《西池集》

Interpretation

The preface to the Xichi Ji (Collected Writings of the Western Pool) says: Heaven holds all things together by firmness and vigor, and Earth bears all things by softness and compliance. The myriad things grow through the harmonious union of the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang, and they are also brought to maturity together by the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. If a woman can possess dignified De (Virtue/Power) in conduct, speech, bearing, and skill, she may be said to have fulfilled the Way of Kun—the path of cultivation by which Daoism figures the gentle, life-nurturing De of Earth.

Yet some women are born intelligent and beautiful and still meet with misfortune. Some are envied for their talents; some have their youth buried; others sink into desire and fall into suffering. The bodies and circumstances of ordinary people are bound up with karmic obstructions from former lives and with the causes and conditions of the present life. Length of life and the favor or adversity of one’s lot differ from person to person and cannot be told one by one. In general, the world lacks methods for transmitting to women the Dao (the Way) of cultivation, and so people find it hard to pass beyond the ordeals of birth and death.

The author therefore memorialized the Taishang—the honorific by which Daoism names the supreme deity—asking that an edict be issued to the perfected immortals, that they set forth in verse the Dao of mind and nature and rouse practitioners with sharp, awakening words. A practitioner may already understand quiet stillness and yet fall into a rigid, stagnant emptiness, and so still needs a true transmission to show the concrete way of setting to work.

Every sentence in the book is like jade liquor, and speaks of the work of cultivating oneself and establishing one’s life. Every word is like a golden needle, and speaks of the knack of mastering body and mind and harmonizing Yin and Yang. Cultivate with a sincere heart, and what lies before the eyes can become an immortal realm; practice according to the method, and within the elixir furnace “crimson snow” can congeal—jiangxue, a term of Neidan (internal alchemy) for the subtle essence gained through cultivation. Rather than tangle oneself in worldly ties and crave a brief splendor, better to cut the bonds of passion and desire and enter the realm of lasting cultivation. At the Western Pool—Xichi, in Daoist legend the dwelling of the Queen Mother of the West—there is a path of practice, and the boat that ferries people across is already prepared. These plain words are therefore set down in the hope of exhorting the world.

Respectfully prefaced by Chongyangzi.

Eighteen Poems on the Work of Nature

The First

The moon is just full, and on the water its reflection is especially bright; all between Heaven and Earth seems lit to a crystalline clarity. A lone wild goose flies slanting past and leaves its image in the pool; a little while later, the bright moon still shines on the clear ripples.

Huichunzi says: When the moment fits exactly, the perfect precious form appears, like the moon shining on a cold pool, light streaming in every direction. Only purity and stillness can illuminate; only illumination can bring thorough clarity. When stillness and contemplation interpenetrate, awakened nature appears of itself.

The Second

The wondrous meaning come from the West—the doctrinal sense of the Buddha-dharma transmitted from there—is vast and complete, lively yet subtle, like a pearl left in the Eastern Sea and found again. Ah, the four seas surge, water and sky joined as one; in the depths where water and sky meet, one will find the source of oneself.

Haichanzi says: Happily, companions on the Way have written poems to clarify mind and nature. Illumine the mind and see one’s nature, and the Dao can be accomplished. Liu Chi came to the Dragon Flower Assembly—the Dharma gathering at which, in Buddhist legend, Maitreya preaches—and even in his drunkenness he still lingered, trying to catch the moon in the pool.

Lingyangzi says: Tonight is precisely the auspicious hour; the essential point of purity and stillness lies in this very moment. The moonlight is bright and clean, cast into the depths, as if the stars hung upside down. Do not cling to strange appearances, and do not mistake the realm of emptiness for sheer nothingness. When numinous nature shines through, it is as if the bright pearl one originally possesses were revealed. Know that a fish’s eye is not a true pearl.

Changchunzi says: Neither mind nor nature is a solid thing that can be grasped, yet nature can be realized from within the mind. Water and moon are both clear, and the gleam of the waves is naturally unstained.

The Third

The realm of the mind is deep and broad, like a great river; the source lies far off, and the current runs long of itself. Let poisonous dragons fight and churn as they will—that still cannot match the filth of bloody mire in a ditch.

Huichunzi says: The light of purity is like a bright mirror and need not be forged on purpose; with only a little polishing, the poisonous dragon shows its form. Ah, there is no need to say much. The wondrous meaning from the West is already clear, and Zhi Dun, the eminent monk of the Eastern Jin, still rides his white horse away.

The Fourth

Grind it, and it will not grow thin; dye it, and it will not turn black. What is there to envy in favor, and what to decline in disgrace? Within quiet concentration the full moon appears, and only then does one believe that the practitioner is no fool.

Huichunzi says: A blow full in the face—one who awakens catches the point; once the point is caught, one can penetrate the principle of still extinction.

The Fifth

Do not loathe evil, and do not boast of good. Hold to your own nature, and do not let the outside world shove you about. When thunder stirs beneath the earth, suchness appears—zhenru, the true and unchanging nature. Let it roam as it will between the great sea and the river of stars.

Huichunzi says: What Buddha-dharma is this? It is like a wooden stake standing upright, and like a clap of thunder, so that one does not fear the blow.

The Sixth

Thick cloud and dense rain, mist drear and bewildering, hide the bodhisattva’s original face. If the clear wind does not sweep the clouds and mist away, how can moonlight like that of the Toad Palace show its fullness?

Huichunzi says: The meditation cushion—the putuan used for seated practice—gives a soft sound; in the turn of an eye one somersaults, and the bodhisattva appears.

The Seventh

Nature is like the water of a pool, the mind like level ground. When weeds spring up, pull them out at once; after the wind has passed, the blue-green waves grow clear.

Huichunzi says: Nature does not leave the mind, and within the mind there is empty stillness, with nothing there. To remove stray thoughts as soon as they arise is a comparatively shallow method.

The Eighth

The one point of numinous brightness is originally pure and void. Clouds come and clouds go, and the moon remains at ease as ever. In dealing with affairs the light may for a time be covered; when the gloom disperses, the bright pearl appears as before.

Huichunzi says: If one does not understand Chan inquiry, how can one understand bowing to the Buddha? One fist breaks the screen of delusion, and the five fingers do not let go.

The Ninth

The mind is like a wild bird, the hardest thing to tame. The moment it leaves the cage, one must find a way to gather it back. Do not let it fly north and south with the wind, or it will scatter in every direction and fall into a deep pit.

Huichunzi says: It is plainly one round moon; point it out, and one says that it is the moon. Sun and moon shine on Heaven and Earth, and mountains and rivers are magnificent. Ah—who can recognize the principle in this?

The Tenth

One point of numinous brightness is one point of true gold. Let it drift off on the wind, and it will sink from sight. Everyone originally possesses the seed of bodhi, the capacity to become a Buddha. If mind and nature are scattered and the spirit is sunken and dull, where is one to look for it?

Huichunzi says: One puts on clothes and eats, yet does not know fullness and warmth. When the mind no longer clings and the substance of nature is empty and clear, a lotus can open in raging fire.

The Eleventh

The sprouts of sorrow and the seeds of desire must all be set down. Outwardly one is mild as the spring wind; inwardly one is firm as iron. Favor and adversity, birth and death, are in the end the same in principle, yet between movement and stillness a distinction remains.

Huichunzi says: One can set a foot even among thorns, and turn about even in a deep pool. The one thing to watch is that easeful realm of clear wind and bright moon, sitting face to face with green mountains, lest one grow attached to purity and stillness and come to a halt.

The Twelfth

Human life is all bustle, drifting like duckweed. When will the waves of the sea of karma—the suffering wrought by karmic force—grow calm? To recognize one’s original face, one should diligently seek instruction, beneath the moon, from a perfected person, a zhenren, one who has attained the Dao.

Huichunzi says: With one bowl and one alms basin, anywhere may be home. Meet an old practitioner, and raise the staff and strike.

The Thirteenth

Primordial Qi, whole and undifferentiated, originally has no form. Only when the proper season comes does one perceive it taking shape. Do not suppose that being and non-being are hard to tell apart. Understand that to seek within oneself is better than to seek help outside.

Huichunzi says: A single mani jewel surpasses countless worlds. After the dragon girl offered the pearl, only now is it truly recognized. Ah—one child has two mothers, and the affinal kin of the four gates must not be neglected either.

The Fourteenth

Outside it may seem turbid; inside it is originally pure. Dragon’s head and tiger’s tail turn in their proper times. If the ordinary and the sacred can be fused into one, white snow and yellow sprouts grow of themselves—baixue and huangya, terms of Neidan for the subtle Qi generated in the course of refining and nourishing.

Huichunzi says: What is the Dao? If one does not even understand such daily matters as relieving oneself, eating, and dressing, there can be still less talk of awakening to the Dao.

The Fifteenth

In cultivating the great Dao, one must first nourish numinous nature. Once the numinous light is thoroughly awakened, it is easy to return to the root. Even if Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit) are all abundant, if one is still in darkness, how can one understand refinement and transformation?

Huichunzi says: East, south, west, north, and the central region are all veiled in dust, and it is easy to go white-haired in the blink of an eye. Ah—the speaker has turned the order upside down. Hard, or not? Turn a somersault and you will know. Easy, or not? Open your eyes wide and look.

The Sixteenth

Close the mouth, gather Shen, and contemplate only inward. The Dharma-body—the pure fundamental body manifested through cultivation—constantly appears in the most subtle place. Within quiet concentration, take up the jewel of numinous brightness and settle it in the Central Palace—Zhonggong, a Neidan term for the central pivot of the body. This is the elixir.

Huichunzi says: Once the knack is gained, one should close the mouth and cultivate in stillness. If you still will not take the work upon yourself, how can the bamboo slat—the bamboo ferule with which the Chan school admonishes disciples—refrain from striking you? Ah—come again, and it will not be worth half a coin. Kindly go around behind the abbot’s quarters.

The Seventeenth

The long sky is clear, originally without stain. Clouds come and clouds go, merely hurrying about on their own account. Set in motion the wind of Xun—the Wind among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), and in Neidan also a term for the circulation of breath—and make it whirl above and below. In the end, the light of nature and the numinous treasure both return to the inner treasury.

Huichunzi says: It is like a cloth bag, holding all things and obstructing nothing; muddled and undifferentiated, and nothing can be got out of it.

The Eighteenth

Do not use worldly affairs to sort brightness from darkness. In leisure, recover your own original face. Remain awake, unmoved by the warmth and cold of the world’s ways. Set down clinging to birth and death, and only then is the real attained.

Huichunzi says: From above the nine heavens down to beneath the nine springs, the fists and staves of Shaolin strike high and low together. Once the way is beaten through, one may let hands and feet go free and gallop off on horseback.

The Nineteenth

Fierce flames leap like a blue-green dragon in flight; clear waves stretch far like a white tiger crouched low. With a cord bind the tiger’s tail and the dragon’s head, draw them into the Spirit Chamber—Shenshi, a Neidan term for the place where spirit and Qi congeal—and return them to the source.

Huichunzi says: Long absent from home, and the road back far and hard; now at last one returns, and only then knows that parents, wife, and children are each safe and well. Ah—the ornamental pillar of a thousand years still stands, while one lets the blue sea turn into mulberry fields.

Postscript

The Yijing, the Classic of Changes, says: “Supreme is the primal De of Kun, by which the myriad things are given growth.” That the Way of Kun compliantly receives the Way of Qian—is this not so? Yet among women in the world, those who truly understand the Way of Kun and accord with the De of Kun are few. Some are dull and obstinate, some extravagant and overbearing; the ways of going astray are too many to count. Even the few who aspire to escape birth and death, if they do not understand the principle of nature and life, often merely pick up stock phrases from spirit-mediums and nuns, take former causes and later effects for the great Dao, and cultivate blindly, misleading themselves and misleading others. Alas—all this comes of the loss of the true instructions for women’s cultivation of the Dao.

Now that the Xichi Ji has come into the world, it reveals a secret untransmitted through the ages. Out of great compassion it opens a gate of expedient means. It is hoped that women everywhere will revere it, trust it, cultivate it, and study it deeply.

In the book every character has its function and every sentence its oral formula; do not pass over them lightly. Some things, moreover, are hard to set down in writing. Only by cultivating the Dao with a sincere heart can one meet a perfected person and receive instruction. In sum, to enter upon cultivation one must first gather in mind and spirit and nourish the breath. If the mind cannot be held in, the root of nature grows dark; if Qi is not adequately nourished, the root of life is harmed. Only through the dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) is the Way of Kun complete. May those who read this book not let the opportunity slip, lest they fail the author’s compassionate heart, which seeks to deliver the people of the world.

Respectfully postscripted by Lingyangzi.

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