《天乐集》Vol. 7

Summary of This Passage from Tianle Ji (in plain language)

When Zihua was enjoying rich meat and fine silk, a fire broke out in the Fan household’s stores. Zihua announced that whoever entered the flames to retrieve brocade would be rewarded according to how much they brought out. Shangqiu Kai did not change expression; he went into the fire and back, with no soot on his body and no burn on his skin. The Fan clan took him for one who had attained the Way and apologized together, saying they had not known he had the Way and had slighted him, had not known he was a spirit-like person and had insulted him, and asked him to forgive their foolishness, deafness, and blindness—and to tell them where his Way lay.

Shangqiu Kai replied: “I have no Way; I cannot even make it clear to myself. Still, there is one thing I can try to tell you. Earlier, when your two retainers lodged at my home, I heard them praise the Fan clan’s power—to make the living die and the dead live, the rich poor and the poor rich. I believed it wholeheartedly and came from afar. When I arrived, I saw that everything they said was true; I only feared my sincerity was not deep enough and my practice not thorough enough. I did not know where to place my body or where benefit and harm lay—I simply kept my mind single-pointedly, without clashing with outer things, and that was all. Only today do I learn you once deceived me: inwardly I harbored doubt, outwardly I watched and listened, hoping by luck not to be burned to death as before—then inner heat, trembling, and fear arose. How could fire and water draw near again!” From then on, when Fan disciples met beggars or horse doctors on the road, they dared not insult them and would dismount to bow.

Zai Wo reported this to Confucius. Confucius said: “Do you still not understand? A person of utmost sincerity can move things—stir Heaven and earth and touch ghosts and spirits, pass through the six directions without obstruction—not merely tread danger, enter fire, or plunge into water. Shangqiu Kai, with feigned sincerity, still did not oppose things; how much more when both sides are genuine! My young friend, remember this!”

Commentary (on the latter half of the original)

This passage treats perfect sincerity (zhicheng) as responsive communion, all because the light of the mind is gathered and pure, concentrated sincerity is single-minded. When a cultivator’s huohou (the timing and measure of breath, spirit, and energy in practice) reaches this point, forming the elixir (jiedan) becomes possible. That Shangqiu Kai could throw himself to the ground unhurt, swim without drowning, and enter fire without scorching is because when body and mind do not stir, affairs follow principle and blend, and nothing can oppose him—the very meaning of “the harmonizer enters into great unity with things” (merging with things in the great whole, without mutual violation). The power of sincerity can be called utmost.

Eighty · Wisdom Surpasses All

Scripture Text

“Sincerity” (cheng) means the mind is single-pointed and undivided, with no second thought arising—this belongs to concentration power (ding li). When concentration reaches its utmost, insight naturally appears, and unobstructed wisdom (wutong zhi, wisdom that penetrates without hindrance) comes forth; this is wisdom power (hui li, the power of wisdom that arises from concentration).

Zhuangzi says: “When correctness is settled, there is stillness; in stillness there is clarity; in clarity there is emptiness.” It also says: “‘This’ and ‘that’ cannot be paired as fixed opposites—this is called the pivot of the Dao; the pivot first finds the center of the circle, so as to respond to the inexhaustible. ‘Is’ is one inexhaustibility, ‘is not’ is also one inexhaustibility—therefore it is said: nothing surpasses making the mind luminous.” It also says: “When one follows the ears and eyes inward and connects within, while turning outward from the mind’s knowing, ghosts and spirits will come to dwell—how much more so people! This is the transformation of the ten thousand things.” It also says: “Only after one has gone beyond birth can one achieve ‘morning clarity’; after morning clarity one can see the Alone; after seeing the Alone one can be without past and present; without past and present one can enter what neither is born nor dies.”

Commentary

“Luminous,” “penetrating,” and “clear through” are all states in which wisdom manifests. “Luminous” means light shines from within the mind and roundly illumines the myriad dharmas—this is the subtle clarity of root wisdom (ben zhi, wisdom inherent in oneself): with root wisdom one harmonizes with every realm, embraces every realm, without obstruction or stagnation. Realm and wisdom interpenetrate; self and things are equally such—thus one can follow or reverse, turn or shift, slaying and reviving as the moment requires (sha huo sui shi, gathering in or releasing out as circumstances call for), always fitting the occasion. This is the subtle function of the center of the circle (huan zhong, the pivot of the Dao at the heart of the ring—a metaphor for not clinging to either side); responding to things, one can transform without limit. In the “Great Master” chapter this is also called “gazing into clarity” (zhan ming)—it refers to this same subtle luminosity.

When the ears and eyes turn inward and interconnect, one can fully realize and enter the One Mind; when one no longer clings outside the mind to discriminative “knowing,” one can leave behind the false knowing produced by the delusive discriminations of the six consciousnesses associated with the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind. This is the state in which genuine wisdom truly arises: one may see without necessarily using the eyes, and hear without necessarily using the ears; the six faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) recover their original function, the heterogeneous returns to the same, numinous light illumines alone, and one is far removed from roots and defilements—this is what is called “true knowing” (zhenzhi).

The Zhuangzi says: “First there is the True Person, and then there is true knowing”; it also says, “not knowing, and then knowing.” Guan Yinzi says: “Knowing yet forgetting affect, able yet not doing—only this is true knowing and true capacity.” Note: the phrase “knowing yet forgetting affect” deeply accords with the Surangama Sutra’s “in seeing and knowing, no seeing—this is nirvana, the undefiled true purity”; the phrase “not knowing, and then knowing” also keenly matches what Chan calls “the first clarity of the skull before consciousness and eyes”—indeed the crux of profound Xuanzong wisdom, and the destination of the mind-ground dharma gate in Laozi and Zhuangzi. Hence Master Sanping’s verse: “This very seeing and hearing is not mind-hearing; no remaining color or sound can be shown you; if within this one penetrates and all affairs are utterly still, essence and function unobstructed—divide or not divide.” Master Miaozheng said: “Within seeing, seeing cuts off seeing and hearing—only then can one be named as having great rest.” Master Ziyang said: “Facing states yet the mind can be without mind—then one first sees the face of bodhi.” All are the profound purport of “knowing yet forgetting affect.” Such clear, clear seeing of nature is genuine wisdom, also called suchness-wisdom, undefiled wisdom, unmoving wisdom, all-wisdom, self-awakened holy wisdom. The Lotus Sutra says the Tathagata appears in the world “to open, show, awaken, and enter the Buddha’s knowing and seeing”—that too speaks of this layer of “true knowing.”

This passage from the Avatamsaka Sutra, “Chapter on Leaving the World,” describes several kinds of discriminative wisdom (wisdom that discerns and knows diverse situations) and wisdom that arises with each thought (immediate awareness and knowing that accompanies each moment of mind) that bodhisattvas (Mahayana practitioners who vow to awaken all beings) possess, and the states that can be realized by abiding in these dharmas.

I. The Ten Kinds of Discriminative Wisdom

The sutra states that bodhisattvas have ten kinds of discriminative wisdom. What are the ten?

Wisdom that knows the differences among sentient beings—knowing that all beings differ in capacity, preferences, suffering and joy, aspirations, and the like. Wisdom that knows the differences among the faculties—knowing the distinctions among the six faculties (the six cognitive powers: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and their objects, in fineness, coarseness, sharpness, dullness, and so on. Wisdom that knows the differences in karmic retribution—knowing the countless differences in the three karmas (actions of body, speech, and mind) and their fruits (the results wrought by wholesome and unwholesome deeds). Wisdom that knows the differences in modes of birth—knowing how beings take birth and the conditions that differ across the six destinies, the four modes of birth, and the like. Wisdom that knows the differences among worlds—knowing the forms and distinctions of measureless worlds, lands, and environmental realms (the “dependent” aspect of existence). Wisdom that knows the differences among buddhas—knowing that buddhas differ in names, pure lands, conditions they teach, and skillful means, while in reality there is no second buddha. Wisdom that knows the differences among dharmas—knowing the distinctions in essence, characteristics, and cause-and-effect among all dharmas (all existents and phenomena). Wisdom that knows the differences through the three times—knowing how phenomena flow and how cause and effect continue in the past, present, and future. Wisdom that knows the differences in all paths of language—knowing differences in speech, dialect, and doctrinal expression among beings, yet penetrating their meaning.

The sutra says that if bodhisattvas abide in this dharma (steadily uphold and practice these teachings), they can realize the Tathāgata’s (one of the ten epithets of a buddha, meaning “thus come”) supreme, vast discriminative wisdom—the ultimate wisdom of a buddha that embraces all distinctions.

II. The Ten “Wisdom That Arises with Each Thought” (Excerpt)

The sutra further states that bodhisattvas have ten kinds of wisdom that arises with each thought (wisdom present with each thought, not sought from outside), for example:

Knowing the measureless distinctions of all worlds; knowing that all sentient beings are inconceivable; knowing the wisdom whereby one enters the many and the many enter one (one dharma contains all dharmas, and all dharmas converge in one principle); knowing the vastness of the entire dharmadhātu (the totality of reality as dependently arisen); knowing the ultimate extent of all realms of space; knowing the relation of all worlds to the past, present, and future; knowing that the measureless practices and vows (cultivation and resolve) of all tathāgatas are complete in a single wisdom; knowing that buddhas of the three times share one path to liberation, and so forth.

If bodhisattvas abide in this dharma, they attain self-mastery and luminous clarity in all dharmas, their aspirations can be fulfilled in a single thought, and in the briefest time they can comprehend all buddha-dharma and accomplish perfect, complete enlightenment (the ultimate awakening identical with that of a buddha).

III. The Ten “Wisdoms Born from Within” (Opening Lines)

The sutra again states that bodhisattvas have ten kinds of wisdom born from within (wisdom arising from original awakening that dispels ignorance). The names are listed in continuation in the sutra (this segment only raises the question “what are the ten?”).

Summary

In the “Chapter on Leaving the World,” the Avatamsaka uses formulations such as the ten discriminative wisdoms, the ten wisdoms that arise with each thought, and the ten wisdoms born from within to show that Mahayana bodhisattvas must not only leave the world (not cling to worldly appearances yet act with compassion and wisdom to save beings), but also use discriminative wisdom to illuminate differences among beings, worlds, and dharmas, while unifying them in one wisdom, until they accord with the Tathāgata’s supreme, vast discriminative wisdom. Abiding in these dharmas is progress toward self-mastery, fulfillment of vows, and perfect enlightenment.

This passage explains two kinds of “ten” that bodhisattvas possess: first, the ten kinds of birth wisdom, and second, the ten kinds of ocean-like wisdom—wisdom as vast and deep as the sea, namely the wisdom of anuttarā-samyak-saṃbodhi (unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment).

The ten kinds of birth wisdom are: wisdom that arises from knowing how all sentient beings appear in the process of gaining liberation from bondage; wisdom that arises from knowing the various distinctions among all buddha-lands; wisdom that arises from knowing the ten directions of worlds as interwoven like a net; wisdom that arises from knowing how all worlds, whether above or below, come into being; wisdom that arises from knowing that although all dharmas share one essence, they manifest diverse natures and abide in vast expanse; wisdom that arises from knowing all kinds of bodily marks; wisdom that arises from knowing that all dharmas ultimately rely on the single path (the one gate of liberation) to go beyond; wisdom that arises from knowing that the Tathāgata’s spiritual power can enter the entire dharmadhātu; wisdom that arises from knowing that the roots of Buddhahood (buddha-nature as the direct cause of awakening) in all sentient beings throughout the three times continue without break—these together make ten. When a bodhisattva abides in this teaching, there is no dharma toward which they do not penetrate clearly.

The scripture further states that bodhisattvas possess ten kinds of ocean-like wisdom. The first: the ability to enter the measureless realm of all sentient beings. The second: the ability to enter all worlds without making discriminations. The third: knowing that all realms of space are measureless and unobstructed, and pervading the net of all distinct worlds in the ten directions. The fourth: skillfully entering the dharmadhātu—including entry without obstruction, unbroken entry, entry beyond ordinary limits, measureless entry, entry into non-arising, entry into non-ceasing, and entry into all modes—and fully knowing all of these; this is the fourth ocean-like wisdom. The fifth: knowing all roots of merit gathered, being gathered, and about to be gathered by all bodhisattvas, buddhas, dharma masters, śrāvakas, and pratyekabuddhas in the past, present, and future, as well as by all ordinary beings; knowing all roots of merit through which buddhas of the three times have attained, are attaining, and will attain unsurpassed complete perfect enlightenment; knowing all roots of merit in the teachings by which buddhas of the three times have taught, are teaching, and will teach in order to tame sentient beings—knowing all of this is the fifth ocean-like wisdom.

Great Bodhisattvas, in each single thought, can enter past aeons beyond number. Within one kalpa there may appear ten billion Buddhas, a hundred trillion Buddhas, or Buddhas so many they are innumerable, immeasurable, boundless, unequaled, uncountable, unthinkable, beyond measure, beyond words—even “unspeakable, unspeakable” in number, surpassing all reckoning—appearing in succession in the same kalpa or in various kalpas. The Bodhisattva knows not only how many such Buddhas there are, but also clearly knows, for each Buddha: where that Buddha attained awakening, what assemblies gathered at the bodhimanda, the hosts of śrāvakas and Bodhisattvas, how the Dharma was taught to tame beings, how long beings lived, and how long the true Dharma remained—none of this is unclear. It is as if one kalpa were seen plainly; the same applies to all kalpas.

In kalpas without Buddhas, the Bodhisattva also fully knows which beings have planted roots of goodness toward unsurpassed complete awakening, and which beings’ roots of goodness have ripened so that in a future life they will be able to see a Buddha. Contemplating past kalpas beyond speech and beyond speech in this way, the mind still does not weary or feel it is enough. This is called the sixth kind of ocean-like wisdom.

Great Bodhisattvas can also enter the future and discern separately all immeasurable and boundless kalpas: in which kalpa there is a Buddha, in which there is none, how many Tathāgatas appear in a kalpa; for each Tathāgata, what the name is, in which world they dwell, what that world is called, how many beings they liberate, how long their lifespan is—observing thus until the end of the future, all is known. Though it cannot be exhausted, there is still no weariness. This is called the seventh kind of ocean-like wisdom.

Bodhisattvas—practitioners who vow the great resolve and work to liberate all beings—enter this present life and, in every thought, reflect and contemplate in this way: they see universally the immeasurable, boundless, innumerable worlds of every kind; in each world there are Buddhas—some who have already attained anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (supreme perfect enlightenment), some who are attaining it, and some who will attain it in the future. They go to the place of awakening, sit on auspicious grass beneath the bodhi tree, subdue Māra’s armies, and realize anuttara-samyak-sambodhi. From that moment on they enter cities and villages, ascend to the heavens, proclaim the subtle Dharma, turn the great Dharma wheel, display spiritual powers, tame beings, and even entrust the Dharma of supreme bodhi to those who come after; when their life is exhausted they enter parinirvana. After nirvana, the Dharma treasury is compiled so the teaching may long abide in the world; stūpas are adorned and every kind of offering is made.

They also see the beings in those worlds: meeting the Buddha, hearing the Dharma, receiving and reciting it, remembering and contemplating it, their wisdom and understanding grow. The bodhisattva contemplates in this way, manifesting everywhere in the ten directions without error regarding the Buddha-Dharma; entering every kalpa without weariness—this is called the eighth wisdom like the ocean.

Bodhisattvas, in kalpas beyond counting, in each kalpa make offerings and show reverence to Buddhas beyond counting; they manifest their bodies, dying here and being born there, and with offerings that surpass the three realms they honor the Buddhas, and likewise make offerings to bodhisattvas, śrāvakas (voice-hearer disciples), and the whole assembly. After each Thus-Come One enters nirvana, they honor the relics with the highest offerings, practice generous giving on a vast scale, and fulfill the needs of beings and the Buddha’s sons.

Bodhisattvas, with a mind beyond conception, a mind that seeks no reward, an ultimate mind, and a mind rich in benefit to others, for kalpas beyond counting pursue anuttara-samyak-sambodhi: they make offerings to the Buddhas, benefit beings, protect the true Dharma, and open and expound the teaching—this is called the ninth wisdom like the ocean.

Plain-Language Reading of Tianle Ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy)

The Bodhisattva and “Wisdom Like the Ocean” (the Tenth Kind)

To seek anuttara-samyak-sambodhi—the supreme perfect enlightenment—a bodhisattva, through aeons beyond counting, makes offerings to buddhas, benefits sentient beings, protects the true dharma, and expounds the teaching. That is the ninth kind of “wisdom like the ocean.”

Before one buddha, one bodhisattva, or one dharma teacher, the bodhisattva single-mindedly seeks whatever the bodhisattvas teach: how to learn, how to teach, how to practice, how to purify, and the dharma of zongchi—the power that gathers and holds the essentials of all teachings. Having received the teaching, they uphold it, recite it, and explain it in detail, never feeling they have enough. They lead countless beings to a mind that matches all-wisdom, enter the mark of true suchness, and advance toward supreme perfect enlightenment without falling back. To go on in this way through aeons beyond counting, never weary—that is the tenth kind of “wisdom like the ocean.”

Disciples of the Buddha, these are the bodhisattva’s ten kinds of “wisdom like the ocean,” each aligned with supreme perfect enlightenment. If a bodhisattva dwells in this teaching, they can reach the supreme great ocean of wisdom of all buddhas.

The Sutra of the Six Paramitas says: with wisdom as the root, the sprouts of good dharmas grow; buddhahood and great bodhi are nothing but what wisdom completes.

From this we see that the buddha’s wisdom stands above all else. Immortals who attained the Dao since the Song and Yuan—such as Zhang Sanfeng, the Ziyang Realized One, and the Miaoyi Realized One—also fully awakened to the one mind, wondrously matched the true mark, and truly entered wisdom; they can be mentioned alongside the patriarchs of Chan.

81. Letting Go Is the Hardest

The Outline of Immortals and Deities records that the Mysterious Emperor (True Warrior / Zhenwu Dadi) succeeded in the Dao and ascended at the “cliff of abandoning the body” on Wudang Mountain—showing learners what “shedding the body” means.

Laozi teaches “put the body outside; put the self behind”—that is the sense of shedding the body.

Master Tan (Tan Qiao, author of the Book of Transformation) speaks of “forgetting form”—the same thread as “letting go is the hardest”: to set down the bodily form and the grip on “I” is often the hardest gate in cultivation.

The Shenxian Gangmu (Outline of Immortals and Deities) records that Xuan Di (Zhenwu Datiandi, the True Warrior Emperor) completed his cultivation on Wudang Mountain and ascended from She Shen Cliff (“Cliff of Surrendering the Body”)—showing adepts the essential meaning of she shen (surrendering the body). Laozi’s teaching “putting his body outside, yet his body is preserved” and “putting himself last, yet he is placed first” likewise expresses the principle of surrendering the body. Master Tan spoke of “forgetting form, forgetting Qi, forgetting Shen”—work in the same direction on surrendering the body. Sadly, people in the world cling too fiercely; they cannot even let go of possessions outside the body, still less this fleshly frame. My late master deeply regretted this and therefore wrote Santiao Yiguan (Three Teachings in One Thread), instructing everywhere that one must relinquish this acquired physical body and turn to the void outside the body to nourish Shen and regulate the breath.

Yiguan · Zongshuo says: “The great path of the Golden Elixir depends entirely on this one move—the void outside the body; if a single thought settles on the acquired physical body, one is off by a hair’s breadth and the elixir cannot form.” My late master also once told me: “Speaking to the ultimate, to say only that it has nothing to do with this physical body is still superficial; the work must reach a point of no entanglement whatsoever with heart, knowing, intention, and consciousness—only then is it truly pre-heaven. Not only the physical form must be surrendered—mind and consciousness must be surrendered too. One must reach great stillness and true stillness, the state in which body and mind are both empty, before one can accord with the deep meaning of ‘putting his body outside, yet his body is preserved,’ personally verify ‘what precedes the image of the Lord,’ and penetrate to the far shore of Weiyin. When practice reaches this, returning to youth is as easy as turning the palm over.”

When our late master answered Meng Junhan on the meaning of “shedding the body” (she shen), he said: “Those two words are what matter most. Let me explain again for you. Anyone who studies the Dao must first let go of clinging to the ‘form body’—this visible flesh that must decay—before they can realize the ‘Dharma body,’ the formless yet real innate true body. The form body has shape and must perish in the end; the Dharma body has no shape and alone is real. If you do not release the acquired form body, the innate Dharma body cannot rise and transform. The classics say: when the heart dies, the spirit (Shen) lives; when the knowing spirit (shishen)—postnatal thinking—is extinguished, the original spirit (yuanshen), innate true nature, appears. Laozi says: ‘Putting oneself last, one comes first; going outside oneself, one’s body endures’; he also says: ‘Going outside oneself, one’s body is cultivated; forgetting the form, spirit and form are both wondrous’; and again: ‘The great trouble is that I have a body; when I have no body, what trouble have I?’ Confucius said: ‘If I hear the Dao in the morning, I may die in the evening without regret.’ Patriarch Lü said: ‘Having been born, kill that birth; before you are dead, learn to die—then you attain long life.’ Bai Yuxian said: ‘Half a sentence opens the mystery—why read thousands of pages of elixir scriptures? If you are not enslaved by form, the Great Gossamer Heaven is right before your eyes.’ The worst mistake on the path is to practice on the form body and be dragged about by the flesh.

To put it plainly: whenever you apply yourself in cultivation, the moment you notice even the slightest flicker or pulse in the body, you must at once turn outward to ‘heart and breath interdependence’—uniting heart and breath so that mind and intent do not stick inward to bodily sensations. That is the true secret of the words ‘shedding the body.’ Hence the True Lord of Empty Stillness said: ‘Let him be, let him have his way, pay him no mind—he is he; what can he do to me?’ Think that over carefully. Countless elixir scriptures warn you to guard against danger. What danger is there on the path? The danger is this: if during practice you feel any pulse in the body and do not immediately turn outward to heart and breath interdependence, that is serious danger; persist and grave illness may follow. If you know to turn outward at once, there is no danger.

This passage comes from oral teachings on neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. Its main point is that in practice you must bind heart and breath together, and that you should begin and end with this union “outside the body”—not letting even a hair’s breadth of attention cling to the se body (the visible, tangible fleshly body).

The author first says that even if you have previously leaked (loss of vital essence, often referring to seminal emission), once or twice or three or four times, you need not be overly afraid; with long persistence, the habit of leakage will gradually disappear—this he verified in his own experience.

He also stresses that when wandering thoughts (yousi, drifting mental fragments) arise and fade, it is often because one does not know to practice “outward” heart-and-breath union immediately and urgently—which is dangerous. From now on, whenever you sit in daily practice:

• At the slightest thread, hair, or instant of wandering thought, at once practice outward heart-and-breath union;
• At the slightest thread, hair, or instant of inner stirring, jumping qi, or pleasant ease in the body, all the more practice outward heart-and-breath union at once;
• At the slightest line, hair, or instant of yang arousal (movement in the male organ), whether more firm or more soft, likewise at once practice outward heart-and-breath union.

Practicing thus for about three months, body and mind will naturally settle, qi and blood will naturally harmonize, leakage will naturally tend to cease, and results come quickly—do not underestimate this. The author says that in more than twenty years of arduous seeking for a teacher, the essential oral instruction he obtained was largely this one method.

He adds that seeing someone clutch at words and fix on the physical body (like grasping the trap instead of the rabbit, or clinging mud to the form body) is regrettable, so he speaks plainly: the great path of the Golden Elixir must be consistent from start to finish—opening with heart-and-breath union outside the body, closing with heart-and-breath union outside the body. Hence the myriad alchemy texts all speak of utmost simplicity and ease; yet if even one hair’s breadth falls on the se body, it is no longer utmost simplicity and ease. Finally he urges: on receiving this letter, in practice you must quickly “leave the body” (not fix on bodily appearances, not take inner sensations as the goal).

In such lineages, “outward heart-and-breath union” usually means that heart and breath are not anchored in the dantian or in inner feelings, but rest together on some object outside the body or in empty space, so as not to follow inner movement, inner bliss, or yang arousal into leakage or fixation on form—the concrete method of contemplation is transmitted by the master; here only the intent is translated.

In the Qing dynasty, Chan master Jialin Yin wrote in Essentials of the Mirror of the School that to truly penetrate “investigation,” the key is doubt—you must keep that great doubt alive and press yourself to look deeply. When the doubt breaks open and investigation is through, the next step is to let go of that very “work of investigating.” From all seeing, hearing, feeling, and knowing, on through wisdom, merit, and marks of excellence—if there is one thing you still cannot release, one thing is still not complete; if there is one thing you still cling to, one place is still not all-pervading. So in practice people often speak of two layers of work: first doubt, then relinquishment. Raising doubt is relatively easy; after breaking through, being willing to relinquish utterly is hardest.

The ancients spent a lifetime in arduous practice and would not quit halfway because they would not deceive their own hearts.

The Song master Yuanwu Ke also said: A true great teacher and friend of the Way only allows students to put down views and knowing, leaving not a thread or a hair in the chest, open and plain as the great empty sky; only when this is long sustained and ripe is it the local scenery, the original face. He also said: In walking, standing, sitting, and lying down, there is no place that is not penetrated; thing after thing, head after head, without gap—this is called “dry-white, pure-dew clarity”—only illuminating one’s own mind. But you cannot merely guard this state; the moment you guard it you fall into a rut and it becomes dead dharma. You must courageously cut it off and relinquish to the full; the more you relinquish, the clearer; the more you relinquish, the nearer. Staking your life on it, relinquishing even your life, is “cutting off breath, a dead person”—only then can you speak of upward practice. Only the person himself knows this; knowing it, you still cannot take that “knowing” and stand on it. Shakyamuni, Maitreya, Manjushri, Samantabhadra, Deshan, Linji—they would not dare look straight at it either—is that not extraordinary?

Brief notes

• Investigate / break through investigation (can / canpo): In Chan, to keep pressing a huatou (e.g. “Who is the one reciting the Buddha’s name?”) until doubt flares and the mind opens to the Way.
• Doubt (yi): Not random guessing, but the “great doubt” that hangs the whole heart on the huatou and refuses to paper it over with everyday opinions.
• Relinquishing the work (she gongfu): After insight, no longer clinging to “I am investigating” or “I am awakened,” letting go even of the forms of practice.
• Dry-white, pure-dew clarity (gan bai lu jing): Describes a mind that is spare and clear, not stuck to states; the master warns against fixating on this appearance.
• Upward practice (xiangshang xinglü): Points to practice at the highest level—a way of living unlike the ordinary, not performed for others to see.

This passage explains how both Chan (Zen) Buddhism and Xuanmen (the Daoist tradition) treat the practice of she—letting go—with great precision and depth. In broad terms, anyone entering the Way must be able to she at every moment, not only during seated meditation or formal practice.

Whenever external things stir you, emotional bonds cling, or desires and habitual tendencies rise, you should raise the “precious sword of the Vajra King”—a metaphor for the firm concentration and wisdom that cuts attachment in one stroke—severing cleanly with force, leaving no lingering attachment.

The “mind that clings to conditions” (the tendency of the heart to run after and stick to outer objects) is the hardest to cure. One excellent method is to pull the mind away from the body of form and settle it in empty space. Once it meets the “sovereign of emptiness” (the boundless, non-grasping void), it can only surrender; its tricks no longer work.

Hence Xuanmen teaches concentrating the spirit in emptiness, mingling and merging with xi (breath and primordial vitality) until both dissolve into formlessness and unite with the great void. This is a supreme way to subdue the deluded mind, the hidden teaching of “letting go of bodily fixation,” a shortcut to realization, and a precious raft for transcending the ordinary.

Since the Old Sage (Laozi) transmitted this teaching, more than four thousand years have passed; patriarchs have handed it down in an unbroken line. Any of us who love the Way and meet it by fate—how can we fail to rejoice and resolve to practice?

This passage from Tianle Ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy) uses various classics to explain how cultivators seek ping (equilibrium) and enter ding (still concentration) in the practice of the Way.

Zhuangzi, “Gengsang Chu”, says: when the mind is still, Qi becomes balanced; to align with Shen (spirit), one must follow one’s true heart. “De Chong Fu” adds: ping is like water at rest—full yet not overflowing—and can serve as a standard; when the inner mind holds this ping, the outer world cannot disturb it. “Ke Yi” explains that quiet simplicity, empty stillness, and Wuwei (non-action) are Heaven and Earth’s native balance and the inherent texture of De (Virtue/Power). Therefore the sage rests in this state; in resting, the mind becomes level; when level, it grows serene. Level and serene, care and trouble cannot enter, perverse influences cannot invade—so De is preserved whole and Shen is not depleted.

Lu Dongbin (patriarch of Taoist Neidan, internal alchemy) said: without stray thoughts the mind can be still; when still, Qi naturally balances; when Qi is balanced, breath can settle; when breath settles, one can return to the true. In Taoist practice of the profound teaching, the entry work is first to bring both mind and breath to ping—this word ping is the image of ding. When ping is sustained, one enters true ding; in true ding, mind and breath both become still, and the subtle merges with empty space. In Zhuangzi, “xiu hu tian jun” (“rest in Heaven’s balance”)—jun is ping, and also ding; in Buddhism, “ru ru bu dong” (unmoving suchness) is likewise ping and likewise ding.

Within the unity of Heaven (nature), nothing is more level than still water. The perfected person’s mind is without waves, the surges of discursive knowing entirely stilled—like this—so realm and wisdom are both empty, and clear illumination leaves nothing unseen. The Avatamsaka Sutra says: “Body and mind are wholly equal; inner and outer are liberated.” The Sutra of Complete Enlightenment also says: when empty space is equal and unmoving, one should know that aware nature is equally unmoving; when the four great elements are unmoving, aware nature is equally unmoving; even when the eighty-four thousand dharani gates are equal and unmoving, aware nature is equally unmoving—all meaning that from outer appearances to the gates of the teaching, non-movement is the ping of awakened nature.

(The closing lines repeat the thought above: when mind and breath are both still, the subtle accords with empty space; Zhuangzi’s “Heaven’s balance” and Buddhism’s “suchness unmoving” both point to this layer of ping and ding.)

Vernacular Explanation

Commentary: When body and mind are still and silent, like empty space, then all faculties within and without, and all objects of perception, can be liberated—this is the meaning of “equality” in the Avatamsaka Sutra. Merging the myriad dharmas into a single mind, with awakened nature equal to empty space, mind and objects both “thus” and unmoved in stillness—this is “equality” in the Sutra of Complete Enlightenment. Tranquil solitude, emptiness and non-action (wuwei)—this is the subtlety of bodily and mental equality that Emperor Xuanzong embodied; neither swayed nor shaken, resting in the “natural balance” (tian jun) of heaven—this is verification that his mind-state was truly ru ru (such as it is). Xuanzong, through mutual dependence of mind and breath, entered the realm of “one suchness”; then inner and outer, body and mind, were all equal and one. Nature empty yet form not empty, form empty yet nature truly real—is this not a direct path to liberation?

The Surangama Sutra, chapter on the Bodhisattva Who Touches the Earth, says: “At that time I waited upon the Buddha with equal mind. The Thus-Come One Vairocana placed his hand on my head and told me: When you level the mind-ground, then the earth of the world and all lands become level. My mind then opened: I saw the fine dust of my body and all the fine dust of the created world as no different; the self-nature of fine dust does not mutually rub or obstruct. Asked about perfect penetration, I had already clearly contemplated the dust of the two realms as no different—originally the Tathāgata-store; falsely, dust arose. When dust vanished, wisdom was complete, and I accomplished the unsurpassed Way—this was foremost.” This passage means: first level the mind-ground, then realm and wisdom interpenetrate, body and world are equal—thereby awakening and realizing the fruit. Xuanzong went from equality of mind and breath to equality of body and land, from body-mind as one suchness to no obstruction between emptiness and form—likewise the subtle cultivation of “leveling the mind-ground.”

At the level of initial practice, mutual dependence of mind and breath yields interpenetration of realm and wisdom and equality of body and world; from this step one can awaken and realize the fruit. Xuanzong went from equality of mind and breath to equality of body and land, from body-mind as one suchness to no obstruction between emptiness and form—the same kind of subtle cultivation as leveling the mind-ground.

Plain-Language Reading of Tianle Ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy)

For beginners, the most important point in xinxixi yi—keeping mind and breath joined, neither leaving nor scattering—is to attain the word “ping” (equilibrium). Ping means yin and yang are “er ba xiangdang”: the two sides weigh the same, like two parts and eight parts in balance. Huzi in the Zhuangzi calls this “heng qi ji”: the flow of Qi is like a scale in balance. When it is level, harmony follows; when there is harmony, stability follows.

Zhang Sanfeng said: in ningshen diaoxi (gathering the spirit and adjusting the breath), you need only xin ping qi he—a level heart and harmonized breath. When the heart is level, the spirit can concentrate; when the breath is harmonized, it can be regulated. This word “ping” is most subtle: a heart that stirs no waves is ping; a heart that stays on the middle way is also ping—and that middle is “here.” Keep the heart in this “here,” and waves do not rise; this “here” is also what alchemical classics call the Mysterious Pass (xuan guan yi qiao)—the key place where spirit and breath meet in inner practice.

Qianxu Weng, in On Regulating Breath, asked: What is “do not forget”? Answer: guard what is natural. What is “do not force”? Answer: follow what is natural. How do you guard? Answer: yi xi—stay with the breath. How do you follow? Answer: ping xi—let the breath become fine and even. When you stay with the breath, breath links with breath; when you calm the breath, inhalation and exhalation grow even and subtle. From this you see that mind and breath must be joined evenly, evenly, naturally, naturally—only then is it truly “half a jin and eight liang” (perfect balance). Ziyang Zhenren’s line “when two and eight are equal, they naturally become intimate” means exactly this.

Moreover, at the instant of yang sheng—when yang stirs in practice and the body responds—ping is again crucial. If it feels too heavy, water outweighs fire, and after closing practice you often produce much saliva; if it feels too light, fire outweighs water, and after practice the tongue is dry and the mouth parched. You need neither heavy nor light—half a jin and eight liang; when firing reaches natural spiritual awareness and natural “leaving the body,” just at the right measure, there is neither excess nor shortfall. Zhang Sanfeng’s “gang rou pingjun” (hard and soft evenly balanced), and “the raven eight liang, the rabbit half a jin—two things enter together the village of Wu and Ji” (raven and rabbit stand for water and fire; both return to the central Wu–Ji palace)—all speak of this same balance.

The Tianle ji cites Zhuangzi: one should gather body and mind back and, in xiu—rest and cessation—join with the Dao and with the ruler (or with the master of the inner heart). It also says: repose in tianjun (the evenness of Heaven’s way, nature’s equilibrium); when one can xiu, the heart becomes empty; only when the heart is empty can it hold what is real; when the real appears, the myriad things each keep their place and each obtain their order (lun). Again: all dwell together in wuwei—without idle words, not clinging to names and forms—so the mind is calm and quiet, vast and clear, and qi is harmonized, at ease and free. (The following lines repeat the same ideas.)

The Tianle ji states that these are the essentials of “resting the heart” (xiexin)—stopping the heart’s grasping and abiding in the Dao—within the profound teaching (xuanzong) valued in Daoism.

The Surangama Sutra says: “Once the wild, restless mind-nature comes to rest, that very moment of rest is Bodhi.” Master Baizhang said: First put down all grasping and clinging; let everything come to a halt. Toward good and evil, toward worldly and transcendent teachings alike, do not store them in memory and do not fix the mind on them. Release body and mind and let them be as they are. When the mind is like wood or stone, making no discriminations, it no longer acts in delusion. If the ground of mind is empty, the sun of wisdom shines forth, as when clouds scatter and the sun appears. When you have fully ceased all grasping and clinging, and greed, anger, attachment, and ignorance, when feelings of purity and impurity are utterly gone, when you are unmoved by the five desires and the eight winds, unbound by what you see, hear, know, or perceive, and undeluded by any circumstance, then you naturally possess spiritual powers and free functioning—and that is the liberated person.

Chan Master Wushou said: It is only because desire has become our nature that the twenty-five modes of existence are like fetters on our heels, with no end in sight to becoming. The patriarchs transmit only the mind seal; whoever receives the seal, whether ordinary or sage, foolish or wise, directly rests at once, suddenly ceasing the myriad conditions and crossing beyond the stream of birth and death.

Master Deshan said: The slightest thought that sticks is the karmic cause of the three evil paths; the moment feeling arises, you are bound for ten thousand kalpas. You should suddenly free yourself from the fetters at the place where you have always walked and acted; when not a single thought is produced, you instantly cease the myriad conditions and cross the stream of birth and death. He also said: A hair’s breadth of fixated thought is the cause of the three paths; the flash of an arising emotion is bondage for ten thousand kalpas. From the place of your former going and doing, suddenly cast off the fetters; when not one thought is born, you immediately cut off what came before—there is no dharma at all that can carry emotion.

Master Xuansha said: Still illumination forgetting knowing, empty yet holding the myriad phenomena; release idle conditions and shut off mind-consciousness—only then do you slightly draw near the Way. If you do not do this, you are entirely carried off by knowing and feeling; where is there any share of freedom?

Master Huangbo said: All sentient beings revolve without cease and birth-and-death never stops because intention and conditions race about creating activity; the mind never rests in the six paths, and so they undergo every kind of suffering.

The Vimalakirti Sutra says: The minds of those hard to tame are like monkeys; therefore use various methods to govern the mind, and then you can train it.

Chan Master Furong said: If you do not rest now, when will you? If you can exhaust the present moment, what matter remains?

Master Yuanwu said: For a lay bodhisattva practicing at home, it is like a lotus in fire—name, rank, power, and pride are hard to subdue at a stroke; how much more the burning house of afflictions and torment. Unless you directly awaken to your own original true functioning, and reach the field of great quiescence and rest, it is especially hard to put things down and be utterly ordinary, fully realizing no-mind.

The above is the essential teaching of Chan on “resting the mind” (xiexin).

Zhuangzi says: Once I roamed together with the companion (Dao or the perfected person) in the realm of “non-being,” merged with the Great Dao in discourse without end. It also says: Forget liver and gall (figures of clinging), cast off ears and eyes (do not rely on the senses), wander lost beyond the dust and grime, and roam at ease in the work of doing nothing. It also says: Drop the bodily form, spit out cleverness, forget all ranks of things, and merge in great sameness with ximing (vast, chaotic qi); undo the heart’s knots and release the spirit, utterly without soul.

Cantong qi says: The qi of departing fire enters the defensive and nutritive circuits; the water of the Kan trigram need not use sharp hearing; the metal of Dui need not use mouth or tongue—few words accord with Hongmeng (primordial chaos). When these three have become the pivot, then relax the body in an empty room and commit the will to emptiness and nothingness, taking no-thought as the norm. This is the subtle practice of returning to stillness in the Orthodox Mystery lineage: heart and breath subtly unite in empty void, self-settling and self-transforming; hide the light and dim the colors, die utterly once—then cold ashes reignite and withered wood blooms, nature restored and life complete, and only then is transcendence within reach.

Liezi, “Heaven’s Gifts” says: Zigong, weary of learning, told Zhongni (Confucius) he wished to rest. Zhongni said: In life there is no ceasing. Zigong asked: Then is there no place where I, Ci (Zigong), may rest? Zhongni said: There is—when you see that kuang (an open grave), that is where one rests. He also said: Vast and still, level and quiet, mound upon mound, silent and sealed (describing the stillness of the graveyard)—then you know where rest lies. Zigong sighed: How great is death! The noble person rests within it; the petty person is buried there. Again this is the sage’s deep teaching on returning to stillness: obtain death within life, let go on the cliff’s edge, arrive at the place of great repose and great rest, open and level, sunk in stillness, void shattered to dust. Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said: Having been born, learn to kill life; before you are dead, first learn to die—then there is long life.

Verse says: The void outside the body is our place of rest; a grave like a resting field is the sacred ground of returning to stillness; lie down and roam there at ease until inside and outside are both forgotten, root and realm both extinguished; use the body to learn death, and there is long life.

Plain-language reading

Verse:

The vast emptiness outside the body is the place where we should xie (come to rest)—like a tomb of return, a sanctuary of quiescence. Lie at ease there until inner and outer are forgotten, root and realm melt together, body and mind are empty to the utmost and do not move rashly; then, naturally, it is like fallen leaves returning to the root, in accord with the way of true constancy.

The four words ding (settling), wang (forgetting), she (letting go), and xie (resting) are the essentials of cultivation and a short path to transcendence—as the saying goes: “You wear out iron shoes searching everywhere; then you get it without the least effort.”

84 · Tianxing (Heavenly Conduct)

Laozi speaks of “the conduct of the infant”; Zhuangzi speaks of tianxing (heavenly conduct).

Infant conduct stresses essence in harmony, softness, and pure innocence without delusion. It stands for primal simplicity (pu) not yet carved open—the sage’s aim of fanpu huanchun (returning to simplicity and restoring genuineness).

Heavenly conduct takes void at the limit and wondrous clarity as its core: spirit turns toward no-beginning, blends into the Great One (taiyi), and shares one body with supreme emptiness (taixu)—the subtle way of returning to emptiness.

Zhuangzi says: those who do not understand the Heavenly Dao (Tian Dao) do not have pure virtue (De); those who harmonize with the Heavenly Dao are called “Heavenly Joy” (Tianle). One who understands Heavenly Joy, while alive, moves as Heaven naturally moves; when dead, disperses and returns like the myriad things. In stillness, one shares the same character as yin qi; in movement, the same pulse as yang qi. Following what is arranged, one departs and merges into the vast “Heavenly One” (Tianyi). Forgetting outer things and forgetting the Heavenly Dao is called forgetting the self; one who forgets the self is called one with the Heavenly Dao. Without crafty schemes and stratagems, one inevitably returns to the Heavenly Dao. When the heart cannot roam with Heaven, the six orifices turn and contend with one another. Empty, void, plain, and still—only then does one accord with Heavenly Virtue (Tiande). Pure and unmixed, quiet and single-minded without change, light and indifferent in non-action (Wuwei), acting in accord with Heaven—this is the essential way to nourish the spirit (Shen).

To guard the way of pure simplicity, let the spirit alone sustain itself, hold fast without loss, and unite with the spirit; when united, the spirit penetrates, and then one joins the Heavenly Principle (Tianlun). When Heavenly Virture appears and the inner mind is at peace, not straying from the root—this is called a Heavenly Person (Tianren). When form and essence (Jing) are not depleted, this is called being able to transform; refining essence again and again, one in turn assists Heaven. Through “because it is so,” through “because it is not,” through this the spirit penetrates and joins the Heavenly Principle. (This passage repeats in the original with the same meaning.)

The sage does not proceed by the disputes of right and wrong, but illuminates all by the Heavenly Dao. Beginning and end are like a ring; no fixed thread can be found—this is called the Heavenly Scale (Tianjun); the Heavenly Scale is the Heavenly Pivot (Tian Ni). Neither pleased when honored nor angry when insulted—only one who shares Heavenly Joy is like this. Who can know the “debate that uses no words” and the “Way that is not spoken”? One who can know this is called the Heavenly Treasury (Tianfu): pour into it and it is not filled; pour from it and it is not exhausted, yet one does not know whence it comes—this is called preserving the light (Baoguang).

“I will be ‘a person’ together with the Creator; when I grow weary, I will again mount that bird of vast obscurity (meaning the single qi) and fly out beyond the six extremes, roam in the land of nowhere, and dwell in the great empty wild.” They are at one with the Creator as “person,” yet roam in the single qi of Heaven and Earth. Going out and coming in, their form is not seen—this is called the Heavenly Gate (Tianmen). The Heavenly Gate is non-being; within non-being there is again a non-being, and the sage stores the spirit here.

Above, Zhuangzi repeatedly unfolds the subtlety of heavenly movement (tian xing). In sum, one must roam the heart in lightness, merge with vast, silent qi, open into boundless emptiness, blend without trace, beyond number and time, transcending the surface of the myriad things and wondrously accord with what precedes the Image Lord—still yet clear, silent yet luminous, empty, void, and natural: this is what is called heavenly movement. In Zhuangzi, terms such as Zhao Kuo, Hunming, Xuanming, Can Liao, Heavenly Gate, Heavenly Scale, Heavenly Principle, Heavenly Treasury, Heavenly Harmony, Heavenly Joy, Heavenly Virtue, and Heavenly One all point to the purport of heavenly movement; their subtlety lies in returning to the One without trace and covering the myriad things without partial intent.

In Buddhist scriptures, what is called “tianxing” (conduct of Heaven) points to the samadhi of the king of the middle way: within it lies the pivot of “entering the middle,” and one responds with the compassion of tianxing. It is like a donkey or horse that moves at the mere shadow of the whip—they travel the great straight path: no before, no after, neither merged nor separate. That is the teaching of non-discrimination: “All dharmas from the very beginning are constantly of the mark of still extinction.”

I take “tianxing” to mean walking the vast and mysterious Dao, in accord with subtle spontaneity. Master Dongshan said: “You must directly let mind and mind not touch things; step by step with no fixed place; constantly without break—only then do you tally with it.” That is precisely the sense of tianxing.

Zhuangzi says that “the great Oneness pervades it” and “the great Stillness holds it”—precisely to show where the movement of Heaven’s Dao comes to rest. “Great Oneness” is heavenly nature, the realm of the Dharma, the root that is never apart from “the root within roots.” When the mind can penetrate to oneness, that is called “clarifying the root.” After clarifying the root, one must still hold fast with “great stillness.” When awakening and cultivation are both fully ripened, the essential body is empty and still, beyond the myriad phenomena; one treats all things with equal regard and without partiality, turns with the turning of circumstances without clinging to mind—as natural as sunlight shining and wind shifting—and only then does one accord with the subtle Dao of Heaven’s way.

Guan Yin Zi said: he would abide within a measure that is never dissolute or excessive, conceal himself in a net of order that has no beginning and no end, roam between the beginning and end of the myriad things, unify his nature, nourish his Qi, merge his De, and thereby connect with what creation itself creates.

Zhuangzi also said: alone he communes with the spirit of Heaven and Earth, yet does not stand arrogant above or condescending toward the myriad things; above he wanders with the Creator, below he befriends those who transcend and stand outside birth and death, without beginning or end; he responds to things and transforms, dissolves in things—its principle never exhausted, its coming never sloughed off; in vast obscurity, it has not yet been fully spoken.

Again he said: spirit flows through the four directions and streams everywhere, reaching nothing it does not reach—discerning above in Heaven, coiling below on Earth, transforming and nurturing the myriad things, beyond naming; it is called “same as the Di.” This is the utmost of Heaven’s way.

The Yizhuan (Commentary on the Changes) says: “Bi (Adornment) has no fixed color; Sui (Following) has no fixed reason.” It also says: “What is there in the world to worry or brood over? People under heaven share the same destination but take different paths; they aim at one goal yet harbor a thousand thoughts—what is there in the world to worry or brood over?” Whoever realizes that “form is emptiness and emptiness is form” merges subtly with the source of the Dao, embraces all transformations, and contains heaven and earth—this is what Confucius called “Tianxing” (Heaven’s operation). The fifth line of the Qian hexagram reads: “The flying dragon is in heaven; it is favorable to see the great person” (here “great person” means the Dharma body, the awakened essence). The top line of the Daxu hexagram reads: “How vast is heaven’s thoroughfare—penetrating!” (The line text was composed by the Duke of Zhou: when nurturing reaches its limit, one becomes penetrating—symbolizing openness without obstruction. “How vast is heaven’s thoroughfare” means that penetration is so vast.) This is the Duke of Zhou’s “Tianxing.” The Book of Poetry says: “Heaven’s mandate is deep and far; solemn and unceasing—how bright it is!” King Wen’s virtue was utterly pure—this is King Wen’s “Tianxing.” “Fasting of the mind, sitting in forgetfulness, leaving the body and shedding knowledge, becoming one with the Great Pervasion” (Zhuangzi on Yan Hui)—this is Yan Hui’s “Tianxing.” “Utmost sincerity without ceasing; broad, thick, lofty, and bright; enduring without boundary—even to manifesting without being seen, transforming without moving, and accomplishing without acting” (Doctrine of the Mean on Confucius)—this is Zisi’s summary of “Tianxing.” The nature is open and bright as heaven, united with the body of true emptiness.

Chan master Caoshan Benji said: “Without inner or outer, blended and level above and below.” Chan master Dongshan Liangjie said: “Nowhere to avoid in this blended totality—what else could you seek beyond it?” This is what Chan calls “Tianxing.”

You must also understand: the “Heaven” in “Tianxing” here is not heaven as opposed to earth, but the root of the void and mysterious Dao—the nirvana heaven, the heaven of the first meaning. The Dongzong Baojing Sanmei (Precious Mirror Samadhi of the Dong lineage) says: “The heaven-true is wondrous; it does not belong to delusion or awakening.” From this heaven-true wondrous Dao arises non-contrived wondrous conduct—this is called “Tianxing.”

Eighty-five: Sacred Conduct (Shengxing)

The Nirvana Sutra sets out five modes of practice: first, sage conduct (the way of the sage); second, Brahma conduct (pure conduct, free from defilement and desire); third, heaven conduct (conduct in accord with nature and aligned with the Way of Heaven); fourth, infant conduct (conduct like an infant’s—simple and without clinging); fifth, sick conduct (practice figured through sickness, suffering, and imperfection).

The Profound Meaning of the Lotus Sutra pairs sage conduct with the samadhi of ultimate truth (samadhi in which one realizes the true principle), while Brahma conduct, infant conduct, and sick conduct correspond to the samadhi of conventional truth (samadhi that works within worldly appearances). Heaven conduct corresponds to the samadhi of the Middle Way as king (samadhi that neither falls into emptiness nor into existence).

The Laozi can be read in a similar structural light: sage conduct belongs to the samadhi of ultimate truth; Brahma conduct, infant conduct, and sick conduct belong to the samadhi of conventional truth; heaven conduct belongs to the samadhi of the Middle Way as king. The Laozi speaks at length of infant conduct; the inner and outer chapters of the Zhuangzi develop heaven conduct and sage conduct with particular depth.

Sage conduct means acting from the sage’s domain: the mind is still yet clear, silent yet reflective; the heart is broad and fair; when things arrive one responds naturally; action leaves no trace of contrivance; virtue matches heaven and earth; one fulfills one’s nature and knows one’s mandate, exhausts the subtle and penetrates change—and from this arises the learning of inner sagehood and outer kingship.

The Zhuangzi says: the reason the sage is still is not that stillness is good in itself and therefore he is still, but that nothing in the outer world can disturb his mind, so he is naturally still. When water is still it is clear and can mirror beard and eyebrows; when water is level it is true, and craftsmen take it as their standard. If still water is this bright, how much more so the human spirit! The stillness of the sage’s mind is a mirror of heaven and earth, a bright mirror of the ten thousand things. Empty, still, tranquil, plain, silent, and unobtrusive—wuwei (non-action)—when water is still it is clear, when level it is true, and craftsmen model themselves on this; when the spirit is still it is all the more penetrating. The stillness of the sage’s mind is the mirror of heaven and earth and the mirror of the ten thousand things. Empty tranquility, plainness, silence, and unobtrusive non-action are what heaven and earth uphold as evenness and the utmost of virtue; therefore emperors, kings, and sages take this as their place of rest.

This passage shows that sage conduct takes emptiness, stillness, tranquility, plainness, silence, unobtrusiveness, and non-action as its core. Only through emptiness can one penetrate; only through stillness can one be clear; only through silence can one respond; only through plainness is one undefiled—this is the gist of restoring one’s nature (recovering what is originally one’s own), and the rule and gateway for entering sagehood.

This passage cites three places in the Zhuangzi and sets them alongside the state described in the Surangama Sutra as “liberation complete, emptiness and existence both extinguished.”

The first section (Tianmen, the Gate of Heaven)

The Zhuangzi says: one goes in and out yet never sees its form—this is called “Tianmen,” the Gate of Heaven. Tianmen is wu (non-being)—not that there is a “non-being,” but that even the pair “having / not-having” is released altogether; the sage abides securely in such a state. The point is that at the level of genuine awakening, both sides—emptiness and form—must be let go, which is the same as the Surangama Sutra’s “the method of liberation is complete; emptiness and existence both do not arise.”

The second section (emulating Heaven)

The Zhuangzi also says: wishing to take Heaven as one’s model yet failing to match it in fact, one instead sinks together with outer things; one spins between “having” and “not-having,” while the sage hides the self deeper still. Again the teaching is that the sage’s realm is not clinging to emptiness or to existence, but dispelling both, still in accord with “emptiness and existence both do not arise.”

The third section (no fixed Heaven and Human from the start)

The Zhuangzi further says: in the sage’s mind there is no fixed “Heaven,” no fixed “Human,” no fixed “beginning,” no heap of “things”; walking with the world without altering the root, acting in full measure without drying up—what is it like when one merges with the Dao? Here the meaning is that the sage does not only afterward conform to the season of Heaven, but “acts before Heaven yet Heaven does not go against him”—the mind already surpasses the time before Heaven and Earth existed, yet still accords with living beings, going and doing as the multitude does, gathering, teaching, and benefiting sentient beings, with inexhaustible compassionate vow. This is not the path of the Two Vehicles’ “self-enlightened only” type, who take nirodha-samāpatti (the samadhi of total cessation) as the ultimate.

The Zhuangzi also says: The sage rests as peacefully as a fledgling bird and feeds as naturally as a nestling; in motion he is like a bird in flight, leaving no trace. When the Way prevails under Heaven, he flourishes together with the ten thousand things; when the Way does not prevail, he cultivates virtue and dwells at ease. When, after a thousand years, he wearies of the human world, he departs and becomes a transcendent of the highest rank, riding white clouds to the abode of the Heavenly Sovereign; the three calamities do not befall him, and his person is ever free from harm.

This means that for the sage there is no fixed rule for hiding or appearing, and no fixed dwelling—he adapts to circumstances and is at ease, without envy or reckless desire, without glory or disgrace. In straits he perfects himself alone; when the Way is open he benefits all under Heaven. When the fruit of the Way is complete, he transcends and leaves—such is this carefree freedom. The ancients gave up earthly rank to pursue heavenly rank; that is roughly what is meant here.

The Zhuangzi also says: Without deliberately seeking it, he yet appears lofty; without preaching benevolence and righteousness, he yet has inner cultivation; without chasing fame, he yet can govern the realm; without retiring to rivers and seas, he yet seems at leisure; without practicing daoyin (guided breathing and body exercises for nurturing life), he yet lives long. Nothing is not forgotten, nothing is not possessed; tranquil and without limit, every excellence gathers toward him—this is the pattern of Heaven and Earth, the virtue of the sage.

This means the sage’s marvelous “forgetting of contrivance” (wangji) and the virtue of wuwei (non-action) are not what those whose hearts still cling can reach.

The Zhuangzi also says: From “this,” one affirms “this”; from “not,” one affirms “not”; from “not,” one affirms “this”; from “this,” one affirms “not.” Therefore the sage does not follow these relative judgments but illuminates with Tian (nature as it is). The sage harmonizes right and wrong and rests in Tianjun (the even balance of Heaven)—this is called the sage’s way of acting.

That is: the sage does not hold to the two poles of “right” and “wrong.” With wondrous clarity he sees through, and realm and mind are both forgotten, self and other both released. When responding to circumstances, this will do and so will that; granting and taking follow the moment; “killing” and “reviving” are free. He can also use right and wrong to still people’s right and wrong—using poison against poison, a wedge to drive out a wedge—this is the great skill of resolving adhesion and removing bonds.

Previous section (on skillful application)

One who has truly “attained” it can grant or withdraw according to the moment, can decisively settle matters of life and death with unobstructed freedom—such a person can also use “right and wrong” to quiet the “right and wrong” among people, like fighting poison with poison or driving out one peg with another. This is the great capacity and subtle efficacy for loosening what sticks and releasing what binds.

Quotations from the Zhuangzi

The Zhuangzi also says: Take Heaven as your anchor, De (Virtue/Power) as your foundation, and the Dao as your gate; perceive omens within change—such a person is called a sage.

From this we know: the sage understands Heaven’s De, merges with the pivot of the Dao, and stands in the huanzhong (“ring center”—the impartial middle from which one responds to the endless), meeting inexhaustible change. That such power is unfathomable comes ultimately from penetrating the root and illuminating the mind—realizing the source and seeing one’s true heart-mind.

The Zhuangzi also says: When the mind is settled in oneness, the myriad things submit; extending emptiness and stillness to Heaven and Earth and threading it through the ten thousand things—this is called Tianle (Heavenly Joy). Tianle is what the sage’s heart uses to nourish and embrace all under Heaven.

Note on “governing the world”

This passage explains: when the sage governs the world, emptiness, stillness, quiet detachment, and Wuwei (non-action) are the guiding principles, so that everyone returns to their original mind and merges with the dahua (great transformation of Heaven and Earth), without attachment or obstruction. What people call “governing through Wuwei” means precisely this.

Brief glosses of terms

• Shahuo (literally “kill and revivify”): In Chan and Neidan contexts it often denotes decisive timing, direct pointing, and freedom regarding life and death—not merely the literal sense of killing and saving lives.
• Huanzhong (Zhuangzi, “Nurturing Life”: “obtain the ring center to respond to the inexhaustible”): A metaphor for holding the center without bias and thus meeting endless change.
• Tianle: Contrasted with “human joy”; the supreme joy that accords with the Way of Heaven—in this passage, specifically the way a mind of emptiness and stillness nourishes all under Heaven.

Tianle Ji in Plain Language

I. “Holy Practice” in the Buddhist Scriptures

The Mahaparinenirvana Sutra, “Chapter on Holy Practice,” says: cultivation begins with upholding precepts (keeping pure rules of discipline) and abiding in the immovable stage (a level at which the mind is not shaken by outer conditions). It then sets forth the Four Noble Truths—suffering, origin, cessation, and the path; cultivates precepts, concentration, and wisdom; and explains permanence, bliss, self, and purity (the four attributes of nirvana). The holy practice taught in the *Mahayana Mahaparinenirvana Sutra is cultivated all the way to the stage of fearlessness, where one attains the twenty-five samadhis, breaks through the twenty-five realms of existence (the various “existences” of the three realms), realizes various supernormal powers, then enters the stage of mastery, manifests at will, and accomplishes immeasurable merit.

The sutra also asks: What is holy practice? Answer: what Buddhas and bodhisattvas practice is called holy practice. Why are Buddhas and bodhisattvas called “saints”? Because they are complete in all dharmas and constantly contemplate the sacred dharma-nature as empty and still; they also possess sacred precepts, sacred concentration, and sacred wisdom; they also possess the seven treasures of the saint—faith, precepts, shame, moral dread, much learning, wisdom, giving, and renunciation; and they also possess the seven factors of awakening (the seven limbs of enlightenment). Hence they are called saints, and what they practice is called holy practice. (The text repeats the question-and-answer on “saint” with much the same meaning.)

II. Resonance with Zhuangzi, Liezi, and the Lankavatara

Zhuangzi develops “holy practice”; Liezi, “Zhong Ni” chapter, develops “saintly wisdom.” With holy practice as the foundation, guarding emptiness and stillness, one obtains the six superknowledges (heavenly eye, heavenly ear, and the rest) and four kinds of unobstructed penetration (unimpeded mastery), perfectly fused without obstruction, and saintly wisdom naturally appears. This is the Daoist path of inner verification (seeking proof within); its aim can also align with the Lankavatara Sutra’s “self-aware saintly wisdom.”

III. Heavenly Practice, Holy Practice, and “Mind and Breath Resting Together”

The heavenly practice and holy practice described above join profound Daoist teaching (Daoist doctrine) with the Buddhist tradition, each showing its own rationale. When it comes to actual effort, if one holds only to the single gate of mind and breath resting together, that can embrace everything—cultivating all practices through one practice, realizing all realizations through one realization. If students can truly enter great samadhi and great emptiness (deep concentration in accord with emptiness), heavenly practice and holy practice are both contained in this one thought and this one breath.

The line on “one practice” (yixing) in chapter eighty-six, part one, continues from the previous section on yixing: encompassing everything in one round integration—through one practice one cultivates all practices, through one realization one realizes all realizations. If students truly enter great samadhi and empty stillness, heavenly conduct and sage conduct are both contained within this single yixing.

Eighty-Six: Brahma Conduct (Fanxing)

Fanxing (Brahma conduct) means pure conduct (jingxing) (as Ge Hong’s Zifan Xun glosses: fan as pure conduct). The Nirvana Sutra has a chapter on Brahma conduct; within the Avatamsaka Sutra, “pure conduct” and “Brahma conduct” form two separate chapters—pure conduct belongs to the ten stages of faith, and Brahma conduct to the ten stages of abiding. The exposition here follows the Xuan teaching:

In the Nirvana Sutra, the chapter on Brahma conduct situates Brahma conduct in the context of nirvana. In the Avatamsaka Sutra, the chapters on pure conduct and Brahma conduct correspond to the Huayan path stages: pure conduct equals the ten faiths, Brahma conduct equals the ten abidings.

The Xuan teaching identifies fan with jing (pure) and aligns them with the Huayan faith and abiding stages, showing that “Brahma conduct” is not merely an Indic loanword but, within the Xuan teaching system of Daoist studies, a designation for pure conduct that can be mapped to canonical path stages.

The Old Sage (Laozi)’s “purity, tranquility, and desirelessness” is the guiding principle of pure conduct (pure cultivation). Being “without desire” here chiefly means being without craving. When body and mind are pure and tranquil, and the six openings—the disturbances received through the sense faculties of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—do not agitate them, desire naturally does not arise. Therefore the Qingjing Jing (Scripture of Purity and Tranquility) says: a person’s Shen (spirit) is originally fond of purity, but the mind disturbs it; the mind is originally fond of stillness, but desire pulls it about. If one can constantly dispel desires, the mind naturally becomes still; if one clarifies the mind, the Shen naturally becomes pure; the six desires do not arise, and the three poisons (greed, anger, delusion) are extinguished. People cannot do this because the mind is not clarified and desires are not dispelled. One who can dispel desires looks inward at the mind and sees that the mind has no real existence; looks outward at the body and sees that the body has no real existence; looks far out at the ten thousand things and sees that things have no real existence. Awakening to the fact that these three are all empty, even “emptiness” is emptied. Emptiness has nothing to empty; since what is emptied is already nonexistent, even “no-no” is nonexistent. When one reaches the point where even “no-no” is no more, one is clear and perpetually quiescent. Being quiescent without grasping at quiescence, how could desire arise? Since desire does not arise, this is true stillness. The true and constant responds to things, and the true and constant attains its nature; constantly responding and constantly still, this is constant purity and tranquility. Laozi says, “Purity and tranquility are the rectitude of the world,” and he also says that constant absence of desire can be called “small”; “I am without desire, and the people become simple of themselves.” The unnamed uncarved simplicity also no longer clings to desire; without desire and still, the world will rectify itself. Thus it is clear that Laozi did not merely dispel worldly desires; he also dispelled all attachment to dharmas (the clinging love of teachings). Both emptiness and existence are transcended; both ordinary and sage are forgotten. Is such pure conduct not vast and great?

87. Refining the Self and Laying the Foundation

In the Xuanzong (the Mysterious Tradition), referring to Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, the very first step of gradual cultivation is called “self-rectification.” This directly carries forward the meaning of the preceding phrase, “the world will rectify itself”: cultivation begins with rectifying one’s own mind and clarifying the mind by dispelling desires. Refining the self (cultivating one’s nature and mind) and laying the foundation (establishing the root of cultivation) also begin here.

In the lineage of the Mysterious Teaching (Xuanzong), the first step of entry-level practice is called “refining the self and laying the foundation” (lianji zhuji), taking its meaning from Laozi’s “empty the heart, fill the belly.” Refining the self means, at the outset, returning body and mind to emptiness and stillness: the six sensory faculties—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—are settled, and the heart does not wander. Only when body and mind reach utmost emptiness can one resonate with the innate true yang Qi, nourish the root of life (mingdi), irrigate the root of spirit (linggen), and gradually fill the body with authentic Qi. When the dantian (likened to the “lead cauldron”) grows warm and light shines from within, that is the fruit of refining the self and laying the foundation. Refining the self corresponds to “empty the heart”; laying the foundation corresponds to “fill the belly”: the emptier and stiller the heart, the stronger the true yang; one side stirs, the other responds—emptiness and fullness interpenetrate. The principle is subtle, yet the effect comes quickly. When Laozi asks whether, in embracing the One and concentrating the spirit, strength and weakness can stay undivided, and whether, in concentrating Qi until it is soft, one can be like an infant—he is speaking of exactly this stage.

In the end, it comes down to placing the mind on what lies beyond external conditions, letting mind and breath rely on each other; once one enters great concentration (dading), both refining the self and laying the foundation are accomplished in that single place.

Our late master often said: “To empty the heart is to cultivate stillness in the Palace of Fire (ligong, the seat of heart-fire); to fill the belly is to seek the subtle in the Water Mansion (shuifu, the seat of kidney-water). Empty heart and full belly—that is dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu), refining the self and laying the foundation.” He also said: “When the heart is empty, spirit settles; when spirit settles, Qi naturally turns back. To truly fill the belly, one must first empty the heart. Placing mind and breath together on what is outside—that is precisely for the sake of emptying the heart.” He once cited Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng’s “A Branch of Flowers”: “I am the touchstone—high or low, one touch reveals it; I am the iron steamed bun—bite it and it is hard to taste; I am the clear quiet sea—not a speck of dust clings; I am the night pearl—hanging in the void, always luminous.” He said that in refining the self, these four lines should be the standard.

Foundation building begins with whole-body softness and ease, and continues until, in deep samadhi, there is no trace of “yang rising” (in inner practice: reckless stirring of primordial yang, wandering desire, or qi surging upward). When qi is full, stop the fire (halt the intense phase of the firing process and do not force further), and the foundation of the elixir is established.

Yet refining the self (lianji) must also pass the gate of final return to emptiness (mohou huanxu); only then is there no need to grind on mechanically. From initial return to emptiness through final return to emptiness, the whole stretch counts as refining the self. Hence the saying: “Foundation building has limits; refining the self has no end.”

The author holds that views and thoughts, avidyā (wuming), and delusions coarse and fine must all be worn away clean before one can speak of refining the self perfected. If even a thread of subtle avidyā remains uncleared, refining the self is not yet pure. In sum, take vacuum and great stillness (zhenkong dading) as the forge and bellows of refining the self.

88. Nurturing the Self and Refining the Self (1)

Ji (self) here means the heart-mind. Nurturing the self (yangji) is preserving the heart and nurturing nature; refining the self (lianji) is cultivating the heart and refining nature. The names are close, but nurturing the self is like planting flowers and tending trees—growth day by day; refining the self is like smelting metal in fire—the more it is refined, the purer it becomes—so the sense really differs.

Master of Hidden Emptiness (Qianxuweng) said: “Nurturing and refining should also be distinguished.”

Shangyangzi said: “Treasuring essence and enriching qi is nurturing the self; facing situations and forgetting attachment is refining the self. Nurturing the self chiefly rests in stillness; refining the self joins stillness with movement.”

Therefore: not a speck of dust clings, every care is empty; ever still yet ever responsive, in movement yet always tranquil—these are the proofs of refining the self; qi full and spirit whole, early restoration and early accumulation—these are the proofs of nurturing the self.

Seen as one path, the work never departs from mutual reliance of heart and breath (xinxixiangyi); relying until great samadhi (dading): nurturing the self is here, and refining the self is here too.

Someone asked: “Using stillness (ding) to nourish the self (yang ji) is relatively easy to grasp—it aligns with the meaning in the Can Tong Qi (Token for Joining the Three): ‘internally to nourish the self, quiet and empty.’ But when it comes to using stillness to refine the self (lian ji), might that contradict Qianxu Weng’s principle of ‘refining the self while including movement’ (lian ji jian dong)? That layer of meaning is hard to understand. Could you explain it more clearly?”

The answer: “When both Shen (spirit) and breath have entered into stillness, at that moment inner and outer are alike empty. Precisely because inner and outer are empty and still, the pre-heaven true yang (xian tian zhen yang) is stirred and comes upon the body. True Qi (zhen qi) warms, nourishes, and steams the ying and wei (nutritive and defensive energies), like plants receiving sweet dew, so that body and mind grow daily more robust—this is what is meant by ‘nourishing the self.’ Yet though I am empty and still, once pre-heaven true yang reaches the body, the whole body goes soft with numb tingling, and all sorts of apparitions akin to sensual delusions (se yin) may arise; I still remain unmoved in stillness, as if without perception—this is ‘being responsive yet able to remain still’ (gan er neng ji). It is like refining gold in fire: the gold does not change color but becomes brighter and purer—is this not refining the self? Moreover, because of great stillness, the discriminating mind (shi shen) gradually subsides, primordial spirit (yuan shen) gradually manifests, habitual tendencies gradually diminish, and worldly cares gradually cease. The ancients’ saying ‘when the heart dies, the spirit lives’—is that not also the meaning of refining the self? Although Qianxu Weng spoke of refining the self with a dynamic aspect, the essential point of refining the self lies in ‘movement without movement’: when stillness reaches its extreme, Qi moves—and that ‘movement’ is the movement of Qi. Once Qi moves, if Shen awakens and, upon awakening, rushes outward, then Shen and Qi separate and the pre-heaven immediately turns into the post-heaven; if there is awakening but no outward rushing, and one remains fixed in stillness, then Shen and Qi do not separate, and one sends the Qi back to the earthen cauldron (tu fu) and seals it firmly. From this we know that both nourishing the self and refining the self cannot depart from the one word ‘stillness.’ Stillness is the non-duality of stillness and responsiveness; the entire path of the elixir from start to finish relies on it. The Yijing says, ‘Beginning the myriad things and ending the myriad things—nothing surpasses Gen (stillness/mountain)’; Gen is stillness without movement—that is stillness.”

Someone asked: “Then is there a fixed order between nurturing oneself and refining oneself? Are they interwoven and mutually supportive?”

The answer: “Nurturing oneself and refining oneself originally assist each other. Although there is no rigid sequence, one may still speak of stages for convenience. How so? The crux of nurturing oneself lies in cultivating with pre-heaven true yang, so that primordial Qi grows fuller day by day and primordial spirit (yuanshen) grows stronger. Yet for every measure of pre-heaven true yang that enters, post-heaven yin qi diminishes by a measure. As yin qi diminishes, delusive thoughts and desires lessen—such desires are entirely the work of yin qi. Therefore the more abundant true yang becomes, the purer the mind; the deeper the practice, the more habits and fixed views are transformed, the fewer delusions arise, until one meets situations with equanimity, remains unstained by a single speck of dust, and all cares empty out—all results of pre-heaven true yang extinguishing delusion on the ground of intention (yidi). That refining oneself depends on nurturing oneself is plain enough.

Once delusion is worn away day by day and month by month, the central Ji Earth (the root of intention, earth of the middle palace) grows stiller, body and mind grow more tranquil, and the power of fixity (ding) increases; external true yang is felt and drawn in more and more, until Qi is full, the fire is stopped, and the returning elixir (huandan) forms. That nurturing oneself depends on refining oneself need not be doubted either.”

Thus refining and nurturing aid each other. The ancients spoke of “nurturing in stillness, refining in activity”—that is relative to the contrast between movement and fixity (ding). When movement and fixity are one, stillness is yet always responsive and responsiveness is yet always still: to refine is to nurture, and the work proceeds as one continuous thread, with nothing truly to split and no need to split—hence the saying that it never departs from the single thread of ding (fixity, settled concentration).

The Way of the Golden Elixir (Neidan) was what the ancients called “studying Hundun”—cultivating toward that primordial state of undivided unity before chaos was split and heaven and earth had not yet opened. Laozi spoke of “holding to the center and embracing the One”; Zhuangzi spoke only of “guarding unity in one place of harmony.” Neither used separate labels such as “nourishing the self” (yangji) or “refining the self” (lianji).

In the Western Han, Perfected Cui Xifan wrote the Ruyao Jing (Mirror for Compounding the Medicine). Its eighty-two lines and two hundred forty-six characters cover the essentials of the elixir path, yet it likewise never mentions yangji or lianji.

If one asks when these terms appeared, the answer is: in the Eastern Han, Perfected Wei Boyang’s Cantong Qi has “within, nourish the self; quiet and empty, void and still. The original root hidden and bright, inwardly illumining the form of the body”—from here the name yangji arises. The name lianji becomes common in texts only from the Tang and Song onward. Perfected Pure Yang (Lü Dongbin) in the lyric Qinyuan Chun says: “Sevenfold return of the elixir—in a person one must first refine the self and await the right time.” Master Sanfeng (Zhang Sanfeng) in A Branch of Flowers says: “Constantly subdue the wild horse of intent, moment by moment refine the mind-monkey; day and night without sleep, the work of refining the self without interval.” By the Ming, Perfected Qianxu wrote the Jindan Jiuzheng Pian, stating even more plainly the gist of refining the self.

I hold that the elixir path was never inherently complicated. If one can occasionally attain samadhi in “mind and breath mutually relying,” using true water to nourish the self and true fire to refine the self is already enough; there is no need to pile bed upon bed. True water means the water within nature, the emptiness of true nature—empty nature is true water. True fire means the fire within nature, the emptiness of true nature—empty nature is true fire. When practice reaches true stillness and true emptiness, refining and nourishing return to one aperture; the subtle principle runs through, and a single thread from start to finish suffices.

Note (technical terms in the text):

• Yangji / lianji: Neidan terms—the former leans toward nurturing and settling the spirit, the latter toward subduing emotional consciousness and refining essence and Qi; this essay holds that in antiquity the two were originally one.
• Sevenfold return of the elixir: A Neidan metaphor for essence, Qi, and spirit cycling and returning to the root.
• Wild horse of intent, mind-monkey: Images for a scattered heart and grasping thoughts.

Cantong qi says: “The reclining-moon shape forms the furnace and vessel; the White Tiger is the pivot of smelting and refining. Mercury is like the sun—the flowing pearl—and works together with the Green Dragon. Raise the east to join the west, so that hun (soul) and po (corporeal soul) mutually bind each other.” It also says: “The dragon calls to the tiger; the tiger draws in the dragon’s essence. The two feed on each other, each greedy to seek union and merge.” The wording is smooth, but the meaning is extremely deep.

Zhang Ziyang’s Wuzhen pian says: “The White Tiger on the western mountain runs wild; the Green Dragon of the eastern sea cannot be stopped. With both hands seize them and force a fight to the death, until they turn into one lump of purple-golden frost.” Jindan sibai zi says: “The dragon comes from the eastern sea; the tiger rises from the western mountain. The two beasts fight one battle and become the marrow of heaven and earth.” Zeng Liu Daoren ge says: When the season arrives, a go-between is needed so that Golden Duke and Maiden Cha (lead and mercury, yin and yang) are joined in marriage. Golden Duke loves to ride the White Tiger; Maiden Cha often drives the Red Dragon. The tiger lies quiet on the autumn mountain; the dragon surges up from the jade pool. When the two beasts meet in battle, waves boil like in a cauldron. Yellow Matron and Lord Ding (the “go-betweens” who harmonize yin and yang) cheer them on, shaking heaven and earth and startling gods and ghosts. In a moment the battle ends and clouds disperse; the mysterious pearl (the seed of the golden elixir) is planted in the “mud bottom” (the dantian or the foundation within the body). Shiqiao ge also says: In a cave north of the mountain hides a fierce tiger; leaving its den it roars and wind gives birth to rosy clouds. At the bottom of a pool south of the mountain hides a hidden dragon; rising on clouds it sends down rain and mist wraps the hills. When the two beasts meet and fight, the hidden mysterious pearl is the true auspice.

When the Realized One of Purple Yang wrote of dragon and tiger in battle, the scene is heart-stopping. I once asked Master Wang about this. The master said: “Mind and breath relying on each other as one—the dragon is tamed of itself; what task could not be accomplished? Do not cling to the lines of text or fixate on literal meaning.”

Because neidan (internal alchemy) classics speak of “two tigers fighting,” many heterodox interpretations later appeared. In his Four Hundred Characters with Commentary and Elucidation, Lu Qianxu wrote: the lead (true yang) of the Kan trigram is hard to gather and can easily turn and harm the practitioner, so it is likened to a “tiger”; the mercury (true yin) of the Li trigram loves to fly and is hard to control, so it is likened to a “dragon.” The dragon comes from the eastern sea to meet the tiger; the tiger rises from the western mountain to follow the dragon. In refining the elixir one must drive the dragon toward the tiger and mount the tiger to follow the dragon, so the two beasts swallow and fight each other, battle in the Wuji palace (the central palace, the dantian region), merge into one, and transform into the marrow of heaven and earth—only then can the elixir be restored.

Xuanjing said: “Subduing the dragon” means restraining the restless heart-mind. Thoughts flicker without pause and race without stop; they come and go without fixed pattern and leave no trace—hence they are likened to a dragon. “Taming the tiger” means taming the breath that goes in and out; breath is hard to discipline and tame, like a tiger. Thus subduing the dragon is subduing the heart-mind, and taming the tiger is taming the breath. The subtle point lies in the mutual reliance of heart and breath outside the body: when the heart relies on the breath it becomes concentrated; when the breath relies on the heart it becomes smooth. Gradually they rely on each other and harmonize, grow finer and more subtle, until they are utterly still—the heart neither arises nor ceases, the breath neither enters nor leaves—and then the efficacy of subduing the dragon and taming the tiger becomes visible.

Plain-Language Reading of the Tianle Ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy)

This is a method for the beginning stage of practice in the profound Neidan (internal alchemy) path.

When you have again reached “xu to the utmost, jing to the point of solid stillness”—emptiness pushed to the limit and stillness held with full sincerity—pre-heaven Qi arrives, and the whole body may feel tingling numbness. At that moment, if you move the mind even slightly, the pre-heaven immediately turns into post-heaven; harm outweighs benefit. So, in the very instant you first feel that tingling, you must quickly drop fixation on the physical body and turn outward to “mind and breath mutually relying,” still entering samadhi by that means. Then true yin and true yang naturally merge and are sent back into the “earthen crucible” (the Dantian, energy center) and sealed there firmly. This pre-heaven Qi is also likened to the “tiger.” Subdue it with great samadhi (da ding), and it will congeal into the elixir instead of leaking outward. Pre-heaven true yang is especially able to sweep away delusive thoughts in the mind, so nature is still and emotion empty, mind settled and breath subdued; facing the outer world you remain unmoved and no longer wander—again, this is using Qi to govern Shen (spirit). What the elixir scriptures call “true lead controlling true mercury” is exactly this. The Yijing says, “Treading on the tiger’s tail; it does not bite; success”—the image of taming the tiger. The Yijing also says, “Use nine: dragons appear without a head; auspicious”—the image of subduing the dragon.

Therefore, “mind and breath mutually relying” is the opening arrow—the crucial entry—for subduing the dragon and taming the tiger; “great samadhi in true emptiness” is the ladder; when the sky of nature opens clear and dragon and tiger leave no trace, that is the ultimate of subduing dragon and taming tiger.

Verses (adapted from verses by Chan master Puming and others; wherever the words “person” and “ox” appeared, they are changed to “dragon” and “tiger.” The Chan metaphor of herding the ox and the Daoist theme of subduing dragon and taming tiger share the same aim.)

Dragon and tiger both gone—no trace remains; in the bright moonlight, the ten thousand things are held. If you ask the true meaning within, it is nothing but wild flowers and fragrant grass, each in its own cluster.

Absolutely no shadow of dragon or trace of tiger—why carve a ladder into empty sky? In the end, originally not a single thing; the ten thousand forms still each in their own cluster.

First poem:

That spark of original spirit and brilliance from long ago can no longer be found; the traces of the Tiger and Dragon (in internal alchemy, often the heart and kidneys, essence and qi) seem empty in misty waters. It is as if the whole earth wakes from a spring dream into broad daylight—fragrance spreads and the flower thickets teem with life. The lines paint an inner landscape from “seeking yet not finding” to “heaven and earth returning to spring.”

Second poem:

Once Tiger and Dragon are “utterly gone,” what trace of them remains? It is like a pure moon filling empty space, leaving nowhere unlit. At this level there is no need to press for hidden meaning—birds call, flowers cluster, each in its place, simply as nature is.

Third poem:

Making a living in a world as narrow and illusory as a snail’s horn, you and I share one household and one realm. It is laughable that earlier masters insisted on painting such truth into images and fixing it in words; metaphors like “the bird-vine thirty”—thirty feet of vine cannot measure the meaning, and it is not something numbers can tally on credit.

Section 91: Refining and Adding

What are “literary refining” (wen peng) and “martial refining” (wu lian)?

In one line: the state in which spirit and qi are in harmonious fusion and body and mind do not stir.

In the Zhonghe ji, Li Daoshun asks: “What counts as refining?” The answer: “When body and mind are about to unite but have not fully united, if a stray thought intrudes, use a firm, decisive mind to press it down—this is martial refining (wu lian). After body and mind have united and spirit and qi have joined, use a gentle mind to guard that state—this is literary refining (wen peng).”

The principle is not complicated: subduing body and mind is refining lead and refining mercury (neidan terms for the groundwork of refining essence, qi, and spirit into an elixir). Forget emotional entanglements to nourish nature (xing); empty the heart to nourish spirit (shen). When myriad ties suddenly cease and every worry clears, body and mind are still and spirit congeals with qi—this is called the foundation of the elixir (dan ji), likened to the sacred embryo (sheng tai) (in neidan, “embryo” means the first coalescence of spirit and qi).

The verse says:

The profound teaching of this school (xuanzong) lies in the subtle union of heart-mind and breath; single-minded harmonious fusion is the work of refining. Vague and dim, deep and dark, chaotic blending—such is the inner scene while refining. Stated separately: resting on the breath is martial refining; entering stillness without breath is literary refining.

Plain-Language Reading of Tianle ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy)

What is choutian? It means chouqian (withdrawing lead) and tiangong (supplementing mercury). The crux of the practice lies in the character ding (stillness): when body and mind settle, the embryo of the Dao (daotai) can come to completion. You need not force a plan; then chou and tian happen “without chou and without tian”—that is the subtle use within Wuwei (non-action) and freedom from contrivance.

Lu Qianxu says in Choutian lun (Treatise on Withdrawal and Supplement): Someone asked whether the principle of chouqian and tiangong could be explained. The answer: I heard Master Liyang say that after the medicine is returned to the cauldron (ding), you nourish it with the natural true fire, “present yet barely there” (mianmian ruo cun); every change of chou and tian arises from nature, and not a thread of deliberate mind can be inserted. The Dao is originally Wuwei, yet Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) operate on their own, in tune with creation. It is like cooking rice with water—the principle is the same.

Lead is added to mercury as water is added to rice: the water must not be too much, the rice not too little; broadly they should match in a “two–eight” proportion. With even fire, the water slowly dries and the rice slowly swells, and you get cooked rice. As the water dries, that is chouqian; as the rice grows, that is tiangong.

“Chou” (withdrawal) does not mean something is missing inside; it is Shen entering into Qi, like heaven’s Qi moving through earth while the hidden mechanism stays concealed. “Tian” (supplement) does not mean something extra appears outside; it is Qi wrapping Shen on the outside, like earth receiving heaven’s Qi and gradually increasing. From this the embryo is round and the spirit transforms; there is a body outside the body—creation’s subtlety reaches this point. All of it must be utterly natural. You need not know why to chou or why to tian; if at this stage you still demand the “reason” for chou and tian, you have already left the natural.

Jindan yinzheng shi shu (Commentary on Verse-Evidence for the Golden Elixir) adds: You must also know that lead and mercury, as two substances, unite to form the elixir—like salt dissolving in water or pigment in glue, blended into one, so you can no longer tell which is lead, which mercury, what to chou or what to tian. Returning the elixir (huandan) is rooted in emptiness (xuwu); at this point, anything more is idle talk.

In the Zhonghe Ji (Collection of Central Harmony), someone asked Li Daoyuan: “What is chou tian (‘extract and add’)?” He replied: “When the body does not move and the Qi is settled, that is chou (‘extract’); when the Shen (spirit) is settled and the mind does not move, that is tian (‘add’). When neither body nor mind moves, Shen concentrates and Qi coalesces—that is huanyuan (‘return to the origin’). Thus one takes the single Yang line in the Kan trigram and supplements the single Yin line in the Li trigram, merging them into the Qian trigram; that is chou qian tian gong (‘extract lead and add mercury’). (Kan, Li, and Qian are familiar trigram images in Neidan (internal alchemy): Kan often stands for kidney water, Li for heart fire; chou tian means harmonizing the ‘yang’ in the water with the ‘yin’ in the fire and returning to a purely yang body.)

Xuanjing said: “When body and mind do not move, that is da ding (‘great stillness’). When Shen and Qi are stilled together and blended into one furnace of Qi, that is return to the origin. Taking the yang in Kan to fill the yin in Li and forming Qian is extract lead and add mercury.”

Xuanjing also said: “Body and mind not moving is great stillness. Shen and Qi are stilled as one, mixed in a single furnace. After long jizhao (silent illumination), Qi is fully transformed into Shen, the numinous light shines alone, and the myriad forms merge in harmony—is this not the sign of tai yuan (the ‘embryo’ complete, a marker that Neidan is nearing completion)? Patriarch Lu (honored in traditions such as that of Lu Xixing) compared it to rice fully cooked—a apt image. The secret of refining the elixir lies in great stillness: body and mind utterly still, lead and mercury return to the true earth. Later stages—cooking, extract-and-add, bathing, warm nurturing, shedding the shell, spirit transformation—all are contained in this one phrase; hence it is said to be utterly simple and easy.”

The Purple Yang Immortal (Zhang Boduan, author of Awakening to Reality) said: “From the place of the Kan trigram (Water, below), draw out the solid yang at its center and use it to transform the empty yin in the belly of the Li trigram (Fire, above); then within the body you again form the body of the Qian trigram (pure yang). Whether you hide or soar depends entirely on one mind.” The Three Peaks Immortal (Zhang Sanfeng) likewise wrote in the Essential Mysteries Chapter: “Taking the elixir within Kan is like a golden flower putting forth a single branch; celebratory clouds spread across the sky, and auspicious light fills the dead foundation.”

Internal alchemists use the hexagram images of the Book of Changes as metaphors for the elixir path. The true yang within Kan is originally the legacy of the Qian body (the pre-heaven single yang); once it falls into the post-heaven realm, the Qian body breaks and becomes the Li trigram (yang with emptiness within), and that one yang sinks into the Kan position (yin with fullness within). The method of “return” is to take the fullness (yang) from Kan and fill the emptiness in Li, thereby restoring the Qian trigram—a image of returning to youth. When the student’s practice reaches utmost emptiness and deep stillness, the whole body feels soft, numb, and tingling; that is the moment when the three yang of Kan rise. Nourish this with great stillness (the deepest samadhi), gradually gathering and condensing until the elixir forms; then the work of “taking from Kan to fill Li” is complete. Above all one must grasp the move of “the empty void outside the body”—only then does what you take have a place to rest.

This passage explains the symbolic operation in Neidan (internal alchemy) known as qu kan tian li—“taking from Kan and filling Li”—and traces its imagery back to Nüwa smelting stone to mend heaven. It also argues that in Zhuangzi’s Xiaoyao You (“Free and Easy Wandering”), the line about the great bird flying south encodes the same layer of meaning.

In Xiaoyao You we read: In the Northern Dark there is a fish named Kun, so vast that no one knows how many thousand li it spans; when it transforms into a bird, named Peng, Peng’s back too is unknown in thousands of li. When it rouses itself to fly, its wings are like clouds hanging from the sky. When this bird migrates, it goes with the turning of the sea toward the Southern Dark. The Southern Dark is the Celestial Pool. Qie Xie is a book of marvels; it says that when Peng sets out for the Southern Dark, its wings strike the water for three thousand li, rides the whirlwind upward ninety thousand li, and needs the great wind of the sixth month to make the long journey.

In plain terms, the author links qu kan tian li—in alchemical language, Kan as water and Li as fire, referring to restoring true Yin and true Yang to their proper places—with Nüwa mending heaven, the Kun–Peng transformation, and the flight from the Northern Dark to the Southern Dark, treating them as one family of metaphor: transformation, ascent, and restoration. The path runs from concealment (fish, north, water) to soaring (bird, south, heaven), echoing in Neidan the union of Kan and Li and the ascent of spirit and Qi. The full quotation from Xiaoyao You is meant to show that Zhuangzi is also using this “from sinking to floating, from north to south” subtext—not merely telling a story about an enormous bird.

The text opens with bold, sweeping energy. Those unfamiliar with neidan (internal alchemy) may read it as wild allegory; those who have received the oral instructions recognize at once that it describes the practice of drawing from Kan to fill Li. I will briefly unpack the imagery.

“In the Northern Dark there is a fish” stands for the true yang within the Kan trigram—Kan corresponds to the north, hence “Northern Dark.” “It transforms into a bird” means the hour has arrived and qi (vital energy) begins to stir. “In rage it flies” is qi surging upward. “Its wings are like clouds hanging from the sky” depicts vapor rising in billows and white qi filling the heavens—what Patriarch Lü called “white clouds ascending to the upper gate,” and what Master Ziyang meant by “at first like clouds covering a thousand mountains”—the same image.

“Southern Dark” points to Li in the south. Zhuangzi pairs the northern and southern Dark to show Li south and Kan north in mutual arrangement. The bird flying from north to south is precisely flowing Wu to Ji, drawing from Kan to fill Li. Zhuangzi’s kun and peng allegory refers to true yang qi. True qi is vast— utmost great, utmost firm—hence “no one knows how many thousand li.”

“When the peng migrates to the Southern Dark, the water is struck for three thousand li”—three thousand li matches the three yang lines of the Qian hexagram. “It spirals on the whirlwind and rises ninety thousand li”—ninety thousand li matches the nine lines of Qian. In the alchemical tradition, martial fire refining (heart and breath mutually supporting while outwardly engaged) follows the image of “using the nine”; civil fire gentle nurturing (entering stillness without breath) follows “using the six.” Movement answers to Qian, stillness to Kun. The true yang in Kan originally belongs to the Qian family, so both three thousand and ninety thousand take Qian as their symbol.

When true yang ascends, one must pump the bellows (like a forge-blast to stoke the fire) so it does not stall halfway. Fire grows fierce with wind; in one surge it breaks through the three passes and pierces the crown gate—the full effect of “using the nine.” The next line, “it goes away with the breath of the sixth month”—six is the six lines of the Kun hexagram; Kun governs stillness. This speaks of the gate of Kun’s return: stillness at the extreme gives birth to movement; once one has obtained Qian’s true qi, civil fire refines and fuses the returned elixir, replenishing original yang and restoring the Qian image—called returning to youth. Nine is a yang number; when nine is mentioned, the six yin tally (using six, Kun’s quiet nurturing) is already implied within it.

This brilliant passage is hidden exceedingly deep. For two millennia, few seem to have explained it this plainly— which shows how hard it is truly to “know the words.”

Plain-Language Commentary

Liu Xixin treated the writings of Zhuangzi, Liezi, and others as extended metaphors, calling this “returning to childhood.” Nine is a yang number; when one speaks of “nine,” the symbol of six yin is already implicit within it. This passage is extremely deep and obscure—over two thousand years almost no one has explained it clearly, which shows how hard it is truly to read and articulate it.

Liu Xixin classed Laozi, Zhuangzi, Liezi, and the like under “Daoism” and secret immortal methods under “fangshu” (technical arts)—he had not grasped the source of the Dao. What immortals cultivate—is that not the Dao? When Laozi, Zhuangzi, Liezi, Guan Yinxi, and others succeeded in cultivating the Dao, were they not immortals? The principles of alchemical scriptures (dan jing) do not go beyond Laozi, Zhuangzi, Guan Yin, and the various masters; they only speak through images, so it is not easy to see everything as one whole. Baopuzi (Ge Hong) said: “Laozi speaks broadly and rather roughly; Zhuangzi, Wenzi, Guan Yinxi, and their kind merely inherit the Yellow Emperor–Laozi line and never produce ultimate sayings—they are ten thousand li from immortals.” Alas! He simply had not thought it through deeply enough. In this collection, the subtle meaning of Laozi, Zhuangzi, Liezi, Guan Yin, and the rest is unfolded and developed as far as possible; if Baopuzi could see it, who knows what he would think!

Section 93: Jade Refining and Gold Refining

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang spoke of “jade fluid refining the form” and “golden fluid refining the form,” which later people shortened to jade refining and gold refining. Taking the moist quality of jade: as when jade is hidden in a mountain, the plants around it do not easily wither; the human body is the same—when true qi (zhen qi) is full, the skin has luster, the complexion is clear, and the bearing is solid and generous. The Cantong qi says: “Yellow within gradually opens to principle; moisture and polish reach the skin.” That is the effect of jade refining.

Gold Refinement and Jade Refinement

To “take gold” is to take its quality of firmness that does not decay. After cultivating the Great Returning Elixir (da huan dan), one may transcend the ordinary and enter sagehood; the dharma-body endures, unharmed through kalpas. Hence the work is called “gold refinement” (jin lian), and the elixir achieved is the Golden Elixir (jindan). Writers through the ages often label the path that stresses inner nurture, clarity, and wuwei (non-action) as “jade refinement” (yu lian), and the path that stresses the Great Returning Elixir, shedding the shell, and spirit transformation as “gold refinement.” Small return and great return are used to distinguish jade refinement from gold refinement, yet the pivot of the practice is really one: heart and breath mutually reliant (xin xi xiang yi). If one can truly enter the state of great absorption (da ding), inwardly there is the “seven returns” (qi fan): in the lead cauldron (qian ding) a gentle warmth and a subtle sign appear; outwardly there is the “nine returns” (jiu huan): pre-heaven primordial Qi (xian tian yi qi), responsive at the slightest touch, melts together with body and mind as if smelted in one furnace and beaten into one piece. This is nurturing inside and outside together, heaven and person issuing as one—like gold ringing and jade resonating (jin sheng yu zhen), one thread running through to the end.

Ninety-Four: Fuqi (Settling Qi) and Fuqi (Swallowing Breath)

The ancients said: “Settle Qi—do not rely on swallowing breath; to swallow breath you must first settle Qi. Swallowing breath does not bring long life; for long life you must settle Qi.”

Fuqi (settling Qi) means using spirit (shen) to steer Qi, with heart and breath mutually reliant, so that ordinary breathing (fan xi) gradually subsides and turns into true breath (zhen xi)—the subtle functioning of the pre-heaven natural Way, and the true teaching of nature and life returning to one.

Fuqi (swallowing breath), by contrast, is a post-heaven method of moving Qi by intention—what people usually call breathing: drawing in fresh air and expelling the old, like Western deep breathing, or in ancient China methods such as storing spirit and swallowing Qi. Without grasping the key of “the empty void outside the body” (shen wai xu kong), one cannot obtain true breath or the marvel of no-breath (wu xi); one can only rely on post-heaven breathing to take in air and do exhalation–inhalation and guiding (daoyin)—at most reaching comfort and extended years.

Fu Qi (Subduing the Breath)

Fu Qi means stopping the external breathing of mouth and nose and turning the breath inward to return to the Yuanshen (original spirit), so body and mind settle. With the inner vacuum (empty, luminous nature) within oneself, one attunes to the subtle existence (subtle Qi and creative transformation) outside or within. Subtle existence and vacuum merge without gap, become one, and form the Dao embryo (the sacred embryo of inner refinement)—thereby transcending the ordinary and entering sagehood, with great attainment. Ziqing Weng said: “Using fire to refine the medicine into an elixir is using Shen to command Qi and thus achieve the Dao.” That is the meaning of Fu Qi.

Starting from Regulating the Breath

Fu Qi must begin with regulating the breath. Xu Jingyang said: “Within, join true Qi; hold the breath; in natural transformation one returns from old age to youth.” Cao Wenyii said: “Concentrating Qi to softness, Shen can long abide; what comes and goes is true breath, naturally continuous and unbroken.” Lüzu said: “Elixir furnace and river chariot need not be rushed; crane embryo and turtle breath will naturally be continuous and fine.” Longmeizi said: “Breathing Yin-Yang should be silent; outgoing and incoming breath must be fine and unbroken.” All are essentials of regulating breath. When regulation reaches the point that breath can be held, the efficacy of Fu Qi appears.

Ordinary Breath and True Breath (Section)

Ordinary breath is the breathing of our mouth and nose: one exhalation and one inhalation make one breath. Exhaling is expanding, Yang; inhaling is gathering, Yin. This mouth-and-nose breathing appears only after one leaves the womb and is called ordinary breath. All ordinary people, day and night, in rising and resting, cannot do without this ordinary breath.

Collection of Heavenly Joy (Tian Le Ji)

Those who practice alchemy apply the method of “mutual reliance of mind and breath,” so that thought and respiration stay joined. Shen (spirit) and Qi gradually merge; breathing grows ever smoother and finer, as if present yet barely there. At this point the eighty-four thousand pores of the body open; true Qi steams through the whole person; body and mind blend in ease and joy, soft and blissful—beyond words. What Zhang Jinghe says in the Fetal Breath Formula—“like fish in a spring pool, like myriad insects in winter sleep; vast Qi harmonious and full, numinous breeze gentle and steady; neither turbid nor clear, neither mouth nor nose; neither going nor coming, neither exiting nor entering”—is exactly this kind of authentic state. In general, once ordinary breath stops, true breath appears of itself; once true breath appears, true Qi arises of itself, the Yang fire advances of itself, and the Yin Talisman recedes of itself. Hence it is said: only what is not the usual mouth-and-nose “breath” is called true breath.

Ninety-Six: Mysterious Breath and Fetal Breath (This section title shares the same theme as the preceding discussion of breath; the above already treats mutual reliance of mind and breath and the arising of true breath.)

The Scripture of the Great Grotto (Dadong Jing) says: “In settled concentration, subtle clarity, and awakened awareness, the Xuan breath itself brings long life.” Here Xuan breath is true breath, also called embryonic breath, spirit breath, or tortoise breath. It means spirit and qi embrace each other, the mind holds no stray thoughts, and there is no coming or going; outer breathing ceases while embryonic breath coalesces—hence the name embryonic breath, somewhat like the breathing of an infant still in the womb.

Master Ma said: “The grotto is empty and pure; Xuan breath flows unblocked; without obstruction or hindrance, inner and outer are both clear.” He also said: “When empty space thunders, do not startle; having received the register, golden flowers yield jade essence. Nurtured to clarity, one returns to the primordial beginning; the continuous Xuan breath itself grants long life.”

What is meant by “Xuan” is that my breathing, the breathing of empty space, and the breathing of heaven and earth are one and the same breath. Therefore one can seize heaven-and-earth’s creative transformation and, in an instant, form the spirit elixir. If outer breathing cannot be stilled, it cannot be called “Xuan.”

The method of embryonic breath is the preparatory step in the return of the Profound teaching (Xuan); one must first grasp the move of “empty space outside the body”: with spirit entering within qi, gradually adjust the breath, gradually harmonize it, gradually refine it, gradually make it subtle, until a single breath rests on its own and the body’s aspect is empty—then one merges into deep absorption (ding). Only then does one accord with the wondrous realm of Xuan breath.

In Ru Yao Jing (Medicine Mirror), Master Cui said, “Heaven responds like the stars, earth responds like the tide.” Commentators have usually explained this in terms of principle and meaning, but few have really unpacked the formula. In my view, it is precisely pointing at the picture of heart and breath depending on each other. Why do I say that?

What is meant by “heaven responds like the stars” is the fire in the Li trigram—a point of spiritual light, which is our human spiritual awareness. When it is reflected inward and condensed into the qi cavity, it is like starlight shining downward; the Kan water (true yin in the kidneys) is warmed and steamed by the Li sun (true yang in the heart), and qi naturally rises, like a tide flowing upward against the current. This is the subtle use of the reversal of the Five Phases: fire, which normally flares upward, is made to go downward; water, which normally flows down, is made to rise. Thus Kan and Li interpenetrate, and water and fire take on the image of “already completed” (jiji).

The formula says: on the outside, let heart and breath cling closely together, and heart-fire will not flare upward but will shine downward. Once heart-light shines down, kidney water naturally transforms into rising qi and no longer rushes downward and leaks away. When post-heaven yin and yang have joined, body and mind abide long in stillness and concentration, and stillness reaching its limit naturally gives birth to yang. When the season arrives, the subtle principle shows itself of its own accord: the one yang in Kan surges upward, the true fluid in Li descends, metal and water merge, the four images unite, and the work of the “seven returns” is achieved. So when heart and breath outside are one in dependence, Kan and Li within naturally interpenetrate—“responding like the stars” and “responding like the tide” are like echoes in a valley, reverberating without end; the wonder is hard to fathom.

Ninety-Eight: Youming and Hunming

Laozi says: “Deep and dark—within it there is essence.” Zhuangzi says: “The utmost Dao has essence, deep and dark…” (the original here seems mixed with later text; the following follows the usual citations)—youming means deep, dark, and hidden; hunming means chaos before differentiation. The cultivator should, within youming and hunming, guard the One and preserve essence, and only then align with the utmost Dao.

Laozi says: “How deep, how dark—and yet within it lies essence (the root essence of life).” Zhuangzi says: “The utmost refinement of the Dao lies in what is remote and obscure (profoundly hidden and dim).” Lü Dongbin says: “How can one recognize the Dao that is mystery upon mystery? The Dao is in the realm of the unseen and silent; one must investigate it with utmost care.” He also says: “From within the unseen and silent, haziness arises; from haziness upon haziness, a mass gathers into one.” Li Daozhun says: “Condense the vast qi in the obscure depth; in haziness, go out and enter the formless.” Ancient immortals say: “True lead is not found in the five metals (gold, silver, copper, iron, tin); it is born in the obscure depth, before Heaven and Earth were divided.” Ning Xuanzi says: “It is not in worldly affairs, nor in mountain forests; one must seek straight through to the far end of the obscure depth.” Chaoyuanzi says: “When the enlightened ruler governs, the myriad regions are clear; one stream of the Yellow River connects to the unseen and silent.” He also says: “Unseen and silent again and again; the harmonious qi is white and clear; the three return each to their root, and the heir returns to the Eastern Sea.” Cangmingzi says: “Within haziness and the obscure depth there is an image—only then does one know how utterly mysterious creation is.” He also says: “Fire and water rise and fall into the Yellow Court (Dantian); the union of true essence crystallizes in the obscure depth.” Chen Xiyi says: “The obscure depth has just revealed a trace of its edge; in haziness, self and other are not yet distinguished.” Zhang Sanfeng says: “In the unseen and silent there is trustworthiness; in haziness there is neither seeing nor hearing.” Wang Yangming says: “Leisurely observing the forms of things, all show living intent; in stillness awakening to Heaven’s mechanism, one enters the obscure depth.”

Poems and gāthās of this kind could be cited without end. In sum, the obscure depth (yaoming) is the merging of spirit and qi, entering a state like drunkenness but not quite drunk—the very sign of embryonic breathing (taixi). Only when spirit and qi are one can innate pre-heaven true yang be drawn forth; stillness within which movement returns, and true essence is born. Therefore, to gather the pre-heaven, one must penetrate deeply into the obscure depth—utmost emptiness and steadfast stillness (xuji jingdu)—so that when there is resonance, there is response, and the signs of the elixir arise of themselves.

Zhuangzi says: “Entrust life to Heaven’s Dao and extend emotion to its fullest; rejoice together with heaven and earth, let the myriad affairs fade away, and let the ten thousand things return to their innate disposition—this is called hunming (merging into obscurity).”

Lu Fanghu says: “Ming (life-destiny) is what Heaven bestows; qing (emotion/feeling) is what nature expresses outwardly. When one ‘entrusts ming and exhausts qing,’ both the attainment of the middle way and the attainment of harmony are realized. Therefore above and below flow together with heaven and earth, and entanglements from external things are wholly dissolved. Hence it is said: heaven and earth rejoice and the myriad affairs vanish. When the ten thousand things restore qing, what is called hunming means restraining the nature and returning to the nature; when qing is fully expressed, every outward movement hits the proper measure; when qing is restored, one is still and unmoving and returns to the center; returning to the center is dim and silent, equal to the deep remote obscurity—hence it is called hunming. The so-called method of hundun (chaos) cultivates precisely this.”

Xuanjing says: Hunming is merging with xuanming—the image of primordial chaos—entering directly into great samadhi and true samadhi, and blending into the great unity of the dharma realm. What Laozi calls “returning to wuji (the limitless)” is exactly this. Thus from the initial samadhi of deep obscurity one turns into the great samadhi of hunming; then, it may be hoped that burdens from things are wholly gone and nature is cultivated until De is restored.

Ninety-Nine: Ziran (Naturalness) and Hunran (Undifferentiated Oneness)

Laozi says: “The Dao takes ziran as its model.” Cantong Qi says: “What ziran itself does—there is no crafty artifice in it.”

Laozi said: “The Dao models itself on the natural.” Cantong qi says: “What the natural accomplishes does not rely on crooked, artificial contrivance.” It also says: “When yang qi dwells in harmony, one’s nature returns to the natural.” Lü Dongbin said: “Still the mind and forget clever schemes; align with the natural.” Zhao lun says: “Rest quietly and silently in the deep abyss, in accord with the subtle principle of the natural.” Xinxin ming says: “Look equally upon the myriad methods, and all return to the natural.” It also says: “Clinging too hard leads surely onto a deviant path; letting the natural take its course, the root-nature neither comes nor goes.” Cangmingzi said: “The great Dao is empty, still, and beyond fixed methods; what it most values is the natural. Beyond the natural there is no deeper mystery. Soften and hold qi like an infant: hungry, it eats; tired, it sleeps.” Yinfu jing says: “The way of the natural lies in stillness, and so heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things can be born and transformed.” It also says: “Therefore the sage knows that the way of the natural cannot be violated, and so governs affairs by following its patterns.”—All of the above are clear evidence that both Chan and Xuanxue (Neo-Daoist) traditions honor “the natural.”

Laozi also said: What cannot be seen is called “yi,” what cannot be heard is called “xi,” what cannot be grasped is called “wei.” These three cannot be pursued to their limit, and so they merge into one. He also said: Mixed—like turbid water. Dongshan Liangjie said: “In the place where all is mixed, with nothing hidden or exposed, what else is there to seek?” Caoshan Benji said: “Mixed, with no inner or outer; harmonized, above and below are level.” He also said: “Within the mixed, principle and phenomena are stored; signs and portents can never be fully explained. Even at the time of King Weiyin it was not yet understood—how could Maitreya be wide awake?”—From this it is clear that both Chan and Xuanxue likewise take “the mixed and undifferentiated” as what they most esteem.

What is the ultimate difference? Answer: Return to the Limitless (Wuji)—merged into one, leaving no trace; forgetting both principle and affairs, hiding both merit and position—this is called hunran (undifferentiated oneness).

Hunran is the image of wholeness at the first opening of chaos. Ziran (naturalness) is letting things run their course in stillness, like a clear mirror reflecting things or an empty valley echoing sound—each according to its measure, without adding private intent; this is the wondrous use of the correct Way. The goodness of hunran and the virtue of huncheng (undifferentiated completion) are the wondrous substance of the Dao. Speaking from practice: heart and breath mutually depend—when training reaches full ripeness, the heart naturally follows the breath and the breath naturally follows the heart, with no need for deliberate arrangement; all huohou (critical timings of change in body and mind in cultivation) also cannot be governed by “me.” When the sign arrives and accords naturally, that is the xiantian (pre-heaven) realm—the wondrousness of ziran verified in experience. As practice advances further, even this layer of natural wondrous realm is forgotten—muddled and dim, neither knowing nor aware; even when yang qi arises, the heart remains still and unmoved, no different from “not noticing.” At this point wondrousness is exhausted and effort forgotten, returning to simplicity (pu)—deeply still, constantly silent; the physical form gradually returns to childlike innocence, the yang pass (yangguan) closes as well, consciousness-nature gradually transforms, bad habits are fully refined away, body and mind both show the appearance of true childlike innocence. This hunran true realm is precisely the secret key to returning to youth (fanchong) and the hidden mechanism of returning to life-root (fuming).

In Zhuangzi, “Perfected Life” (Dasheng): the hunchback catching cicadas, the ferryman at the ford, the carpenter with the saw, Gongchui turning the lathe; in “Nourishing Life” (Yangsheng): Cook Ding butchering the ox—all illustrate the huohou of ziran. Ji Sheng’s training of fighting cocks until they became wooden cocks precisely shows the huohou of hunran.

100. Softness and Numbness

Mutual Reliance of Mind and Breath, and the Three Realms of Numbness

In practice, let mind and breath work together until the pairing is long sustained and fully mature: Shen settles as it follows the breath, and the breath transforms as it follows Shen. At that point, breathing through the nose and mouth shifts to breathing through the pores; opening and closing flow with heaven and earth in emptiness and naturalness. The true Yang of heaven and earth then penetrates from the limbs and joints into the five viscera and six bowels, and one feels soft tingling and pleasant ease. The deeper the gongfu, the stronger that softness and tingling—from the crown to the soles, inside and out. When softness and tingling reach their extreme, they turn into numbness. Numbness falls into three kinds: first, numbness while mind and breath are mutually relying; second, numbness in vague oblivion and dark stillness; third, numbness in great samadhi (dading). Being able to experience numbness in great samadhi is precisely the time for circulating the microcosmic orbit (xiaozhoutian). Such changes in firing times (huohou) are extremely subtle; countless neidan books often leave them unwritten, and they are mostly passed mouth to ear from master to disciple.

Before Guǒ and After Guǒ

The Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “When lead meets the birth of guǒ, gather urgently; when metal meets the period after the full moon, it is not fit to taste.” This speaks of refining and gathering in the before guǒ phase.

Zhang Sanfeng’s Xuanyao Pian (Essential Secrets) says: “The Way of the Highest Lord—again proclaimed in full—breaks through the pre-heaven and post-heaven. It only discusses lead born after guǒ, and does not speak of Yang arising before guǒ.” It also says: “When the lead flower appears and guǒ is exhausted, again the western garden’s branches are full of flowers.” And: “After guǒ, lead is born and Yin and Yang divide; just at the first quarter, metal and water are full—like orioles and flowers in the second month of spring.” These lines speak of refining and gathering in the after guǒ phase.

(In neidan, “guǒ” often metaphorically stands for yin essence and the water phase; before guǒ usually means the moment when the first trace of Yang stirs—a time to gather urgently; after guǒ usually means Yin and Yang have already separated and the lead flower has appeared. Different lineages slightly differ in how they read “before guǒ” and “after guǒ”; one must understand them in light of the whole text and oral transmission from one’s master.)

Someone asked: The Shaoyang and Wen Shi lineages do not say the same thing about the formulas of the elixir method—how can one understand them as a single thread?

Xuanjing replied: In my early years I heard Master Wang explain: Lead belongs to yang, and gui (the yin aspect of the alchemical process) belongs to yin; when yin reaches its limit, yang is born, and when stillness reaches its limit, movement returns—hence the saying that one speaks only of “lead being born after gui.” Yet once true yang arises, its qi moves as fast as lightning and cannot long remain in the pre-heaven realm; in an instant gui water is produced, and yang turns back into yin. So the formula runs: “When lead meets gui’s birth one must gather urgently; when metal meets distant sight it must not be tasted”—gathering urgently at gui’s birth means acting before gui water has yet to appear.

Wuzhen pian says: “Seen, it cannot be used; used, it cannot be seen. In trance you meet; in obscurity there is change. In a flash the flame flies—the true person appears of themselves.” Zhang Sanfeng’s Xuanyao pian says: “Where lightning flashes, seek the true seed; when the wind-signal comes, find the root lineage.” Thus “before gui” and “after gui” both point to the true pivot of gathering the medicine; each has its subtle meaning. Understood together, the aim is one—not a contradiction.

A Plain-Language Reading of the Tianle Ji (Collection of Heavenly Joy)

In the internal alchemy (Neidan) lineages, practitioners speak of “advancing yang fire and retreating the yin talisman (fu),” shortened to “advancing fire and retreating the talisman,” also called “talisman fire.”

Ziyang Zhenren (the True Person of Purple Yang) writes in the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality): “Gather the ‘medicine’ only when the moment is right, and then floating and sinking can be settled; when advancing fire, above all guard the position of ‘danger’ (wei).” He also says: “When the one yang returns, advance fire at once—do not delay.”

Longmeizi, in the Jindan Yinzheng Shi (Verses Verifying the Golden Elixir), writes: “Advance fire at the zi hour and lie hidden at the gui hour—this is the secret of morning fire. Yin and yang should answer each other in silent stillness; regulate the breath going in and out so it flows on without break.” He also says: “At zi hour, ‘eighteen-eight stars’—this is the sequence for retreating fire with the yin talisman. To tame and subdue, begin from the Gou hexagram like hard ice; to gather in, store, and nourish is to let the Kun body fill of itself.”

Qianxu Weng explains: “Fire here is spirit fire (shen fire). Advancing fire is to nourish yang; retreating the talisman is to nourish yin.”

The Sibai Zi Xu (Preface in Four Hundred Characters) says: “Refine with yang fire, and it turns into yang Qi; nurture with the yin talisman, and it turns into yin Jing.” In the way of Heaven and Earth, yang presides over initiating and generating, yin presides over completing and maturing—warmth and cold each follow their order, and the ten thousand things grow and are stored accordingly. The path of the Golden Elixir works the same way.

This passage explains that the author had once consulted Master Wang about certain teachings—most likely the approach of scheduling cultivation advance and retreat according to hexagrams, line positions, and time periods in the Zhouyi (Book of Changes). Master Wang said that all of that is only metaphor and borrowed “tools and snares” (like the net for catching rabbits—a pointer to the moon, not the moon itself). The real gate of refining the elixir begins with xinxi xiangyi (mind and breath mutually depending): you practice until the outer breath is so fine you can barely feel it, the whole body is soft and at ease, and when innate true yang arrives in the body it is like irrigation and steaming. When yang advances one measure, yin naturally retreats one measure—like light gaining one measure and darkness losing one—entirely on its own, with no room for you to arrange even the slightest bit. This is exactly what Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) meant: “The method of the great elixir is utmost simple and easy; the account is plain and apt, and nothing need be added. Even a foolish common person who obtains it and practices can at once enter the realm of sages.” If one still had to fix advance and retreat by hexagrams, lines, and dates, how could ordinary foolish people manage it?