《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 8

The Bagua and the Jiazi cycle are both numbers that appear within change. What governs these changes is a supremely still and wondrous vessel, within which the workings of “divine mechanism and ghost concealment” reside. It abides in the innate realm: without form or trace, and beyond naming. Calendrical reckoning can measure postnatal movement, yet cannot match the stillness of the innate. In the human body this vessel is called the mysterious aperture (xuanqiao); likewise it has no visible form. The mysterious aperture is not some fixed spot inside the body, but the life pivot granted in the innate—pointed to without trace. All things and I alike receive it from the innate; it is the root on which the myriad beings establish life, and the place to which they return; every transformation arises from it, and the sage’s achievement begins from it. Cultivating the person by this vessel, the whole body is regulated; governing human affairs by this vessel, the myriad changes can be settled.

The sage knows that Heaven and Earth have their own natural Way, and artifacts fashioned by human hands cannot match it—hence this natural wondrous vessel, which is precisely the root from which the myriad beings are born. From this vessel one deduces the forms in which yin and yang unfold, traces the origin from which the myriad beings are born, and only then do the myriad transformations occur within oneself. Applied inward to the single person, applied outward to all under Heaven, both contain the subtle use of divine mechanism and ghost concealment. What is called “shen (spirit)” is the extension of yang qi, hence it is called “ji (mechanism)”; what is called “gui (ghost)” is the return of yin qi, hence it is called “cang (concealment).” Yin and yang mutually wax and wane until balance is reached, and the myriad beings can then flourish. This wondrous vessel itself has no image, yet it shines clearly amid the ten thousand images. This is the highest achievement of observing the Way of Heaven and grasping Heaven’s course. Master Fan twisted the Great Dao with the cleverness of a single individual; if one can obtain this teaching and preserve it, perhaps those heterodox doctrines can be stilled.

The above is commentary on the preface to Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir, annotated by Min Yide, a descendant of the Longmen lineage of the Northern school.

The phrase “Seven Returns and Nine Reversions of the Golden Fluid Great Elixir” uses “seven” for the number associated with fire, with fire standing for Shen (spirit) in the body, and “nine” for the number associated with metal, with metal standing for Qi (vital energy) in the body. Refining metal with fire means Shen returns inward and Qi naturally comes back; when essence and life return to their root and origin, Shen returns to original nature and Qi to original life, spirit and Qi merge into one, and nature and life interpenetrate—this is called the Golden Elixir (Jindan). This section first states the theme; what follows explains it step by step.

Taking body and mind as the upper and lower “strings” of the moon (a metaphor from lunar phases for the advance and retreat of yin-yang in firing times), taking spirit and Qi to mark winter and summer solstice (seasonal metaphors for waxing and waning yin-yang), and taking form and spirit to correspond to the Kan and Li trigrams (Kan as water, Li as fire—in alchemy often essence and spirit)—these three lines set out the general framework of the method.

Hun (ethereal soul) in the east belongs to Wood; Po (corporeal soul) in the west belongs to Metal; Shen in the south belongs to Fire; Jing (essence) in the north belongs to Water; Yi (intent) in the center belongs to Earth. Bringing these five together is called gathering the Five Phases (Wuxing)—the “medicinal ingredients” of the elixir.

Hold the light of the eyes without looking outward, gather hearing without listening outward, even the breath through the nose, and seal the tongue so breath and speech are not wasted—this is called harmonizing the Four Symbols (Sixiang): it teaches you in practice to gather the ingredients.

When the eyes do not gaze outward, Hun stays in the liver; when the ears do not chase sounds, Jing stays in the kidneys; when the tongue does not speak, Shen stays in the heart; when the nose does not pursue fragrance, Po stays in the lungs; when the four limbs do not move, Yi stays in the spleen—hence “Five Qi Returning to the Origin (Wuqi Chaoyuan).” Jing transforms into Qi, Qi into Shen, Shen into emptiness—hence “Three Flowers Gathering at the Crown (Sanhua Juding).” Hun in the liver without leaking through the eyes, Po in the lungs without leaking through the nose, Shen in the heart without leaking through the mouth, Jing in the kidneys without leaking through the ears, Yi in the spleen without leaking through the limbs and orifices—this is called being without leakage (wulou). All of the above is about fully gathering the ingredients and keeping them from leaking outward.

Spirit, essence, Hun, Po, and Yi blend into one Qi, neither seen nor heard—also called formless, hence “emptiness” (xuwu). Refining Jing means refining primordial Jing, not dissipated lustful Jing; what is lost through arousal and emotion is leaked essence, not primordial Jing.

Refining qi means refining primordial qi (yuanqi), not the breath that goes in and out through the nose and mouth. Breath through the nose and mouth drifts outward and is lost; that is “leaking qi,” and it is not primordial qi. Refining spirit means refining the primordial spirit (yuanshen), not the spirit that stirs when the heart forms intentions, moves in thought, or worries and plans. That spirit of intention, thought, and deliberation leaks away; it is “leaking spirit,” and it is not the primordial spirit. Likewise, the essence ordinarily lost through leakage is leaking jing, not primordial jing (yuanjing).

The spirit, qi, and jing spoken of here must be returned to their root through sustained practice. When intent and deliberation are stilled for a long time, spirit no longer leaks and becomes primordial spirit again. When anger is held in check for a long time, qi no longer leaks and becomes primordial qi again. When desire is restrained for a long time, jing no longer leaks and becomes primordial jing again. Such primordial jing, primordial qi, and primordial spirit share one root with Heaven and Earth and one body with the ten thousand things: to obtain them is to live; to lose them is to die.

Apply yang fire—the advancing, warming fire in the inner elixir’s fire phases—and they turn into yang qi. Apply yin fu—the signs and phases of gathering and storing in that same regimen—and they turn into yin essence. If you can keep desire suppressed day after day, true water naturally rises; if you can keep anger in check day after day, true fire naturally sinks. Hence the saying: what can be seen cannot be used; what can be used cannot be seen. That is the method of cooking and refining the medicinal ingredients until they merge as one.

The body is the dwelling of the heart, and the heart is the master of the body. When the heart is wildly unsettled, it is like a dragon; when the body is fierce and hard to tame, it is like a tiger. In the body there is a trace of true yang qi: when desire is restrained for long, true water rises and congenital qi shows forth. In the heart there is a trace of true yin essence: when anger is restrained for long, true fire sinks and the essence of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) flows out. These two are called the “two things”—the subtle ingredients used to transform the medicine and form the inner elixir (Neidan).

The heart belongs to Qian (Heaven in the Bagua), the body to Kun (Earth); hence they are called the Qian–Kun cauldron and vessel—that is, heart and body serve as cauldron and furnace for refining the elixir. Yang qi belongs to Li (Fire), yin essence to Kan (Water); hence they are called the crow-and-rabbit medicinals. The crow is the golden crow in the sun, the rabbit the jade rabbit in the moon—images for yang qi and yin essence as the two medicines.

Embracing unity and guarding the center, refining primordial Yuan and nurturing simplicity—this means holding to pure oneness and dwelling in the central palace, refining and nourishing innate primordial Qi and one’s true nature; hence it is called gathering the pre-heaven primordial chaotic Qi (the undifferentiated Qi before heaven and earth). The head corresponds to Qian and the body to Kun, so the body is called the Cauldron and Vessel of Qian and Kun; Yang Qi corresponds to Li and Yin essence to Kan—the sun crow and moon rabbit stand for Yin and Yang, so they are called the Black Crow and White Rabbit as medicinal substances. Once body and mind are thoroughly blended, spirit naturally settles in emptiness; this is the method of gathering the elixir seed (the point where the elixir first forms).

Morning corresponds to the Zhun hexagram and evening to the Meng hexagram; by day one takes the noon hour and by night the zi hour—hence it is called applying the firing schedule of the celestial circuit. When thoughts do not arise, the fire does not flare too high; when the mind does not scatter, the fire does not turn cold—the whole skill lies in quiet clarity and naturalness. Wood-fluid peaks at the mao hour and metal-essence peaks at the you hour; then one should “bathe” (pause intensifying the fire and gently warm-nurture): rest the mind to nourish the fire, and true Qi will steam and refine on its own.

The man symbolized by Zhen drinks wine from the west; the woman symbolized by Dui plucks flowers from the north; the wind of Xun stirs the six Yang lines, and the earth of Kun stores the number seven. When nature is still, emotion rests at ease; when the heart stirs, spirit grows weary. In learning one subtracts day by day; on the Way one adds day by day—so one should practice extraction and addition (adjusting the firing by withdrawing or supplementing according to the schedule). The six sections above all explain how to balance the firing schedule.

At the very start of gathering the medicine, one must activate the bellows and key of Qian and Kun (the opening and closing of breath like a bellows). Who moves, how to move, and where to begin cannot be figured out with ordinary knowledge—only the Valley Spirit (the responsive spirit in emptiness) can know for itself. To take the knife-spoon measure of true medicine from Kan and Li (the tiniest amount of the true elixir) one must not seize it by force: who can obtain it, how to obtain it, and from where to start—all of this cannot be won by striving; one should let Xiangwang (the mind that seeks without clinging to form, as if present yet absent) do the seeking.

At first it is like clouds filling a thousand mountains; next like the bright moon reflected in ten thousand waters—naturally like tortoise and serpent coupling, horse and ox stepping in rhythm. The dragon contends for Hun, the tiger for Po; the crow battles for essence, the rabbit for spirit. In trance-like dimness true lead appears; in deep obscurity true mercury is there. The Yellow Matron (the go-between harmonizing Yin and Yang) brings them together, and one guards the central palace. Lead flies when it meets fire; mercury runs when it meets fire—so one tempers them with oil of “non-being” and steadies them with the nameless uncarved block (the true self beyond all names).

Lead returns to the Kun palace (the lower realm of earth), mercury returns to the Qian position (the upper realm of heaven). True Earth—the harmonizing neutral force that balances lead and mercury—joins the two; radiance turns inward and all is still and silent. When fire’s share is too strong, there is dryness and heat; when water’s share is too great, there is flooding. Dryness from fire comes from the fault of thoughts arising; flooding from water comes from the fault of a scattered mind. Hence one must adjust and balance—hence talk of “catty and ounce” (jin and liang) and of proper measure (fadu). This section on refining gold with fire is all metaphor, not a literal scene. Those who have been through it describe their earliest experience: at that time it was simply that thoughts did not arise and intent did not scatter; Shen (spirit) naturally condensed and Qi (vital energy) naturally gathered. Placing the self in empty openness is what “even adjustment” means. Do not cling to images, bind yourself to the letter of the text, or calculate catty and ounce—or you will spoil the work.

When practice reaches this point, wind arises at the Mud Pill (upper Dantian), the moon is bright at the Crimson Palace (middle Dantian), fire in the lower Dantian burns strong, and the waves of the Valley Sea (the spleen–stomach region) lie flat. The Jiaji (mid-spine pass) turns like a wheel; the four limbs are steady as mountains; the pores open as after a hot bath; bone and channels are smooth as in deep sleep; spirit is like husband and wife in union; hun and po are like mother and child at rest. This is a real state of cultivation, not a figure of speech. Here one only describes verification as it is—there is no extra “technique” beyond that.

Refining by measure (fadu—see below; students trace the stream to its source and work only in “effort without effort”) lets one gather without scattering. Refining by catty and ounce (jin and liang, as in Wuzhen / Understanding Reality; students set aside delusion to hold to truth and, in “using what is useful,” return to the useless) makes the bind firmer and firmer. Hun is stored within and po subsides; Jing (essence) coagulates and Shen (spirit) settles; mind and intent are pure and harmonized; the body feels clear and penetrable. Day by day, moment by moment, condensation deepens; from the formless, substance appears and the Sacred Embryo (the fetal origin of the inner elixir) forms.

As each day and each hour passes, true Qi gradually condenses; from formlessness it takes form, and the Holy Fetus coalesces—the spiritual embryo that Neidan describes as formed from Jing, Qi, and Shen. This section restates the master principle of “harmonizing adjustment.”

Twelve months make a year; each month is counted as thirty days; each day is divided into one hundred quarters (in antiquity a day was split into one hundred quarters). A month thus has three thousand quarters, and ten months thirty thousand quarters. “Ten months” follows the image of human gestation; it denotes the period in which the Holy Fetus is nurtured.

Whether walking, standing still, sitting upright, or lying down, one must maintain a thread of attention that is continuous yet so fine it seems absent yet present—these eight characters are the rule. Once fetal Qi has settled, the infant shows its aspect, yet it is an aspect without aspect; the Mystic Pearl (the sign of the elixir perfected) takes shape, yet it is a shape without shape; Taiyi (Supreme Unity) holds the true body, whole and complete.

Within these thirty thousand quarters one may “win” the span of thirty thousand years in heaven. How so? In each quarter’s work, the seasons of a full year are contained. This is the natural law; it cannot be worked out by personal cleverness. Hence thirty thousand quarters can correspond to thirty thousand years. Twelve months in a year total thirty-six thousand units. Even a dull person who practices accordingly can at once enter the domain of the sage. This is plain truth: given proper nourishment, nothing fails to grow.

Yet the people use it every day—the phrase “daily use” is the crux—and do not know it. Original Jing is lost, original Qi exhausted, original Shen departs. Once nourishment is lost, nothing fails to perish.

Therefore, through all thirty thousand quarters, each quarter must be harmonized: simply that thoughts do not arise and mind-intention does not scatter. A single quarter’s lapse wastes the medicinal ingredients and flaws the firing: when intention scatters, the medicine vanishes; when a thought rises, the medicine is spent. Those who fall into this error lack sufficient daily practice in restraining anger and curbing desire. Hence it is said: “A deviation as fine as a hair, and the elixir cannot form.” One must therefore apply effort at every quarter—that is, in walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, to nourish it as if it were there yet barely there.

One should apply effort at every moment; in truth this is only within walking, standing, sitting, and lying down—letting it continue gently and seem almost absent. This kind of practice does not require strain: when moving, stay single-minded and intention naturally does not scatter; in stillness, gather the key and thoughts do not arise. This is what is meant by “gently present, use it without forcing.” When intention does not scatter, true Qi can coalesce; when thoughts do not arise, the original spirit (one’s innate clarity) can expand.

Internally, what is refined in a year is the elixir of thirty thousand ke (the ke was an ancient unit of time); externally, what is “borrowed” is the tally of thirty thousand years. Speaking broadly, in one day one forms an embryo of thirteen thousand five hundred breaths; speaking narrowly, through the twelve double-hours one circulates qi for eighty-four thousand li. Hence it is said: seize a bit of yang from heaven and earth, and gather the qi of the sun and moon’s two orbs; let true water move in the lead furnace (through precepts one gains concentration, and spirit and qi are full), and let true fire operate in the mercury cauldron (from concentration wisdom arises, and spirit and intelligence are clear and round).

When lead meets mercury, the body enters the heart—this is called the Flower Pool (Huachi); when mercury enters lead, the mind rests in the body—this called divine water. One must not cling to Wuwei (non-action); one must pass from being into non-being. One must not insist on deliberate doing; one must have being arise from non-being. One must not fix on visualization alone: if one only visualizes, one always stays outside the aperture (the gate kept in practice); only when one can hold the image and then forget it does one enter the aperture. One must not grasp at rigid holding: if one holds on dead, one has already left the aperture; when holding brings stability, one naturally remains within it. One must not sit in dull emptiness with a dead heart, nor practice blindly without method: when the body is not yet settled in the spirit chamber (where the original spirit dwells), that is called sitting in dull emptiness with a dead heart; when one still does not know how to apply the method, that is called blind practice. Both are harmful without benefit and must never be done.

What one worries about is not knowing where the medicinal materials (what is used in inner refinement) come from—the fifth through tenth sections above have already shown their source; and fear of not knowing the firing times (the rhythm and measure of the work)—from the eleventh section to here, the method has already been explained in detail.

Yet where exactly to begin must still be made clear in what follows. One fear is that people will not recognize where the medicinal ingredients come from—the fifth through tenth sections above have already pointed out their source; another fear is that people will not understand the measure of firing— from the eleventh section to here, the measure has been indicated in detail, yet where to take hold still depends on what comes next. One must know that within the body there is one aperture called the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin)—the aperture of non-being giving birth to being in Neidan discourse, from the Daodejing’s “gate of the Mysterious Female.” This aperture is not the heart, not the kidneys, not the mouth and nose, not the spleen and stomach, not the anal passage, not the bladder, not the Dantian (the locus of refinement and nurturing), nor the Mud Pill (Niwan, the upper Dantian within the crown). Recognize this one aperture: the winter solstice (when the first Yang stirs) is here, the medicinal ingredients are here, the firing is here, bathing (in firing, temporarily ceasing refinement and gently nurturing) is here, forming the elixir is here, and the body’s departure (Yang spirit leaving the form) is here. This aperture has no boundary and no inside or outside; it is the root of spirit and Qi, the valley of non-being. Seek it only within yourself—do not seek it elsewhere. It cannot be grasped by private speculation; there must be heart-to-heart oral transmission (the master and disciple imprinting mind to mind, teaching mouth to ear).

Speculation is the arising of thoughts. The Great Dao teaches people to forget thoughts—how could one guess on one’s own? Having warned against speculation and against seeking outside, the text yet says there must be heart-to-heart oral transmission: that is to show that one must certainly awaken to it from one’s own mind. Those of superior wisdom whose nature is steady may read and suddenly enter into accord; those of middling capacity who must cultivate step by step still fear not finding the path. Now, in reverence for Patriarch Zhang’s (Zhang Sanfeng in the Neidan tradition) compassion, for students the correct road into this aperture is pointed out—and that is only the single method of stopping thoughts. To stop thoughts, one must first suppress anger and restrain desires (cheng fen zhi yu), clear away all sorts of stray thoughts, and keep only the right thought; even if the right thought remains, one must not allow side thoughts to attach or secretly grow. In an instant when this thought has just ceased and the next has not yet arisen—that is the finest moment when myriad concerns are all stilled. Then, with one phrase from the teacher, one can receive it inwardly from the heart.

If a person can truly, in the gap after one thought has ended and before the next has arisen, suddenly awaken, that is no less than mind-to-mind transmission: one can fully realize it on one’s own—why wait for oral instruction? Once you are aware in that very moment, do not startle yourself. Without startle, this awakening can settle and abide; when it abides in stability, the “medicinals” within the body (in Neidan, the refineable essence and qi of the person) accumulate deeply, and the “measure” of the method can be traced to its source everywhere. What was said above about the winter solstice (when the single yang returns), the medicinals, and the firing times (the rhythm and proportions of practice)—all of that is contained here, and it is trustworthy. If you guess from private bias, is that not going the opposite way? How could that be right? Otherwise everything becomes empty fancy.

Now composing The Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir is meant to wrap the root of creation and transformation and thread through the marrow of yin and yang, so that those who refine the elixir can trace the stream back to the source—that is, follow the words to know the meaning; abandon the false and turn toward the true—that is, use the apparent image to awaken to the real truth, lest one forget the root and chase the branches. Here nature and life are taken as root, spirit and qi as branch and leaf—precisely teaching that one must not cling to words or fixate on forms; what follows will also explain that emptiness (xu) is what is truly solid.

The golden elixir is originally “something from nothing”; nurturing the infant (the holy embryo of Neidan)—how can one die on phrases and cling to objects and fall into bypaths and crooked trails? Yet though it arises from nothing, it cannot be taken as a stubborn void of absolute nothingness. Know that this emptiness is true emptiness: within nothing there is not utterly nothing—this is genuine emptiness (xu). When myriad concerns are exhausted, grasp it in the present moment and the mind will know without words—there is inconceivable subtlety. Now, because Ma Ziran has departed, these few sentences are spoken—“because Ma Ziran has departed” five characters are again a formula that gathers the whole elixir work—you (Hainan Baizi) should savor them finely. Zhang Ziyang here knew in the heart without words; within it is inconceivable wonder.

Because Ma Ziran (a Tang dynasty Daoist) has departed—the five characters “because Ma Ziran departed” form yet another mnemonic that gathers the essentials of refining the elixir—I will explain these few lines; you (addressing Hainan Baizi) should ponder them carefully. This is the preface by Purple Yang Patriarch Zhang Boduan.

Alas, why was this preface written? In the past, when Patriarch Purple Yang Zhang had fully achieved the great elixir, he wished the Daoist method to endure and be passed down, yet feared that revealing heaven’s secrets would bring divine retribution. He therefore composed Understanding Reality (Wuzhen Pian), using allegory to speak, so that students might see the real through figures—a effect no less than heart-to-heart transmission and oral instruction. He did not expect that the text would speak too much of qian and gong (in internal alchemy, metaphors for two kinds of refined vital “medicinals”), while the principles of form and spirit were not clearly stated. Readers, failing to appreciate his intent, clung to the letter and went astray onto side paths. Practitioners of heterodox arts often cited his words as proof; even his distant descendant Hainan Baizi misunderstood the original aim, failed three times in cultivation, turned to reviling the book, and lamented that his master could no longer come forth to write.

Then Patriarch Zhang, pitying the world’s failure to understand, also composed Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir, pretending that Ma Ziran had departed and sending it to Hainan; fearing that on seeing qian and gong he would shy away, he used this preface to make the meaning plain. Only then could Baizi obtain the “two-eight” medicine (the symbolic pairing of yin and yang in equal halves, fused into one jin—a doctrinal image, not a literal weight in pounds), and form the “three-hundred-day embryo” (the metaphor of the inner elixir’s “sacred fetus” maturing in roughly ten months). He also felt compassion that few in the world truly awakened while many clung to outward forms; in his leisure he recorded his master’s Discourse on Distinguishing Doubts in Cultivating Immortality, had it carved and circulated, and did not conceal Patriarch Zhang’s earlier lapse—his intent not yet openly revealed to all.

Among Daoist elixir scriptures, Understanding Reality is already refined in style; yet with gifts as high as Baizi’s, reading it still did not open the vital aperture, so misunderstanding made success hard. Without these four hundred words and this preface, there would almost be no way to remedy matters for later generations. People today fall short of Baizi in virtue and wisdom; I fear that after reading they still will not know where to begin. I, Yide (Min Yide), therefore clarify this meaning in the xinmao year.

People today, in virtue and wisdom, cannot match Master White (Bai Yuchan). I privately fear that even after reading this preface, they still will not know where to begin. Therefore I, Yide of Min (Min Yide), in the autumn of the xinmao year, had printed the volume in which my disciple Yanglin of Min (Min Yanglin) presented his annotated and explained edition of Peng Haogu’s commentary on the Golden Elixir Four Hundred Words, for fellow disciples to read. In the first month of this year, I again reverently took out the Elucidation of the Mysterious in the Awakening to Reality annotated by my Northern School’s immortal Zhu Yunyang, and had it reissued, to show where Patriarch Zhang’s (Zhang Boduan’s) true teaching lies. Now I have again carefully translated and annotated this preface, section by section; where it speaks of the xuanpin (mysterious female—the gate through which pre-heaven qi enters and exits in Neidan), I have briefly indicated the course of practice I myself have followed, as follows.

May those in the world as dull as Yide practice according to this course; may those as wise as Master White still read the original text to obtain the oral formulas, and take the Elucidation of the Mysterious in the Awakening to Reality as their standard of the Dharma. What harm could there be in that? Master White is a patriarch of the sudden method (direct awakening); Yide is a student of the gradual method (step-by-step cultivation). Sudden and gradual paths differ, yet the destination is the same. What Patriarch Zhang said—“even if a foolish common person carries it out, they can at once ascend to the sage’s realm”—is truly so. I wish that learners under heaven, in later ages, may advance in order together and enter the sacred domain alike, not betraying Patriarch Zhang’s compassionate intent in this preface to remedy the Awakening to Reality. On an auspicious day in the second month of the fifteenth year of the Daoguang reign, Min Yide, reverent descendant of the Northern School, respectfully annotated and appended this postface.

Commentary on the Golden Elixir Four Hundred Words

Annotated by Peng Haogu, Hermit of One Ravine in Xiling; interpreted by Min Yanglin, disciple of the Longmen lineage in western Zhejiang.

True earth captures true lead; true lead in turn controls true mercury; when lead and mercury both return to true earth, body and mind are then still and unmoving.

(In Neidan, true earth denotes the true intent that harmonizes from the center; true lead denotes pre-heaven true yang; true mercury denotes the original spirit in the heart. These four lines mean: true intent first gathers true yang; true yang then restrains the original spirit; when both settle in true intent, body and mind become quiet and fixed.)

At birth, the Kan (☵) water produced by Heaven-One is the kidneys. Kidney water is heavy, like lead; from the kidneys arises qi, and within that qi the single thread of pure, unified Jing (essence) is called true lead (zhen qian). The Li (☲) fire produced by Earth-Two is the heart. Heart fire flares upward, like mercury; from the heart arises fluid, and within that fluid the thread of upright yang Qi is called true mercury (zhen gong). Kan holds wu earth (wu tu); Li holds ji earth (ji tu). Water is yin by nature, yet yin holds true yang; fire is yang by nature, yet yang holds true yin—this is true earth (zhen tu). The meeting of yin and yang depends entirely on true earth.

True lead is the Qi in the body; true mercury is the Shen (spirit) in the heart; true earth is the yi (intention) in body and mind. If you can apply your own true intention so that mercury constantly meets lead and lead constantly governs mercury, until both lead and mercury return to true earth, then Shen and Qi blend into one, nature (xing) and emotion (qing) unite, and body and mind become utterly still. Though still, within suchness (ru ru) clear awareness remains; in the hidden depths, clarity still shines. Deluded mind is cleared away, yet the illuminating mind is not dimmed. The physical body may seem dead and silent, while the Dharma body (fashen)—the body of the true nature realized in practice—lives on without ceasing. This is not falling into stubborn emptiness or resigning oneself to dry stagnation.

With only a single true intention to settle in the body and gather the mind back, the Five Phases (wuxing) can gather together (wuxing cuancu), the Four Images (sixiang) harmonize, the five Qi pay homage to the Origin (wuqi chaoyuan), and gradually the three flowers gather at the crown (sanhua juding). The path is direct and not arduous—only sincere intent must come first. From emptiness arises white snow; from stillness sprouts the yellow sprout (huangya)—the tender shoot of refined Qi in quiet concentration. In the jade furnace the fire warms and nurtures gently; from the golden cauldron purple mist (zixia) rises.

Emptiness and stillness are the practices at the beginning of gathering the medicine. Gathering the medicine means, in internal alchemy (Neidan), grasping the moment when the body’s own medicinal potency arises. White snow and yellow sprouts are the signs when that medicine appears in oneself. White snow belongs to emptiness; yellow sprouts belong to stillness—yet the two are not the same: white snow arises naturally from empty space; yellow sprouts must be nurtured by fire before they appear, because in the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), fire generates earth. When the time is that of the Gou hexagram (one yin beginning at the top), heaven and earth meet; if a person can be empty, white snow arises of itself. When the time is that of the Fu hexagram (one yang beginning at the bottom), earth and heaven meet; if a person can be still, yellow sprouts arise of themselves. Just as between heaven and earth, when yang reaches its peak yin is born—white snow falls from heaven; when yin reaches its peak yang is born—yellow sprouts grow up from earth. The jade furnace is the Huangting (the inner cinnabar field within the body); fire is shen (spirit). Using shen to steer qi, fire is within the jade furnace. “Wen wen” (gentle warmth) is the timing of tending the fire. The cauldron stands in the Qian position (the palace of shen). Black turning red becomes purple; fire flying upward becomes rosy clouds—rosy clouds and fire are not two things. The jade furnace’s fire nurtures with gentle warmth; the spirit of the Qian palace shines into the inner depth of the Kun palace. When on the cauldron purple rosy clouds rise and fly, that is Kun receiving the fire of Qian, showing on the surface of the Kun palace—hence the sign of flying.

The heart has long dwelt settled within the body—this is the first proof that the body is governed by the heart.

In the Huachi (the “pool of blossoms”—the mouth where essence-fluid gathers), the lotus opens; the divine water (essence-fluid) stirs with warm golden ripples. The spirit of the Qian palace shines into the inner depth of the Kun palace. When on the cauldron purple rosy clouds rise and fly, that is Kun receiving the fire of Qian, showing on the surface of the Kun palace—there is the sign of flying.

The heart has long dwelt settled within the body—this is the first proof that the body is governed by the heart.

In the Huachi the lotus opens; the golden ripples of the divine water are calm. The night is deep; the moon is bright; heaven and earth are like one round mirror.

Ziyang (the sobriquet of Zhang Boduan) wrote in his original preface: when lead departs to meet mercury, it is called Huachi (the “Flowery Pool”); when mercury enters lead, it is called divine water (shen shui). Here, lead, mercury, Huachi, and divine water are all terms of internal alchemy (Neidan)—not literal metals or ponds. From this we see that Huachi is the root of life (ming), and divine water is the root of nature (xing). To fuse xing and ming into one, first cast mercury into lead, then use lead to restrain mercury. The essence of the True One (zhenyi zhi jing) in the Kan palace (the trigram of water, likened to the kidneys), bearing upright yang qi (zhengyang zhi qi), rises upward—its aspect like a lotus opening. The upright yang qi in the Li palace (the trigram of fire, likened to the heart), following the essence of the True One as it descends, settles as quietly as golden ripples stilled. Approaching the zi hour (midnight, when yang qi first stirs), the water is clear and the metal bright; xing, ming, spirit, and qi become one. Hence it is said that heaven and earth are like a round mirror: the crux lies solely in joining xing to ming and gathering spirit into the qi cavity (the place in the body where spirit and qi converge). The ancients said, “In refining the elixir there is no other method—only lead divine water into Huachi, and all is accomplished.” They meant precisely this.

When heart and body unite as one, purely following heavenly principle (tianli), qi circulates of itself—only then is it the moment to begin practice.

Use cinnabar to refine yang qi, and quicksilver to cook gold essence (jing); gold essence and yang qi are at once cinnabar and quicksilver.

Cinnabar is the upright yang qi within the fluids (jinye); quicksilver relates to the natural movement of qi—through this one arrives at the moment to begin.

Again: use cinnabar to refine yang qi, and quicksilver to cook gold essence; gold essence and yang qi are both like cinnabar and like quicksilver.

Cinnabar is the upright yang qi in the fluids; quicksilver is the essence of the True One within qi, used to supplement the yin of the Li palace and to gather the essence of the True One from the fluids. Gold essence and yang qi are not two separate things: refined with yang fire (advancing fire in the furnace), they appear as cinnabar; nourished with the yin tally (retreating and warming), they appear as quicksilver.

When the moment to begin has come, one must cook with full effort; still govern the body with the heart and nurture the heart with the body, waiting in stillness—beyond this there is no other method.

The jade-rabbit fat in the sun’s soul and the golden-crow marrow in the moon’s soul (the jade rabbit is the hare in the moon; fat hidden in the sun and marrow hidden in the moon symbolize yin within yang and yang within yin)—gather these and send them into the cauldron (the locus of refinement in the body), and they become a pool of clear water.

The sun belongs to Wood and Fire and is called the Sun Soul (Ri Hun). Within the soul resides Shen (spirit); within yang is contained yin—and that yin is the Moon Soul (Yue Po). Without the moon, the sun cannot emit light; hence it is called the jade rabbit’s essence (yutu zhi), an image drawn from the jade rabbit in the moon to denote the moon’s refined essence, and that essence arises from Jing (essence). The great yin belongs to Metal and Water and is the Moon Soul. Within the soul resides Jing; within yin is contained yang—and that yang is the Sun Soul. Without the sun, the moon cannot take form; hence it is called the golden crow’s marrow (jinwu sui), an image drawn from the golden crow to denote the sun’s refined marrow, and that marrow arises from Shen. Cinnabar is the essence within the sun; touched by the moon’s luminous radiance it gives rise to true mercury (zhen gong). Quicksilver is the splendor within the moon; touched by the sun’s refined qi it gives rise to true lead (zhen qian). True lead and true mercury are the paired medicinal substances in Neidan (internal alchemy)—not the lead and mercury of the outer world. Among great cultivators, the superior adept transforms Shen into qi and qi into Jing; the middle adept uses Jing to hold qi and qi to hold Shen. When spirit and essence unite and are harmonized in the treasured cauldron (baoding—the place in the body where the medicine is refined), sweet dew descends of itself and gathers into a pool of water.

They nourish and fuse with each other; only then do body and mind begin to transform. After that, one may turn to observe that aperture.

The medicine arises from the mysterious aperture (xuan qiao—the opening from which the medicine emerges); the timing of the fire (huohou) is kindled from the yang furnace (yang lu—the place in the body where the fire is applied). When Dragon and Tiger (long yu hu—the paired medicinal images that meet in Neidan) unite, the treasured cauldron yields the mysterious pearl (xuan zhu—the formed elixir).

The mysterious aperture (xuanciao) is the mysterious female (xuanpin)—the subtle gateway where yin and yang meet: xuan belongs to yang, pin to yin; together they are called the mysterious aperture. In the human body the lower Dantian is the furnace, the place where spirit dwells; fire rises from here, so it is called the yang furnace; above the furnace sits the cauldron. When stillness reaches its utmost, movement stirs; the “medicine” (the refined essence produced by yin and yang in inner practice) appears on its own—then one should “gather” it. After obtaining the medicine, if one does not use the firing process (the rhythm of stillness, movement, and intent) to refine it, the medicine disperses again—how then could the mysterious pearl (a metaphor for the inner elixir) be formed? One must turn the pivotal bolt at the gate of the crown (the key pivot at the top of the head) and seize the pearl beneath the black dragon’s chin (a metaphor for precious pre-heaven true qi). Medicine is fire, and fire is medicine; when medicine and fire unite, dragon (yang) and tiger (yin) join, and within the suspended embryo and precious cauldron (the image of the cauldron resting in the Dantian), the mysterious pearl, fine as a millet grain, is produced of itself. But medicine must first arise from the mysterious aperture before fire can be kindled in the yang furnace. If one forces growth before the time is ripe, outer fire may be active while inner resonance does not match—one may instead harm oneself. In general, when spirit and qi harmonize, the mysterious aperture reveals itself; once it appears, the firing process becomes knowable; once the firing is clear, dragon and tiger naturally merge; once they merge, the mysterious pearl is naturally complete. The subtlety lies entirely in the interval between stillness and movement—not the slightest deviation is allowed.

When body and mind are pure and unified, free of stray thoughts, the images of transformation open up at once; one must moreover uphold them with a single-minded intent—careful solitude (shendu, being vigilant when alone) is what matters most. The first five sections exert effort solely on the word “stillness”; here a further word “reverence” (jing) is added as the guiding principle—the practice of maintaining reverence and preserving sincerity (zhujing cuncheng) lies in this.

Note: This aperture is the upper xuan aperture (the upper mysterious opening—not a physical hole in the body). It is neither being nor non-being; it does not fall within direction or form; it lies beyond body and mind and appears in the realm of vagueness and indistinctness—hence it is called an extraordinary aperture. The upper part of the person corresponds to Qian (Heaven trigram), the lower to Kun (Earth trigram). Qian’s middle line crossing with Kun’s forms Kan; Kan occupies Kun’s position, and qi settles there. Kun’s middle line crossing with Qian’s forms Li; Li lodges in Qian’s position, and qi also settles there. Shen is the cinnabar (mercury) in the heart; qi is the lead in the body—both are cultivation metaphors, not physical substances. The heart is the dwelling of shen; the body is the storehouse of qi—hence the name “shen–qi aperture.” In the body there is a point of true yang qi; this qi belongs to Li. In the heart there is a point of true yin essence; this essence belongs to Kan—hence it is said that within are the essences of Kan (Water trigram) and Li (Fire trigram).

Explication: As for “body”—hence the name shen–qi aperture. In the body there is a point of true yang qi; qi belongs to Li. In the heart there is a point of true yin essence; essence belongs to Kan—hence it is said that within are the essences of Kan and Li.

Explication: Body and mind are one undivided whole. When in stillness you contemplate and attain this aperture, the body is no longer ordinary flesh. From then on you must still guard body and mind strictly: do not leave it, do not lose it. The main point is only to keep the mind utterly sincere and to restrain desire rigorously.

Wood-mercury: one speck of red; metal-lead: four catties of black—wood-mercury appears as one speck of red; metal-lead as four catties of black (red, black, and the weight in catties are all symbolic). Lead and mercury join into one pearl, bright and shining, in purple-gold color.

The speck of true yin essence in the heart is called “wood mercury” (in internal alchemy, wood and mercury stand for this inner yin). Wood’s number is three; within it lies a portion of true yang qi, hence “a single speck.” Wood generates fire, and fire is red, so it is also called “a speck of red.” The speck of true yang qi in the body is called “gold lead” (gold and lead stand for this inner yang). Gold’s number is four, hence “four catties”; lead is black, and gold shares the domain of water, hence “four catties of black.” First let the red enter the black, then refine the black into the red. When red and black merge, a bead the size of a millet grain forms in the treasure cauldron—the place within the body where elixir is refined—bright and purple in hue. Red and black intermingled yield purple, so it is called purple-gold. Yet lead and mercury are not fixed substances, red and black are not fixed colors, and “one speck” and “four catties” are not fixed measures; those who grasp the meaning will understand for themselves.

This is still the work of blending body and mind in one, with reverent attentiveness and a sincere, undivided heart. When genuine accumulation has lasted long enough, the great Dao condenses; the heart then feels full, and only then can one apply it through quiet clarity and natural ease.

The home landscape is fair; wind and rain come in deep spring. The plow needs no force; the whole earth is gold.

“Home” means the true earth within the body; “landscape” means the signs of the body’s medicinal ingredients appearing within. At the moment of one yang’s return—when yang first stirs again—one need only rouse Xun wind (wind as a image for the true breath) to blow upon Kun earth, and draw spirit-water to moisten the Flowery Pool (Huachi). When three yang meet in harmony and all is unobstructed, gathering costs no effort: simply neither forget nor force, and yellow sprouts (the first sign of the elixir) burst from the soil. Calling it gold means the Golden Elixir has formed.

The qi that arises from accumulating righteousness (jiyi) is vast and firm; one need only nourish it by the upright way and not harm it.

True lead is born in Kan. Kan is Water among the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), whose direction is north; in the human body it corresponds to the kidneys. True lead denotes that speck of true yang within kidney qi. Although its substance resides in Kan, its function manifests in the Li palace. Li is Fire, whose direction is south and which corresponds to the heart. It shifts from black to red, and within a single cauldron the cloud-vapor grows thick and dense. The cauldron is the locus within the body where one refines and nurtures the elixir.

The kidneys can generate qi; the “true-one water” within that qi is true lead. This true-one water is also the upright yang qi in the Li palace. When it meets the fluid and merges, true-one water is gathered from within the qi. Unless one takes this upright yang qi from within the fluid—so that mother and child meet and cling to each other—gold remains hidden in water and cannot rise. The essential method is to use spirit (Shen) to command qi; this is the heart-method transmitted through the ages. Hence it is said to be applied in the Li palace: substance in Kan, application in Li. Once lead is drawn out by borrowing fire, water turns from black to red. The medicine is also fire. One sees it begin at the pass of the three gates—the three barrier points along the spine where the governing vessel ascends from below—and surge straight up to the ninefold heaven, the highest place in the body: rising like mist, ascending like fine rain, steaming in gathering breath, condensing like haze, until the qi is as dense as clouds and enters the cauldron.

This passage means that the efficacy of body and mind merging as one comes entirely from governing the body with the heart, relying on the power of stillness.

True mercury is produced in Li. True mercury refers to the true yin spirit-fluid that issues from the heart. Although it is produced in Li, its function manifests in Kan. The “girl in red” walks through the southern garden, holding a jade olive in her hand.

Though mercury arises from the Li palace, without the upright pre-heaven qi (Zhenqi) from the north to restrain it, it often disperses and cannot coalesce; hence its function is said to lie in Kan instead. The girl in red is mercury; the southern garden is Li. When mercury from Li meets lead from Kan, lead and mercury join in mutual affinity, leave the Li palace together, and descend to the Kan position—this is called walking through the southern garden. Once past the southern garden, mercury congeals into snow. Jade indicates its white color; olive indicates a shape neither square nor round.

This passage further clarifies that the efficacy of body and mind merging as one comes entirely from nurturing the heart through the body, reaching the utmost point of reverent caution.

This commentary again points out that the efficacy of merging body and mind into one depends entirely on nourishing the heart through the body; in practice one must be utterly sincere and reverent.

Zhen and Dui are not simply east and west, and Kan and Li are not fixed as south and north. As the handle of the Big Dipper turns through the circuit of heaven, the cultivator must know how to gather and cluster qi in step with it.

The gloss explains: in the usual arrangement of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), Zhen stands for east, Dui for west, Li for south, and Kan for north. The way of heaven never rests; month by month the dipper handle points to a new direction, and yin and yang, cold and heat, never miss their seasons. The human body is likewise a small cosmos: qi rises from the Hidden Valley (Xuangu, a subtle qi cavity in the body), passes through the Mud Pill Palace (Nidan, at the crown), descends via the Multi-tiered Tower (Chonglou, the throat passage), and returns to the Northern Sea (Beihai, the lower kidney-water region)—this is called the Microcosmic Circuit (Zhoutian); its pivot of movement is the same as the dipper handle. A year has twelve months and thirty days per month, three hundred sixty days in all; in the old reckoning a day had one hundred ke (quarters), so a year totaled thirty-six thousand ke. The elixir cultivator, within a single day, applies the firing and timing (Huohou) of the zhoutian circuit; one day’s work can absorb the breath of a whole year—using one day in place of one year, twelve double-hours in place of twelve months, compressing the year into a day and the months into the hours, following only the turn of the dipper handle, so east, west, south, and north need not be taken literally. When the handle shifts wrongly, the seasons of practice go awry—be exceedingly careful.

Firing and timing must not be tied to fixed clock hours; the winter solstice need not fall at the Zi double-hour. So-called “bathing” (Muyu) at the Mao and You hours is only a figurative comparison—do not treat it as rigid schedule.

Fire, when too strong, blazes hot; when too weak, turns cold. The key is tuning it just right—so whenever one speaks of fire, one must speak of huohou (the advance, retreat, and rhythm of the firing). Within one shichen (two-hour period) there are six hou (intervals). Here hou means the jiehou (seasonal turning-points) within your own body, not some clock-time on the outside. When inner stillness reaches its extreme and then stirs, by the month that is Dongzhi (Winter Solstice); by the day that is zi (midnight). Rising with that nascent life is exactly where huohou lies. In broad terms: when one yang rises, that is zi; when one yin descends, that is wu (noon); yang ascending while yin descends is mou; yin ascending while yang descends is you. The saying that one need not divide zi and wu by the water-clock’s hours does not mean one must fix Dongzhi as zi and midsummer as wu, nor fix the Hare month as mou and the Rooster month as you. It is like waidan (external alchemy), where pushing fire forward is zi, drawing fire down is wu, and neither adding nor subtracting fire is muyu (the nurturing stage—warmholding, neither advancing nor retreating). One need not cling to zi and wu, nor cling to mou and you.

These two sections together treat the work when body and mind unite as one: it all depends on a single point of zhenyi (true, undivided intent) to preside. That is the power of stillness—reverence pushed to the limit, which in truth is sincerity pushed to the limit without break. The Zhenren (realized adept) again reveals these eighty characters not only to hand learners the essentials of practice, but also to clear away for those who die on the letter and cling to images every obstacle raised by alchemical books.

Wu gan (literally “crow liver”—by the crow in the sun, the solar essence, yang jing) and tu sui (“hare marrow”—by the hare in the moon, the lunar effulgence, yin jing) must be captured and brought to one place. Grain upon grain, from the subtle they accumulate until they show plainly.

A person receives tian di zhen yuan zhi qi (the true primordial qi of Heaven and Earth)—three hundred eighty-four zhu in all, together weighing one jin. Of this, eight liang are the sun’s refined essence; hence it is called “wu” (the crow).

Human beings receive from heaven and earth a total of three hundred and eighty-four zhu of true primordial Qi, which together weigh one jin. Of this, eight liang is the essence of the sun, called “crow liver,” also known as the fluid of Wood; eight liang is the essence of the moon, called “rabbit marrow,” also known as the Metal essence. Metal and Wood stand apart from each other and must rely on Wu and Ji (the Earth phase) as go-between, then be tempered by Fire. Each day one grain is produced, as large as a millet seed and weighing one zhu and eight li; from the subtle it accumulates until it becomes obvious—zhu heaping into liang. In thirty days it weighs thirty-eight zhu and four si; in three hundred days it weighs three hundred and eighty-four zhu, forms a square or circle one cun across, and weighs one full jin.

This states plainly: one need only unite body and mind in mutual response—there is no other method of application—simply nourish it directly without harming it, proceeding from the subtle to the manifest. From there, practice vigilance in solitude until the heart is at ease and the body settled; then that Qi will fill the space between heaven and earth.

Hundun (primordial chaos) wraps the void; the void holds the three realms (the worlds of heaven, earth, and humanity). Trace it to the root, and it is no larger than a single grain of millet.

Where there is a world, there are the three powers (heaven, earth, and humanity); where there are the three powers, there is the void; where there is the void, there is Hundun. Before heaven and earth had taken shape, all was one undifferentiated Hundun: Hundun wrapped the void, and the void held the three realms. Trace further to the moment when our body first received Qi, and again it was no more than one grain the size of millet. This is the root of human life—those who cultivate Neidan (internal alchemy) should know it. Hence it is said: whoever seeks the secret of long life need only seek the root of creation and transformation.

Hundun here means the body; the void means the heart; the “one” means sincerity (cheng). The body wraps the heart, and the heart in turn governs the body—and all of this depends on that single point of true intent (zhenyi). In heaven and earth, true intent is the pivot of creation and transformation; in the human person it is the master of the changes of life. Since practitioners are already told to act in accord with it, they may as well be shown what it is: then one can see the function of the true earth (this very point of true intent)—how vast it truly is.

When heaven and earth meet, true elixir fluid arises; within the sun and moon, true essence is held. Whoever grasps the root of Kan (the trigram of yin and water) and Li (the trigram of yang and fire) can fold the three realms—here, the worlds signified by the sun and moon beyond the body—into the one person.

Heart fluid sinks downward and kidney Qi rises upward; fluid and Qi together are called fluid. That is heaven and earth exchanging true fluid. Hun is the golden-crow essence in the sun; Po is the jade-rabbit marrow in the moon; together they are called essence. That is sun and moon holding true essence. Kan is yin, yet Wu (yang earth) lies hidden in its midst, so yang is Kan’s foundation. Li is yang, yet Ji (yin earth) lies hidden in its midst, so yin is Li’s foundation. To see that Wu earth in Kan begins from yang and Ji earth in Li begins from yin is to let the body’s heaven and earth and sun and moon be stirred and transformed by true earth, and to gather the three realms into one body.

In Neidan (internal alchemy), heart and kidneys are this body’s heaven and earth; hun and po are this body’s sun and moon; Wu and Ji as true earth bring yin and yang into union.

Kan refers to the body and Li to the heart; the root of both Kan and Li is Yi (intention). In the pre-heaven (original) arrangement Kan sits in the west and corresponds to Po (the corporeal soul); in the post-heaven (human) arrangement it shifts to the north, and Po disperses and becomes Jing (essence). What links pre-heaven and post-heaven and makes Jing and Po one household is the body. Li in pre-heaven sits in the east and corresponds to Hun (the ethereal soul); in post-heaven it shifts to the south, and Hun manifests and becomes Shen (spirit). What links pre-heaven and post-heaven and makes Shen and Hun one whole is the heart. Only Earth at the center gathers the images of the four directions and is the root of Kan and Li in both pre-heaven and post-heaven. What does not change position when pre-heaven and post-heaven turn into each other is Yi. The superior practitioner raises this Yi, settles it in the body and gathers in the heart, so body, heart, and Yi return to one without a second mind and without ceasing, carefully nurturing until true nature is formed, grows great, and can generate and transform. Is this not “the ten thousand things already complete within me” and “the three realms (heaven, earth, and humanity) all in one body”? This is the ultimate skill of the elixir path (Neidan, internal alchemy); what the sage can do is fully contained here. The four sections that follow only restate the work of condensing Jing and binding Shen; they do not add another layer. Do not mistakenly think you must set up the furnace and cauldron (the alchemical vessel—in practice, a whole new method) again, lest you be led astray by heterodox teachings.

The dragon comes from the eastern sea; the tiger rises from the western mountain. The two beasts fight once and become the marrow of heaven and earth.

The upright yang in the heart is the dragon. Wood generates fire; the Zhen trigram belongs to wood, hence “the dragon comes from the eastern sea.” The true one essence in the kidney is the tiger. Metal generates water; the Dui trigram belongs to metal, hence “the tiger rises from the western mountain.” If the dragon sings and clouds rise while Qi descends, and the tiger roars and wind rises while essence ascends, the two meet and battle before the Yellow Chamber (the central spleen earth, where Yi resides). The dragon swallows the tiger’s marrow and the tiger eats the dragon’s essence; wind and cloud unite and merge into one, and they become the marrow of heaven and earth.

The commentary first looks back to the situation at the very beginning of practice: when body and mind have only just begun to show a unified, condensed quality, that is not yet real combat. Reaching this stage, the dragon swallows the tiger’s marrow and the tiger consumes the dragon’s essence; wind and cloud meet and merge into one body, and they transform into the marrow of heaven and earth.

What is meant by “combat” is that for a person to return from the post-heaven condition to the pre-heaven, there must be a battle between heaven and the human self. When heaven overcomes the person, the demons of desire are extinguished; when the person overcomes heaven, the obstacles of clinging to fixed principles dissolve. Then heaven and the person unite, and only then can body and mind be thoroughly merged and transformed.

In the original preface, Zhang Ziyang (Zhang Boduan, Northern Song Daoist) said that the heart’s wildness is like a dragon and the body’s fierceness is like a tiger. This section says the dragon rises from the Eastern Sea—that is the hun (soul) on the side of the heart, leaning toward spirit; the tiger rises from the Western Mountain—that is the po (corporeal soul) on the side of the body, leaning toward form. This is what the preface calls “a bit of true yang qi in the body and a bit of true yin essence in the heart,” termed the “two substances”—namely the two beasts, dragon and tiger. The preface also says the heart belongs to Qian (Heaven) and the body belongs to Kun (Earth). The “fight one battle” here is what Chen Niyan (Chen Nan, Southern Song Daoist) meant by treating the subduing of body and mind as field combat. Saying they “transform into the marrow of heaven and earth” corresponds to “heaven, earth, sun, and moon are soft as cotton.” Layman Peng forgot the original positions of innate Kan and Li (two trigrams often standing for water and fire in Neidan) and inferred only from post-heaven appearances, so he used terms such as heart, kidneys, Zhen, and Dui in ways that do not match the original intent; the annotation should therefore be revised along the lines of the preface.

The golden flower opens on the mercury leaf, and the jade stem puts forth the lead branch. Kan and Li do not rest, and who knows how long Qian and Kun have already passed through this.

The explanation says: the golden flower is originally true lead; only with mercury can the embryo form. The jade stem is originally true mercury; only with lead can the form take shape. In the human body, mercury refers to shen (spirit) and lead to jing (essence). “The golden flower opens on the mercury leaf” means that in the state of vagueness and trance, the mercury leaf opens and the jade stem accordingly puts forth the lead branch; Kan and Li are not idle, and Qian and Kun have already gone through an untold span of time.

The Golden Flower is essentially the true lead (zhen qian); it needs mercury to form an embryo. The Jade Stem is essentially the true mercury; it needs lead to take shape. In the human body, mercury is spirit (shen) and lead is essence (jing). “The Golden Flower opens the mercury leaf” means that in a hazy, water-like state, spirit arises. “The Jade Stem grows the lead branch” means that in a dim, fire-like state, essence arises. One who has received the oral instructions sits in stillness until the Golden Flower appears and the Jade Stem sprouts, and the branches and leaves of lead and mercury are already lush—then it is exactly the time to gather the medicine and advance the fire (cai yao, jin huo): let Kan and Li circulate between east and west, and let Qian and Kun revolve between above and below, going and returning, rising and falling, in an unceasing cycle that must not be interrupted even for a moment. Before the medicine is obtained, one must discern whether the mercury leaf has opened and the lead branch has grown; after the medicine is obtained, one must grasp the subtlety of coming and going and the measure of ascent and descent, maintaining this at every step, so that the sacred embryo (shengtai—the inner elixir’s formed embryo) can reach completion. If Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li cannot keep cycling through the ten months, the material in the cauldron will be gained and then lost again—how then can the Golden Flower avoid withering, or the Jade Stem avoid fading?

The crux of this section lies entirely in the true intent (zhen yi) presiding, so that body and mind fuse at every moment without the slightest break. The heart embodies the firm strength of the Qian way; the body follows the yielding receptivity of the Kun way—thus movement never ceases, and Kan and Li are restored to Qian and Kun. Zhen, Dui, Gen, and Xun need not be distinguished one by one, lest that only cloud the eye of the heart. The next section will explain the doctrine of “taking from Kan to fill Li.”

During the bathing stage, guard against peril; in extracting and adding (chou tian), one must hold the reins oneself with care. From start to finish the work totals thirty thousand ke (roughly the labor of ten months); miss by a hair’s breadth and loss is feared.

In one year there are twelve months, totaling thirty-six thousand ke (an ancient unit of time). These can be gathered together and compared to applying effort within a single day. Of the twelve months, ten are spent working the fire phases (the measured regulation of spirit-intent and the advance and retreat of breath-energy). When yang qi arises, one gathers the medicine at the Zi palace (in internal alchemy, the lower dantian—the “water” position), causing it to rise against its usual direction; this is called “extracting lead.” When yin qi arises, one withdraws the fire at the Wu position (the southern “fire” position), causing it to descend in its normal direction; this is called “adding mercury.” In the remaining two months—Mao month adds water to settle the metal, and You month uses fire to stop the water—one applies only the water timing and not the fire phases; this is called “bathing.” Mao month holds killing within generation; You month holds generation within killing, so as to guard against the danger of fire becoming too dry. Excluding those two months’ six thousand ke, only ten months and thirty thousand ke remain—hence the phrase “altogether thirty thousand ke.” If effort in these thirty thousand ke misses by a hair’s breadth, yin and yang will fall out of order. One must both guard against danger and hold fast with care, applying the mind solely to this single cycle of circulation: when it moves, move with it into manifestation; when it stills, still with it into concealment. When a full year is complete, one can nurture the infant (the holy embryo formed in internal alchemy) and thereby transcend to become an immortal.

The commentary says: as long as one maintains reverence and preserves sincerity, the mind does not divide its use on anything else; if one can truly practice in this way, a full year suffices. Hence “altogether thirty thousand ke.” The only lapse to fear is failure to be pure and unbroken—without a single breath’s pause within the thirty thousand ke—not some other kind of error. The Yijing says: “If one does not persevere in virtue, one may suffer disgrace.” What is feared is that virtue cannot be sustained.

When husband and wife unite at the moment of congress, cloud and rain mingle in the inner chamber. In one year a child is born; each can mount a crane and soar.

Note: Husband and wife refer to the true yin and true yang within the body. When true yin and true yang obtain true earth (the harmonizing, matchmaking force at the center) as go-between, they become husband and wife; they unite in the inner chamber with clouds rising and rain falling. Within one year, through ten months of gestation, the crane appears—that is, the “mounting the crane” above, symbolizing the formed embryo’s ascent and transcendence.

Husband and wife here mean true yin and true yang within the body. True yin and true yang need true earth as matchmaker: they unite as a couple in the bridal chamber, like clouds rising and rain falling. Within one year’s cycle there are ten months of gestation and two months of bathing; when the fetus is complete and qi is full, an infant is born and at once rides a crane out through the Niwan palace (the upper dantian within the crown). Nine are born in nine years—hence “each and every one.” As for hundreds, thousands, and billions of transformations, all are projections of this one body; there are not literally nine separate beings. The infant is called hai (child): the branches hai and zi meet and combine into the character hai—this is the crux of forming the fetus at the start of practice.

Here the husband is Qian and the wife is Kun; the bridal chamber is the extraordinary aperture (not an ordinary bodily orifice but the yiguan yiqiao of neidan). This passage expands the gist of section seven: in sum, body, mind, and intention harmonize; through grasping, restraint, and blended transformation one aligns with heaven and earth—all the work of utmost sincerity. It is like a couple who, with a matchmaker, marry and unite and bear a child—only here the extraordinary child is born from the extraordinary aperture, entirely by reversing the ordinary course. That is how one becomes an immortal, unlike worldly couples who follow the path of generation to produce ordinary people. Another analogy: true earth is intention, like the matchmaker; true lead is the body, like the husband; true mercury is the mind, like the wife. The matchmaker brings the couple together, just as intention blends body and mind and condenses them into the ultimate Dao. Is it so? I dare not decide alone and would ask the master.

The above is commentary on the preface of Jinhua Zongzhi: the metaphor of marital union, pregnancy, and birth describes yin–yang union and reverse refinement in neidan—not ordinary male–female reproduction.

The Dao is right before your eyes; the body by nature already possesses it—there is no need to seek it outside yourself. The human body is a body in which Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—the three powers—are united as one; it is what creation has endowed you with, and its capacity is vast. People carry this body every day yet do not understand what it holds. Sages pity the world and therefore use this very body to point and reveal. What they mean is: the Dao is within this one body; you need not look for it elsewhere. Though the Dao is in the body, the pivot that sets it in motion lies in the eyes—which is why there is a teaching such as the Jinhua Zongzhi (Secret of the Golden Flower).

Those who study the Dao often practice in ways that miss the point. Why? Because they cannot distinguish substance (ti) from function (yong). They then add the word “Taiyi” (Supreme Unity) and follow instructions, yet still fail to match the essential formula. The mistake is to exert effort only on function and never see substance through function; even if one wrote out every bamboo on the southern hills, substance as substance would only grow more obscure. Later, the four characters “xiantian xuwu” (prior heaven and emptiness) were added, and only then did substance stand out clearly.

The Daoist patriarch Fuyou Dijun—also known as the Celestial Worthy Who Propagates the Wondrous Dao—intended to save all beings broadly and cherished the great vow of “healing the age” (yishi: aiding the world through the Dao). Grasping the deep meaning of the ten characters “xiantian xuwu taiyi jinhua zongzhi” (the secret of the golden flower of prior heaven, emptiness, and supreme unity), he composed thirteen chapters as a foundation for later students who would practice yishi. The text was thus written; the teaching was thus transmitted. The Worthy’s deeper intent is roughly this.

My late master Taixu Weng said: I heard from the immortal in the world, Niwan Li Weng, that the doctrinal aim of this book is as follows. When Fuyou Dijun had just attained the fruit of the Dao, the four great elements (earth, water, fire, and wind that compose the physical form) had already dissolved; he had not yet had time to heal the age, so he wrote three chapters of verse titled “The Ultimate Teaching’s Aim.” During the Song–Yuan transition this was already carved and circulated; the second chapter of that work is the “Xiaoyao Jue” (Formula of Free Wandering) in this book. This book was completed in the wuchen year of the Kangxi reign, at Longqiao Hermitage on Jingai Mountain (a famous Daoist peak in Huzhou, Zhejiang).

These were indeed the renowned masters Tao Jing’an, Huang Yinzhen, Sheng Qing’ya, Zhu Jiuhuan, Min Xuesao, Tao Shi’an, and Xie Ningsu. They were all talents for “healing the world” (using the Great Dao to rescue the world), and for that reason this Great Dao was entrusted to them—it was never meant only for those who cultivate in isolation for their own sake. The divine man Immortal Yin Pengtou also once expounded a scripture at Liaoyang Hall, titled Huangji Opening and Closing, Verifying the Dao Immortal Scripture of the Orthodox Lineage of Donghua (Donghua Zhengmai Huangji Hebi Zhengdao Xianjing), which forms an inner and outer pair with this book. Cultivating nature and life (xing and ming) is in truth laying the foundation for healing the world; engaging in healing the world is in truth the profound work of nature and life. This book’s Chapter on Verifying Returning Light (huiguang—turning the heart’s light inward to reflect) states that it cannot be entrusted to people of narrow spiritual capacity; one must intend to deliver all sentient beings. The Chapter on the Celestial Circuit (zhoutian—the circulation of qi through the body) states that when the body turns in its circuit, the myriad things of heaven and earth turn with it; when this one inch of mind reaches its utmost, though small it becomes vast. This is the way in which body is world and inner and outer unite—the aim is already clear. Nothing else is intended but to embody the Supreme Venerable’s (Taishang) heart of cherishing life, hoping that after entering this path one will no longer waste this lifetime, using it to accomplish the Great Dao and deliver sentient beings. Those who seek only minor accomplishment—today refining Dragon and Tiger (internal alchemy’s union of essence and breath), tomorrow refining Kan and Li (the mutual aid of water and fire)—pleased with themselves and caring only for their own body: even if they attain fruition and rise to become unranked heavenly citizens (wuxi tianmin, denizens of heaven without office), they benefit at most seven generations of ancestors in one family—why would the Supreme Lord choose them? What the prior master taught is that in the writing and transmission of this book, the compassionate intent of Patriarch of the Dao, Fuyou Emperor Lord (Lü Dongbin), was just this; when Masters Tao, Huang, Sheng, Zhu, and the others received this book and passed it to later students, their great vow was the same. Yet as the book circulated hand to hand, it gradually lost its original authenticity—one can see this roughly from the edition in the Essential Compendium of the Daoist Canon (Daozang Jiyao). For that reason it is now taken up and corrected.

May all aspirants under heaven obtain this book and practice it together with the Hebi Jing (Classic of Closing and Opening), so that the great Dao may be spread abroad—that would be a great blessing for the world. The preface ends here. At the beginning of the fourth month of the gengyin year of the Daoguang reign (1831), Min Yide, the Mountain Man of Jingai and eleventh-generation heir of the Longmen (Dragon Gate) lineage—a branch of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection)—washed his hands and respectfully wrote this preface.

Lü Zushi’s Aim of the Pre-Heaven Void Wuxyi Golden Flower (traditionally ascribed to Lü Dongbin as an internal alchemy (Neidan) classic; “Golden Flower” denotes the inner luminous spirit in cultivation) was compiled by Vice Minister Jiang Yuanting and revised by Min Yide, the Mountain Man of Jingai.

This work first appeared in the wuchen year of the Kangxi reign (1688), issued from Longqiao Hermitage on Jingai Mountain in Wuxing; the worthy Master Tao Shian had it carved and printed. In the Jiaqing era, Vice Minister Jiang Yuanting mistakenly obtained a faulty edition and included it in the Daozang Jiyao (Essentials of the Daoist Canon). Later, in Zhejiang, he acquired the original from our mountain and intended to reprint at once, but the blocks were at his residence in the capital; when he went north again to fetch them, he died in the capital and the matter halted. That unfinished business Min Yide never forgot. Now, while traveling in Moling (present-day Nanjing), he saw circulating manuscript copies that differ from Master Tao’s edition—some even add a section or two compared with Jiang’s version, as if derived again from Tao’s text. The various versions disagree in length and wording. All are here corrected according to Tao’s edition.

Chapter One: The Celestial Heart (Tianxin—the pre-heaven original mind; this is the first chapter).

The Patriarch said: The Heart of Heaven (tianxin) is the heart that Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the three endowments—share in common; in alchemical writings it is called the Mysterious Pass (xuanqiao), the gateway through which primordial qi (xian tian yi qi) enters and leaves. Everyone has it: the wise open it, the foolish close it; open it and you may attain long life, close it and you die before your time. To blame life and death entirely on fate is the view of ordinary people. Who does not wish to live, yet who is not walking toward death—is there some other will at work? It is only that the six senses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) entice and the six dusts (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) disturb, so strength of youth quickly turns to decline. The perfected ones (zhiren) pity the world and transmit the supreme Dao to them. Teachers repeat their admonitions again and again, yet listeners remain blank and gain nothing—why? Because they do not grasp the substance and function of the Great Dao (Da Dao), and instead harm one another. To seek life that way is like driving a cart south while wanting to reach the north.

You must know that the Great Dao takes emptiness and non-being as its substance and concealment and manifestation as its function, so it neither stays in “being” nor stays in “non-being,” but lets qi circulate freely. In our practice we should take only the Grand Unity (Taiyi)—the primordial root—as foundation and the Golden Flower (Jinhua)—the display of spiritual radiance—as branch and tip; root and branch must support each other before one can live long without dying.

This path, from antiquity, has been heart sealed to heart among immortals and perfected ones—transmit to one, gain one. From the manifestation of the Supreme Lord (Taishang Laojun) it passed in turn to the Eastern Flower Sovereign (Donghua Dijun), and then to the Southern and Northern lineages (the Southern and Northern schools of neidan). The Dao itself is not hidden, yet heart transmission (xin chuan) is extremely secret. That is not deliberate secrecy, but because unless one transmits heart to heart and receives heart to heart, true giving and receiving cannot occur. Even oral teaching makes unified understanding hard—how much more when it is written! Therefore the supreme Dao of the Highest Lord values heart transmission: sudden opening in a realm where nothing is seen. The master cannot schedule when to transmit; the disciple cannot schedule when to receive. With sincere faith and single-minded sincerity, when the moment fits and spirit and intent merge, understanding opens at once—perhaps a shared smile, perhaps tears as one accepts the charge. Entering the Dao and awakening to the Dao follow the same principle.

Whether one enters through awakening or awakens after entering, both paths exist; yet no one has ever entered the gate and gained anything without single-pointed mind and sincere, wholehearted faith. Without single-pointedness the mind scatters; without sincerity it stays shallow. Scattering, the light cannot gather; shallowness, the light cannot coalesce. This light is the light of spirit and mind. If you cannot see your own original mind by its illumination, how can you align with the heart transmitted by the Supreme (the highest Daoist ancestor)? That is why Confucianism stresses inner reflection and Daoism stresses inner contemplation (neiguan, inward observation); the Buddhist Sutra in Forty-Two Sections also says: settle the mind in one place—what task cannot be accomplished? The Supreme Dao is nothing other than completing the wholeness of this one mind. What is that wholeness? It is emptiness, stillness, and freedom from stray thoughts. The subtle essence of the teaching is thus; its subtle functioning likewise lies only in placing the mind in one place. Inner contemplation is the essential method of placing the mind in one place—it is the secret transmitted heart-to-heart. It can be grasped inwardly, spoken mouth-to-ear, and indicated in writing; only when practice reaches that level and the mind is empty and defilements exhausted (xinkong loujin) does one suddenly penetrate the profound meaning. Then it is no longer what the brush can write or the mouth can pass on: true emptiness, true stillness, true purity, true nothingness—a single mysterious pearl (xuanzhu, the innate point of spirit), mind sealing mind, hidden to the utmost. Once awakened and entered, it shines forth to the utmost. There is no other reason: the Celestial Heart (the aperture of the prenatal mind) has opened. Seekers of the Dao today are like those who must cross a great flood yet see neither shore nor ferry; once on the far bank, as in the Buddhist parable of the raft, the raft too must be left behind. If you still do not know where to begin, how can you fail to have the raft pointed out first? I am unworthy to serve as a ferrying master (dushi, one who guides others across), and ought first to indicate this raft clearly. Yet this aperture of the Celestial Heart is neither inside the body nor outside it; it cannot be opened by groping, only guarded silently in waiting. To understand this “guarding,” nothing beyond “form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” As Neidan texts (internal alchemy scriptures) say: it is like that, yet not like that; not like that, yet precisely like that—only then is it suchness (ruru); once opened, it stays open forever. And the whole method rests on two words: “preserve sincerity” (cuncheng).

Fellow practitioners, there is yet a swifter, more direct method within the wondrous use of “sincere abiding” (cun cheng): when you have let go of the myriad entanglements, employ only the Brahma “∴” sign (that is, the character yi. In Brahmi script, yi is written as three dots, symbolizing the sun, the moon, and Tian Gang; in the human body, they correspond to the left eye, the right eye, and the brow center. Primordial divine beings all possess three eyes—Dou Mu and Lei Zu are examples. When a person knows how to cultivate, the brow center opens; the eye that opens there is called the Celestial Eye (Tian Mu). Hold the middle dot at the brow center, the left dot in the left eye, and the right dot in the right eye, and the spirit-light of both eyes will naturally gather at the brow. The brow center is the Celestial Eye—the chief gate through which the three lights unite and pass. It is what alchemical texts call the place where sun and moon join in one. If you can use the three eyes as in the yi form, gently moving them with intention as when polishing a mirror, the three lights at once collect at the brow and shine before you bright as day; then lead them to the place behind the heart and before the Pass (the Pass is the double pass). That spot is the Mysterious Female Gate (Xuanpin zhi men). Guide with intention, and the light follows. Do not forget the depth of the two characters “suchness” (ru ru): this alone is true suchness—once opened, it stays open forever; the whole work rests on sincere abiding. Thus the Celestial Heart (Tian Xin) will naturally open wide. Deeper methods for later stages will be explained separately. Always remember: never let yourself be pulled by “yuan.” (Yuan is what appears from shifts in qi; it is not the true mysterious realm. Once you follow it, you fall into the demonic pit.)

You need only practice in this way—there is no other path to advance. Simply fix the mind on this with pure single-pointed thought. The Shurangama Sutra says: pure thought alone lifts one upward; one is born in heaven. That heaven is not the vast sky above; it is birth from within yourself, in the Qian Palace (the upper palace of the body). In time, you will naturally gain a heaven beyond the body as well.

The body is like a realm, and the “One” is the sovereign within it; light is the sovereign’s intent, like an edict issued from the throne. When you practice returning the light—drawing the heart’s radiance inward to behold it—the qi throughout the body comes to court as subjects do when a sage-king fixes the capital and establishes the root, all realms bearing tribute of jade and silk; or like a ruler and ministers in accord, so the people receive their charge and each fulfills their role. You need only devote yourself to returning the light: that is the supreme method. When you return the light long enough, the light congeals and naturally becomes the Dharma-body—the body of attainment that transcends flesh and blood. Extend and fill it further, and you have what our tradition calls the yin’e, the foundation where true nature solidifies—what Western teaching calls the City of the Dharma King. When the sovereign has true support, essence and qi grow day by day and Shen grows ever stronger; once body and mind melt into one, what limit is there to “a heaven beyond heaven, a body beyond body”?

In this sense, the Golden Flower is the Golden Elixir. How spirit transforms depends entirely on the heart’s mastery. The knack admits not the slightest error, yet it is utterly supple: you must be both keenly intelligent and deeply still. Without utmost intelligence you cannot practice it; without utmost stillness you cannot hold it.

[Commentary: This section is a sharp wake-up call for worldly students—the path cannot do without this shout. Jiang’s edition (from another transmission) omitted it because he had not practiced it himself; in the end his faith was not yet truly firm.]

The patriarch said: Heaven and earth regard a person as no more than a mayfly; the Great Dao regards heaven and earth as mere bubbles on water. Only the original Shen (yuan shen)—spirit present from the beginning—and true nature can outlast even the yuan hui, those vast cycles of time, and stand above them; human essence and qi will decay along with heaven and earth. Yet when original Shen remains, that is Wuji, the undifferentiated origin from which heaven and earth arise. If the student can guard original Shen, they can be born beyond yin and yang and not fall within the three realms (desire, form, and formlessness). That is possible only by seeing one’s own nature—what is called the original face.

The four characters “only after seeing your true nature may you proceed” (jianxing fang ke) are a sharp wake-up call and must not be removed. Although some manuscript copies omit them, they are restored here. The patriarch’s point is this: people who cultivate the Great Dao may walk the path yet fail to enter, or gain something yet fail to hold it—all because they have not truly seen their original true nature (zhenxing). Doubt still lingers in the mind, great obstacles follow, and so they can neither enter nor keep what they have. To speak of “holding” before one has truly seen is only to cling to doctrines heard from others. If one has truly seen, there is nothing that cannot be held. Therefore the ancestral sage puts the weight on the side of seeing nature (jianxing). Min Yide—the compiler of this book—understood from this that these four characters in this chapter are a stick strike to rouse the reader, continuing directly from the previous chapter.

When an ordinary person is born, Yuanshen (Original Spirit—the innate root spirit) dwells in fangcun (the “square inch,” the place of the inner true heart/mind), while Shishen (the discerning spirit that governs thought and desire in later life) dwells in the lower fleshy heart. That heart is shaped like a large peach; the lungs cover and protect it, the liver assists from the side, and the large and small intestines receive it from below. If one goes a single day without eating, that heart becomes greatly unsettled: at a fright it leaps, in anger it feels stifled, at the sight of death it grieves, at the sight of beauty it grows dizzy. Has anything above stirred even slightly? (Someone may ask: Can fangcun not move?) How could the true intent within fangcun move? When it moves, the situation is already amiss—yet there is also a moment when that movement is most sublime. For ordinary people it moves only at the point of death; that is the unlucky case. The most sublime case is when light has already condensed into the Fashen (the body of true nature formed in practice), gradually becoming responsive and about to stir. That is a secret passed down through the ages without being openly taught.

[Note: This is a secret teaching rarely transmitted through the ages, and it is not limited to what the phrase “condensing light to form the Dharmic body” (concentrating spirit-light to achieve the Dharmic body) describes. The Yuan Shen (Original Spirit)—the innate true nature—dwells in the fangcun (the “square inch” within the heart); the Shi Shen (Conscious Spirit)—the mind of later acquired thought—dwells in the lower heart. Ancient sages never pointed out both in one breath, so later students mistook the heart where the Shi Shen resides for the true heart and then applied cultivation and infusion to it. That is precisely falling into youwei (deliberate, contrived action) and instead fans the flames of yin fire. This fleshy heart is what the Shi Shen relies on; it belongs to yin fire and should only be made empty and still, until there is nothing left. The Yuan Shen is the true nature; it comes from Qian (Heaven) and is also fire, but it is heavenly fire. That is why the patriarch marked out both together.]

The lower heart where the Shi Shen resides is like a overbearing regional stronghold or a fierce general: seeing the “Son of Heaven” in the heart—the master, namely the Yuan Shen—isolated and unsupported, it seizes control of governance from afar; over time the sword is turned upside down (authority is inverted, subordinates overrule the ruler). Now, if you intend to illuminate the yuangong (the palace where the Yuan Shen dwells) with light, it is like a wise ruler assisted by Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou; day after day practicing huiguang (returning the light inward) is like ministers left and right giving their full loyal service. Once internal order is restored, every treacherous strongman will naturally throw down his weapons and beg for his life.

The entry point of this practice lies in Huiguang (returning the light)—drawing the spirit-light inward and gathering it at Tianchi (a cultivation site in the head). This light hangs at Tianmu (between the eyebrows) from the outer palace of Niwan (the upper Dantian in the brain), like the sun; even within the sun a fetus can form and the spirit can leave the shell—so when our Tianxin (the place where mind and spirit settle) rests here and we fix attention on this spot, how could the “body” within not be generated?

The path of entry is: return the light and gather it at Tianchi; from Niwan’s outer palace let it hang at Tianmu, like the sun; then with intention guide the light through Jiangque (the heart region), contemplate and behold Zhonghuang (the central yellow within), penetrate Xuanqiao (the subtle aperture), and reach Shenshi (the chamber where spirit is nurtured). Then, as if a sovereign sends the shishen (acquired, everyday consciousness) down to Xiatian (the lower field, the lower Dantian); at that moment there must be jingye (saliva/essence-fluid) to protect both consciousness and spirit as they undergo refining together. This is the work after Huiguang and gathering light at Niwan. What must be avoided above all is rash haste and restless forcing, and also slackness and dull sinking. The method is simply to empty ten thousand thoughts and let not a single intention disturb you—wait until Tianxin opens once, and the light will naturally shine inward. Then not only every aperture of the body radiates light; the great earth, the celestial pole, and the Sancai (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) and Sanbao (essence, qi, and spirit) can all be felt arriving in ease and clarity. Therefore at this stage one always responds with “gathering without gathering” (bucai er cai), and the subtleties are inexhaustible. The patriarch did not spell this out plainly, fearing that students’ Yin’e (the outer guard and foundation of the elixir base) were not yet firm, worldly resources not yet sufficient—and also because beyond the words there is further meaning that had to be touched on. Shenshi connects closely with Jiangque; Jiangque is handled purely through Wuwei (non-action) without contrivance. Thus with stillness as substance and still contemplation, Jiangque turns cool and clear, shishen is restrained, and only then does it follow the spirit down to Xiatian to accept firing and refining, without contrary effects. The subtlety lies in a single thought of empty stillness, so the six thieves and six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind, and their attachments) have nowhere to lodge. The patriarch’s hidden intent is roughly this. This is applying further effort within Wuwei practice—what Confucians call leading people to act without letting them fully know the principle.

This passage was obtained by Master Qiaoyun from the immortal Zhang Pengtou, who was still active in the world. The immortal’s surname was Qu; he was a son of Duke Zhongxuan of the former Ming (named Shisi), who died for his loyalty. Guan Tianxian also treated him as a master. In the forty-third year of the Qianlong era he traveled to Jingai; at that time Qiaoyun had not yet taken refuge with Taixu. Four years later Master Taixu arrived and instructed that this treatise be annotated below this chapter, hence it is recorded here.

When the single spark of numinous true nature falls once into the Qian palace (the head—in neidan Qian is paired with this region), it divides into hun and po. Hun dwells at the celestial heart (where innate spirituality resides); it belongs to yang and is qi of light clarity—when this was written, Master Qiaoyun had not yet taken refuge with Master Taixu; four years later Taixu arrived and ordered this discussion annotated beneath this chapter, so it is recorded here now. This qi comes from the Great Void (the source of utmost emptiness) and shares form with Yuan Shi (the primordial beginning). Po belongs to yin: it is heavy, turbid qi clinging to the corporeal mortal body. Hun inclines toward life; po tends toward death. Every craving for sensual desire and every stirring of blood and qi is wrought by po—that is, the discerning spirit (shishen, the postnatal mind of discrimination). After death it feeds on offerings of sacrificial blood; while alive it is deeply painful—yin returning to yin, like attracts like. Those who study the Dao refine po of yin to exhaustion and become purely yang.

Chapter Three: Turning the Light and Guarding the Center

The patriarch said: Where does the name “turning the light” (huiguang) begin? It begins with Wen Shi Zhenren (Lord Wen Shi, i.e. Guan Yinzi, Yin Xi). Once you turn the light, the yin-yang qi of heaven and earth gathers without exception; what is called refined thought, pure qi, and pure intention all refer to this practice. At first, when you cultivate this formula, it is as if there were something and yet not; when the work succeeds over time, there is a body outside the body (the yang spirit manifesting outward)—something arising from nothing. Apply yourself single-mindedly for a hundred days, and only then is the light truly established; this is what is called spirit fire. After a hundred days, light naturally gathers; a point of true yang suddenly gives birth to the shu pearl (a cinnabar embryo fine as a millet grain), like husband and wife joining and conceiving a fetus—then one should wait in stillness. The return of light is the grasp of firing times (huohou—the timing of heat in refinement).

The benefits and subtleties of returning the light have already been explained in detail in this text, and the essentials for condensing it through huiguang are in place. There is still another layer of mystery in “taking by first giving,” from which one can advance a step further: the secret is to use releasing the light as a guide. The subtle use of releasing light lies in knowing how to open and extend the qi; to open and extend the qi, one must let it penetrate upward through the nine heavens. To penetrate upward, one must first know how to send it downward; the downward phase requires first gathering the gaze at the Dry Palace (the upper dantian region at the crown, belonging to Qian within the head). When the light is full, send it down to the middle and lower centers, pass through the Pass at the Tail (weilü, the lower gate of the Governing vessel at the coccyx) and out backward, then out through the crown and rise. The higher the penetration, the vaster the manifestation; even when it already feels vast, one must still gather it back from there. This is a secret never transmitted outward.

Within the great transformation’s operation, yang light is sovereign. When it takes form it is the sun; in a person it is the eyes. No leak of spirit is more serious than what flows outward by following the eyes. Therefore the way of the Golden Flower relies entirely on the reverse method. Huiguang is not merely gathering the essence of the body back in; it is directly gathering back the true qi of creation and transformation. It is not merely stopping wandering thoughts for a moment; it is directly dissolving kalpas of rebirth. Thus one breath can equal a year in human reckoning, or a hundred years—the long night of the nine paths (the many bitter roads of cyclic rebirth). From the moment an ordinary person draws the first breath at birth (the text notes the sound as “he”), they chase the outer world and live by following outward momentum, never turning inward to look back until old age; when yang qi is exhausted, they enter the realm of the nine darknesses. So the Surangama Sutra says: pure thinking rises, pure emotion falls. Practitioners who wish to have less emotion and more thought sink into the lower paths. Only by finely examining and reflecting, with breath calm and still, can one achieve true awakening—this is the reverse method. The Yellow Emperor’s Yin Talisman Classic says: “The pivot is in the eyes.” The Huangdi Suwen says that the body’s essential refinement all pours upward into the empty orifices. Grasp this passage: seeking long life lies here, seeking transcendence lies here. This is the work that runs through Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism.

The light is neither inside the body nor outside it; mountains, rivers, sun and moon, and the great earth are nothing other than this light. Seeking long life lies here, seeking transcendence lies here. This is the work that unites the three teachings.

This light is neither confined to the inside of the body nor to the outside alone. Mountains, rivers, sun, moon, and the great earth—nothing is other than this light, so it is not only within the body. Human intelligence, wisdom, and every movement of life are likewise nothing but this light, so it is not only outside the body either. The splendor of heaven and earth fills the vast cosmos; the splendor of a single person’s body can on its own spread to cover heaven and earth. Therefore, once you return the light—gathering back the heart-light that has scattered outward—heaven, earth, mountains, and rivers all turn with it.

The refined essence of a person gathers upward into the two eyes. In Daoism the eyes are taken as the gate through which spirit enters and leaves—the most crucial place in the human form. Reflect on this: if you do not sit in stillness for even one day, this light drifts everywhere with no end—where could it stop? If you can truly sit in stillness even for one moment, the bonds of myriad kalpas and countless lives can be fully clarified from here. All dharmas resolve in stillness; this is truly inconceivable and is precisely the subtle truth at the heart of the matter. Still, practice must go from shallow to deep, from coarse to fine, and above all should never be broken. The work is one and the same from start to finish; only you can feel its warmth or cold along the way. In the end you must reach the openness of sky and sea, with the ten thousand dharmas in suchness—all as they inherently are, unmoved—before you can say you have truly got it.

What the sages of every age have handed down never strays from returning illumination—drawing awareness back from the outer world and turning it to observe oneself. Confucius’s “extending genuine knowing” (investigating and restoring innate perception), Buddhism’s “observing the mind,” and Laozi’s “inward contemplation” are all this one method. Yet everyone can say “returning illumination,” while few can truly do it, simply because they do not grasp what those two words mean. “Return” means to go back from the mind where perception has already arisen to the very first moment before body and spirit have stirred—to seek, within this six-foot frame, in reverse, that original ground from before heaven and earth existed. People today idle through one or two watch-periods (in old reckoning, about two hours each), glance at their selfish stray thoughts, and call that returning illumination. How could that ever reach the ultimate?

The patriarchs of Buddhism and Daoism who taught people to “watch the tip of the nose” did not mean that one should fix one’s thoughts rigidly on the nose tip, nor that the eyes should look at the nose while the mind simultaneously focuses on Zhonghuang (the central region of the body in Daoist practice). Where the eyes look, the mind follows—how could one part be above and another below, or shift up and down? Such views mistake the finger for the moon: they take the method for the goal.

So what is really meant? The two characters “nose tip” are the key. They merely use the nose to give the eyes a reference point; the work itself has nothing to do with the nose. If the eyes are opened too wide and the gaze goes far away, the nose cannot be seen; if they are closed too tightly and the lids shut, the nose cannot be seen either. Open too much, and shen (spirit) drifts outward and scatters easily; closed too much, and shen rushes inward and dullness easily sets in. Only when the eyelids are moderately lowered—“letting the curtain hang” (chui lian)—just enough to see the nose tip does it serve as a standard. Once the lids are at that degree, let the light enter naturally; there is no need to force attention, and no need to deliberately withhold it.

The chapter Heart of Heaven states that one uses intention to guide the light to the region behind the heart and before the pass (behind the heart, in front of the barrier gate). This is addressed to those whose practice is already mature, as a comprehensive account of the entire method of huiguang (returning the light—inwardly gathering the spirit-light that has scattered outward). These words need not be memorized and recited. The commentary also marks Huangzhong (the central point within the human body). It teaches beginners to fix the spirit in one place so as to gather the light; one must not split the mind in two directions. Once penetration is achieved, the tip of the nose is only a pointing reference; what truly must be settled is Huangzhong, and the whole work lies there.

Looking at the tip of the nose gives the eyes a fixed reference so that the spirit-light does not wander outward and the mind does not race inward; only chuilian (screening the eyes—holding them slightly closed like a half-drawn curtain) is exactly right. At first, however, the mind is not on the nose but on the Tianmu (the “heavenly eye” between the eyebrows). Therefore one first gathers the light there; once the light is gathered, one must lead it downward into Zhonghuang (central yellow). Zhonghuang occupies the true center between heaven and earth in the human body—what the Book of Changes calls “yellow center,” what Buddhism calls “edge of the center,” and what our tradition names the Xuanpin zhi men (Gate of the Mysterious Female—the subtle portal through which all things are generated). It is the mysterious aperture that gives birth to heaven, earth, humanity, and the myriad things; the root of cultivating truth and attaining the Dao lies here. How could a beginner at once fix attention here? Hence one temporarily borrows the tip of the nose as a plumb line, so that the light may gather at the Tianmu. The Tianmu is where the sanguang (three lights—the spirit-light that converges in inward illumination) meet; shangen (the root of the mountain—the upper bridge of the nose between the eyes) is the xinghu (gate of nature—where the light of one’s nature enters and leaves), reaching upward to Niwan (the mud pill—the upper center in the brain), midway to Huangzhong, and downward behind the navel. Therefore one must concentrate the light here, then from here lead it down in infusion—this is the method that cannot be altered. But one must avoid forcing the mind too heavily, and must avoid skipping stages. Let everything be natural; in all cases, having the light gather at Huangzhong is what counts as success.

Looking at the end of the nose: only at the very beginning of entering stillness does one lift the gaze once to establish the standard, then let it go. It is like a mason’s plumb line—hung once at the start, then one works by it; one does not keep staring at the line itself.

Cessation and contemplation (zhiguan) were originally Buddhist practice methods and were never especially secret. With both eyes fixed on the tip of the nose, the body upright and seated at ease, fix the mind on the “midst of conditions” (yuanzhong). What Daoism calls the “central yellow” (zhonghuang)—the central region within the body—and what Buddhism calls yuanzhong refer to the same place. You need not speak of some innermost depth; it is enough to anchor attention at the level between the two eyes. Light is by nature lively and agile; when mind rests at that level between the eyes, light naturally penetrates inward—you need not raise a second thought to rigidly guard the central yellow. These few sentences already exhaust the essential point; finer details before and after entering and leaving stillness can be checked against later zhiguan manuals.

The two characters yuanzhong are extraordinarily subtle. “Center” is nowhere absent—the entire vast cosmos (what Buddhism calls the great universe) is within it; here we only point loosely to the pivot of creation and borrow it as a door. Using it as a clue for practice, there is no fixed, unchanging spot. The meaning of this word is as flexible as can be, and as subtle as can be.

Cessation and contemplation were never meant to be split; they are samadhi and prajna—concentration and wisdom. When thoughts arise later, do not simply sit in dullness again; investigate where this thought is, where it rises from, and where it ceases. Push the inquiry again and again until ultimately nothing can be grasped. That is seeing where thought begins—do not go past that rising point to search further. “Seeking the mind, the mind cannot be found”—hence “I have put your mind at rest for you.” That is correct contemplation; what opposes it is mistaken contemplation. Once nothing can be grasped, still continue the practice without break: after cessation comes contemplation, after contemplation comes cessation—this is the dual cultivation of concentration and wisdom, which is also turning the light around (huiguang). Turning is cessation; light is contemplation. Cessation alone without contemplation is turning without light; contemplation alone without cessation is light without turning. Remember this.

In the original text on cessation-and-contemplation (the method of stilling a scattered mind and contemplating what is real), this kind of probing inquiry is meant for people who have not yet seen their mind-nature—the mind’s innate state. They cannot yet truly trust that the mind-nature is originally empty, originally free of grasping, originally pure, and originally still, so they must investigate layer by layer until nothing at all can be found to hold on to. When investigation reaches that point, the mind is in fact already settled.

This is guidance fitted to one’s present situation. If one has already seen the nature, a single flash of inner light is enough to notice, and wandering thoughts withdraw on their own—there is no need to labor at further probing, nor to “experience” or “seek” within delusive states. But such words are only for those who have already seen the nature. If one has not yet seen it, one must be led to recognize it through probing inquiry and be pointed to it in the immediate present, so the root of faith is firm and the root of doubt can be cut off.

After that, one simply continues in an unbroken way; the only instruction is: do not stir, and do not follow along. However wildly delusive states may surge, one’s own root-body is naturally still there. All such states are like drifting clouds adorning the great void—what harm can they do to me? They are nothing but the stirrings of Qi (the psycho-physical activity carried by breath and energy); there was never any principle that they must be swept utterly clean. The moment the thought arises that one must sweep them away, that thought is delusion; in that single arising, one is already attached.

An ancient master said: “Driving out afflictions only adds another layer of thought; rushing toward true suchness (zhenru—the unchanging real body) is itself already a deviation.” Our lineage only instructs: do not stir. Once the mind stirs, it is either chasing or following—how could that fail to disturb the original nature?

The patriarch’s intent in this section is knowing where to settle (zhizhi), which is why these probing exercises exist. If we practice accordingly, we need only receive it in the heart and carry it out in earnest, single-mindedly returning from delusion back to the real. Returning from delusion to the real cannot do without the word “return”: gather the light back inward, and it returns by itself—there is no need to guide it by anything else. Once one grasps the aim of the quiescent body (the still essence), one illumines in stillness and illumines in movement alike; only this “illumining” must be like the sun in spring and the moon in autumn—mild and clear—then it is done right.

Chapter Four: Returning the Light and Regulating the Breath (huiguang: gathering heart-light inward and turning it to shine within; diaoxi: adjusting the breath).

The patriarch said: The aim of cultivation lies in pursuing it with a single, pure heart, without deliberately seeking signs of progress—then results come of themselves. The mistakes beginners most often fall into are, broadly speaking, only two: dull sinking and scattered distraction. The key to addressing them is simply to rest the mind on the breath. Breath is none other than one’s own mind; one’s mind manifests as breath. When the mind stirs, there is qi, for qi is what the mind gives rise to. Human thoughts arise with extreme speed: in an instant a single wandering thought appears, and one breath corresponds to it. Thus inner breath and outer breath relate like sound and echo, answering each other. In a day there are tens of thousands of breaths and tens of thousands of wandering thoughts; essence and spirit leak away accordingly, and the person becomes like withered wood or dead ashes. So should one wish for no thoughts? One cannot be without thoughts. Should one wish for no breath? One cannot be without breath either. Better to take this very fault as medicine—this is mind and breath mutually relying (xinxixiangyi). Therefore returning the light (huiguang—gathering the spirit light inward to illumine within) must include regulating the breath; this method relies entirely on the gates of the ears and eyes. On one side is the light of the eyes, on the other the light of the ears. The light of the eyes is the outer sun and moon meeting and shining forth; the light of the ears is the inner sun and moon meeting and condensing essence. Essence is where light gathers and settles; the two arise from one source and differ only in name. Hence keen hearing and clear sight both come down to a single thread of spirit light (lingguang). When sitting in meditation, after the eyes are half-closed (chuilian), fix a standard and then let go. If one releases everything at once, one may fear one cannot manage it; then place the mind on listening to the breath. As breath enters and leaves, do not let the ears truly hear it—only listen to its silence. Once there is audible sound, the breath is coarse and floating and cannot enter subtlety. One must be patient, gently and finely, releasing more and more subtly until finer and finer leads to stiller and stiller. Over time, that subtlety may suddenly break off altogether; then the true breath (zhenxi—the finest inner breath) appears, and the substance of the mind can be recognized. For when the mind is subtle, the breath is subtle; when the mind is unified, it can move qi. When the breath is subtle, the mind is subtle; when qi is unified, it can move the mind. To settle the mind one must first nurture qi—also because the mind has nowhere else to take hold, so one borrows qi as the first hint of an entry, which is what is called guarding pure qi (chunqi zhi shou—single-mindedly holding to undivided qi).

Listening to the breath through the ears to regulate respiration is a method not transmitted outside the inner circle. Yet some people are deaf and cannot discern the coarseness or fineness of the breath; as soon as the breath stirs, it agitates the heart-mind. To settle the spirit, one must first begin with nourishing Qi: the heart has no physical form and nowhere to apply effort, so one can only take the breath as a starting point—this is what is meant by guarding the pure unified Qi.

When one can no longer hear whether the breath is coarse or fine, one should use inner awareness to observe it. Qi is generated by the heart-mind; the heart has no substance, so coarseness and fineness cannot be directly perceived. Qi, though without solid form, still leaves traces that can be followed through awareness. When the traces are coarse, quiet the heart-mind further; once the heart is still, the traces naturally become finer, until they are extremely subtle. When the traces become so fine they nearly vanish, respiration has entered true breath (Zhenxi). This is faster than using the ears to listen and regulate the breath. Thus the ancients said that adjusting the heart-mind surpasses adjusting the breath in subtlety. For the elderly who are deaf, if they abandon the secret of observing through awareness, they will never complete this stage of practice. Moreover, awareness belongs to the subtlety of nature (Xing), while the traces of breath belong to the extremity of life (Ming)—therein lies the mutual correspondence of nature and life. Patriarch Taixu Weng once explained this to Gao Hai; it is carefully recorded here to supplement what the founding patriarch did not fully elucidate.

You younger practitioners still do not understand the word “movement” (dong). Here, movement means to draw along with a single thread of intent—it is another name for “pulling and leading” (che). If you can set something in motion by making it run, cannot you also make it settle in pure stillness? This is what the great sage saw in the way mind and Qi interact, and he skillfully devised expedient methods to benefit those who come after. Books on internal alchemy (neidan) say: “When the hen broods the egg, the heart constantly listens.” That is a crucial secret. A hen hatches a chick by warmth. Warmth can only warm the shell; it cannot enter the egg. So she uses the mind to draw the Qi inward. What “listening” means is single-pointed attention: when the mind enters, Qi enters with it, and only then can the egg receive warmth and transform into life. That is why a brooding hen sometimes leaves the nest yet still turns her head as if listening—her spirit never breaks off for an instant. When spirit does not break off, warm Qi is unbroken day and night, and spirit comes alive. Spirit can live because the scattered, deluded mind has first “died.” Making the deluded mind die does not mean the heart becomes dead wood and ash; it means the intent is unified and no longer scattered. Buddhism says: “Settle the mind in one place, and nothing cannot be accomplished.” The mind tends to wander, so use Qi to make it single; Qi tends to be coarse and floating, so use the mind to refine it fine. How then could the mind fail to settle?

The two faults of drowsiness and scattered mind—in still practice done every day without interruption, there will naturally come a time of thorough peace. When you are not sitting in stillness, the mind may be scattered without your knowing it; once you know you are scattered, that is the opening for removing scatter. Drowsiness without knowing it and drowsiness while knowing it differ by more than a thousand miles. Drowsiness you do not know is true drowsiness; drowsiness you can know is not complete drowsiness—clarity is right there.

Scatter is the shen (spirit) racing outward; dullness is the shen not yet clear and bright. Scatter is relatively easy to remedy, dullness is hard to cure. It is like illness: where there is pain or itching, medicine can still be applied; in dullness it is as if one were numb and insensate, perception itself grows sluggish. What has scattered can be gathered back; what is chaotic can be put in order—but once dullness sets in, one becomes stupid, heavy, dim, and unclear. Scatter still has somewhere it goes; in dullness it is entirely the po (corporeal soul) at work. The po is the yin spirit that follows the physical form; when the mind scatters, the hun (ethereal soul) is still present—the hun is the light, agile yang spirit—yet when dullness arrives, pure yin takes charge. Wishing to sleep while sitting in meditation is dullness.

The countermeasure for dullness lies solely in regulating the breath. Breath here means the respiration through nose and mouth. Though it is not the true breath—the finer innate qi-breath spoken of in neidan (internal alchemy)—still, the coming and going of the true breath is entrusted to this respiration. In sitting meditation, the mind must be still and the qi pure. How can the mind become still? Apply the effort to the breath. The breath’s coming and going is known only to the heart-mind itself; the ears must not hear it. When it cannot be heard, it is fine; fine, then clear. When it can be heard, the qi is coarse; coarse, then turbid—and turbidity brings dullness and the urge to sleep. This is the natural order of things.

Yet when the heart-mind applies itself to the breath, one must know how to feel it out: in truth it is use without using—only a slight attending, a slight listening. What is meant by “attending” is the light of the eyes attending of itself: the eyes look only inward and not outward; not looking outward while remaining clear and aware is inward vision—it is not that there is some concrete object inside to look at. What is meant by “listening” is the ears listening of themselves: the ears listen only inward and not outward; not listening outward while remaining clear and aware is inward hearing—it is not that there is some actual sound inside to hear. What is heard is no-sound; what is seen is no-form.

If the eyes do not look outward and the ears do not listen outward, yet one merely blocks and closes them, the heart-mind will again race inward. Only through such inward vision and inward hearing—neither indulging outward nor chasing inward—will the heart-mind not sink into dullness. This is the intercourse of sun and moon, essence and light: the inner illumination in which the yin and yang spirit-lights meet and their essences unite.

When drowsiness makes you want to sleep, get up and walk about; when your spirit feels clear again, sit down once more. When you have leisure in the early morning, sitting in stillness for the length of one incense stick is best. After midday, worldly affairs multiply and dullness comes easily; you need not rigidly insist on a full stick of incense—simply put down every kind of clinging and sit in stillness for a while. In time you will naturally find an entry and no longer sink into dullness and sleep.

Chapter Five: Errors in Returning the Light

The Patriarch said: As your practice grows steadily more refined, many bypaths appear before you like diverging tracks at a withered tree on the cliff—this is exactly when things must be explained with care. The inner news of the Way can only be known when you have arrived there in person; what I can speak of now is this. Our school differs from Chan: there is a step-by-step path of verification. First I will say where the differences lie; then I will say how to verify.

Before acting according to the essential aim, make your preparations: do not spend thought wastefully; let body and mind be lively and at ease, breath harmonious and the heart-mind settled—then enter stillness. In entering stillness you must hit the living pivot; you must not sit inside the “armor of nothing-to-do”—that blank, vacant non-recollection emptiness. Amid letting go of the ten thousand ties, you must still remain wakeful and self-aware, clear and undimmed. Nor may you forcefully grab and “take charge” with deliberate intent—being too earnest easily leads to this. It is not that you should not be earnest; the true message lies between having intent and having none, and is to be obtained through deliberate non-deliberation. Within wakeful undimmed awareness, you must also be able to let go naturally.

You must not fall into the realm of the skandhas. The skandha realm means the five yin demons at work. Some people, once they enter samadhi, feel too much like withered wood and cold ash, too little like the spring returning to the great earth—they then drop into the yin realm: the breath turns cold, respiration grows sluggish, and many scenes of chill, decay, and decline appear; prolonged, they become dull and dead as wood and stone.

Nor may you be dragged along by the ten thousand conditions. Once in stillness, all sorts of thoughts surge up for no reason; you try to push them away and cannot; if you follow them they even feel pleasant—this is the master being ordered about by the servant. In time you fall into the realm of color and desire. At the higher end you may be reborn as a human; at the lower, among cats, dogs, and the like—or like fox immortals. In famous mountains they too may enjoy moon and wind, flowers and fruit, jade trees and fairy herbs—for three, five, or hundreds of years, even thousands; when the fruit of that karma is exhausted, they must again enter the various turnings of birth and death.

These are all bypaths. Once the bypaths are clear, you may then seek verification.

Chapter 6, “Verification of Returning Light,” explains how to tell whether one’s practice of Returning Light—gathering the light of spirit-consciousness that scatters outward and turning it back to illuminate the self—has truly taken effect.

The patriarch says: There are many signs of verification; one must not receive them with a shallow root or a small heart, but must harbor the resolve to deliver all beings. Nor may one receive them with neglect or disrespect; one must reverently follow these instructions. In stillness, if a continuous subtle feeling arises, with joy and ease in spirit, as if slightly drunk, or as if the whole body were refreshed after bathing, this is the yang qi warming throughout the body—the Golden Flower (Jinhua, the innate light of inner refinement) just beginning to appear. Next, the myriad phenomena grow still, like a bright moon in the sky; one feels the entire earth is luminous—this is the heart-essence opening and clarifying, the Golden Flower in full bloom. Going further, the whole body feels full and solid, unafraid of wind and cold; where others find things dull, one feels more spirited—like building a house of gold and a terrace of white jade. Things in the world that are decayed, once breathed upon with true qi, revive at once; red blood turns into sweet dew, and the seven-foot body is nothing but gold and treasure. This is the Golden Flower greatly condensed.

The first section corresponds to the Dharma-images in the Contemplation Sutra of Infinite Life—“sunset, great water, rows of trees.” Sunset means establishing a foundation in chaos—this belongs to Wuji (Non-polar). Supreme goodness is like water, clear and without stain; this is the master of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—in the Book of Changes, the “Emperor” who emerges from the Zhen position. Zhen belongs to wood, hence rows of trees as symbol; seven rows of trees mean the seven apertures all radiate light. (The northwest is the Qian direction; shifting one position gives Kan. Sunset and great water are images of Qian and Kan. Kan is in the zi direction; at the winter solstice thunder still hides in the earth with a faint sound, and only at the Zhen position does yang qi emerge above ground—that is the image of rows of trees. The rest may be inferred by analogy.) The second section builds on this foundation: the earth is like ice, turning into a ground of lapis lazuli; light gradually condenses and settles, so first a immortal terrace appears, then the Buddha-body manifests. Once the gold-nature appears, what is it if not Buddha? Here “Buddha” means the fully awakened Golden Immortal (jue jin xian). These are the verifications of this whole passage.

Below this passage, Yamamoto recorded the secret text that had been proclaimed. At that point the planchette brush suddenly stopped. It was the end of the lunar month; in an instant a great light filled the space—not sunlight, not moonlight, yet every fine hair was clearly visible. A strange fragrance pervaded the air, and celestial music seemed to drift from above. After a long while the planchette danced again and delivered a judgment: this was Vairocana Tathagata (the Dharma-body Buddha of Buddhism, also called Mahavairocana).

The Supreme Lord of this lineage (Supreme Lord Laozi) once said: In countless kalpas past I attained the rank of Lord of Immeasurable Life. My land lies far in the west, one hundred and eight thousand li from today’s Western Continent (Jambudvipa in Buddhist geography); the country is called the Land of Immeasurable Life. There I gathered fifteen thousand kindred spirits and, in this very body and this very life, penetrated my nature through awakening and entered nirvana in the treasury of all light. The dharma-realm was clear as crystal; rows of trees on the earth were formed of the seven treasures. People had no distinction of male and female—all were born from lotus flowers; birds, fish, beasts, and even plants flourished without hindrance, and life had no fixed limit. Today’s Land of Amitabha is yesterday’s Land of Immeasurable Life.

Now, expounding the Essential Purpose of the Golden Flower of the Great One in Primordial Emptiness (Xiantian Xuwu Taiyi Jinhua Zongzhi) at Longxiao Cliff is likewise meant to lead practitioners through this path so that the east may become a land of bliss. Excellent, excellent. Once the great vow is proclaimed, the great destiny responds; when signs are about to appear, there must be foretokens. The light of nature is boundless and reaches everywhere. Now, through responsive union, the light of the ancestral nature descends and infuses—blessing without measure. What is called ancestral nature is Vairocana Tathagata.

Changchun Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Northern Line of Complete Perfection) also descended to the altar and instructed: The Diamond Sutra says the Tathagata comes from nowhere and goes nowhere—therefore he is called Tathagata. When thought is present, he appears; when thought withdraws, he vanishes. Vanishing and appearing are only signs; originally there is neither birth nor death.

At that time the perfected ones assembled together, each offering praise in verse—too many to record in full; only these essentials are noted. Such a gathering of perfected ones occurs once in eighty thousand kalpas; who would have expected to encounter it at Longxiao. Readers of this book must not despise themselves. Descendant Taiding recorded this with care. The above is what the earlier sage Master Shian recorded. The edition Jiang relied on was a copy from a descendant of the Middle Lineage; following that book’s bias against the Northern Line, this passage was removed—the fair copy did the same—so it is restored here in full.

At present, there are three kinds of experience you can verify for yourself.

First, as you sit in stillness and the spirit (Shen) enters the empty valley within, you may hear people speaking as if they were a li away—every word clear, yet every sound like an echo in a hollow valley. It is not that you fail to hear; rather, this “I” never truly listens. This is Shen dwelling in the valley—something you can test at any time.

Second, in deep stillness, vision surges upward; everything before you turns white, as if you were standing in clouds. Open your eyes and look for your own body—you find nowhere to locate it. This is “the empty chamber gives birth to white light” (xushi sheng bai): inner and outer become transparent, and auspicious stillness settles in place.

Third, in stillness the physical body feels dense, soft, and warm, like cotton or jade; sitting, you feel you cannot stay put—it buoyantly rises. This is Shen turning toward the crown (the “heaven-reaching” gate at the top of the head). After long practice, the moment of ascent can be said to be close at hand.

These three can all be verified here and now. Yet they cannot be fully enumerated; according to each person’s root capacity (genqi—innate endowment and foundation), distinctive signs appear in their own way—just as the Mohe Zhiguuan (Great Calming and Contemplation) speaks of “signs of the arousal of wholesome roots” (shangen faxiang). This matter is like drinking water: only you know whether it is cold or warm. You must trust your own experience—only then is it real.

Innate primordial Qi (xiantian yi qi) is to be sought precisely in these verifications before you. Once that single breath of Qi is obtained, the elixir (dan) is immediately complete—this is “one grain of true millet” (yi li zhen shu), as inner alchemy (Neidan) compares the newly formed elixir to a tiny grain of millet. Grain upon grain, from the subtle to the manifest. Sometimes the innate appears moment by moment—that is one grain; sometimes it embraces the whole—then from one grain it extends to the immeasurable. Each grain has its own power. What matters first here is that your own vow and resolve must be great.

In Jiang’s copied manuscript, “yuan da” (great aspiration) was mistakenly changed to “dan da” (boldness)—an error with serious consequences. “Great aspiration” follows directly from the preceding discussion of genqi (spiritual capacity and one’s ability to bear cultivation): only those with strong aspirational power are people of great root-capacity, not “self-liberators” who seek only their own release. Moreover, the practices described above are not extraordinary feats; there is no reason to call them “boldness.”

Chapter 7: Methods for Returning the Light

The patriarch said: Returning the light (bringing the light of mind-spirit back into oneself) must be done step by step and without haste; do not neglect your proper worldly duties because of it. The ancients said: when affairs arise, meet them and let them pass; when external things appear, recognize them and let them pass. Handle affairs with right mindfulness, and this light will not be pulled away by outer objects—when a situation presents itself, withdraw at once. That is returning the light at every moment, without fixed form.

In daily life, if you can turn the light back upon affairs at every instant, without a thread of distinction between self and other, that is returning the light wherever you are—the supreme subtle application. In the early morning it is best to put aside all outer entanglements and sit quietly for one or two double-hours. In all dealings with people and events, use only this method of turning the light inward, so that not a single moment is broken. Practice thus for two or three months, and the perfected immortals of heaven will surely come to confirm it.

Chapter 8: The Wayfarer’s Formula

The patriarch said: Jade Clarity (Yuqing, the highest pure heaven in Daoist cosmology) transmitted the Wayfarer’s Formula (Daoyao Jue); its four-character essentials are: enter by concentrating spirit (ningshen), with two double-hours as the ideal measure. In all dealings with people and events, use only the method of turning the light inward, so that not a single moment is broken. Practice thus for two or three months, and the perfected immortals of heaven will surely come to confirm it.

The Patriarch said: Jade Clarity (Yuqing, the supreme realm among the Three Pure Ones) left behind the Dao Wanderer's Formula; what matters is only the four words "concentrate spirit and enter the qi cavity"—fixing mind-spirit and gathering it into the qi cavity (where breath returns and is stored). In the sixth month, one may suddenly see white snow flying; at the third watch, one may see the sun disk bright. The qi within water is stirred by Xun wind (Xun as wind, meaning true breath) to rise; after roaming above it returns again, drawing on Kun virtue (Kun as earth, meaning the virtue of deep bearing and stillness). There is also a saying more arcane than arcane: the land of nothing-at-all (wuheyouxiang, a realm of utter emptiness) is the true dwelling of peace.

This regulated verse has spoken the mystery to the end. The crux of the Great Dao is nothing beyond the four characters "acting through non-action" (wuwei er wei). Precisely because of non-action (wuwei), one is not bound by direction and form; and precisely because there is action within non-action, one does not fall into stubborn void or dead stillness. In application there is nothing outside "the center," and the pivot entirely lies in the two eyes. The two eyes are the Dipper's handle, used to turn creation and shift yin and yang. The so-called great medicine is always only "gold within water," that is, lead of the water country (the true yang hidden in water).

The Returning Light (huiguang) discussed earlier refers to the beginner's mechanism: restraining the inner from the outer, that is, borrowing assistance to obtain mastery. This is addressed to those of middle and lower capacity, so they first cultivate the lower two passes in order to penetrate the upper pass. Now the threads are gradually clear and the mechanism gradually skilled; Heaven does not begrudge the Dao and directly reveals this supreme purpose. All of you must keep it strictly secret and each exert yourselves.

Returning Light is only the general name. As practice goes deeper, the radiance grows brighter, and the method of Returning Light grows more refined. Formerly one restrained the inner from the outer; now one guards the center and steers the outer. Formerly one used assistance to help establish the master; now one carries out and presents according to the master's command—the situation is entirely reversed.

Those who learn the method must enter stillness. First regulate body and mind, be at ease and harmonious, put down the ten thousand concerns, and hang nothing at all. The Celestial Heart sits upright at the center; then let both eyes hang like curtains (eyelids slightly lowered), as if bearing an imperial decree to summon ministers—who would dare not come? Qi within the body naturally answers the summons. Then use both eyes to illuminate inward toward Kan palace (Kan as water, the lower water mansion); where the radiance reaches, true yang at once rises to respond.

Without the Li trigram, the outside is yang and the inside is yin, yet in essence it is Qian (pure yang). One yin enters within and becomes master, and mind follows outer things and arises, flowing outward with circumstances. Now Returning Light illuminates inward; mind no longer arises with things, yin qi stops; radiance concentrates and shines, and becomes pure yang. Like kinds inevitably draw near, so the yang within Kan rises upward. What ascends is not yang belonging separately to Kan; it is still Qian yang coming to meet Qian yang. The moment these two substances meet.