《雲山集》Vol. 5

Volume Five of the Collected Works of Cloud Mountain contains several Daoist cultivation poems by Master Ji Zhizhen (known as "Zhi Chang the Realized One"), which use vivid imagery to reveal life's illusory nature and the true essence of spiritual practice.

The first poem, First Level of Jade Terrace, describes how our innate spiritual nature (yuanzhen, original authenticity) becomes obscured by deluded thoughts, making human existence as fleeting as mushrooms that sprout at dawn and wither by dusk. Ordinary people drown in passions and habitual tendencies like falling into a thousand-zhang fiery pit, tumbling through schemes and deceptions. Only by seeing through these illusions can one shatter ignorance and reflect one's true nature (xingzhu, nature-pearl) like a polished mirror. At this stage, the radiant self-nature embraces heaven and earth, attaining unity with the Dao (the "gourd heaven" refers to celestial realms, while "cavern abode" denotes a cultivation sanctuary).

Three Slow Blooming Magnolia poems employ allegory to expose worldly illusions:

The first compares human life to shadow puppetry, where people resemble marionettes jerked by strings, endlessly squabbling over trifling gains. Only by awakening to the luminous spirit (lingming) can one transcend like hermits, freely chanting verses beneath moonlit clouds and streams.

The second satirizes mankind's ant-like struggles over locust trees, chasing illusory fame and wealth. Recognizing these as mere "yellow-millet dreams" (alluding to the classic Daoist parable), one should sever attachments and return to original purity like moonlight illuminating the sea.

The third depicts ideal cultivation life: tending medicinal gardens among ancient pines while "plowing clouds and fishing the moon," observing the eternal transformation of oceans into mulberry fields. It critiques external longevity symbols like the Queen Mother's peaches or Anqi Sheng's magical dates, instead praising the cultivation perseverance exemplified by Lord Ren's giant fish (a Zhuangzi allegory), implying the Dao requires prolonged quiet practice.

These poems employ distinctive Daoist imagery like "gourd heavens" and "cavern abodes," alongside symbolic references to insects, locust trees, and yellow millet dreams, urging readers to see through worldly illusions and return to luminous nature. The term "preserved radiance" (baoguang) originates from Zhuangzi, denoting nurtured inner light, while "gourd heaven" (hutian) derives from Book of Later Han, representing timeless immortal realms.

The Cloud Mountain Collection presents poetic depictions of the transcendent, carefree state attained by Daoist practitioners.

The first poem describes the unfettered freedom after severing worldly attachments. Like suddenly loosened bonds, the adept wears simple cloth shoes and leans on a bamboo staff, clad in patched robes yet feeling weightless. Drifting like duckweed in the wind, coming and going without restraint, hair loosely tied, singing while walking, dancing with abandon—utterly free from mental burdens. No longer questioning the boundaries of the celestial gourd (hutian) realm, making no distinction between the mundane world and the transcendent sphere, moving freely like clouds or flowing water. Seeing through the illusory nature of worldly connections that ultimately dissolve, the adept eventually reunites with Wuwei (non-action) deep within the rosy clouds.

The second poem celebrates liberation from the mortal cage, choosing a secluded retreat in cool serenity. Mountain deities summon the adept to emerald peaks where white stones and clear springs meet bamboo groves and pine-shaded paths, thatched huts nestled among trees. Securing a lofty perch to store pure breezes and moonlight, worldly affairs fade into irrelevance. Smiling at peach blossom petals drifting on streams, occasionally joining immortals in gatherings, chatting amid rainbow clouds about the vicissitudes of time. In a snap of the fingers, witnessing the world's transformations, raising a golden flask to drink azure wine in joyous intoxication.

The third poem laments how dynasties rise and fall like blossoms swept away by fragrant winds. Across the vast, turbulent sea of suffering, humanity loses its innate innocence in deluded attachments. Since departing the Mystic Capital (xuandu, celestial realm) for the mortal world, who still cares for fame and achievement? Only the unfulfilled pursuit of merit brings furrowed brows. When will the adept obtain the vital Qi of the Three Dantian (energy centers) and gather life-giving herbs of immortality? Amid rosy mists and jade-like clouds, bamboo-swept winds and moonlit pines, tending the medicine cauldron and alchemical furnace to strengthen the foundation for eternal life.

The Moon Over the River passage outlines essential principles for Daoist beginners. The formless Dao must be approached through the spiritual source (lingyuan), contemplating its origin within the heart's inch-sized space. Turbidity must be stirred to clarity, falsehood swept away, and clouds of delusion dispersed. The master (referring to the heart-mind) maintains Wuwei (non-action) in the hall, allowing no dust to stain, directly reaching the realm of emptiness. Before majestic jade-like peaks, bathed in auspicious radiance, worldly fetters are forgotten in carefree harmony with heaven and earth's enduring lifespan.

The closing lines observe life's dreamlike nature—gains, losses, joys, and sorrows are but illusory as startled deer in a dream, reminding practitioners to maintain clear awareness.

The Cloud Mountain Anthology verses reveal the transcendent attitude of Daoist practitioners toward worldly life. The first section depicts ordinary people as if drowsing in dreams, unaware of reality—chasing fame and profit through trivial social niceties and treacherous goat-path roads, whipping their steeds and straining at oars along perilous routes. Only upon sudden awakening do they see through the gilded cage of worldly dust, realizing all past pursuits were mistaken. The tranquil life amidst mountain forests, companioned by the indifferent clouds and streams, becomes true carefree wandering—completely unshackled, like coldly observing yellow ants bustling on locust branches.

The second passage notes how fame and wealth act as invisible ropes binding heroes across ages. Glory and riches vanish like shadow puppets, while wives, children, and treasures inevitably attract others' envy. How long can such splendor last? People create their own karmic burdens, suffering through cycles of rebirth. Better to withdraw early, relinquishing mad desires. Only by breaking worldly snares and opening the Mysterious Pass (Xuan Guan, a crucial acupoint in Daoist practice) can one attain genuine immortal secrets. When achievement culminates in reclusion, only the moon over the river remains.

The third section teaches that comprehending truth requires sweeping away delusions and stripping pretenses to preserve essential purity. Like jade lotuses unsullied by mud, drinking celestial dew and mystic frost (Xian Lu Xuan Shuang, alchemical terms for refined essences), one perfects the Spiritual Elixir (Shen Dan, internal alchemy). Alone on green mountains, planting rootless trees (symbolizing detachment), one lets clear light permeate emptiness. When cultivation reaches completion, one may ride phoenixes homeward.

The final passages depict the practitioner's life: seated meditation becomes second nature, while cloud-wandering days hold unique flavor. Neither coveting jade palaces of immortals nor indulging in pleasure quarters, for the Dao's radiance shines everywhere. No need to pursue surface phenomena like Dragon-Tiger Union (Long Hu Jiao Gou, neidan term) or White Snow Yellow Sprouts (Bai Xue Huang Ya, alchemical imagery). Avoiding poetic or sensual intoxication preserves original nature. By day admiring mountain vistas, by night cloaked in starlight—coarse robes mirroring rosy clouds. This realm baffles ghosts and gods yet surveys the cosmos in an instant. Taking full inventory reveals empty pockets, for true livelihood transcends worldly concerns. Like sages drinking wine, one washes away drunken turbulence, maintaining lucid transcendence.

The poems from the Yunshan Ji express the mindset of a Daoist practitioner who sees through worldly illusions and seeks transcendence. The first poem speaks of severing the shackles of fame and fortune, transcending the boundaries of life and death, and preserving one’s innate purity—so that even the six senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought) cannot burden the spirit. The adept possesses unique methods to gather the clear radiance of emptiness, and once its true meaning is grasped, there is no need to seek out the three immortal mountains (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou) where immortals dwell.

The third poem reflects on the rise and fall of history as fleeting as passing clouds, where glory and disgrace, gain and loss, are as illusory as the dream of the yellow millet. Deliberate pursuit only leads to unnecessary excess, like the monkey trainer who divides acorns without attachment. Looking back, the familiar landscapes of home are gone, and a hundred years of life pass in an instant. Better to spend a night of clear moon and gentle breeze with fellow seekers, sipping tea while discussing the Dao, lighting a stick of incense to calm the mind in practice.

The fourth poem describes a wanderer adrift in the mundane world, traversing all directions yet failing to find the root of life. Only by delving into the realm of emptiness and journeying through the immortal paradise of Kunlun can one grasp the true meaning of the Wind Immortals (xianren). Seeing through the illusions of the world, like moonlight piercing water without leaving a trace, one ultimately relies on the Wind God (Fuyou Bo) to ascend to the celestial realms.

The final poem reminisces about the fellow seeker Boyu Lao, recalling days spent gazing at the vast sea from a rocky pavilion, discussing the mysteries of the Dao. Now, with years grown long, the only wish is for a mind as clear as the bright moon, cultivating the inner elixir (Neidan, the revolving of the Dantian) to reach a state where hearts unite across a thousand miles, and self and objects are both forgotten.

Manjiang Hong: Exhortation to Magistrate Liu warns the worldly: the splendor of life is like a dream or bubble—indulgence only obscures impending misfortune. One should emulate ancient sages like Lu Ji, Lu Yun, Shu Guang, and Shu Shou, who knew when to withdraw from the rushing current. Glory and riches will fade; better to awaken oneself and let go in time.

First Poem:

Like polishing an ancient mirror to perceive realms beyond the dust-filled world, using a precious pearl to shoot sparrows under the eaves is a wasted effort. Only when truly awakened can one look back and set foot on the path of cultivation leading to the immortal isles of Penglai.

Second Poem:

Gathered with fellow Daoist companions in a mist-veiled alchemy chamber, we laugh and converse while breathing pure Qi. The stifling heat brings a light sweat, and even seated in stillness, the summer's warmth is hard to resist. Tapping on ice-jade tea vessels, the mysterious depths of Xuanming (the Water Deity) summon natural coolness. Golden ripples form in the moon-round teacup, and like a whale drinking the sea, it dispels all vexing heat, cleansing heart and mind. This state surpasses divine powers and magical arts, smiling at Lu Tong's poetic tea-drinking and the Chan wit of Master Zhaozhou. The entire Dharma-realm (cosmic truth) is so clear it can be cupped in one's hands—vast and luminous, the numinous void knows no bounds. If asked of its true flavor, words fail; only firsthand experience reveals its essence.

Third Poem:

Even after reading ten thousand volumes of scriptures, true understanding still requires verifying the practices of cultivators past and present. If one merely parrots teachings without embodying them, it remains a fundamental error. Without refining the heart-mind, countless kalpas of rebirth pass in vain. To grasp the original truth (innate nature), language falls short. Why seek outwardly? The true realm of purity is vast and empty. Cultivating the heart-mind needs no forced effort—like the refined elegance of "Spring Snow" (high art) finding few appreciators, while rustic songs and dances dominate the world. People are as numerous as ox hairs, yet those who truly understand are as rare as a qilin's horn.

Fourth Poem:

What is the purpose of enduring countless trials? To preserve a heart as clear as ice and snow, shining brightly amid worldly dust. Realize that the heart-mind is luminous as the moon; exhaustively trace life's origin, disregarding superficial ripples and branches. Who in this world is not a fleeting traveler? Why say more? The Golden Elixir (fruit of Neidan practice) must be treasured in secrecy, and one's possessions kept simple. Dwelling without fixed abode, moving without leaving traces. Nor should one dwell on judgments of self and others: the parrot is caged in gold for mimicking speech, while the cuckoo cries blood in vain on the branch. Facing the clamor of chariots and horses in the arena of fame and gain, guard your tongue firmly.

Fifth Poem:

This stubborn, clinging heart! Tossed endlessly by the workings of Creation (natural law) through endless cycles. Rushing and stumbling in toil, piling up karma like mountains—for what? The sea of deluded passions is hard to transcend. Grieve instead for the buried innate spirit, long lost through kalpas of dust and suffering. To break free demands fierce diligence, seeking kindred souls who speak of ice-and-snow purity. Refine the heart-mirror with effort until life shines through. When winds calm and waves still, the moon at the pool's depths reveals itself; where clouds part and mists scatter, the Celestial Heart (original nature) soaks in cold springs. If asked about the mute tasting honey, its flavor can never be told.

Sixth Poem:

The exhaustion of countless rebirths has no end; in the red dust's haze, one struggles to grasp liberation's subtle truth.

The poems in the Yunshan Ji contain profound Daoist cultivation philosophy. Here's my vernacular interpretation:

The first poem describes a practitioner's realization of transcending illusion. Like monkeys vainly trying to scoop the moon from water or fools licking honey from a knife's edge, ordinary people remain shackled by desires without awareness. The imagery of "shattering the bronze plate" symbolizes breaking attachments, while "severing the kudzu vines" represents cutting through worldly troubles. Only by returning to one's original mind can one perceive true nature.

The second poem Man Ting Fang reveals the cultivation essence of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoism. Our innate primordial energy was originally complete, but postnatal emotions breed mental demons, sinking us into the sea of suffering. The wise awaken in time, penetrating that initial veil of confusion. Upon full enlightenment, though mountains and rivers remain unchanged, the mind is renewed—like laughing heartily after breaking a mirror, embodying ultimate liberation.

In the poem celebrating Elder Li's eightieth birthday, auspicious imagery of the "South Pole Star shining" introduces this cultivator who, despite advanced age, remains vigorous like an immortal refining the Golden Elixir in the Cave of Eternal Spring. The surrounding tortoises and cranes symbolize longevity, while "sandalwood beyond kalpas" subtly indicates his transcendence of the cycle of life and death.

Li She's Longevity begins with spring peach and apricot blossoms, using the mythical nine-leaf ming grass and celestial clouds to highlight the celebrant's extraordinary nature. The "sound of gold and jade" describes immortal gatherings, urging early awakening to worldly illusions. The concluding line "roaming alone in eternal spring" captures the cultivator's carefree existence beyond mundane concerns.

The poem Jade Butterfly warns: life passes like a white steed's shadow—all scheming ultimately proves empty. It criticizes those with wicked hearts who "call a stag a horse" (deliberately confuse truth), pitying most those drowning in the sea of suffering without self-awareness. The entire piece resonates with lament for worldly delusions.

This passage depicts the transcendent lifestyle of a Daoist practitioner who has risen above worldly concerns. It begins by criticizing ordinary people who are ensnared by fame and material desires—bound like prisoners in ropes, trapped in fiery pits and dusty nets of profit and reputation. Their insatiable greed blinds them to the fleeting nature of youth, leaving them chasing phantom deer across scorched plains, lost at life's crossroads, squandering their precious vitality in vain.

The Daoist practitioner, by contrast, chooses to dwell in a thatched hut in a remote mountain village, far from the clamor of society, embracing a life of simplicity. Content with coarse grains and wild greens, they stroll leisurely beneath the moonlight, letting the breeze dry their tears without hurry—such is their carefree existence. Amidst drifting clouds returning to the mountains and autumn waters flowing freely, they keep only a few simple possessions, quietly combing their hair, leaning on a wooden staff, clad in a patched robe, utterly free from want. They treat shepherds as equals and befriend seagulls, their mind unburdened by worries, moving through life with the effortless mastery of a butcher carving an ox.

The passage on the golden boy holding a dew tray further illustrates life's dreamlike transience—how all things in this world shift in the blink of an eye. The practitioner realizes that heaven and earth are but a single hill and valley, their spirit merging seamlessly with nature. Watching clouds gather and disperse is like observing a drifting boat; contemplating the mind's stillness resembles tracing a gossamer thread vanishing into emptiness. In this jade-like realm beyond dust, distinctions between self and other dissolve—like the great roc and the tiny sparrow, each finding its place in perfect freedom. Here, hearing transcends sound, sight surpasses form, as if scales have fallen from the eyes, revealing the true nature of all things.

Finally, the jade maiden shaking her immortal pendant portrays the joy of gathering with fellow adepts to discuss profound truths. They see through the world's endless cycles of change—how heaven and earth are but a fleeting game. Birth and death flicker like lightning; existence and dissolution are empty illusions. Rising above petty struggles as insignificant as battles on a snail's horn, their vision expands to vast horizons, recognizing human life as no more substantial than blossoms reflected in water or the moon's shimmer on a lake. Only when the bronze bell's chime awakens them to truth, dispelling the fog of delusion to reveal their original nature, do they understand: the time for cultivation is now. Only when compassion's clouds spread universally can one truly grasp the profound essence of the Dao (the Way).

These passages from The Cloud Mountain Anthology express the Daoist cultivator's transcendence of worldly affairs and return to pristine simplicity. The first section describes how the Primordial Qi (the cosmic primordial energy) gives birth to all things, yet ordinary people remain trapped in sensual pleasures and vain pursuits, like children engaged in futile games. Only by seeing through these illusions can one achieve the clarity of an autumn moon, serenely intoxicated amidst the shadows of peach blossoms.

The First Branch of East Wind depicts the life of a recluse: neither coveting wealth nor nobility ("Ke Li" refers to aristocratic quarters, "Golden Chambers" to imperial courts), but floating freely like an untethered boat. Daily life involves gazing at heaven and earth through open windows, sitting carelessly with loose garments ("sitting cross-legged" being the ancient posture of relaxation). Neither pursuing power ("coiled dragons and soaring phoenixes") nor delving into martial or literary arts, the cultivator maintains a mind of Wuwei (non-action), ultimately returning to nature's embrace to peacefully spend twilight years.

Ode to Tea interprets the tea ceremony through Daoist eyes: unwrapping compressed tea cakes ("Dragon Balls" being tribute tea of the Song dynasty), boiling water with cypress charcoal, steam rising like that prepared by immortal attendants. Drawing spiritual spring water from silver vessels, watching curled tea leaves surge like waves when brewed. Savoring the nectar-like infusion, this tea practice purifies the worldly heart—bright as moonlight illuminating the mind, dispersing distracting thoughts ("demonic hordes"), revealing one's original truth (Yuanzhen), as if journeying with the tea immortal Lu Tong ("Master Jade Stream") through celestial realms.

Slow Song of the River God: Ode to Incense portrays Daoist incense rituals: immortal youths announce dawn while curling smoke rises from golden censers. Unsealing imperial incense, a single petal fills the void with ethereal fragrance, connecting the Three Realms (heaven, earth, and humanity). This sacred aroma bridges cosmos and earth, penetrates metal and stone, evoking memories of alchemical scents condensing in jade cauldrons upon the Divine Land, as if emanating from the buds of unworldly branches. Through the art of incense, the entire piece manifests the cultivation experience of cosmic-human unity.

The poems in Yunshan Ji depict the realm of Daoist practitioners transcending worldly dust and embodying the great Dao. The first poem describes spring scenery through a cultivator's eyes: ordinary people cannot perceive the true essence of these vernal sights, as worldly clamor obstructs the path to enlightenment. In quiet mountain grottoes, the practitioner silently communes with perfected beings (immortals who've attained the Dao), watching bees and butterflies flit about yet finding nowhere to seek the true Way—until their spirit soars into the vast emptiness, merging with the boundless heavens.

The second poem employs lotus imagery: after rain, the pond becomes mirror-clear. Having a youth pluck lotuses for vase arrangements evokes the transcendent purity of Mount Gushe (legendary abode of immortals). In stillness, one realizes all creation can be contained within a square inch—like storing the cosmos within palm-leaf scriptures. The blooming lotus pistils hold radiant truth that illuminates the dusty world; a single blossom silently conveys the eternal meaning of the Dao, manifesting the "broad long tongue" (Buddhist metaphor for the Buddha's teaching) beyond sound and form. Practitioners shouldn't cling to trivial distinctions, just as gold flakes in the eye become obstructions. All things contain infinite mystery—peach blossoms and common plums eventually fade, while only the moonlit treetops bear eternal truth.

The poem Qitian Le points directly to cultivation's essence: people burdened by physical form suffer hunger and cold like tumors. Fundamentally, all possess complete luminous nature, only obscured by worldly attachments like clouds veiling a thousand-mile clear sky. One must harness the wind of spiritual awareness to sweep away stagnation, coming and going freely. See through life-death transformations as insignificant as "rat livers and insect legs" (metaphor for life's mutability), transcending existence within the cosmic furnace. Even encountering demonic obstacles, one can ride the spirit-steed (referring to the primordial spirit) with "haolun" (Daoist term for celestial revolutions) unimpeded—simply sit steadfast in forgetfulness, eternally preserving the Dao-mind.

Chun Cong Tian Shang Lai critiques worldly delusions: since antiquity, beings drown in dust, recognizing only physical forms within fame's arena and ego's illusions. Though all inherently possess immortal roots and Daoist bones, suspicion makes them refuse countless calls to turn back. Only startled awake in dreams can one see through life's vanity—like termites hollowing courtyard locust trees. Deep in cavern heavens, discussing mysteries with "cloud-companions and rainbow-friends" (fellow cultivators) amidst purple mushroom groves while drinking emerald wine brings true liberation. Here the primordial spirit coils like dragons and tigers, intoxicated in Penglai's paradisal bliss.

The final poem Tianshou Jie celebrates Daoist auspicious signs: the Celestial Emperor bestows blessings as the sovereign (九五至尊) establishes golden ages. The great Dao operates creation, ordering heaven-earth with thunderbolt majesty. Divine might shakes jade capitals and golden towers (Daoist celestial realms), surpassing even Yao-Shun governance. Immortals gather joyfully as all seas enjoy peace—likely composed for Daoist ceremonies or imperial birthdays, showcasing Daoism's ideal integration with temporal power.

These passages from the Cloud Mountain Anthology express the Daoist ideal of transcending worldly illusions to pursue the true Dao. The first section depicts common people revering imperial authority like sunflowers turning toward the sun, gratefully receiving the emperor's benevolence while wishing him eternal reign and longevity.

The second passage uses the snail's shell as a metaphor for life's brevity, illustrating how all phenomena cycle endlessly through the transformations of Yin-Yang. In our fleeting existence—as brief as a spark—we exhaust ourselves chasing fame and profit, clinging to illusory falsehoods while overlooking the truth before our eyes. True peace is rare, the genuine Dao hard to attain; only by returning to our original mind can we enter the immortal realms, keeping company with transcendents and sharing in the joy of eternal life.

The third section satirizes those intoxicated by wealth and status, as if lost in spring dreams upon a pillow. Deluded by ephemeral illusions, they struggle bitterly for trivial gains. Only upon awakening can they cast off the shackles of worldly pursuits. Breaking through these obstructions reveals the original mind—clear as autumn moonlight on a cold pond. Then one may hear immortal youths and jade maidens discoursing on the profound mysteries of the Dao.

The fourth passage describes the life of mountain reclusion—dwelling in a simple thatched hut, far from worldly clamor, beneath bright moons and fresh winds untouched by dust. Here lies nature's true delight, where one may witness the celestial sights of dragons coiling around golden tripods and phoenixes dancing upon cinnabar platforms. While ordinary men drown in fame and profit, who can soar like the great roc breaking free from snares? True heroes should abandon illusions, not squander their chance at immortality, but return early to join the Peach Banquet and laugh while discussing the wonders of Penglai's paradise.

The final Flowers in the Rain section portrays the luminous clarity of our spiritual origin, illuminating the karmic dust accumulated over countless lifetimes. In the timeless immortal realm where night never falls, the scenery endures eternally—jade unicorns roar, stone maidens discourse on the Dao, ocean youths meditate deeply, and no gulls disturb the clear skies. Together, these verses express the transcendent ideal of leaving behind the mundane world to return to the purity of our true nature.

These passages from the Yunshan Ji (Cloud Mountain Anthology) express the Daoist practitioner's transcendence of worldly concerns and pursuit of authentic naturalness.

The first section describes how cultivators attain a return to primordial simplicity through Neidan (internal alchemy) practice in stillness. "Divine elixir" refers to the accomplishment of inner refinement, while "mysterious pearl" symbolizes humanity's innate true nature. Practitioners no longer cling to external forms but return to the original state of undifferentiated chaos.

The second passage explains that true adepts maintain a transcendent mind whether dwelling in mountain forests or bustling markets. The "lacquer bucket" metaphor represents a mind obscured by worldly delusions, and the "theater stage" signifies the clamor of mundane existence. The author asserts that the true substance of Dao cannot be described—it is neither lead nor mercury (alchemical materials), nor jewels and gems; even enumerating countless things fails to capture it. Only those like the ancient master craftsman Lun Bian, who grasped the essential truth, can attain such miraculous skill.

The third passage recalls the author's mountain discussions with fellow Daoists twenty years prior. "Spiritual root" denotes humanity's innate nature, while "jade tree" symbolizes an accomplished cultivator. Though now scattered across the land, they still preserve their transcendent mindset. The "empty boat" metaphor illustrates desire-free equanimity—the author laughingly calls his love for landscapes an "incurable affliction."

The lyric poem Wang Haichao ("Watching the Tide") depicts springtime river thawing, using nature's transformations as metaphors for life's impermanence. Mythological figures like the sea god Ruo and river deity Fengyi embody natural forces. The author laments how human affairs resemble ants scurrying in circles, finding liberation only in wandering freely among cloud-wreathed peaks.

Dongxian Ge ("Song of the Cave Immortal") directly addresses life's brevity, warning against exhausting oneself for fame and profit. "Dogs snatching and flies swarming" depicts the scramble of worldly pursuits, while the "True Governor of the Mysterious" refers to Dao as the sovereign of all things. The poem urges relinquishing cunning intentions to maintain inner stillness—only then can one reunite with the "old friend" (Dao's essential truth).

The selected poems from Yunshan Ji depict the realm of Daoist practitioners who have seen through worldly illusions and transcended life and death. The first passage advises cultivators to sweep away dust-like attachments as the spiritual wind does, penetrating the cage-like barrier of mortality. Once one comprehends the mystery of the "mysterious pearl" (referring to the true nature of Dao), infinite wondrous functions manifest, allowing unimpeded freedom in coming and going.

The text then criticizes ordinary people drowning in the sea of suffering, as if bound by invisible shackles. Fleeting human life is compared to foam formed by dripping eaves—transient yet ignorant of its illusory nature. Though humans inherently possess true spiritual nature (Zhenling), they remain entangled in countless worldly ties. Only upon awakening and careful reflection does one realize the skull (symbolizing death) discerns no directions, and the wheel of rebirth spins endlessly through the ages. The verse urges timely awakening before the sun sets on life's opportunities.

The "Immortal in the Moon" section describes the primordial spiritual source (the root of Dao) as vast and unfathomable, beyond form and image. Cultivation requires severing delusions (symbolized by "rabbit horns and turtle hair"—nonexistent things) and seeing through worldly artifices. When reaching the state where self and objects are both forgotten, divine light (Shenguang) shines naturally, revealing celestial secrets upon the ashen earth. Here, striking wood produces no sound, and knocking on emptiness resounds (symbolizing transcendence of form)—no deliberate effort is needed to freely wield the wish-fulfilling jewel (wisdom) with inexhaustible grace.

The three "Powdered Butterfly" poems employ allegory for moral instruction. The first compares worldly desires to tasteless wax-chewing, where life's drama unfolds unnoticed as a dream. Calculated schemes prove futile; better to withdraw the heart, shatter falsehoods, and build a hermitage beyond the dusty cage. The second satirizes fame-chasing as puppet theater—only the morning bell's shock reveals past illusions. It counsels early return to Dao's tranquil realm. The third laments youth's swift passage ("black hare and golden crow" symbolize sun and moon), bound by love's chains heavier than mountains and seas, leaving mere white bones in the end.

These poems from the Cloud Mountain Anthology depict the realm of Daoist practitioners who see through worldly illusions and pursue carefree liberation.

The first poem compares human existence to being trapped in an earthen mound, constantly troubled by trivial matters, urging an early departure from such bondage. It advises seeking the path to mist-shrouded immortal realms where one may live in unfettered freedom. Upon achieving cultivation success, one comprehends the mystery of the "mysterious pearl" (referring to Neidan, internal alchemy). Daoist practice requires relinquishing all attachments without external seeking, for the true Dao resides within. Like sunlight shining universally or springs flowing naturally, it needs no deliberate pursuit. Understanding this truth brings a heart as full and transparent as the bright moon.

The second poem satirizes worldly struggles in the arena of fame and profit, where people rush about like madmen in carriages and horses. Ultimately, rank and wealth prove but fleeting dreams. Rather than vainly chasing deer like hunters, one should awaken early to tread the cultivation path, finding cooling relief with each step through watery mists and clouded paradises. Our original nature resembles priceless treasure, yet few truly recognize it.

The third poem portrays the wondrous scenery of grotto-heavens (Daoist celestial realms): immortals gathering for feasts with dancing cranes, harmonizing phoenixes and dragons amid curling clouds. Holding rainbow-hued banners, riding feather-canopied mushroom carts (celestial vehicles), they discuss profound principles in tipsy delight. Laughing at worldly vicissitudes, their paradise remains eternally unchanged, unburned even by kalpa fires. Only the perfected in the Purple Mansion (upper Dantian, referring to the head) can experience such realms.

The fourth poem observes that while human life is limited, craving for fame and profit knows no end. All worldly affairs prove illusory—a hundred years ultimately reduced to a desolate grave. Life resembles morning dew or water bubbles in transience. Early awakening sees through this bodily confinement, severing delusion's bonds to leap beyond society's torrents. Cultivate Neidan (the elixir of longevity forged through breath and energy work) in unfettered freedom until merit culminates in effortless ascension to Yingzhou (mythical island paradise).

Golden Boy Attending Incense depicts the leisurely rhythm of cultivation life: unconstrained between heaven and earth, dressed in simple rustic garb. Dwelling in a thatched hut amidst pine-soughing valleys and jade-cold streams, burning subtle incense while listening to transcendent melodies and contemplating majestic peaks. Though not yet reaching Penglai's paradise, such existence brings perfect contentment.

Jade Maiden Bearing Messages—while the specific content isn't provided, the title suggests celestial maidens delivering divine words. In Daoist literature, jade maidens frequently appear as immortal realm messengers.

This passage depicts the transcendent and carefree lifestyle of Daoist hermits, which can be understood in several parts:

The first paragraph describes an encounter between two recluses: meeting by chance in the mountains, they understand each other with just a glance. Distant green peaks appear within reach, while dappled clouds drift through emerald grotto-heavens (Dongtian), and thousand-year-old lingzhi mushrooms grow among the rocks. In their laughter and conversation, they seem to wander the Penglai Isles—the vast sea turning to mulberry fields in an instant. Hand in hand, they roam heaven and earth, untouched by worldly turbulence, with only the lofty Jade Peak sealing off news of the mundane world.

The second paragraph portrays the hermit's attire: loose robes of coarse cloth, left open without fastenings, with roomy sleeves for ease of movement. These garments serve both as blankets and cloaks, perfect for standing idly with hands tucked in sleeves. Paired with straw sandals and a staff of thornwood, they keep company with clouds and mist. If asked the value of such clothing, one need only shake the robe in reply—a metaphor transcending material worth.

The third paragraph continues with clothing: no extravagant silks are sought, just patched cloth as circumstance provides. These patchwork robes, though stitched a thousand times, endure through seasons. Wearing them, movement flows unhindered; when itching strikes, one scratches freely, heedless of others' gaze, utterly self-possessed.

The final sections express their life philosophy: a lifetime of unhurried ease, dwelling in snail-shell huts without longing for jade towers. With two or three rustic elders as neighbors, they neither welcome nor bid farewell. This addiction to mist and craglight (Yanxiapi) is incurable—they simply idle through tranquil days. In walking, staying, sitting, or lying, untrammeled joy becomes life's truest measure.

In the blink of an eye, profound truths are spoken, like using yellow leaves to quiet a crying child (a Buddhist metaphor)—no need for debate. Returning to seclusion in old age, they speak not of war; in peaceful times, every home holds wine. Staff slung sideways, humming folk tunes, they covet no courtly glory. Like fish leaping freely through the Dragon Gate (a metaphor for cultivation), why trouble with angling?

Finally, self-reflection: how much worldly dust has clung through the years? Now, between movement and stillness, it gradually fades. Through details of clothing, food, and dwelling, the text reveals the unbound, return-to-simplicity (Fanpu Guizhen) realm of Daoist perfected beings (Zhenren).

Rather than obsessing over trivial rights and wrongs, it's better to completely let go of these distracting thoughts and guard one's speech. First, eliminate the discriminating mind that separates "you" from "me"—whether walking, pausing, sitting, or lying down, never allow such distractions to disturb the sovereign heart (the original mind that governs consciousness).

The path of spiritual cultivation has its essential secrets, not easily comprehended by the ignorant and deluded. Only through continuous accumulation of virtue (De) and dedicated practice will the eye of wisdom suddenly open, just as the celestial lingzhi mushroom grows naturally. When the Golden Elixir (the pinnacle of Neidan practice) is successfully refined, one becomes an immortal beyond life and death.

A decade of seemingly wasted time has nurtured this transcendent true nature—completely detached from worldly concerns, utterly severed from mundane emotions and the fickleness of human affairs. Living in serene simplicity, carefree like turning socks inside out or draping clothes loosely, indifferent to others' likes and dislikes. Like the three-foot Longquan sword (a legendary blade of antiquity), its edge pierces the clouds yet finds no whole ox to dissect (alluding to the butcher Ding's flawless technique). Hesitant to act, the treasured sword remains sheathed and preserved through the ages.

Like immortals meeting on the Magpie Bridge, if roots of doubt remain unsevered and wandering souls don't return, how many idle sentiments become fetters? Why should cloud-wandering, stream-flowing freedom be shackled by fame and fortune? Once worldly ties are cut and mundane feelings abandoned, yet regret arises for taming the heart too late. Drunk on蟠桃 (immortal peaches) amidst five-colored auspicious clouds, who would envy the vulgar joy of grandchildren filling one's home?

Like a mountain recluse gazing at his reflection, deceived by splendid appearances. What crime has the precious nanmu timber committed to suffer the axe's blow? Countless trees are mutilated yet remain unenlightened, like moths darting into twilight flames. What meaning has posthumous vanity? Mistaking fleeting scenes for reality, completely forgetting the Dao of longevity.

Jade shattered, pearls parted from their shells, the splendidly furred leopard and fox invite their own ruin. Who among the multitude wishes to remain concealed? All compete in ostentation. Boasting of merit leads to decline, chasing fame ensures failure—the rosy visage in the mirror won't last. All eventually return to dust, needlessly discarding treasures like the Mystic Pearl (symbolizing the Dao).

The Mystic Pearl transcends categories, its true form beyond comparison, allowing not a mote of dust to obscure it. Through years of refinement it grows ever clearer, destined for celestial treasuries beyond mortal reach. The whole being moves with effortless spontaneity, liberated from worldly snares and passions. Some climb heights to haggle, but this treasure permits no earthly commerce.

This innocent seed of spiritual nature, like a beautiful dream from the land of Huaxu (mythical utopia), proves useless when brought to the human realm. The Mystic Pearl is securely kept in heavenly vaults, sworn never to be peddled in the red dust. Though demon armies (distracting thoughts) clamor in unison...

This passage depicts the various situations practitioners face when confronted with worldly temptations. When the golden-maned lion (symbolizing the majestic Dharma protector) makes its grand entrance, the cultivator should maintain a heart as immovable as a great mountain.

Worldly attachments like spouses and children bind the heart like iron chains, while fame and desires scorch like raging flames. People fight tooth and nail for trivial gains, unaware that these are but illusory bubbles. Those deluded and unawakened are like prisoners in a dark cage, solving riddles in vain—when the summons of Yama (lord of the underworld) arrives, they won’t even have time to bid farewell to their descendants.

The fisherman’s curved hook is a metaphor for the cunning ways people scheme for profit, ignorant that the straight hook (symbolizing the Daoist principle of Wuwei, non-action) holds the true secret. The world mistakes falsehood for reality, failing to recognize the innate treasure (one’s original spiritual nature). When one awakens to the luminous perfection of their true nature, all phenomena dissolve, and they roam freely like the immortals of Mount Guye (legendary abode of transcendents).

Deceit and hot temper are obstacles on the path. Such heaven-defying, earth-deceiving actions harm others and destroy life, creating karmic burdens no one else can bear. When judged in the courts of the underworld, there’s no escape—better to repent and reform now than to regret amid suffering.

By the spring waters of the sacred fountain grow orchids and immortal herbs (symbolizing blessed lands of cultivation), stirring the heart to retreat from the world. Only by seclusion in jade halls and golden chambers (places of practice) does one realize there truly is a path to the heavens above. On the jade terraces and gem-studded isles (celestial realms), forests of pearls and jade trees emit fragrant breezes, guided by divine winds. Time and again, one sees peach blossoms bloom upon the sea—only to learn that in the immortal realm, they flower but once in a thousand years.

In the marketplace, people heed reckless words, mistaking purity for falsehood—all love to put on pretenses. Blinded by ignorance, they stagger on unsteady steps, led astray by others’ provocations. For meager material gains, they strike all manner of poses, exhausting every trick in their lifetime—only to lose sight of even the shadow of the Mysterious Pearl (symbolizing the Great Dao).

(For the Abbot of Tancheng) Life is but a great dream of coming and going—no need for excessive sentiment at parting. Before departure, just one reminder: do not treat human bonds as child’s play. Devote yourself sincerely to a true master (an enlightened teacher) and in the immortal courts (places of cultivation), choose the golden phoenix and rainbow luan (celestial birds) as companions. Better to attend the Peach Banquet on Penglai’s immortal isle than to tangle in the idle frolics of the human world.