《文始真經註》Vol. 5

This scripture discusses how the human mind, when clouded by various attachments, attracts different types of ghostly disturbances. The term "ghost" here does not refer to spirits of the deceased in the traditional sense, but rather to negative energies or mental disturbances arising from attachments.

When people become excessively fixated on concepts of fortune/misfortune or Yin-Yang and the Five Phases, they may be controlled by "spirit ghosts" (ghosts knowledgeable in cosmic principles). Those obsessed with carnal desires or bedroom arts become entangled with "lust ghosts" (ghosts of sensual desire). People suffering from prolonged melancholy and depression may be influenced by "sinking ghosts" (ghosts that cause spiritual decline). Those addicted to hunting and revelry may be dominated by "wild ghosts" (ghosts inducing recklessness). Individuals superstitiously relying on curses and oaths become haunted by "strange ghosts" (bizarre ghosts), while those overly dependent on medicines and tonics may be disturbed by "object ghosts" (ghosts attached to material things).

These ghostly manifestations have no fixed form—they may appear through shadows, dark places, wind, Qi (vital energy), clay figurines, colored paintings, aged animals, or worn-out objects. The text explains that these six types of ghosts respectively control six categories of people blinded by attachments.

The "ghosts" mentioned here actually symbolize the mental disturbances that arise when human minds become enslaved by various desires and attachments. Daoist practice emphasizes that cultivators must transcend these attachments and maintain mental clarity to avoid being affected by such negative energies.

Ghostly entities can manifest and deceive humans through various mediums: some coalesce from Yin energy to form bodies, others materialize in dark environments, some take shape through whirlwinds, some dwell within Yin qi itself, some inhabit clay or earthen idols, some reside in painted images, some possess aged livestock, and some lodge within broken objects.

When the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) of these eight types of specters (those manifesting through Yin qi, darkness, whirlwinds, earthen idols, paintings, old animals, or broken objects) interact with the Jing-Qi of humans (specifically those whose minds are clouded by six obsessive states: omens of fortune/misfortune, carnal desires, secluded melancholy, unrestrained indulgence, curses/oaths, or drug-induced delusions), supernatural phenomena occur. Such individuals stubbornly cling to these six obsessions, causing their vital energies to clash with those of the ghosts, thereby triggering paranormal manifestations.

Those possessed by ghosts often display three peculiar abilities: recounting bizarre tales, predicting anomalies, or interpreting auspicious signs. Arrogantly denying their possession, they instead claim to have attained spiritual enlightenment. In truth, these powers stem from being controlled by six categories of ghosts corresponding to "spiritual obsession, lust, depression, madness, eccentricity, and material attachment." When such individuals accurately foretell strange occurrences, people mistakenly believe a sage has descended, unaware these are merely supernatural displays channeled through a ghost-ridden vessel.

When people become arrogant and self-satisfied, they do not attribute it to demonic influences within themselves, but instead claim to have attained the Dao (the Way). Over time, such individuals either crash into trees and die, take their own lives with blades, hang themselves, or drown in wells. This is what is meant by the saying, "In time, people perish by trees, metal, ropes, or wells."

Only sages can command the Shen (spirit) without being controlled by it, manipulating countless deities while holding the key to mastery. They can gather or disperse the myriad things and ward off external evils. Though they engage with all matters daily, their inner minds remain eternally tranquil.

True sages who have attained the Dao comprehend the wondrous reality beyond form—the supreme Shen that appears unremarkable. Transcending the transformations of Yin-Yang, they are unfathomable to ghosts and spirits, manifesting throughout the cosmos with vast yet concealed powers. Such sages not only summon wind and rain or command deities but also seize the pivotal moment—gathering when gathering is needed, dispersing when dispersal is required, and stopping when stopping is necessary. Their minds are like the moon reflecting on a thousand rivers, like wind passing through myriad openings, as clear as a mirror reflecting objects, as responsive as an echo in an empty valley. Though they engage with endless changes, they remain forever serene and undisturbed.

This chapter illustrates: Where the mind clings, there is delusion; where it is unattached, there is the true Dao.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: Do not deliberately pursue "a unified mind," or else the five senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—will conflict with one another. Do not deliberately pursue "an empty mind," or else the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) will interfere with one another. Do not deliberately pursue "a still mind," or else the myriad transformations will subtly disturb it.

The "non-being" spoken of here is a warning: The original true mind is inherently non-dual. Practitioners are reminded not to rigidly cling to "guarding the One." If thoughts of "guarding the One" arise, these very thoughts will clash with the five senses—seeing, hearing, eating, breathing, and thinking. From this, we understand that the mind cannot be forcibly unified.

This passage elucidates the profound state of "heart-mind" in spiritual cultivation. Its core teaching reveals that our original mind is inherently pure and complete, requiring no deliberate pursuit of states like "maintaining oneness," "embracing emptiness," or "preserving stillness."

First, it explains why one shouldn't cling to "maintaining oneness": The original mind (miao xin, wondrous heart) is fundamentally identical with the void, containing no concrete phenomena. When we deliberately focus on maintaining singularity, this very intention creates duality by opposing the originally non-dual wondrous heart. It's like trying to calm water—the effort itself becomes a new ripple.

Regarding "embracing emptiness": The original mind is already empty of all things. If we consciously pursue emptiness, this pursuit paradoxically fills the original spaciousness. Imagine trying to keep a room empty—the very thought "keep this space empty" occupies mental space.

The misconception about "preserving stillness": The original mind is naturally tranquil and unmoving. The moment we generate the thought "I must maintain stillness," this intention itself becomes agitation. Like a mirror naturally clear, the act of deliberately polishing it introduces disturbances.

Only realized sages can accomplish this: They contain all phenomena within a single breath (lian wan you yu yi xi) without anything disturbing their luminous clarity; they extend a single breath throughout all existence (san yi xi yu wan you) without any phenomenon obstructing their action. Like the moon simultaneously reflecting on all water surfaces—no matter how the waves flow, they cannot affect the moon's inherent perfection.

This scripture reminds practitioners: True cultivation isn't about deliberately pursuing particular states, but recognizing the inherent completeness of our original mind. All intentional striving paradoxically distances us from natural purity.

The two chapters of Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture employ vivid metaphors to reveal the core principles of Daoist cultivation.

Chapter Two describes the sage's state as resembling the moon reflecting upon countless waters. The moon itself remains pure and perfectly round, never fracturing despite the water's ripples, yet simultaneously appearing in all water surfaces. Similarly, an enlightened sage can manifest countless forms within a single breath, pervading all realms of existence without ever having the fundamental radiance of their original mind disturbed by external phenomena. This chapter illustrates how the true mind remains inherently unaffected by external conditions, freely responding to all transformations.

Chapter Three uses two analogies to explain how "karmic consciousness" (the root of cyclic existence) can be dissolved. The first is the torch metaphor: while fire may appear capable of burning for millennia, it actually depends entirely on oil and firewood for sustenance—once the fuel is exhausted, the flames vanish instantly. Likewise, the deluded consciousness of ordinary beings appears solid, yet actually relies on external circumstances; when illuminated by a true master's guidance to suddenly realize one's original mind is as pure as the primordial void (cosmic source), deluded consciousness disappears immediately. The second is the boat-cart analogy: a boat moves by relying on water currents, a cart advances through oxen's pulling, while the human mind generates thoughts through external triggers. The key to Daoist cultivation lies in discerning these dependencies without being deceived by appearances.

These chapters fundamentally point out: spiritual practice isn't about altering external phenomena, but recognizing that our original mind is like the unstained moon and independent flame in its essential nature. When one sees through the illusory nature of deluded consciousness's dependence on external conditions, one returns to the inherent purity and perfection already present.

Ordinary people often mistake thinking as the function of the heart-mind, unaware that what truly generates thoughts is the sixth consciousness. The capacity for thought does not originate from the original mind (the wondrous luminous true mind of primordial nature), but rather emerges from conditioned conscious activities. Thus it is said that "thinking" manifests through the heart-mind, yet what drives thought is actually consciousness rather than the original mind.

This primordial wondrous luminous true mind takes emptiness as its essence (substance) and marvelous existence as its function, with substance and function being inseparable, capable of responding to infinite transformations. It is so profoundly mysterious that neither spirits nor ghosts can perceive it, nor can yin-yang principles trace its workings—its operation transcends causal logic. This original mind existed even before the formation of the universe during the "Five Ultimates" stages (Great Change, Great Beginning, Great Commencement, Great Simplicity, and Supreme Ultimate), manifesting earlier than the image of the Heavenly Emperor. When it comes, none know its origin; when it departs, none discern its destination—hence the saying "one knows not why it is so, yet so it is."

Precisely because it appears and disappears without trace, this original mind can commune with the source of heaven and earth, transcending temporal concepts of past and present. All phenomena in heaven and earth originate from this wondrous luminous original mind, yet the mind itself remains unbound by time—thus the notions of ancient and modern hold no meaning for it. This chapter clarifies that the original mind stems from before cosmic formation and cannot be known through conditioned thinking.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) pointed out: Realizing the mind originally contains nothing, one comprehends all phenomena as empty; recognizing all phenomena as empty, one thoroughly awakens to the formless Dao. The wondrous luminous original mind takes the Dao as its substance and phenomena as its function. The enlightened understand that both mind and phenomena are empty like space—substance and function being nondual yet capable of responsive adaptation. Therefore, they neither deliberately pursue extraordinary deeds nor become deluded by mystical discourses—for the awakened have seen through the Dao's fundamental formlessness, knowing even the most remarkable actions belong to conditioned fabrication, while the true Dao remains inherently pure and non-active (Wuwei).

These two chapters of the Wenshi Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Beginning) explore the fundamental nature of the Dao and the essence of the human mind.

Chapter Five discusses the essence of the Dao: The true Dao transcends all names and forms, so there's no need to deliberately exalt seemingly profound and mysterious statements. Since the Dao itself is nameless and formless, even the most exquisite language cannot fully describe it. Similarly, actions that appear extraordinary are nothing special when viewed from the perspective of the Dao. This chapter illustrates that the "Dao-mind" (the essence of Dao) remains eternally tranquil and unmoving—it cannot be attained through words or actions.

Chapter Six uses vivid metaphors to explain the workings of the human mind: Just as fire emerges when two pieces of wood are rubbed together, the human mind is originally empty, and thoughts arise only through contact with external things. These thoughts cannot be said to belong entirely to "me" nor entirely to "external objects." To stubbornly distinguish between the opposition of "self" and "external things" is an act of ignorance. In truth, the original nature of the mind has no such distinction between "self" and "other"—it is only deluded people who forcibly create boundaries, leading to conflict with external things.

The chapter concludes with a warning: Do not cling to your own notions of benefit and harm, right and wrong. Are the advantages and disadvantages you perceive truly absolute? This serves as a reminder to avoid rigid opinions and to transcend dualistic thinking.

(Note: Guanyinzi, also known as Yin Xi, is traditionally regarded as a disciple of Laozi. The Wenshi Zhenjing is attributed to him and primarily expounds the Daoist philosophy of "emptiness and naturalness.")

These two chapters of the Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture primarily discuss the limitations of human perception and the realm of spiritual cultivation.

Chapter Seven explains how concepts of advantage/disadvantage and right/wrong are all products of subjective delusional thinking. People constantly attempt to label things as either "beneficial" or "harmful," "right" or "wrong," yet these judgments shift along with delusional thoughts—where could there be any fixed standard? Even sages admit they cannot fully comprehend the mysterious workings of the Creator (referring to the Dao), let alone ordinary people. This chapter demonstrates that worldly distinctions of advantage/disadvantage and right/wrong are all manifestations of the Dao's operation, which ordinary people find difficult to foresee.

Chapter Eight employs three metaphors to illustrate how the True Mind (original mind) transcends temporal and spatial limitations: First, in dreams one may experience durations longer than the actual night, proving the True Mind isn't bound by time. Second, when a man from Qi travels through Song, Chu, Jin and Liang, he discovers each region has different customs—demonstrating the True Mind also transcends spatial constraints. Third, a truly skilled archer must learn from the bow itself (mastering its nature) rather than imitate the legendary archer Yi; an expert rower must study the nature of boats rather than emulate the mighty oarsman Ao. This chapter emphasizes that spiritual cultivation must directly point to the original mind, avoiding deception by superficial appearances—just as learning archery requires grasping the bow's essence rather than copying some master archer's technique.

Note: Yi was an ancient divine archer to whom Emperor Ku granted bows and arrows; Ao was a legendary figure of immense strength and rowing prowess. These examples illustrate that cultivation requires grasping fundamental principles rather than imitating superficial forms.

This scripture contains two main sections:

The first recounts a historical parable. During Emperor Yao's reign, ten suns appeared in the sky, and Yao commanded the divine archer Yi to shoot down nine of them. Later, Yi usurped the throne of King Xiang of Xia, becoming ruler of the Youqiong state. His minister Han Zhuo murdered him, seized his household, and fathered an extraordinarily strong son named Ao, who could push boats across dry land. Eventually, Ao was slain by Xiang's son Shao Kang. This story illustrates that skilled archers should take the bow itself as their teacher rather than imitating Yi, just as skilled sailors should follow the nature of boats rather than emulating Ao. This metaphor teaches that spiritual practitioners should directly realize their original mind rather than blindly following sages.

The second section examines dualistic concepts like right/wrong and good/evil. The scripture observes how people persistently distinguish between beauty/ugliness, success/failure and other opposites, when these are all natural manifestations of creation that need not be overly emphasized. Practitioners understand such distinctions arise from personal attachments and deluded thoughts, and should employ the concept of "non-being" (wu) to dissolve these fixations. Yet even using "non-being" leaves residual notions, requiring transcendence through the Middle Way of "neither being nor non-being." Like vivid memories when revisiting familiar places, these dualistic concepts prove difficult to eradicate completely.

The core teaching emphasizes transcending worldly dualities to directly realize one's original mind, free from external conceptual constraints. The essence of spiritual cultivation lies in inner awakening rather than blind adherence to sages or attachment to right/wrong distinctions.

This scripture expounds the principle of eliminating attachment through spiritual cultivation. It begins by using the concept of "nothingness" (wu) to dissolve attachments, yet this approach still leaves traces of the "nothingness" notion. Then it employs the concept of "neither existence nor nothingness" to further eliminate attachments, but this again leaves residual thoughts of "neither existence nor nothingness." It's like washing mud with mud—the more you wash, the dirtier it becomes. Trying to eliminate consciousness with consciousness only deepens attachments. For instance, when revisiting familiar places, past memories naturally surface—such consciousness cannot be forcibly erased.

Those truly skilled in dissolving attachments don't forcefully forget or reject these mental formations, but transform them into wisdom. Just as some people feel fear upon thinking of ghosts or dread when imagining robbers; or mistaking millet for black rice, or jade for ordinary stones—these all occur because consciousness drifts aimlessly in illusory realms, finding no stable ground to rest upon.

The key lies in not deliberately dwelling on "existence" or "nothingness," allowing consciousness to naturally dissolve into a state of undifferentiated unity. The most accomplished practitioners can perceive the true nature of sublime emptiness and wondrous existence, transforming ordinary discriminating mind into the marvelous functioning of wisdom—this is the genuine "transformation of consciousness into wisdom" (zhuan shi cheng zhi). Such transformation isn't achieved by forcibly suppressing memories or sensations, but through awakening to the original face of one's true nature.

"Imagelessness" (wangxiang) refers to an endless, formless existence where "wang" means nothingness and "xiang" means cessation. It is like encountering something extraordinary—this triggers imagination and cognition of the unusual, yet the root of these perceptions does not originate within oneself.

The previously mentioned imagination and cognition are akin to how a person, upon seeing something strange, spontaneously generates corresponding thoughts. These peculiar thoughts were not originally present in the mind; they arise solely because of what is witnessed. Hence, when one sees something unusual, the resulting imaginings and recognitions do not stem from within. Here, "imagination" (xiang) refers to mental contemplation, while "cognition" (shi) denotes discernment and judgment in the mind.

For instance, today is today—what thoughts tomorrow may bring cannot be anticipated at all. When tomorrow arrives, all manner of scattered thoughts emerge only because circumstances provoke them. To clarify that these thoughts do not originate within us, and fearing people may not fully believe it, consider this analogy: Just as we already know what has happened from morning till night today, what will occur tomorrow and what thoughts will arise remain entirely unpredictable. Only when tomorrow comes, as events unfold, do thoughts emerge in response. Thus, the root of these thoughts does not lie within us—they are all temporarily produced by external encounters. Here, "cause" (yuan) refers to the reason or occasion.

As for "imagination" and "cognition," it is like the rhinoceros gazing at the moon—the moon's reflection appears on its horn only because of perception, yet the actual moon was never on the horn to begin with. The original true mind of a person is free from such imaginings and cognitions. To ensure understanding, another example: Just as the rhinoceros horn originally bears no likeness of the moon, it is only because the rhinoceros sees the moon and generates perceptions of it that the moon's image manifests on the horn. Yet the real moon in the sky was never there.

The same principle applies to all things in heaven and earth within the human mind. Those who comprehend this truth neither cling to external forms nor fixate on internal emotions.

This passage elucidates the intrinsic nature of the human mind and its relationship with fluctuating thoughts. The metaphor of moonlight reflecting on an ox horn illustrates how the mind originally resembles a mirror, capable of reflecting all phenomena in heaven and earth. When one comprehends this principle, they can achieve non-attachment to external objects and freedom from deluded thoughts internally. The chapter reveals that our fundamental true mind (miao xin, "wondrous mind") is inherently pure and free from discrimination or attachment—all emotional cognitions arise only when the mind becomes lost in delusion.

Chapter Ten employs the analogy of earth: just as all things grow from and eventually return to the soil, so do all events originate from and dissolve back into thought. In traditional Chinese medicine, the earth element corresponds to the spleen (which governs contemplation), mirroring how all phenomena emerge from thought and return to pristine awareness when attachments are released. Understanding this reveals that distinctions between right/wrong or good/evil are merely transient modifications of thought, while the true mind remains unchanging—thoughts may shift and perceive, but the wondrous mind transcends perception in eternal constancy.

The scripture ultimately points out that the fundamental mind is singular (yi xin, "one mind"), while thoughts resemble drifting dust particles, and worldly affairs flare up and vanish like fleeting flames. Yet the true mind possesses the immutable quality of "great constancy" (da chang)—it is the spaceless, timeless void-nature of boundless vastness. This chapter primarily teaches how to govern transient thoughts with this eternally unchanging true mind.

(Note: The term "wondrous mind" refers to humanity's innate pure awareness; "thought-root" is a Buddhist concept denoting the source of discriminative thinking; the character 欻 xū means "suddenly.")

Chapter Eleven explores the relationship between human emotions (qing), mind (xin), and innate nature (xing). Emotions arise from the mind, which in turn originates from one's innate nature—just as waves emerge from flowing water, and flowing water stems from its source. Though waves, currents, and springs bear different names, their essence remains water; similarly, while emotions, mind, and nature are distinct in name, they share the same root in our true nature (zhenxing, original essence). When external disturbances strike like fleeting sparks, embracing them with our fundamental nature keeps the mind undisturbed—as naturally as clouds drifting across the sky or echoes fading in an empty valley. This chapter reveals the inherent unity of mind and nature, advocating effortless adaptability amid change.

Chapter Twelve examines distinctions between wisdom and folly, authenticity and pretense. The world contains genuinely wise and foolish individuals, as well as those who merely pretend to be either. Some discern these differences; others cannot. Yet such judgments ultimately depend on our subjective perceptions. These classifications are mental constructs—even "real" circumstances become distorted through biased interpretation. The chapter exposes how ordinary judgments stem from deluded discrimination (fenbie xin), not our true mind.

Continuing this theme, Chapter Thirteen observes how people cling to artificial divisions of wisdom and folly—products of their own deluded thoughts (wangnian). Like visual perceptions that generate assumptions, these evaluations are illusory. Recognizing this truth allows transcendence beyond dualistic distinctions into non-discriminatory awakening. The chapter emphasizes releasing attachments to return to the genuine mind-nature.

Master Guan Yinzi (a Daoist figure) states: When the mind perceives external phenomena, if the heart remains unattached, no delusional thoughts arise; but once attachment forms, selfish desires and distracting emotions proliferate. When external objects interact with the mind, if the heart remains unmoved, phenomena remain merely phenomena; if the heart stirs in response, illusory discriminations emerge.

External phenomena themselves are not ultimately real or permanent—how much less so the discriminating consciousness they provoke? Since discriminating consciousness is already illusory and insubstantial, how much more so the seven emotions and six desires arising from it?

The original luminous true mind is inherently pure and undefiled; it only fluctuates due to external influences. The true mind is fundamentally beyond birth and extinction—what appears as the illusory phenomena of arising and ceasing stems entirely from the workings of emotional desire. When various phenomena contact the mind, if the heart engages in discrimination and judgment, what is perceived is no longer the phenomenon itself but a mental fabrication.

All external manifestations arise and vanish like dreams—fundamentally illusory. How much more so our discriminatory perceptions of these phantoms? Knowing that discriminatory consciousness is illusory, how could the emotional desires it generates be anything but illusory?

Those lost in delusion stubbornly cling to notions of "existence" within the originally empty, pure heart-mind; they insist on finding some "permanent, unchanging" entity within the ever-flowing stream of consciousness. They fail to realize this very clinging is the root of samsaric suffering.

It begins with the sprouting of a single deluded thought which, left unexamined, continuously replicates until multiplying into countless entangled desires. As people indulge these passions, they mistake illusion for reality, chasing external realms without cease. Delusional thoughts surge like tidal waves, conjuring endless material worlds from their transformations.

In truth, our original true mind is boundless as empty space, yet deluded thoughts and desires forcibly demarcate artificial boundaries. Like drawing borders across infinite void, these divisions are essentially unreal.

All phenomena in the world undergo endless transformations in perpetual flux. External things come and go without limit, while human cognitive capacity remains inherently constrained. Thus, our originally pure mind becomes swayed by emotions, which in turn are pulled by external phenomena, causing thoughts to drift aimlessly like waves, devoid of true autonomy.

When the mind loses its bearings, it chases after illusory emotions, artificially constructing boundaries. In this state, our originally clear and wondrous innate awareness becomes controlled by false emotions—much like ministers rebelling against their sovereign. Similarly, when authentic human emotions become deluded by external things, they turn around to drive the person, as if commoners were constraining their officials.

The mind's confusion leads to emotional attachments, and these attachments in turn bind people to external phenomena. This state of persistent delusion continues even after death, pulling consciousness toward the realms it most craves, repeating endlessly in the cycle of birth and death (samsara), making liberation across countless kalpas nearly impossible. Though these coming and going changes may appear voluntary, they are in truth driven by the laws of nature, ceaseless and unrelenting.

The five human emotions correspond to the Five Phases (Wuxing): joy belongs to Fire, anger to Wood, contemplation to Earth, sorrow to Metal, and fear to Water. Since these emotions belong to the Five Phases, they inevitably follow the transformations of Yin-Yang. Heaven and earth and all things operate within this pattern, with the cycle of birth and death continuing without end. Tracing to the root, it is the delusion and clinging of the five emotions that generate this cycle. Before these emotions arise, where is there any birth or death?

People fail to understand: though vast, heaven and earth can only drive physical forms; though subtle, Yin-Yang can only influence things with Qi (vital energy). Those lost in delusion remain trapped by the realms they crave, driven endlessly through rebirth by the laws of heaven, earth, Yin, and Yang. They do not realize that before deluded emotions emerge, the original mind inherently possesses a pure and wondrous essence.

The human mind is formless like the void. Though the cosmic forces of Yin-Yang can create and transform all things (referring to the generative principles of the universe), they can only govern those with concrete form that are deluded by desires—how could they possibly govern a mind as pure and mysterious as empty space? Thus, though heaven and earth are vast and can control all formed things, they cannot control the formless mind.

When deluded desires arise, the primordial Qi (the fundamental life energy) follows their current, thereby becoming trapped in the cyclical transformations of Yin-Yang and subject to the wheel of rebirth. But if deluded desires have not yet sprouted, Qi can return to its source and merge with absolute emptiness (the state of perfect void). At this stage, though the workings of Yin-Yang are subtle, how could they govern this state of absolute void? Therefore, though Yin-Yang are profound and can govern things imbued with Qi, they cannot govern the breathless origin.

Where the mind points, Qi follows; where Qi flows, form manifests. "Zhi" (之) here means "to go." The mind is like a commander, Qi like an army—Qi follows the mind as soldiers follow their general. If the mind becomes entangled in illusory attachments and clings to external phenomena, Qi will accordingly take shape as physical forms within the cycle of rebirth.

This resembles how the Supreme Void (the primordial state of absolute nothingness) gives rise to the single Qi (primordial energy) within absolute emptiness. This single Qi then generates the myriad things, yet the single Qi itself is not equivalent to the Supreme Void. The essence of Dao has neither name nor form—just as the Supreme Void activates the single Qi, which then divides into Yin and Yang, through whose transformations heaven, earth, and all things are formed. Once called the "single Qi," it can no longer be called the formless Supreme Void—how much less can this be said of the myriad things?

Our original mind can transform into Qi and form, yet this original mind itself is without Qi or form. The inherently mysterious human mind takes absolute emptiness as its essence. Before thoughts arise, its fundamental substance is identical to the Supreme Void. When thoughts emerge, wherever the mind directs, Qi follows; wherever Qi moves, form manifests—just as the Supreme Void gives birth to the single Qi, and the single Qi gives birth to the myriad things. Thus it is said, "The single mind can transform into Qi and form," yet before thoughts arise, the originally mysterious mind is fundamentally without Qi or form.

The Wenshi Zhenjing Commentary Chapter 14 primarily discusses the nature and function of the heart-mind.

First, it elucidates the essential nature of the heart-mind: When a person realizes their original mind has no concrete form or material substance (Qi), neither Heaven and Earth nor Yin-Yang can control it. This realization resembles the state of Taixu (the primordial undifferentiated cosmos) before concrete phenomena emerged—when even Heaven, Earth, and Yin-Yang did not yet exist. How then could they govern emptiness? The chapter emphasizes that when the human mind becomes deluded, it becomes bound by the transformations of Yin-Yang and trapped in the cycle of rebirth (samsara). Yet once awakened to its original nature, the mind transcends these constraints and permanently liberates itself from cyclic existence.

Next, it explains two distinct visual experiences: When ordinary people suddenly perceive extraordinary visions, this occurs through the interaction of spirit (Shen) with external phenomena. Conversely, fever-induced hallucinations during illness stem from bodily weakness and depleted mental energy. Here, "deficiency" (qian) refers to insufficiency or frailty.

Finally, the text reveals the wondrous function of the heart-mind: Recognizing that our mind can manifest concrete imagery from emptiness demonstrates its equal capacity to return phenomena to voidness. The crucial insight lies in understanding that disbelief in this natural marvel—or mental obscuration—prevents genuine comprehension of this principle.

(Note: "Taixu" denotes the primordial, undifferentiated state of the cosmos; "Yin-Yang" represents the fundamental complementary forces of the universe; "samsara" refers to the cyclical process of birth and death.)

The snake catcher, because he harbors no fear of snakes in his heart, remains unafraid even when encountering them in dreams. It is just like when ordinary people, while ill, suddenly see visions of ghosts and strange phenomena. As long as they understand that their original mind is inherently pure and empty, and all perceived forms are illusory, they can maintain clarity—neither gullible nor attached. In this way, the strange phenomena naturally vanish. Thus it is said: if one does not believe, the supernatural cannot manifest.

Someone might ask: When the spirit is dull and confused, and one deludedly sees ghosts and strange phenomena, who can manage not to believe? This is like the skilled snake catcher who subdues serpents with incantations—because he fears no snakes in his heart, even in dreams, he remains unafraid. Understanding this principle, one realizes that as long as one is not credulous, the supernatural cannot exert its influence.

The Yellow Emperor (legendary progenitor of Daoism) once said: In the true Dao, there are no ghosts or spirits, for the Dao operates independently, unbound by constraints. Here, the Yellow Emperor’s words further clarify: ghosts and spirits belong to the realm of Yin and Yang, while the profound Dao transcends them. Thus, there are no ghosts or spirits. Even if they truly existed, they could not fathom the mysteries of the Dao. The Dao moves Yin and Yang, yet Yin and Yang cannot contend with the Dao. This chapter demonstrates that by following nature and comprehending the wondrous Dao, even ghosts and spirits cannot fathom one’s state.

Chapter Fifteen

Master Guan Yin (disciple of Laozi) said: The shifting thoughts in my mind each day are not governed by me but are driven by fate. If one can recognize that all things are fate, one can transcend both the external self and the deluded mind within. In truth, there is no such entity as "I"—what we call "I" is merely a concept fabricated by consciousness. Those complex, ever-changing thoughts are not caused by the true self but are propelled by fate, whose workings remain unknown. What we call fate is simply the natural principle of things unfolding as they must, though we do not understand why.

Chapter 16 explains that the state of being "naturally so" is actually a manifestation of the Dao's transformative operations. If one truly comprehends the mystery of things existing in their fundamental suchness (what we call "knowing not why it is so, yet it is so"), one attains the realm of true emptiness (referring to the ultimate truth beyond form). The character "命" (life/mandate) is essentially another term for the Dao. Those who realize the Dao of true emptiness neither cling to external self-images nor grasp at internal mental activities. Thus, those who truly understand the principle of "only the mandate" see neither the external self nor the internal thoughts. This chapter clarifies that our original mind-nature is intrinsically empty—the great Dao cannot be reached through intellectual speculation.

Chapter 17 uses the eyes as a metaphor: Just as human eyes can perceive all things between heaven and earth, if one momentarily withdraws their gaze, everything vanishes in an instant. The true empty mind-substance is originally devoid of content, profound and unfathomable—suddenly arising thoughts are like illusions mistakenly perceived. Completely relinquishing these thoughts to return to true emptiness is like withdrawing one's gaze and temporarily seeing nothing. This chapter elaborates on the previous chapter's statement that "the transformations of thoughts are manifestations of the Dao's operations."

Chapter 18 discusses three crucial matters in cultivation: Overstraining the eyes by focusing on intricate carvings damages vision (as the Daode Jing says, "the five colors blind the eyes"); overstraining the ears with complex symphonies impairs hearing ("the five tones deafen the ears"); and constantly pursuing abstruse principles with the mind harms the original heart-mind. Because the original heart-mind is inherently pure—being the most profound source itself—clinging to external esoteric methods instead pollutes it (requiring "cleansing the mysterious mirror" to remove such attachments). This chapter demonstrates that the originally wondrous mind does not belong to the realm of the six dusts (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects).

Chapter 19 teaches wisdom in human interactions: Do not measure others by your own thoughts, but rather understand them by standing in their position.

The word "勿" (wu) expresses prohibition, while "揆" (kui) means to conjecture or measure. This admonishes Dao practitioners: though living in the mundane world, one should not constantly measure others by one's own standards. One ought to treat the wise according to their wisdom and the foolish according to their simplicity. In this way, when interacting with others, one advances and withdraws appropriately, never losing human connection. Thus it is said: do not measure others by your own ruler, but understand them by their measure.

Those who grasp this principle can act with perfect circumspection, practice De (Virtue), penetrate the Dao, engage with others, and forget the self. When a person acts with such wuxin (no-mind), responding naturally to each situation, neither the wise nor the foolish will find fault in their conduct, and human connection remains intact. What then cannot be perfectly handled? What De cannot be practiced? What Dao cannot be penetrated? What person cannot be engaged with? What self cannot be forgotten? Only by comprehending this method of "no-mind" can one attain consummate perfection. This chapter clarifies how abiding in no-mind benefits both self and others, with all virtues following naturally.

(Chapter 19)

Master Guan Yin (a pivotal Daoist figure) said: The principles governing all under heaven show that small matters, left unchecked, grow into great ones, and great matters, left unchecked, spiral beyond control. A trickling stream, undammed, becomes a river; a tiny spark, unquenched, becomes a wildfire. Just as accumulated wood forms a forest and piled stones form a mountain, accumulated misdeeds eventually bring calamity—how can one not be cautious?

Thus, one who can restrain a single desire may achieve De; one who can forget a single desire may unite with the Dao. Here, "故" (gu) serves as a connective, while "制" (zhi) means governance. When a desire first arises, if one guides it toward goodness, De is achieved. If one sees through its emptiness and releases it, union with the wondrous Dao of Wuji (the Limitless) is attained. This chapter illustrates how the difference between the ordinary and the sage lies in whether one is lost in desires or awakened to them.

(Chapter 20)