About this page. The original text of 《磻溪集》 (Taiping 太平部, 6 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 64 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source textInterpretation
Vol. 1
This is a collection of seven-character regulated verses composed by Qiu Chuji (Daoist name Changchunzi), the founding patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) School during the Jin Dynasty, during his secluded cultivation at Panxi. The poems depict the natural scenery of ascetic life and his aspirations for Dao:
The Qin Mountains have since ancient times been favored by emperors as capital sites, with their magnificent landscapes and cultured inhabitants. Yet I willingly abandoned comfortable living, drifting like a lone cloud across ten thousand miles to practice here, contemplating the true Dao within mist-shrouded cavern abodes.
After parting from old friends, I journeyed westward following fate's course, traversing windblown roads to Guochuan (modern Baoji area in Shaanxi), where I secluded myself among rocky valleys for three years. Content with simple poverty while preserving innate purity, these cool, untainted blessed lands prove ideal for Daoist cultivation.
The Changchun Grotto nestles among cloud-piercing peaks, where ancient cypresses touch the sky, accompanied by auspicious herbs and divine birds. Carving this cavern dwelling summoned celestial immortals; refining the Golden Elixir subdued countless demons. Where else might one find such fairy realms? The Changchun Grotto is but a miniature Penglai on earth.
Seclusion by mountain streams brings exceptional tranquility, while dwelling beyond the frontier offers deeper stillness. When clouds disperse, the brilliant Milky Way appears; beneath moonlight, I face the whispering empty woods alone. Relaxing my brow to open the heart's chambers, loosening my robe to distance worldly clamor—I understand the art of nurturing true nature in these rocky caves, but who truly comprehends the mysteries of samsara?
Spring rain's first clearing brings radiant dawn light as mountain winds carry babbling springs, where overnight birds compete in song, making travelers forget their return. Fresh buds adorn emerald trees, while field seedlings thrive vigorously. Cranes occasionally appear at the grotto entrance; suddenly a straw-cloaked recluse emerges from the horizon.
My devotion to the Dao stands unshakable—since youth I've mastered alchemical scriptures (Daoist cultivation texts). At nineteen I began secluded practice, wandering over three thousand miles. No longer clinging to worldly splendor, I vow to transcend material existence and attain immortality. Though blessings may be shallow and demonic obstacles strong, persistent cultivation will ultimately bring perfection.
Roaming alone beyond the Four Seas in transcendent freedom, I spurn the burning house of red dust. Making rivers and lakes my home across ten thousand miles, a straw raincloak accompanies this floating life. Drunk, I lay bare-chested upon stone slabs; sober, I swing my sleeves through lonely forest paths. Whenever night deepens and clouds scatter, moonlight like water cleanses all worldly dust.
These poems express the reflections of a Daoist practitioner on spiritual cultivation and responses to friends. Let me interpret them one by one:
The first poem is addressed to Scholar Meng. The poet has wandered like drifting tumbleweed for ten years since leaving his hometown, traveling as far as Shaanxi. He mends his torn clothes in autumn and sleeps wherever he finds shelter after meals. In Shaanxi, he pays no heed to worldly affairs, having once encountered the Great Luo Golden Immortals (celestial beings from Daoism's highest paradise). Regrettably, his cultivation hasn't yet reached perfection to attain the confirmation of immortality, so he sits before mountain valleys awaiting favorable signs.
The second poem responds to Scholar Li Si's invitation to reside in Weibei. The poet explains that although this year should continue his wandering, his impatient temperament and immature Daoist practice lead him to let body and mind follow the natural course of sun and moon, spending seasons in secluded valleys. He appreciates the many talented scholars in Guoyi (modern Lingbao, Henan) who travel far to visit him at Panxi (where Jiang Taigong famously fished). Yet there's no need to invite him to live in the city's north, as wilderness equally allows discussions of genuine cultivation.
The third poem politely declines a fellow Daoist's invitation to visit Taigong Temple at Panxi. The poet claims no interest in seeking pleasure, having seen through worldly vanities. Who needs Panxi to dispel melancholy? He prefers dwelling idly among mountain crags. Having journeyed three thousand li to coastal regions and traversed twenty prefectures, admiring countless famous mountains, he ultimately realizes nothing external is worth pursuing.
The fourth poem depicts Panxi's Taigong Temple scenery. Hearing how Jiang Taigong once lived here, towering rocks and lush trees frame the majestic shrine. During flower festivals, dragons chant in misty grottoes; on moonlit nights, tiger roars echo through mountain gates. Taigong's prestige endures eternally—people offer fine steeds each spring. Though the poet writes verses "worth a thousand steeds," he's merely passing time with brush and ink.
The fifth poem responds to Young Master Zai and Scholar Xu, describing his hermitage: emerald cypresses seeming to lock the horizon's edge, with a secluded dwelling hidden among cliffs. His jade-green cave needs no lamplight year-round, while azure peaks remain perpetually cloud-wrapped. With humble practice seeking only sustenance, he entertains guests without tea ceremony pretensions. Content in this leisurely self-sufficiency, he finds no need to boast of family traditions.
The final poem honors Dr. Fu Langzhong and Graduate Liu of Jingzhou, stating that mutual visits between Daoist friends require no worldly gifts or superficial formalities.
This passage reveals the lifestyle and spiritual aspirations of Daoist practitioners.
Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) hold worldly fame and wealth in low regard, believing that splendor and riches cannot purchase true devotion to the Dao. They live in simple poverty, far from worldly clamor, practicing in secluded places where even idle worries and distracting thoughts have been severed, content only to listen to the sublime chants carried by the clouds.
Two friends once ventured beyond the city with simple provisions to seek out a Daoist cultivator. Wandering through the countryside, they finally set aside mundane affairs for a time, discussing freely their shared longing for the carefree path of cultivation. Gazing at distant, ethereal immortal mountains, they conversed joyfully until nightfall, returning home only under the moonlight.
When fellow seekers inquired about cultivation methods, the author expressed a philosophy of following fate without forced effort. When the Dao-heart remains unawakened, they avoid bustling markets; when Heaven's will seems inscrutable, they drift with the current. Hungry, they beg from door to door; satisfied, they sing aloud. Beyond this foolish body of theirs, nothing else weighs on their mind.
During six years of cultivation in Xiguo, the author never acquired new clothes or shoes. Each Mid-Autumn found them mending tattered hemp robes. When autumn winds arose and plants withered, they wore heavily patched rags and straw sandals, fully aware that the physical form inevitably suffers hunger and cold—yet without the blessings of cultivation, one fares even worse against time's passage. They only hoped fellow seekers would nurture compassion and support each other toward the immortal realms.
In their interactions with scholars, Daoist practitioners appreciated those who studied widely and probed scripture's mysteries. They believed avoiding misfortune requires Dao-power (De), while performing good deeds demands divine skill. Often singing by spring waters or sitting alone observing clouds, they contemplated the realm of emptiness, valuing inner reflection over external seeking.
When Mid-Autumn passed without moonlight, the cultivator lamented years without seeing the bright moon's clarity—feasts prepared in vain. Perhaps the Moon Palace's immortal maiden slept adorned with flowers, while the Jade Rabbit busied itself pounding herbs. Ultimately, worldly pleasures prove worthless compared to quietly comprehending the profound Dao of the unseen.
The poems in the Panxi Collection depict the delights of reclusive mountain life and insights gained through Daoist cultivation, transcending worldly concerns.
The first poem, "Viewing the Moon," describes a night when clouds disperse and winds clear, as the bright moonlight illuminates the nine regions. The azure sky appears freshly washed while autumn leaves swirl, and high above one seems to glimpse the toad in the lunar palace (the "shrimp-toad" refers to the mythical toad in the moon). Even earthbound demons and spirits are awed by this radiance. The poet yearns for the moon's perfect luminosity—a state of transcendent detachment from material existence.
"Royal Abode's Moon Cassia" and "Planting Moon Cassia Again" employ the moon cassia (legendary tree in the moon) as a metaphor for spiritual practice. The moon cassia of Taiyuan (referring to sacred Daoist sites) extends its roots through the clouds, originating from the heart of the lunar palace, with fragrant blossoms and luxuriant leaves surpassing earthly vegetation. The latter poem speaks of personally planting this moon cassia (symbolizing cultivation)—this numinous root belongs not to the mundane world but contains the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, connecting past and present while uniquely gathering the essence of the four seasons. It admonishes practitioners to focus single-mindedly on this path, not confusing it with ordinary plants.
"Three Poems on Mountain Dwelling" portrays reclusive life:
The first depicts the roaring waters of Dragon Gate Gorge, where countless valleys compete in cascading streams, cutting off the red dust of the world like a celestial realm.
The second states that though making a living gathering firewood in deep mountains, this place bears the atmosphere of immortals. Dwelling in stone chambers far from worldly affairs, one keeps company with celestial cranes and observes mountain eagles soaring, comprehending nature's true delights.
The third describes solitary reclusion with idle clouds as companions, neither coveting empty fame (Li-Du refers to poets Li Bai and Du Fu) nor pursuing mere longevity (Song-Qiao refers to immortals Chisongzi and Prince Qiao), but concentrating on investigating heaven and earth's ultimate principles.
The final poem, "Plantain," portrays scenery at Long Mountain (legendary site of Yu the Great's flood control): plantain leaves unfold like palms, while three deep mountain pools below toss up white, flower-like waves. By day, visitors come to admire the view; by night, one faces the bright moon alone, savoring the wondrous transformations of natural creation.
These poems collectively express the spiritual temperament of withdrawal from worldly clamor, communion with nature, and realization of the Dao (the Way). Employing abundant natural imagery and Daoist allusions, they create a serene atmosphere of transcendent purity.
The Panxi Collection contains several poetic verses that primarily describe insights into spiritual cultivation and visions of immortal realms.
The first poem observes that though banana leaves are broad, they cannot compare to the vastness of heaven and earth. It urges cultivators to emulate Maojun (the renowned Han dynasty Daoist Mao Ying) in making daily progress. It praises Ma Danyang (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen tradition) and Tan Changzhen for their transcendent awakening—gathering medicinal herbs amidst clouds to refine the Golden Elixir (Jindan), ultimately ascending astride cranes.
The second poem focuses entirely on immortal cranes, depicting these numinous birds with vermilion crowns like cinnabar and snow-white plumage. They roam the Three Isles of the Immortals (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou), their cries echoing across the nine heavens, embodying the transcendent bearing of perfected beings.
The third verse addresses Jigu Qing, the military governor of Xijing, expressing detachment from official life and urging him to retire early to pursue the Dao. It encourages him to follow the cultivation path of the Lord of Pengcheng (likely referencing an ancient immortal).
The fourth poem depicts the mountain hermitage of Dan Gong in Yizhou's western peaks—shrouded in mist, encircled by pines and cypresses. Though disengaged from worldly affairs past and present, his silent cultivation surpasses the bustle of mundane existence.
Finally, it records miraculous signs during the Yellow Register Zhaijiao (a Daoist salvation ritual) held in Fushan County during the Mingchang era (1194 under Emperor Zhangzong of Jin): eleven immortal cranes circled the altar all night without departing. At dawn during the ritual, celestial crimson light appeared—witnessed by all present—manifesting divine resonance. The ceremonial site glowed with golden lanterns like a sacred mountain, as if transporting participants to an immortal realm, demonstrating the numinous solemnity of Daoist liturgy.
This passage from the Panxi Collection depicts natural landscapes interwoven with Daoist cultivation insights. Here's a modern interpretation:
The first section portrays winter frontier scenes: Amidst the bitter cold of deepest winter, heavy snow falls as frontier warhorses startle on precipitous mountain paths, while garrison soldiers shiver in icy armor. Though concerned about northern conflicts, the poet finds solace in Shandong's peaceful villages. He laments the exorbitant military expenditures that still fail to ensure soldiers' safety.
Next comes a series of four poems about Pingshan Hall:
In midsummer's ascent to Pingshan, few visitors disturb the wispy clouds drifting across azure skies. Sitting alone atop this height, the poet's body and mind transcend worldly cares. The lofty hall welcomes refreshing breezes, occasionally visited by bluebirds (legendary messengers of the Queen Mother of the West), with white clouds drifting endlessly. Compared to elusive golden platforms and jade palaces of Daoist immortals, pure cultivation here feels closer to the celestial realms. Daylight brings profound stillness, encircled by emerald peaks beneath a sapphire sky where the crimson sun arcs, while steadfast mountains anchor floating clouds. Nature's variegated forms reveal creation's artistry—the Three Luminaries (heaven, earth, humanity) merge into pristine clarity, embodying the cultivator's unity with cosmic forces.
Two subsequent poems continue the mountain recluse theme: Sleeping late beneath the high sun, contemplating ten miles of verdant peaks. Occasional visitors stir the tranquil courtyard, their dogs' barks fracturing the cloud-wrapped serenity. This effortless hermit life surpasses forced pursuit of the "Great Return Elixir" (supreme Daoist panacea). The poet's only fear? A sudden celestial summons might disrupt this paradise.
Two final standalone pieces:
Watching Tides at Sea depicts Beihai's raging waves: Gale winds sculpt snow-capped watery mountains, dark billows obscure sky and earth, thunderclaps shake the mortal realm. Even river deities tremble secretly before this majesty—the white-horse-and-plain-chariot tide procession (legendary tidal god's retinue) radiates power no ordinary mortal dares approach.
Inscription for Master Zhu's Hermitage documents a recluse's dwelling ten li southwest: Nestled between mountain and sea, the retreat mirrors profound wilderness. In this remote haven, clouds gather and disperse while crystalline streams flank the path, creating a cultivation sanctuary far from worldly dust.
Through layered natural imagery, these poems manifest Daoist ideals of serene non-action (Wuwei) and unity with the Dao (Dao). Cultivators discern celestial patterns in shifting landscapes, pursuing spiritual transcendence through quiet reclusion.
This passage contains several poems and travelogues from The Panxi Collection by Qiu Chuji (Daoist name Changchunzi), a renowned Daoist master of the Jin Dynasty. These works reveal the mountain-and-water sentiments and transcendent mindset of a cultivator.
The first poem depicts a moonlit evening during the Mid-Autumn Festival, shared with fellow Daoist companions: The bright moon hangs atop tall willow branches as I play the zither for guests amidst mist and clouds, laughing at the futility of toiling through life—nothing but an illusory dream. As autumn’s crisp air dispels summer’s heat, the garden prepares to don its vibrant autumn robes. A long wind sweeps from the desert across the sea, while the brief daylight passes through the Jade Gate. We host a banquet beneath the dragon tree and await the moon by Tiger Brook, plucking the zither. True companions naturally understand such refined pleasures—why must one pluck laurels from the Moon Palace (alluding to imperial examinations) to prove one’s worth?
The second poem records an autumn excursion to West Brook with fellow Daoists from Penglai: At dawn, we climb mountains and gaze upon waters in the gentle breeze, contemplating the autumn sky with a mind as vast as an empty valley. The mist-shrouded islands take on a deep jade hue, while the celestial wheel (the sun) blazes crimson under the morning light. Our joy remains undisturbed by external things, harmonizing with the world in quietude. This marks our fourth such gathering in three years, returning once more to the western mountains facing the rising tides of the Eastern Sea.
Later passages mention arriving at Qixia in October 1191 (the second year of the Mingchang era) and establishing a tradition with Penglai Daoists to spend every May together starting from the third year. Each May when we return to Penglai, the wheat fields ripple like layers of golden blossoms, while wild travelers feast on purple mulberries and quench their thirst with yellow plums. Surging cloud-waves merge with the mountains, and the tide laps ceaselessly against the shore. Such grand summer journeys expand the spirit, vast as the heavens themselves.
A farewell poem for Scholar Chen and Imperial Attendant Wanyan, who were departing for the imperial exams, reflects a cultivator’s perspective on worldly success: Among all beings between heaven and earth, humans alone possess the brightest spirit. Those who grasp the mysteries of Yin-Yang naturally see through the illusions of wealth and rank. In ancient times, refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan) required nine cycles of purification, yet today the imperial exams demand only three trials. A talent like the Banished Immortal (Li Bai) should never be buried—he is destined to ascend to the Grand Clarity (Taiqing, the highest Daoist heaven). A true man must harbor lofty aspirations, studying ten thousand scrolls over a decade. Though his learning aligns with the Dao, his brilliance has yet to astonish the world. His swift strategies outmatch charging bulls, and his brushwork flows with divine grace. Only when his merit is fulfilled will his mind shine clear, awakening to the dreamlike nature of glory.
Lastly, an unusual frost three days after the Qingming Festival in 1201 (the Xinyou year of the Taihe era) is noted: After wind and rain, one expects radiant spring scenery, yet the gale leaves only withered blossoms in its wake. Though seemingly a nature sketch, this passage subtly conveys a cultivator’s insight into life’s impermanence.
These passages from the Panxi Collection depict natural landscapes interwoven with Daoist cultivation insights:
The verses on spring nights describe the silent alternation between the East Wind (Lord of the East) and the Frost Goddess (Qingnü) governing the seasons, where the cycle of growth and decay remains inescapable—even practitioners have yet to transcend nature's laws. Yesterday's flourishing blossoms now lie withered; such fleeting splendor mirrors the vicissitudes of human life, vanishing like a dream in the blink of an eye.
At cockcrow, the adept ascends the mountain to attend the Di family's Zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) at Penglai. Holding his breath, he climbs perilous paths through mist-shrouded peaks, overlooking the Eastern Sea from the heights before gazing at the North Star from solitary summits. His daily practice combines virtuous deeds with a heart of serene emptiness, moving through the mundane world while remaining untainted.
Journeying to Weizhou for the Beihai ritual, the poems portray the harsh northern winter: howling yin winds, desolate mountains and seas, snow blanketing the earth, ice reaching to the heavens. The wild geese long departed southward, and dragons lie hidden in abyssal depths—yet the Daoist braves the cold, steadfast in attending the ceremony.
During the tenth-month Huanglu Zhaijiao (salvation ritual), held at harvest time to honor ancestors, lanterns and ritual robes gleam solemnly. The grand liturgy draws thousands; incense clouds rise as myriad deities are invoked to dispel calamities and bestow blessings.
Crossing Gaigong's treacherous cliffs, the verses paint jagged peaks where horses stumble on grotesque boulders and tigers leave no trace in gusty ravines. Mountain spires pierce the sky like halberds, veiled in radiant haze. The practitioner lingers not for idle scenery, single-minded in preparing the Huanglu purification. The closing image—"striking emptiness with a staff"—symbolizes his transcendent mind, unperturbed by external phenomena.
The first poem depicts a scene of heavy snowfall: dense dark clouds pile up layer upon layer as torrential rain pours down the mountain slopes. The violent clash of Yin and Yang energies stirs wind and thunder, while plants and trees howl amidst the darkened heavens and earth. Birds and beasts lose their way in the dismal mist, and fish and dragons crisscross through turbid waters. This sudden cosmic upheaval shocks the senses, yet who can discern the profound mysteries of creation hidden within?
The second poem describes winter snowfall: last night's alternating southern and northern winds have left the world in primordial chaos by morning. Ice pearls and shattered jade-like snowflakes dance on the wind, clothing countless mountains and valleys in identical silver. The sun and moon seem to have vanished, while mountains and rivers disappear into vast whiteness. Only through quiet contemplation of the principles of inner nature (Xing) and vital life (Ming), of Yin and Yang, can one comprehend the creative work emerging from emptiness.
The third poem paints a snowbound mountain village: with shifting winds through the night, dawn reveals an indistinct world. Roofs of village huts and country inns wear different snow caps, though willow-catkin flakes and plum blossoms share the same purity. Between stone chambers and pine halls, clouds gradually disperse, while jade platforms and gem-like trees glisten under moonlight. There's no need to ask whether this signals abundant harvests—the present spectacle already reveals the Dao's profound wonder.
The fourth poem thanks Lord Zhang for his snowy visit: the Daoist temple (Fayu) stands in deep stillness, its curtains drawn for serene meditation. Snow blankets the ground like celestial maidens scattering blossoms, while between sea and sky glows faint moonlight. Pale sunlight gilds golden halls as swift winds scatter jade dust (poetic snow). Though triple-winter snows augur well, who through the ages has truly discerned right from wrong?
The fifth poem celebrates snow-viewing delight: auspicious snowfall lifts the spirits, prompting leisurely staff-assisted strolls. Intoxicated by six-petal jade flowers drifting down, one barely notices the Three Pure Ones' hall now snow-robed. Jade horses (snowdrifts) emerge from darkened fields, while golden dragons (ice reflections) hide at palace corners. The sage observes silently beneath cold cliffs as distant mountain layers blur beyond distinction.
The sixth poem praises the Bamboo Pavilion (a small retreat within Tai Xu Temple): this secluded bower grows no showy flowers, only emerald bamboos (Langgan) companioning all seasons. Their upright joints transcend common grasses; their hollow centers mirror the Daoist path. Wind through leaves releases crisp fragrance, rain-washed stems shine with purity. No need to await winter's test—dawn and dusk verses by this window already purify the heart.
The seventh poem ascends heights in reflection: riding horseback up the high ridge, gazing at the churning earth stirs restless thoughts. Rivers and mountains merge with celestial qi, while grotto-heaven immortals shun mortal dust. White jade and yellow gold cannot endure, spring blossoms and autumn moons were never constant. A hundred years pass like single dreams—all endeavors empty, leaving only vast solitude.
After resigning as the Dinghai Military Commissioner, Liu Shilu came with his son to visit me at the Taixu Temple in Qixia. Several riders emerged briskly from the western gates of the prefectural city, the autumn breeze caressing elegant chrysanthemums. We composed poetry on horseback without needing to mimic ancient generals who recited verses with spears in hand; coming to the human realm to seek the Dao's teachings, we temporarily cleansed ourselves of worldly dust. As dew descended in the crisp autumn air, metallic chimes and jade-like tones reverberated through the morning mist. Sitting all day in the mountain hall's stillness, I suddenly felt the fleeting nature of life as light as a dream.
Commissioner Liu had a resting place with a plaque inscribed "Central Chamber" and requested a poem from me. The alternation of Yin and Yang constitutes the Dao—excess or deficiency both deviate from the Middle Way. This principle penetrates the Three Vehicles (Buddhist term for Shravaka, Pratyekabuddha, and Bodhisattva paths), its profundity unfathomable; it encompasses all things, its essence boundless. Even the wise may fail to comprehend it, remaining attached to narrow views, while ordinary people who understand it can awaken true wisdom. The origins of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism share the same insights as the ancient sages.
I then replied in matching rhyme to the fine poem by Yizha Zhongze, Commissioner of Wangzhou: Forced forgetfulness of worldly schemes makes no true discourse, nor must hermits dwell in tiny huts. Wisdom vast as oceans embraces treasures like moonlight, while the Heavenly Mind (original nature) illuminates things brighter than icy pools. Elegantly plucking the three-refrain melody at the Yellow Court (Dantian), chanting loudly in the Purple Mansion (celestial abode) half-drunk with wine. A virtuous governor in the northwest composes jewel-like verses, willing to send these poetic gems southeast.
Farewell to Zou Yingzhong, Commissioner of Penglai, transferred to Yanzhou: Rare since antiquity are those who live to seventy; with achievements complete, he seeks retirement. Though wishing to resign and cultivate chrysanthemums, duty calls him to bear the imperial tally against his will. Advance or retreat, none escape Yin-Yang's fixed patterns; day and night, none avoid destiny's turns. When resigning eventually, do it early—spare yourself the mockery of woodland recluses.
Hymn to the Dao: The Creator's breath flows mighty and far, as sun, moon, and stars whirl through primordial chaos. Yin and Yang energies secretly converge to spawn all beings, their divine transformations endless. Springs depart and autumns come with life and decay; heaven's height and earth's depth remain unchanged through ages. The Spiritual Terrace (heart) holds truth's message—what we fail to grasp stems from unawakened nature.
Chapter on the Perfected Scholar: Adapting outwardly to circumstances like ordinary folk, his inner transformations rival the gods' work. His spirit transcends the Triple Realm's sufferings, enjoying eternal spring in grotto-heavens. The Golden Elixir's refinement demands years, yet fire dates and interlaced pears (Daoist immortal fruits) renew daily. One dose liberates from life-death's bitter sea—but who are the destined recipients?
Viewing Pear Blossoms at Lingxu Temple: Wuguan's sublime scenery has long been famed; late spring reveals heaven-earth's cyclical dance. A thousand pear
This passage depicts the wondrous scenery of Daoist celestial realms and insights from spiritual cultivation.
The first section portrays the immortal realm's landscape: brocade-like frost and snow crystallize into sheets, exuding the fragrance of musk and orchids. Feather-robed immortals (yuke) linger among moonlit towers, while perfected beings (gaozhen) arrive as promised at the star-adorned altars of the Dharma. Mysterious Daoist methods silently coalesce numinous Qi in the void, transforming into countless crystalline jade pearls.
The second section reflects on the cultivation journey: the path of practice along the Qin region's Wei River is profoundly beautiful, where distance matters not. When clouds part over Western Peak Hua Mountain, the Immortal's Palm summit appears; after rain, Buddha's Head Peak on Zhongnan Mountain emerges especially verdant. Morning's crimson mists unfold like unrolled silk, while emerald peaks stand in picturesque layers like painted screens. Fellow cultivators from beyond the seas, hearing of my Daoist methods, come humbly with attentive ears to listen.
(Note: Panxi is an important Daoist sacred site in Baoji, Shaanxi, traditionally where Jiang Ziya fished and encountered King Wen. "Yuke" denotes immortals, "gaozhen" refers to perfected beings, "Immortal's Palm" is a Hua Mountain peak name, "Buddha's Head" a Zhongnan Mountain peak name, "cinnabar mists" indicate the sky, and "jade peaks" signify verdant mountains.)
Vol. 2
The second volume of the Panxi Anthology contains seven-character quatrains by Qiu Chuji (known as Changchunzi), a renowned Daoist master of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition. These poems reveal the life wisdom of a cultivator and his thoughts on exhorting goodness.
The people of the Guanzhong region are simple and kind-hearted, with many adherents of both Daoism and Buddhism. During seasonal festivals, devotees gather before sacred statues to chant scriptures and repent in a month-long ritual called "Li Zheng" (Ritual Rectification). One poem depicts the serene scene after snowfall: spring light reveals an atmosphere of great peace, with warm breezes and brilliant sunshine as the community sings joyfully to dispel worldly cares while preparing tangyuan (sweet rice balls) for the ceremony.
In a poem replying to disciple Fan, Qiu advises against probing celestial mysteries, emphasizing instead the importance of maintaining virtuous thoughts and accumulating yin virtue (hidden merit). He notes that the fickleness of human hearts is an inevitable challenge in spiritual cultivation, requiring steadfast daily practice. His verse to fellow cultivator Liu, who loved wine and chess, displays an unconstrained attitude: drinking freely in merriment, playing a quiet game in solitude. White-haired years should bring clarity—mundane affairs deserve no excessive concern.
Two cautionary poems for lay practitioner Qiang of Jingyang cite historical figures Sui He and Lu Jia to illustrate how fame and achievement ultimately return to emptiness, advocating silent contemplation over worldly pursuits. A hundred years pass swiftly as a white steed's shadow, yet people stubbornly chase illusions.
When composing for layman Yang, finding no proper paper, Qiu eventually inscribed his quatrain on a blank page of an old book, urging steadfast commitment to good deeds. Another poem accompanying a hand-fan gift compares white plantain leaves to wind-summoning objects, suggesting summer breezes come with each gentle wave.
Consoling the recently widowed Qiao, he explains how transcending worldly attachments severs mental afflictions, while uplifting songs refine one's nature. Daoist practice reduces desires, and physical cultivation enables riding the wind in ascension. Three fan-themed verses respectively depict: the recluse's character as lofty cliffs, the refreshing combat of heat with a paper fan, and wayfarers' hardships under scorching sun—their longing for grotto-heavens and blessed lands.
These poetic passages depict the reclusive life of Daoist practitioners dwelling freely in mountain forests, embodying the Daoist ideal of tranquil non-action (Wuwei) and transcendence beyond worldly concerns.
The first poem portrays the leisurely existence of a mountain hermit, playing chess beneath pine trees, far removed from mundane clamor. The second describes the scorching summer heat, finding respite only within the cool serenity of the Evergreen Green Cliff Cave. The third evokes the refreshing breeze along mountain streams and the chill of flowing waters that wash away worldly cares. The fourth depicts an exquisitely crafted rattan fan, its intricate weaving producing gentle cooling winds.
The following verses continue illustrating the unhurried rhythm of reclusive life. A thatched cottage stands on high ground, encircled by emerald bamboo, distant from the struggles of fame and fortune. When Duan Sheng's raft encounters rising waters, he harbors no resentment but returns singing joyfully—a testament to his acceptance of circumstance.
"The Flying Immortal" describes the three sacred isles of Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou, where divine beings roam freely, unbound by earthly constraints. "Zhong and Lü" depicts the harmonious bond between master and disciple, discussing scriptures and Daoist principles while journeying thousands of miles upon clouds and mist.
Two poems on "Dwelling in Jingfu Mountain" reflect on mountain life. The roar of tigers stirs the wind, startling wild beasts; in the depth of night, even the soul awakens startled. Yet the cultivator ultimately reveals the true heart of Dao (Dao xin), opening the eye of wisdom. Human affairs are sparse here—streams run clear, occasionally broken by the cry of pheasants or the laughter of woodcutters.
The final introspective verses express insights from cultivation. The Daoist path seeks spiritual liberation. Though mountain life brings hardship (scorching heat atop winter peaks, lingering cold in May's ravines), the subtle principles of clarity and emptiness permeate everywhere, and simple purity fills the world. The true Dao (Dao) eludes words—it must be personally realized. How few comprehend the essence of transcending dust to enter the Way? Here, mention is made of Nanhua (Zhuangzi) beginning...
This passage from the Panxi Collection reveals the Daoist practitioner's transcendent attitude toward worldly affairs and pursuit of natural authenticity. The opening line "Eventually attaining carefree joy, one merges with the boundless expanse of the Northern Sea" depicts the cultivator ultimately reaching a state of unimpeded freedom, vast as the ocean. Images of wild cranes, solitary clouds, clear breeze and bright moon metaphorically represent the recluse's life withdrawn from mundane distractions.
When the Yang family of Longzhou visited bearing osmanthus (symbolizing noble purity), the poet identifies with this moon-associated plant, expressing how despite dwelling in cold mountains, his heart embraces the world. The four lines beginning "a solitary blossom" suggest that when touched by refreshing qi, this osmanthus would fragrance the human realm—an allegory for how a cultivator's De (Virtue) can transform society.
The "falcon-releasing" section employs allusions to Zhi Dun's (the Eastern Jin dynasty monk) crane-keeping and Wang Xizhi's love of geese, conveying the dual need to follow nature's flow (Zhuangzi's teaching) while guarding against excessive attachment (as cautioned by Maojun). The "Pure Dream Pavilion" describes the practitioner's serene cultivation, attaining the joy of true suchness (a Buddhist term denoting ultimate reality).
Subsequent verses respond to various invitations. To Magistrate Xiao of Longzhou's summons, the poet compares himself to yellow swans (symbolizing hermits) and white clouds, expressing nostalgia for his homeland. Gazing at Dragon Gate Mountain, he feels profound karmic connection. When replying to Princess Cao and Jiagu Longhu's invitations, he modestly claims inadequate cultivation, disdaining empty fame in favor of quiet self-cultivation.
The final poem for Sun Kedao mentions "the Cloud-Dweller" spreading teachings westward, implying Daoists should disseminate the Dharma. Throughout the text, natural imagery intertwines with cultivation experiences, embodying Daoism's pursuit of clarity, Wuwei (non-action), and return to original simplicity.
This collection of poems from the Panxi Ji conveys the insights of a Daoist practitioner. Let me explain them one by one:
The first poem admonishes cultivators to remain grounded. Though many in Xizhou (modern Gansu region) seek the Dao, most stray from the proper path. The author urges them to take their staff and inspect mountain villages diligently, lest heterodox practices and demonic obstacles disrupt their cultivation.
The second poem uses fish and horses to illustrate cultivation's essence. A fish's large scales don't hinder its swimming, nor do a horse's tall bones impede its gallop. Sincere practice in the meditation chamber is reliable—without wisdom, leaving the chamber (descending the hall) proves futile.
The third poem discusses karmic retribution. Seeing a sick dog go unfed and a frozen donkey collapse unattended, the author laments: if people fail to accumulate hidden virtue (secret good deeds), how can they avoid misfortune when reincarnating?
The fourth poem stresses timely practice. Days and months shuttle like weavers' looms—waiting until old age to turn toward cultivation is too late. One must seize the present moment.
The fifth poem discerns true wisdom. Cultivation requires genuine intelligence, but superficial cleverness (external display) is dangerous. When outward pretense clashes with inner authenticity, success and failure will inevitably diverge.
The sixth poem criticizes neglecting fundamentals. Maintaining a single thought of purity (non-birth) brings liberation, dissolving calamities naturally. Alas, beings of inferior nature chase external illusions day and night.
The seventh poem contrasts worldly and transcendent states. What is the nine-tiered emperor's majesty compared to the ten-direction immortal sages' nobility? Better to roam freely across ten thousand miles than guard a tiny domain.
The eighth poem responds to an official's invitation from Ninghai. Heavy snow blocks mountain paths—heaven's will prevents travel. Though touched by the officials' and commoners' kindness, the poet can only gaze at Western Mountain with sighing regret.
The ninth poem humorously laments imperial summons. Content to lounge beneath three-pole-high sunbeams and contemplate endless clouds, the poet fears empty fame might stir the palace, disturbing peaceful dreams upon green mountains.
The tenth poem describes springtime vistas. Falling petals drift like crimson rain; sunset glow dissolves white aureoles (Buddha-light). Gazing afar at road markers along Western Mountain's official path—they stand like fists thrust into clouds.
The eleventh poem sighs at lingering spring chill. Ocean winds rage wildly while mountain slopes delay their vernal hues. Though summer approaches after Qingming, still no scarlet blossoms appear.
The twelfth poem reflects on inescapable kalpic cycles. Neither Yang-Jiu nor Bai-Liu (Daoist terms for cosmic catastrophes) can be resisted—even perfected immortals cannot intervene. Only after weathering these trials may one enter the Dao in peaceful times.
The final poem paints Mount Gong's scenery (perhaps the author's homeland). Its peaks pierce clouds; pine shadows veil azure skies. Edible pine blossoms and nuts crown its summit; moonlit streams drink pine-scented winds—revealing a transcendent recluse's life beyond worldly concerns.
A gentle breeze whispers through the pine forest, carrying the fragrance of pine needles to the ninth heaven. This ethereal qi envelops all things, merging and flowing with the radiance of sun and moon.
The thousand-zhang waterfall gleams crystal clear, while mountain mists surge with majestic grandeur. Auspicious winds often scatter the clouds, transforming them into fine rain drifting through the void.
Though Qingcheng Mountain, Hua Mountain, and Tiantai Mountain are renowned, none compare to the majesty of our peak. Its towering heights, piercing the clouds, rival even the immortal isle of Penglai.
The White Cloud Palace perches atop the summit, gazing down upon the mountain ranges. Endless clouds drift above the peaks, wandering leisurely among the verdant pines.
The mountain's hues flicker between visibility and concealment—half submerged in deep mists, half dissolving into the vast sky. Gazing toward the horizon, one finds only swirling clouds, its form elusive.
Since ancient times, this mountain has been veiled in layers of white clouds, stretching all the way to the celestial realm. Immortals appear and vanish among them, their voices heard but their forms unseen, while transcendent melodies echo from the clouds.
The ethereal music drifts into the mountains, gradually arriving before the Great Unity Altar. There, immortals tend the alchemical furnace, refining the precious Ninefold Soul-Returning Elixir from time to time.
Pushing open the heavenly gate, they dust the stars, sitting alone in the moon palace while embracing the sun. At night, they herd spirit turtles; at dawn, they summon cranes. When hungry, they eat pine nuts; when cold, they don robes of cloud.
A bright lamp shines atop the peak, scattering demons across the land. Only the enlightened cultivators remain, playing with precious pearls among the pines.
In spring, the Azure Dragon plows under moonlight while the White Tiger assists in sowing the "yellow sprouts" (symbolizing the nascent Golden Elixir). When the sprouts emerge, thunder shakes the heavens, and the power of dragon and tiger manifests.
In summer, scorching sunlight condenses like fiery clouds, and dragons surge from the ocean depths. They gather the hottest summer qi from the mountains, transforming it into cooling water.
In autumn, clouds and rosy hues illuminate the sky, while dense pine forests and towering peaks survey the earth. Few tread the perilous summits—only the lonely moon casts its light.
When winter arrives, dark clouds gather and snowflakes whirl as biting winds sweep the land. Countless mountain scenes are stirred, sending jade-like petals dancing through the air.
Mount Lao of Laizhou and Jimo, embraced by the sea on three sides with plains at its back, boasts towering boulders and sheer cliffs—truly a paradise on earth. Yet its remote coastal location keeps its beauty little known to the world.
After completing the zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) in Changyang...
This passage describes the author's experiences and insights while traveling and practicing Daoism at Mount Ao (also known as Mount Lao, present-day Laoshan in Qingdao):
I arrived at the Yongzhen Temple in Wangcheng and gazed southward at the mist-shrouded peaks, faintly catching sight of fellow Daoists inviting one another. After lingering for several days, I finally reached Mount Ao, where I leisurely composed twenty poems to express the serene and joyful state of mind cultivated through Daoist practice.
Majestic Mount Ao rises by the sea, its numinous Qi suffusing the heavens. The cliffs are sheer as if carved by blades, towering thousands of ren high, with jagged rocks piercing the clouds. To the south stand the Shangqing and Taiqing Palaces, dedicated to the Daoist patriarchs and guarding the sea, while to the north lie three temples, including the Taiping Xingguo Temple. Only then did I realize that what Daoist practitioners seek is an immortal realm beyond the mundane world, disdaining the worldly paintings of human society.
At first, the mountain’s colors appeared indistinct, and even after ten days of stay, I still could not take in its full splendor. The nearby grotto-heavens and blessed lands remained just out of reach, so I could only pour my poetic sentiments into my travel notes. The mountain town is embraced by light mist and emerald hues, its layered peaks resembling painted screens. Nature has crafted this wonder on the shores of the Eastern Sea, where clouds and rosy hues unfurl as dusk descends.
Encircled by the sea on three sides, the mountain cradles a flat field in its center. Below, it is anchored by a golden turtle; above, it connects to the heavens. The tides crash day and night, waves churning like snow, while immortals often ascend amid the radiant clouds. This sacred mountain conceals celestial beings, its countless cliffs and valleys encircling a paradise like the legendary Dongting Lake. The Creator deliberately placed it far from bustling roads, as if despising the foul stench of the human world.
Mount Lao is originally Mount Ao, once situated in the middle of the ocean and nearly impossible to climb. Heaven, in its mercy, moved this sacred site closer to the human realm so that cultivators could attain the Dao. The towering peaks exude grandeur, their emerald heights dazzling the eyes. The winding mountain path makes three hundred turns along the slopes, forcing travelers to pause with every step to take in the view.
Auspicious clouds drift gently among the pines and cliffs, while deep within the grottoes, the atmosphere is pure and tranquil. Who knows what immortal shaped these strange rocks and peaks? In truth, they have existed naturally since the dawn of creation. I took up my brush to depict the mountain’s beauty, ascending one lofty ridge after another. Looking south, I saw the endless ranges of the towering Juping Mountain, each new precipice revealing yet another peak.
At the fourth watch, the moon still hung slanting over the summit as I climbed the eastern peak to behold the dawn. The morning sun illuminated sea and sky, its golden radiance almost blinding. The Tianzhu Peak stood majestic, piercing the firmament and breaking through the clouds to touch the azure heavens. Here, one loses track of the cycles of sun, moon, and stars, sensing only the natural harmony of Yin and Yang.
There is a famous White Dragon Cave, though no one knows in which era an immortal once dwelled there. Even after countless ages, the cavern embedded in the cliff still faces the ancient pines.
This passage depicts the spiritual insights and natural landscapes experienced by Daoist practitioners on Mount Ao (present-day Laoshan in Qingdao). Here, Lord Lao (Laojun, one of the highest Daoist deities) resides in secluded grotto retreats, transcending worldly attachments. Practitioners withdraw from mundane society—some, like the Hua Gai Perfected (an immortal who attained the Dao during Emperor Taizu's reign in the Song dynasty), ascend to celestial realms, while others meditate beneath sheer cliffs listening to ocean tides.
The author describes himself as a "wild guest cultivating truth" (a reclusive Daoist wanderer), though not a refined scholar, yet moved to compose poetry before Mount Ao's majestic beauty. What he seeks is the spiritual state of witnessing the sunrise over the sea from mountain caves, not worldly fame or wealth. The verses repeatedly emphasize that spiritual practice resembles mountain climbing—"each step arduous, each stride upward"—perseverance alone leads to plucking the蟠桃 (peaches of immortality, symbolizing eternal life).
Encircled by sea on three sides, Mount Ao transforms at dawn when radiant sunlight dyes emerald waves gold. Practitioners perceive the Dao-nature (Dao性) inherent in all landscapes; it is the sages' unseen harmonizing that maintains heaven and earth's enduring brilliance. The passage concludes in awe of creation's grandeur—the entire world (八荒四海) is embraced within primordial Qi (元始一气, the foundational energy of existence in Daoist cosmology).
The latter section records the author's return to Mount Ao in the Daan Jisi year (a Jin dynasty era-name) after participating in a胶西地区 zhaijiao (purification ritual). With fellow Daoists, he revisits the mountain and inscribes poems at Shangqing Palace (a renowned Daoist temple). The verses portray a celestial seascape reminiscent of Penglai's immortal isles: jagged peaks towering above the sea, solitary summits scraping the sky, the vast ocean swallowing sun and moon, while azure mountains wreathe in mist. Amid bizarre rock formations and precipitous cliffs, echoes of transcendent music often linger—an ideal sanctuary for cultivation. In winter, ice seals the landscape; in midsummer, clouds veil its majesty, revealing the numinous atmosphere unique to Daoist sacred sites.
These poetic passages depict the spiritual insights and natural landscapes experienced by Daoist practitioners amidst mountains and seas.
The first section portrays the majestic sight of mountains viewed from the sea: towering peaks pierce the clouds, while morning and evening mists swirl around them—all manifestations of nature's creative power. It mentions Mount Hua in Shaanxi and Mount Jiuhua in Jiangnan as places of extraordinary beauty, while Mount Ao in Shandong, resting by the Eastern Sea, remains an unsung treasure. Layer upon layer of peaks intertwine and compete in splendor, their pristine scenery uplifting the spirit—a perfect retreat for Daoist cultivation since ancient times.
The poet reflects on having visited four of the Five Sacred Mountains, finding other ranges incomparable. Yet, because these mountains lie in remote corners of the world, their fame has not spread across the land.
The ten poems about Taiqing Palace describe the scene at dawn when leaving Shangqing Palace: the mountain path faintly visible in the morning mist, pausing before breakfast to sit and admire the hazy silhouettes of wild geese between sea and peaks. Swirling clouds and drizzling rain seem to hold the traveler back, as if the sacred grotto-heaven itself laments how rarely cultivators visit.
Boundless clouds stretch endlessly, waves churn without cease, and countless peaks merge with radiant sunlit mists—among them, a ring of mountains forms a natural sanctuary for Daoist practice. Pines whisper in the wind, streams murmur day and night, and wild cranes descend occasionally, making even casual visitors reluctant to leave.
Deep streams, massive boulders, and ancient pines exude an air of profound Daoist vitality. Were it not for woodcutters frequenting these slopes, the sight of clouds veiling the sun would be even more breathtaking. The cultivator’s lofty reputation ascends to the heavens; dwelling alone on the mountain, aloof from the world, they embody the noble dignity of the Three Mao Immortals and the illustrious honor of the Lord of Ten Thousand Stones.
Gazing up at the Western Mountain piercing the clouds, one learns that the celestial peaches planted by immortals have ripened many times over. Generations have passed in the mortal realm, yet the cave-dwelling goddess (Qin Nü) has grown immortal feathers (a sign of enlightenment). Her clear songs and moonlit chants rise and fall like a phoenix’s dance; her laughter and speech transcend worldly concerns as she ascends to the Ninth Heaven in divine company.
Purple mists and emerald clouds drift high above; in cavernous abodes, immortals revel in jade-peach wine. Drumbeats echo through azure cliffs like thunder, startling birds and beasts into cries of awe. The divine power of the Dao defies description—transcending all creation, solitary and sublime. Mountains and seas know their own weight, yet the fathomless void floats effortlessly for ten thousand years.
Finally, the poet mentions composing fifteen Mid-Autumn poems on the tenth day of the eighth month while returning from Changle County to the Jade Clarity Temple north of Weizhou. "From the western county eastward to Jade Clarity, an autumn breeze sweeps the twilight sky clear...".
When admiring the mid-autumn moon, we most fear dark clouds obscuring its light. As the west wind sweeps across the nine provinces, this night's pure radiance flows westward—an extraordinary clarity that penetrates to the marrow. Though everywhere there is song and celebration, none can preserve this fleeting splendor.
When the bright moon first rises from the sea with undimmed purity, all nations rejoice in this era of peace. May this precious moonlight never fade, nor this celestial jade wax and wane. Like uncarved gold and jade ascending the heavens, like frozen frost illuminating the Taixu (Daoist term for cosmic origin), its reflection touches every sea and river, granting all beings peace under its glow.
This clear radiance blankets ten thousand miles of heaven and earth, reaching equally the thatched huts of the poor and the towers of the rich. Every household leisurely chants poems beneath it, while refreshing breezes enhance their joy. Scholars gaze skyward, raising cups to toast the lunar toad (legend says a toad lives in the moon). Yet the moonlight, indifferent to human attachment, hangs serenely in the azure void.
The golden moonlight flows ceaselessly day and night, its subtle brilliance emerging between sea and mountain. Suspended beyond worldly concerns (transcending the mundane), it showers blessings upon humanity. The blue-black sky follows its own principles—celestial light shines without prejudice. Only when worldly demonic obstructions grow heavy does the golden lunar disk disappear from view.
The full moon hangs in emptiness, its clarity surpassing even polished bronze mirrors. Every water surface reflects its image, terrifying evil spirits at the sight. The osmanthus tree casts faint shadows on the mortal realm, its patterns remaining mysterious through the ages. How one longs to ride a crane into the clouds and gaze down upon that jade platter in the blue heavens!
Drifting clouds come and go without rest, shifting between shadow and light by dawn. Tonight we're blessed to face this exquisite moon, perfect for composing new verses to express Daoist realization. Each year this season brings too much killing—a tide of karmic debt beyond remedy. Only the emperor's stern prohibitions preserve the lives of living beings.
Since the enlightened ruler ascended the throne, all things find peace; benevolent virtue from the court dispels violence. Officials and citizens alike cultivate De (Virtue/Power), sharing equally in this glorious moonlight. Still, dark clouds sometimes rise in the quiet night, denying creatures heaven's natural joy. Though veiled by shifting mists, has the moon beyond the skies ever truly turned away from humanity?
A human lifespan passes in the blink of an eye—how many mid-autumn nights find us at leisure? Better to refine our xing (innate nature) like the autumn moon, making body and mind as clear and unconstrained as moonlight.
Vol. 3
The Song of the Azure Sky elucidates the principle of dispelling delusions and revealing one's true nature during spiritual cultivation. It begins with the metaphor of the azure sky obscured by drifting clouds, illustrating how the initial stages of practice resemble a clear, boundless sky suddenly shrouded by dark clouds. Various distracting thoughts and illusions surge forth like a dense forest of phenomena, veiling the innate radiance of one's true nature. Qiu Chuji (Daoist name Changchunzi) recalls that when he first began his cultivation, he too experienced moments of celestial clarity and bodily tranquility. Yet with the slightest lapse of attention, stray thoughts would arise like black clouds enveloping all nine orifices (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), causing profound discomfort.
To break free from this state, one must emulate the great wind that scatters the clouds—using the gale of wisdom to sweep through the Three Realms (Desire, Form, and Formlessness) and the Ten Directions (the entire cosmos). When the clouds disperse and the sky clears, the true suchness of one's nature manifests naturally, as lucid as the moon visible to every household. At this stage, the sound of a flute can resonate across the Central Plains, startling the jade boy riding a white deer in the eastern immortal realms (a classic Daoist image of transcendence). This music, transcending the mundane, is neither the secular sheng pipes nor ordinary horn melodies, but the primordial sound of the Hunyuan (Chaotic Origin) played on a three-thousand-year-old yun'ao (celestial instrument), preserved through kalpas while retaining its authentic essence.
Such celestial music, pure and far-reaching, differs entirely from worldly tunes, penetrating directly into the heart. Cultivators who attain this state receive the protection of spirits and deities, freely traversing heaven and earth. Here, body and mind move without constraint—neither coveting glory nor fearing disgrace—leisurely chanting the Song of White Snow (a Daoist celestial hymn) and harmonizing with the Melody of Spring Sunlight (symbolizing pure Yang Qi). This realm arises spontaneously, like a flute without holes or a zither without strings, awakening one to the dreamlike nature of fleeting existence while filling grotto-heavens and blessed lands with the sound of serenity.
The Hymn of Primordial Heaven, on the other hand, expounds the principles of cosmic generation: In the stillness of a mountain night, where pale moonlight and sparse stars intertwine with the chill, one suddenly witnesses Venus (Changxing) illuminating the Great Void, while the Northern Dipper recedes into the firmament. The unfolding and folding transformations between heaven and earth, the rhythms of cosmic movement—all are propelled by profound and mysterious mechanisms. The supreme Dao of Wuji's Mysterious Origin (the highest truth in Daoism) enlightens the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, stars) and nurtures the growth of all things. This Dao threads through past and present, undaunted by hardship, surging like a mighty torrent to drive the evolution of all beings. The Primordial Qi (cosmic source) initiates the first transformation, while the Sovereign Dao alone governs the ten thousand things. It cleaves the chaos of emptiness, using the rise and fall of Yin-Yang as its gate, the movement of sun and moon as its lock, and the alternation of seasons and day-night cycles to regulate the waxing and waning of fortunes. It establishes the laws of celestial motion while setting an exemplar for future cultivation. The building of virtue must accord with circumstance, just as different terrains demand different materials.
This passage recounts the cultivation experiences and miraculous deeds of Wang Chongyang (Master Chongyang), the patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, and his disciples such as Ma Yu (Danyangzi), revealing the profound mysteries of Daoist practice.
First, it describes the insights into cultivation realms: All things must accord with the currents of time to enlighten beings—even sage-emperors like the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors revered the Dao (the Way) as their guiding principle. All living beings between heaven and earth follow natural laws, and even Confucius, the supreme sage, marveled at the depth of Laozi's teachings on Dao and De (Virtue/Power).
Next, it portrays the meditative experience: Practicing alone in remote mountain paths, spending days accompanied only by birdsong. When undisturbed by worldly visitors, one often stands in stillness beneath the moonlight, poised above the clouds. This transcendent state repels all malevolent influences, and when gazing from high peaks, the mountains appear insignificantly small. Chanted scriptures resonate with the wind, while footsteps become light as a celestial being's.
The text recalls Master Chongyang's missionary work in Shandong: Originally intending to cultivate in solitude at Mount Lao to compose texts, he was compelled by his calling to teach in the Jiaodong region. Initially unassuming like Jiang Ziya fishing by the Panxi stream, he later emerged like the giant roc from Zhuangzi's parable spreading its wings. This transition from concealment to visibility embodies the Daoist wisdom that "the greatest seclusion is found in bustling markets."
A central account is the "Miracle of the Flying Umbrella": In the fourth month of 1169 (Dading Jichou year), Master Chongyang traveled with disciples including Ma Yu from Wendeng to Ninghai. Passing Longquan during sweltering heat, the master instructed his disciples to proceed ahead while he followed holding an umbrella. Half a li away, Ma Yu turned back to see the umbrella soaring skyward and rushed back to inquire. The master explained it had ridden a whirlwind—later discovered at Zhai Gong's home on Mount Zha, 180 li from Wendeng. This umbrella became a sacred relic, completing its miraculous journey within a single day.
In Ninghai, the bamboo bark crown (a type of Daoist headpiece) borrowed from Fan Mingshu's household was later demanded back by the Fan family, yet the practitioner refused to return it. When this cultivator first ascended the Seaview Terrace north of the city, the bamboo crown suddenly fell into the ocean and drifted away—yet miraculously floated back on its own. The astonished crowd declared this phenomenon as "the bamboo crown communicating with the numinous."
"Ode to Carefree Wandering" depicts celestial realms: Across the vast seas lie the Ten Continents and Three Isles (legendary abodes of immortals), where jade towers and crystalline palaces hover suspended midair. Dense pine shade blocks the scorching sun, rendering silk fans unnecessary as cool breezes naturally arise. Even gold-and-jade adorned true immortals have never fully revealed the mysteries of those crystal palaces—where jeweled thrones stand arrayed amidst encircling stars. The purified dharma-body requires no fleshly form, inherently comprehending divine wonders. Mid laughter and conversation, celestial beings above are startled awake.
"Ode to Unfettered Ease" portrays jade platforms and divine gardens amidst azure skies: Auspicious clouds and numinous qi (vital energy) fill the firmament as groups of immortals appear intermittently, sprinkling cooling dew that stirs fragrant winds through all living things. How could ordinary households fathom such refreshment during sweltering summers? When mist disperses and grotto-gates open, one sees star-rivers arrayed where the Nine Heavens host perpetual gatherings of transcendent guests. Across ten thousand miles, no sweat-blood steeds (symbolizing miraculous travel) are needed—for those liberated pure bodies, who would envy mortals waving fans for relief?
"Ode to Gazing Upon the Ocean" expresses the author's geographical insights: East of Tong Pass and north of Huai River, Dengzhou (modern Penglai, Shandong) reigns supreme in majestic scenery. Though bordering the eastern frontier, Penglai boasts peerless wonders—proximity to immortal sanctuaries, mountains reclining like pillows upon fish-dragon lairs. Gazing afar from heights, vision stretches to heaven's edge yet still feels constrained, observing only boundless merging of azure skies and waters with rolling clouds. Eternal winds churn frost-white waves across ten thousand miles; surveying islands reveals even hills dwarfed by the oceanic expanse. Occasionally numinous qi (vital energy) intermingles, transforming vistas beyond reckoning—a kaleidoscopic beauty defying description. The ocean truly rules all rivers, profound and crystalline, its tides punctual through dynasties of drought. Mortal ponds compared to it resemble frog-wells. Distant calm waters show no horizon beneath solemn, purified skies—immaculate since antiquity, transcending cycles of birth and decay.
"Ode to Immortal Wandering" describes transcendent realms: Palaces stand beyond worldly dust, jade platforms float in sapphire voids. Grotto-dwelling immortals never age, cloud-traversing visitors eternally at leisure. Crimson phoenixes cry in boat-shaped caves, scarlet hounds (mythical guardians of elixirs) bark by herb-rails, while azure-robed attendants (celestial messengers) deliver divine edicts.
Selected Passages from the Panxi Collection with Modern Interpretation:
The first poem depicts an immortal's banquet: a white crane delivers the invitation as celestial beings attend the jade grove gathering. The verses are composed by feather-robed immortals who sing before the Golden Mother's (Queen Mother of the West) palace and chant atop the Jade Turtle Mountain. The divine peaches bear fruit once every three millennia, while the pavilions rise twelve tiers high. When will King Mu of Zhou arrive? When might Dongfang Shuo ascend? The skin of the Gushe maiden remains pure as snow, while Dong Shuangcheng's beauty grows ever more radiant. Xu Feiqiong soars toward the moon palace, and Nongyu lets down her splendid hair. Riding their carriages, the immortals tour the three sacred isles (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou), crossing windswept barbarian lands. Circling above, they glimpse the ocean and mountains before leaping straight through heaven's gate. The vast void knows no boundaries, yet their soaring spirits remain undiminished. Transcending worldly attachments and surpassing all realms, they cast no backward glance at mortal dust.
The subsequent three short verses convey:
In Praise of Dao declares that ancient and modern sages share the same essence—different schools spring from one source, all meant to awaken the deluded. The Supreme Unity (Taiji) of primordial chaos opens the path of cultivation, while the Mysterious Truth (Xuanzhen) directly points to heaven's ladder.
Dispelling Delusion warns against heedless belief in others' words, urging proper rectification of one's own heart. Should one listen to gossip and slander, it will only damage one's inherent virtue (De) and true nature.
Admonition Against Lust identifies life's greatest calamity as sexual desire—not only does it destroy the foundation of life (Jing), but also erodes hidden virtue (Yinde). Overcoming this vice surpasses a hundred other practices. Throughout history, those seeking immortality have always prioritized abstinence as their primary discipline.
Two Pacing the Void hymns describe Daoist rituals:
The first proclaims how the vast teachings of authentic cultivation transcend the mundane world. Patriarchs opened the gates of practice, shaking heaven and earth upon their withdrawal. Humble dwellings transform into immortal abodes, their lofty names reaching heaven's very threshold. Companions gather amid rosy clouds to worship the Supreme Venerable Sovereign of Grand Void.
The second depicts the altar scene: precious candles and incense smoke form celestial seal-script (Fulu), while ornate lanterns illuminate the night. As the Milky Way first reveals its splendor, the tones of bells and chimes reverberate. The presiding priest receives the sacred assembly, offering devout prayers to the heavens. Descending immortals bestow their grace, with envoys arriving from the void's celestial realms.
The Elegy for Emperor Shizong records: In the second month of 1188 (Wushen year of Dading era), Qiu Chuji traveled from Zhongnan Mountain to answer the imperial summons. Granted ritual robes and headgear, he awaited edicts at Tianchang Abbey. Eleven days later, he was appointed High Priest (Gaogong) to conduct the Wanchun Festival purification rites (Zhaijiao). By the fourth month, he relocated to a northern official hermitage where, two days later, he received the decree to sculpt sacred statues of Patriarchs Lü Dongbin, Wang Chongyang, and Ma Danyang—each exquisitely painted with ritual vessels. On the eighteenth day of the fifth month, he was received by the emperor at Changsong Island, then again on the tenth day of the seventh month to expound cosmological and humanistic principles, earning imperial admiration.
The Panxi Collection records several vignettes and reflections from Qiu Chuji (styled Changchunzi).
The first section recounts his experience receiving imperial gifts. One evening an edict arrived, and by noon the next day an envoy delivered a plate of peaches. Though Qiu had abstained from tea and fruit for over a decade, he ate one peach in gratitude for the emperor's kindness. During the Mid-Autumn Festival, he was granted permission to return to the mountains for other matters and declined the emperor's gift of a hundred thousand coins. In the spring of Jiyou year while passing through Shanzhou, he suddenly received the mournful decree announcing the emperor's passing. Dust swirled under darkened skies as officials and commoners donned mourning garments. Though as a Daoist practitioner he transcended worldly concerns, moved by the emperor's profound benevolence, he composed an elegiac poem expressing his sorrow.
The second section contains the "Urgent Cultivation" piece from fifteen Ancient Tunes, urging people to seize time for spiritual practice. Days pass like lightning across eternal heaven and earth. Human life resembles an endless dream where worldly people toil in vain. Though aspirations may be lofty, one risks losing the path—indulging desires is like falling into traps. Escaping the cycle of rebirth requires sublime cultivation; genuine practice needs no artifice. By relinquishing attachments to gain/loss and intimacy/distance, calamities naturally dissipate. While one's Dao-nature remains unawakened, live simply in accordance with circumstances, avoiding contention.
The third section describes sending someone to the county town in August to find scraps for patching his hempen robe (in Xiguo region). As White Dew ends and Cold Dew approaches, the mountains grow desolate with few visitors. Yellow leaves cascade from treetops while his mended robe accumulates patches. Old cloth must be sought at a market seven li away, preparing the robe for winter. Though wealthy townspeople offer generosity, he prefers maintaining simple life at Panxi.
Finally, Lone Pine on Long Mountain depicts his six-year mountain residence observing a solitary pine west of the peak. Morning mists weave through mountain passes while evening drizzles shroud the cavern—this natural scenery seems arranged solely for him, revealing the Daoist practitioner's harmony with nature.
The Panxi Collection passage consists of three sections, each interpreted below:
The first section depicts the fate of an ancient pine tree. Across the mountain stream stood this verdant, majestic pine with interlocking branches casting deep shade—a millennium-old sentinel. Yet at spring's beginning this year, woodcutters' axes suddenly assailed it. The echoing blows filled the valley as pine smoke curled mournfully at the mountain's base. The author perceives this as Heaven's portent of his own impending departure, signaled first by the collapse of Lingyan (the numinous cliffs housing Yu the Great's temple). As scenic wonders perish and visitors disperse, white cranes lose their way and azure dragons shed their vitality—revealing all form-bound things ultimately follow predetermined cycles.
The second section presents verses for Lady Tangkuo of Weiyang, sister to a deceased chancellor and woman of transcendent character. Composed while the author resided in Longshan mountains upon receiving summons from General Jigu of Jingzhao, the poem advises awakening to life's fleeting nature—a hundred years pass like a white steed's shadow across a crevice. She should cast aside worldly attachments to wander carefree with immortals, thereby transcending life-death cycles and earthly afflictions.
The third section analyzes drought's root causes. The Dao's principle mandates Yin-Yang harmony nurturing all beings; maintaining proper boundaries prevents calamity. Contemporary disasters arise from indulgent desires—lavish attire, gourmet excess, and rare treasures—that disrupt cosmic balance. Since antiquity, Yin and Yang have followed mutual generation and restraint, but modern profligacy begets perennial drought. Rainless skies parch the earth as swirling dust withers all life. Though rain-summoning rituals (qiuqiou ceremonies) are performed, meat offerings profane the sacred, and clamorous rites hardly move Heaven. How lamentable that sensory indulgence ultimately destroys its practitioners!
The poems in the Panxi Collection express the author's lament over worldly suffering and his exhortations to cultivate virtue through Daoist practice.
In the poem dedicated to Captain Liu of Shajian Village in Huazhou, the author praises Liu's entire family for accumulating merit through good deeds, tirelessly supporting Daoist practitioners. He reflects how those who sincerely follow the Dao inspire admiration—like tenderly nurturing spiritual sprouts. The poet anticipates the day when his cultivation reaches fruition, envisioning himself ascending on auspicious clouds alongside immortals.
Two "Lament for Creatures" poems starkly depict consecutive years of famine and plague: Heaven gazes down yet remains indifferent to universal suffering, as living beings endure ceaseless torment without recourse. The author cries out in anguish: Why did creation bring forth countless lives only to subject them to endless cruelty? When even celestial deities withhold salvation, the people can only nurse their grief day and night.
"Joyful Rain in June" captures the elation of long-awaited downpours: torrents finally arrive amid thunderous echoes across mountains, pooling three feet deep on level ground. Flood dragons revel in the waters, drought demons retreat, and vitality returns to heaven and earth.
The poem inscribed on Emperor Xianzong's calligraphic transcription of the Zhuangzi commends the young emperor's passion for Daoist philosophy, evidenced by his handwritten masterpiece. Though Zhuangzi passed millennia ago, his spirit endures through ancient texts. The perfected person (one who attains the Dao) embraces vast perspectives, harmonizing effortlessly with nature's rhythms.
"Winter Stroll Beyond the Suburbs" paints a desolate scene: barren trees, absent wildlife, halted merchants, and dormant insects. Only Daoist practitioners transcend worldly concerns about wealth or poverty, finding peace in solitude.
"Autumn Winds Over the Sea" uses maritime gales as metaphor—the poem's opening lines subtly evoke life's impermanence.
This cultivator from the Penglai Immortal Isles had no fixed abode, single-mindedly pursuing the path of immortality and the Dao (the Way), wandering freely between heaven and earth. Standing atop a high vantage point, he gazed eastward where water merged with sky—an endless expanse of emerald waves stretching ten thousand li. In the morning after rain, with the west wind blowing fiercely, he leaned on his staff to observe wild geese flying in formation across the heavens, while fishermen cast their lines into the deep waters for whales and sturgeons. Yet neither fish nor turtles took the bait, leaving them to wait in vain amidst the rolling waves.
He longed to cross the sea on a bamboo raft, ascending to higher celestial realms. Above, the starry river shimmered brilliantly, and all things stood distinct—yet he could find no fellow seekers to accompany him on the path of eternal life. Later, he arrived at Dengzhou’s Cultivation Temple to participate in the Yellow Register Zhaijiao (a grand Daoist ritual for the salvation of souls), where he perceived the profound mystery of cosmic movement: the two qi (vital energies) of yin and yang intertwined fiercely, as if recreating the moment when the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) first unfolded to give birth to all things. Though the myriad phenomena of the world appear infinitely varied, in essence, they are but illusory transformations of emptiness.
Since ancient times, sages have taught humanity through scriptures, revealing the truth that all phenomena are fundamentally empty. Today, Daoism flourishes across the land, with cultivators everywhere guiding sentient beings. After thirty years of wandering, the author returned to the coastal city and beheld the majestic Cultivation Temple in the southern district—its presence connecting the starry river above and the vast sea below. Devotees came and went without cease, while fellow Daoists remained transcendent and detached. In the tenth month of the fourth year of Cheng’an, a grand Yellow Register Zhaijiao was held here: crimson documents aligned with celestial laws, white jade talismans capable of dispelling malevolent forces. The three-tiered altar radiated sacred light, and nine divine lamps illuminated the constellations.
For nine days and nights, the ritual continued unbroken—incense smoke rising ceaselessly, chanting reverberating through the air. The entire city rejoiced, its streets adorned with lanterns and banners. Suddenly, auspicious signs appeared in the heavens: the Jade Emperor issued an edict pardoning wandering souls, and immortal youths descended astride white cranes. All lost spirits received liberation, filling both elders and children with reverence. This ceremony manifested the vast power of the Dao, bathing both the realms of light and darkness in radiant illumination.
These passages from the Panxi Collection primarily depict the scenery of Daoist temples and insights into spiritual practice. Let me explain them section by section:
North of Weizhou city stands the newly constructed Jade Purity Temple (Yuqing Guan), a grand monastic complex capable of accommodating a thousand households. This serene retreat, now lush with flowering trees, has transformed what was once a noisy thoroughfare of carriages and horses into a tranquil space for cultivation. Mist and radiant clouds hover above the lotus pond, where blossoms rise ten zhang high. When asked who funded this sanctuary, we learn it was the noble Tai Jun family, hereditary lords of a thousand households.
The verses on Mount Yuntun's temple in Laizhou's Zhaoyuan County paint a landscape: the peak perpetually wreathed in shifting clouds and unpredictable storms. After rainfall clears, emerald mountain ridges stand like a screen of jade. Deep in the valley, white stones jut dramatically amid verdant pines. Wandering here expands one's spirit, as if ascending directly to the celestial courts. This was originally the ancient foundation of Master Void (Xu Kong Daoren), now rebuilt as the Cavern Heaven Temple (Dongtian Guan)—a sacred mountain abode where immortals dwell, destined to endure for ten thousand generations.
Three five-character quatrains follow:
The first warns worldly people: beauty and treasures are illusory; to perceive the emptiness of all phenomena requires long-term vision.
The second describes gazing southward from Jiaoshui's northern peak: standing aloft, one sees the vast South Sea where white clouds drift across endless skies.
The third captures post-snow scenery: the Eastern Sea's moon shines crystalline while Western Mountains gleam with unbroken whiteness—their frigid radiance piercing the night.
The longer five-character poem Admonitions to All expounds cultivation principles: The human heart-mind, tugged by endless delusions, drifts through samsara's cycles. Though the physical body is but a temporary coalescence of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and Four Elements (earth, water, fire, wind), people exhaust themselves pursuing illusory desires. Unaware that the flesh is the root of suffering, they compete for fame and profit. While competent in worldly affairs, they lose their moral compass. Blinded by the Six Dusts (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental phenomena), they rush about the Three Realms (Desire, Form, and Formless realms). Craving ages them prematurely, leaving courage undeveloped within. Even when old and haggard, they resist teachings, persisting in aggression and strife.
Selected Passages from the Panxi Collection Interpreted in Modern English
The first passage depicts an arrogant and cunning individual, reckless as a monkey clinging to a cliff, stirring trouble where none exists. His sins pile high as mountains, yet his spirit remains murky as turbid waters. Such a person can never stand alongside noble pines and cypresses, destined only to dwell among weeds.
The poem Reflections at Sea paints a maritime scene: the cold, clear wind stretches endlessly where sky meets ocean. Though the icebergs have melted, the summer heat naturally fades. The poet, holding lofty aspirations, contemplates the Dao (the Way) with a serene and empty mind. He wanders through drifting clouds, rows through breaking waves, standing alone to grasp eternal truths while surveying the vast world. The stars never fall; the earth’s veins stretch boundlessly. Life is as fleeting as foam, a brief dream. The spirit (Shen) can transform freely, while flowers and grass offer only temporary fragrance. A hundred years pass swiftly, yet the path to immortality is long. The poem laments Emperor Wu of Han’s futile quest for immortality and mourns Qin Shi Huang’s straying from the Dao. The herb-gathering boys have aged, and the fate of the immortal-seeking raft traveler remains unknown. Only the remnants of three immortal isles (Great Bamboo, Small Bamboo, and Ox-Cart Island) remain, occasionally manifesting as auspicious mirages.
Autumn at Mount Ai describes the mountain in autumn: the wind sweeps through the peaks, and the morning sun scatters the mist. Tender golden chrysanthemums carpet the ground, while dawn’s glow illuminates the azure sky. Climbing high, he gazes at distant islands; at play, he scoops up mountain springs. The jagged cliffs still exude grandeur; the ancient pines grow sturdier in the cold wind. Fragrance lingers thick between the rocks, and emerald grass stretches along the streams. The poet lives in seclusion, cultivating a mind free from rigid meditation. Though he has glimpsed the void and attained great liberation, he still lingers for the beauty around him. Transcending worldly creation, his fame reaches the celestial realm (Purple Mansion). He humbly acknowledges his inferiority to the Queen Mother of the West (Golden Mother) in Daoist mastery and dares not presume to speak of the Jade Emperor’s decrees. In this life, he surpasses the "Three Joys" and dwells in peace beyond the "Seven Sages." Concealing his brilliance, he returns to primal simplicity, responding to the world with effortless spontaneity (Wuwei). Like Zhuangzi awakening from the butterfly dream, he grasps eternal truth in an instant, his spirit soaring in anticipation of centuries to come. Though all may encounter such an opportunity, only personal realization grants true transmission.
Pear Blossoms at the Martial Official’s Residence praises the pear blossoms: like the White Emperor departing his celestial palace (Golden Tower) or the Azure Dragon descending to the mortal realm (Jade Capital). The earth spirits reveal their wonders, and heaven bestows pristine purity. Their petals outshine the bright moon; their fragrance fills the jeweled halls. Thousands of pear trees bloom in uneven splendor, most radiant in the deep night. The showy apricot loses its luster; the seductive peach can only play a supporting role. The plum has long withdrawn, and willow catkins dare not compete. They thrive in gentle breezes and adore clear, sunny days. Visitors yearn to revel in their beauty, while Daoists celebrate an era of peace. Untouched by dust, they are ever nourished by rain and dew. The western city preserves ancient elegance; the northern hills bring news of fresh blossoms. The riotous flowers lure orioles flitting through, while magpies startle upon sparse branches. The Daoist temple (Jade Palace) faces the blossoms directly; the immortal’s chamber (Mushroom Chamber) nestles beneath the eaves.
This poem depicts a Daoist priest's observations and reflections while ascending Gushan. Amid the gentle spring breeze and the warm, rising sunlight, the poet lifts his robes to climb the winding mountain path, reaching the summit to admire its secluded and extraordinary scenery.
Gazing into the distance, turbulent waves surge to the north, while to the south lies a vast and perilous marsh (referring to deep, expansive lakes). In the east wind, a bluebird (the legendary messenger of the Queen Mother of the West) flies past, and over the western peaks, white clouds hang low. Before his eyes, mist swirls faintly, and shimmering light flickers in and out. In this moment, his spirit (Shen) is utterly free and unrestrained, naturally sustained by the cultivation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power).
In a trance, he feels as though he has entered the celestial realm (Danxiao refers to the heavenly palaces), hovering between the Milky Way (Bihan) and the mortal world. Why bother deliberately seeking immortality techniques (the "herb-gathering arts" allude to the pursuit of transcendence)? Here, he already stands as if in the realm of immortals. The line "the bridge of universal salvation is complete" subtly suggests the practitioner's vow to deliver all beings, while "awaiting the ascension to immortality" expresses the ideal of attaining transcendence.
Through its depiction of mountain and water landscapes, the poem reveals the Daoist practitioner's transcendent state of mind—harmonizing with the Dao—seamlessly merging natural scenery with the experience of spiritual cultivation.
Vol. 4
In the southern part of Liaocheng lived a widow named Zou, known to all as "Zhan Gu" (Warrior Maiden). In her youth, she possessed remarkable dexterity, weaving vibrant threads into lifelike flowers, birds, fish, and insects—her craftsmanship surpassing even living creatures. After being widowed in middle age, she devoted herself wholeheartedly to Daoism, establishing a small hermitage where she offered vegetarian meals and hosted cultivators from all regions.
Later, some frivolous individuals spread slanderous rumors about her. To prove her innocence, Zhan Gu pointed to a withered catalpa tree in her courtyard and vowed: "If I have committed the slightest transgression, may this tree remain dead forever. But if I am pure and blameless, may the withered tree revive." At that time, the catalpa had been dead for five years, its trunk already decayed. Onlookers mocked her, saying, "If this tree could come back to life, not only would it prove your chastity, but we'd all become rich officials!"
Yet, that very summer when Zhan Gu made her oath, crimson sprouts suddenly emerged from the base of the dead tree. Its branches grew increasingly lush, and today it stands over two zhang tall (approx. 6 meters). Its limbs stretch in all directions with a rugged, transcendent aura. I, Qiu Chuji, first heard of this in Shaanxi, but it wasn't until the Mingchang era (1191) when I passed through Liaocheng and saw the miraculous catalpa with my own eyes that I confirmed the truth of the legend. By then, six years had passed since the tree's revival.
Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuji's Daoist name) reflected: "Utter sincerity can move all things; noble virtue shakes Heaven itself—Zhan Gu is living proof! People often claim the Dao is remote and unattainable, but in truth, it is their own virtue that lacks sincerity." Thus, I composed this five-character poem to record this wondrous resonance. Though the tree's roots had rotted away, they regenerated through heartfelt prayer, rendering all slander void.
(Note: "Dading Gengzi" refers to the 20th year of Emperor Shizong of Jin's reign, corresponding to 1180 CE; "Mingchang Xinhai" marks the 2nd year of Emperor Zhangzong's reign, 1191 CE. Through this true account, Qiu Chuji illustrates the Daoist cultivation principle of "sincerity invoking resonance" [诚心感通].)
The poems in Panxi Collection reveal the Daoist practitioner's transcendental detachment from worldly affairs and profound communion with mountain and stream landscapes.
The first poem employs allusions to Meng Zong's tearful bamboo shoots and Tian Zhen's lament for the purple-bloomed tree, extolling the Confucian virtues of loyalty, filial piety, and moral integrity. Responding to Guoxian's garrison commander Zhengguo, the poet depicts his reclusive life—chanting verses and contemplating scenery in uninhabited wilderness. Leaning on his staff, he roams southern hills and northern slopes, drinks wine while singing atop western ridges, utterly detached from mundane concerns.
The second poem replies to Guoxian scholar Li Si. It portrays solitary recitation beyond the red dust during bitter winter, peering sideways into mountain caverns while gazing at distant snow-capped peaks. The crystalline snow reflecting azure summits composes an image of sublime purity.
The third records a visit to Ning Zhidao in Huaidao Village on Zhongnan Mountain. Dwelling in bamboo groves far from worldly clamor, his mind attains serene stillness. The immortal courtyard's refined scenery and lucid moonlight awaken the joy of Daoist cultivation, dissolving all attachment to worldly glory.
The fourth and fifth poems respectively eulogize two eminent adepts—Master Changsheng and Master Yuyang. Celebrating their extraordinary transcendence, the verses note how Changsheng eventually embraced Buddhism, while Yuyang's noble and forthright character enabled prescience of fortune and calamity.
The sixth depicts the scenery around Duke Jiang's Temple at Panxi. Nestled beside deep streams with springs gushing from stone grottoes, ancient cypresses pierce the heavens—a sanctuary of pristine tranquility.
The seventh describes springtime ascent to panoramic heights. Standing atop the Azure Cloud Pavilion surveying all directions, the poet beholds dispersing mists and fragrant blossoms. Bamboo staff in hand, he becomes intoxicated by this sublime vision.
The final two poems respectively chant early snow and autumn rains. The former paints silver-clad earth after night rain turns to snowfall; the latter portrays endless rain forming undulating waves, with overcast skies veiling sun and moon—yet even these austere scenes kindle poetic inspiration.
These poems from the "Panxi Collection" depict the spiritual insights and mental states of Daoist practitioners amidst natural landscapes.
By the swelling river near the purple frontier fortress, the returning geese stir melancholy thoughts, while the songs of hermits echo through green mountains. One might as well dwell in a stone chamber, reclining amidst mist-wreathed vines to chant poetry.
Departing the capital, the moment one leaves the imperial city, songs burst forth as wild inspiration surges. Like a parrot freed from its cage spreading wings, or a phoenix displaying marvelous plumage. A white horse canters lightly, while distant green mountains appear and disappear. The brocade splendor of Chang'an will undoubtedly be reached before long.
Ascending Yizhou's western peak, lifting robes to traverse barren lands, standing atop the summit to observe autumn's finest details. Dark valleys plunge perilously, while jagged peaks rise in layered majesty. Dense forests chill one to the marrow, and radiant vistas weary the eyes. Mocking myself as a mindless passerby—less agile than the swift monkeys scaling cliffs.
Inscribed on Mount Ai: A dark cloud carries chill as it stands solitary in distant mist. The sky hangs over vast azure seas while the earth anchors leisurely white clouds. Though not famed among the Five Sacred Mountains, one may ascend the Daoist heights of the Three Divine Isles (Penglai, Fangzhang, Yingzhou). Often witnessing clouds touching stone to become sweet dew, nourishing the human realm.
Gazing toward the ancient hermitage of Kunlun, the southeastern view reveals sublime scenery. Jade peaks arrayed like marine mountains, cloud brocade scattering like celestial blossoms. Qi condenses into triple blossoms (lingzhi mushrooms), while radiant spirit surpasses the Nine Splendors. Just as spring snow first clears, the entire vista becomes cinnabar-white.
Climbing Penglai Pavilion with emptied heart and focused gaze: clouds shift as if mountains grow, waters flow seaward then dissolve. Looking down at dragons' lairs, observing magpies' bridges. Why worry about distant journeys? A gentle effort approaches the crimson heavens (celestial realm).
Viewing the sea: marine hues engulf the sky's colors, winds and waters intertwine their voices. Clouds churn waves startle fish and turtles, thunderclaps shock ghosts and deities. Surging breakers pound sheer cliffs, while vast calm stretches ten thousand li. Pitying my lack of angler's skill to catch leviathans, I cast bait dreaming of giant whales.
After rain in the mountain hall: three sun-poles high, the morning sun shines exceptionally bright, revealing flat vistas across thousand-peaked ranges. Loud chanting refreshes the spirit, distant gazing sharpens vision. Raindrops linger before the eaves, cool breezes cleanse the seated space. None but kindred spirits may pass this gate.
Midnight moon-gazing: the luminous midnight orb travels companionless. Below, it connects to the white expanse of boundless seas; above, it fills the Great Void's crystalline clarity. Footsteps leave the Three Isles behind, while wandering moonlight bathes myriad cities. How many urban dwellers remain lost in slumber?
Another midnight moon poem: the Dipper dims at heaven's edge while earthly evils tremble. Wild cranes become faintly discernible, dragon choruses ripple melodiously. Ordinary full-moon nights never achieve such purity.
Though not fully elaborated, the poem on requisitioning horses during early winter rains hints at practitioners maintaining transcendent awareness amidst worldly affairs.
The Panxi Collection poems depict seasonal landscapes intertwined with Daoist cultivation insights. Here's a modern interpretation:
In late autumn's tenth month, torrential rains pour as midnight waves thunder. Dark clouds merge with the sea horizon while raging floods inundate mountain towns. Wilderness winds whip towering waves as muddy paths tilt perilously. Travelers and horses press through the night, finding respite only at dawn.
The first snow arrives as October wanes—a chance sighting of swirling flakes. Storm winds scatter crystalline chaos, transforming into dazzling nocturnes. Mountains don plain white shrouds as starlight dims its brilliance. Daybreak reveals snow-radiance igniting the horizon, a blinding silver glare.
Spring winds bring overnight warmth as the sun climbs three poles high. Peaks array themselves in brocade, blossoms unfurling everywhere. The Golden Valley Garden (Shi Chong's extravagant Jin-dynasty estate) stirs melancholy, while Peach Blossom Spring (Tao Yuanming's utopia) remains elusive. All reflections prove illusory—these realizations are best shared with fellow cultivators.
In spring night rains, mountains retain wintry austerity, their beauty not yet fully revealed. Gentle showers nourish all beings; mild breezes don't disturb wayfarers. March's warmth gradually harmonizes as flowers bloom in succession. Reclining peacefully by latticed windows, I chant verses of maritime springtide.
Spring tarries this year—no blossoms greet the Qingming festival. Pushing open windows to admire emerald bamboos, I brush aside soil to inspect new sprouts. Night rains descend tenderly; dawn winds grow increasingly mild. When late March finally arrives, peach and plum blossoms flood the world.
Summer clouds crown jagged peaks as scorching vapors rise. Mountain mists first cling densely, then transform in moments. Precipitous cliffs deserve depiction, but solitary summits defy climbing. When might I emulate transcendents, mounting cranes to ascend the void?
Constructing halls without timber, craftsmen raft logs from the Northern Sea (Bohai). Contrary winds stalled them for ten days until autumn's ninth-month southwest gales arrived. At dusk they sailed with favorable winds, riding calm tides as rafts advanced. Cloud-like sails raced shoreward beneath sunrise-painted skies. Though the Northern Sea brought trials, Jiaodong welcomed safe passage. Now temple construction needs no worry—excellent materials stand ready.
White hairs multiply yearly while youthful glow fades daily. Still failing to grasp the Dao's profound mechanism, I'd consult ancient sages Chisongzi and Wangzi Qiao. How to seek "formless origins" (wangxiang in Daoist texts)? What's the true method for crafting the "Returned Elixir" (huandan in Neidan practice)? May I follow the Three Caverns' (Dongzhen/Dongxuan/Dongshen) authentic teachings to sever worldly entanglements.
A quintessential quatrain portrays: Ten thousand valleys unfurl like brocade scrolls; a thousand peaks stand as painted screens. Post-rain, the Lanting Stream runs crystal-clear; parting clouds reveal jade mountains' indigo hues.
Returning to Longshan inspires this reflection: Cranes by nature belong to mountain realms—summer cloud-peaks hold peerless wonder. To escape fierce gales I briefly crossed seas; rejoicing in sweet rains, I've now come home.
Sitting alone beneath an ancient pine,
By scattered stones I chant my verse.
At night I ride a red-crowned crane,
Seeking immortals amidst white clouds.
Heaven creates all beings,
All belong to Heaven's will.
Why then oppress and harm them,
Denying life its rightful course?
Yin and Yang give birth to all things,
Life and death revolve without end.
Most pitiful are sentient beings,
Helpless against the world's harshness.
Autumn dew chills the night air,
Starlight bathes the clear darkness.
The waning moon fades on the mountain,
Dawn winds refresh the streamside.
Jade-like dew spreads through the night,
The autumn Milky Way gleams bright.
Pure winds sweep through the valley,
Moonlight casts its silver chill.
At dawn the galaxy pales,
Stars seem to tilt the sky.
The crescent moon glows white,
Morning clouds dye the heavens crimson.
Cranes dance at daybreak,
Wandering immortals stir from dreams.
The moon looms large over mountain contours,
Waters grow clear where cool winds pass.
Journeying by sea in deep winter,
Snowflakes fill the boundless sky.
Seeking the grotto of transcendents,
I pass a Daoist's quiet abode.
Golden-nectar wine pours smooth,
Jade-mushroom tea breathes fragrance.
Mind purified attains samadhi,
Serenity dispels all woes.
The Creator's wondrous transformations
Fill the cosmos without end.
Beings drown in delusion's suffering—
Not even ten thousand sages can save them.
The Primal Qi of chaos divided,
Illusory flowers bloom through eternity.
Miraculous changes over eons,
Yet Dao's truth remains unchanging.
Flowers follow seasons in bloom,
Sun, moon and stars shed their light.
The Nine Heavens turn without cease,
The Eight Directions form of themselves.
The human frame has its limits,
Yet passions know no bounds.
Obsessed as bees craving honey,
Frenzied as moths drawn to flame.
Who masters the six senses?
Craving invites its own ruin.
A single lustful thought arises—
The body withers like autumn frost.
External things harm the flesh,
Yet wild hearts remain unaware.
Only in sickness learns restraint,
Only in calamity sees greed's cost.
Treasure the Three Fields' essence,
Yet how resist five desires' lure?
Youth should guard itself well—
Primordial Qi must not be squandered.
The Four Elements lack true substance,
A human span scarce fills a century.
Yet none awaken to this truth—
Not even three teachings can rouse them.
Lose the Dao, lose destiny's thread;
Find the Dao, find Heaven's timing.
Being and nonbeing are fixed—
What use in clinging or craving?
Rosy cheeks like springtime trees,
White hair like autumn's hoarfrost.
Between a glance and nod, time flies,
Through Triple World's endless bustle.
Splendor flaunts in spring rain's glow,
Withered grass fades in autumn mist.
Sun and moon push unseen—
Thus it was, thus it shall be.
These poetic verses reveal the profound reflections of Daoist practitioners on the vanity of worldly pursuits. Chests filled with silks and satins, mountains of gold and jewels—people only know to covet the beauty of external things, unaware that their hearts have already been ensnared by desire.
Even if one possesses a thousand towering mansions or ten thousand acres of fertile land, without comprehending one's true nature (实相), these external possessions remain but empty names. The affairs of this world are impermanent and ever-changing, with sorrows hard to foresee. Only by maintaining steadfast devotion to the Dao (道心) and exercising caution in speech and action can misfortunes be minimized.
Fortune and misfortune, glory and decay alternate like day and night. Those who indulge in worldly pleasures ultimately cannot escape the vexations of mundane existence. As the spirit (神) gradually weakens and cunning intentions multiply, one becomes trapped like a caged bird or a silkworm spinning its own cocoon. Faced with adversity, one retreats; losing direction, none guide the way. When body and mind are driven by desire, how few can perceive the true essence of Dao and De (道德)?
The passage of time in the material world is fleeting, the rise and fall of human affairs unpredictable. Upon awakening, one realizes everything was but a grand dream—what use is insatiable greed? Troubled by scattered thoughts, sentient beings find no peace morning or night. Even quiet contemplation offers little salvation, leaving only futile sighs.
Worldly riches and honors pale in comparison to the perfect integration of heart and nature. The profundity of Dao and De (道德希夷) is beyond comprehension—seeing through life and death becomes as natural as the changing seasons. Human existence resembles a grand dream, losing direction in the cycle of rebirth while heaven and earth revolve ceaselessly, the sun and moon rising in the east and setting in the west.
The mysterious truth is hard to grasp, restless thoughts difficult to pacify. Thoughts shift with circumstances, vital essence (精) is depleted by desires. Indulgence in carnal pleasures makes time seem brief, the future appearing as an abysmal hell. Waste not your days—the most urgent task is to subdue the deluded mind.
Compassion toward others leaves no room for resentment; gentleness ultimately surpasses rigidity. Hard teeth fall out first, while the soft tongue remains intact. Be embracing as rivers and seas, free as heaven and earth. Even the recluse Yan Ziling of the Eastern Han disdained imperial power, while the warlord Xiang Yu refused to bow as a subject.
Stone marrow (仙药) can prolong life; cinnabar (丹砂) preserves youthful countenance. The Daoist scholar Ge Hong wandered across the land, while the immortal Wang Lie retreated to deep mountains. Face temptations with resolute refusal—never participate in what contradicts the Dao. Enduring humiliation tames the restless mind like bridling a wild horse, allowing peaceful passage through the years.
When primordial yang (真阳) fills the body, longevity rivals the heavens. All worldly matters are illusory—do not invert spirit and mind. Clinging to forms obstructs enlightenment; forced interpretations of names and concepts prove futile. Only a mind free of distractions may wander freely through spiritual realms.
Vanity is but a dreamlike bubble—how can external things endure? Without understanding the Three-in-One (三一: Dao, Scripture, and Master), how can one transcend the great cosmos? Life is as fragile as a candle in the wind, as ephemeral as foam on water. A hundred years pass in the blink of an eye; the endless cycle of rebirth is but a momentary glance backward.
Sentient beings suffer countless calamities while the Great Dao (大道) remains profoundly obscure. Without attaining the blessed state of immortals (神仙福分), how could one comprehend its true meaning?
Sentient beings toil day and night for the cravings of food and drink, their eyes blinded by illusory desires, their bodies sinking into the temptations of material things. With restless thoughts, how can one comprehend the truth of the great Dao (the Way)? To open the eye of wisdom (heavenly vision), one must first relinquish worldly desires.
The sun and moon alternate, hastening our aging; time flows ceaselessly, and the great limit of life and death arrives in the blink of an eye. All things in the world are flawed (impermanent)—who can truly attain the state of desirelessness? Only by letting go of immediate cravings can one experience the clarity within.
Sentient beings feel the Dao is distant, yet only in stillness does the mind find peace. Heaven and Earth (creation) open the mysterious gate, but the spirit must endure the trials of time. The Three Realms (desire, form, and formlessness) are vast and boundless, while perverse thoughts run deep and unfathomable. The great Dao has endured eternally, yet beings fail to realize their true nature.
Among the Five Blessings (longevity, wealth, health, virtue, and peaceful death), longevity is most precious; among the Three Treasures (Jing-essence, Qi-vital energy, and Shen-spirit), only humans possess them all. Pass the years in leisure, transcending worldly bonds. The realm of sages is not far—it lies in the accumulation of personal cultivation. If one does not seek the Dao within, where else can it be found?
To cultivate the Dao, one must distance oneself from sensual temptations, allowing body and mind to enter the natural state between being and non-being. Only then can one grasp the mysteries of Heaven and Earth—why cling to trivial details? Those who refine Qi and purify the mind aspire to the clouds; their hearts must be steadfast as mountains, their breath as enduring as ocean tides.
See through worldly ties as if chewing wax; dissolve the Three Poisons (greed, anger, and delusion) like melting ice. Having already transcended the bonds of Yin-Yang, why distinguish between greater and lesser teachings? The Five Wisdoms (physical sight, heavenly vision, insight, dharma vision, and Buddha-eye) are fundamentally one; the Three Bodies (dharma, reward, and manifestation) share a single source. When the self vanishes from the heart, perfect wisdom illuminates emptiness.
All things arise and perish on their own—there is no distinction of depth or shallowness. Without realizing the body is not the true self, how can one understand that external things are mere projections of the mind? Shatter the boundaries of emptiness, grasp the authority of creation. Gather scattered thoughts like drifting clouds, let the sun of wisdom shine upon the meditative realm.
A single phrase reveals the truth; all worldly affairs become irrelevant. Heaven and Earth open the gate of mystery, but the spirit must withstand bitter cold. Though the eyes may see, the mind must remain clear. Life is but a grand dream—why not wander freely with the flow?
Though the body resides in a tiny space, the heart should be as vast as the cosmos. Though oceans and mountains divide, Jing (essence), Qi (energy), and Shen (spirit) are fundamentally one. In the silent, thoughtless mind, radiance illuminates the great void—like moonlight held in crystal, like a pearl net spanning the heavens.
To cultivate truth, purge turbid Qi; to transcend the mundane, embody noble purity. Hasten to escape the long night of birth and death, silently soaring to the highest heavens. In the jade cauldron, cinnabar boils; in the golden flask, emerald wine exudes fragrance. Even ghosts and gods cannot fathom its marvel; Heaven and Earth cannot measure its longevity.
In dreams I leave the bustling mortal world, my spirit soaring through celestial realms, inviting guests from the three immortal isles of Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou, leisurely visiting immortals in the ten paradise continents.
The true essence of Daoist cultivation is often realized in desireless tranquility, yet the methods of practice require single-minded devotion to achieve completion. When greed, anger, and delusion—the three poisons—are eliminated, one transcends the constraints of the Five Phases. The supreme truth of Dao (the Way) often manifests in wuwei (non-action), while the work of refining the heart naturally grows through observing precepts and upholding discipline. The primordial Qi (vital energy) contains all phenomena of existence, yet the supreme "Taiyi" (cosmic origin) transcends all names and forms.
Within the apparent silence of wuwei (non-action) lies the highest form of action, just as the places untouched by the radiance of sun, moon, and stars are precisely where the truth of Dao shines most clearly. True enlightenment comes effortlessly—why force it? When freed from the Five Phases, the principles governing all transformations become transparent.
The bright moon ascends the night sky as a gentle breeze arrives at midnight. Though reclusive immortals dwelling in grotto-heavens rarely appear, carefree transcendent visitors arrive like wandering clouds and wild cranes. In celestial herb gardens, ganoderma grows in clusters, while golden altars and jade palaces glow with renewed splendor. Within this gourd paradise (symbolizing the practitioner's inner cosmos), there is no distinction between day and night—the scenery beyond the mundane world remains eternally spring-like.
The perfected ones (high-level immortals) from the ten great grotto-heavens sit in proper order, while the supreme sages from the Sanqing (Three Pure Ones) heavens dwell serenely among them. Floating white clouds convey visiting immortals, and bluebirds (messengers of the Queen Mother of the West) know how to deliver celestial documents.
Praising the Dao: The supreme truth knows no boundaries—how could eternal vision have an end? When kalpas conclude, illusions return to reality; when the time comes, the fruit of Dao naturally blossoms. The essence of Dao transcends form—even the most exquisite paintings cannot depict it. Throughout history, sages have silently aided sentient beings, communicating secretly with divine beings.
The truth of Dao and De (Virtue) opens the three bonds of heaven, earth, and humanity, while all phenomena manifest between qian (heaven) and kun (earth). Mountains and rivers resemble the veins of the earth, while sun and moon move like wheels across the celestial dome. In the state of huanghu (mysterious clarity), the shen (spirit) becomes the central pillar, and swirling Qi resembles tender sprouts. Heaven and earth unfold like leaves, while sun and moon bloom like flowers.
The operation of Dao reveals the supreme principles of yin-yang, while heaven accomplishes divine work of creation. The subtlety of spirits and ghosts remains invisible, yet the numinous energy of mountains and seas secretly interconnects. The harmonious interaction of yin-yang manifests heavenly principles, while celestial dew reveals essential essences. The three lights of sun, moon, and stars shine together, nurturing the growth of all things. The movement of Dao displays the mystery of yin-yang, bestowing rain and dew upon the world. The alternation of yin-yang's brightness and darkness follows the revolution of sun and moon, while the divine craftsmanship of creation originates from qian and kun.
Primordial Qi contains the source of Dao, everywhere manifesting supreme divinity. This divine nature comprehends the wonder of creation, while Qi's movement aligns with heaven and earth's warp and woof. Ancient sages opened heaven and earth, arranging sun, moon, and stars across the boundless firmament. The cycle of day and night continues from antiquity to nourish all living things. Sun and moon radiate brilliant light, while wind and thunder shake the dark void. Encompassing all things without trace, infinite transformations are all governed by divine spirit.
Vol. 5
These four lyrics from Volume 5 of The Panxi Collection were composed by Qiu Chuji (Daoist name Changchunzi), the founding patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition during the Jin Dynasty, during his reclusive cultivation in Panxi, Shaanxi. They reveal the austere life and spiritual realm of a Daoist practitioner.
The first piece, No Mundane Thoughts: Dwelling in Panxi, depicts the cultivation environment: Drifting alone to Panxi in Shaanxi, he carved out a "cloud niche" (a stone chamber for meditation) before an empty valley cave, beside a secluded stream. Without cooking utensils or even the simplest vessels for food, he would beg for leftover scraps in the village to satisfy his hunger and thirst each day. Though life was harsh, this very simplicity spared him the toil of kitchen labor, keeping his physical body light and vigorous—more conducive to refining the Dharma body (original spirit) and advancing his cultivation.
The second poem, Enduring Winter's Chill, describes winter practice: During the deep cold of the year, heavy snow seals the mountains, and the solitary mountain dwelling remains silent all day. Wrapped in tattered robes, he sits in meditation on a freezing earthen bed, struggling through endless nights of restless thoughts as the piercing north wind seeps through the door. At dawn, while seeking alms in the western village, he notices wild grass by the spring frozen into icicles (a nameless wild plant in Shaanxi that withers at the top but survives at the base, forming arrow-like ice crystals along its stems in winter). Blowing on his hands for warmth, he laments how this mundane body hinders his practice. Amid hunger and cold, he contemplates day and night—only through unwavering Daoist resolve can he transcend life and death, using sincere devotion to unlock the pure realm as timeless as the eternal moon.
The third lyric, The Chessboard, uses chess as a metaphor for the Dao: The path of cultivation remains unclear, yet he is born with golden-jade immortal roots and Daoist bones. Heaven grants this chess game to pass the time, playing elegant matches with visiting fellow practitioners before ancient cypress cliffs and breeze-swept terraces. At first, the pieces scatter like seagulls and crows, but gradually they form patterns of attack and defense, coiling like dragons. All the subtle moves—diagonal leaps and straight jumps—ultimately return to "the One" (the source of the Dao). This chess strategy surpasses worldly tactics, embodying the supreme principles of heaven and earth.
The final poem, In Praise of the Master, laments the delusion of sentient beings: The sea of suffering stretches as boundlessly as the Eastern Ocean, where beings float and sink like fish in waves of desire, intoxicated by cravings. How few can soar like the great roc beyond the cycle of rebirth? Only a wise master's guidance can free them from this whirlpool of life and death. Through stark contrasts, the poem highlights the preciousness of Daoist transcendence.
This scripture describes the cultivator's journey from apprenticeship to ascension. Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen school) attained great enlightenment through years of studying the Yijing (Book of Changes) with awakened awareness and transcendental aspiration. Freeing himself from worldly attachments, he perfected the Golden Elixir (success in Neidan practice) after a decade of cultivation, shedding his mortal form like a cicada molting its shell. Since following his master's guidance, his spiritual bearing became peerless.
On the straw rain cape: Ancient riverbanks in deep valleys grow lush sedge each autumn. The cultivator selects slender blades to bring back to his grotto-abode. Sun-dried on clear days, two bundles are woven into countless strands—crafted without artisans into a rain cape. This fisher's garb often accompanies woodcutters and shepherd boys wandering blue mountains and clear waters, appearing especially wondrous amid misty rains. Calling himself "the Rain-cape Wanderer," the cultivator knows when merit reaches fulfillment, he'll transform into cloud radiance leaving no trace.
On the hollow-hearted emerald bamboo: Naturally growing with hollow stems and segmented joints, these jade-green stalks shine brightest beneath moonlight and breeze. Tender leaves remain luxuriant in midwinter, standing elegantly among thousand-wooded groves—their grace like luminous cold-jade from Mount Kunlun's Mystic Garden. When Squire Tian of eastern fields plants new bamboo along southern streams, the cultivator spends days chanting poetry, admiring wind-tossed verdant tips outside his window. Their subtle fragrance and dappled shadows purify the heart, gracing cloud-niche hermitages with refined practice—a celestial blessing indeed.
On moonlight: Lunar radiance bathes rocky ridges, dispelling all delusions. The crystalline moon manifests atop mountain peaks and sky-corners, newly risen with frost-dew brilliance—gold-and-jade softness adrift. Illuminating all realms with sacred presence, it makes those lost in darkness grieve. The cultivator must propagate virtuous causes, delivering beings to carefree serenity. Moonlight's vast Qi surges upward, its perfect nature like the Dharma-realm's ever-turning Wheel of Truth.
On late autumn scenes: Falling leaves drift through autumn frost and cold wind. Gazing across endless plains, one sees withering chrysanthemums dotting moss and morning dew. These natural images subtly mirror the practitioner's realization—seeing through worldly dust to transcend life and death.
The poems from the Panxi Collection depict the realm of Daoist cultivation amid natural landscapes and the transcendent mindset beyond worldly concerns.
The ninth poem portrays the late autumn scene: frost blankets the mountains and rivers, all things wither, yet only the verdant pines and cypresses stand tall. The perfected immortals (referring to those who have attained the Dao) and recluses resemble these evergreens—since ancient times, they have possessed a transcendent nature, unafraid of harsh cold and rising above the mundane. This is the innate quality bestowed upon them by Heaven and Earth.
The tenth poem illustrates a scene akin to the immortal realms: encircled by mountains, the twilight sky clears, dispelling all sinister energies. Before the Taiyi Cliff (a sacred Daoist site), fierce winds howl, and surging waves crash like a giant toad treading the waters, sending spray against the shore. Thunder rumbles, clouds churn, startling flocks of gulls and egrets into swift flight across the moonlit river. They call to one another, gathering in the clear bend of the stream. The "treasured moon and luminous pearl" (a metaphor for the imagery of Neidan, or internal alchemy) flickers in and out of sight, making one forget all constraints and drift freely—its worth surpassing even priceless jade. This realm is vast and all-encompassing, reaching up to the heavens and down to the underworld, endlessly transformative.
The eleventh poem describes the immortal isles of the sea: the Ten Continents and Three Isles (legendary fairylands in the Eastern Sea) remain forever in spring, with jade towers and palaces rising among the peaks. Green pines stand tall, crimson mists swirl, and clouds and mist shroud the dwellings of immortals. The poet recalls how Xu Fu (a Qin dynasty alchemist) once sailed eastward in search of immortality, never to return—only endless waves stretching to the horizon remain. Lamenting the brevity of human life and the inescapability of the cycle of birth and death, the poem suggests that only by cultivating the "body beyond the body" (referring to the state of Yang-Shen projection) can one transcend the ordinary and enter sainthood.
The twelfth poem reflects on the passage of time: spring departs, autumn arrives, stars shift, and the world changes. Even with boundless wealth or the highest official rank, all ultimately comes to nothing. Time flies like an arrow; a hundred years pass in the blink of an eye. Fortunately, the poet has entered the gate of Daoist realization, breaking free from the web of doubt and experiencing true joy. Through Neidan cultivation (the auspicious radiance in the "white jade crucible" refers to internal alchemy), the divine elixir shines brilliantly, accompanied by the pure breeze and bright moon. Riding phoenixes and cranes, one attains longevity. Looking back at the human world, it seems but an illusory dream.
The thirteenth poem describes the state of cultivation: when the "Dharma wheel" (a metaphor for the microcosmic orbit) first turns, the wind of wisdom arises, bringing profound coolness. Pure light coalesces in emptiness, and harmonious Qi washes away the dust of worldly concerns within the chest. The "five thieves" (desires arising from the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body) scatter, and the "three corpses" (three malevolent spirits believed to reside in the body) flee—purity is achieved within and without. The spirit is tranquil, unmoved by external things, and the heart no longer harbors conflict.
The Panxi Collection presents poetic verses depicting the mindset of a Daoist cultivator who sees through worldly illusions and seeks transcendence. The first stanza portrays the practitioner wandering through the red dust of mundane existence while maintaining transcendental detachment, seeking the true Dao between heaven and earth. The tinkling sounds (perhaps ritual instruments or nature's resonance) reveal celestial signs of one's cultivation path, foretelling an eventual ascension like cranes bearing messages to the celestial river.
The second poem Qinyuanchun laments worldly affairs churning like flowing water, where fame and profit through the ages resemble tigers and leopards locked in struggle—all ultimately reduced to fox-haunted burial mounds. It advises relinquishing attachments to retreat into mountain forests, practicing the "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu) in ancient caves. Facing the wind and moon, one laughs at the mortal realm—sipping fine wine and chanting mystical hymns (xuange, Daoist cultivation verses)—to achieve longevity as eternal as the sun and moon's cycles, maintaining a childlike countenance and crane-like vitality (symbolizing enduring youth).
The third passage observes how wealth and glory vanish like hares fleeing and crows flying (metaphors for fleeting time). Literary fame proves as illusory as dreams; better to abandon cunning and return to primal simplicity. It paints an immortal's paradise within the gourd (huzhong, a Daoist metaphor for transcendent realms): perpetual auspicious clouds across four seasons, the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, stars) illuminating jade grotto feasts. Drinking flowing auroras (liuxia, celestial wine) and chanting ancient tunes, one awaits merit's completion for ascension.
The final stanzas urge the wise to swiftly awaken to worldly delusions, recognizing the physical body and external phenomena as transient illusions. One must practice the "Teachings of Supreme Mystery" (Taixuan zhenjiao, Daoist cultivation methods) to realize the "Xi and Yi" (from Daodejing: "Looked at but unseen—this is called Yi; listened to but unheard—this is called Xi"). Drifting like idle clouds, awakening one's nature to unite with the Dao, one crosses the sea of suffering to achieve transcendent accomplishment. The conclusion emphasizes the state of "heart's communion" (xintong): the supremely wise dwell in leisurely freedom, singing among pines and rocks, intoxicated beneath the moon in company of Jade Maidens and Golden Boys (immortal attendants), playing sheng pipes and chime stones—utterly unbound by material existence.
The Panxi Collection contains several poems that reveal the spiritual insights and states of cultivation attained by Daoist practitioners.
The first poem describes the profound experience of entering the mystical realm: like a child playfully waving his sleeves, the practitioner becomes intoxicated by the Great Mystery (Taixuan, the supreme and ineffable realm of Daoism), comprehending the truth behind worldly fluctuations. The vast primordial Qi (vital energy) flows endlessly—such wondrous visions are beyond words, akin to a blessed grotto-heaven on earth. The cultivator stands tall and unshaken, as enduring as the steadfast mountains weathered by time, unmoved by the shifting seas turning to mulberry fields. Within, the spirit (Shen) and Qi are harmonized, Yin and Yang rise and descend—he has already become a carefree terrestrial immortal. Free from all worries, he indulges in joy, wielding his brush to compose unrestrained verses.
The second poem depicts a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) held on the Double Ninth Festival in Guoxian: the autumn sky is clear, auspicious clouds drift lazily. Old hermitages are filled with guests, while wild geese glide across the azure heavens. Ascending the heights, drinking freely, the gathering revels like immortals. During the ritual, the golden wind carries freshness, and the jade-like dew sparkles. Fragrant young chrysanthemums exude a delicate aroma, filling the air so that all present may taste and understand the supreme Dao. The songbirds fall silent, leaving only the Autumn Sovereign to display his majesty. How could the gaudy peach and apricot blossoms dare compare with the frost-defying chrysanthemum’s resilience? Seizing this refined moment, they drink deeply among the flowers—what harm if they remain drunk for three years?
The third poem, Shuilongyin ("Water Dragon Chant"), portrays the scenic beauty of Xiguo: the southern town of Fengming is where celestial beings descend. Jade palaces, treasure pavilions, star altars, and moonlit halls are nestled among verdant locust and bamboo, veiled in mist—the very halls seem chilled by the drifting clouds. Gazing eastward, the plains stretch like brocade, the great river merging with the horizon. The mountains are lush, the waters pure, the people simple and virtuous, each village living in harmony. The poet lingers, reluctant to leave, yet remembers that Liujiang (likely Zhongnan Mountain) is the true center for cultivation. When the day comes that his practice bears fruit, and he nurtures the golden cassia (symbolizing the Daoist attainment), he will return to the road to Chang’an, enduring hardship—sleeping on ice, resting beneath the sun—to achieve an extraordinary life.
The final poem, Jingshi ("Warning the World"), laments the impermanence of human affairs: people toil and hustle, chasing fame and profit, only multiplying their sorrows. Where now are the Six Dynasties, the Five Hegemons, the Three Kingdoms, the Seven Powers? Only wildflowers and fragrant grasses remain. All their grand strategies and lofty ambitions have turned to ashes. Walking the ancient road of Chang’an, the poet asks a village elder—traces of Tang and Han marketplaces, Qin palaces and Zhou gardens are still visible, yet the people of old have long vanished. Life is as fleeting as a morning mushroom—who can claim eternity?
On clear nights when the sky stretches vast, the first chill carries a slight coolness, pure as lapis lazuli. Beneath shadowless trees, moonlight bathes the towers of Chang'an in crystalline radiance. A gentle breeze disperses all misfortunes as countless households share this serene vista. Venus shines bright, the Milky Way glitters—their interwoven brilliance illuminates heaven and earth, flowing through the azure void like unimpeded torrents that surge against mountains and wash over seas. This luminous ascent brings endless auspicious signs. Those who comprehend this find body and mind fortified like precious vessels, nourished by jade nectar (the refined essence of Neidan practice). Yet to whom might one confide such inner realizations? Better for now to dwell in blissful intoxication.
When spring arrives beneath boundless skies, the first clear warmth revives all living things. From pavilions one gazes upon layered peaks and winding rivers—a brocade of splendor. Emerald grotto springs murmur distant melodies. Often I fix my gaze where white clouds gather atop blue peaks. Rare birds and mystical beasts dwell at ease, soothing idle hearts without wearying. Wind-kissed cypresses compete between twin cliffs; a thousand trees vie in elegance. The Danian (alchemical platform) glows in sunlight, companion through seasons, witness to centuries. Let cold and heat alternate, stars shift, all things transform—here I recline in unshaken peace.
The Cavern-Heaven (Dongtian paradise) brims with spring hues; jagged peaks stand like piled brocade. Clouds disperse, rains cease—dawn breaks clear and mist-light, the blue vault a reclining pillow. Resting high, my chest expands, cares forgotten. Observe how celestial blossoms and auspicious herbs sway in the breeze, glowing with unearthly hues under the sun. Celebrate abundant harvests, a world at peace where malign forces retreat. In this realm of Great Peace, why question the Dao where Chang'an's avenues intersect? No need to scrutinize heterodox paths—since ancient times, even immortals traversed ordinary kalpas.
When the Primordial Chaos (Hunyuan) first parted, Southern Peak (Hengshan) revealed auspicious signs; numinous vapors permeated beyond Kunlun. Stars shifted as Yin and Yang rose and fell. Crimson mists shimmered while cranes and phoenixes danced. Behold tortoises entwined with scarlet serpents—all is but the Primal Qi (Hongmeng's single breath), refined into Creation's work, the path to immortality forged in moments. When clouds part, the Ten Continents and Three Isles (mythic paradises) appear; Cavern-Heavens lie deep where moonlight gentles the breeze. Now is the time to secure the Gate of Longevity, harmonize the body, and chant verses at ease. Let oceans turn to fields, mountains crumble to dust—I'll keep mist and glow as companions, venturing beyond the realm of non-duality (Feifei's border), lamenting only the scarcity of kindred souls.
[Note: Parenthetical explanations are provided for specialized Daoist terms on first occurrence, following the glossary. The translation preserves the poetic parallelism and metaphysical imagery while adapting classical references (e.g., Chang'an as the capital) for accessibility. Rhythmic cadence mirrors the original's contemplative tone.]
(Part 1)
My body drifts like a tiny boat, wandering freely without restraint, spending each day in carefree joy. When full, I roam as I please—golden fish pendants of high office and fine furs mean nothing to me. Who truly understands the realm where Zhuangzi dreams of being a butterfly or the butterfly dreams of being Zhuangzi? Enough, enough—I’ve awakened. Greed for wealth and lust only bring sickness and sorrow. Better to wear hemp robes and straw sandals, passing the years in leisure. When I walk through villages, even children call me to share their meals. I know too well that glory and riches are but a fleeting dream, and my heart seeks nothing more.
(Part 2, "Warning the World")
Towering mansions with a thousand rooms, singing and dancing in apparent ease—yet this illusory body flickers like a candle in the wind. Where are the heroes of yesteryear, the ones who amassed towering wealth? A hundred years later, all is emptiness. Wake up early, friends, break free from worldly shackles, and return to your true heart. Thankfully, we live in peaceful, prosperous times—a rare chance to steal moments of leisure. When cunning thoughts fade, the mind becomes as serene as a crystal palace.
(Part 3)
I left home young, content with humble Daoist practice, adrift like a tumbleweed beyond worldly ties. When my parents were laid to rest, I couldn’t fulfill my filial duties, but kind villagers joined forces to build new graves, erect a stupa, and move their remains to the family plot. Travelers from beyond the pass all say this was an act of accumulated virtue (De). Hearing this moved me deeply—I regret my inability to repay them, so I redouble my cultivation, sincerely dedicating the merit (Hui Xiang) and praying for fellow seekers to live in peace, free from calamity.
(Part 4, "Double Ninth Festival")
Wild geese cry across the frontier, autumn hues shift in the garden—late fall holds its own beauty. After rain, cloud-wrapped mountains stand majestic; amid frost, golden chrysanthemums waft their fragrance. On this Chongyang festival, a thousand homes celebrate—who could encounter such auspicious fortune? Our quartet of fellow seekers was first to taste fine wine, pouring again and again the celestial brew like morning dew. Drinking it was like the awakening of Amrita (Tihu Guanding)—returning home, moonlight filled the hall, and we drifted worry-free into an immortal’s dream.
(Part 5, "Divine Radiance")
[Note: The original text’s closing section has an uncertain title and missing content; no translation is provided here.]
This passage elucidates the ideal state cultivators should attain and the concrete methods of Daoist practice.
A genuine Daoist practitioner must first relinquish worldly emotions of sorrow and joy, reaching the state of "Xi Yi" (referring to the realm of emptiness and non-action). One should not cling to disputes over right and wrong, as clever rhetoric and scheming are ultimately futile. True cultivation lies not in argumentation nor in extensive learning, but in returning to primordial simplicity and abandoning attachments.
Practice must begin with fundamentals: maintaining bodily purity, nurturing constant compassion within, and restraining sharp edges. Gradually temper one's disposition to eliminate greed and delusion, attaining the dual perfection of blessings and wisdom. Upon enlightenment, one enters the "Xi Yi" realm where the inner light shines forth, no longer troubled by worldly disputes.
The authentic state of Daoist cultivation is this: maintaining perpetual youthfulness in harmony with Heaven and Earth. Forgetting cunning artifice, returning to one's simple nature. In a single thought, one may return to original authenticity, allowing the Shen (spirit) to settle in the "Three Palaces" (referring to the upper, middle and lower Dantian). When cultivation reaches a certain level, sudden enlightenment occurs, ultimately leading to Daoist immortality.
The text also mentions that although "Grotto Heavens" (sacred mountains where immortals dwell) possess pristine beauty, worldly people obsessed with mundane affairs remain blind to them. Like drowning in the river of carnal desires, they cycle through endless rebirths. Only by seeing through illusions can one reach the far shore.
The concluding passage praises an official named Jiagu Longhu, who governed the southwest region with imperial mandate, maintaining peace through wise administration. In his later years, he devoted himself to Daoist cultivation and the study of profound mysteries.
The Panxi Collection expresses the Daoist practitioner's yearning to transcend worldly affairs and embrace nature. The first passage states that true immortals (shanren) possess inherently humble dispositions, free from attachment to material gains. By cultivating compassion and abstaining from licentiousness, one may secure a place among the celestial ranks.
The second passage takes the form of a dialogue with Pei Man, the defense commissioner of Longzhou, urging people to see through the illusions of mundane life. Human existence is as fleeting as a mirage—wealth and glory vanish in an instant. Rather than chasing drunken dreams of worldly success, one should retreat to the mountains early, finding companionship in mist-clad peaks and drifting clouds.
Immortal in the Moon depicts a moonlit scene: ascending a high terrace to gaze at the moon, its radiance like a bronze mirror illuminating the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness). A clear breeze disperses the clouds, revealing the golden splendor of celestial palaces. Those devoted to the Dao aspire to the lunar abode, enchanted by the immortal life where the jade rabbit pounds the elixir of immortality.
Mountain Dwelling portrays the life of reclusion: emulating ancient hermits like Chao Fu and Xu You, one embraces poverty while shunning fame and profit. Grateful to live in an era of peace, the practitioner cultivates the Dao in tranquility. In the valleys, phoenixes and cranes keep company; exotic flowers exude rare fragrances, and fellow seekers (the Qianyuan community) share simple meals in joyful communion.
Facing the Pines describes cultivation in the company of ancient trees: towering pines lean against the clouds, and hermits dwell in grotto-heavens (sacred Daoist abodes). Free from worldly concerns, they devote themselves solely to internal alchemy (the interplay of tiger and dragon symbolizes the harmonization of yin and yang). Occasionally, celestial cranes pause to listen to the sheng's melodies—a stark contrast to the vulgar indulgence in sensual pleasures, highlighting the transcendent purity of the Daoist path.
The Panxi Collection passage contains three poetic compositions that reveal a Daoist practitioner's transcendent attitude toward worldly life. The first piece, "Moon Over the Jade Terrace," depicts an ascetic's unconstrained lifestyle—unkempt yet carefree: the practitioner reclines all day without worries, letting the celestial bodies (the "three lights" being sun, moon, and stars) follow their course, having relinquished attachment to the physical form (the "four elements" representing the earth, water, fire, and wind composing the mortal body). Amid deep streams and secluded cliffs, enveloped by green mountains and white clouds, even thunderstorms and disasters cannot disturb him. Breaking old habits, he embraces poverty without hoarding grain or elixirs (Dan referring to alchemical immortality drugs), living with the untrammeled ease of an immortal.
The second poem, "Exhortation to Wine," satirizes worldly pursuit of fame and wealth: how many wise and foolish beings (hanling denoting sentient life) throughout history exhaust themselves coveting prestige and profit, oblivious that a hundred years of human life pass as fleetingly as a spring dream. Better to drink deeply of the flowing aurora (Daoist metaphor for celestial wine) to fortify the body (the four elements), frolic with mountain-dwelling adepts, and sing wildly like a madman transcending material concerns—drowning sorrows in fine liquor. One should resolve conflicts, sheathe one's edge, and live with the serene detachment of green pines and white cranes.
The third piece, "The Wheel of Transmigration," contemplates the cycle of rebirth: it laments how the primordial spiritual source (lingyuan) exists eternally, yet consciousness becomes lost in chaos once physical form arises. Beings clamor in the sea of suffering (fajie indicating the realm of samsara), transmigrating through countless lifetimes ("bones piled high as mountains" symbolizes endless reincarnation). Only by cultivating the realm of absolute emptiness, allowing the illuminating wisdom (the "three lights' radiant awareness") to pierce the fog of eons, can one ultimately abandon bodily attachment ("cherishing the head and guarding the face" denotes clinging to the physical form) and shatter the stubborn core—the "central speck" of delusion—to cross beyond the sea of suffering. The latter section describes virtuous resonance in the Xi Guo region: gazing afar from heights at surging clouds, where mountain ridges resemble the perilous peaks of Mount Hua (Taihua being Mount Hua), one perceives the transformations of Yin-Yang and cosmic emptiness amid sudden storms and lightning.
The poems from the Panxi Collection reveal the spiritual realm and cultivation life of Daoist practitioners.
The first poem, Watching the Tidal Bore: Learning the Dao, conveys that the demeanor of immortals and the path to longevity are fundamentally rooted in Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). Beyond this, one must maintain unwavering focus in all things, for a single moment of scattered thoughts will lead actions astray from the true path. Authentic teachings illuminate the lost, and the legend of the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) ascending to heaven astride a dragon has been passed down through generations, drawing people to the Dao even today. A thousand sages share the same commitment to the principle of emptiness—destroying worldly desires and penetrating celestial mysteries. Chasing profit is akin to befriending enemies; one must realize the illusory nature of the physical body, like a fleeting dream or bubble. The cultivator pays no heed to appearances, letting hair and beard grow wild, clad in coarse hemp robes, awaiting the day when merits are fulfilled to transcend the mundane and ascend beyond the clouds.
The second poem, Watching the Tidal Bore: Transcending the Mundane, depicts the need for a firm foundation and pure practice in cultivation, a life unburdened by worldly busyness. In the secluded mountains, the enlightened wander freely, emulating the immortals. Often planting cassia and pine before rocky cliffs, they pass their days in medicinal gardens and fields of auspicious herbs beneath towering peaks, keeping company with turtles and cranes. By nature solitary and eccentric, they delight in simple tea and plain meals, amusing themselves with poetry and verse. By cave streams, they improvise freely, wielding brush and ink without restraint, indulging in unrestrained spontaneity while preserving their innate nature throughout the day.
The poem Drunk in Penglai records a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) held by the Liu family of Western Guo: The Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) descend astride cranes under clear skies stretching ten thousand miles, the heavens pristine. The sound of jade chimes shakes heaven and earth as the day-long fasting and ritual offerings express gratitude for the immortals' grace. Cups are raised in joyous toasts, and celestial melodies linger as the revelers lose themselves in the moment. It is the Double Ninth Festival, with chrysanthemums in full bloom beneath crisp autumn skies. Fragrant osmanthus perfumes the air—a rare and splendid sight. Amid this auspicious hour, wild geese fly south, moonlight shimmers like water, and all are intoxicated together in shared bliss.
The final poem, Joy of the Celestial: Remembering Fellow Practitioners, reminisces about companions on the path: Since leaving the Eastern Sea, four fellow cultivators from three regions, though dwelling in distant lands, shared the same aspirations. Day after day, they accompanied one another, discussing the profound and exploring the wonders beyond the mundane world.
These poems from the Panxi Collection reveal the spiritual states and realizations of Daoist practitioners at different stages of cultivation.
The first poem, "Spring in Han Palace (Relentless Devotion)," depicts two decades of battling inner demons during spiritual practice. The cultivator endures countless trials, as though traversing a forest of arrows, yet through mindful cultivation attains awakening, ultimately penetrating the true origin of the Dao. When the sword of wisdom (representing enlightenment) arises, all demons naturally disperse. Now the practitioner moves freely between heaven and earth, parting clouds and sweeping mists, roaming effortlessly through the Dharma realm (spiritual states), possessing the divine abilities of flight and transformation, coming and going as freely as the wind across the four seas.
The second poem, "Lingering Guest (Cultivating the Dao)," recounts shared cultivation experiences with fellow practitioners on Mount Hua. They converse joyfully, singing verses that elucidate the true essence of Quanzhen patriarch Wang Chongyang's teachings. Though obstacles like bureaucratic interference may arise along the path, the cultivator sees through the natural cycles of the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, stars) and the birth-decay of all phenomena. With neither worry nor fear in heart, they simply await the fruition of their Dao practice to advance with tranquil confidence.
The third poem, "Plum Blossom Prelude (Former Hermitage at Panxi)," portrays the recluse's life. Calling himself "the Nameless Wanderer," the practitioner casts off worldly attachments to dwell among ancient pines and crags. Studying the Taixuan Jing, he contemplates the truth beyond life and death, synthesizing myriad scriptures. Daily life flows spontaneously—walking or sitting as he pleases, drinking beneath the moon with form-forgetting friends (like-minded companions), singing Daoist sentiments with robes unfastened.
The fourth poem, "Six Commands (Dharma Nature)," explores cosmic origins. When heaven and earth first divided from primordial chaos (undifferentiated simplicity), yin-yang (the dark and light principles) separated, sun-moon (crow-hare symbols) began their courses, and all things gradually manifested. That point of ultimate true nature descended into human form (the stinking skin-bag), yet the wandering soul (ordinary mind) lost its way. The entire poem expresses the practitioner's contemplation of life's fundamental source.
These two cultivation poems from the Daoist scripture Panxi Ji employ vivid imagery to illustrate both misguided practices and correct methods of spiritual cultivation.
The first poem, Fragrance of Water Caltrop (Begging for Food), satirically depicts common cultivation errors: Some practitioners drift like duckweed on water's surface, failing for millennia to find the path back to original authenticity, completely misunderstanding the primordial state of chaos before creation (Hongmeng). Like Buddhist monks clinging to superficial forms, they mistake the fleshly body given by parents for their true self. Cycling through reincarnation while "trading bones" (changing corporeal forms), they endure endless suffering yet never seek the timely return to intrinsic nature. The verses portray such people as hungry dogs begging everywhere, baring teeth beneath living human skins—seemingly guarding homes yet incapable of distinguishing good from evil. Pitiable indeed is this stubborn ignorance that even Lord Lao (the supreme Daoist deity) couldn't transform through personal instruction, emphasizing that cultivation must begin early before karmic retribution manifests.
The second poem, Joyous Oriole (Refining the Heart), positively expounds essential cultivation methods: First transcend the cycle of life and death (liberation from samsara), thoroughly grinding down all habitual tendencies. Through a thousand trials of desire and a hundred temperings of body-mind, forge the heart until it becomes iron-steadfast. Harmonize the Six Spirits (deities of the five organs plus the brain deity) within, subduing disturbances from the Three Corpses (Daoist concept of three pathogenic energies in the body). This practice demands supreme resolve—adopting a state of empty detachment to sever all binding attachments (cutting through emotional knots). Upon receiving oral instructions from an awakened master, suddenly an auspicious wind disperses demonic obstructions, leaving body-mind serene as carved wood or molded clay. After obtaining the Pearl of Original Nature (Xingzhu) and Heaven's Primordial Treasure (Tianbao), one sees through worldly illusions (penetrating spring blossoms and autumn moons). At such a stage, even ghosts cannot interfere—only immortals may guide one toward liberation.
Vol. 6
The sixth volume of the Panxi Anthology contains several lyric poems composed by Qiu Chuji (Daoist name Changchunzi), revealing the spiritual state and life reflections of a Daoist practitioner.
The first poem, Phoenix Perching on the Plane Tree, is a message to fellow cultivators in the East. It states that though the world abounds in beautiful scenery, the path of cultivation has always been as clear as the eight rivers and three passes leading to Chang’an. Since one has resolved to leave worldly life behind, they should set forth without delay, moving freely like clouds and water, without clinging to worldly luxuries. Only after passing Tongguan and reaching the Western Sacred Peak Temple (the shrine of Mount Hua) can one truly purify the heart and attain liberation.
The second poem describes a fellow Daoist’s visit to Panxi. The cultivator, dwelling in serene mountain caves, lives a simple life in earthen shelters, free from worldly knowledge. Though impoverished, they remain content with their lot. The poem contrasts the illusory nature of wealth and fame—worldly achievements that appear alluring yet are fraught with disputes and uncertainties—with the peace found in humble, unadorned living.
The third poem, Bewildered Thoughts, expresses reflections on life. The author recalls the past, lamenting the uncertain future and the seeming absence of divine favor. Yet having seen through the transient nature of the physical body—like a walking corpse—they resolve to settle peacefully in seclusion at Panxi. The poem closes with gratitude for the kindness of noble neighbors who often visit.
The fourth poem depicts a night scene in the Zhongnan Mountains: the setting sun in the west, the rising moon in the east, solitary drinking and drunken repose amid the tranquil mountain hues. In the silent night, devoid of birdsong or wind, the moon resembles an open scroll, the sky like clear water, embodying a transcendent state beyond worldly concerns.
The fifth poem, Spring Mountains, portrays the scenery of spring: mist-wreathed green peaks brimming with vitality, strange rocks and elegant waters forming a fairyland-like vista. Here, the Daoist wanders freely, unshackled from worldly burdens, accompanied by wind and moon, listening to nature’s harmonies. The poem concludes with the metaphor of the "thousand sages’ precious pearl," symbolizing the essence of cultivation—the most precious realization.
The sixth poem, Earthen Hollow, describes life in an autumnal earthen cave: though crude, it is warmer and more comfortable than a secluded dwelling. The Daoist embraces a life of poverty and frequent illness, quietly observing fallen leaves and distant mountains in the biting cold, sitting alone by the window—an embodiment of the Daoist spirit of contentment in simplicity.
These poems from the Panxi Collection depict seasonal landscapes intertwined with Daoist cultivation insights. Here's a contemporary interpretation:
Wearing patched monastic robes in late autumn, one gradually finds harmony with the season. Roaming freely under frost-clear skies, the piercing west wind holds no terror. This broad garment stitched from countless fabric scraps may appear wildly unkempt externally, yet glows with pearl-like purity within.
In spring warmth, cuckoos sing ceaselessly from flowering trees, their cries urging homecoming. But where exactly should one return? Though inclined eastward, no path appears. Those homeward urgings prove but baseless chatter.
The long autumn nights invite drowsiness, requiring cultivation's disciplined spirit to achieve balance. Gather your Shen (spirit), letting worldly distractions depart. Light the lamp of wisdom within your tranquil curtained space, awaiting dawn's cockcrow in stillness.
The poem "Immortal of Forbearance" declares: Heaven's mysteries beyond material existence defy comprehension - human affairs are just so. Even imperial rank grants but temporary lodging for the body; greed's pressures ultimately yield empty promises. I simply eat when hungry, drink when thirsty, coveting no silken finery. With belly full and body warmed, harmful thoughts dissolve naturally as I curl contentedly in the empty hall.
"Spring Blessings" observes: After years of parched fields, this spring's timely rain and snow foretell abundance. By the second month, blossoms blanket the land while willows sprout along miles of embankments. People gather with wine jars in celebration. Heaven's grace delivers all from hunger - brows unfurrow as harvest fills streets and fields. Yet feasting requires caution: prosperity's heart may conceal misfortune.
The final spring poem paints: Bright winds and scenery, flowing mountain streams, earth carpeted with vernal flora. A hundred birds contend as if vying for spring's essence while the land exudes fertile richness. This Clear Brightness festival's fire-forbidden days (Cold Food tradition) coincide perfectly with nature's floral explosion.
The Panxi Collection presents through these poetic passages the Daoist attitude of transcendent freedom and spiritual cultivation.
The first passage depicts the unrestrained state of drunkenness, lying carefree like the legendary Jade Mountain (a celestial peak). The fourth poem, "Sensual Pleasures," satirizes those chasing luxurious lives—though clad in fine silks and riding noble steeds, they ultimately plunge into mirror-smooth abysses; even the cleverest cannot escape fate. The fifth poem, "Marvelous Function," states that sages throughout history have followed the same principle: preserving one’s original mind leads to transcendence, where carefree wandering embodies truth, sparing one from exhausting toil.
"Immortal in the Yellow Crane Cave," dedicated to fellow practitioners, observes that while worldly people rush about, few settle into quiet cultivation. In truth, east, west, south, or north—it matters not, for steadfast practice ensures attainment. "Guo County’s Weinan Zhuoli" portrays the region’s scenic beauty and its people’s harmony with heaven’s decree (natural order). The poet cherishes its tranquility, strolling daily with cane in hand, chanting verses.
"Self-Description" reveals the author as a wanderer of the world, led by immortals of Zhongnan Mountain (a sacred Daoist site) to this place, free as a broken tumbleweed or wild crane, clad in straw hat and rain cloak like a madman. "Gazing at Penglai," for disciples Wang and Qiao, depicts Wang’s dwelling amid serene landscapes: winding ancient paths, willows veiled in mist, and a few households of cultivators who find joy in simplicity, embodying the Dao through humble living.
These poems collectively express the Daoist pursuit of naturalness, detachment from worldly concerns, and the practice of Wuwei (non-action). Through vivid imagery, they illuminate the lifestyle and spiritual realm of Daoist practitioners.
The poems from the Panxi Collection depict the wandering cultivation life of Daoist practitioners immersed in natural contemplation. Here's my interpretation of each piece:
The poem "Scenery of Qin Valley" portrays the beauty of Shaanxi's Guanzhong Plain. At sunrise, the mountains glow with splendor; under moonlit winds, the water sings joyously across the thousand-mile pristine landscape. The poet arrives with elation, feeling heaven blesses this fertile land that nourishes spiritual seekers—where sacred energy prevails without malign influences, allowing constant cultivation amidst mist and rosy clouds.
"Green Bamboo of South Creek" uses botanical imagery to convey spiritual ideals. The towering bamboos reach cloudward, their straight joints and hollow stems appearing ordinary yet embodying Daoist principles. Their deep roots mirror unwavering devotion to the Dao (the Way), enduring frost and snow without withering. The poem advises against lamenting late enlightenment—these aloof bamboos possess the phoenix's grace, destined to transform into soaring dragons piercing the celestial realms.
"Joy of Wandering" celebrates the cultivator's freedom. Drifting like tumbleweeds across the land, the practitioner walks timelessly with only a raincoat and hat, finding delight even in storms. True cultivation lies in comprehending cosmic mysteries—wielding the three-foot sword that traverses existence and void, ingesting the golden elixir (Jindan) for immortality, until finally ascending the immortal registers.
"By the Lotus Pond" contains Quanzhen founder Wang Chongyang's spiritual exhortation. With the patriarch now transcended, how should fellow cultivators proceed? Through diligent meditation, stilling thoughts and studying alchemical texts (Neidan). When tribulations arise, face them calmly while composing spontaneous verses. Upon perfecting earthly merits, laugh with companions while pointing toward the Penglai paradise.
"Seclusion at Panxi" documents the cultivation journey. After leaving Chang'an eastward, the poet settles west at Panxi Temple. Exploring ancient southern peaks, dwelling alone in an earthen niche—never venturing to northern mansions. Midnight mountain paths lie deserted, save for cuckoos crying before cliffs and birdsong through pines that seem to urge return, yet the cultivation remains unripe.
"Mocking Monks" reflects Quanzhen's syncretic philosophy. Neither monk nor Daoist in conventional terms, nor deliberately gentle before crowds. Unashamed before multitudes, having awakened to the nature beyond dharma realms—recognizing the body as samsara's prison through eons. Let others puzzle over the mystery of transformation; unconcerned with physical decay. When returning to primal simplicity, who cares if they laugh at my lack of worldly grace?
The final poem "Weinan Landscape" paints the hermitage's serenity. This exceptional site embraced by water and bamboo stands unique along the river. Clustered railings (possibly bamboo groves) merge with nature, embodying the cultivator's harmonious unity with mountains and streams.
Selected Passages from The Panxi Collection Interpreted in Modern Language:
The first passage depicts the serene environment of a hermit's cultivation: Scarlet blossoms sway gently before the gate while emerald pines remain evergreen through the seasons. Children joyfully sing spring ballads as spiritual birds cry at dawn. In this thirty-household village where all devote themselves to Daoist practice, the cultivation atmosphere surpasses even the renowned spiritual site of Panxi. Seasonal beauty abounds perpetually—ancient pines stand majestically as if in eternal spring. This blessed land maintains pristine elegance, scarcely troubled by worldly affairs. All delight in dwelling within this pure realm, each household sincerely venerating the divine. May all awaken to transcend the dusty world together, attaining the leakless state (perfection in cultivation without afflictions).
The second passage ("To Fellow Practitioners") discusses the path of immortality: Immortals dwell in the ethereal realm of Taixu (Great Void), beyond ordinary sight. When fortunate to encounter the Dao's gate opening for teaching, never decline participation in Zhaijiao (purification rituals). Ordinary people constantly create karma through household affairs, while virtuous cultivation remains occasional. If one remains careless when opportunity arises, how can this lifetime repay heaven and earth's grace?
The third passage ("Leisurely Indolence") describes carefree living: Too idle to read scriptures or burn incense, drifting through days like one intoxicated. Only the sun's rise and moon's setting draw attention—no accounting for rights or wrongs. Visitors receive lazy welcomes; food at lips goes unchewed. This isn't willful indulgence, but an incurable habit formed through prolonged languor.
The fourth passage ("Golden Lotus from Jade Blossoms") records Patriarch Chongyang's (Wang Chongyang) teaching deeds: That year at Gan River he encountered immortal destiny; after enlightenment he journeyed eastward to spread teachings by the sea. Bringing back three or four fellow practitioners from distant lands, his ascension (passing) in Wei shook the entire Qin River region.
The fifth passage ("Self-Description") expresses transcendent attitude: Disheveled and unwashed, indifferent to wealth or poverty—preserving simple nature with serene, worry-free heart. Even fairest faces inevitably return to dust; whether plain-looking Ziyu or handsome Pan An, all become mere skeletons in death.
The sixth passage ("For Li Sheng of Famen Temple") warns practitioners: This flesh is but a stinking skin bag, yet worldly people cling desperately. Through delusions, one drifts in the six realms' cycles. When original Buddha-nature becomes obscured, how to regain realization? Only awakening to immortal truth can shatter illusions.
The seventh passage ("Summer Drought") depicts drought conditions: Midsummer's scorching heat brings prolonged drought—occasional clouds over endless blue skies scatter before winds. Heaven and earth burn like furnaces all day; oppressive heat steam rises unbearably.
This collection of poems from the Panxi Anthology depicts the life reflections and cultivation insights of Daoist practitioners.
The fifth poem describes the scenic beauty of a southern village, where winding streams flow beneath willow shades, and lotus blossoms in the pond reflect against whitewashed walls. Towering houses stand like screens, while mist curls between mountain ridges as if auspicious signs descend. The sixth poem portrays the clearing skies after rain—verdant peaks emerge, the wilderness grows tranquil, and the heavens stretch vast. The poet lingers by the southern stream, passing long summer days in verse, not dwelling on idle sorrows but celebrating the beauty before his eyes.
The seventh poem mentions scholars from Dengzhou and Laizhou who delight in debate and verbal sparring. Yet the author, now within the Daoist tradition, no longer concerns himself with such disputes over right and wrong.
Awakening to the Southern Song depicts late autumn, when all flowers fade except the chrysanthemums in full bloom. People adorn their hair with these flowers during the Double Ninth Festival, and the poem notes how Qiao Sheng, during the Lower Yuan Festival (an important Daoist observance), pins chrysanthemums in worship, offering tribute to the Star Officials and ancestral masters while praying for blessings.
The second poem, dedicated to Pei Manzi, laments the illusory nature of worldly life—how human hearts shift easily, and endless toil only depletes Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), bringing sorrow and illness that defy remedy.
Refining Cinnabar Sand, written for Zhou Daoquan, advises contentment and following nature’s course, free from forced striving. Gains and losses, success and failure—all vanish in a blink. Better to hold fast to the Dao in heart, where sages and worthies offer protection.
Mirror of the Purified Heart, though its content remains briefly noted, warns against the sin of killing, urging abstinence and virtue—a teaching aligned with Daoist principles of stillness, Wuwei (non-action), and harmony with nature. These poems collectively embody the Daoist cultivation ideals of clarity, tranquility, and natural accord.
The Panxi Collection contains several poetic passages offering admonitions to the world, using vivid metaphors to reveal life's fundamental truths.
The first passage warns against the strong bullying the weak. Among all beings, humans hold the most honored position, yet some abuse their intelligence to act recklessly, treating the killing of living creatures as child's play. Little do they know that the underworld keeps meticulous records—when the hour of reckoning comes and ghosts seize them for punishment, no amount of scheming can escape the reflection of the Karmic Mirror (in Daoism, a mirror recording good and evil deeds). Where then are the pleasures of savoring delicacies when faced with tortures like tongue-ripping and heart-gouging? Even reincarnation may not grant them human form again.
The second passage recounts the story of Elder Qiang, a devotee who suffered from swallowing disorders, satirizing extravagant zhaijiao (Daoist purification rituals). While offering ceremonies are meant to seek blessings, excessive displays of sacrificial foods instead invite misfortune. Like old Mr. Qiang who indulged in gourmet pleasures during his lifetime but now can only swallow saliva before delicacies.
The third poem, Jade Furnace's Three Mountain Snows, advises practitioners against distant travels. Harsh winters, icy roads, and thousand-mile journeys through dust add nothing essential to cultivation—better to await spring's arrival in stillness than exhaust oneself in vain wandering. True practice lies in neidan (internal alchemy, the Daoist art of refining essence, qi, and spirit), while external travels merely bring fatigue.
The fourth passage depicts an ascetic's daily life: nights spent in Panxi's ancient temple, mornings walking bamboo paths through deserted villages, noonday meals of plain begged food. Without clinging to abstruse theories, one lives by circumstance, avoiding contentious debates to return to life's original state of pristine simplicity.
The final section reveals enlightened realization: innate radiance manifests as yin and yang energies harmonize, allowing free roaming through the Dharma Realm (in Buddhism, the omnipresent domain of truth). Above, the sounds of cold springs echo through space while auspicious clouds rise from all directions. Serenely seated alone in the highest heavens, one observes fleeting lives like dreams. As the sun sets westward and cool breezes drift from the south, the transcendent mood of Master Hongya (legendary immortal) arises spontaneously.
Note: Panxi is a sacred Daoist site, traditionally where Jiang Ziya fished and met King Wen; "Three Torments" refer to Daoism's hellish paths of fire, blood, and blades; "didong" (rainbow) symbolizes spiritual attainment.
Dispersing Sentiments, Blowing Away Mundane Sorrows, Gradually Opening the Heart-Moon’s Gentle Radiance
Release worldly sorrows and habitual tendencies, slowly allowing the heart to become as clear and bright as the moon. Let the spiritual platform (the mind) become transparent and pure, far removed from worldly turmoil, like the pristine clarity of the azure sky.
Piercing Through the Spiritual Platform, Crystal-Clear and Untouched by Dust, Luminous as the Heavens Beyond Form
The mind is clear and radiant, free from even a speck of dust, pure as the boundless sky, transcending the mundane world.
Sunset, Wind Rising in Ancient Caves; Deep Night, Moonlight Shining on Cold Pools—Serene Autumn Colors, Pure and Untroubled
As the sun sets, the wind stirs in ancient caves; in the depths of night, moonlight bathes the cold pools—autumn’s hues are tranquil and unblemished.
Amidst Mist and Mountain Haze, Alone I Contemplate the Perfectly Bright Mirror, Recognizing the Profound Mystery of the Heart—Ah, Turn Away from the Noisy World
Amidst the swirling mist and mountain haze, I reflect upon the perfectly bright mirror (the true mind), perceiving the profound wonder of the heart-field—ah, turning away from worldly clamor.
Weary of Mundane Greed, I Find Joy in Dwelling Among Valleys and Pines, Content with Coarse Robes and Simple Fare
Disillusioned with worldly greed, I delight in dwelling among valleys and pines, willingly embracing a life of plain robes and humble meals.
Expressing Innermost Feelings (Written After the Ninth Day)
Scattered Frost-Leaves Drift Chaotically—The Season Has Passed the Double Yang Festival, Yet Golden Chrysanthemums Still Bloom by the Railings, Exuding Pure Fragrance
Frost-covered leaves flutter wildly—the Double Yang Festival has passed, yet golden chrysanthemums remain in full bloom by the railings, their fragrance pure and lingering.
Autumn Grows Deeper, Nights Lengthen—The Dao-Mind Flourishes; Entering Samadhi in Cloud-Hermitages, Roaming the Dharmadhatu as an Immortal, Unmoved by Desolation
Autumn deepens, nights stretch longer—the heart of the Dao thrives. In cloud-veiled hermitages, I enter meditative absorption, wandering the Dharmadhatu as an immortal, untouched by melancholy.
The Lonely City’s Cold Horn Echoes Melodiously, Carried by the Wind into the Setting Sun; Lotus Ponds Now Colorless, Yet Orchid Gardens Retain Lingering Fragrance
The lonely city’s cold horn resounds mournfully, borne by the wind into the fading light. Lotus ponds have lost their hues, yet orchid gardens still hold traces of lingering fragrance.
Autumn Days Are Short, Twilight Long—Moonlight Flourishes; Vast Emptiness, Silent Illumination, Boundless Open Heart, a Single Slice of Cool Clarity
Autumn days are brief, dusk stretches endlessly—the moonlight thrives. Vast emptiness, silent illumination, an immeasurably open heart—a single expanse of cool clarity.
Second Poem (On Scenery)
Chang’an’s Scenery, Unique Through the Ages—Yet Few Understand My Dao; When Heaven’s Heart and Earth’s Lungs Align, Life and Death Follow Nature’s Pivotal Mechanism
Chang’an’s scenery is unparalleled through the ages, yet few comprehend my Dao. When the Heart of Heaven and the Lungs of Earth align, the cycles of life and death revolve by nature’s pivotal mechanism.
Spiritual Plants Flourish, Jade Mushrooms Abundant—Arcing Rainbows; Gazing from the Mountain Peak, Below Lie Three Rivers Encompassing All Under Heaven
Spiritual plants thrive, jade mushrooms grow in abundance—rainbows arch across the sky. From the mountain’s summit, I gaze afar—below, three rivers encompass all lands, uniting the civilized and the wild.
Resolving Karmic Knots (Dedicated to the Ritual Assembly)
Mountains and Rivers Settled, Weapons Laid to Rest—An Age of Peace; All Directions Harmonious, Frequent Purification Rituals Flourish in Gratitude to Heaven and Earth, Repaying the Hidden Grace of the Vast Cosmos
Mountains and rivers stand tranquil, weapons lie unused—an era of peace. All directions are in harmony, frequent purification rituals (Zhaijiao) are performed in gratitude to Heaven and Earth, repaying the boundless mercy hidden in the void.
Once in a Thousand Years, Immortals Emerge—Fortunate to Encounter Them, Do Not Take Lightly; Offer Reverent Devotion, Year by Year More Refined—When Auspicious Times Arrive, All Rejoice in Profound Bliss
Once in a thousand years, immortals descend—fortunate to meet them, do not treat lightly. Offer devout reverence, refining devotion year by year—when auspicious moments arrive, all revel in profound joy.
Second Poem (Self-Reflection)
In the Beginning, I Studied the Dao, Cultivating Myself in Emptiness—My Aspirations Soared Beyond Heaven, Peerless in the Human Realm; Roaming Expansive Forests and Mountains, Then Wandering Free Amidst Clouds and Waters, Crossing Yi Gate, Then Reaching the Lands of Qin
At first, I studied the Dao, refining myself in emptiness—my aspirations soared beyond the heavens, unmatched in the mortal world. Roaming vast forests and mountains, then wandering freely amidst clouds and waters, crossing Yi Gate, then arriving in the lands of Qin.
Ten Years Adrift, Ten Thousand Miles Traveled—Passing Through Checkpoints and Ferries, Rugged and Far-Flung; All Experiences Sought, Yet Upon Awakening, All Was Cast Aside—Only Following Karma, Clad in Coarse Cloth and Straw Sandals
Ten years adrift, ten thousand miles traveled—passing through checkpoints and ferries, rugged and distant. All experiences were sought, yet upon awakening, all was abandoned—only following karma, dressed in coarse cloth and straw sandals.
Third Poem (Seeking Sustenance)
One Day in the North, One Day in the South—East and West, the Four Directions Intertwined; In Dreamlike Haze, I Wander Back and Forth, Passing the Days, Awaiting the Year When the Dao-Heart Blossoms
One day in the north, one day in the south—east and west, the four directions interwoven. In a dreamlike haze, I wander to and fro, passing the days, awaiting the year when the Dao-heart blooms.
A Hundred Years, a Fleeting Scene—How Many Days Truly Remain? Secretly Reckoning, Today and Tomorrow Pass Unnoticed
A hundred years, but a fleeting scene—how many days truly remain? Silently calculating, today and tomorrow slip by unnoticed.
The Panxi Collection presents several poems that reveal the transcendent, carefree spiritual realm pursued by Daoist practitioners.
The first poem describes the attitude of a cultivator: like a sage awaiting the destined return to the celestial grotto-heavens, drifting among clouds and waters while contemplating the Dao (the Way) in silence, savoring it like fine wine. A true cultivator does not engage in petty disputes; maintaining a state of humble poverty and softness keeps misfortune at bay.
The second poem depicts a summer retreat in an immortal’s abode: within the ancient cypress-shaded courtyard, cool shadows brush over green moss, offering respite all day. Inside the cave, the heat beyond the gate is unfelt, and inner serenity brings a refreshing coolness to the core, as if surrounded by shards of ice.
The third poem warns the unenlightened: those who do not cultivate are like prisoners tortured on mountains of blades and forests of swords, endlessly tormented without release, wailing in agony. The pain of needles and steel is nothing compared to the suffering of indulging in worldly neglect.
The three Wulouzi verses express different states of realization:
The first portrays an era of peace—bountiful harvests, contented people, and carefree wandering without worry for sustenance.
The second describes autumn’s beauty: crimson sunset, clear autumn waters, a sky like polished jade after rain, chrysanthemums blooming by the fence, wild geese flying south. Here, one drinks fine wine, journeys in spirit to immortal realms, and lingers in tipsy bliss beneath the cold moonlight.
The third admonishes the deluded: the human body is but flesh, blood, and three inches of Qi (vital energy), as illusory as a puppet on strings. Those adorned in jade and powder will decay, leaving only bare bones bleaching in the wilderness.
Zizixiao, dedicated to a fellow cultivator, speaks of karmic affinity: virtuous seeds sown in past lives lead to blessed practice in this one, invoking the protection of higher immortals (Shangzhen). Establishing altars to expound the Dao’s teachings, one liberates all beings. Midway through life, it’s better to steal moments of leisure for true realization than to toil meaninglessly, clinging to dust. What seems a full life is, in truth, wasted time.
These poems from the Panxi Collection express a cultivator's transcendence of worldly affairs and pursuit of inner purity.
The first poem, Remembering an Old Friend at Peach Blossom Spring, says: The human mind is like a bright mirror, clearly reflecting the good and evil of all things in the world. Others' slander is but empty illusion; rumors from afar are baseless. It warns later generations not to believe them lightly but to silently follow the path of sages. After parting with old friends, one chants poetry alone by the stream and contemplates the Zhou Heavenly Trigrams (referring to Neidan practices) beneath the shadow of a solitary pine. Though the breeze and bright moon are priceless, even the most exquisite worldly skills cannot depict them. Wishing to boast of this to others, yet who can discern its truth?
The second poem, Farewell to My Homeland, depicts a cultivator's life: Sitting alone by the southern stream, seemingly idle, yet immersed in the misty mountain scenery after rain. The vast mountain hues merge with the sky, and the sunlit landscape captivates the heart. At times, one clings to it like a severe illness; at others, sings freely like an immortal. At noon, opening the wooden gate to see seekers of the Dao below the mountain, yet finding no words to offer, one simply smiles and returns.
The third poem, Penglai Pavilion, describes the immortal realm: The Penglai Immortal Mountain lies beyond reach in the boundless sea, where turbulent waves surge. It is said that in the eastern celestial realm, there exists a natural realm of emptiness—home to the eternal, unmoving giant turtle mountain and the enduring mirage palaces.
The fourth poem continues: This cultivator, dwelling among clouds and mist, resides by the southern stream, where crimson cliffs rise a thousand zhang and ancient cypresses stand ten thousand strong. The mind holds only thoughts as pure as white clouds; lifting the gaze, one sees no trace of the bustling world's splendor. Such grandeur is but an illusory facade, yet worldly people greedily pursue it.
The final poem, Burning the Heart Incense, reveals the essentials of cultivation: The great Dao is formless; the key to cultivation lies within the square-inch heart (referring to the inner mind). All people possess wisdom—they must subdue desires, maintain leisure amidst clamor, preserve tranquility within busyness, and uphold clarity amid turbidity. The mind should be as pure as an infant's; the heart should be as cool as ice and snow. Once awakened, the path ahead becomes naturally clear. These words are sincere admonitions—with sufficient effort and steadfast resolve, success is assured.
This passage comes from the Panxi Collection, a Daoist classic that reveals the transcendent mindset of practitioners who rise above worldly concerns to pursue spiritual freedom.
A wandering Daoist named Qiu lived in Dengzhou, Shandong. From his youth, he severed all mundane attachments and followed his master to roam the world. Like a solitary boat drifting along the Yangtze, he remained inwardly serene amidst the bustling world, carefree as a white cloud. His body and spirit soared beyond material existence, like a leisurely cloud in the vast blue sky, moving freely through the void, untouched by worldly dust. He lived in harmony with the sun, moon, and stars, embodying the unrestrained joy of the Daoist path.
The phrase "the moon of the heart shines upon Cloudy Stream" conveys the wisdom of seeing through life and death, transcending the cycle of rebirth: the transformations of Yin-Yang are eternal, while life, death, gain, and loss are fleeting. Human existence is like a rented house—the soul alone is the true master. Once awakened, one can relinquish attachments, escape the sea of suffering, and no longer endure torment.
When advising Zhou Daoquan, he cautioned: Though you aspire to cultivate the Dao, you remain ensnared by worldly glamour. Time passes swiftly, like a white steed glimpsed through a crack—the realm of immortals is not far away, but the human heart often fails to awaken.
In "Spring in Wuling," written for Yang Wu’s birthday, he employs imagery such as "all things are reborn in the new year" and "auspicious Qi descends from the azure heavens" to praise the transcendent grace of a Daoist practitioner, foretelling a lifespan surpassing even that of turtles and cranes.
The text concludes with "Roaming Water and Clouds," depicting a cultivator dwelling peacefully among emerald cliffs, free from cunning thoughts and content with a simple, natural existence. The entire passage brims with Daoist wisdom—embracing freedom beyond worldly concerns and aligning with the natural order.
The Panxi Collection contains four ci poems reflecting Daoist practitioners' observations and admonitions regarding worldly phenomena.
The first poem, Gazing Afar, depicts a severe summer drought, suggesting human greed causes natural disasters. The poet criticizes wealthy youths dressed in finery, riding horses aimlessly, and forming pleasure-seeking clubs—all wasteful expenditures. Ordinary people struggle to discern right from wrong, but Heaven judges impartially. The poem urges sincere purification rituals (Zhaijiao) and virtuous conduct to receive divine protection.
The second poem, Crows Crying at Night, satirizes worldly indulgence. It explains the natural alternation of Yin-Yang and the interdependence of fortune/misfortune, yet people remain addicted to pleasure without restraint. The poet particularly condemns extravagant face-washing as wasteful, warning that short-sightedness invites calamity.
The third poem, Celebrating the Sage's Reign, portrays an ascetic's quiet night meditation. After sunset, the practitioner sits by a stream listening to spring water. During the long night, they pluck a stringless qin, awaiting auspicious signs while pursuing immortality (Xian).
The fourth poem, Dreamless Song, warns against arrogance and extravagance. It praises Shaanxi as an ideal land for cultivation where rich and poor should coexist equally. Recalling famine during the Huangtong era when households starved without grain, the poem cautions that regret comes too late when disaster strikes.
Through contrasting the ascetic's serene life with worldly extravagance, these poems express core Daoist values—embracing simplicity, rejecting excess, and recognizing the impermanence of fortune. They serve as spiritual reminders of the Dao's cyclical nature.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5e0061）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback