《鳴鶴餘音》Vol. 9

This passage contains two Daoist cultivation poems, authored by Ma Danyang and Feng Zunshi respectively, which expound the core principles of cultivating the Dao and realizing truth.

Ma Danyang’s Song of the Vast Emptiness begins by pointing out the profound and ineffable nature of the Dao (the Way)—true Dao cannot be fully expressed in words. The key to cultivation lies in maintaining a mind as clear and bright as the moon, undisturbed by external influences. He states that attachment to concepts like "birth and death" is itself delusion, and true liberation comes from transcending such dualities. Cultivation is not about forcefully pursuing anything, as forced effort only leads to hypocrisy and cunning. It is like closing one’s eyes to look at flowers—no matter how one describes them, it remains empty talk. If the mind is not illuminated, discussing the Dao or Zen is like a blind man groping an elephant. The true method is to let the mind settle naturally, neither forcibly controlling it nor indulging it, until one reaches a state where both movement and stillness are forgotten. Finally, he humorously remarks that when the master reveals the profound truth, even a stone man would clap and laugh—because the truth is inherently simple, yet people endlessly spin in conceptual thinking.

Feng Zunshi’s Song of Awakening to Truth describes the experience of enlightenment: when true awakening occurs, the light of the spirit (Shen) shines unobstructed throughout the entire world (Saha, referring to the mundane realm). This state is exquisitely subtle, like a wooden man pointing distantly at white clouds—impossible to convey in words. Here, the "mysterious pass" (Xuanguan) refers to the critical breakthrough point in cultivation, which can only be personally verified and not articulated. The entire poem emphasizes the importance of genuine practice and direct realization, transcending words and concepts to touch the fundamental source.

This collection of Daoist poetry primarily contains the spiritual insights of immortals Lü Dongbin and Jing Yang, using vivid imagery to expound the essence of cultivation.

Lü Dongbin’s Song of Attaining the Dao opens with symbols such as the bright moon and a red furnace, describing himself as an immortal who had long awakened to the great truth, yet only by chance comprehended the ancestral Chan (Zen) teachings. Upon his return, no one responded to his realization—only the emerald bamboo and golden flowers of nature accompanied him. The poem employs allusions like Manjushri Bodhisattva inquiring about illness, the moonlit Cao Xi (where the Sixth Patriarch of Chan, Huineng, expounded the Dharma), and golden lotuses blooming (symbolizing enlightenment), emphasizing that cultivators should return as freely as one bearing a tiger-staff (a ritual implement). When the cuckoo cries at midnight, spring fills the world within the gourd (a Neidan term for the inner cosmos), and upon arriving home, the state of Wuwei (non-action) naturally manifests. Finally, it points out that the true treasure of the Dao is unfathomably profound—ordinary beings fail to recognize their inherent Buddha-nature, while those with shallow understanding are mocked as frogs at the bottom of a well.

The second section, Awakening to the True Eternal, stresses the necessity of dual cultivation of nature (Xing, the mind’s essence) and life (Ming, vital essence and Qi). Cultivating only the mind without refining the Golden Elixir (Neidan practice) means the Yin-spirit cannot attain sainthood; conversely, focusing solely on the body without illuminating the mind is like a mirror without its reflective surface. True Daoists must grasp the root of Yin-Yang, capturing and subduing demons (metaphor for taming the mind) within the mystical realm to witness the master’s genuine transmission.

Jing Yang’s Song of Attaining the Dao begins by bluntly stating the difficulty of seeking the Dao—heretical paths in the world delude the masses, and among ten thousand, scarcely one attains the true way. He criticizes those who deceive themselves, boasting of enlightenment without having received the true teachings. Becoming an immortal, he notes, requires innate spiritual roots and Daoist bones (natural aptitude); forcing progress without foundation invites interference from Yin-demons. He emphasizes that cultivation is no trivial art—one must accumulate hidden virtue (merit from unseen good deeds) and sever delusions and greed to have any hope of achievement.

Both poems employ striking contrasts: the moon and red furnace symbolize the harmony of Yin-Yang; golden lotuses and well-frogs illustrate the disparity in spiritual attainment, highlighting core principles like "dual cultivation of nature and life" and "virtue as the foundation." Their language thrives on natural imagery (plum blossoms, bamboo, moonlight) and Daoist allusions (Manjushri, Cao Xi), conveying essential teachings through poetic elegance.

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation of mind and nature, emphasizing the practice of returning to simplicity and embracing the state of natural Wuwei (non-action).

The most crucial aspect of cultivation is to remain grounded and understand the unity of one’s innate nature and original mind. The true path of the Golden Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy) is actually quite simple—the key lies in comprehending the wisdom of the Middle Way and the Book of Changes (Yijing). Deliberate, forced practices are misguided, and fixating on terms like "the coupling of dragon and tiger" (a Neidan term referring to the harmonization of Yin and Yang) only leads one astray. When human desires stir, attachments form, and becoming obsessed with cultivation can trap one in further difficulties.

One should often contemplate the state of primordial chaos before the separation of Heaven and Earth—its profundity is beyond words, yet the mind naturally perceives it. The human body is inherently Yin, with only a trace of innate Yang Jing (primordial essence) that most people fail to recognize. This essence is perfectly harmonious, neither empty nor solid, pervading all things yet embodying the principle of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Hidden in the deepest recesses, invisible and intangible, my alchemical method is unique—it requires no auspicious timing, no discussion of "fire and timing" (stages of Neidan practice), no distinction between self and others, no birth or death, no forced cultivation, and no need for excessive words.

True cultivation is as simple as eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, sitting in meditation when idle, and resting when weary. Eat when food is present, drink when wine is offered—without rigid fasting, yet maintaining a mind of constant purity. Be indifferent to wealth and glory, severing ties to fame and disputes. Preserve a tranquil spirit and nurture the Shen (innate consciousness); when not a single thought arises, one enters the true state. This realm naturally brings joy, like witnessing the mid-autumn moon day and night—neither coming nor going, illuminating all directions, neither full nor lacking, like a single snowflake on a red-hot stove.

Even upon reaching this state, one must still shatter the void to attain ultimate realization. Then, blissful and carefree, worldly troubles no longer matter. Practitioners must seize the moment—a human life of a hundred years passes like a flash of lightning. To encounter the true method yet neglect cultivation is great folly; do not wait until old age when vitality wanes to regret. Turn back decisively, cutting worldly ties without hesitation. To shed the mortal body and attain the Dharma body (realized Daoist form), one must be as single-minded and resolute as iron. In revealing these words, I have divulged celestial secrets—if students dismiss them as idle talk, they may lament at life’s end.

Finally, the Xindi Fu (Ode to the Mind-Ground) states: Seeing through the emptiness of worldly affairs, those who enter the Mystic Gate (Daoism) must focus on refining the mind-ground. Great wisdom appears foolish; be indifferent and Wuwei, perceiving the true mystery in stillness. To nourish spiritual vitality, one must first cultivate the mind.

This scripture elucidates that the essence of spiritual cultivation lies in illuminating the mind and realizing one's true nature while relinquishing attachments. It teaches that when the six sense faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are purified, all afflictions dissolve. By seeing through the illusory nature of the Three Realms (the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm), myriad disturbances naturally subside. Ordinary perception and knowledge often become obstacles to the Dao; only by maintaining a serene and empty mind can one grasp the fundamental principle of nurturing life.

To cultivate the Dao with steadfastness, one must thoroughly comprehend the original mind. When the mind is tranquil, wisdom manifests naturally, but when it is clouded by distractions, countless illusions arise. The true Dao-body is inherently complete and flawless—what we perceive before enlightenment is mere illusion, and all forms ultimately decay. Upon realizing the emptiness of all phenomena and relinquishing all attachments, deliberate meditation becomes contrived, and acts of charity tainted by ulterior motives turn hypocritical. The highest wisdom appears clumsy because it understands the principle of following nature's course; the most profound strategy is complete surrender.

A practitioner need only maintain an unmoving mind, and all practices will naturally reach fulfillment. Wandering freely through each day, harmonizing with the Mandate of Heaven and finding joy within—whether facing the cycles of seasons, hunger and thirst, or the beauty of wind, flowers, snow, and moonlight—one remains undisturbed. If one can encounter all circumstances without attachment, treating life as a play, the originally perfect true mind is already present within. Why pursue cultivation across lifetimes? Like Chan Master Yongjia Xuanjue, who departed after a single night upon enlightenment, while the Sixth Patriarch Huineng still lingered in doubt.

Recognize that all phenomena are inherently empty—what appears before our eyes is but an illusory bubble. The true path to immortality is spontaneously perfect, unfathomable even to spirits and deities. The great Dao is formless and traceless, yet omnipresent, beyond even heaven and earth's capacity to contain. The root of cultivation lies in illuminating the mind and realizing one's nature; there is no need for forced asceticism. The profoundest truth cannot be conveyed in words, and genuine scriptures transcend written characters—they are revealed through nature's manifestations: birdsong transmitting the Dharma, falling flowers demonstrating the Dao, even stones and women personally instructing, or wooden figures offering guidance. The narrow-minded repeatedly deny, while the wise simply nod in understanding.

The awakened navigate all paths with ease; the deluded stumble at every step. To attain cultivation surpassing heaven and earth, one must relinquish all worldly entanglements. The text concludes by noting that while Chan (Zen) teachings distinguish sudden awakening from gradual cultivation, Chan itself has no sequence. To the lost, it seems impossibly distant; to the enlightened, it is immediately present. The true state transcends coming and going, freely employing the six supernatural powers (divine sight, divine hearing, etc.) while unbound by the Three Realms, realizing solitary perfection. Neither shunning clamor nor striving for artificial purity, all sectarian views are impositions, and claims of supreme doctrines are empty. Simply let your true nature shine constantly, release all attachments, and like countless breezes passing through pines and over stones, you'll naturally embody clarity and freedom.

This passage depicts the transcendent state of Daoist practitioners and the essential techniques of mind cultivation. The maiden singing beneath the moonlight and the carefree shepherd boy playing in the mountains symbolize humanity's innate luminous nature. Those who attain true awakening can maintain this original clarity at all times, remaining unmoved by external circumstances to achieve a state of perfect harmony.

The ever-flowing green waters represent the ceaseless cycle of worldly phenomena, while the steadfast blue mountains embody the eternal unchanging essence. Regardless of passing clouds, the true nature remains constant. Those enchanted by sensory pleasures become deluded by appearances, while awakened beings transcend dualistic distinctions between existence and non-existence. Practitioners clear distracting thoughts like dispersing windblown clouds, touching the stars of their fundamental mind. Paradoxical phenomena like self-playing zithers or wooden horses neighing all reveal profound mysteries.

The jade dragon hidden in the ocean depths symbolizes latent spiritual potential. There's no need to deliberately seek Bodhisattvas (awakened beings) or Amitabha (Buddha of Infinite Light), for the Dharma-realm (cosmic truth) permeates all existence. Maintaining transcendence amid worldly dust without being bound by desires prevents disturbance from the "six thieves" (senses and consciousness). Returning to the source surpasses thousands of words of doctrine. White clouds and blue mountains everywhere manifest true suchness (original nature), while emerald bamboos and golden flowers all embody perfect enlightenment.

Those obsessively clinging to scriptural debates resemble people comparing dregs while missing the true flavor. A minute deviation leads to enormous error. To genuinely awaken, one must comprehend the marrow of Nirvana (liberation).

Cultivation first requires understanding the distinction between "heart-mind" (Xin) and "thoughts" (Yi): what perceives is the heart-mind, while random thoughts constitute mental activity. Deluded thoughts arise from mental agitation, obscuring the true mind with external objects. This true mind resides in the "square-inch" space (heart center), originally pure and unstained. Yet through habitual conditioning, when the mind becomes restless, it veils this fundamental nature. Therefore, through stillness, mental stabilization, and inner contemplation, the true mind can be revealed anew.

A state of inner clarity and tranquility is called "Ding" (meditative stability), while the awakened spiritual awareness within this stable state is termed "Hui" (wisdom). Ding forms the foundation, Hui manifests its function—those who possess both will never regress in their cultivation.

The "Ode to Serene Leisure" states: Ordinary desires make people turbid—who can maintain purity? Let others be entangled in countless thoughts, while I seek only a life of serene leisure. Like a fierce beast breaking free from shackles, one should dwell perpetually in quietude, avoiding trivial disturbances. Through complete awakening to the spiritual origin, one transcends worldly bonds, masters the laws of heaven and earth, and comprehends the profound Dao. Thus the foundation becomes unshakable, abiding in the genuine leisure of simplicity, enjoying the bliss of enduring vision and longevity.

Understanding this principle, the heart should be clear as autumn water; in action, be naturally fluid like spring breeze. Maintain an extraordinary character—the inner clarity mirrors beauty and uglity, its radiance illuminates heaven and earth like moonlight. Rectify one's nature, stabilize the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), preserve nobility at the spiritual source, and roam freely in the Dharma realm (world of truth) with the elegance of pines and bamboos.

Transcending worldly attachments, the body drifts like a solitary cloud, emotions soar freely as wild cranes. Comprehending subtle principles resembles hiding mountains within vast marshes; severing thoughts is like concealing the Golden Elixir in deep valleys. The mind becomes pure emptiness, wandering without obstruction—divinely traversing the immortal realms of Mount Guye, forgetting distinctions between self and objects, strolling through boundless celestial spaces.

These realms aren't exclusive to sages—all may attain them. Without relinquishing fame and gain, how can one grasp the Dao's profundity? The profoundly wise move with effortless ease, understanding the true meaning of "gazing at southern mountains"; ordinary people fret anxiously, comprehending only Confucius's superficial teachings. Practicing meditation with desires or discussing mysteries while burdened by worldly ties invites admiration from fools and laughter from the wise.

One must cultivate stillness and reflect in leisure. Achieving ultimate emptiness and preserving profound tranquility constitutes Laozi's essential method; abandoning physical senses and discarding cleverness forms Yan Hui's (Confucius's disciple) core practice. Thus both mind and phenomena are forgotten—transcending life and death, attaining Dao-fruits through purity, penetrating mysteries via serene leisure. Casting aside causes of defilement, one wanders freely between heaven and earth; abiding in Wuwei, soaring beyond clouds and mist.

Alas! Mortals toil like ants, perish like moths, sinking needlessly into seas of suffering. Who willingly perfects their De (Virtue)? Better to embrace serene leisure early, returning to the Mystic Capital's immortal realm, paying homage to the Supreme Celestial Emperor.

(This "Quanzhen Ode" by Master Feng articulates the core principles of Quanzhen Daoist cultivation: transcending worldly concerns through dual cultivation of Ding and Hui, Wuwei and purity, to attain enduring vision, spiritual freedom, and celestial transcendence.)

This passage describes the cultivation principles and spiritual attainments of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, an important school of Daoism. The essence is as follows:

The supreme celestial beings descend to the mortal realm to propagate the primordial Dao of the Three Sovereigns era to instruct humanity. True practitioners renounce worldly attachments, find contentment in poverty while delighting in the Dao, viewing fame and wealth as fleeting bubbles on water. With wisdom and luminous clarity, they venerate their ancestral masters—neither clinging to rigid doctrines nor neglecting the accumulation of merit. Externally, they perform good deeds to aid others; internally, they refine body and mind. Abiding in the state of Wuwei (non-action), they become as translucent and effortless as moonlight reflecting on a pond or a breeze caressing grass.

Authentic Quanzhen adepts save all beings without discrimination between noble and humble. They embrace poverty as the path yet feel no shame, willingly enduring hardship to assist the orphaned and elderly while maintaining moral integrity before power. Such practitioners attain sudden awakening to celestial mysteries, reaching the supreme state beyond birth and death (transcending samsara), ultimately ascending to join the immortal Peach Banquet (the celestial feast of the Queen Mother of the West in Daoist lore).

The text criticizes those obsessed with doctrinal disputes who recite scriptures without true understanding while misleading commoners, emphasizing liberation from fame and profit. It concludes that Quanzhen's core lies in comprehending the Dao of emptiness, inheriting the profound teachings of Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin (two of the Eight Immortals) along with the mystical theories of Huang-Lao (the Yellow Emperor and Laozi). Through pure cultivation practices like alchemical refinement in the crucible, one achieves transcendence and merges with heaven and earth in radiance.

The colophon identifies this as Emperor Renzong of Song's "Ode to Honoring the Dao," reflecting imperial patronage of Daoism during the Song dynasty. Metaphors like "refining silver threads in crimson furnace" and "simmering golden treasures in alchemical cauldron" are Neidan (internal alchemy) terminology, denoting the transformation of the mortal body into pure Yang essence through cultivation.

This passage depicts the transcendent lifestyle and essential principles of Daoist cultivation. It begins by stating that among the three teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, only Daoism holds the highest honor. True Daoist practitioners neither flatter the powerful ("they neither pay homage to the Son of Heaven above nor visit ministers below") nor are bound by worldly constraints ("escaping the cage of mundane dust, breaking free from the snares of ordinary life"), roaming freely amidst mountains and forests.

They wear star-crowned hats (the ritual headgear of Daoist priests) that reflect sunlight, clad in coarse robes yet eternally youthful. Sometimes barefoot with disheveled hair, sometimes with their hair tied in buns and wrapped in scarves. They gather celestial flowers to weave into hats and collect wild grasses to fashion sitting mats. They rinse their mouths with sweet spring water and sustain themselves with pine and cypress to prolong life. In joy, they clap and sing; after dancing, they rest by the clouds. When accompanied by valleys, they discuss the Dao over tea; when encountering streams, they drink wine and converse on literature. They mock the vulgar riches of the materialistic and find contentment in the freedom of simple poverty.

True cultivators harbor no attachments in their hearts, unburdened by worldly affairs. Sometimes they journey in small groups to seek the Dao ("参亥" refers to the hour of Hai, from 9 to 11 PM, an important time for cultivation), discussing the rise and fall of past and present, contemplating the wisdom of ancient sages. Other times, they delve into the profound mysteries of the true Dao, refining their own practice. Unfazed by the changing seasons or the cycles of the sun and moon ("乌兔" symbolizes the sun and moon), they reverse aging ("their weathered faces turn youthful, their white hair darkens again").

Carrying humble utensils ("箪瓢") to seek alms in the world, they gather herbs to heal and save lives. They soothe the masses and even revive the dead. Immortal seekers possess extraordinary bones; those who attain the Dao have the most numinous Shen (spirit). They discern fortune and misfortune, reverse anomalies, determine calamities and blessings, and perceive human relationships with clarity. They uphold the orthodox teachings of the Supreme Venerable Lord (太上老君), wield Fulu (talismans and registers) to dispel demonic influences, subdue evil spirits in the palm of their hands, and unleash Gangqi (a Daoist ritual force) at the Thunder Gate (a term from Daoist ritual arts).

When they knock at the Heavenly Gate ("天阍"), true immortals gather; when they strike the Earthly Door, ten thousand deities heed their command. Seated in stillness within quiet chambers, they absorb the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, gathering the essence of the sun and moon. They cultivate their nature through the principles of Yin-Yang, harmonizing water and fire to crystallize the sacred embryo. When Yin recedes ("二八" refers to the 16th day of the lunar month, when Yin begins to wane), their state becomes hazy and indistinct; when Yang grows ("三九" refers to the third nine-day period after the winter solstice, when Yang begins to rise), they enter a profound and boundless trance. Aligning with the seasonal energies, they gather the essences, and through the ninefold refinement of the Golden Elixir, they achieve completion. Then, they may ride azure phoenixes to ascend to the Purple Palace (a celestial realm) or mount white cranes to pay homage at the Jade Capital (the abode of the Primordial Heavenly Worthy).

Compared to Confucianism's pursuit of high office and wealth (which ultimately vanish like floating clouds) or Buddhism's ideal of Nirvana (which may not truly transcend worldly dust), the author concludes that among the three teachings, only Daoism holds the highest honor.

The final "祖庭记" (Annals of the Ancestral Court) mentions: The Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) ancestral temple founded by Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang) originally left no trace. It was he who initiated the teachings, spreading the profound Daoist ethos, making his homeland Changchun (both a place name and the Daoist name of Qiu Chuji, "Eternal Spring," also symbolizing the eternal nature of the Dao).

This passage records the life and spiritual journey of Wang Chongyang, the founding patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism. Born on the 22nd day of the twelfth lunar month in 1112 CE (the second year of Emperor Huizong's Zhenghe era) in Taizi Village, Liquan County, Jingzhao Prefecture, Wang Chongyang's birth was accompanied by extraordinary omens—his mother carried him for two full years before delivery, marking him as one destined for immortality from birth.

Endowed with exceptional intelligence from childhood, Wang Chongyang mastered all nine Confucian classics. At twenty-seven, he excelled in the military imperial examinations, displaying remarkable prowess in both archery and military strategy—a rare combination of literary and martial talents that commanded awe. His spiritual awakening came during an encounter at Ganhe Town (modern-day Huxian, Shaanxi) with two immortal beings clad in felt cloaks, who imparted to him five profound Daoist texts. This transmission opened his spiritual faculties completely. At forty-eight, having fully renounced worldly attachments, he undertook rigorous cultivation in a burial chamber (later known in Quanzhen tradition as the "Tomb of the Living Dead"), where he penetrated the mysteries of the Five Phases (Wuxing) and realized the illusory nature of physical existence.

He later spent three years practicing with his seven principal disciples—including Ma Yu (also known as Ma Danyang), Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, and Tan Chuduan (later collectively revered as the "Seven Masters of Quanzhen"). Calling himself "Wang the Madman," he dramatically burned down his thatched hermitage to demonstrate his resolve before journeying to Shandong to spread the Daoist teachings. In 1170 CE (the tenth year of the Dading era), at age fifty-eight, he achieved feathered ascension at Chazidian, leaving behind the enduring legacy of Quanzhen practice. Among his seven "golden lotus" disciples, Qiu Chuji (known as Changchunzi) would become the most celebrated.

The text also vividly describes the majestic architecture of Quanzhen temples: the hundred-foot-tall palaces constructed in 1180 CE (the Gengzi year), their emerald-glazed tiles mirroring the heavens, their layouts perfectly aligned with the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and Nine Palaces cosmology, standing as majestically as the mythical Mount Sumeru of Buddhist lore. Master craftsman Cao Tidian oversaw the construction at Shuizhu Village, where the temple complex was adorned with auspicious dragon-and-tiger motifs, creating an awe-inspiring sacred space.

The Cry of the Cranes scripture depicts celestial realms and essential Daoist cultivation principles:

The celestial landscape portrays a magnificent immortal palace: its foundations connect to the nine-layered earth veins (jiufei jiuquan), with eight waterways converging eastward. Rosy clouds envelop jeweled pavilions while emerald mists encircle jade halls. Here one witnesses phoenixes and cranes dancing across the skies, hearing celestial music drifting from heavenly palaces. All manifestations of existence pay homage to the Jade Emperor, as immortals reverently make offerings to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing, Daoism's highest deities). The entire paradise is veiled in auspicious crimson-purple clouds and white numinous Qi (vital energy), adorned with red peaches, green bamboos, blue pines and emerald cypresses. Having wandered countless realms, none compares to this Chongyang Palace of Ten Thousand Longevities.

Master Zhao's teachings reveal cultivation's essence: The Mysterious Origin Sage Ancestor (Laozi) opened the gate of the Great Dao (Daomen), with the Quanzhen tradition universally delivering beings. Though cultivation methods vary, all ultimately return to the fundamental truth. Daoist temples everywhere foster virtuous connections, gathering practitioners. From thatched huts to ornate palaces, from coarse hemp robes to star-crowned moon-vestments (Daoist ritual attire), all manifest the principle that "humans can propagate the Dao." Cultivation requires relinquishing worldly attachments—those in superior positions should embody magnanimity, while juniors maintain reverence. Avoid clinging to mundane disputes, preserving a purified Dao-mind. Whether formerly transcendent immortals or present-day fellow disciples, all now walk the same path. Never disparage sage wisdom; cultivate together in this life to transcend and join the immortal ranks.

Master Feng's supplement emphasizes: The Great Dao's profundity transcends measurement, existing beyond time and words. Luminous and pure, it permeates the cosmos, governing all Yin-Yang transformations. Yet ordinary minds, clouded by worldly dust, seldom comprehend. Some scorn ancient methods while exalting modern learning, breeding deluded prejudices; others become intoxicated by illusions, straying from the true path.

This scripture discusses how Dao cultivators must transcend worldly perceptions and return to the fundamental state of authenticity. On the path of cultivation, three common pitfalls emerge: first, attachment to sectarian views ("When the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) disperses, it divides into three schools"), second, indulgence in emotional desires and delusions ("within the realm of emotional consciousness"), and third, blind pursuit of formalities ("abandoning the host while pitying the guest"). The true Dao (the Way) is like launching a boat of compassion ("the vessel of mercy") to ferry sentient beings across the sea of suffering.

The essence of cultivation lies in returning to the pristine state of undifferentiated chaos ("revisiting the vast mist"), attaining the mysterious realm through serene non-action (Wuwei) ("opening the gate of tranquil indifference"). The text employs metaphors such as "millet-sized mysterious pearl" for the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and "light-containing precious sword" symbolizing wisdom that severs afflictions. True liberation transcends life and death ("neither dying nor being born") and eradicates distinctions ("both sage and ordinary discarded")—even Zen riddles like "clay oxen and wooden horses" are mere playful discourse.

It critiques practitioners who seek distant paths while neglecting what is near: abandoning China's native Daoist methods ("originally settled in the Middle Kingdom") to pursue Buddhist enlightenment in the West ("seeking verification from the Western paradise") is as absurd as hollowing out a stone lion's heart or washing marrow with fox drool. Practicing Zen amid desires ("cultivating Zen amidst desires") to attain Buddhahood is nothing but self-deceptive entanglements and riddles.

Finally, it points to genuine cultivation methods: one must be like a stringless zither ("playing the zither without strings") producing celestial harmonies naturally, without forced refinement ("no need for jade threads or golden needles"). True enlightenment reveals the eternal radiance of "tower pavilions without night" and achieves the wondrous state of "rootless iron trees blossoming." It emphasizes that cultivation must be free and direct ("unfettered and unhindered"), avoiding convoluted intellectualization ("entangled and confused"), to suddenly awaken to the great Dao and attain carefree liberation.

This scripture primarily expounds on the fleeting and illusory nature of human life, urging people to see through worldly illusions and cultivate the Dao to attain immortality.

Master Qin (an accomplished Daoist practitioner) begins with lamentation: A human lifespan of a hundred years passes swiftly like flowing water, where all achievements and fame prove as transient as foam on water. Yesterday one might have cheeks rosy as peach blossoms, yet today the hair turns white as frost. Even figures like Su Qin (the Warring States strategist) who wore the seals of six states as chancellor, or Guo Ziyi (the renowned Tang dynasty general) who reached the pinnacle of official rank, ultimately could not escape the inevitability of life and death. White ants gnawing at wood mirror the brevity of human existence, while the cuckoo's call seems to urge retreat from worldly affairs. Only when calamity strikes does one realize the emptiness of it all—neither halls filled with gold and jade can be preserved, nor can numerous descendants remain united forever.

Those towering mansions and lavish adornments never truly belong to oneself, and fine steeds with gilded chariots will eventually pass to others. At the critical juncture between life and death, the underworld messengers show no leniency, and King Yama (the judge of the dead) is merciless—by then, tears of regret will be too late. The wise should resolutely renounce all attachments, regarding gold as mere dirt, and instead exchange it for the path to immortality. True cultivators possess unwavering determination as strong as steel; they need not undergo elaborate alchemical processes to ascend directly to the immortal realms (the Three Islands and Ten Continents, legendary Daoist paradises). Just as Xu Xun (Xu Jingyang, a famed Jin dynasty Daoist) ascended with his entire family, or Prince Huainan (Liu An of the Western Han, said to have attained immortality) transcended the mortal world with his household.

Finally, the text emphasizes that cultivation requires unity of heart and speech—only then can one's name be recorded in the immortal registers (Dantai, the celestial archives), and merits be credited to the heavenly courts (Zifu, the Purple Palace). The author humbly claims no authority to speak recklessly, having long stood among the ranks of immortals (referring to accomplished cultivators), and can only repeatedly urge the world to awaken.

The appended "Ode to Tea" describes the preciousness of celestial tea: Like spring thunder stirring all things to life, the tea cakes shaped as dragons and phoenixes reveal the wonders of the immortal realms. This tea gathers the essence of Heaven and Earth's Yin-Yang, collects the vital Qi of the four seasons, and embodies the pure harmony of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Grown in early spring gardens, it is as rare and exquisite as jade.

The Echoing Cranes' Last Songs passage consists of two main sections: first, describing the wondrous experiences of a Daoist practitioner after gathering spiritual herbs before a snowy cliff; second, expounding the transmission lineage of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition.

The initial section depicts the adept obtaining the rare spiritual herb "Creation's Numinous Sprout," grinding it in a golden mortar, and brewing it in a stone cauldron until fragrant vapors arise. Drinking this elixir brings one to the exalted states described in Tang dynasty lore—where Lu Tong's seven cups of tea washed away the six desires, and Master Zhao's three draughts of wine cleansed worldly dreams. This divine medicine clears the spirit (Shen) and purifies the heart-mind, representing not just Buddhist ideals but the tangible realization of Daoist cultivation.

The latter section presents the teachings of Perfected Piyun (Song Defang, a Quanzhen master) on Complete Perfection doctrine. The Quanzhen Dao traces its origins to antiquity, pursuing the dual ideals of "completeness" (all things perfected) and "authenticity" (thoughts utterly pure). Yet true "Complete Perfection" transcends even these concepts, reaching the supreme state where "completeness is not completeness, authenticity is not authenticity." Attaining this level grants supernatural transformations and unimpeded freedom.

The transmission lineage follows: Laozi transmitted to the Emperor of Eastern Florescence (patriarch of Shangqing Daoism), then to Zhongli Quan (Perfected Zhengyang), Lü Dongbin (Perfected Chunyang), and Wang Chongyang (Perfected Chongyang). Before Wang, the Dao was obscure; after him, the Seven Masters (Quanzhen Seven Perfected) greatly propagated the teachings. Master Piyun composed the Eulogy of Seven Perfected to honor them.

The first verse praises Wang Chongyang: resolutely abandoning worldly fame, receiving Lü Dongbin's true transmission, drinking the immortal waters of Gan River (legendary encounter), and establishing Quanzhen orthodoxy. The second honors Ma Yu (Perfected Danyang): his triple-knotted hair embodying the Dao, comprehending the "divided pear" allegory (signifying master-disciple dynamics), renouncing family wealth to follow Wang in cultivation.

Before Qi (the primordial energy) differentiated, it moved through realms beyond the reach of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), like sudden thunderclap enlightenment returning to authenticity. Coming and going freely, one claps hands laughing as blossoms scatter like rain.

The third passage describes the cultivation state of Changzhenzi (one of the founding masters of Quanzhen Daoism): His magnanimous nature disregarded trivialities, his courage shone like autumn frost, his will stood firm as iron. Resolutely abandoning worldly attachments, he devoted himself wholeheartedly to the Daoist path, inheriting with absolute determination Langranzi's ninefold alchemical method (the nine stages of Neidan practice), receiving the four essential teachings from Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang). Transcending the constraints of Yin-Yang creation, he unlocked the mysteries of heaven and earth's profound passes. Ten years of cultivation felt like enjoying Luoyang's spring scenery, yet he never lightly revealed these secrets to others.

The fourth passage extols Changshengzi's (Ma Yu's) noble character: His extraordinary temperament despised worldly turbidity while comprehending the sect's true meaning. His spirit wandered beyond material phenomena, his physical form mingled with marketplaces' drums and flutes. He wore immortal peaches from Langyuan (celestial gardens) in his hair, held Penglai's (mythical mountain) jade dew in his mouth. Like a dragon leaping from towering waves, that point of luminous spirituality remained unrecognized by ordinary eyes.

The fifth passage recounts Changzhenzi's (Qiu Chuji's) achievements: In youth he maintained pure aloofness, alone traversing Hangu Pass's dangers, practicing austerities by Panxi Creek for seven moon-bathed years. Six times he received imperial summons, four times met with emperors. His teachings spread across dozens of kingdoms, trekking thirty thousand li undaunted by wind and snow. On Bao Xuan Terrace his spirit journeyed through the great void, revealing truth as naturally as dewdrops on pine branches.

The sixth passage depicts Tixuan Zhenren's (Tan Chuduan's) practice: Bearing the Daoist name "Embracing Authentic Nature," he concealed mysteries like cryptic symbols, sitting in meditation like golden lotus samadhi. Summer days found him standing long under yang sunlight, winter nights sleeping peacefully embracing snow. Like a cooked phoenix reborn singing, drinking poisoned wine yet prolonging life. Four times summoned by the Jin court, twice summoned by the Jade Emperor. Might we ask the moon over Iron Hawthorn Mountain—would it divulge celestial secrets to mortals?

The seventh passage tells of Taigu Zhenren's (Hao Datong's) awakening: Midlife brought his encounter with Patriarch Chongyang, transcending mundane mists to leave fame's arena. In Ninghai's markets he reversed heaven and earth, beneath Zhaozhou Bridge sat through ice and frost. Refining the Five Phases into essence, tempering the Eight Trigrams as alchemical nourishment. Eighty-four years concluded worldly ties, riding east winds he turned toward home.

Someone asked: "Do these accounts contain the complete Daoist methods of the Seven Perfected (Quanzhen's seven masters)?" The reply came: "Not so. This resembles tracking a steed by its hoofprints or gathering phoenix feathers—how could this constitute seeing the complete dragon-phoenix?" The questioner smiled and bowed—only sages recognize sages, perfected beings understand perfected beings, phoenixes know phoenixes, qilins recognize qilins. Such profundities, perhaps only the cloud-clad immortal elders (enlightened adepts) can fully comprehend.

This Daoist cultivator has followed the teachings of Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen tradition) for over forty years, embodying the true essence of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen) Daoism. Having personally witnessed the miraculous manifestations of the Seven Perfected Ones (the founding masters of Quanzhen) and immersed himself in classical texts with broad learning, his writings contain pearls of wisdom in every phrase—each sentence conveys profound truth through unadorned language. Seekers of the Dao worldwide find authentic and reliable cultivation guidance in his words.

"The Song of Untrammeled Wandering" depicts the transcendent life of a Daoist practitioner: flowing with nature brings effortless freedom, far from worldly clamor—like white gulls sporting in blue waves, playing the zither in harmony with fishermen and woodcutters. Neither ashamed when facing hardship nor moved by worldly glory. At dusk, he gathers his fishing rod to wander spring fields; clad in coarse hemp yet spiritually abundant, like wild grass nourished by dew. In the Yellow Court (Dantian), he refines himself to dissolve distractions, eating purple taro while awaiting dawn. Opening three pathways (symbolizing the Three Treasures: Jing, Qi, and Shen), he ascends like the roc soaring beyond the nine heavens. Playing the short flute to express his spirit, practicing hand seals (Daoist mudras) to reverse aging. Never relying on others' favor, for serenity itself is wealth. Setting aside documents and brushes, he contemplates the profound Dao alone—delighting like the ancients bathing in the Yi River, abandoning Xu You's gourd (symbol of worldly noise) when weary of clamor. His emptiness contains valleys without revealing edges, like a blunt sword hidden among firewood. When fortune fades, he withdraws like pine enduring winter. Pondering ritual norms repeatedly, he embraces poverty like Tao Yuanming. Tilling fields with his wife, retiring without bowing to power. Content to water gardens with a clay pot, forgetting flavors yet loving the Shao music. Disdaining gold and jade to transcend materialism, while honoring ancestral virtue. Galloping like a thoroughbred, laughing at quail fluttering wings. Studying mystical arts and roaming immortal realms, yet still praising peace. Watching parrots by the pond, covering deer with banana leaves (symbolizing concealment). Sealing the senses to return to simplicity (an allusion to Laozi's "block the passages"), deepening roots without uprooting sprouts. Resolving disputes requires speaking plainly, while cultivating the heart finds joy in contentment. Moving through the world like a hidden crevice—great wisdom appears foolish yet conceals radiance. In meditation, reverence seems rigid, yet like prying tiles to summon spiritual tides (finding grandeur in small things). What obstacles exist in the "Equalizing of Things" (Zhuangzi's philosophy)? All worldly disturbances (fengrong) can be transcended. How pitiful, these struggles on a snail's horn! Serenely observing migrating birds. He only wishes to be a plowing elder—how could he bear to kneel before others? Hearing phoenix pipes from beyond clouds, spring colors hanging from his staff. Who flies the wooden kite? The stringless zither (nature's music) tunes itself. When the day comes to ride the wind home, why borrow phoenix chariots?

"The Hall Regulations" states: All immortals—whether celestial, terrestrial, divine, human, or spectral—must follow principles to attain the Dao. Defying natural order leads to inversion, while harmony with nature aligns with the Way. Since ancient times, Daoism has maintained pure precepts. Recently established, the Hall of Cultivating Simplicity serves as a retreat for unranked transcendents (practitioners without formal ordination). At dawn...

This scripture describes the life principles and cultivation states of Daoist practitioners, presented in two parts: regulations and hymns.

When offering incense and prayers to heaven, they invoke longevity for the emperor, and chant scriptures morning and evening to seek peace for devotees. Practitioners live in a manner both hidden and manifest, dwelling among ordinary people and sages alike. They shield themselves from the sun with bamboo hats, drink from simple bamboo tubes, and embrace a life of simplicity as vast as the cosmos within a gourd—free and detached like solitary clouds or wild cranes. Unrestrained and carefree, they awaken from the dream of worldly illusions, leaving behind only a pillow of pure breeze. When the alchemical furnace (the golden-mercury cauldron) is opened, they quietly guard its stillness beneath the half-moonlit window. Once their practice reaches completion, they subdue the dragon and tiger (symbolizing the harmonization of inner Yin-Yang), transcend delusion, and ride phoenixes and cranes back to the grotto-heavens of bliss.

For those newly entering the Daoist path who have yet to realize their true nature, strict adherence to discipline is essential. They must respect their teachers, cherish fellow practitioners, and constantly contemplate the truth of the Dao. Cultivation requires focused dedication to the dual cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), free from the entanglements of fame and profit. Walk with measured steps, speak without clamor, abstain from singing frivolous songs or engaging in gossip. When venturing out, return before nightfall; when seated in meditation, remain in stillness until the bell signals the end. Temporary stays (Guadan) at temples and departures must follow proper protocol. Minor violations incur penalties such as offerings of incense, oil, or tea, while serious offenses warrant bamboo rod discipline or even expulsion. Those who steal, damage property, indulge in alcohol, or gamble are forbidden from residing in the hall—disciplinary officers who break rules face doubled punishment.

The concluding hymn states: Practitioners from all corners of the world gather as one, yet must understand the rules. Whether ordinary or sage, all appear and vanish in turn—the Dao’s transformations are ever-shifting, yet precepts remain eternal. A life of serene leisure entrusts itself to fate, for no encounter in life is mere chance. Life and death follow heaven’s decree—why not accord with nature? All things wax and wane, just as the dragon does not leap in winter, yet fireflies glow in the night. Noble and petty alike each have their season. Emulate Confucius in deep reflection, or Zengzi’s daily self-examination. Take human words as bonds of trust, the sun and moon as mirrors of clarity, the cessation of arms as martial virtue, and lamb’s flesh as fine broth. Whether wise or foolish, no matter how great or small the matter, what is gained with difficulty is lost with ease. Hesitate not in resolving doubts—indecision invites chaos. To see virtue and not follow, or witness vice and not correct it, are grave faults in cultivation.

To truly comprehend the principles of the Dao (the Way) is indeed profoundly difficult. The Dao is as precious as gold and fine jade, as weighty as towering mountains. The demeanor of Dao cultivators should resemble the noble phoenix (luanfeng), while their vital essence (qi) should be as refined as rare orchids and medicinal herbs (zhilan). Spring, once passed, will not return; flowers, once withered, will not bloom again; the aged cannot regain their youth, and time lost will never come back.

(Note: The luanfeng phoenix is an auspicious divine bird in Daoist symbolism, while zhilan refers to precious fragrant herbs often used to metaphorize noble virtue. This passage employs natural phenomena to illustrate how spiritual cultivation requires treasuring opportunities and not squandering time.)