《云笈七签》Vol. 36

True Adept, let me ask you: Do you see what you have encountered only through its outward appearances, or do you see the underlying principle of things? Yaoming replied, “Is the true nature of the world ultimately seen by observing its principles, or by observing its appearances?”

The Celestial Worthy said, “I will tell you: the true nature of the world is originally without distinctions. It is only that living beings’ understanding is not yet sufficiently clear. People see only the outward appearances of things, but do not grasp their underlying principles, and so distinctions arise. The appearances of the world are all different; yet when you observe them with the eye of wisdom, you can understand that the appearances themselves are the true nature. To awaken to the true nature is called ‘seeing the Dharma.’ Thus, you can know the true nature without destroying anything in the world.

“Yaoming asked again, ‘If the true nature can be known without destroying the world, then what are the appearances of the world? Why is not destroying them said to be the true nature?’

“The Celestial Worthy replied, ‘The appearances of the world are ignorance—the state of being unable to understand the true nature of things—as well as craving, attachment, prejudice, anger, delusion, and other afflictions. If you can understand that the nature of afflictions is emptiness, that craving was never there to begin with, and that ignorance can be completely stilled, then there is no Dharma that needs to be eliminated. Therefore, you can know the true nature without deliberately eliminating afflictions.

“There is no mark to grasp, no affliction to eliminate, and no attainment to seek. There is no such thing as ignorance, and no Dharma to eliminate or fruit to attain. This is called eliminating afflictions. No one who understands that afflictions are empty in nature, that craving was never there to begin with, and that ignorance can be stilled thinks that there must be some other method for eliminating them. You should therefore understand that the true nature can be known without deliberately eliminating afflictions. To speak of ‘not eliminating afflictions’ is precisely to say that there is no fixed mark of affliction to grasp, and nothing real to eliminate or attain. This is called eliminating afflictions. To need no elimination is to see the true nature. You should therefore understand that the true nature can be known without deliberately eliminating afflictions.

“The understanding spoken of earlier has two forms: ‘seeing marks,’ which looks only at appearances, and ‘seeing the Dharma,’ which grasps the underlying principle. Those who see the Dharma say they have recognized the true nature; those who cling only to appearances think they have acquired afflictions. From this we can understand that those who see the Dharma can often grasp the subtle root and so see the true nature, while those who see only marks observe nothing but superficial appearances and therefore remain troubled by afflictions. To understand that afflictions are empty in nature, that nothing in the world has ever been fixed and unchanging, and to trace appearances back to their source—this is called attaining the vision of the Dharma.

On Yin-Yang and the Five Phases

Yin Qi lies hidden within Yang Qi, and Yang Qi is also concealed within Yin Qi. When Yin Qi is warmed and vaporized by Yang Qi, it can rise upward; Yang Qi, in turn, is restrained by Yin Qi…”

Yin-Yang can therefore interact above and below: Yang Qi steams and transforms Yin Qi into breath, while Yin Qi gathers Yang Qi and settles it into essence. As the sun and moon move, rising and setting, the Qi of Heaven and Earth joins together, and all things come into being.

As Yin-Yang passes from youth and vigor to maturity, it differentiates into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water): Lesser Yang gives rise to Wood, and Greater Yang to Fire; Lesser Yin gives rise to Metal, and Greater Yin to Water. The Five Phases combine and harmonize with one another, just as Yin and Yang pair to form husband and wife. Fire has the nature of rising and steaming; Wood is firm and upright; Metal is hard and strong; Water nourishes all things; and Earth is even and yielding. Thus Wood causes things to sprout, Fire transforms them, Water nourishes them, Earth harmonizes them, and Metal makes them firm. In this way, the various kinds of things are able to come into being.

The waxing and waning of the Five Phases each benefit from the force that generates and nourishes them, and act through the force that overcomes their counterpart. Generation and overcoming work together, so things may succeed or fail. The Jing says, “The Five Phases overcome one another, and through this all things can be preserved.” Movement and stillness are the pattern by which all things end and begin; gathering and dispersal are the gateway to transformation and generation. Does Yang govern movement and Yin govern stillness? Movement brings things forth, while stillness allows them to rest. Pure Yang alone cannot give birth; pure Yin alone cannot bring things to completion. Yin and Yang take turns acting, and day and night depend on one another.

By day, the sun moves with Yang Qi; by night, the moon moves with Yin Qi. Yang Qi is nourished within Yin, while Yin Qi emerges from Yang, and light is born from this. Gentle Yang sprouts in spring, flourishes in summer, gathers in autumn, and is stored in winter. Yang Qi exists even beneath the nine layers of Earth, and Yin Qi even above the nine heavens. The statement of the Fu hexagram, which symbolizes the return of Yang Qi, says, “Can one see the intent of Heaven and Earth in this?” This is because Yang Qi is below. When Yang Qi lies hidden beneath the Earth, dormant and still, the ceaseless generative intent of Heaven and Earth is revealed.

In the human body, the kidneys store Yang Qi, while Yin Qi lies hidden in the brain. In old age, harmonious Qi grows insufficient and Yin and Yang are about to separate. Yang Qi then rises and Yin Qi descends, so the head becomes hot and the kidneys cold. Without Yang Qi in the kidneys, the feet grow weak; without Yin Qi in the brain, the eyes cannot see clearly. Thus, when Yin and Yang do not join, all things fail to come into being.

If pure Yang grows too strong, it reaches an extreme: the sun and moon lose their radiance, and plants and trees wither. If too much pure Yin stagnates, rain falls without end, floods overflow, and all things are swept away. Yin and Yang rub against one another, and the Qi of Heaven and Earth surge together: their shaking produces thunder, their collision produces lightning, their stirring produces wind, their congealing produces hail, their steaming produces clouds and mist, their liquefaction produces rain and dew, and their congealing produces frost and snow. Harmonious Qi gives rise to human beings; unbalanced Qi gives rise to birds and beasts; mixed Qi gives rise to plants and trees; and turbulent, agitated Qi gives rise to insects and fish.

The most precious thing in life is to be alive; the most precious thing about being alive is to realize the Great Dao. Having the Dao is like a fish having water. Even a fish trapped in a dry wheel rut longs for a little water, yet worldly people who have lost their original nature often have no desire to seek the Dao. They loathe the suffering that comes with life and death, yet cling to all the activities of the cycle of rebirth. They prize the reputation of being virtuous but neglect the practice of virtue. They take delight in chasing sights, sounds, and flavors, while regarding quietude and detachment as hardship and disgrace. They squander rare wealth in hopes of gaining blessings in a future life, and indulge passions that are easily aroused, thereby losing the chance to cultivate the Dao in this life. They imagine themselves clever and quick-witted, but are in truth like people dreaming, their minds and spirits confused. Life comes and goes without end, passing through countless kalpas—immensely long spans of time. On reflection, what could be more upside down than this?

Thus, the Miaozhen Jing says: “People often lose the Dao; it is not that the Dao loses people. People often turn away from life; it is not that life turns away from the Dao.” Therefore, those who nourish life must be careful not to lose the Dao, and those who cultivate the Dao must be careful not to damage life. Let the Dao and life remain together, and let life and the Dao preserve one another. Only when the two are not separated can they endure. To endure is to attain the root of the Dao.

A scripture says: “Life is the great De bestowed by Heaven, the great joy brought by Earth, and the great blessing of humanity.” Those who cultivate the Dao can bring this life to fulfillment; they do not rely on blessings and honors fixed by fate. The Xisheng Jing says: “My destiny is in my own hands; it is not governed by Heaven.” From this we can understand that the length of life depends on oneself. The Dao is not bestowed by Heaven, and it cannot be taken away by another.

By the time one examines one’s heart and feels regret, it is often already too late; time does not stand still. Alas, like a day fungus that lives only from dawn to dusk, I have now passed the age of knowing one’s mandate—fifty years old—yet have not mastered the essentials of returning to the Great Dao. Thinking how swiftly time passes, vanishing in an instant like a flickering candle flame, I urge myself to investigate the meaning of the scriptures. The principles are in fact clear and direct, and the methods easy to put into practice. In response to the ailments of the mind, I have set out methods for settling the mind, sitting in stillness, and avoiding what should be avoided. I have arranged them into seven points as stages in cultivating the Dao, and included both their key principles and supporting methods, shaping them into this work.

Faith is the foundation of the Dao, and reverence is the root of De. When the root grows deep, the Dao can endure; when the root is firm, De can flourish.

Yet Bian He, who discovered a jade of priceless worth, was punished by having his feet cut off; Wu Zixu offered loyal counsel to preserve his state, but was put to death. This shows that when things appear on the surface, people’s hearts can sometimes be misled. When principles and affairs first begin to reveal themselves, people may overlook them amid their feelings and concerns.

What is more, the highest Dao transcends appearances and flavors, and one’s true nature is not bound by desire. It is not easy to hear of the subtle, hard-to-discern Dao and believe in it, or to hear principles that cannot be grasped and remain free of confusion. If someone hears that “sitting in forgetfulness” (a practice of seated cultivation in which one forgets the body and the mind that makes distinctions) is an important method of cultivating the Dao, and can accept it with faith, revere and honor it without doubt, and then practice diligently, that person will surely attain the Dao.

Thus Zhuang Zhou said: “Forget your limbs, set aside your intelligence, leave behind your body and cast off your mind; become one with the Great Dao. This is called sitting in forgetfulness.” What does sitting in forgetfulness require us to forget? Surely it is more than just certain things. Inwardly, the cultivator is no longer aware of the self; outwardly, there is no longer awareness of the myriad things in the universe. The cultivator merges with the Dao, and all thoughts dissolve. This is what Zhuangzi meant by “becoming one with the Great Dao.”

These words are plain, yet their meaning is profound. Those who are confused hear them and still do not believe—like someone carrying a treasure in their arms yet wandering everywhere in search of treasure. What can be done? The Jing says: “When faith is insufficient, there is disbelief.” This means that a lack of faith in the Dao brings the misfortune of disbelief. How, then, could one hope to attain the Dao?

Severing Attachments

“Cutting off ties” means severing one’s involvement in worldly affairs. When these affairs are set aside, the body does not grow weary; by following Wuwei (non-action), the mind naturally becomes peaceful. A calm, simple frame of mind deepens day by day, while worldly entanglements diminish. The farther one’s conduct moves from worldly concerns, the closer the mind draws to the Dao (the Way). Who has not begun this way on the path to the highest spiritual and sage-like state?

Thus the scripture says: “Block the openings of the senses and close the gates of desire, and you will know no hardship throughout your life.” Some display their Virtue and abilities to attract others to their side. Some cultivate contacts by exchanging greetings, congratulations, or condolences. Some pretend to pursue the Way in seclusion while inwardly hoping for promotion. Others host banquets and expect favors in return. These practices conceal schemes and calculated ambition in pursuit of immediate gain. They do not follow the Dao and seriously obstruct the proper work of cultivation. All such things should be cut off.

The scripture also says: “Open the openings of the senses and multiply worldly affairs, and there will be no saving you throughout your life.” If I do not take the initiative to promote something, others will not respond; even when others promote it, I do not join in. In this way, old entanglements gradually fall away. I sever old ties and form no new ones. Relationships built on profit and power naturally grow more distant with time. Only by living at ease, free of concerns that bind the mind, can one cultivate the Dao.

Thus the Zhuangzi says: “Do not send off those who depart, and do not welcome those who arrive.” This means not forming ties with the world that lead to endless entanglement. The Zhuangzi also says: “Do not be a vessel for fame, a storehouse for schemes, a manager of affairs, or a master of knowledge.” If some tasks truly cannot be set aside and must be done out of necessity, do not let them give rise to craving, and do not bind your mind to them or let them become your burden.

◎ Gathering the Mind

The heart is the body’s master and the commander of the hundred spirits—that is, the various spirits within the body. When the heart grows still, wisdom can arise; when it is restless and agitated, it becomes dull and confused. When people become absorbed in illusory realms, they always take them to be real. And when they willingly sink into purposeful activity—living with attachments and deliberate striving—who can see the unreality in it? The heart’s dullness and confusion are, in truth, caused by the circumstances on which it depends.

Choosing one’s neighbors can influence and change one’s character; choosing one’s friends can also bring benefits. How much more, then, must one leave behind the realm of birth and death and let the heart dwell in the ultimate Dao? How could one fail to abandon one’s former way of life? How could one fail to attain this state?

Thus, those who are beginning to study the Dao should first sit quietly and still, gathering in their thoughts so that the heart is not turned by external circumstances. Let it dwell in what is without existence, attaching itself to nothing. In this way, one can enter the realm of emptiness, and the heart will accord with the Dao. A scripture says, “Within the ultimate Dao, all is still and unattached, yet it responds wondrously to all things. The heart’s original nature is the same.”

Tracing the heart back to its original nature, we find that it is rooted in the Dao. But the heart and spirit have become stained, their obscuration deepening over time. After wandering astray for so long, they have become separated from the Dao. Now, to clear away the heart’s dust and reveal the nature of the spirit is called cultivating the Dao. To cease wandering astray, merge with the Dao, and dwell within it is called returning to the root. To hold fast to the root without departing from it is called stillness and stability. With stillness and stability sustained over time, illness recedes and life can be restored. When life is restored and continues without interruption, one can realize the constant Dao. Once realized, nothing remains unclear; once the constant is known, one is no longer governed by change and dissolution. This is the key to transcending birth and death.

Therefore, in following the Dao to settle the heart and spirit, what matters is to attach oneself to nothing. A scripture says, “All things flourish and grow, and in the end each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to one’s mandate. Returning to one’s mandate is called constancy; knowing constancy is called clarity.”

If one deliberately makes the heart abide in emptiness, one is still attached to a particular state; this is not true nonattachment. Whenever the heart is made to remain fixed on an object or state, the heart and spirit grow weary and Qi is stirred. This does not accord with the Dao and may instead become an illness. The foundation of true stillness and stability is for the heart to remain unattached to external things while also staying undisturbed by thoughts. Through this practice, the heart and Qi gradually come into harmony; over time, one feels light and refreshed. This can serve as a standard for discerning whether one’s cultivation has gone astray.

If every thought is suppressed as soon as it arises, without distinguishing right from wrong, and awareness is cut off entirely, this is “blind stillness”—a rigid state in which awareness is lost. If thoughts are allowed to arise at will, without being gathered or restrained, one remains no different from an ordinary person.

If you simply stop doing good and evil deeds but leave your mind without a direction, letting your thoughts wander and hoping they will settle on their own, you will only hold yourself back. If you do everything yet claim that your mind remains unstained, the claim may sound admirable, but it is deeply problematic in practice. Those who truly cultivate the Way should be especially wary of this.

You should quiet restless thoughts without extinguishing inner awareness, and maintain stillness without clinging to emptiness. Practice this steadily, and genuine insight will naturally arise. When something happens, or when you have an important question about a principle, you may think it through for a time, so that the matter is handled well and the question answered. This, too, is a sound basis for wisdom to emerge. Once the matter is settled, stop turning it over in your mind; do not think about it excessively. Excessive deliberation uses cleverness to damage stillness and injure your own foundation. Even if it makes you seem quick-witted for a while, in the end it will undermine your long-term work in cultivating the Way.

When confused or deluded thoughts arise, remove them as soon as you notice them. If you hear praise or blame, or judgments of good and evil, let them go at once; do not keep them in your heart. Holding on to such things fills the heart, and when the heart is full, the Dao has nowhere to settle. Treat what you hear and see as though you had neither heard nor seen it, and do not let judgments of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, enter your heart. When the heart does not take in external things, this is called “emptying the heart”; when it does not chase after external things, this is called “settling the heart.” When the heart is settled and empty, the Dao will naturally dwell within it. Thus the scripture says: “If people can empty their hearts and practice Wuwei (non-action), without deliberately seeking the Dao, the Dao will naturally return to them.”

When the heart is free of attachment, outward conduct, too, should be free of contrivance. If the heart leans neither toward stillness nor toward defilement, praise and blame have no cause to arise. If you cling neither to cleverness nor to ignorance, gain and loss will be unable to unsettle you. In daily life, follow the way of balance and correctness; when circumstances arise, you may also adapt flexibly to the moment. To be free of every entanglement is wisdom. If your thoughts and actions do not fit the time or the circumstances, forcing them through, then even if you claim not to be attached, you have not truly awakened.

Why is this so? The heart’s workings are like the eyes: even the tiniest speck entering the eye causes discomfort. A small matter that disturbs the heart will inevitably throw it into disorder. Once the heart has become agitated, it is difficult to enter “meditative stability,” the state of settled heart and spirit cultivated in practice. Therefore, the first essential in cultivating the Way is to remove the heart’s afflictions. If they are not removed, one will never attain meditative stability.

It is like a good field: if you do not first clear away the thorns, then even if you sow seeds, no good crops will grow. Attachment, prejudice, and all kinds of worries are the thorns in the heart. Unless they are removed, stillness—the settling of the mind—and wisdom, the ability to discern things clearly, cannot arise.

Some people live amid wealth and status, or have studied the classics and histories extensively. They speak of compassion and frugality, yet act greedily and cruelly. They are eloquent enough to conceal their faults, and powerful enough to intimidate others. When they gain an advantage, they credit themselves; when they make a mistake, they blame someone else. This failing is deeply rooted, and even reading and study bring no benefit. The reason is that they always believe themselves to be right.

Yet the mind has always clung to external things and grown accustomed to relying on something. When suddenly left without support, it finds it hard to settle. Even if it becomes quiet for a while, it soon grows scattered again. Whenever a thought arises, notice it at once and rein it in, doing your best to keep the mind from wavering. With long practice, the mind will naturally become settled and at ease. Whether day or night, while walking or standing, sitting or lying down, or attending to affairs, remain attentive at all times and let the mind settle.

Once the mind is settled, simply continue to nurture it without disturbing it. With a little stability, you can take joy in this state. As your practice gradually becomes familiar, the mind grows clear and far-reaching. Things you once prized will seem worn out and flawed; and when wisdom arises from stillness, you will see the true and the false with even greater depth.

Oxen and horses are domestic animals, yet if left to roam unchecked, they still resist being controlled. Eagles and hawks are wild birds, yet when tethered and trained by people and kept close for a long time, they gradually become tame. How much more will a mind allowed to roam freely grow coarse if it is not gathered in? How, then, could it perceive subtle principles? Thus the scripture says: “Though there is a span…”

It would be better to sit down and cultivate this Dao than to trade a jade disc for the four horses that lead the way. The subtlety of a method lies in whether it can be put into practice, not in whether it can be described elegantly. Only when it is practiced do the words describing it become apt; without practice, they are empty talk.

People today often prize learning that is hard to understand and look down on truths that are easy to grasp. If someone speaks at length about a method, discussing only things that are empty, abstruse, and beyond the reach of thought, with no way to put them into practice, people praise them as wondrous and listen with reverence. But when they hear a saying such as “True words are not ornate,” they do not believe it—even when it states things plainly and expresses what is real, so that listeners can understand and act on it. This is what is truly profound. Thus the Jing says: “My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice, yet no one under heaven can understand them or put them into practice. Because they do not understand, they do not understand me.”

Some say, “Fire is not hot” and “A lamp cannot illuminate darkness,” and call these claims profound principles. But fire’s function is to give heat, and a lamp’s function is to give light. People now declare that fire is not hot, yet never go a moment without using fire; they talk idly about a lamp’s inability to illuminate darkness, yet still need to light one at night. Words and actions contradicting each other have no sound basis. These sayings are merely meant to break attachment to appearances, yet people instead take them as profound and mysterious principles. Even though Huizi, the Warring States thinker famed for his skill in argument, possessed great eloquence, Zhuangzi regarded his arguments as unworthy. Among those who hear only the surface of these claims, who can tell right from wrong? Those who truly seek to learn should probably not let their minds linger on such words.

Someone said: “One who cultivates the Great Dao lives among the myriad things without being stained by them, and amid turmoil without having the spirit thrown into confusion. Even in stillness, they can act; at all times, they remain quiet. Today, some people avoid affairs in pursuit of quietude and withdraw from activity in pursuit of meditative stillness. They strain to control their minds, thereby forming two notions, movement and stillness. Then they cling to maintaining a particular state, falling into the two errors of acceptance and rejection. Unaware of what they are attached to, they imagine this to be the key to attaining the Dao. Is that not a grave mistake?”

The reply was: “To call the totality of the myriad things ‘great,’ to embody the Dao among them, to live amid things without being stained by them, and to deal with affairs without being disturbed—this is indeed expansive and mysterious. Yet the person who raised this objection still lacks some understanding. Why? They see only the brilliant beauty of brocade, not knowing that it was first woven from plain silk. They hear only the crane’s high flight and clear call, not knowing that it must first be nourished on grain. A tree large enough to shade the sky and block out the sun also grows from a tiny sapling. A settled spirit that reaches sagehood, too, depends on cultivation accumulated day by day. To learn to speak of the virtues of sages without knowing how those virtues are cultivated is like seeing a rabbit and expecting a rooster to crow at dawn, or seeing a slingshot and wanting to eat roasted owl. It is far too hasty.

“So the Jing says: ‘Mysterious virtue is deep and vast, contrary to the ordinary ways of worldly things. Only by attaining this can one reach the greatest harmony with the natural order.’”

Simplifying Affairs

People living in the world inevitably have various matters to attend to. But there are thousands upon thousands of things to do, and no one person can possibly take them all on. A bird building its nest takes just one branch from the woods, though it may be looked down on by a bird among the reeds. A beast drinking by the river drinks until its belly is satisfied; it does not crave the entire river. In dealing with things, one must know what to take from the world outside and, within oneself, understand one’s proper place.

Know that life has its limits: do not seek what lies beyond your station and cannot be obtained. Action, too, has its proper scope: do not take on what is unsuited to you. Doing what is unsuited to you wastes intelligence and energy; seeking what exceeds your station harms body and spirit. If you cannot even keep yourself settled, how can you have the mind to cultivate the Dao?

Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao should reduce their affairs, distinguish what matters from what does not, then weigh each matter and decide what to keep and what to let go. Whatever is unimportant and inconsequential should be cast aside. Wine and meat in one’s diet, fine silks and brocades in one’s clothing, as well as fame, rank, gold, and precious treasures, are all pleasures beyond what desire requires. They are not essential remedies for nurturing life. Yet people often pursue them, only to bring harm and ruin upon themselves. Sit quietly and consider this: it is truly a grave delusion.

Thus the Zhuangzi says, “Those who understand the truth of life do not pursue what life itself does not need.” What life does not need means external things that exceed one’s proper place and are sought as extras. Coarse food and worn clothes are enough to sustain life. Can it really be that one must have wine, meat, and fine clothing in order to live?

So, anything that serves no necessary purpose for life should be removed. Even things that are useful to life should be let go when they exceed what is needed. Wealth carries the danger of harming people; when too much is accumulated, it damages the self. Even a modest amount can become a burden, so how much more so when it is amassed in great quantity? People would laugh at someone who used the Marquis of Sui’s pearl, a legendary precious gem from ancient times, to shoot sparrows in the sky. How much more foolish, then, to abandon virtue and neglect life in pursuit of things one does not need, shortening one’s life and harming oneself?

Compared with virtue, fame and rank are false and base; virtue is real and precious. Once you understand what is noble and what is base, you must choose accordingly: do not harm yourself in pursuit of fame, or let greed for office change your resolve to seek the Dao. The Zhuangzi says, “To act for the sake of fame and thereby lose oneself is not the way of a person with firm purpose.” The Scripture of the Western Ascension says, “Embrace the source and preserve unity, and you may attain the state of the immortals. If you cannot keep to the Dao, you will merely sit and enjoy high office and rank.”

If you make no distinctions and try to do everything that comes your way, your body and mind will grow weary, your head will become clouded, and your cultivation will be neglected. To handle affairs with ease and live among external things without being burdened by them is the natural sign of someone who has already attained realization. But if you have not in fact completed your cultivation and claim to be unburdened, you are deceiving yourself.

True observation is the ability of a wise person to see ahead and discern how things work. If one relentlessly probes into blessings and calamities that have not yet occurred, one will instead weary body and mind, cloud one’s judgment, and obstruct the cultivation of the Dao. To handle affairs calmly and at ease, without being entangled by external things, is possible only for someone whose cultivation has come to fruition. If one has not actually attained this and claims to be free of entanglements, one is deceiving oneself.

True observation means anticipating the blessings and calamities that may arise, carefully examining the good and ill fortune that follow from action and stillness, and noticing the first signs before a matter comes to light, then responding appropriately. One must earnestly seek stability and protection, devoting one’s effort to preserving life; from beginning to end, one should act without leaving entanglements behind. Only when these principles are met can it be called “true observation.”

Thus, every meal and every sleep may become a source of gain or loss, and every word and deed may become the beginning of calamity or good fortune. Even skill in managing the minor details of affairs is not as good as…

Cultivation of the Dao should begin with effort at the root. Once the root is understood, the branches and details become clear as well. Cultivation is not a matter of rushing to compete, so one should gather in the mind, reduce distractions, and let thoughts of striving grow lighter day by day. Only when body and mind are calm and at ease can one observe and experience the truth. Thus the Jing says: “When one is often free of desire, one can observe its mysteries.”

Yet those who cultivate the Dao still need food and clothing. Some things cannot be abandoned, and some possessions cannot be discarded. One should accept this with an open mind and handle such matters clearly and properly, without treating them as obstacles to cultivation and becoming agitated. If every matter brings distress and unease, the mind’s illness has already taken hold. How, then, can one speak of settling the mind?

Daily affairs and the necessities of life are like a boat used to cross the sea. To cross, I need a boat to help me; once I have crossed, there is naturally no need to cling to it. Why throw away the boat before reaching the other shore? Food and clothing are ultimately illusory and not worth pursuing anxiously. Yet even to leave the illusory behind, one must still seek food and clothing. Even when life requires us to bustle about, we should not become attached to gain or loss. Then, whether occupied with affairs or free of them, the mind can remain settled and at ease.

Join others in making a living without becoming greedy; acquire wealth alongside others without hoarding it. Because there is no greed, there is no worry; because there is no hoarding, there is no fear of loss. Outward conduct may resemble that of ordinary people, while inwardly one remains always different from the ways of the world. This is an essential principle of cultivation, and one should do one’s utmost to put it into practice.

Although some of the earlier text is damaged, certain illnesses remain difficult to dispel. These can still be addressed by continuing the visualization practice according to the method. If the distress of craving beautiful women is strong, one should examine one’s attachment to outward appearances: such thoughts all arise from what the mind imagines. Without these thoughts, outward appearances cannot take shape. If one understands that external forms are empty and that attachment in the mind is delusion, then amid deluded thoughts and empty imaginings, what, in the end, is the master of these appearances? The scripture says: “What are called appearances are entirely formed by thoughts. Since thoughts are all empty, where could appearances remain?”

One should also consider that alluring beauty can ensnare people more powerfully than fox spirits—legendary fox beings who beguile people. When a fox spirit bewitches someone, it inspires revulsion; even if the victim dies as a result, they will not fall into an evil realm. Because people abhor fox spirits, they can remain forever distant from illicit sexual conduct. Alluring beauty, by contrast, can bewitch people into love and attachment, until they remain enamored even at death. Impure thoughts can cause a person to fall into hell after death, forever lose the chance to be reborn as a human, and move ever farther from the path of good fortune and virtue. Thus the scripture says: “Those who resolve in this life to become husband and wife may not be reborn together as humans after death.” This is caused by impure thoughts.

Consider further: if outward appearances were inherently beautiful, why do fish dive into the water when they see them, and birds fly up high? Immortals regard them as filthy; worthies compare them to knives and axes. A person may die after seven days without food, yet can go a hundred years without seeing such appearances and suffer no premature death. This shows that sexual desire is not essential to body or mind. Instead, it may become an enemy that damages one’s life and nature. Why cling to it and court destruction?

If seeing others do wrong makes you feel disgust, it is like watching someone else commit suicide and then stretching out your own neck to meet their blade: you take another person’s wrongdoing and use it to wound yourself. When others do wrong, they are not ordering you to punish them. Why take their wrongdoing upon yourself and make it your own illness?

If one says that those who do wrong should be hated, then those who do good should also be hated, since both good and evil may become obstacles to cultivating the Dao. If poverty causes you suffering, examine carefully: who has made me poor? Heaven and Earth fairly shelter and sustain all things without partiality; my poverty was not caused by Heaven and Earth. Parents bear and raise their children hoping they will become prosperous and honored; my lowly and impoverished state was not caused by my parents either. People and spirits each have their own hardships—what power could they have to impose poverty on me? Search repeatedly for the source of poverty, and none can be found. Only then does one understand…

I should understand that poverty is caused by my own karma—the consequence of my own actions—while destiny is bestowed by Heaven. Once karma and destiny have taken shape, they are as hard to escape as a shadow following the body or an echo answering a sound. There is no need to resent them. Only those who understand the principle know how to adapt to their circumstances, face them calmly, accept Heaven’s decree willingly, and understand their allotted fate. They therefore do not find poverty unbearable.

As the Zhuangzi says, “Once karma comes upon you, you cannot cast it off.” This means that when one’s own karma has arrived, it cannot easily be escaped. A scripture also says, “Heaven and Earth cannot change a person’s integrity; Yin and Yang cannot turn aside a person’s karma.” From this we can see that true destiny is not imposed by external things. Why resent it?

It is like a warrior who meets bandits without fear, draws his sword, and fights back, causing the bandits to scatter. The warrior earns merit and enjoys honor and a stipend for the rest of his life. Poverty, illness, and distress are like bandits; an upright mind is like the warrior; using wisdom to observe is like drawing a sword and fighting back; dispelling distress is like defeating the enemy; and a clear, peaceful heart is like receiving honor and a stipend. Whenever hardship presses upon the heart, if one does not observe it in this way but instead gives rise to worry and distress, it is like meeting bandits without winning any merit: one throws down one’s armor, abandons the army, and in the end is punished for fleeing. What is there to pity in giving up peace and turning toward suffering?

When ill, one should reflect: illness finds a foothold because this body exists. If there were no body, where could illness take hold? A scripture says, “When I no longer have a body, what troubles could I have?” One should then examine the mind: within it there is no real, unchanging master. Search inward and outward, and no true subject who suffers can be found. All these thoughts arise from the deluded mind. If one can remain unmoving like dead wood and free of distinctions like cold ashes, all illnesses will likewise fade away.

If you fear death, remember that the body is only a dwelling in which the spirit and soul stay for a time. Now the body is old and ill, its strength diminished. Like a decaying house no longer fit to live in, it must naturally be left behind so that another place of rest can be found. The death of the body and the departure of the spirit and soul follow the same principle. If one clings to life, loathes death, and resists change, one will throw one’s consciousness into confusion and lose the original right way.

With physical and mental conditions like these, a person is born. When receiving Qi and taking shape, they are unlikely to be endowed with clarity and grace; instead, they often encounter impurity, hardship, and humiliation. This remains true even in the lowliest circumstances. Foolishness, greed, and baseness all arise from this.

So there is no need to rejoice at birth or loathe death. First, because the principles of birth and death are fundamentally equal; second, because later cultivation and attainment grow from them. If you cling greedily to the myriad external things and fall in love with even one of them, you add another burden and another source of suffering. An illness in one part of the body can unsettle the whole body. How much more so when the heart is burdened by countless attachments—how could you still hope for long life?

All love and aversion arise from deluded thoughts. If deluded thoughts accumulate and are not cleared away, how can you see the Dao? You should therefore abandon every desire, let the heart rest in a state without attachment, cast off sensual passions, and establish right faith. Once you have done this, look back at the things that once held you in delusion and desire, and you will naturally come to reject them little by little. If you look at them with a heart still attached to external things, you may never recognize their faults in a lifetime. Only by observing them with a mind intent on freeing itself from attachment can you see right and wrong clearly. It is like a sober person recognizing that a drunk person is behaving badly; if you are drunk yourself, you cannot see the faults of others.

Thus a scripture says, “I have always rejected worldly life and turned away from the human realm.” It also says, “The sights and sounds coveted by the ears and eyes leave you with faults; the fragrances and flavors loved by the nose and mouth are all sources of harm.” Lord Lao, the Daoist honorific for Laozi, rejected the world and abandoned worldly customs, and even regarded fragrances and flavors as calamities. How could those immersed in their cravings know just how foul a fishmonger’s shop can smell?

Great Stability (a state of peaceful abiding and a settled mind and spirit)

“Stability” is the highest state attainable beyond the secular world, and the first foundation on the path to the Great Dao.

“Stillness” is the highest state that ordinary cultivation can attain, and the starting point for entering the Dao. It is the result of cultivating purity and stillness, and the ultimate practice of resting the mind and spirit. When one reaches this state, the body seems like a withered tree and the mind like cold ashes. There is no response to anything and nothing to pursue; stillness and detachment have reached their utmost. One does not deliberately think about entering stillness, yet nothing fails to settle. This is called “Great Stillness”—profound, natural calm.

The Zhuangzi says, “When the mind is vast and settled, the light of Heaven appears.” Here, “space” refers to the mind, and “the light of Heaven” to wisdom. The mind is a vessel that can hold the Dao. When it becomes utterly empty and still, the Dao settles within it, and wisdom arises from this. This wisdom comes from one’s original nature; it is not newly born in the present moment, which is why it is called “the light of Heaven.” It is only because greed and attachment muddy and disturb the mind that people become deluded and lost. Through cleansing, softening, and refining, the mind can return to its original purity and stillness, and its innate, true spiritual awareness gradually becomes clear. This does not mean that a new kind of wisdom has arisen.

Once wisdom has appeared, it should be carefully preserved within the mind. Do not pursue too much knowledge, lest you damage stillness. The difficulty lies not in bringing forth wisdom, but in having wisdom without showing it off or using it recklessly; afterward, one must return to purity and stillness. Since ancient times, many people have been able to forget their bodies, but few have been able to forget their reputations. To have wisdom without displaying it or putting it to improper use is to forget one’s reputation. Few in the world can do this, which makes it especially rare.

If you hold a high position without arrogance, and are wealthy without extravagance, and avoid the faults of worldly conduct, you can retain your wealth and status for a long time. If you enter stillness without wavering, possess wisdom without using it recklessly, and have De without relying on it, while avoiding what goes against the Dao, you can deeply realize the constant Dao. The Zhuangzi says, “It is easy to understand the Dao, but difficult not to speak of it. To understand and not speak is to follow Heaven; to understand and speak is to fall into human contrivance. The people of ancient times followed Heaven and were not bound by human contrivance.”

Wisdom can recognize the Dao, but that does not mean one has attained it. People know that wisdom can bring benefits, but may not understand the benefit of attaining the Dao. Some use wisdom to explain principles, then persuade others through argument. As their affairs multiply, they imagine they remain inwardly still amid the turmoil. But if they know stillness and then treat it as a state to be used in dealing with external things, neither their conduct nor their words express true Great Stillness. Even if their intelligence surpasses that of ordinary people, they may still be further from the Dao. It is like setting out to hunt a deer but ending up with only a rabbit: what you gain is limited because your aim and vision are too small.

For this reason, the Zhuangzi says that people who cultivated the Dao in ancient times used quietude to nurture wisdom. Wisdom arose, but they did not use it to seek knowledge or display their abilities. This is called using wisdom to nurture quietude. Wisdom and quietude nurture each other, and the principles of peace and harmony emerge from one’s nature. Here, “quietude” and “wisdom” mean stillness and insight; “harmony and principle” mean the Dao and De. If you have wisdom but do not use it recklessly, you can rest in quietude. Nurture it over a long time, and De will naturally take shape.

This kind of stillness can also be cultivated gradually by different methods. Some observe the benefits of things and see the harm within them; fearing disaster, they put an end to deluded thoughts. Others reduce their desires, let go of attachments, and clear away distracting thoughts. With time and practice, the mind settles. Each of these methods can ultimately lead to a state of stillness that is almost natural. At this point, thunder shaking the mountains will not startle you, and blades crossing before your eyes will not frighten you. You regard fame and profit as things that flash past before your eyes, and life and death as though they were abscesses coming to a head. From this we can understand that to focus on one’s aspiration...

To settle the mind and spirit is to gather the spirit. The mind’s empty, numinous subtlety cannot be fully grasped through thought. When we examine the mind in its essence, it has no fixed shape; yet when we see it at work, we cannot say that it does not exist. It need not travel anywhere for thoughts to arrive swiftly, and it need not be summoned for thoughts to arise of their own accord. In anger, it can even make Xuanshi—a stone said to be exceptionally hard—turn aside arrows; when resentment runs deep, it can seem as though frost and snow fall in midsummer. If one gives oneself over to evil, the deepest reaches of the underworld are not far away; if one accumulates good deeds and cultivates De (Virtue/Power), how could the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest heavens revered in Daoism, be beyond reach? Thoughts come and go suddenly, and their movement and stillness defy description. Sometimes they can be acted upon, sometimes not; even divination with yarrow stalks or tortoise shells cannot fathom them. Is it not harder to tame and guide the mind and spirit than to control a deer or a horse?

The Most High Lord Lao, a deity revered in Daoism, succored the world with his constant kindness and ascended the Numinous Terrace to expound the mysterious principles. He briefly explained the causes and effects of the Two Vehicles, two paths of practice in Buddhism, and at length clarified how all things follow their own nature. The Dao may be cultivated by gradually diminishing stray thoughts, or by suddenly letting go of attachment to learning and knowledge. As metaphors, one might speak of drawing a bow or cutting a doorway; as methods, one gathers in one’s sharpness and dissolves confusion. There is a path to follow in practice, and repeated effort can make it a habit.

Set aside clever contrivances and attachment to the body. Sit peacefully and enter a state of self-forgetfulness; remain still without reckless movement, and observe with care even the subtlest things. Those who pass through many different gateways often take a long time to grasp the ultimate principle. Those who follow this path may hope to behold the mysterious. Little effort brings great results: how concise and wondrous!

“Attaining the Dao.”

The Dao (Way) is a wondrous and mysterious presence: subtle and animated, with its own nature, yet empty and without form. Its coming and going are hard to fathom, and it cannot be sought as one might chase a shadow or an echo. People do not understand why it is so, yet they see that all things arise from it naturally and continue to arise without end. This is what is called the “Dao.” The sages of antiquity realized the Dao, and the subtle methods of cultivation have been passed down from it to this day. By following the name “Dao” and investigating its principles, one can see that it has real substance.

Those with the highest capacity firmly believe in the Dao, restrain selfish desires, and cultivate diligently. They make their minds empty and clear and quiet the Original Spirit (the source of a person’s spirit); only then can the Dao gather within them. The Dao has great power and can transform a person’s body and spirit. The body, permeated by the Dao, ultimately becomes one with the Original Spirit. When body and spirit are united, one is called a “spiritual person” (someone whose cultivation has brought body and spirit into harmony). The spirit’s nature is empty, still, and free-flowing; its essence neither changes nor perishes. When the body unites with it, it too is no longer bound by life and death. When concealed, the body is identical with the Original Spirit; when revealed, the Original Spirit once again joins with the body. Thus one can walk on water and enter fire without harm, and stand before the sun and moon without casting a shadow. One controls one’s own survival and passing, and enters and leaves without obstruction. The human body is material and heavy; even so, it can attain a subtle and wondrous state. How much further, then, may human spirituality and wisdom extend!

Thus the Lingbao Jing says, “When the body and spirit become one, this is the true body.” The Xisheng Jing also says, “When body and spirit unite with the sun and moon, there is no shadow; life and death are under one’s own control, and entering and leaving are without obstruction. The human body is material and heavy, yet it can attain a subtle and wondrous state. How much further, then, may human spirituality and wisdom extend!” The Lingbao Jing’s words, “When body and spirit are one, this is the true body,” express the same idea. The Xisheng Jing also says, “Body and spirit are united, and so one can endure for a long time.”

Yet the practice of making the mind empty and still can be deep or shallow. When cultivation is deep, its effects extend throughout the body; when shallow, it affects only the mind. Those whose cultivation reaches the body become spiritual persons. Those whose cultivation affects only the mind gain wisdom and insight, but their bodies remain subject to decline and death. Why? Wisdom is an activity of the mind, and excessive use wears the mind and spirit down. When people have just gained a little wisdom, they may be delighted and talk too much. Their vital spirit is thereby depleted and cannot nourish the body; they may even die prematurely, and their cultivation of the Dao remains incomplete. This is what the scriptures mean by “liberation from the corpse” (a cultivator’s departure from the physical body through a special means). Therefore, those who truly embody the Great Dao conceal their radiance and hide their sharpness, with…

To bring cultivation to completion, the key is to gather the spirit and preserve the original Qi, while studying the Great Dao without a deliberate desire to obtain it. When spirit and Dao become one, this is called attaining the Dao. Thus the scripture says, “Those who unite with the Dao are also received by the Dao.” It also says, “Why did the ancients value the Dao so highly? Was it not because people could obtain it by seeking it day and night, and because it could avert calamity even for those who had committed offenses?” Where jade is found in the mountains, plants and trees are less likely to wither. When a person holds the Dao in their heart, the body, too, can remain firm for a long time.

Under the Dao’s influence over many years, a person’s nature changes and becomes one with the divine. Refining and nurturing the spirit until it enters the subtle and mysterious realm, one ultimately merges with the Dao: one can transform the whole body into myriad functions, and gather myriad functions into a single body. The illumination of wisdom has no bounds, while bodily form transcends its finite limits. One brings form and emptiness under one’s command, making them serve one’s purposes, and harmonizes with the transformations of Heaven and Earth. The Dao’s true manifestation has no fixed form; what it rests upon is Dao and De. The Scripture of Ascension to the West (Xisheng Jing) says, “Be of one mind with Heaven, yet do not cling to knowing; share a body with the Dao, yet do not cling to form. Then the Great Dao reaches its fullness.” This “fullness” means that cultivation and realization have reached their utmost. The scripture also says, “When the spirit does not leave the body, it can remain united with the Dao.” When the body is united with the Dao, there is not a moment when it is absent; when the mind is united with the Dao, nothing lies beyond its reach. The ears become “Dao ears,” hearing even in the absence of sound; the eyes become “Dao eyes,” seeing even in the absence of form. The six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, with their powers of perception and understanding—can attain this openness for precisely this reason.

As for the profound teachings of Daoism, their benefits are far-reaching and immense. Their principles can be explained by examining the scriptures. The secret treasures of Shangqing, a Daoist tradition of revered perfected beings and scriptural transmission, are deep and hidden; sincere cultivation centers on communion with the divine. Through the aid of divine elixirs, one refines and nurtures the body, bringing cognition to a clear state free of attachment. The Dao De Jing takes the Dao as its foundation; cultivation depends on diligence and holding fast to the One. By nurturing an empty and still mind, one washes away entanglements, and the body is thereby freed from constraint. Different skillful methods ultimately converge in the source of the Great Dao. Mind and body support one another, like a carriage and its cabin. External methods can give rise to inner cultivation: the paths differ, but their destination is the same. The subtle and profound principles are difficult to convey through discussion alone. These two methods of cultivation each have their own wonders, beyond the reach of the teachings of Confucius and Buddhism; other teachings, whose meaning is not understood here, are probably only ordinary principles.

The Illusory Nature of Things

The Miaolin Jing says: The Celestial Worthy told the true adept who cultivates the Dao: “What is called peace and joy all arises from the mind. The mind’s nature is originally empty, so what is there to cultivate? Only when you understand that things have no fixed substance can you be said to have attained peace and joy.

“Suppose someone is sad and troubled, with a clouded mind and spirit, as though the poisons of distress were burning within. Someone then sets out wooden figures of men and women, oxen and horses before him, arranges them, and performs various tricks. The troubled person sees these puppets as if they were real oxen and horses, as they ordinarily appear. His agitation gradually subsides, and his mind grows calm.

“What I am saying now follows the same principle. Living beings are trapped by illusory sorrows and afflictions and cannot find peace and joy. That is why I teach the cultivation of immeasurable merits and rebirth in an inconceivable Pure Land. If you can understand that all things are illusory and originally have no existence, then everything living beings do as they walk and go about their daily lives is also inconceivable. If you can understand that the mind’s nature is pure, free, and unobstructed, then whatever you seek and wish for in your heart can be fulfilled as you desire.

“Those who cultivate goodness should be able to be reborn in the wondrous realm of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the pure immortal land where the Three Pure Ones dwell. Such teachings are expedient means for putting an end to living beings’ illusory attachments. In truth, there is no realm of constant bliss among the Three Pure Ones to grasp at or seek.

“If you wish to reach swiftly the treasured city of the Three Pure Ones and the Pure Land of constant bliss, use the unsurpassed wisdom of the Mahayana to examine yourself: From what causes and conditions has my bodily form arisen throughout immeasurable kalpas? When you understand that it did not arise from any fixed cause, you will know that, because there is no real, unchanging ‘self,’ your body and mind have always been within the realm of constant bliss of the Three Pure Ones.”

The Dao Nature and Causes and Conditions

After paying his respects, Haikong Zhizang asked, “Celestial Worthy, I have long pondered the source of the creation and transformation of all things. Why does each thing have its own Dao nature, yet all arise from causes and conditions? If so, are they bound, or are they unbound? Are the so-called Five Skandhas—the five factors that constitute the human body and embodied experience—the bonds themselves? Or are the bonds the Six Dusts, the realms perceived by the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind?”

The Celestial Worthy replied, “When sentient beings approach death, it is like the sun about to set. Just before sunset, the shadows of mountains, ridges, and mounds seem to move eastward; in truth, the sun has not sunk westward. The way sentient beings bear the results of karma is similar: when one set of Five Skandhas perishes, another set arises in its wake.

“This is like a lamp going out and darkness appearing, or like clay taking the shape of a jar: the form of the clay disappears, and a jar takes shape. The form of the clay cannot, in the end, be called a jar. Although the jar is not clay, neither does it come from somewhere else; it takes shape through the cause and condition of the clay. The arising and passing away of the Five Skandhas is likewise.

“When afflictions are present, this is called bondage; when there are no afflictions, this is called liberation. It is like seeing colors when the eyes are open and seeing nothing when they are closed. The bonds created by afflictions arise and pass away as conditions come together and fall apart; they are not some separate, independent thing. The Five Skandhas of sentient beings are the same.”

The original text later repeats phrases such as “when there are no afflictions, this is called liberation,” and continues with “the original nature is pure and good.” In the text as it stands, “the original nature is pure and good” means that one’s inherent nature is honest and kind.

The Celestial Worthy said to the Youth of Supreme Excellence: “Know that when sentient beings in the six realms—the six destinations of rebirth—and the four modes of birth—womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born—first develop the discerning consciousness, their original nature is pure and good, free of defilement, and one with the Dao. When they act in accord with the Dao, whether walking, standing, rising, lying down, speaking, keeping silent, or eating and drinking, they naturally accord with truth.

“This is like a fish born in water: from the start, it is adapted to rivers, lakes, and seas, without anyone needing to teach it. It is also like jade, whose substance is naturally white; indigo, which is naturally blue-black; fire, whose nature is hot; and water, whose nature is cold. These qualities do not depend on learning; they arise naturally. So too with the discerning consciousness of all sentient beings: receiving its nature from the natural order, it originally accords with the nature of the Dao and is no different from it. Why, then, do all kinds of harmful conditions arise, bringing the consequences of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals? Know that they all spring from the six faculties: eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. The six faculties, six turbidity’s, six emotions, and six defilements become intertwined with the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, which constitute body and mind. Together they give rise to all kinds of wholesome and unwholesome karmic causes, continually increasing the conditions that lead beings into the three evil paths of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals. The many afflictions also sever the good roots accumulated since beginningless time.”

Then the Realized One bowed to the Celestial Worthy and asked: “If, as you say, all sentient beings possess consciousness that is pure and unmixed goodness at its origin, then their conduct must surely follow the proper standards and their actions accord with truth. Whether advancing or retreating, bowing or looking up, walking, standing, rising, or lying down, they would never go astray; all their actions would accord with the root of the Dao, without distinction. If this is truly so, why do what beings see and hear, and everything they do, become tainted by coarse and impure things?”

The Celestial Worthy said: “It is like a cold chamber of ice, filled entirely with frozen…”

The ice used for pillars and beams, beds and mats, screens and curtains all freezes together. How could fire arise within it and produce heat? The affliction of distress, and the original state of the conscious spirit of all living beings—that is, human mental awareness—are like this. If they were originally good, and what they later learned was also good, how could they receive such different kinds of karmic retribution?

“Celestial Worthy, consider also how various kinds of incense placed in the same box fill it with fragrance; none of them gives off a foul smell. The original state of the conscious spirit is like this: if it was originally fragrant and pure, how could impurity arise from it? Again, when sunlight shines, there is no darkness wherever its radiance reaches. The original state of the conscious spirit is like this: if it was originally clear and lucid, how could it become mixed with obscurity? I am puzzled by this: good teachings in the world should not give rise to immeasurable evil consequences. I beg you, Great Virtuous One, to explain this to me, so that everyone present may be free of doubt.”

At this, the Celestial Worthy answered calmly: “Perfected One Who Understands Principle, your question strikes at the heart of the matter. It is truly rare. You have drawn near to immeasurable Perfected Ones, made offerings to immeasurable Celestial Worthies, attained great wisdom, and understood the principles of things. That is why you can ask such a subtle question. I will now explain the truth to you in full. Listen carefully and do not grow weary.

“Great Perfected One, human nature cannot be fully explained through analogy. The examples of ice, crystal, and incense are not entirely apt, because these things are all inert: they are fixed and cannot change, so they cannot produce anything else by themselves. Since they are inert, external things can hardly enter them either. In this respect, the analogy differs from human nature.

“The analogy of the sun does share something with the truth. The sun is not always bright: sometimes an eclipse occurs; at other times it veers from view or sinks from sight. Human nature is the same: it shifts and changes, and is not constant. Drawn along by defilement and attachment, it comes to seek private gain.”

Action and Non-Action

At that time, the Celestial Worthy said to Haikong Zhizang, “Do not give rise to mistaken doubts. If you cling to outward forms and hope to find the highest and most perfect Dao (the Way) through them, how could you possibly succeed?

Those who cultivate the Dao should understand that all conditioned phenomena—things formed through the coming together of causes and conditions, and subject to change and dissolution—will have their nature and forms destroyed. Nothing can exist forever. Why? All the various things in the Three Realms—the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm—appear through the power of sentient beings’ thoughts. Their thoughts arise and cease from moment to moment, and conditioned phenomena are the same. The instant a thought arises, it already bears the signs of its passing away; as soon as it appears, it begins to return to emptiness. Because it cannot endure, it is called empty.

Unconditioned phenomena—states not produced by causes and conditions, and not subject to arising, ceasing, or change—cannot be destroyed and cannot be confined by measure. When there is a response, they appear according to the circumstances; when there is no response, they remain still and clear, abiding forever. You should therefore understand: whatever continues from conditioned phenomena bears the signs of dissolution. Since it will dissolve, it is called empty. What does not arise and cease in dependence on conditioned phenomena cannot be destroyed; since it cannot be destroyed, it is called existent.

You should reflect carefully, discern the principle at work, and understand the source from which all subtle teachings arise.”

Contemplating the Characteristics of the Four Great Elements

Shangzhen Tongzi said: Observe the body and mind of living beings, made up of the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind. Which of these, in the end, is the “self”? The body and mind of living beings are like clouds in the sky, flames that appear in the heat, flashes of lightning, the moon’s reflection in water, transformations produced by illusion, images in a mirror, and echoes in an empty valley: all are illusory and impermanent. Mental activities such as thought, volition, and consciousness are just the same. The nature of living beings’ minds is profound and difficult to fathom; the śrāvakas and pratyekabuddhas, the “Two Vehicles,” cannot fully understand it.

Greatly Compassionate Heavenly Worthy, the true condition of living beings is likewise like images in a mirror and echoes in an empty valley: they neither come nor go. Mental activities such as thought, volition, and consciousness are just the same. The nature of living beings’ minds is profound and difficult to fathom; the Two Vehicles cannot fully understand it.

Greatly Compassionate Heavenly Worthy, the true condition of living beings is likewise this: they neither come nor go, are neither truly existent nor wholly nonexistent, and are neither within nor outside. When they come, no source can be found; when they depart, there is nowhere they go. Yet they remain caught in the cycle of birth and death, deludedly undergoing one circumstance after another. Since beginningless time, living beings have clung to the “self,” continually nourishing the roots of evil and bearing profound afflictions, seemingly without end.

The bodily and mental state of living beings is like a haze of smoke, indistinct and pervasive. Yet the source of consciousness is originally clear and luminous, still and unmixed. All things arise from it. Thus, all the wholesome and unwholesome karma created by living beings is made by the mind alone; it has no other independent source. Therefore, living beings neither come nor go, are neither truly existent nor wholly nonexistent, and are equal like empty space, without distinguishing characteristics. Greatly Compassionate Heavenly Worthy, this is what I have observed about living beings and their true condition.

The Physical Body and Afflictions

All the wholesome and unwholesome karma of living beings is made by the mind alone; it has no other independent source. Therefore, living beings neither come nor go, are neither truly existent nor wholly nonexistent, and are equal like empty space, without distinguishing characteristics. Greatly Compassionate Heavenly Worthy, this is what I have observed about living beings and their true condition.

Haikong Zhizang reported to the Heavenly Worthy: Greatly Compassionate Heavenly Worthy, why can ordinary people not see afflictions? Is there a “body” within afflictions? Did this body originally exist in a past life? Does it exist or not exist in the future or the present? If the body exists, is it form (material substance with shape), or is it not form? Does the body belong to someone else, or does it not belong to someone else? Does it neither belong to someone else nor fail to belong to someone else? Can there be life without a body, or a body without life?

“Do human beings ultimately possess body and life, or do they not? Are body and life both eternal, or are they both impermanent? Are they at once eternal and impermanent, or neither eternal nor impermanent?”

At this, the Celestial Worthy, a revered deity in Daoism, smiled serenely and said to Haikong, “Well asked! Well asked! Good man, all ordinary people, whether they have a body or not, are bound by afflictions. Why do I say this? The bodies of ordinary people are like sacks of skin filled with pus and blood, obscuring their Dao-nature, the inherent nature of the Dao. Living beings do not understand that even when the body is afflicted, Dao-nature is still present.

“The nature of the true Dao is neither inside the body, outside it, nor somewhere between. One cannot say that it exists, nor that it does not exist. It belongs neither to the past, the present, nor the future; neither to physical form nor to thoughts; neither to oneself nor to others. One cannot say that it has life or lacks life, that it has a body or lacks a body, or that it is eternal or impermanent.”

Haikong bowed with his forehead to the ground and said to the Celestial Worthy, “What you have said is neither that it has a body nor that it lacks one; neither that it is eternal nor that it is impermanent. Then why can afflictions obscure Dao-nature? Where does the body of Dao-nature ultimately come from: parents, minute particles, illusion, nature, empty space, transformation, or goodness, evil, animals, hell, or heaven?”

“If Dao-nature is born from parents, were those parents afflicted or free from affliction? If they were afflicted, how could they give birth to true Dao-nature? If Dao-nature really is born from parents, it should be eternal; but how could it arise from affliction? If Dao-nature comes from affliction, and affliction causes people to fall into hell, then Dao-nature too should fall into hell. If Dao-nature does not fall into hell, how can one say that it arose from affliction?”

If there were no afflictions, how could afflictions obstruct the nature of the Dao? It is precisely for this reason that I humbly ask the compassionate Venerable to take pity on us and offer a teaching.” When Haikong had finished speaking, everyone raised their heads expectantly, eager to hear his teaching.

Then the Celestial Worthy answered Haikong in a subtle voice: “Good man, what is called the nature of the Dao is a nature without any fixed qualities. It is neither a nature that truly exists nor one that is wholly nonexistent. The manifestation of the nature of the Dao may be said to exist, or it may be said not to exist.

“Good man, the nature of the Dao is not produced by the body, yet it cannot be said to have no connection at all with the body’s coming into being. It cannot simply be said to be nonexistent, nor can it simply be said to be neither existent nor nonexistent. The nature of the Dao may be said to manifest along with the body, yet it may also be said not to arise from the body.

“Good man, how could afflictions obstruct the nature of the Dao? The nature of the Dao may be said to manifest from within afflictions, yet it cannot be said to be afflictions themselves. It may also be said to be inseparable from afflictions. Afflictions are afflictions in themselves, yet they are more than afflictions alone. How, then, could they obstruct the nature of the Dao?

“Good man, it is like sunlight obscured by dark clouds. Sunlight itself neither arises nor perishes, neither comes nor goes. It cannot be said to truly exist, nor can it be said to be wholly absent. The manifestation of the nature of the Dao is likewise.

“Good man, the manifestation of the nature of the Dao cannot be said to be born of one’s parents, yet it may also be said to be connected with them. Why? If it is said to be born of one’s parents, then after they give birth to a child, what, in truth, is born within that child? What is called ‘birth without birth’ is like flowers and fruit: when the flower blooms, there is no fruit yet; when the fruit forms, the flower is already gone. The manifestation of the nature of the Dao is likewise. How, then, can it be said to be born from one’s parents?

“Good man, how can the nature of the Dao be said to arise from minute particles—the tiniest material constituents of all things? The nature of the Dao may be said to arise from minute particles, yet it may also be said not to arise from them; it may be said to arise from illusory manifestations, like phantoms, yet it may also be said not to arise from them; it may be said to arise spontaneously, yet it may also be said not to arise spontaneously; it may be said to arise from empty space, yet it may also be said not to arise from empty space; it may be said to arise through transformation, yet it may also be said not to arise through transformation; it may be said to arise from wholesome causes, yet it may also be said not to arise from wholesome causes; it may be said to arise from unwholesome causes, yet it may also be said not to arise from unwholesome causes; it may be said to arise spontaneously, yet it may also be said not to arise spontaneously.”

The nature of the Dao is sometimes said to arise from emptiness, transformation, wholesome causes, unwholesome causes, animals, hell, or the heavens; at other times, it is said not to arise from any of these. From these conditions, we can understand that it is “arising without arising, and within arising there is no arising.” It does not come into being from absolute nothingness, nor does it arise from something that truly exists. If we understand it this way, the appearance of arising is not genuine arising. Even when we call it “nothing,” this nothing is not absolute nothingness. It is neither absolute nothingness nor something that truly exists: this is the nature of the Dao. Though the nature of the Dao appears to arise, it cannot be confined by arising and passing away.

Good man, earlier you asked, “If the nature of the Dao is born from parents, and parents are themselves afflictions, how can they give rise to the nature of the Dao?” I will explain now: the nature of the Dao may be said to arise from parents. For example, a lotus grows in muddy water, but although it grows from the mud, it is not mud. It is connected to the mud, yet is not the same as it. The nature of the Dao is like this: it may be said to arise from parents, but it cannot be said to be the physical body born of them.

Again, someone may live in a house, though the house itself contains no person; parasitic plants grow by relying on a tree, but they are not the tree’s seeds. The nature of the Dao is like this too: it appears through afflictions, yet is not itself affliction. Saying that it is connected to one’s parents does not make it identical to them. The nature of the Dao is like space, beyond the grasp of concrete forms. Therefore, understand that it is not an affliction; in its original state, it is neither a sentient being nor simply something that is not a sentient being.

Good man, if sentient beings did not arise through conditions such as their parents, they would not understand causation and conditions. They would recklessly commit all manner of wrongs and give rise to discriminating thoughts. They would not trust the scriptures or care for sentient beings, and would be left to wander endlessly through birth and death. Because of these conditions, people distinguish good from evil but cannot restrain the six senses and their desires. They give rise to all kinds of craving and slander the One Vehicle, the sole ultimate path. Even when they hear words such as “the sea of emptiness and the treasure store,” it is as if they had neither heard nor understood them; instead, all kinds of confused thoughts arise in their minds. Thus some may contract leprosy or become deaf or blind; some may be reborn as animals such as oxen, horses, pigs, or dogs; and some, though born human, may have incomplete faculties, or possess a human form yet lack feeling and wisdom.

Parable of the Raft

The Sutra of the Treasury of Wisdom in the Ocean of Emptiness says: Long ago, a king ordered a man to care for four tigers, looking after their food and daily needs and washing them. The king commanded him, “If even one tiger grows angry with you, I will have your head cut off according to the law.” The man heard the king’s command and was terrified. He could only tend the tigers with great care, afraid they might become angry.

Later, he thought it would be better to leave the tigers behind and flee, so he went away. When the king heard that he had fled, he immediately sent an armed attendant after him. The man looked back, saw his pursuer, and ran faster. The attendant resorted to a trick: he hid his sword and secretly sent someone to pretend to be the man’s friend, saying, “You can come back.” The man did not believe him, so he took refuge in an empty city. The city’s monastery, where practitioners lived and trained, was also deserted, and he had no choice but to sit down and rest.

Then he heard a voice in the sky say, “Alas, this city is empty and no one lives here. Four hundred bandits will arrive tonight. If you encounter them, you will not escape with your life. How will you get away?” The man grew even more afraid and left the empty city.

A river blocked the road ahead, and there was no boat. Deeply troubled, he bound together various grasses and branches to make a raft. He thought, “If I stay here, the tigers will surely harm me. The raft may not hold together when I cross the river; it might sink and drown me. But at least the tigers will not harm me.” So he pushed the grass raft into the water, held onto it, and paddled with his hands and feet through the swift current. He reached the opposite bank unharmed and was overjoyed.

On Illness

The Celestial Worthy told King Good Seed, “The illness I speak of is affliction. Since affliction is empty, illness has no real, intrinsic nature; and since illness has no real, intrinsic nature, the body is the same. Why? Because body and mind, formed by affliction, are like illusions and dreams. For this reason, contemplate all phenomena through the principle of emptiness, so that their original emptiness may be revealed.”

King Good Seed asked again, “Among the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—which one, exactly, forms the body?”

The Celestial Worthy replied, “A body formed by affliction does not arise from the element earth alone, yet neither can it be separated from earth. The same is true of the elements water, fire, and wind. The afflictions of living beings take bodily form through the coming together of the four elements, and so the body is regarded as an illness. Those who truly cultivate the Dao also manifest illness in keeping with these conditions and causes.”

After hearing this, King Good Seed rose, paid his respects, and praised the One Vehicle, the teaching that returns to a single principle: “The Treasury of Wisdom in the Ocean of Emptiness”—a title for the Celestial Worthy here—is our great teacher. He has explained to us the principle of illness, as well as the impermanence of all conditioned things and the selflessness of the body. He does not teach people to despise the body, but says that the body is subject to suffering and is not a source of lasting happiness.

“The Jade Capital of the Mysterious Metropolis, the Daoist realm of immortals, teaches the Three Vehicles, the different paths that guide living beings in their cultivation. It builds a great bridge for them, helping them cross the sea of birth and death. The Master manifests bodily illness amid emptiness and stillness out of compassion for living beings: he helps them recognize the suffering they have endured since time without beginning, and inspires them to benefit all beings and cultivate abundant merit and virtue. He also cares for living beings, keeping them from sorrow and affliction, and urges them to practice the Dao diligently. The Master is like a great physician-king: he heals the roots of every illness among living beings, comforts them, and teaches them by appearing ill and confined to bed.”

Then the Treasury of Wisdom in the Ocean of Emptiness said to King Good Seed, “Do not doubt that I manifest illness while saying that I have no illness.

“The illness I now display is entirely due to causes and conditions from former lives. It arises from deluded and inverted thoughts and from many kinds of affliction, and has no truly real, unchanging substance. That is why it is said to be only the manifestation of illness.”

Your present illness arises from the causes and conditions of past lives and from distorted understanding, giving rise to all kinds of affliction. In truth, there is no real, unchanging “illness” to be found. Why do I say this? The body is only a temporary gathering of the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, the four basic constituents of the material body—and is merely given the name “body.” None of the four elements has a ruling self, and the body has no fixed, enduring substance. Thus illness arises from the body, yet one should not be attached to the body.

King Good Seed, having understood the root of illness, should let go of attachment to the “I” and thoughts of affliction, and also release attachment to all things. Great King, you should think in this way: the body is only a gathering of many causes and conditions; this physical form is merely a phenomenon that ceaselessly arises and passes away. The various factors that make up the body are unaware of one another. When one arises, it does not say, “I have arisen, so you must perish”; when one ceases, it does not say, “I have perished, so you must arise.” I observe that all sentient beings are the same.

Great King, you should understand that the body is also an attachment formed by distorted understanding. The body itself does not say, “I have arisen, so you must perish,” nor, when it ceases, does it say, “I have perished, so you must arise.” I observe that all sentient beings are the same. You should know that attachment to the body is a great affliction, and so you should grow weary of such attachment.

How can one be free of “what belongs to me”—things believed to belong to the “I”? By letting go of the two distinctions between “I” and “what belongs to me.” To leave behind these distinctions is to stop clinging to inner and outer things and to regard all things as equal. What is equality? It is understanding that neither within nor without is there an independent, unchanging “I,” and that all things are pure. These two distinctions, inner and outer, are also empty of inherent nature. Why are they empty? Because they are concepts designated by names; being only names, they have no fixed, enduring substance. Understanding that the distinctions between inner and outer have no definite nature, one can realize equality. At this point, other illnesses no longer give rise to attachment; only attachment to “emptiness” remains, and even this attachment to emptiness must be released.

Understanding that the “illness of emptiness” is itself empty, I know that I am still ill. Though I am ill now, I do not cling to the experience of being ill. I say that the body is impermanent, but this does not mean that the true nature of the Dharma is extinguished. I understand and affirm these principles in this way; therefore, even when I manifest a body, I am no longer attached to it.

I often think of all sentient beings and give rise to great compassion. I teach the One Vehicle—the teaching that guides sentient beings to the single Buddha Vehicle—to discipline my own body and mind, and to help all sentient beings discipline theirs and dispel the many afflictions and illnesses.

I speak now of illness to help sentient beings cut off the fundamental sickness of reaching out to external things and clinging to them. When the six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind that perceive the outside world—no longer cling, there will be no illness for me to speak of. Great King Shanzhong, if someone is ill and confined to bed, you should contemplate in this way: no phenomenon has an independent, unchanging self, and my body too is impermanent. Since the body is empty and without self, even when ill it can still teach sentient beings amid birth and death, without growing weary. This is called skillful means: an adept method used to guide sentient beings.

You should also contemplate my body in this way: the body cannot be separated from the body, and illness cannot be separated from the body. Treat both recent suffering and suffering carried over from the past with compassion; this too is a kind of wisdom and skillful means. If the body is ill but one only lapses into stillness, without knowing how to use skillful means, one cannot face the suffering of illness well.

Great King Shanzhong, if someone is ill and confined to bed but does not contemplate in this way, discipline their own mind, or grow weary of clinging to the body, and instead craves and cherishes it, that person is ignorant. You should know that they have not yet escaped birth and death and will fall into hell.

If someone is ill and confined to bed and contemplates that all phenomena are empty and without self, they may think: “Though my body is ill, it remains amid birth and death, yet is not bound by birth and death. Since birth and death have no fixed, unchanging nature, there is no independent self within them. I dwell amid birth and death without being stained by them. I abide in a state of constancy and bliss, yet do not cling to constancy and bliss.” Because this practice does not pursue stillness alone, it is called “the practice of the empty sea.” By practicing in this way, one can forever leave behind the realms of birth and death and affliction.

Though one has this body, one does not depend on the body or thoughts as a place to abide. Though one dwells in the Three Realms—the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm—one does not damage the nature of the Dharma, the true and unchanging nature of all phenomena. Though one practices contemplating emptiness, one does not cling to the idea of “emptiness.”

The Buddha then said to the Elder King Shangen: “Though my body is ill, I display this to sentient beings who are confined to bed with illness. Though I practice signlessness—not clinging to the fixed forms of things—I also appear to suffer illness for the sake of these sentient beings.”

Although Bodhisattvas cultivate stillness and remain unmoved, they manifest all kinds of activity for the sake of sentient beings and explain the teachings to them. Although they cultivate the One Vehicle—the path of practice that returns to the one Great Way—and possess a vast treasury of lucid wisdom, boundless as the sea, they manifest countless emanations, as numerous as the motes of dust, for the sake of sentient beings. Although they cultivate wisdom and turn the Great Dharma Wheel, expounding the true teaching widely, they also reveal the light of the Great Way in the dark chambers where ignorance envelops sentient beings. This light illuminates their afflictions, so that all may together awaken wholesome intentions and follow the path of the One Vehicle.

After these words were spoken, King Shanzhong and his eight thousand ministers all awakened wholesome intentions.

Two Pitfalls in Seeking the Way (two faults that can arise while seeking the Way)

The Heavenly Worthy tells the True Adept Who Saves Lives: In cultivating yourself and seeking the Great Dao, there are two grave afflictions. The first is to regard all kinds of distress and wrongdoing as truly existent. The second is to cling to the idea that there is a fixed, unchanging body. These two attachments are major obstacles to cultivating the Dao.

Therefore, beings who wish to seek the Dao should use the unsurpassed wisdom of the Great Vehicle to contemplate themselves and understand that the body has no fixed, unchanging essence. With this understanding, the three karmic actions of body, speech, and mind—physical conduct, words, and thoughts—can naturally become pure. They should then cultivate the Six Perfections—giving, upholding the precepts, patience, diligence, meditation, and wisdom—and the Four Immeasurable States of mind—loving-kindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity. These are all skillful means that accord with the cultivation of the Dao and guide beings along the way.

This is like a traveler blocked by Tanggu, a perilous place said to obstruct the road, who wishes to reach the other shore but cannot cross. The traveler must rely on a boat or raft to cross the water. Once on the other shore, the boat or raft used for the crossing is no longer needed. The Six Perfections and the Four Immeasurable States are the same. Beings have not yet realized the shore of the Dao of non-arising, where they no longer cling to birth and death. So they temporarily rely on practices such as the Six Perfections to settle body and mind and bring their thoughts under control. Once they understand that they have no fixed essence and reach the realm of the Dao, these methods are no longer needed.

Du Ming then asked: Great and virtuous Heavenly Worthy, your parable is profound and subtle. Beings practice various good deeds in hopes of transcending the world; once they have transcended it, they cease to practice. If all has been realized and they have attained the Dao, does that mean they do nothing at all? If they take no further action, have they not lost their great compassion? Why does the Great Dao still continually save beings and relieve their suffering through the Four Great Vows?

The Heavenly Worthy replied: True Adept Who Saves Lives, the Heavenly Worthy, the Great Sage, aids beings and relieves their suffering without distinction. He has no love or aversion, clings neither to success nor failure, and makes no account of gain or loss. He is like a bridge, allowing people and animals to cross without preference, choosing neither the clean nor the unclean, neither people nor oxen, horses, mules, or donkeys. The Heavenly Worthy, the Great Sage, likewise saves beings far and wide without attachment: though he saves them, he makes no distinction between one and another, feels neither love nor aversion, and clings neither to success nor failure, gain nor loss.

This is also like the sea receiving a hundred rivers. It grows no larger as rivers flow into it, nor does it diminish as its waters flow away. It makes no distinction between the unclean and the pure, and chooses nothing according to preference.

The Celestial Worthy said to the Youth of Right Vision: “The Celestial Worthies of the ten directions, the revered deities who pervade the worlds in all ten directions, appear in the world to dispel the many delusions of living beings and proclaim this profound and wondrous scripture. Through it, living beings gain pure wisdom and understand the nature of the Dharma, the essence of all things. No longer deluded, they see that all things are empty from the outset and have no delusive appearance that is real and unchanging. Once they understand that delusion is empty at its source, their minds become pure. They also understand that the Celestial Worthies of the ten directions have no true marks of coming or going, appearing or concealing themselves. Thus, by appearing in the world, the Celestial Worthies bring immense benefit to living beings: all can give rise to right vision and live in peace and joy.

“This is like dreaming at night that a venomous snake bares its fangs and approaches, as if about to swallow you. The dreamer is terrified, flees in every direction, and cries out so loudly that the sound shakes the heavens, frantic and at a loss. Someone awake beside the bed calls out, ‘Hey, you’re dreaming. Why are you shouting like that?’ The dreamer suddenly wakes, stretches out their arms and legs, and realizes that everything they saw, ran from, and cried out about was only a dream, not reality. Their mind settles, and they are at peace and happy.

“All living beings dwell within the vast house of ignorance, the Three Realms of desire, form, and formlessness. Everything they do is like a dream or illusion, with no real and unchanging self-nature. The Celestial Worthy, the Great Sage, proclaims this wondrous Mahayana scripture to awaken living beings and help them attain right vision.”

The True Treasury Scripture says: The Celestial Worthy scattered delicate flowers over Spirit-Release Mountain, the sacred mountain where practitioners realize liberation. The flowers drifted on the wind, filling the entire Dharma Realm—the world shared by all things and beings. They could not be defined by colors such as blue, white, red, or black, and had no distinctions of length, size, width, or narrowness. So subtle they were hard to see, they transcended all particular forms and appearances.

From the flowers grew fruits that arose naturally, perfect and pure. Each fruit contained every taste yet surpassed all tastes; it contained every sound, color, fragrance, sensation, thing, and kind of wisdom, yet was not confined by any particular one of them. This fruit was called “All-Tastes,” and also “the Sweet Spring of All-Compassion.” Whoever tasted the spring was naturally satisfied, with no further hunger or thirst; their bearing and appearance became upright and beautiful, wondrous and rare. Those who reached Spirit-Release Mountain no longer underwent birth and death. They dwelled in clarity and stillness and attained the fruit of non-birth—the state that transcends the cycle of life and death.

At that time, there was a boy among the assembly named Shanda. He rose and addressed the Celestial Worthy: “I do not understand. The subtle flower of the primordial source contains fruits that arise naturally. They spread throughout the entire Dharma Realm, reaching every mote of dust. Nothing is too vast for them to cover, and nothing too small for them to enter. They may be red, white, blue, or black; long or short, large or small, broad or narrow. They may be seen or heard, come or go, and take the form of Heaven or Earth. This flower and its fruits are vast and all-pervading, filling the Dharma Realm beyond the reach of thought.

“Since all living beings receive the same flower in common, why do the causes and conditions they encounter differ, and why do good and evil vary from one to another? Why do they create different karmic deeds that bind them to birth and death, and experience suffering and joy in such different forms? As they cycle through rebirth, why are they born in different places? Some are born in remote lands, others in the Central Plains; some become servants, others rulers; some are poor and lowly, others wealthy and noble; some are lame, others whole in body; some are foolish, others wise. Some are miserly and greedy, while others delight in giving. Some take pleasure in killing, while others are compassionate and benevolent. Some commit the grave five rebellious sins, while others are filial and respectful. Some suffer, others enjoy happiness; some are deaf or blind, others keen and perceptive. Some are born as birds, insects, or beasts, others as fish or turtles. Their karmic consequences differ in all these ways. I beg you, Celestial Worthy, in your compassion, to explain each case to us.”

The Celestial Worthy said to the boy Shanda: “The arising of all things comes from the same primordial subtle flower, the flower of the source, which contains many forms and beautiful qualities. Yet living beings are deluded and cannot know themselves. Within their true nature, they give rise to false and inverted views. Thus, the things they create become causes for suffering and punishment. Living beings themselves become unfilial and distance themselves from compassion. They abandon the root and pursue the branches, lost in darkness and confusion, unable to see the truth.”

When people remain trapped in darkness and confusion for a long time, they cannot attain liberation. With compassion—a heart that pities all living beings—one employs various means to make clear the ways of saving them. People remain confused because they are bound by karmic conditions, the entanglements created by their actions and the circumstances arising from them. In truth, all things are empty and still; ultimately, there is no fixed, unchanging “self.”

Someone then asked: In the East, where all things grow, is there a boundary? In the South, where light appears, is there an end? In the West, where all things decline and perish, do sentient beings change? In the North, shrouded in darkness, is there anything without limit or anything that can be penetrated? Beyond the five objects of perception—form, sound, scent, taste, and touch—is there another form, sound, scent, taste, and touch? Beyond the bonds of greed, anger, and delusion, is there another greed, anger, and delusion? Can good and evil actions be cultivated? The teachings on all things and karmic actions spoken by the Master yield no fixed result when examined closely. Why, then, do people meet with different circumstances and experience different degrees of suffering and joy?

The Celestial Worthy said: All things arise like illusions and vanish like illusions; when one illusion disappears, another arises. Birth and death, coming and going, greed and delusion, grasping and renouncing, affliction, affection, and all manner of distinctions are illusory appearances arising from conditions. Ultimately, they have no fixed, unchanging substance. Living beings and their karmic conditions, too, exist within this arising and changing.

Birth and death, coming and going, greed and delusion, grasping and renouncing, affliction, affection, and distinctions are, in the end, not to be clung to as real. To recognize that all things are empty and still is to reach the ultimate place of the Dao. After hearing these words, Shanda suddenly awakened.

◎ On Seeds

The Celestial Worthy told Perfected One Yaoming: “You just asked where the sprout, stalk, branches, leaves, flower, and fruit come from when the seed itself has not been destroyed. Now let me ask you: when the seed is destroyed, does the sprout arise? If you say the sprout arises only after the seed is destroyed, then once the seed is destroyed, its cause is gone. A result without a cause makes no sense. If you say the seed is destroyed as the sprout arises, destruction itself cannot give rise to anything. To treat destruction as the cause of growth makes no sense either.

“So you should understand that among the seed, sprout, stalk, branches and leaves, flower, and fruit, it cannot simply be said that something passes from one stage to the next, nor can they be said to have no connection at all. They are neither entirely the same nor entirely different, and they are not both the same and different. The true nature of afflictions is like this: they are neither in the past nor in the future, and are neither entirely the same nor entirely different.

“The Celestial Worthy then said to Yaoming: If you think the sprout arises after the seed is destroyed, let me ask you further: does the sprout arise at the same time the seed is destroyed, before the seed is destroyed, or only after it has been destroyed?

“If the sprout arises at the same time the seed is destroyed, that would be to treat destruction as growth. Once the seed is destroyed, there is nothing left that can grow. If growth and destruction happen simultaneously, then growth is destruction, and destruction is no longer destruction. How, then, can the seed be destroyed and give rise to a sprout? It would be like claiming that a shadow appears when there is only a shadow and no form. That makes no sense. So the sprout does not arise when the seed is destroyed. Once the seed has been destroyed, the sprout cannot already exist either. It makes no more sense to say there is a sprout without a seed.

“If someone says the sprout arises at the same time the seed is destroyed, and that arising and destruction belong to one and the same thing, how could that be? The parts of a body belong to the same body, but one cannot say that when the head is destroyed, the foot therefore comes into being. Thus, the sprout does not arise when the seed is destroyed; nor does it make sense to say that arising and destruction are one and the same.

“If you say the sprout arises only after the seed is destroyed, then arising and perishing are separate. How can they form a cause and effect? Suppose the seed has already perished completely. Once it has perished, where could the sprout come from? How could a sprout arise from a seed that has already decayed? So the sprout does not arise after the seed is destroyed; it is equally unreasonable to say that the seed has already been destroyed and the sprout appears afterward.

“The Celestial Worthy then asked Yaoming: When the seed is destroyed and the sprout arises, are arising and destruction the same or different? If they are the same, their natures contradict one another. How can they be one and the same? If there is only destruction, there can be no growth. If growth is destruction, how can it be called growth? If the two are different, then there is no causal connection between them. A result arising without causes and conditions makes no sense. It would be like saying that empty space causes a rabbit’s horn: empty space cannot give rise to a rabbit’s horn. So saying that arising and destruction are different cannot explain how the sprout comes into being.

“If you say the sprout arises before the seed is destroyed, then the seed has not yet changed, and the sprout arises without a cause. A result without a cause, or a sprout without a seed, is unreasonable. Just as there can be no shadow without a form, if the shadow has already appeared before the form, you should understand that this shadow did not arise from that form.”

The principle of “arising into form”—things taking shape and coming into being—is like sesame seeds: while they remain intact, no oil can be extracted from them. From this we can see that a seed will not sprout before it breaks down. So how can one say that a sprout arises from a seed that has not broken down?

I said to Yaoming again: If the sprout comes forth only after the seed has perished, then the seed is already gone, and what has vanished can no longer serve as a cause. If the sprout grows only after the seed has perished, it is not the fruit of the seed. The claim that a sprout can arise after the seed has perished does not hold.

It is like curds, a fermented dairy product made from milk: without milk, there can be no curds. If curds appeared without milk, that would be like saying they did not arise from milk. From this we can see that one cannot say the sprout arises only after the seed has perished.

Examine closely the true nature of the phenomenon of “arising,” and in the end you will find that it can never be grasped. Ultimately, then, there is no truly self-arising “arising.”

True and False

In the Shengxuan Jing, Ziming asked, “If you say that nothing exists, on what basis do you also say that something exists?” Daoling replied, “It is precisely because nothing exists in the first place that we call it ‘something.’”

Ziming asked again, “What is the reasoning behind this?” Daoling replied, “Because physical forms and sounds are both illusory.” Ziming asked, “What does ‘illusory’ mean?” Daoling replied, “They cannot remain for long.” Ziming asked, “What does it mean that they cannot remain?” Daoling replied, “They change very quickly.”

Ziming said, “Even if they change quickly, that does not mean they do not exist. Since change occurs, there must be something that changes. How can you say they are nothing?” Daoling replied, “To say they change does not mean they remain fixed and unchanging.” Ziming persisted: “But however quickly they change, that does not mean they do not exist. Since they change, there must be something that changes. How can you say they are nothing?”

Daoling replied, “I do not mean that all things are wholly nonexistent, like empty space. I mean that nothing that exists is truly constant or enduring. What is born must die; what exists will eventually disappear; what takes shape will eventually be destroyed; what flourishes will eventually decline; the young and strong will eventually grow old. What existed in the past may no longer exist now. Cold and heat alternate, and the affairs of the world shift and change unpredictably; nothing remains as it was.

“Parents, siblings, spouses, children, and household ties; friendships and social dealings; wealth, rank, and power; prestige and pleasure—often, before long, these suddenly fall apart. Death separates people forever. Old age and illness weaken them. Disputes, lawsuits, anger, and resentment can also deprive people of clear minds and resolve. All the sorrows and troubles that arise from such things are illusory; none is truly unchanging.

“Only the worthy and the Daoist practitioners understand that these things are not real, and know that everything in the world is an illusory phenomenon. Through reflection and discernment, they realize the true nature of things. Their minds are clear and tranquil; they hold fast to the ‘One’—the state of steadfastly maintaining the Dao—and settle their spirit. They know deeply that nothing in the world has any enduring, substantial existence. Even while living among ordinary people, they can keep to the Dao and cherish the truth, quiet their spirit and practice Wuwei (non-action), attain the art of immortality, ascend to become immortals and transcend the world, and reach a state of long life. This is called ‘attaining what cannot be attained’: realizing something without clinging to what has been realized.

“It is also said: Things that possess nature often appear through worldly means, while things without nature remain empty. Though they are called ‘existence’ and ‘nonexistence,’ on examination they are in fact one and the same: a single substance with two names.

“It is also said: The names ‘existence’ and ‘nonexistence’ arise from illusory things. When a form appears, it is called ‘existence’; when the form disappears, it is called ‘nonexistence.’ The two depend on and define one another, and neither is truly unchanging.”

The Celestial Worthy said to Perfected Being Biantong: “‘Emptiness’ cannot originally be explained in words. Now I speak of emptiness: space itself is empty, and the words I speak are empty as well. From this, you should understand that everything in the world is illusory and has never possessed an enduring self-nature. When I speak of the world, I do not thereby become caught in illusion. Why? Because illusion has never possessed an enduring self-nature. When I speak of the world, I do not thereby become caught in illusion. Why? Because the nature of illusion is itself empty. I speak of illusion, but the very expression ‘illusion’ is empty too. Thus what I say does not fall into illusion.”

Perfected Being Biantong asked: “Greatly Virtuous Celestial Worthy, you say that everything in the world is empty. What benefit is there in explaining these principles in ways suited to the needs of living beings?”

The Celestial Worthy replied: “Perfected Being Biantong, this is to teach and guide living beings, so that they may escape hardship and enter the Dharma-gate of emptiness, dispel their various fixed views, understand signlessness—not clinging to fixed forms—and comprehend non-action—not clinging to doing or to results. All conditioned actions and things ultimately return to stillness and extinction, and no longer arise. Since they no longer arise or perish, they abide constantly and remain unmoving. Thus, out of great compassion, I now accommodate the living beings of the world so they may receive this great benefit.”

Fascicle Ninety-Six: Section of Praises and Hymns

One Hymn by the Celestial Emperor of Taiwei: “In Praise of the Wondrous Scripture of Great Being”

Red radiance shines upon the palace among the clouds; purple mists illuminate groves of jade trees. Flowers of the Seven Treasures shimmer brilliantly, while the wondrous music of the immortal realm rings clear and bright. The tones of gong, shang, and the other notes harmonize of themselves; numinous teachings open people’s hearts. Mysterious hymns sow seeds of blessing and virtue, broadly delivering beings without limit.

One Hymn by the Celestial Emperor: “In Praise of the Wondrous Scripture of Great Being”

Mysterious transformation was originally without trace; only when traces appeared did the source of the Dao become manifest. As the spirit roamed through the nine heavens, its carriage paused at the Palace of the Six Ridges. The Great Dao moves freely through a realm of empty, profound stillness; the numinous song—

One Hymn by the Celestial Emperor: “In Praise of the Wondrous Scripture of Great Being”

Mysterious transformation was originally without trace; only when traces appeared did the source of the Dao become manifest. As the spirit roamed through the nine heavens, its carriage paused at the Palace of the Six Ridges. The Great Dao moves freely through a realm of empty, profound stillness, and a numinous song issues from the vast heavens. Form and spirit respond to one another in a palace of utter stillness; thoughts and recitations connect with the subtle, mysterious Dao.

One Hymn by the Great Celestial Emperor: “In Praise of the Wondrous Scripture of Great Being”

When Heaven and Earth first began to evolve, all was dark and indistinct, and even the morning glow gradually faded. Above the vast, profound Great Void, the realms of Heaven and Earth separated. Essence and Qi gathered, embracing the empty womb-source; transformations took shape, nurturing wondrous perception. The heart held the true Dao within, nourishing the spirit inwardly, until the clarity hidden in the depths suddenly opened. At first, one only came to understand that worry shortens life; as the tides of fortune changed, one finally returned to the Celestial River—the Milky Way in Heaven, a metaphor for the realm of immortals.

One passage from the Hymns of the Scripture on Lord Lao’s Original Birth

The root and source of all beings is originally still, without arising or perishing. Those who lose their true nature and stray from their source separate themselves from the real source. By fabricating karmic causes of good and evil, they set in motion an endless succession of retributions, bringing misfortune and blessing alike. If you wish to dry up the sea of suffering, let the river of desire run dry. Hold fast to the One—the state of single-minded adherence in Daoist cultivation—with firmness and gentleness, and keep to this principle without error. Right understanding reaches through all things, and wondrous wisdom breaks every knot of attachment. All forms of cultivation ultimately converge in one place, and the Three Vehicles—the different levels or paths of practice—no longer follow separate roads. True stillness leaves the dust behind and brings coolness, freeing one from anguish and agitation.

One passage from the Hymns of the Scripture of Supreme Wisdom and Mystery

Numinous immortals ride auspicious clouds, drive dragons, and tread the waves of the hidden and profound. In union with the true Dao, they manifest auspicious signs; they wash their feet and enter the Celestial River. They did not deliberately seek blessings, and so can escape the heavenly net that binds living beings. Their lofty Dao and De surpass the Three Realms—the Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm—and transcend the nets of worldly law. Through resonance, they meet the Numinous Perfected and recite the Lotus Scripture with pure wisdom.

One passage from the Hymns in Praise of the Scripture of Supreme Wisdom

To cultivate the Way of the immortals, one must cut off thoughts of vanity. When thoughts follow one another without end, they accumulate into disturbances. Reflections on the past and future unsettle the spirit; when the mind is agitated, nothing remains beyond its reach. Still the scattered thoughts and let the mind rest in empty tranquility; enter emptiness and stillness in purity. Seek scriptures with the urgency of one who is hungry and thirsty for food and drink, and let your resolve be as unshakable as metal and stone. Only then can you preserve yourself and ascend along the wondrous path of immortality. The Five Numinous Powers—the wondrous spiritual forces described in Daoism—will use talismanic registers, documents recording practitioners’ names and credentials, to protect and guide you.

One passage from the Hymns of the Scripture of Great Vows and Precepts

In cultivating the Way of the immortals, practice is paramount. Uphold the precepts to restrain desire and govern the heart. When the mind is empty, still, and balanced, right Qi settles within, and immortals and sages will naturally come to meet you. If you do not believe what the scriptures teach, why withdraw to live in the mountains?

Two passages: “The Jade Emperor Confers the Thirty-Nine Chapters of the Great Cavern upon Pen Sheng” and the Song of Ascending the Dragon Terrace

The winds and clouds surge and shift. Three bands of rosy light lead the ranks of the spirit realm, while the Seven Primordials—the star spirits corresponding to the Big Dipper—guard them like a canopy. The Eight Scenes, the eight kinds of sights said to appear in Daoist immortal realms, enter the Primordial Origin, the beginning of the cosmos, then scatter beyond the Nine Heavens. Auspicious clouds rise above the jade palace gates, and uncanny vapors dispel the gloom. In the Western Palace, the Dongxuan scripture is chanted, its clear, ringing song reaching Fusang, the sacred tree of the East, a name for the farthest reaches of the east. Practitioners uphold the way of gentleness and stillness, dwelling among clustered peaks. They chant the mysteries of the Dao and commune with the Five Elders, the deities of the five directions or revered beings associated with them. A thought suddenly arises: may I bind my heart to yours.

The immortal river Pao surges, its waters churning through boundless expanses; the Celestial Ford stirs the myriad streams. Winds from all eight directions command the Divine Empyrean, and roam through a remote, empty stillness. Chanting the Dongshen scripture, they send you the mysterious sound in a song as wondrous as the divine. When the resolve to cultivate suddenly arises, put it into practice at once, bending low as you make your way through the dusty world. Cultivation truly demands the utmost devotion! I will tell you the Dao you seek.

On the Terrace of the Nine Mysteries, a high pavilion in the immortal realm, long cries rise in song; a cool, deep aura gathers among the cliffs and ridges. The heart grows open, and the perceptions of the six senses unfold with it; the eyes cast off the filthy vapors of the mundane world. Flowing rosy light illuminates the Golden Chamber, while layers of mysterious Qi fill the spacious halls. Accumulate devotion and spiritual responses will summon the deities to descend; yet if one’s body stands alone, cultivation may set one apart from others. Suddenly one looks back across the ages of myriad kalpas. Who could still notice the passage of millions upon millions of years?

The divine steps flourish amid beautiful gardens, and vermilion doors open onto courtyards filled with groves of jade trees. A fresh breeze stirs the empty stillness; music like the sound of jade rises, borne on the breath of the void. Purple smoke coils around winding doorways, and cinnabar light shines upon green talismanic registers. Fluttering banners crowd the dark canopies, while feathered ceremonial standards gleam in the Purple Clarity, the Daoist heavens. Ascend above the Nine Heavens and roam freely through Phoenix City, the palace city of the immortals. Look back with affection upon the one who cultivates in seclusion. May he share the joys of the immortal realm and leave behind the mortal span of life, like plants that sprout at dawn and wither by dusk.

Drive a carriage in pursuit of the bright sun, and admire the scenery beyond the Fields of the Cavern. Wander in search of a spiritual being; together, become one above the clouds and share in the celebration. With your own hands, push open the vermilion gates of the immortal isle. The realm is bright and clear, and the spirit finds peace. The Golden Towers of Heaven stand lofty and magnificent, their pure, lucid vistas free of dust and defilement. Unfasten your robes on the Terrace of Mysterious Lang, a high platform in the immortal realm, and fulfill at last the wish in my heart. Escape the perils of the Three Paths—the realms of suffering such as hell, hungry ghosts, and animals—and continue cultivating to secure a long and enduring life.

Hymn to the Perfected One of Mysterious Unity, Natural and Supreme, of the Numinous Treasure — One Section

Many wondrous and mysterious Ways emerge from the Cavern of Perfection (Dongzhen, the name of a Daoist scriptural tradition). They shine brilliantly, illuminating the Great Clarity (Taiqing, the clear and empty celestial realm of Daoism). Those who practice these scriptures are called immortals. By realizing the Way of emptiness and nothingness, they may live long and endure forever. They roam freely through the mysterious void, where formless palaces stand in ordered ranks. Trees of the Seven Treasures gleam in brilliant colors, their radiance like the sun and moon. Dragon-shaped carriages race past one another; phoenixes fly and cry out. The Supreme One (the highest divine lord) governs the Purple Terrace, while the Perfected Ones recite the Cavern scriptures. All twist incense, bow, and pay their respects, circling the palace city three times before returning to the high seat. The King of the Dao answers in response. When earthly rulers spread the Great Dao, peace prevails throughout the world.

Hymn to the Supreme One’s Promotion of the Dao — One Section

The Supreme One is the source of the mysterious and empty Dao, spreading the Great Dao and honoring the scriptures. In a moment, one may attain immortality, enduring through countless kalpas (vast spans of time). The virtue of the Great Perfected is immeasurably lofty: in stillness and Wuwei (non-action), they return to nonbeing. The scenes among the clouds gather into palaces in the sky, and they travel freely through the void. The sun and moon shine brightly; harmony and joy have no end.

Song of the Numinous Consort in the Eastern Florescent Upper Chamber of the Fangzhu Palace — One Section

Purple cassia grows in the jade garden, and red blossoms give off a faint, delicate sound. In the moon palace lies the Abyss of Pistils; within the sun is a jade pool. With her left hand she plucks a round, numinous light; with her right she draws in the radiance of cinnabar clouds. Flowing golden light illuminates the red palace, while scenes in the eight directions lie far beyond the world’s dust and haze. A green canopy floats in the brightness; holding a command baton, she gives orders to the Great Subtlety (Taiwei, the celestial offices and palaces). The Phoenix-Essence youth has a beautiful face. Jade-like sweet dew nourishes his body, leaving him free from hunger. At dawn he draws in the Great Unadorned (Taisu, primordial vital essence), then rides the swift wind up the jade steps. He breathes in and out the Qi of the Six Emptinesses (the void above, below, and in the four directions), while a jade attendant follows, holding a cloth. She plays the zhi tone and waves a southern-cloud fan; fragrant breezes stir her brocade cloak. She strikes the shang tone, and the myriad beasts dance; the Six Heavens are subdued by her divine might. In an instant, she passes through hundreds of millions of years, her life long and exalted. The little fish has not yet entered the cauldron to be cooked, yet I sigh beneath the crags.

The Blue Lad’s Constantly Chanted Verses — One Section

If you wish to plant the root that frees you from life and death, you must pull up the shoots of the cycle of life and death. Hesitate and brood, and you will fall into the Nine Springs, concerned only with preserving your own body.

The Great Void Perfected One’s Constantly Chanted Verses

When one contemplates the spirit’s rule over the body, it is like a cart being drawn by horses. When the cart breaks, the horses scatter; their bond is only temporary. It is lamentable that people understand this, yet care only for their present body of Wind and Fire, sustained by Jing and Qi. They sow the seeds of wrongdoing and, in the end, are punished under Heaven’s net and made to suffer in the hells below.

Perfected Tai Xu often recited this verse:

When one contemplates the spirit’s rule over the body, it is like a cart being drawn by horses. When the cart breaks, the horses scatter; their bond is only temporary. It is lamentable that people understand this, yet care only for their body of Wind and Fire, sowing the seeds of wrongdoing and facing punishment under Heaven’s net and suffering in the hells below.

Perfected Wang of Xicheng often recited this verse:

The body is like a boat carrying the spirit across the water. Once it reaches the far shore, they should part. The body is not a dwelling where the spirit lives forever, nor will the spirit ride within the body forever. People wander between life and death because sorrow and hesitation still remain in their hearts.

Perfected Wang of Xiaoyou often recited this verse:

Having lost the Great Dao, one sets out on the road to death; the Three Hun souls, too, lose the path to life. One moves ever farther from true life and ever closer to death. How pitiful, that this suffering person’s root and radiance of life have been thrown into disorder. As the body gradually returns to dust, how could one know how to return to the source, be born anew, and regain youth?

These four poems were recited by four Perfected Ones at the gathering on the Jade Terrace last month, on the day of the autumn equinox, to accompany the string music of the Xuanjun and Guangshao. Lady Youying recounted the above.

Guo Sichao often took a small boat out on the pond. Tapping its side, he sang four songs:

Clear pond water reflects graceful mountain peaks,

while dense woods gleam green.

The dark birds fly above the secluded fields;

here I grasp the truth, my heart at ease.

I dip the oars and ride the wondrous waves,

bowing in homage to the morning breeze of Jade Dawn.

My time of release has not yet come;

I wander freely among mountains, forests, and hills.

One

The Wave Spirit roams beyond the Nine Heavens,

studying the Dao until the realm of truth is attained.

I fold away the wings of the numinous phoenix

and conceal the scales of the radiant dragon.

My aspirations soar; the world’s dust

can no longer hold me fast.

I look back and grieve for mayflies,

born at dawn and dead by dusk:

your lives are fleeting and fragile—

how many years can you ever know?

Two

When roaming through the void, what falls is no raging wind; the spirits walk by their own invisible steps. The full moon shines, revealing bright rosy clouds. At the farthest edge of the ninefold heavens, your wheels…

(“The woman’s cage cannot cover the mat; the man’s love does not exhaust the wheel. Born at dawn, like a mayfly”: the mayfly, which lives from morning until evening, is used here as a metaphor for how easily human life fades away.)

When roaming through the void, what falls is no raging wind; the spirits walk by their own invisible steps. The full moon shines, revealing bright rosy clouds. The Nine Phoenixes sing as the morning sun rises, beating their wings and fanning the ford of the Celestial River. Clouds spread everywhere, and auspicious clouds soar through the sky. Then you arrive at the Palace of Taiwei, the residence of the Heavenly Emperor, and drink Golden Millet Nectar, the drink of the immortals. You roam freely beyond Xuangan, the distant immortal realm above the rosy clouds of the ninth heaven, attached neither to existence nor to extinction.

(Xuangan, also called Jiugai, is an immortal realm in the farthest reaches of the eight directions, above nine layers of rosy light. Legend says that ascending to Jupiter may also be described as reaching the terrace of Langdongyang. Ruoshi once told Lu Ao that he would meet Hanman above the nine terraces.)

Riding fierce winds, you dance through the Divine Empyrean, clad in rosy clouds and carrying nine suns on your person. The High August One, a revered deity of the heavens, rides in a carriage level with the dragons, and thus arrives at the Northern Flower Hall. Divine tigers roam among jade trees and jeweled groves; wind and clouds converge as one. The Gate of the Underworld opens and closes. After the wondrous transformations, even the mysterious traces disappear.

(“The High August One’s carriage level with the dragons” refers to the High August One’s carriage, which was level with the dragons. According to the commentary, the High August One once served as canopy bearer in the Four Courts of the Jade Terrace.)

A song for regular recitation, transmitted by the Immortal Lord Who Preserves Life to Xu Huya and Du Guangping

Du Qi, courtesy name Guangping, lived in seclusion at Huayang.

Clear, gentle sunlight filters through the broad forest, and the warm sun rises from the rosy clouds in the east. The morning breeze sweeps over the cliffs; mist rises, and dense clouds surge in all directions. Why insist that only the Five Sacred Peaks count as beautiful? Famous mountains are also worth climbing. Lift your head and ascend the mountain of the grotto; settle your spirit and cultivate in seclusion. Who can surpass this mysterious, pure Qi by breathing in and out the vital essence of the womb, drawing in the new and expelling the old to nurture one’s essence?

Long ago, I set out on the way of dark truth and stepped upward in flight beyond the Great Rosy Clouds. Carrying my book chest, I came to Heaven’s Gate, hoping to ask the Most High, a revered Daoist deity, where he made his home. Suddenly I passed through the Purple Tenuity Enclosure, a celestial star region that also symbolizes the palaces of the immortals. There I saw Perfected Ones, immortals who had attained the Dao, lined up in countless ranks. A fresh breeze stirred, and clouds cast their light over red blossoms. The Orchid Palace opened its pearl-adorned doors, while in the azure sky a stretch of sand appeared, gleaming like fine jade. The Cinnabar Terrace rose aloft, radiant with light; phoenixes perched on the roof ridges, and the candle-dragon coiled and wound its way around them. A jade embryo brought crimson lingzhi, whose nine-colored radiance intertwined and shimmered. By taking in the luminous essence of the sun and moon, one cultivates an immortal body that keeps its youthful face through ten thousand calamities. Who would end their life before its allotted span was over? The Fusang tree of the East does not wither.

At dawn I climbed to the Palace of Great Numen and gathered its eight jade orchids. At dusk I entered the Dark Origin Gate, picked blossoms, and played with langgan, a jade-like stone. I washed my feet in the River of the Gourd Star, where the Weaving Maiden stood at the ferry crossing. I breathed in and out, taking in the clouds as my meal. The Purple Tenuity Palace was crowded with people; immortals rode jade chariots and consumed vermilion elixirs. In the morning they set out from the Office of Vastness; at dusk they lodged in the Enclosure of Gouchen. Each follows a different path, so let each proceed in the way that suits them. Heaven and Earth, the sun and moon, continue their courses. What is there to doubt? One can endure for millions upon millions of years. Do not tell these words to ordinary people: in worldly eyes they are hard to understand, as though only those who are dead in life could speak them.

The preface says: After Lady Wei had ascended to immortality by day and gone to the immortal realm of dawn, she was once at Mount Wangwu…

After that immortal ascended to Heaven in broad daylight, she dwelt on Mount Wangwu. The Primordial Lady of the Nine Subtleties, the Queen Mother of Mount Guishan, Lady Shuang Lizhu of the Three Primordial Powers, the Left Immortal of Ziyang, Shi Lucheng, the Supreme Ultimate High Immortal, Lord Boyan Gai, Perfected Wang Fangping of Xicheng, Perfected Red Pine of Mount Heng, the True Man of Great Void, and Wang Ziqiao, the True Man of Mount Tongbai, all came to visit her in the Crimson Chamber of the Upper Palace of Minor Being and Empty Clarity. At the gathering, she and Lord Wang treated one another according to the rites of host and guest. They set out jade cream and green wine, drank from golden cups to the sound of music, and had the maidservants perform. Then the Queen Mother kept the beat and sang:

I ride my Eight Luminaries carriage, and suddenly enter Jade Clarity, the highest heaven in Daoist cosmology. My dragon-patterned skirts brush the clouds; tiger banners command the vermilion celestial troops. I roam at ease beside the Mysterious Ford, while all things flow ceaselessly, never coming to rest.

I lament that even this gathering must end in parting: when the cycle of calamity runs its course, Heaven and Earth too will collapse. We should perceive the realm of nonbeing, where one is no longer born and no longer concerns oneself with immortality in its ordinary sense. To grasp the Way of nature and contemplate in stillness is to merge with the Great Obscurity.

Mount Heng rises tall, bringing forth a True Immortal, whose jade-like radiance shines with pure clarity. Free from the bonds of worldly affairs, he receives the numinous Qi with an open heart. Now we gather joyfully within the Crimson River, keeping one another company in endless delight.

Shuang Lizhu played “Cloud Valley” and sang a response:

Jade Clarity rises above the nine heavens; the dwellings of the immortals hang beyond the rosy clouds. Cloud-high terraces and halls soar bright and lofty; numinous mountains, rivers, plants, and trees flourish in profusion. Five-colored clouds bear aloft the emerald canopy, while clear breezes from the eight directions send green vitality on its way. Looking up, I chant “Demon-Dispelling,” the Daoist hymn that drives away demonic obstructions; looking down, I study wisdom.

Ten thousand True Men welcome the dawn and arrange to meet in the Crimson Chamber. The outstanding De-yinzi stands tall, his spirit bright and his numinous light abundant. The Celestial Peak is built high in the air; its cavern dwellings and lofty terraces are deep and secluded. Traveling across the sea, one learns how narrow the world at the bottom of a well is; practicing the true Dao, one sees how sullied the mundane world has become. Riding the dancing wheel, we feast through layer upon layer of heaven. Grasping the meaning of “catch the fish and forget the trap,” I no longer cling to words or methods. I return to the enduring realm symbolized by the Great Chun tree, and leave forever the transient world, where life lasts no longer than a single day.

“The Song of the High Immortal Longing to Roam the Numinous Cavern,” with preface

The Jade Emperor again ordered Xu Sheng to enter the secluded chamber and pay his respects to the Primordial Lady of Shangqing and the Lord of Guishan. The two perfected beings then separately instructed their attendants: Wang Yanxian, Yu Guangyun, and others played the Ao of the Cloud Grove and Jade Pavilion; An Deyin, Fan Sizhu, and others struck the Zhu of Kunming; Zuo Baorong, Han Nengbin, and others played the phoenix-and-luan flutes; Zhao Yunzi, Li Qingyu, and others struck the Flowing-Gold Stones. They also ordered four attendants—Xin Baihu, Zheng Pifang, Yan Wanlai, and Tian Shuanglian—to sing together.

The Jade Chamber reflected the rosy glow of the eastern sky, while purple carriages appeared amid the crimson dawn. How pleasing to the eye were the splendid terraces! At the northern banquet, flying immortals came and went. In the boundless stillness of the Great Void, their forms drifted faintly as they journeyed far, treading upon light and shadow. They chanted passages from the Great Cavern scripture and sang this Three Nines piece. Resting deep within the vast inner realm, the king of the spirits dwells within the space of an inch. Seated quietly in a secluded chamber, one longs for the wondrous radiance—why toil away in mountain forests as a recluse? In an instant, an aged face can change and regain the appearance of a child.

Songs Sung by the Four Perfected Beings upon Their Descent to Lady Wei: Five Pieces, with Preface

The four perfected beings descended to Lady Wei’s quiet chamber to teach her the way of the divine perfected and its methods of cultivation, and to impart scriptures such as the Yellow Court. They then laid out food and wine, and the four perfected beings chanted songs. The Perfected of Taiji first ordered the Northern-Cold Jade Maiden Song Lianxiao to play the Ao of the Nine Qi. The Green Lad of Fangzhu then ordered the Eastern Florescence Jade Maiden Yan Jingzhu to strike the Bell of Western Abundance. The Divine King of Fusang Yanggu ordered the Cloud Grove Jade Maiden Jia Quting to play the Phoenix-Cry Flute. The Perfected of Clear Emptiness ordered the Flying-Mystery Jade Maiden Xianyu Lingjin to strike the Ninefold Jade Chime. Then the Perfected of Taiji sang a piece called “Flying Through the Sky.”

The cinnabar radiance shines brightly, illuminating the Upper Clarity Heaven, the high celestial realm of Daoism. Winds from the eight directions stir the Great Rosy Clouds. I turn back the chariot of Divine Firmament and arrive at a secluded bend of Jade Ridge Mountain. In an instant, I am beyond heaven and earth; the nine provinces and the four quarters all seem like home to me. Above, I gather the essence of the sun; below, I drink in the radiance of the Yellow Moon. In emptiness and stillness, without form, I contemplate the wondrous and numinous. My journey, like that of the great Peng bird, proceeds without hindrance. Looking back, I see you, Wei Xian’an, harmed by turbid Qi, which has disturbed your inner harmony. You must diligently study the mysteries of the Dao. When our cultivation is complete, we will meet again.

◎ One Song by the Azure Youth of Fangzhu

The Great Rosy Clouds reflect the morning light; the nine primordial Qi have no fixed form. I take the reins of the mysterious chariot and fly beyond the clouds, rising high upon the Eight Radiances, the luminous lights of the eight directions in Daoism. I take hold of the Jade Emperor’s sleeve and bring you along, a cultivator born at dawn. I raise my eyes to behold the palaces of the Seven Luminaries—the sun, moon, and five planets—bright and deep. Son of the Wei family, you are truly exceptional, with both aspiration and feeling. Your mysterious endowment has brought you to this auspicious encounter, and your name has been entered in the Eastern Florescence, the register of immortals inscribed in golden books. Xian’an, you have diligently cultivated the mysteries in secret. We have agreed to meet at Yang Valley and in the land of Qian.

◎ One Song Following the Divine King of Fusang

At dawn, I open the gates of the Great Emperor’s palace and cross the waters near the Gourd Star. Emerald waves rise from the blue sea, while continuous mountain ranges and crimson peaks tower above. Chariot wheels float amid the billowing clouds, drawn aloft by nine dragons. Tiger banners flutter at a crossing veiled in rosy clouds; numinous winds stir them, making them unfurl and stream. Huacun has long delighted in cultivating the Dao, and so has gradually drawn near the realm of the high gods. She raises her disciples beyond the three bonds, the various entanglements that bind people, and their response and meeting have only just begun. We have agreed to meet at Yangluo Palace. When the Dao is perfected, I will bring the son of the Wei family with me.

◎ Two Songs Following the Perfected One of Clear Emptiness

Riding a swift chariot, I command the realm of Clear Emptiness, wandering back and forth among the Western Florescence halls. The jade trees are wondrous and lofty; tiger banners follow, drifting away with the clouds and mist. The wind of wisdom stirs the cinnabar banners, and brilliant lamps shine in every direction. In the Hall of Yong, I loosen my robe, and numinous bells ring out crisply. My form comes to rest amid images like the branches and trunks of a forest, while a nine-stringed zither sounds in the mysterious realm. You have freed me from sorrows accumulated over many lifetimes and dispelled a thousand years of sighs. My heart rejoices as I gaze without end; I stay awake through the night, waiting for dawn.

Purple mists dance through the shadowy, mysterious reaches of the sky; the wondrous wind follows no fixed course. Suddenly it fills the eight directions. May your heart and mind become spacious, empty, still, and clear. Body and mind are like eight windows thrown open: at times bright, at times dim, with flashes of light appearing as well.

Turn your gaze inward to the upper, middle, and lower Dantians—the three sites of cultivation within the body. In stillness, forms gradually emerge within. Gather the spirit and settle into quietude; stand upright, as though meeting the divine. Your bearing is lofty and free like a cloud, composed and radiant. I am ashamed that I lack the exquisite skill of the Ying craftsman who wielded his axe; here, “Ying stone wielding” is a metaphor for exceptional ability. That innate grace and brilliance, however, arise naturally of themselves.

Cultivate the art of nourishing life with diligence and care. If you disclose it or neglect it, calamity will follow. The moment of spiritual efficacy will come in its own time; then, hand in hand, we shall ascend together and depart.

◎ One stanza of the song “The Sorrows of the Human World” (with preface)

The Record of Mount Wuyi, written by the Crown Prince’s literary official Lu Hongjian (the Tang dynasty writer Lu Yu), says that Lord Wuyi was a deity who governed the earthly realm. According to legend, on the fifteenth day of the eighth month each year, he would summon the local villagers to Mount Wuyi. There, he would set up a Curtain Pavilion, like a tent, and conjure a rainbow bridge leading down the mountain. When the villagers arrived, the three immortals—the Jade Emperor of the Supreme Ultimate, the Perfected One Wei of Mount Tai, and Lord Wuyi—would take their seats in the air. They would call the villagers their “great-grandchildren” and invite both the men and women to sit with them.

The immortals then instructed the musicians: Zhang Anling to beat the drum; Zhao Yuanhu to strike the accompanying drum; Liu Xiaoqin to play the Kanling drum; Zeng Shaotong to beat the Baizhao drum; Gao Zhiman to sound the Cao drum; and Gao Zichun to hold the short drum. They also summoned the wind players: Bao Gongxi to play the transverse flute, and He Feng’er to strike the clapper. Next, the string players took their turn: Dong Jiaoniang played the konghou, an ancient plucked instrument, while Xie Yingfei played the Paili, a reed instrument of the bili type. Lü Axiang played the round-bodied lute; the wind player Huang Cigu played the Beili, another bili-type reed instrument; Xiu Yan played the vertical flute; Xiao E played the sheng; and the musician Luo Miaorong swung the copper cymbals. Then wine was passed around. It arrived quickly, and the immortals said there was no need to refuse. When the wine was passed around again, they commanded the singer Peng Lingzhao to perform “The Sorrows of the Human World.” The lyrics are:

Heaven and the human world—how rare the chance to meet.

The sun sinks toward the western hills; birds fly back to their nests.

A hundred years of life are but a moment,

yet our wishes so often come to nothing.

The heavenly palace is close at hand;

alas, we cannot follow you there.

One Chapter of “The Ba Ballad” (with preface)

On the gengzi day of the ninth month in the thirty-first year of the First Emperor of Qin, Mao Meng, the great-grandfather of Mao Ying, rode the clouds and mounted a crane in Mount Hua, ascending to immortality in broad daylight. Before this, someone had followed him.

On a gengzi day in the ninth month of the thirty-first year of Qin Shi Huang’s reign, Mao Meng, the great-great-grandfather of Mao Ying, rode the clouds and a crane up Mount Hua, and ascended to immortality in broad daylight. Earlier, the “Song of the Ba Ballad” had said:

Mao Chucheng attained the Dao and became an immortal, riding a dragon up to the Great Clarity—the highest heaven in Daoist teaching. He often descended to wander in Xuanzhou and Chicheng. Later, I, Mao Ying, followed in attaining the Dao. If the emperor wishes to follow their example, he should practice Daoist arts during the auspicious Jia-ping season in the twelfth month.

The Perfected Yang Xi dreamed that the immortal lord of Penglai, Luo Guangxiu, summoned four people and asked each to compose a poem. Shi Anqing composed first:

The numinous mountain rises into distant clouds and rosy mists; its rocky peaks pierce the heavens. Purple clouds spread across the divine land. I ride the wind on a white dragon. In the company of four guests, I travel east to pay court to Lord Sanglin. Though Guangxiu is advanced in years, how vigorous his spirit and bearing! He did not decline or defer on account of his age, so everyone honored him as their elder and gave him precedence.

Next, Zhang You-shi composed:

I journey north beyond the great desert and climb the immortal palace of Penglai. Purple clouds encircle the halls of the immortals, and fragrant incense fills the air. How admirable Luo Guangxiu is, long established in the seat of discourse on the Dao. We take our places in order before the Perfected One’s seat and watch the white dragon disappear into the distance. After the four of us part, when shall we loosen our robes and rest together again? I miss friends with whom I could speak openly, and look forward to the joy of meeting at dawn.

Next, Xu Yufu composed:

I wander among strange peaks and wash and purify myself in clear streams. In the distance I glimpse Penglai, its heights rising straight into the clouds. The Five Zhi, legendary herbs of immortality, grow on crimson cliffs; fine jade is planted beside the surrounding steps. Numinous blossoms drift through the air, and the immortal courtyard shines with light. At ease, I transcend the “Seven Awakenings,” a Buddhist term for seven practices of awakening, and freely nourish the life granted to me by nature. My heart is content of itself; why envy the glory of ascending to heaven on a white dragon?

Another poem attributed to Xu Yufu has the same content as the preceding one.

Dark mountains encircle the Canglang waters, and golden palaces reflect the pavilions where the spirits dwell. Lord Luo had extraordinary aspirations and carried himself with ease, moving between the visible and the invisible. His still form was like the cold, remote sky; the Three Spirits joined with the Nine Heavens. His fellow officials came together and put me forward as a man of high virtue and advanced years. Shi Qing’an was still young, not yet of age, yet refused to show respect for the worthy. He mocked Lord Penglai, addressing him in the same way before Guangxiu: “My lord, how will you meet this young man’s sharpness?”

The Five Talisman Writs on the Heavens records: “The immortal Le Xiumen built a gateway on Mount Laosheng and carved the text of the Five Talisman Writs into stone.”

The waters of the Mysterious Ford flow with crimson waves; the radiance of Kunbi illuminates Lang Mountain. The rising sun drives the dawn light, lush and brilliant—how graceful its form! Traveling clouds descend beside the sun; swift winds and sunlight race across the sky for three days. The brilliance of the Numinous Treasure shines over the Nine Heavens, where darkness and light gather between the peaks of Zhong Mountain. Xia Yu climbed to the place of the Eight Windows, his breath fragrant as golden orchids. With a branch he shook the leaves of the jade tree, seeking the source of the floods amid green waves. He supported the roots and established a numinous trunk, letting its branches droop and grow thick.

The traces of dragons and phoenixes lie far off and are hard to find, while the patterns of the Nine Heavens shine bright and splendid. Raise your head and absorb the essences of the sun, moon, and stars, and you can preserve yourself in lasting peace. Bow down and drink the fluid of the Five Blossoms, and your youthful appearance will return. When the soul rises to the Palace of Warmth and Coolness, how could it still know heat or cold? A thousand years seem like the beginning of morning; ten thousand years are as if the sun has only just reached midday. Beat your wings and fly up into the void, and the Numinous Treasure Official summons me to go. The chariots of the Five Emperors arrive one after another, gathering together at the farthest edge of the vast, desolate expanse. They ask one another whether they are hungry or thirsty; in the Mysterious Spring, flowing cinnabar is abundant.

The key to becoming an immortal forever lies within the space of a square inch. Even the farthest reaches in all eight directions have no place that cannot be reached. One hears only of filth within grand mansions behind vermilion gates. Even in a high position, a life of ten thousand years is still like the sun having reached only midday. The inscription is carved on the northern slope of Mount Lao; caves and mountain hollows may all serve as grounds for seeking and investigation.

The Five Talisman Writs on the Heavens records: “The immortal Le Xiumen built a gateway on Mount Laosheng and carved the text of the Five Talisman Writs into stone.”

Xuanzi, whose courtesy name was Yanqi, was from Dinggu in Longxi. He was the son of Xin Yin, who served under Emperor Ming of Han as a remonstrance official and as governor of the three commanderies of Shangluo, Yunzhong, and Zhao.

In his youth, Xuanzi loved the highest Daoist arts and kept their laws and prohibitions. Because of calamities inherited from his ancestors, his life was short, and he died at Changjin. The Queen Mother of the West saw how diligently I practiced. The Northern Emperor of Fengdu, a deity who governs the netherworld, took pity on my resolve to seek the Dao and ordered Siming, the deity who governs lifespans and registers of fate, to send a proclamation to the Three Officials of Heaven, Earth, and Water. They retrieved my body, allowing me to return to life and recover my original nature. They also enabled me to regulate fetal breathing, nurture my original Qi, and become a numinous spirit. Only recently have I been entered in the register of names in the south.