《玄真子》

The Xuanzhenzi is a Daoist work written by Zhang Zhihe during the Tang dynasty. His courtesy name was Zitong, and he was from Wuzhou. He was first named Zhang Guiling. During the reign of Emperor Suzong of Tang, he passed the examination in the Classics and entered the Hanlin Academy as an attendant scholar. Later, he was convicted of an offense and demoted to assistant magistrate of Nanpu County. After receiving an amnesty, he withdrew to a life among rivers and lakes, where he remained until his death. He called himself “Fisherman of the Misty Waters” and also used the name “Xuanzhenzi.” His life is recorded in the “Biographies of Recluses” in the New Book of Tang and in Shen Fen’s Continuation of the Biographies of Immortals. Some of the accounts are quite strange and were probably embellished by people eager to tell a good story. In reality, he was likely a man who valued detachment and withdrawal, and sought to preserve himself.

According to the Explanations of the Titles in the Bibliographic Record, the Xuanzhenzi originally comprised twelve volumes. By the time of Chen Zhensun, only three volumes remained, and the work was already incomplete. The present edition contains only three pieces—“Bixu,” “Yuezhuo,” and “The Spirit of the Waves”—combined into one volume, which differs again from Chen Zhensun’s account. It is possible that in the edition available then, each piece counted as a volume. The ideas in the book are broadly similar to those in Ge Hong’s Outer Chapters of the Baopuzi, though its prose is less ornate.

The Tianyinzi was also written during the Tang dynasty, but its author is unknown. A preface by Sima Chengzhen appears at the beginning, so the work must date from the reign of Wu Zetian. Both Chao Gongwu and Chen Zhensun suspected that Sima Chengzhen had written it under another person’s name. However, Sima Chengzhen had already written the Treatise on Sitting in Oblivion under his own name, so he may not have needed to attribute this work to someone else. The Tianyinzi consists of eight pieces: “Immortals,” “Simplicity,” “Gradual Stages,” “Purification and Abstinence,” “Dwelling at Ease,” “Visualization,” “Sitting in Oblivion,” and “Spiritual Understanding.” The Record of Reading states that one edition appended a “Method of the Three Palaces” at the end, but it is absent from this edition and may have been lost during copying. The book is very short and was not originally long enough to form a volume on its own. Since its author lived around the same time as the author of the Xuanzhenzi, it was appended to that work and classified with it.

The Wunengzi consists of three volumes and gives no author’s name. Its preface says it was written in the third year of the Guangqi era, when the emperor was in Bao, so the author must have lived during the reign of Emperor Xizong of Tang. The Song dynasty’s Comprehensive Catalog of the Chongwen Library classifies it as a Daoist work. Chao Gongwu’s Record of Reading says the book has thirty pieces and expounds the natural Way of Laozi and Zhuangzi. The edition now available, however, contains thirty-four pieces, and several pieces are marked as missing in the upper, middle, and lower volumes. This suggests that the work may originally have contained more than thirty-four pieces. Perhaps only the titles were present at the time, without their texts: the author intended to write them but did not finish, and so left the titles listed but empty.

The Bibliography of Tang Literary Works identifies the author as a recluse of the Guangqi era, but the preface says, “I do not state my name” and “I have traveled in official service,” which indicates that he was not a recluse. The book draws heavily on the ideas of the Zhuangzi and the Liezi, and also incorporates Buddhist teachings. Both its writing and its reasoning are rather shallow. Still, few books handed down from the Tang dynasty survive today, so this work has been retained in accordance with the old edition and placed in the Daoist category.

Respectfully collated in the tenth month of the forty-sixth year of the Qianlong reign. The chief compilers were Ji Yun, Lu Xixiong, and Sun Shiyi; the chief proofreader was Lu Feichi.

Zhang Zhihe of the Tang dynasty wrote Xuanzhenzi. His courtesy name was Zitong, and he was from Wuzhou. His father, Zhang Youchao, was well versed in the Zhuangzi and the Liezi. He wrote pieces such as “Xiangwang” and “Baima” to explain their teachings. Zhang Zhihe was originally named Guiling. At sixteen, he passed the examination in the Confucian classics. Later, he presented policy essays to Emperor Suzong of Tang, who greatly admired him and appointed him as a Scholar-in-Attendance at the Hanlin Academy, granting him the name “Zhihe.” He later fell into disgrace over an incident and was demoted to the post of commandant at Nanpu. After receiving an amnesty and returning, he left office following the deaths of his parents and made his home among rivers and lakes, calling himself “the angler amid mist and waves.” He wrote this three-volume work in a free-flowing, expansive style reminiscent of the Zhuangzi and the Liezi. He was an extraordinary figure. Li Deyu once praised him: “He was renowned in seclusion, yet sought no accomplishments when he rose to prominence. Whether in hardship or in success, he remained at ease with himself, and could be compared to Yan Guang.”

“Azure Void”: The Azure Void, the vast blue-green sky, stretches far into the distance and is difficult to fathom. It is as if a turning wheel revolves in the heavens, while deep pools circle and drift across the earth. The bright red sun follows its course through the sky, bringing heat when it reaches the Well Lodge, a lunar mansion, and cold when it reaches the Dipper Lodge, another lunar mansion. Thus the seasons turn, and all things change with them. These phenomena are one aspect of Creation, the transforming activity through which Heaven and Earth nurture all things, but they are not its foundation.

Wuya says: The turning changes in the sky, the circling and drifting on the earth, the sun’s course, the alternation of heat and cold, the cycle of the seasons, and the changes in all things are expressions of Creation, but not its source.

Wuya spoke with Bianbo about Heaven and Earth. Wuya said, “The sovereign of the Yellow Outskirts is called Zhibei, the sovereign of the Purple Ramparts is called Shenzun, and the sovereign of the Azure Void is called Ling. Zhibei governs the earth, and the mountains, rivers, plants, and trees all fall under his authority. Shenzun governs the sky, and the sun, moon, and stars all fall under his authority. Ling governs the open reaches of space, and the wind, thunder, clouds, and rain all fall under his authority.

“When the two sovereigns of the Azure Void held their spring rites according to the directions, Zhibei ascended to the sky and Shenzun descended to earth. They met in the wilderness ruled by Ling. Ling vacated his throne to welcome them in the outskirts, then brought out all the rare delicacies in his realm: meat piled up like rosy clouds, wine pouring down like rain. Lightning flashed and raced, thunder roared, the wind sang, and the clouds danced. He let the two sovereigns take charge in turn for several months. They got along harmoniously and had no complaints.

“The two sovereigns were glad and grateful for Ling’s generosity, yet they felt uneasy because of it. They vied with each other to yield the throne and invite Ling to take charge. Shenzun said, ‘I govern Heaven.’ Zhibei said, ‘I govern Earth.’ Ling found this strange and asked what Heaven and Earth were really like. He said, ‘When I look up, I see no difference from the Azure Void; when I look down, I see no difference from the Azure Void either. What could there be beyond the Azure Void?’

“Zhibei and Shenzun then described the forms of Heaven and Earth, each in turn. Zhibei said, ‘My Earth is vast in form and dense in substance, nourishing all things as they grow. It rises at the center and slopes down at the edges, its terrain layered like an altar. All things gather upon it, precious things encircle it in the eight directions, and oceans surround its nine great mountains. Rocks are its bones, plants and trees its hair, and soil its flesh. Springs are its veins, dew its sweat, and vapors its breath. Rivers, streams, and ditches course across it, while people, insects, birds, and beasts come and go. Please come down and tour it, Sovereign.’

“Shenzun also said, ‘My Heaven is empty in form and lofty in reach, giving birth to all things and bringing about their transformations. It is rounded at the center and turns around the outer reaches, moving like the vault of the sky and covering all things like a dome. The five planets cross one another’s paths, while the constellations shine all around. The sun and moon travel within it, and the Milky Way stretches across it; rosy clouds and luminous vapors adorn the heavens, along with immortals and heavenly palaces. Please come dwell in Heaven, Sovereign.’

“Ling did not believe them and asked, ‘If Heaven is like a canopy, what holds it suspended above us? If Earth is like an altar, what supports it?’ Shenzun said, ‘The canopy of Heaven is not suspended above us. It rests upon the revolving wheel of the heavens, which turns continuously to the left, carrying the sun, moon, and stars westward with it.’ Zhibei said, ‘Earth is like an altar, held up by a motionless floating disc as deep as an abyss, and so it remains steady.’

“Ling said, ‘The wheel of Heaven turns, and Earth has a floating disc beneath it. These are principles of creation, and what you say sounds plausible. But what makes the wheel turn, and what does the disc support? Please tell me.’ Zhibei replied, ‘The wheel of Heaven extends everywhere beneath us, and the disc supports the Sovereign. What is there to doubt?’

“Ling sighed and said, ‘The forms of Heaven and Earth and the principles of creation are indeed as you describe them. But my open reaches of space are boundless, as if they were undivided chaos: everywhere connected, with no inside or outside, no west or east. They are empty and far-reaching, vast and clear. They contain the radiance of the sun and moon, the sound of thunder, the colors of rainbows, and the flying shapes of dragons and phoenixes. Sitting, I can roam through them; lying down, I can drift across them. I float freely, able to rest anywhere. They are open and embracing, vast and enduring; their life span is not brought by spring and summer, nor do they grow old with the passing years. They precede Heaven and Earth, yet have no visible beginning; they outlast Heaven and Earth, yet no one knows when they will end. Given this, how could I give up my lasting freedom to depend on what you possess for only a short time?’

“So Zhibei and Shenzun took their leave of Ling and returned to their respective palaces: Zhibei descended to the Yellow Outskirts, and Shenzun ascended to the Purple Ramparts. Several months later, the two still felt uneasy, and Heaven and Earth became sealed off as a result.”

Hongxiazi asked Bixuzi, “What, exactly, is the beginning from which all things under Heaven and Earth come into being and change, the source of nature itself? I hope to journey into your realm and see it with my own eyes. May I?”

Bixuzi was silent for a moment. His expression suddenly brightened, and he began to chant a song of emptiness above the vast sky. “What is naturally so without relying on anything else is the source of nature. What changes all things without human contrivance is the beginning of creation and transformation. It is open and unadorned, its form rounded and all-pervading. If you cease clinging to what your eyes see and are no longer led by thought, you can behold it.”

Hongxiazi said, “I wish to wander freely, coming and going as I please. Please guide me with your words. I want to travel at ease by riding on them. I must set off to see it before I have time to take my leave of you.”

So Bixuzi guided him: “What is naturally so without being brought about by an external force is called ‘Mysterious Spontaneity’; what changes naturally without human contrivance is called ‘True Transformation.’ The mysterious is real, and the real is mysterious. To experience the mysterious without clinging to it is called ‘True Mystery’; to experience the real without clinging to it is called ‘Mystery of the Real.’

“Chiyan says: Do not cling to natural phenomena; instead, accord with nature and return to unity. Only then can you behold nature. Do not cling to phenomena of change; instead, accord with change and return to unity. Only then can you behold creation and transformation. Do not cling to the mysterious; instead, return to the mysterious. Only then can you behold True Mystery. Do not cling to the real; instead, return to the real. Only then can you behold Mystery of the Real.

“Yiyan says: Within the real is the mysterious, and within the mysterious is the real. Within the mysterious, in turn, is True Mystery; within True Mystery, in turn, are both the real and the mysterious. Understand this, and you can ascend to the Heaven of Great Vastness.”

What is called “nonbeing” is the beginning of “being and nonbeing”; what is called “being and nonbeing” is, in turn, the starting point of “nonbeing.” Being and nonbeing emerge from nonbeing. Once being and nonbeing are established, creation and transformation unfold within them.

When creation and transformation arise, emptiness spreads all things throughout space; wind sets all things in motion; water gathers all things together; awareness gives rise to their responses; and Qi connects them. Thus, all things are contained within them. When emptiness spreads, forms can take their place; when wind moves, activity begins; when water gathers, existence becomes manifest; when awareness is stirred, thoughts arise; when Qi connects, intentions are established. Therefore, the establishment of form can make the root firm; the beginning of activity can reveal the gradual course of change; the manifestation of things allows change to be observed; the arising of thoughts allows transformation to be understood; and the establishment of intentions allows principles to be examined in detail.

From this we can understand: the root can be made firm because of the form of emptiness; the gradual course can be made clear because of the activity of wind; change can be observed because water makes things manifest; transformation can be understood because awareness gives rise to thought; and principles can be examined in detail because Qi establishes intention.

Wind and water drive change, causing all things to take on their own forms and differ from one another. Awareness and Qi assume many forms, so intentions differ as well. It revolves in Heaven and remains constant; it drifts across Earth and endures. Its movement has no end, its arising no fixed direction, its changes no bounds, and its continuity no borders.

If we trace creation and transformation back to their source, what do we find? The source of creation and transformation lies in the beginning; what is vast and reaches the utmost has its source in nonbeing; what is naturally so has its source in emptiness; and what allows all things to abide has its source in the marvelous. Observe where these sources lie, and you can see the origin of creation and transformation.

Hongxiazi understood the patterns of Creation—the power that brings forth all things and sets change in motion—but worried that he repeatedly fell into poverty. So he clothed himself in the light of red yang and absorbed the breath of blue emptiness, nourishing both body and mind. He gave up the rites of celebration and condolence, and rarely visited friends or relatives. Instead, he wandered alone through the Great Void, boundless and empty. On his travels, he took the high wind for his attendant and moonlight for his lamp. He sat in stillness through the night, speaking of the Dao without pause.

A man who enjoyed worldly wealth and status heard of this and came to visit. Seeing Hongxiazi’s desolate dwelling and humble thatched hut, he was deeply troubled, even ashamed, and said to him, “I can barely look after myself. How could I possibly look after Creation?”

Hongxiazi said, “I once understood Creation and knew all its workings in detail. But Creation did not know me, and so I came to lack the things I needed. I have nothing to reproach myself for before Creation; rather, Creation should be ashamed before me. I will go and question Creation, so that your worry and shame may be dispelled.”

So he mounted a red-yang steed and rode in a blue-void carriage, setting out eastward. He passed through the Land of All Nothingness and met Tongkong, to whom he asked permission to cross. Tongkong asked who he was and why he had come. Hongxiazi said he was going to question Creation and asked Tongkong to let him pass through. Tongkong then asked, “What is Creation? And what do you mean by asking to cross?” Hongxiazi replied, “The power that governs all things is called Creation. To pass through your land is what I mean by crossing.” Tongkong said, “If that is so, east of my land there is nowhere to go for Creation, and no road to borrow. You had better take another way.”

Hongxiazi turned south, passed through the Domain of Spontaneity, and met Huayuan, again asking to cross. Huayuan said, “Creation is my brother’s realm. Surely you know that. To use my road to challenge my own kin is to treat me as an enemy. My followers will attack you.” Hongxiazi had no choice but to travel west. He passed through the State of No Abiding and met Yinben, who refused to let him cross. “A road must be paid for,” Yinben said. “Do you have a flying carriage and a jewel that illuminates the void? If so, I will open the gate for you.” Hongxiazi said, “Even if I had a jewel and a carriage, I would not go and question Creation. I have neither, and certainly cannot pay for passage.”

He turned north again, passed through the Plain of the Supreme Ultimate, and met Shengshou, to whom he once more asked permission to cross. Shengshou rebuked him: “Why have you only now come to understand? Creation is exceedingly remote. It can be known, but not approached; it can be heard of, but not drawn near. Even if you wanted to use my road, how could you reach it? You mean to question Creation, but I doubt you will get anywhere.”

After Shengshou’s rebuke, Hongxiazi stopped in bewilderment, hesitating and wandering about, and could only turn his carriage around. On the way, he lost his bearings in the outskirts of Xuanyuan. There he met two Dao-herding children, Shen and Yi, bathing and playing in the Dark River, and asked them for directions.

The two children asked, “What is your surname, sir? You have traveled through the void and across the clouds; your carriage and horses must be tired. Why have you come here to ask the way?” Hongxiazi said, “I am called Hongxiazi. I once thought I understood Creation, but Creation did not know me, leaving me without the means to live and making me a source of shame in the eyes of worldly people. I meant to go and question Creation. I searched for a road in the east, west, south, and north, reaching the lands of All Nothingness, Spontaneity, No Abiding, and the Supreme Ultimate, but nowhere did I find Creation. Tongkong, ruler of All Nothingness, questioned me; Yinben, ruler of No Abiding, turned me away; Shengshou, ruler of the Supreme Ultimate, rebuked me; and Huayuan, ruler of Spontaneity, also challenged me. Now it is late, the road is long, and I want to return to the human world, but I have lost my way here. I am fortunate to have met you and want to ask your help. But who are you? You speak with such eloquence.”

The two children said, “We are Shen and Yi, herding for Creation in the Dark Outskirts. Just now we were playing a game in which the six paths were blocked. By accident, we lost all the roads, and now we fear Creation will blame us. So we have been wandering about, afraid to go on, and came to Xuanyuan to bathe. We are worried even though we have a road of our own, and dare not go see Creation. How much more so should you hesitate to offend Creation merely because of worldly shame? You left the human world and came here, yet have already lost your way before seeing Creation. If you wish to return to your old home, how will you ever face your father and brothers in the human world again? Why not take off your clothes, enter the water, and drift with us for a while, playing freely in the current? When we have drawn a white chart, we will take you to meet Creation. Would that not open your heart?”

At once, Hongxiazi’s face brightened, and his form was reflected in the water. He followed the shallows upstream and, with the two children, rode the rising and falling swells of the Dark Waves, drifting beyond the Six Directions. In an instant, they arrived at the realm of Creation. Spontaneity presented them with robes of Constant Being, while the Supreme Ultimate offered food of the Non-Ultimate. These garments and provisions shone brilliantly, filling Creation’s domain. Hongxiazi and the two children put on the robes and ate the food, their radiance illuminating the Six Directions. Then Hongxiazi paid his respects to Huazhen, the true body of Creation. Looking back toward the human world, he lowered his head in shame, understanding that the honors and disgrace valued by worldly people arose from a mistaken way of seeing.

They worried only that Creation might know Hongxiazi had earlier declared that he would question it. So they waited for Creation to ask the two children, “Where is the Dao?” The children answered, “Nothing ever disappears forever, and nothing has never disappeared; the Dao has never left the homeland where the sovereign dwells.” Creation said with delight, “There is no such thing as what has what it has, nor what lacks what it lacks; nothing is without what it is not, and nothing lacks what it is not.” It sent them back to the outskirts of Xuanyuan, saying, “You have learned the art of herding.”

Thus Hongxiazi wore the robes bestowed by Spontaneity, ate the food given by the Supreme Ultimate, and enjoyed Creation’s favor, praising its power in his speech. He bowed to Creation, took an affectionate leave of the two children, and prepared to return to his old home. On the way, at Tongkong’s, he met Taixu. Taixu said, “You have been away from home for so long since you went to see Creation. I have been alone in the empty thatched hut, wondering whether you were faring well in the human world.”

Hongxiazi replied, “A moment ago, I saw Creation’s appearance with my own eyes, experienced its intention, and heard its words. I now know that the Highest Dao is originally without being. How could I still care about the human world’s so-called being and nonbeing? As for the source of Creation, if you observe it through ‘being,’ you see ‘nonbeing’; if you investigate it through ‘nonbeing,’ you see ‘being.’ How could it be explained by any fixed appearance?

“‘Rong’ means that it is subtle and wondrous; ‘jing’ means that it is fine and unfathomable; ‘mang’ means that it is vast and without limit; ‘tang’ means that it is open and boundless. Thus, it is subtle and wondrous, too fine to grasp clearly, vast and open, impossible to describe in full. The forms of the myriad things are endless, each distinct from the others; their thoughts have no fixed direction, and they too differ from one another. Those in ancient times who ascended to Great Vastness and looked upon Huayuan knew that the workings of Creation never end. They therefore composed the ‘Song of Great Vastness’: ‘How wondrous is Huayuan! How clear and pure the blue void! How bright the red glow! Subtle, distant, far-reaching! Creation’s workings have no bounds!’ If one cannot understand how the forms of the myriad things differ yet are the same, and are the same yet differ; if one cannot bring the differences among ten thousand thoughts into unity, and also see their differences within that unity; if one cannot let the spirit roam freely without clinging, reaching the subtle, distant source—then by what means could one wander through Great Nonbeing and behold Creation’s formless, traceless way?”

The Yuanzhuo clan, a legendary sacred bird, came from the east, while the Suanni clan, a mythical beast, came from the Western Regions. They met at Fūtóng and discussed what was different and what was alike in the forms of the myriad things, as well as the differences and common ground in human hearts. If one can reach the subtle and elusive realm without effort, why roam through the Great Void at all, observing the formless workings of Creation?

The Yuanzhuo clan came from the east, and the Suanni clan from the Western Regions. When they met on the plains of China, they tested each other by discussing the principles of emptiness, using words to compete for victory.

The Yuanzhuo clan gave a soft, chirping cry and said, “I have heard that people sigh with sounds such as ‘yu, xi, he, xu, and kui,’ and breathe with sounds such as ‘chuan.’ They taste and distinguish flavors such as pungent, sour, sweet, and mild with actions such as ‘shi, chuai, cui, and chuo.’ They glance sideways, examine, look around, and stare, using their eyes to observe. They also strike, handle, and wrestle, producing clanging and thudding sounds. All these things have reached their utmost.”

The Suanni clan immediately let out a loud roar: “I have heard that the sun, moon, comets, and broom stars shine brightly as they travel through the heavens; peaks, ridges, hills, and rocks rise steeply, layer upon layer; waves, surges, torrents, and whirlpools roar with force, their waters spreading far and wide; and monsters and ghosts appear and vanish without warning. These things, too, have reached their utmost.”

They believed that, through their ceaseless exchange of words and replies, they had already exhausted every principle. But the Yuanzhuo clan sharpened its beak and played at pecking; the Suanni clan bristled its fur, wagged its tail, and roared from its throat, shaking China. The Master sighed: “Seen from close at hand, the Yuanzhuo clan has a point; seen from the distant perspective of the myriad things, the Suanni clan has a point. Yet both have left the realm of silence and stillness, exhausting themselves in a contest of sounds. Even with lightning in their eyes and thunder on their tongues, they can do no more than startle the fierce birds in the deep valleys. How could they make the reverberations of the Dao reach the vast ocean?”

Tai Liao asked Wu Bian about the Dao: “The forms of all things in Heaven and Earth are different. Can you explain the extremes of small and large, of being and nonbeing?”

Wu Bian replied: “As I see it, what is smallest is in fact large, and what is largest is in fact small. What is most completely absent is in fact present, and what is most completely present is in fact absent. Do you understand what I mean?”

Tai Liao said: “I have heard that what is extremely small cannot become large, and what is extremely large cannot become small; what is utterly absent cannot become present, and what is utterly present cannot become absent. What do you mean by this?”

Wu Bian said: “Let me explain. The clearest example of the extremes of small and large is ‘emptiness’; the best way to illustrate the extremes of nonbeing and being is the Dao. Why? Everything that can be encompassed beyond Heaven and Earth is emptiness. Is emptiness not large to the utmost degree? And everything that can be distinguished within the tiniest speck of dust is also formed through emptiness. Is emptiness not small to the utmost degree?

“Search all the Six Directions—above and below, and the four quarters—and you will not find the Dao. Does this not show that the Dao has no form or trace, and is close to nonbeing? It lies beyond the generation and transformation of all things, yet cannot exist independently, apart from them. Does this not show that the Dao is also everywhere, and close to being?

“So what is smallest is in fact large, what is largest is in fact small; what is most absent is in fact present, and what is most present is in fact absent. Is it not just so?”

When Heaven and Earth first took shape, nine mighty forces each boasted of its powers and argued over which was strongest.

The wind said, “Look at me, whipping up fierce gales and stirring the chaos until all things resound. I can hurl boulders, uproot trees, and set the waves rushing. Who could be stronger than I?”

The clouds and vapors said, “Look at me, gathering and dispersing, surging and billowing into thick mists that blanket the seas and mountains, block the sunlight, and spread across the sky. Who could be stronger than I?”

The thunder said, “Listen to my rumbling roar, like wheels rolling and herds of beasts stampeding. Lightning bursts forth in an instant, and thunderbolts crash down. Even the floodwaters resound, and fierce beasts are startled into fury. Who among these ordinary things could compare with me?”

The ocean waves said, “Look at my vast, boundless surge. Even the great Kunpeng, beating its wings, is no more impressive. I can toss about giant turtles and rock whales, making the sea seem to pour from a tipped vessel and the Isles of Yingzhou crumble. Who could be stronger than I?”

The flames said, “Look at my fierce brightness and blazing radiance. I can dry up marshes, scorch mountains, and sear Heaven and Earth like the blazing sun. Who could be stronger than I?”

The sun said, “Look at my brilliant, dazzling light, shining across Heaven and Earth. I can melt metal and heat stone. Who could be stronger than I?”

The earth rumbled and said, “I am broad and substantial, with towering mountains and rising and falling terrain. I bear the seas and guide the rivers, and I can set mountain ridges surging. Who could be stronger than I?”

The sky said, “I am vast and lofty, boundless and immense. I contain flowing waters and whirlwinds, and cover the earth and the whole cosmos. Who could be stronger than I?”

The void spoke in boundless silence: “I am open and immense, without form and without limit. The blue sky stretches without end; Heaven and Earth are contained within me. Who could be stronger than I?”

So the nine forces continued to contend with one another. The wind asked, “Is there anything greater than us?” The void replied, “I have heard the Most High say that the Dao is greatest. You can go and ask the Dao.”

At that, the clouds drew together, the wind stopped blowing, the sunlight no longer blazed, the waves grew calm, the earth ceased to tremble, the flames went out, the sky fell quiet, and the void stopped boasting. They let thunder enter the realm of the Dao: sound yielded to echo, and form yielded to shadow. It clung neither to existence nor to nonexistence, neither to movement nor to stillness. Seeing this, the nine forces each withdrew in shame, yielded to one another, and together entered the realm of Wuwei (non-action), until the long aeons of the mortal world came to an end.

The Dao’s form is emptiness; the Dao’s shadow is nonbeing; the Dao’s sound is the beginning, and its echo is boundless. What is open and empty is called emptiness; what is silent and without presence is called extinction; what endures and returns to its root is called remoteness; what is still and clear is called settledness. They are named “Yi, Xia, Ming, Mo, Que, Bo, Xuan, Yuan”: Yi means abandoning all errors; Xia means distant and profound; Ming means shining with light; Mo means quiet and still; Que means firm and steadfast; Bo means vast and boundless; Xuan means wondrous and deep; Yuan means complete and without flaw.

De means to acquire. True De, however, means not clinging to either gain or loss. Confucius taught others through De without claiming credit; Laozi possessed De and returned to the simplicity of an infant; Zhuangzi roamed alone with the spirit of Heaven and Earth, without looking down on the myriad things. The Perfected One Chongxu, an honorific in Daoism, serenely rode the wind through the De of clarity and emptiness, while Yan Hui’s De connected him with the Great Dao. From this we see that the Great Void is vast and boundless, without beginning or end. My thoughts extend without limit, too; how, then, could I investigate when all things will come to an end?

The insect that glows at night is called “Lamp-Belly”; the insect whose body resembles a pouch is called “Pouch-Body”; the insect that carries a mustard plant is called “Filth-Bearer”; the cicada that resembles a sprout is called “Root-Cicada”; and a flickering point of light before the eyes is called “Dazzling Bloom.” Lamp-Belly crawls along walls, Pouch-Body slips in and out of cracks, Filth-Bearer moves among leaves, and Root-Cicada takes root in the soil.

Pouch-Body mocked Lamp-Belly, saying, “Do you think this is how to preserve your life? Your belly glows, making you conspicuous at night. You can make out dangers and choose your steps carefully, but when people see you, they will chase you. You may well meet disaster and injure yourself. Wouldn’t it be better to hide my tracks and roam at ease?”

Filth-Bearer mocked Pouch-Body, saying, “Do you think this is how to preserve your life? You tuck your body into a pouch, poking your head out when you come and go, then drawing it back in when alarmed. Yet you still risk exposing your head and tail. Wouldn’t it be better to conceal my shape and roam at ease?”

Root-Cicada mocked Filth-Bearer, saying, “Do you think this is how to preserve your life? You hide yourself among mustard plants and filth, moving slowly and attracting no notice, yet you still worry about the dangers of wind and fire. Wouldn’t it be better to bury my body and roam at ease?”

Each of these insects mocked the others, each relying on its own abilities. Hearing them, Dazzling Bloom also mocked Root-Cicada, saying, “Do you think this is how to preserve your life? You hide your mouth and cover your eyes, empty your heart and fill your belly, plant your feet firmly, and draw sustenance from water and soil. A sprout grows from your back, and you receive the wind and sunlight, so you think you can grow in freedom. Yet your body still constrains you, trapping you among tangible things. If you meet the calamity of being dug up, you can still be injured. Wouldn’t it be better to vanish in a flash and roam freely, coming and going at ease?”

Root-Cicada said, “I receive the wonders of creation and understand the principles of past and present. In preserving life through hiding the mouth, covering the eyes, emptying the heart, and filling the belly, no one can surpass me. I heard your voice before I could make out your shape. Where do you come from?”

Dazzling Bloom replied, “I arise from an illusion produced by the eyes, and multiply as vision grows confused. When I move slowly, I look like stars strung one after another; when I move swiftly, I flicker like shifting flower-shadows. You cannot grasp me, though you try, nor can you make me disappear, though you try. Say I do not exist, and I appear; say I exist, and I seem not to. I suddenly emerge within creation, then in the blink of an eye return in silence to the Great Void. Only those who can roam in the realm of nothingness can see the place where I wander freely.”

This place connects with the circle and with the square: within the square one can be round, and within the circle one can be square. That is why the most perfectly round has no fixed circular shape, yet can manifest as square; the most perfectly square has no fixed square shape, yet can manifest as round. What can appear round within the square and square within the circle is the Supreme Circle and the Supreme Square.

The Supreme Square said, “In the past, I regarded you as round, but you did not know my squareness.” The Supreme Circle said, “Earlier, I regarded you as square, but you did not know my roundness.” Why is this so? Perhaps because, when emptiness is used as the compass, one does not know that it is round; when voidness and stillness are used as the square, one does not know that it is square. If the mind can rest in a state of utmost stillness, where neither compass nor square can exercise its skill, that may be the Supreme Circle and the Supreme Square.

A person skilled in using a carpenter’s square—an instrument for measuring and correcting shapes—stood before something vast and empty, yet did not know how to begin. So he let his mind and spirit roam in a realm of utter stillness, where the square had no chance to display its skill. Is this not the meaning of “the perfectly round” and “the perfectly square”?

In the land of Wa, an ancient name for the region around Japan, someone told this story:

In the Eastern Sea lived a kind of bird called the Ti. It was enormous, surpassed only by the Peng. It drifted across the vast ocean, swallowing giant whales, and when its hunger was sated, it soared into the high blue sky.

Fang, of the legendary giants known as the Fangfeng, was a skilled archer. He made a great bow, took aim at the giant Ti flying across the sky, drew the bow, and let loose an arrow. It struck true. The giant Ti cried out in fury, its voice louder than thunder. In an instant, blood fell like a river, and feathers blotted out the sun. The Ti tumbled down, shaking the air as it fell, until at last it landed in the boundless wilderness. The earth boomed beneath it, the sky echoed, and all the creatures of the world seemed to shudder.

Fangfeng circled the giant Ti, taking ten days to inspect it from end to end. Then he climbed onto its back and gazed toward the four seas; mist veiled the land. He summoned cooks from across the world and had tall ladders built so they could cut up the bird. As cooks in every direction boiled its flesh, steam billowed like clouds, and even the trees on the mountains were burned away. Its dried meat supplied the people for seven years, leaving the Central Plain without cured meat to make for that time. Its fat lasted nine years, so that distant lands did not run short of oil. People also made sails from its feathers, and used them to send ships across the ocean. These vessels were called “Ti-feather ships.”

Fangfeng stood in awe of the power of his bow and arrows. Whenever he had fasted and bathed, he made offerings to the bow. All those in the world who were widely read and loved to record strange things came by carriage to see it. Since the opening of Heaven and Earth, there had never been such astonishing power in a bow and arrow.

The spirit of the waves.

The god of the River Yangtze, Jiang Xu, met the goddess of the Celestial River, He Gu, in the wilds of True Origin. Jiang Xu asked He Gu, “I thought you were only water. Why do you hang in the sky without dispersing, and still shine at night? How are you different from the rivers on earth?”

He Gu replied, “People in the world say I am a god, and so I have these abilities. As for why, I do not know. Have you not heard? The Celestial Boat crosses the Celestial River, allowing the Herdsman Star and the Weaving Maiden Star to gaze at each other across its waters. That is what I can do.”

He Gu then asked Jiang Xu, “I thought you were only a current. Why can you recede and rise again, and do so according to a pattern, as if you had awareness?”

Jiang Xu replied, “People in the world say I am numinous, and so I have these abilities. As for why, I do not know. Have you not heard? Thunder rushes across the sky, flocks of egrets fly, and white chariots and white horses appear as though an army were on the march. These are all things I can do.”

Jiang Xu and He Gu looked at one another and laughed. Each thought that their numinous power had reached its utmost limit. They were proudly pleased with themselves, believing that nowhere in the world was there any other principle.

Zhi Xuan, the utmost and most profound state of the Dao, heard them in the wilds of True Origin and said, “Are you Jiang Xu and He Gu? I will now tell you what the world was like from the time Heaven and Earth were formed, and then you can consider the existence of the Celestial River and the River Yangtze. Beings such as you are no more than names passed down through the words of Wu Xian and mentioned in the Spring and Autumn period. Is that not a long way from the facts? The deluded explain the questions raised by the River Yangtze and the Celestial River, inventing the divine power of Jiang Xu and He Gu. How can you accept the questions of the deluded without knowing it, and then claim the subtle workings of creation as your own achievement? Are you not afraid that those you have misled will call you ghosts and laugh at you beneath the Yellow Springs?”

Jiang Xu and He Gu were deeply alarmed. They apologized to Zhi Xuan and asked, “We thought you were a friend. You remain still and silent, yet you can respond and point out our false words, leaving us ashamed. Do you too have a mind? We have heard that the Dao’s subtle essence existed in the wilds of True Origin before Heaven and Earth, and that it is called Zhi Xuan. Could you be this Zhi Xuan? What is your name? Please explain where the spirits and gods we speak of come from. And please tell us why the River Yangtze and the Celestial River display these phenomena.”

Zhi Xuan replied, “To understand the principle of the Celestial River, observe the clear brightness of the blue sky, or the changing light and darkness in the glow of a firefly’s abdomen. These are differences in form. Could they be He Gu’s divine power? Though the Celestial River is vast, that does not mean it should be regarded as an ordinary river. To understand the principle of the River Yangtze, observe the flow of blood through the veins, or the seasonal opening and closing of the locust tree’s leaves. These are the movement of Qi responding to the seasons. Could they be Jiang Xu’s numinous power? Though the waves of the sea are magnificent, that does not mean they appear through awareness.

“To understand my principle, consider how emptiness has no form yet does not act recklessly, and how a valley has no feelings yet can respond. This is stillness and emptiness brought to their utmost. Is there some other spirit ruling within them? Even if my Dao is mysterious, it cannot be understood through deliberate thought.

“Let me tell you more. On Mount Kunlun lives a creature that thinks itself wise. The more it hears, the more it believes it understands, and its knowledge grows into many tangled branches. It clings to what I say, but has no facts to support it. Your insistence that He Gu is divine and Jiang Xu is numinous, and your false claims about Zhi Xuan’s Dao, all arose from this kind of empty talk.

“When I observe the vast expanse of Heaven and Earth, I see six phenomena that seem wondrous but do not come from spirits or gods: seawater surges backward into the river and forms its waves; stars shine in the night sky like the Celestial River; the blazing sun illuminates clouds and produces lightning; clouds after rain reflect the sun and form a rainbow; Yang Qi moves through the air and produces thunder; and the human mind grasps what is appropriate to its circumstances and calls it the Dao. Each has its own cause. None is due to your numinous power, nor to my mystery. ‘Nonbeing’ does not mean that nothing exists; the existence of the myriad things does not mean that some other power rules them.”

Jiang Xu and He Gu rose together and offered their thanks. “What you have said is indeed so, and we are deeply ashamed. We wish to accompany our old friend and roam in a state free of intention, passing the rest of our lives for now. While alive, people may mistakenly call us creatures of wisdom; after death, we will be buried in the wilds of True Origin. Why cling to the claim that we are gods of the River Yangtze and the Celestial River, and let the deluded laugh at us beneath the Yellow Springs?”

That summer, Count Tongzhen and Lord Guan met at Kui Xiu Xuan Hao. At the gathering they discussed whether the Dao ultimately exists or does not exist. They argued back and forth, but reached no conclusion by the end of the day. Lord Guan said, “I rose from the Pavilion of Contemplation and knew that the Dao is not nonexistent.” Lord Wanghou said, “I sat on the Terrace of Forgetting and saw that the Dao is not real, so I knew that it is nonexistent.”

Count Tongzhen said to them, “The Great Dao cannot simply be classified as existing or nonexistent. Have you not noticed that the sun, moon, and stars appear to differ in distance because they occupy different heights? The sun and moon differ in size, and the stars vary in their positions and distances. If you judge size only by distance and compare things with the sun, its heat, cold, brightness, and darkness will mislead you. If you judge distance only by heat, cold, brightness, and darkness and compare things with the sun, its size will mislead you. From this we can see that distance has no fixed measure. What one sees from the side differs from what one sees when looking up.

“A hundred-foot pole, whether laid horizontally or stood upright, can appear to have a different length and size even when the observer is the same distance away. This is enough to show that human vision, too, is biased and limited. As for why an object looks brighter on its eastern side than on its western side, this likely has to do with the angle of illumination and the rising Yin influence of the ground.

“The Great Dao as it appears to the mind is just the same. People are not always in the same state between contemplation and forgetting, so some think the Dao exists, while others think it does not. Lord Guan saw the Dao as nonexistent on the Terrace of Forgetting, while Lord Wanghou knew it existed in the Pavilion of Contemplation. These views arose from differences in their states of mind. The substance of the Dao did not change; the difference came from the mind clinging to one side.

“To argue about the distance of the sun, moon, and stars without understanding how one’s viewpoint can distort perception is no different from arguing about whether the Great Dao exists, without understanding the obstacles created by attachment.”

After hearing this, the two gentlemen stopped arguing and no longer tried to force their views on each other. Master Daxuan said, “The purpose of Kui Xiu Xuan Hao is to bring together the differences in the apparent distances of the Three Lights and the dispute over whether the Great Dao exists. It examines biases that have gone unresolved from ancient times to the present, and untangles disputes that have lingered in discussion. Lord Guan and Lord Wanghou were able to stand side by side and let go of their argument; it was Count Tongzhen’s achievement to unlock the heart of the dispute.”

Wu Daozi excelled at painting ghosts. He spread paper across a wall and wielded his brush like the wind. Sometimes the ghosts first appeared with their feet, sometimes their hands; only afterward did their full bodies gradually emerge, just as he had said they would. The images seemed to form of themselves, as if one were witnessing with one’s own eyes the power of Creation, which brings all things into being. Wu Daozi was renowned throughout the land. He was over sixty, and painters everywhere praised the subtlety of his skill, yet still felt they could not fully comprehend it.

When Xuanzhenzi heard of this, he went to visit him and asked, “May I ask what the secret is to painting ghosts? Why does your skill seem inexhaustible?”

Wu Daozi smiled and said, “You are not a painter. How did you come to ask such a penetrating question?” As they spoke, he invited Xuanzhenzi to drink wine. When the wine had taken effect, he offered him tea. After several rounds of tea, he sent the disciples away, asked Xuanzhenzi to stay the night, and talked with him until dawn, explaining the principles behind painting ghosts.

“What secret do I have?” he said. “I have simply grasped the Dao within it. Once, late at night, when all was still, I drank tea and did not go to sleep. I cleared my spirit and stilled my thoughts, forgot the existence of all things, and let go of every thought in my heart. After a long while, my mind became quiet and open; suddenly, it expanded without limit. The images were neither deliberately conceived nor drawn in advance. They were strange and ever-changing, at once ingenious in countless ways and plain in countless others; they appeared and vanished. Nothing could stop them from coming, and their transformations had no end.

“Once I understood their principles and essentials, I made a practice of painting ghosts, but I never passed on the specific methods to anyone. So I lived beyond the age of sixty, famed throughout the land, and people everywhere regarded me as the founding master of ghost painting. Since my death, painters have multiplied like a forest. They hope to see me with their own eyes and hear me speak, yet do not wish merely to preserve my likeness. They want to learn my technique, but even exhausting every effort, they cannot master it. They want to investigate my Dao, yet they can never fathom it.

“You asked about Creation, so I cannot help but answer you in terms of Creation. I have never passed these principles on to anyone. Now I ask you to tell them to the world on my behalf.”

Xuanzhenzi replied in thanks, “It is easy to experience a realm firsthand, but difficult to trace where its images come from. Fortunately, having heard the principles of painting ghosts, I have glimpsed the beginnings of Creation. You ask me to pass your words on to the world, but I fear I cannot. Please do not expect me to spread what you have told me.”

What is called “being” does not mean that it was absolutely nonexistent before; what is called “nonbeing” does not mean that it had absolutely never existed. “Being” that has not yet appeared is not the same as true “being”; “nonbeing” that has not yet appeared is not the same as true “nonbeing.” This is the profound understanding of being and nonbeing.

Thus, when something visible now suddenly disappears, that does not mean it had always been nonexistent and had never appeared. And when something now absent suddenly appears, that does not mean it had always existed and had never disappeared. This is because things change with time. If one says that at that time there was neither that thing nor any distinction as to whether it existed, while at this time there is this thing and a distinction as to whether it exists, then to regard past and present as having no difference is to confuse different moments. Those who separate moments tend to assume things must be as they are, yet find it hard to guard against exceptions. Those who regard moments as connected tend to assume things are not as they are, yet may encounter cases in which they must be so.

The shadow asked the light, “I am dim because my substance lies in darkness; you are bright because your nature belongs to the luminous Yang. When you first appear, I still leave a trace behind; when you reach your middle, I have come to my end; when you disappear, I vanish with you. When you are clear and radiant, I am bright. Why are you always changing without constancy, so that my appearance, too, has no fixed measure?”

The light replied to the shadow, “When you are in empty space, you seem not to exist; when you fall upon a solid object, you seem to exist. Attached to wings, you seem to fly; attached to feet, you seem to run. Falling on a hooked object, you curve; falling on a taut string, you become straight. When you are near a candle flame, you are cast from beyond your own body; when you are far from the flame, you are cast within my play of light and shadow. You yourself have no fixed form. Am I the only one who changes without constancy?

“Even so, your changes are connected with mine. The strangest cases are ones I cannot understand myself. Why is it so? When I meet a bronze mirror used to kindle fire, its reflection falls upon you; when a net blocks me, your shadow bends across a leaf. I would ask the Creator—the fundamental power behind nature’s transformations—and probe the principles of things and the nature of the heavens. If I still cannot understand, then it is fate.”

The shadow laughed and said, “Just gather in your light, and I will naturally disappear. The being and nonbeing of things change along with you and me. Why drag in the Creator and fate, and make speculative inquiries?”

Silence has no sound, yet it can be called “One.” Stillness can make “One” manifest, and so it can be called “Two.” The “One” within silence is formless, while the “One” within stillness has form. The “Two” within silence has neither form nor trace, whereas the “Two” within stillness contains both being and nonbeing. The “One” within “One” cannot be separated from “Two,” and the “Two” within “Two” cannot be separated from “One.” Only those who understand that stillness is not merely “One,” and see clearly that silence is not merely “Two,” can be called truly One.

What is called “True One” is neither One nor Two; it is neither stillness nor silence. When these four distinctions have all fallen away, and even “absence” no longer exists, this is what is truly called “nonbeing.” Only by roaming through the realm of true nonbeing can one behold the appearance of “True One.” Those who enter the realm of true nonbeing and behold True One will then see the many forms of “nonbeing.”

Stillness then said to Silence, “As for these many kinds of ‘nonbeing,’ no one can name them. I will make a name for them as best I can: the ‘Realm of Great Nonbeing,’ a vast and boundless expanse of emptiness. No one can give the Realm of Great Nonbeing a definitive name, either, so I will offer it a title. Would you like to hear it?”

Silence replied, “I would.”

Stillness then composed his bearing, regulated his breath, and sat silently. After a long while, Silence forgot the distinction between himself and Stillness, and only then came to his senses and said, “Before, I heard its name and saw its emptiness. Now I have heard its title, but I have not yet seen its emptiness. Is this the title ‘Great Nonbeing’?”

Stillness understood what he had grasped and said, “Just now I spoke with you of subtle and hidden matters, and you truly understood. You may be said to have grasped the principle of the obscure and profound.” After Silence returned from that encounter, Stillness no longer spoke with him about these things.

The preface to The Book of Master Tianyin says: The Way to becoming an immortal takes long life as its foundation, and the key to long life lies in nourishing Qi (vital energy). A person receives Qi from Heaven and Earth, and it is harmonized through Yin-Yang (yin and yang). The Qi of Yin-Yang is subtle, wondrous, and numinous; it is called the mind. The mind governs day and night, waking and sleeping, and these functions are called the hun and po souls. From this, we can see that the human body and mind are, in broad terms, not far removed from the Way to becoming an immortal.

I do not know where Master Tianyin came from. The eight chapters he wrote contain profound and subtle principles, which ordinary people may not easily learn. His teachings on refining the body and breath, cultivating harmony, making the mind empty and still, and returning to the root accord with Boyang—usually associated with the tradition of Laozi or the Dao De Jing. The depth of his vision is also comparable to that of Master Zhuang (Zhuangzi). No book explains more clearly the pursuit of long life and the way of sustaining oneself over time. I, Chengzhen, a Daoist priest of the Tang dynasty, have followed and studied the Daoist tradition. It is regrettable that people’s lives are short, and that they have not grasped the true meaning of longevity. I wish to pass this book on to those who share my purpose, so that they may practice by a simple and accessible method. Indeed, since Boyang, perhaps only Master Tianyin has achieved this. I respectfully write this preface.

Immortals

At birth, a person receives numinous Qi. If the spirit is clear, the understanding keen, and learning proceeds without obstruction, this may be called “spirit.” When one settles the spirit within and lets its radiance appear outwardly, one naturally becomes unlike ordinary people; this is called being a “spirit immortal.” Thus, spirit immortals are also human beings. The key lies in cultivating one’s own numinous Qi, keeping it undisturbed by worldly opinions and criticism, settling the spirit within, and allowing one’s innate radiance to shine outward. If one is not held back by misguided views, one can complete the cultivation.

Note: Joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure, love, dislike, and desire are seven distortions of the emotions. Wind, cold, heat, dampness, hunger, fullness, exertion, and ease are eight distortions related to Qi and daily life. Removing these distortions is the work of cultivating the Way to become an immortal.

Simplicity and Ease

The Book of Changes says that the principles of Heaven and Earth are simple and ordinary. What does this mean? The Hidden Master of Heaven says: Heaven is above our heads and Earth beneath our feet. We can see them as soon as we open our eyes; there is no need to explain them with elaborate and ingenious words. That is why the Book of Changes speaks of “simplicity.” Simplicity is a virtue possessed by the immortals.

The scriptures say, “The Great Dao is not complicated; the perfected person, one who has succeeded in cultivating the Dao, does not force anything.” So what method should one use to seek the Dao? The answer is: without the desire to seek the Dao, one cannot know it; without following the Dao, one cannot cultivate to completion. Anyone who studies the way of the immortals must first understand the principle of simplicity. If what is taught involves the strange and the mysterious, it will only make people fixate on things and lose sight of the root. This is not the teaching I transmit.

It is indeed true that some people in the world who study the immortals are instead misled by the immortal way. It is also true that some who study the refinement of Qi—the vital breath as understood in Daoism—are instead harmed by Qi.

Gradual Stages

The Book of Changes has the Gradual hexagram, and Laozi’s Dao also has wondrous gateways. A person cultivating the true and nurturing their nature cannot attain sudden awakening. They must cultivate steadily, step by step. Thus five gradual stages are established: first, purification; second, settling in a quiet place; third, visualization; fourth, sitting in forgetfulness; and fifth, spiritual understanding.

What is purification? It means cleansing the body and making the mind empty and still. What does it mean to settle in a quiet place? It means living in a secluded room. What is visualization? It means gathering the spirit and restoring one’s nature. What is sitting in forgetfulness? It means forgetting the body’s form and one’s sense of self. What is spiritual understanding? It means penetrating the myriad things and grasping their subtle workings.

Practice these five gradual stages: once you understand the first, proceed step by step to the second; once you understand the second, proceed step by step to the third, and so on until the fifth. In this way, you can accomplish the way of the immortals.

Purification

Fasting and purification—nurturing oneself by cleansing the body and mind and regulating one’s conduct—means more than eating vegetarian food or bathing to wash away dirt. Its essentials are moderating one’s diet, bringing the body’s inner workings into balance, and rubbing the body to keep Qi and blood flowing freely at the surface.

People receive the Qi of the Five Phases—the five basic kinds of Qi that compose all things—and sustain life by eating foods generated by those phases. From the time a fetus begins to form, breathing, essence, and blood all depend on food. How could one seek long life by eating nothing? People in the world do not understand this. The Daoist practice called “abstaining from grain and taking in Qi”—temporarily reducing or stopping grain-based foods while cultivating and preserving oneself through regulated breathing—is only a provisional method. It does not mean never eating grain again.

In matters of food, purification means keeping oneself clean, while abstinence means exercising restraint and care. Eat when hungry, but do not eat until overly full; this is how to bring the body’s inner workings into balance. Do not eat food that is undercooked, food whose Five Flavors—sour, bitter, sweet, pungent, and salty—are too strong, or food that has spoiled or tends to obstruct the flow of Qi. These are all things to avoid.

As a regular practice, rub the body until the skin grows warm, dispelling cold and keeping the body’s surface open and free flowing. Avoid sitting or standing for too long, as well as excessive exertion. These are all ways to nurture the body. A strong physique allows Qi to become abundant, so fasting and purification are the first steps in self-cultivation.

Anju

What counts as a comfortable place to live? It does not have to be a magnificent hall or a tall, spacious house with layers of protection and a broad bed. What matters is that the house faces in a suitable direction: sit facing south and sleep with your head to the east. Within the house, Yin and Yang should be balanced, with light and shade in proper measure. The house should not be too tall, or Yang Qi will be excessive and the light too strong; nor should it be too low, or Yin Qi will predominate and the rooms will be dim. Excessively bright light harms the Po, the body’s Yin aspect of mental activity; excessive darkness harms the Hun, its Yang aspect. When the Hun and Po are affected by an imbalance of light and shade, people are more likely to fall ill. If this matters even within one’s home, how much more carefully must one guard against the Qi of Heaven and Earth, where excessive Yang can scorch the skin and excessive Yin can invade the body? To cultivate body and mind without following these principles is not the way to dwell in comfort.

It is also said: “My room has windows on all four sides. When the wind rises, I close them; when it stops, I open them. I hang a curtain in front of my seat and place a screen behind it. When the light is too bright, I lower the curtain to soften the light in the room; when it is too dim, I draw the curtain up so that the light outside can enter. In this way, my mind is settled and my eyes are at ease, and both body and mind can be calm. If an imbalance of light and shade can affect body and mind, how could they be settled amid too many distractions and excessive desire? Therefore, learning the Dao must begin with dwelling in comfort.”

Preserving and Contemplating (nourishing the spirit and envisioning oneself)

“Preserving” means nourishing one’s spirit; “contemplating” means envisioning one’s body. Close the eyes and turn your awareness toward them; gather the mind and turn your awareness toward it. When neither mind nor eyes stray from oneself, and the spirit is not harmed, this is the first step in preserving and contemplating.

Ordinary people spend all day looking at others, while their minds chase outward; they are constantly occupied with responding to external things, their eyes always turned outward, and their minds and spirits unsettled. They never turn their attention back to themselves. How could this not lead to illness and shorten their lives? Thus it is said, “Returning to the root is called stillness”: to return to the root is to become still. Once still, one can return to life’s original nature and bring one’s inherent nature to rest. Continuing to nourish one’s nature opens the gateway to the myriad mysteries. The practice of preserving and contemplating is half of the cultivation of the Dao.

Sitting in Oblivion (sitting in stillness while forgetting the body and thoughts of distinction)

Cultivating “Sitting in Forgetfulness” (Zuowang)—gradually forgetting distinctions and attachments through quiet sitting and visualization—begins with visualization, yet also requires letting go of visualization. When practicing the Way, one does not feel that one is practicing the Way. Is this not the meaning of “sitting”? To see without clinging to what is seen—is this not the meaning of “forgetfulness”?

What does it mean to “not act”? When the mind does not move, that is not acting. What does it mean to “not see”? When the body and its image have dissolved, that is not seeing. Tianyinzi closed his eyes and did not look. Someone awakened to the Way as a result, then withdrew, saying, “The Way truly is within me. But who, exactly, am I? And who is Tianyinzi?” Then I and that person both forgot, and all seeing disappeared as well.

Spirit Awakening

The cultivation of spirit awakening has four aspects. The first is fasting, called “understanding through faith,” meaning that without faith, one cannot understand. The second is dwelling in a settled place, called “understanding through stillness,” meaning that without a quiet and tranquil mind, one cannot understand. The third is visualization, called “understanding through wisdom,” meaning that without wisdom, one cannot understand. The fourth is sitting in forgetfulness, called “understanding through stillness of mind,” meaning that without a settled and tranquil mind, one cannot understand.

Faith, stillness, tranquility, and wisdom are four gates through which one may reach the wondrous realm; this is called “spirit awakening.” “Spirit” means reaching one’s destination without deliberate action, and ranging everywhere without rushing after it. Yin and Yang can transform and flow freely, and Heaven and Earth can endure. When Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the three powers—are considered together, this is called the Book of Changes. The “Appended Statements” says, “When change reaches its limit, it transforms; when it transforms, it flows freely; when it flows freely, it endures.” Viewed from the perspective that all things are equal, this is called Dao and De, namely the Dao Jing and De Jing of Laozi. Considered in terms of the single nature at the root of things, it is called suchness.

Tianyinzi was born within change and will die within change. His actions follow all things; through transformation he flows freely, and through free flow he endures. He regards all things as equal and returns to the root of Dao and De. The deviant and the upright, the true and the false, all arise from a single nature. Thus, I understand life and death, movement and stillness, the deviant and the true through wondrous insight. Those who cultivate and attain the Dao are called immortals: those in Heaven are called celestial immortals, and those on Earth are called earthly immortals. The Dao of the immortals therefore has five paths, which ultimately return to the same gateway. In other words, the five successive stages of cultivation ultimately lead to becoming an immortal.

—Tianyinzi