《鳴鶴餘音》Vol. 4

Ma Danyang's "Song of the Veiled Sun" series describes three crucial cultivation areas in Daoist practice: the upper Dantian (head), middle Dantian (heart region), and lower Dantian (below the navel), along with their corresponding attainments.

The first poem discusses upper Dantian cultivation. The head serves as the gateway to profound mystical states, with the Green Dragon (liver Qi) on the left and White Tiger (lung Qi) on the right. By subduing these internal energies and conquering the Three Corpses (Daoism's three malevolent spirits within the body), practitioners can open the River Chariot pathway for true Qi circulation. One must restrain scattered thoughts, allowing Qi to enter the Mud Ball Palace (upper Dantian) from Kunlun (crown of the head).

The second poem addresses middle Dantian practice. The heart region brims with mystery, radiating five-colored light like a treasure-gathering pool. When the Charming Maiden (heart fire) and Infant (kidney water) harmoniously unite, they forge the priceless Golden Elixir. Consuming this elixir transforms one's physical form, eradicates all ailments, reverses aging, and grants carefree immortality.

The third poem explores lower Dantian cultivation. Below the navel lies the path to transcendence, where a special "ox calf" (metaphor for genuine Qi) refuses ordinary nourishment, instead thriving on Jade Nectar (saliva) from the Flower Pool (beneath the tongue). Nourished by White Snow (kidney Qi) and Yellow Sprout (nascent Qi), it grows robust. When Qi circulates, it becomes spotless as a golden dragon, ultimately breaking through obstacles to ascend Penglai, the isle of immortals.

Langranzi's verses lament how people fail to cherish the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen). The Great Dao of Golden Elixir exists within daily life, yet remains unrecognized for forty years. Upon reaching certain cultivation stages, practitioners achieve perfect Yin-Yang harmony (Earth-Heaven Tai hexagram), attaining higher realms. These profound techniques defy ordinary comprehension, regardless of others' speculations.

The final "Song of Hawthorn" employs moths drawn to flame as metaphor for worldly desires. Like moths mistaking firelight for treasure and pursuing it to their fiery demise, it warns against clinging to illusory cravings - once trapped like the moths, turning back becomes nearly impossible.

Fellow Daoists, heed my counsel: Do not be like moths drawn to flame in your pursuit of romantic love. Obsession with worldly affections only brings premature aging—haggard features, graying hair, hunched backs, deaf ears and dim eyes. While your body remains strong, you must resolutely sever lingering attachments to past dalliances and become one who is clear-minded and free-spirited. Only by breaking free from worldly cages can you truly transcend mundane ties.

The section "Resolving Karmic Knots" teaches this: In human life, we wander aimlessly through the four directions day after day, squandering our time in muddled confusion. When sudden awakening comes one day, we realize a hundred years have passed in the blink of an eye. If we don't cultivate the Dao early, we'll miss our chance for realization in the turning of a head. Only when the Celestial Gates swing open will we find our true home.

Patriarch Qiu Chuji writes in the second passage: Now that peace reigns under heaven, this is the perfect time for cultivation. Regularly perform zhaijiao (Daoist purification rituals) to give thanks to Heaven and Earth, and cherish this rare opportunity of encountering an enlightened teacher across millennia. Devote yourself wholeheartedly to practice, progressing year by year. When auspicious days arrive, immerse yourself completely.

The "Joyous Oriole" warns: People fear the wheel of life and death, yet know not how to escape. Without comprehending the true meaning of the Dao, they only multiply their troubles. The key to cultivation lies in penetrating the origin of xing (spiritual nature) and ming (vital life), understanding the truth that "all phenomena are empty." Seek answers from enlightened teachers: What is true clarity of mind and seeing one's nature? How to release all attachments? How to become as carefree as the bright moon and refreshing breeze?

The second passage provides answers: Seeing through life and death brings fearless liberation. True cultivation isn't about ceremonial grandeur, but thorough realization of the "unborn" truth. Practice wuwei (non-action) naturally, maintaining pristine clarity of original mind at all times. Recognize the Chan meaning in every moonbeam and breeze—this is genuine spiritual freedom. Realizing the wondrous emptiness of ultimate reality naturally transcends the transformations of life and death.

(Note: "Clear-minded and free-spirited" describes awakened detachment; "worldly cages" metaphorically represent secular constraints; "zhaijiao" refers to Daoist purification rituals; in alchemical terms, "xing and ming" denote spiritual and vital cultivation respectively; "releasing all attachments" means abandoning all fixations)

The Dao has no fixed form—how then should the human heart grasp it? In truth, every person possesses the wisdom to awaken to the Dao, if only they can subdue deluded thoughts. When desires dissipate and turbulent emotions settle, one can maintain stillness amidst busyness and perceive clarity within turbidity. The mind should be pure as an infant's; the heart-mind should be transparent as ice and snow. Only by awakening from chaos can one see the path ahead. Take these words to heart—cultivation requires tenfold effort, tenfold aspiration, and tenfold sincerity.

The second passage explains: When emotional attachments are completely dissolved and worldly entanglements cast aside, one attains the joy of serene detachment. The body moves freely like a wild crane; the nature flows untethered like a lone cloud. Everywhere becomes home, accompanied by the clear breeze and bright moon. To live in the world yet remain unbound by mundane affairs, to grasp the profound celestial mechanism (referring to the truth of cultivation), and to maintain eternal youth—this is the path. Attaining the ultimate authentic state, perfecting true practice and true action, one may ultimately serve the True Lord (referring to attaining immortality as a transcendent being).

The section "Lament of the Bright Lady" observes: Some sit discussing Zen and the Dao, yet upon rising forget everything—such duplicity reveals foolishness. Calculating schemes daily while never diminishing a single desire—how could such a person hope to become immortal?

The second passage clarifies: Learning the Dao values single-minded focus—without steadfast resolve, one cannot escape the cycle of life and death. Facing external circumstances with mountain-like stability, all phenomena ultimately return to the root of pure original nature. Only with settled mind can one comprehend life's true essence, understand the mystery of "emptiness," and naturally unite with the Dao.

"Morning Horn in Frosty Sky" depicts: Human life drifts busily like duckweed, struggling bitterly for desires. Drowning in the sea of romantic attachments, scheming with clever calculations—even in dreams one contends for fame and gain. Even if one exhausts worldly riches and honors, who remembers how swiftly time flies?

The second passage admonishes: Why trouble your heart with worldly vexations? Better to cast aside mundane ties and withdraw to mountain forests. Build a simple thatched hut where bamboo shadows dance outside the window, and the gentle breeze arrives like jade. With green mountains as companions, why care about the world's vicissitudes?

"Flowers Paving the Full Road" begins with Chang'an's autumn scenery: West wind scatters leaves by the Wei River—amid the bustling world, alone I enjoy leisure. Within the body naturally forms the alchemical furnace and cauldron (referring to Neidan practice), where dragon and tiger unite (Neidan terminology for yin-yang harmonization), refining the nine-cycle golden elixir. Swallow one pellet of this immortal medicine to become an earthbound transcendent. Even ten thousand-nail jeweled belts and sable-cicada wealth are but fleeting clouds. The millet dream ends before fully cooked—in fields of right and wrong, true cultivation is hard. Better to brush one's sleeves and head south of the river, viewing white duckweed and red knotweed, revisiting Lushan's Penpu.

"Sudden Mountain Stream" concludes: Better to retire and be a person of pure leisure—why invite trouble and gossip upon oneself?

These lyrics from The Cranes' Last Songs depict the Daoist attitude of reclusive freedom and spiritual cultivation.

The first poem speaks of the vastness of heaven and earth—where couldn't one settle? Better to build a simple thatched hut by Mirror Lake, content with plain tea and simple meals, chanting poetry to the wind and moon, living in carefree ease. The worldly entanglements are like tangled hemp—who has leisure to mind them? The Daoist pavilion, embraced by green pines and emerald bamboo, hides among white clouds. The clamor from the opposite shore cannot reach here; only the cold sky reflects in the water. Who can share this immortal realm? Only the cave-dwelling sages, strumming zithers, drinking wine, laughing proudly amidst the mist and clouds, keeping company with the bright moon and gentle breeze.

The second describes the realm of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. That "master" (referring to the inner Shen/spirit) dwells in the spiritual palace (Dantian), formless yet truly present. Even with "iron eyes and bronze pupils" (metaphor for inner vision), one cannot see it, for it is as empty and vast as the void. This Shen is not bound by heaven or earth; the practitioner gathers it into the alchemical furnace (Dantian), employing the firing times of the celestial cycles (regulation of inner heat in alchemical practice) to refine the true self.

The third uses metaphor to portray the practitioner's state: a mountain dwelling without walls, where all things serve as beams and the blue sky as roof tiles. This "house" never leaks even after decades (symbolizing perfected mind-nature). To complete three thousand virtuous deeds and subdue the "mind-monkey and thought-horse" (the lively dragon and fierce tiger symbolize wandering thoughts)—only then does one become a true transcendent.

Eternal Joy speaks of worldly conduct: finding leisure within busyness, seeking stillness amid clamor. Fame and gain are but fleeting clouds; time is limited while worldly affairs endless. The sun and moon shuttle like weavers, hastening our aging—why fret over trivial matters? Live according to circumstances, "moving with the light and blending with the dust" (Daoist attitude toward life). A mind free of affairs is true happiness. To have everything as one wishes, one must patiently await the right moment.

Riding the Golden Phoenix depicts an immortal gathering: celestials assemble at the Jade Pool amid fragrant incense and auspicious clouds. They celebrate the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) and Five Patriarchs, offering longevity blessings to the sacred lord. The scene recalls the Yellow Emperor ascending on a dragon to pay homage to the Jade Emperor. Ten thousand sages feast together while golden boys and jade maidens play music and deliver celestial decrees—a magnificent vision of the immortal realm.

The Echoes of Cranes' Songs presents vivid contrasts between the transcendent realm of Daoist cultivation and mundane worldly existence.

The first passage depicts celestial wonders: Immortal maidens bearing jade cups convey divine decrees amid sacred palaces and groves, while auspicious phoenixes descend. Cranes dance gracefully as youthful attendants announce the ripening of peaches of immortality and the first fullness of the cinnamon moon. Golden turtles and jade hares symbolize eternal life, while the appearance of the Old Man Star heralds good fortune. These paradisiacal scenes of grotto-heavens far surpass earthly attachments, embodying the state of sharing longevity with heaven and earth, matching the years of sun and moon.

The second section, Treading on Grass, portrays an ascetic's simple life: a single cloth robe, paper-quilt bedding, wandering with gourd and staff. Two or three cups of clear wine bring contentment, free from worldly disputes. Observing mortals scrambling for fame and wealth, constantly calculating household accounts - only when they taste the "earthen bun" (the grave) will awakening come.

Drinking Horse and a Branch of Flowers reveals the recluse's refined pleasures: mountain blossoms after rain, wandering secluded paths when clouds part. Regular Golden Elixir (Neidan) practice before ancient grottoes surpasses worldly splendor. Sitting alone in a thatched hut reading Daoist scriptures (Jing), with a zither across the lap and crane companions. Though purple sashes and golden seals denote high rank, they cannot match a cultivator's midday nap in perfect freedom.

Exploring Spring's Arrival records a dream journey: midnight wandering to Penglai Isle, where white clouds carpet the ground amid fragrant breezes. Immortals bow before golden halls, drunk on flowing rainbow nectar. Awakening brings lingering clarity, like watching the moon emerge from mountain peaks.

Ma Danyang's Immortal of Yellow Crane Grotto uses an ailing horse as metaphor: daily hauling salt carts under the lash, its spirit long oppressed. Only when meeting his Bo Le (the master) who schemes tirelessly for its freedom, does fulfillment come - never forgetting this debt of gratitude.

The final No Dream Songs convey cultivation insights: sudden awakening to life's brevity - a finger-snap - brings torrential tears. Urgently seeking liberation from life-death anxieties, why chase fame fleeting as flint-sparks? Dao-study is neither difficult nor easy - only persistent bitter practice reveals the Way of longevity (spiritual transcendence through cultivation). Gathering Jing, Qi and Shen (the essential triad of Daoist practice), wandering in cloth shoes and straw sandals, dwelling content between marketplaces and rosy clouds.

This visitor carrying the Book of Changes and Zhuangzi (the Nanhua Zhenjing) leans on his bamboo staff to ask me about worldly vanities, yet I remain silent. With a mere finger's gesture, I've already seen through mundane attachments—free as drifting clouds and flowing water, making any place my home.

Clad in coarse robes with sleeves fluttering in the wind, I live simply among fishermen and woodcutters. Why worry about tomorrow when tonight brings contentment? My nine-knotted azure dragon staff (a Daoist ritual implement) supports me as I carry immortal scriptures on my shoulder and a small gourd for alchemy at my waist. Whether walking or sitting in stillness, I dwell in carefree joy.

True Daoist practice needs no words—a tranquil heart naturally nurtures Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Turn inward to contemplate the Mysterious Gate—the wonder within the mystery, the secret within the wonder. Formless and unforced, it flows naturally like the breeze and moonlight.

Observe sudden storms over green mountains, ever-changing waters—a hundred years pass like a fleeting dream. Follow Master Chen Tuan's (the Sage of Xiyi) example: transcend worldly attachments and rein in the "mind-monkey" (restless thoughts). Never believe claims that immortality can be attained in ten years—life hangs by a breath! I, Ma Danyang, swear this oath: should I speak false, may I become a ghost beneath Dark Mountain. But with pure intention and perfected merit, golden attendants will surely guide you.

My repeated admonition: Keep hands open, never slacken. Whether roaming streets or frequenting teahouses, maintain your practice. Subdue delusions and fulfill your vow in this very lifetime. When the tiger (Yin) and dragon (Yang) energies intertwine, when golden light flashes in your Dantian (energy center), you'll witness your true nature emerge.

At cosmic dawn, where was our origin? Before parental conception, what was our original face? Investigate this fundamental truth. Through relentless inquiry into this non-dual dharma gate, trace life's source. How long will you wander lost in samsara? Only when your true nature manifests—when you recognize that formless essence—will you suddenly realize: the five-colored halo (Neidan attainment) has always shone within your primordial being.

In Liuyao Ling, Wang Chongyang writes: True purity lies in cultivating the dragon and tiger (referring to the yin and yang energies). Within a lucid and tranquil mind, the infant (original spirit, shen) and the maiden (original qi) naturally merge and ascend. Maintain stillness, refine the inner elixir (neidan—"knife and spoon" being an alchemical metaphor), and regulate body and mind through fasting. Throughout the twelve double-hours of the day, remain ever vigilant, harmonizing spirit and qi within the body as if practicing cultivation in a jade furnace. There's no need to cling rigidly to scriptural words—those profound theories are empty without diligent practice. Reduce sleep, speak sparingly, restrain desires, eat lightly, regard external things with detachment, and don't overly concern yourself with social obligations. Gradually, you'll enter profound and penetrating realms.

Chen Yizhi laments in Hexin Liang: Fill the wine cup and drink freely—eight or nine out of ten things in life go awry. Fate is like a mischievous child at play, tossing people to and fro. All rush about in the dusty world, yet remain bound by the preachings of so-called worthies.

Wang Tongsou's Hongshao Yao reflects: A human life spans a hundred years, yet few reach seventy. Subtract ten years of childhood, then another ten of feeble old age. Half the remaining fifty is lost to sleep. In those twenty-five years, who escapes sorrow? Ponder this well—better seize joy while you may. Meet fine wine and good friends, then drink heartily; what harm in drunkenness? Life is fleeting as morning dew, vanishing like dew on fragrant grass. Luckily, fresh-brewed wine flows like sweet springwater—let us raise our cups and sing!

Wang Chongyang instructs Ma Danyang in Xuanjing Santai: Finite life is trapped in the endless burning house of worldly existence; time flies like a candle in the wind. People bustle all day—some fools, driven by household burdens, drown in doting on wives and children, only to be shackled by these "enemies." Awaken abruptly! Sever fame and fortune's chains, topple the mountain of attachments, and leap free from the sea of desire to wander at ease. Half a sheet of paper, a single zither, resting on an earthen bed—rein in the mind's wild monkey and unruly horse. When wisdom's sword severs inner demons, ten thousand spirits find peace; dragon and tiger (yin-yang energies) merge, while golden crow and jade rabbit (sun and moon essences) unite. Forge the golden elixir (jindan) in the body's alchemical furnace until the yang-spirit soars to the celestial capital (Yujing). This lineage's practice is pure as ice—give thanks for a wise teacher's guidance. To attain the great Dao (Da Dao), one must resolve with determination worth a thousand gold pieces.

The Daoist adept Tan Zhenren paints a transcendent vision of spiritual practice in these lyrics. The first poem describes a practitioner who is neither monk nor layman, nor yet an immortal—dwelling in a thatched cottage amidst white stones and clear springs. Unconcerned with locating the fabled Peach Blossom Spring, they simply light incense, brew tea with melted snow, and purify body and mind. Reading the Gushen Jing (Classic of Valley-Spirit), they lose track of time until moonlight drapes the pine branches.

The second laments time's swift passage—spring fades into autumn—why trouble oneself with fame and gain? Life is fleeting; chasing renown only brings sorrow. Better to live in accord with circumstance. The third observes how a lifetime's achievements prove as fleeting as reflections in a mirror. The path of life has ever been arduous, with wind and rain hastening age. Those illustrious reputations and soaring ambitions amount to no more than the brief dream of the locust tree (alluding to the Nanke Ji). Far better to emulate the solitary cloud drifting freely over green mountains.

Qingyu An reveals the elusive truth of cultivation—difficult to grasp precisely because effort remains insufficient. One must learn to turn inward, cleansing impurities from the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) and Six Viscera (organs and sanjiao). Only by severing worldly ties can the mind become lucid, awakening to the pristine Dao of Mysterious Origin (Xuan Yuan). When all meridians flow unimpeded and innate nature shines forth, the spirit may wander immortal isles.

Another poem recounts leaving Chang'an eastward, settling by West Panxi Temple, gradually merging with the silent mists of Southern Mountains. The humble hermitage, though austere, offers perfect freedom—no official ever visits. Deep in night, a cuckoo cries "better return home," yet the practitioner's cultivation still falls short.

He Sheng Chao depicts pure practice in a grass-roofed studio: a blue-robed adept closes the gate, cranes return to their nests. Holding a jade lute, they recline in lofty repose, dreaming of spirit-journeys to fairy isles. Waking at midnight to jade-pendant sounds of wind through bamboo, they watch the moon climb pine boughs.

Jie Pei Ling mocks muddled days: eating without noticing hunger, sitting rooted like a tree, standing like a road-blocking stone. Unmoved by others' laughter, ignorant of arts and classics, face dust-covered and hair disheveled—yet wrapped in tattered robes, they pursue the elixir of eternal life.

The Cry of the Cranes scripture passage mainly discusses how practitioners must recognize their original mind and relinquish attachments to transcend the suffering of rebirth.

In cultivation, one must first understand their fundamental nature and ancestral origin (宗祖), without obsessing over the question of ultimate beginnings. Who fashioned this bodily vessel of ours (椿胎骨)? The crucial point is to grasp that authentic spiritual nature, which is originally formed through the condensation of vital essence (Jing) and Qi (铅, lead). Since we've taken human form, we must properly harness the twin energies of Yin and Yang (龙虎, dragon and tiger) within ourselves, preventing their dissipation. If one can "ingest" the Golden Elixir (a metaphor for Neidan/internal alchemy practice), liberation from cyclic existence becomes possible.

The Spring in Wuling section teaches that cultivation requires abandoning all attachments while maintaining inner serenity amidst worldly bustle. Free from clinging to any phenomenon, moving or still with natural ease, transcending mundane boundaries to wander in carefree joy—one's heart-mind should become crystal clear like a luminous orb.

Qiu Chuji (the Eternal Spring Master) writes in Gathering Wild Greens: "This originally stubborn mind finally awakened and soared upward, thanks to encountering an enlightened master who revealed how I should no longer indulge in old habits. When you cling to the east, I've already turned westward (indicating detachment from dualities). Now awakened, I see all suffering across lifetimes stems from attachments, and every demonic obstruction is self-created."

Erlang Shen advises seeing through worldly splendor to recognize one's true face, reining in the restless mind-monkey and thought-horse (意马心猿). Human life is fleeting—don't squander it; remember your immortal bone and celestial bearing. You were originally an immortal from Penglai's fairy isles, only descending due to worldly thoughts. Hasten to cultivate back your transcendent form, unshackled by mundane sentiments. Even mountains of gold and silver remain ultimately illusory.

Plum Blossom Prelude satirizes worldly obsession with fame and profit: "I laugh at those hopelessly deluded, toiling daily for reputation and gain, employing endless schemes yet ignorant of life-nourishing Dao. What meaning has a floor paved with jewels? Better to build a thatched hut amid emerald peaks for practice, blessed with spiritual herbs and clear springs, sitting alone in deep mountains observing heaven-earth's transformations. Who knows when I'll ride clouds to audience with the Jade Emperor?"

Jade Butterfly depicts alchemical imagery: "Seizing the crimson phoenix of Jade Mountain (a Neidan symbol), we ride the divine vessel through raging waves. Though crows may..."

This scripture describes the realms and realizations of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, employing rich symbolism to portray the profound states attained by practitioners.

The opening images—a turtle drawing in water, great waves pouring forth—metaphorically depict the circulation of Qi (vital energy) within the body during practice. Upon reaching a certain stage, golden radiance and multicolored clouds manifest internally, as if illuminated by the bright moon, ultimately crystallizing into the Golden Elixir (the highest achievement in Daoist cultivation). At this point, the practitioner transcends worldly dust, ascending to the Great Brahma Heaven (the supreme celestial realm in Daoism) and attaining eternal awakening. The "Jade Nectar Spring" mentioned in the text refers to the sweet dew produced in the mouth during meditation.

The poetic verses of Ma Danyang emphasize the importance of unwavering determination in cultivation, guarding the Dantian (the body’s energy center where essence gathers), and maintaining deep, steady breathing. One must withdraw from worldly distractions and practice in quiet solitude, refining the inner elixir until achieving flight to behold the Celestial Venerable.

The works of Master Huanzhen and Qiu Changchun further express the Daoist practitioner’s detachment from mundane pursuits. That small gourd (symbolizing the simple, carefree life of an ascetic), though seemingly insignificant, contains the ultimate principles of heaven and earth. The worldly chase for fame and wealth leads only to emptiness, and no descendant can substitute for one’s own cultivation. The dream of riding a phoenix in drunken ecstasy, abruptly dispelled by the morning breeze, serves as a metaphor for the necessity of grounded, diligent practice.

Through vivid imagery, these verses reveal the Daoist cultivator’s transcendent spirit—rising above worldly concerns in pursuit of longevity—as well as the mystical experience of Qi transformation during Neidan practice.