《真仙真指語錄》

Master Danyang (Ma Yu, patriarch of the Quanzhen school) addressed the assembly at the Chongyang gathering on Dragon Gate Mountain:

In daily life, one must never deceive the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—and must remain ever vigilant in conduct. Every moment is precious; do not waste it idly. Though sleep is natural to human beings, it should be reduced. Cultivation does not necessarily require formal seated meditation; whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, if the mind remains settled, all are ways of practicing the Dao. Fellow practitioners, do not stir thoughts or attachments—hasten to seek the true meaning of the dual cultivation of nature (xing) and life (ming). Simply purify the heart and eliminate desires, and you will enter the realm of immortals. Do not harbor doubts—these teachings are genuine and unfailing.

Though maintaining constant purity is difficult, once you realize that all worldly conditions are illusory, the mind will naturally become clear, desires will fade of their own accord, your innate nature will stabilize, your life-force will solidify, the internal elixir (neidan) will coalesce, and the immortal path will be fulfilled. All this depends on yourself—no one else can do it for you. Cultivation requires effort, yet it must not be forced; maintain a carefree and unconstrained mind. Had the master not revealed these truths, disciples would never have believed them to be profound methods. Now that I have verified their efficacy, I transmit them to you—do not doubt them.

To abide constantly in the natural state of wuwei (non-action) and stillness, free from worldly distractions, is to attain the Dao. The master further said: Throughout the twelve double-hours of the day, the Dao of Heaven ceaselessly operates, creating and transforming all things. Those who cultivate the Dao should emulate this, continuously harmonizing the yin-yang transformations within themselves (referring to neidan practice) during these twelve periods. Maintain constant purity of body and mind, without the slightest distracting thought—this is true cultivation. Persevere in this, and immortality will be within reach. If your effort is insufficient or your conduct flawed, how can you attain the Dao? I observe that none of you devote even a single hour to wholehearted cultivation—how then can you hope to become immortals? Having received offerings from all directions (referring to lay devotees’ support), how will you answer for this after death? Once your eyes close in death and you descend to the Fengdu underworld (the Daoist realm of the dead), you will suffer endlessly with no hope of release.

I now solemnly admonish you: What is the Dao? It is to clarify the mind, eliminate desires, remain untethered by external conditions, and harmonize spirit (shen) and qi (vital energy)—this is the Dao. Follow this, and you will not err. If you fail, do not claim that the True Man of the Teaching (the master) instructed you wrongly. Have you forgotten the boundless sins committed by your ancestors over seven generations, who now endure endless suffering? They rely on their descendants’ successful cultivation and the Dao’s grace to redeem and elevate them to heaven. I bow before my disciples and implore you: From this day forth, do not squander time—practice with unwavering perseverance.

To steadfastly uphold the Dao's teachings without regression—this is the true power of cultivation vows. Practitioners should maintain a light diet to nourish Qi (vital energy), dissolve anger to cultivate their nature, willingly dwell in humility to foster De (Virtue), and preserve inner purity to comprehend the Dao. True cultivators pay no heed to worldly fame on mundane registers, nor do their minds cling to trivial affairs. Only then can they transcend ordinary constraints and walk in harmony with the celestial Way.

The essence of Daoist cultivation lies in single-minded focus. Every person can attain immortality—this is entirely different from the successes and failures of worldly pursuits. The supreme method of practice is the Wuwei (non-action) of serene stillness, both simple and effortless. The most vital secret for practitioners is simply the art of nurturing Qi. Ordinary people, drowning in fame and profit, often dissipate their vital energy. Genuine cultivation requires no complex techniques—just maintaining a state of profound stillness to refine the spirit and nourish Qi. When distracting thoughts cease, the heart's fire naturally descends, and the kidney's water naturally rises, merging at the spleen's earth element. At this point, delusions vanish, the Shen (spirit) naturally manifests, the Neidan (internal alchemy) spontaneously coalesces, and immortality is naturally achieved. Forcing what cannot be done—like demanding Mount Tai leap across the North Sea—violates the Dao's principle of naturalness.

Those who attain the Dao abide eternally in serene Wuwei, wandering freely without attachment or fixation. If one upholds this principle throughout the twelve daily hours, they will never stray from the path. Qi is difficult to stabilize—swift as galloping horses—yet stillness alone can harness it. Practitioners must first sever external distractions, achieving purity amid crowds as if dwelling in mountain valleys. This is the true state of cultivation. Without reaching a mindfree state, controlling Qi's fluctuations remains elusive.

Serene detachment nurtures the Dao-mind; humble abiding fosters De; dissolving anger extinguishes ignorance (avidya) to temper one's nature; moderate eating and bland flavors conserve Qi. When the mind settles, desires fade naturally; when the body empties, true Qi flows spontaneously; when the mundane mind dies, the Shen awakens; when Yang flourishes, Yin recedes—these are nature's inherent principles.

For Daoist practitioners, not a moment passes—whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—apart from the Dao. Walking, they tread solid ground as level paths; standing, their spirit gathers in Taixu (cosmic origin); sitting, breath regulation continues unbroken; sleeping, the mind sinks into valley-deep stillness. Persisting unwaveringly over time, they appear outwardly dull yet remain inwardly lucid.

Daily practice simply requires a mind unburdened by affairs, relinquishing all entanglements. The six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind) grasp no external objects; speech is sparse and attachments few. Maintaining wakefulness through the twelve hours, minimizing sleep, and utterly releasing everything—though the six roots differ, all are governed by one master (original mind). Constant mental clarity becomes the finest nourishment.

For those beginning their cultivation of the Dao (道), from this day forward you must completely set aside worldly trivialities and devote yourself wholeheartedly to the path without faltering. If even a single distracting thought remains uncleansed, your practice will lack stability. Do not dwell on past events nor fret about future matters—simply focus on the present moment to attain that transcendent state beyond worldly concerns. Those who remain entangled in romantic attachments, lacking the lofty aspiration to commune with mountains and streams, are not fit for the Daoist path.

Remember these words well: In external conduct, most perilous are fixating on others' faults, flaunting one's own merits, and envying the virtuous—these breed greed and delusional thoughts. Internal cultivation requires maintaining purity and clarity, remaining unbound by external things. Through regulating Qi (气) to nurture the Shen (神), silently accumulate virtue in a state of carefree ease—not seeking human recognition but only the discernment of Heaven's Dao. As the verse says: "The Great Dao stands far beyond worldly sentiments, Wuwei (无为) forms its mysterious foundation. If one sees through all objects of worldly craving, afflictions will never entangle."

This so-called purity and stillness—"purity" means cleansing the mind's original source, while "stillness" means stabilizing the Qi sea of the Dantian (丹田). When the mind is purified, external things cannot disturb it; when the heart-mind is settled, spiritual illumination naturally appears. When the Dantian is tranquil, harmful desires are cut off; when Jing (精) and Qi are abundant, the body grows strong. Therefore, purify the mind like clarifying still waters—thus you may perceive all things' true nature. Nurtle primordial Qi like tending an infant—never allow it to be damaged. When Qi flows smoothly, the spirit becomes agile; when the spirit is agile, Qi transforms accordingly—this is the wondrous function of purity-stillness practice.

The realm of Wuwei lies in severing calculating thoughts and cravings—even amid worldly affairs, maintain transcendent awareness. Though appearing engaged in action, constantly abide in non-action; though interacting with worldly matters, always remain unattached. How much more so for those wholly devoted to nurturing heart-mind and Qi—their spirit wanders in carefree realms, roaming the homeland of emptiness.

Deliberate striving belongs only to the level of techniques; only through natural Wuwei cultivation can one reach the boundless realm of clear emptiness. Wine is poison that confuses the mind, meat the root of life's destruction—best abstain completely. Violating food prohibitions may be forgiven, but indulgence in lust is an unforgivable offense—beauty harms people more than wolves or tigers, corrupting virtue, destroying good deeds, exhausting Jing and Qi, even endangering life itself. Truly this is the greatest obstacle for Dao cultivators.

The foundation of cultivation lies in maintaining inner purity. To embark on the path of practice, one must begin with both body and mind: regulating diet, ceasing scattered thoughts, harmonizing breath through stillness in seated meditation, and peacefully nurturing primordial Qi (vital energy). When the mind is free from distraction, one's innate nature settles; when the body avoids excessive strain, Jing (essence) is preserved; when the spirit remains undisturbed, Neidan (internal alchemy) coalesces. Upon reaching this state, desires dissolve in emptiness, and the spirit finds stability in utmost tranquility—thus, even without stepping beyond one's door, the profound mysteries of the Dao (the Way) may be realized.

Since ancient times, those who attained immortality and realized the Dao have emphasized the principle of "clarity and lucidity." As the scriptures state: when the mind becomes clear, the Shen (spirit) naturally brightens. Many practitioners often speak of "clarifying the mind" yet fail to grasp its true meaning. Genuine "clarifying the mind" means allowing no scattered thoughts to arise, so the innate nature reaches a state of true emptiness—like a pristine sky, transparent and unclouded. Only when even the notion of "clarifying" disappears does one truly embody the clarified mind.

The original spiritual nature (one's innate, pre-heaven essence) is inherently pure and untainted, like still water. Yet worldly dust pollutes this stillness—just as stirred water turns murky, excessive thoughts obscure the innate nature. Thus, one must restore clarity by purifying the mind and reducing worldly engagements. Consider the varying depths of water: shallow water clouds easily with the slightest disturbance, while deep water remains clear even amid wind and waves. This metaphor illustrates the depth of one's cultivation practice.

The greatest pitfall in Daoist practice is failing to cultivate earnestly, neglecting to examine one's own purity or turbidity, and merely quoting ancient sayings to idly discuss "the originally uncultivated nature." Though the innate nature indeed requires no cultivation, the mundane thoughts and distractions of daily life must be continuously dissolved—until even the distinctions of self and nature are forgotten—before one truly aligns with the state of "no cultivation, no attainment." As the Daode Jing states: "To practice the Dao is to continuously diminish, diminish again, until reaching Wuwei (non-action)."

Throughout history, genuine Daoist practitioners have realized the actual state of true emptiness, attaining the authentic stillness of no-mind, before speaking of "naturalness." What is realizing true emptiness? It is the extinction of all mental stirrings—internally, no cognition remains; externally, no perceptions linger. Inner and outer merge into silence; form and emptiness dissolve simultaneously. The eyes see forms without grasping, the ears hear sounds without discriminating—thus, sights and sounds cannot disturb, and the innate nature naturally returns to its source, uniting with primordial chaos, transforming into a spark of spiritual light, and achieving perfect integration within and without. This is the true path of embodying emptiness in harmony with nature.

So-called "naturally embodying emptiness" cannot be realized through deliberate effort—yet by not striving for it, one realizes it wholly. As the Records of Learning Immortality states: the highest Dao lies precisely in that dim, silent state, free from thought and calculation.

This scripture elucidates the essential principles and practical methods of Daoist cultivation. It begins by emphasizing that the true Dao (the Way) is omnipresent—it cannot be confined to any specific location, nor can it be said to be non-existent. A cultivator must achieve great merit (De) without physical exhaustion and maintain steadfast resolve without outward display. There are two supreme approaches to practice: diligent service in religious affairs and complete detachment from worldly attachments in spiritual refinement. However, even for those who renounce secular life, if their minds remain entangled, they must still cherish time, accumulate virtue, and uphold unwavering devotion until death.

When the Patriarch expounded the Dao at Huating, he taught that the essence of Dao is primordial Qi (vital energy), akin to the breath we inhale and exhale. The key to cultivation lies in embodying twelve characters: "serenity and Wuwei (non-action), carefreeness and liberation, freedom from worldly dust." True comprehension of these leads one to become a thoroughly realized Daoist. He urged the young to trust the guidance of elders, assuring them that practice would surely bear fruit.

A cultivator once chanted: "Even if I spent ten thousand taels of gold daily, all I seek is simple tea and plain rice." The Patriarch, upon hearing this, found profound wisdom in these words. Quoting the Scripture of Clarity and Tranquility, he noted: "When humans can maintain constant clarity and stillness, heaven and earth fully return to them." Here, "heaven and earth" do not refer to the external cosmos but to the human body—the upper half representing heaven, the lower half earth. When Qi flows unimpeded between these regions, true vitality stabilizes naturally.

The text also discusses principles for worldly conduct: Confucianism advocates repaying virtue with virtue and injustice with rectitude, while a Jin-dynasty perfected being (Zhenren) taught befriending others with sincerity and resolving enmity through kindness. It particularly clarifies that "no-mind" (Wuxin) does not mean being dull-witted like cats, dogs, wood, or stone, but rather maintaining a purified mental state free of delusions. Ordinary people lack a purified mind, while Daoists transcend worldly concerns—yet neither exists in absolute unconsciousness.

Finally, it describes stages of cultivation: achieving the state of neither birth nor cessation allows one to perceive Tathāgata (awakening), liberating oneself from cyclic rebirth. Patriarch Qiu Chuji taught that after cultivating the Yin-spirit (Yin Shen), witnessing celestial flowers descending signals the initial attainment of the Yang-spirit (Yang Shen). These passages illustrate the verification benchmarks for different phases of Daoist practice.

Gong Daosheng asked: "How can one attain the state of serene tranquility (zhanran changji)?" The master replied: "Even the concept of 'serene' must be relinquished."

Yu Qingfeng asked: "Master, after years of cultivation, why are my Dao vision still unclear and my mind still dull?" The master said: "There's no other reason—it's simply insufficient diligence in practice."

The master taught: "Those studying the Dao need not read scriptures extensively, as this only disturbs the spirit (shen) and hinders cultivation. Occasionally reading texts like the Dao De Jing with Heshang Gong's commentary or the Yin Fu Jing with Jinlingzi's notes is permissible, but better still is not reading at all. Maintaining silent speech and single-minded nourishment of qi (vital energy) constitutes superior practice."

He continued: "The primordial qi (yuanqi) within the body must not dissipate, and the original spirit (yuanshen) in the heart must not grow dim." Someone asked: "How to prevent qi from dissipating?" The master answered: "By avoiding unnecessary expenditure through the body." Another asked: "How to keep the spirit undimmed?" The master replied: "By harboring no miscellaneous affairs in the heart."

The master mentioned: "Zhang Runzi once wisely said: 'In daily interactions, one must constantly cherish and nourish the body's treasures.'" Smiling, the master added: "He used merchant's language about running a shop to advise spiritual practice."

He also quoted verses:

"The deeply stored essence (jing) and qi—white snow within—are most precious;

The widely sown primordial qi—yellow sprouts—constitutes true wealth.

To nourish qi and perfect the spirit (shen), one must sever all external ties,

Maintaining body and mind in purity,

Continuously preserving primordial qi without interruption,

And when using it, never exhausting it completely.

Three years of unbroken essence yields the lower elixir (xia dan);

Six years forms the middle elixir (zhong dan);

Nine years completes the great elixir (da dan)—

The perfected nine-cycle golden elixir (jiuzhuan jindan),

Also called the fulfillment of three thousand merits."

The master then offered ten admonitions:

1) Never violate national laws

2) Always bow first to fellow practitioners, regarding all men and women as parents (since all beings in the six realms may have been one's parents in past lives)

3) Abstain from wine, lust, wealth, and anger; avoid disputes and egoism

4) Eliminate worry and overthinking—clear distracting thoughts immediately, constantly examine oneself, and correct errors upon discovery

5) Be awed by favor received—never pretend virtue to accept offerings

6) Forsake groundless rage; practice forbearance, repaying resentment with virtue (de), maintaining impartiality toward all things

7) Be prudent in speech and action; eat plain food; renounce glory; sever attachments

8) Don't study strange powers or chaotic spirits; keep to your proper role; live on alms without worldly toil

9) Dwell in no more than three-room hermitages; keep no more than three fellow practitioners

[Note: The tenth admonition appears to be missing from the original text provided.]

This passage discusses how practitioners should conduct themselves in daily life and cultivate their minds. When someone falls ill, we must care for one another—if I die, you bury me; if you die, I bury you. When noticing others' shortcomings, we should guide each other without harboring ulterior motives or competitive feelings. Always help others, willingly bearing losses to benefit them. Even in solitude, maintain reverence as if in the presence of sages. Be content with poverty and gentleness, humble and yielding toward others, living in accordance with circumstances. Completely sever greed and hatred, cultivating with carefree ease and unwavering diligence.

True attainment lies in an inner purity of wuwei (non-action), where thoughts remain untainted by evil—this is genuine goodness. Nourish your primordial qi and preserve your shen (spirit), constantly harboring compassion. Accumulate merit in secret without seeking recognition, leaving Heaven to bear witness. The Perfected Tan Changzhen instructed disciples: "The reason beings cycle endlessly through birth and death is because of the arising of thoughts." Virtuous Mountain Chan Master said: "When thoughts arise, all phenomena arise; when thoughts cease, all phenomena cease." If not a single thought arises, one transcends birth and death. So-called "having thoughts" refers to beings trapped by the three poisons—greed, hatred, and delusion—and the fire of ignorant minds. Spiritual practice means severing attachments, smoothing sharp edges, subduing and eliminating all unwholesome thoughts, returning to the original state before one's parents were born.

"Unwholesome thoughts" are those that arise in various circumstances—ignorance, stinginess, envy, lust for wealth and pleasure—keeping the mind perpetually entangled, obscuring true nature and preventing liberation. Only by utterly eradicating these delusions can one realize their inherent nature. What does it mean to realize one's nature? It means maintaining constant mental clarity, never allowing habitual tendencies to cloud true essence, abiding in carefree emptiness where shen and qi naturally harmonize. Understanding this principle in practice, what fear remains of birth and death or sinful karma? The slightest impure thought becomes an obstruction—this cannot be called true freedom. Practitioners must stand firm as Mount Tai, advancing courageously; even when facing great demonic obstacles, persevere to the end.

The Perfected Liu Changsheng said: "When the mind comprehends one thing, it transcends that thing; when it comprehends all things, it transcends all things. A serene heart and tranquil mind pave the road to heaven, while a disturbed mind and chaotic thoughts open the gate to hell."

All beings seeking to realize the Dao of emptiness must understand the core principle of Wuwei (non-action), otherwise they risk falling into stubborn emptiness (a state of hollow nothingness). The true path of sages is known to all under heaven.

The Supreme Venerable Lord (Laozi) said: Only those who can humble themselves to beg for alms qualify as my disciples. The act of begging contains the cultivation of receiving others' kindness. Though the body may feel constrained, the karmic obstacles accumulated since ancient times—like the restless monkey mind—never cease. Only by exhausting these karmic obstructions can true skill manifest, naturally bringing about balanced Qi (vital energy) and tranquil Shen (spirit), thereby attaining the eternal Dao. Merely clinging to scriptures in practice does not constitute genuine cultivation.

To achieve unobstructed awareness, one must comprehend countless scriptures and treatises without attachment to any. When the light of consciousness illuminates all, the Dao reveals itself. The Dao is formless and shadowless, yet people persistently suspect it has beginning and end. Simply maintain a mind free of selfish thoughts in perfect purity—this is the mark of Dao attainment. The two characters "purity and stillness" already encompass everything. The Supreme Venerable Lord said: Even my hair has turned white—who can preserve bodily form eternally? This physical shell ultimately belongs to the myriad things; how can we rely on this illusory body to seek longevity? All form must decay; only the formless never perishes. When mind awakens to sever evil thoughts and wisdom's light shines eternally, the primordial Shen (original spirit) naturally manifests—only thus can life be preserved long. When the empty essence of Heaven, Earth and humanity merges into one, the work of spontaneity is accomplished.

He further said: Practitioners who can make Shen and Qi meet will become immortals. Someone asked the assembly: "How can Shen and Qi meet?" Each person clung to partial views without reaching truth. The master said: Understand all phenomena as empty, transcending all worldly bonds. Eliminate one measure of worldly mind to comprehend one measure of Dao; eliminate it completely to comprehend Dao completely. Sever emotional desires to preserve original nature; sever sensual desires to preserve life-force; eliminate ignorant thoughts to maintain harmony. Practitioners must examine their faults moment by moment to settle Shen and Qi internally. This settled state constitutes true skill; abstaining from fault-finding constitutes true practice. Through long years of cultivation and internal nourishment of Jing (essence) and Qi, when essence flourishes, Shen will yearn for Qi and Qi for Shen—then their meeting occurs spontaneously.

Just as water and earth mixed form clay vessels, unless tempered by true fire, they dissolve again in water. But when true fire tempers them into vessels, they become indestructible. Like bricks fired in kilns—they remain unbroken for millennia.

Master Qiu Changchun (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen school of Daoism) wrote in his letter to fellow practitioners in Xizhou: The path of spiritual cultivation cannot be rushed—it requires the gradual accumulation of merit (De) over time. Just as one must slowly save money to purchase a priceless jewel, so too must Daoist practice be built through patient, incremental effort.

He emphasized three key points: First, genuine cultivation demands rigorous discipline—either through accumulating merit via religious practice or through wholehearted spiritual cultivation that relinquishes worldly attachments. Even when visible results seem absent, every sincere thought of practice secretly accumulates "hidden merit" (yin gong). Like saving coins toward the jewel, though the full amount remains unattainable, one is already far richer than those with no savings at all.

Second, the greatest pitfall is abandoning practice midway. Some practitioners give up after prolonged effort without apparent progress, which Master Qiu deeply lamented. In truth, such individuals have already amassed profound "roots of goodness" (shan gen, the foundation for cultivation) that will attract guidance from sages in this life or the next. Using himself as an example, he noted that despite arduous practice without yet attaining the Dao, he stood far ahead of those with no spiritual foundation.

Third, complete non-attachment is essential. As the patriarchs taught: True cultivators must first relinquish family ties, then abandon attachment to the physical body. They neither resist illness nor fear death, instead embracing complete naturalness (ziran). Many contemporary practitioners, Master Qiu observed, neither cultivate the mind earnestly nor engage diligently in merit-generating deeds—such half-hearted approaches rarely bear fruit.

In closing, Master Qiu reminded readers that exceptional cases like Dan-yangzi and Changzhenzi—who attained realization within a decade—were possible only due to their profound cultivation in past lives. Ordinary practitioners must persevere steadfastly, refining themselves across lifetimes until the day of realization dawns.

This dialogue records an exchange between several Daoist practitioners, focusing on the essential principles of cultivation. It begins by noting that without the karmic fortune to leave worldly life, no amount of struggle will lead to Dao attainment.

Yu Qingfeng asked how to maintain focused intention. The master replied this refers to the ineffable realm of true emptiness. Cultivation is like peeling an onion—one must strip away layers of mental distractions until reaching perfect clarity. When the sages test your heart-mind and find it pure, a true master will naturally appear to enlighten you.

The Celestial Sovereign (a legendary Daoist immortal) taught that practice must harmonize three aspects: Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and physical form. Using the metaphor of wind fueling fire, he explained how prolonged cultivation leads to the sublime state where form and spirit become wondrous. Ancient practitioners progressed through four stages: first stabilizing thoughts, then regulating breath, achieving balanced Qi-blood circulation, and finally entering profound stillness—like the seven-hundred-year-old awl (symbolizing an accomplished adept) that neither pursues nor avoids worldly disturbances, engaging without attachment.

Those who awaken to the Dao accumulate merit as farmers store grain or worldly people amass wealth—beginning with small increments. By treasuring primordial Qi without dissipation, spiritual powers naturally develop.

When Yu Qingfeng inquired about the original nature of mind, the master said one must reach true emptiness before the Yang Spirit (the perfected spiritual form) can emerge. Without this attainment, not even the Yin Spirit (lower spiritual aspect) manifests. Real cultivation requires working through difficulties—while practice in tranquility is good, thriving amid chaos is better. The master revealed his seven years of arduous training equaled others' seven lifetimes of effort.

Yao Zhenren asked how to prevent Jing (essence) and Qi leakage. The master answered: authentic purity prevents all dissipation. Liu Daojian described experiencing hot kidneys with cool heart-fire and full-body heat during practice. The master identified this as the sages' upliftment, warning against clinging to any visions or sounds. He mentioned that seeing "a human head falling from emptiness" signals the Golden Elixir's near completion.

Finally, when asked how long Hu Chengwang had been ordained, the reply—"three years"—came with "you wouldn't understand," implying cultivation's depth matters more than its duration.

To cultivate the Dao and attain realization, one must first relinquish the distractions of worldly knowledge and focus wholeheartedly on refining the mind. At the very least, persist in three to five years of rigorous practice—avoid debates over right and wrong, and instead reflect deeply on one's own faults. Extinguish ignorant anger, abandon extravagant pleasures, and completely sever greed, wrath, and lust. Maintain a carefree and unburdened state of mind—only then can one be considered a true cultivator.

When the mind is tranquil and the Qi (vital energy) harmonized, one's true nature becomes visible. At this stage, the mind shines as pure and translucent as the bright moon. If someone asks about the realm of "being," respond with "non-being"; if asked about "non-being," answer with "being." It is within this mysterious interplay of existence and emptiness that one comprehends deeper truths. If one's cultivation is insufficient and virtuous deeds lacking, after death they may only dwell temporarily in Penglai, the immortal isle (a legendary Daoist paradise), and after five hundred years must return to the human world to accumulate merit. In truth, accumulating merit in the heavens is difficult, while in the human realm it is easier. A true adept who attains the Dao transcends the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness) and does not linger in Penglai.

Some ask whether the key to cultivation lies in willpower and whether guidance from sages is necessary. The answer is: it depends entirely on willpower. Without unwavering resolve, even sages cannot help. What is called "willpower" means maintaining right mindfulness at all times, free from distracting thoughts. At the outset of practice, one must endure seven or eight years of arduous effort—never regressing in determination, never giving rise to stray thoughts, never forgetting the original aspiration, and continuously strengthening resolve. When encountering demonic obstructions (hindrances in cultivation), there is no need to fear, for sages will silently protect genuine practitioners, ensuring they are not destroyed by such obstacles.

Regarding internal and external cultivation: externally, one must sacrifice self-interest for others and restrain selfish desires; internally, one must practice forbearance, sever idle thoughts, and relinquish attachments. Another perspective states: externally, prioritize others before oneself and extend compassion; internally, preserve purity. The crucial point is to maintain a lucid and unclouded mind at all times, awakening to one's true nature without delusion in every moment. A settled spirit and harmonized Qi constitute true internal cultivation; practicing benevolence, cultivating virtue, disciplining oneself strictly, and benefiting others constitute true external cultivation.

In practice, do not cling to what is heard or seen. Sages will silently guide the cultivator. When the state of Shen (spirit) stabilized and Qi harmonized is reached, one may feel warmth in the kidneys—this condition lasts for an hour or two before dissipating, and during this time, visions of mountains, rivers, sun, or moon may arise. However, even if one perceives the myriad phenomena of existence, do not become engrossed, for these are merely transient phenomena along the path.

Finally, some practitioners focus on circulating Qi in the Dantian (energy center), but this is only an elementary method of cultivation.

For beginners on the Daoist path whose foundations remain shallow, if they can achieve a state of empty clarity in their hearts—open-minded and thoroughly transparent—this is already the realm of the great Dao (the Way), and the most suitable starting point for cultivation. The key lies in grasping the correct methods of practice.

When someone inquired about breath regulation (a cultivation method for adjusting respiration), Qiu Chuji replied: One should make the breath as long and subtle as a tortoise's. This is the basic skill of Daoist practitioners, yet one must not become overly attached to it. The ancients said: The divine water (Jing/essence) within the body must not depart from the form, and the Hua Pool (saliva) in the mouth must be renewed daily. Maintaining this state can lead one to the realm of immortals.

It is also recorded that when Master Ma Danyang was alive, someone asked about longevity. Suddenly, a voice came from the sky saying: You people with shallow roots! The two words "clarity and stillness" spoken of in Chan Buddhism are like two cartloads of dung to you (a metaphor for incomprehensibility). The human body is finite, yet desires are endless—like bees obsessed with nectar or butterflies infatuated with flowers, utterly deluded.

The Perfected Ma Danyang said: If one's karmic obstructions (hindrances formed by negative karma) are heavy, how can one expect to attain the Dao without eliminating them? As for those misguided practices of bedroom arts (ancient erroneous cultivation methods), they only deplete the spirit (Shen), corrupt virtue (De), and delude the masses. Ultimately, such practitioners' names will be recorded in the ledgers of ghosts, and their souls will fall into the Fengdu underworld (the Daoist realm of the dead). The scriptures state: Those seeking longevity must be most cautious about bedroom affairs—why court death and make the primordial spirit weep? Those who indulge in worldly desires may still live physically, but their spirits have long been weeping.

When someone in Zhongmu County's Baisha Town asked Zhao Sangong about nurturing life, he replied: The place that lets you live is also the place that makes you die. These are words of ultimate truth. The scriptures say: If a person can maintain purity and stillness, the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth will naturally return to them. For purity brings harmonious Qi, harmonious Qi strengthens the spirit (Shen), and a strong spirit is the very root of immortal cultivation. When this root is established, the Dao naturally arises. This is internal cultivation, yet it also requires external support.

The immortal path seeks truth, while the human path chases vanity; the immortal path values simplicity, while the human path prioritizes social conventions—the two are diametrically opposed. One must abstain from all evil deeds, diligently cultivate good actions, perfect one's virtue (De), purify body and mind, practice these principles lifelong without slackening, and maintain unwavering devotion to the Dao until death. In summary, externally cultivating blessings and virtuous conduct while internally fortifying spiritual refinement—when both aspects reach profound depth—one may ascend to immortal rank and wander the blessed grotto-heavens.

Throughout history, those who achieved the Dao all possessed both blessings and wisdom. Wisdom is like a lamp, while blessings are its oil. Without oil, the lamp won't shine; without blessings, wisdom cannot manifest. Thus, the enlightened would rather harm their bodies than deplete their blessings. Some in this world may be naturally intelligent and erudite, but without accumulated blessings, they ultimately cannot comprehend the profound mysteries of the great Dao. The sages who attained the Dao across ages all shared this same path.

This passage expounds Daoist beliefs regarding spiritual cultivation achievements and celestial appointments. The ranks of heavenly immortals are determined by the merits (gongde) accumulated during their earthly lives—those with greater merits attain higher positions, while those with lesser merits receive lower stations. Ancient sages who hadn't cultivated sufficient virtue would be demoted back to the human realm for further refinement.

Though the mortal world is turbid and cultivation proves difficult here, merit accumulates swiftly. By contrast, while the celestial realms are serene, progress there is slow. Take the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan Huangdi, an ancient immortal venerated in Daoism) as an example: though dwelling long in the heavens, he deliberately descended to earth three times to propagate essential teachings—first as a commoner, then as a minister, and finally as a ruler. Only after benefiting multitudes did he complete his cultivation and return to the immortal ranks.

The underworld bureaucracy mirrors human governance, with every inch of land governed by spirits. These administrators are all individuals who accumulated merit during their lifetimes. During the Dading era (Jin Dynasty), Li Yuantong—a nobleman's son from Longzhou who embraced poverty to focus on Daoist practice—later claimed appointment as City God (Chenghuang) of Wushan County. Another case: Li Dehe of Pinglu County organized Lingbao rituals (Daoist salvation ceremonies) to accumulate merit, then dreamed of a blue-robed immortal youth delivering a celestial edict appointing him as Mountain God of Zhongtiao. The youth explained that though Li had practiced Daoism lifelong, his merits only qualified him as an Earth Immortal (a lower rank). After three years, he could be promoted as an immortal official of blessed lands.

The text also records reincarnation accounts: After death, Zhang Sanlang of Qianyang County was reborn as the Zhai family's son in Wushan. As a toddler, he could describe his past life in the Zhang household—even locating buried money from his previous existence. He recounted successive rebirths: first as a sparrow dying in a net, then as a dog killed for stealing food, next as a sacrificial lamb slaughtered by his eldest son, before finally regaining human form. Notably, the Zhai family had owed Zhang's previous incarnation nine taels of silk—this karmic debt precisely necessitated his rebirth into their household.

The passage concludes with Daoist priest Li Daoming of Cizhou: In his early monastic years, he indulged in wine and dissipation until one night when underworld officers dragged him before infernal judges. There he saw seamless iron shackles. As attendants compressed his head to force it through the shackle's opening—then rounded it to prevent escape—Li protested his innocence, but the judge rebuked him...

The recorded sayings of Daoist Master Hao Taigu (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] tradition) contain this essential cultivation teaching:

When practitioners indulge in desires and sensual pleasures, they become like the cultivator in the parable who transformed into a kite soaring over the ocean upon leaving his home. Only when exhausted and plummeting into the waves did he awaken in terror, drenched in cold sweat. This illustrates how transformation between humans, animals, and divine beings manifests as real phenomena within cultivation states. Buddhist scriptures speak of the rarity of obtaining human birth, and rarer still is being born in the Central Land (civilized regions). Even among millions encountering orthodox methods (zhengfa) in such lands, few cultivate sincerely—how much more so in remote, uncivilized regions?

Regarding practical methods, he taught: Having chosen monastic life, one must relinquish worries and distracting thoughts, learning contentment. Two liters of grain daily suffice—what use is hoarding? One set of coarse clothing yearly is enough—why crave external possessions? Each day of quiet leisure makes one a celestial immortal for that day. The Dao itself is empty, pure, and desireless; when the heart-mind (shen) is tranquil, qi harmonizes—this constitutes the fundamental principle of cosmic creation.

He contrasted worldly and spiritual choices: Better humility and self-reflection than contentiousness; seated meditation preserving the Dao surpasses aimless wandering; carefree simplicity outweighs chasing empty fame and profit; plain tea and simple food exceed lavish feasting; coarse cloth covering the body bests chests of fine garments; transcendent stillness defeats sensual indulgence; maintaining fundamental virtue exceeds springtime mountain excursions; contentment in poverty surpasses ill-gotten wealth; silent reflection outperforms clever speech; focused concentration (shouyi) surpasses discussing past and present; great wisdom appearing foolish outshines multiple talents; washing the heart in repentance beats harboring grudges.

He summarized the cultivation essentials: The Dao's qi flows endlessly—persistent practice leads to immortality. Upon grasping true meaning, don't cling to words, like forgetting the fishing trap after catching the fish. The key lies in tethering the "mind-monkey and thought-horse" (restless thoughts), preserving original simplicity. Guard the great Dao, and auspicious signs will naturally manifest.

He further advised: Daily practice should balance movement and stillness—regulating breath and refining qi in quietude, tempering the mind in lively environments. Walking, standing, sitting, and reclining all constitute cultivation; maintain clear awareness day and night.

A practitioner who cannot relinquish attachments will struggle to attain accomplishment, even after years of monastic life. The core issue lies in failing to "illuminate the mind and perceive one's true nature" (mingxin jianxing). If one cannot even discern their fundamental nature, how can they cultivate both their spiritual essence (xing) and physical vitality (ming)? Without perfecting these two aspects, how can one attain the Dao and achieve authenticity?

There are five common mental afflictions that hinder cultivation: First, seeing others comprehend the principles of xing and ming, yet being too proud to seek guidance—then resenting them when they refuse to teach. Second, envying others' virtuous connections while failing to reflect on one's own lack of De (Virtue/Power), instead harboring malice that damages one's own cultivation karma. Third, slandering those who study scriptures out of one's own ignorance. Fourth, forcibly imposing on others and disturbing their quiet practice. Fifth, allowing greed to scatter the Shen (spirit) and unsettle the mind.

To truly cultivate, one must first eliminate these five ailments and seek instruction with humility. When one's foundation is unstable, they should remain grounded in their proper role. When principles are unclear, they should study the classics diligently. If unable to inspire others, they should maintain silent cultivation. Even when granted minor opportunities, they must never forget the fundamental practice of "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu). Those who persist in this manner will find the Dao within reach; those who violate these principles will inevitably fall into the Fengdu underworld (the Daoist realm of the dead), forever losing their human form and descending to the realm of beasts, dragging down their ancestors (the "Nine Mysteries and Seven Forebears") without hope of liberation.

The teachings of the Seven Perfected and Five Patriarchs (key Daoist masters) all point directly to the essence of xing and ming cultivation. Sadly, later generations often chase minor techniques and side paths: some obsess over forced breath guidance, others mechanically count breaths to forget the mind, some forcibly seek the "interaction of water and fire" (a Neidan term), while others fixate on the "union of dragon and tiger" (another Neidan term). These scattered methods obscure the true meaning of the patriarchs' "Complete Perfection" (Quanzhen)—the preservation of one's authentic nature.

Authentic Daoist practice must be rooted in opening and clarifying the heart-mind, with perceiving one's true nature as the foundation, nurturing life as the function, humility as the virtue, yielding as the conduct, and contentment as the practice. Through perseverance, the "celestial light" (innate wisdom) will naturally illuminate within, filling one with genuine Qi (vital energy), ultimately achieving the wondrous unity of form and spirit—merging with the Dao in authenticity. Modern practitioners, however, are preoccupied with judgments, gains and losses, greed, anger, and personal biases. How can such a mindset stabilize their nature and harmonize their Qi? It only leads them further from the Dao.

This scripture offers a profound critique of contemporary misconduct among Daoist practitioners by contrasting ancient and modern cultivation practices.

Those who don Daoist robes yet defile the tradition harbor jealousy toward the accomplished, exploit the young and elderly, and scheme for petty gains while feigning ignorance toward the great Dao. Though they entered monastic life seeking immortality, they refuse to tame their wild hearts—now grown fierce and deluded, distorting truths without understanding the classics.

The patriarchs established this tradition to guide humanity toward spiritual transcendence, yet today many disciples create karma instead: some deceive crowds with demonic words, falsely claiming divine visions; others establish halls to recruit foolish followers, spouting nonsense to mislead people; some feign cultivation through silent posturing, arrogantly misinterpreting scriptures while ignorant of karmic consequences. Such actions will inevitably face retribution in the underworld courts.

To truly enter our tradition, one must first cultivate the heart. When the heart is free from distraction, the spirit (Shen) naturally stabilizes, and the vital energy (Qi) harmonizes. With the unity of essence (Jing), Qi, and Shen, the three Dantian (energy centers) consolidate, and the inner elixir spontaneously arises. However, complete attainment requires diligent accumulation of both yin virtues (hidden good deeds that subdue ghosts) and yang virtues (visible merits that inspire others)—only with both can one realize the Dao’s fruition.

The text cites perfected adepts like Immortal Li and Immortal Wang as exemplars. After entering the Dao, they sought teachings with humility, endured ascetic practices, revered masters as deities, treated friends as honored guests, avoided frivolous speech, and shunned flattery. For twenty or thirty years they upheld their masters’ instructions, ultimately transcending the mundane to achieve immortality.

In stark contrast, modern "seekers" disrespect teachers and the Dao, envy the virtuous, mock the simple-minded, and pursue contention rather than true practice. Such individuals become obstacles to the tradition in life and plunge into hell after death, bringing calamity upon nine generations of ancestors (referring to the "Nine Mysteries and Seven Forebears," representing ancestral lineages).

The underworld contains boiling cauldrons of oil that inflict excruciating burns, as well as freezing ice that subjects souls to unbearable frostbite. The Mountain of Knives and Forest of Swords (depictions of infernal punishment) force beings to endure countless cycles of life and death. One must never wait until falling into these hell realms to feel regret—by then it will be too late.

This passage comes from the first volume of the Daoist scripture Authentic Immortals' Direct Instructions, using vivid imagery of hell to warn people to cultivate virtue and practice the Dao in a timely manner. The "boiling cauldrons" refer to the searing oil pots of hell, while the "Forest of Swords and Mountain of Knives" represent the torture grounds filled with sharp blades. Daoism teaches that those who commit evil deeds will fall into hell after death, suffering these endless torments. Thus it exhorts people to practice goodness during their lifetime rather than facing futile remorse in the afterlife.

In the recorded sayings of Master Yin Qinghe by Daoist Hai Tian Qiu Yue Xuan Quanzi, it is explained that practitioners must examine how many wicked thoughts arise in their hearts each day. Desires such as wine, lust, wealth, and anger (qi), along with any attachments or greedy affections, must be recognized and relinquished—only then can the mind gradually settle into tranquility.

People often claim that attaining the Dao (the Way) is difficult, yet in truth, practitioners need only turn their minds inward, maintaining a state of purity and detachment, far removed from disputes and distractions. Progress in cultivation then comes swiftly. While deliberate methods (youwei) demand rigorous effort, the path of non-action (wuwei) requires severing all external entanglements. When the heart holds no attachments and one cultivates diligently at all times, the sages and immortals will naturally offer protection. Without genuine effort, however, even the sages will not intervene. The sages teach us to be still when stillness is needed and to act when action is required—otherwise, life passes in vain. Yet even the smallest virtuous act, as insignificant as a needle or a blade of grass, is seen by the sages. Those who truly cultivate the heart will find that food and clothing come naturally, without struggle, for the sages arrange such things unseen.

It is also said: Where there is conceptual discrimination, movement and stillness arise; where there is perception and awareness, fortune and misfortune inevitably follow. A true sage remains unshaken even with a sword at their throat, and when troubles arise, they endure them calmly, understanding them as karmic debts from past lives that must be repaid. Since ancient times, sages have emerged from hardship and poverty, while the wealthy who seek the Dao often remain burdened by lust and arrogance. Ten thousand taels of gold may easily be spent, but the state of an unmoved heart—free from greed and attachment—never fades. Ordinary people rejoice in success and despair in failure, but those who see that both are fundamentally the same have attained true understanding.

Master Yu Yang (Wang Chuyi, a patriarch of the Quanzhen tradition) transmitted this essential teaching: "The true secret is to cultivate all virtues in unison, gathering the spirit (shen) and refining the vital energy (qi) to pierce through the Three Passes (key stages in neidan practice)." This is the authentic transmission of the lineage of Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji).

This passage elucidates the core principles of attaining the Dao through cultivation. It first emphasizes the importance of dual cultivation—externally accumulating yin virtue (performing good deeds and accumulating merit) while internally stabilizing one's Shen (spirit) through mental refinement. This constitutes the fundamental transmission of the Dao, requiring no excessive verbal explanation.

Cultivation isn't confined to formal practices. Whether walking, sitting in meditation, or engaged in daily activities, one can attain the Dao as long as benevolent intentions are maintained. The key to accumulating blessings lies in preserving this virtuous heart—providing for others, diligent service, prioritizing others over oneself, and restraining selfish desires for altruism. Such conduct aligns perfectly with the Great Dao. Yet people often lose their original heart when facing temptations—how could such behavior resonate with the Dao?

Master Danyang (Ma Yu, one of the Seven Perfected Ones of the Quanzhen tradition) once illustrated cultivation's importance through comparison: The karmic offense of slaughtering a hundred oxen pales beside the grave sin of harming a single cultivator. This underscores the exceptional value of practitioners.

Regarding the profound mysteries of the Dao, the text clarifies that true profundity cannot be conveyed through words—it must be personally realized. Empty talk without practice is meaningless; genuine attainment comes only through accumulated cultivation across multiple lifetimes. Daily practice should follow the master's teachings, including: undertaking miscellaneous duties, receiving visitors, subduing wandering thoughts, severing emotional attachments, and studying scriptures—all being pathways to accumulate merit. Both Master Danyang and Patriarch Wang Chongyang attained realization only after lifetimes of cultivation.

The essence of cultivation lies in wholehearted practice—merit accumulates imperceptibly through sincere engagement. The sages secretly record all virtuous deeds; any beneficial action naturally generates merit. Deliberate pursuit of fame and achievement hinders progress, while effortless action (Wuwei) genuinely accumulates virtue. Even during daily labor, one should contemplate the Dao, never obscuring one's original nature.

A crucial reminder for practitioners: Don't cling to superficial "cultivation." True merit resides in the heart's realization of the Dao. Maintaining equanimity while refining oneself amidst worldly affairs without being contaminated by them—this constitutes genuine attainment.

The Record of True Immortals' Direct Pointers discusses how practitioners must overcome desires and distracting thoughts while enduring hardships to attain the Dao.

If cultivators waste their days bickering over trivial matters—fighting over hoes and shovels, competing to rise early to light the stove, or obsessing over petty disputes—how could they possibly achieve merit (De)? True practitioners should discipline themselves strictly while benefiting others: yielding the best tools to fellow cultivators while taking the inferior ones; voluntarily undertaking the most laborious, burdensome, and difficult tasks. Only such conduct reveals genuine devotion to the Dao. Some speak of "transmitting the Dao," yet the Dao itself requires no deliberate transmission. Those who insist on preaching it often harbor peculiar motives, and their disciples may likewise be misguided.

Among all beings, humans possess the highest spiritual capacity, yet they remain trapped in the cycle of "a thousand births and ten thousand deaths." The eyes fixate on forms, spawning delusions; the ears latch onto sounds, distracting the mind from visual attachments; the nose chases fragrances, abandoning auditory fixations; the tongue craves flavors, forgetting the pursuit of scent; the body covets fine garments, weakening the lust for taste; the calculating mind obsesses over schemes, dismissing concerns for clothing. Each arising thought marks a "birth," its dissolution a "death." Ordinary people experience this tangled web of mental activity throughout the twelve daily hours—this is the meaning of "a thousand births and ten thousand deaths."

To sever this cycle of birth and death, one must uphold right mindfulness, using illuminating awareness to see through the illusory nature of external stimuli. Thus, phenomena can no longer defile the original mind. Through sustained practice, even the notion of "illuminating awareness" is relinquished, and the mind attains natural purity. Purity gives rise to the state of non-action (Wuwei), which spontaneously merges with the Great Dao.

The Elder of Eternal Spring (Qiu Chuji) exemplified rigorous cultivation, fearing inadequate effort. He carried stones up mountains to temper his concentration—his scant karmic blessings made mental stability difficult. Later, he survived two life-threatening trials: nearly dying during a purification rite, and having three ribs shattered by a flying rock. He endured repeated illnesses and thrice broke his arm. Yet the firmer a practitioner's resolve, the more demonic obstacles arise; those without determination face none. Each conquered obstacle increases karmic merit and clarifies the mind's nature.

The text also mentions a certain Master Zhang from Shandong who practiced seated meditation for years. Once, during stillness... (the original text breaks off here, describing a meditative state of spiritual testing)

During Master Zhang's spiritual practice, a hemp stalk suddenly fell before his eyes, and this phenomenon repeated three to five times without him paying it any heed. Then one day, a figure descended from the ceiling rafters and stood before him, sighing deeply. Suspecting this might be his "externalized body" (a Daoist term referring to illusory doppelgängers that appear during cultivation), he took his doubts to visit Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji).

After kneeling in reverence, just as he was about to describe the visions encountered during his practice, Master Changchun—already perceiving his thoughts—said: "When cultivators devote themselves to practice, they must not cling to anything seen with their eyes. What you witnessed was neither a true master, nor a true Buddha, nor an authentic deity. It was neither ghost nor demon, neither ordinary human nor dragon-tiger apparition, neither celestial constellation nor earthly beast." Still harboring doubts, Master Zhang insisted it was the phenomenon of "externalized body" and sought further guidance from Master Changsheng (Ma Yu).

Master Changsheng countered: "Have you contemplated Elder Brother Qiu's teachings? If cultivators develop attachment to any spiritual state, they veer into heterodox paths. Facing all phenomena, simply remain uncontaminated and unattached. When your practice matures, understanding will come naturally—no need to harbor doubts." Only then did Master Zhang bow in gratitude.

The master continued his instruction: "Every monastic aspires to penetrate profound mysteries, yet many indulge in empty talk without genuine practice. Better to nurture simple, honest nature and temper the mind—this constitutes true cultivation. You must achieve this: the moment thoughts arise, immediately recognize them and return to thoughtlessness; remain unmoved by desirable objects; hear disputes without involvement; discuss historical rise and fall without reckless speech; neither contend over self-others nor chase fame-wealth; be strict with yourself while benefiting others; avoid wine, lust, wealth, and agitation; relinquish worry and overthinking; abstain from vulgar language; harbor no greed; kindle no anger; sever frivolous thoughts. Whenever old habits surface, rectify them without transgression. Attaining this state means comprehending the profound and perceiving the subtle—you'll commune with heaven-earth, resonate with sages, and harmonize your Shen-Qi (spirit-energy) into abundant vitality."

(Supplementary note: This passage exemplifies Quanzhen Daoism's core practice of "knowing the mind and perceiving true nature," emphasizing non-attachment to all spiritual states while achieving pristine clarity of "no-thought" through daily mental discipline.)

This passage discusses several essential cultivation points for Daoist practitioners:

Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) need not pursue further mysteries. Obsessively seeking more profound wonders will only lead one astray from the true path. The profound methods transmitted by ancient patriarchs were all obtained through tremendous hardship—twelve years of tempering one's nature and accumulating virtue (De). Cultivation must be grounded in practical, steady progress to achieve true completion.

Those who leave worldly life for spiritual practice must advance with unwavering determination, free from doubt. Some practitioners try various methods for years—sitting meditation, contemplation, receiving visitors, alms gathering, sleep cultivation, mountain retreats—yet consider abandoning the path when seeing no immediate results, thinking themselves no different from ordinary people. This is the work of doubt. Even without immediate signs, one must persevere to the end, widely planting virtuous connections while silently accumulating merit. The sages will naturally extend their guidance.

The three poisons of greed, anger, and delusion all stem from desire. When the three root desires—for food, sleep, and lust—become too deep, they invite the harm of the "six thieves" (the senses of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind). Practitioners must reverse these three desires. As desires diminish, the six thieves and the "three corpses" (malevolent spirits within the body) become easier to subdue. This requires resolute determination to sever them completely.

All cultivation methods concerning energy (Qi) circulation and seasonal transformations are superficial practices that can be relinquished. Only scriptures (Jing) must never be abandoned, for they are like lamps in darkness, illuminating the path of cultivation. When one's mind attains awakening, even scriptures can be set aside. Nor should one cling to various affairs within the religious community—such attachment obstructs Dao attainment. Modern practitioners often harbor excessive doubt, with each vow generating new skepticism. This stems from insufficient karmic merit.

For practitioners on the path, those with wavering resolve suffer just as much as those with no aspiration at all. Yet the suffering of the determined has an end—they will ultimately awaken—while the aimless wander endlessly without finding their way back. People often inquire about profound mysteries yet seldom investigate how to truly enter such states. The essential points are enduring hardship, benefiting others, maintaining humility and pliancy, and progressing step by step in cultivation.

Regarding seated meditation practice (zuohuan), if one can support ten or twenty fellow practitioners, they too will benefit. But if unable to sustain even a small community while struggling for daily sustenance... Cultivation is like eating—one cannot survive by only taking ready-made morsels during easy times while avoiding the spoonful-by-spoonful perseverance through hardship. Without taming wandering thoughts, idly roaming with companions wastes precious time. Few in this world dare remain truly idle; most toil day and night for livelihood. Those receiving support without diligent practice will find such blessings hard to digest.

Though Daoists speak of maintaining equanimity, preferences and aversions inevitably arise—joy when things go smoothly, anger when obstructed. To truly reach the state of no-mind (wuxin), one needs an anchor. Like a house without its master, the unguarded mind gets occupied by others. Everyone seeks the Dao, but ask yourself: in twelve daily shichen (ancient two-hour periods divided into eight ke), can you maintain unmoving awareness for even one ke? Don't deceive yourself—true practice begins with not deceiving your heart. The Great Dao is easy to understand but hard to practice; fearing difficulty keeps it mere words. Real effort requires relinquishing worldly ties. Those modern "mindless" mendicants who spread gossip while claiming detachment, or recite scriptures emptily—such ones receive no sages' protection. When trials come, they collapse into madness or illness, victims of shallow merit. But those who resolve to uphold the Daoist tradition and accumulate virtue will naturally gain the sages' guidance.

The ancient masters each attained realization through unique circumstances: Master Ma found the Way mid-journey, Master Tan likewise, and Master Liu even awakened in a pleasure house. While we speak of realization granting omnipotence, actual capacities vary with one's cultivation. Each breakthrough resembles ascending to a higher celestial plane—the vistas broaden accordingly.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principle of subduing the mind and accumulating pure merit for Daoist practitioners.

It first points out that modern priests residing in grand temples, accepting disciples and receiving offerings, are merely enjoying worldly blessings that will eventually be exhausted. True cultivation lies in maintaining inner purity—even a moment of tranquility attained through this practice becomes an inexhaustible wellspring of pure merit. While daily labor is important, what matters more is taming the wandering mind. After completing mundane tasks each day, one should find a quiet place to sit in meditation and refine the heart. Over time, peace of mind will naturally arise. Unfortunately, few today are willing to subdue their inner turmoil, allowing delusive thoughts to run rampant. In truth, when others insult you, they are gifting you merit, whereas praise actually depletes it. As the Scripture of Clarity and Stillness (Qingjing Jing) states: "To see through illusion without clinging to emptiness, to understand form without indulging in external objects—this is true awakening."

The key to cultivation lies in stabilizing the mind. If the heart is settled, every action—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—becomes an act of practicing the Dao. But if the mind is unsettled, all efforts are in vain. The Scripture of Clarity and Stillness contains the essential teachings of cultivation, yet it can never be grasped through a grasping mind. Only by relinquishing all discriminating thoughts can one truly comprehend it. The highest form of practice is maintaining a state of no-mind—deliberately suppressing wandering thoughts only expends unnecessary effort. Forcing the mind into submission is a method of youwei (forced action), whereas aligning with the natural Dao is the way of wuwei (non-action).

A practitioner who does not excessively pursue fine food or luxurious clothing, nor harbors a contentious heart, is accumulating merit. Conversely, one who does the opposite dissipates it. Giving away one’s possessions to bring joy to others actually expands blessings. Among the three desires—food, sleep, and lust—appetite is the root. Overeating leads to drowsiness and excessive sleep, which in turn stirs lust. Eating until only seventy percent full is ideal. The author recalls that during his time in Dongzhou, out of three hundred disciples who endured hardships, only three remained steadfast in their practice. Today, those young cultivators who maintain unwavering resolve are truly blessed individuals.

The passage concludes with a metaphor: The nature of the mind is like a mirror’s surface, while cultivation methods are like dust—both leave traces upon the mirror of the heart. This implies that practice must balance inner refinement with adherence to methods, yet one must not cling to either extreme.

The passage explains how practitioners can realize the true Dao by subduing their minds. The key lies in maintaining unwavering awareness, undisturbed by external distractions. Take sitting posture in daily life as an example: if the body is seated but the mind is scattered, it is far better to stabilize the mind, because genuine cultivation is not about outward form—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down can all be paths of practice.

The author uses the metaphor of an iron pot (yaozi): once reforged, it is no longer the same pot. Similarly, if a practitioner can break free from ingrained habits and temper their mind, they may undergo a profound transformation. However, if one waits until the moment of death ("when the gaze falls to the ground") to begin cultivating the mind, it will be difficult to regain human form in the next life. The crucial point is taming the deluded mind—even a single vegetarian meal should be taken with clarity and stillness of heart, for only then does practice yield true benefit.

Next, the text recounts the cultivation story of Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen school of Daoism). Seeing that other practitioners possessed greater blessings and wisdom in appearance, he resolved to undertake austere practice: for three years, he kept his mind "like cold ashes" (completely still), and for ten years, he continuously refined his nature. He wore hemp sandals, repeatedly tying and untying them, and walked seventeen or eighteen circuits each night to prevent drowsiness. After fifty days of such discipline, he attained a state where his mind remained unmoved and his true nature shone with constant clarity—his inner being was as transparent as a crystal pagoda. Yet when his attainment later regressed, he wept bitterly, lamenting his shallow karmic fortune.

While in Chang’an, a military commander invited him to a vegetarian feast, but he lost his way three times at night, realizing his blessings were insufficient. He endured trials from celestial demons (obstacles in cultivation) and the Five Emperor Great Demons (five major hindrances in Daoist teachings), even having three ribs broken by a flying stone—yet his mind remained unshaken. Finally, four days before attaining the Dao on the fifteenth day of the second lunar month, he gained wisdom that penetrated heaven and earth, able to perceive mountains and rivers with perfect clarity.

The author then shares his own experience: initially, he maintained wakefulness for eight out of twelve daily hours, later progressing to nine. Though drowsiness lingered for the remaining two or three hours, he never relaxed his vigilance. For seven or eight days, he did not close his eyes, eating only minimal food while refining both wakefulness and the mind. Quoting Master Ma (likely referring to Ma Danyang, one of the Quanzhen Seven Masters), he warns: even slight indulgence can deplete the Divine Elixir (internal Jing-Qi), while excessive laxity leads to the withering of true nature.

Master Ma Danyang (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen tradition) taught that immortals are classified into four grades: ghost immortals, human immortals, earthly immortals, and celestial immortals. Achieving immortality requires karmic affinities accumulated over past lives. After attaining immortality, one may dwell in the Ten Continents and Three Islands (legendary paradises where immortals reside) or famous mountain grotto-heavens, with positions assigned according to one's merits. Those with great virtue ascend to become celestial officials in the heavenly realms, while those with lesser merits must return to the human world after five or six hundred years, or two or three thousand years, to continue accumulating virtue. Those who only pursue quietude and wuwei (non-action) without accumulating merits will still attain a destination; but if one accumulates merits solely through charitable deeds like almsgiving, offerings, or forming karmic connections, one merely gains human or celestial blessings while remaining subject to rebirth.

Practitioners often speak of being "without sin or merit," yet this state can only be reached by never giving rise to ordinary thoughts at any moment. If those performing good deeds harbor even the slightest attachment, their merits become difficult to accumulate; if those with pure minds entertain the slightest distraction, they must sever it immediately. When the mind remains unshaken, the shen (spirit) becomes tranquil; when the shen is tranquil, the qi (vital energy) harmonizes: three years without leakage (referring to preserving jing-essence and qi) forms the lower dantian (energy center), six years forms the middle dantian, and nine years forms the great dantian—yet without accumulated blessings, success remains difficult.

The Zhenren (likely referring to Wang Chongyang) said that when he first cultivated the Dao, he constantly noticed others' faults—yet this is precisely what practice most prohibits. Others' rights and wrongs all follow their own karma and should be completely relinquished. Intelligent people tend toward restlessness and must learn restraint; simple people tend toward stubbornness and must learn flexibility. The essence of cultivation lies in steady sitting, like Master Huan (possibly referring to a certain practitioner) who maintained constant vigilance as if a prisoner daring not indulge. When others discuss right and wrong, refrain from joining; when seeing beauty, stir no thoughts—only by thoroughly breaking such attachments can one attain the highest practice. Even those who feign indifference to the Dao surpass those who deliberately commit evil. True cultivation eliminates falsity, returning to the source through purity, as natural as the bright moon and gentle breeze.

He also said: Seeing through worldly affairs makes one reluctant to speak; understanding human nature requires only a nod. If one doesn't even nod, sorrow and worry naturally vanish.

The master (likely Ma Danyang) further instructed: When silently reciting scriptures, don't "blow the fire" (possibly referring to breath regulation) lest it harm the shen and qi. When bowing to sacred images, be humble and willingly take the lower position; when choosing seating, select lower places—such details all require attention.

When practitioners prematurely pursue external signs of cultivation (such as smoke and fire during alchemical practices), the apparent activity actually depletes their vital energies (Jing-Qi-Shen). Those who neither support their parents nor serve their country are essentially consuming the world's valuable resources while contributing nothing. Dressed in hemp robes and paper jackets, begging for scraps and cold leftovers, they may appear to be cultivating through worldly uselessness. But if they fail to attain the Dao, they remain blameless; whereas those who receive alms without achieving realization incur karmic debts that must be repaid.

When one exhausts their strength and cannot proceed, mutual aid becomes true merit. Persist in guarding the Dao unwaveringly for three years, and the sages will naturally take notice. If practitioners can maintain a mind free of attachment, days pass effortlessly and merit accumulates naturally. Ordinary people always crave excitement in stillness and seek quietude amid bustle. Some criticize my constant silent adherence to the Dao as arrogance, yet those chasing wealth and fame are the truly arrogant ones. My inner purity mirrors ancient worthies like Bo Yi, Shu Qi, Xu You, and Chao Fu. Even without conscious merit-building, maintaining this impoverished devotion to the Great Work of Dao is itself praiseworthy.

To overcome drowsiness in practice, practitioners must reduce worldly desires. Releasing attachments and eating lightly keeps the spirit buoyant, naturally decreasing sleep needs—occasional drowsiness matters not. But those indulging in sensory pleasures and rich foods sink into grinding stupor; no amount of sitting meditation helps. Genuine non-attachment to sleep manifests distinct spiritual attainment. Some mock seated meditation as pretense, revealing only their own weak Dao-hearts.

The ancients taught well: pheasants die for their beautiful feathers, turtles perish for their precious shells—better to be useless and live peacefully. At birth, an infant's primordial radiance (innate nature) knows neither good nor evil, fortune nor misfortune, praise nor blame—worldly people teach them competitive minds. The truly awakened eradicate passions to return to simple authenticity, single-mindedly guarding their vital radiance until heart and Dao unite. Though appearing to accumulate no conscious merit, they perfect the luminous spirit that comes and goes in freedom.

The path of cultivation fundamentally lies in nurturing the heart-mind—the more one nurtures it, the deeper the practice becomes; the less one nurtures it, the shallower the practice remains. By "nurturing," we mean maintaining stillness of thought. Those who truly understand cultivation live with ease when they recognize their original mind and perceive their true nature. Those who fail to recognize their original mind and nature endure daily torment in their hearts.

For practitioners, refining the heart-mind is the most essential task—what could be more important? Those of superior capacity work directly on their heart-mind, completely relinquishing worldly affairs. Sadly, many fail to grasp this truth. Out of compassion, the sages teach people to begin with the basics: diligence in work, warmth in human relations, making offerings to the Three Treasures (Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha), enduring hardship for the benefit of others, and maintaining humility and gentleness, never wasting time. By accumulating virtue and merit in this way, when blessings become abundant, the heart naturally attains peace and stability.

Master Danyang (Ma Yu, one of the Seven Masters of Quanzhen) taught the most direct method—pointing straight to the heart-mind as the root, entirely free from worldly entanglements. This is the way of cultivation for those of superior capacity. Many practitioners begin with strong determination, yet after ten years, their minds grow restless, seeking in "existence" but finding nothing, seeking in "emptiness" but also finding nothing. In truth, one need only subdue deluded thoughts and practice with perseverance—what else is there to seek?

Our true nature lies right beneath our feet, yet people often overlook it. What is right before our eyes remains unseen; what lies behind our eyes is even more invisible. In reality, true nature pervades the entire universe—all things are one. Clinging to any extreme is partiality. Maintain a lively and free state of mind. If one preserves Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) without leakage for three years, the lower Dantian (energy center) will crystallize, and light will appear in the eyes. Six years without leakage crystallizes the middle Dantian, allowing the emergence of the Yang Spirit (cultivated spirit). Nine years without leakage crystallizes the great elixir, enabling free ascension. These attainments all depend on the stillness of true nature, which operates spontaneously within it.

The six supernatural powers (divine sight, divine hearing, mind-reading, knowledge of past lives, miraculous movement, and the extinction of defilements) may seem illusory yet are not empty. But beware—misunderstanding "emptiness" and denying causality invites calamity. Clinging to "existence" is wrong, and clinging to "emptiness" is equally wrong—like jumping into a fire pit to escape drowning.

In daily labor, let karma be resolved naturally; in eating and daily life, keep things simple. If one neither labors nor cultivates with a settled mind, they accumulate debt through idle speech. Refining the heart-mind requires silently accumulating merit while maintaining a gentle and humble demeanor. Laboring solely for blessings or begging for alms in the name of cultivation are not true practice. Rejoicing at others' generosity while resenting their use of one's own possessions—these are habits to be subdued daily.

Understand that this physical body is illusory and impermanent—only that single point of true nature is the real self. When conditions allow, cultivate accordingly; when they do not, sit quietly and nurture the Dao. The Buddhist scriptures say the six supernatural powers seem illusory yet are real—true nature is like a luminous pearl, perfectly bright yet free from form. Ordinary people, deluded by the six dusts (sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and thought), chase illusions like monkeys grasping at the moon.

When the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) become restless, one cannot maintain focused spirit (Shen). The eyes must not gaze indiscriminately, the ears must not listen carelessly, the nose must not cling to scents or odors, the tongue must not crave flavors, the body must not indulge in delicate sensations, and the mind must not wander aimlessly. By guarding the original heart against external disturbances and constantly preserving one’s innate nature, the true essence (Jing) remains unharmed. Ordinary people often lose themselves in the indulgence of the six senses, but if one can restrain them, the spirit will gather. When the spirit gathers, vital energy (Qi) coalesces; when Qi coalesces, life and nature are preserved, ultimately refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the highest achievement of Neidan practice).

For Daoist practitioners, inner tranquility is paramount—a steadfast Daoist heart can break through worldly distractions. Whether focused on alms-seeking (as a mendicant cultivator), dedicated to Daoist practice, or devoted to serving others, the key lies in purity of mind. Though performing good deeds and accumulating merit—such as storing food to feed travelers, growing vegetables to nourish others, or planting trees to provide shade—are virtuous acts, none compare to the importance of cultivating the heart and nurturing the Dao.

In the past, during the Yuan Dynasty, there was a Daoist named Chen who tended a vegetable garden in the capital. He neither discussed abstruse principles nor studied scriptures, yet because his mind was free of distractions and utterly selfless, his master guided him to ascend to immortality. This illustrates that Daoist cultivation lies not in outward forms but in the purity of one’s inner being.