《阴符经讲义》

The Commentary on the Yin Fu Jing was written by Xia Yuanding of the Song dynasty (courtesy name Zongyu, sobriquet Yunfeng Sanren, a native of Yongjia) and comprises four juan. Xia Yuanding interprets the Yin Fu Jing through the theory of Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. Appended at the end of the book, each with its own explanation, are such diagrams as the Diagram of the Inner and Outer Three Passes, the Diagram of the Sacred Work of the Sun and Moon, the Diagram of the Marvelous Vessel and the Myriad Phenomena, the Diagram of the Three Teachings Returning to One, the Diagram of the Former Heaven and the Latter Heaven, the Diagram of the Upper and Lower Magpie Bridges, the Diagram of the Seventy-Two Seasonal Periods, and the Diagram of the Generation and Completion of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).

An examination of the Bibliographic Treatise of the Book of Han shows that the Daoist school and the school of the immortals were originally distinct traditions. The full text of the Yin Fu Jing consists of 384 characters. According to the older account, it was composed by Li Quan, who also wrote the commentary himself. Li Quan’s commentary never mentions the furnace and fire of elixir refining, and from this it is clear that he argued from Daoist thought, not from the cultivation ideas of the immortals’ school. Later commentators on Li Quan’s book set aside Li Quan’s own annotations and offered interpretations of their own—like mistaking the writing of Chu for the meaning of Yan—coming close to groundless, forced conjecture.

The Cantong qi, however, originally did not discuss the Classic of Changes, yet Chen Tuan used it to expound that classic, and a doctrine standing as its own school later took shape. The Yin Fu Jing originally did not discuss elixir refining, yet this commentary borrows it to set forth the methods of the elixir, and in the same way a lineage of its own arose, transmitted from generation to generation and impossible to discard. For this reason, among the writings related to the Yin Fu Jing, the compilers included the commentaries of six masters in order to preserve the early principles, and also included this commentary as another line of interpretation. Other works that continue to develop along these two lines are not included. Of the writings of the Buddhist and Daoist traditions, only the general substance is retained here; there is no need to pursue every claim one by one.

The book is preceded by a preface written by Lou Fang in the second year of Baoqing. The preface says that in his youth Xia Yuanding studied with local elders of Yongjia and was fond of reading the Yin Fu Jing, yet never fully grasped it. Later, at the summit of Zhurong Peak, he met an accomplished adept and seemed to receive a transmission. When he read the Yin Fu Jing again, he could divide it into chapters and settle its phrasing, and could take up the brush and compose, as if a spirit were secretly assisting him. Works of this kind of esoteric art often cast their teachings as miraculous, and narratives of this sort are common.

The book also contains a preface by Liu Yuangang, written in the bingxu year of Baoqing, to Yunfeng’s Notes on the Ruyao jing, together with Xia Yuanding’s own record and his own preface; in the dinghai year of Baoqing there is, further, a postface by Wang Jiuwan. Yu Yan, in Xishang futan (Casual Talks at the Mat), says that Xia Yuanding annotated the three books the Yin Fu, the Yaojing, and the Wuzhen, and that Zhen Xishan wrote prefaces for them, which agrees with what the various prefaces state. Today, however, his annotated editions of the Yaojing and the Wuzhen pian are nowhere to be seen, and this edition no longer contains Zhen Dexiu’s preface; perhaps it was lost in the course of copying and transmission. Yet Zhen Dexiu’s Collected Writings of Xishan likewise does not include this preface, and the reason for that cannot be known.

When Ban Gu compiled the Bibliographic Treatise of the Book of Han, he recorded four categories of military writings: thirteen schools devoted chiefly to stratagem, eleven schools devoted chiefly to situational advantage, sixteen schools devoted chiefly to Yin-Yang (yinyang), and thirteen schools devoted chiefly to technical skill. Although the schools were classified differently and the subjects of their specialized study were not the same, the principles running through them remained interconnected throughout.

Ban Gu said that stratagem means guarding the state by the orthodox course and directing battle by unexpected measures, while at the same time mastering situational advantage and Yin-Yang and employing every kind of technique. Viewed in this light, these four categories of military writings may in fact be regarded as a single school. I, however, hold that stratagem, situational advantage, and technical skill can all be brought back within Yin-Yang, for the transformations between Heaven and Earth are, at root, nothing other than the waxing and waning and the mutual conversion of Yin and Yang. Stratagem has its opening and closing, its advance and withdrawal; situational advantage has its separation and its joining; technical skill has its drawing-in and its release. What determines all these changes is the movement of Yin and Yang. Hence it is said, “One Yin and one Yang—this is what is called the Dao (dao).”

When Fan Li planned the attack on Wu, he carefully examined the regularities of surplus and shortfall in materiel and of earliness and lateness in timing, and he extended his observation even to such details as changes in the populations of rice and crabs. He used these regularities to scheme against Wu, and he also used them to order his own household. This is precisely what later people called “setting out after others, yet arriving before them”: one who is adept at seizing the moment acts swiftly and can get ahead of the rest. To snatch the moment with the speed of a fierce beast or a bird of prey—is this not the application of the transformations of Yin and Yang? Stratagem, situational advantage, and technical skill are all contained within it. Among the ancients skilled in the use of troops, there was none who did not understand the principles of Yin and Yang. Feng Hou’s Woqi Jing (Classic of Seizing the Unorthodox), the diagram of the Eight Arrays of Zhuge Liang, the Martial Marquis, and the statements of Li, Duke of Wei, concerning the bearings of gu and xu—the orphan and the void—and the watching of omens, are all among the better-known examples.

There are examples that go further still. Zhang Liang, whose courtesy name was Zifang, once knelt beneath the bridge at Yi to receive a book from an old man. Su Shi, known as Su Changgong, was deeply skeptical of this, and asked whether the Qin could really have been without recluses of high attainment. I too wonder: how are we to know that the Qin was without immortals? Zhang Liang, it would seem, merely happened to meet that accomplished man.

The Yin Fu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman), traditionally ascribed to the Yellow Emperor, is written in language so ancient and abstruse that readers often cannot even decide where the sentences should be divided, to say nothing of writing a commentary on it. When Master Xia Zongyu came from Zhejiang to Fujian, he brought out a volume of lecture notes for me to see: it was the Lectures on the Yin Fu Jing that he himself had written. In his youth he had studied with noted masters in the Yongjia region, and he was especially fond of reading this difficult book, though at the time he had not fully understood it. Later, when he went to Shangrao, he prayed in silence: “Before ascending the Dragon-and-Tiger Roll, first ascend Dragon-and-Tiger Mountain.” In the night he had a strange dream, and afterward, on the summit of Zhurong Peak, he met an accomplished man, as though he had received instruction from him. When he read the book again, he could divide the chapters and settle the phrasing, and, taking up the brush, compose a finished text, as if some spirit were secretly assisting him. How could this be merely like an ordinary commentary, written by groping and conjecture? He must have come to an insight, so that what was in his mind accorded with the meaning of the scripture.

Yet neither the art of war nor the Dao of the immortals is easy to discuss. Speak of the art of war, and one easily slides into cunning and deceit; speak of immortals, and one easily slides into the baseless and the fantastic. Must the Dao of the immortals be sought from outside? If the mind within is clear and lucid, and one’s resolve and Qi (qi) course through like Shen (shen), then the Dao of the immortals communicates with the principles of the use of arms. Understand the Dao of the immortals, and one can understand the art of war; understand the art of war, and one can also understand the Dao of the immortals.

Chong Mingyi lived out his life in seclusion on Mount Hua, yet generation after generation his descendants produced famous generals. After Yao Pingzhong was defeated in battle at the capital, some held that he had already fled and was no longer among the living. These examples show that the Dao of the immortals of which the Confucians speak lies originally in cultivation and action of this kind, and not in outward tales of the strange and marvelous. In reading Master Xia Zongyu’s book, one ought likewise to understand it from this standpoint.

In the middle ten days of the eighth month, autumn, of the second year of Baoqing (1226), Lou Fang composed this preface.

Observing the Dao (the Way) of Heaven and grasping the laws of its operation—the essentials of cultivation lie entirely here.

The innate nature bestowed on human beings by the “mandate of Heaven” is called “nature,” and following that nature in one’s conduct is called the Dao. The Dao is not something one can seek only by looking reverently into remote and hidden places; the Dao of Heaven lies within us. If one can thoroughly discern its subtlety, one can directly sense the presence of the Dao and understand that the supreme Dao is in fact not complex. The key lies in according with the operation of the Dao of Heaven and never departing from it through all twelve two-hour periods of daily life.

Whether speaking or silent, exhaling or inhaling, as Yin Qi (vital energy) wanes and waxes and Yang Qi opens and closes, as the sun sets in the west and rises in the east, breath like wind and cloud enters and leaves through the seven orifices (the two eyes, the two ears, the two nostrils, and the mouth), and Kan and Li (symbols of Water and Fire) meet in the Yuan Gong (a term of internal cultivation referring to an important site of refinement within the body): by means of this Dao, Heaven sets the myriad things in motion, and by means of it I practice within myself. Cold and heat come and go accordingly, and the sun and moon alternate with it; the firm, vigorous movement symbolized by the Qian hexagram therefore never ceases, and its function in daily life is naturally inexhaustible. When cultivation reaches this stage, one no longer feels that “I am according with Heaven” or that “Heaven is directing me,” but that Heaven and I have become one. The saying “My destiny is in my own hands, not decided by Heaven” perhaps refers to precisely this. To call it “exhaustion” means that the principle is fully realized here and that nothing higher remains.

Heaven has the “Five Thieves”; those who see and master them can flourish.

The “Five Thieves” refer to the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water). Human beings receive the Five Phases from Heaven, yet they also put the Five Phases to use within themselves. Does this mean that the Dao of Heaven undergoes no change? It does not. When the Five Phases operate in their ordinary sequence, they can generate the myriad things; if, following the methods of cultivating the Dao, their functions are reversed, they can be used to refine the elixir. For example, one brings Metal and Wood into conjunction and harmonizes Water and Fire so that they mutually complete one another; Earth thrives in all four seasons and also takes effect by restraining Water. This is the application of the Five Phases restraining and transforming one another. So subtle and profound a principle—how could ordinary people easily see it? Thus it is said that those who see it can flourish. When one’s mind and intent are sincere, understanding follows; once there is understanding, the principle becomes manifest, like light arising in an empty and still room, inwardly full and naturally radiant. What was earlier called “observing the Dao of Heaven” is here spoken of again as seeing the pivotal moment at which the Dao of Heaven brings flourishing. The sage reveals the great Dao in order to instruct the world, yet the benighted often brush past it—truly a pity.

The Five Thieves lie hidden in the heart and, through human action, are carried out between Heaven and Earth.

When the five kinds of illuminating principle, the Five Illuminations (Wuming), become manifest, they are plainly visible. When the inner mind is empty and still, it is as if a bright Qi (vital energy) arises in an empty room; once the mind is full, the subtle wonder of illumination likewise appears of itself. One is told both to observe the Dao (the Way) of Heaven and to behold the flourishing of Heaven’s Dao. The sage has already revealed the great Dao in order to instruct the world, yet the benighted brush past it unnoticed—how regrettable.

The Five Thieves (Wuzei)—the forces, within the transformations of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wuxing; Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), that bring about the waxing and waning of the myriad things—reside in the mind, and through the mind they are enacted upon Heaven.

The principles of the Five Phases and the Five Thieves are profound and subtle. The mind is the master within the body and is truly able to govern all affairs. What is called “enacting them upon Heaven” refers entirely to the working of the mind: the mind is Heaven, and Heaven is the mind. If a person can unite the one mind with Heaven, that person can discern and employ the subtle principles of creative transformation. Whether in movement or stillness, ascent or descent, one seems to stand at the left and right of the imperial throne; when transformations are carried out, one can scarcely tell whether it is Heaven that acts or the mind that acts.

The cosmos is held in the hand.

The hand is the crucial point among the Three Passes (Sanguan) of the human body—the three vital gates of the mouth, the feet, and the hands—and those who study the Dao should know where to begin. The Huangting Jing (Scripture of the Yellow Court) says: “The mouth is the pass of the mind, the pivot of the activity of Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit); the feet are the pass of life, the gateway of vitality; the hands are the pass of the person, governing flourishing and decline.” In accordance with celestial images and directions, the hands can reckon the Five Circuits and Six Qi (Wuyun Liuqi)—the Qi of the Five Phases and the changes of their circulation—nourish harmonious Qi with the gesture of firm gripping (wogu), and seize transformations by a snap of the fingers. Examining the body allows one to discern the signs of Yin-Yang, while forming hand seals and moving the eyes are held to communicate the numinous responses of ghosts and spirits. Not one of these functions is unrelated to the hands.

The six directions of the cosmos stretch without bound, yet if one grasps the mysterious principle, it is as though Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are laid out in the palm. The preface to the Cantong Qi says that, in turning the yin tallies of the sixty-four hexagrams, the celestial pass lies in the palm—this is precisely the meaning.

All manner of transformations arise from one’s own person.

The human body is itself like a small Heaven and Earth. Within it there is the rising and falling of Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang), and change like that of the sun and moon; there is the circulation of Qi (vital energy), blood, and fluids, with rises and falls like wind and rain and shocks like thunder and lightning; there is breath like clouds of Qi, a bodily form and structure like mountains and rivers, and growth and aging like grasses and trees. A person’s movement and stillness, speech and silence, opening and closing and transformation, all resemble Heaven and Earth. This shows that every kind of change arises from this.

In a person who has the Dao (the Way), the changes in body and mind can arise and turn; in a person without the Dao, these changes come to a stop. One who can bring them forth travels together with the Dao of Heaven; one in whom they cease is as if living next to ghosts. How, then, can a person fail to cherish and care for body and mind?

A person’s nature is the nature bestowed by Heaven; the human heart-mind is the pivot that senses and responds to change. The Dao of Heaven is established so that a person may settle that nature.

Heaven and the human being are originally of one heart-mind, and the pivotal moment and the Dao move along the same course. If the six desires and seven emotions (a person’s various desires and feelings) seize the original true nature, karmic consciousness (consciousness built up from past actions and deluded thoughts) blazes like fire, so that one can no longer tell what is Heaven and what is human, nor what is the pivotal moment and what is the Dao.

The supreme sages (the sages of antiquity), with deep and far-reaching compassion, set forth the inner meaning of this, saying that human nature is Heaven and that Heaven is likewise the human. The ultimate principle of the union of Heaven and humanity is a seamless whole, and cannot be pursued to its end in words. If a person can grasp the key of change and respond fittingly, that person will naturally accord with the Dao of Heaven. The “pivotal moment” spoken of here is not worldly cunning and deceit, but the subtle turning point in the working of Heaven and Earth: its movement does not appear urgent, yet it arrives swiftly; its response is exactly apt, like the two halves of a tally fitting together.

If a person understands this turning point, lets the heart-mind communicate with the creative transformations, and can thus meet change in due time, then the Dao of Heaven is established and the human Dao is settled. This is not setting up a Dao of Heaven apart from the human Dao, nor first establishing the Dao of Heaven and only afterward settling the human Dao; for the human Dao is the Dao of Heaven, the Dao of Heaven is Heaven’s pivotal moment, and Heaven’s pivotal moment is Heaven-given nature. What is called “preserve the heart-mind and nourish the nature” means preserving the original heart-mind and nurturing innate nature, and thereby carrying out the Dao of Heaven.

When Heaven sets in motion the pivotal moment of killing and chastisement, dragons and snakes appear upon the land; when Earth sets in motion the pivotal moment of killing and chastisement, the stars and constellations undergo anomalous change.

When the timing of Heaven sets the mechanism of killing in motion, dormant dragons and snakes emerge from underground. When Earth sets the mechanism of killing in motion, the stars fall and vanish. When human beings set the mechanism of killing in motion, the constant order of Heaven and Earth is overturned along with it. When Heaven and humanity together set this change in motion, the foundation for the generation and transformation of the myriad things is thereby established.

Although Heaven, Earth, and human beings occupy different places, birth and killing are driven by one and the same mechanism of Qi (vital energy). What is called “killing” serves precisely to bring “birth” about, while the growth of things may also become the cause of their decline and passing away. When Yin Qi and Yang Qi are locked in a stalemate and neither yields, they must join battle, and Heaven and Earth display an intermingling of black and yellow. This is precisely where the killing mechanism resides.

Take, for example, the time when Yin-Yang is in harmonious communion and the myriad things move without obstruction. Heaven then sets the killing mechanism in motion and sweeps away the perverse Yin Qi of the lower realm: thunder peals, lightning flashes, and Heaven’s majesty is revealed. Dragons and snakes lie dormant, yet when Yang Qi grows abundant they cannot but appear upon the ground. When Earth sets the killing mechanism in motion, it takes up a firm and vigorous momentum: springs surge upward, the Yellow River flows backward, and the handle of the Northern Dipper cannot but turn. The myriad things lie hidden at the turning point where Yin-Yang alternately wanes and waxes.

If a person can recognize this mechanism of Qi, that person can secretly mobilize the creative work of nature, shift Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth), and overturn Heaven and Earth, bringing the Qi of Heaven and Earth into union so that peace and stability are reached, and letting birth and killing each find its proper use. The Perfected One Taibai says that if a person recognizes this mechanism, that person can covertly seize the creative power of nature and rotate Qian and Kun, bring Heaven and Earth into harmonious communion, and make the transformations of birth and killing into the function by which the myriad things are brought to fulfillment.

In a song, the Perfected One Taibai says: “In the art of inverting the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the dragon is born out of fire; if the Five Phases do not proceed in their usual order, the tiger appears out of water.” This speaks of the reversal and transformation of the mechanism of Qi.

Heaven, Earth, and human beings together are called the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity), and birth and killing alike are carried by the same Qi. Mencius said: “I am good at nurturing my flood-like Qi, so that it fills the space between Heaven and Earth.” Does this mean that, apart from one’s own person, there is another Heaven and Earth for this Qi to fill? From this we know that the movement of Qi is not a matter of surplus in Heaven and shortfall within the human body. When Heaven and humanity together set the mechanism of Qi in motion, they match without the slightest discrepancy. When the mechanisms of Qi respond to one another in secret, every kind of transformation can arise. Once the foundation of elixir-refining cultivation is established, the Great Dao (the Way) grows forth from this.

People’s inborn dispositions differ in being quick or slow, yet all of them can be drawn inward, stored, and nourished.

Physical form and outward expression are the nature bestowed by Heaven, and only from this do skill and clumsiness appear. To remain hidden and unrevealed is in order to await the right moment; the tianji—the subtle juncture in the natural course of things—is contained within this. Since there is such a nature, there is also an opportunity that corresponds to it. What is called concealment does not mean that one thenceforth ceases to apply the mind. Rather, one must cherish talent and virtue, nurture the Qi (vital energy) of the heart-mind, and wait for a suitable time. This is precisely the essential point of Golden Elixir cultivation—the Daoist practice of inwardly refining body and mind with the aim of returning to the origin and recovering the true.

Some explain this passage by saying that yin lead governs latency, while yang mercury governs flight and movement; the sage subdues yang mercury and refines the yin po, and only thus does the effect of “great skill appearing as clumsiness” arise. This view is incorrect. When the Yellow Emperor speaks of skill and clumsiness, he has human nature in view; when he speaks of concealment, he means that one must wait for the moment. For nature accords with the xuanyuan—the profound and fundamental Dao (the Way)—whereas lead and mercury belong to tangible things that possess form. So long as nature is clear, lucid, and spiritually aware, and the yang hun, symbolizing the positive power of the spirit, gradually grows full, neither skill nor clumsiness can obscure its functioning. When one has remained concealed and awaited the time, once the tianji comes into correspondence, the nature bestowed by Heaven will manifest. This is exactly what Lü Dongbin meant by “seven reversions returning the elixir,” a technical term of Neidan (internal alchemy): the practitioner must first refine the self—that is, cultivate body and mind—and only then await the moment. To understand the principle of waiting for the moment is also to understand why the nature of skill and clumsiness must be kept concealed.

The delusions and aberrations born of the nine orifices—the nine openings of the head, face, and lower body—turn upon the three essentials, which usually refer to Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen (spirit), the three elements of cultivation; they can be regulated through movement and stillness.

The human body has nine orifices—nine openings—seven above and two below, any of which may admit what is deviant and turbid. Those who study the Dao (the Way) understand this, and must therefore draw in and restrain the three crucial senses, so that whether in action or at rest no deviant thoughts arise. Which three? The ears, the eyes, and the mouth.

The Cantong qi, a Daoist classic of cultivation and refinement, says: “Firmly guard and seal the three treasures; do not lightly let them show.” The ears, the eyes, and the mouth are the gateways of body and mind. If one carefully guards these three, one can meet the ever-changing sounds, sights, and flavors of the outer world: though sounds are many, they do not rob hearing of its concentration; though forms and appearances are profuse, they do not cloud the mind’s clear discernment; though flavors are mixed, once they enter the mouth they do not disturb the heart’s Shen (spirit). In this way one naturally keeps body and mind clear and bright, and will and Qi (vital energy) become like Shen. Between every movement and every stillness one follows the right course of Heavenly principle, so that even many deviant thoughts and temptations cannot intrude. How, then, could the deviant turbidity drawn in through the nine orifices affect oneself? This is precisely the principle of “Look not at what is contrary to ritual propriety, listen not to what is contrary to ritual propriety, and speak not what is contrary to ritual propriety.” How could this be any heterodox teaching?

Fire arises from within wood; if it is left to spread, disaster will surely cause harm. Treachery and evil breed within the state; once the moment is set in motion, the state collapses. Those who understand these principles and cultivate in accordance with them are called sages.

Wood can give birth to fire, yet in the end it is consumed and destroyed by that very fire. If a state breeds treachery and wickedness, it will ultimately bring disaster and disorder upon itself. This is the calamity that must appear once things have developed to a certain point. One who cultivates the Dao (the Way) understands this principle, and can therefore cause fire to arise from wood without the wood being burned, and allow treachery to appear within the state without the state falling into turmoil.

This is like the desires for food and drink and for relations between men and women. These are desires that people feel deeply, and they cannot be forbidden altogether merely because they may lead to wickedness and disorder. If desire is left to run unchecked, a person may stop at nothing. Only when it is restrained by the Dao does the mutual generation of wood and fire cease to be a source of harm and instead turn into a blessing. Even if treachery begins to stir, one can keep it from sliding into evil and bring it back to the correct path. Is this not precisely the method by which the sage cultivates? It is to dwell in the dusty world without being defiled, and to move in and out of life and death while attaining transcendence.

Among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the power of wood and fire generating one another is the strongest. The human body likewise manifests the condition of the Five Phases through the flourishing and decline of wood and fire. If the true primordial Qi (vital energy)—the fundamental energy of human life—suffers no depletion, wood and fire flourish, secretly according with the celestial mechanism of cultivation. Ordinary people indulge their desires until life is injured; this is to slight nature and life and to practice treachery at will. The sage, by contrast, refines and transforms this into the Dao, returning it to the proper course. If the true primordial Qi declines, wood and fire are extinguished; the Dao of Heaven is thereby diminished, the human Dao grows ever more distant, and the ghostly Dao draws ever nearer. How lamentable!

Volume Two

The Jing (scripture/classic) says: Heaven causes the myriad things to grow, and also causes them to perish; this is the pattern of the Dao.

When the climate corresponds to the Huangzhong pitch (the first of the ancient twelve pitches), the myriad things sprout; this is Heaven causing the myriad things to grow. When it corresponds to the Yize pitch (one of the twelve pitches), the myriad things draw inward; this is Heaven causing the myriad things to wither and perish. Yet why does Heaven both bring the myriad things to life and bring them to destruction? Because within this there is inherently a pattern of generation and killing. How can one know that a person is able to embody this pattern within the self? One need only observe with care the changes in the workings of Heaven and Earth: growth in spring and gathering-in in autumn, and the alternating succession of Yin-Yang. One then finds that this occurs not only across the four seasons of the year, but can also be manifested in the cycle of the twelve double-hours. From this, a person may comprehend and put to use the wondrous functioning of the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth, and come to understand the subtle mystery of the Dao.

Heaven and Earth draw upon the myriad things, enabling them to come into being and undergo transformation; the myriad things, in turn, draw upon the conditions of Heaven and Earth in order to grow. Among the myriad things, who knows that a human being is able to fill the self with the Dao (the Way)? If one observes the transformations of nature in depth, one can understand the regular pattern whereby spring brings forth life and autumn brings stern decline, and Yin-Yang alternates in its changes. These changes are not manifested only in the course of a year; within the twelve double-hours they may be seen at every moment. From this, a person can employ the subtle workings of the creative transformation of Heaven and Earth and grasp the profound principles of the Dao.

Heaven and Earth draw upon the myriad things, the myriad things draw upon human beings, and human beings also draw upon the myriad things. When these three—Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, and human beings—draw upon one another and each obtains what is fitting, the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity can be settled and secure.

The Dao (the Way) of Heaven delights in letting the myriad things grow, and the Dao of Earth causes the myriad things to breed and multiply. Human beings are the most spiritually endowed of all things, and the myriad things are also there for people to take and use—how, then, can one say that humans are “stealing” the myriad things? Is it because Heaven and Earth have no heart of benevolence, treating the myriad things as straw animals bound for sacrifice, and so seize the life-force of the myriad things and do not let them flourish for long? The five colors dazzle the eyes, the five tones dull the hearing, and the five flavors throw the sense of taste into disorder—is this the myriad things seizing human vigor, so that people cannot prosper for long? People fell mountain forests with axes and catch fish with fine-meshed nets; they also plant the five grains, raise the six domestic animals, and cook them to eat—is this human beings seizing the life-force of the myriad things, so that the myriad things cannot long endure?

Yet these three “thefts”—Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, and human beings—consume and injure one another in secret, the process utterly silent. The rise and decline, the life and death of the myriad things arise from this, yet are hard to trace clearly. Mutual depletion between Heaven and Earth and the myriad things is not enough to cause fundamental harm; those who truly suffer deeply from it are human beings. Why say this? Heaven and Earth generate and nourish, cover and uphold the myriad things, while they themselves endure; the myriad things, though taken and used by people, can still come into being without cease. People take and use the myriad things originally in order to nourish life, yet in the end cannot attain long life, and are finally consumed by the myriad things—truly pitiable.

Can people of the world deeply understand this principle? If they can, they will naturally know how to cultivate and guard the Three Treasures—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—nurture the Spiritual Pearl (the inner spiritual nature), and practice “preserving the three and guarding the one” (preserving Jing, Qi, and Shen, and holding fast to the original source), so that Jing, Qi, and Shen are complete and one refines a luminous, full Golden Elixir (the refined essence attained through Neidan, internal alchemy). In that case, how could Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things seize one’s own life-force?

The reason people do not understand this is that they hold human life, set between Heaven and Earth, must depend on the myriad things, and that the myriad things, being of benefit to humans, must likewise depend on Heaven and Earth. These principles are indeed so in themselves. Precisely because people take this relationship as a matter of course, they rest content in it and sense nothing unusual. The sage was troubled by this, and therefore said: “The three thefts are already fitting”—but is this truly fitting? This is a lament that the three injure one another without end. “The three powers are already secure”—but is this truly secure? This is pity that Heaven and Earth, human beings, and the myriad things each keep their place, yet rest content in mutual depletion.

This deeply shows the sage’s compassion for worldly people who do not understand the great Dao, who cannot transcend the limits of creative transformation, and who cannot leave life and death behind, cast off decline, and turn toward flourishing, so as to endure together with Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Alas—this is precisely the principle by which the Yellow Emperor perfected the Golden Elixir and ascended to Heaven; and later worthies who cultivated the Dao, became immortals, and rose to Heaven together with their dwellings lifted away appeared one after another. For those who possess the Dao, what can the “three thefts” of Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, and human beings add to them or take away?

Thus it is said: only by taking food and drink at the proper times can every part of the body be duly regulated.

A person is able to live because the Four Great Elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—come together for a time. The limbs and joints, together with spirit, blood, and Qi (vital energy), all depend on nourishment from food and drink. If eating and drinking miss their proper season, they bring no benefit and instead injure the body. Tradition holds that the Yellow Emperor perfected the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and ascended to heaven, and that later worthies in succession cultivated until whole households rose in flight. All this shows that those who possess the Dao (the Way) are not harmed by the “three thieves.”

Thus it is said: only by taking food and drink at the proper times can every part of the body be duly regulated.

The human body is a provisional conjunction of the Four Great Elements. The limbs, joints, and hundred bones, together with spirit, blood, and Qi, cannot do without the nourishment of food and drink. If the fitting moment is missed, food and drink may become harmful. How much more, then, do the gathering and refining of the great Dao of the Golden Elixir depend on timing and appointed days. Tradition says the Golden Elixir is as sweet as malt sugar and about the size of a tangerine; once taken, it enables one to ascend as an immortal and makes the sinews and bones as firm as metal and jade. At that point blood is transformed into a rich paste, the paste into Qi, and Qi into Shen (spirit), until one finally ascends in flight to the Golden Towers (the palaces of the heavenly realm). The transformations it brings—how could they be limited merely to regulating the body?

When one grasps and sets in motion the pivotal point of things, the myriad transformations can be brought to rest.

The creative work of heaven and earth is profound and unfathomable. The hidden mechanism that drives change operates without showing itself, and the human body is the same as heaven and earth. If one can master that mechanism, there is nowhere one’s actions will fail to be auspicious; though the transformations are myriad, one can remain steady and not fall into danger. If the mechanism is lost, one inevitably falls into peril—how then could one speak of security?

People know that the spiritually marvelous working is itself marvelous, yet they do not know why it is able to be so marvelous.

How vast is the wondrous functioning of the spirit! There are times when it is hidden and times when it is revealed; times when it is stored within and times when it streams forth. It is precisely here that the sage and the ordinary person part ways. People of the world know only how to manage affairs and arrange their words and conduct. They feel that speech and writing can be uttered without deliberate pursuit and can hit the mark without reflection, and they take this to be the wondrous functioning of their own spirit. Little do they realize that a disordered consciousness rushes about without cease, responding to the endless transformations of things, chasing external objects and forgetting to return to the original mind, without a moment of peace.

Alas, the more fiercely the flame burns, the sooner the lamp oil is exhausted; the richer the fragrance, the more readily the root of the incense wood withers. This is nothing but hastening one’s own depletion. Why is this so? Because the spirit is revealed to excess. Only the sage turns the gaze inward and listens back into the heart, gathers in the senses, and does not let mind and spirit scatter with external things, storing Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) deep within, so that even ghosts and spirits can hardly fathom them. Thus they appear vague and indistinct, as if knowing nothing, yet within there is what is genuine; dark and obscure, as if there were nothing wondrous, yet within the subtle is held. This not deliberately displaying the wondrous is precisely the path to the highest wonder. If not one who possesses the Dao (the Way), who could achieve it?

The sun and moon each move according to fixed measures, and the great and small among the myriad things each have their allotted portion. From this the sage’s achievements arise, and from this the workings of spiritual illumination become manifest.

The sun belongs to Yang and the moon to Yin; the sun symbolizes the hun-soul of fire, and the moon the po-soul of water. The images of water and fire are plainly visible—how, then, could the pattern of Yin-Yang have no fixed measure? Heaven comprises three hundred sixty-five and one-quarter degrees, each degree corresponding to one day. In a day and a night the sun travels one degree, while the moon travels a little more than twelve. The sun moves slowly, and so circuits heaven once in a year; the moon moves quickly, and so circuits heaven once in a month. Swiftness and slowness act upon each other, and Yin and Yang depend upon each other; thus there are long months and short months, each with its fixed number of days, which does not change.

The human body likewise has its sun and moon, and likewise degrees of circulation; only the time required for one full circuit is not a whole year. Compress a year into a month, and a month into a day, and then, within the twelve double-hours, Yin and Yang rise and fall of themselves, and hun and po generate one another. If the practitioner can apply the methods of the sages, one must bring about the “union of raven and rabbit” (the raven standing for the sun and the rabbit for the moon, symbolizing the blending of Yin and Yang) and the “coupling of dragon and tiger” (dragon and tiger symbolizing the joining of Yin and Yang), then stir them with thunder and moisten them with wind and rain, so that light is born in the empty, still chamber of the heart and one enters a state free of attachment. The various mechanisms of Qi (vital energy) mingle and whirl in an extremely brief moment; this practice is called “the emergence of shenming.” This is not the groundless appearance of spirits; it is through inner clarity that one reaches a spiritually wondrous state.

Being within non-being is the most mysterious of mysteries; non-being within being is the most wondrous of wondrous states. Transformations are endless, profound and hard to fathom; the myriad phenomena are lucid and transparent, and nothing can obscure this. This is called “shenming” (spiritual illumination), and it is not something ordinary thought can comprehend. To accord with the De (Virtue/Power) of heaven and earth, and with the brightness of the sun and moon, is to speak of this Dao (the Way).

People today can only keep these principles on their lips and never practice them in themselves; worse, they regard the teachings of the immortals as absurd—how pitiful! Like walking corpses, they think only of chasing wealth, rank, and pleasure, not knowing that all such things are as a dream, an illusion, a bubble, or a shadow. It is truly grievous.

What is called “stealing the mechanism” refers to the hidden and profound workings within the operations of heaven and earth, which people of the world neither see nor understand. When the noble person obtains it, he is often content in adversity; when the petty person obtains it, he makes light of life.

The metaphor of “stealing the pivot” (daoji) is truly exquisite. What is “stealing”? It means acting so that others cannot detect it. What is the “pivot”? It is the critical juncture that cannot be stopped or intercepted. To slip quietly away at midnight with a load on one’s back—this is “stealing”; who could notice? To stand poised like a bow already drawn—this is the “pivot”; who could block it?

This “stealing the pivot” can run through the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity (the integral order by which Heaven, Earth, humanity, and the myriad things operate). Creation and transformation (the generative changes of nature) make use of the opening and closing of Yin-Yang; as the one Qi (vital energy) circulates, the pivotal mechanisms of the myriad things respond of themselves. Ordinary people live within this every day, yet they do not know it.

Only those who study the Dao (the Way) know how to employ it so as to rest content in honest poverty. “Holding firm in poverty” here does not mean deliberately clinging to destitution; it means regarding wealth and rank as floating clouds, not pursuing lavish food and drink, delighting in clarity, stillness, and emptiness, and resting at ease in simplicity and plainness. The petty person knows of it, yet uses it to treat life lightly. “Treating life lightly” does not refer specifically to taking up arms; wallowing in sexual excess, being lost in music and sensual beauty, drinking heavily and eating greedily, and flaunting wealth while contending for dominance—all of these count as slighting one’s life.

Holding firm in poverty and treating life lightly respectively express the different choices of the noble person and the petty person; yet “stealing the pivot” itself favors no one, nor is it partial according to whether a person has it or lacks it. It is only that the noble person understands this juncture and uses it to rest content in honest poverty, while the petty person does not understand it and yet uses it to treat life lightly. The principle is profound and mysterious, and so it cannot be transmitted without a sworn covenant; hence it is said that no one in the world can see it, nor can they understand it.

The blind have keen hearing, and the deaf have sharp sight. Cut off the entanglement of one sense, and the force one can bring to bear increases tenfold; apply this method again and again, day and night, and that force can increase ten-thousandfold. What is meant here is gathering in the scattered senses and the mind and Shen (spirit), concentrating one’s energies, and thereby strengthening the force one wields.

The blind have no sight, and the deaf have no hearing. If cleverness and intelligence are cast aside altogether, of what use are vision and hearing? That is not what is meant here. People originally rely on the ears and eyes to perceive life, yet they end up burdened by them: the sounds and sights before them disturb the mind and spirit (Shen), and what seeing and hearing take in sets the inner heart in turmoil. At such a moment, does one still know what truly presides?

The blind cannot see external things, so the mind and spirit concentrate on hearing, and white powder and dark brows—every kind of adornment and gorgeous color—cannot disturb them. The deaf cannot hear sounds, so the mind and spirit concentrate on seeing, and beautiful women, together with the music of drums and pipes, cannot seize their attention. This is the subtle excellence of “When the will is undivided, it congeals in the spirit”: when intention is single and not scattered, the spirit can gather. Cut off the pursuit of profit and desire and guard one root alone, and the heart is free of distraction; concentrate essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi), and return them to softness.

What is called “three returns by day and night” means that the three palaces—the three sites within the body spoken of in cultivation, or the Dantian (energy centers)—rise and fall, move to and fro, and circulate without cease. What is called “employing a force tenfold or ten-thousandfold” means taking the spirit as one’s troops to meet conflict, so that deviant spirits and heterodox ways, together with the wicked thoughts and evil notions in the heart, withdraw without a battle.

If a person cuts off profit and desire and concentrates on the fundamental source, every entanglement disperses, and one reaches a state free of thought and care, sincere and single-minded, with no notion straying aside. This is the realm of silent, unmoving stillness. At the same time, day and night the three palaces travel back and forth; Yin-Yang rises and falls without discrepancy, matching like the two halves of a tally and circulating without end. This is the subtle excellence of being stirred and answering in response. Alas—if this principle is not personally practiced and verified in daily life, how can it be made clear in words?

Yet the efficacy of the “tenfold” and of the “ten-thousandfold” still differs in depth. Why is this? If one merely casts aside the cleverness of the senses and forgets the body, making the physical form like withered wood and the inner heart like dead ashes, one may grow calm and still and enter the Dao (the Way), yet one may incline toward the empty quiescence of which the Buddhists speak, unable to circulate and transform, and in the end become only a ghost of yin-spirit and bitter luminance—a spirit-body lingering in the yin realm. The efficacy is then only “tenfold.” If, however, one can cut off profit and desire, guard the source alone, and at the same time carry out the three returns by day and night, one naturally guards the true and embraces the One, so that the three palaces rise, fall, and operate day and night without rest. Heaven and the human being then come into accord, and the response is as swift as a marvel beyond all fathoming. Such attainment shares De (Virtue/Power) with Heaven and Earth and brightness with the sun and moon. Its efficacy admits of no comparison—how could it be merely “ten-thousandfold”?

In former times the Marquis of Lu asked Kangcangzi about the principle of “seeing with the ears and hearing with the eyes.” Kangcangzi replied that the tale of this ability was not accurate: he could see and hear without using the ears and eyes, yet he could not change the original functions of the ears and eyes. The key is to bring the body into union with the heart, the heart into union with Qi, Qi into union with Shen, and Shen into union with “nothing” (the realm without form and without clinging). In this way, whether faint traces and feeble sounds lie far beyond the eight directions or close before the eyes, none escape his perception. If people of the world understand Kangcangzi’s way of seeing and hearing, they can also understand what the Yellow Emperor called “the seeing and hearing of the deaf and the blind” (perception unburdened by the ears and eyes, and therefore penetrating). This principle is truly profound.

The human heart-mind gives rise to desire through external things, and it also lets desire subside through external things; what matters is whatever the eyes come into contact with. Heart-mind and eye are bound together. The appearing of external things and the arising and ceasing of thoughts draw each other along, with no interval between them. How mysterious the principle in this truly is.

Human beings are the most spiritual of the myriad things, and every day they come into contact with all kinds of objects. When a thought arises, the heart-mind responds to external things along with it; when the thought subsides, the heart-mind likewise no longer clings to that matter. Yet thoughts are not produced by external things of themselves—the key that triggers them lies in the eyes. Nor do external things of themselves make thoughts disappear—the key likewise lies in the eyes. If at that moment one could not tell black from white or distinguish beauty from ugliness, the heart-mind would be like vast empty space. How, then, could thoughts arise or subside in response to external things?

The key is that the eyes are stirred by external things. On seeing a beautiful form, affection may arise at once; on seeing something loathsome, aversion deepens along with it. Desire born of liking is the heart-mind coming to life through external things; desire made to subside by aversion is the heart-mind dying through external things. Traced to their source, these responses are not originally present in the heart-mind. They are entirely provoked when the eyes are stirred.

Thus the sages of high antiquity had the method of “inner contemplation” (gathering in the heart-mind and Shen (spirit) and turning awareness inward). The immortals had the method of “screening the eyes” (lessening the pull of external things by shielding or restraining the gaze). The Confucians taught, “Do not look at what is contrary to ritual propriety.” The Buddhists spoke of purifying the eye-faculty (so that vision is not defiled by craving and attachment). These principles are profound, yet the methods of practice are not remote. Still, the blind also have tastes and desires. Can the key that triggers thought really lie only in the eyes? Hence it is said that heart-mind and eye are mutually connected.

The scripture (jing) says: Heaven seems not to bestow favor, yet from this vast grace is born. When thunder breaks suddenly and fierce winds rage, the myriad things are all stirred and set busily into motion.

When the four seasons turn and the myriad things grow, Heaven seems not to apply any deliberate care. Yet only after the harshness of wind and snow and the bite of ice and frost do the myriad things return to the root and recover their mandate, conceiving vitality once more. This shows that Heaven appears to bestow no favor, and yet thereby accomplishes a greater grace. What is more, when thunder peals and winds blow fiercely in spring and summer, grasses, trees, and all things flourish and grow all the more because of them; whatever has life grows in peace and in due course. It is just as gold and treasure can be refined only in fierce fire. Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) should take this to heart, understand the workings of the transformations of life-giving and life-taking, and examine again and again how the germ of life lies hidden within harm. Only one who can thus discern the mystery of Heaven and Earth, and the way Wuwei (non-action) brings transformation to completion, is a master who unites Heaven and humanity.

The utmost joy has its source in innate nature; the utmost stillness enables one to preserve purity and uprightness.

Emotion rises and falls between sorrow and joy, yet innate nature can rest in supreme joy; desire stirs one to act, while the Dao returns to supreme stillness. This is precisely the fundamental difference between immortals and ordinary people. Those who cultivate the Dao should first take their joy in innate nature, allowing neither favorable nor adverse circumstances, nor gain nor loss, to leave the slightest entanglement in the mind, and so attain tranquil simplicity and Wuwei; guarding themselves in clarity and stillness and cultivating body and mind, they will naturally bring the heart into accord with the Dao. If, instead, one is pulled about by the seven emotions and six desires, with sorrow and joy never settled, constantly calling forth misfortune, and day after day caught in the net of the mundane world with no way to break free, how can one enjoy the joy of innate nature, and how can one keep to clarity, stillness, and self-possession?

The movements of Heaven appear partial, yet in their actual application to the myriad things they are supremely impartial.

The Dao (the Way) of Heaven is originally without partiality, yet toward those who cultivate the Golden Elixir—Neidan (internal alchemy)—it seems nonetheless to show a certain favor. The mind of Heaven appears to play favorites, yet with regard to the great Dao it seems once more to be without partiality. Why is this?

From Heaven, human beings receive a spark of numinous clarity and true awareness, a natural fire of samādhi and Wuwei (non-action), the pre-heaven Qi (vital energy) of the Supreme One, and Jing (essence) that holds the true within it. These endowments admit no distinction of great and small, noble and base, immortal and mortal; every person possesses them. Hence it is said that Heaven is without partiality.

One who has the Dao, however, can make Yin-Yang rise and fall in due season and bring sun and moon into union without missing the moment. Such a person can summon thunder and call down rain, stir the wind and flash lightning, as though truly able to turn heaven and earth and to drive dragons and subdue tigers. From this, sacred and marvelous efficacy arises, and a working like that of Shen (spirit) appears, holding within it an inconceivable mystery. One without the Dao is the opposite: Yin and Yang miss the time of their rising and falling, and sun and moon have no season of union. What, then, can thunder, lightning, wind, and rain do for such a person? If he does not spend this life merely eating and drinking to get by, he lingers in the apothecary and in haunts of sensual pleasure.

Is it really that Heaven favors those who possess the Dao and simply disregards those who do not? I see that those with the Dao enjoy long life and remain in the world, and even when their allotted span is spent they can ascend and become immortals, while those without the Dao are beset by illness and soon decay like grass and trees. Precisely where Heaven is most partial, it is also supremely just. How can this fail to awaken our vigilance?

That a bird can fly depends on Qi. The growth of the myriad things all receives the one Qi. Even a tiny bird that flies in the high air is, of course, known to rely on the beating of its wings and the aid of its feathers; yet if the one Qi did not fill it within, it would be weak and spent and unable to rise. One who cultivates the Dao, understanding this, should cherish the Qi of primal harmony and nurture the vital breath of Jing and Shen, bringing it to the utmost of greatness and the utmost of firmness, until it fills all between heaven and earth—only then has the work reached its end. Has not the Shi Jing (Classic of Poetry) said, “The kite flies to the heights; the fish leaps in the deep”? All of this is the working of Qi. The cultivator of the Dao may draw the lesson from what is near, in his own person, or observe it from afar in the myriad things, and thereby come to realize this principle.

Life is the root of death, and death is also the root of life. Favor arises from harm, and harm likewise arises from favor.

To understand the transformations of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, one must grasp the root by which life and death depend upon each other; to know the great Dao (the Way), one must understand the relation between benefit and harm. These principles can be seen both in the transformations of the Five Phases (wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water) and in the great way of the Golden Elixir (jindan). How are they to be understood? Life and death are each other’s source; benefit sometimes arises from harm, and harm sometimes arises from benefit.

Metal is born at the position of Si and dies at the position of Zi. Zi belongs to Water, and Metal can generate Water; seen in this light, has Metal truly died? Wood is born at the position of Hai and dies at the position of Wu. Wu belongs to Fire, and Wood can generate Fire. Water and Earth are born at the position of Shen and die at the position of Mao; Mao belongs to Wood, and Water can generate Wood. This shows that life is the source of death, and death is likewise the source of life.

Although life and death depend on each other in this way, the relation between benefit and harm has a further layer. The transformations of Metal and Fire, in particular, cannot be explained simply in terms of life and death. The Longhu shangjing (Upper Scripture of the Dragon and Tiger) says, “Metal and Fire are the true medicine.” In the methods of the Elixir, no principle is more important than Metal and Fire. Fire is born at the position of Yin and dies at the position of You. You belongs to Metal, and here Fire can overcome Metal—can it still generate Metal? Moreover, You is the place where Metal flourishes, yet it is the place where Fire declines and dies. Since Fire cannot injure Metal in its vigor, Metal on the contrary displays still greater vitality. This is benefit within harm.

Yet Metal cannot arise from nothing; it must rely on what can generate and nourish it. Earth can generate Metal, and Fire can in turn generate Earth. Without Wu and Ji (alternative names for Earth), the Elixir cannot be refined. Alas, the principles by which the Five Phases generate and overcome one another are profound and subtle, and few scholars truly understand them. Many people speak of the Golden Elixir without inquiring deeply into its mysterious principles. These matters should therefore still be distinguished one by one and transmitted to later generations.

Neither Neidan (internal alchemy) nor Waidan (external alchemy) falls outside the transformations of the Five Phases. Why is it called specifically the “Golden Elixir,” rather than a Water Elixir, a Fire Elixir, a Wood Elixir, or an Earth Elixir? The One of Heaven generates Water; Kan is the position of Water, and Water is the mother of the myriad things. Those who cultivate the true should first attend to the Palace of Kan. Yet the Water of the Palace of Kan cannot produce itself; only Metal can generate Water. Thus the primordial, pre-heaven Qi (vital energy) is born through transformation from Metal.

An ancient song says, “Use lead, yet do not use lead; one must work within the lead. When the time comes to use lead, using lead is still a mistake.” Lead is the mother of Metal, Metal is the mother of Water, and Water is the mother of the Elixir. This is the principle by which they generate and complete one another.

The working of the great Dao, however, lies not in mutual generation but in mutual overcoming. Metal can overcome Wood, and Wood thereby comes to exhaustion; Wood can overcome Earth, and Earth thereby reaches emptiness; Earth can overcome Water, and Water thereby merges into the void; Water can overcome Fire, and Fire is finally extinguished. Although Fire can overcome Metal, it cannot destroy Metal: after the smoke disperses and the fire is spent, the very substance of Metal is all the more firm. The Cantong qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three) says, “When Metal enters fierce fire, its color does not lose its essential radiance.” Is this not precisely benefit arising amid harm, and benefit coming from harm?

The methods of the Elixir are therefore called the “Golden Liquor Reverted Elixir,” “long life without death,” or “returning to the root and restoring the source.” What they take as their core is only this single ingredient: “Metal within Water.”

As for the liver, heart, spleen, lungs, and kidneys, together with Jing (essence), fluids, Qi, blood, and liquid, although they differ in form and substance, they are mutually related in the principles of nature and life. Some of these principles can be explained; others are difficult to put into words. The methods of the Elixir involve conjunction, harmonization, medicinal substances, and fire-timing (huohou), as well as such distinctions as the true and the ordinary, guest and host. The ancients said, “The sage transmits the medicine but does not transmit the fire,” meaning that the medicine may be taught, while the use of fire-timing must be shown in person by a master. If one has not met a true teacher, one should not force a guess. Transmission of the elixir methods must be bound by a sworn covenant and must not be divulged lightly. It is said that violating the prohibition brings misfortune upon one’s ancestors, and that calamity falls first upon oneself. Zhang Pingshu (the Daoist alchemist Zhang Boduan) was punished three times for transmitting the teaching to unsuitable persons; students should take this as a warning.

The foolish take the patterns and principles of heaven and earth to be the truth of sagely illumination, whereas I come to wisdom through the patterns and principles of daily affairs and the myriad things. A wise person can foresee what the foolish will do; I reach sagely illumination by not falling into foolishness. Others set a time limit on cultivation; what I seek is not to be bound by any time limit.

The sage, the fool, the worthy, and the wise do not differ in their original starting point. It is only that minds are broader or narrower, so that what they finally achieve is higher or lower, deeper or shallower. Heaven, earth, and the myriad things all have patterns and principles, plain to see and present everywhere. If one can look up to observe the signs of heaven, look down to examine the myriad things, and restrain selfish thoughts, one can become a sage; if one clearly discerns the principles of affairs, one can become wise. Passing from foolishness to wisdom, and then from wisdom to sagely illumination, depends entirely on whether the mind is broad or narrow. If the foolish, by looking upward and examining downward, can comprehend the great Dao (the Way) of heaven and earth, it is not impossible that they should in the end become sages. If I am confined by everyday matters and observe principles only within ordinary life, I may gain wisdom, yet in the end I will stop at being wise.

There is already a difference between the sage and the wise, and their thoughts are not equally pure. If the foolish awaken in a single thought and become sages, Buddhism calls this leaping directly to the other shore and seeing one’s nature to become a Buddha; Daoism calls it attaining the Dao in a single moment and never losing it thereafter, like ascending to immortality from level ground. When the foolish are lost in a single thought, they sink into foolishness; when they awaken in a single thought, they may return wholly to sagely illumination. The wise are different. At first they urgently seek to understand the great Dao, yet later they may grow slack and treat it lightly. If they do not remain alert and on guard, their thoughts will now gather and now run loose, now be maintained and now be lost, and in the end they may return to foolishness without knowing it. What I hope for is to become a sage. How could I remain only at wisdom, and at last fall back into foolishness? Thus what I call “not being foolish” is not merely escaping foolishness to reach sagely illumination, nor is it merely arriving at the state of the sage. For if one takes “the sage” as a goal that can be fixed and measured, one is still bound by the concrete operations of heaven, earth, and the myriad things. What I pursue is to cast off bodily form and the discriminating mind, become one with the Dao, and transcend the myriad things. How could that be measured by a time limit?

This is what is meant by “sage, and yet able to transform”: once the state of the sage is reached, transformation is endless. If one goes further and enters a realm too deep to fathom, it is called Shen (spirit)—that is, the great Dao of the Golden Elixir, the highest Dao sought in the cultivation of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy). Only here do we speak of the distinctions among the foolish, the sage, and the wise. At the outset, one enters the great Dao by means of the patterns and principles of heaven, earth, and the myriad things; in the end, one no longer clings even to these concrete patterns and principles, and thereby attains the Dao. The transformations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the myriad phenomena in all their dense array are all the working of the Dao; written words and spoken language, broken tiles and straw, can all alike become places where the Dao finds lodging.

Although the gateways of cultivation number three thousand six hundred, one must still practice them one by one, accumulate effort over a long time, not forget the abilities already mastered, and test one’s cultivation by a definite period. Yan Hui could draw near the state of the sage, going for three months without violating humaneness; others can manage this only on certain days or at certain times. As for Confucius, whose learning brought the tradition to its great completion, King Wen, who accorded with the Dao of Heaven, and those who flow in one current with heaven and earth above and below—why should they be measured by any time limit?

Some who cultivate the methods of emptiness and stillness say, “Even if one cultivates through ten thousand kalpas, in the end one still falls into emptiness and stillness.” Yet even if the body passes through the fire of a kalpa and is destroyed, to say that the great Dao is destroyed along with it is like saying that empty space itself can be destroyed. The great Dao of the Golden Elixir arises in Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) and is brought to completion in Wuji (the Limitless). It takes effect within finite things, yet its wondrous function is inexhaustible. These principles cannot be exhausted in ordinary words; they should be carefully investigated together with immortals of genuine attainment.

Willingly leaping into water and fire is a principle that comes from the great Dao (the Way) of the Golden Elixir (Jindan). It originates in Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the root from which the myriad things have not yet differentiated, and is brought to completion in Wuji (the Limitless), a state beyond visible traces and impossible to name. It operates within the finite, yet its subtlety is inexhaustible. It cannot be made clear in ordinary words and should be carefully savored together with those who possess the Dao.

Willingness to plunge into water and enter fire is something sought from death and the blade.

Water and fire bring burning or drowning, and weapons can kill. Such dangers need no reminder from the wise; everyone knows to avoid them. Yet now there are people who actively seek to throw themselves into water and fire and who are glad to die beneath the blade. They are neither mad nor forced by circumstances, and this is truly pitiable. Why is it so? Wine, sex, wealth, and temper are in fact another name for water, fire, and weapons. Once a person falls into them, it is like being burned or drowned: self-destruction, yet without the slightest fear. They even mock those who cultivate the Dao, saying that such people merely quiet the mind, practice cultivation, and keep to fasting and self-restraint; that even if one could live as long as Pengzu and Lao Dan—the legendary long-lived figure and the early Daoist sage—it would be nothing but a lonely and bitter life, hardly comparable to the pleasures of wine and sex. Alas, this is like moths rushing into the flame: hard to stop, and one can only sigh deeply over it.

The natural Dao takes stillness as its root, and so heaven, earth, and the myriad things are able to grow. As the patterns of heaven and earth’s movement gradually become manifest, Yin-Yang waxes and wanes in relation to each other. As Yin-Yang advances and recedes, transformation proceeds smoothly. The sage therefore understands that the natural Dao cannot be opposed and follows it in establishing norms.

The Most High (Taishang, a Daoist honorific for the supreme deity or a sage) says: The myriad things flourish and grow, and in the end they all return to their own root. Returning to the root is called “stillness,” and to attain stillness is to return to the original nature of life. It is also said: “Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness, and single-mindedly guard a profound stillness; as the myriad things grow and transform together, I observe how they return to the root.”

Yet when one abides in the utmost emptiness and the utmost stillness, and form seems to revert to Yin stillness, from where do the myriad things then arise? It is because only when Yin Qi (vital energy) develops to its extreme does Yang Qi begin to sprout, and only when stillness reaches its extreme does the Dao (the Way) become manifest. The principle of which Laozi speaks—bringing the mind to the utmost emptiness, single-mindedly guarding stillness, and observing the myriad things as they grow and return—is precisely this.

The great Dao has no form, yet it gives birth to Heaven and Earth; the great Dao has no name, yet it nourishes the myriad things. If one does not take the natural as a model and rest in the utmost stillness, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things cannot come into being. Human beings, through their own persons, take part in the workings of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things—how, then, can they fail to understand the principle of “stillness”? It is only that the human mind is restless and confused, like apes and galloping horses, day after day indulging in profit and desire. How could it still give any thought to the principles by which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are generated and transformed?

Moreover, the movement of Heaven and Earth follows a gradual course: Yang Qi increases little by little from one Yang to six Yang, and Yin Qi likewise increases little by little from one Yin to six Yin. Both develop slowly, with no sudden leap. The alternation and progression of Yin-Yang likewise accord with natural law. Only the sage understands this, and therefore can accomplish things within Wuwei (non-action), preserving the most profound stillness amid the greatest movement and change, so that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things come into being through stillness. If one is not a person who has attained the Dao, who can understand the principle within this?

The Dao of utmost stillness cannot be fully matched even by the lüli (the system for calculating the calendar, the solar terms, and time); what is spoken of here is birds and beasts.

The calendar is used to calculate the regular patterns by which heavenly time moves. It includes the seventy-two hou (climatic periods into which the solar terms are subdivided, five days making one hou), the twenty-four solar terms, the four seasons and eight nodes (the four seasons together with the Beginning of Spring, the Spring Equinox, the Beginning of Summer, the Summer Solstice, the Beginning of Autumn, the Autumn Equinox, the Beginning of Winter, and the Winter Solstice), and hui, shuo, xian, and wang (the changing phases of the moon). All of these have fixed cycles and degrees that must not be violated.

Yet to frame a calendar and distinguish the seasonal ordinances requires fine calculation, which seems to run counter to the principle of natural Wuwei (non-action). The Dao (the Way) practiced by the sage reaches the utmost of clarity and stillness, and the mind is like the Great Void. The rising and falling of Yin-Yang, and the movement and transformation of the myriad things, all take place of themselves, without the slightest human contrivance. If one scrutinizes every detail as minutely as in calendrical reckoning, is this not what is meant by “birds and beasts”?

Here “birds and beasts” refers to the crow and the hare—that is, the crow and the jade rabbit—which stand for the sun and the moon. The sun and moon in turn symbolize water and fire; water and fire symbolize Yin-Yang; and Yin-Yang symbolize Heaven and Earth. What Heaven and Earth embody is the great Dao of pure stillness and Wuwei, following the natural course of things. The so-called great Dao is the learning that thoroughly investigates the principles of things, fully knows innate nature, and thereby penetrates the mandate of Heaven. The so-called learning of nature and life (xingming) refers to the method of seeking undying longevity and of cultivating the Golden Elixir (jindan).

Between Heaven and Earth there is a marvelous instrument, and from it the myriad phenomena arise. “Eight” refers to the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), which symbolize the great Dao. The great Dao is the learning of exhausting principle and fulfilling nature so as to reach the mandate of Heaven; the learning of nature and life is the art of cultivating the Golden Elixir and pursuing longevity. The Bagua and the jiazi (the system of heavenly stems and earthly branches used to record years, months, days, and hours) contain a subtle and marvelous mechanism, and they also conceal transformations that are profound and hard to fathom. The laws by which Yin and Yang mutually restrain and transform one another are already clearly displayed in these symbols.

How vast is the Dao (the Way)! And how exquisitely subtle are the words within it! All that the Yinfu Holy Scripture (Yinfu Jing) records are secret sayings in which the Yellow Emperor set forth the great Dao. Presuming beyond my own capacity, I attempt to explain their meaning, fearing that I may inadvertently divulge the secrets of Heaven. At the end, the scripture sums up the whole text in a few sentences, just as the hexagram statements of the Zhouyi gather the general sense of the sixty-four hexagrams. These words search into what is deep and hidden; their intent reaches far and is not easy to fathom—truly exquisite, and worthy of wonder. I reverently bow twice before the scripture, ponder it again and again, and carefully bring out its meaning.

When the great Dao of the Golden Elixir (the way of Neidan, internal alchemy) is realized in the human body, there is a wondrous “vessel,” yet it is not truly cast of metal. The crescent-moon furnace, the Taiyi stove, the cauldron that has neither inside nor outside, and the medicine that is most numinous and most sacred all serve to describe the inner symbols of the process of cultivation. The myriad phenomena arise from this, and all come forth of themselves from nature. Lü Dongbin said that an entire world is hidden in a single grain of rice, and that mountains and rivers are boiled in a three-sheng pot—can this be empty talk?

Thus, in terms of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), Kan and Li (water and fire) are the root; in terms of the circulation of the celestial cycle, the zi hour (midnight) is the beginning. The working of its movement is wondrous and without fixed pattern, while the changes that lie concealed are hard to discern. When Yin Qi (vital energy) is abundant, water and fire mingle and form “Jiji”; when Yang Qi is abundant, sun and moon unite, and this is called “joining the disks.” The golden crow (symbolizing the sun, or Yang Qi) has the power to subdue the jade rabbit (symbolizing the moon, or Yin Qi), and the wood dragon has the virtue of overcoming the white tiger; the turtle and snake crossing their necks, and the pearl held within the oyster, are likewise symbols in Neidan cultivation. These signs between Heaven and Earth are clear and manifest, and can scarcely be concealed.

This is surely what is meant by the saying: “To be full and thereby give forth radiance is called greatness; to be so vast as to transform the myriad things is called sagehood; to be so sagely subtle as to be unfathomable is called Shen (spirit).” Such a principle is also a matter within the proper province of the Confucian. Those of shallow insight say that the Golden Elixir is heterodox error, like one who sits in a well and looks at the sky, yet declares the sky to be small. Is the sky at fault?

Yunfeng said, “Who can go out without passing through a doorway? And how can people fail to follow this Dao (the Way)?” Here “doorway” means a gate or portal, and it also carries the sense of guarding and restraint. Only when a doorway first imposes restraint can a person set out on the proper path; without such a guard, one easily acts at will and falls into habits of indulgence and perversity.

Thus it is said that within the human body there are three passes, with innate nature as what is primary and Shen (spirit) together with Qi (vital energy) as the root. In cultivation one should constantly gather in body and mind, so that spirit and vital energy return inward and do not scatter outward. Outside the body there are likewise three passes: the mouth is the pivot, and the ears and eyes are the barriers. This means that the deviant disturbances affecting the nine orifices (the nine openings of the body) are chiefly bound up with the mouth, the ears, and the eyes. Restraining the inner spirit and vital energy and the outer senses is, in both cases, the great way of the mean as practiced in daily life.

The Dao is like a great road; how could people not walk along it? In what lies near and simple, even women and children can understand it; when it reaches what is refined and profound, even sages have points they cannot fully know. Hence it is said: to be able to give voice to the Dao and explain it clearly is called “good”; for the Dao to be truly embodied in one’s own person is called “trustworthy”; for De (Virtue/Power) to be full and to shine forth is called “great”; for De to be so vast that it transforms and nurtures all things is called “sagely”; and for sagely De to be so deep and subtle that it cannot be measured is called Shen. Here Shen refers to the working of luminous clarity and subtle marvel, and to the realm in which realization manifests and penetrates freely; it is also the secret essential of the Golden Elixir (Jindan; Daoist Neidan, internal alchemy).

Diagram of the Sagely Work of the Sun and Moon

Yunfeng says: The pattern by which heaven and earth operate is the mutual coordination of the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang and the blending of primordial Qi—the fundamental breath between heaven and earth—from which the myriad things are generated. Of all the bright celestial phenomena in the heavens, none is more important than the sun and the moon. The sun is the symbol of true fire; it corresponds to the southeast and arises in dependence on Wood. Outwardly it answers to spring and summer, causing the myriad things to sprout and grow. The moon is the symbol of the true water of supreme Yin; it corresponds to the northwest and grows in dependence on Metal, causing the myriad things to grow solemnly still and to wither and fall.

The sun and moon hold the key to growth and to austere destruction between heaven and earth, and so they are also called water and fire, Kan and Li, lead and mercury, dragon and tiger, and the like. Though the names are many, all are alternative designations of the sun and moon. The sage observes the Dao (the Way) of Heaven, discerns the waxing and waning of the sun and moon together with their subtle and obscure transformations, and divides the two Qi of the sun and moon into the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), taking solar fire as two and lunar water as one. Once the Qi of one and the Qi of two have been distinguished, the Qi of the trigrams is likewise differentiated, and this further evolves into the sixty-four hexagrams.

During the first half of the month, the Kun trigram gives birth to the Zhen trigram, which then changes into the Dui trigram, and the Dui trigram in turn becomes the Qian trigram. When the Qi of Qian reaches fullness, the light of the sun hangs illuminating the east; metal and water are mild and harmonious, and when the Qi of metal is sufficient, true water is naturally produced. During the second half of the month, the Qian trigram diminishes and becomes the Xun trigram; the Xun trigram then changes into the Gen trigram, and the Gen trigram further diminishes to become the Kun trigram. The two trigrams of Qian and Kun thereupon unite, and the sun and moon meet in conjunction, attaining a realm of the utmost refinement and subtlety that is difficult to convey by thought or speech. Whether human beings, animals, or ghosts and spirits—indeed, every kind of anomalous being—there is no minute particular that can remain hidden.

The sun and moon are truly the foundation of heaven and earth! If one can thoroughly comprehend the sacred and marvelous function embodied in the movement of the sun and moon, then, following hui, shuo, xian, and wang (the changing phases of the moon), one may observe the celestial phenomena and model oneself upon the Dao of Heaven, revolving together with heaven, earth, the sun, and the moon. Can such a person fail to transcend the ordinary and enter the sagely realm, and to pass beyond death and obtain new life?

Illustrated Explanation of the Marvelous Instrument and the Myriad Phenomena

Basing himself on the Yinfu Jing (scripture/classic), Yunfeng says: “There is a marvelous instrument, and from it the myriad phenomena are generated. Within the Bagua and the jiazi are contained wondrous mechanisms and hidden transformations.” Its application is so far-reaching—can it fail to enable a person to transcend the ordinary and enter sagehood, and to pass beyond death and obtain new life?

In his commentary on the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman), Yunfeng says: “Between heaven and earth there is a wondrous vessel, and from it the myriad phenomena are generated and transformed; within the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and the jiazi (sexagenary cycle) lies a wondrous mechanism of movement and transformation, profound and unfathomable.” These words are deeply insightful. The human body is itself just such a wondrous vessel. The principles of the myriad phenomena are all complete within it, and spiritual beings extend their protection to it, so that it may truly be called most precious.

The Most High (Taishang) says: “A human body is hard to obtain, and birth in the Central Land is hard to attain; even if one is able to be reborn as a human being, it is still hard to encounter the true teaching.” Zhang Boduan says: “First set up Qian and Kun as the cauldron and furnace, and then cook and refine with the medicine of the crow and the hare.” In Neidan (internal alchemy), Qian and Kun, together with the crow and the hare, are commonly used as symbols of Yin-Yang and of the sun and moon. Would one abandon one’s own body, seek Qian and Kun in some empty and distant place, and then go to the palaces of the sun and moon to obtain the crow and the hare? From this we know that the wondrous vessel lies in oneself, and that the principles of the myriad phenomena are likewise complete in me.

The Two Modes (Yin-Yang), the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, and stars), the Four Images, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the Bagua, the Nine Palaces, the Ten Heavenly Stems, the Eleven Luminaries, the Twelve Earthly Branches, the twenty-four solar terms, and the sixty jiazi of the full celestial circuit—all that exist between heaven and earth—can find their correspondences in the human body. If one can look up to observe the patterns of heaven and look down to examine the configurations of earth, bringing oneself into accord with the movement and transformation of the Yin-Yang of heaven and earth, one can respond closely to the mechanisms by which heaven and earth operate, and reach a realm that even ghosts and spirits can hardly fathom. In this way a person can stand together with heaven and earth as one of the Three Powers, preserving life for long and extending one’s years. Is the Dao (the Way) of becoming an immortal still remote?

Illustrated Exposition of the Three Teachings Returning to the One

Yunfeng said: Although the paths of the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—differ, they ultimately meet as one; only the deluded draw lines between them of their own accord. Some say that Buddhism and Daoism speak of emptiness and the void and cannot be set beside Confucianism. There is truth in this: Confucianism has its own principles for conducting oneself and responding to the changes of worldly affairs, so the language of the three teachings is not the same. Yet when it comes to cultivating the true and nurturing one’s nature, there is no impassable boundary between this and the Confucian teaching of rectifying the mind and making the intentions sincere.

The Chan school, however, sometimes appears especially empty and diffuse, and those who wish to dispel its confusions often miss the essential point. One day I specially sought instruction from Elder Meng’an Cong on the essential purport of the Chan transmission of mind and nature. We debated back and forth, and he kept returning to this: the Dharma-body (the true suchness, or fundamental reality, of which Buddhism speaks) is empty space, and empty space is the Dharma-body. He urged me to investigate and examine this again and again, and he deliberately burned incense and lit candles, taking the Three Jewels—Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha—as witnesses.

After a while, when the tea was finished, he suddenly told his attendant boy to see to some matter, then rose and went with me to the latrine at the back. When he came out, he washed his hands, trimmed his nails, straightened his square robe, invited me back to my seat, and said that the old monk was very hungry and wished me to join him for tangbing (a kind of noodle food in ancient times).

I then challenged him: “Just now you taught me that empty space is the Dharma-body and the Dharma-body is empty space, yet now you still cannot escape hunger and thirst, and you still distinguish the clean from the filthy. If, within empty space, a person makes no distinctions, how are we to understand this bowl of tangbing before us?” Meng’an was greatly startled and for a moment could not answer.

When we reached the abbot’s quarters, I saw the Recorded Sayings of Xuedou and took the chance to look through it. The book records that a monk asked Master Zhiwen, “What is the essence of prajñā (wisdom)?” The master answered, “A clam holds the autumn moon.” The monk asked again, “What is the function of prajñā?” The master answered, “A rabbit conceives.” These replies seem strange and hard to grasp; their intent is to let one realize prajñā beyond ordinary distinctions and concepts. The text goes on to say that only one truly skilled in investigation can walk alone in a lofty realm. It also records that when a monk asked about a still higher realm of the Buddha-dharma, the master answered, “The tip of the staff carries the sun and moon.”

There is another exchange. The patriarch asked Master Nanquan, “People do not recognize the mani pearl (a precious jewel symbolizing wisdom); it has always been stored within the Tathāgata-garbha (Buddha-nature, or true suchness as fundamental reality). What is the Tathāgata-garbha?” Nanquan replied, “What comes and goes with you is the Tathāgata-garbha.” The patriarch said, “This is someone who knows only the surface.” Nanquan said again, “What neither comes nor goes is also the Tathāgata-garbha.” The patriarch said, “This is merely frost added to snow.” The patriarch asked once more, “What is the pearl?” Nanquan answered, “One who, even at the top of a hundred-foot pole, still shows off technique is no true master.”

This gong’an (public case) asks one to see clearly the limits of words and distinctions, and also to watch how master and disciple use question and answer to test each other and reverse host and guest. Only one who truly understands can enter a perilous place without being trapped. Otherwise, even to say that “coming and going” or “neither coming nor going” is the Tathāgata-garbha is still only to add another layer of explanation; even one who claims thorough awakening may have a beginning and no end, and may not yet have reached the ultimate.

I then pointed out this understanding to Meng’an and briefly explained it, helping him correct his earlier error. At that moment he greatly awakened, and once more offered incense to me in respect. From this one may know that the three teachings are fundamentally without difference. The original true nature is one; only the outer dress and forms differ. I have therefore recorded this matter in detail, to inform people of discernment throughout the world.

Yunfeng says: The Prior Heaven (xiantian) is the state in which the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) has not yet differentiated and the myriad things remain one undifferentiated whole. At that time, Yang cannot yet be told from Yin. After the Dao (the Way) gives rise to the “One,” the forms of things begin to appear and their functions begin to stir. The “One,” being an odd number, corresponds to the Qian trigram among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and symbolizes pure Yang.

The Later Heaven (houtian) is the state in which Heaven and Earth first open, chaos is split apart, and the “One” divides into the “Two.” The “Two,” being an even number, corresponds to the Kun trigram among the Bagua and symbolizes pure Yin. Once Qian and Kun are distinct and Yin and Yang have separated, each moving and transforming in its own way, how can one come to experience the great Dao?

The secret of cultivating the Golden Elixir lies in returning to the root and reverting to the source, finding the origin and securing the foundation, keeping to softness and stillness and embracing the “One” (the integral state oriented toward the origin in Daoist thought), casting off turbid Yin and recovering pure Yang. The practitioner does not cling to distinctions merely because Qian and Kun differ, nor force Yin and Yang into union merely because they have separated. Distinction and differentiation belong to the Later Heaven; returning to unity and joining with one another is the true Prior Heaven.

The Prior Heaven is the earliest source of the myriad things, the original face of the Primordial Ancestral Qi (vital energy—the source Qi of which Daoism speaks). The Later Heaven is the marvel that appears through decay and transformation, together with the body temporarily formed by the conjunction of the four great elements: earth, water, fire, and wind. One who truly understands sees this as a whole: knowing that one’s body is only an illusion and that the Dao alone is real, one should turn the light around and shine it back (huiguang fanzhao: gathering in mind and spirit and contemplating inwardly) and begin cultivation at once—yet even then, it may already be too late.

An exposition of the diagram of the upper and lower Magpie Bridges, also called Qujiang Wuqiao (the Black Bridge of the Curved River).

Yunfeng says: In “Qinyuan Chun,” Lü Dongbin writes, “Above the Qujiang, the moonlight is clear and pure, and a crow flies past.” Here “crow” means the magpie. “Qujiang” refers to a place where there is a bridge. The ancients said that a three-legged crow dwells in the sun. The crow belongs to You, and You belongs to Metal, so the crow is regarded as the Jing (essence) of Western Metal and as the yang soul within the sun. That it can fly across the Qujiang symbolizes the magpie’s ability to cross the bridge leading to immortality.

Why must this bridge be divided into an upper and a lower level? Because the channels of Qi (vital energy) communicate with one another: whoever can pass the lower bridge can certainly also pass the upper bridge. Those who can pass become immortals; those who cannot remain ordinary people. What Buddhism calls the “horse-hitching post” and the “donkey-hitching stake”—wooden posts for tying horses and donkeys—expresses the same idea. Later Buddhist practitioners, however, clung to a single path of goodness, sitting in barren stillness and facing the wall. They never set the crow in flight or sent the magpie across the bridge, and so they fell into a method of a lower order. In fact, the method transmitted by the Buddhist patriarchs was not like this; only later disciples lost the original meaning. For details, see the Illustrated Discourse on the Unity of the Three Teachings.

Illustrated Discourse on the Seventy-Two Pentads

Drawing on the Secret Words of Yuanshi, Yunfeng says: “Elusive and indistinct, Shen (spirit) is born within fire.”

Yunfeng, citing the Yuanshi Miyan (Secret Words of the Primordial Beginning), says: Within what is hazy and hard to grasp, Shen (spirit) is born from fire; within what is deep, dark, and obscure, Jing (essence) is born from water. Fire by nature rises and ascends, and through seven reversions it generates Shen; water by nature flows downward, and through six transformations it generates Jing. The changes of seven and six answer one another, and what is above and what is below bring each other to completion. Shen and Jing pass back and forth and join in union, forming a subtle, wondrous embodiment in which true nature is contained. Through seven transformations Shen generates true fire; through six transformations Jing generates true water. Seven joined with six makes thirteen—this is a subtle principle of number. None of the creative transformations of heaven and earth can do without water and fire. Thus heaven generates fire by thirty-six yang pentads, and earth generates water by thirty-six yin pentads; together they make seventy-two pentads, and the number of the full circuit of heaven is complete. The Scripture of the Immortals (Xian Jing) says: “Thirty-six in heaven above, thirty-six on earth below; the Taixuan (Great Mystery) has no limit—how marvelous is the Dadong Jing (Great Cavern Scripture)!” Why does the text here not discuss the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), but speak only of water and fire? Because water and fire correspond to the sun and the moon. The Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) says: “The sun and the moon in their courses each have fixed numbers; the great and the small each have fixed standards. The sage’s achievement arises from this, and spiritual illumination emerges from this as well.” If one can look up to observe the patterns of heaven and look down to examine the forms of earth, and grasp the mystery of the firing times (huohou—mastery of the timing and course of cultivation), one can accord with the De (Virtue/Power) of heaven and earth and answer to the brightness of the sun and moon. This is called ascending to immortality upon level ground.

Explanation of the Diagram of the Generation of the Five Phases

Yunfeng says: The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) divides and gives rise to the two modes of Yin-Yang, that is, heaven and earth. Once heaven and earth have manifested form and name, there are definite degrees by which they may be reckoned. Thus Heaven’s One generates Water, Earth’s Two generates Fire, Heaven’s Three generates Wood, Earth’s Four generates Metal, and Heaven’s Five generates Earth. The creative work of the Five Phases pervades the regular movements of heaven and earth; the five Qi (vital energy) advance in succession, cold and heat alternate, and from this the degrees of the celestial circuit can be understood. Therefore, when thirty-six days of Jia are joined with thirty-six days of Yi, the Qi-number of Wood is complete; when thirty-six days of Bing are joined with thirty-six days of Ding, the Qi-number of Fire is complete; when thirty-six days of Wu are joined with thirty-six days of Ji, the Qi-number of Earth is complete; when thirty-six days of Geng are joined with thirty-six days of Xin, the Qi-number of Metal is complete.

The Ren days number thirty-six, and the Gui days likewise number thirty-six; only then is the numerical allotment of Water’s Qi (vital energy) considered complete. Five multiplied by seven comes to thirty-five; reckoning from this yields three hundred and fifty days, and the remaining portion amounts to ten days. Taken together with the days already counted, the total is three hundred and sixty. In this way the number of days in the twelve months of a year is without discrepancy. The leftover fractions of the celestial degrees may be accumulated so as to insert intercalary months, and from this one may trace the process by which Heaven and Earth transform and nurture the myriad things.

Human beings are the most spiritually endowed of all things, yet they alone fail to understand the patterns by which the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) operate. They see only the cycling of day and night and the succession of the four seasons, and do not realize that the generative and transformative working of the Five Phases is the mysterious and subtle power presiding behind them.

Preface to the Yunfeng Annotation of the Ruyao Jing (Mirror for Compounding the Medicine)

Composed by Liu Yuangang, Left Scribe and Drafter in Attendance at the Academy, Grand Master for Court Audiences.

Xia Zongyu of Dongjia was outstanding in talent and intellect. He once devised plans and strategies and served in a military headquarters, moving from place to place through remote regions, yet his fortunes were adverse and he found it hard to realize his ambitions. Later, with an open and expansive mind, he traveled in all directions, seeking the arts of cultivation by which one ascends and departs as an immortal, returning to the origin and recovering the true. Believing that he ought to receive the silent instruction of one who possessed the Dao (the Way), he gathered the relevant materials, composed annotations and expositions, and came to ask me to write a preface for the book.

In earlier times Su Dongpo remarked that everyone in the world knows Anqi Sheng to have been an immortal; yet the Records of the Grand Historian states that Kuai Tong was on close terms with Anqi Sheng of Qi. Anqi Sheng once took his stratagems to persuade Xiang Yu. Xiang Yu did not adopt them, but wished to enfeoff the two men; in the end neither would accept, and they fled. Whenever I read this passage, I set the book aside and sigh: if a man such as this is not an immortal, who else could deserve the name? I therefore surmise that the scholars of the Warring States, such as Lu Zhonglian and Yu Qing, were likewise men who had attained the Dao.

Yu Qing could not bear to see Wei Qi suffer, and secretly left the state of Zhao; later, hard-pressed in the region of Liang and stripped of the chancellorship, he wrote his works amid poverty and sorrow. Kuai Tong admonished Han Xin but was not heeded, so he feigned madness and posed as a shaman, withdrew from worldly affairs, and set his own sayings in order. Can such men be said to have understood the great Dao? Probably not.

What is truly worthy of praise are those who refuse office and hold fast to lofty integrity. Lu Zhonglian once pointed out the harm in the retainers of Wei honoring Qin as emperor, and he also persuaded the Yan general garrisoning Liaocheng to withdraw. When others offered him gold, he declined, saying: “What makes the scholars of the world precious is that they relieve others of their cares and resolve perils and disputes, yet seek no reward. If one seeks something in return, that is the way of a merchant, and I cannot bear to act so.” When others wished to confer a noble rank upon him, he fled, saying: “Rather than be constrained by others for the sake of wealth and honor, it is better to rest content in poverty and low station, and freely fulfill one’s own aims.” Alas—only a man like Lu Zhonglian may truly be called an immortal.

The incidental accounts of Anqi Sheng in the historical biographies and miscellaneous records seem fantastic and at odds with ordinary reason. Perhaps he was like Lu Zhonglian: conversing with animated gestures and giving vent to a spirit as vast as a long rainbow, and, when faced with humiliation hard to endure, still able to dwell at ease within himself. As for tales of lifting tripods to display heroic prowess, they are truly absurd. From this one may know that a scholar capable of ordering the affairs of the world may also transcend the dusty realm and depart astride a dragon; only understood in this way is it fitting.

The three Golden Elixir (Jindan) books annotated by Zongyu transcend the worldly, and are indeed unlike the eight sections of the Yinfu Jing, whose writing is rich in implication and speaks of expedient adaptation. They will lead the reader to become a person such as Lu Zhonglian or Anqi Sheng. Yu Qing and Kuai Tong were merely men of persuasion; how could they be set beside these two?

Written as a preface by the Mountain Recluse of Qiyun in Qingyuan, on the fifth day after Minor Snow in the bingxu year of the Baoqing era.

“Summer clouds, so many wondrous peaks” is a line in which a man of the Jin took particular pride. That I, with this illusory body, should adopt the illusory name “Yunfeng” (Cloud Peak) is truly like painting legs onto a snake, or fastening a long neck onto a wild duck. Some say that in this I am only imitating the Grand Historian’s fondness for the curious, borrowing a poet’s ingenious words to make myself known. Alas—summer is but one of the four seasons, and cloud is only a current of Qi (vital energy). From where does the peak come? And from where does the marvelous arise?

Cloud issues from the mountain clefts—the vapor between caves and summits—with no mind of its own; following the dragon, it leaves no trace. It can turn into rain, and it can also bring drought; it can raise the wind, and it can also send down rain. Its transformations are endless and hard to fathom, and none of this is what I deliberately seek. Or is it that heaven is clear and earth at peace, that the season is high summer, that the Flame Emperor presides over the time, that the south wind blows, that the sunlight steams, that the fierce sun seems a canopy of fire spread wide, and that metal and stone seem about to melt and flow? Then cloud is no longer merely Qi, and the peak is no longer merely form.

The Celestial Lord—a Neidan (internal alchemy) term for the inner center that governs spirit and intent—is clear and bright, and Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) gather and cohere. The Bright Hall—a Neidan term for an important site of cultivation within the body—opens wide, and spirit-intent sits upright in the Purple Court, the spirit chamber within the body. Lord Ding—a Neidan term, often the firing times or the divine fire used in refining the elixir—blazes with light, forging the golden crystal, the refined Jing and Qi, or the substance of the elixir. Breath surges at Kunlun, a vital place within the body; the Jade Well grows clear. The stove of the Great Unity is warm, and the Crescent-Moon Furnace shines—both of them figures of Neidan practice. The returning wind mingles, and thunder roars; above, it communicates with the aperture of heaven, and below, it reaches the dark mystery. The four beasts stand arrayed on guard, and the Six Ding spirit-generals take their places to left and right. The count of the celestial circuit comes full; passing through nine cycles, the elixir-Qi ascends. At such a moment, how could Cloud Peak be merely a curious name?

The great Dao (the Way) is deep and far-reaching, and it accords with the De (Virtue/Power) of heaven and earth. Within the Primordial Ancestral Qi—the original energy before heaven and earth had divided—Yin and Yang are not yet separated; where is there any distinction between the heavy and turbid and the light and clear? When the primordial chaos first opens, heaven, earth, and humanity arise from it. Heaven covers and earth bears the myriad things, and of them humanity is the most numinous. The great Dao transforms and nourishes the myriad things, enduring through the kalpas. “The crow flies and the rabbit runs” refers to the movement of sun and moon; sun and moon hang in the sky and shine in turn. The moon passes through quarter, full, dark, and new, one cycle of about thirty days. Why is it only in high summer that cloud takes on the shape of peaks?

When the geng days and the three fu periods arrive, the Qi of fire must gradually withdraw toward the west. The mystery of the Golden Elixir lies in the timing of the fire. Cloud rises by means of the Qi of fire; the peak appears through spirit-intent. Taking as the medicine the marrow of Kan and Li—a Neidan term symbolizing water and fire, Yin and Yang—one seizes the essence of heaven and earth. Deviant Yin quietly disperses, and the Qi of pure Yang is thereupon generated. When the work of heaven and earth’s cultivation is complete, one can leave death and enter new life. The marvel of Cloud Peak is truly beyond conception. Unless one attains True Unity—the state of pure oneness sought in Daoist cultivation—who can uncover its secret? Onlookers are without words, and only marvel that it is strange.

From this one may know that the Confucians sometimes err by being too constrained, and the Buddhists sometimes err by being too obstructed. The Dao may seem as vast as the Great Void, yet within it there is a root. Though heaven and earth are broad, it is the Dao that brings them into being; though the myriad things are many, it is the Dao that makes them grow; sun and moon rise in the east and set in the west because the Dao moves them; and cloud appearing as peak is likewise the Dao’s doing. What I see is a true and unmoving substance, able to command the hundred spirits and to draw them in or release them. The two Qi of Yin-Yang circulate and join, and give rise to the myriad things. Nor can I say for certain whether cloud has turned into the peak, or the peak has turned into cloud.

Thus the seven returns and nine reversions—a Neidan term for the stages in elixir practice through which Jing and Qi circulate and transform—are this Cloud Peak; the eight gatherings and six dwellings—a Neidan term for the matching and gathering of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) in the course of refining the elixir—are also this Cloud Peak. The Mysterious Pearl—a Neidan term symbolizing the elixir gained through cultivation—appearing and taking form is this Cloud Peak; and the appearance of the Perfected Person, one who has reached a profound attainment in Daoist cultivation, is likewise as this Cloud Peak. How mysterious, how marvelous! How could the wonder in a line of poetry ever describe it? Recorded by Xia Yuanding of Doucheng.

“Turmoil is the root of illness; stillness and stability are the medicinal mirror.” This is a maxim of Master Cui. Human life is formed by a temporary conjunction of the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind. Nasal mucus, spittle, Jing (essence), thin fluid, blood, Qi (vital energy), and thick fluid, all substances within the body, may likewise become turbid yin Qi. Wine, sensual desire, fame, and profit, together with greed, anger, and delusion, invariably throw the mind into disorder. Only by means of the practice of stillness and stability represented by the “medicinal mirror” can these disturbances be gathered in and subdued.

What is meant by “medicine”? Cinnabar and the essence of wood, once they obtain the Qi of metal, are able to unite. What is meant by “mirror”? It is luminous awareness, able to turn the light back upon itself and to contemplate the self. Thus the sages teach and transform the world by the wondrous Dao (the Way), and through the sun and moon they make clear the principle of change. The Way of the immortals takes spiritual luminosity as its root and the sun and moon as its elixir. What the Buddhist tradition speaks of—raising the sun and moon upon a staff, and transmitting the lamp through the nature of the lineage—means the same thing.

With a compassionate heart, Master Cui receives and guides people, and he is skilled at explaining principle through metaphor. Thus Lü Dongbin said, “Because one has read Master Cui’s Ruyao jing (Mirror for Entering the Medicine), the ground of the mind gradually becomes clear.” Master Cui may truly be called a teacher of both celestial beings and human beings.

I have three times read the Jing (scriptures/classics) of the Daoist Canon and have seen seven versions of the Yaojing (Medicinal Mirror), each differing in wording. This scripture totals two hundred and forty-three characters. Its language is concise and its meaning apt—as profound as the writings of the Most High, and as upright as the Spring and Autumn Annals. From what is subtle it clarifies principles dark and deep; it probes the abstruse and searches out the hidden. Its doctrine is complete, and it is a key rule of the Way of the Golden Elixir.

It happened to be the Calamus Festival. Passing through Babao, I rested in the eastern side chamber of Peng Zhongfu’s house. He burned incense and asked about the Dao, so I tentatively wrote a commentary on this scripture for readers of the present age. I also send this commentary to men of discernment: Hu Jizhe, Lingyuanzi of Yuzhang, and Wang Hefu, Yuanmozi of Tiantai, both fellow cultivators of immortality.

Xia Yuanding wrote the preface.

The postface was written by Wang Jiuwan, newly appointed Professor of the Prefectural School of Chuzhou and Xiuzhilang (Gentleman for Cultivated Service).

Li Yehou (Li Mi of the Tang dynasty, enfeoffed as Marquis of Ye County) could compose essays at the age of seven and had read ten thousand volumes. Later he put on the robes of a Daoist priest and studied the Dao (the Way) of the immortals, as if he meant to cultivate the Dao for the rest of his life. The monk Lancan, however, saw through him and said, “There is no need to say more; just wait to serve as prime minister for ten years.” Later Li Yehou took part in planning the affairs of the state, and his wisdom and strategic ability were not inferior to those of Zhang Zifang (the Han counselor Zhang Liang).

People commonly say that a cultivator who stands outside the world must keep far from the dusty world and cut off secular affairs. Is this truly so? What I mean is that a person who possesses the Dao merely regards such experiences as things already past, and does not take them as the root of his own cultivation of the Dao.

Xia Yunfeng of Yongjia, when young, sat for the civil examinations in the status of a tongzilang and widely associated with men of renown. After coming of age he served in the army, was rewarded for merit, and hurried about in Shandong and Hebei. He climbed Riguan Peak and went to pay homage at Konglin (the cemetery of Confucius), thereby filling his breast with the vast, flood-like Qi (vital energy). Feeling that nothing in the world could satisfy his aspirations, he gave up office and studied the Dao.

One day he brought out three books he himself had annotated. Before him I felt my learning shallow, like a frog at the bottom of a well gazing up at the sea—truly inadequate to grasp the principles within. I have, however, privately heard that my ancestor, my great-grandfather the Palace Compiler Gong Zixian, in the Xuanhe years was ordered, together with Chancellor Lü Yuanzhi and Minister Huo Anguo, to escort grain and fodder to the Yan region. At that time the surrendered enemy generals Guo Yaoshi, Liu Shunren, Zhang Linghui, and others harbored treacherous designs. The three envoys jointly memorialized, requesting that Yan be abandoned, and thereby angered the commander Tan Zhen. All were dismissed from office, yet still they could not leave. The enemy’s power grew daily more rampant, and the three envoys strained to keep watch, unable to sleep at ease each night.

Because of this, my great-grandfather came to understand the method of guarding Shen (spirit) and nourishing Qi. He later lived to the age of eighty-nine and died without illness. On the day before he passed away, he still lit a lamp and wrote in small regular script, replying to Chancellor Li Boji. In the meantime, Yan Yizhong once asked him about the Way of nourishing life. My great-grandfather said: “People know that Qi is the root by which the body is made full, yet they do not know that one must use Shen to govern Qi. If Shen and Qi separate and cannot hold one another, that is not to be skilled at nourishing life. The key to governing Qi with Shen lies in rectifying one’s thoughts and being sincere without falsity, sitting quietly and counting the breaths. Breathing is Qi; counting the breaths is Shen. Qi is like a horse, and Shen is like the one who drives the carriage. Using Shen to guide the going out and coming in of Qi, so that Shen and Qi do not separate, one may lengthen one’s years and benefit one’s lifespan.”

The Zhuangzi says: “The True Person’s breathing reaches deep to the heels; the ordinary person’s breathing reaches only to the throat.” The breath does not linger in the throat but enters deep into the Dantian (energy center) and the sea of Qi. One does not let thoughts and desires disturb the mind and Shen, nor let hurried rushing agitate the breath. One counts the breaths continuously and without break, until the count grows so great it cannot be fully numbered. In this way, from the shallow to the deep, from the coarse to the fine, and from what has form gradually to what is formless, harmonious Qi fills the whole body. At this point one can no longer distinguish the subtle relation between Qi and Shen; the mystery within is hard to put into words. Does this not already approach the state of “sitting and forgetting” (zuowang: in quiet sitting, forgetting body, mind, and external things)? If one further joins this with methods such as stretching the limbs and massage, there is no harm either; what matters is to persevere.

Master Huiweng once said: “This is the method of embryonic breathing (taixi: regulating the breath and nourishing Qi, as if a fetus were breathing in the mother’s womb); yet it is only a remaining thread of the related principles of the Cantong qi.” How could this compare with Yunfeng’s three books on the Golden Elixir (jindan), which can respond of themselves in transcendent freedom, manifest transformation and commune with spirit, and bring into play a function that is numinously clear and mysteriously subtle?

Yunfeng, however, distinguished himself in youth while still a boy, attained the Dao on Mount Heng, and afterward spent more than ten years hurrying about in military service. His experience and that of Li Yehou, though belonging to different ages, have points of similarity. Now the enlightened Son of Heaven day and night longs for extraordinary men to join him in governing the realm. Yunfeng ought to take Li Yehou’s heart as his own: first pacify the Central Plains for the state, and only afterward seek out a figure such as Zhang Zifang—it will not be too late.

In the dinghai year of Baoqing (1227), a man of Mount Wuyi composed this preface.