About this page. The original text of 《隨機應化錄》 (Taixuan 太玄部, 2 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 27 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
The first volume of Random Responses to Transformations records the dialogues between Daoist He Daoquan (who took the monastic name Wugouzi, "Master Without Defilement") and his disciples. After leaving Zhejiang, He Daoquan traveled to the Huai-Chu region, where he encountered an old friend, Gao Woyun, at the Zhenwu Hall by Chilian Lake in Shuyang. Gao teased him: "All these years you've called yourself 'Without Defilement,' yet today you're covered in mud and water." He Daoquan replied, "People know only that lotus roots grow in muddy water, but fail to understand that the lotus flower emerges unstained from the filth." He explained that the lotus root symbolizes the human body, while the blossom represents one's innate nature. Though Daoist practitioners may appear no different from ordinary people in navigating worldly affairs, their inner state is entirely distinct. He then composed a poem to elucidate this principle.
Later, He Daoquan journeyed westward across the Yellow River and conversed with an elderly monk at the hermitage of Abbot Zhan. When a visiting monk sought teachings, the old monk said, "There is no Dharma to speak of." He Daoquan, however, regarded this as the truest form of teaching. Quoting the Diamond Sutra—"What is called 'preaching the Dharma' is in fact no Dharma to preach"—and the Scripture of the Thunder Patriarch—"Those who wish to hear the supreme Dao will find it profound and ineffable"—he emphasized that the true Dao lies beyond words. Only through sincerity, gentleness, and stillness can practitioners comprehend it. The monk then asked about the meaning of the character zhong (中, "center" or "mean"). He Daoquan explained it through the perspectives of Daoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism: Daoists regard the initial stirring of a thought as zhong; Buddhists speak of the original face before distinctions of good and evil arise; Confucians refer to the state before joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure are expressed.
At Chongning Hermitage, the abbot Zhang asked, "Which came first, the peach pit or the peach tree?" He Daoquan responded with an analogy: just as all flowers in a garden bloom through the harmonizing influence of the sun's warmth, all things emerge from the differentiation of the Primordial Qi (先天一炁, Xiantian Yiqi, the foundational energy of the cosmos), originating from the beginning of the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate).
This passage employs the metaphors of eggs and peach pits to expound the Daoist core concept of "Yin-Yang creative transformation." It first explains how the formless and imageless Dao (Taichu, the Primal Beginning) gives birth to all things, just as an egg requires the union of rooster and hen to hatch, or a peach pit must contact the earth to grow. Without the rooster's participation, the egg cannot develop; when a peach pit hangs suspended without touching the earth's Qi (vital energy), it loses the potential for continuous generation and transformation.
The same principle applies to spiritual cultivation: when people become entangled with external matters, they become bound by the laws of Yin-Yang, trapped in the cycle of life and death. But if one can sever distracting thoughts and transcend external conditions—like the suspended peach pit or the unfertilized egg—they may surpass the transformations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and return to the primal source of Taichu. The text quotes Master Yin Xi (Yin Zhenjun) to emphasize this point: practitioners should maintain lightness toward external circumstances, remaining unconstrained by worldly things, lest they become subject to the alternating currents of Yin and Yang.
The passage concludes with the example of Monk Xiuju Peak's inquiry, illustrating the principle that "Buddha-nature is inherently complete"—rather than seeking the Western Buddha externally, one should recognize the Buddha-nature within. As the Song Dynasty monk Zhang Shangying (known as Chuan Lao) remarked: to acknowledge others as Buddhas while denying one's own inherent nature is like holding a rice bowl while begging for food—utterly ridiculous. This dialogue reveals the profound convergence between Daoist and Chan (Zen) Buddhist cultivation principles.
This passage explains the three progressive methods of Buddhist recitation practice and how to properly understand its essence.
It first points out that true Buddha-nature exists within ourselves and need not be sought externally. Just as Confucianism teaches "every person's heart contains the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)," Daoism speaks of "the body's innate primordial Qi (vital energy)." When a monk asked for the shortcut to recitation practice, the master revealed the truth through a Zen saying: each chant of the Buddha's name awakens one's original face, like using a stick to crack open a peach pit and startle the person inside (metaphor for awakening inner Buddha-nature).
The recitation method has three levels:
First is subduing mental afflictions. Beginners must first use recitation to suppress wandering thoughts; only when delusions settle can true practice begin. The key is maintaining thought-free awareness during recitation, transforming scattered mind into Buddha-mind. When insufficient concentration produces distractions, immediately remind yourself "how can I, a recitation practitioner, entertain such delusions?" Then refocus on the Buddha's name, practicing continuously from one to a hundred repetitions.
Second is visualization practice. During all daily activities—walking, standing, sitting, lying—one should visualize the Buddha's image (described here as a majestic golden radiant figure), keeping mind and Buddha inseparable like mother and child longing for each other. When external disturbances arise, immediately return attention to the internal Buddha-image.
Third is investigative recitation (combining Chan and Pure Land). This stage transcends counting prayer beads, maintaining awareness without thought and thought without attachment. Through sustained practice, one ultimately reaches the state where recitation occurs naturally without deliberate effort.
Finally, it emphasizes that chanting with malicious thoughts creates "Buddha's mouth but serpent's heart" and generates negative karma instead. True recitation requires inner-outer unity, maintaining visualization through all circumstances so negative influences naturally dissolve. The essence of practice lies in perseverance—continuous engagement whether active or still—until reaching the state where remembrance never falters in motion or stillness.
This passage explains the methods and principles of Buddhist cultivation through chanting. Practitioners should rely on the Buddha as firmly as leaning against Mount Sumeru (the sacred mountain in Buddhist lore) or clutching a bridge pillar in a raging torrent. By persisting in this way, evil influences will naturally dissipate.
At the moment of death, one must maintain this single-minded focus on chanting, keeping the Buddha’s name ever-present in the heart, so as not to be led astray by false paths. During life, steadfast chanting without forgetfulness will, over time, reveal the path—leading to sudden awakening and the realization of the Amitabha Buddha within one’s own nature (self-nature Buddha). At this stage, a single chant surpasses thousands, dissolving karmic obstacles, nurturing spiritual progress, and revealing one’s true nature.
Practical method of cultivation: Choose a quiet place, eat simple food, sit on a thick cushion, wear loose clothing, and assume the full lotus posture (cross-legged with spine straight). Regulate the breath and clear the mind of distractions. Then, gently invoke the Buddha’s name—silently or aloud—from one recitation to a hundred. If distracting thoughts arise, start anew until a hundred uninterrupted recitations are achieved. With each chant, contemplate the question: Who is the one chanting? Reflect on where the chanting mind goes when the body disintegrates (the "four elements disperse," signifying death). Maintain this inquiry constantly, whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, until clarity is attained. Through sustained practice, sudden awakening will reveal Amitabha within the heart—at which point a single chant transcends countless recitations, carrying one to the "other shore" (the realm of enlightenment).
A later verse states:
"Amitabha of the Western Pure Land
Dwells within the human heart—
Yet few are aware.
If the mind remains undistracted while chanting,
Even a pit of fire (suffering) transforms into a lotus pond (purity)."
The text then recounts an encounter between a Chan master and a devotee named Su Deshan in Pizhou. When asked about "nurturing the heart," the master replied: "To nurture the heart, remove defilements and quiet deluded thoughts—when thoughts are pure, the heart is naturally pure." Asked about "nurturing qi (vital energy)," the master advised speaking less to conserve qi. On the role of a "hui shou" (leader of a Dharma assembly), he explained: "Hui means gathering—one who guides others toward virtue and merit becomes the most revered in the assembly."
This scripture primarily records essential Daoist cultivation methods and dialogues between several practitioners and their master.
Regarding cultivation techniques, the text explains the need to regulate Shen (spirit) and refine Qi (vital energy) to balance Yin-Yang (the two fundamental opposing yet complementary cosmic forces in Daoism) and harmonize the Four Symbols (Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise). Practitioners must gather the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) and penetrate the Three Passes (key energy points in the body). Through this process, Jing (essence), Qi, and Shen converge at the crown, with the five energies returning to their origin, ultimately uniting at the Muddy Pellet Palace (the crown energy center).
The text then presents cultivation essentials in verse: minor faults shouldn't be ignored, as droplets accumulate into rivers; virtuous deeds shouldn't breed complacency, lest blessings diminish; goodness must be sustained while harmful thoughts severed; ultimately transcending dualistic notions of good and evil leads to complete awakening.
Several dialogues between disciples and their master are recorded:
Liu Botong inquired about the meaning of "movement and stillness." The master responded poetically: In stillness, all obstructions vanish naturally; in movement, distinctions manifest clearly. When thoughts return to their source, all attachments dissolve—like clouds parting to reveal the bright moon, illuminating one's true nature beyond birth and extinction.
The monk Xinch'an asked about "original face" (one's fundamental nature). The master replied: This nature has no form or shadow, elusive to seekers yet clear to the awakened. Only by discarding all external attachments can one behold the luminous perfection of true nature.
When receiving gifts of a fan and shoes from monks, the master composed responsive poems. The fan verse advised: The autumn wind spares no fan—learn to let go. The shoe verse noted: Shoes follow each step, aiding pure cultivation.
At the Immortal Elder Temple, hearing cicadas inspired this verse: After years underground, the cicada sheds its husk to soar—just as practitioners must cast off their defiled shells to reach supreme states. Finally, Su the Registrar came seeking the essential meaning of "clarity, stillness, and the Dao's De (Virtue/Power)."
The spiritual abode (referring to the mind) becomes pure when free from distractions, and attains stillness when devoid of wandering thoughts. Serene immobility manifests the Dao (the Way), while responsive awareness demonstrates De (Virtue). For beginners in cultivation, one must maintain resolve and subdue delusions in stillness, while in activity, one should benefit all beings with a settled mind.
Yang the Supervisor (a Daoist administrative title) asked: "In Daoist practice, there are four principles—stand like a pine tree, walk like a swift wind, sleep like a drawn bow, and speak like a temple bell. Why is this so?" The master replied with a poem:
"Stand firm as a pine enduring winter's chill;
Move freely as wind crossing hill and rill.
Focus intent like an arrow nocked true—
Once loosed, it cannot be retrieved anew.
Too much speech invites calamity's hand,
Yet silence too is hard to understand.
Henceforth be like bell and drum in measure:
Struck, they sound; at rest, they hold their treasure.
Practice thus, and what grief or joy remains?
Awakening reveals life's fleeting gains—
The golden millet dream's illusory chains."
These four principles encompass both internal and external cultivation. Beginners should first refine outward conduct before turning inward, maintaining balance between both.
At the start of summer, the master composed a lyric to the tune of Courtyard Full of Fragrance:
"Swift as shuttles fly the sun and moon;
Unnoticed, youth departs too soon.
I recall cicadas singing in high willows—
Now summer returns, time's wheel still follows.
Ponder this: how brief our mortal span!
Fellow seekers, wake! Begin while you can.
Cast attachments aside with haste,
Cleanse the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers),
Temper body and mind till Yin recedes and Yang ascends.
Dispel gloom like the noonday sun that shines
Illuminating all realms, bright and clear,
Revealing the primal face before birth appears."
The master said: Beginners may start with four health-preserving practices—
1) Frequent tooth-tapping,
2) Regular saliva-swallowing,
3) Repeated hair-combing,
4) Diligent breath-cultivation.
These foundational methods, practiced long-term, dispel illness, prolong life, and lighten the body.
For inner cultivation, further refine with:
- Fewer attachments in the heart,
- Fewer words from the mouth,
- Less food in the belly,
- Less sleep at night.
The Holy Mother (a Daoist female immortal) said: "Achieve these four reductions, and immortality shall surely be attained."
When the master visited Guangwu Temple in Sanxiang, a devotee named Qin Weijing asked: "What is meant by 'absence within presence'?" The master replied: "Though a cultivator's body is a temporary composite of the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, wind), within the realm of desires, the mind remains utterly free of worldly dust—this is absence within presence."
This scripture elucidates the core principles and practical methods of Daoist cultivation.
The discussion on the "form body" (youxiang shen) and "formless body" (wuxiang shen) reveals that the physical form is illusory, while the formless true nature is fundamental. Practitioners must transcend superficial emotions and thoughts to maintain the clarity of their true nature. When asked about "generating being from non-being" (wuzhong shengyou), the patriarch uses the metaphor "from emptiness comes white snow, from stillness sprouts yellow shoots" to illustrate how true vitality naturally arises in a state of profound stillness.
The explanation of movement and stillness: movement refers to mental activity, while stillness refers to one's inherent nature. When thoughts arise, the true nature is obscured; when thoughts cease, the true nature is revealed. If a practitioner is swayed by external influences (the guest overpowering the host), they lose their authentic self. But by maintaining right mindfulness (the host upright, the deviant retreating), one can reach the state of "extinguished thoughts and forgotten emotions."
In Fuchang County, the patriarch converses with a practitioner in retreat. Secluded cultivation is an essential practice, divided into three phases: minor stillness (100 days), intermediate stillness (200 days), and major stillness (300 days). Practitioners must discern truth from falsehood, avoid attachment to appearances, and purify the mind through dietary restraint, overcoming sleep, breath regulation, and nurturing the spirit (shen). Prolonged practice leads to the formation of an "empty and numinous embryo," ultimately achieving the state of "liberating the spirit from its shell." The patriarch warns against becoming fixated on visions of spirits and demons during retreat, as this can lead to demonic obsession.
At the Lao Hermitage in Lushan, the patriarch advises Master Shen that cultivation must begin at the root, without excessive focus on external forms. Through natural nurturing, one attains the "unleaking" (wulou) state—free from flaws—and achieves longevity. Beginners must master the "Eight Methods" (likely referring to fundamental cultivation techniques), which form the foundation of practice.
This scripture emphasizes transcending form, preserving true nature, and cultivating naturally in Daoist practice, while detailing the methods and precautions of secluded cultivation.
The Way of Nourishing Life encompasses eight aspects: regulating the body, spleen-stomach, heart-mind, essence-Qi (Jing-Qi), temperament, and wisdom. Specifically: maintaining the body requires lightening its burdens; nurturing the spleen-stomach demands dietary moderation and bland flavors; regulating the heart-mind necessitates reducing thoughts and desires; cultivating spirit (Shen) involves simplifying affairs and avoiding prying into others; nourishing Qi lies in speaking less; preserving essence (Jing) requires restraining lust and minimizing auditory stimulation; refining temperament means being content with circumstances without wild imaginings; developing wisdom calls for stillness and silence. These eight cultivation methods are all indispensable.
As the verse states: Cultivation need not be sought externally—the true treasure lies within. If one comprehends this pivotal point of the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan, referring to key acupoints or cultivation thresholds), one may behold the Celestial Heart (Tianxin, the cosmic origin or intrinsic true nature).
Fellow practitioner Gao Mingyuan inquired about the meaning of "turning the light inward and reflecting back" (Huiguang Fanzhao). The explanation given was: "Turning the light inward" means gathering scattered thoughts back to the original mind, while "reflecting back" involves introspection of past actions. It emphasizes that cultivation requires inward observation and self-reflection. Confucianism speaks of conscious awakening, while Daoism holds that self-realization surpasses teaching others. True practitioners must constantly examine body and mind, subduing deluded thoughts until reaching a state of no-thought and no-awareness—dwelling in the mundane world yet remaining untainted, like "passing through a field of flowers without a single petal clinging to one's robes."
Monk Tieniu asked about liberation from the cycle of life and death. The reply was: Where there is success/failure and gain/loss, there lies the path of samsaric rebirth; where there is neither coming nor going resides liberation. Relinquishing attachments transcends life and death, just as flowers bloom needing the east wind, while their falling follows nature's rhythm. True liberation manifests as naturally as "cloudless peaks birth no shadows, while the moon prints itself upon river hearts." The moment of awakening is itself the moment of liberation.
Forgetting emotions and extinguishing distracting thoughts is the gateway to life, while a chaotic mind and frenzied spirit form the path to death. When the heart is unattached to all things, maintaining the original nature's clarity and purity while observing everything with detached awareness—this is the fundamental way to transcend worldly dust. Hence this verse was composed: The original nature neither perishes nor arises, eternally serene and pure; without coming or going, it transcends the three realms. To comprehend the key to this awakening, one must break through the constraints of emptiness to realize the profound truth.
Later at Yilu Mountain's Chongyang Cave, a temple master named Zhou Daolong inquired about the principles of seated meditation. The master explained: The character "bo" (钵, alms bowl) represents the fundamental principle—composed of "metal" (金) and "root" (本). "Metal-root" signifies metal representing emotions (qing) and wood representing nature (xing); the fusion of emotion and nature resembles the bowl. Emotions are like water's waves while nature is the water itself—seated meditation means stilling emotional turbulence to stabilize original nature. The bowl's small opening symbolizes the principle of yin-yang's ascent and descent: what rises must descend, what fills must empty. During meditation, keep the mouth closed, body upright, and distracting thoughts severed—only thus can emotion and nature merge, coalescing within the primordial spirit (shen).
Subsequently, a scholar named Jing'an asked about the "original face" (true nature). The master replied: One must neither cling to present perceptions nor completely detach from reality. If detachment were the original face, then who governs our daily speech, actions, and sensory functions? If present perceptions were the original face, why can't corpses with intact senses move? Consider—before our parents conceived us, lacking this body and senses, what then was perceiving? As the Daoist scriptures state: "Looking, you cannot see me; listening, you cannot hear me—transcending all dualities, this is called the wondrous Dao." Buddhist sutras similarly warn: "Taking form and sound as truth is following the wrong path." The true essence is formless yet manifests all forms, shapeless yet governs all shapes. The original face cannot be seen with eyes or heard with ears—it perceives without relying on senses. The true essence, when stirred, falls into the limitations of the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind); only in stillness does the original face spontaneously appear. Our daily activities are all driven by desires—only through stillness can we return to authenticity. Practitioners seeking to recognize the original face must sever external attachments, purify the six senses, and concentrate the mind into singularity.
The Random Responses and Transformations Record discusses two main aspects: the discussion of cognitive states and the specific methods of cultivation.
First, when addressing cognitive states, it draws an analogy from Zhuangzi’s Discourse on the Equalization of Things. "Great knowledge is broad and unhurried" refers to wisdom that is open-minded and all-encompassing, while "petty knowledge is picky and contentious" describes narrow-minded cognition marked by discrimination. "Great speech is clear and illuminating" denotes discourse that harmonizes distinctions of right and wrong, whereas "petty speech is trivial and verbose" refers to fragmented and limited words. These differences all stem from the function of the "True Ruler" (one’s innate nature)—though formless and intangible, it manifests within all things.
The second part elaborates on cultivation methods, which are divided into internal and external aspects. External cultivation includes performing 800 kinds of virtuous deeds, such as caring for widows and orphans, respecting the elderly, aiding the weak, repairing bridges, and mending roads. Internal cultivation involves 3,000 types of practices, such as sitting in stillness and holding to oneness (dwelling in solitude and maintaining tranquility), tempering the mind and refining the heart, preserving essence and nurturing Qi (cherishing Jing and nourishing Qi), and refining the Shen (spirit) to return to emptiness. External cultivation accumulates blessings, while internal cultivation enhances wisdom—only by cultivating both can one transcend life and death.
The text specifically notes that men over 64 years of age find it difficult to cultivate the "life aspect" (physical-level practice), as the innate primordial Qi (Yuan Yang true Qi) originally weighs 384 zhu (an ancient unit of measurement) but gradually diminishes with age and indulgence. Between ages 15 and 25, indulgence depletes 48 zhu, and if one fails to preserve it in subsequent decades, further loss occurs. These losses correspond to transformations in the hexagrams of the Book of Changes (from Qian to Gou to Dun). Only those who understand preservation and cultivation can attain immortality.
Finally, a gatha summarizes the state of cultivation: The truly awakened appear formless yet contain all things, untouched by worldly dust, able to relinquish all attachments, revealing the indestructible true heart of original nature.
This passage discusses the Daoist cultivation theory of the “depletion of primordial Qi.” For every ten years a person ages, forty-eight zhu of primordial Qi are depleted (the zhu is an ancient unit of weight; here it is used metaphorically as a unit of Qi). If by this time one still does not know how to cultivate and nurture it, then after another ten years seventy-two zhu will be lost, corresponding to the Guan hexagram in the Yijing (Book of Changes); after another five years without replenishment, the loss reaches ninety-six zhu, corresponding to the Bo hexagram; if one still does not know how to maintain it, then after the cycle of the sixty-four hexagrams the primordial Qi will be exhausted, corresponding to the Kun hexagram (the image of pure Yin). At this stage, one can only barely sustain life by the Qi of the five grains; one is not far from death, and it becomes difficult to cultivate and form the elixir.
Cultivators must know how to calculate the increase and decrease of primordial Qi. The Patriarch said that a single gourd contains three hundred eighty-four zhu of primordial Qi (covertly corresponding to the number of days in a year).
A certain Lecturer Chen asked about the method of shijie (corpse liberation), one of the Daoist ways of becoming immortal. The answer was that there are five kinds of shijie: bingjie (military liberation), wenjie (civil liberation), shuijie (water liberation), huojie (fire liberation), and taiyin jie (Great Yin liberation). Military liberation is like Guo Pu being beheaded or Zhou Pu being subjected to sawing; civil liberation is like Fei Changfang transforming his form by means of a bamboo staff, or Bodhidharma returning west with a single shoe; water liberation is like Feng Yi drowning in the Yellow River, or Li Bai sinking into the river; fire liberation is like Fengzi self-immolating, or Lu Xiujing ascending to immortality in a firewood shed; Great Yin liberation is when after death the corpse neither decays nor stiffens, the complexion remains as in life, and ultimately the person can revive as a human being. But these methods ultimately cannot produce celestial immortals; they can only attain long life without death.
In the ninth month of the Bingyin year, while sheltering from rain at the Eastern Peak Temple in Huayang, the Patriarch composed a poem:
“The house leaks rain, but the person does not leak;
The people of the world are busy, while I am at leisure.
I move my body to a stable place;
All worldly distractions are completely forgotten.”
On the fifteenth day of that month, the three Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoists Dong Guyun, Wang Yishan, and He Lanyun were going to Danyang Wanshou Palace to serve as abbots. Before departing, they also composed a poem:
“Deep mountains and secluded valleys are my home;
This life of carefree wandering is truly praiseworthy.
My earthen bowl always holds honey wine;
My porcelain bottle sometimes brews tea from tender shoots.
When at leisure, I smile and point at the moon at the horizon;
When gloomy, I quietly watch the flowers by the stream.”
(Supplementary note: The “zhu” mentioned in the text is a technical term in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, quantifying the human body’s primordial Qi into calculable units; “shijie” is the path by which, according to Daoist belief, cultivators feign death, shed their physical form through special means, and ascend to become immortals.)
On this day, the Daoist priest bid farewell to his fellow practitioners and departed. Gazing at the distant mountain forests and secluded valleys, he couldn't help but sigh with emotion. It was the twenty-second day of the ninth lunar month when the priest arrived at Wanshou Palace in Danyang, Chang'an.
A military commander named Deng came to pay his respects, saying: "I've long heard of your profound mastery of the Dao." The priest replied: "This humble Daoist merely retreats to the mountains to cultivate simplicity." The commander remarked: "Just this single word 'simplicity'—if truly understood and cultivated—would naturally perfect the Daoist arts." The priest explained: "Concealing brilliance and sheathing sharpness while preserving one's plain nature; remaining silent despite eloquence, appearing clumsy despite dexterity; eyes not chasing beauty, ears not listening to decadent music; though the mouth responds to worldly affairs, the heart remains desireless; harboring no distracting thoughts, maintaining pure intention—this is my method of cultivating simplicity."
The commander then inquired: "How would you explain the terms 'nature' (xing) and 'life' (ming)?" The priest answered: "Nature is the root of life, life is the function of nature. Without the root, function cannot manifest; without function, the root remains incomplete. Like a tree's roots and branches—originally connected, though we temporarily speak of them as two." The commander pressed: "If they're truly united as substance and function, why divide them?" The priest said: "Nature and life are originally one, only separated by desires and distractions. As the ancients said, 'Wood and metal divided separate the crow and rabbit'—this expresses the principle."
The commander asked further: "From the Dao's perspective, what is nature?" The priest replied: "Nature is like the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the highest attainment in Daoist cultivation), symbolizing the eternal, indestructible true nature—free and unobstructed. Thus we describe it with gold's firmness, steel's sharpness, and elixir's perfection. Imperial Lord Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, founder of Quanzhen Daoism) said: 'The original true nature is called Golden Elixir, refined in the furnace of four illusions. Unstained, unthinking, abandoning delusion—naturally it rolls forth to the immortal altar.' This is the meaning."
The next day after the assembly's worship, the priest said: "Rotten wood needs no carving, simple folk spare themselves mental labor. Eloquence falls short of silence; cleverness cannot match apparent foolishness. Jade-bearing stones suffer chiseling, pearl-holding clams endure opening. Only by preserving perfect authenticity can one safeguard original nature." Then he composed this verse: "The hundred-foot pine already stands complete, unaware of spring's warm breeze. Let its branches dance with the wind—roots run deep, unmoving eternally."
(This dialogue records essential Quanzhen teachings on dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) and returning to primordial simplicity, emphasizing how Dao cultivation requires sheathing one's brilliance and eliminating contrivance to realize the true nature and unite with the Dao.)
Vol. 2
Someone asked Master Niu Pi Dong (a Daoist practitioner) about the principle of "sitting in retreat." Master Songxi Daoren Wugouzi He Daoquan replied: My late teacher said the fundamental principle of sitting in retreat is returning to the origin—it's essentially the practice of seated meditation.
Another asked: There are said to be 3,600 methods of cultivation—which one do you practice? The master answered: What I received was the essential oral transmission from my teacher, which doesn't belong to those 3,600 methods.
The questioner doubted: Isn't this some heterodox path? The master explained: My teacher said true Dao is like a house without walls, having no gates in any direction. The Great Dao is boundless as the void, immeasurable. It's only because seekers differ in wisdom that distinctions like Mahayana and Hinayana arise—these are all mental constructs. The Dao itself has no such divisions as orthodox or heterodox.
The questioner persisted: If there's no distinction between orthodox and unorthodox, why are there still three vehicles (upper, middle, lower)? The master replied: Because people's capacities differ in depth and sharpness, the ancient sages established these three methods to guide different practitioners. A "vehicle" is like a conveyance—large carts carry heavy loads, medium carts moderate loads, small carts light loads. Sages teach according to people's capacities—though methods differ, the Dao is one. As the ancients said: Rivers divide into many branches, yet all return to the ocean—where's the difference?
Another asked: Surely you know Master Dong's principle of sitting in retreat? The master answered: My teacher spoke of "dead retreat" and "living retreat." Dead retreat means sitting in a walled room with sealed doors, having meals passed through at set times, stabilizing body and mind, cutting off distractions, regulating breath and nourishing spirit—emerging only after 100 days. Those with strong will achieve much; the weak may fall ill. Living retreat takes the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) of this provisional body as walls, with the "jade locks and golden passes" (metaphors for vital bodily points) as seals—keeping the luminous awareness ever-present, spirit never leaving Qi nor Qi leaving spirit, inwardly free from random thoughts, outwardly unattached to distractions, finding stillness amid noise and clarity within stillness, with essence-spirit inwardly guarded against external disturbances. A hundred days of this surpasses a thousand in dead retreat. Dead retreat only binds the physical form without nourishing the spirit, and instead...
The mind is like a monkey forcibly caged or a horse tethered by a rope. Even if you remove the cage and the rope, it will still run wild and jump about—this is not its natural state. If one can temper the mind amid everyday encounters, the effect is far superior to deliberate efforts focused on external appearances.
Someone asked, "How does one temper the mind amid things?" The master replied, "When seeing various objects without craving, one will not be bound by material things; when facing different circumstances without wavering, one will not be led astray by external conditions. Tempering the mind this way over time will ultimately lead to the 'Samadhi of No-Mind' (a meditative state of transcendent detachment), where one remains unmoved both in and out of meditation. This is true stillness."
Another asked, "Ancient immortals also practiced secluded meditation—why is that?" The master explained, "The sages of old did not retreat into seclusion because their cultivation was lacking. Rather, they saw that later generations were easily influenced by the external world, so they demonstrated how to gather the spirit through hundred-day retreats. Just as Bodhidharma came from the West and faced the wall at Shaolin Temple for nine years to guide Shenguang, these were all models set for future practitioners."
A skeptic questioned, "Some today imitate Bodhidharma’s wall-facing—why do they not attain the Dao?" The master said, "They only copy the outward form without grasping the inner meaning. True seclusion means restraining scattered thoughts; wall-facing means seeing without attachment—it is a method for turning the gaze inward. The Daode Jing says, 'Do not look at what excites desire, lest the mind be disturbed.' Practitioners must neither crave sights with their eyes nor sounds with their ears—mere outward imitation is ultimately useless. Patriarch Lü Dongbin once mocked those who blindly face walls, saying, 'Shatter the void, and when you see it, seize it!'"
Finally, someone asked about concrete methods: "You said cultivation does not lie in complicated techniques, but how then does one establish the furnace and cauldron (metaphors for the conditions of practice)? What 'ingredients' (symbolizing cultivation materials) should be used? How does one refine the Golden Elixir using 'water and fire' (symbolizing the harmonization of Yin and Yang)?" The master answered, "Take Heaven and Earth as the furnace and cauldron, Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) as the ingredients, stillness as water, and wisdom as fire. With single-minded focus, harmonize these Three Treasures until they gradually coalesce into the Elixir, merging into perfect unity."
When cultivating, if one becomes attached to the concept of the "elixir" (Dan), it will only create obstacles. It is like having sand in one's eyes—one must clear away these extraneous thoughts completely to truly merge with the Dao (the Way). Master Li Qing'an once wrote a poem: Those vast visions that seem to hold up heaven and earth are illusory; only the original spirit (Shen, the innate awareness) is truly real. If the mind still harbors any attachment, how can one realize the great Dao of emptiness?
Someone asked: Wouldn't this lead to mere nothingness?
The master replied: Since there is still awareness and observation, how can it be nothingness?
The questioner pressed: But won't awareness and observation lead to attachment to external phenomena?
The master used the analogy of a candle: Though the light illuminates all around, the candleholder itself never moves. Then he recited a verse:
The wind's countless sounds are inherently without intent,
The moon's reflection in a thousand rivers is equally bright.
External things have never truly stained anything—
Mountains stand tall, waters flow on their own.
When asked what the Dao is, the master said: It is the state before the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) divided and before the single Qi (vital energy) arose.
What should a practitioner take as their teacher?
It is the serene stillness where good and evil are forgotten, where not a single thought arises—this is how one merges with the great Dao. To reach this state, one must embody both substance and function: the Dao's function is to benefit all beings, while its essence is Wuwei (non-action) and purity. If one can subdue wandering thoughts, remain unmoved by external praise or blame, and free oneself from anger and joy, then one is truly abiding in the Dao.
Regarding heaven and hell, the master said: If heaven exists, noble people will naturally ascend; if hell exists, petty people will surely descend. The scriptures say that those who have no worries in life will have no suffering in death—the present world's reward of good and punishment of evil is the truest heaven and hell. The classics of the ancient sages all emphasize loyalty and filial piety as the foundation; benefiting others with skillful means is the foremost principle of cultivation.
Finally, he used the metaphor of fire tongs: The tongs are firm and straight, moving freely through the furnace—able to stir the flames and gather them, tempered in the fire until they become a body of pure Yang (the active cosmic principle). They neither decay in water nor perish in fire. When they sweep aside the ashes, their radiance illuminates the earth. This symbolizes how a practitioner, refined through countless trials, ultimately reveals their innate luminous nature.
In the meditation chamber, a monk named Congdu came to pay respects to the master. The master asked him: "If a woman walks toward you, do you see a woman or a man?" When the monk sought clarification, the master admonished: "To see her as a woman is attachment to form; to see her as a man is deficient perception. True nature knows no distinctions - differentiation arises only through clinging to appearances. One must transcend external phenomena to directly point to the original mind, only then can one thoroughly penetrate all things." He continued: "Be like fallen petals following the stream - true seeing means seeing as if not seeing. If the mind makes no distinctions, how can there be division between sin and blessing? The great Dao makes no distinction between male and female - why force artificial separations?"
Later, Imperial Censor He visited and inquired about seated meditation practice. The master replied: "It's merely nurturing simplicity." The censor objected: "Complete incompetence is called simplicity - how can that lead to immortality?" The master explained: "The simplicity I speak of follows the ancients' return to primal authenticity. Sincerely maintaining one's fundamental nature, practicing wuwei (non-action) naturally - what appears foolish contains great wisdom. The Thunder Scripture says: 'Using sincerity appears simple, using silence appears dull, using softness appears clumsy.' Only thus can one return to the root and recover one's original destiny, knowing the white while guarding the black, ultimately transcending life and death to become immortal or enlightened."
The censor further asked: "If mental stillness surpasses environmental quietude, and we're to forget both external surroundings and internal mind, why need a meditation chamber?" The master offered this analogy: "Like the autumn moon at night - its brightness shines clearer when unobscured by clouds. The quiet chamber blocks external demonic disturbances, while mental stillness stops internal demonic thoughts. When both outer and inner are purified, when surface and depth become transparent - this constitutes the true skill of Dao practitioners. Laozi said 'not seeing desirable things keeps the mind undisturbed,' while immortals teach 'when external realms don't invade, internal spirit naturally stabilizes' - this is precisely that principle."
Finally, explaining the meaning of "those who do not lose their place endure": Just as trees with deep roots in fertile soil grow lush foliage, cultivators anchored in their original mind nurture their Dao-nature. Water's nature flows downward to the sea; the human mind in stillness attains longevity. This "place" refers to where the primordial ancestral Qi (one's innate vital energy) concentrates and the original Shen (primordial consciousness) dwells.
This scripture primarily explains how people of different social standings can each attain the way of longevity through their respective paths, and how cultivators can reach the state transcending life and death.
For court officials, remaining loyal to the sovereign, benefiting the nation, showing compassion to soldiers and civilians, maintaining impartiality, and balancing firmness with flexibility will ensure the longevity of their official positions and emoluments. Common citizens should abide by national laws, understand human relations, and practice diligence and thrift in household management to sustain their family fortunes. Cultivators, however, must withdraw from worldly disturbances, preserve inner purity, and unify their Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) — the Three Treasures — into one, thereby attaining eternal life.
The scripture reveals that every person's body contains crucial cultivation centers (such as the "Golden Tower and Jade Chamber," "Spiritual Terrace and Crimson Palace"). Without self-cultivation, these inner "dwellings" will collapse, leaving their "master" homeless. When the Imperial Censor asks about the "deathless longevity" concept, the response clarifies that when cultivators approach death, while their physical Qi dissipates, their Dao-Qi remains indestructible; though their mortal form perishes, their true nature endures eternally, liberated from the cycle of reincarnation. Ordinary people, constrained by physical lifespan, experience scattered true nature after death, transmigrating according to karmic forces.
The text cites several masters' teachings: the Ancient Master said physical life is finite while the Dharma-body is eternal; Master Ji declared one may forget physical form but must never forget innate nature; Buddhism teaches that while physical form perishes, Buddha-nature remains. All these states require cultivation to achieve. Finally, the text mentions Commander Deng sending a purple bamboo staff to a Daoist master, who reciprocated with a gatha verse using bamboo symbolism (where "yellow sprouts" represent young bamboo shoots) to illustrate cultivation: outwardly plain (bark like lacquer), inwardly pure (heart white as frost), growing naturally between heaven and earth.
This passage elucidates how practitioners attain transcendence through introspection and cultivation. It begins with symbolic implements: the staff represents the sovereign ruler of the human body (one's original mind), scissors trim the uneven growth of distracting thoughts, while the whisk sweeps away delusional mental attachments. The text emphasizes turning inward rather than clinging to external objects—only by maintaining the clarity of one's fundamental mind can true nature manifest.
The narrative then cites the cultivation methods of Master Zhigong (a renowned Southern Dynasties monk) to illustrate that genuine practice lies in working within one's own mental landscape. Practitioners must constantly examine themselves, pruning distracting thoughts and dusting away mental impurities, allowing their intrinsic nature to shine like luminous pearls like a radiant pearl.
Subsequently, it describes a practitioner's hundred-day retreat in Huayang Valley, employing Neidan terminology such as "wooden dragon" (liver Qi) and "metal tiger" (lung Qi) to demonstrate how harmonizing the body's Yin-Yang energies within the bodily "furnace and cauldron" forges the priceless treasure (Golden Elixir). This culminates in the state where "divine radiance pierces through the nine heavenly layers."
The passage concludes with two poetic verses, affirming that true cultivation depends not on the novelty of external alchemical vessels but on authentic internal practice. By gathering the "purple spirit mushroom" (Neidan) in the stillness of emptiness, one obtains the genuine elixir of immortality. Throughout, the text underscores the path of introspection over external seeking—purifying the heart-mind and balancing Yin-Yang to transcend the cycle of life and death.
The first passage describes the state of cultivation: Like polishing a precious mirror for a hundred days until all dust is removed and its pure radiance shines through, revealing one's true self—only then can the path to the wondrous sacred realm be found. In genuine stillness and stability, divine illumination will naturally appear to guide one toward the correct path.
The second passage continues describing the achievements of cultivation: When the hundred-day practice reaches completion, the body's energy gates (a cultivation term referring to vital energy nodes) open naturally. It is as if crimson flames suddenly erupt from the ocean depths (referring to the lower Dantian), or as if jade towers and celestial pavilions (symbolizing the sacred state attained through cultivation) are adorned with snow-like purity. At this point, the practitioner transcends the mundane and ascends to a higher realm.
Later, a dialogue between a Chan master and a monk is recorded: The Western Shu monk Haifu inquired about the Chan anecdote of "the World-Honored One holding up a flower, and Mahakasyapa smiling." The master explained that the Buddha holding up the flower was a direct transmission of truth, while Mahakasyapa's smile was an immediate realization. If everyone had smiled, it would show the equality of Dharma without hierarchy; if no one had understood, it would be like rivers freezing entirely, with truth unable to flow. Hearing this, the monk was enlightened and bowed in reverence.
At the Huayang Yue Temple, the virtuous Zhang Bingyi presented a plea, confessing he had been troubled by worldly desires for years and only now, through the master's guidance, realized his past futility, relying entirely on divine protection. The master responded in verse: Without losing one's true spiritual nature, the physical body may be driven by desires for years without awareness. Before enlightenment, one seeks a master's guidance; after awakening, it becomes clear that no forced effort is needed. When the mind is settled, words are unnecessary—divine protection operates unseen.
Finally, in the stillness of Huayang, someone asked about the state of drinking without intoxication. The master replied: When the heart-mind has mastery, wine cannot disturb it. This exemplifies the Daoist cultivation emphasis on the autonomous sovereignty of one's inner nature.
This passage discusses the distinction between worldly music and celestial music (Xianle), as well as the true joyful state attained by Daoist practitioners.
Regarding the function of music, the text explains that music can uplift one's mood and harmonize the five viscera. It cites the health-preserving views of Sun Zhenren (Sun Simiao) to illustrate music's benefits for the spleen. However, worldly music (the five tones—Gong, Shang, Jue, Zhi, Yu) disturbs the Shen (spirit), while celestial music—the natural sounds heard during cultivation—calms the mind. Celestial music is described as a "flute without holes" or a "stringless zither," producing sound spontaneously without human intervention.
The text emphasizes that the joy of Daoist practitioners differs fundamentally from worldly indulgence; it is a genuine, heartfelt delight. Using poetic contrast, it states that while worldly music may be pleasing, it is ultimately finite, whereas celestial music is eternal and imperishable. To hear celestial music, practitioners must align their hearts with the Dao (the Way).
In terms of cultivation, the passage mentions Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, which refines the Three Treasures—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—through the regulation of "civil and martial fire" (referring to the intensity of cultivation techniques). The fire must be neither excessive nor insufficient, ultimately guiding Jing, Qi, and Shen back to the "Yellow Chamber" (Dantian, the energy center). Successful cultivation yields the priceless treasure—the Golden Elixir (Jindan)—shining like the bright moon in the sky.
The final two poems offer admonitions: The first warns people to tread carefully in life, as if walking through mud with a steady staff. The second uses a house as a metaphor for the body, stressing the need to fortify the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) so that a strong foundation can withstand external disturbances.
Before the Brocade Screen Mountain, where spring reigns through all seasons, untouched by worldly defilements. When the sacred Dragon Pool withdraws its waters, rain falls from the heavens; when divine winds arise, their chill pierces to the bone. Green pines and emerald cypresses are my bosom friends, while the bright moon and clear breeze feel like close neighbors. In moments of leisure, I sit in stillness, forgetting worldly schemes—unaware that my spirit has already wandered to the Celestial Palace’s Purple Aurora Hall (the highest Daoist paradise).
The Confucian hat, the Daoist shoes, and the Buddhist robe—though outwardly distinct, the three teachings share the same origin. Just as red lotuses, white lotus roots, and green lotus leaves spring from a single source, or as green bamboo, yellow shoots, and purple sprouts grow from the same root. Though their forms differ, their fundamental origin is one. The great Dao’s ultimate truth is inherently unified—how could a single tree bear two kinds of flowers?
Cease flaunting clever schemes and cunning calculations—what use are they in the end? Even the noonday sun must set westward, and the moon wanes after the Mid-Autumn Festival. When at the peak of life’s fortune, prepare a path of retreat; do not wait until power fades to find yourself trapped. Grand mansions and lavish halls cannot be taken with you—in the end, we depart as naked as we arrived.
This old mountain hermit speaks bluntly, but his mind is clear as a mirror. Though his eyes may dim, his wisdom remains bright; though his ears may clamor, his true nature stays unshaken. The simple, unadorned family tradition holds its own flavor, while the realm of clarity and emptiness (a Daoist spiritual ideal) leaves no trace to grasp. Only by penetrating the truth of the void can one behold the original face of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (the highest deity in Daoism).
Leaning on an iron staff, I wander freely—white clouds drift without intent, unconcerned with how many distant peaks they cross. Transcending distinctions of good and evil, right and wrong, the mind becomes serene and pure. Within it, a single spark of true suchness (a Buddhist term for the unchanging essence of reality) shines brilliantly, impossible to conceal.
Seated like an unmoving mountain, I nurture the true self within. This is no lifeless stagnation, but a state of clarity like the full moon illuminating one’s home. Letting go of attachment to the physical form, I sleep peacefully—lately cultivating the sleep techniques of Patriarch Chen Tuan (the Daoist "Sleeping Immortal"), my spirit remains as lucid at midnight as in broad daylight.
Taming the wild ox of the mind, I guide it gently with wisdom. Once the restless "monkey mind" turns back and submits, I can peacefully nourish the true seed within the Dantian (the body’s vital energy center).
The sleeping monkey needs no tether,
The fine steed returns with but a whip's touch.
Tend it well within golden rails,
And naturally the purple-golden lotus (Daoist symbol of transcendence) will bloom.
The innate radiance of human spirit never fades,
Only entangled thoughts drag us into samsara's bitter sea.
Release worldly attachments,
And your original mind will shine like the moon upon life's source.
Grasp the emptiness (referring to the ethereal realm of Dao),
And all things reveal their essence.
Yet clinging to that very state becomes bondage—
Only through letting go can one ascend the mysterious peak.
The dough pounded a thousand times turns silver-white,
Like the Golden Elixir (Neidan attainment) forged through Yin-Yang refinement.
When true Dao appears, don't miss your chance,
Lest worldly hunger and thirst torment you anew.
Chestnuts wear spiny husks,
Their leaves like indigo weeds—ordinary men can't consume them.
Wait until emptiness (enlightenment) cracks them open naturally,
And the purple-gold pill (supreme alchemical achievement) comes rolling forth.
The net holds no water yet breathes freely,
Each mesh transparent when lifted whole—
Just as when the master's guidance awakens you,
Every bodily orifice opens to boundless emptiness.
The paper-bamboo lantern's core burns bright,
Unquenched by winds from eight directions,
Lighting the way for travelers on Chang'an's path.
Black beans burst from ashes,
Refusing eternal burial—
Shedding their dark husks,
They reveal golden essence.
The fan's hollow heart births breeze,
Needing no forceful motion—
Like the smith's gentle swing
That stokes the furnace flames.
Flies batter window paper seeking exit,
Only turning back at dead ends—
Had they reversed course sooner,
Freedom would have come instantly.
Moths obsessively dive toward lamplight,
Charring wings without pause—
One step back holds cool relief,
Yet they never turn their gaze.
The horsetail whisk stays ever in hand,
One sweep clears distracting thoughts,
Guiding steady meditation.
The azure cloud parasol travels with you,
Offering shade in summer's dusty heat—
Like adepts maintaining true mind,
Serene amid worldly troubles.
The Record of Spontaneous Response and Transformation employs multiple poetic forms to admonish practitioners to strengthen their Daoist resolve and cultivate without delay. The core teachings can be understood as follows:
The path of cultivation requires steadfast progression along the Great Dao (Dào), avoiding the quagmires of worldly affairs. When one suddenly awakens to their original mind (the "path back home"), they transcend life and death to dwell in serene freedom. Monastics must maintain unwavering determination, seizing every moment for meditation and seeking the Dao—human life's hundred years pass in a blink, youth fading swiftly. Having renounced worldly ties, one should promptly pursue the mysterious truth, not clinging to superficial glamors bound by karmic attachments. Subdue the restless mind (the "mind-horse") and rein in scattered thoughts (the "heart-monkey"), for only in pure emptiness can one behold their primordial face (yuánchū miàn).
Practitioners should heed this counsel: stop postponing cultivation until next year—begin internal alchemy (nèidān) work immediately using mercury and lead (alchemical metaphors). When the Golden Elixir (jīndān) is perfected, one ascends to the hall of immortality. All possess the innate numinous pearl (hùnyuán zhū), yet without a true teacher's guidance, none can grasp it. This precious pearl, obscured by worldly dust, becomes unrecognizable; only by finding an authentic master can one be freed from eons of calamity. Pure and undefiled, it never leaves the human form—nourished through refining essence, qi, and spirit (jīng-qì-shén), it ultimately radiates light illuminating the Three Realms.
The original mind is like an inextinguishable lamp (xīn dēng), shining eternally past and present. Deluded ones fail to see this radiance, wandering in darkness. Truly, no external oil or wick is needed—inner awakening illuminates all directions. People lose their inherent nature (běnlái chéng) by clinging to external phenomena. Now revealing this truth: seek not outwardly, for internal cultivation brings forth wisdom's breeze (huì fēng)—like clouds parting to reveal the red sun's universal light, demonic yin dissipates as the Great Dao (Dào) reaches fulfillment. This radiance dispels all darkness, universally delivering sentient beings.
All inherently possess perfect luminosity (yuánmíng), yet fools remain unawakened, drowning in worldly attachments and inverted fantasies. None bother to turn their gaze inward—though every person bears this spiritual light (líng guāng), they mistake direction, taking brambles for sacred trees and losing the path to immortality. How long must they drown in samsara before awakening? Today's rosy cheeks become tomorrow's bleached bones—waste no time. Hasten to seek the true Dao (Dào), letting no worldly filth defile you. With steadfast resolve, one naturally treads the immortal path with unshakable footing.
The concluding Song of Cultivating Authenticity and Nourishing Life summarizes: urging Dao-seekers to swiftly turn back and save themselves. A hundred years vanish quicker than a hand's turn—when the fleshly body decays, what then shall you rely upon? This stresses the urgency of practice before impermanence arrives, leaving only regret.
To lose the Yang Shen (one's pure yang spirit) is to descend into the state of a yin ghost, endlessly reborn in the cycle of life and death, like bones being traded without end. Each person's nature and life are extraordinary—never lightly discard your own existence.
What is one's original nature? What is life? Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) are the foundation. Gather them into one, unify them, and before long, one silently attains the realm of sages. The practice of the true method is not complicated—the key lies in eliminating distracting thoughts and subduing the sleep demon. Maintaining a state of clarity and stillness, with an undimmed spirit, allows the cultivation of a true body that transcends the mundane world.
The secret to nurturing life is maintaining silence, like food in a steamer—do not lift the lid. Keep the true fire in the Dantian (energy center) burning continuously, and gradually one enters the realm of immortality. Jing (essence) is like lamp oil, Shen and Qi are the flame, and the body is the lampstand. When the oil is full and the flame bright, the mind becomes clear, allowing one to clearly see the one who tends the lamp (the true self). If any of these are lacking, one falls into darkness, wasting time in vain—like arriving at a treasure mountain only to leave empty-handed, squandering the initial capital of seeking the Dao.
Awakened ones, listen: Shen and Qi must be harmonized into one, never lacking. After a thousand days of refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan), one thoroughly comprehends the truth of birth and death. Shedding the mortal body and replacing it with immortal bones is like a golden-maned lion bursting from its cave, its majestic light illuminating the vast void, no longer mingling with the likes of foxes. To achieve the status of a Dharma King (one who attains the Dao) is not difficult, yet it is worlds apart from those fox-like worldly fools. With sincere reverence, diligent practice, and genuine realization, one will surely ascend to the ranks of immortals.
The Song of Self-Reflection says:
Since leaving home to follow the Dao,
My heart has remained steadfast.
I vowed to awaken within the Mysterious Gate,
To save beings from the bitter sea of desire.
In my early days, I knew not how to practice,
Wandering idly, thinking leisure was cultivation—
Little did I know it sowed seeds of future suffering.
Suddenly, in deep stillness, realization dawned:
To leave home means severing worldly attachments;
If the heart remains unbroken, one is still a mortal.
With firm resolve and urgent seeking,
I journeyed ceaselessly, seeking masters and the Dao.
Then, on a deep mid-autumn night,
By grace, an enlightened master taught me earnestly.
Grateful for his guidance,
From then on, I practiced with steady devotion.
Though my days were carefree,
I had yet to grasp the true secret of immortality.
Climbing mountains and fording rivers, my heart often grieved—
All for the sake of true liberation.
One day I wandered to Mount Xiao and was fortunate to encounter Master Baiyun (referring to an accomplished Daoist practitioner). His words rang in my ears like thunder, and when I secretly put them into practice, I truly gained power. From then on, I overturned all my past pursuits of fame, profit, and worldly affairs, never again seeking truth elsewhere.
Whether walking or sitting in stillness, my daily life became free from vexations. After over twenty years of austere cultivation, I finally grasped the true treasure within my body (referring to Neidan, internal alchemy). It was like breaking through a paper screen—from then on, I wandered freely, following circumstances. Let the world entangle as it may; when hungry, I eat; when tired, I sleep—simple and natural.
Recalling my master’s teachings, I initially intended to use profound scriptures as a ferryboat to help others cross. Yet, seeing so many drowning in the sea of desires, drifting with the current, I pitied them deeply. Without turning back to awaken, they are difficult to save—their blessings shallow, their karmic connection not yet ripe. Missing this ferry, there will be no other chance; in the vast sea of suffering, they will face it alone.
Speaking more is just a waste of breath—few are the true warriors who can resolve their hearts. Most only chatter without genuine practice, a thought that pains me. Why speak further of purity and freedom from defilement? Better to seal my lips and return to cultivation. When the time is ripe, I will reveal the means to part the clouds and see the sun again.
Enough, enough—let both good and evil be written off. Better to carefully guard my own luminous nature (my own pearl), maintaining a heart so bright even spirits revere it. Fewer words save wasted breath. Considering how rare true companions are in this world, better to retreat to mountain cliffs and preserve simplicity.
After years of angling, today I reel in the line, gently turning my little boat of practice. Let the winds and waves rage outside—I hide safely in the depths of reed flowers. This song of indolence says: Seeing through the rise and fall of ancient and modern affairs, thus my heart is taught to be lazy. Let you chase fame and profit—I can’t even be bothered to lift my head to look.
You busy yourselves, I sit at ease—people come and go like a millstone turning. How can the restless settle their minds? True skill lies in stillness. Not that I love simplicity for laziness’s sake—the world laughs at my rigidity. Yet it’s precisely this rigidity that brings peace, splitting open the heavenly dome to see true nature.
Seemingly diligent, actually lazy; seemingly lazy, yet diligent—though sharing the same world, we walk different paths. Daily, the vital Qi (Heche, the River Chariot) circulates within, breaking through the Three Passes (Weilu, Jiaji, Yuzhen) to open the energy channels.
This passage speaks of the attitude and state of cultivation for Daoist practitioners:
True cultivation follows the upright path, steering clear of heretical ways. What others covet I do not pursue—this road I walk is trodden by few, yet those who persist will find harmony with the heavenly Dao (the Way). Cultivation isn't about outward appearances but inner refinement, like a pearl within an oyster shell: dull and unremarkable at first, yet bursting with radiant light once revealed.
Practice should balance movement and stillness—maintaining serenity within activity while sensing vitality within tranquility. It's like parting clouds to behold the bright moon, penetrating the mysteries of emptiness. Whether walking, sitting, or reclining, one dwells in carefree ease. The world may laugh at my seeming foolishness or indolence, unaware that this very detachment keeps me free from worldly strife.
The great Dao (the Way) is wordless by nature, so true practitioners conceal their brilliance, appearing simple though profoundly skilled. Outer cleverness pales before inner clarity—preserving one's original nature leads to attainment of the Dao. When conditions ripen, like spring thunder's sudden peal, transcendence beyond the mundane comes in an instant.
The following verses praise essential scriptures:
Though the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) contains but five thousand characters, each word is a pearl—penetrating its principles leads to Dao-realization. The Lotus Sutra illuminates the three realms, liberating from the cycle of life and death like scrubbing away grime to reveal a luminous jewel. The Qingjing Jing (Scripture of Clarity and Stillness) enables one to shed worldly attachments and attain purity. The wisdom of the Heart Sutra lies within the mind—release grasping to awaken instantly.
A final farewell: This eighty-year body was but a borrowed vessel; now my karma exhausted, I return to emptiness. Like melting snow reverting to water, when form dissolves, the original spirit (Shen) ultimately reunites with the great Dao. Fellow seekers, cultivate with patience and preserve your true nature. Who knows when I may return to proclaim the ancient teachings among mortals again?
When people persist in asking where my true home lies, in truth I must ultimately return to the primordial state of the "Xiangdi" (the origin of the Dao, the supreme Way).
This passage from the lower scroll of Random Responses to Transformations speaks of the ultimate destination for Daoist cultivators. Here, "Xiangdi" is a Daoist technical term referring to the origin of the Dao, akin to the ancestor of all things. Through cultivation, practitioners ultimately seek to return to their roots and reunite with the original state of oneness with the Dao.
The phrase "return as before" carries particular significance—it emphasizes that this is not a journey to some new place, but a homecoming to one's original abode. Just as a wandering child must eventually return home, the ultimate goal of Daoist practice is to merge back with the source of the great Dao. In remarkably concise language, this passage encapsulates the most essential pursuit of Daoist cultivation—becoming one with the Dao in perfect authenticity.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5d0099）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback