《西昇經》Vol. 2

The Scripture of Western Ascension elucidates the principle of all things returning to their origin and the fundamental tenets of cultivating Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power).

All things flourish in their growth, yet ultimately return to their root. Just as plants blossom, bear fruit, and eventually shed leaves to return to the earth, so too must cultivation follow this path—returning to simplicity and reclaiming one’s original nature. All things begin in the Zhen trigram (symbolizing birth), manifest in the Li trigram (symbolizing illumination), flourish in the Dui trigram (symbolizing joy), and finally withdraw in the Kan trigram (symbolizing storage). This is the principle described in the Scripture of Dwellings: "Though the myriad things are diverse, each returns to its root."

The teaching of the Primordial Chaos (Hunyuan, the cosmic origin) takes concealment as its foundation, simplicity as its guiding principle, discernment of all things as its De (Virtue), and the return to innate nature as its constant Dao (Way). Just as the seasons have autumn and winter for withdrawal, one must gather external splendor and return to inner essence. This formless origin is the beginning of all under heaven. Though invisible and intangible, it is the root from which all things arise.

In the "Chapter of Repeated Admonitions," Laozi emphasizes: The highest state of Dao lies in Wuwei (non-action). One should constantly abide in desirelessness to perceive the profundity of Dao, yet also observe its boundaries through desire. De (Virtue) is rooted in benevolence, for true De embraces all. Ritual must align with righteousness, ensuring fairness and appropriateness. Acts of kindness must arise from genuine compassion, without expectation of reward. Beneficence should prioritize tangible benefit—empty promises only invite resentment. Sincerity must be grounded in real action.

In an age of moral decline, these seven virtues—Dao, De, benevolence, righteousness, ritual, charity, and sincerity—become mere artificial constructs. People employ hollow rituals to seek recompense, perform charity without true intent, and feign sincerity without genuine conviction. These are all contrivances that violate innate nature, pursued solely for reputation. It is as absurd as making a flying dragon speak or appointing a crippled turtle to lead the way—ultimately resulting in the decay of benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and sincerity, and the collapse of Dao and De.

This passage addresses common pitfalls encountered in the Daoist cultivation journey. Though the flying dragon moves swiftly, words travel even faster; while the lame tortoise progresses slowly, its actual steps prove more substantial than empty talk. This illustrates how discussing principles is easy, but genuine practice remains truly difficult.

The decline of social morality follows a clear progression: first, the great Dao (fundamental truth) is lost, then people emphasize De (Virtue/Power); when De deteriorates, they stress humaneness; when humaneness fades, they turn to ritual propriety. By the time even ritual and sincerity are abandoned, it becomes evident that morality has completely collapsed.

People no longer examine one another through the lens of the Dao but instead measure worth by wealth—like chasing after reflections in a mirror. Words are mere echoes—how can one grasp the wind? Such is the hypocrisy of worldly teachings, and people have been lost in them for far too long.

Those with De seek the Dao, while petty minds chase riches. The ancients used the Dao as their standard, but after the decline of the Zhou dynasty, people ceased supporting one another through the Dao, instead relying on material wealth. This is like trying to catch shadows in the wind—how could it ever succeed? The root cause lies in the Dao's failure to flourish in the world, and the world's inability to uphold the Dao. Minor delusions lead people astray, while major ones distort their very nature.

Hypocrisy prevails, and people no longer understand the principle of natural authenticity. As the scriptures say: "Human confusion has indeed persisted for ages." Among all things under heaven, who can claim eternal mastery? Delusion passes from generation to generation, and falsehood seeps into reality. Just as the wind produces myriad sounds yet remains formless, so too does deception obscure truth.

The true Dao is singular and unchanging, eternal yet never asserting dominance. It can be apprehended but not fully articulated, transmitted but never imposed. Those with shallow understanding mistake trivialities for fundamentals, taking old traces as the highest attainment—like a drunkard carrying another drunkard, spreading confusion through confusion. They fail to realize: only sincerity and uprightness lead to the realm of truth, while hypocrisy can never touch reality. Thus, illusory appearances may seem present, yet they hold no true existence.

People, blinded by falsehood, cannot discern truth; lured by profit, they stray from the proper path. Clinging to mistaken views is like holding a torch that burns the hand—wood kindles fire only to be consumed by it. This serves as a warning to cultivators: abandon hypocrisy and return to the genuine.

This scripture primarily discusses how Daoist practitioners can discern truth from falsehood and grasp the natural Dao. It first points out that if someone's own heart is not upright yet they judge others, they have already fallen into hypocrisy. Greed for profit distances one from the great Dao, while clinging to benefit causes the loss of Dao's methods. This is like wood generating fire only to be consumed by it (referencing the Yinfu Jing principle: "Fire born from wood will inevitably overcome it").

Laozi (Laojun) states that although the classics left by sages are vast and profound, they never boast, merely recording the great Dao as it is. The Dao must be manifested through concrete methods—Dao and methods are fundamentally one: internally it is Dao, externally it is method. The ceaseless generation of all things follows natural law, not artificial contrivance.

The text then discusses how sensory perceptions interfere with cultivation: what the eyes see easily stirs inner fluctuations (citing the Yinfu Jing: "The mechanism lies in the eyes"), hence sages emphasize inner cultivation ("filling the belly") over external pursuits ("not gazing with the eyes"). Words spoken by the mouth express the heart's intent, while the breath through the nose is the pivot of life. Human life depends on respiration—between each inhalation and exhalation lies the mystery of Yin-Yang transformation. When qi gathers, there is life; when it scatters, death follows.

(Note: "Yinfu" refers to the important Daoist scripture Yinfu Jing; "filling the belly, not gazing with the eyes" comes from Daode Jing Chapter 12, denoting emphasis on inner cultivation over sensory indulgence.)

This scripture expounds the core Daoist teachings regarding the essence of life, the state of Wuwei (non-action), and the fundamental laws governing cosmic operations.

Regarding life's essence, the text reveals that while genuine Dao practitioners (zhenren) breathe down to their heels, ordinary people's breath only reaches the throat. Only with firmly rooted vitality can one endure as long as heaven and earth—just as plants flourish by following seasonal Qi (vital energy) but wither when this energy dissipates. The cycle of life and death proves less stable than attaining Wuwei, which means abstaining from forced action to avoid faults. By not clinging to physical form, one prevents the resentment born of intentional striving.

Life's foundational energy (ming) transcends time, while innate nature (xing) remains unchanged through myriad transformations, being inherently beyond life and death. Mortality arises only when beings lose this authentic state of xing-ming. Wuwei alone preserves this primordial authenticity—whereas intentional action creates success/failure distinctions that breed judgment. Without forced action, there can be no failure or fault. People struggle to achieve Wuwei due to ego-attachment. By relinquishing bodily fixation and forgetting external forms, one appears inactive yet accomplishes all.

When the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cease mutual conquest, all things are preserved. Nothing remains eternally unchanged—no perfection endures permanently. These elemental transformations drive spirits (shen) and ghosts (gui) in ceaseless circulation between heaven and earth, their waxing and waning maintaining balance: mutual generation perpetuates existence, while mutual restriction provides regulation. Bound by cosmic laws, all that lives must die. Yet sages master creation itself—commanding all phenomena, harmonizing Yin-Yang, even inverting the Five Phases without conflict—thus transcending existence/nonexistence to enter deathless, birthless transcendence. Formed things inevitably transform between completion and decay; only the Dao remains undiminished through eternity, as the scripture states: "The Dao endures."

Though the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, stars) appear to brighten and dim, heaven-earth's radiance never wavers. Heaven coalesces from Qi, earth from form, while celestial bodies manifest as Qi's brilliance. People observe their movements and luminosity changes without realizing that beneath day-night alternations, the Three Luminaries and cosmic duality (heaven-earth) remain fundamentally constant.

The final "Contemplation Chapter" records Lao Jun (deified Laozi) advising focused spiritual observation to harmonize Dao-Qi through stillness. This describes Neidan (internal alchemy) visualization methods—using concentrated contemplation to regulate internal Dao-Qi.

This scripture primarily explains the essentials of regulating the spirit and maintaining mental disposition during the practice of Neidan (internal alchemy), a Daoist cultivation method.

The text first points out that when practitioners quietly visualize internal phenomena, their Shen (spirit) will naturally flow and circulate. Maintaining a mindset of emptiness and tranquility without forceful striving makes it easier to comprehend the supreme Dao. If one deliberately exerts effort through thinking, only secondary achievements can be attained. This is because mystical transformations follow no fixed pattern—by preserving physical form without separating from the spirit, complete spirit ensures complete Jing (essence), and complete Jing ensures complete Qi (vital energy). These three harmonize without conflict. Just as the three celestial luminaries are the sun, moon, and stars, the three lights within the human body are Shen, Qi, and Jing. The method for harmonizing these three lights is none other than inward contemplation (turning awareness within) to draw sufficient energy from oneself.

Within the human body inherently exists the "True Sovereign" (referring to the original spirit), through which the sensory organs, hundred bones, five viscera, and six bowels naturally coordinate. Through continuous visualization without forgetfulness, one can commune with divine intelligence in a state of trance. This trance resembles the twilight between dreaming and waking, where existence and non-existence seem indistinguishable.

True detachment means the mind abides in Wuwei (non-action) without deliberate thoughts. Those who believe they've attained "stability" have already fallen into active thought; those who presume themselves desireless have already generated desire. Most cultivators in the world consider their methods superior, unaware that approaches to maintaining awareness vary, resulting in different levels of attainment. Right mindfulness responds to stimuli without clinging, while deluded thoughts either dwell on the past or worry about the future. Preserving spirit through conceptual thought remains a secondary approach.

When Qi remains coarse and vigorous while constantly preoccupied with worldly affairs, the physical body becomes restless. Physical restlessness breeds external entanglements, scheming arises, and this marks the beginning of peril. Peril implies impermanence, impermanence leads to decline, and decline results in shortened lifespan. Because willpower commands Qi, when mental energy exhausts itself in scheming, Qi becomes hurried and unbalanced.

This passage expounds on the harms of greed to body and mind, as well as the cultivation path of tranquility and wuwei (non-action).

Excessive pursuit of external achievements (violent flourishing) exhausts both body and spirit. Once one begins scheming and calculating, it gives rise to all manner of cunning and deceit, trapping one in endless vexations. Ordinary people, driven by desires, spend their entire lives toiling and rushing about, rarely able to peacefully enjoy their natural lifespan. In contrast, those who have attained the Dao (the perfected ones) do not involve themselves in worldly affairs. They cleanse themselves of external temptations (purge outward cravings) and focus on inner cultivation, achieving a state of childlike simplicity (concentrating qi to attain softness, becoming like an infant).

People are often seduced by fame and material desires—all manifestations of greed. Greed is like a grave illness that has penetrated to the marrow, beyond the reach of ordinary remedies (needles and moxa). The body is more important than a kingdom, and one's arms more precious than the world, yet people harm themselves for empty reputation. The myriad things are ever-changing, and clinging to what is only fleetingly obtained (temporary lodging) brings only suffering.

The greatest calamity is insatiable greed—a grave affliction of body and mind. People have been steeped in it for so long that their habits are deeply ingrained, like an illness that has reached the marrow and defies treatment. One must return to the original nature of tranquility, emulating the sages who do not drift with the currents. When physical illness becomes severe, acupuncture can no longer cure it; when the sickness of the mind grows grave, minor methods are powerless to resolve it. Greed is the most severe affliction of the mind. To restore one's original nature, one must continuously reduce desires until wuwei is attained—only then can true purity be preserved.

Finally, Lao Jun (Laozi) says: The teachings of the scriptures, the principles derived from the laws—all these seemingly grand and flourishing things are not as vital as the subtle and profound state of mystical communion.

This passage elucidates the fundamental distinction between the Dao (the Way) and worldly affairs, as well as the proper attitude for spiritual cultivators.

It first establishes that scriptures serve as vessels for the Great Dao, containing teachings and admonitions, while principles manifest the Dao and can be comprehended through reasoning. Though worldly phenomena may appear vigorous and powerful, their momentum inevitably exhausts itself, whereas the profound and subtle Dao—the cosmic origin and universal principle—remains eternal and boundless. The gap between the Dao and concrete things is immeasurably vast.

A series of contrasts then illustrates essential cultivation principles: The substantial proves inferior to the insubstantial, for material things create obstructions; frequent action proves less effective than rare action—just as over-attendance upon a ruler invites disgrace, and excessive intimacy between friends breeds estrangement; heterodox paths may yield quick results but pale before gradual orthodox methods; what flourishes must decline, as the noonday sun must wester and the full moon must wane—if even heaven and earth follow this pattern, how much more so must humans?

The approach of sages (those who have realized the Dao) involves: relinquishing cleverness to achieve non-deliberate action (Wuwei), non-forced speech, and non-intentional movement. Who can comprehend this principle? The Dao's profundity lies in its ability to perplex even the wisest—it cannot be grasped through intellect alone. Only by transcending form and abandoning cleverness can one commune with the Great Dao. Sages consider "abandoning wisdom" their primary tenet, though ordinary people struggle to understand this. True "non-action" means acting without contrivance; "wordless" means speaking throughout life as if having said nothing; "non-giving" means accomplishing things as if having done nothing.

That which exists independently and unchanging is the Dao itself. Unlike ordinary people who engage with phenomena through opposition, sages alone contemplate the Great Dao. Comprehending one fundamental principle illuminates all things; seeking less brings more attainment, while coveting more creates confusion.

What the world calls "worthy" often deviates from the Dao, and so-called "benevolent" people may not align with true righteousness. Understanding "non-knowing" (transcending conventional cognition) becomes the key to realizing the Dao. Genuine wisdom resides not in superficial knowledge but in recognizing the profound state of "non-knowing"—here lies the Dao's essence.

Finally, it cautions that obsessive pursuit of void-like meditative states or immortality is unnecessary, for the Great Dao is infinitely vast, embracing all yet constrained by nothing.

Emptiness is not complete nonexistence—it simply lacks physical form. If one can fully empty this state of emptiness, they reach the ultimate realm of the void. The concept of "nothingness" (wu) exists in relation to "being" (you); it depends on "being" to manifest and remains fundamentally within the domain of "being." If one can relinquish attachment even to "nothingness," then the very concept of "nothingness" will vanish. Those who attain this state can freely traverse the six directions (heaven, earth, and the four cardinal points), roam the Nine Provinces, and move independently above all things. To them, the achievement of ascension to immortality is hardly worth boasting about.

The Dao (the Way) is vast and boundless, encompassing all things without limitation. It contains the entire cosmos (the six extremes—up, down, and the four directions), without borders. Whether the vast heavens and earth or the tiniest autumn hair, all are embraced within the Dao—how could it be limited to mere ascension to immortality?

If you understand this principle, you will realize that what the world considers right may not be correct, and even the scriptures must be carefully examined. There, one standard of right and wrong exists; here, another prevails—yet in truth, no fixed judgment governs the world. Nevertheless, true right and wrong do exist. To discern them, it is better to maintain inner clarity. Only those with true self-awareness are enlightened. If you can recognize yourself, you may find that what you once believed right was actually wrong. The scriptures exist to clarify true right and wrong—how could they be mere empty words? The greatly deluded remain unawakened for life; the greatly foolish never gain insight. If not for truth carefully contemplated, how could the errors of ignorance and confusion be corrected?

In the Chapter on Profound Mystery (Fourteenth), the Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Taishang Laojun, the highest deity in Daoism) states: The words of the Dao are deep and mysterious; the scriptures and precepts are subtle and concealed. The Dao is unfathomably profound, its mysteries beyond expression. The scriptures bear the Dao, and thus their admonitions are arcane, subtle, and veiled in meaning.

All things in heaven and earth arise from the "One" (the origin of the Dao). If you understand this, you grasp the truth of emptiness and substance. If you cannot perceive and realize it, even if plainly told, you will never truly discern it.

In the time of the Great Beginning, there existed "nothingness" and "non-being" (an even more primordial nothingness)—when not even names existed. The "One" emerged from this state: possessing "One" but not yet form, from which all things arose—this is De (Virtue/Power, the manifestation of the Dao). The "One" is the beginning of transformation, from which heaven, earth, and all things are born. Thus, the root of all under heaven lies here. Those who cultivate the Dao should understand this fundamental principle. To comprehend the "One" is to understand all things. To know the "One" is to know all; to not know the "One" is to know nothing. If one cannot realize it through natural intuition, even explicit instruction will not awaken them—how much less so the subtler teachings?

If you cling to distinctions between "being" and "nothingness," you will be ensnared. Bound by "being," even a hundred million years will not bring you to the Dao.

Wuwei (non-action, following natural spontaneity without forced effort) is the foundation of the Dao, therefore it never fails; deliberate action, by contrast, invites success or failure. Forced action is actually a manifestation of going against the Dao. Ordinary people's actions are all attached to "having" (concrete things), unable to let go of attachments to reach a state of thorough understanding, resulting in being bound both internally and externally without liberation—all consequences of accumulated habitual tendencies over time. Only sages can transcend these constraints.

The true words of the Dao are subtle and profound, difficult for beginners to fully comprehend, yet one must grasp the essentials and uphold them carefully. Realization of the Dao may come in an instant, but practicing it requires gradual progression. Confusion and enlightenment both originate from one's inherent nature, not through forced human effort. Cultivation depends on long-term accumulation, with the key lying in careful adherence without deviation. The supreme mystery of the Dao must first be realized to attain it, while the essentials of practice require broad learning to firmly uphold.

First, one must abandon all desires and not let the mind run wild. The greatest transgression is indulging in desires; by removing desires, the mind naturally becomes tranquil. Thoughts arise when the mind is influenced by external things—if left unrestrained, indulging in desires will corrupt ritual propriety. Thus, to rectify the mind, one must first make the intention sincere.

Dwelling in solitude, concentrate on contemplation in a purified chamber reserved for fasting. Letting go of worldly affairs keeps the body unburdened; only through focused contemplation can one attain the Dao, while lack of contemplation leads to failure. Reading ten thousand volumes of alchemical scriptures (Daoist cultivation texts) is inferior to single-mindedly upholding one fundamental principle. The Dao most abhors disorder; disorder leads to excessive complications, while penetrating the root enables understanding of all things.

Scriptures are not incomprehensible, but they interweave the real and the illusory. What is spoken of as "having" may not truly exist, making it hard for beginners to discern; what is spoken of as "nothing" may not truly be absent, making it difficult for beginners to judge. Simply follow the stages of practice to gradually eliminate attachments. Allegories make up nine-tenths of the texts, while crucial teachings account for seven-tenths. Allegories serve to widely disseminate the teachings, but the weighty words contain the true essence. The reality or illusion, presence or absence in the texts' words are uncertain—only those who grasp their true meaning can genuinely understand. If one cannot yet comprehend, they may temporarily take the scriptures as authoritative and practice step by step, gradually reducing attachments until reaching the state of wuwei. The ancients said: the Dao cherished by the world is all recorded in books.

The Dao has both true and false forms; blessings have both auspicious and inauspicious kinds. Deliberate action is false Dao, while following spontaneity is true Dao. Blessings obtained through false means are inauspicious, while those attained through sincere cultivation are auspicious.

Transgressions have both public and private aspects, and heavenly principle perceives even the finest details. Evil done openly will be punished by humans; evil done in secret will be punished by spirits. The way of heaven is like a net—seemingly sparse, yet nothing slips through its meshes. Rather than divining the past or future, better to preserve simplicity and innate authenticity.

Those who consider themselves clever and delight in showing off have merely grasped the superficial trappings of the Dao (the Way), which marks the beginning of true foolishness. Ordinary people appear sharp and calculating, while I seem dull and muddled; the world obsesses over petty gains, while I remain simple and unhewn. Even possessing the wisdom to foresee fortune without divination cannot compare to maintaining one's innate purity, for all must ultimately return to the unadorned source. Thus, the Daodejing concludes by emphasizing the need to "settle the human heart with nameless simplicity"—this is its essential teaching.

In Chapter 15, the "Chapter on Emptiness," Laozi states: Emptiness (Xu) gives rise to spontaneity (Ziran), and spontaneity in turn gives rise to the Dao. In the "Chapter on the Profundity of the Dao," he mentions that the Dao is profoundly deep, the root of emptiness, illustrating that the Dao is the very foundation of emptiness. The Daodejing declares, "The Dao follows spontaneity," meaning that as the Dao descends into manifestation, it adheres to the principles of nature. When we speak of emptiness giving rise to spontaneity and spontaneity giving rise to the Dao, we are actually pointing to this truth: in speaking of emptiness, spontaneity is already implied; in speaking of spontaneity, the Dao is already present. To separate them is to fragment the whole, but viewed together, the three are fundamentally one. From the perspective of "having nothing," we call it emptiness; from the perspective of "being uncaused," we call it spontaneity; from the perspective of "responsive manifestation," we call it the Dao—how can there be any sequence among them?

The Dao first produces the "One" (referring to the undifferentiated primordial Qi), which then divides into heaven and earth, and from them, the myriad things are born. The Yijing speaks of transformation beginning with the "One," marking the origin of formal change. The clear and light Qi ascends to form heaven, while the turbid and heavy Qi descends to form earth. Heaven and earth contain the essence (Jing) and Qi, from which the myriad things are transformed.

All things achieve completion by embracing this "One." The myriad things take form through the transformation of essence and Qi, and the "One" is the fundamental numerical principle of essence and Qi. Tracing their origin, all things come into being by attaining the "One"; returning to the root, all things achieve completion by holding fast to the "One."

The most subtle phenomenon between heaven and earth is the movement and transformation of Qi. The entire cosmos is nothing but the unimpeded flow of a single Qi—from the formed to the formless, from the sentient to the insentient, the miraculous and the decaying transform with time, all through the agency of Qi. When Qi gathers, there is life; when Qi scatters, there is death. When Qi flourishes, there is vitality; when Qi declines, there is withering. This Qi is elusive, unfathomably deep—truly the pinnacle of mystery.

Human beings inherently possess the enduring treasure of life (referring to the innate primordial Qi), yet they fail to preserve it, instead chasing external glory and status. This is to turn away from the fundamental Dao of heaven and earth that sustains life itself.

The Western Ascension Scripture (Xisheng Jing) primarily explores the essential nature of the Dao (the Way), the origin of all things, and the importance of cultivating mind and nature.

Regarding the essence of the Dao, the scripture states that "emptiness and indistinctness" (xuwu huanghu) are its fundamental characteristics. Emptiness signifies the absence of physical form, while indistinctness describes a state that seems to exist yet does not—like a glow without definite shape, appearing present yet formless. Zhuangzi describes this mysterious state as "dim and obscure, as if absent yet present, naturally formless yet spiritually potent."

All things arise from the same root—the Dao. Just as the Book of Changes (Yijing) states that the "Qian Origin" (the primal force of Heaven) is the beginning of all things, and the "Kun Origin" (the nurturing force of Earth) fosters their growth, this "origin" is the starting point of Qi (vital energy) and the function of the Dao. Zhuangzi also emphasizes the idea that "all things and I are fundamentally one."

In terms of personal cultivation, the scripture warns against being deluded by external material pursuits. Gold, silver, and wealth will eventually be exhausted, whereas the innate "truth of one's nature and life" (xingming zhi zhen)—the authentic essence of one's being—is the true treasure. Foolish people often lose this precious nature, chasing instead the superficial glamour of the world, drifting ever further from their root.

Concerning life and death, the scripture explains that life originates from emptiness: first, emptiness gives rise to the primordial spirit (Yuanshen), which then transforms into Qi, and Qi further condenses into physical form. Upon death, the soul returns to Heaven and Earth, the bones return to their source, and all ultimately revert to emptiness. Here, the scripture particularly highlights the importance of the "mind-spirit" (Xinshen)—if the mind-spirit guards the body, life persists; if it departs, death follows. The human mind is prone to restlessness and agitation, so those who cultivate the Dao must practice "forgetting the mind" (wangxin, letting go of attachments) to return to the great Dao.

The sages composed scriptures and teachings to guide those who have lost their way back to simplicity and authenticity, helping them rediscover their inherent true nature. As Mencius said, "Do I love to argue? I have no choice but to do so." The admonitions of the sages are all born of profound compassion.

This scripture explores the relationship between the mind-shen (spirit) and the physical body, emphasizing the importance of maintaining inner purity.

The text points out that human thoughts and consciousness often bring distress. If one can attain the state of "no-mind" (non-attachment to thoughts), they will not be confined by cognitive limitations. The greatest harm lies in clinging to "having a mind" (deliberate action), as intentionality gives rise to false thoughts. People tend to overvalue the physical body, when in truth the real suffering stems from attachment to mental constructs. By maintaining inner purity and allowing thoughts to settle naturally, these afflictions cease to exist.

The human body is formed through the convergence of qi (vital energy) and blood, fundamentally serving as the vessel and dwelling place of shen (the primordial life force). When a person is tranquil, the shen resides peacefully within; when agitated, the shen departs. Tracing back to the origin, life initially existed without form or vital signs—it was the movement and transformation of qi that gave rise to physical form. As Zhuangzi said, the spirit is like horses that we can naturally guide without deliberate control.

The body is not only the dwelling (yu) of shen but also its master. The seven apertures (eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth) serve as the windows and doors through which shen enters and exits. When the body remains whole, the spirit abides peacefully; when the body deteriorates, the spirit scatters. Therefore, sages seek to return to the original state of no-mind, using inner observation (neiguan) to empty and illuminate the heart-mind, thereby returning to one's authentic nature.

Before birth, humans fundamentally had no physical form. Since we were originally formless, why cling to bodily desires? Thus we should transcend attachment to the physical form and maintain inner purity. As Zhuangzi observed, while those who have taken physical form find it difficult to return to the source, those who have attained the Dao (great persons) accomplish this with ease.

This passage elucidates the core philosophy of Daoist cultivation. When a person's spirit (Shen) and virtue (De) become unified, they can commune with the great Dao (the Way).

Laozi said: My greatest suffering arises from having this body. If I had no body, what suffering would remain? In truth, this body does not truly belong to me—it is merely a temporary form bestowed by heaven and earth. Life itself does not belong to me either; it is simply the result of the harmonious union of Yin-Yang within the cosmos. To stubbornly regard these as one's own is delusion. Those who truly comprehend the Dao are neither burdened by material desires that weigh down the body, nor constrained by physical form that shackles the spirit—they view their limbs and bones as mere dust and filth. Thus, by relinquishing attachment to the body, one paradoxically preserves it, and the spirit remains unconfined.

Only through this approach can one safeguard physical form, restore vital essence (Jing), commune with heavenly principles, and unite with virtue (De). For it is through losing the Dao that virtue arises, and through losing virtue that humaneness emerges. When Dao and virtue become one, virtue fully returns to the Dao, rendering concepts of achievement and destruction meaningless. Only those of penetrating understanding can grasp this truth.

Ancient practitioners of the Dao always followed nature's course, hence their Way remained eternally spontaneous. Forced efforts lose this naturalness—why? Because deliberate thought creates separation from the Dao. Just as curved objects need no compass to measure their bend, straight things require no string, circles need no compass, and squares need no carpenter's square—these are the inherent patterns of existence. Dao cultivators dwell without contemplation, act without scheming, completely yielding to nature's flow, leaving no traces in their hearts. How could such practice ever produce unnatural disasters like shortening a crane's legs to lengthen a duck's? Therefore, this Way remains flawless through ten thousand generations.

Consider the bellows (tuóyuè) as an instrument—precisely because of its inner emptiness does it function. Emptiness and fullness, being and non-being, round and square, large and small, long and short, wide and narrow—all adapt to human use without contention. The virtuous person moves through the world like these bellows, contending with nothing, yet virtue naturally returns to them precisely because of their empty non-desire. The bellows' emptiness allows containment, containment enables response—the Dao operates similarly. Virtuous people follow without opposing, respond without concealing, constantly abiding in non-contention, yet none in the world can contend with them.

Zhuangzi said: Those of worthy conduct who don't consider themselves worthy—where would they not be cherished? Desire is the root of calamity, while emptiness is the foundation of heaven and earth. None know their origin; the sage eliminates desires and enters emptiness to cultivate the self.

The Scripture of Western Ascension (Xisheng Jing) discusses the perils of desire and the essence of the Dao. Laozi states that the gravest transgression is indulging desires, which constitutes the root of calamity. Though heaven and earth possess massive forms, they originate from formlessness—thus the formless is their fundamental source. People, driven by desires, exhaust themselves pursuing external things, yet remain ignorant of desire's origin and fail to perceive the pure essence of heaven and earth.

Sages differ profoundly. They cleanse their hearts and eliminate desires, wandering freely in the wilderness where no human treads. They cherish their bodies as complements to the Dao. Ordinary people indulge in sensual pleasures, mistaking them for supreme joy, unaware these very indulgences destroy their natural authenticity. Sages return to primordial purity, reverting to desireless stillness.

Eyes craving beauty, ears intoxicated by music, mouths lusting for delicacies—these are the body's great afflictions. All three desires stem from covetousness, with desire's indulgence being the ultimate transgression that burdens one's De (Virtue). Therefore, sages pursue "non-desire," returning to unadorned nature.

The Dao is a formless existence—seemingly empty yet containing substance, apparently void yet capable of generating all things. This Dao is elusive: present yet absent, absent yet present. To call it a "formless thing" acknowledges its unique existence beyond physicality. The previous chapter described formlessness as an abyss (emphasizing substance), while this chapter reveals formlessness as generative (highlighting function). This echoes Zhuangzi's "emptiness constitutes fullness" and the Daode Jing's "being and non-being share one origin with different names."

Heaven receives the undifferentiated primal Qi (Chaotic Breath), from which the clear and light Qi descends to generate myriad beings in diverse forms. The Book of Changes (Yijing) states that after heaven and earth separated, heaven attained clarity through the Dao, initiating the sprouting of all things. Confucius similarly observed that the interaction of heaven's Yang Qi and earth's Yin Qi enables the transformation and nourishment of all creatures.

This passage illuminates key principles: desire is suffering's root, requiring its abandonment for Dao cultivation; the formless Dao paradoxically generates all existence; and the myriad things originate from the differentiation of primal Qi. These ideas embody Daoism's core ethos of serene non-action (Wuwei) and returning to the primordial source.

This scripture explains how sages achieve unity with the cosmic Dao through "guarding the One" (shouyi, maintaining focused spiritual concentration). The sage understands that the essence of Dao and De (Virtue/Power) lies in undifferentiated chaos and profound unity, recognizing that heaven and earth maintain their purity precisely by adhering to this principle of "guarding the One." Thus, they share the same heart-mind with heaven and earth yet remain unattached to knowledge, merge completely with the Dao yet transcend physical form—thereby attaining the highest realm of heavenly Dao.

Dao and De are governed by the unifying principle of Dao itself. This mysterious state of primordial chaos never departs throughout one's lifetime, representing the most profound gateway to the arcane. Heaven maintains its clarity through Wuwei (non-action), earth preserves its tranquility through non-action, and the sage cultivates this capacity between them. Though the heavenly Dao appears distant, it becomes visible to the attentive mind. Therefore, those who comprehend heavenly Dao commune with the state of no-knowledge, while those united with Dao merge with the formless realm—thus allowing Dao to flourish in the world.

The key lies in mastering intention and restraining thought. Willpower commands Qi (vital energy), and Qi fills the body. By maintaining resolve without exhausting Qi, one returns to original nature and recovers the primordial mind. In this state, thinking resembles non-thinking, and true contemplation arises precisely from thoughtlessness. Neither prohibiting what comes nor clinging to what departs, neither actively welcoming nor deliberately concealing—even with myriad things appearing before one's eyes, the inner stillness remains undisturbed. As the Yijing states: "Why overthink the affairs of the world?"

Distant things extend beyond the limitless and cannot be exhausted; nearby things reside within oneself yet remain unseen. Though the four seas seem vast, governance begins within the heart—turning inward reveals the capacity to encompass all things. Seeking Dao afar when it dwells nearby resembles eyes that see a hundred paces yet miss their own eyelashes.

Thus the noble person spends entire days without looking, listening, speaking, or eating—awakened inwardly while embracing the mysterious. Scriptures say: "Inward vision is called illumination; inward hearing is called acute perception." Not gazing outward allows one to perceive light within darkness; not listening externally enables hearing harmony within silence. The Yijing advises noble persons to guard their speech and moderate eating. Through silence and fasting comes wordless realization—lifelong silence that nevertheless speaks volumes, freedom from hunger and thirst while tasting what ordinary people cannot. This requires no special secret beyond returning to self-knowledge and holding fast to the great Dao without separation.

As for seeing without looking—this refers to transcending sensory perception to reach higher realms.

The sage perceives the essence of the Dao rather than its superficial manifestations, seeing what ordinary people cannot see. Zhuangzi said: "The greatest calamity lies in consciously pursuing virtue while still harboring selfish intentions." The Daode Jing similarly states: "The sage cultivates inner nourishment (focusing on the belly) rather than outer sensory pleasures (focusing on the eyes)."

True listening does not involve hearing external sounds with the ears, but rather listening to the inner voice. The state of "docility of the ear" that Confucius attained at sixty years old was precisely this state of inner awareness. True speech transcends distinctions of right and wrong, gain and loss—it appears to say something yet seems to say nothing, remaining aloof from worldly entanglements. True eating does not seek flavors but returns to the original state of flavorless simplicity.

"Flavor" itself can be tasted, but comprehending the "flavor of flavorlessness" is the higher attainment. Those who embody the Dao do not seek delicacies in food and drink, for the great Dao is inherently plain and flavorless. Only those who return to simplicity and recover their original nature can grasp this truth. The Daode Jing states: "Look for it but see it not; listen for it but hear it not," ultimately returning to the state of "no-thing"—this expresses the same principle as discussed here.

Maintain purity and wuwei (non-action), and the primordial Qi will naturally restore itself. Return to the pre-birth state of having no physical form, nourishing the body through wuwei, and you will preserve wholeness. When heaven and earth are filled with primordial Qi, longevity naturally follows. From emptiness and nothingness, spirit is born; from spirit, Qi is born—this is the unfolding of the Dao. Qi condenses into spirit, and spirit returns to emptiness—this is the function of the Dao. Concentrated will can mobilize Qi, and concentrated Qi can stabilize the will. Maintain a peaceful and balanced mind, avoid dissipating Qi recklessly, and you will remain empty and tranquil, untainted by external things.

When the mind is serene and undisturbed, detached and wuwei, you can attain the state where Qi and spirit merge, and spirit unites with emptiness, transcending the constraints of physical form. Precisely because one does not cling to self-preservation, one attains longevity. Zhuangzi said: "Through wuwei, one attains ease; those at ease are untouched by sorrow and thus naturally long-lived."

In Chapter 21, "The Chapter on Compassion," Laozi states: "Pitying others is not as good as cherishing yourself; cherishing your body is not as good as treasuring your spirit; treasuring your spirit is not as good as relinquishing attachment to spirit; relinquishing attachment is not as good as guarding your true self. Only by guarding your true self can you attain genuine longevity and enduring vision."

This scripture elucidates the core principles of self-cultivation. The most essential safeguard lies in protecting one's physical form, for the longevity of the body fundamentally depends on nurturing the spirit (Shen, referring to one's primordial consciousness and vital life force). Conversely, the preservation of spiritual wholeness equally requires diligent care of the physical form. Practitioners must cultivate themselves with utmost care, embracing the spirit through stillness and maintaining inner tranquility. Through this practice, one attains the state of "transforming with all things while maintaining singular existence," thereby achieving longevity (referring to extended lifespan while preserving clear awareness). The true essence of Daoist cultivation is wholly contained within this principle.

The phrase "embracing the spirit through stillness" represents a crucial Daoist practice, denoting the nourishment of Shen through meditative focus and mental unification. "Transforming with all things" embodies the Daoist philosophy of cosmic harmony, describing the advanced state of cultivation where one merges completely with the natural world.