《雲山集》Vol. 3

Interpretation

The third volume of Collected Writings of Cloud Mountain contains a series of five-character regulated verses by Ji Zhizhen (Daoist name: Perfected One Who Knows Constancy), which concisely expound the essential principles of Daoist cultivation.

On the nature of the "Dao-nature," he states that the true Dao is neither a concrete object nor the workings of the human mind—it is vast and boundless, permeating heaven and earth, profound and unfathomable, spanning past and present. The Dao naturally manifests between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), transcending the cycles of birth and death, rise and fall. Even spirits and ghosts cannot fathom it, let alone pursue it through sound or form.

Regarding human "endowment," he explains that the physical body originates from the earth, while the spiritual nature is rooted in the Dao of heaven. When the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are not disturbed by yin forces, the inner "valley spirit" (Dantian’s original spirit, yuanshen) remains whole. One’s innate nature is like the moonlight shining universally, while the heart-mind resembles a flawless jewel. If one can relinquish all attachments, they may enter the wondrous realm of mystery.

The section on "expelling evil" emphasizes breaking free from worldly entanglements and severing the ropes of delusion. One should not peddle falsehoods (the Helouzi refers to illusory things) or act as a puppet. Instead, cultivate the formless tree of wisdom (wuyingshu) and light the lamp that consumes no oil (meiyoudeng). When the mind is pure and empty, evil influences naturally cannot penetrate.

The chapter on "seeking truth" uses alchemical metaphors: white jade is extracted from stone, and gold is refined from ore. Likewise, the mind must strip away desires to return to its original radiance. In doing so, one can see through countless kalpas (hengshajie) and penetrate the microcosmic worlds (najiecheng), transcending the cycle of rebirth to attain eternal life.

The section on "entrusting the form" states that the physical body will ultimately return to nature (tianni), while creation never ceases (qiangyang). Ordinary people drown in disputes over fame and profit, their hundred-year lifespan fleeting. Only those who transcend can have their spirit return to the celestial realm (dixiang).

The chapter on "right and wrong" points out that worldly distinctions lack absolute standards—all things are in constant flux. People chase trivial gains (yingtou quzougu, "driving their bones for fly-head profits") and fight over insignificant territories (wojiao naoxingshi, "corpses clamoring over snail-horn lands"). Few throughout history have truly seen through this.

The section on "the mundane world" depicts human life as a deep pit (kandan), with the sun and moon fleeting like pellets. People contend like the mythical states of Man and Chu (Manchu, from Zhuangzi’s fable) or toil like ants over locust and sandalwood trees. The loyal and virtuous resemble uncarved jade, while the cunning end up as pearls rolling in a dish—futile and transient. Illusory affairs blind the masses.

The chapter on the "great body" compares heaven and earth to a vast furnace where all things arise and perish. Only by leaping out of this crucible can one roam the realm of the Great Void (taixu).

"Night Meditation" describes cultivation: sitting quietly to extinguish scattered thoughts (chenxin mie) and embodying the wordless Dao. One should not cling to snail-horn territories or covet ant-sized fiefdoms (metaphors for petty gains). Keeping warm by the heated bed and incense burner, one communes with the moon at midnight, awakening to profound mysteries.

The section on "simplicity" records the ascetic life: sitting steadily on a meditation mat (puduan), clad in coarse robes. Offering incense to mountain hermits and brewing tea for guests—these verses vividly depict the serene life of a Daoist practitioner.

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Interpretation

The poems from Collected Cloud Mountain Verses depict the leisurely pleasures and spiritual insights of Daoist hermits dwelling in mountain forests. The first poem describes the carefree existence of mountain life: even sending a message with a mountain boy seems bothersome, as if deaf to worldly clamor—this secluded life perfectly suits one of simple tastes. What endearing indolence pervades this household! Visitors arrive to find the host forgetting to fetch his horsetail whisk, too lazy to summon the acolyte to strike the bell. The medicine furnace holds only ashes, scriptures gather dust, even chickens and dogs go untended—let alone discussing esoteric arts to subdue dragons and tigers. All such skills are abandoned, leaving only this mantle of idleness.

The second poem portrays the serene scenery of a Daoist temple: emerald moss creeps up newly laid steps while pine shadows sway across ancient altars. Fallen leaves fuel the tea boil, sandalwood stokes the fire. Moonlight filters through the thatched roof as medicinal herbs exude fragrance by the railing. Such refined elegance surely wouldn't feel cold to fellow adepts, would it?

"Abode of the Sage" refers to a cultivator's dwelling: this humble hut contains the realm of true suchness, its plainness reflecting jeweled terraces. Closed doors conceal the Three Realms (of desire, form, and formlessness), while raised blinds reveal the Nine Heavens. When jade chimes sound, cloud-borne chariots gather; golden bells summon cranes to greet visitors. The cave-dwelling cultivator never ages, often conversing over cups of azure wine.

Regarding worldly affairs, the verses observe: all phenomena are fundamentally boundless, yet human life follows predetermined measures. Those who fail to comprehend life's pivotal mechanisms become deluded by external things—forced smiles cloud vision, leaving only regret when danger strikes. Better first penetrate these truths to soar effortlessly up celestial steps.

"Wandering Clouds" sketches the cultivator's life: casting off the phantom boat's moorings, shedding cold iron shackles. Passing days in leisurely patched robes, solitary yet transcendent, roaming beyond the dusty world. Packing rainbow fishing rods with clouds and mists as bait.

"Remembering Mountains" expresses longing for forested streams: lazily surveying woods and springs, indifferent to Buddhist or Daoist labels. Brushing aside fame's reins and profit's locks, severing worldly entanglements. Neither conforming to human affairs nor clinging to transcendental heavens—between wild clouds and creek moonlight, boundless joy arises.

"Tranquil Ease" reveals heart-cultivation essentials: wherever one dwells, inner peace matters most. Poverty and prosperity depend on circumstance; life and death follow celestial decree. The mysterious essence transcends yin-yang; forgotten forms roam heaven-earth. Those darkly attuned to creation silently transform cycles of right and wrong.

"Paper Quilt" extols simple living: this covering graces no noble's house, being Cai Lun's papercraft legacy. Though simply made, it warms thriftily—hung like clouds nesting in peaks, draped like snow blanketing summits. Unconcerned with worldly esteem, it perfectly companions this idle body.

Finally, spring and summer verses from "Purple Tenuity's Eastern Lodge": joyfully building dwellings in spring, harmonizing with nature's transformations. Vegetable plots border wells, herb gardens cling to walls. Peach and plum blossoms bloom in turn, weeds diligently cleared—oblivious to mundane matters, each day unfolds in leisurely freedom. Summer finds the adept working by medicinal plots—glory like flowering trees, diligently tilling while transcending worldly dust, life brimming with unforced ease.

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Interpretation

The Yunshan Ji (Cloud Mountain Collection) poems depict the daily life and mental states of Daoist practitioners through the changing seasons, embodying the Daoist pursuit of harmony with nature and transcendence beyond material desires.

In spring, the practitioner's dwelling is encircled by wild hedges, with towering trees casting cool shadows. Plums ripen heavy on branches, melons and fruits exude fragrance—no need for money when local farmers offer their harvest freely. This portrays a life of serene coexistence with nature.

As autumn arrives, farmers busy themselves with reaping grain while the west wind carries crisp air. The Daoist sweeps fallen leaves, mends the thatched roof, watches frost paint leaves crimson, and feels the chill coax golden buds to bloom. No sight of plowing oxen, only the laughter of shepherd boys echoes afar. The verses reveal a detached, tranquil state beyond worldly concerns.

In winter, doors and windows stay shut as the practitioner sits quietly on a warmed brick bed. Unconcerned with snow piling in the courtyard, incense burns and tea simmers—fragrance spirals upward, water murmurs softly. Serenely cross-legged on a rush mat, worldly troubles fade entirely, embodying the Daoist practice of zuowang (坐忘, "sitting in oblivion").

By daylight, the humble thatched hut stands quiet and spacious, with no need for blades. Mountain children cease their mischief; visiting guests wander at ease. Paths open where feet tread, fallow fields tilled with a staff. Free from all worldly burdens, true joy is found in nature's embrace.

At night, doors remain unlatched as the practitioner, draped in coarse cloth, quiets the spirit. The moon hangs like a golden mirror amid trees; stars dangle as jade cords from the eaves. The stove's embers glow unextinguished; by the window, a green lamp burns long. After prolonged sitting, the body relaxes—sleep comes while still clothed, resting on an arm, illustrating the nourishing principle of the gushen (谷神, "valley spirit") that never dies.

At dawn, golden bells chime, transmitting the ancestral teachings in the hall of emptiness. Responses to circumstance hold subtle function; at times, miraculous efficacy arises. Treasure censers swirl with smoke; the thatched eaves thicken with qi. How could those scrambling for profit ever fathom such a state?

By dusk, all worldly thoughts dissolve—the mind returns to its original purity. Coarse robes suit perfectly; the old rush mat fits just right. The ruyi scepter is stored away, guarding the luminous nature like a night-shining pearl. Directly entering the wuheyou zhi xiang (无何有之乡, "land of nothingness"), the present self forgets the past.

Walking with a staff, steps follow the heart's ease—even dogs stay silent, sensing no stray thoughts. Crickets chirp by the hedge; birds warble in tall trees. All things follow the shifts of Yin-Yang; life unfolds as destiny arranges. Wild grasses conceal endless treasures; orchids exude their tender vitality.

In dwelling, stability comes through non-attachment—freedom surpasses forced connections. Few worldly affairs burden the mind; fame and gain hold no chains. Yesterday mirrors today; next year resembles this one. Indifferent to mundane pursuits, why cling like ants to rank desires?

In seated stillness, wrapped in rough cloth upon the rush mat, no worldly dust enters these gates. Closed eyes and ears are not feigned silence but the attainment of self-forgetting and truth-preservation. The patriarch's true intent needs no recording; profound principles require no debate. The original face is just so—peacefully passing each dawn and dusk.

Through vivid details of daily life, these poems reveal the Daoist practitioner's state of yu dao he zhen (与道合真, "uniting with the Dao in authenticity"). References to Nanhua (南华, "Southern Florescence") allude to Zhuangzi, inheriting his philosophy of carefree wandering beyond forms. Recurring motifs like the rush mat (for meditation), the gushen (referring to Dantian qi), and the wuheyou zhi xiang (from the Zhuangzi) evoke the realm of the Dao. Through nature's seasonal rhythms, the practitioner attains the spiritual state where self and world dissolve into oneness with the Dao.

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Interpretation

The Yunshan Ji contains several poetic reflections on spiritual cultivation. Let me explain their contemporary meanings section by section:

The first poem reveals essential cultivation methods: Through repeated study of the Nanhua Jing (the Zhuangzi), one may comprehend profound mysteries. The key lies in relinquishing attachments while embracing all things, yet maintaining unified focus of the Shen (spirit). It resembles gathering scattered light back to its source, or rivers merging into the ocean. True practitioners maintain hearts as vast as the void even amidst bustling markets, never seeking peace externally.

The second poem depicts the life of pure cultivation: Pushing aside streamside mists with a walking stick, treading mountain snow in straw sandals. Gathering immortality-bestowing lingzhi mushrooms (life-giving fungus), ingesting longevity-promoting elixirs (life-extending powders). The full moon shines through pine boughs while gentle breezes waft beyond bamboo groves—such realms remain incomprehensible to worldly minds, let alone explainable to fame-seekers.

The third poem emphasizes cultivation precepts: Abandon rigid distinctions of right/wrong, and never flaunt realizations. Guard the fundamental Qi (primordial energy) of one's nature and life essence, diligently refining away selfish desires. When illusory external attachments fade, the Yang Shen (pure Yang spirit) naturally manifests. Achieving this state of unimpeded freedom transcends all anxiety about the cycle of life and death.

Following are two rhyming verses: Life's value lies in following one's true nature—when body and mind find peace, even a thatched hut with worn cushions feels comfortable. Moonlight filters through frosted windows, framing a wall-hung stringless qin—such serene elegance requires no actual playing.

On comprehending "heavenly music" (nature's sounds): Heaven and earth move like bellows pumping, all things resonating in harmony. True celestial music returns to silence yet catalyzes fundamental transformation. Those seeking its essence find it transcends verbal expression. This mystical state surpasses Yin-Yang manifestations, like playing a flute without holes—its pure tones resounding through the Hua Xu kingdom (legendary paradise where the Yellow Emperor dreamed).

Final cultivation insights: True countenance exists beyond physical form; portraits cannot capture essence. Painters often feel perplexed, for authentic nature dwells in emptiness. Daily practice should flow naturally—walking, standing, sitting, reclining all aligned with spontaneity. Movement and stillness alternate like mountains and streams, the crux being opening energy gates (activating acupoints) and harmonizing Yin-Yang. Upon penetrating the mysteries of nature and life, one understands all things follow Dao's transformations—like spring breezes secretly traversing the world. The Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) state manifests precisely within ordinary daily existence.

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Interpretation

This scripture elucidates core Daoist cultivation concepts through a series of short verses. The first passage describes the "Complete Perfection (Quanzhen)" state: The true origin remains whole and undiminished, primordial energy (zhenyuan) is never illusory, and seemingly identical phenomena differ in essence. When practitioners relinquish verbal constructs, truth manifests spontaneously—like the master returning with a flick of his sleeve—yet how can worldly language capture such a realm?

The exposition on "profound mystery" (xuanmiao) reveals: When all external conditions cease, supreme truth transcends verbal transmission. Clinging to abstruse theories only entangles one in conceptual vines (geteng, symbolizing mental knots). The "true emptiness" (zhenkong) state portrays the mind as a luminous cavity within the void, eight-directionally radiant, manifesting infinite wisdom. Just as clearing clouds reveals the bright moon, only by purging distractions does original luminosity emerge.

"Dynamic harmony" (chonghe) depicts yin-yang equilibrium: When innate nature temporarily returns to its primordial state, harmonious qi permeates the body, surpassing yin-yang duality and emotional fluctuations. This condition defies description—like willow branches swaying naturally in wind. The "spirit-shen" section illustrates transcendent capabilities of the realized: Ancient wisdom transforms into numinous powers, penetrating matter (metal/stone), mastering space (emptiness), where a single thought shatters phenomena and one shout deafens skeletons, with potency rivaling dragons and tigers. Yet it warns against conceptual entanglements (geteng).

"Non-action" (wuwei) elucidates natural Dao: Adding or subtracting a hair's breadth becomes excessive, for purity itself constitutes supreme dignity. The dharma-body (cultivation's transcendent manifestation) fills the cosmos yet reveals mysteries in a speck of dust. The "discriminating mind" critique exposes attachments: Consciousness and thoughts are illusory—pursuing them breeds excess, abandoning them creates lack. Like piling heads upon heads or mistaking shrimp eyes for jellyfish, one must return to the original mind (old master), uproot weeds (distractions), and nurture pines-chrysanthemums (right mindfulness).

"Manifesting nature" (jianxing) points to innate presence: Hearing is instinctive, movement spontaneous. The truly awakened harbor no doubts, but mistaking appearances for reality leads to heterodox paths. "Ethereal and corporeal souls" (hunpo) employs a mansion metaphor: Innate nature is the master, the body its residence—active aspects are hun, quiescent aspects po. Forced distinctions create errors as vast as heaven and earth.

"Luminous awareness" (juezhao) contemplates essence: Who observes? What is observed? Like arrows missing the target, dualistic errors arise. Only by penetrating this barrier (mysterious pass/xuanguan) can one transcend opposites. Autumn wind scattering red leaves exemplifies non-abiding. "Containing heaven" concludes: Where Dao is absent, turn swiftly; where Dao exists, cling not. Return emptiness to emptiness—the true celestial eye (wisdom-vision) is formless.

Though "substance-function" (tiyong) remains implicit, it hints at this pivotal Daoist dialectic of noumenon and phenomenon, representing the unity of essence and manifestation.

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Interpretation

Water and waves are fundamentally one, just as essence and manifestation cannot be separated. The essence of water (its substance) manifests as waves (its function), while the waves' movement reveals water's true nature. They are neither entirely identical nor completely distinct. In its subtle state, it can be as minute as the tip of a hair; in its manifest state, it illuminates the entire cosmos. All things ultimately return to the profound root, yet the path is filled with countless divergences. Like the cycle of four seasons completing a year, there is no fixed "self" or "other" in reality.

The truly awakened transcend attachment to "self," neither clinging nor distancing, responding to circumstances with ease. They are neither bound by convention nor deliberately oppose it; neither wholly negating nor wholly affirming. Beyond distinctions of existence and non-existence, past and future, they move freely without obstruction. Just as picking up a speck of dust reveals the vitality of the entire universe.

Attachment to the past is like blindness and deafness; attachment to the future is a solid wall; attachment to the present sends one running in all directions. Yet the entire cosmos is none other than the Dao—why strain to seek it elsewhere? Like a thousand-foot deep pool reflecting the sky, above and below are equally clear and luminous.

The cycle of life and death resembles the arising and ceasing of thoughts—constantly changing forms without self-awareness, toiling pointlessly in illusion. But with a purified mind, severing root attachments, one’s original face is revealed, instantly transcending endless rebirths.

Who is the true master? When you call, the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) awaken naturally, and light pervades the entire being. Master and guest are fundamentally one—no need to cling to old perceptions. Like withered wood bathed in moonlight, one day casting off bodily constraints to roam freely through the ten directions.

(The above eighteen passages respond to Master Lian’s questions.)

The guest’s fan bears a painting of a coiling dragon amid a rainbow, his wrist moving as if a spirit snake glides beneath. In success, he travels the world; in adversity, he cultivates himself in solitude. Silence, ah, silence—better to exchange ambitions of a roc’s thousand-mile flight for the leisure of seclusion by the sea.

Three poems of encouragement:

The Great Dao has no fixed form, embracing all like empty space. If one applies genuine effort here, it’s like clouds parting to reveal the moon—light everywhere.

Emptiness is like a bottomless sack, silently containing all. Sever the rapid currents of life and death, extinguish deluded thoughts, and attain true purity.

A single leaf holds the mystery of creation; the subtle reveals exquisite order. Don’t speak of exhausting Yang’s harmonious force—spring breezes come and go without trace.

The lost chase after fleeting glamor—when will they return to their original heart? This was always their true home—why search elsewhere?

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Interpretation

The Yunshan Ji employs vivid imagery to explore the common confusions and awakenings of Daoist practitioners. The line "people gladly dwell in temporary lodgings—come early and ride forth without hesitation" compares human existence to staying at an inn, urging us to seize the moment without delay. The section on "forgetting the root" describes how people lose themselves in worldly dust like rootless duckweed drifting with the current, having forgotten to seek life's primordial origin.

"Late at night" depicts cultivators gazing at the solitary moon in stillness, lamenting how worldly people bustle about like ants, disturbing the mind's inherent tranquility. "Fragrant spring" uses peach blossoms and swarming butterflies to represent those chasing external things without understanding cultivation's true essence. "Eternal spring" reveals how genuine practitioners resemble rootless trees in caves—blooming naturally without external conditions.

"Perceiving delusions" exposes how people become deceived by appearances, like diseased eyes seeing phantoms. "Traces of decay" criticizes attachment to form as being misled by weeds, advocating severing bonds to return to authenticity. "Praise and blame" suggests indifference to others' judgments—distant mountains and autumn waters maintain their own realm.

"Knowing confusion" states that the mysteries of cultivation defy comprehension, puzzling even sages. "Self-attainment" describes awakened beings transcending worldly concerns, experiencing true joy in emptiness and stillness. "Single Qi" explains all things fundamentally share one breath—realizing this principle connects one with heaven and earth.

The final four sections—"heart-field," "heart-blossom," "heart-talisman," and "heart-moon"—employ farming, flowering, seal marks, and the bright moon as metaphors for mind cultivation: weeding out distractions to nurture spiritual growth, letting innate nature bloom freely, subduing inner demons to manifest numinous powers, until finally the mind becomes like the moon illuminating all creation. Through natural imagery, the entire poem maps the spiritual journey from confusion to awakening.

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Interpretation

The poems in the Cloud Mountain Collection employ various images as metaphors for the stages of cultivating the mind. Let me explain them section by section:

The "Heart Incense" passage states: The finest sandalwood cannot compare to the incense of the heart. When the furnace fire warms, this petal of heart incense ignites naturally, yet like a drooping melon vine, worldly obstructions hinder its free flow.

"Heart Lute" depicts the deep night when all sounds are still, plucking the stringless lute to produce a clear, resonant tone. But even a discerning listener like Zhong Ziqi would fail to comprehend it—one can only grope upon a bronze plate, mistaking it for the sun (symbolizing how ordinary people struggle to grasp the highest truth).

"Heart Sword" describes the will as a gleaming blade pointing straight to the heavens—not only does its aura pierce the sky, but it also cleaves through emptiness to reveal the origin ("Di Xian" refers to the source of the Dao).

"Heart Mirror" speaks of a long-unused bronze mirror ("water chestnut flower") that suddenly illuminates like the moon over the Jade Pool. Hung in an empty hall, it startles ghosts and deities, its pure radiance filling the boundless universe.

"Heart Pearl" refers to this wish-fulfilling jewel hidden within infinite treasures, glowing with nocturnal light in the Palace of Five Luminances (a Daoist term for the head). When meeting a kindred spirit, it is brought forth—instantly, countless sunbeams shoot straight into the azure sky.

"Heart Lamp" says: In the vast mystery of the void, the heart lamp is lit—no oil, no torch, yet it shines naturally. Nothing between heaven and earth can obstruct it; mountain spirits and spectral beings dare not cause disturbance.

"Valuing Silence" explains that cultivation values stillness: People chase after their egos in turmoil, yet fundamentally there is no right or wrong. Maintaining silence amid the crowd naturally transcends petty calculations.

"Fleeting Life" laments how brief existence is—a snap of the fingers—yet people remain entangled. Bound by this physical form, they needlessly torment their true self ("the master within").

"Self-Reproach" reflects on youth spent fighting over trifles as small as a snail's horn, like the unskilled musician who faked his way through the ensemble. Only in old age comes regret, realizing how childish past actions were.

"Postscript to Yuan Xian's Rebuke of Gifts" states: The Great Dao is most intimate when words are forgotten. Only those like Yuan Xian (a disciple of Confucius), content in poverty and devoted to the Dao, preserving a mind of serene emptiness ("Xu Bai"), are worthy of discussing true integrity.

"Emotionless" clarifies: To appear emotionless is not arrogance but gathering the spirit to prevent dissipation. Only by relinquishing attachments today does one gain true strength—a lifetime's experience understood only in old age.

"Primordial Beginning" describes: Within the wisdom of unspoken silence lies the ineffable wonder of the primordial Dao. Yet within this essence, transformation stirs—reaching down to the Nine Darknesses and soaring to the Nine Heavens.

"Leisurely Ease" concludes: Remain silent amid disputes; abstain from the struggle for fame and gain. The ways of the world hold no concern—simply pass this life in tranquil contentment.

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Interpretation

Not envying the lavish delicacies spread before me, for coarse tea and simple fare feel no different from exquisite foods once one is satiated. Whether taking three meals at dawn or four in the evening, arranging them according to my own rhythm brings true ease and freedom to body and mind.

Equanimity (Maintaining Ordinary Mind):

Disheveled hair and tattered robes may startle others, yet those clad in brocade and golden crowns find no peace within. Maintain the plain hue of an ordinary heart—making no distinctions between noble and base, beautiful and ugly—neither seeking others' approval nor flaunting one's conduct.

Essential Nature:

Neither feigning madness nor indulging desires, the Great Dao can be found within ordinary authenticity. The vast sky naturally holds a moon for each person—no need to ask whether it floats among clouds or sinks beneath waters (metaphor for not clinging to appearances).

Self-Observation:

Countless kalpas of rebirth are but self-deception; now gather the scattered mind into perfect wholeness. Radiate light to illuminate the void—the key lies not in observing externals but in turning awareness inward.

No-Mind (Wuwei):

Deliberately sought joy isn't true joy; extreme happiness begets sorrow precisely because of calculating minds. Better to abide in no-mind, letting joy and sorrow naturally dissolve—thus the luminous Great Dao remains unchanged through the ages.

Idleness:

Laziness and complacency aren't true leisure; overthinking only creates more entanglements. Only by severing all distracting thoughts, when the mind remains unmoved, can one be steady as Mount Tai.

Immortal and Mortal:

Gains and losses cycle endlessly—no need to force outcomes, for maintaining ordinary authenticity is itself cultivation. Immortals and ordinary folk share the same essence without distinction; simply remember the original state of primal simplicity.

Mystic Gate (Daoism):

Forty years within the Daoist gate, like vinegar flies in a wine jar finally breaking free to see the sky. Henceforth roaming boundlessly through vastness—the world's snail-horn and fly-head trifles (metaphor for petty gains) aren't worth a coin.

Illusory Things:

All worldly phenomena are like foam on water; the workings of creation resemble the bustling He Market of old. Foolish children idly play with clay carts and pottery dogs (children's toys)—let them break without concern.

Transformation:

Understand the mystery of mountains silently shifting—those with awakened minds transcend even heaven and earth. The human realm holds hidden abodes; return along this path without hesitation.

Silent Accord:

No longer clinging to the forms of things, the heart grows cold—too listless to wipe one's nose or open one's mouth. Knowing some realms defy description, like cloud-locked grotto chambers (referring to inner alchemical states).

Dusting Away:

The crux of practice lies in refining the heart, sweeping away all worldly attachments. When the primordial luminous essence appears, neither perception nor seeking is required.

Emptiness:

Maintain mental emptiness during cultivation—eradicate every subtle distracting thought. Thus the original true face manifests—neither lacking nor exceeding.

Form and Measure:

Human life spans barely a century; all bustling activity ends in emptiness. Better seek the True Dao above, where secret transmission of the flame (Daoist lineage) holds infinite wonder.

Releasing the Mind:

(Though the corresponding text is missing, the title suggests the meaning lies in relinquishing attachments of the heart.)

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Interpretation

The mind drifts like wandering dust, or like sweeping fallen petals before a wooden gate—impossible to gather, only to follow the wind and water far away, never finding the way back.

On cultivating the heart-mind: The world's myriad disturbances are like dust obscuring the mirror of the heart. One must labor like an artisan polishing a bronze mirror to restore its clear, luminous radiance.

On the path to longevity: True immortality lies not in the preservation of the physical form (which ultimately returns to dust), but in realizing the unchanging, original nature—transcending past and present, without coming or going.

On the cycle of life and death: The root of birth, death, and rebirth lies in the flow of thoughts. When delusions scatter like ashes, clarity arises like a solitary moon rising over the immortal peaks (Yaocen refers to the realm of immortals).

On self-cultivation: Humans inherently possess a natural, unspoiled nature—there is no need to seek it externally. Let go of illusory worldly ties and maintain inner emptiness, stillness, and coolness. Such a state is more precious than gold or jade.

A glimpse of reclusive life: In this age of peace, those who dwell in mountain forests keep company with clouds and mist. When meeting fellow Daoists, no words are needed—the blooming flowers and singing birds all speak of spring's vitality.

Seeing through worldly affairs: The rights and wrongs of the world surge like white waves; the field of fame and profit churns like yellow dust. People fight like barbarians over snail's horns (an allusion to Zhuangzi's "Battle of the Snail's Horns"), unaware of their insignificance in the vast cosmos.

Reflections on life: The strife between a snail's two horns (symbolizing worldly conflicts) echoes through the ages, yet a human lifespan is as brief as sparks struck from stone. Who can open Dharma-eyes as large as cartwheels to see through this sea of red dust?

Transcending attachments: Do not cling to trivialities and stir up waves—the spiritual source (Lingyuan) is inherently complete. Set aside clever words and, like a drunkard, stride openly toward awakening (Chang'an symbolizes the other shore).

Freedom from bondage: Just freed from worldly snares, one is trapped again by precepts. True liberation comes when all fetters fall away naturally—leaning on a staff in the wind, one simply smiles in understanding.

Meditative solitude: Wrapped in a patched robe, sitting leisurely alone, sandalwood incense burns in the thatched hall. When asked about the Dao, no words are needed—just point with a smile to the void and let others contemplate for themselves.

The way of embracing simplicity: Unlike a cat intently hunting mice in winter, simply sit quietly by a bright window on a warm bed, wrapped in robes. When guests arrive, face them as if the soul has departed, oblivious to all worldly affairs.

The state of sitting in oblivion: Green mountains and white clouds nurture the heart-mind; sitting on moss-covered stones beneath ancient pines. Gradually entering the "realm of nothingness" (from Zhuangzi's concept of emptiness), one remains unaware even as dusk falls.

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Interpretation

In the furnace I refine the elixir, yet forget to add lead and mercury (alchemical ingredients);

Outside my gate, kudzu vines grow wild and unchecked.

Idling away the days in aimless leisure,

I draw laughter from others who deem me utterly useless.

My thatched cottage lies in ruin, the path overgrown with no visitors,

Through the window seeps the desolate chill of autumn.

Yet in this very state I find genuine delight,

My heart free from worldly troubles.

People are lost in the chase for fame and gain,

Bound by desires, suffering all the more.

Always discarding the root for the branches, acting contrary,

They remain heedless where caution is most needed.

Toiling day and night, body and mind enslaved,

A hundred years of life vanish like bubbles in the wind.

Wasting time unawares until death comes—

If one could see through this, they’d turn back in time.

In the blink of an eye, the old gives way to the new,

In a fleeting moment, past and present shift.

Unable even to grasp the present or future,

To whom can one turn for the method to pacify the heart?

How stubbornly they chase empty fame and fleeting profit,

Exhausting their cunning only to wound their true nature.

Scheming for descendants a thousand years hence,

Unaware that their bones will return to the yellow earth.

Before their eyes, yellow dust swirls endlessly,

Heaven and earth transform with every moment.

Sunk in the cycle of life and death, unaware,

Their whole lives entangled in fame and gain.

Braving dangers by carriage, horse, boat, or ship—

All for the sake of petty profit and reputation.

Reflecting deeply, they sought only peaceful days,

Yet end up with restless bodies and troubled minds.

Suddenly, the sound of carriage and horse at my humble gate—

I throw on tattered robes to greet them as best I can.

Knowing I’ve no coins to prepare wine for guests,

A bowl of spring snow tea reveals true sincerity.

The door to my cave dwelling is never locked,

The courtyard bathed in moonlight from the azure sky.

The thousand-year-old zither’s strings have long snapped,

Only the cold night’s flowing water murmurs softly.

Transcending the mundane, relinquishing all methods, severing all ties—

No need to speak of elixirs perfected or ascension to immortality.

If deluded thoughts remain, true nature cannot stand firm,

Let alone fathom the Profound Mystery (the highest Daoist truth).

All phenomena in the world are inherently distinct,

Only by transcending limitations does great wisdom arise.

If one still discriminates within them,

Even piling mountains high is futile labor.

Like reeds bending with the wind,

Like waves rising and falling with the current—

Even Wu Xian (an ancient shaman) couldn’t grasp this mystery.

This Dao existed before heaven and earth,

Its profound resonance permeates all things.

The flame of life has passed through countless years,

Long stained by worldly attachments.

Once all artificiality is washed away,

The primordial, childlike heart-mind naturally becomes whole.

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Interpretation

My connection with the Cloudy Mountains (referring to secluded places of cultivation) has been long-standing. Spending my days in the company of mist and rosy clouds, I remain untouched by worldly wealth and trivialities. Wandering freely by the streams and over the rocks, I neither concern myself with mundane affairs nor deliberately seek the path to immortality.

In the realm of Southern Florescence and the Nine Heavens (Daoist celestial paradise), heaven and earth exist in harmony, free from joy or sorrow. Even the Stone Maiden (symbolizing insentient things) nods knowingly with a smile. Facing the myriad phenomena of the world, I maintain an ordinary mind—what more could one seek beyond the original face?

II

The form and sound of the Heavenly Music (natural harmonies) cannot be imitated; all beings and things follow their spontaneous course. A single gust of wind gathers everything into stillness. When matter dissolves and both self and others vanish, even the notion of "seeing" ceases to exist.

III

The opening and closing of the Heavenly Gate (profound mystical state) are unfathomable—only when the mind is utterly free of distractions can one comprehend it. The ten thousand things and even the finest dust all arise from here, scattering like falling petals and drifting catkins.

IV

Celestial light shines universally, bringing tranquility to the cosmos as radiance pierces through the Iron-Walled City of the Jambudvīpa world (human realm). The entire Dharma-realm becomes unobstructed, with mountains, rivers, and the great earth all appearing vast and open.

V

The Heavenly Mechanism (cosmic mystery) flows between existence and non-existence, revolving the cosmos so all things find their proper place. Stirring the primordial pivot suddenly fills the human world with vibrant springtime.

VI

Heavenly Wandering (state of carefree liberation) cannot be glimpsed with physical eyes—abandoning the old and chasing the new, it transforms moment by moment. The instant a fist is clenched, it already belongs to the past; the lively spark of insight never lingers in the present.

VII

The Heavenly Treasury (supreme state) is simultaneously empty yet all-encompassing—a single hair contains the entire void. Unlocking sealed shackles to reveal the truth, even the White-Browed Patriarch (an enlightened master) would laugh heartily.

VIII

The Heavenly Nature (original essence) inherently possesses spiritual power—the same essence manifests differently across all phenomena. Asking the east wind yields no reply, yet one sees willow tips greening and young peaches blushing.

IX

The Heavenly Balance (natural law) recognizes neither self nor others; all things rise and fall, renewed with each moment. As winter passes and warmth returns, wildflowers and fragrant grasses alike bask in spring's radiance.

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