《慧命经》Vol. 1

Liu Huayang, the author of the Jing of Wisdom-Life, identified himself as a native of Hongdu. As a child, he loved Buddhism and experienced an awakening while living at a monastery. He often aspired to leave the world and cultivate the Way, and felt joy whenever he saw a monk. Later, he heard an elder say that the Fifth Patriarch had secretly transmitted the Way to the Sixth Patriarch in the third watch of the night. At once, his mind opened, and he understood that the path of cultivation depended on instruction from a teacher. He therefore continued searching far and wide.

He traveled throughout the Jing-Chu region but found no suitable teacher. Later, he became a monk at Shuanglian Temple in the Wannan region and devoted himself even more diligently to seeking instruction. He visited and studied with teachers from the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist traditions, yet no one could explain the meaning of “wisdom-life” clearly. He lamented: “Human life is hard to attain. Must I really let it pass in vain?” He then vowed that each night, at the second watch, he would prostrate himself and bow devoutly to Heaven, swearing to seek the Way. Half a year later, he was fortunate to meet Master Wu Chongxu and receive a secret transmission. In an instant he understood: the Way of wisdom-life was the innate spiritual nature that people already possess.

Later, when he went to Mount Kuanglu, he met Master Huyun and heard him discuss the essentials of cultivating the Way. Liu realized that his teacher was no ordinary person. He earnestly sought instruction and pleaded again and again. At last, the teacher took great compassion on him and revealed the hidden subtleties, as well as the profound key points at every level, both inner and outer, enabling Liu to grasp the teaching in its entirety. As they parted, the teacher told him: “The Buddhist method of dual cultivation has now been lost. You should carry on this line of transmission and guide those who are ready to receive it.”

Afterward, Liu Huayang lived in seclusion in the Jiangzuo region, where he and several fellow practitioners burned incense, cultivated, and studied deeply. Through years of arduous practice, he silently verified his teacher’s instruction. He then compiled this book and titled it the Jing of Wisdom-Life. Its illustrations explain the secret transmission of the ancient Buddhas and reveal the crucial points in the Patriarchs’ cultivation. It is indeed a stepping-stone to guide later students into the teaching.

Liu Huayang said that he had seen how most people seeking the Way placed their trust in recorded sayings, though such collections contain both truthful and false statements. Beginners who do not understand the Tathagata’s way of wisdom-life can easily fall into empty talk about Chan principles and ultimately be harmed by those recorded sayings. Having read widely in the scriptures and compared them with his teacher’s transmission, he believed that the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, the Avataṃsaka Sūtra, and the Platform Sūtra of the Sixth Patriarch spoke truthfully, whereas the recorded sayings of Chan masters and monks often contained falsehoods.

He believed that without truthful teachings, the path of cultivation could neither be tested for its true meaning nor distinguished from falsehood. When falsehood prevails, demonic obstacles arise; even people of intelligence and ability then have no way to enter the path. For thousands of years, the way of wisdom-life had remained hidden in secret transmission, beyond the reach of those who sought it. Now Liu had set out the precious Buddhist lineage in full, using plain and direct language, so that readers of this Jing could feel as though they were hearing a teacher’s instruction with their own ears. If they resolved to practice diligently, they would need to seek help nowhere else and could verify Buddhahood for themselves here and now. This was the vow he had held when he sincerely sought a teacher and awakened to the Way.

In the summer of the jiayin year of the Qianlong reign (the nineteenth year, 1754), Lu Liu Huayang of Hukou wrote this preface at Zhongjie Hermitage in Wancheng.

The First Diagram of the Cessation of Leakage

Nothing in the subtle workings of the Dao is more important than nature and life; the key to cultivating them is to bring them into unity. The sages of antiquity often used things in the world as metaphors to explain how nature and life return to oneness, but they would not speak of it directly. For this reason, few people in the world understand the dual cultivation of nature and life.

I have continued this diagram not to presume to reveal a secret, but to clarify the subtle meaning of the Avatamsaka Sutra through the “cessation of leakage” described in the Shurangama Sutra, and to gather scattered teachings from various scriptures and return them to the right path. This makes clear that cultivating the life of wisdom—the root of wisdom and life—depends on a single aperture. I have drawn this diagram in the hope that fellow cultivators will understand the key to the dual cultivation of nature and life and avoid straying into heterodox paths. It also shows that the true seed, the foundation of cultivation, is conceived here; that leakage is brought to an end and cultivation brought to completion here; that the relics, the refined essence attained through cultivation, are formed here; and that the Great Dao is cultivated here.

This aperture is a cave of emptiness, without form or shadow. When the movement of Qi stirs, it seems to appear; when that movement subsides, it is difficult to find. It is the place where the true is stored, and the altar ground for cultivating the life of wisdom. It is also called the “Dragon Palace beneath the Sea,” the “Realm of Snow Mountain,” the “West,” the “Primordial Pass,” the “Paradise of Ultimate Bliss,” and the “Land of Non-Polarity.” Though it has many names, they all refer to the same aperture. If Dao cultivators do not understand this aperture, they may search through a thousand lifetimes without finding the life of wisdom.

This aperture is of the utmost importance. It takes shape before the human body is born of its parents, at the moment of conception, and nature and life are lodged within it. The forces of nature and life merge into one, complete and undivided, like a seed of fire in a furnace, gathered into a harmonious mass of primordial Qi. This is what is meant by the inexhaustible vitality of the precelestial state. When the fetus, conceived by its parents, is filled with Qi and its form is complete, a movement of the body breaks the womb and brings it forth, like a fall from a height, with a sudden crash. At that moment, nature and life divide into two: from then on, nature cannot directly perceive life, nor life nature. A person grows from childhood into adulthood, gradually declines with age, and eventually dies.

Thus, out of great compassion, the Tathagata transmitted methods of cultivation to save people and enable them to “enter the womb” again, remaking their own nature and life. One gathers Shen and Qi into this aperture so that they may once more unite and form a gestation. This principle is akin to conception and the formation of a fetus.

Within the aperture is sovereign fire; before its opening is ministerial fire; throughout the body is the fire of the people. When sovereign fire stirs, ministerial fire responds; when ministerial fire moves, the fire of the people follows. When the three fires proceed in their natural direction, a person remains ordinary; reverse the course of the three fires, and one can attain the Dao. Thus the aperture of cessation of leakage determines whether one becomes an ordinary person or a sage. If one does not cultivate this Way and instead pursues other endeavors, there is no benefit. Many schools and methods of cultivation fail to understand that the life of wisdom is governed from within this aperture. They seek outside it, exhausting their efforts, yet in the end accomplish nothing.

The Dharma Wheel, a diagram of Qi circulating through the body during cultivation, has six stages. Nothing better than the Dharma Wheel reveals the wondrous workings of the Dao; nothing better than a road describes the path it follows; nothing better than rules explains its varying speeds; and nothing better than the method of timing—guiding the course of cultivation according to seasons and measure—shows the precise, unfailing duration of its movement. This diagram fully embodies the principles of the method, and contains the true face of the Western transmission, meaning the real essentials of cultivation.

Among the subtle methods of cultivation, none is more crucial than breathing. Nothing describes the movement of Qi to and fro better than opening and closing; nothing better than true intention—the focused thought that guides cultivation—suits its movement along the path; and nothing marks its beginning and end more clearly than boundaries, the stages or limits that define its course. To relinquish self-interest and accommodate others: when all of this is drawn in the diagram, the secrets of Heaven are fully revealed. Even an ordinary person who obtains this diagram can complete the practice. But without the corresponding Virtue, even if one happens upon the method of cultivation, Heaven will not assist one in practicing the Dao. Why? Virtue is to the Dao as wings are to a bird. Without wings, the Dao cannot be put into practice. One must be complete in loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness, and pure in the Five Precepts; only then may one hope to attain anything. The scripture’s most subtle and profound teachings are all contained in the Scripture of Wisdom and Life. Study the two together and compare them, and you will understand their true meaning.

The diagram of the Ren and Du channels, the two main meridians at the front and back of the body, conveys the same content as the preceding two diagrams. It is included as a further illustration because those who cultivate the Dao might not understand the route taken by the Dharma Wheel within their own bodies. This diagram was therefore drawn to make that route clear to fellow cultivators. If a person can open and clear the Ren and Du channels, the other meridians can all be opened as well. Thus the scripture says that when a deer sleeps, its breath seems to pass through to its anus, illustrating the unobstructed flow of the Du channel; the crane and the tortoise, in turn, are said to have unobstructed Ren channels. All three animals are believed to live for a thousand years. How much more so, then, for human beings? Since cultivators have already set the Dharma Wheel in motion and opened the Wisdom and Life—the foundation that unites life with cultivation—why should they worry that they cannot attain longevity or accomplish the work of the Dao?

Diagram of the Dao Embryo, showing the Dao Embryo formed through cultivation.

The Śūraṅgama Sūtra already contains the profound meaning expressed in this image. Ordinary monks do not understand the “Dao embryo”—the inner embryo formed when spirit and Qi congeal during cultivation—because the image was not continued at first. Now that it has been explained, practitioners can see that the Tathāgata truly had the means to cultivate and form a Dao embryo.

The Dao embryo is not a tangible object with shape or form, made from something else. In fact, it is one’s own spirit and Qi. First, let spirit enter Qi; then let Qi enfold spirit. When spirit and Qi join and the mind remains utterly still, this is called the “embryo.” Once Qi has congealed, spirit becomes numinously clear. Thus the scripture says, “Personally receiving awakening and response, the two Qi nurture it.” It also says that the embryo grows day by day. When Qi is sufficient and the embryo is complete, it emerges from the crown of the head. This is called “taking form and leaving the womb,” and one thereby becomes a Buddha-child who personally receives the Dharma.

Fifth Image: Leaving the Womb

The Śūraṅgama Mantra says: “At that time, the World-Honored One, Śākyamuni Buddha, sent forth a hundred jeweled lights from the fleshy protuberance atop his head. Within the light appeared a thousand-petaled jeweled lotus…” A manifested Tathāgata, a transformation body of the Buddha, sat on the lotus. From the crown of his head shone ten rays of a hundred jeweled lights, revealing myriad forms. As the assembly looked up, the radiant Tathāgata proclaimed the sacred mantra. What is described here is the appearance of the Yang Spirit—the spirit-consciousness formed through cultivation, capable of manifesting—which is why it is called a “Buddha-child.”

Without a path of cultivating the Wisdom Life, the inner life formed through cultivation, how could dry and desolate words alone bring about personal realization? And how could one claim that the World-Honored One taught only a lesser path? This passage reveals the secret of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra to instruct later students. Those who attain this Dao can transcend the boundary between sages and ordinary people and no longer fall back into the mundane world.

Sixth Image: Transformation Body

Seventh Image: Facing the Wall

Eighth Image: The Void Shattered

Ninth Image: Collected Teachings on the Scripture of the Wisdom Life

Huayang says: “Becoming a Buddha or patriarch depends on the numinous light within one’s own nature. If one cannot cultivate the Wisdom Life and prevent it from being depleted, one cannot realize the Great Dao and enter directly into the Tathāgata’s realm of emptiness.”

Although “original nature’s spiritual light” has two names, both have the same source. In meditation it is called “nature”; the wisdom that arises in stillness and illuminates things is called “light.” “Wisdom-life” is the term the Tathagata, an honorific title for the Buddha, first used to teach people. In Sanskrit, it means “wisdom-life”; in Chinese culture, it refers to a person’s original source. Confucians call it “precelestial Qi,” the primordial vital energy formed before birth. It is the means by which one cultivates Buddhahood and the key to becoming a patriarch, much like Mencius’s teaching on nourishing the vast, flowing Qi.

“Exhausting the outflows” is the term the World-Honored One used to instruct Ananda in cultivation, and it too comes from Sanskrit. In Chinese culture it is called “leakage”; Confucians call it “the loss of Jing,” and physicians call it “the discharge of primordial Qi.” Exhausting the outflows is a transformed state of wisdom-life. Before it is stirred, it is simply “life.” Once stirred, if one does not know how to cultivate it, it passes through the body’s openings and becomes a tangible loss. Confucians therefore call this “Qi transforming into Jing.”

In childhood, when a person is still innocent and the body is strong, there is no question of “exhausting the outflows.” Wisdom-life is then complete, and its light shines forth. If one meets an enlightened teacher at this time, there is no need for methods to repair what has been lost. One need only gather this complete and radiant wisdom-life into the central palace, the place in the cultivation of body and mind where primordial energy is gathered and nurtured. By remaining alert and aware at all times and guarding it continuously for ten months, one can nurture the Dao embryo, a symbol of inner cultivation brought to fruition, and ultimately attain the Buddha-body. As the Shurangama Sutra says, once the Dao embryo has formed, one draws near to the response of awakening; when one’s practice and primordial energy are sufficient, one can naturally emerge from the womb. At that point, the Dharma-body is vast; having taken form and emerged from the womb, one becomes a disciple of the Buddha. This is what is called the sudden method.

After the age of sixteen, however, the treasure of life is abundant and may naturally begin to dissipate. From then on, one must cultivate to reach a state without outflows; the Tathagata therefore calls this “exhausting the outflows.” If people in the world who study Buddhism do not humbly seek a teacher’s guidance in the secrets of refining and transforming, then even if they attend seven-day retreats, practice Chan meditation, and sit for long periods, there is no guarantee they will achieve anything. If success is not assured, how can one claim that they will certainly attain the Dao? For this reason, the Avatamsaka Sutra says: “Without seeking this wondrous Dharma, one can never attain Bodhi.”

Thus, out of great compassion, the Tathagata showed people where to begin and taught methods for restoring and replenishing what had been lost, so that complete and radiant wisdom-life could be made whole again and gathered back into the central palace. This is called the gradual method. The Radiant Buddha said: “This old monk can graft a rootless tree and rekindle the lamp beneath the sea, though it has no oil.” Cultivation also requires diligence and perseverance; one cannot attain the Dao in a single day. The World-Honored One told Ananda that exhausting the outflows is the hardest attainment. “Exhausting the outflows” is also another name the Buddha used for the method of cultivating wisdom-life.

If one cultivates nature without cultivating life, habitual tendencies are difficult to remove. Even if one reaches a state of vast freedom, one is no more than a ghost with the five supernatural powers, unable to accord with the Tathagata’s six supernatural powers. The Mahāvaipulya Mahāsaṃnipāta Sutra says that after cultivating the five powers, one is on the verge of attaining the power that exhausts the outflows. Why, then, does one refrain from realizing it? Out of compassion for sentient beings, one relinquishes that power and continues to act within the realm of ordinary people.

“Great emptiness” refers to the boundless, still, and empty realm in which the Dharma-nature is perfectly integrated. The Avatamsaka Sutra says, “Nature is like empty space.” This is also what Shao Yong meant when he wrote: “The Dao extends beyond all that has form in Heaven and Earth; thought enters the changing patterns of wind and cloud.”

The spiritual life, or Huiming, of a practitioner must reach the exhaustion of all outflows and the perfection of Dharma-nature; in other words, it must return to the utmost emptiness, a boundless state of stillness and emptiness. The Avataṃsaka Sūtra says, “Original nature is like empty space.” This is also what Shao Yong meant when he said, “The Great Dao runs through all shaped things beyond Heaven and Earth, while thought enters the transformations of wind and cloud.”

Although the spiritual life must reach the exhaustion of all outflows, it cannot be harmonized and brought to completion without tempering by wind and fire, and so it cannot fulfill the Great Dao. Here, “wind” refers to the force that feeds the fire, while “fire” refers to the function that transforms all things. The Tathagata spoke of “a gentle breeze stirring,” and also said that relics are gathered after the fire has transformed the body. When both wind and fire do their work, things can be harmonized and brought to completion naturally, fulfilling the Great Dao.

Buddhist cultivation therefore has an order of stages and true instruction. Could it really have no basis?

The true Dao must have genuine practices of cultivation arranged in stages. If the order of what comes before and after is jumbled, it is not the Tathagata’s Dao, but a heterodox path. The stages refer to the following: at the outset, one must practice harmonizing the true seed; in further cultivation, one must practice refining it into relics; as the work approaches completion, one must nurture the Dao embryo; and, at the final stage of letting go, one must practice emerging from the womb and facing the wall. “Relics,” “Dao embryo,” and “emerging from the womb and facing the wall” are specialized terms for stages of cultivation. They refer respectively to what gathers as a result of cultivation, the inner attainment nurtured to maturity, and a further stage of practice.

The stages of cultivation, however, cannot be invented at will. The author says that he gathered secret writings on practice transmitted by the Buddhas and patriarchs, arranged them section by section as evidence, and added explanations beneath every sentence so that fellow practitioners could understand. By bringing these materials together and using them to verify one another, one can avoid error.

How can someone claim to have attained the Dao on the strength of just one or two sentences?

Today, in the Chan tradition, some people have not received true transmission themselves, yet freely teach others. Some ask, “What were you before your parents were born?” Others ask, “Who is the one reciting the Buddha’s name?” The author argues that these repeated sayings, used to deceive men and women in the world, send people searching and questioning everywhere under the pretense of investigating the Buddha’s Dharma. In the end, they merely grow old in vain; this cannot be called the Dao. The author calls such practices “grandmotherly Chan,” “verbal Chan,” “disputation Chan,” “husk Chan,” and “food-and-clothing Chan,” meaning forms of Chan that have fallen into empty talk, argument, or a means of making a living.

From ancient times to the present, many people have been like the blind leading the blind, misleading countless sincere followers who wished to do good. They have led them into an abyss from which they could not escape, unable to see the light of the Buddhist Dharma.

It is said that Buddhism first entered China during the reign of Emperor Ming of the Han. Even earlier, in the time of Qin Shi Huang, monks came to China, but the First Emperor sent them away and did not receive them. Since the Han dynasty, false claims about the Buddhist Dharma have been too numerous to count. Fortunately, Bodhidharma came to China and pointed out these deviations. The Chan school claims that its lineage was transmitted by Bodhidharma and later passed down to the Sixth Patriarch. But the author argues that many teachings after that did not correct the errors; they only compounded them. This, he says, gave rise to the so-called “ninety-six heterodox paths”—schools of practice regarded as straying from the right way—and the “side doors of the twenty-four contemplations,” or twenty-four methods of practice on the byways. Among these, the author singles out “striking the seven,” a practice of sustained Chan meditation and effort for seven days or longer, condemning it as a poison that harms people and a fiery pit that buries them.

The author says that the lineage of the twenty-eight patriarchs of the Buddhist teaching in the West and the six generations of patriarchs in the East originally had no method called “striking the seven”; he claims it was invented by a disciple of Gaofeng. He also says that Gaofeng practiced the side path of “breath retention,” not the true path of the Tathagata. When asked how he could know this, he replies that Gaofeng himself once said, “Endure hunger at Shouchang’s Golden Millet Monastery.” The author goes on to claim that people who undertake “striking the seven” often cough up blood. They do not attain the Great Way; instead, they contract consumption, an old term for a chronic wasting illness, and suffer terribly before they die.

The author argues that anyone who does not understand the body’s Qi and blood channels—the pathways through which Qi and blood circulate—cannot claim to understand Daoist cultivation. After the body’s exertions during the day, a person needs quiet rest at night and a settled mind. According to the author, this allows the Qi of the acquired mind and kidneys to harmonize and nourish the body’s foundation. If staying awake for seven successive cycles of seven days and nights—forty-nine days and nights—is treated as the Great Way, he says, it must damage the body. The text also cites physicians’ words: after seven nights without sleep, the heart and kidneys can no longer harmonize, and a person may develop consumption; forty-nine nights would be even worse. Striking the channels along the back would also injure the internal organs.

The author compares this punishment on the back with punishments in ancient times. He says that after the Tang emperor abolished such punishments, people no longer dared to use them at will, because eight or nine out of ten who suffered them died. According to the text, ancient medical books held that the channels of the five organs all connect to the main network along the spine, through which Qi and blood also circulate. Striking this area obstructs Qi and blood and makes them flow in reverse; even renowned physicians such as Bian Que and Lu Yi could not save the victim. For this reason, punishment was changed to blows on the buttocks.

Finally, the author condemns those who continue monks’ names on yellow silk, the fabric used as proof of Dharma transmission, and call this transmission of the Dharma. By passing falsehood on as falsehood, he says, they mislead the world and lead beginners astray. He also says that the Chan catchphrases and recorded sayings found everywhere leave those determined to cultivate with no way to seek the true method. If people mistakenly believe that Buddhas were born already Buddhas, they may toil in vain and ultimately waste their lives. In this way, the light of the Buddhist Dharma is obscured.

The teachings contained in the Tripiṭaka (the complete collection of Buddhist scriptures) originally encompassed the full intent of the tradition. But early students understood them to varying degrees and had different levels of aptitude; moreover, the methods were interwoven and not arranged in sequence. As a result, students often could not practice them progressively, stage by stage.

Among the teachings in the Buddhist canon are expedient methods, which serve as skillful guides, and ultimate, true methods. There are also methods of Wuwei (non-action) and methods involving action, so they cannot all be treated alike. What matters is whether students truly apply themselves. The principle of dual cultivation of nature and life (cultivating both the spiritual nature and the foundations of life) is contained within these teachings.

Later patriarchs came to understand the teachings and achieved realization through them, but they were unwilling to disclose everything openly.

Some methods involve action; they cannot all be treated alike, and whether they are studied and practiced still depends on the student. The principle of dual cultivation of nature and life is also contained within them.

Later patriarchs received instruction in these methods and achieved realization, but they were unwilling to disclose everything to the public without reservation. They used expedient methods to discipline ordinary monks, keeping them focused on awakening and free from distracting thoughts. The true methods, by contrast, were transmitted privately to those who had genuinely understood. This is called “a separate transmission outside the teachings”: it passes on only the essential message of the Way. For example, the World-Honored One did not transmit the Dharma to his cousin Ānanda, but privately entrusted it to Kāśyapa, who became the Second Patriarch. Likewise, the Fifth Patriarch did not transmit it to the senior monk Shenxiu, but privately entrusted it to his attendant Lu Neng, who became the Sixth Patriarch. How could a precious method for attaining Buddhahood and becoming a patriarch be given to someone without aspiration? One must have exceptional resolve and understand its principles before it can be transmitted. Thus, the secret essentials of Buddhist teaching have never been shown casually, and they have not all been publicly expounded at once.

Some methods appear on the surface to teach Wuwei, while in fact concealing methods that involve action.

Here, “Wuwei” refers to the later-stage practice undertaken after nurturing the Dao embryo and engaging in wall-gazing; it does not mean the motionless, empty sitting practiced by ordinary monks today. “Action,” by contrast, refers to processes such as gathering and joining, which belong to the early stages of cultivating wisdom and life—the cultivation of life’s foundations. This method has corresponding principles and signs of confirmation. It centers on precelestial intention, yet conceals it within practices involving action.

“Wuwei” (non-action) is the method used to cultivate the Dao embryo—the inner foundation spoken of in spiritual practice—and during the latter half of wall-gazing cultivation. It does not mean sitting motionless in a state of dryness, as some monks of today say. “Youwei” (deliberate action), by contrast, is a method of gathering and joining, used during the first half of cultivating the wise life—the source of life spoken of by Dao practitioners. It has a basis: it is a subtle method that uses innate intention and Qi, the primordial energy and awareness, and does not mean taking action in the ordinary worldly sense.

Thus the Baoji Jing says: “All things are like illusions, yet among them there is a method by which attainment can be made certain through gathering and joining.” It also says: “The great being practices the path of liberation, deepens the heart of compassion, and seeks the Dharma. Understanding that all forms of deliberate action arise from the coming together of causes and conditions, the great being nevertheless remains resolute and diligently cultivates the Way.” The scripture further says that those of the Two Vehicles—the vehicle of the Hearers and the vehicle of the Solitary Realizers—fall into the vast pit of non-action, unable to transcend it and realize the fruits of the path. An ancient master said: “Though deliberate action is an expedient means, if it is abandoned entirely, the work of cultivation cannot be accomplished. Though non-action is true, if one turns toward it exclusively, it is difficult to realize the sacred fruit.”

Today, when Chan practitioners hear “deliberate action,” they take it to mean attachment to outward appearances and so reject it. They do not understand that here it means employing the subtle Way within stillness and concentration. Heaven and Earth, for example, seem to act without action, yet they can bring forth and nourish the myriad things; within them there is a function at work. The highest vehicle of the Buddha’s teaching is the same. When a person’s mind reaches the state of non-action, something within emerges, standing apart. If one does not gather it in through intention, it may disperse into the outer world and cease to belong to oneself. This method of gathering it back is therefore called the “method of deliberate action.” This is also what the Sixth Patriarch meant by “going north to receive and deliver.”

At times it appears amid what is empty; at other times it lies concealed within what exists.

“Nonbeing” refers to the later stage of cultivation, the cultivation of nature; “being” refers to the earlier stage, the cultivation of life. Some people today who call themselves Chan and Dao practitioners hear the words “being” and immediately recoil from them. They do not know that the “thing” meant here is the foundation of the Dao and the bridge to the methods of cultivation. Everyone has it from the beginning. It is not something formed by thoughts and distinctions, but an innate thing present in the “Original Pass” (the inner key point spoken of in Daoism).

The Sixth Patriarch said, “I have a thing with no head or tail, no name or written character, and neither front nor back.” Master Fu also said, “There is something that existed before Heaven and Earth: nameless and soundless, still by nature. It can become the ruler of all things and does not wither as the seasons change.” This is the innate thing. It governs and nurtures all things acquired after birth. When dispersed, it leaves no trace; when gathered, it becomes a śarīra, the hard, crystal-like relic formed through practice.

Chan Master Yuanwu said, “What is higher than Heaven? That which gave birth to Heaven. What is thicker than Earth? That which conceived Earth. What is broader than empty space? That which contains empty space. What can surpass the Buddha and the patriarchs? That which gave birth to the Buddha and the patriarchs.” This is the foundation that nurtures all things; all things and I come from the same source. Thus, when it is said that all things and I were born of the same “great parent,” this is what is meant.

Following this foundation gives rise to human beings and all things; reversing the process through cultivation makes it possible to become a Buddha or patriarch. As it unfolds in the ordinary direction, all things and I appear together. The method of reversing the process is difficult to understand and apply without a master’s guidance. Chan Master Yunfeng said, “There is something that secretly protects people, but alas, they do not know it.” This refers to the innate, pure-Yang, supremely firm Qi—the primal vital energy spoken of in Daoism. Dispersed, it fills the whole body; gathered, it rests at the Mysterious Pass, the crucial point in Neidan cultivation.

Han Zi said, “What is precious is this natural thing, unique and without companion. You may search for it and still not see it; it enters and leaves without any doorway. When gathered, it lies within a square inch; when spread out, it is everywhere. If you do not believe in it and accept it, you will fail to recognize it even when you meet it.” In its vastness, it contains the entire Dharma realm, the whole domain in which all things exist; in its minuteness, it is like a grain of millet or a speck of dust. Chan Master Yunfeng also said that Heaven and Earth, drawn together, can become as small as a grain of millet. But first it must be brought into harmony and gathered; only then will it appear as a “thing.” The World-Honored One called it the “seed of Bodhi.” The “thing” offered by the Dragon Girl at the assembly of the Lotus Sutra was this very thing.

At times the “method of doing nothing” is explained openly; at other times it is kept hidden. The “method of doing nothing” is a means the patriarchs used to regulate and instruct the people at large, and belongs to the Lesser Vehicle. The “method of doing something” is a teaching the patriarchs transmitted in secret, and belongs to the Higher Vehicle. Ordinary people of shallow capacity and without a foundation find it hard to believe or accept. Thus the World-Honored One said: “I practiced this difficult undertaking in an age of the Five Turbidities and attained Anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (supreme perfect enlightenment). To proclaim this hard-to-believe teaching to the beings of the world is truly an exceedingly difficult thing.”

People of the world find such teachings hard to believe. If a patriarch were to tell those of shallow capacity their secrets directly, it could instead invite criticism. Therefore, the Lotus Sutra says that the Buddha told Śāriputra: “Say no more. If this were spoken, the gods and humans of the world would be astonished and doubtful.” The sutra also says: “There is only this one true Way; the other two are not ultimately true teachings.”

The “doing something” spoken of here does not mean heterodox or wicked arts. It refers to the life of wisdom—a term for the fundamental Qi of life in cultivation—or, in other words, to the process by which Original Qi stirs and arises when the pivot of the Origin, the aperture through which Original Qi is set in motion and circulates, becomes active. The cultivator directs it with intention and gathers it through breathing, harmonizes the true seed—the fundamental essence and Qi in internal cultivation—sets the Dharma Wheel in motion, the circulation of Qi within the body, and gathers, refines, and nourishes it. Since all this involves the use of intention and breathing, it is called “doing something.” The life of wisdom is also another name for Original Qi. When Original Qi stirs, if it is not gathered in time, will it not disperse? Thus Chan Master Xingyang said: “Advance a step and you lose sight of the principle; retreat a step and you miss the actual work of cultivation.” This is precisely what he meant.

At times it is made clear within the Lesser Vehicle; at other times it is concealed within the Greater Vehicle.

The Lesser Vehicle, a path centered on individual practice and liberation, is a provisional method established by Chan masters to guide practitioners. It includes meditation and seated practice, reciting the Buddha’s name and reading scriptures, and planting good causes to obtain good results. The Greater Vehicle, a path whose aim is complete awakening and the salvation of all beings, consists of profound essentials taught by patriarchs and confirmed for practitioners. It addresses the life of wisdom and the lifespan, the exhaustion of leakage, and “the mare’s Yin” (a term in Daoist internal alchemy for the transformation of essence and Qi). Its goal is to transcend the ordinary, attain sagehood, and realize Buddhahood. This is only a broad outline.

Some passages are written in plain, easily understood language, and for that very reason deserve careful reflection, section by section; they should not be skimmed at a glance. Once you have investigated them and reached a point free of doubt, you should still ask someone to confirm your understanding. If you cling only to your own prejudices and take the words of deluded people as the guiding principle, have you not been misled?

These plain passages explain the essentials of cultivating nature and life. Without receiving the oral instructions, it is difficult to grasp their deeper meaning on your own. You must connect the passages before and after, understand the stages of cultivation, and then seek confirmation from a true teacher; otherwise, you may spend your whole life practicing in vain. What is passed on and confirmed today in monastic communities—Buddhist monasteries—is sometimes not the true Dharma of the Tathagata. Some merely take a piece of yellow silk bearing the name of this or that monk and call it Buddhist Dharma. Trusting it as genuine will lead you astray. After the Sixth Patriarch, those who had not received the true transmission fabricated this proof in order to compete for the position of abbot. Using it to deceive later students, they led many sincere seekers of the Way astray. This is neither Buddhist Dharma nor anything but a source of disputes.

That is why I say: to leave behind worldly concerns, seek out someone who has already crossed the path and knows its waypoints.

The ancients said, “If you want to find the way down the mountain, first ask someone who has been there and walked the route.” A person who has crossed the path is someone who has received the oral instructions. They may have completed their cultivation, or they may not yet have begun; the instructions they pass on are the same.

To end sexual desire and awaken to the Great Way, the key is to seek a true teacher.

To put an end to lust, one must first abstain from it. This is the first precept of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra and an important gateway to Buddhahood. If a Buddhist disciple wears a monastic robe and carries a monk’s staff, yet refuses to put aside lustful thoughts while claiming to cultivate the Dao, will not discerning people among the Confucians and Daoists laugh at him? His outward appearance may be solemn and in keeping with ritual, but inwardly he is no different from an ordinary person. This is truly shameful. Yet if one seeks no guidance from a genuine master, how can one know how to put an end to lust? Anyone seeking a teacher should first ask where this method begins. All other methods are merely heterodox paths.

“Let others expound ten thousand methods as they please; my body and mind cannot be brought under control by them.”

What Buddhism teaches today seems to amount to reading scriptures and reciting the Buddha’s name, investigating Chan and sitting in meditation, undertaking a seven-day intensive retreat, and contemplating a huatou—a question pursued with focused attention in Chan practice. There seem to be no other methods. These practices are like waving yellow leaves to stop a child from crying. What benefit can they bring to my body and mind?

“Lofty talk that goes beyond convention is not the true Great Dao.”

People who study Buddhism today have not received an orthodox transmission, yet as soon as they speak, they invoke one Bodhisattva or another Buddha. Unable to do anything themselves, they use these worn-out sayings to deceive the uninformed. They also say that some monk attained the Dao after death, or that some abbot attained the Great Dao after death. If attaining the Dao means dying, then would not everyone in the world who has died have attained it? They fail to understand that one who has attained the Dao should be able to manifest all kinds of transformations while still alive. That is what counts as the true Great Dao.

“A single sentence that strikes the heart of the matter is the mark of a good physician.”

The “few words” in question are plain and direct, not a lengthy essay or ornate, clever rhetoric. This is what the Fifth Patriarch meant by the secret transmission of the “original sound” between master and disciple: a way of transmitting the teaching. The “secret indication” is similar. For example, the Fifth Patriarch transmitted the teaching to the Sixth Patriarch in the third watch of the night, and the World-Honored One transmitted it to Kāśyapa aboard a boat. Whoever receives this kind of Dao will have the doubts and deep-rooted afflictions in their heart dispelled, and will also gain a thorough understanding of the Buddhist canon—the scriptures, monastic rules, and treatises. Such a person is therefore called a “good physician.”

After receiving the oral instructions, you may as well try practicing from the beginning. Practice for just a short while, and once you see the results, you will naturally feel glad.

Once you have obtained the true method of cultivation, begin by putting it into practice. If you have truly grasped the method, then as soon as thoughts of sexual desire arise, use a steady, focused mind to restrain them, while coordinating your breathing to regulate the breath. Before long, the desire will subside; your thoughts and Qi will come into harmony, your mind will be calm, and your body at ease. You will naturally feel a quiet joy within. Here, “mind and Qi” refers to a cultivation term for bringing the mind into harmony with the inner breath.

It is also said that the Heart Sutra (Prajñāpāramitā Heart Sutra) begins: “Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva.”

Huayang says: This passage from the scripture describes how the Tathagata, through Heaven’s grace, teaches the essential orthodox method by which people cultivate nature and life together from the very beginning. Sadly, people who have not received a true transmission mistake “observing thoughts with thoughts” for a method of cultivation, and call it “Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva.” This is a misunderstanding. One must understand that thoughts arise from habitual patterns and seeds of consciousness; they are not the source of the Dao. So is the right way and principle spoken of by Master Cheng the mind, or is it not the mind? Here, people are being directed to discern a further teaching within these words.

“Manifestation” and “Bodhisattva” are two things the Tathagata uses as skillful metaphors. They embody the aim of dual cultivation of nature and life, and must not be mistaken for one and the same thing. If you take thoughts to be the Dao, the Dao will recede far away. The Scripture of Perfect Enlightenment says that sentient beings commonly mistake the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, the constituents of the human body—for their own bodies. They also mistake the images stirred up by the six dusts—form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and mental objects, the realms encountered by the senses—for their minds. The Yuanmiao Zong says that the numinous, knowing nature of the spirit platform is the root of birth and death; deluded thoughts are merely discriminating impulses that arise in dependence on external objects. The Tathagata who transmitted the Dharma also said that within the Hall of the Empty King, there are no traces. If you take these thoughts as real, the Bodhisattva will remain buried deep beneath the ninth ground, unable to reveal its transformations or bring forth the Tathagata’s wondrous appearance. The vital opportunity of this life will then be wasted.

These thoughts are transformations of the mind’s Yin energy and the consciousness spirit—the discriminating, deliberative awareness. Through countless kalpas and lifetimes, it is still this that operates. Sentient beings are deluded by it, chasing greed and desire, unable to be liberated and thus unable to attain fruition. Rebirth in the cycle of transmigration and losing one’s original nature both come from not knowing where the Bodhisattva comes from, and mistaking the mind’s perceptions for reality. Master Jing said, “Those who study the Dao for a long time yet fail to recognize their true nature do so only because they mistook the consciousness spirit long ago. It has stirred into action since beginningless time and is the very root of birth and death; foolish people call it their original body.” Chan Master Nanquan said, “Mind is not Buddha; wisdom is not the Dao.” Mazu, in turn, said, “Mind itself is Buddha”—a convenient phrase meant to stop a child from crying. When people studying Buddhism today hear “mind is not Buddha; wisdom is not the Dao,” will they not fall into emptiness and confusion, with nothing to rely on?

Someone asked, “Then what, exactly, should one cultivate?” The reply was, “What I observe is the numinous light within my right mindfulness.” Those who have not received the true transmission call it their original nature. The Bodhisattva abides in the Pure Land, separated from another thing by eight inches and four tenths. The distance between them is great; without observation, they cannot meet. This is what the words below mean: “They harmonize, converge, and gather; realization is certain.”

The Bodhisattva is the life of wisdom, and is also Buddha-nature. From the moment one is born from the womb and cries upon the ground, the place of observation and the Bodhisattva are already separated. The Bodhisattva is concealed and deeply hidden; without a master’s personal guidance, even the intelligent and perceptive will find it difficult to see. The saying “The mind of the Dao is subtle and faint” points to this. From then on, people labor day and night, and even their intelligence and abilities are often directed by the consciousness spirit. A patriarch said, “You have no Buddha-nature.” Therefore, out of compassion, the Tathagata taught the people of the world to observe this Bodhisattva at every moment. The Bodhisattva continually receives the wisdom-power of the numinous light. In time, it naturally awakens as if from a dream: warm and soft, as though infused with steam; lively and clear, like a pearl gleaming. Suddenly it opens into understanding and emits a great radiance. When its power has gathered and the moment is ripe, it surges forth and merges with the nature of consciousness. Then the nature of consciousness dies away and Buddha-nature appears. Its numinous clarity remains the true master of life; its light shines throughout the vast world, and all six supernatural powers are complete. However turbulent the dust of the outer world may be, one remains at ease, with a nature that is whole and free, like space.

Thus, all living beings with awareness possess Buddha-nature. Follow its course, and human beings and all things come into being; reverse the process through cultivation, and one can become a Buddha or patriarch. The difference between ordinary people and sages ultimately comes down to this one thing. It is Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). With Taiji, there is awareness and speech; without it, the eyes cannot see and the mouth cannot speak. Physicians call it “true fire.” Formless and traceless, it is hidden in the empty cavity just behind the navel and slightly below the kidneys. The ancients called that place the homeland of the Pure Land, the Land of Ultimate Bliss, and “wondrous being and true emptiness.” The body can exist only when true fire steams and nourishes it; when true fire dies out, the body decays. The Sixth Patriarch said, “Mind is the ground; nature is the king. When the king dwells on the ground of mind, body and mind remain; when the king departs, body and mind decay.” The mind spoken of here is not the heart within the physical body, but the mind of the Dao. Hence the saying that the mind of the Dao dwells at the North Pole, surrounded and guarded by the encircling stars: it expresses precisely this principle.

If people throughout the world who study Buddhism do not cultivate this Bodhisattva, is there some other Dao they can cultivate? Any other practice belongs to heterodox paths and is not the Dao of Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva.

The Baoshu Jing says, “When harmony and union gather and coalesce, accomplishment is assured.” These are the World-Honored One’s (the Buddha’s) secret teachings and an important key found in Buddhist texts. They describe the method of dual cultivation of nature and life: cultivating both the mind’s nature and one’s life force. That is why it is said that practice leads to “assured accomplishment.”

The author maintains that since the time of Emperor Ming of the Han dynasty, few people have openly taught this method. Only Patriarch Bodhidharma and the Second Patriarch Jiwuz have, according to the author, received it in secret. The author further claims that they thereby transformed their ordinary physical bodies, ascended bodily into the heavens, and attained the Golden Body, the form achieved through complete cultivation. Bodhidharma revealed only a little of this method, while Jiwuz explained it in his writings; his disciples, however, concealed the books. The author says that he is now setting out the full explanation so fellow practitioners can use it to cultivate and realize the teaching, avoid straying into heterodox paths, falling ill, or dying prematurely, and attain the Great Dao sooner.

“Harmony” refers to bringing into balance the Yin Qi in the heart and the Yang Qi in the kidneys. The author holds that when Yin Qi receives Yang Qi, the spirit can settle and the root of life can be secured; this is why the process is called “harmony.” “Union” refers to the Yang Qi in the kidneys receiving the Yin Qi in the heart. When Yang Qi receives this bright Qi, the energy of the heart spirit, it can draw inward and become firm; this is why the process is called “union.” The Book of Changes says, “One Yin and one Yang are called the Dao; leaning toward Yin or leaning toward Yang is called illness.” This means that harmony between Yin and Yang accords with the Dao, while imbalance brings illness. The ancient Buddhas cultivated both nature and life; they could not cultivate only one.

“Coalescing” is the method of gathering the spirit, while “gathering” is the way to nourish and accumulate the root of life. Drawing on Mencius’s phrase “gathering righteousness gives rise to life,” the author stresses the accumulation of upright energy and vitality. Cultivating nature and life together means nourishing the spirit and Qi, making success in practice easier to attain. But people did not understand dual cultivation, so the Tathagata used “harmony and union” to explain its essentials.

The author goes on to say that once people leave the womb, the spirit can no longer watch over the Qi within the body, and the Qi can no longer in turn protect the spirit. The spirit is stored in the heart, issues through the two eyes, and disperses through the seven apertures—the eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth—so it is gradually depleted in daily life. Qi is stored in the kidneys and issues through the genitals; when the body grows still at night, it too is discharged downward. The Jing and Qi received at birth are limited and cannot withstand such depletion. Without guidance from a clear-sighted master, even practicing the gathering of the spirit and Qi may leave one confined to the Yin spirit in the heart, a consciousness that has not yet united with Yang Qi. On one’s own, one may not be able to attain the Great Dao.

For this reason, the World-Honored One taught people to keep drawing in their subtle spirit at all times—day and night, while walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—and to gather it within their life. The author offers this analogy: when life receives the spirit, it is like a minister receiving the sovereign; life can then settle and cease to be depleted in one direction. With sustained practice, and once one understands the later method for gathering and receiving Yang Qi, changes that were not present before may appear in the aperture of life, the locus of life’s root: after about a month for the young, and three to five months for those in middle age. When the true mechanism stirs, the practitioner will feel a joy beyond words. At that point, they should hold to it and quickly set the Wheel of the Law in motion, the term used in Neidan for circulating the movement of Qi. The author concludes with the Tathagata’s words of encouragement: if practitioners follow the method of harmony, union, coalescing, and gathering, their accomplishment is assured.

The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch says, “A sentient being comes to sow the seed.” Here, “sentient” does not mean ordinary worldly feelings. It refers to a crucial mechanism that comes into play when cultivating wisdom-life—the inner awakening and root of life. The author argues that without this mechanism, one cannot attain Buddhahood. It is like a farmer hoping for a harvest without having any seeds.

The author illustrates this point with the story of the Fifth Patriarch, Hongren, who in a previous life was a Daoist who planted pine trees and sought an audience with the Fourth Patriarch, Daoxin. Seeing that the Daoist was old, Daoxin judged that he lacked the “sentience” that would allow wisdom-life to continue growing, and told him to be reborn and return. The Daoist immediately stood upright and died, then was reborn into the Zhou family and later came back to seek the Dao. The author also cites Mazu Daoyi’s words, “It is not a thing,” and Huineng’s, “The nature of lust is itself Buddha-nature,” arguing that these already reveal this principle of cultivation. Chan Master Longya likewise said that deep human feeling without the workings of the Dao cannot last.

The author criticizes some Chan monks for mistaking “sentience” for worldly feelings, merely repeating Chan exchanges and claiming to have attained the Dao. If “sentience” were only harmful, the Fifth and Sixth Patriarchs would not have used it to teach others. True “sentience” is the mechanism by which wisdom-life arises and develops; it is also the occasion for the sudden opening of the “Original Pass,” the aperture where, in the author’s account, wisdom-life is stored and set in motion.

The author goes on to explain that although wisdom-life is stored within the Original Pass, it also stirs in stillness, extends outward by attaching to the body, and responds to thoughts in the mind. This manifestation and activity is called “sentience.” Practitioners therefore need to understand changes between movement and stillness. The Buddhist method called “closing the Yang Pass” is also a related practice. A scripture quotes the Tathagata as saying that without understanding movement and stillness, studying the Dao brings no benefit.

“Sowing the seed” means turning inward the mechanism of cultivation that moves from the external to the internal, and from ordinary life toward Buddhahood, and making it the starting point of practice. Practitioners first observe the moment when the body stirs, then gather the “True Intention”—a calm, undivided thought—in stillness at the Palace of Life, the place where, in the author’s account, the root of life is stored and nurtured. After doing this for a long time, when the inner mechanism stirs, it is as if a Bodhi seed has sprouted in the Palace of Life; hence the phrase “sowing the seed.”

After sowing the seed, one must also “refine” it. The author uses fire as an analogy: fire needs wind to burn and transform things. In cultivation, the breath is made to blow in reverse upon the true fire in the Palace of Life. Through the breath, the wisdom-life that has stirred outward is drawn back within and gathered together, then continually nurtured like an ember in a furnace. Through sustained refinement, what has form is transformed into the formless. The author holds that this both prevents wisdom-life from dissipating outward and replenishes it, gradually strengthening the foundations of life. Confucians call this an unending process of generation; Buddhists explain it through the “deathless Arhat.”

The Heart Sutra speaks only of “the moment.” Sentences in other scriptures usually include words that indicate quantity, but here the word “moment” appears by itself, which seems unusual. The author believes that the Tathagata deliberately urged later generations to grasp the essential meaning of “the moment.”

Here, “the moment” does not mean an ordinary hour. It is the instant when vital energy stirs within the body during seated meditation and stillness. The ancients said that this opportunity has no fixed time and can be experienced only by the person undergoing it. Some also compared it to the moon shining at its zenith or the wind brushing the surface of water. In the author’s view, although these images touch on the workings of Heaven, they do not explain what this moment actually is, so they offer little guidance for practice. He therefore sets out to reveal one aspect of its meaning, to help practitioners avoid straying from the right path and attain the fruit of the Dao.

The author says that this “moment” is when the body’s “wisdom life” stirs of its own accord. It is also called the “living Zi hour,” the moment in practice when vital energy awakens within the body. When it arises, its force is intense, like a blazing fire and a violent wind; without a method transmitted by a master, it is difficult to subdue through breathing alone. The author also compares it to a ferocious tiger that devours a person’s life and consumes their essence. Heroes and accomplished practitioners in Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism alike may be harmed by it if they have not received the true transmission. In ancient times, those aspiring to cultivate the Dao first had to subdue this tiger before they could attain its fruit.

The author describes this state of arousal as warm and soothing, like bathing, yet also fiercely intense, like a flame about to leap up. Its powerful force moves downward to the genitals, as if the essence of the whole body were under its command. Physicians call this area the “external kidneys,” a traditional term for the male external genitalia. The wondrous secret of becoming a Buddha or patriarch begins here, the author says; with a genuine transmission, there is no need for further doubt. He concludes that “the moment” is also an extremely vital element of Buddhism’s secret teachings.

The World-Honored One taught the Dharma in the Dragon Palace of Jietuo.

The “time” discussed in the previous section already includes the real place on which cultivation depends. The author, concerned that people might mistake it for something nonexistent, specifically points out that it is an actual location, giving practitioners a concrete place to begin so their efforts do not come to nothing.

The “Dragon Palace” here is a metaphor for the place of cultivation. In China it is also called the Dantian (the place within the body where the elixir is condensed in Neidan practice), the Qi cavity (the aperture where original Qi is stored and nurtured), or the essence aperture. Other names include “Pure Land,” “realm,” “sea of suffering,” “seabed,” “Land of Ultimate Bliss,” and “Udana.” Though the names are many, they all refer to the place where the true seed gathers and the internal elixir is conceived. The Tiantai Treatise on Calm and Insight says that the Sanskrit word “Udana” corresponds in China to the Dantian.

In recent times, realized masters have also called it the “furnace” to make it easier for people to understand. This is an everyday metaphor used by the patriarchs to point out that cultivation has a definite place. Just as a blacksmith needs a furnace and its fire to forge fine, sharp tools, so it is with cultivation. The “furnace” is the place where the body is transformed and things are brought into being. Thus the Explanation of the Heart Sutra says: “Gather it up and place it in the elixir furnace; refine it until it is red like the Golden Crow.” The Tathagata of Light also says, “The fire rises in the furnace,” and, “When fire rises in the furnace, Heaven’s secret is revealed; failing to awaken to the Western Coming is delusion.”

Chan Master Yuantong said: “Hide yourself within the Northern Dipper.”

The “Northern Dipper” here is the Dragon Palace mentioned earlier, and “hide yourself” means the gathering described above. The patriarchs teach people to lodge their true thought—the mind that is genuine and single-minded—within the “Northern Dipper.” Then the mind can become empty and still, and nature and life can be made secure. Thus Fu Dashi said: “When the mind is empty, one returns having passed the examination.”

Chan Master Jiwu said: “Gather the spirit and draw it into this aperture. Qi will then move in accordance with the spirit’s intention and naturally return here.”

Jiwu, his religious name, grasped the full intent of Bodhidharma, the founding patriarch of Chan Buddhism, and was a direct inheritor of the wisdom and life path cultivated through practice. He could therefore appear and disappear unpredictably, taking countless forms. During the Yongzheng reign, he appeared many times in Taiyi, a place name, manifesting in dozens of guises, as if every household had its own Jiwu. They would talk, laugh, and share food; when they vanished, not a trace remained. Sometimes he gave people gold, silver, and beautiful women; sometimes he appeared as a fierce tiger, raging floodwaters, or blazing fire. In those who followed him, ordinary thoughts and desires all faded away.

Here, “gathering” means drawing something in and containing it. The “aperture” is the Dantian (energy center), also called the “furnace.” This refers to the moment Qi (vital energy) begins to stir—that is, the start of cultivation. As Qi stirs, it may disperse outward along with the body. If it is allowed to scatter and dissipate, how can the foundation of the Dao be established? Thus, the patriarchs taught that at this moment one should immediately gather the Shen (spirit), directing one’s spiritual attention into the Dantian. As Shen draws Qi inward, Qi in turn returns and gathers.

The “Qi” discussed here is not the breath, but primordial Qi—the “vast, flowing Qi” spoken of by Mencius. Many Buddhist masters who had attained the Dao would not disclose the methods of cultivation outright. Instead, they used external things as metaphors, leaving others to grasp their meaning. Only after confirming that a person understood would they transmit the teaching in secret; this is why it is called “a separate transmission outside the teachings.”

This Qi has many other names. In Buddhism, it is called the staff, the monk’s staff, Dhyana, “plucking reeds,” white snow, golden lotus, reverent fruit, cave water, sea water, the Morning Star, the waters of the West River, the waters of Caoxi, the water buffalo, “the treasure at the bottom of the sea,” fire in the furnace, the Mani jewel, the mud ox at the bottom of the sea, the bright pearl at the bottom of the sea, flowers blooming at the bottom of the sea, smoke rising from the furnace, and many more. On closer examination, all these names refer to the same primordial Qi. Thus, when Chan Master Huangye visited the Sixth Patriarch and completed his cultivation, he exclaimed, “The Dao is nothing but Qi.” These words reveal the heart of the matter.

It also says that the work of cultivation must continue without interruption, so that every breath is devoted to this method. After practicing for a month or two, one may sometimes notice a warm, harmonious feeling in the aperture, as warm energy begins to revolve.

The “breath” here means the qi of breathing. Buddhists liken it to “wind” and also call it a “walking staff”: like an old person leaning on a staff as they walk, it provides support during cultivation. In cultivating one’s wisdom-life, if the breath does not stir and circulate, the Jing and Qi dissipated within the body cannot be gathered and transformed, making it difficult to form a “Śarīra,” a condensed substance produced through cultivation. Thus a Chan master said, “Before you reach the point where the stream runs dry and the mountains end, for now take it as your companion and pass the time.” This is precisely what he meant.

A person’s breathing qi ultimately originates in the Dantian (the important cultivation site in the abdomen). Yet ordinary people know only that it flows outward in exhalation, not that it can also be gathered inward. Those who receive the true transmission can use the mind-intent of the Shen in the Dantian to receive and guide the breathing qi. That is why the Chan master said, “An oilless flute, blown backward from both ends.” This metaphor explains that Shen and Qi must be brought together. Once they unite, one naturally feels warmth, and the “Dharma Wheel”—a metaphor for the movement of qi within the body—begins to turn on its own.

The time it takes for the Dharma Wheel to turn varies from person to person and also depends on age. For a young person, signs of efficacy may appear in the “furnace,” a metaphor for cultivation within the body, within a month. An older person may need several months before signs emerge that Shen and Qi are gradually blending and warm energy begins to stir.

The Pure Light Tathāgata, the Buddha named in the scripture, said: “Once the golden youth awakens, he forsakes the imperial palace. Unawares, he has arrived in the vast Dharma Sea, broad as a rhinoceros. If you wish to find him and bring him back to his homeland, you must go beneath the pagoda on Spirit Mountain; only then will you know where he has gone.”

The Crown Prince was the World-Honored One, the Buddha Śākyamuni. When the World-Honored One resolved to cultivate the Dao, a celestial spirit took the form of a white horse, carried him out of the palace, and bore him through the air to the Snow Mountains. There he shaved off his hair himself with a golden knife. At first, he received no genuine transmission and followed an unorthodox path. Though he cultivated for a long time, he made no progress, and his body grew increasingly thin and weak. Later, Asita, an immortal who transmitted the Orthodox Way, passed on to him the Orthodox Way of the “wisdom-life”—the inner spiritual life of a Dao cultivator—and only then did he ultimately become a Buddha. The Lotus Sutra says that an immortal transmitted the wondrous Dharma to the Buddha, enabling him to attain the Way. The lineage records of the Śākya family also say that, seeing how weak the Crown Prince had become, Asita advised him, “You may drink cow’s milk to restore your original vitality.” The Crown Prince drank the milk, and his body returned to normal. The thirty-two marks—the thirty-two auspicious features of a Buddha’s body—then appeared, and he ultimately perfected the fruit of the Way. He asked the Buddha Dīpaṃkara to confirm his attainment.

When the World-Honored One first cultivated the Great Way, before even a few months had passed, he suddenly saw the morning star and exclaimed, “All sentient beings have Buddha-nature. They have not awakened only because they have been unable to attain this Way.” The Buddha-nature of which the World-Honored One spoke is the wisdom-life. Here, “ox” refers to Qi, the vital energy that animates life, and “sea” refers to the Dantian, the lower abdomen, a focal point of Neidan cultivation. To seek this ox, one must look within the Dharma Sea—that is, within the Dantian. It is nowhere else. Hence the saying, “It hides within the Northern Dipper.”

“Spirit Mountain” refers to the heart; “beneath the tower” refers to the Dantian. In teaching people to cultivate the Way, the Tathāgata instructs them to begin by working at the Dantian. Only afterward does the sign of “the ox returning to its native place” appear. Thus the Buddhist Canon says, “Everyone has a Spirit Mountain Pagoda. Cultivate diligently beneath the pagoda on Spirit Mountain.”

“Knowing its tracks” means that something suddenly comes into being from nothing within the Dantian. The cultivator need not offer further explanations, but need only notice, within their own awareness, a warm and gentle feeling, open and comfortable, like the coming of spring, bringing boundless joy. This is precisely what Mazu meant when he spoke of Qi reaching the skin and bringing ease to the limbs.

“Returning” means going back, and “native place” means the field of the heart. Cultivation proceeds from the lower Dantian back to the heart-ground above. In this way, discriminating awareness is transformed into Buddha-nature, and habitual thoughts are refined into right mindfulness. Deluded awareness recedes, original nature emerges, and the mind becomes clear, as if its true master had appeared. This is what “returning to one’s native place” means.

Master Yuan Tong of Chan said: “Once all Yin qi has been exhausted, a single Yang qi begins to arise again. If you wish to perceive the original mind through which Heaven and Earth ceaselessly bring forth life, you must understand how to cultivate by drawing on Yin qi.

“Once the many Yin forces have been stripped away” corresponds, over the course of the year, to the eleventh lunar month. In the human body, it corresponds to the “North Sea,” a place or state of cultivation. “A single Yang is born again” corresponds to the winter solstice in the year, and in the body refers to the beginning stirrings of Yang qi. The “Heavenly Mind” is where Yang qi begins to arise. This is precisely what Shao Yong meant when he wrote, “At the midpoint of the winter solstice, the Heavenly Mind remains unchanged.”

To perceive this original mind, one must seek the corresponding method of cultivation; only then may it be witnessed. This manifestation is a sign that the “true seed” has emerged—that is, the method of cultivation itself. It is like the “seeing” through which the World-Honored One (the Buddha) awakened upon seeing the morning star.

The Śūraṅgama Sūtra says that when one vows to establish a place of practice, one should first obtain a powerful white ox from the Snow Mountains, then use its dung to plaster the ground.

The “Daoist practice ground” mentioned here is the starting place for cultivation. “Cow dung,” meanwhile, is a metaphor for refining and nourishing the wisdom-life—the root of life as understood in cultivation. The World-Honored One taught people to cultivate the Dao by first nurturing the wisdom-life. If one does not refine and nourish the pure-Yang foundation of life, but cultivates only the yin spirit within the mind—the spirit’s more yin aspect—how could one avoid the disturbances of yin demons described in the Śūraṅgama Sūtra?

Today, Chan practitioners often cultivate nature but not life. As a result, some people cultivate improperly and instead fall ill or die young. Though they claim sudden realization of the Ten Stages and the Three Vehicles, many end up merely wasting their years. They do not understand the subtle meaning of “the white ox dung of Snow Mountain.” They try to polish a brick into a mirror and imagine that snow can be stored as food, wasting many years in vain. If they have not settled the foundation of life, how can they possibly complete the Dao of nature and life? It is like an actor on a stage claiming to be Emperor Gaozu of Han or the Hegemon-King of Chu.

“Snow” is white, and white is the proper color of the West. Here it serves as a metaphor for the Qi in the body’s life aperture, an inner place connected with the root of life. When the scripture says that the Tathāgata teaches people to cultivate the Western Pure Land, it points to this same principle. A skilled physician also makes it clear: in front of the two kidneys, there seems to hang a white, empty circle. The innate nature and life, Water and Fire, are within it. It has no form or appearance; it is empty and still, and the wisdom-life is there too. If you do not begin cultivating it yourself at once, how can you preserve it for long? Pursuit of fame and profit dissipates it; indulgence in sexual desire damages the original essence. If monastics only chant and sit in stillness, cut off from original Qi and depleting their spirit, they are like lamps whose oil has run out. They may die before reaching fifty; hence the name “Snow Mountain.”

“Life” means original Qi (the innate vital energy). This Qi is incomparably strong and pure white, without a blemish, so it is called the “great-power white ox.” Original Qi is sometimes hidden and sometimes revealed; it encompasses Heaven and Earth and bears all things. It is boundless in extent and so fine that it cannot be divided. When sought, it cannot be seen, yet through cultivation it can appear. The fundamental source that surpasses even the Buddha is nothing other than this original Qi. Is this not what Mencius meant by “supremely great and supremely firm”?

Yet original Qi changes with a person’s condition: in the prime of life it naturally flourishes, and in utmost stillness it also arises of itself. If one does not know how to nourish and preserve it, it will keep dissipating. That is why the scripture uses “dung” as a metaphor. If original Qi dissipates day after day, how much will remain if one does not strengthen the foundation of life in time? This is also like the Confucian teaching: a path becomes a road through frequent use, while a path left untrodden for a long time becomes choked with weeds.

The scripture also says that “dung” is a vital treasure for overcoming demonic obstacles and a ladder to Buddhahood. If one does not take up this “dung” for cultivation, nine attempts out of ten will come to nothing. It is like building a splendid house: without a foundation, how could anyone live in it? People of old who were intent on cultivation knew how to obtain this “dung”: they nurtured it in stillness, gathered it in motion, then drew it back to its original place and refined it with the fire phases, tamping down their foundation. This is called “muddying the Daoist practice ground.”

Once the foundation of the practice ground is in place, one also needs a good spiritual guide—someone able to lead the practice. In cultivation, let your true intention remain settled there at all times, so that thoughts do not arise. How, then, could the “eight winds”—the various circumstances that can unsettle the mind—disturb you? Shao Yong, whose courtesy name was Kangjie, said that when not even one thought arises, ghosts and spirits have no way to glimpse you. Who, then, is in command if not you? Awake and composed in solitude, I remain settled there, free and undisturbed, no matter how many kinds of demons appear. Thus the monk who sits within the practice ground will not suffer demonic interference. This is also what Ānanda meant when he said, “Sitting upon flowing water, seated cross-legged, he entered extinction.” The final sentence says that the commentator and author of this scripture share the same understanding, as though speaking through one and the same nose.

The Śūraṅgama Sūtra also says that the impulse of sexual desire must be eradicated completely from both body and mind, until even the thought of “eradicating” it is gone. Only then is there hope of attaining the Buddha’s awakening.

Since ancient times, no one has attained the Dao simply by sitting cross-legged facing flowing water. “Sitting cross-legged and entering quiescence” refers precisely to this. The commentator and the author of the main text hold exactly the same view, as though they spoke from one and the same mind.

The Śūraṅgama Sūtra also says that the impulse of sexual desire must be eradicated completely from both body and mind, until even the thought of “eradicating” it is gone. Only then is there hope of attaining the Buddha’s awakening.

Since ancient times, all who have attained the Way have first cut off the impulse of sexual desire; only then could they surpass the Buddhas and patriarchs. Those in the world who leave home to study Buddhism all know that they must eliminate sexual desire in body and mind. But few understand the idea of the “impulse of sexual desire.” They do not know how to cultivate it, nor do they understand why it works as it does. As a result, even at the level of body and mind, they may not truly free themselves from being driven by sexual desire.

Why is this so? Once the impulse of sexual desire arises, it is like a raging fire, surging forth as swiftly as a strong wind. Without the appropriate method, how could one avoid fearing that it will stir body and mind and bring distress? When the impulse does not arise, body and mind are naturally at ease, with nothing to worry about. The World-Honored One understood the dangers and benefits of this impulse, and knew how difficult it was for people to escape it on their own, so he taught them methods for controlling it. “Control” does not mean merely suppressing it; it involves specific methods.

Chan Master Cai said, “The patriarchs’ original intent may seem empty, but it is not true emptiness. The key lies in using the subtle workings of the spirit; only then is there real practice.” This method is extremely simple, yet without good causes and conditions accumulated in the past, it is difficult to grasp on first hearing. If one has not understood it, how could the impulse of sexual desire cease on its own? If one does not humbly seek instruction soon, then no matter how many times one practices, one will still be troubled by it.

For this reason, many people in monastic communities have lately been burdened by karmic obstructions. When virtuous teachers who guide others in practice have not mastered this method, some secretly violate the precept against sexual misconduct. Thus, when the two senior officials, Bi and Shu, sentenced such monks to exile and penal servitude, the author considered it Heaven’s punishment for their offenses.

Someone asked, “What is the root of sexual desire?” The answer was: “The impulse of sexual desire is the root of sexual desire spoken of by the World-Honored One. Its form appears outwardly, but the mechanism that sets it in motion lies within. Without knowing how to cultivate it, how could it fail to stir body and mind?” This is also what Mencius meant when he said, “Qi can also unsettle the will.”

Someone then asked, “What method can subdue it?” The answer was: “For those who know the oral formula, when the impulse of sexual desire is about to arise, the spirit takes the lead, and the impulse ceases on its own.” This corresponds to Mencius’s saying, “The will is the commander of Qi.” One then uses the breath to gather Qi and return it to its proper place. This is what Bodhidharma called “gathering.” Here, the spirit is likened to fire and the breath to wind: although the impulse of sexual desire is set in motion by Qi, it can be brought to rest through inner regulation, so that Jing and Qi no longer leak outward. If one does not work on this, the impulse will continue to stir body and mind.

In cultivation, the Dantian—the place within the abdomen regarded as the site for refining and nourishing the breath—is used as the furnace. The opening and closing of each inhalation and exhalation serve as bellows. Fire refines, and wind fans the fire. A gradual warming of the body is taken as evidence of progress; smooth breathing and a comfortable body and mind indicate a steady practice free of obstruction. With sustained training, the impulse of sexual desire gradually ceases, and the disposition toward sexual desire is cut off. Even attachment to “cutting off desire” is then relinquished, and body and mind become settled. In this way, the three kinds of sexual misconduct—actions associated with sexual desire in Buddhist teaching—have no opportunity to gather, and attaining the Buddha’s awakening becomes no difficult matter.

The author calls this a secret never revealed by the sages and patriarchs of past generations, and says that he is now disclosing it in full. He further says that those who leave home to study Buddhism, yet do not practice in order to put an end to these three kinds of sexual misconduct, while calling themselves virtuous teachers, belong to one of the fifty-three kinds of demons described in the Shurangama Sutra. If anyone thinks he is mistaken, later students may judge by consulting the sutra text: could the World-Honored One have been wrong?

Zen Master Jiwu says: When the inner impulse begins to stir, gather the spirit and focus your attention on the Dantian (the abdominal center in Daoist internal practice). Use “martial fire” (stronger intention and concentration) to draw the impulse in and bring it together, then refine it through sustained practice. Before the impulse arises, use the mind and spirit to observe the Dantian. Apply “civil fire” (gentle, steady concentration): remain with it without turning away, but without forcing it, and let it be gradually nourished and warmed. Only by understanding and practicing in this way may the true spirit and Qi be stirred into action.

“ The arising of the impulse” refers to the Qi in the Dantian beginning to move. Once the spirit has gathered, this movement of Qi arises and is guided and restrained by the spirit. At this point, remain still and attentive, gently nourishing and warming it through steady practice. Only by understanding this can the true spirit and Qi come forth.

The opening of the cultivation process comes when Qi (vital energy) stirs in the Dantian, the area in the lower abdomen used in Neidan (internal alchemy). Once Shen (spirit) and intent have settled into stillness, this capacity begins to stir and is guided by that spirit and intent. The two naturally remain together, like a magnet drawing iron: even with an obstruction between them, they remain connected unseen, until at last they unite as one. The patriarchs worried that when the force of Qi grew strong, it would be hard to control, like a fierce tiger difficult to subdue. They therefore proposed using “martial fire,” a more active and forceful method that coordinates intent with breathing. This was a compassionate effort to pass on as much of the key to cultivation as possible, so that later generations who study Buddhism and practice the Dao could benefit.

Martial fire is a secret method of Daoist cultivation and a crucial key to Buddhahood. It has traditionally been transmitted from master to disciple, mind to mind and by word of mouth, and is difficult to grasp. Thus the Fifth Patriarch said, “Master to master, the original teaching is imparted in secret.” Although the Buddha and Bodhidharma spoke of cultivation timing in terms such as “fire transforms, wind blows,” they did not record how to apply gentle fire and martial fire in practice. As a result, few people in the world cultivate both, and it is hard for them to believe in this method. After Bodhidharma’s passing, no eminent monks appeared whose spirit and form had both reached a wondrous state.

Someone asked, “What does it mean to use martial fire to gather things back?” The answer: Coordinate the breath with spirit and intent to gather the true Qi back into its source, while letting true intent remain in command throughout. The saying “use one intent to guide the two Qi, stir them into motion, and gather them back to their origin” hinges entirely on using intent properly. Qi tends to disperse downward, so the breath must be used to gather it in. Without the rhythm of breathing to set it in motion, spirit and intent cannot gather it in, and Qi cannot return to its source. The “two Qi” mentioned here must be used in coordination. That is why the Chan master used the analogy, “You have one staff; I will give you another,” to show that the two currents of Qi must work together.

As the breath sets things in motion, the practitioner draws Qi back into the furnace by way of the Yang Qiao, a Daoist meridian term that here refers to a channel through which Qi moves during cultivation. This is what Bodhidharma called “gathering.” One may draw it in ten times, or dozens of times; stop when changes such as the body leaning or tipping begin to appear. Once the pattern of opening and closing, and of movement in the two Qi, is understood, the original Qi will naturally return to the furnace.

When working with the two Qi, the spirit and intent in the furnace must not cling to the breath. Instead, follow the original Qi in gathering it in; the breath is only a tool. This is what the Sixth Patriarch called “going north to receive and ferry across.” After the original Qi returns to the furnace, continue refining it: use settled intent as fire and the in and out of the breath as wind, melting whatever has not yet been refined and transforming it into Qi, so that the mind becomes calm. This is the function of martial fire.

Someone asked, “What is gentle fire?” The answer: Gentle fire means keeping watch without deliberately holding on, and allowing the breath to flow naturally without deliberately regulating it. Remain alert at every moment, steadily and without interruption, letting the breath return to the furnace. An ancient master said, “The staff goes and the staff returns without a break; the Sarira is perfected and joins with the original beginning.” In cultivation, beware of dullness and confusion: do not let thoughts multiply or the mind become scattered. Guard the ember in the furnace. With this practice, how could the true seed fail to arise, the Sarira fail to form, or the Great Dao fail to be cultivated to completion?

The World-Honored One in the Śākyamuni lineage said, “Facing the Northern Dipper, I saw the morning star and thereby awakened to the Dao.”

Here, “facing” means turning toward the position associated with China—that is, turning one’s attention inward to observe oneself. The “Dipper” refers to the Northern Dipper and serves as a metaphor for the Dantian. The “morning star” describes the Qi in the Dantian shining forth. This vision is a sign that the true seed has appeared. This is what Chan Master Xingyang meant when he said, “The red wheel of light shines over the whole earth, yet no flower opens at the bottom of the sea.”

Chan Master Yuantong said, “Though one has hidden oneself within the Northern Dipper and gained insight, few know of the news of leaving the dust and going beyond the world.”

To “hide oneself within the Northern Dipper” means to conceal the seed there. If cultivation does not begin here, one cannot leave the world of dust. “Leaving the dust” refers to the moment when the Dharma wheel should turn: if it does not turn at the appointed time, the seed may arise but will have nowhere to return, and all the effort made before will be wasted. This is just as Chan Master Xingyang said: “Take one step back, and you will miss it.” That is why it is said that few know the essential means of leaving the dust and going beyond the world. All these sayings concern methods for bringing the true seed into union.

What has been discussed above already contains the subtle principles for bringing the true seed into union described in the Jing of Wisdom and Life (Huiming Jing). The methods of working with wind and fire fall within the same scope. This sums up the earlier discussion of the true seed’s union and the methods of cultivation through wind and fire. The sages of old did not explain every method in full, so people have difficulty grasping the Great Dao and can easily stray onto mistaken paths. I have explained these teachings in plain, direct language, hoping that fellow practitioners will not stray into heterodox paths and will attain right awakening soon. For those who love the Buddha’s teachings, would it not be a joy to study this scripture with care and attain the Great Dao through their own practice and realization?

Therefore, I say: From the beginning, gather the spirit and turn its light inward to contemplate the “Dragon Palace” (here, the Dantian), allowing mind and spirit to settle in complete stillness. Let body and mind be forgotten, and wait quietly for inner change. Coordinate intention with Qi, nourish it with the spirit’s fire, then spur its refinement with the force of a swift wind: first refine it with “martial fire” (a more forceful intention and breathing), then protect it with “civil fire” (gentle, sustained nourishment). Through long, uninterrupted cultivation, keeping intention and Qi together at every moment, the method of harmonizing and gathering them can take shape.

This passage describes a method of cultivation in which harmony gives rise to the true seed. “Dragon Palace” is an expression borrowed from Buddhist imagery and, here, refers to the Dantian. Because there is water in the Dantian, it is called the Dragon Palace; water is heavy by nature and tends to flow downward. Spirit, by contrast, is like fire: light and rising, it tends to ascend. In ordinary people, the water and fire within the body are separated above and below, so they cannot attain the Dao. The Buddha’s method of cultivation brings fire together with water. Then the heart’s fire no longer scatters upward, and the Dantian’s water, warmed and simmered, no longer flows downward. Instead, it transforms into Qi, which then rises naturally.

When gathering the spirit, inner thoughts do not scatter outward, and thoughts from outside do not enter. The mind is empty, clear, and unattached. Turn the light of the spirit inward and let it shine nearby upon the Dantian. Once you have seen it, forget both form and intention. Here, “forgetting” does not mean complete neglect, and “shining” does not mean staring with deliberate intensity. If you use intention but cannot forget, attachment remains; if you seek only to forget, you cannot use intention to observe. When the mind’s awareness extends everywhere, this is called “shining”; when all desires can subside, this is called “resolve.” Forgetting and shining seem different, but in fact each depends on the other: when forgetting, the mind remains clear and alert; when shining, it leaves no trace of form and remains unattached. When forgetting and shining become one, you can settle into complete stillness, as though Heaven and Earth had returned to you, with no awareness of where mind and spirit are going.

At this point, simply wait quietly for inner activity to arise. When, without your realizing it, you sense a gentle warmth and harmony, and the body’s outer form stirs with vigor, guide Qi back with intention. Once Qi returns to the Dantian, focus the spirit and intention there to guard it, then use the breath to blow and nourish it with warmth. At first, you may spur its refinement with a stronger method; afterward, shift to the gentle, sustained guarding of civil fire. Neither try to force its growth nor let your guarding lapse. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, remain with this inner keeping, and the true seed may then condense and emerge.

Have you never heard the words of an ancient Confucian who attained the Dao? When Yin and Yang first change, the scene is indistinct and elusive; the energies between Heaven and Earth mingle and surge, as if they have just begun to turn.

This describes the moment when the “true seed”—the original seed spoken of in cultivation—comes into being. The ancient Confucian refers to Shao Yong. The author argues that some ignorant Buddhists claim that Confucians do not understand the Great Dao. They practice meditation on their own, become mired in empty talk, and yet call themselves enlightened—a truly laughable thing. Confucians who hear this teaching without examining it, and even eminent monks, would turn away in disgust.

“Indistinct and elusive” describes a state of stillness and concentration in which body and mind become one: outwardly, one no longer senses the body; inwardly, one no longer notices thoughts. One rests in a hazy, undifferentiated state. “First change” means that, within this state, one suddenly feels a warm, harmonious flow, as though bathing. Thus Chan Master Jiwu called it “spring throughout the six directions,” meaning that all of Heaven and Earth is warm like spring. “Suddenly” describes how the change comes about all at once. Chan Master Xingyang, meanwhile, called it “a red wheel shining through the whole earth,” meaning that the radiant sun illuminates the land. “Turning” refers to the original Qi—the primordial energy spoken of in cultivation—beginning to revolve. This is precisely when the true seed appears and comes into being, bringing boundless wondrous joy.

The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch says: “From the cause-ground, the fruit is born again.”

“Ground” has several names: Pure Land, Sea of Suffering, and Udāna. These are different metaphorical names for the place where the fruit comes into being. “The fruit is born again” means that, having already understood that “sentient beings come to sow the seed” and having fulfilled the conditions for Yin and Yang to unite, one now bears fruit: the Bodhi seed, also called a śarīra, the relic of a Buddhist sage or a symbol of spiritual attainment.

The sun of the Tathagata of Immeasurable Light appears clearly. Movement and stillness respond to one another, yet have no form. Unnoticed and without warning, a roar sounds from the Dragon Palace.

“Formlessness,” Buddhists call “Self before the first sound,” while Confucians call it the “Non-Ultimate.” This thing has no form to begin with; it comes forth only in stillness and composure. The “Dragon Palace” mentioned in the scripture is the foundation of cultivation discussed earlier, while “a roar” is the manifestation of the result described earlier. The Confucians’ saying, “At a cry of the cuckoo, dawn breaks in spring,” refers to Yang Qi (the primordial vital energy of Yang) arising from this point. Understand the timing signaled by this sound, and you can perceive the principle that this thing is formless at its source and arises through stillness and composure. At this point, the water can begin to flow, as though it could draw in all the waters of the Western River and channel the waters of rivers and seas to irrigate the crown of the head. An ancient master said, “The earth thunderclap shakes; the Xun gate opens.” He also said, “Thunder sounds from beneath the earth.”

On the day the Tathagata of Purple Molybdenum and Golden Light appears,

the mud ox at the bottom of the sea reveals half a horn.

“Bottom of the sea” refers to one’s own Dantian (the lower abdomen cultivated in Neidan practice), also called the Northern Sea. The World-Honored One calls it the “Dragon Palace” and also the “Ganges River”; Chan Master Xingyang calls it the “bottom of the sea.” It is the source where the life-root of wisdom is stored and nurtured, hence the name “sea.” The “mud ox” is the life-root of wisdom. The World-Honored One calls it the “mani,” or jewel, referring to the true seed formed within the body by refining Shen and Qi in union. “Reveals half a horn” describes the sign that appears when the true seed is about to emerge. At this point, one must remain still and watchful, without rushing to gather it. Let the “ox” reveal its full horn naturally before beginning the practice. Otherwise, as soon as a thought stirs, the ox will be startled into hiding and vanish without a trace.

Chan Master Yuantong said that one must wait for the key aperture to undergo change of its own accord before kindling the fire in the Yang furnace. One must act neither before the right moment nor after it. Chan Master Jiwu also said that trying to force growth before the time has come—even if the external fire is already in motion, while the inner signs have not yet responded—brings the danger of burning oneself. How could one do such a thing?

Chan Master Yuantong said, “Act before the plum blossoms open, and you are too early; act after they have opened, and you are too late.”

The plum blossom symbolizes the path of Yang energy and signals the coming of spring. Here, it serves as a metaphor for the scene that appears when Yang Qi (vital energy) stirs within me.

Before the blossom opens, it represents Yang Qi about to stir but not yet in motion. If one acts rashly at this point, the Yang Qi is still too immature to rise; hence the saying, “too early.” Once the blossom has opened, it represents Yang Qi already in motion. At this point, it should be gathered back to its source. If it is not returned to its source, the Yang Qi will disperse, left without a place to settle; hence the saying, “too late.”

Chan Master Yuanwu said, “Take one more step forward and you lose the principle; step back and you miss the moment.” This is precisely the situation described here.

He also said, “At this moment, the breath of wind and frost has completely vanished, and spring fills all beneath the sky.”

“At this moment” means that the time is exactly right. “The wind and frost have vanished” is a metaphor for Yin energy being entirely gone. “Spring” symbolizes Yang energy: a state of pure Yang Qi within the Dantian, the inner root in the body spoken of in internal alchemy. The scene at this point is like bathing: the whole body feels warm, open, and at ease, in a comfort beyond words. Inside and out, everything is like spring. This is the true manifestation that appears when the “true seed”—the fundamental mechanism spoken of in internal alchemy—comes into being.

He also said, “You must seize it at the right moment.”

This is the Patriarch’s instruction to those who follow: when this scene appears, one should immediately practice and gather it in. If one does not, the moment will pass, and it will follow its old path and depart. Hence the saying, “Step back and you miss the moment.” This is indeed true, which is why he says, “seize it.” “Steal” means to take it by force. At this point, one must practice with vigor, direct it with the mind, and gather it with the breath, bringing this true seed into the Elixir Furnace, where Qi and essence are refined in internal alchemy. After that, one applies the practice of the Dharma Wheel, the method of circulating Qi through the body.

Chan Master Jiwu said, “When heaven and earth in all four directions are like spring, all things find their proper place.”

“Together as one and in harmonious union” refers to the whole body. “Spring” is a metaphor for signs of warmth arising throughout the body. “The thing” is the Buddhist term for this phenomenon, corresponding to what Confucians call the “primordial Qi” (the original, innate vital energy).

When practice has reached a certain level and the time is ripe, this phenomenon is about to arise. The practitioner may be entirely unaware of it, then suddenly feel warmth and ease in the Dantian (the cultivation site below the navel). The whole body becomes soft and relaxed, as though spring were stirring from every pore. The body and mind seem to move on their own; warmth in the Dantian gradually rises, and the genitals may become erect. Then, suddenly, there is a tremor, and breathing seems to pause briefly. The mind and this phenomenon are drawn together like magnets, while intention and breath lie concealed within one another like insects in winter sleep. Before one knows it, one enters a hazy, indistinct state in which Heaven and Earth, other people, and the self all seem beyond perception, merging into a single whole.

This is not the dry stillness and non-action spoken of by Zen practitioners today. In this hazy state, the mind does not wish to let go of this phenomenon, and the phenomenon does not wish to leave the mind. They draw close and cling to one another, coalescing into a single mass. What occurs within may seem to expand and contract, though no actual expansion or contraction can be seen; it may seem about to discharge or leak away, though nothing truly does. This subtle state is difficult to describe in words. Thus, the Explanation of the Heart Scripture says: “When Yang first stirs, there are limitless signs.”

After a while, awareness gradually returns, and breathing begins again. Qi in the Dantian turns from the lower abdomen toward the back. Between the base of the kidney channel and the pubic hairline, a life-nourishing pleasure arises that is difficult to restrain. This is what is meant by the Ren and Du vessels opening naturally once Qi is sufficient.

At this point, one should quickly gather and retain the Qi, return it to its root, and set the Great Wheel of the Law in motion (the method of circulating Qi through the body). If it is allowed to become full and then spill away, the work done earlier will have been in vain. The author says that this chapter discloses a secret of Heaven: only after more than thirty years of cultivation did he understand its subtle meaning. Later practitioners must remember it when their practice reaches this stage. Do not overlook the signs described here. Experiencing two or three of them means that the true seed has already arisen. Nor need these descriptions be followed rigidly in every detail, since people differ in their innate endowments and bodily forms.

The Patriarch Bodhidharma said, “At the second interval, gather the Muni.”

This refers to the timing in Neidan cultivation when the substance that has formed is gathered into the furnace. “The second interval” refers to two stages: first, when living Yang stirs into motion, called the first interval; then, when Yang Qi has accumulated sufficiently and the true seed emerges, called the second interval. “Gather” means that after the true seed appears, the cultivator follows the familiar pathways of Qi circulation and, with the aid of breathing, draws it into the elixir furnace. Muni is another name for this substance cultivated within; Confucians call it “Original Qi.”

The Patriarch Bodhidharma also said, “At the second interval, gather the Muni; at the fourth, it has wondrous effects; at the sixth, it displays extraordinary spiritual power.”

The “second interval” mentioned earlier refers to the two moments when living Yang stirs and the true seed emerges. Here, however, “the second interval” includes two steps: gathering the substance into the furnace and sealing it in. Those who practice Buddhism should distinguish between these two uses and not conflate them. The diagram of the Six Intervals of the Dharma Wheel makes the difference clear: after the true seed appears, gathering it into the elixir furnace counts as one interval; sealing the furnace afterward counts as another. Hence the term “the second interval.”

Once the true seed is in the furnace, the Muni should be raised and lowered in good time. This sets the Dharma Wheel in motion and condenses a śarīra—the essence formed through cultivation. The ascent counts as one interval, the descent as another, and bathing as two intervals, making four in all. Hence the saying, “At the fourth, it has wondrous effects.” Gathering, sealing, ascending, descending, and bathing together make six intervals. Once the śarīra returns to the root, it need only be gently nourished; no further operation is required. Hence the saying, “At the sixth, it displays extraordinary spiritual power.”

The Sixth Patriarch said, “Go north to receive and guide it across.”

“Go” means to direct the mind there. “North” refers to the Dantian, the region known as the sea of Qi in Neidan cultivation. “Receive” means to use the mind and spirit to draw in the substance being cultivated. “Guide it across” refers to its rising and falling, its movement back and forth.

Master Jiwu said that, when gathering the medicine, one should set Qi (vital energy) in motion, rising and descending. It travels upward along the Governing Vessel (the channel running along the back of the body) until it reaches the Nivan Palace (a Neidan term for the head), then descends along the Conception Vessel (the channel running along the front of the body) and returns to the Dantian (the lower-abdominal site of Neidan cultivation).

The Conception and Governing Vessels are the pathways along which the Dharma Wheel (the circulating route of Qi in Neidan cultivation) moves back and forth. The Conception Vessel begins in front of the Dantian, loops through the abdomen, passes through the middle of the throat, and ascends to the crown of the head. The Governing Vessel begins behind the Dantian and rises along the inner side of the spine to Fengfu (an acupoint at the back of the neck), enters the brain, and reaches the crown, where it meets the Conception Vessel. When these two vessels are unobstructed, the other channels are unobstructed as well. The medicine is gathered by following this route, and the Dharma Wheel turns along it; understanding this route is also how the relics (the fruits of Neidan cultivation) are refined.

The Book of Changes says: closing the gate is called Kun, and opening it is called Qian. Closing and opening together are called change; continuous movement back and forth is called free circulation.

This passage explains how the “Two Qi” (the two currents of Yin and Yang) turn the “Dharma Wheel,” a term for the circulating movement of Qi in cultivation. It uses the changing patterns of Qian and Kun in the Book of Changes to explain the cultivation of the Dao.

Among Buddhist scriptures, earlier generations held the Śūraṅgama Sūtra and the Avataṃsaka Sūtra in high regard. For the scriptures on which Confucian cultivation of the Dao is based, they most often esteemed the Book of Changes (Yijing). Longjiang, abbot of Haihui Temple, raised a question: Western scriptures in Sanskrit contain nothing like the Book of Changes. Would including it be contrary to the Buddhist path? The reply was that if one clings to only one side, one cannot see the other; cultivation of this kind is merely a heterodox path. The teachings transmitted by Laozi, the Buddha, and others may differ in name and method, but the human heart and the Dao cultivated are no different. The foundation of the Book of Changes is itself the source of the Dao.

Another person asked: Nowadays, Confucian scholars treat the Book of Changes as a text for civil service examinations and a manual for divination. There is no talk of using it to cultivate the Dao. The reply was: Those who discuss only literary composition and divination are Confucians who remain in the secular world, not Confucians who transcend worldly concerns and investigate fundamental principles. The truly learned Confucians of ancient times explored the principles that precede Heaven, understood the pivotal patterns of opening and closing and transformation, and investigated the sources of things. They held that one’s nature and life are in one’s own hands and are not wholly controlled by external things; their hearts were in complete accord with the principles of Heaven, setting them apart from ordinary people.

Asked what cultivation of the Dao means, the reply was: It takes precelestial Qi as its foundation and uses postcelestial breathing and Qi currents to turn the Dharma Wheel. “Closing the door” refers to the closing, inbreathing current. Since this current moves downward, it corresponds to Kun. “Opening the door” refers to the opening, outbreathing current. Since this current moves upward, it corresponds to Qian. This explains the principle from the perspective of postcelestial breathing.

The transformations of the Qian and Kun trigrams are like the way a wheel and its axle work together: Qian and Kun are like the wheel’s hub, while their transformations are like its axle. A cart cannot move on its own; it must be driven by the axle and supported by the hub. The hub, in turn, must be propelled by the Qi currents of opening and closing for the whole mechanism to function. If this is still unclear, one can consult the “Six Cycles Diagram,” which explains it further.

The phrase “the coming and going of Qi without end” refers to the changing movements of precelestial and postcelestial Qi. “Passage” refers to the opening of the Yuan Gate, the aperture through which Qi enters, exits, and converges in cultivation, and to the shared circulation of the Qian and Kun currents. If one takes the ordinary inhalation and exhalation through the mouth and nose to be this unceasing circulation, one is far from the great precelestial Dao.

The method of cultivation is to use postcelestial breathing to work with the precelestial breath. The outbreathing current is called “opening” and corresponds to Qian; the inbreathing current is called “closing” and corresponds to Kun. The upper body corresponds to Qian, and the lower abdomen to Kun. “Transformation” is the governing principle between Qian and Kun: one’s own true intent, which sets the two currents in motion. They move back and forth without pause, like a weaver’s shuttle passing through cloth: as one rises, the other descends, and they alternate.

However, the precelestial and postcelestial cannot both serve as equal governing principles at the same time. During ascent and descent, the intent must guide the transformation where Qian and Kun meet, but the foundation of the spirit must still follow the precelestial movement. Postcelestial breathing, with its opening and closing, is merely the means used to set the precelestial Qi in motion.

Someone worried that revealing secret methods of cultivation might be a transgression, citing the Buddhist saying, “Only after saving all sentient beings does one save oneself,” as an objection. The reply was that this concerns the hidden workings of turning the Dharma Wheel. Sages and patriarchs through the generations have been reluctant to explain them openly; they are exceedingly subtle, and not everyone who hears of them can understand.

The explanation continues: Although inhalation belongs to Kun below, the original Qi within Kun’s abdomen must pass through the self and rise to Qian. Although exhalation belongs to Qian above, the original Qi within Qian’s head must likewise pass through the self and descend to Kun. The precelestial and postcelestial currents rise and descend, following three routes—the face, the back, and the center—and together form the hub and axle of Qian and Kun, connecting through the Yuan Gate. Intent provides direction; spirit provides the movement. Every inhalation accompanies an ascent, and every exhalation accompanies a descent; not the slightest detail may be disordered. The currents must follow prescribed rules and counts, neither falling short nor going too far. The text uses “Qian nine and Kun six” and “four divinations,” the procedure of dividing and counting into groups, to describe their measures. It holds that only in this way can cultivation accord with the transformations and cycles of Heaven and Earth, without bias in either direction. Although different schools disagree over what is right and wrong, anyone who truly realizes this Dao must follow the principles set out here.

It also says: “The Qian line uses nine, and the Kun line uses six.”

This explains the rules and numbers governing the movement of the claw-formula during the turning of the Dharma Wheel. Qian uses nine; four nines multiplied together make thirty-six. From the first orbit through the third, the count is calculated by four rounds of yarrow-stalk divination. Kun uses six; four sixes multiplied together make twenty-four. From the first orbit through the third, the count is likewise calculated by four rounds of yarrow-stalk divination.

The ancients called the first through sixth orbits “ascent.” Ascent corresponds to Qian, so it takes its numbers from the Qian lines and Qian stalks: the Qian line uses nine, and by the count of four rounds of yarrow-stalk divination, each orbit has thirty-six. The Dharma Wheel’s ascent also uses nine, following the same rule of four rounds. The Qian stalk total is obtained by counting each of the six lines through four rounds, giving two hundred and sixteen. The six ascending orbits therefore also total two hundred and sixteen; this number is called “ascent.”

The ancients also called the first through sixth orbits “descent.” Descent corresponds to Kun, so it takes its numbers from the Kun lines and Kun stalks: the Kun line uses six, and by the count of four rounds of yarrow-stalk divination, each orbit has twenty-four. The Dharma Wheel’s descent therefore also uses six, following the same rule of four rounds. The Kun stalk total is obtained by counting each of the six lines through four rounds, giving one hundred and forty-four. The six descending orbits therefore also total one hundred and forty-four; this number is called “descent.”

The numbers for ascent and descent add up to three hundred and sixty, representing the complete measure of one full revolution of the Dharma Wheel. However, two orbits of “bathing”—stages in cultivation used to regulate the breath and rest—are not counted by nines, sixes, or the four-round method. The actual count is therefore only three hundred. The three hundred and sixty mentioned earlier includes the bathing stages, when the wheel is not moving; these sixty counts are not part of its actual movement.

The Avatamsaka Sutra says: “Through the power of meditation, the Buddhas can turn the wondrous Dharma Wheel at the proper time.”

This passage uses “bathing” as a metaphor for regulating the breath and maintaining stillness in cultivation. The “two rules of bathing” refer to the two turning points, before and after, in the course of the breath’s circulation; the “two boundary grounds” are the places where these turning points occur. Confucians call them Mao and You, while Buddhists also call them “times.” The “times” here do not simply mean two periods of the day; they mean the moments when the breath reaches the corresponding turning points.

At these two points, the practitioner stops driving the breath, allowing Shen and Qi to embrace and remain together until they settle. Then the breath resumes its circulation. Confucians say that Mao and You are directions associated, respectively, with birth and death, punishment and virtue, and so are unsuited to action. Taking up this idea, the passage teaches that one should pause and remain still at these turning points, without setting anything else in motion.

There is also a corresponding method of bathing when turning the “Dharma Wheel”—the cyclical circulation of the breath and Qi mechanism during cultivation. Huayang explains that the breath’s Qi rises in successive stages, like the boards of a waterwheel, then recedes in successive stages. Since the circulation follows this sequence, one cannot use a single breath to send it straight to the crown of the head. Forcing the stages to merge would violate the Dharma Wheel’s sequence of positions, making it impossible to cultivate according to the prescribed method.

The points where the breath and Qi mechanism turns back are where bathing takes place. Bathing means pausing and remaining still as the breath recedes, and also pausing and remaining still as it enters; the only difference is the order in which they occur. This is said to be a key teaching kept secret since ancient times.

In Buddhist scriptures, the World-Honored One speaks of “entering a pool to bathe.” The “pool” here refers to the places of bathing in the eastern and western directions. When “bathing” is explained again, it still means pausing and remaining still as the breath recedes or enters; the only distinction is which comes first.

Here, “pool” refers to the eastern and western sides. After seeing the morning star, the World-Honored One (an honorific title for the Buddha) entered these two pools to bathe. The text’s phrase “the pleasure of fumigation” uses this as a metaphor for the eastern and western sides. This method has been passed down since the Han dynasty. Those who learned it kept it secret, and only Jiwu began to make it public.

The Huayan Jing (Avatamsaka Sutra) says: “To walk the path followed by the Tathagata, neither hurry nor lag as you walk; observe carefully.”

Here, “path” means a road, and specifically refers to the Ren and Du channels (the channels through which Qi circulates along the front and back of the body). “Neither too slowly nor too quickly” means regulating the rhythm of circulation through the breath. “Observe carefully and follow the path” means that whenever you turn the Dharma Wheel, Shen and Qi (spirit and vital energy, in Daoist terms) must move and come to rest together. If they circulate aimlessly outside the channels and do not follow the proper route, the relic (the refined result of internal alchemy) cannot be formed.

The Tathagata says: “Do not be too diligent, and do not be slack.”

If you circulate aimlessly outside the channels and do not follow the proper route, the relic cannot be formed.

The Tathagata says: “Do not be too diligent, and do not be slack.”

Turning the Dharma Wheel should accord with nature and the Great Dao. Excessive diligence leads to overcirculation and an overabundance of wind (the force driving the movement of breath), preventing the wheel from turning properly and making it difficult to regulate the firing process. Slackness, by contrast, leads to insufficient circulation and too little wind; its effects cannot become sustained and vigorous, and transformation is difficult to bring about.

Dipamkara Buddha (the name of a Buddha of the past) says: “Always turn the Dharma Wheel.”

“Dharma Wheel” is a translation of a Sanskrit term from the West. Here, sunrise and sunset, and the sun’s advance and retreat, serve as metaphors for the true seed (the subtle inner substance cultivated in practice) moving and returning to its source. “Always turn” means that whenever the true seed arises, it should immediately be circulated once around. If it is not circulated, the loss of Jing and Qi cannot be stopped, and the relic cannot be formed. But it should not be turned continuously without pause either. Although this causes no great harm, it delays the moment when the true seed matures.

The World-Honored One says: “You should turn the subtle Dharma Wheel in this way.”

“Mystical” is used because the matter is difficult to describe in words. Yet it cannot be left entirely unspoken, and the wheel should not be turned without a moment’s pause. Although turning it continuously causes no great harm, it delays the moment when the true seed matures.

The World-Honored One says: “You should turn the subtle Dharma Wheel in this way.”

The “mysterious” is difficult to describe in words, and so it is called “mysterious.” Yet if nothing is said at all, how can later students grasp the first steps? Whether one can understand depends on whether one has met a wise teacher. The Great Dao is supremely hidden; who would dare claim to reveal all of it? I have seen that few people in the world truly understand dual cultivation—the methods of inner practice involving Yin-Yang and the integration of body and mind—so I have especially pointed out its essential principles, enabling students to reflect on them deeply.

The “mysterious” refers to the waxing and waning of Qi activity. Those who understand its principles find it simple and easy; those who do not find it extremely difficult. A striking clock, for example, can illustrate the Dharma Wheel—the ceaselessly turning mechanism of inner cultivation. The principles behind the transformations of Heaven and Earth can all be summed up in this image. People in the countryside may never have seen a clock, but they have seen water-powered pestles and mills; the principles are the same.

Someone asked, “How can a clock, a water-powered pestle, and a water mill serve as metaphors for cultivating the Dao?” The reply was: “The clock’s hammer represents the breath, and the wheel inside the clock represents Original Qi, the body’s primordial vital energy. Water driving a pestle or mill represents the breath propelling Original Qi into motion; the turning wheel represents the movement of Original Qi. The operation of a water-powered pestle or mill resembles the principle of a clock, but the analogy is incomplete. How does a striking clock embody the Dao’s full function? With a pestle or mill, one sees only forward motion, not a return. When the clock’s wheel turns forward, that is ‘advance’; once it has turned as far as it can, it reverses. That reversal is ‘retreat.’”

The Sixth Patriarch said, “I have one thing that supports Heaven above and Earth below.”

The “thing” spoken of here is what Confucians call Original Qi. “Supporting Heaven” means that Original Qi rises to the crown of the head; “supporting Earth” means that Original Qi descends to the abdomen.

The Genealogy of the Buddhist Tradition says, “The sea’s waters poured over the crown of the prince.”

Here, “sea” refers to the Dantian, the lower abdomen in inner cultivation, and “water” refers to Original Qi. Buddhist expressions such as the Cao Xi River flowing backward, the cave waters flowing backward, and “drinking up the waters of the entire Western River in one gulp” serve as metaphors for the movement of Original Qi. “Pouring over the crown” means that Original Qi rises; “the prince” refers to the Tathagata.

The World-Honored One said, “After the firing is complete, collect the śarīra.”

This describes what happens as the śarīra is about to be refined. “Fire” refers to Shen (spirit). The śarīra is refined through the fire of Shen. Once it is complete, corresponding signs will appear; one is not wholly without sensation. As the śarīra nears completion, the practitioner may feel as though bright energy has arisen in the quiet chamber, while the Dantian (energy center) feels as if boiling water is churning within it. The outer kidneys (the male genitals) retract and remain unstirred. At this point, one must follow the method of collection and guide it through the three passes along the spine, then return it to the central palace, the body’s central place of cultivation, to nurture the Dao embryo, the inner fetal breath cultivated in practice. This is what is called “returning and collecting.”

The Avataṃsaka Sūtra says that one possesses the form of a great man and attains the Tathāgata’s mark of the horse’s hidden organ. “Horse’s hidden organ” refers to the outer kidneys retracting until they are threadlike. Only when they have retracted and remain unstirred can the śarīra be considered refined. If there is still even slight movement, one cannot conclude that it is complete; the Dharma wheel—the term for the movement of Qi (vital energy) during cultivation—must continue to turn. Without continued cultivation, the Qi is still immature and weak, and cannot readily pass through the gates and orifices. One must wait for signs that the Qi is surging through the passes before shifting it. Once these signs appear, the Dharma wheel should stop. If one recklessly continues to turn it, the śarīra, though refined, may be driven by the fire energy to leak away, leaving one an ordinary person after all.

In an older person or someone who is ill, the outer kidneys may remain unstirred without this proving that the śarīra has been refined. It may simply indicate that the body is weak and the Qi is inactive; it does not mean that leakage has been brought to an end. One must continue to practice and wait for the corresponding signs of activity before there is hope of completing the refinement.

The World-Honored One said, “An Arhat who does not die.”

“Does not die” here means longevity. If the outer kidneys remain unstirred and the śarīra has been refined, this can bring long life. According to tradition, the Buddha’s disciple Kāśyapa lived for seven hundred years. Later, he met the World-Honored One, received instruction in the method of passing through the gates, and became the Second Patriarch. The monk Baozhang lived for 1,712 years. Later, he met Bodhidharma, received instruction in the method of passing through the gates, and then transcended the world. Though these people had refined the śarīra, they had not yet understood the Dao embryo, and so they continued to dwell in the world.

All of the above concerns the practice of turning the Dharma wheel and refining the śarīra. The way of the wisdom life is also contained here.

This passage summarizes the method of refining the śarīra described earlier.

I say that there are many methods for cultivating a Śarīra—the crystallized result of internal alchemy here—including the True Spirit, True Qi, True Intention, breathing, directing, and circulation. They are too numerous to describe one by one. Whenever you turn the Dharma Wheel, the process of circulating the Qi mechanism in internal alchemy, keep your mind focused, draw in the two Qi, and set them in motion. The key is to coordinate spirit and intention with True Qi so that both travel along the same path, without giving rise to stray thoughts.

Among the twelve precepts, the circulation depends entirely on breathing to propel the Qi mechanism, with the number of breaths serving as its measure. From the beginning of gathering and refining through returning to the root, breathing must not cease for even a moment. If it is interrupted, the Qi mechanism will falter, and the Śarīra cannot be cultivated to completion.

Although there are many methods for cultivating relics—the condensed Jing and Qi produced through practice—this method is in fact extremely simple. At first, it may seem difficult, but with practice it becomes easy.

This is like a villager working a loom. A beginner must attend to the hands and feet, the head and eyes, and the movements above, below, and to either side, so the work seems difficult. Once skilled, the weaver can coordinate the movements naturally when facing the loom, without being able to explain how they are arranged. If the mind clings to every detail and tries to control each action deliberately, the work cannot be done well. Cultivating the Great Dao is the same.

When turning the Dharma Wheel, a method of circulating the breath within the body in a set sequence, use intention to keep the Dantian, the abdominal site of cultivation, in focus, making it like the wheel. Use the mind and spirit to move Qi, the body’s vital energy, making them like the wheel’s spokes. Then let the breath set it in motion, as though the hub were turning the wheel. All of this should happen naturally; what difficulty is there? While turning the Dharma Wheel, do not let external sights and sounds pull you along. Set aside distractions from the ears and eyes, and let no stray thoughts arise within. Allow a single spark of true Shen, the inner spiritual awareness, to guide the breath’s circulation. The slightest other thought will send the breath scattering into other channels, where it turns in vain and brings no benefit.

To count the Dharma Wheel’s movements, reckon each step in four groups. The ascent belongs to Yang; Yang corresponds to Qian, which uses nine. Four times nine is thirty-six, and the six lines of Qian total two hundred and sixteen. The descent belongs to Yin; Yin corresponds to Kun, which uses six. Four times six is twenty-four, and the six lines of Kun total one hundred and forty-four. Added together, these make three hundred and sixty. This is the number and limit of the Dharma Wheel’s movements, set with exact precision and admitting not the slightest error. The principle is subtle and profound. Without cultivating according to this method, one cannot succeed.

Since the Han dynasty, this method has been kept secret and passed from master to disciple through oral instruction and transmission from mind to mind. I now pass it on in full, hoping that those devoted to cultivating the Dao will attain the Great Dao soon.

The number three hundred and sixty does not in fact refer to an actual count of three hundred and sixty; it is only an analogy. The wheel has twenty-four spokes. A forward and backward turn together make forty-eight, which is called one revolution of the Dharma Wheel. The outer wheel rim represents the number three hundred and sixty. Thus it is called the number three hundred and sixty, and what it refers to is accurate.

Have you not heard of the exchange between the World-Honored One (the Buddha) and Kāśyapa? It speaks precisely of the “Treasury of the True Dharma Eye,” the essential transmission of the Buddha’s teaching.

What is described here is the secret method and celestial key for gathering “relics,” which is why it is called the “True Dharma.” The “eye” is where consciousness resides; wherever the gaze falls, consciousness follows.

The World-Honored One also said to Ānanda, “If you do not know where the mind and the eyes are, you cannot subdue the dust and toil”—the afflictions that disturb body and mind.

This is the profound teaching of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, and it also hints at the secret essentials for obtaining relics. Unless you gather and refine them with the mind and eyes, the relics cannot emerge from the crucible. The “Treasury of the True Dharma Eye” mentioned above therefore has an extraordinary significance. After three to five days of cultivation, the Dantian (energy center in the abdomen) gradually grows warm and condenses into a Mani, like a fiery jewel—a precious gem that here refers to the Neidan (internal alchemy) or relic produced through cultivation. Various signs of efficacy then gradually appear, and the wondrous states are too many to describe.

When gathering and refining, you must gaze with focused attention and not look away even for a moment. If your attention wanders, the alchemical fire cools and the true Qi (vital energy within the body) disperses, making it impossible to condense the Mani. That is why the scripture speaks of “contemplating for seven days.” How could this be treated lightly? If you set aside this method and use another, you may still gather relics, but the result will be no more than long life and longevity.

The Lotus Sūtra says: “I now assure you of this; there will be no falsehood in it. You should wholeheartedly strive forward and practice this samādhi (meditative concentration on a single object) for seven days, contemplating this matter.”

Here, “matter” is a Buddhist expression corresponding to what the Confucians call true Qi. True Qi is refined into relics through the methods of wind and fire described above; that is why the text says, “There will be no falsehood in it.” During cultivation, you must continue without pause, day and night, keeping your attention focused throughout; hence, “wholeheartedly strive forward.” You must set aside all distracting thoughts and gaze at the relic with only a single point of luminous awareness; hence, “contemplating this matter.” The “seven days” are the essential formula for gathering and refining relics. They also correspond to the Confucian sayings “after seven days, one sees again the heart of Heaven and Earth” and “after seven days, the Yang returns.” As for the time needed to complete the process, sometimes it takes five days and sometimes six; there is no fixed period.

The World-Honored One said: “The six kinds of vibration.”

This passage describes possible signs that may appear when the relic is formed. “Six kinds” refers to sensations arising in six places inside the body, not to six kinds of external vibration. After five or six days of practice, some people may see golden light in their eyes, though there is no fixed pattern to when it appears.

The phrase “six kinds of vibration” means that six sensations may arise in the body: golden light in the eyes, the sound of wind in the ears, a twitching sensation around the nose, a sound like a vulture calling at the back of the head, a feeling of movement in the body, and a fire pearl seeming to move within the Dantian (energy center). Taken together, these are called the six signs of movement.

“White-hair light constantly radiates between the eyebrows” means that, once the relic has been cultivated, white light may sometimes be seen in a dim place. The light may appear in different ways; there is no need to force it. By gauging the moment when it is neither too faint nor too strong, and gathering and refining it, one can attain it. The scripture calls this the moment when the wondrous workings of the Buddha Way become manifest. As the relic is about to emerge from the furnace, the path from the Dantian to the eyes appears empty and clear, pale and bright, with a shimmer like moonlight. If the preceding practice has not yet been completed and the external kidneys—that is, the male genitals—have not contracted to the state known as “the horse’s Yin concealed,” then even if light appears, it may have arisen from delusion rather than being the light of the relic.

“An iris shoot piercing the knee” is a metaphorical way of describing Qi passing through the body’s gates. The iris shoot refers to Qi (vital energy) refined in the Dantian; it is also called the relic or Bodhi.