《玄宗直指萬法同歸》
About this page. The original text of 《玄宗直指萬法同歸》 (Taixuan 太玄部, 7 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 101 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
This scripture explores the core Daoist concepts of cosmic generation and the origin of all things. The author Mu Changzhao, a renowned Daoist master of the Yuan dynasty, employs the paired concepts of "Wuji" (Ultimate Non-Being) and "Taiji" (Supreme Ultimate) to explain the fundamental source of existence.
The text begins by describing Wuji as representing the most primordial and fundamental state of being - formless and imageless, where the two energies of Yin and Yang have yet to emerge, existing in a state of profound emptiness and mystery. This corresponds to what Laozi called "the nameless origin of heaven and earth." Later thinkers reluctantly termed this state "Wuji" or "Taiyi" (Great Simplicity). When this absolute stillness reaches its zenith, movement arises, and through continuous movement emerges Qi (the fundamental energy that constitutes all things in Daoist thought). As Qi intermingles with Li (cosmic principles), the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) take form, giving birth to the Dao of transformation. This is what Laozi called "the named mother of all things," referred to as Taiji.
From Wuji emerges Taiji, which then differentiates into Qian (heaven) and Kun (earth). The combination of Qian with Li (fire) produces the sun, while Kun combines with Kan (water) to form the moon. With the establishment of the Four Symbols (greater yang, greater yin, lesser yang, lesser yin) and the arrangement of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), the interaction of Yin and Yang generates male and female, initiating human relationships. The interplay between Li-Zhen and Kan-Dui creates the alternation of day and night and the cycle of seasons.
In the celestial realm, this process forms heavenly bodies like the sun, moon, and stars; on earth it creates mountains, rivers, and other physical forms. That which congeals without dispersing becomes mountains, while what flows without stagnating forms rivers. From the earth grow plants and trees, while in deep waters dwell fish and scaly creatures. Running animals grow fur, flying ones develop feathers. Thus heat and cold interact, moisture and dryness resonate, emotions and artifice intertwine, while vital essences (Jing) and energies (Qi) intermingle. From sentient creatures to insentient objects, life continues its unceasing proliferation.
The text emphasizes that Wuji constitutes the true nature (Zhenwu) of Taiji, while Taiji represents the wondrous manifestation (Miaoyou) of Wuji. Zhenwu marks the beginning of innate nature (Xing), while Miaoyou initiates the emergence of Qi. Miaoyou first forms the celestial image of Qian, from which two Qian images combine to create Kun. With the establishment of Qian and Kun, human relationships and all things come into being, establishing the Dao of human nature and life. The equilibrium of Four Symbols, distribution of Five Phases, circulation of Eight Trigrams, guidance of the Three Primes (heaven, earth, and water), along with the rise and fall of generations - all these merely represent manifestations of Yin and Yang energies in motion, while the substance of Wuji remains eternally undiminished and unexpanded.
This scripture elucidates the core Daoist teachings on cosmogony and the origin of life's essence. Wuji (the primordial chaos) represents pure cosmic principle (li), from which emerges the primal Qi (vital energy). When principle and energy remain undifferentiated, this state is called Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental source of all existence.
Heaven, Earth and the myriad beings all follow this pattern: Taiji derives its existence from Wuji, Heaven and Earth emerge from Taiji, and humans and all creatures receive life from Heaven and Earth. This doesn't mean Taiji is produced separately beyond Wuji, or that Heaven and Earth arise independently from Taiji. Rather, it describes the transformation from the "void of principle" to the "marvelous existence of energy."
The relationship between principle and energy manifests thus: the essence of principle is quiescent and formless, while the movement of energy is dynamic and tangible. The still and empty constitutes the Dao (cosmic law), while the moving and shaped forms constitute concrete phenomena. From Wuji to Taiji, dividing into Yin-Yang dualities and generating all things, principle and energy remain interdependent, neither separating nor diminishing.
Regarding the origin of life's essence (xingming): Though Taiji is formless, it first generates the "One" (primal energy), which then divides into the two energies of water and fire. From this emerge the Qian (heavenly Yang) and Kun (earthly Yin) principles that become the source of life's essence. When the heavenly Dao begins its transformations, it differentiates into the earthly Dao. All beings receive these dual energies, each establishing their unique life essence at birth. Those retaining pure heavenly Yang become Yang, while those receiving earthly Yin become Yin. Only after this Yin-Yang establishment can all things take form and develop.
The Book of Changes states: "Through the transformations of the heavenly Dao, each being attains its proper life essence," meaning that even before differentiation, the heavenly Dao contains both water and fire energies. After division, all things receive their respective Qian and Kun energies to establish their fundamental life essence.
This scripture expounds the core Daoist theories of cosmic generation and the cultivation of nature (xing) and life (ming). It employs concepts from the Book of Changes (Yijing) such as Qian (Heaven), Kun (Earth), Kan (Water), and Li (Fire) to explain the origin of life and the principles of spiritual practice.
The text begins by stating that humans receive their innate nature (xing) from Qian (Heaven) and their life destiny (ming) from Kun (Earth). Water symbolizes Jing (essence), while Fire represents Shen (spirit). The simultaneous possession of xing, ming, jing, and shen constitutes the Dao. The union of Water and Fire forms the Qian Origin (the cosmic source), which inherently contains these dual attributes of Water and Fire—the very origin of primordial life and innate nature.
When the undivided whole differentiates into two, the original unity vanishes; when the two reunite, the whole reappears. This mutual transformation between being (you) and non-being (wu) demonstrates how the Great Dao takes "non-being" as its substance and "being" as its function. Wuji (the formless, imageless source) is the true state of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), while Taiji is the wondrous manifestation of Wuji.
Initially, Qian (Heaven) was formless, becoming visible only through the establishment of the "One"; Kun (Earth) was likewise formless, taking shape only through Qian's differentiation. These processes of division and union, being and non-being, constitute the root from which Yin-Yang and the myriad things emerge. The Qian Origin inherently contains the elements of Water-Fire, Yin-Yang, xing-ming, and jing-shen. Human nature originates from the Dao, and by aligning with the patterns of Heaven and Earth, one refines this nature to return to celestial destiny.
Citing Wei Boyang's Zhouyi Cantongqi (The Kinship of the Three), the text emphasizes that the key to cultivating xing and ming lies in mastering the relationship between Qian-Kun and Kan-Li—all of which ultimately return to Taiji, and Taiji to Wuji. Before taking form, the "One" is the beginningless state of Taiji; after its establishment, it becomes the originated state of Taiji. The beginningless corresponds to the origin of xing, while the originated corresponds to the origin of ming. Uniting these two achieves the Way of Qian.
Finally, the text explains that before Taiji, the Dao is called xing (nature); between Heaven and Earth, xing is called li (principle). The mysterious awareness of li is shen (spirit), whose empty, numinous state merges with Qi (vital energy). When Qi animates all things, it becomes ming (life destiny). This outlines the evolutionary process from Dao to xing, li, shen, Qi, and ming.
The Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Dharmas (Xuanzong Zhizhi Wanfa Tonggui) scripture primarily expounds on the relationship between "the One" and "the myriad dharmas," as well as core concepts such as nature (xing), principle (li), spirit (shen), and qi (vital energy).
The first section discusses the principle of nature and life: stillness and immobility constitute the essence of nature, while responsiveness and penetration manifest the function of spirit. Nature permeates all things, principle treats all things impartially, spirit can resonate with all things, and qi can actualize all things. The innate spontaneity of non-action (wuwei) is nature; what all things universally possess is principle; what is mysteriously penetrating is spirit; what ceaselessly circulates is qi. Life originates from innate nature, follows heavenly principle, and relies on spirit and qi for its existence.
The second section, through the Diagrammatic Explanation of the Myriad Dharmas Returning to One, clarifies the relationship between "the One" and "the myriad dharmas": "The One" is the source of all dharmas. From "the One" begins continuous differentiation: one divides into two, two into four, four into eight, until reaching the sixty-four hexagrams with their 384 lines. Excluding the 24 lines of the Qian (Heaven), Kun (Earth), Kan (Water), and Li (Fire) hexagrams, we arrive at precisely 360 lines, symbolizing the annual cycle. The Qian hexagram contains 216 counting rods, the Kun hexagram 144, totaling 360 rods. Each number corresponds to an entity, each entity contains a dharma, and within each dharma arise further dharmas—collectively termed "the myriad dharmas."
All dharmas originate from "the One": names are established based on "the One," meanings based on names, affairs based on meanings, capacities based on affairs, functions based on capacities, applications based on functions, merits based on applications, distinctions based on merits, wonders based on distinctions, affirmations based on wonders, and negations based on affirmations. Once affirmations and negations are established, we can differentiate between foolishness and wisdom, penetration and obstruction, abundance and scarcity, multitude and fewness, sameness and difference, gradations, partiality and correctness, deviance and orthodoxy, coarseness and refinement. Through such layered accumulation, even the most precise calculations cannot exhaust them, hence designations like "three thousand and eight thousand"—all manifestations of the interweaving of phenomena and the transformations of the human mind.
The wise should return the myriad dharmas to "the One," reverting to the origin. When "the One" is restored, all dharmas naturally return to their source. Therefore, sages use "the One" to unify all things—though phenomena are numerous, the root of governance lies in "the One." Without this unifying principle, phenomena would become endless and boundless.
The final metaphor of "the One encompassing all dharmas" states: The myriad dharmas in the world are like taking the vast ocean as a mouth and the Yellow River as a tongue (illustrating how "the One" contains all dharmas, just as the sea accommodates countless rivers).
This scripture primarily explores the principle of "all methods returning to the One." The author laments how the world has progressively deteriorated, with human hearts growing increasingly deceitful, causing the great Dao (the Way) to deviate. Like a heavy rain beating down flowers and grass, or a fierce wind howling through hollow spaces, the myriad phenomena of the world become chaotic and unruly, difficult to control. Even if Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor were to return to establish new laws, or if the Buddha (referring to Shakyamuni) and Laozi were to reappear to expound profound truths, it would still be challenging to quell the already turbulent source.
Though the myriad methods are vast and numerous, when examined with wisdom, one discovers they are fundamentally interconnected. This point of connection is the "One" (referring to the Dao). All methods are illusory, and even the concept of "One" arises from emptiness. By steadfastly holding to this "One" without wavering, the myriad methods cannot arise. Using the "One" to encompass all methods allows one to unite with all things and become equal to heaven and earth.
The text then discusses the relationship between the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism: Confucianism excels in investigating principles and governing the world, Buddhism in transcending the cycle of life and death, and Daoism in harmonizing the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity. All three teachings originate from the same Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic source) and jointly explore the principles of mind and nature. Though their forms differ, their purpose in guiding sentient beings is the same. It is like a city accommodating its people, the ocean gathering all rivers, a cauldron blending flavors, the body connecting its nine orifices, or heaven and earth embracing all things. The key lies in maintaining stillness and clarity rather than agitation and turbidity. In stillness, all thoughts cease; in agitation, countless disturbances arise. Clarity gathers divine wisdom (Shen), while turbidity breeds ignorance and obscurity.
Finally, the text explains several core concepts: "Nature" (Xing, human essence) originates from Wuji (the formless origin of the Dao), "Life" (Ming) divides from Taiji (the state before Yin and Yang separate), "Principle" (Li) is the natural manifestation of the Dao, and "Mind" (Xin) governs all methods. The ancients, unable to fully articulate these truths, used "characters" (written symbols) to represent the three powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) and the myriad methods.
This scripture elucidates two core concepts: the nature of the heart-mind and the relationship between nature (xing) and life (ming).
Regarding the essence of the heart-mind, the text employs a vivid analogy: like three brothers born of the same parents who later changed surnames and divided their inheritance, ultimately waging war over land disputes. Though equally matched in wisdom and strength, they share the same origin. This metaphor illustrates that the "heart-mind" resembles these common parents, manifesting as celestial mind (tianxin), human mind (renxin), or the mind of myriad things, yet fundamentally remains one. The heart-mind's nature changes according to external functions—it becomes virtuous when applied to good deeds and corrupt when used for evil. Capable of expansion or contraction, movement or stillness, it resembles a container (like city walls) holding diverse contents.
Concerning the relationship between nature and life, the scripture presents two aspects: "Nature" (xing) embodies the mystical manifestation of primordial spirit (yuanshen, the innate consciousness), present in all beings. Its essence remains eternally unchanging, unaffected by external conditions. Utterly tranquil and formless, it exists equally in sages and fools across all ages. "Life" (ming) manifests as primordial qi (yuanqi, the fundamental energy), expressing life's operational patterns. All things possess their unique "life," appearing as varied destinies and transformations, yet the primordial qi itself transcends birth and annihilation. Here, the text distinguishes between the finitude of physical forms and the eternality of their source.
(Note: The term "city walls" (fuguo) metaphorically represents the heart-mind as a container; "primordial qi" (yuanqi) is a key Daoist concept denoting the fundamental energy composing all existence; "primordial spirit" (yuanshen) refers to humanity's innate, authentic consciousness.)
Life has never ceased; it operates naturally without being summoned—this is what we call "ming" (life destiny). The body serves as the foundation of life, initially taking form from formless causes (referring to the union of parental essence and blood), yet in truth, it inherits the pure primordial Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth. Thus, the body resembles the cosmos. The eyes see, the ears hear, the nose smells, the tongue speaks, the mind perceives, and the limbs move—these functions collectively constitute the body. Without the body, nature and life would have no vessel; without nature and life, the body would lack its master. The fusion of these two is what we call a "human." Those who fully comprehend their innate nature are known as "those who have attained the Dao" (dedao zhe).
Those who prioritize the body and lifespan but neglect their innate nature are merely allowing Qi to temporarily reside within a physical form. Someone might ask: "The body is impermanent, and lifespan is finite. If the body perishes, can the spirit still exist?" The answer is: The body is merely a borrowed vessel that must eventually be returned, while the energy of life flows eternally. Matter arises and ceases—when the body exists, it forms a human; when Qi disperses, it returns to the Dao. Sages appear unattached to the body yet preserve the essence of life. The true primordial spirit (yuanshen, innate consciousness) and primordial life (yuanming, life's origin) have never vanished. To seek nature and life apart from the body is as absurd as searching for fish and dragons without water or seeking the sun and moon without the sky.
The Metaphor of the Ox-Cart and Treasure explains the relationship between body, nature, and life:
Innate nature is the fundamental reason for being human, shared by all things; the body is the foundation of a person, where life and destiny reside; life destiny is the law of Qi's movement, the root of life's continuation. Humans are born endowed with heavenly mandate, following the patterns of heaven and earth. Without life destiny, the body loses its foundation; without the body, life destiny cannot sustain existence; without the body and life destiny, innate nature has no vessel for spiritual expression or virtuous fruition. These three cannot be separated for even a moment.
To use the metaphor: The treasure symbolizes innate nature (precious essence), the cart symbolizes the body (the vessel), and the ox symbolizes life destiny (the driving force). Place the treasure on the cart, and let the ox pull it—as the ox moves, the cart follows, and the treasure is transported. The ox can move but cannot carry; the cart can bear weight but cannot move itself; the treasure, though valuable, relies on the ox-cart for transport. Without the cart, the ox has nothing to pull; without the treasure, the cart has nothing to carry. Thus, the treasure rests at ease while the ox and cart labor. The cart is a composite tool—it moves by the ox's effort and gains value from the treasure. But composite things must eventually separate, just as the ox will tire.
The human body is like an ox-cart that will eventually decay, while the true treasure (referring to one's original nature) is not formed by temporary material aggregation and thus can endure independently. From this perspective, the dissolution of the physical form is the natural course of life, and the exhaustion of fate follows cosmic law. Only the truth of original nature does not perish with bodily existence. People today who fail to recognize their original nature are like those who discard precious jewels without picking them up; those ignorant of heavenly mandate are like drivers who leave oxen unhitched; those who neglect self-cultivation are like owners abandoning functional carts. When the ox dies, the cart decays, and the treasure scatters - what profound regret this brings!
Regarding the principle of Yin-Yang being rooted in stillness: While ordinary people know that Yang moves while Yin remains still, that Yang is clear and Yin turbid, few understand stillness as the fundamental principle. The original substance of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) is inherently still - its movement arises precisely because of this foundational stillness. Without primordial stillness, subsequent movement could never emerge. The Dao of Heaven, Earth and Humanity all take stillness as the master of movement. Stillness nurtures original nature while movement generates Qi (vital energy) mechanisms; stillness gives birth to benevolence while movement produces wisdom. Although all phenomena in the world arise through movement, the root of Yang's motion lies in stillness, just as the foundation of Yin's turbidity resides in clarity. Stillness is the substance of movement, while movement is the function of stillness. Thus we see stillness represents ease while movement signifies toil; stillness is noble while movement humble. Without stillness' governing function, how could the world's movements be regulated? Without clarity's essential quality, how could the world's turbidity be illuminated? Therefore sages choose supreme stillness as the foundation of cultivating Dao - not because they disparage Yang and esteem Yin, but because they follow the primordial state of Taiji.
Though Heaven moves, it contains stillness within motion; though Earth remains still, it harbors movement within stillness. Without Heaven's still quality, it couldn't resonate with all beings; without Earth's dynamic quality, it couldn't stimulate vital growth. The Yin line within the Qian (Heaven) trigram forms Li (Fire, symbolizing the sun), while the Yang line within Kun (Earth) trigram forms Kan (Water, symbolizing the moon). This demonstrates Yang must take stillness as its substance, while Yin must take movement as its foundation. Heaven's body appears more vigorous through stillness, Earth's body endlessly proliferates through movement - herein lies the wondrous mystery of Heaven-Earth's eternal interaction and the mutual generation of movement-stillness. Yang's movement and Yin's stillness constitute the basic forms of Heaven-Earth; Yang's clarity and Yin's turbidity form their fundamental natures; Yang's firmness and Yin's softness establish their governing principles; Yang's nobility and Yin's humility determine their hierarchical order. The ascent-descent of Yin-Yang manifests as undulating changes; their metabolic cycles appear as coming-going alternations; their brightness-darkness reveals itself through day-night succession.
The alternation of cold and heat results from the mutual transformation of Yin and Yang energies. Yet that which fills the cosmos and circulates through the six directions (up, down, and the four cardinal points) remains eternally unchanging. When we seek its end, we find no limit; when we trace its origin, we perceive no beginning. This tranquil, unmoving, inherently pure existence cannot be measured by concrete manifestations of Yin-Yang or the tangible energies of seasonal changes.
Exposition on the Buddhist Swastika Heart Wheel Diagram:
Chen Dunzhai (a Song Dynasty Daoist) praised this diagram as profoundly exquisite, for it simultaneously reveals Buddhism's deepest principles while providing access to Confucian thought—a connection previously unmentioned by eminent Buddhist masters in their teachings.
Buddhism depicts the swastika over the heart to symbolize the Dharma. This rotating Dharma wheel manifests through: its four equal arms corresponding to the Four Symbols and Eight Trigrams (Bagua); its intersecting lines forming a grid representing cyclical completion; and its central convergence embodying the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), Five Constants (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, faith), Five Energies (of the Five Phases), and Five Precepts (of Buddhism). In scriptures it appears as four-line verses, while in the human body it corresponds to the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, wind). Profound principles like Yin-Yang, nature-life cultivation (xingming shuangxiu), Dao-De, benevolence-righteousness, spirit-soul, mercury-lead (Neidan terms), dragon-tiger (Yin-Yang energies), and Qian-Kun-Kan-Li (trigram orientations) are all harmoniously contained within.
This symbol maintains equilibrium whether advancing or retreating, operates smoothly in both forward and reverse directions, can be decomposed into numerical patterns of four and five, or expanded into configurations of eight and nine, extending infinitely both vertically and horizontally. It encompasses all cosmic and ethical principles—hence Buddhism paints it upon the chest to signify the ceaseless revolution of the Dharma wheel within the heart. Pronounced "wan" (myriad), it signifies all phenomena arising from this singular path. Fundamentally, it's a transformed cross—beginning with "one," taking form through "five," achieving perfection at "ten," ultimately embracing the "myriad." The swastika's curved arms reveal the profound unity of straight and bent. The Avatamsaka Sutra consistently employs the number "ten" to express this doctrine of perfect equality—where above and below balance, substance and function interchange, nothing lacks nor exceeds, no hierarchy exists—like the Wheel-Turning King's treasury encompassing all truths beyond verbal expression.
Interpretation of "The Mean" (Zhongyong) and "True Constancy" (Zhenchang):
Perfect appropriateness is called "the Mean" (zhong), while impartial constancy is termed "the Constant" (yong). The Mean represents the supreme principle between heaven and earth's polarities, and the ultimate truth of the human heart; the Constant is the solitary supreme Dao in the world, the unchanging principle across time. Buddhism calls this "permanent abiding" (changzhu, meaning eternally unchanging beyond flux), while Daoism terms it "True Constancy" (zhenchang, meaning authentically real and never altering).
Yao and Shun employed this Dao to abdicate their thrones, Confucius and Mencius used this Dao to transmit learning, Buddhism applies this Dao to enlighten sentient beings, and the Supreme Venerable Sovereign (the highest deity in Daoism) governs the Three Powers (heaven, earth and humanity) through this Dao. This Dao is the fundamental truth.
The Confucian doctrine of the Mean, the Buddhist principle of Eternal Dharma (unchanging truth), and the Daoist concept of True Constancy (the eternally real Dao) all point to the same ultimate truth, though their manifestations differ according to historical circumstances. The sages adapted their teachings to specific conditions without altering the truth itself.
The Dao of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) originates from innate nature and culminates in celestial destiny. The establishment of heaven, earth and humanity, as well as the birth of all things, follow this principle. Though the forms of creation vary, all share the same fundamental source of nature and life. Buddhism employs it to restore human nature, Daoism to restore primordial Qi (vital energy), and Confucianism to restore heavenly mandate. Without innate nature, one cannot comprehend the profundity of the Great Dao; without primordial Qi, the origin of the Supreme Ultimate cannot manifest; without celestial destiny, the great work of education cannot be accomplished. These three transcend form to return to the source of primordial Qi, rectify human relations, and form the foundation of the heaven-human relationship.
Some criticize Buddhism's nirvana as detached from human affairs, Daoist purity as incapable of statecraft, and Confucian ethics as unable to transcend life and death—these are partial views. The sages' truth is unified, though applied differently. Just as humans maintain stillness, heaven and earth naturally align. "Constancy" refers to eternal permanence, "clarity" is heaven's nature, and "stillness" is earth's nature. Without clarity, heaven cannot reach its heights and manifest all phenomena; without stillness, earth cannot achieve depth and sustain all things. Should they lose this constant virtue, heaven and earth would collapse, sun and moon reverse their courses, and the four seasons fall into chaos.
(Note: The character "炁" (Qi) refers to the vital energy cultivated in Daoist practice; "Two Modes" (Liangyi) denotes yin-yang; "Three Powers" (Sancai) indicates heaven-earth-humanity; "primordial destiny" means heavenly endowed purpose; "Mother of Qi" signifies the source of primordial energy)
All phenomena in the world may appear complex and diverse, yet they all follow eternal and unchanging principles, allowing them to endure through time without alteration. As beings born of Heaven and Earth, humans embody their forms in imitation of the cosmos, with their nature and life harmonizing Yin and Yang. Originally, all possess a pure and luminous innate nature. However, obscured by ignorance and afflictions, entangled by desires and delusions, this fundamental purity becomes disturbed, making it impossible to endure as long as Heaven and Earth or to unite with the Dao (the Way).
If one can truly align with this eternal principle and return to the original purity of their nature, the profound mysteries of Heaven and Earth will naturally reveal themselves. The teachings of the Primordial Jewel in the Duren Jing (Scripture on Salvation) elucidate this very truth.
The term "Primordial" (Yuanshi) refers to the state of existence before the formation of the universe—a source beyond the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), existing prior to the Nine Qi (nine types of primordial energy). This Primordial Qi divides to form the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), the Three Lights (sun, moon, and stars), the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the four seasons, and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua)—all cosmic patterns originating from the transformations of the Three Qi: Mysterious (Xuan), Origin (Yuan), and Primordial (Shi). As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states, "Great is the Origin of Heaven (Qian Yuan), from which all things derive their beginning"—this points to the same source.
The Primordial Qi possesses the most pure, empty, non-active (Wuwei), and refined qualities, serving as the root of all Dao, the essence of all spirits, and the foundation of all things. It is inherently ineffable, which is why the Celestial Worthy (Tianzun, the highest deity in Daoism) employs the name "Celestial Worthy of the Primordial Beginning" (Yuanshi Tianzun) to signify it. In the scripture, the Celestial Worthy is depicted suspending a jewel the size of a millet grain in the void—an image rich with profound symbolism:
The jewel represents the pivotal gateway of the Mysterious Feminine (Xuanpin, the source of life), the wondrous existence within emptiness, the foundation where Water and Fire harmonize and Heaven (Qian) and Earth (Kun) unite. It symbolizes the innate luminous wisdom inherent in all beings. Its suspended position in the void carries special meaning: "Emptiness" signifies the original state of nothingness, while "Mysterious" denotes creation from non-being. Hanging five zhang (a traditional unit of measurement) above the ground, it symbolizes the perfect operation of the Five Phases, where the number "five" corresponds to Earth at the center, governing the Four Symbols (Kan, Li, Zhen, Dui). This neither-high-nor-low position illustrates how the source of life transcends the Five Phases while simultaneously containing their energies.
The scripture's depiction of the Celestial Worthy leading divine beings into the jewel metaphorically conveys how this singular Primordial Qi, though infinitesimal, encompasses the entire cosmos—whether vast realms or minute phenomena, all are contained within it.
This scripture primarily expounds on the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" (Xuánpìn yī qiào, referring to the most crucial energy aperture in the human body or cosmos) as the fundamental portal where all methods return to oneness. The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuánshǐ Tiānzūn, the supreme Daoist deity) uses the imagery of a luminous pearl to reveal essential cultivation principles to sentient beings.
The pearl hangs suspended in the void, and as the assembly gazes upward, they see an unending stream of Qi (vital energy) flowing into its opening. This symbolizes how the Mysterious Feminine Gate serves as the portal to the Dao, with the Celestial Worthy guiding all beings through this gateway using the most profound truth. Upon entering the pearl's aperture, one loses awareness of physical location—signifying that all beings return to the source through the same method, their wisdom dissolving into emptiness as their innate nature merges with the Supreme Void (cosmic origin).
The pearl is vast and formless, capable of containing all heaven and earth. The Celestial Worthy teaches through "speechless revelation," while the assembled immortals comprehend in a state of "unasked understanding," each realizing the truth and returning to the origin. The nature of wisdom is profoundly elusive—when awakened, one perceives the entirety of the Dharma-realm; when deluded, even the smallest things remain unseen.
Lord Lao (Tàishàng Lǎojūn) first uses the pearl to reveal the path of cultivation, then culminates in silent stillness to manifest the realm of absolute emptiness, fully demonstrating the profound unity of "wondrous being and true emptiness" (the integration of phenomena and voidness). The teachings of sages are too profound for ordinary comprehension; thus, expedient methods must guide beings toward personal realization. All beings inherently possess this pearl, yet few truly discover its gateway. Though methods are countless, a single pearl suffices to encompass them all.
The appended Confucian quatrain contrasts the "human mind" with the "mind of Dao": the human mind is restless and easily swayed by external things, while the mind of Dao is subtle, silent, and difficult to discern—only through awakened wisdom can it be grasped. This scripture emphasizes the cultivation essence of unifying all methods and returning to the origin, using the pearl as a metaphor for the innate luminous nature every practitioner possesses.
This passage integrates core cultivation principles from Daoist and Buddhist traditions, presenting essential teachings in concise four-line verses.
The Daoist cultivation section explains that true "Dao-mind" transcends sensory perception. When observing inwardly, thoughts return to emptiness; when observing outwardly, the physical form dissolves into nothingness. This mysterious state of void stillness cannot be comprehended through ordinary thinking. When hearing turns inward to reach a crystal-clear state beyond sound and form, it resembles the absolute silence after the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun) completes his scripture exposition within the precious pearl. Cultivation requires transcending all extreme views, clinging to neither side while maintaining the Middle Way. This state beyond form, sound, and the duality of inner/outer represents the supreme wondrous Dao.
The Buddhist cultivation section emphasizes that truth cannot be conveyed solely through words but requires personal realization. Authentic transmission occurs beyond language through direct mind-to-mind correspondence. Practice should directly point to the mind's essence—this method is supremely simple, needing no complex theories, as immediate awakening reveals one's true nature. After understanding this principle, the merit of giving away as many lives as Ganges' sands cannot compare to the wisdom gained from these four-line verses. Because true awakening to Buddhahood transcends conditioned merit.
The conclusion points out that genuinely grasping the essence of these verses means mastering the core teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—all classics merely elaborate this fundamental truth. As the Diamond Sutra states, the wisdom of seeing one's nature to attain Buddhahood far surpasses the merit of form-based generosity.
The Mysterious Doctrine Directly Pointing to the Common Origin of All Phenomena (Xuanzong Zhizhi Wanfa Tonggui) fundamentally expounds its teachings based on the renowned "Four-Line Verse" from the Diamond Sutra. This "Four-Line Verse" refers to the following lines from the Diamond Sutra: "All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, or shadows, like dew or lightning—they should be contemplated as such." These four lines reveal the essential nature of all things. Through this verse, the text elucidates how all phenomena (wanfa) ultimately return to the same origin.
"Xuanzong" refers to the profound and mysterious doctrine, "Zhizhi" means to directly point out, and "Wanfa Tonggui" conveys that all phenomena in the world ultimately converge into the same source. The entire scripture is divided into several volumes, and what is presented here is the content of the first volume.
Vol. 2
This scripture elucidates the core cultivation principles of Daoism from two perspectives.
The first section discusses the principle of "constant response in constant stillness" (chang ying chang jing). While the fundamental nature of heaven and earth is stillness, it manifests through sun, moon, clouds, rivers and all things. The four seasons are essentially still, yet express themselves through spring, summer, autumn and winter. The human heart is fundamentally still, yet reveals itself through joy, anger, sorrow and pleasure. Stillness is the master, response the servant; stillness the ruler, response the subject. The sage's heart remains unchanging while accommodating all transformations. Though interacting with myriad phenomena, the inner core never wavers with external objects. This state of "constant response in constant stillness" represents the supreme virtue of sages, the true nature of heaven and earth, and the essential practice cultivators must grasp daily.
The second section explains the concept of "the valley spirit never dies" (gu shen bu si). The "valley" symbolizes the space containing all things: Wuji (Non-Ultimate) is the valley of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), Taiji the valley of heaven and earth, heaven and earth the valley of all phenomena, and the human heart the valley of all principles. "Spirit" (Shen) refers to the most subtle principle between heaven and earth, and the most mysterious awareness within the human heart. This awareness resonates with the heart like echoes in a valley. Even when heaven and earth wax and wane, this spiritual awareness never perishes, hence "never dies." The "mysterious female" (xuan pin) represents the origin of heaven and earth, existing before all things formed. Concepts like Taiji, nature-life (xing ming), lead-mercury (qian gong), and water-fire mentioned in scriptures are all expressions of this "mysterious female." The "gate of the mysterious female" is the root of heaven and earth, from which all principles emerge. Some mistakenly consider breathing techniques as the Dao itself, but these are merely surface phenomena failing to comprehend the profundity of the "valley spirit." The phrase "continuously existing as if barely present" describes this mysterious awareness as seemingly intangible yet inexhaustible in application.
This scripture conveys three key teachings:
First, it reveals the true meaning of "eternity": Like the immortal deities dwelling in mountain valleys that remain indestructible even when scorched by the fires of cosmic cataclysms, enduring through the cycles of sun and moon. Those who attain this state—neither rushing nor slacking—can achieve eternal unity with the Dao (the Way).
Second, it demonstrates the fundamental unity between the Nature School (Chan/Zen Buddhism) and the Life School (Neidan/internal alchemy): The term "Chan" derives from the Sanskrit "Dhyāna," meaning meditative contemplation. Its core practice involves purifying the shen (spirit) and relinquishing attachments through the threefold training of precepts, meditation, and wisdom. The Life School focuses on primordial Qi (the vital energy of Taiji/Supreme Ultimate in primordial chaos), emphasizing wuwei (non-action) and the concentration of vital energies, with its foundation being the Three Treasures of jing (essence), qi, and shen. In truth, precepts-nurture jing, meditation-cultivates qi, and wisdom-enriches shen—they are two expressions of the same principle. Contemporary misunderstandings arise when Buddhists negate the Three Treasures by claiming "originally there is nothing," while Daoists boast of their Three Treasures while disparaging Buddhist disciplines—both are partial views missing the essential unity.
Lastly, it employs the Diamond Sutra's theory of "inseparable unity": Visible unity refers to the combinations of heaven, earth, and all phenomena, while invisible unity points to the Buddha-nature or ultimate truth. All things follow the organizing principles of yin-yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), yet supreme truth transcends form to reach the wondrous existence within emptiness. The Buddha always taught through concrete phenomena to guide realization of abstract truth—even tiny insects follow this universal pattern of unity.
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Methods discusses the relationship between "form" (xiang) and "principle" (li). It states that all sentient beings require concrete forms to manifest ultimate truth. Without form, the truth of absolute emptiness cannot be revealed; without truth, the profound mystery of wondrous existence remains hidden. Thus, we use form to illuminate principle, harmonizing truth with manifestation, enabling beings to realize that form is emptiness and mind is Buddha.
The scripture quotes the Tathāgata's teaching: The trichiliocosm is not an inherently real world—what we call "world" emerges from the interplay of heaven's Yang and earth's Yin. Before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) formed, no such world existed; only after heaven and earth separated did the concept of "world" arise. To regard the world as real is merely to perceive the illusory combination of Yin-Yang. The unions of heaven-earth, sun-moon, Yin-Yang, and male-female are all termed "the single combined form" (yihe xiang).
The Tathāgata's true nature is originally nameless and formless, yet the concept of "single combined form" is provisionally used to convey the truth of emptiness in terms the world can understand. This "single combined form" ultimately signifies the union of absolute emptiness and wondrous existence, the merging of sentient beings with Buddha-nature. As Laozi's phrase "when spirit and form both reach sublimity" indicates—this constitutes the thousand sages' unspoken secret, ineffable through ordinary language.
Ordinary people, clinging to worldly attachments, fail to comprehend Buddha-nature's truth. They bind themselves to earthly vexations—insatiably grasping forms, bewildered by phenomena, unable to awaken—thus their spiritual essence wanders through samsara. Various scriptures explain this differently, leading to misinterpretations of the Tathāgata's true meaning. The text clarifies: To regard the world as real perceives only the illusory combination of form and Qi; to speak of "not truly a single combined form" points to the genuine union of nature and principle.
The commentary then explicates Laozi's "Chapter on Valuing Life": "In exiting life we enter death. Three in ten are pathways of life; three in ten are pathways of death; and three in ten, while living, move toward death." Birth resembles sunrise, death resembles sunset. Zhuangzi's analogy of birth-death being like day-night alternation conveys this truth. The number "ten" symbolizes completion, illustrating how life-death constitutes nature's cyclical process.
This scripture expounds the cyclical law of life and death governing all things. Daoism posits that all phenomena in the world undergo twelve life stages (flourishing, cleansing, maturity, accession, zenith, decline, sickness, death, burial, conception, gestation), plus the human condition itself—making thirteen states in total. Just as the Kun hexagram represents nature's renewal and the Qian hexagram symbolizes the meeting of Yin-Yang, this reflects the eternal rhythm of cosmic forces waxing and waning like the alternating seasons.
No being escapes this cycle except the sages who transcend it. Even Buddhism's teaching of birth, aging, sickness, and death originates from this fundamental principle. The scripture explains: because sentient beings cling to life, they cannot avoid death; where there is birth, death inevitably follows—this is heaven and earth's immutable law. Laozi, concerned that people might not understand this truth, deliberately poses the question: Why must humans die? Then answers it himself: precisely because people crave life too intensely, they fail to attain deathlessness.
To transcend the wheel of rebirth, one must break free from the constraints of the Five Phases' generative and destructive cycles. Those truly versed in nurturing life walk without fearing rhinos or tigers, enter battle unafraid of weapons—not because these threats cannot harm them physically, but because they've already transcended the realm of mortality. The method involves: aligning with life's natural rhythms of growth and decay, comprehending the pivot between life and death, cultivating body and mind, consolidating Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), abandoning cleverness and desire, preventing emotional disturbances from agitating the heart-mind, and distancing oneself from worldly fame and gain. Thus one moves through the world like walking without avoiding wild beasts, never entering perilous territory, remaining unentangled by cravings—naturally staying clear of calamity.
This scripture primarily expounds how practitioners of the Dao can transcend life and death to merge with the ultimate truth through inner cultivation. The core teaching states: Those truly skilled in nourishing life must first purify their hearts, relinquish external attachments and physical form, rendering the six desires (arising from eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and three poisons (greed, hatred, and delusion)—all of which harm body and spirit—nowhere to take root. When both spirit (Shen) and form reach this profound state, one becomes unified with the great Dao, thereby escaping the realm of mortality.
Laozi said: "My greatest suffering lies in having this body; were I without it, what troubles would remain?" Only by not clinging to the body can one transcend life and death. Various schools explaining the essentials of cultivation often cite concepts like the nine orifices, four limbs, seven emotions, and six desires—some speak of the numerical dynamics of water and fire (Yin-Yang), others of the six roots (senses), four elements (earth, water, fire, wind), or three poisons. Yet these interpretations don’t fully align with the scripture’s original intent.
The text employs the metaphor of an infant: A fetus in the womb preserves pure, harmonious Qi (vital energy), free from emotions like joy or anger and undistracted by sensory perceptions. Once born, these cognitive afflictions arise—hence the postnatal state cannot symbolize the Dao. Ancient terms like "warming and nurturing the child-pearl" or "preserving supreme harmony," along with concepts like the "sacred embryo" or "Dao embryo," all refer to maintaining this fetal purity. The cultivation methods of sages across the three teachings—Laozi’s "embracing the origin and guarding the One," Buddhist meditation, or Yan Hui’s "sitting in forgetfulness"—ultimately seek to return to this infantile state of primal innocence.
Finally, it explains "Wuji" (the Ultimateless) and "Taiji" (the Supreme Ultimate): Wuji is the formless, attributeless source of all, while Taiji represents the primordial state containing Yin-Yang. This fundamental "center" (the Dao itself) is the origin of all things. The three teachings express it differently: Confucianism calls it "refined unity" or "preserving spirit," Daoism terms it "embracing the origin" or "guarding the One," and Buddhism names it "meditative concentration" or "serene observation"—yet all point to the same ultimate truth.
The human heart originally possesses the "Center" (the source of Dao). If one can align this innate "Center" with the natural "Center" of heaven and earth's yin-yang polarities, then all things in the universe and the self become unified. When external phenomena and the self return to the same origin, the inner state becomes tranquil and clear, free from distinctions such as birth and death, movement and stillness, coming and going, or deviation. Attaining this state allows one to regard all things equally, transcend life and death, and abide in the ultimate realm of the "Center."
Regarding the practice of "sitting in oblivion" (zuowang): "Sitting" means ceasing restless movement, while "oblivion" means extinguishing distracting thoughts. Without sitting in stillness, one cannot stop the body from being driven by external objects; without forgetting thoughts, one cannot calm the chaotic mind. If the body does not settle, the spirit cannot be still; if distracting thoughts do not cease, the heart-mind cannot be at peace. One must simultaneously achieve physical stability, cessation of external entanglements, inner clarity, and the forgetting of stray thoughts to truly comprehend the Dao. Thus, the ancients established two methods of practice—"stopping" (zhi) and "observation" (guan)—to counteract distraction and dullness: "Stopping" gathers scattered attention back to stillness, while "observation" awakens awareness to dispel dullness. Without meditative stability, one cannot stop distraction; without introspective observation, one cannot break through dullness. All accomplished practitioners of ancient times realized the Dao through this method.
Yan Hui (a disciple of Confucius) attained unity with the Dao by relinquishing sensory attachments and abandoning intellectual cleverness; Zhuangzi sat leaning against a table, forgetting himself; Master Mingdao (Cheng Hao) sat in stillness like a clay statue; the Perfected Xu Xun (one of Daoism's Four Celestial Masters) advocated calming the spirit without stirring distracting thoughts; Guangchengzi (an immortal from the Yellow Emperor's era) taught not to look at external things or listen to external sounds, instead embracing the spirit in tranquility; the Queen Mother of the West (foremost of female immortals) warned against exhausting the body or disturbing the vital essence (jing). Like Bodhidharma facing the wall at Mount Ling for six years or Huike secluding himself at Shaoshi Mountain for nine years, prolonged stillness of body and mind leads to the great quiescence. Many Buddhist practitioners follow this path—ultimately, all rely on stopping distraction and observing through dullness to cultivate.
If one does not nurture the sacred embryo (innate primordial qi) through seated meditation, how can the great matter of meditative stability and wisdom be accomplished? Before realizing one's true nature, one should not abandon seated stillness. Yet if one merely sits like a block of wood—outwardly still but inwardly agitated—it is like sitting in a dark cave. This is called "sitting in agitation," not true "sitting in oblivion."
Regarding taming the deluded mind: The human heart is cunning and treacherous, easily shaken, capable of clinging to all things in an instant. When greedy, it is fierce as tigers, wolves, eagles, or hawks; when malicious, it is venomous as vipers or scorpions. Let it run wild, and it gallops like ten thousand horses; indulge it, and it clambers like a troop of monkeys. Deluded thoughts are like spears and swords; scheming plots are like nets and hooks.
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Ten Thousand Methods Returning to One explains the principle of subduing the human mind. The text states that even with high rank and ample salary, people remain unsatisfied; dwelling in nine-storied towers brings no sense of glory—for while all worldly things can be measured, the human heart remains most unfathomable. To subdue this mind, one must first understand contentment. Then, like using medicine to suppress illness, one must rein in wandering thoughts, relinquish combative impulses, abandon the snares of fame and profit, forget riches and honors, focus the scattered mind, calm random thoughts, sever attachments of gratitude and resentment, and allow emotions of joy and anger to rest without arising. One must distance oneself from inverted dreams and shake off the disturbances of the six desires and seven emotions, maintaining non-attachment toward all worldly circumstances. Like the moon reflected on still water or the sky cleared of drifting clouds, one abides in the natural state of wuwei (non-action) and unmoving stillness. Subduing the mind in this way resembles foreign nations submitting to the central kingdom or officials returning to a wise ruler—where armor and weapons become unnecessary, the six desires cease to arise, and the three poisons of greed, hatred, and delusion are eradicated, bringing true peace to the heart-mind.
The later Yangshan Meditation Chamber Admonitions summarizes essential cultivation principles in concise phrases: compassion (saving beings with kindness, holding pity for all); precepts (guarding against desires, prohibiting all wrongdoing); generosity (relieving poverty, accumulating hidden virtue); wisdom (turning the light inward to illuminate inner ignorance); non-greed (extinguishing craving so afflictions vanish naturally); diligence (cultivating day and night with purified six senses); meditation (abiding in original mind with clarified spirit); forbearance (enduring humiliation to naturally increase blessings). Finally, it reveals the core truth that "Buddha is mind, mind is Buddha"—when attachment to the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, volition, consciousness) dissolves, the original nature's radiant perfection manifests. Then every gesture in daily life becomes wondrous functioning, and worldly toil cannot obstruct enlightenment.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation, divided into two aspects: mental refinement and alchemical practice.
Regarding mental refinement: When the mind is obstructed by afflictions, suffering arises; when unobstructed, enlightenment dawns (the term "bodhisattva" refers to an awakened being). Our true Buddha-nature resides within our present body and mind, requiring no external search. That perfect, impartial wisdom is our original mind—we must steadfastly uphold the foundations of precepts, meditation, and wisdom. Unmoved by greed or anger, we perceive the Six Dusts (form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and mental objects) and Five Aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness) as illusory. Genuine realization of this truth makes the entire world precious. The most direct path is illuminating the mind to perceive one's true nature; understanding the Tathagata's (awakened one) fundamental mission leads to becoming a Golden Immortal (perfected being). Practice generosity, compassion, and forbearance while maintaining a mind free from attachment—keeping consciousness ever balanced and impartial.
Regarding alchemical practice: Cultivation requires maintaining Yin-Yang equilibrium (Yin representing stillness, Yang representing movement), harmonizing without excess—like naturally bathing and steaming the limbs. Through breath regulation, respiration gradually becomes even ("po" refers to lung function), maintaining centered tranquility. Breathing should be continuous yet subtle, seemingly present yet absent—this constitutes the "fire timing" (cultivation rhythm). Learn to gather primordial Qi (Yuanqi, the vital energy), guarding it quietly like the feminine principle. Withdraw the Six Roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind); the gaze turns inward ("hun" refers to liver function), returning the Qi of the five viscera to their source. The body serves as the alchemical furnace, with the Mysterious Feminine Gate (Dantian) as life's foundation. Maintain mental purity (Yuanshen, the primordial consciousness) and stabilize the spleen and stomach. Daily mindfulness becomes the golden crucible for blending Yin-Yang (mercury and lead symbolizing these principles). Reduce external listening ("jing" denotes kidney Qi), gathering essence, Qi, and spirit into unified fruition like flowers forming fruit. Stabilize primordial essence (Yuanjing) without dissipation, practicing continuously throughout the twelve two-hour periods of the day.
Maintaining unwavering focus at all times—this is the true practice of cultivation, keeping the mind in constant equanimity. Speak sparingly (to preserve Shen and Qi within the heart) and consume plain, mild foods. Even the finest distracting thought (as slight as a strand of hair) must be kept in a state of perfect containment—this is genuine stability (Guji, the firm state of cultivation).
There’s no need to forcibly disturb the mind (Lingtai, the abode of spirit). Simply regard the heart as the cauldron refining Mercury (symbolizing the original spirit, Yuan Shen) and the kidney’s Water (symbolizing original essence, Yuan Jing) as the fuel. When spirit and essence merge, they condense into the Mysterious Pearl (a Neidan term for the inner elixir). This elixir shines like a grain of millet, yet if thoughts gallop like wild horses, Mercury (spirit) is lost; if the mind flits like a restless monkey, Lead (essence) is exhausted. Transcending these thirteen obstacles (thirteen hindrances of practice) severs the ties to the cycle of life and death.
The human hun and po (ethereal and corporeal souls), spirit, consciousness, and the body’s attachments to form, scent, and taste are all obstructions on the path. Only when the Primordial Qi (the universe’s foundational energy) penetrates the Mysterious Pearl and returns it to the Middle Dantian (symbolized as the Central Kingdom), can this pure Mysterious Garden (a celestial metaphor) fully purify the heart-field and reclaim its barrenness. The Great Elixir (Golden Elixir) radiates like an ice-clear vessel, shining alone without need for companionship—for Jing is the root of transforming Shen, and Qi is the source of nurturing life. When essence, energy, and spirit unite, one communes with heaven and earth, circulating like the Northern Dipper: rising from the "sea floor" (perineum) at the Zi hour (midnight) and descending to "Kunlun" (crown) at the Wu hour (noon). When the Golden Crow (sun) and Jade Rabbit (moon) cease their revolutions, the five skandhas (form, sensation, perception, volition, consciousness) are seen as empty.
The true Dao cannot be transmitted. Techniques under heaven may be taught, but not the Dao; methods may be spoken of, but the Dao is beyond words. Laozi said: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name." The Dao has no written form—how could it be spoken? It is inherently silent—what could be transmitted? One must realize it within the heart, then use a master’s guidance to confirm this awakening. When words and deeds align with the Dao, it is the master who delivers me—yet the master is but a signpost (Huabiao). If people stray from the path, it is no fault of the sign. A master discerns right and wrong but cannot attain the Dao for you. The Diamond Sutra states: "To claim the Tathagata liberates beings is to dwell in the marks of self, person, sentient being, and lifespan." All beings are inherently complete; I merely awaken them to self-realization. To say "I liberate others" clings to worldly names. Laozi, too, spoke of the eternal Dao as self-realized—never did he claim to deliver others.
Lately, some seekers chase the bizarre and uncanny, boasting of out-of-body Yang Shen journeys, communion with sages, visions of hell or tours of heaven, claiming divine interactions or ghostly dreams, using omens to mislead and portents to deceive. They mistake fasting for practice and nocturnal wandering for meditation...
This passage from Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Methods critiques various false practices in spiritual cultivation during its time, while elucidating the fundamental distinction between "uprightness" (zhi) and "crookedness" (heng).
The text first identifies common cultivation errors: Some mistake drinking alcohol and eating meat for nourishing Jing (essence), bending low as seated meditation, random thoughts for Zen contemplation, delusional fantasies for Buddhist teachings, counting breaths for life-nourishing practice, and recognizing the acquired consciousness (Shishen) as seeing one's true nature. Worse still are those who practice naked rituals, exploit yin energies to supplement yang, or manipulate Jing-Qi through obscene acts—all while calling these "secret methods" and bowing reverently as disciples. These bizarre and chaotic practices would disgust any discerning observer, yet people inexplicably prefer falsehood over truth.
The teaching then employs the metaphor of "humans stand upright, beasts lie horizontal" to reveal cosmic principles: Human uprightness mirrors the Dao of heaven and earth, while animals' horizontal posture violates celestial order. Those who stand straight emulate heaven and earth, thus upholding Dao, De (Virtue), benevolence and righteousness; those lying prone resemble tigers, wolves, hawks and snakes—cruel and greedy creatures. Confucius said "human life is upright"—only with straight body and mind can one remain human; twisted forms degrade people into beasts. Sadly, few maintain this uprightness today.
Finally, the "grafting analogy" illustrates transformation: Ordinary trees bear plain flowers and bitter fruit, but through grafting, gardeners prune old branches and attach superior scions. Bound with straw and packed with earth, nourished by wind and rain, new shoots revive the old trunk—what was sour becomes sweet. This mirrors cultivation's essence: discarding falsity for authenticity, reforming faults into virtue.
The core message emphasizes "uprightness" in practice—maintaining an honest heart while eliminating pretense—condemning those who pursue novelty and fake mysticism. True Daoist methods reside not in bizarre forms, but in returning to one's original, authentic nature.
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Methods scripture primarily discusses two key teachings: first, the transformability of human nature illustrated through the metaphor of grafting fruit trees, and second, the cultivation principle of "three bodies sharing one root."
The first section explains the mutability of human nature. Just as sweet fruit trees can change their variety through grafting, human nature can likewise be transformed. When evil thoughts first sprout, if one promptly prunes them and grafts virtuous thoughts in their place—like attaching superior branches—the transformation begins. Protecting one's heart-mind with patience resembles securing new grafts with straw ropes; nourishing with sincerity is like enriching the soil, while gentle breezes and wisdom's rain represent proper cultivation. Thus virtuous thoughts flourish while evil tendencies cease. The deceitful may become upright, the hypocritical may turn sincere—blossoming with wisdom's flowers and bearing fruits of truth. Those who claim human nature cannot change or bad habits cannot be reformed simply fail to understand this principle.
The second part expounds the "three bodies sharing one root" cultivation theory. The Great Dao (cosmic origin) manifests in three forms: Daoism venerates the Three Pure Ones (Jade Clarity, Supreme Clarity, and Grand Clarity as highest deities), while Buddhism speaks of the Dharmakaya (truth body), Sambhogakaya (reward body), and Nirmanakaya (emanation body). This mirrors how Shakyamuni Buddha manifests through Manjushri and Samantabhadra bodhisattvas, or Amitabha Buddha through Avalokiteshvara and Mahasthamaprapta—all exemplifying the philosophical principle that "Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) contains three." These triads originate from Qian Yuan (primordial cosmic energy); since Qian corresponds to Metal in the Five Phases, cultivation terminology frequently employs "gold," as seen in terms like Golden Elixir (Jindan) and Vajra (Jingang).
The text further decodes symbolic representations through Buddhist iconography: Avalokiteshvara's white robes signify Western wisdom, while Mahasthamaprapta's azure garments represent Eastern compassion. Buddha images with empty hands symbolize union with heaven and earth; standing on lotuses indicates purity unstained by defilements; crimson robes embody pure Yang, golden bodies exemplify adamantine firmness, and bare feet transcend worldly attachments—all using form to express cultivation states.
Ultimately, the scripture clarifies that the essence of the Great Dao is formless emptiness, beyond images and sounds. These concrete representations exist merely as skillful means (upaya) to guide sentient beings according to their capacities.
This passage explores the fundamental unity between Buddhist and Daoist teachings, critiquing the error of clinging to superficial differences. The author laments how, over time, people's understanding of the sages' teachings has increasingly deviated from their original essence. The ancient sages resorted to creating symbolic teaching methods out of necessity—though these manifestations are artificially constructed illusions, the sages' underlying intention remains consistent. Truth transcends form and is ultimately ineffable, being fundamentally unified (myriad manifestations share one root), while appearing in diverse forms (one root manifests diversely). The awakened can integrate the three bodies (Dharma Body, Reward Body, and Emanation Body), while the deluded perceive them as separate.
Regarding the teaching that "the three minds cannot be grasped": past mind, present mind, and future mind are all illusory. The fading of a previous thought constitutes the past, the arising of a current thought is the present, and thoughts yet to emerge represent the future. Though divided temporally, their essence remains undifferentiated. The sage's mind transcends time, remaining eternally unchanging, unaltered by external phenomena or shifting eras. Though sages employ specific words and actions to teach beings and govern the world, their inner mind remains pristine in wuwei (non-action), unattached to any conceptual forms. Hence it is called "cannot be grasped."
The dialectical "six pairs" reveal the transformation between awakening and delusion: wisdom and ignorance, Buddha-nature and ordinary beings, afflictions and bodhi (awakening), joy and anger, profit-seeking and righteousness—these seemingly opposing concepts can actually transform into one another. The key lies in whether one is awakened—when awakened, ignorance becomes wisdom; when deluded, wisdom reverts to ignorance. When awakened, ordinary beings are Buddha-nature; when deluded, Buddha-nature degrades into ordinary beings. The same principle applies to the other pairs: awakening transforms afflictions into bodhi, anger into joy, and profit-seeking into righteousness. These six pairs exemplify the Daoist dialectical principle that "reversal is the movement of the Dao."
When a person attains enlightenment, even their pursuit of profit can transform into benevolence and righteousness. Yet if one remains deluded, even benevolence and righteousness become tools for seeking gain. The same principle applies to illusion and truth—when enlightened, illusion turns to truth; when confused, truth reverts to illusion.
These opposing concepts are like the relationship between water and hot water: identical in essence but differing in function. Hot water cools and becomes water again; water heats up and turns into hot water. The two transform into each other seamlessly, distinguished only by their temperature. Just as hot water arises from water, ignorance inherently contains wisdom. Just as water can become hot water, all sentient beings possess Buddha-nature within their fundamental nature. Hot water cannot exist apart from water, nor water from hot water—just as these six pairs of opposites are forever interdependent.
When ignorance manifests, wisdom recedes; when sentient beings are deluded, Buddha-nature is obscured. When illusion arises, truth fades; when anger appears, joy vanishes. When afflictions grow, Bodhi (enlightenment) diminishes; when greed expands, benevolence and righteousness decline. It is like how the properties of water weaken when it becomes hot water, and heat dissipates when the water cools—though they transform, their essence never changes. Anger and joy are not two separate natures, nor does joy emerge only after anger fades. They are like the two ends of a single stick, entirely dependent on how one holds it. Water boils into soup; soup cools into water—the same logic applies to these six pairs of opposites. To seek Buddha-nature apart from sentient beings, to pursue wisdom by rejecting ignorance, or to search for Bodhi (enlightenment) by escaping afflictions—this is fundamentally impossible.
Someone once asked about the essentials of the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the core of Neidan practice) and the cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), saying that the alchemical texts are filled with metaphors, making it difficult for beginners to grasp the core. They requested a single phrase to illuminate the essence. The answer was: When the Qi of the five organs flows without disorder, the five desires stir no deluded thoughts, the flavors of food and drink provoke no greed, the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) remain pure, and the heart-mind is clear and tranquil—this is the highest-grade Golden Elixir, the most direct and straightforward method.
They then asked about the concrete method for refining the true elixir. The reply was: See through the disturbances of worldly affairs and cultivate stillness in seated meditation. Let the liver Qi (Azure Dragon) descend, the lung Qi (White Tiger) subside, the heart fire (Vermilion Bird) extinguish, the kidney water (Black Tortoise) return to its source, and the spleen earth (Gouchen) stabilize. When the true Qi of the five organs harmonizes and the entire body is at peace—this is the method of the elixir.
The questioner said, "If that’s the case, can everyone achieve it immediately?" The answer: Though the principle is simple, truly reaching this state requires actual practice and realization. It is like knowing water can turn into soup—but without applying heat, it remains cold water.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, emphasizing that genuine cultivation lies in the inner work of nature and life (xingming), not in the external refinement of elixirs.
It first clarifies that "true lead and mercury" are not physical substances but represent the fundamental root of heaven and earth (tiandi zhi genyuan), while "true water and fire" symbolize the primal origins of yin and yang (yinyang zhi benzu). Within the human body, mercury and lead correspond to one's nature and life force, while water and fire represent the Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy)—all essential elements of internal cultivation. The ancients employed various symbolic images (dragons, tigers, turtles, snakes, etc.) as metaphors to help practitioners comprehend the harmonization of inner yin and yang, ultimately leading to the fusion of innate spiritual energy (shenqi) within the body.
Regarding Waidan (external alchemy), the text makes it clear: The authentic "returned elixir" uses the body as the furnace, the heart as the cauldron, no-thought as the method, and emptiness as the medicinal substance. It refines through the fire of consciousness (shenhuo) and tempers with the water of innate vitality (xingshui). Practicing this way allows one to experience the wondrous effects of ingesting the Golden Elixir in a short time, while long-term dedication may lead to immortality. In contrast, refining mundane elixirs not only wastes resources but has historically deceived many emperors and nobles—almost none achieved success through such means.
Concerning ancient alchemical furnaces and tools, the text explains that true adepts (zhiren) used external furnaces to refine ordinary medicines while simultaneously cultivating the inner elixir of the heart. They regulated the "fire phases" (wenwu choutian) to control mental distractions. If inner cultivation remains incomplete—if the six sensory roots remain impure and the three poisons (greed, hatred, delusion) persist—even possessing external elixirs would be useless.
Finally, it reveals the key to medicinal coagulation and fire-phase application: When Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) naturally merge while the mind remains unmoving, this constitutes the true state of cultivation. Here, the text underscores that inner stillness and stability hold far greater importance than external alchemical operations.
In the practice of Neidan (internal alchemy, the Daoist method for cultivating longevity), one must maintain a mind free of distractions throughout the twelve double-hours of the day, just as water (represented by the Kan trigram) and fire (represented by the Li trigram) naturally revolve. This is what is called "fire regulation" (huohou, the control of intention and breath during cultivation). If the timing and fire regulation are not properly managed, the practice will go awry; if the spirit (shen) is scattered, even the finest elixir will prove ineffective. Merely knowing the materials for refining the elixir without understanding fire regulation will ultimately be futile.
Some ask whether cultivation must strictly adhere to seasonal nodes, trigrams, and timekeeping. In truth, the true fire of cultivation has no fixed hour, and the Great Medicine (the inner elixir) has no fixed formula. The ancients established these rules of seasonal nodes and trigrams simply to help practitioners comprehend the patterns of Yin-Yang transformation, recognize the numerical principles of heaven and earth's movement, and verify the accuracy of timing. This enables the essence (jing), vital energy (qi), and spirit (shen) to harmonize with the Dao's operation and align with the trigrams without contradiction. Just as disordered timing in nature leads to an imbalance of Yin and Yang and erratic wind and rain, restless thoughts in the human mind can cause fire regulation to go awry, resulting in failed alchemy. One must constantly synchronize with the creative transformations of heaven and earth and maintain the harmonious movement of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Thus, the trigrams and timing serve as the practitioner's inner compass.
Regarding the increase, decrease, advance, and retreat of civil and martial fire regulation (civil fire refers to gentle intention control, while martial fire refers to intense intention control), the most profound oral instructions on fire regulation have been carefully guarded by sages throughout the ages. Simply put, it involves harmonizing the relationship between metal (lead) and fire (mercury)—metal represents original qi (life, ming), while fire represents the original spirit (nature, xing). When nature and life merge, and metal and fire harmonize, the inner elixir is achieved. If the fire is too fierce, it becomes dry; if too weak, it scatters. The key lies in balancing firmness and softness. Like playing a zither—if the strings are too tight, they snap; if too loose, they produce no sound. Only when neither too tight nor too loose can the music be exquisite. The same principle applies to fire regulation.
Some ask whether the inner elixir, like a fetus maturing over ten months, still requires further cultivation. This is akin to refined gold that no longer needs to be smelted again once purified, having already attained the indestructible vajra body (the highest state of Daoist practice). At this stage, one may rest in tranquility, neither deliberately intensifying nor weakening the fire regulation, maintaining only a subtle state of nurturing warmth—like a fish drinking water, knowing for itself whether it is cold or warm.
Finally, is the perfection of the sacred embryo (the inner elixir) the ultimate state? While the ten-month maturation indeed achieves complete unity, true transcendence requires breaking through this state of perfection to enter a higher realm of formlessness and imagelessness.
To transcend all extreme dualities is the true profound Dao.
Someone asked: Ancient texts like the Zhouyi Cantongqi (a Daoist alchemical classic) and Longhu Jing were all modeled after the Yijing (Book of Changes). What profound meaning did the ancients intend by this? The answer: The immortals feared that if people obtained the truth too easily, they would lose it just as readily. Thus they employed the hexagrams of the Yijing to elucidate the principles. Humans are fundamentally structured in harmony with heaven and earth, and the Yijing precisely mirrors the patterns of the cosmos. To comprehend the Yijing is to hold the Dao of heaven and earth within one's heart. The most fundamental and simple truth is the dual cultivation of nature (xing) and life (ming) — where nature represents the pure emptiness of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), and life embodies the profound reality of Wuji (the Limitless Origin). Neither the Confucian Five Classics, the Buddhist Tripitaka, nor ten thousand volumes of alchemical texts surpass this fundamental principle.
Another question: Beyond the dual cultivation of nature and life, is there any deeper mystery? The answer: The key lies in the heart-mind. The heart is the abode of Shen (spirit), the sovereign of Jing (essence), and the commander of Qi (vital energy). When the heart is still, the spirit settles; when the heart is focused, essence condenses; when the heart is stable, Qi flows harmoniously. A restless heart breeds scattered thoughts, while a tranquil heart quiets all distractions. The heart's capacity is vast enough to encompass heaven and earth — when gathered inward, it harmonizes the Four Symbols (lesser/major Yin and Yang), integrates the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), unites the Eight Trigrams (Qian/Kun/Zhen/Xun/Kan/Li/Gen/Dui), and facilitates the mutual nourishment of lead and mercury (alchemical symbols of Yin-Yang), achieving the perfect balance of water and fire (Kan-Li), ultimately unifying spirit and soul. Whether becoming an immortal or a Buddha, a master or a Confucian scholar — all depend on cultivating the heart-mind.
Someone inquired: In the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir (Jindan, internal alchemy), which is more essential — nature or life? The answer: Those who begin with nature-oriented practice focus on cultivating xing while supporting it with ming cultivation; those starting with life-oriented practice emphasize ming while supplementing with xing cultivation. Nature cannot exist without life — xing without ming is like withered wisdom; life cannot exist without nature — ming without xing resembles parched Yang energy. These two share the same origin but follow different paths; neither should be excessively favored.
Another question: Where do humanity's fundamental aspects — form, Qi, essence, spirit, nature, and life — ultimately return? The answer: The Taiji's primordial chaos transforms into Qi (primordial energy), the purest Qi is called essence, the quintessence of essence is called spirit, and the mystery of spirit is called nature. When Qi descends into human form, it becomes life. For humans, Qi governs physical form — abundant Qi nourishes essence, abundant essence illuminates spirit, and luminous spirit fulfills the perfection of nature. Nature is the beginning, life the conclusion — this is the ultimate aim of cultivation.
Finally, a skeptic asked: If simply embracing the origin and guarding the One (preserving primordial unity) suffices, why bother with complex metaphors of hexagrams and Yin-Yang? The response clarifies: The Dao of immortals cannot be grasped by shallow minds. Without penetrating the origin of Taiji and the foundation of heaven-earth, one can never truly comprehend its profundity.
This passage explains that the essence of cultivation lies in inner realization rather than rigid adherence to external forms. It begins by pointing out that if one doesn't even understand fundamental concepts like the hexagrams (symbols from the Yi Jing), the patterns of Qi (vital energy), Kan-Li (Water and Fire in the Bagua), or Qian-Hg (lead and mercury in alchemical terminology, representing Yin-Yang), they cannot be considered truly knowledgeable. Those who stubbornly cling to doctrines without seeking deeper understanding, remaining confused about what the Dao actually is—how can they grasp its profound mysteries? The path to immortality cannot be attained by the obstinate nor by those unwilling to learn.
Regarding the question about the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" (the Daoist term for the source of life), the response clarifies that this is the root of the primordial Dao, from which heaven, earth, and all things arise. It has no fixed form and is known by different names in various contexts: in physical terms, it is called nature and life (Xing-Ming); in alchemy, lead and mercury (Qian-Hg); in the human body, it is Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit); in the hexagrams, Kan-Li; in the Yi Jing, Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); in Buddhism, the "original face"; and in Daoism, the "Mysterious Pass" (a key point in cultivation). Such profound principles defy verbal explanation—those who truly comprehend them can attain longevity equal to heaven and earth.
When asked what to rely on if elixirs and external medicines are unreliable, the text explains that the true "lead and mercury" and "dragon and tiger" (alchemical terms) are within one's own body. The "cauldron" (a metaphor for alchemical tools) and "ingredients" (elements of cultivation) are inherent to oneself. To neglect these inner treasures while seeking external elixirs is as futile as trying to cook rice with sand or refine gold from leaves.
Addressing whether one must abandon family and abstain from food to cultivate the Dao, the response clarifies that the true path to immortality does not depend on such superficial practices. Many mistakenly believe that renouncing marriage and fasting constitute cultivation, unaware that the real foundation lies in refining one's original Shen (spirit). True adepts can remain untainted by worldly affairs without resorting to extreme behaviors. However, those who use this as an excuse to indulge in worldly desires while fantasizing about immortality are worse than the denizens of hell.
Finally, discussing the need for a teacher's guidance, the text states that while beginners require a master's instruction, upon enlightenment, one becomes their own teacher. Quoting Zhuangzi: "If the Dao could be casually transmitted, people would have long passed it to their descendants." Ultimately, cultivation depends on awakening one's own mind—external seeking is futile.
This Mysterious Doctrine Directly Pointing to the Common Origin of All Methods is an important Daoist scripture, with its second volume primarily expounding the core concept of "all methods returning to the same source." The term "Mysterious Doctrine" (Xuanzong) refers to the profound and esoteric tenets of Daoism, while "Directly Pointing" signifies revealing the essential meaning of cultivation. Through this volume, the author demonstrates that although cultivation methods may appear vastly different, they ultimately point to the same fundamental truth.
The text explains that whether it's refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan), circulating Qi, reciting scriptures, chanting mantras, or seated meditation and visualization, all cultivation methods are essentially different paths leading to the great Dao. Just as all rivers flow to the sea, every practice must eventually return to the original source of the Dao—tranquility and non-action (Wuwei). Practitioners need not cling to the external forms of specific methods; what truly matters is comprehending the profound truth they contain.
This volume particularly emphasizes the importance of "mind cultivation," asserting that genuine practice lies in refining the heart-mind. External rituals and techniques are merely supportive means—the crucial point is using these methods to purify the mind and return to one's original nature. When practitioners attain the state of "no-mind," they naturally unite with the Dao, at which point all distinctions between methods dissolve, revealing the true reality of "all methods sharing the same origin."
Vol. 3
Someone asked: "Regarding the cultivation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan, Daoist Neidan/internal alchemy) and the dual cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu, physical-spiritual practice), is it theoretically possible without a master's transmission?" The answer is: There truly exist people in this world who attain awakening without a teacher. Zhuangzi said "follow your sincere heart as your teacher," and the Buddha also spoke of having countless teachers across past lifetimes, yet ultimately enlightenment comes through self-realization. This doesn't mean teachers are unnecessary, but rather emphasizes that seeking within surpasses seeking without. If one mistakenly follows a false teacher, the misguidance could be severe—how easily does one encounter a true illuminated master?
Another question arose: "While the medicinal ingredients (Jing, Qi, Shen) for alchemical practice are relatively easy to identify, the fire timing (Huohou, the subtle regulation of intention during practice) proves most difficult to master—how should one proceed?" The response: Throughout history, alchemical scriptures (Danjing) never explicitly describe fire timing's practical methods. Only Master Zhang (Zhang Boduan, patriarch of the Southern Lineage of Neidan) and Bai Yuchan (renowned Southern Song dynasty adept) conveyed it most clearly through symbolic diagrams. This resembles the Lotus Sutra's teaching of "the one great causal condition"—it's absolutely no trivial matter. One must truly comprehend the essential formula, maintaining throughout the twelve two-hour periods of the day—whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—a state as pure as an infant's. Let Shen (consciousness) and Qi (vital energy) harmoniously intermingle, allowing the Water (Kidneys) and Fire (Heart) to circulate naturally. Internally, no distracting thoughts arise; externally, no delusions emerge. A single stirring of thought scatters the true fire; a moment of delusion misses the cultivation opportunity. Maintain warmth like winter sunlight, clarity like an autumn full moon; focus like a hen brooding eggs or a young dragon nurturing its pearl; return to the undifferentiated chaos before Yin-Yang separation, attaining what Confucians call "before the stirring of joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure" and Buddhists term "the emptiness of sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness." Only then can alchemical success be achieved—otherwise, the outcome remains uncertain.
Another inquiry: "What are the 'Two Crescents' (Liangxian, lunar phases symbolizing fire timing)?" The explanation: Within the human body itself exists these Yin-Yang crescents. Using celestial phenomena as metaphor: The new moon (first day) corresponds to Kun and Fu hexagrams, symbolizing Yang energy's initial birth; the first quarter moon (eighth day) matches the Lin hexagram; the full moon (fifteenth day) aligns with Tai hexagram; the sixteenth day relates to Gou hexagram as the moon wanes; the third quarter moon (twenty-third day) corresponds to Dun hexagram; and the thirtieth day returns to Kun hexagram as the dark moon. Thus the cycle endlessly revolves. Precisely sixteen days span from the eighth to twenty-third—termed "one jin" (ancient measurement unit)—when Yin and Yang achieve perfect equilibrium, hence called the Two Crescents.
This passage elucidates several core concepts in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Regarding the "two internal crescents," it refers to the golden (lungs) and silver (kidneys) energies within the body, each weighing eight ounces (a traditional Chinese measurement). Their fusion must achieve the perfect harmony of a full moon—any deviation will prevent the formation of the Golden Elixir. This practice is profoundly subtle and can only be mastered through intuitive comprehension.
Concerning the "two solstices," the text explains that one need not rigidly adhere to the winter and summer solstices in nature. Within the human body, the alternation of Yin and Yang manifests constantly as "solstitial moments," akin to the interaction between the Kan (kidneys) and Li (heart) trigrams during the zi (midnight) and wu (noon) hours. The key lies in apprehending one's internal rhythms.
On the distinction between heart (xin) and intention (yi): The heart is the knowing subject, while intention represents its activity. The spleen governs intention, evidenced by the character "意" (yi) combining "音" (sound) and "心" (heart). As the spleen belongs to the Earth phase and inclines toward contemplation, the character "思" (si, thought) comprises "田" (field) and "心." All Chinese characters related to cognition contain the "heart" radical, demonstrating that mental activities are heart-based. This illustrates the principle that "all phenomena arise from mind."
Regarding the operations of the five spirits (hun, po, jing, shen, yi): The liver's ethereal soul (hun) manifests in the eyes, the lungs' corporeal soul (po) in the nose, the kidneys' essence (jing) in the ears, the heart's spirit (shen) in the tongue, and the spleen's intention (yi) in the limbs. Sensory functions all depend on intentional engagement—without conscious direction, eyes cannot discern colors, ears cannot hear sounds, noses cannot detect scents, nor tongues perceive flavors. Practitioners must stabilize intention to pacify the five spirits. As the ancients said, "When not a single thought arises, the complete reality appears"—this describes the ideal meditative state.
Finally, the relationship among nature (xing), spirit (shen), and heart (xin): Nature is the unmoving emptiness of true void, spirit is the luminous awareness within this void, while the heart serves as the pivot integrating both. These three are ultimately one reality expressed through different aspects.
This passage from Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Methods examines several key issues in Daoist cultivation:
On the relationship between innate nature and wisdom: When the human mind becomes still, the primordial Shen (the innate spiritual nature in Daoist terminology) settles into stability; when the mind is agitated, the Shen becomes disturbed. Though these appear as two states, both originate from the same source. Innate nature itself lacks spiritual awareness—it requires the Shen to manifest. Wisdom cannot be attained through ordinary thinking. It resembles the flowing, unceasing quality of water symbolized by the Kan trigram (representing wisdom), while discernment shines like the constant illumination of fire represented by the Li trigram (symbolizing insight). This wisdom shares the same essence as what Laozi called "spiritual illumination"—when awakened, one merges with the cosmos; when deluded, it's like dwelling in darkness. Both sages and ordinary people possess this innate nature—the difference lies solely in whether one has awakened to it.
Regarding grain avoidance (bigu): Ancient cultivators, with their abundant Jing, Qi, and Shen, naturally ceased needing food after prolonged practice. Modern practitioners, ignorant of this principle, forcibly abstain for days until they become emaciated—mistaking this for cultivation when it's actually foolish behavior.
On dietary supplements: Humans only need sufficient nourishment to sustain life. Excessive indulgence in food and drink instead nourishes the Three Corpse Worms (harmful spiritual entities believed to reside in the body according to Daoism) and depletes primordial Qi. Genuine practitioners emphasize purification through fasting—one never hears of drunkards and gluttons achieving immortality.
Concerning physical immortality: Many Daoist students focus solely on preserving their physical bodies without understanding the great matter of life and death. When death approaches in panic, they inevitably fall into unfortunate rebirths. Cultivators must thoroughly investigate this fundamental matter of life and death—it cannot be treated lightly.
The passage concludes by noting that human life originates from the father's essence and mother's blood—this foundational principle must be understood. Throughout, the scripture emphasizes grasping cultivation's essence rather than clinging to superficial forms.
The human body is given by one's mother. Though it takes form like heaven and earth, sustained by the Qi (vital energy) of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) to nourish life and maintained through various causes and conditions, everything from head to toe is impermanent. As the verse by Maitreya says: Even if you could live for eighty thousand kalpas, you would ultimately return to emptiness. Only the primordial original Qi that existed before the Great Beginning remains indestructible even when burned by kalpa fires—how could anything borrowed not perish?
Laozi (Lord Lao) said: "My greatest suffering comes from having this body." He also said: "The sage disregards the body yet preserves life." This shows the body is ultimately a source of affliction; only the Dao is eternal. The ancients cultivated the Dao not for this physical form. If one comprehends the truth of deathless immortality and attains the state beyond birth and extinction, why worry about the final destination?
Someone asks: The impermanence of all things is an unchanging truth throughout history—can there truly be a way to transcend death? The answer: The ancients spoke of something that existed before heaven and earth—empty and formless in itself, yet sovereign over all things, never decaying with the changing seasons. This is what Laozi meant by "the valley spirit never dies" (referring to the Dao's empty yet numinous nature, eternally indestructible). All things perish, yet the Dao alone is everlasting; all things inevitably die, yet the Dao alone is deathless—is this not the deathless Dao?
Another asks: Buddhism focuses solely on ultimate liberation, even sacrificing the body for the Dao or killing to deliver beings—why? The answer: Buddhism teaches that before heaven and earth formed, all things were nameless and formless. The shapes and colors we see now arise from deluded causes and conditions, lacking true reality. Those who penetrate this truth understand body and life are impermanent, destined to perish like discarded withered branches. They cultivate the Dao solely to benefit beings, not for themselves, devoting their lives to this single pursuit for liberation at life's end.
Someone says: By this reasoning, does the path to longevity not exist? The answer: Deathless longevity is heaven and earth's truest nature—many ancient sages attained the Dao. To say it doesn't exist slanders the great Dao; to say it does seems truly rare. I fear people cannot achieve true deathlessness, so I urge awakening to the ultimate truth early, lest they fall back into rebirth at life's end. I dare not say longevity doesn't exist—only grieve that beings may not attain it.
Another asks: The living cannot know tomorrow's affairs—who can foresee life and death? The answer: Ancient texts say only sages can foresee survival and demise. The principles of life and death are not...
When ordinary people understand where they come from, they will know where to return; comprehending the principle of life, they will grasp the meaning of death. Yin and Yang are fundamentally the same truth, and life and death are ultimately one path. If one cannot quietly contemplate even this basic principle, how can they possibly discuss the Dao?
Someone asked: After the physical body (composed of the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind) perishes, what is its final destination? The answer is: Since ancient times, few cultivators have discussed this matter. Though the illusory physical form vanishes, the true emptiness (referring to the formless essence) eternally exists. The Śūraṅgama Sūtra states that this pure nature pervades the entire cosmos. If deluded attachments remain at the moment of death, one will be reborn again through the interplay of causes and conditions. This ultimate destination truly transcends intellectual speculation and is not easily fathomed.
Another question: Does this true emptiness possess awareness? The answer: It cannot be seen with eyes nor heard with ears. How profound it is! Like the mysterious teachings of the Three Caverns (the highest Daoist scriptures), it is silent yet resonates as clearly as a bell. Follow-up question: If it resonates like a bell, how can it be called true emptiness? The answer: Ha! How can wooden and stony views presume to discuss the Dao? How could they comprehend the profound mysteries of sages?
Someone inquired: You initially practiced Chan Buddhism but later turned to Daoist immortality arts—who were your teachers? The answer: In my youth, I followed Master Zihu in Chan practice. Once, upon seeing a dog weeping before the abbot's closed door, I suddenly awakened to the nature of mind. Later, through studying the Wuzhen Pian, I grasped the profound meaning of the Golden Elixir (the core of Neidan practice) and realized the true essence of life cultivation. During twenty years of warfare and hardship, I never abandoned my practice. While traveling, I encountered an accomplished master who transmitted to me the secret of "fire timing" (the crucial timing in Neidan practice). Following these methods, results manifested immediately. My only regret is the lack of discerning individuals in this world to jointly propagate the Great Dao—what profound sorrow!
Someone asked: Why does Quanzhen Daoism so resemble Buddhism? The answer: Laozi's teachings on emptiness, spontaneity, Wuwei (non-action), and purity fundamentally align with Buddhist principles. Those methods for nourishing form and prolonging life were established by sages as expedient means to gradually guide practitioners. The supreme vehicle of practice (direct awakening to one's nature) can only be comprehended by sages—who else could grasp it? Quanzhen emphasizes sudden awakening in practice, hence its similarity to Chan. What is sudden cultivation? It means cutting straight through without detours, bypassing gates and doors to directly attain the supreme path of Golden Immortality (the highest attainment in Daoism). Like walking—first seeking small paths, then entering the main gate, passing through halls before reaching inner chambers—this is gradual cultivation. The Qingjing Jing states: "Proceeding step by step, one enters the true Dao."
Someone asked: Among the three methods—ascension to immortality, eternal life without death, and liberation through corpse transformation (where the practitioner's physical form remains while the spirit is freed)—which is superior? The answer: When both spirit and form attain the wondrous state, one may ascend; by preserving the original spirit (Shen) and nurturing the primordial qi (Qi, the vital energy), one may achieve deathlessness; when the physical body remains while the spirit is liberated, one attains liberation through corpse transformation. Ascension and deathlessness are rare in this world, while corpse liberation is relatively more common. Yet their superiority depends on individual cultivation—none can be easily judged superior.
Another question: Can anyone who achieves corpse liberation be considered to have attained the Dao? The answer: Even those who pass away sitting upright or standing must have diligently cultivated and verified the truth throughout their lives, inwardly aligning with the Dao's principles, with words and actions naturally revealing true understanding, genuinely comprehending the source of the great Dao. Only if they maintain a mind as clear as a breeze and bright moon at life's end can they be said to have attained the Dao. If they remain utterly ignorant of profound truths yet silently depart, suddenly sitting in stillness at death, how is this any different from an ordinary person's passing? What marvel is there in that?
Someone asked: Why did Śākyamuni enter nirvana lying on his side? The answer: "Nir" in nirvana means cessation without rebirth, while "vana" means eternal life without death. The state of neither birth nor death is the Dao. His reclining on the right side to manifest extinction, being solemnly encoffined, demonstrates conformity with worldly rites—not appearing different from ordinary people, thus setting an example for future disciples to avoid pursuing the bizarre. When one truly attains the Dao and transforms, why would they care whether lying down or sitting up?
Further question: Many scriptures state "the Dao does not depart from the body," yet also say tears, saliva, semen, blood, and the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind—a Buddhist concept adopted by Daoism referring to bodily constituents) are all yin substances inevitably subject to decay and death. Then where exactly is the Dao? The answer: Before our parents conceived us, this body did not exist. After physical form arises, the aggregation of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, heart-mind, essence, and soul is called a body; when dispersed, they're called the four elements—temporarily combined, they're called a person, hence their yin nature. Only the innate true nature, that spark of primordial yang, called the valley spirit (Dantian's original spirit) or the mysterious feminine (source of life), dwelling within our bodies—this alone manifests the Dao and constitutes the root of deathless immortality.
Follow-up: Does this mean the physical form can be discarded and the Dao can exist apart from the body? The answer: The body is the root, the mind is the sovereign. Without the root, life has no footing; without the sovereign, the great Dao has no anchor. Both body and mind must be complete to accomplish this Dao. Those who don't understand the principles of movement and stillness, who fail to recognize the crux of nature and life's survival, clinging stubbornly to physical form—whether discarding or treasuring it—gain nothing meaningful. This Dao—it neither dwells outside nor within the body. Deliberately distancing from it is wrong; obsessively clinging to it is delusion.
This passage discusses two distinct realms of spiritual cultivation and enlightenment. The highest level of realization allows one to directly comprehend the state of "divine form and wondrous substance," attaining the condition of "transcending the physical body while preserving spiritual existence." In Daoism, this realm is called "Fuli Yuanshi" (primordial origin of the universe); in Buddhism, it's known as "Kongwang Rulai" (supreme Buddha-nature); in Confucianism, it's termed "Xiantian Taiyi" (primordial state of cosmic inception). This state is inherently complete, requiring neither cultivation methods nor comprehension of symbolic terminology like the alchemical metaphors of dragon-tiger, turtle-snake, or lead-mercury.
For those incapable of immediate awakening, gradual cultivation becomes necessary. One must first understand the state of primordial chaos, study the symbolic meanings of alchemical terms, exhaustively investigate principles, and ultimately return to original nature before achieving unity with the cosmic source. The former approach is called "sudden enlightenment," the latter "gradual learning"—though methods differ, the ultimate goal remains identical.
The discussion then turns to ancient cultivation practices. In prehistoric times before writing emerged and before the Three Teachings (Daoism, Buddhism, Confucianism) were established, human minds remained pure and uncomplicated, making enlightenment more accessible. Later, Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor established Daoist methods; Yao and Shun created ritual systems; as the Three Teachings divided and the Hundred Schools contended, people became engrossed in textual debates, drifting ever further from the Dao. When Bodhidharma brought Zen Buddhism's principle of "not establishing words, special transmission outside doctrine" from the West, he sought precisely to return to this preliterate mode of cultivation.
If one can directly realize the original mind, then all scriptures—whether the Tripitaka or Six Classics—may be discarded. Laozi advised "abandon learning and there will be no sorrow"; Yongjia Master taught "renounce learning and practice non-action"; Zhuangzi advocated "abolishing sageliness and discarding wisdom"; even Confucius said "I wish to speak no more." These sages never considered written words to be the Dao itself.
Finally, the passage explains why Daoist immortals study the Yijing (Book of Changes). Since human form follows the patterns of heaven and earth, and the Yijing's principles correspond to cosmic movements, cultivators take it as their guiding standard.
Someone asked whether there exists a Dao more profound than that expounded in the Book of Changes (Yijing). The response was: The Dao discussed in the Yijing begins with the tangible trigrams of Qian (Heaven), Kun (Earth), Kan (Water), and Li (Fire)—these form the foundation of the "life school" (命宗), which emphasizes physical cultivation. However, the formless, imageless state before the division of Heaven and Earth, before the coalescence of Yin and Yang Qi (阴阳二气), and before the manifestation of the Four Symbols—that is the fundamental pursuit of the "nature school" (性宗), which focuses on inner cultivation. The Yijing provides symbols for analogy, but without it, this Dao would be ineffable. The truth beyond names and forms is the supreme reality that transcends the Yijing.
Another skeptic questioned: Isn’t the Golden Elixir (金丹) path overly complicated when it relies on Yijing theory? The reply: The Dao we seek exists in the stage of the "Great Primal Simplicity" (太易), where even Yin and Yang Qi have yet to separate—how could there be any complexity?
Another asked: Since Confucian scholars master the Yijing, can’t they also attain immortality? The response: Confucians and immortals are separated only by a thin veil. But Confucians study mostly for fame and worldly success; though their learning is broad, their attachment to knowledge breeds doubt, leading them astray from the path of immortality.
A disciple lamented that reading The Triplex Unity (周易参同契) felt like walking through thorns and begged for guidance. The answer: Alchemical scriptures merely use imagery to illustrate principles, borrowing external things to reveal the inner truth. If one comprehends the origin of nature and life (性命) and the mysteries of timing (火候), all metaphors can be discarded—even words forgotten. Why be bound by text?
When asked why Daoist discourse often borrows Buddhist terms, the reply came: Though the outer forms of Buddhism and Daoism differ, the truth of inner nature is fundamentally the same. Only those with shallow understanding insist on sectarian divisions.
Pressed about being mistaken for a Chan (Zen) Buddhist, the master sighed: I cultivate immortality (仙道) to refine nature and life, yet borrow Buddhist wisdom to expand insight. Daoism seeks deathlessness (不死), while Buddhism teaches non-birth (无生). Deathlessness and non-birth are the highest state. The world fails to grasp this, clinging to extremes—neglecting the Mahayana spirit of universal salvation while obsessing over personal attainment. Thus, the Śūraṅgama Sūtra (楞严经) warns that even the ten kinds of immortals fall back into rebirth for lacking perfect awakening.
Regarding whether purification rituals (斋醮) can lead to immortality: Before the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, such rites didn’t exist—only simple offerings. Daoists call them jiao (醮), Buddhists zhai (斋), yet both essentially honor virtuous conduct. Rituals serve three purposes: first, to nurture reverence in people; second....
When people perform acts of charity with three kinds of virtuous thoughts in mind, it indeed benefits monastics. But if one seeks to attain sagehood or cultivate true immortality through such means, it's as futile as chasing after dreams and illusions.
Someone inquired about the principle of inverting Yin-Yang. Here's the explanation: In the Qian hexagram (representing Heaven), the two central lines transform into the Li hexagram (symbolizing Fire), while in the Kun hexagram (representing Earth), the central line transforms into the Kan hexagram (symbolizing Water). Though Li belongs to Yin, it represents the sun; though Kan belongs to Yang, it represents the moon. Qian retreats to dwell within Kan, while Kun retreats to reside within Li. When Kan and Li unite, Qian and Kun return to their original states. Returning upward is called "reversal," while returning from branches to the root is called "reversion"—this path of reversion and reversal is what we call inversion. Thus sages cultivate by going against the ordinary flow, while common people live by following it—counterflow cultivation refines the Golden Elixir, while following the current merely produces ordinary matter.
Some question whether the method of matching sixty hexagrams to months and two hexagrams to days, using changing line patterns to regulate alchemical fire phases, is overly complicated. In truth, when the primordial Qi of Taiji first divided into the Qian and Kun hexagrams, then evolved into sixty-four hexagrams and three hundred eighty-four lines, producing infinite transformations, this represents the Dao's movement from root to branches. Sages had no choice but to borrow the Yi Jing's hexagram imagery as metaphors for alchemy—those with true wisdom should trace directly back to the source. Like cutting tangled hemp with a sharp blade, one must focus on the fundamental character "One." If one clings to hexagram charts and diagrams—these mere branches—they'll become lost as if facing towering waves. There's no greater folly than seeking the Dao externally rather than within oneself.
Regarding the meaning of "bathing" (an alchemical term referring to crucial phases of fire regulation): The fire phase gestates during the Zi hour (11pm-1am), nourishes during the Chou hour (1-3am), grows during the Yin hour (3-5am), and requires regulation at the Mao hour (5-7am)—this is called bathing. The water phase gestates during the Wu hour (11am-1pm), nourishes during the Wei hour (1-3pm), grows during the Shen hour (3-5pm), and requires regulation at the You hour (5-7pm). From Zi to Yin represents the three stages of Yang development (corresponding to the Tai hexagram), when Yin and Yang energies are balanced and harmonious. After Mao, when Yang becomes excessive and Yin retreats, regulation is needed—just as when elm seeds wither in the second month, Yang still retains Yin's moderating influence. Similarly, Wu to Shen represents the three stages of Yin development (corresponding to the Pi hexagram), and after You, when Yin becomes excessive and Yang retreats, regulation is again required—like when shepherd's purse grows in the eighth month, Yin still preserves Yang's vital spark. This illustrates how Yang contains Yin and Yin contains Yang.
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Methods primarily elucidates the core principles of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and the distinction yet unity between internal and external alchemy.
When cultivating Neidan, one must grasp the rhythms of day and night like the alternation of Yin and Yang (punishment and virtue balancing each other). At this stage of practice, deliberate use of talismans and incantations becomes unnecessary—the key lies in nurturing the primordial Qi (Yuanqi). The mind should remain as pure as a newborn infant, maintaining inner clarity through "bathing" (a Daoist cultivation term referring to purifying body and mind), ensuring distracting thoughts do not disturb the "spiritual terrace" (the abode of consciousness). This allows the vital essences (represented by "cinnabar and mercury," alchemical terms for lead and mercury) to endure within the "golden cauldron" (the lower Dantian). Such a state is as serene and unstained as the autumn moon, as steady as a fixed pearl on a scale.
Someone asked: Alchemical texts say Neidan extends life, while Waidan (external alchemy) enables ascension to immortality. Isn’t external alchemy just mundane medicine? The response: Neidan is the body’s innate primordial Qi, while Waidan is the Qi of heaven and earth. Yet in essence, there is no division between internal and external—one’s own Qi is the Qi of heaven and earth, and the Qi of heaven and earth is one’s own Qi. Internality and externality are fundamentally inseparable; if they could be divided, it would not be the Dao. Ancient immortals, to prevent people from fixating on "internal medicine" (Neidan) while overlooking the greater Dao, reluctantly distinguished between internal and external. Later students often mistakenly equate Waidan with mineral or herbal substances—how could such things align with the profundity of innate spirit (original Shen) and the cultivation of nature and life?
Another question: Some seek longevity by exploiting Yin to supplement Yang or indulging in sensory pleasures—is this Daoist cultivation? The reply condemns this as heterodoxy. Combining the purest Yang with the foulest Yin, or mixing the clearest consciousness with the murkiest Qi—such practices resemble animalistic behavior and create karma for hellish rebirths. How can this be called cultivation? True cultivation uses primordial Jing (Yuanjing) to replenish and primordial Shen (Yuanshen) to return, following the natural laws of heaven and earth rather than artificial techniques.
Regarding how internal and external true elixirs harmonize, the answer is: The human body inherently mirrors the structure of heaven and earth. Our form equals the cosmos in scale; our mind encompasses heaven and earth. The Qi of heaven and earth is our Qi; its Jing is our Jing; its Shen is our Shen. In daily life—walking, standing, sitting, lying, perceiving, and knowing—the Dao manifests at all times. Only because people remain ignorant do they drift from the Dao. If one turns inward in contemplation and awakens to their true nature, the entire cosmos resides within—where then lies any distinction between internal and external?
Finally, on the relationship between inner refinement and the greater Dao: To know only Neidan without understanding the Dao is like mastering methods while missing the underlying principle. True cultivators realize that inner refinement ultimately returns to the state of unity with heaven, earth, and all things.
Those who comprehend the Great Dao (the fundamental truth of the universe) can at most prolong their lifespan, merely preventing their spirit and ethereal souls from dispersing. When their allotted lifespan ends, they will be reborn—those with accumulated virtue may reincarnate as humans, while those lacking virtue may descend into animal forms. All this stems from failing to truly understand the Great Dao.
Someone asked: What becomes of those who know the Great Dao yet do not cultivate it, or understand Neidan (internal alchemy) yet never practice? The reply: Knowing without practicing is like discussing delicacies without satisfying hunger, or praising treasures without relieving poverty—what use is such knowledge?
Another asked: Why do some diligently practice yet fail to attain the true path, or study fervently but never encounter genuine oral teachings? The reply: The world is full of such misguided cultivators. Though earnest in effort, they remain ignorant of the fundamental principles, clinging stubbornly to personal views, boasting of their achievements while refusing guidance from true teachers and companions—thus wasting their entire lives in vain.
Yet another questioned: Some spend lifetimes traveling to seek the Dao, yet grow old without gaining anything—whose fault is this? The reply: Modern seekers resemble corpses drifting through rivers and lakes, preoccupied with finding cool retreats in summer or warm shelters in winter, places to beg for alms or indulge in food and drink. Regarding the mysteries of Neidan and Waidan (internal and external alchemy), or the subtle principles of movement and stillness in cultivation, they grasp nothing at all. This is not the Dao's failing, but their own.
Someone remarked: Yang governs movement while Yin governs stillness—since original nature is supremely tranquil, doesn't Buddhist practice overly emphasize Yin? The reply: Original nature is the supremely empty and tranquil Dao preceding the division of heaven and earth. From it arise the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) and the myriad things—it is the source of true Yang, the root of life, the foundation of spirit, and the essence of all mysteries. Ordinary people misunderstand this profundity, equating stillness with Yin and movement with Yang. In truth, movement must be rooted in stillness, and stillness manifests through movement—this is heaven and earth's immutable principle. Few realize that within the cosmos exists an unmoving mystery governing the Three Powers and all creation. This stillness transcends Yin-Yang transformations, disregards seasonal cycles, remains untouched by life and death, and is unchanging across past and present. Neither confined within Yin-Yang nor existing beyond movement and stillness, it remains untainted by purity when dispersed and untainted by turbidity when gathered. This is what Buddhism cultivates. To call it merely Yin reveals fundamental misunderstanding.
Someone questioned: Xu Jingyang (one of the Four Great Celestial Masters of Daoism) once mixed the Golden Elixir (Jindan) into ordinary medicines for sale, yet never encountered a predestined recipient, lamenting how rare true candidates for immortality are. Does this prove that immortals indeed possess elixirs to deliver sentient beings, but ordinary people lack the karmic fortune to obtain them?
The response clarifies: Without cultivating one's original elixir (the foundation of Neidan practice) or comprehending the Supreme Dao (Taishang Dadao), yet foolishly seeking immortality through external elixirs (Waidan) is as absurd as dreaming of delicacies and expecting satiety upon waking, or dreaming of treasures and demanding riches. External elixirs aren't nonexistent—the ancients used them to prolong life—but they can only supplement yang energy, not truly attain the Dao. How could artificial elixirs refined from metals, stones, and herbs possibly harmonize with the true elixir within the human body? Celestial Master Xu employed this method to test worthy candidates; when encountering those with immortal potential, he would transmit the Great Dao. How could mere ingestion of an elixir confer immortality?
Another asked: Doesn't attaining immortality require karmic accumulation from past lives? With our limited merit, isn't success unlikely? The response cuts to the heart: Each person's original nature is complete and flawless—those with genuine determination will never miss their chance. If one can abandon killing, theft, and lust; relinquish greed, anger, and deluded attachments; transcend worldly entanglements; and sincerely seek the Dao under enlightened guidance, then upon realizing the true meaning of nature and life (the core of Daoist cultivation), one can immediately become an immortal or Buddha. Why would multiple lifetimes be necessary? What's called "insufficient merit" is actually insufficient resolve—self-imposed limitations. Those who constantly claim to lack karmic connections across lifetimes will forever remain estranged from the Great Dao.
Regarding the essential method of Golden Elixir cultivation, the response simplifies complexity: The Golden Elixir isn't inherently complicated—the complications are human additions. Its foundation lies in one's own spirit and qi (the essence of Jing, Qi, and Shen); its proper path requires no external ingredients like lead or mercury (Waidan materials); its crucial mechanism is the harmonious interaction of yin and yang energies (symbolized by the moon's waxing and waning phases); and its direct method is balanced fire regulation (mindful control during practice). All else is superfluous metaphor.
Explaining "seven reversions and nine returns" (a Neidan term): Seven represents the fire number (associated with the south) and nine the metal number (associated with the west)—their union forms a complete jin (an ancient measurement unit). "Reversion" means yang energy ascending from the lower Dantian, while "return" means yin energy descending from the upper Dantian. Their cyclical interaction mirrors the sun and moon's alternating courses.
The Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Methods elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation. The so-called "returning to the origin" is like harmonizing the two energies of Yin and Yang (represented by the numbers two and eight) into the complete Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, symbolized by the two arcs). The numbers seven and nine signify the peak state of Yang energy. At this stage of cultivation, the turbid Yin energy completely dissipates, akin to the fusion of metal and fire, where spirit (Shen) and essence (Jing) unite. It resembles the full moon rising or a calm sea—the practitioner is like a solitary boat reaching shore or a wanderer returning home, reverting to the source while forgetting the branches.
Someone asked: The convergence of the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth), the harmony of the Four Symbols (Lesser Yang, Greater Yang, Lesser Yin, Greater Yin), the gathering of the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen) at the crown, and the Five Qi (energies of the five organs) returning to the origin—all these occur within our bodies. Yet, Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) stated that these are not located in specific places like the heart, chest, mouth, or nose. Why is this? The answer lies in the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality): The "Jing" cultivated is the primordial essence, not the essence derived from lust; the "Qi" cultivated is the primordial energy, not the breath from the mouth and nose; the "Shen" cultivated is the primordial spirit, not the ordinary thinking mind. This Shen and Qi share the same origin as heaven and earth and are one with all things—life is sustained by them, and death follows their loss. The wisdom of sages shines like the sun and moon, but without this body, how could one cultivate the Dao? Without understanding the great Dao, possessing a body is futile. One must align the person with the Dao and the Dao with the person to attain the state where "spirit and form are both wondrous, united with the Dao in truth." Master Ziyang feared that people might misunderstand the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" (the key point connecting the body with heaven and earth), mistaking practices like swallowing saliva, breath control, or physical exercises for the great Dao. Thus, he clarified that these are merely expedient means to dispel later practitioners' attachments. How could this body and the great Dao ever be separated, even for a moment?
Another question arose: Cultivation emphasizes seizing the month within the year, the day within the month, the hour within the day, and the moment within the hour. Could the Golden Elixir (Jindan) truly be formed in an instant? Wouldn't the celestial cycle of fire phases (the Qi circulation in Neidan practice) then be rendered meaningless? The response: Sages grasp the celestial mechanism as swiftly as lightning, with effects verified in a single breath. Though the foundation of the elixir can indeed condense in an instant, this does not mean the Golden Elixir is fully refined in that brief time. One must investigate continuously, practice daily, and maintain unbroken effort without forcing it—until returning to the root and restoring life's origin, reaching the constant state of emptiness and stillness. Neither should one vainly seek enlightenment in a fleeting moment, wasting a lifetime, nor cling rigidly to literal interpretations, blinding oneself in the process.
Lastly, regarding the doubts about the Hetu and Luoshu (ancient mystical diagrams): Though these are expressed through numerical patterns, the great Dao itself is formless. Numbers are merely tools to describe the movement of Qi, like using a thermometer to measure temperature—the markings are not the temperature itself. Cultivating the Dao requires transcending specific methods to directly point to the origin.
Regarding whether the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the core concept of Daoist Neidan/internal alchemy) is also governed by the laws of images and numbers (xiangshu), the answer is this: Before the formation of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji, cosmic origin), the principles of images and numbers were wholly unified with the Great Dao (Da Dao). After the manifestation of Taiji, these principles emerged based on the "One" (the primordial source of Dao). This "One" is the foundation of heaven, earth, and all things, existing prior to the Five Phases (Wuxing) and Eight Trigrams (Bagua). The Great Dao itself has no fixed form—it manifests through images and is positioned through numbers. Descending from Taiji, it becomes concrete numerical principles, yet ultimately returns to the Dao through these same images and numbers.
When sages use xiangshu theory to explain Golden Elixir cultivation, it is ultimately a matter of necessity. True sages who have attained the Dao necessarily transcend the limitations of form and vital configurations (qishu)—how could they remain confined within the framework of images and numbers?
Some may ask why Golden Elixir cultivation is always expressed through numerical principles. The reason is this: The state before Taiji cannot be described through mathematics, whereas phenomena after Taiji's manifestation must employ numerical principles. Those of superior capacity transcend images and numbers to directly comprehend the Dao; those of medium capacity rely on xiangshu to maintain connection with the Dao's essence; those of lesser capacity must study xiangshu as a means to seek the Dao. Without employing numerical methods, it would be difficult to guide later learners—hence the establishment of xiangshu theory as provisional teaching.
Concerning the apparent contradiction where the Kan trigram (representing water) and Li trigram (representing fire) both oppose and harmonize, while Zhen and Dui trigrams oppose without harmonizing: When the middle two lines of the Qian trigram transform, they become Li; when the middle line of Kun transforms, it becomes Kan. The union of Kan and Li actually restores the original substance of Qian and Kun. The Yijing states "water and fire shoot at each other," precisely forming the Jiji hexagram (symbolizing success). Only the four trigrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li belong to the central and proper unions, while Zhen, Xun, Gen, and Dui are all partial unions. In Golden Elixir practice, Qian and Kun serve as the cauldron and furnace (the vessel of refinement), while Kan and Li serve as the medicinal ingredients (the materials for refinement)—this precisely utilizes their quality of central harmony. When encountering combinations of Zhen and Dui, intervals form, represented in hexagrams as Guimei; combinations of Gen and Xun become Gu—both being improper configurations.
Explaining the "Return of the Golden Fluid Elixir" (Jinye Huandan, an advanced stage of Neidan practice): The number one of Kan combines with six to make seven (the completion number of fire)—this is the true fire within Kan. The number two of Li combines with seven to make nine (the completion number of metal)—this is the true metal within Li. When metal is refined by fire into liquid and descends to the kidneys, it's called "lead" (qian); when fire is constrained by water and transforms into essence ascending to the heart, it's called "mercury" (gong). The mystery of the returned elixir lies in the fusion of metal and fire, with the key being the proper coupling of Kan and Li. When the golden fluid from the heart returns to the kidneys, this is called the "Return of the Golden Fluid Elixir."
Someone asks: If one doesn't understand the firing times (critical timing and methods in cultivation) of alchemical practice, but merely accumulates virtuous deeds and good karma, can one achieve immortality and ascension to transcendence? The answer is: None of the celestial beings in the Three Realms (Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm) or the Buddhas of the Ten Directions attained their fruition without accumulating merit and cultivating wholesome causes. Among the five paths of rebirth, only humans can study the Dao. To attain longevity and become an immortal, one must comprehend the firing times and opportunities of the Great Dao. Without understanding these mysteries, even if one performs good deeds and accumulates virtue, one will only enjoy worldly blessings in the future. Once these blessings are exhausted, one will still fall back into the cycle of rebirth—this is not the true path of liberation from life and death.
Another person asks: The precepts of Buddhism are known to be rigorous and detailed, while Daoist alchemical scriptures primarily discuss cultivation and are relatively brief on fasting and precepts (disciplines for purifying body and mind). Why is this? The response clarifies: Wisdom arises from the foundation of upholding precepts—how can one attain the Dao without observing fasting and precepts? Daoism, in fact, also has strict precepts: The Celestial Master (the highest deity in Daoism) established the Nine Precepts and the Forty-Nine Precepts, and the Western Mountain School (a Daoist tradition) has the Ten Precepts for Cultivating Truth and the Twenty-Four Precepts—none are less rigorous than those of Buddhism. If a cultivator does not fast, it will be difficult to sever the inclination to kill; if one does not uphold precepts, desires cannot be restrained. If a single precept is neglected, all kinds of deluded thoughts will arise to disturb the mind; if a single desire remains unremoved, numerous evil thoughts will trouble the heart. If the Six Desires (arising from the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are not eliminated and the Three Poisons (greed, hatred, and delusion) are not extinguished, the heart will be like a coiled venomous snake, and thoughts will gallop like wild horses—how can this be called cultivation? Those who claim "one only needs enlightenment and not precepts" are truly of the demonic kind and not worth discussing.
Another skeptic questions: Laozi said, "Those who cling to forms do not understand Dao and De (Virtue)." Does the method of alchemy also fall into this category of clinging? The explanation is: Clinging is like gripping a snake's head without knowing flexibility, being stuck in the Five Desires (wealth, sex, fame, food, and sleep) without liberation, drowning in greed, hatred, and delusion without turning back, indulging in killing, stealing, and lust without awakening, and coveting blessings and merits in all pursuits—this is true clinging. The Great Dao of the Golden Elixir (Neidan practice) silently harmonizes the Water and Fire (Yin and Yang energies) within the body, aligning with the cosmic origin. It appears as action yet is non-action (Wuwei); it seems to employ effort yet ultimately uses none. It begins from emptiness and ultimately returns to substantiality, yet the end does not cling to "having," nor does the beginning fixate on "nothingness." Like the autumn moon traversing the sky without leaving traces, or idle clouds emerging from mountain peaks in natural ease—pure, free, and vibrant with life—this is the profound wonder of the Golden Elixir. Where is there even a hint of clinging?
Finally, someone inquires about the foundational methods for cultivation. The answer points out: Focus the spirit (Shen) without distraction and harmonize the primordial Qi (vital energy) to a state of softness. Like the Big Dipper cycling through the heavens or a wheel turning naturally, the ancient immortals said: "Primordial Qi is the medicine for prolonging life, and the spirit is the master that moves the Qi."
The essence of cultivation lies in mastering the "Qi cavities" (key acupoints where vital energy gathers within the body). True Daoist immortals can harmonize their consciousness with Qi, uniting lead and mercury (Neidan terminology symbolizing the body's Yin and Yang energies). Only by understanding the location and function of these Qi cavities can one grasp the foundational work of cultivation. Such esoteric methods are profoundly precious and not easily obtained.
When questioned about potential concealment regarding cultivation stages like herb gathering, elixir formation, refinement, stabilization, nurturing, and danger prevention - in truth, classics like the Wuzhen Pian and Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir, along with ancestral texts such as Yinfu Sui and Ruyao Jing, have illuminated these mysteries as clearly as sunlight, imparting knowledge without reservation. Through genuine comprehension, practitioners discover these scriptures already provide exhaustive answers, rendering further explanation unnecessary.
Regarding "metal and wood separation": Metal corresponds to lungs, nose, and the corporeal soul (one of the seven bodily spirits), governing smell; Wood relates to liver, eyes, and the ethereal soul (one of the three spiritual souls), controlling vision. Eyes indulging in colors scatter the ethereal soul, while noses chasing fragrances dissipate the corporeal soul. Like wood in the east and metal in the west, their natural separation persists. Their union requires the mediating "Wu-Ji" (symbolizing central earth). Metal nourished by earth restrains wood, while wood controlled by metal returns to earth. This dynamic interplay of generation and restraint forms the alchemical crux. Indeed, not just metal and wood - when eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and mind (five senses and consciousness) run unrestrained, all create "separation."
The supreme principle of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) involves harmonizing the Qi of five viscera to fuse the hundred spirits (various divine consciousnesses within), ultimately reaching these stages: forgetting form to nurture Qi, forgetting Qi to nurture spirit (Shen), then forgetting spirit to nurture emptiness.
Nurturing's essence lies in maintaining equilibrium; fire regulation's secret involves guiding Qi with heart-mind, uniting essence (Jing) and spirit like the moon's cyclical course; returning to authenticity means both body and spirit attaining mystical unity with the Dao (the Way); preserving attainment requires vigilance like guarding a throne and discernment like appointing ministers, never deviating; practice essentials demand harmony without conformity - like spring warmth reviving cold valleys, continuous movement like the bright moon crossing clear skies, perpetually maintaining transcendent awareness.
When asked about the essence of transcendent cultivation, the answer lies in discarding external appearances and nurturing the inner true nature. Ancient immortals taught: Upon achieving cultivation, one must depart from the dazzling inner visions (referring to illusory phenomena during practice) and not become attached to these ephemeral spectacles.
Regarding inquiries about "true origin" (primordial authenticity), it is explained to encompass three essential states: true constancy (eternal and unchanging), true stillness (pure tranquility), and true emptiness (non-attachment); along with three foundational elements: primordial jing (essential substance), primordial shen (spiritual awareness), and primordial qi (vital energy). These six all originate from the fundamental mind—if ordinary people can master them, they may immediately attain sagehood.
On the coordination of furnace-vessel (cultivation vehicle), medicinal ingredients (cultivation materials), and fire-times (cultivation rhythm) in alchemical practice (neidan), the explanation reveals that ancients used heaven and earth as their furnace, kan-li (yin-yang energies) as their medicinal ingredients, employing the four trigrams zhen, dui, xun and gen to symbolize cultivation rhythms. These all use external trigram imagery to metaphorize internal states—in truth, all elements exist within the practitioner themselves.
Addressing contemporary scholars' tendency to cling to partial views, this stems from not having received authentic sage transmission. Like taking medicine without a physician's guidance or practicing methods without a master's instruction, resulting in much learning without accomplishment.
Describing the experience of profound cultivation: Initially like an infant returning to its mother's womb in tranquility, then like mild intoxication from fine wine, or bathing in cool breeze during heat, enjoying warm sunlight in cold. Gradually reaching states where the mouth forgets speech, eyes forget seeing, nose forgets smelling, ears forget hearing, mind forgets thoughts, and body forgets existence—only sensing the natural flow of internal qi. This awareness ultimately forgets even being aware, merging completely into it.
When questioned about "mysterious perfection of both spirit and form" (shen-xing ju miao), the response compares it to fish drinking water—only personal experience reveals its warmth or chill. The profound mystery of the Golden Elixir (jindan) path lies precisely here; anything beyond this constitutes heterodox methods.
Finally, addressing how to handle disturbances from the six roots (sensory faculties): Not to become insensate like wood or earth, but to see forms without chasing, hear sounds without following, smell fragrances without craving, taste flavors without indulgence, experience bodily comforts without attachment, and entertain thoughts without deluded fixation. When six desires cannot shake the fundamental mind, external phenomena cannot confuse one's purpose, when the heart doesn't cling to externals, external things naturally cannot become obstacles.
This passage discusses the attitude of Daoist practitioners in worldly life and several key issues concerning the cultivation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan).
Practitioners need not avoid the mundane world with its five desires, as the crucial point lies in maintaining mastery over one's mind—there's no need for rigid, motionless sitting all day. Someone asked why ancient practitioners who achieved prolonged earthly existence would disappear after a few years. The response explains that the physical body ultimately remains a worldly burden. Just as dragons and phoenixes would lose their innate nature or even meet destruction if kept in captivity, so too must practitioners ultimately undergo the transformation of "casting off the mortal shell" and not cling to their old physical forms. As Laozi said, "My greatest trouble is that I have a body."
Another question arises: if practitioners cannot live for thousands of years, why bother with worldly people? The answer employs a metaphor: just as orioles wouldn't perch on willow branches without spring's vibrant blossoms, how would ordinary people enter the Daoist path without hearing of longevity? This was the ancients' skillful means of teaching. Those who truly attain the wondrous Golden Elixir transcend time and space—a thousand years in the Great Dao (Da Dao) is but a bubble in the ocean.
Regarding cultivation principles: Water (Kan) and Fire (Li) require the mediating element of Earth (Wu-Ji) for harmonization. The two central lines of the Qian (Heaven) trigram form the Li trigram, while the central line of Kun (Earth) forms the Kan trigram. The Wu-Ji Earth occupies the central position, enabling the natural opposition of water and fire to interact harmoniously. As Master Ziyang stated, without Earth's mediation, even with the Four Symbols one cannot complete the Elixir.
Finally, the text explains the relationship between the Metal-Wood separation and the Geng-Jia dynamic: Metal in the west and Wood in the east are naturally divided, but through the operation of Kan and Li—where Wood is stored within Li and Metal within Kan—they unite. Geng represents the moon's first appearance (the crescent moon emerges in the Geng direction on the third day), while Jia symbolizes the full moon (the fifteenth moon is complete in the Jia direction). Geng originates from the Kun trigram, while Jia corresponds with Zhen. The Zhen trigram inherits Kun's qualities as the "eldest son," representing precisely the emergence of the Great Medicine and the commencement of firing times.
The Mysterious Origin as the Direct Pointer to the Unity of All Methods addresses several key questions in spiritual cultivation:
Regarding ascetic practices, someone asks why certain individuals pursue the Dao through extreme austerities like self-immolation, fasting, or self-mutilation. The response clarifies: The body is like the tree of Dao—only when the tree lives can it bear fruit; if the tree dies, the fruit perishes. Ignorant people fail to understand this principle and instead torment themselves, thereby distancing themselves further from the Dao. The Buddhist scriptures criticize such extreme asceticism (e.g., leaping off cliffs or burning oneself) as misguided practices. However, ancient sages did occasionally demonstrate acts of self-sacrifice (such as burning their bodies or severing limbs), but this was only because they had already attained true enlightenment and viewed death as effortlessly as discarding soiled garments.
Concerning animal sacrifice, a question arises about why foreign monks and Daoists slaughter cattle and horses for rituals or consume meat. The response emphasizes: All living beings share the same essence of flesh and blood. Only by maintaining vegetarian precepts can monastics serve as exemplars. Those foreign practices of eating raw flesh and drinking blood only sever compassion and amplify negative karma—such behavior is utterly divorced from genuine spiritual attainment.
On the subject of diet, some argue that fish and meat are nourishing while vegetables are "cold" and harmful. The text counters: Meat-eaters claim vegetables are cold, while vegetarians find meat foul-smelling. But consuming flesh is fundamentally an endless cycle of beings devouring one another. Practitioners should regard non-killing as the foremost precept.
Regarding the nature of consciousness, someone asks where human perception originates. The explanation states: Before the body forms, there is no perception. When physical form unites with primordial Qi (vital energy), spirit (Shen) emerges, and from spirit arises consciousness. Once consciousness exists, it perceives emotions and suffering—this is true for all sentient beings with blood and Qi.
Finally, on the question of immortality, the answer is concise: The body is the vessel of spirit (implying that form and spirit are interdependent—one cannot pursue physical immortality alone).
The scripture Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Dharmas primarily explores the distinctions between nurturing spirit and nurturing form, between yang-spirit and yin-spirit, as well as the nature of fundamental wisdom. Let me explain section by section:
Cultivation is divided into two aspects: nurturing form and nurturing spirit. Nurturing form can prolong life, yet ultimately cannot achieve immortality; nurturing spirit, however, reaches a boundless and inexhaustible state. When both form and spirit are cultivated to perfection, one attains the realm of the highest immortals. Those immortals who remain in the mortal world, though they may live five hundred or even a thousand years, must eventually undergo the process of "seizing the womb and changing the crucible" (reincarnating to renew cultivation). The physical form has its limits, while spiritual consciousness is eternal—how can these two be compared?
Someone asked: Spiritual consciousness is divided into yang-spirit and yin-spirit—what is the difference? The answer: Yang-spirit is not the consciousness produced by random thoughts. It is pure, complete, and radiant, illuminating all realms, capable of penetrating the entire Dharma-realm (cosmic truth). Thus, even when manifesting, it never departs from fundamental wisdom. As the Avatamsaka Sutra states, "Without leaving the Bodhi tree, one ascends the summit of Mount Sumeru"—this is the state of unmoving wisdom that illuminates all things. Yin-spirit, however, arises from the fluctuations of thought. It is subject to external influences and obstructions, and when manifesting, inevitably deviates from fundamental wisdom, often associating with ghosts and spirits. Yang-spirit embodies the Dao of Heaven, while yin-spirit approaches the path of ghosts. Yang-spirit is the wondrous state of luminous awareness, while yin-spirit is the deluded condition of inverted fantasies. Practitioners must clearly distinguish between these two.
Regarding fundamental wisdom: This is the wisdom that existed before the formation of heaven and earth, within which all things in the cosmos are contained. This wisdom neither departs nor unites; it has no form or sound, neither exists nor does not exist, neither enters nor exits. All sentient beings equally possess it—it does not increase with my birth nor decrease with my death. Without leaving its original place, it manifests the ten directions; without moving body or mind, it encompasses all. It merges with all things yet remains undefiled, responds to countless opportunities yet feels no disturbance—this is the realm of fundamental wisdom.
Someone asked: Why do alchemical scriptures mostly speak of longevity and rarely discuss death? The answer: Eternal life without death is the everlasting truth of the Supreme (Dao), not a fabrication of the ancients. But worldly people do not understand the true meaning of transcending life and death, often pursuing rare treasures to cling to physical form. Cultivating this way, hardly one in ten thousand succeeds. When I speak of life and death, it is to help people understand their nature and thus transcend them—not to deliberately emphasize them.
Regarding the state after death: The body is the root of suffering. Abandoning it is like discarding a festering sore—this is the meaning of "delivering all from suffering and distress." Yet my original face has never known birth or death. Though formless and without appearance, what is there to anticipate?
Someone asked: If life and death make no difference, then is there still a need to engage in worldly affairs? The reply came: Though one does not actively involve oneself in mundane matters, the compassionate vow to deliver sentient beings never fades.
Another questioned: Since the physical form will inevitably decay and death cannot be avoided, what use is there in refining the Golden Elixir (the core concept of Daoist Neidan practice, referring to the elixir of immortality cultivated through Jing, Qi, and Shen) and mastering the firing process (the crucial technique in Neidan practice for harmonizing Yin-Yang and perfecting timing)? The answer clarifies: All material forms between heaven and earth are subject to death, but the Golden Elixir represents our innate spiritual nature (Shen), while the firing process symbolizes the internal balance of Yin-Yang. By refining the Golden Elixir to attain unity with the virtue (De) of heaven and earth and resonance with the radiance of the sun and moon, why cling to a physical body destined for dissolution?
Vol. 4
Someone asked: Since Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—all originate from the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic source), where does Taiji itself come from?
The answer is: Taiji arises from Wuji (the primordial state of formless origin). When pressed further about Wuji's origin, the explanation follows: Wuji represents the ultimate source beyond which no further origin can be traced. If one insists on describing Wuji's nature, it has no concrete form—the very possession of form would negate its designation as "formless." The term "Wuji" is used precisely because no more fitting word exists to convey this ineffable state.
Regarding the relationship between Wuji and Taiji, they are essentially two aspects of the same principle: Wuji constitutes Taiji's formless essence, while Taiji manifests Wuji's concrete expression. Though seemingly distinguished by "presence" and "absence," they are mutually dependent—form emerges from formlessness, and form reveals formlessness. This mirrors the dynamic between stillness and movement: extreme stillness transforms into motion, and extreme motion returns to stillness, yet the fundamental substance of Taiji remains unchanging.
Taiji itself transcends spatial orientation—it knows no above or below, inside or outside, before or after. Before the undifferentiated Qi (vital energy) took form, Taiji already existed; only when primordial Qi differentiated did Heaven and Earth emerge from Taiji. Human nature is fundamentally aligned with Taiji, as is the essence of all things—only their external manifestations differ.
As for how Wuji generates Taiji, the key lies in "Li" (cosmic principle) preceding "Qi" (energetic matter). Wuji is pure Li; when principle and energy intermingle, they coalesce into the state of Taiji. Taiji's capacity to differentiate into Yin-Yang stems from the alternating rhythm of movement and stillness: gathering motion generates Yang, while settling stillness produces Yin—this being the spontaneous operation of nature itself.
This passage explores the Daoist cultivation principles of movement-stillness (动静) and the philosophical concept of Taiji's (Supreme Ultimate) generative transformations.
The text first explains the relationship between movement-stillness and Yin-Yang: When stillness reaches its extreme, movement arises, and continuous movement generates Qi (primal energy). Stillness forms the foundation of Yin, while movement constitutes the root of Yang. Extreme movement gives birth to Yin, and extreme stillness gives birth to Yang—all phenomena in existence follow this cyclical alternation between movement and stillness.
Regarding how Taiji differentiates into the two modes of Yin and Yang, the scripture clarifies: Qi and principle (理) mutually contain each other, with the essence of Yin-Yang already present within. What was originally unified inevitably separates, dividing into two aspects. The formless aspect becomes Heaven, while the formed aspect becomes Earth.
On practical cultivation aligned with Taiji's Dao, the text advises: One must truly comprehend Taiji's substance and grasp the mystery of principle and Qi, then silently embody this understanding through practice. Mere textual debates and conceptual analysis prove ultimately fruitless.
Those who genuinely understand this principle attain a state of supreme stillness where not even the subtlest thought arises. When challenged whether this resembles inert wood or stone, the explanation follows: Though thought-free, it differs from wood and stone by maintaining subtle awareness.
To those questioning such profound investigation as pedantic, the scripture emphasizes: The Three Powers (Heaven-Earth-Humanity) and all things cannot exist apart from this Dao. Departing from it brings chaos to the world. If mere verbal expression sufficed, sages like Confucius, Shakyamuni, and Laozi would be unnecessary.
On distinctions among Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism: Confucians employ Taiji's principle to cultivate self and govern society; Daoists use it to preserve body and spirit (形神); Buddhists apply it to transcend life-death. Though all three teachings discuss Taiji, each emphasizes different aspects. The passage concludes by warning that intellectual understanding alone—even across three lifetimes—cannot penetrate this truth.
This scripture explores the relationship between the core Daoist concept of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and the generation of all things. It begins by emphasizing that cultivation of the Dao requires returning to the primordial origin of "One" to reach the ultimate state. In spiritual practice, initial stages demand focused dedication, while advanced stages require releasing attachments—yet without descending into indulgence.
Regarding the relationship between Buddhism and Daoism, the text states that Buddhism's concept of "true suchness of original nature" is essentially another expression of Taiji, though Buddhism posits a realm even beyond the Supreme Ultimate.
In explaining cosmic generation, the scripture describes how Taiji differentiates into Yin-Yang (represented by Qian [Heaven] and Kun [Earth]), which in turn produce the sun and moon (Li and Kan trigrams) and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), ultimately giving rise to all phenomena. This entire process emerges spontaneously from the movement of primordial Qi (original vital energy), not through deliberate creation by any external creator. Though all things manifest in diverse forms, they uniformly follow natural patterns.
Concerning the sequence of cosmic formation, the text explains that Taiji first divides into Qian (Heaven) and Kun (Earth), then Li (Sun) emerges from Qian while Kan (Moon) arises from Kun. The interaction of these water and fire energies forms the foundation for all creation.
Finally, addressing whether the Dao of Heaven possesses consciousness, the scripture asserts that the heavenly principle operates without subjective intent—much like water naturally reflects images or valleys echo sounds without deliberate action. The Dao manifests its function through human consciousness; what we call "resonance" is the operation of natural laws rather than purposeful intervention.
Someone asked: "If heaven corresponds to metal, is it truly made of metal?" The reply came: "The Kun trigram represents earth, whose essence is true soil; the Qian trigram represents metal, whose nature is naturally true gold."
Another inquired: "When we look up from earth, heaven appears to have a pole. But where is heaven's pole located?" The answer: "The highest realm is the state of formless spontaneity (Wuwei), where the ultimate knows no limits." The questioner persisted: "Then do heaven and earth lack any foundation?" The response: "From emptiness (Wu), the single Qi (vital energy) spontaneously transforms to create all things—what need is there for foundations?"
A seeker asked about the differences between Confucian "rectifying the heart-mind (Zhengxin)," Buddhist "illuminating the mind (Mingxin)," and Daoist "emptying the heart (Xuxin)." The explanation: "When thoughts are purified, it's called 'rectification'; when turning inward to reflect, it's called 'illumination'; when unobstructed by selfish desires, it's called 'emptiness.' Though phrased as three approaches, they share one principle. Ordinary people see distinctions, but to sages, no difference exists."
Regarding Buddhism's seemingly contradictory statements—"the mind is Buddha (Jixin Jifo)" and "neither mind nor Buddha (Feixin Feifo)"—the clarification: "The former is like catching fish or rabbits, the latter like forgetting the fishing net. This speaks of transcending attachments after enlightenment."
When asked about Buddhism's focus on "mind (Xin)" versus Daoism's emphasis on "Qi (vital energy)," the response: "When the mind moves, Qi follows; when Qi stirs, the mind responds. A unified mind concentrates Qi; concentrated Qi unifies the mind. Qi manifests principle (Li), while the mind is principle's pivot—yet cultivation ultimately hinges on the mind."
Concerning Buddhism's teaching that "all phenomena are empty (Wanfa Jiekong)," the explanation: "Precisely because of emptiness, all things can be contained." The skeptic countered: "If it contains all, how can it be empty?" The reply: "It embraces yet never obstructs—like the boundless void holding myriad forms without being filled."
On the mind's "principle (Li)" versus "conditions (Jing)": "Singular purity embodies the mind's principle; external distractions constitute its conditions. Subtle penetration without fixation is principle; restless chasing after appearances is conditions."
Finally, regarding cultivation methods: "Is stopping thoughts the moment they arise—through repeated practice—true cultivation?" The teaching warns: "This still dwells in the realm of arising and ceasing. Persist until thoughts naturally subside, reaching undifferentiated unity. But remember: even this attainment, if clung to, becomes an obstruction."
This scripture explores the core issues of mind-nature cultivation. The text points out that clinging to external forms in seeking the Dao (the Way) is like using an ancient water vessel to search for water—while one may find water, one ultimately remains constrained by material limitations. It is far superior to relinquish attachments and achieve the state where self and objects are both forgotten.
Regarding differences in mind-nature, the text explains: Although each person's understanding of "mind" varies, these differences themselves can become part of the path of cultivation, though they fall short of the sage's realm. The shifts between good and evil in the human mind are all products of acquired habits—those who begin virtuous but later turn wicked have fallen from human ethics to beastly ways, while those who start wicked but later turn virtuous have returned from beastliness to human ethics.
For treating diseases of the mind, one must use principles as medicine. If principles prove ineffective, it is like an illness too deep-rooted for ordinary treatment—strong measures such as acupuncture are necessary, or else one can only await death. When the mind is unsettled, it is actually because deluded thoughts refuse to cease.
The relationship between mind and nature is this: Nature is the substance of the mind, while the mind is the function of nature. Nature is fundamentally still, while the mind is often active. The foolish seek nature outside the mind, while the wise understand that mind and nature are originally one. The "inch-square space" (referring to the heart region) is the pivot of the mind, yet the mind also permeates the entire cosmos. Clinging to the inch-square space is not the true mind, nor is seeking the mind apart from it.
Finally, the text employs the moon as a metaphor: There is only one moon in the sky, yet it reflects in countless rivers; humans have but one mind, yet it responds to myriad situations. Just as all moon reflections in water are projections of the same moon, countless mental activities all originate from the same root mind. Thus, the mind is like a fortress (container) that holds all principles.
The text compares the cultivation methods of Confucianism and Buddhism: Confucianism emphasizes gradual refinement through "stopping, stabilizing, quieting, settling, contemplating, and attaining," while Buddhism stresses the states of "meditative stillness" and "non-attainment." Yet both ultimately use stillness and stability to illuminate the mind and realize its true nature.
When the human mind fails to settle and contemplate deeply, it cannot comprehend the highest virtue (De). Without understanding the principle of supreme goodness, one cannot govern the world properly. The Buddhist cultivation method differs—first stopping deluded thoughts to achieve stability, then attaining tranquility through this stability, until the mind reaches a state utterly free from distractions, ultimately returning to a clear and luminous emptiness. Governing the world through contemplation is natural, while reaching the state of thoughtless emptiness is the practitioner's fundamental duty.
Someone asked: The Book of Documents states, "The human mind is perilous and unfathomable, while the mind of Dao is subtle and elusive." Does this mean the human mind and the mind of Dao are two distinct minds? The reply: "Perilous" refers to restlessness and instability, while "subtle" denotes serenity and harmony. When the human mind becomes still, it is the mind of Dao; when the mind of Dao becomes agitated, it is the human mind. In truth, there is only one mind—the distinction between perilous and subtle arises from its states of movement and stillness.
Another question: Can the workings of heaven and earth exist apart from movement and stillness? Answer: The Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), as the cosmic origin, establishes the laws of heaven and earth through movement and stillness. Where there are odd numbers, there are even; where there is a host, there is a guest. The Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) and the myriad things cannot exist without movement and stillness. What claims to transcend movement and stillness is not the true Dao. A follow-up: Why is it said that Dao takes stillness as its foundation? Answer: Precisely because the Three Powers and the myriad things are in constant motion, the highest Dao must be rooted in stillness.
Someone inquired: Is the supreme stillness separate from or united with the movement and stillness of the Three Powers and the myriad things? Answer: Supreme stillness refers to the inherent state of the Limitless (Wuji, the essence of Dao). This essence itself contains the profound mystery of ceaseless vitality—it does not mean there is some separate mystery apart from the essence, nor does it mean merging with the essence as one. Before the two energies (Qi) of Yin and Yang stir, this principle remains silent and unmoving; when the forces of movement and stillness interact, this principle responds and becomes manifest.
Further question: Movement and stillness cannot exist apart from the two energies of Yin and Yang—this is well known. But the unmoving principle in the state of supreme stillness—I truly do not understand it. Answer: Growth and decay, cycles of coming and going—these are all manifestations of Yin and Yang energies. Because of them, all things experience life and death, and day and night alternate between light and darkness. If heaven and earth lacked this unmoving fundamental principle, the Dao of the sages would rise and fall with the fluctuations of Yin and Yang, coming and going with life and death—what would there be to praise in that?
Final question: Does the human mind also possess this unmoving principle? Answer: The unmoving principle in the human mind is the same as the fundamental unmoving principle of heaven and earth. Beyond this unmoving principle...
This scripture explores the nature of "inherent nature" (性) and the composite reality of all phenomena through a question-and-answer format.
Regarding the question of "inherent nature," the text explains: Buddhists speak of "emptiness of nature" (性空), Mencius advocates "inherent goodness," Xunzi proposes "inherent evil," while Yangzi suggests a "mixture of good and evil." In truth, inherent nature isn't fixed but varies across beings. "Emptiness" represents nature's profound essence, while "goodness" constitutes its fundamental quality. Xunzi and Yangzi failed to grasp this subtle essence. All things share this nature - humans possess this profound essence yet often fail to utilize it, while other creatures lose this fundamental quality yet employ it blindly. The key lies in the dynamic between gain and loss - how can we simplistically categorize it as good or evil?
Concerning the "composite nature of the human body," the scripture clarifies: The physical form initially takes shape through the temporary union of parental essence and blood (精血), relying on the mother's breath in the womb and her milk after birth. Eyes require light to see, life depends on nourishment, ears need sound to hear, noses require scents to smell, tongues need flavors to taste, bodies require clothing for adornment, and consciousness depends on knowledge for thought. We seek breeze for cooling and fire for warmth. From head to toe, every aspect relies on external elements for existence. The absence of any component would render us incomplete.
A challenger might ask: If the body is merely composite, doesn't the "self" still operate through seeing, hearing, and moving? The text responds with the allegory of "Yanshi's wooden puppet": Just as a puppet made of lacquered wood resembles a person when assembled but becomes meaningless when disassembled, our bodies serve as temporary vessels during life that we discard after death. If they weren't composite, they wouldn't decompose postmortem.
The discourse on "reality and illusion" concludes: Not only human forms but all worldly phenomena are composite constructs. Only the "principle of nature" (性理) stands as truly real. Though heaven and earth endure longer, they too are ultimately composite. Human relationships - rulers and subjects, parents and children, siblings, spouses - along with houses, fields, possessions, and servants are all temporary constructs. These appear real while we live but cease to belong to us upon death.
This scripture explores the fundamental relationship between all phenomena in the world and the practice of Dao cultivation. It first points out that our connections with external things are merely temporary illusions—heaven and earth serve only as vessels for all beings, political hierarchies exist for governance and moral instruction, while relationships with parents, siblings, spouses, children, and property are but provisional supports in human life. The only thing truly worthy of devotion is the Dao itself.
Regarding the authenticity of the human mind, the scripture states: attachment to external objects constitutes "falsehood," while realization of one's true nature represents "truth." Confucius avoided discussing ghosts, spirits, life and death—not because he lacked understanding—but because he believed governance should focus on practical affairs. In reality, ghosts and spirits are simply different states of existence: posthumous beings are called ghosts (gui), while the spiritual vitality of the living is called shen. Life, death, ghosts and spirits follow the same principle—those who awaken to the Dao naturally comprehend this, without requiring teachings from the Buddha (Gautama) or Laozi.
Concerning the impermanence of all things, the explanation given is: what we call "constancy" refers to eternal immutability, yet all phenomena are illusory, subject to arising and perishing. Even cultivators cannot escape birth and death. The wisdom of sages lies in transcending physical limitations—while they cannot avoid impermanence, they can align their speech, actions, thoughts and intentions with those of sages through cultivation.
Finally, comparing the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism), the text employs a medical analogy: just as different illnesses require distinct remedies, each school emphasizes particular aspects, yet all offer effective prescriptions. The key lies in applying the right solution to the specific condition. This illustrates the Daoist core principle of "all paths returning to the same source"—different cultivation methods ultimately point to the same truth.
Running a business depends on active human effort, yet this "heart that nurtures life" (the benevolent intention to benefit others) is the true foundation of longevity. I make no judgment on its merits or faults.
Someone asked: You often say the profoundest truths of cultivation were never lightly transmitted by sages through the ages. Isn't this mistaken? If they weren't transmitted, why then is there the "special transmission outside scripture" (Chan Buddhism's reference to sudden enlightenment beyond words)? I replied: This extraordinary transmission's principle doesn't rely on scriptural texts. Ordinary people can't comprehend it—they stubbornly seek externally while failing to turn inward. In truth, the great Dao permeates all existence; every casually picked object is a treasure. Why deliberately seek some special transmission? As scriptures state, "Those who awaken can transmit the sacred path"—this is true transmission. Only after genuine awakening does one realize the truth was always within one's own heart, thus enabling transmission. Without true realization, what transmission can be spoken of?
Another asked: Can observing vegetarian fasts (Daoist dietary precepts) lead to enlightenment? I answered: The essence of fasting lies in abstaining from killing. Merely eating vegetarian while harboring violent thoughts brings no benefit. They continued: Can upholding precepts lead to enlightenment? Precepts guard against evil thoughts—all sages attained the Dao through them. But if evil thoughts remain unsevered, precepts are useless.
Someone inquired: Do cultivators reincarnate after death? I replied: Only by becoming master of one's own body and mind can one escape rebirth. How to gain mastery? Through steadfast cultivation that stabilizes concentration and thoroughly recognizes one's true nature, maintaining undistracted awareness at life's end—thus achieving autonomy beyond rebirth.
Question: Where was this body before my parents conceived me? Answer: Before your parents' union, nothing existed. Through causes and conditions converging, the embryonic form took shape, binding consciousness to form. Where does it go when form dissolves? Like before birth—returning to emptiness. If it's nothingness, how can rebirth occur? Fire has no form yet takes wood as its root; foam has no form yet takes water as its root; humans have no form yet take parents as their root—how could rebirth not occur?
They pressed: Does reincarnation truly exist? I responded: Those harboring beastly hearts inevitably descend into animal realms after death; those nurturing humane and heavenly virtues surely ascend to favorable rebirths—this principle never changes. They asked: Then will you also reincarnate? I answered: With thoughts of rebirth, rebirth is inevitable; without such thoughts, naturally there's no falling into cycles.
Someone asked: "After your spiritual cultivation, where will you go after death?" The answer came: "Neither ascending to heaven nor descending to hell, neither remaining in the human realm (Jambudvīpa) nor reaching the Western Paradise. So where exactly? The answer is: returning to the originally quiescent and unmoving fundamental state, where there is no distinction between coming or going—pure, complete, and pervading the entire Dharma Realm (cosmos), attaining the freely manifesting Mind-Made Body (a formless body beyond physical limitations)."
Another asked: "Spirits and deities have no form and appear as empty space, so why do we say they exist?" The explanation was: "Creatures with blood and qi have both form and consciousness; plants and stones have form but no consciousness; spirits and deities, though lacking fixed form, possess conscious activity. Form implies material obstruction, while consciousness implies latent thought. Though spirits and deities have no material obstruction, their mental activity interconnects with all things—just as human thoughts can traverse thousands of miles in an instant, experiencing fame, wealth, desire, joy, and sorrow as if personally present. Such is the operational principle of spirits and deities."
Regarding spiritual powers (shentong), the reply was: "Shen (spirit) is the subtle, numinous function of one's innate nature. Among the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) and the myriad things, it needs no swift movement to arrive, no action to pervade. It can merge with heaven and share its longevity, penetrate earth and coexist with it, enter water without drowning, and enter fire without burning. The eighty-four thousand principles of righteousness and evil—sun, moon, stars, wind, clouds, climate, metals, stones, plants, mountains, rivers, and seas—cannot obstruct this divine function. Because nothing hinders it, it is called 'tong' (penetration). This state can only be realized through the mind and is difficult to articulate in words."
Someone inquired about the similarities and differences between the Golden Elixir (Jindan, Daoist internal alchemy) and Buddha-nature. The response was: "Though Buddhism begins with mind-nature, it ultimately cannot neglect cultivation of life (ming). How do we know this? When the Buddha expounds the Dharma, he invariably starts from the east before encompassing all ten directions. The entire Avataṃsaka Sūtra revolves around the number 'ten'—the union of heaven's number five and earth's number five. The fifty-three spiritual mentors visited by Sudhana, plus himself and Vairocana Buddha, make exactly fifty-five—is this not the harmonious union of heaven and earth's numbers? The Lotus Sūtra depicts two Buddhas seated together in one pagoda, and the dragon girl's instantaneous enlightenment in the south—the dragon symbolizes Qian (heaven, yang), and the south symbolizes Li (fire). Is this not the transformation of Qian's yin line into Li? Her change from female to male—is this not the transformation of Kun's (earth) yang line into Kan (water)? The profound relationship between Qian, Li, Kun, and Kan (the four cardinal trigrams) is implicit here. Buddhist symbols like the four-line verse, the unified appearance, the two Buddhas, the twin śāla trees, the two adornments, the two wisdoms, the chest swastika, and the twin wheels beneath the feet—all subtly reflect these principles."
This scripture discusses the relationship between the Buddhist core concept of "emptiness" (空性) and Daoist Golden Elixir (金丹) cultivation. The text clarifies that Buddhist Buddha-nature and the Daoist Golden Elixir are fundamentally interconnected. Those who claim Buddhism only addresses mind-nature while Daoism focuses solely on elixir refinement demonstrate superficial understanding.
Comparing Chan (Zen) meditation with Golden Elixir cultivation: Superior Chan practice emphasizes sudden enlightenment, directly merging with the Buddha state without intermediate steps, transcending Yin-Yang transformations to reach the wondrous realm of absolute emptiness where words and thoughts cease. While this supreme state remains inaccessible to most practitioners, Chan's daily seated breathing exercises closely resemble Daoist embryonic respiration (胎息) techniques, with similar nurturing methods. Chan's cultivation metaphors like "ministers bowing to the emperor" or "children returning to their father" parallel the Golden Elixir's principle of reversion.
On distinguishing "true emptiness" (真空) from "stubborn emptiness" (顽空): True emptiness represents a dynamic, mystical state of awareness—serene yet reflective like a mirror, while stubborn emptiness denotes lifeless stagnation like cold ashes. Buddhism teaches that the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) and six sense faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind) lack substantial existence, guiding practitioners to see through bodily illusions and unite consciousness with the cosmic origin (太虚), free from attachment. Laozi's statement "even the contemplation of emptiness is empty" confirms the identical understanding of emptiness in supreme Daoist immortality and Buddhist enlightenment.
The Heart Sutra's "perceiving the five skandhas as empty" aligns perfectly with Neidan (内丹) attainment. The character "observe" (观) in "Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva" signifies the practice of inner contemplation. Cultivators must directly perceive the empty nature of the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness)—an awakening state identical to that achieved through elixir refinement.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. It begins by stating that humanity's original authentic state resembles a spark of pure primordial Yang (the innate vital energy of life) and wisdom, eternally luminous and indestructible. Whether in human affairs or celestial principles, none can depart from this fundamental truth.
The crux of cultivation lies in "observation" (focused meditation) and "illumination" (wisdom contemplation), through which all sages attained the Dao. The essence of alchemical refinement involves the mutual fusion and tempering of "gold" (original Jing, the primal essence) and "fire" (the heart-mind). Excessive fire depletes the golden Qi, while insufficient fire fails to achieve harmony. One must maintain perfect equilibrium between gold and fire within the bodily crucible to forge the indestructible spiritual elixir.
The text employs alchemical terminology to explain cultivation essentials: mercury represents Shen (spirit), while lead symbolizes Qi. These elements must be gathered from their cosmic origins. The true elixir isn't found in external minerals or herbs, but cultivated internally. By making one's heart the alchemical cauldron and primordial spirit the supreme medicine, refining the essence of heaven and earth, one manifests radiant spiritual light.
It emphasizes that the authentic elixir predates heaven and earth, existing beyond the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and Five Phases. Though gold and fire permeate the cosmos, they only manifest through the human heart. Humanity's innate primordial Qi shares the same origin as the celestial spirits, and through its circulation, one connects with heaven and earth.
The essential method involves maintaining mental stillness, keeping the seven emotions undisturbed, and returning the five energies (of the organs) to their source. During the meeting of Yin-Yang (at the "two-eight gate"), one must bathe and harmonize these forces in perfect balance. Like cradling a dragon pearl or holding a precious vessel, constant vigilance through a complete cultivation cycle (Zhou Tian fire phases) nurtures the "infant embryo" (spiritual attainment).
Ultimately, true practitioners need not cling to countless alchemical formulas. The key lies in comprehending the Mysterious Feminine (the root of Yin-Yang) and unifying the dragon-tiger-turtle-snake (symbolizing all complementary opposites). Mastering fire phases requires balancing Kan (water) and Li (fire). When mind becomes tranquil and spirit concentrated, one naturally attains the state where "tigers roar and dragons chant," ushering in heaven-earth's eternal spring.
This passage elucidates the core principles and methods of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Fire regulation (the mindful control during cultivation) is fundamentally the application of mental focus. When the mind is concentrated, the body's innate Qi (vital energy) becomes luminous like a gentle flame, where meditative stability (concentration) and wisdom mutually support each other, enabling the Great Medicine (Neidan) and the Returned Elixir (cultivation achievement) to swiftly manifest.
Many practitioners today fail to grasp the fundamental principle of fire regulation, haphazardly teaching methods like "civil and martial fires" (strong and weak mental focus). In truth, the authentic fire of cultivation has no fixed pattern—it permeates the entire Dharmadhatu (cosmic truth).
When the foundation of precepts (ethical conduct) is pure and untainted, meditative stability becomes as calm as still water, and wisdom shines as clearly as the bright moon. This lucid awareness never dims, and the Returned Elixir naturally reaches perfection. By abstaining from all erroneous actions, meditative stability gathers scattered thoughts, and the lamp of wisdom illuminates the obscured mind. Thus, the Huachi (saliva, a vital fluid) within the body naturally becomes clear.
To practice Neidan, one must first uphold precepts, stabilize scattered thoughts through firm meditative stability, and dispel ignorance through the illumination of wisdom. The integration of these three constitutes the immortal's Chan (meditative) method.
The text employs metaphors like "iron oxen and wooden horses" or "stone tigers and clay dragons" (symbolizing various energetic movements within the body) circling along the Long River (meridians). Eventually, these symbolic entities dissolve, leaving only the Yellow Matron (the mediating force of the spleen, harmonizing Yin and Yang) in operation.
Gathering the Six Thieves (disturbances from the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) into the Mercury Chamber (the abode of the spirit) and drawing the Five Shadows (form, sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness) into the Lead Spring (the seat of kidney essence), one freely mobilizes the Primordial Yang Fire (innate true fire) to refine the Neidan, which becomes as full as the autumn moon.
The Scarlet Palace (heart) remains silently closed, while the Yellow Hall (spleen) strictly governs. The Four Barbarians (various disturbances) naturally submit, and the Five Thieves (five factors obstructing cultivation) are captured. Cultivation requires harmony between front and back, with the two Qi of Yin and Yang never straying from the body, ultimately achieving a state of perfection like the full moon reflecting upon five lakes.
The Dragon (Li Fire) rides the Yang Spirit from within the flames, while the Tiger (Kan Water) turns the Lunar Wheel (Yin essence) at the heart of the waves. Breath circulates, connecting heaven and earth, revitalizing both Kunlun (crown of the head) and the Ocean Floor (perineum).
The Purple River Chariot (the movement of true Qi) rises from the Ocean Floor, ascends through the Tower of Throat, and reaches the Jade Capital (crown). Passing through the Palaces of the Sun and Moon (left and right channels), it enters the Yellow Court (middle Dantian) via the Scarlet Palace.
The Kan Tiger (Yang within the kidneys) roars by the riverbank, summoning the Li Dragon (Yin within the heart) into the sea. Soaring over the peak of Kunlun, every pore in the body brims with harmonious Yang Qi.
Understand that Lead (original essence) is inherently still, while Mercury (original spirit) is inherently active. When stillness and movement unite, the Golden Cauldron (Dantian) naturally maintains a state of warm nourishment.
The Cauldron-Vessel (the body) need not be sought externally—the spirits of the Crow (metal essence) and Hare (wood liquid) reside within. The Charming Maiden (Yin within Li) and the Infant (Yang within Kan) unite, with the Yellow Matron (true intention) serving as the matchmaker to forge eternal harmony.
The principles of Qian and Kun, Crow and Hare, revealed in the Yijing (Book of Changes), were employed by the ancients to guide Golden Elixir cultivation. By cycling the Kun Dragon (earthly Qi) and Qian Horse (celestial Qi), why worry that the Golden Elixir cannot be achieved?
Comprehending human nature leads to understanding heavenly principles; realizing the Heavenly Mind is to recognize one's own mind. The Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and Five Phases (cosmic operational laws) all return to a single truth—within it, all phenomena of heaven and earth are revealed.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. The opening passage reveals that cultivation fundamentally resides within oneself, with no need for external seeking. The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, cosmic origin) encompasses the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity), where the Qian trigram (yang) differentiates into the Kun trigram (yin), much like the fire dragon (heart fire) and water tiger (kidney water) must mutually harmonize—this constitutes the supreme method for refining the Golden Elixir (internal alchemy).
The text employs gold and silver as metaphors for yin and yang qi, emphasizing that their convergence forms the elixir. References to "the mother birthing the infant" (manifestation of primordial Shen/spirit) and "the father begetting the crimson maiden" (condensation of primordial qi) depict the visionary states arising from yin-yang union. It stresses the importance of maintaining delicate, continuous "fire times" (cultivation rhythm) in a thoughtless, undisturbed state—just as an infant grows naturally, the "yellow sprout" (nascent yang qi) will spontaneously emerge.
The scripture critiques practitioners who cling to words without grasping essentials, noting how ancient alchemical formulas reveal their marvels through realization of "true emptiness" (serene wuwei). Special mention goes to Zhang Pingshu (Zhang Boduan, patriarch of the Southern Lineage of internal alchemy) and Caoxi (the Sixth Chan Patriarch Huineng), demonstrating the fundamental unity of Buddhist and Daoist cultivation.
Later passages employ numerical symbolism: progression from one to five represents cosmic generation, while regression from five to one symbolizes returning to the origin. It emphasizes how tranquility begets the "yellow sprout" (yang qi) and clarity manifests the "white snow" (yin essence). When Kan (kidney water) and Li (heart fire) intersect, the Golden Elixir spontaneously crystallizes. A final warning states that scattered Shen/spirit and dissipated qi/jing cannot be restored to normalcy.
Throughout the text flows the cultivation philosophy of "inverting the Five Phases" (reversing ordinary physiological functions), advocating the harmonization of yin-yang and concentration of qi to achieve the great Dao of the Golden Elixir.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. Practitioners must first purify their minds of all distracting thoughts, attaining a state of serene emptiness where self and objects dissolve. Afflictions like greed, anger, and delusion act as thieves that disrupt the Golden Elixir (the coalescence of Jing, Qi, and Shen within the body) and must be guarded against as vigilantly as defending a city wall.
Cultivation requires treating all beings with equanimity while practicing the Ten Virtues (Daoist ethical precepts). Through Shouyi (single-minded concentration), one eliminates the Three Corpses (malevolent spirits believed to reside within the body). There are various methods to harmonize Yin-Yang, and persistent practice leads to spiritual powers. Accumulating negative karma pollutes body and mind with Yin energies, obscuring perception like dust on the eyes, making the Golden Elixir impossible to refine.
The text mentions "two eights" representing Yin-Yang equilibrium, while "yellow blossom bathing" refers to the cyclical purification of vital essences within the body. Solar terms like winter solstice and summer solstice profoundly influence cultivation, as the body's energetic rhythms mirror celestial movements. The "River Chariot" denotes the pathways of Qi circulation—practitioners must open the Three Passes (coccyx, spinal ridge, and jade pillow acupoints) to allow unimpeded energy flow.
Golden Elixir cultivation has dual aspects: external alchemy gathers celestial energies, while internal alchemy refines them through the Mysterious Feminine (the Dantian energy centers). Understanding the principles of Yin-Yang energies allows the Three Passes to open naturally, like the moon rising from the sea or the sun emerging from mountain peaks. Maintaining stillness in accordance with cosmic patterns enables spontaneous energy circulation.
When Yin-Yang energies fully penetrate the Three Passes, the Three Corpses naturally dissipate. The true state of cultivation merges absolute emptiness (void) with wondrous existence (substance)—where dragon and tiger (Yin-Yang) cease conflict, and turtle-snake (water-fire) overcome mutual restraint, spontaneously forming the Mysterious Pearl (Golden Elixir). The physical body, born of parents and filled with turbid Yin, requires authentic methods to transcend mortality.
The cycle of rebirth stems from ignorance (avidya); true liberation lies beyond form, in the deathless truth. Attachment to either form or spirit obstructs cultivation—all matter decays, yet transcendence of material bondage leads to eternal realms. This scripture reveals the ultimate truth of cultivation: the myriad methods return to One.
Vol. 5
This expounds the fundamental principles of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path. The essence of the Golden Elixir exists within all things in the cosmos—Heaven and Earth (Qian-Kun) are its father, while the sun and moon are its grandfather. It serves as the spiritual sovereign of all life and the root source of sentient beings' nature and vitality. Only those who comprehend this truth are qualified to discuss alchemical practice.
To begin studying the foundational methods of Golden Elixir cultivation, one must first understand the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). The Qian trigram represents the yang dragon, the Xun trigram symbolizes the yin maiden, while primordial qi (Yuanqi) resides in the Zhen trigram position. The infant nurtured by the Kun trigram dwells in the palace of the Dui trigram. External symbols like the crow (sun), hare (moon), tiger (west), and dragon (east) correspond to the internal movements of mercury (heart-mind/Shen), lead (kidney-essence/Jing), and the interplay of water and fire (Yin-Yang). These crucial aspects of cultivation require seeking guidance from the primordial creator of Heaven and Earth.
The five poems on delusion state: Before our parents conceived us, there was originally nothing. It was only through the stirring of deluded thoughts that this body took form. The six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) combined, receiving the dual energies of Yin-Yang to form a human. Our bodies are merely dwellings for greed, anger, and attachment, while the mouth serves both as an instrument for nourishment and a source of disputes. This physical form is but a temporary illusion composed of earth, water, fire, and wind—wives, children, and wealth are all transient connections. Only that spark of primordial yang qi within is real, called the indestructible diamond body, which grows purer through cultivation. All worldly phenomena are illusory; only the primordial "nothingness" of the source is real. Those who see through illusion and return to their original nature are truly great beings.
The five cautionary poems warn practitioners: Without eliminating the ten evils (killing, stealing, etc.), cultivation efforts are wasted, merely perpetuating rebirth in the six realms. Alcohol, lust, wealth, anger, and all desires—if even a trace remains—make it difficult to approach the Dao (the Way). These are bottomless chasms that have already claimed countless victims. The slightest worldly attachment or hint of anger and ignorance bars one from attaining the Dao. Only by reaching the state of original emptiness can one speak of transcending life and death. Consuming meat and the five pungent vegetables (onions, garlic, etc.) may seem to strengthen qi and nourish the spirit (Shen), while techniques like "gathering yin to supplement yang" are heretical paths leading straight to hell. The ancients avoided desires as one avoids poisoned arrows, deep pits, or venomous snakes—the slightest hesitation brings certain death, leaving no time to study alchemy!
The five poems on avoiding harm further emphasize how cultivation requires distancing oneself from all dangers.
This scripture expounds the wisdom of how spiritual cultivators transcend worldly concerns and return to original authenticity. The essential meaning conveys:
Intelligence and talent should be concealed, just as dragons, snakes, tigers and leopards know to lie hidden. Worldly honor and disgrace, gain and loss are all snares - even relatives and friends prove unreliable. Fame and profit are like nooses around the neck, wealth and status resemble manacles binding the hands. Only by distancing from these fetters and retreating to misty mountain depths can one cultivate the "Xi Yi" (referring to the Daoist state of emptiness and tranquility).
Disaster often lurks at the beginning of good fortune; never approach the gates of power. Better to keep company with gibbons and cranes in the mountains, even if mocked as foolish by others. The mundane world is full of pitfalls - greed and material possessions must be abandoned. Only by contentment with the present can one enjoy life's true essence.
To attain longevity arts, first learn self-preservation. Like fish hiding deep to avoid hooks, or birds flying high to escape arrows.
In pursuing the ultimate authentic state through cultivation, one must forget selfishness, external objects and attachments. The slightest preoccupation in the heart disturbs equanimity toward all things. When cunning intentions are released, external phenomena cease to harm you, achieving the state where self and objects are both forgotten. Like flowers blooming and falling naturally - their profound mystery eludes ordinary understanding.
Buddhism teaches breaking the "Four Marks" (self-mark, person-mark, living beings-mark, life-span mark), while Daoism aligns with the "Three Emptinesses" (emptiness of mind, emptiness of phenomena, emptiness of nature). Life and death are fundamentally one - why cling to seeking "the present me"? All things share the same origin - how distinguish self and other in the primordial Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) chaos? If even one's body isn't clung to, how differentiate intimacy and estrangement?
Amidst myriad phenomena, only true nature manifests. Body-mind and all things spontaneously harmonize. The ancients' secret was simple: maintain no-mind to return to the source.
Returning to original authenticity requires attention: bodily senses, speech and breath are all illusory - completely release them. The primordial Taiji originally contained nothing; even our forms are phantom images. Abandon sensory perceptions - how could sorrow, joy, pain or pleasure affect you then? All worldly phenomena fundamentally don't exist; physical forms are but dreams. Only perfect, impartial wisdom remains undisturbed by emotions and consciousness.
The secret of returning to authenticity lies in constant accommodation. Ignorance of the eternal Dao invites misfortune. Past and present are fundamentally one - merge all methods into the Middle Way. Nourish true nature beyond the physical form; the state of no-thing is true reality. When mental stillness becomes complete, original face appears.
Finally, break five attachments: Don't be deluded by sensory consciousness; words and breath are unreal. Completely release body-mind attachments, not even retaining the concept of "I." Understand the primordial Taiji originally has no substance; physical forms and perceptions are empty illusions. Recognize all phenomena as dreams, bubbles and shadows - only great wisdom transcends emotional consciousness. Cultivation requires constant accommodation; only when mind and state fuse can true nature be seen.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation, exhorting people to cherish their human form and practice without delay. Here is a section-by-section interpretation:
The essence of refining the Golden Elixir (Neidan/internal alchemy) lies in mastering the "Primordial Yang True Fire" (innate energy), without becoming entangled in the complexities of Five Phases (Wuxing) and Eight Trigrams (Bagua) theories. Authentic elixir cultivation doesn't reside in divinatory calculations, but in quietly preserving the innate Qi (vital energy). When one's practice matures, one naturally refines toward the realm of formless Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Those who mechanically follow diagrams or cling to literal interpretations labor in vain. The Dao's sudden awakening often occurs in an instant—as wondrous as the sun abruptly rising from midnight seas.
Regarding Keyi (Daoist liturgy), the text clarifies: The great Dao permeates all things, yet fools insist on seeking immortal realms afar. The pure land of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun, the supreme Daoist deity) dwells within all beings' hearts. Ancient sages established rituals to guide ordinary practitioners, but excessive focus on ceremonial pomp misleads people instead. True mysteries (cultivation secrets) must be realized inwardly, not through obsessive attachment to Fulu (talismans) forms.
The twelve verses of "Wutong Tree" serve as admonitory songs conveying: The human body is hard to obtain—don't squander time. Practice should begin early, for youth fleets swiftly, and neither wealth nor family can accompany one beyond death. Being born in the Central Lands (cradle of civilization) is immense fortune—one should promptly contemplate profound truths. Cultivation must grasp the "Primordial First Qi" (cosmic source energy) as foundation, recognizing all phenomena emerge from Yin-Yang's dual energies, making external seeking unnecessary.
Throughout the text, recurring themes emphasize: Daoist practice values simplicity and directness, focusing on realizing innate Qi; rituals are merely expedient means, not to be clung to formally; human life is fleeting—cultivation should begin promptly. The core of practice lies in returning to original mind and realizing that eternally present Primordial Yang True Fire.
This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. The path to cultivating the Golden Elixir lies within our own hearts—there is no need to seek externally.
The union of mercury (representing the Shen/spirit) and lead (representing Yuanqi/original Qi) forms the foundation of the Golden Elixir, much like plants taking root in the southwest (symbolizing the lower Dantian). Terms like Kan-Li (water-fire) and dragon-tiger (Yin-Yang) all refer to the dynamic interplay of these two energies within the human body. The key to practice lies in preserving the genuine Qi while regulating breath with single-minded focus, akin to nurturing an infant within. After a cultivation period comparable to ten lunar months of pregnancy, the Golden Elixir naturally matures. These elaborate metaphors ultimately point to one truth: the essential practice lies in refining the heart-mind.
The true Golden Elixir path requires no secret techniques beyond maintaining the "square-inch" heart between the "true water" (kidneys) and "true fire" (heart). Practitioners must balance water and fire (Yin-Yang harmony), guiding Qi through breath regulation from the "sea floor" (perineum) to the "celestial crown" (Baihui point). Once formed, the Golden Elixir must be guarded steadfastly—a single wandering thought may dissipate it. Seal the vessel tightly to prevent Jing-Qi leakage, allowing genuine Qi to circulate continuously through the Three Passes (coccyx, thoracic spine, and occipital bone).
The Dao offers no mystical secrets—the heart reigns supreme. Clinging to literal interpretations of texts only breeds confusion. Though immortals left thousands of alchemical verses, they ultimately distill to two characters: "Yin-Yang." Grasp this fundamental truth.
Practitioners must remember: a hundred-year lifespan vanishes in an instant. Those who haven't penetrated life-and-death mysteries must awaken swiftly, avoiding misguided teachers. True cultivation requires withdrawing from worldly dust, dwelling in mountain hermitages with perfect freedom—like watching oxen graze below southern peaks, forgetting both self and beast, donning straw raincoats to play carefree tunes. Such is genuine serenity.
Pure joy lies in desirelessness, unshackled by fame or gain. Few understand this crane-and-cloud freedom epitomizing liberation.
The "Moon Over West River" summary reveals: The Great Dao dwells nowhere but in heart-mind cultivation. When thoughts stir, essence-energy scatters—thus stabilize the heart and concentrate Qi. Abandon killing, theft, lust, and false views; see through fame, profit, and attachments. Mindless non-action forms the alchemical foundation—stripped of pretense, it's profoundly simple.
Many search externally for hexagram wisdom yet neglect their inner primordial truth. Our bodies are gateways of Yin-Yang transformation, where water-fire (Kan-Li) cycles ceaselessly day and night. Metaphors of raven-hare, ox-horse, or dragon-tiger all illustrate this fundamental polarity. Hexagrams like Zhun and Meng describe temporal phases of practice, but unwavering focus remains paramount. When the heart-mind rests motionless in the central palace (middle Dantian), the Four Symbols (azure dragon, white tiger, vermilion bird, black tortoise) submit naturally, uniting inner alchemy with outer nourishment in perfect harmony.
A luminous treasure mirror manifests in the sky—here and now, without discriminating thoughts, without self-attachment, nor any concept of others. Who can comprehend this originally pure and natural mind-nature? That profound state of silent constancy is expounded in Buddhist Chan scriptures (sutras, vinaya, and shastras) as well as Confucian classics (commentaries, histories, odes, and documents). Yet the thirty-six authentic scriptures and talismanic teachings left by Laozi (Lord Lao) ultimately point to nothing but "the single mind." If one fully realizes the luminous essence of mind-nature, all other cultivation methods become as insignificant as clods of earth or blades of grass.
There's no need to deliberately strive to forget the body or forget the breath—these ultimately return to emptiness. At this stage of practice, words fail to describe it—our physical form is merely a temporary coalescence of earth, water, fire, and wind (the Four Elements), while the six sense faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness) are but shadowy illusions of yin turbidity. Only that spark of pure yang constitutes the true home. Do not mistake this physical shell for your real abode; break free from bodily constraints like a wild horse shaking off its reins, allowing the inner spirit to return to celestial realms. So-called heavens and hells are merely illusory appearances—this mystery beyond mystery, how few can truly grasp it?
(Interpretation of "Immortal by the River"):
At midnight, the sun (golden crow) rises from beneath the sea, emerging gradually from the East (Fusang) in the early hours before dawn. The sunrise symbolizes the birth of yang energy between heaven and earth (Three Yangs), as spring light fills the courtyard, illuminating everywhere with radiance. Circulate the vital essence (River Chariot) up to the Niwan Palace (Emperor's Gate) at the crown, drink the jade nectar, and irrigate the Central Yellow Court (Zhonghuang) with divine water from the Hua Pool. Like an infant not yet fully formed but already complete with innate nature (the infant not yet returned to its mother), such practice leads to eternal realization.
Within a single year's cycle, extract the essence of sun and moon; in the blink of an eye, complete the intercourse of water and fire (Kan-Li union), allowing dragon and tiger energies to flow freely. The Three Flowers (Jing, Qi, Shen) coalesce in the alchemical cauldron, manifesting miraculous effects in an instant. Golden sprouts (Yellow Sprouts) and pure vital energy (White Snow) circulate throughout the body as the yin and yang strings (Jia and Geng) perfectly harmonize. Like the luminous pearl first appearing beneath the black dragon's chin, the flame of wisdom naturally illuminates emptiness.
Transcend the limitations of yang furnace and yin cauldron; see through the metaphors of black mercury and red lead. The descriptions of entwined turtle-snake and coupled dragon-tiger remain provisional teachings—all yin-turbid matters like the six sense faculties and four elements should be abandoned. There exists a naturally authentic substance, neither heart nor kidneys, nor any mysterious concept, indescribable in words. Only through such Golden Elixir cultivation can one become a Great Luo Heaven Immortal.
(Critique of False Cultivation):
Those superficial practices—ingesting breath and swallowing saliva (Seven Luminaries, Three Chariots), star-stepping rituals and flower-scattering ceremonies—even if diligently performed with literary embellishments and poetic recitations, what have such external actions to do with inner cultivation? Even merits accumulated like Ganges sands, if ignorant of the true meaning of the Mysterious Feminine (gateway of yin-yang transformation), remain eternally separated from the Great Dao.
The foremost task in Dao cultivation is understanding the true seal of mind-nature, further requiring the dual cultivation of yin and yang. Seeking only personal transcendence without benefiting others reflects the narrow wisdom of lesser vehicles. Some boast of profound understanding while idly discussing mysteries, actually seeking only fame and gain—heedless of the sufferings of birth and death, they ultimately sink endlessly in the cycles of kalpas.
On the eighth day of the eighth month, I dreamed two lines of poetry. Upon waking and pondering them deeply, I wondered—could this be the Supreme Lord Lao (the highest deity in Daoism) imparting wisdom to me? Reverently, I completed the poem:
The vision of "celestial towers suspending sun and moon beyond the heavens, internal Qi circulating like the four seasons within" reveals the profound methods of immortals—yet alas, none comprehend it. All we see are red knotweeds swaying by the riverbank as the Chu waters flow silently.
In famed gardens, a hundred flowers vie in splendor; the golden phoenix (legendary divine bird) takes flight first into emerald mountains. Pity those bees and butterflies circling the hedges—how they toil in vain amidst the rapeseed blossoms. Wine-bearers come with their flasks, poets chant their verses, never failing year after year to honor the flowers' allure. People don't realize spring's essence actually crystallizes at the tips of plum branches, yet they clamor to admire the vulgar blooms of peach and plum.
The realm of Yangshan (Tang Dynasty eminent monk) is like a thunderbolt striking—cleaving through fog in an instant. Let the waves surge as they may; without the pearl from the dragon's chin (mythical jewel-bearing dragon), one must not turn back. Yangshan's path of cultivation is desolate and perilous, overgrown with thorns, where venomous serpents and fierce beasts roam. The mountains are deep, clouds dense, streams distant—how many truth-seekers shrink before them?
I possess a plot of precious land—boundless in all directions, neither on high peaks nor flat plains, neither in rivers nor cities, neither at the center nor the edge. Transcendent yet within the human realm, buying it requires no coin, selling it needs no contract. O seekers, spare your conjectures—when we meet, I'll point you to the True Dragon (symbolizing the origin of the Dao).
From thirty Zen koans it is recorded: The World-Honored One (Sakyamuni) held up a flower before the assembly—why stir conflict where none exists? Millions of heavenly beings puzzled in doubt. The true Dharma was manifest, yet none recognized it; vainly they took the flower as mere amusement. Kasyapa's (Buddha's disciple) smile held the deepest meaning—why display it before the Buddha? Had he not opened his lotus-blue (symbolizing wisdom) eyes wide then, they might have mistaken flower-holding for secret transmission.
Bodhidharma faced the wall at Shaolin for nine years—all because one discordant word made standing firm so arduous. That single ladle of water casually poured at Mount Shaolin (Shaolin Temple's location) still sends ripples across the four seas today. The koan of Nanquan beheading the cat—the crowd debated endlessly yet fell silent; one cleave severed all dispute. But tell me, through these millennia in monasteries, who ever sought justice for that cat?
Linji Yixuan the Zen master entered the gate with a thunderous shout, startling the drowsy multitudes awake. Who knew this cry could both kill and revive? Even silver mountains and iron walls of attachment would shatter beneath its force.
This passage demonstrates the wisdom of overcoming attachments through Chan (Zen) koans—the classic dialogues between masters and disciples. Master Deshan's immediate striking with a staff upon entering symbolizes severing deluded thoughts; Master Zhaozhou's response that "a dog has no Buddha-nature" reveals a state transcending conceptual thinking; Master Bajiao's pointed exchange about the walking stick exposes how both "having" and "not having" are forms of attachment.
When Layman Pang asked about "not keeping company with the myriad dharmas," Master Mazu used the metaphor of "drinking up the waters of the West River" to illustrate how true suchness cannot be measured by thought. Master Xuansha sending Master Xuefeng a blank letter embodies the ineffable profundity of Chan transmission. The recurring use of striking and shouting in these stories serves to shatter practitioners' habitual thought patterns.
These koans collectively convey that truth lies beyond words—that attachment to Buddha-nature or pursuit of enlightenment itself becomes an obstacle. Just as radishes grow naturally in Zhenzhou (represented by the "big dream turnip"), practice should return to the natural state. Master Xuefeng's concluding remark about "kindred spirits sharing the same wind across a thousand miles" points to how genuine realization transcends time and space, remaining as wordless as three blank sheets of paper.
This collection of Chan (Zen) Buddhist koans showcases how numerous eminent masters used ingenious dialogues to enlighten their disciples, embodying the distinctive "not relying on words and letters" wisdom of Chan tradition.
Master Shoushan raised a bamboo whisk and asked his disciple: "If we call it a bamboo whisk, that's too direct; if we don't call it a bamboo whisk, it violates common sense—what should we call it ultimately?" This breaks conventional thinking, hinting that truth transcends names and forms.
When asked about the "positionless true person" (one's original face), Master Linji Yixuan shockingly replied "a dried shit-stick," using the most vulgar object to shatter disciples' attachment to sacred concepts. Master Zhaozhou answered "the indigo robe of Qingzhou weighs seven pounds" when asked about "all phenomena returning to One," revealing the supreme Dao in ordinary things.
Master Ruiyan daily questioned himself about the "master of the house" (true self-nature) and answered himself, maintaining constant awakening. Manjushri Bodhisattva replied "three before three and three after three," using numerical play to transcend quantitative concepts. Master Yanguan demanded his attendant return the "rhinoceros fan," actually testing the disciple's attachment to form.
Master Danxia Tianran burned a wooden Buddha for warmth, employing extreme methods to destroy idol worship. When Mazu Daoyi ascended the seat, Baizhang Huaihai immediately rolled up the mat—their silent teacher-disciple默契 transcended language. Master Yaoshan Weiyan laughed heartily upon seeing clouds part, demonstrating the unfettered freedom of sudden enlightenment.
All these koans employ unconventional methods to break habitual thinking and directly point to mind's original nature. The seemingly absurd words and actions of Chan masters actually serve to help disciples leap beyond conceptual bondage and realize their true nature in the present moment.
Standing alone atop the mountain peak, my heart suddenly opens wide. The sweeping wind scatters the Milky Way's clouds—had I not seen Chang'e's (the Moon Goddess) face with my own eyes, how could such wonder make me laugh aloud?
When Master Ma (the Tang Dynasty Chan patriarch) sat in meditation on Nanyue, his disciple began grinding a brick before him. "What are you doing?" asked Ma. The disciple replied, "I'm grinding it into a mirror." Ma said, "How can a brick become a mirror?" The disciple countered, "If a brick can't become a mirror, how can sitting meditation make one a Buddha?" Hearing this, Ma experienced sudden enlightenment.
Grinding bricks into mirrors isn't without reason—just as disturbing a southern neighbor startles the northern one. Try gently rolling the colored ball, and the golden-maned lion (symbolizing the mind's nature) will turn over and awaken.
The Sixth Patriarch Huineng said: "It's not the wind moving nor the banner—it's the benevolent one's heart that stirs." True Chan insight lies in the heart's natural fluency when unmoved. Ears see, noses observe, yet eyes remain deaf as logs—wooden men and flower-birds were never obstructed, letting wind-blown banners dance in empty space.
A monk asked Master Zhaozhou: "What of the ancient gorge's cold spring (symbolizing Chan Dharma)?" Zhaozhou replied: "Bitter." "What happens to those who drink?" "They die." The spring's taste is lethally bitter—who can withstand those who gamble their lives to try? Don't blame Zhaozhou's harsh words: since ancient times, good medicine has always been bitter.
When the Buddha was born from his mother's right flank in Lumbini Garden, he emerged already carrying the poisonous roots of afflictions. Had the nine dragons (referring to the Eight Classes of Divine Beings) not poured forth sweet dew, how could this karmic soul have been cleansed?
On the day of Buddha's nirvana beneath twin sala trees, his form vanished as the world's turmoil momentarily stilled. Yet who knew the wildfire couldn't burn it all—with spring winds, it grows anew in turn.
When Bodhidharma came from the West, crossing mountains and rivers beyond counting years, he carried his robe and bowl alone to Southern Heaven. This Western Chan meaning is like poison every household owns—why seek transmissions beyond the teachings?
Bodhidharma returned West with one sandal (legend says after death he was seen returning to India wearing just one shoe), entrusting robe and Dharma to Huike. The stone horse's backward glance stirs endless thoughts—before Mount Wang'er as spring dreams awaken, one shoe divides two realms returning home.
The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Daoism's supreme deity) suspended a jewel the size of a millet grain in empty space. Though tiny, this treasure eludes countless celestial beings' understanding. Clearly the Jade Capital (Daoist heavenly realm) lies within reach, yet it drifts with the wind beyond Hangu Pass.
Infinite beings enter the jewel's interior—as if folding heaven and earth into a painting, encompassing all directions. Practitioners needn't seek Chang'an's distant road—the square-inch heart is the imperial capital itself.
Yet upon entering the jewel, one forgets where they stand. Each step treads mysterious apertures, progressing deeper until nothing remains—no objects, no mind.
On the autumn river, the bright moon shines upon reed catkins—where might one seek such sublime beauty? After the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (the supreme deity of Daoism) concluded his scripture lecture within the luminous pearl, the clarity of wind and moonlight is but nature's ordinary state—why ask who spoke, who listened, or in which year it occurred? To seek the profound mystery within the pearl is like a clay ox bellowing at the moon—ultimately futile.
The ritual has just ended, and the celestial beings have returned to their stations. Within the pearl, winds and clouds gather and scatter, and when speaking of home, emotions run deep. Turning back to search for traces of old friends, only the towering green mountains and peaks wreathed in white clouds remain unchanged. In the blink of an eye, all returns to silence.
Auspicious Qi (vital energy) pervades, revealing the true essence of the Dao (the Way). Countless deities gaze upon it in reverence. After the six divine dragons dance through the heavens, the world is left empty and luminous—the wondrous workings of divine power nowhere to be found.
Laozi said: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name." What can be named or spoken is not the ultimate truth—no need to heed the clamor of others. True profundity has no fixed melody, so why strain to distinguish high and low notes?
Nameless and formless is the origin of heaven and earth. Above, there is no fixed shape; below, no defined boundary—empty, silent, and spontaneous. Those who grasp this state understand the mystery before the birth of the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate).
Names and forms give rise to the myriad things. The true and eternal Dao transcends coming and going; creation itself has no cause. Only because this womb of all existence exists do countless wondrous manifestations emerge.
Within the profound lies deeper profundity—this is the gateway to all mysteries. People gaze upon the Peach Blossom Spring but find no path—yet there is no need to traverse mountains and rivers, for the return to the source is possible right now.
The Valley Spirit (another name for the Dao) is deathless and undying. The eternal radiance inspires awe—who can fathom the root of heaven's secrets? Even if kalpa fires scorch the world, it remains untouched; life and death have no hold over it.
Like an infant yet to grow. It resembles a wooden woman conceiving—absurd on the surface, yet secretly profound. Soft as fine jade, full as the bright moon—its wonders are known only to the cultivator.
Not knowing the eternal Dao invites calamity. To whom should these mysteries be spoken? The true heart awaits only the destined. Alas, palace walls see grass and trees wither and flourish yearly—why do the noble sons never return?
I do not know its name—I reluctantly call it "Dao." Since retreating to the deep mountains, I no longer count the years. I’ve seen peach blossoms red, plum blossoms white, roses purple—yet even questioning the Spring God yields no answer.
There is something whole and complete, existing before heaven and earth. To name it is ultimately futile—it is the being within non-being. No master painter could depict it; only the heart can comprehend.
This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation through multiple allegories and metaphors.
The opening passage employs the metaphor of "painting a gourd" to critique superficial imitation, emphasizing that authentic practice transcends external forms. The fisherman greedily angling for the moon's reflection in the river only invites eternal sorrow—revealing how attachment to pursuit breeds suffering.
The "Dao gives birth to the One" section illustrates how all phenomena, though seemingly chaotic, originate from a singular source. While people seek this fundamental origin, they fail to recognize its formless, ineffable nature.
"Transcending all dualities" underscores the sublime Dao's nature beyond all oppositions and distinctions. The very attempt to deliberately pursue this state of "transcendence" becomes an obstacle to genuine realization.
"When these three are understood" describes the practitioner's awakened state: recognizing mind, form, and phenomena as empty in essence—yet this emptiness isn't nihilistic void, but rather an eternal presence like the Great Void itself.
"That which is looked at but unseen" quotes Laozi to demonstrate the Dao's mystery beyond sensory perception. Like Li Si and Zhang San generating illusions through attachment, the true Dao cannot be grasped through sight or sound.
"Shun questioned Ji" reveals through their dialogue that even one's body isn't truly possessed—how then could one claim ownership of the Dao?
"When Nie Que questioned Wang Ni" uses classical allusion to show supreme wisdom transcends verbal expression. Like withered wood and dead ashes free from clinging, where could answers be sought?
"Master Ziqi of Nanguo" portrays the practitioner's self-forgetfulness—like solitary moonlight after dispersed clouds, perfectly pure and untainted.
The concluding "Sages forget form" distills cultivation's essence: progressively releasing attachments to body, breath (Qi), and spirit (Shen) until merging with the Dao's mysterious void. Only by abandoning intellectual dust and emotional defilements can original nature be revealed.
"The pilgrimage of Sudhana" verses satirize knowledge-seekers accumulating empty fame through external quests, suggesting true practice requires returning to the innate mind.
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Methods reveals the true essence of cultivation through poetic verses employing metaphors and paradoxes.
Those clinging to doctrinal knowledge are likened to pouring poison down their throats. Like the Buddhist pilgrim Sudhana beholding Maitreya's magnificent tower—seemingly majestic, yet transformable in a snap into the Daoist dreamland of Huaxu. Where now are those billion splendid adornments? Better to sit quietly amidst spring breezes chanting of falling plum blossoms.
The dragon maiden's pearl offering (a Buddhist parable) shows buddhahood can be attained in an instant. This luminous pearl (symbolizing buddha-nature) inherently belongs to all beings—why did only she realize the turning path? Like a painted-browed maiden from dragon palaces, her pearl wasn't offered to become a buddha—for "Bing-Ding" (fire phase direction) already points south (awakening's orientation).
The Perfect Enlightenment Sutra's twenty-five wheels (practice stages) entangle like silk threads—exhausting the mind yet never reaching the end. Fixating on wheel sequences only breeds vexation. Cultivation that sprouts side branches strays from the path; true Dao resembles a divine archer piercing three barriers with one arrow.
The Śūraṅgama Sūtra declares the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) are ultimately empty, purely merging with the dharma realm (cosmic truth). Who claims emptiness isn't the four elements? It's like seeing crimson sun at midnight (paradoxical unity). The Buddha used birth-death phenomena to cease birth-death—if one still perceives arising and cessation, nirvana remains unrealized.
So-called "eternity-bliss-self-purity" (nirvana's four virtues) are like adding a handle to an alms bowl—superfluous. True dharma-body transcends sentient cognition. Even "thusness unmoved" (tathatā) is itself a bubble; what's gained by clutching a dead snake's head (conceptual grasping)?
The Diamond Sutra states "no self-mark, no person-mark"—the Patient Immortal (Buddhist parable figure) knew this while being dismembered. Its four-line verse ("all conditioned phenomena...") was always present; seeking it outwardly inverts truth. Dwelling in White Cloud Peak (mind's purity), why tread straw sandals searching elsewhere?
Finally, the barefoot Guanyin carrying a fish basket (folk religious image) hints that truth resembles live fish—priceless to those who've leaped the dragon gate (awakened ones). Only they taste its true flavor.
Lingzhao Nu (an accomplished female cultivator) sold bamboo strainers in the marketplace, yet no one grasped the profound meaning behind these everyday utensils. She deliberately taught her child to hawk the wares—but who could comprehend the true essence within?
The Cloth-Bag Monk (an enlightened master known for his sack) wandered the market dragging his long bag, acting foolish all day. When asked about the true meaning of Buddhism, he would merely pat his chest and stand straight ahead.
When Hanshan and Shide (two renowned poet-monks) met, they clapped hands and laughed heartily—laughing at the world’s inability to see through the illusions of mortal dust. The meaning of their laughter was known only to them; how could outsiders fathom its mystery?
Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) refined his elixir through seven cycles of purification, forging a golden pill like true gold. Mastering the fire within the furnace, he refined no ordinary medicine—each pill he produced was as precious as a sovereign.
Lü Dongbin (another of the Eight Immortals) honed his sword energy to a frost-like sharpness, yet he conquered no lords by force. After severing the Six Thieves (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and the Three Corpses (the three inner poisons), his sword light soared nightly to the Big Dipper.
Laozi rode his blue ox westward beyond Hangu Pass, his immortal staff swaying as he returned to the desert sands. Divine radiance flickered like colored clouds—yet since his retreat, none have known for whom the bright moon sets.
The Gourd Master (a Daoist healer) hung his medicine gourd in the bustling market, its depths concealing the mysteries of heaven and earth. Who among the onlookers could discern the marvel when he leapt bodily into the gourd?
Chen Tuan (the famed recluse) wandered with a stringless zither on his back—this soundless melody few could understand. He laughed at Zhong Ziqi (the legendary music connoisseur) for hearing only the notes on the strings, missing the meaning beyond them.
The essence of the Cantong Qi cultivation: Like a wooden ball rolling ceaselessly, or like standing motionless as Kunlun Mountain. Stone lions open their eyes, filling the room with spring; wooden maidens conceive, the moon reaching the second watch. Sever delusions as one beheads a turtle’s nose; nurture true nature as one frees the black dragon. Grasp these four cryptic lines, and ascend directly to the throne of Emptiness.
The truth of Departing from Illusion: Originally there is no illusion to depart from—clinging to "departing" is still delusion. If you think liberation comes by destroying the illusory mind, illusions will still scatter like blossoms in the sky.
Explaining Fu Dashi’s verse: Empty hands yet seem to hold a hoe (outer motion, wisdom unmoved); walking as if riding a water buffalo (outer movement, inner stillness unmoved). People cross the bridge (body moves, truth unmoved); they see the bridge move, but the water stays still (forms shift, nature unmoved).
Verse from the Nirvana Sutra: All worldly phenomena are impermanent—is there anything that isn’t so?
At dawn we behold blossoms in full bloom, crimson and glorious; by dusk we see fallen petals leaving bare branches. If we compare this flowering and fading to human affairs, we find the blossom's splendor and decline mirror worldly matters perfectly. Such is the immutable law of birth and death (from which none may escape).
Even the tangible material world cannot evade this principle, nor can nature's seemingly insentient creations avoid this truth. All phenomena between heaven and earth follow this pattern—yet how many among us have truly comprehended it?
To transcend the cycle of birth and death (this is the only true success), one must dissolve all thoughts of arising and ceasing. When the past vanishes like dissipating mist and no attachment remains to future rebirths, the present moment abides in unwavering stillness. Though external changes may rage (like midday bells tolling the third watch unexpectedly), the heart remains anchored in the bliss of perfect quiescence (this is genuine liberation).
Before a swordsman, draw your blade; to one who is no poet, offer no verse. When true adepts meet, understanding flashes in a finger-snap—how few in this world grasp such wordless communion?
(From the fifth volume of Xuanzong Zhizhi Wanfa Tonggui, this passage uses the natural phenomenon of flowering and withering to illustrate the truth of impermanence in all phenomena. Practitioners of the Dao should transcend attachment to birth and death, attaining the unmoving state of perfect stillness. "Finger-snap" [弹指], a unit of time in Buddhist and Daoist contexts denoting an instant, here signifies the immediate recognition between awakened minds.)
Vol. 6
The Mysterious Origin's Direct Pointing to the Unity of All Dharmas scripture expounds the philosophical integration of Daoist and Buddhist thought, emphasizing the fundamental unity of all phenomena and the sublime existence within absolute emptiness.
The opening passage reveals that primordial elements like "true wind, true fire, true water, and true earth" share the same essence as "absolute emptiness" (Śūnyatā in Buddhism, referring to ultimate voidness), all manifesting the Tathāgatagarbha (Buddha-nature inherent in all beings). The text aligns Daoist concepts of primordial Qi with Buddhist figures such as Prabhūtaratna (Many Treasures Buddha) and Śākyamuni, illustrating their common origin.
Through numerical symbolism, it elucidates cosmic principles: the number fifty-five, representing the sum of Heaven and Earth, corresponds to the fifty-three spiritual mentors visited by Sudhana (the pilgrim in the Avataṃsaka Sūtra), with the addition of Vairocana (the Dharma-body Buddha) and the practitioner themselves, completing the perfect number of cosmic harmony. The Avataṃsaka Sūtra employs the number ten to symbolize the roots of Heaven and the veins of Earth, demonstrating that both Buddhism and Daoism are grounded in the principles of inner nature (xing), life (ming), and the interplay of Yin-Yang.
The core teaching expounds the philosophy of "sublime existence within absolute emptiness": from ultimate voidness arises all phenomena, yet their essential nature remains empty. Cultivation requires transcending attachment to both "being" and "non-being," attaining the state of "serene illumination" (unified stillness and awareness). This realm resembles a thousand lamps shining together or myriad mirrors reflecting one another—utterly unobstructed.
Finally, the text employs the metaphor of plum blossoms to depict the stages of spiritual cultivation: before seeing them, one senses the mountain's chill and the stream's vastness; upon encountering them, their purity and solitary elegance become palpable. Three or four blossoms, with their ice-and-snow-like petals, cast sparse shadows across the twilight moon—though silent, they speak the ultimate truth. The closing line, depicting the evening scenery of Chang'an, subtly conveys that while practitioners dwell in the mundane world, their minds roam the Great Void (Taixu).
This passage harmonizes Daoist teachings on primordial Qi with Buddhist insights on emptiness, using numerical symbolism and natural imagery to reveal the non-dual cultivation realm where all things share one source, and emptiness and form are inseparable.
In autumn days, the sandpipers vanish without trace,
While moonlight first touches the rippling water's face.
An old fisherman casts his line from a lonely boat,
Gazing afar, longing for a friend of note.
His heart yearns for reunion yet aches with sorrow—
Should they meet again, words would fail to follow.
Now he stands in silence, the spring breeze blowing by,
With none to share the thoughts that in his heart lie.
Amid layered green peaks, white clouds drift free,
Yet the wanderer loses his way home endlessly.
Silent geese bring no word from distant lands,
Leaving the pining heart in sorrow's hands.
O traveler, why do you linger still?
Swift winds scatter the last clouds at will,
Leaving the sky pure as silk, clear and bright.
In the hushed night, only the lone moon takes flight.
Who can fathom this heart's silent plight?
Only the last glow of dusk remains in sight.
By the desolate shore where wild grasses sway,
An old man in rain-cloak reels his line away.
His boat skims the waves, swift as the breeze,
Returning empty, bathed in moonlit seas.
Amid rustling leaves, the scene dims to gray—
Who in this fleeting world grasps the eternal way?
Clouds surge through vast mountains, mist unfurled—
Does any soul understand this longing for the world?
Dusk descends in haste; few see through illusion's guise.
Men rush to and fro—who pauses to realize?
Birds dart over verdant fields in flight,
Through drizzling rain, the Dao lies broad and bright.
Yet where are those who know the path aright?
Dark clouds linger, slow to part,
Till a sudden gale sweeps them apart—
Heaven and earth unveil their boundless grace.
The moon, unshrouded, shines with flawless face,
Joining all under one autumn sky's embrace.
In the light of reflection, thoughtlessness reveals true nature;
All phenomena dissolve into void's pure stature.
No need to force understanding—
All things return to stillness, ever-unfolding.
When hearts unite as one, even Heaven cannot defy;
When minds scatter, divine will too passes by.
A nation's fate rests on its people's will.
If one holds steadfast, Heaven bends to his skill;
If thoughts run wild, ruin comes at his own fill.
Is this not the heart's sovereign will?
The sage abides in the state of "non-duality":
When his mind is one, Heaven and earth obey dutifully;
When his law is set, no spirit dares oppose;
When he speaks, the world follows as he goes;
When his Dao prevails, eternity it bestows.
Holding fast to this realm, all things harmonize—
Heaven and earth in resonance arise.
The body is the dwelling of the heart-shen (spirit),
The heart-shen is the root of the Dao's merit.
When body and mind awaken in full measure,
All transformations merge into emptiness' treasure.
This passage from Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Dharmas elucidates the Daoist principle of transcending dualistic thinking to return to one's original mind.
Regarding the cultivation of the "mind," the scripture states: When the human mind clings to distinctions between "existence" and "non-existence," even the slightest deviation can lead one astray. The true Dao transcends the duality of "having Dao" and "having no Dao," "having mind" and "having no mind." It neither clings to "existence" nor "non-existence," neither distinguishes past from present nor adheres to temporal concepts.
On knowledge, the scripture teaches: Deliberately asserting "non-existence" falls into "existence," while insisting on "existence" falls into "non-existence." True wisdom surpasses verbal expression, existing naturally like the enduring heavens and earth. Not-knowing is true knowing, while claiming to know is not true knowledge. Sages of past and present ultimately return to the original mind—only when mind connects with mind is there true knowing, whereas forced cognition deviates from authenticity.
In conduct, the scripture advocates: When others grieve, I grieve; when others rejoice, I rejoice. Not opposing worldly sentiments is the natural and profound way. Cultivation does not require deliberate seclusion or prominence, nor pretending to be uniquely awake or foolish—simply follow the natural flow. One must silently discern truth amid favorable and adverse circumstances. Worldly speech and the truth of the Dao may seem opposed, yet their fundamental unity must be realized.
Concerning wealth, the scripture distinguishes: Worldly gold and silver nourish only the mundane body, while the inner treasure (one's Dao-nature) nourishes the sacred essence. Material riches fade, but the treasure of the heart never perishes. The choice between them lies entirely within oneself.
Describing the restless mind, it states: The human mind changes in an instant—like a hawk seizing a hare, a horse chasing the wind; like water and fire clashing, thunder and lightning colliding; like a gale whirling sand, raging waves smashing rocks; like swords clashing on a battlefield, the Milky Way pouring down—unceasing day and night. Thus, ancient sages constantly observed their minds, some for six years, others nine, without interruption. Alas, how few in the world truly understand their own minds?
The final verse illustrates with metaphors: Like returning from a meal still hungry, even a grain of attachment in the mind becomes an obstacle towering as mountains (the Five Peaks) or as vast as celestial terraces (the Three Platforms). It also explains the "unity of opposites": All things in heaven and earth are paradoxically unified (odd and even, Yin and Yang). The ancients clinging to the word "one" were like wild fox Zen, while modern people's baseless claims are even worse. Those who claim realization without attainment are as numerous as Ganges sands, and slandering the ancients incurs graver karma.
The scripture Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Methods employs vivid metaphors and contrasts to reveal the various challenges on the path of cultivation.
Regarding the choice between good and evil, the text states: A single pool of clear water—if mixed with filth, passersby will cover their noses and avoid it; but if infused with exquisite fragrance, people will eagerly drink from it. This illustrates how the human heart naturally gravitates toward purity and shuns defilement. Yet a true practitioner must discern the boundary between good and evil for themselves.
On the delusion of losing one’s original mind, it points out that people often seek the Dao externally, unaware that Laozi (the Supreme Venerable Sovereign, the highest deity in Daoism) and Maitreya (the Future Buddha) actually reside within their own hearts. Many spend their days rushing between the rivers and regions of the world—some guarding ancient tombs or thatched huts, others masquerading as mountain spirits or water demons, idly discussing life and death in dark caves, mistaking fleeting consciousness for the root of the Dao. This is as absurd as taking a thief for one’s own child. A true sage understands that awakening to one’s true nature and realizing the Dao is the fundamental essence.
The path of cultivation presents five formidable obstacles:
First, "the Dao is difficult to attain." Though worldly methods are boundless, penetrating the heart of heaven is the hardest. Passing imperial examinations is easy, but cultivating the Dao amid worldly dust is profoundly difficult.
Second, "learning the Dao is difficult." It is like trying to build a ladder from rabbit horns or fashion a whisk from turtle hair (metaphors for the impossible)—yet even these are easier than relinquishing the grasping mind.
Third, "awakening to the Dao is difficult." Renouncing a throne is not hard; burning one’s body or severing an arm is not hard—what is truly difficult is comprehending the truth of "no attainment, no cultivation."
Fourth, "attaining the Dao is difficult." Supernatural powers capable of drying up oceans (a single hair or drop representing the tiniest thing) are unremarkable; erudition spanning five cartloads of books (symbolizing vast knowledge) is unimpressive—the hardest thing in the world is attaining the Dao.
Fifth, "finding a kindred spirit is difficult." A friendship like that of Bo Ya and Zhong Ziqi (the ancient parable of soulmates) is rare in this world.
Finally, the text highlights the practical hardships of the path: The way is winding and obstructed, like white clouds and green mountains barring the way—travelers point to distant peaks but few can climb them. The great Dao is inherently level and open, yet so few believe in it, like the setting sun over desolate grass where hardly anyone turns back to recognize their homeland. All this illustrates that the difficulty of cultivation lies not in the methods themselves, but in the stubbornness of the human heart, which is so hard to break through.
The Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Methods scripture explores the core Daoist teaching of transcending attachments and returning to one's original nature.
The highest state of cultivation is the formless realm of "profound darkness and silent mystery," which requires no reliance on external concepts like Yin-Yang or the Five Phases. While worldly skills can be learned, enlightenment itself defies verbal expression. When one truly sees through the nature of all things, even the notion of "seeing through" must be discarded—only by forgetting thought, forgetting breath, and forgetting spirit does true awareness emerge. The slightest lingering thought creates separation from the Dao’s essence. What appear as lofty insights are still delusions; the true Dao is the "Great Mysterious Void" beyond all conceptualization.
Cultivation requires understanding that "methods of action" must ultimately return to Wuwei (non-action), just as building a house serves the purpose of dwelling, not the house itself. Those of shallow understanding mistake this teaching for passive withdrawal. In truth, Buddhism’s perfect enlightenment and Daoism’s Golden Elixir (Jindan) share the same essence—even Śākyamuni (founder of Buddhism) is revered in Daoism as a Golden Immortal (Jinxian).
Life is impermanent, and after forty, one must see through birth and death. Worldly splendor is like willow catkins drifting or duckweed gathering—ancient wisdom fades in the mundane tide, and youthful aspirations wither before fulfillment. Even a turtle retracting its head cannot escape fate, let alone those courting disaster. By fifty, honor and disgrace should be as transparent as foam; all sights and sounds are illusory. When the Dao’s movement reaches its limit, balance returns—the myriad phenomena are ultimately empty, so why exhaust oneself for this fleeting body? Gaze at the moon in the night sky: how many more springs and autumns remain at half a century?
Thinning hair and lost teeth need not distress, so long as the original heart remains unchanged. The Dao has endured since antiquity, yet people cling to the illusion of bodily immortality. Only when rivers return to the sea is the true path preserved; the bright moon needs no effort to shine clear. Practitioners must relinquish worldly ties—even the thought of "relinquishing" must be relinquished.
Those who idly discuss dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) without awakening are like monkeys leaping on a fiery wheel. True cultivation requires grounding—the human heart is inherently pure, but worldly afflictions obscure its luminous nature. By quietly observing all phenomena, one discovers their fundamental unity.
The Dao’s source has no fixed rules; only heart-to-heart transmission brings realization. Without understanding how Yin-Yang generates all things, how can one recognize the original mind of Heaven and Earth? Though the Three Powers (sancai—Heaven, Earth, and humanity) differ in rank, the root Dao pervades past and present. These truths are self-evident—why strain to seek them?
Roaming east and west cannot compare to quiet observation. In stillness, contemplate carefully—what in this world is transient, what endures. Throughout history, people have lived under the same sky, yet dynasties have risen and fallen with countless rulers. Every inch of land has witnessed battles; every grove of trees harbors arenas of fame-seeking. All fleeting transformations are illusory; only the original mind remains unchanging.
The wisdom of Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism is revered, yet all stem from the same primordial source (Xiantian, the cosmic origin). To grasp its profundity, one must delve deeply—once truth is understood, all becomes clear. Governing the world must not neglect great righteousness; refining the mind seeks the mysterious realm. Many are ensnared by petty cleverness, yet at life’s critical juncture, they fail to penetrate the truth.
Like countless rivers merging into the sea, cultivation requires single-minded focus and adherence to the Middle Way. The three teachings need not oppose each other—their fundamental principles are inherently aligned. Confucian classics form the basis of human ethics, yet Buddhism and Daoism also illuminate the workings of heaven and earth. Do not cling to sectarian disputes; the gate of truth is open to all.
Daily affairs rush by in haste, yet the mind of a cultivator stands apart. Like drifting clouds and flowing water, free from contention; like the bright moon and gentle breeze, naturally at ease. The states arising in meditation are not ultimate reality; upon awakening, all phenomena are seen as empty. The truths left by the ancients are not false—only ordinary minds fail to comprehend.
True learning does not lie in rote study, yet cultivation still relies on words. Though the "One Origin" (Dao’s source) is beyond speech, Buddhist and Daoist scriptures contain genuine transmission. Governing the world depends on benevolence and righteousness; cultivation requires seeing through life and death. Do not dismiss textual learning—after awakening, one finds no difference in the root principles.
Reading ultimately serves to understand truth; studying the Dao begins with recognizing the original mind. Without penetrating truth, reading is in vain; if the mind remains unenlightened, seeking the Dao is futile. Without wisdom transcending life and death, mere cleverness cannot fathom past and present. I urge the world to awaken—do not squander this fleeting life.
In old age, entrust everything to heaven, forming virtuous connections as circumstances allow. Not chasing glory in prosperous times, only wishing for peace in remaining years. Only then does one grasp life’s true meaning; only at life’s end can original nature be preserved. Recalling the chaos of war-torn years—who would have thought these reflections could still be written?
(Portion on recovery from illness missing, unable to fully translate.)
The scripture Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Methods primarily expounds principles for conducting oneself in the world, admonishing people to cultivate virtue (De) through good deeds and restrain greed.
First, it discusses the benefits of virtuous conduct: Doing good not only averts calamities but also prolongs life. One should maintain an inner radiance, pure like the bright moonlight. On life’s path, one must progress steadily, persisting in virtuous actions without cease. The text urges people to diligently cultivate goodness, for sincere virtue can ultimately move Heaven.
Regarding the warning against greed: A calm mind and upright conduct are the best way to navigate life. Diligent labor surpasses opportunistic schemes—though cunning may bring quick wealth, failure is like spilled water, impossible to retrieve. To live in peace, one should curb desires, extravagance, and scheming, avoiding deceit, greed, and manipulation.
On the folly of flattering spirits for blessings: The text mocks those who neglect self-cultivation yet seek fortune by courting ghosts and deities. They disregard the living poor but grovel before spirits. In truth, nurturing kindness and doing good outweighs spending fortunes on empty rituals.
A caution against ill-gotten wealth: Human nature is originally free from affliction; good and evil arise from the heart. The Dao of Heaven shows no partiality, aiding only the virtuous. Exploiting others for gain or using religion to amass wealth is unsustainable—virtuous roots may instead become sources of misfortune.
On the wisdom of magnanimity: Rather than fearing worldly laws or the judgment of the underworld, one should practice generosity and avoid petty disputes. Squandering wealth on statues or temples while exploiting others brings less merit than kindness, which extends life and blesses descendants.
A universal admonishment: The pursuit of fame and wealth must be balanced with spiritual insight. Ignorance of profound truths is like measuring the ocean with a shell or viewing the sky through a tube. Cultivating the Dao requires an uncluttered mind—how can toil and worry lead to immortality? The text warns that the King of Hell will ultimately settle all accounts of virtue and vice.
Finally, it reveals life’s true essence: Alas, human existence is trapped in cycles of the five desires (wealth, lust, fame, food, and sleep). A century of life is but a dream; a thousand schemes pale beside serene contentment. Do not wait until white-haired—even elixirs cannot restore youth. Instead, emulate reclusive sages, retreating in quiet cultivation to wander in carefree harmony.
The scripture Mysterious Source Directly Pointing to the Unity of Ten Thousand Methods employs parallel structures and comparative analysis to reveal fundamental principles for human conduct. All worldly things eventually decay; only by maintaining a water-like attitude of non-contention can one settle thoughts without burdens. Truth is often comprehended only at the point of exhaustion—a principle unchanged through the ages, yet truly grasped by few.
The text enumerates four "cannot be" principles: For those who accumulate virtuous deeds, floodwaters cannot ruin their wealth, fire cannot burn their homes, thieves cannot steal their possessions, and authorities cannot confiscate their meritorious karma. Four "must not" admonitions follow: in heart, never scheme against others' property; in speech, never gossip about others' faults; in action, never harm others secretly; in death, never leave unpaid debts.
Four "equalities" emphasize: maintaining impartiality in heart surpasses incense offerings; fair measurement outweighs almsgiving; just standards surpass ritual fasting; balanced scales surpass sacrificial rites. Conversely, four "inequities" warn: never draft unjust petitions, hoard ill-gotten wealth, speak divisive words, or harbor biased intentions.
Four "unrighteous acts" illustrate: unrighteous deeds lead to swift ruin; ill-gained wealth easily scatters; raising unworthy descendants brings poverty; employing dishonorable people invites betrayal. Four "unrealities" caution: an unenlightened mind breeds confusion; unsubstantial practice loses the Dao; unclear principles foster deviation; obstructed spirit leads to stagnation.
The scripture then presents four "essentials": a nation's greatness lies not in size but ruler-minister harmony; a family's worth not in wealth but descendants' virtue; personal status not in nobility but adequate sustenance; blessings not in prayers but benevolent hearts. Corresponding four "inevitabilities" warn of the dire consequences when these are neglected.
Finally, it identifies three great misfortunes: scholars who don't study, monastics who lose their original mind, and states without virtuous ministers. Four false blessings are exposed: religious communities filled with imposters, broken Daoist transmission, unchecked power, and tax exemptions without divine offerings. Regarding destiny, it explains that wealth, rank, poverty, and lowliness stem from past-life karma, while present actions shape future retribution—a truth verifiable by observing families whose descendants gradually fall into destitution.
Through systematic contrasts, this scripture underscores the paramount importance of cultivating mind-nature and accumulating virtue through good deeds. True blessings, it reveals, reside not in external forms but in inner cultivation and righteous conduct.
(Here is the modern vernacular interpretation of the scripture Xuanzong Zhizhi Wanfa Tonggui)
It is common to see kind-hearted people suffering hardships in life—this is the manifestation of past karma in the present existence. If one maintains goodness in this life, they will surely receive blessings in the next. This principle is undeniably true, as can be verified by observing the fortunes of descendants. The wicked meet untimely ends, while the virtuous pass away peacefully—this law of cause and effect is clearly visible, and life and death are the fairest judges of all.
Neither poverty nor wealth can spare one from death, yet the circumstances surrounding the dying moments of the rich and poor differ vastly. The great Dao (the fundamental truth of the universe) has remained unchanged since ancient times—it is absolutely impartial, depending only on whether one awakens to it. Through my twelve-hour daily cultivation, I (the author) long ago grasped this truth. Yet afterward, I endured countless trials—moments of despair and despondency—and for thirty years, no one understood. In near-death experiences, I held fast to the Dao-heart, and only at fifty did I truly attain realization. Integrating the essence of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, I saw through the nature of life and death, realizing worldly suffering is inescapable, and fame and wealth are but empty ornaments.
I lament my shallow wisdom. Though I encountered teachers and fellow practitioners, each clung to their own views: some obsessed with supernatural powers, others rigidly adhering to sectarian biases. Differing opinions were dismissed as arrogance, and opposing words provoked fear. Without a true master’s guidance, I had to contemplate alone—yet in truth, there is no inherent divinity or miracle. True gold must be tempered by fire—a truth known to all but practiced by few. Reflecting on this brings me to tears.
Since the transformation of all things, countless lives have cycled through birth and death. All people share the same origin with me; every man and woman is as dear as parents. Uncles and in-laws, rulers and subjects, friends, immortals, Confucians, monks—even foreign enemies and the foolish or wise—all arise from the same cosmic root. Like branches and leaves of a great tree, over time, people gradually forget this fundamental truth. I understand that all beings in this dusty world are one family—why compete for fame and profit? To turn against one’s kin is to harm heaven and earth. Human physiology knows no inherent difference: ears hear the same sounds, eyes see the same sights, noses smell the same scents, tongues taste the same flavors. Those who suffer hardship, disability, or humiliation are bound to us through countless lifetimes of karma—today’s beatings, curses, theft, or starvation will ultimately return as one’s own karmic cycle.
This passage from The Direct Pointing to the Common Origin of All Methods in the Mysterious School contains several reflective poems and cultivation admonitions, expressing a Daoist practitioner's observations of worldly affairs and transcendent state of mind.
The scenes of humiliation, oppression, tattered clothing, and endless toil cut my heart like a knife whenever I recall them. Yet people remain lost in delusion—unable to comprehend the true Dao themselves, they preach false doctrines to others. Such deception passes down through generations, like a turbid river drowning the original purity, like a pack of dogs barking at empty air or monkeys mimicking the ways of rats.
A cultivator should uphold the precept of non-killing. Yet when relatives and friends visit, I can barely offer them proper hospitality. Each day, I simply cook plain rice and wild greens, one meal at dawn and dusk, lodging in a humble dwelling. This is the simple life befitting a practitioner—there is no need to find it strange.
Reflections at Liangyuan Temple: Born out of step with the golden age of Yao and Shun, I’ve witnessed repeated upheavals—three dynastic changes in five years, leaving the people ravaged by war. What is Heaven’s intent? A rustic like me can only sigh in vain, scratching my head after reciting these verses.
Another inscription at Liangyuan: The wind sweeps like a broom, the moon serves as my lamp; after rain, green moss carpets the steps. Though the petty spirits (mundane disturbances) prove ineffective, the person has already departed, leaving only falling blossoms and crying birds to mourn alone.
From the poem inscribed on Chongqing Hall: Yang energy renews and shifts once more; spring’s breath has reached the roots of heaven and earth. As the last month of winter fades, clear breezes caress the willows; overnight mountain rains cleanse the plum branches. The spring god need not favor only peach and plum blossoms—spring’s hues should grace my thatched hut too. When the Three Yangs herald prosperity (the turn from winter to spring), who can say my Daoist practice is as empty as a hollow gourd?
Thoughts in late spring: Past fifty-five years of life, my temples are streaked with white like autumn grass. By the lone lamp in night rain, my eyes blur but I persist in reading; my mind grows idle, no longer composing poetry. My homeland lies ten thousand miles away—who of the old acquaintances remains?
By late March in Jiangnan, sparse blossoms drift around the trees. Spring departs like a galloping steed; time flows with the sun and moon. Worldly dust stings my eyes; transcending it, I forget all cunning schemes. The past has scattered like clouds—it’s time to ride a white horse into seclusion.
In this human world, a hundred schemes cannot compare to serene leisure. When the heart holds no attachments, heaven and earth feel vast and free. Toiling till white-haired, sighing in vain—I love only the clear mountain springs and white stones. When will the clamor ever end? Spring departs, autumn returns.
Laughing at the busy: What joy is there under heaven? Only in leisure can one preserve true nature. If you cannot savor a single day of idleness, how can you claim transcendence? Why chase after endless worldly affairs? Better sever the dust-bound ties. Life and death are but a great dream—what is wealth and status compared to carefree wandering?
These poems from Mysterious Origin: All Dharmas Return to One express in simple language the insights of practitioners who have seen through worldly affairs:
Seeking wealth and honor is easy, but attaining true serenity is hardest. People worry about graying hair, yet fail to realize that only by relinquishing attachments can the mind find peace. Worldly affections grow cold, mountain paths remain untrodden by visitors—only in the deep mist of high peaks, far from mundane affairs, can one preserve body and mind intact. The Great Dao (Dao) never separates from human hearts; it is people themselves who obscure their original nature.
A hundred years may seem long, yet life passes swift as a flying arrow. Those entangled in the red dust lament time's hastening, yet refuse to abandon their pursuits. Spring departs without looking back, leaving only sparse reds amid dense greens on the branches. How can one accomplish the Great Dao while shackled by worldly concerns? Though spring fades swiftly, the practitioner's resolve stands firm. When flowers fall and winds still, a realm of scattered clouds and bright moonlight naturally appears.
Seeing fallen petals carpeting the garden and desolate courtyards, don't blame the spring wind's cruelty—this is simply nature's rhythm of blossoming and fading. Heaven arranges all growth according to its own cadence. When bare branches show no buds, people only know to pluck, yet none truly cherish the flowers.
Dwelling in spiritual cliffs with thatched roofs and bamboo-paper curtains isn't forced austerity, but a means to forget worldly toils. Bamboo guides breezes like feathered fans, pines cradle the moon like precious pearls; evening mists form curtains, sunset clouds become canopies—scenes even emperors cannot enjoy.
Transplanted wildflowers blaze crimson by willow bridges, while old gardens already wane in autumn winds. Sudden rainstorms charge like ten thousand galloping horses, yet clouds disperse in moments, leaving mountains and rivers unchanged.
The poems also record celestial anomalies: during the Zhiyuan era of Yuan dynasty, the tenth lunar month saw thirty days of sleet with unceasing thunder, rotting crops and yellowing vegetables. This age is no longer ancient times, even heavenly cycles grow aberrant—Daoist practitioners can't help but sigh at such sights.
Final verses use objects to illuminate the Dao: The vajra clapper (a ritual instrument) must strike just right—chasing sounds brings only confusion. Bodhisattvas never spell out ultimate truths, like not knowing whose home the moon illuminates. Silken garments woven from countless threads are ultimately illusory, unworthy of attachment. The hoe becomes a tool only after endless forging, hinting how cultivation requires tempering.
Through ordinary scenes and farming tools, these poems reveal the truth of "all Dharmas returning to one": relinquishing attachments, harmonizing with nature, and enduring refinement are the paths to realizing one's true nature and illuminating the mind.
Before me lies a wilderness of overgrown grass—once cleared, the palm remains flat and empty. This illusory body is but a gathering place for birth, aging, sickness, and death, a nest for sorrow and suffering. People exhaust their minds plotting grand schemes for a thousand years, only to waste their spirit in the end. A hundred-year life may seem long, yet it is merely a fleeting guest.
Fine silks and embroidered robes merely wrap a sack of filth; wine and meat ultimately nourish a bag of pus and blood. People cling greedily to wealth and beauty, unaware that these desires only deepen their delusion. Those who study the Dao (the Way) or practice meditation will miss the point entirely if they fail to understand this truth. Know that this illusory body is sustained by a single breath—once that breath is cut off, death comes instantly, and in no time, decay and stench follow. Where now are the heroes of wealth and power?
The world only knows how to nourish this false body, yet fails to cultivate true nature and life (xingming). The body is but a transient vessel destined for ruin; only nature and life are the root of immortality.
I give thanks to my ancestors and parents for granting me this male form, and I rejoice that I was not born in an age of war and chaos. If I do not seize this moment to cultivate, when else shall I? To study the Dao and practice cultivation, one must understand non-desire and non-seeking—what seems like seeking nothing is in fact superior to forceful striving. Joy often conceals hidden sorrows, and only after deep reflection does one realize: it is better to let go of everything and devote oneself wholly to the Dao.
Scheming and calculation only weary the heart and drain the spirit; greed, anger, and ignorance make it impossible to turn back. Piling suffering upon suffering—better to seek liberation through early cultivation. Like violent storms that darken the sky, in a flash the clouds disperse and the heavens clear; greed and delusion have bewildered human hearts since ancient times, yet once afflictions vanish, the original mind naturally appears.
The eminent monks Hanshan and Shide (famous Tang dynasty poet-monks) sat facing each other and shared the same pillow in sleep. Whether sitting or lying down, they never strayed from that fundamental essence. What is that essence? There is no need for lengthy debate—I will reveal it to you now.
When Shakyamuni Buddha entered Nirvana, his golden body was placed in a silver coffin, yet this led future generations of disciples to chase after gold and silver. Alas! From this day forth, do not display a golden appearance—let the world recognize your original purity and simplicity.
Though the sun and moon shine brightly, they too can be obscured by passing clouds; how, then, can the small space of the human heart remain untainted by dust and grime? Floating clouds are the demons of the sun and moon; dust and defilements are the calamities of the mind. The wise and the foolish alike dwell in great brightness, yet shadows must exist. Though clouds may briefly obscure them, the radiance of the sun and moon remains undiminished; though worldly troubles may cloud the mind, the nature of the heart is never truly harmed. When dark clouds scatter, the Milky Way gleams; when dust settles, the light of the mind shines pure. How can crows forever shroud the night? Dawn will inevitably arrive.
Vol. 7
The "Direct Pointing to the Common Origin of All Methods in the Profound School" section reveals the essence of Daoist cultivation through everyday activities like zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. The author Mu Changchao (a Yuan Dynasty Daoist) employs comparative techniques to illuminate the truth of spiritual practice.
The ancients observed people with their hearts, while modern people judge solely by hearsay. Heartfelt observation resembles the deep bonds of sworn brotherhood, whereas rumor-based judgment is as superficial as admiring peach and plum blossoms. Alas, aren't all social interactions nowadays conducted by "seeing" people through ears alone?
On the zither: The true zither isn't in its sound, nor is my artistic conception confined to landscapes. On moonlit nights with gentle breezes, who can truly comprehend the profound mystery in such scenes?
On chess: Fingers busy moving pieces, the mind exhausted, spectators obsess over gains and losses. Better to emulate the monk leaning against a shoulder in deep sleep, letting all internal and external schemes (referring to mental calculations) come to rest.
On calligraphy: Unfolding the vast sky as paper, dipping Mount Taihua upside down for ink. Though capable of splendid compositions, how can they compare to the undifferentiated Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) state before chaos parted?
On painting: People marvel at artworks, praising their exquisite craftsmanship and priceless value. But how could your limited skill possibly depict the wondrous visions within the Great Void (Taixu)?
Poem for Daoist Judge Qiu of Shitang: Spiritual herbs wither if not gathered in time—before you know it, temples turn gray. Who willingly casts off golden shackles worth ten thousand taels? Escaping the century-long "burning house" (the mundane world) proves truly difficult. In the alchemical furnace, earth collapses and metal essence (referring to failed elixir-making) dissipates; in the mercury cauldron, frost thickens as fire regulation falters. Prime cultivation time gets consumed by worldly affairs—when will you achieve the Reverted Elixir (attaining the Dao)?
Discussion on grain avoidance with Xu Linggu: Green mountains everywhere offer dwelling places—apes, cranes, and woodcutters all become old friends. Zen sitting and scripture walking make one forget worldly troubles; hunger satisfied with simple fare, thirst quenched with plain drink—joy in nature's bounty. Advanced age demands greater Shen (spirit) nourishment—the key lies in maintaining even "fire regulation" in the heart-field (inner cultivation). Seeking the Dao through grain avoidance alone is like trying to cook rice by steaming sand—ultimately futile.
The rising sun over Qujiang River shines directly on Kunlun's Valley Spirit (referring to the Dantian). True Fire (original yang) returns to the Mercury Chamber (lower Dantian), while True Water (original yin) flows into the Lead Spring (upper Dantian). Heaven and earth's mysterious mechanism follows the Dipper's handle; the principle of yang born from yin resides within oneself. When Shen and Qi return to the realm of emptiness and stillness—only then does one behold the Original Face (true self).
Reflections on the zither: A connoisseur like Boya (the legendary musician) no longer exists; Zhong Ziqi (the perfect listener) remains impossible to find. Alas, who in this world understands the zither's true essence?
Reflections on chess: Victory and defeat cannot coexist—gain inevitably accompanies loss. Pity that pristine original heart, trapped all day in competitive strife.
[Note: The original text employs poetic verse form, frequently using Neidan (internal alchemy) terminology like "lead and mercury" and "fire regulation" referring to cultivation elements; concepts like "Great Void" and "Supreme Ultimate" reflect Daoist cosmology; through mundane activities, it elucidates the cultivation principle of "returning to the origin."]
This passage explores the essence of life and the truth of spiritual cultivation through several vivid metaphors. Beginning with the imagery of "brushstrokes," it compares literary creation to spiritual practice—those seemingly exquisite calligraphic works cannot emerge without genuine inspiration, hinting at the fundamental emptiness of all phenomena.
The discussion of "painting" reveals that true beauty lies not in external adornment. Just as plain white silk needs no pigments to manifest its purity, so too does human nature originally possess innate clarity requiring no artificial embellishment. The "mirror" section observes that while a polished mirror impartially reflects beauty and ugliness, people become attached to these illusory reflections, unaware the images themselves are transient.
The contrast between "brush" and "ink" carries deeper meaning: the sharp brush praised for elegant writing while the dull one gets discarded; ink staining countless white pages appears to transmit wisdom yet gradually exhausts itself. This metaphor reveals how worldly pursuits obscure our original heart-mind.
"Spiritual Mountain's Perfection" depicts the profound solitude of cultivation: in soundless mountain depths where only the bright moon keeps company, where flowing streams and falling leaves compose celestial music—such "mountain forest wealth" remains unappreciated by most. While powerful men's gates bustle with carriages, the cultivator's thatched hut stays serene through guarding the "True Seal of Immortality" (referring to esoteric internal alchemy practices).
The text culminates with the four sufferings of "birth, aging, sickness, and death" as sobering reminders: the golden basin bathing joy of newborns swiftly turns to frost-streaked temples; aging withers the body like autumn trees; sickness throws the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind representing the physical form) into discord with unshareable pain; death's endless road sees all beings cycling like ants through rebirth. Only by returning to the "Primordial True Character" (the source of Dao) can one transcend impermanence.
Each suffering receives poignant depiction: birth's hardship lies in exhausting body and spirit while desires multiply; aging manifests through physical decay and dissipated vitality; sickness stems from stagnant Qi-blood endured alone; death proves hardest to transcend due to emotional attachments. Throughout these object lessons runs the central theme—all outward seeking proves delusional, while returning to one's origin remains the essential path to liberation.
The suffering brought by death is thus: when the human body (the four elements—earth, water, fire, and wind) disintegrates, all worldly attachments must be relinquished. Wealth and status become utterly useless at this moment—where then are the so-called heroes and great men? One sees only the white poplars swaying in the wind, the green grass shrouded in desolation. Once departed, there is no return, leaving behind only eternal sorrow.
The human form belongs to Yin, encompassing greed, hatred, delusion, wild thoughts, wicked intentions, the urge to kill, theft, and all manner of foolish notions, as well as attachments to beauty, sound, fragrance, and taste—these are all Yin in nature. To allow the spirit (Shen) to transcend, one must cast these aside. Fame, profit, love, worries, emotional fluctuations, idle chatter and laughter—even the earth, water, fire, and wind that compose the body—are ultimately not truly real. Skin, hair, bones, and flesh all belong to Yin substance. Heavy Yin energy and excessive worldly attachments inevitably lead to downfall; only when Yang energy is pure, light, and refined can one ascend. Only by concentrating the spirit, harmonizing the vital energy (Qi), and reaching the mysterious state can one penetrate the void and soar to the Jade Purity Heaven (the highest celestial realm in Daoism).
Cultivation requires simultaneously refining the heart, tempering the Qi, and consolidating the spirit until one attains the realm of pure Yang and unites with the Dao. If even a trace of Yin substance remains to disturb this, one cannot perceive the true self.
With a chuckle, I sing: A hundred years of life pass in the blink of an eye—no one can hold onto the word "impermanence." What use is the most astonishing wealth and honor? The world is everywhere burdened with dust and toil; youth turns to white hair in an instant, time flies like a shuttle. How many living beings in the universe labor tirelessly yet remain utterly unaware? Ha, who isn’t trapped by life’s struggles? I, too, was delayed by it for half my years—only now have I seen through and let go. Do you know I’m awake now? Fame, profit, and sensual pleasures are like candles in the wind; glory and splendor are but foam on water. Ha, dedicated practice is never wrong—Buddha-nature and the Golden Elixir (Neidan term for the perfected inner elixir) are ultimately one and the same. The profound truth is actually quite simple.
This mystery within mystery traces back to the state of chaos before heaven and earth separated, to find that mysterious womb (a Daoist term for the source of creation). Three lines of profound truth are not too much—true lead, true mercury, and the true cauldron (Neidan terms for essence, energy, spirit, and the body as the vessel)—how can they compare to ordinary medicines? Quickly refine them in the golden cauldron! Seeking external timing and direction (referring to cultivation schedules like the midnight-noon cycle) is as futile as searching for turtle fur or rabbit horns. Ha, your own spiritual elixir is within—just nurture it slowly with true fire, and after ten months of "gestation" (a metaphor for the Neidan cultivation cycle), success will naturally come. Pluck the stringless zither, sing the tune of no-birth—where the iron ox plows, jade mushrooms grow (a metaphor for cultivation phenomena); the golden crow beneath the sea always reflects back (referring to the circulation of Qi in the Dantian). Ha, why force yourself to fast and endure hunger?
The Profound Teachings Pointing Directly to the Unity of All Methods delivers its spiritual insights with lively colloquial flair. The author chuckles while pointing out that clinging to superficial forms or scriptural literalism only creates obstacles in cultivation. Truly grasping the mystery of the "nine returns and seven reversions" (Neidan terminology describing the cyclical refinement of Jing, Qi, and Shen within the body) allows one to transcend distinctions between immortals and Buddhas. Whether practicing Buddhism's "seal of the original mind" (a Buddhist term denoting enlightened awareness) or Daoism's "yellow matron" (a Neidan concept representing the mediator of Yin-Yang harmony), the essence remains purifying the six senses and illuminating the heart-mind.
The crux of cultivation lies in preserving the innate purity and radiance of one's original mind, severing deluded thoughts with what the text playfully calls the "sword of wisdom." The "nectar of Hua Pond" (Neidan term for saliva as a symbol of inner purity) represents this intrinsic clarity. True liberation isn't about seeking heavenly paradises or fleeing underworld judges—it blossoms from present-moment awakening. Those chasing fame and fortune resemble fools chasing flowing water without ever turning back, a truly pitiable sight.
The latter section, Exhortation on Repaying Parents' Ten Kindnesses, details parental devotion through visceral vignettes: a mother guarding her womb like a dragon pearl during ten precarious months; facing life-and-death trials during childbirth; three years of exhausting breastfeeding; sleepless nights nursing childhood illnesses; cleaning soiled clothes without disgust; sacrificing dry bedding for their child in winter. These ordinary moments lay bare the extraordinary selflessness of parenthood.
Juxtaposing spiritual transcendence with human tenderness, the text radiates both liberated wisdom and profound appreciation for worldly love—a masterful balance of the celestial and the intimately human.
A parent's love for their child is utterly selfless. When cold weather comes, parents worry endlessly about their child catching chill, never minding their own discomfort. They offer sweet delicacies to their children while swallowing bitterness themselves, ensuring their child is fed even if they go hungry. Whenever delicious food is obtained, they invariably save it for their hungry child, and seeing the child eat with relish brings them profound joy.
Parents carefully groom and adorn their children, fashioning fine silken garments for them. Watching their child grow strong and promising, their tender affection deepens further. Holding hands, they teach and nurture, never neglecting instruction, hoping their child will mature properly and certainly imparting life's essential principles. When the child finally comes of age with understanding, parents feel quiet satisfaction in their hearts.
This parental devotion knows no bounds—acquiring lands, building homes, and accumulating wealth for their offspring. Even after passing, their thoughts remain fixed on future generations. Such profound kindness could never be repaid even if children ground their bones to dust.
Records tell how the True Lord of the Northern Dipper (a revered Daoist deity) once descended to the home of Lan Gong in Qufu County, Yanzhou, calling himself the King of Filial Piety. He revealed to Lan Gong: "The Primordial Qi (Qi) transforms into the Great Dao (Dao), manifesting in the sun as the Luminous King of Filiality; the Original Qi transforms into the Supreme Dao, appearing in the moon as the Immortal King of Filiality; the Mysterious Qi transforms into the Dao of Filial Piety, revealed among the stars as the King of Filial Devotion. When filial piety reaches heaven, sun and moon shine bright; when it permeates earth, all things flourish; when practiced among humans, true governance prevails. I've descended from the Shangqing Heaven precisely to illuminate this path." He prophesied that during the Jin Dynasty, Xu Xun (later known as Immortal Xu) would inherit this tradition to become foremost among transcendents. Indeed, Xu Xun later spread filial teachings widely, attaining age 136 before ascending to immortality with his entire household of 42—a story still told at Longxing's Western Mountains.
Filial piety forms the root of all virtue and the source of moral excellence. Neither immortality nor Buddhahood, neither sagehood nor worthiness can be attained without it. If even heaven, earth, sun and moon diligently cultivate filial devotion, how much more should humans? Parental nurturing grace runs deeper than ten kindnesses enumerated here—we illustrate only the principal ten to universally encourage its practice. Those who fail in filial duty and fraternal respect, though they may devoutly pursue Buddhist or Daoist practices, will find their merits fundamentally deficient, their cultivation fruitless. These are eternal truths worth remembering always.
Recorded with reverence by Daoist Chao of Jiangyue Lin.
The "Ten Virtues of Humanity and Heaven" (comprising three virtues of body, three virtues of mind, and four virtues of speech) proposed in Mysterious Origin Directly Pointing to the Unity of All Dharmas serve as essential guidelines for cultivation. These precepts apply not only to Daoist practice but also form the fundamental moral principles for human conduct.
The three bodily virtues are: First, abstaining from killing—as Heaven and Earth inherently cherish the virtue of nurturing life (De), refraining from killing accumulates blessings, prolongs lifespan, ensures freedom from guilt after death, and stands as the foremost virtue for virtuous families. Second, abstaining from theft—taking what is not given constitutes theft; avoiding it prevents calamities, whereas violating it incurs worldly punishment and posthumous descent into hell. Third, abstaining from sexual misconduct—lust is the root of cyclic rebirth (samsara); restraining it extends longevity, while indulging damages the spirit (Shen), corrupts virtue (De), and depletes vital essence (Jing), severely harming self-cultivation.
The three mental virtues are: First, abstaining from greed—worldly afflictions arise from craving; relinquishing greed naturally dissolves vexations, for desires are as deep as an ocean, and failing to distance oneself leads to drowning. Second, abstaining from anger—wrath is like uncontrollable fire; forbearance is most precious, as disputes and lawsuits harm oneself, disgrace family, and ruin households. Third, abstaining from ignorance—foolish individuals wander like those walking at night without a lamp, drowning in wine, lust, wealth, and anger, no different from beasts.
The four virtues of speech are: First, abstaining from false speech—deceitful words confuse minds and invite disaster, whereas honesty and trustworthiness attract divine protection. Second, abstaining from frivolous speech—avoiding flowery words that conceal faults, for sincerity and integrity accumulate hidden virtue (De). Third, abstaining from divisive speech—refraining from sowing discord, as gossip incurs punishment and posthumous descent into hell. Fourth, abstaining from harsh speech—vile words wound like corrosive poison, while restraint preserves enduring morality.
These ten virtues become "ten evils" when violated. Whether attaining Buddhahood, becoming a patriarch, achieving immortality, or simply living as a virtuous human, all accomplishments arise from virtuous karma. The Jade Emperor of the Great Brahma Heavenly Palace and Buddhist precepts alike regard these as the supreme righteous path. These precepts embody the fundamental ethical principles jointly upheld by the Three Teachings (Daoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism).
This scripture elucidates the contrasting karmic consequences of virtuous and wicked deeds. Those who steadfastly uphold the Ten Virtues (refraining from killing, stealing, and other virtuous acts) will find their roots of goodness growing ever deeper, with blessings continuously multiplying, bringing prosperity to their lineage across generations. During their earthly lives, they will avoid calamities such as legal punishments, warfare, illness, floods, fires, and famine. After death, their souls will ascend to the sacred realms of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing, the highest celestial abodes in Daoism), attaining the Six Supernatural Powers (including divine vision and other extraordinary abilities). Alternatively, they may be reborn as nobility—kings, lords, generals, or members of wealthy and prestigious families—enjoying boundless happiness and fortune.
Conversely, those who commit the Ten Evils (killing, stealing, and other wicked acts) will accumulate ever-deepening sins, facing increasing obstacles, familial decline, and the extinction of their descendants. In this life, they will suffer various legal punishments and disasters; after death, they will fall into the Three Wretched Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and animals), their souls sinking into the Nine Dark Hells, enduring prolonged torment in scorching flames. Even if reborn as animals, they will suffer slaughter; if reborn as humans, they will face poverty, loneliness, disabilities, deafness, or muteness, with their six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) incomplete, despised by others.
The karmic retribution for all virtuous and wicked deeds is meticulously documented in both Buddhist and Daoist scriptures. Here, they are specifically listed and explained with the hope of exhorting all people to collectively practice the Ten Virtues. This was reverently recorded by Chao, a cultivator of the Dao from Jiangyuelin.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5d0089）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback