《吕祖全书》Vol. 7

In the daily care they give their children, parents need not even be near for their hearts to stay tied to them. When they see a child cry or laugh, they share the worry or joy; when they watch a child take its first steps, they are almost beside themselves with delight. They would rather go hungry themselves and see their son fed; rather endure the cold themselves and see their child warmly clothed. They long for their children to grow up until their eyes seem worn out from watching; they think of them marrying and starting homes until worry keeps them awake at night. Sometimes they brave wind and rain to lay a foundation for the family estate; sometimes they climb through hardship and danger to revive what the family once had. Toil by day is all for those who come after; grief at midnight is all plotted for the children’s sake.

Such kindness—where could repayment ever end? If children wish to honor their parents’ grace, they should give their utmost in heart and effort, never slackening in filial support and care, and never wavering in sincere respect. They should see that parents are fed and clothed and their bodies cared for; speak gently and humbly so their hearts are glad; read their expressions and, with reverence, grasp what they mean. An old saying runs: “To discern a parent’s wish before their face shows it, and to understand before they speak—only that is truly fulfilling filial piety.”

If, at this fundamental hinge of caring for one’s parents, one has not done one’s part at all, and instead takes ritual fasting (xiuzhai), charitable giving (bushi), relief of the poor, and aid to the destitute as one’s good deeds—even if such acts pile up by the thousands and tens of thousands—it all amounts to nothing. Once the great human bond (here, filial duty between father and child) is broken, one is worse than birds and beasts. In life one is scorned and held cheap; under the law of the land one is not tolerated. Above, the spirits grow angry; below, ghostly beings detest one. Disasters of water, fire, plague, or haunting may become impossible to escape; one may even be struck by thunder until the body is shattered, refused by both water and fire. Faced with retribution like this, how could one not fear?

If the field is not plowed deep, one cannot expect a harvest in autumn. How far can fate be trusted? Lose the original heart and corrupt one’s conduct, and even a destiny of wealth and rank may sink into poverty and low station; cultivate the original heart and nurture one’s nature, and though fortune is adverse, there will still be a day of fulfillment.

Patriarch Lü’s instruction to Song Zhenshu: Your talent and strength are truly enough to do good—why wear yourself out like an ox or horse for your descendants’ sake? The taste of office, the perils of the world, and the storms of human relationships—you have largely lived through them all. The sea of suffering has no shore until you turn your head; those who rush about in ceaseless pursuit may find, in the end, that this banquet cannot be dismissed in peace. Yellow pickles and plain rice are no worse than rich sauces and fine grain; coarse cloth and blue cloth shoes can stand comparison with brocade and embroidery. If you pull the reins in time of urgency and lay your head on the pillow in ease when things are stable, you will have enjoyment that does not run out.

A father must be neither too yielding nor too harsh and hot-tempered. Where there is a wise father, there will be a son who resembles him in conduct; where there is a loving father, there will be a filial son. In antiquity, how many became accomplished without being taught? How many carried themselves forward without encouragement? How many could grasp a parent’s heart and carry on a parent’s aim without learning? A father ought to understand this clearly.

Patriarch Lü’s instruction to Wu Yishu: In heaven there are no immortals who are unfilial. You need only return home to serve your parents and practice seated quiet in profound silence. Do not squander your years in the noisy bustle of the marketplace. The reason the perfected person is not bound by fate is that he has no private self. Hold these words in your heart and reflect on them deeply.

You disciples must not be too selfish, must not seek only your own gain, must not be excessively harsh, and must not be excessively indulgent. Those who follow my teaching I do not reject; those who turn away from my teaching I do not chase after. Whoever can grasp my intent, Heaven will surely send blessing upon him; whoever secretly goes against my admonitions, Heaven will surely send calamity upon him. To speak of virtue with the mouth while harboring deceit and hypocrisy in the heart—perhaps one can fool people in the open, but how can one fool the spirits in the dark? In sum, when alone in hidden places one has nothing to regret; sleeping alone facing the bedcover and walking alone facing one’s shadow one feels no shame (the classic idea of being upright when no one sees), and if one keeps advancing without slackening, one can approach the sages and worthies and stand as peer to Heaven and Earth. Trivial wealth, rank, and length of life—how can fate bind such a person! Disciples, reverently and carefully put this into practice.

Since you disciples have already taken refuge in my teaching, you should wash and purify yourselves once more and wake up with a sudden jolt. Those who accumulate merit yet still meet disaster—I can respond to their cry and rescue them (in the Daoist view the patriarch can answer when called and deliver them); those who pile up wrongdoing yet refuse to reform—I can also correct them in the hidden.

Disciple Gu Xingshu has long had good deeds unknown to others: his parents were not especially affectionate toward him, yet he was all the more filial in supporting them; his brothers were not especially harmonious, yet he still upheld brotherly love; toward others he had a warm heart, in dealing with the world he kept a sincere mind. He understood the teaching of Chan Buddhism (the Buddhist line that stresses seeing one’s own nature), yet only held to it in silence; he also grasped the subtlety of our Daoist way, yet kept it deeply hidden. Compared with those whose words and hearts disagree and who repeat hearsay, the distance is vast—therefore I am fond of him.

Disciple Wu Yishu is steady in character, without deceit or pretense in the heart, without impure private motives in how he treats people and things. He acts when the time is right and speaks according to whom he addresses; in his breast there seems to be the wonder of sky-high and earth-wide breadth, and also the freedom of clouds moving and mist dispersing; moreover he sets his will high and casts off bondage—truly a person of aspiration—therefore I am fond of him.

However, you two must constantly cultivate yourselves and reflect, advancing step by step with steady effort—neither falling behind nor sliding back—and that will suffice. Do not, because you have heard these words from me, grow slack and indulgent and ruin for yourselves a future that could have been bright. Think this through carefully and keep reverence in your hearts.

In human life, nothing is more to be feared than wavering indecision. If you can decide with sincerity, what teaching cannot you hear, what immortality cannot you seek? The trouble is only that the mouth speaks earnestly while conduct runs counter to the words.

Alas, how often people in this world do what is not right: they are not loyal, not trustworthy, not loving, not generous. Some are sons without filial piety, some are elder brothers without kindness, some are younger brothers without respect, some deal with others without sincerity. In standing in the world they are mostly secretive, selfish, harsh, and mean; in meeting others they show little righteousness, benevolence, wisdom, or courage. They seize others’ flesh and blood to fatten themselves and harm others’ lives to nourish their own bodies. They do not revere Heaven, Earth, and the spirits, yet lightly insult and slight them; they do not respect the precious scriptures and sacred classics (Jing), yet casually slander and revile them. They nurse resentment and curse, speak words that wound, cling too closely and form factions, and do much that is not good, indulging in lewdness and filth. The divine clerks (shencao, the heavenly officers who record and weigh good and evil) enter each deed in their registers and apply punishment according to its weight: some suffer calamities of war, fire, flood, or plague; some fall into rough, low, wretched fates—each must bear what is his own, and when his conduct has brought him to the corresponding level, it stops there.

To enter my lineage as a disciple of Patriarch Lü, you must be loyal to your sovereign, filial to your parents, respectful to elders and kind to younger siblings, and keep your heart and intentions honest without deceit; in conduct and in dealing with others, maintain centeredness, correctness, kindness, and compassion. You must also observe ritual purification (fasting and bathing to cleanse body and mind before honoring the divine), reverently bow to Heaven, Earth, and the spirits, and recite the scriptures with single-minded devotion, thereby completing the merit of scripture recitation and fulfilling the work of the Great Canon (the complete collection of Daoist scriptures).

If someone can restrain and cut off lust and desire, and seek the highest Dao, I will change my form to guide them—meeting in dreams, or encountering them in quiet sitting and stillness—so that they may soon complete the great work of scripture and canon. If another can likewise restrain and cut off lust and desire and seek the ultimate Dao, I will again change my form to instruct them, whether through dreams or in still meditation, so that they may soon grasp the essential meaning and cultivate to become a Golden Immortal (the high immortal realized in the Daoist path).

If you cannot reach that level, as long as you observe my admonitions, apply yourself sincerely in the world, leave no shortfall in good deeds, and let no evil thought arise: seek great blessing and great blessing will be granted, seek long life and long life will be granted; you may obtain filial and worthy descendants, or achieve both fame and profit. If you can further cultivate without slackening, from beginning to end, I will raise you to dwell in peace in the Southern Palace (the immortal palace in the heavens), free and at ease; in time you may attain the rank of upper immortal, forever leaving the filth of the mundane world and no longer falling into misfortune.

What I have said makes merit and fault clear; retribution will not err. Disciples, listen with care; each return and put this into practice: do not drift in complacency, do not grow lazy or seek ease, do not violate the true teaching, do not follow heterodox doctrines. Each walks his own right path; each cultivates his own merit. If you are truly sincere and strictly observe this, you will naturally receive auspiciousness and joy. Know this, and be cautious.

Merit in saving and benefiting the world does not depend on the size of the deed or how much is done; with a single slice of utmost sincerity—even saving one insect or cherishing one plant or tree, acting within your capacity—you accumulate immeasurable merit.

Disciples, with a single slice of utmost sincerity, even saving one insect or cherishing one plant or tree, acting within your capacity, you accumulate immeasurable merit.

Disciples, listen carefully to this earnest admonition. From this day forward, each of you must examine yourselves sharply: be loyal and filial so that you need not be ashamed as children or as subjects; be reverent and sincere so that the Dao you uphold may gain in luster.

If in your conduct you cannot be loving and generous, if toward all things you cannot be broad-minded and kind; if you seek only your own profit and harm others, or take life to sustain yourself; if you worship the spirits without reverence, or hold the scriptures without faith; if you start but do not finish, or look honest outwardly while deceiving inwardly; if among companions you contend over strength and weakness, or among fellow cultivators you draw lines between “us” and “them”; if you envy others’ strengths and speak harshly, or delight in hiding your own faults—all of this is an unjust heart and an upright life only in name. Such habits are common among ordinary people, yet they make one a transgressor against the teaching of human duty. When you are alone, look deeply within: if even one of these applies to you, reform it at once.

With sincerity and reverence, gather in the mind that runs outward; rely on the spirits to clear away wrongdoing. Perform one good act to relieve someone’s distress; speak one kind word to undo someone’s grievance; lend your strength once to support someone in peril. Those with parents should serve them with all possible devotion; those with brothers should treat them fairly and in harmony. Act in this way, and what begins as forced effort will gradually become natural, until you can move at ease toward the ground of the sages. Then urge one another toward good and away from fault, warn one another with seriousness, share one heart and one virtue, and admonish each other so that you do not repeat old errors—then you will naturally enter the path of goodness. Retribution in the unseen realm will not err; Heaven’s scrutiny is before your eyes. Sins may pile up like hills, while merit may accumulate no more than a spoonful of water. The scales of life and death turn on a single thought. Be cautious and strive with all your might.

The human mind must have a firm standpoint. Once the heart is unsettled, one’s strength cannot be applied in an upright and open way; instead one clings to private views, refuses good counsel, plays clever tricks, competes to show strength or weakness, divides self and other, and will not tame the wild, restless mind so it returns to single-mindedness—this directly contradicts what is upright and bright.

Therefore, whatever a person does, even if there are one or two small good deeds now and then, it avails little. The heart is the root; when the root is already impaired, what use are minor virtues? When one has this fault, one must resolve firmly to correct it. Do not parade private cleverness, do not cling to prejudice; clarify the heart completely, without obstruction and without attachment. Bring forth genuine heart and courage—be a person of upright brightness, do upright and bright deeds, step by step strive upward, and wherever you go things will go smoothly. What you seek lies only in yourself; all that is needed is to fulfill your utmost sincerity. A thousand sages and ten thousand saints all return to this “one.” When a single thought truly awakens, blessings have no end.

I laugh at those people: the heart that believes in the Great Dao vanishes like a bubble in an instant; yet when they beg compassion from me, they are as urgent as blazing fire. Why not shift that urgency onto devotion to the Dao? Then without deliberately creating blessing, blessing will grow; without inviting merit, merit will enlarge; without scheming for profit, profit will broaden. Would you still need to seek outwardly?

With earnest compassionate heart I guide all people, originally wishing that living beings might all cross to the other shore (the realm of attaining the Dao and liberation). But if people come without having accumulated sincere heart, they treat this as a game. Rather than entering my Way and not seeing it through to the end, why come to ask at all?

With a heart full of compassion and earnestness, I guide all beings so that everyone may reach the other shore—leave the sea of suffering and attain the Great Dao. If people come without having built up sincere resolve, they will treat the quest for Dao as child's play. Rather than admit them to my gate of Dao and then see them fail to persevere, it is better to hold the threshold of entry strict. Human hearts are not all alike: some are diligent at first and slack later; others start lax and later become earnest. I only wish that the diligent do not slacken, and that the slack know to rouse and encourage themselves—that would be enough. You must from now on be all the more sincere in heart; the slightest slackness, and instruction and guidance can no longer reach you.

Even when you are alone in quiet seclusion, you should act as if the spirits are watching you. How much more when you stand before the spirits—how could you dare to be unrestrained! When beings do evil, it often begins with a single thought of license, which little by little turns into arrogance and rebellion, and thus draws every kind of karmic burden. Can you fail to be on guard?

Those who cultivate Dao value gentleness and forbearance—bearing insult without reckoning it or giving way to anger. If you can remain still and not contend with others, the benefit is by no means small. You can face others with a clear conscience; and when you report to the spirits, there is none who does not look upon you with favor and discernment.

In affairs, you need not chase after others' right and wrong; you must turn inward and examine yourself. If the fault truly lies on your side, then forbearance is what counts. To stay quiet and not keep score brings no small benefit. You can face others without shame; and when you tell the spirits, there is none from whom you do not receive their scrutiny and regard.

In handling affairs, you need not first investigate others’ faults—you must first examine yourself. Even when what you have done truly leaves nothing to blame, still reproach yourself for failing to lead others to reform and turn toward good conduct, and feel deep shame that you have not yet been able to teach and guide those who are foolish and stubborn. Even when you have done your part and have a clear conscience toward others, if someone who does evil is right before you, you must treat him with a gentle manner and receive him with harmonious goodwill. To move one wicked person toward good is a great merit. Even if he is sunk deep and his corruption is heavy, if he has long done evil and will not repent, so that for a time he is hard to transform, you must still treat him well. The key is that you yourself fulfill the Way: respectful and sincere, neither arrogant nor abject, standing firm in the middle way. However the other person comes at you, meet him with an open heart. Those whose conduct is improper will, in time, come to feel awe and respect and no longer dare to be reckless and overbearing. Then what external bullying is there to fear, and what demonic obstacles (obstacles and disturbances in cultivation) are there to worry about?

Doing good begins in a single thought; doing evil also begins in a single thought. In dark solitude where others cannot see, in the most subtle places, good and evil part ways there. Those who do evil were at first also close to their good nature; only because one thought was careless did they drift into arrogance, until through countless kalpas (aeons of rebirth) they still cannot make their originally clear nature-heaven (one’s innate nature) bright again. They are violent and unrestrained and stop at nothing, until they provoke the spirits and cannot escape heaven’s punishment (heaven’s retribution). Therefore I (Lü Zu speaking of himself) pity those who create karma and am deeply grieved for them, and do not shrink from speaking to them at length and indirectly to explain the principle.

You disciples from now on, when you see wrongdoers meet with retribution, should keep a mind of compassion and must not keep a mind of joy; should keep a mind of vigilance and must not keep a mind of imitation. Then removing evil will naturally have force, and doing good will also stand firm on its own.

Life is lived in the turbid realm—the murky dust of the everyday world—and time races by like a white colt flashing through a crack. Once you stumble and let the years slip away in idleness, regret comes too late. When the clear bell sounds at midnight, that is the moment to turn back and wake up sharply. The scheming, the tricks, the clever games of the past often feel like things done in a dream; only on waking do you see how arrogant and wrong they were. If you do not quickly cleanse the heart-mind and start again as a better person, walking the path of goodness toward the heavenly realm—that pure, lofty state—you will sink deeper into filth, fall into bitter kalpas of long, hard-to-escape suffering, and struggle to get free for lifetime after lifetime. Disaster may reach your children and grandchildren, leaving the line to wither for a long time. Besides, wrongdoing has its moment when the tally of evil is full; retribution is only a question of when. If you still do not wake up, is that not a pity?

Good deeds in the world are never all done; meritorious practice in accumulating virtue is never all finished. Sages and worthies, in how they settle in the world, grow more humble in heart as their character rises. When they see a good deed, they rush to do it as if afraid of missing it; they look up to the Great Dao and keep striving as if they had never truly seen it. Even after many achievements and great merit, they still feel it is not enough—how much more when goodness and merit are not yet complete? How could they dare to think themselves great? The ancients said, “Fullness invites loss; humility brings gain”—that is the way of Heaven. If Heaven’s way is like this, how could the human way be any different?

Act this way and do good, and you are a good person; act that way and do shameful things, and you are an evil person. It is the same human being; whether you become good or evil turns on that one point in the heart.

People often say that everything is fated. Yet to do good is to be a good person; to do ugly deeds is to be an evil person. Which of the two you become still hinges on that same point of the heart.

People often say that everything is governed by fate and fixed allotment. Yet the sages have said that the perfected person—the one in Daoist teaching who is united with the Dao and transcends ordinary humanity—has the learning to establish his own destiny. If the working of creation and transformation can be mastered by oneself, how can fate bind him, or fixed allotment limit him?

Some people show no trace of good conduct throughout their lives, yet wealth, rank, and blessing never leave them. That may rest on virtue accumulated by ancestors, or on cultivation in a former life. But if one does evil without cease, the root by which descendants enjoy wealth and honor is cut off. If his blessings extend only to this one lifetime, they will be reduced and stripped away according to what he does. When the Supreme Venerable (Taishang Laojun) speaks of cause and effect and retribution, could that be empty talk?

You should all strive to do good, each examine and cultivate yourself, and not fail this earnest heart of mine.

Good and evil each have their recompense. If doing good never showed any effect, good could be abandoned; if doing evil went unpunished, evil could be done on a grand scale. Reverence toward the spirits is not for the sake of reward—it lies in respectful offering and keeping faith; that mind is the seed of goodness. One need not deliberately seek proof, yet nothing fails to take effect.

I see that various classics all strongly proclaim the merit of reciting scriptures—this is not deceit. For one who recites, a single sincere thought has already cast off former falsity; a moment of turning toward good is already far removed from past faults. To discard falsity and keep sincerity, to reform errors and follow goodness—who says there is no karmic fruit? What is pitiable is that sincerity in one thought soon turns back to arrogance, and goodness for a moment is followed by abandoning good for evil. In that case, on what can one rely to welcome heaven’s protection and draw forth the response of goodness?

Therefore the holy scriptures and worthy transmissions of old, Buddhist sutras and immortal registers of Daoism, all use good words to move the heart of those who would do good, so that from that point they go further toward goodness and thus welcome auspicious qi. They do not mean that with an insincere heart and disrespectful intent—only reciting with the mouth while the mind plays and is lightly contemptuous—one can cancel guilt and gain blessing. Only when the heart is single-mindedly devoted to reverence, from beginning to end without slackening, is that true goodness.

When respectfully copying Dao scriptures by hand, the characters should be uniform in size, with strokes of appropriate weight—solid on the left, open on the right, aligned in length. If the brush moves before the mind, the writing will not be consistent; only when intention comes before the brush is the practice fitting. Remain reverent throughout and never slack, and you will do well.

In copying scriptures, keep size even and weight balanced: the left side substantial, the right side open, lengths matched. When the brush leads the mind, characters fall out of harmony; when the mind leads the brush, calligraphy is apt. Where strokes crowd, let the effect feel open and light; where space opens, give it fullness. Using the brush in a clever, showy way forfeits both balance and bold surprise. Follow what I say here: do not treat ornament as the goal; take reverence and uprightness as your foundation and return to a vigorous, firm hand. Do not chase prettiness. Let strokes be forceful, tight, and mutually pressing; better to go slowly than to hurry, and always write with an upright brush method.

In Hansan Yulu Xuji (Supplement to the Recorded Sayings of Hansan), it is said: I often see what people in the world call “loving the Dao”—nothing more than hoping for a immortal’s guidance, or studying waidan (external alchemy: refining cinnabar and mercury in a furnace), or yin-yang replenishment practices, all in pursuit of long life and lasting wealth and rank. Phrases like “ten thousand strings of cash at the waist, riding a crane to Yangzhou”—wanting both immense riches and immortal flight—belong to that same wish.

As for the Great Dao of pure emptiness, stillness, and extinction—true and everlasting—few love or long for it, and fewer still hold to it with the old simile of loving it “as one loves beauty.” Confucian scholars, moreover, have especially looked down on Buddhism and Daoism.

Now you studied Confucian learning in youth, rose to office and official rank, and today oversee the people and the realm—yet you thirst for the immortal’s way. This is truly a Longsha gathering (the assembly of those with karmic ties to cultivate the Way together, as Patriarch Lü described)—not something to treat lightly.

Know this: entry into the Dao begins with sincerity. If you can extend a single act of sincerity until there is nowhere it does not reach, the Dao is not far. Hence the scripture says: “Before you cultivate the path to immortality, first cultivate the human way. If the human way is not cultivated, the immortal path remains distant.” What is cultivating the human way? The Great Dao seems empty, yet it is real and fills the cosmos. One need only discern the Great Dao and live accordingly, so that the scope of the mind leaves nothing unillumined—embracing heaven and earth at the largest scale, with every sentient being, sharp or dull, present within one’s heart. Confucian “comfort the aged and cherish the young,” Buddhist “deliver all sentient beings,” and Daoist “skillfully guiding and receiving people”—all arise from this one mind.

You must also carefully investigate your innate root of spirit and wisdom, constantly turning the gaze inward to reflect upon the heart, asking the heart with the heart: which matters accord with the Dao, which do not. Whether you serve as an official or bring benefit to the people, leave no thread of duty undone. This is the supreme principle behind Confucian “assisting in position and nurturing growth,” Buddhist “the light of nature shining forth,” and Daoist “forgetting the body and merging with emptiness.” In former times Guanyin Bodhisattva also manifested as a magistrate to teach the Dharma; the Supreme Venerable (Taishang Laozi) once served as archivist under the pillar. Holding office does not bar one from studying the path of purity and emptiness.

If you can follow what I say and in every matter uphold a single sincerity—sincerity in benefiting the people brings them blessing; sincerity in teaching refines custom; sincerity in restraining yourself keeps governance from harshness; sincerity in learning the Dao leads you to cherish Jing and guard Shen—are Immortal, Buddha, and Sage to be sought anywhere outside this one mind?

What I earnestly expect of you is to embody the Supreme Venerable’s heart that cherishes life, the Buddhist Dharma’s thought of compassion, and the sages’ teaching that what you would not choose for yourself, do not impose on others in gathering together. That is not merely to add luster to our lineage alone.

Those who study the Way value above all single-minded dedication and steady progress. The compassionate intent of Buddhist teachings, and sayings of sages such as “gather with others but do not impose on them,” are not merely ornaments for one’s own school.

Students of the Way should prize depth and focus. Quietly turn the xuan (the subtle inner workings of the Way; the original text uses a variant graph for “xuan”), still the heart and look inward, reach emptiness and stillness and hold to clarity, heguang tongchen (soften your light and blend with the dust—temper your brilliance and move among the world as an ordinary person), come and go in the human realm, and at the same time hold to the One (baoyi—abide in the unity of the Great Way) to cultivate yourself. Do not stir stray thoughts; do not chase fame or gain. Inwardly, release the pull of discursive mind; outwardly, release clinging to the physical form. Use xin (heart-mind) to guide qi (vital energy), let qi merge with shen (spirit), let shen merge with emptiness, until forgetting reaches the point where nothing more can be forgotten—and you return to clear, quiet Great Emptiness and the Wuwei (non-action) Way. To understand this is to “illuminate the Way” (ming Dao); to practice it diligently is to “walk the Way” (xing Dao).

As for Nangong methods (approaches tied to Nangong registers, zhaijiao (purification rituals), and related rites), though they count as orthodox practice, they are not the Wuwei great Way that liberates one from birth and death and saves the world. Hence the Supreme Venerable Lord (Taishang Laojun) said: “Clarity and stillness are the right path under heaven.” He also said: “Guarding shen and holding firm to qi are the root of long life.” Brush-and-register methods (bilu—techniques of writing and recording with brush and ink), though not the gate of true unity (zhenyi), attract many enthusiasts. There are also cases where a scholar, after death, has jingqi (essential vitality) leave the body and attach to a living person, venting a lifetime of learning through that channel. As for waidan (external alchemy)—refining mercury and lead in the furnace—this all the more deludes the world and cheats the people; those deceived are beyond counting. One never hears that immortals relied on this to save themselves and the age. Long ago Zhengyang (Zhongli Quan, Lü Dongbin’s teacher) transmitted to me the yellow-white arts (methods for transmuting base metals into gold and silver); I feared it would mislead those who came after. That single concern was observed, and I received elevation and ascended as an immortal. Now someone again asks for such techniques, and I find it deeply regrettable.

Scholars in the world—who would die clinging to one small patch of ground? From birth, men are moved by the ambition to range the four directions. Yet that “ambition of the four directions” was meant for seeking the Dao and finding teachers: Confucians strap book chests and travel a thousand li; Buddhists and Daoists wear through straw sandals on the road. Until learning has taken root or the Dao is truly grasped, they will not rest.

Later ages run after fame and scramble for power—serving as officials far from home, studying abroad, trading in distant markets—all of it springs from profit and reputation.

There is another sort who love mountains and rivers and will trek without fear of hardship, even when parents have grown old and white-haired, whom they leave unattended. Yet even their wandering still stays within one corner of the world. As for perfected persons (Zhenren), they let the spirit roam the vast empty dark: in one breath they cross a thousand or ten thousand li; in an instant they reach the six directions (above, below, and the four quarters—the cosmos) and the three sacred mountains (legendary isles of immortals). Going out, they do not know where they are bound—the spirit travels the universe; returning, they do not know whence they came—they settle back into still emptiness. Who understands this kind of travel has reached the ultimate journey. In the boundless sea of the world, perhaps one person in a hundred truly knows it.

Patriarch Lü descended at Wushu Tower and instructed the assembly: “From thirty years ago I have taught the world through the flying phoenix (feiluan—the rite of spirit-writing and conveying immortal instruction). I came down to Ezhu (present-day Wuchang in Wuhan), remained here, opened the good roots of the Three Grades (Sanpin), and joined the great gathering that binds ten thousand affinities. On the foundation of this tower I began the great work; later we moved to the Song family’s upper hall and took the name ‘Hansan’ (Embracing the Three); then we moved to Master Qiao’s residence and completed the upper volume of the immortal canon. Looking back, it seems like yesterday. Yet what made this teaching succeed was your help—especially yours, Lai—and the wholehearted effort of those who started the work. Though the great task is now complete and all share in vast protection, I still often feel tender concern for those first workers, as if their labor has not been fully repaid. That is why I linger in the palace and do not vanish at once—that is the reason.”

I pity the people of the world; my heart is compassionate, and I do not shrink from trouble. I still linger in the dusty world and am not willing to vanish from sight at once—simply because I wish to align with Heaven’s intent; that is the whole reason.

I pity the people of the world; my heart is compassionate, and I do not shrink from trouble. The reason I remain in the human realm is none other than to embody above the Heaven’s virtue of nurturing life and below to mourn the anguish of beings sunk in suffering. Therefore I have vowed on a vast scale: through long kalpas to deliver people, to pour out Dharma nourishment broadly—as if with nourishing milk—so that as many as the sands of the Ganges may each ascend the shore of the Dao (leave the sea of suffering and complete the path), and even the darkest realms may be lit everywhere. Then would this old one’s earnest, motherly compassion not find a little ease at last?

I am not unaware that custom runs thin and human feeling runs cold; lately people’s livelihoods are tight, so they cannot but chase profit alone. Yet when the mind is fixed on gain alone, fraud and theft grow fiercer day by day, stratagems multiply, and hearts bent on deceit never rest. To harm others and deceive the world, to benefit oneself at others’ expense—even in a single skill or trade, the mind is exhausted in scheming. Trace it to the root, and it is still the reckoning of advantage, more cunning than those before. Thus morals wear thinner daily and sink lower. Then seasonal calamities and month-by-month ill fortune come in turn: fire and bandits, official punishment, drought, locust plague, and the pain of disease.

Yet when a wicked thought first stirs, people still feel uneasy within; when thunder and lightning are at hand, they still know fear. Step by step onto the road of wrong, and it becomes as easy as a level path or a light carriage. If retribution seems early or late, they at once say the spirits are deaf and blind; then they give the heart free rein and act without limit. Even if thunder is beside them and the axe of execution is before their eyes, it is as though they neither heard nor saw. They even say: “I rely only on profit—have you never heard the saying that money can reach the gods?” That is pitiable and ridiculous. People like this—how could they not forever fall into the turning of rebirth (samsara) and be bound by karmic retribution? Even if I wished to rescue them, where could I begin?

Dao is the hidden pivot between heaven and earth, the refined essence of Yin and Yang. It sets the measure of the cosmos, nurtures past and present, utterly subtle and concealed—without form and without name. It opens the myriad forms of creation and is the root where all things gather. At first, within primordial chaos (Hongmeng), it was distinguished by Taijun—the force that turns creation like a potter’s wheel and brings forth the ten thousand things. What Buddhists awaken to is this Dao; what immortals follow is this same principle; the wisdom of Confucian sages does not differ from it. Traced to its source, all arise from Jade Clarity (Yuqing), the highest of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing). Later the streams divided and branched into three paths (san cheng), each opening a teaching and establishing a gate. What is taken as solid is Confucian principle; what is taken as empty is Chan mind-dharma. Empty and full interweave; Yin-Yang and the Five Phases condense into essence (Jing). Held in non-being, stored in being—seemingly there, seemingly not—in dim obscurity; within trance and vagueness it is harbored at the navel wheel (the dantian region in internal alchemy). Mystery upon mystery—its aperture is hard to find. Seeking upward to the “moon cave” where yin gathers, treading downward on the “heavenly root” where yang rises; coming and going at ease, always keeping clarity and stillness. In what is solid, this is so; in what is empty, it is always present. The paths differ, the destination is one; in the end all return to primordial wholeness (hunlun)—the undivided whole before differentiation.

Dao cannot be fully spoken in words. When a person forgets the split between self and other, when “I” forgets self, and even “forgetting” is forgotten—that is true forgetting, beyond comparison and beyond discourse. Those with insight first establish sincerity (cheng). With sincerity comes clarity; with clarity, form appears— inwardly and outwardly—and the great Dao can be practiced.

Walking the Dao is neither easy nor hard; what runs through beginning and end is a single word: sincerity.

Today the practice of planchette writing on sand (jisha) has spread widely among those who seek enlightenment, and many echo it in chorus; inevitably there is mixture of true and false, and gatherings and dispersals are not constant.

People often take those who specialize in auspicious and inauspicious omens for truly capable, and those who can compose poetry and prose for people who can draw crowds. From the time I began feiluan (spirit writing through a suspended brush) at this luan altar—fuji jiangbi, receiving the brush from descending spirits to convey divine messages—decades have passed. I have never used omens of fortune or misfortune to win people over, and none of my disciples seek verification through the karmic turns of blessing or calamity. Though there is little language or text to admire, there is ritual, music, and dignified bearing to learn. Hence it can be upheld long without change; the longer it lasts, the fresher it feels—nothing like those practices that gather and scatter abruptly and exist mainly to shock the world.

People may assume that my tradition must rest on extraordinary experiences to move others. Looking at it myself now, I find nothing I would call extraordinary. I simply do not know whether others’ experiences are extraordinary or not. If they are not extraordinary, they are commonplace—and “commonplace” encompasses a great deal. Human life, treading the earth and bearing heaven, is nothing more than wearing clothes when one should, eating when one should, the daily round of living—nothing strange in that; that is what is meant by the commonplace. The five senses and four limbs—eyes to see, ears to hear—everyone has the faculties of sight and hearing; that too is not strange. In youth one studies Xiaoxue (elementary learning: sweeping, responding, and basic literacy); in maturity one understands human relations, from self-cultivation through regulating the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world—following the teachings of the ancient kings, emulating the sages, until one reaches the realm of the sages and worthies, never straying from the middle way (zhongdao, the unbiased correct path). These matters are utterly ordinary; again, nothing strange.

There are also two paths—that of the Buddha and that of the Immortal (xian): one seeks to illuminate one's original nature and penetrate the source, in order to transcend birth and death; the other seeks to refine and nurture the heart-mind and the Yuanshen (original spirit—the root of human consciousness), in order to attain longevity. These matters may seem strange and hard to credit; such people may seem remote and hard to verify. Yet by ordinary reasoning, neither Buddha nor Immortal ever abandons original nature when speaking of cultivation, nor do they indulge in abstruse subtleties apart from holding to the center (shouzhong—keeping the inner balance of stillness and impartiality). The foundations of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness they keep always in mind; courtesy, yielding, and ritual respect they put into practice one by one.

Thus one who serves parents with full filial piety may be called a filial child among immortals; one who serves the ruler with full loyalty may be called a loyal minister among immortals. By the same token, whoever can nourish all things and fulfill human obligations is a seed of becoming immortal or buddha. Without deliberately craving immortals or buddhas, their attainment comes of itself. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism follow different paths, yet all return to Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate—the root of all things); there is no need to divide into separate schools. In my work Sanpin, I have explained and examined this aim at length in full detail. Shallow Confucian scholars of the world, ignorant of this unity, argue in vain and mock in private. I pay no heed to what they think in their hearts; I only laugh at their pedantry.

When someone comes to ask about the Way, I treat what they have seen and heard as nothing strange even when I may not know it all—that is the mark of great discernment. As for taking refuge in my teaching, to treat it as an ordinary matter is the bearing of true stature. Once they earnestly seek the Way I speak of, I teach them only with the Great Way; and what is meant by “great” is nothing more than the word “ordinary.”

My path is vast and wide. Within boundless dimness and obscurity, compassion and grace are at home; within indistinctness hard to pin down, light shines forth. All who come in sincere devotion—if their faith is genuine and undivided—can connect through numinous response. Only when people treat me as optional do I find it hard to answer their prayers at once. The thoughts of the divine are not what an ordinary mind can fathom; this is truly so.

If one serves parents with love and reverence, treats elder siblings with harmony and humility, keeps faith with friends, conducts oneself fairly in the world, cultivates the self and clears away selfishness, strengthens human relations and holds to what is fundamental—that is like facing me and hearing my words every day. In silent understanding, I nod my assent.

To know why the living die, look at why the dead may live again. When people speak of the living’s death, they only say that when allotted years are spent, one dies. When they speak of life after death, some say: “At death one receives new life (rebirth).” Others say: “Death itself cannot be fathomed—how can one assert life afterward?” Still others say: “There is nothing that proves life after death.” Such talk and blame do not agree. They do not know the ancients said: “The meaning of life and death is truly weighty!” This matter is not something that can be explained lightly.

From the standpoint of upright principle, human beings are born because they receive Yin-Yang qi, and because the qi they receive is sometimes clear and sometimes turbid, each person takes on a distinct bodily form. At first arrival one is blank and undifferentiated, like the sun’s disk rising in the east at dawn. People only see the sun climb above the horizon—how could they with their own eyes watch it set out from Fusang (the legendary place of sunrise) and thereby judge what is truly real from what is not? When a person dies, breath stops in dim obscurity and the whole body withers, like the golden crow (a name for the sun) suddenly dropping as the sun sets in the west. People only see the sun reach evening—how could they with their own eyes watch it sink into Yanzi (the legendary mountain of sunset) and thereby judge what is truly real from what is not? Therefore those who hold to upright principle examine only this body they already possess and do what is genuinely single-minded and undivided; as for life and death, they need only accept whatever arrangement is right and proper. Destiny may be known, yet it cannot be spoken; when qi’s allotted span is exhausted, it is better to keep to one’s place. Great sages can, before “I” has yet appeared, grasp life and death in the mind; after “I” has appeared, they accord with life and death and return from what is substantially real to emptiness. The reasoning within reasoning, the subtlety within subtlety, is not something ordinary people can articulate.

It is transmitted in the world that there are seventy-two kinds of Big Dipper liturgy (the ritual forms for reverencing the Northern Dipper), of which thirty-six conceal the true purport; the rest merely employ ritual texts to instruct worldly people. People do not realize that reverencing the Dipper is abundant not only in the teaching-through-ritual of our lineage—in Buddhist schools too, such methods of reverencing heaven are likewise numerous. The categories differ by tradition, yet the Buddhist canon’s chapters on mind surpass Daoist ritual texts in depth: they all carry mantra syllables (Buddhist incantatory sound), and also include accomplishment methods (practices pursued until realization)—extraordinarily subtle. Chan practitioners also use them to see nature and illuminate the mind, like a lamp of wisdom whose light reaches everywhere without dimness. Take a dark room: before any flame appears, everyone is as if coated in black lacquer and cannot see one another’s faces; suddenly a torch is lit, and one feels openness above and below, light shining on all sides—a joy so exceptional. Compare those who worship heaven: even if dull, weak, and uninformed, so long as they are sincere, earnest, and resolute, follow the Buddhist teaching in faith, and worship in accord with the method, once they suddenly awaken they can all attain understanding. Just as the Tathāgata Buddha, upon seeing the morning star, attained awakening, or again held up a flower before the assembly—it is the same. From this one knows that mantra sound is miraculous, possesses the power of the six supernormal knowledges, and nothing surpasses it; its merit-power is truly beyond reckoning.

Even the secret esoteric liturgical texts (xuan ke mi jian) that are transmitted—the word xuan in the original stands for “profound mystery”—are still honored by upper immortals and the True Lords who govern the celestial realm. They regularly venerate and perform rites according to the cycles by which heaven and earth turn together. A person may possess the root capacity, yet if merit and practice are still uneven, it is not easy to receive the supreme true Lingbao and Taixuan religious teachings (the most exalted lineages of Shangqing, Lingbao, and Taixuan).

That Heavenly Lord is sovereign among the stars, exalted above all heavens. His vows are deep and firm, his compassion vast, and the gates of his teaching without limit—even cultivators who have already entered the nine ranks of fruition cannot fathom him. The Five Bushel scriptures (wudou jing) transmitted in this tradition all belong to liturgical texts (keyi); within them lie hidden esoteric teachings of the profound gate, not passed to those of lower attainment. Unless one is recognized by the Nine Heavens as true vessel and material, one may not even hear these words.

Yet people may still cultivate this one liturgical path: with a sincere and earnest heart they pray, and practice in accord with its meaning—and responses differ for each person. Some see immortals and perfected ones descend in person to the Purple Forbidden Hall (Zichen, the celestial court of the supreme ruler); some, in stillness, perceive arms and faces appear; some witness celestial flowers raining down; some see the treasures of the immortals arrayed before them—all according to what each supplicant asks, so that wishes are fulfilled. Those of highest attainment who seek immortality may obtain it through this; those of middle attainment who have prayers find each one realized. The various offerings, thanksgiving, and rewards are still only small karmic fruits. Those who here gain great wisdom and great liberation are beyond counting. Some receive in person the true work of the mystical spirit “three-five” (xuanling sanwu)—the core practice built on the three-five method—and thereby transcend and verify their cultivation, abiding in the first meaning (diyi yi, the ultimate truth). All of this is by virtue of this power.

It is as subtle as those who invoke “Amitabha” and are guided forth to be reborn in the eight merit pools, their bodies transforming into lotus flowers. As the classic says: “Though dull, they must become bright; though soft, they must become strong” (from the Zhongyong). Those who reverence the Heavenly Lord are likewise. There is no first meaning that can be explained—and that very unexplainability is the first meaning. Within what is still without marks of the teaching (faxiang), marks of the teaching already appear; in the end one returns to being without marks. How subtle!

The word jing (scripture/classic) originally served to teach people to hold fast to the constant Way, not to change it lightly, and always to maintain reverence and awe. Those of high wisdom, on reading it, would quietly find something dawn in the heart; those of middling capacity would see that they ought to watch themselves; when ordinary people came to know it, they would all feel fear and respect. So in setting up teachings to instruct others, I packed many admonitions and openings into this one character—it was not a show of oneself through words and language.

The heart of the admonition lies first in shouxin (gathering the mind inward). Once the mind is on guard, then in serving the spirits or in dealing with people it is as if someone above were watching: one must be reverent, must be cautious, careful at every turn, diligent all day without slack. Before the divine, one must be especially careful. Begin with one thing and extend to many; begin with small matters and grow into great ones. Hold the mind in the breast and do not let it slip outward and run loose, and it will gradually ripen; in time the mind naturally finds a master, so that one does not become bold, coarse, and unrestrained.

This passage explains the method of shouxin (gathering the mind—drawing scattered thoughts back and settling them in one place). Patriarch Lü said: This method of gathering the mind is the general principle I taught people at the outset, the core of my commentaries on the classics, and also the subtle reasoning I speak of in daily life about cultivating immortality and cultivating Buddhahood.

People of shallow insight may be unable, in still silence, to grasp profound meaning and unite spirit with the mysterious and far-reaching; yet when they should earnestly follow these rules, serve Heaven, and respond to the spirits, they cannot even manage a single moment of self-examination, nor restrain the wild, hard-to-tame “ape spirit” (a metaphor for the restless, scattered mind, often called the “heart-ape”). Instead they let it run rampant. This is because they never study or probe the art of gathering the mind in ordinary life; they only indulge long-formed habits, freely indulging desire. Wuming (avidya—dense ignorance and delusion) blazes at every moment; the mind is hard to tame; they do as they please in everything, until a habit of unrestrained boldness takes root. Caught in the net of worldly affairs, dulled and unawake, they do not hear the resounding subtle Dao-sound that would awaken them—so that even before the spirits they still behave wildly and dissolutely, breach ritual and overstep bounds, to the point where they cannot face themselves.

By human standards such people are “those who cannot be checked” (whose words and deeds have no ground and cannot be trusted); by worldly standards they are “offspring of reckless arrogance”; in Confucian teaching they are “the unworthy”; in Buddhism they are those who stain the pure precepts; in my Dao lineage they are “the rebellious and perverse.” What is there to approve in such people?

What the Jing (scripture/classic) speaks of is jing (reverence/respect). Without reverence, why expound the classic at all? The classic exists to teach people to cultivate the heart. If the heart is already lost in dispersion, why establish the classic? Only when the classic yinxin (imprints and verifies the heart) does the heart become the essential point of the classic. Thus the classic is not merely lodged in words and language. How pitiful! I cannot help grieving for such people.

Those who serve the spirits, when they approach the divine and stand before the numinous, should be as solemn as if the deity were truly present—as if the spirit were right before their eyes. Whether to left or right, they should receive and attend with dignified reverence. Not only must dress and cap be in order; bearing must be upright. At every moment they must be careful and respectful; hands and feet must move with composure. In bowing and praise, deportment must fit the rite—unhurried, graceful, dignified, and fully in accord with ritual. It should be as when a superior spirit faces you and watches with utmost strictness, so that slackness is impossible. Such awe is like a subordinate serving a superior, or a minister meeting the ruler: ritual must be complete. Yet in serving above or meeting the ruler, reverence is not always from the heart; when awe and respect live within, one naturally will not perform false sincerity or false respect. Serving the spirits is not something to compare with serving a human lord: the numinous is radiant and splendid, its responsive power is swift, and it communicates with people as closely as breath—quick as shadow following form, or echo answering sound—so that one cannot but feel awe, and dare not fail to feel it. All this is because the manifest grace and acceptance of the divine cannot be fathomed.

Since one comes already with the intention to serve the spirits, the mind must stay on the side of reverence—how could one jest, play, or treat it as child’s play without respect? Though I have little worth showing, once one comes with a mind to serve the spirits, whether the deity is present or not, one should fulfill one’s heart and one’s ritual duty. If this principle is not understood, how can one be human? How can one serve the spirits? Spirit and human respond to each other through sincerity; sincerity can reach Heaven, and what Heaven values is the fragrance of virtue. Rites may number in the hundreds and thousands, but the key lies in a single mind—whether the mind is true or false depends on how one holds the mind. Doing one’s utmost is called loyalty; taking the real as real is sincerity. Meeting affairs with genuine sincerity, one advances to investigation of things and self-cultivation; from oneself to the family, nothing lies outside this one mind. Ordering the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the realm all come down to utmost sincerity. Assisting Heaven and earth in nurturing and transforming, letting the ten thousand things each rest in its place and grow— all take this as root. You later students should diligently strive to practice accordingly.

Serving as the planchette hand—the one who holds the brush during spirit writing (fuluan) and records the deity’s intent—is difficult; it is no ordinary undertaking. Some can do it by innate gift, others only through long effort. One must first possess spiritual aptitude (huixing), a root of wisdom (zhigen) that is open and responsive, a even temperament, and a calm, settled spirit, out of step with ordinary worldly ways. In daily life one should keep sincere faith, not deceive things or people, and not chase outwardly; be reverent and careful, with a single-minded focus and a settled body; always watch oneself, hold awe for instruction, without divided intent or suspicion or deceit—only then can heart and hand align, reach union of spirit and person (shenren het), spiritual responsiveness flow freely, and divine intent meet no obstruction. When the inner state is still and at ease, the mind peaceful and natural and pure, that is what comes by heaven’s gift. Moving from awkwardness to skill must include refinement through cultivation and discipline (liandu); what then reaches the utmost is what is achieved by human effort. In all cases one must be honest in ordinary days, not casual in word or deed, so that what is kept inward and what is done outward both accord with the divine. When the moment comes, one again gathers spirit and concentrates qi, with a mind quiet and at ease, qi and spirit both held steady and the inner awareness round and alive—that is the principle being spoken of.

The planchette writer—the one who holds the brush when spirit writing (fuji) is performed—is the person through whom the divine attaches. Anyone whose words fall short, whose conduct is faulty, who is shallow or deceitful, or who harbors doubt and divided loyalty is not someone the divine will choose. If the divine does not choose such a person, how could it attach to them? Even when one is at the altar serving, if the mind strays outward, if the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, desire) arise, if one hesitates through self-doubt, or if one slackens even briefly, the spirit’s response is blocked and cannot last. Thus it is already hard to find a genuine planchette writer; harder still to find one I can truly attach to; and harder yet to find one who can expound the scriptures and teach the Way. Know that in opening and transforming the world, I depend first on finding the right person. For the divine to attach, that person must have virtue and also possess a spiritual root—the innate foundation fit for cultivation. Therefore the two words “planchette writer” are not lightly spoken.

In the vigor of youth, one should restrain the heart-mind in everything. This is the root of virtue and must be nurtured until it is warm and steady. What Confucians call “preserving the heart-mind and nurturing nature” is what our tradition calls “refining Qi and refining Shen.”

Those who study the Way have not yet learned how to live until they first learn how to die. If you do not work at “death,” how can you attain life? To hide the spark of life within the “death aperture”—the gate of utmost stillness in practice, as if dead—is something each person must grasp for themselves. Otherwise, day after day you seem to seek life, yet day after day you are settling into death. In this unceasing process of birth there is great mystery. Do not be stained by habit-energy; do not be deluded by the dust of the world. For one who understands, a single pointer is like raising a torch in a dark room—light floods in at once. Do not spend your cleverness on what is useless.

You, Chengshu, are entangled in worldly affairs—something human nature can hardly avoid. Yet you are not like ordinary vulgar people; you ought not to hold common, worldly views. Even if I were to verify everything for you one by one, I could neither add to what is not there nor subtract from what already is; and even if I wished to remake your fate for you, how could that alter a destiny already settled? I tell you this now in the hope that you will understand: all conditioned dharmas—phenomena that arise and pass away depending on conditions—are entirely like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. You need only keep to your proper place, align with the season, and seek to realize the wondrous fruit that lies ahead. Then, on the days when I expound and proclaim the teaching, that will be enough to awaken your innate wisdom—the work of seventy years in gathering conditions and settling karmic retribution. From this point you must gradually put aside worldly entanglements, free yourself from vulgar attachments, put yourself in order, and gather up your spiritual nature. When the right opportunity comes, you will be able to assist me in spreading the teaching and benefiting beings without limit. Moreover, by virtue of your cultivation in past lives, you will naturally be able to attain thorough understanding without obstruction and realize the fruit all the sooner.

Since you have already taken refuge in my school, you must grasp my intent. Keep reverence in your heart and treat others with evenness; do not set yourself above others or boast, and do not indulge in pride and luxury while looking down on the world. Even when beauty fills your sight, you should recall Liu Xia Hui of old, who remained unmoved with a woman in his lap; even when others treat you with arrogance and rudeness, you must learn from the gentleman who, when wronged, turned inward again and again to confirm that he himself had no fault. Do you not know what the Zhou Documents (Zhou Shu) in the Book of Documents (Shangshu) say: “Heaven has no favorites; it assists only the virtuous”?

When disciples under my guidance bring their families to take refuge in the Dao, that can indeed be read as sincere devotion to the Way. Yet if you merely receive a religious name and assume the act of refuge is complete, you have missed what refuge truly means. Understand that “gui” (taking refuge) means making the Dao your ultimate home; “yi” (relying) means treating the Dao as your sovereign and depending upon it. Only when you receive the teaching in good faith, put it into practice in earnest, observe the precepts and regulations of the Daoist tradition, keep the rules of the community without breach, and in human affairs do not violate the basic order of human ethics (gangchang), with upright intent and reverence free of deceit, handling everything according to principle—only then do you not betray the meaning of refuge, and only then can you be called one who has truly taken refuge. If you seek nothing more than a religious name and consider that enough to fulfill your wish for refuge, you gain no real benefit; how much more so for women and for the young and uninformed, who lack mature judgment!

If you are drawn to my teaching of the Dao, you must receive it with reverence and trust, and in all matters steadfastly uphold what is fundamental. If you willingly abandon yourself, day by day you will sink into what is base and corrupt; if you ceaselessly strengthen yourself, day by day you will advance toward what is lofty and clear. As for nourishing vital energy (qi), cultivating purity, gathering the mind, and regulating desire, the key lies in the discipline of nurturing stillness and clarity, and in maintaining a heart of emptiness, silence, and unfathomable depth (xuyou yaoming)—only then can you achieve results. If you do not restrain yourself, day by day you will grow coarse and restless; that your spirit and awareness fail to connect with the Dao is the lesser harm—the karmic retribution invited by your faults is exceedingly severe.

Patriarch Lü asked Hong Ducheng: Have you ever heard what I mean by “Han San” (encompassing the three)?

When Yin and Yang first parted as the two modes, the three powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—were fixed in place. Heaven has the three luminaries—the sun, moon, and stars—to illuminate the ten thousand things; on earth the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—uphold the human heart. Only the qi people receive is not the same, so Buddhist scriptures speak of the three vehicles (three paths of teaching), immortal elixirs of three grades, and Confucianism too distinguishes upper, middle, and lower temperaments. Trace it to the beginning: what Heaven bestows is originally equal—one qi throughout, holding within it one principle. Thus the Three Teachings, though separate, spring from one source. If you can penetrate the meaning of all three, they differ in nothing and naturally return together to the subtlety of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate).

Taiji here means speaking in terms of temperaments that are not the same. Push further to the origin: the endowment is still equal—originally one qi, containing one principle. So the Three Teachings divide yet share one source; once penetrated, they do not differ, and all turn toward the essence of Taiji.

What is called Taiji is what people often call the “pre-heaven primordial Qi (xiantian yi qi)”—the undivided vital energy before the cosmos was opened and distinguished. From this, the two aspects of Yin and Yang were separated, and the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity were likewise differentiated. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism are no more than branch currents beside Taiji; trace them to the source and there is ultimately one and the same principle. That is why on the altar I especially use the name “Hansan” (embracing the three): to gather the three teachings and return them to one, and also to show that within a single Way all three teachings are contained.

Cultivation practice in the Daoist tradition has mixed and orthodox strands. The mixed talk only of methods to sustain life and extend years; the orthodox speak solely of the Great Way of the Golden Elixir. The Golden Elixir is what Buddhist teaching calls “complete, luminous awakened nature”—the originally perfect, bright nature of enlightenment. It is neither metal nor stone, yet metal and stone cannot match its firmness; it divides Yin and Yang, yet ordinary yin and yang cannot exhaust its wonder. Its responsiveness has no fixed form; its spiritual efficacy is hard to compare. When cultivation is complete, the inch-field and foot-dwelling (the heart as a square inch, the body as a house) can attain long life; a hundred years, a thousand years, it may endure. Talk of medicinals, firing phases, “two-eight combining into one pound,” drawing and adding at zi and wu hours, water rising and fire descending—all of that is branch talk. What must truly be clarified is the aim of nature and life (xingming): subdue the deluded mind, and the Way is right before you.

Long ago in my Zhixuan pian I already disclosed this meaning to instruct students. There is a line: “I tell you, seekers of the Way: be good at leading the hairless tiger.” The hairless tiger is the heart-mind. What the heart-mind sends forth is intention (yi); intention is what the Daoist tradition calls the Yellow Lady (Huangpo), corresponding in the body to the spleen and Earth. Water below is hard to lift; fire above is hard to lower—when intention is single-minded, Qi naturally follows. Hence the alchemical verse: “The Yellow Lady leads them into the center.” Metal is mother to water; wood is mother to fire—by this East Duke and West Queen are paired, producing the male and female of water and fire; yet only by using intention to refine and cook can success be achieved. The verse also says: “Originally because Wu and Ji were the matchmaker, husband and wife could truly unite in joy.” Wu and Ji mean the intention of spleen-Earth, acting as go-between. Although the elixir classics use many names and forms, all are provisionally set up; if you can subdue and settle this heart-mind, everything is empty.

The Most High said: “The Way that can be spoken is not the constant Way; the name that can be named is not the constant name.” Speaking of “embracing the three”: if even “three” cannot be named, what is there to embrace? If “embrace” cannot be named, from what are “three” divided? Three in one, one in three. Whoever understands this principle is a true practitioner.

People never truly understand their original mind-nature—the innate spirit and character they were born with—so they are bound by karmic grievances and debts from past and present lives, turning round and round in the cycle of rebirth. One round of karmic retribution is not yet settled before the next begins; evil retribution is not yet cleared before new karmic debt arises. The longer one sinks, the deeper one falls. The vast realm of the dead is blank and trackless, with no way out in sight; through long ages, which day will bring liberation from suffering? A human birth is hard to obtain, and a place of peace and ease is hard to win. Clear hearing and sight are the nurturing grace of heaven; ample food and clothing are merit accumulated in past lives. Profit, rank, fame, and wealth cannot be forced. Long or short life, poverty or success were never matters of luck alone. If one cannot repay upward the covering and supporting kindness of heaven and earth, or repay downward the nurturing virtue of one’s parents, one has slighted life and forgotten one’s roots—a grave fault already. If one further corrupts human relations and destroys what is fundamental, schemes in the heart and trades only in cunning fraud, treats others with nothing but harshness and cruelty, shows no reverence before the sun, moon, and stars, slanders the Three Teachings and scorns obeying them, stains the human community and injures one’s true nature—while alive one cannot escape severe illness and untimely death; after death one cannot avoid underworld punishment and being cast into hell. Are such people not pitiable? Know that the road to heaven lies only in a bright and honest heart. Let go today, and today is empty; turn back tomorrow, and tomorrow is resolved. How laughable that human life is one empty dream—who can find what is real inside a dream? How lamentable the world’s many hollow flowers—who will land on what is solid amid illusion? While alive one does not know how to cultivate and reflect; after death the soul is wholly dim. Clinging to grass and trees, where is the original spiritual nature? Wailing at earth and sky—who remembers the desolation of the grave and the underworld? Once form changes and human life is lost, one sinks for myriad kalpas with no way out—can one not fear this?

Since time immemorial, people have lost their true nature—that originally pure essence—and refuse to take refuge in the Three Treasures, busying themselves only with gain and with feeding the physical body. They do not know that the body is illusory and must in the end decay and perish. The Way of the Golden Elixir, by contrast, is everlasting: there is neither birth nor death.

The “Golden Elixir” spoken of here is not the outer alchemy of firing cinnabar and mercury that heterodox side paths teach. That misleads the world and cheats the people, drives families to ruin, and in the end achieves nothing—while doing harm besides. When immortals cultivate the Golden Elixir, they are in truth cultivating the mind. Every person already possesses this Golden Elixir within; the pity is that they will not cultivate it, and so they turn with the kalpas in the cycle of rebirth, never knowing a day of liberation.

You should rouse your will and first repent past faults, then take refuge in the Three Treasures. Buddhism calls them the Three Treasures of Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha; Daoism calls them the Three Treasures of Dao, Jing (scripture), and Shi (master). The names differ, but the principle is the same. From then on, if you forever trust in the Great Dao, you can realize the pure body of the Dao. Awakening lies in this one mind: let the mind be one with the vast void of Great Emptiness—without clinging and without obstruction. If you awaken, you can save yourself; otherwise you sink through countless kalpas, and even boundless compassion cannot pull you out.

Since ancient times, no human being has escaped death. Yet the manner of dying is not the same. Some die before the wholesome roots planted in past lives have ripened; some die before the evil deeds they have done have fully come to light. Others take up learning Buddhism or the way of immortals, then change their minds midway—good fruit never fully forms while evil deeds gradually increase, and they die in that state. Still others spend a lifetime doing wrong and grasping without end, yet later truly turn around; at the hour of death a single thought of repentance can carry over so that in the next life they incline toward good and the correct path. Thus in this one life, whether one is man or woman, rich or noble or poor or lowly, long-lived or short-lived, conditions differ—but this is not heaven deliberately making distinctions. Each person’s own good and evil deeds draw the outcome. If in past lives one already loved doing good and delighted in cultivating the Way, and in this life one continues likewise, heavenly blessing arrives of itself and one may ascend to the heavenly realm. If one cannot do so, the road to heaven is blocked with no gate to enter, and the evil retribution of hell cannot be escaped.

First, one must awaken xinchong xin—a mind of sincere faith and reverence. With faith in the Three Treasures (the Treasure of the Dao, the Treasure of the Scriptures, and the Treasure of the Master), one can dissolve offenses accumulated through countless distant kalpas, leave the bitter sea of birth and death, and realize the great path of longevity.

Second, one must awaken chanhui xin—a mind of repentance. What is repented is this: through many kalpas one did not know how to cultivate xuangong (the subtle inner practice of the Dao), failed to train, and let one’s own true nature be covered and bound by wuming (fundamental nescience) and afflictive turmoil, until one sank into the ghostly paths. This single thought of repentance can give rise to all kinds of merit—it is like polishing a mirror: when the dust and grime are removed, the mirror body becomes bright and pure throughout.

From this we can see that the root of life and death lies in the heart-mind. If you wish in your heart for long life, you should honor and practice goodness. Goodness is the foundation of blessing; evil is the omen of calamity. Whether one does good or evil depends entirely on the heart-mind. A single thought of goodness in the heart is like fine crops rising from the earth: once watered, they flourish and thrive, and the harvest will be good. A single thought of evil is like clouds veiling the empty sky—the sun is hidden and dims, and its light fades. If one can repent and awaken, it is like wind scattering the cloud-cover: the clouds part, light returns, and the empty sky is clear and still. The same holds for those who study the Dao: their essential nature and body are empty and luminous. Most people do not know the true secret of cultivating the Dao and assume that ignorant ordinary folk are unfit to practice. They do not realize that the Great Dao is fundamentally within the person—not a separate teaching apart from heart and nature. If there were another Dao to follow, all Buddhas and immortals would be deceiving the world. In truth, to cultivate the heart-mind is to cultivate the Dao. As long as one wholeheartedly repents and practices on one’s own, the Dao is not far away. Listen to the recitation of scripture: though the lines are many, they all point to this one heart-mind.

Originally, the human heart-mind is firm and healthy, centered and upright, pure and unified in spirit; at first there is not the slightest trace of selfishness belonging to human desire. What is human desire? It is the mind that arises according to each person’s own cravings: some covet wealth, some rank, some beauty, some fine food—every kind of grasping, deluded mind is called desire. Once this desire stirs, one leaves behind heavenly nature; then one loses the true self, chases what is empty, and falls through countless levels—so one can no longer be called heavenly nature, but human desire. Because everyone has this desire and each person’s differs, it does not accord with the principle of Great Unity, nor is it the mind of supreme impartiality—hence it is called “selfish.” From now on, if you simply discard this selfishness, remove deluded thoughts, and let the whole being shine with light, restoring original heavenly nature, then the Dao is close at hand. If upon hearing this you immediately awaken to this nature, that is the Golden Elixir Path (the great path of internal alchemy cultivation that takes original nature as its root). Day by day investigate your own origin, and naturally you will leave behind the realm of suffering.

At the beginning of human life there is only this one nature—nothing else besides it. This nature is primordial Qi (pre-heaven vital energy). Heaven receives it and becomes clear and bright; earth receives it and becomes settled and peaceful. Human beings receive this clear, peaceful Qi from heaven and earth and form a body; then there is the distinction of yin and yang, clarity and turbidity.

The qi between Heaven and Earth begins with Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Taiji is the pre-heaven single qi—the mass of primordial vitality before Heaven and Earth had separated. Heaven and Earth arise from it, so it is called “pre-heaven.” In a human being, this same qi is called xing (nature).

Before birth, this point of true nature enters the mother’s womb and, through the father’s essence and mother’s blood, forms a body. Essence and blood themselves also come from receiving the clear, tranquil qi of Heaven and Earth. Once there is essence and blood, there is form: from a state of clarity, emptiness, primordial yang, and no image, one falls into form and appearance; pre-heaven qi is then mixed and is no longer that pure, formless whole. So the Supreme One (Taishang Laojun) said: “From the source flowing out to the branches, the ten thousand things are born”—that is exactly this.

While still in the womb, hidden in the formless, xing and ming (life) are still one undivided whole. The first cry at birth breaks, with a single sound, the bright, round, vast body that was in the Great Void. Once xing appears, ming separates with it; then there are differences of fortune and misfortune, long life and short life—yet the substance of xing is originally good. After birth, the light of xing is hidden and no longer seen; only then does the name xin (heart-mind) arise. Xing is the substance of the heart; the heart is the function of xing. The two correspond to Heaven and Earth respectively, so xing is called “xing Heaven” and the heart “heart-ground.” When this extends further to yi (intention), it falls to a third layer: the farther it flows, the more the original is lost—“once water leaves Kunlun, it is no longer clear.”

With a body come the distinctions of the five senses, four limbs, the hundred bones, and the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind). The Supreme One said “not a thing among things, not a having within having”—that is precisely saying that this formed body and mind are born from wu (non-being). Only immortals and buddhas see this principle clearly and trace straight back to the origin. The immortal practice of “seven returns and nine reversions” (refining scattered jing, qi, and shen back to the source) is also nothing but refining emotion back to xing; returning to xing is what the Supreme One called “returning to the root and restoring ming.” The various Buddhist practices likewise amount to making this xing bright and clear—nothing more.

From kalpas beyond reckoning, people have indulged their nature of avidya (fundamental ignorance) and lost their true original nature (benlai de zhenshi benxing). Why can this avidya also be called “nature” (xing)? It is like the vast ocean (mingbo)—all of it is called the sea. The surging waves, hard to fathom, are all seawater; one cannot say the deep water is water while the waves are not. When the waves subside and the sea is calm, the pure essence of the water returns as before. If a person can subdue the mind, cast off delusion, and bring emotion back to nature, the true origin of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and the whole of creation can share virtue with Heaven and Earth and shine with the sun and moon. Thus the “forbearing nature” of the Confucian sage path forbear this avidya; our school’s “refining nature” (lian xing) also refines this same avidya.

The root of wrongdoing lies in mistakenly taking the form body (xieshen—the flesh-and-blood body) as the self and scheming in every way to sustain it. Even when food and clothing have satisfied mouth and body, one still feels it is not enough. Therefore the scriptures of Taishang (the Supreme Venerable, often identified with Laojun) first point out methods to remove obstacles, teaching one not to give rise to greed or anger: greed leads to harming others for one’s own gain; anger leads to envying what others have and resenting what one lacks, so the fault of blaming Heaven and resenting others accumulates day by day. When the celestial tribunal (tiancao) examines one’s record and the underworld reduces blessings and lifespan, and one’s years draw near their end, one can only let go and depart.

Where does a lifetime’s allotment of clothing and sustenance go? Before the karma mirror (yejing), which reveals every deed of one’s life, each item is true; even with a body covered in mouths one could hardly argue. Only then does one regret having used the mind wrongly in the past.

In former times, when scriptures were expounded and lectures given, Longsha (a place associated with the flourishing of the Way and gatherings of immortals) showed miraculous traces. The profound text (xuanwen) of the “Eight Grades” was opened from Piling (the ancient name for Changzhou); that effort once cost tens of thousands. Later the school’s wind was greatly revived and the “Five Grades” were proclaimed, which also required considerable expense.

In former times, when scripture exposition assemblies (yandian tanjing) were held, numinous traces appeared at Longsha—the place prophesied for the Dao’s revival and the gathering of immortals. When the Eight Grades mysterious text (xuanwen)—scripture revealed by Patriarch Lü—was opened and expounded in the Piling region (around present-day Changzhou, Jiangsu), the cost ran to tens of thousands; later, when the school’s wind was vigorously revived and the Five Grades was proclaimed, thousands were spent again; by the time Hansan opened the teaching and expounded the Qingwei Canon (scriptures of the Qingwei lineage), affairs were already more frugal than before, amounting to only a little over a thousand. Still later, when Chan teaching was presented, with the Buddha’s compassionate guidance, everything was handled sparingly in the hope of swift completion. Thus in every age, scripture exposition has never been without major charitable outlay. Yet as the ways of the world gradually declined, those who truly loved the Dao grew fewer, so that later proclamations all weighed the times and no longer squandered wealth. Now that you hold this responsibility, your merit is already considerable. I do not mean to insist on bare simplicity alone; I consider that your official rank is modest, your salary thin, and you have little surplus, and therefore advocate restraint—it is not that I myself slight the secret instructions or treat the mysterious texts lightly to please worldly people. Even so, the ritual objects that must be prepared should not be skimped: the work of expounding the teaching is weighty, and the form ought to be dignified. Moreover, when the numinous texts are opened and expounded, the perfected ones take their places in order and the spirits attend at the side—this is no small matter; expenditure should be fitting, neither lavish nor mean.

Those who manage scripture exposition must also keep up daily, incremental recitation of the scriptural treasury; that is indeed not easy, but you must earnestly guide all disciples so that sincere intent does not scatter, and so that diligence at the start does not give way to slackness later—only then is there real benefit. I do not spare indirect exhortation because I hope your sincere faith arises naturally; that alone counts as merit. If you earnestly and steadfastly uphold the Dao, responsiveness will appear everywhere you are: without striving for blessing, blessing comes of itself; without scheming for return, return is rich. The mutual resonance of Heaven and human is swifter than a shadow following a form or an echo answering a sound. Each of you, exert yourselves.

In border regions the land is barren and the people poor, and they have often just suffered disaster. Those who hold office are parents to the people; they should above all cherish the common folk (cangli—the ordinary populace), watching over them as one would a nursing infant, attentive to every ache and hardship. To share weal and woe with the people is precisely the proper role of a local magistrate (zaiguan).

Heaven values life; nothing weighs more than the lives of the people. Every official in charge (yousi) must know that caution in applying punishments is not enough. If one cannot teach the people so that they are moved and changed, so that they feel shame and return to the right path, that too is the official’s fault. If one seeks only the empty reputation of “ spreading benevolence widely,” so that rewards and punishments are unclear and measures are upside down, leaving the people with nowhere to turn and at a loss, that is again the official’s fault. As for clearing wrongs and deciding right and wrong, judgment often turns on a few sentences; a person’s life or death hangs on what the brush writes in a verdict—here one must be especially careful and never negligent.

Worthy officials of old—such as the father of Duke Wenzhong (Wenzhong is a posthumous title)—received blessings that fell on their descendants, as the histories attest. The reason, when traced, is always that they devoted their hearts to cherishing life (haosheng—reverence for living beings) and thereby accumulated immeasurable merit. One should take to heart the character shu (forbearance—putting oneself in another’s place): pity the people’s lives, conserve their strength, treat them with kindness, employ them according to right principle, judge without partiality—and then blessing runs deep and wide, and still grows.

The ancients said: “The Way of Heaven shows no partiality; it constantly assists the good.” Set the heart on doing good; be loyal to the ruler and compassionate toward the people. Toward the Miao, Yi, and others whose understanding is not yet opened, use awe to restrain and kindness to settle; alternate favor with severity, combining softness and firmness. The Book of Poetry says: “Be neither too hard nor too soft; govern with generous ease, and every kind of blessing will gather.” Whoever holds this intention and acts thus will be protected by Heaven; what they wish will go smoothly, and what they seek will be granted. If even Heaven does not oppose such a person, how much less people—or spirits?

Among the people of frontier prefectures and commanderies, many are poor; they should be comforted and cared for with extra diligence. When one does this, Heaven is sure to protect and bless, and things naturally go as one wishes, with every request answered. If even Heaven does not go against such conduct, how much less people—and how much less ghosts and spirits?

In the border prefectures and commanderies, the poor are numerous; extra heart must go into relief and kindness, while exposing wrongdoing and probing hidden matters demands caution and restraint. Folk in remote places are as easy to lead by kindness as they are to push into defiance; the hinge is whether favor and authority are balanced aright.

Postscript to the Hán Sān Yǔlù (Recorded Sayings of Embracing the Three)

What more is there to say of the Dao (the Way)? The Dao was never something that could be put into words. Why then these five thousand words—the Dàodé Jīng (Classic of the Way and Virtue)? The marrow of the Great Dao in the cosmos was already laid bare when the teaching was given at Hangu Pass (the pass where Láozǐ went out to transmit the scripture); beyond that, what need is there for a single written character?

Yet from the time Láozǐ went westward, instruction slowly waned. Later wrangling, like clever tongues drumming away, mostly took the leftover threads of those five thousand words only to mock and discard them. The longer the ages rolled on, the more later hands picked up that spittle only to spit on it again—mouths crossed in attack, more bewildering than the first clamor.

The Emperor Master Fúyòu (Lǚ Dòngbīn, the Immortal Lü) pitied such blindness and rang bells and clappers to rouse them, as though the Green Ox (Láozǐ’s mount) were once more leaving the pass, crying out in urgency. At Èzhǔ (the Wuhan region) he raised an altar, opened the Jade Bureau, and spread the golden sand (the ritual ground of Daoist ordination and preaching), and in particular expounded the Dàchéng Sānpǐn Zhēnjīng (True Scripture of the Three Grades of the Great Vehicle), unfolding the meaning sealed within the five thousand words, gathering the scattered points of doctrine, and pressing the subtle purport to the full—laying bare the true intent, joining heart-seal to sagehood, so that the Dao runs through immortals and buddhas alike. Here again were words that refreshed heaven and earth.

In the spare moments when one usually expounds the classics, we sometimes touch on subtle principles or examine passages line by line—always with the welfare of the age and the hearts of people in mind. Among these teachings, urging others to earnestly uphold human duty and hoping they will cultivate the heart-mind: even a single word or character can awaken a person’s original face and instruct those who come after. This is truly a bridge that saves the world and a raft that carries people across.

Those who once received our teacher’s luminous instruction privately wrote these words down, but they were locked in precious cases and did not circulate. Now, fortunately, Sunzi of Jinling (Nanjing), while printing the handy edition of the Three Grades, has collected them into one volume titled Record of Embracing the Three, to be printed together as an appendix to that handy Three Grades.

When one reflects on how written words can obstruct, our Patriarch Fuyou (Lü Dongbin) always deeply abhorred that. Such writing hides true skill, blinds the foolish, and harms the heart-mind; it spreads error, confuses what is right, and makes the age worrisome. If correct texts are not quickly published to set things straight, true and false will mix, and mistaken “spittle” ( careless, empty talk ) will be passed on without end. This Record, though it seems only a supplement to the Three Grades, is nonetheless essence within that spittle. Using our master’s spittle to rouse the world’s spittle—each drop is sweet dew that soaks heart and spleen. Those with true nature will taste the essence in what looks like spittle; why must one still divide “scripture” from “record”? The world may treat it as a Record of Sayings, as a supplement to the Three Grades, or even as the true scripture of the Three Grades—all are fine. Hence this preface.

Middle ten days of the first month of the yimao year. Disciple Wang Zhen of the Manifestation Perfected One bows in respect and records this.

Treatise on Cultivating the Dao and Transmitting the Teaching (volumes twenty-nine and thirty)—text on refining oneself to attain the Dao and spreading the teaching—is placed in the twenty-ninth and thirtieth volumes.

This work is attributed as follows: Perfected Yang Zhenren Zhongli Quan (style Yunfang) as author; Pure Yang Zhenren Lü Yan (style Dongbin, i.e., Patriarch Lü) as compiler; and Huayang Zhenren Shi Jianwu (style Xisheng) as transmitter.

The Lüzu Quanshu · Xiuzhen Chuandao Ji comprises eighteen treatises in all: On True Immortals, On the Great Dao, On Heaven and Earth, On Sun and Moon, On the Four Seasons, On the Five Phases, On Water and Fire, On Dragon and Tiger (in internal alchemy, metaphors for Yin-Yang), On Elixir Medicines, On Lead and Mercury (metaphors for inner essence and qi as medicinal materials), On Chou Tian (increase and decrease of the firing times), On the River Cart (circulation of essence-qi), On Returning the Elixir, On Refining the Form, On Chao Yuan (deities returning to the original root), On Inner Observation, On Demonic Obstacles (obstructions encountered in practice), and On Verification of Experience.

The sixteen characters transmitted from the court of Yu Shun in antiquity—“The human heart is perilous; the heart of the Dao is subtle; only with refined singleness can one be unified; sincerely hold the mean”—are the source of the later transmission of the heart-mind. The transmission in Confucius’s school afterward amounted to no more than the one phrase “threaded through by a single strand.” Viewed this way, transmitting the Dao originally did not require much talk. Yet Zigong said that what the Master had to say about nature and the way of Heaven, disciples did not get to hear. The sayings of Confucius recorded in the Zhongyong include many not found in the Lunyu. From this one knows that discourse on nature and the way of Heaven was in fact quite detailed at the time, but mostly kept secret and not passed on openly.

In popular tradition, Patriarch Lü received the Great Dao from Perfected Yang (Zhongli Quan) and, on the strength of the single sentence “for fear of misleading people five hundred years hence,” his three thousand meritorious deeds and practices (the merit required in Daoism for attaining immortality) were already complete—how direct and to the point. Yet when one reads the Xiuzhan Chuandao Ji, it sets forth the purport of Heaven and human, nature and life, without sparing twists and turns, in very full detail—and it plainly differs from those sixteen characters of the Yu court and that one “single strand” of the Confucian school. Why is that?

This collection was transmitted by Huayang Shi Jianwu. Jianwu was a jinshi of the Yuanhe era in the Tang, lived in seclusion on West Mountain in Hongzhou (the Nanchang region), and resolved not to take office. He had a poem that says: Qi is by nature the medicine that prolongs life; the heart is the spirit that commands qi; one who can understand the master of circulating qi is a person who attains immortality. That is enough to show the level of his cultivation.

When Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) traveled through Muzhou, he saw that the people there longed above all for a life among mists and clouds—withdrawal from the world to cultivate immortality—and he transmitted to them the great Way of returning the elixir (Huandan): the root method of internal alchemy (Neidan) in which one refines the immortal elixir within and returns to one’s original source. That this Collection could be handed down began from that time. Yet when they sought the Way in those days, there must still have been secret oral formulas inconvenient to put into writing—what people call transmission mouth to mouth, never fixed in characters—and those can no longer be seen today.

The original book contained many errors; obvious confusions have now been corrected, while doubtful passages that could not be settled are left in doubt. The work is divided into eighteen sections, arranged in two scrolls, upper and lower.

On True Immortals, Part One

Patriarch Lü said: For a person to live in peace without illness, in strength without aging, and in long survival without death—by what Way can such a state be reached?

Patriarch Zhongli said: Human life begins when father and mother unite and the two qi of Yin and Yang come together; essence and blood then form the embryonic body. After the stage of Taichu (when qi first begins to generate and transform), there appears Taizhi (the first bodily form); Yin receives Yang and gives birth, and qi changes along with the developing fetus. At three hundred days the body is fully formed and rounded, the primordial spirit-light (innate shenming) enters the body, and the infant separates from the mother. After the stage of Taisu (when form is already complete), qi already rises and falls, and Huangya (in inner cultivation, the first point of true qi and vital spark) begins to grow. After roughly five thousand days the qi tally is full, reaching eighty-one zhang (the number nine times nine, signifying the perfection of qi throughout the body); at fifteen one is called a youth. At that time half the Yang qi still remains within Yin, like the morning sun rising in the east. After that, if one loses the innate Yang and dissipates true qi, when qi weakens one falls ill, ages, and finally dies and is extinguished. Living in folly, one damages one's own spirit-light; living viciously lifetime after lifetime, one constantly shortens one's lifespan. Hence people are born with bodies of different stature and lives of different length. Born then dying, dying then born again, turning round without awakening, lifetime after lifetime one sinks lower, loses the human body, falls into other species, and the spirit nature passes into another shell. The root of utmost truth no longer returns to a human body; one only cycles in heterodox paths, never attaining liberation. If one meets a true immortal or perfected person who clears away karmic retribution and strips off this husk of skin, one may obtain a human body again. Even then one is still in dull ignorance; one must accumulate cultivation through a hundred kalpas before ascending to a blessed land, and still cannot escape hunger, cold, maiming, and illness. Only after winding, gradual promotion does one slowly gain a complete form, yet still remain among slaves and the lowly. If one again commits former offenses, it is like a ball rolling off a vertical board—one at once falls back into heterodox rebirth.

Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said: I was born in China, and fortunately live in a time of peace; my food and clothing are adequate, and I am not yet old. Yet those who crave security in the world often fall ill from resentment, and those who grasp at life die from fear. Today I am granted an audience with my venerable master. Again and again I bow and report: birth and death are the great matter. Please explain how one may be free of illness and death, and instruct this poor scholar.

Patriarch Zhong (Zhongli Quan, Lü’s master) said: If you wish to escape the cycle of rebirth (samsara)—endless turning through birth and death—and not fall into the bodies of other species, you should keep this body long free of the suffering of illness, aging, and death: standing between heaven and earth, bearing yin and embracing yang (embodying both yin and yang) as a human being. Having become human, do not become a ghost; cultivate immortality within the human realm, then from the realm of immortals ascend further toward Heaven.

Lü said: When people die they become ghosts; when cultivation succeeds they become immortals. Immortals are of one kind—why must one ascend further within immortality to reach Heaven?

Zhong said: “Immortal” is not a single category. What is purely yin without yang is a ghost; what is purely yang without yin is an immortal; what mixes yin and yang is a human being. Is it only humans who can ascend toward Heaven?

Zhong said: Immortals are not of one kind alone. Pure yin without yang is a ghost; pure yang without yin is an immortal; yin and yang intermixed is a human. Only humans can become either ghosts or immortals. Those who refuse to cultivate in youth, indulging emotion and desire, become ghosts when they sicken and die; those who understand cultivation can leave the ordinary and enter the sacred, shed the mundane frame and become immortals. Immortals have five ranks; the method has three degrees of accomplishment. Practice depends entirely on the individual; when achievement is complete, each person’s station follows their own measure.

Lü said: What is meant by “the method has three accomplishments” and “immortals have five ranks”?

Zhong said: The three accomplishments mean that small, middle, and great accomplishment are not the same. The five ranks mean ghost immortal, human immortal, earth immortal, spirit immortal, and celestial immortal—each unlike the others, yet all called immortals. The ghost immortal cannot leave the realm of ghosts; the human immortal cannot leave the human realm; the earth immortal cannot leave the earth; the spirit immortal cannot leave the realm of spirits; the celestial immortal cannot leave Heaven.

Lü said: What, then, is meant by “ghost immortal”?

Zhongli Quan said: Among the five ranks of immortals, the ghost immortal stands lowest. Such a one escapes only within the realm of yin; the form of the spirit remains indistinct, the Ghost Gate registers no name, and the Three Mountains—Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou—hold no record of him. Though he no longer falls back into the wheel of rebirth, he can hardly return to the Isles of Immortals; with no final abode, he must be reborn or lodge in another person’s body.

Lü Dongbin asked: What method and what kind of practice do such ghost immortals cultivate that they end up in this state?

Zhongli Quan said: Practitioners who fail to awaken to the Great Dao yet seek quick results keep the body still as withered wood and the mind blank as dead ash, without a single rising thought. The spirit-nature (shen) stays within the body, intent single and undivided. What goes forth in meditation is the yin spirit—a clear, luminous ghost-soul, not a pure-yang immortal. Because that one thought of yin lingers and does not disperse, it is called a ghost immortal. Though named an immortal, in truth he is still a ghost. People through the ages who revere Buddhism and stop their practice at this level call it attaining the Way (in Buddhism, those who truly achieve at the highest level are golden immortals)—a notion that is truly laughable.

Lü Dongbin asked: Then what is meant by the human immortal?

Zhongli Quan said: The human immortal is the second rank among the five immortals. Cultivators who do not awaken to the Great Dao grasp only one method from the Dao and one technique from that method; with firm faith and unchanging resolve, they never alter their course for a lifetime. The qi of the Five Phases interweave within them, so the bodily form remains relatively solid; the afflictions brought by the eight perversities cannot harm them—they enjoy more peace and less illness. That is what is called a human immortal.

Lü Dongbin asked: By what method and what kind of practice do such human immortals achieve this?

Zhongli Quan said: At first such cultivators may have heard of the Great Dao, but because karma is heavy and merit thin, they meet many demonic trials and change their original intent. They settle on a path of minor accomplishment and work at it for life, never able to change course again or adapt with the four seasons.

Patriarch Zhongli said: At first, cultivators may also have heard of the Great Dao. Only because karmic obstructions are heavy and merit is thin, and they again meet all kinds of demonic hindrances and hardships, they change the resolve they had at the beginning. They halt at methods that yield some effect but are merely small accomplishment, and for a lifetime they cannot switch paths or transform with the four seasons.

It is like someone who cuts off the five flavors—sour, bitter, sweet, pungent, and salty—how would they know there is also the six qi? Or someone who forgets the seven emotions—joy, anger, worry, thought, grief, fear, and shock—how would they know there are also the ten precepts? Those who practice rinsing and swallowing (saliva cultivation) mock breath work (expelling stale qi and drawing in fresh qi) as wrong. Those fixated on gathering and replenishing (drawing from external sources to nourish the self) laugh at pure, quiet cultivation as foolish. Those who like to seize the qi of heaven and earth through external objects refuse grain abstention (stopping grain food); those who like visualization and gathering the essence of sun and moon refuse guiding and pulling (using movement to lead qi and blood). How would solitary sitting with breath held understand what is natural? Bending the body and toiling the form still does not recognize non-action (wuwei). Gathering yin to take a woman’s qi is not the same as practicing “contracting the golden turtle” (a method of sealing and firming essence); nourishing yang by consuming a woman’s milk is not the same as refining the elixir (cooking the medicine, cultivating the inner elixir). Push the analogy further and the cases are too many to count. These may all count as methods within the Dao, yet they cannot complete the Great Dao. They only stop at one method or one technique within the Dao; when the work succeeds, the outcome is no more than ease and extended years—hence they are called human immortals (renxian).

There is another sort who crave immediate results, dislike long persistence, practice without rigor, confuse days and seasons, and instead invite illness—they cannot extend life; such people in the world are also very many.

Patriarch Lü asked: What is meant by an earth immortal (dixian)?

Patriarch Zhongli said: An earth immortal dwells in the middle stratum between heaven and earth and possesses the endowment of an immortal. They have not awakened to the Great Dao and only halt at methods of small accomplishment. Their effects are not conspicuous; they simply live long upon the earth and do not die among human beings.

Patriarch Lü asked: Where should one begin for an earth immortal?

Zhongli Quan (Zhongli Quan) said: At the beginning of cultivation, one takes as model the Way of heaven and earth in the ascent and descent of Qi, and applies the fixed measures by which sun and moon come into being. Within the body one works according to year and month; within a single day one works according to the double-hours. First one must recognize Dragon and Tiger—the two kinds of true Qi that stand in mutual opposition in internal alchemy—and then align Kan and Li (kidney water and heart fire). Discern whether the source of water is clear or turbid, and distinguish early from late in the “climate” of the work. Gather in the Primordial Unity (Zhenyī), observe the Two Modes (Yin-Yang), arrange the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), separate the Four Images, distinguish the Five Movements, stabilize the Six Qi, assemble the Seven Treasures, set out the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), and circulate through the Nine Regions. With the Five Phases applied in inverted order, Qi passes from mother to child in unbroken succession, and the fluids unite like husband and wife. The three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) turn again and again until the elixir is formed and forever guards the lower Dantian. When the body is fully refined and remains in the world, one may live long without dying and become an immortal on land—hence the name earthly immortal, or disian.

Lü Dongbin (Lü Dongbin) asked: What is meant by “spirit immortal”?

Zhongli Quan said: A spirit immortal is one who, weary of long dwelling in the dusty world, still does not cease diligent practice. When every joint and orifice is linked by one continuous breath, one withdraws lead and adds mercury until the gold is refined to the crown of the head; with jade fluid one returns the elixir and refines form into Qi, so that the five Qi pay homage to the Origin (wǔqì cháo yuán—the vital forces of the five viscera converge upon the primordial spirit). When the three Yang gather at the crown, the work is complete, the bodily form is forgotten, and the embryonic immortal (the immortal fetus formed within internal alchemy) appears of itself. Yin breath is exhausted and Yang is pure; then there is a body outside the body, one sheds the common frame and ascends as immortal. Surpassing the ordinary and entering sagehood, leaving vulgar dust behind, one returns to the Three Mountains (the sacred peaks where immortals dwell)—this is called a spirit immortal.

Lü Dongbin asked: And what, then, is a celestial immortal?

Patriarch Zhongli Quan said: When an Earth Immortal (Dixian)—one who dwells in the human world or on famous mountains—grows weary of living among humans and cultivates without slackening, he finally breaks free and is called a Spirit Immortal (Shenxian). When a Spirit Immortal grows weary of dwelling on the Three Isles (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou), he comes to the human realm to transmit the Great Dao; when merit in the Dao and virtue in the world are both complete, he receives the celestial mandate (tianshu) and returns to a grotto-heaven (dongtian)—a paradisiacal grotto-realm in Daoism—and is then called a Celestial Immortal (Tianxian). Once a Celestial Immortal, if he again grows weary of dwelling in grotto-heavens, he takes office as an immortal official: at the lower rank a water official, at the middle rank an earth official, at the higher rank a heaven official. Those who have rendered great service to heaven and earth and accumulated great virtue from antiquity to the present rise through the ranks, serving in turn the Thirty-six Grotto-Heavens and then entering the Eighty-one Yang Heavens; after serving the Eighty-one Yang Heavens, they ultimately return to the realm of empty non-being of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing: Jade Pure, Upper Pure, and Great Pure).

Patriarch Lü Dongbin said: A Ghost Immortal (Guixian)—the lowest kind of cultivation, not attained by the correct path—is hardly worth pursuing, and a Celestial Immortal is not something one dares to hope for lightly. Could you then explain the methods of cultivating Human Immortal (Renxian), Earth Immortal, and Spirit Immortal?

Patriarch Zhong said: The Human Immortal does not go beyond the method of small accomplishment (xiaocheng fa); the Earth Immortal does not go beyond the method of middle accomplishment (zhongcheng fa); the Spirit Immortal does not go beyond the method of great accomplishment (dacheng fa). These three levels of accomplishment are in essence one body. Using methods to seek the Dao, the Dao is not hard in itself; using the Dao to seek immortality, becoming immortal is also easy.

Lü said: From antiquity to the present, those who nurture life and preserve their nature have not failed to seek long life or ascension as immortals—yet they do not obtain long life and cannot ascend. Why is that?

Patriarch Zhong said: Because their methods do not accord with the Dao. They merely hear much and memorize miscellany, following petty methods and side paths; in the end they cannot escape illness and death, yet still call themselves having achieved corpse liberation (shijie, a term often read skeptically as “sham” release, leaving the body behind while the spirit departs)—to mislead the world, mutually praising one another, so that people never hear the true Great Dao. Even when someone is firm in faith, resolved on hardship, and persists in practice for a long time, in the end they see no result and, when their season comes, sink into the Yellow Springs. Alas!

On the Great Dao, Part Two

Lü Dongbin asked: What is meant by “the Great Dao”?

Zhongli Quan, his master, said: The Great Dao has no form and no name; you cannot question it, and it will not answer. It is so vast that it has no outer boundary, so subtle that it has no inner gap. It cannot truly be known, nor can it be followed in practice.

Lü Dongbin said: Sages through the ages who have penetrated the Way first studied the Dao, then held to it, then attained it, and finally perfected their practice—whereupon they left the dusty world for the isles of Penglai (where immortals dwell), ascended to the grotto-heavens (the blessed grotto-realms where perfected beings reside), rose further to the Yang Heaven (the clear realm of yang qi), and ultimately reached the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing, the supreme divine realm in Daoism). All of these were people whose Dao had been fully realized. Yet today you alone say the Great Dao cannot be known and cannot be practiced. Are you withholding something about the Dao from me?

Zhongli Quan said: I conceal nothing about the Great Dao. It is only that those in the world who profess to follow the Dao often bear the name alone: they hear of the Great Dao yet lack faith; when they have faith, they lack steadfast resolve; they pursue it in the morning and change course by evening; they practice while seated and forget it when they stand; at first they toil with diligence, but in the end they slacken. That is why I say the Great Dao is hard to know and hard to practice.

Lü Dongbin asked: The Great Dao is hard to know and hard to practice—what is the reason for this?

Patriarch Zhongli Quan said: Side-door minor methods are easy to show a little effect, so people pass them on to one another until they die without ever waking up. Gradually this becomes custom and corrupts the true Great Dao. Such methods are many: there are those of fasting and purification, of abstaining from grain (bigu), of gathering qi, of rinsing the mouth and swallowing saliva, of leaving one’s spouse, of cutting off flavors, of seated meditation (dhyana), of keeping silent, of visualizing and holding images in the mind, of “gathering yin,” of swallowing qi, of guarding clarity and stillness, of stopping thoughts, of cutting off thinking, of “opening the crown,” of “turtle retracting” (small arts of contracting like a turtle drawing in its head), of vanishing without trace and hiding away, of reciting scriptures, of firing elixirs in the furnace, of regulating the breath, of guiding and stretching the limbs, of tu-na breathing, of “gathering and supplementing,” of giving alms, of making offerings, of giving relief, of entering the mountains to live in seclusion, of “recognizing mind-nature,” of keeping the body motionless, of upholding precepts and vows. Side-door minor methods truly cannot all be listed.

As for gathering the essence of sun and moon, seizing the qi of heaven and earth, and expecting to form cinnabar elixir by thought and imagination alone; or bending the body and wearing out the form in hope of transcendence—breathing in much and out little can still serve to treat illness, but to take that as true fetal breathing (the subtle breath as if in the womb) is wrong. Cutting off thoughts and forgetting words can still serve to nurture nature, but to call that “Taiyi containing true qi” is wrong. “Golden spear never falling” and “Yellow River flowing backward” are only low-grade ways to nurture life; the body like withered wood and the mind like dead ash are only small arts for gathering spirit.

Alas, students of the Dao from ancient times to now fix their hearts precisely on these things. Taking swallowed saliva for medicine—how can one obtain transformation? Taking gathered qi for elixir—how can qi be retained? Calling the liver “dragon” and the lung “tiger”—how can they truly unite? Taking Kan as lead and Li as mercury—how can one “draw and add”? Hoping that watering by the four seasons will sprout yellow buds, or that never letting the mind scatter will yield the great medicine—yet year, month, day, and hour are all mistaken. Not knowing the root of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), how can one know the transformation of the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity? They only pluck leaves and branches, mislead those who come after, and day by day estrange the Great Dao. Heterodox paths rise together and become custom; the original intent of the patriarchs is lost. All this comes from hearsay and oral transmission alone—handing formulas to the ignorant, imitating and teaching one another, and in season after season walking down into the yellow springs—a chill to the heart. It is not that one is unwilling to explain the Great Dao clearly, but that people’s karmic obstructions are heavy and their merit thin; they do not trust heaven’s secret, value money and slight life, and willingly become ghosts under the earth.

The Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said: I already understand minor arts and side paths. As for the Great Dao, may you tell me of it?

The Patriarch Zhong (Zhongli Quan) said: The Dao is originally beyond question; questioned, it is originally beyond answer. Yet once the true source is divided, the great uncarved block (the original whole before it is split apart) is already scattered. The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three. One is substance; Two is function; Three is creation and transformation. Substance and function both remain within Yin-Yang; all creation and transformation come from the union of Yin and Yang (the joining of yin and yang qi). Upper, middle, and lower are arranged as the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity); Heaven, Earth, and humanity all receive this same Dao. The Dao gives birth to the two qi; the two qi give birth to the Three Powers; the Three Powers give birth to the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); the Five Phases give birth to the ten thousand things. Among the ten thousand things, the most refined and most noble is the human being. Only humans can exhaust the principles of the ten thousand things and fully express their own nature. To exhaust principle and fulfill nature leads to settling life and nature; to preserve life and nature and sustain life, and thereby unite with the Dao, is to become as firm as Heaven and Earth and to share their longevity.

The Patriarch Lü said: Heaven and Earth endure, running through the ages without end. Human life rarely exceeds a hundred years; those who reach seventy are already few. Why does the Dao belong only to Heaven and Earth, yet stand far from human beings?

The Patriarch Zhong said: The Dao does not stand far from people; people themselves stand far from the Dao. The reason people stand far from the Dao is that they nourish life yet do not know the method; the reason they do not know the method is that when they begin to practice they do not recognize the right season; the reason they do not recognize the right season is that they do not penetrate the mechanism of Heaven and Earth.

On Heaven and Earth, Part Three

The Patriarch Lü said: What is meant by “the mechanism of Heaven and Earth”? May you tell me of it?

The Patriarch Zhong said: The mechanism of Heaven and Earth is how Heaven and Earth employ the Great Dao—ascending and descending, moving and holding without weariness—and thus remain long and firm. This pivot has never been lightly revealed to people.

Lü Dongbin asked: With regard to the Great Dao, what counts as the pivotal mechanism of its operation, and what counts as the pivotal mechanism of its practice and sustenance? Where does operation begin, and by what means does practice and sustenance show results?

Zhongli Quan answered: Once the Great Dao is differentiated and apportioned, there is form; once there is form, there is number. Heaven obtains the way of Qian, takes “one” as its substance, is light and clear, dwells above, and employs Yang. Earth obtains the way of Kun, takes “two” as its substance, is heavy and turbid, dwells below, and employs Yin. Yang rises and Yin descends, and the two join in union. The functioning of Qian and Kun never departs from the Great Dao; therefore there is a fixed time to begin, and a fixed day when effects become visible.

Lü Dongbin asked again: Heaven obtains the way of Qian and employs Yang; Yang governs ascent—how can it join with Earth? Earth obtains the way of Kun and employs Yin; Yin governs descent—how can it join with Heaven? If Heaven and Earth do not join, how can Yin and Yang unite? If Yin and Yang do not unite, how can Qian and Kun function? If Qian and Kun do not function, then even if there were a time to begin and a day to see results, how could the Great Dao be obtained?

Patriarch Zhong (Zhongli Quan, master of Lü Dongbin) said: The Way of Heaven takes Qian—the Heaven trigram, symbolizing heaven—as its root substance and yang as its active principle, with qi gathering above. The Way of Earth takes Kun—the Earth trigram, symbolizing earth—as its root substance and yin as its active principle, with water gathering below. When heaven runs its course, Qian seeks mutual resonance with Kun. One seeking begets the eldest son, named Zhen; a second begets the middle son, named Kan; a third begets the youngest son, named Gen. This is heaven and earth interacting: Heaven’s way seeking Earth’s way, giving rise to the three yang. When earth runs its course, Kun seeks Qian. One seeking begets the eldest daughter, named Xun; a second begets the middle daughter, named Li; a third begets the youngest daughter, named Dui. This is earth and heaven interacting: Earth’s way seeking Heaven’s way, giving rise to the three yin. When the three yang join with the three yin, the myriad things come to life; when the three yin join with the three yang, the myriad things reach completion. The union of heaven and earth is originally Qian and Kun seeking each other, running in accord with the Dao (the Way). Qian and Kun seeking each other produce the six qi; the six qi interact and differentiate into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); the Five Phases interact and generate the myriad things. Heaven’s way moves downward; when the three seekings are complete, yang rises again—yang harbors yin within and returns upward toward heaven. Earth’s way moves upward; when the three seekings are complete, yin descends again—yin harbors yang within and returns downward toward earth. The yin hidden within yang does not dissipate: this is called true yin. When true yin reaches heaven, it is born through yang; hence yin descends from heaven—how could yin be without yang within it? The yang hidden within yin is not extinguished: this is called true yang. When true yang reaches the earth, it is aroused through yin; hence yang ascends from the earth—how could yang be without yin within it? Yang harbors yin, and that yin is not consumed, so it returns again to earth; yin harbors yang, and that yang is not extinguished, so it returns again to heaven. Thus the cycle turns without end and runs without ceasing. Union never departs from the Dao, and therefore it can endure, firm and lasting.

Lüzu (Lü Dongbin) said: Heaven and earth’s subtle pivot moves in accord with the Great Dao, and so they endure for long ages—this is the efficacy with which heaven and earth fulfill their function. Though humans possess an innately discerning nature, if one attends to tranquillity and purity and practices the Great Dao, at a lesser level one may live in peace and joy and extend one’s years; at a middle level one may attain long life without death; at the greatest level one may shed the form of ordinary flesh and ascend as a transcendent. How, then, is a person to apply and activate the Great Dao—emulating and setting in motion the celestial mechanism (tianji)—so as likewise to become lasting and firm, surviving even the kalpas of cosmic catastrophe and enduring without perishing?

Zhong Liquan (Patriarch Zhong, master of Lü Dongbin) said: The Great Dao originally has no fixed form; it only takes on form because whatever receives it gains something of its own. The Great Dao originally has no name; it is only given names because whatever receives it possesses something in its own way. When heaven and earth receive it, it is called the “Dao of Qian” and the “Dao of Kun” (Qian as heaven, Kun as earth). When sun and moon receive it, it is called the “Yin Dao” and the “Yang Dao.” When people receive it in court, it is the way of ruler and minister; within the inner quarters, the way of husband and wife; in the village community, the way of elder and younger; in the school, the way of friends; in the family, the way of father and son. Thus whatever appears outwardly none fails to embody the Dao.

As for the union of father and mother: on the father’s side, yang stirs first and yin follows, using true qi to draw true water so that heart fire and kidney water meet and are refined into essential jing. Once the essence appears and meets the mother’s yin, water first washes away what is useless; when it meets the mother’s yang, blood first receives it before the womb. Jing and blood form the embryonic body, holding within it true qi, and enter the mother’s womb. Day by day it accumulates; true qi through creation becomes a person—just as heaven and earth carry out their Dao and Qian and Kun seek each other (as in the Yijing: the interaction of Qian and Kun gives rise to the six children), thereby producing the three yin and three yang.

True qi is yang; true water is yin. Yang is stored within water; yin is stored within qi. Qi governs ascent, and within qi there is true water; water governs descent, and within water there is true qi. True water is true yin; true qi is true yang. True yang follows water downward, like Qian seeking Kun: above is “Zhen,” in the middle “Kan,” below “Gen.” Compared to the human body, taking the middle as reference and from top to bottom, Zhen corresponds to the liver, Kan to the kidneys, Gen to the bladder. True yin follows qi upward, like Kun seeking Qian: below is “Xun,” in the middle “Li,” above “Dui.”

Using the human body for comparison, with the middle as the reference point and moving upward from below: Xun corresponds to the gallbladder, Li to the heart, and Dui to the lungs. That is, below is Xun, in the middle is Li, and above is Dui. Once the bodily form is complete and the allotted number is fulfilled, the person leaves the womb and is born. After birth, primordial yang (innate pure yang) resides in the kidneys. From primordial yang arises true qi; true qi ascends to the heart; from true qi arises true fluid, and true fluid returns to the original source. Thus, as it cycles up and down, if there is no loss, one naturally prolongs life. If one grasps the timing without error and applies extraction and supplementation with proper measure, one can attain long life; if one cultivates without weariness and holds fast without ceasing until yin is exhausted and yang is pure, one can transcend the mundane and enter sagehood. This is doctrine that penetrates heaven’s secrets—matters not lightly transmitted from antiquity to the present.

If your faith is firm and without hesitation, treat fame and profit as shackles and handcuffs, and treat affection and love as enemies and foes. Avoid illness as seriously as one fears death; guard against losing this body and falling into another shell, and fear that the spirit may be cast into another kind of being. If you truly have a pure aspiration, you should first block the root of leakage and not let primordial yang slip away or true qi dissipate. When qi is full, there is no yin within the hun (the yang aspect of spirit); when yang is strong, qi is also present within the po (the yin aspect of form). One ascent and one descent—the law you take does not go beyond heaven and earth; one flourishing and one decline—the comings and goings are also like those of the sun and moon.

Treatise on Sun and Moon, Section Four

Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said: I have more or less understood the principles of heaven and earth. Can the degrees and conjunctions by which the sun and moon move be compared to the human being? I would like to hear this explained.

Zhongli Quan (Patriarch Zhong, master of Lu Dongbin) said: The Great Dao has no form, yet it gives birth to Heaven and Earth; it has no name, yet it drives the sun and moon on their courses. The sun and moon are the refined essences of the Greater Yang and Greater Yin. Silently they record the degrees of Heaven-and-Earth’s mutual joining and help bring all things into being. They rise in the east and set in the west, dividing day from night; they move south and north, fixing cold and heat. Day and night never cease; cold and heat press each other in turn—so from the Po (corporeal soul) arises the Hun (ethereal soul), and from the Hun arises the Po. The Po is the numinous of yin-form; the Hun is the numinous of yang-spirit. Advance and retreat have fixed times and never stray from the numbers of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth); coming and going follow fixed measures and never miss Heaven and Earth’s seasons.

Lu Dongbin (Patriarch Lu) asked: The sun rises in the east and sets in the west to divide day and night—what is the principle?

Zhongli said: Retreat has fixed times and never strays from the numbers of Qian and Kun; coming and going follow measures and never miss Heaven and Earth’s seasons.

Lu asked again: The sun rises in the east and sets in the west to divide day and night—what is the principle?

Zhongli said: When primordial chaos (the undifferentiated state before Heaven and Earth were split) had just begun to separate.