《中和集》Vol. 3

The Dao is silent, yet with one word spoken it can pierce through everything—this is the disclosure of heavenly secrets.

The Dao (the fundamental pattern of the cosmos) was never meant to be captured in language; students must sink into it and realize it in silence. When every stray thought is released, the heart becomes empty, clear, and still. In the conduct of daily life, harmonize “fire and water” (in neidan, the interplay of yin and yang, stillness and movement); in settled quiescence, what is the ultimate attainment? Ask where the “single aperture of the Mysterious Pass” (the pivotal mind–body gate in neidan) is—it is to be sought in the “center.”

The Dao is not mind, not things, not the way of immortals, not the way of Buddhas. At this crucial point, those who truly understand are few. The lost may cultivate to the end in vain; the awakened need not struggle hard. Watch how from nothing something comes to be: a “spirit embryo” (the condensed image of essence, qi, and spirit in neidan) takes form, and the “yang spirit” (the pure yang spirit of the path) is enabled to leave the shell.

The “Mysterious Pass” (the key gate for realizing the Dao) on my path is not opened lightly to outsiders. When seekers come to study and inquire, beware lest they come only to steal the teaching. Raise the “slayer’s blade” (a method symbolizing severing fixation and delusion) with decision, then gently apply the “art that revives the living” (means of awakening and restoring true life). If one merely parades spiritual feats in isolation, whom could one surpass?

A genuinely discerning good teacher (one versed in Buddhist and Daoist practice who can guide others) will shoulder this Dao inwardly without confusion. With resolute, fierce courage, even meeting Buddha one must break attachment to Buddha. One step can transcend the ten sages; one utterance aims to swallow the three realms. Overturn heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things utterly—only then is it truly extraordinary.

Returning from gathering the medicine, the “ding vessel” (the cauldron metaphor for body–mind as container) is cast with “qian metal” (symbolizing pure yang qi). The principle within rests entirely in the cultivator’s own hands. First sweep “roots and dust” (the senses and the external objects they grasp) utterly clean, and do not again be stained by old, familiar fixations. When asked how to circulate the work and advance the fire (neidan terms for timing and driving the refinement)—depend on prajna (wisdom that sees reality as it is).

The “Five Thunder Chariot,” “Azure Dragon,” and “Mountain-Burning Talisman” are cultivation metaphors: chariot and dragon stand for circulating qi; talismanic method stands for applying the mind in refinement and nurture. Wash thinking, purify the inner heart, cleanse all with a spirit-spring clarity, and leave behind former familiar attachments. How to run the gong and advance the fire? By prajna wisdom.

Five Thunder Chariot, Green Dragon Pulling, and Burn Mountain Talisman are all covert expressions in internal alchemy (Neidan) for describing how the mind-spirit is applied and how inner transformation is mobilized. The practitioner must inscribe talismanic formulas like a craftsman of the heart-mind, and go further to sweep away stray thoughts and cleanse the heart-mind, as if irrigating with a numinous spring. When the nine revolutions are complete, elixir cultivation is finished, and the luminous true nature returns to empty stillness. Then the “Dharma-King Body” (the naked, unconditioned, free and unobstructed body of sovereign completion) appears—nothing left to grasp.

Man Ting Fang (To Jiao Tiju)

Living alone in the mountains or hiding in the midst of the marketplace—every place can be a pass into the subtle realm. A worthy adept should investigate this in seated meditation. I will slowly explain to you methods for saving and guiding people, and the sharp means for cutting through delusion. If you can awaken to it, seize it right here and now—transcendence is not hard.

I speak plainly: at the very start of practice, first refine the “three threes” (stages or gradations of effort in Neidan). From the Mysterious Palace (the inner locus of practice) raise the firing; then carry it into Kun Mountain (a Neidan term for a specific region within the body). When it is time to gather, it is like clouds blocking the valley mouth; when it is time to release, like the moon dropping into a cold pool. When the work is done, the great toad (a Neidan symbol often standing for completed elixir) appears, and one’s name is entered on the roster of immortals.

Another (Transmitting the Record to Ding’an)

Studying Buddhism, studying immortality, investigating Chan, probing doctrine—all depend on the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin, the fundamental gateway of generation and transformation in Daoism). Alas, many people are lost in error, often blinding one another, chasing branches and plucking surface knowledge, wearing out several meditation cushions for nothing. Most pitiful of all, they seek outside— even Old Qutan (a Buddhist name for the Buddha) would laugh at them.

That one point of true creating-and-transforming—if you see it for yourself, it will truly make your heart chill and your courage shake. A worthy like Ding’an should earnestly investigate in seated meditation. See clearly your face from birth, and lift away all opinions and learning gathered before. Penetrate truly into empty suchness, and even a skeleton will burst open; the true master will naturally leave the hut and appear.

Shui Diao Ge Tou (To Hewan, Investigator Wang)

The earthen cauldron (a Neidan term for the body or elixir furnace) must be upright; in stillness inquire of Yellow Duke (a symbolic figure in Neidan). Make the wu earth circulate and return to ji earth; wait for the moment of “spring issuing below the mountain”—Meng (from the Book of Changes hexagram Meng, the image of the start of practice and awaiting awakening). When gathering the medicine, guard against the timing not yet arriving; when applying fire, do not go too far—the key is hitting the mark exactly. Hold the center without drifting, and Heaven’s principle will respond and penetrate through.

Some depths of mystery truly cannot be exhausted. Once one genuinely grasps the principle within, dwelling in the hermitage, each day feels like a spring breeze on the face. Then the “maiden of the West” and the “child of Nanling” unite as one; the two meet and long abide in harmony. Cultivate for ten months, and the sacred embryo (the elixir body formed in internal alchemy) ripens; shed the bonds of form, and light fills the empty expanse.

Again (For Zhou, “Autumn Toad”)

Lead and mercury were never solid things to begin with; furnace and cauldron are only borrowed names to explain cultivation. At first people work from movement and stillness, yet often lose their way, caught in attachment to sounds and labels. This wondrous principle of the pre-heaven (xiantian) is right there in daily dressing and eating; when face to face, it is perfectly clear. In dealing with people and responding to events, there is no need to force action—responsiveness is naturally bright and aware.

It is not mind, not Buddha, and not what people call “gold.” Use discerning vision, and do not mistake the fixed star (the reference point on a balance for true weight). Layer by layer the mist disperses; the clear realm of still insight stands alone—this is original true nature. Wind stops, waves subside; moonlight spreads over the water, limpid and bright.

Again (For “Precious Toad”)

The gist of learning Buddha and learning immortality lies in inner sincerity and clarity. True lead and true mercury, in the end, are nothing but nature (xing) and emotion (qing). Once emotion returns to nature, it is like lead entering mercury—the two naturally blend. Let cultivation merge into daily life without a moment’s break, and the great medicine forms of itself.

Know when to withdraw and add, how to advance and retreat, and hold the state of fullness without excess. The Kun furnace and Qian cauldron (in internal alchemy, symbols of yin and yang in the furnace setup), and the “hidden tally” yin and yang fire (symbols of yin-yang breath regulation and firing times in practice), must all be adjusted gently. When the mysterious pass (the key aperture in internal alchemy) opens through, it is as if the crown splits into eight petals and a precious-toad-like radiance bursts forth. When both practice and merit are complete, one may in leisurely talk pay homage to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing).

Again (For Layman Liu)

The body stays in the world, yet the heart is not stained by the world. Stand centered and upright—whether in a busy market or deep mountains, nothing obstructs. Act without bias or partiality; in daily life, neither striving nor clinging—this is the realm of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen). Do not let the innate clarity within the heart grow dim; then one is a person of the highest cultivation.

Draw in the primal essence (the pre-heaven subtle vitality you already possess), refine and nourish primal Qi (the root Qi of life’s activity), and restore the primal Shen (your authentic spirit). When Jing, Qi, and Shen—the three treasures—unite as one, the internal elixir in the Dantian naturally coalesces. Then, when you stir the xuan feng (the subtle inner breath of internal practice), the bewildering clouds beyond heaven disperse, and the moon of wisdom shines clear and bright. If you can grasp what I call the first principle (the most fundamental teaching), what lies before you is as limpid as the green peaks along the river.

Again (for Zhang Meng’an)

Draw in primal essence, refine and nourish primal Qi, and restore the primal Shen. When Jing, Qi, and Shen unite as one, the internal elixir in the Dantian naturally coalesces. Then, when you stir the xuan feng, the bewildering clouds beyond heaven disperse, and the moon of wisdom shines clear and bright. If you grasp the most fundamental teaching, what lies before you is as limpid as the green peaks along the river.

Again (for Zhang Meng’an)

Thunder hidden in the earth is the image of the Fu hexagram; spring water gushing from beneath the mountain is the image of the Meng hexagram. Once you understand these two images, you can appreciate how natural creation aligns with the mysterious Dao. By finely sustaining emptiness and stillness, you can perceive the subtle being contained within “nothing,” and the nine orifices (the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, mouth, and the front and rear openings) open through in turn. You should immediately receive and affirm this point—this is your true master (your original self).

Do not cling to “nothing,” do not cling to “being,” and do not cling to “emptiness” either. When you thoroughly penetrate the knot of doubt, at this moment it is as if you have ascended the Peak of Marvellous Heights and everything appears in the open. Release the cluttered outer world, gather back the luminous mind that is never obscured, and the transformations of life know no end. How should one put it in the end? The sun is just rising over the ridge to the east.

Again (for Bao’an)

The Dao is the root of methods; methods are the residual applications of the Dao. When Dao and method are both complete, moving freely in every direction and deploying them flexibly all lie in your own hands. The primal Shen and primal Qi are themselves the celestial soldiers and officers; apart from these, there are no other celestial soldiers and officers. Tell these words to Dongchanzi: work at cultivation within entering stillness.

Guarding and holding can serve as the “embryo”; application can serve as the “opening”; Fulu (talismans and registers) are only aids to rely upon. Once you understand this principle, why insist on drawing talismans in ink or writing them in cinnabar? If you can make Jing (essence) coalesce and Qi firm and stable, you can command thunder and deploy lightning; so-called demons and monsters can all be regarded as celestial soldiers and officers—there are no others apart from these. Tell these words to Dongchanzi: work at cultivation within entering stillness.

Guarding and holding can serve as the “embryo”; application can serve as the “opening”; Fulu are only aids to rely upon. Once you understand this principle, why insist on drawing talismans in ink or writing them in cinnabar? If you can make essence coalesce and Qi firm and stable, you can command thunder and deploy lightning and subdue every kind of evil spirit. On the day your practice and merit are complete, you can visit the immortal capital (the abode of immortals) in leisurely conversation.

Dao, Buddhist, and Confucian teachings differ in name, yet their principle is one. Whether one sits in Chan meditation to awaken to the Dao or probes doctrine and meaning, the crux lies in guarding the root and returning to the origin. To grasp the “One Center” (the upright fundamental on which all change depends) and the way of creation and transformation is to gather the Three Origins (Jing, Qi, Shen) and broadly dispel long-standing illness. Only when the dwelling of body and mind is firm may one set up the elixir furnace and begin refining the elixir.

Refining the return elixir (Neidan cultivation) restores body and mind to the complete state of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and gathers the Mysterious Pearl (the precious condensed symbol of the inner elixir). The key message is this: take what is in Kan and supplement what is lacking in Li—that is, harmonize body and mind through the mutual aid of Water and Fire. If one is neither greedy nor attached, one at once transcends the pull of sound and form and lets Shen and Qi together return to emptiness and stillness. Seeing that all forms ultimately return to emptiness, one brings the “red child” (the symbol of pure original nature or inner elixir attainment) forth from the Spirit Lodge.

Again (To Bai Langu)

The secret of the Three Origins is deep as autumn water—subtle, hidden, and truly beyond measure. Before Heaven and Earth were divided into clear and turbid, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things were all contained within it. “One” is the true water of the Grand Mystery (a Neidan term for pre-heaven subtle Qi); Yin and Yang run and transform through it, and the principle of the Three Poles—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—is thereby made clear. Ascending, descending, coming and going in creation and transformation—the subtle principle at the heart of it all lies fundamentally in the Central Yellow (the key Neidan locus in the center of the body).

The rabbit conceiving, the ox breathing under the moon, the clam holding light—these all metaphorically describe hidden inner-elixir change. One who understands this principle can reverse the Dipper’s handle and draw essence from the Silver Stream (the Milky Way). Cut off the line of Caoxi (a symbol of Chan Buddhism), overturn the three isles of Penglai (legendary immortal mountains)—any place can become immortal ground. Who is Bai Langu? He sleeps at ease, in communion with Fuxi (Fu Xi, the ancient sage-king).

Again (On the Dao)

The secret of the Three Origins is as deep as autumn water; until one has awakened to it, guessing at will cannot measure it. If one sincerely investigates until penetration is complete, cleanses mind-intent and thought, and lets spirit and mind quietly return to concealment; if intent, body, and mind do not stir, and Jing, Qi, and Shen interpenetrate, then Heavenly principle naturally appears. The three goods (virtuous conduct, virtuous thought, and related virtues) are all complete in oneself—looking back at those who “refine the Mysterious Yellow” (a Neidan metaphor), one finds them rather laughable.

On Nature (continued)

The nature-essence is perfectly round and unobstructed, the mind broad, and virtue radiant—like the Cowherd and Weaver Girl suddenly meeting at the edge of the Milky Way. One sees through the tale of riding a raft up the Heavenly River as no more than a skillful figure of speech, and quietly senses what Confucius meant by bathing in the Yi River and singing in the spring breeze; then one roams freely between being and non-being. Day to day there is nothing else to do but study the Book of Changes and look up toward the Three Sovereigns.

On Nature (again)

Nature is as clear and deep as autumn water; the secret within it cannot be seized by thought and calculation. Gathered in, it is finer than the tip of a hair; spread out, heaven and earth together cannot hold it. Past, future, and present are only the subtle traces by which the nature-essence appears; the root of the ten thousand things is thereby made plain. It has no fixed shape of its own, yet everywhere it can show itself as green, yellow, and every other hue.

When the source of nature is clear and the heart is still, the light of the pre-heaven state shines forth. It is like a wooden man at midnight riding an iron horse backward across the Silver River. This is the hour of cold dew and chill mist, when clear wind and bright moon keep you company and you wander at ease among water and clouds. Seeing through the dream that still dreams within the dream, you bow respectfully to the Void Sovereign (Xuhuang).

Hundred-Character Tune (For Master Ye, the “True Toad” Adept)

To open the Pass Gate (xuanguan), you must apply real effort; the subtle point is the return of the one yang—the moment yang Qi first stirs again. When TianGui (the life-essence tied to the transformation of Jing) has just arisen, you must promptly begin gathering and refining, with utmost sincerity and single-minded attention. Cast off distracting thoughts, forget clever schemes, purify spirit and mind, drop all entanglements, and recognize the realm of emptiness. Lead, silver, cinnabar, and mercury—all the Neidan symbols for essence, Qi, and yin-yang change—must gather and congeal within a single double-hour.

In an instant heaven and earth unite; jia and geng meet without gap, and the dragon and tiger (the inner yin and yang breaths) are subdued together. Draw from Kan to fill Li—water and fire intersect to complete inner refinement—until the body of Qian is perfected and the yin-yang firing phases have run their full course. The supreme treasure sets firm; the true toad, the sign of the achieved elixir, appears—then nourish it with the spirit spring. When virtue is full and the work complete, the master’s name is inscribed in the Immortal Register (xianlu).

Again (On the Order of Nature and Life at Zhong’an Hermitage)

The doctrine of the single aperture of the Pass Gate is deep and subtle, too fine to put fully into words. When yin has reached its peak and yang is just beginning to rise—that is the time for “gathering lead” (collecting the yang breath in Neidan practice). Thunder rolls under the earth; water qi descends from the mountain crest, as if all the red dust of the world had turned to snow. In practice, rein in the heart-monkey and will-horse; do not let them run wild and restless.

In an instant, it is as if tiger roars and dragon cries resound, Yin and Yang unite, and the elixir congeals within the cauldron. Even when one has reached the stage of “a body outside the body,” the work is not yet complete; only when full awakening is attained does one truly penetrate to the end. The lush yellow flowers and verdant bamboo—what they signify cannot be put into words. I will merely point you this way: it is like trying to scoop the bright moon from water; you must not grasp at surface images in your seeking.

Again (For Chen Zhigian)

To cultivate truth and study the Dao, rejoice in clarity, stillness, and emptiness; let mind and intent rest freely at ease. Do not cling to wealth, honor, or glory; be content to keep to plain poverty. Set fame and profit entirely aside; do not argue over right and wrong; hide yourself among people without showing your edge. Who can fathom the tidings and principle within that truly leisurely, tranquil realm?

Further on the crux of cultivation: the subtle pivot is like the formless, traceless mysterious pearl; there is no fixed hour for tending the fire. Once the xuanguan (the vital pass where essence, spirit, and qi converge within) is fully opened, you suddenly realize: the Dao rests neither in “mind” nor in “Buddha.” Sentiment and thought are forgotten together; being and non-being merge into one; the Neidan (internal alchemy) gestates to maturity, and the Yuanshen (original spirit) appears. The eyes open wide to clarity; light extends boundlessly.

Again (For Hu Xiucai)

From the very beginning, that speck of spirit-light in the heart has always been clear and one; it has no image, form, or substance. It does not sway or stir; it constantly abides in right concentration; Yin and Yang intermingle; the Neidan gestates to maturity, and the Yuanshen appears. The eyes open wide to clarity; light extends boundlessly.

Again (For Hu Xiucai)

From the very beginning, that speck of spirit-light in the heart has always been clear and one; it has no image, form, or substance. It does not sway or stir; it constantly abides in right concentration; its traces vanish and it cannot be sought. Its transformations follow no fixed rule; between manifestation and concealment there is no barrier; the subtle principle truly cannot be fathomed. I lay this out for you so that you may screen out what pulls the mind outward—entanglements, discursive thought, and worldly discriminating consciousness.

Keep the heart empty, bright, and pure; inwardly secure and at peace—only then can you see the root principle as it truly is. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) meet and merge; the heart’s moonlike clear light appears and illumines the root source of life itself. Radiance is full and round, clear and shining, always one and unmoved by externals, and ceaselessly transforming. In still concentration this orb of light appears, like moonlight breaking through boundless darkness.

Again (Directed to Old Chan, Physician Zhang, on Taking Up the Practice)

The main points of refining the Golden Elixir are not hard to understand; the key is to begin when the moment of yang qi’s stirring arrives. In daily life be cautious and self-restrained; even in solitude do not indulge; do not let the inner dragon and tiger (Yin and Yang qi) run wild unchecked. Let the heart be at leisure; keep the body upright and settled; let intent persist in focused guarding. From start to finish do not slacken, and naturally you will penetrate the xuanpin (the mysterious root of Yin-Yang creation in the Dao).

Where the text is slightly confused, I have pointed it out for you directly, like thunder rumbling beneath the earth. Setting the vessel and furnace (she ding an lu) is a weighty matter; application and timing depend entirely on the turn of the Dipper Handle (dou bing)—that is, grasping the secret of how Yin-Yang shift. Human nature is originally full and bright, and the root of life can be made firm; once you grasp the principle of “something within nothing” (wu zhong you), the old moon-toad (lao chan—the formed elixir or the toad in the moon) can appear, and you may reach the same span of life as Heaven and Earth.

Another poem, for Tong’an:

That speck of spirit in the Primordial Beginning (Tai Chu) was pure and unmixed from the start. A single thread of clinging sends you a thousand leagues from the Way; after true awakening, in the space of a moment you can hold the knack of Yin-Yang’s turning. Human nature is originally full and bright, and the root of life can be made firm; grasp “something within nothing,” and the old moon-toad appears—you may share Heaven and Earth’s longevity.

Another poem, for Tong’an:

That speck of spirit in the Primordial Beginning was pure and unmixed from the start. One thread of clinging and you are far from the Way; once you see it, clarity comes in an instant. The heart is empty and unobstructed, without a speck of worldly dust—why force yourself to manipulate Geng and Jia (the stems that stand for the shifts of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases)? Who truly receives and carries this teaching sees it before their eyes: the Way is not fixation on some fixed technique.

The plain secret is hard to put into words and has no fixed name; the crux is inner thoroughness. Take it up as you go—may you grasp and use it. It is seamless; not even a needle finds a gap. Leave behind the barrier between self and other, and step out of quarrel and dispute; you must also understand “giving life and taking life” (sheng and sha—the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang in creation). Nurture a nature without form or image, forget the body, and the wondrous realm opens.

Another poem, to show the assembly and break delusion:

The shortcut to becoming an immortal lies in the Pass (xuan guan)—the critical gate in inner alchemy where inner and outer and Yin and Yang meet—a pass that opens in every direction. Tell seekers first to set their will firm; once they awaken, clarity comes in a moment. How laughable are those who lose their way: they do not seek a clear master, yet cling to side-gate methods—pulling and shifting qi (yundun jingqi), which in the end only adds useless twists.

Who knows that the Great Way is broad, level, and unobstructed—yet still needs a teacher to open it? Know how to follow the Way, and you can act without leaving traces; the Mystery Female (xuan pin) opens and closes of itself. With no thought arising and nothing to cling to, the Valley Spirit (gu shen) does not die; when the work of the nine turnings (jiu zhuan) is complete, you shed the shell and walk at ease in Daluo Heaven (the highest heaven in Daoist cosmology).

Xi Jiang Yue (West River Moon), for Master Pan:

[The user text ends with the title only—the lyric itself is not included in the passage. If there is a following stanza, provide it for translation.]

True earth, true lead, and true mercury denote the fundamental elements that work together in internal alchemy (Neidan); primordial spirit, primordial qi, and primordial jing are the root sources of a person’s spirit, breath, and vital essence. When the three unite as one, the formula for refining the elixir is complete—this is the supreme level of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) cultivation.

Whether in movement or stillness, one can remain empty, quiet, clear, and bright without dullness; when cultivation reaches fulfillment, the realm of true, round brightness appears. Body and spirit both reach a wondrous state, free from the bonds of birth and death, and one arrives directly at the sublime realm where the Void Sovereign (the supreme deity revered in Daoism) dwells.

Again (For a Good Friend)

The Great Dao (Dao) cannot be explained in words from the start; it depends entirely on unwavering resolve. Keep the heart clear and bright, and keep probing the root—like a single round moon reflected in a thousand pools, showing everywhere.

If you grasp a metaphor such as “striking the wind to catch a shadow,” you will understand “planting a lotus in fire”: in what seems impossible, one can still attain a pure, clear realm. Let the blue sea turn to mulberry fields and the world change as it may—only this original nature never changes.

Again (For a Friend)

The Great Dao cannot be explained in words from the start; it depends entirely on unwavering resolve. Keep the heart clear and bright, and keep probing the root—like a single round moon reflected in a thousand pools, showing everywhere.

If you grasp a metaphor such as “striking the wind to catch a shadow,” you will understand “planting a lotus in fire”: in what seems impossible, one can still attain a pure, clear realm. Let the blue sea turn to mulberry fields and the world change as it may—only this original nature never changes.

Again (For Zhou Shouzheng)

See through the lack of any fixed split between “self” and “other,” and you need not cling to seeking Buddha or immortals. At any time, in any place, you can abide in dhyana (meditative absorption); nothing illusory or worldly can stain the inner heart.

Why must one live in the mountains? One can cultivate at the busy gate of the marketplace. Hold the center, stabilize the three fields (the upper, middle, and lower dantian in Daoist practice), and with long, deep work the spirit pearl (the symbol of the completed inner elixir) will naturally appear.

“Refining Cinnabar Sand” (On the Mysterious Female, for the Assembly)

Few can truly understand the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin—the subtle source from which all things arise in Daoism); today I speak of it for all to hear. Do not say it lies in some direction—south, north, east, or west; it is not among the four quarters or above and below, nor is it in the center.

Its opening and closing, its transformations, have inexhaustible subtle use; it is the root of heaven, earth, and the myriad things. The ten thousand things ceaselessly grow and change through its wondrous functioning; the pivot of movement and stillness never rests, vast enough to embrace all.

Again (For the Assembly)

The Great Dao cannot be transmitted in words; the key lies in inner steadfastness. From beginning to end, keep your aim from wavering; maintain singleness of purpose for long years, and you can reach the realm of immortals. Its subtle use is boundless—it is the root of heaven, earth, and the myriad things; the ten thousand things are born and transform without end, the pivot of movement and stillness never stops, vast enough to embrace all.

Again (For the Assembly)

The Great Dao cannot be transmitted in words; the key lies in inner steadfastness. From beginning to end, keep your aim from wavering; maintain singleness of purpose for long years, and you can reach the realm of immortals.

True breath (the long, natural breath of practice) flows on by itself; the inner ground of clarity and brightness is calm and secure. When hungry, eat; when tired, sleep; in summer wear light clothes, in winter use quilts. The subtle Way is right in daily life—there is no other mystery to seek.

The Buddhist scriptures say: “If one wishes to understand the principle of the Buddhas of the past, present, and future, one should observe the nature of the dharmadhatu (realm of phenomena); all things in the world arise from the mind.” This means that where there is creation, there is change—and creation and change both spring from the mind. People commonly say that the craftsman of all creation is “zao hua” (creation and transformation); I do not see it that way. Creation and transformation have no concrete maker; the myriad things transform and arise on their own. Why? Every thing has its own nature and mind; where there is nature and mind, there is the power to generate and transform—is that not the self-arising and self-transforming of the ten thousand things?

All formed things in the world originally have no fixed shape. From the formless they appear as formed—this is called “zao” (creating); once there is form, decay follows, and after decay they return to the formless—this is called “hua” (transforming). Endless birth and transformation is the normal state of the ten thousand things.

The “one true nature” (the real, unchanging essence) has always been present, yet it has no concrete image. When it manifests as formed things, that is called “zao”; when formed things perish and return to the formless, that is called “hua.” But from the standpoint of the substance of the one true nature, there is neither creating nor transforming—this is the constant state of the Dao (the Way). People only know that “no creating, no transforming” means no birth-and-death activity, yet they do not grasp that within it there is a deeper, vaster zao hua. Who but one who sees clearly can understand this?

One who is fully clear has wisdom that flows without obstruction and can see that the essential nature of all things is empty, allowing the mind to return to stillness and stand apart—thus no longer ruled by the turns of zao hua. If one does not understand, one clings to body-mind and worldly affairs, while inwardly one remains in feeling, perception, impulse, and consciousness—so one follows the shifts of events and the birth and death of the body.

What the eye sees is called “form” (rupa); receiving the outer world in the mind is called “feeling” (vedana); forming an impression in the mind after receiving is called “perception” (samjna); as thoughts continue and lead to action, that is called “impulse” (samskara); actions good or bad each draw corresponding results, giving rise to “karmic consciousness” (consciousness shaped by karma and ceaselessly active). When karmic consciousness is tangled and confused, it is the root of samsara—so one cannot escape the pull of zao hua.

If one is not bound by illusory conditions, not stained by outer appearances, not obscured by deluded emotions, and not tormented by craving and desire, one can see that “the five skandhas are all empty” (form, feeling, perception, impulse, and consciousness have no independent, permanent substance). When the five skandhas are empty, whence comes zao hua? This is the “wondrous mind of nirvana” (the awakened mind of still liberation). When I say “zao hua comes from the mind,” what remains to doubt?

The Dao De Jing says: “Being and non-being mutually give rise to each other.” That is to say, when non-being gives rise to being, it is called “creating”; when being turns back into non-being, it is called “transforming.” It also says: “Reach the utmost emptiness, hold fast to deep stillness; the ten thousand things arise together, and I observe how they return to the root.” This means coming to know change by watching how all things revert. One who understands change is not overturned by change; if one is not overturned by change, what room is left for creating and perishing? Unless one has penetrated through to the depths and is free of inner obstruction, who can arrive at such a state?

The person who has attained thorough understanding keeps the mind clear and bright within, and so can see through body-mind and worldly affairs: they understand that things appear within illusion; once they appear as “being,” they become concrete things, and when things reach their extreme they turn back, ultimately returning to emptiness and non-being. Seen this way, where is there any “creating” at all? Unless one has penetrated through to the depths and is free of inner obstruction, who can grasp this?

Viewed in this way, one understands: the “image” (xiang) that has no fixed form is the truly real image. Nourish and guard this formless image, and it endures; hold fast to the formless, bodiless authentic source, and the living body can preserve its true nature. When one reaches a state of pure wholeness, one merges with the vast Dao (the Way); entering a realm deep, chaotic, and boundless, one merges with the incomparable Dao. Stepping beyond the bounds of emptiness and non-being is called “not being ruled by creation and transformation.”

Those who cling to things find body and mind unsettled; thoughts tangle and disturb one another, so they lose the formless image and scatter the formless body, drift in birth and death, and sink long in the sea of suffering. If one can gather body and mind and clear away distracting thoughts—neither letting inner thoughts race outward nor letting outer things disturb the inner mind, so that inside and outside are both still—this is called zhaoliao (using clear, awakened insight to penetrate body and mind). Going further, neither clinging inward to thoughts nor outward to the physical form, releasing body, mind, and stray thoughts, one reveals the pure, unified, luminous authenticity, vast and unobstructed like the Grand Void. At that level, what can creation and transformation do to you?

Confucian classics say: “Do not envy and do not covet”; “commit no fault and do not chase reputation.” This means: without envy or covetousness, one is not driven by external things into artificial striving; without fault and without chasing reputation, one is not swayed by external things. The Xici commentary on the Changes says: “Take laws from what is far—the myriad things; take laws from what is near—oneself.” I hold that observing from the myriad things, one can know that all conditioned causes and conditions are empty and unreal; observing from oneself, one can know that the five aggregates (the five constituents of body and experience: form, feeling, perception, volitional formations, and consciousness) are all empty. Outwardly, shut out myriad attachments; inwardly, dissolve clinging to the five aggregates—then one can follow heaven and earth in their course and rest content in joy. Understanding the beginning and end of things, the reasons for darkness and light, and the principles of birth and death, one exhausts principle and fully clarifies one’s nature, and thereby penetrates the mandate of heaven. Joyful in accord with the Way of heaven, there is no worry; having fully clarified one’s nature, there is no doubt. Unless one is a person who has attained zhì zhī (investigating things to obtain true knowledge), who could do this?

The person who has attained zhì zhī is sincere and clear, with a still mind and settled disposition; therefore they know: what incessantly arises and perishes is the illusory body; what differs in kind and cannot be made one is the deluded mind; what shifts without rest and has no fixed standard is the trends of the world; what quickly decays is daily affairs. When observation and refinement reach full maturity, it is called the work of a sage; penetrating all affairs through one principle, one is no longer ruled by creation and transformation. If one cannot attain zhì zhī, one cannot exhaustively investigate things; if one cannot exhaustively investigate things, one turns with external things as they change—how then can life and nature be settled? If one can move without fixed abode and circulate through the six directions (in the Changes, the realms above, below, and on all sides), one can unite with heaven and earth, and the patterns of the myriad things are all complete within oneself. Until the heart of heaven is seen anew and the ten thousand things return to the one without multiplicity, the work of creation and transformation ceases.

Suppose heaven and earth (qián and kūn) no longer changed and sun and moon no longer moved—whence would the six child trigrams (the other yin-yang figures symbolizing heaven and earth) arise? If the six children did not interpenetrate and yin and yang no longer ascended and descended, whence would the myriad things be born? The bodies of qián and kūn are pure and without admixture; they do not undergo opposing transformations—therefore there is no creation and transformation. To be able to create without clinging to creating is the great creation and transformation; to be able to change without clinging to changing is the great change. Seen this way, all things in the world are temporarily assembled from causes and conditions; the movement of yin and yang is nothing but illusion—unless it is change at the root of all under heaven, who could reach this state?

Viewed from the three teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism), the root lies in the mind; creation and transformation arise from the mind, and transcending creation and transformation is also accomplished through the mind.

The crux of learning Buddhism is seeing one's nature—recognizing one's innate Buddha-nature. To see that nature, you must first make a firm resolve, overcome the habits shaped by everyday custom, and through strict discipline guard the clear, penetrating wakefulness within. Only then can you see through empty illusions, neither clinging to outer things nor being spun around by emotion and desire.

Thought is the root of affliction; mind is the root from which all phenomena arise. When thought stirs, affliction stirs with it; when thought subsides, affliction subsides. When mind arises, phenomena show themselves; when mind rests, phenomena dissolve. Catch each thought as it rises and cut it off—the decisive factor is always your own mind. When every thought of arising and ceasing has stilled and you enter undisturbed quiescence, that is seeing one's nature.

Many who study the Way today fail to see their nature because they are blocked by two kinds of obstruction: obstruction of affairs—entanglement in deeds and daily business—and obstruction of principle—confusion in views and understanding. Without deep, wide-ranging contemplation, you cannot clear obstruction of principle; without strong cessation and stillness, you cannot remove obstruction of affairs. "Great contemplation" means using wisdom to sever delusion; "great cessation" means using concentration to still restless movement. When wisdom's severing of delusion is fully mature, you see that all principles are empty; when concentration's stilling of movement is fully mature, you see that all phenomena are empty. Grasping the ultimate import of the "threefold emptiness" (emptiness of emptiness, of self, of dharmas, and related teachings) and realizing the one true ground is great contemplation at its height. When body and mind, worldly affairs, thoughts, deliberation, emotion, and consciousness all cease, that is great cessation at its height. Without the highest wisdom, who could reach that?

The crux of studying the Way is preserving one's nature—holding and nurturing the innate nature. To preserve it, you must first wield the sword of wisdom to cut through mara obstructions. When the text again describes great cessation, it says: when worldly affairs, thoughts, emotion, and consciousness all cease, that is the summit of great cessation; without the highest wisdom, who could attain it?

The key to cultivating the Dao lies in preserving one’s true nature. To preserve true nature, one must first use the sword of wisdom to cut away the various inner demons, then employ the “fire talisman” (a symbolic term in Daoist practice for regulating body and mind) to dispel the six desires. Relying on firm concentration, one forgets emotional attachments, cuts off discursive thought, and sheds burdens until the mind is clear. When the mind is clear, burdens are gone, thought is severed, and emotional clinging is forgotten, this is called “preserving nature” (cun xing). Once true nature is preserved, one is no longer ruled by the transformations of creation. People who cultivate the Dao today are often pulled by emotion and conscious discrimination. To free oneself from emotion and cognition, one must first remove the mind that rises and falls with each thought. When the mind neither arises nor ceases, the body likewise neither arises nor ceases—this is the achievement of cultivating stillness (xiu ding).

To remove the arising-and-ceasing mind, one must begin with long practice of thoughtlessness (wu nian) until it is fully mature; only then can one reach the state of no dreams. When stillness practice in thoughtlessness is fully mature, only then can one reach non-arising (wu sheng). No dreams is an important attainment at the present stage; thoughtlessness is the crucial final attainment of practice. Reaching non-arising, one no longer fabricates; reaching no dreams, one no longer flows with change. Neither fabricating nor changing is neither arising nor ceasing. Unless one’s cultivation is profound, who can reach such a level?

The essence of Confucian learning is to fully realize human nature. To fulfill nature (jin xing), one must illuminate bright virtue (De) and abide in the highest good. Knowing where to stop, the mind can settle; once settled, one can forget both outer things and the self. The judgment of the Gen (Keeping Still) hexagram in the Book of Changes says: “Keeping still in the back—no longer feeling one’s body; walking through the courtyard yet not seeing the people there—no misfortune.” “Keeping still in the back” means forgetting one’s own thoughts; “not obtaining the body” means forgetting the self; “walking the courtyard without seeing anyone” means forgetting outer things. When all three are forgotten, what misfortune remains? This is knowing the utmost of stopping. Knowing where to stop, one forgets things and self and preserves heavenly principle—this is called fulfilling nature.

People today cannot fulfill nature because they are burdened by body and mind; with burden comes obstruction. Therefore one must be resolute and decisive: only with decisive firmness can one forget outer things; only with steadfast resolve can one forget the self. Forgetting both things and self, one fulfills nature and penetrates the mandate of Heaven—this achievement is thereby fixed. Unless one possesses divine virtue and the merit of a sage, who can reach such a level?

People often take this physical body to be their real “self,” without giving it much thought. This body is produced by conditioned causes: before it took shape, was there any form? Any name? Any “I”? After the body dissolves, are there still form, name, and “I”? Since no genuine “I” can be found either before formation or after dissolution, how can one cling only to the interval in between and insist that a fixed, unchanging self exists there?

Body, mind, and all affairs of the world are empty from the start; pursued through the three times—past, present, and future—nothing solid can be found. The past is already far beyond reach—where could one locate it? Each thought in the present is also in flux; the future, of course, will not stay fixed either. Sentient beings, through countless kalpas, remain inside a great dream yet cling to empty conditions, thereby planting the roots of rebirth—born again and dying again without end. If someone can awaken to the truth within this dreamlike realm and skillfully let go and meet whatever arises, is that not one who has attained the Dao?

One day I presented this gong’an (meditation case) for the disciples to investigate. Several disciples’ understanding gradually aligned with mine, so I wrote this essay for them. What is spoken here is mind-to-mind transmission: if one can grasp it in the immediate present and personally take it up, with heart meeting heart, one can at once stop chasing, neither scheming over the past nor worrying about the future, nor craving the present. When past, present, and future merge into one, one gains great freedom—serenely abiding in the ocean of great stillness, roaming at ease in the realm of nowhere, wandering freely in self-fulfillment. Reaching this point, one knows that the transformations of heaven and earth have nothing to do with this matter.

Yet there is still a higher level in cultivation. What is that higher level? Alas! Overturn every attachment that hangs on the character for “nothing,” smash empty space itself—only then is one who has truly settled the great affair. Guard these words carefully and keep them close!

What is meant by juexue (transcending learning) is not refusing to study at all. If one treats learning nothing as juexue, one becomes utterly ignorant and no different from ordinary people. Juexue here means that after broad study, one finally goes beyond clinging to knowledge and doctrines. People often treat learning as chasing the strange and abstruse, and the more they learn, the more confused and unclear they become. The sage said: “The farther from the Dao, the less one truly knows.” He also said: “Knowing too much easily leads to confusion; taking less yields something real.” That is exactly the point. Earlier Confucian scholars likewise said: “Those who youwei (act with deliberate effort) exhaust themselves every day; those who practice wuwei (non-action) do not suffer that drain.” The meaning is the same. This text is written as an explanation, so that those who cultivate are not bound by shengwen and yuanjue (Buddhist practitioners who seek personal liberation), nor by views built only on understanding and hearsay.

In daily life, the subtle is everywhere; it is just that people today have not fully recognized it. One should look inward and examine one’s own original mind, and set aside empty talk that stays on the lips.

The myriad affairs and methods are not utterly void; what is handed down from generation to generation may also be nothing but false legend. If one has never accumulated merit and virtue, how could calamity arrive first?

Without adding, there is no loss; without change, how could there be shifting and transformation? Neither stained nor “pure”; neither deficient nor “complete.” One should look inward at the original mind and drop verbal empty talk.

The myriad affairs and methods are not all empty; what is transmitted from age to age may likewise be mere false speech. If merit and virtue were never cultivated, from where would disaster come beforehand?

No increase, then no loss; no change, then no turning. Neither defiled nor clean, neither broken nor “whole.”

Do not cling to anger or joy—why then worry over hardship and setbacks? If one does not plant the causes of goodness, how could there be the conditions of evil?

Do not inquire into rise and fall; then name and profit cannot pull you. Whether coarse or fine, neither favor nor reject; whether beautiful or ugly, neither hate nor pity.

Without paying back the ties that joy creates, one is not entangled by favor and resentment. Open the net of “self and other” (the fixation that opposes oneself to others) and step out of the circle of right and wrong.

The mind-state is clear, quiet, and luminous, without fixating on antiquity; calm and plain, without deliberately admiring the worthy. Do not brood over what comes after this life, and release pursuit of what preceded birth.

Let Buddha be Buddha and immortal be immortal. Unburdened by the mundane, why fear the yehuo (the fire of karmic retribution, a metaphor for suffering born of karma)?

Neither grasp being nor non-being; let emptiness and fullness coexist as they will. Because the heart holds no picking and choosing, naturally there is no fault.

Coming and going are utterly forgotten—what do birth and death have to do with you? Abide in the state before birth.

Let Buddha be Buddha and immortal be immortal. Unburdened by the mundane, why fear yehuo?

The meaning of true “supreme” (wushang) can be grasped from these two words themselves. The scripture opens with “unmoving and wuwei (non-action),” then says “forget the eyes, forget the ears,” and later speaks of “no image, no form”—all of this is one and the same teaching.

Yet it must not be taken as either “being” or “non-being,” nor as even the absence of “non-being.” Within emptiness there is still an indestructible true nature (zhenxing); that alone is true “non-being” (zhen wu). Understand this: bodily form and outward appearance are illusory dust; color and sound are the dusty realm of sense-contact. Outwardly, do not cling to color and sound; inwardly, do not cling to form and image. When inner and outer clinging are both released, the True One (the unified true nature) abides constantly. This is how one apprehends true “non-being” in what is not sheer void.

The Supreme Venerable (Taishang, the Daoist honorific for Laozi) said: “Empty to the point that there is nothing left to empty.” What must be realized is precisely this true non-being. Even what is “emptied” does not exist; even “non-non-being” does not exist. When even “non-non-being” is let go, one reaches a state of clear stillness. The Commentary on the Changes (Yizhuan) says that the Changes has no deliberation and no contrivance—it is still and unmoving, yet responds to all things through resonance. Master Chuan Lao, a Chan teacher, said: “Having form and image, having pursuit—all is delusion; fixating on formlessness and imagelessness also becomes one-sided and withered. When did the dignified true substance ever need to be sought? A single strand of cool light illumines the great void.”

Seen in this light, worthies of the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—have all used “true non-being” to awaken later students, teaching them to respond to things while unmoving and to act while in wuwei. Inwardly forget the body; outwardly forget color and sound; nurture a state without form or image; guard a nature without body or appearance; preserve the true original; and transcend attachment even to emptiness. This is called the highest path of cultivation: there is no realm above it, and therefore it is called “supreme” (wushang).

In Chiwen (Red Script), chi (red) refers to the empty Qi of the void; wen (script/pattern) means light appearing and shining everywhere. Buddhism borrows expressions such as “bare body,” “empty hands,” “bare ground,” and “utterly bare” to stand for emptiness, so the text takes chi as a symbol of the void. The Shuogua says “Qian is red”; Qian stands for Heaven and also carries the sense of empty space. The Duren jing speaks of “the five scripts opening the expanse” and “no script that does not deliver”—meaning light manifesting and illuminating all things. When a cultivator holds to the root and returns to the source, entering a state without gap or barrier, the empty Qi shines forth, filling Heaven and Earth and shining on all things—hence the name Chiwen.

In Donggu (Penetrating the Ancient), dong is contemplation and gu is the beginning. To contemplate the start of things is to know their end—this is what “returning from the origin to the end” means. The Most High says, “Hold to the Dao of old to govern what exists today”; the Yinfu jing says, “Observe the Dao of Heaven, hold to Heaven’s operation.” When the cultivator gathers in sight and hearing and turns the light inward, inner brilliance appears of itself; mind and knowing become deep, still, and far beyond measure. Such contemplation is called liaozhao (complete illumination); from it one grasps subtle sound, penetrates without obstruction, and knows the original beginning of things—hence Donggu.

In Zhenjing (True Scripture), jing means a path—the great road everyone may walk—and also the highest method of cultivation. Empty Qi is void yet can show light; through it the cultivator contemplates without obstruction, grasps subtle sound, and knows the original beginning of things. This is the path of cultivation that Zhenjing denotes.

A jing (scripture) means a “path” or “way.” It is like a great road that everyone may travel, standing for the supreme subtle Dharma: it speaks of the profound workings within void, empty Qi (the still, formless vital breath of Daoism), points to insight and unobstructed access, unveils the key mystery of probing the beginning and end of all things, is a shortcut beyond birth and death toward liberation, and is the true path of transcending the mundane world. When reading this scripture, do not merely hunt line by line for phrases and clauses; grasp what lies beyond words. If you can silently awaken and personally verify it, you will reach directly the reality of emptiness and meet the pre-heaven realm before Yuanshi (the primordial origin in Daoism)—hence it is called the “true scripture.”

“Motion that moves comes from what does not move; action that acts comes from wuwei (non-action).”

Zhang Zai (the Northern Song scholar) said: “In motion there is no stillness and in stillness there is no motion—that is the condition of concrete things; in motion there is stillness and in stillness there is motion—that is the condition of wondrous transformation.” Laozi said: “Through wuwei, nothing is left unaccomplished.” I hold: motion that arises from non-motion is true motion; action that appears from wuwei is true action.

“When spirit returns, the myriad things flourish yet are still; when qi is extinguished, the myriad things have no birth.”

Laozi said: “The myriad things flourish and grow, then each returns to its root; returning to the root is called stillness.” Buddhism says: “When thoughts cease, all phenomena cease accordingly.” I hold: when spirit is gathered to the utmost limit (a state where thoughts stop and distinctions vanish), though the myriad things flourish outwardly, inwardly they do not stir; when breath dissolves into empty stillness, the myriad things return to silence as if no longer arising.

“Spirit receives spirit; things support one another.”

The Xici commentary on the Book of Changes says: “Ceaseless generation and transformation—this is called the Dao.” I hold: wondrous qi responds to wondrous qi, thing responds to thing in mutual support and aid—all without end.

“Return to the root; silently awaken.”

The Xici says: “Silently accomplishing, one gains trust without speaking.” I hold: keeping the true One (the authentic breath or source in Daoist practice) at the tree’s root is called “root”; keeping the true One at the tree’s crown is called “branch.” One who can grasp it with mind and spirit and silently realize it can exhaust the source and awaken to the foundation.

The Yixi (Commentary on the Changes) says: The sage uses this to cleanse the mind, hides the true “One” at the root of the tree, and calls it the “root”; hides the true “One” at the tip of the tree, and calls it the “branch.” If one can grasp the meaning with the heart, one can trace origins and awaken to the foundation.

[I personally bury it within myself and enter the realm where nothing stands between]

The Yixi says: The sage uses this to cleanse the mind and withdraw the heart into what is deep and hidden. My explanation: “Zhi” (to plant or bury) means to conceal. When one places oneself where there is no path of retreat, one can enter a state without gaps or obstruction.

[Neither dying nor being born—one becomes one with Heaven and Earth]

The Yixi says: Tracing a thing’s beginning and examining its end clarifies the principle of birth and death. The Heart Sutra says “neither born nor destroyed.” My explanation: Birth and death are like day and night—natural phases; day and night have their own course, birth and death have their own changes. To see them thus is to be one with Heaven and Earth.

Chapter on Cultivating the Real

“Movement within stillness, action within Wuwei (non-action)” describes the substance of cultivating the real (cao zhen—grasping the way of truth). “Spirit returns, Qi (vital energy) dissolves; they receive and nourish each other” describes its function. When spirit settles in stillness, Qi gradually melts away; mutual reception and mutual nourishment—this is the work of cultivating the real. Returning to the root, securing the self, and thereby becoming one with Heaven and Earth—this is its highest effect. Therefore this chapter is titled the “Chapter on Entering Sagehood,” and the hymn says:

Spirit moves within what does not move; the Dao acts where there is no deliberate action. See clearly that within movement there is real doing—all primordial creation ultimately returns here.

[Forget sight—the light fills the boundless; stop the ears—the knowing mind stays deep as an abyss]

Laozi said: “Without looking out the window one can see the way of Heaven; without going out the door one can know the world.” My explanation: When the eyes do not look outward, the light of spirit can shine everywhere; when the ears do not listen to outer sounds, the knowing mind becomes vast and deep.

[When both sight and hearing are forgotten, the mind is pure and whole and merges with the great Dao; deep, dark, undifferentiated—it merges with what has no compare.]

The Book of Odes says: “Do not deliberately know or discriminate; follow heaven’s arrangement.” The ancients called this state primordial simplicity and undifferentiated chaos. The Scripture on Salvation says it is the vast heaven and earth of deep, dark chaos—empty and boundless, with no visible light. I hold that in this state one may look yet cling to nothing seen, hear yet cling to nothing heard—pure and without admixture, whole and true; body and mind rest in silent blending, and so one can transcend past and present and reach what nothing else can match.

“Though heaven and earth are vast, I am what upholds them; though the myriad things are many, I am what holds them.”

The Commentary on the Appended Phrases of the Book of Changes says: “Heaven and earth are most worth taking as models.” Mencius said: “The principles of the myriad things are all complete in my mind.” I hold that the Way of heaven surpasses all; nothing can compare with it.

“Though heaven and earth are vast, I am what upholds them; though the myriad things are many, I am what holds them.”

The Commentary on the Appended Phrases of the Book of Changes says: “Heaven and earth are most worth taking as models.” Mencius said: “The principles of the myriad things are all complete in my mind.” I hold that heaven moves without ceasing and earth quietly bears; I can grasp and hold the root principle within them. Though things are many, when gathered under one heading, at root they are a single whole.

“How could there be an end? To insist they can be exhausted in words—is that not a fault?”

The earlier Confucians said the principles of heaven, earth, and the human realm are inexhaustible; if one insists they can be fully exhausted, is that not a defect? I hold that when one thread of principle runs through all doctrines, the Way can naturally be spoken to the full.

Entering the Chapter on the Sage

Forget sight and dissolve hearing, so that form and sound no longer obstruct, and you can merge with heaven and earth. If one still stumbles over the myriad things, one has not deeply grasped the principle. Those who deeply enter the principle use one principle to thread through all affairs and gather the three powers—heaven, earth, and humanity—so they can endure long. Hence the next chapter speaks of “abiding in the world,” with verses in praise:

Without hearing, without seeing—ultimately mere empty show; turning with form and sound, one is blocked again by the dusty world. Grasp the twofold principle and gather the myriad things, then you can enter the sage realm; when effort is deep and cultivation complete, you reach wholeness and truth.

“Nurture what has no image, and the image therefore always remains. Guard what has no form, and the form therefore is wholly true.”

Laozi said: “The greatest image has no fixed shape.” He also said: “Not putting the self first, yet the self is preserved.” I hold that image without fixed shape is the real image, so it is not destroyed through long kalpas; body without fixed form is the true substance, and therefore one can preserve original authenticity.

Earlier Confucian thinkers said that “pure unity without falsity” means being single-minded and sincere, free of pretense. I take “pure unity” as wholeness (quan) and “without falsity” as authenticity (zhen). Wholeness and authenticity support each other; that is the way of long life and lasting vision—methods for enduring vitality and extending one’s years.

Laozi said that heaven and earth endure because they do not live for themselves. I understand “not living for themselves” as letting go of fixation on the physical form, so one can preserve one’s authentic nature and endure like heaven and earth.

Laozi said that heaven and earth endure because they do not live for themselves. I understand “not living for themselves” as letting go of fixation on the physical form, so one can preserve one’s own authentic nature and endure like heaven and earth.

The Diamond Sutra says: “All conditioned dharmas are like a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow.” I take it that dream, illusion, bubble, and shadow may show a shape, yet in the end they vanish. Clinging to the body and to outward appearances is therefore empty and illusory; it must eventually decay.

Master Kai of the Chan school said that once you fall into the split between “is” and “is not,” you lose body and life. I think people cannot endure because they hold on to something. Those who grasp are pulled by things; in the end they change along with those things. They cannot keep the hundred bones and nine orifices—the limbs, flesh, and sensory gates—in lasting union with the true body, the root of authentic life; that is why they die in the end.

To cultivate and maintain a state that is formless and imageless, without substance and without appearance, is the only way to endure long. Clinging to what has form causes one to lose one’s original true nature, and decay follows quickly. What has form must in the end perish; what is formless can endure. When the ten thousand things return to emptiness, their true nature is preserved; when emptiness turns back into the ten thousand things, true nature is lost. One who abandons the former and takes the latter is called a perfected person (zhiren). Such a person can preserve the body and remain in the world, and can also enjoy long life with clear vision. Beyond this, however, there is a Dao that transcends the world—neither born nor destroyed. What counts as transcendence? What is the way of non-birth? Know this: illusory bodies have form and must perish in the end; the Dharma-body (the true nature beyond physical form) has no appearance, and therefore endures. Only when form and formlessness are both utterly emptied is one at the rank of the unmoving sage in suchness.

Commentary on the Taishang Shengxuan Xiaozai Huh Ming Miaojing (Marvelous Scripture of Ascending to the Mysterious for Dispelling Calamities and Protecting Life)

Annotated by Li Daochun of Qing’an, the Yingchan Master, a student at Duliang

Taishang Shengxuan Xiaozai Huh Ming Miaojing

At that time, the Primordial Lord of Heaven (Yuanshi Tianzun), in the Five Illuminations Palace of the Seven Treasures Grove, together with the sages of Wuji (the boundless), sent forth boundless light that shone upon the world of Wuji. He saw the beings of that boundless world bearing every kind of suffering—turning in the world, enduring pain, cycling through birth and death, sunk deep in the river of love and desire, adrift on the sea of craving. They drowned in sound and appearance, confused by notions of “being” and “non-being,” taking emptiness for existence and existence for emptiness, seeing the colorless as colored, taking non-being for being and being for non-being. From beginning to end the beings remained dim and unaware; though they could have awakened to themselves, they stayed lost in delusion.

The Celestial Sovereign told all beings: Your existence does not arise from “being,” nor from “non-being”; it does not arise from “form” (visible, tangible things), nor from “emptiness” (void or stillness). Do not treat “being as being” or “non-being as non-being,” and do not treat “form as form” or “emptiness as emptiness.” Emptiness is emptiness, yet emptiness is not a fixed, unchanging emptiness; form is form, yet form is not a fixed, unchanging form. Form is emptiness, and emptiness is form.

If you can understand that emptiness is not absolute emptiness, and that form is not fixed form, this is called “zhaoliao” (clear, thorough insight). Only then can you grasp the teaching that sound and cognition have no fixed emptiness, see through everything without obstruction, enter every profound gate of the Way, awaken naturally, shed all doubt, and not cling to views of emptiness—so that the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are purified and wrong obstacles are cut off. I now proclaim this wondrous scripture for you; it is named Protecting Life, to deliver beings. It should be taught in the world so that the text spreads widely for reading and recitation. Then flying spirit kings, vajra warriors who break wrong views, dharma-protecting spirit children, deliverers from suffering, golden essences and fierce beasts, and countless hosts will together guard this scripture and attend it in offering. They can ward off calamity, support the weak, and help all beings leave every defilement and attachment.

At that time the Celestial Sovereign spoke a verse:

You cannot see me; you cannot hear my voice. When you are far from all bias and opposition, that is called the wondrous Dao.

At that time, the Primordial Celestial Sovereign (Yuanshi Tianzun)

“Yuanshi” refers to the primordial ancestral qi (vital energy). From primordial ancestral qi the heavens are generated—like the Buddhist phrase “the supreme, unmoving honored one of the Way”; hence the title Tianzun (Heavenly Sovereign).

In the grove of seven treasures

When the three yuan and four images are complete in the human body, it is called the “grove of seven treasures.”

Inside the palace of five illuminations

This means the central palace, the Yellow Court (Huangting). The inner realm is empty, still, clear, and shines on all things; therefore it is called the “palace of five illuminations.”

Together with the holy assembly of wuji (limitlessness)

This means the display of myriad transformations.

When “boundless light is released,” it means that various kinds of knowledge and views arise in the mind; when “boundless worlds are illumined,” it means that various kinds of realms appear; when “boundless sentient beings are observed,” what is seen is only various illusory and false appearances; when “boundless suffering is borne,” it means one is subjected to various kinds of bondage.

Turning and drifting in the world is birth and death again and again through changing bodies and rebirth, without end; revolving in birth and death, being born and dying while oneself remains unaware. Drifting on the river of emotional attachment is being pulled by karmic ties of affection; drowning in the sea of desire is clinging and craving.

Indulging in sound and form is being deluded by voice and visible appearance—this is called “karmic consciousness” (ye shi, consciousness that moves under the influence of karma); confusion about “being” and “non-being” is being stirred by the “roots and dust” (gen chen—the sense faculties and the external objects they contact).

Clinging to either “emptiness” or “being” is wrong: to take emptiness as void and call that true emptiness is not genuine emptiness; to think there is a “being” that can be grasped is also only illusory emptiness. To take formlessness as true formlessness, or to cling to form, both fall within illusion. Treating “non-being” as absolute non-being, or “being” as real being, is the same.

Remaining dark and unclear throughout is because once one clings to any side, one falls into delusion; not clinging to any side and yet still unable to see for oneself. Being disturbed by the four discriminations of emptiness, being, form, and non-form, one ultimately stays perpetually confused and unsettled.

All sentient beings—living beings endowed with feeling—remain caught in discriminating among such differentiated realms as “being” and “non-being,” “form” and “emptiness.” Out of compassion, the Celestial Worthy proclaimed this scripture and employed various skillful metaphors so that people might, through this illusory body, attain right enlightenment. Hence the scripture’s metaphors of the “seven treasures” and the “five luminosities.”

To guard the spirit in the jade palace and refine the form with golden fluid—phrases for protecting inner spirit and cultivating the body through internal alchemy—one must first preserve the primordial Yuan Shi Qi (the original qi of the source of all things), then examine and gather in the various conditions of experience. Only then can one break through all discrimination, transcend all realms, cut off all delusion, and release all bondage. One will no longer be pulled by craving and suffering, and will forever leave the wheel of rebirth. Whoever understands and practices in this way has obtained the way of long life and lasting clarity.

The Celestial Worthy restates this meaning:

You sentient beings all arise from illusion.

Everything that seems to exist and has form and appearance has no fixed, inherent nature from the start; everything that seems empty and without form is not absolute nothingness either. The aspect of form was never a fixed, unchanging “form” to begin with; the aspect of emptiness was never a fixed, unchanging “emptiness.”

To insist that what is “with action” (youwei—deliberate doing and grasping) is real being is to mistake what is not true being for being; to insist that what is “without action” (wuwei) is real non-being is to mistake what is not true non-being for non-being. To fix what is seen as color and call it color is not to see that color has no fixed reality; to mistake emptiness for a fixed emptiness is not to understand emptiness truly.

If one takes emptiness to be a fixed emptiness, that is only stubborn, grasping “obstinate emptiness.” Emptiness has no fixed, unchanging substance. If one takes color to be fixed color, that is only illusory appearance. Color has no fixed, unchanging substance.

“Form” refers to all things that have shape and appearance; “emptiness” refers to the fact that things have no fixed, unchanging, independently existing nature. Form and emptiness are not separate from each other: form does not depart from emptiness, and emptiness does not depart from form. If one understands that “emptiness” is not mere nothingness, then emptiness that does not fall into nihilistic void is called true emptiness; if one understands that appearances of form are not fixed and substantial, then form that does not cling to reified existence is called true form.

This is what is meant by “illumination”—seeing clearly through to the truth: form and emptiness are originally one substance, and being and non-being are not opposed. The lines that follow, repeated for emphasis, express the same meaning.

“Subtle sound” means hearing without clinging to what is heard; “dharma of emptiness” means understanding emptiness without grasping emptiness as something to hold on to. Penetrating this principle, one can experience the non-duality of being and non-being and enter the gate of unobstructed freedom; when form and emptiness are one, that is the path to all profound subtleties.

Once this is naturally realized, the mind no longer clings to being or non-being, and one opens into clarity; no longer bound by doubts about form and emptiness, the net of doubt dissolves. The scripture then says “not adhering to the view of emptiness,” and borrows language from the Heart Sutra of Prajna to explain that the practitioner does not cling to the limits of the senses and consciousness: purifying the six faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and their corresponding objects—form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects; cutting off wrong obstructions, that is, not clinging to the five aggregates (the five kinds of constituents that make up the person and experience): form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness.

“The previous two chapters” and “this chapter develops” are section markers; the later repetition of the six sense objects and five aggregates repeats what came before.

This chapter explains the heart-method of ascending into the mysterious (xuan) realm. The Celestial Worthy, in compassionate pity for sentient beings, points straight to the true purport of notions such as being and non-being, form and emptiness, admonishing again and again so that people may leave every realm of difference and opposition and not cling to views of being, non-being, emptiness, and the like. The essentials of ascending into the mysterious and entering the subtle have by this point been fully stated. Those who cultivate the Dao, if they can see through this layer, may consider their study complete; if they have not yet grasped it, they should listen carefully to the final lines.

“I therefore expound for you this wondrous scripture”—as explained above.

The scripture is named “Protecting Life” (hum ming): the way of long life and enduring vision.

“Ferrying and saving sentient beings”: those who trust in this scripture may be spared defilement and humiliation.

“Carrying it with oneself as offering”: when its meaning is nurtured within the heart, the body may be preserved and life extended.

“Teaching and spreading it in the world”: when its meaning is disseminated in the world, it benefits both human and heavenly beings.

“Circulating it for reading and recitation”: reading and spreading this scripture can ward off calamity and support the weak.

“Then Flying Heaven Spirit Kings, vajra-diamonds that shatter heterodoxy, spirit children who guard the Dharma, and true persons who deliver from suffering—together with myriads upon myriads of golden essences and fierce beasts—all guard this scripture and, wherever it is, offer protection.”

Wherever the scripture resides, the good spirits of the ten directions of heaven will uphold it. This is close in meaning to what Buddhist sutras say: where a scripture is present, it is as though a dharma-pagoda or Buddhist temple were there.

“Warding off adversity and supporting decline” is like a fine medicine that prolongs life.

“Delivering all sentient beings” is like the ferry and bridge that lead beings out of suffering.

“Leaving behind all defilement and attachment” is like a method for washing away grime and shedding clinging.

At that time the Celestial Worthy spoke in verse to restate the scripture’s subtle meaning:

“What is looked at yet does not show me”—one must treat with caution what one cannot see.

“What is listened for yet cannot be heard”—one must hold in awe what one cannot hear.

“Departing from every kind of extreme”—one must keep far from every sort of one-sidedness and opposition. The noble person should be careful in self-restraint even when alone, with no one to watch.

“This is called the subtle Dao (miaodao).”

The path of ascending to the mysterious realm (sheng xuan zhi dao) is fully explained at this point.

The three chapters above use exhortation and parables to explain the merit of upholding and reciting the scripture. Earlier, the four orientations of “being, non-being, form, and emptiness” were discussed, and the true direction of practice was likened to a ladder ascending into the mysterious realm and a bridge ferrying people across. The commentator feared that those whose practice was not yet strong enough could not bear the full weight of this teaching, so in this chapter various methods and images were set forth to guide those of middling and lower capacity, so that they might revere and uphold the scripture, enter its meaning through recitation, and gradually advance to a higher level.

This chapter also uses a four-line verse to point directly to the essential meaning of the mysterious, in the hope that both sentient and non-sentient beings may ascend into the mysterious realm. From this one can see how deeply the Supreme Venerable (Taishang) cherishes life and saves beings through virtue. Unless one steadies the will and earnestly puts it into practice, one cannot adequately repay this mysterious grace; readers who study this scripture should all the more exert themselves in cultivation.

Annotations on the Scripture on Constant Clarity and Stillness Spoken by the Supreme Old Lord (Taishang Laojun)

Annotated by Master Qing’an Yingchanzi Li Daochun, who studied under Canxue at Duliang.

As soon as we say the Dao can be put into words, it is no longer the eternal, unchanging Dao. If the Dao cannot be spoken, why call it “Dao” at all? In fact, the single word “Dao” already hints at part of its meaning. You cannot see it when you look, hear it when you listen, or hold it when you try to grasp it—yet its power is boundless. It is dim and indistinct, beyond what sound can convey; subtle and without shape, it has no fixed form. Treat the Dao as mere sound and you cannot truly know it; treat it as a fixed, unchanging body and you cannot use it to account for the changes of the ten thousand things.

The Dao has no form, yet it shows itself in heaven and earth giving birth to and nurturing the ten thousand things. It has no feelings, yet its working can be read in the course of sun and moon. Though originally nameless, because it makes all things grow and flourish, people give it a name. The Xici (Appended Remarks) of the Yijing (Book of Changes) says: “In heaven it forms celestial patterns; on earth it forms the shapes of things—change is thereby displayed.” Is this not the Dao’s form coming into view? The Yijing also says: “Thunder and lightning stir the ten thousand things; wind and rain nourish them; sun and moon run their course; cold and summer heat alternate.” Is this not the Dao’s action and character? Again: “The way of Qian (Heaven) begets the male; the way of Kun (Earth) begets the female.” Is this not the Dao’s name taking shape in things? The Dao was at first without a name; the sage only provisionally called it “Dao,” using that name to show how the myriad changes of the world connect and how the many paths return to one. It is level and straight, like a broad road—this is what is meant by the Dao.

The Dao has clarity and turbidity, movement and stillness. Heaven is clear and earth is turbid; heaven moves and earth is still. The male belongs to clarity, the female to turbidity; the male to movement, the female to stillness. From root to branch these differences unfold and give rise to the ten thousand things. Clarity is the source of turbidity; movement is the root of stillness. When a person can often remain clear and still, heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things can align with him.

Before chaos was divided, the principles of movement and stillness already existed; after clear qi and turbid qi separated, the pivot of change between movement and stillness began to appear. Clear qi rose to become Heaven; turbid qi sank to become Earth. Heaven and Earth open and close, yin and yang alternate—each other in motion and then returning to rest. The hinge of transformation never ceases, and so there are the four seasons and the ten thousand things.

Among the lives that Heaven and Earth give rise to, the human is most precious; among the ten thousand things, humans are the most endowed with spirit. Men take Heaven as their model, women take Earth as their model; men belong to the clear, women to the turbid, like the ascent and descent of Heaven and Earth. Men chiefly move, women chiefly rest, like the opening and closing of Heaven and Earth. When the qi of Heaven and Earth mingle, the ten thousand things are thus generated; from root to branch tip, life spreads and changes without end.

The Supreme One (Taishang—a Daoist title for the highest Dao or supreme deity) first spoke of formlessness, lack of feeling, and lack of name as the beginning of Heaven and Earth; then spoke of both movement and stillness—this is “having a name,” the root of the ten thousand things. If someone understands that these two ways of speaking share one source and differ only in name, they will see that clear and turbid are originally one body, and that movement and stillness are not truly apart. Though qi may appear turbid in its manifestation, its source is often clear; though its function may appear as movement, its substance is often still. Long preserve clarity and stillness, and spirit aligns with the Dao and merges with Heaven and Earth.

The human spirit naturally loves clarity and stillness, yet is disturbed by thoughts; the human heart naturally loves peace, yet is pulled by desires. If one constantly removes desires, the heart naturally grows quiet; if one clears the heart, spirit naturally grows pure. Then the six desires (cravings tied to the senses and external things) do not arise on their own, and the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusion) also dissolve.

Those who possess the Dao always use the Dao to restrain desire and never let desire rule the Dao. When desire is governed by the Dao, the spirit grows clear and the inner life grows still. The supreme Dao, spirit, and primordial Qi form one seamless whole; they circulate through the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, changing with the ten thousand things without end—at once boundlessly vast and penetratingly subtle.

When desire is allowed to rule the Dao instead, that is loss of the Way. Once desire arises in such a person, they tend to chase everything: outwardly pulled by power, profit, and gain; inwardly tormented by scattered, restless thought. The heart is turned by external things, and the spirit is driven by thoughts. When heart and spirit cannot be clear and still, where can the Dao be found?

If one can often restrain desire, the heart settles and is no longer moved by externals. When the heart does not waver, it naturally becomes clear and still, without the slightest obscuration, and original clarity is restored. At such a depth of clarity and stillness, what desire could remain? The Yizhuan says: “There is a marsh below the mountain—this is the hexagram Sun (Decrease). The noble person restrains anger and suppresses desire.” That is exactly the point.

What keeps people from achieving this is that the heart is not yet clear and desire is not yet removed. Those who can dispel desire look inward at the heart and see that the heart has no fixed, substantial self; look outward at the body and see that the body has no fixed, substantial self; and look at the distant ten thousand things and see that they too have no fixed, substantial self. Once these three insights are grasped, what appears is only emptiness and stillness.

The Supreme One says: “Clarity and stillness are the right path of the world.” “Right” means utmost fairness without selfishness. Only when one reaches the heavenly principle of perfect impartiality can one overcome the strong selfish desires in the human heart.

The Supreme One (Taishang, the honorific title in Daoism for the highest embodiment of the Way) said: “Tranquility and purity are the standard for the world.” What is meant by “upright” is the utmost fairness and lack of partiality. Only the utterly impartial principle of Heaven can prevail over the extreme selfishness of human desire. The reason people fail to realize the Great Dao is not that they are incapable, but that they are confused by external things and by desire.

To sever desire, the crucial step is first to forget both things and self. Forgetting things and self means inwardly forgetting one’s own thoughts and outwardly forgetting one’s own body, and keeping clear of clinging to external things. When heart, body, and things no longer bind one, one can return to the principle of Heaven. This is called “great”—what the Book of Changes (Yijing) means by the meaning of Gen (stopping): coming to rest without being moved, not pulled by external things.

The Book of Changes says: “Gen on the back—one does not grasp the body; walking in the courtyard—one does not see the people; no blame.” That is: stopping at the back and no longer seizing hold of the self; passing through the courtyard without fixating on the people before one’s eyes, and therefore incurring no fault. Here, “Gen on the back” is turning inward to observe the heart until one no longer clings to the heart; “not grasping the body” is turning outward to observe the body until one no longer clings to the body; “walking in the courtyard, not seeing the people” is observing distant external things until one no longer clings to external things. “No blame” means being free of desire. The Supreme One said: “There is no calamity greater than the craving to obtain.” That is precisely this teaching. When desire for external things is seen as empty, the nature of clarity and stillness is restored.

Contemplate emptiness without clinging even to “emptiness”; there is neither something to empty nor attachment to “nothing.” After one has released even “no-no,” the mind becomes clear and quiet, abiding in constant stillness. When even stillness is not grasped, how could desire arise? When desire no longer arises, that is true tranquility.

Meeting all things with a heart that is true and constant preserves one’s original nature; in responding to affairs, remaining always quiet keeps the heart constantly clear and pure.

In the affairs of the world nothing is hollow or meaningless. Though the myriad things are diverse, one root runs through them all, and in the end they return to the origin. This is an important method for dissolving desire. First use the idea of “emptiness” to dissolve desire; once desire no longer arises, you need not cling even to “emptiness.” When emptiness is no longer held, you need not cling to “nothingness” either; when you do not cling even to “no-no,” the mind becomes clear and still. Only when you release even this clarity and stillness is it called true stillness.

What is meant by “calm and constantly still” is gathering the spirit and entering the realm of empty stillness. What is meant by “stillness with nothing left to still” is the spirit flowing forth from empty stillness. True stillness is not mere immobility. If you take non-movement as stillness, you treat “stillness” as a fixed, unchanging state; with a fixed state, you cannot respond as things change. The truly constant state is to follow things without losing your true nature: though you act and respond to the outer world, the real root remains unmoved. Understood this way, you can keep tranquility and clarity amid the ten thousand affairs.

Maintaining such clarity and stillness, you can gradually enter the true Dao. Entering the true Dao is called “attaining the Dao”; but that is only phrasing used to teach living beings—in reality there is nothing to obtain. One who can grasp this may transmit the sage’s way.

Stillness without stirring is the substance; being moved by contact and responding with penetration is the function—this is true stillness. When substance and function share one source, and manifest and hidden are not blocked off from each other, you have understood the Dao that is constantly unchanging. The word “attain” in “attaining the Dao” is likewise only a forced convenience. If you think there is truly something to get, that is not in accord with the Dao. The sage feared that people would not understand how “being” and “non-being” generate each other, and would fall into one-sided wrong views, so he spoke indirectly of “attaining the Dao” so that people might advance step by step until they suddenly understand. Reaching the state of silent accomplishment, where trust comes without words, one may approach the sage’s way. What is called transmission is a transmission that does not rely on words. What is called the sage’s way is the realm the sage reaches—something ordinary understanding cannot fathom.

Following the principle of non-contention in Confucian classics and putting into practice the non-contention taught in Buddhist scriptures—though this approach has no fixed method, it can penetrate what is subtle and accord with the Great Dao. Such a person is called a shangshi (one of superior cultivation).

The xiashi (one of lesser cultivation) is the opposite: competitive, often self-satisfied and self-righteous, given to self-praise—and so they invite strife. Even a small good deed they cling to as their own merit; in the eyes of the shangshi, such “merit” amounts to none. The shangshi does the reverse: they gather their De inward, dwell in humility, neither displaying themselves nor boasting. Because they do not contend, no one under heaven can contend with them. What the Daodejing means by “superior De does not deem itself De, and therefore it has De” (the highest virtue does not take itself to be virtue, and thus truly possesses virtue)—that is exactly this principle. One who is attached to De has not yet understood even De; how then could they understand the Dao?

Living beings cannot obtain the true Dao because deluded thoughts dwell in their minds. When a deluded thought arises, the spirit is disturbed; when the spirit is disturbed, they cling to the myriad things; clinging to things gives rise to craving; craving brings affliction. Affliction and false thinking afflict body and mind, expose one to defilement and humiliation, and toss one through birth and death—long drowning in the sea of suffering until the true Dao is finally lost.

Those of inferior spiritual capacity love to compete and contend, clinging to their own virtue—this happens because delusive thoughts arise in the mind. The ancients who attained the Dao said: “Constantly eliminate the delusive mind; do not eliminate the illuminating mind.” Any thought that cannot be stilled and is always in motion is delusive mind; any mind that is settled, unmoving, clear, and aware is the illuminating mind.

As soon as delusive thought arises, right and wrong become distinct; as soon as a thought moves, honor and disgrace are judged accordingly—how can one fail to stay vigilant? If delusive mind cannot be stilled, it will give rise to all kinds of different karmic conditions, ultimately leading one onto defiled paths, triggering calamities, and falling into the realms of the underworld—none of which does not begin with delusive mind. Those who study the Dao should be careful about the very first thought; if the beginning is not careful, how can there be a good outcome?

When delusive thought has just begun to sprout, people often do not notice it, so spirit is ruled by thoughts, and the mind is pulled by external things. The Three Corpses (san shi—the spirits said in Daoism to dwell in the human body, stir up desire, and record one’s faults) blaze unchecked, and the six desires (six sensory cravings) stir in every direction—how can one fail to cling to outer things? Once one clings to outer things, the mind of greed arises; when greed arises, that is affliction. Delusive thoughts keep attaching to one thing after another, and liberation becomes hard. Then body and mind suffer grief and pain, endure defilement and humiliation, turn in birth and death, often sink in the sea of suffering, and in the end lose the true Dao—a thing truly pitiable.

Therefore delusive mind is the root of samsaric rebirth. Living beings cannot obtain the true Dao precisely because delusive mind has not been eliminated.

The path of true constancy is something those who awaken can naturally attain; those who truly realize this path can constantly remain in clarity and stillness.

The body before your eyes also arises from delusion. Once the body is born, emotions and entanglements appear; with those entanglements come worry and pain. Delusive thoughts multiply without end, causes and conditions keep arising, and people plunge straight into the cycle of rebirth. The past has no beginning, the future no end—every person in the world is caught in this pattern.

Only those who awaken to the Dao constantly use the mind of illumination to observe themselves. They see that all phenomena of cause and condition are empty and illusory, and they do not let the mind cling or be stained. When the mind of illumination is always present, the deluded mind has no room to act. Long practice until it ripens can ultimately yield the body of pure stillness. To know and cultivate in this way is to attain the way of true constancy. What is called “illuminating the mind” is the mind of Heaven; what is called “true constancy” is the absence of delusion.

When this mind is fully understood, delusion fades and the way of non-delusion is complete. After non-delusion comes return to the original true nature. The Book of Changes says: “What the hexagram Fu reveals—is it not the heart of Heaven and Earth?” At this stage of practice, even the subtlest, most hidden thoughts can be foreseen. One goes on to a state of stillness without stirring, clear and bright with constant awareness—awakened to the utmost, spirit undimmed, always pure and always still—until the way of true constancy is complete and the work that sages accomplish is finished.

Commentary on the Supreme Great Penetrating Scripture

Annotated by Li Daochun of Duliang, styled Qing’an and Yingchanzi, who studied and cultivated the Dao.

“Supreme” (Tai Shang) means highest—nothing is above it. “Great Penetration” (Da Tong) means penetrating everywhere without obstruction. “Scripture” (Jing) is the path to attaining the Dao and becoming true, and also the way that all people may follow. The opening chapter’s “without form, without body” refers to the subtle principle of empty perfection and the most supreme vehicle of mystery—that is the meaning of “Supreme.” The next chapter’s “like emptiness, without characteristics” means reaching everywhere without blockage—that is the meaning of “Great Penetration.” The following chapter’s “without characteristics, without deliberate action, vast without boundary” means the Dao is vast, subtle, and inexhaustible, showing itself in daily life—that is why it is called a “scripture.”

Born before Heaven and Earth — it exists prior to Heaven and Earth.

Manifest in nurturing virtue — it appears as the benevolent power that nurtures and gives life to the ten thousand things.

Born yet without form — it nurtures the ten thousand things yet has no fixed shape.

Hidden in function — its working lies concealed within the movement of the ten thousand things.

Remaining after Heaven and Earth — after Heaven and Earth take form, it still abides.

What abides is spirit — what continues is the wondrous, unfathomable working of Shen.

Presence Without Form means that although the Dao exists, it has no fixed shape or body.

“It is wondrous beyond measure, with no fixed direction; the changes of the Yi have no fixed form either.”

Yet Without Form — the Dao has no fixed shape or body.

The transformations of yin and yang are hard to foretell.

Never Fixed in Existence — the Dao does not exist in any one fixed form.

It moves and changes without ever stopping.

So it is said: the subtle principle of the Dao cannot be exhausted by thought or words, yet its functioning is inexhaustible.

Chapter on Supreme Emptiness

This chapter probes the origin of the Dao. Confucius said: “What has Heaven ever said? The four seasons turn as always, and the myriad things grow as always.” This means the Dao arises before the myriad things, yet in arising it has no form.

The Zhongyong says: “Look for it and you do not see it; listen for it and you do not hear it. It generates the myriad things, yet is nowhere absent and cannot be resisted.” This means the Dao appears within the myriad things, yet has no fixed shape. Though formless, the Dao can transform and nourish the myriad things without ceasing. Unless one has thoroughly investigated things and fully clarified one’s nature, who can grasp this? Therefore the text goes on to teach the Chapter on Mysterious Principle.

Stillness as the Nature of Xing — one’s nature (xing) takes stillness as its root.

Stillness without movement is xing; when stimulated, it can respond and change.

Movement as the Activity of Xin — the heart-mind (xin) moves in response to outer things.

When outer things are seen, the activity of xin can be seen.

Xing Is Within It — yet xing is also contained in this.

Without outer things, the activity of xin has nothing by which to show itself.

When Xin Arises, Xing Is Obscured — when thoughts arise, xing is covered over.

As thoughts multiply, all kinds of dharmic appearances also appear.

When Xin Ceases, Xing Appears — when thoughts stop, xing manifests.

When thoughts cease, those dharmic appearances also dissolve.

Like Empty Space, Without Marks — the Dao is like empty space, without fixed appearance.

“The great image has no form”—the greatest image has no fixed shape.

Clear and Perfectly Complete — the Dao is clear and tranquil, round and complete.

The phrase “the Dao above desires to descend” means the Dao dwells above yet tends downward.

Human original nature is the root of primordial authenticity. The Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean) says: “When joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have not yet appeared, that is called zhong (centrality); zhong is the root of all things under heaven.” This means that in stillness what appears is xing (nature). The Zhongyong also says: “When the emotions are expressed and each accords with due measure, that is called he (harmony); he is the path that all under heaven follow together.” This means that in movement what appears is xin (heart-mind).

Xing is originally still and silent; without the activity of xin, it cannot be manifest. Xin is originally still and silent; without activity, it also cannot be manifest. Through outer things one becomes aware of xin; by gathering and restraining the mind one apprehends xing. When xing is quiescent, one can understand the way of heaven—this is called thorough penetration. If xin turns with outer things, xing is forgotten; hence it is said “when xin arises, xing is extinguished.” If one gathers the mind and enters stillness, xing appears; hence it is said “when xin is extinguished, xing appears.”

Xing is like empty space: whether active or still, quiescence is the foundation; whether manifest or hidden, clarity is always present. Outer things clamor and disturb, like a few clouds drifting across the void—does the clear sky thereby gain a stain? Since it does not, it remains luminous and complete. Human xing is just the same.

The Great Dao has no fixed form, so inwardly it can embrace and govern all that has form.

Nourish that which has no image, and the myriad images endure.

True nature accords with wuwei (non-action) and does not force; facing outer things, it does not rashly give rise to a discriminating mind.

Do not let the mind grasp at things in vain, and the mind’s authentic state endures.

Nature is unmoving as such, naturally so, vast without boundary.

In wuwei, nothing fails to penetrate.

Face the realm without clinging to the realm, and one will not sink under the demons of the “six thieves”—the desires stirred by the six senses and the mind (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and yi [intention]).

I do not chase the realm; the realm does not pull at me.

Dwell in the dust yet emerge from it; do not fall into the transformations of myriad conditions.

I do not fix on the dust as real; the dust cannot stain me.

Reach utmost stillness and do not move—this is great ding (concentration).

Reach harmony and do not drift—this is great hui (wisdom).

Wisdom’s light illumines the ten directions—this is blazing clarity.

Empty and still, able to respond to change, without forced action—this is great penetration.

Chapter on the Mysterious Above.

After clarifying the principles of the great Dao, the text turns to the “Chapter on Profound Principle.” An ancient scripture says: “Nourish the formless, imageless root; then its true image can endure.” This is what is meant by the great Dao having no fixed form. Mencius said: “Through wuwei (non-action), there is nothing that cannot be accomplished.” He was speaking of human true nature as originally wuwei. When the inner mind does not cling to appearances, one can naturally abide in stillness; when outwardly one does not act recklessly, one can be broad and complete. The patriarch said: “When the dantian (energy center) holds treasure, stop asking about the Dao; facing circumstances with an unstirred heart, do not inquire about Chan.” The same point is made here. If you face the outer world without being moved by it, what demonic obstacles remain? If you live in the dusty world yet the heart transcends it, what karmic bonds can hold you? When outer conditions cease, temperament grows quiet; when demonic hindrances subside, the inner heart becomes harmonious. At the utmost stillness, the heart does not stir; at the utmost harmony, the heart is not altered. Holding both stillness and harmony, one becomes perfectly clear and illuminates all things; wondrous transformation has no fixed place.

The verse says:

When there is method, awaken to methodlessness

The heart arises with whatever method it grasps, and method likewise dissolves with the movement of thought.

Without cultivation, understand cultivated practice

Human nature originally needs no contrived cultivation; once one fixates on “cultivation,” one already strays from nature.

Embodying the body of the myriad images

When the heart is empty and still and nature is pure and quiet, nothing cannot be embraced.

Not hanging by a single thread

With even one thread of dusty thought, a gap opens in one’s practice.

The verses above treat root and function: from the root, all is originally wuwei; in function, the myriad things truly appear. Thus one may suddenly awaken from a path of “having cultivation” and “having attachment” to no attachment at all, or use “no need to cultivate” to see through fixation on “having cultivation.” When neither being nor non-being is clung to, heart and method are released together, and the root is like the great void, boundlessly containing the myriad things. The discourse on the great Dao ends here.

Three Heavens Essence of Change, composed by Yingchanzi Li Qing’an, collated by Hunranzi.

Direct Pointing of the Fire Talisman

The Qian–Kun Cauldron Vessel

Above it meets heaven, below it stands on earth—only the human body-and-mind is the vessel for refinement. Ah! Once this is understood, the entry-level work of practice is in fact simple.

Hidden Dragon; Do Not Act

When the one-yang breath first arises, one should guard stillness, constantly preserve sincere heart, and keep spirit upright and settled. Ah! At this stage one should be like a dragon in hiding—not lightly advancing.

Dragon Appears in the Field

Stir the Xun wind (the wind-like movement in circulating qi), advance the fire-phase work; in an instant the furnace seems to glow red throughout. Is it so? The dragon shows in the field, and its light fills empty space.

“Diligence of Qian” (zhongri qianqian) means the practitioner should, as the Qian hexagram in the Yijing (Book of Changes) indicates, remain diligent and untiring throughout the day. The qi of Heaven and Earth interpenetrate, Yin and Yang come into balance, and “eight ounces of mercury, half a pound of lead” stand for the pairing of the yin and yang “medicines” in the elixir method. The Lead Maiden (chanü)—symbolizing mercury or yin qi—withdraws and settles; the Infant (ying’er)—symbolizing lead or yang qi—receives and carries that qi.

“Leaping in the deep” (huo yue zai yuan) means that advance and retreat of the firing (huohou) are like water and wind working together, and in an instant the furnace fills with red light. Then the image of “the dragon appears in the field” (jian long zai tian) manifests, and radiance spreads through empty space.

“Diligence of Qian” again urges steady, unremitting practice. Heaven and Earth unite, Yin and Yang are adjusted, the Lead Maiden gathers in, and the Infant receives—pointing to yin and yang qi joining inside the body.

“Leaping in the deep” also means using water to govern fire and metal to restrain wood. At this juncture one should enter the Bathing ( muyu ) phase—pausing or harmonizing the firing in Neidan (internal alchemy)—and carefully guard the central, balanced qi.

“Flying dragon in heaven” (fei long zai tian) describes the vision of the five qi returning to the Origin (wuqi chaoyuan) and the three flowers gathering at the crown (sanhua juding)—the condensation of Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit). Wood and metal unite, mercury and lead stabilize. When cultivation reaches this stage, the circulation of qi is like clouds moving and rain falling.

“Arrogant dragon has regret” (kang long you hui) means that when body and mind reach pure yang and the six yang lines are complete, firing should stop; one must not push further by force. If one fails to gather in at the right moment and hold fullness, excess leads to regret—the danger of overreaching.

“Treading frost leads to ice” (lü shuang zhi shui) means that when yin qi has only just begun to stir, one must not act rashly, but firmly guard the passes and stay vigilant. One should check the small before it grows; yin accumulates gradually from the slightest sign.

“Straight, square, and great” (zhifang da) means that at the second yin line’s stage, practice should gradually withdraw and settle, so yin and yang each keep their place. The atmosphere is like mist and drizzle; follow nature and do not strain on purpose.

“Embodied brilliance, perseverance” (hanzhang ke zhen) means that when “white snow” congeals and the “yellow sprout” grows—symbols in Neidan of true qi condensing and the elixir first forming—one must cherish and protect it and not indulge the emotions. Gather yang qi, stabilize the furnace and vessel, and hold to the correct course without wavering.

“Tying the sack, no blame” (kuonang wujiu) means that when mercury is about to disperse and lead is about to move, this is exactly when one must guard carefully—like tying the mouth of a bottomless sack so that qi does not leak away.

“Embodied brilliance, perseverance” again stresses that when white snow congeals and the yellow sprout grows, one should gather the mind and spirit and protect the yang qi in the furnace so it stays firm.

“Tying the sack, no blame” again warns that in the interval when mercury and lead are active, one must hold steady, restrain mind and spirit, and not let qi scatter.

“Yellow skirt, supreme good fortune” (huangchang yuanji) means yin has fully receded, the elixir path is complete, essence and qi are condensed, and primordial qi rests in peace. At this time one should gather everything back to the Central Palace (zhonggong)—the middle of the body, the center spoken of in Neidan—and keep to the way of central harmony.

“Dragons battle in the field” (long zhan yu ye) means that after yin has hidden, yang stirs again. Even at this stage one must still guard and be cautious; if yin and yang contend, the omen of “their blood is dark yellow” (qi xue xuanhuang) appears—the image of mutual struggle.

Finally, “gentle nurturing of the spirit fetus” (wenyang lingtai) means that after the elixir path is achieved, one continues to warm and nourish it so the spirit fetus—the name Neidan gives to the inner essence that has formed and taken shape—grows stable and mature.

Let the mind and spirit grow empty and still, fill the belly with primordial qi, hold to quiet clarity, and wait for yang qi to rise again. Ah! In a blink, the work needed for the circuit of heaven is complete.

The Profound Pearl Takes Form

Lifting the cauldron and overturning the furnace means the refining work is finished and the Profound Pearl—the emblem of the inner elixir—has formed. Then one returns to the root and recovers life, embraces the foundation, and returns to emptiness.

The Fifteen Chapters Above Match the Number Three-Five

What Daoists call the “Golden Elixir” is hard as gold and round as a pill; the more it is tempered, the brighter it shines, so it stands for original nature. Furnace, cauldron, and ingredients are all elements in the alchemical metaphor.

Verse

The Elixir

From ancient times this substance has been formless and without quality—neither added to nor subtracted from, never stopping, never ceasing. Hard and sharp as gold, red and bright as the sun. Buddhists name it the “Profound Pearl,” Confucians the “Supreme Ultimate” (Taiji), Daoists the “Golden Elixir.” The names are three, but the one reality is the same—right before your eyes; it is only that people do not recognize it. This is it; doubt no further.

Diagram of the Golden Elixir Made Clear (figure missing)

Heart Diagram with Nine Quatrains

This section uses heart diagrams and nine quatrains to show how the roots of nature and life serve as the basis for inner-alchemy practice; commentary and verses make plain that original nature itself is the Golden Elixir.

1. Beginning the Work

When you begin, first establish the elixir foundation firmly; do not fixate on calculating the midnight and noon hours. The moment the slightest stirring appears in stillness is when gui water first arises.

The Elixir

Take care not to mistake cultivation for spring flowers and autumn moons, peach blossom and plum bloom, or for midsummer heat and midwinter snow. How should one practice in summer? That cannot be pinned to one fixed formula. Ah! Doubt no further.

In the twelfth month, plum buds hold jade; in frosty skies, chrysanthemums spill gold; when wind rises, hear the roar of waves; when the moon climbs, watch the tide surge.

2. Setting Up the Furnace

Outwardly these are called furnace and cauldron; inwardly they are the medicinal ingredients. If you sincerely gather and settle them, the spirit embryo—the inner “embryo” of elixir practice—will form at once.

The Elixir

Plant hemp and you harvest hemp. Establish the cauldron by wuwei (non-action); set the furnace in a way that cannot be grasped, so furnace and cauldron stand firm.

Do not force your effort! Between emptiness and non-emptiness, refine the inner treasure; within non-action (Wuwei), forge your true nature.

White snow has not yet opened, but yellow buds have already borne fruit first. If you want the infant (the newborn primordial spirit in inner alchemy) to be born, you must first let the “radiant maiden” (yin factors such as desire in body and mind) return to stillness.

III. Gathering the Medicine

Mercury must be gathered toward the southern mountain; lead must be sought from the northern sea. Use Kun earth (the soft, harmonizing power) to blend them, and rely on Qian metal (the firm, restraining power) to subdue them.

The Elixir

Which mountain must you climb for mercury, which seabed for lead? It is like scooping the moon from water, or seeking heaven under the earth.

Ha! If you do not know where the true seed lies, however you cook and refine, you only waste effort. Go down to the sea to seize the flood dragon; apply your skill to capture sun and moon, then send them into the cauldron to be fired—until at last you refine a pellet of snow-white elixir.

IV. Applying the Work

There is not much complexity in “fire timing” (judging the right moment and degree in the alchemical process); what matters is wisdom together with firmness. Wood and metal must stay joined without break, and the supreme treasure grows ever brighter.

The Elixir

Guard against dazzled, confused eyes. Practice is like a man of iron striking—without hesitation: raise the ball of doubt and cut it in two with one blade.

The “literary work” is like carrying a pregnancy—stress nurturing; the “martial work” is like begging for food—stress active cultivation. You must know how to use fire-timing shifts such as “burning the mountain” and “scraping the earth wind,” sweep away the mist until a round red sun appears.

V. Holding Fullness

If the fire is too strong, the furnace cannot stay stable; if too much lead is added, the cauldron is sure to be in danger. In all things, the middle way is best—avoid extremes—and the elixir will not be lost.

The Elixir

Going too far or falling short both miss the mark. Knowing how to gather in and restrain yourself beats always pushing outward; taking in less is better than leaking out more. Keep a constant sense of vigilance, but do not encroach on others. Understand? Wealth hoarded carelessly invites thieves; a face made too alluring easily draws lustful trouble.

Shut the door and sit quietly at home, and misfortune naturally lessens. Hardest to guard against are your own desires and faults—so also renounce smugness and negligence.

VI. Nurturing Warmth

When temperament is settled, cinnabar sand (the refined essence of inner alchemy) congeals; when the mind is empty and clear, the red child (the pure, unstained primordial spirit) is perfected. You must still warm and nourish it often so life-force is preserved; once it manifests, it shines with bright radiance.

Nurturing cultivation must be like a hen brooding on eggs: hold fast and guard steadily—slight error wastes all prior effort. Watch closely, stand firm on your foundation, and at the same time open your heart wide. To nurture and raise this “child,” you must rely on the wordless “speechless mother-in-law” (symbolizing the inner force that guards in silence); not a fraction of care may be neglected. The work is like a hawk’s stoop—gone in an instant—so you must stay alert at every moment.

VII. Regulating Shen (spirit)

When true Qi (the life-vital energy cultivated in practice) is full, the “infant” will shed its shell. Raising and guarding it depend entirely on the “mother” (symbolizing the power that nurtures the inner elixir); teach and guide by grasping the whole, and coming and going will not be blocked.

Elixir verse:

If there is the slightest reckless movement, you deserve thirty blows of the staff; between presence and absence, in going out and returning, you may move freely in every direction. Release and gather back—the mind is empty and unobstructed; you may enter the finest dust, or extend vast through heaven and earth. When the “red child” (the mature original spirit in inner elixir practice) passes the heavenly gate, it comes and goes at ease; it must still travel the eight extremities, crossing the three immortal mountains in an instant.

VIII. Emerging from the Shell

On the day practice is complete and merit and achievement are fulfilled, spiritual powers and subtle functions are inexhaustible, and coming and going meet no obstruction; in the state of absorption you may pay homage to the Vacuous Sovereign (a revered deity in Daoism).

Elixir verse:

Stand firm below—roots before branches and shoots; the fruit forms after the flower—the flower falls, then the fruit ripens. When cultivation is accomplished, you rise like clouds; life is long-lasting. Only when the stone splits does jade appear; only by washing sand do you obtain gold. When the water is clear, the fish shows itself; when clouds part, moonlight shines bright.

IX. Completion

Kick over the cauldron that burns the sky, overturn the furnace that boils the sea; shatter empty space completely, and alone reveal Suchness (the true, non-deluded nature).

Elixir verse:

Only after home is broken and kin are gone do you obtain this “one”; all affairs are settled, the inner heart utterly pure. Suddenly something protrudes from the void—give a shout, and the single-horned fire dragon flies to heaven, startling a clap of spring thunder.

When you truly awaken, it is thorough awakening; in the end, not even “nothing” remains. Awakening and emptiness are both exhausted; body and mind merge indistinguishably with the Great Void.

Commentary: Complete enlightenment. The Heart Sutra points directly.

Lay Buddhist Qing'an had long devoted himself to the Prajnaparamita Heart Sutra. One day he came to visit me and asked me to explain its meaning. I said: "This sutra has not yet been lectured on, yet its true meaning is already clear—why add explanations? To force annotations onto it is like putting another head on top of a head."

Jian'an said: "That is so. But beginners cannot yet grasp the sutra's meaning in depth, and the various commentaries differ in many ways, so students inevitably feel doubt. I hope you will be compassionate and clear away the fog for me."

I said: "When the World-Honored One taught this sutra in his day, it was to guide sentient beings and point directly to profound meaning. From beginning to end, nothing departs from the one word empty (kong). The sutra repeats its admonitions and explanations so learners may understand easily. Sadly, later people clung to words—some fixated on form, others on views of emptiness—and in the end none could penetrate the subtle meaning. Masters of earlier ages had no choice but to add commentaries and devise skillful means, teaching according to the person, so people could enter by whatever door they could grasp. Yet their earnest intent sometimes made those of sharper capacity doubt all the more. This is what is meant by: for those below middling capacity, it is not fitting to speak of the highest truth straightaway."

"Now you come with doubts seeking resolution—that itself is the root of awakening. I can only say a few words more; listen carefully. For example:

Maha prajna is great wisdom; paramita is reaching the other shore; heart (xin) is original nature; sutra (jing) is the path. Taken together, it means crossing to the other shore by great wisdom. This is a method of seeing nature and a shared shortcut for all who cultivate. On this path of practice, one should begin from daily life."

When practicing the “contemplation method” (guan jue)—the approach of observing and illuminating the movements of mind—one must constantly maintain mindful observation and keep the mind steadily settled in this practice without interruption. With long, sustained training, when skill becomes mature and refined, one can attain great ease and freedom, moving without obstruction and no longer bound by the constraints of conditioned becoming. Therefore, the phrase “when the bodhisattva deeply practices prajnaparamita” refers precisely to the time when one goes deeply into cultivation on this path.

When one’s practice is deep and one’s inner strength is full, wisdom becomes rounded and unobstructed, harmonizing with one’s original nature and entering the sudden, complete realization that transcends the ordinary distinction between sage and common person—this is called reaching the other shore. At that point one can “clearly see that the five skandhas are all empty”: one sees that the five skandhas—form, feeling, perception, mental formations, and consciousness, the five factors that compose body and experience—have no fixed, independent self-nature. When the five skandhas are empty, the myriad phenomena likewise have no separate, unchanging substance; thus one can cross beyond every calamity and affliction.

“Shariputra” (Sheli Zi) is explained here as “the sharp grain within gold”; “zi” (child) is like the master of the house, pointing to the pure dharma-body—the originally pure, unstained essence.

“Form is not different from emptiness; emptiness is not different from form; form is emptiness; emptiness is form; feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness are likewise”—this means form and emptiness are not two unrelated things, and feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness are the same. Having said that the five skandhas are all empty, the text goes further: the empty character of all things is of one substance with empty space and is not destroyed even through vast ages. This is “neither arising nor ceasing,” without coming or going; “neither defiled nor pure,” without a split between pollution and purity; “neither increasing nor decreasing,” without surplus or lack.

Therefore, within emptiness there is no form, and no feeling, perception, formations, or consciousness; no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind, and no form, sound, scent, taste, touch, or mental objects. That is to say, the empty aspect originally has none of these discriminations; the five skandhas have no fixed entity; and the six consciousnesses—the cognitive functions that arise in dependence on the six sense bases—naturally cannot be grasped as truly existent either. When the six sense roots contact the six sense objects, consciousness arises; through the eye-root and the rest, one perceives realms and gradually forms the various distinctions of five skandhas, six roots, six consciousnesses, and six objects. Since there is no realm of the eye, there is also no consciousness born from sense objects; hence the scripture says “and so on up to no mental consciousness realm.”

The “realm of consciousness” refers to the eighteen realms mentioned earlier: the six sense faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind), the six consciousnesses (the cognitive activities arising from those faculties), and the six sense objects (what those faculties contact). When the scripture says “no eye realm … up to no realm of consciousness,” it means that from the eye faculty and eye consciousness through the mind faculty and mind consciousness, nothing is grasped as truly existent.

When consciousness does not arise, fundamental ignorance (avidya)—the root that deludes beings and keeps them turning in birth and death—also does not arise. Hence it says “no ignorance, and also no ending of ignorance.” “Ending of ignorance” here does not mean wiping ignorance out until absolutely nothing remains; to cut everything off into blank nothingness is to fall into stubborn nihilism (reified emptiness). Alchemical texts say “still the thoughts to nurture the inner fire (yang huo),” which is exactly about letting stray thoughts settle and tending the inner fire. The scripture also cites, “Where thought arises is the mysterious feminine (xuan pin); the gate of the mysterious feminine is called the root of Heaven and Earth,” showing that the place where thoughts arise is taken as the root of birth and death.

When ignorance does not arise, old age and death cannot be spoken of, and there is no need to counter them with the Four Noble Truths (the Buddhist account of suffering, its origin, its cessation, and the path). Wisdom and folly, gain and loss, are likewise no longer clung to. Therefore it says that mind and all dharmas are empty. Understanding that the mind-dharma is originally empty is called Bodhi; understanding that all dharmas are originally empty is called Sattva.

Beginners practice in accord with Prajnaparamita (the perfection of wisdom that leads to awakening) so that the mind is no longer blocked by attachments; this is the move from clinging to what has form toward empty stillness, from coarse understanding to subtle realization. From this, wisdom arises and delusion is broken through; the mind stays constantly pure and aligns with its original state. At fulfillment, the mind is as open as the great void (tai xu), without obstruction.

When the mind has no attachments, fear no longer arises, and one can also leave behind inverted dreaming. “Dreaming mind” means a confused, deluded mind; when confusion ceases, the Dharmakaya (the pure, true body of reality) appears clear, and thus one can reach ultimate Nirvana (complete release from the cycle of birth and death). Buddhas of past, present, and future, and patriarchs through the ages, all realized Anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment) through Prajnaparamita. Later students of the Dharma should also rely on this practice, open wisdom, purify the mind and unite with what is originally so, and thereby realize supreme perfect enlightenment.

From this one understands that “banruo boluomiduo” (Prajnaparamita) comprises four mantras. “Maha” is the “great divine mantra”: it speaks of the solidity of the four great elements (earth, water, fire, and wind that make up body, mind, and the world) and of divine transformation beyond measure. “Banruo” (prajna) is the “great illumination mantra”: wisdom fully rounded and penetrating, practice advancing to clarity and subtlety. “Bolu” (para) is the “supreme mantra”: returning to the source, harmony without duality, the highest One Vehicle (the path to ultimate liberation). “Miduo” (mita) is the “unequaled mantra”: perfection at the utmost, with no higher realm left to surpass.

Once the meaning of these four mantras is clear, one can “remove all suffering”—and that is truly so, not false. Thus the World-Honored One’s “Prajnaparamita mantra” explains the sense of the four lines of mantra above. “Jiedi” (gate) points to emptiness of the person (not clinging to a fixed, unchanging self); saying “jiedi” again points to emptiness of dharmas (not clinging to things as having fixed, unchanging nature). “Boluojiedi” (paragate) is reaching the other shore: mind and all phenomena are empty. “Boluosengjiedi” (parasamgate) is that after the other shore, even the ferry is no longer needed. The four lines of the “jiedi” mantra correspond to the four elements in the body; when the four elements are all empty, the true constant nature alone appears. Hence “puti sapohe” (bodhi svaha): “puti” (bodhi) is the beginning, “sapohe” (svaha) is the end; from start to finish in one continuity is guarding the root and returning to emptiness, thereby transcending the realms of buddhas and patriarchs.

Though the teaching is transmitted in this way, the crux of practice still lies in straightening the spine and fixing the gaze, without missing the moment. If in daily walking, standing, sitting, and lying one truly experiences this, recognizes one’s own original root, and returns to emptiness beyond buddhas and patriarchs, one will trust that the meaning of this sutra is not gained from outside. It is not only this volume of the Heart Sutra—even the full scriptures of Buddhism and Daoism and the writings of the hundred schools need only a single shout to be penetrated from beginning to end. If one has not yet reached that, one goes on investigating; this alone is enough to stop doubt.

The title Yin Fu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) refers to the pivotal mechanism by which Yin and Yang join and interact—a meaning widely accepted in traditional commentary.

Observe the Way of Heaven: Heaven displays manifold signs to foretell fortune and misfortune, and the sage takes them as a model. To grasp the patterns by which Heaven runs is to exhaust the principles they contain. Heaven and Earth never cease to change; the sage emulates that change.

Heaven has the “Five Thieves”—meaning the qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the five kinds of vital force that generate the ten thousand things and also wear them down and transform them. Whoever sees this pattern clearly may flourish. The text also borrows a Buddhist phrase: to see that the five skandhas are empty (that the five kinds of constituents of body and experience have no fixed self-nature) is to cross every kind of suffering.

When it says the Five Thieves are “in the heart,” it means the mechanism of change dwells within the mind; in practice one follows Heaven’s Way and does not violate its principle. “The cosmos rests in the hand” means to master how Heaven operates; “the myriad transformations are born from the body” means one can also understand the changes of Heaven and Earth through oneself.

What Heaven bestows on a person is called xing (nature); what the human heart initiates as turning and change is called ji (the pivot or mechanism). Establish Heaven’s Way and use it to settle and transform the heart. When Heaven’s mechanism stirs, it is not from private intent in the first place—so even what seems harsh and killing still holds within it the spark of life. “Dragons and serpents rise from the land” means that dragon and serpent lie still and without desire until the moment comes, then rise with the trend.

Heaven and Earth turn and return; the subtle mechanism is hard to foretell. When the heart’s pivot aligns with Heaven’s, one can move with the times so that the myriad changes all have something to rely on. With the heart as the root, change can be grasped.

Endowment may be sharp or dull, yet without clinging to that distinction one can gather inward and remain concealed. The “nine orifices” are the nine openings of the body; if the spirit-mind (shen) is unsettled in even one respect, all nine orifices are easily disturbed. When body, heart, and intent are settled, the nine orifices stay clear.

Fire is born from wood, as the Five Thieves hide in the heart; when disaster breaks out it is often hard to check. Treachery grows from within the state as myriad changes arise from oneself; when the moment arrives, the situation may collapse. To understand this and cultivate accordingly is to be like one skilled at warding off external harm—carefully controlling fire and guarding against inner treachery. Only one who can make the state rich and the people secure deserves to be called a sage.

Heaven has a pattern by which it both nurtures the myriad things and brings them to an end; this natural turning does not change because sages worry about it—that is the teaching of the Dao (the Way). The continual growth and transformation of the myriad things is a constant law.

Heaven and earth both nourish the myriad things and also bring them to an end. The myriad things sustain human beings, yet they can also harm them in return. Human beings use the myriad things, accomplish things through them, and also take from them. These three patterns of mutual taking are all ordinary principles of generation and transformation.

If people can transform the way they take from things, so that the relations among heaven and earth, the myriad things, and human beings are all harmonized, then the three can each rest in their proper place. When people act in accord with heavenly principle, heaven and earth, people, and the myriad things all become settled.

Therefore, when eating and drinking fit the seasons and are moderate, the parts of the body can be regulated smoothly; when movement and stillness follow the right timing, the changes of the myriad things can also be settled. If one treats numinous efficacy as something that can be grasped and held, it is like taking a thief for one’s son; only when one understands that what is numinous is not a fixed form (fa-xiang) that can be seized does one truly comprehend it.

The sun and moon each run by fixed measures; things large and small each have their natural shapes. When large and small no longer cling to mutual distinction, the work of the sage can appear; when the virtue of sun and moon combines, numinous clarity (shenming—the luminous functioning of nature) is displayed.

The key to this taking from the myriad things lies in the inch-square space of the heart (fangcun—the inner mind). People under heaven do not see it, because it shows forth within the myriad things; sacred efficacy (shengong) is everywhere present. For that reason, people often face it directly yet fail to recognize it. When a junzi (noble person) grasps this principle, he can keep himself intact and act appropriately; when a petty person grasps it, he treats life lightly and acts without restraint.

The blind excel at hearing because the spirit-mind is fully given to the ears; the deaf excel at seeing colors because the spirit-mind is fully given to the eyes. Cut off the impulse to chase private gain from any single outlet, and fixations in the heart gradually loosen. Give yourself wholly to one thing, and results can increase tenfold. Day and night, repeatedly examine yourself, turn awareness inward, and gather in sight and hearing until you are sincere and free of self-deception—then concentration deepens, and results can increase ten thousandfold.

When the heart moves with outer things, all sorts of thoughts and discriminations arise; when the heart no longer clings to outer things, those thoughts and discriminations subside. The crux lies in the eyes: not being caught by what is seen, one can step beyond the discriminating levels of eye-consciousness and even of conceptual mind. Heaven seems ungracious, yet it sets killing in motion; still, because there is both birth and killing, the ten thousand things can each grow in their own way. Thunder and lightning strike swiftly; violent winds blow hard—the noble person therefore holds reverence, reflects, and corrects himself, and nothing among the ten thousand things fails to be stirred to life by this warning.

Supreme joy is the fullness of original nature; supreme stillness is its clarity and purity. When stillness reaches the extreme, action too can be restrained and simple. Heaven seems partial, with both birth and killing; yet in its overall working it is fair and without favor. The key to subduing the “bird-thieves”—what seizes and scatters Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy)—lies in Qi, the qi that sustains human life.

Birth is the root of death: when qi overflows, Shen (spirit) turns dull; death-like stillness is the root of life: when qi is extinguished and returns to quiet, spirit can become lively again. Restraining action can increase wisdom; trying to pacify with favors may instead feed disaster; only by subduing what steals and dissipates can one gain real effect. Fools do not know how to follow the order of Heaven and Earth, yet think themselves sage and wise; those who penetrate understand that the order of Heaven and Earth is complete within themselves, and so deserve to be called clear-sighted and wise. To observe the Way of Heaven and act by it is to hold the root.

Others infer the sage Way through ignorance—I do not infer it that way. Others take strange events as proof of the sage Way—I do not take strangeness as proof. Without knowing the principle of Nature, to rush into water or fire is to invite ruin. The Way of Nature is inherently still, and so Heaven, Earth, and the ten thousand things can come to be; the Way of Heaven and Earth runs in gradual steps, and so Yin-Yang alternately wane and wax. As Yin and Yang push each other in turn, change can unfold smoothly. The sage therefore knows the Way of Nature cannot be violated and complies with it in arranging and carrying things out.

The Way of utmost stillness cannot be fully measured even by calendrics and pitch. Cherish and apply wondrous implements and principles, and the myriad images arise; the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the sexagenary Jiazi cycle, subtle mechanisms, and hidden transformations are all contained in them. The logic of Yin-Yang waning, waxing, and turning is already plainly shown in every form and image.

When it is said that “the great elixir wondrously employs Qian and Kun,” “great” means reaching the utmost limit, and “elixir” means complete and without lack. Master Dadian asked, “Do you recognize this circle?” It has already transcended concrete form: heaven and earth are not vast enough to compare with its breadth, sun and moon not full enough to compare with its roundness. A sage master said, “The original true nature is called the Golden Elixir; the four kinds of provisionally combined things serve as the furnace, and it is refined into a round mass.” From this we know that the great elixir refers to true nature. “Employing Qian and Kun” means taking heaven’s way as model and taking the great earth as pattern.

“Qian and Kun operate, and the Five Phases divide”: here Qian and Kun mean body and mind; the Five Phases mean spirit (Shen), psyche (Jing), soul (Hun), corporeal soul (Po), and intent (Yi). When body and mind operate, the five kinds of inner Qi manifest accordingly.

“When the Five Phases follow the usual order, the constant way has birth and extinction”: the patriarch said, “When the Five Phases run in forward order, the whole Dharma realm is like a pit of fire.” That is: when the Five Phases run in their ordinary sequence and give rise to the myriad things, that belongs to the common way of birth and extinction; the habitual operation formed by forward-running Five Phases also returns to the dharma of birth and extinction.

“When the Five Phases reverse, the elixir body stays numinous and endures”: the patriarch said, “When the Five Phases are inverted, the great earth turns into the seven treasures.” Reversal means gathering the Five Phases together so they return to the way of true constancy; the way of true constancy can long endure and does not decay.

“From the void, form first appears”: Laozi said, “The Dao gives birth to One.” Here “void” means the natural, formless Dao. From the void arises one Qi; in the human being, this can be understood as spirit generated from emptiness.

“The two modes take root as One opens”: Laozi said, “One gives birth to Two.” One Qi divides, and the two modes are thereby established; in the human person, this means nature (Xing) and life (Ming) are thereby established.

The Four Images (sixiang)—the four states arising from the interaction and transformation of yin and yang—never leave behind these two basic forms. Shao Yong held that yin and yang differentiate into the Four Images. The Yijing says, “The Two Modes (liangyi) give birth to the Four Images.” This also maps onto human xing (nature) and ming (destiny): xing and ming are fixed by the principles of yin and yang.

The eight trigrams (bagua) stand in ancestral and descendant relations with one another. The Yijing says, “The Four Images give birth to the Eight Trigrams.” Qian and Kun—the Heaven and Earth trigrams—beget the six “child” trigrams; those six in turn unfold into the sixty-four hexagrams. Thus Qian and Kun are the ancestors, and the rest are the descendants. Those who penetrate affairs turn back from themselves to seek the root, and so gain insight.

The myriad forms and appearances all arise from change and movement. When the trigrams transform, the sixty-four hexrams take shape; when the human mind stirs, conditions and tangled thoughts arise along with it.

Zhou Dunyi wrote: “Fortune, misfortune, regret, and hesitation all arise from movement.” Alas—fortune is but one among these; how can one fail to be cautious? From this we see that fortune, misfortune, regret, and hesitation all come into being through change and activity.

In the daily life of ordinary people, nothing fails to illustrate this principle; it is only that emotion and fixed views hide it from their own notice. Hence those who truly grasp the way of the junzi (exemplary person) are few.

The sage looked up to observe the heavens and down to survey the earth, searched out the root and traced the source, apprehended the way of Heaven and set standards—then devised the hexagram figures and wrote the line statements, and thus the line figures of the Yijing were created.

The line figures of the Yijing fully display the substance and function of creation and transformation; they can thread through change under Heaven and judge affairs under Heaven—at once vast and subtle—so the work is called the Zhouyi (Changes of Zhou).

The way of Change (yi) is broad and complete. Use it to study Buddhism, and Buddhist teaching becomes clear; use it to study immortality, and the immortal path becomes clear; use it for ritual purification (zhai) or for ordering the realm, and it supplies principle for those pursuits as well. For this reason Wei Boyang embedded Change in the symbolic numerology of his alchemical classic, the Zhouyi cantong qi (Token of the Agreement of the Three According to the Book of Changes).

The Pi and Tai hexagrams of the Yi Jing (Classic of Changes)—Pi standing for blockage and Tai for flourishing—set out the essential logic of yin–yang union and transformation with unusual completeness. Applied to Buddhism they serve Buddhism; applied to immortality practices they serve those paths; applied to ritual fasting and ordering worldly affairs they serve ritual and governance alike. That is why Wei Boyang drew on hexagram imagery in the Cantong qi (Joining of Symbols) to explain the Way of the elixir.

When Pi and Tai meet, yin and yang rise or fall

Pi and Tai are the pivot of yin–yang handover and change. When the three yang lines of Tai ascend, one must stay wary and guarded; when the three yin lines of Pi descend, one must hold firm and steady.

With Dun and Meng as models, movement and stillness follow morning and dusk

Dun and Meng describe the situation at the start of practice. On the scale of a year, the six days after the winter solstice belong to Dun, and the six days after that to Meng. On the scale of a month, from the first day at the zi hour through the si hour is Dun, and from the wu hour through the hai hour is Meng. In terms of changes in the body, when tian gui (heavenly dew—the vital essence tied to reproductive and life functions) has just stirred, that is Dun; like spring water issuing from beneath a mountain, what is newly born and not yet clear is Meng.

Kan and Li as man and woman, water and fire

Kan stands for the middle son, Li for the middle daughter. When Kan and Li interact, it is like water and fire aiding each other. Ping Shu said: “Take what fills the center of the Kan position to transform the yin within the belly of the Li palace.” This is internal alchemy language for yin–yang coupling and refinement.

Zhen and Dui as dragon and tiger, hun and po

Zhen stands for the dragon and hun (the ethereal soul); Dui for the tiger and po (the corporeal soul). Taken together they refer to human nature and disposition. The patriarch said: “When gold returns to the original nature, success is achieved.” That is what is meant by huan dan (returning elixir—the alchemical restoration to the source in neidan practice).

Keeping to the center: yellow lower garment, fundamental good fortune

Keeping to the center means neither leaning nor tipping, neither excess nor lack. In the phase of withdrawing the talisman (the stage in neidan when the fire is drawn inward), at the position of the sixth line of the Kun hexagram, one acts from the center and moves downward; thus one avoids deviation, and the text says “yellow lower garment, fundamental good fortune”—holding the mean brings auspiciousness.

Meeting “excess”: without position yet honored

“Nine” refers to the top line of the Qian hexagram—the “proud dragon, regret.” When advancing the fire (pushing the alchemical timing in neidan) reaches that top yang line, one must know when to hold fullness and avoid overflow; if one does not know how to gather and restrain, all prior effort is lost.

At the end, be careful of the end and beginning of the ten thousand things

When the fire has reached its end, the whole course is complete, yet it turns and begins again; therefore one must carefully grasp both the end and the beginning of the ten thousand things.

The huohou (timing and control of fire in the alchemical process) has already run through the final cycle of the week. When a circuit ends it begins again, so one must be cautious—this is the principle that when all things end, they also begin anew.

Reunion (fu gou) reveals the two Qi returning and converging

Qian and Kun are the gateway of the eight trigrams; fu gou (yin-yang union) is the root from which the sixty-four hexagrams take form. The two Qi of yin and yang come and go without ceasing, and from this zaohua (creation and transformation) is generated.

The moon’s waning and waxing correspond to the ebb and flow of jing and shen

The moon’s decrease and fullness symbolize the laws of drawing out, adding, and reducing.

The sun’s rising and setting match the cold and warmth of ying and wei

The sun’s ascent and descent symbolize methods of circulation, nurturing, and harmonizing; ying and wei (the qi that nourishes and guards the body as it moves through it) likewise have their shifts between cold and warmth.

Establishing words to clarify what is obscure

Using words to explain the Way is meant to awaken those still in obscurity. For example, the cauldron is represented by Qian and Kun, and the medicinals are likened to the black and white hares (Wu and Tu).

Once the images are grasped, forget the words

The Way of the Golden Elixir has many different names, all of them metaphors. To grasp the essentials, one should reflect carefully on these sayings; once understood, one may set aside the words themselves.

Yet images are still set up to point at the meaning

Even after the symbols are understood, one should still keep seeking the true intent they indicate.

When the words are understood, the images must be relinquished

To cross a river you use a raft; on the far bank you no longer carry the boat. When the meaning of the words is understood, one should release those symbols.

The adept keeps to what is simple and easy

Qian nurtures the ten thousand things in an easy manner; Kun completes them in a simple manner. Those who are penetrating act accordingly and can grasp the principle of ease and simplicity.

The confused make things ever more tangled and difficult

If one clings to symbols and is rigid about methods of “placing the furnace,” like searching for a thousand-li horse from a picture alone, affairs become ever more complicated and achievement remains out of reach for a lifetime.

Therefore, cultivators who read the Cantong qi should not be bound by the text and its symbols. Adepts who study the Cantong qi should reflect deeply and inquire into its hidden meaning before they can truly understand; what profit is there in clinging to the literal or fixating on symbols?

Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji)

Wuji yet Taiji.

The circle denotes emptiness and naturalness. It begins in no-beginning and is named as nameless; originally it cannot be put into words; even when forced into speech, it cannot be fully said.