About this page. The original text of 《洞淵集》 (Taixuan 太玄部, 5 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 71 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Vol. 1
In the Dongyuan Ji, the Daoist master Chang Quanzi of Mount Gui expounds the "Chongxuan" (Twofold Mystery) realm as the ultimate state of profound mystery that transcends all dualities. This realm is like light illuminating the void—it existed before the cosmos took form and endures after all things perish. It embraces heaven and earth, fills the four directions, and though formless, contains the creative potential of all transformations. Solemn yet infinitely dynamic, it gives birth to all beings, resonates with all life, and is so sublime it defies description. Those who comprehend this Dao dare not embellish it with clever words, and those who grasp its principles dare not treat it with irreverence. Only through humility and vigilance can one dwell in serene joy; only by following the rhythms of time can one move without obstruction. This realm is an undivided whole, endlessly subtle and wondrous—even spirits cannot fathom it, embodying the utmost refinement.
The state of "Chunsu" (Pure Simplicity) is an inner stillness where one treasures Jing (essence) and preserves Shen (spirit). Nurturing Qi (vital energy) in detachment and maintaining resolve in emptiness, one roams freely between heaven and earth, undisturbed by external things. Whether in honor or hardship, one remains true to one's nature, unshaken by the transformations of water and fire or the cycles of the seasons. This is the mark of a truly virtuous person who understands the Dao. Attaining this state leads to the realization of ten supreme realms: the Great Mystery (ultimate truth), the Great Order (cosmic harmony), the Great Purity (essential clarity), the Great De (virtue), the Great Constancy (eternal abiding), the Great Flow (unhindered movement), the Great Simplicity (natural authenticity), the Great Wisdom (ultimate insight), the Great Peace (perfect tranquility), and the Great Penetration (complete understanding). These ten realms are so refined that nothing lies beyond their capacity, no subtlety is lacking. Their boundary is the dissolution of thought and the tranquility of Wuwei (non-action).
"Zhidao" (Attaining the Dao) describes the state of unity with the Dao. The Dao of heaven arises spontaneously, boundless and vast, permeating the entire void. Those who attain it wander freely beyond the four seas, appearing and vanishing like the shadowless Yuzhang divine tree, lingering in the gardens of immortal longevity. They rest serenely at the gate of the "Xiyi" (Soundless and Formless) ultimate realm, abide in stillness within the expansive Dongting-like state, and move effortlessly through the infinite expanse of unconstrained freedom. Such individuals merge with the Dao—no external force can harm them, no place is beyond reach, yet they remain transcendent and ungraspable.
These chapters from the "Dongyuan Collection" discuss the omnipresent nature of the Dao (cosmic origin) and how humans can align with natural principles.
Chapter Four, "The Great Flow," describes the Dao as resembling unfathomable waters without fixed form. Even turtle-shell divination (an ancient method of prognostication) cannot discern its patterns. It fills heaven and earth, transforming without constancy, yet always tending toward goodness. This state resembles water's natural undulations—devoid of artificial traces, perfectly embodying natural law. All cunning artifice appears chaotic and incomprehensible before the Dao.
Chapter Five, "Vastness," explains how the truly expansive Dao follows all things' inherent nature. In stillness, it resembles a silent valley; in motion, it nurtures like spring breezes. Dao cultivators don't force displays of courage, nor use eccentric speech. They neither deliberately court heaven's favor nor violate human nature. Maintaining the Middle Way (balanced state) allows them to respond to infinite changes with perfect adaptability.
Chapter Six, "Water-Mirror," uses reflective imagery to illustrate the Dao's qualities. Clear as a polished mirror, it reflects all phenomena like celestial patterns manifesting, responds like mountain echoes, and perceives with divine clarity. Without selfish intent, it embraces all without retaining traces. Just as hands naturally grasp, feet naturally run, eyes naturally see, and ears naturally hear—these innate capacities originate from the inner "reservoir" (referring to the body's intrinsic functions). When people claim these abilities as personal possessions, misfortune follows. The sage governs all things like water-mirror reflection—without forced control, letting phenomena appear naturally, nourishing creation without exhaustion.
Chapter Seven, "Following the Constant," teaches that aligning with enduring principles prevents misguided action. One should interact with appropriateness and handle affairs with contractual precision (indicating proper foundation). A purified heart embraces all things while worldly entanglements don't disturb one's essence. Maintaining authentic nature amid clamor resembles standing alone in vast emptiness.
Chapter Eight, "Emptiness," emphasizes the importance of stillness and receptivity (the content is incomplete; the theme is inferred from the title).
Emptiness is the origin of the Dao (the Way), and stillness is the dwelling of the Shen (spirit). In the primordial chaos at the dawn of the cosmos, the Dao began creating all things. The chaos divided into heaven and earth, which in turn formed the cycle of the four seasons. The movement of the seasons aligns with the patterns of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), which give rise to the transformations of all beings, and all things ultimately return to their original state. This primal state is the mysterious realm of "non-being," also known as the "Gate of Heaven"—neither entering nor exiting, neither born nor perishing. Its form cannot be seen, yet all things return to their true nature within it, merging with the primordial chaos. The ancient sages who attained the Dao deeply understood this principle.
The Mingzhen Chapter states that when the primordial Shen roams the vast cosmos, from the perspective of the Dao, there is no distinction between near and far, large and small, pure and turbid, noble and humble. Maintaining this state allows one to neither deliberately display nor conceal, to achieve without pride, and to remain humble. Thus, one attains the unfathomable purity of being, free from barriers with all things, merging into the realm of seamless unity without deliberately probing its causes.
The Daozhe Chapter explains that the Dao is the creator of heaven and earth, the core of all things, the standard of Yin-Yang, and the key to the operation of the Five Phases and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams, fundamental elements of ancient cosmology). It is the principle followed by sages, the abode of spirits, the source of mountains and seas, the foundation of nations, and the root of all life. From ancient times to the present, the Dao has been the most revered and eternal law of nature. Governing the world with the Dao ensures that even ghosts and spirits do not cause harm, and sages do not bring suffering to the people. Therefore, all things that obtain the Dao thrive, and humans who attain it achieve longevity, establish homes, pass down legacies, act with purpose, and find joy in their pursuits. They neither become overly pleased by reverence nor angered by disrespect, their voices harmonizing naturally like celestial music. Just as the great sea flows eastward, illuminating all things without refusal, this is the highest state. Thus, one must contemplate in silence and grasp its mysteries with clarity.
The Tianle Chapter speaks of the wondrous music of the celestial realm, which originates from the beginningless source and emerges from the realm of the Great Void. It is not the music played by earthly instruments of metal, stone, silk, or bamboo, nor is it the ancient melodies like Dawu or Zhengwu, much less the mundane tunes such as Zheyang, Huanghua, Sanglin, or Jingshou. This celestial music cannot be measured by the Gongshang or Lüli (ancient musical scales). It is performed with the harmony of the cosmos, regulated by the pure Qi (vital energy) of the Great Clarity, vibrated by the profound Dao, and operates through Wuwei (non-action).
This scripture describes the formless and omnipresent nature of the Dao (the supreme truth in Daoism). Like a stringless instrument producing natural harmonies, the Dao has neither beginning nor end, no fixed form yet resonates throughout the cosmos. It existed before the emergence of celestial rulers, bearing all things without display. From this arise the effortless achievements of sage-kings who embody stillness (Wuwei), the orderly movements of sun and stars, the spontaneous growth of all beings, and the harmonious interactions of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).
Seasonal metaphors illustrate this principle: when winter (the month of Ruibin) turns the Milky Way to frost, the winter solstice (Huangzhong night) sparks spring’s renewal in dormant plants. Sages aligned with the Dao summon auspicious clouds and sweet springs; when they cease interference, gentle breezes flow and light pervades. Invisible, inaudible, ungraspable, and untraceable, the Dao freely permeates all directions. This eternal resonance fills heaven and earth—even spirits and deities dwell within it—revealing inexhaustible vitality.
"The Chapter on Mechanisms" discusses wisdom in following nature. As exquisite instruments require precise calibration, human actions demand timely balance. Benefiting all beings like seasonal rain, one aligns with celestial patterns. Those truly attuned to the Dao act with spontaneous perfection.
"The Chapter on Unbinding" reveals cultivation beyond constraints. Releasing judgments of right and gain, abandoning cleverness and force, brings dreamless nights and carefree days. Transcending loss and joy, one neither delights in rewards nor fears punishments. Ancient perfected beings (Zhenren) forgot their bodies, discarded intellect, and merged with nature—rising above praise and blame to reclaim primordial purity. In that state of original simplicity, what distinction remained between joy and sorrow?
"The Chapter on Hidden Pearls" explores inner refinement. Like pearls (symbolizing innate nature) resting in still waters, purify the heart and harmonize the form. In quietude nourish spirit (Shen), and true wisdom emerges naturally. This supreme beauty requires no striving, just as sun and moon shine without effort, illuminating all.
(Chapter 15: "Mystical Union" Commentary)
The profound Dao mystically merges with the void—deep and obscure, yet it gathers spiritual resonance. No matter how much accumulates, it never appears full; seemingly abundant, yet it stores nothing. It cannot be perceived through the ears and eyes or sought by the mind and intellect. The deeper one probes, the more unfathomable it becomes; seemingly close, yet beyond reach. When you gaze ahead, it is not before you; suddenly, it is no longer behind. It harmonizes without actively making a sound, responds to all things without revealing form. Nothing can obstruct it; likes and dislikes, safety and danger, leave no mark upon it. It neither actively welcomes nor rejects, neither speech nor silence. The foolish are separated from it by the thinnest line, while the wise share with it the source of all goodness. When employed, it fills heaven and earth without showing traces; when set aside, its whereabouts remain unknown—even its signs are hard to glimpse. Silent and vast! The common people use it daily yet never truly understand. How lamentable! The world toils like heaps of dust—who among them can awaken? The wheel of fate turns without cease; rise and fall shift unseen. As comings and goings intertwine, worldly affairs crumble, yet some remain intoxicated by struggles over trivial gains—how can they comprehend the cyclical nature of the Dao?
(Chapter 16: "Discarding the Sheath" Commentary)
To cast off external constraints without attachment, to be naturally unobstructed among all things—this is true accomplishment. The genuine state is this: eyes unblinded by the dazzle of vermilion and purple, ears unclogged by the sounds of bells, drums, pipes, and flutes, nose unchoked by the fragrances of pepper, orchid, citrus, and pomelo, tongue undisturbed by the flavors of rich meats and fine wines, body unaffected by the comfort of soft furs and blankets, mind untroubled by discriminating thoughts that disrupt the heart. Externally, not enslaved by fame and wealth that burden the form; internally, not agitated by schemes and cleverness that disturb the true self. Sweep away all defilements and enter a realm beyond compare—only then can one embrace wisdom, contain insight, and savor the flavor of the flavorless. Words emerge from a loyal and upright heart, firm as metal and stone; clothing retains the simplicity of deerskin and plain cloth. Transcending the eight directions and six energies, like the great roc soaring into the clouds, vast and penetrating, merging completely with the formless Dao. This understanding has reached its zenith—profound and lofty, beyond any further height.
(Chapter 17: "Heaven's Concealment" Commentary)
The hidden workings of heaven’s Dao are unfathomably subtle—like the sun and moon alternating unseen, the four seasons revolving without visible force. It makes all things grow yet claims no merit; it accomplishes all yet possesses nothing. The sage embodies this Dao, concealing wisdom as if dull, dimming brilliance as if dust. Seemingly drifting with the current yet firmly rooted, appearing to do nothing yet achieving all. Heaven’s concealment is not deliberate hiding—it is simply its nature; the sage’s withdrawal is not shirking responsibility—it is unity with the Dao. Like deep, still waters that seem calm yet hold boundless vitality; like echoes in an empty valley, soundless yet containing all sounds.
These chapters from the Dongyuan Collection discuss the spiritual state and worldly attitude that Daoist practitioners should attain.
The Celestial Concealment chapter states that the great Dao (the fundamental truth of the cosmos) is like a mystery hidden in the profound heights of the heavens, difficult for ordinary people to discern. It silently nourishes all things without leaving traces, appearing to fluctuate yet remaining eternally unchanging. Practitioners should be like an empty valley—humble and receptive—transcending worldly praise and blame to achieve the naturally perfected state of "Great Wholeness."
The Joy and Sorrow chapter points out that the highest virtue lies in rising above emotions like happiness and grief, neither taking nor giving, while maintaining the stability of one's innate nature. One must discard distracting thoughts, forget physical form and cleverness, and cultivate pure simplicity. By discerning truth from falsehood without being swayed by external things, one can guard the root and draw closer to the Dao.
The Spiritual Abode chapter describes the practitioner's inner sanctuary: a dwelling built in the boundless void, without roof or walls, its doors and windows fashioned from formless materials. Here, one pursues the purest "desire without desire" and grasps the grandest "grasping without grasping." Reading texts on immortality, singing songs of the unborn, drinking celestial wine in radiant fields or humble huts, playing ancient music—all merge effortlessly with the Dao. In contrast, ordinary people rush about recklessly, their hearts torn by desires, like quarrels between mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law in an overcrowded house.
The Sudden Dissolution chapter teaches the sudden realization that worldly appearances are illusory, opening the mind to be filled with auspicious white light. Those who truly understand the Dao remain unfathomable even to the eloquence of historians or the skill of craftsmen. One should act naturally, neither hidden nor revealed, standing firm in the origin and following spontaneity. Let opposing concepts like existence and annihilation, love and hate dissolve; forget time and space to reach the profound state of "Supreme Mystery."
The Under Heaven chapter concludes that enlightened individuals effortlessly comprehend the nature of all things between heaven and earth, radiating innate wisdom. Their wondrous life merges seamlessly with the mysterious Dao, as if standing at the highest vantage point, perceiving all fundamentals with clarity.
These two chapters from the Dongyuan Collection describe the supreme states attained by advanced Daoist practitioners.
The "Divine Encounter" chapter portrays the mystical realm where one's spirit (Shen) merges with the Dao: the practitioner's consciousness roams freely, unobstructed in all directions. Without swift movement, they reach distant places in an instant; without deliberate action (Wuwei), they accomplish all things. This state transcends spatial limitations—what is near extends to what is far, and through oneself, one perceives others. It is formless, traceless, beyond verbal description or intellectual speculation. In this state, the practitioner floats in emptiness without falling, touches solid objects without obstruction, inhales wind and drinks dew without constraint, free from fear or attachment. They traverse valleys without fear, penetrate metal and stone as if they were nothing, their vision unimpeded—clouds and mist cannot obscure their sight; their hearing undisturbed—thunder cannot disrupt their clarity. Without bias, they do not offend others, and worldly disturbances cannot unsettle their mind. No matter how circumstances shift, they remain transcendent, unangered by adversity, unelated by fortune. Even when struck by blades, they are unharmed; when struck heavily, they feel no pain, for they have surpassed the limits of form. Thus, they command all things without being burdened, transforming endlessly.
The "Solitary Sublimity" chapter describes the state of unity between the practitioner and heaven and earth: aligned with cosmic order, Yin and Yang flow smoothly, free from chaos or calamity; sun and moon shine in harmony, without dimness or eclipse. They regulate the Six Qi (wind, cold, heat, dampness, dryness, and fire) to benefit all beings, ensuring the seasons move correctly. Demons dare not cause trouble; the earth bears no ominous energies; poisonous creatures avoid their dwelling. Though sages occupy exalted positions, they take the hearts of the people as their own, returning all under heaven to simplicity, following innate nature to nurture all things in unity. When all beings resonate in harmony, how could there be decline? Yet those bound by attachments struggle to grasp this state. Those who truly understand the Dao (Dao) are rare—but if one encounters them today, a single word suffices for mutual recognition, bringing serene joy. This is no distant mystery but a truth long aligned, like awakening from a great dream.
Together, these chapters depict the wondrous state where advanced practitioners transcend physical limits, merging with heaven, earth, and all things, while positively influencing the world.
Chapter 24: Removing Resistance
The true cultivator stands aloof and independent, his Dao-heart unwavering, silently practicing above the myriad things. He is not disturbed by excessive knowledge nor obscures his essence with external adornments, acting in accordance with nature without forced effort. Roaming beyond worldly concerns, unbound by attachments, he knows neither end nor beginning, maintaining a state of primal simplicity—neither artificially restrained nor ostentatious, with a mind empty and clear, free from knowledge or perception, reaching the highest realm.
To remove inner resistance, the spirit (Lingtai) must remain unattached; virtue (De) responds to all changes without disturbance. This is unity with the Dao, where human artifice does not interfere with nature. Such a person is unfathomably profound, ultimately merging with the Great Dao (Taichang).
Chapter 25: Serene Harmony
When the mind is peaceful and tranquil, no malign energy (Qi) can invade. With will serene and spirit (Shen) focused, life and innate nature are preserved. The soul does not weary; there is no sorrow, regret, fear, or anxiety—only vast resolve and untroubled ease. Adapting to the transformations of all things, he is at ease in every moment and unhindered in every place. His inner virtue (De) overflows, naturally simple, becoming a treasure of the world. Neither gain nor loss alters his essence, deep as the ocean and boundless as the void.
Chapter 26: Sincere Resolve
Genuine steadfastness can commune with the divine. Ancient true cultivators, upon hearing the Dao, practiced it immediately, diligent without respite. Though worldly habits are hard to change, dripping water pierces stone and thin ropes sever great trees—not because water drills or ropes saw, but through the power of persistence. Those who seek pearls in the sea fear no storms; those who hunt in the mountains dread no beasts, for their minds are free of distraction. Yet worldly people drown in scriptures and chase fleeting pleasures, squandering their lives. The divine person sees heaven and earth as a single domain and ten thousand years as an instant, transcending time and space. Only through unwavering sincerity and steadfast resolve can the true seeker break the limits of form and attain the supreme Dao.
Chapter 27: Profound Stillness
(The full content of this chapter is unavailable for interpretation.)
The "Dongyuan Collection" presents several chapters describing the state of cultivation when one reaches the supreme realm. Chapter 28, "Simultaneous Forgetting," depicts a state transcending the distinction between self and objects: the cultivator completely forgets the difference between self and external things, maintaining inner peace undisturbed, eliminating all external influences to preserve a pure and unchanging stillness. At this stage, neither speech nor thought remains attached, breathing flows naturally, yet perception penetrates without obstruction. Even the transformations of life and death are viewed as equal, let alone subtle distinctions like hardness/whiteness or sameness/difference (referring to the School of Names' debates about attributes). Having attained this realm, one neither deliberately rejects nor intentionally retains anything—the mind opens vast like empty space, becoming the very pivot of the Dao.
Chapter 29, "Removing Obstructions," discusses eliminating blockages: the cultivator must dissolve all dualistic concepts, preserving a state of pure simplicity, with a mind as open as seven apertures cleared. Like stripping bark from wood, uprooting stumps, settling dust, or dispersing foam, one remains unmoved even by threats or temptations, forming no barriers in close or distant relationships. Indifferent to worldly praise or blame, one transcends external influences. It is like entering the deepest valley—while traversing all things, one always maintains the original, authentic existence.
Chapter 30, "Non-Attainment," expounds the highest state: true attainment is non-attainment, the most profound principle. Pure joy arises from extreme emptiness and stillness; within, one does not sense the presence of the Primordial Beginning (cosmic origin), while externally, no form is clung to. There are no gaps or holes, neither white nor black, neither being nor non-being. Meeting light, one does not stir; facing darkness, one does not stagnate. Embracing all transformations yet enslaved by none, it sounds without sound, appears indistinct and chaotic, yet functions without end. Without beginning or conclusion, it is its own root—unfathomably deep yet eternally present.
Chapter 31, "Mirror of the Dao," describes the Dao's nature: The Dao is subtle and mysterious, surpassing all boundaries. It carves the myriad things yet leaves no craftsman's mark; the sun, moon, and stars revolve, yet its workings remain inscrutable. It bears heaven and earth without distinguishing purity from turbidity, alternates the four seasons without bearing fruit. Birds and beasts seem free yet never truly depart; rivers surge without revealing their source. The Dao has no beginning or end, spanning past and present. Vast, it encompasses the boundless Yuan-Heng-Li-Zhen (the Four Virtues of the Yi Jing); minute, it is finer than autumn down or a needle's tip.
The "Dongyuan Collection" presents the transcendent perspective and life wisdom of Daoist practitioners.
Chapter 32 on "Harmonious Unity" states that when cultivation reaches the supreme state, all things lose their distinctions of value or size in the practitioner's vision. Mount Tai and autumn down (the tiniest object) appear equal in stature, revealing how "being" and "non-being" are fundamentally interconnected. Those truly awakened to the Dao regard wealth and status as clay dolls, finding more joy in a thatched hut than a mansion, and greater flavor in wild herbs than sacrificial meats (ancient offerings of oxen, sheep, and swine). They transcend distinctions between self and other, right and wrong, understanding life-death to be as illusory as dreams. Thus they merge with nature and attain genuine liberation.
Chapter 33 on "Waxing and Waning" explains the perpetual transformation of all things. Yin and Yang alternate, forms grow and decay, yet scarcely one in ten thousand comprehends this principle. People become deluded by superficial appearances while missing underlying truths. The human body is merely an earthen vessel borne by the earth—a temporary coalescence of the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) in constant flux from infancy to old age. Ordinary people cling to these illusory changes, pursuing superficial techniques like breath regulation, much like foolishly imagining roasted fowl upon seeing a slingshot. The truly accomplished see through such illusions, rising beyond worldly pursuits to the realm where self and objects are both forgotten.
Chapter 34 on "Deluded Ignorance" observes how worldly people suffer from mental disturbances—behaving eccentrically despite youth, acting recklessly, and wearing perpetual frowns. These are manifestations of a lost spirit (Shen).
The Dongyuan Collection presents two chapters discussing the principles of life-death and natural spontaneity.
In The Chapter on Life and Death, it states that life and death constitute humanity's most significant matter. Yet ordinary people, clinging desperately to life and fearing death, thereby lose their De (Virtue). Immersed in pleasures and bound by desires, they remain in perpetual anxiety throughout the years, forgetting life's fundamental essence. Those who truly comprehend the Dao differ entirely—they understand the patterns of all phenomena, grasp the transformations of Yin-Yang, and align their consciousness with the Great Dao. Though their physical bodies must eventually perish, their Shen (spirit) follows the principle of indestructibility. Transcending the boundaries of life and death, neither joyful nor sorrowful, they take heaven and earth as their dwelling and the Supreme Void (cosmic origin) as their neighbor—how could they be burdened by mere physical form?
The Chapter on Following Spontaneity elucidates a way of living in accordance with nature. Those who know contentment avoid disgrace—this constitutes the method for preserving life and bodily integrity. Taking the physical form as vessel and De as foundation, they neither chase worldly fame nor deliberately scheme affairs, nor beg for others' favors. Understanding timing yet not forcibly halting processes, they recognize the Dao's operations cannot be obstructed. Throughout all ages, to live means to experience toil. They respond to transformations without fixation, maintaining constancy without attachment. Comprehending this straightforward path, they preserve integrity without shame, remaining unswayed by external things. Even in extreme poverty they feel no sorrow, delighting in heaven's will and knowing their destiny without haste. Their inner being remains expansive, dwelling quietly in humble abodes like a corpse (referring to the Daoist meditative state of "corpse repose"), thereby avoiding lifelong perils and attaining longevity.
(Note: "Xu mi" refers to prisoners; "seven apertures" indicate eyes, ears, mouth and nostrils; "corpse repose" describes the Daoist cultivation state of sitting motionless like a corpse)
Vol. 2
This section of the Dongyuan Collection elucidates core Daoist concepts concerning supreme virtue (De), engagement with the world, and self-cultivation.
The "Chapter on Supreme Virtue" describes the highest form of De as boundless and all-encompassing, embodying the benevolence of heaven and earth. It operates spontaneously, driving the cycle of seasons and nurturing all things. Sages align themselves with this natural order, prioritizing the needs of the people. Through wuwei (non-action), they govern effortlessly—achieving success without contrivance, implementing policies without coercion, and attaining harmony through tranquility.
The "Chapter on Engagement" portrays the sage's way of interacting with the world: they harmonize effortlessly with all beings, radiating warmth like spring. Their minds remain simple and serene, their hearts vast as rivers embracing tributaries, their presence as dignified as Mount Tai nourishing creation. They treasure humaneness and righteousness as jewels, adorn themselves with ritual and music, employ wisdom and sincerity as their carriage, and find true refuge in detachment. Such sages become natural rulers of the world.
The "Chapter on Detachment" warns against material attachments, urging preservation of pure intention. Noble persons (junzi) maintain contentment, abide in their innate nature, and follow the Dao without anxiety. Thus they safeguard integrity, cultivate abundant De, and prevent distorted desires from clouding their balanced essence. Those who reach this state become like flawless treasuries of nature—perfected without conscious effort.
The "Chapter on Avarice" condemns the miserly and greedy: perpetually dissatisfied, they exhaust themselves only to invite calamity. Indulging desires corrupts body and mind, enslaving them to external things until even spirits invade their dwellings.
The "Chapter on Anxiety" reveals excessive worry as the root of delusion. Those dominated by shifting emotions and endless scheming inevitably descend into turmoil.
These two chapters from the Dongyuan Collection discuss how cultivators should perceive worldly desires and natural laws.
In The Chapter on Awakening from Dreams, the author describes how human emotions and desires accumulate in the spiritual chamber (lingfu). People chase fame and wealth all day long, like insects trapped in a cage, indulging in pleasures without respite. By day, their aspirations are altered by distracting thoughts; by night, their true nature is deluded by desires. They clash and exhaust themselves with external things, bustling about without considering their ultimate destination—truly becoming parasites of heaven and earth. Those who have truly attained the Dao (zhenren) hold the entire cosmos within their hearts, maintaining a state of purity and wuwei (non-action). Their minds unite with primordial Qi, Qi harmonizes with shen (spirit), and shen merges with the void, ultimately reaching the realm of "nothingness"—as carefree as immortals dwelling in the gourd mountains (huling). This state is unfathomable: seemingly nonexistent yet truly present, formless yet filled with divine wonder, silently nourishing all things without claiming merit. This is the true origin of the Dao.
The Chapter on Pivotal Mechanisms criticizes worldly people for focusing their minds on petty cleverness and political machinations ("pivotal mechanisms" here metaphorically refers to scheming and power plays), which obscures natural harmony. The superior deceive the inferior, and the inferior deceive one another, deviating from the true path. The common people suffer, plants and animals wither and cry out in chaos, and even spirits and deities receive no proper offerings. Why does this happen? Because people no longer follow the virtuous Dao, pursuing only legalistic tactics and flaunting wisdom and courage. Sages act without stubborn attachments, thus avoiding mistakes; in serving the heavenly Dao, they emphasize substance over appearance. Seeing outward movement, they know the return; observing the past, they foresee the future—just as echoes reveal sound and shadows reveal form. Thus, the principles of the Dao adapt to changing circumstances yet respond with precision. When the Dao prevails, it universally benefits all beings.
These chapters from the "Dongyuan Collection" expound on the fundamental principles of human conduct.
Chapter 44 discusses discerning truth from falsehood. In worldly affairs, truth and deception often become indistinguishable. While celestial messengers (referring to Dao cultivators) find it difficult to feign authenticity, ordinary people easily fall into pretense and stray from the true path. When evil thoughts clog the heart-mind, external matters will disturb one's original purity. The ancients said: A true gentleman's speech should conform to standards; governance requires constancy; inner abundance manifests as outward humility; wisdom appears as simple-mindedness; receiving honors feels like receiving nothing; correcting faults requires urgent pursuit as if racing against time. To harm inner cultivation for external gain, to act in ways that corrupt oneself, or to forget righteousness when seeing profit—these constitute three inauspicious matters.
Chapter 45 addresses destiny and power. Authority, status, wealth, and glory are all transient, destined to fade like grass, trees, and insects. Though the Dao of heaven speaks not, retribution follows like a shadow. Those who truly attain the Dao understand: early death or longevity belongs to fate; poverty or pleasure belongs to circumstance. What has passed cannot be retrieved; what comes cannot be forced. Like the pine and cypress that remain evergreen through winter and summer—this represents the fundamental principle.
Chapter 46 speaks of timely opportunities and convergence. Practitioners should carefully handle reputation and substance without forced seeking. Whether in prosperity or decline, honor or disgrace, misfortune or fortune, one must maintain equanimity. Sages perceive the patterns of all transformations, understanding that rise and fall follow definite cycles. Thus they face death without fear, dwell in high positions without danger, and forever preserve a transcendent, carefree state of mind.
Chapter 47 discusses the path of purity and stillness. By maintaining a heart-mind of serene non-action (Wuwei), the world naturally returns to proper order. Thus within the four seas, all share the same heart and virtue (De); above and below exist in harmony. Even woodcutters would sing praises of this era of great peace.
The Dongyuan Collection presents teachings on how spiritual practitioners can transcend worldly desires and maintain inner purity.
The chapter "On Existence and Extinction" states that ordinary people resemble parrots mimicking speech—limited in vision yet self-righteous, utterly ignorant of the profound state where "the Dao transforms independently prior to the Formless Sovereign" (referring to the Dao's autonomous existence before heaven and earth took form). Those who truly attain the Dao remain detached from life and death, flowing with nature—neither resisting what comes nor clinging to what departs. Transcending material constraints, their liberated spirit (Shen) remains unshaken even amidst peril.
"On Fluctuations" observes that life's vicissitudes follow cosmic rhythms like heaven and earth's revolutions. Ordinary people become deluded by external phenomena, chasing vanity while forgetting their fundamental nature. But realized beings (zhenren) differ—unswayed by fame or gain, unmoved by beauty, unfooled by deception, they perpetually preserve their original essence. Thus no calamity can harm them.
"The Drunkard's Warning" cautions that indulging passions resembles reclining on a bed of daggers. While modern people drown in desire, supreme adepts (zhiren) maintain purity by tempering cravings to nurture primordial Qi (tianhe, celestial harmony), preserving undivided focus within.
"On Gluttony" condemns greed as a thief stealing one's innate nature. The insatiable obsess over rare treasures to feed selfish cravings, their minds perpetually anxious—fearing gossip by day, ghostly retribution by night, exhausting themselves in lifelong pursuit. Often they violate laws, meeting untimely ends without peaceful conclusions.
These chapters employ contrastive methods, juxtaposing ordinary folly with transcendent wisdom to emphasize desirelessness in spiritual cultivation. Concepts like "prior to the Formless Sovereign" and "celestial harmony" reflect core Daoist teachings about cosmic origins and life's essential nature.
This passage from the Dongyuan Ji (Collection of the Abyssal Cavern) expounds on three fundamental principles:
The first section discusses the art of governance. Those worldly fools who defy natural principles with insatiable greed are like people pointlessly planting weeds by chiseling holes in their own courtyard walls. People starve because rulers impose excessive taxes. The true sage (one who has attained the Dao) bestows blessings widely without hoarding, extending virtue to all corners of the world. Governing the realm doesn't rely on accumulating wealth—just as Heaven's Dao nourishes all things without harm, and Earth's Dao nurtures all beings without refusal, yet neither claims dominion. The emperor's way lies in widespread relief without accumulation, caring for the people through wuwei (non-action), whereby all things naturally mature in abundance.
The second section, "On Awe and Caution," reveals wisdom for navigating life. Maintaining vigilance against misfortune preserves life and cultivates one's true nature. One should distance oneself from struggles over profit and harm, peacefully abiding in virtuous conduct. Achievements shouldn't be flaunted, and leisure shouldn't be squandered. Thus honored, one remains humble; impoverished, one avoids dissipation. Like swallows knowing to avoid unsuitable dwellings—even abandoning ripe fruit to fly away—they understand caution and distance from harm. Foxes and leopards with gorgeous fur, if they leave mountain forests for open plains, will meet the misfortune of hunters. Therefore, the noble person comprehends the principles of prominence yet willingly maintains humility, adapting like quails while soaring with cloud-like aspirations, making even emperors and lords unable to constrain them.
The third section, "On Right and Wrong," addresses cognition. Judging right from wrong requires depth as foundation, discernment as wisdom, and simplicity as standard. Worldly disputes resist resolution because people have long been mired in desires. The operations of Heaven-Earth and yin-yang are inherently complex—how much more so when humans entangle themselves in hierarchical oppositions of nobility/humility, cleverness/clumsiness, and life/death. Taking ignorance for knowledge and falsehood for truth, clinging to distinctions between being/nonbeing and sound/form, they plunge into endless debate. Even if one were like the fabled Wangxiang (imaginary beast) obtaining the Mysterious Pearl (symbolizing truth)—as in the Zhuangzi's "Heaven and Earth" chapter—ultimate truth might still elude comprehension.
(Note: The allusion "Wangxiang obtains the Mysterious Pearl" originates from the Zhuangzi, symbolizing the futile pursuit of truth through mistaken methods.)
The Dongyuan Ji presents several chapters discussing how people become blinded by various desires and prejudices, unable to perceive the truth of the great Dao.
Chapter 54, "On Narrow Perspectives," states: Those who dwell in cramped alleys have limited vision, like viewing the sky through a bamboo tube—they believe they understand, yet remain far from the true heavenly Dao. Such individuals are contentious and argumentative, appearing clever and meticulous, but their ways are not the highest expression of the Dao. They resemble blind men gazing at the sky, frogs in a well debating the ocean, or those who panic only after losing their sheep—their minds are ensnared by dazzling appearances, deaf to the silent harmony of nature. Those accustomed to rich flavors daily cannot comprehend how "flavorless" is the ultimate taste. Like the glow of fireflies, the vision of mice in burrows, or roosting crows, how could they know of beings like the Mingling Great Chun (a mythical divine tree)? These beings take Heaven and Earth as parents, their Virtue (De) vast and their realm sublime. The ignorant are like inferior horses and sparrows—how could they grasp the aspirations of the divine phoenix, the thousand-mile steed, or the white crane? These transcendent beings soar a thousand miles, traversing the nine heavens, far beyond the reach of mediocrity. How could those with shallow understanding comprehend the Dao of Heaven? Chasing empty fame, they harm their very lives; obsessed with wealth and status, they are like caged birds; indulging in pleasure, they lose themselves in debauchery, wholly deviating from the Dao and Virtue (De)—a truly pitiable state.
Chapter 55, "On Shackles," explains: Being bound by sensual desires and chasing fame and fortune is to mistake the branch for the root. It is like dust blinding the eyes or insects gnawing at carved words—seemingly minor yet deeply harmful. Digging through walls in broad daylight to steal gold—how could such acts escape retribution? The impatient and greedy are shackled by worldly titles, rolling in the mire of profit, even mocking those who cultivate the Dao. They are like mantises trying to stop a chariot, tiny insects carrying mountains, or blind men leaping into ditches—truly lamentable. Their hearts brim with arrogance while clad in splendid robes and official regalia, believing themselves triumphant, yet their lives are toil, like fierce beasts caged, finding no liberation even in death. Living in such delusion, who among them can awaken?
Chapter 56, "On Delusion," declares: Delusional thoughts are like thieves, disturbing the true Dao-nature within. It is like dreaming of another’s deer and claiming it as one’s own, arguing endlessly over trivialities, clinging to worldly distinctions of right and wrong.
This scripture primarily expounds on the delusion of worldly desires, the transcendence of Dao cultivators, and the principle of karmic retribution.
The first section depicts ordinary people drowning in sensual pleasures: entangled by love and lust like mandarin ducks yet fragile as cheese curds. Emotional entanglements weave joy with sorrow, desires surge like ocean waves, passions flutter like snowflakes, and confusion darkens like overcast skies. People indulge in hunting and revelry, muddled and unaware of the inherent dangers—hence genuine Dao practitioners never succumb to such states.
The middle portion explains karmic consequences: Heaven and Earth operate like a great furnace, with the seasons and stars moving imperceptibly. People harm each other, living in constant anxiety while drowning in desires—some dying from excessive grief or joy, others perishing in conflicts. Drunkenness, lust, and wicked thoughts lead to untimely deaths; rebels suffer disasters of flood and fire, freezing and starvation, meeting wretched ends.
The conclusion reveals the true meaning of cultivation: The Dao (the Way) is eternal, while physical forms undergo birth and death. Aligning with the Dao transforms decay into wonder; opposing it turns wonder into decay. Like legendary chaste women petrifying into stone or resentful souls becoming catalpa trees, divine beings (Shen) dispense retribution according to human virtue—the pure gain glory, the greedy face disgrace. Though impartial, Heaven's way (Tian Dao) consistently blesses the virtuous. The deluded remain trapped while the awakened move with ease. Just as whales roam oceans and jackals haunt mountains, all things find their proper place. Those who attain the Dao share origins with sages; those who lose their true nature merge with worldly dust.
These chapters from the Dongyuan Ji discuss how practitioners can transcend worldly attachments to return to the fundamental truth of the Dao.
Chapter 59, "Likes and Dislikes," points out how ordinary people's minds are often clouded by subjective preferences. Those who share their views are deemed agreeable, even if they're fawning sycophants; those with differing stances provoke aversion, even among the virtuous and sincere. Such individuals remain trapped by external phenomena throughout their lives, squandering their innate spiritual potential. True Dao-realized persons differ—they neither deliberately discriminate nor harbor biases. Treating all with sincerity, they impart De (Virtue) universally without claiming superiority. Only thus can one attain harmony with heaven and earth.
Chapter 60, "Fragrance and Stench," critiques humanity's excessive discrimination. Farmers understand manure nourishes crops, recognizing each thing's purpose. Yet some lay traps and nets, slaughtering creatures to indulge their appetites. The author challenges: Don't animals share the bond between mother and child, just like humans? In this restless age, people destroy nests for eggs, driving helpless creatures to flee. From the Dao's perspective, all beings form one body—why force separations?
Chapter 61, "Sentiment and Craft," observes that when artifice overpowers genuine feeling, simplicity and harmony vanish. Moral degeneration brings chaos to the world. Here "sentiment" denotes natural authenticity, while "craft" signifies contrivance—implying that excessive pursuit of technique shatters innate harmony.
The Dongyuan Collection contains several chapters discussing principles for cultivating one's mind and nature, as well as proper conduct in the world.
The "Chapter on Eliminating Burdens" states that the world today is filled with deceit, with people straying from the Dao (the Way) and indulging their desires. The greatest calamity arises from impure thoughts—once the mind stirs with delusion, it invites endless afflictions that disturb one's true nature. Without inner clarity, one invites misfortune upon oneself. Hypocritical posturing and the pursuit of fame and profit are like adorning oneself with useless growths or decorating a facade with gold and jade—all departures from authenticity. Those who truly attain the Dao remain unconfused in worldly affairs, their hearts serene and detached, enabling them to return to their original state.
The "Chapter on Filial Piety and Compassion" explains that filial devotion is the foundation of human relationships. Filial love is like the primordial Qi (vital energy) nourishing all things—it benefits the masses while honoring one's kin. Such conduct aligns with both ritual propriety and worldly customs. Heaven protects those who embody this virtue with compassion, ensuring their success in both offense and defense. The highest form of benevolence makes no distinction between kin and stranger, while the purest filial piety is free from selfish desire. From rulers to commoners, all rely on this virtue to bring auspicious signs. When sages govern the world with this principle, Yin-Yang harmonizes, crops flourish, courts are filled with worthy ministers, and the people live without strife—ultimately leading all nations to submit in peace.
The "Chapter on Gentleness and Frugality" advocates for a gentle and restrained way of life.
The "Dongyuan Collection" contains several chapters that expound on the fundamental principles for personal conduct and state governance.
In the chapter "Gentleness and Frugality as the Foundation of De (Virtue)," it states that gentleness and frugality form the root of Dao and De. Sages live without extravagance or violence, handling daily affairs without contention or conflict with all things. Thus they gain universal support without incurring resentment. Maintaining personal integrity and restraining desires, they adhere to principles throughout life without having their nature altered by external matters. Without desires, they suffer no loss; their wisdom never exhausts. Therefore they preserve themselves and avoid calamity. Sages enrich themselves without hoarding wealth, achieve merits without pursuing fame, and extend their beneficence throughout the world while remaining anonymous.
The "Integrity and Shame" chapter emphasizes these virtues as the pillars of state, standards for action, and foundation of humaneness. Noble persons must remain vigilant—never living carelessly, never flattering, always understanding shame and discerning good from evil. They uphold loyalty and trustworthiness, firm yet never rebellious, simple yet returning to their original nature. Keeping these principles in mind daily cultivates goodness, preserves innate purity, and ensures lifelong safety from peril.
The "Accumulation" chapter discusses principles of storage. Ample reserves prevent worries; understanding cycles of prosperity and decline constitutes the way of lasting preservation. Within heaven and earth, all matters—crooked or straight, true or false, auspicious or ominous, long-lived or short-lived—are governed by divine forces not to be taken lightly. The wise rectify their posture by observing shadows, comprehend principles through ritual, foresee the future by studying the past, and recognize subtle changes through apparent phenomena. Cosmic correspondences are as shadows following forms and echoes responding to sounds—never erring. Like the ancient well-sweep that moves with human motion, widespread De creates far-reaching influence, while genuine goodness naturally begets reputation. Noble persons must remain cautious! Maintain clarity in solitude, reveal radiance in subtlety, understand brightness emerging from darkness, form arising from formlessness. Treading frost, one knows hard ice approaches; a nine-ren mountain isn't built with one basket of earth. Fortune and misfortune intertwine—who knows their limits? As the ancients said: Pursue good upon seeing it; avoid evil like scalding water. The Dao of heaven is vast—appearing sparse yet omitting nothing, with justice ultimately manifesting.
The "Interactions" chapter discusses principles of human relations. Through generations of handling affairs, never let external matters injure the inner self. Assess situations carefully, understand sources of safety and danger, and master the subtleties of adaptability—though few truly grasp these mysteries.
These chapters collectively teach people to uphold the foundations of gentleness, frugality, integrity and shame, understand principles of accumulation and transformation, and maintain original purity in human interactions. These constitute essential Daoist wisdom for worldly engagement.
This passage from the Dongyuan Collection discusses two fundamentally contrasting approaches to life.
The first section describes the sublime state of aligning with nature. All things in the world possess their inherent nature—the wise and the foolish do not oppose each other, for this is the arrangement of the divine. Harmonizing all beings to make them docile, following nature without violating inherent qualities, ensuring words and actions conform to proper measure, and allowing daily transformations to align with natural rhythms—this enables all things, whether large or small, long or short, to find their rightful place. Even seagulls may grow close, and fierce beasts can be tamed. By resting content with the times and flowing with nature, one attains the realm of "profound De (Virtue)," coexisting harmoniously with all things in an endless cyclical motion. Nurturing all beings and governing the world relies precisely on this principle. This is the eternal path to mastery, and the state of sages is likely just like this.
The second section critiques the folly of indulging desires. Abandoning oneself to debauchery and pleasure, drowning in sensual excesses—this is the confused behavior of the common folk. Obsessed with hunting, feasting, extravagance, and ostentation, consumed by anxiety day and night, neglecting food and sleep, tormented by endless troubles, sacrificing aspirations for empty fame, harming the body for profit—such people bustle about their whole lives without understanding the great Dao. How pitiful! They let their eyes covet beauty, their ears wallow in licentious music, their noses sniff foul odors, their mouths spout reckless words, and their bodies chase lavish comforts, lost in dens of dissipation. This is like using water to fight fire or fire to fight fire—the more fame one gains, the heavier the burden, with not a day of peace, only endless exhaustion, fretting daily while awaiting death. Is this not tragic? Such behavior damages the true nature, depletes the spiritual root, strays from the Dao, and forgets the fundamental.
Finally, the text observes that the human body’s structure inherently mirrors cosmic principles: the round head resembles heaven, the square feet mirror earth, the prominent nose echoes mountains, the recessed mouth resembles valleys, the flesh connects to the soil, the blood vessels flow like rivers, body heat resembles fire, and breath moves like wind and clouds. Looking inward reveals how all these correspond to natural phenomena.
These two chapters from the Dongyuan Collection discuss how Daoist practitioners transcend worldly troubles and maintain inner purity.
Chapter 69 explains that those who truly attain the Dao abandon trivial worldly thoughts, focusing instead on cultivating "Dao-De" (the core Daoist concept representing the supreme state of natural non-action). They move freely like flowing water, unconstrained by externalities. The myriad temptations of the world—frivolity, impatience, harshness, seductive appearances—arise ceaselessly like the alternation of day and night, often deluding ordinary people. Only those with great wisdom maintain inner peace, neither enslaved by official positions and wealth nor swayed in their essential nature by poverty or riches. They restrain desires, guard their speech, and act prudently, burdened neither by worldly affairs nor mental fatigue, thus remaining free from sorrow and affliction. The highest adepts master their destiny through inner cultivation, unattached to external things, even forgetting their bodily senses—only then can their spirit become clear and empty, merging with the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth.
Chapter 70 criticizes those foolish people obsessed with material desires. Their behavior is as absurd as rowing a boat on land or extinguishing fire with water. Though they amass great wealth, they don't understand its proper use; though they pursue riches and honor, they cannot preserve them for generations, constantly anxious about gains and losses. They offer the grandest sacrificial offerings (the "Great Sacrifice" of Taizhu) to nourish their bodies, yet cannot protect their lives—such treatment of the body is utterly foolish. Ordinary people consider gold and silver substantial, yet regard life itself as illusory; they care for others' ancestral graves (zhongshe) while neglecting their own heart-field (metaphor for original mind); they become bound by the five desires (corresponding to the five aggregates) and entangled by the seven emotions (qiqing). Extinguishing their light of wisdom, they sink into muddy depths, destroying their spiritual roots. Therefore, sages view the world as temporary lodging and consider favor as enmity, understanding that physical forms perish while spirit endures. One should avoid sensual pleasures like shunning a honey-coated blade, regarding wealth and honor as fleeting clouds. Even dwelling in a thatched hut (bihu) wearing rags, eating coarse grains and wild herbs, one can still cultivate true wisdom.
This passage elucidates how practitioners of the Dao achieve unity with the Dao through inner cultivation.
First, one must calm the spirit (Shen) in stillness, closing the gates of external perception (the "mysterious pass" or Xuanguan refers to the threshold where sensory awareness is withdrawn during practice), eliminating desires and distracting thoughts, while maintaining a heart of compassion and frugality. In this way, wisdom arises naturally, and virtuous teachings spread like a spring breeze, filling the world with benevolence as refreshing as a fragrant breeze across the seas.
Upon reaching this state, one may wander freely in the ethereal and profound realm of emptiness, entering a vast, boundless, and eternally tranquil state of spiritual freedom. This is the ultimate goal sought by Daoist practitioners.
The text then describes the qualities of those who have attained the Dao: they perceive the transformations of all ages yet remain unstained by worldly concerns; they guide people back to their natural simplicity; they comprehend the changes of all things without attachment; they maintain a pure and uncluttered mind; their wisdom flows unobstructed; they penetrate the deepest mysteries; they treat all beings with compassion; they teach others with skillful means; they remain steadfast in sincerity; they preserve clarity of mind; they commune with the divine in stillness; they harmonize and nurture their vital energy (Qi); they possess extraordinary eloquence; their will is firm yet unmoved by impulse; and through humility, they receive blessings.
Ancient seekers of immortality embodied these virtues, harmonizing with Heaven and Earth, and ultimately realized the Great Dao (Da Dao). True Daoist practice lies in preserving the innate nature of stillness and non-action (Wuwei), operating as naturally as the primordial chaos before creation, nourishing all things without seeking reward, and moving freely through the world without deliberate display.
The author, Chang Quanzi, expresses his aspiration for this state, learning the wisdom of "not forcing learning," willingly dwelling where others refuse, and maintaining an unadorned simplicity. Like flowing water, he moves naturally, neither rushing ahead nor lagging behind, following the course of all things without coercion. He renews through what seems old, overcomes strength with softness, reveals skill through apparent clumsiness, and discovers true nature in detachment. Alone, he accompanies the four seasons, and in the vast emptiness, he comprehends the true essence of the Dao.
This passage from the Dongyuan Collection explores the Daoist concepts of "ultimate speech" (the highest form of expression) and Wuwei (non-action, or effortless action).
It begins with metaphorical descriptions of the Daoist cultivation state: resting on emptiness as one's bed, finding contentment in simplicity, unifying multiplicity into oneness, and taking the fundamental as the essence. Though the language appears plain, its meaning is as precious as fine jade. This state is boundless in its vastness yet without a core in its minuteness; when applied, it functions universally in harmony with the great Dao.
The text critiques worldly disputes: though the debates of the Hundred Schools and various crafts flourished in their time, they inevitably led to contention over profit, harmed human sentiment, corrupted De (virtue), and caused people to lose their innate authenticity. Those entangled in mundane affairs are likened to busily toiling in chaff piles while deludedly hoping to ascend the immortal mountains (Fanghu and Yuanjiao) in search of the Dao—a futile and perilous endeavor.
On "ultimate speech": the highest speech is non-speech, the deepest knowing is non-knowing, the greatest joy is joy without pursuit, and the most effective action is Wuwei—acting in accordance with nature. By maintaining pure Qi (vital energy) within and manifesting natural openness without, one dispels suspicion and harmonizes with all things. Even fish, turtles, and deer can coexist peacefully with humans—how much more should this apply among people?
Finally, the passage observes that those fixated on chasing superficial phenomena without returning to the root are like using torches for illumination or clinging rigidly to names—shallow pursuits. Forcing wisdom to seek the Dao is like drawing water with a bamboo basket or seeking stillness in a gale, only to clog the mind with weeds (symbolizing distracting thoughts). How is this any different from casually discarding the Sui Pearl (a metaphor for priceless treasures)?
Through contrasting the state of Wuwei with worldly attachments, this scripture emphasizes the importance of returning to simplicity and aligning with nature.
The Dongyuan Ji passage employs vivid metaphors to illustrate different levels of spiritual realization. Those who attempt to shoot down birds soaring a thousand ren (an ancient unit equivalent to about eight feet) high with mere slingshots embody a pitiable state—only those who truly comprehend the Dao's principles can attain the supreme realm. The aspirations of a lame turtle (symbolizing those with limited capacity) or knowledge gained through hearsay represent nothing but superficial understanding. When one's insight remains at the level of ordinary perception, their so-called wisdom is inevitably shallow.
(Note: This passage emphasizes how Daoist cultivation requires transcending superficial cognition to pursue profound realization of the Dao's patterns. Using imagery like "shooting sparrows" and "lame turtles," it critiques half-hearted approaches to learning, reflecting Daoism's emphasis on genuine wisdom in spiritual practice.)
Vol. 3
In the third and seventh volumes of the Dongyuan Ji, the poem Harmonizing with Master Langran's Verses with a Preface by Master Changquanzi of Mount Gui expresses the diverse paths and realms of attaining immortality through Daoist cultivation.
The path to immortality is not singular—methods vary widely. Some awaken to the Dao through worldly life, while others transcend the mundane through dedicated cultivation. Though approaches differ, the key lies in the depth of realization and the extent of practice. The works of ancient sages like Zhuangzi and Liezi elucidate the principles of cosmic creation, mastering wind and clouds, discerning the Six Qi (referring to natural phenomena such as yin-yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness), roaming the eight directions, journeying alongside the sun and moon, comprehending the cosmos, instructing all beings, bestowing grace upon even insects, propagating Dao and De (Virtue/Power), and aiding the profound origin of all things. Effortlessly, they weave through past and present, follow the laws of nature, rise above the disputes of the hundred schools, unlock the essence of myriad methods, pioneer shortcuts to immortality, and disseminate the teachings of sages. Were these four perfected beings (referring to Zhuangzi and others) not precisely those who transcended the mundane through cultivation?
As for those who awaken to the Dao from worldly life, they are too numerous to count since ancient times. Recently, in my leisure, I read the thirty-one Daoist-inspired poems by Master Langran of the Tang dynasty. Their language is concise yet profound; seemingly obscure on the surface, they reveal the origins of embryonic breathing (taixi, a method of internal alchemy). Witnessing such genuine skill, how could one not feel admiration? Though my own aptitude is mediocre, seeing the worthy inspires emulation. Without presumption, I composed a few additional verses—not daring to hope they might benefit later generations, but simply for my own delight.
First Poem:
In youth, I saw through the red dust,
Retreated to the mountains, resting my head on clouds.
Had I not escaped the cage of the mundane,
How could I have plumbed the depths of the subtle Dao?
The sword of wisdom cleaves the path of a thousand sages,
Divine light pierces the ninefold heavens.
From then on, wandering freely across the four seas—
Who knew I’d already become an immortal of the land?
Second Poem:
At times, within the gourd (symbolizing the inner landscape of alchemy), I admire eternal spring,
Illuminating the original, true face.
Long have I understood the supreme Dao beyond the dust,
Yet in this world, I’ve met no kindred soul.
Leisurely, I plant jasper trees in the Mystic Garden (Xuanpu, a celestial realm),
When thirsty, I drink from the sweet springs of Hua Pool (Huachi, a mythical pond).
Let the seas turn to fields and fields to seas—
The scenery of the immortals renews itself through all seasons.
Third Poem:
The great Dao endowed me with pure nature,
Adrift like duckweed, neither west nor east.
With a tranquil mind...
The poems from the Dongyuan Collection describe the spiritual states and essential methods of Daoist cultivation.
The fourth poem speaks of how practitioners must untangle worldly entanglements to clarify the mind. By forgetting desires and purifying the six senses, the divine spirit (Shen) naturally guides the heart. Mastering the key to practice—the "bellows" (a metaphor for breath regulation techniques)—one refines an indestructible diamond body, transcending the need to weep like a lonely ghost before graves.
The fifth poem explains that by not clinging to worldly possessions and thoroughly comprehending the Dao (the Way), one severs mundane attachments. Like withered wood sprouting new buds or cold ashes rekindling, understanding the wondrous principle of emptiness dispels fear of fleeting time. Pitiable are those who squander their lives, unaware until their temples turn white.
The sixth poem describes the freedom after breaking free from worldly cages. Wine, lust, wealth, and anger are illusions; serenity and harmony are the foundation. Seeking the elixir of immortality among mortals and companions of cultivation beyond the seas, one hooks the "golden turtle" (symbolizing attainment of the Dao) and reclines leisurely among white clouds.
The seventh poem recounts decades of cultivation, with an inborn indifference to power and wealth. The breath stretches long like a turtle’s, the mind deep as a secluded valley. When the fire in the Dantian (energy center) is perfected, golden chrysanthemums bloom (a Neidan, or internal alchemy, term), and jade-like fluid warms in the lead cauldron (alchemical furnace). These celestial secrets are hard to share—only gratitude remains for the grace of the sun, moon, and stars.
The eighth poem speaks of attaining the "mysterious pearl" (the inner elixir), fulfilling one’s life and adapting effortlessly to all circumstances. Tearing apart the net of life and death with bare hands, one leaps free from the pit of fame and profit. Guarding the "gate of exchange" (the mouth) ensures the undying spirit (Shen). Resting high in celestial grottoes, one pities mortals scrambling like ants for fleeting reputations.
The ninth poem declares no envy for high office or wealth—those destined to awaken to the Dao find it not difficult. Harmonizing Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) stabilizes longevity; restraining passions brings peace to body and mind. Unlocking the "three essential gates" (eyes, ears, and mouth) refines the ninefold-transmuted elixir. Its flavor cannot be measured by worldly values.
The tenth poem teaches that cultivation is not confined to mountains or cities—wherever wild clouds drift, one finds ease. Dragons hide in mists atop Mount Kunlun; tigers roar in windswept caverns. The determined may tame the golden phoenix (symbolizing spiritual achievement), while the aimless dart about like wild foxes.
Eleventh Verse
Cultivating the essence (Jing) requires genuine skill—without it, maintaining youthful radiance (the jade-like countenance) is impossible. Those who truly comprehend the profound Dao (the Mysterious Origin’s Ultimate Way) understand the principle of returning to simplicity (the Great Uncarved Block), thus steadily ascending back to the immortal realm.
Twelfth Verse
To whom shall I transmit the secrets of immortality? Alas, most mortals remain mired in worldly attachments—obsessed with spouses and children, yet ignorant of fortifying their roots and deepening their connection to the Dao. Internally, they deplete the vital energies of their five organs (the foundation of spirit), and externally, they betray the grace of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity (the Virtue of Dao). Watching these deluded souls, who shun the immortal path, one sees only their inevitable descent into the dust of mundanity.
Thirteenth Verse
The path to immortality and the celestial palaces (Jade Palaces) are not distant—it is the seekers who fail to awaken to their true nature. They cannot even recognize the elixir of Mysterious Frost or the lunar cinnamon (symbols of transcendence), instead dragged astray by wild-horse-like delusions and monkey-like restlessness. If one could ride the azure duck (a celestial bird) through the heavens or stroll the jade groves astride a white deer, they would realize: the Great Dao lies within—why chase it blindly in the outer world with the lost?
Fourteenth Verse
Content with tranquility, live freely like a gnarled tree, untangled from worldly affairs. In the box lies the idle Seven-Star Sword (a ritual implement), on the shelf rests the treasured Three Sacred Texts (Daoist scriptures). The heart, pure as ice and snow, scorns wealth and rank; the will, lofty as flowing clouds, transcends emptiness. Beneath the thatched window, one pillows on the breeze in deep slumber—why envy the fleeting glories and shames of the red dust?
Fifteenth Verse
Wash away the filth of desire and swiftly return to pristine nature. Recognize your original true face—do not linger over the beauty of home, but follow the immortal of Red City (a celestial being). Forge the elixir of immortality in the Mysterious Furnace, refining an indestructible form. Henceforth, wander freely through moon palaces and star towers, your golden visage ever fresh across ten thousand kalpas.
Sixteenth Verse
Neither monk, layman, nor Confucian—only leisure and boundless freedom. Long have I seen through the truth beyond life and death (the dual cultivation of nature and life), knowing glory is but drifting smoke. The mind, a bright moon, illuminates heaven and earth; the body, a lone cloud, rolls and unfurls at will. Roaming the cosmos in untrammeled joy—this is true happiness, unburdened by worldly troubles.
Seventeenth Verse
Take the wondrous medicine of Emptiness (Neidan), and your spirit will glow with youthful vigor. Wisdom shines like a clear sky; body and mind stand firm as Mount Tai. The herbs of the four seasons bloom fragrantly; the light of ten thousand kalpas is serene. If mortals could live thus in their daily lives, they would be joyful immortals leaping between heaven and earth.
Eighteenth Verse
Do not be misled by heretical paths—how many cultivators truly grasp Wuwei (non-action)? Sever passions to preserve purity—why endure hunger and cold through forced austerity? Silently achieve the flawless fruit (perfection), continuously nurturing the new life (Neidan attainment). When merit is complete, bid farewell to the mortal world and ascend astride a crane.
A true cultivator of the Dao must never pursue Waidan (external alchemy, referring to immortality through ingesting elixirs), for this only depletes one's Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) without hope of recovery. As the five thousand words of the Dao De Jing teach, one should contemplate the laws of the heavenly Dao within. Throughout the twelve double-hours of the day, nourish your Jing, Qi, and Shen (spirit) to maintain eternal youth. True joy lies in contentment with simple living, like Yan Hui who found peace in poverty—your heart should soar as freely as a white crane among the clouds. How could those entangled in the pursuit of fame and wealth ever understand this boundless freedom between heaven and earth?
Live each day in harmony with fate, without forcing outcomes, and devote yourself to inward cultivation. The celestial music of immortal abodes bears no resemblance to worldly melodies, and the vistas within the "heaven and earth of a gourd" (the profound inner realm of cultivation) transcend the cycles of seasons. The golden nectar of the Peach Banquet and the rainbow robes bestowed by immortals cannot be bought with riches. Does the true Dao distinguish between poverty and nobility? Yet who in this dusty world is willing to relinquish their myriad attachments?
Having seen through the truth of life's cycles, I care not for others' envy. I shall forge a path to longevity, seeking kindred spirits who transcend the mundane. In tranquil pavilions, I leisurely admire the scenery; in secluded palaces, I celebrate the completion of my cultivation. After drinking the tihu (symbolizing the wisdom of enlightenment), intoxicated with spiritual awakening, how could worldly troubles still linger in memory?
How laughable are those chasing petty gains—a true man should aspire to perfect enlightenment. Let the pure breeze and bright moon fulfill the Three Joys (celestial joy, earthly joy, and human joy), and spend this life amidst ten thousand acres of misty radiance. With discerning eyes and a heart of wisdom, I, a celestial sojourner, view the mortal masses as roadside weeds. When the day comes for my return to the Mystic Capital, I shall soar like the great roc, ascending ninety thousand miles.
The light of my primordial Shen illuminates the isle of Penglai, where the Three Sacred Mountains (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou) hold deeper truths of cultivation. My cloud-like meditation chamber remains spotless, and the sea of awareness in my spiritual platform is naturally clear. When my body blooms with auspicious light and true fire (a Neidan term referring to primordial Qi) circulates through my being—once this skill is mastered, I shall join the Five Elder Star Lords in contemplating the mysteries of primordial essence.
Even if you possess the wealth and power of Shi Chong (the extravagant Western Jin tycoon), you cannot escape the chains of life and death. Fleeting gains arise from delusion—how can mortal minds fathom the profound mechanisms of the Dao? True spiritual powers transcend time, and the pure Yang Qi (the highest state of cultivation) dispels calamities. When merit is complete and the mortal shell cast off, I shall ride a phoenix to the jade towers of paradise.
Though dwelling humbly in a thatched hut, my name is already recorded in the Great Luo Heaven (the highest Daoist celestial realm). I once wished to spread the Dao beyond the seas, but this world lacks worthy companions. The immortal's fire dates and jade nectar cannot be shown to mortals; golden hooks and fragrant bait (symbolizing worldly temptations) are but illusions. This earthly realm was never meant for prolonged stay—better to gather my belongings and return to the immortal homeland.
These poems from the Dongyuan Collection primarily admonish people against indulging in worldly pleasures, urging them instead to cultivate their nature and pursue the Great Dao (the Way).
The twenty-sixth poem states: Many people obsess over managing farmland to chase wealth and status, oblivious to their own graying hair and aging faces. Though they occasionally give alms to the poor, their hearts remain filled with wicked thoughts as countless as river sands. Instead of cultivating wisdom and seeking the path of immortality, they indulge in greed and anger like yakshas (malevolent spirits in Buddhism). Once they lose their human form (i.e., die), they forfeit the chance to practice, and the celestial sages sigh for them in secret.
The twenty-seventh poem advises: Do not lose yourself in the empty fame and fleeting profits of debauchery. Constantly examine your body and mind, seeking transcendence. Maintain a pure and simple life, rejecting opportunistic schemes. Refine yourself like an alchemist (terms like Ding, Ren, and Jia refer to alchemical processes), harmonizing your spirit (Shen) and vital energy (Qi) daily. Do not claim there is no proof of cultivation—the celestial registers in the Nine Heavens have already recorded your name in secret.
The twenty-eighth poem explains: Once you comprehend the Huangting Jing (a key Daoist scripture), you can reflect on the mysteries of life within yourself. The true Qi (vital energy) in your body stands firm like a pillar upholding the heavens, while the Dantian (the "crescent moon furnace," referring to the lower energy center) shines with serene radiance. Drunk on immortal wine, you recline in celestial palaces, wielding the torch of wisdom to roam the Great Void. In truth, everyone has a shortcut to immortality—it is only their foolish ignorance that keeps them from believing.
The twenty-ninth poem warns: Procrastinating and neglecting cultivation while entangled in worldly thoughts only creates karmic burdens. Failing to accumulate virtue (De) in the world of the living leaves no doubt that you will suffer in the underworld after death. Only by abiding in primordial chaos (referring to the state of Wuwei, or non-action) can calamities be avoided, and only by preserving your innate brightness can you remain ageless and undiminished. Looking back, the path of cultivation is actually quite smooth—you will eventually fulfill your appointment in the Land of Huaxu (an idealized Daoist paradise).
The thirtieth poem points out: To those seeking the Dao, do not search everywhere—the wondrous true nature can be seen in all things. The palace of your own mind (referring to the inner spiritual world) is vast indeed; mountains, rivers, and the great earth are not so deep. The winds and clouds in your chest can transform into auspicious signs, and the stars within you can turn into true gold. Though the Four Seas are vast, you may find no kindred spirit—only in solitude can you listen to the soundless music of the Silent Sun (Liaoyang, representing stillness).
The concluding passages add: Close the Earthly Gate (referring to the lower orifices) and open the Heavenly Gate (the upper orifices)—the iron tree blossoms from a unique root. White Snow (symbolizing the spirit, Shen) and Yellow Sprouts (symbolizing primordial Qi) converge within, while the Golden Crow (the sun) and Jade Rabbit (the moon) circulate inside. Let the ignorant perish—the Dao of clarity and emptiness endures forever. Spread compassion and skillful means widely, so that in time you may return to the Purple Mansion (the celestial realm) to repay your master’s kindness.
Finally, borrowing the rhyme scheme of Tao Yuanming’s Returning Home, it concludes: In the past, I awakened to the profound Dao; with merit (De) fulfilled, I ascended to the grotto-heavens. Who can decipher these cryptic verses? What use is empty fame passed down through the ages? Riding the clear wind to ascend in broad daylight is not the true Dao; playing with the moon in the azure heavens does not make one a true immortal. Only by thoroughly penetrating the formless principle of Xiyi (from the Daodejing: "Looked at but unseen, it is called 'formless'; listened to but unheard, it is called 'soundless'") can one achieve a truly auspicious destiny.
This passage depicts the spiritual realm of Daoist practitioners who transcend worldly concerns, return to pristine simplicity, and attain a state of unfettered harmony with the Dao through inner cultivation.
The cultivator yearns to return to the "land of nothingness" (referring to a transcendent state beyond mundane existence), comprehending the true essence of the "subtle and imperceptible" (as described in the Daode Jing to characterize the Dao's mysterious nature). He avoids creating enmities, speaks with measured words, understanding how spoken words cannot be taken back. He sweeps away traces of worldly disputes, washes clean notions of right and wrong from past and present, contentedly adapting like a quail to any circumstance, finding joy even in coarse hemp garments.
The adept foresees omens of events and perceives subtle transformations. He views heaven and earth as a turning wheel, the four seasons in perpetual motion, while he himself roams freely through the vast cosmos, diving into the mysterious gate of the Dao. Maintaining his original simplicity, his heart-mind remains clear as water, nourished by De (Virtue) as his food and the Great Dao as his wine. His actions accord with ritual yet adapt flexibly; inwardly rejoicing in the Dao, his countenance radiates serenity. Abandoning excessive compassion and frugality, only through detachment and tranquility can true peace be attained.
The practitioner excels at guarding the root, requiring no external protection. He constantly maintains three joys (possibly referring to contentment, desirelessness, and solitary contemplation), preserving a pure mind free from cravings. Embracing the cosmos within his bosom, he smiles at worldly comings and goings, yearning for the refined elegance of Mount Guye (legendary abode of immortals), lingering by the Liao River's banks. He admonishes himself against worldly associations like the mundane Zang Gu, maintaining instead his authentic nature in constant contentment.
Seeing through life's dreamlike illusions, the cultivator attains true joy beyond sorrow. He penetrates the philosophy of Zhuang Zhou's butterfly dream, upholding noble aspirations while gathering rare herbs in the fields and fishing under moonlight. Like "Xiang Wang" (the Zhuangzian character who attains the Dao through effortlessness) obtaining the Mysterious Pearl (symbolizing the Great Dao), he encounters kindred spirits like Master Huqiu. With the sword of wisdom, he severs the net of doubts, cleansing worldly afflictions in clear streams.
The adept comprehends life as floating clouds and death as rest. Aligning with nature's flow, accepting his temporal fate, he understands time's fleeting passage like a white steed glimpsed through a crack. Only through purity can the Great Dao be accomplished. He maintains integrity without harming others, keeps faith without harsh demands. A single spark of spiritual light manifests naturally, like ten thousand acres of cloud-fields needing no cultivation. Through "sitting in forgetfulness" (a Daoist meditation method), he transcends physical form, moving spirits to compose poetry. Regarding all things as one, he wanders freely within the Great Dao, forever beyond doubt.
Regarding the "staff" section: This describes no ordinary walking stick of bamboo or wood, but a wondrous object embodying the qualities of emptiness and uprightness. It can part misty clouds, strike mountain valleys, pierce spring's vitality; when drawn horizontally it manifests numinous power, even causing spirits to bow. This staff guides phoenixes, extracts fragrant mists from magical fungi, opens jade grottoes for phoenix nests. Like the enlightening effect of ghee, though lacking concrete tree-form it contains the creative power of celestial bodies, resembling the Bodhi tree in the Seven Treasures Grove. This staff symbolizes the practitioner's transcendent spiritual state and marvelous numinous capacities.
This scripture depicts the realm and experiences of a Daoist practitioner comprehending the true Dao. The opening uses "jade palaces and crystalline waves" as metaphors for the practitioner's purified mental state, suggesting that genuine cultivation lies not in external appearances but in the natural expression of one's innate purity after relinquishing attachments. The achieved state resembles an emaciated jade dragon transcending worldly dust, keeping company with immortals.
The middle section describes how through awakening, the practitioner's mind becomes thoroughly unimpeded. This enlightenment blazes like a roaring fire illuminating the world, yet its profound mystery defies verbal expression—just as a wooden puppet pointing at white clouds can only be intuitively understood. The true wondrous method of compassion resides not in words but in the inner moon-like clarity and furnace-like purity of one's being. The author claims original identity as a great awakened being, fortunate to comprehend the ancestral master's Chan methods and return to natural authenticity.
The latter portion portrays the practitioner's state of effortless freedom upon returning. Here, sacred realms manifest everywhere spontaneously—not through forced effort but with the natural ease of Thousand-Armed Guanyin. True spiritual treasures transcend verbal transmission, and sentient beings often fail to recognize Tathāgata's true nature. The practitioner enjoys genuine leisure and joy, carefree as a wren, where after the last lute note fades, only evergreen mountains remain.
The concluding "wondrous form of true emptiness" passage summarizes: The true Dao-body is ethereally sublime—unadorned, eternally abiding yet rarely recognized. Its pure radiance illuminates the Three Realms, responding to circumstances without attachment. Ancestral masters realizing this become golden immortals. It remains eternally pure, neither increasing nor decreasing—yet pitifully, sentient beings fail to understand, vainly seeking externally. Visiting mountain sages proves equally futile; better to return alone enjoying spring breezes, leisurely reclining against plum branches under the moon.
I enjoy drinking, but only the true immortal wine (referring to the nectar produced during Neidan internal alchemy practice). This wine needs no worldly embellishments—its brewing requires only the finest genuine ingredients (symbolizing the essential Jing, Qi, and Shen for cultivation). One must possess luminous alchemical skill (spiritual mastery) to harmonize Yin-Yang within the jade crucible (Dantian energy center, where "Mao-You" represents east-west directions symbolizing cosmic balance). Adding water and fire (breathing techniques) according to the celestial timing, the resulting elixir is called jade nectar—drinking it preserves eternal youth, undying beauty, and endless blessings. Inebriated, one forgets heaven and earth; awakening, one sits alone in the Great Void, parting the mists to observe the stars, becoming an immortal in drunken ecstasy, with a body enduring as mountains and seas.
I appreciate beauty, but only true beauty (symbolizing Yin-Yang union in alchemical practice). Through cultivation, the body continuously generates essence (the "Red Phoenix" represents heart-mind, the "Black Turtle" signifies kidney-essence), joyfully merging in the Palace of Five Illuminations (the head). Without instruments, the eight tones naturally harmonize (indicating unobstructed energy channels), delighting even the "Yellow Matron" (spleen-earth). When Yin-Yang unite like reunited spouses, through ninefold refinement of the Golden Elixir, they forge a jade infant (the inner elixir). This golden countenance shines solemnly, ripening best in crimson chambers—instantly realizing the Great Dao, with divine powers beyond measure. In the Hua Xu paradise (utopian realm), one roams freely in Wuwei non-action, singing mysterious Daoist hymns.
I crave wealth, but only true wealth (the "Dharma treasures" of cultivation). Such riches liberate from rebirth cycles. Shi Chong's golden valley pales before my family's jewels (inner elixirs), known to few. Within silver-grottoes and azure-cloud mounds lie boundless jade treasures (alchemical resources); phoenixes encircle pavilions atop brocaded cushions. I build a celestial terrace (upper Dantian) adorned with peaches of immortality, osmanthus, and lingzhi mushrooms—where eternal spring blooms regardless of seasons. Harnessing dragon-tiger (lead-mercury) and summoning wind-thunder (celestial circulation), I tour jade branches across all realms. This estate exists solely to host fellow seekers, communing with transcendents beyond form.
The "breath" I contend for is primal Qi (innate vital energy), not mundane post-heaven Qi that merely nourishes spleen-stomach. In silent chaos, I guard the harmonious Qi (neutral state), tending the unbroken furnace-fire (Dantian's true flame). Penetrating creation, it births Yin-Yang and nourishes all beings. This vast Qi connects heaven-earth; within the gourd-crucible (Dantian), misty auspicious signs appear. Utterly pure yet supremely potent, it steams the dharma-body in perpetual health. From emptiness condense five-colored crystalline Qi (five energies uniting at the origin), forging a Yang-pure form beyond materiality. Where does it ultimately return? To the Dragon-Flower Assembly in the Hall of Primordial Chaos (the supreme realm of Dao-realization).
The cowherd (metaphor for cultivator) dons a bamboo hat in spring breezes, dons straw-raincoat under twilight skies. At leisure, molding sandcastles and clinking tiles in laughter. Seeking hidden vistas through herbal games, riding oxen in unhurried strides. Hair loosely tied in carefree grace, true mastery shines through unrestrained ease.
The "Song of the Full Belly and Swollen Stomach" paints a vivid scene of a hermit's life: with a belly distended from a hearty meal, one strolls five or seven miles playing a flute, casually blowing a few notes. Calling out to companions on the path, together they swat at flying insects. Content with idle amusement, who cares for worldly glory or disgrace? Like a horse herder guiding the way, they emulate the immortal Chuping (legendary for turning stones to gold) in playful stone games. Resting their heads on mountain mist, they chant poetry on the return journey until dawn. Passing through the woods, they gather rabbit traps and rinse their hat ribbons in the stream. Frolicking all day in the grass, they spend their lives singing woodcutter’s mountain songs. Just as King Xuan of Zhou once prophesied, the imperial legacy will one day be restored to glory.
"Mock Orange" is a lyrical ode to the fragrant mock orange blossoms blooming as spring wanes: as the season fades and flowers wither, the mock orange planted by the Daoist adept (羽客, yu ke) comes into its prime. Auspicious cloud-like buds cluster on branches, heavy with blossoms dangling among green leaves. Petals like snow yet layered with calyxes, their texture tender as butter. Buds unfurl by the small railing, jade-like stamens glowing against sparse fences. Swaying gracefully in the breeze, their beauty shines even brighter under the moon. Their fragrance draws admiring visitors, nature’s adornment given without stint. Perfect for the refined scholar’s gaze, they need no validation from bees or butterflies. Their spirit springs from the finest springtime, their elegance surpassing other blooms. Scent clings to sleeves, their shade outshines embroidered curtains. Who else treasures these fleeting spring days? Only I keep this floral rendezvous. Marvelous, truly marvelous—don’t compare them to common red or purple flowers!
"Lament on the World" is a cautionary poem opening with three "Do you not see?" refrains: Do you not see time flying, day and night spinning like a wheel? A hundred years pass in the snap of fingers—in a blink, oceans turn to mulberry fields. Do you not see leaves falling from branches? Life is but a white steed’s shadow—how long can it last? Like sparks from stone, a candle in the wind, or foam on water—what’s worth fighting for? Like the ants warring over a snail’s horn (a Zhuangzi allegory), chasing gaudy fame, greed thick as gruel. Toil and trouble must end—don’t wait to be shamed like the immortal Yunyang (punished for his avarice). Drowning in wine and flowers wastes the spirit, like silkworms weaving their own cocoons. Who will enjoy amassed wealth? In death, all turns to dust. Alas, the cicada (蟪蛄, huigu) and morning mushroom (朝菌, zhaojun), here one moment, gone the next, worn away unseen by the seasons, withering without achievement. Mayfly lives are like puppet shows, all tricks pulled by strings—snap the threads, and nothing remains but a knowing laugh. Read the Zhou annals and Tang records—countless died chasing rank and fame. Where are ancient heroes now? All lie with foxes at Mount Beimang. Better to roam free in mist and glow, swinging the three-foot sword Mo Ye to slay demons. By the fence, plant chrysanthemums like Tao Yuanming; in the garden, grow melons like Shao Ping (the Qin recluse). A heart pure as ice and snow, a will sturdy as pine and bamboo.
This passage depicts a recluse's transcendent attitude toward life and his serene state of mind. It opens with the allusion to the "Yellow Millet Dream" (a metaphor for illusory wealth and honor), suggesting how laughable worldly riches appear once seen through—he can sleep peacefully in his humble thatched hut with a simple earthenware pillow. The constant fragrance of aloeswood accompanies him, while emerald-green mountains rise in the distance wreathed in mist. No need to wonder why he lingers by Lake Dongting (a sacred Daoist site), for wherever white clouds drift becomes his home.
The text then portrays the delights of reclusive life: resting at will with arms as pillows, grateful to heaven for this leisure, envying no official's high position or generous salary. After meals, he moves unhurriedly, forgetting all worldly concerns, stretching freely in his pine-shaded pavilion or thatched cottage, sweet as honey. Autumn paulownia leaves rustle, crickets chirp beneath his couch—like the ancient recluse Bian Xiaoxian (a famed Eastern Han dynasty hermit) who napped contentedly by day. Knowing heaven's mandate, he finds joy in poverty and the Dao, passing time with books. Though recalling the Duke of Zhou's dream interpretations, he no longer troubles his mind—his form like rotten wood, heart like dead ashes (symbolizing desireless equanimity)—sleeping soundly on his wicker bed, undisturbed by the babbling stream, soon drifting again into slumber, his spirit wandering the Hua Xu Kingdom (the legendary utopia visited by the Yellow Emperor in dreams).
Suddenly the scene shifts: pavilions half-hidden in willow shade, cool bamboo mats, tender lotuses dotting the pond. Scenes transform as years slip by; fame and achievement unrealized, the Yellow Millet Dream dissolves (symbolizing vanished glory), leaving only sighs. Remembering Patriarch Chen Tuan (styled Xiyi, the renowned Five Dynasties Daoist) who secluded himself in Three Peaks Mountain—ancient caves veiled in clouds yet disdainful of the mundane world, his noble reputation echoing through eternity. Better to retreat early to cloud-wreathed streams—what are wealth and status worth? Following Tao Yuanming's "Return Home!" ode, companioning youths by eastern hedges. Why care whether Zai Yu (a Confucian disciple) met glory or disgrace? Sleeping soundly in cloud-like chambers. The cold moon through latticed windows deepens his repose.
It concludes with "contentment in poverty": the village elder at peace with his simple life—spiderwebs in his cooking vessels, ants in his cauldron—yet sleeping undisturbed. Adjusting his tattered cap, buying wine with elm-seed coins, gathering fireflies to read by while sunning his back, using mustard stalks as boats to cross streams. Gathering ferns (like the hermits Bo Yi and Shu Qi) or gleaning grain, dwelling in reed-thatched huts in harmony with nature. Dust fills his room, coarse fare sustains him, sleeping fragrant grasses spread on earth, no cooking smoke arising. An old vine serves as staff—only by maintaining such detachment can one attain true carefree wandering.
This Daoist cultivator leads a life of poverty yet perfect contentment. Dwelling in a humble alley far from worldly clamor, he embraces simplicity like the ancient recluse Yuan Xian (Confucius' disciple renowned for finding joy in poverty). He mends his torn clothes with wild grasses, quenches his thirst with clear spring water, and writes poetry on fallen leaves. Though receiving no patronage from wealthy families, he finds profound happiness in life's simple pleasures.
Moving with effortless spontaneity in harmony with nature, he remains aloof from mundane affairs. Sometimes he plays like a seagull by the riverbank, other times strums the qin and sings with fishermen and woodcutters. Neither ashamed of his impoverished circumstances nor prideful before riches and honors, he resembles the old fisherman who forgets to reel in his line, or the carefree youth wandering through spring fields—clad in coarse hemp yet feeling abundantly rich.
Within his modest courtyard, all worldly worries dissolve as he sustains himself on simple purple taro. Carving out small paths for leisurely strolls, his spirit soars like the legendary Peng bird across the nine heavens. Playing short bamboo flutes to express his feelings, he maintains a childlike heart. Seeking no worldly rewards, he considers serene leisure life's greatest treasure.
Like ancient sages bathing in the Yi River, he discards his gourd dipper when noise offends him. Preserving his original simplicity like uncarved wood, he conceals his brilliance in turbulent times. Through winter's chill he maintains his integrity like willow branches standing resilient against the bleakness. Husband and wife till their fields together, too indifferent to bow for meager salaries. Content to water gardens with an ancient clay vessel, he discovers joy in life's elemental rhythms.
Disdaining gold and silver, he devotes himself to nurturing De (Virtue). Galloping like a steed toward distant horizons, he laughs at petty men scrambling for fame. Delving into profound mysteries while celebrating eras of peace, he observes the world with detachment—like Wang Xizhi contemplating geese or the Zheng man losing his deer (alluding to the ephemeral nature of gains). Deeply rooted, he never "pulls up sprouts to help them grow."
Resolving conflicts with composed ease, he cultivates his nature and accepts destiny joyfully. Moving through life as carefully as filling wall cracks, his great wisdom appears as foolishness. Like a cicada shedding its skin or a hunchback gathering tiles (symbolizing everything finding its proper place), he flows with nature's course, comprehending the unity of all things. Sighing at worldly struggles as trivial as snails fighting over horns, he quietly observes migrating birds. Preferring to plow fields with old farmers rather than serve beneath others.
Listening to phoenix pipes (celestial music) beyond the clouds, he leans on his staff to admire spring's colors. Crafting wooden kites for amusement, he finds contentment playing a stringless qin. When his cultivation reaches completion, he'll need no phoenix-drawn chariot—soaring upward by his own power when the time comes.
Vol. 4
In the first month of the Zhengtai Xinyou year (Jin dynasty era name), on the fifteenth day, Master Changquan of Mount Gui (Daoist name) fled the ravages of war to the ancient Tang region (modern Shanxi area), taking refuge in the fields of Biyang. He dwelt behind a wicker gate in a thatched hut, wearing a hat of mulberry bark and coarse hemp robes, subsisting on coarse rice and wild vegetable soup, his face swollen and haggard. Appearing foolish yet seemingly incomplete, he withdrew his sharp edges like a homeless wanderer, sitting in solitary gloom as if having forgotten something. Listless and alone, he remained motionless like a block of wood, dull and withered like a dead ailanthus tree.
Suddenly, he raised his head and sang to the heavens: "How joyous is this life of seclusion!" At this moment, Kuoranzhi (Daoist name), a recluse from Yingchang seated nearby, rose and bowed, inquiring why he spoke thus. Changquan replied: "Have you not heard the Book of Changes say 'When the crane calls in the shade, its young answers it'? Only those who share the same aspiration can understand each other. You are no cultivator of the Dao—how could you comprehend words from beyond the mundane world?" Kuoranzhi's countenance changed as he retorted: "I've heard that noble men pursue the lofty while petty men wallow in the vulgar. Does your seclusion hold any principle, sir? Or is this mere self-deception? Do you know the pleasures of riverside living, the elegance of country life, the serenity of mountain dwelling?"
Changquan pressed further: "Since you speak of such wonders, why not elaborate?" Kuoranzhi then unfolded his vision: Dwelling by the river distances one from worldly clamor—reciting poetry amidst smartweed blossoms, finding contentment on duckweed isles. Using silkworm thread for fishing line, needle points as hooks, willow branches for rods, and crushed rice as bait to catch great fish in deep pools. Keeping company with clear breezes and flowing water, befriending gulls and egrets. Sometimes angling from stone shoals, other times casting nets in rushing currents. Dining on water shield soup and sliced fish, playing flute beneath the moon, wearing rain cloaks in misty drizzle. After gathering water chestnuts, rowing through maple groves; returning from washing feet to draw nets along indigo waters. Drifting with the current in perfect freedom, spending years in seclusion by willow-lined banks—is this not the joy of fishermen?
He continued describing rural elegance: Sustained by farming and silkworms, plowing green fields in spring, harvesting in eastern meadows come autumn. Strolling bamboo-lined streams, calling companions amid flowers, dwelling in thatched huts with children, watching chickens and dogs play by the firewood gate. Beneath pine shade...
This passage depicts the leisurely life of a recluse dwelling in mountain forests. Walking along moss-covered paths where woodcutters sing folk songs, he casually tills the barren land. Bamboo pavilions are enveloped by cloud-wreathed peaks, birds chatter in rain-freshened woods, while cattle return home at sunset. Spring brings its particular charm, with partridge calls often heard before village shrines—such pastoral existence embodies both serenity and refined elegance.
The mountain retreat offers countless joys: traversing misty clouds and winding streams, strolling stone paths and forest pavilions, far from worldly turmoil, free from mundane attachments. No longer pursuing fame and fortune, one simply delights in mountain springs and forest charms. Cultivating the mind by cliff edges, cleansing one's hat tassels in shallow brooks, reclining leisurely to hear apes cry beneath the moon, laughing by pine-shaded streams while watching deer carry blossoms in their mouths. The heart remains simple and unadorned, content with quietude—opening the door to find mist and clouds as companions, vine-covered bridges as neighbors. Sometimes climbing peaks to seek plum blossoms, sometimes brewing tea by clear flowing waters.
Majestic peaks tower among the forests, where grotto-heavens conceal eternal spring. Trees on cliffs twist like azure dragons, while stone walls wear mossy brocades. Here one may laugh proudly at the world, forgetting physical form—how could such reclusive life feel lonely? Compared to silently withering in dull confinement, is this not infinitely better?
Hearing this, Master Changquan pushed aside his desk and laughed: "When fools reject the wise and petty men shun the noble, this bodes ill. Without climbing Mount Kunlun, how can one know heaven's height? Without crossing rivers and seas, how fathom their depths? Pitiful are those with shallow vision—they know Pengzu's legendary longevity yet fail to comprehend early demise; they see a cartload of firewood but miss a single feather, discern autumn down yet overlook Mount Tai. In truth, heaven and earth are but a single finger, all creation just one horse—size, quantity, length, breadth all depend on one's perspective. Why then concern oneself with external valuations of worth or success?"
Startled, Master Kuoran exclaimed: "How profound this truth! Though I'm but a busy vulgarian ignorant of ritual ablutions, I would gladly learn—even if enlightenment came at death's doorstep at dusk." He then bowed respectfully to seek instruction. Master Changquan bade him sit and began teaching, his words like wood chips flying, waves surging, flowing naturally from the pure source to reveal the essence of reclusive living.
This passage depicts a transcendent attitude toward life and a state of being unbound by worldly concerns.
One neither seeks wealth and honor nor grieves over poverty and lowly status; neither rejoices in longevity nor laments a short life. Wearing coarse cloth yet feeling as warm as in fox fur, eating simple beans yet savoring the taste of fine rice and tangerines, dwelling in a thatched hut yet enjoying the shade of grand mansions, riding a humble cart yet feeling as comfortable as in a luxurious carriage. Such a person does not chase worldly gains as personal pursuits, nor considers governing the realm as a mark of prestige.
They do not, like Zhang Yi, drown in desires for fame and merit, nor do they, like Shan Bao, perish in the jaws of tigers while retreating to the mountains. Only those who attain this state can penetrate the mysteries of secluded living, wander freely through tranquil gateways, break free from the snares of worldly affairs, and distance themselves from human turmoil. Their movements are unrestrained—resting beneath tall pines, strolling leisurely through the countryside, sipping wine while softly chanting, or climbing terraces with a walking stick.
They sweep moss from their courtyard, plant peach and plum trees along the path, pass time on level highlands, and savor the serenity by a quiet stream. Liberated from the shackles of fame and profit, they revel in the wind and moon with carefree ease. Dwelling in solitude, with few visitors, they dress comfortably and gaze upon distant dreams upon waking, only to find white clouds stretching endlessly beyond the window.
Each season—spring, summer, autumn, winter—brings its own joys. They build humble dwellings in the woods and raise walls in the open fields. Dust gathers on brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, yet all thoughts dissolve in an instant. At such moments, they stand aloof from worldly matters, ashamed of mere worldly wisdom, rooted in the origin of life, their understanding penetrating the Dao of Heaven.
Like hiding a mountain within deep marshes, a boat within valleys, or the world within the world itself—nowhere can it be found. They roam beyond the myriad transformations, arriving at the vast and formless wilderness. Even Fan Li (Chiyi Zipi) would not dare boast of the joy of boating, Zheng Zizhen would not presume to praise the pleasures of farming, and Tao Hongjing (Hongjing) would not claim sole enjoyment of seclusion in Zhongnan.
Those close to me are recluses like Beigongzi; those who befriend me are sages like Huang Dayuan; those who understand me are wise men like Pei Du; those who know my heart are Tao Yuanming; those who treat me generously are Wei Qiong; those who invite me are Xu Mian. Facing fine days and beautiful scenes, I remain at ease in my simple dwelling, free from all attachments. Leaning on a staff and wearing straw sandals, I stroll to the pond to watch fish, or enter the woods to listen to birds.
This passage depicts an ideal Daoist lifestyle transcending worldly concerns. Practitioners find contentment in fleeting joys, opening the celestial gate (Tianmen) to commune with the heavenly Dao by purifying their minds (涤除玄览). Unlike Zhuangzi (alluded to through references to Zhengpu and Qiyuan) who rode the wind or dreamed as a butterfly, they recline leisurely by southern windows, stretching freely like serpents.
Body and mind enter an ethereal state: the physical form rests without fatigue, the heart remains empty and unattached, thoughts become lucid yet thoughtless, the spirit (Shen) grows profoundly unfathomable, and the breath (Qi) flows harmoniously in wuwei (non-action). This serene detachment perfectly aligns with the Dao, as if plunging into ninefold depths beyond worldly inquiries. Following nature's flow (猗移茅靡), practitioners attain supreme accomplishment within the silent mystery (希夷), reaching the most subtle realm—the true essence of reclusive living.
The text then describes the practitioner's liberated spirit: the mind encounters the Dao's profundity, sees through illusion, comprehends Yin-Yang transformations, transcends creation's boundaries, and surpasses distinctions of superiority. Free to advance or retreat at will, it soars to celestial heights and descends to earthly depths, permeating all existence. Riding winds to grasp the moon, it wanders through spring radiance on Mount Guye (legendary immortal abode), rests amidst lakeside flowers at Dongting Lake. Feeding on mystical herbs like mingjia, accompanied by lotus blossoms, drinking divine springs (神瀵), it feasts on rainbows and dew at Mount Yuanjiao (one of celestial islands). Whirling on cyclones (羊角扶摇) through Peach Blossom Spring, crossing Mount Chicheng, it flies beyond the Three Realms, wings beating across ninefold heavens.
Finally, contrasting worldly restlessness: in today's shallow age, mundane beings chase blossoms like butterflies, intoxicated by gaudy colors, flitting frivolously through pleasure quarters. Though appearing refined, their scattered minds inevitably drown in vulgar currents. True practitioners tread the void in transcendent joy—this is genuine xiaoyao (carefree wandering).
This scripture conveys two main themes: the first half describes the realm of spiritual cultivation and enlightenment, while the second half extols the life of reclusion.
The first half explains how ordinary creatures like grubs remain trapped in the mud, unable to transcend, but humans are different. Practitioners can suddenly awaken, achieving inner clarity to grasp the primordial light (referring to the source of the Dao), roaming freely even before the differentiation of chaos. They master profound mysteries, eliminate all flaws, act without being influenced by external things, and in stillness remain unaware of any governing force. Their spirit fills the cosmos, comprehending all things great and small while maintaining luminous purity. Such individuals understand that Wuwei (non-action) is true action and grasp the principles behind seemingly unreasonable phenomena. In the realm of emptiness, they hear faint insect chirps as loud as thunder; in darkness, they perceive tiny autumn hairs as vast as Mount Tai. This state is unfathomably profound—so wondrous that even skilled diviners cannot describe it, let alone ordinary people.
The latter half enumerates famous historical hermits: Lie Yukou (Liezi) dreaming of celestial auspices; Zhuangzi (the Perfected of Southern Florescence) calling himself a "wild man"; Cui Gong painting "Moth-Catching"; Zhou Fang's illustrations; Wang Wei's poetry; Zhang Junfang recording transformations within oranges; Lu Guimeng observing material metamorphoses. Changquanzi (the author's self-reference) humbly claims to be clumsily emulating these sages.
It then depicts the recluse's life: returning to authenticity, embracing simplicity. They neither cultivate fields nor roam rivers, dwelling instead in humble hollows. Recognizing life's finitude, they cease chasing endless pursuits. They neither imitate Bo Yi and Shu Qi gathering ferns nor follow Xu You's ear-washing (alluding to the legend where Emperor Yao offered Xu You the throne, but Xu considered it defiling and washed his ears). Like clouds drifting effortlessly from mountain peaks (as in Tao Yuanming's "Returning Home"), or Sima Xiangru inscribing his ambition on a bridge, or Zhang Liang picking up shoes for the Yellow Stone Elder (legend says Zhang received military texts after serving the old man). Some seclude in Zhongnan Mountains; others fish at Pu River—content in thatched huts, keeping company with ants. Some emulate Sun Deng's retreat at Sumen Mountain; others, like Li Bai, proclaim themselves "immortals of wine." Though their forms remain unseen, their virtue spreads afar. They shun court life, disdain officialdom, uphold noble integrity, and laugh amid clouds and mist. Clad in coarse hemp yet harboring jade; resting on stone by deep pools. They regard six-state ministerial seals as goose feathers and generous salaries as snail's horns. Transcending worldly dust, they wander freely between heaven and earth—dwelling among cliffs and gullies, willows at their gates and pines in courtyards, sipping fine tea, bathed in cool breezes. Along misty streams and moonlit fields, they stretch body and mind, resonating with primordial Qi (the vital energy of creation). Wearing kudzu scarves, holding feather fans and mottled bamboo staffs, they make mountains their home and the Dao-DE (the Way and its Virtue) their foundation—utterly unconstrained, hearts expansive. Aloof from worldly affairs, they enter emptiness between breaths, forgetting sorrows to the songs of fishermen and woodcutters.
The Dongyuan Collection passage depicts the lifestyle and cultivation principles of Daoist hermits.
The first section portrays the secluded existence of mountain recluses: wandering through villages and marshes in straw sandals, keeping company with cranes and apes, far from worldly clamor, living in tranquil self-sufficiency. A thatched gate shields against external disturbances, preserving inner peace. It advises abandoning the desires of the "four gates" (eyes, ears, nose, and tongue) and reflecting on the "three poisons" (greed, anger, and delusion), understanding the balance between advance and retreat. Historical figures like Yu Jun (a Jin Dynasty hermit) and Ma Ji (a seeker of kindred spirits) are cited, illustrating how true recluses—like Liang Hong (an Eastern Han hermit) and Ruan Ji (one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove)—transcend worldly concerns. The essence of reclusion lies in dwelling in secluded places, maintaining simplicity and authenticity, free from forced striving.
The second section, titled Vast Emptiness, depicts the realm of cultivation with unrestrained grandeur: a mind as expansive as heaven and earth, grasping the true meaning of the Daode Jing's five thousand words, riding the wind and clouds to roam the eight wildernesses. It speaks of wielding the sword Moye to slay demons, awakening from wine to find the world suddenly small. The passage paints scenes of lakeside moonlight, white cranes, and black apes—emblems of reclusion—lamenting how heroes of ages past turn to dust, while immortal towers endure. It concludes by urging detachment from worldly entanglements ("do not cast your fishing line upon misty waves"—a metaphor for abandoning mundane pursuits).
The third section, Entering the Dao, outlines essential cultivation principles: those who enter the Mystic Gate (Daoism) must follow its precepts, renounce vanity, relinquish attachments to spouse and children, and purge wicked thoughts. One must remain gentle and humble, shunning arrogance and luxury, while studying the principles of Yin-Yang. Meals should be simple ("a single thread, a single grain"), and integrity must be preserved. The mind should resemble solitary clouds and autumn waters—dwelling in mountain forests yet never severed from humanity. Content with poverty ("a bamboo bowl and gourd dipper" symbolizing modest fare), one remains steadfast. Neither coveting wealth nor harboring grudges, the heart stays empty and still, far from strife. Profound mystical truths must be thoroughly grasped, the pure innate nature preserved; through refining the body and clarifying the spirit (lianzhi chengshen), one transcends the ordinary. It states that all true immortals embody this—maintaining simplicity amid the radiant clarity of all things. Finally, it emphasizes that before attaining the Dao, one must "blend with the dust" (harmonize with the world), speak with the firmness of metal and stone, let virtue spread like fragrance, diligently study scriptures, and purge flaws—only then can the spiritual root and jade blossom (linggen yurui) be nurtured, ascending to the immortal palaces.
The celestial palaces of immortals need not be sought through forced striving. Alas! Nowadays many practitioners wear their hair in disheveled buns and don Daoist caps while merely reciting scriptures—how could they comprehend the true essence of cultivation? Some, having just left household life, presume to understand the great Dao, wasting their lives with restless minds, indulging in pleasures, harming others to benefit themselves. Upon what can such practice truly rely? Those who drift with the current—who among them can truly penetrate these mysteries? I write these words hoping later generations may avoid detours, practice with caution, and preserve their pure reputation untarnished.
(Addressing the Assembly)
Supreme virtue (De) is profoundly mysterious; the great Dao (Dao) is formless and imageless. It existed before heaven and earth, unbound by written words, its radiant clarity filling the ten directions, its pure luminousness circulating through the three realms. It governs infinite transformations, oversees the two qi (Qi) of yin and yang (Yin-Yang), while its essence remains eternally unchanging. Sadly, ordinary people burdened by karmic obstacles find this difficult to comprehend. They dismiss ancient methods while favoring modern learning, giving rise to deluded views; they stubbornly cling to meditation practices, establishing separate schools. Thus the originally complete supreme ultimate (Taiji) Dao becomes fragmented into various sects, as people drown in oceans of desire and delusion, unable to return to the source. Seeing these lost souls evokes profound compassion.
Therefore I widely open the gate of expedient means, using compassion as a ferry to deliver beings across the sea of suffering, helping them escape the six paths of rebirth. I guide them back to the true Dao, to reawaken to the primordial state before creation. Opening this pure sanctuary, practitioners may roam celestial palaces: upon jade terraces wreathed in five-colored auspicious clouds, I transmit the wondrous method of the golden elixir (Jindan); beside the palaces of the nine luminaries, I raise the light-containing precious sword. Moving freely between heaven and earth without constraint, both action and stillness accord with nature, returning to original simplicity. Only thus can one transcend life and death, achieve flawless perfection, dissolve distinctions between sage and commoner, and embrace all manifestations of emptiness and form.
Even when encountering such koan-like exchanges as "the clay ox bellows at the moon, the wooden horse neighs in the wind," these remain but playful Chan (Zen) wordplay. Within fiery dialogue one must perceive silent radiance—like smashing the golden-maned lion statue (a Chan parable), comprehending "one flower yielding five petals" (Chan lineage) and "the three profound essentials" (from the Zhouyi). Release the pliers and hammer of the Primordial Heavenly Lord (Yuanshi Tianzun), manifest the mystery of "Xiangwang obtaining the pearl" (Zhuangzi's allegory). Like Zhuangzi who retired to Zheng's garden, having long penetrated the Nanhua True Scripture (Zhuangzi).
Alas, seekers abandon roots to chase branches, failing to investigate the wondrous principle of emptiness—in vain they wear out straw sandals searching for what? Like hollowed stone lions infiltrated by fox drool (heretical views) that poison their marrow. How should such practitioners be guided? Today I'll sprinkle the medicine of Dharma upon the world, offering the ghee of supreme meaning to benefit those of keen faculties. Expounding our original face, pointing out present reality, I'll drop hints for those with karmic affinity. What melody is this transmitted mind-method? It transcends musical notes—it's the yang springtime beyond kalpas (truth transcending time and space).
This passage blends Daoist cultivation philosophy with the wisdom of tea ceremony, presenting spiritual attainment through poetic imagery.
The first half employs a series of metaphors to illustrate the essence of practice: like playing a stringless spring zither or blowing the natural music of heaven, it requires no artificial embellishment; akin to embroidering rainbow-feathered phoenixes with golden needles, only those who have awakened to the Dao (the Way) can grasp its profound mystery. The cultivator should draw water with a bottomless basket and witness iron trees blooming—transcending conventional understanding to reach a state of spontaneous harmony. Before the sacred Lingbao Peak (a Daoist holy site), one must let go of distracting thoughts and maintain purity and naturalness to suddenly comprehend the profound Dao, roaming freely between heaven and earth.
The latter half uses tea as a metaphor for the Dao, describing how the finest tea leaves (phoenix cakes and dragon balls) absorb the vital energy (Qi) of heaven and earth. After being plucked, ground, and brewed, drinking it can cleanse the delusions of the six desires (sensory cravings of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind). Like Lu Tong (Tang Dynasty’s Tea Sage) drinking seven bowls of tea, it brings a cooling clarity to the heart—precisely the daily practice of a Daoist cultivator.
The final section emphasizes the principle of cause and effect: virtuous households will reap lasting blessings, while wrongdoers ultimately face their own retribution. It points out how worldly people often drown in material desires, losing their true nature. Only the teachings of Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, founder of Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] Daoism) widely opened the gate of enlightenment, showing all beings the path back to their original purity. It admonishes people to diligently cultivate goodness, live with humility and compassion, and not wait until disaster strikes to regret their neglect.
This passage elucidates the cultivation method of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) through contemplating the symbolic meaning of the "golden lotus." Gold represents the fundamental nature, while the lotus symbolizes the origin of life. When our innate nature disperses, it manifests as myriad phenomena; when concentrated, it returns to its pure golden essence—like refined gold that remains eternally unchanging in substance yet adapts freely to circumstances. The golden lotus blooms with five petals (symbolizing the Five Phases: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), emitting a unique fragrance. Its splendor surpasses ordinary flowers, embodying the mysteries of creation and the profound interplay of Yin-Yang. As moonlight dances upon rippling water, practitioners who grasp this truth may walk with sages, accompanied by virtue (De), eternally abiding in the mysterious gate (Dantian), free from calamity throughout life.
The "Ode to Serene Leisure" section expounds the state of cultivation through stillness and non-action (Wuwei): While worldly people drown in turbidity, only Daoist practitioners maintain inner purity. Liberated from mundane shackles, they dwell in perpetual tranquility, unbound by trivialities, attaining spiritual awakening. True freedom comes from severing worldly attachments and apprehending celestial mysteries, planting the roots of Dao in the realm of emptiness. Preserving this serene nature leads to enduring vision—a mind clear as autumn water, movements natural as spring breeze. Practitioners should reflect all things impartially like a polished mirror, illuminate heaven and earth like the full moon, maintaining innate serenity with purified senses.
At the supreme stage, body and mind wander freely like lone clouds or wild cranes; subtle profundity hides like mountain valleys; thoughts cease as boats stored in gorges. The spirit roams the Great Void in crystalline freedom, utterly unperturbed by externalities, reaching the state where self and objects are both forgotten. This realm belongs not exclusively to sages—the key lies in relinquishing fame and gain. As the Zhuangzi (Nanhua Jing) states: "Great wisdom appears leisurely," while petty minds remain perpetually anxious. Those who practice meditation with desires or discuss mysteries burdened by worldly attachments may win fools' admiration but cannot escape the ridicule of discerning eyes. Authentic cultivation must begin from stillness, returning to one's true nature through serene leisure.
The essence of Laozi's (founder of Daoism) cultivation lies in attaining a state of ultimate emptiness while maintaining profound tranquility. As Yan Hui (disciple of Confucius) realized, one must completely relinquish attachments of body and mind, abandon sensory desires, and return the heart to purity. Only then can one attain the fruit of the Dao (the Way) and penetrate the profound mysteries of emptiness, thereby escaping the bitter sea of cyclic existence.
Observe the ants busily striving for survival or the moths rushing into flames—sentient beings flounder in suffering, yet few are willing to cultivate De (Virtue/Power). Better to abandon attachments early, return to stillness, and journey to the immortal realms to venerate the sacred.
This mystical essay expounds: The origin of the great Dao is unfathomably profound; only by opening a purified mind can one glimpse its mysteries. The gate of purity, once opened, reveals profound workings beyond comprehension; when the luminous true nature manifests, wondrous functions naturally become clear. True cultivation does not lie in verbal disputes nor in rigid adherence to formalized teachings.
The profound doctrines of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing: Jade, Upper, and Grand Purity—the supreme triad of deities) cannot be grasped through mere intellect; the awakening that comes like ambrosia cannot be forced by heroes or warriors. Those who truly awaken do so through innate wisdom, not merely through ascetic practice. The foremost task is to eliminate desires and relinquish attachments.
The immortal realm within the gourd knows no night—it is supreme and peerless; the scenery beyond this world remains eternally spring-like, pure and untainted. Alas, sentient beings remain deluded—though they may read countless scriptures, they cling to dogma, rigidly adhering to theories of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and Yin-Yang. Such conceptual knowledge only obscures their innate spirit; distinguishing between sage and mortal ultimately prevents them from reaching the true state. People nowadays chase appearances while abandoning the root of the great Dao—like rejoicing over illusory riches in a dream or trying to satisfy hunger with painted cakes, all is ultimately empty.
The true cultivator wears rough hemp robes yet harbors celestial mysteries within the heart. Simple and pure, they encompass the cosmic Dao and De. The enlightenment of immortals and sages never strays from this principle. This is the ladder beyond the mundane, the guiding thread that transcends the ordinary. Folded, it fits in a single palm; unfolded, it fills the vast cosmos. Neither in dullness nor in silence, it transcends the duality of Yin-Yang. Henceforth, abandon words and letters—like the bright moon illuminating the azure sky; nourish the Qi (vital energy) of emptiness and stillness—like white clouds drifting among mountain peaks.
The Dongyuan Ji scripture primarily critiques humanity's obsession with worldly affairs and their failure to return to fundamental truth, while revealing the profound methods of cultivating the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path.
The text observes how people, deluded by external distractions, exhaust themselves in ceaseless labor yet remain ignorant of the Dao's (the supreme truth in Daoism) mysteries. Few understand the secrets of the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the core concept of Neidan practice, symbolizing the essence of life), which surpasses the value of gold and silver. Practitioners must sever attachments to fame, profit, and disputes, abandoning indulgence in wine, lust, wealth, and emotional agitation. They should embrace tranquility as their foundation, root themselves in Yin-Yang, and draw upon the refined energies of heaven and earth.
The cultivation process unfolds as follows:
- Seizing the fire (referring to the timing of practice) when thunder first rumbles, awaiting the mutual nourishment of water and fire (Kan-water representing kidney essence, Li-fire representing heart-mind).
- The Jade Maiden (symbolizing yin-essence) rides a phoenix, while the Golden Elder (symbolizing yang-qi) drives an ox, planting the Yellow Sprout (nascent true qi).
- True qi roars at the Earth Gate (lower Dantian), while radiant clouds encircle the Celestial Court (upper regions).
- When the Four Symbols (Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, Black Tortoise) return to their positions and the Five Peaks (the five organs) gather their clouds, one may witness the Azure Lad (original spirit) crowned with spring orchids and the Red Child (pure yang body) draped in white silk.
The true secret lies in:
- The Crow and Rabbit (sun and moon) crossing palaces while the starry river reverses course.
- The Vermilion Bird growing still and the Black Tortoise sinking into slumber.
At advanced stages, practitioners behold mist rising from Jade Terraces, the Kun-fish transforming in the sea (symbolizing spiritual elevation), and hear the melodious songs of orioles. Such mystical states defy description—like Chang'e pounding herbs in the luminous Moon Palace or immortals sailing in celestial boats.
The essential techniques involve:
- Catching the horse (gathering medicinal qi) in the Cinnabar Grotto and drawing true water from the Great White Mountain.
- Making the purple cassia bloom amid clouds (qi sublimation) and the green pine bear fruit within the furnace (Golden Elixir formation).
Upon success, one sees parrots returning to their nests and mandarin ducks resting in peace, auspicious clouds drifting and sweet dew descending, cranes playing lutes and phoenixes weaving brocades.
Ultimately, refining the Golden Elixir—this spiritual treasure—concentrates countless divine manifestations in the Muddy Pellet Palace (upper Dantian). The practitioner transcends the mundane, riding a blue phoenix to ascend heavenward, receiving the Jade Emperor's decree, adorned with jade pendants and rainbow robes. They feast on peaches of immortality and cinnamon of the elixir, dwelling eternally in the Mystic Capital's divine realm, attaining the deathless state of everlasting life.
This Ode to the Eight Meanings of Chan expounds eight essential principles of Chan (Zen) practice, using poetic language to describe the state of Chan awakening.
The first principle teaches that Chan methods make no distinction between gradual and sudden enlightenment. The deluded remain forever separated, while the awakened realize it instantly. True awakening transcends temporal and spatial limitations—one attains the six supernatural powers (clairvoyance, clairaudience, etc.) yet remains unbound, liberated from the Three Realms (desire, form, and formlessness realms) while abiding in perfect wholeness.
The second principle states that practice need not deliberately seek either solitude or activity. The distinctions among the Five Chan Schools (Caodong, Linji, etc.) are all artificial constructs; even the so-called "One Vehicle" teaching is but an expedient means. The key lies in naturally revealing one's original mind, relinquishing all attachments—like the breeze through pines or a stone maiden's song, as spontaneous as a mountain shepherd dancing freely.
The third principle discusses the application of wisdom. Humans inherently possess luminous awareness; when conditions arise, respond accordingly while maintaining mental purity amidst external phenomena. Attaining this state allows complete integration of the Four Symbols (heavenly phenomena) and Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity)—like emerald waters flowing eternally undisturbed by froth, or steadfast green mountains unmoved by passing clouds.
The fourth principle addresses the realm of absolute emptiness. Truth transcends time, eternal and indestructible; those engrossed in sensory pleasures cannot comprehend it, while the awakened surpass dualities of being and nonbeing. This state resembles parting clouds to touch the stars, a silent zither producing wondrous notes while wooden horses neigh, or rare melodies in snowfall making jade dragons dance beneath the sea.
The fifth principle describes the state of universal illumination. There's no need to seek Bodhisattvas or Amitabha—the entire Dharma realm (the Buddhist truth-pervaded cosmos) manifests before you, with Chan present everywhere. Understanding this, one dwells in the mundane world untainted by worldly ties, facing desires without succumbing.
The sixth principle explains methods for guiding beings. Return to original simplicity—those clinging to textual doctrines are like millennium-old bone peddlers (symbolizing futility); only direct pointing to the mind brings ultimate realization. Then one may freely employ all skillful means, seeing white clouds, green mountains, emerald bamboo, and golden flowers as nothing but truth's manifestations.
The seventh principle speaks of complete accomplishment. Transcending all attachments to embrace the cosmos, even deliberately "holding up a flower" (referencing the famous Chan story) becomes superfluous, while scolding Buddhas and patriarchs remains misguided. True awakening makes lotuses bloom with every step; returning home, moonlight fills the boat—one's authentic demeanor instantly surpasses the Ten Bhumi stages of Bodhisattvahood, shattering illusions to enjoy celestial realms alone.
The eighth principle warns against contentious sophistry. Those comparing scriptures or dissecting koans (Chan anecdotes) fundamentally miss the exquisite truth—a hair's breadth deviation leads to thousand-mile errors.
This scripture expounds the essential teachings of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist cultivation. The main principles are:
A genuine cultivator must relinquish worldly desires, viewing fame and wealth as transient as bubbles on water. One should maintain inner purity and wisdom, emulating the cultivation methods of ancient sages. Practice should not be rigidly dogmatic—one must accumulate De (Virtue) extensively, performing good deeds outwardly while refining internal alchemy (Neidan) inwardly.
The practitioner should be content with poverty and humble circumstances without shame, take joy in charitable giving to aid the orphaned and elderly, and uphold noble integrity without bowing to power. This embodies the demeanor of a Quanzhen cultivator. One must comprehend the truth of universal emptiness, follow the teachings of Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin (two of the Eight Immortals), and uphold the profound principles of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi.
Through serene Wuwei (non-action) practice, one refines pure Yang Qi within the bodily crucible (metaphor for Neidan cultivation). Upon reaching this state, one transcends physical constraints, returns to original nature, and attains the most complete realization. Ultimately, like an immortal, one may ride a crane-drawn carriage to attend the celestial Peach Banquet.
The text concludes by criticizing those who chase fame, spread superstitions, and manipulate strange forces—pointing out they fundamentally misunderstand true mystery and only deceive ordinary people.
Those who understand karma may escape worldly troubles, yet often remain shackled by fame and fortune. To truly grasp life's essence, one must thoroughly comprehend the Way of emptiness.
No official glory compares to the carefree existence of an immortal. Farsighted people don't fret over immediate concerns, yet even the highest official rank pales before the freedom of celestial beings. What are golden seals and purple ribbons of court ministers compared to immortals dwelling in moon palaces and star towers? The wise resign from office to live in seclusion, while fools desperately chase officialdom. Zhang Liang avoided disaster by retreating to mountains, Fan Li escaped execution by sailing the five lakes. Knowing this truth, why pursue empty titles? Nothing worldly benefits body and mind like the pure bliss of immortality.
Those holding the highest offices, intimidating the realm while enriching their families and oppressing commoners—do they ever consider retribution? Addicted to worldly splendor, they never comprehend the immortal's truth. Dressed in finery yet accumulating sins, they'll inevitably face underworld punishment—while contented hermits cultivating the Dao surely reach Penglai's fairy isles.
Better to refine the Golden Elixir (Jindan), watching peach blossoms glow in sunset clouds, dwelling in the Five Elders' celestial halls while subduing dragons and tigers, resting on jade pillows beneath the seven stars while embracing moonlit clouds. Preferring the transcendent state of non-action (Wuwei) over the highest court positions—worldly jade hairpins and vermilion shoes are fleeting dreams, while the immortal's purple cassia and mushroom fields yield eternal harvests.
See how Qin palaces and Han gardens now stand as poplars amid fragrant grass; Chengdu's ancient walls remain only with peach blossoms and cuckoos. What use are amassed riches? How long can wives truly share one's bed? Even the worthiest chancellor can't match an immortal. Didn't Fan Li renounce his premiership to attain the Dao? Didn't Sakyamuni abandon his throne to realize the Great Way? Ill-gotten wealth floats like clouds; disloyal gains resemble broken sandals. Even possessing both ministerial and military honors can't compare to an immortal's solitary perfection.
Li Si's greed for power ended at Yunyang's execution ground, while the Yellow Emperor cultivated spiritual power to obtain the Mysterious Pearl at Red Water. This proves: only transcending worldly snares leads to immortal attainment. Sweep distracting thoughts like clearing smoke from the Dipper's mouth, let your heart hang like sun and moon on the Star Bridge. Forsake finite human arrogance for infinite celestial bliss at the cinnabar steps, wandering freely in the Purple Mansion. Alas! Mortals obsess over official ranks—the greedy face prison while the detached avoid downfall. What use are golden valley estates compared to the immortal realm?
This scripture uses the metaphor of the "sea of bitterness" to describe the entanglements of worldly desires, urging people to cultivate transcendence early. It states: Human existence is like a boundless sea of bitterness, where love and desire surge like turbulent rivers—both the wise and foolish, noble and humble drown in its depths. Since ancient times, few have escaped these waves of craving; even the most exalted remain fettered by emotional attachments.
The ancient Daoist sages like the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan Huangdi, revered as a primordial ancestor in Daoism) and Laozi (the founding sage of Daoism), along with Confucius who taught the Five Constant Virtues and Śākyamuni who expounded the Three Vehicles of Buddhism, all came like captains of dharma ships to rescue sentient beings. These four sages left behind profound methods to cross the sea of suffering, yet most people willingly drown in its murky currents.
Some indulge their nature and drift with the tide, while others remain shackled by worldly ties, unable to break free. Like fish swimming blindly in water or turtles struggling in mud, a lifetime passes in an instant, and the eternal night of delusion persists. Those mired in desire face endless calamities, while those who awaken transcend life and death. The wise understand when to withdraw, but the foolish cling obstinately to delusion their whole lives.
In truth, this sea of bitterness and the realm of immortals are one: delusion makes it a sea of suffering, while enlightenment transforms it into Penglai (the Daoist paradise). Vast waves may drown the ignorant, but towering billows cannot stain a clear mind. If one continues to revel in idle pleasures, when will they ever reach the shore? Without seeking the pure banks of liberation, how can they escape the path of death? Consider Fan Li (a Spring and Autumn period Daoist figure) who sailed to immortality, or Zhang Qian (the Han dynasty explorer) who encountered transcendence on his raft—both are living proof.
I urge all to turn back in time and cease drowning. Learn from the immortals of Yingzhou (the mythical island paradise), not the withered bones in the sea of bitterness. Those who heed this may gather mists and clouds into their sleeves while dwelling in green mountains, or grasp the sun and moon to ascend the far shore. Alas, most drift with the current, unable to free themselves—turbid waves and clear waters churn indistinctly. Why not cast off this bitter sea and journey instead to the Jade Pool and Golden Tower (the celestial palace)?
Mortals remain trapped in the "fiery courtyard" of familial duties: fools toil ceaselessly day and night, bound by worldly passions, driven by their children’s hunger and cold, exhausting body and mind.
This passage reveals the deluded state of people blinded by worldly desires and obsessed with pursuing fame and profit. Those with restless minds and endless worries spend their days scheming for personal gain at others' expense—their venom rivals that of snakes and scorpions, yet their methods of harming family members remain as concealed as mosquitoes drawing blood. Poverty or wealth are consequences of past karma, yet many so-called heroes today possess only empty reputations, flaunting themselves through deceit and cunning while indulging in extravagance and abusing power, utterly disregarding future retribution.
These individuals chase fame and fortune, willingly becoming seeds destined for the Three Evil Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and animals). They deceive heaven and earth, content to drift through the Six Paths of Rebirth. Obsessed with scheming and harboring countless wicked thoughts, they show no inclination toward virtuous paths, remaining completely unenlightened—truly pitiable seeds of hell. Most are stubborn and envious, amassing wealth through deception, bullying neighbors, harming the vulnerable, and filling their hearts with evil thoughts. They defile the sages, disbelieve in karmic retribution, and disrespect their elders.
Outwardly, they chant Buddhist scriptures and pretend to do good, yet they secretly stir up trouble without remorse, never abandoning their superficial knowledge or their habitual flattery and deceit. Like beasts trapped in nets, lost in confusion, or fish sinking in murky waters, they drown in suffering. When their evil karma reaches its limit, the King of Hell will swiftly pursue them, torturing them with iron rods and bronze hammers, tormenting them on mountains of blades and forests of swords, condemning them to eternal imprisonment in the underworld, wailing by day and weeping by night. Alas! If they fear such an end, they should awaken early, break free from the shackles of worldly attachments, and set foot on the path of immortality—returning to the hidden paradise within the gourd, meeting the Dao in the depths of Peach Blossom Spring.
People have long discussed the Dao, yet most merely engage in empty talk about abstruse principles. When discussing the Golden Elixir (Jindan, a Neidan term) and the Great Medicine, they expound on firing times (huohou) and celestial cycles (zhoutian), recklessly imparting teachings before practitioners and casually explaining profound truths to recluses and sages. Pitiable indeed! These people parade their shallow knowledge, indulging in verbal prowess—yet how can those chasing fame and profit ever attain purity? How can those addicted to wine and lust maintain fasting discipline? Though eloquent in preaching and sharp in debate, when they speak of the ancestral teachings of the Dao...
This scripture critiques those who feign Daoist cultivation while being hypocrites at heart, while also elucidating the true state of authentic spiritual practice.
Those who appear to cultivate the Dao are in fact inwardly arrogant—when questioned about Daoist methods, they feign deafness and evade. They show disrespect to both superiors and subordinates, treating the wise and foolish alike with contempt. When discussing poetry, they deliberately flaunt their knowledge of tonal patterns, and their speech is invariably peppered with archaic particles. Such individuals have no genuine interest in learning the Dao; they merely seek to earn their keep. They obfuscate the profound teachings of the Three Vehicles (referring to the superior, middle, and inferior paths of Daoist cultivation) with nebulous talk, using eccentric behavior to bewilder ordinary people—they are truly insolent fools.
The true Dao (referring to the supreme states of "Great Simplicity" and "Primordial Beginning") is supremely strong and vast, existing within emptiness yet transcending chaos, beyond the capacity of words to express. Merely discussing the mysteries of heaven, earth, and Yin-Yang is difficult enough; comprehending the movements of the stars and the arcane mechanisms of creation is even more challenging. Yet these people cannot even distinguish basic good from evil, right from wrong. They compose a trivial verse and boast about it everywhere, write a couplet and prattle on endlessly. Little do they realize that those who praise them to their faces sigh behind their backs. Those lost in delusion may read ten thousand volumes yet remain bound to life and death, while the enlightened, having realized the true Dao, roam freely amid mountains and streams.
Those who rely solely on sensory knowledge without seeking the true Dao abandon the simple joy of Yan Hui (Confucius’s humble disciple) only to emulate Yang Zhu (a Warring States philosopher) in pursuit of glory. They bewilder the masses with sweet words, wavering in their cultivation, shameless and sluggish as a lame turtle, yet fond of argument like a soaring dragon. Such people are only worth listening to occasionally—never engage with them deeply. Befriending them brings no benefit; studying their "teachings" is futile labor. They stir up trouble everywhere, defying heavenly principle; they contend aggressively in all matters yet fail to understand that refining the heart is fundamental. Devoid of compassion and reverence, they speak without restraint, recklessly judging others.
What, then, do true Daoist cultivators seek? Nothing more than the cultivation of heart and nature. Those with lofty aspirations should revere the true Dao, making cultivation their foundation while transcending worldly concerns. Profound Daoist mysteries require guidance from lofty masters; carefree adepts often conceal their brilliance. To break free from mundane fetters, cultivate joyfully. One may emulate Xu You (an ancient sage) by washing his ears and discarding his gourd to transcend worldly dust, or follow Zhang Guolao (one of the Eight Immortals) riding his donkey in playful detachment. True practice lies not in aimless wandering but in gathering celestial herbs (referring to Neidan internal alchemy). Renouncing fame and wealth is not for the sake of destitution; distancing from kin is to safeguard the Dao-mind.
Those who cultivate the Celestial Treasure (referring to the practice of innate primordial Qi) may withdraw from worldly affairs, being most suited to refining their physical form or immersing themselves in scriptural study. Their hearts operate like merchants adept at management, yet harbor noble virtue within. Radiant as the stars within, with aspirations so resolute—how could wandering the four quarters possibly harm their spiritual essence?
Admirable is the noble character of the gentleman, ever embracing the profound teachings of the Mysterious Gate. Like hermits, they roam freely across vast wildernesses, traversing elevated outskirts. Watching the setting sun sink behind green mountains, leisurely admiring emerald waters, they regard wealth and status as passing clouds, casting aside splendor as one would discard worn-out sandals. Why can the virtuous attain this state? Because those who cultivate the Dao achieve precisely this—neither seeking glory nor fearing disgrace, often content in poverty while serene in self-possession. Sometimes dwelling, sometimes journeying, they soar freely like solitary cranes.
In autumn and winter, they gaze upon the wilds, observing the flourishing and decline of all things; in spring and summer, they wander playfully, delighting in the variegated hues of a hundred flowers. Even possessing the utmost riches and honor—how could these compare to the joy of tranquil leisure? Thus, Chongxu (the state of empty transcendence) represents the highest virtue, while true immortals ride the wind beyond the dusty world. Those who fully comprehend the Way of Pure Yang yet dwell among mortals, selling ink in the marketplace (metaphor for hidden cultivation amidst worldly life).
Some say they wear tattered robes, donning straw raincoats and bamboo hats; some dwell secluded among mountain forests and spring-fed rocks, while others roam marketplaces yet remain untouched by worldly habits. Ordinary people struggle to discern them, yet these Dao cultivators find joy in their own way. Nurturing the aspiration of true perfected beings, they dwell in transcendent peace, ultimately destined to reach the Jade Emperor's celestial realm.
Steadfastly accumulating merit and virtue, they demonstrate the completion of their practice—no longer do body and mind wander aimlessly. Obtaining the elixir from the Mysterious Cauldron, they joyfully spread teachings alongside companions from Penglai's immortal isles. Gladly casting off their physical shells to ascend, swiftly departing the mundane world—fortunate to ride phoenix wings homeward, forever roaming the paradisiacal Yingzhou.
Yet helpless before the world's hierarchy of high and low, and the fickleness of human warmth and cold. Those extending hands for alms still speak of idleness, while mendicants debate rights and wrongs. Dao cultivators have likely forgotten all worldly dust, utterly indifferent to judgments of right and wrong. Those people—ah, those people—how could they understand that the wanderings of Dao cultivators ultimately angle for brocade-scaled fish (metaphor for pursuing the Great Dao)? How could it be mere aimless idleness?
Vol. 5
This poem depicts the transcendent state attained by Daoist practitioners after awakening to the Dao. Once comprehending the "heart seal" (a Daoist term for direct insight into one's true nature), the cultivator naturally achieves spiritual liberation. Such mystical realization defies even heaven and earth's creative power to fully describe. Before one's eyes unfolds an eternal spring scene—brocaded rivers and mountains adorned with floral splendor, pavilions exuding fragrance, and celestial peach trees towering into the clouds. Here one may freely wander through the Purple Tenuity Palace (highest Daoist heaven), Crimson Towers (abodes of immortals), Jasper Lake (Queen Mother's realm), and Lang Gardens (celestial orchards)—why would one still envy mundane parks and countryside?
Strolling leisurely upon the Phoenix Terrace, listening to ethereal music, one traverses the void effortlessly without need for carriage or steed. Standing aloof between heaven and earth, one contemplates the myriad phenomena below. Within the Palace of Five Radiances (Daoist celestial realm), one comprehends the mystery of the "dark pearl" (referring to neidan internal alchemy) and realizes one's true nature. Could precious amrita (symbolizing ultimate truth) and divine lingzhi mushrooms ever be purchased with gold? Only through a genuine master's guidance can one thoroughly understand these numinous principles—truth beyond illusion.
The verses extol the supreme wisdom of sages, advocating humble compassion in daily life, maintaining purity of the six senses (untainted by external disturbances), and transforming through wuwei non-action. The heart-mind becomes clear as the moon, with cassia branches radiating boundless light. Practitioners are admonished to cherish heaven-sent secrets, never discarding them lightly.
The poem then recounts the Dao's primordial origins: from chaos' dawn when Fuxi drew the Bagua trigrams, Shennong tasted hundreds of herbs, and the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) civilized humanity—auspicious signs appearing everywhere. Later, seventy-odd masters propagated pristine Daoist teachings, descending as immortals to deliver beings. Yet today people remain obsessed with fame and wealth; only the poet transcends these fetters, maintaining freedom wherever dwelling. The true message within the "gourd" (neidan practice) involves refining the three fires (jing essence, qi energy, and shen spirit) to balance kan and li (yin-yang), glimpsing pure yang's ascent through profound meditation. Opening the "jade portal and golden pass" (meridian gateways in cultivation), auspicious clouds envelop the Purple Tenuity Palace. Hearing the stringless celestial music, witnessing sun and moon conjoin as the "knife-and-square" (neidan term), the great elixir's completion enables ascension to dwell eternally in Jasper Lake's paradise.
Another poem, "Slow Heavenly Fragrance," praises winter plum blossoms: Amidst all withered vegetation in bitter cold, only plums bloom at dawn. Fearless of frost and snow, they maintain noble purity, their subtle fragrance wafting—revealing transcendent grace beyond worldly dust.
The Dongyuan Collection contains three poetic reflections on spiritual cultivation, composed to the tune patterns of "Flickering Red Shadows of Candlelight," "Dispelling Sorrow," and "Courtyard Full of Fragrance." These verses express the Daoist pursuit of transcendence beyond worldly concerns.
The first poem extols the noble purity of plum blossoms. While other flowers remain dormant, the plum alone claims spring's radiance. Its slanting branches on Mount Yu (renowned for plum blossoms) stretch freely, their solitary beauty holding mysteries beyond comprehension. By West Lake, the blossoms' refined elegance surpasses even golden wax, revealing their spiritual grace. A courier's joyful tidings inspire the poet to chant before golden buds. Moonlight bathes the cold branches, as if heaven's fragrance could be borrowed and savored.
The second poem employs chrysanthemums as a metaphor for the Dao. When yellow blooms unfurl, the moon's pure light illuminates the azure sky, their scent permeating the air after frost and rain. Competing in splendor, their fragrance swirls on the breeze, their radiance soaring skyward. The quiet elegance by the railing mirrors the moon's celestial mystery, like rare blossoms of the Langyuan (immortal realm), yet few understand their worth. Those who awaken to the Dao may transcend worldly cares, much like Tao Yuanming admiring chrysanthemums by his eastern fence. Amid golden petals and rosy dawns, they grasp life's true essence.
The third poem warns and exhorts seekers of cultivation. Time gallops like a swift horse, yet mortals drown in rivers of desire, battling for fame and wealth, fretting over wives and children while neglecting their own exhaustion. Only at life's end do they regret, like living ghosts toiling pointlessly. A true man should sever worldly ties with wisdom, shatter mundane shackles, and wander freely through mountains and streams, drunk on forest breezes, reclining in tranquil leisure.
The final lines reveal the truth: human toil melts like spring snow, while innate purity becomes a puppet of craving. Across ages, seekers of fame and gain pale beside recluses who drift like clouds and water. Preserve your unspoiled nature, nurture vast and righteous Qi (vital energy), and stand firm in purity through winter's chill. Such transcendent living finds its only worthy companion in pines, windows, and the bright moon.
The closing passage unveils the essence of practice: the Great Awakening's radiance—supreme enlightenment—resides inherently within the heart, demanding no external search. Yet beings remain lost, cycling endlessly through rebirth. Only by penetrating the source of spiritual awareness can one calm the storms of the Chan (meditative) river—the path of cultivation.
Between towering mountain peaks, the clay ox statue roars mightily, its voice like thunder piercing the ears; mist and thunder rise from iron-cliffed precipices. Bodhi (the realm of enlightenment) resembles a seamless jeweled pagoda, half-hidden amidst layered verdant peaks where mountain hues stand distinct. Though snow blankets Caoxi (ancestral seat of Chan Buddhism), it cannot suppress the vibrant bloom of red plum blossoms, their fragrance permeating the sacred dharma realm everywhere.
No need to laboriously distinguish between the Bodhi tree and wild grasses—the true mystery lies atop the solitary peak, where the Stone Maiden (symbolizing eternal constancy) embroiders amidst moss and lichen. The subtle truth is neither emptiness nor form, transcending all comings and goings through time and space. Realizing this principle allows one to leap beyond the wheel of rebirth, like jade flowers blossoming on an iron tree in the Eternal Spring paradise. Who can perceive such wonder? Only the enlightened elder, shaking the nine heavens with midnight thunder.
The Daoist mystery gate's truth flows with untrammeled freedom, yet the ignorant struggle to comprehend the arcana of star-lit towers and moonlit palaces. The spirit mushrooms of Liaoyang Palace (celestial realm) truly surpass winter plum blossoms—the divine mechanism within one's heart is unfathomably profound, so why seek Penglai's fairy isles? Even the jade-robed idlers beyond the red dust tread lightly, reluctant to bruise the emerald moss.
To cultivate authenticity decisively, diligently seek the Dao and see through all worldly entanglements as emptiness. Silently nurture harmonious Qi in the cosmic crucible of Taixu (primordial void), and that spiritual pearl (neidan) will illuminate a thousand mountains like moonlight. Amid Eternal Spring's scenery, five-colored clouds wreathe the terrace where celestial fungi exhale fragrance. Such mysteries are revealed only when destined souls meet across a thousand miles.
True mastery lies in spotless purity—ordinary actions untainted by confusion, transcending life-death cycles and dharma realms' constraints. Thus one wanders carefree where every place becomes an immortal's palace. Laozi's divine mechanism and the Tathagata's mind-seal shine brightly before the Heavenly Emperor's birth—unborn, undying, profoundly mysterious. A clear breeze scatters delusion's clouds beneath the radiant moon. Do you know? Beyond endless kalpas, the dharma drum shakes the trichiliocosm.
The wondrous truth has no form or name—neither Dao nor Chan. When seekers look outward, how can I transmit it? Those who refuse to turn the light inward (neiguan) vainly traverse rivers and mountains. Returning, both man and ox (symbolizing deluded thoughts) vanish—only fragrant grasses lock the river mist.
The authentic family tradition manifests in daily activities—where isn't a forest-spring paradise? Hungry, eat; thirsty, drink—live according to conditions. Actions transcend ordinary logic, with no need to calculate gains or losses. Don't you see? Even this body is a temporary construct—how could anything endure? This meager livelihood (of cultivation) embodies wordless solitude and freedom. Without even a bamboo food vessel, what coin buys mountain seclusion? Wander thus unrestrained, letting ants battle and bees clamor. True pure joy? Treading moonlight through pine forests, pillowing books on bluestone slabs.
"Green-Headed Duck"
After the rain clears, rivers and mountains appear renewed. Beneath the brilliant sun, spring's radiance dazzles; beyond the city, fragrant grasses flourish. Pear blossoms flicker beneath the pale moon, while the murmur of pine waves mingles with the chill of clear springs. A gentle breeze ripples across the pond. In a courtyard with lowered curtains, morning orioles sing among the mist-wrapped willows. Distant mountains layer like folding screens of emerald—such scenery defies capture by brush and ink. Who truly grasps how fleeting youth is, how transient human affairs? People rush through the dusty world, never turning inward to reflect, depleting their Jing, Qi, and Shen (essence, vital energy, and spirit), squandering their days. Chasing fame and profit like flies drawn to blood, clinging to wives and children as ants scramble for scraps—they burn in the fire of desire, tossed by waves of passion, oblivious to the suffering of the six realms of rebirth. Through endless kalpas of transmigration, they lose their original heart and innate nature. The truly wise release attachments, cultivating in stillness and clarity.
"Slow Song of the River God"
Sweep away the disturbances of the six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—and settle into the truth of the present moment. When the light of wisdom appears, it points directly to the root of spiritual nature, transcending the shackles of sound and form. This celestial melody surpasses worldly musical scales; though it resonates through past and present, few understand. The mind becomes a sky of ten thousand miles, clear and bright with a shining moon. Roaming freely in the Dantian's sea of awareness (a Daoist cultivation term referring to the energy center and realm of enlightenment), one smiles at worldly entanglements, as crude as rustic folk songs. Extinguishing emotional attachments, surpassing time and space, one shuts the door quietly to face the moss-covered path. In the utmost emptiness and stillness, by the pillow lies a landscape bathed in spring. Pine blossoms drift with fragrance, wind sweeps the open fields—now is the time to become a carefree recluse among mist and clouds.
"Bells in the Rain"
Standing at dawn, watching wind and clouds converge into sweet rain. Yin and Yang harmonize, and heavenly dew nourishes the mountains and fields, precious as oil. The rain washes away malign influences; the four seas are calm and pure—this is the work of cosmic creation. Alas, how few in life's turmoil awaken to this? Heaven and earth bestow blessings far surpassing worldly treasures, reviving all things. People sing and dance for abundant harvests; grain thrives, all affairs find peace, and near and far are tranquil. Grateful for this harmony of heaven and earth, one should reverently honor the primal origin of the Dao (Xuan Yuan Zu, referring to the Daoist veneration of the "Dao").
"Spring in Crimson Capital"
By nature indolent, I prefer sitting undisturbed in quiet places. Unkempt hair and a dirty face trouble me not—this very sloth may ward off misfortune. Free of attachments, I follow fate's flow, too lazy even to tend incense. I hum phoenix immortal tunes at whim, delighting in my own joy. Long have I seen through life's Southern Branch dream (a metaphor for illusory existence), casting off the delusions of snail-horn fame and fly-head profits. Holding the spiritual pearl (symbolizing original true nature), I laugh at the world's clamor.
This passage depicts the transcendent and carefree state of Daoist practitioners who have risen above worldly concerns. Like the pure breeze and bright moon, these cultivators embody lofty virtue, merging with heaven and earth in profound mystery. Upon attaining the immortal fruit, they serenely return to the nine celestial realms, resting peacefully among the clouds.
The adepts wander through sacred mountains like Red Wall Mountain (Chicheng Shan, a famed Daoist site), beholding vast fields of numinous lingzhi mushrooms, finding leisurely joy beyond mundane existence. They sail moonlit boats clad in rain-soaked straw cloaks, composing poetry by flowing streams upon sobering, playing Qiang flutes while bathed in dawn breezes, immersed in secluded beauty. Though elegant melodies (huiyin) are plucked unhurriedly, none appreciate them—like wild cranes soaring skyward, life drifts as rootless duckweed.
Unrestrained between heaven and earth, the cultivators tidy fishing gear to angle for auspicious "brocade-scaled" catches. Traversing the Mystic Capital (Xuandu, Daoist paradise), they shoulder staffs laden with spring's hues, wandering freely through the Taixu celestial realm. Their minds expand like rivers and seas, embracing countless tributaries with crystalline clarity. Few comprehend these profound realms that yet encompass entire "sandy worlds" (Buddhist term for infinite cosmos).
Transcending samadhi (Buddhist meditative states), they awe lesser paths and demonic forces. Upholding the primordial Hunyuan (chaotic unity before heaven-earth division), they master emptiness's secrets—truths opaque to the ignorant. Proclaiming eternal wisdom, they govern the "Gate of All Wonders" (Daoist metaphysics), peerless in attainment. Responding compassionately to all circumstances, they dispel calamities, reaching the state of "no birth-no death, no inner-no outer."
This mystical song finds appreciation only among Jade Capital (Yuqing, Daoist heaven) immortals, whose celestial Taixu harmonies resonate in response. Observing time's flow with detachment, practitioners sigh at worldly fame-chasing and ceaseless toil. Content with pure blessings, they tread moonlight through pines, sleep on cloud-draped rocks, free as mountain deer. Singing lofty verses, playing chess, listening to gibbon cries and crane calls, admiring emerald waters and azure peaks—they embody true joy.
By Wuling Stream (legendary Peach Blossom Spring), they behold Langyuan's jade terraces (fairyland architecture) where blossoms flourish beyond mortal splendor. Fragrance pervades as purple lingzhi thrive, ungoverned by the Spring God (Dongjun). The Wuwei Tree (symbolizing natural non-action) perpetually glows, offering tribute to the Mystic Origin (Xuan Yuan, Dao's source). These brocade-bough splendors are for immortal eyes alone. Should one gather these celestial blooms, they become treasures for Jade Capital's delight.
This passage depicts the realm of Daoist cultivators comprehending the Dao through nature, presented through three poetic vignettes of wind, moon, and snow.
The first section describes mountain breezes: While resting amidst jade peaks (sacred mountains), the cultivator feels pure winds penetrating the jade forests (celestial groves), instantly dissolving worldly troubles and clarifying the mind. This refreshing state sweeps away all dust, purifying all directions of heaven and earth. Such transcendent cultivation life remains incomprehensible to ordinary people. Only those who grasp the true essence of Yin-Yang transformation can discover the genuine Dao amidst bright moons and fragrant blossoms, attaining profound realization when seeing through life's illusory veils.
The second section portrays autumn moonlight: The pristine autumn night flows like water as the moon illuminates Dongting Lake, its pure radiance piercing through clouds. This moonlight universally illuminates the cosmos, just as the Dao-nature (the essence of Dao) universally liberates all beings. Osmanthus branches (symbolizing nobility) reveal their eternal spiritual elegance against the clear sky, while azure heavens display auspicious signs. The cultivator wishes ordinary people could sooner awaken to this perfect luminous truth.
The third section depicts winter snowfall: At this mysterious juncture when the Northern Dipper revolves, heaven bestows auspicious snow. Countless jade blossoms (snowflakes) dance through air, silently resonating with the Dao's creative transformations. Within this snowy fairyland stand jade palaces and treasure halls where immortals come and go—this crystal-pure cultivation realm remains scarcely understood by worldly people.
The concluding "Wandering in Jasper Terrace" section reveals the core message: The great Dao (Mysterious Origin's path) lies plainly before us, yet mortals drown in seas of suffering without awakening. The cultivator relinquishes all worldly attachments (ten thousand ties), roaming free as wild cranes and idle clouds. Drinking immortal peach wine (symbol of longevity), they smile at humanity's cycles of life and death, then mount phoenixes to tour the Great Void (cosmic origin), ultimately retiring to Jasper Radiance's celestial realm to attain true carefree liberation.
This passage comprises several Daoist poems expressing the cultivator's transcendence of worldly affairs and yearning for immortal realms. Here is a section-by-section interpretation:
The poem beginning "Who entrusted this message to Penglai companions" depicts an encounter with plum blossoms by the river. While wandering leisurely, the cultivator observes half-opened plum blossoms by the water—their sparse shadows slanting across, their subtle fragrance defying winter snow. Blooming solitary by the wind-swept terrace, they smile at withering flowers. Such plums find perfect home in bamboo-fenced cottages, breaking winter's grip to herald spring, unfolding jade-like stamens. Though longing to send them to distant friends, no messenger appears—one can only sigh before their hidden fragrance. Where now dwells Princess Shouyang (legendary figure associated with plum blossoms)? To whom might the ethereal maidens of Gushe Mountain (Daoist immortal abode) convey their purity? Dusk's faint moonlight filters through small windows.
"Life's century flickers like drifting wind" warns of time's lightning passage. A hundred years pass like willow catkins in gales—prompt self-reflection urges swift cultivation. Fair scenes prove hard to retain; unwittingly, hair turns frost-white. When will worldly entanglements cease? Days pass in dull haze, hearts brimming with sorrow. This admonishes talented souls: Don't wait till the cauldron cracks and ropes snap beyond repair, for losing human form (falling into lower rebirth) means ten thousand kalpas of suffering. Even the wise, unless encountering prison bars (metaphor for worldly shackles), who'd cast aside golden manacles and jade fetters of passion? When facing Yama at life's end, what defense remains? Too late then to recall the sages' marvelous teachings.
"Song of the Mysterious Cavern" portrays the leisurely life of reclusive cultivation. Beyond rustic halls, aged flowers scent the air as green shadows dance on windowpanes. Let the sun decline westward while idly watching southern clouds rise. Distant blue peaks merge with heavens; between rocks, spring waters splash like scattered pearls. Though Danqiu (immortal realm) lies within reach, few turn their gaze. Worldly pursuits, mole-like burrowing, merit no regard. What compares to reclining amidst cloud-filled valleys, pillowed on misty peaks? Such purity remains unstained by worldly dust.
Finally, "Weary wanderings retreat to Li's simplicity" expresses retirement aspirations. Tired of roaming, one emulates Tao Yuanming's (Li references his hermitage) unadorned life—this vast qi finds no worthy listener. Three cups of spring wine carry secluded delights; adrift like a lone leaf on vast waters. Coarse hemp garments suffice; like-minded companions linger among bamboo and moonlit blossoms. Such detachment holds ineffable joy—no envy for brocaded carriages. Content with country freedoms, white-haired yet planting pines and chrysanthemums—who understands this true happiness? Sitting quietly on rush mats, sandalwood incense spirals upward.
"Water Dragon Chant" voices immortal homeland longing: Where lies my true abode? Yearning to dwell between sea and mountain where spring mists dissolve in gentle breezes, flowers bloom on dewy stones.... Collectively, these express the cultivator's transcendence of dust and aspiration for celestial realms.
The poems from Dongyuan Ji depict the mindset of a Daoist practitioner who sees through worldly illusions and seeks transcendence. The first section describes the beauty of the celestial Jade Pool, far surpassing earthly riches, implying that mortal glory is but an empty dream. Penglai (the legendary immortal mountain in the sea) and the Purple Mansion (a Daoist term for the abode of immortals) are the only eternally enduring paradises, while the rise and fall of human dynasties—like the Han's ascendance and the Qin's collapse—ultimately hold no meaning.
The second section begins with autumn imagery: the urgent chirping of crickets like arrows hastening old age, the mournful cries of geese beyond the frontier, yellow leaves drifting, and the desolate wind and rain over mountain passes. These scenes contrast with the Daoist's detached state of mind. The practitioner recognizes that within the gourd (symbolizing the inner alchemical realm of the body) lies its own cosmos, and the space between clouds and water becomes home. Worldly fame and gain are seen as fleeting as the dream of the yellow millet. Golden halls and jade towers are mere illusions—far inferior to the clarity of cultivation and enlightenment.
The third section portrays the leisurely life of a Daoist: beneath pomegranate blossoms, a light bamboo breeze, the coolness of a stone pillow and vine-woven bed. The practitioner reclines atop cloud-wreathed peaks, as if returning to the era of the ancient sage Fuxi (a legendary ruler who governed through Wuwei, non-action), free from worldly troubles. Amid the yellow scrolls (scriptures) and incense from the burner, one comprehends the wondrous Dao. There is no envy for the struggles of fame and profit in the mundane world; instead, there is contentment in simplicity and tranquility. Even the fiercest summer heat cannot disturb the Daoist mind. The practitioner knows that the Grotto-Heavens (sacred realms where immortals dwell) are the true abode of transcendence, preserving a single spark of clarity in the spirit.
The final section expounds the true essence of cultivation: the Primordial Radiance (the innate spirit) endures countless kalpas of rebirth, cycling endlessly through the four forms of existence (birth from womb, egg, moisture, or transformation, as described in Buddhism). Sentient beings drown in the sea of suffering, clinging to the illusion of the physical body, unaware that the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind—the Buddhist foundations of material existence) are inherently impermanent. The cultivator must sharpen the Sword of Wisdom to sever the roots of karmic bondage and wander freely beyond material concerns. By preserving the Primordial Yang (innate vital energy) and harmonizing spirit and Qi, one penetrates the mysteries of Qian and Kun, Li and Kan (the Yijing trigrams representing heaven, earth, fire, and water), attaining the natural state of unity between humanity and the cosmos. Like an oriole flitting through willow catkins, one moves with ease, far from worldly strife, retreating to a thatched hermitage to laugh at the dragons and tigers locked in mortal combat.
The Dongyuan Ji (Collection of the Abyssal Cavern) expresses the Daoist philosophy of seeing through worldly illusions to pursue unfettered freedom.
The first section depicts worldly splendor as transient as passing clouds. Rather than chasing empty fame and wealth, one should emulate fish swimming freely in water or flowers blooming naturally in gardens. One may recline drunkenly in the spring breeze, watching willow branches sway, casting off worldly constraints to embrace nature's fragrance.
The second section observes life's brevity—fleeting as a white steed glimpsed through a crack—yet most fail to perceive this truth. Better to withdraw to mist-shrouded green mountains, fishing in emerald valleys to comprehend true liberation. Even dwelling in a simple thatched hut allows joyful chanting through the turning seasons. Since all worldly phenomena ultimately prove illusory, one should calmly observe the birth and decay of all things, realizing the profound mystery of spontaneous harmony.
The third section reveals the essence of spiritual cultivation (xiuzhen) lies in quieting the heart. Sitting cross-legged (jiafu) in meditation, shutting out distractions and stabilizing the spirit (shen), one abandons rigid judgments of right and wrong. Meeting basic needs suffices—all else should be released. This realm of serene freedom eludes explanation to the unenlightened. Upon reaching advanced practice, one may glimpse the moon-bright pearl (neidan, inner elixir) in meditative trance; awakening to the Dao grants companionship with sages in immortal realms.
The final section laments how people exhaust themselves pursuing transient goals, oblivious to life's lightning-quick passage. Obsession with illusory fame resembles moths drawn to flames. Losing human form (death) brings irrevocable consequences. One must awaken, transcending desire's labyrinth to reach the pure shore. Like solitary clouds or wild cranes drifting freely, with minds clear as the bright moon, one may chant Daoist hymns in perfect liberty. In secluded mountain forests, far from worldly clamor, preserving one's natural spontaneity, one communes heart-to-heart with ancient sages, watching gulls and herons come and go freely across sandy shores.
This passage depicts the mindset of a Daoist cultivator who sees through worldly illusions and pursues transcendence. The opening employs metaphors of "vinegar flies in a wine jar" and "drifting twigs" to illustrate how ordinary people remain trapped in worldly desires, as if caught in a spring dream. The cultivator feels no envy for the wealth and status of nobles and generals, preferring instead to return to pine-shaded streams bathed in moonlight, wandering moss-covered mountain paths.
Withdrawing from worldly dust, he delights in the refined pleasures of forest springs—leaning on bamboo staffs, wearing straw sandals and bamboo hats, drifting in mist-covered waters. Playing his flute beneath moonlit riverscapes, finding joy amidst sandbars lush with knotweed, such carefree moments are beyond worldly valuation. He comprehends the Zhuangzi's allegory of the turtle preferring to drag its tail through mud (symbolizing choosing humble freedom over constrained honor), laughing at those well-dressed men who resemble wolves and tigers in human guise.
Drunk with Dao, he reclines in cloud-hidden depths, observing autumn moons and spring blossoms cycling endlessly, watching mulberry fields transform into azure seas. He mourns for desire-entangled mortals—bound by wives, children and worldly enterprises, exhausting every scheme for wealth and status. To these deluded souls he urges awakening, that they might understand karmic consequences. The true Mysterious Dao requires no monetary purchase—simply keep the heart-lamp (original mind) undimmed, and all dharma becomes accessible. When cultivation culminates, this illusory physical form will be shed, ascending to golden towers and jade palaces in the Peach Blossom Paradise.
Human life flashes by like lightning or foam—why cling to fleeting glory? Withering and flourishing, gain and loss follow Heaven's decree. Content in pure poverty, the cultivator savors leisure through zither and texts, delighting in tranquil simplicity. He laughs heartily beneath floral dawns and moonlit nights, then withdraws in silence after obtaining the Mysterious Pearl (neidan), roaming freely beyond worldly confines.
The final sections, using ci-poetry titles "Moon Over Begonias" and "A Sprig of Spring" as preludes, describe the cultivator performing charitable works—ferrying beings across the sea of suffering. Manifesting divine powers that awe demonic hordes, he establishes immortal academies by celestial mandate to propagate the Great Dao. Watching human struggles resembles ants squabbling; he sighs at puppets dancing on worldly strings, their days and nights scorched by desire's flames, intoxicated by flowers and wine while accumulating karmic obstructions—when will they ever awaken?
This passage depicts a Daoist practitioner who has seen through worldly illusions and pursues a state of unfettered freedom. The cultivator laments how ordinary people remain trapped by desires, toiling for fame and wealth that ultimately prove illusory. He himself has chosen to return to mountain forests, embracing a tranquil life of fishing amidst clouds, tending pines and chrysanthemums—content with simple poverty rather than envying power and privilege.
The practitioner perceives worldly passions as turbulent rivers—people fight for spouses, children, and status, yet obscure their true nature. Even if one attains wealth and glory, all proves empty in the end. He sighs at life's brevity: a century of feasting passes like a fleeting dream, yet the deluded still cling stubbornly, suffering through endless rebirths.
Now awakened, he withdraws from society to cultivate deep in Dongting's wilderness. Having refined the Great Medicine (Neidan/internal alchemy) and obtained the Pearl of Perfection (Golden Elixir), he plays the stringless zither (mind cultivation) while propagating Dao and De (Virtue). He yearns for the carefree existence of ancient hermits like Xu You and Chao Fu, seeking fellow travelers on the cloud-and-water path. Severing the six sensory passions (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind) and penetrating the Nine Mysteries (profound truths), his mind becomes empty yet luminous. When merit and practice reach fulfillment, he transcends dust and returns home in liberated ease.
The passage closes with summer's respite: reclining on a rope-bed beneath emerald bamboo shade, by a deserted pond where lotus leaves exhale hidden fragrance. Too languid to wave a fan, he brews tea with mountain springwater. With robe open and heart unburdened, such living already bears the aura of immortality.
Alas, the people of this world are like silkworms spinning their own cocoons, refusing to turn back, desperately clinging to worldly desires as if trapped in a pit of fire. They willingly endure endless hardships without complaint, obsessing over family wealth and fretting over their wives and children's livelihoods. When their karmic retribution comes due, how will they escape? When their eyes close in death, reborn as beasts covered in fur and horns, they'll no longer recognize their original faces. Better to break free from delusion early and strive for the Dao's immortal path.
Youth fleets like a flying arrow, silently turning rosy cheeks to white hair. I've seen through life as but a fleeting dream; casting off shackles, I care not if others laugh at my madness. With open heart I laugh freely, unbound by worldly constraints, wandering carefree through mountains and streams. At earth's farthest corners, pure-hearted companions await—when pondered deeply, this life proves most enduring and serene.
"One Sprig of Mume Blossoms" writes:
This body drifts like white clouds at ease,
To world's end I roam without restraint.
The vast void itself is my true home—
I envy not jade carriages of kings.
In quiet joy lies endless delight,
Let others chase their mundane affairs.
Returning, I contemplate life's truth:
Only the moonlit mind illumines Penglai's isles.
"Willow Branches" says:
Awakening to wondrous Vacuous Truth, I cast aside external ties,
At peace through four seasons, tempering the celestial fire.
In immortal fields grow divine mushrooms,
Balancing the elixir furnace's creative work,
Drinking sweet dew from sacred springs.
The eternal Danque of Liaoyang endures,
Until at last I attain the golden celestial rank.
Sun and moon whirl like rolling marbles,
Hastening rebirth—piled bones form mountains.
Mortals cling to fire like cats, too foolish to escape—
Such obstinate delusion!
Seeing the world thus fills the heart with sorrow.
"Treading Cloud's Path" describes:
Formless, shapeless—the luminous mind
Plants golden willows in pure emptiness.
Severing evil, I mount crane-back,
Laughing down at empty peaks in Xiyi's realm.
Beyond kalpas I soar unfettered,
Walking the mysterious paths.
In distant lands of mystery I seek fellow travelers,
Drinking serenity, drunk I lie in true wind—
Heaven and earth crystalline, unstained by dust.
"Butterfly Wings" laments:
I'd speak of heaven's secrets,
But dust-bound men won't believe.
Lacking past-life affinity,
They crave this floating world's fiery house—
Jing, Qi and Shen depleted,
Lost in flesh, they forfeit their true heart.
Awakened, I turn to tranquil joy,
No need for exhausting toil.
Study well the Mysterious Feminine's truth,
Cultivate pure Yang to shake the cosmos—
When spring thunder stirs the hibernation,
That hour brings Dao's fulfillment.
The Dongyuan Collection presents several poetic verses depicting the transcendent, carefree existence of Daoist practitioners, embodying the tradition's pursuit of natural harmony and return to pristine simplicity.
The first piece, River God's Command, observes: Who in this world does not crave vain glory and wealth? Yet the cultivator sees through these twin shackles of fame and fortune, retreating to mountain forests as companion to mist and rainbow. Amid endless clouds, they befriend gibbons and cranes, shutting their wooden gate against the clamor of carriages and horses to sit in serene self-forgetfulness. As sunset light slants through the window, they ask: Where lies my true kindred spirit? Only distant emerald peaks and boundless sea of clouds answer. How many awaken like Zhuangzi's butterfly dream? Having grasped the Dao, their remaining years are spent tilling fields, listening to autumn winds through fallen leaves, watching cicadas sing in willows after rain while wild springs flow freely. Rare are those with wisdom's eye—who remembers this elder nurturing longevity in seclusion?
Green Jade Table speaks of sudden enlightenment on the path of immortality: In a flash, one sees the road to eternal life was always level—the ten thousand methods naturally perfected, transcending even the Six Perfections (Buddhist practices like charity). Since ancient times, how many reach such unfettered realms? Within the luminous spiritual state, time itself dissolves. Who can fathom this mystery? Like wooden horses neighing to the wind or clay oxen crossing seas (symbolizing ineffable Zen truths), it defies comprehension. The Dharma spreads as merciful clouds, its thunder shakes heaven and earth, while meditation's rain showers the mortal world.
Celebrating the Sage's Dawn paints springtime cultivation: Golden orioles leave valleys, purple swallows build nests as celestial peaches bloom behind jade bamboos. The Daoist reclines among zithers and texts, barred gates repelling worldly visitors, drunkenly napping among flowers despite the high sun. Another verse describes moonlit nights on Jade Peak Mountain (sacred Daoist site), plucking strings while chanting sacred hymns. Though the Mysterious Pearl (Neidan term for the inner elixir) remains incomplete, they already dwell as an immortal in this world.
Longing for the Immortals captures cultivation's true joy: Sober within drunkenness, awakened within dreams—moonlight bathes the pine-framed window. Distant laundry-pounding accentuates the stillness, while beyond bamboos a spring flows over rocks. Cloud-wrapped peaks form layered emerald screens: this is the cultivator's pure delight.
The closing Moon Over West River reveals the core: No need to envy wealth or rank—the enlightened mind needs no polishing, clear as a mirror. Seeing through worldly desires, one perceives sun and moon within the gourd (Daoist metaphor for the microcosmic paradise). Speak not of life's turbulent storms; simply retreat deep into misty vines with this gaist frame (the ascetic's lean form).
These poetic passages from the Dongyuan Collection depict the transcendent lifestyle of Daoist practitioners through seasonal vignettes:
The first section describes an ascetic whose body dwells in the mundane world while his spirit roams the sacred mountain halls of Taizhou. Beyond his window, sparse plum blossoms and slender bamboos frame a landscape veiled in thousand-mile mists, where half-drawn curtains reveal cool breezes and moonlit vistas. Such serenity, bestowed by Heaven's grace, remains inaccessible to those entangled in worldly affairs.
The "Confessing Innermost Feelings" section paints an autumn nightscape: as the water clock nears emptiness, riverbanks brim with autumnal hues, while cold mists over wild ponds resemble an artist's masterpiece. The soughing wind accompanies a crescent moon; when incense ashes cool and the Milky Way pales, the practitioner dissolves all distinctions like Zhuangzi's butterfly dream.
Another passage portrays hermit life: wearing bark headgear and leaning on bamboo staffs, these recluses companion the Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi), dividing time between farming and fishing. How could they remain like gourds hung but uneaten? This rhetorical question conveys their refusal to waste potential. Having abandoned fame and fortune, they recline drunkenly amidst endless misty waves, embraced by reeds and red smartweeds.
"Little Heavy Mountain" observes how sages since antiquity shunned marketplaces, transcending vulgarity through forest-and-spring reclusion. Echoing Confucius' "The benevolent delight in mountains, the wise in waters," they cultivate their nature amidst landscapes, befriending apes and cranes while refining the Golden Elixir (Neidan). In moonlit cloud-wreathed depths, they embody perfect leisure.
"Great Official's Joy" unfolds through seasons:
Spring brings verdant outings with orioles' songs and willow catkins like snow;
Summer offers heat evasion beneath pomegranate blossoms and lotus canopies;
Autumn invites height-climbing among chrysanthemums, faint mist, and frost-tinted maples;
Winter means plum appreciation, poetic chanting, hearthside conversations, and surrender to swirling snow.
The final two "Partridge Sky" poems:
Springtime village life features peach blossoms like brocade and smoke-veiled willow strands, with closed doors sweeping moss from meditation platforms for scripture reading. Asked about cultivation, the reply comes: "Riding moonlit boats to dreamland Huaxu."
Summer resounds with birdsong beneath pine shades where loosened hair welcomes coolness. Bamboo mats ripple with breezes as spontaneous chanting flows with water-clear mind, willow branches plucking zither-strings of wind.
The scripture from the Dongyuan Collection employs seasonal imagery and meditative insights to express the Daoist ideal of transcending worldly concerns and returning to original authenticity.
The summer section depicts the life of a recluse: golden clouds embrace distant mountains, while nobles in lofty chambers seek leisurely pleasures, and cultivators relinquish scheming minds (wangji refers to a pure state of mind free from calculation). Suddenly, the west wind stirs their linen robes, and autumn hues ripen the buckwheat blossoms—just as the paulownia leaves begin to fall. Evening crows evoke homesickness, and drooping millet in the fields seems to whisper to the cicadas: Do not sing from high branches, lest the southbound geese hear and grow sorrowful.
The winter scene paints a harsh, frigid beauty: all night, bitter cold reigns as snowflakes dance like powdered moths, swirling like willow catkins on the wind. Slender plums and gnarled bamboo reflect upon the frozen lake—a vista worthy of being meticulously rendered upon a painted screen.
The passage Huaxi Ze uses spring wind as a metaphor for life: the breeze drifts north and south like a passing traveler, yet one would do better to emulate the Four Elders of Shangshan (recluses from the Qin’s fall) in their retreat among stone towers and cloud-wreathed halls, far from the dusty world, silently contemplating ancient pines a thousand years old.
Huaxin Dong conveys insights from cultivation: transcending the cycle of rebirth and piercing the nature of emptiness, one moves freely through the realms of the six senses (sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and thought) without attachment. When the iron tree blooms (symbolizing a rare attainment), wisdom’s light shines universally, and the Mystic Pearl (a Neidan term for the original spirit) radiates hues that delight the myriad deities. In mastery of contraction and release, one surpasses the work of creation—yet such realization is nearly impossible to put into words.
Yuezhong Xian expounds the profundity of the Dao: a mirror-like mind illuminates the hidden workings of all things, governing the transformations of Yin and Yang. The Primal Origin (Qianyuan, the cosmic source) envelops the boundless universe, with the turning seasons contained within. The wind of wisdom sweeps away all delusion; only those awakened to the Dao may wander in carefree joy.
The closing passage reveals the core teaching: in sudden awakening, one sees the emptiness of worldly pursuits—fame and gain are as fleeting as light and shadow. The success of cultivation lies in recognizing this grand illusion of floating life and returning to one’s original truth.
This passage depicts the state of mind of a Daoist practitioner who has seen through worldly illusions. The shifting weather and fleeting time evoke lamentations on the transience of all things. Singing and laughing alone, he reminisces about bygone days of beauty. In the spring scenery of his homeland, where crabapple blossoms half-open and green willows sway gently—how few truly comprehend such vistas?
Having perceived through worldly affairs, the cultivator listens to cuckoos crying deep within chaotic mountains and resolves to retreat into forested hills. On the ancient road of Chang'an, the lingering glow of sunset flickers faintly, while Lake Dongting lies in perfect stillness. He sighs at the sight of fallen blossoms scattered by the wind beyond his gate, and laments how old friends, once parted, leave no trace—like the fading cry of a phoenix vanishing into the azure sky.
Awakening to life’s emptiness, he casts aside all worldly entanglements. A simple staff of goosefoot wood, a cloud-patterned Daoist headscarf, a hempen belt, and a paper-padded robe—these are his only possessions. Roaming mountains and waters as his heart desires, his carefree joy is beyond compare. Fellow seekers who observe carefully will recognize this way of living as the true essence: preserving the pure happiness within.
When night deepens in silence under a moonlit expanse, he sits alone in his modest cottage facing a few sprigs of winter blossoms. Who could understand him? Only the emerald mountain hues at dawn, glimpsed through his half-shaded western window. This liberated state of profound realization embodies the transcendent realm sought by every Daoist cultivator.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5d0087）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback