《玄珠錄》

The Record of the Mysterious Pearl (Xuánzhū Lù), Volume One, records the essential teachings of Master Hongyuan Wang Xuanlan. This scripture primarily explores the relationship between the Dao and all phenomena, as well as the core distinction between truth and illusion.

The text begins by stating that all phenomena expressible through language are illusory, yet even wordless methods are illusory insofar as they are defined in opposition to verbal illusion. If both are illusory, where then does truth reside? In fact, these very illusions are the truth. The reason for first discussing illusion and only then truth is to guide practitioners toward understanding. Words are used to help people penetrate to their original mind and ultimately awaken to the Dao.

All things are generated by the Dao. Phenomena change, yet the Dao itself remains unchanging. It is like stamping a seal: the impressions left in clay may vary endlessly, yet the characters carved into the seal itself never diminish. The Dao both preserves its intrinsic nature (like the unchanging seal) and responds fluidly to phenomena (like the myriad impressions in clay). This illustrates the principle that "the more one gives to others, the more one possesses."

The Dao is omnipresent—it exists in states of awareness just as it does in states of ignorance. To fixate on any particular place as being the Dao while excluding others is a fundamental error. The true Dao transcends dualities such as "is and is not" or "can and cannot." Its authentic nature merges with emptiness; precisely because of this emptiness, it simultaneously encompasses both birth-and-death and the unborn-and-undying.

The Dao permeates all things, and all things are manifestations of the Dao. Phenomena arise and perish, and the Dao accordingly reveals itself through these transformations. If one clings to phenomena as real, then the Dao becomes entirely identical with them; if one regards the Dao as eternal, then all phenomena are seen as transient.

The scripture concludes by emphasizing that genuine cultivation requires exhausting all realms of experience, expanding the mind’s capacity to encompass every domain. Wisdom depends on external conditions to manifest, yet when one’s awareness pervades all places without exception, the body of the Great Dao is realized. Once the totality of the Dao is awakened to, the attachments of the limited self dissolve, ultimately arriving at a state where the great and the small are perfectly harmonized.

This scripture explores the relationship between the Dao and sentient beings, as well as the relativity of conceptual distinctions.

The text first discusses the relationship between mind and environment: the mind perceives external phenomena while the body serves as the perceived object. When one attains the perfect state of Dharmadhatu (a Buddhist term referring to the true nature of all phenomena), the duality of subject and object dissolves, revealing the naturally quiescent essence of true suchness (the unchanging fundamental nature).

Regarding whether "the Dao and sentient beings are identical," the answer is both yes and no. They are identical because the Dao and sentient beings mutually depend on each other for existence, yet different because sentient beings undergo birth and death while the Dao remains eternally unchanging. All names and concepts are relative—in truth, neither the Dao nor sentient beings possess fixed designations. If forced to assign labels, one might say they are simultaneously identical and different, both eternal and impermanent; yet abandoning conceptual frameworks, they are neither identical nor different, neither eternal nor impermanent. The true nature of the Dao transcends these dualistic concepts—we merely employ language as a provisional means of description.

The discussion then turns to "silence" (the state of wordless stillness): Genuine silence isn't achieved through deliberate effort, as intentional striving contradicts true stillness. Our very ability to recognize "silence" paradoxically reveals the presence of "force" (artificial exertion) within this recognition, though silence itself contains no inherent concept of "force."

Finally, the text examines Dao-nature and sentient-nature: While sentient beings' nature originates from the Dao, they aren't equivalent to the Dao itself. Precisely because sentient beings aren't the Dao, spiritual cultivation becomes necessary. Through practice, sentient beings may attain the Dao, just as the Dao responds to their cultivation efforts. The Dao and sentient beings exist in mutual dependence: the Dao gains its name through sentient beings, while sentient beings derive their existence from the Dao. Thus we say sentient beings aren't the Dao yet can attain it through practice, just as the Dao isn't sentient beings yet responds to them. Within this reciprocal relationship, one may declare "the Dao is sentient beings, and sentient beings are the Dao."

This passage embodies the Daoist principle of "simultaneous substance and function," emphasizing the non-duality of essence and manifestation, and the dialectical relationship whereby cultivators and the cultivated Dao mutually fulfill each other.

This scripture elucidates the subtle relationship between the Dao (the Way) and sentient beings, as well as the true meaning of spiritual cultivation and liberation.

The Dao transcends temporal concepts—it manifests when remembered and withdraws when forgotten. The genuine method of cultivation neither deliberately pursues nor deliberately forgets, but rather achieves a state of equilibrium. When practitioners comprehend this principle, they can maintain awareness during meditation (cunxiang) and attain profound understanding through contemplation.

The Dao and sentient beings are interdependent: the Dao exists because of sentient beings, and without them, the Dao would be meaningless. Since sentient beings and the Dao are originally one, why establish teachings specifically urging cultivation? Because when beings cling to the notion of "attaining the Dao," they paradoxically deviate from the true Dao. The scripture points out that so-called cultivation methods are merely provisional names established due to deluded thoughts—these methods themselves are not ultimate truth, and the words of teachings are like dregs that need not be clung to.

Fundamentally, the Dao, sentient beings, and teachings are all ungraspable, yet not completely void. Sentient beings and the Dao have never been separate—only their manifestations differ: when sentient beings manifest, the Dao withdraws; when the Dao manifests, sentient beings withdraw. Cultivation means allowing the withdrawn Dao to manifest and the manifest sentient beings to withdraw. When sentient beings withdraw and the great Dao becomes perfectly penetrating (yuantong), true peace and bliss are attained.

The Dao constantly accompanies the cycle of birth and death, yet remains unaffected by it. While sentient beings undergo birth and death, the Dao continuously unites with them. The Dao cannot be said to be possible or impossible—it transcends the duality of life and death. Beyond birth and death there is no other Dao, and beyond the Dao there is no other birth and death—the two are neither separate nor united. Precisely for this reason, practitioners must neither cling to birth and death nor completely abandon them.

(Note: In this text, "Dao" refers to the supreme truth of Daoism; "cunxiang" denotes the cultivation method of internal visualization and spirit preservation; "yuantong" signifies the state of perfect penetration and fulfillment.)

This scripture primarily explores the essential nature of the Dao and the key principles of cultivation. Its core teaching asserts that the Dao transcends all dualities of arising/ceasing and being/non-being, with the crux of practice lying in overcoming attachment to conceptual knowledge.

The text first elucidates the relationship between "observation" (观) and "contemplative visualization" (存): during practice, these two should complement each other—neither grasped nor separated. Just as changes of light and darkness cannot affect the intrinsic nature of emptiness, sentient beings' attachments to phenomena (起忘) ultimately don't influence the Dao's eternal truth. The Dao itself neither arises nor perishes; while manifesting through the play of arising and forgetting, it simultaneously transcends these very concepts.

It then details the cultivation method: one should regard the perceived (所知) as the body and the perceiver (能知) as the mind. True realization of the Dao comes from understanding all cognitive phenomena (知见) as fundamentally empty. When awareness expands boundlessly, it forms the "great body" (法身), wherein all six sense faculties dissolve into emptiness, attaining a state of unimpeded liberation (解脱).

A crucial insight reveals: mind and its objects appear as opposites yet share the same empty nature. Practitioners must awaken to the truth that "arising and non-arising are ultimately identical" to stabilize their fundamental mind. All beings seeking the Dao must relinquish subjective cognition (灭知见), yet forceful attempts to do so become obstacles. Like the natural absence of cognition after death, genuine practice follows spontaneity—true realization of the Dao's emptiness comes not through compelled eradication but through natural alignment.

The text repeatedly emphasizes the Middle Way perspective of "neither one nor two": phenomena and noumenon are neither completely identical nor absolutely separate. This non-dual awareness constitutes the true gateway to entering the Dao (入等). Ultimate cultivation leads not to contrived achievement but to the liberated state where "knowledge naturally extinguishes" in effortless freedom.

This scripture explores liberation through the elimination of subjective cognition (knowledge-views). It suggests that human bondage arises from perceiving reality through the lens of personal opinions. If one actively dissolves these subjective constructs before physical dissolution, no new cognition will arise at death, thereby escaping the cycle of rebirth.

Death itself offers no freedom, as one remains subject to karmic rebirth. However, by voluntarily relinquishing cognitive constructs, one avoids reincarnation. The practitioner must first recognize the body as a burdensome vessel, then understand all bodily phenomena as illusory—ultimately releasing even the concept of "emptiness." When the mind soars freely like the sky, unattached to either "existence" or "void," it attains boundless liberation.

The text employs the concept of "cyclic circulation" (xun) to illustrate: adopting a human perspective traps one in linear beginnings and endings, while embracing circularity transcends temporal limits. Yet "circulation" exists neither within humans nor outside the circle—it too is empty in nature. Through wisdom contemplation, practitioners observe this "circulation." Recognizing both the emptiness of cyclic patterns and the emptiness of cognition itself, one arrives at the state of non-knowing. In this awareness beyond awareness, neither "circulation" nor "emptiness" remains.

Further insight reveals: the mind originally lacks cognition; only when encountering external phenomena do cognitions arise. The mind's cognitive capacity lies dormant when unstimulated, like wood that only ignites when meeting fire. Thus cognition arises through conditioned co-production. Impermanence manifests as existence, while constancy manifests as non-existence. True wisdom transcends the duality of knowing and not-knowing.

A final metaphor illuminates: just as gazing upon one's homeland brings profound joy, returning to the innate home of non-cognition is even more wondrous. When encountering phenomena, a mind swayed by circumstances becomes deluded; a mind unmoved attains the state of no-mind. The speakable Dao (ke dao) is but provisional designation, while the eternal Dao (chang dao) constitutes ultimate truth. Yet fixation upon "constancy" transforms it into yet another obstacle requiring transcendence.

The Record of the Mysterious Pearl explores the dialectical relationship between opposing concepts such as "constancy" (常) and "change" (可), "being" (有) and "non-being" (无). The text points out that so-called "constancy" and "change" are relative—when one speaks of "constancy," the existence of "change" is already implied. Truly comprehending this reveals that both "constancy" and "change" are ultimately illusory, and even the concept of "impermanence" does not truly exist.

To observe the manifestations (徼) of things, one must maintain a mind of desire; yet to perceive their essence (妙), one must reach a state of desirelessness. "Substance" (体, the noumenon) and "function" (用, its operation) may appear distinct but are mutually dependent: when substance manifests as function, function is substance; when function returns to substance, substance is function. Remembering this reveals four phenomena, while forgetting it means failing to grasp even a single essence.

All methods in the world fall within the categories of "being" and "non-being," which in turn reduce to "birth" and "extinction." The cycle of rebirth for sentient beings stems from two perceptions—"eternality" (常) and "annihilation" (断)—while their forms of life do not exceed the four modes of birth (womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born), and their realms of rebirth remain within the six paths (devas, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell-beings).

"The Dao that can be spoken" (可道) and "the eternal Dao" (常道) are interdependent: the speakable Dao contains the eternal, and the eternal Dao contains the speakable. Their arising depends on each other, yet this arising is illusory; their cessation also depends on each other, yet this cessation is equally unreal.

The human mind often holds both the "view of emptiness" (空见, perceiving all as void) and the "view of existence" (有见, perceiving things as real). If even these two views are relinquished, where then does the mind abide? All mental phenomena follow this principle: when thoughts arise, all dharmas arise; when thoughts cease, all dharmas cease. If one attains the meditative state of no-mind, there is neither birth nor extinction.

The Great Dao possesses four eternal characteristics: it is both "being" and "non-being," both "the unity of being and non-being" and "transcending being and non-being." Clinging to equality leads to partiality, yet rejecting equality obscures the Dao’s wholeness. In truth, both equality and inequality are expressions of the Dao.

Cultivation begins with "rejecting sageliness and discarding wisdom," progressing from an ordinary person to a sage. Yet upon becoming a sage, this "sageliness" remains relative to "ordinariness." When still ordinary, the state of ordinariness has already vanished; since ordinariness has vanished, the concept of sageliness also ceases to exist. One must forget both "ordinary" and "sage," neither pursuing wisdom nor clinging to virtue, reducing desires to return to the Dao.

Someone asked: "Those who have become sages can speak of 'rejecting sageliness,' but how should those not yet sages 'reject' it?" The reply: "Here we discuss only those who have become sages. Those not yet sages originally lack the concept of 'sageliness'—since there is no sage, what is there to reject?"

The Great Dao resonates with the nature of sentient beings, yet this Dao-nature is invisible. Whether foolish or wise, all beings possess Buddha-nature, yet this too is invisible. These two natures—Dao-nature and sentient nature—are both unseen, and precisely because they are unseen, they are the true nature.

This scripture explores the relationship between the "Mystery" (cosmic origin) and the phenomenal world. The supreme "Mystery" transcends temporal changes and remains eternally unchanging, hence called "sameness"; while the phenomenal world inhabited by sentient beings manifests differences due to the variations of time and space, hence called "difference."

Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) grasp the root of the "Mystery." They respond to all things with a state of no-mind, thereby penetrating the six realms of rebirth (heaven, human, asura, animal, hungry ghost, and hell). Though these realms differ in form, they all originate from the same source of the "Mystery."

The Great Dao takes "mysterious stillness" (profound silence) as its foundation. If practitioners can cease deluded thoughts, they attain the state of "stillness"; if thoughts remain unceasing, they have not reached true stillness. This reveals that within the same state, both stillness and non-stillness coexist. When thoughts arise, what appears to be stillness is actually not; when thoughts do not arise, there is neither stillness nor non-stillness. These four states are all encompassed within the Great Dao.

The relationship between movement and stillness is as follows: deliberate action constitutes movement, while natural non-action (Wuwei) constitutes stillness. Swaying produces motion, while non-swaying naturally leads to silence. The key lies in maintaining stillness within movement and containing movement within stillness. Though movement and stillness manifest differently, their nature is one; though their nature is one, they are not confined by movement or stillness. It is like stamping a seal—whether moving or still, the imprint remains unchanged.

If one responds to movement with a still mind, though outwardly active, the mind remains perpetually still. If one pursues stillness with a moving mind, though seemingly silent, the inner state is restless. Clinging to "stability" disrupts true tranquility, while striving for "priority" causes one to lose authenticity. Movement and stillness may seem contradictory, yet they depend on each other for manifestation.

A single thought can encompass all time and space, past and present. Thus, there is no distinction between the length of a single thought and a kalpa (an immense unit of time), nor between the size of a speck of dust and the entire world. Therefore, sages can speak of ancient matters in the present moment, uncovering truth by tracing written characters and reversing calendrical calculations. That modern words can describe ancient events shows what existed in the past remains viable now, and what did not exist then can be created now. This is the principle by which the "Jade Calendar" (sacred chronology) emerged to regulate all things.

Someone may ask: Why can the present mind recall ancient events? Why do ancient events appear in present thoughts? If ancient events exist in the present, it means the past has not truly passed; if the present mind can return to antiquity, it means the future has already arrived. If the future is fixed, how can the present know the past? If the past has vanished, how can ancient events truly exist in the present? Since the present mind can recall antiquity and connect ancient events to the now, it proves that a single thought simultaneously contains past and present. Precisely because of this, past and present can interpenetrate as one.

This scripture primarily explores the dialectical relationship between "being" and "non-being," as well as how practitioners should understand the connection between afflictions and enlightenment.

First, it discusses the nature of consciousness: the mind should not cling to concepts of "single-mindedness" or "dual-mindedness." A truly awakened person comprehends both "one" and "two," simultaneously grasping the essence of both "being" and "non-being." They use "being" to experience all phenomena, while employing "non-being" to transcend worldly concerns. Only by relinquishing attachment to "non-being" can one enter the Dao, and only by abandoning fixation on "being" can one transcend the mundane. Worldly phenomena (secular laws) are filled with cycles of birth and cessation, while the nature of Dao (Dao's essence) transcends these cycles, existing eternally.

The text then employs the metaphor of zither strings to illustrate: the unwound silk threads inherently contain no pentatonic notes (the five tones of gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu), yet possess the potential to produce them. When strung and played, the zither manifests audible sounds, while remaining silent when untouched. This demonstrates that phenomena are neither purely existent nor purely non-existent. To dispel attachment to "being," we recognize the latent musicality in silk isn't substantial existence; to dispel attachment to "non-being," we acknowledge this potential isn't mere nothingness. This characteristic beyond being and non-being represents eternal truth.

The ox-cart analogy further clarifies: just as a cart contains no ox until yoked, so too is the relationship between afflictions and enlightenment. Practitioners often mistakenly believe they must eliminate all afflictions before attaining the Dao. In reality, afflictions have no fixed abode—when enlightenment comes, no traces of affliction remain. The Dao isn't obtained by destroying anything; it manifests spontaneously. The Dao holds no superiority over afflictions, nor are afflictions inferior to the Dao—there's no need to deliberately eradicate afflictions in pursuit of the Dao.

Finally, it emphasizes Dao's fundamental nature: the Dao-body (Dao's essence) has always been thus, neither newly generating afflictions nor ever destroying anything. Both Dao and afflictions are ultimately empty and utterly tranquil. This reveals the key to cultivation lies in transcending dualistic oppositions and realizing one's originally pure intrinsic nature.

This scripture explores the relationship between the "Great Dao" (the fundamental truth of the universe) and worldly afflictions, as well as the path to liberation through correct understanding.

It first points out that people often perceive afflictions as real phenomena subject to birth and cessation. Yet upon closer examination, concepts like "birth and cessation" prove illusory. In true Dharma (the teachings of Dao), there is neither excess nor deficiency. If notions like "permanence" could fully encapsulate the Dao, this very limitation would demonstrate their incompleteness. The wisdom that perceives both "oneness" (unity) and "infinitude" (boundless diversity) cannot be confined.

The true Dao transcends all dualities: neither one nor many, neither finite nor infinite, neither annihilation nor eternity, neither superior nor inferior. In the balanced nature of the Great Dao, these opposing concepts have no place. When even concrete phenomena lack inherent existence, how could birth and cessation be real? Thus both the practice field and afflictions are ultimately empty. Practitioners should maintain right mindfulness, never straying from this fundamental equilibrium.

Regarding the discussion of mind-nature: This refers not to the nature of any particular object, but to the essence of all phenomena. Without the four propositions (four types of dualistic thinking), there would be no "mind"; without various phenomena, there would be no "nature." When present, it permeates the entire Dharmadhatu (phenomenal world); when absent, it dissolves completely. This state defies description—we reluctantly call it the "Great Dao."

The supreme truth is profoundly mysterious and quiescent; verbal descriptions cannot capture its reality. Language is used provisionally to teach sentient beings. Words produce four kinds of attachment, yet truth manifests according to circumstances. These verbal teachings arise sequentially, generating three deviations in application: sometimes referring to initial stages where three aspects remain unrealized, sometimes to final stages where three aspects have passed. Yet the transcendence of "One" is precisely revealed through the "Three"—and since these three are illusory, the "One" cannot stand alone. In genuine presence, these distinctions are forgotten, and even the concept of "One" dissolves.

The reason we employ language only to deconstruct it is because sentient beings need their attachments dismantled. We use negation to counter fixation and affirmation to counter denial. Yet in the true nature of the Great Dao, there is neither affirmation nor negation. What we call the "fourfold conceptual mind"—when truly experienced—was never divided to begin with. Without these four propositions, the discriminating mind vanishes. This is called the authentic "Great Fourfold Mind," the true state of the Dao's balanced nature.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "one" and "many" in Daoist cultivation through a question-and-answer format. Someone asks: If we ultimately return to "one," why must we go through the stages of "three" and "four"? The reply states: Because sentient beings have not yet awakened, a single statement cannot convey full understanding—thus we require four modes of explanation to guide them. These four explanations themselves have no hierarchy; all exist to help practitioners ultimately realize that unchanging "one."

The text uses the "four phrases" (four modes of expression) as metaphors for different cultivation stages. Though they appear to involve birth and extinction, the true Dao (the Way) actually transcends these expressions. The Dao permeates all things, existing within the four explanations yet unconfined by them. Like peeling away layers of a banana plant, only by stripping away all external forms until reaching the state of "no skin, no core" can one attain the true "Great One" (supreme truth).

Practitioners should understand: what seems closest to truth may in fact be farthest away. Only by reaching the state of "neither near nor far" can one realize "True Oneness." True seeing is not-seeing; true knowing is not-knowing. While maintaining hold of "one," one must also relinquish attachment to it—just as combining closed-eye contemplation with open-eye visualization brings about the cultivation effect of internal-external resonance.

The Dao itself was never divided into four, for its nature remains eternally one; yet it was never confined to one, for it pervades all things. All phenomena contain these four expressions, each with its own heart-mind (Shen), yet these minds are fundamentally interconnected, ultimately merging into the "Great One" (cosmic primordial truth).

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "the One and the Many." It states that all things are simultaneously One and Four, yet neither One nor Four (through selection and rejection forming four cognitive states), with the key lying in grasping their balance. The true "One" (referring to the original state of the Dao) is merely a name, for the Dao itself cannot be described in words.

When we speak of the Dao, if we cling to verbal descriptions, we only move further from the true Dao. The Dao must be realized through mutual reflection and continuous verification. From ancient times to the present, the Dao both does not exist (as it cannot be precisely described) and exists (as it can be realized). This paradox illustrates the unity of opposites between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu). Only cognition that aligns with the central and balanced Dao can return the four phenomena to their origin. The true nature of reality is spontaneous, just as plants and trees, though devoid of consciousness, follow the laws of life and death, and the true Dao, though formless, is eternally present.

True cognition does not rely on the intellect, and true seeing does not depend on physical eyes. This perception beyond the senses is the key to realizing the Dao. One must understand that the past, present, and future—the "three times" (sanshi)—are all illusory. Just as when a lamp is about to extinguish, in the moment between its dying and not yet dying, one cannot say it has extinguished nor that it has not, the three times have no substantial reality—only conceptual distinctions. Recognizing this emptiness allows one to relinquish attachments and merge with the Dao.

The essence of the Dao is emptiness, yet unlike ordinary emptiness, it can manifest all things. Someone may ask: If the Dao can manifest all things, can all things attain the Dao? The answer is: If one clings to material appearances, one attains only a superficial Dao. Sentient beings, because of impermanence, must cultivate. Beings cannot attain the Dao on their own—they must rely on the Dao; nor does the Dao spontaneously reveal itself—it must be made manifest through the cultivation of beings.

(Note: In the text, "True One" (zhenyi) refers to the original state of the Dao; "Four Phenomena" (sixiang) refers to fundamental categories of opposition and unity such as yin-yang and hardness-softness; "Three Times" (sanshi), a Buddhist term referring to past, present, and future, is here borrowed by Daoism.)

This passage discusses the relationship between the Dao (cosmic origin) and sentient beings. The Dao exists eternally, unaffected by the arising and perishing of beings. When beings emerge, the Dao begins to manifest its function; when beings vanish, this manifestation disappears. If one can relinquish selfish attachments, one may attain the Dao like the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun, the supreme deity in Daoism); clinging to selfishness prevents true realization.

Before the appearance of sentient beings, the Dao already existed, yet it was not yet "my" Dao. Only when comprehended now does it unite with the ancient Dao. Throughout time there has ever been only this single Dao—what beings perceive is invariably a "private Dao" limited by personal perspectives.

When transcending attachment to names and forms, it's like calling bamboo "water" or emptiness "bamboo"—such judgments are merely temporary distinctions of right and wrong. In transcending attachment to substantiality, perceptions vary according to each being's understanding: some perceive substance within emptiness, others perceive emptiness within substance. For instance, seeing an ox transform into a horse and calling it solely a horse without mentioning its former state as an ox illustrates this transformation of names and forms.

With purified awareness, all things appear pure; ordinary beings who lack such clarity perceive everything as defiled. In truth, purity and defilement are relative modes of perception.

The essence of awareness is eternally pure, while its functions are ever-changing. The cultivation of sentient beings involves seeking the unchanging within change, returning from functions to the essential nature. Attachments to changing perceptual forms will perish, but the pure true essence never vanishes.

The true essence does not accept false names and forms. Those who perceive through truth attain unity; those who perceive through falsehood attain duality. Just as one can grasp truth only when silent.

Master Wang Xuanlan of the Hongyuan lineage (a renowned Tang Dynasty Daoist) reveals essential cultivation insights: Before the manifestation of all phenomena, one cannot speak of either Dao (the Way) or worldly existence. When phenomena appear, these manifestations simultaneously embody both Dao and mundane reality. All phenomena emerge without exception, yet their fundamental natures remain mutually contradictory; were phenomena not to manifest, nothing would exist—yet this very state of non-manifestation is equally paradoxical.

The arising and ceasing of phenomena follow definite patterns: when manifest, they emerge through mutual dependence; when concealed, they perish through mutual contradiction. Yet crucially, manifestation shouldn't be called "birth," nor should disappearance be termed "death." Before birth there was only void—what thing could be born? After dissolution returns to emptiness—what substance remains?

Consider vision: when eyes encounter forms, seeing arises—but where does this seeing truly reside? The act of seeing is illusory emergence, while not-seeing is illusory cessation. All living beings' existence follows this pattern—neither originating from dualistic opposites nor emerging from absolute emptiness. If claiming origin from opposites, why don't two perceptions arise instead of one? If claiming origin from emptiness, how could perception emerge from blank nothingness? This knowing appears substantial yet eludes grasp, seems void yet undeniably manifests.

In cultivation practice, when eyes contact objects, the body generates awareness. Internally this forms consciousness, externally it becomes cognition. Consciousness and cognition interconnect yet remain distinct. The relationship between human mind and Dao mirrors this: speaking of Dao requires the mind's expression, hearing Dao depends on the ear's reception, yet ultimate comprehension belongs to the intellect. But intellect returns to Dao while hearing stops at sound. Though words emerge from Dao, once spoken they become worldly dust. Observing these four (Dao, mind, ear, intellect) reveals their common origin in transformation—these changing manifestations lack substantial foundation, yet their existence cannot be denied.

The fundamental constant Dao (Changdao) transcends speech—what can be spoken is not the eternal Way. The unspeakable Dao creates heaven and earth, while the speakable Dao nurtures all beings. Where there's birth there must be death, hence the speakable Dao is called "impermanent" (Wuchang). The impermanent Dao generates form, while the constant Dao produces substance. Their relationship resembles this: what has form belongs to impermanence, what possesses substance belongs to constancy. Clinging to visible manifestations of Dao misunderstands the Way; fixating on specific deities misapprehends divinity. Such errors belong to impermanence, not true Dao or spirit.

If believing form generates spirit, this "spirit" named through form is mere delusion. True cultivation lies in awakening to the genuine constant Dao—through thorough comprehension of this truth, all misconceptions naturally dissolve into unity with ultimate reality.

Excessive attachment to the concept of "life" is ultimately no different from attachment to "non-life." For by clinging to "non-life," one loses the original purity of mind. The true state of purity cannot be attained through deliberate pursuit—the key lies in the mind's natural capacity to reflect the profound mysteries of all things. This is the subtle gateway to the realm of desirelessness.

By comprehending the "Mystery" (the profound essence of the Dao) and entering the "Doubly Profound" (an even deeper level of mystery), one truly arrives at the gate of all wonders. This method appears to speak of "life," yet in truth speaks of "non-life"; it seems to affirm the "possible," yet actually points to the "impossible." If practitioners can contemplate, reflect upon, and steadfastly hold to this principle, they will attain liberation—yet this so-called "liberation" is in reality freedom from bonds that never truly existed.

Since the "impossible" is the true state, who then can recognize this "impossible"? Only the pure mind can know the "impossible." In this state, the mind remains constantly pure, and because of this purity, it remains perpetually free of knowledge. Attaining this state of pure unknowing is genuine enlightened awareness. Like a mirror reflecting all things: though it manifests external objects, it never loses its original clarity. This purity may seem disturbed, yet in truth remains unchanged.

When using language to describe things, words and objects are not identical. When things are spoken of, no amount of speech can add to their reality. If words could truly exhaustively express things, why does speaking more never fully capture them? In truth, language and objects mutually depend upon and limit each other. Observing language, one must understand its patterns; observing objects, one must understand their essence—only then can one simultaneously grasp the truth of both words and things.

If one clings to objects to judge language, or clings to language to judge objects, one falls into dual delusion. The nature of both language and objects is neither absolutely real nor absolutely false. Transcending such distinctions reveals that truth and falsehood are fundamentally one. When all differentiation between truth and falsehood ceases, one enters the unimpeded state of perfect harmony. In this realm, no boundaries are seen—even the concept of "middle" must be relinquished, achieving vast emptiness of mind and freely wandering without constraint.

When using language to describe things, words and objects exist in relation. Though their natures differ, they mutually depend. In their opposition, language never equals the object itself—thus words do not confuse objects, nor objects confuse words. The truth within is neither language nor objects.

All phenomena throughout the ten directions are manifestations of a single mind. Thus all knowledge of the ten directions is contained within one consciousness. If this consciousness transcends bodily limitations, discriminating awareness ceases; if not transcended, true knowledge of the ten directions remains difficult.

The Dharma-realms of the ten directions reflect my original substance, which is none other than the Great Dao itself. The Dao exists both throughout the ten directions and within heaven and earth. All visible forms dwell within the ten-direction Dharma-realm—I attain the Dharma-body that pervades all existence, this body of truth that is nowhere absent.

This scripture explores the core philosophical concepts of Daoism, primarily addressing the relationship between the Dao (the Way) and all phenomena. The main idea is that while the myriad things of the world appear scattered across the ten directions (the eight cardinal points plus above and below), they are ultimately unified within a single fundamental awareness. Understanding this reveals that "many" is actually the "many" within the "one."

All phenomena lack a fixed, unchanging essence—they arise when conditions converge and cease when conditions disperse. Yet the true nature transcends birth and death; this authentic nature is the Dao. The Dao and all things continuously cycle and transform together, neither rigidly fixed nor completely severed.

The Dao itself transcends dualistic concepts like life and death or light and darkness, yet encompasses these opposites. It resembles the relationship between emptiness (referring to the formless essence) and light/darkness: there is no light or darkness apart from emptiness, nor is there emptiness separate from light and darkness. They are neither opposed nor identical, maintaining this subtle relationship eternally.

Awareness is formed through the interaction of mind (subject) and objects, yet this awareness itself is neither mind nor objects, nor is it separate from them. The nature of awareness is naturally liberated—neither existent nor non-existent. Because awareness is unified, it cannot be called dual; yet because it depends on mind and objects to arise, it cannot be called singular.

Clinging to debates about these concepts leads to delusion, while grasping their true meaning opens the ocean of truth. The things that provoke debate have no awareness themselves—it is only debaters imagining they are debating.

Regarding the relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu): If "non-being" is defined as the origin of "being," then "non-being" contains "being," which compromises its purity. If "being" is placed outside "non-being," then "being" cannot arise from "non-being." In reality, "being" and "non-being" coexist as a contradictory unity that cannot be forcibly separated.

True emptiness contains neither phenomena nor attachment to views about phenomena. Since emptiness is originally devoid of things, why deliberately reject views? When you speak of "being," both "views of being" and "views of non-being" simultaneously arise; the same occurs when speaking of "non-being." The perceiving consciousness may mistake these concepts as real, yet they are all empty and without substantial ground.

This scripture primarily expounds on how to properly handle the relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) in Daoist cultivation, and how to attain a state of natural freedom through mind regulation.

During practice, one should take care: neither let the mind cling to "being" (concrete phenomena) nor to "emptiness" (void); neither deliberately avoid "being" nor intentionally shun "emptiness." Do not rigidly adhere to the four extremes (being, non-being, both being and non-being, neither being nor non-being), nor fixate on any single aspect—yet do not allow the mind to remain completely ungrounded. The key lies in maintaining naturalness: neither suppressing nor forcing, letting the mind remain free and unconstrained. This is the correct method of cultivation.

Regarding perception: The cognition arising when the eye perceives objects belongs neither entirely to the eye nor wholly to the object. Clinging to such distinctions leads one into the error of dualistic opposition. In truth, perception itself is unified. One must employ the method of "equal observation" (dengguan, viewing all equally) to transcend this duality and reach the boundless, cyclical realm of awareness.

When the eye moves, objects appear to shift—yet in reality they remain still; when the eye is still, objects seem motionless—yet they may not truly be so. This occurs because we habitually perceive the world through dualistic vision. By transcending this opposition, one realizes that movement and stillness are ultimately nonexistent in essence.

All phenomena possess dual aspects of "emptiness" (essential nature) and "being" (manifest appearance). In cultivation, avoid clinging to either extreme: neither favoring "being" nor "non-being"; neither grasping at "both being and non-being" nor "neither being nor non-being."

The Great Dao (fundamental truth) permeates all things yet remains unconstrained by them; all beings receive nourishment from Dao without affecting its intrinsic nature. Dao and phenomena mutually depend, forming a relationship where emptiness and substance give birth to each other.

Heaven and Earth emulate Dao's principle of treating all things equally, and sages follow Heaven and Earth's example. In this equal treatment, they neither alter their principles when harmed nor become elated when benefited. Like Heaven and Earth, they maintain a state of emptiness while acting inexhaustibly.

The "Valley Spirit" (gushen, metaphor for Dao's empty yet numinous nature) is eternally deathless. There are two cultivation methods: First, "sitting in oblivion" (zuowang, seated meditation forgetting the self), whereby one discards physical form to return to original truth; second, "following the form" (suixing), whereby one nurtures the body to attain the realm of immortality. Both methods are achieved through continuous practice ("preserving preservation").

This scripture primarily explores the different stages of cultivation and their relationship with the generation of all things. There are three approaches to cultivation: some practitioners progress from the "offspring" (concrete phenomena) to the "mother" (primordial source), some cultivate directly from the "mother," while others focus solely on the "offspring" without reaching the "mother." Those who cultivate only the "offspring" without attaining the "mother" can become immortals (xian), while those who cultivate from "offspring" to "mother" or directly cultivate the "mother" can reach higher realms, ultimately merging with the Great Dao (Dao).

Heaven and Earth did not generate themselves but were formed through the aggregation of all things. Thus, "Heaven and Earth" is actually a collective term for all phenomena, "human" is the collective term for the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), and "chariot" is the collective term for numerous pieces of wood. These collective concepts do not perish and can therefore endure. Hence, Heaven and Earth first had all things before forming themselves, humans first had the six roots before forming their bodies, and chariots first had wood before taking shape. Once names are established, we speak only of the whole rather than the parts, only of the result rather than the tangled causes.

The highest virtue (De) resembles water—gentle, yielding, and non-contentious. Practitioners who embody this quality in their conduct never violate the inherent nature of things, and all their actions are perfectly attuned. Wisdom does not exceed actual needs, wealth does not surpass sufficiency, and actions do not overreach one's capacity. In this way, all things mutually nourish one another, each finding its proper place. Excess leads to waste and harm—great excess endangers life, while lesser excess causes misfortune—all of which are violations of the Dao's natural order.

Regarding the realm of the "invisible": what the eyes see but cannot perceive is called "Yi" (referring to the formless state of the Dao). Within the scope of vision lies the visible; beyond it lies the invisible. Through the visible, we comprehend the invisible principle, and through the inner principle, we recognize outer phenomena. The inner principle depends on visible manifestations, yet the invisible principle is boundless. Thus, from the perspective of phenomena, there are distinctions of inner and outer, high and low, but from the perspective of principle, there is no hierarchy—hence it is called "Yi."

In meditation (ding), one perceives only boundlessness; in wisdom (hui), no limits are seen. Both meditation and wisdom transcend the confines of finite perception.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) in Daoist cultivation. It reveals that the limitations of human perception stem from attachment to the dualistic concepts of "being" and "non-being." True wisdom (hui) and meditative stability (ding) are interdependent: stability serves as the foundation of cognition, while wisdom constitutes the source of stability. If we take stability as our criterion, both "acceptable" and "unacceptable" are contained within it; if we take wisdom as standard, both "stable" and "unstable" are equally embraced.

An analogy illustrates this: the body resembles trees while the mind resembles empty space. Trees symbolize the cycle of life and death, while emptiness represents the mutual generation of being and non-being. Just as withered branches must die, all existence (you) undergoes transformation and dissolution, ultimately returning to stillness (wu). Sentient beings' relationship with the Dao may be distant or intimate—like earth that can be loose but not compact, or jade that can be dense but not porous. Physical perception of the Dao remains distant, whereas the Dao's connection with emptiness-awareness remains intimate.

All phenomena are fundamentally empty and still—an emptiness invisible to physical eyes. When encountering external phenomena, the eyes remain unattached and the mind unshaken. Outward thoughts become perfectly still without interruption, while inward nature becomes perfectly clear without obstruction. Where there is mind, there is affliction; where there is no-mind, there is purity. Practitioners progress gradually according to their individual capacities.

Phenomenally all things appear distinct, yet essentially they return to emptiness. Maintain emptiness to respond to phenomena—welcoming what comes and releasing what goes. If nothing external arrives, simply preserve luminous emptiness. Within emptiness, distinctions may appear, yet these distinctions are themselves empty; non-distinction may appear, yet this non-distinction is equally empty.

"Non-being" can dissolve "being," just as "being" can dissolve "non-being." Though being and non-being are relative, non-being serves as root; light and dark are relative, yet darkness serves as foundation. True seeing is non-seeing—when nothing is seen, what remains to be seen? Clinging to forms constitutes attachment, yet without forms, what could be attached to?

Phenomenally differences exist, but essentially no separation exists. Transcending distinctions between entry and exit reveals true reality. Conditioned phenomena manifest four characteristics and four deviations, while unconditioned phenomena manifest neither four characteristics nor four deviations. Emptiness may appear dualistic, yet ultimately knows neither duality nor separation.

When phenomena arise, emptiness seems to undergo four transformations; when phenomena cease, emptiness remains singular without increase or decrease. Detachment manifests empty-mindedness, while awakening returns to original truth. Maintain resolute commitment without wavering, preserving single-minded concentration without distraction.

Transcending temporal distinctions (past/present), spatial distinctions (entry/exit), sequential distinctions (before/after), and relational distinctions (inner/outer)—this constitutes ultimate truth.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "being" and "non-being," revealing the profound realm of all things' primordial origin. The so-called "Great Stillness" (Taiding, the highest meditative state) is the absolute equanimity that transcends the duality of "being" and "non-being." When mental activity completely ceases, it is called the "Great Stillness"; when verbal expression arises, it manifests as "Celestial Light" (Tian'guang, the radiance of wisdom).

Though past and present differ in time, their essence lies within a single thought; previous and future lives may seem distinct, yet they share the same Dharmic nature. Both "views of emptiness" and "views of existence" reside within the mind—if even this mind does not exist, where then do all views find their footing? Thus it is said: when thoughts arise, all phenomena arise; when thoughts subside, all phenomena cease. To realize the meditative state of no-mind is to transcend the duality of arising and cessation.

Authentic cultivation requires transcending all conceptual oppositions. Originally, the myriad things have no names—it is humans who impose labels upon them. Upon close observation, one discovers that things themselves bear no names; when we use language to describe them, the objects referred to by words do not truly exist.

"Existence" and "non-existence" arise interdependently, while "both existence and non-existence" represents their combined state, and "neither existence nor non-existence" signifies a higher realm beyond both. In ultimate reality, nothing can be grasped, yet this is not absolute nothingness. Since "being" and "non-being" cannot coexist simultaneously, how can they be reconciled? By penetrating the duality of "being" and "non-being," then transcending attachment to "neither being nor non-being," one breaks all conceptual fetters and realizes the realm of true emptiness—yet this emptiness is not sheer nothingness.

Emptiness itself is ineffable; to cling to the concept of "emptiness" ironically falls back into the trap of "existence." True unity is not mere combination, for the Dharma of true oneness was never divided—how then can it be combined? The evolution from one to two occurs through mutual causation, just as the dissolution from two back to one extinguishes through mutual causation.

The Record of the Mysterious Pearl (Xuanzhu Lu) passage primarily explores the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), as well as how to perceive the essence of the Dao (the Way) by transcending dualistic oppositions.

The scripture begins by pointing out: The principle by which a single thing arises does not depend on external conditions, whereas the principle governing multiple things necessarily involves mutual connections. When discussing "emptiness," if the concept of "being" still lingers, it cannot be called true emptiness; yet if one claims absolute non-existence, then "emptiness" itself ceases to exist. Similarly, the notion of "being" relies on the existence of "non-being." Being and non-being are thus interdependent (xiangyin) yet also mutually contradictory (xiangwei).

The text presents three modes of cognition: horizontal correlation (the interrelations between things), vertical essence (the intrinsic nature of things themselves), and the transcendent state of "true emptiness" (zhenshi kong) that surpasses both. Genuine emptiness transcends the dichotomy of "being" and "non-being," neither clinging to existence nor fixating on nothingness.

Regarding cultivation methods, the scripture advises first clarifying one's thoughts through contemplative observation (guansi), then abiding in a state of non-attachment (cunshou). The truly awakened perceive worldly phenomena (youshi) yet remain unbound by them (bujian)—a state that is neither complete unity nor absolute opposition.

Finally, it emphasizes: The intrinsic mind inherently contains the expanse of the ten directions (shifang fen), yet enlightenment is not confined by spatial orientation. The true nature of the Dao neither clings to distinctions of high and low nor artificially pursues equality, instead maintaining a naturally centered and balanced state. When the mind does not cling to sensory faculties (buyuan gen), heaven and earth become naturally pure; when the senses do not attach to external objects (buzhuo jing), the world is free from defilement and disturbance.

This scripture primarily explores the relationship between "form" (material phenomena) and "emptiness" (essential void-nature), as well as the path to liberation of consciousness. The text points out: attachment to internal sensations leads to obscuration, while fixation on external phenomena results in delusion. What we call "form" has no true existence—it is merely a temporarily borrowed designation. Understanding that the nature of form is empty doesn't negate its apparent existence.

True emptiness cannot be described with words; we reluctantly name it "emptiness." Similarly, "form" may also be called "emptiness." Without relying on conceptual designations, there would be neither names nor forms—not even the concept of "formless emptiness." Clinging to the notion of "formless emptiness" still constitutes a form of cognition. All naming is artificially imposed, and these concepts themselves carry the limitations of subjective perception.

Consciousness and material phenomena are neither completely identical nor entirely separate. True contemplation isn't objective observation with subject-object duality, but a state transcending both observer and observed. Samadhi (concentration) and distraction are fundamentally the same—neither identical nor different. When consciousness attains liberation, even the concept of "liberation" ceases to exist, for there remains no cognitive subject.

When consciousness perceives objects, the objects themselves lack consciousness; when objects are perceived by consciousness, no fixed objects exist within consciousness. Neither undergoes increase or decrease—thus true contemplation transcends cognition. Without fixed, unchanging Dharma (truth), consciousness generates no attachments; without attached consciousness, all deluded thoughts cease to arise.

All phenomena are originally tranquil, requiring no interdependent existence. When prior thoughts vanish, subsequent thoughts don't arise; when prior thoughts remain, subsequent thoughts equally don't emerge. When thoughts don't arise, there's neither "having thoughts" nor "thoughtlessness," nor any distinction between deluded and awakened beings. Practitioners should understand: the arising and cessation of mental phenomena depend entirely on the person—the Dharma itself has no arising or cessation.

Emptiness and form mutually depend: through emptiness the meaning of form is established, through form the nature of emptiness is revealed. The "One" (Dao) gives birth to the myriad things, yet the myriad things can never grasp this "One"—yet they perpetually abide within it.

Originally, the eyes seek to observe forms, but when forms already exist within the eyes, the eyes themselves become invisible. The mind can constantly awaken, the eyes can constantly see—why then do impermanent cognitions arise within these two constants? They are neither completely identical nor entirely different. Since they're neither identical nor different, they're neither permanent nor annihilated. These relative concepts can explain the phenomena of birth and death, but cannot express eternal truth.

When eyes and forms unite, vision arises; when they separate, vision ceases. This arising is illusory birth, this cessation is phantom extinction. Since both are phenomena of arising and ceasing, how can reality be realized? In truth, these explanations merely point toward truth—they are not truth itself.

This passage presents profound Daoist insights on the concepts of "real" versus "illusory" and "being" versus "non-being." The true substance of Dao (the Way) is neither born nor concealed—it transcends all arising and cessation. If one becomes attached to distinguishing truth from illusion, both become illusory; when one comprehends the essence, both transformation and reality are equally real. Within the ultimate reality of all phenomena (cosmic truth), there exists neither illusion nor reality.

Dao and the myriad things manifest simultaneously—only when things arise do we begin to recognize Dao. Yet in truth, Dao and phenomena have never been truly separate. All things inherently exist; they do not come into being because they are perceived, nor do they vanish when unobserved.

Superficially, there appear to be two states of "being" and "non-being," but penetrating to the essence reveals neither being nor non-being. Only by transcending this duality can one truly comprehend the unity of Dao. When discussing Dao's fundamental nature, one should grasp its substance rather than cling to words—excessive speech only leads one astray from truth.

The key to understanding Dao lies in apprehending its essential meaning without fixation on particular formulations. Whether speaking of one method, two methods, or countless approaches, all are merely provisional teachings. Seeking reality within illusion yields nothing, nor can it be found beyond illusion. Realizing all is illusion simultaneously reveals all as real. The moment one verbalizes, one falls into distinctions of true and false; when free from verbal fixation, neither truth nor illusion exists.

Dao's substance itself is neither moving nor still—movement and stillness are fundamentally one. Originally there is no concept of "self"; the cognition of "I" arises through conditioned interactions. The mind is originally undifferentiated—perception emerges only through external stimuli. These conditionally-arisen phenomena are ultimately empty in nature. Within emptiness, there is no "self," no birth or death, no consciousness. Since all is emptiness, who then undergoes birth and death?

In the formless realm (higher states beyond material existence), when all forms completely dissolve, only emptiness remains. The luminous awareness within emptiness is called "consciousness" (shi), and when consciousness recognizes its own empty nature, this is "meditative stability" (ding). This state of stability is no ordinary mental activity—the sage's realization transcends all four categories of "form, emptiness, consciousness, and stability." Though sages unite with all phenomena, they cling to no abode; through non-attachment they transcend the notion of "self." Ordinary people create the concept of "I" through cognitive fixation—though united with all things, they remain unbound by them. Thus while phenomena undergo birth and death, the true self neither arises nor ceases. This true self is eternally real, while all phenomena are transient and changing.

This scripture primarily explores the relationship between perception and existence, as well as the emptiness inherent in the nature of all things. It employs the metaphor of gold artifacts to illustrate this point: just as gold itself has no fixed form and can be fashioned into bracelets or bells while its essential nature remains unchanged, so too all phenomena undergo superficial transformations while their fundamental nature remains empty and quiescent.

Regarding cognition, the scripture reveals that what we can perceive are merely the two functions of "seeing" and "knowing." Beyond these perceptual faculties, no independently existing entities can be found. When we use "knowing" to examine "seeing" and employ "seeing" to observe "knowing," we discover that the very act of cognition itself has no fixed abode.

The cultivation method emphasizes transcending the dichotomy of internal and external: externally, one should relinquish attachment to the physical body as if in deep sleep; internally, one must forget mental activities as though dead. Clinging to material forms (rupa) obscures the perception of emptiness, while fixation on emptiness prevents true understanding of form. In genuine awakening, one neither clings to emptiness nor to form.

All phenomena lack inherent, unchanging nature—their characteristics and essence arise dependently like changing conditions. Just as clay can be shaped into various vessels that ultimately disintegrate while the nature of clay persists, so too consciousness (vijnana), despite its myriad transformations, never departs from its empty nature.

Wisdom and ignorance are essentially empty by nature—only when immersed in ignorance does one conceive of attainable wisdom. In truth, the emptiness within ignorance is no different from the emptiness within wisdom; only their names differ. The scripture ultimately reveals that all distinctions are relative, being fundamentally different manifestations of the same emptiness.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between wisdom and ignorance, as well as between essence (ti) and function (yong). It first points out that wisdom and ignorance are interdependent relative concepts—just as a mirror requires polishing to become bright, yet the brightness doesn't originate from the polisher. While Dao cultivators attain enlightenment through scriptures, enlightenment itself doesn't stem from the scriptures.

The text employs the paired concepts of "essence and function" to illustrate: the moving essence produces function, and when function returns, it becomes essence again. When maintaining four cognitive states, existence seems apparent, yet when completely letting go, there's actually nothing at all. True realization lies in understanding the state of "non-knowing," though this realization superficially resembles the ignorance of the unenlightened while being fundamentally different.

Next, it discusses the formation of cognition: cognition arises with perceived objects—the more objects, the more cognition; the fewer objects, the less cognition. Without objects of perception, there would be no forms or names. The Dao itself isn't a fixed path, and perceptions of it vary across different contexts. If one insists on claiming the Dao is uniform, they fall into an endless logical contradiction of infinite division.

Finally, the text uses the relationship between the eyes and color to explain the nature of cognition: if seeing belonged solely to the eyes, one should still see even without color; if it belonged solely to color, it should manifest even without eyes. In reality, seeing requires both, yet the resulting cognition is a unified whole. This demonstrates that cognition exists neither solely in the perceiving subject nor solely in the object but transcends both as a unity.

This passage explores how human perception and emotions arise. When the eye perceives color, we say the eye has awareness; when the mind (consciousness) generates cognition, we say the mind functions. Without perception and color, we cannot speak of the eye or mind as being active.

Emotions like anger and joy have no fixed essence—they emerge due to specific causes and conditions, and likewise dissipate when those conditions fade. Thus anger and joy are illusory like mirages; recognizing their empty nature allows them to naturally subside.

Someone might ask: Are anger and joy inside or outside the body? If inside, the body should perpetually harbor them; if outside, how could they affect us? In truth, they reside neither within nor without, arising in an indeterminate state that requires certain conditions to manifest, yet isn't wholly dependent on them. Like magical transformations, these emotions are illusory yet undeniably present.

Our fundamental mind (true nature) possesses the capacity to perceive all phenomena, generate all knowledge, and employ all functions, while the nature itself neither increases nor decreases. Just as external circumstances elicit joy or anger, the nature itself neither comes nor goes. Without this nature, anger couldn't arise. Though anger stems from nature, anger isn't nature itself—precisely why anger fades while nature endures. The same applies to joy.

To claim anger vanishes before joy appears would imply two separate minds with no continuity. Yet when joyful, we can recall past anger, proving both are manifestations of one nature. Thus joy's emergence is anger's cessation, and vice versa. Movement contains stillness, stillness contains movement—they are fundamentally one.

These phenomena occur spontaneously, requiring no forced pursuit. Like a method having no fixed attributes, they arise and vanish through internal and external conditions, being neither singular nor dual, magically appearing and disappearing in natural accord.

This passage elucidates profound Daoist principles concerning mind-nature, afflictions, and enlightenment in spiritual cultivation. The so-called "divine powers beyond ordinary methods" (referring to extraordinary spiritual states transcending worldly existence) are actually flexible manifestations of the mind's intrinsic nature.

When the mind is free from emotions like joy and anger, and external circumstances don't trigger such reactions, these emotions paradoxically arise in this state of mental opposition. Since neither the mind nor the environment inherently contains these emotions, how do they emerge? When such deluded thoughts appear, nothing substantial is added to either mind or environment. If neither side gains anything, how can we speak of their "convergent production"? This arising resembles dreamlike illusions—appearing and vanishing while both mind and environment remain unaware. Since this existence emerges from unawareness, who exactly is producing it?

Transcending these phenomena renders distinctions between sages and ordinary people meaningless. As all phenomena are illusory, the sage-ordinary dichotomy is equally illusory. These illusory dharma appearances have never been truly severed, so we cannot call them "empty"; yet they've never departed from their illusory nature, so we cannot call them "existent."

First, all phenomena arise through mutual dependence; then they perish through mutual contradiction; ultimately both opposing states return to true emptiness. Speaking of "mutual dependence," it's because "non-being" gives birth to "being," and "being" contains "non-being." Speaking of "mutual contradiction," it's because when "being" exists, "non-being" doesn't, and vice versa. From "non-being's" perspective, there's neither "one" nor "two"; from "being's" perspective, both "one" and "two" exist. This manifests mutual contradiction.

Using past experiences to explain present solitude, and present awareness to comprehend future changes—thus when contradictions arise, both "one" and "two" disappear. Afflictions are intrinsically empty, hence ungraspable; the Supreme Dao (ultimate truth) is likewise empty, hence equally ungraspable. These two "emptinesses" are non-dual.

Deluded cognition generates afflictions, while enlightened cognition leads to the Supreme Dao. That afflictions are ungraspable reveals their empty nature; that the Supreme Dao is ungraspable reveals its empty essence. These two "emptinesses" differ in name and nature, representing different spiritual levels. Clinging to dualistic distinctions emphasizes their differences; merging them into "one," this unity is neither Dao nor affliction.

Four verbal explanations clarify the relationship between true nature and deluded thoughts: these explanations themselves are deluded thoughts, yet true nature requires words for manifestation. Though true nature emerges through words, words aren't true nature; yet without words, true nature cannot be known. True nature isn't identical to words, yet doesn't depart from them. Deluded thoughts aren't true nature, yet true nature can't be found apart from them. Precisely through deluded thoughts we recognize true nature, hence true nature doesn't transcend delusion. Truth and delusion coexist simultaneously—since they coexist, the ordinary state is already the sage's realm, why deliberate cultivation? If truth and delusion differed, true nature would reside within delusion.

This passage discusses the relationship between truth and illusion in spiritual practice. Outwardly, it may seem like one cultivates beyond illusions, but if one hasn't even transcended ordinary states, how could one become a sage? Why then make deliberate efforts to practice?

The distinction between "truth" and "illusion" arises from unclear understanding of reality's essence. In absolute reality (true nature), there exists neither absolute "truth" nor absolute "illusion"—thus we cannot say they coexist simultaneously nor that they exist in separate phases. Since neither "sameness" nor "difference" can be definitively established, this transcends all extreme views. Yet this isn't a negation of everything: though phenomena exist, these phenomena themselves don't cling to any extreme position, thereby enabling liberation.

The essence of Dao resembles a bright mirror. The mirror's substance remains unchanged by reflected images and doesn't cling to them. No matter how images transform, come or go, the mirror's essence stays unmoved. Sentient beings develop illusory minds through discriminative thinking, creating karma (the causal power of actions) through virtuous or unvirtuous deeds. Without such actions, karma dissolves; without discriminative thinking, the illusory mind vanishes; when the illusory mind ceases, subsequent deluded thoughts won't arise; when karma disappears, the chain of cause and effect is severed.