《圆峤内篇》Vol. 7

This chapter takes the word “non-being” (wu) to carry forward the meaning of “emptiness” (kong) from the previous chapter, and pushes one step further: in neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, reaching the state of emptiness is already excellent; yet if the mind still holds the idea of “true emptiness,” one remains caught in attachment to “having a form or characteristic of method,” so “emptiness” is still not as complete as “non-being.” Lord Lao said: even “contemplating emptiness” must be taken to the point where emptiness itself is also absent—what is contemplated as empty is gone, and “no-no” is not established either; serene and constantly still—only this is great transcendence, great awakening, great purity, and great perfect enlightenment (dayuanjue).

Why is it so? The serene subtle being (miaoyou) seems like emptiness; empty yet also non-existent, it cannot be sought through shape or form, nor drawn in a picture. Precisely because it is formless and imageless, it is hard to paint or describe—one can only apprehend that serenity. Earlier, when gathering the pre-heaven (xiantian), there were still designations such as essence named “gold,” bud named “yellow,” and primordial named “white”; at this level of serene truth, even name and identity are gone. Though without name or identity, it responds the moment it is called—like an echo in an empty valley, sound answering sound; question and answer, receiving command like an echo—this is the utmost jing (essence) under heaven. Still as if extinct, yet responsive when stirred—this is the utmost shen (spirit) under heaven. Why? Because serene truth is hidden within “non-being.”

The principle of sages, immortals, and buddhas penetrates deeply into creation and transformation—“within non-being, being is concealed.” At this level appear various marvels, as in figures such as Leng Qijing, Zhang Jinghua, and the immortal Zhou Dian. Master Zhang Sanfeng took the Dao as his substance, and further used non-being to restrain non-being, entering the intermediate realm of empty non-existence; the great creating and transforming work, in the furnace, circulates the circuit of heaven (zhoutian) with samadhi true fire, refining without cease, until the void dharma-body returns to the great non-being. The great non-being is the realm of saints and perfected ones—such as, in Daoist cosmology, realms like the Jade Clarity Mixed Cavern Great Heaven (yuqing hundong taitian) and the Upper Clarity Red Mixed Great Non-Being Heaven (shangqing chi hun taiwu tian), and other celestial domains.

After attaining the immortal path, one at first receives only an office rank in Taiqing (the lower stratum among the heavens of the Three Pure Ones). If one can return to the Great Void (revert to the formless Great Nothing before creation), one may in turn attend upon the realms of the Moral Heaven, Jade Firmament Heaven, and Primordial Heaven, and finally realize fruition in the Three Pure Ones (the highest triple heaven of Daoism).

“Return” means this: ordinary men and women under heaven were originally people of the Three Pure Ones’ realm; only because karmic fixations differ from life to life, they sink lower each kalpa and remain commoners, unable to rise again to the realm of sages and perfected ones. If they turn the heart toward goodness, seek the Way and find a teacher, and begin from foundation building and self-refinement (laying the root of practice and refining the self), then through seven returns and nine reversals (the internal alchemy cycles of circulating the fire and restoring the original), refining until “emptiness” and then until “nothingness,” and from nothingness returning to the Great Void, they can once again become guests among the Three Pure Ones.

Yet to temper true emptiness, one must use the fire of Zhouzhou Samadhi. Zhouzhou is not the popular notion of the “celestial carriage” (circulating qi along the governing and conception vessels); it is “moving within heaven”—turning in the void, layer upon layer deepening and condensing, in accord with the Dao’s naturalness. Samadhi is not merely yang fire either; it is “Heaven as one, Earth as two, united as three”: between heaven and earth the practitioner establishes the cauldron and sets the furnace (fixing the dantian and stabilizing the firing process), spirit and breath merge in stillness, and with the fire that refines the immortal to refine the immortal—this is the Heaven-origin Golden Elixir (the inner elixir formed from pre-heaven primordial qi).

When merit is complete and the work fulfilled, one ascends to the three heavens, visits the immortal capital, receives the celestial talisman, and may be enfeoffed as True Lord, Emperor Lord, or Celestial Venerable, or appointed as master and minister of the Five Sacred Mountains and famous peaks, grotto-heavens and blessed lands (the sacred mountains and immortal abodes recorded in Daoism), or as selector of immortals and the like—only then is one a true man and great hero, wondrous beyond measure.

The encomium says: Flower rain fills the sky; gold covers the earth; hands strike fish drums and clappers; the mouth sings the immortal music of the upper grotto; the four continents are saved together; the Way’s feeling runs through myriad ages. Ha ha! Wuyuan everywhere speaks true spirit; first keep our school’s intent in mind; the mountain man recites the true formula by the book and opens the unique gate of salvation for the world (the gate of the one true Way).

On the Melody (Original Note 1)

Wuyuan said it is unclear which tune is meant here. Hanxu said that the melody used by those who sing daoqing (Daoist sentiment songs) is called “Wan Wuyun” (Combing Dark Clouds).

“Wei” and “Wei” (Original Note 2)

In Wuyuan’s annotated edition, “wei” (subtle, micro) is written as “wei” (precarious, tipping). “Wei” in the sense of decline or about to topple is close in meaning to “wei” (subtle): both describe vigor fading and the turn from fullness toward decline.

“Qing” and “Qing” (Original Note 3)

Wuyuan’s text writes “qing” (green, fresh) as “qing” (clear, pure). In fact “qing” often denotes the newly sprouted, tender phase, which fits “qing er wu ran” (freshly born and not yet stained by the mundane) better than switching to “qing” (clear).

“Qiangtou” and “Qionghua” (Original Note 4)

Some editions read “qiangtou” (walltop); others read “qionghua” (crystal flowers). Commentators have seen both. Here the line is explained from the “qiangtou” reading, which gives the passage more flavor, so that version is followed.

“Ding” and “Hui” (Original Note 5)

In the Kongqing Dongtian carved edition of Wugen Shu Erzhu (Second Commentary on the Rootless Tree), this place has “hui” (wisdom/insight), and the line should be read as “hui,” not “ding” (concentration, samadhi).

“You xiang / xuan chen” and “cai jing / can jing” (Original Note 6)

In Wuyuan’s edition “you xiang” (again toward) appears as “xuan chen” (swiftly seizing)—different characters, same sense. But if “cai jing” (just now passed) is changed to “can jing” (broken scripture) and then glossed as the mind’s selfish desires being gathered up to drive back yin robbers, the meaning goes astray; that is error piled on error.

“Dui jing wang qing” and “yue yue kai shi” (Original Note 7)

Wuyuan’s edition writes “dui jing wang qing” (facing the scene, forgetting emotion) as “yue yue kai shi” (each month when it opens)—variant wording; the whole chapter must be compared to see which reading coheres better.

“Ai” and “Ai” (Original Note 8)

Wuyuan’s text here has “ai” (hinder, obstruct). If it were read as “ai” (love, attachment), it would not fit; “ai” (obstruct) is correct.

“Wugan” (Original Note 9)

This refers to the phrase “wugan” (black liver) in the following lines and should be read in continuity with what comes after.

“Nong / nong,” “qin / qian,” “fang / yuan” (Original Note 10)

In Wuyuan’s edition “nong” (thick) may appear as “nong” (lush), “qin” (capture) as “qian” (lead), “fang” (square) as “yuan” (round)—different graphs with little difference in meaning in this line.

“Ling” and “Xing” (Original Note 11)

From context before and after, “ling” (spirit) here should probably be read as “xing” (nature, true nature)—a copyist’s slip.

“Bo / wo,” “dao / qie” (Original Note 12)

In Wuyuan’s edition “bo” appears as “wo,” and “dao” (steal) as “qie” (pilfer)—near-synonym variant characters.

“Chan zai” and “se zheng” (Original Note 13)

Wuyuan’s edition has “se zheng” where another reading has “chan zai” (produced in); one must be chosen to read smoothly in the cultivation context.

“Jinhua / honghua,” “mie / fa” (Original Note 14)

Wuyuan’s “jinhua” (golden flower) appears as “honghua” (red flower)—the latter is preferable, so “honghua” is followed. If “mie” (extinguish) were read as “fa” (method, dharma), the line would not parse; that is a wrong character.

“Zhongjian” and “santian” (Original Note 15)

In Wuyuan’s text the two characters “zhongjian” (middle, in between) appear as “santian” (three fields). In neidan (internal alchemy), “santian” (upper, middle, and lower dantian, energy centers) is often used for where qi settles; it can be read together with “zhongjian.” Later lines also have variants such as “se zheng”; the whole passage must be read as one.

Footnote ⒁: In Liu Wuyuan’s annotated edition, “golden flower” (jinhua) is written as “crimson flower” (honghua), which is preferable; this translation follows that reading. “Extinguish” (mie) is also mistakenly written as “dharma/method” (fa).

Footnote ⒂: In Wuyuan’s text, the two characters “middle” (zhongjian) appear as “three fields” (santian), yet in his commentary he still interprets them as “the subtle aperture in the middle.”

Volume Six: Miscellaneous Daoist Poetry and Prose

Composed by Changyi Shanren Li Hanxu, collated by Chen Yingning of Wanjiang

Dao Sentiment Poems (twenty-four in all)

People say: life as a human is fine; I say: one lifetime as a person is never finished with busyness. Even without craving wealth and rank, the heart still morning and night longs for the isle of transcendence. I, Li Hanxu, was originally a Daoist adept; my emergence from the world was never ordinary, yet alas my rebirth seems to have taken a wrong turn. From youth I knew only a few characters; grown up, the whole person was bound by worldly affairs—wanting to leave a name for later ages, wanting to soar to immortality on earth—and in the end gaining nothing from it all. Fortunately the Five Phases and the numbers of fate still had some certainty; I was blessed with one thatched hut and three companions on the Way, roaming free beyond the dusty world, delighting and laughing among waters and stones. In late autumn and early winter, with nothing to do in the mountains, I brewed a pot of chrysanthemum wine, admired the early plum blossoms, and then carefully recited these poems of Dao sentiment.

Alas, this lifetime of mine—from what I remember, in a previous life I was Leng Sheng, drifting lightly like a small boat through Hunan and Hubei. Why did I take on a vow toward the West? I could only wander on among clouds, waters, mist, and mountains.

Again I lament those reborn into this world: crashing into the womb, the soul’s consciousness lodged in a body—one layer of parents, one layer of kindness. Why also take on a vow toward the West? Likewise wandering on among clouds, waters, mist, and mountains.

Again I lament rebirth into this world: crashing into the womb, the soul’s consciousness lodged in a body—one layer of parents, one layer of kindness; the face too resembles father and mother, held and carried, warmed by laughter and tenderness.

Having obtained a human body is already the best of things, but one must know how to cherish it. Through myriad kalpas and thousands of lives one wins this body; know the karmic ties planted in the great cycles of calamity. The Patriarch of Pure Yang (Lü Dongbin) was utterly earnest in his compassion, urging you to value this body here and now.

Plain-Language Reading of Yuanqiao Neipian (Inner Chapters of the Round Peak)

1. Restraining the Ordinary Mind

Those who cultivate must not let even a trace of ordinary, worldly thought arise. The verse puts it this way: spring water turns muddy once it leaves the mountain, but stays clear while it remains there; one regrets having spent years chasing outward things; then, seeing how much bustle fills the world, one realizes that facing the outer world, emotional attachment still will not let go.

2. Where the Dao Heart Rests

For those who cultivate the Dao, when the heart of the Dao is to be aroused, where should it settle? The wind and spring tones among ten thousand pines and bamboo are pleasant, yet they are not as open and quiet as ten li of calm lake; when the moon sits at the heart of heaven and cold lies on the water’s surface, the mind suddenly turns cool and clear—the heart of the Dao often shows itself in such clarity, stillness, and distance.

3. Superior Practice: Beginning from “Producing Existence from Non-Existence”

Superior cultivation begins where “existence arises from non-existence.” This lineage’s elixir method traces its source to Yingzhou (the immortal isle of legend in Daoist lore); to raise the thought of “emptiness and non-being” is to make the start. Do not fear that at first there is no feeling and no effect; what matters is to inquire into the root within “nothing”—to seek the spark of life in empty stillness and no-thought.

4. Refining Essence to Transform Qi

First, refining essence (Jing) to transform qi (Qi). If there is a hazy true qi on the Yinqiao channel (a key vessel in the Du-Ren circuit in neidan), much genuine vitality gathers there; when it is gathered into the empty origin and refined into qi, the path opens toward the realm of Penglai (a metaphor for the immortal way)—a journey of ten thousand li.

5. Refining Qi to Transform Spirit

Second, refining qi to transform spirit (Shen). When spirit and qi meet and sink into the deep silence (yaoming—a state of utmost quiet and depth), one may suddenly seem to hear scripture chanted in the void; the qi of the five directions encircle, and it is said that spirit is born from “Shiqing” (a term tied to the five directions, colors, and qi in Daoist cosmology).

6. Refining Spirit to Complete Nature

Third, refining spirit to complete nature (xing). Immortal qi must be sought in still concentration; on the road of red dust, kindred spirits are few. Sitting settled in the “central court” (often the dantian, Huangting, or another inner seat of practice), like incense that does not disperse for three months, the “yellow sprout” (Huangya—the neidan image of nascent true essence, the first stir of yang) can grow another inch deep—a figure for the inner landscape gradually taking shape.

7. Renunciants and Signs of Progress

After renunciants refine essence and generate qi, certain signs appear: day after day directing qi upward to Mudan (the crown aperture, seat of spirit in neidan); the tongue tip gradually fills with sweet fluid; irrigating the three fields (upper, middle, and lower dantian), the hundred vessels slowly open, and when essence is full, the valley spirit (gushen—the spirit, the original spirit) settles of itself.

8. Immortal Heart and Secluded Living

When sweet fluid overflows daily in the mouth, the immortal heart is easy to awaken. In the setting of a jade isle in hidden retreat—day after day moving qi to Mudan, sweet fluid on the tongue, irrigating the three fields as the hundred vessels slowly awaken, essence growing until the valley spirit is at peace—the text also says: idle in a hidden hill, the pure yang sits high in a painted tower; burning incense and sweeping the floor, free of mixed affairs, with only a flower hall and pure leisure—this depicts outward leisure and inward refinement, the heart leaving worldly disturbance.

Note (for reading the whole piece)

This piece uses verse to thread the teaching: first restrain the ordinary mind and locate where the heart of the Dao rests; then the superior neidan outline of “producing existence from non-existence”; then the three stages—refining essence to transform qi, refining qi to transform spirit, and refining spirit to complete nature—and signs after monastic-style practice: qi rising, sweet fluid, the three fields, and the valley spirit; finally secluded dwelling closes the piece, stressing gaining the immortal in stillness and refining within leisure. Terms such as Yinqiao, Mudan, the three fields, yellow sprout, and valley spirit in elixir classics usually refer to inner scenery and firing times (huohou), not only to literal anatomy or plants; they read best on the “inner refinement” thread of the text.

Section 1

When the heart first stirs with the wish to seek immortality and follow the Dao, it is easier to enter stillness and concentration; in the deep quiet of mist-shrouded mountains, one is especially suited to settle the mind and investigate truth. From there, use the “literary heart”—awakening the mind through language and principle—as your guide, and set your intention on refining the elixir. Roll up your sleeves like drifting white clouds and turn toward the cave abode; bow your head, close your eyes, and sit upright on the meditation cushion.

Section 2

Only after you have quieting can you speak of the true heart. Discrimination, knowing and judging, mostly count as “false” in the elixir method; you must reach a state without knowing and without discriminating, not falling into categories, before you touch the “true.” One somersault—inward scenery overturning, primordial chaos (hongmeng) parting—and you must become a Daoist facing east: toward the gate of life, toward walking the Way.

Section 3

When the true heart appears, the true seed (the seed of inner practice) keeps arising. Gold enters wood; mercury and lead circulate and join (inner elixir hexagram pairing: metal–wood, mercury–lead in mutual fit). When the “infant” and “maiden” (the two breaths of yin and yang) meet, that is real joy. Last night it was as if Magu (the female immortal) sent a good dream: one red pill gained, and at once there was the image of “conceiving a fetus”—a metaphor for spirit and qi condensing into an embryo.

Section 4

Why say “using the existent to enter the nonexistent”? When jade fluid forms, it can serve as “capital” for refining elixir; placed in the Kun house (lower dantian, the yin position), it is nurtured in true stillness. Suddenly you see one yang rise from beneath the earth (the Fu hexagram, the single yang within Kan)—elixir substance returns to you, and you need not doubt: the formed is refined into the formless.

Section 5

Why say “ producing the existent from the nonexistent”? True lead comes from the great void (the root of emptiness); it is planted in the Li palace (the heart, the upper fire position of the hexagram) and emerges from the Kan palace (the kidneys, the lower water position). I see the yellow sprout (the first sprouting yang qi) surge and flourish; people say white snow (essence transformed to white) fills the empty sky—from nothingness where there was no birth, something visible “exists” is born.

Section 6

Why say “mutual joining for long life”? Mercury’s nature is light; day by day it tends to fly away (the knowing spirit, the “heart ape”). Lead’s disposition is heavy; nourished by food, it follows a steady, natural course. In refining elixir, if feeling and desire return to true nature (emotion returns to xing, mercury returns to lead), you can surely mount the blue phoenix and enter Taiwei (the immortal firmament)—only when yin and yang join is there a path to long life.

Section 7

Why say “life within killing”? Lead is cast into mercury; in tight straits and harm, favor is paradoxically done. Mercury, restrained by lead, finds life in what seemed death. If the wondrous treasure lacks discipline (timing, method), the immortal’s work is hard to complete—danger holds opportunity; restraint within control gives birth.

Section 8

How do you meet the Green Maiden and give birth to the sage embryo? The Green Maiden stands for yin essence and the Kun body—youthful and fit for cultivation; without solitary yin alone, nothing can be born. After you meet in the “bridal chamber” (the metaphor of spirit–qi union), you share one bed for ten months and deliver the infant—the sage embryo is formed through ten months of inward nurturing.

Section 9

How do you change the cauldron, move the embryo, and have the child beget a grandchild? The great Way is inherently step upon step higher. Only when the returned elixir is achieved do you see the immortal court. Year by year the firing times add and open gateways (pass after pass in the body); gaze toward Mount Peng and your spirit soars—cauldron and furnace shift; from embryo to infant to sage, you ascend in order.

Section 10

Listen to the mountain person: within the subtle principles of nurturing life there is much delight. Do you know what master or immortal your everyday heart truly longs for? The Pure Yang Hermit (titles like Lü Dongbin)—spirit bold—points out that the listener must discern true lineage and teacher, and not merely chase empty names.

When mountain Daoists speak of the subtle principles of nurturing life, one finds much delight in what they say. I cannot help but ask: in your heart day to day, whom do you most revere—which master, which immortal?

First there is the Pure Yang Hermit, Old Chen Tuan (Chen Tuan, the celebrated Daoist adept of the Five Dynasties period)—a transcendent who wandered freely through that age of turmoil. With his clapper board and fishing tube (common implements or daily companions of Daoist wanderers), he found joy in himself; however chaotic the world outside, his mind stayed at peace.

And which immortal master did he follow? In the late Yuan there was a loyal subject who took the name Sanfeng (Zhang Sanfeng). At the end of the Yuan he vanished into hiding and did not reappear until the realm was largely settled again; free as drifting clouds and flowing water, he took lofty pines as his companions and his delight.

As for our own lineage: the Daoist lyric poems of the Hermit of Hidden Void (the author’s title or self-designation in this scripture) set out the full intent in twenty-four chapters. In Mount Changyi there was nothing else to do—strike the fish drum once and sing one lyric.

Settling the Mind · Daoist Lyric for Easing the Heart

If you wish to cultivate to the rank of Great Luo immortal, you must refine the mind. Do not idle over fame and office; do not be tugged by profit and salary. Even if gossamer-thin stray thoughts arise, burn them away with the fire of steadfast concentration until your original nature shows plain. When one end rises, the other breaks; you only see decrease, never increase. However the heart-monkey rages and the will-horse runs, still practice inner work—fix attention on the Dantian (energy center), guard the true breath, seek clarity and natural ease, enter the obscure void, and draw forth auspicious mist. When the Crimson Palace (the middle Dantian region) tingles and the four limbs grow soft and limp, that is the true secret of subduing the dragon and slaying the serpent—the method passed down through generations among humans. Revealing heaven’s secrets is not sold for silver; wealthy disciples may bring gifts and be accepted, poor ones rely wholly on affinity—they are sincere, and I remain incorrupt.

I have dug my well for three years now; I meant to do some meritorious work and karmic ties, but fate is perverse and the times are hard—the household withers and even a hero’s spirit shortens; matters of the alchemy couch are entirely beyond me. I only hope that one day the winds and clouds rise again, then I will let go and wander free, returning to the sea and mountains.

On Mind and Spirit

(This section title follows; the text attached under it appears unfinished. Read together with the preceding “Settling the Mind,” it still concerns refining mind, guarding breath, and reducing thoughts—taking heart-monkey and will-horse as warnings and the true breath at the Dantian as foundation.)

On the Heart at the Opening

When the inner mind is clear and bright, outer affairs still come in thick and fast; when spirit is kept within and held in stillness, the root nature stays secure and solid (without forced effort, true qi naturally gathers). So the ancients took “the spirit that is not spirit” as the real spirit—not seeking the strange outside, but guarding the ordinary and the movement within stillness.

Song on Nourishing the Heart

Sweep away resentment, anger, and desire; though it is not easy, you must do it. When the heart is steady, the body will be steady. Clear moonlight shines on water at rest; a cool breeze circles the corridor. Once Buddhist principle is penetrated, vexation grows less; once immortal’s words are understood, you have settled insight. For long, keep thought gathered in the chest—walking alone, sitting alone, pacing alone.

Three Songs on Emptiness

First

Doing it is easy; truly attaining it is hard. Apart from the one meaning of “emptiness,” there is no need to forge elixir outside. If the world asks where the cauldron is settled (in alchemical metaphor, where fire and mind are anchored), the realm within is wider than heaven.

Second

Liking it is easy; delighting in it is hard. Apart from emptiness, do not seek elixir outside. If people seek where the “living medicine” lies (in Neidan, a figure for true essence), the gourd within (the dantian, the inner realm) was always the immortals’ altar.

Third

Gaining it is easy; holding it is hard. Apart from emptiness, there is no need to form golden elixir outside. If people seek where “life is established” (rooting nature and life), from start to finish it is all one continuous round of work (fire phases linked head to tail).

Song on Cultivating the Elixir

Massage, guiding qi, and such—easy to learn, hard to master; the great way of the golden elixir is hard to meet a clear teacher for, yet relatively easier to practice. Holding to the path is also not easy, but by this one may seek long life: take heaven and earth as measure, and temper nature and disposition. Nature and disposition interact like an empty valley returning sound. Effects change; the key is stillness and clarity. When the heart is clear, qi is naturally clear; below, it is as if thunder rolls. Thunder shakes heaven and earth; the “second watch” (Neidan: the juncture of water and fire, lead and mercury) joins with true essence. Dragon and tiger contend once (yinyang coupling); in the “field” (the central palace, dantian) peace is fixed. The three yang open ten thousand openings; gather medicine to the central camp (around the middle dantian). From here the “ten months” (nourishing the spirit embryo like gestation); gentle fire nurtures the infant spirit. Split open the mud-pill crown (the crown aperture); wander free up to the jade capital (the highest realm, paradise).

On Speaking with Others of the Art of Not Dying

(This title stands alone in the original; the text does not continue. The gist is discourse with others on the way of long life without death.)

Inner Treatise of the Round Peak

In antiquity, what was meant by “not dying” was that Shen (spirit) need not be extinguished—not that the physical body would never decay. When spirit attains this “non-death,” one becomes a xian (immortal). When ordinary people die, their spirit disperses; when immortals die, their bodies may perish but their spirit can remain. Between preservation and loss lies a gulf as wide as heaven and earth; immortals and common folk were never on the same footing.

There are also long-lived elders in the world who see many seasons. Yet as old age closes in, their awareness often dims and their true nature grows obscure; craving wells up without end, and their resolve daily weakens. Before the body has died, mind and body are already in disorder; they are muddled about the causes of their present life as well. One need not wait for a next life—right now they are already sinking in decline.

Who can hold to extraordinary arts, dwell in quiet, and refine and nourish the Yuanshen (primordial spirit)? Even if they still cannot escape physical death, their spiritual nature alone can rise above the dusty world and roam freely between heaven and earth—like Dongbin playing the flute as he wanders.

Lament on the Barrier of Lust

For ages, the deeply deluded have cherished beauty as they cherish flowers; the most foolish have desire without limit. When desire runs wild, lust inevitably harms the person, like a gale stripping blossoms from the woods. The Guofeng (Airs of the States) stops at sensuality and still keeps a measure of grace; those who wallow in lust are of a kind with swine. Those who mix lust with cultivation—debauched and ruined—are a cause for sighing.

Better to follow the ancients: some renounce desire to refine cinnabar; some see the Dao within desire itself. How marvelous Zhang Guolao, who took his wife and planted melons in the garden; how wondrous Yi Yongchang, who with his wife sang in harmony amid clouds and rosy light. Both worthies had radiant partners at their side, yet outsiders sighed that they were cold in affection—because the zhiren (perfected person) is originally without craving; the root of lust is severed, like a wicked sword cut in two. I revere the immortals of old who took a xiannü (immortal maiden) as “wife and home”—a figure for true nature and spiritual consort, not something measurable by vulgar passion.

Those Who Study the Dao Should Renounce Desire

The Great Elixir uses “furnace and cauldron” as a metaphor for warming and nurturing the medicinal ingredients—not as an instruction to go out and buy real vessels. Ordinary people miss the meaning, slander piles up: this is the fault of clinging to the letter. I playfully imitate that language to clarify the point for those stuck in one corner:

Fourteen ounces of Dui metal—fit to serve as the immortal’s cauldron; take the lead within Gui, to repair what is depleted in my body. Red silk nurtures the true; the dantian chamber is a fine vessel. When the work is done, discard it all, and consult in turn with fellow cultivators.

(The lines above mean: borrowing names such as yin-yang, lead, and mercury to speak of gathering and replenishing the body’s jing (essence) and qi, warming and nurturing the true nature; when the work is complete, the “vessel” is cast aside, and one compares notes with companions on the path.)

There was once an employer’s young man, in the prime of youth… (the original text is defective here; the sense is: if one takes “cauldron,” “lead,” and “matching companions” as instructions for bedroom arts, one has taken the wrong road.)

Note: In the base text, the passage “When old age closes in… one need not wait for a next life” appears twice; after “one need not wait for a next life” there are also missing characters. The above is a plain-language clarification of what survives in the manuscript only; missing text is not supplied.

The poems and lyrics in The Inner Chapters of Yuanqiao convey their meaning through the Dao (the Way) of alchemy and self-cultivation.

In the first piece: Dui (one of the Bagua, Eight Trigrams, and belonging to Metal), and Metal, can serve as the immortal cauldron; one takes the “lead” in Gui water (a Neidan, internal alchemy, metaphor for the true Yang within Kan) to replenish the losses in the body. Red silk protects and nurtures the true nature; the vessels in the elixir chamber are clean. When the work is accomplished, one should not cling to the vessels but choose fellow cultivators to examine one another. The young man of the eastern household is intelligent and can reverse Kan and Li (the mutual interaction of water and fire, Yin-Yang); his temperament is harmonious. This is a metaphor for the spiritual father and spiritual mother (innate Yin-Yang), who hide together in a grotto-heaven; when the Dao is accomplished, the whole family becomes immortal, and Daluo Heaven receives and guides them.

Harmonizing with Mr. Ma Bicheng’s Rhyme on “Flourishing Within Decline”: As Hai ends and Zi arrives, early winter first sees spring; one Yang returns (at the winter solstice, Yang Qi, vital energy, first arises), and all things contain the new. Snow-covered mountains and rivers are bright, and the atmosphere of frosty skies is pure and true; in the cold garden the fruit ripens, and the orange wine reveals the full Shen (spirit). This is a metaphor for Yang arising at the extreme of Yin and flourishing contained within decline.

Great Awakening at Dawn: Worldly affairs do not go as one wishes; returning, one chants poems; it is fitting to cultivate oneself alone—my Dao is not off course. Spring swallows come early; in the cold night roosters crow; the celestial phenomena are vivid and true; in the cold garden the fruit ripens, and the orange wine reveals the full Shen. Another poem describes spring swallows returning early and cold roosters crowing late; the morning star is as large as a bowl, and few people know the celestial phenomena.

After the Double Ninth, Inviting the Disciples to Visit Muyi Abbey: The green colors are vast and hazy; clapping hands and singing, we ascend to the high Daoist temple; may all beings enter the realm of longevity, and may the immortal spring scatter for the elderly a life-prolonging pure fragrance.

Staying at Lei Yangzheng’s Home on the Double Ninth: On the Double Ninth, fine rain is like silk; in Yangzheng’s hall we raise our cups; the jade-like wine intoxicates, yet fine words seldom contain true understanding. Only you and I are of the same tune; sitting knee to knee and speaking heart-to-heart, wondrous words emerge; when shall we ride white cranes together and seek lingzhi beneath Qingcheng Mountain (a famous Daoist mountain)?

Man Jiang Hong, First Form: Clapping and singing aloud, I sigh that people in the world are as brief as lamp flames and candles; passing through birth and death in vain, what is the conclusion? In the arena of fame and profit they fight in vain; when the debt of poetry and books is full, they seek the elixir formula. I ask the master: when will you roam the sea and sky? Allow me to say: draw near to the immortal lingzhi.

Clapping Hands and Singing Loudly (First Style of Man Jiang Hong)

Clapping hands and singing aloud, I lament that people are as brief as lamp and candle, laugh at lives wasted and deaths in vain—what can one gather in the end? The arena of fame and profit is vast, yet much of it is empty struggle; burdened by poetry and books, the face still wears the look of one seeking elixir and immortality. I ask the master: when may we roam sea and sky? Hear me: while parents live, it is hard to leave home; affection weighs heaviest, ties hardest to break. First loosen the bridle of reputation and return for a time to the thatched hut; use millet and beans to bring joy, till the green fields; raise a mountain cup for longevity, load yellow chrysanthemums for company. Wait until I have served my white-haired parents through and through—then I will decide.

Man Jiang Hong, Second Style

I ask you, men of renown: what is cultivating immortality and Buddhahood? You must first penetrate the Confucian classics—then I will speak in detail. Nourish nature and preserve the heart, embracing the subtle Dao; cultivate body and establish life, transmitting the true formula. Only by nurturing the returning elixir within haoran upright Qi can one ride the dragon and emerge. Heaven’s fortune is peaceful, the worthy are nurtured; the ruler’s way flourishes, talented ministers appear. We laugh at our own slackness—why offer jade and torment ourselves? Who can monopolize fame under heaven? Human waves are boundless and perilous. Better to retire early to the mountains, support parents in time, and withdraw while you can.

Man Jiang Hong, Third Style (Examination Essays)

Examination essays (eight-legged essays for the civil service) are nothing but dregs of the Six Classics; add oily rhetoric and where is the truth? Groveling to fashion is laughable; hunger for fame—how urgent! Rise to high office and build the family through poetry. From the first, the direction is wrong; once power is in hand, gain through greed; treat coppers as weighty and throw soldiers and people away lightly. Though upright officials may distinguish righteousness from profit, without money for tribute they become enemies instead. See how hard it is for our generation to leave the world—busy packing up.

Nine Characters of the Great Western Lineage

The Western Way penetrates; the great river flows east; sea and sky are one. (Nine-character formula summarizing the Western lineage’s great Way—unimpeded, like the Yangtze eastward, sea and sky equally vast.)

Patriarch Lü’s Inscription

The great river’s first ancestor is Pure Yang (Lü Dongbin)—nine revolutions of the elixir complete, Dao-breath flourishing. Today’s transmission of the heart has no other words: may each of you steer the boat of compassion (delivering with mercy, reaching the Dao shore together).