《峴泉集》Vol. 8

This passage is the Poem of Serene Detachment (Danmo Fu) composed by Celestial Master (Tianshi) Zhang Yuchu of the Ming dynasty, using ornate language to depict cosmic genesis and the realm of spiritual cultivation. It begins by describing the primordial state of the universe: in the void stillness of the Great Beginning (Taichu), all things begin to sprout; as chaos first divides, the celestial patterns (sun, moon, and stars) form their cyclical movements. The interplay of movement and stillness gives rise to the odd and even numbers of Yin-Yang, which then evolve into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The Hetu and Luoshu (mystical diagrams said to have been received by Fu Xi) become the guiding principles, establishing harmony among the three poles of heaven, earth, and humanity.

The text then portrays the cultivator observing the vast cycles of cosmic growth and decline, where the subtle fusion of the Three and Five (Yin-Yang and the Five Phases) coalesces internally like stars revolving around the Northern Dipper’s pivot. Primordial Qi (Yinyun) permeates boundlessly, its radiance flickering in a dreamlike haze. In serene emptiness, the seeker pursues the "Mysterious Pearl" (a metaphor for the truth of the Dao), as if groping in a realm beyond form. Maintaining a mind as clear and suspended as a grain of millet, yet capable of manifesting visions of swirling clouds and glowing mists.

The cultivator embraces the cosmic laws and dives into the abyss, roaming freely through limitless expanses. They rotate heaven and earth like the turning of an ascending and descending wheel. Bathed in the radiance of the Valley of Dawn (Yanggu, where the sun rises), they ride the whirlwind (Fuyao) to soar into the heavens. Holding banners of fragrant herbs, they pay homage to the divine spirits (Lingjun), drinking jade nectar and cassia wine (elixirs of immortality), basking in flourishing auspiciousness. Ultimately, they reach the state of undifferentiated chaos (Hunmang), transcending into serene nothingness.

The focus then shifts to inner cultivation: washing away worldly defilements to return to the primal essence (Xuanjing). Harnessing the nebulous state of Qianlei (primordial Qi), they harmonize the Six Energies (Yin, Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light). Uniting the fire of Li (illumination) with the water of Kan (obscurity), they regulate their breath (Mijie) to return to the Supreme Oneness (Taiyi, the source of the Dao). The passage laments the endless cycles of recurrence, like boiling water that eventually settles into stillness.

Finally, it cites the immortal figures Chisongzi and Wangzi Qiao ("Song-Qiao") as exemplars—cultivators who do not covet the longevity of the chun tree (a symbol of immortality) but willingly retreat to mountain valleys to refine their resolve. Maintaining purity like frost and ice, they regard the illusory world as insignificant as drifting dust (Louchen). The author humbly admits his own dull nature yet yearns for the wisdom of ancient sages, feeling constrained by the clamor of worldly teachings. He would rather follow the transformations of nature (Dahua), vanishing like withered grass, renouncing clever words and artifice to seek the origin of chaos (Manghong). Rejecting the trivial tunes of mundane music (Sangjian Pushang), he listens instead to the soundless music of the Dao (Dayin Xisheng). He does not envy the rarity of precious jade (Kangpao), seeking only to align with innate authenticity. Like a square peg in a round hole (incompatibility) or disparate essences mingling, one must ultimately return to the radiance of their original nature.

These passages from Xianquan Ji express the sentiments of a Daoist cultivator transcending worldly concerns in pursuit of spiritual freedom.

The first section depicts the noble character of ancient sages. The author admires the lofty virtue of Laozi (Lao Lie) and Liezi, praises Yang Xiong for upholding profound Daoist principles (the mysterious truths of Dao), and commends Qu Yuan for maintaining his righteous spirit despite exile. A true cultivator should settle turbid thoughts and preserve emptiness and stillness, shedding worldly attachments like a cicada molting its shell. Though Jia Yi lamented life and death, it would be better to ride the wind and ascend beyond the nine heavens, liberated from bodily constraints. The sparse morning stars with their faint light evoke melancholy for the narrow confines of the mundane world. Adorning himself with orchids (symbolizing purity) and gathering fragrant herbs, the author follows in the footsteps of ancient sages, contemplating the dew on chrysanthemums (symbolizing fleeting purity), regarding all things as equal, and fearing no hardship ahead. Gazing at the phoenix soaring high (symbolizing radiant virtue), he worries about moving as slowly as a crawling turtle, yearning instead to reach Danqiu (the realm of immortals) in search of the true essence of the Dao.

Qishan Cao portrays the life of a mountain recluse. From the mountaintop, one cannot see distant Turtle Mountain or Lu Mountain (symbolizing remoteness); the trees here remain uncut, and the secluded tranquility makes it an ideal dwelling. The author’s aspirations run counter to worldly ways, lamenting that the simple purity of antiquity can no longer be found.

Guiqiao Cao recounts a forest hermitage. Building a nest among the trees, the author lives without worry, emulating the ancients in holding fast to his true nature. Though woodcutters fell trees, he cannot bear to harm plants and grass. Just as oxen have lush meadows to graze, why should one need a sickle to reap? The world does not understand his heart, yet he does not grieve over it.

Peilan Cao uses orchids as a metaphor for noble character. Fragrant and pure, the orchid is worn yet unappreciated. Far off, frost and snow never melt; nearby, thorns grow thick. He plants orchids but hides them away, sorrowing over their obscurity. Oh orchid, do not release your fragrance, do not display your beauty.

Nishen Shi expounds on the philosophy of the cosmos. The Dao of Heaven (Tian Ni) is profound and unfathomable; all things revolve in cycles. The ultimate truth lies within natural laws, as the primal Qi (Qi Ji) circulates, giving rise to growth and decay. The mysterious principle governs all, from chaos to clarity. How can turbid Qi bind life itself?

This passage from the Xianquan Collection expresses a Daoist practitioner's contemplation on the essence of life and spiritual cultivation. The poem references ancient immortals like Chisongzi and Prince Qiao, who could ride the wind and roam the clouds. The author yearns for such transcendent states but finds himself trapped in worldly impurity—like an empty cicada shell, retaining only a hollow form. True adepts conceal their authentic nature, their minds as clear as deep pools, undisturbed by desires, transcending mundane joys and sorrows.

Between heaven and earth flows primordial Qi (vital energy), and the cosmos stretches boundlessly. Yet ordinary people fight endlessly for fleeting fame and profit, as violent as crocodiles and as contrary to the Dao as the infamous robber Zhi. Practitioners should emulate Confucius’ disciple Yan Hui, content in poverty and devoted to the Way, treading as cautiously as on thin ice, wary of temptations as if touching flames. Only through serenity can one grasp the Dao’s profound subtleties—clear as an autumn sky, luminous as moonlight piercing a secluded valley.

The seasons cycle, and all things move ceaselessly. Rain and dew nourish; wind and thunder stir—all follow the natural Dao. The supreme Dao governs the transformations of Qi like a potter shaping clay. Practitioners should emulate these natural rhythms, maintaining inner clarity and refining their pure essence. To deviate from this root is like carving jade with an axe—destroying its intrinsic beauty.

The text contrasts different schools of thought: Confucius spoke of benevolence and righteousness, Mozi advocated universal love, and Mencius promoted innate goodness—yet all must ultimately return to the Dao’s source. The author criticizes those who indulge in empty metaphysics while straying from reality, like Gongsun Long’s sophistry on "hardness and whiteness" or Yang Xiong’s obscure imitation of the Daodejing in his Taixuan Jing. True masters of the Dao, like Zhuangzi and Liezi, transcend worldly views, returning to the simplicity of Fuxi and Shennong’s ancient era.

The crux of cultivation lies in grasping the supreme Dao of the "Three Poles" (heaven, earth, and humanity) and upholding humanistic spirit. Benevolence and righteousness arise from innate nature; all, wise or foolish, should maintain reverence and single-minded devotion. One must balance the middle way like a scale, studying the Dao’s subtleties with awe. Those who chase hollow fame pale beside recluses who embrace lofty ideals, befriending fish and birds, springs and stones—returning to the pristine authenticity of antiquity.

The Xianquan Collection passage presents a multi-layered discourse on Daoist cultivation realms and life philosophy:

Regarding cultivation states: The phrase "embracing authenticity to attain sublime liberation" describes achieving transcendence through steadfast adherence to the Dao. "The crescent moon reveals the elixir field (Dantian)" depicts the luminous vision of the energy center resembling a new moon. "Yang fire overflows in true cycles" portrays the rising yang energy during practice, while "yin ice melts into cooling springs" metaphorically represents the refreshing sensation of dissolved yin forces. Practitioners regulate breathing ("one breath completes the celestial circuit") to circulate essence (Jing) and energy (Qi) like heavenly orbits, ultimately reaching the Neidan state of "numinous roots nurtured by jade nectar."

Concerning life philosophy: The text employs "fortune and misfortune lean on each other" to illustrate worldly duality, urging discernment of life-death fundamentals. "Discarding excrescences like clods and straw" symbolizes shedding worldly burdens with ease. References to ancient hermits like Chao Fu and Xu You express admiration for noble reclusion.

On worldly conduct: The passage emphasizes the transcendent attitude of "why startle at favor or disgrace," critiquing the hypocrisy of "thieves of reputation like Tian and Shi." Using Confucius' (Zhongni) halted carriage and Duke Yu's resignation as examples, it shows sages often choosing withdrawal. "Plain virtue values steadfast purity" highlights maintaining unadorned nature, akin to the unwavering virtue praised in the Book of Songs' "Cypress Boat."

The conclusion employs natural imagery: "Morning sun ascends eastern trees" and "waning moon flows western peaks" create diurnal alternation, implying cultivation must follow natural rhythms. "Beams shelter nesting swallows" and "wild geese soar high" express the pursuit of returning to original simplicity through homecoming imagery. The final "thorny brambles block the path" metaphorically suggests cultivation's arduous challenges.

This scripture integrates Neidan terminology with Daoist life philosophy, employing classical allusions and natural symbolism to expound the cultivation ideal of transcending worldly attachments and returning to original authenticity. Its discussions of yin-yang harmonization and breath regulation exemplify classical Neidan methods, while its teachings on equanimity and non-attachment embody perennial Daoist wisdom.

This poetic passage depicts the inner journey of a Daoist cultivator wandering through mountain wilderness in spiritual quest. The opening lines describe the arduous ascent—withered grasses rustle in the bitter wind, frost and dew congeal on the path, mirroring the practitioner's fear that his pristine virtue (De) might be tainted by worldly dust, just as clear springs eventually dwindle into mournful trickles, and the mountain cicadas' song echoes with profound solitude.

The recurring motif of "Eastern Mountain" operates on dual levels: it is both the physical peak being scaled and a metaphor for the cultivation path—deceptively smooth yet coursed with rushing streams. The imagery of soaring birds contrasted with sun-obscuring clouds suggests the cultivator's tension between transcendental aspirations and inescapable earthly shadows. As seasons shift from autumn to winter, howling north winds scatter fallen leaves while flickering starlight in the cold night deepens the wanderer's loneliness.

The latter section turns toward immortal realms, invoking "purple ganoderma" (legendary herb of immortality) and the "Four Elders of Shang Mountain" (reclusive sages of Qin-Han era), expressing yearning for eremitic purity. The cultivator envisions himself adorned with feathered regalia, transcending mortal confines like the ancient transcendent Fu Qiu Gong riding light breezes beyond the clouds. The poem culminates with references to the "Six Directions" (cosmic totality) and the "Arts of Xu and Han" (alchemical methods of Xu Fu and Han Zhong), affirming pursuit of the timeless Dao rather than worldly-approved techniques.

Interweaving seasonal transformations with celestial visions, the entire composition reveals the cultivator's oscillating psyche between earthly struggles and spiritual ideals. Its language preserves the austere vigor of Han-Wei dynasty poetry while suffused with the metaphysical resonance distinctive to Daoist sensibility.

This passage depicts the carefree life of a recluse who has withdrawn from worldly clamor to commune with nature, embodying Daoist ideals of returning to simplicity and embracing naturalness. Let me analyze it layer by layer:

The opening describes the hermit's dwelling: far from bustling streets (lü lü), a thatched hut (qu lu) in deep mountains where he daily climbs lofty ridges (chong gang) overlooking clear streams. Clad in flowing robes (chang ju), he lives like ancient hermits in legendary places such as Mount Kongtong (where the Yellow Emperor received teachings from Guangchengzi) and Zhengpu (an ancient recluse's abode). When attaining the Dao, he soars like a giant roc spreading its wings (fen hong ju), swims freely like fish in deep pools, rests amidst mist and clouds, and releases long cries toward heaven and earth.

Next emerges the figure of a "student of immortality," dwelling among towering spiritual peaks, between cloud-wrapped cliffs and mountain springs. Mentioning Ge Hong (the Jin dynasty Daoist alchemist) who retreated to Mount Luofu to refine the divine elixir (shen dan) seeking longevity (jiu shi). The description shifts to immortals riding ornate carriages (xuan gai) returning eastward, awaiting phoenixes (luan zhi) in pearl-like forests while ordinary mortals can only gaze upward.

The latter section expresses reclusive aspirations through "summoning reclusion" motifs: wearing straw sandals (bu jue) on secluded winding paths, living in crude huts (zhen peng) and remote corners. Orchids flourish on high ground while distant ridges appear rugged amidst lush forests (wei rui). The narrator desires only to till and herd, reclaiming wasteland (zi yu), refusing worldly constraints. Choosing Mount Shang (Shangluo) and Dongyuan as hermitages, living like the ancient recluse Chang Ju.

The conclusion presents Daoist philosophy: All things share the same origin (tong yi ben), waxing and waning being natural. Even heaven and earth are but formed vessels (xing qi), operating through yin-yang's soft and firm aspects (rou gang). The perpetual alternation of strength and yielding (jian shun heng bu xi) maintains cosmic harmony (tai he) without damage. Human life resembles fleeting dreams (fu sheng deng huan), reflecting Daoist concepts of equalizing all things and embracing emptiness.

The text employs abundant reclusive imagery: mist, clear springs, orchids, pines, cassia trees, and cold springs—all constituting a pure natural environment for cultivation. By contrasting the immortals' freedom with worldly entanglements, it expresses the Daoist worldview of "when prosperous, benefiting the world; when destitute, perfecting oneself alone," ultimately pointing to the cosmology of universal oneness and a transcendent outlook on life and death.

This passage from the Xianquan Collection conveys, through a series of poems, the Daoist ideal of maintaining inner clarity and aligning with the natural order. The first poem warns that indulgence in worldly desires obscures one's true nature, advocating purity like frost and self-vigilance to cultivate De (Virtue). Key concepts such as "Qi's mechanism" (the primordial energy of the cosmos) and "Yin-Yang" (the fundamental principles of complementary opposites) are highlighted as the driving forces behind the myriad transformations of existence.

The second poem emphasizes that self-cultivation hinges on "focusing on unity and abiding in reverence," akin to treading cautiously on thin ice. Only by reducing desires can one avoid the extremes of inner agitation or stagnation, ensuring the ceaseless circulation of the vigorous Qi of Qian (the active, creative force). The poet laments those entangled in sophistry, likening them to the fleeting clamor of cicadas, while sages embody compassionate wisdom in silence.

The third poem depicts shifting natural scenes—morning clouds giving way to wind and rain—mirroring life's impermanence. A cultivator should emulate the ancient sage Yuan Xian (a disciple of Confucius who found joy in simplicity), embracing humility to perceive the "spiritual realm" (a state of awakened consciousness). Closing with imagery of wild geese and autumn chrysanthemums, the verses pay homage to recluses like Yuan An (a Eastern Han hermit), revealing the poet's longing to retreat into nature and follow the noble legacy of past adepts.

Collectively, these poems exemplify classic Daoist practice: observing natural patterns to comprehend the Dao, preserving serenity amid chaos, and harmonizing external caution (as on thin ice) with inner sincerity. The ultimate aim is to attain the state of "perceiving the subtle through tranquil emptiness"—a lucid stillness that unveils life's profound mysteries.

This passage depicts the shifting natural landscapes through the four seasons while conveying a Daoist practitioner's contemplative states, presented in four sections corresponding to spring, summer, autumn and winter.

In spring evenings as the air turns cool, gardens exhale freshness, with fallen petals glowing in the sunset's afterglow. Early summer's heat has yet to intensify; fragrant grasses flourish by the pond, inducing languid strolls. Beneath the cool moonlight where white dew condenses, the practitioner admires Zhou Xie's (Eastern Han recluse) detachment and yearns for Guan Ning's (Three Kingdoms hermit) purity, seeing through worldly illusions while aspiring to a transcendent life among springs and stones.

Summer breezes whisper gently, the sweltering heat still held at bay. Morning birds chorus in dense groves as hidden fragrances drift through dewy grass, tender wild plants lining the paths. At dusk, one delights in finding shelter where brambles veil the high mounds. Life passes like a white steed glimpsed through a crack—all attachments are but silken bonds of a chrysalis. The practitioner pierces through worldly delusions, realizing the body's impermanence. Pursuing the Dao (the Way) makes one as insignificant as vinegar gnats; why fret over affairs spanning generations?

Autumn howls with bitter winds across somber fields. Swift clouds race through twilight as mournful gales sweep sparse woods; homing birds cry on familiar branches, stirring profound reflection. The practitioner packs for distant journeys yet seldom spreads his wings. He entrusts his spirit (Shen) to the mysterious Dao, aloof from worldly clamor. Time flashes like lightning—how might one grasp the bamboo's humble emptiness? Gazing at sunlit ridges, he soars alone through vast skies, silently observing nature's transformations, though none comprehend his heart.

Winter dawns break unexpectedly warm and clear, horizons stretching unobstructed. Spring rains drip from eaves while morning winds sway tall trees; the great river surges ceaselessly onward. Resting his head on scriptures, the practitioner aligns his heart with ancient sages' aspirations. Earthly fetters loosen as restless fires of the mind subside. He sighs at fame-seekers while lifting his gaze to the boundless heavens, witnessing the Dao's manifestation.

Concluding with "Autumn Meditations": Fierce winds shake lofty trees, awakening melancholy awareness of autumn's arrival. Dawn light reshapes mountains as drifting clouds wander all day. Lingering rains dissolve summer's heat; cicadas shrill urgently in dense shade. The practitioner stands attuned to nature's cycles, loosening his robe in solitary reflection. Life is brief as a gnat's flight—each breath filled with trivial noise. He marvels at Yin Xi's (Laozi's disciple) enlightenment and honors Lü Yao's (ancient sage) virtue, surrendering to forested peaks where profound solitude and awakening intertwine.

This poetic passage depicts the desolate autumn scenery and the inner reflections of a Daoist practitioner. Observing the continuous autumn rains, rising cold waters, the mournful wail of night winds, and the sorrowful chirping of crickets in the courtyard, the poet sighs deeply as withered grasses blanket the barren sandbars, and myriad worries flood his heart. He attempts to soothe his spirit by playing the zither, yet finds himself unable to compose harmonious tunes, instead reminiscing about the simple and virtuous teachings of the ancient Yellow Emperor (Huang) and Emperor Yao (Tang), lamenting the moral chaos of the present age.

The poem mentions the arrival of "Rushou" (the Autumn Deity), bringing the stern qi of autumn, as frost and dew thicken, crickets chirp through the night, and birds return to their nests—all stirring the poet's melancholy. He criticizes worldly people who chase fame and wealth, their paths choked with thorns, while he himself emulates Qu Yuan (Lingxiu) in maintaining noble integrity. Drinking unrefined wine and admiring chrysanthemums, he cultivates fragrant herbs in the "Nine Fields" (the garden where Qu Yuan planted aromatic plants), preserving a tranquil heart even amidst the withering woods.

As the seasons shift, morning winds sweep through the forest, white dew dampens the courtyard grass, crickets sing by the gate, and wild ducks play along the water's edge. Alone in the depths of autumn, the poet reflects on the swift passage of time, his thoughts traversing millennia. He longs to retreat to the countryside like Xie Lingyun (Huilian), cleansing his cap tassels (symbolizing transcendence of worldly cares) in clear streams and dwelling in seclusion among hills and gardens. He seeks true delight in the footsteps of woodcutters, singing freely beneath the vast heavens.

The poem concludes with the lines: "Form and substance are but illusions; only yang's vigor remains steadfast and pure." Here, the poet observes that all material forms are transient, while the yang energy alone endures with unwavering strength, as the workings of Heaven (Qian) and Earth (Kun) follow the supreme principles of firmness and yielding. This reflects the Daoist practitioner's transcendent perspective, contemplating the Dao beyond worldly attachments.

These passages from Xianquan Ji express the philosophy of reclusive mountain living and comprehending the celestial Dao. The first section depicts the hermit withdrawing from worldly turmoil, like the ancient recluse Chaofu (legendary sage) who cut through brambles to seek secluded dwellings, maintaining silence in mountain valleys while preserving the Dao-hearted mind within.

The second segment contemplates life's philosophy through seasonal changes. After spring rain, birds sing, and fallen blossoms scatter with the east wind—metaphors for time's swift passage. Observing the transformations of all things, one understands that while external forms change, their essence remains eternal. Like pines and cypresses that stay evergreen through winter, one must timely prune stray branches to maintain noble character. True De (Virtue) resides not in outward conduct but in inner cultivation.

The third passage describes moonlit meditation. Beneath sparse stars and pale moonlight, dew moistens shrubs as crickets chirp among withered grass. Sitting in stillness, the poet reflects on life's ephemerality—worldly affairs seem like dust, life and death but a grand dream, a century passing like the space between drunkenness and sobriety.

The fourth section discusses human nature's essence, proposing all beings share the same fundamental nature, later muddled by distinctions of wisdom and folly. The enlightened understand celestial Dao operates like seasonal flourishing and decay, remaining detached toward wealth or poverty. Like Zhuangzi ("Master Meng" [Meng Zhuang]) who grasped the principle of "letting be" (Zaiyou), one transcends worldly strife. Parables warn how fame and achievement ultimately return to dust.

The final passage employs mirror metaphors. A polished mirror reflects beauty and ugliness; still water shows one's face, yet human essence lies beyond appearance. As fine swords require master smiths, true wisdom demands constant refinement. Throughout the poems flows the Daoist veneration of naturalness and returning to simplicity, emphasizing inner cultivation over external accomplishments.

This passage depicts two scenarios of Daoist cultivation life and their corresponding states of mind.

The first part portrays the daily life of a recluse: the morning sunlight fills the quiet courtyard, bringing warmth and comfort. Sparse bamboo groves rustle in the gentle breeze, while moss-covered paths bear few traces of human footsteps. Dwelling in such serene surroundings naturally fosters a peaceful and tranquil mind, far removed from worldly disturbances. The author reminds himself to remain vigilant against mundane temptations, preserving his original aspiration through careful self-reflection from dawn till dusk.

The second part, Inscription on the Stone Chamber of Kongtong Mountain, depicts the celestial scenery of this sacred Daoist site (legendary abode of Guangchengzi). The mountain's foundation is formed by the divine stones left by Nüwa when she mended the heavens. Among the Five Sacred Peaks, Kongtong enjoys great renown, its mist-shrouded grotto-heavens inspiring deep reverence. Here, Daoist practitioners withdraw from worldly clamor, prolonging their years by consuming pine resin and other natural substances, studying precious Daoist scriptures (Jing), and refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan). They probe the profound mysteries of heaven and earth, contemplating the true essence of the Dao (Dao) in pristine seclusion. Finally, the author pays homage to Guangchengzi (teacher of the Yellow Emperor and an important Daoist immortal), expressing his yearning for the purity of Wuwei (non-action) and adherence to the Dao's arcane principles.

References to "golden liquor" (Jinye) denote the jade-like elixir in Daoist alchemy (Neidan), while "mysterious ultimate" (Xuanji) signifies the supreme realm of the Dao—both attainable only through prolonged serene cultivation. The entire passage embodies the Daoist recluse's ideal: a life devoted to natural harmony and quiet refinement of the Way.