《雲笈七籤》Vol. 94

The most precious thing for a person is life; within life, the most precious thing is the Dao (the Way). When a person has the Dao, it is like a fish having water. A fish trapped in a dried-up rut still hopes for water—how much more should a person who has lost the Dao know fear and grief.

Worldly people, having lost their original nature, often have no inclination to seek the Dao. They fear the suffering of death, yet cling to the desires that bring about the cycle of birth and death; they value the reputation of virtue, yet neglect its practice; they delight in beautiful sights and delicious tastes, regarding these as satisfaction and fulfillment, while viewing purity and simplicity as distress and disgrace. They exhaust mind and strength seeking rare possessions, hoping to exchange them for blessings in a future life; they indulge passions and desires that are easily contracted, and lose the opportunity to cultivate the Dao in this life. They consider themselves clever and shrewd, but in fact they are as if dreaming and as if lost, dying and being born, passing through countless kalpas in cycles.

On careful reflection, there is no inversion or confusion more serious than this. The Miaozhen Jing (Scripture of Wondrous Truth) says: “People often lose the Dao, but it is not the Dao that loses people; people often depart from life, but it is not life that departs from people.” Therefore, those who nourish life must be cautious not to lose the Dao; those who cultivate the Dao must also be cautious not to lightly discard life. Let the Dao and life guard one another, let life and the Dao preserve each other; only when the two are not separated can there be lastingness. This lastingness is the root of attaining the Dao.

Scriptures say: “Life is the great De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven, the great joy of Earth, and the great blessing of humanity.” Those who cultivate the Dao can bring such blessed virtue to realization; it is not merely a matter of fate and worldly emoluments. The Xisheng Jing (Scripture of Western Ascension) also says: “My nature and life are in my own hands; they are not governed by the heavenly mandate.” From this we see that the length of life depends on oneself: attaining the Dao is not a unilateral gift from Heaven, nor is losing the Dao something taken away by others.

Examining my heart, I fear only that awakening comes too late; fortunately there is still time now, and one should not hesitate further. It is regrettable that years as fleeting as the morning mushroom that dies by evening have already passed. Now that I know the essentials of taking refuge in the Dao but have not yet mastered them, I treasure every inch of time all the more, urging myself to practice quickly, for it is like a shadow cast by candlelight, gone in an instant.

This method of cultivating the Dao is written according to scriptural meaning; its matters are concise, its principles clear, and its practice not difficult. It addresses the various afflictions in the human heart and roughly sets out seven precepts to be observed when calming the mind and sitting in meditation. It also describes the stages of cultivation and key supporting methods, arranged in order below.

Faith and Reverence

Faith is the root of the Dao; reverence is the foundation of De. Only when the root is deep can the Dao endure; only when the foundation is firm can De flourish.

Yet people are sometimes deluded by concrete things before their eyes and therefore cannot clearly see their own hearts and the principles. Bian He presented uncut jade, yet because the fine jade was not recognized, he suffered the cutting off of his feet; Wu Zixu proposed a way to preserve the state, yet was killed. This shows that once outward forms and events become manifest, people may lose their minds; and when the principle of a matter has only just begun to show, their feelings and thoughts may ignore it. How much more so the ultimate Dao, which far transcends outward appearances and flavors…

Human true nature is obscured by desires, yet one can still hear of “Xiwei” (the subtle and hard-to-perceive Dao) and, through firm faith, experience “Wangxiang” (the formless and imageless realm) without confusion—how is this accomplished? For example, if someone hears of “Zuowang” (sitting-forgetting: a cultivation method in which, in quiet sitting, one forgets body and mind and merges with the Dao), believes it to be an important path of cultivation, holds it in reverence, accepts it without doubt, and practices diligently, then that person will certainly attain the Dao.

Thus Zhuang Zhou said: “Discard the sensations of the limbs, shut out the cleverness of ears and eyes, leave the physical form behind, let go of the mind, and connect with the Great Dao.” This is what is called Zuowang. What exactly does sitting-forgetting forget? Inwardly, one is unaware of having this body; outwardly, one does not know that there are the myriad things of the universe; one becomes one with the Dao, and all thoughts are set aside. Therefore Zhuangzi says this is “connecting with the Great Dao.” These words seem simple, but their meaning is profound. Those who are deluded hear them and still do not believe, like someone who hides a treasure in their bosom yet goes everywhere searching for treasure—what can be done about that? Therefore the scripture says: “When faith is insufficient, disbelief follows.” This means that if one’s faith in the Dao is insufficient, it will bring the calamity of disbelief; how then can one hope to attain the Dao?

Cutting Off Entanglements (Duan Yuan)

“Cutting off entanglements” means cutting off the burdens brought by worldly affairs of intentional action. When affairs are set aside, the body is not exhausted; when one maintains Wuwei (non-action), the mind is naturally at peace. As one becomes daily more quiet, pure, and simple, worldly entanglements daily decrease; the farther one is from the world, the closer the mind is to the Dao. Who has ever reached the realm of utmost spirit and sagehood without coming by this path?

Therefore the scripture says: “Block the openings, shut the gates, and to the end of life the mind will not toil.” Some display virtue and ability in order to draw others in and consolidate themselves; some use greetings, congratulations, condolences, and similar occasions for social intercourse; some pretend to cultivate the Dao and live in seclusion while secretly hoping for advancement; and some host banquets and invite guests in expectation of future repayment. All of these conceal a calculating mind and seek timely advantage; they neither accord with walking in the Dao nor fail to seriously obstruct proper cultivation, and all should be cut off.

The scripture also says: “Open the openings, accomplish affairs, and to the end of life there is no remedy.” If I do not initiate greetings to others, others naturally will not respond to me; even if others initiate greetings, I do not respond. In this way old relationships gradually break apart, and no new relationships are formed. Friendships based on shared profit and mutual power naturally grow more distant day by day. Only when one is free of affairs and at leisure can one cultivate the Dao.

Therefore Zhuangzi says: “Neither send off nor welcome,” meaning not to engage in worldly human relations. He also says: “Do not be the keeper of fame, the storehouse of schemes, the bearer of affairs, or the master of cleverness.” If there are indeed matters that cannot be abandoned and can only be done as a last resort, then do not let greed and attachment arise on that account, do not let the mind be tied down, and do not make them a career to pursue.

Collecting the Mind (Shou Xin)

The mind is the master of the body and the commander of the hundred spirits. When the mind is quiet, wisdom arises; when the mind is agitated, it becomes benighted. People are sunk in illusory realms yet take them as real; they are intoxicated by intentional affairs...

Whether one can inwardly understand the Dao of emptiness and nonbeing does not depend solely on the mind-consciousness itself; it is also related to one’s environment. Choosing one’s neighbors well can still change one’s behavior; choosing one’s friends well can still bring one benefit. How much more, then, if a person leaves the realm of birth and death and settles the mind in the Supreme Dao—would they not abandon their old dwelling and enter such a state?

Therefore, when beginning to learn the Dao, one should first sit calmly and gather the mind, turn away from external conditions, abide in the state of nothing whatsoever, and not cling to anything. In this way one naturally enters emptiness and nonbeing, and the mind becomes united with the Dao. The scripture says: “Within the Supreme Dao there is stillness and no place; its wondrous functioning has no fixed location, and the essence of the mind is likewise so.”

The essence of the mind is originally rooted in the Dao; it is only because the mind and spirit are defiled and obscured, increasingly so day by day, and wander for long, that it becomes separated from the Dao. Now if one can cleanse the defilements in the mind and reveal the original nature of the mind and spirit, this is called cultivating the Dao. Thereafter, no longer wandering, one unites with the Dao. Abiding in the Dao is called “returning to the root”; guarding the root without departing is called “quietude and stability” (jingding). When quietude and stability endure, illness recedes, and life is restored and prolonged. From this one naturally comes to know the Dao of constancy: understanding constancy, there is nothing one cannot comprehend; guarding constancy, one can endure without change and without extinction. Transcending birth and death truly depends on this path.

Therefore, in emulating the Dao and settling the mind, the key lies in not clinging to anything. The scripture says: “The myriad things flourish and grow, each returning to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to destiny; returning to destiny is called constancy; knowing constancy is called clarity.”

If one deliberately makes the mind dwell on “emptiness,” this is still a form of clinging and is not true non-clinging. Whenever the mind stops on some object, it tires the mind and spirit and disturbs the Qi; this not only is contrary to principle but may even cause illness. When the mind does not cling to external things and can remain unmoved, this is true stability (ding) and the foundation of cultivating stability. Practicing in this way, mind and Qi will gradually harmonize, and one will become increasingly light and clear; using this as a test, one can distinguish the biased and false from the correct path.

If, once thoughts arise, one simply suppresses them all without distinguishing right from wrong and cuts off awareness entirely, one falls into a blind, withered stability. Conversely, if one lets thoughts arise at will without any restraint, one is no different from ordinary people. If one merely suppresses good and evil thoughts but has no place to which the mind returns, drifting arbitrarily and waiting for it to settle by itself, this only wastes one’s time. If one engages in all sorts of activities while claiming that the mind has no defilement whatsoever, this sounds fine but does not accord with principle in practice; those who truly learn the Dao should be especially wary of this.

The correct approach is: still the turmoil but do not extinguish luminous awareness; maintain tranquility but do not cling to emptiness. Practicing thus constantly, one will naturally attain true realization. If one encounters difficulties in affairs or in the methods of practice, one may for the time being employ thought to bring the matter to proper resolution and to gain understanding by resolving the doubt; this too is a proper foundation for generating wisdom.

When a task is done, stop; truly one should not think too much. Excessive thought damages tranquility through an excessive pursuit of knowledge. It is like injuring the root: one may show off talent for a time, but in the end it damages long-term endeavor.

Once troubled, chaotic, perverse, or delusive thoughts are noticed, they should be removed immediately. On hearing slander or praise, or encountering matters of good and evil, let them go at once and do not retain them in the mind. If such things are kept in the mind, the mind becomes filled; once the mind is filled, the Dao (the Way) has nowhere to dwell. Whatever one hears or sees, treat as if one had not heard or seen it; do not let right and wrong, beauty and ugliness enter the mind—this is called “emptying the mind” (xuxin). When the mind does not chase external reputation and things, this is called “settling the mind” (anxin). When the mind is settled and empty, the Dao naturally comes to dwell. Therefore the scriptures say: “If a person can empty the mind and practice Wuwei (non-action), not deliberately seeking the Dao, the Dao will naturally return.”

Inwardly without clinging, outwardly not deliberately acting willfully; not leaning toward lofty purity, nor sinking into turbidity—thus slander and praise have no place to arise. Not priding oneself on cleverness, nor feigning dullness—thus profit and harm, gain and loss have no way to intrude. Fundamentally, one should comply with the central and upright path and maintain constancy; when handling matters expediently, one may adjust according to changing circumstances. As long as one can be free of various entanglements, this is wisdom. If one ignores timing and the matter itself, forcing things with effort while believing oneself to be unattached, this is not true awakening. Why? The state of the mind is like the eye: even a tiny speck entering the eye makes it uneasy; a small matter stirring the mind makes the mind surely agitated. Since the mind is already agitated, it is difficult to enter Chan meditation (chan ding, the practice of settling and focusing the mind). Therefore the crucial point in cultivating the Dao is first to remove the illness of the mind; if the illness is not removed, one ultimately cannot enter concentration.

It is also like a good field: if the thorns are not cleared, even if seed is sown, good crops will not grow. Clinging, prejudice, and overthinking are thorns in the mind; if they are not removed, concentration and wisdom (ding and hui: a settled mind and the insight arising from it) will not arise.

Some people occupy wealth and honor, or are well read in the classics and histories; they speak of compassion and frugality, but their conduct is greedy and cruel. Their eloquence suffices to cover their faults; their power and position suffice to intimidate others. When they gain benefit, they credit themselves; when mistakes occur, they blame others. This illness of mind is the deepest; even if they study much, it is of no benefit. The reason is that they always feel they are right.

The human mind has always relied on external conditions and is not yet accustomed to settling alone; when suddenly without support, it is hard to settle the mind. Even if it settles temporarily, it will scatter again. As soon as a thought arises, stop it immediately, and be sure to keep the mind unmoving. With long nourishment, gradually becoming proficient, one naturally becomes at ease. Whether by day or night, walking, standing, sitting, lying down, or handling affairs, one should always pay attention to settling one’s own mind. After the mind has settled, one need only continue to nurture it and not let it be disturbed. With a little power of concentration, one can enjoy oneself; with further familiarity, one feels only clarity and far-reaching openness. The things one valued in life will by then seem worn out and useless; how much more, when wisdom arises from concentration, can one deeply discern the real from the false?

Oxen and horses are both domesticated livestock, yet if they are left unchecked and unmanaged, they will still become stubborn and hard to tame, unwilling to be controlled. Eagles and sparrowhawks are wild birds, but when people tie them and tame them, keeping them at their side all day, they naturally become gradually docile.

Moreover, if the human mind is indulged and allowed to scatter, without being gathered in, it will only become more coarse and disordered; how then can one perceive subtle principles? Therefore the scriptures say: “Even if paired jades were placed before a four-horse carriage, it would be better to sit down and cultivate this Dao.”

The truly subtle gateway of practice depends on whether it can be practiced, not on whether it can be spoken. If it is practiced, then words become appropriate; if it is not practiced, words become empty talk. People often value what is hard to understand and slight what is easy. When discussing the principles of the teaching, if one only speaks broadly of emptiness and nothingness, saying things that thought cannot grasp and practice cannot approach, people praise them as inconceivable and bow to the ground in reverence. But if what is said is plain and trustworthy, able to clarify matters so that people understand as soon as they hear and can act on it directly, then people instead do not believe it. This is truly inconceivable, yet the world does not believe it. Therefore the scriptures say: “My words are very easy to understand and very easy to practice, yet no one in the world can understand them or practice them. It is precisely because they do not understand that they do not know me.”

Someone says, “Fire is not hot, and a lamp does not illumine darkness,” and calls this a profound principle. Fire’s function lies in giving heat, a lamp’s function lies in giving light. Now people loudly declare that fire is not hot, yet they never refrain from using fire; they idly talk of a lamp not illumining darkness, yet they light lamps all night. Such statements contradicting action have nothing to recommend them. These are merely words meant to break attachment, but people instead take them as deep and mysterious truths. Although Huizi (the Warring States sophist) was skilled in grand argument, Zhuangzi still considered his words not sufficiently profound. As for those who stop at superficial understanding, how can they distinguish right from wrong in such matters? I hope those who truly seek learning will not be distracted by this.

Someone says: “One who cultivates the Great Dao stands amid the ten thousand things without the mind being defiled, and acts amid activity without the spirit becoming disordered; there is nothing he does not do, and no time at which he is not tranquil.” Now if one simply avoids affairs and seeks quiet sitting, leaves action and seeks concentration, and strains to control oneself, this instead creates the two mind-states of movement and stillness; clinging to abiding and maintaining, one falls into the two one-sided faults of grasping and rejecting. If one does not notice what one is clinging to, and further calls it the essential point of cultivating the Dao, is this not a great mistake?

The reply is: “That which encompasses the ten thousand things is called the Great Dao; that which the ten thousand things follow is called the Dao. To stand amid the ten thousand things without the mind being defiled, and to handle affairs without the spirit becoming disordered—this is indeed vast and indeed subtle. Yet I think your understanding is not yet clear. Why? You see only the brocade’s brilliant colors, but do not know that it was originally woven from white silk; you have just heard the crane beat its wings and soar high, but how would you know that earlier it had to feed and grow as a chick?”

The great tree that shades the sun also grows little by little from a tiny sprout; the sage whose heart-mind is settled and concentrated is likewise accomplished through long accumulation and repeated practice.

Now some people only learn to talk about the sage’s De (Virtue/Power) but do not know by what the sage accomplishes that De. This is like seeing the mao hour (5–7 a.m.) and immediately wanting the rooster that announces dawn, or seeing a slingshot and immediately wanting a roasted owl—far too hasty. Therefore the scripture says: “Mysterious De—profound and subtle virtue—is deep and vast, seemingly contrary to the ordinary feelings of the myriad things; only after this can one attain the greatest accord.”

Simplifying Affairs (Reducing Entanglements)

People living in the world inevitably must handle various affairs. Affairs are many, and they cannot all be borne by one person. A bird in the forest needs only a single branch to make its nest; a bird foraging among the reeds is sometimes overlooked by people; a beast needs only a bellyful of water and does not covet the great rivers. People should seek few things outwardly and clearly examine themselves inwardly: knowing that life has its limits, they should not pursue what lies beyond those limits; understanding what should be done, they should not undertake what should not be done. Doing what should not be done damages one’s intelligence; coveting what exceeds one’s limits injures body and spirit. If one cannot even be at peace oneself, how can one have the mind to cultivate the Dao (the Way)?

Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao should cut down affairs, discern the idle from the essential among affairs, weigh the light and the heavy, and know what should be discarded and what should be kept. Whatever is unimportant and unnecessary should be cut off. For example, craving wine and meat in food and drink, pursuing silk and brocade in clothing, clinging to fame and position in social status, and chasing gold and jade in wealth—these are merely extra indulgences brought by desire, not the good medicine required to sustain life. Yet the multitude all chase them and thereby invite ruin. Reflecting calmly, they are truly lost too deeply.

Thus Zhuangzi says, one who comprehends the true reality of life does not regard what is unnecessary for sustaining life as indispensable. What is here called “unnecessary for life” refers to external things beyond one’s proper lot. Coarse tea and plain rice, worn-out clothes, are already enough to continue life; must one have wine and meat, silk and brocade, in order to live?

Whatever has no necessary use for life should be removed; even if something has some use in life, if it has become more than is needed, it too should be abandoned. Wealth and goods carry a harmful factor; hoarded, they injure a person. Even when there is not much, they still become a burden—how much more when their quantity is great?

Now if someone used the Marquis of Sui’s pearl to shoot at a sparrow high in the sky, he would still be laughed at; how much more so if one abandons the Dao and De, neglects nature and life, and for the sake of unnecessary things harms oneself and shortens one’s lifespan? Compared with the Dao and De, fame and position are false and base; only the Dao and De are real and precious. Knowing what is noble and what is base, one should make choices: not harm oneself for the sake of reputation, not change the Dao one guards for the sake of official rank. Therefore Zhuangzi says: “To act for the sake of reputation and thereby lose oneself is not the mark of one who has the Dao.” The Xisheng Jing says: “Embrace and guard the primordial source, concentrate on guarding the One; only then can one reach the realm of the immortals.”

If one has not yet attained being free of all entanglement, but merely sits and enjoys a noble official position, accepting things without discrimination and agreeing to whatever comes, then body and mind will grow exhausted and thoughts will become confused, and the work of cultivating the Dao will fall into ruin. If one can handle affairs calmly and at ease, without being entangled by external things, then naturally one is someone who has already realized something. But if in reality one has not reached this, yet says one is free of entanglement, then one is truly deceiving oneself.

True Contemplation

What is called “contemplation” is the method by which the wise foresee principles and affairs and the capable observe them in fine detail. It can investigate misfortunes and blessings that arrive unexpectedly, distinguish the good and ill fortune brought by action and by quiet preservation, perceive signs before events occur, and clarify the results produced by causes and conditions. It can also deeply seek protection and support, stabilize one’s endeavors, do one’s utmost to preserve life, and ensure that cultivation from beginning to end has no omissions or entanglements, and that the principles one practices do not violate right principle. Therefore it is called “true contemplation.”

A single meal and a single sleep, daily rising and resting, can all become sources of loss and gain; a single word and a single action can also become the starting point of misfortune and blessing. Rather than expending effort to cleverly control the branches and details, it is better to seem clumsy and guard the root. By observing the root, one can understand the branches; this is not the mentality of impatiently striving to be strong and seek victory either. Therefore, one should gather in the mind, reduce miscellaneous affairs, and day by day decrease deliberate contrivance; only when body and mind are quiet and the mental state is leisurely can one observe and realize the true principle. Thus the Jing says: “Always without desire, thereby observe its wonders.”

Nevertheless, those who cultivate the Dao still need food and clothing. There are matters that cannot be abandoned and things that cannot be discarded; toward these one should accept them with an open mind and face them clearly, not treat them as obstacles and thereby give rise to irritation. If as soon as one encounters a matter one is disturbed by it into irritation, then the illness of the mind has already been set in motion—how then can this be called peace of mind?

Human affairs and food and clothing are like the boat used to cross the sea. To cross the sea one needs a boat; after crossing, naturally one need not cling to the boat any longer. Why, before crossing, would one first want to throw the boat away? Although food and clothing are illusory and truly not worth expending effort to manage, in order to transcend the illusory, people still must seek food and clothing. Even when there are matters to manage and seek, one should not give rise to thoughts of gain and loss. In this way, whether there are affairs or no affairs, the mind can always remain stable and peaceful. One may seek together with others, but not crave together with others; one may obtain together with others, but not accumulate what is obtained. Because one is not greedy, one has no anxiety; because one does not accumulate, one has no worry of loss. One’s outer traces remain the same as others, but one’s inner mind differs from the worldly. This is indeed an important principle of cultivation and should be earnestly put into practice.

Even if the habitual tendencies left from the past have already been cut off, there may still be portions difficult to eliminate. At such times one can observe according to principle. If attachment to beauty is very strong, one should contemplate: all defilement with regard to appearances arises entirely from the mind’s imagination. If such imagination is not produced, then there is no such matter as appearances. If one understands that external appearances are originally empty, and that the mind’s attachment to appearances is merely delusion, then once the deluded mental thoughts have been emptied, who can be the master of appearances? The Jing says: “What is called form is entirely imagination; since imagination is altogether empty, where then is there form?”

Think further: bewitching and glamorous beauty is even more formidable than fox-spirits; fox-spirits confuse people and cause them to…

People loathe illness and suffering; even if they were to die from it, they would not wish to fall into evil paths. Precisely because they loathe it, they can keep far from evil paths.

Lustful, seductive, and glamorous things confuse people and make them develop love and clinging; even after death, the lingering attachment only grows deeper. If one harbors deviant thoughts, after death one will fall into hell and for a long time lose the blessing of rebirth as a human. Therefore the scripture says: “In this life one vows to become husband and wife, but after death they cannot be reborn together as humans.” Why is this? Because deviant thoughts are mixed in.

Consider again beautiful appearance and sensual beauty: if beauty were truly fixed and unchanging, why do fish dive into deep water upon seeing it and birds fly high upon seeing it? Immortals regard it as filth, and worthy people compare it to knives and axes. A person may die if they go seven days without food; yet even if one never comes into contact with sensual beauty for a lifetime, one may instead avoid premature death and harm. From this we know that sensual beauty is not truly indispensable to body and mind; rather, it may become an enemy that harms life. Why then cling to it and invite ruin upon oneself?

If you see others doing evil and feel disgust, you might reflect: this is like seeing someone commit suicide, yet stretching out your own neck to meet his blade and using it to harm yourself. Others’ evil deeds have their own consequences; why draw others’ evil into your own mind and turn it into your own affliction? Moreover, if evildoers are disgusting, should doers of good also be disgusting? Why? Because the signs of good and evil can both cause the mind to make distinctions and obstruct the cultivation of the Dao.

If you are afflicted by poverty, think carefully: who is making me poor? Heaven and Earth cover and support all things impartially, without partiality; my present poverty is not caused by Heaven and Earth. Parents raise children always hoping they will be rich and noble; my present poverty and lowliness are not caused by my parents either. Humans and spirits cannot even take care of themselves—how could they have the power to impose poverty on me? Searching again and again, I cannot find any external source; only then do I know that poverty is caused by my own karmic force, and that destiny has its own fixed allotment. Karma is made by oneself; fate is bestowed by Heaven. Karma and fate are like a shadow following form and an echo responding to sound: they cannot be escaped, nor is there any need to resent them. Only the wise can respond appropriately according to circumstances, rest content in Heaven’s mandate, and understand their allotted lot; thus poverty no longer feels unbearable. Therefore Zhuangzi says: “Once karmic retribution has come, it cannot be discarded, because it is karma one has made oneself.” When poverty and illness arrive, they likewise cannot simply be stopped out of thin air. The scripture also says: “Heaven and Earth cannot change a person’s integrity; Yin-Yang cannot reverse a person’s karmic retribution.” From this we know that true allotted destiny cannot be fabricated by external things—what is there to resent?

Again, suppose a brave man meets bandits: he is utterly fearless, swings his sword to meet them, and the bandits scatter; once he establishes merit, he can enjoy honor and stipend for the rest of his life. Now poverty and illness trouble me like bandits; if my mind is upright, I am like that brave man.

Using wisdom to observe is like wielding a sword to cut off afflictions; when the afflictions in the mind are eliminated, one may be said to have defeated them. When the mind is clear and tranquil and constantly filled with joy, that is true glory and blessing. Whenever painful matters press upon the mind, if one does not contemplate them in this way but instead gives way to worry and affliction, it is like meeting bandits yet failing to win merit, casting off one’s armor and fleeing the ranks, and thereby incurring the crime of desertion. To abandon joy and choose suffering is truly lamentable.

When ill, one should contemplate: illness exists because I have this body; if there were no body, where could illness attach itself? Therefore the Jing (scripture) says, “When I have no body, what trouble could I still have?” One should then further observe one’s own mind: within the mind there is no truly unchanging master. Searching within and without, one cannot find any real subject that undergoes these thoughts. All kinds of deliberation arise from the deluded mind; if one can make the mind withered and still like wood and pure and quiet like ashes, then all illnesses and afflictions will likewise dissolve.

If one fears death, one should reflect: the body is only a temporary lodging for Shen (spirit/consciousness). Now that the body is old and sick and its strength has declined, it is like a ruined house no longer fit to live in; naturally one should abandon it and seek another place of repose. The same principle applies when the body dies and the Shen departs. If one clings to life and hates death, resisting change, the Shen will become disordered and lose its proper destination. In this way, at the time of rebirth and receiving Qi, it will be difficult to resonate with a clear and pure endowment, and one will instead easily encounter turbid and lowly circumstances; this is precisely the root of ignorance and greedy baseness.

Therefore one should attain this: while alive, do not cling; when facing death, do not loathe it. First, because the principles of life and death are originally interconnected; second, so that in the next life one may accomplish right karma. If one craves the myriad things of the world, every craving is a kind of illness. When one limb of the body is diseased, it still makes the whole body uneasy; how much more so when a single mind contains countless desires and afflictions? To wish for long life under such conditions—how could it be possible?

All love and hate arise from deluded thoughts. If deluded thoughts accumulate and are not removed, how can one see the Dao? Therefore one should abandon all kinds of desire, settle the mind in a state of non-attachment, cut off emotional desire, and rectify one’s beliefs. Then, looking back at the things one formerly obsessed over and craved, one will naturally grow weary of them and find them increasingly insipid. If one views things with a mind immersed in them, one will never notice their faults in a lifetime; only by observing with a mind prepared to leave and transcend them can one see clearly what is right and wrong. For example, a sober person can see that a drunkard’s behavior is improper; but if one is drunk oneself, one cannot perceive one’s own faults.

The Jing says: “I have from the beginning renounced the world and turned away from the human realm.” It also says: “The ears and eyes crave sounds and sights, and thereby invite disaster; the fragrances and flavors loved by the nose and mouth are precisely causes of resentment and harm.” Lord Lao despised the world and regarded even fragrances and fine foods as causes of resentment and harm. How, then, could those immersed in cravings know that there is a foul smell in a salted-fish shop?

Taiding (settling the mind and single-minded stillness)

What is called “ding” is the highest state in which worldly disturbances are completely cut off, and it is also the initial foundation for entering the great Dao; when the practice of quieting the mind reaches maturity, that is ding.

When the work of cultivation reaches stability, the task is complete. At this time the body is like withered wood and the mind like dead ashes, with no response to external things and nothing within the mind either... This is the utmost of seeking stillness and plainness. The mind does not deliberately cling to “stability,” and yet there is nothing it cannot stabilize; therefore it is called “Taiding (Great Stability).”

Zhuangzi says: “One whose mind is broad and stable will manifest Heavenly Light.” Here “yu” refers to the mind, and “Heavenly Light” refers to hui (the wisdom naturally manifesting in one’s original nature). The mind is the vessel that bears the Dao; when the mind is empty and still to the utmost, the Dao dwells within it, and wisdom arises accordingly. This wisdom is originally inherent in human nature; it is not something newly generated now, and so it is called “Heavenly Light.” It is only that greed and attachment disturb the mind and make people dull and confused. After cleansing and nurturing, when pure stillness is restored, the original true numinous clarity gradually appears. This does not mean that some other wisdom is newly produced at present.

Once wisdom has appeared, one must cherish and guard it, not greedily seek broad learning and much knowledge, lest the state of stability be harmed. It is not difficult to give rise to wisdom; what is difficult is to have wisdom and not use it. Since ancient times, many have been able to forget the body, but few have been able to forget fame. To have wisdom without displaying or using it is to be one who forgets fame; few in the world can do this, and therefore it is rare.

To be able not to become arrogant in wealth and honor, and not to be extravagant in abundance, means one will not commit worldly faults, and thus can long preserve wealth and honor. When the mind is stable and unmoved, when one has wisdom but does not display or use it, when one has virtuous conduct but does not presume upon it, one does not go against the Dao, and thus can deeply realize the constant Dao. Zhuangzi says: “To know is easy; not to speak it is difficult. To know and not speak is to follow Heaven; to know and speak is to follow man.” The ancients followed Heaven and did not follow man.

To have wisdom and be able to recognize principles is not the same as having already attained the Dao. People know the benefits brought by wisdom, but they do not know the benefits of attaining the Dao. Some use wisdom to elucidate principles and rely on eloquence to move people’s minds; the mind races along with affairs, and upon encountering one kind of matter they continually expand their discussions, even claiming that although they are in a moving situation their minds are always still. How would they know that their so-called stillness is but using a still mind to wait for external things? Such words and actions are all not true Taiding. Even if one’s wisdom surpasses ordinary people, one may be even farther from the Dao. One may originally wish to chase deer and catch rabbits, but what is obtained is very little, precisely because the aim is limited and narrow.

Therefore Zhuangzi says: “The ancients who cultivated the Dao used tranquility to nurture wisdom. After wisdom arose, they did not rely on wisdom to seek knowledge; this is called using wisdom to nurture tranquility. Wisdom and tranquility nurture each other, and the principle of harmony manifests from one’s nature.” Here “quietude” and “wisdom” are stability and wisdom; “harmonious principle” is the Dao and De. To possess wisdom but not use it, and thereby peacefully nourish quietude, in time naturally brings the Dao and De to fulfillment.

When it comes to this state of stability, some attain it through engaging in affairs; some observe benefit and see harm, and because they fear disaster they restrain their thoughts; others, through reduction and letting go, cleanse away accumulated habits. Although the paths differ, all ultimately return to the state of stability, as if naturally so. Sudden thunder...

Even if a great mountain were split open, one would not panic; even with swords crossing before one’s eyes, one would feel no fear. One regards fame and profit as no more than something passing by a crack in the door, and life and death as ordinary as the bursting of a boil. From this one may know that when attention is undivided, the spirit naturally gathers.

The empty stillness and profound mystery of the mind are hard to fathom in words. As for the mind, in terms of its essence it seems not to exist; in terms of its function it is everywhere. It need not run, yet it acts swiftly; it need not be summoned, yet it arrives. In anger, even hard dark stone seems able to be pierced by an arrow; the Qi of resentment can even bring frost in midsummer. When one indulges in evil, the gloomy Nine Dark Realms (Jiuyou), the deepest underworld in legend, seem close at hand; when one accumulates good deeds, the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest divine realm revered in Daoism, are not beyond reach.

Thoughts in the mind come and go suddenly, shifting between movement and stillness in ways hard to describe; sometimes they prove efficacious, sometimes they seem not to, so that even yarrow stalks and turtle shells—tools of ancient divination—can hardly predict them. To rein in and tame this mind—how could its difficulty be compared to that of deer or horses?

Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun), a deity revered in Daoism, constantly saves the world through the good Dao and ascends the Spirit Terrace (Lingtai) to expound profound essential teachings. He clarifies the causes and effects of cultivation at different levels and also explains the natural operation of the ten thousand things. Cultivation may proceed step by step, day by day reducing private desires; or it may be suddenly awakened, without relying on external learning. By analogy, one may act in accord with circumstances like drawing a bow or opening a door; the principle to emulate is to blunt sharpness and dissolve conflict.

Cultivating the Dao has a definite path, and continued practice can form habit. One must cast aside excessive cleverness and contrivance, forget the constraints of the body, sit peacefully, and enter the state of Zuowang (sitting-forgetting, in which one forgets the body and discriminating thoughts during quiet sitting). Not being moved by states of stillness, one can enter contemplation in subtle places. Those who have traveled different paths may wish to understand the principle, but may not be able to do so in a short time; those who cultivate according to this Dao may hope to perceive its mystery. Using little effort yet reaping much—this is precisely the key to cultivating the Dao and its profound wonder.

Attaining the Dao (the Way)

The Dao is a mysterious and unfathomable presence; it has spirituality but no fixed form. Whether one meets it head-on or follows after it, it is hard to fathom; its workings cannot be directly found like a shadow or an echo. People do not know why it is so, yet they can see the ten thousand things arise from it and endlessly generate—this is what is called the Dao.

Since ancient times the highest sages have realized this Dao, and its profound methods have been transmitted to the present. If one investigates its principle under the name of the Dao, one finds that it indeed has substantial content. Those of high capacity and single-minded faith can restrain themselves and cultivate diligently; by making the mind empty and still like a deep valley and letting the spirit remain vacuous and quiet, one can cause the Dao to gather in oneself.

The Dao has great power and can transform both body and spirit. The body becomes unobstructed in accord with the Dao and ultimately unites with the spirit as one. When body and spirit are united, one is called a “spirit-person” (Shenren). The spiritual nature is empty, still, and pervading; the body no longer undergoes change or decay. Because body and spiritual nature are identical, one is no longer bound by life and death. When hidden, body and spiritual nature merge into one; when manifest, spiritual nature again joins with the body. Therefore such beings can pass through water and fire without harm and cast no shadow before the sun and moon; their own existence or nonexistence, emergence and withdrawal, are all autonomous and unobstructed.

Although the human body is formed and substantial, it can still reach a state of empty stillness and profound mystery—how much more can human spiritual clarity and wisdom deepen and expand without cease? The Lingbao Jing (Scripture of the Numinous Treasure) says: “When body and spirit unite as one, this is the true body.” The Xisheng Jing (Scripture of Western Ascension) also says: “Because body and spirit are united, one can endure long.” Nevertheless, the power of cultivating the Dao with an empty mind may be deep or shallow: where the power is deep, even the body can be affected by the Dao; where it is shallow, the effect is only on the inner mind. One whose body is also affected is a “spirit-person” (Shenren).

If the human mind attains only a little wisdom and awareness, the body will in the end still be unable to escape decline. Why is this? Wisdom belongs to the activity of the mind; when thought is used too much, body and mind are worn out. Just when a little cleverness first appears, one easily feels delighted, and then becomes talkative and argumentative; as a result, Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) scatter and are lost, the body loses its nourishment, and one’s lifespan may thereby be shortened.

Cultivating the Dao (the Way) is inherently difficult to bring to perfection; thus the Jing (scripture/classic) also connects this with “shijie” (corpse liberation, the Daoist idea that a cultivator leaves the physical form behind and transcends in another manner). Therefore, those who succeed in cultivating the Dao withdraw their radiance and conceal their talents in order to perfect their cultivation; they gather Jing (essence) and Shen, cherish original Qi, and learn the great Dao without a mind bent on acquisition. When Jing and Shen unite with the Dao, this is called attaining the Dao. The Jing says: “One who is identical with the Dao, the Dao also receives.” It also says: Why did the ancients prize the great Dao? Because one need not seek it day after day; it naturally enables one to attain it, and even if one has transgressions, it can free one from fault.

When there is jade in the mountains, the plants and trees do not wither; when a person harbors the great Dao, the body too can remain long firm. Through gradual nurture and cultivation, over time one can transform one’s constitution and bring it into accord with Shen and divine brightness. Refining and nurturing Jing and Shen, penetrating the hidden and subtle, one becomes one with the Dao: dispersing oneself, one can penetrate all dharmas; gathering all dharmas, one can return them to one body. The illumination of wisdom is boundless, and the body transcends the limits of form; taking both form and emptiness into function, one’s merit accords with the creative transformation of Heaven and Earth. True response has no fixed place—this is indeed the working of Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

The Xisheng Jing (Scripture of Western Ascension) says: “Sharing the mind of Heaven, yet without discriminating perception; sharing the body of the Dao, yet without physical form.” Only when one reaches such a state does the great Dao fully manifest. “Fully manifest” means that the cultivator has realized the ultimate of the great Dao. The Jing also says: “When Jing and Shen do not leave the body, one can remain forever identical with the Dao.” When the body is identical with the Dao, there is no moment in which it is not present; when the mind is identical with the Dao, there is no principle or affair it cannot penetrate. When the ear accords with the Dao, it can hear even without sound; when the eye accords with the Dao, it can see even without form or color. This is why the six sense faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) can become unobstructed.

If one discusses the profound teaching in depth, its benefits are deep and vast. Investigating its meaning according to the scriptures, one may explain it thus: the secret methods of Shangqing (Highest Clarity, the high heavens and their transmission revered in Daoism) emphasize diligent and refined practice, and use divine elixir to refine and nourish the body; at the same time, through wisdom and insight one attains penetration and self-forgetfulness, and through Dao and De one reveals the teaching’s purport. Practitioners are diligent and deeply faithful, single-mindedly cultivating an empty mind in order to wash away affliction and burden. When bodily cultivation reaches a profound level, one’s actions leave no traces. When all kinds of skillful means converge, they can all return to the source of the Dao.

Mind and body mutually support each other, and this principle far exceeds what carts and rooms can compare. Moving from outer cultivation into inner cultivation, the paths differ but the destination is the same. The great Dao encompasses the hidden and profound; speech and silence alike are insufficient to express it completely. The subtle excellence of these two kinds of cultivation is difficult for even Confucius’s teaching and Buddhism to compare; as for those who do not understand these principles, they are probably merely ordinary people.