《悟真篇》

Alas, a human body is hard to obtain, yet time slips easily away; the length of a life cannot be foreseen—how, then, can one escape karmic retribution? If one does not awaken in good time and is content merely to submit to fate, then at the point of death, should a single thought go astray, one will at once fall into the three evil paths of hell, hungry ghosts, and animals, and through long kalpas scarcely find a day of release. By then, regret will come too late. For this reason, both the lineage of Laozi and Buddhism open expedient gateways through the learning of nature and life (xing and ming), teaching people to cultivate so as to leave birth and death behind. Buddhism takes emptiness and stillness as its root: if one can awaken suddenly and understand completely, one reaches the other shore directly; if habitual tendencies and afflictions have not yet been fully cut off, one remains entangled by a body subject to birth. The lineage of Laozi takes refining and nurturing as essential: if one grasps the crucial point, one can quickly rise to the realm of the sage; if one has not yet understood original nature, one remains bound by the illusory flesh.

Further, the Zhouyi (Book of Changes) says that one should exhaustively investigate the principles of things, fully illuminate one’s nature, and thereby arrive at the Mandate of Heaven; the Analects record that Confucius taught one not to rely on subjective conjecture, arbitrary certainty, obstinacy, or self-centeredness. These, too, touch upon Confucius’s inquiry into the profound principles of nature and life. His discussions, however, are generally brief and not set out in detail, because he emphasized setting human relations aright and promoting the actively engaged, this-worldly teaching of humaneness, righteousness, ritual, and music, and did not openly proclaim the Dao (the Way) of Wuwei (non-action). He only lodged the methods of cultivating life (ming) within the images and numbers of the Zhouyi, and wove the methods of cultivating nature (xing) into words that are reserved and subtle. The Zhuangzi explores a nature that casts off entanglement with external things and attains carefree freedom, and the Mencius speaks of being skilled at nurturing the flood-like Qi (vital energy); both come close to this essential purport.

In the Han dynasty, Wei Boyang drew on the Zhouyi’s principle of the union of Yin-Yang and composed the Cantong qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three), in order to elucidate…

During the Han and Wei periods, Wei Boyang drew on the principle of Yin-Yang conjunction in the Yijing (Classic of Changes) to compose the Cantong qi, elucidating the function of the Great Elixir (the fundamental elixir method pursued in the cultivation of Neidan, or internal alchemy). In the Tang dynasty, National Preceptor Zhong, at the opening of his recorded sayings, recounted the words of Laozi and Zhuangzi in order to explain the beginning and end of the supreme Dao (the Way, the highest principle). From this it can be seen that, although the teachings divide into three schools, their principles ultimately return to one and the same place. Sadly, in later ages the Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist schools each clung to their own tradition and rejected the others, so that the essential tenets of the three schools were buried amid partial and deviant byways and could not be fully integrated and restored to a single principle.

People of today hold that the Daoist school attaches importance to the cultivation of life (the nurturing of vitality and the physical form), yet they do not understand that the methods of cultivating life are of two kinds: one easy to encounter but hard to bring to completion, the other hard to encounter but easy to bring to completion. Refining the Qi (vital energy) of the Five Sprouts, ingesting the light of the Seven Luminaries (taking in the essential Qi of the sun, moon, and stars), visualization and massage, inhaling the clear and exhaling the turbid, reciting scriptures and holding mantras, spraying water and commanding talismans, clicking the teeth to gather the Shen (spirit), renouncing one’s wife and fasting, preserving the spirit and holding the breath, circulating by intention the Qi between the eyebrows, replenishing the brain and returning the Jing (essence), practicing the arts of the bedchamber, and even taking medicines refined from metals, stones, and plants—all these belong to the methods that are easy to encounter yet hard to accomplish.

When the methods above are applied to the cultivation of the body, most lapse into coarseness and incompleteness, so that even if one invests a great deal of effort, results are seldom seen. If one can devote oneself with concentrated diligence and practice day and night, one may at best avoid illness and prevent unexpected calamities; once one stops, the effects previously gained gradually fade. This merely prolongs one’s years and is in the end hard to bring to completion. To wish that, once the Dao is attained, it will never again be lost—that one may turn from old age back to youth, transform the body, and ascend in flight to become an immortal—is this not exceedingly difficult? It is truly lamentable.

Practitioners of recent times often cling to their views in vain. Without having grasped the true meaning of the wondrous method, they instead complain that the immortals spoke falsely. They do not know that all who attain the Dao and become immortals succeed through the refining of the Golden Elixir. In order not to divulge the secrets of Heaven, the ancients borrowed other names under which to speak of the work of cultivation.

Among these methods, only that of breath retention (gathering in the breath and quieting the mind), if one can forget clever contrivance and still all deliberation, comes near to the seated meditation of the Two Vehicles of Buddhism. Diligently practiced, it may allow one to enter meditative absorption and to send forth the spirit. Yet the spirit is Yin, and the bodily form in which it lodges is hard to keep stable for long; thus one still cannot avoid the method of transferring it to another lodging. Since one has not yet obtained the reversion of gold and mercury (the crucial method in Neidan whereby Yin and Yang conjoin and Jing is refined into Qi), how could one shed the embryo and exchange the bones, be transformed into a body of pure Yang, and ascend in broad daylight?

Cultivating the Golden Liquid Reverted Elixir (Jinye Huandan)—a term of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) for the process of refining the internal elixir and returning to original authenticity—is a method hard to obtain, yet once its essentials are mastered, results can appear relatively quickly. The practitioner must understand the transformations of Yin-Yang with complete clarity and observe in depth the creative workings of nature, so that the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang meet along the Yellow Path, the three natures (elements that cooperate with one another in the art of Neidan) converge in the Primordial Palace (the center of cultivation within the body), the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) are gathered together, and the Four Images are harmonized. “The dragon roars and the tiger howls; the husband sings and the wife follows” uses the dragon and the tiger, and the correspondence of husband and wife, as images of the mutual response of Yin and Yang within the body. The jade cauldron seething like boiling broth, and the golden furnace blazing with fierce fire, are images of the inner changes that arise in cultivation. Only in this way can the Mysterious Pearl (a symbol of the internal elixir) appear and take form, and Taiyi (in Daoism, the authentic state of returning to the Dao [the Way]) be restored to the true.

The whole process takes only a moment, yet one may long enjoy endless peace and happiness. As for guarding against danger and carefully employing choutian (the Neidan method of regulating Yin and Yang and of advancing or withdrawing the firing times), and as for nurturing upright Qi and keeping it full, the key lies in “guarding the feminine and embracing the One” (remaining quiet and yielding, concentrated and undivided). In this way the Qi of generating Yang turns back of itself, and the forms of destructive Yin gradually recede. When the cycle of cultivation is complete, one can cast off the embryo and undergo spiritual transformation, have one’s name entered in the register of the immortals, and receive the title of Zhenren (Perfected Person). This is the moment when a great man sees his merit accomplished and his name established.

Nowadays some who study the Dao take lead and mercury for the two Qi of Yin and Yang, match the viscera to the Five Phases, divide the heart and the kidneys into Kan and Li, treat the liver and the lungs as dragon and tiger, speak of Shen (spirit) and Qi as child and mother, and further take saliva and bodily fluids for lead and mercury. They do not understand the changes of Yin and Yang in sinking and rising, nor can they tell host from guest. This is like claiming another person’s property as one’s own, or calling another family’s child one’s own son. How could they grasp the subtlety with which Metal and Wood overcome each other, or the marvel with which Yin and Yang put each other to use? To practice in this way is like the sun and moon losing the proper course of their motion, or lead and mercury being placed in separate furnaces. To hope thereby to refine the Reverted Elixir—how could that not be difficult?

From youth I drew near the arts of the Dao. I read widely in the classics (jing) of the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—and I also gave careful study to penal law, writing and calculation, medicine and divination, military methods and troop formations, astronomy and geography, and the arts of good and ill fortune, of death and of life. Of the method of the Golden Elixir alone, I read through the many scriptures, together with the songs and mnemonic verses, the discourses, and the covenant texts of the various schools. All that I encountered spoke of the hun-soul of the sun and the po-soul of the moon, the tiger of Geng and the dragon of Jia, quicksilver and cinnabar, white gold and black tin, Li and Kan, male and female, and said that by means of these one could refine the Golden Liquid Reverted Elixir. Yet none ever explained what true lead and true mercury actually are, nor made clear the rule of the firing times, the method of warm nurturing, or the final place of return.

What is more, certain later people, confused and without clear understanding, followed their own conjectures and presumptuously annotated the classics of the former sages, so that errors grew tangled and numerous. This not only throws the scriptures of the immortals into disorder, but also confuses and misleads those who afterward come to study the Dao.

Because I had never met anyone who had truly attained the Dao (the Way), and could not find the oral formulas for cultivation, I grew restless in sleep and meals and worn in spirit. I traveled everywhere seeking instruction and consulted both the worthy and ordinary people, yet most of the commentaries they produced went against the sacred classics and were full of errors. They not only threw the immortal scriptures into disorder but would also mislead later students.

Later, in the jiyou year of the Xining era (1069 CE), I accompanied Lord Lu of the Longtu to Chengdu. Because my resolve to seek the Dao never changed and my original sincerity grew still firmer, I at last received a response from a Perfected Person, who transmitted to me the secret formulas of the medicinal substances and firing times of the Golden Elixir (Jindan). His words were extremely concise, and the essentials he set forth were not elaborate. They enabled one to understand the root from outward appearances, so that hearing a single sentence brought insight into a great deal—like mist clearing and the sun shining bright, or dust wiped away and a mirror growing clear. When these oral formulas were set beside the immortal scriptures, the two agreed completely. I therefore hold that, although many in the world study the way of the immortals, those who truly understand the essentials of cultivation are scarcely one or two that I have ever heard of.

Since I have been fortunate enough to encounter true teaching, how could I dare conceal it and say nothing? I therefore wrote out in full the understanding I had gained, casting it as ninety-nine regulated poems and entitling the work Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality). Among them, sixteen seven-character poems in four rhymes represent the number “two eights”; sixty-four quatrains follow the number of hexagrams in the Zhouyi (Book of Changes); one five-character poem symbolizes the fact that the number of Taiyi—the primordial and supreme Dao (the Way) of which Daoism speaks—is odd; and later I further composed twelve lyrics to the tune “Xijiang Yue” (West River Moon), corresponding to the seasonal nodes of the twelve months of the year.

The relative height of the cauldron and vessel, the measures of the medicinal substances, the advance and retreat of the firing times, the order of host and guest, survival and perishing, being and non-being, together with auspiciousness, inauspiciousness, regret, and remorse—all of this has been set down in the work. After the book was completed, I felt that it had spoken only of methods for nurturing life and preserving the bodily form, and that the nature of true awakening within the original source had not yet been thoroughly fathomed. I therefore studied the Buddhist scriptures and the Chuandeng Lu (Transmission of the Lamp), a work recording the lineages of Chan masters and the circumstances of their awakening. When I read the story of the patriarch who awakened upon hearing bamboo being struck, I composed songs of praise, poems and lyrics, and miscellaneous verses, thirty-two pieces in all, and appended them at the end of the scroll, hoping thereby to grasp the root and understand the Dao of original nature.

I hope that like-minded readers, on coming to these writings, will be able to awaken to the root from the tips, abandon the false, and return to the true.

Upper Scroll

Sixteen Seven-Character Poems in Four Rhymes

(representing the number “two eights, one jin”)

The First

If one does not seek the great Dao and step clear of the path of delusion, then even with outstanding talent, how can one be reckoned a true man of worth? A hundred years pass in a flash, like a spark struck from stone, and the course of a lifetime floats as insubstantial and unsteady as a bubble on the water.

People attend only to craving fame and profit, and to glory and high station, yet never notice that their features and their bodies are quietly growing old, gaunt, and withered. Consider this: even if the gold and silver one has stored were heaped as high as a mountain, could it be used to purchase freedom from death? In the end, it cannot.

The Second

Though people hope to live to a hundred, neither the length of a life nor whether one’s lot will be smooth or adverse can be known in advance. Yesterday one was still riding horseback and hurrying through the streets; today one already lies in a coffin, numbered among the dead.

To set one’s wife and possessions aside does not mean that they never belonged to you; nor can the karmic offenses one is about to commit be hidden from oneself. If the precious “Great Medicine”—the fundamental substance named in the cultivation of Neidan (internal alchemy)—is never sought, how can it be encountered? To encounter it and yet not cultivate it is folly.

The Third

In learning to become an immortal, one should pursue the Dao (the Way) of the celestial immortals. What is most crucial in cultivation is the “Golden Boat,” a Neidan term for the key method of carrying and condensing Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). When the two things of Yin-Yang meet, emotion and nature unite; when the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) is fully present, dragon and tiger coil together and join.

Originally, the earth of wu and ji serves as the medium, bringing Yin-Yang into lasting union, like husband and wife. One need only wait until the practice is complete, and then one may pay homage at the Jade Palace—the palaces of heaven—and, amid the radiance of the nine rosy clouds, ride forth upon an auspicious bearer.

The Fourth

Of the three characters “three, five, and one,” truly few from ancient times to the present have really understood them. The east corresponds to three and the south to two, and together they make five; the north corresponds to one and the west to four, and these likewise combine to make five.

The generative number of wu and ji (earth) is itself five. When the three families meet, they form the “infant,” a Neidan term for the true Qi condensed through cultivation. The infant is pure and unitary true Qi; after ten months of gestational nurturing, the fetal Qi reaches fullness, and the foundation of sagehood is laid.

The Fifth

Grasses and trees must possess both Yin and Yang in full; if either is lacking, they cannot grow lush and fragrant. When plants first sprout, green leaves emerge first, for Yang moves first; afterward red flowers open, and Yin follows.

The constant principle of the union of Yin-Yang appears in the ordinary things of daily life; yet who can understand the source of its circling and return? Let students of the Dao be warned: if you do not understand Yin-Yang, do not cultivate rashly.

The Sixth

The Yin Jing contained within Yang is not firm in substance; cultivating only one of the two will instead leave the body weaker day by day. Exhausting the body with massage and guiding exercises is not the Dao; practices such as ingesting Qi and dining on rosy clouds may likewise be nothing but futile presumption.

People of the world blindly seek methods for subduing lead and mercury—when will they ever see dragon and tiger unite? You are urged to inquire deeply into the origin of life and, from the root, return to that origin; this is the most precious medicine.

The Seventh

Everyone originally possesses the medicine of long life; only the deluded cast it away in vain. When sweet dew descends, heaven and earth unite; where the yellow sprout emerges, Kan and Li (water and fire, Yin-Yang) meet.

A frog at the bottom of a well would surely say that the world holds no dragon palace; how could a magpie on the fence know that a phoenix builds its nest? Once Neidan has been refined to completion, the attainment of “a house full of gold” comes of itself. Why search everywhere for medicinal herbs and learn to smelt thatch?

The Eighth

Do not refine the so-called mineral medicines of the Three Yellows and the Four Spirits; if one seeks only all kinds of herbs, one has already strayed from the true method. Only when the two categories of Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang) correspond can they join and come into sympathetic communion; when Yin and Yang each obtain their own half, they naturally draw near and unite.

When the red sun rises from the bottom of the pool, yin evils and strange anomalies disperse; when the bright moon shines clear upon the mountain peak, the medicinal shoots are born anew with it. To recognize true lead and mercury, one must know that they are not ordinary cinnabar and quicksilver. “Lead and mercury” here are terms in the cultivation of Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the crucial medicines through which Yin and Yang unite, not to ordinary minerals.

The Ninth

This method is mysterious and true; its principle can be grasped only because I differ from ordinary people. I know the transformations within it because I understand the inverted use of the Li trigram and the Kan trigram (symbolizing fire and water respectively); and who else can understand the changes of floating and sinking, and thereby determine host and guest?

To keep mercury like cinnabar within the golden cauldron, one must first place silver like quicksilver into the jade pool. The work of applying fire-timing cannot be accomplished in a single morning or evening; once the method has manifested, a bright moon rises in the deep pool. Here the “golden cauldron” and the “jade pool” are metaphors in the art of Neidan, and “fire-timing” refers to the grasp of rhythm and timing in the course of cultivation.

The Tenth

To know the source from which the medicines are generated, one must understand the fundamental direction indicated by “the moon in the southwest.” When lead is generated upon meeting the gui day, it should be gathered in good time; once the Qi (vital energy) of Metal has passed the day of the full moon, it should no longer be taken.

After it has been gathered, send it into the earthen cauldron and seal it tightly; then add the flowing pearl so that the two are matched. The medicines are to be apportioned in the proportions of two jin and two-eight, and the fire-timing must be regulated according to the changes of Yin and Yang.

Eleven

The tiger leaps and the dragon soars, and wind and waves surge; in the true position at the center, the mysterious pearl is thereby generated. Fruit that grows upon the branch will in the end ripen; a fetus nurtured in the womb is no different in principle.

The fundamental channels of north and south are to be understood through the changes of the trigram images; the fire-timing from morning to evening must also accord with the regular motion of the heavenly bodies. One should know that a person who truly withdraws to cultivate the Dao (the Way) may also live in the marketplace; why must one hide in the deep mountains and cultivate purity alone?

Twelve

If one does not understand the principle of inverted application within the mysterious Dao, how can one know how to nurture life in the midst of fire? Draw the White Tiger (a symbolic force in the art of Neidan) home to be settled and nourished, and one can form a bright pearl as full and round as the luminous moon.

Do not merely keep a vain watch over the medicine furnace and observe the fire-timing; simply settle the spirit and the breath, and let everything follow its own course. When Yin Qi is gradually exhausted, the elixir is refined; then one can leave bondage behind and obtain a long life.

“Yellow Sprout” and “White Snow” are both terms of Neidan (internal alchemy), used as metaphors for the subtle medicinal substances needed to refine the elixir. Finding them is not difficult; what matters is that the practitioner must possess profound De (Virtue/Power). The transformations of the Four Images and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) all depend on Earth, and the workings of the Three Origins and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) likewise cannot do without Ren (the heavenly stem of Water, often linked with kidney-water and true water).

The completed “Lingbao” (the precious numinous substance formed through Neidan) is extremely difficult for anyone to recognize. If the Qi (vital energy) of yin evil can be entirely dispelled, ghosts and specters will be unable to intrude. One may wish to leave this secret teaching in the human world, yet one never meets a person who truly understands it.

Fourteen

Seek “True Lead” (a Neidan term for the crucial medicinal substance in elixir refinement) with single-minded attention, and do not lightly let time slip by in vain. If the “Earthly Po” can subdue “Vermilion Mercury,” the “Heavenly Hun” will naturally be able to restrain “Water and Metal.” All of these are figurative ways of speaking based on the Yin-Yang and Five Phases relationships of Neidan.

It may be said that when cultivation is profound, the dragon and tiger (the interacting yin and yang forces in Neidan) will submit and grow docile; when De is weighty, ghosts and spirits will also revere and yield. Once one understands how to make life long-lasting and to endure together with heaven and earth, vexations will naturally no longer disturb the mind.

Fifteen

If one does not recognize the root that is “True Lead,” every kind of practice is only wasted effort. Forcing oneself to abandon one’s wife in a vain attempt to cut off yin and yang, or fasting and abstaining from grain, only leaves the stomach and intestines empty.

The Yin-Yang Qi contained in plants and trees is, in the end, coarse and turbid matter; clouds and roseate mists, the sun and the moon, are likewise only illusory, hazy images. Even if one adds the practices of tuna (regulating the breath) and cunxiang (concentrating the spirit in visualization), none of this is the same as cultivating the Golden Elixir.

Sixteen

The principles set forth in ten thousand scrolls of elixir scriptures (jing) are, in the end, largely the same; the true foundation lies within this “Golden Boat” (a metaphor for Golden Elixir cultivation). It relies on the position of Kun (the direction symbolizing earth and yin) to generate form, and sows its seed in the household of Qian (the direction symbolizing heaven and yang), so that yin and yang interact and respond.

Do not be surprised that the heavenly secret seems already to have been disclosed; it is only that most who seek the teaching do not understand. If one can grasp the meaning of the poem, one can understand the principles of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing)—the heaven where Daoism’s highest deities reside—and of the Old One of the Most High (Taishang Laojun).

Middle Volume

Sixty-four seven-character quatrains, grounded in hexagram images and numerical principles.

The First

From within emptiness and nonbeing, the Dao (the Way) produces one Qi; that one Qi in turn transforms and gives birth to Yin-Yang. Yin and yang unite to form the body of the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and the human); the Three Powers continue to transform and generate, and from this the myriad things flourish.

The Second

The myriad things grow in profusion and, in the end, each returns to its own root; by returning to the root and reverting to original nature, one can endure for a long time. Understanding the constant Dao and returning to the foundation is not something everyone can comprehend; that acting recklessly on one’s own accord brings disaster is something all have heard.

If one is to treat what seems deathly still as a place of vitality, one must not rigidly take what only looks like a gate of life to be a gate of death. Only by grasping how the pivot of life and killing transforms and turns back upon itself does one understand that harm may, at times, hold vitality and grace within it.

Fourth

Misfortune and good fortune have always depended on each other and lain hidden in each other, following one another like an echo and a shadow. If one can turn the crucial point of life and killing, calamity may in the blink of an eye become good fortune.

Fifth

If the valley spirit (the Daoist source that is empty, still, and inexhaustible, and that can generate and nourish the myriad things) is to endure without perishing, its foundation must be set in the mysterious female (the wondrous gate symbolizing the root from which the myriad things arise). Once true Jing (essence) returns to the golden house (a metaphor, in the practice of Neidan [internal alchemy], for the place within the body where Jing and Qi [vital energy] are treasured), it is like a luminous pearl, never to be lost.

Sixth

Few people in the world truly know the gate of the mysterious female. Do not mistake the breathing of the mouth and nose for it. Even if one practiced exhaling and inhaling for a thousand years, how could one gain the subtle essentials of Neidan symbolized by the “golden horse seizing the young rabbit”?

Seventh

Though the names are many and different, the root is the same, and few know this; the mysterious relation between Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang) is what truly matters. To preserve life and bodily form, one must understand the principle of depletion and increase; the purple-gold elixir (a metaphor of Neidan practice) is the most numinous of all.

Eighth

If one does not understand Yin-Yang, or the relation of host and guest, how can one tell which is intimate and which is remote? Merely closing the Weilu point (the acupoint near the lower end of the spine) in the bedchamber, without grasping the essentials of cultivation, has needlessly delayed a great many people in the world.

Ninth

First observe the patterns of Heaven and understand the “Five Thieves” (a Daoist term for five kinds of working or transformation between Heaven and Earth); then examine the lay of the land so as to settle the people. Only after the people are settled and the state is prosperous can one speak of using troops; only when the fighting is over can the Dao (the Way) of the sage be seen.

Tenth

In employing generals, one must distinguish the armies of the left and the right; even if the other side is host, one must know oneself to be guest. I urge you not to take the enemy lightly when you meet them in the field, or you may lose your own priceless treasure.

Eleven

The Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and the human being) steal from one another in due season and transform Jing and Qi; this is the key to the immortals’ cultivation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power). After the transformations of the myriad things have settled, every kind of thought comes to rest; when the whole body is harmonized and unobstructed, one can realize and enter the realm of Wuwei (non-action).

Twelve

The precious text of the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) exceeds three hundred characters, and the numinous scripture of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Dao and De) runs to more than five thousand characters. From ancient times to the present, countless exalted immortals have through these come to the true principle.

Thirteen

Such writings as the Qilun, the Jing (scriptures/classics), and the songs set forth the Dao of ultimate truth, yet they do not put the firing times (in Neidan practice, the mastery of the timing and course of refining and nourishing) into writing. If one wishes to know how the oral instructions open onto the mysterious realm, one must carefully examine and discuss them with an immortal teacher.

Fourteen

Even if your intelligence surpassed that of Yan Hui and Min Ziqian, without a teacher’s transmission you should not force a guess. It is precisely because the elixir scriptures do not write down the oral instructions: if one is to teach you how to coalesce the numinous embryo (a Neidan metaphor for the state in which the elixir is completed), where would one even begin?

Fifteen

In a dream I longed to pay homage to the Perfected One of Western Florescence (Xihua Zhenren) and speak with him of the Dao of the Elixir (Dandao).

14

Even if your intelligence surpasses that of Yan Hui and Min Ziqian (disciples of Confucius), do not force yourself to guess if you have not received a master’s transmission. Certain crucial secrets in the elixir classics (Danjing) are never stated outright; from where, then, could one know how the “spiritual embryo” (lingtai—a symbolic expression in the cultivation of Neidan, internal alchemy) is formed?

15

I dreamed that I paid homage to the Perfected One of Western Florescence and arrived above the Nine Heavens. The Perfected One transmitted to me the Zhixuan Pian (Pointing to the Mystery). The text does not contain many words; it mainly teaches one to refine mercury and to refine lead (Neidan terms referring to the Yin-Yang medicines and the fire timing of cultivation).

16

The “lead” employed cannot be ordinary lead. Even when true lead has been obtained, one must not cling to it without letting go; in the end it must still be relinquished. What is set forth here is precisely the true subtle secret of using lead: cultivation requires true lead, and yet one must not cling to the very notion of “using lead.”

17

When a bamboo vessel breaks, it should be mended with bamboo; to hatch a chick, one must incubate an egg. If the kinds do not correspond, exhausting all one’s effort is still labor in vain. How could this compare with the mystery contained in true lead itself?

18

To refine the Reverted Elixir (Huandan—the attainment of Neidan), one need not hide away in the deep mountains. What is sought in the mountains is, from first to last, not the true lead spoken of here. This supreme treasure is originally possessed by every person; it is only that people of the world have failed to recognize it clearly.

19

The meanings of “emptying the mind and filling the belly” all run deep. Emptying the mind is for the sake of knowing one’s own mind; yet rather than speaking only of emptying the mind, it is better to begin first with refining lead and filling the belly, and to hold fast to the inwardly abundant “Metal” (a Neidan term).

20

The “sun” in the Li position (the position symbolized by the sun and fire) belongs, contrary to expectation, to Yin, while the “toad” (the image of the toad in the moon) in the Kan position (the position symbolized by the moon and kidney-water) belongs, contrary to expectation, to Yang. If one does not understand the meaning of this reversal of Yin-Yang, one should not discourse loftily on the strength of one’s own shallow views.

21

The dragon-mercury of the Zhen position (the Yin medicine symbolized by mercury) emerges from the Li position, and the tiger-metal of the Dui position (the Yang medicine symbolized by metal) is born in the quarter of Kan. Both medicines arise as the “child” produced from within the “mother”; the Five Phases (Wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) must also gather into the center.

22

If Li and Kan lack Wu and Ji (symbols of Earth), then even if they contain the Four Images (Sixiang—the four images formed by Yin-Yang and their transformations), the elixir cannot be refined. Because each of the two contains true Earth, only then can the Golden Elixir (Jindan) revert and come to completion.

22

If Li and Kan lack Wu and Ji (symbols of Earth), then even if they contain the Four Images (the four images formed by Yin-Yang and their transformations), the elixir cannot be refined. It is precisely because each of the two contains true Earth that the Golden Elixir can revert and come to completion.

23

Fire is born from Wood, and its sharp edge was originally hidden within. If one does not know how to study it with care, one should not force oneself to act. Disaster often arises from this and will instead harm oneself, so it must be subdued, and one must seek the “Metal Lord” (Jingong—the Yang power symbolized by metal).

24

The Metal Lord was originally the son of the eastern household; only when sent to the western neighbor to be fostered was he able to grow. Once he is recognized, one must call him back to be peacefully nourished, and then join him in companionship with the Lovely Maiden (Chanü—the Yin power symbolized by mercury).

25

The Lovely Maiden (a symbol of the yin medicinal substance) moves with a bearing of her own at each turn: when she advances, the movement should be short; when she retreats, it should be long and drawn out. Wait until she returns, then send her into the dwelling of the Yellow Matron (the intermediary that harmonizes Yin-Yang), so that she unites with the Metal Lord (a symbol of the yang medicinal substance) and the two become a pair that remains together for a long time.

Twenty-six

Take the real substance at the center of the Kan position (in the Bagua [Eight Trigrams], representing Water and classed as yin) and use it to transmute the yin substance within the Li palace (in the Bagua, representing Fire, and classed as yin containing yang within). From this it is transformed into the vigorous body of Qian (a body of pure yang). Whether it stays hidden or comes forth, whether it soars upward or leaps into motion, all is governed by the mind’s intent.

Twenty-seven

First set Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth, Yin-Yang) in place as the cauldron and vessel, then gather the medicinal substances of the bird and the hare (symbolizing respectively the sun and the moon, yin and yang) and cook and refine them. Once these two medicinal substances have been brought into the Yellow Path (the central position symbolizing the harmonization of Yin-Yang), how could the Golden Boat (the vessel that bears the Golden Elixir) fail to bring the Golden Elixir into being?

Twenty-eight

Following the Dao (the Way) of Qian and Kun, set up the furnace and cauldron, refine the quintessence, and thereby subdue the hun and po souls; then gather and disperse the dense, intermingling Qi (vital energy), so that it undergoes transformation. How could a Dao so mysterious be discussed in a careless way?

Twenty-nine

Swallowing saliva and drawing in Qi is only the work the practitioner does; only when the medicinal substances are present can the creative transformation be brought about. If there is no true seed in the cauldron, it is like setting water and fire to boil in an empty pot: in the end nothing is refined.

Thirty

Even if one recognizes the substances of elixir refining, such as cinnabar and black lead, ignorance of the firing times makes that knowledge useless. The refining of the elixir depends, in the main, entirely on the work of cultivation; the slightest error, and the elixir cannot be achieved.

Thirty-one

White contained within black is the mother of the elixir; the female hidden within the male is the sacred embryo. Taiyi (the true Qi, or the medicinal substance, of crucial importance in the alchemical process) circulates in the furnace and should be guarded with care. When the Three Fields (the upper, middle, and lower Dantian [energy centers]) gather precious Qi, they can answer to the Three Platforms (three stars in the heavens, also a figure for the three Dantian).

Thirty-two

One must seek a visible form amid what is vague and bewildering, and search out the true Jing (essence) and Qi within the deep and darkened obscurity. Being and non-being thereby mingle with each other. If these signs have not yet been seen, how can their formation be imagined out of nothing?

Thirty-three

No sooner has the Eldest Son (the Zhen trigram, symbolizing yang) drunk the wine of the west than the Young Maiden (the Dui trigram, symbolizing yin) first opens her blossom in the north. If the Green Maiden (the young woman, a symbol of yin) is to meet with yang Qi, they must at once be sealed fast in the Yellow House (the place where the Yellow Matron harmonizes Yin-Yang).

Thirty-four

On the summit of Mount Hua the male tiger roars long; beneath the sea of Fusang the female dragon murmurs low. The Yellow Matron will of herself bring them together, joining them as husband and wife and uniting them in one heart.

Thirty-five

The White Tiger of the western mountains is in fierce agitation, and the Green Dragon of the eastern sea is just as hard to subdue. One must seize them with both hands and set them to contend, until at last they are refined into a sheet of purple-gold frost (a symbol of the Golden Elixir after it has coalesced).

Thirty-six

The Red Dragon and the Black Tiger each…

The White Tiger of the Western Mountain (a metaphor for the true Yang Qi in the kidneys, belonging to Metal) is at the height of its fury, and the Azure Dragon of the Eastern Sea (a metaphor for the true mercury in the heart, belonging to Wood) is no less formidable. The practitioner seizes them with both hands and forces them to fight, until at last they transform into a frost of purple-gold. This is the image of the Golden Elixir (Jindan).

The Red Dragon (heart fire) and the Black Tiger (kidney water) stand east and west of each other. The Four Images of Dragon, Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise (that is, the Qi of Water, Fire, Metal, and Wood) converge within Wu and Ji (the central Earth, referring to intention). The Fu and Gou hexagrams (two hexagrams of the Zhou Yi, symbolizing the advance and retreat of the firing process) can then be applied with complete ease. Who could still claim that the Golden Elixir cannot be achieved?

When the moon has just shown half a disc of light on the horizon (a metaphor for the moment the medicine first arises), the Yin-Yang resonance of the dragon's chant and the tiger's roar has already appeared. This is precisely the time to apply effort, bringing the two eight-ounce portions of Yin and Yang into balanced union. Within a single double-hour, the Golden Elixir can be formed.

The Golden Elixir can be refined in a single day. The words left by the immortals of old are truly worth heeding. Those who speak of nine years or three years are merely stalling for time.

Striking bamboo to summon the tortoise and plucking the zither to call the phoenix means using intention to guide the tortoise and phoenix within the body (metaphors for kidney Qi and heart Qi) to swallow the jade fungus and the knife-tip measure (both referring to the elixir). Lately my body has been radiating golden light. These rules are not spoken of to ordinary people.

From the Crescent Moon Furnace (a metaphor for the lower Dantian) grow medicinal sprouts like jade stamens, and the mercury within the Cinnabar Cauldron (a metaphor for the heart; the true mercury of the heart) lies calm and still. Only because the fire has been properly balanced does the Yellow Sprout (the nascent shoot of the elixir) grow, bit by bit.

Do not cling to the alchemical stove and waste your effort. To refine the medicine, you must seek the Crescent Moon Furnace. Within it lies a natural firing process, so what need is there for firewood, charcoal, or bellows?

After the first quarter and before the last quarter (around the full moon), the medicine is mild and its signs are complete. When the medicine arrives, gather it back into the furnace to be tempered. Once refined, nurture it warmly, as one would cook a small fish, never turning it carelessly.

When the months of the Rabbit and the Rooster arrive (the second and eighth months), Xing and De (the Yin force of severity and the Yang force of generation) stand at the gate, and the signs of the medicine are just so. At this time the Golden Elixir should be bathed (the fire is suspended for rest). If more fire is added, danger of overturning is certain.

Ou Yezi (a famous sword-smith of the Spring and Autumn period) personally handed down the method of forging swords. The Moye sword joins Metal and Water, balancing hardness with softness. Once the sword is forged, it understands human intention and can strike down demons ten thousand miles away, swift as a bolt of lightning.

To harmonize lead and mercury (the two medicines of Yin and Yang) and form the Golden Elixir, one must ensure that neither the greater nor the lesser side is harmed, so that both kingdoms may be preserved. If you ask where true lead is found, a wheel of moonlight shines all day over Xichuan (the West belongs to Metal, and is where true lead resides).

On the fifteenth day of the eighth month the moonlight is bright, and the Jing (essence) of Metal is at the height of its vigor. Once the Qi (vital energy) of the first Yang begins to return, one should advance the fire and carry out the refining and nurturing in good time, without hesitation.

47

The first stirring of Yang is precisely the moment when the refining of the elixir begins. Within the lead cauldron the breath is mild and warm, casting its light upon the curtains. When the elixir Qi first arises it is relatively easy to recognize; yet in the course of refining and nurturing, how one extracts, replenishes, and governs the fire timing is crucial at every point, and one must be cautious so as not to go astray.

48

This is precisely the time when the Jing of Metal is at the height of its vigor. Once the Qi of the first Yang begins to return, one should advance the fire and carry out the refining and nurturing in good time, without hesitation.

47

The first stirring of Yang is precisely the moment when the refining of the elixir begins. Within the lead cauldron the breath is mild and warm, casting its light upon the curtains. When the elixir Qi first arises it is relatively easy to recognize; yet in the course of refining and nurturing, how one extracts, replenishes, and governs the fire timing is crucial at every point, and one must be cautious so as not to go astray.

48

The sun and moon in their courses complete one cycle in about thirty days. The practitioner substitutes the changing of the double-hours for the movement of the sun and moon, and by this means carries out the work of refining and nurturing. One must know both how to guard what has been gained and how to meet change and distinguish the auspicious from the inauspicious; only then can the numinous cinnabar steadily increase, fill the cauldron, and show a red color.

49

The subtle and mysterious Neidan (internal alchemy) manifests as Yang Qi springs forth. When Yang Qi reaches its fullest, Yin Qi gradually recedes, and the form of the elixir is revealed in turn. After ten months of refining and nurturing, the Neidan ripens as if it had passed through frost and cold; at this point the work of the elixir is complete, and even spirits and ghosts marvel at it.

50

When the drinking at the Jasper Pool is done and the moonlight is clear and bright, one rides a golden dragon to visit Purple Tenuity. Thereafter one comes to know the immortals, and even if seas and dry land change places and mountains and valleys alter their forms, one lets it all take its natural course.

51

Do not pursue results by clever artifice and pretense; one must clearly recognize the formula of immortality transmitted by “the other house.” “The other house” is a term of Neidan. It refers to the counterpart set over against oneself, and is often used for the paired things required in refining the elixir, such as Yin-Yang and Kan and Li. Adding to the jar the wine that prolongs life, and gathering in the cauldron the liquor that restores the soul, are both metaphors for the refining, nurturing, and coagulation of the Neidan.

52

The ghee produced on the Snow Mountains is a choicest essence. Pour it into the eastern furnace of creative transformation and refine and nurture it there. Only by crossing the Kunlun Mountains and going on toward the northwest could Zhang Qian meet Magu. Drawing on the legend of Zhang Qian’s mission to the Western Regions and his search for the realm of the immortals, the poem depicts the practitioner’s pursuit of that realm and of long life.

53

Kan-water and Li-fire meet and, cooking and refining like thunder and lightning, bring about the transformations of Metal and Water. Fire rises from Kunlun, and the Qi of Yin-Yang mingles within it. If the two powers can be harmonized and joined, the Neidan ripens of itself, and its fragrance pervades the whole body.

54

To understand the method of refining and nurturing the Reverted Elixir, one must plant and cultivate it within oneself. The “home garden” means one’s own person. There is no need to press it deliberately or to force it by effort; if one cultivates according to the method, then when the time is ripe it naturally bears fruit and coagulates into a numinous embryo.

55

Before the Reverted Elixir has been brought to completion, one should press on with the practice; after it is complete, one must also know when to stop. If the mind is forever set on seeking still more and on adding without end, never knowing satisfaction, then a day will surely come when one suffers hardship and harm.

56

The Pi and Tai hexagrams symbolize things turning from obstruction to free passage, while the Zhun and Meng hexagrams symbolize the myriad things beginning to come into being and to grow. Once the profound meaning of these hexagram images is understood, the images themselves should be forgotten; to pore endlessly over each line statement is only to exhaust mind and spirit in vain.

57

The methods set out in the hexagrams originally use the hexagram images to express principle. Grasp the images and then forget the words, and the true meaning becomes clear of itself. Deluded people in the world often cling to the hexagram images, wishing only to seek ascent by following the changes of hexagram Qi (vital energy)—the seasonal timing and the movement of Qi that correspond to the images.

58

The fullness and depletion of things between Heaven and Earth each follow a fixed order in time. Only by knowing how to observe waxing and waning can one grasp what is essential in them. From ancient times the heavenly stems and earthly branches Geng, Jia, and Shen have been used to proclaim laws and ordinances; if one can cut away the Three Corpses (the spirits who, in Daoist teaching, dwell in the human body, record a person’s faults, and deplete Jing (essence) and Qi), one may hope to attain the Dao (the Way).

59

When the Four Images (the four states manifested by the transformations of Yin-Yang) come together, a subtle and mysterious form takes shape; when the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) are all present, a purple radiance appears. After the embryo is cast off and the bones exchanged, one can enter the sacred realm, and countless spirit-dragons startle and draw back.

60

Medicinal substances congeal and take form only when they meet Qi of their own kind; the Dao abides in emptiness and nothingness, in accord with the natural. Only when a single grain of the numinous elixir is swallowed into the belly does one understand that a person’s nature and life are not governed by Heaven’s mandate.

61

Cultivating the great Dao is sometimes easy and sometimes difficult. One must know both that practice depends on oneself and that the timing of Heaven lends its aid. If one does not accumulate good deeds and secretly practice hidden De (Virtue/Power), all manner of demonic obstacles will often block the path of cultivation.

62

Only when the mind-monkey (a figure for restless, unsettled thoughts) grows calm can one understand the mystery within the square inch; accumulate three thousand meritorious deeds, and one may respond in accord with Heaven. In the furnace and cauldron, Dragon and Tiger (figures, in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), for the Qi of Yin and Yang) can be cooked and refined of themselves—why still cling to the family estate, to children, and to one’s wife?

63

At the beginning of practice one must act and accomplish something, and at this stage others can hardly see it; only when the realm of Wuwei (non-action) is reached do people come to perceive it. People know only that Wuwei is the key, yet they do not know that deliberate action is its foundation.

64

In practice one should mingle with the ordinary world and draw in one’s light: be round when it is time to be round, and square when it is time to be square. When the practitioner is hidden and when manifest, when going along and when going against—these are hard for others to fathom, so how could they discern the practitioner’s movements or the depth of the attainment?

A five-character poem in four rhymes

(used to figure the wondrous transformations of the numbers of Taiyi)

The woman wears blue-green robes; the young man is draped in white cloth. When it is seen, it cannot be used; when it is used, it cannot be seen.

They meet in the vague and indistinct, and change takes place in deep darkness and stillness. In an instant flames rise, and the True Person appears.

Lower Scroll

Twelve lyrics to the tune Xijiangyue (“West River Moon”)

In the title “West River Moon” (Xijiang Yue), “west” corresponds to Metal among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), while “river” refers to the working of water, although that working cannot be seen.

A meeting takes place amid the vague and indistinct, and change arises within what is deep, dark, and still. In the turn of an eye the flame rises, and the True Person appears.

Lower Scroll: Twelve Poems to “West River Moon”

In “West River Moon,” “west” corresponds to Metal, “river” refers to the very substance of water, and “moon” refers to the working of the medicine. The twelve poems correspond to the rhythm of the twelve months of the year.

The First

The inner medicine and the outer medicine communicate with each other: once the inner is in communication, the outer must also be in communication. The elixir-head (the core medicine used in refining the elixir) is blended and matched, their natures being of a kind; both the inner and the outer must be warmly nurtured, each playing its own part.

Within there is, of itself, a natural true fire, long blazing bright in the furnace. The outer furnace (the external stage of refining and cultivation) must be diligently adjusted, increased and decreased. Nothing is more wondrous than obtaining the true seed.

The Second

This medicine is marvelous in the extreme; the only fear is that your share of blessing is too shallow to bear it. Harmonizing lead and mercury (alchemical terms often used to figure the two factors of Yin-Yang) does not take long, and one may early behold the form of the Mysterious Pearl (a treasure symbolizing the completion of the elixir).

One who is resolved to cultivate, even while living in the marketplace or serving at court, is not hindered in the practice. The work is not difficult, nor is the medicine far away; were the secret spoken outright, it would only make people laugh.

The Third

The foremost essential represented by the White Tiger (an alchemical term, often referring to Metal or to the Yin side) is the supreme treasure; the Divine Water of the Flower Pool (symbolizing the vital fluids, or the watery substance, important in cultivation) is true Metal. One must therefore know that the root of the Way of supreme goodness is deep and substantial, not to be compared with ordinary medicines.

If one wishes to complete the nine reversions (the repeated transformations of the alchemical process), one must first refine the self and hold the mind (cultivating oneself and guarding one’s thoughts). The medicine must be gathered at the proper time, and floating distinguished from sinking; when advancing the fire (applying the firing times), one must be cautious, for the danger within is extremely great.

One must know that the root of the Way of supreme goodness is deep and substantial, not to be compared with ordinary medicines.

If one wishes to complete the nine reversions, one must first refine the self and hold the mind. The medicine must be gathered at the proper time, and floating distinguished from sinking; when advancing the fire, one must be cautious, for the danger within is extremely great.

The Fourth

The sevenfold return of cinnabar (cinnabar undergoing seven transformations and reverting to its original nature) is a return to the root; the ninefold restoration of the golden liquor (the refined golden liquor undergoing nine restorations and returning to the true) is a return to the true. Do not cling to counting hours and positions such as yin, zi, kun, and shen; simply take the pattern of the Five Phases as the standard.

Originally there is only this one medicine, mercury. It circulates and courses, passing through every hour. When the numbers of Yin and Yang are complete, one naturally comes into communion with Shen (spirit); its going out, its coming in, and its transformations never depart from the Mysterious Female (the gate of generation of which the Daoists speak).

The Fifth

The bond between the Cowherd and the Weaving Maid is joined through the Dao (the Way); the tortoise and the snake are endowed with their natural natures. When the toad and the crow meet on the day of the new moon, they form the image of the moon’s rounded beauty; the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang assist each other and turn in circulation.

All of this is the wondrous working of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth). Who, then, can penetrate the true meaning within it? If Yin and Yang are cut off from each other, error arises—how then could there be long endurance, with Heaven and Earth far apart and yet without end?

The Sixth

If “lead” is truly to hold “mercury” fast, the two must, even in their closeness, each remain settled in its own place. Should “Wood” and “Metal” be cut off from one another, they cannot meet of themselves, and a mediating agent must therefore be used to guide them into union.

Wood’s disposition delights in Metal, and this shows itself as yielding compliance with moral rightness; Metal’s affection clings to Wood, and this shows itself as loving-kindness and humane generosity. Wood and Metal fuse and swallow one another, and yet they remain intimate and in harmony. Only then does one come to understand that a man’s body, too, can conceive and nurture the “sacred embryo.”

Seven

To which household does the “Lovely Maiden” (a term of alchemy, commonly referring to mercury or a yin medicinal substance) who belongs to the number twice eight belong? And where is the “Young Lord” (a term of alchemy, commonly referring to lead or a yang medicinal substance)? They call themselves the liquid of Wood and the Jing (essence) of Metal; only when they meet Earth do they combine into the substance of the three families.

One must further rely on “Lord Ding” (a term of alchemy, referring to the power that refines the medicines, or to the firing process) to temper them again and again, so that the married pair of lead and mercury may form a bond of joyful union. The “River Chariot” (a term of Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to the method of circulating Jing and Qi (vital energy) within the body) must not be allowed to stop; it is to be conveyed to the summit of Mount Kunlun (a term of Neidan, commonly referring to the crown of the head or the upper Dantian (energy center)).

Eight

The circulation of Qi in heaven and earth has just passed through the turn in which obstruction at its extreme gives way to peace. From morning to evening one must understand the principle of Zhun and Meng (names of hexagrams in the Yijing, the Classic of Changes, used to describe the state of things at their first arising and in their early development). The myriad things, like spokes gathering into the hub of a wheel, return in the end to the root; the subtlety lies in seizing the moment for increase and decrease, and for regulating the circulation.

Once that essential point is grasped, the myriad affairs can be comprehended through and through, and one need not cling rigidly to south or north, east or west. In cultivation one should continually diminish and carefully guard the work already achieved. The treasure on which nature and life depend must not be drawn upon rashly.

Nine

At the winter solstice, the Qi of the single yang begins to revive; after thirty days, one further yang line is added. Within the month this corresponds to the hexagram Fu (Return). Reckoning upward from the dawn of the first day, by the day of the full moon (the fifteenth of the lunar month) the sign appears that yang Qi has grown to the measure of the hexagram Qian (the Creative).

Within the day, too, cold and heat wax and wane. Yang Qi arises anew at midnight; after noon the course turns toward the stage in which yin Qi gradually increases. In refining the medicine, one must understand the pattern of the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang between dusk and dawn.

Ten

If one does not understand the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the Four Images (a concept in Daoist Neidan used to explain the transformations of yin and yang), how can one distinguish the alchemical terms cinnabar, mercury, lead, and silver? Without ever having heard of the firing process for cultivating the elixir, one already hastens to call oneself a lofty adept who lives in seclusion and cultivates the Dao (the Way).

Unwilling to examine one’s own errors, one instead teaches the wrong path to others, leaving them long lost in confusion. To deceive one’s own conscience in this way—how can one bear to?

Eleven

Within the male the female is contained, and within true yin, yang Jing is likewise embraced. Only when the two powers of Yin-Yang are harmonized and joined can the elixir be brought to completion, and only then can it transmute the ethereal soul, making it into a sagely and luminous corporeal soul.

To place one’s faith in the Great Dao (the Way) is like refining a single pellet of the Golden Elixir (jindan): even if a snake swallows it, the snake is at once transformed into the form of a dragon; if a chicken eats it, the chicken too can become a luan and a great peng and fly into the realm of ultimate yang and ultimate sanctity.

Twelve

When virtuous conduct (De, Virtue/Power) has been cultivated beyond eight hundred, and hidden De accumulated to the full three thousand, and when one can look with equal regard upon the myriad things and oneself, upon kin and upon enemies, only then does one accord with the fundamental aspiration of the immortals.

With a tiger as one’s brother, weapons cannot inflict harm; the fierce fire of impermanence and the perils of the dusty world cannot entangle one either. Once the precious talisman has been obtained, one may go to audience in the heavenly realm, riding securely in a carriage drawn by luan birds.

Another poem

(Used to symbolize the intercalary month)

The Golden Elixir is the most precious treasure of the fleshly body; once it is refined, it can give rise to inexhaustible transformations. One must still, in one’s original nature, inquire into the true essential teaching of the Great Dao, and thoroughly realize the wondrous function of “non-arising.”

There is no need to wait for the next life or for a life thereafter; here and now one can obtain spiritual powers like those of a Buddha. Ever since the Dragon Girl accomplished this practice, who after her has been able to carry on her attainment? Once it is refined, it can give rise to inexhaustible transformations. One must still, in one’s original nature, inquire into the true essential teaching of the Great Dao, and thoroughly realize the wondrous function of “non-arising.”

There is no need to wait for the next life or for a life thereafter; here and now one can obtain spiritual powers like those of a Buddha. Ever since the Dragon Girl accomplished this practice, who after her has been able to carry on her attainment?

Five quatrains

(Used to symbolize the Five Phases [Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water])

The first. Even if you have already awakened to the nature of suchness, you still cannot avoid giving up your present fleshly body and being reborn as a human being. Why, then, must one go further and refine the Great Medicine? Only thus can one in an instant transcend the body subject to outflows and become a True Person.

The second. Entering a womb to be reborn, seizing another person’s body, or moving to a different abode—these still belong among practices within karmic rebirth. If one knows how to subdue the “dragon” in the heart and bring the “tiger” in the heart under control, one can build a dwelling of true gold; why fear that it will decay?

The third. Contemplating the bodily form, retaining the Qi (vital energy), and concentrating Shen (spirit): these methods are difficult when one first studies them, yet with proficiency one gradually enters a level path. Even if in the blink of an eye one can roam the myriad lands, what use is that? If the house that is the fleshly body is destroyed, one must in the end still move elsewhere.

The fourth. Buddhism teaches people to cultivate the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss only because Ultimate Bliss corresponds to the quarter of Metal among the Five Phases. Broadly speaking, it is the marks of form and color that are here called the real; the other two quarters are not real, but only vain conjecture.

The fifth. Common sayings often contain principles that accord with the Great Dao, and one ought to seek them out with care. If in daily life one can grasp the Dao from its reverse, then even the dust and sand of the great earth can all become treasures.

Appendix: Reading the Zhouyi Cantong Qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three According to the Book of Changes)

The wondrous function of the Great Elixir takes Qian and Kun as its model. As Qian and Kun revolve, the Five Phases are differentiated from them. When the Five Phases proceed in forward order, there is birth and there is extinction—this is the ordinary course of the Dao. When the Five Phases proceed in reverse, the body of the elixir can remain ever numinous and ever enduring. From within the void, the first signs of form and substance appear; thereafter, the Two Modes (Yin-Yang)…

The principles employed by the Great Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy, as understood in Daoism) communicate with Heaven and Earth. As Heaven and Earth revolve, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) differentiate from this movement. When the Five Phases turn according to their ordinary course, the myriad things are born and perish; when the Five Phases move in reverse, the body of the elixir can endure without decline. From within emptiness the first signs appear, and the Two Modes of Yin-Yang thereby lay a foundation. The Four Images never depart from the two bodies of Yin-Yang; the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) succeed one another, like descendants multiplying generation after generation.

The myriad things arise amid change and movement, and from this good and ill fortune, regret, and hardship also become manifest. Ordinary people make use of these principles every day yet do not recognize them; only the sage can inquire into their source. The principles of the Yi exhaust the mysteries of the transformations of Heaven and Earth, and so they borrow the images of the hexagrams to express these matters. When the hexagrams Pi (Obstruction) and Tai (Peace) meet, they symbolize Yin and Yang at times rising and at times descending; when the hexagrams Zhun (Difficulty at the Beginning) and Meng (Youthful Folly) appear, they symbolize the changes of movement and stillness, day and night. Kan and Li represent male and female, water and fire; Zhen and Dui represent dragon and tiger, the po and hun souls. To hold to the center and to what is correct, as the image of the yellow lower garment shows, is to obtain great good fortune; if one goes to the extreme of overreaching, one loses both station and honor.

Jiji (After Completion) and Weiji (Before Completion) set forth the ending and the beginning of the myriad things, while the hexagrams Fu (Return) and Gou (Coming to Meet) display the return and joining of the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang. The waxing and waning of the moon correspond to the decline and flourishing of Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit); the rising and setting of the sun correspond to the Rong and Wei Qi—the Qi that sustains the functioning of the human body—and to the changes of cold and heat. Words were first set down in order to explain the hexagram images; once the images are understood, the words may be forgotten. The images are like a finger pointing toward the meaning; after the true intent has been grasped, one need not cling to the images. What those who have penetrated the matter see is simple and easy to understand, while those who are confused only make it ever more elaborate. Therefore, one who cultivates the True, in reading the Cantong qi (the Daoist classic of elixir alchemy), should not be bound by hexagram images and written words.

Song Presented to Daoist Liu of White Dragon Cavern

The sun and moon, metaphors for gold and jade, race on at great speed. One has scarcely heard that the flowers of spring are opening when, in the turn of an eye, the frost of autumn has already arrived. Even if one boasts that Pengzu, the legendary long-lived one, lived for hundreds and a thousand years, it is still like a flash of lightning among the clouds, gone in an instant. How swift that lightning is! A hundred years of time are nothing more than this.

The sun and moon (alternative names for the Golden Crow and the Jade Rabbit) never cease their course, and time rushes swiftly past. One has barely heard that the flowers are in bloom when, in the turn of an eye, the season of autumn frost arrives. Even if one boasts that Pengzu (the long-lived figure of legend) lived more than a thousand years, that span is still like a flash of lightning through the clouds, gone in an instant. A human life is shorter still: a hundred years amount to little more than thirty thousand days. Cold and heat alternate, body and mind are worn through the years, and the youthful face ages before one even notices.

Even when children and grandchildren fill the hall, family affection may become a source of worry and constraint. Once Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are exhausted and the body withers, who can teach you how to hold on to life even for a while? Since there is no way to lengthen one’s span, a person in the end cannot escape passing away like flowing water. Look at the sages and worthies from ancient times to the present: how many of them have truly been able to keep the physical body lingering in the world?

The enduring preservation of the physical body is not entirely without a method; people today simply often fail to grasp its proper measure. They compete to go into the mountains in search of herbs, refining lead and preparing mercury in order to transmute an elixir. The cultivation known as “Dian Danyang” has a rationale of its own: one must seek “red blood” from within Kan—in the terminology of Neidan (internal alchemy), a designation for Jing and Qi—then draw “Yin Jing” from the position of Li, and blend and match them according to the proper timing.

When the moment is right, a “matchmaker” must also be called upon to bring the union about: the Metal Lord (a Neidan term, often standing for the Yang substance within the heart) and the Lovely Maiden (often standing for the Yin substance) are joined as spouses. The Metal Lord likes to ride the White Tiger, while the Lovely Maiden commonly drives the Red Dragon. The White Tiger lies quiet in the autumn mountains, and the Red Dragon rises with force from the deep pool. When the two beasts meet, they couple fiercely; waves surge and roll, as if boiling in the cauldron. The Yellow Dame (a symbol of the harmonizing of Yin-Yang) and Old Ding come to assist as well. The momentum shakes heaven and earth, as though spirits and ghosts were rushing about.

In a short while the union ends, the clouds and rain withdraw, and the Mysterious Pearl (the refined essence condensed in Neidan practice) is planted in the muddy depths (a symbol of the Dantian, energy center). Thereafter its root and sprout gradually grow. The cultivator must water and nourish it at all times and guard the true Jing. After ten months of gestation the Mysterious Pearl matures and is swallowed into the belly; at that point the body of an ordinary person seems already to have undergone a numinous change.

A practice of this kind is rarely seen in the world, and it is not something ordinary people can know. Without an immortal affinity from a former life, how could one come upon it so easily? Having come upon it, one ought to cultivate in good time, for the years fly like an arrow. If you wish to catch fish, you must first cast the net; you cannot merely stand on the riverbank and envy in vain.

I hear that you have studied the “medicinal substances” (a Neidan term for the refining and nurturing of Jing and Qi) for many years. Why not gather in the mind and Shen (spirit), and refine and nurture lead and mercury? Do not let the candle flame of life be blown out by the wind; and if you fall into the six paths of reincarnation, do not blame Heaven.

Lately many people in the world are false and deceitful. They put on coarse cloth and call themselves cultivators of the Dao (the Way). Ask them what Metal and Wood are (Neidan terms for the Yin and Yang factors matched with one another in cultivation), and they shut their mouths and will not answer, as if struck dumb. They speak only of regulating the breath and ingesting Qi, or of abstaining from grain and giving up food, claiming some other entrance whose road is long. Have you not seen it said in the Song of Dispelling Delusion that the method of Taiyi Embracing the True (Taiyi meaning the supreme origin, and “embracing the true” meaning the nurturing of true Qi) is the most subtle and marvelous of all?

Do not blame me if my words seem wild and crude. I only fear that people of the world will find it hard to tell the true from the false in this matter. Only because your heart and mine communicate do I dare to tell you these things frankly.

My family once lived north of the stone bridge. All around, the mountain forms stood firm, the water mouth was clearly defined, and ancient trees grew in continuous groves. The stream beneath the bridge led toward Kunlun, and the spring at the foot of the mountain was clear and richly fragrant. Living amid the mountains, the scenery was truly worth praising: everywhere were planted flowers that bloomed and never faded.

In a cave on the north side of the mountain a fierce tiger lay hidden; the moment it left its den it roared and raised the wind. At the bottom of a pool on the south side a flood dragon lurked, mounting the clouds and sending rain, so that mist and cloud veiled the mountains in a blur. When tiger and dragon met and contended, the Primal Pearl—symbolizing the core of Neidan (internal alchemy)—remained hidden and did not appear. This was precisely an auspicious omen.

Such a scene invited envy. Secretly rejoicing in my heart, I poured wine and drank alone until I gradually grew drunk. Once drunk, I played a tune on a stringless qin; phrase by phrase the music taught one to contemplate and realize it with care. Yet after drunkenness no one knew of it. I was dazed and silent, as if I had become foolish. Raising my head to observe the creative fashioning of heaven and earth, I only then sensed that the wondrous principles within were inexhaustible: the sun seemed to rise in the west, and the moon seemed to return from the east. Heaven and earth exchanged places with one another; Yin-Yang conjoined again and again, in accord with what is natural.

One who understands the principle by which the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) reverse and transform can soon rise upon rosy light and enter the grotto-heavens, the immortal realms where immortals dwell. There will then be houses of yellow gold and railings of white jade, with jade maidens and golden lads ever in attendance. The Southern Stars and the Northern Dipper stand arrayed in clear order; the myriad phenomena appear in solemn majesty, boundless and without limit.

Cultivation admits no interruption between day and night. One must, in unbroken continuity, grasp the firing times—gathering and dispersing, extracting and replenishing, and the like—that is, the mastery of timing and intensity in the course of elixir refinement. If one asks where the Golden Elixir truly lies, one must seek out a teacher and ask him to point out the secret of “lead within water.” Wood can generate fire, and metal can generate water; in the use of water and fire one must distinguish what comes first and what follows. One must also discern floating from sinking and distinguish host from guest, so that the alchemical images of lead, silver, sand, and mercury meet and converge.

Cultivation must be both firm and vigorous and soft and yielding; one must not indulge in reckless action. One should know contentment and rest securely in one’s proper place. Then the myriad spirits will together celebrate an age of peace; the state will be prosperous and the people joyful. This matter deserves careful investigation, and fellow practitioners ought to understand the principle within it.

In later ages some who cultivate the true speak only of preserving and nourishing Shen (spirit) and of circulating Qi (vital energy). The principles of cultivation seem to lie right before one’s eyes and to be utterly easy, yet those who truly comprehend them and put them into practice are exceedingly few. Cultivation can first dispel illness and lengthen one’s years; then, through cooking and refining according to the firing times, one transforms one’s own person into a body of yang harmony.

Those who study the Dao (the Way) ought to examine themselves and not chase after the petty arts of side paths. Such methods only deceive people for a time, yet cause them, without their noticing, to grow more haggard day by day. I urge those who later study the Dao to be steadfast and courageous, and not lightly abandon home and garden to travel far away. The wondrous Dao is never apart from one’s own person; why must one trek across a thousand mountains and ten thousand waters to find it?

Do not delay, and do not covet what is shallow and near at hand. One should quickly seek a teacher and obtain the fundamental purport of cultivating the Dao. If, while alive, a person does not learn to cultivate, one cannot know into what circumstances one will be reborn in the next life. Since one has set one’s heart on cultivating the Dao, one must persist to the end. The great matter of human life is, in the final analysis, birth and death. If Heaven should fail those who possess a heart for the Dao, then let me willingly become a ghost upon the Three Paths, the three evil destinies of which Buddhism speaks.

The subtle essential body of the Tathagata (an honorific title of the Buddha) pervades worlds as countless as the sands of the Ganges. The myriad things appear in teeming profusion, yet none of them can obstruct it. Only by comprehending the true wisdom that is perfectly interfused and thoroughly penetrating does one understand that the three realms (the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm) are one’s own home.

Look at it, and no bodily form is seen; call to it, and still it makes a response. Do not say that this sound is merely the echo of a mountain valley: if there were no valley, from where would the echo come?

There is a fundamental essence that contains the functions of hearing, seeing, feeling, and knowing, and that displays its working through the various sense-dusts (the external objects with which the senses come into contact). Yet even this numinously luminous and constant essence cannot be said to be truly existent. On what, then, could the four functions of hearing, seeing, feeling, and knowing depend?

Without moving so much as a single step, one can arrive at the Western Heaven (the Western Pure Land of which Buddhism speaks). Sitting calmly and composed, the scenes of the four directions are all before one’s eyes. A halo appearing behind the head is still nothing but illusion; clouds arising beneath the feet do not amount to having become an immortal.

Verse on the Ground of Nature

Buddha-nature does not settle into sameness or difference; it is like a thousand lamps together giving off a single light. What could one add to it that would make it any more beneficial? Nor does any diminution harm it.

Whether one grasps or lets go, nothing stands in the way; even burning and rinsing cannot injure it. The phenomena of seeing, hearing, knowing, and awareness cannot be probed to their ultimate by discriminative deliberation.

Verse on Arising and Ceasing

To seek after birth is to find that, in fact, there was never a real “birth” to begin with. To fear cessation—where is there even an instant of true cessation? What the eyes see falls short of what the ears hear; and what the mouth speaks—how could it compare with what the nose smells?

Verse on the Three Realms as Mind Alone

That the three realms are mind alone is a subtle principle. The myriad things are not fixedly determined by this, nor fixedly determined by that. There is nothing that does not lie within my mind, and there is nothing that can be taken for an independent and fixed “self.”

Verse on Seeing Things and Thereby Seeing Mind

To see a thing is thereby to see the mind; if no external thing appears, the mind has nowhere to appear either. In the worlds of the ten directions, whether the way is open or blocked, the true mind is present everywhere.

If one clings to knowledge and to discriminative understanding, one instead forms inverted views. Only when one faces external conditions and is not dragged along by thoughts can one be said truly to have seen bodhi (awakening).

Verse on Equalizing Things

There is no essential difference between me and others; it is only that human minds each draw their own distinctions. Others separate the intimate from the remote; I do not divide person and person into self and other.

Beings that live in the water, on land, and in flight through the air should all be regarded as one and the same whole. Whether noble or humble, high or low, all should be treated as equals, and the hands and feet of others regarded as one’s own.

I cannot even take this “I” to be a fixed and unchanging reality; how, then, could there be an independent “you”? Neither possesses any fixed self-nature, just as countless bubbles in the end all dissolve back into water.

Gatha on “This Very Mind Is the Buddha”

The Buddha is the mind, and the mind is the Buddha; yet the two notions of mind and Buddha are themselves, from the outset, empty discriminations. Only when one understands that there is neither a substantial Buddha nor a substantial mind does one reach true suchness (zhenru: the reality of all things as they inherently are) and the Dharmakaya Buddha (the Buddha-nature that transcends form and pervades everything).

The Dharmakaya Buddha has no fixed appearance. It is like an orb of perfect light embracing the myriad phenomena. A body that is no body is the true substance; a form that is no form is the true characteristic. It is neither concrete visible form, nor sheer emptiness, nor something that can be delimited as “not empty.” It neither moves nor rests, neither comes nor goes. One can say neither that it differs from the myriad things nor that it is wholly the same; one can say neither that it exists nor that it does not. Hence it is hard to grasp and hard to abandon, and hard to hear with the ear or see with the eye.

Within and without, all is perfectly interfused and luminously clear, everywhere interpenetrating: a Buddha-land may rest within a single grain of sand, and a single grain of sand may contain a vast world; within one body and mind, the myriad things communicate with one another and mutually contain one another. To truly understand this, one must realize the way of no-mind (wuxin): neither clinging nor stagnating is pure cultivation. Faced with every kind of good and evil, one no longer clings to contrived action. This is the realm embodied in taking refuge in and paying homage to the Buddha—“Namo” meaning to entrust one’s life and to offer reverence—and in Kasyapa (Mahakasyapa, a disciple of the Buddha).

Gatha on No-Mind

How laughable my mind is. Like that of someone dull, obstinate, and uncouth, it blankly and calmly lets the myriad things settle of themselves. I do not know how to cultivate, nor do I set out to do evil; I do not go out of my way to help others, nor do I look only to myself. I keep no precepts, nor am I bound by all manner of taboos; I understand neither rites and music nor speak of benevolence and righteousness. People of the world all laugh at me as dull, obstinate, and uncouth.

I do not understand the skills of the human world and can do almost nothing. When hungry I eat, and when thirsty I drink; when sleepy I sleep, and when awake I go. When hot I put on a thin robe, and when cold I cover myself with a quilt. I neither think nor deliberate; I have no sorrow and no joy. I neither regret nor scheme, harbor no clinging, and give rise to no delusive thoughts. Honor and disgrace in a lifetime are no more than things briefly met with on a journey. The birds in the trees of the grove may serve as a comparison: when a bird comes it is not turned away, and when a bird leaves it is not detained.

I neither flee nor pursue; I neither praise nor revile. I do not loathe what is ugly, nor envy what is beautiful; I do not seek out only quiet rooms, nor deliberately avoid bustling markets. I do not talk of others’ faults, nor boast that I myself am right; I do not especially esteem the noble, nor look down on the lowly and the young. Whether intimate or resentful, elder or younger, close or distant, and whether in sorrow or joy, gain or loss, respect or slight, peril or ease, the mind draws no distinctions among them and remains calmly the same throughout.

I do not actively court good fortune, nor actively bring on misfortune; only when stirred by something outside do I respond. When affairs press in, I meet them by following their course. I fear neither swords nor fierce tigers. I name things according to the way they present themselves and am not bound by names. The eyes do not chase forms and appearances, and sounds do not stir the mind and spirit (Shen). All visible forms are illusory, unreal phenomena; the shapes and voices of men and women are likewise not eternal, fixed entities. Once one realizes that forms originally have no nature of their own, the mind is neither defiled nor obstructed and may wander free and at ease, and external things cannot entangle it.

Marvelous awakening (the awakening that transcends discrimination and attachment) is perfectly full and luminously clear, transparent within and without, illumining heaven, earth, and the four directions with no distinction of far and near. It is bright, and yet it is not light in the ordinary sense, like the moon reflected in water. Since it can hardly be explained in terms of grasping and rejecting, what could one compare it to? To understand this wondrous functioning is to stand above worldly distinctions. If you ask what principle I uphold, it is simply this.

Once the true principles behind things, the realms contacted by the senses, and emptiness and form—empty stillness and concrete appearance—have all been seen through, nothing remains that words can exhaust. When inverted and clinging views have been cleared away, the still, original substance of the mind naturally comes forth.

Hymn on Neither Sin nor Merit

One walks the whole day through, yet it is as if one had never walked; one sits in stillness the whole day, yet when has one truly sat? If in cultivating good one clings to seeking merit, that is not true merit; and doing evil is by no means, on that account, without offense. People of today, if they have not yet understood the original mind, should not cling to these few sentences and use them as a pretext for reckless wrongdoing. After death one must still face King Yama, and one can hardly escape the punishments of hell—the cauldron of boiling oil, the pestle and the millstone, and the like.

Hymn of Perfect Penetration

Only after seeing true emptiness does one understand that this emptiness is not the nothingness of annihilation. Wisdom that is perfectly complete and luminous can penetrate everywhere. The senses, the realms the senses contact, thoughts of the mind, and the various dharmas—things and principles—should none be clung to as truly existent. Only then does one understand that wondrous function can respond in accord with the myriad things.

Hymn of Following Along

Let the myriad things interweave and appear before the eyes; one follows their movement and stillness without being constrained. Concentration and wisdom, perfectly complete and luminous, remain forever unstained, just as the lotus grows out of the water, yet the lotus is not wetted by the water.

Hymn of the Precious Moon

A bright moon hangs in empty space; its clear light shines over all lands without obstruction. Gather it in, and it does not collect into one place; try to push it aside, and it cannot be pushed aside. It neither advances nor retreats.

What is called “that” is not remote, and “this” is not drawing near; the outer is not outer, and the inner is not inner. Within sameness there is difference, and within difference there is again sameness. I ask you: can you see through this puppet—a marionette worked by strings?

A poor person carries a precious pearl hidden in his clothing. It is originally perfect and luminous, of extraordinary worth. Yet he does not know to seek it within himself, and only busies himself counting the treasures that others possess. In the end this brings no benefit, and only wastes mind and effort in vain. How could that compare with recognizing the treasure one already possesses? Its value surpasses tens of millions of millions in gold.

This pearl is incomparably bright, illuminating the entire three-thousand great-thousand worlds (a Buddhist concept used to indicate the vast universe). Its light has never diminished; it has only been blocked by coverings like drifting clouds. Once this mani jewel is recognized (a pearl able to manifest treasures according to one’s wish, often used as a metaphor for inherent wisdom or Buddha-nature), who would still crave things as illusory as foam? The Buddha’s jewel and the jewel within my own mind are originally the same; my nature is merging back into the ocean of Buddha-nature.

The jewel is not a fixed pearl, nor is the ocean a fixed ocean. The capacity of the mind is open and vast, ample enough to contain the entire dharma-realm (the totality of all that exists). Even if the clamor of the dusty world fills one’s sight, meditative concentration and wisdom remain perfectly luminous and clear, free and unobstructed.

It is neither emptiness nor form (material appearance). Within and without, all is lucid and transparent, without any barrier. The six powers (the six kinds of supernatural abilities spoken of in Buddhism) and the wondrous functioning of Shen (spirit) are inexhaustible; they can benefit oneself and benefit others, without end. Seeing one’s own nature, one understands completely, and all affairs are thereby settled. One no longer clings to learning and contrivance, and throughout the day abides in Wuwei (non-action). Quiet and at ease, like an infant whose thoughts have not yet appeared; whether moving or still, one accords with causes and conditions, and does not insist upon any fixed way of practice.

There is no need deliberately to cut off deluded thoughts, nor deliberately to fashion a “true mind.” The so-called distinction between the true and the false ultimately belongs to the toil of defilement. From the beginning, the myriad dharmas have had no fixed and unchanging forms; within formlessness there is still the Dharma-body (the true body that transcends form and serves as the root of awakening). The Dharma-body is the innately true Buddha-nature of suchness; it is neither a person nor a thing. Vast and full, it pervades all between heaven and earth, and can only be described as xiyi (difficult to hear and to see) and as huanghu, hazy and elusive.

It takes on no stain of defilement, and its light appears of itself. All dharmas arise from the mind. If thoughts do not arise, the various phenomenal forms disperse of themselves, and from this one knows that sin and merit originally have no fixed substance. There is no need to cling to cultivating a Buddha, nor to cling to expounding a set of teachings. One who truly has wisdom naturally sees differently. The moment he opens his mouth, his words have the force of a lion’s roar, unlike those of shallow insight, who only argue without end over questions of arising and ceasing.

Song of Meditative Concentration Pointing Out Delusion

The nature of Tathāgata Chan is like water; it cannot be exhausted in words. Those with wisdom and courage will naturally come to a different understanding. The moment they open their mouths, their words have the force of a lion’s roar, unlike those of shallow insight, who speak only of arising and ceasing.

Song of Meditative Concentration Pointing Out Delusion

The Chan-nature of the Tathagata (an honorific title of the Buddha) is like water: when the substance of the mind grows quiet, the winds and waves naturally subside. In ordinary daily life the mind within can remain clear and still; cultivation is not something that counts only when one sits alone in meditation. Nowadays some people seek realization only in seated meditation, not knowing that the whole point lies in clearly seeing original nature. When original nature and insight are understood, insight naturally settles within original nature. Once meditative concentration is accomplished, wisdom can be put to use without end—this is called the spiritual power of all the Buddhas.

If one wishes to investigate the substance of mind and its wondrous function, one sees only the empty space of the ten directions (in Buddhism, the vast space extending in every direction). In that emptiness there is nothing at all, nor anything of the “rare, invisible, vague, and elusive” (a mysterious realm difficult to see, to hear, or to grasp). Since that mysterious realm cannot be sought, deliberately seeking it only leads one astray. Even the two words “straying and loss” cannot be clung to as something to rely on. The original mind is already like empty space—where could there be any gain or loss? Simply set down, one by one, every attachment to the myriad phenomena, until they are cleared away completely. Then original nature, suddenly opened and perfectly luminous, appears, no different from that of all the Buddhas.

The form-body (the fleshly body composed of material phenomena) is a shackle that binds us; clinging to it only leads one astray. Nor need one cling to this point either. Set the mind in a state of living among worldly things without being pulled along by them. One’s conduct should be free of attachment—why then weigh right and wrong, honor and disgrace? The fleshly body is only a temporary lodging, like a traveler staying at an inn. The essence here called Vairocana (Vairocana usually refers to Vairocana Buddha, and may also refer to the Dharmakaya Buddha) neither comes nor goes. From this one knows that the marks of arising and ceasing ultimately leave nothing behind.

If one asks what Vairocana looks like, then whatever has a concrete form is not it. The various things before one’s eyes and the activities of the dusty world are neither wholly the same as one another nor sharply different. If one can see all these dusty circumstances and karmic deeds (actions and their effects produced by body, speech, and mind), each person can manifest awakened nature just as Śākyamuni and Kāśyapa (the Buddha and his disciple) did. Say that they are different from one another, and the ten thousand sounds each ring out on their own; say that they are one, and a single wind gathers them all in together.

If one wishes to recognize the mani (a precious pearl that manifests light according to one’s wish; here a metaphor for original nature), do not suppose that one understands only after obtaining some particular Dharma method. When there is illness, one treats it with medicine; once the illness is cured, what further use is the medicine? When the mind is deluded, one relies on a Dharma method to see by its light; after the mind is awakened, one need not cling to that method any longer. It is like a dim mirror: once wiped clean, the stains disappear of themselves. Originally all phenomena are empty and unreal, so one must leave behind attachment to every kind of mark. When all marks have been set down, that is the supreme and unsurpassed realm.

If one wishes to adorn a Buddha-land (to make the Buddha’s pure land perfect and sublime), one should practice kindness equally and relieve suffering. The great vow of bodhi (awakening) is indeed profound and far-reaching, yet one must not cling to visible merit or to form. Only then can merit and wisdom be fulfilled, and one may further hope in time to come to be among the first to receive a prediction (the Buddha’s advance assurance to a practitioner of future Buddhahood). If one is stained in the slightest by one-sided attachments such as the view of annihilation or the view of permanence, one has no affinity with the Buddhas. Even while thinking again and again of adorning the Buddha-land and of practicing kindness equally to save those who suffer, one must remember not to cling to marks; only this is the path on which merit and wisdom are both complete. If one is still stained by attachments such as the views of annihilation and permanence, one remains without affinity with the Buddhas.

Look further at the deluded clinging of ordinary people: all of them are stained by worldly craving and by habitual tendencies. Because desire and emotional attachment are so heavy, they revolve without cease through the forms of life—birth from the womb, from the egg, by transformation, and from moisture. To study the Way (Dao) one must be courageous and steadfast; the mind must be resolute and not be moved by passion. Even in the face of sons and daughters, wives and concubines, one should understand that each is another person, and should not on that account give rise to thoughts of possession and craving. Constantly keep to the perfectly bright awareness within, and do not let desirable things draw the mind into calculation. Set down clinging to all phenomena at once, and there is no further need to weigh heaven against hell.

In this way one comes to know that “my destiny lies with me”: within emptiness there is neither rising nor falling. Whether one enters or leaves the lands of the Buddhas, one never departs from the original mind of bodhi. The Bodhisattva Guanyin has thirty-two response-bodies (different forms manifested according to the needs of beings); I too can awaken through this. Inconceivable transformations all issue from a nature that is free and unobstructed.

I am a Chan wanderer of no-mind, and I make no discriminating choices among things. In the past I was like a black ox; now I am white all over. At times I sing and laugh to myself, and others think I am out of my mind—how could they know that I wear coarse cloth on the outside while holding a priceless treasure within? If they hear me go on to speak of the principle of emptiness, they will likely only feel that I am swallowing a date whole and have not explained it clearly. This Dharma only a Buddha can truly understand; how can an ordinary person grasp it by looking merely at the surface?

There are also some who practice Chan who know only how to argue and contend, boasting of how quick they are in question and answer, yet they do not recognize their own master (the original mind) at all. They merely pick up branches and leaves, and do not know how to trace things back to the root. Find the root, and the branches and leaves flourish of themselves; without the root, the branches and leaves can hardly endure. They further imagine that they have grasped a wondrous Dharma like a spirit-pearl, yet they never get rid of the distinction between self and other, and remain very far from my numinous source and wondrous awakening. Such people are both pitiable and laughable. They talk emptily of having studied the Way for many years, yet they are proud and arrogant, unwilling to ask others or to inquire into the root, and so they waste a whole life in vain. They are foolish and confused, of dull capacity, and they create karma because their wrong views run deep. If they still do not awaken in this life, how in a later life can they escape sinking down?

The single stream of Dharma-water from Caoxi (Cao Creek, the site of the ancestral seat of the Chan school) divides into hundreds and thousands of branches, illuminating past and present, clear and freely flowing, without obstruction. Lately some who study the Dao (the Way) do not trace matters back to the source, but mistake the little puddle beside a hoofprint for the great sea.

Chan Master Xuedou (a Chan monk of the Song dynasty) penetrated the true purport. Like thunder he proclaimed the Buddha’s teaching and struck the Dharma drum. Like a lion king roaring forth from its cave, the hundred beasts and baleful spirits all feared him. Sometimes he wrote poems, sometimes he composed verses, patiently guiding those who had lost their way. His words were clear and forthright, yet their meaning ran deep—like jade striking jade, or metal ringing on metal—and his fame has been handed down through the ages.

It is a pity that the bewildered chase external objects and remain on the surface, taking words and names as the goal of seeking the Dao. The precious appearance of Suchness (the true, unchanging nature of all things) cannot originally be expressed in language; it has neither high nor low, nor any boundary. It is neither material form and color nor empty nothingness, and it is not two entities set against each other. The worlds of the ten directions are like one perfectly full and flawless orb. True meditative concentration never distinguishes according to speech or silence, yet people still cling to words and pursue names and numbers.

Suchness is wordless from the beginning, without high or low, boundless and without limit; it is neither form nor emptiness, nor two opposing modes of existence, pervading the worlds of the ten directions, perfectly fused and without lack. Right concentration never separates speech from silence; it can neither be grasped nor cast away. So long as the mind does not linger on the various appearances, this is the true principle of the Tathagata.

People wish to rid themselves of delusive thoughts, and so set the “true” against the “false.” Yet if delusive thoughts do not arise, the so-called “true” has no way to become manifest. Only when one understands that neither the true nor the false can be grasped does one obtain the unobstructed true mind. When the mind is free of clinging and hindrance, one is at ease; once awakening is thorough, the karmic offenses accumulated over successive kalpas are extinguished in an instant. Without deliberately exerting effort in cultivation and realization, one can realize bodhi (awakening), and from then on forever leave the bitter sea of the cycle of birth and death.

My teacher’s speech flowed with ease. He was very near us, and he remained in the world as an example. Last night I called him over, passed a rope through his nostrils, and hung him on my staff—this is an exaggerated saying in the manner of Chan repartee, used to express a dialogue between teacher and disciple that goes beyond ordinary convention. When asked what the first principle is (the most fundamental truth), he replied, “Whatever is spoken becomes slander.”

Precepts, concentration, and wisdom are the subtle functions within the Buddha’s teaching. Although the Buddha set forth these principles, those who have not truly grasped them easily cling to the literal wording. A brief explanation is offered here in the hope of helping people understand: when one clings neither to the mind nor to external objects, and the thoughts of the mind remain settled and unmoving, this is called “precepts”; when the nature of awareness is perfectly full and luminous, and inside and outside are thoroughly transparent and clear, this is called “concentration”; when one accords with causes and conditions and responds to all affairs, with wondrous function without end, this is called “wisdom.”

These three depend on one another and are accomplished together. Each is at once both root and function, and they have never been separate for even a moment. It is like the sun, which can shine only by means of its light, while the light reveals its brightness only through that shining: without light there can be no illumination, and without illumination brightness cannot appear. Precepts, concentration, and wisdom originally arise from one and the same mind-nature, just as light, illumination, and brightness all come from one and the same sun. Since even “one” cannot be clung to as truly existent, how could there really be “three”? When both the three and the one are let go, one returns to pure stillness.

Xijiang Yue (a cipai, or lyric tune-title; twelve poems follow)

There is no need to forcibly extinguish delusive thoughts, nor to deliberately pursue what is called the real. The self-nature innate to sentient beings shares the same source as Buddha-nature; delusion and awakening are not bound by any order of before and after. When one awakens, one can become a Buddha in an instant; when one is lost, one may remain sunk for a long time. If in a single thought one can accord with true practice, defilements as numerous as the sands of the Ganges can all be cleared away, and the mind-ground returns to purity.

From the beginning there is neither arising nor ceasing; if one insists on distinguishing arising from ceasing, that is only a false division. Sin and merit likewise have no fixed, unchanging basis, and the mysterious fundamental essence neither increases nor decreases on their account. I have a bright mirror that has all along merely been obscured by dust. Now that it has been wiped clear, it can reflect heaven and earth; the myriad things all appear distinctly, and none can remain hidden.

My self-nature communicates with the self-nature of the Buddhas, and the self-nature of the Buddhas in every direction is likewise so. It hangs clear and bright on high, like the cool reflection of the moon shining upon a cold spring; a single moon can appear at once in a thousand pools. When it is small, it is so subtle that even a fine hair is hard to discern; when it is vast, it fills the three-thousand great-thousand worlds. It is not bound by high or low, great or small, nor do its waxing and waning depend on human belief—so why speak of long or short, deep or shallow?

All methods—practices of cultivation and principles—originally have no fixed substance. To say that everything is empty is not to treat “emptiness” itself as something that really exists. Stillness and clamor, speech and silence, are originally without distinction; when one is in a dream, why go to the trouble of explaining the dream? Realize Wuwei (non-action) within purposeful activity, and still act with wholehearted care even when seeking no merit. It is like fruit that turns red of itself when ripe: there is no need to ask how it ought to be planted or cultivated.

Distinctions of good and evil may for the moment be set aside together; flourishing and decline need not weigh on the mind either. Whether dim or bright, hidden or manifest, let them change, sink, and rise as they will, and according to your own condition eat when hungry and drink when thirsty. When mind and spirit are tranquil and lucid, constantly abiding in stillness, this does not hinder sitting or reclining, singing or chanting. The state of mind is like a pool of autumn water, deep green and profound; when the wind stirs the water, there is no need for alarm—simply let it be so.

Facing external conditions, one need not forcibly extinguish every thought. “Bodhi” (awakening) is only a name established for convenience. Form and emptiness, brightness and darkness, originally have no fundamental difference; one need not regard the true and the false as two wholly separate substances. After awakening, one understands that the so-called “Pure Land” (the pure Buddha-land) is right here in the present moment; there is no need to seek India or Caoxi elsewhere. Who says the Land of Ultimate Bliss must lie at the western edge of heaven? When one truly understands, Amitābha appears right before the eyes.

There is no need to cling any longer to distinctions such as “self, person, sentient being, and life-span,” nor to rank this and that, higher and lower. The nature of the Dharma naturally penetrates and illuminates all things; one need not be bound by designations such as “I” and “he.” From thought to thought, there is no need to seek deliberately. Seeing is not necessarily a stubborn fixation on “seeing”; what is heard need not be judged to have been “misheard.” The various functions originally operate each of themselves and do not obstruct one another—how, then, could birth and death bind you?

If one cultivates giving while clinging to external appearances, the karmic fruit obtained still does not go beyond the heavenly and human realms. It is like shooting an arrow upward at drifting clouds: the arrow eventually falls, simply because its force is spent. How can this compare with the true reality of Wuwei—the genuine, not-false nature of things—returning to the origin and recovering plainness and purity? Forget external conditions, let feelings and thoughts be exhausted, and allow original nature to manifest of itself, thereby realizing the “forbearance of the non-arising of dharmas” (the wisdom of abiding in the original non-production of all phenomena).

Once the fish and the rabbit are in hand, one naturally forgets the tools used to catch them. The raft for crossing the river and the ladder for ascending to heaven must both be abandoned after the other shore is reached. Before awakening, one must rely on words to explain; after awakening, words instead become a hindrance. Although these four lines speak of the Dao (the Way) of Wuwei, one must still let go of these very statements themselves.

After awakening to the truth, one should not pursue extinction and stillness alone. One ought to accord with causes and conditions and help sentient beings who are still lost in confusion. One must cut off one-sided views of “permanence” and “annihilation,” and guide and support them, pointing them toward what is real by skillful means. Cultivate the five eyes, the three bodies, the four wisdoms, and the six perfections in their myriad practices, so that all these cultivations may be brought to fulfillment. Within the mind there is a bright pearl like the mani jewel, able both to benefit sentient beings and to deliver oneself.

I see that some people today, when they speak of original nature, can only show off in words and answer with quick wit. The moment they meet a concrete situation, they become confused again—how are they any different from the foolish? What one says, one ought to do; only then can word and deed be called without shortcoming. To cut off attachment to the mani jewel with the sword of wisdom—this alone is called the true wisdom of the Tathagata.

If one wishes to realize the wondrous Dao (the Way) of non-arising, the key lies in personally seeing one’s own true mind. The true body has neither form nor sound; the pure Dharma-body is just so. This Dao is neither non-being nor being; it lies neither in the middle, nor can it be deliberately sought. One-sided attachments on both sides should be abandoned, and one should not cling to the “middle way” either. To see this level is called the highest grade.

Postscript

I privately hold that a person is born because false feelings and thoughts give rise to this body. Once there is a body, there is affliction; if there were no body, from where would affliction arise? If one wishes to be free from……

I hold that human life arises entirely from delusive feelings—vain and false emotional attachments—and that it is from these that this body comes into being. Where there is a body, there is affliction; if there were no body, from where would affliction arise? To be free of affliction, nothing is better than realizing the supreme Dao (the Way); to realize the supreme Dao, nothing is better than clearly understanding the original mind. Thus the mind is the substance of the Dao, and the Dao is the function of the mind. If a person can examine the inner mind and contemplate their innate nature, the perfectly complete and luminously clear substance naturally manifests, and the function accomplished through Wuwei (non-action) is naturally present. Without deliberately applying any practice, one can at once transcend the bitter sea of birth and death.

If the state of mind is not bright and clear, and the spirit-pearl—a metaphor for the luminous innate nature—is not thoroughly transparent, how could the various attachments disperse in an instant, so that not even the finest dust and grime cling, the original source of the mind remain free and at ease, and one know with certainty that one has already transcended birth and death?

For one who has truly illuminated the mind and embodied the Dao, the body cannot bind their innate nature, nor can outer circumstances disturb their true nature. How, then, could blades and weapons harm such a person, or tigers and rhinoceroses—fierce beasts of the rhinoceros kind—injure them, and what is there to fear in raging fire or flood? One who has penetrated the great Dao has a mind like a bright mirror: it reflects the myriad things yet does not cling to them or take them in; it accords with the moment and with things, responding in harmony with the outer world, yet does not actively contend for victory. Therefore one can meet external things without being harmed. This is the unsurpassed, supremely true, and wondrous Dao.

Tracing the matter to its source, the Dao (the Way) originally had no name; the sages only reluctantly gave it one. The Dao originally cannot be put into words; the sages only reluctantly used language to explain it. Yet if names and words never appeared at all, people of later ages would have no way to recognize the fundamental reality of the Dao, nor would they easily return to its truth. The sages therefore established a teaching and left words behind in order to make the Dao manifest. The Dao shows itself through language, and language in the end is meant to lead people to forget language itself.

The Dao, however, is exceedingly subtle and mysterious, while the inborn nature of ordinary people is confused and dull. Clinging to the physical body, craving life and fearing death, they find it very hard to comprehend the Dao completely. The Yellow Emperor and Laozi, pitying this craving and attachment, taught methods of cultivating life and guided people step by step in keeping with their own wishes. The key to cultivating life lies in the Golden Elixir (the quintessence sought in Daoist Neidan, or internal alchemy); the key to the Golden Elixir lies in Divine Water and the Flower Pool (Neidan terms for the sites which cultivation describes as those of body and mind and of the circulation and transformation of Jing, or essence, and Qi, or vital energy). Thus the teachings of the Daodejing (Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue) and the Yinfujing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) spread widely in the world, because people all cherish life.

These classics, however, are obscure in wording and profound in principle. Even when students recite them again and again, they often fail to understand their meaning. Without the oral instructions of someone who truly comprehends this Dao, a hundred rounds of conjecture will in the end still hardly yield results in cultivation or bring the work of cultivation to completion. Those who study the Dao are as numerous as the hairs on an ox, yet those who truly penetrate it are as rare as the qilin.

In the jiyou year, Zhang Boduan met his teacher in Chengdu, and the teacher transmitted to him the method of refining the elixir. From then on, he passed the elixir method three times to unsuitable persons and therefore met with calamity three times; each time the consequence was fulfilled in fewer than twenty days. Recently he recalled that his teacher had once warned him: “If in the future someone can loosen your reins and remove your fetters, you should transmit the elixir method to that person; as for everyone else, transmission is strictly forbidden.”

Later, Zhang Boduan wished to have his name struck from the registers, yet he feared that people of the Dao (the Way) would not believe him, so he composed the Wuzhen pian, setting forth the origins and course of the elixir method. As soon as the book appeared, seekers came in succession. Their desire to learn was urgent, and Zhang Boduan could not bear to refuse them, so he chose certain persons to instruct. Yet none of those to whom he transmitted it were persons of authority and ability who could support the endangered and relieve the distressed, nor were they generous, penetrating, benevolent, and clear-minded.

When calamity struck the first two times, he had not yet seen the problem; only on the third occasion did he reflect on his former faults. From this he understood that the method of the Great Elixir, though it appears extremely simple and easy, enables even the foolish who learn and cultivate it to reach swiftly the realm of the sage. Heaven therefore treasures and secretly guards this method and does not permit it to be lightly transmitted to unsuitable persons.

Zhang Boduan did not heed his teacher’s warning and repeatedly divulged the secrets of Heaven; because he remained in the dusty world, he repeatedly suffered punishment. Heaven’s warning came with such uncanny swiftness—how could he dare not to fear and reproach himself? From this time forward he would seal his lips and say nothing: even if a boiling cauldron stood before his eyes and swords were set against his neck, he would never again dare to divulge the elixir method.

The subtle principles of the Great Elixir, the medicinal substances, and the firing times celebrated in the Wuzhen pian have already been explained in full detail. If someone who delights in this Dao (the Way) and who has long possessed an affinity with the immortals reads these passages, they will naturally understand the principles and, following the words, grasp their meaning—why, then, must Zhang Boduan transmit them in person by word of mouth? If one can do so, it is an opportunity bestowed by Heaven, not something Zhang Boduan deliberately taught.

As for the songs and verses of praise at the end of the work, they concern the matter of seeing one’s nature, that is, what was earlier called the “Dao of supreme wondrous awakening.” The Dao of Wuwei (non-action) takes the salvation of all beings as its first concern; even if its mysteries are made plain, there is no fault. It is only that ordinary people differ in the depth or shallowness of their karmic conditions and in the keenness or dullness of their inborn capacities. Even when they hear one and the same teaching, they form different understandings. Thus the Buddha-dharma expounded by Shakyamuni and Manjushri is originally the One Vehicle (the teaching that leads to ultimate awakening), yet those who hear and study it understand it according to their own capacity of comprehension, and the distinction of the Three Vehicles (methods of practice at different levels) naturally appears.

If later a person of keen capacity reads this work, they will know that Zhang Boduan heard the wondrous purport of the highest One Vehicle transmitted by Bodhidharma and the Sixth Patriarch, and that from a single phrase one may awaken to and penetrate the myriad dharmas. If old habits have still not been cast off and one falls into middling or inferior views, that is not Zhang Boduan’s fault.

On the wuyin day of midsummer in the wuwu year when the era name was changed to Yuanfeng, Zhang Borui Pingshu composed a preface once again.