《唱道真言》Vol. 3

“Can you see everything and hear everything?” I replied: All things are distinct from one another; only emptiness makes no distinctions.

If the emptiness in my heart differed from the Great Void—the boundless expanse of the cosmos—then the emptiness inside a jar would differ from the emptiness in the sky; the emptiness inside a room would differ from the emptiness in the courtyard, and the courtyard’s emptiness would differ from the emptiness above the roof. In that case, within and beyond the world there would be hundreds of billions of kinds of emptiness, each different from the others, and we could not regard them as one and the same.

Consider this: does emptiness have a shape? Does it have an appearance? If it had a shape, then the shape of emptiness here could not be the same as its shape elsewhere; nor could its appearance here be the same as its appearance elsewhere. Only then would it make sense to say that emptiness differs from place to place. But emptiness has no boundaries and no end. All things have points where they break off; emptiness alone has no break. All things differ from one another; emptiness alone has no differences. All things can be separated and divided; emptiness alone has no barriers or distinctions.

Emptiness is vast and boundless, flowing everywhere and permeating all things. Throughout this entire expanse of space, the light of awareness connects and passes through everything. Emptiness can perceive things as fine as a hair, and hear the buzzing of flies and gnats. It is like the human body: the blood circulates and the spirit pervades it, so one can sense a louse biting or a mosquito crawling. Why should emptiness be any different?

If you can let go of attachment to material things and return to nothingness, bringing the mind to a state of empty stillness, then the emptiness in my heart and the emptiness of the Great Void are like the light of a wildfire and the light of a household lamp: though they come from different sources, both are light, not two different things. If there were two kinds of emptiness, they would not be true emptiness; true emptiness must be without distinction. Try quieting your mind and experiencing this for yourself, to test what I have said.

The Dao (the Way) is the one fundamental reality that never changes and endures forever. It was so when Heaven and Earth first separated, and will remain so until the end. From one world to countless worlds, it has always been so, without the slightest change. This is what makes the Dao the Dao. The original nature of the human mind is the same: it is constant and unchanging. What makes people feel that the mind changes and cannot be at peace is deluded thought and defilement, not the mind’s original nature. If the mind truly had distinctions of coming together and dispersing, or of being long and short, then the Way of Heaven would have to be understood in the same way. Understand the Way of Heaven, and you can understand the original mind within us.

Throughout life, people are obscured by deluded thoughts and defilement, often failing to truly possess their original mind even for a moment. If you see your true mind in a single moment, that one mind remains the same throughout your life and across countless kalpas. A person’s birth is the arising of deluded thoughts and defilement; the original mind is not born. A person’s death is the dispersal of deluded thoughts and defilement; the original mind does not die. As people pass through one kalpa after another, it is deluded thoughts and defilement that undergo these cycles. The original mind has never been bound by the passage of kalpas.

Therefore, if you can see the original mind in this moment, you can at once cut off the entanglements accumulated over lifetime after lifetime and countless kalpas. You will no longer be ruled by birth, death, and the cycles of the kalpas; you will transcend the Three Realms—the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm—and be forever free of rebirth. The key lies in this single thought. Yet people often sink ever deeper into confusion and delusion. From death to birth, from birth to death, from one kalpa to ten thousand, their deluded thoughts and defilement are never broken. They spread like trailing melon vines and climbing kudzu, with branches growing from branches and knots from knots, entangling without end. Countless kalpas may seem remote, but because deluded thought has never ceased for even a moment, the Three Paths of Suffering and the Eight Difficulties—woeful states and obstacles to cultivation—depart and return, endured again and again until they seem like familiar places. The thought of this is truly heartbreaking.

Since you are devoted to the Dao, you should nurture your spiritual roots, cultivate virtue widely, and practice self-cultivation in earnest, making certain that you see your original mind in that moment. Once you see the original mind, you have cut off the road that leads to birth and death. From a single day through an entire lifetime, and from one moment across countless kalpas, all is governed by this one mind. Continue to extend this understanding and apply it to all things, and ascending to a clear and lofty realm will be no difficult matter.

The Dao gives rise to Heaven, Earth, humanity, and the myriad things, and among them, humans are the most spiritually perceptive. Becoming an Immortal or a sage depends on human cultivation; only humans can take part in Heaven and Earth’s creative transformation and help all things grow. Thus people can do what Heaven and Earth cannot do in their place. Should those who cultivate the mysterious Way simply submit to Heaven’s decree, or take their fate into their own hands? People follow Heaven, yet Heaven also manifests through people’s actions; Heaven, Earth, and humanity depend on one another. And yet, in the vast cosmos, there are few who can truly shoulder the responsibility of Heaven and Earth. Though people are many, few fulfill their human potential.

Those with aspiration should therefore accomplish, within the square inch of their own hearts, a work rarely achieved since ancient times: to bring clarity to Heaven, peace to Earth, and growth to all things. Such a person may be an ordinary person, an Immortal, or a sage. Every undertaking in the world must be carried out by ordinary people. Yet people refuse to be content with being ordinary people who do solid, practical work. They write poems and prose and imagine themselves talented, unaware that Heaven and Earth have no shortage of a few lines of writing. They paint mountains and waters and call themselves masters, unaware that Heaven and Earth have no shortage of a few brushstrokes. It is a pity to squander our limited time on pastimes that serve no purpose.

I now urge everyone: human life is hard to attain, and death may arrive in the blink of an eye. If you are to do something, do what the world cannot do without. Leave to idle people the things that do not matter whether they exist or not, and whose existence makes little difference. They cannot withstand birth and death or help anyone transcend them. Keep firmly in mind the foundations and destination of cultivation. Remember them constantly, as you think of clothing when cold and water when thirsty, and do not let them go even in your sleep.

The Dharma-body—the true body attained through cultivation, which transcends the physical body—is here and now; the Dharma-realm, the all-encompassing realm contemplated by the cultivator, is not far away. Every inhalation and exhalation connects with the movement of Qi, and every motion and stillness accords with Heaven and Earth’s creative transformation. Within a gourd, Yin and Yang are set in motion; in a space half the size of a millet grain, the sun and moon are gathered in. The Great Dao is deep and unfathomable; the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) spreads forth essence and Qi. The mind embraces the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth, while Qi drives the cosmos in its turning. Above, one can face the vault of Heaven; below, sweep away the darkness. Harmonize the currents of Qi, and the results of a hundred days of cultivation will become visible. Celestial Immortals, terrestrial Immortals, rulers of the waters, and lords of the mountains all fulfill their great vow together, saving living beings far and wide. Winds and clouds, dragons and tigers, birds and beasts, and auspicious creatures attend at one’s side, helping set the Dharma-wheel in motion—the work of spreading the Great Dao and saving living beings.

The Book of Changes says: “The great person’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with that of Heaven and Earth, their brightness with that of the sun and moon, their order with that of the four seasons, and their good and ill fortune with the transformations of ghosts and spirits. If they act before Heaven’s time, Heaven does not oppose them; if they act in accordance with Heaven’s time, they follow Heaven’s course. If even Heaven does not oppose them, how much less will people and ghosts and spirits?”

The Supreme Lord Lao teaches people to cultivate the Dao (the Way) so that their De (Virtue/Power) accords with the brightness of the sun and moon, the order of the four seasons, and the auspicious and inauspicious fortunes governed by spirits and deities. When events precede Heaven’s intention, Heaven does not oppose them; when events follow Heaven’s intention, one should comply with the timing of Heaven. If even Heaven does not oppose such a person, how much less will people and spirits and deities?

The Supreme Lord Lao teaches that the key to cultivating the Dao lies in cultivating oneself. Apart from self-cultivation, there is no other Dao. Filial devotion to one’s parents, affection for one’s siblings, loyalty, and trustworthiness are the Dao. The Mysterious Gate—the path of Daoist practice—has no other special method: these everyday virtues are the Dao itself. Becoming an immortal and attaining the Dao both begin here. If a person fulfills their duties as a child, subject, sibling, and friend, Heaven’s palace will reserve a place for them. You should strive to put this into practice.

The essential secret of alchemy lies first in clarifying the mind. The countless exalted perfected beings in Heaven have all attained their state because the source of their minds is clear and bright. Without this, even if they struggle upward in cultivation, they will ultimately fall back down. The Supreme Lord Lao guided 108,000 people to liberation through nothing other than mind-to-mind transmission, with no difference between them. If their mind teachings differed even slightly, they could not attain the true fruition. Thus “refining the mind” is a method of pure cultivation and the common path leading to the realm of the perfected. Do not dismiss it because it seems simple.

Your state of mind is somewhat clearer than before, but you must go further, becoming empty upon empty and mysterious upon mysterious. Continue advancing until you have let go of everything completely; only then can you uproot the source of birth and death. A great person should press forward courageously. If your resolve is sincere, even the heavenly demons will retreat. Confucius said, “When it comes to benevolence and righteousness, do not yield even to your teacher.” I am your teacher, but there is no other Dao and no other method. What I know, you can know; what I can do, you can do as well. As Mencius said, “What sort of person was Shun? What sort of person am I?” The words of the sages are indeed standards worthy of taking as guidance throughout the ages.

The Great Dao is as indispensable to daily life as cloth and grain. Go one day without cloth and grain, and hunger and cold will soon press upon the body; go one day without living by the Great Dao, and you may fall to the level of beasts. The beasts before our eyes are covered in fur and bear horns, their outward forms unlike ours. But if we look into the depths of the heart, are they truly different from us, or the same? There may be no essential distinction. Alas, their present condition could also become my fate one day.

The ancient, obscure writing of the Great Cavern Scripture (Da Dong Jing), a Daoist classic, is profound and difficult to understand. Yet when cultivation is complete and the mind is clear, its meaning can be grasped in an instant. Understanding the principle is not difficult; truly putting it into practice is.

If you wish to fulfill your aspiration, you must remain steadfast from beginning to end, persevering for years as if each were a single day. Then how could it be difficult to realize the true Dao (the Way) and cultivate the supreme Way? Thus, utmost sincerity enables one to foresee how things will unfold. When reciting the scriptures, one must truly grasp their meaning; the first requirement is “sincerity.” Reflecting on oneself until one becomes sincere brings the greatest joy. In this way, the principles of all things are complete within one’s own heart.

The human body and mind seem to contain all things. Without sincerity, one falls into illusion and becomes entangled in all manner of fantasies. The Three Corpses—spirits said in Daoism to dwell within the human body and hinder cultivation—and the Six Thieves, a term in Daoism and Buddhism for the senses and thoughts that disturb body and mind, follow a person’s thoughts and attachments. They conjure mirage-like scenes and transform into countless forms. The mind is like a skilled performer, while the Three Corpses and Six Thieves are the forces that hinder it. Sincerity brings one back to reality; only through reality can the true spirit become manifest. A balanced body and mind, shaped by reverence and care, allow one to dwell in Wuwei (non-action) and embody a character as gentle as jade and as firm as gold. When the mind is like a bright mirror, empty, clear, and unstained, this is the Dharma Body: a state of body and mind free from defilement. With the Dharma Body, one can enter the Dharma Realm, the pure realm realized through cultivation.

For this reason, some people today grow weary when they hear about the principles of rectifying the mind and making one’s intentions sincere. They assume that the teachings of Huang-Lao—the Daoist thought represented by the Yellow Emperor and Laozi—reject social norms and ritual propriety and value only simplicity. They do not understand that rectifying the heart and making one’s intentions sincere are the practical work of cultivating the Dao. Paying audience to the Celestial Lord and entering the realm of immortals both depend on sincerity and rectitude. Arrogance and indolence hinder the cultivation of the Dao. Those who study the Dao must keep away from and overcome them as they would evade an enemy or subdue a demon. Only then are they fit to enter the school and become disciples of the Mysterious Gate. Otherwise, what use is there in accepting such disciples?

Those who wish to ascend to immortality must first cultivate their nature and mind, and only afterward undertake the work of the crucible and furnace, a term in Neidan (internal alchemy) for refining and nurturing body and mind. Cultivation has its proper sequence, which must not be reversed; principles have different degrees of importance, which must not be confused. If you can become a sage, why worry that you cannot become an immortal or a Buddha? Even the Primordial Heavenly King, a revered Daoist deity, attained his status through cultivation as a human being. Mencius said, “Everyone can become a Yao or a Shun.” This is indeed so. People often say that the Primordial Heavenly King is the supreme being who existed before Heaven. But I would ask: who in the world did not come from a later, conditioned state? Clarity, emptiness, stillness, and luminous profundity belong to the primordial state; dullness, ignorance, baseness, and turbidity belong to the conditioned state. Human beings have primordial and conditioned states, but the mind itself has no such division. What matters is how people cultivate themselves; Heaven does not restrict them by their origins. Whether to become a sage or an ordinary person is one’s own choice. Do not let your resolve waver and divide.

From ancient times to the present, people have had only two paths. Those who follow the path of the sages can become immortals, dwell in the heavenly palace, and converse at ease with the Primordial Heavenly King. Those who follow the path of the mundane become ghosts, dwell in the underworld, and remain forever in the company of Yama, the King of Hell. The distinction between Heaven and Hell lies entirely in the mind. There is a road that leads upward to the dwelling of the Celestial Emperor, and a road downward that leads straight to the lair of ghosts. Confucius said, “The noble person reaches upward; the petty person reaches downward.” The difference between above and below often lies in something exceedingly subtle. The Book of Documents says, “The human mind is perilous; the Dao mind is subtle.” The point where peril and subtlety meet is so fine that it can scarcely be perceived. At this thought, how could one fail to be vigilant?

The Doctrine of the Mean says, “When joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure have not yet emerged, this is called ‘the Mean.’” Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental state in which the myriad things have not yet differentiated, contains all phenomena. From its perfectly centered source, a spark of numinous vitality brings Heaven and Earth into being, embracing the two forms of Yin and Yang and allowing each thing to attain its own inner balance. From this, we can understand that the human heart-mind follows the same principle.

The human heart-mind is empty, still, and lucid, neither leaning to one side nor the other. Seek its balanced source in stillness, and you find it has always been there; seek its balanced function in movement, and you find it has always been there too. Though Heaven acts without action, its wondrous workings run through all things. When people can practice Wuwei (non-action), their innate clarity remains settled in the heart. The heart-mind is vast and expansive, as empty and still as the great Void; the forces of creation cannot command or make use of it.

Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) intermingle between Heaven and Earth to form the myriad things, as well as ghosts and spirits. The instant a thought begins to stir in a person, it falls into the shadow realm, and ghosts and spirits become aware of it. At that moment, they seize the opening created by the turning of the mind’s mechanism and draw the person in, trapping them in the cycle of birth and death. From birth onward, desires grow more evident and the mind’s cunning grows more practiced: all of this begins with that one thought. For those who study the Dao, the key to uprooting the source of birth and death lies in stilling that thought. If it does not stir, where could ghosts and spirits find the means to control a person?

The ancient Buddhas and Tathagatas passed through countless kalpas, with heavenly demons and heterodox beings following like clouds. They watched for the place where a thought might arise, but could never find an opening. Thus the Buddhas preserved their Dharma bodies—the pure nature realized through practice—for ages, dwelling forever in the Dharma realm, a state beyond ordinary life and death. People today cannot sit through a single meal, while the shadow of the sun has barely shifted, before emotions, judgments, and stray thoughts come surging up. To call oneself a student of the Dao in such a state is something I have never heard of.

The ancient Buddhas and Tathagatas dressed and ate, and went about their daily lives just like ordinary people. Though they seemed to be active in every moment, in truth no thought arose with attachment; though they seemed to be thinking constantly, not for an instant were they carried away by their thoughts. Confucius said, “At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired without transgressing the rules.” How subtle and profound these words are! Therefore, studying the Dao begins with refining the heart-mind, making its substance empty, clear, and perfectly integrated, as complete as a single millet grain. This is the most subtle divine elixir, able to transcend birth and death and bring eternal freedom. Becoming an immortal or a Buddha amounts to nothing more than this. What else is there to seek?

People today do not seek the Dao, but only the elixir; they do not speak of mind and nature, but only of Water and Fire—the metaphor for the union of Yin and Yang in Neidan (internal alchemy). Is this not to abandon the root and chase after trifles? The sages of antiquity wrote books and established teachings without ever mentioning the word “elixir.” Teachings about elixir methods arose in the Han dynasty: the high perfected beings of the upper realms, moved by pity for beings sinking into distress, used the language of alchemy to guide and help them return to the Great Dao. Later generations divided these teachings into two schools, one focused on nature and the other on life. Yet if one cannot refine the heart-mind and practices only techniques involving Yin and Yang, Kan and Li—the transformations of Yin and Yang symbolized by the trigrams and by Water and Fire—even waiting for Maitreya to descend will not bring success.

The Great Elixir has neither shape nor sound, yet it is wondrously subtle. How could a turbid heart-mind serve as a vessel to hold it? When lustful thoughts arise, the true Qi scatters and breaks apart. How could a body filled with the seven emotions and six desires serve as the furnace and cauldron for the Great Elixir? The essential secret of alchemy is summed up in just two words: “refine the heart-mind.”

The essentials of the Great Dao can all be summed up in one word: “emptiness.” Emptiness encompasses every principle of the Dao. What arises from emptiness is true existence; what takes form as the real from emptiness is genuine reality. The Primordial Heavenly Worthy bears the honorific title “Emptiness and Naturalness.” Even the myriad sages and perfected beings cannot be separated from these four words. All things undergo birth and death because they have not yet reached the state of emptiness.

Heaven has Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and so is not wholly empty. Earth has firmness and softness, dryness and dampness, and so is not wholly empty either. If even Heaven and Earth cannot escape birth and death, how much less can human beings?

Consider ghosts and spirits: they may seem to have become empty. Yet if people have not cultivated the Dao during life, then even after their bodies perish, their seven emotions, six desires, and spiritual nature remain entangled with one another. They therefore drift into the underworld and fall among the ranks of ghosts. Even those with intelligence and upright virtue find it difficult to reach a state of undifferentiated unity. Whether they become spirits or ghosts, in the end they are still driven by karmic causes.

Only those who have attained the Dao unite with emptiness in every thought. Their minds cling to nothing, and they continually nurture the numinous origin—the inner foundation of spiritual nature—like a dragon guarding a pearl. From this, true light shines forth, merging with the Dharma Realm of Heavenly Reality, the pure and genuine realm of the Dao. How could such a person fail to ascend to the azure heavens, the celestial realm?

Alas, many people in the world cultivate the Dao, but few truly grasp its essentials. Why? When they set out to practice, they rush to become immortals, their minds full of deluded thoughts. They imagine that immortals enjoy wondrous transformations and inexhaustible blessings, while setting aside the most important matter of their own lives. If they continue to practice this way, then even after millions of years they will never reach release and rest. Is that not a pity?

The Supreme One is supreme because, through countless kalpas, his original mind has remained unchanged and his thoughts have never scattered. Even while governing the transformations of creation, he follows the Dao’s natural and wondrous principles, abiding in a true realm of carefree freedom, without desire or attachment. He need not speak for all things to be transformed by his influence; he need not grow angry for his authority to be felt. What has he ever made through contrivance? He simply responds to emptiness with emptiness, and the principles of transformation and nurture become clear. From the formation of the world until today, it has seemed to him no more than a single day.

Heaven and earth have their heights and depths, and among the immortals there are levels ranging from sages to ordinary people; they are not all the same. The state a person ultimately reaches depends on the quality of their moral cultivation. No one can become an immortal without cultivating virtue. How, then, can anyone aspiring to cultivate the Dao take their conduct lightly?

The principles contained in the word “elixir” are exceedingly subtle. One must receive them from a true master and obtain authentic instructions. Even after finding a true master and receiving true teachings, one must remain steadfast and cut off worldly entanglements. First, one must work to clarify the mind and realize one’s innate nature; this is the highest form of cultivation. Only then comes Neidan (internal alchemy), represented by Kan and Li, Water and Fire. Beyond that lies the cultivation of a transformed body and refined form, reaching the ultimate stage of practice. As for ascending to heaven, one can hope to do so only after completing “three thousand merits and eight hundred deeds.” This is not something the impatient and shallow can achieve by luck.

Thus, those who cultivate the true path should begin early to nurture their inner spiritual foundation and support their good nature. They should not speak carelessly, look upon improper things, casually believe disordered talk, or act recklessly. They must also gather moral cultivation within themselves. First ask whether you can face the divine and the perfected with a clear conscience. Only after that should you speak of setting up the furnace and cauldron, or drawing lead and refining mercury—the methods of Neidan practice. In this way, the gods of heaven will protect you, evil spirits will not dare intrude, and even your ancestors of nine generations will ascend beyond the mortal realm.

Today, people often rely on coarse and shallow minds and bodies while wildly imagining that they can ascend to immortality and become sages. Consider this: would the true officials in the jade halls of heaven—its divine immortals—be attainable like wealth and status in the human world, through clever calculation or sheer force of will? People should worry about failing to cultivate the Dao; why worry about failing to become immortal? Confucius said, “The Dao is not far from people.” Filial devotion to parents, loyalty to one’s ruler, affection for one’s brothers, and faithfulness to one’s friends are the highest methods for becoming immortal. Countless perfected beings of lofty attainment began here. There is no reason to abandon ordinary human ethics in search of another shortcut.

Those who become sages naturally enjoy blessings in the heavenly palaces; those who sink to the level of beasts naturally suffer in hell. One person plays the sheng and se beneath the blue peach trees, raising a cup with immortal companions; another swallows iron and drinks steel in a cavern on Black Mountain, keeping company with asuras. Which path brings sorrow, and which brings joy? Which should a person choose? The cause lies only in taking one path or the other with a single thought. Alas, this is truly a warning to take to heart! And who is responsible for it?

A good thought arises like a faint wisp of smoke; an evil thought, by contrast, is like piling up ten thousand mountains. It is clear how difficult it is to accumulate good and how easy it is to accumulate evil. Therefore, those who understand the Great Dao must make good thoughts grow without ceasing, until there is only good and no evil. If they do so, what immortal path could they fail to realize?

There is no other secret to alchemical cultivation: the key is to settle the mind, harmonize the spirit, let the breath flow freely, and nourish Jing and Qi (vital energy). Dark and deluded thoughts damage the alchemical work; opportunism and clever shortcuts are its enemies. If you keep good thoughts in your heart and follow the good way in all things, malign influences will naturally disperse, and the impulse to scheme will disappear. Then the mind will be settled, the spirit harmonized, the breath flowing freely, and Jing abundant. All things in the world will then function naturally through their innate nature.

Conversely, if you harbor impure thoughts, let the spirit chase after external things, allow the breath to grow restless and spill outward, and let Jing and Qi run wild and dissipate, yet claim to be practicing alchemy, can you truly succeed?

Those who study the Dao have an initial resolve, a resolve maintained during practice, and a resolve held on the verge of success. What is the initial resolve? It is making a vow. What is the resolve maintained during practice? It is refusing to give up halfway. What is the resolve held on the verge of success? It is striving for success. These three resolves can also become three faults.

The first fault arises when one makes an unrealistic vow, fills the mind with fantasies, and longs only to become an immortal and enjoy the riches of the heavenly palaces. The second arises when one refuses to give up halfway but keeps changing methods along the way, seeking a separate path instead of following one proper course to its end. One studies a method for only a short time before switching to another, discarding the old to chase the new, all in the hope of seeing results quickly.

At the final stage, especially, one must practice steadily. Even if one has reached ninety-nine percent of the way, one should act as though one has done nothing: neither becoming complacent nor showing off. Even if unusual signs appear, such as “clouds rising beneath the feet” or “a halo atop the head,” one should regard them as ordinary and take no pleasure or pride in them. This is what it means to have great capacity. If such signs give rise to attachment and delight, one may stray onto the demonic path; years of painstaking practice may be abandoned in a single day. What a pity. These are the three faults that all who study the Dao should guard against.

Those who study the Dao should cultivate “great stillness”: a state of deep inner calm undisturbed by external circumstances. Great stillness means that the mind and spirit remain settled not only when one enters meditation while seated, but at all times. It is like clouds drifting out from a mountain cave, without any deliberate intent; or water flowing away from its source, without choosing to do so. In walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, a practitioner of the Dao should move with the lightness and ease of a feather in the air, responding to circumstances and leaving not the slightest attachment behind.

When others bow to you, feel no pride; when they insult or strike you, feel no humiliation. Before a sumptuous meal, feel no greed; when eating coarse food, feel no aversion or bitterness. Treat high officials and nobles with ordinary courtesy, and beggars as you would your own kin. Only one who reaches this state can be called a virtuous practitioner. The Lord on High, hearing of such a person, would praise them, and even the sages would consider them beyond reach. I have never known anyone to attain such a state in practice without ascending to the heavens and attending court at Jade Capital, the Daoist celestial realm.

For those who cultivate the Dao, the most important thing is to hold their aspirations with sincerity. In disciplining themselves, they should be upright and rigorous; in dealing with others, they should be as gentle and generous as a spring breeze. Only those who possess all three qualities can be called people of the Dao. Whether they withdraw from the world to cultivate or live among ordinary people, they can handle things well. When the perfected immortals of Heaven hear of such a person, they will admire and respect them—how much more so will people in this world?

You are now past forty, an age when character is ripening and work is beginning to bear fruit. Whatever virtue you ought to cultivate, put it into practice at once; whatever fault you ought to correct, correct it immediately. At this age, if you still hesitate or grow slack in turning toward good and correcting your faults, some good deeds may go undone and some faults may never be corrected. I hope you will make every effort.

Becoming a sage is not something only other people can achieve. To become a hero, make tireless effort and courage your aim. The Yellow Crane is not difficult to summon: call, and it will come. Nor are the white clouds indifferent: summon them, and they will arrive. The key is to ask yourself: Am I a being of Heaven or a being of Earth? Among the golden palaces and jade steps—the heavenly courts and terraces of the immortal realm—and among the great perfected immortals, gathered in ranks like cranes and egrets, can I stand firm? Ask yourself again and again; reflect on it again and again. If, at this moment, you can believe in yourself and have a clear conscience, then you truly are already an immortal.

You need not ask anyone else whether you are an immortal, nor seek out a living immortal to judge you. You need only measure and examine yourself. If you can believe in yourself completely, feeling that nothing is lacking, then the golden palaces and jade steps will naturally have a place for you, and the palaces of the Great Luo Heaven—the lofty celestial realm in Daoism—will naturally be your home. Along the distant cloud road, living immortals will naturally come to welcome you and ascend to Heaven with you.

The Doctrine of the Mean says, “Hating what is bad is like hating a foul smell; loving what is good is like loving a beautiful appearance.” This describes a heart that is truly content and free of deceit. Mencius says, “When one’s actions do not satisfy one’s own heart, one’s spirit becomes dispirited.” If you can live with a clear conscience, I will roam with you through the boundless reaches of Heaven and Earth: myriad clouds spread beneath us, while celestial music and cranes sing together across the sky. What joy that would be!

Why do people seek the Dao? Is it for immortality, or for success in literary and worldly pursuits? Neither. Only those whose hearts are free of such aims can be called true students of the Dao.

Does this mean that studying the Dao is of no use? Laozi said, “The useless is the root of the useful; Wuwei (non-action) is the foundation of purposeful action.” Only when you understand this can you speak of the Dao.

I see people in the world often entertaining delusions, setting their hearts on becoming immortals and sages and leaving this defiled, troubled world of human existence. They do not know that the immortals in heaven come and go in the mortal world every day, tirelessly working to relieve suffering out of compassion. They are far busier and more burdened than those who do nothing, gossip, or put on pointless displays. The immortals endure countless hardships to guide one or two people, yet may still be unable to change the world. Even if those one or two people transcend the world and depart, the beings left on earth continue to suffer, still clouded and deluded.

Ah, does the compassion of sages and worthies ever end? No. The world will one day come to an end, but their hearts have no end; the sun and moon will one day reach the limits of their courses, but the hearts of sages and worthies know no bounds. Thus, when someone is about to become an immortal or sage, they should take upon their shoulders the heavy burden of heaven and earth. Only when all beings on earth have been liberated may they lay that burden down. The Book of Documents says, “If even one person has not been settled, it is my fault.” The hearts of sages and worthies are vast; through countless kalpas, they remain as steadfast as on the first day.

Therefore, those who truly study the Dao should make saving the world and guiding others their duty. They should seek neither immortality for themselves alone nor success in their own literary and worldly pursuits. Instead, they should become parents to the countless beings in the Three Paths, Eight Difficulties, Six Realms, and Four Births—terms used in Daoism and Buddhism to describe the suffering of beings and their conditions within the cycle of rebirth. They should see others’ suffering as their own, and others’ ignorance and delusion as their own predicament. They should do everything they can to guide these beings through the teachings, so that together they may reach the pure, Wuwei realm of the Great Luo Immortals, the highest celestial realm in Daoism. Only then will they have fulfilled the great vow they made in the past.

Those who study the Dao must therefore hold to this intention and purpose, bringing themselves into harmony with the De of heaven and earth, which shelters and sustains all things, and of the sun and moon, which shine upon the world. As they cultivate in this way, the sages will naturally appear and the gods will protect them, wishing them success in cultivating the Great Dao. Why? Because their aims are the same, their vows are the same, and their Dao is the same: a thousand or ten thousand people become as one.

Hequzi, cultivate with all your strength. I offer you these words in the hope that you will live up to them.

Those who cultivate the Way and seek what is true often come from different backgrounds. Some descend from the heavenly realms; some come from famed mountains and sacred places such as the three islands of Penglai; others gradually build their way through the world by means of wisdom and merit. Though their origins differ, all may succeed in cultivating themselves into immortals.

The first two kinds have deep foundations and exceptional aptitude. Once they turn their hearts toward the Way, the celestial deities will immediately watch over them. Why? It is like someone who once held an official post at court, or who has temporarily withdrawn to the mountains and forests, yet has many eminent colleagues. If someone recommends him for a return to court, the matter is not difficult to arrange. Those who seek the Way through the wisdom and merit they have accumulated in the human world must instead devote themselves to diligent, quiet cultivation. Only after five or ten years may they reach the heart of Heaven and receive the attention and guidance of the immortals and perfected ones. This is like a person born into poverty: without striving to rise through their own efforts and without anyone to support them, it is harder to make their way in the world. Thus, seekers of the Way in this category have a harder path than the first two, but the final result of their cultivation is the same.

One must not be shallow in virtue and lacking in ability, yet presume to seek the Great Dao. This is like a frog at the bottom of a well gazing up at the sky: by its own efforts, it can never reach the heights. Even if someone truly receives the authentic transmission, without accumulating merit and good deeds, they cannot rely on forceful cultivation alone. True immortals will not descend; instead, baleful demons may take advantage of the opening and bring harm upon them. That would be a great pity.

Those who are new to cultivating the Dao and have not yet developed much meditative steadiness should first understand what kind of natural capacity they have for cultivation. How can they tell? If, during practice, the mind grows clear and open, and matters once beyond their understanding suddenly become clear one after another, with insights following in succession, then sages and worthies are guiding them from the heavens and protecting them unseen. This is the capacity of the highest kind.

If, through their own hard work, they make progress over many years, gaining in proportion to what they put in—as the Zhongyong says, “If others can do something with one measure of effort, I will use a hundred; if others can do it with ten measures, I will use a thousand”—then surely the immortals and perfected beings will compassionately help them. One day, they will attain the Dao. This is the capacity of the middle kind.

If someone longs for the Dao but often gives up halfway; if, at home, they are attached to the pleasures of spouse and children, or, outside, absorbed in the pleasures of socializing; if they cannot quiet their temperament and their thoughts run counter to cultivation, then they have the lowest capacity—or none at all. Even with sages and worthies at their side, they would be difficult to change. Their condition in this life makes their next life easy to foresee. Once they lose their human form, opportunities to cultivate the Dao will be hard to find again.

Those who cultivate the Dao should be as careful and upright alone in a dark room, deep under the eaves, as they would be in broad daylight. Whoever embodies this true integrity is a genuine immortal. Walking through empty space and ascending to vast, lofty realms are simply part of their rightful place.

If someone has the talent of a hero, studies the Way of the sages, and cultivates a vast, upright spirit through the practice of shendu (remaining cautious and self-disciplined even when alone), they may one day ascend to Heaven and attain a high position, deliver the dead from the netherworld, and bring blessings to their descendants. Are these merits and achievements not great?

Today I see some worldly people who have no good deeds or qualities superior to those of ordinary people, yet presume they can become immortals through the arts of Kan and Li, Water and Fire—an internal alchemy practice that uses water, fire, and Yin-Yang as metaphors. They have not yet cast off worldly desires; how could they form an immortal embryo through cultivation? Their thoughts are fixed on food and comfort, yet they dream of entering a realm of stillness and emptiness. Would this not make the countless exalted immortals in the Great Luo Heaven burst out laughing?

Today I tell everyone plainly: if you are not a sage or hero, do not expect to become an immortal; if you are not a great Confucian master of your age, do not become a disciple of the Mystical Gate. The laws of Heaven are exceedingly strict. Heaven’s hearing is subtle, yet nothing escapes it. Once a deluded thought arises, it may bring calamity upon the seven generations of one’s ancestors.

Wherever this scripture is kept, auspicious light and purple clouds will rise straight into the heavens. The gods of the heavens will rejoice, and the assembled sages and perfected beings will come to behold it. The merit thereby achieved is boundless and immeasurable, beyond human comprehension. If someone of poor character, ignorant of the subtle arts of cultivation, recklessly slanders this scripture, the Flying-Heavenly Deity King will punish that person and may even bring harm upon their family and relatives. While alive, they will suffer strange illnesses; after death, they will fall into Fengdu, the underworld realm of the dead in Daoist belief, and endure bewildered torment through countless kalpas. By then, even regret will come too late. How, then, could one fail to be cautious?

Afterword

When Juexing was thirty-nine, he still did not know what cultivating the Real meant. Only in the year of the Earth Rooster, when he was forty, did he receive the Great Method of Refining the Primordial Essence, recorded by the Imperial Brush. He was also honored by the descent to the altar of Patriarch Qinghua Daofu, who repeatedly and earnestly instructed and explained the teachings. Only then did he learn that the world contains a Way to long life and immortality, and that everyone can cultivate it, whether sage or ordinary person: whoever seeks it can attain it.

From then on, he studied alchemical scriptures each day and explored their principles. He found that they often express their meaning through assumed names and symbols, concealing their principles layer upon layer. He therefore lamented: “The original purpose of alchemical scriptures is to save people and awaken the world. Concealing their meaning so deeply may not only prevent them from saving people, but instead leave people confused; it may not only fail to awaken the world, but make it even more perplexed. Even if Yan Hui and Min Ziqian were brought back to life, they could scarcely glimpse one ten-thousandth of their meaning.

“Someone like Patriarch Qinghua Daofu points directly to the true method of cultivation, opening a broad and level road for living beings in every generation. If one can cultivate with ease along this road, one can go straight to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest heaven revered in Daoism, and bring one’s heart into accord with the Primordial Heavenly King.

“Alchemical scriptures conceal their contents so deeply because they truly fear that they might be transmitted to the wrong people, in violation of the prohibitions established by the Most High, an honorific title for the highest deity in Daoism. Since the Patriarch has made ‘refining the mind’ the universal method, the transmitter and recipient of the teaching should naturally be in accord in heart and intention.”

The reason the Elixir scriptures were kept under strict seal was indeed the fear that they might be wrongly transmitted to unsuitable people, in violation of the precepts of the Most High, the supreme deity revered in Daoism. My Daoist father made “refining the mind”—cultivating one’s nature and heart—the broad, universal method. In this way, transmission would naturally reach the right person, while those unsuited to it would be unable to comprehend it. What unsuitable person in the world would be willing to refine the mind? And how could someone remain unsuitable after doing so? Seen in this light, what is there to doubt when transmitting the teaching? As for how to gather the ingredients and regulate the firing times—the timing and degree of refinement in alchemy—these involve subtle words. In those subtle words alone, the ultimate principles are already present. If someone can truly refine the mind and gain insight, they will naturally understand the principles within them. Ah! The method established by my Daoist father is truly concise yet rigorous, direct yet ingenious, generous without excess, and vast yet subtle. Nothing like it has existed since ancient times!

I, Jue, served my Daoist father for three years and repeatedly passed through strange and perilous trials. Twice, a dangerous wall collapsed, yet neither father nor son lost his life. Thieves passed by the gate but did not break in. A plague struck nearby, yet we were not infected. Malignant sores, poisonous malaria, and long-standing illnesses that had resisted treatment all healed. Plain meals and rough clothes were enough; without seeking more, we had all we needed. I, Jue, was originally an ordinary, worldly person. By the light of the Primordial Emperor Daoist Father—a title of reverence for a master of the Dao—I was able to advance on the path of cultivation. I have received abundant kindness from my parents, teachers, and protectors, and have also received the grace of Heaven and Earth, which bring forth and transform the myriad things. The chance to receive the scriptures and proclaim the teaching comes once in a thousand years. Having encountered it, I must not let it pass in vain. My Daoist father protected me, hoping that I would protect this scripture and transmit it to generations to come, through one kalpa, ten thousand kalpas, and even beyond, without end. Should I, Jue, not urge myself on, so as to repay my Daoist father’s intention?

Confucius said, “There are only two ways: humaneness and its absence.” In our Daoist tradition, too, there are two kinds of Dao. What are they? The true teaching and false views. Those who hold fast to the true Dao are hard to mislead with heresy; likewise, those ensnared by false teachings are hard to bring back to the true Dao.

Yet some people are close to sinking into delusion without having fallen too deep, while others wish to follow the true Dao but cannot yet hold firmly to it. They still stand at a turning point where they may succeed or fail, and I have a few words for them.

The essential principle of the Great Dao is that all things arise from emptiness. This may be what the Confucians mean when they say, “At first there was one principle; later it dispersed into the myriad things.” Once the myriad things have come into being, they return from existence to nonexistence, back to the Great Void—the original state before things were differentiated. This is also what Buddhists mean when they say, “All phenomena return to the One, and the One returns to nothingness.” By extension, the flowering and fruiting of plants, the passing of spring and autumn through the seasons, the rise and decline of human affairs, and the cycles by which things turn and return—all follow a pattern of beginnings and endings, contraction and expansion, passage and return. What is there to doubt?

What is strange is that the Confucian Way of the Mean shines through the ages like the clear sky and bright sun, while the Buddhist school of true awakening—whose teaching takes awakening as its aim—spreads throughout the world like a great bridge or a vessel for crossing over. Yet Daoism’s pure and tranquil truth, and its authentic teachings on the cultivation of nature and life, have been cast aside by those who talk of mysteries and debate the Dao almost like a worn-out shoe. Why is this? It is because false teachings and deviant paths have spread and flourished, their poison reaching deep.

Sadly, I too suffered greatly from them and was deeply poisoned. For more than ten years I wandered in hardship, traveling almost everywhere within the land, until one day I finally awakened. Now I have returned to my natural, original state. How could I not turn the anguish and relentless searching of those years into a lament? Having rediscovered the joy of returning to nature, I wish to make this conviction known to all and rescue those of the Daoist tradition who have fallen into decline, so that they may escape the sea of suffering and reach the shore of the Dao.

In the Gengzi year, while living in You County in southern Chu, I happened upon the five-volume True Words for Singing the Dao by the Supreme Emperor of Azure Radiance, recorded by Hequzi. After reading and reflecting on it again and again, I felt as though I were hearing the morning bell just before waking from a dream, or drinking a cup of warm wine in the spring breeze. It seemed that all things were giving voice at once, and light was naturally shining upon them. Sadly, this scripture has not been widely circulated and cannot establish right understanding for those of us who cultivate in seclusion. I had hoped to have it printed and shared, but that wish has yet to be fulfilled.

This autumn, our Daoist companion Luo Yichun and Chen Guansan of Haining visited me again from Nanchang and found me at Jinniu Cave in Jishui. I had not known that Chen Guansan came from a distinguished family yet devoted himself to studying the Daoist methods. I listened closely as he spoke of the teachings he had sought out and heard throughout his life. Most of them resembled what I had heard from my teacher in my early years, such as “the Qian dragon and Kun tiger” and “striking the bamboo and playing the se.” I am one day older than he is. Seeing his free-spirited nature and clear, fluent speech, I thought that his exceptional intelligence must have led him onto the true path of cultivation.

So I explained to him the essentials of the Mysterious Pass, the dead end and the opening to life, the Zhen man and Dui woman, and the Golden Cauldron and Jade Furnace, pointing out that these are all figurative expressions. Chen Guansan seemed to have long been endowed with a pure and tranquil nature. His understanding was keen: a single sentence brought sudden clarity, and his doubts vanished at once. I therefore brought out this scripture as confirmation and told him of the wish I had long held. Deeply moved, Chen Guansan shared my purpose and offered to take the scripture back to eastern Zhejiang and pay for a careful printing himself. Once it is printed, he will bring the printing blocks to inform me, fulfilling the wish I have cherished for so long.

Alas! Guan Sanzi’s actions this time truly arose from deep compassion. By doing so, he has already completed more than half of the good deeds among the 3,800 deeds and misdeeds. Consider carefully: was he able to undertake this task because Heaven did not conceal the Great Dao, allowing this scripture to appear in the world as a bridge by which living beings in the sea of suffering may cross to the other shore? Was it because Guan Sanzi had a predestined affinity with the immortals in a former life, so that Heaven did not use another’s hand but waited for this worthy man to transmit the teaching? And was it because Heaven took pity on my earnest wish to spread the teaching, and did not want me to labor and worry alone, so it secretly aided me and enabled me to complete this work through illness?

Reflecting in stillness, it is already remarkable that this scripture could be obtained; that it could be printed and circulated is even more remarkable. Where there is a response, one can accord with the Dao; even where there seems to be no response, all things can be understood as connected. People often fail the Great Dao, but when has the Great Dao ever failed people? The Great Dao is an open, upright highway; the Dharma gate is bright and broad, and it lies within oneself, never apart from one’s own original mind. Yet people abandon what is near in pursuit of what is far, and turn from what is easy to seek what is difficult. They entangle themselves in hardship and then suppose that this is superior wisdom. To know that one is pressing blindly onward yet refuse to turn back is a sign of dull roots; such an affliction is difficult to cure.

At this moment, I hope that we cultivators who esteem the Dao and its Virtue, if we are not yet deeply deluded and our resolve can still change, and if we stand at the turning point between becoming ordinary people and becoming sages, will be fortunate enough to encounter this scripture. We should quickly cast aside the counterfeit, like fish eyes, and find the luminous pearl hidden within our robes; thoroughly cleanse ourselves of desires, abstain from deception, and make inner peace and contentment our guiding standard. In this way, we can preserve our nature and life within, and accumulate merit without. Then the unseen response of the Azure Florescence Emperor, a revered Daoist deity, will indeed be as the scripture says. I have verified this for myself.

Respectfully prefaced by Guiyi Wan Qinghe, a Complete Perfection disciple of Jinniu Cave in Jishui.