《雲山集》Vol. 2

The poems in Volume 2 of Yunshan Ji employ vivid metaphors to reveal the worldly wisdom of Daoist practitioners:

On "Contentiousness": The poet uses "mountains of self-other duality" as a metaphor for mental attachments that obscure vision like countless mountain peaks. Ordinary people, blinded by worldly desires ("Lingyuan" referring to the original mind), resemble caged tigers or croaking frogs—quick to anger at the slightest provocation, ultimately leading only to bloody battlefields strewn with corpses.

On "Following Nature's Flow": Practitioners should ride the currents like celestial rafts (immortal boats), treating scriptures and alchemical cauldrons as daily utensils. Images of the "Clear Stream Daoist" and "White Stone Elder" (both representing realized practitioners) embody the carefree realm of conversing about the Dao amidst moonlight and emerald mists while sipping tea.

On "Mountain Dwelling Practice": Towering cliffs become natural thrones, with green grass as carpets. Wind, clouds, and lunar grottoes all aid cultivation, while babbling brooks and birdsong expound the Dao. This state requires no verbal instruction—one may instantly arrive at the Land of Nothingness (a Daoist ideal realm).

On "Worldly Delusions": Ordinary people resemble free-range chickens and dogs, their minds fettered by sensory pleasures and material gains. Like the "deer chase" parable where people fight over empty fame, they'd do better to follow Cook Ding's ox-carving mastery in aligning with nature. This inverted cycle of right and wrong keeps them trapped in the wheel of life and death.

On "Penetrating Mysteries": Adepts see through layers of profundity, emerging pure like golden lotuses from water. Within the "cosmos in a gourd" (Daoist celestial concept) lies another world—they understand all phenomena as illusory conditions. Such persons merge completely with plants and nature, becoming true Dao-realized beings.

On "Losing the Original Mind": Metaphors like "ants moving house" and "battles on snail horns" depict people drowning in sensory pleasures and trivial disputes, like flies stuck in honey jars. Only by forging indomitable resolve can one board the moonlit boat to escape delusion.

On "Transcendent Independence": Those who attain the Dao grasp the mysterious truth—their very eyebrows radiate untrammeled freedom. Like Zhuangzi's parable of "whisking an axe to trim a nose," they move with perfect spontaneity, never looking back at shattered pots. On moonlit nights with clear breeze, they sail alone across rivers and seas.

The Yunshan Ji employs vivid metaphors in these poems to reveal common pitfalls in spiritual cultivation, admonishing practitioners to return to their original nature.

The first poem emphasizes the importance of purifying the mind. Humanity's innate nature of serene non-action (wuwei) is exquisitely subtle—the slightest distracting thought can pollute the field of consciousness. The mere act of frowning or speaking plunges one into dualistic distinctions of right and wrong. Practicing meditation like a withered stump only entangles one in delusive thoughts (geteng), while heated debates prove ultimately worthless.

The second poem satirizes foolish attachment to physical form. From the moment one takes human birth (yuanchu), it's like entering a prison—rushing about ceaselessly in worldly affairs. Playing clever tricks with this bag of skin, trading empty fame in the red dust, arguing in thickets of contention, competing before the mountain of self-attachment. Only when breath ceases and one becomes a skeleton does this restless striving finally rest in the desolate grave.

The third poem critiques the error of body obsession. People mistake this disease-prone, aging vessel (fuzhui xuanyou) for their true self. The poor exhaust themselves seeking sustenance, the rich wear themselves out managing possessions. Energy drains away in fields of fame and profit while one strays ever further down wrong paths. In the end, this grand human drama proves but self-deception.

The fourth poem reveals the harm of wrong views. Just as one cannot catch the legendary kunpeng with fish bait, people chase after illusions. Like duckweed following currents, willow catkins tossed by wind—diseased eyes mistake truth for falsehood, while deranged minds confuse good with evil. Such stubborn delusion hardens into habit, compounding errors.

The fifth poem describes true virtue (de). The moment a thought arises, spirits already know it—one's original conscience cannot be deceived. Helping others without expectation, humbling oneself in service. Restraining selfish impulses daily while maintaining loyalty, filial piety and benevolence. Sincere reverence without flattery—this is appropriate conduct in all circumstances.

The sixth poem exposes the vanity of worldly ties. Disputing right and wrong may seem meritorious, but such mentality differs little from ordinary society. The clear nectar of Dao tastes bland, while turbid wine's clamor attracts flies. Only the neglected huilan orchid preserves its pure fragrance.

The final poem reveals cultivation's true essence. Releasing all attachments like a simpleton, only utmost sincerity aligns with the Dao. Treasure the mysterious pearl (one's true nature), for the late-blooming celestial flowers (fruits of practice) prove most precious. The forged golden elixir (jindan) goes unrecognized; the drawn spirit talisman (fulu) eludes even ghosts' perception. The realized dharma-body merges with emptiness—its wondrous function utterly real.

Regarding "Establishing Images to Illuminate Truth": Using statues to represent truth ironically obscures it, like dust over clouded vision. Painted deities may appear majestic, yet remain mere representations.

The Yunshan Ji (Cloud Mountain Anthology) employs incisive language to expose worldly delusions and common cultivation pitfalls.

The first passage reveals how people obsess over illusory tricks—building lavish Daoist temples (where "Dharma body" metaphorically represents temple architecture) with wood and clay, unaware these are but deceptions. They scheme and chatter about spirits and deities, not even fearing the King of Hell's (Old Man Yan's) punishments.

The second passage, "Religious Nets," satirizes those shackled by religious formalism. Like livestock wearing iron bridles, they're led by doctrines. Fantasizing about heavenly rewards through external rituals, they instead tremble at hellish threats, ultimately becoming prey for demonic delusions.

"Chasing Trends" depicts cultivators groveling before power. Like fish swimming into unfathomable noble mansions, they speak haltingly and bow obsequiously. Having abandoned households to seek the Dao, they mistakenly entangle themselves in worldly snares, wasting their efforts.

"Worldly Thoughts" portrays an inverted reality. The sea of suffering knows no bounds—people confuse truth with falsehood, right with wrong. They mistake arrogance for sagacity and heresy for orthodoxy, all coveting petty gains. How could lotus blossoms of purity (symbolizing cultivation amid defilements) grow in such flames of desire?

"Turbid Minds" criticizes greed. The poor crave sudden wealth while the rich grow more decadent, employing deceit everywhere, their hearts filled with selfish calculations. When wickedness reaches its limit, calamity arrives unbidden.

"Reckless Actions" explains how artificiality destroys innate nature. As people become increasingly hypocritical, they attract stray spirits (symbolizing corrupt thoughts), harming others and themselves like walking corpses—ultimately reaping what they sow.

"Reading Scriptures" mocks those who mechanically study texts. Though better than illiteracy, they merely parrot words without genuine reflection. Failing to grasp the supreme teachings ("the upward mechanism") in scriptures, their pompous classical phrases prove useless.

Finally, "Rejecting Cleverness" shows how wisdom becomes folly through affectation. Ornate cleverness is actually confusion—true luminous purity (qingjing yuanming) dwells not in flowery rhetoric.

Through vivid metaphors, these poems target common cultivation maladies: formalism, sycophancy, greed, and hypocrisy—emphasizing heart-mind cultivation as the essential path.

These passages from the Cloud Mountain Anthology primarily discuss the distinction between the realm of Dao cultivators and ordinary people, as well as how to attain transcendence through practice.

When cultivators of the Dao devote themselves wholeheartedly to their practice, they will eventually awaken to the ultimate principles of heaven and earth, realizing that emptiness, stillness, and ease are the very essence of the Dao (the Way). Ordinary people, however, are greedy for petty gains, consumed by jealousy, and fixated on immediate benefits. Only when disaster strikes do they hastily pray to gods and buddhas, seek out sorcerers to draw talismans (Fulu) and chant incantations, or burn incense and make vows in desperation—unaware that such measures are ultimately futile.

True Dao cultivators savor the genuine taste of the great Dao as if drinking from a sacred spring, never relying on drunkenness to numb themselves. They do not obsess over parsing the words of scriptures but instead grasp the "Three Essentials" (possibly referring to Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), or Dao, scriptures, and teachers) to comprehend the profound mysteries. Just as fish swallow hooks and ants chase honey, while worldly people are lured by fame and profit, Daoists remain intoxicated by the great Dao, reclining to admire the bright moon suspended high above.

At the highest stage of cultivation, even intelligence and cleverness must be relinquished, returning one’s original nature to emptiness and severing all worldly attachments. At this point, the practitioner is like a bare body with no burdens, unbound by any illusions. It is akin to a herder who no longer sees the ox, or a place where even an awl cannot be inserted—this state of "utter simplicity" paradoxically reveals vibrant vitality.

Worldly people are endlessly greedy, tormenting their own minds. Only by steadfastly cultivating the true path can one gradually dispel delusions and realize genuine attainment. Just as bitter medicine (like the herb huáng bò) is followed by sweetness (like milk sugar), spiritual practice is bitter at first but sweet in the end.

Authentic cultivation requires humility and integrity. One must treat others with kindness and understand principles with uprightness. Avoid resorting to supernatural tricks to frighten common folk or using deceit to mislead neighbors. By earnestly accumulating virtue (De), one will naturally penetrate higher realms of realization.

Cultivation does not require clinging to famous mountains or ancient temples (sacred Daoist sites like Mount Heng or Tiantai)—one must relinquish empty reputation. Forget wealth and sensual allure, and the mind will naturally find peace; discard judgments of right and wrong, and one’s true nature will naturally brighten. Maintain sincerity and purity, act with fairness and compassion, cultivate both inner and outer refinement, and in time, merit and virtue will be perfected.

The final passage is Liu Fuzhi mourning his daughter: The workings of fate are cruel—joy turns to sorrow in an instant. Like a carefully nurtured flower (a metaphor for his daughter), a decade of happiness ultimately comes to nothing. No matter how she is adorned for farewell, in the end, the flame of life extinguishes, leaving only the living to endure this pain.

This scripture reveals the illusory nature of worldly life and the true essence of spiritual cultivation through seven concise chapters. The first chapter, titled "Transformation into Emptiness," points out that all phenomena are as fleeting as lightning, yet people mistake illusions for reality, becoming entangled in anxieties over gain and loss, survival and demise.

The second chapter, "Winds and Waves," depicts ordinary people drowning in grievances and passions, while even heroes and warriors remain shackled by fame and fortune, exhausting themselves in pursuit of external things.

The third chapter, "Establishing Transformation," clarifies that truth transcends form, yet most remain deluded by worldly dust, with only a rare few breaking free from bondage. The fourth chapter, "Abiding in the Mundane," describes how practitioners dwelling in secular society wear cold iron fetters—they must sever worldly ties like an autumn wind sweeping away dead leaves.

The fifth chapter, "Discourse on Scriptures," explains that sacred texts are meant as steps on the path of cultivation, yet people misuse their teachings like mice riding chariots, mistrusting sublime truths while clinging to misinterpretations.

The sixth chapter, "Self-Binding," laments how people's minds teem with contradictions and strife, wounding themselves with spears and halberds, spinning cocoons of delusion through idle fantasies. The final chapter, "Dharma Appearances," critiques solemn rituals performed for show, declaring that no matter how grand the altar ceremonies, they remain hollow posturing if the heart still chases fame and profit.

Throughout the text runs the essential teaching: "All phenomena are illusory; purity and stillness are the fundamental truth." It urges readers to relinquish attachments and return to their original mind.

These passages from the Yunshan Ji reveal the wisdom of Daoist practitioners who see through illusion and transcend worldly attachments:

The first section satirizes people's obsession with superficial appearances, mistaking the false for the real while deceiving themselves with clever tricks. It compares such behavior to gesturing at empty air—far less substantial than earnest cultivation. These delusive games ultimately leave one spiritually deaf and blind.

The second section, "Uncrossed Waters," depicts sentient beings struggling through kalpic turmoil. Karmic cycles burn like pits of fire, and the sea of suffering has no shore, yet people row boats in shallow ditches, laboring in vain. Where is Master Ren, the legendary angler who abandoned fame (an allegory for recluses)? Only an empty fishing hook remains—a metaphor for the futility of clinging to material things.

"Awakening to Truth," the third passage, points to liberation: one must "turn the light inward" (a Neidan term for introspection) amid worldly dust. Shatter accumulated habits, relinquish selfish thoughts. When stripped utterly bare (symbolizing complete detachment), the true self emerges, granting entry to the Eternal Spring Paradise (a Daoist ideal realm) where jade trees and gem-like forests shimmer.

"Contentment in Poverty," the fourth segment, declares the body a temporary lodging—why fret over empty rooms? The truly liberated see through material temptations, valuing gold no more than rubble. Only by recognizing all phenomena as illusion can life's essence shine forth.

The fifth section, "Dharma Body," describes the realized state: like the "Positionless True One" (an enlightened being), empty yet embracing all. Expanding consciousness makes heaven-earth seem cramped; wisdom's radiance rivals sun and moon. See worlds in a grain of sand, contain boundless cosmos in an instant.

"Transcending Externalities," the sixth passage, portrays perfected cultivation: no need to distinguish right/wrong or long/short—the Dao appears in ordinary life. Like staying sober while appearing drunk, outwardly conventional yet inwardly pure. A broken gourd for sustenance, a cave for dwelling (symbolizing simplicity), yet possessing ultimate freedom.

The finale critiques worldly desires: people chase fine clothes and delicacies, toil for wealth, oblivious to these very chains. The poet's abrupt "costs and barriers" ending echoes the tragedy of material enslavement.

The Cloud Mountain Collection employs vivid metaphors and imagery to reveal common delusions and awakening processes on the Daoist path.

The first passage depicts how worldly people remain bound by desires: the human heart schemes to satisfy cravings, only to become like birds flying into nets or silkworms spinning their own cocoons. Mistaking meaningless troubles for happiness, they muddle through life in confusion.

The second section, "The Net of Doubt," points to a crucial truth in cultivation: since all phenomena arise from the original mind, why seek externally? The true Golden Elixir (Jindan, the essence of Neidan practice) resides within—why chase after external objects like capturing monkeys? Deceptive tricks and pretentious displays will eventually dissolve, just as unrefined ore can never become genuine gold.

"Seeking Mountains," the third passage, uses mountain climbing as a metaphor for practice: some clamor about visiting famous peaks, yet once there, they long for home, panting from steep trails while watching for wild beasts. Better to maintain inner stillness like jade, finding ease wherever you are.

The fourth poem, "Immortal Wandering in the Human Realm," portrays the Daoist life: roaming mountains in pursuit of truth, keeping company with clouds, far from worldly clamor. Moonlight glints on springs between rocks; ancient pines conceal spring’s vitality. Occasionally, one might ask a young attendant: "Are there still hermits here who whistle into the wind?"

"Visiting Five Cliffs," the fifth piece, speaks of elusive transcendence: five cliff peaks encircle an emerald-veined grotto (a sacred Daoist cultivation site), while the Hua Gai constellation (a celestial official) shelters jade and stone chambers. The cultivators of old have long departed on crane-back, leaving only the moon illuminating empty platforms where their whistles once echoed.

The sixth poem, "Abandoning the Fishing Rod," employs a fisherman’s allegory: casting lines for millennia without catching golden-scaled fish (symbolizing the Dao), one finally puts away the rainbow-poled rod. Even Li Zhu—legendary for keen sight—cannot discern the southern mysteries, and the silver-tongued Kuang Qu (a fictional figure) fails to articulate northern truths. Better to board a moonlit "empty boat" (a mind free of attachments), drifting freely with the ocean’s tides.

The final two poems are dedicatory verses: one celebrates longevity with celestial imagery hinting at cultivation’s life-extending fruits; the other captures sudden awakening—shattering the stupor of stagnant meditation (like vinegar flies trapped in jars) to behold infinite cosmos, where mountains and streams pulse with hidden mysteries.

The Cloud Mountain Collection contains several poems that primarily depict the spiritual insights, travel experiences, and farewell sentiments of Daoist practitioners.

The first poem, "Self-Reproach," expresses a state of transcending worldly illusions: the Creator plays with this mortal shell (referring to the human body), yet people still chase after fame and fortune. In old age, one can't help but speak a few more words—like digging one's own flesh to create wounds. Gatherings with good friends dissipate as easily as foam, and life's journey feels like a fleeting dream. The clamor of the world makes peace elusive; one longs only to return to the secluded place of cultivation deep within the white clouds.

The second poem describes a Double Ninth Festival outing with friends to Qionghua Island: on this festival day, friends lean on their staffs to wander the island, passing through wild paths and ancient caves, resting against cliffs to gaze at the divine beauty of the land. Ancient pines and cypresses stand solemn in the autumn chill, while red leaves and yellow flowers appear especially pure and cold. After enjoying the excursion to the fullest, they board a small boat to begin their journey home.

The third poem depicts bidding farewell to Elder Jinpo: in the hurried parting, ice and snow bring cold, like a horse turning its head to gaze at the western mountains. The transmitted Fulu (Daoist ritual documents) have just been placed in the traveling bag, while the sword in the sleeve still refuses to rest idle. Just like leaving the palace last year, today you return to the human world again. With all attachments resolved, you take advantage of the east wind to knock at the heavenly gates.

The fourth poem sends off Zhang Shu to Helin: political affairs flow smoothly like a broad celestial road, with warm breezes and sunlight making the horse's hooves light. The mysterious northern waters carry messages, while green mountains line up to see you off. Lost in deep thought myself, I watch you soar like a giant roc. Helin lies just within reach, where we both await the descent of heavenly grace.

The fifth poem expresses the sorrow of parting in old age: with age comes deeper affection, compelling one to compose poems for farewells. Sunny days bring flying blossoms; spring warmth carries swallows' songs. After parting, sorrow becomes unbearable, and gazing into the distance turns one foolish. Evening clouds and misty waves grow ever more distant—who knows when we'll meet again?

The sixth poem bids farewell to He Juchuan as he accompanies a Zhenren (Perfected Being) to the capital: like a crane taking flight from Yan, riding the wind straight to the nine heavens. Crossing a thousand miles of desert, traveling between north and south in half a year. After parting, who will share laughter with me? No one left in this seat to discuss the Dao. Though my heart was once iron-hard, now in old age we meet with tears.

The seventh poem continues the farewell theme: you follow an immortal (Ruoshi referring to a Daoist adept) to study the Dao, ascending to the clouds like Lu Ao (a legendary immortal). This journey takes you to knock at the Heavenly Emperor's gates, soon to be ranked among the celestial host. Profound achievements lead to mysterious realms—truly something to yearn for.

The poems from Yunshan Ji depict scenes of worldly vicissitudes and desolate palaces, brimming with lamentations on the rise and fall of history.

The first poem portrays the leisurely ease of drunken repose in the woods, subtly satirizing the futility of worldly pursuits. "Reminiscing the Northern Palace" describes leaning on a staff to seek out the old palace, only to find fresh dew on the grasses while the painted pavilions have faded, the jade steps and marble terraces now ruined. Only waterfowl remain, nesting on the sandbars in the evening sun—a silent testament to the transience of dynasties and the permanence of nature.

In "Autumn Stroll on Qionghua Island," wildflowers overrun the heights of Guanghan Palace (the Moon Palace), and ancient cave chambers lie buried under thorns and rubble. The old ponds retain nothing but withered lotuses and sparse reeds. Where are the nobles, fleeting as floating clouds? The glory that vanished like lightning leaves no trace—only the pines and cypresses stand tall in the west wind.

Another poem, set in autumn, speaks of wandering with immortals, riding the wind to Penglai (a Daoist paradise) and the Moon Palace, gazing down at brocaded clouds churning, their reflections shimmering in crystal-clear waters. Strolling idly through Guanghan Palace, the poet notes the sparse foot traffic east of Yuxiao Palace (a celestial abode), hinting at the rarity of divine encounters.

"Remembering the Old Palace" describes the once-majestic Jianzhang Palace, its towers clustered like toy blocks, its impregnable defenses ironically kindling the flames of barbarian invasion. In a single night, the imperial quarters turned to ash; a century's worth of grandeur now lies in ruins. Who could have foreseen such downfall in its heyday?

"The Western Splendor Garden" laments the emperor's dust-covered carriage, never to return, the Five-Cloud Towers reduced to embers. The radiance of past glories, stretching a thousand zhang, now lingers only as a hollow name and a cup of murky wine. The whims of fate play out like theater—do the garden's flowers and grasses know they’ve been scattered elsewhere by the east wind?

"Reflections at Yanran" mourns the fall of the Jin dynasty, its Five-Phoenix Tower turned to drifting ash. The former court is now wilderness; its robed dignitaries buried beneath the dunes. War drums shattered the blissful dream of Huaxu (the utopia visited by the Yellow Emperor in legend), leaving only the resolve to wander amid clouds and waters, watching the west wind sweep fallen leaves, counting how many autumns the white duckweed and red smartweed have seen.

"Mourning Lecturer Hao" recalls past debates on the Dao by the Zhang River, praising his ascension to immortality (a Daoist term for achieving transcendence). His feathered robe cast aside, shedding past karma; his immortal slippers soaring to new realms. The ritual steps (bugang, a Daoist pacing technique) done, he awoke from the dream of dust.

Throughout, the contrast between ruined palaces and enduring nature evokes profound reflections on historical cycles and the impermanence of life.

"Returning to the Celestial Realm at Dusk":

At dusk, treading upon clouds to return to the celestial realm (the "Imperial Land" refers to the abode of immortals). In springtime, the yellow incense in the jade burner has burned to ashes, leaving only its fragrance to be passed down to later generations.

"Staying Overnight at Mount Wuhua":

The Five Splendors Palace, restored by immortals, sits amidst mountains as splendid as brocade. In the silent night, one can hear the clear springs murmuring, while on sunny days, slender bamboos rustle in the wind. This secluded and tranquil place surpasses man-made scenery, entirely a marvel of nature's craftsmanship. If you ask where the alchemy is practiced, you'll see only towering trees bathed in the crimson glow of the setting sun.

"True Nature":

Attempting to describe "true nature" (one's original innate essence) with words already distorts it—once spoken, it becomes tainted with worldly dust. It manifests everywhere like a living spring at its source, and shines perpetually like light through six windows. Perfectly responding to things is as mysterious as the turning of a door hinge; touch the pivot, and spiritual communion follows naturally. People conjure countless illusions, but who remembers their original, authentic face?

"A Guest with a Phoenix Beak in a Brocade Pouch":

The phoenix (Mount Dan is its dwelling place) loses its numinous essence the moment it leaves its sacred ground. The remaining feathers merely evoke memories of its former splendor. The five-colored plumage is but an empty reputation—where is the true spiritual essence (the "nine virtues" symbolize the phoenix's noble qualities)? Like the great tortoise (the "Great Cai") stripped of its shell or the qilin with severed limbs, even these auspicious creatures (the "Four Numinous Beings") have fallen to the mortal realm, mingling with the ashes of calamity.

"Same as Above":

The transmission of the Mysterious Life-Force spans countless years, and now we witness the perfect union of human Dao and heavenly Dao. The teachings of our lineage transcend all ages, encompassing with perfect harmony the threefold profundities (the "Three Mysteries" are key Daoist concepts) of phenomena and principle. It is like opening a treasure trove without locks, silently resonating with celestial mechanisms while transcending conventional distinctions. The Milky Way is twisted into a dwelling, while auspicious radiance illuminates Mount Yanran.

"Seeing Off the Courier Departing for the Imperial Court":

From youth, he has received imperial favor, and now in his advancing years (reaching the "gourd years," meaning sixty), he still serves the court. Soaring steadily to the crimson heavens like an eagle spreading its wings, he traverses the distant Silver River as if riding a celestial raft. In time to come, his name will surely be recorded in imperial annals (the "Yellow Canopy" refers to the emperor's chariot), presenting memorials on white hemp paper before the jade steps. All await him to bring the spring breeze, spreading spring's hues across mountains and rivers.

"Celebrating the Birthday of Master Qinghe":

This master is like a pillar upholding heaven and earth, the central pillar of the Mystic Gate (Daoism). Only once in three thousand sexagenary cycles does such a figure appear, forming transcendent alliances with ninety thousand immortals. His lifespan outlasts petrified pines; his Dao-power lightly traverses the Mustard Seed City (a legendary microcosm in Daoism). His true visage remains unchanged through great kalpas, serenely observing the Yellow River's cycles of clarity and turbidity.

"Celebrating Master Yanzhan's Birthday on the Fifth Day of the Ninth Month":

This master rivals immortal maidens like Magu and the Golden Mother (two female immortals), occasionally descending to the mortal realm riding wind and clouds. Like Dongfang Shuo gifted with peaches of immortality, or Xu Manyou bestowed with fire dates (two kinds of celestial fruits), he bestows generosity. Amidst auspicious clouds, the strains of elegant music can be heard.

The Cloud Mountain Collection contains several poems primarily depicting farewells to friends, insights from spiritual practice, and reflections on life.

The first poem bids farewell to Lecturer Jia departing for Dongping. Amidst the fragrance of lotus blossoms, the friend leaves the capital with a joyful countenance. Under the warm sun's embrace, his return journey is hurried, while gentle breezes stir his Daoist robe. This parting abruptly awakens one from a three-year dream of the homeland, counting twelve stages of travel. Uncertain when they might reunite for heartfelt conversation.

The second poem, composed in harmony with Yang Xi'an's verse, describes a cultivation grotto still veiled in mist, with drifting petals signaling spring's imminent end. Mountain winds transform into river snow. The gale drives broken boats toward the land of ghosts, while men crawl like ants toward the locust tree's shade. The Creator often treats worldly affairs as child's play—better to relinquish attachments than sigh in vain.

The third poem explores heaven's profound principles: though affairs appear complex, their essence is easily discerned. Even bathing and changing clothes require proper timing—haste invites mockery. Defying celestial cycles constitutes heresy; violating taboos brings fault. Only with clear spirit (Shen) can one properly assist governance or retire to cultivation.

The fourth poem sees off Peng Zongdao's northern journey for study, expressing reluctant parting. The friend will learn from masters, aspiring like a crane crying amid clouds. May he charge forward like a steed without doubt, or butcher an ox with effortless skill. May his learning hook the giant Ao turtle, achieving great deeds.

The fifth poem farewells Cui Tingyu's capital departure, recalling years shared amid bamboo-lit moons and pine-swept winds. Plum rain mists their parting, while distant mountains inspire verse. In deserted frontiers, self-motivation is needed to uphold family traditions. Serve the court diligently, anticipating glorious advancement.

The sixth accompanies Zhao Zizhen presenting scriptures to the throne, reminiscing about their golden phoenix terrace excursions. Unexpectedly they part again at Yan Mountain, with post horses hastening departure. Precious texts will grace the imperial court, while frontier winds frost his temples. They vow a reunion date—let not crimson devotion cool.

The final poem mourns Guo Chaoran, declaring worldly treasures illusory—his dusty books remain. Startled to find his voice now ancient history, yet awakening reveals renewed vitality. The "chicken wing" allusion subtly suggests life's brevity like poultry bones.

The Cloud Mountain Collection contains poems depicting farewells to fellow Daoists and remembrances of the departed, suffused with the transcendent sentiments of Daoist practitioners and their yearning for immortal realms.

The first poem bids farewell to Master Wang's journey to the capital, portraying him riding a divine steed ascending to the celestial realm, directly reaching the Hall of Universal Radiance (the dwelling of the Heavenly Emperor in Daoism), no longer troubled by worldly emotions. The poem employs imagery like "mending heaven" and "silver river" to praise his cultivation achievements, capable of benefiting all beings like an immortal before finally ascending to the heavens.

The second poem, inscribed before the Tomb of the Living Dead at the Immortal Encounter Palace, expresses insights into the great Dao of life and death. The poet describes how after deeply drinking from the spiritual source (referring to the essence of cultivation), he suddenly perceives the narrowness of heaven and earth and the emptiness of worldly affairs. Awakening from a dream, he discovers the golden-jade splendor of immortal realms right before him, as natural as the eternal eastward flow of Zhongnan Mountain's waters.

The third poem sends off Overseer Pan to Yongle Abbey, depicting his departure from the Palace of Five Radiances (a Daoist celestial palace) like an immortal, with jade pendants chiming. It mentions the "Nine-Return Elixir" (a Neidan alchemical term) and the "Ancestor of Pure Yang" (referring to Lü Dongbin), praising his inheritance of Lüzu's authentic cultivation lineage, destined to illuminate myriad households like the bright moon over Zhongtiao Mountain.

The fourth poem sees off Li Hefu returning to Shaanxi, describing his light departure in feathered robes like an immortal. Though the journey is long, cultivated minds regard partings lightly, for the true meaning of cultivation from Zhongnan Mountain (referring to Quanzhen teachings) is already deeply internalized.

The fifth poem accompanies Du Tianfu back to Zhongnan Mountain, urging him to advance his practice while in his prime. The poet humbly admits his aging self has lost the drive for progress, only remembering the evening breeze carrying lotus fragrance during their temple farewell.

The sixth mourns Feng Quanjiao, who abandoned literary brilliance for dedicated cultivation, awakening to life's dreamlike nature. Now he rides white clouds into the distance like an immortal, leaving only flowers and trees weeping in the west wind and morning dew before the tower.

The seventh sends He Juchuan to the Ancestral Temple (referring to Quanzhen's Chongyang Palace), where crane and gibbon cries echo through empty mountains and flowing waters, expressing longing for the distant traveler. The poem reveals the cultivator's detachment from farewells and yearning for immortal realms.

These poems from the Yunshan Ji (Cloud Mountain Collection) reveal the spiritual realm of Daoist practitioners wandering through nature and contemplating the cosmos. Let me explain them section by section:

The first two poems depict a cultivator's travels through Qin-Long (modern Shaanxi and Gansu). The poet reflects on having once served in court, now riding through mountain landscapes watching wild geese cross frontier rivers amid autumn scenery. He realizes the Dao operates like a fishing net—when you lift its main cord (gang ju mu zhang), the entire mesh follows. With slight adjustment to the mechanism, one can achieve early retirement from worldly affairs. When Master Zifeng journeyed south, he perceived heaven and earth as a simple thatched hut, roaming freely within the Great Void (taixu). All phenomena of light and shadow follow like attendants, while human fortunes rise and fall like a well's counterbalanced sweep. At the vast Hongjin crossing, though the ancient path is rugged, the carriage of De (Virtue) moves steadily forward.

Another poem praises an enlightened master (A-shi) who attained truth before Purple Canopy Peak. His breath resonates with all natural sounds (wanlai), his mind like moonlight illuminating the river crossing. Looking north toward Yan-Ji (Beijing region), he sees dust and light merging; crossing south to Liang Garden, he witnesses vegetation renewing. Wherever he goes requires no forced transformation—with effortless grace, he brings spring warmth to frozen valleys.

The Painting of Laozi Crossing the Pass describes the classic scene of Laozi departing the frontier on his blue ox: the white-haired yet youthful sage rides his humble cart through worldly dust. When he sings beneath the moon, dawn breaks over stream and mountain; fresh winds renew plants at Hangu Pass. Transcending past and present, he harnesses sunlight, entering and exiting existence like a whirlwind. To comprehend this mystery, one must abandon attachment to superficial appearances—a realm even the finest painting cannot capture.

The elegy for Zhang Shu and Lin's "return to truth" (death of a Daoist) states: The proper fire-times for alchemy have passed, and shifting clouds inspire no more poetry. His spirit soars beyond the Eight Extremes (baji), awakening from the great dream of three lifetimes. Though we perform Chu-style soul-summoning rites, what use are Yue's mourning songs? Only cold-forest bones remain, watching geese mourn the turning seasons.

The poem seeing off Master Zuo to the capital identifies him as descendant of the famous fangshi (esoteric specialist) Zuo Ci (styled Yuanfang), who for years reverently attended the imperial court. No sooner do we hear of his palace departure than reports arrive of his star-chariot return through palace gates. He properly emulates noble lords, commanding spirits like Han-dynasty mystic Liu Gen. Carrying mountain-burning talismans (fushan fu), he stands ready to assist orthodoxy in vanquishing malign forces.

The farewell poem for Master Zhao describes: Along the ice-bound post road, we hastily share a parting cup. Feathered talismans (yu fu) in his pack augment his presence, while a divine sword gleams in its case. He goes to dispel calamities for the ruler, riding wind and thunder to the imperial city. We await news of his subjugation of mountain demons—henceforth no ghosts will linger where hunters pass.

The final fragmentary elegy for Vice-Magistrate Jia of Shuntian Prefecture notes: In administering governance he penetrated creation's mysteries, yet his life drifted like severed clouds toward the Emperor's realm (immortal domains). The pillow's single dream...

The poems in Collected Cloud Mountain employ vivid metaphors and imagery to express the Daoist philosophy of life's impermanence and transcendence beyond worldly affairs.

The first poem depicts an adept seeing through worldly illusions: Like completing cultivation at the rooster's dawn cry or awakening from the Millet Dream, all attachment to this illusory world vanishes. There's no sorrow in casting off old robes—observe how the moon over the Golden Terrace (immortal realm) still shines with its pristine radiance as ever.

The second poem reflects on parting with a friend: Time rushes like a weaving loom, and youthful days never return. All worldly dreams prove illusory, human relationships shifting like the chaos before creation. Only the jade forests of immortal mountains stand beyond the dust, steadfast as a midstream pillar against turbulent waves. Parting thoughts drift like wild clouds—gathering and scattering with wind and rain.

The third elegizes Master Yu Gong: This perfected being was originally an immortal exiled from the Purple Palace (celestial realm), destined to return to carefree realms. Seventy-one years of earthly ties now severed, his heart attains samadhi (meditative absorption). Now like leaves falling and wild geese returning to moonlit peaks, his flute-song lingers at Yellow Crane Tower. Gazing at the vast azure sea, his immortal trace already reaches Phoenix-Unicorn Isle (celestial shore).

The cautionary poem uses stark contrasts: Spring and autumn turn relentlessly, yet mortals fight for fame on a snail's horn and entrust fate to spark's duration. When King Yama summons souls and Fengdu (hell) metes judgment, regret comes too late for seeking the Dao. Heaven's net is vast—karmic retribution springs from the mind's making, where greed and delusion birth hungry ghosts.

Two poems to friends use theater allegory: Life's but costumed play on stage, manipulated by the Creator. Seeing through these mechanical tricks, nothing compares to sitting by moonlight with incense. Laughing at past delusions, now perceiving worldly truths clearly—the mind becomes limpid as moonlit water by the stream.

The final verse reveals cultivation's essence: Sweep away delusion to reveal primal purity—the Dharma Body (Dao's embodiment) appears everywhere. When all things interpenetrate without distinction, this is truth's perfect fusion.

The poems in Yunshan Ji (Cloud Mountain Collection) all express the mental states and realizations of Daoist practitioners.

The first poem describes cultivation as natural as rivers flowing to the sea or stars surrounding the moon. When one reaches a certain level of practice, even the spring breeze and wildflowers can bring new insights. "Like reeds drifting on waves" depicts ordinary people who follow worldly currents, while the cultivator has transcended such a state, reaching a realm where enlightenment can be found in "the corners of the brows and eyes." In seated meditation, the mind is still as water, pure as moonlight shining upon pines and bamboo.

The poem Zuowang Tu (Sitting in Forgetfulness) illustrates the meditative state of zuowang (sitting in oblivion). "The body like a withered stump" describes the stillness of seated meditation, entering a state of undifferentiated chaos. Between looking up and down, heaven and earth seem as small as a thatched hut. One no longer envies the immortal cranes of Liaodong, nor desires the frivolity of wild ducks in Yexian. At this point, the entire cosmos merges into oneness with the self.

Chengzhai (Chamber of Sincerity) depicts the experience of refining the mind in a meditation chamber. With sincere and upright intention, one dwells in the quietude of the chamber, accompanied by wise teachers and close friends. Green bamboo in the courtyard stands against the wind, while red mallows beneath the steps bloom toward the sun. By day, no clamor from the outside world is heard; by night, moonlight is shared in stillness. Seeing the falling leaves of the parasol tree, one knows autumn has arrived—such realizations pervade all of heaven and earth.

Sanshan Xianshi (Leisure in the Three Mountains) describes the freedom of reclusive life. Simple by nature and unskilled in speech, the practitioner enjoys sitting in meditation wrapped in a monk’s robe. A thick cushion and plain vegetarian meals are enough to satisfy, and daily routines follow no rigid schedule. Sometimes, leaning on a staff of knotweed, one roams the immortal realms of the Three Mountains and Ten Isles in moments of inspiration.

Both Huagong (The Workings of Creation) and Zaowu (The Maker of Things) express insights into the illusory nature of worldly affairs. Human struggles are as fleeting as molded clay, fame and gain as unreal as flowers reflected in a mirror, and empty reputation like the hollow sound of a broken drum. A hundred years of life pass in a blink—in the end, all is emptiness. The Creator treats fortune and misfortune as mere play, and life is but a grand dream. Right and wrong, success and failure, are all illusions; in the end, all things return to nothingness. Drunk and unaware of who is master, one drifts like falling petals and willow catkins on the wind.

The final poem speaks of ten years spent away from worldly studies, devoted solely to refining the true heart, walking a path contrary to the mundane world. Laughing at ordinary people entangled like earthworms and snakes, the practitioner watches coldly as they fight over fame like battling ants. Alone, the cultivator enjoys this day’s clear breeze and bright moon.

For many years I dwelled among cloud-wrapped mountains a thousand miles away, carrying scarcely any belongings, far removed from worldly troubles—just an aged gourd and a walking stick of goosefoot wood, clad in simple robes.

I recall those days of cultivating the Dao at Changchun Temple in Yanjing (modern Beijing). Within our Liangyuan retreat, we often sang joyfully while gathering divine mushrooms, moving with dignified grace. The square ponds and winding marshes were scenes of surpassing beauty, where sparse bamboo shadows and slender plum blossoms added refined elegance.

At the highest point of the Mystic Garden (legendary abode of immortals), inner clarity arose naturally; beneath the tortoise-shell-shaped roof of our thatched hall, thoughts flowed endlessly. Only the moon that nightly bathed the Three Sacred Peaks (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou—legendary Daoist paradise isles) remains unchanged, its golden light still caressing the emerald lakes.