《中和集》Vol. 5

Xian Hermitage said: "On the tip of the brush, one's original nature shows through." Tui Hermitage said: "Paint the realm from before your parents had yet begotten you." Jing Hermitage said: "Beyond this realm of mystery upon mystery, there is no other mystery." The master said: "Jing Hermitage and Tui Hermitage's lines are somewhat better. As for Tui Hermitage's line, if changed to 'before chaos had yet divided,' it would be even finer."

The master also said: "In the little hermitage hides a little toad—outsiders are not allowed to peek. At night it opens its mouth wide enough to swallow heaven." He Hermitage said: "The belly is filled with cinnabar; the fire blazes strong." Jing Hermitage said: "Only after chewing it fine do you know bitter and sweet." Tui Hermitage said: "Great earth, mountains, and rivers all lie hidden beneath the tongue." Yi Hermitage said: "This single flavor of ghee is especially sweet." The master said: "These lines are all somewhat better. I would say: swallow heaven and earth whole, and still it is not enough."

The master also said: "The poor man this year is utterly destitute…" The assembly went on to discuss the Golden Elixir, cultivation, and the nature of mind. Someone said: "Coming naked, originally without mind." Someone said: "Only after stripping off the skin-bag can you see your true nature." Someone said: "Refine until heaven and earth all become gold." Another said: "Only when the whole body is purple-gold does it count…" Still another said: "Alone possessing one divine pill—that is gold."

The master said: "None of these yet hits the mark." The assembly replied: "House broken, family perished—dead-set on cultivation." The master said: "At dusk you feed the infant, then draw it to your side; even if it hides within chaos, it cannot be found." The hermitage host said: "One must still return to the realm before the Wuji (Limitless)." Xian Hermitage said: "Then recognize the subtle mechanism within the grain of millet." The master said: "None of these has yet spoken to the essential point." The assembly replied: "Beyond the Great Void, sun, moon, and stars turn and revolve."

The Master said: “Listening to scriptures and hearing the Dharma are both hard to do thoroughly; leaving the teachings behind to chase what is mysterious and subtle is also wrong. Neither clinging to the teachings nor refusing to hear them—both approaches miss the mark.”

Heian said: “Only when you overturn everything is practice complete.” Xian said: “When hungry, eat; when tired, sleep.” The Master said: “None of these sayings is quite adequate.” Someone replied: “To hold firmly to the Middle Way without leaning to either side—that is the true secret.”

The Master said: “Standing at the top of a pole, it is hard for practice to come full circle; you must take another step forward and overturn everything old before practice is complete. But how can you move your heels? If your heels do not move, how can you arrive?” Heian said: “The truth at the highest level—its subtlety cannot be put into words.”

The Master said: “Open the crown of your head and you can pay homage to Yuanshi Tianzun.” The Master also said: “In seated meditation, if you keep your eyes open, cultivation is hard to succeed; if you close them, you fall into gloom and dimness. Neither closing nor opening your eyes—you become a blind person in earnest.” Heian said: “When every part of the body is an eye, then I understand this state.” Jian said: “Open one eye and see clearly.” The Master said: “At the top gate (dingmen, the acupoint at the center of the crown), there is the wisdom eye; only then can you see the heart of heaven (tianxin, the core of the Dao).”

The Master said: “Take the land route and you will travel a stretch of road; come by water and you will fall into ditches and pits. If you avoid both paths, how can you attain the Dao?” Heian said: “A slap in the face—how utterly merciless.” Xian said: “So the Middle Way is broad and open after all.” The Master said: “Xian’s answer is closer.” I said: “Ride the wind home and pay homage to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing).”

The Master said: “The Gateless Barrier (wumen guan, the cultivation pass that seems to have no entrance) is not hard to investigate. If you say it has no gate, then there is no barrier; since there is no barrier, what is there to open?” Heian said: “Who knows why those stale old nests are so hard to break out of.” Xian said: “One punch smashes through—burst past doubt.” Xuan said: “Without moving a single step, one has already reached Chang’an.” The Master said: “Xuan spoke well.”

The Master said: “In seated meditation, everything turbid and sinking into dullness belongs to yin.” A disciple from the hut said: “One punch smashes through—burst past doubt.” Xuan said: “Without moving a single step, one has already reached Chang’an.” The Master said: “Xuan spoke well.”

The master said: “When you sit in meditation, if the mind is dull and cluttered, that all belongs to yin stagnation; even when you become clear and sharp, it is still the work of discursive consciousness. Neither scattered nor dull, yet dust and defilement still remain.”

Heyan said: “Play the zither to summon the phoenix, and naturally there is stillness and clarity.” Yian said: “When every kind of thought has dissolved, the neidan (internal elixir) is complete.” Dongan said: “Emptiness, void, and silence—the root lies in sincerity.” Jingan said: “Let the whole body go, and you will naturally connect with the spirit.” The master said: “These ways of speaking still fall a little short.” The assembly answered: “Wait until you cultivate to ease without obstruction, and brightness will show itself.”

The master said: “When practice reaches the depth of obscure silence, if you still hold to one fixed point, your effort is wasted; if you hold to nothing at all, you fall into blank aimlessness.” Heyan said: “Let this body entirely merge with the Great Void.” Xian said: “Within breath there is great spiritual power.” Dongan said: “Let the whole body sink hidden into the Great Void.” Yian said: “The heart is utterly still; when things arise, you respond and penetrate.” The master said: “That is still holding to one point—effort wasted; holding to nothing, you again fall into blank aimlessness.” Heyan, Xian, Dongan, and Yian repeated their earlier answers. The master said: “Pick up whatever is at hand, and spiritual power shows itself beyond the ordinary world.”

The master also said: “Last night at the third watch, the sun was straight at noon; a great beast swallowed the southern mountain’s tiger. Qingan displayed spiritual power in still absorption.” These lines use seemingly contradictory, exaggerated images to depict a state that transcends ordinary distinctions. Heyan said: “When the lion roars once, who dares treat it lightly?” Guan said: “Who dares treat lightly one who shakes heaven and earth and the cosmos?” The master said: “You two do not understand this.” Someone answered: “Even the li long (a dragon image in Daoist lore) was startled into rising to dance.”

The master said: “Scooping the moon from water was always delusion; planting lotus in fire is empty talk; digging upward into the earth or seeking heaven downward are all wasted effort.” Heyan said: “Without leaving the place where you stand, you can manifest spiritual power.” Xian said: “Not clinging to cultivation or realization—that is true success.” The master said: “Better still to settle and guard what is within.” Here “what is within” means the inner way of central harmony.

The master also said: “Heaven is the roof, earth the foundation, the eight directions the walls; in the middle lives a dull-witted fellow.” Heyan said: “Alone you taste the heart of heaven, at the hour when the moon rises.” Here heaven and earth are the dwelling, and the “dull-witted fellow” is self-description—dwelling in nature and privately embodying the Way.

The master said: “Better to overturn everything at once and stop clinging or lingering in attachment.” He also said: “Before heaven and earth had yet separated, that was Wuji—the primordial state before yin and yang were divided, without any boundary. Before Wuji, there was already Taichu, the cosmic beginning; and before Taichu, there was still another scene that had not yet come into view.”

Heyan said: “It is not me now, and I am not it.” Xian said: “From antiquity to the present, only I have always been at ease, just as I am.” The master said: “Down to this moment, the essence one sees is still Yuanxu—primordial emptiness at the root. Last night and at noon, keeping company with Wuliao, that boundless realm of empty stillness, one rose straight to mid-heaven, turned the handle of the Dipper, set the wheel of the law in motion—the pattern by which the cosmos runs—and made heaven and earth tremble.” Xian again said: “From antiquity to the present, only I have always been at ease, just as I am.” The master said: “Down to this moment, the essence one sees is still Yuanxu. Last night and at noon, keeping company with Wuliao, one rose straight to mid-heaven, turned the handle of the Dipper, set the wheel of the law in motion, and made heaven and earth tremble.”

Heyan said: “Within the Palace of the Millet Pearl—where the inner body-gods dwell in Daoist teaching—one roams freely at ease.” He also said: “The myriad forms of the ten thousand things all come to pay homage.”

The master said: “Do not fixate on ‘no-mind’ or on ‘having mind.’ Bias toward either side in the end cannot reach what is real. To have mind is, after all, to become a burden to mind.” Heyan said: “One must grasp the principle of standing between the two extremes and truly having a footing.” The master said: “Only when both being and non-being are forgotten together can one realize the Dharmakaya—the body that embodies truth.”

The master also said: “I bring out the means that kill, and I also produce the knife that restores life. Tell me—how are killing and reviving to be understood?” Heyan said: “Let what died before live again.” Xian said: “Cut off birth and death altogether.” The master said: “Neither of your knives has an edge.” They replied: “The decree of the Dharma King is right here.”

The master said: “A single pearl, round and bright: outside there is no margin, yet inside it is empty. Lift it up lightly between the fingers, and there is nowhere it can be placed.” Heyan said: “It shows itself alone; hold it up singly, and one can comprehend.”

The master said: “This luminous pearl (a metaphor for one’s inner Dao-nature and the True Qi attained in practice) shines round and complete: outwardly it has no boundary, yet inwardly it is empty and unobstructed; lift it out gently, and you find nowhere it can be ‘placed.’”

Heyan said: “It appears alone; hold it with single-minded attention, and you move freely without obstruction.” Xu’an said: “It pervades worlds as vast as the sands of the Ganges, revealing suchness (the true, unchanging nature).” Xi’an said: “Whether you release it or gather it back, it always remains in itself.” Yi’an said: “Yuanshi (Primordial Beginning) dwells there alone.”

The master said: “How can you fix it in a place or cling to a place? Ah—it is as if you are leading me to lodge inside a toad’s belly!” He also said: “Refine it into one blazing red iron pellet, red as the sun in heaven, as large as the sky; take it with tongs and put it into every person’s mouth.”

Heyan said: “Chew until you taste one flavor of cool, refreshing Chan.” Xi’an said: “Only after chewing it to pieces do you know the taste is whole.” The master said: “Only when liver and intestines are stewed to complete dissolution does temperament become firm.”

The master said: “I and my fellow disciples in the lineage play with poetry together; my intent is not in the poem but in the Dao. If someone can grasp the Dao through the poem, they may obtain supreme, utterly correct subtle principle. Now, taking ‘turning from deviance back to the right’ as the theme, compose one quatrain in the rhyme ending ‘ye / zhe’ (father / cover), and you must not write the theme words directly.”

Heyan said: “Laughable—lost people do not recognize their own home, yet call a counterfeit old man ‘dear father.’ I stretch out the hand of wuwei (non-action) and point straight to Chang’an (here, the right Way); on the road ahead nothing blocks the view.”

Shi’an said: “Bypaths and crooked tracks number in the hundreds; everyone mistakes the thief for father. I now call people to turn their heads back, and only then trust that the road to Penglai (legendary isle of immortals) is unobstructed.”

Jia’an said: “Three thousand petty methods are like floating flowers before the eyes—never be deluded into calling them the right Way. I suddenly seize a person’s nose and drag him back to the great Way; the full moon shines over all, and clouds cannot cover it.”

The master said: “Embracing the thief yet crying injustice—how lamentable; two eyes clearly see, yet they do not recognize the true father. Do not blame Clear Hermitage for harsh methods—it is to open the heart’s aperture so one sees the great Way with nothing in the way.”

Recorded Sayings of Master Qing’anzi, Volume Five

Compiled by the disciple Meng’an, Zhang Yingtan

Miscellaneous Remarks

Poem Presented to Dongxi

In cultivating the elixir path, first lay a firm foundation; do not let outer affairs disturb you. Once the mind settles into stillness and reaches concentration, the two inner principles can match and work together in coordinated circulation.

The crucial point within the li huo (fire of the heart-mind) lies unobscured.

Qing’anzi Wen Da Yulu (Recorded Sayings of Master Qing’an in Question and Answer), Volume Five, compiled by the disciple Meng’an Zhang Yingtan.

Miscellaneous Notes

Poem for Dongxi

To cultivate the Neidan (internal alchemy) path, you must first lay a firm foundation and not let outer circumstances throw you off. As soon as the inner mind grows still, the two substances of Yin-Yang can match and work together.

Li huo (the heart-mind fire) refines the lead-and-mercury medicines of the art; the “thunder chariot” drives water and metal. Kun earth harmonizes the blend; for irrigation one borrows tian ren (the ren water qi).

White snow congeals in the golden cauldron; yellow sprouts grow at the jade pin. These are the true seed-principles—not the herb xuanshen.

Again

Once you grasp the subtlety of single-minded practice, let the “two mice” pester you as they will. If someone truly trusts this way, even without great outward strength it is still hard to bear the trials of cultivation.

A compassionate vow wide as the sea; keen jifeng (sharpness in word and insight) like gold. Exhaust the inner zi and wu (the phases and hours of yin-yang qi), then extend the reckoning to outer ding and ren (the paired stems of yin and yang).

Those who know how to hide need neither bolt nor key. Do not doubt the scene of friends meeting in fellowship. In what is mysterious upon mysterious, one focused understanding aligns with what Zeng Shen meant by “one thread running through it all.”

Inscription Requested by Magistrate Han for a Portrait of Patriarch Lu

This old master Lu: a kindly face, a deep inner life.

Calm and self-possessed, his bearing light and free.

He wears the green-serpent sword; the elixir teaching reaches the purple pole.

Look closely—he is indeed no ordinary man.

Say he is no ordinary man—how so? Ha!

A divine sword hidden in the sleeve, its edge never shown.

He ranges through heaven and earth, yet no one knows him.

Inscription Requested by Layman Wang for a Portrait of Master Shi

This monk’s nature is stubborn.

Staff on his back, he went through thirty-six bouts,

playing every part there is to play. Hey!

Only when the surface was split open

did the true face within appear.

Inscription Requested by Layman Zhang for a Portrait of the Cloth-Bag Monk

This fat monk is used to playing the thief, hiding in the cloth bag so no one can tell who he is.

Hey! Thieves are uneasy at heart; in their smile the real message slips out.

Inscription Requested by Layman Li for a Portrait of Patriarch Lu

What form is this man with a “foreign” look?

At ease, yet odd in every move.

What is he really? Ha!

A divine sword in the sleeve—edge never shown.

Through heaven and earth he goes, and still no one knows him.

Walking through the dusty world, yet the mind wanders beyond worldly affairs. Since you have already come here, what was kept hidden in secret is fully exposed. So where, then, is it hidden? Hey! The green serpent is hidden in the sleeve; the whole world is hidden in a single grain of rice.

In Praise of Patriarch Wang

This old man’s looks are exceedingly plain: sparse hair like whiskers, eyes as large as his mouth. He calls himself a descendant of the Five Patriarchs, and people name him companion and friend to the Seven Perfect Ones. So how should one view him? Ask again: this ugly old man—how should one view him? And how does one “split open the Spring Pavilion”?

In Praise of the Painting of the Three Immortals

Patriarch Qing’an is a yellow, stout fellow who looks nothing like an immortal; he has no special skill at all, yet others feed and support him. Do you still recognize his true self? For his sake I split open this face—and what appears is no different from empty space.

Jie’an is a scholar who points out every sort of marvel and strangeness in the great thousand worlds. He has read many books, yet cannot write a single character. Tell me—why is he like this? Cast off Old Bao’s comic costume, and one attains the indestructible vajra body.

In Praise of the Dharma Lineage

Liaochan’s verse says: The bright moon in the heart is full and clear, nature luminous and shining; a round toad-moon bursts forth, its light filling heaven and earth.

He’an’s verse says: He’an’s realm has no inside or outside; vast and all-embracing, it holds magnanimous, luminous De (Virtue/Power).

Danchan’s verse says: The elixir (dan) is the toad’s function; the toad is the elixir’s substance. When the elixir is fully refined, the toad sheds its form, its efficacy equal to that of Yuanshi (Primordial Beginning).

Yichan’s verse says: The Chan realm is pure and clear, the sea of wisdom limpid and bright; a round toad-moon appears, illuminating all insentient things. Hey! Heaven, earth, and the myriad things seem crushed layer upon layer, leaving only the great light shining forth alone.

Gu’an’s verse says: Gu’an’s realm is without clinging or obstruction; the nine rotations (jiuzhuan) accomplished, the spirit embryo (lingtai) emerges through transformation. Yi! From the crown issues great light, illuminating the three thousand worlds; the sea of wisdom is limpid and bright, a round toad-moon appears, illuminating all insentient things. Hey! Heaven, earth, and the myriad things seem crushed layer upon layer, leaving only the great light shining forth alone.

Here “Five Patriarchs” means five patriarchs in the Daoist transmission line, and “Seven Perfect Ones” means the seven realized masters of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) order. Terms such as lingtai and jiuzhuan are Neidan (internal alchemy) technical terms: the former is the inner spiritual body formed in practice, the latter denotes stages of refining and nurturing. Old Bao is a comic role in traditional opera; “casting off the comic costume” means shedding outward appearance.

Praise of Gu’an Hermitage

The realm within Gu’an Hermitage is free of entanglements and free of obstruction. After the nine refinements, the work is complete; the spiritual embryo sheds its old shell.

Ah! From the crown of the head bursts forth great radiance, illuminating the three thousand worlds.

In Praise of Li the Court Painter

Sweep away stray thoughts, compose your bearing, part the clouds, and cultivate the moon’s splendor. The work at the next level is fully revealed. Ah! To display one’s skill before one who has attained the Way—in the end, the myriad methods all merge into one.

In Praise of Qian the Court Painter

With a jade comb he parts the clouds; with a golden blade he shapes the moon. When cultivation reaches that one crucial point on high, everything becomes transparent. Ah! This message before one’s eyes has not been divulged outward in the slightest.

Miscellaneous Praise Verses

Inscription on the “Three Realms” Picture

Look at this clumsy fellow—he has no resolve at all; clearly half dead and half alive, yet he still won’t let go. Ah! Hurry and turn back— even that saves only half.

Inscription on the “Three Realms of Seated Meditation” Picture

Look at this clumsy fellow—he has no resolve at all; clearly half dead and half alive, yet he still won’t let go. Ah! Hurry and turn back— even that saves only half.

Inscription on the Seated-Meditation Ape

This ape is wildly restless, eyes wide open, its wild nature still intact. Ho! The fur on the body must be thoroughly tempered away before one can transcend the mundane and move at ease.

Inscription on the Eyes-Closed Ape

Ho! What sort of creature is this shaggy lump? Utterly frenzied, putting on one strange pose after another. Now that it has come here and its tracks are exposed, say: where exactly is it hiding? Ah! Gathering the mind, sitting eyes closed on the mountain peak, preserving essence and spirit, the spirit roams beyond the dust of the world.

In Praise of the Black Kill Talisman

Taking emptiness as paper and Mount Sumeru as the brush, one draws a spirit talisman, wondrous and unfathomable, as if spirits appear and vanish at will. One asks: how do the transformations of killing and giving life manifest? (The original note explains that below the character for “gradual” there is the “ear” radical, meaning that when a ghost dies it becomes “gradual.”)

In Praise of the Sword

This is a blade that kills; held crosswise or inverted alike. Meet a Buddha, kill the Buddha; meet a ghost, kill the ghost. The language is that of cultivation, meant to describe cutting through every attachment and obstacle.

In Praise of the Baked Flatbread

Water and wheat flour kneaded into one lump, made into round baked flatbreads. Without the work of fire and heat, how could one obtain such a rich flavor?

Water and wheat are mixed together into a round lump. Without the right fire, timing, and painstaking effort, how could you obtain such genuine flavor? Look! I take it up casually to show you—there is no need to crush it with your teeth.

In Praise of Malt Sugar

The juice of yellow sprouts is pressed out, then cooked further by the power of fire. The syrup is as sticky as phoenix-and-dragon glue and as sweet as jackfruit. In a dazed, thick, clinging mass it sticks to your jaw until even the strongest person cannot open their mouth.

In Praise of the Gourd Dipper

It receives the innate primordial Qi (xian tian zhi yi qi) and becomes a vessel of the Dao in this form. Pick it up and, with a casual stroke, split primordial chaos and reveal a complete, round wholeness. Ah! When you lift it, everything is clear and bright—be careful not to grasp it wrongly.

It is also said: there is only this one handle; the marvelous working of spirit is beyond measure. Lift it, and it seems to veil sun and moon; set it down, and wind and waves grow still.

In Praise of Zong Pengtou

Pengtou, Pengtou—what elegance or flair is there? He drags his staff sideways and rides the iron ox upside down.

Self-Praise of the True Likeness

This face does not lean on any doctrine whatsoever. That is not yet it either—when was there ever a “you”? Ah! If you call it Li Qing’an (the author’s sobriquet), it is like seeing a ghost.

In Praise of the Fan

A single round, complete whole—in the blink of an eye the myriad forms of the cosmos appear. Lift it: was there ever a “you”? Ah! Call it Li Qing’an, and it is like seeing a ghost.

A single round, complete whole—in the blink of an eye the myriad forms of the cosmos appear. Lift it, and it is like the bright moon filling the sky; wave it, and a clear breeze brushes the face. Tell me—did you see, or did you not? Ah! Do not keep asking whether you saw or not; it is only because a slight opening appeared that it fanned once.

In Praise of the Elixir

From ancient times this thing has been without form and without substance, with neither surplus nor cessation nor cutting off. Its edge can sever metal; its fullness surpasses the sun. Buddhists call it the Mysterious Pearl; Confucians call it the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji); Daoists call it the Golden Elixir (Jindan). The names are three, but the reality is one body—it is right before your eyes, yet people do not recognize it. This is it; do not doubt further.

Two Diagrams Shown to the Assembly

Acrostic Praise with Stacked Characters

Shed the original bodily form and preserve essence and qi; refine spirit into an elixir and govern it with qi.

Long gazing and guarding spirit lead to long life and a settled heart-mind; the body becomes firm, qi lively, and spirit bright and clear; gather essence and qi, settle spirit and mind—this is awakening itself.

Commentary on the Praise

The Original Spirit (Yuanshen) refines and nourishes the physical form; when the form is refined and nourished, essence (Jing) can be preserved. When essence is preserved, one can govern qi; when qi is governed, spirit (Shen) can be retained. When spirit is retained, nature and disposition become settled; when nature and disposition are settled, the heart-mind is clear and bright. When the heart-mind is clear, one can comprehend the root; when the root is comprehended, spirit becomes luminous and sharp.

When spirit is luminous, qi comes to rest; when qi rests, essence condenses. When essence condenses, the form becomes stable; when the form is stable, long life is possible. Long life sustained over time is “long vision” (jiushi—enduring vitality); through long vision the elixir can form. Once the elixir is formed, one can shed the husk (tuotuo—break free of bodily constraints) and manifest the Original Spirit.

The verse above is the essential method of refining spirit. To refine spirit, one must first refine essence; to refine essence, one must first govern qi; to govern qi, one must first retain spirit and guard intent. When retention and guarding bring stability, the heart-mind can be clear and bright, spirit can be luminous, and qi can come to rest. After qi rests, essence condenses; after essence condenses, the form is stable. When the form is stable, the Yang Spirit (the pure yang spirit spoken of in practice) can shed the husk, and the principle of long life and long vision is complete. What alchemical texts call “refining the form with golden fluid” and “returning the golden fluid to the elixir” all refer to nothing other than this process.

Eight—Golden Cauldron Inner Elixir Poem

“Eight” is the completion number of Wood and stands for wood-nature; “gold” stands for emotion (qing). Using nature (xing) to govern emotion and bring it into the central palace (the symbolic center in the body or in inner alchemy) is likened to an earthen cauldron (tu fu). Fire is then applied to refine it: the more it is refined, the firmer and more perfectly round and bright it becomes—hence the metaphor of the golden elixir (Jindan).

At the hearth fire in the furnace, hold fast with care

“Fire” means spirit (Shen); “door/household” (hu) means the chamber (shi). When the Original Spirit enters the chamber, it is like placing the medicine in the furnace to refine; the more it is refined, the firmer and more perfectly round and bright it becomes—hence the metaphor of the golden elixir.

While refining in the furnace, one must guard carefully and allow no error. The two medicines, lead and mercury, are most prone to dispersing—how could one not be cautious? Even the slightest deviation in practice can prevent the elixir from forming; that is precisely what this means.

“Insufficient earth—Ren and Gui flee the Kan palace” means: when earth-qi is insufficient, the Ren and Gui water in the Kan palace will drain away.

“Earth” (tu) refers to Kun—the image of earth and yin softness—and in the body it stands for the physical form. When the body is settled and still, it is like a tiger roaring; when the body is restless and unsettled, it is like a tiger running. Tiger roaring symbolizes the gathering and condensation of jing (essence) and qi; tiger running symbolizes their dispersal and loss.

“Lacking earth” means the body is not settled and stable. Ren and Gui belong to Water and here stand for the outward leaking of jing and qi. Those who cultivate the Dao must not fail to be cautious.

The heart corresponds to the realm of bing and ding Fire. “When the heart gives rise to nature, bing and ding fly” means: when the mind-spirit (shen) is settled, it is like a dragon chanting; when the mind-spirit is unsettled, it is like a dragon rushing. Dragon chanting symbolizes qi condensing and solidifying; dragon rushing symbolizes qi scattering and being lost. When thoughts move wrongly and recklessly, it is like flames rising; bing and ding flying away symbolizes the scattering of qi. These two lines use “lead flying and mercury running” (qian fei gong zou) as a metaphor for the state in practice in which jing and qi cannot gather and the mind-spirit cannot stay settled.

The “master” refers to the original true suchness of one’s nature—that is, the primordial spirit (yuanshen) that endures through kalpas without decay. “Dwelling” means the primordial spirit abides in the inner chamber. “Yin demons are subdued” means lustful desire is stilled. When the cultivator’s body and mind do not move, spirit can gather and qi can be stabilized.

“Sun and moon” metaphorically stand for the body’s refined essence; “bright” means that essence condenses. After practice has gone deep, the refined essence is forged into one substance and becomes a luminous treasure, its light shining through heaven and earth.

“One, two, three—the three origins merge into one blend”: Heaven generates one as Water, symbolizing jing; Earth generates two as Fire, symbolizing qi; Heaven generates three as Wood, symbolizing shen. Refining jing, qi, and shen into one substance makes the three unite and return to the root.

The pairing of “Metal Lord” (jingong) with “lead” (qian) uses the shape of characters to point to lead. “Lead dies” means desire is exhausted and emotional attachment is cut off; the sacred embryo (shengtai) then forms and the infant appears. Here “sacred embryo” and “infant” are symbolic names in neidan (internal alchemy) for the fruit of cultivation.

“One lead, two mercury, meeting in the three palaces”: lead metaphorically stands for jing, mercury for qi, and the three palaces are the loci of practice within the body. The line says jing and qi unite in the three palaces.

First, the generative number associated with Water serves as a metaphor for Jing (essence) and is provisionally called “lead.” Second, the generative number associated with Fire serves as a metaphor for Qi (vital energy) and is provisionally called “sand.” Third, the generative number associated with Wood serves as a metaphor for Shen (spirit) and is provisionally called “mercury.” The so-called “Three Palaces” are the places where the Three Origins—Jing, Qi, and Shen—reside.

“East Sea Golden Duke, master of a hundred refinements”: the East Sea stands for xing (innate nature), and the Golden Duke stands for qing (emotion/desire); they are also alternate names for lead and mercury. When qing returns to xing, it is like refining substance with fire: only after countless rounds of smelting does it become the supreme treasure.

“The body’s inner primordial root is both substance and function”: within the human body there is already a natural root-seed; to seek it outward is mistaken. The yuan-jing within the body is the function of the Golden Elixir; the yuan-qi in the heart is the substance of the Golden Elixir.

“The Gen Palace’s Wood-Fluid is root and origin”: the Gen Palace refers to Earth, and Wood-Fluid refers to mercury; together they are called “mercury within sand,” the root and matrix of the Golden Elixir. Because practitioners might not know how to apply this in practice, the text deliberately uses these names.

“The sun dwells in the moon’s cavern—then it is truly clear”: “sun in the moon’s cavern” means yang entering the place where yin dwells—that is, extracting from Kan to fill Li (qukan tianli) and drawing lead while adding mercury (chouqian tianhong). The union of the Infant Boy and the Maiden Girl, the merging of Metal and Wood, and the blending of Water and Fire are all different ways of describing this same process.

“When the heart is dead, the spirit lives and wisdom-nature opens”: when discursive thought stops, spirit emerges; when spirit emerges, wisdom becomes unobstructed. Therefore the student of the Way should let the body be like rotten wood and the mind like dead ashes, utterly still and unmoving; when practice matures, wisdom-nature becomes round and luminous.

“When the work is complete, the water is dry and lead and mercury congeal”: when the work is finished, the sea of desire naturally dries up; xing and qing fuse into one, and lead and mercury unite and solidify. With successful fire-timing (huohou), form and spirit are transcended, and the form of the Golden Elixir appears.

“One grain of the Great Elixir, red enough to pierce heaven”: the Great Elixir is the elixir brought to perfect completion. It is not made by relying on external things, but is cultivated from the inherent root of true suchness (zhenru). Whoever obtains and “ingests” it can attain the fruition of the Way.

The Great Elixir is the most complete and perfect elixir. It is not refined from external substances but cultivated on the basis of the inherent suchness in a person—the true, unerring nature one already possesses. If one can refine and “ingest” the Great Elixir, one may in the end attain the rank of Golden Immortal, the supreme immortal realization spoken of in Daoism.

First Clarify the Three, Two, and One in Learning the Way

“The three, two, and one” refer to Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence). The Jing meant here is not the semen of sexual union; the Qi is not ordinary breath; and the Shen is not the everyday thinking mind. They are primordial Jing, primordial Qi, and primordial Shen—the prenatal, original essence, energy, and spirit. These points must be understood clearly.

In Practice, Do Not Indulge the Arising Mind

In cultivation, do not let the mind run free. Once a thought arises, the “fire” tends to flare upward; when the mind is settled, delusion and turmoil cease. Through all twelve double-hours of the day, constantly gather and hold the spirit-mind.

If People Today Would Trust These Words

Those who study the Way, if they cling to words and fixate on outward forms, will never truly understand for themselves. Laozi said: “My words are easy to practice, yet people under heaven do not understand them and cannot put them into practice—in the end, they simply do not trust them.”

Strive to Settle the Master of Qian and Kun

Qian and Kun here mean body and mind. Whoever can genuinely trust these teachings should work hard to harmonize body and mind and recognize the original face—the true nature one already has. If one can grasp it directly in the present moment, one will see that this nature neither comes nor goes.

Kan Water Surges Because Earth Is Lacking

When Kan water (symbolizing kidney water and essence) surges and waves rise, it means essence cannot stay settled; “lacking earth” means the body cannot be stable. Alchemical texts say “true earth controls true lead”—that is, the power that steadies body and mind (true earth) restrains true lead (often symbolizing essence).

A Thought Arising in the Nature-Heaven Is the Generating Mind

When thought arises from within native nature, inner feeling has been stirred; “generating mind” means the mind is scattered and unsettled. The texts say “true lead controls true mercury”—using the force symbolized by true lead (essence) to constrain true mercury (often symbolizing the spirit-mind).

The Mercury Furnace Must Be Fixed with Work on Water

Before setting up the furnace and cauldron (metaphors in Neidan), one must first guard and stabilize essence—hence the priority of working on Kan water. When essence is firm, Qi gathers and condenses, and lead and mercury (terms for essence and spirit-mind within the body) naturally coalesce. The texts say “lead and mercury return to the earth cauldron”—that is the meaning.

Harmony Within the Cauldron Refines the Eight Metals

“The eight metals” here mean feeling and nature; “the cauldron” is the yellow center—the inner place in the body’s center where essence, Qi, and spirit are harmonized. When feeling and nature return to centrality, body and mind become clear, quiet, and stable. The texts say “body and mind are still and unmoving”—that is this state.

When the Eyes Are Lowered in Sleep-Like Rest, Work Lead and Mercury with Water

With eyelids lowered and the body quiet as in sleep, that is precisely the work of regulating Kan water and true mercury (essence and spirit-mind).

During cultivation, drowsiness often comes to disturb one’s practice. When sleepiness arises, one should counter it by “drawing fire from Water with Mercury”—Mercury, in Neidan (internal alchemy), commonly stands for the mind-spirit and the spirit of intentional focus. Gather the mind, settle the breath, and refine and nourish “eastern Metal” (a Neidan term for the metal qi cultivated in practice).

When body and mind do not stir, Metal and Wood join and merge (a Neidan image of yin and yang qi harmonizing within); when breath is steady, refinement and nourishment can proceed. True nature (zhenxing) becomes full and bright, and scattered thoughts and worldly cares all subside.

A cart turns on its axle; from this I grasp the principle of the heart-mind: the cart moves because it has an axle; a person acts because there is heart-mind. To understand how the axle turns is to understand how the heart-mind functions. Whoever penetrates this layer of meaning can reach the state of full authenticity (Quanzhen)—body and mind united with the Dao.

When thoughts do not move, Metal and Wood join and merge; when breath is steady, one can refine and nourish. True nature is full and bright, and every stray thought and attachment quietens.

A cart turns on its axle; from this I grasp the principle of the heart-mind: the cart moves because it has an axle; a person acts because there is heart-mind. To understand how the axle turns is to understand how the heart-mind functions. Whoever penetrates this layer of meaning can reach the state of full authenticity.

In the first, second, and third palaces (gong)—the stations linked to the sun and moon in their circuit and to Neidan practice—the sun and moon shine bright. The Triple Yuan (three root primordial qi or essential factors in Neidan) unite as one, and the two modes yin and yang are also brought to completion. The three palaces are luminous, like sun and moon illuminating heaven and earth.

Meng’an said: Master Qing’an composed these two stacked-character acrostic diagrams not to chase novelty. The stacked-character praise verses explain the substance of the Golden Elixir; the acrostic poems explain its function. The arrangement of the hidden “heads” in the acrostic shows how subtle and precise the Way of the elixir is, while the passages that explain the poem directly set forth the aim of elixir practice. If someone can read the diagrams and grasp their intent, the crux of Golden Elixir cultivation is fully disclosed. For that reason this material is included in the collection.

Qing’anzi Wendao Yulu (Recorded Sayings of Master Qing’an in Question and Answer), fascicle six, compiled by his disciple Sun’an Cai Zhiyi.

The master said: “Former generations of patriarchs, perfected immortals, and sages grasped the supreme genuine Way (Dao) and passed it down to teach the world. Do you understand?”

Ding’an replied: “Your disciple has only just entered the gate of profundity (the path of Daoist cultivation) and is dull and ignorant. To be taken in by the master is a fortune that comes once in a thousand years. Your disciple still does not know what the supreme genuine Way is. Please instruct me.”

The master said: “What is called the supreme genuine Way is that beyond which no higher realm can be surpassed—it is profound and subtle to the utmost. It has no fixed form, yet exists of itself naturally. Because it is so exquisitely fine, sages can only with difficulty name it ‘Dao.’ Sages and immortals of old all entered realization through this; none cultivated or attested without relying on it. What successive holy masters transmitted mouth to heart—the essential teaching of the Golden Elixir (Jindan)—is precisely this supreme genuine subtle Way.”

Ding’an asked: “Why is the supreme genuine subtle Way likened to ‘Golden Elixir’? What is the reasoning?”

The master said: “‘Gold’ signifies firmness; ‘elixir’ (dan) signifies completeness. Buddhism calls it ‘complete enlightenment’ (Yuanjue); Confucianism calls it ‘Taiji (Supreme Ultimate),’ the root of all change in the ten thousand things. Taiji is nothing other than the single spark of numinous clarity that one originally possesses. One’s original true nature is never destroyed—firm as gold, complete as an elixir—and through cultivation it grows ever clearer.

“Buddhism speaks of ‘○’ as suchness (zhenru, the real and unchanging substance); Confucianism speaks of ‘○’ as Taiji; our Daoist tradition speaks of ‘○’ as the Golden Elixir. Their substance is the same; only the names differ. The Book of Changes says: ‘Change has Taiji; from it arise the two modes (liangyi).’ Taiji refers to the source of emptiness and naturalness; the two modes refer to yin and yang—that is, Heaven and Earth. Human beings live between Heaven and Earth, so Heaven, Earth, and humanity correspond in one body, called the Way of the Three Powers (sancai).

“From the angle of cultivation, Taiji is the primordial spirit (yuanshen); the two modes are body and mind. In elixir practice, Taiji is the root of the elixir; the two modes are true lead and true mercury (terms in alchemy for the two complementary operations of yin and yang). As for lead and mercury…”

Taiji refers to a person’s primordial spirit (yuanshen); the two aspects (liangyi) refer to body and mind. In terms of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, Taiji is the root of the elixir, while the two aspects are “true lead” and “true mercury.” The lead and mercury spoken of here are not minerals such as mercury, cinnabar, sulfur, or black tin, nor herbs; they are not seminal fluid, saliva, nasal discharge, or the heart, kidneys, qi, or blood. They are the Jing (essence) in the body and the primordial spirit in the heart. When body and mind are settled and unmoved, and essence and qi gather and condense, this is called “the elixir (dan).” Dan means the elixir body. The circle ○ symbolizes true nature; when this ○ emerges from within the elixir, it is called elixir completion. The elixir is not something manufactured by relying on external substances; it is cultivated from the root of life itself into a body of authentic truth—yet few in the world understand this.

Today, most who practice Neidan have not received correct transmission. They often seek outwardly and abandon the proper Way for side paths. Thus many study it, but few succeed. Some refine the “five metals and eight stones”; some work with what they call the “three avoidances and five falsities”; some refine external qi from clouds and mist, or the essence of sun and moon; some gather the light of stars, or imagine a pill-like object in empty space and use that to form an elixir; some imagine that whatever sits in the Dantian (energy center) is the elixir; some practice methods such as “flying golden essence from behind the elbow,” or fix the mind on the brow, or “return essence to nourish the brain,” or guide qi to the navel.

Still others ingest foul substances, swallow saliva, exhale the old and inhale the new, practice Baduanjin and the “three-character method,” shake the jiaji (region along the spine), turn the “windlass,” block the weilü (tail gate), guard the umbilical cord, “harvest” heavenly secretions, or refine “autumn stone.” Some do bending, stretching, and daoyin (guiding) exercises, massage and breath regulation, silently recite homage to the Lord on High, press the tongue to the palate, use “three fields return” methods, hold the breath and circulate qi, or gather the “great fire” in the bladder and the Five Phases (Wuxing) in the “sea of bitterness.” Such minor techniques are too many to count; even with diligent gathering and refining, one cannot in the end attain the great Way of Neidan.

The scripture says: True orthodox dharma is hard to encounter; many people lose the authentic path of cultivation and stray into heterodox schools and deviant ways. Minor methods are as numerous as false fire pooled in the bladder or the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) sunk in the sea of bitterness—shallow techniques of this sort, are there not a thousand kinds? Even with diligent practice and the gathering and refining of essence and qi, in the end one cannot accomplish anything great. This is what the scripture means by “orthodox dharma is hard to meet, the true path is lost, and one enters a heterodox school.”

The essential key to genuine cultivation is extremely simple and easy: though hard to encounter, once encountered it is easy to complete. If one can meet a person of the Way who points the way and instructs, there is nothing that cannot be achieved.

Ding’an said: “Disciple, by karmic affinity from past lives I have had the fortune to meet my teacher and receive your transmission of the Dao method. I beg you to teach the essential secret of Golden Elixir (Jindan) cultivation.”

The master said: “Listen carefully; I will now explain for you. The key to refining the elixir lies in applying heaven-and-earth’s creative transformation: taking Heaven and Earth (Qian and Kun) as the furnace and cauldron, the sun and moon as fire and water, the transformations of Yin-Yang as the mechanism of operation, and the black rabbit and white crow (symbols of the moon and sun) as the medicinals; relying on the movement of the Celestial Chari (the stars of the Northern Dipper) and the rotation of the Dipper’s handle to advance the seasons. Gathering qi must accord with the proper time; applying the talisman (acting in the cultivation sequence) must follow rule and measure; one masters the rhythms of advancing fire and withdrawing the talisman and harmonizes the Four Images (the paired forces of yin, yang, and related polarities). One guides the dual qi of yin and yang back to the Yellow Path (the path of rectified circulation), and causes the Three Natures—jing (essence), qi (vital energy), and shen (spirit), as cultivation speaks of them—to unite in the Primordial Palace (the abode of the original root). Thus one returns to the root and restores the original, regathers and revives life, until merit is complete and spirit and qi are full, leaving the mundane to become an immortal—this is called elixir completion (dancheng).”

Ding’an said: “The creative transformation of Heaven and Earth would seem hard to seize.” The master replied: “If you do not leave your own person, what difficulty is there? What we call Heaven and Earth refers to the physical form; water and fire refer to Jing and Qi; Yin-Yang refers to body and mind; the black crow and white rabbit refer to nature (xing) and emotion (qing). Thus the physical form is the furnace and cauldron, Jing and Qi are water and fire, emotion and nature are the pivot of transformation, and body and mind are the ingredients of the elixir. The sages, fearing that students would have no way to grasp this, used Heaven and Earth to illustrate the human body, showing that the creative work in the body is no different from that of Heaven and Earth. The two words ‘body’ and ‘mind’ are at once the ingredients and the timing of the fire.”

Therefore expressions such as the heavenly soul and earthly soul, the Qian horse and Kun ox, yang lead and yin mercury, the Kan male and Li female, the sun crow and moon rabbit—all point to nothing beyond the two words body and mind. The movement and rotation of the Dipper’s handle refer to the Heart of Heaven. A elixir scripture says: “When human mind can unite with the Heart of Heaven, inverting Yin and Yang takes only a moment.” It also says: “Use the mind to observe the Dao—the Dao is the mind; use the Dao to observe the mind—the mind is the Dao.”

The shifting and turning of the Dipper’s handle refers to the Pass (xuanguan), the extremely subtle and mysterious pivot in cultivation. The Pass is an aperture of utmost depth and mystery. Most people who study the Dao today fixate on concrete bodily locations: some say it is between the eyebrows, some at the navel wheel, between the two kidneys, behind the navel and before the kidneys, at the bladder, or at the Dantian; some treat the nine palaces of the head as the Pass, some take the birth gate as the place where life emerges, and others call the mouth and nose the Mysterious Female (xuanpin), the gateway of generation and nurturing. None of these views is correct. To cling only to a particular part of the body is not the Pass; yet one cannot seek it outside oneself either. Various elixir classics do not state exactly where the Pass lies, because it cannot be conveyed in words or explained directly. Hence it is called the “Pass.” The sages indicated it to students with a single character, “center” (zhong)—and what “center” points to is precisely the Pass.

The “zhong” (center) spoken of here is not the middle point between inside and outside, nor between the four directions and above and below, and it is not some fixed spot of being centered in space.

In Chan Buddhism it is said: “Do not think of good, do not think of evil—at just such a moment, what is your original face?” That is the Chan sense of “zhong.” Confucian teaching says: “Before joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have been aroused, that is called zhong.” Daoism says that the state in which thought has not yet moved is “zhong.” What the three teachings call “zhong” is, in the end, one and the same principle.

The Yijing says that being silent and unmoving is the substance of zhong; being able to respond when stimulated and to penetrate accordingly is the function of zhong. The Laozi says: “Reach the utmost of emptiness, firmly hold to stillness; the ten thousand things arise and change together, and I observe how they return to the root.” The Yijing also says that the hexagram Fu reveals the original heart of the living power of Heaven and Earth. In Fu, one yang begins to arise from beneath the five yin lines: yin stands for stillness, yang for movement. When stillness reaches its extreme, movement is born; the place where that first stirring of thought arises is the “xuanguan”—in Neidan (internal alchemy), the critical locus where yin and yang, stillness and movement, meet and primordial Qi (vital energy) is first set in motion.

You need only, through the twelve double-hours of daily life, notice where thought stirs and apply your effort there; over time, the xuanguan will naturally appear. Once the xuanguan is seen, the stages of Neidan practice—medicinal ingredients, firing and timing, withdrawal and addition in practice, and even shedding the form and spiritual transformation—none of them depart from this pivotal place. What is called “gathering the medicine” (cai yao) is the gathering and refining of the body’s true lead and true mercury (the yin and yang vital essences within the body, in Neidan terminology).

The stirring of the “medicine” has its own moment, but that moment is not the winter solstice on the calendar, the first day of the month, or the hour of zi on the clock. The master says: “In refining the elixir you need not seek the winter solstice; within the body there is its own time when one yang begins to arise.” He also says: “When lead-qi appears and gui-water is stirred, hurry to gather and refine; when metal-qi appears and the opportune moment has passed, it is no longer fit to take.” Therefore you must seek from yourself the time of “gui arising”—the moment when one yang first begins to grow.

When conditions are ripe, one may begin to gather (the essential qi needed for refining the internal elixir). After the two kinds of qi have joined and exchanged, one must know how to hold fullness without going to excess. When what lies far away is still unclear, one should not rush to try. As for advancing fire and retreating the talisman (using fire phases as a metaphor for the advance and restraint of cultivation), one cannot rely on the external calendar alone; one may take the yearly cycle of solar terms and the alternation of cold and heat as a reference for fire phases, or use the waxing and waning of the moon in a month to illustrate the principle of chou-tian (adding and subtracting, regulating increase and decrease).

For example, at the winter solstice yang qi is first born, corresponding to the hexagram Fu (Return); in the twelfth month yang qi grows gradually, corresponding to Lin (Approach); in the first month the three yang lines open into prosperity, corresponding to Tai (Peace); the second month corresponds to Da Zhuang (Great Strength), the third to Guai (Breakthrough), and in the fourth month yang qi is full, corresponding to pure yang Qian (Heaven). When yang reaches its peak, yin begins to arise: the fifth month corresponds to Gou (Encounter), where one yin first appears; the sixth to Dun (Retreat), the seventh to Pi (Standstill), the eighth to Guan (Contemplation), the ninth to Bo (Splitting), and in the tenth month yin is pure, corresponding to pure yin Kun (Earth). When yin reaches its peak, yang begins again—thus the cycle turns without end. What these hexagrams show are precisely the turning points for advancing and withdrawing fire phases.

Yet some cultivators cling to words and hexagram images and rigidly treat the winter solstice as the day to begin advancing fire and the summer solstice as the day to retreat the talisman, and again treat the second and eighth months as the bathing period (pausing advance of fire and harmonizing fire phases)—this is exactly missing the essential point. Seeing that cultivators were applying their minds wrongly, the sages compressed a year’s seasonal cycle into one month: using new moon and full moon to stand for winter and summer solstice, and first-quarter and last-quarter moon for the second and eighth months; then compressing two and a half days into one month, and thirty days into one year. Cultivators again fixed their practice to monthly schedules, so the sages further compressed a month’s waxing and waning into one day: using the zi and wu hours for new and full moon, and mao and you hours for first and last quarter.

A true master of recent times said: “Within the work of a single quarter-hour, there is a full year’s seasonal cycle.” He also said: “Before your father and mother had yet begotten you, where were year, month, day, and hour?” Such sayings guide cultivators not to wrongly tie their practice to external dates of year and month. Yet later generations still clung to these formulas…

Those who cling to words and outward appearances and refuse to dig into the meaning beneath them only hold to the letter and fixate on figures of speech, wasting their effort for nothing. I will point you straight to the point: when the Guishui (Yin-water symbolism in inner alchemy) first appears in the body, that is the first Yang. Yang rising and Yin descending is three Yang; Yin and Yang separating is the four-Yang body. When the second month is reached—like the first-quarter moon, matching the Mao hour (about 5–7 a.m.)—one should bath (settle the breath and quiet body and mind), then advance the fire (turn the Yang Qi in the proper sequence). Yin and Yang meet, Shen (spirit) and Qi merge: that is six Yang.

After Yin and Yang join and Shen and Qi blend, one must know how to hold fullness and not lack restraint; if one does not know when to stop in season, everything done before is lost. Hence: “When metal meets far-sightedness, it is not fit to taste”—meaning when Yang is full, one must not push further. Then comes withdrawing the Fu (stepping Yang down in order), standing for one Yin; then Yin and Yang separate again, for three Yin. When Yin and Yang return to the hidden positions, one should bath—standing for the eighth month, the last-quarter moon, the You hour (about 5–7 p.m.). The process then runs to six Yin; Yin at its limit, Yang begins to stir. In a moment, one circuit of heaven (one full round of inner Qi circulation) is complete.

Practice in this way over time, and the work will slowly condense and firm; from the formless, form appears, and the Sacred Embryo (the inner-alchemy name for the formed elixir) takes shape—that is elixir formation ( Dan complete).

Ding’an said: “I have already received my master’s teaching on how to begin practice and how to use the firing times of the circuit of heaven. I still do not fully grasp the many alternate names within it; I ask the master to explain.”

The master said: “Those alternate names are all metaphors; in the end they all refer to nothing but elixir formation.”

Ding’an said again: “I have already received my master’s teaching on how to begin practice and how to use the firing times of the circuit of heaven. I still do not fully grasp the many alternate names within it; I ask the master to explain.”

The master said: The various names are all merely metaphors; in the end they all refer to “body” and “mind.” When you begin to cultivate, gather in what the ears hear, hold the gaze inward, close the mouth, and let the breath follow the rhythm of nasal breathing until the whole body is still and settled. Let spirit, hun, po, and intent each keep to its place—this is called “the five qi paying homage to the Origin”; then move them into the central palace (the locus of cultivation at the center of body and mind)—this is called “gathering the Five Phases.” When the mind does not stir, it is called “dragon’s chant”; when the body does not stir, it is called “tiger’s roar”; when both body and mind are still and unmoving, it is called “subduing the dragon and taming the tiger.”

Essence and qi are likened to the tortoise and serpent; body and mind to the dragon and tiger. When dragon, tiger, tortoise, and serpent merge into one, it is called “harmonizing the Four Images.” Using nature (xing) to govern emotion (qing) is called “metal and wood in union”; using essence to command qi is called “water and fire in interaction.” Wood and fire share one source—the “three” of the east and the “two” of the south combine to make “five”; water and metal share one source—the “one” of the north and the “four” of the west likewise combine. Earth occupies the central palace and belongs to one’s own “five”; wu and ji also follow the numbers inherent in oneself. When mind, body, and intent become one, the three houses meet and form the “infant” (a metaphor in neidan for the state when the elixir is complete)—altogether this is called “the three and five blended and fused.”

Refining essence into qi, qi into spirit, and spirit back into emptiness is called “the three flowers gathered in the cauldron,” also called “the three passes.” Some scholars today call weilü, jiaji, and yuzhen (three loci along the governing vessel) the three passes, but that names only concrete practice stages, not what matters most. The place where mind-intent first stirs is called “mysterious female” (xuanpin, the root of change gestating in body and mind); some now point to the mouth and nose as xuanpin—that is mistaken.

Body, mind, and intent are the three essentials of cultivation. The nature in the heart is called “mercury in cinnabar”; the qi in the body is called “gold in water.” Metal begets water and is water’s mother; when metal returns into water, it is said that “the mother hides in the child’s womb.” Neither letting outer scenes enter nor letting inner scenes leak outward is called “sealing and stabilizing”; quiet stillness without reckless movement is called “nourishing the fire”; following emptiness and naturalness is called “application”; sincere single-mindedness is called “guarding the fortress”; subduing inner turmoil is called “field battle.” True mercury is called the “crimson maiden,” true lead the “infant,” and true intent the “yellow matron”; nature and emotion are likened to husband and wife.

Clarify mind-intent and settle awareness so that nature and emotion are still and spirit bright; let the two forces condense into one mass and gather the three treasures of essence, qi, and spirit—this is called “forming the embryo.” Cherishing the spiritual root is called “warm nurturing”; sustaining care like a dragon tending its pearl or a hen brooding an egg is called “protecting and holding.” In practice there must not be the slightest error, or all prior effort is wasted. When the yang spirit appears, it is called “emerging from the womb”; returning to the root and recovering the original state is called “transcendence”; shattering the void is completion of the work.

Ding’an asked: “After the Golden Elixir is refined to completion, can it still be seen?” The answer was: “Yes.” He asked again: “Does it have a form?” The answer was: “It has no form.” He pressed further: “If it has no form, how can it still be seen?” The answer was: “‘Golden Elixir’ is only a provisional name—how could there truly be a shape? What is meant by being able to see it is not seeing with the eyes.”

Buddhism says: “Within what cannot be seen, personally experience it; within that personal experience, do not cling to what is seen.” The Daoist classics likewise say: “Look at it and it cannot be seen; listen to it and it cannot be heard—this is called the Dao.” Not being visible does not mean there is absolutely nothing to see; not being audible does not mean there is absolutely nothing to hear. What can be seen and heard is not what the ears and eyes perceive—it is apprehended in the heart and understood through intention. It is like when a great wind rises: blowing into mountain forests it shakes the trees; blowing over water it raises waves—how can one say the wind does not exist? Yet one cannot see its body, and reaching out one cannot grasp it—how can one say it has a visible form? The essence of the Golden Elixir is the same.

Therefore, at the beginning of cultivation, one must flexibly work between being and non-being, so that movement and stillness harmonize with each other. When cultivation succeeds, all entangling ties cease; one experiences that the myriad phenomena are empty; neither movement nor stillness is clung to, and both being and non-being are released. Only then is it said that “the mysterious pearl takes form” and “the Great Ultimate returns to truth.” Thus one achieves completeness of nature and life; body and spirit both reach a subtle and refined state. One moves in and out between being and non-being, free and at ease, and in the end attains the fruition of the golden immortal.

Scriptures and alchemical texts employ many different names in order to guide learners from the shallow toward the deep, step by step entering exalted realms, until they see their nature and awaken to emptiness. True cultivation is not in the written words of books. It is like a ferryboat used to help people reach the other shore—once ashore, the boat is no longer needed. The ancients said: “Having caught the rabbit, forget the snare; having caught the fish, forget the trap.” That is exactly the point.

This collection of mine likewise must not lead people to cling to words on paper. One should only chew them carefully and repeatedly taste their meaning, probing the root. Perhaps upon hearing a single phrase the mind suddenly opens wide and one enters directly into the realm of Wuwei (non-action)—that is not difficult. Beyond this there is still a higher key that is not easy to speak of lightly; it must be grasped outside of words. When your practice matures, one may speak of the still higher realm—that has its own heart-to-heart transmission. For now, concentrate your effort on cultivation and strictly observe the precepts of the profound gate.

Then a verse was composed, saying:

The volume on the Golden Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy) is entrusted to you: study it with full attention and turn its meaning back upon yourself. If you can grasp its intent directly, its subtle use will be complete and unobstructed, and the realm of body and mind will align with Great Emptiness (the boundless void).

A Guide to Refining Nature

In the study of nature and principle (xingli), there was never a fixed order of practice. Some say one must first exhaustively investigate things and principle, fully know one’s nature, and only then penetrate destiny; others hold that all three can be accomplished at once. Scholars today do not know which to follow—I will explain plainly.

Those of middling and lower capacity must advance step by step: first exhaust principle in things until it is clear, then know nature. As long as one matter remains unclear, the mind is blocked. Therefore investigate one by one until you see your own nature; only then can you go further and penetrate destiny.

Those of superior intelligence are different: penetrate one principle thoroughly and the myriad principles connect of themselves; knowing nature and penetrating destiny can be completed together. This is like the Chan teaching of precepts, concentration, and wisdom: for lower faculties, first restrain desire and cut off stray thought—that is precept; inner stillness without disturbance—that is concentration; silent insight and tacit understanding of principle—that is wisdom. For superior faculties, holding precept naturally settles into concentration, and from concentration wisdom arises naturally—the three are fulfilled at once.

Cultivating the Golden Elixir (Neidan) is the same. The gradual teaching begins with refining essence to transform qi (lianjing huaqi), then step by step refining qi to transform spirit, and finally refining spirit to return to emptiness (lianshen huanxu). The sudden teaching is different: it treats essence, qi, and spirit as the fundamental “medicines” of practice and applies them together from the start. Thus in the study of nature and principle, how could there be a fixed sequence?

A man of resolve who wishes to complete all three at once—how should he proceed? Ah—it is like a tangled skein of silk: one cut of the knife, and all knots fall away together.

The Shortcut to Authenticity: Nature

Gu’an Master Zhan was a worthy magistrate of Xinghua. His humane governance benefited the people; he attended to affairs with care and personally observed conditions among the populace. Though he lived amid the red dust of the world, …

Gu An, Magistrate Zhan, was a wise county magistrate of Xinghua. He treated the people with benevolence and personally attended to civil affairs. Though he lived in the mundane world, his heart was set on the subtle Dao—truly one who remained in the world yet kept his mind beyond it. One day he came to Chan Cave to visit me and asked for instruction. I briefly explained the work of cultivation, and he pressed me for the essential points. His responses showed uncommon understanding, so I could not remain silent; I wrote The Nine Foundations of Life for him, to clarify the principle of the “nine returns.” Where the book discusses the transformations of Golden Elixir (Jindan) practice, it draws on the profound aims of Chan (Zen) as illustration. Readers who savor and enter deeply into it may naturally transcend the split between self and things and cease clinging to sameness and difference. As for the essentials of ascending to truth and entering the Dao, they lie within what this book sets forth—hence I have titled it Shortcut to Attaining Dao. Written by Li Chunsu, Master Yingchan of Qing’an in Duliang.

Knowing the Moment When You Begin

To cultivate the Golden Elixir, one must first know where to begin. Without knowing how to take the first step, no amount of forced effort or empty invention will avail. Master Ziyang said: “Even if your intelligence surpasses that of Yan Hui and Min Ziqian, unless you meet a true teacher’s guidance, do not guess at it by force.” A genuine master must show how to begin and where to start. Once you know the starting point, you must also know the shi—the right moment.

The “shi” spoken of here is the moment of one yang—not, as many suppose, midnight on the clock. To fix it to a particular hour is wrong; to say there is no such moment at all is also wrong. Master Lü said “refine the self and await the shi”; Master Ziyang said “when lead appears at the birth of gui, gather it urgently”; the scriptures say “when the shi arrives, the spirit knows.” From this we infer that when gui is born within the body, that is the moment of one yang. What, then, is the time of gui’s birth? As the verse puts it: “Walk to where the water ends, sit and watch the clouds rise”—the lines evoke how, in practice, the moment appears of itself and the heart knows it without being told.

True Lead and True Mercury

Now that you have grasped the right moment to begin practice, you must discern what true lead and true mercury are. The lead and mercury spoken of here are not ordinary lead, black tin, cinnabar, or quicksilver, but two kinds of inner power that each person inherently possesses. The author provisionally calls them “medicine.” The subtle way these two forces respond to and combine with each other is like lead and mercury, hence the metaphor. Lead by nature tends to fly off; mercury by nature tends to flow. When lead meets mercury it no longer flies; when mercury meets lead it no longer runs away. The medicine within the body works the same way. Want to know where the medicine is? Look—clouds rise on the southern and northern mountains.

III. Gathering Medicine and Feeding the Furnace

Recognizing the medicine is not yet wonderful; being able to gather it is what counts. So-called gathering of medicine never strays from movement and stillness: one gathers the medicine amid daily activity and quiet, then sends it into the “wuxu zaohua lu”—the furnace of non-action and natural transformation (a metaphor for inner cultivation as furnace and training body and mind in accord with natural change)—and applies “sanmei zhenhuo”—samadhi true fire (focused, refining inner work)—to refine it into purple powder and condense it into xuanzhu (the fruit of condensed essence in Neidan). Taking and ingesting it, one may long life and clear sight. How should “condensing the xuanzhu” be understood? Look—seize the myriad acres of cloud on the green mountains, scoop up the single round moon from the jade pool.

IV. Withdrawing Lead and Adding Mercury

Understanding refining medicine, one must also understand “choutian”—withdrawal and replenishment. Withdrawal and replenishment mean drawing off what is in excess and filling what is lacking. Among all beings in heaven, humanity, asuras (a class of beings in Buddhist cosmology), and others neither human nor divine, feeling is often in excess while nature is often insufficient; stray thoughts are often in excess while spirit (Shen) is often insufficient; Jing (essence) is often in excess while Qi (vital energy) is often insufficient. Forgetting desire to nourish nature, gathering stray thoughts so spirit returns to one, refining Jing to transform it into Qi—all of this is called withdrawal and replenishment.

Yet merely drawing off excess and filling lack is not the highest subtlety. Going further, one must reach a state where there is no need to withdraw and no need to add. What is neither withdraw nor add? Neither more nor less—take it in hand, and it is just right.

V. Fire Phases and the Celestial Circuit

When you no longer need to draw out or add anything, that is exactly when you should grasp the fire phases (huohou). Some say “true fire has no fire phases from the start”; others say “do not treat fire phases as something concrete.” These two sayings have puzzled many and awakened many. I will state it plainly: fire means the heart-mind; phase (hou) means thought and intent. Using the heart-mind to refine thought and intent is what is called fire phases. When the heart-mind is settled and thought and intent have ceased, the work of fire phases is complete.

Although we can put it this way, you must neither cling to heart-mind and thought-intent nor abandon them. Abandon thought and intent and you fall into empty illusion; cling to them and you treat them as solid things. To say they are entirely within thought and intent is wrong; to say they are entirely apart from thought and intent is also wrong. What then? Like cold and heat succeeding each other, autumn harvest and winter storage—follow the natural changes.

VI. Holding Fullness and Securing Balance

In cultivation you must know chiying—holding fullness, keeping what is full from leaking away. Without chiying, earlier effort is wasted. Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan, Neidan patriarch) said: “If the mind of holding fullness is not yet established, one day you will hardly avoid danger and disgrace.” Taishang says: “Those who guard this Dao do not greedily seek overflow.” That is the point. What is holding fullness? Full yet not spilling—thus one can long preserve abundance.

VII. Securing and Balancing the Cauldron and Furnace

After you understand holding fullness, you must also guji—secure and balance. Guji means sealing the earthen cauldron (the vessel of external alchemy; in Neidan, the inner site of practice in the body) firmly. Even the slightest flaw can cause great deviation. Therefore, once fire phases are complete and the count of the celestial circuit (the inward circulation in Neidan practice) is sufficient, you should hold the light inward and guard in silence, so that true breath continues long and unbroken. Through all twelve double-hours you must watch at every moment, until the “medicine” is ripe—only then can you use it freely. What signs show the medicine is ripe? Like a full moon bright in the night sky, clear light everywhere.

VIII. Nourishing and Warming

After the golden elixir (jindan) has taken form, you must go on with nourishing and warming (wenyang). How to warm and nourish? Like a woman carrying a pregnancy—whether walking, stopping, sitting, or lying down, care continues without break; rounded, clear radiance is present everywhere.

After the Golden Elixir is formed, one must still apply the practice of “warm nurturing” (wenyang). What is warm nurturing? It is like a woman carrying a pregnancy: whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, one must at every moment be careful and attentive. It is also like an ox guarding a yellow calf or a dragon protecting a precious pearl—constantly holding the inner elixir so that cultivation is never interrupted, until “fetal separation” (fentai) occurs; only then has one truly stood firm. What is fetal separation? It is like a ripe melon naturally dropping from its stem.

Nine. Adjusting the Spirit and Emerging from the Shell

After fetal separation, adjusting and refining the primordial spirit (Yuanshen) so that it can enter and leave the body also demands exceptional care. This is like a mother caring for an infant: while the child is still small, whether in lodging or in food and drink, one must always hold and protect it; when the child can walk, one must still watch over it, lest it fall into a ditch or gully. Only when the child can act independently may one leave the mother’s side. The work of adjusting the spirit is the same.

Zhongli said: “The child is still young and has not fully grown; it relies entirely on the mother for nurture. After three years and nine cycles of refinement, the practice is complete, and one can move freely through heaven and earth, no longer depending on one’s parents.” This is what is meant by “leaving the mother” (limu). Here “leaving the mother” is a metaphor in cultivation: the primordial spirit, after long nurturing, gradually becomes able to operate on its own.

Even so, do not chase this as some fixed stage or realm; in practice one must still guard against danger at every moment and conduct oneself with caution. Only when one overturns the furnace and vessel (luding) together—that is, the body-mind and inner conditions of alchemy—is one truly free and at ease, entering and leaving without constraint, roaming beyond the mundane world and merging with the Great Void (taixu), the vast emptiness. What counts as “overturning the furnace and vessel”? It is “the household broken, the person gone, the void shattered into a hundred fragments, and alone a single golden toad (danchan) revealed”: the old frame of body and mind and all clinging are broken through, and nothing remains but the luminous root spoken of in the elixir path.

Prelude to Water Tune

The supreme Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; its wondrous power is beyond measure. The Dao is complete in itself—it need not be added to, nor is it diminished by subtraction. Cultivation does not lie in wide learning but in quiet reflection, silent realization, and careful inquiry within meditative stillness. The key meaning here never departs from Zhonghuang (the “central yellow”—in internal alchemy, the central palace or central position in practice).

The body of the Dao is perfectly round and unobstructed, its light clear and shining, manifest in full dignity. It lacks nothing and has no fixed form; the whole person is united with the constant truth of the Dao. To silently recognize it in the present moment is to tread the path one day will fulfill as Maitreya; in this very instant one must personally uphold and realize it. Open the eye of the crown gate (dingmen), and you will see that nothing in the world can remain hidden.

Essential Secrets of the Golden Elixir

The Great Dao cannot be explained in words; yet if one says nothing at all, its inadequacy cannot be made clear either…

If you quietly recognize and assimilate the present moment, that is the Maitreya of the future (the future Buddha in Buddhist tradition). Take up this insight at once and open the “heavenly eye” on the crown of the head (a metaphor for insight that goes beyond ordinary perception)—then the whole world cannot hide it from you.

The Great Dao is originally beyond words, yet if nothing is said, the Great Dao cannot be made clear. The Golden Elixir has no fixed form, yet if there were no image at all, how could anyone recognize it? Therefore sages emulate the transformations of heaven and earth, teach the world through the Dao, set up names and metaphors, and compose elixir scriptures to guide different people toward understanding. Alas, seekers today cling to metaphors and bind themselves to the letter of the text, then spin private interpretations from that—so conflicting doctrines multiply, and the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) each go their own way without merging into one stream. This is because they do not know the shared root. I now set the essentials of Golden Elixir creation and transformation into thirty-five verse eulogies, clarifying the fundamental principle and pointing straight at the one inner meaning behind all the different names. The title is Secret Essentials of the Golden Elixir, offered to the Layman of the Retreat Hermitage for his understanding. If one can grasp the meaning through the words, one will naturally hold to the root, return to emptiness and stillness, and reach the subtle and abstruse realm.

Nature and Life (Xing and Ming)

The primordial true suchness (original, unfabricated nature) is called “nature” (xing); the pre-heaven single Qi (the primordial breath before the formation of heaven and earth) is called “life” (ming).

Human nature is originally wondrous, penetrating, and vast; it only seems less luminous because it is burdened by the physical form. Now, simply let go of all attachment, and the inherent light will shine forth again.

Substance and Function (Ti and Yong)

Emulating heaven and earth is called “substance” (ti—the root basis); carrying yin on the back and embracing yang on the chest is called “function” (yong—the mode of operation).

Heaven and earth are the foundation; yin and yang drive change and movement. These crucial points are understood by very few.

Dragon and Tiger

The primal Qi in the heart is called the “dragon”; the primal Jing (essence) in the body is called the “tiger.”

When nature and emotion are settled, the dragon returns to water; when desire is forgotten, the tiger hides in the mountain. Once nature and emotion are harmonized, one may be counted among the immortals.

Lead and Mercury

The Great One’s spirit spring (the inner wellspring of spirit within the body) is called “lead”; the Vermilion Mound fire palace (the inner fire region where refinement takes place) is called “mercury.” “Lead and mercury” are symbolic terms borrowed in Neidan (internal alchemy) for the complementary yin-yang Qi and subtle substances that cooperate in practice.

To refine the “mercury” of the southern mountain, one must first draw out the “lead” of the northern sea. When body and mind are at ease and thoughts are still, the precious inner elixir congeals and becomes firm.

Cauldron and Furnace

True gold in the Qian palace (the yang, heaven-associated inner locus) is called the “cauldron”; true earth in the Kun palace (the yin, earth-associated inner locus) is called the “furnace.”

The elixir cauldron (ding) is cast from Qian metal (metal symbolizing heaven and yang vigor in the Qian trigram). The elixir furnace (lu) must be encased in Kun earth (earth symbolizing the earth and yielding, solid soil in the Kun trigram). Once body and mind are upright, furnace and cauldron naturally stand firm.

The Elixir Stove (Dan Zao)

The one numinous true nature (one’s inherent luminous original nature) is called “elixir (dan)”; the body temporarily formed from the four elements (earth, water, fire, and wind that make up the person) is called “stove (zao).”

This illusory body is the elixir stove; suchness (the true, unchanging nature) is the medicinal material. Cultivation must be unceasing; only then can a spirit embryo (the spiritual fruit of inner elixir practice) form in stillness and concentration.

Being and Non-Being (You Wu)

Grasping wind or embracing a shadow is called “being (you)”; cupping water or scooping the moon is called “non-being (wu).”

Understanding the union of the Li and Kan trigrams (fire and water, yin and yang), one sees that “being” is “non-being.” When being and non-being merge into one, one refines a brilliance like a night-shining pearl.

Medicine and Fire (Yao Huo)

Using Qi to gather in desire is called “medicine (yao)”; using intention to refine stray thoughts is called “fire (huo).”

Gathering medicine is originally easy; cooking and refining is not hard either. When the mind holds no miscellaneous affairs, true fire can penetrate the three passes (the bodily gates often spoken of in practice).

Mysterious Female (Xuan Pin)

A void, deep valley is called “mysterious (xuan)”; the gateway where breath returns to the root is called “female (pin).”

When Qi returns from the empty valley to the root, that is the gateway of heaven-and-earth’s generation and transformation. Once opening and closing are understood here, the golden cauldron (a symbol in inner elixir practice) can be steady and nurturing.

Central and Correct (Zhong Zheng)

Stillness without movement is called “central (zhong)”; responding appropriately through resonance is called “correct (zheng).”

When the mind is still, one can be upright; when the spirit is clear, one is centered. When the mind-mirror is clear, one can often rest unmoved, and the pattern of heaven (tian li) naturally opens through resonance.

Numinous Treasure (Ling Bao)

When the hundred spirits gather and do not scatter, it is called “numinous (ling)”; when the myriad Qi endure, it is called “treasure (bao).”

Within oneself there is already a treasure; used well, its wonder appears. If one sincerely nourishes and preserves it, great radiance can shine forth.

Clarity and Stillness (Qing Jing)

When movement at the source of spirit subsides, it is called “clear (qing)”; when the ground of nature is free of dust, it is called “still/pure (jing).”

Spirit water (an inner elixir term for bodily essence or fluids) is originally clear; stirred by waves it turns turbid. Now make it settle unmoved, and the light of wisdom appears of itself.

Withdrawing and Adding (Chou Tian)

Forgetting desire and cutting off stray thoughts is called “withdrawing (chou)”; refining temperament and nourishing original nature is called “adding (tian).”

Cultivating the heart-mind is called “adding mercury”; forgetting carnal desires is called “reducing lead.” When body and spirit both reach a subtle, refined state, there is nothing left to reduce and nothing left to add.

Purification (Muyu)

Polishing and tempering the heart-mind is called “mu”; washing away worldly vexations and fatigue is called “yu.” Here “bathing and purification” metaphorically describes purifying intent and clearing stray thoughts during practice.

To still the restless “heart-monkey,” one must first tame the hard-to-control “will-horse.” When the mind does not cling even to the finest dust, spirit (Shen) and primordial Qi (yuanqi) can align with intent. “Heart-monkey and will-horse” is a phrase for a scattered, unruly mind.

Fu and Gou

When yin reaches its peak, yang begins to arise—this is called “fu”; when yang reaches its peak, yin starts to appear—this is called “gou.” Fu and Gou are hexagram names in the Book of Changes (Yijing); here they denote the waxing and waning and cyclical transformation of yin and yang.

When yin is at its extreme, yang is reborn; as yang has just begun, yin gradually encroaches again. If cultivators grasp this pattern, they can discern the “heart of heaven”—the fundamental law by which heaven and earth generate and transform.

Union and Convergence

Fusion of two cultivating elements is called “union”; gathering of the three primordial Qi is called “convergence.” “The three primordials” refer to the three kinds of Qi or root elements spoken of in cultivation.

The “crimson girl” (symbolizing the yin aspect of inner alchemy) is placed in the east; the “metal lord” (symbolizing the yang aspect) dwells in the west. The “yellow crone” (symbolizing the mediating force that harmonizes yin and yang) brings the two together in mutual response, as if they were husband and wife. The marriage of man and woman here stands for yin-yang harmonization and mutual blending in Neidan (internal alchemy).

Warming and Nurturing

Fine, prolonged breathing is called “warming”; holding and guarding the inner light in silent inwardness is called “nurturing.” This means regulating breath and guarding spirit during practice so that inner work gradually stabilizes.

After the inner elixir has formed like a fetus, one must continue to warm and nurture it, tending and guarding it constantly; when the work matures, one can shed the bonds of the ordinary body and manifest miraculous efficacy.

Return and Restoration

Primordial Qi returning and merging with spirit is called “return”; emotions and thoughts returning to true nature is called “restoration.”

To make metal-qi return to its nature, one must first bring fire-qi back into the heart. Metal and fire are symbolic terms in Neidan; when the two become one, everything is as precious and pure as gold.

Gathering and Release

Entering a realm of subtle silence and stillness is called “gathering”; stepping off the path where the multitude is lost is called “release.” “Xi-yi” denotes a Daoist realm too subtle to grasp by ordinary perception.

The luminous nature that has existed since antiquity is wondrous and unfathomable. In release, it seems to pervade the entire dharmadhātu (in Buddhist and Daoist usage, the scope of all that exists); in gathering, it is stored within an inner spiritual pearl as small as a millet grain.

Empty Penetration

Not clinging to “being” or “non-being” is called “empty”; inner and outer both clear and transparent is called “penetrating.”

Clinging to “being” ultimately falls into illusion; clinging only to “non-being” also misses the mark. Neither holding to being nor to non-being, with no obstruction inward or outward—that is the state of empty penetration.

Spiritual Responsiveness

Grasping the root and understanding the source is called “spirit”; a broad mind without blockage is called “responsiveness.”

After recognizing one’s original face, one no longer fixates on the labels “Buddha” or “immortal”; with an open, unobstructed mind, one lets worldly change run its course—as when the blue sea turns into mulberry fields.

Perfect Roundness and Clarity

Fully embodying the wholeness of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) is called “round”; illuminating the empty void and manifesting clarity is called “bright.”

When cultivation reaches the proper firing, the inner elixir (Neidan) takes on the image of accomplishment; when the work is complete, the inner treasure is firm and indestructible. What is called the “toad of nature” (xingchan) is the sign that one’s true nature is showing forth; its light breaks through the state that existed before one was born.

Awakening and Illumination (Juezhao)

To shatter every kind of illusion is called “awakening” (jue); only when the real nature that is always present is disclosed is it called “illumination” (zhao). Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) is the emblem of fullness; when light shines through and pierces empty stillness, that is called “clarity” (ming).

When cultivation reaches the proper firing, the inner elixir takes on the image of accomplishment; when the work is complete, the inner treasure is firm and indestructible. What is called the “toad of nature” is the sign that one’s true nature is showing forth; its light breaks through the state that existed before one was born.

Awakening and Illumination

To shatter every kind of illusion is called “awakening”; only when the real nature that is always present is disclosed is called “illumination.”

When primordial One Qi (yuanqi, the original vital energy that makes up the ten thousand things) returns to the source, the original spirit (yuanshen, the root spirit of the person) returns to the Great Beginning. After every tie is swept away, only the pure nature remains in view.

Complete Truth (Quanzhen)

To be purely single-minded without defilement is called “complete” (quan); to merge with the Great Void (Taixu, the boundless empty expanse) is called “true” (zhen).

Thought may differ in a thousand ways, yet in the end it resolves into one principle; paths may diverge, yet all can reach the same goal. Whoever grasps the meaning of Complete Truth finds body and mind fused with the Great Beginning.

Quatrains

For Cheng Jie’an

In practice, what matters is non-action (wuwei): work in what has no form and leaves no trace, and naturally the jade toad (a figure for the inner elixir or the light of the nature) will shine on green cliffs. Keep at it through the night without a break, and breath will settle, the original spirit will be full, until at last the spirit infant (the sign of a mature inner elixir) is formed.

Cheng Jie’an sees through the world’s heat and cold, sheathes his edge and hides his light, and quietly nourishes himself within. Most precious is that genuine delight: scooping water from a jade pool and teasing the jade toad mirrored in the water.

The clean hermitage is empty to begin with; he keeps the jade toad nurtured in the heart. When the work is finished and the “three-five-one” (a neidan formula for the unity of essence, qi, and spirit) is refined, its radiance shines everywhere.

Confucians probe heavenly principle, Buddhists practice Chan, Daoists refine the golden elixir and follow nature. Only the jade toad runs through what the three traditions share; if one opens the wise eye at the crown gate (dingmen, the “upper gate” at the top of the head), one can realize the complete Dharma-body (the body of real nature beyond the physical form).

The master was versed in Confucian learning from the start and also received the orthodox immortal line. He fully understood empty quiescence and attained great awakening; the jade toad appeared as a sign, standing alone between heaven and earth.

Another five-character quatrain for Cheng Jie’an

Apart from the Mysterious Pass aperture (xuanguan qiao, the key opening for inner transformation), nothing else is real. To talk only of non-action ends in standing still; to cultivate with some holding-on can instead bring great awakening. The jade toad appears as a sign, standing alone between heaven and earth.

Another five-character quatrain for Cheng Jie’an

Apart from the Mysterious Pass aperture, nothing else is real. To talk only of non-action ends in standing still; to force deliberate action is nothing but wasted toil!

When the nature is at rest, Kan water and Li fire (the paired yin-yang images of inner alchemy) no longer clash; when the mind is clear, Wood and Metal (often used in neidan for inner yin and yang) can join. The four factors return to one place—the whole pivot lies in Jie’an’s practice.

Liver and lungs are not literally “dragon and tiger,” heart and kidneys are not simply Kan and Li; when nature and intent fuse again, the crow and rabbit (emblems of sun and moon, and of yin-yang) naturally meet and sustain each other.

The intention must always remain centered and upright; the spirit and mind must not chase outward and become lost. Jie'an must constantly settle in single-pointed focus, so that the inner "infant" can be nurtured—the state in Neidan in which the inner elixir is first formed.

The Cowherd stands firm by the river; the Weaver Maid approaches by the bridge. For a moment they meet, and their hearts naturally harmonize. This borrows the meeting of the Cowherd and Weaver Maid to depict the union of Yin and Yang qi.

Red flames rise from the ocean floor; white waves surge from the mountaintop. In Jie'an's realm of joy, one often hears the "wooden man" sing. These images are symbolic descriptions within cultivation.

The cauldron must be established as the Suspended-Womb Cauldron, symbolizing the vessel of inner refinement; the furnace must be set as the Grand Unity Furnace, symbolizing the furnace of inner refinement. Once one understands where the "medicine" is generated, one may begin the work of cultivation.

In an instant, emptiness and fullness connect; one must still go further from "being" into "non-being." When Jie'an's gongfu is complete, one obtains the Night-Pearl—symbolizing the inner elixir or a luminous state attained through practice.

Before the medicine has formed, do not act rashly in practice; when "living lead" appears—the key substance generated in Neidan—seize the moment to apply the work. To drive the carriage one must use the Kan Tiger, symbolizing fire within water or Yang within Yin; to activate the firing one relies on the Mysterious Wind, symbolizing the qi that propels inner refinement.

When the natures of the two medicines unite, the path through the Three Passes—the gates through which qi passes in practice—opens through. When clouds rise upon the Heaven of Nature—the spiritual root of one's nature—light shines upon Jie'an.

Speaking of this, one has obtained the Night-Pearl.

Before the medicine has formed, do not act rashly in practice; when living lead appears, seize the moment to apply the work. To drive the carriage one must use the Kan Tiger; to activate the firing one relies on the Mysterious Wind.

When the natures of the two medicines unite, the path through the Three Passes opens through. When clouds rise upon the Heaven of Nature, light shines upon Jie'an.

Speaking of the aim of Wuwei, the Mysterious Pass within is deep and subtle. To seek the treasure of Heaven, one must first find the gold within water—the Neidan term for the true Yang qi hidden in water.

In the numinous ground there is not a thread of concealment; within Jie'an there is not a speck of dust. The Jade Toad—the moon, clear as jade—is full and bright, its radiance penetrating the Nine Heavens.

One, two, three, four, five; east, west, south, north, and center—the Five Phases gather and return to one place, all depending on the Golden Lord, the personified power of Metal that often stands for the key force in inner-alchemy practice.

Having obtained the "One," all affairs find their resolution. Where then is the "One" settled? Going further to forget even the "One"—this is the Golden Elixir.

Formlessness precedes Heaven and Earth; primordial chaos without form exists before Heaven and Earth. When the pre-heaven and chaos interpenetrate, beyond the mysterious there is nothing more mysterious.

Maintain sincere heart and in the end one may enter the sage's realm; achieve reverence and one can penetrate the subtle principle. Whether in movement or stillness, nothing obstructs—wandering freely in accord with nature.

On the Three Teachings in Summary, Dedicated to Cheng Jie'an

Confucian Teaching

Investigating Things to Extend Knowledge

All things embody the subtle principle of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). With sincere heart and reverent mind, one can grasp what is essential in things. The Dao is without sound, taste, form, or trace, yet it appears in the ten thousand things; in knowing things, one should discern their principle and not violate it.

Rectifying the Mind and Making the Will Sincere

Sincerity and clarity, stillness and stability are the root of the Dao; movement and stillness depend on each other and are not mutually blocked. In daily life maintain quiet Wuwei (non-action), guarding the original mind without leaving traces.

Rectifying the Heart and Sincerity of Intent

When the inner self is sincere and the mind upright—clear, quiet, and settled—that is the root of the Dao. Movement and stillness depend on each other; neither can stand apart from the Dao. If in daily life you constantly guard an upright heart, the principle of Heaven (tianli) will naturally connect and flow through you.

The Human Heart Is Perilous

Alas, people are too caught up in the world. Chasing sounds and colors, the heart easily tilts and grows restless. If you return to the principle of Heaven and look deeply within, the heart-mind will settle, body and mind will be at ease, and spirit (shen) will naturally be joyful.

The Heart of the Dao Is Subtle

The Dao is right in ordinary daily life. It shows as humaneness and virtue and works in hidden ways, producing all kinds of wondrous effects. The Dao lacks nothing and is always present; it is only that ordinary people are blinded and cannot see it.

Only Refinement, Only Unity

The substance and function of the Heart of Heaven hold subtle truth. Cast off what is false and turn toward what is real, and you can gradually enter a realm of fine detail. To refine meaning and reach a wondrous state, the key is single-minded steadiness. When practice is deep and strength is fully gathered, you can know the realm of xiyi—the subtle, almost unspeakable depth.

Sincerely Holding the Center

To reach that subtle, wondrous state, you must practice with firm resolve. The Dao is broad and level; its wonderful use may change freely in every direction, yet the heart must stay settled. Then the perilous human heart becomes stable, and the subtle heart of the Dao can shine forth.

Investigating Principle to the Fullest and Exhausting Nature

In cultivating sincerity, the first step is to investigate things and their principles; that work must finally rest in exhausting the heart with honesty. When sincerity reaches its utmost, principle is exhausted, and you can grasp the root of Heaven and Earth. The nature Heaven gave you appears, and light breaks out.

Reaching the Dao

Thus you can arrive at the Dao: the path is open and level, use can change with circumstances, yet the heart remains settled. The perilous human heart is steadied, and the subtle heart of the Dao is made clear.

Investigating Principle to the Fullest and Exhausting Nature

In cultivating sincerity, the first step is to investigate things and their principles; that work must finally rest in exhausting the heart with honesty. When sincerity reaches its utmost, principle is exhausted, and you can grasp the root of Heaven and Earth. The nature Heaven gave you appears, and light breaks out.

Reaching Destiny

Those who delight in following the principle of Heaven and understand the mandate of Heaven (tianming) are true junzi (exemplary persons). Those who exhaust principle and fathom the hidden are great sages. Hold the “center” as your root, understand that root completely, and you can penetrate the wondrous.

Nothing but Loyalty and Forbearance

Use the mind with which you blame others to demand of yourself; use the mind with which you excuse yourself to be lenient with others. When loyalty and forbearance (zhongshu) are both complete, you have truly opened the Dao. Hold to this to the end, and you will not turn away from humaneness and virtue.

Again Seeing the Heart of Heaven

When the mass of yin has faded away, the one yang begins to rise. At that time you must firmly guard the Mysterious Pass (xuanguan) and not rashly open it. In deepest stillness, watch the first stir within; the Heart of Heaven (tianxin) will be clear and bright, and you will know its original face.

Knowledge That Circles All Things

All things in the world fully embody the principle of Heaven, yet few people today truly know this. Trace things back to their beginning and look again at their end, and you can hold the whole Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the fundamental wholeness from which Heaven and Earth and the myriad things arise. Exhaust wondrous change and know how the ten thousand things are born, and you can enter the realm of wuwei (non-action).

Retreat and Store in the Secret

The principle of Pre-Heaven Great Easy (the fundamental state before heaven and earth were divided) is unfathomably deep, vast and subtle, and its excellence is hard to put into words. If you carefully reflect and seek its mystery, you will find that mystery within yourself. Purify the mind, withdraw and gather inward, until you reach sincerity, reverence, and oneness.

Constant Vigilance in Solitude

The Dao cannot be seen or heard; it is hidden and subtle. Whether manifest or concealed, you should always remain sincere and reverent. When you apply this marvelous mechanism, others can hardly fathom it; the august intent of Heaven rests in a heart that withdraws and stays reverent.

Constant Vigilance in Solitude

The Dao cannot be seen or heard; whether hidden, manifest, or subtle, always be sincere and reverent. Employ this marvelous mechanism so that others cannot know it, and the august intent of Heaven will naturally become clear.

One Thread Running Through

Each thing possesses its own Taiji (the fundamental law within all things). The pivot of creation’s operation embodies Kun and Qian (earth and heaven, also yin and yang). Whether in success or in hardship, one principle runs through all, entirely in accord with the Dao of Heaven; holding to the root and returning to the source aligns you with nature.

Return to Wuji

Within Wuji (the undifferentiated source) the complete Taiji is contained; when Taiji appears, it divides into the Two Modes (yin and yang). The myriad things and the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity all dwell within my heart-mind. Returning to the source and going back to Wuji is the foundation of the sage’s cultivation.

The Buddhist Teaching

Two Bodies, One Substance

The Dharmakaya (the Buddha’s body of true suchness) is pure and formless; if it had a fixed appearance, how could it be called the perfect body? Even if billions of manifestations appear, if they do not unite in one body, it is not true perfection.

Three Minds as One

The three minds (past, present, and future mind) originally return to one, and this single body of the one has no fixed trace. Gathering or separating them is only different display of the same mind. Even when facing the present, remain unstained; past and future ultimately return to emptiness and stillness.

Clearing Obstacles and Awakening to Emptiness

Do not indulge in empty talk or learn only to bandy words about Chan; clarify the mind and cut off tangled attachments. Set aside learned understanding, what you have seen and heard, and book knowledge; when the clouds of delusion disperse, the mind is like the full moon.

Hidden and Manifest Without Gap

Having seen the Dao, you should still be as if you had not seen it—do not assume you have already grasped it; if you cannot contain and guard it, you will lose your way again. Hide your tracks, withdraw your sharpness, leave no trace—this is the true “golden-haired lion cub” (a metaphor for one who has genuine cultivation).

Not Establishing Being or Non-Being

Clinging to “being” or “non-being” both fail to penetrate; discarding both sides alike falls into empty nothingness. Thinking being and non-being can both be held is still illusion; guarding the middle without bias matches the wondrous function.

Precepts, Concentration, and Wisdom

Not being moved by stray thoughts even in action is true precepts; true concentration accords with the patriarchs’ root. When wisdom rises and pervades the entire Dharmadhatu, emotional attachment and delusive thoughts melt away.

No Fixed Dharma

If you practice Chan meditation hoping to grasp the nature of all dharmas (Fa xing), yet lose your way entirely; or turn away from that nature to chase what is abstruse and subtle, only to stray further from the right path—then know this: when you understand that dharmas arise from the mind, and both mind and dharmas are empty and free of clinging, you can behold Muni (the awakened one; here, the state of enlightenment).

When the mind-ground is empty, clear, and thoroughly open, you can penetrate the mysterious root (Xuanpin, the deep source of the Dao). Utter simplicity and poverty of desire are the foundation for entering the Way. When the heart is lucid, the mind-moon appears; in the stillness of meditation, great radiance shines forth alone.

True Suchness is originally complete; from beginning to end it is unmoving and such as it is, illuminating the center of heaven and earth. Its light is pure and unobstructed, able to pierce the chaos before heaven and earth were yet divided.

Nourish spirit and temper the will; turn toward quiet emptiness and non-being. All day long, ease and freedom—let the mind expand and gather as it will. The deepest joy lies within settled stillness; in the meditative state, clear and unmoving True Suchness appears alone.

Mending a torn robe while facing the sun—is that merely for show? Patch the shoulder, then the waist; no sooner is it mended than it tears again, and you must patch once more. Go on like this, and in the end you might as well strip off every thread and let go completely.

The moon at the horizon has only half emerged, yet the dullard hurries to read the final passage of the sutra. Suddenly a few clouds drift across; both eyes are as if blind—nothing can be seen.

Clearly a pagoda without a single crack—yet others force it open from outside. Its eight faces and four sides seem each to bear an eye; at the center, the living Tathagata (the awakened one) stands revealed.

Daoism

Quiet emptiness and Wuwei (non-action)

When the heart is clear and still, it is originally without words; the moment you act with deliberate effort, it is no longer natural. Silent attunement opens the dark mystery and awakens the heart’s aperture; as nature-spirit transforms, it congeals into a solid treasure.

Supreme ultimate truth

The way of Wuwei can be applied between heaven and earth; you must recognize the root from above, below, and the middle. Only when spirit and mind are rightly settled can you penetrate this realm; True Suchness appears as if blazing light were released from the gate of heaven.

The subtle function of true origin

Silent attunement opens the dark mystery and awakens the heart’s aperture; as nature-spirit transforms, it congeals into a solid treasure.

Supreme ultimate truth

The way of Wuwei can be applied between heaven and earth; you must recognize the root from above, below, and the middle. Only when spirit and mind are rightly settled can you penetrate this realm; True Suchness appears as if blazing light were released from the gate of heaven.

The subtle function of true origin

(Same content as above in the source text—the passage on silent attunement, Wuwei, recognizing the root, settled spirit and mind, and True Suchness like light from the heavenly gate.)

Do not treat “no-mind” (wuxin) or “has-mind” (youxin) as the final goal. If you deliberately chase wuxin, how can you truly grasp the mind of Heaven? If you cling to youxin, you will always be dragged by thoughts. Only when you release both sides—having and not having—does awakened nature become clear and pure.

Reduce, and Reduce Again

“Gen and Dui interweave: Mountain-Lake Decrease” draws on the Yijing hexagram Mountain-Lake Decrease (Shan Ze Sun) to explain cultivation: restrain anger and cut off resentment, hatred, and folly. Keep stripping away attachment and stray thoughts in the mind until you no longer forcefully suppress or block anything, and then let go of fixed views and artificial effort—that is the footing for entering the sage’s path and reaching wuwei (non-action).

Three Returns, Day and Night

The principle of the primordial Dao is not easy to find; one should spend the whole day diligently guarding a single, pure heart. “Three Returns” (san fan) means the practice of repeatedly turning the light inward and gathering body and mind in cultivation, and it must be lived in daily life. When the pass of the Mysterious Gate (xuan guan—the place in neidan where body and mind meet and spirit and qi gather) is fully open, one can refine the yang spirit (yang shen, the spiritual body formed in inner alchemy).

One Attainment, Eternal Attainment

Distinctions in learning, understanding, and knowledge can all become dust on the mind; even the paths of the shravaka and pratyekabuddha (Buddhist stages of realization) still belong to realms that must be transcended. Wash the mind and clear thinking, and the inner state is as pure as the still sky of dhyana; ordinary people and sages alike can look up to the light of the sun of wisdom.

Subtracting Lead, Adding Mercury

To “subtract lead” is to sever worldly ties; to “add mercury” is to nourish original nature and follow innate disposition. When emotion and nature merge into one, cultivation of the immortal path is complete; when lead and mercury coalesce, the great elixir is fully perfected. Here “lead” and “mercury” are symbolic terms in inner alchemy (neidan), not actual metals.

Gate of the Dark Female

The Mysterious Gate and the Female Portal (xuan guan, pin hu—terms for the root of life and the meeting of yin and yang in practice) are the gate of the Great Dao. When the gate opens, the yang qi of Qian expands; when it closes, the yin qi of Kun gathers. Those who are lost seek only at the nose and mouth—how can the root of life return to its source?

Leaving the Herd’s Path of Delusion

Set aside fame and profit, rest in quiet clarity and emptiness, and cut away one by one the bonds of false conditions. When the sea of the heart-mind grows still, the boat of practice reaches the far shore; a single moon breaks through the clouds and lights the road ahead.

Entering the Gate of Rarefied Simplicity

When the three passes (san guan—obstacles to be cleared in neidan) are connected, one can grasp the deep mystery of the Dao. True creation lies in wuwei; everything follows nature. With a single step one is beyond the formless realms; looking up, it is as if one already stands in Daluo Heaven (the highest heaven in Daoist cosmology).

Much Talk Leads to Exhaustion

Thousands of scriptures and treatises expound the same aim, yet people on the wrong path each cling to one view. Some boast of eloquence and sharp insight, only to fall at last into stubborn emptiness (clinging to blank void).

Better to Hold the Center

Discoursing on mystery does not truly open the Great Dao; it is better to quietly guard the centered heart. Without leaning to either side, the Mysterious Gate opens of itself; holding steady without wavering aligns one with the sage’s practice.

Nine-Turn Divine Elixir

The nine-turn divine elixir (jiu zhuan shen dan) is the fruit of long refinement in the furnace of practice—turn after turn of transformation until spirit and elixir are one. That completion is not a separate prize outside the path; it is the natural outcome when lead and mercury are balanced, the three passes cleared, and the centered heart never lost.

“Establishing the cauldron” (li ding) means setting up the vessel for elixir refinement; “installing the furnace” (an lu) means placing the furnace apparatus. Here the imagery of the external alchemy furnace and cauldron is borrowed to speak of internal cultivation. The phrases about “burning dry the four great seas” and “refining to shards the five empty expanses” use hyperbole to describe refining the vast qi-transformation of heaven and earth. When the Golden Elixir coalesces, it is as if it embraces the three realms (the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm)—only then is cultivation considered successful. The work must also be neither biased nor skewed, so that the xuanguan (the key locus where qi intersects in inner refinement) opens through; holding steady without change, one can align with the sage’s achievement.

“Nine-turn divine elixir” is spirit elixir produced through repeated rounds of refinement. Here again elixir-making is a metaphor for inner practice: refining vast qi-transformation until the Golden Elixir takes shape and encompasses the three realms, symbolizing that cultivation has reached completion.

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao” means: any principle that can be put into words is not the unchanging true Dao. The true, constant Dao cannot be fully expressed in language; clinging to speech departs from the root. If one can apprehend it in wordlessness, there is no need to strive further in pursuit—and the work of cultivation is thereby in place.

Postface.

I have heard that Taishang (the supreme honorific in Daoism for the highest Dao and its supreme deities) established the teaching and guided those who came after to seek the Dao, and thus the learning of immortals arose. How could the learning of immortals be made clear in ordinary words? One must meet someone who has truly attained the Dao, receive his guidance, and have one’s mind suddenly opened—understanding the key to the opening and closing of yin and yang, grasping how nature (xing) and life (ming) unite, able to stand apart yet respond endlessly to events—only then can one speak of the learning of immortals.

Since Donghua Dijun (a legendary immortal in Daoist tradition) transmitted the lineage, and Zhong Liquan and Lü Dongbin (the two immortals Zhong and Lü) spread the teaching, immortals and perfected ones have appeared in succession through the ages. They were all broadly learned: above, they could assist rulers in promoting the Dao and virtue; below, they could benefit the people and save the world. Daoist influence therefore grew ever stronger, and those who sought immortality in each generation never ceased.

Later, Yingchanzi Li Qing’an appeared. His foundation in the Dao was deep; he received secret transmission from immortals. The aims of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism he understood clearly in his heart. Those who heard of him from all directions came to seek instruction—too many to count. His expositions of the subtleties of the Golden Elixir (jindan, a term in Daoist internal alchemy), together with his dialogues with disciples, his resolution of difficult points, and his sharp, apt replies, amount to a certain number of pieces, collected into a book entitled Qing’an Yulu (Recorded Sayings of Qing’an).

I have read and reread its essays and find that every piece has no superfluous words, every sentence no superfluous characters. All clarify the teaching left by Taishang and also reveal principles that earlier perfected ones had not yet stated in plain terms—truly lucid and subtle. This work complements and confirms Zhonghe Ji (Collection of Central Harmony). The Jingnan Daoist Deng Tanran had long copied this book; now he has had it carved and printed so that it may endure and Qing’an’s instruction not be lost. This indeed shows his broad intent. Those who study immortality, if they can read these words, will surely be inspired and stirred to action; such help is no small matter.

Hunranzi, a later student from Xiujiang in Nanchang, respectfully kowtows and records this.

Dao De Hui Yuan (Meeting of the Dao and Its Virtue)

Annotated by Qing’an Yingchanzi Li Daochun, a follower-student from Duliang.

Preface to Dao De Hui Yuan

I privately consider that Fuxi drew the trigrams and revealed the Dao of the prior heaven; Laozi wrote his book and fully expounded…

Li Daotong styled himself a disciple of Du Liang Qing’an and took the sobriquet Master Yingchan (Yingchanzi). He held that when Fuxi drew the hexagrams, he revealed the principles of the prior heaven (xiantian); when Laozi wrote his book, he clarified the Dao and De. These two classics can be regarded as the fountainhead of all scriptures. Scholars today fail to grasp their meaning, he thought, largely because they have not received correct transmission.

Li Daotong said that he originally did not understand the Yijing (Book of Changes). Later he studied widely and sought teachers everywhere until a master pointed out the root principles of the Yi, whereupon he came to see its subtlety. He then organized what he had learned into the Three Days Essential of the Yi (San Tian Yi Sui) for his disciples. As for Laozi’s Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), he still had not fully penetrated it.

One day, Chuan Ji’an brought him the Moral Treasure Chapter (Daode Bao Zhang) by the Purple Clarity Perfected One (Ziqing Zhenren) to read. Li Daotong felt that its commentary largely matched the classic text, though some passages were not fully explained; he once thought of supplementing it, but after careful reflection did not dare to speak rashly. Later several disciples brought him several annotated editions of the Daodejing and asked for his guidance.

Li Daotong compared these commentaries with the classic and found many discrepancies among them: some had an extra character, some lacked one; some whole lines differed; there were also corrupt readings and reversed order—each version had its strengths and flaws. He lamented that even the classic text itself showed such variation, let alone later commentaries.

When someone asked where these differences came from, he explained that copyists might err, or block printers might misplace punctuation; others, where they could not make sense of a passage, added words on their own, so mistakes spread and the text became fragmented and confused.

Asked which accounts were more trustworthy, Li Daotong judged the Heshang Gong Commentary (Heshang Gong Zhangju) and the Purple Clarity Perfected One’s Moral Treasure Chapter to be comparatively penetrating; the test was whether the explanation could connect with the meaning of the surrounding text. Other schools’ interpretations, he said, differed in insight and each clung to one side. When asked to elaborate, he noted that some commentaries rested on personal guesswork rather than genuine understanding from experience, and thus could not be extended consistently. Those who studied statecraft tended to read everything in terms of governing; those who studied the Way of the elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy) easily read everything in terms of the elixir path.

Some grasp the classics through the essentials of military strategy and then become fixated on military strategy; others grasp them through the essentials of Chan Buddhism and then become fixated on Chan. Still others speak only of principle and not of concrete affairs, or only of concrete affairs and not of principle; as for expedient adaptation, stratagem, and side paths and indirect approaches, these too easily lead people to one-sided extremes. All such approaches betray the original intent of the sages in composing the classics.

They do not understand that when the sages wrote these classics, they meant to establish the root before heaven and earth took form, to turn the wheel of creation and transformation beyond the alternation of yin and yang, and to embrace every thing and every principle between heaven and earth. Since nothing is missing from the classics, how can one interpret them by seizing on a single aspect alone?

Therefore, not presuming on my own judgment, I have pointed out, one by one for all to see, whatever does not cohere and whatever contradicts the sages’ meaning in the classics. Everyone agreed that this was so. After that, those who came to study with me were unceasing, and I could no longer remain silent. Below each sentence of the original classic I added commentary to explain its meaning and to set forth the essentials of conserving spirit and nurturing qi (yangshen yangqi); under each chapter I summarized and clarified its reasoning and the stages of tracing things back to their source; and after each chapter I composed a hymn (song) to unfold the import of realizing the original mind and perceiving one’s true nature (mingxin jianxing).

As for ritual purification and practice, ordering the state and pacifying the realm, institutions and law, the daily life of the people, and ordinary conduct—whether vast or minute, broad or deep—everything is discussed. I also wrote two pieces before the main text, “Correcting the Language” (Zhengci) and “Investigating the Principle” (Jiuli), to rectify wording and probe meaning, so as to dispel doubts arising from differing formulations in the classic. This book is titled Daode Huiyuan (Meeting of the Origin in the Dao and Virtue). I hope that scholars of later generations will examine it closely and reflect on it repeatedly, enter according to their own insight without clinging to one-sided views, and in the end merge with the utmost Dao and return to the source.

My words are plain, and what I have done is merely to explain the classic’s meaning directly—I do not dare claim to be correct. Yet compared with other commentaries, it may be somewhat closer to the classic’s intent. I ask those of like mind to judge for themselves.

On the first day of the early summer of the gengyin year of the Zhiyuan era (1290 CE), Li Daochun, styled Yuansu, disciple-student of Duliang, Qing’an Yingchanzi, composed this preface for Daode Huiyuan, juan 1.

Li Daochun, styled Yuansu and with the Daoist name Qing'an Yingchanzi, set forth his understanding of the Dao.

The Dao that can be put into words is not the eternal, unchanging true Dao. The true, constant Dao has no beginning and no name that can be assigned to it; once you start to think and talk about it, you have already strayed from it, and the moment you open your mouth to explain it, you are apt to misspeak. If we say it can be spoken of, then what exactly is this “Dao”? If we say it cannot be spoken of, how can it be experienced at all? Speaking of it is wrong, not speaking of it is also wrong—how then can one truly grasp it? If you can utter here one sentence that hits the mark, your study and practice may be said to have borne fruit.

If you have not yet grasped it, you must examine it again and again in daily life: in rising and resting, in eating and drinking, and whenever you turn your mind inward—look at what it is that stays clear and alive throughout, and does not stand opposed to the myriad external conditions. Seek in this way until you reach the point where even “seeking” is no longer possible; then, suddenly experiencing it in person, you will understand: this has belonged to you all along and has never changed since the distant past.

Therefore it is said that one cannot be parted from the Dao even for an instant; in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, one never leaves it. Everything between heaven and earth, from ancient times to the present, manifests it; the arising of the ten thousand things in heaven and earth, and the movement, stillness, labor, and rest of everyday life, all never depart from it. All that has form will eventually decay; heaven, earth, and empty space will also decay—only this Dao remains eternally unspoiled.

Yet why is it that people, even with eyes of iron and bronze, cannot see through it? Simply because they have never truly met it; even when they seem to meet it, they may already have missed it. Where exactly did they go wrong? Do not chase after it blindly—how then should one grasp it? Qing'an has already explained this clearly; what remains is for each person to realize it for themselves. When you meet someone who truly understands, you should rouse your spirit and awaken to it in the present moment. Alas—last night fresh rain fell along the river; today the distant mountains are green as ever.

The utmost Dao is a state of emptiness and stillness—without image, form, name, or substance. Look for it and you cannot see it; reach for it and you cannot grasp it. Listen for it and you cannot hear it; search for it and you find no trace.

It is so vast that nothing lies outside it, so subtle that nothing lies beyond its reach. It gives birth to Heaven and Earth, constantly nourishes the ten thousand things, transforms without end, and whether it appears or withdraws cannot be fathomed. It is not annihilating void, but the utmost Dao that is empty, still, formless, nameless, and without substance: unseen, ungraspable, unheard, and without trace.

Supreme Venerable Laozi spoke plainly, as if displaying the Dao clearly in this classic. He said: “Those who talk too much often reach their limit; better to remain silent.” This “○” (the circle, symbolizing the Dao that cannot be put into words) is the Dao—do not doubt it further.

De (Virtue/Power)

The word “De” is also a name imposed for convenience. It cannot be pictured, nor can it be seized by clinging. Whenever one deliberately arranges practice, accumulates merit, or repeats observances, one has already fallen into deliberate action and can no longer be called truly virtuous. Yet if one cultivates nothing and makes no effort, waiting passively like dead ashes or withered wood for De to arrive on its own, one will never possess De in a lifetime.

The more one pursues De, the farther away it recedes; the more one clings, the more one loses it. The scripture says: “Superior De does not ‘do’ De, and therefore has De.” That is, the highest De does not treat itself as De, and for that reason truly has De. It also says: “Superior De acts through wuwei (non-action) and has no ulterior purpose.” That is, the highest De accords with the natural course and does not deliberately seek anything.

These two lines are already quite clear, yet few truly understand them. If you can trust this, you must set aside past learning and opinions, and also release every fixation—including those of Shravakas and Pratyekabuddhas (two kinds of Buddhist attainments). In daily conduct, cultivate through “diminishment”: keep reducing and letting go, diminishing again and again until nothing more can be diminished; then the subtle De naturally appears, and only then will you believe that wuwei truly brings benefit.

The scripture also says: “The teaching without words, the benefit of wuwei—few in the world can match these.” That is, the instruction that needs no speech and the good that comes from non-forcing are things almost no one in the world can reach. It also says: “Mysterious De is deep; it is far.” That is, the subtle De is unfathomably deep and distant. Do you understand? Alas! The Dao is right here in the present, eternally clear and still; if you set out to seek it deliberately, you will discover that it is not something that can be seen.

Like the countless fine virtues compared to grains of sand in the Ganges, all are originally complete in the heart—so why deliberately practice and toil at accumulation? The more you seek outward, the more bottomless it seems; the more you cling, the easier you are to lose. Let go of fixation, and the ten thousand things can all turn around.

Put yourself behind and others ahead; stay soft, yielding, and humble, and keep a heart that is pure and undivided. When the mind is free of mixed defilements, De (virtue/power) is genuine. Cultivating the person, keeping fasts and abstinences, and ordering the world all flow from this. Such mysterious effect cannot be reckoned; it is called Xuan De (virtue that is deep and does not show itself).

The word “jing” (scripture) is also only a name set up for convenience. The sages of old saw people follow feelings and chase desires, run after appearances, and lose their true nature; turbulent yeshi (conscious activity shaped by conduct and habit) disturbed the bright heart; wuming (delusion and non-awakening) burned hot, so that innate simplicity was lost and people met sudden disaster, early death, and harm, unable to return to their original root. They therefore used skillful means, opened gates that exhort and guide, and led the lost back to the right path. So they wrote books and established teaching, and reluctantly called it “jing.” “Jing” is the path—the great road everyone can walk.

But reading a jing must not stick to the letter of the words, nor leave the text to hunt for principle elsewhere. Start from yourself, taste these five thousand-odd characters finely, and miss no shade of meaning. If you suddenly see through even one line or half a line, you will know the whole jing is in your own heart. Then you will trust that the Dao is not only on the tongue. At that point, open your own treasure house, bring out the “jing” that is yours, and use it freely. Then you can not only penetrate this one jing; even the thirty-six authoritative jing and the whole body of Daoist classics can be threaded from start to finish—and with one shout of awakening, all is clear through and through. Do you grasp the principle? Wind and waves rise on flat ground; thunder cracks in a clear sky. Listen well; listen well.

The verse says:

The wondrous use of this scroll of jing is hard to judge; through numberless kalpas it does not change—it has been so since ancient times. Wind and waves rise on flat ground; thunder cracks in a clear sky. Listen well; listen well.

The subtle efficacy of this volume of scripture is hard to put into words. Through countless kalpas it does not change; from antiquity to the present it has always been so. Everywhere it can function; everywhere it can reach. Before a word is spoken, the principle is already clear.

Unless one has truly realized it for oneself, who would dare to enter deeply and cultivate within it?

“Dao ke dao, fei chang dao” (The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao): as soon as one opens the mouth to explain, one has already strayed from the unchanging true Dao. “Ming ke ming, fei chang ming” (The name that can be named is not the constant name): to attach a concrete name to it is also inappropriate. The Dao is originally without name. “Wu ming, tian di zhi shi” (The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth): the nameless Dao is the root from which all things in Heaven and Earth begin. “You ming, wan wu zhi mu” (The named is the mother of the ten thousand things): we call it “Dao” only because it begets and nourishes the ten thousand things and keeps them endlessly alive.

“Chang wu yu yi guan qi miao” (Always be without desire to observe its subtlety): with inner emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action), one can discern the Dao’s subtlety. “Chang you yu yi guan qi jiao” (Always have desire to observe its manifestations): with deliberate use of spirit and mind, one can observe the traces where the Dao appears outwardly. “Jiao” is read like “jiao” and means outer edge or visible form. In both respects, one must discern presence in what cannot be seen, and when forms are seen face to face, still understand the formless within them. “Tong chu er yi ming” (They issue from the same source but differ in name): subtlety and manifestation both come from the Dao; only their names and functions differ. “Tong wei zhi xuan” (Together called mystery): their substance and function share one root, hence they are called xuan (mystery). “Xuan zhi you xuan” (Mystery upon mystery): body and spirit both reach a refined depth. “Zhong miao zhi men” (The gate of all subtleties): every method of cultivation and every profound teaching flows from here.

The previous chapter said that the Dao of emptiness, naturalness, constancy, and truth cannot originally be captured in words. Any “Dao” that can be stated is not the constant Dao. Yuanshi’s primordial qi (the source breath before Heaven and Earth took form) generates the heavens and adapts moment by moment—this is one describable “Dao.” The Dao originally has no name; once it is named, it is no longer the constant true name. The transforming and nourishing work of Heaven and Earth shows visible traces, and so there are names that can be spoken.

With inner emptiness and wuwei, one discerns the subtlety of the nameless Dao; with deliberate use of spirit and mind, one observes the traces of the named Dao. “Miao” refers to spirit; “jiao” refers to form. To know only traces and not subtlety is imprecise knowing; to know only subtlety and not traces is incomplete knowing. When form and spirit are both held in view, one can reach the refinement where form and spirit are both subtle—this is “mystery upon mystery.” The thirty-six sections of revered scripture all flow from this; hence it is called “the gate of all subtleties.” From where, then, does this scripture stream forth? Ho!

The eulogy says:

Above the peak of Mount Kunlun,

Within the primordial pearl of Yuanshi (the subtle source where Yuanshi’s qi gathers),

Though you have the mouth your parents gave you,

In the end it cannot speak this through for you.

Everyone in the world knows what beauty is; once the idea of beauty is fixed, ugliness shows up as well. People all know what goodness is; once goodness is marked off, what is not good is distinguished too. Beauty and ugliness, good and not good—each side appears only in relation to the other, like a shadow that follows a body.

Being and non-being give rise to each other; difficult and easy complete each other. What looks easy may turn hard in the doing, and what is hard may in time become easy. Long and short show their difference by comparison; high and low appear through contrast with each other. Sounds answer one another; before and after follow in sequence.

Therefore the sage does not cling to beauty or ugliness, nor hold fast to being or non-being. He acts through wuwei (non-action) and teaches through not insisting on words. The ten thousand things grow, and he does not turn them away; he lets them grow but does not possess them; he acts but does not boast of his effort; when things succeed, he does not keep the credit. Because he claims no merit and does not fix on himself, that accomplishment does not slip away—the word qu here is read in the third tone, meaning to depart or vanish.

This chapter shows that beauty and ugliness, good and not good, and being and non-being, difficult and easy, all depend on and reflect one another. The sage does not hold to either pole: he does not refuse, does not possess, does not rely on himself, does not hoard merit—so he is not locked into opposition with things or between being and non-being, and what he accomplishes can endure. The point is to spell out the meaning of “embodied Dao” from the opening chapter: the ten thousand things differ in name yet all issue from the Dao; in acting, one follows things as they are rather than taking one side alone.

Each person has their own sense of beauty and ugliness, yet I do not divide you from me; all such distinctions are to be dissolved and returned to the original state that is like water. What appears before us as a thousand kinds of things—I say that in truth there is not a single thing one can grasp as truly existent.

“Not exalting the worthy” (bu shang xian) means not promoting the name of worthiness, so that people remain plain and simple; “causing the people not to compete” means forgetting the self.

“Not valuing goods hard to obtain” means not prizing rare possessions, not showing off skill, and not grasping for profit; “causing the people not to steal” means forgetting external things.

“Not displaying what is desirable” means not being pulled by desire, yet being able to follow things as they are and adapt to circumstances as they arise; “causing the heart not to be disturbed” means forgetting emotional desire.

Therefore the sage keeps the inner mind empty and still to preserve heavenly nature; keeps the body full and nourished to preserve life; keeps the will soft and unassertive to preserve spirit; keeps sinew and bone strong to preserve the physical form. The text also says “chang dao” (constantly forgetting)—here continuing the earlier thread, meaning constantly forgetting external things; not being drawn by desire, following things and adapting as occasions arise, the heart is not thrown into disorder by emotional craving. For this reason the sage empties the mind, fills the body, softens the will, and strengthens the bones.

“Constantly causing the people to be without knowledge and without desire” means leading people not to cling to intellectual distinctions and desire, so that nothing external occupies the heart. In “causing those who think themselves wise not to dare to act,” “fu” is read as fu (support/enable), and “zhi” is read as zhi (wisdom)—the meaning is that even those who fancy themselves wise and versed in norms dare not act recklessly.

“Acting through Wuwei (non-action)” means maintaining stillness and not acting on one’s own impulse; “then nothing is not governed” reads “zhi” as chi (to hold/sustain)—meaning that by responding to things and opening along with the trend, there is nothing that cannot be brought into order.

The three sections above explain “not exalting the worthy,” continuing the prior line about “undertaking affairs through Wuwei.” If one does not boast of one’s own worthiness, the common people stay simple; if one does not value rare treasures, they stay well provided; if one does not display what stirs desire, hearts stay settled. When the sage governs the world, cultivating the self is necessarily the root. The passage on “emptying the heart, filling the belly” sets out essentials of self-cultivation: when the inner mind is empty and still, the will becomes soft; when the will is soft, one is not bound by discriminating knowledge and can forget the self—this is “not exalting the worthy.” When the body is full and nourished, sinew and bone become strong; when sinew and bone are strong, one is not easily driven by desire and can forget external things—this is “not valuing goods hard to obtain.” These two aspects work together and suffice to preserve heavenly nature and life.

The verse says:

When the body is full, the way of true constancy is within it;

When the mind is empty and still, the Dao naturally dwells in the heart.

There is no need to deploy a single soldier or blade—

In talk and laughter alone, the realm can still be settled.

The substance of the Dao (the body of the Great Dao) is empty and without form, yet it can function—it is like the deep void sharing one body with the ten thousand things. It seems never to be full and never complacent. It is so far-reaching that it seems the root of all things, yet it does not display itself; it gathers in sharpness and does not show its edge; it dissolves turmoil and does not follow worldly change; it harmonizes radiance and does not deliberately make itself bright; it mingles with the dust of the world and does not set itself above others. Profound and remote, it seems to exist yet cannot be grasped; it responds to things as they come and remains always still. I do not know what gave birth to the Dao—it seems to be before the Lord on High; the Dao itself is the root.

The first four chapters spoke of wuwei; therefore here the text says the Great Dao is empty yet can function, and never becomes full. Only by not being full can one receive benefit. “Gathering in sharpness and dissolving turmoil” means inner emptiness and stillness and forgetting the self. “I do not know what gave birth to the Dao” means the Dao transcends even emptiness; it seems to exist before the Lord on High.

The verse says: Not knowing what gave birth to the Dao, how can one know it was before the Lord on High? I will make it clear for you: the Dao was there before the Taiji had yet divided.

Heaven and Earth seem to show no partiality; they run their course by following nature and treat the ten thousand things like straw dogs used in sacrifice. Heaven and Earth nurture the ten thousand things yet do not take themselves as masters. The sage likewise harbors no partiality, emulates Heaven and Earth, and treats the people as straw dogs: the people attach themselves to the sage, yet the sage does not take himself as their master.

Between Heaven and Earth—is it not like a bellows? Empty in the middle, it can function; empty, it never runs dry—the more you work it, the more breath keeps pouring forth. Too many words easily lead to exhaustion; better to keep to inner emptiness and stillness.

The first five chapters say that Heaven covers the ten thousand things and Earth bears them, transforming and nourishing the people and nurturing all things—this can already be called utmost benevolence. Here “Heaven and Earth are not benevolent” means Heaven and Earth do not regard themselves as lords and benefactors of the ten thousand things. When the sage cherishes the people and governs the state, he should be the same; cultivating the body and preserving life is the same.

This section continues the meaning of the earlier line “the Dao is empty, yet in use it is not exhausted.”

The verse says: A bottomless vessel is called a “tuó”; a vessel with three holes is called a “yuè”—the hole in the middle, no one can touch it. If you could truly touch it, it would play for you a wordless melody.

“Valley spirit never dies” means that the empty, luminous, and clear original nature never perishes; this is what is called xuanpin (the mysterious root that generates and transforms). As the gate of xuanpin opens and closes, that is the transformation of Yin-Yang, also called the root of Heaven and Earth: from it Heaven and Earth are generated. It extends without break, as if present yet hard to pin down; in operation it is inexhaustible, and one need not strain the mind to use it.

Chapter 6 above says “valley spirit never dies,” meaning that empty, luminous, clear spirit does not grow dim—this carries forward the previous chapter’s theme of holding to the center. Empty, luminous, and clear, spirit transforms wondrously without fixed form; the movement of Yin-Yang cannot be fully measured. Opening and closing, coming and going without end, there is no visible limit, yet change in stillness and motion always stays fitting. It requires no deliberate force, and the growth and transformation of the ten thousand things flow on without ceasing.

The hymn says:

Opening and closing, responding to the changes of Heaven, Earth, qian, and kun—this is the gate of xuanpin. Unbound by going out, entering, or coming and going, it alone holds supreme place among the three realms (in Daoist terms: the realm of desire, the realm of form, and the formless realm).

“Heaven and Earth are long-lasting” means Heaven and Earth run without cease. The reason Heaven and Earth can endure is wuwei (non-action, acting in accord with nature without forcing): they do not set their own survival at the center, and so they remain long unchanged. The sage models Heaven and Earth, placing himself behind others and thereby standing ahead of the multitude; forgetting the self and not clinging to the body, he yet preserves himself. Precisely because he harbors no private aim, he can fulfill himself.

Chapter 7 above says that Heaven does not take itself as Heaven, Earth does not take itself as Earth, and so they ceaselessly nurture the ten thousand things. The sage does not take himself as sage, and therefore aligns with the virtue of Heaven and Earth. This carries forward the previous chapter’s idea that “in use there is no exhaustion.”

The hymn says:

The root of the Dao is utterly empty and still; that emptiness and stillness have no beginning. If one can apprehend this emptiness and stillness, one can merge with the Great Void (the boundless empty expanse).

On the thirty-six thousand qing of Taihu’s waters, the moon rests in the heart of the lake; who can such a sight be told to?

“The highest good is like water” means that the finest kind of goodness resembles water: gentle and humble, willingly occupying the lowest place. Water nourishes the myriad things yet does not compete with them; it adapts to the shape of whatever vessel holds it, can be round or square, and can remain in low places that people dislike—therefore it is close to the Dao.

The goodness of water shows in seven respects: in choosing low ground to dwell, like water nourishing all things; in a heart-mind broad and deep, able to embrace the myriad things; in treating others with humane kindness, able to nurture the myriad things; in speech that is trustworthy, able to respond to the myriad things; in governing with order, able to transform the myriad things; in action with capacity, able to accomplish the myriad things; and in moving in accord with the right moment, able to adapt to the myriad things. Because it does not contend, it is without fault. What is meant here by “self and things as one” is that person and the myriad things do not struggle against each other but can mutually penetrate and harmonize.

This chapter continues the earlier theme of “putting others first and oneself last,” using water as a metaphor to explain the principle of softness, humility, benefiting the myriad things, and not contending.

The verse says: When you do not contend, the spirit-mind grows quiet; when you know sufficiency, the breath becomes even. Release this one stubborn fixation, and even the Yellow River will clear for a while.

“Hold a vessel and fill it to the brim—better stop in time” means that insisting on filling a vessel until it overflows is inferior to knowing when enough is enough. “Sharpen a blade until it is keen—it cannot long be kept” means that grinding a tool until it is excessively sharp makes its edge hard to preserve for long. The way of Heaven diminishes what is full and increases what is humble; the way of Earth disperses what is overflowing and returns it to modesty; ghosts and spirits harm the arrogant and full, and bless the humble; people too dislike self-satisfaction and love modesty.

When wealth and rank are followed by pride and self-importance, one invites disaster upon oneself. After merit is achieved and fame established, one should withdraw and restrain oneself. This is the pattern of Heaven’s Dao, and also the principle of Heaven and Earth in mutual accord.

This chapter follows “The highest good is like water,” urging people to guard against complacency and maintain humility; to step back in good time after success and renown is precisely to follow Heaven’s Dao.

The verse says: Run in haste, and your shadow still follows at your heels; turn back abruptly, and you may fall into a ditch. At such a moment you should stop your feet—even level ground before your eyes can seem to sink like water, until it is hard to find a foothold.

If one can advance the transformation of body and mind a step further, whether what is hidden or revealed, whether soaring or leaping—all is governed by the inner mind.

“Zai ying po” (bearing and settling the hun and po) means settling the spirit-soul so it is like cargo carried on a cart, not allowed to run wild at will. “Bao yi neng wu li” (embracing the One so there is no separation) means holding to unity and not letting body and mind part. “Two things formed like a mother carrying an infant” refers to spirit (shen) and qi (vital energy) joining in harmony, like a mother holding a baby. “Zhuan qi zhi rou, neng ying’er” (concentrating qi to attain softness, becoming like an infant) means gathering refined qi so body and mind are supple, pure and single-minded like an infant. “Fan pu huan chun” (returning to the uncarved and restoring simplicity) is returning to plainness and genuine simplicity.

“Di chu xuan jian, neng ru ci” (cleansing the dark mirror so it is without blemish) means washing the subtle mirror within so it is not stained by flaws; when the mind is clear and bright, one is not pulled by outer things and does not cling to what is seen or heard.

“Ai guo zhi min, neng wuwei” (loving the state and governing the people through wuwei) means when governing the country and settling the people, one accords with nature and does not act rashly. “Tian men kai he, neng wei ci” (the heavenly gate opening and closing—being able to be the female): the heavenly gate is the pass where qi of body and mind goes in and out; one can be soft and still like the female, moving between being and non-being without contending for merit or boasting. “Ming bai si da, neng wu zhi” (clear and penetrating in the four directions—being able to be without knowledge) means that though one sees and understands broadly, one does not flaunt cleverness but restrains artifice, hides sharp edges, and blends into the world.

“Sheng zhi xu zhi” (giving life and nurturing): xu is read in the departing tone and means giving birth to and storing all things; turning the four virtues and nurturing the life of the myriad beings. “Sheng er bu you” (giving life yet not possessing) means not claiming achievements as one’s own after success is complete—when the work is done and fullness reached, one withdraws and hides. “Wei er bu shi” (acting yet not relying on it) means accomplishing things without taking credit, forgetting one’s own doing and keeping quiet humility. “Zhang er bu zai” (nurturing yet not ruling): zhang is read in the rising tone and means raising the myriad things without dominating them, leaving room and letting change follow nature. This is called “Xuan De” (profound, subtle virtue): when the Way is lofty and virtue complete, one sheds bodily constraint and preserves heavenly genuineness.

The above explains Chapter Ten of the Daodejing. “Zai ying po” is likened to carrying goods on a cart. Po (the corporeal soul) tends to be restless and chase after things, and also to be hard and sharp; po belongs to yin, and excess yin harms yang; excess desire enslaves true nature. If one can restrain this tendency, hold to unity without separation, make body and mind soft and flawless, act with wuwei (non-action) and not parade cleverness, the yin po no longer indulges the emotions. When po is subdued and yin qi dissolves, the spirit settles and temperament returns to stillness.

From “Bao yi” onward, the text speaks of how to settle spirit and po. The earlier passage spoke of retiring after success; this section continues that theme. What follows will use thirty spokes gathered in one hub to show that only with the cart does the cart’s use appear.

Verse:

One should act with a mind free of deliberate scheming if one is truly to gain anything; yet to achieve such a mindless ease is exceedingly hard! Once you awaken, it is within the snap of a finger; if you remain confused, it is as though ten thousand mountains and rivers stand between you and understanding. This passage continues the meaning of the previous chapter’s “carrying soul and body together,” and introduces the analogy of the next chapter, “thirty spokes share one hub”: only when the wheel has a hollow hub at its center can the cart function.

The verse says:

Act with a mind free of deliberate scheming, and you will gain; yet that mindless ease is hard to attain. Awakening comes in an instant; after losing the way, it is as if ten thousand mountains and rivers lie between you and it.

“Thirty spokes share one hub” means that the many things all return to a single heart-mind. “When it is empty” refers to the hollow at the hub: viewed from that emptiness alone, there is no cart; “there is the use of the cart” means the spokes gather at the hub and compose the cart, so the cart can be used. “Knead clay to make a vessel” is to blend and shape earth into a utensil; “when it is empty” refers to the hollow inside the vessel—if you look only at that emptiness, there is no vessel; “there is the use of the vessel” means water, earth, and other materials combine into a vessel, so it can be used. “Cut doors and windows to make a room” is to open doors and pierce windows to complete a house; “when it is empty” refers to the space inside the house—if you look only at that emptiness, there is no house; “there is the use of the room” means doors and windows connect inside and out, so the house can serve its purpose. Thus what has form brings convenience, and what is formless—empty space—enables it to function.

The reasoning above uses spokes gathering at the hub to illustrate the use of the cart—that is, the subtle principle of gathering the myriad phenomena in the heart-mind and filling the spirit with sufficiency. If spokes did not gather at the hub, how could it be called a cart? If the myriad phenomena did not return to the heart-mind, their function could not be realized. The hub is empty, so the cart can move; the heart-mind is empty, so the spirit can move freely and penetrate everywhere. Therefore emptiness can complete the work of what is solid, and what is solid also relies on emptiness to function; emptiness and fullness interpenetrate, coming and going without obstruction. This is the meaning of the previous chapter’s “carrying soul and body together.” If one goes further to the state where nothing need be carried and neither hub nor spokes are clung to, the cart no longer exists; likewise, when neither heart-mind nor dharmas are grasped, spirit returns to empty stillness. Vessel and house follow the same pattern.

The verse says:

Iron ramparts layer upon layer, silver mountains heap upon heap; turn the pivot of the teaching and pass straight through.

The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones dull the hearing; the five flavors spoil the palate. When the eyes are bewitched by color, the ears confused by sound, and the mouth numbed by taste, indulgence in racing and hunting drives the heart-mind into frenzy, because the inner self is pulled by desire. Rare and precious goods obstruct conduct and make one a slave to external things.

Therefore the sage values inner fulfillment and does not chase sensory pleasure: he keeps the heart-mind from being tugged by the outside world, and keeps external things from disturbing the heart-mind. Hence one should reject the former and embrace the latter—reining in the gaze and turning the hearing inward, so that spirit returns to the interior.

This is Chapter 12 of the Daodejing. The previous chapter explained the role of emptiness and stillness: when the inner mind is empty and still, one is not deluded by sounds and colors; this chapter therefore continues with how the five colors, five tones, five flavors, and worldly desires disturb the senses. Color, sound, taste, and the various external objects all belong to what the senses contact—the “roots and dust” (gen chen: the sense faculties and their objects). Ordinary people are often bound by these externals; only those who cultivate the Dao are not blinded. When seeing, hearing, speaking, and acting do not violate ritual and propriety, the pulls of the senses can be turned into aids on the path; therefore one should abandon outward enticements and choose inward steadfastness.

A verse says: At the sight of beautiful colors, the spirit grows restless; at the sound of noise, inner peace is lost. If one can sweep away disturbance and not be tied by anything, one can open a vast realm through one’s own cultivation. “Miluo” denotes a broad, lofty sphere of attainment.

Both receiving favor and suffering disgrace can fill a person with alarm. Favor often foreshadows humiliation; when one holds rank and honor too dear, great trouble easily follows. What does it mean that favor and disgrace alike cause alarm? Listen carefully to what follows: favor belongs to the upper station, insult to the lower; when favored, one fears losing it; when favor is lost, one fears never regaining it—this is what is meant by “favor and disgrace are like alarm.”

What does it mean to treat great trouble as seriously as one’s own body? Why do I have great trouble? Because I have a body. If one could forget the physical form and be free of entanglement, what worry would remain?