is empty and formless, yet its function is inexhaustible. Dissolving turmoil and dulling sharp edges must be balanced; gathering radiance and blending into the world, forgetting the split between self and other. The Way exists before the symbolic Lord of Images (the emblem of heaven and earth’s sovereign); only you yourself can truly taste it.

Before any carving or distinction has arisen, how could there be hexagrams? Qian is not above, Kun is not below; that one point, utterly empty and utterly spirit, penetrates and rounds through the eight directions without the slightest gap.

Closed round on every side, inwardly undivided and whole—this is the gate of the mysterious female (Xuanpin: the Daoist gate of generation, and in inner alchemy the pivot where stillness gives birth to vitality). If you can employ empty stillness within “non-emptiness,” naturally you will open and close like heaven and earth.

When the gate of the mysterious female opens, practice reaches its utmost. Spirit enters and leaves here; after going out and returning, it settles again in empty stillness. Suddenly, as on level ground, a spring thunderclap.

When the thunder rolls, heaven and earth open, and in the void a wheel of light bursts forth. Whole and unbroken, vast and bright, it illumines the bamboo study.

The master of the bamboo study is truly rare, finely observing these matters that match the season of the work. In empty stillness he settles spirit and acts; in speech too he makes clear the news of empty stillness.

When emptiness reaches its extreme, one no longer clings to “emptiness,” and every bias falls away; the hidden principle of empty stillness is where heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things all return. Bamboo, empty-hearted yet with nodes, is the first secret of refining emptiness.

Song of Dispelling Delusion

Alas for those in the world who refine the elixir—methods differ in a thousand ways, none the same. Some cling to outer forms and letters and act at random; some pluck only branches and chase twigs—all wasted effort.

Some gather the sun’s essence and drink the moon’s splendor, holding light and swallowing Qi, eating clouds and mist; some bend and stretch, bow and rise, thinking that is cultivation; others roll the eyes or press the eyeballs, and only spawn empty visions.

Some refine saliva and swallow fluid, pressing the tail gate (near the base of the spine) and the jade pillow (along the spine); some fix attention on the tip of the nose; some even invert black and white and treat filth as food.

Some merely guard stillness and plainness; some fall into dead void (barren, lifeless emptiness); others muddle along in dim confusion and call it skill.

Refining thick saliva, swallowing saliva and fluids, and pressing the coccyx (weilü, at the end of the spine) and jiaji (mid-back) with the fingers—these practices, along with fixing the mind on the tip of the nose, imagining the circulation of breath, and only then eating and eliminating, belong to a path of guarding quiet simplicity and sinking into stubborn empty stillness, drowsily performing what looks like cultivation. Adding massage and breath-counting on top of this diverges entirely from the principles of Golden Elixir (Jindan) practice.

Practicing Baduanjin (Eight Pieces of Brocade), using the Six-Character Formula (Liuzijue) for breath regulation (a health method pairing specific vocal sounds with breathing), or fasting and abstaining from grain—what real help can these offer? Clinging to “Three Peaks” yin-gathering (cultivation framed as male-female union for replenishment) and even treating “nine shallow, one deep” as a measure of advance and retreat only deepens error.

Kneading the waist, cupping and protecting the kidneys, guarding the “gate of life” (the root of vitality), and bending and stretching the body in daoyin (guiding exercises) all expend heart-and-mind on essence and spirit. Methods such as ingesting strengthening substances beside a brazier, or similar fire-side regimens, are not worth discussing.

Likewise, tightening the genitals, holding the breath, and imitating bear-stretching and bird-flight daoyin movements are labor in vain. Those who massage the waist say the belly grows warm; those who circulate qi say the face turns red.

Raising the hands to “support heaven,” clasping the head (“embracing Kunlun”), knocking the teeth to gather spirit, then fixing the gaze on the crown of the head—treating hollow sounds as the roar of a male tiger and abdominal rumbling as the cry of a female dragon.

“Boiling the sea” by firing the dantian and regulating breath, staying awake day and night in painful endurance; wearing thin clothes and going barefoot in cold hardship, as if paying off karmic debts of hunger and cold from past lives.

Remaining always silent is likewise empty. Silently bowing to the Lord on High—how could that alone lead to ascent and attainment? Warming the hands with exhaled breath, lifting and guarding the lower abdomen as a supposed superior method, and fondling the urinary opening are utterly absurd and inverted.

Playing with “golden spear” and lifting “golden well,” taking a beautiful woman as the alchemical vessel, gathering her essence and blood and calling it “true lead”—even when one’s own original qi is harmed, one still does not wake up.

Some fill their mouths with abstruse “sharp” talk and excel only at disputation. They point at emptiness and talk of emptiness with words that coax and deceive; they raise fists and extend fingers without understanding the root principle.

Raising a “head word,” obsessing over methods of contemplation, and letting clever repartee flow without end; wielding the staff and raising the whisk to lead disciples, even blinking and lifting the eyebrows are taken as means to awaken others.

Investigating gong’an (public cases), holding to a single thought—in the end, truly accomplished monks do not rely on this. Mere coherence in doctrine is not wisdom; to see one’s mind and recognize one’s nature may have to wait until the proverbial “Year of the Donkey.”

Whether in Dao, Confucian cultivation, or Buddhist study, do not cling to outer forms. Turn the light inward and reflect upon yourself. When you suddenly recognize your original face, you will believe that everything you did before was mistaken.

Those who cultivate immortality often fixate on one aspect alone, but truly cultivated masters do not. Only one who understands many sides of the Way can be called wise; to see one’s true nature clearly may still lie far in the future.

In Daoism, Confucianism, or Buddhism alike, do not cling to names and forms. Turn the light inward and examine yourself. When understanding suddenly opens, you will see that everything you believed before was mistaken.

Those who seek immortality should not stop at empty talk; they must trace the root of how a person receives Qi and comes to life. Do not grasp at what has form or at thoughts of gain; do not force yourself toward what has no form or image.

The heart is not simply fire, nor are the kidneys simply water; ordinary seminal fluid is not “Heavenly Gui” (the refined reproductive essence in the body’s development). The so-called “Yellow Woman” (neidan term for the medium that harmonizes Yin and Yang) is not located in the spleen; the “Mysterious Female” (the subtle gateway through which the myriad things are generated) should not be reduced to mouth or nose.

The Mao hour is not the rabbit, the You hour is not the rooster; the Zi hour is not the Kan trigram, the Wu hour is not the Li trigram. The “single Yang” is not confined to the third or fourth day of the lunar month. To guard the state of fullness, why insist only on the moment when the moon is perfectly round?

The liver is not the dragon, the lungs are not the tiger; how can the body’s essences alone serve as the root of elixir-making? The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) ultimately reduce to the two breaths of Yin and Yang; the Four Images (four modes arising from Yin–Yang change) likewise depend on the twofold operation of the Mysterious Female.

The source and locus of “gathering the medicine” are not easy to grasp. Cinnabar (mercury) arises in the east, lead in the west; the sun-soul of the Li position is called the “Girl in Splendor” (neidan symbol of yang refined essence), the moon-soul of the Kan palace is called the “Infant” (symbol of yin refined essence).

Act in accord with nature yet still learn what makes elixir-making the root. The Five Phases ultimately reduce to the two breaths of Yin and Yang; the Four Images never depart from the Mysterious Female.

The source and locus of gathering the medicine are hard to fathom. Cinnabar arises in the east, lead in the west; the sun-soul of Li is the Girl in Splendor, the moon-soul of Kan is the Infant.

Act in accord with nature, and also learn non-attachment. Set aside for now the paths of pratyekabuddhas and śrāvakas (two classes of Buddhist practitioners). I reveal the crux in one line: body and mind are at once fire and medicine.

When body and mind are settled, the subtle Dao runs through; Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) merge naturally in emptiness and stillness. After three hundred days of practice, the embryonic spirit (the inner spiritual body formed in neidan) breaks free and transforms; the cultivator seems to turn over and burst through the Great Void.

Songs of Mysterious Principle (two pieces)

The supreme Dao has no fixed abode, yet one still relies on methods and rules passed from a teacher. The hexagrams Dun and Meng symbolize stages in cultivation, matched to day and night; Fu and Gou symbolize the Zi and Wu hours.

In emptiness one fans the fire to forge the great elixir; in quiet one sets the furnace and seeks the true earth. When body, mind, and intent align, the Three Families (neidan term for the elements that must work together in refinement) become one; names like lead, mercury, silver, and sand all spring from a single source.

Increase and decrease of firing follow the seasons, first one then another; guarding the furnace is your own task—you must know host from guest. The Red Child of the southern mountain rides the azure dragon; the Golden Lord of the northern sea rides the white tiger.

When the two kinds of “medicines” (the Yin and Yang essences and related vital substances in Neidan) are fully fused, the paired turtle and snake (emblems of Yin and Yang qi) swallow and release each other in turn. One can then go straight beyond the realm of form and enter the Mahayana (the vast, all-embracing path of cultivation); suddenly realizing the principle of perfect penetration, the gain is far more than a small, partial benefit.

To grasp the true mechanism of practice in secret is to follow nature from the start. Pity the shallow, petty methods—why force and prop them up? Some boast of quick wit and fluent debate as proof of great skill; bold in spirit and high in ambition—yet who truly sees through it all?

If you cannot quiet the mind and enter a deep, silent stillness, why vow to retire into a huan du (a cramped room with bare walls on four sides)? Beginners often think they need no teacher; old and empty-handed, they can only accept bitter fruit.

Accumulate merit and good conduct until the count reaches three thousand; turn the gaze inward and gather the spirit, and exhaust the “two-five” (the numerology of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases in Neidan). Start the firing from the east like a tiger’s roar in the wind; wash away dust in the west like a dragon’s rain.

Drive thunder and lightning and command the Heavenly Gang (the power associated with the Big Dipper stars); support the upright and remove the deviant, leaving deployment to the Black Warrior (Xuanwu, the northern water deity, often shown as turtle and snake). The Beautiful Woman (Cha Nü, the inner-alchemy figure of true yin within yin) has just left the Purple Pole Palace; the Duke of Metal (Jin Gong, the figure of true yang within yang) has already arrived at the Vermilion Mound Prefecture.

The great elixir in the furnace forms a single pill; in the quiet chamber the embryo immortal (the inner elixir or sacred fetus of Neidan) rises to dance. The Four Images and Five Phases harmonize and unite; the work of nine revolutions and seven returns (terms for the cyclical transformations of the elixir) is complete in every part.

A bright moon-like form appears from the hermitage; clear radiance fills heaven and earth. To govern affairs and accord with the Way, nothing surpasses restraint; restraint means ceaselessly accumulating De (virtue and inner power).

Over-scrutinizing nature and principle breeds mental dust and habit; thought that branches everywhere adds attachment and discrimination. Cleverness cannot match returning to simplicity; eloquent debate is not as good as quiet speech.

Put aside calculation and forget contrivance; do not cling to right and wrong. Gather in your light and hide your inner brilliance; keep away from the lure of sound and color. Lessen desire and eat plainly, and the root of goodness grows; reduce affairs and simplify cares, and the foundation of De steadies.

When one thought runs clear through, myriad concerns become transparent; seeing through the three minds of past, present, and future, every tie loosens. Read closely the scriptures of the three teachings—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—and the word xi (to rest, to cease, to breathe) is the most direct teaching.

If you work on that single word xi, you can become Buddha or immortal without forced striving.

To stop outer entanglements and reach the root is the heart of Chan meditation; to gather thought and clarify affairs is the height of Confucian learning.

Hold the breath and concentrate the spirit—this is the subtle mystery of the Dao; when breathing, qi, and mind-spirit work in concert, there is nothing that cannot be overcome. Speak these words to Zhitang Tian Jiaochao: in the end, all cultivation must take one’s own inner heart as the standard.

Song on Nature and Principle

When heaven and earth first divided, yin and yang—the two modes—arose from this, and in turn formed the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity. The hexagram Qian stands for firm strength and single-minded focus; Kun stands for opening and closing, receiving and storing. Between heaven and earth there is the Mysterious Female Gate (the Daoist image of the root of life and generation); in its operation, when active it generates outward, when still it gathers inward.

The orthodox transmission of the Dao lineage points to the destination of practice: Confucius transmitted to Zeng Shen, and Zeng Shen to Zisi. Wind rises with the tiger, clouds gather with the dragon; fire tends toward what is dry, water flows toward what is damp—all instances of mutual resonance, each kind following its own kind.

Reaching centrality and harmony and fathoming the principles of things each has its level; entering the sage’s realm and transcending the ordinary has no fixed ladder. The noble person rests in ordinary circumstances and awaits Heaven’s mandate; as long as one reflects and finds no self-reproach, there is no need for worry.

One must grasp the key to things arising and perishing, and also know how to preserve oneself, finally gathering and hiding like dragon and serpent in dormancy. Turn the light inward and see through the self seen in dreams; at once overturn old book learning and fixed opinions.

Grind away the dust on the heart and cut off attachment to outer things; put down burdens, purify the heart, and no longer be stained by old habits. With single-minded entry into the subtle realm, one can resonate with the ten thousand things—as if drawing in the Yangtze’s ten thousand li in one breath.

Why use the Qian cauldron (the alchemical vessel symbolizing yang qi) to refine golden essence, or borrow the Kun furnace (the vessel symbolizing yin qi) to cook jade fluid? If one thoroughly understands the principle before Fuxi (the legendary ancient sage-king) drew the trigrams, one can hold the whole world within a single grain of millet.

Song on Fire Timing

To reach the subtle realm, one must be cautious in solitude—guarding the mind even when no one sees; the crux of this effort is not being stained by old habits. With single-minded entry into the subtle realm, one can resonate with the ten thousand things—as if drawing in the Yangtze’s ten thousand li in one breath.

Why use the Qian cauldron to refine golden essence, or borrow the Kun furnace to cook jade fluid? If one thoroughly understands the principle before Fuxi drew the trigrams, one can hold the whole world within a single grain of millet.

Song on Fire Timing (continued)

To reach the subtle realm, one must be cautious in solitude; the crux of this effort lies in observing one’s own mind. Cut off attachment to the outer world of sound and color; let the heart suffer no harm or disturbance—inner clarity and emptiness bright, like jade.

Cultivate to the utmost state of stillness and emptiness, and steadfastly guard quiet; when movement first stirs within stillness, yang qi begins to return. Then it is like the Qian line at the beginning, “hidden dragon”—one must gather in and restrain this force; when one reaches the stage of “dragon appearing in the field,” one must not be hasty.

When steady vigorous movement first appears and inner light begins to shine, if one reaches the stage of “perhaps leaping in the deep,” one should bathe and harmonize the breath so body and mind return to balance. At the Qian fifth line, “flying dragon in heaven,” the work of generation and transformation is already formed; when yang reaches its peak, yin begins to arise—then one should gather in and retreat.

Guard against trouble before it appears in the subtle; from Kun’s first line, watch yin gradually growing. Retreat to the stage of “straight and square,” so that metal and wood (terms in neidan for different phases of qi) unite. At Kun’s third line, do not grasp rank and emolument; after guarding the mouth and hiding the spirit, the inner elixir can be completed.

If one meets the image of “wild combat” where yin and yang contend, one must restrain the mind; when yin is stripped away and yang is cut off, the fire timing is complete. Swallow the single pearl into the belly, and one becomes a fully realized immortal of the Complete Truth path.

When one man and one woman unite in harmony, the inner elixir can be refined to completion.

When one encounters a situation like “wild battle”—yin and yang contending—intent and will should be gathered in; wait until yin qi is exhausted and yang qi is cut off, and the firing (huohou, the timed stages of refinement) is then ripe. At that moment, swallow one pearl-bead into the belly, and one may become kin to the immortals of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen).

One yin and one yang constantly harmonize and coordinate; the transformations of yin and yang also run with the moment as conditions shift. The Plain Girl (Sunü) and the Green Youth (Qinglang) share one room, and black mercury (heigong) and cinnabar lead (chiqian) naturally coalesce.

In empty void one builds a house of non-action (wuwei); such a host is truly extraordinary. Cloud and mist lie deep among peaks; heaven and earth are still and solemn; the bright toad’s light shines on the hidden valley.

Dragon–Tiger Song (with Preface)

“Dragon and tiger” are another name for yin and yang. Yin and yang move and change; their wonder cannot be fathomed, so dragon and tiger are used as images. The Commentary on the Appended Phrases (Xici) says: “One yin and one yang is called the Dao (the Way); change that cannot be measured is called spirit (shen).” Alchemical texts say: “Bias toward yin or bias toward yang both become faults.” Yin and yang are the expression of the movement and stillness of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). The Supreme Ultimate divides into the two poles of yin and yang; clear qi rises, turbid qi sinks. As large as heaven and earth, as small as the myriad things—all receive the two qi of yin and yang and thereby take form and name. Thus in the space between heaven and earth, whether fine or coarse, vast or minute, there is nothing that can escape yin and yang. The various names in alchemical classics and the books of the masters, when traced to the root, never depart from the two characters “yin and yang.” Generations of immortal masters, by names and images, likened yin and yang to dragon and tiger, so that those who study the Way could easily follow the law and succeed in cultivation.

The forms of dragon and tiger change without limit; their wonder cannot be exhausted—so they are also used to stand for the “medicinals,” and set up as the “cauldron and furnace” (in cultivation jargon, the conditions one relies on and the body–mind). Through these images, those who study the Way more easily grasp the law and succeed in cultivation.

The imagery of the dragon and tiger shifts without end and is too subtle to exhaust in words, so it is borrowed to stand for many things in cultivation: it is called the “medicines” (the essence, qi, and other substances drawn upon in refinement), set up as the “cauldron and furnace” (a figure for the locus of practice or for body and mind), used to explain the “fire phases” (the rhythm of advance and retreat in practice), and also named “Kan and Li” (symbols of the meeting of water and fire) and “Metal and Wood” (symbols of the qi of the Five Phases). “Male and female” and “husband and wife” likewise stand for the union of Yin and Yang. These varied names are all expressions of the marvelous working of the dragon and tiger.

Because it responds to change, it is called the medicines; because it congeals into form, the cauldron and furnace; because it advances and retreats in transformation, the fire phases; because the two sides intermingle and mutually adjust, Kan and Li; because it is firm, upright, and true, Metal and Wood; because it rises, falls, floats, and sinks, male and female; because it joins in a wondrous union, husband and wife. Without the dragon-and-tiger image, what else could gather these meanings so completely?

The Wenyan (“Commentary on the Words of the Text,” a chapter in the Book of Changes) says: “Clouds follow the dragon; wind follows the tiger. When the sage arises, the myriad things come forth.” That line clarifies the virtue embodied in the fifth line (nine in the fifth place) of Qian and its creative power (Qianyuan). From this we see that the marvelous use of dragon and tiger would not be fitting unless it were matched by sublime virtue and the work of the sage.

By turning inward to examine oneself, one addresses human nature and disposition. Through transformation and adjustment, one harmonizes body and mind, hun and po (soul and corporeal soul), and jing and qi (essence and vital energy). Carrying this further in practice brings in the “Mysterious Female Gate” (the root and portal through which the Dao generates the myriad things) and the pivot of yin-yang opening and closing.

The Daodejing says: “The valley spirit (the Dao—empty and still yet generative) does not die; this is called the Mysterious Female. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It is continuous and subtle, as if present; in use, it seems never exhausted.” The Yijing says: “Closing the door is called Kun; opening the door is called Qian; one open and one closed is called change; going and coming without end is called penetration.” Alchemical texts say: “On exhale, one connects to the root of Heaven; on inhale, one connects to the root of Earth.” This refers to the pivot of Qian-Kun opening and closing.

The phrase “when one exhales, the dragon sings and clouds rise; when one inhales, the tiger roars and wind rises” means that a single open-close cycle produces transformation; wind and cloud mutually stir and unite, generating golden fluid (in internal alchemy, the symbol of refined jing-qi condensing)—that is going and coming without end, change flowing freely. When golden fluid returns and congeals, it ultimately becomes the great elixir; hence the name “dragon-tiger great elixir.” Gathering, refining, and ingesting the great elixir enables long life and clear vision.

The breathing spoken of here is not the breathing of mouth and nose, but the inner subtle mechanism of transformation—the portal of one out-breath and one in-breath. Whoever grasps this principle can refine the dragon-tiger elixir, transform spirit, and achieve long life with clear vision.

What is meant here by “breathing” is not the breathing of mouth and nose, but the gateway through which true qi moves and subtle responsiveness arises. If one can fully grasp this here, dragon and tiger unite, the Golden Elixir can be refined, and there is hope of becoming an immortal. For those who cultivate the Dao, if they can truly penetrate the principle of dragon and tiger and pass through this gate, then though the way of true constancy is exceedingly deep and subtle, why worry that it cannot be perfected? Planting the roots of goodness, nurturing virtue, and forming the Sacred Embryo—the foundation gradually condensed in practice of one’s Dao-nature and life-root—none succeed without first understanding dragon and tiger.

Master Ziyang said: “Gathering in body and mind is called subduing dragon and tiger.” When the mind does not stir rashly, it is like the dragon’s cry; when the body is settled, it is like the tiger’s roar. With the dragon’s cry, qi becomes stable; with the tiger’s roar, jing (essence) coalesces. When primordial jing coalesces, it suffices to sustain the physical form; when primordial qi is stable, it suffices to nourish spirit (shen). When both form and spirit reach a wondrous state, one can unite with the great Dao in truth, and what immortals achieve through cultivation is then complete. Unless one is among the most spiritually gifted in the world, who could accomplish this?

Zhao Shuzhai was from the ancient Hangzhou region. In his youth he served as an inner attendant, a palace eunuch official. Later, as the world changed, he saw through life’s vanity and cast off fame and gain to seek the essentials of the Dao. Though he lived amid the dust of the world, his heart was anchored in the subtle realm—truly one who transcended worldly affairs. Wishing to settle spirit and merge qi, he paid special attention to the principle of dragon and tiger. One day he brought this diagram to show me and asked me to inscribe some words. Unable to refuse, I took up the brush perfunctorily and told him:

“The ancients devised images according to the great Dao; I now write words according to the image. Shuzhai should observe closely, discern the true intent, and not mistake what is essential. If through the words one grasps the meaning and through the image one sees the point, one will understand: the true dragon and tiger are not on paper but within one’s own body. When both words and image can be set aside, Dao and De (Virtue/Power) are already present.”

Alas! The true dragon and true tiger are not hard to find—simply draw yang qi to supplement yin. The four virtues symbolized by the Qian hexagram operate without ceasing; hiding, ascending, appearing, and leaping—all are governed by spirit-mind (xin). Cultivation may begin in the ordinary, yet it may also stir waves, shake the vast sky, like thunderclap. Strive! Strive!

Song:

The true dragon and true tiger are not hard to seek—

Draw forth yang qi to nourish yin.

The four virtues of Qian never rest;

Concealment, flight, manifestation, and leap—all held by the heart-mind.

Though practice starts from the commonplace,

It may raise surges and thunder through the heavens.

Strive! Strive!

The true Dragon and Tiger were never fixed forms to begin with—who could sketch their likeness or hand down a model? To treat them as utterly formless also falls into the bias of clinging to either annihilation or permanence, and one loses the way in the end.

If you take symbols such as green and white too literally, it is like waves rising when there is no wind. To know the real Dragon and Tiger, you cannot reduce them to “being” or “non-being,” nor see them only as counterparts of the zi and wu hours.

Do not lump the two together and “swallow” them as one mass; grasp the teaching through the reverse transformations among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Their root lies in the Palace of Grand Mystery (symbolizing the source of the Great Dao); the working of creation unfolds in the Mansion of Vermilion Hill (a locus of subtle change in Daoist neidan discourse).

In practice there are supports and methods, yet the ultimate empty, numinous subtlety has no fixed abode. The Great Dao must be grasped with the heart; its fine mechanism is not something the eyes can see.

In an instant the crown gate seems to open, and you see that Wood and Metal share one source. On the high peak the Celestial Pivot (Tian Gang, stars of the Northern Dipper constellation) turns; the Milky Way shines bright, and the dipper handle moves like a ladle scooping water.

To raise clouds and mist, one borrows the aid of Lord Ding (a neidan symbol of divine agency or martial spirit); to drive lightning and thunder, one commands Xuanwu (the tortoise-and-serpent deity, also symbolizing water and yin). In a breath, heaven and earth meet; in the turning of an eye, Kan and Li (water and fire, yin and yang) harmonize.

The Tiger brings clear wind up from the depths of water; the Dragon sends sweet rain down from within fire. Clouds move and rain falls, and the realm is at peace; the virtue of the Qian Dragon (yang, generative qi) operates, and its efficacy reaches everywhere.

People speak of six dragons charioting the sky—who knows the true sovereign is but one dragon? People speak of five tigers passing through the Xuan Guan (the critical gate in cultivation)—who knows that one tiger can give birth to the true Earth (the central, harmonizing root qi)?

When you grasp that Dragon and Tiger are ever joined, you understand how tortoise and serpent swallow and release each other, and how yin and yang alternate. The sages set up symbols like hoofprints that point the way or a bamboo trap that shows where the fish are; to turn what lies beyond the symbols into plain doctrine is to speak from empty invention.

Beyond words, one must still pursue the intent at the source. From the beginning, Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) has no image you can fix. To understand the meaning and then let go of the symbols is not yet the highest reach; to let go of the meaning you understood as well—that is the utmost.

I bow respectfully to Hermit Zhao of Shuzhai. He has overturned old fixations to the root, and his path of inquiry is complete.

The Dao is originally empty, still, and formless; from it arises Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). As Taiji transforms, "One" appears first; the One divides into the two aspects of Yin and Yang, their interaction gives birth to "Three," and from there the Four Images and the Five Phases take shape.

Without the One, heaven and earth would lose their root; the One is the gateway through which the profound teaching opens onto all wonders. The Yijing (Book of Changes) takes the One as its starting point and unfolds the transformations of the ten thousand things; only when the human heart grasps this root can one govern and orchestrate all affairs.

When heaven receives the One, it becomes clear and bright; when earth receives the One, it becomes tranquil and settled; when valleys receive the One, they become full; when spirits receive the One, they manifest numinous power; the ten thousand things depend on the One to come into being, and human beings thereby gain their existence. If lords and kings can hold fast to the One, the realm can be at peace.

The Chan school transmits the true dharma from within the One; Confucian learning derives opening and closing, expansion and contraction, from the character for "one." Laojun (Laozi, the Old Master) used the One to clarify the constant true Dao; Zeng Shen answered Confucius with the word "only" (wei), a meaning profound and hard to fathom.

Daoism has three vehicles, Chan has five schools, yet in the end it is like a thousand lamps all emitting a single light. Guarding primordial Qi (vital energy) and keeping the mind unified and undivided enables one to pass through the mysterious gates; concentrating the spirit in sincerity and holding to pure oneness is the teaching the sages have made clear.

Tai Xuan Zhen Yi—the profound true One—is the pass where one returns to the root and recovers one's mandate. From this we know that the One is the true constant Dao. But do not think that once you have obtained the One, everything is finished; after obtaining it, you must still preserve it and must not lose it.

Fully awakening to the One, one can integrate the myriad affairs and understand the principle of heaven. That the ten thousand methods return to the One is nothing strange; at first the One gave rise to the ten thousand things, and refined singleness of purpose is precisely what the sage teaching illuminates.

Tai Xuan Zhen Yi is the pass of returning to the root and recovering the mandate; from this we know the One is the true constant Dao. Do not think that obtaining the One means all is complete; after obtaining it, you must preserve it and not let it go.

Fully awakening to the One, one can merge with the myriad affairs and comprehend heavenly principle. That the ten thousand methods return to the One is not remarkable. At the beginning the One produced the ten thousand things; the One and the ten thousand things depend on each other, and only then can they endure.

If one can truly make the ten thousand things return to the One, and then from the One return again to emptiness, one will understand the state of facing south yet gazing at the Northern Dipper. At that stage, after obtaining the One one must also forget the One, and only then can one transform together with the source of creation and move in and out without obstruction.

If one clings to the One and cannot forget it, it is like a foolish cat guarding an empty hole and refusing to leave. Three and five merge back into the One, and from the One one returns to emptiness; after returning to emptiness, even "emptiness" must not be grasped.

When even "nothing" is no longer held onto, one reaches a state of clear stillness and silence. The saying "the barbarian of the Western Heaven has no beard" uses vivid imagery to show that all discrimination and attachment have melted away. Nowadays some people treat "nothing" as a solid, real "nothing"—that is merely the stubborn idea of a blank void, a dangerous path of error.

Nowadays some treat the One as a solid, real "one"—that is one-sided, rigid attachment, which only wastes effort. If one can grasp "the not-nothing kind of nothing"—not reducing everything to absolute void—then in holding the One one will understand that even the One should not be clung to.

When the notions of both One and nothing are thoroughly released, that is the great matter fully accomplished, as Wuyi Xiansheng (Mr. No-One) said.

Song of Embracing the One

Wuji (the undifferentiated, formless source) develops and becomes Taiji; if one fixates on the One, effort is wasted in vain. If one can grasp the "nothing" that is not absolute void, then in guarding the One one will see that even the One need not be held.

Song of Embracing the One

The two characters wu (non-being) and yi (one) already disclose the root meaning; one who understands “no-one” has completed the great work.

Limitless (Wuji)—the undifferentiated origin—stirs and becomes Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the root of all generation; Taiji’s subtle function begins from “one.” “One” divides into two and gives birth to Yin-Yang; the myriad things, Heaven, Earth, and humanity as the three powers, also arise from this.

The original true One is empty, still, and luminous, unchanged from ancient times to the present. Only after form appears does spirit begin to know and perceive, and thus the occasions of good and evil also diverge.

As people chase phantoms through desire, thorns gradually grow in the heart; fragrance, taste, color, sound, and other sensory stimulations also bewilder the mind. If one truly traces back from “one” to the root, returning to the source and recovering the true self, it is not difficult.

“One man, one woman” speaks of Yin and Yang meeting in settled stillness; “three women, three men” uses symbolic numbers to explain Yin-Yang transformation—it does not refer to actual persons. The Three Origins (three levels or kinds of primordial Qi in Daoist teaching) and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) converge at ren; the Four Images (four phases of Yin-Yang change) and the Five Phases return to utmost stillness.

Suddenly the gate at the crown seems to burst open; golden light shines and fills the spirit chamber (the inner seat of spiritual activity). The valley of emptiness connects naturally; the Mysterious Female Gate (the portal symbolizing generation and passage) opens and closes of itself.

The subtlety of yiyang laifu (the return of yang at its first stirring) is inexhaustible; the four virtues symbolized by the Qian hexagram turn without end. The vast Qi (vital energy) gathers spirit in deep silence; it moves between being and non-being, dwelling in a dim, indescribable state.

What is the master within? It is your innate Yuan Shen (original spirit).

Song of the Wise Sword

Since the perfected one who attained the Dao transmitted the sword formula, one must grasp the essentials fully and carry them out with firm resolve. If someone asks me its origin, I say: it is not an ordinary iron sword.

This “iron” comes from the Kun direction (symbolizing earth and Yin); in my hand it shows its extraordinary nature. It is forged again and again in blazing fire, hammered a hundred times, until it becomes steel.

If the cultivator understands this formula, Yang Shen (the pure yang spirit spoken of in practice) becomes fierce and strong, and yin demons (yin evil, wandering thoughts, and other obstacles on the path) disperse. Its power cannot be measured; I now explain it for you.

I explain this celestial mechanism for you: when you begin practice, start from the time of yiyang laifu. First let the Six Jia (spirit generals symbolizing yang in Daoist numerology) stoke the furnace fire; then let the Six Ding (spirit generals symbolizing yin) swing hammer and tongs.

When the fire-timing work is complete, the wise sword is forged. When the sword first emerges, its light is like lightning; swung horizontally it raises a chill wind, set upright it gleams like the bright moon.

The bright moon appears, and auspicious light shines. At the time of yiyang laifu, first the Six Jia stoke the furnace fire, then the Six Ding swing hammer and tongs.

When the work of fire refinement (huohou — timing and intensity in practice) is brought to completion, one has forged a “sword.” When it first appears, its radiance flashes like lightning; swept horizontally, a piercing clear wind rises in its wake; raised upright, it is lucid and bright as a full moon.

When that moonlike light appears, auspicious brilliance shines in every direction—above illuminating heaven, below illuminating earth—so that even spirits and ghosts are shaken. It stirs the turbid and uplifts the pure, sweeps away demonic filth, and subdues evil creatures such as jiao-dragons, tigers, and chimei.

The six thieves (six desires that disturb body and mind) perish; the three corpses (spirits said in Daoist lore to dwell in the body and incite wrongdoing) are severed; lust and attachment are cut off, and the net of emotional entanglement breaks apart. Where the divine sword points, mountains collapse; the demon kings of the three realms (desire realm, form realm, formless realm) are all subdued.

This precious sword has no fixed form to begin with; only through wondrous practice is the name “sword” provisionally applied. Refining the Dao and cultivating truth depend on this sword; without it, the Dao cannot be fully realized.

It can open chaos and divide heaven and earth, remove obstructions and dissolve worldly defilement—it is complete in every function. If someone asks to borrow the sword to see it, I take it out and ask you: do you know what it truly is?

Song of Drawing the Wayward Back to the Right Path

The Dao arises from non-being as a single Qi. Who named it and distinguished the Five Greats (Wutai — five stages in the Daoist account of how heaven and earth come to be)? That one Qi divides and gives birth to the Yin-Yang two aspects; clear Qi ascends and turbid Qi settles, forming heaven and earth.

Yin and yang interweave in motion like a shuttle passing back and forth through a loom; Heaven and Earth open and close like the bellows of a forge. The two aspects subtly unite and become the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity; the seven openings are opened, and the myriad things are thereby generated.

The subtle truth of Wuji (the Limitless) emerges from primordial chaos; in ordinary daily life it is present everywhere. The myriad things grow and transform without cease; though transformations are innumerable, none depart from this body before your eyes.

If you can truly investigate the root of your own being, the Four Images and Five Phases are already fully complete in you. Work day and night without scattering the mind; cut off the pull of outer profit and gather heart-power in one place, and efficacy will double.

When the essence gate and qi gate (key passes in refining essence and circulating qi) are opened, you can secretly harmonize with the heavenly sounds (tianlai — the natural rhythm of heaven and earth) and the mechanisms by which the myriad things are born and transformed—and all of this too never leaves this body before your eyes.

If you can truly investigate the root of your own being, the Four Images and Five Phases are already fully complete in you. Work day and night without scattering the mind; cut off the pull of outer profit and gather heart-power in one place, and efficacy will double.

When the essence gate and qi gate are opened, you can secretly harmonize with heavenly sounds and earthly sounds (dilai — the murmur and movement of the natural world). In every affair you accord with the norm; every aperture is bright and unobstructed, without blockage.

If you can truly see clearly here, the two methods of gathering and refining can be merged into one. Lift your head and you could topple Mount Sumeru; take a step and you could overturn the mysterious fortress—such is the power to break through barrier after barrier.

Grasp one root principle and expound the true teaching, and ten thousand divergences can be gathered back to the right path. Refine the yang spirit until it can leave the body, and you can ascend from the realm of form into the formless realm.

I see that many cultivators today love to be obscure and theatrical. They think highly of themselves, look down on their peers with arrogance, show off their wit and skills, and claim to know everything.

They use clever words and sharp debate to seem intelligent, and talk about emptiness to parade what they call wisdom. Beginners are easily taken in, but truly learned cultivators of the esoteric path do not esteem them for it.

They only care about showing strength in the moment and give no thought to the trouble they may bring on themselves later. They chatter endlessly before others, like carrying water to the river to sell—doing what is needless.

When thought turns crooked, heart-fire rises; chasing the outer world and moving with every circumstance, the heart grows narrow. They busily show off their spirit, restless and struggling in vain.

Merely moving essence and circulating breath is empty toil; counting breaths and massage only bring a moment’s comfort. When spirit is dull or agitated, they cannot steady themselves: if not dull, then scattered—what is to be done?

Once spirit and qi are weak and dispersed, how can they be restored? When essence is spent and the body declines, regret comes too late. If you wish to find the right path and leave confusion behind, avoid piling up karmic debts to pay later.

Collect the heart that once ran wild; drop the domineering pride of the past. Serve your teacher with the same devotion you would show a father; before receiving the master’s essential teaching, first keep the precepts. Extend to others the forgiveness you would grant yourself; be broad-minded and do not harshly blame others.

Do not flaunt your cleverness; instead nurture genuine discernment. Do not think yourself lofty, so that you may attain true breadth. Be without busyness, without craving, without pretense to knowing; cast off excess, extravagance, and arrogance.

In laying the foundation of practice, hold strictly to the rules; when facing outer circumstances and opportunities, keep refining and shedding stray thoughts. In alchemy, take “lead” and “mercury” only as the root symbols in the method—do not mistake ordinary earth for treasure. Also let “Kan” and “Li” join above and below; do not simply map the directions east and west onto the trigrams Zhen and Dui.

So-called “crossed pear” and “fire jujube” do not mean kidney and heart; so-called “wood fluid” and “metal essence” do not mean liver and lungs. These are all symbolic language in Neidan (internal alchemy) and should not be read as literal organs or objects. Do not cling to stages such as those of pratyekabuddhas or shravakas, and do not limit cultivation to sensory knowledge and book learning. In the end, nurture in “non-being” the “infant” spoken of in inner alchemy—the inner fruit of the work.

When internal alchemy cultivation reaches its utmost depth, the elixir embryo is nurtured from “nothing”; when mind and spirit are stilled to the extreme, not even a trace of worldly thought remains. “Nine returns and seven reversals” refers to the cyclical transformations in neidan (internal alchemy) refinement—this operation is neither inside the body nor outside it.

The true realm has no fixed form; from antiquity to the present, the empty, still, and luminous nature has never been obscured. Embrace and guard primordial qi (vital energy), unify the heart, and let miscellaneous thoughts and sensations return to emptiness; you must also persist in practice without slackening.

Harmonize the four emblems and gather the three primordials, so the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) coalesce and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) unite. In refinement there are processes of drawing out and replenishing; you must also understand the use and advance-and-retreat of the yang fire and yin talisman. Here “fire timing” (huohou) is a metaphor in neidan for the rhythm of qi circulation and the pace of cultivation.

In empty stillness and clarity, turn the inner mechanism; in dim obscurity and depth, transform creation and transformation. The two numinous substances enter the central palace (the body’s center, where the inner elixir coalesces), become a beam of golden light, and manifest in the four directions.

The poem uses figures such as old woman Huang, maiden Ding, the woman in blue, and the white-haired Golden Lord to depict the alchemical process of yin-yang union and the gathering of the Five Phases. Talk of male and female joining is symbolic language in neidan: the mingling of yin and yang qi within the body. After yin and yang unite, qi becomes stable and jing (essence) condenses, forming the “sacred embryo,” then further condensing into the precious, ineffable “mysterious pearl.”

The attained state is penetrating and bright; the four sides and eight directions are round and unobstructed, without gap or seam. In the end it condenses into one mass of perfect essence, worth more than ten thousand taels of gold.

To students of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection): remember what Qing’an has said. If you can truly grasp it in the present moment and take it up in practice, that is the key point cultivation must hold. After the key is held, what then? The “true person without rank”—nature free of status and form—rides the crane and departs.

Zhonghe ji, fascicle 5. Composed by Du Liang Qing’an Yingchanzi Li Daochun; compiled by his disciple Sun’an Baochanzi Cai Zhiyi.

Poems: On the Work of Cultivation (Seventeen Pieces)

Initiation (Meng)

The introductory work of the nine-turn elixir return (the repeated refining and transforming of neidan) is to be understood from the image in the Meng hexagram of the Yijing: “a spring issuing at the foot of the mountain.” The wondrous use of setting the elixir furnace relies on Kun earth (symbolizing bearing and gathering force); turning fire timing draws on Xun wind (symbolizing impetus and circulation).

After the Dui tiger and Zhen dragon unite, Kan male and Li female are also harmonized. When the four emblems return to the central palace, the pivot of creation and change is in your own hands.

Gathering the Medicine

Refining mercury and cooking lead (neidan terms for nurturing yin-yang qi) has no fixed hour; the student should grasp it in seated stillness. When incoming worldly thoughts would stain the mind, do not cling; when heavenly gui (inner signs tied to the body’s generative essence) first stirs, the spirit naturally perceives it.

After emotional desires have subsided, true gold (a metaphor for true Yang qi) returns to one’s original nature; essence-qi gathers, and the true Yang within Kan (symbolizing water and kidney qi) rises to nourish Li (symbolizing fire and the heart-mind). Once these two numinous substances unite, Yin gradually vanishes and Yang becomes pure and complete—then progress on the path of cultivation becomes something one can truly expect.

Advancing the Fire (Jinhuo)

One must allow the stained heart to return to non-attachment. When Heavenly Gui (qi tied to the generation and transformation of the body’s essence-qi) first stirs, the cultivator’s spirit-intention can naturally perceive it.

When true Yang first germinates, it will naturally turn back in season. The samadhi fire (a metaphor in practice for the inner timing of refining essence, qi, and spirit) is kindled from the Li position; a thunderclap-like tremor comes from the Zhen palace (symbolizing the east and arising).

Qi and spirit harmonize, giving birth to a subtle substance; heart-mind and breath rely on each other, forming the sacred embryo (an inner-alchemy metaphor for the inner fruition). If one can grasp the messages and critical nodes within, the three passes and nine apertures (key gates and orifices in bodily cultivation) will open together.

Daily Practice (Riyong)

True lead and true mercury (Neidan terms for, respectively, essence-qi and spirit-intention) are the root of forming the great elixir; one should seek them in that indescribable state of trance-like subtlety. Deliberate artifice ultimately brings entanglement; neither grasping nor clinging—and then there is no worry.

When the heart is constantly clear and still, the heart-pearl (a metaphor for the luminous original mind) appears; forgetting outer things and clever contrivances, the treasure of nature and life becomes whole. Neither movement nor stillness is obstructed—and where one stands is like the immortal isle of Yingzhou (a legendary mountain in the eastern sea).

Stabilizing the Form (Guxing)

The subtle principle of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen) is not hard to practice; what is hard is chasing circumstances and being pulled by sights and sounds. When no kind of illusion can disturb you, emotional desire naturally ceases; when the one heart is unstained, stray thoughts settle.

Put aside the distinction of self and other, and preserve Heavenly principle; grasp the changes of Yin and Yang so they harmonize and flow smoothly. Those who refine the inner elixir (Neidan) should understand: not being drawn by sights and sounds, the nature-body becomes fully clear and bright.

Union (Jiaohe)

The path of cultivation was never inherently difficult; the crux is whether one’s effort can settle. Yin and Yang qi ceaselessly rise and fall between above and below; metal and water (Neidan terms for mutually cooperating essences and qi) circulate and naturally return to the source.

Within the Purple Palace (a locus of inner spirit-qi movement), the green dragon and white tiger meet; in the Mysterious Palace, the earth pivot and heaven gate join. Clouds scatter and rain clears—the spirit embryo is complete. A man “begets a child” within the body—not an ordinary event, but a metaphor for the fruit of inner-alchemy practice.

Passing Through the Passes (Touguan)

The way of true constancy is not really difficult; it lies right in daily life. Once you understand the union and opening-and-closing of Qian and Kun (symbolizing the Yin-Yang heaven and earth), the sun-and-moon-like Yin and Yang qi will cycle on their own.

Returning to the root has its own node; restoring life has its own gate. Pass these two barriers and you can transcend the ordinary and reach sagehood—like something altogether ordinary and natural.

Entry and Exit (Churu)

The spirit of the elixir is not hard to obtain; the difficulty is in the timing of the fire phases. When the fire reaches the right moment, the elixir seed naturally forms; when the work is complete, the golden elixir (Jindan) appears in the body.

The spirit embryo exits and enters freely; the true Yang circulates without obstruction. Understand this mechanism of exit and entry, and you will know the wonder of the immortal path—neither clinging to form nor lost in emptiness, the original face is always present.

The Valley Spirit—the source that is empty and still yet gives birth to transformation—does not perish. This is the Mysterious Female, the root from which heaven and earth generate the myriad things; it is the pivot where Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) open and close in their turning. It comes and goes without ceasing; it stirs and surges, and all things follow nature with nothing forced against it.

The white-haired Old Master rode a dragon away; the blue-eyed foreigner came back riding a tiger. If you ask what proof there is that cultivation has succeeded, it is pervading heaven and earth, clear and bright as moonlight.

Warning to the Congregation

Talking only of sanmei (single-pointed concentration in practice) on the lips is mere self-praise; lofty discourse only takes you farther from the true Way. Compared with clinging to outer forms to seek one’s real nature, it is like pressing the eyes and seeing phantom flowers for nothing.

Following outer things, you end in illusion; turn back and look within, and you return to the root. Do not blame Qing’an (the author’s sobriquet) for harsh words—he means to open the heart’s aperture so people can be honest and unobstructed.

Reclaiming from Heterodox Paths

Three thousand six hundred kinds of side-door arts—those who fix on them only sink deeper in delusion. Day after day they spin opinions in the mind; when will they understand and let life return to its root?

Cleverness and penetration need not be flaunted; deep wisdom is not worth arguing over. All outer images, names, sounds, and appearances are, in the end, phantoms that drain the spirit.

Defeating Demons

Drowsiness and heaviness at night—how do you resist them? Have you seen visions like ghost faces and demon heads? Dullness and distraction often arise together from turbid qi; thoughts tangle without end because yin energy is in excess.

When the tide rises, water beats the bank; when the wind dies, the river’s heart has no waves. Nature still, desires empty, the heart unmoved—in sitting meditation there is no dullness or scatter, and in sleep no demonic disturbance.

Manifesting the Correct Path

Applying the firing times is not hard; the needed “medicines” are not far away. When tiangui (the body’s generative essence) stirs, it is like the ocean’s tides. Knowing how to gather and refine “mercury and lead” (terms in neidan for yin-yang essences), you can together dispel the various worldly desires.

Turn the ten thousand things back to one; unite the Three Origins (jing, qi, shen) into one; refine the various yin influences until the five qi pay homage at the origin (wuzhi chaoyuan). After ten months of practice the elixir path is complete, the infant elixir embryo appears, and one may ascend to pay homage in the Divine Empyrean (the celestial realm of Daoist immortals).

Harmonizing

The great medicine of the Three Origins is the harmonizing of heart, intent, and body. Fix on the “lead medicine” in the heart (in neidan, a symbol of essential qi); knowing gathering and refining, you can together dispel the various worldly desires.

Turn the ten thousand things back to one; unite the Three Origins into one; refine the various yin influences until the five qi pay homage at the origin. After ten months of practice the elixir path is complete, the infant elixir embryo appears, and one may ascend to pay homage in the Divine Empyrean.

“Three-yuan great medicine” refers to jing, qi, and shen; “three flowers” denotes the inner refinement stage when jing, qi, and shen coalesce; “five qi” means the qi of the five viscera. To cultivate this great medicine, the crux lies in heart, intent, and body. If one fixates on every manifestation in heart and body, one is instead bound by the dusty world. Regulating breath means nurturing truly natural breathing; refining spirit means refining until the spirit-intent no longer moves in delusion.

When self and things are utterly forgotten, jing, qi, and shen can gather; when clever contrivances and wandering thoughts are decisively released, the qi of the five viscera can harmonize and fill. Thus one passes through without obstruction and can expound the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) at any time and place.

Mingben (Clarifying the Root)

The body is originally empty and still; only provisionally have names been set upon it. Once one clings to those names, the affairs of the heart are pulled along. Yin and yang wax and wane through past and present; the sun and moon rise and fall, driving the turn of birth and death.

If amid change one keeps inner stillness, one understands that noon can be as peacefully settled as the deep of night. Practicing in the world, one indeed relies on a master’s transmission; to attain the skill of transcending the mundane, one must still awaken on one’s own.

Zhujian (Casting the Sword)

The clear master taught me to cast and temper the sword of spirit-intent, entirely through the creative work of yin-yang transformation. With the vigor symbolized by the Qian hexagram as forging force, with the great earth symbolized by the Kun hexagram as the furnace; with the fire symbolized by the Li hexagram to blow and refine, with the wind symbolized by the Xun hexagram to fan the flame.

When the sword is complete, heart-spirit has power like dragon and elephant, able to sweep away deviant qi and make resolve firm and strong. One who learns the Way understands the subtle delight within and can easily break attachment to the great void.

Chanku (Toad’s Grotto)

The toad’s grotto— the clear palace of the moon, also a figure for the quiet realm of inner refinement—is pure and fine; the cultivator lives there in a way that overturns ordinary convention. In the jade furnace “golden fluid” is smelted; in the golden cauldron “white snow shoots” are brewed—these are all metaphors in neidan (internal alchemy) for the transformation and condensation of essence and qi.

Circulating the qi of the celestial circuit, turning skillfully like the handle of the Dipper; clearing deviant intent and steadying the will to cultivate. One who learns the Way understands the subtle delight within and can easily break attachment to the great void.

Chanku (Toad’s Grotto)

The toad’s grotto is pure and fine; the cultivator lives there in a way that overturns ordinary convention. In the jade furnace “golden fluid” is smelted; in the golden cauldron “white snow shoots” are brewed—these are all metaphors in neidan for the transformation and condensation of essence and qi.

Deploying the qi of the celestial circuit like turning the Dipper’s handle; then advancing in step with the rhythm of firing so that the mechanism runs like a thunder-chariot. Once the inner passes of the body are opened and blockages released, one can wander at ease in a realm like the Milky Way.

Qing’an (Pure Hermitage)

My hermitage is no ordinary hermitage—not something anyone can casually see. When yin and yang unite, accomplishment is achieved; three “men” and three “women” gather into a complete inner pellet—these borrow images of yin-yang and male-female union to speak of inner combination in cultivation.

The inner heaven and earth are originally vast; the outer void is by comparison not yet broad. Asked why the master cultivates thus, he answers: the Northern Dipper is in heaven, while I face south to observe.

Yong Zhenle (Singing of True Joy) — twelve poems

First poem

Buddha and immortal were originally people in the world; it is only that people lose the path and do not know it. If they are not greedy for fame and reckoning everywhere, they chase profit and toil in haste.

Toiling and rushing to manage the household, busy busy supporting wife and children—even if wealth is ample and one’s wife is fair of face, when impermanence (death) arrives, what of this can follow you?

II

How can that compare with the wonder of the Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)—the pursuit of cultivation that returns body and mind to their source? The joy within it can only be known by oneself. The elixir (Dan) is not perfected by straining to refine it; it is perfected in the very act of not straining to refine. The Dao is realized in wuwei (non-action), and it is also carried out in wuwei.

Still the mind and cut off entanglements; nurture the ancestral qi (the primordial vital energy). Forget hearing and seeing; nourish the “infant”—the image of pure, undispersed original wholeness. Once the foundation of the elixir (Dantian and the inner alchemy base) is established, five-colored radiance shines through the curtain.

III

Take the furnace from Kun (earth, yin) and the cauldron from Qian (heaven, yang). Penetrate the subtle and exhaust the meaning, and you will reach the immortal Way. What is called gathering in desire and returning the heart-nature to true nature is “cooking and blending mercury with lead”—in inner alchemy, harmonizing the yin and yang of body and mind.

When scattered conditions are cut off, the elixir becomes bright and pure crimson; hold steady samadhi, and the precious pill congeals solid. This is the “choutian method”—adjusting yin and yang and the timing of the fire phases—without need to fret over asking into deeper mystery.

IV

Applying the fire phases is not hard, and the “medicines” are not far away; the transformations within are entirely like the tides of the great sea. The medicines are gathered only in empty stillness and wuwei; the fire phases turn entirely on settled, single-minded focus.

When “nine-three” gathers—the yang qi massing—all kinds of pulling conditions quiet. When “two-eight” unite—in inner alchemy, the meeting of yin and yang qi—the five qi (the qi of the Five Phases) pay court. When yin is exhausted and yang is wholly pure, the work is done; the true person (the one who has attained the Dao) appears and goes to pay homage at Shenxiao—the celestial palace in the Daoist heavens.

V

To refine the elixir, first harmonize qi and Shen (spirit); constantly moisten with “method water”—the fluid or practice that nourishes and harmonizes body and mind—and warm with “wisdom fire”—focused awareness and spiritual concentration. The three substances—the key elements of inner alchemy—merge into one; the three natures—body, mind, and intent in practice—align. One yang qi revives and yin gradually recedes.

The golden furnace stands straight; a thousand spirits assemble. When the precious cauldron’s work is complete, the ten thousand images pay homage. When the medicines are refined and the golden elixir is full, spirit slips the bonds of form and shows the naked, unadorned original state.

VI

The utmost principle of the great Dao of the prior heaven is subtly inexhaustible. Lead is born in the west and mercury in the east—in inner alchemy, symbols for yin and yang essences of different quality. The paths of water and fire lie above and below; the single aperture of the mysterious pass—the pivotal meeting of body and mind in practice—stands in the center.

If you say “being,” it is not the ordinary “being”; that alone is true being. If you take “empty nothing” only as empty nothing, in fact it is still not true emptiness. Grasp the real intent where being and non-being, presence and absence, interpenetrate, and it is like the sun rising from the deep seabed, light surging without cease.

Seven

When the mind is still and quiet and no longer moves in delusion, one aligns with the true and constant Dao; the various stagnant yin qi disperse, and yang naturally revives. In the Kun position (symbolizing earth and yin), the “Yellow Dame” (Huang Po, the mediator that harmonizes yin and yang in neidan) gives birth to the “Red Child” (symbolizing newly arisen elixir qi); in the Li position (symbolizing fire and yang), the “Beautiful Maid” (the yin spiritual substance) weds the “Dull Husband” (the yang spiritual substance).

Water from the mountain peak descends; the “Yellow Sprout” (an image of nascent true qi in neidan practice) gradually grows. Thunder rolls beneath the earth and white snow flies. The river of stars for ten thousand li is clear and flawless; the “Golden Toad” (symbolizing lunar essence or a numinous agent in the elixir) appears alone, radiating divine light.

Eight

The lovely maiden marries the “Golden Duke” (a neidan term for the metal-nature spiritual agent); all depends on the Yellow Dame’s mediation between them. As soon as the pair unite, their mutual feeling is as harmonious as clouds and rain mingling.

In leisure they drink together at Zhuling Palace (a name of a Daoist immortal realm); drunk, they return to sleep in the Purple Ultimate Palace (a Daoist immortal palace). Morning and evening they rejoice; affection runs deep, and in a year they conceive a small child (symbolizing the elixir embryo formed in practice).

Nine

Within every person’s body there is such an “inner couple,” yet many are foolish and attached, not knowing to seek inward for the pivot of change, and instead set up furnaces outside the body and chase external alchemy.

They wrongly take the “Three Peaks art of the bedchamber” (a phrase from sexual cultivation lore) as cultivation, and dress up the story of the Yellow Emperor’s nine cauldrons (the legend of the Yellow Emperor casting cauldrons to refine elixir) as wondrous dantian methods. Such people are like beasts, hard to awaken; before long the King of Hell will send writs to seize them.

Ten

I tell you what the inner couple in the body is: a woman in blue and a white-haired old man. When the nature of metal and the nature of wood join, “black mercury” and “red lead” (neidan terms for yin and yang essences that respond to each other) naturally connect.

Facing the moon in the wind, spirit is at ease and joyful; qi moves like clouds issuing rain, ceaselessly generating. These ultimate principles are truly not easy to grasp; if you seize them, the true embryo (the fruit of the formed inner elixir) can coalesce quickly.

Eleven

“Nine returns and seven reversals” (a neidan phrase for refining essence and qi and transforming yin-yang) is the root of the great elixir. Students must seek it in settled stillness. If you truly grasp that one subtle pivot, the two spiritual substances will mutually unite.

Creation that might take three years can be complete in an instant; work of nine turns can be finished in the blink of an eye. Then it is as if the cauldron were overturned and elixir light illumines the four quarters of heaven and earth.

Twelve

The Dao is not handed down through written documents; it is transmitted outside the teaching forms—yet everyone originally possesses complete dao-nature. Subtle dao-qi flows gently; it clarifies the three realms (the three heavenly tiers in Daoist cosmology). The bright wisdom-moon shines on a hundred streams.

The “three passes of Dou-shuai” (a metaphor borrowed for stages of practice) are only figures of speech; the “heavenly dragon finger” (a Buddhist-style pointer used as analogy) is not the true dao either.

The Three Passes of Doulu (using three frontier gates as a metaphor for critical nodes in cultivation) are only borrowed figures of speech; the “one finger” of Tianlong is not a genuine secret either. The essential point is to apprehend the message from before Wei Yin Wang Buddha and from the place where heaven and earth had not yet been distinguished; this is not the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) diagram drawn in Zhou Dunyi’s Explanation of the Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate.

Verses on the Four Conditions as a Warning to the World

Body, mind, worldly affairs, and karmic affinities are all illusory designations, and many people are bound and troubled by them. Calamity often arises from striving for power and profit; the cycle of rebirth is driven by clinging love and attachment.

To settle the mind without leaving traces, one must begin with oneself; in dealing with the world, set aside clever scheming and follow how events unfold. In every situation and every affinity, one should habitually act in accord with circumstances; then the root of life will be stable and the heart-nature complete and clear.

Verses on the Gourd

The luminous seed is produced in the pre-heaven state (the original condition before being shaped by post-heaven form); a firm root and well-ordered depth are matters of natural principle. Each day nurture it with earth from the Kun position (symbolizing yin, yielding, and sustaining force), and in due season irrigate it with the spring within Kan (the alchemical image of water and refined essence).

When it flowers, it is bright and pure as white jade; the fruit it bears is round and solid as gold. When cultivation reaches accomplishment, the crown gate seems to open like a single aperture; within lies another heaven and earth of its own.

Heart Mirror

Gather Qian metal (symbolizing yang qi) and place it in the Kun furnace (symbolizing the yin cauldron), taking the vast space of the six directions as the pattern. Once the dharma-form (the image or realm attained in practice) is formed, it is full and luminous; refined like mercury, the aperture of the heart appears clear and bright, and within is yet another heaven and earth.

Heart Mirror

Gather Qian metal into the Kun furnace, using the six-direction void as the model. When the dharma-form is formed it is complete and bright; like mercury in luster, it rests in stillness.

Its light shines through the three thousand worlds; gathered inward, it is stored in a cinnabar pearl no larger than a grain of millet. Lift it, and the whole is plainly shown; one must still go further and break through the barrier so that it merges with the primordial pivot.

Pointing out the Mysterious Feminine (Xuanpin) for Fu’an

The feminine gate (pin) of the mysterious path (the pass where yin and yang meet and primordial qi enters and leaves in cultivation) is not hard to understand: simply gather body and mind and seek inward. Understand how the two modes of yin and yang shift and surge, and you will grasp the timing of the single qi’s coming and going.

Qian and Kun open and close without ceasing; Li fire and Kan water rise and fall, meeting and parting from each other. For Fu’an I make it plain: when thought returns to the original starting point, the foundation of refining the elixir can be established.

Rhyme in Response to Registrar Weng’s Verses

With a subtle mind one investigates the Cantong qi (Token of the Agreement of the Three); to exhaust principle through things is, in the end, the way to the immortal path. If you still do not see how the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) gives birth to the “three and five,” then even walking eight thousand li toward Penglai is a journey in vain.

The Buddhist lineage relies on confirmation from patriarchs; the Dao lineage since Fu Xi must be transmitted through the heart. Alone on the blue sky the jade terrace moon appears, shining on a thousand pools—everywhere the same round moon in the water.

For Deng Yichan

Chan, Neo-Confucian learning, and the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition all set up gateways to guide later students. Lines such as “if one has not yet understood how the Supreme Ultimate gives birth to the three and five” and “vainly traversing eight thousand li to Penglai” mean that without grasping the root principle, practice is like a long march on foot—the road stretches on without end.

Nothing else is required—only guard the sincerity within your heart. In still sitting, harmonize the breath; in action, accord with human feeling.

Conceal your virtue and move among the world without showing off your talents. In genuine ease and joy, constantly preserve quiet clarity.

Seven

Quietly uphold the nameless, formless simple nature; do not let worldly desires disturb it. Refine mercury and lead into powder, and even rubble can turn to gold.

Having beheld Fu Xi and the Yellow Emperor, the heart also merges with the spirit of Śākyamuni and Laozi. In an instant one transcends the bounds of the present—there is neither ancient nor modern.

Self-Inscription on One’s Appearance

That person with a sallow face and lean frame—what is so remarkable about him? Clearly he has a pair of lively eyes, yet he insists he has heard nothing and knows nothing.

He has penetrated three thousand methods and mutually verified them with seventeen masters. At the moment of bowing with palms joined, he has already fully revealed the inner mystery.

Lamp in the Mirror (Two Poems)

One

The precious mirror originally has no fixed form; transmitting the lamp continues the light of wisdom. Suchness is inherently pure and bright; the dharma-body is originally radiant.

In the golden cauldron kindle the true fire; let the Flower Pool bathe in the sun. The true meaning within was always there—in the Central Yellow.

Two

In the quiet chamber, the idle heart is like a clear mirror; in the empty room, the lamp of wisdom is lit. Outside, bright and pure; within, light leaps and stirs.

In a grain-of-millet’s tiny gleam, images appear; the silver toad mirrors clearly at the water’s bottom. In the golden cauldron where the suspended embryo rests, one great elixir pill coalesces.

On the Lotus Root (Two Poems)

One

There is a numinous plant utterly unlike other vegetation. The dharma-body is naturally white; true nature is originally lucid and penetrating.

Outwardly its joints bend section by section; inwardly its holes run through and through. Mud cannot stain it—at last it reveals itself, crimson flowers blooming across the pool.

Two

I am seed of pure emptiness, lucid and penetrating, threading through past and present. Weary of the clamor of fame and gain, for now I hide deep in the mud.

I always harbor the will to save others and constantly keep the intent to restrain selfish desire. Many come to dredge and seek—yet who truly understands me?

The Hermitage on the Peak (Two Poems)

One

Choose the most empty and tranquil place; when the opportune moment arrives, it falls upon Jade Capital (Yujing, the celestial realm of immortals in Daoist cosmology). Establishing the foundation must be firm and secure; setting the furnace and cauldron must also be level and true.

Raise the Sumeru pillar (symbolizing the central axis that supports heaven and earth), so that the Taiji ridgepole (symbolizing the fundamental pillar where Yin and Yang unite) may stand firm for long ages. With the blue sky as the roof, the master of the hermitage can dwell at ease in the realm of non-birth (wusheng, beyond birth and death).

Level the ground, and the foundation of the hut can be completed in a single day. The incoming mountain enters from the bing direction (south-southeast in traditional orientation), and the flowing water runs westward.

Doors and windows open on all four sides; the window lattices are clear enough to see through to the bottom. Who keeps company in the hut? Only the bright moon and the refreshing breeze.

Zhonghe Ji, juan 6.

Compiled by Li Daochun, Master Qing’an Yingchanzi of Duliang, with editing by his disciple Cai Zhiyi, Master Sun’an Baochanzi.

Lyrics

Qinyuan Chun (six pieces)

One

Once you receive the true transmission, you know how to begin; success is not difficult. Wait until the moment when guishui stirs (the phase in internal alchemy when the “Gui water” activates), then draw off lead and add mercury (metaphors for refining yin and yang essences in Neidan). Do not let the fire grow too fierce, and do not let the water turn too cold. Stir the Xun wind (the breath and qi mobilized in the alchemical process), fan open the bellows of the furnace; refining with “martial” fire and simmering with “civil” fire is no casual affair. Within the golden furnace, two kinds of numinous substance are smelted and forged until they form a pill.

First you must shatter doubt in the mind, then you can grasp the pass of returning to the root and restoring life (the gate of reverting to the source of life). Let the red child (chizi, the true intent or original spirit) ride the dragon; draw water from the Ligon palace (the heart-fire palace in the body); let the Golden Lord (jingong, metal nature, often linked with lung and metal) mount the tiger and turn the fire to refine and transform. The Golden Lord keeps silent; the Maid (chanü, true yin or primordial qi) draws in her sleeves—in but one double-hour the elixir is complete. Swallow the pill in a single gulp, and you may attain the diamond-hard, indestructible body and transcend the dusty world.

Two

If you are within the Mystic Gate (Xuanmen, the Daoist path or monastic way) yet have not met a genuine teacher, your effort is only wasted toil! If you refuse to learn and cling blindly to Wuwei (non-action), how can you understand the opening and closing of Yin and Yang? Even if you hear widely and read exhaustively, how can you escape the bonds of the world? Stubbornly holding to “spontaneity” leads in the end to annihilation; fixating on “being” or “non-being” is not the true Dao. All such doctrines are deceptive; that one subtle point must be grasped by seeking instruction from an accomplished master.

In a single stroke it clarifies the root of cultivation and states plainly that alchemy rests on Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). When one asks about the “Mysterious Pass and single aperture” (xuan guan yi qiao)—the pivotal site in Neidan (internal alchemy) where essence, qi, and spirit meet and transform—no fixed location is given. The two numinous “things,” heart-mind and body, are not real if taken as annihilation or as something substantial. All such talk is expedient analogy; which point is the subtle one? One must seek instruction from a seasoned adept.

Again in one sentence it fixes the root of practice: alchemy depends on Jing, Qi, and Shen. The Mysterious Pass and single aperture have no fixed place; heart-mind and body appear only in their mutual interplay. Movement and stillness depend on each other; being and non-being interpenetrate, so the five qi return to the origin (wuqi chaoyuan) and every virtue is fulfilled. The deepest wonder is to gather primordial Qi in one place and devote a single watch to concentrated practice.

Daoism speaks of the Five Phases (Wuxing); Buddhism of the five kinds of vision; Confucianism of the five constants—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness. Benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom take trustworthiness as foundation; among Metal, Wood, Water, and Fire, Earth holds the center. The White Tiger, Azure Dragon, Black Tortoise, and Vermilion Bird are likewise ruled by Gouchen at the center. Heaven has five numbers; the person has Jing, Shen, Hun (ethereal soul), and Po (corporeal soul), with intention (yi) dwelling in the central yellow (zhonghuang).

When the Five Phases’ qi in Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth, yin and yang) fully appear, gathering “three-five” returns to the primordial beginning (yuanshi); the subtle principle there cannot be measured. South is Fire, number two; east is Wood, number three—together five. North is Water, drawing the mysterious true One; west is Metal, number four. The center is Earth in the central palace. The Five Phases unite as three-five; as three-five blend, yin turns back to yang. Those who grasp the mystery refine lead, silver, cinnabar, and mercury—the Neidan symbols for the ingredients—and at last forge an indestructible vajra body.

The root of the Dao is emptiness (xu); emptiness gives rise to the One, One and Two become Three, and Three begets the ten thousand things. Though each thing has its form, all come from emptiness, succeeding and interweaving. The substance of the ten thousand things is originally empty; each thing’s root is originally the One—not a topic for casual talk. The subtlety of emptiness, though it shows as form, name, and appearance, is still held within emptiness.

To pursue the hidden meaning within emptiness and reach the work of “holding emptiness to the utmost” (zhixu ji), take Laodan (Laozi) as guide. That empty, still, clear state means seeking the root from non-being; having penetrated emptiness, one must also see through the words of Qutan (the Buddha). It is before heaven and earth appear, and before the Buddha Weiyinwang of the remotest past; who else can bear the realm of pure, quiet emptiness? You numinous spirit attendants, unite with the Dao through emptiness—to you I bow.

Whether it is the “crossed hands,” “palms joined,” or “raised fist” of ritual salutation—who is actually performing them? People often see only these outward forms and mistake “stillness,” “emptiness,” and “non-being” for the Dao itself; who truly knows how to uphold and realize it? All you who belong to the profound gate (members of the Daoist community) should take to heart the Great Dao with a mind of emptiness and non-attachment, and bow in reverence toward the Way.

Five

Whether it is the “crossed hands,” “palms joined,” or “raised fist” of ritual salutation—who is actually performing them? People rely on these external practices alone and often go astray in their understanding. Who truly grasps the subtle principle of wuwei (non-action)? Let me explain clearly for you: Laozi, Qutan (the Buddha), and Zhongni (Confucius)—the thousand sages and ten thousand worthies from ancient times to the present are, in the end, all human beings.

It is lamentable that later students lack breadth of vision and argue over right and wrong without end. Moreover, Heaven and Earth and humankind share one origin, differing only in how they manifest; among the three teachings of Dao, Confucianism, and Buddhism, what in their principles is truly doubtful? Seeing one’s nature, illuminating the mind, probing the hidden to the root of nature and life—whether becoming a Buddha or attaining immortality, the decisive factor lies in each person. When practice and merit are complete, though paths and lineages differ, all ultimately converge in one place.

Six

I tell those who cultivate: the fire of refining the elixir has no weight in ounces to be weighed, and the timing of the fire has no hexagram lines to follow (meaning that internal alchemy does not rely on fixed external measures or divination). There is no need to “add or subtract,” nor to act with deliberate effort; since there is no form, one need not smelt as in external alchemy. Concrete things of every kind are not real; every method is likewise empty—if you insist on forcing effort, it will be in vain. Do you understand? Every realm of form, sound, and sensation can lead to delusion and deviation.

Set aside seeing, hearing, knowing, and perceiving, so that not a single stray thought remains in the Lingtai (the platform of the spirit—the mind). Speak no more of the “furnace and cauldron,” and do not seek “medicinals”; as long as inner clarity is undimmed and will and strength are firm, the Shenshi (the inner domain where the original spirit is preserved) is empty and still, the Lingyuan (the original source of the spirit-mind) clear and tranquil—and within that, the image of Heaven and Earth uniting will naturally appear. Those who cultivate the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) path, if they cannot preserve their true nature, how can they escape the calamities of the cycles of time?

Also (Verses for Jing’an)

The original spirit that survives the kalpas, the ancestral qi (the primordial breath at the root of all things) since time immemorial, and the primordial jing (essence) of the utmost beginning—these three supreme treasures share one root. To seek their true source, do not cling to bodily form. When breathing is settled and spirit-qi is clear, smooth breath makes the original qi firm; maintain pure stillness and wuwei, and jing naturally gathers. Once the Dantou (the first sign of coalescence in internal alchemy) has formed, then regulate yin and yang and the talismanic fire (methods in neidan for harmonizing yin-yang and the phases of inner “fire”) and nurture it gradually.

Above all, one must steadfastly guard body and mind and preserve inner wholeness, bringing together the alchemical metaphors of lead, mercury, silver, and cinnabar for harmonizing refinement and “cooking.” When the Four Emblems (the complementary forces coordinated in internal alchemy) unite in harmony, the root of life can long endure and stand firm; when the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, and Shen) gather as one, the awakened nature becomes clear, bright, and subtle. With both nature (xing) and life (ming) fully preserved, body and spirit alike reach a marvelous realm—one with the Dao, true and unchanging. From this one roams freely, wandering at will through the eight directions of heaven and earth, unimpeded in every direction.

Again (For Master Chun Gu Qing, “Spring Valley Pure”)

With wisdom firm and resolute, exerting the mind with decisive vigor, one can penetrate the Mysterious Pass (the gate that opens toward the realm of awakening). Lightly deploy the “killer’s technique” that cuts off delusive thought, and slowly offer others the “knife that gives life” that awakens them. When the treasured sword hangs in the void, every attachment and karmic tie is swept away—then one truly believes the teachings of Gautama Buddha and Laozi converge. The pure, subtle current spreads abroad; behold spring stirring in a cold valley—the compassionate countenance appears before your eyes.

Let a thousand peaks lie buried in snow—the lone towering summit remains green as indigo. Moreover, the old stories of awakening to the Dao through bamboo’s sound or holding up a flower have become stale phrases; raising the eyebrows or blinking the eyes may be nothing but vague performance. Sweep away the myriad conditions of transcending the world, and then one trusts that Buddha and Laozi speak one truth. The pure, subtle way spreads; see the cold valley turn to spring—the kind face is right before you.

Let snow cover a thousand mountains—the solitary peak still stands azure and bright. Hearing bamboo, holding up a flower—all may be worn-out talk; raised brows and a flash of the eyes may be gestures that never quite clarify. The scenery beyond the kalpas is before you now—seize it in this moment; only when the face is fully unveiled does the inquiry come to rest. What was the ancestral teacher’s original intent? Join palms and bow in reverence.

Again (For Zhang Xixi of Kuocang, style Ji’an)

One

Neither straining to know nor straining to cognize—the realm without sound, scent, or graspable form is called “rare and subtle” (xiwei). This is the wondrous root of what is wholly true and authentic; if one penetrates it thoroughly, the crux is understood on the spot. Listening to sermons and scriptures, debating Chan and doctrine—clinging to appearances and words is not genuine awakening. If you awaken, you will know that everything in ordinary daily life has always harbored profound principle.

Still rely on resolute, vigorous practice to gather and harmonize the Four Emblems and the Five Phases. Understand the union of the two modes Yin and Yang and the gathering of the Three Treasures, so that the luminous nature is not dimmed; the myriad functions and transformations all return to one subtle principle.

Still rely on resolute, vigorous practice to gather and harmonize the Four Emblems and the Five Phases. Understand Yin–Yang’s mutual joining and the Three Treasures’ convergence, so the clear nature is undimmed and every change returns to the Dao. Jing, Qi, and Shen condense; emotional ties and causes turn back to original nature, bursting forth with moon-bright radiance that shines in all directions. Body and spirit reach a wondrous state, standing alone beyond the Great Void, lofty and distinct.

There are said to be three thousand six hundred paths of practice, each with its own approach. If you cling only to the physical body, you will still be bound by form in the end; if you leave the body behind in pursuit, you fall into empty stillness and unknowing. Neither way works, and you do not know where to begin. Practitioners who do not understand the Xuanqiao (the pivotal site where body and mind transform in Neidan cultivation) are simply wasting effort.

The subtlety here is hard to put into words; only after you experience it yourself can you reach the root purpose. It cannot be heard, nor grasped by seeking; it seems to be there when you look, yet leaves no trace when you search. Everyone possesses it, but few recognize it. I tell you this key: the Xuanguan qiao (the subtle gate of vital importance), and the creative transformation within emptiness—all lie in this.

Another poem, on the essentials of elixir practice for Layman Wu:

In the supreme work of cultivation, the cauldron is set in the Qiangan (the palace of Heaven, symbolizing Yang), and the furnace is placed in the Kun position (symbolizing Earth and Yin). Such firing is exceedingly subtle; originally there is no deliberate contrivance. The increase and decrease of Yin and Yang, advance and retreat, need no forced arrangement. When Yin wanes and Yang returns, it is like clouds moving and rain falling—the key that governs change lies in this supreme work. When the heart is settled, the lucid nature that is never dimmed can pierce the darkness.

Once the Xingzong (the line of practice centered on realizing one’s true nature) in the teaching of nature and life is understood, the work on life (ming) is complete, like the full creative process shown in the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) diagram. Passing through circle after circle, a round, bright light bursts forth; in steadfast, unbroken holding, one alone verifies Zhenru (true suchness, the nature that is real and never false). Return the one Qi to the root, and let the liumen (the six gates—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) function together with ease. From here on, everything depends on De (Virtue) to sustain you. While still in the world, for now conceal your edge and live among others—that is how an ordinary person finishes worldly affairs.

Another poem, for Zhou the High Master, “Master of Quiet Ease”:

The true cauldron and furnace are neither wholly nothing nor a visible object; what matters is holding the center and staying upright. Work in clarity and stillness, transform in concentration; outwardly you seem utterly still, inwardly you can secretly resonate. An old clam nurturing a pearl, or the Mingling insect raising another’s larva as its own—such images can illustrate this subtle vitality, which words cannot exhaust. Break through doubt in the mind, and you will suddenly awaken to Zhenkong (true emptiness, the real beyond clinging).

Gathering qian (lead—a Neidan term for refined essence or the Yang within Yin) never strays from the Kungong (the Kun palace); to turn the fuhuo (the movement of firing in inner alchemy) you must borrow Xun wind (wind as symbol of the force that fans the firing). On the waves of the northern sea, capture the White Tiger; in the fire of the southern mountain, seize the Green Dragon—White Tiger and Green Dragon symbolize Yin–Yang essences in the inner art. Bring the two together, unite the sanguan (three passes where Qi must flow in practice), and refine the ruddy, perfect spirit elixir in the cauldron. When the work is done, hide yourself in the world, heguang hunsu (temper your light and blend with the common)—this is called Xuantong (mysterious unity, being one with the Dao without distinction).

One must also be as deep and clear as the great sea, and as lofty in virtue as a high mountain—then the cultivator’s innate capacity is naturally extraordinary. One must also grind away sharp edges and dissolve strife, discard clever contrivances and cunning wit, let go of the split between self and things, and not display one’s own hidden designs. Set the will upon emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action); immerse the mind in the undifferentiated realm before division; and privately investigate the fundamental principle that precedes heaven, earth, and the myriad things. In what is “mysterious upon mysterious”—where Laozi says the Dao has no fixed name—it nonetheless pervades the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity).

Once I conversed at length with a lofty recluse and fell into wordless stillness, dazed until I forgot myself—a state that matched what Old Dan (Laozi) described. How much more so when one dwells in a quiet, secluded spiritual place, the mind clear and still as the heaven of Chan, forgetting distinctions and learned knowledge, no longer dividing north from south. Gathering body and mind, one merges with the creative work of Heaven and Earth, as though the space between heaven and earth had become a single quiet chamber in which to settle body and mind. When the divine elixir (Shen Dan—the body of the pill formed in Neidan practice) is complete, you see it perfectly round and unobstructed, its light shining upon the Song hermitage.

Again: encouraging Zhong’an in solitary retreat. Let the mind be as clear and still as the heaven of Chan; forget distinctions and knowledge; do not divide north and south. Gather body and mind and merge with Heaven and Earth’s creation, as if the whole realm between heaven and earth were a quiet room for body and mind. When the divine elixir is finished, you see it round and without obstruction, its light illuminating the Song hermitage.

Again: encouraging Zhong’an—on the subtle use of holding to the “center” (zhong).

“Center” is the Confucian aim, the root of the Dao, and the pivot of Chan. The paths of Confucianism, Daoism, and Chan all take “center” as the short way; the Five Constants (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, fidelity) and every daily act also take “center” as their ground. In bearing, advance, and retreat to align with the middle way is not easy; one must go further and discern the finest points within “center.” I have already laid out the principle in my lyric—ponder it carefully and do not doubt.

You should know: this creative transformation is not only in the exact middle, nor confined to the four directions. It is in ordinary life—rising, resting, eating, and drinking—all may follow “center.” Truly grasp the meaning, and you understand the substance of “center”; in the end nothing among the ten thousand things goes against this “center.” After full awakening, you must still cut this “center” completely open—only then are you a true great person.

Again: presented to Master Jiang of Yuan Hermitage.

The human heart (ordinary, desire-laden mind) easily tilts toward danger; the heart of the Dao (the original mind aligned with the Way) is subtle and hard to see, yet within it lies the mystery of creation. That subtlety is not something fabricated; it is spirit bright and undimmed, like the moon of wisdom. What is called Qi and what is called Shen depend on single-minded purity, until the heart is clean as flawless jade and returns to the naturalness of Heaven and Earth. When you penetrate the deep mystery, you must shift the one line within the Kan trigram (Water—Yin containing Yang) into the Li trigram (Fire—Yang containing Yin)—the Neidan (internal alchemy) teaching of yin and yang joining so Kan and Li mutually aid.

The red dragon (Yang qi) and the black turtle (Yin essence) coil together; in the sixth month frost unexpectedly appears—how marvelous. The white-haired old man weds the Plain Girl (a legendary immortal maiden); when the dance of the fetal immortal (the inner elixir formed as a “spirit fetus”) ends, together they enter the yellow canopy. Yin and Yang unite, Qi circulates; through a year’s refinement the “infant” (the completed inner elixir) is born. Go on warming and nurturing, await the decree from the Jade Sovereign (Yu Chen, a high celestial lord), then tread the clouds and return home.

The Dao is present in the ordinary daily life of common people; it is only that they themselves do not notice it. Alas, turbulent thoughts surge layer upon layer, the clamor of the world never ceases, the inner source of spirit is hard to settle, and the mind is like the moon veiled—its light lost. The divide between self and others is as hard to cross as a high mountain; disputes over right and wrong are as boundless as the sea. Set all this turmoil aside, and you can grasp the subtle principle. Worthy friends and fellow practitioners, listen as I use the “Clear Hut” (Qing’an) as a metaphor—do not doubt it.

First take clarity and stillness as the foundation; with tranquil concentration build a hut in the heart, and be its abbot yourself. Take centrality and uprightness as the door, rectitude as the bed, sincerity as the path, and reverence as the fence. Treat others with humility, gentleness, and kindness; do not harbor doubt in the mind.

First take clarity and stillness as the foundation; with tranquil concentration build a hut in the heart, and be its abbot yourself. Take centrality and uprightness as the door, rectitude as the bed, sincerity as the path, and reverence as the fence. Be harmonious in dealing with people; in food, clothing, and daily life, never depart from these principles. If you practice thus constantly, without break in cultivation, you can enter directly into Wuwei (non-action)—the realm of not forcing outcomes and aligning with the natural way.

“Man Jiang Hong” (To Master Empty Hut)

In daily practice, the crux lies solely in guarding emptiness and stillness and preserving simplicity. Understand that paths that seem different can ultimately return to one place, and that manifold thoughts can finally converge in unity. In the Purple Pole Palace (symbol of the height reached in cultivation), primordial Qi (vital energy) rests in peace; in the Suspended Embryo Cauldron (the inner alchemy image of the body or Dantian), the three flowers gather—the convergence in Neidan (internal alchemy) of Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit). Asked how to set the furnace and cauldron and begin refining, it is like casting the vessel with Qian metal (the yang, “heavenly” vital force).

Bind the golden crow (emblem of the sun), capture the jade rabbit (emblem of the moon), gather them in, and seal them in the earthen cauldron (the inner refining furnace of body or Dantian). Regulate the fire of refinement; in advance, retreat, increase, and decrease, guard carefully. When the supreme treasure is perfected, you clearly know its coming and going; once the Dharmakaya (the transcendent body of the adept) appears, you are no longer bound by arrival and departure. Then hide the form, go straight to pay homage at the Palace of Great Clarity (the Daoist realm of supreme purity), and let the spirit abide there permanently.

Another piece (In praise of “Who Is Abbot” Yin’s jurisdiction)

Who is master of this hut? After all, who presides within it? When hungry, one eats—who tastes the sweet and bitter within? Who discriminates the five tones (gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu)? Who sees green, yellow, black, white, and the rest? In the ordinary realm of clarity and stillness, the spirit abides permanently.

Another piece (In praise of “Who Is Abbot” Yin’s jurisdiction)

Who is master of this hut? After all, who presides within it? When hungry, one eats—who tastes the sweet and bitter within? Who discriminates the five tones? Who sees green, yellow, black, white, and the rest? In daily dealings with people and affairs, who after all arranges and presides?

Who acts? Who raises a hand? Who sits in silence? Who speaks? See these questions through clearly, and you will understand who is host and who is guest. Who fashioned the outer form? Who passes through the gates within the body? After creating the realm of wuwei (non-action), where in the end should one dwell? The answer is Zhuling Fu—the immortal realm of legend in Daoist tradition.

Again (transmitted to Jue’an)

The Dao naturally accords with spontaneity; the moment you force deliberate action, you err at every turn. If you only talk emptily of void, where do you begin? Forgetting both being and non-being—you still cannot sustain it; clinging to both sides at once, you are bound and entangled. Better to silently guard the middle way; then spirit and intent can rest at ease in themselves.

Let the past go; do not scrutinize the future in detail. Do not fix rigidly on present cultivation either. When the six desires do not arise, the three poisons (greed, aversion, delusion) are extinguished; when the one yang (the first stirring of yang) returns, the many yin gradually recede. Awaken to true emptiness, hold fast to the root, and return to primordial void—that is genuine awakening.

Again (presented to Magistrate Ding, on the single source of the three teachings)

The orthodox lineages of the three teachings—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—originally shared one straight path. Ask Laozi’s essential teaching: it lies in reaching utmost emptiness and stillness. Buddhism discerns nature from emptiness; Confucius grasps heavenly principle through sincerity. Look back to when the three teachings first arose: though they split into three schools, their root was the same.

The Dao’s subtle pivot responds in every encounter with things; the deep subtlety of the Yi (Book of Changes) must be felt in silent reflection. Chan’s inner meaning rests in true emptiness and utmost stillness. Persevere in practice moment by moment without break, and you will draw benefit continually in daily life. Thus you can return to the root and restore life, revert to the body of primordial void, and hide deep within the utmost hiddenness.

Again (presented to Daoist official Li, who loved sleep)

Those who love sleep have their own realm of cultivation within sleep. Yet in sleep one must keep mind and intent upright, and in dreams clarify spirit and heart. If you grasp that the key to the sleep method lies in knowing when to stop, you can nourish spirit and qi within sleep. The subtlety of this sleep practice, and the method of sitting in settled absorption within sleep, are understood by few.

Though the body sleeps, the heart-nature does not grow dim; though the eyes close, inner illumination does not shut off. In deep slumber the mind is steady and peaceful—as if resting on a clear breeze, cool to the bone; as if wandering at ease beyond the mundane world. On waking, it is like dwelling in the Palace of Vast Cold—the legendary moon palace—embracing the toad-shaped moon and sleeping in peace.

Though these eyes seem slightly lowered, inwardly they are not shut. One seems to sleep in deep peace and quiet. A cool breeze at the pillow pierces to the marrow; the spirit wanders beyond the mundane world, free and at ease. On waking, it is as if one were in the Moon Palace, holding the jade toad in one’s arms and sleeping in perfect rest.

Again: In Praise of Hermit Fu of the Round Hut

This “○” (the circle emblem, symbolizing the originally unobstructed nature) has had no form since countless kalpas. It stands upright and true, yet cannot be seen as a shape; so fine that no trace appears even in motes of dust, so vast that heaven and earth cannot contain it. It pervades heaven and earth, moving freely in every direction without obstruction.

It has no root and no fixed form; its light shines forth, round and bright. This is the original face. When released, it can transcend the formless realm (the Buddhist sphere beyond shape and color); when gathered in, it hides within radiance. When the “upper gate” at the crown opens wide and the round, penetrating state appears, a golden luminous form is revealed.

Again: Presented to Magistrate Zhang of the Rest Hut

Only to stand upright and hold the center is the secret of cultivating immortality. The slightest deviation gives rise to endless differences. Try to keep stability amid activity and response; then naturally, in stillness, you will understand inner transformation. Grasp the ternary three and the five qi (Daoist teachings on primordial yuanqi and the cycles of vital breath), and return them to the Huangting (the inner court where essence, qi, and spirit are refined); then the golden flower will form (an auspicious sign of accomplishment in neidan practice).

Applying the fire phases (the neidan art of regulating breath, intent, and qi) has its proper seasons; the sea tide rises and the moon in the sky waxes and wanes. In practice, qi ascends and descends like the moon from full to new and new to full. After ten months of unbroken work, the subtle original nature can transcend birth and death. If you ask what the realm beyond that is like, it cannot be put into words.

Again: Presented to Hermit Mi on the Three Teachings

Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism each have their own paths, yet at the utmost they originally return to one. The gate represented by the character “one” is unfathomably deep. Laozi said “the valley spirit does not die” (symbolizing the root of quiet emptiness and unceasing life); Confucius’s heart-method of the Yijing at first did not yet take the form of hexagrams; if you ask about the nirvana mind transmitted outside words in Śākyamuni’s teaching (the awakened mind beyond doctrinal language), the answer is “secret, secret, secret.”

To learn the way of immortals, regulate the breath and enter samādhi; to learn the way of sages, set aside clever discrimination. As for the key to buddhahood, it depends entirely on the power of prajñā. See through the teachings of the three houses—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—and the work of round, clear contemplation is complete. When the crown gate bursts open and you see suchness (the true, unchanging nature of all things), light blazes forth.

Contemplation and the practice of turning inward require silent stillness and single-minded persistence. When stillness reaches its utmost, the inner Yuan Qi (vital energy) stirs and connects with the Xuannpin—the mysterious gate of generation spoken of in the Daoist tradition. In that dim, indistinct state, emotion and nature unite; in the empty valley of nothingness, Yin and Yang meet and merge. I now set forth for you the heart-method of the supreme patriarchs.

What speaks is not only the mouth; what grasps things is not only the hand. That wondrous meeting in the empty valley is like a child without feet who yet can somersault. Once you grasp this marvel, you naturally see through the principle that “within nothing there is something.” Ask what the Chan (meditation) teaching brought from the west truly means—it is like having your nose pinched and twisted: hard to put into words.

Again (For Mi’an)

A single grain of the Golden Elixir—from what place did it come, through how many kalpas was it formed, and who can know? If you do not recognize its root, how can you harmonize and circulate it? Moreover, it was yours from the start; why cling to outer forms and arrange things in confused fabrication? I speak this truth plainly to those who study immortality—thus revealing heaven’s secret.

Soft as cotton, hard as iron, sharp as metal, round as the moon. It is bound neither by square nor circle; it neither lacks nor falls short. Released, it seems to burst the pass between heaven and earth; gathered, it hides in the cave of nothingness. Ask what it is like when neither held nor released—it truly cannot be told.

Again (For Yi’an)

The true mechanism of “three-five” (the numerological interplay of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases in Neidan) shows itself in every kind of operation. All the more is it present in the ordinary and everyday, giving the practitioner secure footing in cultivation. Released, it seems to burst the pass between heaven and earth; gathered, it hides in the cave of nothingness. Ask what it is like when neither held nor released—it truly cannot be told.

Forget discriminating attachment amid being and non-being, and you may penetrate samadhi (deep, focused meditative absorption) in that dim, formless realm. Why do some cultivate little and others much? Because they are entangled in fixation and rigid adherence.

The lead of the watery realm (shui xiang qian—a Neidan term for the primordial refined essence used in practice) has only this one true savor; this is the pre-heaven Qi (innate vital energy). Understand the toad and the crow (the moon and sun, Yin and Yang) joining like paired jade disks, and body and mind can accord as you wish. The four of the west return and meet the north; the three of the east soon depart and intersect with the two of the south. Gather these five forces into the furnace, and the elixir is complete.

This luminous original nature has never been diminished or incomplete since ancient times. It is bright, full, and clear, able to illuminate the root principle from before heaven and earth were divided from chaos, and able to discern what lies at the heart of the “moon cave.” The practitioner nourishes this “white toad” (a symbolic image in neidan practice) in the hermitage, so that it enters the furnace bright and white; the elixir is then brought to completion.

Another poem, for Hermit Sun:

This luminous original nature has never been diminished or incomplete since ancient times. It is bright, full, and clear, able to illuminate the root principle from before heaven and earth were divided from chaos, and able to discern what lies at the heart of the “moon cave.” In the hermitage one nourishes that “white toad” until it is white as snow.

Some truths cannot be fully exhausted in words; they are sharp as metal and round as the moon. They turn and transform without cease, never stopping. When cultivation reaches “Meng (Obscurity)” of mountain and water (a hexagram name from the Yijing, here the stage of yin–yang union), tian gui (essence tied to bodily yin–yang change) descends; when it reaches “Fu (Return)” of earth and thunder (a hexagram name, here the stage when yang is reborn), xuan shuang (a symbolic substance in neidan) congeals. Riding the blue luan straight up to the Broad Cold Palace (the legendary moon palace), one can transcend birth and death.

Another poem, for Hermit Mo (Silent Hermitage):

Silence itself is already speech; where there is speech, silence was there all along. To grasp the principle of silence and speech is the secret of golden elixir cultivation. The crux is silent inward realization and tacit penetration; labels such as shravaka and complete enlightenment (Buddhist stages of practice) are here only nominal. Within speech, recognize the root of silence, and you will awaken to what neither arises nor perishes.

Those skilled in speech do not rely on the tongue alone; speech and silence were never separate. What silence conveys—is it not more intimate than words? If you can grasp the intent where no words are spoken, then whether in silence or in speech, all is penetrated.