《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 19

This is not a barrier fixed by heaven, but one people create for themselves, so the title uses “ge” (a heaven-imposed obstruction) rather than “ai” (a self-imposed hindrance). If it were written as “ai,” it would foster the delusion of taking what is not yet realized for what is already realized, and that would block the path of further practice. Though both are obstructions, some lie in doubt and some in delusion; neither is a heaven-fixed barrier—they are karmic obstructions people make for themselves.

The obstruction signified by “ge” is written with “door” and “hai,” pointing to an innate barrier. When a great sea lies before you and you have no boat, you cannot cross—that is an obstacle in worldly life, fixed by heaven. Within the body are myriad gates and orifices (the many passes and openings through which qi moves); if phlegm blocks them now and then and qi cannot flow freely, illness arises and cultivation is obstructed—again a heaven-imposed limit. Only when the light of the Great Compassion Heart and the Great Dharani (Sanskrit: dharani, “total holding”) shines upon it can one cross or open the way. Hence the text uses heaven’s “ge,” not human “ai.” That is why the next line immediately speaks of the “Great Compassion Heart Great Dharani.”

“Without obstruction” means: other things have form, so there is separation; but this nature is empty and subtle, therefore it can fill empty space and pervade worlds as numerous as the sands of the Ganges—there is nowhere without things: hard as metal, foul as excrement, venomous as snakes, scorpions, tigers, and wolves, insentient as grass, trees, earth, and stone. Yet this light penetrates everywhere and fills all without a moment’s blockage or lack—hence “vast, complete, unobstructed.” This is called the realm of nature (the inherent nature everyone possesses): each person has it from the start; each is complete from the outset.

“Great Compassion Heart” means penetrating everywhere without clinging—hence the Great Being (a honorific for a bodhisattva) bears the title Bodhisattva of Perfect Penetration and Freedom. Worldly people read “bei” in the phrase as the “bei” of compassion and pity—that is a serious mistake. It should be understood as the Great Heart of Perfect Penetration. This continues the meaning of “without obstruction” above.

“Great Dharani” names and confirms what precedes: once the true body of the light of nature appears, there is this vast, complete, unobstructed great compassionate radiance. “Great” is simply great; “dharani” means round and full, reaching everywhere—like the sun, and like a single luminous pearl.

The language of the highest heaven calls the sun ni; Western Sanskrit uses the same name for that vast, perfectly round orb. Here the phrase is used to point to the true substance of xingguang—the light of one’s innate nature: in seated contemplation it appears so all-pervading, like the sun or like a single pearl; it does not mean that xingguang is literally the sun in the sky. This is also what is meant by “Wisdom Sun” and “Wisdom Moon.” “Heart of Heaven” (tianxin) means “Heart of Buddha” (foxin).

“Wondrous subtle verses” (shenmiao zhangju) means that this mantra has appeared in the world as divine, subtle, abstruse lines: spread out they differ in ten thousand ways; rolled up they return to a single root. Hence the text immediately identifies this as a dharani (tuoluoni)—a spell that “holds” all meanings together. The idea is that it is originally like this round sun: perfectly whole, without gap, radiance flashing, vast and complete; the mind is unobstructed and does not cling or dwell. The wording is meant as direct pointing. If one grasps this layer of meaning while reciting the Great Compassion Dharani (Dabei Zhou)—the dharani of Avalokiteśvara’s great compassion—then saving oneself, saving people, saving things, and saving ghosts is not difficult.

This mantra at first existed only as sound, without written form; it was passed mouth to mouth by sages and was not fixed in ink. It only began to take written shape after it reached China. Holy teachers of the middle ages came from the West; though they wrote down the sounds by ear, they had already interpreted the meaning in Chinese terms. So one need not block one’s own understanding just because Sanskrit is hard; one may still comprehend by meaning. The doctrine is simply very deep, with the quality of “each person sees according to their capacity”—one must not treat one’s own reading as the final verdict and demand that everyone agree. The notes offered here are no more than one possible explanation.

“Namo he luodana duoluoye” is the Sanskrit transliteration at the opening of the Great Compassion Mantra; in general it means homage to the Three Jewels—Buddha, Dharma, and Saṅgha.

“Namo” means the mind is free of distracting thoughts; do not take it as the Sanskrit namo (“homage”) in a purely phonetic sense. “Harodana” is like majestic radiance shining brilliantly, as if adorned with a single night pearl. “Ha” is offered merely as one possible gloss.

Namo harodana doraye ye

“Namo” again means no stray thoughts in the mind; do not equate it with namo (“homage”). “Harodana” is like splendor blazing forth, as if one were wearing a night pearl: read “ha” in the sense of “splendid”; “ro” is a particle, like “adorned with” or “thus”; “da” is read like “ta” and is the name of the non-setting pearl, used to liken Buddha-nature (the awakened nature you already possess). This character da is the pivot of the whole passage; wherever it is repeated, the point is to unfold its meaning. “Na” is read like “na” and is the pointing gesture, the trailing sound at a pause—it means the words have ended but spirit and intent still dwell there; it is also called a “resting utterance” particle. “Doraye ye” describes being in samadhi, in a place utterly dark: “do” is the aspect of great samadhi; “ye” is the particle “ye,” again picturing pitch blackness, with a note of likeness—it images the realm where nothing is seen or heard. This line is the general theme of the whole text, and the character da is the heart of this line.

Namo arya

“Namo” is as before: the mind without scattered thoughts.

The old explanation of namo was mistaken. In the past people uniformly followed the Buddhist reading and also relied on the Erya (an ancient lexicon), glossing it as an “assembly of sages, teachers, and friends”: the idea that these transmitted teachings of the Dharma are my sage teachers and companions—that is, “taking the ancients as one’s friends”—and that “if one does not take antiquity as one’s model, the Way is not clear.” It is better to grasp namo directly from its original sound and sense, because the graph wu (“without/none”) does not carry the “mouth” radical.

Akouli should be understood as “the precious pearl that substitutes for the sun.” The Baiguo Zhi records how Kāśyapa Buddha (one of the past Buddhas in Buddhist reckoning) taught the Dharma at Longshu Mountain on the southern foothills of Jizu (Chicken Foot) Mountain: in the time of King Yì of Zhou, there was a country in the west where the sun sank each day and light lasted only briefly; the people suffered in darkness. Kāśyapa, responding to the times, went to preach. The nāga king Akouli transformed into a gentleman and mingled with the crowd to hear the teaching. For seven days and nights that land stayed bright. The dragon heard the Buddha say “generate the mind from non-abiding” (the mind arises without clinging anywhere), joined palms, passed away, and left the pearl in his jeweled topknot. Kāśyapa (also written Kāśyapa Buddha in the text) took the pearl and set it atop the mountain tree to stand in for sun and moon. The people, grateful for this grace, called their land Akouli. By the merit of giving up the pearl, the dragon ascended and realized supreme fruition.

Later, as Kāśyapa was about to enter nirvāṇa, he taught the people on an earthen hill. A dragon girl, moved, also came to listen; hearing “even the Dharma should be relinquished, how much more what is not Dharma” (even right teaching must be let go, all the more what is not right teaching), she suddenly awakened that self-nature is originally empty, gave up her body, and became a tree. The tree bore five-colored flowers; fragrance spread a thousand yojanas (an ancient Indian measure of distance) to make offering to Kāśyapa Buddha. The Buddha named the tree Longshu (Dragon Tree) and praised it as utpala (blue lotus). By this merit the dragon girl ascended as the bodhisattva Dragon Tree King, still ranking below the venerable Akouli. Thus the merit of abandoning the body cannot match using the mind to deliver those who are deluded.

On this basis, the earlier gloss of namo is inferior to reading it as “mind within mind without thought” (xinxin wu nian—in each moment, no stray thought arises). Kou ye is an interrogative particle: could it be that the divine dragon Akouli surrendered his heart-pearl and hung it up as the pearl that replaces the sun? How vast, perfect, unobstructed, and without abiding is this radiance! That is precisely praise for the meaning of the syllable da in the opening line.

“Polu” means: Could the dragon Acarya—the guru in Esoteric Buddhism who transmits ritual procedures—cast aside his own heart pearl and set it up in place of the sun pearl shining on high? Why is this radiance so vast and complete, without obstruction and without clinging? This is praise for the meaning of the opening syllable Dan.

Polu Jiedi Shuoboluo Ye: “Polu” is a Sanskrit term; in Chinese it is called Marici (the deity of light). “Jiedi” describes the sun and moon vying in brilliance, like two rams butting—an image of the sun and moon joining as one. “Shuo” is like a flash of lightning. “Bo” denotes a round mouth and a form bright with light, hence “Shuoboluo Ye”: when sun and moon unite, their glory is like two bowls flashing against each other, each casting light on the other—again describing the meaning of the first syllable Dan. “Ye” is an interrogative particle, roughly “Is it really so?”

Bodhi Satva Ye: “Bodhi” is Sanskrit; in Chinese it is zhengjue (right awakening). “Sa” refers to the emotional aspect, “Duo” to great ding (deep samadhi), and “Bo” to pervasion and vastness. The line asks: When one who has attained right awakening enters great samadhi through the affective dimension, could the light of dharmic nature spread everywhere? Why is what is emitted and manifested so all-encompassing?

Maha Satva Ye: “Maha Sa” is Sanskrit; in Chinese it is dajue (great awakening). “Duobo” is explained as above. It is as if to say: Could that great awakened one, whose practice enters great samadhi, universally release the wisdom-light within that samadhi? This too praises the first syllable Dan.

Maha Karunika Ye: Here again “Maha Sa” is Sanskrit for dajue, and “Duobo” as above. The sense is the same: Could that great awakened one, with practice sunk in great samadhi, spread abroad the wisdom-light of samadhi? Again this praises the first syllable Dan.

This line summarizes what came before and leads into what follows. Maha (Sanskrit, “so great it cannot be measured”) means vast beyond reckoning. Jia is the title “Capable of Benevolence” (one who saves beings through compassion). Lu describes the fullness of zhenqi (innate true vital energy)—that is, the dharmakaya (the body of the Dharma, the ultimate reality-body). Ni suggests a depth of radiance beyond measure, like the sun, and is used to liken the Buddha-mind. The point is: Is there not a benevolence and zhenqi so immense that they fill empty space, embodying the spirit and norm of transcendence, perfect integration, wuwei-like non-clinging, and formlessness (not sticking to appearances or fixed shapes)—a mind both round and bright, like sunlight, universally kind, suspended in taixu (the vast void)? The commentator takes this to mean that only when the Buddha appears in the world can such a state be shown. Overall it explains the meaning of the syllable “dan,” to inspire reverence and guide people to practice accordingly.

Om

Older explanations take Om as the meaning that all the eight classes of beings (gods, dragons, and the rest of the eightfold host), together with humans and non-humans, join palms in reverence—that reading is correct. Another view treats it as an exclamation of praise: who would have thought there could be such manifold light, and all voices burst into wonder together. Both readings work.

Savara faye (transliterated)

This line says that people gain results through introspection and cultivation. Taking it as a continuation of the previous explanation is correct. Another view treats it as praise at unexpected light—again, both are fine.

Savara faye

This line says that people gain results through introspection and cultivation, picking up directly from the meaning of Om above. Mere reverence and praise—how can that alone awaken you? What matters is to notice the moment a thought moves, not fear correction, resolutely renew yourself, and hold yourself strictly to reform without slackness, as if facing a stern teacher. Then former defilements fall away and light appears. Sa refers to emotion and also to awakening. Bo is the turn from black back to white—day-by-day renewal. Fa means rigorous self-discipline. Ye means to appear: the light of one’s original nature begins to show.

Su dan na dan xie

This line says: when you cultivate the mind, the mind becomes clear. Shu (read as suo) means repeatedly—that is, constant practice. Dan points to foxing (Buddha-nature). Xie is the same as xie (to pour forth): to flow out. The meaning is: understand how to cultivate the mind at every moment—this is Buddha-nature, so everyone can become a Buddha; the classics and admonitions of past and present all pour forth from Buddha-nature.

The mantra phrase “Namo xili duo yi meng a li kou ye” is explained here according to the literal sense of each segment. “Namo” is an admonition from former times—the same canonical norm as “danxie” in the passage above. “Xi” means “utterly” or “completely,” “ji” means auspiciousness, and “li” means benefit and relief. That norm counts as truly auspicious only when it can bring a person to obtain auspiciousness and relief in full.

“Duo” denotes an instrument that guards life, of the kind used in fortifying a city. “Yi” is the three-eyed celestial deity (the three eyes signify penetrating clarity). “Meng” is dimness or obscurity, “a” is non-being or emptiness, and “li” is benefit. One should guard as “duo” does with all one’s strength, see as “yi” does with clarity, and keep auspiciousness and universal relief constantly in mind—fearing lest one slide into selfishness, as when repelling invaders or protecting life. If guarding and clarity together sink into obscurity, what good remains? Hence “meng a li kou ye.” This warns people to cherish a mind of universal salvation and not to become a “self-liberation only” type who seeks personal release and ignores others.

Another reading: “Meng” is nurturing and holding; “a” is the hidden realm where nothing is seen or heard; “li kou ye” is the thought that weighs whether something is profitable or not. These are all workings within “meng”—that is, they belong to the meaning of “namo xi ji li.” Auspicious is auspicious, and inauspicious is also treated as auspicious; profitable is profit, and unprofitable is also treated as profit—hence “xi ji li” in the comprehensive sense. “Duo” and “yi” precisely soothe this “meng,” cultivating the right path in the place of neither seeing nor hearing, without calculating whether nurture is useful or useless. This reading is the finest.

“Polujidi shifoluoleng tuopo” is the phonetic transcription of the mantra line that follows; “Polujidi” commonly appears in Sanskrit renderings of Guanyin’s names.

Balu refers to the vastness of the dharma body, like a saba world (the realm where sentient beings dwell and must endure suffering). It means that primary vital energy (Zhenqi) spreads abroad, vast and reaching everywhere; this follows from the preceding “vow of universal salvation (puji yuan).”

Jidi shi fo luo leng tuo po also follows the vow of universal salvation: as if one nurtures a dharma vessel (fa lu) as large as a saba world, to serve as the palace chamber of a great auspicious emperor, where the Buddha may dwell at ease, with wisdom light (Hui guang) as balustrades enclosing and protecting—likewise vast and all-pervading. This instructs people to guard their Buddha-nature with expansive primary vital energy, and especially to rely on wisdom light for illumination; hence the name Jidi shi fo luo leng tuo po. Leng belongs to lan (railing): it is set up to separate inner from outer, standing for the light of wisdom. Tuo describes something round and bright, radiance flashing. Po is a general term for one lifetime; here it stands for one physical body. This instructs people that keeping precepts and cultivating the path must be strict and precise.

Nanwu na luo jin chi. Nanwu is instruction from the past. Na means “what.” Luo means to set forth and expound. Jin means meticulous care, fearing the least loss of virtue; once conduct under the precepts is flawed, the effort up to that point is wasted. Chi is the cinnabar steps (dan chi)—the red steps before the palace—with nine levels, likened to the nine tiers of accomplishment (jiu cheng). What does the ancient teaching speak of? It points to the single word “jin” (meticulous care) as the stairway by which later learners enter the hall: like the nine steps of the cinnabar terrace before the hall, each careful step is one step upward. Hence it is called Nanwu na luo jin chi. This line follows the above and gathers the meaning in “jin”—what the Confucian tradition calls vigilance in solitude (shen du).

Yili mohe poduo sha mei is the mantra title given at this point in the text.

The syllable xian belongs to the same category as vinegar: its flavor is sour and its nature is astringent, able to dispel what is stale and give rise to what is new. Li is li in the sense of “benefit in crossing” (li she)—success and gain in one’s undertakings. Mohe (Sanskrit, meaning “great”) is simply “great.” Taken together, the phrase means: like vinegar, one can remove the old and bring forth the new, gathering in or releasing as needed, and the benefit thereby obtained is the greatest. Po signifies turning from black back to white. Duo is stability and settling. Sha is sentient beings. Mie is the bleating of sheep, like a small child calling its mother—a metaphor for people crying out in distress for deliverance. The meaning is: when one can renew and transform (ge gu ding xin—cast off the old and establish the new), there is the efficacy of returning from black to white, and one can settle sentient beings who wail and beg for salvation; hence the phrase xian li mohe po duo sha mie.

Another reading takes duo as stagnation and inability to move forward—affairs blocked and nothing going smoothly—so that one bleats like a sheep; this interpretation can be read alongside the first. Deliverance must rely on saving oneself. Those who are rulers or teachers can only instruct sentient beings so that each may cast off the old and renew, return to the root and restore the origin (fan ben huan yuan), and thereby quiet the sheep-like cries of supplication. This follows the previous passage: one dares not slacken even slightly, but carefully guards mind and conduct to protect one’s own Buddha-nature (innate awakened nature). If one seeks only to perfect oneself in isolation (du shan qi shen), that goes against one’s true nature and one cannot become a Buddha—such is the Buddha’s teaching. When one is careful where care is due, the benefits of correcting faults and turning toward goodness must be many; gradually one may cultivate until black returns to pure white, one’s own Buddha-nature naturally settles in great stillness, unlike sentient beings who only know to bleat and cry for help. On this reading, the emphasis is on the side of self-cultivation.

“Sabba” (sabbha) means bringing the whole world to awakening—both awakening oneself and leading others to awaken together. “Ata” means having nothing to rely on; in Indic pronunciation “ta” and “tuo” (rely/support) sound alike. “A” is “wu” (non-, without): there is nothing else to depend on. “Dou” and “tou” were homophones in older Chinese, equivalent to “shou” (head, foremost), hence “first.” “Lun” means ferrying people out and sending them to a land of peace and ease. “Peng” means those of the same kind. The idea is to treat the Saha world (the realm of birth-and-death where beings dwell, full of suffering) as one body: what is “outside” and what is “self” are not two hostile sides; all the more so for widowers, widows, orphans, and the childless—they are brothers and sisters adrift in hardship with nowhere to turn—so how could one not put them first and ferry them to a happy land? This follows on from the meaning of “shamei” above.

“Ashi yun”: “A” is non-; “shi” is to leave or depart—referring to people who have nowhere to go, on a par with those who have no one to plead to. The only “method” is to take them in and nurture them as a mother carries and raises a child in the womb; only then can the heart be at ease. That is the mind and conduct that properly belong to Buddha-nature (the awakening-nature all beings possess). Another reading takes it as “flying yaksas” (swift airborne yaksha spirits in Buddhist lore); on closer study it points to Hariti (the “mother of demons,” a figure in Buddhist tradition) and her son named “Yun.” Hariti once bore five hundred children; when she nursed, she sprinkled milk from her hand and all five hundred were filled at once—such was the power of her suckling that it can serve as a model for nourishing the multitude. See the Dazang Jiyao (Collected Essentials of the Great Canon). People often wrongly enshrine her as Guanyin (Avalokiteshvara); that is very common.

“Sabbasadhana, mabassadhana, mabhaga” are the syllables of the mantra that follow. As for “sabbasadhana,” it continues from the earlier “sa” syllable and speaks of all dharmas; see the Dazang Jiyao. Worshippers likewise often mistake the figure honored here for Guanyin—a mistake that is also widespread.

The first “Sa” means awareness; the second “Sa” means the way things are; “Po” refers to the saha world (the realm where sentient beings dwell). Taken together: be aware of how things are in the world; once the situation is clear, worldly affairs can be settled— but how is that done? Hence “Duo-na.” “Duo” is the state of being settled and unchanging; “Na” means “how can one,” a question word.

“Mo-po-sa-duo-na”: to probe and measure is how one can fully discern worldly affairs and know the path to settling them— ultimately, what policy must be carried out? “Mo” is probing; “Sa” is knowing and perceiving. “Duo-na” indicates that there is more than one way to settle things; one must ask which policy should be implemented— again a question word.

“Mo-po-qie”: to probe and measure the whole world— only by obtaining what is supreme, handing it to people and having them hold to it, is that a good policy; this is an answer. “Qie” means supreme, and also secure livelihood (stable means of subsistence). This is what the Ru tradition says: when the population is already large, what more should be added? The answer is to make them prosperous (as in the Analects).

“Mo fa te dou”: here “Mo” is tempering and sharpening— an answer; “Qie” again means supreme, secure livelihood— still the idea above: “when people are already numerous, make them prosperous.”

“Mo fa te dou”: “Mo” is mutual tempering; “Fa” is strictly demanding that one turn toward good; “Te” is “one”— “know the one and all affairs are complete” (grasp this root and all matters are resolved); “Dou” is head, i.e. first place. This continues from the above and adds further teaching. Teaching is best when people temper one another, demand good of one another strictly, converge on one principle, and do not let anyone go astray— that is “first.” It is also what the Ru tradition says: when they are already prosperous, what more should be added? The answer is education.

“Dan-zhi-ta”: a common opening in mantras, meaning “thus speak” or “namely one speaks.”

This passage continues from the meaning of “te” (special/distinct) in the preceding text. What is called “te” is the character du ( steadfast/unwavering) in this line. What is du? In Heaven it is called xi (gathering in and holding back); in human beings it is called xing (Nature). It is so vast that it has no outer limit, so fine that it has no gap; round, bright, clear, and still. Every person possesses it from the start; each one is complete from the beginning. It is not lost through hardship and wandering, nor left behind through haste and urgency. Sages, immortals, and buddhas cannot add to it; ordinary men and women cannot diminish it.

“Zhi” (this nephew reading) means “this”; “ta” means “that/it.” What is indicated is the round, full, flashing radiance like the sun—the “Great Dharani” (dharani that holds all) that is vast, complete, without obstruction, without clinging or stopping. To say “zhi ta” (“this it”) is to say “it is precisely this”—words meant to point the person to recognize it.

Om (the opening syllable of the mantra), a-po-lu-yi.

Although the form body has not yet appeared, this original nature is already present beforehand. To behold the vast, complete, unobstructed Great Compassion Heart Great Dharani (the mantra that “holds” the totality of Dharma meaning), one must in the end cultivate a falu (Dharma vessel) commensurate with the immeasurably vast Saha world (the world of suffering where sentient beings dwell), and nurture, cultivate, refine, and temper it according to the meaning of yi (reform and renewal). Abide, yet without abiding; forget both the “person” side and the “Dharma” side; once you suddenly break through, the Heart of Heaven (tianxin) shines forth clearly. Do not, on that account, suppose that everyone is originally complete and each person is naturally perfected, and then slack off and drift into the naturalistic heterodox view (the bias that no practice is needed and that simply “letting nature take its course” is enough)—and fail to reflect on yourself. The main purport is as stated above. Om is an exclamation that carries this layer of meaning. A means vast, with nothing vaster beyond it. Po is the Saha world. Lu is falu, the pre-heaven Qi (xian tian zhi qi, innate vital breath) that the form body nourishes and that can also manifest and return. Yi is “renew the old and bring forth the new,” with the sense of refining spirit and returning to emptiness (lianshen huan xu, refining Shen and reverting to the void source). This line is a major hinge between what precedes and what follows. The Om here differs from the Om in the seventh line: it is praise, and also carries a warning—praise continues the previous line, while the warning runs through this line and the key points and various explanations that follow.

Lujia di (Lu-jia-di)

This line follows from the meaning of the character yi. So-called yi is to put this falu in order, so that it is like “jia di.” “Jia di” is pure unity without ceasing—an Emperor of integrated stillness and humane ren. “Di” is stem and foundation, the root from which ren springs; it refers to the Buddha-mind. Falu is the Emperor of ren that can be benevolent; hence it is called Lujia di. This clarifies that becoming Buddha or patriarch, and seeing one’s nature with clear understanding, depends entirely on the meaning of this one word yi.

Jialuo di (Jia-luo-di)

This line says one must take ren as vast as Heaven as the foundation; hence it is called Jialuo di. Luo is the encompassing Heaven; di is stem and foundation. This clarifies that the meaning of yi should be carried to the utmost.

Yiyili (Yi-yi-li)

This is the mantra phrase that follows; within it, yi still carries the same sense as above—renewing the old, refining spirit and returning to emptiness.

This sentence picks up from what precedes it and continues to explain the meaning of the syllable Luo. Yi means level or even—the ordinary, everyday state. In common human experience, people often grow careless when they are at leisure or when they have paused their cultivation; those with real aspiration, by contrast, redouble vigilance and self-examination and do not forget the sense of xi, so their benefit does not cease of its own accord and they gain the advantage of never slackening at any moment—hence the phrase yixi li. Li is linked with li in the sense of profit or benefit: one does not obstruct oneself in the meritorious work of correcting faults and turning toward goodness.

Mohe puti saduo (Sanskrit transliteration)

This passage follows the previous one and unfolds the meaning of yuanjue, complete or perfect enlightenment. Mohe means great. Puti sa points to the Buddha’s awakening. Duo belongs with the image of a city wall: raised to shelter every kind of good conduct, as when one says that great Buddha-enlightenment guards like ramparts. The great Buddha can reach the great Buddha’s fruition because there is no time and no place at which self-awareness is absent; for that reason it is called yuanjue, and what is named great Buddha-enlightenment is itself yuanjue. Enlightenment must be complete; its full efficacy rests on ordinary moments, on never for an instant relaxing the meaning of xi. Here awareness (jue) is again taken as protection. Duo is the golden citadel within fahai, the Dharma ocean—the vast expanse of Buddhist teaching.

Sapvasapva (Sanskrit transliteration, meaning “all” or “everything”).

The first syllable “sa” means penetrating awareness—a clear, thorough knowing. “Po” is used as a metaphor for the vastness of body and world, like the Saha realm (the world of endurance where beings must bear various sufferings). The second “sa” also refers to the various emotions that arise within body and world. The second “po” differs in meaning from the first “po”: it stands for awareness that is both comprehensive and fine-grained—again vast and all-pervading like the Saha, omitting nothing small or great—hence “sapo sapo.”

“Sapo sapo” means that one first penetrates and knows the emotions arising in body and world, and only then can one address those emotions and remedy hidden faults such as lack of rectitude, lack of unity, lack of emptiness and stillness, lack of clarity and brightness, lack of purity and limpidity, and lack of quiescence and stability—leaving nothing unremedied. This remedying is all-pervading, vast, deep, and subtle; that is the sense of this “po.” “Po” originally carries the sense of universal, all-encompassing, and vast; it need not be explained the same way as the first “po.” This line applies to the level of temperament and vital quality, and has the efficacy of purifying the eight consciousnesses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind, manas, and ālaya).

“Molo molo” is the next set of four transliterated syllables—an emphatic double invocation of “molo.”

“Mo” means rubbing and cleansing; “luo” takes its model from “lu.” This follows the earlier line “sapo sapo” (mantra syllables pointing to progress in cultivation). The previous passage only involved awareness at the level of the physical body (se shen); this line applies rubbing and cleansing on the fa lu (the locus of dharma), hence “moluomo.”

“Po,” “lu,” and “luo” all refer to the fa ti (dharma body) that the practitioner already possesses, only at different levels. “Luo” takes heaven as its model; “po” takes earth; “lu” takes spirit (shen). “Luo” approaches pure oneness; “lu” has just risen above form and appearance (se xiang) but has not fully left form—it is merely no longer cut off from heaven and earth; “po” stresses establishing de (virtue). The three differ in qi (vital breath) and in countless ways, and the realms they reach are not the same; therefore “mo” and “sa” also differ, yet none of them departs from the meaning of “xi.” In this line, “mo” must be rubbed until pure benevolence (chun ren)—then it is nearly complete; that is “moluomo,” when “luo” is already without distinction, hence “moluomoluo.”

“Moximoxilituoyun” (the mantra phrase) continues the above and explains that what is called “moluomoluo” is simply teaching one to practice “moximo.” “Mo” is mutual rubbing; rub until pure benevolence—then it is nearly there; that is “moluomo,” and “luo” is non-dual, so it is called “moluomoluo.” The closing “moximoxilituoyun” is the seal of this mantra.

This passage continues from what precedes it: what is called “moluo moluo” is, after all, no more than an exposition of “moyimo.”

“Mo” is mutual grinding and mutual enhancement—each side sharpening the other toward the good. Within it, emptiness and fullness grind against each other, truth and illusion grind against each other, hardness and softness, stillness and movement, the old and the new, light and darkness—all grind without end; the benefit gained has no boundary, and cannot be fully captured in speech or writing.

The quality of “yi” is to clear stagnation and bring forth fresh vitality, and so it is used as a likeness. “Li” means benefit—the good that comes from clearing stagnation and generating the new. The Diamond Sutra says: “The Buddha generates his mind from non-abiding.” “Abiding” is stagnation and clinging. Taking the sense of “yi,” it is what removes “abiding”; once that position is removed, there is no clinging. From emptying the four marks (self, person, sentient being, and lifespan) all the way to forgetting both extremes—this all falls under the meaning of “yi.” To speak of “moyimo” is like using Buddhist teaching to polish one another, with the heart’s aim only to be like “yi”; then the grinding does not fall into emptiness, and one naturally receives the benefit of “yi”—hence “moyimo yili.”

“Tuo” means to carry along; “yun” means to contain within, as a child rests in the mother’s womb—hence “tuoyun,” the sense that human nature is originally good. Another reading takes “li” as “li” (principle), which also holds: because of mutual grinding the effect of “yi” appears; because of “yi” one sees clearly into Buddha-dharma; this principle is not obtained from outside but is, as it were, carried from the womb from the beginning—so “moyimo yili tuoyun.”

“Julu julujie meng” still carries on from above: who among people today is not born from the womb already endowed with the dharma-body (the body of inherent dharma-nature)? Hence “julu.” “Lu” called “ju” also implies pervading all things without lack—therefore it is said again, “moyimo yili tuoyun.”

This passage continues the preceding text: who among people today is not already endowed with the dharma-body (fashen—the body of truth, complete from the start) the moment they leave the womb? Hence the term “kulou” (ju lu). Calling it “ju” together with “lu” also implies pervasion without lack—what is meant by “fa lu” (the dharma as pervading presence). When one is first born and not yet a child, one is purely in chaos; thus one can preserve everything one originally has. Though one is then only like a lump of flesh, one’s qi is already directly one with heaven and earth—hence “kulou.”

The character for “lu” is used figuratively for the dharma-body by abstracting from the sense of “lu” as lodging. “Lu” (lodging) is a dwelling where people live; it has a roof above and is separated from heaven—like a body not yet cultivated. “Lu” (the homophone in the mantra sense) has nothing covering it above and no barrier at the sides; the person rests wholly within it and communicates directly with heavenly qi, with the subtlety of not knowing whether heaven is self or self is heaven. This likens the true qi in the human body appearing in all directions above and below: though it resembles “lu” (lodging), it has neither cover nor obstruction, and is thus like “lu” in the other sense. That is why “lu” stands for the dharmakaya.

When one grows a little and consciousness arises, the two aspects of heaven and human appear; the more one grows, the more one loses—like rams butting—until one is clouded and confused. This is the struggle between principle and desire: if principle wins, the dharmakaya remains; if desire wins, the dharmakaya is lost—what is called “jiemeng” (jie meng). “Jie” is the image of rams butting; “meng” is the image of delusion. “Kulou” is repeated to lead into what follows: a warning not to rely on innate completeness and fail to practice “moxie” (mo xi—the cultivation the text says must be added).

“Duludulu fashe kouyedi” (du lu du lu fa she kou ye di). “Du” means to save or cross over oneself: one should see to it that the dharmakaya is not merely kept from being lost. The scripture again explains: “jie” is the appearance of rams butting, “meng” the appearance of delusion; “kulou” is repeated to lead into the next lines, teaching people not to trust in what is originally complete without applying moxie. The mantra repeats: “Duludulu fashe kouyedi.”

“Du” (liberation) means liberating yourself by yourself. A person should not only keep the Dharmakāya (the true body or awakened embodiment in Buddhist teaching) from being lost, but also find a way to carry it across—to “cross over” it. This Dharmakāya is like the Buddha’s dwelling; taken together it is called the “Dharma dwelling,” the outward appearance in which Buddha-nature shows itself—which in the Daoist tradition is also called “fireless Qi” (qi untainted by the restless “fire” of agitation). To carry this qi across, one can only do so in the stillness when the ten thousand sounds have fallen silent, with vigorous, un slackening effort, not letting it be pulled for an instant into empty delusion by anything seen or heard—at most it may pause ever so slightly. “Fa” means to reprove or command; “Shekouyedi” is the mind of vigorous, advancing effort.

Mahā fa shekouyedi

This line continues the above: one should greatly command this mind of vigorous effort; only then will the miraculous effects described below appear.

Tuóluó tuóluó

“Tuóluó” describes vigorous, unrelenting effort—turning round and round like a wheel that never stops. Saying it twice shows that the effort does not slacken on its own. What is called “Yang” here is this round, wheel-like mind of effort; only then do the effects in the following text arise.

Tuóluó tuóluó

Again “tuóluó” is vigorous, un slackening effort, turning like a wheel; repeating it confirms that one does not let oneself idle or rest. Here “Yang” means round and bright, glittering—like a pearl rolling without pause in a dish, never stopping or lingering by itself; only in that way does what follows as “Dìlìní” appear. “Luó” means pervading everywhere. Another reading: never forgetting Amitābha, recognizing his Dharmakāya, penetrating his Dharmadhātu, contemplating with one mind without slackening or interruption—this too is “tuóluó tuóluó.” That reading is also extremely subtle.

Dìlìní

That is what appears along with such vigorous effort, as stated above.

“Dili ni” (di-li-ni): Di means to wrap and contain; li means to penetrate and flow freely; ni means the sun, and also the Buddha-mind. The “śarīra” (the pearl of Buddha-nature condensed in the heart) spoken of in the sutra refers to this. This line continues the previous one: it is the heart-pearl that is deeply hidden yet circulates with unobstructed flow—hence the name “Dili ni.” It is the Tianxin (Heavenly Heart, the innate original mind) within the human Buddha-mind. Originally it need neither be cultivated nor verified. Yet one must first fulfill the conditions described above before one can actually perceive it in experience: it is as vast as the earth element (in Buddhist teaching, one of the elements that make up phenomena) without being hollow or empty; like the sun, its benefit extends everywhere without partiality; benevolence and awe are both present—so that the whole of this Buddha-nature is displayed. From antiquity to the present, what immortals, Buddhas, and sages have practiced and restored is precisely this.

“Shifoluo ye” (shi-fo-luo-ye): Continuing from above, one should install and honor this “Dili ni,” as one would install the Buddha in an inner chamber. Ye is an interrogative particle: it prompts the listener—this is exactly what one ought to do in enshrining it. Shi originally means a palace or hall; here it is a metaphor for reverent protection that must not slacken or be neglected. What follows explains this meaning.

“Zheluo zheluo” (zhe-luo zhe-luo): Continuing from above, one must protect and guard it and allow no slightest negligence—hence “Zheluo zheluo,” that is, guarding it again and again.

“Momo famoluo” (mo-mo fa-mo-luo): Momo is like saying that someone has made a certain vow. This instructs the practitioner: when the light of seeing one’s nature is complete and the true heart is fully revealed, one should silently pray and establish a vow—hence it is called momo. Famoluo means to vow to admonish and discipline one’s courageous mind, to grind and polish it diligently and to hold to the practice continuously, so that the path is firm and Buddha-nature stays constantly bright.

“Mudi li” (mu-di-li): Following the prayer above, a vision appears in which the myriad sounds fall silent; at this moment one prays silently and makes the vow—hence momo. Famoluo is the wish to admonish the courageous mind, to grind and hold diligently, so that the path is solid and Buddha-nature remains ever bright.

This line follows directly from the prayer above and presents a scene in which all sounds fall silent and only one spirit appears. How marvelous! Only at this point can one truly say that the mind is clarified and one’s original nature is seen (mingxin jianxing—the mind-ground is clear and illuminates one’s own true nature). “Mu” means utterly without form and utterly still; “di” means the utmost; what is “li”? Nothing other than this single spirit.

“Yi yi yi yi”: “Yi” refers to a celestial deity with three eyes. When practice reaches this stage, the wisdom eye (the eye that can penetrate and discern how things truly are) is fully opened—that is the “li” spoken of above. Ordinary people, heaven and earth, past and future, the sentient and the non-sentient: their hidden aspects and their conditions can all be seen. Though sages possess this capacity, they use it only to cultivate and rectify themselves; hence “yi yi yi yi”—nothing more than relying on this measure of wisdom-power to cultivate and to verify.

“Shi na shi na”: This line continues from above and says that this wisdom eye ought to be deeply stored away and not used before the proper time. “Na” means “this,” referring to this wisdom eye; “shi” means to hide deep. Said twice, it means to hide it deeply, then hide it deeply again.

“A luo chan fo, luo she li” are transliterated words and phrases from scripture and mantra.

This line means that only when you broaden your own measure of tolerance does virtue become truly vast. “A-jie-shen-fo” is the idea of regarding everyone under heaven as no different from a Buddha. “Luo-she-li” is the idea of regarding everyone as a good spiritual friend (kalyāṇamitra)—someone who can lead others toward the good—and as endowed with great wisdom. “Shen” here means equality; “She-li” is the epithet of foremost wisdom; “Luo” points to the world, that is, all under heaven; “A-luo” extends that outlook to the whole world below heaven; “Shen-fo” means that all possess Buddha-nature (the innate capacity for awakening), and is said in a way that includes all things. This is certainly teaching magnanimity of heart as virtue, but it is also the wisdom eye (the eye of wisdom that sees things as they truly are) shining clearly, seeing the original face of the myriad things: they all unfold from the Buddha’s transformative power, all carry great Buddha-nature and great wisdom-light—not merely “being broad-minded.” This is what is called the Buddha’s knowledge and vision (Buddha-jñāna-darśana).

“Fa-sha fa-shen”: “Fa” means stick-and-shout—the sharp, head-on admonition used to rouse people toward the good. “Sha” is a name for sentient beings, the multitude. “Shen” is equality. The Buddha teaches sentient beings with severity precisely because sentient beings are equal to the Buddha: he cannot simply let them sink on their own, hence “fa-sha fa-shen.” In other words, when I chastise sentient beings, it is not because they are unlike me—it is because they are the same as me. When seeing is authentic, teaching naturally becomes earnest.

“Fo-luo-she-ye”: This line follows directly on the above. It means: would I not wish to embody the Buddha’s mind and meet them with broad forbearance? It is precisely because sentient beings have Buddha-nature that this phrase is spoken.

“Hu-lu hu-lu mo-luo”: These are transliterated syllables from a mantra (dhāraṇī).

Not only could I not escape punishment and cast them aside; I also commanded them each to utter “huhu huhu” and to polish one another in that way. That is exactly because I entered the Buddha’s mind—aligned with the Buddha’s compassion—and could not bear to abandon them. This line picks up from what came before, which is why it says “huhu huhu mola.” “Huhu” is the sound of polishing; saying it twice is the sound of mutual polishing. “Mo” means to polish or refine, and “la” is a sentence-final particle.

Huhu huhu xili: this follows directly from the above. I had them “huhu huhu” in the hope that they could gain for themselves as ferment does. Ferment can break up stagnation; once stagnation is cleared, new life arises naturally. It is a metaphor for people polishing one another: old habits and defilements are gradually stripped away, and bright virtue is renewed day by day—hence the figure of “xili.”

Suoluo suoluo: the sal tree is a great tree of the Western regions, often used as a metaphor for sons of eminent families. Here it stands for the shelter that those who have attained the Way through deep cultivation provide for others, like the shade of the sal tree covering the multitude. The repetition shows that they will surely shelter the masses as the sal tree does.

Xili xili: “xi” means all alike, without exception; “li” means fitting or appropriate—nothing out of place, nothing inappropriate in what they do. This continues the previous point: such benefit is broad and everywhere advantageous. Still, for “xili xili” to be true benefit, it must be as described below.

Sulu sulu: “su” suggests looseness or release, and also sprouting and coming forth; “lu” is reed or rush.

“Su” is pine (song), and also means to sprout forth and emerge; “lu” is reed or rush, pointing to the sight of life-generating qi (vital energy) showing itself outward. The passage depicts wisdom, virtue, buddhahood, and benevolence rising vigorously, as if with audible motion—like shoots breaking soil and giving a “su lu, su lu” sound that can yet be “heard” where there is neither hearing nor seeing. It pushes the sense of the earlier mantra syllables “xi li, xi li” to an extreme.

“Pu ti” (bodhi) is the Buddha’s awakening—his knowing and seeing. “Ye” (night) means what is hidden and concealed: the state of not seeing and not knowing, the moment of utmost stillness. When stillness reaches its limit, the light of wisdom appears. The phrase is repeated to show unceasing increase. What the text above describes as sprouting like “su lu, su lu” is exactly this: it should arise in deep quiet (jing du—stillness already profound), hence “pu ti ye, pu ti ye.”

“Pu” is taken pictographically as “universal”; “tuo” as “to bear” or “carry”; “ye” as silent and hidden—as if universally bearing beings in the dark—whence “pu tuo ye.” Again, doubling the phrase signals uninterrupted increase. Another reading interprets “ye” as deep water and “tuo” as the name of a jellyfish-like creature, linked to “bearing”; even on that water-and-creature reading, the sense holds.

“Mi” suggests something vast and thorough. What is densely loaded and densely increased above is said to be the treasure by which the Hidden Lord (Mi Di—the secret sovereign) benefits and protects beings in the dark night—hence “mi di li ye,” clarifying the previous line. Another gloss identifies “Mi Di” with a person’s true heart (zhen xin), which is also valid.

Na luo jin chi is a transliterated phrase within the mantra.

“Na” is a demonstrative word pointing to midili ye (in this passage, the treasure that body and worldly existence depend upon). “Luo” is the world; the world here means the body. “Jin” means to cultivate all Buddha-dharma (the path of Buddhist practice) with care and diligence. “Chi” is the dan chi (the red steps before a hall); there are nine levels, used as a metaphor for the stages of merit and practice. The meaning is: midili ye is what this body and this life rely on; you must cultivate without slackening, understand the path to the Pure Land of ultimate bliss (a realm of purity and ease), and ascend step by step along the steps; such a climbable chi is this treasure. The chi has nine levels and merit has nine degrees, hence it is called naluo jin chi.

Dili sene na

Building on “chi” above: merit has only nine layers, but the rules are many. You must bear insult and be gentle and soft, taking the great earth as your model; you must also hold a mind of universal benefit and universal rescue; inwardly harmonize heart and qi, outwardly harmonize with the principles of things; and you must be bright like the sun, not falling into dullness, with conduct that is round, clear, and all-pervading, and virtue free of self and others (not clinging to the split between self and others)—only then can you advance on the path without obstruction, finish the steps, and enter the hall. This authority is yours; you apply your own effort, and in the end you can arrive. Hence it is called dili sene na. Di is taking the great earth as model; li is the mind of universal rescue; se is harmonizing; ni is the sun; na is you. This continues the previous text and sets out the norms of practice.

Bo ye mo na is a transliterated title or name.

“Bo” means “well departed” or “a good end,” and also the practice of moistening and nourishing, of cultivating the original mind. “Ye” means vigilance in solitude—remaining careful and self-restrained when alone—and carries the idea of gathering in and withdrawing. “Mo” means to temper oneself while waiting: to be at peace where one is and await heaven’s mandate. “Na” means “you,” indicating that the power to choose rests with yourself. From here to the end, everything speaks of how quickly the effect comes, to show how marvelous is the mind of the heart mantra of the Great Dharani (dharani)—vast, complete, unobstructed, and without fixation.

Another reading: the meaning is a good end, so that the yétái (the dark realm) is secure; in life one cultivates body and mind and tempers one’s nature, waiting for departure to the west—how it will turn out is still unknown, hence “Bo Ye Mo Na.” On this view, “Bo” is a good end, “Ye” the yin offices, “Mo” cultivation, and “Na” “how?” This reading fits what follows quite well and reads smoothly. Still another gloss: when one passes to the yétái and undergoes various trials and punishments, what then? That too can work.

Suo po he (Svaha): “Suo po” is as if to say “everything”—all are opened and restored, all are liberated. “He” means swiftly. Another gloss: “Suo” as speed, “po” as restoration, “he” as rejoicing—that also works.

Xi tuo ye: “Xi” means entirely. “Ye” means the long night, i.e., hell. “Tuo” points to buddha-nature; some say it is “du” (crossing over)—buddha-nature is precisely in this crossing. The line means: if one vows to use buddha-light to ferry entirely the beings of the long night, and can truly save them with this dharani, the long night of hell will surely be emptied.

Suo po he: continuing the above—that nothing fails to be ferried, and that swiftly—because what one holds to ferry others is precisely the mind of great compassion and the Great Dharani, vast, complete, and unobstructed; it should be nothing less. Svaha.

This passage picks up from what came before: no one is beyond rescue, and rescue comes swiftly. The mantra used for deliverance is the vast, complete, unobstructed Great Compassion Heart Great Dharani (Dabei xin da tuoluoni); beings in hell are all to be brought out and freed—hence “Svaha” (the closing phrase of mantras, meaning “may it be fulfilled as intended”).

Mahā Siddha Yā: Even when there are immeasurably vast iron ring-mountains (the iron ranges that hem in hell), immeasurably vast Avīci hells, and every kind of great hell, deliverance through this dharani turns the long night short: no hell remains unemptied by liberation—hence “Mahā Siddha Yā.”

Svaha: Not only can all be saved; they are saved very quickly.

Siddha Yūyì: This refers to those who pray for penetrating awakening, divine insight, and skillful arts. “Yù” means clear understanding; “yì” means divine wisdom and accomplishment. It is knowing the full range of worldly situations and the wondrous arts of transformation and display.

Shì bō luó yé: The wish is to shelter and uphold those whose splendor has faded and whose body and spirit are worn, so they may long abide in Luó Heaven and the human realm. As the scripture says, even faces aged and unsightly as a donkey’s muzzle and lips can again become as ruddy as bēluó fruit—something ordinarily hard to achieve—hence “Shì bō luó yé.” “Yé” carries a questioning or exclamatory tone; “shì” is protection and support; “bō” names decline and refers to white-haired age; “luó” is Luó Heaven and the human world. In short: protect the failing body and extend life in the world. This follows the sense of “yì” (arts) in the line above.

Svaha: Divine awakening and skillful wisdom are originally in one’s own nature; what is sought is obtained, and its efficacy is exceedingly subtle. To pray for protection in decline and to remain in embodied life is likewise within one’s allotted nature—do not treat it as empty fantasy. By the power of this dharani, none who seek such protection fail to have their wish granted—hence “Svaha” throughout.

Nà luó jǐn chí: This is for those who wish to ascend and realize the fruit of Luó Heaven. “Nà” is a pointing or specifying word; “luó” is Luó Heaven. The heavens are thirty-six tiers; one relies on the power of this dharani, cultivates with care, and rises.

This line expresses the wish to ascend and realize the fruit of the Luotian realm. Na is a word that points to something definite. Luo means Luotian (the “Luo Heaven”). Heaven has thirty-six levels; one hopes, by the power of this dharani—the secret spell chanted in practice—to climb with care and diligence, as if mounting steps. What is spoken is the wish to reach a certain heaven level, hence the phrase narajingchi (na-luo-jin-chi). Chi belongs to the staircase; among the levels one may rise through are nine steps of the cinnabar terrace (danchi).

Svaha

This means that by holding and chanting this dharani, even realization of Buddhahood can be achieved—how much more the fruit of Luotian. Therefore the text affirms: svaha (the closing word of the spell indicating fulfillment).

Mara-nara

This line expresses the wish that the Dou Heaven (Doutian) protect the people of the world that Luo covers. Mo refers to the Marici Heaven (Molizhiluo Tian), hence “Mara.” Na is like saying “that.” Luo is the world under its canopy, hence “nara.” The meaning is: may the Dou Heaven turn calamity into blessing and restore peace to a troubled age.

Svaha

This means that this is a broadly protective, benevolent vow; in dharani practice there is no request that cannot be fulfilled, so the text says svaha.

Siruoseng amuqiye

This line expresses the wish that in that Luo world, all who cultivate the Way and live as monks may cultivate pure karma and not take side paths or heterodox ways. Xi means “all.” Svaha.

Siruoseng amuqiye

This line expresses the wish that in that Luo world, all who cultivate the Way and live as monks may cultivate pure karma and not enter bypaths or crooked routes. Xi means “entirely.” Luo refers to the Way of Heaven. Seng refers to the Buddha Way. A means “without exception.” Mu is pure karma. Qie is a side trail branching off. Ye is a crooked road; ye and xie (heterodox) are interchangeable, so ye is read as xie. According to the Zhengyun (Correct Rhymes), qie is also glossed as qu (to dispel). Mu-qie-ye can also be read as using stillness and purity to dispel what is heterodox.

Svaha

This means that though the vow is vast, it is precisely the heart of the great compassion great dharani, so the text says svaha.

Sabamo hasituoye

This is a spell line: saba means “may it be accomplished,” maha means “vast,” continuing from the great compassion great dharani heart above.

This line continues from what precedes it and develops it further. Saha (Sanskrit: the world in which sentient beings dwell) is a name for the entire world; when it is called maha (Sanskrit: “great”), the scope extends to the three thousand great thousand worlds (the vast cosmos composed of innumerable worlds). The text again says A-si-tuo-ye (a transliteration of a Sanskrit mantra phrase), showing that this vow reaches the utmost limit. A means all-embracing; xi means pervading everything; tuo refers to the great dhāraṇī (a spell that “holds” the meaning of the Dharma and has the power to gather and sustain); ye means a heaven without night. Within the dhāraṇī there is its own light that dispels darkness, hence tuo-ye. Whoever makes this vow possesses this tuo within. If one can teach the multitude as promised below, then even in remote and impoverished villages there will be leaders who uphold this dhāraṇī to guide others; everyone will mutually appear to one another and enlighten one another, and these three thousand great thousand worlds will all become heavens forever without night—therefore the text below ultimately seals and approves this.

Svāhā (the closing phrase of a mantra, expressing fulfillment and “may it be accomplished”)

The explanation is as in the note above: it seals and approves the greatness of this vow-power. This vow-power is precisely the mind of great compassion and the great dhāraṇī, and its efficacy comes swiftly.

Zhe-ji-luo A-si-tuo-ye

This line means: may there be no malevolent stars (e-yao, calamity-bringing celestial bodies) in the heavens, and then there will be no disasters on earth. When disaster arrives, it is because malevolent stars shine down; without malevolent stars, what clings to heaven are all auspicious stars (ji-yao, fortune-bringing celestial bodies)—why worry that the world cannot become one of great light? This vow may seem abstruse, but in fact it is straightforward and correct. The stars themselves are neither good nor evil; it is only because the world’s li qi (a rebellious, inauspicious atmospheric force) rises and congeals upon them that they become malevolent stars. By the power of this dhāraṇī, that li qi is dissolved; when qi returns to simplicity and thickness, malevolent stars turn into auspicious ones. Whether this can happen depends solely on whether the one who recites the mantra is resolute—therefore the text below likewise seals and approves it.

Svāhā

The commentary above already explains this; here again it affirms that the vow-power is firm. What is spoken is the true face of the heart of the great dharani (zongchi zhouwen, the all-encompassing mantra), which is why it is called svaha (suopohe, the closing “accomplishment” word of the mantra, meaning the wish is fulfilled).

The line “Potuomojie xiduo ye” (Bo-tuo-mo-jie xi-duo ye) means: may the sea not rise in waves, so that merchants and travelers may be secure. Bo is sea waves; tuo is a hillside slope; mo is surging upward with force; jie is the way things clash against one another. This describes a sudden hurricane, fierce in strength, like rams butting—when travelers meet it, boats capsize and sink, people are buried in the bellies of fish, a grievous sight. Duo is calm, wind and waves still; ye is the scene of darkness. Such hurricanes do not arise without cause; they are summoned by qi of imbalance (bu ping zhi qi). If one can recite this dharani and contemplate it, imbalance is fully settled, and this calamity has the meaning of immediate release—hence the confirmation in the text below.

Svaha (suopohe) means that by calming the inner mind and holding the mantra, the effect can appear at once—hence it is called svaha.

The line “Naluojinchi poluojialiye” (Na-luo-jin-chi bo-luo-jia-li ye) means: when the age meets heaven-sent disaster and change, may those who are seasoned in years and hold high rank raise the heart that protects a father to protect the sovereign. Naluojinchi is like saying that heaven warns the ruler above, so that he knows caution and fear. Chi is the red hall (danchi), the ruler’s court—heaven in the vault of sky warning the ruler. Whenever famine or war comes, one only wishes that white-haired, seasoned lords and marquises would bring forth a father-protecting heart to guard the king; then the ruler is secure, the people have someone to relieve them, and the world is at peace. Bo (here poluo context) indicates seasoned mastery; jia refers to fief and rank; luo is thorough protection; ye corresponds to “ye” (lord/father term), meaning father. This is the first method of saving beings from calamity.

Svaha again indicates that this vow receives confirmation and can be accomplished.

When calamitous times arrive, it is because Heaven abhors the disorder in the world and therefore sends warning signs. If people can recite this dharani with sincere devotion and thereby resonate with the divine, what they seek will naturally be fulfilled. “Luo” means all-encompassing protection and support. “Ye” is equivalent to “ye” (father). This is the first method for averting calamity.

Svaha

When calamity descends, it is because Heaven abhors chaos and shows its warning. If one can sincerely uphold this dharani to resonate with the Way, responses will come of themselves and wishes will be fulfilled—hence it is called svaha (the closing phrase of a mantra, meaning accomplishment and fulfillment of intent).

Mo po li sheng jie luo ye

This line expresses the vow to dispel sudden outbreaks of destructive fate, the triumph of the Asuras (a class of beings prone to strife), and the suffering of living beings on earth. “Mo po” refers to the realm of the Asuras. “Li sheng” refers to those beings who take victory as their gain. “Jie” means two sides locked in struggle, hard to undo. “Luo ye” evokes a world where the people suffer as if they never saw daylight. It is truly heartbreaking, and so one vows to resolve it.

Svaha

In such destructive times, Heaven and humanity alike grieve. If one can truly uphold the mantra and apply oneself to release the calamity, the virtues of Heaven and humanity align; though the Asuras are fierce, the Buddha can restrain them. One need only move them with a heart of great compassion—the angry mind will extinguish itself and angry qi will at once dissolve. Hence it is called svaha, and one vows accordingly to dispel the disaster.

Svaha

In such destructive times, Heaven and humanity all lament. If one can uphold the mantra and work to resolve it, Heaven and humanity unite in virtue; though the Asuras are overbearing, the Buddha can check them. One has only to resonate through a heart of great compassion—the angry mind ceases on its own and angry qi transforms immediately. Therefore it is called svaha.

Namo he la da na duo la ye kou ye

The detailed explanation of this line appears at the opening of the text. It means that if people vow to cultivate and seek realization, all is as shown at the opening. The vow may seem empty, yet it is not empty; those who earnestly practice are likewise not empty. Thus the vows differ, and realization and practice differ as well. Though great and small diverge, the Buddha approves each in turn, because every person inherently possesses this buddha-nature. What is approved is the Tathagata’s (a title of the Buddha) true speech.

Namo a li kou ye

See the explanation at the opening. This is the holy teacher and spiritual companion in your heart, also the pearl that shines in the night (a luminous jewel in the dark, a metaphor for the light originally present in the mind)—long sealed and covered by ordinary, worldly qi. The characters for “li” and “li” (pear) are interchangeable in sound and usage here.

Po lu ji di

This is the transliteration of a mantra phrase that follows next.

At the opening of the text, “Ji Di” (the auspicious lord) is already explained in detail: what is meant here is the lord of auspiciousness that you inherently possess in your own mind—it is not something that descends upon you from outside. The syllable rendered as lu in one form is equivalent to Lu in another.

“Shuo po luo ye”: the explanation is likewise given at the beginning. The “shuo” (radiance, brightness) was originally emitted from your own heart; it has only been blocked all along by attachment to material desires. The syllable po corresponds to bo.

“Suo po he”: this means that once you set your resolve, there is no wish that cannot be fulfilled. For this is what everyone is fully endowed with from the start and what each person completes in themselves—it does not come from outside. Those who hold fast find that restoration comes naturally and swiftly. Hence each phrase is sealed with “suo po he.”

“Om xi dian du”: from this line onward, the words are the Buddha’s encouragement to the assembly. “Om” is a sighing sound; “xi” means “all alike”; “dian” (read like dian, “shop”) suggests stopping and not advancing; “du” means “excellent”—praise and exhortation. The sense is something like: Alas, why are you willing to hang back and refuse to go forward? Do you think you are too deeply stained ever to be pure again? Or that you are a poor horse unworthy of the whip? The Buddha too became what he is through human cultivation; you are also human. Whoever is willing to act can do the same. Seen with the wisdom eye, each person is a body of purity, each is material fit for a fine steed (a thousand-li horse); all can become Buddha or patriarch—hence “du.” This is the Buddha’s language of great compassion, and it is true without falsehood.

“Man duo luo”: “man” is slackness, “duo” is halting and not progressing, and “luo” refers to the realm of humans and heavens (the world where people and the devas dwell). The point is that you inherently possess Buddha-nature (the nature by which one becomes Buddha) and Buddha-power, yet you slacken and stand still, unwilling to act or to rise—have you not been born in vain in this human-and-heavenly world? This layer of meaning follows from the word “om.”

“Ba tuo ye”: a transliterated phrase from the mantra.

“Ba” means to depart or go away; “tuo” refers to the great dharani—the mantra that “holds” the meaning of the Dharma in full—namely the vast, complete, and wholly unobstructed great compassion dharani. This mind is originally complete in every person, originally perfect in each one, yet people cast it aside themselves and say they have lost it; they simply have not reflected carefully. “Ye” marks a question. Here the text has already decided that it cannot be lost; the question is posed on others’ behalf on purpose, hence “Batuo ye.”

“Svaha” (often placed at the end of a mantra, meaning swift assent and immediate fulfillment): You all abandon one another and all say you have lost it; if you can raise a courageous mind, then even if you once lost it, you can at once receive assent and recover it—hence it is called “svaha.”

The piece is titled Postface to the Annotations on the Great Compassion Dharani—that is, the postface to this commentary.

The wondrous chapter of the Great Compassion Heart Mahā-dhāraṇī—vast, complete, and without obstruction—is preserved in old editions with glosses under each line and embroidered images; every phrase is named as a title of the Buddha or of the heavens. Great predecessors and teachers criticized this practice: the spell only unfolds the working of Buddha-nature, as large as no outside and as small as no inside; once it is fixed in labels, it falls into seeing and hearing, and the wondrous chapter is belittled. Min Xiaogen (style Xiaogen), grasping this point, pondered it for a long time and seemed to gain some insight. Few good editions exist in the world, and miswritten characters and faulty punctuation are many. This autumn, at Lianhua Hermitage in Gusu (Suzhou), he obtained an old transmitted good edition. The hermitage is where Jiang Yuanyi resided permanently. Because Lu Hu’an, Xue Xinxian, and Xu Nanyai—three gentlemen—were staying there, Xiaogen was able to see it. He carefully worked through the intent, compared it with what he had seen and heard, chose wording that read smoothly and correctly, and annotated line by line. He dared not treat himself as authoritative; he only wished to clarify one or two points of subtle principle so that those who uphold the text would know how to read it and the Buddha’s words would not be torn apart—that was his aim. If one called this a commentary to be trusted as doctrine, that would be creating karma; how could he not be rejected by the great predecessors and long-time teachers? After the notes were finished he wrote these lines, seeking correction. On the Double Ninth of the dingchou year, the twenty-second year of the Jiaqing reign, the monk Jilian (style Xiaogen), Min Xiaogen of Wuxing (Huzhou), respectfully appended this at Yuxiang Heaven, Lianhua Hermitage.

Records of Quanzhen Visitation according to the Pure Regulations and Mysterious Subtlety

Supplementary Records of Quanzhen Visitation according to the Pure Regulations and Mysterious Subtlety

The above collections were compiled by Biyunzi and revised by Xiaoyaoke. My mountain lies apart at Jingai in Wuxing; the community wished to hear of them, so they were reprinted. Min Xiaogen respectfully appended this.

Essentials to Know about the Rules

The Celestial Bureau examines and verifies the dharma lineages of descendants of immortals.

The Dao has a root of teaching; immortals have dharma lineages. If the dharma lineage is unclear, the person is not genuine; if the root of teaching is unclear, the teaching is not orthodox. Therefore in Quanzhen visitation, one must check dharma lineage, root of teaching, and the dharma lineages of descendants.

The Dao has a root and a source, and within the immortal tradition each lineage has its own transmitted school. When the school cannot be stated clearly, the person is not genuine; when the origin of the teaching cannot be distinguished, the teaching is not orthodox. For this reason, when Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practitioners go out to visit others, they always investigate the other party’s dharma lineage and doctrinal source.

In this line, transmission runs from Donghua Dijun (the patriarch venerated as founder in Quanzhen Daoism) through five generations to Patriarch Wang Chongyang of the Northern school, who founded the Quanzhen teaching and in one stroke ordained seven true persons—the “Seven True Ones”—each with a title and a lineage poem (a fixed generation poem that marks one’s place in the succession). Those who belong to the direct bloodline of transmission invariably know their school name.

The seven schools are: first, the Longmen (Dragon Gate) school of Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji); second, the Suishan school of Patriarch Liu (Liu Chuxuan); third, the Nanwu school of Patriarch Tan (Tan Chuduan); fourth, the Yuxian (Meeting the Immortal) school of Patriarch Ma (Ma Yu); fifth, the Huashan (Mount Hua) school of Patriarch Hao (Hao Datong); sixth, the Yushan (Mount Yu) school of Patriarch Wang (Wang Chuyi); and seventh, the Qingjing (Pure Stillness) school of Patriarch Sun (Sun Buer). Each of the Seven True Ones opened a school and transmitted it; the registers of the Daoist community are preserved and can be checked one by one.

When one meets by chance someone outside the community who speaks of lineage yet cannot match authentic transmission, that person is either from an external teaching or a side path, or a swindler—what is called a “meal-stealing ghost” (mao shi gui), someone who impersonates a Daoist priest to live off offerings. Meeting such people, one must cross-examine them: if their learning is mixed and their words disjointed, one can conclude they have slipped into the gates of the Mysterious Gate (xuanmen, the Daoist community) under false pretenses.

When a Quanzhen priest travels, he carries seven treasures: first, a meditation cushion, for subduing inner demons while away from home; second, a patched robe, for gathering the mind; third, a bamboo basket and gourd, for food and drink when visiting worthies; fourth, a palm-leaf hat, against wind and frost; fifth, a palm-leaf fan, to brush aside worldly affairs; sixth, a blue pouch, to secretly store scriptures on internal alchemy (neidan); and seventh, a flat walking staff, to make the Great Dao visible. When all seven are complete and the owner can answer questions without empty talk, he may be called a broadly learned person. Even so, one must still guard against those who use such gear merely to beg for food everywhere; there are also those who carry bedding and sleep stripped down—these are sure to be false members of the Mysterious Gate with unknown origins, and must be examined closely.

Quanzhen priests wear nine styles of headcloth: the Tang headcloth, the Chonghe headcloth, the Haoran headcloth, the Xiaoyao headcloth, the Ziyang headcloth, the single-character headcloth, the Lun headcloth, the Three Teachings headcloth, and the Jiuyang headcloth. Only heirs of Patriarch Lü Chunyang (Lü Dongbin) in the Tang-line tradition may wear the Tang headcloth. Elders wear the Chonghe headcloth and the young the Xiaoyao headcloth; in cold weather they use a wrap cloth, and on snowy nights the Haoran headcloth; for ordinary occasions they use the Ziyang and single-character headcloths, each chosen according to rank and setting. Superior cultivators who have received the Chuzhen Precepts (the Quanzhen introductory precepts) may wear the Lun headcloth and the crescent-moon crown. Those who have received the Zhongji Precepts (intermediate precepts) wear the Three Teachings headcloth and the Santai crown. Those who have received the Tianxian Precepts (the highest grade) wear the Chongxu headcloth and the Wuyue crown. All these headcloths are made from undyed silk or brocade. Dark “mysterious” (xuan) color stands for Heaven; the human head is round, taking Heaven as its image. Heaven first gave rise to water, and water’s color is xuan; xuan is also close to the Dao (the Way), so placing xuan on the crown is a way of honoring the Dao. Anyone who wears the Jiuyang headcloth and the like in variegated silks belongs to the nine streams of outer teaching or to “fire-dwelling” disciples (priests who marry and live at home rather than in monastic seclusion)—not genuine practitioners. There are also people with loose hair in topknots, or wearing the Qingfeng embroidered bamboo hat; white patchwork robes, and garments such as the Hunyuan Three Sovereigns robe, the thousand-needle book robe, and the Two Immortals “lazy” patch robe; belts of nine strands, Lü-style belts, or single-Qi belts; carrying a wind-and-fire palm whisk, or holding a five-luminous demon-quelling fan; going barefoot, or in multi-tab hemp shoes, straw sandals, or palm-fiber shoes. Among these, true and false are hard to tell apart. One must judge whether deportment conforms to rule, what their learning and practice are like, and ask about origin, lineage, scriptures recited, and daily observances. If anything is missing or inconsistent, their background is certainly spurious. When outward form is already defective, how can inner cultivation be sound? Those in secular dress and small caps, with queued hair and plain prayer beads, are ignorant folk of the lower sort and lay devotees (zhai gong) who keep vegetarian observance at home—and one must fear heterodox cults mixed among them, investigate promptly, and guard against them strictly.

When Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoists travel and register to stay at a temple—temporarily signing in at a palace or monastery—they must observe every rule from the first step into a famous mountain, forest community, or formal temple. At the outset of registration, everything hinges on propriety: first place your meditation cushion at the door of the guest hall (the reception room for visitors), then meet the zhike (the officer in charge of receiving guests). Bow in the full kowtow with forehead to the ground and a brief pause, then sit and converse. After tea, the zhike asks where you set out from and where you are bound; you must answer honestly. The zhike watches your words and conduct before deciding whether to accept your registration and assign lodging.

The next morning, after washing and grooming, go to pay respects to the sacred. Wash your hands, straighten your robes, even your breathing, and walk slowly with feet together; offer reverent worship before the altar, but never bow in the exact center. If you kneel at the heart of the altar, those nearby will take you for a “douzi”—someone who does not know the rules and presumes too much on himself. Even if the hall master (the officer who tends the shrine hall) does not rebuke you, such behavior is self-aggrandizing and the community will look down on you. If travel has left your clothes or shoes unclean, worship only at the edge, outside the main altar area. If your feet splay in an “eight” shape, your palms are pressed together while your head juts forward as if to strike a jar, your arms spread like a large rake, or you kneel and knock your head four or five times yet stand and offer only two or three bows, you will surely be judged mediocre and dull-witted.

During Quanzhen formal worship, outwardly calm your mind and show sincere reverence; inwardly gather your spirit, hold your hands properly in greeting, and face the que (the hall where the deity’s seat stands). When you bow, do not bend past the level of your eyebrows; let your torso curve round as a full moon, then perform full prostration with forehead, both knees, and both hands on the ground. Do not rise in haste after each bow; wait until your breath is steady before standing. When your mind is clear and settled, bow again in the same manner. There are also the rites of the three refuges with nine kowtows, as well as the qishou and dunshou forms of obeisance; in all of them the measure is the same—bow not beyond the brows, body like a full moon, full prostration on the ground, rise only when the breath is full, and bow again when the spirit is clear.

When entering the bowl hall (the dining hall where meals are taken from alms bowls), perform the shifang li (the common salute to companions in all directions): enter circling to the left, leave circling to the right; first bow to the assembly, then to the hall master (who oversees that hall) and the supervisor of general affairs, then to the kitchen master (who manages the meals) and the tea master (who tends the tea). If you can do this, you are treated as a shangshi (a practitioner of higher cultivation); the guest attendant will come to the guest hall to keep you company, serving tea before food and settling you in a quiet room with an assigned sleeping place. If your courtesy is lacking, you may be left to your own devices with only the communal tea and meals of the hall; you may rest in the shifang hall (where traveling Daoists from all quarters are lodged), and will be handled with the cautious regard due a xiashi (a practitioner of lesser cultivation).

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoists observe rules for walking, staying, sitting, and lying down; questions and conversation also have proper openings and closings. In sitting, one should be as steady as a suspended bell; in lying down, as a bent bow on one’s side; in walking, as light as a gentle breeze; in standing, as straight as an evergreen pine. The voice should be soft and low, like an invalid or a maiden; movements should be calm and dignified, like a refined scholar. Answer one question with one reply, and speak only from the classics; when guiding the ignorant and clearing confusion, do not drag in groundless talk.

If one sways in walking like a willow in the wind, or sits slumped like a drooping lotus; or freely discusses state affairs and mocks Buddhism; or when asked about the Great Dao mixes in side paths, deceives the foolish, and boasts of deep learning—such people are surely those without a lineage who repeat hearsay, impersonating Quanzhen from outside proper teaching—the so-called “three-teaching fuzz” (a smattering of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) or “neither fish nor fowl.” Those whose dress and manners break the rules are called “double-headed barbarians.” Those who fix on heterodox appearances and play a part are unworthy pretenders.

Quanzhen vestments are chiefly green (qing). Green belongs to the east, to the Wood of the jia and yi stems, to the position of the Tai hexagram, and to the thriving qi of the Azure Dragon; hence this lineage descends from Donghua Emperor Lord (the eastern patron of Quanzhen). The image of “Wood, green, and Tai” implicitly carries the meaning of Quanzhen’s dual cultivation of nature and life (cultivating both inner nature and bodily life).

For attendance in formal dress: a yellow crown on the head, a dark cap, a green robe, a yellow sash, over it a crane cloak, white foot bindings, and cloud-and-crimson vermilion shoes—so that the Five Phases are all represented. The patriarch and the preceptor (the master who transmits the teaching and the master who confers precepts) additionally wear the zhongdan (inner ritual garment); only when the rites are complete in this way is the dress correct.

When a Quanzhen Daoist meets someone for the first time, it is proper to wait two or three days before asking where they come from and where they are going: from which famous mountain they took ordination, which province, prefecture, and county they usually reside in, and which palace or abbey and which lineage they belong to.

This is because one fears the other may know only the lineage of the Seven Perfect Ones (the seven disciples of Wang Chongyang of Quanzhen) and not know that besides them there are Xu Zhenjun’s Jingming lineage, Sa Zhenjun’s Xihe lineage, as well as Lord Laozi’s Hunyuan lineage, the Xuan Di lineage, Maoshan’s Jingyi lineage, the Dongting Golden Elixir lineage, the Ganyuan Abbey Yan lineage, Yin Zhenren’s Louguan lineage, Zhang Sanfeng’s new lineage, and also Sun and Xu of Laoshan, together with Qingwei, Lingbao, Zhengyi, Baotian, and other lineages. Each of these has well-known figures in the world beyond lay society.

Some come seeking both inner cultivation (canxue dao) and ritual and talismanic practice (fa). They seek eminent masters and may travel far to pay respects to a lineage head or patriarch. Having come in admiration of their name, when they enter and meet, questions and answers should be sincere and practice should be genuine, not empty show. If they observe the rites between teacher and student, a banquet should be set to fulfill host and guest courtesy. When virtue is complete on both sides, the teaching is not violated and the fame of one’s home mountain can spread to the four seas.

If at the first question one cannot tell the source of one’s own lineage and only talks at random of miscellaneous matters, that person is a deceiver, not one who has come to inquire after the Dao and its methods.

Anyone who devotes themselves to internal cultivation in the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition has, just like a Confucian scholar pursuing learning, indispensable “Five Classics” and “Four Books.” The Five Classics are the Yinfu Jing, Daode Jing, Huangting Jing, Qingjing Jing, and Longhu Jing; the Four Books are the Cantong qi, Wuzhen pian, Sanhuang yujue, and Qinghua miwen. Beyond these there is the complete Daozang (Daoist Canon), as well as various immortal scriptures and alchemical writings by perfected ones through the ages. When such a person speaks, everything is clear; they can awaken at any moment; in dissecting meaning they never go astray, and in explaining the text they always have solid grounds. That is someone who truly attends to and investigates the Great Dao with full penetration. Yet the finest approach is still to cultivate quietly on one’s own.

If one delights in grand talk about furnace-fire external alchemy (Waidan), refining cinnabar and mercury, or in “other-house” dual practices (sexual tonification and the like), ingesting elixirs, massage, visualization and circulating Qi, or clinging to dead emptiness while relying only on oral recitation—any and all of these arts and miscellaneous studies belong among the three thousand six hundred side paths and the ninety-six kinds of heterodox ways. Worse still are those who do not study the meaning of the scriptures, who call an ox a horse, who do not understand principle, who take black for white; who are fiercely jealous when they see someone accomplished, and who bully the old and weak in every way. The founding patriarch said: such people are a demonic army that ruins the teaching, seeds of hell; they may or may not have two horns, but a tail they most certainly have.

For Quanzhen cultivation, one must first accumulate merit and practice before gradually entering the source of immortality. Those who practice external cultivation must also study the Five Classics and Four Books—these are the most essential texts, and none may be omitted. The Five Classics are the Yuhuang Jing, Duren Jing, Yushu Jing, Sanguan Jing, and Doumu Jing (classics associated with the Jade Emperor, salvation of the living, thunder rites, the Three Officials, and the Dipper Mother)—the Five Classics of external cultivation. The Four Books are the Shengshen Zhang (hymns for generating the spirit), the salvation and refinement liturgy (rites for refining and liberating the dead), prayer rituals (rites of supplication and exorcism), and the Qianjin Fang (prescriptions for healing)—the Four Books of external cultivation. In addition, various scripture recitations and repentance rites should be mastered: recitation brings response, and prayer brings efficacy. For the state and the people, responding to flood, drought, locusts, and plague; treating illness with medicine; relieving distress; and universally saving the living and the dead—these are the fundamental tasks of true cultivation. If one spreads wild talk to mislead the masses, fabricates the bizarre, practices shamanistic sorcery, prays to evil spirits with false methods, deceives the world under the guise of collecting alms, profits by falsely invoking the classics, violates liturgy and abandons canonical rules, drinks wine and eats meat, and does not abstain from the five pungent vegetables (garlic, onion, and the like) and the three tabooed foods (the three categories of meat forbidden in Daoism), one is a vermin of the folk world and a demon soldier within the teaching—yin-yang law will not forgive.

If any Quanzhen practitioner takes pleasure in such things—deceiving the laity, demanding profit with false scriptures, violating liturgy and discarding the canon, drinking wine and eating meat, unable to cut off the five pungents and three taboos—they too are vermin of the folk world and demon soldiers within the teaching; yin-yang law will not spare them.

Quanzhen practitioners should rest content with Heaven’s mandate and know their proper place—seeming dull all day, yet with a peaceful mind, clear, empty, and free of attachment. Whether dwelling in grotto abodes, living in mountain forests, hiding in the marketplace, or traveling to famous sites, they take compassion as root, skillful means as the gate, purity and stillness as the Way, uprightness as De, benefiting others and saving the world as merit, and guarding body and mind as conduct. If one is arrogant and self-important, jealous of the worthy, praises oneself and slanders others, neglects public duty and destroys good, speaks loftily while acting filthily, and is false within while appearing respectful without, one is not fit to speak of the Great Dao.

When Quanzhen practitioners visit Buddhist images, they should join palms in the henan salute (the Buddhist gesture of respect with joined palms), or prostrate and inquire after the teacher’s welfare; when paying respects to Confucian sages, they bow with clasped hands or kowtow and rise. This is what the Supreme Lord (Taishang Laojun) taught: the Dao values completeness and adaptability—meet each form with the appropriate form of respect.

When a Quanzhen Daoist priest pays respects to the local magistrate (the “parents-official”), he must perform the court audience salutation. With both hands cupped in greeting, he bows and makes the clasped-hand salute, touching his forehead to his hands; bending the knees once counts as one prostration, and he does three salutes and three prostrations in this way, saying: “A priest of [such-and-such] abbey pays respects to Your Honor the magistrate.” When the rite is finished, he withdraws and stands to one side or the left and right, upright with hands joined in greeting. If the magistrate orders him to sit, he salutes once more, then withdraws to sit in a corner. Whenever there is question and answer, he must rise solemnly; he must not sit while asking and answering. This rite follows the Way of the Supreme One (Taishang Laojun): placing oneself low and honoring others, and it carries the meaning of smooth passage and success. Above all it values dignified, measured bearing and natural deportment; one must strictly avoid nervous constraint, and also avoid lightness and casualness.

Quanzhen scripture recitation takes harmony as supreme and sincere mind as the root: single-minded, undivided, as if one were within bright moonlight—empty, clear, unobstructed, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. Every word and every sentence comes from the heart. Even when one does not vocalize and only reads the scripture silently, each character must still be reflected from the Heavenly Eye (the aperture for inward vision at the brow center) before it counts as proper measure. If one only seeks pleasing tones to draw listeners, that is the “door-answering vocal style” (the approach of answering worldly calls and pleasing people with chant)—and that is especially not what Quanzhen upholds.

In Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) worship, obeisance is performed only during the incense offering when entering the hall. Whether host or guest, everyone kneels at the center before the incense burner: holding the incense in both hands, joining the palms in a bow while kneeling toward the altar, then inserting the sticks into the burner with the left hand. The sticks should be no more than about one inch apart and placed neat, even, level, and upright.

Alternatively, one may form the Zhihe hand seal (Daoist mudra) with the left hand, hold the incense between the lips or teeth in offering, and with Tianmu (the space between the eyebrows, used in visualization during cultivation) trace the character for “heart” in empty air—this is the first offering. For the second offering, form the Xinghe seal with the left hand, offer incense, and trace “sincerity” at Tianmu. For the third, add the Yuyin seal with the right hand at the chest, form the Feihe seal with the left hand to offer incense, and trace “faith” at Tianmu. At each offering, silently recite the zhuxiang zhou (the dedication mantra used when offering incense). When the incense rite is finished, anyone who is not the abbot (the temple’s presiding officer) must at once return to his or her place and bow in sincere devotion.

For Quanzhen water offerings, well water is avoided. Clean water should be drawn from the Ye River at the midnight Zi hour (roughly eleven at night until one in the morning); or, by spreading a clean cloth as a canopy to collect tianquan (rain and dew from heaven), the water is even purer.

For Quanzhen flower offerings, flowers with thorns on the stem—such as China rose or tea rose—are avoided. The finest are lotus, plum, orchid, and osmanthus; next are peach, apricot, chrysanthemum, crabapple, tree peony, and herbaceous peony; the rest are not counted among the highest grades. Any blossom whose scent is not offensive and whose taste would be safe to eat may still be gathered and offered.

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoism forbids burning incense known as “tan” (altar incense); those who break this rule incur very heavy guilt. This precept appears not only in the Nüqing (a Daoist book of precepts), and the accounts given there do not all agree. The Quanzhen precept-transmission master Kunyang said that tan incense comes from Hainan; the imperial household has long used it for offerings and for fumigation and bathing. In the palace precincts today, sandalwood powder is still smeared on walls each year as “fragrant mud” (xiangni), replaced once a year. For that reason, among the stick incense sold in Beijing shops, any that is yellowish in color and dull or foul in smell is suspected of being made from leftover palace fragrant mud. According also to the Taiwei Lüzhu, the ban on burning tan is very old; what is forbidden is impure sandalwood that has passed through the palace—not clean sandalwood as such. After Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, the prohibition grew stricter, because the Celestial Master (Tianshi) Ye Fashan once used palace sandalwood by mistake and was punished with bleeding from the seven orifices. If one uses sandalwood today, how can one fail to choose with great care?

When Quanzhen hosts guests, however rich the spread, there are at most five gui (dishes served in five vessels), and the meal ends before dusk. Tea is used to press guests to eat; the highest mark of respect is offered with lu (infusions or “dews”), such as those prepared from rose, lotus, honeysuckle, pine and cypress, tender shoots, chrysanthemum leaves, and the like.

Quanzhen practitioners do not eat food that is too salty, and a single dish does not combine many flavors. They do not talk while eating; after a meal they avoid sitting in stillness, and above all they avoid reciting jing (scriptures) or performing obeisance right after eating their fill. Therefore, if one is to recite or worship, one must first wait until half a stick of thread incense has burned down as a time limit.

Quanzhen has the “three not rising”: in the zhaitang (hall where vegetarian meals are taken), one does not rise when receiving the meal; in the jingtang (scripture hall), one does not rise while reciting jing; in the yuantang (meditation hall), one does not rise while sitting in meditation. “Not rising” means that even when a guest arrives, one does not stand up. By the precepts, to rise when one ought not may disturb cause and effect; besides, the mind cannot attend to two things at once—the guest has not yet been properly received, so why stand? Practice today may not reach that level, yet the norms of the teaching should still be kept whole. The precept of the three not rising is therefore something one must know.

Quanzhen Daoists who have not yet studied the precept texts (books that record the precepts) must not study scriptures or ritual techniques. Seeking and receiving precepts must not skip grades or levels. After one has received precepts, when reading the precept texts one must first burn incense and perform obeisance; one must not flip through them casually, must not let others peek at the precept book, and must not eavesdrop when the true master (authentic teacher) expounds the Dharma. Liturgical recitation and daily practice should be performed with reverence and care; the three daily periods (morning, noon, and evening) must not be shortened or omitted. One must not put on a solemn appearance to win people’s respect, and must not talk excessively about karma and retribution to solicit donations. One must not perform obeisance at improper hours; if one wishes to bow, one must first inform the abbot (head of the temple). It is appropriate to bow quietly when people are at rest. If one is not the abbot, when bowing one must not stand in the center of an ancient hall, because the center is the seat of the resident deities (permanent presence of the sacred). In charge of incense, lamps, and offerings in the hall, one should be meticulous and must not be careless. When burning incense, softly recite: “Constantly burn the incense of the heart, attaining great clarity and stillness.” When lighting lamps and candles, softly recite: “Dispel heavy darkness, illuminating the ten directions.” One must not choose only the classics used for responding to invitations (being called out for zhaijiao and ritual services) to study. If one meets poverty and hardship that are hard to bear, one should rest content in one’s lot and comfort oneself; one must not resent Heaven and hate Earth, and must not, at the sight of scholars or laypeople, urge them to give alms and accumulate merit. One must not discuss Daoist teachings with followers of other religions, must not forcibly demand property from patrons, and must not ask powerful families, officials, or old acquaintances to collect donations on one’s behalf; one must not engage in trade for profit. One must not use the pretext of fundraising to supply one’s private needs. One must not enter other temples and monasteries without good reason, and must not go to lay households without cause; if one must go for a matter, one returns as soon as it is done and must not stay long. One must not joke and banter with relatives, laypeople, or children, and must not leave one’s robes and belongings stored in lay homes. Whether going out near or far, one must not lose proper deportment; if a fellow monastic lapses in deportment, one must not ridicule them.

Quanzhen disciples who serve their master should bow when they see the master on the first and fifteenth days of the lunar month. When asking the master to teach the Dao, they must not joke or banter like children, nor may they leave their clothing with lay households. Whether leaving on a long journey or returning from a short one, they must not neglect proper conduct; if a fellow disciple is discourteous, they must not mock them.

When serving the master, Quanzhen disciples should bow on the new and full moon when visiting the master, and should also bow when seeking instruction in the Dao. If they hear that the master is eating, sitting in quiet cultivation, or reciting scriptures, they must not enter or ask questions. If they intend to bow and the master tells them to stop, they should obey. When the master and another person bow to each other, the disciple must not bow at the same time as the master; in the master’s presence, they must not accept others’ bows. If they accompany the master in discussing the Dao and the master is weary in body or mind and sends them away, they should withdraw. Whenever entering or leaving, or having robes, hats, headcloths, and the like made, they must first inform the master. Before taking on collective duties such as wandering pilgrimage, guarding the mountain, attending lectures, or raising funds for the community, they must report to the master. If someone asks to borrow something from them, they inform the master first and give it only after permission; if they wish to borrow from someone else, they inform the master and go only after approval. If they wish to study scriptures and repentance liturgies, they inform the master first. When someone offers them goods, they inform the master before accepting; if they wish to give their own things to others, they inform the master and give only after permission. In all matters reported to the master, whether approved or refused, they should bow and withdraw without harboring resentment. When the master is ill, they must care for him wholeheartedly and must not slacken. If the master orders inner garments washed, they must not turn the lining outward; if ordered to wash the chamber pot, they must not find it filthy. The master’s spittle and nasal discharge must be removed at once. By lamplight or moonlight they must not step on the master’s shadow. When the master’s admonitions are stern and urgent, they must not talk back. If others ask the master’s personal name, they answer “Shang [upper character] X [lower character]” (giving only the upper and lower parts of the name, not the full name); if asked for the master’s Dao name, they answer “Master So-and-so.”

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) disciples each have rules of dignified bearing and things to avoid in how they look and how they listen.

When reading scriptures, sit upright and earnestly take in their meaning. Do not casually point at the sun, moon, or rainbow, and do not stare for long at the sun, moon, or the Milky Way. Do not read books of other teachings, nor novels, tales, or miscellaneous light reading.

When sitting in attendance beside one’s master or facing guests, keep the gaze steady and proper: do not look upward, downward, or about at random; do not fix on garish colors; and do not praise or covet strange or showy things. When accompanying the master to a height to look into the distance, look only where the master looks, not elsewhere. When going in and out with the master, do not glance left and right; walk behind with head slightly lowered. When entering a town, do not stop to watch crowds gathered for opera, conjuring, or the like; and after returning, do not boast of the town’s sights or splendor. When carrying letters for masters or fellow disciples, do not secretly open them to read. When entering a master’s or companion’s room, do not casually leaf through their scriptures. In town, do not turn to look at women, nor steal sidelong glances at them.

Do not eavesdrop on scripture recitation or teaching of the Dao, nor lean in close to overhear the Dharma. Do not listen to licentious music, idle chatter, or people singing. Do not listen through a wall to others’ conversation. When the master is reciting scriptures or expounding the Dao, rise and listen with respect and full attention; do not at the same time attend to other sounds.

Quanzhen Daoists observe distinct norms and taboos in speech. When entering the fatang (hall for teaching and ritual), or when standing in attendance before one’s master, one must not speak loudly or cough loudly; one must not talk excessively, speak in a rushed manner, or imitate marketplace slang and riddles. Without the master’s question, one must not open one’s mouth; while the master’s words are unfinished, one must not interrupt. One must not discuss others’ faults, household affairs of lay families, matters of court and government, inner-chamber (guige) affairs of women, matchmaking or guarantorship, nor expound the Dao at improper times. One must not whisper intimately with women, nor jest and banter with young men. At meals one must not talk; when resting for sleep one must not talk. When relatives and friends visit, one must not sit long in idle conversation in the fatang; only under trees or by water may one speak freely in discussion. When one has doubts and seeks instruction in the Dao from others, one should bow in respect. When the master asks a question, one should bow and answer reverently; one must not pretend to understand what one does not, nor cling stubbornly to one’s own view as if it alone were right. If the question concerns ordinary household matters, no bow is required; answer truthfully as the facts are. Toward lay people one must not teach furnace huangbai arts (methods of refining medicines in the furnace and transmuting gold and silver), must not teach “the other school’s” methods (dual-cultivation lineages opposed to pure self-cultivation), must not teach talisman spells and illusion arts, must not command wind or revile rain, must not discuss any heterodox side paths, nor judge which other teachings are superior or inferior.

Quanzhen Daoists also observe distinct norms and taboos in washing the mouth and face. When rinsing the mouth and spitting water, one should draw water down slowly; one must not retch loudly, blow the nose loudly, or spit noisily. In summer, washing utensils should be placed upside down lest insects breed. When discarding impure water, one must not pour it on the road; it should be sprinkled low to one side.

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) daoists follow fixed rules and taboos when washing the face and hands and rinsing the mouth. Water used for rinsing should be expelled slowly and guided downward; one must not bring it up with loud retching, nor spit or blow the nose noisily. In summer, basins and vessels for washing should be stored upside down so insects do not breed in them. When discarding dirty water, one must not splash it on paths or roads; it should be poured low to the ground, without raising the hand and flinging it so that it splashes onto others’ clothing. Hot liquid must not be thrown onto the floor. Undergarments should be washed regularly. If there are lice, they should be removed first. Hair should be combed often; when enough cut hair has accumulated, it should be taken to a secluded spot and burned, not stuffed into cracks in the walls inside one’s room.

In the fǎtáng (hall where rituals are performed) and before sacred images, one must not wash, pick the teeth, spit, or blow the nose; such things should be done in a private, quiet place. One must also not spit or blow the nose while facing north. If one has sores or skin afflictions, one should keep apart from others and not share washing utensils. If one has frightening boils or abscesses, one must not lance or pick at them in others’ presence.

Quanzhen disciples observe a dignified deportment and specific prohibitions when they eat. Whenever there is a communal fast-day meal, they first reverently offer homage to the sacred immortals (the divine perfected ones venerated in Daoism). The assembly stands in proper order and recites together the middle fascicle of the Ling Shu (Spiritual Writings). When the recitation is finished, the person in the last seat places the chusheng (a small portion of food set aside from the meal as an offering) into the vessel for sentient beings and intones this verse: “You ghostly spirits— I now offer you this sustenance; a single grain of food extends to the ten directions, and ghostly spirits as numerous as the sands of the Ganges River receive it together. Om hum, svaha.” This verse is recited three times. The chusheng offering must not exceed seven grains of rice, one inch of noodles, or the size of a fingernail for a steamed bun; no further chusheng is taken from the remaining rice, vegetables, or other dishes.

While eating, they softly recite this mantra: “The qi of the Five Stars, the essence of the Six Jia, the Three Perfected Ones fill the heavenly granary, clear clouds ever abound; the Yellow Father and Red Child guard the center without tilting.” (The qi of the Five Stars and the essence of the Six Jia fill the heavenly granary and clear clouds remain full; the Yellow Father and Red Child hold the central palace without leaning to either side—both phrases are inner-cultivation language.) While drinking water, they softly recite: “Divine water enters the belly; the five viscera become clear and bright.”

They must not jest or laugh while eating, must not speak with food in the mouth, must not comment on whether the food is good or bad, and must not scratch the head. They must not pick the teeth; if picking is unavoidable, the mouth must be covered with a sleeve. Chewing must not be audible; they must not make odd faces with the mouth, must not smack the tongue, and must not eat greedily in an unrestrained, discourteous way. Food that has entered the mouth must not be returned to the dish. Grains in the rice that still have husks should be husked before eating and must not be thrown on the ground. If small insects appear in the food or vegetables, they should be removed discreetly so the assembly does not notice.

When one has finished, one must not leave the seat and eat again. Setting down bowls and chopsticks must be silent. One must not eat apart from the assembly with one’s back turned to others, nor indulge greedy desire and eat heavily because the food is delicious. When eating with the assembly, one must be neither too slow nor too fast; raising and placing chopsticks must not precede one’s seniors. If the dishes have not yet reached one, one must not become irritable and must not call out loudly. The same deportment applies to ordinary meals. If someone breaches etiquette, others must not mock or criticize. When the meal is concluded, a stone chime is struck and the assembly immediately performs jingxing (the practice of slow, meditative walking as a ritual discipline).

Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist priests, when traveling, each observe their own dignified bearing and prohibitions. When entering the fatang (hall for lecturing on scriptures and performing ritual), one’s steps should be calm and unhurried. If someone is reading scriptures, one must not mock or treat them lightly. When the meal is finished, the qing (a ritual instrument used to summon the assembly) is struck; one waits for the whole community to jingxing (circumwalk in slow, meditative steps as practice).

Quanzhen priests traveling likewise have their own dignified bearing and prohibitions. Entering the fatang, walking should be steady and relaxed. If someone is reading scriptures, one must not pass in front of their scripture desk; if someone is bowing in worship, one must not pass close in front of their head. Entering a guanyu (Daoist temple), one must not walk down the center; one should go along the left or right side. Following one’s master, one walks with head lowered behind him, not looking left and right. One must not talk at length with people by the roadside, must not run, and must not swing the arms while walking. One must not laugh and walk together with young daoren (Daoist clerics) or laypeople, must not walk one before the other with women, and must not follow close behind drunkards or madmen. When traveling with one’s master, if one happens to separate midway, one must not be late at the agreed meeting place. Meeting officials, regardless of rank, one should withdraw from their path. Those who are young and whose precepts and conduct are not yet firm must not travel far as wandering ascetics; if they truly wish to visit masters and seek the Dao, they must choose worthy companions and must not travel with those of corrupt character.

Quanzhen priests rising to stand also have their dignified bearing and prohibitions. When standing, one must not lean all one’s weight on one foot, and must not lean on tables or walls. Attending one’s master, one must not face him directly, must not stand on higher ground, and must not stand too far away; standing behind the master, one must not lean against his seat. When one sees a senior or a guest rise, one rises oneself; when one is reciting scriptures, doing labor, or ill, one may remain seated. Serving one’s master, one sits only when the master orders one to sit. When the master asks a question, one should rise to answer. The Confucian ritual classics say: when a gentleman is asked about another matter, he rises to reply.

Quanzhen disciples observe distinct deportment and taboos whether they are seated in meditation or lying down. When reading scriptures, one must not sit in the disrespectful jiju posture (legs spread wide); one should burn incense, straighten the robes, and sit upright. One must not sit with one’s back turned disrespectfully toward sacred images. Sitting practice (zuogong) must follow what the master has transmitted and be done at the appointed times in order—one must not skip or disorder the sequence. One must not perform sitting practice in the presence of teachers or guests. At night it is better to sit more and lie down less. One must not sit close to laywomen, nor sit together with nüguan (female Daoist clerics). When a nüguan comes to ask about the Dao, once instruction is given she should be sent on her way without prolonged stay. When sitting beside others, one must not stretch an arm across them, nor prop a leg up, raise a knee high, cross the thighs, or sway the body.

After about one shichen (two hours) of still sitting, one may rise for jingxing (slow, mindful pacing to harmonize breath), or lie down. For lying down, the proper way is on the side with legs bent; only after waking may one stretch out fully. One must not lie flat on the back. One must not sleep in the same room as secular friends; even in the same room, one must not share the same couch. If the master has not yet slept, the disciple must not sleep first. One must not move to another room to sleep without good reason. Once one has lain down, one must not speak; one must not remove one’s inner garments to sleep; and one must not sleep in places where sleeping is forbidden. When bringing fire (a lamp or candle) into the room near the bed, one must tell those sharing the room, “Fire is coming in”; when extinguishing it, one must likewise inform them and ask whether they still need a lamp. In extreme heat one must not sleep on the ground, in the open air, or by day. One must not lie down immediately after eating one’s fill. One must not place fire beside the pillow. One must not carry foul or unclean vessels past the fatang (the hall where the law is taught and rites performed). When rising in the morning, step down from the bed with the left foot first.

Before sleep, recite: “Supreme Perfection jade maiden, attend to the true and guard the soul; golden lads of the three palaces, come to keep the gate of life.” This invokes the jade maiden to protect the true and guard the hun (soul), and the golden lads of the three palaces to watch the gate of life. Upon waking, recite: “May all living beings, from delusion enter awakening, and in one moment be utterly clear.” This expresses the wish that sentient beings pass from confusion into enlightenment and suddenly understand. When stepping down from the bed, recite: “Transform evil and return to goodness; report upward to the three luminaries; grant me long life, to ride radiance and drive clouds.” This vows to turn from wrong toward right, to send merit upward to the three lights—the sun, moon, and stars—and to attain longevity, mounting light and driving clouds.

Quanzhen Daoist monks who perform daily labor (zuowu) each have observances and taboos they must follow. In all labor, one must not shirk hardship. In ordinary times one must cherish the community’s shared property and must not spoil or waste rice, grain, flour, or food. When washing vegetables, change the water three times. Before drawing water, wash your hands first, then look carefully for small creatures; only after filtering through silk cloth may it be used—this is to avoid harming living things in the water. In deep winter, do not filter water too early; wait until after the sun has risen. When cooking, do not burn rotten firewood. When preparing food, rinse with water three times; no dirt may remain under the fingernails. When sweeping, sprinkle water first; sweep each area about five chi square at a time. Do not sweep so as to raise dust, do not sweep against the wind, and do not pile dust and dirt behind the door leaves. (The ten items above are from Xuanmen Chi Jie [Observances of the Mysterious Gate], compiled by Patriarch Wang Kunyang.)

Qinggui Xuanmiao Quanzhen Canfang Neiji (Internal Collection on Visiting within the Quanzhen Mysterious Regulations)

To study the Way, one must know…

Sages who study the Dao and aspirants resolved to seek immortality, once they admire the great teaching of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), must understand dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu): “nature” is the heart-mind, and “life” is the vital Qi within the body—both are cultivated together. Without seeking an enlightened master, how can one obtain heaven’s secret key, leap out of the cage of the mundane world, leave the red dust that is like a burning house, cut off emotional attachments, and abandon illusion to return to truth?

Wearing the yellow cap and draped in the crane cloak marks one as a disciple of the Most High (Taishang Laojun, Supreme Lord Lao); holding a feather fan and treading in straw sandals marks one as a follower of Donghua (Donghua Dijun, Sovereign of Donghua). One must uphold precepts and discipline, tempering body and mind. Regard heterodox paths as one would enemies; flee love and desire as one would flee fire and water. Eat in the wind and sleep in the dew, extinguishing the mind that craves wealth and rank; travel by starlight and moonlight, cutting off extravagant delusions. With one basket and one gourd, one bamboo hat, one does not shrink from journeys of ten thousand li; like a wild crane or a lone cloud, one seeks only the joy of a single-minded heart—content in poverty while accumulating virtue, knowing one’s fate and awaiting the right moment.

Remove the grime and nurture the original nature. One may hang one’s robe temporarily on famous mountains, dwell alone in cave abodes, enter the alms hall to practice and study, or join the monastic community to visit the worthy. One must endure humiliation and tolerate others’ faults; speech and conduct must be strictly guarded. The heart should be gentle and humble; resolve to shed harshness and pride. Do not mix in views of right and wrong; utterly forget the private divide between self and things. Renouncing clever scheming is the foundation of establishing virtue; holding inner radiance while maintaining empty stillness is the gateway to entering the Way.

In movement and stillness, in every act, constrain yourself by the norms of the Five Patriarchs of Quanzhen; in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, practice according to the rules of the Seven Perfect Ones. Among Inner Alchemical (Neidan) scriptures one reads the Daode Jing, the Yinfu Jing, and the Longhu Jing; to hear the profound, there are the Wuzhen Pian, the Jinbi Jing, and the Cantong Qi. What matters most lies in the secret formula of the Three Sovereigns; what is most subtle appears in the Qinghua Miwen. The Guizhong Zhinan has few words yet penetrates the principle; the inner commentary on the Huangting Zangjing states the meaning plainly and points out the key. The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) is deep in text and meaning—reading it opens the heart; the Qingjing Jing can reveal one’s nature and brighten the mind—obtaining it enables thorough awakening.

To study the Dao, one must learn widely, inquire carefully, and resolve to be rigorous and tireless in effort. In seeking the Dao, be as reverent as Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor), who traveled far on bended knee; in asking about ritual and teaching, as humble as Zhongni (Confucius). Do not shrink from labor like “presenting the shoe” (Zhang Liang serving Master Yellow Stone), and be willing to endure pain like severing an arm to obtain the teaching. Once you receive guidance from an illumined master, you may receive the heart-transmission of methods from a perfected person (one who has attained the Dao).

To verify the root tradition of Xingming (dual cultivation of nature and life), search out its root and stem; probe deeply the meaning of birth and death, and discern your original face. Swear oaths before Heaven, set up the Kui-Dou altar (altar to the leading stars of the Northern Dipper), covenant with blood, and manifest the Dipper gang altar (Tàigāng).

To grasp the Great Dao, investigate yi qi (primordial unity), er yi (Yin-Yang), san cai (Heaven, Earth, and humanity), the four images, the Five Phases (Wuxing), liuhe (the six directions), qizheng (sun, moon, and the five planets), the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), the Nine Palaces, and the ten extremities—reflecting on each phrase. To know the elixir method, you must understand ten revolutions, nine returns, eight passes, seven reversions, six penetrations, five illuminations, four gates, three origins, er xian (the upper and lower chords, symbolizing the waxing and waning of sun and moon), and yi qiao (the single aperture of the mysterious pass)—examining every term in detail.

Within the turning circle, gather the ascent and descent of Yin-Yang; within your own body, observe the return of water and fire. Knowing where to stop, you understand creation and transformation; with sincere intent, you perceive the subtle inner sound. Guard truth and embrace unity; meet situations without stirring emotion; remain clear, still, and untouched by the ten thousand entanglements—then naturally, in time, all connects through: the light of the nature-heaven shines clear, and the true boundary is understood.

May you hold a full moon in your breast and breeze in both sleeves, free and unburdened. Or choose a cave-heaven (dongtian) for seclusion, or a blessed land for closed retreat. First find cloud companions and rosy friends as Dao partners, then build a thatched hut as the elixir chamber. Tune the qin to harmonize disposition; “fly the sword” to subdue demonic obstacles. Drive dragons and tame tigers, and wind and cloud will gather; capture the rabbit and seize the crow (the moon rabbit and sun crow, emblems of Yin-Yang), and lead and mercury join. Turn the earth’s axis: the returning hexagram’s yang penetrates the valley of Qian; stir heaven’s gate: the meeting hexagram’s yin returns to the palace of Kun. Raise the Xun wind (true breath in refinement) to smelt, and kindle the Li fire to decoct. Addition, subtraction, advance, and retreat of the fire phases each have their times; warm nurturing and bathing (resting the fire at mao and you hours) must not err. Then in the pot of Taiyi you may drink deeply the wine of long life, and within the Huangting (the inner central court) form an elixir that does not age. After that, cease striving, blend with the world and hidden brilliance, or hide in the dusty realm to accumulate merit, or dwell in the mundane world without fault.

Then one may drink deeply the wine of longevity in the Kettle of Taiyi (the “gourd heaven” where internal alchemists locate the abode of pre-heaven Qi), and permanently forge the elixir of non-aging in the Huangting Palace (the seat of the body’s indwelling spirits). At that point one may stop exertion and leave off refining, harmonize one’s light and blend with the world: either hiding in the dusty world to accumulate merit through practice, or living in the marketplace to establish deeds. When De fills the human realm and one’s name is inscribed in Heaven, one waits quietly for the decree from the Jade Capital (Yujing, the abode of the Heavenly Emperor), and at dawn goes to pay homage to the Sovereign in the Golden Gate (Jinque, the celestial court). One receives the feast of the immortal peaches and is commanded to roam the gardens of Langyuan (the paradise parks). Kinsfolk are all raised to supreme bliss, and fellow immortals together ascend to Penglai and Yingzhou (the isles of immortality). This is the outcome of pure, quiet cultivation and the mark of great achievement fulfilled.

Moreover, some people have only just left the net of the mundane and entered the Mysterious Gate (Xuanmen, the door of Daoist practice); their past faults are not yet washed away, yet they fix their hearts on future reward. Some have dull foundations and shallow wisdom—how could they probe the subtle keys of Heaven’s secrets? Some bear deep karmic burden and thin virtue—how could they meet an illumined master who transmits the true Way? When the heart-mind turns with outer things and thought is bound by desire, the one mind falls into two tracks, and the Three Poisons (greed, hatred, and delusion) stir up every kind of wrong. Because the Five Aggregates (form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness) are not emptied, the Six Thieves (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are hard to subdue. The Seven Emotions pull, the Eight Consciousnesses attack from every side, and the evils of the Nine Apertures constantly disturb the true realm. The Ten Evils grow and spread on the Spirit Platform (the heart), like clouds veiling the bright moon or mist hiding the blue sky—wisdom’s light cannot shine, sage intelligence cannot appear clear, the numinous faculty is blocked, and vain desire arises layer upon layer. Without gathering and condensing spirit and Qi, how could there be the wondrous use of return (fanben huanyuan, reverting to the source)? As the saying goes: if the person has not truly applied effort, the work cannot be great, and the celestial spirits are hard to protect; if De is not broad and selfishness does not die, immortals and sages are hard to admit. Students must not emptyly bear the name of purity and quiet, or clutch only the semblance of Wuwei (non-forcing); even if they willingly wear grass robes and eat tree fruits, they only torment body and mind in vain. If one sits dead in visualization (cunsí, fixed contemplation), one must fall into demonic states; if one blindly “transports” Qi (mechanical circulation of breath and blood), one is sure to form a phantom elixir. Perhaps within favor harm arises, and what began well ends too soon. I urge students to examine this finely and not torment themselves in vain.

Rigid sitting meditation and one-sided mental visualization (contemplation in stillness) inevitably fix the mind on demonic realms; reckless internal circulation (guiding qi and blood within the body) inevitably forms a phantom elixir (a false Neidan pill). One may seem to receive grace yet suffer harm in return, starting well but rarely ending well.

Students are urged to reflect carefully: do not practice amiss; seek the true Way; advance with courage and diligence; honor the merit of the Nine Sections (cultivation in nine graded stages); strive in practice and gradually walk the path of the Three Vehicles (three levels of method from shallow to deep). Cultivate body and mind together and refine inner and outer in turn. In stillness, exhaust principle and fulfill nature; in activity, accumulate deeds and stack merit. At every moment practice skillful means (expedient upaya that benefits others as conditions allow); everywhere keep compassion alive.

Rescuing the shades and delivering the dead — Immortal Lord Ge (Ge Xuan) attained the Dao by this; aiding the afflicted and dispensing medicine — True Immortal Sa (Sa Shoujian) ascended by this; expelling harm and sweeping away demons — Xu Zuyang (Xu Zhenyang, i.e., Xu Xun), his merit complete, was able to lift his whole household in flight; protecting the people and blessing the realm — Tao Hongjing, his practice fulfilled, rose in ascension. Immortals in every age transcended through such arduous merit. How can later students today expect to become true immortals without accumulating virtue?

Diligently wash away obstructive karmic ties; earnestly give rise to concentration and wisdom; constantly hold the light of silent stillness (inner clarity in quiet absorption); always preserve the breath of fine continuity (subtle, prolonged breathing) — then the shoot of goodness grows in the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers), and the root of spirit takes hold in the inch-wide field (the heart-ground). This is the gate of gradual cultivation, and also the ladder of the supreme vehicle.

Though gradual cultivation and sudden awakening are two paths, the ultimate Dao has one root. Those who aspire to the Dao and resolve to visit teachers should all weigh these modes of practice, so as not to sink into side arts. This treatise was written to light dark byways: a mirror for refining truth, a spirit-ladder for advancing on the Way, both credential for seeking instruction and guide for wandering among mountains and seas. Those who follow this teaching may hold it as their talisman-credential (proof of trust); seeking teachers across land and sea, they may then align with the Dao.

Heavenly Precept Discourse: A slip no larger than a hair's breadth invites the fault of falling into obscurity; a moment's wicked speech surely brings the shame of breaking precepts. The ears and eyes of heavenly spirits are close at hand; they discern human words and deeds — cultivators must examine themselves. If words and conduct are without shame, and hidden virtue (merit unknown to others) is ample and thick, immortals will naturally come as teachers — then why worry that this body will not be delivered?

Inscription on Dietary Precepts: an inscription on upholding precepts concerning food and drink.

When entering the zhaitang (the communal dining hall in a Daoist temple), one’s dress and bearing must be orderly. The millet and rice cooked in the yunchu (the temple kitchen) are not easily come by and must not be treated lightly. Whether inside or outside the monastery, all eat the same rice. One must first learn to take meals in accordance with the rules, and only then study cultivation toward immortality. Spoons and bowls may be passed in turn; if the food is not enough, one may ask for more. Loud talk should be avoided, and one should not sit leaning or with shoulders askew. In conduct, follow daogi—the deportment and ritual propriety expected of those on the path—and do not judge people only by the fineness of their clothes. Guest and host alike should rest in equal ease. Be careful and self-restrained in every place; the mind must be firm. Keep daogi always in the heart and see the myriad things as one body. Each grain of rice and each stick of fuel represents a year’s labor. If one’s thoughts go wrong, sin will pile up; in a future life one may be reborn in fur and horns as a beast, and still must repay with flesh and bone.

This is the Qinggui Bang (regulations posted for pure conduct) established by Ziqing Zhenren (the Southern Song Daoist master Bai Yuchan).

Heavenly Immortals, Earth Immortals, Spirit Immortals, Human Immortals, and Ghost Immortals—the five kinds of transcendent beings—all must observe rules and set clear bounds. Go against this and every path turns upside down; follow it and every affair accords with nature. Here is where sages rest from their burdens, and where immortals nurture their original authenticity. Morning and evening they burn incense and offer prayers, chanting long life for the emperor; dawn and dusk they proclaim the sacred titles, praying that officials and common people alike meet with good fortune. Thus the ordinary and the sacred dwell together, their presence hidden or revealed beyond reckoning. Some carry only a single shoe or a gourd, making the world-within-a-vessel their livelihood; like lone clouds and wild cranes, they live as idle ones beyond the world. Their hearts are tranquil; they wander free. When the Huangliang dream ends and worldly glory is seen through, they rest easy on the clear breeze; when the golden-mercury furnace is opened in inner alchemy, they already face the half-windowed moon. When merit is complete and the body is wondrous and spirit bright, having subdued dragon and tiger—the yin and yang qi within—they leave the path of confusion, mount phoenix and crane, and return to their grotto-heaven abode.

Those who have just left the dust of the world and newly entered the mysterious gate still have muddled hearts and nature not yet penetrated; they must keep the pure regulations and not violate them. Serve the master and respect fellow disciples; hold the Dao in mind and seek the true. Keep life and nature (xingming) always in view; do not fix on fame and profit. Walk slowly; speak softly. Do not sing seductive songs or gossip of right and wrong. For public or private outings, do not return after lamps are lit; in seated meditation do not open the mouth—wait only for the bell before rising. On arrival state your purpose and hang your travel bag (guada); on departure draw your leave slip before the assembly. Violations are punished according to severity: light cases require providing incense, oil, tea, and cakes; heavy cases bring beating with bamboo and expulsion from the mountain. Thieves are beaten and driven out, their robes and bowls burned. Gamblers and those who take meat and wine may not hold office in the hall. For lewdness and deceit, the penalty is scattering bones and ashes. Offenders are punished doubly before the assembly. This notice is posted so that all may know.

Disciples of the cloud-and-water way from the five lakes share one hall. Once the community is gathered, discipline must be clear. Whether ordinary or sacred, now hidden now visible, their transformations are unfixed—but the rules of the Dao are constant.

Regulations of Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuji).

Those who dwell in the mountains to cultivate should remain pure, quiet, empty, and still—detached and at ease in solitude. Take refining the heart-mind as the root and nurturing nature as the function; take meeting the world with softness as the Dao and humility and harmony as De. Take compassion as the foundation and upaya (skillful means that help others as circumstances allow) as the path. Among people, habitually stay low; in stillness, do not give rise to ordinary desires.

All worldly chores should be done within one’s strength—never to excess. Food and clothing must not be enjoyed in surplus; reckon money and grain and do not hoard what is extra. Do not crave fine clothes for oneself. If anything belonging to the monastery (communal property of the dao-guan) remains, it should relieve poor travelers passing through, or be taken elsewhere for alms-seeking, or used to prepare vegetarian meals and conduct ritual assemblies.

Through all twelve double-hours (the full day and night), do not cling to what is false; constantly keep clear awareness of true nature. Sweep away dust and grime; scrub pots, draw water, carry firewood, cook. Set aside private intentions and do not give rise to anger.

Each person stays in a separate room, clarifying the mind and discerning the essentials of the Dao. Each takes a share of duties and accepts one beneficial task; roles may also be exchanged. Refine true nature without fixating on any single “method,” without blaming one another for right and wrong. You must subdue inner “fire” (restrain hot temper) and not raise irritation. Sweep away the distinction between self and others, dissolve attachment to form and sound, leave the body and drop cleverness (free yourself from bodily clinging and cunning calculation)—then be limpid, clear, and without desire.

When you meet followers of the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism), treat them equally: neither slight them nor harbor arrogance. When there is no need, do not leave the monastery. Morning and evening, watch the gates. At yin-dawn (early morning in the yin hour, roughly 3–5 a.m.), sweep halls and courtyards. If someone comes to offer support, receive them with an ordinary, even mind; if there is no donation, do not discriminate.

Any itinerant practitioner who stays three days: if capable, recommend them for a seat in the assembly; if without resolve, send them elsewhere. Then inspect the travel register (the booklet recording origin and wandering circumstances), enter each case separately, and examine the reasons in detail. If anything is unclear, there may be someone concealing identity or practicing fraud—keeping them would be improper. Guard against wild Daoists (improper practitioners), the lazy and stubborn, and the deceitful who bewitch others with words, stain the community, ruin the premises, and constantly stir up trouble—they should be expelled.

If someone seeks to enter the monastery to become a monastic, do not admit them on your own. First observe their Dao-breath (spiritual bearing), then inquire into their Dao-heart, and look at the good or ill of their family’s tradition and the depth of their own virtue. Assist the capable; restrain the foolish. For affairs within the monastery, first ask the abbot (guanzhu, head of the dao-guan), then discuss together with the whole assembly. Entry into monastic life has no fixed time of day and no distinction of old or young: whoever can penetrate principle and know their own mind may become a “superior person” (one whose virtue stands above others). In all teaching and guiding others, do not deceive.