《栖云真人王志谨盘山语录》

Blind people cannot discuss colors such as blue-green and yellow with others, just as deaf people cannot discuss the sounds of wind and string instruments. Is this kind of limitation found only in the body? The mind can suffer it too. Everyone is born with an unstained nature, but accumulated dust obscures it. Unable to see rightly, people chase outward forms and sounds, searching everywhere for traces and clues. They sink into evil paths and endure long ages, still mistaking a bamboo tube for sunlight and a bronze plate for the sun’s reflection.

Without guidance from a clear-sighted teacher, how could anyone distinguish black from white? Clinging to written words only deepens confusion. Thus Master Qiyun had no choice but to prescribe remedies according to each illness: removing earwax and clearing obstructions from the ears, polishing the eyes and scraping away their film. He hoped that everyone might see clearly and hear distinctly, with minds bright and at ease, and ultimately return to the right path instead of wandering like lost sheep.

Mr. Liu, a disciple, followed the Master for many years and secretly recorded his words. He gathered them into this book, comprising more than a hundred passages. It is indeed a guide for those beginning the practice of the Dao. The disciple therefore asked craftsmen to carve and print the text so that it might circulate widely. The Daoist of Solitary Peak was fortunate to be counted among the last of the Master’s disciples. After reading it with delight, the practitioner fasted and bathed, then respectfully wrote this preface.

On the first day of the first month of the Dingwei year, respectfully prefaced by the disciple Lun Zhihuan.

At that time, Wang Zhijin often gave talks at Panshan. He said: “When people first begin learning the Dao, if they immediately pursue states that cannot be expressed in words, they often feel they have no way to begin and nothing to rely on. This gives rise to doubt. Without solid practice in their hearts, they find it hard to believe; without belief, they cannot follow the teachings; unable to persevere, they study haphazardly and, over time, grow slack and fall back.

“For now, I will first explain some principles you can see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears, and that you can trust and put into practice. Studying from the shallow to the profound will not hold you back. Although these principles are explained through sounds, colors, and forms, they are precisely the workings of the Dao.

“What principles can you trust and put into practice? Have you not seen the vast sky, the heavens and earth, the sun and moon, the mountains and waters, the clouds and wind? Are these not all clearly visible before you? They can serve as models for cultivation and as paths into the Dao.

“Consider how clouds drift out from the mountains, coming and going freely, without deliberate effort and without being held by the sights around them. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this. Wind moves all things, coming and going suddenly, without obstruction and leaving no trace. Grass, trees, and forests cannot stop it; it passes straight through. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this.

“Look also at the great mountains: high and steadfast, they neither sway nor move, and nothing can shake them. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this. Water is naturally yielding. It flows downward, nourishes all things, and contends with nothing. It takes the shape of its vessel, square or round, while remaining clear and still by nature. When water gathers into rivers and seas, it can receive the waters of a hundred streams without distinguishing among them; fish, turtles, shrimp, and crabs all find room within it. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this.

“The sun and moon shine everywhere their light can reach, impartially and without selfishness. Their light is clear and far-reaching, never dimmed by night or day, and their radiance has no bounds. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this. The sky remains clear above. Its clarity embraces all things and covers everything; it benefits all things without harming them. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this. The earth remains still below, quiet and unmoving, bearing all things without favoring one over another. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this.

“Look also at empty space: vast and boundless, it contains and encompasses everything. It holds all things, sentient and insentient, beneath the covering sky and upon the supporting earth, yet makes no distinctions and takes nothing as its preference. It cannot simply be called moving, nor simply still; it neither clings to existence nor to nothingness. It is not apart from the myriad things, yet it is not identical with any one thing. The stillness of heaven and earth, the radiance of the sun and moon, and the transformations of all things appear together as one within empty space. The mind of someone who cultivates the Dao should be like this.

“The Dao is connected with heaven and earth, and its workings are like these natural phenomena; its source, too, is contained within them. When your practice reaches maturity, you will understand naturally. Your daily conduct will accord with the Dao, and an inner guiding principle will arise of its own accord. If from the outset you insist on seeking a state beyond the reach of words and thought, you will lose your bearings. Now that you have entered the Mysterious Gate, the gate of the Dao, all of you should strive in your practice.”

Someone asked, “How should a beginner set out to cultivate the mind and nature?” Wang Zhijin replied, “Completely sever all the attachments and concerns of the past, the lingering reluctance to let go, and thoughts of plotting and scheming. If you cannot do this, you will lose the very foundation of cultivation. Since you have entered the mysterious gate of Daoism, you should all strive to practice.”

Someone else asked, “How should a beginner cultivate the mind and nature?” Wang Zhijin replied, “Make a clean break with past attachments and concerns, lingering and calculating thoughts, and the habit of repeatedly brooding, scheming against others, or harming them. One by one, let go of attachment to alcohol, sex, wealth, and temper; judgments of right and wrong; distinctions between self and others; seeking connections and entanglements; clinging to love; selfishness, deviant thoughts, the pursuit of gain, and desire. When nothing outside burdens you, the body becomes light. When the mind is free of contamination and attachment, it too becomes light. Persist over time, and as your practice matures, deluded thoughts will naturally diminish. At every moment, guard and attend to your mind; speak with care, eat in moderation, and sleep less, so that inner and outer practice support each other. When the mind’s dust and grime have been fully cleared away and no attachment remains, your original spirit—the innate, true spiritual nature of a person—will naturally appear. Then you can enjoy true freedom and become a supreme Daoist.”

Someone asked, “How can a practitioner attain stillness and purity?” Wang Zhijin replied, “When the mind does not follow external things, that is called settling the mind. When the mind is not stirred by external things, that is called emptying the mind. A mind that is settled and empty is still and pure; stillness and purity are the Dao.”

Someone asked, “Practitioners often say they must cast off feelings and desires. What comes after that?” Wang Zhijin replied, “When feelings have been completely cast off, you arrive at having no feelings; when desires have been completely cast off, you arrive at having no desires. Once you are without feelings and desires, what would you say that truly is?”

Someone asked, “A practitioner should remain clear and alert at all times. How can one avoid falling into dullness?”

The Perfected One replied, “At the beginning of practice, people do not notice their thoughts rising and falling, nor do they know how to gather the mind in or let it be. When they encounter circumstances and things, they simply follow along, muddled and unaware, until they grow tired and stop. Not understanding one’s own mind is dullness. It is like someone being reborn into another body without realizing it, and returning only when the karmic consequences of that lifetime have run their course. This is precisely what dullness looks like. Yet relying entirely on consciousness and awareness can also leave one obscured by consciousness and awareness themselves. If practitioners examine themselves at every moment of daily life, keep worldly feelings and desires from staining the heart, and can let go with ease whenever they encounter circumstances and things, then they are not dull.”

Someone asked, “How should one safeguard one’s nature and life?”

The Perfected One replied, “People come and go through countless worldly circumstances and inevitably deal with things outside themselves. But they must remain in command of themselves and not simply follow external things. Let events leave the heart undisturbed, and let the heart leave one free to act. This is like protecting the eyes: at the slightest trace of dust, close them so it cannot get in. Keep safeguarding yourself this way, and in time you will see results. Once the heart clings to anything, it will be pulled along by external things and lose its independence.”

Someone asked, “My thoughts come one after another, and I can never clear them all away. What should I do?”

The Perfected One replied, “Every morning you sweep the ground of the heart, and the more you sweep, the more unsettled it becomes. If you want the ground of the heart to be quiet, put down the broom handle.” The person heard this and bowed in thanks. Here, the “broom” is a metaphor for deliberately clearing away thoughts: the more determinedly one sweeps them away, the more one stirs the heart.

Someone asked, “Those who cultivate the Way always need to set their resolve first. How should they do so?”

The answer was: “Whether active or still, whatever the circumstances, and whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, keep your mind fixed on the Dao (the Way). When faced with demonic obstacles, do not change your resolve; when harmed, do not waver. Be this way in safe surroundings and in dangerous ones alike. Resolve to devote your whole life to cultivation, never turn back, press forward, and fear neither life nor death. This is what it means to be a person of resolve. As the scripture says: ‘Only those who persevere with all their strength are truly people of resolve.’”

The master arrived at the Southern Palace and sat in meditation at night in Changzhen Temple. There he gave a general teaching on the Dao to everyone:

When you have only just left home to cultivate the Dao, you may not yet be able to stand on your own. You need to rely on a monastic community—a group of Daoist practitioners who live and study together—or make friends with fellow Daoists and support one another. This helps keep you from straying. Fellow Daoist friends, however, fall broadly into three kinds: Cloud-and-Rosy-Cloud Friends, Good and Trusted Friends, and Wild and Eccentric Friends.

Some people hold firmly to their aspirations, cultivate their nature, investigate the causes and consequences of sin and blessing, sever worldly desires, and seek a life beyond the secular world. They look for others who share their aspirations and form deep friendships with them. Such people are called “Cloud-and-Rosy-Cloud Friends,” because their state of mind is like clouds and rosy clouds, unburdened by worldly affairs.

Some people study scriptures and teachings, play the qin and read books, compose poems and essays, and enjoy speaking at length and judging right and wrong. These people are called “Good and Trusted Friends.” Although they do not devote themselves to cultivating their nature, they do not commit evil either.

There is another kind of person who does not cultivate their nature or read the classics, and gives no thought to the consequences of good and evil. They speak foolishly and act without restraint; the slightest offense sets them to fighting. They show off their strength and seek to win, use their power to oppress the good, and form cliques. Such people are called “Wild and Eccentric Friends.”

After death, these three kinds of people meet different ends and receive karmic consequences according to their conduct and deeds. Cloud-and-Rosy-Cloud Friends can ascend to the realm beyond form and roam in the Jade Capital, the celestial palace of Daoist belief. Some become immortals; others become celestial officials. Good and Trusted Friends have not yet fully severed their worldly attachments. They continue to move through the human bonds and cycles of rebirth, receiving the consequences appropriate to them. Wild and Eccentric Friends accept offerings from the faithful in all directions but earn no merit. They must repay what they owe for the food they have consumed and may fall into Fengdu, the Daoist underworld, or be reborn among animals and other nonhuman forms of life, cycling through suffering. If they regret their actions then, what good will regret do?

Those who are discerning and wise should consider this carefully and choose the path that will benefit them in the long run.

Someone asked, "For a person cultivating the Dao (the Way), how can one tell whether they have juexing (awareness-nature)?" Wang Zhijin replied, "Do not indulge in empty talk, pointing east and drawing west or deliberately mystifying things. It is better to work steadily and apply real effort. Worries that weigh on the mind, the scenes before one's eyes, desires and afflictions, the distinction between self and others, and ignorance are all like a deep, slippery well of liuli (lapis lazuli) before you. A moment's carelessness and you fall in, and it would take ten thousand kalpas to climb out. If you can first see these thoughts and distinctions, recognize their illusory nature, and withdraw at once just as you are about to fall into them, this timely retreat and clear-sighted discernment is your juexing. If you are already caught in the trap of self-other distinction yet still speak of profound principles, how is that speaking of juexing at all?"

Another person asked, "What is dingxing (fixity of nature)?" The master moved closer, straightened his body, and sat silently for a long time before saying, "What dingxing are you asking about?" The man did not understand. A gentleman beside him rose to bow and thank the master. The master said, "Zhang Gong drinks wine, and Li Gong gets drunk." Hearing this, the man burst into uncontrolled laughter.

Through silent sitting and a counter-question, the master shows that dingxing cannot be reached through empty talk. The saying "Zhang Gong chī jiǔ, Lǐ Gōng zuì" (Zhang drinks, and Li becomes drunk) uses another person's behavior as a playful jest to point out an answer that misses the question.

Someone asked: "Students who cultivate the Way originally seek it because of the great matter of life and death. If, after seeking, they still do not understand, and instead become wild, unrestrained, and scattered, why is that?"

The answer was: "When the mind gives rise to no thought, there is no thought of life and death. The reason this is so hard to achieve is that the heart is burdened with desire and attachment, and the nature is clouded with dust and grime. Desire and grime pull and manipulate one another, so birth and death turn endlessly. To seek liberation, one must let go of whatever one encounters, at every moment and in every place. Having let go, one must let go again, until not a trace of attachment remains and one returns to the original purity of the source. When one does not chase after sounds and forms, one is at ease everywhere. With a heart that is empty, still, and free, sustained over time, one will naturally come to understand the nature that truly governs body and mind.

When the heart is upright, what one sees is upright; when the heart is crooked, what one sees is crooked as well. Once the inner mind has its own master, what others love one may not love, and what others reject one may not reject. Old habits from the past keep constraining people. When the six consciousnesses (the perceptive activities of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind in relation to external objects) become empty and still, the true master (zhenzai, the clear, self-governing nature of the inner mind) dwells constantly in tranquility. What death or life is there left to fear?

Yet at this stage, one must not simply indulge oneself without restraint, letting the spirit (shen) and qi fail to stay gathered within, rushing outward as if possessed, wild and unbridled. This shows that the spirit and qi are scattered and one is not master of oneself, yet one mistakes this condition for true joy. Some people imitate the ancients by singing and dancing without understanding that the ancients were loosening attachments and releasing bonds, thereby attaining something else, and so found delight in themselves. How could they indulge their intentions and act improperly to bewilder the world? What people fail to recognize is that joy without any desire for gain is true joy, happiness without any craving for pleasure is true happiness, and knowledge without any clinging is true knowledge. Now, if one is led along by the discriminating consciousness (shishen, the activities of differentiation and deliberation) and allows perverse qi to invade the heart, until one is wildly deranged, there is no cure."

Another person asked: "When the eyes are open, there are external dust-worlds; when the eyes are closed, there are dreams; and even among the crowd one meets favorable and adverse circumstances..."

Someone asked: "When the eyes are open, there is the sight of the mundane world; when they are closed, there are dreams; and amid the crowd there are favorable and adverse circumstances. How can one attain peace and ease?"

The Master replied: "A cultivator (xiuxing) must take the gathering-in of the thoughts (shoushe xinnian) as the foundation. When facing adversity, meet it with joy and let it pass; when facing favorable circumstances, do not hang on to them in the heart, and let them pass as well. What do the myriad sights of the world have to do with your original mind (benxin)? In living among people, even when facing a three-year-old child, do not oppose or offend them, and in daily life, let others have the upper hand. When others oppose or offend you, often endure it. Forbearance and tolerance are themselves lessons in cultivation.

When everyone respects others, and when difficulties arise, one bears them oneself, then as this practice is sustained over a long time, the mind-state will gradually grow refined and mature, and one will be at peace wherever one is. Facing all kinds of circumstances, one can pass through them with equanimity and no longer be moved by them. Amid all circumstances and attachments, the inner mind remains at rest, not stained by a single speck of worldly thought, clear and luminous, awake day and night. This accords with the mind-state of the sages."

Someone asked: "To understand 'One' (yi) is to understand all things. Others say to 'embrace the Origin and guard the One' (baoyuan shouyi), holding to the root and keeping to single-pointed practice. What exactly is this 'One'?"

The Master said: "'One' is the original nature (benxing) when all is whole and undivided and no discriminating thought arises. But once one becomes aware that one has such a 'One,' one falls into discrimination and number, and it is no longer 'One.' One generates two, two generates three, and three generates the myriad things. How could one guard it? It is better to let go even of the 'One.' Therefore the patriarch said: 'Embracing the Origin and guarding the One is the work, yet through long ages of heaven and earth, even the One is absent.' One must clarify one's own original face in the state where even the One is absent. To say it is absent is not to say it is nothing. Therefore the scripture says: 'Know emptiness, but do not take emptiness for nothingness; know form (that which has shape and appearance), but do not cling to form. This is called thorough awakening.'"

Someone asked: "Among those who have left home, some study the old cases (gongan, the questions, exchanges, and examples from the Chan tradition used to awaken insight), some study the scriptures, and some say one should observe one's own mind through the teachings of the ancients. Is this right?"

The master said: "Practitioners are meant to cultivate their own minds and move from being ordinary to becoming sages. Yet once they have left home, many do not treat this as the essential task. They search through the sayings of the ancients, work over the written page, look up every word and phrase, and end up entangled in the many explanations. After all this effort, what problem has been solved? When King Yama (the ruler of the netherworld) summons them, not a single phrase and not a single word will be of any use. It is better to be like someone who understands nothing and muddles through life, who seems to be somewhat better off.

"If the effort now spent chasing external words is turned toward one's own proper practice, one's time will not be wasted. What is one's proper practice? It is that numinous awareness that governs the body and makes perception possible. It is received from the Dao, and from antiquity to the present it has remained pure and unchanging. What could it lack? Once one clarifies the mind and truly understands it, that is the proof of transcending the ordinary and entering the sagely. If one can genuinely believe this, one should begin to work at realizing it right now. You already possess this principle. Why only recite the precious treasures of others? Hurry and experience and make use of it yourself, and from now on you will not be deceived by others."

Because the master had labor affairs to attend to, they gave the assembly a talk: "Formerly, under the Eastern Hall, there was the case of Zhang Xian…" They said: why only recount the treasures of others? Hurry and experience and make use of them yourselves, and from now on you will not be deceived.

The master was busy with affairs, so he took the opportunity to speak to everyone about the Dao.

Long ago, beneath the East Hall, there lived an immortal (xianren) surnamed Zhang who was skilled at woodwork. He never opposed others, treated people with humility and gentleness, and never showed anger in front of anyone. Everyone approved of him and praised him, and these words eventually reached the Perfected (Zhenren). The Perfected said, "It is too soon to conclude anything. Only a test can reveal what is genuine and what is false. It is like gold: until it has been smelted, its authenticity cannot be determined."

One day, the Perfected asked him to make a couch. Zhang agreed and began work. Before he had finished, the Perfected asked him to make doors and windows, and he provisionally accepted that task too. By this point, he was already discontented. Before the doors and windows were half done, the Perfected asked him to make several boxes, and this time he refused. He even argued with the Perfected, insisting that one task should be completed before another was begun. The Perfected then said, "Earlier, everyone praised you, saying that you could go along with others, never opposed them, and remained unmoved by events. Today, when tested, you have revealed your true nature."

When cultivators refine the mind and respond to affairs, they should first establish an inner master, keeping themselves at ease and settled. Then they can respond to external matters calmly and handle them well. Affairs have an order of priority. Begin with whatever is most urgent right now, and even if the cost is great, hold fast to the original mind and do not let your thoughts be shaken.

As for which task to do first and which to do later, these arrangements are only provisional and have no fixed substance. The mind must be steady and deep, while the flexibility in handling affairs must be nimble. By responding only to what is most pressing in the moment, one remains even, clear, and undisturbed. This is what is meant by "constantly responsive, constantly still" (changying changjing), that is, responding to affairs as they come while the mind always remains quiet.

Someone asked: "Some say that karmic retribution (yebao) passes through past lives, this life, and the next. Is this true?"

The reply was: "Have you not heard the ancients say, 'Once you awaken, the karmic obstacles were empty from the start; before you awaken, you must repay the debts you incurred in the past'? Once there was a man who grew a malignant sore on his back. The pain was unbearable, and pus kept flowing from it. He hid in a deserted place and hanged himself. Someone like this has neither understood his own nature nor been willing to bear the debt of pus and blood he owed from the past. Even if he takes his own life, he must still repay it in the next life.

"How do we know this is a debt from a former existence? There was once a high-ranking official, whose name I will not give, since only the cause and effect matter here. He was cruel by nature, and whenever he was displeased, he would whip the servants around him. One day his buttocks suddenly began to itch and ache. When he scratched them, the skin peeled away, and gradually the flesh split open, as though he had just been beaten. He suffered terribly and finally died from it. From this we can see that debts of pus and blood must, in the end, be repaid.

"It is not only this kind of thing. In everyday life, our joy and anger, slander, beating and scolding, quarrels over right and wrong, and even mutual disgust at the first meeting are all old grudges from past lives that must be repaid in this one. We should accept them gladly, without arguing or shifting blame. If we are willing to bear them and willing to endure, the debt is cleared. If we keep disputing, it is like refusing to repay a loan: we only accumulate more resentment, and wrong answered by wrong goes on forever with no end. Moreover, the Way of Heaven (Tiandao) values recompense, and the injuries and grievances that people inflict on one another are nothing other than karmic debts.

"Once, when Master Changchun (Changchun Zhenren) was living at Changchun Temple (Changchun Guan), a great army was withdrawing to the north, and he hid far away to escape the danger. On the way he met a high-ranking official who knew him, and whose family had long been devoted to the Dao (Daojiao). The official said that his wife had been seized and that he wished to spend his entire fortune to ransom her, so that she could renounce the household life. He asked the Master for advice. The Master calmly said there was no need to do so. By the time they had finished discussing it, the army had already moved far away. Later the official asked the Master why he had not agreed at the time. The Master said, 'Your wife and the man who seized her yesterday share a debt of three years. Now that the two have met, it is a bond from a former life. In three years, she will return here to renounce the household life.'

"Sure enough, three years later, the wife was released. She put on a Daoist robe (daoyi), renounced the household life, and came to Changchun Temple to pay respects to the Master. She had long believed in the Daoist practice of doing good, and so she was able to enter the Dao. Only then did the official believe the Master's words, and he bowed in thanks again and again."

The Master, because a practitioner had fallen ill, addressed the assembly, saying: Those who cultivate the Dao should moderate their diet, keep regular patterns of activity and rest, keep the mind and spirit (Shen) calm and even, and refrain from pointless undertakings. If illness comes by chance, it is a matter of destiny, and how could one dare to refuse it? This too is the unfolding of one's personal fate, and perhaps past karmic conditions (yinyuan) have brought the affliction.

First, one must see through the truth that the Four Great Elements (sida), earth, water, fire, and wind, which make up the body, are illusory. When one is sick, let the body be sick; when one is about to die, face death with equanimity. Keep the heart steady and patient, allow the body to change as it will, and do not let the mind be trapped by the illness. In this way, a serious illness will lessen, and a minor one will heal of its own accord. When one's own nature (zixing) is at peace, the turbid, foul Qi dissipates. This is both the repayment of a debt incurred through illness and the passing of a critical threshold.

If one does not understand this principle, the mind cannot find stability. At the first pain, the heart grows agitated: one cries out without pause, shouting of hurt and suffering, cursing heaven and earth, and resenting others for not supporting or assisting, for not seeking physicians on one's behalf, for not helping to decoct medicine, and for not coming to inquire after one's health. To keep generating anger and confusion in this way is of no benefit whatsoever. Such a person does not realize that the time of birth and death is already fixed. Even if they panic, can panic avert it? Such agitation only deepens the disorder of the mind and makes lasting calm impossible. Nor do they know that the mind is the master of the body; when the master is not at peace, the entire body falls into disarray. Did not the ancients say, "A mind in turmoil opens the gates of hell"? Such a state only invites additional faults. With this attitude, a minor illness will become grave, and a grave one may even prove fatal, for it disturbs one's original nature.

If one acts without restraint, exceeds one's limits, and falls ill as a result, then it is an illness of one's own making, and one must bear its consequences. Whom can one blame? Those who have truly applied themselves to cultivating the nature will certainly not act this way. Let each of you reflect on this.

Seeing that a seriously ill practitioner was too weak to come forward, the Master addressed the assembly again, saying: Those who cultivate the Dao must first see through the truth that all worldly affairs and conditions are illusory, and second, see through the fact that this physical body is nothing more than a heap of dust. In ordinary times…

The Master, seeing a seriously ill man whose condition was close to death, addressed the gathered disciples: "Those who cultivate the Way must first see through all karmic connections and external things as illusory. Next, they must see through this body as nothing more than a heap of dust. If one can let go in everyday affairs, one can be at peace at the time of death."

In the past, there was a hermitage abbot (a Daoist who managed a hermitage) in Shandong. When he was dying, he passed away, yet for a long time he could not break free from birth and death. He sent someone to ask for guidance from Changchun Zhenren (Master Changchun), the important figure of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, who was Qiu Chuji. The Zhenren said: "He has only been attached to external people, affairs, and surroundings, and has not truly cultivated himself. Therefore his mind is entangled and he cannot be liberated." He then sent word back through an intermediary: "The body does not belong to me, and the nature is originally like empty space. Let thoughts come to rest, and completely release the whole body."

When the abbot heard these words, he seemed to have some awakening. He then instructed his fellow practitioners: "I was deluded by external conditions and did not work at the foundations of my mind in daily life, so at the time of death I cannot make a decision. Now I urge each of you to diligently cultivate body and mind, so that you may face this great matter of birth and death." After saying this, he passed away.

There was also a Daoist who, at the time of death, still could not decide. He asked those around him, "How should I depart?" Someone said, "Visualize the true form of your teacher." He visualized it for several days but still could not depart. Another person said, "Visualize empty space." He still could not depart.

An old immortal heard of this and went to see him. The Daoist told the immortal about his earlier visualizations and said that he now could not even visualize his teacher's true form. The old immortal scolded him: "What did you bring with you when you came? And after you leave, what will you visualize? Keep your mind at ease and wait for your destined time. When the time comes, you will leave on your own." The patient bowed in thanks after hearing this, and then he died.

In general, those who cultivate the Way may temporarily make use of various external conditions in front of them, but they must earnestly cultivate their own true nature. If one is unentangled by things and daily affairs, how could one be ill at ease at death? If one is attached to and stained by external things and worldly matters in ordinary times, how could one be at peace at death? One should cultivate oneself quickly, because birth and death cannot be predicted. Once the time arrives, what help can external affairs offer? Everyone should think carefully about this.

The Master said: "Those who cultivate the Way must first establish a firm aspiration and hold fast to integrity. Yet integrity often becomes rigidity, and once one is rigid, one cannot handle affairs flexibly. And once one learns to respond flexibly, one may fall into complacency and procrastination, squandering one's days, and so fail to guard against the great matter of life and death. When that day truly comes, what help can external opportunities offer? Please consider this carefully."

The Master said again: "Those who cultivate must first establish a firm aspiration and hold fast to integrity. But with integrity often comes rigidity, and rigidity prevents flexible handling of affairs. If one learns to respond flexibly, one may also fall into complacency and procrastination, idling away one's days. Therefore, those who study the Dao (the Way) are as numerous as the hairs of an ox, while those who truly attain accomplishment are as rare as the horns of a qilin. One with aspiration may not yet understand the principles; one who understands the principles may be unable to practice them; and even one who practices may be unable to persist. In sum, a student of the Dao must first take refuge in the ancestral lineage (the Daoist transmission and patriarchs whom one serves), then establish a firm aspiration and hold fast to integrity, learn to respond flexibly, and apply oneself wholeheartedly and diligently to practice, persisting unceasingly over the long term. In this way, nothing is beyond attainment."

Someone asked: "What is the true constant Dao (zhenchang zhi dao), the Way that is enduring and unchanging?"

The Master replied: "Set aside the word 'true constant' for now. In daily life, observe your own mind constantly. Before a thought arises, what is that state? After a thought arises, examine whether it is a deluded thought or a right thought. Deluded thoughts should be eliminated at once, and right thoughts should be applied according to the situation.

"What are deluded thoughts? When no matter is at hand, scheming ahead or wandering in fantasy all belong to delusion. What are right thoughts? When a matter is actually before you, such as dealing with others, benefiting sentient beings, respecting elders and superiors, bringing peace to the multitude, and all manner of goodwill that seeks no personal gain, these belong to right thought.

"When at rest, body and mind are settled; when in action, one's conduct is upright. Neither indulgent nor clinging, the heart is never clouded, whether by day or by night. Being able to respond to affairs while often preserving stillness, remaining even and steady throughout: this is the true constant Dao."

The Master said: The reason practitioners must exert effort is that this stubborn mind has, since beginningless time, kept us in transmigration, passing through births and deaths as numerous as heaped-up bones. Only today have I awakened to my past errors and sought liberation. Therefore I do not dare to eat by day or sleep by night, but single-mindedly refine this recalcitrant mind. Cultivation must run counter to worldly habits at every turn before it can truly be of use.

If one does not refine the mind, but merely sees others going without sleep and imitates them, the thoughts will scatter like hair, and at the slightest provocation the fire of the heart will flare up. Even going without sleep for a hundred years would do nothing for this stubborn mind. However much one practices, if the stubborn mind has not been exhausted, one will still revolve endlessly in transmigration.

To transform this stubborn mind, one must, day and night and at every moment, whether in motion or in stillness, thoroughly shatter this obstinate mind, and only then will one truly benefit. The original zhenling (true numinous spirit, the genuine spiritual nature) is then in harmony with Heaven and Earth. At that point, stillness is the Dao (the Way), action is the Dao, speech is the Dao, and silence is the Dao. What else is there to seek? This is the free and unfettered Daoist adept.

Practitioners must refine, through effort and perseverance, the stubborn fixations that have long taken shape in the mind and built up deep habits. Those that are hard to let go of must also be released through determined effort. Even when one must give up one's very self, one must give it up, and how much more so the thoughts in the mind, which are in essence only empty and unreal things. When these thoughts are removed one by one, afflictions and obstacles have no way to arise.

As for all things outside the body, one need not keep them in mind. The comings and goings of people and affairs before one's eyes are like mosquitoes flying past: wave them away and that is all. If one can also dispel the most difficult-to-shake thoughts within the mind, where would the seeds that give rise to transmigration remain?

In the past, when Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuji) cultivated at Panxi, tigers and leopards often came and went at night, passing in and out morning and evening. At times he too was frightened, and at dawn he even thought of building a fence for protection. But he then reflected: when one meets such circumstances and gives rise to fear, and wishes to shield and protect oneself, can one in the end escape birth and death by doing so? He thereupon desisted, simply dwelt at ease with the situation, and let birth and death take their course. The mind of fear gradually disappeared, and afterward, even when confronted with matters of life and death, he remained steady and unmoved, and the various fetters were released all at once. This is practicing cultivation precisely at the point where it is most difficult to do so.

Practitioners who wish to thoroughly investigate the great matter of birth and death must apply effort personally, day and night without slackening, so that the mind becomes concentrated and clear and the six sense-faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are kept pure. When encountering external objects such as sounds and forms, one sees as though not seeing and hears as though not hearing, and the inner mind is not stirred. The affairs of others, however turbulent, have nothing to do with oneself, like wind blowing past one's eyes.

Practitioners need only keep the six sense-faculties pure. When encountering external objects such as sounds and forms, one sees as though not seeing and hears as though not hearing, and the inner mind is not stirred. The affairs of others, however turbulent, have nothing to do with oneself, like wind blowing past one's eyes.

Those who cultivate the Dao should emulate whatever they see others doing well, rather than dwelling on others' faults and forgetting to examine themselves. Do not argue with one another about right and wrong. A person whose mind is constantly occupied with judging right and wrong will find that their own heart is not upright, and their cultivation will struggle to advance. The orthodox Dao can shield one from deviant thoughts, while deviant paths often slander the orthodox Dao. Anyone who clings to the self and loves to slander others does not understand themselves, and belongs to the heterodox schools (waidao, or "outer paths"), sects that have strayed from the correct Way.

If one truly possesses right knowledge and right view (zhengzhi zhengjian), one should observe one's own deviations and deviant thoughts within the heart and search for one's own faults. If one is always busy censuring others' failings, one is not an upright cultivator.

Someone asked, "What is gongxing (merit and practice)?" The Master replied, "Keeping the mouth closed is gong (merit); opening the mouth is xing (practice)." The questioner asked further, "How does one achieve gongfu (skill of cultivation) by keeping the mouth closed?" The Master answered, "To quietly embody and gain understanding, to cease thinking and deliberating, to close the mouth and forget words, to seek no recognition from others, to gather in one's radiance and conceal one's traces: this is cultivating merit through silence. And how does one practice gongxing by opening the mouth? It means using all manner of skillful means to teach others to cultivate, to benefit all beings, and to guide them onto the correct Way. This is practicing the Dao through speech."

Someone asked, "Are seeing, hearing, eating, breathing, holding objects in the hand, walking with the feet, and thinking in the mind the original nature?" The Master replied, "The Dao-nature (daoxing, the fundamental nature of the Dao) cannot be identified with these activities, yet it cannot be separated from them. Movement and stillness, speech and silence are all functions of the nature, not the substance of the nature. The substance is neither moving nor still, neither speaking nor silent. The ancients said, 'To understand the root of the Great Dao, do not depart from movement, stillness, speech, and silence.' But if one takes movement, stillness, speech, and silence themselves as the nature, one is mistaking the servant for the master. The master commands the servant; how could the servant be the master? Raising the hands, stepping forward, speaking, seeing and hearing, and all forms of activity, even remaining motionless for long periods, are merely servants, not the master. The master dwells within and does not reveal itself directly outwardly. Yet if one can make use of these activities, one should personally realize and assume the position of master."

Someone asked, "If I devote three years to diligent practice, can I escape the cycle of rebirth (lunhui)?"

Wang Zhijin replied, "Those who cultivate the Dao should establish a firm aspiration and refine their hearts diligently at every moment, without calculating beforehand what results they will obtain. How can a mind that harbors the thought of being superior to others expect to transcend the cycle of rebirth?

Once there was a Daoist who, when he had just left home, boasted, 'I find the cycle of rebirth to be nothing much. With a little effort, I can be free of it.' He did resolve to work diligently, yet serious illness befell him, lingering for several years without recovery, and his resolve in cultivation gradually faded. This case shows how cultivation cannot be undertaken on the strength of a conceited mind."

A person asked: "When I walk alone in the mountains or sit in quiet meditation, I have personally seen the mountain spirits foretell future events. Is this real?"

The Perfected replied: Ordinary people are preoccupied with all kinds of worldly affairs, and so they are clouded and unclear. Those who have just left home to cultivate the Way are still grinding down their worldly minds. When they happen to become quiet, sudden scenes from stillness appear, and various visions arise. Some show the faces of gods, spirits, and ghosts, and the practitioner, mistaking these for projections of his own mental state, is delighted and even dances for joy. Some believe they can foresee the future. Some hear voices in the air announcing past events, which later prove accurate. Others see with their own eyes former masters, Perfected Ones, or divine beings appear before them and instruct them on cultivating the mind. If one is willing to accept these scenes as real, one falls into wrong views. If these predictions and visions are not removed, and one lets them develop unchecked, they become a mental affliction that is hard to cure.

Did the ancients not say: "Seeing, hearing, sensing, and knowing are all afflictions"? How much more so, since what the eyes see, what the ears hear, and what the mind thinks all belong to the realm of sound and form (the realm formed by sensory objects such as sounds and images). The scriptures also say: "Look for it and it cannot be seen; listen for it and it cannot be heard; speak of it and it cannot be exhausted; think of it and it cannot be reached." If one now takes the phenomena within the realm of sound and form to be real, one walks onto the deviant path.

Once there was a cultivator who, while sitting in meditation, suddenly tasted wine in his mouth and dreamed that someone was sending him wine. The next day, someone did indeed bring wine. This was simply spirit responding to external events after the mind had become empty and still. It was not some extraordinary power. If one treats it as a special attainment, one enters a heterodox path.

Another cultivator, while sitting in meditation, suddenly felt his spirit-consciousness leave his body, travel several hundred paces, and return, and he saw that his body was still sitting upright. This experience happened several times. It is not remarkable, for it is like ordinary thoughts running outward, except that the sensation is somewhat clearer. If one treats it as a cultivation achievement, one falls onto the deviant path.

As the common saying goes: "Auspicious omens and marvelous sights are not as good as having none; ordinary peace and stability are what accord with the Dao."

The Master, hearing everyone discussing, observed that when the treasury of a person's wisdom is opened, words pour forth without end. He then said: "When a practitioner first leaves external circumstances behind, the mind is like a mirror just polished, and wisdom suddenly opens, so that any passing thought can be written into an essay. At this stage one must not cling to this state. If the inner mind becomes confirmed and settled, yet one forcibly applies wisdom without a genuine ganying (resonance), it turns into wild wisdom (kuanghui), a cleverness inclined toward cunning that has lost the proper Way, and in the end achieves nothing. This is merely a mental effect, not the substance of the Dao (Dao). One must not let the mind gallop freely and treat it as a skill. Only through ceaseless nurturing of one's xinxing (heart-nature) does true effort arise."

The Master, hearing someone speak of practicing while dwelling in the mountains, said: "When a practitioner encounters things, one must see through them, and when circumstances arise, one must respond appropriately. Each response amounts to passing one test.

"Once there was a Daoist adept who lived in the mountains. He wore grass robes, ate wild fruits, and vowed never to come down, thinking that in this way he could fully escape the entanglements of the mundane world. One day, two men suddenly appeared, each carrying a weapon, and asked him for food. The adept hurriedly boiled mountain fruits to entertain them, but before the fruit had softened, one of the men reached into the pot, grabbed some out to taste, and angrily said, 'Are you really going to serve this to people?' With that, he moved to smash the bottom of the pot.

"At first the adept said nothing. Seeing the two men furious and their words growing harsh and forceful, he secretly schemed. On some pretext he walked outside, found a cudgel he had hidden, and, gripping it, shouted loudly, 'You two, come out! You may not be able to get near me!' The two came out the door, smiling, and said, 'A gentleman who dwells in the mountains to cultivate the Way has developed such a combative, competitive heart. You might as well come down and become an ordinary person.' Having said this, the two departed, and when the adept looked, they had suddenly vanished.

"Only then did the adept suspect that they were sages sent to test him, and he regretted it bitterly. This is what it means to fail to withstand a test when faced with circumstances."

The master, unmoved by the crowd's gossip, told this story. Long ago in Shandong, a Daoist claimed before his master that he had burned away all his wuming huo (the "fire of ignorance," meaning inner vexation and impulsiveness). The master replied, "When the wuming huo is completely extinguished, the heart will not be stirred by external circumstances. Only then is one truly a practitioner who has cultivated well."

Some time later, the master secretly sent someone to test him. At dusk, the man arrived at the gate of the hermitage (an), which was already shut. He shouted angrily and pounded on the door with his staff. When the scholar inside answered, his tone was already unsettled, and he opened the door only reluctantly. The visitor's manner was fierce, and when the scholar saw him, his face changed.

Upon entering the hall, the man jumped onto the seat without removing his shoes, behaving very rudely. The scholar immediately flew into a rage and rebuked him sternly. The man clasped his hands, smiled, and said, "I did not act so rudely on purpose. The master sent me to examine whether the scholar truly has an unmoving heart. I had not yet tested you when I saw the answer, so there is no need to investigate further." The scholar was deeply ashamed and had no reply.

Practitioners, even when they have some skill, how can they be self-satisfied? One moment of carelessness and their true condition will be revealed under testing. If one truly reaches the state where the heart is ash-cold and still, and form and spirit (xing-shen) are settled, there will be no thought of self-boasting. Since this man still boasted, it shows he could not withstand examination. Even if one truly reaches the state where the heart is not moved by external things, a higher level of cultivation still remains.

When people spoke of dwelling in a ring-chamber (huanshi), shutting the door and sitting in quiet to guard stillness (shou jing), the Master told a story. Long ago there was a Daoist who sat with his door closed for many years. One day the people invited him to come out, and he moved about freely. An old friend who saw him asked, "Brother, can the skill you cultivated in stillness still be used in places of noise? Have you truly realized the state in which the mind is not moved by external circumstances?"

The Daoist appeared arrogant and remained silent for a long time. The friend continued, "I have a touchstone that can distinguish the genuine from the false. Brother, why not tell me what state of mind you have actually reached in your years of quiet practice?" The Daoist replied, "What is there to say about sitting in stillness?" The friend said, "If that is so, then you must answer for what you just said, like one who wears fur and grows horns to repay a debt of speech (kouye)." The Daoist immediately flared up in anger and even cursed loudly. The friend laughed and said, "This is the skill you cultivated in the ring-chamber. Sure enough, one test brought it out." Because of this, the Daoist resented his friend and cut off all contact with him for the rest of his life. This man had never tempered his mind across the various situations of life. Even if he sat in stillness for a hundred years, he could not be said to have truly accomplished the practice. He would be like a horse tied up to stand still for a while: once the reins are untied, it runs as before.

"Huan" refers to a space enclosed by a circular wall, within which a single room is built, with a small window opened for passing food and drink. "Cutting off friendships" refers to devoting oneself wholeheartedly to practice.

The Master once said that a cultivator is like a master carpenter of great skill. First he corrects the ink line, then he gradually uses the axe to cut away what is crooked and excess, trimming the wood until it is usable and shaping it into vessels as needed. In working, one must not stray from the ink line, for if the line is lost there is no standard to rely on. When all the crooked places have been cut away and the ink line remains straight, one can follow it to make all kinds of serviceable vessels.

The Master further said that a cultivator should be like that carpenter: following the straight ink line, gradually cutting away the deviant and crooked places, and shaping the material into useful vessels according to its nature. During the process one must not depart from the ink line, for if the line is lost there is no standard to rely on. When the crooked and deviant places are all removed and the ink line remains straight, one can thereby accomplish all kinds of useful implements.

Perfected (Zhenren) Wang Zhijin said: Practitioners should keep the mind constantly quiet and free of entanglements, conduct themselves with rectitude, and at every moment carefully observe their original spirit (benming yuanshen), the true nature that is the root of life. They should see it clearly without confusion and let their mind-spirit merge with the void. This is the state of mind proper to one who cultivates the Dao. With sustained effort over time, efficacy will arise naturally. For this reason, rather than busying oneself with all kinds of affairs, it is better to stop and devote oneself wholly to observing one's own nature. If one's thoughts are always fixed on external things and time is allowed to pass, one is no different from ordinary worldly people.

When the community discussed who should serve as abbot of the monastery gate, the Perfected said: Those who dwell in a Daoist monastery should act within their means, keep affairs simple, and live lightly. They should not compete for fame and profit as worldly people do, lest they lose their original mind and forget the great cause of cultivating nature and life (xingming). This is the correct principle. If one can use such a position to temper one's mind, willingly take on burdens one would rather avoid and undertake hard labor, keep one's heart steady and unmoved, and still receive people arriving from all directions, benefiting both oneself and others, then one can cultivate peacefully and accumulate good deeds, attending to both practice and merit. If, however, one does not temper the mind and instead takes external things as the self, one will be wholly governed by the habits of stinginess and craving. One's mind will grow narrow, one will continually commit transgressions, and one's cultivation will be delayed.

The Master advised everyone to dwell in the monastic community (conglin, the place where Daoist practitioners live together, study, and cultivate). He said: "Perfected Danyang (Ma Yu) has a lyric that says: 'Those who study the Dao dwell in the community, weighing the shallow and the deep, and choose among them those skilled in cultivation as their true friends.' If one has not yet grasped the principle, one should give each other guidance and instruction within the community, grasp the essentials, and together practice the supreme Dharma gate of the mind-ground (a gate of practice centered on cultivating the mind). This is no small matter.

Some people lack understanding and do not seek companions in the Way. They refuse to live in the community, yet casually claim to be wandering practitioners. They do not speak of cultivating the mind. They simply travel north and south, crossing mountains and rivers, wearing out their straw sandals in vain. Along the way they choose only the easy and comfortable places, and at the first setback they leave at once. In their eagerness to find a comfortable abode, they search everywhere for opportunities. Having left home in this way, they do not know what they should most attend to, nor how they ought to live. They think only of seeking ease.

They do not realize that the great matter of life and death before them will inevitably arrive. When that time comes, with what will they respond? How can they drift along like this and let their days pass in vain? What was the purpose of leaving home in the first place? Clear-minded and reasonable gentlemen should consider this carefully."

The Master, noticing that one of the workers had grown irritable, said: Although the external circumstances and human relationships in which a cultivator lives are impermanent, this is no reason to ignore the affairs at hand. In responding to matters, one must be free of attachment to the "self." The mind should be as open as empty space, so that when affairs arise they meet no obstruction. In this way, emptiness does not hinder the myriad things, and the myriad things do not hinder emptiness. It is like the way all things between heaven and earth move on their own, without getting in one another's way.

If the mind clings to the self, then whenever affairs arise, one opposes them at every turn, becomes easily provoked, and falls into conflict, unable to respond with composure. Once one is bumped and thwarted, the mind is stirred, and once the mind is in turmoil, it is hard to find peace. Even if one labors hard all day, one is merely wasting effort. When among the crowd or engaged in labor, one should concentrate on guarding one's own mind and not give way easily to anger. One should often examine one's own faults rather than fixating on the faults of others. This is the true practice of cultivation. When a matter falls upon oneself, one should take it up. Faced with all manner of circumstances and disturbances, one should not chase after them but keep the mind clear and not argue at every turn. Living each day in this way, without losing the original aspiration to cultivate, one will naturally accomplish great merit.

The Master further said: When a cultivator has one measure of skill, there often arises one measure of a sense of his own superiority. With ten measures of skill, there may arise ten measures of such a sense. Once the mind that wishes to surpass others arises, one clings to the self, and self-attachment together with the sense of superiority becomes a great obstacle. How could one reach a state in which the mind is free of attachment and undisturbed by external conditions? Therefore one must practice with even greater firmness and resolve, placing one's body and mind beneath all things, often willing to stand behind others, and constantly reminding oneself that one falls far short of them. Only in this way can the mind of self-praise and competitiveness be eliminated. When the mind is like the Grand Void (Taixu), the boundless vast sky, there is no clinging to self. And when there is no clinging to self, one can correspond with the Dao (the Way).

The Master said: when practitioners sit in quiet meditation, they pass through many different states. All of these are transformations produced by the discriminating, ruminating consciousness (shishen), which appears when a person is still in order to stir the heart-mind (xin shen). Did the ancients not say, "Whatever forms can be seen are all empty and unreal"? Even if one tries to eliminate the shishen, as long as it exists it can still conjure images, some resembling immortals and others resembling ghosts or demons, to disturb the practitioner's mind. If the heart-lord (xinzhu), the original mind that governs thought, remains unmoved and treats what is seen as unseen, making body and mind like empty space and clinging to nothing, these phenomena will dissipate on their own. With no image to confuse the self, no external thing can harm it.

There once was a Daoist (daoren) whose mind had already settled. One day, while sitting in meditation, they suddenly saw countless malevolent ghosts riding through the air toward them. They abided in their mind, made body and mind like empty space, and grew so still that they no longer distinguished or identified anything. They even surrendered their own life and death, letting whatever would happen, happen. The demonic realms then dissolved by themselves. Because their mind had a master and remained quiet and unmoving, how could any demon come to disturb them? Since false thoughts had not been fully removed, these images appeared. When the original nature is clear and limpid, they naturally vanish.

Someone asked, "How is the practice of the one who keeps to the enclosure, that is, the one who lives in seclusion in a quiet chamber and devotes themselves wholly to cultivation?" Zhenren Qiyun (Perfected Qiyun) replied:

Long ago, when Changchun Zhenren (Perfected Changchun, Qiu Chuji) was travelling in Shandong, they passed a Daoist temple. In it was a person in closed retreat. At that time the community was observing a fast, and someone told Changchun Zhenren, "The gentleman in the enclosure would like to speak with you." The Zhenren replied, "Let us meet once the fast is over."

Unexpectedly, the Zhenren went out soon afterward, walked to the quiet chamber, and struck the door several heavy blows with their staff. The person inside, supposing that an ordinary visitor was disturbing them, answered angrily with a few words, and the Zhenren then went away. When the fast ended, the community again asked the Zhenren to go and see this person. The Zhenren said, "I have already tested them. Their heart still holds onto distinction and self, so they are not worth speaking with." And so the Zhenren departed.

In general, quiet seclusion is meant for the cultivation of xingming (nature and life). Gathering the spirit, stabilizing one's foundation, and nourishing body and mind are the true work of practice. A response is only proven when the heart remains unmoved by external circumstances. The knocking at the door is the external situation, and the anger that arose in reply reveals the inner state. If one can forget the self and keep the mind still, one is like ashes that no longer burn: when stirred, they send up no flame. Facing events with a settled and unhurried composure shows that the inner mind has been truly cultivated.

Yet if one grows angry at the slightest sound, how can one cope with greater hardships? Even dwelling in a quiet chamber, what can one accomplish? To accept the offerings of others without the corresponding cultivation is to incur debts of obligation that cannot be repaid. It is better to refine the mind wholeheartedly in everyday conduct and concrete affairs. Only one who does so can be called a person of insight and understanding.

A practitioner once asked: "Cultivators often speak of 'knowing and awareness' (zhijue), yet they also say that this 'knowing and awareness' is an illness. What does this mean?"

The answer was: "True knowing is a knowing that does not cling to the notion 'I am knowing,' and true awareness is an awareness that does not cling to the notion 'I am aware.' The original true numinosity (zhenling) lay dormant through countless kalpas, and only now has it awakened. This is what is called awareness, and all knowledge and views arise from it. If one believes that one possesses knowledge and awareness and deliberately tries to maintain this awareness at every moment, one binds oneself, like someone who is not ill yet burns moxa on their own body. Yet if one simply tries to know nothing and perceive nothing, one will be drawn into other bodies through transmigration. Having grasped the fundamental principle, one should understand that knowing and awareness are functions. Use them when they are needed, and do not treat them as a fixed and unchanging state."

The Master said: "When the mundane thoughts of the cultivator cease at once and worldly worries dissolve, the original true nature (zhenxing) naturally manifests. This is the innate master that one already possesses, born before heaven (xiantian). When one truly takes up this master and makes it one's own, one attains freedom and ease and can at once penetrate the various Dharma realms (the realms and domains of every kind). Having reached this state, one must all the more gather in one's sharpness and conceal one's traces, guarding and nurturing what one has attained. The more one does so, the deeper one's cultivation becomes. If one deliberately seeks to display oneself, one will unknowingly and secretly wear away one's own light."

The Master said: "Practitioners differ in their roots of capacity (genxing), some quick and some dull. Those of dull roots should not cling stubbornly to their own views. It is fitting for them to dwell in Daoist monastic communities (conglin), to live with humility, and to form bonds with those who are penetrating in their understanding and have seen their own minds and natures. When the conditions ripen, someone will naturally guide them onto the Way, and they will gradually awaken. If, however, one's roots are sluggish and one lacks insight and aspiration, and one daily associates with one's own kind and befriends worldly people, the bonds with the mundane world grow deeper with each passing day. In time one will surely lose the resolve for the Way. Or one may encounter demonic realms (mojing), mistake them for scenes of hell, find no one to help, and so sink into them without end. This is truly lamentable."

The Master said: Once there was a person who entered a huan (a sealed chamber for secluded cultivation). After hearing others speak of the "ground," he became fixed on seeing it. As this thought arose, all kinds of visions appeared before him, yet he did not realize they were false. What the ears heard belonged to sound, what the eyes saw belonged to form, and what the mind imagined belonged to deluded thought. Even when, in broad daylight, he saw Golden Youths and Jade Maidens, True Immortals, and sages appear before him, these were still illusory realms produced by deluded thought. If one mistakes such visions for the ground and cannot dissolve attachment to them, one will be deluded for a lifetime and may even invite evil spirits.

In truth, "ground" is the ancient name for the place where the movements of the mind reach stillness and rest. It is like a person tidying a dwelling: clearing away thorns and sweeping up rubble so the floor is level and one can live there. A practitioner whose mind is calm and unmoved by events is said to stand on the "Unmoving Ground." One who is not stained by the myriad worldly disturbances stands on the "Pure Ground." One who reveals the originally abiding Dharma body (fashen), clear and luminous, able to bear it, stands on the "Perfectly Luminous Ground." Nonetheless, any state called a "ground" still has bounds and edges. Only when one reaches the realm of non-abiding, without location, beyond what language can describe, is it what is called "profound within the profound." How, then, could one take the sights seen by the eyes, the sounds heard by the ears, or the thoughts within the mind for the true realm?

The Master said: Wuwei (non-action) is the Dao (the Way) of Heaven, and youwei (purposive action) is the Way of Humanity. Wuwei accords with the Way of Heaven, and youwei accords with the Way of Humanity. It is like a person carrying a pole with a load at each end: only by bearing both ends can he keep his balance, and if he sets down one end, he loses it. If he sets down both ends, and even the pole is no longer there, he returns to the place he originally came from.

The Master said: Long ago, when Perfected Changchun (Changchun Zhenren), an eminent adept of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school, was caught in the rain beneath the East Hall, the man in charge of affairs called everyone to carry the unfired bricks. Young and old alike were asked to help. The others all eagerly answered the call, but one elderly immortal sat calmly and did not move. When the work was finished and the company had gathered to sit together, someone reported this to Perfected Changchun. He rebuked the man, saying: "The bricks have all been moved. What are they worth? When a person refines the mind and nature and truly reaches a state of serene rest, that state is like a priceless pearl. What matters is the disposition of each person's heart and how they apply their mind. In general, the teaching most values those who have attained the Dao."

The Master also said: Long ago, a cook served under Perfected Changchun. Everyone praised his gentle temperament and humble, unassuming manner, and said he never lost his temper. When the Perfected heard of this, he secretly sent someone to test him. One morning, the utensils the kitchen needed were moved elsewhere. As the cook washed the rice to cook porridge, he could not find the ladle and scoops in his hurry, and the porridge boiled over. He became furious. Seeing this, the Perfected instructed him: "Even if all the porridge spills, it is only something external to the self. Why let it disturb your spirit?" Only then did the cook awaken, and he bowed again and again in gratitude.

A physician asked: "I practice medicine to save people, and I have already revived more than a hundred. How much merit is this?" The Master replied: "Even if you revived everyone under heaven, it would not equal saving yourself from birth and death. Worldly blessings all have an end. Only when you cultivate yourself to the point of being unbound by birth and death do your blessings become limitless."

A craftsman asked: "I am building a great hall and taking no wages. Doing good with such sincerity, what fruit will I receive?" The Master replied: "This is not as good as a person of stillness sitting quietly for a single hour. Merit accumulated through deliberate action will be exhausted, but the merit gained through wuwei (non-action) does not decay."

The Master instructed the assembly, saying: Whatever a person does while living in the world brings a corresponding result. Those who realize the Way (Dao) attain it, those who widely practice good deeds receive blessings, and those who commit evil deeds bear evil consequences. Those who cherish others are cherished by others, and those who loathe others are loathed in return. Those who respect others gain respect, and those who slight others are slighted. Those of low station are looked down upon, those who trust others earn their trust, those who help others receive help, and those who harm others are harmed in turn. Those who think themselves superior are suppressed by others, those who are intent on getting ahead are contested by others, and those who persist in showing off their strength become others' enemies. Therefore it is said: "Plant orchids and you harvest their fragrance; sow grain and you harvest food." These are the principles of karmic retribution. If one harbors the desire for profit and relies on falsehood and deceit to win people's hearts, one has lost sincerity.

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao must above all avoid discussing the strengths, weaknesses, and right and wrong of others, and should not speak of the rise and fall of worldly affairs. Regarding matters that have nothing to do with oneself, one should not comment on them with the mouth, nor dwell on them in the heart. To constantly debate the right and wrong of others is to blind oneself. If one single-mindedly cultivates the nature and frequently examines one's own faults, where is the time to concern oneself with other people's affairs? Everyone has something worthy of learning, and one should learn from it. When one sees another's fault, it is enough to avoid repeating it oneself, without taking it to heart. In this way, one gradually attains a state of stillness and rest.

The Master instructed the assembly, saying: Those who cultivate the Dao, even if they have awakened to the Way in their native place, should not linger there. Even if eating meat and drinking wine could lead to ascension, they should not covet it. Even if their kin are like immortals, they should not cling to them. What others love, one should avoid without worrying over it, and gradually one attains a state of stillness and rest.

The Master warned the assembly: those who cultivate the Dao, even if they have awakened to it in their home village, should not stop there. Even if eating wine and meat could bring ascension, they should not indulge in it. Even if their family members are all immortals, they should not cling to them. Do not follow what the multitude loves, do not blindly echo what the multitude considers wrong, and do not be self-righteous even when you seem entirely correct. Even if you attain the Dao in a dream, do not use it as an excuse to indulge in sleep. Do not associate with those who are not good companions, and do not speak idle words. When affairs succeed, do not rejoice excessively; when they fail or meet setbacks, do not grieve. Learn from those who are stronger than you, and teach those who are less capable. When others suffer loss and you benefit, this is blessing; when you cause others to suffer loss and benefit yourself, this is calamity. To talk more than one practices is hollowness; to practice more than one talks is substance. Having desires and attachments to feelings is the way of worldly human sentiment; only when the heart is free of mundane thoughts is it the way of the immortals. Willingness to abide in a low position leads instead to rising high, and contentment with poverty leads instead to wealth. To return to the constant Dao and accord with the Great Dao, to follow principle and accord with human feeling, to practice the right path without entering heterodox ways, and to penetrate the Great Dao and manifest De, with body and mind and cultivation mutually integrated, is called Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), meaning the preservation of one's innate nature in accord with the True Dao.

The Master said: In ancient times, those who studied the Great Dao, if their minds had not yet grasped it, would not hesitate to travel a thousand li to seek out teachers and ask questions. When teacher and disciple were in accord and mutually understood one another, and the mind suddenly became clear without any remaining doubt, then whether one dwelt in a humble small chamber (yuandu), lodged among mountain forests and springside, begged for food in the markets, or resided in a temple, one could settle the heart to guard the Dao and never waver. Such a person is the highest sort among those who cultivate the True.

Some renunciants, whose original nature is not yet clear and who are too lazy to seek instruction, are proud and eager to compete. They insist they are always right and pretend to be accomplished Daoists. They diminish their merit and practice and end up losing on both counts, yet they still alarm others and accept offerings, never asking whether their De is worthy of such support. For such people, a humble dwelling is not suitable, nor is practicing by begging for food. When death and life confront them, what they have learned will be of no use. This is because they refuse to work at the root. Until the end of their lives, they will achieve nothing.

Practitioners should settle the mind like a wooden statue of a sage seated in a hall. Whether it is ignored all day or surrounded by banners and canopies, whether it receives offerings of incense and flowers or is met with coming and going of slander, it remains constant. Yet the practitioner's mind should be more luminous than the wooden image, able to penetrate the subtle and marvelous, vivid and full of life, understanding the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). Facing all affairs and external things, the practitioner does not cling or get pulled along.

Daoist adepts refine the mind the way one casts gold into the form of a chicken. Its outward shape resembles a chicken, yet its inner nature remains steady. It stands alone among the flock, and even when the other chickens are quarrelsome, none dares approach it. One who has realized the Dao has a heart like cold ashes and a body as still as withered wood. Even if people under heaven are fond of contention, they cannot contend with such a person. Therefore the scripture says: "Precisely because he does not contend, no one under heaven can contend with him."

This true mind has both substance and function, undivided between self and other, upright and genuine. It was received before heaven and earth came into being, and one cannot say that it exists, nor that it does not. Sages and worthies from ancient times to the present, and the old practitioners of the world, all possess it and benefit from it. Thousands of scriptures and myriad treatises, even the entire Daoist Canon (Daozang), speak of this principle. Heaven above and earth below, the myriad things, and even the boundless void are penetrated and governed by this one principle. One who understands it is not carried off by external circumstances, is not manipulated by thoughts, and is not blinded by the "six roots" (liugen) of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. Such a mind is the fundamental basis on which immortals rely in their daily cultivation, the way in which sages conduct themselves, and the path along which seekers of the Dao advance.

The master said: Those who dwell in the monastic community (Conglin, the Daoist monastery where practitioners gather to cultivate together) have come from many different places. How could everyone be the same?

Master said: Those who dwell in the monastic community (congling), the body of practitioners who cultivate and reside within Daoist monasteries, have gathered from all four directions, so how could they all be alike? It is like a great mountain covered with plants of every kind: some that will never become timber and some fit for building; some standing alone and some growing by clinging to others; tender, prized seedlings and fine herbs alongside wild trees and thorny brambles. Each of the myriad things follows its own nature and grows naturally, and yet there is an order to it. The mountain stands firm and unmoving, never choosing among what it bears, yet it is able to contain all things. Streams, piled rocks, dense forests, and abundant vegetation, together with beasts that run and birds that call, all manifest a wondrous functioning. They support one another, like the artemisia growing among hemp, which stands straight without being propped up. Over long years, each comes to achieve something. If one forcibly cuts the long to fill the short, or tries to turn green into yellow, not only will the myriad things be left without peace, but their original natures will also be harmed.

Master said: When I once presided over a monastery in Shandong, I kept my gates shut all day and had no dealings with the outside world, and so passed more than ten years. I took stillness as my cultivation, yet had no real accomplishment. I sat alone in a place no footsteps reached, and no one came to disturb me. Without encountering circumstances or contacting things, how could this mind display its successes, its failures, or its transformations? This was nothing more than idly wasting time. If Heaven does not nourish the myriad things, the four seasons cannot turn; if Earth does not raise them, they cannot grow. If one cannot accomplish anything for oneself nor benefit others, what merit is there to speak of? Therefore, Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school) said: "Only by acting can one bring peace to people and benefit the myriad things." This accords precisely with the way Heaven and Earth operate.

Master Wang said: Practitioners who cannot open the "mysterious gate" (xuanguan), the inner spiritual aperture of cultivation, and whose minds are not yet clear, will find it difficult for the karmic consciousness (yeshi), the consciousness formed by past deeds and habitual tendencies, to return to non-action (wuwei). This is probably because their merit (fude) is insufficient. In such cases, one should practice within purposeful action (youwei) and the affairs of the teaching community, applying effort according to one's capacity. Receive visitors with a humble heart, respect elders and fellow practitioners, often do what benefits others, and cast off selfish thoughts and deviant intentions. As time passes and conditions ripen, one's skill will advance day by day, and a moment of penetrating realization will arrive naturally. This is still far better than carrying two empty baskets: failing to attain non-action while also refusing to act, drifting through the days without accumulating any merit from practice, choosing only comfortable and secure places, indulging in ease, idly discussing worldly affairs, pushing forward at lively gatherings, letting body and mind run loose, showing no reverence for the spirits, and planning to begin cultivation only at some distant future date. Have you not heard Changchun Zhenren say: "If you work on the ground of the mind, you must completely set aside worldly affairs; if you exert yourself within the teaching community, you must take on many duties and much toil"? Those who neither cultivate the mind nor exert themselves in the community, but only postpone and let the days pass, should consider for themselves what kind of person they really are.

Master Wang said: Causal conditions (yinyuan) have their own fixed course and are not determined by human strength. In all things, one should follow what is natural and calmly await the arrangements of fate. Inner cultivation and outer good works both depend entirely on the heart. If one can apply effort oneself, one will reap one's own fruits of practice, and whether one practices and to what degree, each person will receive a corresponding result. When the teaching community has not yet risen and its affairs have not yet begun, one should remain hidden and guard oneself, so that the heart stays in accord with the Dao of Heaven (Tiandao). Once the community has risen, one should also take on outward works of practice, so that cultivation accords with the Dao and responds to the needs of the world. Merit need not fear being great in quantity, and good deeds need not fear being broad in reach. What matters is a steadfast heart, for only then can accomplishment be possible.

The Master said: The Dao (the Way) is present everywhere. Wherever one turns, there is the Dao, and all things are true embodiments of its substance. What matters is only how one applies it in the present moment. Beyond this, what else is there that is special? The trouble is that people's minds are heavily veiled by worldly entanglements, so they do not grasp the root. Instead they pluck at branches and chase appearances, drifting with the current. Few can turn back and reflect inwardly, while many are confused and attached. Even among those who study, few seek what is real. They fabricate out of thin air and falsely perceive spirits and ghosts, like setting a second head upon one's own head, a superfluous act. People glance back and forth without understanding that this transformed body has an end and that time cannot be held back. Once the breath is cut off, what can one do?

The Master said: In daily practice, the mind should be free of stray thoughts, and one's intention should not wander outward. Be relaxed without being unrestrained, and disciplined without being rigid. One must understand the original heart-mind and recognize principles, discard clever discriminating knowledge, and also avoid clinging to emptiness. Throughout the twelve periods (in ancient times, a full day and night was divided into twelve shichen, each lasting two hours), be constantly aware and keep each thought clear. Yet if one clings to maintaining this awareness, that too is unreasonable, and if one abandons present awareness, there is no way to enter the Dao. Understand the changes of movement and stillness, comprehend the pattern of coming and going, and let go of all affairs. When the heart holds no attachments or obstructions, one is a person at ease and unfettered. As for all kinds of words and teachings, none of them is ultimately the Dao. One must realize and discern it oneself.

The Master said: Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things. Heaven covers everything, and Earth bears everything. Would they distinguish between this one as good and that one as bad? Heaven and Earth equally cover, support, and illuminate all things. Therefore, those who occupy high positions have received the Mandate of Heaven to rule, and they should cover the people as Heaven does, nourishing, cherishing, and showing compassion to all who stand below them. They must not regard themselves as noble and others as lowly. Those who occupy lower positions have likewise received the Mandate of Heaven to serve, and they should be like Earth receiving Heaven, respecting and obeying those above them without the slightest negligence. Since one lives between Heaven and Earth, one must follow the Way of Heaven and Earth. Otherwise, one oversteps one's station and acts recklessly, and may bring down misfortune and punishment.

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) have no deficiency at the root, and in their work they concentrate their attention and intention. When they face external things and circumstances, they quickly let go of the past, and in their dealings with others they cling to nothing. Evil thoughts do not arise, and even the subtlest attachments do not remain. The mind is untainted by the dust of the world and remains clear and transparent. They cling neither to emptiness nor to existence, neither to the various dharma-appearances (the forms and concepts that things present) nor to their own views. They also gather the bright wisdom of the many and help one another over a long period, so that the inner and outer are fully integrated. In this way one reaches the state of the sages, and what doubt could remain?

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao, in advancing, retreating, moving, and stopping, accord with their own proper station, and in what they take and what they leave, they fit the actual circumstances. They lower their attachment to dharma-appearances and do not cling to their own views. They gather the bright wisdom of the many and help one another over a long period, so that the inner and outer are fully integrated. In this way one reaches the state of the sages, and what doubt could remain?

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao, in advancing, retreating, moving, and stopping, accord with their proper station, and in what they take and what they leave, they follow what the moment calls for. They take humility as their intention and centrality as their standard. They carefully examine the root from which thoughts arise and cease, restrain the use of eyes and ears toward the outside world, and cut off all their entanglements at once, holding single-mindedly to the true and constant mind of the Dao. When this is sustained over a long time, it will not change or decay.

The Master said: In their daily practice, Daoist practitioners should emulate Heaven and take Earth as their model. They keep constantly to stillness and purity, remaining clear and not murky, and they aid all things and benefit all beings. Even when they are immersed in the tangled dust of the world and its many circumstances, the true root within stays deeply still and at peace without interruption, and so they can be freed from the bondage of birth and death. This is a matter of great consequence and a rare karmic connection. Those who do not understand this are a pity. Their hearts have no master, desires and emotions invade from within, and the senses are lured by external things from without, so they cannot govern themselves. Thus they transmigrate through the four modes of birth (womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born) and wander through the six paths (gods, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell beings). Once they have changed bodies, they find it hard to have an opportunity to cultivate as they do today.

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao, if their hearts have no master, and desires and emotions invade from within while the senses are drawn out by external things, lose their self-mastery. Thus they transmigrate through the four modes of birth and wander through the six paths, and once they have changed bodies, it is hard for them to again find themselves in circumstances like today.

The Master said: Those who cultivate the Dao should hold to a simple, pure, and sincere heart, quietly communicate with the Dao, and transform in accord with it. They remove emotions and desires, diminishing some while preserving others. Toward all things they hold no private intent. In affairs they are clear and distinct, and they humble themselves and comply with others. They cultivate benevolence and nurture De (Virtue), removing even the slightest fault and accumulating even the finest good deeds. In the end, the distinctions of right and wrong dissolve, and they no longer cling to their own mind or to the methods they practice. Then they naturally attain a higher realm of cultivation.

The Master said: Practitioners who first left home to take up the religious life did so because life and death, and the matter of nature and life (xingming), are the great concerns of human existence. But as the years passed, they were gradually drawn away by external things and turned to learning all manner of skills meant only to impress others. They become proficient in everything, yet in the end all they do is serve others as servants, at their beck and call. Why do I say this? Those who want to display every skill before others are precisely those who are commanded by others, are they not? How could this be the practice of purity and Wuwei (non-action), of being one's own master? Thus it is said: "The clever are not commanded by the clever, while the dull can make use of the clever; the skillful are not manipulated by the skillful, while the simple and unpolished can put the skillful to work." For example, the eloquent speak without pause while the taciturn simply listen. Consider carefully: who is busy, and who is at leisure? To cultivate the Dao, one must be clear-minded yet hold fast to dullness and simplicity. In this way, all the wise and skillful people under heaven can be put to one's own use.

The Master said: The essential instructions passed down by the superior teacher (shangshi, a master who transmits profound methods of the Dao) and the true master accord secretly with Heaven's intent when put into practice. How could one cling to a single method and insist that this alone is the Dao? Judging by outward traces, the methods the ancients employed differed from one another, yet the subtle root and the numinous source have never differed. This is like the workings of the mind: in the eyes it appears as seeing, in the ears as hearing, in the mouth as speaking, in the heart as thinking, in the hands as grasping, and in the feet as walking. Though the functions differ, the substance of the mind is undifferentiated. Moreover, the secret meaning transmitted by the true master today is precisely what is called "a separate transmission outside the teachings" (jiao wai bie chuan, a method not bound by written doctrine but passed mind to mind). Words and thought cannot reach it, yet one who awakens will naturally attain it. This is the subtle wonder of the true master's secret transmission.

The Master said: The Dao I transmit is passed on in secret. It cannot be obtained through deliberate pursuit, nor through striving to attain a state of "no-mind." It is understood without one's knowing and attained in non-attainment. Deluded people in the world, however, take it to be something that can be obtained by external means...

The Master said: The Dao I transmit is profound and hidden. It cannot be sought through deliberate effort of the mind, nor can one fall into a state of seeking nothing at all. One must come to true knowing while not clinging to knowing, and attain true understanding while not clinging to what is gained. Deluded people in the world wish to seek the Dao through clothing, speech, bearing, or outward forms (faxiang), and none of them can grasp the full picture of the Great Dao. Know that the Dao has no fixed traces to follow, and that searching along outward traces does not reach the Dao. Pursue further where these traces come from, and one will understand that behind them lies a reality that does not belong to sound, form, contrivance, bearing, or outward appearance. This cannot be recognized through ordinary knowledge or discriminating thought.

This is the fundamental root that everyone inherently possesses, complete and real. It is united with Heaven, Earth, sages, spirits, and all things, and it is a matter of supreme significance. How could the dust of the mundane world and its various visible traces be allowed to obscure it, so that people thereby fail to see the Dao?

Danyang Zhenren (Perfected Master Danyang) said: "True joy and ease need no discussion, and the most subtle and profound principles cannot be grasped through deliberation and inquiry." Where one sets aside calculation and inquiry, one comes closer to the Dao.

The Master said: Those who have left home and dwell for long periods in the monastic community (conglin), where they receive instruction morning and evening and undergo constant refinement, may still grow careless and lax, stagnate, and see their resolve for the Dao gradually weaken, while worldly affairs multiply, conduct grows unrestrained, and stillness and emptiness cannot be maintained. How much more so for those who live in the mundane world and cultivate alone. Such people are easily moved by worldly feelings and entangled by the circumstances they cling to. Conditions that hinder the cultivation of the Dao are present everywhere, yet they fail to notice them. Even when sages counsel them, they may refuse to accept it and instead use all manner of pretexts to deceive the villagers. Gradually they sink, their blessings diminish, and their transgressions accumulate ever more deeply. If they turn back, they can still be saved. But if they follow worldly custom and turn away from the Dao, they will be hard to recover, and the hells will not be far off.

The Master said: Those who study the Dao should not weary of asking others for instruction. Travelers who often ask the way are less likely to lose their path. Even minor worldly skills are hard to master without a teacher's guidance, and the great matter of cultivating the Dao is far more so.

The Perfected said: Those who study the Dao should not weary of asking others for instruction. It is like a traveler on the road, who must often ask the way so as not to go astray. Even minor skills in the world cannot be learned without a teacher, so how much more is this true of the Dao, which cannot be seen or heard? If beginners do not meet an enlightened teacher, how can they come to understand its principles? The greatest suffering in human life is birth and death, and without drawing near to those who have cultivated themselves and attained the Way, how can one be freed from that suffering? Therefore it is said: "The ancients who studied the Dao were never careless. They served a true teacher until they grew old." If one does not know where to begin cultivation and does not draw near to those who have attained understanding, then even with sincere aspiration toward practice, one easily falls onto the wrong path and commits many errors.

The Perfected said: From antiquity, those who study the Dao have always been obliged to restrain themselves, benefit others, and quietly accumulate merit. If they indulge their desires and act contrary to principle, they will not only harm the reputation of the teaching but also bring calamity upon themselves. If they attend only to their own bodies and to the pleasures of food and drink, living without purity or frugality and differing in no way from ordinary people, then it is not fitting for them to enjoy the goods that the beings of the ten directions have laboriously provided. What is enjoyed in comfort today must be repaid in hardship tomorrow, and when birth and death arrive, there will be no way to refuse the debt. Since one has already entered the Way, why not cultivate one's own mind and nature?

Someone asked, "What is the purpose of Daoist practitioners staying awake all night?"

Wang Zhijin (Wang Zhijin) replied: "Practitioners of the Dao (Dao) stay awake to refine the mind and spirit (shen). If one does not gather in the thoughts of the mind, what good is staying awake? People who gamble or play chess, weave and spin, or labor at the millstone also often stay up all night. Could all of them have attained the Dao? These people are driven all day by a heart set on profit, attending only to wealth, so their mind and spirit are disturbed, like a mosquito biting the skin, and therefore they cannot sleep. Cultivators differ from them. Sleep is also a form of desire. If it is not transformed, it nurtures wicked thoughts and delusions, dims the mind and spirit, and drops one into a state of darkness. It is like guarding against thieves: if one sits upright and waits, the robbers retreat on their own. The cultivator concentrates on refining the mind, fearing that its thoughts will scatter and drift. The human mind has no fixed form. When it dwells in the brightness of yangming, it is clear; when it falls into darkness, it grows confused. When familiar external circumstances no longer entangle the thoughts, and one reaches wuwei (non-action) and stillness, the inner 'pearl of nature' (a metaphor for original nature) shines forth. This is the purpose of the cultivator's vigil day and night."

Someone asked, "Why are Daoist practitioners willing to endure poverty?"

Wang Zhijin replied: "If one regards only poverty, hunger, and cold as cultivation, then would not all the destitute and suffering people in the streets be immortals? Practitioners take De (Virtue) as their heart and stillness as their thought. They cast off deceit and falsehood, let go of greed and reckless desire, forget the body and the self, and never set their minds on external things. Thus there is the saying: 'Clothing need only cover the body and keep it warm; why choose between good and bad? Food need only fill the belly; why fuss over coarse or fine?' The cultivator focuses only on investigating life and death and refining the mind and spirit, and so does not take to heart the hardships the body endures."

Someone asked, “Do future sins and blessings really exist?”

The Perfected One replied, “Set aside what may happen in the future for now, and look only at what is before you. Suppose you form the thought of burning incense and bowing before a sacred image. Holding the incense, you pray in your heart, ‘May my family be safe, and may our blessings and years increase.’ If you are not sincerely intent on doing good and only hope to obtain blessings, then even if you receive them, you may not recognize them. Those who do good openly receive blessings in secret, and so they often do not realize they have been blessed.

“Suppose instead that you give rise to an evil thought and take a knife to kill someone. The moment that thought arises, you have already incurred the consequence of paying with your own life. Such a deed cannot be carried out in a place where everything is clear and impartial. If you commit the crime furtively, when no one is watching, it will soon come to light, and in the end you will still pay with your life. This does not mean that wishing for punishment brings punishment. It means that the consequences of such wrongdoing are unmistakable: those who do evil in secret will ultimately receive public retribution.

“This is a clear and inevitable principle in human affairs before our eyes. How much more, then, does Heaven observe what people do not know about? Where could anyone escape? Take this as a warning.”

Someone asked, “People have spoken of Heaven and Hell since ancient times. Do they really exist?”

Wang Zhijin replied, “Heaven is the realm of Yang, governing goodness and blessings; Hell is the realm of Yin, governing evil and calamity. When the ancients spoke of Heaven and Hell to teach people, they began with the thoughts and actions of the human heart. Our thoughts, conduct, and deeds correspond, in the unseen world, to the results they bring.

“Keeping a calm and pure mind, doing things that benefit others, practicing all kinds of good deeds, and remaining clear-minded rather than clouded belong to the realm of Yang. All kinds of evil deeds can lead people into an unrighteous state and set them on a crooked path; this belongs to the realm of Yin. Ignorance and darkness gradually grow, and every stain and impurity is entered in the black ledger. Rejected by humans and spirits alike, one suffers regret and distress within, is tormented by every kind of pain, and has no one to help. This is Hell.

“The ancients said, ‘A pure heart and a tranquil mind are the road to Heaven; a troubled heart and a disordered mind open the gate to Hell.’ It is like traveling through the mountains. Suppose you hear that murderous bandits are waylaying and harming travelers there. If you believe the warning and turn back, you will not be harmed afterward. If you do not believe it and press on while drunk, then once you reach the mountains, you may be fine if there are no bandits. But if there really are bandits, you will fall into their hands, and by then it will be too late for regret. The teaching about Heaven and Hell follows the same principle.

“In general, doing good is better than doing evil. Even if you receive no reward for doing good, what fault is there in that? But if you insist on taking the evil path, calamity will come. The truth is clear before our eyes, yet people still refuse to change their ways and repent. How much less can anyone know in advance what awaits in the shadowy realm beyond?”

Someone asked, “People often say that everyone inherently possesses the fundamental root that leads upward. Why, then, must it be further refined?”

The reply was: “Before the ordinary mind—the mind obscured by delusive thoughts and ingrained habits—has been refined, it is like platinum in ore: unsmelted, it is merely a stubborn rock. Put it into a great furnace and burn away its impurities, and the true gold can be separated out. Once refined, it is no longer ore.

“Cultivators are the same. They should regard the mind that was once clouded and burdened by defilement as stubborn ore. Let steadfast resolve be the force that works upon it, and wisdom’s illumination the craft of the smelter. Refine it diligently, leaving not a trace of impurity, until the original, unobstructed true mind emerges. Once the true mind appears, it is no longer a false, deluded mind. Then guard it and preserve it securely, and you will be able to draw upon it yourself. This is the timeless, perfectly luminous, priceless jewel.

“Someone asked, ‘If one reaches a state of purity and Wuwei (non-action), does that count as complete realization?’

“The reply was: ‘From the standpoint of the fundamental nature, it may seem so, but in fact it is not. The true and precise state cannot be explained in words or reached through thought. It cannot be known through ordinary cognition or discerned by discriminating consciousness. It transcends words and names; only then does one accord with it. It is neither movement nor stillness, yet it is not apart from movement and stillness. How, then, could it be defined as “non-action” or “purity and stillness”?’”

Someone asked, “I once heard that Master Danyang attained the Dao very quickly because he realized death. What does that mean?”

The reply was, “A practitioner should regard their own body as that of a condemned prisoner being led to the execution ground, each step bringing them closer to death. By keeping death in mind, they can let go of their attachments one by one. Even when surrounded by sights, sounds, and all manner of distractions, their eyes are not drawn to them, nor are their ears stirred by them. Gradually, every thought is released. They can even relinquish this body—how much more so everything else? In this way, they temper their nature, and the results come quickly. To transcend the turning point between life and death is to no longer be ruled by life and death. Those just beginning to study the Dao and seeking liberation from birth and death should contemplate in this way. Human life is brief: if one breath fails to come, one has reached death. Devote yourself wholeheartedly to practice; cultivate diligently and make steady progress. Cast off ordinary thoughts, help yourself and others, and save one another without delay or slackness.”

Someone asked, “If the mind is free of attachment, and one opens one’s heart and goes along with circumstances, does this accord with the Dao?”

The reply was, “If you deliberately try not to be attached, that intention is itself an attachment. If you tell yourself that your mind is unstained, you are still attached to ‘being unstained.’ The moment you try to make yourself quiet, you have already fallen into conscious thought. To indulge yourself and follow external things at will can also lead to mistaken views. Freedom from stain and attachment is only a medicine for treating an illness. When there is no illness, the medicine should be put away; if you keep taking it after you recover, the medicine itself will become an illness. Only when the paths of speech, thought, and inquiry have all come to an end have you truly arrived. Then there is no need to ask again about the methods of practice.”

The master said, “The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; one can only point out good and evil. By doing good, you can establish the highest conditions for transcending the world and may ascend to heaven, without falling into hell. By doing evil, you will sink into boundless suffering, fall into hell, and be separated from heaven. People take these two paths because they are either deluded or awakened: the awakened can become sages in an instant, while the deluded remain sunk for a long time. Since you have been fortunate enough to receive a human body, how can you fail to think seriously about this?”

The master said: Sages and ordinary people walk the same path; the only difference is whether the mind is clear or clouded. When the mind is clear, one can become a sage; when it is clouded, one is an ordinary person. Ordinary people are unwilling to cut away private attachments and let go of fixations, unwilling to abandon delusions and dispel false thoughts. So they are led by external circumstances and tossed about by their emotions. They seek only a moment’s pleasure in the present, yet accumulate long-lasting troubles. They neither reflect nor think, and so cannot awaken.

The master said: Those who cultivate the Dao must first understand the fundamental methods of the Dao they practice, and then grasp the principles of instruction and transformation. Without understanding the fundamental methods, they are like people without eyes who cannot distinguish the road and go astray as soon as they take a step. Without understanding the principles of instruction and transformation, they are like people who can see but sit in darkness, easily falling into rigidity and self-righteousness. Only by understanding both can they respond with ease and balance. If they understand neither, they are like people who sit in deep darkness without eyes: when will they ever find their way out?

Someone asked: “Daoists often speak of the Golden Elixir. What exactly is it?”

The master replied: “A person’s original true nature is the Golden Elixir. True nature is perceptive and lucid, able to transform and flow freely; that is why it is called ‘gold.’ Through cultivation it becomes complete and whole, and cannot be destroyed even after ten thousand kalpas; that is why it is called an ‘elixir.’ Its essential nature is like empty space: clear and transparent within and without, attached to nothing, untouched by worldly thoughts. It shines with light and can respond to things in countless ways. The patriarch said: ‘Original true nature is called the Golden Elixir. Take the body, made of the “four provisional elements,” as the furnace and refine it into a single whole. Untouched by external things and undrawn by deluded thoughts, it refines itself naturally, and one ascends to the realm of the immortals.’ Here, the ‘four provisional elements’ means that the body is made up of conditions that come together temporarily and are not constant or unchanging.

If people understand the Golden Elixir as something manufactured from physical substances, or associate it with sexual desire, they have fallen into a mistaken view that leads to hell, as well as into licentious conduct. Such a view violates human relationships and will ultimately lead to rebirth among the animal and other nonhuman forms of existence.

The master said: Those who study the Dao should deeply investigate and fully comprehend the place where they are not burdened by the myriad affairs, untouched by the many worldly thoughts, and able to communicate with Heaven and Earth. Once they achieve this, they can act ahead of the timing of Heaven without Heaven opposing them; acting in accordance with Heaven’s timing, they can also follow the Way of Heaven. If even Heaven does not oppose them, how much less will people and spirits?

Someone asked, “If we can fully examine and understand a state in which matters unrelated to oneself and the troubles of the worldly realm cannot touch us, and a state in which we are connected with Heaven and Earth, can we then ‘act before Heaven’s time, and Heaven will not oppose us; act in accord with Heaven’s time, and we will follow the Way of Heaven; if even Heaven does not oppose us, how much less will people and spirits oppose us’?”

Someone asked, “What is the mysterious?” The master replied, “Who made you ask this question?” The person clasped his hands and said, “It is a question I came up with myself.” The master said, “If so, you already understand it yourself.” The person smiled and bowed.

Someone asked, “If we do not regret the past or worry in advance about the future, what should we do in the present?” The master replied, “Let deluded activity come to rest, but do not extinguish awareness—the clear and alert mind. Also understand: who is letting deluded activity come to rest? Once you understand, the initiative is in your hands; whether to let it rest is up to you.”

Someone asked, “Setting aside the mind of the past and the mind of the future, what is the mind of the present?” The master looked straight at him and said, “This is not the present.” Then he lowered his head and said, “This is not the present.” He went on to ask, “Do you understand?” The person smiled and said, “I do not understand.” The master said, “With your eyes wide open, you cannot even understand a single ‘present’—so what can you say about the past and the future?”

Someone asked, “What are misfortune and good fortune?” The master replied, “A great deal of wood becomes a forest; a great deal of stone becomes a mountain; a great deal of water becomes a sea. Good deeds accumulate into good fortune; evil deeds accumulate into misfortune. The source of good fortune and misfortune lies within the mind itself; it only becomes apparent after things have accumulated. How could we fail to be cautious?”

Someone asked, “What are good and evil?” The master replied, “Every thought that arises from good intentions is good; every thought that harbors resentment is evil. Goodness unknown to others is great goodness; evil unknown to others is great evil. If you can keep neither good nor evil in mind, there is a still higher state.”

Someone asked, “Ordinary people fall ill, and Dao cultivators fall ill too. What is the difference between them?”

The master replied, “In the past, when Master Danyang—the Quanzhen patriarch Ma Yu—was ill, physicians could not discern his pulse. Huqiu Ziyuan sat upright, yet even a physiognomist could not see his true condition. Why was this so? His mind was not stirred by external things, so the changes of Creation could not sway him. His original nature did not depart from its root; even when he settled into emptiness and stillness, spirits and ghosts could not fathom him, let alone ordinary physicians and diviners. This is the difference between Dao cultivators and ordinary people.”

The master said, “If practitioners have not opened true insight or brought forth a supple, responsive capacity, but only search for answers in other people’s conduct and endlessly ponder their words, they will never get anywhere. It is like a person without sight who hears others say that the sun and moon shine, yet can never see them with their own eyes and can only imagine them. This is because they have not worked on their own mind.”

Someone asked, “When circumstances are active or still, what is the proper way to be?”

The master replied, “As long as your own mind is clear and still, even amid crowds and the clamor of a busy marketplace, do not take the turmoil outside as your own concern. Let everything around you bustle and stir while your heart remains as if alone in a quiet room, empty and unencumbered. Conversely, even in a secluded room in the countryside, with no one around, be as though standing at a crossroads in the presence of the holy immortals, and do not allow even the slightest deluded thought to arise. If you can do this, neither an active setting nor a still one will hinder you. What else could there be to confuse you?”

Someone asked, “If we are told to ‘blend with the light and mingle with the dust’—to join the world and live among others—and also told not to cling to things, how should we understand this?”

The master replied, “Heaven is heaven, earth is earth, mountains are mountains, and waters are waters. Each thing remains what it is, and I remain myself. Even while living in harmony with all things, how could I become entangled in them or cling to them?”

Someone asked, “The forms of all things are different. How can we regard them as one?” Perfected Wang replied, “Heaven is the Dao, Earth is the Dao, and all things are the Dao. That thing is the Dao, and this thing is the Dao too. Though their forms differ, the Dao is everywhere. How can they be said to be different from one another?”

Someone asked, “Everyone seeks happiness, yet those who cultivate the Dao seem to endure hardship. Why is that?” Perfected Wang replied, “People in the world do not understand what true happiness is. They think that whatever their hearts desire is happiness, so desire leads them into suffering, which they mistake for pleasure. Every day they worry and scheme, pursuing worldly comforts. When they cannot obtain them, they grow anxious and distressed, and their minds are never at ease. This is the greatest suffering of all. Those who study the Dao do not pursue worldly pleasures; instead, they hold fast to the Great Dao in their hearts. When they encounter hardship, they are not overcome by it. Free from distress, they can remain joyful and inwardly at ease. Any happiness bound up with craving brings suffering with it; without that happiness, the corresponding suffering also falls away. True happiness comes when the heart is moved neither by suffering nor by pleasure.”

Someone asked, “How can one transcend sin, blessing, and karmic cause and effect?” Perfected Wang replied, “Sin, blessing, and karmic cause and effect belong to the realm formed by Yin and Yang. If you can go beyond the realm of Yin and Yang, even the distinction of happiness disappears.”

Someone asked, “How can one escape the power of sin, merit, and karma?” Wang Zhijin replied, “Sin, merit, and karma all belong to the outer shell of Yin-Yang. If you can go beyond this shell, you will no longer be constrained by sin, merit, and karma.

“What is the shell of Yin-Yang? If even the slightest selfish thought, deviant idea, greedy desire for profit, or evil intention arises in your heart, you fall on the Yin side. If even the slightest good thought arises, you fall on the Yang side. On the Yin side, you will receive an evil consequence; on the Yang side, a good one. But if you have cultivated your nature so that your mind is like empty space, attached neither to good nor evil and free of even the slightest concern, and if you can truly be master of yourself, then neither calamity nor blessing can befall you, and karma cannot constrain you. Only such a person can be said to have gone beyond the shell of Yin-Yang.

“If a householder has never had even one good thought, and spends every hour of the day thinking only of making money and pursuing profit, fighting to the death for gain and harming others, with a heart filled by the dark, ignorant deeds of evil karma, then he is trapped within the shell of Yin-Yang. He cannot even reach the good side—how could he possibly escape the shell of Yin-Yang? Is it not difficult to be free of sin, merit, and karma? You have created all this yourself; how could you escape it? So all you can do is bow your head, close your eyes, and leave yourself to Lord Yan (Yanluo Wang, the deity who presides over judgment in the underworld).”

Someone asked, “What exactly happens when a person is reborn in a future life?” The reply was, “A person [the original text ends here]—how could he escape it? So all he can do is bow his head, close his eyes, and leave himself to Lord Yan.”

Someone asked, “What exactly happens when one is reborn in a future life?”

The Perfected One replied, “In this life, your desires and actions shape a ‘mold’ for your next life. Good deeds form a good mold; evil deeds form an evil one. When the body that bears the results of this life comes to an end, your innate nature leaves this body, like pig iron melted into molten iron and poured by the Creator into the mold you have made. You may then be born as a human or as an animal. You reap what you have sown. Does the Creator intend for you to become an animal or fall into the six realms of transmigration, the six destinations through which beings cycle? No. The mold you have made throughout your life carries you to the corresponding destination, and you cannot escape it. The nature comes first, and the corresponding form takes shape from it. For example, a cruel person may become a snake, a miserly person a dog, a lustful and murderous person a pig, and a greedy, violent person a wolf. That is roughly how it works. The forms in Heaven and Earth are countless, beyond all telling, but each is the result of one’s own actions. The ancients said, ‘What is akin to metal and stone becomes metal and stone; what is akin to water and fire becomes water and fire.’ This is indeed true. The human body can be lost in an instant; once you lose human form, even after ten thousand kalpas it is hard to regain. Why not reflect on this while you still can?”

Someone asked, “I am now old and frail and can no longer study much. I beg you, Master, to tell me one unsurpassed and supremely subtle truth.”

The Perfected One replied, “Let go of the mind that seeks unsurpassed and supremely subtle truths. That is it.”

Someone asked, “Schools throughout the world are founding religious traditions, each with different teachings. They accuse one another of heterodoxy and argue over which is orthodox and which is deviant. I do not know which school, if any, truly follows the right Way.”

The reply was, “There are two aspects to this matter: cultivating oneself and dealing with worldly affairs. A practitioner should make the heart-mind as tranquil as Heaven and Earth, as clear as the sun and moon, and as naturally turning as the four seasons. They should be able to handle all kinds of affairs well while returning to the root. There is no need to press further into what higher realms may be like. To achieve these things is the function of the orthodox Way, and only a true practitioner can do so.

“If someone merely recites scriptures aloud, or dresses in the prescribed way and puts on all sorts of respectable, pleasing appearances, these are only the outward leaves and blossoms a religious tradition displays to meet the needs of the world. What do they have to do with cultivation or the right Way? Such practices are no more than expedient means. And if someone still quarrels over self and others, wealth and profit, no different from ordinary people, how can they claim that the teaching they follow is orthodox? Anyone who understands the matter can discern this for themselves.”