About this page. The original text of 《葆光集》 (Taiping 太平部, 1 volume) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 51 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Vol. 1
Before Heaven and Earth divided in primordial chaos, the true essence of creation was already present. When the clear Qi (vital energy) and turbid Qi began to separate, the profound workings of Yin-Yang transformation commenced. Thus emerged the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), from which the myriad beings were born and all things flourished. In this world, extraordinary individuals occasionally appear—such as Master Yin, whose ancestral home was in Cangzhou. His forebears included a matriarch who bore three sets of triplets, seven of whom later became lords of eight counties. The family's prominence spanned generations, with stone inscriptions still attesting to their legacy.
From childhood, Master Yin displayed remarkable qualities. As a boy, he could enter meditative stillness and contemplate the origins of cosmic creation. After taking monastic vows in his youth, he grasped the essential teachings for transcending life and death. In dealing with others and aiding the world, he honored ancient methods while understanding contemporary affairs, exhaustively studying the principles governing all phenomena and distilling the wisdom of sages throughout history. He taught widely with boundless compassion, acted without contention, bore no grudges when wronged, and treated all with benevolence—even transforming those of ill intent.
This was because Master Yin profoundly understood the inner and outer aspects of all things, comprehending the principles of Yin-Yang transformation. He neither dwelled on the past nor focused solely on what could be improved in the future. Well-versed in the Dao of advancement and retreat, survival and demise, he disregarded trivial gains and losses, remained unmoved by gossip, and remained indifferent to praise or slander. Having weathered life's vicissitudes, he moved through the world with effortless adaptability—appearing ordinary yet using his experiences to awaken others. He recorded his insights in poetry, hoping they would endure through the ages, and expounded the Dao's teachings solely to benefit people in the present.
Master Yin inherited and expanded the doctrines of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school, clarifying its orthodox lineage. He opened the gateways to profound mysteries, pointing directly to the path toward the Three Pure Ones (the highest Daoist deities). With wisdom's radiance, he dispelled delusion and darkness, revitalized the tradition's spirit, and purged malign influences. Thus, his sacred sites became pure and majestic, like the immortal realm of Eternal Spring. He envisioned creating a spiritual pond where ten thousand golden lotuses might bloom, and sailing a divine boat carrying the bright moon. Though he knew human hearts were difficult to harmonize, he understood the Great Dao does not accommodate worldly whims. At times he sat in selfless meditation, at others expressed himself through verse—seeming to wander playfully through life while encompassing the vastness of the Supreme Void.
His mind shone with luminous clarity, transcending sensory perception. His true nature was limpid as an abyss, free from the cycles of formation, abiding, decay, and emptiness. Responsive yet without craving, serene and birthless, he roamed freely in the realm of tranquil extinction. Unmoving yet ever-present, he surpassed temporal bounds; perfectly aware, he eternally abided in the present. Seeing through all appearances, he found perfection everywhere—effortlessly manifesting wondrous function in every gesture.
This passage recounts the origins and essence of the Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light), a Daoist scripture. The author was a Zhenren (Perfected Person, Daoist honorific for an accomplished practitioner) who cultivated for thirteen years in the Baoxuan Hall of the Great Changchun Temple in Beijing. During this period, numerous officials and esteemed visitors from afar frequently sought his guidance on the Dao. He compiled three volumes containing his poetic exchanges, inscriptions composed during travels, and writings meant to admonish worldly people, naming the collection after his cultivation chamber, the "Baoguang Pavilion."
The term "Baoguang" carries profound meaning: "Bao" signifies gathering one's Shen (spirit) inward, preventing the mind from scattering outwardly. Though responding to worldly changes, the practitioner maintains inner stillness and emptiness. "Guang" represents the illuminating wisdom that dispels confusion, allowing one to proceed with tranquility until reaching the Daoist state of "Xiyi" (mysterious ethereal transcendence). "Ji" (collection) gathers precious wisdom like treasured jewels, serving as an aid for those in distress.
Regarding poetic composition, the text presents the "four refinements" perspective: refining words is inferior to refining phrases; refining phrases is inferior to refining style (ge); refining style is inferior to refining meaning (yi). True poetry originates from one's aspirations—when the heart attains realization, its expression becomes verse. Excellent poetry doesn't lie in clever phrasing but in embodying noble aspirations. These aspirations stem from comprehension of the Dao, expressed through appropriate language to ultimately manifest as literary brilliance. Authentic speech contains no error, and thus thought remains free from deviation—this constitutes the realm of "zheng" (correctness).
The Baoguang Ji emphasizes that the essence of self-cultivation lies in understanding gains and losses within the heart, taking loyalty and trustworthiness as the foundation, being wary of cunning schemes, restraining domineering tendencies, and maintaining gentleness and humility. The true treasures are the virtues of compassion and frugality; one must reject extravagance and indulgence, upholding moderation and self-discipline—this is the genuine principle for enlightening the world.
The verses profoundly point out: steadfast inner practice is the real treasure, while empty talk is nothing remarkable. When wisdom is misapplied, deceit arises; when superficial rituals are overemphasized, morality declines. Just as a violent temperament often leads to hearing tales of "men turning into tigers," a compassionate heart may truly witness the miracle of "withered wood transforming into dragons."
Faced with countless worldly temptations, one who guards their true mind remains unshaken. A genuine practitioner is unmoved by praise or blame, undisturbed by right and wrong, transcendent like a Dharma King (referring to an enlightened master). Each verse is so incisive—may the reader contemplate them earnestly. It would be a great pity if laziness prevents reading or rashness obstructs understanding.
Du Dekang, the virtuous governor of Qinzhou, recognized this collection's worth upon first reading and vowed to make it widely known. He commissioned craftsmen to carve printing blocks for broader circulation. May discerning readers grasp its profound truths through study, transcend worldly entanglements, attain the realm of true emptiness (referring to the Daoist state of serene non-action), and ultimately be inscribed among the immortals, transcending the cycle of life and death. Such is the benevolent intent! Written reverently on the Double Ninth Festival in the year Jihai by the disciple Yixia Yiren, after purifying ablutions.
The following heptasyllabic quatrains record the travels of Master Yin Zhiping: From Xuande Prefecture to General Tian’s camp was roughly seven to eight thousand li, north of the Altai Mountains. Traveling northwest for nearly eight thousand li, one must detour south around the Altai. Gazing southwest from the Altai, the faint outline of the Yin Mountains becomes visible.
Once accompanying immortals on celestial journeys, he saw rivers diverging five thousand li away. The world knows only the vastness of the Eastern Sea, yet overlooks the Yellow River surging northwest. Venturing ten thousand li west beyond the Yin Mountains, one finds ranges beyond ranges, rivers beyond rivers. He crossed the great river five times himself—other peaks and waters remain untrodden.
Passing by the Great Stone Linyar records: In Khitan, "Great Stone" was an academic title, while "Linyar" was a personal name—Central Plains people combined them as "Great Stone Linyar" to denote the state. After the Liao fell to the Jin and lost their homeland, they migrated ten thousand li westward, wandering rootless for a decade before settling here to farm.
This passage from the Baoguang Ji (Collection of Concealed Radiance) reveals a Daoist practitioner's serene detachment from worldly affairs and pursuit of natural living. The opening verses depict western landscapes, noting how yellow plums and mulberries ripen earlier than in the central plains, with wheat fields turning golden during the Minor Fullness solar term in early summer.
The text then describes the rhythm of spiritual practice: when the master travels, visiting wandering adepts (xiudao zhi ren) grow scarce, yet the author maintains that true companions need not meet frequently. Only Li Tikong from the prefect's household visits daily, while the Longxi fellow practitioner spares moments despite his busy schedule.
The author recounts having relinquished mundane concerns to wholeheartedly cultivate Dao and De (Virtue), internalizing the master's teachings through constant self-discipline. The anecdote of Elder Duan releasing caught minnows into flowing streams embodies the Daoist reverence for life.
Residing in Baoxuan Hall (a practice space), though physically in Baoguang (possibly indicating a retreat site), the author's heart often wanders to cloud-veiled western hills. Poetic exchanges with Scholar Chen and Lecturer Zhao (Daoist titles) emphasize releasing attachments to return to primal simplicity, abstaining from judgmental discourse.
When Officer Liu Xuanchai sought healing verses during illness, the practitioner advised hundred days of quiet recuperation. The farewell to Yanjing (modern Beijing) expresses yearning for reclusive living, while the poetic dialogue with Daoist Registrar Wang crystallizes the realization of emptiness—where inner blossoms bloom when seeing through worldly illusions.
The true immortals in the heavens are never busy—it is only the deluded people of this world who create obstacles for themselves. People fail to understand that cultivating the heart-mind is the foundation of Daoist practice, instead exhausting themselves in futile worship before various divine images.
In truth, the original heart of all immortals is interconnected. The complex methods of cultivation devised in the human realm are ultimately illusory. Without comprehending the profound mystery of how "Dao and De" (the essence of the Way) arise spontaneously from nature, one is like a blind man groping an elephant, pointlessly debating the superiority of Eastern or Western cultivation methods.
The majestic realms of heaven are attained through realization of the Dao, while the sacred images (religious icons) in the human world are established to guide sentient beings. Sadly, few understand that these holy images are merely compassionate means (upaya) employed by the sages of higher realms. Those who cling to appearances will never awaken.
Very few can truly penetrate the mysteries of the celestial Dao. Divine images were originally established in the human world to lead people back to the true path. If someone suddenly realizes the truth of "non-birth" (transcending life and death), this becomes the most profound opportunity for cultivation in our Daoist tradition.
During a gathering with fellow Daoists in Yanjing (modern Beijing), we discussed accumulating virtue: true merit begins with restraining selfish desires, and authentic cultivation simply requires letting go of attachments. Throughout history, the wise have never engaged in unnecessary actions—the highest attainment lies in the dual cultivation of virtue and wisdom.
I often reflect on this fragile body of mine. Though physically weak, my five viscera remain harmonious and healthy. Though I have yet to ascend to the azure heavens, I am grateful to have avoided the bitter struggle with inner demons in this lifetime.
The world admires strong-willed, competitive talents, but I cherish instead the gentle nature that preserves wholeness. Look at those chasing fame and wealth—are they not all trapped in bitter toil within the dust of the world?
In thirty years of following my master’s teachings, I have often been reproached for incomplete practice. But in truth, as long as one corrects mistakes in secret, there is no need to wait until death to regret unfulfilled cultivation.
Below the Hall of Precious Mystery, I was allotted two quiet chambers—one left empty, while in the other I spread a straw mat and slept peacefully. Do not blame me for being content with poverty, for my understanding of the Great Dao is still incomplete.
When resting in a warm, bright room, I cannot help but think of all those suffering from cold and hardship in the world. How many, year after year, find no peace during the bitter winter months due to endless warfare?
In the purity of the meditation chamber, my heart grows ever clearer, no longer entangled in worldly emotions. No matter how many demonic obstacles arise externally, this true heart of mine remains unmoved.
Human nature is originally pure and luminous, but once stained by worldly affairs, countless afflictions arise. To return to the source of purity, one must recover the original simplicity and restore the perfect innate nature.
In practice, one should actively aid the world like the Eternal Spring Master (Changchun Zhenren), while in stillness, one must deeply contemplate the true Dao. When the primordial nature (the One Nature) is fully revealed...
The poems in The Collection of Preserved Radiance reveal a cultivator's insights into life and spiritual practice.
The first poem speaks of how true Daoist methods transcend distinctions between inner and outer, near and far—practitioners view all things without bias or attachment. Subsequent verses describe a spontaneous approach to composing poetry: there's no need to force clever phrases, for writing freely better expresses the Dao's meaning; genuine joy arises from inner realization, not external fame.
When asked to inscribe a painting of ink bamboo, the poet writes: These few stalks of Huangshan ink bamboo remain untouched by the fleeting dust of the world, aloof from the cycles of withering and flourishing. When a friend requests tea, he reflects: Refreshing Qi (vital energy) arises naturally; dispelling dullness brings cool clarity. Forced striving leads only to birth and decay, while harmony with nature endures.
Climbing high on an autumn day, amid red leaves swirling in the white dew season, he raises his cup and sings boldly from the Yellow Blossom Pavilion, savoring the "three joys" (likely wine, poetry, and nature's delights). In quiet self-reflection, he realizes his past eagerness to argue and now understands that forgetting words and self is true inner fulfillment. Surveying past and present, he sees how reckless action invites calamity, while serene cultivation attains the Dao.
Listening to wild geese cry beneath the moon, he contrasts the restless mind of the ambitious with the clear hearing of the recluse. Sitting in stillness on an autumn night, moonlight and heart-mirror shine equally bright. Observing cockscomb flowers, he notes how each bloom's nature differs—just as spiritual paths vary by destiny.
In discussions with Scholar Chen, he points out that worldly debates never reach truth; real understanding comes through silent cultivation. The final poems urge commitment to practice: As men, we should seek immortality, emulating Pang Degong and Xu Xun (renowned transcendents) who ascended with their families. Dwelling in seclusion frees one from hollow reputation; a tranquil mind naturally comprehends the true teachings. Cultivation brooks no delay—seize the present moment.
These poems consistently embody the themes of Wuwei (non-action) and serene spiritual refinement, using scenes from daily life to illuminate the essence of Daoist practice.
These poems from the Baoguang Ji convey the Daoist principle that practitioners must relinquish worldly attachments and devote themselves wholeheartedly to cultivating the Dao (the Way) to achieve immortality.
The first poem asks: Where should one seek the immortals? Without resolute determination, one cannot attain true tranquility. Watching one's hair gradually turn gray, people claim that mountain forests and springs nurture the Dao—yet how many throughout history have truly succeeded in their cultivation?
The second poem warns: Chasing empty fame easily leads to delusion, while worldly affairs bring endless distraction. If one remains indecisive, what will ultimately become of their path?
The third poem addresses a scholar named Chen: Genuine friendship lies in heartfelt connection, though official positions should not be lightly bestowed. Observing your extraordinary bone structure (a sign of spiritual potential), I wonder when we shall meet again.
The following two poems are dedicated to Liu Huishou, who renounced worldly life to pursue cultivation: The Daoist teachings of the Youyan region are flourishing, liberating countless people. You were the first to awaken—now dwell peacefully in the Western Mountains without looking back. Your affinity with the Daoist traditions of Pengcheng (modern Xuzhou) runs deep. With devout reverence for the profound mysteries of Chongxuan (the abstruse principles of the Dao), you now preside over Yunfeng Temple. Even before reaching the Penglai Immortal Isles, you’ve already attained the stature of an immortal.
Fortuitous Insights from the Baoxuan Hall states: By seeing through the illusory nature of the physical body and recognizing the emptiness of all phenomena, the mind becomes utterly still yet responsive to all things. When one meets worldly affairs with the constant truth of the heart, obstacles vanish, and miraculous transformations manifest naturally.
Another poem reflects: The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, while floating clouds obscure its light. Approaching sixty, I grow old—now I cherish each moment in the stillness of my quiet chamber.
Seizing Ignorance teaches: Do not let the karmic flames of ignorance (a Buddhist term for delusion) flare up, for within the arising of ignorance lies concealed genuine truth. Penetrate the mystery of ignorance, and you may transform it into wisdom.
Hymns for the Five Night Watches of Cultivation describes spiritual states through the five night watches:
At the first watch, after evening practice, gather the spirit into the Great Void (the formless Dao). Ears no longer hear worldly clamor—the original nature rests in boundless joy.
By the second watch, the mind attains true serenity as vital Qi (energy) flows continuously. When the three Dantian (energy centers) are perfected, yin energies disperse; complete the nine celestial cycles, and immortality is assured.
At the third watch, yang energy stirs anew. The six celestial stems and three primordial forces purify the five energies. Without transcending the constraints of ordinary nature, how could one perfect the dual cultivation of nature and life?
During the fourth watch, demonic obstructions retreat—peace reigns as one slumbers soundly. Dreams remain lucid and unburdened; awakening brings clarity and vitality.
When the fifth watch heralds dawn, resolve stands firm as a tranquil mountain. Speak not of divine mysteries beyond reach—the moon of the heart (the innate radiance of one’s true nature) now shines full.
The traces of immortals are nowhere to be found, for the true path to longevity lies within one's own heart. With tears, I bid farewell to my master Ma Yu (known as Danyang Zhenren) and departed for Mount Jin to cultivate the Dao. In these turbulent times, I steeled my heart to leave both my master and fellow practitioners. The resolute determination of a Daoist cultivator is difficult for ordinary people to comprehend—especially when facing life-and-death moments.
On the twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month in the Jiashen year, as I took leave of my master, I encountered Daoist Liu, who kindly persuaded me to stay a few days before dispatching several horsemen to escort me to the Daoist temple at Mount Jin. Riding away from the ancient capital of Yanjing, I crossed the northern pass and suddenly felt the vastness of heaven and earth. This untethered, carefree existence was what I had sought all my life. Composing poetry freely on horseback, I felt as though I had already stepped into the realm of immortals.
Another poem records: "A tailwind carries me to Mount Jia, where I recline on stone, watching clouds gather and disperse. No longer hearing the clamor of the mundane world, yet memories of past days beyond the western pass still linger in my heart."
In the depths of winter, I wrote: "Amidst the bitter cold of the ninth cycle, snow seals the mountains. The east wind aids my crossing of Yong Pass. Though human affections have grown faint, Heaven’s favor remains—doubtless the path ahead is already ordained."
At Qiuyang Temple, I composed: "They say Qiuyang Temple’s scenery is serene, so much so that even immortals once graced this mountain. The verses left by Qiu Chuji (known as Changchunzi) are as beautiful as a painted scroll, recited day and night without end."
Now I wander freely, my poetic inspiration undiminished. Thinking back to the renowned Daoist masters who once shook the world, how many today could revisit these places?
Having traversed countless famed mountains and rivers, none compare to the tranquility of Qiuyang Temple. Last year, a true immortal came; this winter, it is my turn, a carefree wanderer, to roam here.
Spring reflections: "Qiuyang Temple lies remote, far from the capital—even the spring god arrives late. But do not marvel at the delayed blossoms, for the gentle breeze will eventually reach these hills."
Living freely: "Untethered and unburdened, I drift like tumbleweed through the years. Unconcerned whether my homeland thrives, wherever fate leads me to quietude becomes home."
Thoughts on clarity at Longyang Temple: "Unmoved by external things, the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) settle into natural peace. When the three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) brim with essence and Qi, all demonic obstructions dissolve, and a single point of radiance in the spiritual chamber illuminates the ten thousand phenomena."
Transcendent verse: "The poetry of those beyond the mundane has an extraordinary purity, broadening the mind and dispelling delusion. When the wind of wisdom blows, the clouds of confusion part, revealing the original heart like a bright moon in the sky."
Late spring snow behind the mountain: "As spring nears its end, cold clouds suddenly rumble with thunder; snow piles like jade dust on northern slopes. Where are the gaudy peach and plum blossoms? Only a few pear trees bloom defiantly against the chill."
Final note: Beyond the western pass, I surveyed the temple grounds with Ambassador Hua Zongxuan.
These poems depict the secluded life of a Daoist practitioner at Longyang Temple (a Daoist monastery). The verses describe how he withdraws from worldly clamor to dwell in the tranquil mountains beyond the pass, where rivers flow endlessly and his mind remains perpetually serene. He seeks no fame in the mundane world, hoping only to encounter those who truly understand the Dao (the Way).
Behind Longyang Temple lies a five-acre garden planted with melons and fruits, graced by an ancient, gnarled pine tree. The cultivator often rests beneath this pine, humbly calling himself "one of scant fortune," content to live as a simple melon farmer. This solitary, elegant old pine remains evergreen through all seasons, unlike fleeting flowers that bloom and wither, becoming his steadfast companion on the spiritual path.
The poems mention the approximately two-hundred-li journey from Leiyang (modern Zhuolu in Hebei) to Jinshan (modern Yanqing in Beijing), a region of abundant natural resources. The practitioner travels with fellow Daoists to visit the sacred Lingjing Temple at Baitie Mountain. Though the mountain climb proves arduous, reaching these pure grotto-heavens (Dongtian) brings profound peace to his heart.
He describes his white hair and aged countenance, reflecting that while his youth was spent in diligent cultivation, old age has brought him unexpected ease of body and mind. Facing moonlit landscapes, he delights most in composing poetry, yet recognizes words as ultimately empty illusions—he longs only for kindred spirits. When visiting fellow cultivators in Wuchuan during summer, they agree to reunite at Longyang Temple's ridgepole-raising ceremony in July to taste the season's first ripe melons.
The final verses describe a strangely twisted ancient cypress at the residence of Lady Wu, beneath which meditation platforms are arranged. Here the practitioner sits in stillness all day with his companions, each maintaining their own state of pure, upright cultivation. When invited to join them at Longyang, he firmly declines, preserving his solitary practice—a testament to his unwavering commitment to the path of quietude.
The summer retreat in Wuchuan surpasses even the Dragon Sun Palace (a Daoist celestial realm), where the breeze flows naturally through open windows in June. Yet my only concern is having to depart before completing my cultivation, missing the chance to taste the ripened fruit (symbolizing spiritual attainment).
When dwelling in mountain seclusion, imperial envoys once arrived to confer the title "Master of Clarity and Harmony." In my reply poem, I wrote:
"Subduing delusions, I study the Dao to transcend worldly obstacles;
Resolved in spiritual refinement, I aspire to ascend to the Great Canopy Heaven (the highest Daoist paradise).
Thirty years of arduous practice remain unfinished—
Yet this empty title grants me 'Clarity and Harmony.'"
Another verse reads:
"Once in the Jade Purity Realm (one of the Three Pure Realms), I leaned on a violet staff;
Now cloistered among cliffs, I gladly don coarse robes.
Let this illusory form undergo endless transformations—
Only my heart's serenity and harmonized Qi remain unchanged."
A self-mocking poem follows:
"Restraining desires, my cultivation meets fewer demonic trials;
Content with my lot, I navigate worldly affairs.
Now aged and obscure, yet granted a master's title—
How ashamed I am before the immortal Zhang Zhihe (a renowned Tang dynasty Daoist)."
Plain tea and simple meals ward off demonic hindrances;
Tattered robes surpass silks and satins.
The world chases hollow fame and fleeting gain in frenzy—
True practice demands quiet dedication.
After mountain rains, I wrote of moon-gazing:
"Cleared skies leave Western Peak mirror-bright;
The radiant moon hangs like a jewel in the azure void.
At midnight, the Daoist sits alone in admiration—
Drawn only to that orb of perfect spiritual light."
On Mid-Autumn night:
"Post-rain, the western hills gleam brightest;
Mid-Autumn's shared gaze deepens quiet reflection.
The chill moonlight shatters delusion's haze—
Sleepless, clarity permeates the night."
Another verse:
"Nightfall stills the mountains, clouds withdraw;
The lucid moon illuminates the ninefold heavens.
It lays bare one's heart, pure of distraction—
Leaving only poetry and the Daoist's devotion."
Echoing Duke Duan's rhyme:
"Crossing countless peaks and rivers,
Scenes unfold, yet joy stays distant.
Only beyond the pass (the realm of practice)
Do mists and hues drift in the void."
In solitary reflection at the western chamber of Bao Xuan Hall (named "Hall of Perceiving the Subtle"):
"Silent in the Mystic Palace's Hall of Subtlety,
Wordless, I gather inward radiance.
One day, when innate nature ripens whole,
It will fill heaven and earth—nowhere to hide."
Exchanging verses with fellow adepts on Red Stone:
"Cinnabar-ground rivals vermilion's hue;
Doubt dissolves in awakening to Truth.
Only by plumbing the classics' depths
Does one glimpse the sages' eternal wisdom."
Another poem:
"Jade and gold lie hidden in mountains,
Yet only this (the Dao) can replace youthful bloom.
Where the Jade Secret (esoteric teachings) reveals its key,
All perplexity melts within an inch."
A final sigh:
"What use is empty fame to one's true practice?"
Yesterday I was still depressed by my lowly reputation, but what does it matter now that fame has come? The human heart never understands the principle of contentment, needlessly inviting greed and accumulating sin.
Reflecting on past and present, how wondrous was the mystical natural state of antiquity! In those days, people governed through wuwei (non-action), living in pure tranquility. Alas, in this degenerate age, human hearts grow ever more complicated, sowing countless karmic obstacles and demonic hindrances.
Someone asked me to inscribe a painting of falconry, so I wrote: The mighty falcon soars deftly into the clouds, yet knows to sheath its talons and remain composed. Maintain this state of mind constantly—not even the swift Goryeo falcon passing before your eyes should tempt pursuit.
Inscribed at Tuanshan Daoist Temple deep in the valley: The mighty river surges a thousand miles, cleaving valleys through layered peaks. Following the winding terrain through countless turns, when will these waters return after joining the Eastern Sea?
Also wrote: Two precipitous gorges exude majestic energy—Tuanshan seems immersed in a landscape painting. This transcendent beauty before me makes me wonder if it's Penglai, the foremost immortal isle.
After seeing off a fellow Daoist to Fanshan County, wrote three quatrains: After parting at Wuchuan, I return to Yan territory—human encounters depend wholly on destiny. Already pressed by temple affairs, how can I spare energy for coal business worries?
Also wrote: Only because my master rests in ancient Yan did I set aside worldly matters and come as destiny willed. Cultivating truth fears most the harm to harmonious qi—nurturing life strictly avoids restless impatience.
Wrote further: Snowy peaks connect to Southern Yan—I traverse mountains and rivers all for the Dao's sake. If one day I reach the Eternal Spring paradise, surely fragrant clouds and auspicious signs will fill the halls.
Ten idle verses for Gengyin New Year: Discussing profound principles seems eloquent, yet convoluted thoughts grow more confused in speaking. All say benefiting others is supreme virtue—but who truly sacrifices even a sliver of self?
Also wrote: Turbid qi lingers after calamity, as Heaven's Dao opens gradually to all goodness. All beings will return to the true Way—heaven and earth regain radiance in proper order.
Wrote further: All sounds stilled, heaven and earth brim with pure qi—three luminaries (sun, moon, stars) illuminate the nine regions. Worldly riches and honors hold no appeal—I cherish only quiet cultivation of heart-mind.
Also wrote: Preserve the original heart unobscured, and pure qi endures; hold selfless intent, and the Great Dao gradually brightens. Ten years of practice traversing the three realms—one morning of achievement ascends straight to ninth heaven.
Final verse: Transcendent idle verses carry unique clarity—honing wisdom's sword purifies the Dao-heart. Reclining robed amidst myriad blossoms, yet advancing further at the hundred-foot pole's tip.
The first poem speaks of the supreme truth (the ultimate Dao) as something profoundly simple and natural—like gazing upon a limpid expanse without obstruction, where all directions are bright and clear. Yet ordinary people still distrust this ethereal and mysterious path, leaving the poet no choice but to wander in the company of idle companions.
The second poem depicts celestial scenery: the immortal palaces and violet mansions (abodes of the divine) brim with pure Qi, while the jade terraces of Langyuan (mythical paradise pavilions) suddenly expand one's vision. Before the Thirty-Six Grotto-Heavens (Daoist sacred realms), one rides phoenixes in flight; atop the Thirty-Three Heavens (layered celestial realms), one treads upon drifting clouds.
The third verse describes the sky's unobstructed clarity, where the Sacred Emperors and True Kings (Daoist deities) shine like the sun and moon. It rejoices in the white-haired elder receiving an imperial summons, free to roam the land of Great Peace.
The fourth poem portrays the natural serenity of Everlasting Spring Palace (a Daoist temple), where vistas from western pavilions to eastern terraces all glow with light. Feathered guests (immortals) and celestial officials come and go, while Daoists with disheveled "ya-ji" topknots move among them.
The fifth explains how realized immortals remain eternally vibrant, leaving teachings to enlighten the world. Those who grasp the true meaning need no verbose explanations, spending their days in solitary contentment.
The subsequent poems express farewells to fellow Daoist travelers: weary of worldly dust yet devoted to mountain forests, the poet must still depart due to unfinished karmic ties; lingering for days in western peaks despite old age denying him rest; journeying thousands of miles across rivers and mountains for decades, braving hardships only to seek lifelong tranquility; invited by northern friends to wander, yet willing to cultivate freely were temple incense not so sparse; roaming endlessly through layered peaks without grasping Complete Perfection's (Quanzhen) subtle methods—who truly attains carefree liberation? Leaving these mountains uncertain of return, yet knowing equanimity toward movement and stillness brings peace anywhere.
The final three verses bid farewell to fellow Daoists of rivers and mountains: though landscapes hold no emotion, human hearts find clarity within them; were it not for worldly troubles here, why yearn for past joys? Delighting in the Dao while forgetting cunning aligns with true nature—traveling clears the eyes, yet old age brings no rest, only endless wandering. The Mystic Gate's teachings dispel delusions and transcend dust; only by severing worldly attachments does the Dao-mind brighten—just as when first arriving.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents verses conveying the wisdom of Daoist practitioners navigating turbulent times. The first poem observes that human suffering stems from deep attachments—only by seeing through life and death can one attain liberation. Ten carefree adepts, viewing worldly affairs with serene minds, advise people to experience the profound mystery of "cultivation in leisure" through quiet sitting.
The abbot of Xiantian Temple at Fanshan Mountain offers summer guidance: while war ravages the southwest, the northeast remains tranquil and cool. He urges diligent cultivation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power), preserving the "heart's fragrance" (a metaphor for purity). Subsequent verses reiterate how rare it is to find such an oasis of calm in chaotic times, emphasizing the need to cherish this opportunity for focused practice. Only by seeing through worldly schemes and returning to one’s true nature can the natural fragrance of Dao and De arise.
On spiritual practice, the text states that refining one’s nature (xing) leads to the true Dao, transcending the fickleness of human affairs. Upon success, one may ascend like an immortal astride a crane to Penglai, the mythical island of bliss, leaving an enduring legacy.
When bidding farewell to fellow practitioners at Fanshan, the verses stress distancing oneself from worldly temptations and abiding in wuwei (non-action) and serenity. Cultivation is likened to steering a great boat across the sea of suffering—yet most remain mired in desire, unwilling to awaken. The earnest plea is to turn back in time, lest one sink into the Ninefold Darkness of hell, beyond redemption.
A wooden plaque by Yongjin Pond warns: the sacred spring must not be defiled. Ordinary folk see only its endless flow, but adepts perceive the "true gold" (symbolizing Dao-nature) within its waters.
The final verses reflect on spiritual insights: encountering rain in Qingshui Village at Yantai, the poet recognizes it as a response from the "heart of Heaven." Years of practice reveal that each triumph over demonic obstacles (mózhàng, hindrances in cultivation) opens new realms. The key lies in maintaining an unshaken core amid trials—only when all obstructions dissolve can one glimpse the spark of true nature.
This selection of poems from the Daoist classic Baoguang Ji reveals the life reflections and cultivation insights of practitioners.
The first poem describes how seven perfected beings (qizhen, seven accomplished adepts) moved Heaven through their cultivation of virtue (De). Their profound Daoist demeanor traversed the Jade Pass (a vital energy gateway in the body). The mention of "Shuidiao Ge" (Water Melody Song) likely refers to a chanting method during practice, where adepts open their body's gates and lean against Mount Yan (possibly a cultivation site) to achieve success.
The second set of poems tells of a practitioner traveling far to Huozhou to participate in a zhaijiao (purification ritual), enduring hardships with devout sincerity. Braving the cold wind and snow through Yanmen Pass, the poem illustrates the Daoist's compassionate heart and dedication to liberating lost souls.
The third poem speaks of the practitioner temporarily leaving his cultivation site, the "Chushun Hall" in Yancheng, to spread the Dao in place of his master. It emphasizes that this was not forced seeking of karmic connections, but a response to the sincere invitation of the ritual's host (jiaozhu).
The poem on "Ink Bamboo" uses the evergreen nature of ink-painted bamboo as a metaphor for the eternal Dao. The adept, mastering the creative power of the cosmos, continuously renews himself.
The "Changzu Xuan" (Ever-Sufficient Pavilion) series depicts a simple yet profound dwelling: though small, it encompasses the vastness of mountains and seas, with clear winds and bright moons marking the passage of time. Visitors need not speak much—all call this place "Eternal Spring Heaven" (a Daoist ideal realm). Here, the practitioner peacefully enjoys his later years, finding freedom akin to the "Gourd Heaven" (hutian, a Daoist paradise).
In the poem dedicated to Daoist Du, the text praises this 91-year-old adept who left home at six and has now attained the state of "One Truth" (yizhen, the fundamental reality of the Dao), forgetting all doctrines and achieving perfect fulfillment.
The "Occasional Realizations" series uses fishing as a metaphor: casting aside the hook symbolizes severing worldly ties, and with emotions forgotten and intentions extinguished, one reaches the far shore (liberation). The fish that neither craves fragrant bait nor swallows the hook is most at ease—just like the solitary practitioner, a fisherman steering his lone boat through misty rain. It urges people to cut off attachments in time and cultivate before life and death overtake them, lest they drown in the vast sea of suffering.
The final "Admonition to Disciples" teaches later seekers: in summer, sit in cool stillness by the Tu River (a practice site); in winter, rest peacefully at Chongyi (possibly a temple name). With the Dao in mind, wandering anywhere brings ease. It advises practitioners not to worry over the length of their cultivation—when merit and practice are complete, they will naturally transcend ordinary sleep. The poem stresses that Daoist cultivation is extraordinary, requiring understanding of the profound truth that "within seeming, there is no seeming" (ranzhong ranburan). It concludes by universally urging students to shun base desires and diligently cultivate the Great Dao at all times.
The Baoguang Ji poems reveal the spontaneous, natural lifestyle and spiritual insights of Daoist practitioners.
The first poem compares cultivation to the shuttle on a loom—nothing vague or illusory. When one truly comprehends the state of silent desirelessness, harmony with the Dao (the Way) arises naturally. The "Hermit of Silent Communion" mentioned here was an accomplished adept.
The second poem depicts seclusion at Tongxian Abbey in the Western Mountains. The practitioner considers the Yan Mountains an ideal place to spend one's remaining years, for a true cultivator dwelling in the mountains is already an immortal. "Master Feng" mentioned in the verse was likely a fellow seeker.
The third poem uses fishing as a metaphor: no bait, no hook—just an empty fishing rod by the boat. This illustrates that cultivation requires no forced striving; seeing nature reveals the truth, sparing the need for tedious persuasion.
In the poem dedicated to Palace Graduate Shi, it says: wishing to transmit this tranquil mind to others, yet few in the world fully grasp the true Dao. Like jade hidden within stone, only by transcending worldly attachments can one perceive a different kind of spring.
Passing by Gaojia Village, he writes: a small hermitage deep in the mountains—a brief stay that turns into reluctance to leave. Enamored with this secluded grotto-heaven, time slips away unnoticed.
The poem about children brims with playful charm: little ones, three or five, also press palms in reverence. Everywhere, virtuous connections align with Heaven’s will, heralding an age of peace.
Another verse mentions encountering the "infant" (referring to the primordial Shen/spirit) during meditation, asking passersby when they will awaken. Perfect cultivation demands three thousand merits and eight hundred opportunities to reach fulfillment.
Crossing the chaotic ridges of Hunyuan Pass, he writes: leaving Fanshan in winter, traversing the perilous pass in deepest cold. As companions bid farewell, they marvel—despite hardship, the Daoist remains joyful. Later, he adds: crossing the Western Mountains at year’s end, passing one barrier after another. The wind chills his beard, aging him, yet his face glows with childlike vigor.
A winter scene unfolds: snow seals the mountains in the bitter ninth cycle, recalling Han Yu’s crossing of Lan Pass. His fellow cultivator, though white-haired, is hale—worthy of immortal portraiture.
The final verses describe practice in a humble pavilion before towering peaks: reclining in stillness, clarity fills his vision, wandering carefree all day. When visitors speak of worldly affairs, he closes his eyes in silence until evening prayers. Reflecting on the New Year in Huairen County, he muses: last year, new years came in Chongyi; this year, old years depart in Huairen—so the seasons turn.
This poetic collection presents the travels and spiritual insights of a Daoist practitioner. The celestial movements follow their natural order ("twelve celestial divisions" referring to the zodiac), just as human reunions will eventually come to pass. The author visited Ziguang Temple (a Daoist monastery) in Nanyang Village, Guozhou, where he exchanged poems with official Yila Zhongshu and literatus Chen Xiuyu.
Though the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism) share the same fundamental truth, their cultivation paths differ—like west and east pointing in opposite directions. True enlightenment understands that "one truth penetrates the non-dual palace"—ultimate reality is singular, transcending all dualities. At the purification ritual (zhaijiao) hosted by Lecturer Liu at Chongzhen Temple, the poet recalled his journey from Yanmen Pass to the Hutuo River, observing how peace now reigns under heaven, uniting all lands as one family.
Passing through Xiuye Garden in Jiaocheng County during late spring, he marveled at exotic blossoms and children composing poetry, sighing that "few understand the message of perfect clarity"—the cosmic truth of primordial wholeness remains obscure to most. During his retreat at Qingxu Temple (a Daoist site) in Pingyao County, he kept company with ancient cypresses, embodying the carefree state of "no-mind, no-concern."
Crossing Wu'er Valley in Luzhou, he advised local magistrates Li and She to establish a Daoist temple for wayfarers, accumulating virtue (de) through good deeds. His poetic gift to fellow cultivator Jin Baotong praised his "steadfast Dao-heart"—externally dissolving the Four Marks (self, others, sentient beings, and lifespan), internally guarding the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers).
The journey concludes at Hongshan Mingxia Temple in Jiexiu County, depicting the "secluded grotto-heaven" ideal for cultivation: crystalline cliffs with cascading waterfalls, ascending heights to overlook springs—manifesting the Daoist reverence for nature's unspoiled beauty. Throughout the work flows the Daoist spirit of "detachment" and "purified emptiness," using wandering as means to comprehend heaven-earth's ultimate principles.
The poems in The Collection of Preserved Light reveal the life reflections and cultivation insights of a Daoist practitioner wandering through various regions. The first poem depicts the experience of seeking refuge from the cold and practicing in an earthen cave at Lingyuan Temple in Yichang Village, Fenzhou: the winding cave shelters from the bitter cold, where one reclines undisturbed through winter days. Occasionally, visitors come searching, yet the cave's depth conceals all traces. On the roads between Taiyuan and Pingyang, devotees come and go in an unending stream, flowing as ceaselessly as the Fen River.
When describing Laojun Peak on Zijin Mountain in Hejin, the author personally records his journey, surveying the strategic convergence of rivers and mountains. This peak, revered since ancient times as "Laojun Peak," stands aloof in transcendent purity. Passing through Hejin, local gentry and commoners request verses. The poet observes the city, nestled among mountains and embraced by water on three sides, its streets alive with the glow of incense and devotion.
In casual conversation with a Zhang-named friend from Xiyan, the author reveals the true essence of cultivation: there is no need to deliberately seek out forests, springs, or remote mountains, for the realm of clarity and emptiness lies within the heart. If one transcends worldly entanglements, true leisure arises naturally. Inscribing a poem at the hermitage of Xinzhang Village, he expresses the state of cultivation where the body is light and the mind serene: with a purified heart, distance holds no fear; in midsummer, contentment flourishes in this tranquil retreat.
Answering Yang Hanqing, he clarifies the key to practice: to ascend the path to the azure heavens, one must understand that true leisure is extraordinary. It requires tempering one’s nature to transcend the "Four Appearances" (self, others, sentient beings, and lifespan) and harmonizing the true breath to unblock the "Three Passes" (the coccyx, the spine’s ridge, and the jade pillow).
In a poem inscribed at the Guanyin Pavilion of Magu, he describes arriving in the mist-wrapped valley in late autumn, climbing the tower alone after a meal to savor the stillness. When Confucian scholar Guo Gong inquires about the method of peace and joy, the poet responds: the vast and upright Qi must balance square and round; nurturing a selfless heart fills the boundless universe. Transcending the transformations of the Three Realms, one naturally attains longevity.
Climbing Qian’gao Mountain, he reflects: the ends of the earth lie before his eyes, the mountain’s beauty like a painting. When asked his name, he calls himself a carefree immortal among the pines. Receiving a request for calligraphy from a Pingyao official, he delights in the secluded density of pines and rocks, musing that the mountain retreat he yearned for in youth now perfectly suits his leisurely old age.
Finally, in a poem for a fellow Daoist from Yanshan, he describes the cultivation state where both heart and body withdraw: when the heart retreats, time becomes abundant; now, with both withdrawn, perfection is achieved—a profound and ineffable realm of the Dao.
These poems from the Baoguang Ji express a Daoist practitioner's state of mind and insights. The first says that cultivation requires forgetting worldly speech and remaining pure and natural. After decades of studying with a master and establishing temples on Zhongnan Mountain, a sacred Daoist site, the practitioner finally understands that all of it was arranged by Heaven.
The second laments that thirty years of cultivation have still not brought fulfillment. Despite facing the world's storms and dangers, the poet remains inwardly calm. It advises readers that wind in the pines can awaken the mind, while excessive concern with worldly affairs only disturbs it. A pure place such as a dongtian fudi, a grotto-heaven and blessed land, should be cherished; dullness and sleepiness must not delay practice.
The third stresses that the depth of one's practice matters less than sincerity of the heart directed toward the Dao. Once this is understood, time should not be wasted. A poem addressed to Ma, the Daoist association leader in Pingyao County, says that he is now elderly and should let go after seeing through worldly life, spending his remaining years with easygoing companions in peaceful times.
The poem about fellow practitioners at Changchun Palace is vivid. The state of qingxu, clarity and emptiness, needs few words. A visitor has traveled a thousand li but is stopped by heavy snow at the mountain gate. Days of snow seem to make the pines and green trees sorrowful, and overnight the green mountains turn white-haired, a personification conveying the snowfall's intensity.
Three poems written while visiting Guishan in Qincheng have a leisurely charm. Tongchuan's scenery brings joy, and the townspeople live peacefully among mountains and waters. Looking out from Guishan, everything appears clear. Seeing through worldly affairs brings delight, and in this cool place the poet prays for peace throughout the world. Finally, looking in every direction from Guishan reveals desolation everywhere in human life. From then on, he sees through worldly concerns, and even in intense summer heat his heart remains cool.
The final poems discuss insights into cultivation: one must experience the mysterious original nature and keep the heart clear. Practice requires understanding its fundamental purpose, while the sacred achievements of the patriarch, Wang Chongyang, founder of Quanzhen, are always manifest. Silent understanding allows one to recognize the patriarch. Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu, four of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen, carry on the tradition's excellent spirit.
I advise all cultivators to practice diligently with unwavering commitment. This letter was written to the Daoist community of Yanshan during the Mid-Autumn Festival in the Dingyou year, composed while I was in Qincheng.
Three full years have passed since I left Yanshan, and now, after weathering many storms, I have finally found safe harbor. I am especially grateful to my fellow Daoists for their consideration of my old age—the rice and wheat of Tongchuan nourish better than those of other places. By chance, I came upon a poem by Zizhan (Su Shi) inscribed on a wall and was suddenly struck by insight: the Daoist silently drinks three cups of wine, while the Chan practitioner drowsily takes a nap. These seemingly contradictory actions hold profound meaning, so I urge you not to heed the shallow opinions of worldly people.
A poem written for Abbot Ma (head of the temple): Before I even speak, others remark on my aged appearance, yet those who meet me first praise my lofty virtue (De). Only with an empty and clear mind can one always dwell in ease; when disheartened, let no attachments linger.
Written while bidding farewell to Magistrate Li of Pingyao County during the Dragon Boat Festival: A pure and free body, coming and going like a cloud, lets worldly people speculate as they will. Just as I depart the temple on this festival day, the railings are lined with sunflowers that refuse to bloom.
Declining an invitation from Daming Prefecture due to illness: I often heard in the past of my master facing demonic obstacles, and now this trial has passed to me, this old man of Qinghe. Ahead lie countless realms of true Dao, but without sufficient cultivation, one cannot hope to glimpse them.
A poem for Immortal Niu: Cultivation depends on profound insight; when encountering demonic hindrances, stand firm. If one awakens to the truth of no-birth and no-extinction, they will be spared the suffering of samsara in the human realm.
Recalling my time at Qingyi Hermitage in Weiyang: Thirty years I dwelt in Weiyang, now seventy and no longer discoursing on mysteries. In stillness, I recall the place of true leisure—just like Qingyi Hermitage of old.
Disciple Liu Zhixi presents carved statuettes of the Seven Perfected (Quanzhen Seven Masters): A single spark of spiritual light, skillfully applied, refines the myriad wonders to commune with the divine. If one comprehends the original source, they may carve the formless Dharma-body.
Depicting the Daoist temple at Mount Wuhua: Mount Wuhua has always been a retreat of forests and springs, where lush trees connect to flowing waters. Ask the travelers who come and go—how many mountain hermitages can compare? All who arrive here break into smiles, as the smooth path winds straight into the hills. The temple’s serenity rivals the immortal realms; its secluded woods and springs surpass the human world. The Jade Lotus Pavilion by the Jade Lotus Pool gazes upon water and mountain with boundless vista. Having wandered the mortal realm, I have chosen this place for my twilight years.
This set of five quatrains was composed in response to Wang Zizheng. Mount Wuhua is truly a treasure for cultivation—its natural tranquility far surpasses the clamor of the mundane world.
This practitioner followed his master's summons to leave the mountains, beginning his Daoist mission in the regions of Weixian and Laizhou in Shandong, later establishing teaching platforms around Yanshan (present-day Beijing). The places where he once refined the Golden Elixir (Jindan) now find him revisiting as a free-spirited wanderer.
Another poem depicts: Emerald lotus leaves rise gracefully from the square pond, perfectly complementing what Tao Yuanming's (the Eastern Jin recluse) golden chrysanthemum hedge lacked. The lotuses planted in midsummer already exude fragrance—their full bloom by the Double Ninth Festival will be no less magnificent.
A verse on spiritual attainment describes: The five-colored radiance transforms anew, resembling the splendor of Penglai's immortal palaces, revealing a realm of crystalline clarity before one's eyes. Heaven grants this aged body leisurely freedom, where refreshing breezes caress the banks of the Five Blossoms Pond.
Who truly comprehends the mystery of "internal wandering" (neiyunyou, spiritual journey within)? Even those capable of traversing the eight directions may not dissolve worldly vexations. Infinite profundity dwells within the state of purity—dare we ask where the path of cultivation ultimately leads?
Only by completely relinquishing worldly attachments can one realize the true essence of the Dao. Yet the term "Daoist sentiment" (Daoqing) remains a provisional designation. Those who awaken to the wondrous principle of "birthlessness" (wusheng) attain a realm surpassing even the Southern Florescence Sage (Zhuangzi) and the immortal peaks of Red City Mountain.
This pentasyllabic verse extols the essence of the Scripture of Purity and Stillness (Qingjing Jing): The principle of purifying the Three Potencies (Jing, Qi, Shen) can only be grasped by those of true wisdom. The superior virtuous embody selflessness, while the inferior foolish remain contentious. When the mind-mirror becomes limpid, all reflections appear with natural clarity. Where does the supremely wondrous Dao begin? Simply maintain the innate harmony of your fundamental nature.
An admonition on precepts states: Clothing for warmth and food for sustenance should suffice. Lacking either disrupts the human heart. Yet some, despite abundance, indulge insatiable greed. When retribution comes for accumulated transgressions, whom can they blame?
Midnight at Shunshun Hall describes: The Mid-Autumn moon bathes Shunshun Hall in exceptional tranquility, where fellow cultivators dwell in harmonious accord. Demonic spirits hide beyond the sea's horizon as the luminous moon ascends mountain peaks. Under heaven's shared celebration, countless households gaze upward in joy. Throughout the night they sit discussing the Dao, all experiencing serene clarity of heart-mind.
Written at Xiantian Abbey on Fanshan Mountain reflects: My coming to Xiantian Abbey held profound purpose, yet now I harbor no attachment to this wandering life of cloud and water (monastic itinerancy). Seclusion was meant to escape worldly clamor, though I regret not vanishing completely. Under autumn sun I bid farewell to cherished companions; with spring warmth I seek kindred spirits. Seeking Western Mountain's purity spares me from human affairs.
Another insight on cultivation states: Holding fast to the Dao, I forget worldly toil; dwelling peacefully, I admire virtuous neighbors. My seat hosts only transcendent guests; the mat welcomes solely liberated beings. Nourishing Qi like a tortoise's enduring breath, refining form with stone-like resilience. To perceive true Dharma appearances, one must recognize the original face.
Record of an extraordinary vision during the Lantern Festival (Yuanxiao) in the year Yiyou at Qinyang Abbey on Jinshan Mountain: A thousand willow strands transformed into white jade; ten thousand lanterns cast crimson radiance. Heaven manifested rare auspicious signs; earth revealed divine craftsmanship. Jade blossoms adorned emerald trees; green mountains morphed into aged sages. Every plant and tree throughout the mountains became exquisite carved jade.
From the sixth month of the Yiyou year to the eighth day of the fourth month of the Bingxu year, not a drop of rain fell. At that time, I was staying at the Longyang Temple behind the mountains, so I composed this poem:
Autumn lacked three inches of rain,
Spring brought fierce winds in their wake.
Winter’s snow was too thin—
How could summer’s crops thrive?
People never reflect on their own faults,
Yet always blame the gods for failing them.
I’ve resolved to leave the western pass,
But still, I fret over survival.
Twenty years have passed since parting with my old friend from Longxi.
When we first met, we had yet to share our hearts.
Now, reunited in conversation,
I find our thoughts so closely aligned.
We agreed to journey together to the western mountains,
So I recorded this memory:
Once, we merely crossed paths,
But today, we speak with open hearts.
We vow to travel west,
Climbing the northern peaks to chant poetry.
Carefree, we leave the capital,
Untethered, we enter the deep woods.
Before us, layered distant peaks,
The road ahead grows ever more profound.
After many petitions,
I was finally granted the title of "Zhenren" (True One).
By chance, I wrote a five-character verse,
And couldn’t help but sigh:
I cultivate to seek the Dao of the True One,
So others call me "Zhenzhen."
If my practice is deep enough,
Why fear failing to attain immortality?
The study of Dao is no empty fantasy—
Refining truth requires solid foundations.
If one can be as steadfast as the Seven Patriarchs,
How could the Dao’s recompense ever fail them?
A poem for Master Wang Chan, who had fallen ill:
The ancient Dao is certainly worth following,
Yet today’s world also has its paths.
Refining truth lies in grasping the essence,
Health and peace arise naturally in harmony.
When cultivation is complete, the body grows light,
When the Golden Elixir (Jindan) is achieved, all ailments vanish.
One’s true nature is originally complete—
Not a speck of dust can stain it.
Inscribed at the Southern Hermitage:
Strolling idly to the southern retreat,
This place most soothes the spirit.
Before the gate, a clear green stream,
Beyond the window, cool bamboo winds.
In peril, know contentment,
Forget greed, and strife will cease.
Only by guarding the original heart
Does the Dao-mind naturally brighten.
For Mu Linlao, who suffered long illness,
This year, the Xinyou year, the Lower Yuan Jiao (funerary rites) were completed:
Though this illusory body lingers in sickness,
The heart seeking the Dao grows ever more sincere.
The Yellow Registers (Huanglu) connect with the underworld,
The Red Texts (Chishu) reach the celestial courts.
The departed rejoice in liberation,
Life celebrates fulfillment.
The supreme Dao lies not in breadth—
How can one transcend life and death?
A lament after Mu Linlao’s passing:
You have already returned to the realm of truth,
Now I come for you.
We knew each other for over ten years,
Yet walked together for only two.
Returning, the body is like a dream,
Departing, the form turns to ashes.
Life and death are but the natural course—
Why grieve excessively?
A nighttime discussion on profound principles with Daoist Judge Zhuang at the Shenqing Temple in Guozhou, with shared encouragement:
At night, we spoke of the wondrous teachings,
At Shenqing Temple, seated until the second watch.
No master like Liezi stood at the gate,
Yet at the table...
The Modern Interpretation of Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light):
Zhuangzi (Master Zhuang) possessed a naturally serene disposition that worldly dust could hardly taint. His mind was unobstructed and penetrating, making his spiritual cultivation easily successful, allowing him to fully explore the profound mysteries beyond the mundane realm. His pure Daoist heart was as clear and transparent as a polished mirror.
At Mount Wuhua (a sacred Daoist mountain), we joyfully welcomed the nourishing rain. Just as the spring winds ceased in April, abundant showers graced the mountain. All living things rejoiced, and I too dwelled here in peaceful contentment. The summer-sown crops would soon flourish, and the autumn harvest was assured. Often, I would ride cloud-carriages (vehicles of immortals) to wander freely, immersed in boundless delight.
During the fourth month of the Jihai year, seven consecutive days of heavy mist shrouded the land, and only on the seventh day did the sun and moon reappear. April should have been brimming with Yang energy, yet suddenly Yin energy surged, plunging heaven and earth into obscurity—even the spirits were startled. These seven days resembled the primordial chaos before creation, with the Great Yin (the moon) refusing to reveal its light. Then, one day, the fog abruptly dispersed, and the sun and moon restored their original radiance.
In a poem replying to Wang Zizheng, I wrote: "Your fortunate encounter with the true Dharma reveals your profound karmic roots from past lives. There’s no need to rigidly follow the footsteps of the ancients; the key is to turn inward and observe your own mind. The truth you can grasp right now—why exhaust yourself seeking it elsewhere? If you truly comprehend the meaning of 'clarity and stillness,' it surpasses the value of ten thousand taels of gold."
While passing through Jingzhou for a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) at the eastern salt fields, I composed a poem for my fellow Daoists of the East: "Though I cannot cultivate at the Western Mountains, destiny guides my steps eastward. An empty mind naturally unites with the Dao, though my solitary nature remains not fully awakened. To perceive the mysteries, enter the realm of formlessness; clinging to the periphery still binds you to worldly attachment. Cultivate the true virtue of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), and do not covet empty fame. See form and recognize its emptiness; hear sound and awaken to its silence. In action, nothing is lacking; in stillness, clarity deepens. Indulging desires obstructs the Dao; restraining the mind eases practice. This illusory body is but a temporary fusion; true nature is originally impartial. Do not labor to seek the methods of lead and mercury (alchemical terms), nor let the flames of worldly desire arise. Fellow practitioners, heed my sincere advice: relinquish attachments, and a brighter path will unfold."
Fifty days after leaving the capital, my writings had already filled countless pages. Wherever I went, devotees welcomed me in droves; wherever I passed, incense smoke curled upward. Every place revealed the teachings of the Dao—nowhere was not a celestial abode (xianxiang, realm of immortals). Through refining mind and nature, one may traverse the Three Realms (heaven, earth, and humanity), with renown spreading throughout the ten directions. Intent on pursuing serene stillness, I had no interest in clinging to fame. The path of practice relies on a master’s guidance, yet standing firm requires inner strength. The people’s peace stems from accumulating virtue through good deeds; the nation’s harmony depends on chanting scriptures. Follow heaven’s will without distinction of rank; proceed with the flow, unconcerned with gains or losses. The Quanzhen Seven Masters (Wang Chongyang and his six disciples) established the true teachings, with myriad sacred beings upholding the light. Walking, dwelling, sitting, reclining—all are arranged by heaven’s decree. Why deliberately conceal one’s traces?
Inscribed during the renovation of Wuhua Abbey: "This was once a courtyard for alchemical refinement, now transformed into a hermitage for serene retirement. I cherish the wild hills not for their scenery, nor seek solitude for fame or gain. The waters and clouds of the four seas have settled; Mount Wuhua is my refuge for withdrawal. Even the firewood by the wall seems imbued with deeper meaning."
This section of the Baoguang Ji presents the practical wisdom and approach to life of a Daoist practitioner.
The first poem describes a simple, carefree daily life: drawing water at a stove in the north, warming oneself with porridge in the south, and savoring tea's sweetness. This pure life, free of restless thoughts, requires no deliberate effort to contemplate every teaching. The poet neither welcomes nor sees off visitors and is disinclined to socialize. Others may find him strange, but he happily remains a plain, kindly old man.
Zhou Gu from Ge Hong's mountain sends a letter, and the poet replies in verse. Ge Hong was a famous Daoist scholar of the Eastern Jin. Since parting in the old Yan region, the poet rode into Shandong, hoping to find the legendary immortal Wang Lie, but had no opportunity to meet Ge Hong. The letter reveals that Zhou Gu now lives in seclusion, cultivating heart and nature beneath pines and resting the true nature in Biluo, the heavenly realm. By developing the character of an elevated recluse and the bearing of an accomplished person, she will surely ascend when her merit is complete, like bamboo transforming into a dragon.
A poem about Qiyun Guan on Panshan describes a Daoist sanctuary in the mountain's heart, reached by a road that is not long. A slender stream flows steadily through the valley, and pines shade the slopes. Before the hermitage, the poet relaxes with loose hair; in the pavilion, he sits quietly with his robe open. A Daoist pounds medicines at dawn, and a recluse plays the qin at night. Rising clouds add auspiciousness, while moving wind carries clear sounds. The joy of Quanzhen practice here is worth more than ten thousand liang of gold.
The five-character quatrains recount meeting Duan Daolu, whose title is a Daoist office, after many years apart. Duan brings out a collection of poems, and the poet adds two. The first says there is no need to chase worldly scenes; one should seek spring beyond the secular world. Concealing one's brilliance develops great virtue, and one's words naturally astonish others. The second says it feels like their first parting, though several more years have passed. All their elegant experiences of wind and moon are entrusted to someone who understands.
The Changchun Gong Jingshi Shishou uses paired lines to explain the essentials of cultivating the heart:
- Cosmic calamities follow the patterns of yin and yang, yet natural disasters are brought on by people themselves. Keep a good heart, and blessings will remain while countless troubles disappear.
- An upright heart and nature produce honest speech; crooked intentions produce distorted words. Right and wrong begin with oneself, so what do others' comments matter?
- A peaceful heart has little hatred or attachment; tangled thoughts generate disputes. Following evil thoughts leads into the sea of suffering, while returning to original truth allows ascent to Daluo, the highest Daoist Heaven.
- Taming the restless heart reveals wrongdoing and blessings; indulging one's impulses belongs to the demonic path. Advanced practitioners have few worldly ties, while the ignorant have many desires.
- Rivalry and argument are dangerous; freedom from contention has enduring sweetness. Deception and pretense lead to hell, while an impartial heart is Heaven.
- Desire produces attachment everywhere; freedom from emotional fixation allows everything to be released. Understanding the heart and seeing its nature reveals mystery; realizing true cultivation reveals original nature.
- The pure original heart is unpolluted. Delusion gives rise to false feelings. Enlightenment transcends the sixiang, here earth, water, fire, and wind; awakening reveals the Sanqing, Daoism's highest deities.
These verses from the Baoguang Ji contain profound cultivation wisdom, which I'll explain section by section:
When the human mind is scattered and chaotic, every spoken word carries turbidity; when in power, one bullies others, and when out of favor, calamity will befall. This reminds practitioners to maintain inner purity, keeping equanimity through both favorable and adverse circumstances.
When one can clarify the Shen (spirit, referring to the tranquil state achieved through meditation), they may comprehend the true meaning of the Dao; only by relinquishing worldly distractions can one perceive the ethereal nature of the body. In this state, practitioners can perceive the primordial mystical light of life and attain unobstructed enlightenment.
If cultivators can replenish the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) in the lower, middle, and upper Dantian (the three major energy centers in Daoist practice), their reputation will naturally spread. True Daoist methods are rare even across millennia, requiring seekers to traverse thousands of miles like the ancient masters.
Regarding the inscribed mountain-water inkstone screen: the mystical "existence" comprehends divine transformations, while emptiness contains supreme spirituality. Understanding the secrets of cosmic inception comes from the natural differentiation of primordial Qi (the fundamental energy constituting all things).
When facing demonic obstacles, practitioners should refrain from deluded thoughts and maintain ordinary mind in all situations. The verses repeatedly remind disciples to cherish time because: celestial demons are difficult to reform, while worldly affairs easily exhaust the spirit; when demonic obstacles are severe, strengthen resolve, and when matters appear simple, remain vigilant; overcoming demonic obstacles achieves genuine De (virtue/power), while facing external circumstances reveals the true mind; subduing demons relies on wisdom, and eliminating self-attachment requires the state of Wuwei (non-action); experiencing countless demonic obstacles without tainted conduct, only through repeated tempering can ordinary mentality be removed.
In three poems addressed to fellow cultivator Wang Zizheng: Though the appointment to the Three Isles (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou—legendary Daoist immortal realms) remains unfulfilled, one delights in the spring scenery of Wuhua Mountain. Though physically in the human world, one has already transcended worldly dust. In later years, realizing time's brevity, one should distance from the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusion—Buddhist concepts of fundamental afflictions) and transcend the six dusts (Buddhist term for sensory objects that provoke desire). Though Wuhua Mountain's scenery isn't perfect, its perpetual spring allows whole days of carefree sitting in stillness, the mind unstained by dust.
When traveling with fellow cultivators to Dashan Temple: Layer upon layer of mountain ridges, winding river currents, fellow seekers invite each other to ascend the great mountain. Among the peaks stand several cloud-veiled hermitages, where all seated companions share joyful countenances.
Passing by the Jin Temple, reflecting: Present-day Taiyuan interweaves with ancient Taiyuan, only the flowing waters before Jin Temple remain, clear as ever, remembering no years.
In a poem about congee for fellow cultivators in Yanjing: Plain porridge of bitter greens and mung beans—these two simple foods unexpectedly capture true delight, bringing genuine peace and comfort. After eating, the body feels light and the spirit refreshed. This embodies the Daoist wisdom of valuing simplicity and finding contentment in sufficiency.
When one truly comprehends the essence of Daoist cultivation in later years, all worldly trivialities naturally fall away. This is the teaching I impart to my disciple, Tianzhen Daoren.
The core of Quanzhen Daoism (a major school of Daoist tradition) lies in penetrating the fundamental nature of life and the profound mysteries of the heavenly Dao. Yet most contemporary practitioners fail to grasp its deeper meaning. Having been fortunate enough to study for thirty years under four enlightened masters—Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu—I received countless oral transmissions containing profound truths about daily practice and the karmic consequences of good and evil. Though these principles may be understood, without sufficient practical cultivation, one still cannot transcend the ordinary and attain sagehood.
The nobleman from Longxi, after years of monastic life, unexpectedly encountered me and insisted I record the subtle yet profound teachings passed down by our masters. To benefit both his personal practice and future generations of seekers, I shall briefly note these essential points: The great Dao (the Way) was never distant from humanity—it is people who distance themselves from it. Many know that both Buddhist and Daoist traditions speak of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu), but few understand their differences. The crucial insight lies in recognizing cultivation's inherent marvel—when wisdom and vitality nourish each other to reach a state of true nature's stability, one enters the unimpeded dharma gate, uniting with the Dao, transcending the cycle of birth and death, and attaining luminous freedom. This is the verification of the profound Dao.
If diligent practitioners still fail to awaken, it stems from insufficient merit in past lives. Yet those who remain single-mindedly devoted to the Dao until death will surely become enlightened in future incarnations. The sages never abandon such cultivators—with slight guidance, their minds suddenly open, and attaining the Dao becomes no difficult matter. Our masters taught: One must understand all methods (various cultivation techniques) yet remain unattached to them. Non-attachment means realizing all phenomena are inherently empty; clinging to methods is like staring at the pointing finger while missing what it indicates. Only by seeing where the finger points can one truly comprehend the emptiness of all phenomena. Understanding this transforms one into a carefree practitioner who speaks little and nurtures authenticity.
Building on this foundation, if one can respond to circumstances without being swayed by external conditions, act decisively without hesitation, maintain internal-external harmony, and cultivate consistently over time—even without achieving celestial ascension—one becomes a wisdom-being transcending worldly dust. Such individuals preserve their original purity in all situations, remaining unmoved even by silver-tongued deceivers. To succeed in cultivation, one must treasure life's limited time. As Daoist practitioners, we must diligently contemplate and realize these truths.
Even when practitioners have attained a certain level of cultivation, they still require daily guidance from teachers and fellow seekers. Though one may comprehend the principles intellectually, continuous practice and refinement are essential until genuine results manifest. Only then can one truly reach the state of standing alone yet unchanging, moving ceaselessly without exhaustion. Here are recorded the essential teachings of several realized adepts, with the hope that like-minded seekers may cultivate together and transcend the mundane world.
The monastic communities of Chongyang Palace (the ancestral temple of Quanzhen Daoism) and Youde Abbey must understand: the karmic connection to this sacred site is extraordinary. This is a holy land where celestial beings are permitted to expound teachings and establish the foundation of the tradition. Since you cultivate here, you should devote yourselves to its restoration, accumulating merit through genuine action. When encountering demonic obstacles, do not retreat—single-mindedly accumulate merit and virtue to become worthy of this sacred ground. Here, a single measure of merit equals tenfold elsewhere, and the same principle applies to negative karma.
Your deeds are not performed for human recognition but solely for the celestial beings' acknowledgment. If you sincerely request it, the sages may dispatch me personally to investigate. But should merit-accumulators be few while transgressors multiply, any calamity that befalls will be no ordinary matter. These true admonitions are now conveyed—may all who aspire to the Dao ponder them carefully, for these words hold great benefit. Do not hesitate; practice with sincere hearts, and the perfected beings will never forsake your sacred site.
As the Chongyang Festival approaches, Perfected Yuan (a Quanzhen master) composed verses during a gathering at Wuhua Abbey: Though Wuhua Abbey is famed for its spring scenery, it cannot compare to its autumn splendor—when myriad trees blaze like brocade and immortals gather as if on Penglai's mythical isles.
He also sent poems to fellow seekers including Duan Zhenqing: "Ten thousand golden lotuses bear fruit as one; Wuhua Abbey's late autumn marks the auspicious hour." The rare Chongyang gathering approaches—thus I inform fellow seekers to prepare early.
In response to Wang Zizheng's inquiry: "Why read scriptures further to cultivate the mind? Seeing through and letting go returns one to the primordial source (Taiji). When you awaken to the scripture's unobstructed truth, the mind naturally becomes clear and luminous."
This Baoguang Ji (Radiance-Preserving Anthology) was compiled by Perfected Qinghe Yin Zhiping (sixth patriarch of Quanzhen Daoism), containing poetic works including Xijiang Yue (Moon Over West River) lyrics.
The Collection of Preserved Light poems depict the insights and states attained by practitioners during their cultivation at Autumn Sun Temple and Dragon Sun Temple.
The first poem describes the author's fondness for Autumn Sun Temple's secluded setting, surrounded by pine-covered cliffs and rarely visited. Here, one naturally forgets worldly machinations without deliberate meditation, attaining carefree joy akin to wine-induced euphoria. With mountains and streams as companions and no disputes in mind, watching the drifting clouds daily allows complete freedom to linger at will.
The second extols West Cliff's magnificent scenery—rolling mountains, fertile land, and vibrant green pines and willows. Rare flowers bloom here, with babbling brooks in spring and brilliant autumn sunlight. No celestial ladder is needed, for this is where immortals dwell.
The third notes how Autumn Sun Temple's Daoist community practices humility and harmony, singing joyfully throughout the day. All live as equals in this blessed land, strolling through pine forests amidst misty vines. Their cultivation prioritizes others over self, thus avoiding misfortune.
The fourth continues praising West Cliff's beauty as an immortal garden with dragon-like mountain contours. Thatched cottages among clouds complement divine flowers and exotic fruits, while worldly visitors feel such refreshing purity they instinctively raise hands in reverence.
The fifth reveals that at Autumn Sun Temple, a finger's point illuminates the cloud path—no external search is needed. One clearly perceives Buddhism's Three Bodies and Four Wisdoms without probing celestial mysteries. These immediate recognitions embody Quanzhen's authentic transmission.
In the Dragon Sun Temple winter solstice series, the first poem depicts moonlight bathing the earth while Yang Qi fills the Dantian (energy center). Thunder shakes mountains as lightning flashes. Dharma rain nourishes virtuous practitioners, while compassion's clouds spread boundlessly—only then does an era of peace manifest, fulfilling cultivation's original vow.
The second observes that celestial immortals never err, yet earthly beings remain deluded. Those fortunate to study scriptures awaken to Dharma-nature. Understanding truth and contemplating emptiness leads to Lingbao (Numinous Treasure) realms of wisdom, while scripture-illiterates struggle for liberation.
The third exhorts steadfast cultivation, restraining the wandering mind. With urgent admonitions, it urges awakening before white-haired old age—youth fleets, daylight fades—better turn back swiftly and heed wise guidance.
The poems from The Collection of Preserved Radiance depict the lifestyle and cultivation insights of Daoist practitioners maintaining serenity amid turbulent times.
The first poem speaks of a Daoist persisting in cultivation and accumulating merit (De) during wartime ("dry spears" symbolize conflict). By reciting scriptures daily to serve the nation and subduing demonic obstructions through morning and evening Daoist practices, one avoids calamity. The cultivator maintains inner harmony ("chonghe") and purity, ultimately attaining the fruit of the Dao. Seasonal contrasts are used—returning to the mountain temple during the sweltering heat of summer only to encounter the coolness of late autumn—hinting at the transformative power of practice on one’s state of mind.
The second poem contrasts summer’s scorching heat with the mountain’s autumn coolness, expressing detachment from worldly glamour. To the cultivator, ripening crops are more precious than distant exotic lands; with a mind free of burdens, any place becomes an immortal realm. Preferring the pure calls of cranes and gibbons, the clarity of breeze and moonlight, and the company of clouds, pines, and cypresses, the simple ascetic life (with "unkempt hair and topknot," a Daoist hairstyle) embodies a serenity more valuable than all else.
The third poem describes the seclusion of a hermit’s dwelling. Outside the window, mountains unfold like a painting; before the gate, a stream murmurs softly. Such grotto-heavens and blessed lands, rarely trodden by human feet, stand apart from worldly paths. After savoring the quiet pleasures of wind and moon, one sees through worldly affairs with greater clarity. With the six senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought) at peace, even casual chanting becomes cultivation.
The fourth poem employs paradoxical imagery to convey esoteric truths. It speaks of the golden crow (the sun) in the moon heralding dawn and the jade rabbit (the moon) in the sun resting—revealing the inverted nature of all phenomena. It points out that all inherently possess complete Buddha-nature ("perfectly rounded nature"), yet fail to preserve it. True meditation lies in realizing one’s original essence.
The fifth poem discusses stages of cultivation. The shallow cling to knowledge, while the profound dwell beyond delusion and enlightenment. A true man ("upright man") awakens suddenly to the subtle mystery ("entering Yi and Xi," referencing Daodejing: "Listen but hear not—this is called Xi; grasp but hold not—this is called Wei"), understanding that the great Dao is never beyond the heart’s own inch-square space.
The sixth poem reveals key cultivation methods. Desire binds one to aging and sickness, while detachment reverses aging ("restoring a child’s face"). Emptying the mind and filling the belly (a Daoist breathing technique) pacifies the six spirits (Shen), guiding one step by step to the cool shore of liberation. After nine years of practice, one shatters the four marks (self, others, sentient beings, and lifespan); in ten years, one reaches the three immortal mountains (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou), roaming carefree in celestial realms.
The final dedication to Daoist Tian emphasizes practice between movement and stillness: when active, do not recklessly disturb your true nature; when still, harbor no doubts. Maintain genuine stillness and purity, and Qi will naturally fill the three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers), with the eight meridians flowing freely. Ultimately, one attains Wuwei (non-action), abiding in peace wherever one may be.
The poem "To the Assembly of Ten Thousand Lotuses" expounds the principle that practitioners should relinquish attachments and realize their true nature. When one has experienced all things, the heart finds contentment; when all clinging thoughts are discarded, the body becomes light. The fundamental spark of spiritual awareness (the primordial point) must be brought to perfect fruition, while those profound mysteries deserve careful contemplation. If the mind is allowed to wander unchecked, true self-knowledge becomes difficult, but by withdrawing deluded thoughts, ignorance (delusion and affliction) naturally becomes apparent. When ignorance is fully dispelled and worldly desires are severed, that is the moment of truly recognizing one's original mind and perceiving true nature—akin to treading the ascetic path toward the Western Mountains.
The stony path and cloud-ladder are perilous and arduous, progress made by clinging to vines and creepers is strenuous. Deep within the grotto-heavens (Daoist paradises), the mountains and waters are luminous and pure, far from the clamor of the mundane world. Sitting in serene meditation within earthen caves, cultivating stillness beside pine-clad cliffs—when the ears are clear and the heart is lucid, there is no need to envy the empty reputation of Xu You (the ancient recluse). This is the realm of transcending the ordinary and entering the sacred.
Another verse states: It is not merely for love of green mountains and clear waters, but to conceal one's traces and obscure one's name. Wearing coarse cloth and eating simple fare, severing worldly connections—only thus can one nurture the primordial (innate) nature. When Qi congeals and Shen becomes focused, maintaining long-term emptiness (a clear mind) and fullness (a replenished Dantian), the day will come when merit is perfected and one may behold the Three Pure Ones (the highest Daoist deities). This is the true disposition befitting a person of great virtue.
The passage "Exhorting the Assembly to Reduce Sleep" admonishes practitioners to curb excessive slumber: In summer, diligently practice in the precious halls; in winter, temper the stubborn mind. At the third watch of night, do not indulge the sleep demon's intrusion—this is the precept of past adepts. In learning the Dao, do not indulge in deluded thoughts; in cultivating perfection, do not stray from the community (the monastic forest). When the work of Wuwei (non-action) is perfected, one may freely chant and sing—only then is carefree rest upon a high pillow true liberation.
"Constant Contentment, Unfettered Heart" describes the practitioner's state of fulfillment: All day admiring mountains and streams, all day maintaining a heart of contentment. What more could one seek in the ease and joy of old age? Preserve the fullness of Yang (the ninety-ninefold flourishing of vital energy). Fortunate to be born human and cultivate the great Dao, within the Dao lies the true home. When merit is achieved, treading auspicious clouds to gaze upon the paradise of Yingzhou, one's name will endure for ten thousand ages.
"To Master Zhang" praises a fellow practitioner: Even while kindling the stove, he teaches to quench the chimney's smoke (a metaphor for constant breath regulation). Steadfast and diligent in practice, this surpasses futile circling. Cast aside the tangled affairs of dust and grime; comprehend those lucid and profound mysteries. When the work is complete and spiritual awareness perfected, that is the moment of being chosen for the Penglai paradise.
"To Fellow Practitioners in the Capital" offers these two verses to companions in the imperial city: Only because merit is lacking and De (virtue) insufficient must one drift between east and west. Two years have passed since parting, ten thousand miles of winding roads and worldly dust. To friends in the Yan Mountains (Beijing), heed my words without doubt. Though external affairs may be busy, inwardly forget cunning schemes—only thus can future regret be avoided.
Another verse states: Though long weary of human affairs, having entered the Daoist path, how can one return empty-handed? Had it not been for diligent practice bringing me west of the pass, how could I join this grand Chongyang gathering? Tell those with aspiration in our lineage: the Ancestral Court (the Chongyang Palace of Quanzhen) has revealed its foundation. The Zhongnan Mountains' beauty is peerless through the ages—here, the adept may dwell and cultivate in lasting peace.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents several poems that convey the insights and spiritual states of Daoist practitioners. The first poem, dedicated to the Confucian scholar Wang Zizheng, speaks of the innate purity of human nature, which becomes obscured by desires. Yet through sudden awakening to the Dao (the Way), one can see through worldly illusions. Cultivation requires abandoning arrogance and silently nurturing the inner spirit, aligning with the natural principle of Wuwei (non-action).
The subsequent poems, titled Wushan Yiduan Yun (A Strand of Cloud over Mount Wu), depict a practitioner’s journey. A nineteen-year-old disciple of immortality roams the world with his master, traveling from the great cities of the Western Regions to the Central Plains, witnessing diverse landscapes. Mention is made of a rare and exquisite spiritual melon—a metaphor for the preciousness and elusiveness of the Dao. Upon completing his cultivation, he returns eastward on a crane, his virtue (De) exalted, transcending the Three Realms.
Another poem recounts three years of practice in the northern frontier before returning home on clouds, welcomed joyfully by all. With virtue perfected, one breaks free from the cycle of rebirth and witnesses an era of peace. A further verse recalls the time when Laozi (the Supreme Venerable Sovereign) transmitted the Dao amidst the chaos of the Warring States, yet the compassionate Dao spread widely, linking ancient and modern traditions.
A cultivator from Beihai and a hermit of the Western Mountains bid farewell to their master and wander freely, untouched by worldly dust. Firm resolve is essential—a heart as unyielding as iron and stone—for after nine years of effort, one may ascend to the immortal isles. The mind shines like a bright candle, wisdom radiates like a lamp, and the spirit becomes perfectly clear, attaining omnipresent fulfillment. Rejecting worldly glory, one skillfully guides others; success leads to ascension to the Jasper Pool.
The final poem, addressed to fellow practitioners at the Tianchang Temple, describes the late spring scenery behind the mountains, where the beauty of Longyang (possibly Danyang) gradually unfolds, and olive blossoms bloom in the eastern garden—a life lived in harmony with circumstance. The poet urges steadfast devotion to the Dao and frequent exchanges of goodwill, ensuring inner tranquility and detachment. Another verse speaks of staff in hand, climbing mountains in meditation, free as the immortals of the Three Peaks or the wandering sages of the Four Seas. Even in solitude, one preserves true nature, accompanied only by wind and moon. Seeing through the vanity of fame and power, the poet declares a simple staff superior to fine steeds, steadily ascending the summit.
The closing lines allude to Zhuolu (where the Yellow Emperor battled Chiyou), noting that Chiyou has faded into history, yet the waters of Banquan (where the Yellow Emperor and Emperor Yan once clashed) still flow—a metaphor for the impermanence of worldly affairs and the eternal nature of the Dao.
Through countless springs and autumns across the ages, people have waged endless wars for power and dominance, a struggle that continues unabated even today. A lifetime spent creating bloodshed and enmity will inevitably demand repayment sooner or later.
Fellow Daoists insisted I stay temporarily at the Winter Sanctuary (a sacred cultivation site), where we discovered damaged sections in the northwest corner requiring repair. Unfortunately, now in the depths of winter, no amount of effort can properly mend them—we must wait until spring's blossoms arrive to complete the work. This circumstance prompted me to write these words.
I have always yearned for the reclusive life among mountain forests and spring waters, yet you all lack the mind to repair what's broken. This sacred ground contains profound mysteries of the Dao, where I've met kindred spirits transcending worldly dust. When spring comes and repairs are finished, it will mark the completion of our Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) cultivation. In years to come when our merits are fulfilled, we shall join hands to ascend to the immortal realms.
During the Double Ninth Festival at Longyang Temple, white wine expanded our hearts while chrysanthemum fragrance filled the air. Such authentic flavors perfectly suit this celebration. Our original nature is naturally complete like the full moon. Behind the mountains, autumn scenes show no difference—clusters of chrysanthemums bloom by quiet railings. Two pavilions compete in elegance, their refinement surpassing even cavern heavens.
An admonition: Daoism reveals the mystery of clarity and emptiness, Buddhism illuminates the truth of wisdom, while Confucius's (Zhongni) way of benevolence bridges past and present. These three sages share the same fundamental heart. Those who fail to forget vain fame and silently comprehend, who only know sectarian divisions—when facing death's clarity, they'll regret incomplete cultivation.
Choosing to dwell near West Pass was truly wise—myriad layered green mountains encircle winding rivers that twist twenty or thirty li. Emerald waves shimmer as mulberry and hemp fields bask in sunlight. With simple folk and secluded surroundings, this makes an ideal place to grow old. I named my retreat "Hermitage for Nurturing Age" and composed this verse to record it:
Ten thousand folds of blue-green mountains stretch across the horizon,
A hundred-turn river winds its endless course.
Local people dwell in peace, delighting in farming.
Flowing waters gurgle, fallen blossoms scent the air.
Choosing this place to spend my twilight years,
Let the body wither while the mind grows tranquil.
Passing remaining days unmoved and unshaken—
Where else need we seek immortals?
Inscription at Tongxian Temple:
Peaks upon peaks of exquisite emerald beauty,
The immortal atmosphere pure and bright.
The Three Yangs (sun, moon, stars) align like jade-carved divine tortoises—
All perfectly formed by nature's hand.
Deep within ten thousand layers of cloud-wrapped mountains,
Lies another world of cavernous serenity.
Who can abide here in lasting leisure?
Such purity and joy are matchless.
Urging the sewing of padded robes:
Last night's west wind blew piercing cold,
This morning autumn's chill grows deeper.
Though adepts have subdued deluded minds,
They cannot withstand nature's heat and cold.
Make the cotton robes loose and ample—
By day they're cloaks, by night they're quilts.
One garment may prove insufficient—
What other solution can there be?
Viewing the moon with Elder Zhai by Longmen Creek:
The stream turns icy with frost's breath,
Mountain flowers glow brighter with dew.
Sharing this jade-perfect full moon
With a friend of true worth.
These poems from the Baoguang Ji reveal the spiritual state and cultivation insights of Daoist practitioners.
The first poem recalls gatherings with friends by West Lake, where three years passed like a dream. In a verse dedicated to the Dragon-Tiger Lady (an honorific title for female Daoist cultivators), the poet writes that cultivation has borne fruit—body and mind are purified, free from worry. At forty, one comprehends life’s principles, learning to follow heaven’s will and maintain tranquility, for the truth is ultimately simple.
The Clear Water Daoist (Qingshui Daoren) describes how he follows the times to spread the orthodox Dao (Zhengyi), as perfected beings (Zhenren) descend to guide mortals. Once cultivation reaches completion, one may ascend to the Penglai paradise, escaping calamity. He recounts his arduous practice—two years of silent endurance in damp heat—though his skill remains incomplete, his devotion to the Dao (Daoxin) stands firm.
He warns the world to awaken early, lest disaster strike unheeded. True liberation, he notes, comes from transforming thoughts into wisdom. Composing at the Autumn Sun Temple, he reflects: though the thousand-year orthodox teaching (Zhengjiao) endures, few among the busy masses awaken. Yet those who turn back to the Dao become true immortals. The perfected may dwell in Penglai with the Eternal Spring Master (Changchun Zhenren, Qiu Chuji of the Quanzhen lineage), while ordinary eyes cannot glimpse such realms.
Another verse observes worldly chaos as endless—better to follow my retreat to mountain forests. Laughing alone below the peaks, he pities those unawakened to the Dao (Wuwei), abiding in silent serenity. Cherish the body’s true Yang (innate Qi), he advises; no elixirs are needed to glow with vitality.
When invited to Xuande Prefecture, he responds: no need to cling to Zen or Dao—simply keep the original mind clear. Shattering false distinctions, he rests peacefully beneath pines and crags. No boasts or displays are necessary. With the inner altar (Lingtai) unstained by dust, contemplating one’s true nature brings freedom, ultimately transcending the Three Realms of rebirth.
These poems embody the Daoist cultivator’s transcendence of worldly ties and pursuit of authenticity, emphasizing inner refinement over outward form—a return to life’s source through serene non-action (Wuwei).
The Baoguang Ji poems convey the insights and spiritual states of Daoist practitioners.
The first poem describes a cultivator who has traversed the "Three Yangs" behind the mountains (referring to different stages of practice) and, during the Xuande era (possibly a symbolic cultivation period), finally encounters the Dao (the Way). After years of following his master, he grows weary and drifts alone with the wind. Having made many vows to heaven, he lives simply, cutting off worldly ties—no longer craving wealth or glory—preferring instead to devote himself to cultivation beneath the cliffs.
The second poem reflects on the fleeting springtime, impossible to hold back, as the cycle of seasons follows nature’s law. Ordinary people fail to grasp this truth, trapped by the sorrows and joys of gain and loss. The poet wishes to enlighten them, but they remain blind to the path that transcends life and death.
The third poem praises Xuanyuan Temple (a sacred Daoist site) in Shanggu (likely a spiritual sanctuary), surrounded by clear springs and ancient cypresses. Wandering here today, the poet writes freely, laughing heartily. No worldly sight can disturb his mind, for he has merged with the Dao, comprehending the profound mysteries of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection, a major Daoist school).
The fourth poem speaks of the inscrutable depth of the supreme Dao (the highest truth), where delusions and evil thoughts become inner demons. One must fill the Three Dantian (energy centers) with Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), abiding in the realm of eternal truth. Only when the Five Qi (energies of the five organs) return to their origin can one attain the True One (the source of the Dao). Countless people throughout history have failed to grasp this, squandering the wondrous teachings of the Dao.
The fifth poem describes how inner contemplation of a single point of spiritual clarity (one’s innate nature) can dispel the demons of the mind. When cultivation succeeds, the body blossoms like countless jeweled trees, eternally youthful. Fellow Daoists from all lands come and go, exchanging insights, while internal Yin-Yang harmony gradually deepens. The primordial Dao-Qi flows through the body, refining flesh and bone, exuding a pure fragrance.
The final poem laments a decade of wandering the world, fearing he might betray his master’s expectations. Now old and detached from worldly affairs, he roams freely among mountains and streams. He warns kindred spirits to heed his advice: having witnessed war and calamity, why cling to worldly ties? The path ahead is perilous and inescapable. At Taiping Xingguo Temple, he observes ancient relics and evergreen cypresses—a silent testament to the way of immortality. His quiet practice aligns with heaven’s will; blessed with serenity, he spends his days in carefree joy, his heart finally unburdened.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) contains several poetic passages expressing a Daoist practitioner's transcendence of worldly concerns and pursuit of inner clarity. The first section states that when the human mind withdraws from distractions, mundane affairs naturally cease to trouble it. The author recalls how his late master often praised Yanshan (the region near present-day Beijing) as the most sublime place under heaven, and when the master was eventually buried there, he composed these verses in remembrance. The poem depicts Yanshan's extraordinary landscapes, where Daoist companions from all directions gather, and where his master attained enlightenment and returned to the Dao. It emphasizes that once entering the "mysterious gate" (Daoism), one must awaken promptly—spiritual cultivation cannot be approached carelessly. Heaven's will ordained the establishment of a temple here, and the thousand-mile expanse of Yanshan seems to embrace it all.
In the Linjiang Xian (Immortal by the River) section, the poet describes how, after leaving the capital, worldly affairs diminished, and his heart no longer clung to mundane worries. In leisure, he sings to nourish the spirit (Shen), recognizing that only by relinquishing delusions can one perceive Complete Perfection (Quanzhen), the highest state of Daoism. Drifting freely like clouds and water, he becomes a tranquil recluse, content with fate and unattached to familial ties. When the "Three Yangs" (possibly the Qi of the Three Dantian) circulate fully, the "Five Qi" (energies of the five organs) naturally return to their origin.
The verses dedicated to Lady Yuan speak of her decade-long hardships in the desert and the melancholy of returning to the capital. He advises her not to dwell on sorrowful tales like Su Wu or Wang Zhaojun but to release the past and future. Fortunately, she encountered the guidance of the Eternal Spring Master (likely Qiu Chuji), and her Daoist resolve grows daily. He affirms that heaven and earth will not forsake those of Virtue (De).
The three poems on Still Sitting in the Western Mountains reflect insights from seated meditation: Sitting quietly in the western mountains distances one from worldly affairs. Eating simply and idling all day paradoxically nurtures a purified body, revealing one's true nature. For thirty years, he searched blindly—only now does he recognize his genuine face. When wild thoughts vanish, all phenomena empty. In truth, there was never anything to attain—only wasted effort in vain pursuits.
The second poem explains that humans and all things are originally one, yet delusion obscures this truth. When the clouds of confusion scatter and the wind of wisdom blows, there's no need to seek outwardly—sitting upright is itself the Western Paradise. A thousand words pale before a single awakening; after awakening, even the word "Dao" becomes superfluous. Advance courageously without doubt, relinquishing all attachments.
The third poem clarifies the essence of the Quanzhen school's teachings on purity: one need not cling to scriptural words. The crucial point of cultivation lies here—avoid biased views. True nature is neither silent nor extinguished; in genuine emptiness, no deliberate search is needed. Simply being free of desire and seeking is true practice.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) contains several poetic verses on Daoist cultivation. Let me explain them section by section:
The first poem describes the state of cultivation: maintaining a pure heart-mind while remaining unshaken amidst worldly distractions. Though the eyes perceive countless forms, the practitioner remains unmoved, preserving single-minded concentration to realize the eternal Dao (the Way). When the "Valley Spirit" (referring to the Qi in the Dantian, the energy center) becomes pure, all delusions naturally vanish. A single point of spiritual light becomes perfectly rounded, transcending material desires to enjoy solitary bliss—untouched by worldly gains, losses, or reputation. It urges swift awakening to seek the true substance of the Dao, warning against indulging in false cleverness.
The second poem reflects on Li Xingsheng's invitation to Shandong to bury three masters: Ten years have passed since leaving Weiyang, having traveled the western frontiers before returning to Yanjing to dwell in an immortal's abode. Though the ancestral teachings have been clarified and the master's methods transmitted, heaven's will is inscrutable and human sentiments unpredictable. By nature, I prefer leisure, yet fate has settled me in Liaodong, preventing the journey to Shandong.
The third poem, "Occasional Realization," discusses cultivation essentials: Speaking of profound mysteries is easy, but truly attaining purity through Wuwei (non-action) is difficult. Worldly affairs are not worth clinging to—those with true wisdom follow my example of non-attachment. Upon realizing one's simple nature, return to unadorned authenticity. Outwardly appearing dull, the inner mind is bright as the moon, while the heart-mind remains as precise as a medicine-measuring spoon.
The fourth poem continues: Phenomena with form are easy to find, but the realm of Wuwei is hard to grasp. Fools cannot find the Dao, while the awakened have long understood it. This truth must be diligently contemplated—once the right path is found, one will never stray. It urges swift awakening without delay, gradually reaching the "Xiyi" state (the Daoist supreme realm beyond sensory perception) where one sees without looking and hears without listening.
The fifth poem, composed while retreating from summer heat at Mount Wuhua, is dedicated to fellow practitioners: After years of traversing the rugged human world, I'm fortunate to encounter these clear mountain springs. Hungry, I eat; tired, I sleep. Though not far from the city, this is another world entirely. The mountain scenery at my seat is exquisite, with blue lotuses blooming in the pond. Though old age makes perfect cultivation difficult, and Penglai's three isles remain distant, I'll first be an immortal of Mount Wuhua.
The final poem, No Mundane Thoughts, responds to a request from Longyang Temple practitioners: The method of illuminating the mind surpasses the Three Vehicles of Buddhism; the mysterious essence transcends life and death. Understanding all phenomena as empty, one clings to nothing—wisdom's light penetrates all. In stillness, the secrets of heaven and earth become visible, though these can only be shared with kindred spirits. Returning to the heart's true home reveals infinite wonders. That formless true nature—clear and luminous, without distinction of inner or outer—holds profound mysteries requiring actual cultivation to comprehend.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents essential cultivation methods and experiential realms for Daoist practitioners.
The first passage explains that cultivation requires relinquishing chaotic desires and diligently contemplating profound principles to penetrate the mysteries of heaven and earth. If one does not awaken to the Dao now, when else will they? All phenomena arise from the primordial Qi of chaos, yet sentient beings cling to the illusion of "self." The true state of emptiness transcends both existence and non-existence. Only the exalted Zhenren (Perfected Ones) can grasp this subtlety, which demands pure wisdom and an expansive mind—perceiving the original, authentic essence without attachment to superficial appearances. Though physically in the human realm, their hearts ascend to the celestial register, undisturbed by worldly distractions, naturally attuned to the rhythms of heaven and earth.
The second passage reflects on the unchanging cycle of seasons while human faces wither with time. Sentient beings remain lost in delusion, but upon awakening, they must release attachments. Maintaining inner clarity, they find joy amid pines, cranes, and mountain springs. When merit and virtue are perfected, they join the celestial gatherings of immortals. This truth is not obscure, yet ordinary people fail to comprehend it, squandering their days in vain.
The third passage describes how those who attain the Dao roam freely between heaven and earth, seeing worldly affairs as fleeting as wind. Through refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and ingesting its essence, they ascend beyond the mundane. The mysteries of immortality transcend earthly ties, merging the practitioner with the Dao. Understanding ultimate truth and embodying De (Virtue) need not require seclusion in deep mountains. Eradicating greed, anger, and ignorance naturally distances one from vulgar sentiments. The teachings of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition are upright and luminous, their heart-mind untainted by error.
The final passage speaks of dwelling in the dusty world while deeply embodying Daoist truths, joining fellow adepts in propagating the orthodox path. Outwardly appearing simple, inwardly they preserve noble purity. Reaching the realm of Changchun Zhenren (Eternal Spring Perfected, i.e., Qiu Chuji), they find rest wherever they reside. Roaming the transcendent landscapes of immortals, though physically present in the mundane, their nature aligns with the celestial Dao, unshackled by worldly concerns. When the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are purified, they attain the state of neither birth nor cessation.
Note: "Quanzhen" refers to the influential Daoist school of Complete Perfection. "Changchun Zhenren" denotes its patriarch Qiu Chuji. The "six roots" signify the sensory faculties of perception.
At Qiyun Temple on Da'an Mountain during the Mid-Autumn Festival, the towering peaks stood majestic under crisp winds and dewy air. As fellow Daoist cultivators (known as "cloud companions and rosy-hued friends") gathered to admire the full moon from the summit, its radiance bathed countless ridges and valleys, illuminating the entire mountain wilderness. Sitting in silent contemplation of the moon, my heart overflowed with joy, my spirit became crystal clear, and body-mind transcended the mundane cycle of life and death. Such sublime beauty defies description—while moonlight shines equally on ten thousand households, none compare to Qiyun Temple's transcendent purity. Nestled against cliffs near Dahan Ridge, this courtyard seems to touch the heavens. In deep meditation, I realized this is truly an ideal sanctuary for Daoist cultivation.
Tongxian Temple, another sacred site, lies secluded in the Western Mountains' depths, its cloud-kissing pavilions perched above layered peaks that completely shut out worldly clamor. Wandering through mist-wreathed wisteria vines while quietly chanting verses about wind and moon—how few understand such refined states? Where might one find genuine Daoist adepts (zhenren)? These endless mountains and hidden grotto-heavens (sacred realms where immortals dwell) have always been home to celestial beings. Worldly people bound by fame and gain—how could they accompany these ethereal recluses? Who would envy noble mansions when one can recline in jade-green caverns or sit serenely on secluded crags? Having visited here often, my heart remains forever attached.
On cultivating mind-nature: The luminous awareness connecting past and present—our inherent enlightened nature—is originally complete and flawless. Yet though all possess it, none recognize it, chasing external objects instead, becoming lost and confused. All our elaborate efforts and countless actions merely add trivial mysteries to the mind. When will awakening come? Without entering the wondrous Dharma-gate of formlessness (truth beyond appearances), we cannot abandon vain reputations, forever craving meaningless sights. Though mouths speak of purity, hearts remain unawakened, unconsciously sinking back into rebirth's wheel. Only by aligning with true cosmic principles (zhenji) and startling awake from illusion can we freely roam the Three Isles (legendary Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou) of immortality, obtaining the elixir of eternal youth beyond earthly decay.
Master Yin Zhiping of the Qinghe lineage further wrote in his Baoguang Ji: Riding carriage and horseback to explore mysteries, delving into profound subtleties. All things under heaven have their hierarchies, and Daoist cultivation progresses through distinct stages. Our Daoist tradition spreads throughout creation, blessed by celestial favor—all who encounter it rejoice and take refuge. But with whom shall we share these arcane wonders? Learn to forget cunning schemes (jixin) and comprehend Wuwei (non-action). Fellow cultivators, maintain peaceful minds. Preserve primordial simplicity, perfect your true nature (Quanzhen), and in daily life let your spirit shine radiant, your inner light undimmed.
(The winter solstice observations at Longyang Temple share similar contemplative themes with preceding passages, hence not expanded separately here.)
The first poem of Baoguang Ji depicts the practice scene during the winter solstice. As the Six Yin (referring to the six months of peak yin energy) recede and the One Yang (the initial emergence of yang energy) stirs, hidden vitality permeates heaven and earth while snowflakes drift lightly. In the depths of winter, rivers and seas freeze over, yet the cyclical flow of yin and yang energies never ceases. When yang energy becomes abundant, the practitioner can ascend like a dragon. Returning to the origin and restoring one's innate nature brings spiritual clarity, allowing passage through the celestial court into the formless realm. This profound mechanism of returning to the source is like the pure radiance of moonlight, capable of capturing the true essence of cosmic creation. Once merit is perfected, one may soar to the immortal isle of Penglai.
The second poem discusses the life attitude of Daoist cultivators. They pass each day joyfully, with a generous temperament and the Six Spirits (referring to the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) at peace. Concealing their traces and restraining their brilliance, their hearts remain untroubled as they nurture their innate spirituality. Compared to worldly people chasing fame and profit, Daoist practitioners find greater delight in tranquility. Life's joys are already few, and one must still face the great barriers of aging and death. Rather than suffering in the cycles of the Six Realms, it is better to recognize the true meaning of the Daoist path, sever desires, and transcend the mundane world.
The third poem portrays the flourishing of the Daoist tradition. Under the universal illumination of the Dharma light, the Daoist path thrives, connecting with the celestial realms above and descending into the yang-rich lands of dragons. Once the precious halls are built, incense is offered morning and evening in reverence. Practitioners need not seek fellow cultivators externally—peace of mind itself is paradise. Yet famine and bitter winds afflict the regions north of Yan and south of He (referring to northern lands). When will the shifting tides of fate allow them to reach the immortal realm? Who can truly understand the meaning of retreating behind the mountains? There lies a beautiful little Penglai.
Ode to Winter Snow describes the snowy winter landscape. Snowflakes, like jade dust, scatter and blanket the long embankments, piling high against the wooden gates. Inside, the windows are bright and the rooms warm, with no need for embroidered curtains. Deep in the night, clouds disperse, and snow and moonlight vie in radiance. This rare spectacle of the twelfth month has been seldom seen since ancient times, intensifying the cold yet heralding a bountiful year, transporting the poet's soul into the mysterious realm of Xiyi (the profound state of emptiness and tranquility). Even the talented poetess Xie Daoyun could not exhaust its beauty in verse—only a true Daoist practitioner can fully grasp its essence.
The final passage records a miraculous event during the Double Ninth Festival ritual. Before the ceremony at Western Mountain, fierce north winds blew for days under darkened skies. Yet on the eighth day, when the ritual documents were issued, the skies suddenly cleared, allowing the rites to proceed smoothly. On the tenth day, snow fell again, and all marveled at this rare and auspicious karmic connection. During the ceremony, the twilight-clad Western Mountain shone in magnificent splendor, suffused with harmonious energy as departed souls received liberation. Rivers ran clear and valleys lay still, while the assembly found peace in body and mind. An altar was arranged with white wine and yellow chrysanthemums in offering, celebrating the protection of the patriarchs as the Perfected Ones rejoiced and all beings shared in the joy.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) contains several poems composed by a Daoist practitioner upon parting with fellow cultivators during different seasons. Between the lines, one can sense his insights into spiritual practice and reflections on life.
In the Gengyin year, after performing the Tongxian Jiao (a Daoist purification ritual), he had intended to retreat into seclusion but was unable to do so. When bidding farewell to his fellow practitioners, he wrote:
Since parting by the Jade River, I’ve journeyed alone through the Western Mountains, crossing mountain passes in the frost of dawn. Though you sent letters inviting me back to the pure altar to perform salvation rites—a noble deed indeed—my temples are now streaked with white. My cultivation remains unfulfilled, and accumulating merit is ever so difficult. Now, I seek only a broadened mind and true understanding of the Dao. The profound mysteries of creation often reveal themselves in sudden moments of awakening. If one can grasp this celestial secret, there will be no need for forced pursuit—immortality will come naturally.
At the Xiantian Guan (Primordial Temple) on Fan Mountain, his parting took place in midsummer:
Leaving this temple fills me with reluctance—its cooling shade soothes the deepest thoughts. Even in the sweltering heat, no mosquitoes dare intrude; such tranquil seclusion is a treasure beyond gold. The sincerity of the practitioners here moves me deeply. Each day, we visited one another, discussing the truths of past and present. Having received your hospitality all summer with nothing to repay, I can only offer this poem at our parting.
In midwinter, he arrived at Longxiang Guan (Dragon-Auspice Temple):
The ancient immortal altar rests by mountain and stream, its vermilion gates towering like Penglai’s fairy isle. This blessed land lifts the spirit—even in deepest winter, I feel no chill. Debating the mysteries with fellow seekers brings boundless joy. But after roaming the three peaks, we must part again. Who knows when we’ll reunite beneath the trees to laugh and talk? In this world, parting comes easy, but gathering is hard.
During his winter retreat at Fanghu (Square Kettle, a Daoist hermitage), he wrote:
In the depths of winter, we discuss the roots of cultivation in this secluded Fanghu. In the stillness of night, we seem to touch the realm of clarity and emptiness. Forceful striving leads nowhere—one must attain the Mysterious Pearl like the ancients, who found it through "Xiangwang’s effortless grasp" (a metaphor for spontaneous enlightenment). A single phrase reveals the unmoving nature within; carefree in wuwei (non-action), we ride the cloud-chariot. With sincere devotion to the Celestial Worthy, merit fulfilled, we’ll ascend to the immortal capital. All may awaken to this truth—heed my counsel and free yourselves from delusion.
While in Yizhou, he reflected:
The world’s turmoil is like ants in endless cycles—rare is true peace. To cultivate the Dao, one must see through life and death, recognize the truth of original emptiness, and sever deluded attachments. Old age calls for leisure—lay down the fishing rod, return the boat, and wander the transcendent peaks beyond form. Only wait for spring’s messenger, then cross the Liao River to visit Yiwulu Mountain.
Finally, he concluded:
In practice, one must understand their karmic roots from past lives; only by meeting kindred spirits can the mind’s nature be revealed. The true secret of preserving life and attaining perfection (the highest goal of Daoist cultivation) is simple in words but hard in deed—one must maintain an undisturbed heart at all times.
The poems from the Baoguang Ji reveal the spiritual insights and cultivation experiences of Daoist practitioners.
The first poem describes an adept transcending the boundaries of time and space, realizing that every corner of the world is a place for cultivation. While practicing at Zhenchang Temple in Yuci County, the poet emphasizes adapting to circumstances with clarity of mind and maintaining vast, righteous Qi (vital energy), ultimately attaining the state of "fetal immortality" (an advanced stage in Neidan, or internal alchemy). Seeing through the illusions of the mundane world, the practitioner chooses to cultivate for the long term amidst the mountains and rivers of their homeland.
The second poem was composed while admiring the moon at Shenxiao Temple in Qinzhou. It depicts a gathering of fellow practitioners under the bright moonlight, comparing the luminous moon to the "pearl of nature" (a metaphor for the original mind), where peace across the land signifies perfection. The poem expresses a prayer for the flourishing of the Daoist tradition.
The third set, Wu Meng Ling ("No Dream Songs"), consists of five poems:
During the transition between winter and spring at Longyang Temple, the poet describes emulating the legendary "Sleeping Immortal" Chen Tuan in cultivating sleep techniques. As the new spring arrives, the practitioner refines their practice day and night, awakening all things. In springtime, they grasp the true meaning of spring’s radiance, only to be startled by the spring breeze—realizing all things are as fleeting as a spring dream.
Through incense meditation, the adept perceives the Three Realms and Ten Directions (the entire cosmos), understanding that all Daoist lineages share a common origin. Sitting quietly by a secluded window, they witness the cycles of blossoms blooming and fading, returning to rest body and mind, refining the inner elixir like "a furnace of spring snow."
Ultimately, the poems reveal life as a dream, with ordinary people lost in illusions. Only through silent awakening can one reach the true realm. The rhetorical question—"Who believes the perfected ones have no dreams?"—hints that those who attain the Dao transcend dreams altogether.
The final piece, Dao Wu Qing ("The Dao Is Without Sentiment"), was composed when a fellow practitioner, Qiuyang, visited from Dongchuan. They discussed the Dao deep into the night, exposing the falseness of human emotions. The poet urges their friend to grasp the true meaning and not waste cultivation time in idle sleep, reflecting the mutual encouragement among Daoist seekers.
The poems in The Collection of Preserved Light vividly portray the wandering life of Daoist practitioners and their spiritual exchanges with fellow adepts, infused with the joys of cultivation.
The first poem expresses the delight of a cultivator returning home. With spring's arrival, the long journey matters little—silent contemplation of the true Dao (the Way) is the ultimate homecoming. When one's nature attains the mysterious (referring to Dao-nature), ease follows everywhere without fixation on direction. How carefree it is to dwell atop cloud-wreathed peaks.
The second poem speaks of camaraderie among fellow seekers. Roaming with companions from Dongchuan, then finding guests awaiting in the western mountains—such bonds are precious. Rare are those who live to seventy; past sixty myself, I see through worldly illusions, preferring instead the bliss of immersion in the Dao.
The third responds to an invitation from Xuandezhou brethren. Grateful for their summons, the cultivator arrives at West Cliff to find spring in full bloom, birds rejoicing. In harmony, the Daoist community performs zhaijiao (purification rituals), then observes celestial signs in stillness, their minds merging with the void—roaming free in all directions.
The fourth declares spiritual aspiration. Seeking only peace of body and mind, the poet spurns hollow fame. The Orthodox Teachings (Daoism) spread universally, even reaching the shifting sands. With true compassion, the master awakens all beings, requiring boundless virtuous deeds to perfect Dao-nature.
The fifth bids farewell to western mountain companions. No journey's end compares to the joy found here. Now gray-haired, both past sixty (the age of "ear-obedience"), they part wishing each other undisturbed serenity.
The sixth depicts three elder adepts sharing pure happiness. Roaming mountains and streams all day feels insufficient—reclining amidst white clouds, gazing at distant azure peaks. After meals, laughter on East Slope's rocks; facing clear currents, worldly cares dissolve.
The seventh leaves Yuzhou brethren. October preaching along the Weiluo region sees carriages brimming with harmonious energy. Uncertain of reunion, they vow mutual enlightenment, accumulating three thousand merits (a Daoist cultivation benchmark) to ultimately transform into transcendent beings.
The eighth portrays winter parting. Deep frost seals the mountains; how fares the westward path in bitter northern winds? They urge steadfast hearts—only balanced resolve wards off demonic obstructions on the spiritual journey.
The ninth advises conduct among fellow seekers. Wherever met, treat all with equanimity—neither clinging nor aloof—thus minimizing adversity. After parting, continue westward to spread teachings, patiently hosting wayfarers until reuniting at Zhongnan Mountain.
The final poem extols winter in Huairen County. The poet cherishes its warm stoves and sunlit windows for rest, yet Heaven's will denies idleness (hinting at further wandering to propagate the Dao).
This passage from the Baoguang Ji presents a Daoist practitioner's contemplations and admonitions for the world.
An elderly Daoist priest traveled from South Mountain to East Mountain, then was summoned to return from Qinzhou to Changchun Temple in Yanjing. During the Minor Yang Spring in the tenth lunar month, when all things return to tranquility, only he remained adrift like flowing water or floating clouds. Though advanced in years, he dared defy celestial decree, gazing back at Zhongnan Mountain as he prepared to once more seek enlightenment in the Dao.
Composing poetry to bid farewell to Commander Du of Qinzhou, he lamented the profound mystery of the Dao—how the true Way exists between "being" and "non-being." Even separated by countless mountains and rivers, one could wander freely with a settled mind, never losing direction throughout the day.
He wrote five admonitory poems to the tune of Jianzi Mulanhua:
The first warns how insatiable greed persists until one lies in the grave. Only through repentance can infinite troubles be avoided.
The second observes how people exhaust themselves unto death, unaware that food and clothing are predestined. Mountains of karma accumulate through desire—when retribution comes, even iron-hearted men will regret.
The third reveals how fools fail to understand that fortune and misfortune follow like shadows—natural disasters and human calamities all stem from the human heart. Understanding this, one should empathize with others.
The fourth condemns self-serving actions that harm others, reminding that celestial scribes record such deeds in secret, and retribution inevitably arrives.
The fifth declares heaven and hell manifest before our eyes—the wise should resolve toward goodness, for equanimity naturally leads to realizing the Dao.
Finally, the title "Triple Yang Daoist" refers to his frequent travels among three temples whose names all contain the character yang (阳). These priests sat silently before cloud-wreathed peaks, discussing the "non-dual" dharma (a Buddhist term denoting transcendent unity beyond opposites). The key to universal harmony lies in abandoning calculating minds, yet the nature of avidya (Buddhist term for fundamental ignorance) remains ultimately ineffable.
"Plain Interpretation of the Baoguang Ji":
To realize the truth of life's origin, one must cultivate clarity like gazing at the solitary moon in autumn's night sky. When fellow Daoist Qiuyang visited, we shared golden waves and jade nectar (Daoist terms for immortal wine) - this celestial ambrosia, found only in the mystical lands of Guichuan, harmonizes the Qi of the five viscera. The true Golden Elixir (Jindan, referring to Neidan cultivation achievements) brings eternal joy when ingested, yet those lacking karmic fortune may never encounter it in their lifetime.
A Daoist priest once displayed Du Fu's "Spring Outing" scroll, its verses depicting spring revelry and nature's exuberance - such imagery has deluded countless generations. Whether scholars or cultivators, how many truly transcend worldly ambitions? Who can relinquish attachments through mere words?
Though prolonged practice may not yet yield spiritual communion, one's Shen and Qi become transformed. Amidst myriad phenomena, maintain the original heart undisturbed. I advise fellow practitioners to abandon empty fame and petty gains, swiftly severing worldly ties to focus on cultivation. Complete physical and spiritual transformation reveals life's fundamental truth. Rock-solid resolve transcends time itself; even partial awakening liberates from samsara - cherish this rare opportunity spanning ten thousand kalpas.
Dwelling in dust yet remaining lucid, one becomes naturally transcendent like sobriety within inebriation. Seemingly destitute yet content in poverty, such indestructible spirituality surpasses worldly treasures. Through serene Wuwei, the unified Qi flows unimpeded, ultimately ascending to immortal realms.
For the Lady of Dragon-Tiger Mountain (a Daoist sacred site): The world prides itself on cleverness, but who can fathom desireless perfection? Only by preserving childlike purity, thoughtless and naturally Wuwei, lies the key to transcendence.
Written during Western Mountain cultivation: Beginners struggle most with mental stillness - who truly remains unstained while dwelling in red dust? Roaming mountains, forests and springs becomes supreme practice, temporarily becoming carefree terrestrial immortals. Meditating amid worldly affairs inevitably breeds distraction, while reclining in mountain solitude brings genuine joy - preserving the spiritual light uncontaminated.
For the Wanlian Society of Yanjing: Reflect quietly on worldly affairs - how laughable all attachments appear. Only through inward contemplation does true liberation emerge.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) contains several didactic poems urging spiritual cultivation, conveying core teachings about refining one's nature and returning to original authenticity.
The first section expounds the wisdom of "cessation": advising practitioners to relinquish greed and delusion like taming wild horses to restrain wandering thoughts. It advocates maintaining transcendence amid the flow of time, accepting spring's departure and autumn's arrival with natural ease. The Huai Ren County passage emphasizes that benevolence and righteousness form the foundation of governance—the Five Emperors and Three Sovereigns (ancient sage-kings) ruled through these virtues, enabling all beings to coexist harmoniously. Diligently cultivating Dao and De (Virtue/Power) serves not only for statecraft but as a guide for self-cultivation.
The account of commissioning Daoist Zhang to paint Journey to the West describes how the Qinghe artist worked with reverence at Chushun Hall, transmitting the spirit of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) patriarchs through art, ensuring the Daoist teachings remain eternally fresh like the Yan Mountains.
The four Wu Nanke (Awakening to Southern Dream) poems serve as cautionary verses: criticizing blind pursuit of immortality through rituals while neglecting heart-mind cultivation, warning that pious offerings without dispelling ignorance only create karma. They compare harsh truths to bitter medicine, urging appreciation of wise guidance. Emphasizing life's impermanence, they exhort seizing moments for enlightenment—only by transcending Yin-Yang cycles can one attain carefree liberation. The verses warn that deceivers inevitably face retribution, while celestial immortals descend to guide beings; only virtuous hearts avoid calamity. Practitioners are advised to examine their flaws, interact humbly, and extinguish anger to nurture wisdom—everywhere then becomes a sacred realm.
The two Qingyu An (Blue Jade Table) poems share cultivation insights: depicting adepts who, having realized their true nature, radiate innate purity through their countenance, their Wuwei (non-action) fragrance permeating heaven and earth. They describe forgetting worldly affairs while practicing beyond the frontier, befriending clouds and mist, finding joy in austere cultivation. True mystery, they suggest, resides in tranquil contentment—no need for external seeking.
These poems embody classic Daoist principles of "clarity and stillness through non-action" and "returning to original simplicity." Through metaphor and exhortation, they guide practitioners toward liberation from afflictions via heart-mind refinement and virtuous deeds, ultimately attaining the carefree realm of Dao-realization.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents several poems that depict the spiritual states and attitudes of Daoist practitioners in their cultivation.
The first poem explains that cultivation begins with distancing oneself from evil thoughts and consistently practicing virtuous conduct, through which one naturally attains genuine methods of practice. The profound Dao is actually simple and accessible—it lies in the upright state right before one’s eyes, beyond disputes of right and wrong. Those who truly comprehend the subtle principles do not cling to arguments but silently nurture their inner true nature, allowing the spiritual light to manifest naturally. By refining the Neidan (internal alchemy) to the ninth transformation, one transcends the mundane world and receives the celestial visage bestowed by heaven.
The second poem advises against indulging in superficial glamour, urging the heart to return to the great Dao, through which one gradually attains wondrous states. By maintaining inner purity, when merit and virtue reach completion, one ascends to the cool shore of liberation, forever free from afflictions. The true realm of Eternal Spring (Changchun) and the blessed grotto-heavens are actually close at hand—once the worldly dust is swept from the heart, one may ride the wind to visit Penglai, the immortal isle.
The third poem describes how, when all demons disperse through cultivation, the mind no longer falls into confusion, and nothing in the world can bind it. Keeping the spiritual light as pure as green jade, untouched by the finest dust, one beholds the true face of emptiness. It urges people to relinquish worldly attachments early and devote themselves to cultivation, for the path ahead is fraught with storms. Yet by steering the divine vessel steadily, with fellow practitioners as companions, one will ultimately reach the other shore.
The poem Ruizhegu (Auspicious Partridge), addressed to Master Jia of Yanzhen Abbey, warns that a cultivator’s thoughts must be especially cautious, lest past karma entangle and bring misfortune. Simple, earnest practice leads to lasting progress, whereas flashy learning of the Dao is unsustainable. Thoughts arise and vanish in constant flux—better to remain unmoved and unshaken. Realizing the eternal Dao early and accumulating sufficient merit will naturally solidify the Daoist heart.
Chanting of the Western Mountains depicts the life of a recluse deep in the Western Hills: in summer, lying high in cool repose, untouched by heat; in autumn, harvesting fresh melons. The slopes are fit for crops, and the riverside thrives with wheat and hemp. The seasons pass in harmony, free from worldly concerns—three daily meals are the entirety of life.
Passing Through Longquan Valley describes the scenery of the Western Hills as resembling grotto-heavens, where every household reveres the Dao and maintains altars to honor the immortals. Through diligent virtuous practice, the people enjoy peaceful and joyful years of abundance.
Admonishing the Assembly criticizes those who idly discuss Daoist and Chan teachings while competing for superiority—they remain ensnared by fame and profit. True beneficial companions do not offend the wise, nor would they ever grasp the principle of benefiting others at their own expense.
These poems from the Baoguang Ji all urge people to cultivate themselves and follow the Dao. I will explain them passage by passage.
The first says that the way of sages may seem distant and good companions hard to find, while the world is perilous, with dangers lurking like tigers and wolves. By the time one’s allotted end arrives, regret will come too late. It urges people to settle their minds and begin cultivation early, rather than indulge themselves and squander their time.
The second speaks of the good fortune of living in an age when Daoism flourishes. Do not let worldly splendor hold you back. Moderating food and sleeping less can clear the spirit; letting go of desire can purify the breath. Observing precepts for a time can keep you clear of calamity and suffering, while long-term cultivation can free you from birth and death. It urges the wise to wake up in time and cultivate the Great Dao while their bodies are still healthy.
After the teachings passed down by Perfected Changchun, Qiu Chuji, were entrusted to Perfected Qinghe, Yin Zhiping, they were used to urge people everywhere to leave the river of desire behind. Cultivating virtue brings joy bestowed by Heaven; becoming absorbed in the dusty world only gives rise to demons of the mind. Let go of attachments now, and you can roam in the realm of truth. With deep merit accumulated in life, you can ascend to the Great Luo Heaven after death. These words of earnest counsel have laid it all bare. Consider how you will respond.
After six years of cultivation, one has made modest progress, like a tree whose roots have grown deep. Leisurely Daoist companions often visit from the eastern and western courtyards. Harmony from the ten directions refreshes the spirit, and unity of purpose across the four seas opens the Dao-eye. The mysterious wind of Heaven’s cycle has arrived at Yanshan, in the region of present-day Beijing, foretelling a promising path ahead for cultivation.
The speaker describes himself as naturally indolent, untroubled by obscurity or poverty. In hard times, he lives according to circumstances, yet his mind remains open and at ease; he sees through the emptiness of all worldly affairs. Gain and loss are one and the same. Why ask whether change between stillness and movement brings good or ill? Though he may seem to sit in a daze, he is inwardly savoring the true delight. Success lies in embodying the Dao while forgetting words.
When a good opportunity for cultivation comes, one may instead suffer for chasing an empty reputation, wasting time on trivial matters before suddenly finding oneself in an altered body—that is, grown old. One should sit quietly and safeguard the numinous root, one’s innate nature, and realize the truth in the midst of emptiness. Recognize the subtle original essence, and you may be called one of the immortals.
The spirit has been vigorous of late because the speaker has seen through the world’s illusions. He keeps a calm, pure, and harmonious heart, whose selfless light shines over mountains and rivers. He now urges all who cultivate the true way not to wait until old age to lament that it is too late. When life ends, they will regret their shallow cultivation and rue not having practiced diligently.
After the late master—perhaps Wang Chongyang—transcended the mundane world, his merit was boundless. Each day he appears in a thousand ritual altars. Through hundreds and thousands of incarnations, he secretly guides people. Do not lightly slander him, or you may regret it when calamity strikes.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents several poems that articulate the realms and insights of Daoist cultivation.
The first poem addresses the monastic community at Changchun Temple (a Daoist monastery): Those with spiritual roots who encounter enlightened masters and practice amidst green mountains and white clouds gain more than from studying scriptures alone. With diligent practice, heaven will not forsake noble aspirations.
The second is autobiographical: Many see through empty fame and fleeting profit yet remain trapped by worldly attachments, while I alone resolve to transcend the Three Realms (Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm). Spreading compassion while maintaining patience and forbearance, one's mind expands like empty space—only then can original truth be perceived.
The third describes spiritual resonance: Divine beings silently protect practitioners, and immortality is realized deep within white clouds. It mentions the Daoist lineage of Mount Yan (near present-day Beijing) where golden lotuses (symbolizing Daoist fruition) bloom. When devotees cultivate in unity, ancestral masters will bestow the elixir of immortality upon their merit's completion.
The fourth portrays meditative states: Movement within stillness, serenity within clamor—such mysteries defy description. When Yin and Yang invert into emptiness, truth spontaneously manifests. Qi (vital energy) circulates through the Three Passes (coccyx, spine-jade pillow acupoints), and spirit roams the eight directions without trace. At this stage, intellectual inquiry becomes unnecessary.
The ode to the master declares: Having refined the Golden Elixir (Neidan term for the internal alchemical essence), one becomes eternally youthful, with true nature pervading the cosmos. Such attainment is rare across millennia, drawing disciples from afar in reverence.
Two Dianjiangchun lyrics state: Merging with emptiness is not the ultimate—only by reaching absolute Void (a Buddhist term for transcendent emptiness beyond being and non-being) can essence, qi, and spirit (Jing-Qi-Shen) coalesce into the Yang Spirit (perfected spiritual form). These mysteries are shared only with kindred minds. Though cultivation paths vary, the Great Dao of Void remains the final destination.
These works exemplify the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist ideal of transcending worldly concerns to pursue immortality. They emphasize the necessity of enlightened guidance and persistent practice while detailing Neidan (internal alchemy) experiences.
The Baoguang Ji (Collection of Preserved Light) presents several poems expressing the spiritual insights and daily joys of Daoist cultivation.
The first poem speaks of how practitioners must relinquish attachments and accumulate virtue (De) to achieve transcendence. Once the mind awakens, one roams freely like an immortal, soaring beyond the mundane world. Here, "three thousand merits" refers to the vast accumulation of virtuous deeds required for cultivation, while "ascension to celestial immortality" signifies reaching the realm of the immortals.
The second poem emphasizes the need for inner stillness in seeking the Dao’s truth, much like searching for the right medicinal formula (daogui, the measured dose of elixir). When the mind becomes as clear as a luminous pearl, it reflects one’s original nature (yuanchu), revealing the true self. At this stage, the spirit connects with the sacred realm, allowing one to chant in transcendent joy.
The third poem laments the hardships of cultivation—when worldly thoughts remain, calamities arise, and time is wasted. Only by awakening to past mistakes and abandoning the illusion of self and others can one truly embark on the path to immortality. "Ignorance" (wuming) refers to delusion, while "former transgressions" (qianqian) denotes past errors.
The fourth poem depicts the refined scenery of the Double Ninth Festival: crisp autumn air, golden chrysanthemums (huanghua) in full bloom, their pure fragrance admired by all, as the Daoist temple’s serenity is revered. The phrase "suchness-nature" (ruru xing) describes the flowers’ natural and authentic state.
The fifth poem captures the experience of wandering Mount Wuhua in late spring, soaring like a phoenix, entering the Peach Blossom Spring with kindred spirits, listening to the qin by the stream, carefree and at ease—so immersed that even Zhuangzi’s dream of the butterfly seems trivial.
The lyric to the tune Busuanzi recounts a night at the Jade Void Temple (Yuxu Guan), where the master instructed the rewriting of the song’s lyrics. Its meaning conveys that true nature must not be squandered; Yin and Yang (the two primal forces) must be held in harmony. Few understand this mystery—that being can arise from non-being. When cultivation reaches the stage where the precious cauldron blooms and golden light radiates, one arrives at the cool, liberated shore.
Jia Sheng Chao records a post-ritual gathering in Yizhou after performing a purification ceremony (zhaijiao), where Guo Zhiquan was asked to expound the Daode Jing. Deeply rooted in virtue and steadfast in Daoist resolve, the group delved into profound discussions late into the night, grasping the essence within the five thousand words, transcending mere text to behold their own immortal nature.
The final poem describes a quiet night, robed in solitude, plucking the strings of a qin—though without strings, it resonates with the Dao’s mysteries. Regulating breath and nurturing spirit (turtle-breath practice), harmonizing Yin and Yang, the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) settle peacefully as vitality flourishes. When the primordial breath (yuanchu) reaches perfect fullness, one witnesses the inner elixir (neidan)—the fetal immortal—dancing within. This realization came during moonlit contemplation at the Temple of Great Peace and Prosperity (Taiping Xingguo Guan) on the Mid-Autumn Festival.
The "Collection of Preserved Light" poems depict the spiritual insights and daily joys of Daoist practitioners across different seasons and locations.
The first poem portrays a moonlit autumn night: the sea lies tranquil, mountains stand serene, and radiant moonlight bathes the land. On this cool evening, companions gather in joyful appreciation. After midnight, they discuss profound mysteries. Suddenly, enlightenment dawns—the realization of "perfect luminosity without selfishness." Virtuous deeds reach fulfillment, complete awakening occurs this very night as innate nature becomes thoroughly penetrating, as if attaining the state of "land-bound immortals."
The second poem, set to the "A Trim of Mume Blossoms" melody, expresses a cultivator's seasonal realizations: After the Double Ninth Festival, warm spring arrives. Practicing at Yonghe Hermitage in Yizhou, the mind becomes so peaceful that even dreams cease. One freely wanders through the ten directions and three realms, experiencing scorching summers without noticing autumn frost's approach. Upon realizing the true Dao, all worldly matters naturally fall away, replaced by carefree joy and spiritual coolness. The innate radiance shines forth spontaneously, while all demons disperse of themselves.
The third poem reveals essential cultivation principles: externally accumulating yin virtue (De), internally preserving yang qi. Sudden awakening to wuwei (non-action) makes past karmic obstacles vanish like frost melting under bright sunlight. No need for forced mental purification—when practice reaches fulfillment, one naturally transcends seasonal cycles. Roaming freely east and west, after comprehending life's truth, one preserves inner light in humble concealment.
The fourth poem describes the serene environment of Taiping Xingguo Temple: Heaven bestowed Pingyao as this blessed land for peaceful retreat. The temple stands in deep stillness amid ancient cypresses, their cool shade enveloping this cave-heaven paradise. Here one seeks the realm of qingjing wuwei (clarity, stillness and non-action), urged to awaken promptly—immediate realization invites sages' presence.
The fifth poem addresses fellow cultivators in Yu Prefecture: Crossing Lingxian Mountain, we bid farewell by the Hushui River to our Xihao companions—friendship profound and unforgettable. Hastening across Yanling's harsh peaks, we thankfully reach the Daoist homeland safely. Hunyuan's abundant provisions ensure all needs are met. Sending new verses through a messenger to share recent reflections with kindred spirits.
The final two poems extol Qian'gao Mountain's scenery: Newly discovered Qian'gao Mountain displays exquisite beauty; its Qingxu Grotto has been an immortal altar since antiquity. Grateful for Heaven's compassion toward my wandering toils, granting peaceful leisure in later years. Severing worldly ties amid pines and stones, joyful contentment comes effortlessly—every posture becomes contemplation. Sheer cliffs stand majestic, pines and junipers stand in orderly rows. This Daoist resolves to transcend red dust, reclining carefree in emerald caves. White locks flow freely, green pines as companions—utter freedom and ease.
The poems in The Collection of Preserved Light reveal a Daoist practitioner's reflections on life and spiritual attainment.
The first passage depicts the cultivator's way of life among pine forests: an elder with graying temples wanders beneath the shade of green pines, finding serenity in both movement and stillness. Then, gazing from the peak of Chaoyuan (a sacred site for Daoist practice), it feels as though one has reached the Jade Pool (the abode of the Queen Mother of the West) before even arriving at Penglai, the immortal isles. The whispering pine wind is like celestial music, uplifting the spirit—whether walking or sitting in meditation, all is harmonious.
In the poem addressed to Elder Cheng, the author humbly admits his cultivation is still incomplete, acknowledging that empty fame comes easily while true practice is difficult. He resolves to renew his determination, expressing gratitude for the long-standing support of close friends who provide food and clothing, and for the occasional chance to participate in the Chaoyuan rituals. When his merits are fulfilled, he vows to attend a thousand such ceremonies.
The verse for Master Liu speaks of the state of cultivation: the luminous nature is inherently tranquil yet responsive to circumstances. Having grasped "this essence" (the truth of Dao-nature), one remains perfectly integrated in both action and stillness. In daily life, maintaining selflessness and detachment, the realm of clarity and emptiness (pure non-action) is most worthy of transmission—leading to sudden awakening to the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and the state of wordless transcendence.
Descending the Mountain expresses frustration in practice: though yearning for higher cultivation, natural obstacles hinder progress. Uncertain where deep karmic affinity lies, lacking the fortune for leisure, one must toil restlessly. In old age, with efforts still incomplete, he recalls the teachings of Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) not to waste time—since ancient times, those who attained immortality did so not by quantity of effort, but by essence.
Exhortation After the Yizhou Ritual offers post-ceremony advice: How to relinquish worldly attachments? When will endless thoughts cease? Only by forgetting emotions do bonds dissolve; by extinguishing intentions do worries vanish. He asks—how long does life last? Why play with cleverness in the human realm? Better to turn the light inward (reflect on one's true nature) now, lest regret comes at life's end.
The final lyrics describe travel impressions: wandering to Wuqing's southern ferry during the Double Ninth Festival, gazing at the vast waters of Jiaxiang; amid days of rain, enjoying reedy marshes while gazing at distant western hills. The closing lines speak of the Great Teaching (Daoism) spreading widely, guiding people to return to simplicity, applying skillful means in everyday life.
The practitioner of the true Dao (the Way) embraces compassion and maintains a state of serene non-action (Wuwei), gradually freeing themselves from worldly attachments. Those of superior spiritual capacity (shangshi) readily grasp this principle—once they comprehend the profound teachings of the Dao (Xuanfeng), they swiftly relinquish rigid intellectual views. Why cling to mundane affairs when they hold no lasting value? Far better to recognize one's original, true nature (yuanchu mian).
The term "preserving the inner light" (Baoguang) refers to safeguarding the innate radiance of the spirit. This passage conveys that cultivators must transcend worldly concerns and return to their fundamental authenticity. The wise understand that external phenomena are illusory—only by preserving one's primordial nature can one attain the root of existence. Just as a dust-covered mirror requires polishing, the human heart must be cleansed through pure cultivation to reveal its inherent luminosity.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5e0048）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback