《洗髓经》

General Meaning

I have heard that the Buddha spoke to Subhuti in these words: only after the Yijin practice has been completed may one cultivate this method. It is called the “Bell of the Still Night,” and practicing it does not interfere with daily life. By day one may be busy seeking clothing and food; once the three meals are finished and ordinary affairs have been properly settled, one sees the stars rise in the evening, lights a lamp to brighten the dark room, and, when the evening practice is done, prepares to rest and sleep.

Everyone else snores loudly, forgetting the matter of birth and death; only the one who understands remains alone and alert, cultivating in the darkness of the deep night. He touches his own body and sighs that another night has passed and one more day of life is gone. Impermanence comes swiftly; a person is like a fish in shallow water, in a perilous situation. Clearly one ought to find a way to save oneself: when will merit and wisdom be fully accumulated? The Four Kindnesses (the kindness of parents, of sentient beings, of the land and nation, and of the Three Jewels) have not yet been repaid; the Four Conditions (the conditions on which cultivation depends) have not yet been left behind; the Four Wisdoms (the four kinds of wisdom of the Buddha) have not yet appeared; and the Three Lives (past, present, and future) have not yet been brought back into one.

Quietly contemplating the Dharma realm, one finds within it the Four Modes of Birth (womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born) and the Three Existences (beings in the Three Realms). The six sense faculties and the six sense objects are mutually entangled. The Five Aggregates (the five factors that make up the person and experience) and the Three Paths (hell, hungry ghosts, and animals) are all within it, together with gods, humans, and asuras. Beings of the Six Paths each hasten toward a different destination. Ultimate truth and conventional truth (the Two Truths) have not yet been harmonized, and the Six Perfections (the six methods of bodhisattva practice) have not yet been fulfilled. One sees, and yet it is not true seeing; ignorance (the delusion that obscures true nature) has not yet ceased; the eye of the Dao (the Way)—the wisdom-eye that penetrates truth—is not yet clear and pure; and cultivation has not yet matured.

How can one recognize and depart from false views, and comprehend the principle of nirvana? If one can see without clinging to what is seen, one can reach the place that seeing cannot reach. A space as narrow as a snail’s horn can contain a great thousand-world universe, and even a scorched eye can hold Mount Sumeru. If one remains always in a dull state, as if drunk or dreaming, both time and life are spent in vain; one then wanders through birth and death and sinks into the boundless sea of suffering. Moved by great compassion, the Tathagata expounded this Xisui Jing (Marrow-Washing Scripture).

One should practice it after cultivating the Yijin Jing (Muscle-Tendon Changing Classic), whenever the night is deep and still: the two eyes gather in the radiance of Shen (spirit), the breath through the nose is fine and subtle, and the abdomen is relaxed and empty—just suited to drawing in clear and harmonious Qi (vital energy). On the new moon and the full moon (the first and the fifteenth of the lunar month), at the first and last quarters (the lunar phases around the beginning and the middle of the month), and at the spring and autumn equinoxes and the summer and winter solstices, one must take care to regulate oneself. At the zi and wu hours one keeps stillness and cultivates the practice; at the mao and you hours one performs dry bathing (a method of regulation in which the body is rubbed with the hands).

Everything is fashioned by the mind, and the refining of Shen returns at last to emptiness and stillness. One should constantly maintain clear, wakeful awareness and not be bound by drowsiness. Every night is like this, and one persists day after day. Only when the mind within is empty and still can it receive; eating to excess is not suitable. Be modest and gentle with others, protect the body, and strictly avoid malignant illness and foul Qi. Using this body to cultivate the true, one must care for the Four Great Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind—the four factors that constitute the body). Softness and humble withdrawal help preserve oneself; violence and overbearing force easily invite disaster.

To cross a river one uses a raft, and upon reaching the farther shore one should set it down. Cultivation, too, must understand this principle: the pattern by which creative transformation brings things into being proceeds gradually from the subtle to the manifest. A single sentence in the Jing (scripture) lays bare the secret of Heaven, yet one must still advance step by step and savor it carefully. With time it naturally comes to completion; one cannot hope to ascend to heaven in a single bound. Attainment has a definite term—about three years, nine years, or a more unhurried twelve years of cultivation—until at last one can thoroughly understand the principle of transformation and coming-into-being. It will not exceed this term.

When the ground of the mind is empty and luminous, body and mind transform of themselves, and action may be free and at ease. Nothing obstructs; all is perfectly interfused and penetrating, and contemplation proceeds with ease. Whether hidden or manifest, one delivers and transforms sentient beings according to conditions, and in a snap of the fingers transcends the delusion that has continued since beginningless time. In this way one repays the four great kindnesses and forever escapes the suffering of falling into the Three Paths.

Those of later generations who obtain this Jing should uphold it as the guiding principle of cultivation. Choose suitable persons to whom to transmit it, charge them solemnly, and do not regard it lightly.

Chapter One: Beginningless Concentrated Qi

Within the universe there is a supreme truth, yet it is difficult truly to grasp it by the ear’s hearing or the eye’s seeing alone. Whatever can be intuitively realized is bound up with primordial Qi (vital energy). If Qi lacks the guidance of principle (li), it cannot circulate; if principle lacks Qi, it has no means of appearing. Principle and Qi join one another and are originally a single whole; even when viewed separately, they cannot be parted. They move without cease and without obstruction, and the myriad things all depend on them in order to live. The power of Qi can pierce metal and give form to stone, and it can also course together with water and fire, neither impeding the other. Such is the relation between principle and Qi.

Within the stirring of life lies hidden the turning point of decline, and within decline there is also the sense of new birth. Principle takes effect by means of Qi, while Qi takes principle as its root. From the root, function can be displayed; from function, the root can also be sought. If one says that it is neither root nor function, then neither root nor function can be established; if one says that it is neither principle nor Qi, a single phrase lays bare the secret workings of Heaven. Even when one has climbed to the top of a hundred-foot pole, one must still take a further step; tracing matters back to the origin, one finds that this so-called origin itself has no absolute beginning. Only when the meaning in this has been grasped may one speak of the Xisui (Marrow Washing).

Chapter Two: The Provisional Union of the Four Great Elements

Primordial Qi, long diffused and gathered, transforms and gives rise to water, fire, and earth. Water issues from the summit of the Kunlun Mountains, flows toward the four directions, and settles into low-lying places. In quiet sitting, warmth arises in the body; water inherently contains the working of fire, and when damp Qi and hot Qi steam upward, they form rain and dew. Water, fire, and earth nurture human beings and the myriad things, so that the world is nourished.

When water remains clear, still, and settled for a long time, it becomes earth; fire is the warming action of Qi. The human body is like a small heaven and earth, and among the myriad things nothing can compare with it. Yet this body is only a form produced through transformation. In the end it is a portion dispersed from primordial Qi, and it does not truly belong to an “I”: once the bodily form dissolves, it returns to the Great Void (Taixu, the vast and formless origin). What is called life is not a life that is solid and unchanging; what is called death is not a death that is solid and unchanging. How long, after all, can the bodily form endure? After a person has grown old, heaven and earth remain as before.

By means of the form that has taken shape for a time, one may realize the true origin; after one has gone beyond it, one can leave the limits of the ordinary world. To penetrate the Xisui Jing (Marrow-Washing Classic) is to apprehend the truth of life without end. Without false appearances, the real cannot be shown; the real and the false interpenetrate, and there is no absolute boundary. One should contemplate in this way: the real and the false are not two things. The Four Great Elements (the basic constituents—earth, water, fire, wind, and the like—that make up the human body and the myriad things) gather for a time into form; who can divide them with absolute clarity?

Chapter Three: The Ordinary and the Holy Share One Return

Ordinary people often take false appearances for reality. They dress the body in splendid clothes, concerned only that others should see them, and they pursue fine food day after day; most people are like this. Busy from morning to night, they have no leisure to attend to the great matter of life and death, and are forever drawn along by fame and profit. Then one day the spirit (Shen) disperses, like lamp oil spent and the flame gone out, and the body too is buried in a wilderness grave. After death the spirit-soul seems seized by a dream, undergoing every kind of suffering and trapped in an endless realm of illusion.

The sage alone discerns what truly matters. Wearing plain cloth and eating simple food, he does not crave material desires in order to preserve himself—how then could he be entangled by the desires of the body and of mouth and belly? He realizes that heaven and earth and his own person are originally one. Although bodies differ in great and small, the working of luminous clarity is no different.

Heaven and earth have the sun and moon; the human body has two eyes. The sun and moon are sometimes dim and sometimes bright, and starlight and lamplight shine in their turn as well. Even if both starlight and lamplight are extinguished, the innate capacity to perceive one’s nature never disappears. Even if one becomes blind, a hand put forth can still touch one’s own nose: the whole body is as if all eyes, and whatever is touched is known for what it is. This is the luminous clarity of the mind; it embraces heaven and earth. It can see without relying on the eyes, and hear without relying on the ears.

If the mind can be pure and undisturbed, not pressed by craving and desire, one can know where one originally came from and also return to one’s original destination. Ordinary people and sages alike have eyes set side by side and noses set upright; their bodies are not of two kinds. Yet although they come into the world together, their destinations differ, because ordinary people constantly chase outward. If one can gather back scattered thoughts and always keep life and death in mind, then, while the body is still sound, one should rouse the spirit and apply oneself with diligence. Refining body and mind in this way and returning to the origin, ordinary people and sages can at last return to one and the same path.

Chapter Four: The Unity of Things and Self (“the unity of things and self” means that external things and one’s own person are originally one body)

All things, at the most fundamental level, are not isolated individuals cut off from one another; rather, they and I arise from one and the same body. The myriad things appear in different forms, assist one another, and together bring about the growth of life and its vitality.

To live, people cannot do without all kinds of things: clothing, food, medicine, and implements. If any one of these is lacking, life is incomplete. Birds that fly, fish that swim, animals, and plants—every kind of living being is put to human use. Heaven and Earth transform and nurture the myriad things; how vast is their grace! To take life without cause is an act of cruelty and perversity.

Creatures such as mayflies, mosquitoes, and flies are born in the morning and die by evening. Turtles, cranes, elk, and deer—some eat little, and some rely on fuqi (in Daoist cultivation, the practice of regulating the breath and nourishing the body with Qi, vital energy)—yet they can live for many years. Why, then, should human beings fall short of these animals? They think only of greedily seeking clothing and food, and forget that life must come to an end. If one can cut off greed and desire, the myriad things and oneself may be regarded as a single body.

Chapter Five: Walking, Abiding, Sitting, and Reclining (on methods of cultivation in the daily round of walking, remaining in place, sitting, lying down, and other aspects of ordinary life; the fifth chapter)

When walking, one should be as cautious as a blind person without a staff, turning inward to observe one’s own mind and nature. Lift the foot low and slowly, and step forward only after it is planted firmly. Take every step in this way, constantly reminding oneself not to hurry. The roads of the world are rushed, and mistakes come easily; only by slowing one’s pace can one preserve safety and peace.

When standing still, one should be like a horse nearing a cliff, and like a boat that has already reached shore. At once draw back the mind and spirit (Shen), reflect on the present moment, and clearly recognize the place where one has stopped. Thoughts should not leave this moment, nor be pulled away by outside affairs. When it is time to stop, one must know to stop, and give full attention to guarding the emptiness and stillness within. Stand with the body steady and do not lean; when one’s bearing is upright, the body naturally grows calm and settled. Let the ears and eyes quiet together with the mind, like still water and a bright mirror, untouched by the disturbances of the outer world. Although things are many and tangled, they all appear in the present; so long as the mind is not scattered, one can discern them clearly in the moment itself.

When sitting, one should be as steady as a hill, with the body upright and the expression solemn. Close the mouth, hold the tongue still, and breathe naturally through the nose. With each breath, let the breath return to the lower Dantian (energy center)—the place used in Daoist internal cultivation to store and nurture Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). When the breath is full, one’s spirit naturally becomes abundant. The scripture (Jing) says that the breath circulates throughout the bones and moistens the marrow; if one wishes Shen and Qi to manifest outwardly, one must first enter stillness and come to rest.

When lying down to sleep, one may curl on one’s side in the shape of a winnowing basket; lying on either the left or the right is acceptable. The knees are set one before the other, and the feet are bent like hooks; the hands rest naturally on the abdomen, lightly touching the navel and the lower belly. The scripture also mentions rubbing the testicles at the proper time, described as the posture of “a dragon playing with a pearl.” When drowsiness comes, one turns onto one’s side and falls asleep, and even in sleep the mind and spirit do not grow confused. After waking, one may then straighten the legs; lying face upward need not be held to as a rigid rule either.

Only when the mind and spirit remain settled both in dreams and while awake, and only after long practice, can one be said truly to have verified the principle within. In this way one can pass beyond the threshold of birth and death and realize the ultimate intent of the Tathagata. Walking, standing, sitting, and lying—these four ordinary daily bearings—are regarded in this chapter as the true essence of cultivation.

“Washing the Marrow and Returning to the Origin,” Section Six

After completing the practice of the Yijinjing (Classic of Transforming the Sinews), the body becomes as robust as a vajra. Pathogenic influences from outside can scarcely invade, and food and drink do not readily accumulate and stagnate. One must still guard carefully, however, lest emotions such as joy, anger, worry, and brooding injure body and mind and leave the original Shen (spirit) unable to settle. Even when the outward form is already like a vajra, the body remains in essence flesh and blood. One should therefore continue to cultivate according to the method of the Xisuijing (Classic of Washing the Marrow): eat a little less, and practice regulating the breath more often.

Rub and massage the body, performing a dry bath (rubbing the body with the hands, without water); press and knead the eyes and the nose, then stroke the face and rub and turn the ears. The number of times need not be fixed. Close the eyes and contemplate in stillness, yet still remember that one is a body of flesh and blood. Cultivate also according to the method of the Xisuijing: eat a little less, and practice regulating the breath more often.

After the eyes are closed, often rest the gaze upon the tip of the nose. Keep the lips closed and let the nose breathe naturally, quietly evening out the rhythm of the breath. When the body settles, thought and spirit settle as well.

Each day rise at the fifth watch (about three to five in the morning), breathe out turbid Qi (vital energy), and breathe in the clear. After opening the eyes, first relieve oneself, and do not cling to sleep. Spread a thick mat, sit cross-legged, and loosen the belt. Let the right knee enclose the left, regulate the breath, and rest the tip of the tongue against the upper palate. Let the breath move through the flanks and abdomen, and stir the weilü (the lower end of the spine); sway the shoulders and press the abdomen with the hands. Part the hands and bring them together, press down and lift, then secure both hands in a firm grip and set them upon the knees.

Let the breath entering and leaving through the nose be fine, slow, and continuous, as if sinking all the way into the depths of the abdomen. When fluid gathers in the mouth, swallow it down in succession, and guide it into the abdomen with intention. Tap the upper and lower teeth together, then cover the ears with both hands and sound them (that is, beating the heavenly drum, ming tiangu). Place both hands on the navel, straighten the legs, and work the toes, the breath coming and going six times each. When the massage with the hands is finished, wait a little while and then sit cross-legged again. Hold the body upright and stamp both feet, and the practice of the Xisuijing is complete. Then rise slowly, and move only once the steps are steady. Haste makes error easy, so one should walk at an unhurried pace.

Persist for three years and for nine, stilling stray thoughts and washing away mental cares, so that the practice enters deep into the bones and soaks into the marrow, as if one had cast off the bonds of bodily form and ascended. Gradually one reaches a state of seamless union with the Dao (the Way) of Heaven, and at last arrives at the ultimate realm.

At the end a verse is given: speak little with the mouth, worry little in the heart, eat little in the belly, and one will naturally sleep little. Accomplish these four “littles,” and one may pursue long life.