《雲山集》Vol. 4

The fourth volume of Collected Cloud Mountain Poems presents verses that reveal the spiritual insights and realm pursuits of Daoist practitioners.

"Fishing the Void" depicts an old man angling by reedy waters, season after season, as tiny fish refuse to bite his cloud-hued bait, leaving him to cast his line beneath the moonlight. This metaphor illustrates the cultivator's transcendence of material desires and undisturbed mind, unmoved by worldly temptations.

"True Joy" speaks of how genuine happiness lies not in sensory pleasures but in the purity of an uncluttered heart. The seemingly simple-minded have already grasped the truth beyond joy and knowledge, where even vexations appear serene.

"Mountains as Friends" portrays a Daoist leaning on a staff of knotweed, seeking kindred spirits, dwelling in thatched huts beside beloved peaks. To converse freely with wise companions and verdant hills all day—what greater freedom could there be?

"Nurturing Nature" describes how cultivators refine their essence through tranquil wisdom, ultimately attaining the "Mystic Pearl" (the refined essence of Neidan practice). After prolonged refinement, they radiate luminous clarity, illuminating the hidden principles of heaven and earth.

"Moonlit Night" captures a breeze-cooled evening when the practitioner ascends lightly to Penglai's immortal realm. Mortals, unable to shed their sorrows, find even the wine in their gourds turned flavorless.

"Unfettered" embodies the Daoist's carefree, unbound state. Yet in an age of peace, finding a true companion is as rare as the legendary "Illusory Pearl" (a Daoist treasure) sinking unseen into crimson waters.

"Jade Hairpin" weaves mythic imagery of celestial beauty—a fairy's dropped hairpin blossoms into flowers, these immortal gifts passed down to Cloud Mountain's adepts.

"Poetry's Call" reveals how, once freed from worldly dust, the cultivator's spirit grows tranquil, and inspiration flows naturally. Stirred by verse, he soars beyond even the cloud-path back to paradise.

The seasonal quartet—"Spring," "Summer," "Autumn," "Winter"—harmonizes the practitioner's life with nature's rhythms. Spring mountains unveil creation's mysteries; summer reveals the thin line between immortal and mortal; autumn finds joy in chrysanthemums and crimson leaves; winter brings meditation in fragrant chambers, listening to pine winds—each a distinct mark of the cultivated life.

"Trapped in Stillness" closes with a final metaphor: like flies confined indoors, humans remain bound by worldly views. Only by piercing through this paper-thin barrier can true liberation be found.

The poetry in Collected Cloud Mountain uses vivid scenes of daily life and natural imagery to express the Daoist ideal of transcending worldly attachments and returning to pristine simplicity:

When children play by the shore, the seagulls perceive them from afar; yet when a hunchbacked elder raises his rod to catch cicadas, the insects remain oblivious—revealing how ordinary people are often deceived by superficial appearances. True wisdom resembles the ancient recluse Ji Xian, whose seemingly foolish detachment concealed profound clarity.

The poem depicts a chaotic world where "wolves and tigers of the Central Plains drool with greed," yet immortals still find refuge in Peach Blossom grottoes. The "beheaded boat" symbolizes severing worldly ties, discovering eternity amidst flowing water and falling blossoms. When celestial beings laughingly discuss the mythical mountains Fanghu and Penglai, they remind us not to cling to "plowing fields and singing of white stones" (mundane livelihoods), but to seek the "formless dark pearl" (the essence of Dao).

The angler understands that stagnant waters hold no fish—better to emulate Fan Li (the elder of Kuaiji) sailing home under moonlight. Those who lose their way should turn back early, using clouds as bait (symbolizing spiritual cultivation) to drift along streams of clear breeze and bright moon. When the mind becomes like a radiant moon sweeping away mist, one perceives the universe luminous as an eternal pearl.

The cautionary verses warn that "time flies like a shuttle"—Yanluo (King of the Underworld) comes unpredictably, rendering all scheming futile. A century passes as swiftly as a white steed glimpsed through a crack; every plant follows its destined course—why exhaust oneself in vain? Only through "sitting in oblivion and releasing illumination" (Daoist meditation) amid forest springs can one grasp the mystery in dewdrops on moonlit pines.

True cultivation (xiuzhen) lies not in outward forms but in cutting worldly bonds ("sever all attachments"). The carefree wanderer, devoid of ego and fixation, finds genuine delight in companionship with wind, moon, and mountain blossoms. The entire work embodies the core principle of "forgetting cunning to attain authenticity"—only by relinquishing cleverness and grasping can one perceive the radiance of original nature.

This scripture reveals the core essence of Daoist cultivation through vivid metaphors—returning to original purity and recovering one's fundamental heart-mind.

Regarding the path to immortality, it clarifies that genuine transcendence isn't found through external seeking, but through maintaining the pristine, untainted original mind. When the heart-mind completely shakes off worldly fetters, the entire cosmos manifests its authentic radiance.

The secret to longevity lies in utterly relinquishing mundane thoughts and attachments, shedding worldly troubles like a cicada molting its shell. Chanting scriptures and practicing cultivation while clinging to formality and craving future blessings will ultimately fail to transcend the cycle of birth and death.

The text employs Zhuangzi's "butterfly dream" allegory to illustrate how all phenomena originally share one substance, making distinctions between forms unnecessary. The mythical one-legged creature Kuixian serves as a metaphor for the Dao's spontaneous presence throughout all existence.

The "Hao Liang observes fish" parable demonstrates that the primordial state transcends knowledge and joy—the moment discriminating thought arises, one falls into secondary meaning. True mastery lies in moving through the world's interstices with weightless awareness, maintaining mental clarity like the legendary butcher's blade.

Metaphors of herding horses and raising chickens emphasize how only by eliminating distracting thoughts can original nature manifest, with non-attachment representing the highest state. Stories about catching cicadas and befriending gulls show that external harmony naturally follows internal purity.

Finally, analogies about taming tigers, restraining the "mind-monkey" (restless thoughts), and the tiny kingdoms on snail's horns (from Zhuangzi) deliver stern warnings: the human mind proves harder to tame than wild beasts, requiring abiding in fundamental purity; don't be like monkeys tricked by a trainer's manipulations; the entire cosmos ultimately resembles those microscopic kingdoms—not worth excessive attachment.

All these parables point to the same truth: returning to the primordial heart-mind and maintaining serene non-action constitute the foundation for attaining the Dao.

"The Wooden Goose" speaks of an exquisitely carved wooden goose with intricate details on its head, yet it remains a futile imitation. In contrast, trees growing wild in the mountains, precisely because they are deemed "useless," preserve their innate nature, while wild geese, though lacking special talents, exist in their true form. The application of the Dao (the Way) renews itself daily, exhausting the principles of transformation—things that appear separate are in fact interconnected. This profound state is the true spiritual power (Shen).

"Whale Fishing" says: True greatness (referring to accomplished Daoist practitioners) is as rare as fishing for whales—one must lower a hook baited with an ox into the vast sea (a metaphor for the great effort required in seeking the Dao). How could a true adept be content with petty skills like catching shrimp? Even if three years of seated meditation yield no harvest, they remain undisturbed.

"The Whisk" describes this ritual implement: The handle, devoid of branches, bears only the finest strands (symbolizing the most subtle things), yet when held, even dragons and mosquitoes flee at its shadow. When Daoist methods are firmly displayed, what seems calm can stir winds and waves from flat ground.

"The Shuttle Fan" depicts a cultivation tool: This fan, woven from the finest strands, also serves as a whisk. It bears no rhinoceros motif, deeming such designs too vulgar. A gentle wave summons an ethereal breeze, as clear and tangible as the autumn moon reflected on distant mountains.

"Self-Release" is a practitioner’s reflection: The world’s chaos is like drifting clouds; a simple gourd and robe (symbolizing minimal possessions) are enough. Whether walking, sitting, or lying down, they remain unbound—a free wanderer of the clouds.

"Scripture of the Dao" offers satire: The seated master (symbolizing the Dao) speaks no words, yet the sedan-bearers (representing later interpreters) clamor noisily. The true Great Dao resides in wordless silence, like the inexhaustible meaning within the "sea-ink mountains" (the Daodejing's five thousand characters).

"Planting Lotuses" speaks of cultivation: Breaking through moss to plant jade lotuses (symbolizing the Dao-mind), this small circle of spiritual clarity connects directly to Heaven. Bending close in stillness, one sees the entire cosmos revolving beyond the lotus seat.

"Three Suitabilities" outlines three essentials for cultivation: Keep body and mind in a state of serene emptiness—suitable to be "foolish" (great wisdom appearing as folly), "clumsy" (returning to simplicity), and most of all, content in poverty. This transcendent peace is beyond ordinary words.

"Illusory Transformations" warns: Human affairs are like a monkey show, with Creation endlessly staging mirages. Fools treasure clay dogs and toy carts (symbolizing illusions), but in the end, the fantasy must be shattered.

"Mechanisms of Transformation" discusses Heaven’s workings: The machinery of Creation is utterly merciless—no moment for blinking. By the time you grasp the beginning, the end has arrived; what forms in an instant, perishes in an instant.

"Craving Life" laments human folly: This bag of skin demands daily meals, this flesh yearly robes. Yet all this meticulous care ends in barren earth burying dry bones.

"Fleeting Life" sighs again: A hundred years of toil vanish into emptiness. How pitiful—this stinking sack of skin clings stubbornly to its true master (the original spirit, Shen).

"The Idle Body" portrays old age: By a dust-covered desk, aged contentment dwells in quiet poverty. Only this state of "idleness" is truly rare—better to wander free in the realm of clouds and waters.

The Cloud Mountain Collection presents a series of poems that humorously reflect on the life of a Daoist practitioner through self-deprecating wit. The first poem, "Poetry Demon," describes how the addiction to writing verses has faded—books lie neglected, words come clumsily like a fool's, and days pass idly watching the sun and moon turn while ordinary people toil like beasts. Eventually, even the habit of poetry is abandoned, replaced by immersion in old texts like the Zhuangzi (Southern Florescence Scripture). Seeing through worldly illusions, the poet wanders carefree in misty peaks among immortal realms.

"The Bookworm" mocks four decades spent gnawing through texts, only to realize gluttony brings indigestion. Who knew such leisure could be so hard-won, leaving this white-haired old man vexed? "Ailing" confesses that despite frequent illness, solitude is cherished—books are loved yet feared for their sage-like constraints. These baseless troubles cling like incurable sickness, trapping one between release and bondage.

"Schemes" reveals life's futility: too slow and the goal eludes; too hasty and it's missed. Better to relinquish attachments and sing a song of peace. "Illusory Form" declares freedom comes by recognizing the body's falsity—the Creator's gift of awakening surpasses clinging to mirages.

"Time to Rest" urges early cultivation: refine the self until it's enough. A tranquil heart brings stability—beware the underworld's summons. "Yellow Register" depicts souls lingering after the salvation rite (Yellow Register Zhaijiao); ancestors remain absent while the living bustle over descendants.

"True Sight" admits the brush still moves from lingering dust-mind, silence broken by lingering ties. Only true enlightenment will render writing irrelevant. "Empty Hall" portrays solitary sitting, unvisited, where subtle workings are known only to oneself. Fame and favors fade like water—only in age is such freedom understood.

"Peaceful Dwelling" finds contentment in simplicity, strolling carefree on level paths. No need to divide immortal from mortal—all live by tracing the same gourd's outline. "Heavenly Balance" contrasts ephemeral mushrooms with ancient cedars: lifespan is nature's design. Seventy years are rare—why fret over remaining springs?

"Divine Steed" rides the spirit-horse (metaphor for the original spirit, shen), touring realms on the "Kunlun wheel" (Neidan term for Qi circulation). Tugged this way and that, the master remains unmoved. Finally, "Pearl of Nature" unveils the core truth: each holds a luminous, perfect pearl (the innate shen), lacking nothing. Don't let worldly dust obscure it—release its light to illuminate the cosmos.

The six-character poems in the Yunshan Ji employ vivid imagery and concise language to express core Daoist cultivation concepts.

The first poem, dedicated to the "Needle-Wielding Wei Huishou" (likely a leader of a Daoist community), praises his cultivation skill as having reached perfection—like a sharp needle capable of unblocking all bodily passages (referring to meridians and acupoints). Yet this state cannot be attained through rote learning alone.

The second poem describes how advanced practitioners perceive the essence of all phenomena, achieving internal-external unity where spirit (Shen) merges with emptiness. The third portrays the transcendent mind of an adept—like wild geese crossing the sky, leaving no trace yet comprehending profound mysteries.

The "Lone Moon" poem uses the bright moon as a metaphor for the pure original mind, appearing perfectly luminous against the vast sky. "Dreamlike Illusion" laments fleeting youth and life's ephemeral nature, emphasizing that only through awakening can one return to authenticity.

"Tranquil Heart" stresses the importance of inner stability in cultivation—steady as mountains, flowing naturally like rivers, without forced pursuit of marvels. "Profound Mystery" critiques those attached to external forms, revealing true profundity lies in plain sight.

"Passing Time" and "Mundane Dust" warn against worldly desires that trap people in suffering. "White Tiger" employs alchemical terms (White Tiger and Azure Dragon representing ingredients in Neidan) to illustrate that methods matter less than spiritual transcendence.

"Sun and Moon" observes cosmic rhythms while lamenting human confusion caused by greed. "Formless Count" advocates desire-free simplicity. "Lunar Disc" depicts meditative states of self-object unity. The closing poem "Cycle of Rebirth" describes beings trapped in samsara due to attachment.

Using natural metaphors, these poems urge awakening from illusion and returning to authenticity, embodying Daoist cultivation principles of clarity, stillness, and harmony with nature.

The Yunshan Ji passage contains a series of concise yet profound insights on spiritual cultivation, expressed in modern terms:

In this kaleidoscopic world, truth and falsehood blur like salt dissolved in water—impossible to distinguish. Gazing into the distance, one still cannot perceive ultimate truth ("Chang'an" symbolizing the highest reality). Genuine awakening ("lingming") is a state of pristine clarity where even the finest dust of attachment vanishes, reaching the realm where self and objects are both forgotten. Such enlightenment penetrates all emptiness.

Cultivation requires harmonizing movement and stillness—neither violating natural laws nor disrupting unity with all existence. True adepts transcend mundanity: they are neither ordinary objects nor divine beings, yet embody qualities of deities, spirits, and humans alike.

The present moment holds supreme value—cling neither to past nor future. Simply examine your immediate thoughts and impulses, and the distinction between higher and lower states becomes clear ("clouds and mud" symbolizing heaven-earth contrasts). Authentic spiritual heritage ("family tradition") resembles Tao Yuanming's pine-and-chrysanthemum path: seemingly simple yet profoundly meaningful, revealing perfection within plainness.

Withdraw gracefully from fame and fortune, living with the freedom of drifting clouds and flowing water. Follow celestial will without artificial striving, maintaining natural innocence. Humans inherently possess pure nature, yet ignorance traps them in endless craving—hearts hardened like iron while thoughts scatter chaotically.

Blind pursuit of novelty is as futile as moving boats at night or climbing trees to catch fish. Sensory knowledge ("hearing, seeing, perceiving, knowing") becomes obstruction—true wisdom emerges in silence. Forcing enlightenment resembles beating drums to chase fugitives or waiting by tree stumps for rabbits.

The Three Teachings ("yellow caps" for Daoists, "round heads" for Buddhists) are ultimately reflections of one truth. Like tending a garden: weeds thrive stubbornly while fragrant herbs need care—the true cultivation ground ("ancestral garden") demands diligent upkeep.

Kindred spirits are rarer than cold incense ashes and broken zither strings—few throughout history truly grasp cultivation's essence. When delusions extinguish, true nature appears like rivers returning to the ocean or stars circling the sky. Real wisdom appears clumsy; the "great wisdom seeming foolish" realm eludes ordinary understanding.

Eyes clouded by desire ("sick vision") see only surfaces, like silkworms spinning self-made cocoons. Clinging to external forms ("zhuxiang") forever blocks enlightenment—ultimate truth transcends language, requiring heart-mind realization. Like candle flames: seemingly tangible yet impossible to grasp.

The Cloud Mountain Anthology reveals the impermanence of life and the essence of Daoist cultivation through a series of concise passages. Here is a section-by-section interpretation in plain language:

A flickering candle in the wind, bubbles rising on water—without finding a place of stability, all changes of life and death remain futile. This metaphor illustrates how human existence is as precarious as a flame in the wind; only by discovering the refuge of the heart can one transcend impermanence.

If the human mind loses its original purity, there is no need to seek it in external constraints or superficial practices. Even if one masters all knowledge of past and present, losing the innate, pure nature (one’s original heart) renders it meaningless. This emphasizes that cultivation lies in inward reflection, not outward pursuit.

Do not cling to illusions—like trying to scoop the moon from water or mistaking flowers in the air for reality. Without taking a single step, simply turning back is the way home—implying that awakening to the true heart is returning to one’s origin. This reflects the classic Daoist teaching of "turning back is the shore."

The past and present shift in an instant; a glance reveals the endless cycle of renewal. All worldly affairs are like dreams, yet those chasing fame and profit exhaust themselves in vain. This exposes the illusion of time and the futility of worldly pursuits.

The trivialities of mortal life are not worth recording; its fleeting glories are nothing to boast of. Instead, nurture the tree with no shadow (symbolizing the purified Daoist mind) and cast off the shackles of emotion. This teaches detachment from worldly entanglements.

Falling petals and drifting willow catkins follow the wind’s flow; the transformations of past and present leave no fixed trace, yet all arising and perishing must one day cease. Natural phenomena illustrate the cycles of life.

The restless mind burns like fire; worldly affairs tangle like hemp. Unaware of time’s swift passage, one chases after fading blossoms in vain. A warning not to waste life in futile toil.

Sever the ocean of right and wrong, level the mountain of self and other. Open the inexhaustible treasure (the original nature of the heart) and break free from the prison of desire. This presents a method of cultivation that dissolves dualistic thinking.

Desire obscures the heart like clouds veiling the sun, or a cold wind withering orchids. If one cannot relinquish craving, how can the mind find peace? A direct statement on desire’s obstruction to the Dao.

Greed corrodes the original heart like a hunter luring a pheasant. The Dantian (the body’s energy center) holds innate spirituality, but unless the thorns of desire are uprooted, one’s true nature remains hidden.

Worldly affairs have no boundary; family fortunes know no end. Without finding a place of rest, toil never ceases. This exposes the emptiness of worldly pursuits.

Purity is the natural, true essence; following spontaneity leads to communion with the divine. No need for forced effort—just as a cold valley naturally welcomes spring. This explains the Daoist principle of "non-action (Wuwei) as transformation."

Gray hairs multiply; youthful beauty fades daily. Before the King of Hell calls, what can resist decay? A stark reminder of life’s impermanence.

Dwelling within the gate of life and death, walking the path of rebirth—this heart has long grown accustomed to the journey. Why ask of the road ahead? An expression of transcendence over the cycle of existence.

Accumulated dust blinds the eyes; the long night stretches without end. Without grasping the "Three Essentials" (likely Jing, Qi, and Shen), how can the five senses be rectified? A metaphor for ignorance obscuring the path.

Yin and Yang are like master craftsmen; Heaven and Earth, a potter’s wheel. All things transform with the workings of creation, renewing life each day. This reveals the natural law of Yin-Yang’s dynamic interplay.

The profound truth of the Dao is beyond measure, yet people seek it in delusion. In truth, the Dao is not distant—it is the original heart itself. This points to the core teaching: "The Dao resides within."

The closing colophon mentions "Portraits of the Seven Perfected" (likely depicting the Quanzhen School’s founding masters), explaining that while depicting sages expresses reverence, true practice lies in realizing one’s original face—not imitating outward forms.

This passage describes the supreme characteristics of the Dao (cosmic origin) in Daoist cultivation. It begins by stating that the highest master (referring to the Dao) inherently has no fixed form, much like the moon reflected in countless rivers—while the reflections are infinite, the moon itself remains perfectly bright and whole, identical to the primordial state of the universe (Xiantian).

This unchanging "true visage" (the essence of the Dao) has remained constant from ancient times to the present. But who can truly perceive it? Who can fully transmit it? People stand beneath the heavens yet cannot measure their height; they tread upon the earth yet cannot fathom its depth—such is the Dao, transcending time and space, belonging neither to antiquity nor modernity, neither fleeting nor eternal.

The text then employs a series of allusions to illustrate the difficulty of seeking the Dao: some chase its traces yet never catch up; others try to outrun it through haste only to fall behind, left staring in frustration. Like Kuang Qu (an ancient sage) who forgot what he was about to say the moment he opened his mouth, or Ji Xian (a master physiognomist) who stood bewildered before the Dao. Even Li Zhu (a legendary figure with extraordinary vision) could discern no clue no matter how he strained his eyes, and the Yellow Emperor (a sage-king revered in Daoism), though he listened intently, struggled to distinguish truth from falsehood.

Finally, it concludes that those who attempt to analyze the Dao through conceptual frameworks will find their minds exhausted, while those who presume to comment on it will be left speechless—like sighing before the vast ocean. The profundity of the Dao—how could worldly ink ever hope to depict it?