《水雲集》

The first volume of Shuiyun Ji (Anthology of Water and Clouds) was composed by Tan Chuduan, the Changzhenzi (Eternal Truth Master) of Kunlun Mountain. It contains numerous seven-character regulated verses primarily related to Daoist cultivation and insights into natural landscapes. Below are modern interpretations of selected poems:

In Inscribed at Luoyang's Chaoyuan Palace, the poem depicts the tranquil scenery of an ancient Daoist temple. The palace gates silently enclose auspicious mists, where ancient relics and spiritual traces remain clearly visible. Clouds and mist envelop the medicine-cauldron, while dawn's glow illuminates the elixir-refining spiritual spring. Solar essence refines the mythical land of Huaxu (a Daoist utopia), while lunar pneuma creates the eternal daylight of the celestial realm. After the purple edict (celestial mandate) summoned the Perfected One to return, who now might inherit the immortal position in the Great Brahma Heaven (the highest Daoist celestial realm)?

Wandering at Lingshan Temple portrays experiences visiting this Chan Buddhist monastery. Leisurely treading through cloud-waters to seek the meditation grove, where dense bamboo groves mirror emerald mountain peaks. The Jade Pillar Peak pierces the heavens, untouched by worldly dust, while Lingshan Temple hides in nearly inaccessible seclusion. Snow blankets the jade-white mountain slopes with perfect evenness, while golden wildflowers scatter freely across them. In the clear ancient pool during autumn's quiet night, osmanthus blooms alone, revealing the original Daoist heart-mind.

Wandering in Duke Liu's Garden records flower-viewing experiences. Eminent guests invited me to admire the floral splendor—after the rain clears, I pass through the garden gate alone. Leaning on the railing, I watch peonies compete in beauty, while courtyard butterflies flit competitively among blossoms. Wind-tossed willow leaves appear utterly unattached, rain-washed flower hearts cleanse all disputes. All things bathe equally in spring's vital breath, selflessly radiating their fragrances.

For Elder Guo Si of Xinzhong offers worldly advice. How many live to white-haired old age? Birth, aging, illness and death mark life's constant rhythm. Indulging in turbid, foul stenches shortens lifespan; stinginess, greed and jealousy cloud the mind. Attachment to preferences binds one to worldly dust; only desirelessness and non-attachment liberate into emptiness. Fortunately, paths to heaven and hell exist—whether becoming a sage or remaining deluded depends on personal choice.

For Immortal Cheng of Yunyang discusses cultivation essentials. Cultivation's greatest fear is a heart like stubborn bronze (symbolizing inflexibility)—such obstinacy renders practice ineffective. Deluded thoughts sink one into the underworld; only purity leads to celestial palaces. Emulate Yan Hui (Confucius' contented disciple) in joyful poverty, not Deng Tong (Han Dynasty's avaricious official) in miserly greed. Follow the example of Shishu Ma Yu (Quanzhen Patriarch) of Zhongnan Mountain, comprehending the Great Dao amidst utter destitution.

For Immortal Zheng describes hermitic life. Abandoning worldly affairs to dwell in a thatched hermitage, devoted to practice while severing idle talk. Marvelously eliminating turbidity to enjoy pure poverty's joy, cleansing ignorance while savoring insipid contentment. Why lock the humble door of woven grass? A single gourd of clear water suffices to restrain desires. Pacify the spirit in silent solitude, recognizing sun and moon's true essence through starlight.

For Young Master Han Practicing at Home explains householder cultivation. Establishing a Mysterious Hall (practice space) to venerate true Dao, reverently offering incense morning and evening. At home, serve widowed parents with filial piety; abroad, uphold proper conduct aligned with the Three Lights (sun, moon, stars). Constantly nurture compassion by aiding the impoverished—this constitutes the true cultivator's daily discipline.

The poems from Shuiyun Ji (Water Cloud Anthology) are all insights into enlightenment by Daoist practitioners, explained here in plain language:

The first poem offers admonitions to disciples like Anranzi: Those cultivating the Dao must treasure their Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) — the three fundamental energies of the human body — and avoid squandering them recklessly. Just as one must first cultivate to perfection on the mountain to obtain treasures from the ocean depths, if one is swayed by the seven emotions and six desires, their primordial Qi will be damaged; clinging to external things is like using a knife to harm one's own spirit. May you soon see through the illusory dust of the mundane world and no longer suffer the cycles of rebirth in the human realm.

The second poem is addressed to an eighty-year-old Daoist nun surnamed Yang: You are like a jade flower blooming after autumn, your heart as serene as water filling a jade cup, while the golden incense burner emits the fragrance of wisdom. Now that you have cultivated blessings, there is no need to dwell on past karmic obstacles. In the tranquil Daoist hall, free from all attachments, you will naturally see the Dantian (energy center) radiating with rosy light.

The third poem depicts a place of cultivation: The silent Daoist temple is like a hidden realm where spiritual springs are locked away — the deeper one explores, the more profound the mysteries. This secluded place is often visited by wandering clouds and wild cranes, its cool and refreshing realm transcending the mundane. If practitioners can humble themselves and seek in lowly places, they may instantly encounter the realm of immortals.

The fourth poem is dedicated to Captain Wang of Junzhou: Your devotion to the Dao is sincere, urging me to diligently practice Neidan (internal alchemy, symbolized by "pouring jade nectar"). Acts of kindness must come from the heart, while cultivating De (virtue) requires awakening one's true nature. Benefiting others at one's own expense is the true principle; enduring humiliation with compassion leads to profound mysteries. Maintaining equanimity is the great Dao, and three companions (likely referring to Jing, Qi, and Shen) may board the immortal boat together.

The fifth poem describes the scene of cultivation at Yunxi Hermitage: Dwelling among clouds and mist, silently absorbing the essences of the sun and moon. When the mist recedes, the Dantian grows spiritual herbs; when clouds disperse, jade flowers bloom within (symbolizing inner alchemical phenomena). The Azure Dragon (liver Qi) breathes fire to refine golden tea, while the White Tiger (lung Qi) gushes spring water to nourish jade sprouts (both representing Neidan imagery). When the Dragon and Tiger couple (harmonizing Yin and Yang Qi) complete the Nine Cycles (alchemical stages), the Golden Elixir will be perfected.

The final two poems are the practitioner's personal reflections: Admiring the profound mysteries hidden in quiet poverty, I feel as though I've already ascended on clouds. Transcending worldly snares, I release all attachments in my heart. Constantly reflecting to avoid harming hidden virtue, carefully nurturing the Daoist mind. Once the Nine-Cycle Golden Elixir (highest stage of Neidan) is complete, I'll invite three immortal companions to return to the Daoist mountain together. The other poem speaks of sheathing one's edge to return to kindness and forgetting all distinctions. In the alchemical cauldron, the Vajra flame (true fire of cultivation) burns eternally, while the furnace forever emits the fragrance of Prajna (wisdom).

These poems all describe the realms and processes of Daoist cultivation for achieving immortality, employing rich symbolism to convey the essential techniques of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice.

The first poem speaks of tasting the freshly ripened peaches of the immortal realm, suggesting the path to the land of Huaxu (a Daoist utopia) is not far away. The cultivator must swiftly enter the sacred source as if taking a shortcut, practicing beneath the numinous clouds at the cave's entrance. When inner turmoil arises, it must be calmed with the sword of wisdom, and the golden lotus (symbolizing the fruit of cultivation) is gathered where the mysterious waves settle. The dragon (symbolizing the essence of kidney water) and the fierce tiger (symbolizing the essence of heart fire) are subdued, each returning to its proper place—the Li Palace (heart) and the Kan Abode (kidneys). Once these two are stabilized, worldly affairs are transcended, and when the work is perfected, the immortal embryo is conceived.

The second poem depicts the longing for the timeless scenery of the immortal realm, arranging precious celestial herbs in a place of purity. The Red Child (heart fire) of the Southern Palace dwells in the cool hall, while the Black Turtle (kidney water) of the Northern Sea resides in the crimson chamber. The White Tiger (lung metal) is imprisoned in the tranquil cave, and the Green Goat (liver wood) is set free to graze on the mountain of Wuwei (non-action). Since the clouds and mists dispersed within the cauldron (Dantian), one often drinks the nectar of supreme wisdom, intoxicated in the immortal realm.

The third poem describes the attitude of a Daoist cultivator: serene and unrestrained, embracing gentleness and living in accordance with fate. Wearing coarse robes to ward off the cold and eating simple, bland meals, one forgets words and remains detached, distancing worldly sentiments. Cutting off idle thoughts deepens the realm of the Dao. Those who cling to wives, children, fame, and wealth only awaken in shock when their time comes, filled with regret.

The fourth poem speaks of the profound and rarely understood secrets of heaven. Holding a single grain of the Daoist elixir (Neidan), one practices at noon. When the ancient pool’s mists disperse on an autumn night, and the moon shines bright over the emerald peaks, the dragon is captured and imprisoned in the Li Cauldron (heart), while the fierce tiger is seized and locked in the Kan Pool (kidneys). Refining the immortal elixir surpasses the work of creation, allowing one to journey to Penglai, the immortal isle, and pay homage to the true master.

The fifth poem uses the metaphor of pine winds to describe the state of cultivation, roaming beyond the material world in the company of immortals. The mind is like a bright moon flowing across the azure sky, and the heart is like idle clouds drifting freely in the vast blue. Again, it describes subduing the fierce tiger and imprisoning it in the Kan Abode (kidneys), while the dragon is locked in the Li Palace (heart). The celestial cycle revolves, frequently igniting the diamond fire, refining a single crimson elixir (Neidan) within the furnace.

The sixth poem depicts a single point of radiance illuminating the tower, realizing the state of neither birth nor death. The red flames atop the Seven Treasures Mountain (desires) are extinguished, while white lotuses bloom in the sacred land of the Three Palaces (essence, qi, and spirit). Approaching the Violet Mansion of Mist and Radiance (upper Dantian), one departs never to return, soaring along the cloud path to Yingzhou. Who can dwell forever in the Ever-Bright Jade Capital (highest immortal realm), accompanied by the four immortal maidens of Eternal Spring?

The seventh poem speaks of carrying the Green Snake (liver qi) in one’s sleeve as the single grain of cinnabar (Neidan) takes form. The mist veiling the clear abyss imprisons the Horse (mind), while the smoke shrouding the jade peaks locks the Ape (heart). After a thousand days of cultivation, the dragon plunges into the fire (spirit leaves the body), and after nine cycles of refinement, the tiger enters the pool (qi returns to its source). Seizing the true transformation of the Void, these heavenly secrets remain deeply hidden, known to few.

These poems from the Shuiyun Ji expound the core principles of Daoist cultivation, teaching disciples how to attain transcendence through inner refinement.

The first poem explains how human desires and cunning thoughts trap people in attachments. Only by severing passions and forgetting worldly concerns can one comprehend profound truth. When the mind becomes as clear as dispersed smoke and extinguished flames, one penetrates the mysteries. Constant idle chatter hinders spiritual achievement; chaotic thoughts prevent perfect conduct. Cutting ties with mundane affairs and maintaining a serene, detached heart allows peaceful passage through life’s remaining journey.

The second poem emphasizes that genuine effort and practice require long accumulation. A decade of devoted cultivation is needed to forget worldly thoughts and reach the far shore. Purge ordinary ideas to arrive at Penglai, the immortal isle. Like a buried sword radiating light to the heavens or a pearl secretly nurtured within a clam, cultivation follows natural law. To fathom creation’s mysteries, refine desires into ashes within the heart.

The third poem depicts the transition from lay life to the Daoist path. Like stepping from flat ground into misty radiance, worldly time is fleeting while the Daoist way stretches long. Wander freely like clouds and water, nurturing the mind in emptiness and wuwei (non-action). Frequently observe desireless states—human sentiments fade naturally, and the golden elixir (neidan) coalesces unnoticed.

The fourth poem discusses the practice of "guarding the One" (focusing on the Dao-mind). Hone the mind through diligent austerity. Though the path to the Mysterious Origin (Dao’s source) is hard, keeping the heart-mind pure is not difficult. Maintain constant awareness—never deceive yourself in practice. To reach the state of "no coming or going," deeply realize "no self or others."

The fifth poem teaches how cultivation must temper fierce rigidity. Eliminate ego and subdue delusions to sever worldly attachments. Silently polish away clever arguments; dimly temper away violent tendencies. When ignorance arises, true spirit darkens; maintaining softness illuminates the Dao-eye. Each time you contend with ignorance, yielding is victory.

The sixth poem advocates eradicating evil and fostering good. Forget fame and wealth, extinguish ignorance’s flames, and fill the heart’s abode with wisdom’s fragrance. When dust is cleared, the mind-mirror shines; when weeds are removed, the heart-field blooms like lotus. Don’t lament Huaxu Kingdom (the utopian paradise) is distant—the path through emptiness is not long.

The seventh poem reveals cultivation requires recognizing the spiritual source. Realize this single point of numinous awareness: sever passions forever to transcend phenomenal realms; extinguish folly and anger to escape human-heavenly rebirths. Avoid inverted delusions and grasping, shun dust-covered thoughts that cling to conditions. In empty stillness, no hindrances remain—naturally gestate the Dao-embryo in tranquil leisure.

This passage from Shuiyun Ji elucidates the Daoist principle of relinquishing attachments and returning to simplicity. Cultivation is not about seeking external methods but recognizing that one's original mind is itself the nature of enlightenment—why laboriously seek elsewhere? Maintain a heart as clear as a mirror, reflecting all things without retaining traces.

The practitioner lives a life of austere simplicity: wearing a bamboo hat and sheepskin, carrying a worn felt mat and cloth sack, free from craving fine food or wine. Coarse tea and plain rice suffice to nourish the body. Like a newly carved wooden bowl or alms-begged coins, they remain true to the essence of monastic purity.

The text mentions "Dao Gui" (an ancient measuring tool for medicine, here symbolizing the elixir) as capable of severing worldly ties. Through cultivation, one may forge the true treasure within the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers), refining the Five Qi (energies of the five organs) into lotus-like perfection. When the fires of desire are extinguished and distracting thoughts clarified, one attains the realm of carefree liberation, sailing the boundless ocean of Prajna (wisdom) across ten thousand miles.

The practitioner drifts freely like clouds and water, content wherever they go, indifferent to the passage of time. In stillness, they nurture the waters of wisdom; in purity, they cultivate the sprouts of spiritual awakening. Just as crimson peonies bloom in the ocean's depths and white lotuses unfold atop mountain peaks, these are treasures transcending the mundane—yet the greatest treasure lies within the original mind.

Finally, the text admonishes cultivators: craving others' reverence only weaves a snare of karmic misdeeds. Reflecting on faults and repenting past transgressions naturally diminishes karmic burdens; persisting in error only multiplies them. Greed and attachment invariably invite calamity.

The Shuiyun Ji (Water Cloud Collection) contains several cultivation poems, which I'll explain section by section:

The first poem discusses abandoning worldly glamor for spiritual practice. Excessive pursuit of superficial splendor accumulates karmic burdens, while true cultivation requires maintaining a pure and humble inner state. Yet even sages may struggle with this simple truth. The poem uses character decomposition to reveal cultivation secrets: plain Daoist robes conceal profound mysteries, where "golden armor" (referring to cultivation techniques) merges with "jade qi" (neidan/internal alchemy). After shedding the mortal shell to refine the Golden Elixir, one must realize the original true nature. "Awakening to primordial origins" means returning to innate essence, while "venerable master-uncle" is how cultivators address enlightened adepts.

The second poem describes advanced cultivation states. The "spiritual spring" (internal qi) surges at the crown, its clarity reflecting heavenly principles. The key lies in eliminating desires through persistent practice. Avoid forced striving—natural alignment with fundamental origins will emerge. Such refinement creates the "priceless treasure" (neidan) that ultimately leads to communion with immortals (called "harmful wind transcendents" in Daoist parlance).

The third poem emphasizes natural cultivation. When qi rises spontaneously, white lotuses (symbolizing neidan) bloom within. Continuous practice harmonizes with the Dao, provided one severs emotional attachments. Don't obsess over the "spiritual source" (dantian)—the "spirit embryo" (advanced neidan) will form effortlessly.

The Wandering Mount Hua poem depicts hermit life: simple meals, reclining among clouds. "Heart-incense" (sincere devotion) connects to spiritual origins while quietly contemplating Lotus Peak's majesty.

When preparing medicine for others, another verse states: apparent foolishness conceals great wisdom; focused cultivation ("guarding the One") nurtures the "spiritual pearl" (neidan). Suddenly seeing through worldly toils, one drinks alone the wine of "non-birth" (transcending life and death).

Symbolic poems compare: solitary bamboo represents cultivators' integrity; osmanthus mirrors pine and bamboo resilience; white cranes achieve longevity through their "cinnabar crowns" (neidan symbols)—all metaphors for cultivation states.

Regarding the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, Daoism): their essences interconnect. Confucius's (Zhongni's) teachings align with profound principles. Truly awakened beings transcend mundane dust.

The concluding poem emphasizes: cultivation requires no external search—just taming the "mind-monkey and thought-horse" (symbolized by flood dragons and fierce tigers). Morning and evening devotion, throughout twelve earthly branches, means honoring one's original heart. Silent "gathering of the mysterious" (cultivation), through wuwei (non-action) and clarity, naturally reveals true nature.

This Daoist scripture, The Collection of Water and Clouds, conveys essential cultivation teachings through poetic form. The first poem describes how refining genuine Qi (vital energy) can help one attain transcendent states. The second advises practitioners to emulate the freedom of drifting clouds and flowing water, suggesting that frequent reading of Daoist verses extends longevity—the key lies in consolidating the Golden Jing (kidney essence, the primordial energy) and maintaining compassion.

The third poem uses wine as a metaphor, observing that a hundred-year human life amounts to merely thirty-six thousand drunken revels, advocating retreat from worldly dust instead. The fourth confesses past reckless misdeeds, emphasizing constant mindfulness and seeking heaven's forgiveness. The fifth warns with vivid imagery—moths drawn to flames, fish lured by bait—cautioning against desire's pitfalls and urging timely spiritual practice.

The sixth mentions four Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) patriarchs—Tan Chuduan, Ma Yu, Qiu Chuji, and Liu Chuxuan—who attained luminous wisdom through Zhoutian cultivation (a Neidan/internal alchemy technique). The seventh depicts ascetics living simply, refining Bixia (inner elixir) by absorbing the Three Lights (sun, moon, stars). The eighth revisits the moth-fish allegory, revealing the body's inherent impurity and warning against superficial attachments.

In Wandering Huaichuan, clarity of heart-mind dissolves all entanglements, while broad-mindedness remains untainted by troubles. On Governance asserts that upright officials also cultivate Dao—loyalty, filial piety, and benevolence surpass monastic withdrawal. Later verses portray moonlit immortal wanderings and the meditative mind's stillness like jade-green pools.

The final trio exhorts worldly cultivation: a poem for Imperial Graduate Zhang notes how fleeting a century is—outshining the top exam honors with immortality; verses for Mother Zhao teach sincere practice rejuvenates; the closing piece urges heart-purification to perceive the mystery between existence and void. Throughout, Quanzhen's dual cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu) and Wuwei (non-action) philosophy permeate, employing metaphors to awaken desire's illusions and focus on the Dao.

These verses from the Shuiyun Ji (Water-Cloud Anthology) offer admonitions guiding people toward spiritual cultivation and awakening to the Dao. The first poem reveals that while the human heart originally possesses innate radiance, it becomes tainted by desires and emotions that deplete one's Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Only by severing carnal attachments and progressing step by step in practice can one reach the realm of immortals.

The second five-character poem elucidates cultivation methods: To study the Dao, one must shatter illusions and practice within emptiness, allowing one's true nature to return to its source—pure and natural as the bright moon and gentle breeze. It further emphasizes abstaining from wine, lust, wealth, and anger while relinquishing worries and obsessive thoughts. Only by cutting off clinging affections can one bloom with the pristine clarity of a five-petaled jade lotus.

The great Dao inherently maintains constant purity through Wuwei (non-action), requiring only alignment with nature. If one's mind remains unaltered, no amount of verbal instruction will avail. In solitary meditation, the taste of lofty serenity becomes most exquisite—transcending worldly concerns while silently safeguarding the Three Treasures (Dao, scriptures, and master).

One poem employs tea-making as a metaphor for cultivation: Gathering pistils from the波罗蜜 (pomegranate, symbolizing wisdom) to brew Prajñā (wisdom) tea, then steeping it in pure water—drinking this allows one to perceive the "yellow sprouts" (a Neidan term for nascent genuine Qi). By consistently viewing desires as suffering, one attains the alchemist's touch that turns stone to gold; by recognizing the body as mere dust, the moon illuminates immortal peaks.

With a tranquil mind and few words, harmonious breath naturally dissolves karmic obstructions, while Wuwei effortlessly dispels demonic hindrances. The poem praising the dawn cock lauds how its crowing hastens the moon's descent while summoning the eastern sunrise—extolling this virtue of awakening dreamers.

Regarding writing, it teaches that only by laying down brush and ink can one awaken to the Dao; only by forgetting words can one draw near the great Way. Open the true eye of Dao while abandoning false spiritual pursuits. Cultivating truth inevitably conflicts with worldly ways—one must drift like rootless tumbleweed, dissolving karmic ties through circumstance, facing death with equanimity yet transcending life and death. Disheveled appearances dull worldly edges; coarse tea and simple meals reject extravagance. Maintain purity through Wuwei while perpetually turning the gaze inward.

True Dharma cannot be conveyed through speech—only by severing judgments of self and other can one apprehend its mystery. Keep company with purity, poverty, and leisure; regard wealth and lust as sworn foes. To tread the immortal path in this life, one must merge with the Dao's emptiness. The final verses depict a practice scene: jeweled halls solemn with diligent incense offerings, constant veneration before sacred images. Through refinement, defilements dissolve—when Ling Mountain's mists scatter, the Mysterious Wind (primordial Qi) appears. As clouds and fog withdraw from the cauldron (Dantian), a single Golden Elixir is forged.

These passages from the Shuiyun Ji (Water Cloud Anthology) reveal essential insights and experiential states in Daoist cultivation. The first section describes a decade of silent practice culminating in the realization of water-fire harmony (where "water births the crimson phoenix" signifies kidney-water ascending and "fire nurtures the black tortoise" indicates heart-fire descending). This occurs as naturally as a breeze crossing mountain peaks or moonlight reflecting in a stream. The "demon-subduing sword" symbolizes genuine attainment that tames delusions (with the "flood dragon" representing distracting thoughts).

The second passage emphasizes the crucial principle of "cool heart and warm kidneys" (descending heart-fire and ascending kidney-water), understanding which marks true entry into the path. Idle wandering of the mind (the "horse-and-ape" metaphor for scattered consciousness) wastes vital essence (the "spiritual mushroom" representing primordial qi).

Section three employs Buddhist imagery ("a hair swallowing the ocean, a mustard seed containing Mount Sumeru") to illustrate the wondrous paradox of cultivation. Daily practice requires discernment in action and stillness, with complete mastery revealing the Dao ("bodhi" denoting enlightenment).

The fourth teaching identifies wine, lust, wealth, and anger as major obstacles—only by severing worldly attachments can one transcend. Even subtle lingering thoughts (the "spiritual source" being original mind) obstruct elixir formation (the inner alchemical achievement).

After six years refining away ignorance's vexations ("the fire of delusion") and a decade forging the "skeleton-renewing elixir," the fifth poem describes a luminous, unimpeded mind surpassing life and death.

The sixth stage portrays a decade-long journey to become "muddled and oblivious"—free from desire, even indifferent to cultivation itself ("extinguished fire" signaling cessation of craving).

Section seven likens the adept to a wild crane or solitary cloud, abiding in silent profundity ("the mysterious ultimate beyond words"), clear as autumn moonlight on a cold pool.

The poem for Xue Balang advises maintaining natural purity of body-mind to dwell in one's true nature. For Master Mu of Huashan, it praises his mountain asceticism—exploring serenity's mysteries ("quiet stillness probing the profound"), cultivating heart-nature ("mending the Jeta Grove" symbolizing perfected mind), taming the restless mind ("capturing apes and binding horses"), unattached to appearances ("needing no mountain-purchase coins"), until virtue's completion ("nature perfected, elixir crystallized").

The concluding Formless Song declares the Dao's attainment isn't material goods ("the mystic pearl isn't merchandise"). Through practice, one reaches the leakless state ("flawless steps into birthlessness"), radiating wisdom's glow ("fivefold auroral light"), realizing the wondrous emptiness where "being and nonbeing are both void—even void is void."

The first poem speaks of spiritual cultivation realms: People remain trapped in the cycle of the Three Realms (Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm) due to attachments and cravings. Awakening to one's original mind allows sudden enlightenment like the Tathagata Buddha. Those who spend their days parsing texts and empty discussions about sages are merely putting on spiritual airs—far inferior to genuine practice. When the mind reaches utmost purity, even the deliberate practice of "observing self-awareness" (an epithet of Guanyin Bodhisattva) becomes unnecessary, as natural and untainted as the sands of the Ganges. True cultivators roar like lions in the Jetavana Grove (where the Buddha preached)—how could foxes dare compete? The fragrance of jade stamens before the Hall of Bright Moon naturally blossoms into the Golden Lotus Dharma Assembly. Discard all pretentious cleverness—our intrinsic nature is complete, with nothing lacking. The spiritual spring gushing from the mountain perfectly cleanses deluded attachments. Since receiving teachings from Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, founder of Quanzhen Daoism), I've understood that cultivation transcends notions of progress or regression. Seeing through distinctions of wealth and poverty naturally dissolves karmic debts from past lives. Sheathing sharpness and concealing wisdom, I let the sun and moon turn as they will, living in accord with conditions.

The second poem uses a skull to warn the worldly: O skull, skull, why so ghastly? Only because in life you craved fine wine and fair faces. That once-charming smile, with flesh now decayed, has become bare bones. Clearly aging yet still insatiable—no wealth can be taken beyond. Desires endless but life finite, you end up this skeletal form. Know that obtaining this human body (which Daoism regards as endowed with Seven Treasures) is rare; life hangs by a thread—don’t drift with the tide. I deliberately paint your skull’s likeness—can you awaken today?

The third poem, "Downcast," is a practitioner’s account: In this downcast state, clad only in paper and cloth robes, I wave my hand and move forward, relinquishing all ties—finding joy in this lightness. Hungry, I eat; tired, I sleep, dwelling in the naturally cool realm. The sword of wisdom shines brilliantly, keeping all evil spirits at bay. Savoring true leisure, I avoid crooked paths. The true spirit (original nature) grows ever clearer, stepping freely onto misty paths. At the ultimate stage of real cultivation, words truly fail. In the crystal-pure palace of clarity, I’ve long seen through the illusion of spring blossoms and autumn moons.

An additional poem: This downcast Daoist, always in rough hemp robes, roams freely as he wills, unbound anywhere. Dwelling in deep mountains or city walls, I draw no talismans nor sell elixirs. Begging a single coin when hungry, once fed, all is fulfilled.

Set aside all trivial matters and live with leisurely ease. Carefully cleanse the mind of distracting thoughts—even concepts like "Dragon and Tiger" (the yin and yang qi) or "Infant and Maiden" (the original spirit and vital energy) discussed in cultivation should be released. Maintain silence and frequently drink the nectar of wisdom (symbolizing true understanding). Neither deliberately perform good deeds nor create evil; whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, abide in luminous emptiness. Preserve this serene and detached state of mind, allowing the body (composed of the four elements—earth, water, fire, and wind) to transform as it will.

Sever all calculating thoughts and abandon hopes of riding clouds or cranes. Remain content in humble leisure, accepting circumstances with equanimity. This follows the spirit of Uncle Danyang’s Song of the Twin Hair Buns.

Take Zhongli Quan, Lü Dongbin, and Liu Haichan as ancestral masters. Strike the jade bell and golden drum (referring to the internal qi mechanisms during practice), awakening the spark of spiritual clarity within, allowing the original spirit (shen) to dance freely. Though my actions may seem contrived, they contain genuine meaning; my true words bear no falsehood. Sweep away worldly concerns, harmonize yin and yang (the heart and kidneys, represented by the "Li man" and "Kan woman"), and let the "Yellow Matron" (the spleen’s intention) guide you through the Pure Land.

Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, whether wrapped in felt or covered by blankets, always abide in tranquility. Outwardly appearing half-foolish and half-dull, inwardly the mind remains perfectly clear. Few understand this state—only those who preserve purity, emptiness, and detachment. Joy and anger arise from the same source; only by overturning ordinary perception can one realize "you are me." Only after enduring countless trials and refining can one fully perceive the original face.

To disciples, he expounded: Ordinary beings cycle through birth and death because they cling to the notion of "having a mind." The master said, "When the mind arises, all phenomena arise; when the mind ceases, all phenomena cease." With not a single thought arising, one transcends life and death. Sentient beings produce ignorant minds due to the three poisons—greed, hatred, and delusion. Cultivation means severing attachments, smoothing sharp edges, subduing all unwholesome minds, and returning to the original face before one’s parents were born.

What is an unwholesome mind? It is the arising of ignorance in all circumstances—stinginess, greed, envy, lust, and endless calculating thoughts that ceaselessly emerge and vanish. These karmic obstructions obscure true nature; they must be thoroughly eradicated to illuminate the mind and perceive one’s nature. What does it mean to perceive one’s nature? It is maintaining a mind of constant purity, undistracted by illusory realms, abiding always in a state of emptiness-like freedom, where spirit (shen) and qi naturally merge.

When a practitioner truly comprehends the great matter of life and death, how could they still fear death? What sin would be worth dreading? The slightest emergence of impure thoughts becomes an obstacle to cultivation, preventing one from attaining true liberation. To reach the state of emancipation, fellow seekers must anchor their resolve like an unshakable mountain, advancing courageously without wavering. Even when encountering formidable demonic obstacles (referring to hindrances and trials in spiritual practice), one must exhaust all efforts in this lifetime without ever turning back. Only through such determination can one fulfill their predestined spiritual goals.

The Perfected Person Jin (a Daoist honorific for enlightened beings) taught: A mind of purity and tranquility is the path to heaven; scattered thoughts and mental obscurity form the gateway to hell.

These are four "Libation to the River Moon" lyrics composed by Tan Chuduan (Daoist name Changzhenzi), a patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, expounding insights into spiritual cultivation and essential techniques of neidan (internal alchemy) practice.

The first poem discusses lineage transmission. The three great patriarchs of our tradition—Zhongli Quan, Lü Dongbin, and Liu Cao (Haichan Zhenren)—transmitted profound Daoist teachings. Master Wang Chongyang (Chongyang Zhenren) imparted exquisite oral instructions, guiding disciples to collectively transcend the Three Realms (Desire Realm, Form Realm, and Formless Realm). Dao cultivation requires gradual exploration of true nature, stabilizing the spiritual root (innate essence), and slowly nurturing the "yellow sprouts" (initial signs of neidan emergence). Within the realm of emptiness, wisdom winds often bring auspicious responses. A single point of spiritual light penetrates infinity, roaming freely through the three thousand worlds where all phenomena shine with perfect radiance. All manifestations are ultimately empty, returning to original purity—external and internal distinctions prove to be inverted perceptions. This truth is profoundly mysterious; practitioners must realize it personally through silent contemplation to naturally comprehend the way of sages.

The second poem explores innate nature. The natural Dao originates from the fundamental source, where authentic spirit achieves perfect coalescence. A spark of spiritual illumination—undivided between inner and outer—brightens all mystical cavities (acupoints) throughout the body. Purity and detachment suit Dao cultivation; finding joy in poverty embodies supreme virtue. Only by transcending material desires can one attain carefree liberation, eternally maintaining luminous awareness undisturbed. Let the heart-mind dwell peacefully in the alchemical chamber (lower dantian), abiding constantly in clarity beyond debate. Such profundity defies verbal expression—one must grasp primordial yang (innate vital energy) through steadfast faith, diligently refining and gathering celestial authenticity (primordial qi). Everywhere, light reflects back upon itself; from fire emerges lotus blossoms (symbolizing neidan accomplishment), while desires extinguish like dying flames. All this becomes possible through encountering the master (Fengxian refers to Wang Chongyang), jointly transcending the Three Realms.

The third poem addresses returning to the origin. Why did luminous innate nature descend into mortal form? Contaminated by worldly glamour and attachments, it wandered lost from true essence. Long trapped in inescapable cycles, it now creates further karmic burdens. To recover original purity, one must sever sensory cravings, abandon emotional entanglements, and wander freely seeking mystical principles. Revel in the joy of solitary tranquility, unconcerned with physical emaciation. Seize the authentic qi (symbolized by rushing winds) to silently refine the golden elixir of return (advanced neidan). When the divine elixir manifests, life-death afflictions naturally subside.

The fourth poem describes neidan accomplishment. Jade blossoms (neidan phenomena) gradually unfold; pure winds hasten golden lotuses (symbolizing golden elixir completion), illuminating eons of delusion to directly reach wuwei (non-action) realization. Through sevenfold refinement processes (including transforming essence to qi), light reflects back to awaken threefold emptiness (self-emptiness, dharma-emptiness, and emptiness of emptiness). Where golden light flashes, diligent practice naturally accomplishes the infant sage (yang-spirit). This mystical process establishes eternal foundations from the first cultivation steps. Lotuses bear jade branches as spiritual wisdom grows, grateful for ancestral masters' compassionate protection. Within the cauldron (dantian), cloud-qi coalesces; inside the furnace, the golden elixir forms—through ninefold cyclical refinement comes ultimate perfection. Follow the master to roam Penglai's immortal isles together.

The concluding "Ode to Bamboo" appears to be an independent piece, though the text remains incomplete. Judging by the title, it likely uses bamboo as metaphor for the cultivator's virtues—hollow-hearted humility and unyielding integrity.

Plain Interpretation of Shuiyun Ji

On Bamboo:

I adore your elegant grove facing the cloud-veiled hermitage, the emerald bamboos I planted with my own hands now flourishing in clusters. Their verdant leaves, moist with dew, glisten softly, every leaf and stem tender and lush, gradually giving rise to tender shoots that outgrow even their parent stalks. The roots twist like coiling dragons; on nights of rustling wind and rain, moonlight filters through the leaves like scattered jade. Such refined beauty perfectly matches the secluded heart of a recluse. Sitting idly by the window, one is naturally accompanied by a cooling breeze—these bamboos will never wither. Their substance is extraordinary, far beyond common flowers and trees. They stand proud against frost and snow, hollow-hearted yet upright in character, embodying principles beyond the mundane. By nature, they carry an air of solitary nobility and serene detachment, growing daily in transcendent purity and bliss.

Mid-Autumn Moon Gazing:

On the Shangyuan Festival, the bright moon journeys westward, its light like unbleached silk leaping across the Milky Way. In the clear night sky, its cold radiance shines alone, impartially illuminating all under heaven. This flawless moonlight, unchanged through the ages, hangs in the sky like a crystalline mirror. Within the vermilion towers and jade pavilions of Mount Guye (a legendary immortal peak), hosts of immortals gather, their phoenixes and cranes pausing in flight. Auspicious clouds and numinous Qi envelop the golden halls, where rosy light interweaves. After feasting on peaches of immortality, the immortals ride away on rainbow clouds, their sleeves trailing fragrance. Gazing afar at Mount Song facing the silver platter of the moon, it seems as if they keep a celestial rendezvous.

On Wine:

Du Kang, the god of wine, distilled the essence of the sun, moon, and stars to brew this exquisite liquor—clear, rich, and mellow. A transcendent talent like Li Bai, inspired after drinking a gallon, could compose a hundred masterpieces. The village elder, drunk, is laughed at by children clapping their hands, while Tao Yuanming slumbers tipsily by the fence, the five willows outside keeping him company. Master Dongli forgets both life and death, while Tao’s mother cuts her hair to entertain virtuous guests. Kong Rong, carefree, fills his cup to the brim and laughs heartily. In this rare era of peace and prosperity, the bliss of the drunken realm is a timeless rarity. The springtime hues within this jade flask prolong life, making one’s spirit glow with vitality.

The Tale of Brother Tan:

Brother Tan once accumulated much karma to support his family. Fortunately, he encountered an immortal master who guided him eastward to the islands of the Three Provinces, where he persuaded the stubborn and foolish to turn toward goodness. Awakening to the truth of samsara, he abandoned greed and returned to the right path. Drifting with fate, he embraced a life of tranquil poverty and gentle humility, wandering freely like clouds and water. Later, passing through the immortal abodes of Huaizhou, he arrived at a noble county in deep autumn, as winter’s chill set in with no shelter from the cold. He had no choice but to beg for scraps of paper and cloth (a reference to Daoist alms-seeking), hoping fellow seekers would remember their shared path. Those who awaken may join as companions of cloud and mist, transcending worldly attachments in cultivation.

Another Passage:

Changzhenzi (a Daoist epithet) bows respectfully to all virtuous scholars, reminding them that the essence of cultivation lies in unwavering resolve. One must remain vigilant day by day, ever fearful of missteps. Austerity, poverty, and gentleness are not yet true peace—only through constant refinement can one attain the Dao.

True cultivation lies in restraining forceful vigor while maintaining inner purity and silence. There is no need to obsess over displaying talent and grace before others; rather, one should withdraw sharp edges and quietly refine the Dantian (the core energy center in Daoist practice). Through prolonged cultivation, when the work bears fruit, transmission will naturally come in unseen ways. Once merit and virtue are perfected, one may ride auspicious clouds to return to the celestial realm.

When first entering the gate of Daoist practice, the original intent was to transcend worldly dust and wander in carefree freedom. Yet after residing in the temple, one becomes occupied day and night with various affairs—coming and going only stirs up more dust. When will true cultivation ever be realized? Until one day, a sudden awakening comes: that initial spark of spiritual clarity was never troubled—why seek out unnecessary sorrow? From then on, like a falcon freed from its cage or a monkey released from its chains, one moves with complete ease, breaking all constraints.

Worldly people chase fame, profit, and desires, drowning in the illusory glamour of fleeting splendor. Unaware, their faces secretly age, and a hundred years pass like a flash of lightning. Only when the great limit arrives do they realize regret—but by then, it is too late. Better to awaken early, turn away from perilous paths, and step by step return to the immortal Dao. Clad in simple robes, befriending fellow cultivators, seeking the origin of life, and quietly awaiting the formation of the Golden Elixir (the fruit of internal alchemy), one may then appreciate the bright moon and clear breeze in true delight.

Life is like drifting on a vast sea of suffering—the most crucial thing is knowing to turn back. So-called love for wives and children are in truth karmic debts from past lives. Indulging in illusory splendor endlessly depletes the primordial Yang (the essence of life). When the great limit comes, even the cleverest cannot escape the underworld. Better to abandon greed and scheming early, devote oneself to the wondrous Dao, and avoid falling into the cycles of the three wretched realms.

Foolish beings are like moths drawn to flame, deeply bound by attachments to wives, concubines, and children. When life ends, they must journey alone to the Yellow Springs. But if awakened, one may forsake fleeting glamour and worldly affections, calm the mind in practice, gradually grow indifferent to mundane ties, nurture the spirit and Qi, conceal name and fame, and refine the spiritual nature in simple tea and plain meals. Ultimately, the state of a true person will manifest, reaching the supreme realm of emptiness and luminous void.

These poems from the Shuiyun Ji convey the essential teachings of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practice. The first poem advises Master Mu that the Daoist path begins with severing worldly ties—as Patriarch Wang Chongyang taught, one must "cast aside sons and wives" to transcend familial attachments. Practitioners should beg for food on the streets to endure the cold, wear simple paper-cloth robes, and live with total acceptance. The key lies in maintaining a soft and humble mind, gently simmering delusions like a low flame until "monkeys are captured and horses tethered"—the restless mind is subdued. When one attains the wuwei (non-action) state of purity, they naturally align with the true master's realm. By concentrating shen (spirit) and gathering qi (vital energy), the spiritual elixir crystallizes within. At the culmination of practice, one points leisurely toward Penglai, the Isle of Immortals, riding auspicious clouds homeward.

The poem for Master Zhao emphasizes courageous refinement. Though Zhao renounced worldly glamor upon entering the Dao, the poet reminds him that mere situational practice pales beside the lotus-like purity of a transformed heart-fire. When conflicts arise, respond with tolerance; when illness strikes, rest motionless as the dead—never yearn for home. With resolve steadfast as the sages', divine beings will silently bear witness. When desire's flames extinguish, yellow sprouts (a neidan term for nascent primordial qi) emerge in the spiritual crucible. Selflessness enables the dual cultivation of nature and life; a purified heart-mind coalesces cinnabar. At achievement's peak, a crane-drawn chariot awaits to escort one skyward.

To Zhang Jiulang, the verses reveal that heaven and hell exist within a single thought. To transcend the delusions of life and death, first relinquish household ties, beg openly with outstretched hands, and find contentment in austerity. Wander cloud-and-water free, yet hold fast to purpose. When past karma dissolves, profound celestial mechanics become palpable. A serene mind is the ultimate treasure, crystallizing the golden elixir in the dantian (energy center). But the slightest transgression invites calamity. Upon true awakening, one joins the immortals at Penglai's three isles.

For Elder Brother Feng of Chang'an, the lines teach that urging virtue in others and cultivating oneself are complementary. Daoist practice requires leaving society's dust, disregarding status like Longxi's master (likely Ma Danyang) who strictly upheld precepts. Cultivate mountain-moving determination and flawless virtue. When merit ripens, one roams cloud-water realms in spirit-qi unity. The great elixir forged, the Penglai path unfolds.

Though the poem for Elder Brother Liu Changsheng survives only in title, its theme clearly aligns with these cultivation exhortations. Quanzhen's "living dead" method permeates these verses—renunciation, alms-seeking, embracing poverty, and mind-refinement all aim to forge the great elixir and ascend to Penglai. Terms like "yellow sprouts," "cinnabar," and "great elixir" are neidan (internal alchemy) parlance for progressive transformations of jing (essence), qi, and shen.

The Shuiyun Ji passage contains a letter and four lyric poems, revealing a Daoist practitioner's approach to life and cultivation insights.

The letter section features Chuduan Daoren's reply to Immortal Liu. The essence reads: After three years apart, I think of you whenever facing the wind or moon. Receiving your letter and learning of your well-being brings me joy. Ashamed that my worldly ties remain unbroken, I currently dwell between Cizhou and Luoyang as circumstances allow, unable to visit as planned—please forgive this clumsy old man. I intend to pay respects next spring, wishing you autumn peace. Signed: "Your junior Chuduan bows before Elder Brother Tongmiao."

The subsequent Man Ting Fang lyric critiques worldly desires: Those who amass wealth through deceit and hoard through stinginess, upon quiet reflection, will realize the karmic consequences of supporting households through such means. Time flies—black hair turns white in a blink—who escapes life's century? Daily toil proves futile. I urge awakening and repentance, accumulating blessings during leisure to dissolve misfortunes. The superior path lies in abandoning material shackles to cultivate amid mountains and streams, maintaining serenity through daily incense meditation.

The second poem depicts cultivation states: When smoke dissipates and clouds clear on tranquil autumn nights, maintain crystalline awareness while silently practicing neidan (internal alchemy; "knife and spoon" refers to alchemical terminology). Auspicious vapors gather in the cauldron as spiritual medicine, freely wandering to visit fellow adepts. Living by circumstance—eating when hungry, resting where night falls. Let sun and moon revolve while temporarily idling in the dusty world—upon completing the work, ascension to immortality follows naturally (the "Jade Pool" signifies celestial realms).

The third poem tames the ox-mind metaphor: This stubborn ox with its thieving habits—always stealing crops—must be firmly tethered by the nose ring and whipped to reform old ways. When it finally turns around in awakening, it can rest peacefully on mountain slopes, relinquishing all attachments. Ultimately, man and ox roam freely through clouds, piping and singing, returning at dusk to find only autumn moonlight—symbolizing the liberated state after subduing deluded thoughts.

The final verse reveals essential cultivation methods: Seek not externally—the wondrous true nature resides within. Severing all attachments enables shen (spirit) and qi to merge (key Daoist terminology). Simply resolve firmly, using wisdom's sword to cut through ignorance. Understand? Complete renunciation perfects xing (innate nature) and ming (vitality), realizing the sublime realm of true emptiness.

The poems from Shuiyun Ji primarily discuss how practitioners must transcend worldly desires to attain a realm of purity and naturalness.

The first poem, dedicated to Commander Wang of Junzhou, employs metaphors of moths drawn to flames and bees greedy for honey to depict how ordinary people remain trapped in desire. True cultivation requires severing worldly attachments—using the sword of wisdom to cut through clinging thoughts, leaving behind hometown and family to become a carefree recluse ("a wanderer amidst mist and clouds"). Dressed in simple robes, one nurtures primordial Qi (vital energy) wherever circumstances lead, passing time by composing poetry. Throughout history, awakened individuals have understood that cultivation isn’t measured by outward achievements, nor does it require empty talk of immortals or Penglai (the mythical paradise).

The second poem, written for Zhao, a palace graduate of Fuchang County, states that scholarly honors may seem noble, but chasing them is like chasing the illusion of the "Yellow Millet Dream" (a metaphor for fleeting vanity). Even literary giants like Sima Xiangru and Du Fu could not escape impermanence. One must see through worldly glamor, break free from mundane ties, and live like drifting clouds or wild cranes. By maintaining inner clarity and refining the Golden Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy), one can eventually transcend the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness).

The two Shuilong Yin poems further elaborate on key cultivation principles: pursuing supreme enlightenment requires resolute determination, free from hesitation. Gradually, the mortal body’s impurities must be transformed into an immortal’s bones, step by step advancing toward the cool shore of liberation. Abandon cunning schemes and reach a state where "fire extinguishes and ice congeals"—a metaphor for perfect stillness—keeping company with those who embody longevity. Upon realizing the profound truth of emptiness and completing the ninefold refinement of the Golden Elixir, one may revisit Penglai’s immortal isles.

The conclusion emphasizes humanity’s original nature—pure and harmonious—yet obscured by worldly dust. Sentient beings drown in the sea of suffering due to passions and delusions. One must urgently awaken to the truth of cyclic existence, overturn the dust-laden mind, and attain a state where "mist disperses and fire fades"—a serene clarity—while steadfastly cultivating the path of eternal life in quiet dedication.

Guard the inner furnace of cultivation (metaphor for the place of spiritual practice), diligently tempering oneself through three thousand merits (referring to accumulated virtuous deeds from prolonged cultivation) to lay the foundation for future attainment.

Legends speak of three immortal mountains in the sea, hiding divine herbs that grant ascension to immortality. Emperor Qin Shi Huang believed these tales and sent Xu Fu eastward to the Penglai Immortal Isle. Yet all he found were boundless clouds and waves, raging winds and tides—until even the young boys and girls aboard the ship grew old without glimpsing that ethereal paradise. The vast misty waters broke his heart—when would he ever arrive? Alas, how deluded mortals are, pointlessly breeding endless worldly troubles, unaware that their own delusions obscure the innate true nature (the pure essence inherent in all beings).

Upon sudden awakening, one casts aside worldly ties and abides in the realm of serene Wuwei (non-action). When the practice matures, the mind becomes crystal clear, the innate nature perfect, and the Golden Elixir (the highest achievement in Neidan/internal alchemy) coalesces—as if one had consumed the immortals’ divine herbs. Auspicious clouds cradle the three immortal peaks, the very playground of celestial beings. Within the depths of these radiant mists lie jade towers and gem palaces, their splendor faintly visible amidst the mountain’s glow, as if a jade spring cascaded from cliffs shaped like an immortal’s palm. A crescent moon hangs like a hook atop the peaks, flawless and translucent; emerald ridges layer upon each other in lush verdure, while the cries of apes and cranes echo intermittently.

Here I lament the fetters of the mundane world: love and enmity, fame and fortune, all rushing away like flowing water. How many can transcend and ascend? Better to linger in this celestial paradise, unmoving, contemplating the essence of Yin-Yang (the fundamental cosmic principles).

Lyrics to "Dreamlike Song" (Rumeng Ling):

Gather the mirror-medicine (metaphor for the work of refining the mind) and preserve the unadorned nature. If no kindred spirit is found, this ancient mirror (referring to the original mind) must be polished by oneself to shine brightly. What joy—finally rolling out a full, luminous moon (symbolizing the state of complete awakening).

Wearing a bamboo hat and crown, drinking from a bamboo bowl—these everyday objects are my companions. Walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, maintaining a mind free of attachments is to reach the cool shore of liberation. O madman, O madman, unaffected by the turning of sun and moon.

Simply sweep the spiritual terrace (the mind) often, cherishing one’s true nature. To grow a lotus in the fire of affliction—this is the profound wonder of practice. Upside down, upside down—when external conditions dissolve, the original mind naturally brightens.

Keep emptiness as a companion, severing ties of desire and emotion. Daily cultivate the work of stillness, abiding eternally in this divine temple and ancient shrine. O madman, O madman—there is no other way beyond this.

Nurture this physical form (the body) in accordance with conditions, free and joyful in every movement. Roam leisurely within the realm, utterly unburdened by life and death. Endure, endure—until complete liberation is attained.

Transcend the world and wander freely, each step treading upon cool clouds. In idleness, play with emptiness—there awaits a divine appointment at Penglai. Look, look—carefully strip away all worldly sentiments.

The Dao (the Way), as the origin of the cosmos, is nameless and ineffable—there is no need to impose artificial distinctions. The best time for cultivation is when all attachments dissolve as naturally as flames extinguishing and smoke dispersing. Learn to let go of fixation, embracing spontaneity like admiring spring blossoms and autumn moons.

The essence of Daoist practice lies in returning to the pure original mind, severing worldly thoughts. When delusions vanish like extinguished flames and scattered smoke, preserve the primordial Qi (Yuan Yang)—this is the swift path to longevity.

Long ago, Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang) guided me into the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, refining delusion with the fire of wisdom. Cultivation must be grounded in steady, step-by-step practice.

Fully embody clarity and Wuwei (non-action), without discriminating between high and low, noble and humble. When self-attachment is utterly released, a true master (Zhenshi) will naturally appear to enlighten you. Just as when clouds part, every household may behold the bright moon.

Daily practice requires clearing distracting thoughts, taming the restless "mind-monkey and thought-horse" (metaphor for wandering thoughts). With open hands, beg for alms while guarding the heart against greed. How can one attain realization while bound by desire?

Detachment from worldly sentiments is not arrogance—neither despising poverty nor coveting wealth. Maintain the carefree freedom of drifting clouds and flowing water, fully embodying the Dao of Wuwei.

Do not lament the fading of brotherly ties, for cultivation demands freedom from worldly bonds. Crave neither fine wine nor delicacies; focus instead on refining the ninefold-circulated cinnabar (Neidan practice).

Be an untrammeled hermit, wandering freely like the clouds. When the day comes to return to the source, share immortal wine with fellow seekers.

Each day, contemplate the inner radiance, protecting the true heart from defilement. Pure as gold and jade, untouched by life and death. When merit is fulfilled, ride the clouds home alone.

A message for fellow cultivator Wang Silang of Junzhou: Do not cling to fleeting pleasures—better to follow the example of Tan Chuduan (one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen). Nourish the body well, and we shall drink the wine of immortality together.

An admonition for Third Aunt of Captain Wang’s household: To cultivate amid worldly life, first dissolve discriminating thoughts. Abide in humble poverty and gentleness, unwavering in devotion. True virtue lies in benefiting others by diminishing oneself.

For Jia Xinshi of Xiuwu: This Master Jia practices the Dao with daily humility. To behold the original face, subdue the mind-monkey in idle hours. Emulate Tan Chuduan in severing idle speech and deluded thoughts.

The poems in Shuiyun Ji discuss how Daoist practitioners should view worldly life and the essential methods for cultivating one's nature.

The first poem, addressed to fellow practitioners Zhang and Li, laments how people are obsessed with fleeting pursuits like fame, wealth, and sensual pleasures. If one can see through worldly attachments and cultivate alongside like-minded companions, supporting each other, they can maintain lasting purity of body and mind.

The second poem is dedicated to a wine merchant in Wenxiang County. Though Master Jia makes a living selling wine, the poet recognizes his inherent goodness. If he can later renounce mundane affairs and attain the state of Wuwei (non-action), the Yin-Yang energies (symbolized by dragon and tiger) within him will harmonize, forming the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and transcending the cycle of life and death.

The following Xijiang Yue verses outline key points for refining the heart: human afflictions all stem from restless thoughts—only by clearing mental clutter can wisdom arise. There's no need to wander afar seeking the Dao; simply guard the "inch-square heart" (one's inner core) and polish the mind like a precious mirror. When the spirit becomes luminous and transparent, one naturally perceives the Dao directly.

Cultivation isn't about external seeking—the spiritual seedling (lingmiao) is inherently within. Labor diligently like an iron ox plowing fields to recognize one's original face, maintaining upright body and mind without being led astray by delusions. Draw the six-jun bow with full strength, ensuring each arrow hits the bullseye—such precision mirrors the focused effort needed in practice.

After sudden awakening to the truth of rebirth, persistent cultivation remains vital. When desire's flames extinguish and vital essence (symbolized by five-petaled lotus blooms) fills the body, with the three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) purified, one transcends the mundane.

To enter Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practice, maintain purity in all activities—walking, standing, sitting, lying down. Release worldly trivialities without obsessing over alchemical jargon (like "yellow sprouts and white snow" or "dragon-tiger infant"). Sever attachments to wealth and lust, and immortality's realm appears naturally.

The verses sigh over time's swift passage—people fret endlessly, chasing illusions like fools. Better to renounce fame and gaze at the mountain moon—this luminous clarity is everyone's innate pure heart.

Finally, the Daoist lifestyle: wear paper robes against winter chill, beg for alms when hungry—even scraps sustain. Gentleness and poverty avoid calamity, for all misfortune springs from restless thoughts. Stabilize the heart to guard the "true embryo" (one's primordial nature), then wander freely like clouds and flowing water.

This passage depicts the transcendent and carefree lifestyle of Daoist practitioners. Unconcerned with material comforts, they beg for leftovers when hungry and add coarse cloth for warmth when cold, cheerfully embracing their apparent foolishness. Having relinquished worldly attachments, they pursue the state of serene Wuwei (non-action), roaming freely like solitary clouds or wild cranes, utterly unconstrained.

Their cultivation life is simple and unadorned—two plain meals a day sustain a mind of pristine clarity, through which they discover unique joy. Neither forcing practice nor clinging to attainment, they maintain leisurely composure while wandering freely amid clouds and streams, comprehending profound and mysterious truths. Though outwardly disheveled, they find contentment in spontaneous living—this embodies true unrestrained elegance.

Practitioners remain ever vigilant against external influences disturbing their inner peace. They neither indulge in artistic pleasures nor covet material things, preserving mental purity. Good and evil both arise from the heart—benevolence brings tranquility while malice breeds chaos. One should flow naturally like drifting clouds and flowing water, seeking companions of like aspiration.

The text concludes by urging cultivators to recognize their original nature, diligently polishing the mirror of the heart to remove greed, anger, and delusion. Through silent dedication, they will ultimately receive a true master’s guidance. Only by returning to pristine essence can one attain the realm of immortals. Throughout, the passage emphasizes core Daoist principles: releasing attachments, preserving innate nature, and practicing in harmony with circumstance.

This passage is a collection of cultivation poetry from the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, conveying essential teachings on spiritual practice and exhortations to follow the Dao. The core message states:

The true principle of the great Dao (the Way) lies in Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness. It requires no artificial striving or forced cultivation—merely maintaining inner purity allows one to attain the Dao. When practice reaches completion, auspicious clouds encircle celestial palaces, and radiant Qi (vital energy) lingers around jade towers. The mind becomes as carefree as drifting clouds, while the body rests like an old boat moored at a ferry, achieving a state of luminous emptiness that resonates with the Dao. It resembles a white ox lying peacefully on dewy ground or the bright moon shining serenely over mountain peaks.

Worldly people, deluded by illusory wealth and glory, chase after floating blossoms, unaware of time’s swift passage. As the stars of the Northern and Southern Dippers shift, black hair turns white. A hundred years of life pass like a fleeting dream; even reaching seventy is rare. I urge all to awaken early—the sea of suffering in the cycle of rebirth is boundless. Do not delay spiritual practice. Quickly dispel karmic debts from past lives and devote yourself to cultivation without delay.

With reverence, I advise fellow seekers: Subdue the wandering mind; do not exhaust yourself searching externally. Wasting time idly is not true practice. Unless you shatter self-attachment and dissolve the afflictions of ignorance, the fires of the three poisons (greed, anger, and delusion) will consume you. The original spiritual nature knows no hierarchy—those who truly attain the Dao ascend step by step toward higher realms.

Foolish people cling to fame and profit, bound by the ocean of desire and the mountain of worldly attachments, drowning in wine, lust, and material pursuits. Know that wealth and honor vanish like lightning—turn back before it’s too late. Silently explore the profound mysteries, content with poverty and leisure, living in harmony with circumstances. A cultivator’s duty is to abide in Wuwei and purity. When merit matures, you will naturally feast at the jade pools of the immortals.

The following poems offer encouragement to fellow practitioners: To Lord Taiyuan, I advise releasing the suffering of illness—the path of sages can deliver him. Few since ancient times live to seventy; sever worldly ties decisively and return to your original purity to nurture the spirit. Past misdeeds will fade through three thousand virtuous deeds, until you and fellow seekers may share the beauty of green mountains, clear waters, gentle breezes, and the bright moon.

To Master Wang, I urge him to cherish his karmic affinity with the Dao and not be hindered by a quarrelsome wife or unruly children. In practice, employ the method of Wuwei externally, taming wild horses and capturing restless monkeys to subdue deluded thoughts. Free from attachment to worldly homes, you will surely become a transcendent wanderer beyond material concerns.

Finally, the text emphasizes the crux of cultivation: There is no need to forcibly pursue the "infant and maiden" (Neidan/internal alchemy terms)—recognize your original nature instead. Withdraw from worldly disturbances, maintain correct awareness, and see through the fickleness of human affairs.

The Shuiyun Ji poetry passage primarily discusses how Daoist practitioners must transcend worldly fame and fortune to return to original simplicity. The phrase "frivolous worldly affairs" refers to mundane disturbances, urging readers to relinquish these illusory pursuits. "Cultivating truth within apparent emptiness" means practicing genuine nature in seemingly void states to achieve a "serenely detached" (qingling tuosa) condition of purity and transcendence.

"Noon stillness diminishes the true" describes midday meditation to reduce distractions and align with the Dao's emptiness. The poet criticizes those exhausting themselves for "illusory fame and profit," advising timely repentance and renunciation of worldly splendor. "Fish frolicking in the cauldron" metaphorically portrays desires as fish swimming in a pot—ultimately transient.

The "Azure Jade Table" section depicts cultivation: silently maintaining practice while introspecting (fanzhao) to reach the dust-free state of "no internal or external afflictions." The "demon-subduing sword" symbolizes the tool for severing karmic bonds, while "entering longevity's gate" signifies attaining eternal life through practice.

The "Ode to Tea" section uses tea as a Daoist metaphor: "Yin-Yang's initial meeting" represents water and fire interacting, while "spiritual buds" embody the tea leaves' cosmic vitality. "Bitter yet sweet" subtly conveys cultivation's initial hardship yielding ultimate bliss.

The closing passages emphasize cultivation's joy surpassing material wealth: "Emptiness embodied without a coin surpasses Shi Chong's riches" (the ancient tycoon). The "divine ferry to the far shore" symbolizes liberation from suffering, while "Caoxi's path" references the Sixth Chan Patriarch Huineng's way of enlightenment. Throughout, the recurring motif of "leisurely ease" (xianxian) embodies the Daoist ideal of serene wuwei (non-action) and carefree transcendence.

People may laugh at my poverty, yet my inner being is profoundly rich. Here, "poverty" refers to material simplicity, while "richness" signifies the abundance of spiritual attainment. This statement expresses the Daoist practitioner's transcendence of worldly values—even if one appears destitute outwardly, the heart attains genuine fulfillment through cultivation of the Dao. The Shuiyun Ji (Water-Cloud Anthology) is an essential scripture of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, emphasizing Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and the refinement of one's innate nature.

In his lyric poem "Spring in a Pleasure Garden," Tan Chuduan of the Changzhen lineage from Mount Kunlun reveals the vanity of worldly desires. He observes how humans, confined within finite physical forms, chase after infinite cravings—like futile struggles pulled by karmic forces from past lives. Familial bonds, material comforts and daily necessities may seem important, yet they prove as transient as passing clouds. When death arrives, no worldly attachment can substitute for one's own liberation. True wisdom lies in awakening early to transcend material obsessions, for delayed enlightenment may come too late.

He admonishes seekers not to search externally for mysteries, as residual worldly thoughts transform every path into demonic obstacles. One must return to the primordial Dao-nature (yuanchu benyou, the originally inherent truth) through cultivation that purifies delusions, ultimately attaining authentic tranquility and compassionate freedom. After a thousand days of dedicated practice, the spiritual terrace (lingtai, referring to the heart-mind) will naturally radiate light, illuminating the path of Wuwei (non-action).

A hundred years vanish like fleeting shadows, yet people exhaust themselves chasing empty fame and illusory profits. Even if one attains wealth and status, these prove as ephemeral as mirages. Only through timely awakening can one escape this sea of suffering. Recognize all worldly matters as emptiness—only the primordial Dao-nature constitutes eternal treasure. Gradually wipe away the dust of attachments, nurture your spiritual root like tending plants, until golden blossoms and jade branches (symbolizing alchemical achievements) emerge, liberating you from the cycle of birth and death.

How could those obsessed with fame, power, or sensual pleasures endure the austere cultivation of the mysterious Dao? Only by seeing through the illusions of samsara can one sever the karmic entanglements of creditors and loved ones. Better to don simple blue robes, living with unforced spontaneity—free as drifting clouds and wild cranes. When even the desire for enlightenment extinguishes, the road to hell transforms into Penglai's immortal isles.

Throughout history, fools and sages alike ultimately follow the sun and moon into the yellow springs. Consider Zhang Er and Chen Yu who turned from allies to enemies over fame, or Emperor Chen who lost his kingdom to decadence—the once-magnificent temples of Chu and Han dynasties now lie buried beneath weeds. These illusory traces of the past evoke sighs, warning later generations against clinging to fleeting glories.

In this fleeting human existence, chasing fame and fortune is like bustling about in a dream. Far better to see through worldly illusions and return to a life of pristine simplicity. Cultivating the Dantian (the core energy center in Neidan practice) allows one to transcend the cycle of life and death, escaping the sea of suffering to reach the cool, liberated shore of wisdom. Gathering with fellow Daoist seekers in carefree immortal realms, we jointly seek the Peach Blossom Spring beyond this world.

Time flies—our physical bodies (composed of the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind, a Buddhist term referring to mortal form) will ultimately dissolve into emptiness. The world's disputes and conflicts cannot endure; who can guarantee they won't fall back into samsara? From dawn to dusk, we are bound by family ties and entangled in attachments, while our true spirit drifts through endless rebirths in the sea of suffering. We must awaken, finding liberation within ourselves and courageously facing the great matter of life and death. Let the wise listen carefully to these subtle truths: relinquish meaningless worries and seek the profound mysteries; be content with a simple, leisurely life, free from malicious thoughts; return to your original nature and manifest fresh insight; maintain integrity and impartiality, always embracing equanimity; be open-hearted and carefree, flowing with spontaneity. True cultivation accumulates gradually in this unhurried way, ultimately realizing the Great Dao.

The poem Gazing at the Tide says:

The Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition teaches the Great Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and serenity, yet worldly people remain shackled by countless obstacles. How lamentable that we bring suffering upon ourselves—better to wander freely like clouds and wild cranes. Without deluded thoughts or slanderous speech, may all soon see through this fleeting illusion. When the Daoist patriarch Laozi journeyed west, he still had to avoid the shifting sands (an allusion to the Scripture of Laozi's Conversion of the Barbarians). How much more should we return to the roots of practice, gathering with fellow seekers to enjoy boundless true joy. Feasting in halls of emptiness and stillness, we partake in the Peach Banquet, raising cups of celestial nectar together. Adorned with jade blossoms, we refine the mysterious Golden Elixir. When merit and practice reach fulfillment, we’ll board the immortal raft and ascend together.

Alas, in this gaudy world, how few truly awaken? All are beguiled by mundane spectacles—faces wither with age, yet we cling desperately to romantic attachments. The sea of desire has no shore; driven by the sun and moon (symbolizing time), black hair turns white in the blink of an eye. When the impermanence of death arrives, what method can help us escape? Better to awaken swiftly, casting aside worldly ties—externally severing mundane affairs, internally fortifying the foundation. Master the three thousand secret essentials (core cultivation techniques), accumulate eight hundred hidden virtues (unseen good deeds), and practice with unwavering sincerity. Strolling through clouds and mist, we recognize the essence of sun, moon, and stars coalescing into the Elixir. When the work is complete, we’ll ride the spirit raft through the constellations.

The poem Unrestrained Freedom says:

I willingly embrace quiet poverty and leisure, passing days in simple contentment—free from calamity. Eating humble meals untouched by worldly flavors, a single bowl warms me through. Others’ affairs don’t concern me; lately, I’ve seen through all before my eyes. Serenely following conditions, whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—all is perfect liberation.

The Shuiyun Ji (Water-Cloud Collection) poems convey the Daoist cultivation principle of relinquishing attachments to return to one's original nature.

The first poem compares spiritual practice to trimming a candlewick to maintain its light and honing the sword of wisdom to sever worldly afflictions. When all mundane ties are released, the practitioner transcends ordinary existence—like rosy clouds rising from water or snow-capped peaks shedding their frozen waves. Let the vital essences (Jing) and energies (Qi) intertwine like tigers and dragons around the alchemical cauldron (Dantian); forging the Golden Elixir (Jindan) becomes the stairway to celestial ascent.

The second poem depicts the enlightened mind: observing the Southern Mountain’s drifting clouds with detachment, feeling serenity even in the Wei River’s icy winds. The boundless sky is mirrored in clarity—a sword unsheathed in brilliance, moonlight illuminating the railing in transparency. Here, the heart rests in undisturbed tranquility.

The third satirizes those enslaved by fame and wealth—"living ghosts" who abandon their true nature for fleeting familial attachments. When the great limit (death) arrives, they find neither ascension nor escape from hell’s descent. The fourth reveals wisdom’s blade severs delusions; true cultivation requires no external search. The white lotus (symbol of purity) blooms amid flames, and the equanimity of meditation (Anren) transcends life and death.

Later verses emphasize core tenets: do not obsess over forcing the Dragon-Tiger (Yin-Yang energies); nurture innate spiritual clarity instead. Introspect faults rather than scrutinize others’. Extinguish greed and lust; refine the Three Treasures (Jing-Qi-Shen) within, expel the Three Corpses (parasitic demons) without. Cultivation ignites the heart’s lamp to dispel ignorance—holiness arises naturally, never through coercion.

The closing critique targets hypocrites who study Daoism yet crave wine and meat, flaunting occult arts while misunderstanding the Dao. Authentic practice realizes all phenomena are empty; only by releasing attachments can one attain immortality. The collection’s essence reminds cultivators: the true Dao (Way) lies not in outward forms but in turning inward to illuminate the self.

(Note: Parenthetical terms like Dantian and Jindan appear only on first occurrence per glossary rules.)

Cultivation is like refining the heart into cooled ashes—one must relinquish obsession, greed, vanity, and material wealth. How can one attain the Dao-fruit while clinging to distinctions between "self" and "others"? How can the true embryo (referring to the achieved Neidan, or internal elixir) be nurtured while entangled in disputes of right and wrong? Only by extinguishing ignorance and afflictions can one behold the golden palaces of the celestial court; only by severing the seven emotions and six desires can one pay homage to the jade steps of the immortal realm. True practice requires quenching the mundane fire of worldly attachments—deep within the lowest recesses of the heart lies the Penglai Mountain of the immortals.

The innate true nature of a person is the profound mechanism of the Dao, comprehended only in moments of awakened clarity. When the fires of desire are extinguished and scattered thoughts dissolve, the great medicine (Neidan) can be refined. When external distractions are forgotten and the mind is purified, the wisdom of bodhi naturally appears. Emptiness, stillness, leisure, and Wuwei (non-action) are the true path of immortality; solitude and non-striving are the very steps to transcend the mundane world. To generate no clinging or deluded thoughts—this is the essence of cultivation.

Practice should be as effortless as chanting fallen petals—diminishing attachments, resting in ease and spontaneity. By day, refrain from gossiping about others; at all times, adjust the biases of the mind. There is no need to stray from the original heart in search of elixirs (do not seek externally), nor to wander in pursuit of the mysterious. Simply maintain the Lingtai (mind-heart) empty and luminous, free of all things—naturally, the ninefold-refined Golden Elixir (the highest level of Neidan) will be achieved.

Cultivation is neither easy nor difficult—the key lies in responding to all things with compassion while preserving inner tranquility. Even in the clamor of the marketplace, a purified mind is like dwelling in mountain forests; with no worldly concerns, living in the city resembles retreating to deep mountains. Regularly till the field of the pure heart and steadfastly abide in the realm of Wuwei. With prolonged and single-minded practice, the Purple Golden Elixir (symbolizing the highest attainment) will naturally coalesce.

Do not claim that cultivation is easy—one must constantly diminish attachments and nurture the true Qi (vital energy). When eating, contemplate sharing with fellow practitioners, for wealth and material things may deplete the primordial Qi (Xiyi). Among people, be cautious in speech and conduct; in solitude, guard against the galloping mind. Throughout the twelve double-hours, frequently turn inward to observe—secretly examine whether selfishness lingers.

For Lord Wang (styled Yun'an):

Lord Wang retreats from fine foods, guarding the spiritual root (Linggen) to preserve inner peace. Though dwelling in the marketplace, his mind is like a mountain; though amid worldly dust, he is free of desire. Nurturing the Shen (spirit) requires maintaining warmth; when Qi cultivation succeeds, one naturally withstands heat and cold. Unwavering in constancy, the precious Neidan (Langgan) will form of itself.

For Lord Guo:

Quiet delusions, reduce worldly affairs to cultivate the root—in silence and simplicity, accord with nature. Accumulate virtue and benevolence, emulating Confucius and Mencius; live in reclusion, preserving integrity like Yan Hui (Yan Yuan). In stillness, contemplate the autumn moon; in deep awareness, perceive the profound wind of midsummer. Who can compare to the realm of poetry, wine, zither, and books? This recluse often rests like the sleeping dragon.

Excerpts from "Gazing at Penglai" (Five Poems):

True cultivation requires daily diminishment of attachments, yet everywhere one is revered and supported. What seems like worldly advantage is actually true practice—step by step treading the azure mud (the path of cultivation). Content with poverty and simplicity...

This passage depicts the life attitude and spiritual cultivation of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist practitioners. Outwardly indistinguishable from ordinary people, they quietly gather spiritual herbs (the lingzhi mushroom symbolizing cultivation attainments) within, awaiting the moment of ascension.

Practitioners warn the world: obsessive pursuit of material gains ultimately harms oneself—what appears as profit turns out to be loss. True wisdom surpasses surface dullness, as cultivation focuses on inner refinement rather than external forms. By concentrating on the present moment, one naturally transcends worldly troubles, progressing step by step toward wuwei (non-action).

The crux of cultivation lies in comprehending the "Kan-Li" principle (the Water and Fire trigrams from the Bagua, symbolizing yin-yang harmonization). When primordial qi (vital energy) arises within, one must master the method of reversal and understand the waxing-waning rhythm of yin-yang. Profound truths prove surprisingly accessible—no need for external seeking, as enlightenment emerges from within (bodhi meaning awakening). Through cultivating the physical form, one ultimately realizes the realm of non-action (muni referring to Buddha-nature), eventually attaining cloud-riding ascension.

The marvelous Dao of Quanzhen manifests in selfless detachment—no forced action, no sensory attachments. Maintaining humble softness, transcending distinctions of closeness or distance, practitioners willingly embrace austere solitude. Within this mystical state emerges true freedom, returning to the original serene stillness. When merit becomes complete, one joins the ranks of immortals.

Daily life follows karmic flow, dissolving past obstructions. Under mountain-top moonlight, they maintain crystal-clear awareness—unattached to cultivation proofs, transcending karmic cycles, wandering freely as if crossing the sea of suffering. Ultimately, with perfected merit, they reach the Penglai paradise.

Through master's guidance, they transcend suffering's sea, abandoning worldly pursuits for metaphysical wonders. Abiding in joyful realms, indifferent to wealth or poverty, making no distinction between foolishness and wisdom. Step by step along the cool refreshing path, roaming at ease. Without forced pursuit of immortality, they follow destiny's course. Grateful for Heaven's protection, they dwell content in impoverished simplicity—a single coin sufficing. Shedding attachments, they savor leisurely delights, letting years flow by in quiet wuwei.

During the Double Ninth Festival, practitioners drift like clouds across horizons. Sharing wine with fellow cultivators, admiring chrysanthemums and sunset clouds. Among misty peaks faintly appear celestial abodes. Cups clink in hearty drinking—wine their sole companion. At moonrise, they silently gather spiritual blossoms (symbolizing internal alchemy), drinking until thoroughly immersed before returning.

These practitioners own neither roof tiles above nor farmland below—water and clouds their only companions, living by karmic flow. This seemingly austere existence embodies Quanzhen's cultivation principle of "wuwei naturalness," revealing profound freedom within apparent hardship.

This passage blends Daoist cultivation with Chan (Zen) Buddhist insights. Let me analyze it section by section:

The opening depicts a cultivator's state: A practitioner walks alone through streets, seemingly begging alms (though "seeking karmic connections" truly means forging virtuous bonds), returning beneath a clear night sky. Lying down listening to tiger roars and monkey cries - this leisurely delight embodies true joy. Within the body, vital energy (Qi) surges like a divine spring ("gushing spiritual spring" metaphor for Neidan energy sensations), while the Dantian's true fire (technical term for inner heat during cultivation) descends to condense into "lead" (symbolizing concentrated essence). The dragon and tiger entwine (technical term for Yin-Yang energy fusion) forming genuine refined Qi. In silent meditation, one stands like a solitary peak, mind clear as the bright moon.

The five "Song of the Fuller" poems offer cultivation admonitions:

The first states past sins have quietly dissolved - one must recognize the "paramita" (Buddhist term for liberation). Seeing through temptations of wealth and lust is like moths drawn to flame.

The second says listening to "Brother Wind" (likely a teacher) requires few words - the awakened naturally understand its wonders.

The third describes pure cultivation methods ("samsara" referring to the mortal world), steadily piloting the spirit boat across desire's sea. Failing timely awakening wastes precious time.

The fourth compares vanity to a Nanke dream, time flying like arrows. It urges early escape from desire's whirlpool as days shuttle past.

The fifth speaks of singing truth-songs that turn hearts toward enlightenment ("seeing Amitabha"). Harmonizing ten cultivation practices ("ten refinings"), recognizing that love and attachment are karmic obstacles.

"Spring in Han Palace" recounts a spiritual encounter: During the Tianyuan Festival (major Daoist holiday) in a Jiazi year, encountering an immortal sage appearing in this sacred era. The master secretly guides me through distant mountains and rivers to cultivate. Lamenting how mortals obsess over vain possessions - the bitterest samsara. Awakened, I emulate past sages, gradually transcending worldly ties to enter profound truth. When merit completes and Qi crystallizes (successful Neidan practice), I'll ascend to immortal rank, riding phoenixes to Penglai's celestial gathering.

The conclusion reveals Wuwei's true joy: Genuine happiness dwells in leisure, beyond past or future. Maintain constant openness, avoiding wealth, lust and disputes. The heart dwells in transcendent peace, without finest attachment ("not a thread's牵挂"), abiding in primal silence's cultivation state.

This passage from Shuiyun Ji (Collected Waters and Clouds) elucidates how Daoist practitioners attain transcendence through serene non-action (Wuwei) and returning illumination to the original heart-mind. The crux of cultivation lies in maintaining a state of "no-mind" — as if grasping the true foundation within emptiness, remaining lucidly aware yet unattached. When one observes the principles of nature in all phenomena, they experience a crystalline clarity akin to fresh breezes and bright moonlight.

The adept must actively relinquish worldly desires, blunting competitive impulses like filing down sharp edges to preserve gentle humility. Through the practice of "seven-gate introspection" (turning sensory faculties like eyes, ears, and thoughts inward), one adorns the spirit with inner treasures. Restraining delusions resembles taming "the ape and horse" (metaphors for restless thoughts), achieving purity through wisdom's tempering. Abiding in the Dao of non-action brings peace as natural as burning a single stick of heart-incense, while sharing "jade nectar and divine liquor" (symbolizing refined Jing and Qi) with fellow cultivators. When mundane thoughts dissolve, the mind becomes clear as moonlight filling an empty hall.

The immortal-seeking path demands unceasing diligence, perfecting both practice methods and virtuous conduct. Like the pastoral image of a cowherd returning home — where moonlit ancient dykes dissolve distinctions between human and ox — it embodies the state of forgetting both self and objects. Critiquing worldly obsessions with gold, land, and property, the text warns how these become burdens at life's end. True Daoist minds remain unburdened, serene and carefree, untouched by fame or greed.

Cultivation requires nurturing tolerance and purity, extinguishing anger and desire while finding contentment in quiet poverty to align with the sage's heart. The metaphor "fair countenances fade like red blossoms" warns against vanity, urging awakening before death reveals all as emptiness. Only fierce resolution to transcend worldly life can lead to ascension to the Three Isles of Immortals (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou — mythical oceanic mountains).

The culmination describes the realized state: encountering immortal affinity reveals truth, granting cloud-and-water freedom as luminous original nature manifests. Through refining "true lead" (Neidan term for primordial Qi) to nourish body and spirit, one discovers the "grotto-heaven within a gourd" (Daoist allegory of microcosmic vastness). Attaining unity of being/nonbeing and crystalline void-purity, a single spark of spiritual light penetrates the Great Void (Taixu, cosmic origin) — this is genuine unbound serenity.

The Shuiyun Ji (Water Cloud Anthology) contains this cultivation poem with multi-layered insights into Daoist practice, focusing on attaining spiritual liberation through inner refinement. The opening line "comprehending the mystery within mystery, awakening to the Three and Three" describes the practitioner entering deep meditative absorption. Like flames extinguished and smoke dispersed, all distracting thoughts are pacified, while one's original nature remains luminous as the moon within the primordial chaos, the mind-mirror clear as a jade-green pool.

The "Remembering the Prince's Descendant" section employs the metaphor of a divine boat (symbolizing the original spirit, shen) crossing the bitter sea of samsara. When the full moon (representing innate radiance) shines perfectly, two accomplished adepts exchange knowing glances, having discovered the key to transcend the cycle of rebirth. Subsequent verses emphasize the crucial practice of subduing the wandering mind ("taming the heart-mind"), likened to commanding the crimson phoenix (emblem of mental energy) to soar over emerald rivers, while the infant (primordial qi) and the maiden (shen) dance in perfect harmony. After a thousand days (representing prolonged cultivation) of successful elixir refinement, one attains eternal abiding in carefree liberation.

The poem repeatedly warns worldly people: wealth and sensual desires are like a sea of suffering, where attachment to fleeting splendor only obscures one's true nature. Only by severing greed and aversion, maintaining a state of "no affairs in the heart-mind," can jing, qi, and shen naturally harmonize. That troublemaking "Brother Harmful Wind" (symbolizing deluded thoughts) must be eradicated as thoroughly as cutting out a wagging tongue.

The passage on "non-being within non-being, being within non-being" reveals advanced realization—when one truly penetrates the truth of emptiness (wu), they return to the primordial origin ("witnessing the original beginning"), seeing myriad rays of dawn light coalesce into the luminous pearl (the achieved inner elixir, neidan). Later verses use fishing as a metaphor for spiritual guidance: upon the vast bitter sea, the cultivator casts a golden hook like the divine boat (vehicle of transcendence), delivering destined beings from cyclic existence.

The "Reduced Character Magnolia Flower" section crystallizes the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school's essential teachings: maintain the "gateway" (body-mind) in pristine wuwei (non-action) purity, for only by transcending material temptations can the elixir form. It employs the intercourse of the true dragon (shen) and true tiger (jing) as alchemical symbolism, cautioning that during the fusion of lead and mercury (body and mind), one must avoid all extremes. The culmination celebrates the realm of unimpeded freedom—coming and going without obstruction, the heart-mind like an autumn moon illuminating all phenomena, inwardly and outwardly encompassing the entire Dharma-realm (cosmic truth).

The conclusion admonishes: a scattered mind cannot discern truth from falsehood, inviting karmic burdens; only when thoughts are tranquil can one realize the authentic Dao. Yet lamentably, most people persist in delusion, squandering precious time until awakening comes—perhaps too late. Throughout the poem, neidan philosophy interweaves with vivid imagery, systematically outlining the complete path from mind-subjugation to forging the golden elixir (jindan).

This section of Shuiyun Ji (Water-Cloud Collection) primarily discusses how practitioners must relinquish worldly attachments to attain a carefree and unconstrained state of being.

Cultivation should begin early to avoid suffering in the Three Wretched Realms (hell, hungry ghosts, and animals) and the cycle of Six Paths. The human body is like a sack made of water and clouds—one should be as free and unhindered as flowing water and drifting clouds. A truly liberated person can transcend physical form in moments of leisure, seeing through material phenomena (sexiang) and entering the realm of true emptiness (zhenkong), whether walking, sitting, or lying down. To reach this state of emptiness, one must practice in secluded, pure places like Zhongnan Mountain.

When worldly thoughts (fanxin) arise, the path of carefree wandering is blocked; when no mundane mind stirs, material phenomena naturally dissolve into emptiness. Like taming a wild monkey or unruly horse, one must subdue deluded thoughts—only by seeing through illusion can one preserve the innate, primordial truth (benzhen). Know that this true nature is more precious than white jade or gold.

The poem Wuling Chun admonishes Daoist Li: "Day after day, I urge you to cultivate, yet you remain unawakened. The busier you are, the more you must recognize the 'Constant' (Dao). Clinging inwardly only brings harm—better to contemplate how to nourish your spiritual root (linggen, innate nature). Learn to turn the gaze inward, let go of all things, and allow the celestial fragrance (the movement of qi) to arise naturally within."

Nanxiang Zi states: "Seek nothing external, and naturally avoid the anxieties of favor and disgrace. All worldly cunning and scheming should be discarded—yielding to human sentiment only binds you. It is best to 'imprison' yourself in cultivation. Wander destitute, following fate, begging to dissolve past karmic debts. Know that the great limit of impermanence will come."

Yongyue Le, dedicated to Captain Wang of Junzhou, describes: "Stroll at ease, walking the tranquil path, letting clouds and water carry you where they will. Disheveled and unkempt, yet drunk with joy each day, roaming freely without home or attachment. Fill your belly with scraps, sleep wherever you lay. The world remains unenlightened—all obstacles in practice are self-made, and the hardest to sever are endless desires. When will this torment in the sea of suffering end? Better to drift with fate, a straw cloak and bamboo hat—this is the life of a Daoist. We are all deluded by passion, refusing awakening, thus sinking so deep."

Tasuo Xing depicts the life of a wandering ascetic (yunshui xianren): "Clad in simple hemp, transcending the mundane, strolling through mist and glow. With a beggar’s heart, know moderation when seeking alms at dawn and dusk. The mind, still as water and idle as clouds, remains unmoved—when delusions cease, cool clarity arises. Roaming sacred realms yet returning empty-handed, leaning on a bamboo staff, walking alone toward Chang’an’s great road."

Finally, it repeatedly urges the wise: "Even the cleverest struggle to awaken. These ordinary words left behind—each line pleads for you to turn back to practice. Has anyone truly followed them? Realize early the suffering of rebirth and swiftly seek liberation. The two wheels of sun and moon (time) press day and night—this life’s glory is but the fruit of past cultivation."

This passage expounds the Daoist cultivation path of transcending worldly concerns and pursuing inner purity. The essential meaning conveys:

Human life is as fleeting as spring blossoms and autumn moonlight—one should relinquish worldly entanglements to maintain inner tranquility and detachment. Restrain those restless, monkey-like thoughts in the chamber of emptiness, preserving the spiritual origin (referring to one's innate true nature). There's no need to deliberately seek external Golden Elixirs ("Golden Elder") or Dragon-Tiger symbols (representing Yin-Yang energies); simply maintain a carefree and natural state of mind. The wind of wisdom will disperse the clouds atop the mountain, while the bright moon illuminates the cultivation path ("Cao Creek" symbolizes the Sixth Patriarch Huineng's Chan Buddhist transmission site, representing the way to enlightenment).

After ten years of practice, the Wind Immortal (one who attains the Dao) will return to the source. Understand that true treasures reside within—no need for external seeking. A life of unfettered freedom is the cultivator's true calling. Upon comprehending the profound mysteries, all worldly matters can be released, giving rise to inner radiance. What appears as destitution is actually transcendent freedom beyond worldly dust.

Cultivation requires simple honesty—sheathing one's sharp edges and extinguishing afflictions. Like planting jade flowers in Jetavana Garden (a Buddhist sacred site) that eventually bear golden lotuses (symbolizing enlightenment). Time flies swiftly—I urge awakening without wasting precious moments. Within the gourd (representing Neidan practice) lies another wondrous realm—one must resolutely sever desires, refine primordial Yang (innate vital energy), polish the spiritual pearl (inner elixir), and attain the deathless state.

Endure hardships with forbearance, abstain from turbid wine, and purify the heart-mind. Maintain serene stability through eternal perseverance. While advancing silently, unravel that mysterious pearl (original mind) obscured by greed, anger, and delusion. Practice urgently without slackening—patient tempering will ultimately lead to Dao-realization, when rainbow clouds and crane steeds will escort you to Penglai's immortal realms.

Finally, this verse is dedicated to Zhao Liusi of Xingping: Glory and riches vanish like shooting stars, the human body cannot be preserved forever, and love ultimately becomes separation.

The poems in Shuiyun Ji (Water-Cloud Collection) primarily express the mindset of Daoist practitioners who see through worldly illusions and pursue longevity. The first poem, addressed to Lord Xu of Jingzhao, compares the human mind to a spiritual field—if left untended for long, it becomes overgrown with weeds. When Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) scatter, they cannot coalesce into the treasure of immortality. Only by wandering freely to seek the true Dao and leaving behind household ties can one escape worldly troubles. If the wise grasp this truth, they may share the peaches of immortality atop solitary peaks and attain eternal life.

The poem for Captain Wang San begins with a respectful greeting, noting that though few words are exchanged, the sight of his graying hair evokes lamentation—when will worldly affections ever be relinquished? While still in good health, one should see through the illusions of life and deeply comprehend the profound mysteries. Human relationships are often inverted; better to roam freely in search of the arcane. Together, let us seek out the Perfected Dan-yang and drink from the immortal peaches on solitary peaks.

For Wang Silang of Junzhou, the poem reflects on the news of his recent circumstances, stirring sighs of regret. Three brothers born of the same mother have forsaken their kinship—how could they bear to change their original hearts? Repent past wrongs and accumulate virtue through good deeds. The wise should understand this truth; come quickly to reunite joyfully with your benevolent elder. The slightest deviation from heavenly principle will leave one as unstable as leaves trembling in the wind. Like water and clouds, we drift away—fearing we may never meet again.

The Huanxisha lyric depicts the transcendent life of a Daoist practitioner: wandering like clouds and water, fishing alone from a great boat. Though lost in the bitter sea, he remains unswayed by temptation. Upon returning to the emerald waves, he reunites with fellow adepts—Ma Yu, Qiu Chuji, and others—in their homeland, drinking golden elixir from a jade pot and keeping company with immortals.

Finally, the Man Ting Fang ode praises the patriarchs of both Buddhism and Daoism: the Chan masters of Buddhism, Laozi of Daoism, and Perfected Ones like Lü Dongbin, Liu Haichan, and Wang Chongyang. Wang Chongyang founded the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition in the Eastern Sea, guiding Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, Ma Yu, and others. In time, they will gather again on the immortal isles of the Ten Continents, reunited with their companions. Becoming an immortal is not difficult—one need only cultivate eight hundred merits and sever three thousand karmic ties. Await the purple edict of celestial summons, engage in the dual cultivation of Xing (nature) and Ming (life), transcend the constraints of Yin-Yang, and maintain purity untainted. When true enlightenment is attained, the tortoise and snake (symbolizing Yin and Yang energies) spiral within the body, Yin exhausts itself, and one may ascend to behold the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning.

The epilogue concludes: In this life, we stand between heaven and earth, burdened by emotions and endowed with the Qi of the Five Phases. Practitioners of the Dao must rise above these bonds to seek everlasting vision.

Tan Chuduan (styled Changzhenzi), as a spiritual being among all creatures, is naturally endowed with the potential for Buddhahood and the bone structure of an immortal (the innate qualifications for Daoist cultivation). Within every human being lies the fundamental basis for refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and spiritual practice. Simply by abandoning base desires, casting aside vanity, severing greed, and distancing oneself from fame and profit while maintaining inner emptiness and tranquility, one can attain the state of enduring vision and everlasting life.

In his youth, due to karmic connections from past lives, the Perfected Lord Tan encountered Patriarch Chongyang (Wang Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen tradition) during his prime years. Together with Ma Yu (Danyangzi), Liu Chuxuan (Changshengzi), and Qiu Chuji (Changchunzi), they became fellow disciples under the same master. Later, following his teacher westward to Bianliang (modern Kaifeng), he received oral transmission of cultivation secrets. Through accumulating merit over time in Luochuan, he ultimately achieved feathered ascension ahead of his fellow disciples. The hundreds of poetic verses and recorded sayings he left behind contain profound mysteries and exhaust the principles of cosmic creation—this collection, known as the Shuiyun Ji (Anthology of Water and Clouds), has long circulated in the mortal world.

During the Bingwu year of the Jin dynasty, Junzhou (modern Xun County, Henan) suffered catastrophic floods that destroyed all scripture woodblocks. Upon hearing this, the immortal Liu Chuxuan (Changshengzi) was deeply grieved and immediately ordered the re-carving of the texts at the Quanzhen Hall in Donglai. Subsequent years of warfare made complete editions nearly impossible to find. The military officer Gao You and his devout Daoist wife Meng Changshan traveled extensively through the Huai-Chu region seeking the Perfected Lord's manuscripts until, as if divinely guided, they obtained a complete copy from his disciples. Fearing the interruption of the Daoist lineage, they again commissioned woodblock printing at the Western Hermitage in Shanyang—demonstrating their sincere devotion to preserving the teachings.

While compiling annotations from various immortals, the editor suddenly witnessed a solemn celestial procession descending upon his thatched cottage—the manifestation of the departed Xiao Daoxi (a Quanzhen patriarch). The Perfected Lord revealed: "Fellow Daoist Zhang Zhiquan traveled a thousand miles to deliver Tan's Shuiyun Ji. Though most Daoist texts perished in war flames, faithful devotees preserved this collection within hidden wall compartments. Should we fail to reprint it immediately, these teachings may be lost forever, severing the path for future generations of cultivators."

A Daoist practitioner who revered the great Dao came to visit me, requesting that I write a preface for the reprinted edition of the Shuiyun Ji (Cloud-Water Collection). I replied: Previously, the Fan family of Dongmu (present-day Muping, Shandong)—father and son both serving as Erudites—whose literary talent matched that of the Han dynasty scholars Liu Xin and Liu Xiang, and whose erudition rivaled that of the Jin literati Fu Xuan and Zhang Hua, had already composed prefaces for this work. How could I dare intervene further? Yet after repeated refusals went unheeded, I had no choice but to jot down these casual remarks to fulfill this elegant request. Written on the Double Ninth Festival (the 9th day of the 9th lunar month) in the year of Jichou. This appears in the second scroll of the Shuiyun Ji.

This passage reveals the modest attitude of classical literati when composing prefaces for others' works. The author first declines, noting that esteemed figures had already written prefaces, making his contribution unnecessary—yet ultimately yields to persistent requests, framing his preface as mere "scattered words" (casual reflections). The "Fan family of Dongmu" refers to Fan Zhongyan and his son, both renowned Song dynasty scholars; "Xin and Xiang" alludes to the eminent Han scholars Liu Xin and Liu Xiang; "Fu and Zhang" denotes the Jin dynasty men of letters Fu Xuan (style name Xiuyi) and Zhang Hua (style name Maoxian)—all cited here as classical analogues for the Fan family's profound scholarship.