《呂帝詩集》Vol. 3
About this page. The original text of 《呂帝詩集》 Vol. 3 (Qing Daoist texts 清代道教文獻, 5 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Kanripo (Kyoto University) edition. An English interpretation of the 68 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source textInterpretation
The "Song Against Killing by Ancestor Lü" is a compassionate ancient-style poem by the Daoist immortal Lü Dongbin (styled Pure Yangzi, revered as the Sovereign Fu You), exhorting people to abstain from killing. The poem vividly depicts the agonizing scenes of animal slaughter:
Behold those creatures pierced through the heart by sharp blades, their bellies slit open with knives—their muscles still tremble as their hides are torn away, their bodies convulse even after their throats are cut. Blood splatters across the butcher's block, and their piteous cries shake the very walls. Eels writhe after being chopped into segments, live fish leap desperately when thrown into boiling oil—all enduring unspeakable torment.
The poem enumerates the spiritual wisdom of various animals: oxen plowing fields in orderly constellations, horses bearing burdens of transport and war, roosters heralding dawn, and dogs guarding homes. Crows know to feed their parents in return, lambs kneel in gratitude while nursing, wild geese keep their vows of fidelity, and snakehead fish understand northern migrations (referring to their migratory instincts). Even the tiniest lives deserve compassion.
The poet laments: every morsel of meat on the dining plate comes from countless beings struggling in brine and writhing in boiling broth. Eating it neither satisfies hunger nor preserves flavor—why create such karmic debt for mere appetite? Better to restrain culinary indulgence and accumulate hidden virtue (Yin De).
The work cites numerous karmic retribution tales: an old ox kneeling before its butcher with a hidden blade, a pleading dog that spoke, a doe leaping off cliffs to protect her fawn, and eels appearing in dreams to beg for rescue. Historical exemplars of virtue are invoked: King Tang of Shang releasing birds from nets (embodying benevolence), King Xuan of Qi sparing an ox that trembled in fear, Confucius teaching "never shoot birds returning to nest," emperors freeing lambs, and wise ministers banning overfishing.
The closing message resonates: even tiny creatures repay kindness (like ants helping a scholar cross a bridge or grateful mice offering grain)—how much more should humans cherish compassion. Saving carp brings twin jade rewards, rescuing snakes yields treasure-bestowing pearls—these parables all reveal how protecting life naturally invites blessings.
The Anthology of Emperor Lü contains two sections: the first admonishes against killing, while the second shares insights into spiritual cultivation.
Regarding abstention from killing: The underworld places great emphasis on this precept, as killing inevitably brings retribution. Those who slaughter oxen may be reborn as oxen; those who kill dogs may return as dogs—transmigrating into animal forms in the blink of an eye, trapped in the pitiable suffering of samsara. Why wait for repayment in future lives? Karmic consequences often manifest swiftly in this very existence. Why do famines occur? Why do some die young? Why do great fires rage? Why do plagues spread? All stem from the heavy karma of killing, where accumulated grievances provoke Heaven’s wrath. In this corrupt and turbid world, calamities descend as divine warnings.
Practical steps include: Abandon the habit of killing and nurture compassion. Walk mindfully to avoid crushing insects; shield lamps to prevent moths from immolating; pour water carefully to spare living creatures; refrain from disturbing the nests of birds and beasts. When compounding elixirs or medicines, ensure no life is harmed; never employ dark arts or malicious tricks. Even keeping goldfish or songbirds as acts of kindness should not be dismissed as pedantry. Heaven cherishes all life, bestowing grace upon the myriad beings. Complete abstinence from meat need not be forced—gradual reduction suffices. Even if full vegetarianism eludes you, maintain a heart of mercy.
The latter portion, a song of enlightenment, reflects on cultivation: Years of devoted practice, unburdened by fame or profit. Immersed in studying the Huangting Jing (Scripture of the Yellow Court), silently accumulating hidden virtue (Yinde). At last, an enlightened master appeared, imparting the transformative principles of the Five Phases (Wuxing) and Four Symbols. During Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, harmonizing the dual Qi of Yin-Yang (symbolized by the "Crimson Dragon" for primordial essence (Yuanjing) and the "Black Pearl" for innate Qi), the Golden Elixir (Jindan) crystallized—a "millet-sized pearl" conferring the immortal power of longevity. True Dao lies before us: empty yet not empty, form yet beyond form. Overturning the "jade gourd" (shattering conventional perception) reveals the "golden liquid" (the Elixir)—the immediate, tangible truth of the Great Dao.
(Note: "Crimson Dragon" denotes the body’s primordial essence (Yuanjing); "Black Pearl" symbolizes innate Qi (Xiantian Yiqi); "millet-sized pearl" refers to the crystallized Golden Elixir of Neidan; "Five Phases and Four Symbols" form the foundational framework of Daoist cultivation.)
The poetry collection of Lü Dongbin contains profound Daoist cultivation wisdom:
The first poem reveals the true essence of practice. The authentic "yellow sprout" (a Neidan term referring to primordial Qi) isn't sought externally—those who exhaust themselves searching elsewhere labor in vain. The poem employs "crimson crow" (the sun) and "silver toad" (the moon) as symbols of yin and yang energies, reminding cultivators to grasp the inner mystery. The Three Heavens (in Daoism: Qingwei Tian, Yuyu Tian, and Dachi Tian) naturally offer passage, and even the Nine Depths (the deepest underworld) hold no calamity. The key lies in guarding the Dao while concealing one's brilliance, moving through worldly dust yet remaining undisturbed, thus naturally becoming an immortal of Penglai.
"Wandering Tiantai Mountain" depicts this sacred landscape. Tiantai's peaks rise sharply as if carved, a thousand summits clustered like emerald feathers, with jade-like streams encircling them. Stone bridges arc like rainbows across cloud-filled skies, while crystalline pools reveal submerged dragons, and tranquil pine forests welcome returning cranes. The poem mentions reclusive figures—the Qin maiden (legendary female cultivator) and meditating monks—painting a picture of harmonious coexistence between practitioners and nature. It concludes with the seeker attempting to comprehend profound truths, only to hear celestial music like heavenly winds echoing through empty valleys, with perpetual blossoms hinting at the cultivator's resonance with cosmic rhythms.
"Five Poems on Portraits" elucidates cultivation principles. The first describes solitary meditation on "this" (the Dao itself), as natural as observing kites soaring or fish leaping. The second satirizes those who mechanically sit without realizing their inherent "bright pearl" (symbolizing original nature's radiance) already illuminates the Dantian. The third portrays cultivators like solitary clouds transcending worldly concerns; perceiving "dragon light" (primordial Qi) dissolves subject-object duality. The fourth questions portrait worship, advocating the "sword of wisdom" to sever worldly attachments. The fifth presents the recluse's perspective, comparing the ever-clear autumn waters of Dongting Lake through cosmic cycles to the cultivator's transcendent state.
"Inscription on Stone" uses rock as Daoist metaphor. Stones may transform into dragon and tiger (yin-yang symbols), tempered by spring-washed moonlight—hardened surfaces polished, turbid depths stirred. Practitioners should emulate stones: forgetting schemes amid flowers and birds, finding joy in zither and wine. Realizing one's true nature (Tathata) renders words unnecessary.
"Century of Verses" distills essential cultivation methods: thoughtlessness leads to stillness; in stillness Qi naturally harmonizes; with Qi stabilized, breath grows subtle; when breath returns to its root (Dantian), original nature manifests; seeing one's nature constitutes true practice. At cultivation's pinnacle, one dwells among myriad phenomena yet as if empty, hearing even subterranean thunder clearly. Upon reaching Kunlun's summit (the Niwan Palace, highest spiritual center), one must still discern the onward path.
Through symbolic imagery, these poems weave Neidan essentials into landscape depictions and philosophical reflections, embodying the Daoist practitioner's pursuit of unity with ultimate truth.
This cultivation formula describes the complete process of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, emphasizing the harmonization of Yin-Yang and the precise control of firing times. Practitioners must first "connect the Magpie Bridge," linking the Ren and Du meridians (the body's front and back energy channels) to guide Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) to the Huangting (Dantian region). Here, the fifty-five hexagrams are used to balance primordial Qi—the foundational principle of establishing the alchemical base.
Four essential points must be observed during practice: maintain the cultivation state whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down. Cultivating Yin energy alone yields no progress; one must forge the "spirit sword" (a metaphor for refining the Yang spirit), which takes three years to fully form. Focus the mind and maintain stillness before the alchemical furnace. Preparing the tools for elixir refinement requires a preparatory period of 5,480 days (approximately fifteen years).
Timing is crucial: begin on the third night of each lunar month when the moon is a crescent, and when the seventh heavenly stem (Geng) appears, trace the moon's phases in reverse to gather "true lead" (primordial Qi). The firing process starts with one liang (a small measure) on the first day, gradually increasing until the sixteenth day, when the "retreating Yin talisman" phase begins—this is when energy leakage must be prevented. Special caution is needed during the hours of Mao (rabbit) and You (rooster), when the body's metal Qi (lung energy) naturally rises, causing profuse sweating.
After ten months of cultivation, the infant spirit (a vital energy entity formed within the body) takes shape and eventually emerges from the crown of the head. This must be followed by nine years of "facing the wall" (prolonged meditation) before ascension to the immortal realm is possible. These three stages of the formula are clearly explained, and I now personally record this cultivation manual to transmit it to practitioners.
True elixir secrets require direct transmission from a master and discussion with immortals. There are even more profound alchemical methods, but revealing them risks exposing celestial mysteries. Just as playing the qin and se requires harmony, cultivation demands the balance of Yin and Yang (symbolizing internal energy equilibrium). When visions of rosy light reflecting on water or the rising crimson sun appear (internal experiences during practice), and one enters a trance-like state of profound stillness, genuine truth resides within—those who comprehend it will surely be awestruck.
The core "elixir head" resembles a vermilion tangerine; one must guide the body's Jing (essence, likened to mercury) to merge with it. No external tools are needed—only the method of "inverting heaven and earth" (referring to the Neidan process of returning to the primordial state). Ordinary people misunderstand the truth, mistakenly practicing improper techniques like the "Three Peaks Battle Harvest" (deviant sexual alchemy) and other vulgar, heterodox methods—all actions that lead to hell.
Some stubbornly cling to their views, blindly pursuing so-called purity until their hair turns brittle, teeth fall out, and their bodies become crane-thin. They understand nothing of true Daoist methods, mistaking falsehood for reality. Observe the patterns of celestial motion: when the moon sets in the west, it represents Yang within Yin; the new moon shows Yin within Yang, just as Yang energy gradually grows after the winter solstice. The first quarter moon on the eighth day corresponds to Mao hour (dawn), the sixteenth day's Gou hexagram to You hour (dusk), and the last quarter moon on the twenty-third returns to You hour. Only by penetrating these changes in Yi (Change) philosophy can one truly comprehend the Great Dao.
This book of a hundred true words is guarded by celestial generals—those who obtain it must not treat it lightly. The concluding "Song of Cherishing Words" reminds practitioners to value each phrase, for these are genuine keys to cultivation.
Here is the modern vernacular interpretation of these poems from the Anthology of Lü Dongbin:
The essence of heaven and earth is contained within written characters, just as the names of sages are recorded through them. Scattered, they are merely ordinary words; combined, they become sacred scriptures. Each character carries rhythm and spiritual potency, for when the ancient sages created writing, these characters originated from divine wisdom. Discarding written paper in filthy places diminishes one's virtue (De), while treasuring inscribed papers (a Daoist practice of revering written words) surpasses ordinary cultivation. Cherishing a single written page accumulates blessings, and encouraging others to value characters extends longevity—this is the timeless law of karma. For those who doubt the merits of honoring written words, observe how exhortation texts have endured through generations—their lasting transmission itself proves the reciprocal grace of written language.
As spring yields to summer's dawn,
When clouds obscure the sun, all clarity fades.
Though noble and base share the same world,
Even my unsullied heart cannot deceive discerning eyes.
Flowers loathe bees and butterflies that plunder,
Crops resent locusts that gnaw—
If all creatures understand this truth,
How much more should humans guard their words and deeds?
Reflections on the Bridge
By the Huai River I stand,
Melancholy sights stir profound thoughts.
Crows and magpies perch on lofty boughs,
While wild geese starve in bitter want.
Nobles angle for fish day after day,
The destitute wander with none to rely upon.
When will I repay the washerwoman's kindness
Who once fed the hungry Han general?
A true man never loses his way—
Sooner or later, his hour of glory comes.
To temper the mind and restrain desires—
This is heaven's profound intent.
Poem for Longevity
My life has been open and harmonious,
My nature cheerful and unconstrained.
Since youth I've revered the Dao's teachings,
Never begrudging scattered gold—
How much less the hollow pomp of office?
My heirs inherit learning's light,
Humbling themselves to uphold family precepts.
When their time comes to soar,
Their brilliance will surely shine.
At home, lute and zither sing in accord;
Past fifty, I transcend worldly dust.
Drinking beneath the moon, chanting with the breeze,
Cultivating the Dao through all seasons—
Such immortal bearing and bone
Long merit a place among the transcendents.
On Penglai's peaks, many immortals dwell—
May we ride white cranes together,
Through rosy clouds to the hall of longevity,
Raising cups in celebration.
Excerpts from Seven Summer Meditations
In youth reading tales of immortals,
My heart already yearned to transcend.
While others chased empty fame,
I too was ensnared by officialdom.
Suddenly summoned to serve the emperor,
Yet muddled through without achievement.
Finding no illustrious name to claim,
Better to return to my native hills.
Lifting my gaze—the path through clouds seems near,
Dew-drenched robes at dawn embody pure clarity.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü employs natural imagery and classical allusions to express a cultivator's aspirations and attitude toward life.
The first poem uses a lone pine as self-metaphor: Originally growing in a secluded valley, the pine possessed a noble purity like ice and snow, yet it was transplanted to a place overrun with weeds, its growth hindered by entangling vines. Woodcutters stripped its branches for timber, yet it still absorbed the essence of sun and moon, ultimately yielding precious purple lingzhi (a Daoist symbol of immortality elixirs). This illustrates that even in adversity, a cultivator must remain true to their original nature.
The second poem expresses a recluse’s ambition: The yellow crane rides the clouds and flies away, leaving behind only the lakes and mountains of old. Heaven and earth are vast, time flows ceaselessly. Gazing at shimmering waves, tree shadows, white gulls, and fishermen’s songs, the poet longs to cast off official rank (symbolized by the "crown and carriage") and seek the jade towers where immortals dwell (legendary celestial pavilions in Daoist lore).
The third poem praises the hermit Tao Hongjing (also known as Tao Zhenbai): He parted the clouds to see the blue sky, emphasizing that nurturing life lies in cultivating the heart rather than merely refining the body. Firm as metal or stone, he drank morning mists from the mountains and fresh wine by his bedside at night. The Heavenly Emperor once sent the divine azure luan bird to deliver the Zhengao (a Daoist scripture) to him—such a man disdains even the highest official titles. This shows that a true sage understands timing and circumstance, recognizing reclusion as the wise path.
The fourth poem alludes to Laozi and Confucius: Laozi once served as a minor archivist (the "Historian of the Pillar") in the Zhou court, and Confucius worked as a granary keeper—yet the ancients fulfilled their duties with diligence. Modern men, however, crave empty fame (the phrase "dusting off one’s hat" signifies preparing for office), their greed insatiable. Thus, Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) taught me to retreat to the mountains and forests, waiting until my cultivation bears fruit (symbolized by "feathers growing," indicating progress in Daoist arts), so I may face the world’s vicissitudes without fear. A reminder not to slacken in cultivation.
The fifth poem laments the elusive quest for immortality: Like the immortal who ascended on a wooden raft (cha), life remains bound by constraints. Year after year, bright stars shine, yet no celestial boat arrives. Listening to the mournful cries of night apes, sorrow lingers unresolved, while the poet yearns to meet the immortal Han Zhong and wander together to Yingzhou (a mythical island paradise).
The sixth poem critiques Ruan Ji: The unrestrained eccentricity of this Jin Dynasty poet is no cause for praise—ritual and moral teachings hold their own value. Immortals must accumulate virtue, their footsteps traversing the world to aid others—how can they wallow in poetry and wine? The allusion to the "three carts" (a Buddhist metaphor for different paths of practice) subtly underscores that cultivation demands steadfast effort.
To the Filial Son Yang Taiming recounts: Yang, a man of true filial piety, moved Heaven so deeply that on the Qixi Festival, an immortal descended to offer him elixirs. Yet he refused the gift, and the immortal did not press him, merely urging him to hold fast to his resolve—foreshadowing his eventual rise to greatness.
Selections from Five Poems Advising the Alchemist Jin Shouyi warn: Truth and falsehood will ultimately be distinguished; those who seek shortcuts in alchemy will only trap themselves in hardship. Emphasizing the need to return to simplicity (fu benxing, "recovering the original form"), the verses caution that opportunism leads only to failure.
The "Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü" contains critiques of alchemical practices and profound insights into life-death concepts and Buddhist-Daoist philosophy.
The first section criticizes the prevalent alchemical practices of the time. The author advises against obsessing over refining lead and mercury (two key materials in Daoist Waidan external alchemy), pointing out these methods are as futile as chasing after "yellow sprouts and white snow" (alchemical terms describing states of the elixir). Those who constantly tend furnaces and manipulate sulfur are merely wasting their efforts. Even when using the "five metals and eight minerals" (common alchemical ingredients), the end product is nothing more than useless brick-like substances.
The second part, titled "Verses Revealing the Universal Source," expounds on the nature of life and death and the essence of cultivation. Life and death are fundamentally one—the end of life is death. The truly awakened understand the principle of "no-birth," where even the concept of "birth" becomes superfluous. Seeing one's true nature is genuine enlightenment, while discussing Chan (Zen) or the Dao belongs to acquired practices. The author emphasizes transcending attachments to "emptiness" and "enlightenment," taking mastery over life and death.
The third section observes how Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism share the same essence in pursuing desireless states. Regarding Buddhism, it states the greatness of Tathagata (Buddha's title) lies in completely realizing the truth of "emptiness"—like the Yangtze River's waters neither increasing nor decreasing, able to reflect the formless nature of Mount Sumeru (the sacred mountain in Buddhist cosmology).
Finally, the text uses the lotus (Buddhist symbol) and the cedar (Daoist symbol) as metaphors for universal emptiness. The layered Seven Jeweled Terraces (architectural features in Buddhist Pure Lands) and paired trees (treasures of the Western Paradise) are all illusions practitioners must transcend. True awakening exists beyond sensory perception, and perfect wisdom (complete enlightenment) surpasses the stage of śrāvaka (Hinayana practitioners).
Throughout the poem, the emphasis on transcending formal practices to directly realize the fundamental mind-nature reflects the characteristic syncretism of the Three Teachings.
The Zen verses in Collection of Emperor Lü's Poems employ Buddhist imagery such as lotuses and bodhi trees to expound the essence of spiritual practice. The first poem describes how the lotus remains unstained while growing from mud, its rare fragrance made even more precious amidst flames—firm as bodhi (awakening). The heart is the lotus seat, form is the lotus body; the Western Pure Land is not distant, for realizing emptiness is the true realm.
The clay beneath the twin bodhi trees and the nectar amid the nine-grade lotuses (stages of practice)—the kalaviṅka bird (a divine bird in Buddhism) does not comprehend the Dharma of No-Birth (truth beyond arising and cessation), flying instead into the depths of the Ganges. Last night, celestial winds revealed the Northern Dipper, while dragons and lions roared in majestic unison. To seek the lotus's true meaning, one need only turn to the teachings of the Tathāgata (Buddha).
The second poem references the Sixth Patriarch Huineng’s famous verse: "Bodhi is originally no tree, the bright mirror is not a stand." How, then, do the nine-grade lotuses (stages of cultivation) bloom? It admonishes practitioners not to idly discuss awakened states—the "dust of delusion" (afflictions) itself holds the key to verifying the Tathāgata. Those who cultivate the Dao often speak of the lotus’s hues, yet the true lotus does not reside in the blue, yellow, red, or white of this Sahā world (human realm). Only through constant contemplation can one behold the Tathāgata’s true visage, as carefree as willow catkins swaying amid jeweled pendants.
Verses on the Source of Awakening elucidates the path to enlightenment: Wisdom-light shatters the Three Realms (desire, form, and formlessness), while compassion is vast as the sea. Vajra (indestructible wisdom) has no fixed form; prajñā (transcendent wisdom) ultimately returns to the source. Without distinctions of self and others, wondrous Dharma manifests spontaneously. Amitābha embodies perfect awakening; the nine-grade lotus thrones (hierarchies of rebirth in the Pure Land) are the true destination.
The Tathāgata has no fixed appearance—it arises only within the heart. Realizing the root of one’s mind, one comprehends the Dharma of No-Birth. A single point of vaidūrya (pure wisdom) light illuminates all ten directions, ultimately merging into unobstructed emptiness. The final section humorously remarks: The lion (symbolizing Dharma’s ferocity) bites through clinging vines—past, present, and future are all empty. "Lazy clouds cook to perfection" (letting go of attachments), "the foolish belly births spring" (sudden awakening)—laughing at those who busily seek the Buddha.
The last poem states that true cultivation requires freedom from greed, anger, and delusion—transcending body, speech, and mind. The numinous silently communes with the Great Void (cosmic origin), serene and formless. The path to the source of awakening is the same for early and late realizers: eternally preserving innate authenticity, the heart penetrates divine clarity. The moon of the sea-like mind is flawlessly full; upon realizing the Middle Way (unbiased truth), eternal darkness instantly brightens. It concludes by advising monks not to wander aimlessly in straw sandals but to cultivate steadfastly within the landscape of the heart—like Mount Sumeru (sacred Buddhist mountain)—for upon turning around, they will see the udumbara flower (ephemeral yet precious awakening) in bloom.
The flower exudes its fragrance in secluded darkness, no longer needing to toil and wander. From now on, free yourself from this defiled mortal frame (the "stinking skin bag"), leaving genuine footprints across the vast cosmos, where time stands eternal in the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss. Behold! How splendid is the spring that breaks free from the shackles of worldly attachments, where one drinks divine nectar at the celestial gathering.
Regarding the crucible (referring to the key areas of cultivation within the human body), its essence lies in the forms of man and woman. The great medicine (the essential substances for cultivation) fundamentally consists of the three treasures: Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). To unite them as one requires the harmonious cooperation of these three practitioners (symbolizing the alignment of Jing, Qi, and Shen). There is no other secret—only the true oral instructions transmitted by an authentic master. Only by comprehending the principles of Yin-Yang and the three elixirs (representing different stages of cultivation) can one calmly await the ripening of the right moment.
Waiting for the right moment must not be delayed. First, regulate body and mind to lay a solid foundation. Sever worldly distractions, break free from karmic bonds, cleanse the five desires (the "five leaks"), and eradicate the three malevolent spirits (the "three corpses"). Only after vanquishing the three corpses can one witness the forging of the spiritual sword (a metaphor for cultivation achievements). Through practice, one attains a state of divine resonance, where hardness and softness transform at will, and dispelling evil becomes effortless.
This spiritual sword must be hung in the south (symbolizing the Fire position) to guard the heart-mind (the "crystal"). If disturbed by the dark forces of the north (symbolizing the Water position), swiftly sever them. Maintain constant clarity and stillness within, like a mirror’s pure radiance. Only when the mind reaches a state of empty silence can one begin refining the elixir without error.
When refining the elixir, carefully regulate body and mind (the "crucible")—carelessness is forbidden. If words fail to communicate, it will be difficult to find a true cultivation companion. Only when the Dragon (symbolizing Yang energy) and Tiger (symbolizing Yin energy) are vigorous can cultivation begin. Observe the cyclical principles of heaven and earth, open the primordial gate (the "Hongmeng cavity"), and silently witness the harmonious interplay of Yin and Yang within. Naturally, one will obtain the precious essence of cultivation (the "divine water of Huachi").
Upon obtaining this divine water, discern its rising and falling—do not miss the opportune moment. When the vital essence (symbolized as "lead") first emerges, gather it swiftly. If you wait until the essence (symbolized as "gold") becomes excessive, it will be difficult to control. Lack of restraint inevitably invites danger, like sudden frost in midsummer or scorching heat in deep winter—unnatural and disastrous. Firmly safeguard the three treasures—Jing, Qi, and Shen—and the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) will naturally manifest its creative power. At the right moment, guide it into the Dantian (the "Yellow Palace").
Once within the Dantian, nurture it with utmost care, like a ten-month pregnancy—no missteps are allowed. At midnight (the Zi hour), circulate the Yang fire to unite Dragon and Tiger; at noon (the Wu hour), withdraw and consolidate with the Yin talisman. After consolidation, rest briefly, sitting in silent forgetfulness until the next cycle. This process repeats endlessly—the 360-day cycle must not be violated.
This principle is the law. To awaken to truth, one must align with nature. If one clings to superficial appearances in practice, it will only exhaust the spirit and harm the body.
This scripture primarily elucidates the essential techniques and experiential states of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. It begins by explaining that practitioners often fail in their cultivation because their minds are scattered and thoughts impure, causing the dissipation of "lead and mercury" (Neidan terminology referring to Jing, Qi, and Shen) and preventing the formation of the elixir. To achieve the Golden Elixir, one must comprehend the profound principle of Yin-Yang harmony, maintain balance between "water and fire" (representing kidney Qi and heart fire), and understand the Dao of advance and retreat.
When cultivation reaches a certain stage, a red glow (indicating the initial formation of the inner elixir) appears in the Dantian (energy center), requiring three years of gentle nurturing like tending an infant. At this stage, while the practitioner may appear dull-witted externally, they actually enter a state of supreme freedom where their primordial Shen (spirit) can travel beyond the physical body, riding white cranes in celestial flight. Liberated from worldly constraints, they may commune with immortals from Penglai and other mystical isles—remaining utterly serene amidst the vicissitudes of time.
The "Song of Gathering Gold" section details specific cultivation methods: the Dao's cultivation lies in comprehending the mystery of Wuwei (non-action). First, one must understand the principle of Yin-Yang (symbolized as the paired swords of female and male). During the foundation-building phase, postnatal Jing and Qi must be regulated. These crucial techniques require transmission from a genuine master, otherwise effort will be wasted. Practitioners must carefully regulate the "firing times" and recognize the precise moment when true "lead" (original essence) manifests. When "water of gui" (symbolizing menstrual essence or vital energy) begins to stir, it must be gathered immediately—missing this fleeting opportunity jeopardizes elixir formation. During "herb gathering" (collecting vital energies), complete concentration is required, employing the "bellows method" (breathing techniques). After truly obtaining the medicinal essence, maintain stillness as if intoxicated by wine. The text emphasizes these secrets' priceless nature—true masters never transmit them lightly, for they cannot be bought with ten thousand taels of gold.
Through its descriptions of cultivation processes and attained states, the entire text underscores the integration of mental refinement with technical mastery. It clarifies that only by following correct methods with persistent dedication can one ultimately achieve the carefree realm transcending life and death.
"Collected Poems of Emperor Lü" Interpreted:
The opening section depicts an immortal traversing celestial realms beyond the ordinary—striding through cloud-wrapped mountains and passing heavenly gates. Clutching the bright moon as his nightly companion, he listens in solitude to the pure wind chiming through jade pendants. At dawn, leaning against the railing of a lofty tree pavilion, he overhears discussions on cultivating heart-mind nature. To fathom the profound mystery of life, death, and the soul's ultimate destination proves an arduous quest. Throughout history, how many heroes and sages have failed to penetrate this truth? Who truly comprehends its essence? Only the eternal moon beyond the clouds, waxing and waning yet ever maintaining its original form, remains constant through the ages. Tonight, as I commune with this formless moon that resonates with my spirit, this transcendent state perfectly aligns with my practice of primordial unity (Hunyuan). Together we enter meditative absorption, observing the mundane world with detached clarity.
"The Song of Crane-Riding" portrays celestial journeys astride a crane: soaring freely through white clouds, its piercing cry echoes across frosty rivers. The immortal fragrance extends to distant Penglai Isles as radiant candlelight illuminates divine realms. The transcendent being ascends towers at leisure, perceiving the golden sands of worldly illusion none can decipher. Mortals chase fleeting splendor, blind to life's labyrinth, counting endless bricks of material desire. Only the ancient immortal remains unfettered—laughing at winter plum blossoms, admiring emerald pine boughs. Pitiful how men squander their seven-foot frames pursuing rank and riches, oblivious to time's swift arrow. Better to seek the true Dao (the Way) and attain serene liberation.
"The Unfettered Song" reveals an unconstrained cultivation mindset: arriving with moonlight, departing on clouds, wandering as the heart desires. Improvising short ditties and long melodies in dust-free stillness, one senses auspicious Qi (vital energy) swirling beyond the window. Unrestrained brushwork flows effortlessly—words rivaling Wang Xizhi's calligraphy, composing a thousand verses swift as a courier's horse. Only by preserving childlike innocence can one attain genuine freedom.
This section of The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü contains three cultivation poems, which I will analyze passage by passage:
The first poem speaks of seeing through worldly fame and fortune. The verses directly state that wealth, status, and achievements are all illusory—the splendor of gold and purple robes is ultimately karmic debt, bound to encounter cycles of success and failure. Rather than wallowing in this turbid world, one should aspire to the carefree existence of Penglai, the immortal isles. Yet attaining such a state is profoundly difficult, requiring complete detachment from desires and liberation from delusion to achieve true serenity. The poet warns against clinging to worldly dreams, advocating instead for maintaining inner peace and following one's innate nature, as he does.
The second poem, Song of Renouncing Desire, employs vivid metaphors to illustrate the dangers of indulgence. Human essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi) are likened to life-nourishing water that fills the body's meridians. That spark of true Yang Qi must be treasured—indulgence in sensual pleasures drains it like winter withering trees or springs running dry. Beautiful women are described as axes that harm the body, while lust acts like termites. Though these alluring demons wield no steel blades, they can still claim lives.
The third poem, Song of Enlightenment at Ezhou, recounts an awakening experience. During the Double Ninth Festival amid overcast skies, the poet overheard neighbors discussing alchemical arts. After obtaining several extraordinary alchemical scriptures (Danjing), he studied through the night until, in a trance, he glimpsed a cinnabar essence resembling the sun, which revealed the true meaning of internal alchemy (Neidan): genuine elixirs require no lead or mercury, but must be cultivated within the body's furnace. The text employs classic alchemical terminology—"true lead," "dragon and tiger," "infant and maiden"—all symbolizing different manifestations of Yin-Yang energies. The conclusion depicts the miraculous vision following the Golden Elixir's completion: celestial dragons ascend through the azure heavens (Taoism's "Pellucid Void"), transcending day and night, east and west, to reach eternal realms.
This poem from The Anthology of Lord Lü reveals the transcendent realm achieved by Daoist practitioners. It describes how, upon attaining the state of Wuwei (non-action), the cycles of sun and moon no longer distinguish between seasons of heat and cold—an experience wondrous beyond words. This was composed by Lü Dongbin as a gift for the recluse Liu Fang.
The poet laments how the conflicts of six warring states seem like fleeting illusions, while he himself departed the Central Plains with carefree grace, carrying his qin zither. Originally intending to refine white stones in alchemical practice (a form of Waidan, external alchemy) amidst mist-wrapped peaks, he chanced upon the immortal realm of Danqiu when visiting the mundane city. Having received transcendent arts transmitted from Golden Flower Mountain (a sacred Daoist site), he longed to ride clouds to the Purple Mansion (abode of immortals).
The poem paints celestial scenery: yellow cliffs and emerald summits, jade trees rooted in earth veins (where terrestrial Qi gathers), the sound of jade flutes drifting, and crimson cranes calling. Yet the realms of immortals and mortals seldom meet—only by descending in a cloud chariot could the poet encounter Liu Fang in the dusty world. Their rare meeting allowed them to discuss the ancient Dao, play precious zithers, and share jade nectar. Drunk, they spoke of dynastic rises and falls, sighing how worldly fame is but floating clouds, and human life as brief as lightning.
The admonition follows: youthful beauty fades, fine wine and feasts last but a day—better to comprehend the profound Dao. Though mysterious, a single pill from the gourd (referring to Neidan, internal alchemy) can work miracles. A millennium of cultivation yields profound power: master the "gold within water" (a Neidan term for true Yang amid kidney Qi), and fire and water transform into a golden elixir crucible. Once the Golden Elixir is forged, no need to linger in the human world—celestial edicts (Yuánmìng gào) will summon you to dwell in Mysterious Isle’s Sunny Vale, sharing heaven-and-earth’s longevity.
The poet concludes with phoenix chariots soaring toward the Jade Pool (Queen Mother of the West’s abode), contrasting the futility of mortal wars and splendor—Han and Tang glories now mere overgrown ruins. Ephemeral as mayflies, human life is pitiable; he urges Liu Fang not to mimic hibiscus, blooming at dawn and withering by dusk. Jewels filling a house aren’t true blessings; chests of silks invite peril. Renounce desire like sages of old.
A final warning to Liu Fang: time flees—act decisively in practice, lest Yin evils exploit weakness, and corpse-demons (corruptive energies) bring calamity. Treasure the "Eight Jade Secrets" (alchemical essentials); don’t wait until lead and mercury (alchemical ingredients) are spent to repent. Meeting Laozi (Bóyáng) again would be too late for regrets. Fretting over nation and family only depletes Qi from the Three Dantian (energy centers). To open the Mysterious Pass (crux of cultivation), you alone must turn the golden key.
The "Anthology of Lü the Emperor" primarily expounds on the essential techniques of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and advocates the importance of early spiritual cultivation.
The verses describe how practitioners may wander heaven and earth yet rarely meet kindred spirits, until encountering a reclusive adept (the "Lone Cloud Wanderer"). This master reveals that Wuwei (non-action) constitutes the fundamental Dao, requiring personal realization of its truth. The crux of Neidan cultivation lies in harmonizing Yin-Yang (represented by the Azure Dragon and White Tiger), achieving the union of water and fire (symbolized by lead and mercury), and through the cyclical movement of the Five Phases, ultimately forming the Golden Elixir. Practitioners must maintain unwavering determination through prolonged refinement ("a thousand dawns of tempering") to return to primordial purity.
The author particularly admonishes Scholar Huang to begin cultivation early, warning against entanglement in fame and wealth—when the great limit arrives, escape from rebirth becomes difficult. He urges maintaining the original pure heart, promising to impart deeper secrets when they meet again.
"The Song of Directly Pointing to the Great Elixir" vividly depicts the Neidan process: within an environment resembling the paradise of the Three Pure Ones, through harmonizing opposing elements—dragon and tiger (Yin-Yang), lead and mercury (water-fire), kan and li (female-male)—mediated by the "Yellow Matron" (the spleen-earth of the central palace), the Golden Elixir ultimately crystallizes ("lotus blossoms in the golden cauldron"). Practitioners must purify their Shen (spirit), and after three zhou cycles (possibly referring to three cultivation periods), attain ascension.
"The Song of the Kiln-Fired Brick" employs pottery as metaphor: unfired clay crumbles in rain, but through water-fire tempering becomes enduring brick that lasts millennia. Similarly, practitioners must undergo the refining trials of "water and fire" to achieve indestructible Dao-fruits. The poem laments how many spend years cultivating yet miss the essence, vainly exhausting their vital energies.
This scripture illustrates the consequences of improper cultivation through historical examples, while expounding the essence of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice.
The text mentions Fu Bi of Luoyang (Lord Zheng) who, despite his high official rank, turned a deaf ear to the Golden Elixir path; Minister Zhang Shangying of Jiujiang who recklessly consumed elixirs and lost his eyesight; and Privy Councilor Zhao Bian of Sanqu who practiced Chan meditation yet ultimately failed to attain liberation. Like rain-soaked earthen bricks, their cultivation methods were fundamentally flawed.
True cultivation requires transcending worldly attachments to awaken one's original nature. From Fuxi's transmission of the Dao to the present day, the key to spiritual practice lies in exhaustively investigating cosmic principles and thoroughly comprehending the dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu). Practitioners must first understand "Kan and Li" (Neidan terminology representing water-fire/yin-yang polarity) and the "Four Cardinal Directions" (the zi-wu-mao-you orientations). Kan corresponds to the Tiger (kidney Qi), while Li represents the Dragon (heart fire) - two aspects of the same unity. Through the coupling of Dragon and Tiger and the harmonization of yin-yang, one attains the highest state of cultivation.
Successful adepts generate "clarified butter" (a Neidan metaphor for the nectar produced during practice) within their bodies. Through prolonged cultivation, they develop immortal physiques of "golden sinews and jade bones." Such attainment comes solely through personal practice, ultimately enabling ascension to the sacred realms of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing). At advanced stages, practitioners may abstain from food for six years as their blood transforms into white marrow, their bodies becoming incorruptible. Achieving "embryonic respiration" (a profound breathing technique using the heels) marks the formation of a "leakless body" (the perfected immortal form). After nine years of precisely regulated practice, one attains earthly longevity until the Celestial Gate (Baihui point at the crown) opens, culminating in Dao-realization.
These poems from the Anthology of Emperor Lü contain profound cultivation wisdom and life philosophy.
The first poem speaks of the path of cultivation. When a true Daoist master manifests great spiritual powers, celestial immortals come to celebrate. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism are fundamentally interconnected—only the ignorant toil in vain to differentiate them. The wise cherish life, understanding that the physical form ultimately does not perish. Yet fools lament empty theories, drifting in the cycle of rebirth without liberation. Practitioners should carefully study ancient alchemical scriptures (referring to Daoist cultivation texts), as the profound principles within require deep contemplation.
The second poem, Song for Qiao Erlang, serves as a practical guide to cultivation. The poet advises Qiao Erlang not to indulge in the fleeting glamour of the capital but to pursue the immortal path amid mist and clouds. Cultivation begins with "flying golden essence from the elbow" (referring to the circulation of Jing and Qi in Neidan practice), allowing the vital energies to flow freely within the body. When primordial essence (life energy) returns to the Dantian, it produces a thunderous resonance as Yin and Yang energies harmonize, achieving unity with heaven and earth. The key to cultivation lies in grasping the "gold within water" (the true Yang within the kidneys), urging Qiao Erlang to seize the moment and not waste time. The poem concludes by affirming the reality of the path to longevity, citing historical figures who attained the Dao.
The poem Warning the World sees through worldly illusions. True cultivators rise above material desires, untainted by mundane concerns. They perceive the ever-shifting nature of existence, understanding that life and death are but transformations of Qi. Yet fools cling to their rotting flesh, obsessed with sensual pleasures and wealth. Power and riches ultimately amount to nothing—when parting comes, only sobs remain. Far better to cultivate purity, severing the shackles of fame and profit. Upon attaining the Dao, one can traverse heaven and earth, riding cranes and clouds, blending into mountains and streams. Even if mocked for seeming mysterious, this is wiser than the vulgar scramble for worldly gains. References to the "Nine-Return Elixir" and "Nine-Return Method" allude to advanced stages of Neidan practice.
These works embody the philosophy of Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals): seeing through the illusions of the mundane world while pursuing the dual cultivation of nature (Xing) and life (Ming). They offer both cautionary reflections on worldly life and concrete guidance on spiritual practice, emphasizing transcendence of the cycle of rebirth through Neidan cultivation.
Several poems from The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü employ vivid metaphors to admonish worldly attachments and urge the pursuit of true cultivation of the Dao (the Way).
The first poem states: Human life is fleeting, as brief as a white steed's shadow flashing past a crack. A handful of yellow earth will eventually bury all fame and glory. Wealth and honor are as transient as melting snow. Do not despise a life of humble purity, nor covet power and profit. Harming others for personal gain invites calamity, while contentiousness inevitably breeds enmity. Those dashing young men of romantic indulgence will have to repay in future lives the karmic debts incurred in this one. Cultivators embrace compassion, ferrying sentient beings like a boat across troubled waters, using words of wisdom to awaken the deluded. The poem exhorts those lost in the red dust to turn back and learn from the sages. Those who truly grasp this truth will naturally align their hearts with the profound mysteries of heaven and earth. First, purify the five viscera and six bowels (referring to harmonizing body and mind), and the subtle gateways of the Dao will reveal themselves. When cultivation reaches completion, the divine spirit (Shen) will manifest—simply offer sincere prayers with incense. Do not assume the immortal mountains of Penglai are beyond reach; with diligent practice, divine guidance will come.
The second poem depicts the scene upon waking in the Ancestral Temple of Lü Zu (dedicated to Lü Dongbin): Incense smoke curls like mist in an immortal realm, where discussions of Chan (Zen) and the Dao unfold. Gazing pensively at the lake and mountains, the bright moon reflects on boundless waters. Fishermen at remote crossings, ancient temples tolling evening bells—autumn hues are sought among the reeds. Sailboats glide like rainbows, bearing merchants to and fro. Vast flowing waters, ancient ferry willows, on flat sandy shores, we emulate the ancients with floating wine cups (an elegant gathering of poetry and drink). Here, the dust of worldly thoughts is cleansed, leaving no trace of frivolity—the mind bright as the infinite cosmos.
The Song Against Lust uses warfare as a metaphor for desire: Brothels become military camps, seductive beauties the commanding generals. Day and night, one battles wine and lust, with revelrous music fueling the flames. Romance is a deadly stratagem, affection a blade to slay the unwary. Even those with Herculean strength will falter before beauty’s allure. Prolonged indulgence in sensual pleasures drains vital essence (Jing), sapping resolve in the land of tenderness. Such endless warfare will inevitably destroy life. The poem urges awakening from delusion, upholding precepts, and restraining desire. Once the sword of wisdom (enlightenment) is forged, it will sever the temptations of wine and lust.
The Flight of Wild Geese expresses longing through the imagery of geese: Beneath bleak clouds in the cold wind, the river seems to flow backward to its Kunlun source. The mournful cries of wild geese in the sky leave one desolate, leaning on the bed. Repeatedly, I wish to summon the geese, but they soar high, indifferent to worldly affairs. Gazing at the frigid river in vain sorrow—when will I, like the geese, find sustenance in wild rice? The geese rest cautiously on remote shores, harboring celestial secrets until their wings are full—hinting at cultivators awaiting the ripening of their destined moment.
Interpretation of the "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" in Vernacular English
The first poem expresses an immortal's lament while gazing upon the mortal world: Though I soar freely between heaven and earth, my heart aches at the mournful cries I hear today. I bestow profound truths upon humanity, yet none comprehend, leaving me to sigh alone at the world's edge. Immortals and mortals walk separate paths—my sincere feelings find no outlet, so I shed tears of sorrow upon this frigid cliff.
"The Song Against Eating Beef" paints vivid imagery to admonish the world: Behold the plow ox straining under scorching sun, its body drenched in blood and sweat. Among all beasts of burden, none matches the ox's loyalty. Yet greedy farmers, wolf-hearted, sell aged oxen to butchers. Heads severed, bellies split—hides become drums, bones hairpins, flesh dried meat. Years of toil in fields now end in dismemberment. The ox's spirit weeps before King Yama, who grieves silently, decreeing butchers shall suffer hell's torments: cast into forests of swords, hurled onto mountains of blades, or force-fed molten bronze, never escaping damnation. Beef-eaters ignore warnings, claiming its nourishment. Little do they know each bite angers heaven—even good deeds are overwritten in the cosmic ledger, secretly draining blessings, cursing descendants unto ruin. The ox's plowing merits are plain to see; slaughtering them defies all conscience. Today I deliver this spirit-written warning: Only those who renounce beef may behold the Buddha.
"The Song of Complete Perfection (Quanzhen)" reveals cultivation's essence: The human mind, like a polished mirror, inherently reflects beauty and ugliness. Our primordial true nature is empty yet luminous, containing all principles and resonating with divine spirits. Once dust obscures it, purity muddies, radiance dims. The Dao retreats as human desires advance—like clouds veiling the moon, duckweed choking water. I urge all to scrape clean their hearts, restoring original purity. Guard the spiritual crucible's single aperture against worldly tides, and you'll resemble limpid water ever-clear, the moon ever-bright, abiding with heaven and earth.
"The Song of Liberating Life" discloses longevity's secret: Seek long life by nurturing compassion, prolong years through frequent liberations of creatures. This mirrors heaven and earth's cyclical truth—as you sow melons, so shall you reap. Killing inevitably invites calamity, like echoes answering their source.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü contains three poems rich in Daoist philosophy. Let me interpret their modern meanings section by section:
The first poem speaks of the cycle of life: When you rescue others facing death, heaven will save you in your own hour of need. To prolong life and prosper descendants, there's no secret but to refrain from killing and practice liberation of life.
The "Song of Awakening the World" advises: People constantly worry about fame and profit—when will they break free from these shackles? Observe those who amass gold and jade, richer than nations—ultimately they take nothing with them. Consider Ban Chao of the Han Dynasty who earned a fiefdom across ten thousand miles—this was the reward of ancestral virtue. Why must worldly people scheme at life's expense? They may ultimately invite calamity. Like losing one's way in snowy night when even river currents become unrecognizable, better to relinquish attachments and seek what's truly worthwhile—non-contention with the world is the superior path.
"Song for Master Ye" employs rich imagery: The towering mountains seen upon opening the gate symbolize the trials of spiritual practice. "Great Excess," "Small Harvest," and "Splitting Apart" (Yijing hexagrams) suggest the varied circumstances encountered in cultivation. Dragon and tiger (representing yin and yang qi) and crane (symbolizing celestial birds) are mediums of refinement. Green mountains and bright moon resemble Penglai paradise—when lead and mercury (alchemical terms for yin-yang energies) are perfectly blended in the crucible, the vermilion glow of heaven-reaching cinnabar startles the celestial sovereign.
The true essence of Daoist practice is inherently simple and luminous—how could ordinary minds presume to discuss it? Those destined to meet this Penglai elder (immortal) receive crystal-clear cultivation essentials in every line. Don't rigidly adhere to morning-evening rituals—the key is comprehending heaven-earth's cyclical principles. Why seek externally to nurture body and mind? These hands inherently possess primordial spirituality, their square-round transformations perfectly attuned to nature. The numbers eight (Bagua) and nine (Nine Palaces) merge with bodily form, while the luminous mind remains unstained.
Sometimes penetrating the deepest mysteries, one perceives the Dao's presence everywhere. Observing wind-cloud portents, divine communion arises in stillness. If some call me immortal, who knows I'm actually the embodiment of Taiji (cosmic origin)? Nowadays few in this dusty world value cultivation—though many revere transcendents, worldly entanglements leave little patience for my teachings on the great Dao.
The great Dao never leaves the mundane—realization depends wholly on individual insight. Once its truth is grasped, transcendence comes naturally. When have I taught abandoning wives and children? When advocated neglecting parents? When instructed severing teacher-friend bonds? When advised alienating siblings? The world's gold isn't mine to claim—when needed, I can transmute stone to gold. Fame and rank follow destiny's course—easy attainment stems from accumulated yin virtue. Living millennia isn't extraordinary—enjoyment flows like pearls circling a plate. Though confined within worldly limits, liberation offers marvelous methods to return to the primordial source.
This poetic passage depicts the complete spiritual journey of a Daoist practitioner from initial entry into the path to ascension as an immortal, filled with distinctive Daoist imagery and metaphors.
The opening describes the novice entering the sacred realm of purity and clarity (representing the purified state in Daoist cultivation), where divine herbs and miraculous flowers abound, with dragons and tigers (symbolizing Yin and Yang Qi) lying dormant in stillness—all things returning to their primordial authenticity. The poet cautions seekers: one must recognize the true path from the very beginning, for a single misstep may disturb the spirits, and by the time one is disheveled and covered in grime, regret will come too late.
The middle section employs natural imagery—soaring clouds, roosting birds—to symbolize stages of cultivation. The practitioner realizes that though heaven and earth are vast, they can be contained within a mustard seed (reflecting the Daoist view of "a universe hidden in a grain of millet"), and the infinite cosmos (a Buddhist concept of the trichiliocosm) is merely the cycle of seasons within a single breath. The cultivator understands that suffering and joy arise from the mind alone, and only through silent perseverance can one attain eternal vitality.
The latter part portrays the celestial scenes of perfected cultivation: the Queen Mother of the West (supreme goddess of immortals) leading divine maidens in music and feasts, with heavenly blossoms falling to form floral carpets. When the host of immortals (perfected beings) gather, one may hear the "music without sound" (the profound mystery of the soundless Dao). The fruits harvested in mid-autumn are likened to refined cinnabar (the elixir of Waidan external alchemy, or the inner essence in Neidan practice)—a visible blessing bestowed upon the mortal world.
The conclusion returns to natural imagery: spring blossoms, though beautiful, cannot escape being battered by rain and withering, while the adept who drinks the immortal wine has awakened to the true self, and the newly refined elixir will soon lift them to ascension. The purple mists of the southern heavens rise, heralding the cultivator's imminent transcendence and attainment of the Dao.
This poetic passage employs metaphorical language to explore the synthesis of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. The "earthbound chicken" represents ordinary people, while the "phoenix" symbolizes the enlightened, illustrating how common folk remain spiritually distant from sages even in physical proximity. Practitioners should cultivate expansive minds, unshackled from worldly constraints, allowing their spirit (Shen) to roam freely and resonate with the stars of the Northern Dipper.
"The five-hued scriptures from Pure India" alludes to Buddhist and Daoist texts, with "celestial beings" hinting at accomplished adepts. The reference to "Fish-Basket Guanyin" – an incarnation of the bodhisattva – radiating light with jade fingers symbolizes Buddhism's effortless salvation, as natural as fishing without a rod.
The second section directly addresses the shared essence of the Three Teachings. It critiques narrow-minded Confucian scholars ("constrained by hollow conventions") and ritual-obsessed Chan monks ("meditation chanters") who slander each other while missing the truth. Authentic practice should integrate their quintessence like a "lotus throne and alchemical chamber," harmonizing Confucian classics (the Five Classics and Mencius) with Buddhist sutras. When attachments dissolve ("casting off demonic obstructions"), one beholds true nature (tathatā), attaining the state where "every Confucian sage becomes an immortal."
The dawn imagery concludes with enlightenment's revelation: groping through darkness finally meets the rising sun, as the Three Teachings' truths blaze like crimson daylight. Genuine cultivation transcends sectarian views, shattering karmic fetters to achieve the great liberation of "pulverizing emptiness." The "Hall of Serene Elegance" quietly suggests the practitioner's ultimate attainment of purified consciousness.
Sitting beneath towering pine trees, the cool mountain breeze caresses my face, carrying my thoughts aloft like drifting clouds. When companions gather in solemn discourse, or when scholars recite poetry in joyful harmony, even the immortal sages (xianren zhenren) delight in such fellowship—yet they remain detached from worldly sentiments, never measuring worth by status or rank.
The essence of cultivation lies in tranquility; though each walks their own path, all hearts unite in seeking the great Dao (Da Dao). Spiritual resonance needs no outward display, for virtuous thoughts cleanse like a fresh mountain spring. Unswayed by material temptations, one finds contentment in simplicity; skilled at dissolving vexations, anger finds no foothold. Refining one’s nature yields humble speech, while mastering external things preserves inner harmony (qi). Guard the Dao’s teachings with meticulous care; embody its depths with serene insight. Those with true resolve will attain fulfillment—why rely on crowds for validation?
To my disciples I say: Cherish these words, for you are no ordinary beings. Treasure moments of fellowship, and after parting, devote yourselves to diligent practice. No mountain or river can sever our bond; may you first attain the longevity of pines and cypresses. Only those who embody filial piety (xiao ti) can move the true immortals to descend.
"Song of Merit and Fault" reveals:
Human rewards and punishments often err, but heaven’s ledger of merits and faults is flawless. Men think the azure sky lacks a ruler, unaware that deities (shenming) watch from their own homes. With virtuous thoughts, the gods nod in approval; with malice, they glare in wrath. Once divine anger stirs, sins gather like creditors—karmic retribution (yinguo baoying) spirals unceasing, leaving no room for late repentance.
Merit may seem insignificant as grains of sand, yet piled daily, they form mountains. Though blind to our own faults, the celestial records remember all. Cultivate early—delay not with "tomorrow’s study." Till the fields of your heart, and in time reap true joy. With a bodhisattva’s compassion, I offer this guidance. As the evening wind carries the setting sun, why this lofty song? For a single laugh that suddenly widens heaven and earth.
"Great Awakening" depicts:
In the depths of slumber, I see a drunken world. Lost in dreams, none perceive heaven’s vastness; adrift in confusion, none find satisfaction. Though girded with riches, complaints persist—when will the chase for fame and profit cease? A lifetime of toil yields little fulfillment.
I sleep soundly in the deep mountains, heedless of human strife. Neither forcing nor overstepping, I remain unmoved though heaven and earth upheave. Behold the eternal play of yin and yang (yinyang)—merely an unending drama upon the stage of existence.
When one truly comprehends the principle of life's origin, lying idle on the eastern mountains brings no worldly worries. Go now, return to Zhongnan Mountain (a sacred Daoist site), and there you shall find natural repose.
The chapter "Manifesting Embodied Forgiveness" states: The chanting of scriptures rings clear as fish-shaped temple chimes, each word pure and pleasing to the ear, filling my heart with joy. Doubt not that even remote lands may revere the Dao, for the celestial dew from the Nine Heavens falls equally abundant. This scriptural discourse continues predestined affinities—a rare hearing indeed in this turbid world. Gathering mundane possessions matters little, while utmost sincerity and reverence hold supreme value. The Heavenly Emperor observes with perfect clarity, the assembled deities manifest awesome majesty, all comprehending spiritual nature. Immortals clap hands in delight, praising our lineage's exceptional devotion.
Honor Confucianism yet also uphold the true Dao, mending unfinished karmic ties from past lives. Cultivating the Mysterious Pass (Dantian's essential point) resides in the heart, where the body's Qi channels interconnect. Silently circulating vital breath in unbroken continuity, a hundred days' practice brings achievement without toil. This Mysterious Pass, seemingly formless, yet subdues all demonic influences. Refine Jing (essence) and Qi, safeguard one's innate nature; in meditation maintain equanimity, pacifying all meridians until thirty-six energy pathways bask in springlike warmth.
Laugh when appropriate, restrain anger—for a single flare of wrath may plunge one into the Asura realm (evil path). When rage ignites, calm it swiftly like the Yellow River's clarifying waters: fiery Qi recedes while watery Qi ascends, the gurgling swallow surpassing precious jewels. Confront fury with forceful mastery; in perfect stillness comes natural tranquility, requiring no martial exertion. Force merely dispels evil, while profound stillness cultivates refinement. The Nine-Cycle Golden Elixir (Neidan terminology) needs only wholehearted cultivation—why seek externally for the Seven-Return Yang Spirit (Neidan state)? Countless have been misled by heterodox paths; contemplate this method carefully.
The "Hymn Awaiting Patriarch Zhongli's Descent" describes: Hearing flutes and drums' lingering notes, myriad thoughts arise—a master's kindness runs deeper than measure. The Dao's authentic transmission stands verified; the Golden Elixir lineage shall endure for countless generations. Our laughing master's magnanimity encompasses boundless blessings. Patriarch Donghua descends on purple clouds from heaven, phoenixes dancing amid fluttering ribbons, lions and elephants solemn amidst rich fragrances, jade maidens and golden boys arrayed before him, celestial generals standing guard. Beneath a five-colored golden canopy sits the yellow-robed patriarch, pointing westward where Dao Qi pierces the sky, wrapped in heavenly incense as he joyfully descends. Let devoted disciples straighten robes and bow deeply, offering a thousand cups in toast, sharing peace with all households. This wondrous vision evokes profound awe.
These verses from the Anthology of Emperor Lü reveal the core principles of Daoist cultivation. The opening passage warns against indulgence in sensual pleasures, as excessive desires deplete primordial Yang (innate vital essence, Jing), causing the Three Corpses (three malevolent spirits within the body) to rejoice and the Seven Po (seven negative human emotions) to rage, ultimately leading to irreparable dissipation of Qi and blood. When vital essence is exhausted, both the Dantian (central energy center in cultivation) and the "jade furnace and alchemical stove" (metaphors for cultivation organs) lose their governance.
The subsequent enlightenment poems elucidate the essentials of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. The text mentions the "Charming Maiden" (referring to the heart-mind, Shen) residing in the southern position of heart-fire, harmonizing with the "Golden Boy" (true Yang from the kidneys). Through refining "jade nectar" (transforming bodily fluids) and distilling "ambrosial liquor" (purifying vital essence), one may achieve rejuvenation. Practitioners must emulate cosmic movement within their bodies, tempering "yellow sprouts" (primordial Qi) in their personal "furnace of Qian and Kun" (symbolizing the body as a cosmic crucible), thereby balancing the "Dragon and Tiger" (heart-fire and kidney-water) and uniting the "Tortoise and Serpent" (Yin and Yang energies).
The verses emphasize that the path to longevity lies in recognizing the "original source" (innate true nature). By refining "lead and mercury" (metaphors for Jing, Qi, and Shen) to form the spiritual elixir, one achieves the perfected state of the "ninefold cycled golden elixir" (fully refined internal alchemy). This leads to the immaculate realms of "bathing in red lotuses" and "forging white jade," culminating in the celestial ascension of "soaring skyward in broad daylight." The crux of cultivation rests in mastering the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang, subduing the Great Yin (kidney-water) and Great Yang (heart-fire) within the "ninefold divine chambers" (the body's nine orifices), achieving perfect harmony where "dragons chant and tigers roar."
Through symbolic language, these poems describe the Neidan process: from foundational self-refinement to gathering medicinal energies and forming the elixir, ultimately reaching the immortal state of transcending self and phenomena. Practitioners must comprehend the mysteries of "tigers roaring in water" (activation of true Yang in the kidneys) and "dragons moving through fire" (circulation of true Yin in the heart). By progressing through the "three stages" (transforming Jing into Qi, Qi into Shen, and Shen into emptiness) and perfecting the "eight cosmic cords" (the body's meridian network), one becomes impervious to seasonal extremes, attaining enduring vitality and transcendent vision.
This poetic passage reveals the mysteries of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. The "two fires" refer to heart fire and kidney fire. When the inner mercury (symbolizing the primordial spirit in alchemical terminology) is refined through cultivation, ingesting just three zhu (a minuscule amount) of the elixir enables ascension to the immortal realm, with unwavering resolve even if oceans dried and mountains crumbled.
The "charming maiden" (representing the heart-mind) resides in the Li Palace (heart). The interplay of Yin and Yang within the body generates transformative changes. Within the alchemical furnace, the process undergoes seven returns (seven cycles of refinement), completing nine restorations (nine transformations) in the cauldron. Understanding this principle feels as natural as fish returning to water, while ignorance resembles a bird trapped in a cage. In old age, consuming a single golden elixir instantly reverses aging.
The foundation of cultivation lies in mastering the Dao of Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) and the balance of Yin-Yang. The heavenly soul transforms into the White Tiger (the metal Qi of the lungs), while the earthly soul nurtures the Green Dragon (the wood Qi of the liver). Refined essence is guided to the Muddy Pellet Palace (a cranial acupoint) and then circulated into the upper Dantian (energy center). Those who comprehend this method retain eternal youth.
Discovering the principles of the Golden Elixir path is profoundly challenging. One must gather the Qi of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) and complete the seven returns and nine restorations. During refinement, the elixir first appears faintly white before gradually turning crimson. A single golden elixir extends life by ten thousand years, transcending the material world.
Though all desire immortality, the foundation for cultivation is elusive. To obtain celestial treasures, one must relinquish worldly attachments. The fire within water (the true Yang of the kidneys) is refined into an elixir containing Yin within Yang. The patriarchs transmit this truth: the key lies in the gold within water (the primordial essence of the kidneys).
All things are born from earth, just as humans return to their origin. The essence of the Green Dragon is mercury (the spirit), while the water of the White Tiger is lead (the essence). The enlightened understand the principle of the child (metal) returning to the mother (earth), while the confused mistake earth for heaven. Those who transcend in the future will replenish the Qi of their Dantian.
When the twenty-four spirits (the deities within the body) are purified, and three thousand merits are fulfilled, cold clouds churn with the earth, and the holy sun illuminates the heavens. The golden elixir (jade seed) is best planted in the Dantian—why toil in fields? Who dares claim immortality is impossible within such profound mysteries?
Within the arcane lies deeper arcana. Whether speaking or silent, one expounds the Dao; every gesture resembles an immortal. The golden elixir rests in the palm like a pearl and hangs in the void like the full moon. When merits are perfected, one ascends directly to the Great Brahma Heaven (the highest celestial realm).
On embryonic breathing (a Neidan breathing technique): In stillness, preserve the spirit and nurture Qi, harmonizing Yin and Yang into unity. Refine the fluid of the Li maiden (heart-mind) and ingest the essence of the Kan youth (kidney essence). Gradually, one attains a state of unfettered freedom, transcending worldly ties. When merits are complete, celestial cranes arrive to escort the cultivator before the Celestial Honored Ones.
The path of cultivation leads to wondrous realms, with fame echoing across the four seas. A single staff suffices for companionship; harmony guides all interactions. For fruit, plant with patience; for tea, brew with care. Little do we realize our brief sojourn in the mortal world—ultimately, we return to heaven.
The final passage describes a journey to the Cavernous Empyrean Palace with the monk Huiyi of Lingyin Temple: Entering the depths of the sacred mountain, we followed towering paths. Nine peaks embraced jade cliffs, while a single trail led to the clouds. Flying squirrels darted like eagles; mountain snowbells bloomed like green peaches. The cavern gate was never barred, allowing us to dwell like the recluses Chao Fu and Xu You.
Here, the plum blossom may symbolize the noble purity of cultivation or metaphorically represent the practitioner who, like the plum enduring frost, grows more fragrant. Through the interplay of alchemical terminology and natural imagery, these poems embody the Daoist cultivator's pursuit of immortality and transcendence.
The "Anthology of Lü Emperor's Poetry" depicts the leisurely elegance of a hermit's mountain dwelling, embodying the Daoist ideal of harmony with nature.
The first poem captures the refined pleasure of planting plums before one's gate: Half an acre cleared before my cottage for plum trees, where spring's essence arrives early. Wind carries drifting fragrance, moonlight casts pale shadows—such natural beauty unmistakably marks a recluse's home.
The second, dedicated to friend Liu Tingji: Crossing three thousand li of the Weak Waters (legendary immortal streams) to greet you, we set aside wine cups and martial talk, trim candlewicks to critique literature. Plum blossoms cradle spring's promise, while winter winds scatter frozen clouds. Henceforth we vow: never lightly part again.
The third paints spring's arrival: February's premature spring sees flowers compete in splendor. Scarlet cliffs sprout rare herbs, arid lands bloom with numinous flowers. Twin phoenixes soar through crimson mists, six giant ao-turtles exhale violet mists. Though Yangzhou's famed scenery dazzles, its blossoms prove but transient illusions.
From the "Five Mountain Dwelling Poems":
I. On mountain solitude: In this soundless refuge, I dwell in perfect ease. Birdsong rings crystalline, emerald peaks enchant. Beyond my gate—boundless azure skies; within my courtyard—gentle sunlight. Only after years in dusty realms do I comprehend such quiet grace.
II. On drunken repose: Drunk, reclining in mountain hollows, I listen to birds heralding weather's turn. Stillness amplifies babbling streams; leisure lets me gather fallen petals. Bamboo thickets filter sunlight, layered curtains break the wind. One gourd of clear wine brings contentment—between sips, I yield to heaven's rhythms.
III. Ode to a lone pine: A solitary pine stands sentinel by the brook, its bark like an ancient dragon's scales. Winds conjure celestial harmonies; gathering clouds transform into peaks. Sitting, I hear leaves tap my window, while distant temple bells reverberate. Seekers of serenity here must shed worldly attachments.
IV. Meditative observation: Serenely seated by south-facing windows, I watch blossoms drift earthward. Children play at my knees; when wine runs short, neighbors provide. Pine winds compose natural melodies; parting clouds reveal dusk's painted skies. Before I finish the Huangting Jing (Daoist scripture), moonlight already slants through my blinds.
V. The joy of solitary drinking: Where does wine taste sweetest? In my thatched hut's solitude. Chanting verses from "Zhanlu," singing the "Drunken Sage's" odes. Thin curtains cannot block urgent winds; high walls delay the moon's ascent. Pouring my own cup—this exquisite pleasure I share with you alone.
"Spring's Arrival": The Northern Dipper's handle turns to Yin-position (heralding spring), as vernal breezes enter homes. Grass shoots pulse with vitality; blossoms unfurl auspicious hues. I lift my brush for fresh poems, fetch wine to honor aged vintages. Spring steals in silently as seasons turn their wheel.
"Early Plum Blossoms": Sentient plum blossoms exhale their fragrance, their Jing-essence glowing with spring sun. Snow mirrors river moons; wind perfumes ten thousand trees. My courtyard blooms radiantly, yet my study lacks rare texts. For perfect joy, fine wine remains—let us drink our fill in this immortal realm.
"Late Winter": Sunny winter days stretch longer. Plum buds conceal spring's secrets; pepper flowers offer year-end libations. Years vanish with the wind; time slips away unnoticed.
The poems from Anthology of Emperor Lü reveal the life reflections and cultivation insights of Daoist practitioners. The first poem depicts the bustling worldly scene, noting how during the sweltering summer months, human sensory faculties (the six roots) easily become disturbed by mundane affairs. Yet it emphasizes that with inner purity maintained, one need not fear external slander. The poem also cites the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, underscoring the importance of reducing faults.
The second poem recounts the legendary immortal An Qisheng transmitting true instructions and bestowing elixirs. It describes the golden liquid soaring during alchemical refinement, streams flowing eternally green, alongside the leisurely pleasures of chess and tea. The poet admonishes those chasing fame and rank not to miss such joys.
The third poem, composed beneath pine trees upon hearing clear whistling sounds, mentions receiving a summons from the Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu, foremost Daoist goddess) to return to Yueyang Tower. It laments the lingering summer heat and drawn-out nights while alluding to the cloud-riding cranes of the Three Sacred Mountains (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou), hinting at an imminent journey to immortal realms.
The poem "For Zhǐyuán" portrays moonbeams shimmering on emerald waves and zither notes like phoenix calls. It speaks of elixirs returning to southern peaks, cranes crying in Shanglin Park, perceiving the vastness of the Dao (the Way) in stillness, and maintaining mental clarity through serenity. Comparing human life to ephemeral mayflies while stones remember three lifetimes, it expresses longing for longevity.
"The Fisherboat" depicts a fisherman's moonlit rowing among gulls and egrets, rhetorically questioning whether fame-seekers truly understand the essence of Autumn Waters (a Zhuangzi chapter on the Great Dao).
"Self-Chanting" has the poet proclaim himself a mountain immortal who wore his sword to the Tang realm, recalling northern and southern wanderings with no desire to return home. Mentioning past cultivation at the Mani Hall (possibly Buddhist or Manichaean) where his yellow Daoist robes fluttered in wind, frightening specters into hiding, it demonstrates his profound mastery.
Of the two "Casual Chants," the first describes night fishing on the river, lamenting scarce bait amid plentiful fish—constrained from turning back, the fisherman's straw cloak hangs idle under moonlight. The second explains that authentic cultivation requires commanding creation's forces, depicting the Azure Dragon and White Tiger (alchemical terms for lead and mercury) breathing clouds, Yang energy illuminating the Nine Springs, until perfected pills return to primordial origins.
Finally, "In Praise of the Dao" and "In Praise of Scriptures" extol how the Supreme Dao (Wushang Dao) universally delivers beings beyond form and sensation, severing emotional obstructions to realize sacred truth. They laud scriptures for saving the lost—like mercy-banners opening hell's gates or jeweled rafts ferrying souls—affirming that sincere understanding leads to the far shore.
The "Anthology of Poetry by Lü Dongbin" reveals the transcendent realm of Daoist practitioners. The first poem describes the supreme Dao as nourishing milk for life, where De (Virtue) aligns with heaven and earth, and the mysterious workings of Yin-Yang operate naturally—capable of delivering all beings while awakening repentance for karmic obstacles.
In the autumn scene poem, dew-laden branches, frost-touched bird nests, farmers carrying rice sheaves, and the rhythmic pounding of laundry evoke crisp autumnal melancholy. The poet laments how poverty brings endless tears, yet solace comes only when caressing one's rounded belly—a subtle reference to Neidan (internal alchemy) practice focusing on the Dantian (energy center).
Amidst the lotus pond monastery's autumn scenery, cicada songs accompany falling phoenix tree leaves, portraying monastic serenity. The poet discusses Neidan cultivation with fellow adepts on bamboo couches while compassionate winds fill the cosmos, showering Dharma rain to nourish all beings.
The admonition poem uses withered wood reviving in spring as a cultivation metaphor: seemingly extinguished furnace ashes may rekindle flames, and decaying roots can blossom anew. Mortal fortunes wax and wane, yet celestial years stretch boundless. Jade pendants chime in heavenly winds as purple phoenix chariots soar—painting an immortal's paradise.
The cloud-mountain Daoist lives in leisurely refinement, his mind mirror-bright like the moon, wearing the Five Peaks and Seven Stars crown (symbolizing cosmic correspondence). Burning incense while reading scriptures, playing zither to his shadow, even cranes circling the alchemical furnace seem poised to produce the Golden Elixir (ultimate achievement of Neidan).
The fishing poem contrasts sage and ordinary states. Sitting alone on moonlit fishing rocks amid clear breezes, though catching no fish, he smiles pointing at starry skies—symbolizing the cultivator's detachment. The pristine spiritual origin remains untainted, free as moonlit clouds. Only by shattering heaven-earth's prison and transcending Yin-Yang's transformations can one realize true Dao.
Finally, it emphasizes our original nature's inherent freedom—unbound by worldly constraints. Amidst disputes and fame, maintain noble silence; regard kinship and mortality with equanimity while roaming carefree through pined peaks, serenely observing flowers bloom and fade. Before Yellow Crane Tower, Lü Dongbin (the Lü immortal) takes heaven-earth as his wine gourd, inhaling mists and exhaling rainbows, accompanied by white stags and vermilion phoenixes (Daoist auspicious signs), with the dark hare and golden crow (moon and sun) in attendance—manifesting celestial grace.
This poetic passage centers on Daoist cultivation philosophy, employing rich imagery to exhort people to transcend worldly attachments. The "tortoise and snake" subtly allude to the Black Tortoise constellation of the north, symbolizing the harmony of Yin-Yang. Unnatural phenomena like "snow in June" and "yellow sprouts in deep winter" metaphorically represent the practitioner's attainment of states beyond natural laws. The poet laments that although the path of cultivation is clearly laid out, those who truly become "earthbound immortals" remain as rare as tangled hemp.
It admonishes against indulging in the illusions of the mundane world, reminding us that within the physical body lies the eternal Dharma body (a transcendent existence achieved through cultivation). Rather than flaunting talents, one should cherish Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), seeking fellow practitioners in timely manner. Persistent worldly attachments will inevitably bind one to the cycle of rebirth. A special warning is given to the clever—do not lose your original true nature.
Later verses employ the image of a whale-riding immortal to depict the realm of cultivation: the golden lotus symbolizes primordial Qi, while the heart-moon represents the pure original mind. Not coveting golden palaces, the poet desires only a mind as pristine as a white jade vessel. The "green snake" refers to the Azure Dragon sword (a Dharma instrument for severing afflictions), and "treading the celestial capital" hints at ascension to immortal realms.
The passage then describes the state of cultivation: amidst stellar radiance, one transcends the mundane; practicing Neidan (internal alchemy) and composing poetry in carefree joy. The pot-heaven (immortal realm) naturally contains eternal spring, while islands harbor palaces of perpetual light. Piercing through nine-layered clouds, one breaks free from temporal constraints.
It criticizes humanity's stubborn ignorance—leaving treasure mountains empty-handed (metaphor for missing cultivation opportunities). Youth turns to white hair in an instant; rosy cheeks wither abruptly. Even soaring ambitions ultimately remain trapped in the cycle of life and death.
The text reveals the Dao's infinite emptiness, through which only divine light (primordial Qi) connects heaven and earth. These verses contain both the wisdom of the Daodejing's five thousand words and essential cultivation secrets beyond the human realm. Readers are urged to spread wings and ride the wind home (referring to ascension through cultivation), not remaining shackled by worldly cages.
Concluding with a celestial perspective gazing upon earth: the "Willow Camp" (military barracks), dragon formations, and mirage towers all prove illusory. Wine banners transform into war flags, flute-drums become battle drums—satirizing humanity's pursuit of fame and profit. The red gates (wealth and nobility) bring more harm than benefit; inner storms should be calmed. Bees gathering honey achieve nothing, silkworms spinning cocoons bind themselves, and ill-gotten wealth disperses like fleeting clouds. Throughout resonates the cultivation truth of "seeing through fortune's rise and fall, emptying the heart to dwell in tranquility."
The Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry employs magnificent imagery to depict the realms of Daoist cultivation and philosophical insights on life:
The first poem portrays an immortal's divine powers: Seated atop a seven-jeweled mountain, the immortal gathers heaven and earth within his palm, moving sun and moon to shake the celestial gates. Mortals can scarcely glimpse such realms—only that mysterious Golden Elixir (Jindan, a Neidan term denoting the refined essence of life) shines like a luminous pearl upon the world.
The second poem speaks of sudden awakening through cultivation: Awakening from the Millet Dream to see through worldly illusions, even mirages ultimately prove empty. After three thousand days of alchemical refinement (Waidan practice using lead and mercury to forge elixirs of longevity), one transcends the cycles of Yin-Yang. A sword hangs at the waist beneath the Southern Dipper, its aura piercing the moonlit heavens. Arriving with an unblemished mirror (symbolizing the original mind), it remains eternally suspended in the azure sky.
The third poem reveals nature's laws: Yin-Yang transformations govern creation, yet humans remain restless. Starry rivers morph into rosy clouds; snowy skies shift to rainy ones. Kingfishers emerge stealthily from thawing ice, while winter plums vie in radiant bloom. Alas, these eternal spring scenes go unsung in the mortal realm.
The fourth poem depicts reclusive joy: Riding cranes through cloud-wreathed heights, verses flow with crystalline purity. Plum blossoms scatter their fragrance to the wind; bamboo shadows trace themselves by moonlight. The benevolent delight in mountains, the aged savor wine—with whom shall we drunkenly escape life's snares? In the Penglai paradise (Daoist celestial abode), we revel in timeless peace.
The fifth poem recalls celestial encounters: Once descending on pure winds, my dragon-chariot wreathed in fragrant mists. Bound for Penglai's immortal gathering, I lay drunk in a hermit's abode. Zhuangzi's butterfly dream (symbolizing unity of self and cosmos) invites deep reflection; the Zheng man doubting a deer (parable of confused perception) merits greater sighs. Who can fathom these mysteries? Let us share a moonlit boat upon the Silver River.
The sixth poem admonishes cultivation: Do not pollute the spiritual spring (metaphor for origin) with worldly ties—hold fast to the Dao of returning to the root. In retreat, emulate not Xie An with his courtesans; in practice, shun Kong Rong's lavish feasts. Before riding purple phoenixes homeward, shed first your worldly robes. Spurn the people's riches, and join me in repaying the Jade Emperor's grace.
The seventh poem expounds karma: Past-life blessings manifest today; future karmic threads unfold now. Three lifetimes of wisdom qualify one as an official; five generations of clarity permit governance. Let not thorns overgrow your heart, nor raise arms against Yingchuan (metaphor for conflict). Best to return wielding wisdom's sword, escaping rebirth's hunger and cold.
The eighth poem reveals transcendence: Half-drunk, half-awake, I leave the capital—rivers and peaks dim under unsettled skies. Dharma rain falls with sweet dew; compassion-clouds rise with evening mists. The world wearies of dust-laden strife, while beyond forms, Dao-power (cultivation strength) grows daily. When Dao-power fills you and worldly thoughts cease, your spirit-terrace (Xin, the heart-mind) celebrates pristine peace.
The ninth poem unveils truth: Sun (the hare) and moon (the crow) rise east, set west—a blink spans centuries. Let not dark demons deplete your essence (Jing); diligently cultivate the Golden Elixir's great Dao.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü conveys the philosophy of refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and transcending worldly existence. The first poem emphasizes the urgency of cultivation amid mundane life—breaking through the realm of emptiness allows ascension to immortality. The alchemical process requires prolonged refinement, producing a radiant Golden Elixir capable of subduing dragons and tigers, awing spirits, transforming stone into gold, and granting longevity when ingested.
The second poem depicts a forged sword (Longquan), tempered through time, guarding the Dharma-nature. Its divine light unsheathed illuminates the sun and moon (the "crow and hare" symbolize celestial bodies), its icy gleam piercing the stars. Wielding this sword purifies the ten directions, vanquishing demons and malevolent spirits. Now, it is bestowed upon worthy aspirants in the mortal realm.
The third poem advises maintaining inner clarity amid worldly chaos. One should embody the lucidity of Chan moonlight, never returning empty-handed. A sweep of the sleeve dispels afflictions; trampling across the boundary of life and death. Once the profound mystery is grasped, one transcends the transformations of Yin-Yang.
The fourth poem paints an immortal realm: celestial palaces amid mist and radiance, vast Qi filling the void. The bright moon hangs high as the roc spreads its wings. Spiritual light reflects the primordial state; the Dao embraces all phenomena. The immortal Bai Yuanjun stands within reach, yet worldly distractions obscure understanding.
The fifth poem exhorts: in striving forward, avoid coveting what is undeserved; in retreat, recognize your true nature. Virtuous deeds accumulate boundless blessings; purity of heart preserves finite life. Youth fades swiftly, beauty withers—awaken to these truths and become one liberated from material attachments.
Casual Verses describes a long whistle scattering white clouds, freely plucking the moon and breeze. Crimson clouds bathe the isle as wild cranes circle; turbid waves surge, thunder rolls. The dream of millet (a metaphor for fleeting illusions) lingers unbroken, yet worldly fantasies dissolve. The iron flute falls silent, plum blossoms stand desolate. Life’s hardest severance lies in vainly entrusting sublime truths to wine.
Night Chanting portrays visiting a friend by wind in the silent depths of night. The sky darkens; candlelight glows through green gauze. The night watch drum strikes thrice, a crane cries once. Long weary of worldly trivialities, who now discusses the true Dharma (the Lotus Sutra, "Fahua") by lamplight?
These nature poems from the Anthology of Emperor Lü can be interpreted in modern terms as follows:
The first poem depicts flower shadows under moonlight, describing jade-like buds blossoming in lunar radiance, their petals piled like delicate powder. Butterflies, drawn by fragrance, drift through spring dreams, while white cranes are lured by pristine blossoms in the night. The swaying branches reveal the profound mystery of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), their exquisite form embodying the essence of Yin-Yang energies. To perceive reality's true nature, one must prevent worldly affairs from staining the heart-mind.
The second poem, "Flowers in a Vase," observes how fresh-cut blossoms placed in a vessel become objects for quiet contemplation of profound truths. Though perfect flowers must eventually wither, how few truly comprehend the nature of emptiness? Even when tracing leaves and branches back to formless origin, their refined elegance persists after worldly adornments fade. All things are naturally understood through serene observation—no need to wait until white-haired to lament time's passage.
"Autumn Night" paints the scene: An icy mirror of moonlight hangs over chilled mountain valleys as clouds part to spill crystalline radiance. Wild ducks skimming moonbeams deepen the mountains' stillness, while lone geese cry, forming single-file characters across the sky. Night waves on the river thunder like storms; osmanthus shadows in clouds seem to hold the jade rabbit's fragrance. Troubled by aged indolence and scattered thoughts, the poet wonders how many chrysanthemums have yellowed unseen tonight.
"Red Plum Blossoms" describes boughs half-crimson, half-white, their sparse blooms rupturing winter's grip. The poet grows leaner riding his donkey, chanting verses as spring messengers frequently arrive. Like the Luo River goddess' frosty silks or fresh scarlet robes of Jade Pool immortals, their beauty distracts—making companionship with reclusive hermits of Lone Mountain impossible.
"Plum Blossoms in a Vase" portrays floral reflections slanting across water-filled porcelain. Unlike blossoms shrouded in misty fragrance, these leave only phantom traces on window screens. Their jade-bone purity surpasses snow, yet cold elegance still bears flaws. Clinging to form hinders awakening to emptiness—their lingering essence now preserved in verse.
"Winter-Sweet" glows like beeswax, dazzling as amber. Outshining courtyard osmanthus, they make flowering crabapples regret lacking fragrance. Their smiles seem perfumed with clove, their pale makeup tinted by oriole feathers. Who shares their essence now? Only the Flower King (peony) would understand.
"Lantern Festival" finds the poet chanting verses amid wind and moonlight. When breezes still and the moon grows full, lantern markets fade by midnight while the Milky Way's long shadow lingers. Rather than beg light from the Great Unity (Taiyi), he feasts at the Harmony of Three (Heaven-Earth-Humanity) ritual. Yet most mortals remain blind—even secret pointers prove futile.
Fragment from "Summer Day": Cool mountain caves repel heat as old friends gather for weiqi (go) on catalpa-wood boards. Bamboos shatter like jade in the wind, while dew drips upon lotuses...
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" contains these verses imbued with profound Daoist cultivation wisdom and life philosophy:
The first poem depicts a transcendent realm far from worldly dust: crystalline pearls adorn ivy-covered walls, beyond the crystal curtain reflect verdant flower stems. In such pure serenity, mundane affairs cannot intrude—here one may transcend all worldly vexations.
The second advises detachment from fame and wealth: time flies like an arrow, why exhaust oneself chasing reputation and riches? Blue mountains and clear waters require no gold to purchase, look lightly upon high positions and generous emoluments. Simple cloth shoes suffice for walking, plain tea and modest fare best nourish body and mind. Better to find a secluded spot, where a thatched hut becomes a peaceful abode.
The third describes achieving immortality through cultivation: when the "Eight-Nine Mysterious Work" reaches perfection, one forms the Golden Elixir (Jindan) to become immortal. Five-colored auspicious clouds manifest above the head, while internal Qi (vital energy) connects heaven and earth. Alone one creates the transformations of Qian and Kun, making sun and moon move in accordance with the Dao (the Way). Mountain years know no end—a single long whistle carries one roaming immortal realms.
The fourth laments the rarity of kindred spirits: that melody played by the waterside in years past still finds no appreciative listener today. Cool breezes stir wide sleeves, bright moonlight illuminates the transcendent body-mind. Not distinguishing worldly rights and wrongs, only seeking the mysterious source within. Through all ages, how many famed figures were truly awakened to the Dao?
The fifth transmits ritual methods for cosmic alignment: esoteric mantras and scriptures defy verbal expression, like cloud-patterned brocade treasured in a pouch. Golden light contains the Primordial Qi (Xiantian zhenqi), while the Jade Method (Yuge) of cultivation requires serene contemplation. The North Star manifests in the heart-mind, the Southern Dipper turns at finger's command. These celestial mysteries are ultimately simple—just silently operate the inner mechanism.
The sixth bids farewell to a friend: lingering in high towers with worldly attachments, yet the vow to aid humanity remains undiminished. Wandering river cities where winds and dust never settle, hearing night watches that make darkness seem endless. Candlelight flickers into celestial talismans (Fulu), incense smoke spirals straight to Purple Empyrean. Not that this old man delights in wandering—only that the great vow remains unfulfilled.
The seventh reveals essential cultivation keys: most precious is the "Nine-Nine Mysterious Work," never to be sought externally. Clinging to appearances remains illusory—recognize the essence of Primordial Unity (Hunyuan yiqi). The Primordial Qi (Xiantian yiqi) penetrates Samadhi states, while Yin-Yang energies cycle through the four seasons. Know this priceless treasure of the Great Dao (Dadao)—only through nurturing luminous clarity can one become sagely.
The eighth explains Confucian-Daoist unity: though Confucianism and Daoism have separate lineages, their investigation of mind-nature shares common roots. Like Osmanthus Grove (Guilin, referring to Lü Dongbin) famed for pure filial piety, the Purple Palace (Zifu) most values loyal integrity. Serve the nation without regard for salary, cherish the people with compassion for the simple. Every inch of borderland belongs to the king's domain—all should be treated with benevolent virtue.
Vernacular Interpretation of "Emperor Lü's Poetry Collection":
The first poem expounds principles for conducting oneself in the world: one should never betray the recommendations of virtuous scholars. These seemingly ordinary words actually contain profound wisdom - the keys to transcending the mundane and attaining sagehood all lie within. Past transgressions have been cleansed, while present virtuous deeds are recorded in the celestial courts. True goodness is selfless, and the great Dao (the Way) lies in harmonizing with the times to accomplish all things. Just as officials in southern Guizhou can project authority across distant lands, the five noble steeds of the Central Plains gallop ceaselessly.
"Visiting Jinshan Temple" paints a majestic landscape: the boundless expanse of the sea stretches endlessly, with emerald mountains floating like green conch shells upon its surface. When monks return to wash their alms bowls, dragons come to devour the remnants; when visitors sit watching the tides, alligators are drawn by the food offerings. Ascending the high tower to admire the moon, one gazes down upon perilous mountain peaks; the Dharma seat for scripture lectures seems immersed in the river's waves. Try cleansing worldly dust from your sleeves in these pure waters - the midday celestial breeze refreshes both mind and spirit.
"Parting Words for Cheng Shu Returning to Chu" bids farewell to a friend: we often wandered together through snowy cliffs and spiritual caves, but now you ride your phoenix steed toward the clear river's source. Southern clouds bring chilling rain, while white gulls soar above jade-green waters. Though your literary work remains unfinished, friends in the Chu region await your return. How laughable are the dilatory officials of Guiyang, whose belated carriages detained you here.
"Instructions for Tongyuan" discusses Buddhist cultivation: the Dharma rain of lotuses exudes the fragrance of jeweled necklaces, as gradual meditation on samadhi (deep concentration) radiates wisdom's light. From the Buddha's broad, long tongue (one of the thirty-two marks) springs perfect enlightenment - within the purified body itself lies the sacred space. A precious mirror reflects the western moon, while stone pillars tremble amid northern terrace frost. I urge you to penetrate the path of bodhi (awakening) and take monastic vows to follow the Buddha.
"Crossing the Southern Sea and Ascending Mount Potalaka" describes celestial mountains floating on the sea: peaks resembling floating Buddhist monasteries, our vessel mooring after southern travels from India. At dawn, dragons offer jade dew in alms bowls; at night, golden stems brew medicinal herbs while deer add blossoms. The meditation niche remains spotless, sealed within cloud-wrapped stone cliffs; pearl flowers bloom in rivalry with moonlight. Gazing eastward, all kingdoms appear as fleeting visions between misty sea and sky, where crows come to roost.
"Two Poems Harmonizing with Snow Cliff Cave" express nostalgic remembrance: this serene ancient grotto by the water recalls our past wanderings. A thousand mountains encircle it like emerald screens, while a jade-like stream flows before its entrance. Swallows from years past still nest on the beams, and white gulls of yore float upon the waters. Sighing at life's vicissitudes, only wild cranes remain by the riverbank.
Where two rivers converge south of the city stands a towering Buddhist pavilion. The mountains' silence hears no monks' chimes; only occasionally does a lamp glow in the desolate pavilion. Strolling the willow-lined shore, visitors muse on antiquity; geese crossing cloudy passes seek Zen wisdom. In this lonely mortal realm, who enters our dreams? We can only earnestly inquire of the cranes returning next year.
The poems in the "Anthology of Emperor Lü" primarily expound the profound states of Daoist cultivation and the essential methods of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path.
The first poem depicts the scenery of a Daoist temple: palace halls harmonize with pine and bamboo, moonlight intertwines with bamboo shadows, floral fragrance drifts on the breeze, cranes and gibbons keep company, while temple bells and drums resonate in unison—all portraying the serene atmosphere of a cultivation site. It concludes by revealing the cultivator's ultimate pursuit: the mysterious Dao leading to the Purple Firmament (celestial realm).
The second poem elucidates the nature of the Dao: the Great Dao transcends form, being formless and imageless yet nurturing all things. It exists within all phenomena (having gates and doors within the cosmos), yet surpasses concrete manifestations (color beyond the realm of colors). Cultivators must comprehend this truth within emptiness, a state beyond verbal description.
The third poem discusses Golden Elixir cultivation: the true Golden Elixir (the highest state of internal alchemy/Neidan) isn't found in distant places but within oneself. Through studying scriptures and practical cultivation (ascending mountains and approaching waters), one ultimately attains the luminous, pure supreme state (the summit of Xiyi, the origin of Hundun). If worldly people understood this principle, transcending mundanity to attain sagehood wouldn't be difficult.
The fourth poem recounts the author's cultivation journey: wandering the mundane world for forty years while preserving innate nature. The key to cultivation lies in mastering Yin-Yang (the cauldron of Qiankun, the wheel of sun and moon), nurturing the original spirit (Yuanshen) within the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) and Five Phases (Wuxing). Even as oceans turn to fields, the cultivator remains transcendent.
The fifth poem describes the state of cultivation: the practitioner communes solely with heaven and earth, circulating primordial energy (Yuanqi). Through internal refinement (the golden cauldron solidifies, the jade furnace empties), one attains extraordinary states—this profundity (Xiyi) isn't easily comprehended by ordinary people.
The sixth poem explains internal alchemy: the Hua Pool (Dantian) is unfathomably deep, requiring nine years of gathering and refinement (like red jade) to ultimately achieve the Golden Elixir (resembling purple gold). Ingesting this elixir enables one to transcend seasonal cycles and life-death boundaries, with an admonition for practitioners to maintain single-minded focus.
The seventh poem reveals alchemical essentials: through the perfect balance of water and fire (seeking lead to combine with fire lead), within the transformations of Yin-Yang (black reddening red, red blackening), one refines the Golden Elixir. When essence (Jing), energy (Qi), and spirit (Shen) unite as one (the three essentials), one finally attains the state where "three flowers gather at the crown" and "five energies ascend to the origin" (producing golden splendor), awaiting the celestial summons (the phoenix decree from the skies) for ascension.
This poetic passage depicts the realms and processes of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, using symbolic language to express how practitioners transcend worldly existence through spiritual practice.
The first stanza describes the adept riding dragons and tigers (symbolizing Yin-Yang energies) to ascend to the Purple Mist Immortal Realm. At specific hours, they observe the circulation of internal Qi (vital energy) flowing along the celestial ford (the Du meridian along the spine). The Golden Portal (upper Dantian) conceals mysterious Jing (essence), while the Jade Pool (mouth) connects to the Palace of Supreme Harmony (middle Dantian). Through three celestial cycles of fire refinement (san zhou huo), they forge the numinous Ninefold Golden Elixir. The poet cautions seekers to guard the Dragon-Tiger Shallows (the confluence of Yin-Yang).
The second stanza portrays returning to the primordial origin. When Dao-Qi becomes harmonious, formless energy gradually manifests—like white snow condensing in water or golden lotuses blooming in fire. Sacred Mercury (original Shen/spirit) and True Lead (original Jing) transcend name and form. Practitioners are advised to abandon fixation on Waidan (external alchemy) and seek the subtle internal energies instead.
The third stanza uses sword-forging as a cultivation metaphor. At dawn, the adept tempers the precious sword (representing practice), its blade gleaming like ice, its energy coiling like a serpent, capable of dissolving malign influences. The practitioner must sever worldly injustices and ascend the nine heavens with the Dao.
The fourth stanza depicts the adept as a general commanding dragon-tiger legions (internal Qi), wearing Fulu (talismans) to swiftly deploy formations. They must subdue the Three Corpses (malevolent spirits within the body) and Six Thieves (sensory distractions), purifying body and mind until rivers run clear and seas grow calm—eternally abiding in Dao-De (the Way and its Power).
The fifth stanza describes alchemical achievement. Within the crimson furnace (Dantian), golden blossoms (Golden Elixir) form; the luminous pearl (internal elixir) illuminates the inner chambers. Now perceiving cosmic rhythms, transcending life and death, roaming freely beyond the four seas, the adept finally joins the immortal ranks, welcomed by phoenixes.
The sixth stanza reveals the secret of longevity: constantly grasping the pivotal mechanism (cultivation's crux), focusing will and Qi in the liminal space between wakefulness and stillness, safeguarding original Jing. Through dragon-tiger union (Yin-Yang harmonization), three celestial cycles complete; through the sun-moon's course (the hare and crow symbolizing these luminaries), the ninefold elixir crystallizes. When the sacred medicine forms, the path back to azure skies becomes clear.
The seventh stanza declares only those who cultivate to Qian-Kun (Heaven-Earth) perfection become earthly drunken immortals. Seeing through fleeting worldly time, they enjoy the eternal beauty of grotto-heavens. Though their form practices on cliffs, their Shen (spirit) dwells in the Mystic Palace (upper Dantian). They yearn for perfected beings to reveal more profound realms.
The final stanza portrays the fruits of cultivation: merging with nature, internal Qi coursing like lightning. The crimson steed (heart fire) returns to its stable, vermilion gates (celestial portals) open wide. The Kunwu sword (purified Qi) severs distractions as the bright moon (true Yin) heralds rebirth—revealing at last the Dao of perpetual renewal.
This poetic passage depicts the profound mysteries and inner philosophy of Daoist cultivation. The allusion to the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) conquering Chiyou symbolizes the adept's mastery over primordial Qi and transcendence of worldly attachments through imagery like "six dragons soaring high" and "following the chariot's wake." The drunken demeanor with "iron crown" and "black beard" metaphorically represents the unfettered freedom of a practitioner unbound by formalities.
The recurring motifs of "metal" and "wood" correspond to the Five Phases, representing the harmonization of lung-metal and liver-wood in the alchemical process. "Furnace and cauldron" along with "tiger and dragon" denote the inner alchemical vessels and the interplay of Yin-Yang energies within the body. Practitioners must align with cosmic rhythms ("moving with heaven and earth's waxing-waning") and achieve self-realization through inner contemplation ("returning to the origin through self-inquiry") to embody the Dao.
"Central palace earth" and "upper valley spring" metaphorically represent the Dantian (energy center) and bodily fluids, illustrating the need to stabilize the energy center and nurture vital essences. "Nine years of perfected work" refers to the complete alchemical cycle, while "Great Luo Heaven" signifies Daoism's highest celestial realm. The poem emphasizes that true alchemy isn't sought externally ("why laboriously search beyond"), but through cultivating one's innate "spiritual sprout" (primordial Qi).
The closing verses employ specialized terms like "yellow sprout" (the initial movement of primordial Qi) and "nine-three cauldron" (alchemical firing times) to reveal that the golden elixir resides within, requiring no distant quest. Successful cultivation enables "ascension to the Jade Emperor's court," attaining immortalhood in the "Hall of Eternal Life." Through rich Daoist symbolism, the poem encapsulates Neidan's (internal alchemy) core principles: harmonizing Yin-Yang, reversing the Five Phases, and returning to primordial purity.
Practitioners often become entangled in worldly passions, finding it difficult to extricate themselves. The true path of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) is no trivial matter—it requires cultivation within the crucible of body and mind where Yin and Yang harmonize. People often assume it is easy to seek the Original Spirit (mercury/Hg, symbolizing Shen) in the East (representing Yang energy), yet they fail to realize how arduous it is to find the Original Essence (lead/Pb, symbolizing Jing) in the West (representing Yin essence). In truth, the wondrous true nature (Xuanzhu, the Mysterious Pearl) lies not far from oneself, as if its source could be found right by the banks of the Red River. If one could recognize this "spiritual rod" guiding cultivation, why bother rushing to ceremonial sites for moon worship and star offerings?
The essential secrets of cultivation, past and present, are actually quite clear—only the wisdom of ordinary beings is insufficient. People seek the Dao in tangible forms, yet few can perceive its true shape in emptiness. Without understanding this profound mystery, even exhausting one's vital energy (true lead and sacred mercury) will be futile, unable to unlock the inner gates of practice (Jade Chamber and Golden Pass). Only by breaking free from conventional thinking (overturning the ordinary alchemical gourd) can one ingest the true elixir of immortality.
Worldly fame and profit are not worth clinging to—the taste of reclusion and cultivation is far sweeter. In this world, true companions on the path are rare, and even fewer genuinely comprehend the Great Dao. Those who have yet to master the foundational practices still delight in empty discussions of lofty theories. In the end, one must return to the original duties of cultivation, carrying scriptures and a walking staff.
The Great Dao is fundamentally non-action (Wuwei), and deliberate cultivation itself becomes delusion. Even the words of Laozi (Laoshi) could not exhaust its truth, and the teachings of the Buddha (Qutan) find it even harder to elucidate its depths. The celestial bamboo reaches heaven with its own rhythm, while the rootless immortal herb must take root in the earth. Today, I share these unsparing truths with you—the essential secrets to attaining the immortal realm lie within.
Using the true fire (inner refinement fire) to nurture the elixir (Daogui, the knife-measure) is a method few in this world can comprehend. It is like the eldest son (Changnan, symbolizing Yang) riding a white horse in the mountains, while the youngest daughter (Shaonü, symbolizing Yin) herds a turtle (symbolizing the union of water and fire) by the waterside. From emptiness emerges the true image of the elixir; within Yin softness arises the Yang foundation of the Great Dao. This method of inverting the Five Phases (Wuxing) can only be mastered by enlightened teachers.
Among the three thousand cultivation methods, the path of alchemy is the most essential. One must draw the true Yang (Kannan, the Yang within Water) from the Water Palace (Kidneys) and unite it with the true Yin (Linü, the Yin within Fire) from the Fire Palace (Heart). Refining the deathless Original Spirit (mercury within cinnabar) and solidifying the eternal Original Essence (liquid silver)—only by completing the ninefold cyclical refinement can one truly reverse aging and rejuvenate the body.
To plant the root of immortality, one must first harmonize the two energies of Yin and Yang. Let the Primal Mother (Xuanmu) return to the Fire position, while the King of Emptiness (Kongwang) guards the Water Palace. When the White Tiger (lung Qi) moves to the East (Jia Wood), wind arises; when the Azure Dragon (liver Qi) resides in the West (Geng Metal), warmth is born. The foolish recklessly divulge celestial secrets—these principles can only be expounded by those who truly understand.
Closing the eyes to internally contemplate the Dantian (Jade Door), the proper timing and fire phases will naturally follow. Like a dragon swallowing mercury (gathering medicinal energy) amidst soaring clouds, or a tiger subduing lead (consolidating essence) where mountain winds rage. Once the inner Golden Elixir is forged, the mysteries of the Dao become self-evident. After ingesting this Daogui elixir, one attains the very state described in the alchemical scriptures.
These Daoist poems describe the process and states of Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, using symbolic language to depict how practitioners achieve the Golden Elixir through harmonizing Yin-Yang and balancing water-fire interactions.
The first poem speaks of transcending worldly constraints. After unrelenting practice for "a thousand days" (symbolizing prolonged cultivation), one ascends like riding a chariot up the Kunlun Immortal Mountain. "The tiger extracting black mercury" (referring to true Yang from the kidneys) is placed in the alchemical furnace (lower Dantian), while "the dragon releasing red lead" (true Yin from the heart) enters the crucible (upper Dantian). When registering one's name in the immortal registry, the Golden Elixir is already complete—erasing one's name from the underworld's death ledger—before finally ascending on colored clouds to pay homage to the Celestial Worthy in the realm of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing).
The second poem explains the principle of Yin-Yang union. When true Yin (Kan trigram) couples with true Yang (Li trigram), after three years of perfected practice, it crystallizes into a snow-pure Golden Elixir. The spirit turtle (Black Tortoise of the north, representing water) moves between the metal phases (Geng-Xin directions), while the phoenix (Vermilion Bird of the south, representing fire) soars through the wood phases (Jia-Yi directions). The nine cauldrons (major bodily energy centers) first manifest dual auspicious signs, as the three essentials (Jing-Qi-Shen) exchange five-colored radiance in the central palace. If worldly companions share this aspiration, they may dwell together in the misty immortal realms to attain longevity.
The third poem identifies the crucial challenge: the most difficult aspect of cultivation lies in maintaining the Middle Way—fools gain nothing even after reading ten thousand volumes. True medicine requires balanced water-fire (harmonized spirit and energy), while disrupted Yin-Yang prevents elixir formation. One must preserve feminine receptivity (stillness) without losing masculine vigilance (awareness); when black (kidney water) remains unbroken, white (lung metal) naturally overflows. Understanding this true secret renders aging and illness powerless.
The fourth poem describes ingesting the Golden Elixir. Upon swallowing a single pellet, profound tranquility descends as it passes through the twelve-story tower (throat to Dantian channel) and nine winding paths (intestinal route). The metal tiger (lung Qi) circulates while swallowing crimson snow (saliva), as the wood dragon (liver Qi) surges forth with numinous springs (kidney water). Three times three corresponds to three thousand days (nine years), nine times nine extends to ninety millennia (symbolizing immortality). This secret method is only transmitted to destined recipients, never casually revealed.
The fifth poem emphasizes the "Jade Flower Pool" (saliva) as the foundation of longevity. Cultivation relies on dragon (spirit) and tiger (energy) dynamics, adjusting Kan-Li (water-fire) interactions. Morning and evening collections of golden fluid (refining essence into Qi) swiftly forge jade-like inner elixirs. After seven days of purification rituals (Zhaijiao), ingesting it effortlessly propels one up the cloud ladder of ascension.
The sixth poem depicts celestial flight: when winds soften across the nine heavens, cranes bearing jade tablets (immortal registries) depart the celestial court. The red dust of mundanity shifts at will, while white stones (Golden Elixir) instantly form in the alchemical furnace. Nine-feathered phoenixes dance midair as five-colored auspicious clouds rise beneath one's feet. Turning to return to the heavenly realm, the immortal still vows to send nourishing rain to drought-stricken mortals.
The seventh poem uses the "infant" metaphor for the perfected elixir. The golden pill descends slowly along jade steps (meridians), held securely as the Mysterious Pearl (inner elixir). At midnight, purple clouds (primordial Qi) cloak its pristine essence; several times, crimson energy (Yang Qi) flushes the cheeks. Smiling activates subtle mechanisms (mysterious apertures), gentle strokes open the body's myriad gates (pores). This is our lineage's true transmission—how could ordinary minds fathom it?
The final poem recounts receiving celestial mandate: after three thousand days (approximately nine years) of arduous cultivation, prayers open heaven-earth's golden cauldron (upper Dantian) while gathering Yin-Yang to seal the jade vessel (lower Dantian). Now the mortal frame transforms, proving the Dao's absolute reality. When the time comes, ask the worldly multitudes—do they recognize this transcendent skill beyond ordinary dust?
This poetic passage conveys Lü Dongbin's (one of the Eight Immortals of Daoism) profound realizations about the true essence of spiritual cultivation through verse. The imagery of "a staff propping up heaven and earth" and "a three-foot Kunwu sword slaying ghosts and deities" symbolizes the transcendent power attained by adepts who reach the highest spiritual state—capable of connecting cosmic realms and subduing supernatural forces. Phrases like "drunkenly sleeping in moonlit caves" and "chanting proudly above the red dust" depict the carefree detachment of those who have awakened to the Dao.
The poem emphasizes returning to primal simplicity as the core of cultivation: no need for affectation ("no forced posturing or pretentious airs"), just abiding by the fundamental principle ("the primordial pillar of Kunlun"). Through "ingesting essence and absorbing Qi" (Jing and Qi), practitioners achieve the natural fusion of water and fire ("water and fire spontaneously achieve mutual completion"), harmonizing yin and yang energies. During alchemical practice, one must observe the rhythm of "threefold firing" to unite the "true husband and wife" (representing yin and yang Qi within the body), ultimately refining the elixir of longevity.
Cultivators should transcend fame and profit ("wandering free without name or gain") while accumulating virtuous connections in the human realm. The terms "mercury and lead" (Gong and Qian) are Neidan (internal alchemy) metaphors for the body's yin-yang essences. Practice requires maintaining the mysterious equilibrium of "half-crimson, half-black," harnessing the natural rhythms of sun and moon to regulate breath ("receiving and releasing the three-inch energy"). At the culmination of practice, one achieves celestial ascension beyond mortal dust ("merit perfected in the Three Isles"—referring to Penglai and other immortal realms).
The conclusion reveals the supreme simplicity of the Dao: maintaining empty stillness through Wuwei (non-action) ("preserving the central harmony, the supreme teaching"), growing naturally like chrysanthemums without futilely "smelting iron and burning gold" in pursuit of externalities. The true mystery of cultivation lies in returning to the fundamental state of "embracing the One" (Baoyi).
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" expounds the process and states of attaining immortality through cultivation, employing symbolic imagery to reveal the essential techniques of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice.
The first poem describes the stage where an adept can freely ride phoenixes to visit celestial beings, having returned to primal purity and achieved the state of pure Yang. Such practitioners, capable of ascending and descending at will, are called "flying immortals." The moment Yang Qi first arises within the body marks the opportune time to begin cultivation—only after completing the Ninefold Cyclic Elixir refinement can one attain the Dao. In alchemical practice, one must seek the "water within metal" (the true Water of the kidneys) and establish the "heaven within earth" (the Dantian, energy center) as the furnace. These principles encapsulate the method of refining the Cyclic Elixir, yet without encountering an enlightened master, they are never lightly transmitted.
The second poem depicts the achievements of successful cultivation: soaring like a dragon to the supreme position of the Nine-Five (symbolizing imperial authority in the Yijing), then mastering the fire phases of the Red Emperor of the South. When Mercury (the Shen, spirit) condenses like the midday sun and combines with Lead (the Jing, essence) to form the Mysterious Elixir, the restless "mind-monkey" naturally tames itself without forceful subduing, and the wandering "thought-horse" becomes docile without whipping. Once this celestial elixir is forged, the practitioner's heart-mind becomes eternally steadfast.
The third poem laments how ordinary people fail to comprehend the path of cultivation. The poet's world is uniquely transcendent: his chest holds scriptures for ascending to immortality, his chamber stores refined cinnabar for alchemy. He regularly drinks the celestial wine of longevity and cultivates the deathless flowers of the grotto-heavens. Should mortals inquire about the secrets of cultivation, the answer lies in the radiant five-colored clouds filling the skies.
The fourth poem illustrates the state of an adept: saliva quenches thirst, Qi sustains like food, and one dwells in the celestial palaces of the Three Pure Ones and the Jade Emperor. The golden cauldron refines the pure white Waidan (external elixir), while the jade furnace simmers the central-yellow Neidan (internal elixir). Only then does one grasp the mysteries of the Green Emperor's Li Palace (the heart) and confirm the existence of the Golden Essence's Water Mansion (the kidneys). If worldly seekers ask about these profound principles, the "Cantong Qi" (Triple Unity Classic) has already elucidated them clearly.
The fifth poem portrays the summons to celestial ascension: as the purple edict descends from the Jade Capital (heaven), the Primordial Lord (chief of female immortals) summons the adept to meet the Three Pure Ones. Carrying the cinnabar refined in the golden cauldron and robed in radiant clouds, he rides a crane upward. Celestial youths bearing jade pendants guide the way, while lunar maidens wave banners in welcome. With merits fulfilled, he bows to the true immortals—only to discover his name long inscribed in the registers of the transcendent.
The sixth poem reveals key alchemical techniques: the elixir of immortality requires true Lead (kidney essence) harmonized with the Jia-Geng (celestial stems representing Yin-Yang timings). Extract the marrow of the Red Phoenix (heart fire) from the South and gather the essence of the Black Turtle (kidney water) from the North. The alchemical cauldron must align with the central Earth of the four seasons, while the medicinal ingredients follow the Three Origins and Bagua (Eight Trigrams). Through purifying practice, complete the Ninefold Cyclic Golden Elixir—its ingestion will awe even ghosts and deities.
The final poem depicts the form of a realized immortal: his lofty virtue makes him rarely seen, and rumors say he has departed again for the eastern immortal altars. A flask of spring's vitality (immortal wine) hangs from his staff, while auspicious clouds from the Five Peaks crown his head. The divine turtle capable of draining oceans goes unrecognized by mortals; the talismans that incinerate mountains leave demons humiliated. Once such a master departs, ordinary folk inevitably age—how one longs to obtain his bone-transmuting elixir!
The closing verses portray a true immortal dwelling in emerald depths: his face blooms like peach blossoms, his skin gleams like silver. His hair stays dark through Daoist arts; his ageless visage reflects perfected divinity. Now bound for Penglai's immortal isles, his yellow robe transforms into propelling clouds. Let the mortal world shift between seas and mulberry fields—he roams carefree beyond material concerns.
Here is a modern interpretation of several cultivation poems by Lü Dongbin (Emperor Lü):
The first poem discusses elixir refinement for longevity: A single pill from the ocean can preserve a thousand springs, while refining cinnabar in the alchemical furnace reverses white hair. The poet has obtained the true elixir transmission, sharing laughter with fellow cultivators. Both Laozi's Dao De Jing and the Shaowei constellation (a Daoist celestial signpost) guide him, yet what he most admires is the carefree existence of hermits.
The second poem describes the wonders of the Golden Elixir (Jindan): Who understands that the path to immortality is what I've personally cultivated? Refining true Qi within the three Dantian energy centers. While ordinary people know tales of daytime ascension, I deliberately descend into the mortal dust. When the Black Tiger (symbolizing kidney Qi) moves, sweet dew descends; where the Crimson Dragon (symbolizing heart fire) plows, jade is produced. Just swallow one golden pill to soar directly to the azure heavens, never to return.
The third poem depicts hermit life: Among chaotic clouds hides a star-like true cultivator - drunk on green wine while laughing at the sun and moon, quietly fishing in white duckweed breezes. His demeanor harmonizes with heavenly principles, never arguing with vulgar folk. Through endless mountains and rivers he remains unknown, receiving only occasional news from Lord Mao (founder of the Maoshan tradition).
The fourth poem describes celestial freedom: Riding crane-drawn carriages with fine wine as provisions, solely pursuing the immortal realm. If earthly veins (fengshui energy) can be shortened, why can't human lifespan be extended? Stars visible in a gourd, sun and moon concealed in sleeves. For mortals to witness immortal traces, they'd need to watch mercury (alchemical material) daily.
The fifth poem explains natural attainment of Dao: Divine mushrooms grow without planting; inhaling wind and drinking dew naturally reverses aging. Possessing the years of mist and clouds, why care about solar cycles? The infant (yang Qi) clings to the Dantian's maternal energy, while the maiden (yin essence) pays homage to the crown Shen. Once attaining Dao, one lasts eternally - no need for graves to instruct descendants.
The sixth poem advises transcendence: How many in this world understand these truths? Don't cling to fame and profit in your heart. Drink fine wine freely, occasionally chant lofty verses. Keep company with worldly mists and clouds, let the gourd's sun and moon wax and wane. When merit and practice reach perfection, simply ride cloud chariots into grotto-heavens.
The seventh poem metaphorically describes yin-yang cultivation: The practitioner sits quietly at the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan), communing with the Jade Emperor. Mountains and rivers beneath the pillow contain rain and dew; sun and moon blend within flute music. When the Kan male (kidney water) meets the Jin female (lung Qi), the Li female (heart fire) weds the Mu male (liver Qi). True cultivation requires yin-yang harmony, like husband and wife united in guarding the Great Dao.
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" presents several poems that embody the意境 (artistic conception) of Daoist cultivation and transcendental detachment from worldly affairs.
The first poem reveals that we immortals possess true names and origins, yet find it amusing how mortals persistently inquire about our backgrounds. My walking staff is woven from clouds and mist, my brow conceals the fiery glow of spiritual light (known in Daoism as the divine radiance between eyebrows), and the golden lotuses I've cultivated need no praise. My three-foot scorched-tail zither serves as a livelihood, while a jug of fine wine embodies my existence. Riding divine dragons to distant Penglai's three immortal isles, I admire the moon alone in the depth of silent nights.
The second poem depicts meditation by the winding river, where celestial pathways pierce the clouds. Auspicious vapors encircle heavenly palaces, rising as white mist. Within the body, lead and mercury (Neidan terms representing yin and yang energies) become the finest elixir, while the union of Kan and Li (the water and fire trigrams symbolizing yin-yang harmony) forges divine pills. Such practice grants longevity, its essence lying in effortless mental cultivation.
The third verse explores profound mysteries layer by layer - the foundation of immortality rests in balancing lead and mercury. This genuine cultivation method harmonizes the Six-One (representing yin-yang and Five Phase equilibrium) to commune with the Dao. On Jade Capital Mountain (Daoist celestial realm), goats clamor while stone tigers slumber by golden streams. Comprehending these mysteries awakens true nature, freeing the mind to wander unrestrained.
The fourth poem observes how nobles remain ignorant of celestial recompense yet yearn for immortal realms. Seeking stone livers (elixir ingredients) leads to mirages, pursuing sweet snow (nectar) guides to fairy isles. Drunken, I contain mountains in my gourd; leisurely, I confine spirits in my box. Finding no kindred souls, I raise my cup to blend with mortal dust.
The fifth recalls an immortal invitation to Kunlun's peaks (mythical sacred mountain) for moonlit libations. Jade maidens drove azure xiezhi (mythical beasts) while immortal youths carried white toads. We drank millennium-aged wine and plucked eternal blossoms from gourds. Now unrecognized in the human realm, I prepare to vanish into clouds.
The sixth describes true fire kindled in the Dantian (lower abdominal energy center), where golden fluid spontaneously generates layered inner palaces. Three thousand merits manifest in a hundred days; ten-thousand-mile Penglai becomes a day's journey. Transcendence removes one from mortality's register, etching names eternally in celestial records. Today's Jade Pool banquet welcomes me with nine-tiered banners in cavern heavens.
The seventh poem reflects on Master Cui's "Mirror for Entering Medicine" (classic Neidan text) that illuminates the mind. The yang dragon ascends from Li Palace (heart trigram position) while the yin tiger submits at Kan position (kidney trigram). Their convergence forms cultivation's foundation; Five Phase circulation forges the Golden Elixir. Practitioners understanding this truth shall ride crimson dragons to Jade Clarity Heaven (highest Daoist realm).
The final verse laments life's illusory nature - beneath monastic robes lie extraordinary immortal bones. Not untouched by worldly dust yet how to transcend completely? Conversations with mortals remain unfulfilling; solitary walks set sleeves billowing. A speck of elixir (measured by ancient dao spoon) transforms into five-colored radiance.
This poetic passage depicts the ideal realm of Daoist practitioners transcending the mundane world in pursuit of immortality. The verses describe adepts accustomed to dining on celestial fare from the Jade Emperor's palace, clad in robes from Penglai's immortal grottoes, riding divine steeds across crimson suns while phoenixes carry crescent moons through rosy clouds. The poet yearns to once again harness azure-reined spirit horses, wielding golden whips to enter the Purple Tenuity Palace (the Daoist celestial abode of the Heavenly Emperor).
The poem employs numerous Neidan (internal alchemy) terms: "yellow sprouts and white snow" represent elixir essences, the "red infant" symbolizes the primordial Shen (spirit) cultivated through internal alchemy, while the "yellow matron" denotes the mediator harmonizing Yin-Yang. Through Neidan practice, adepts refine their spiritual essence as if simmering Shen in water and nurturing the yellow matron with fire, achieving liberation from cosmic constraints upon completing their cultivation.
Subsequent stanzas portray the hermit's life: gathering lingzhi mushrooms on Huayang Mountain, scaling cliffs beside evergreen pines, drinking from flying springs deep within white clouds. Maintaining their natural mind, practitioners recognize worldly success and failure as preordained, knowing true adepts naturally transcend earthly dust. The poet claims timeless residence in Mystic Metropolis (the legendary celestial capital of Daoism), regularly paying homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Daoism's supreme deity) in the Jade Capital Palace and Lord Lao of the Golden Portal. When melancholy strikes, he rides cranes through the void; at leisure, he reclines atop ninefold clouds, having now mastered the Dao of immortality.
Through resplendent celestial imagery and alchemical terminology, the entire poem expresses the Daoist ideal of transcending worldly existence to attain immortality, while simultaneously portraying the reclusive lifestyle of mountain hermits gathering medicinal herbs and cultivating perfection.
Here is the modern Chinese interpretation of several cultivation poems from the "Anthology of Emperor Lü's Poetry" rendered into English:
The first poem speaks of the profound truth of cultivation being difficult to impart casually. Practitioners connect with the Northern Dipper and Southern Stars through inner contemplation (meditation), silently realizing the workings of heaven and earth. Golden true Qi (vital energy) resides in the Dantian (lower abdominal energy center), while jade-like essence descends from the crown. Though all seek the great Dao, who truly comprehends its mysteries? In truth, the Dao is ever-present, as natural as the cycling of sun and moon.
The second describes the state of attaining the Dao. Six dragons draw the chariot soaring to celestial realms, mastering the powers of creation. The true Dao shines as clear as autumn moonlight, its supreme principles as boundless as emerald waves. By day, one rides white cranes to visit Penglai's three immortal isles; by night, wearing golden crowns, one cultivates at ancient altars. A year's practice yields a millennium's merit—yet who can relinquish worldly attachments?
The third explains celestial mechanics. The Five Sacred Mountains renew their splendor eternally, while virtuous ones penetrate hidden mysteries. The celestial framework operates to purify the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen), and earth's meridians flow to nourish all life. Cultivation requires understanding the secrets of the valley spirit (Dantian's true Qi), restraining desires to refine authenticity. Following the Middle Yellow (middle Dantian) path, enlightenment comes amidst thunder's roar.
The fourth depicts ascension to immortal realms. To join celestial companions requires refining lightness, soaring past Penglai to heavenly domains. Cranes descend from clouds to greet you, while purple-scaled fish welcome you across seas. Moon-palace osmanthus blooms, and the Queen Mother's peaches ripen. When dawn's first light appears, you'll know eternal life is yours.
The fifth laments worldly busyness. All under heaven chase mundane affairs, paying mere lip service to transcendence. Since you've attained the path to reach these sacred peaks, why not emulate hermits in liberation? The twelve storied pavilions (meridian system) conceal cultivation secrets, while the "Dao De Jing" holds profound mysteries. Know that the cauldron (Dantian) refines elixirs—a single Golden Elixir (cultivation achievement) grants realization.
The sixth discusses renouncing splendor. Only by abandoning worldly glory can one gain longevity, having cultivated rebirth at Jin River (possibly Chengdu) and left one's name at Penglai. The Three Abidings (stabilized essence, energy, and spirit) transcend fortune's whims, seeing through mortal sentiments. When merit reaches perfection, where does one go? Simply mount a dragon to celestial spheres.
The seventh reminisces past days. Though once renowned in the capital, true heroism lies in carefree reclusion now. Alone enjoying endless white clouds, each person holds immortal potential (symbolized by osmanthus). Leisure finds fishermen for angling, while drunkenness lets Daoist companions assist mountain climbs. Anticipating our reunion someday—night conversations in bamboo-stream thatched huts.
The eighth advises cultivation friendships. Seek deep bonds with fellow practitioners, following their daily discipline. To soar freely like cloud-riding cranes demands diligent Golden Elixir (Neidan) refinement. Once forged, this elixir makes heaven-earth seem small; consuming it, what sickness dare intrude? If not yet at Jasper Terrace's paradise, one remains tempered in the mortal crucible.
This immortal (Lü Dongbin) lived with unfettered freedom, finding greatest joy in wine and poetry. Carrying his qin zither and precious sword, he wandered through mist-shrouded mountain forests, delighting in each fleeting moment of respite. He maintained that outward appearances mattered little, and even the most skilled physicians had their limitations.
Having studied three thousand volumes of immortal scriptures, he mastered twelve Daoist arts. Should anyone doubt his spiritual attainment, they need only witness his divine powers manifest upon golden steps. After drinking his fill on Huayang Mountain, he rode a dragon to Southern Cliff, his brow radiating sword-light like lightning, his robes steeped in mountain mist.
He described his cultivation practice: flames roaring in the alchemical furnace, a dragon resting in emerald pools at sunset. His sword spanned riverbanks as he wore the Five Ding Crown to command celestial beings. Dwelling in immortal grottoes, he cultivated the work of creation while clad in golden lotus ritual robes.
He advocated following circumstance with a mind free as flowing water or drifting clouds. Always carrying scriptures, sword, staff, and seven-stringed qin, his gourd contained elixirs to gift freely, while his belly stored fresh poems to share with guests. A single flask of immortal wine could add a thousand years to one's lifespan, he said, and one Golden Elixir (Jindan) could transform base metal.
Often keeping company with dragons, cranes, tigers, and deer, he rode white stags through the Three Isles and astride blue oxen toured the Ten Continents. Admiring the moon in jade caves, watching clouds from green peaks—he claimed that if worldly people could transcend as he did, they'd see through fame and vanity.
Finally, he revealed celestial secrets: while cultivating in Purple Extremity Palace, his divine sword would dance unsheathed. Using the Jade Child to open southern halls, dispatching azure dragons to the Purple Tenuity constellation. Phoenixes nested in his alchemical furnace, while spirit mushrooms grew upon his immortal bones. Yet Penglai's paradise remained beyond mortal reach—he feared revealing heavenly mysteries to vulgar fools.
With a sigh, he reflected that transcendence depended solely on self-cultivation. Had he understood the Dao earlier, he might have soared like the soaring dragon breaking earthly snares, or revealed his true nature like the white tiger. Returning from midnight sword practice, he plucked qilin herbs beneath starry skies. Watching blossoms fall while sword-dancing in spring, he often lamented time's swift passage and the Dao's elusive nature. Seeking neither fame nor profit, he yearned only for mountain streams and glowing mist, having seen through all worldly illusions.
This poetic passage reveals the transcendent immortal realm and cultivation insights of Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals in Daoism). The line "After the Eight Immortals refine, the bell manifests divine wonders" subtly refers to the supernatural transformations attained through Neidan (internal alchemy) practice – the Daoist discipline of cultivating body and mind through breath regulation, energy circulation, and other methods. "Elixir perfected as snow-white wine in countless jars" depicts the magnificent scene of achieving the Golden Elixir, while "Awakening from the millet dream reveals the body enduring countless kalpas" employs the fable of the Millet Dream to symbolize seeing through worldly illusions.
The poet roams heaven and earth with the carefree posture of "riding a crane beyond Kunlun," brushing away the dust of mountains and rivers to display an immortal's transcendence beyond mundane concerns. "Before refining the returned elixir, first refine the heart" clarifies the essential principle of cultivating the mind as foundation, emphasizing that internal alchemy requires spiritual refinement as its basis. "Winds and clouds of the grotto rest within one's grasp, sun and moon of the gourd dwell in one's bosom" employs the Daoist allegory of "cosmos within a gourd," describing the practitioner's attainment of unity between self and cosmos.
The latter section contrasts worldly and immortal states through imagery like "dragon emerging from water" and "crane soaring to heaven." The closing reference to "having read the thirteenth chapter of immortal scriptures" conceals esoteric meanings from Daoist classics, while cryptic lines like "When Lady Wu died she remained a maiden, after Prince Chen's demise he became a pure youth" hint at the necessity of maintaining childlike purity in cultivation. Filled with Daoist cultivation terminology and immortal imagery, the entire poem manifests Lü Dongbin's playful engagement with the human world and his transcendent demeanor as an immortal perfected being.
This poetic passage depicts the transcendent lifestyle and cultivation insights of a Daoist recluse who has renounced worldly affairs in pursuit of immortality.
The opening stanza portrays a wandering hermit carrying his wine gourd, seeing through the illusions of fame and fortune, seeking only the true Dao before the sacred Mount Longhu (a Daoist holy site). The encounter with an extraordinary medicine seller in Huayin marketplace subtly hints at a destined meeting with an enlightened master.
The second section illustrates the cultivator's daily rhythm: studying countless Daoist scriptures (Jing), playing the qin for solace, keeping wine as companion, and refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan) in his alchemical furnace—a practice of external alchemy (Waidan). In leisure, he naps drunkenly at crossroads or fishes by Lake Dongting, living with unfettered freedom while few recognize his true nature.
The third verse reveals the cultivator's indifference to worldly honors—considering celestial rank among immortals superior to imperial examination success. "Jade Metropolis" denotes the immortal realms, while the "vermilion decree" alludes to imperial summons, yet the practitioner yearns for the liberty of cranes soaring through cloud seas.
A striking portrait emerges in the fourth stanza: the hermit's voice resonates like temple bells, his bones resemble ancient pines, bearing a sword and golden hammer (symbolic ritual implements). Composing poetry over wine, he anticipates riding a nine-colored dragon (a Daoist mythical beast) to Penglai's immortal gathering.
Though dwelling in golden palaces, the fifth passage shows deities still caring for mortals. The cultivator carries qin and sword (emblems of civil-martial balance), serene as a crane yet ever-ready to slay demons ("beheading whales" metaphorically). Through life's advances and retreats, he seeks guidance from enlightened masters.
The final three stanzas focus on internal alchemy (Neidan):
- Cinnabar refinement in nine tripods (alchemical vessels) reveals "blue lotuses" and "white horse teeth"—mystical signs of elixir completion. The "seven reversions and nine returns" describe celestial cycles, culminating in the "Mysterious Pearl" (Xuanzhu) of inner elixir that ascends directly to immortality.
- Planetary movements metaphorize firing times, while "dragon-tiger" (symbolizing Yin-Yang Qi within the body) devouring each other illustrates the Neidan process, ultimately forging pure Yang elixir.
- The conclusion emphasizes still meditation at the Yellow Court (Dantian), shunning fame, harmonizing breath to nourish Shen (spirit), and transforming Jing (essence) for longevity. "Jade nectar" and "gem blossoms" refer to vital fluids generated during practice—essential elements of life-nourishment.
Through imagery of wine-fueled wanderings, qin-sword companionship, and esoteric terms like "dragon-tiger coupling" and celestial firing cycles, the poem embodies Daoism's essence: the dual cultivation (Xingming Shuangxiu) of spiritual nature and vital life.
The Immortal Poems of Lü Dongbin employ dazzling imagery to depict spiritual cultivation realms. Let me analyze them section by section:
The first poem describes the process of attaining immortality. When one's cultivation merits reach perfection, ascension to the Sanqing (the highest Daoist heavens) becomes possible. Humans are nourished by the dual energies of Yin-Yang, and should naturally enjoy longevity like heaven and earth. Yet most people neglect their fundamental nature (referring to self-cultivation), causing their primordial Qi to dissipate. In truth, the Three Dantians (upper, middle and lower energy centers) contain cyclical cultivation methods, just as all things follow their natural courses. The exquisite jade of Mount Kunlun (symbolizing the Golden Elixir) is the most precious immortal medicine, though few in this world recognize it.
The Luofu Mountain Daoists transcend worldly concerns, wearing grass robes and eating wild fruits while disdaining power and wealth. Unbound by human timekeeping, their wine gourds contain entire universes. They play chess until the river moon rises, their long whistles startling autumn mountains. After drinking, they point toward white clouds in the distance—the immortal's homeward path.
The wandering cultivator traverses three thousand miles, making clouds and streams his home for seven centuries. The Penglai paradise is but a temporary dwelling—after attaining the Dao, even rubble turns to gold. His guest-wine gourd never empties, while his alchemical furnace harbors eternal spring. For those who sincerely accumulate virtue and seek enlightened teachers, heaven and earth never show favoritism.
"Cold Dusk" paints an immortal twilight scene: the bright moon contends with lamplight behind curtains, as an old tree hosts hawks and returning crows dot the horizon. Cold radiance pierces cloud-wrapped peaks while evening hues ripple across misty waters. Riding phoenixes to descend upon the ritual altar, one perceives the entire cosmos brimming with Chan (Zen) meaning.
"Seeking Poetry at the Source" grows even more unrestrained: immortal mountains' white clouds have drifted for millennia, yet the white-haired immortal's traces remain eternal. Who summons the mysterious crane with jade edicts? I ride my blue ox while reciting golden scriptures. One mighty whistle shakes heaven and earth; mad songs echo through the nine heavens, summoning phoenixes. Within the gourd (symbolizing internal alchemy) lies an endless world—I'll guide you through all ten immortal isles.
The final two "Immortal States" poems reach sublime beauty: moonlight cascades between jagged cliffs—no need to pick purple cloud-mist flowers. On jade platforms we play the music of primordial chaos, golden gates opening to the Supreme Lord's abode. Daoist radiance sweeps through ninefold heavens, while sleeve-contained moonlight blooms for miles. If you gift me dream-plum blossoms, I'll weave you robes from azure mists.
Lone auroras glow in ten thousand mountains' depths, as twin carp accompany wine by sandbars. Peaks pierce cloud-wrapped skies while crescent moons trace ink-dark water. Like the chess-obsessed immortal of Rotten Axe Mountain, even the wine-washing boy surpasses drunkards. Why cling to worldly splendor? Better to join herons by the stream.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü presents the artistic conception of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation through these poems. Let me analyze them one by one:
The first poem describes the profundity of Neidan practice. When the "Chanü" (referring to the original spirit, Shen) unites with the "Ying'er" (referring to the original Qi), it creates a natural harmony like a drunken crane and a singing oriole. Upon reaching the "Tihu" stage (the supreme nectar of realization), the mercury and lead (symbolizing Yin and Yang energies) in the alchemical furnace naturally fuse. The practitioner forgets all cunning thoughts whether sitting or reclining, while the solitary hanging sword shadow represents the preservation of true intent—a single point of spiritual light merging with the alchemical furnace. Though one may survey all phenomena between heaven and earth, none compare to comprehending the silent mystery of time's passage.
The second poem depicts the life of a recluse. High mountains cannot contain wandering clouds, as long whistles echo with birdsong. At dusk, distant temple bells are heard; beneath the moon, pine trees whisper like zither strings. Moss renews after rain, while peach and plum blossoms follow nature's rhythm. Why envy bustling cities when the simple pleasures of mountain forests reveal true joy?
The third poem recounts the cultivation journey. Ten years of arduous practice felt like sitting in a sealed jar—only today has true understanding dawned. Using moonlight as bait to transcend the sea of suffering, one finally grasps celestial secrets. Laying the foundation requires completing the "Three-Threes" (the three Dantian and three passes), while self-refinement needs the "Nine-Nine" cycle (the culmination of pure Yang). Upon awakening, one beholds the ancient sage-emperor Fuxi, returning with eyes full of lunar radiance.
The fourth poem describes cultivation states. The empty forest bathes in moonlight through pine vines, while spring sounds harmonize with birdsong. Thirty years of serene practice reveal the boundaries of being and non-being. Though the "Mysterious Pass" (a crucial juncture in cultivation) remains unopened, the original spirit has strengthened; the "Purple Palace" (upper Dantian) begins to unfold as genuine Qi harmonizes. Only when the "Multi-Storied Tower" (the respiratory tract) sheds its cicada shell will one perceive the circulating Qi in the Spirit Valley.
The fifth poem uses the sword as a metaphor for the Dao. Drunk beneath the setting sun with a sword across the shoulder, one laughs pointing at heaven and earth—the waters never rise (symbolizing the Dao's eternal constancy). True awakening comes by disregarding calendrical time; only through understanding "Gengshen" (an alchemical timing) does incense-fire reveal its meaning. Observe clouds as thousand-year elixirs, watch furnace flames manifest eternal spring. Late at night, I inscribe these verses for you—ponder them deeply in your dreams.
The final three poems discuss maintaining unified cultivation. Mountain seclusion and silent meditation (Zuòchán) are but foundations—true attainment comes when "Dragon and Tiger" (lead and mercury) conjoin. Bright moon on white snow symbolizes purity, while "Yellow Sprouts" (nascent genuine Qi) enter the cauldron to form purple auroras. Visualize sword energy amid clouds, quietly comprehend mysteries within water. From afar, observe Dharma forms arising from pond terraces, like drawing well-water at dawn with a well-sweep.
Special note: The Dragon-Tiger convergence must be sought in stillness—silent meditation contains genuine mechanisms. The body inherently possesses its well-sweep (symbolizing microcosmic orbit circulation), while Kan and Li (water and fire) fundamentally operate within the heart. Though serenity is essential to the Mysterious Gate, the greatest fear is beginning cultivation too late.
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" employs vivid metaphors to reveal the true essence of cultivation while critiquing humanity's deluded approach to life.
The first poem observes how people are often deceived by physical senses, believing they can attain the Dao through mere words (heart and mouth). In truth, genuine spirituality (linggen, the spiritual root) transcends the body. Just as peach blossoms may appear intoxicating, they actually serve as catalysts for a cultivator's sudden awakening.
The second poem satirizes ordinary people chasing pleasures like cats chasing mice—a futile waste of youth, oblivious to death's approach. The poet recounts meeting an immortal master (a realized Daoist adept) during his journey to the imperial exams. Clad in robes of cloud and mist, the master expounded on profound truths, awakening him to the emptiness of fame and urging him to focus on refining the Dantian (Yellow Chamber, referring to the lower energy center).
The third poem emphasizes the fundamental principle of harmonizing Yin and Yang. Using metaphor, it describes the union of the Azure Dragon (Wood Qi of the East) and White Tiger (Metal Qi of the West) within the body, akin to practicing cultivation in a sacred chamber of lotuses. Such subtle work enables transcendence beyond the mundane world.
The fourth poem depicts an adept gathering celestial essences (Heavenly Light) to nurture the Golden Elixir (Golden Flower), subduing inner and outer demons (hungry ghosts, the King of Hell). Through right mindfulness, one collects primordial Qi (Yellow Dragon's Marrow) and balances Yin-Yang forces (White Tiger's Nectar)—all esoteric methods of internal alchemy.
The fifth poem unveils the mystery of numbers: One, Three, and Five symbolize the growth of Yang energy. Cultivation must follow Laozi's (Lord Lao's) natural Way, aligning with celestial rhythms like blossoms in the Western River or the moon over the Northern Sea. Only by discarding worldly illusions can one perceive a new reality in stillness.
The sixth poem urges seizing the opportune moment for cultivation (when wind meets cloud), comprehending the dual realms (visible and invisible) and the profound interplay of the Four Symbols and Yin-Yang. Understanding these mysteries renders one fearless against worldly dangers (wolves and jackals).
The final poem uses lunar phases to illustrate the timing of practice: the intervals between the first and last quarters (7th and 23rd lunar days) mark the optimal moments for gathering medicinal energies. One must swiftly subdue the Dragon and Tiger (essence, Qi, and spirit) and harmonize Kan and Li (Water and Fire) to forge the Golden Elixir (Golden Buddha). Missing these windows means forfeiting immortal encounters; only by mastering the oral teachings can one break through limitations.
O virtuous practitioners who have attained cultivation, do not become overly attached to superficial appearances. One should promptly comprehend the celestial mechanisms—just as appreciating flowers requires observing their delicate veins, and viewing the moon must not miss the opportune moment. Once you receive the true transmission, devote yourself to refining (referring to fire regulation in Neidan practice), and when the work is complete, maintain stillness and guard it. From then on, there is no need for vexations—you will naturally ascend to the immortal realm of Yaochi.
Know that the true Golden Elixir (the foundation of Neidan cultivation) is profoundly mystical and divine—it is by no means ordinary cinnabar or mercury. The so-called medicinal ingredients of this world are mere illusions, and the water and fire of the mundane realm (referring to material forms) are not the true Dao. Why cultivate things with form and substance? The formless and nameless Dao is what truly deserves your devotion. Once you attain the Dao, you immediately transcend the three realms, riding phoenixes straight to the celestial court.
These celestial secrets should not be lightly revealed, yet I now compose these verses to enlighten the world. Like forging a demon-dispelling sword from kindred metals, only through shared cultivation can we build the ladder to heaven. Mortals require the guidance of true adepts to transcend the ordinary, just as a true dragon needs dragon Qi to rise above the mire. Do not blame me for speaking too plainly—it is solely to liberate the lost multitudes.
Returning to the origin attains the pure Yang state (the "Qian" trigram symbolizes pure Yang in the Bagua), where free ascent and descent achieve the status of a flying immortal. The stirring of Yang Qi marks the beginning of cultivation, and only after the Nine Revolutions of the Heavenly Cycle (the microcosmic orbit in Neidan) does one truly attain the Dao. To refine the elixir, seek only the true Mercury (Shen) within your heart; to establish the furnace, first ground it in the foundation of Heaven and Earth. Herein lies the true meaning of the Reverted Elixir (another name for the Golden Elixir)—it must not be lightly disclosed to those without affinity.
The Primordial Qi of the Before-Heaven gives birth to the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity); the intercourse of Yin and Yang forms the Sacred Embryo (a Neidan term referring to the nascent Golden Elixir). When the Dragon and Tiger (symbolizing Water-Fire, Yin-Yang) move harmoniously, Yin evils retreat; when the Tortoise and Snake (symbolizing the Black Tortoise of the North, representing the union of Water and Fire) reverse course, the True Fire arrives. The Infant (Yang Shen) daily draws nourishment from the Yellow Matron (symbolizing the Earth element of the spleen), while the Crimson Maiden (Yin Jing) constantly refines the White Jade (Primordial Qi). When the work reaches perfection, one naturally transcends materiality—the seasons of the human world no longer hold sway.
The Primordial Qi of the Before-Heaven is originally named Emptiness; circulating it through the body renders the bones incorruptible. To find true Mercury (Shen), seek its source; to obtain true Lead (Jing), inquire of the Immortal Maiden (the inner Yin energy). Every person may drink this wine of immortality; each individual can become an undying immortal. Form is emptiness, emptiness is form—awakening to this truth allows one to soar over the Lake of Illusions (symbolizing the sea of delusions).
The profound mechanism of the Great Dao lies in overturning conventions—overturning the underworld to directly seek the celestial court. Who has witnessed the Tortoise and Snake sharing a den (Water-Fire union)? Who dares speak rashly of the Dragon and Tiger dwelling together (Yin-Yang union)? In midsummer, snow drifts atop high mountains (symbolizing the intercourse of Kan and Li); in deep winter, golden lotuses bloom amidst fierce flames (symbolizing Yin-Yang harmony). I exhort all fellow cultivators: tame well the hairless fierce tiger (untamed deluded mind) within your hearts.
The spiritual medicines of the earth belong to heaven—only by gathering them at the right moment can pure Yang be refined. Rootless yet flourishing in the spring of Yang (Primordial Qi), rooted only because the meridians are unobstructed. When the Crimson Maiden (Yin Jing) frolics, the power grows; where the Infant (Yang Shen) dances, the Dao-heart is fortified. Alas, how pitiable the ignorance of worldly people! Having attained the Dao, I now enjoy ten thousand years of eternal life.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü conveys profound truths of Daoist cultivation through exquisite imagery. The first poem urges readers to cherish time, revealing that the key to spiritual practice lies in heartfelt realization. The human body inherently contains its own mysterious workings—there's no need to seek externally with desperate effort. Just as playing the zither requires a connoisseur to appreciate its music, spiritual cultivation also demands guidance from an enlightened master. Phrases like "the first tide of the Northern Sea" and "the ancient roots of Eastern Mountain" are metaphors for inner alchemical processes.
The second poem depicts curling incense smoke—auspicious vapors rising from a golden duck-shaped censer, drifting like clouds through painted halls. Gathering and scattering like wind, ascending and descending like fire, these images subtly mirror life's impermanence. Practitioners should not resemble mindless clouds drifting aimlessly from mountain peaks, but must transcend worldly attachments.
The third poem portrays wild geese flying south, their cries piercing the Milky Way, wings carrying the fragrance of reeds. Just as geese deliver messages, cultivators should widely foster virtuous connections. "Characters across azure skies" refers to the formations of migrating geese, while "twelve rows of golden hairpins" symbolizes fleeting worldly riches.
The fourth poem extols wintersweet blossoms—ancient trees flowering with unique character, unlike the gaudy beauty of West Lake's familiar scenery. The ninefold heavens reflect upon golden palaces; a single tree's blooms glisten like bodhi beads. Not competing for spring's glory, content to follow chrysanthemums, yet naturally imbued with immortal charm—their cold fragrance becomes medicine for the alchemical furnace.
The fifth describes celestial sea voyages—a single leaf boat surpassing mighty ships. Sunlit waves, clouds descending upon immortal peaks—within ten thousand miles of misty waters, the Five Elders Peaks appear. Distant vistas expand the heart-mind; chanting verses, one seems to ride the wind back to the cinnabar hills of paradise.
The sixth captures winter night reflections—after guests depart, the drunken poet carries his zither astride a crane. Frozen clouds bury ancient pagodas; returning boats glide through cries of cold geese. River dragons slumber in silence; wild paths wither with vegetation. Yet the cultivator remains transcendent, harboring eternal spring within.
The seventh poem dedicates to Minister Zuo Xuan—their first meeting felt like reunion. The alchemical classic (Danjing) requires form to kindle fire; the zither reaches perfection when stringless. Through wind and rain, worldly toils are seen through; among bamboo and pines, quiet feelings dwell. Grotto scenery transcends mundane realms—no wish to squander this life in the human world.
The final verse addresses a roadside struggler, recognizing his unrecognized talents. Outside the gate, flowers bloom brilliantly—an invitation to jointly contemplate the Great Dao. Profound texts and lofty principles (referring to esoteric Daoist teachings) require discerning eyes to comprehend, hinting that spiritual cultivation demands meeting an enlightened guide.
The Poetry Collection of Emperor Lü showcases Lü Dongbin's (one of the Eight Immortals of Daoism) refined delight in wandering the mortal world and composing poems for friends. The first poem exhorts readers to cherish time: while studying scriptures late at night, one hears the clink of falling coins, observes the candle nearing its end, and sighs after traversing famous mountains only to halt one's steed. It warns against squandering wisdom on trivial matters, lest one become like those beguiled by spirits, wasting three lifetimes on barren rocks.
In the poem for a surgeon, the poet employs the典故 (diǎngù, classical allusion) of Hua Tuo (revered as Hua Lao) scraping poison from Guan Yu's bones, praising the physician's skill that rivals ancient masters. With one golden elixir (Jindan) to cure illness and half a spoon of medicine to save thousands, the doctor seems to have stolen the secret techniques from the immortal's qingnang (legendary pouch containing medical texts), wielding power over life and death in the human realm.
The verse for a physician of internal medicine depicts a spring encounter: "Complain not of thorny paths, for spring brings unique splendor." The healer resembles the celestial Bian Que (ancient神医 shényī, divine physician), probing the deepest recesses (gaohuang) of the body to trace ailments. The poet compares himself to a former hermit dwelling among clouds, now reminiscing about bygone days while wandering Jiangnan.
For the scholar Banfang, a garden idyll unfolds: leaning on rain-washed railings, one admires peach blossoms casting fish-shaped shadows in water, willows whispering with swallows in the breeze. Humbly claiming inferiority to Eastern Han recluse Xu Ruzi, the poet nonetheless appreciates his host's Kong Rong-like hospitality. By lamplight they converse of past events, never attributing their meeting to mere chance.
Selections from "Sixty Poems of Wild Goose Script" use migrating geese as calligraphic metaphors: their southward flight isn't performative, resembling heaven's natural handwriting. Distant mountains stand like stone carvings, clouds and mist forming gauzy veils. Daily practice brings no sense of poverty—one need only follow others' guidance, unlike Han scholar Yang Xiong who transported wine to inquire about characters. Autumn skies become paper; the goose formation shifts between Zhang Xu's wild cursive (Tang dynasty master) and Cai Yong's "flying white" (Han calligrapher). These spontaneously composed "celestial letters" find no recipient—the poet asks distant friends to forgive this unconventional greeting.
Throughout these works permeates the Daoist spirit of natural spontaneity. The poet envisions geese formations as skyborne calligraphy, their ink tones mirroring shifting clouds and mountain haze, even imagining the birds "inscribing poems" upon emerald windows.
At dawn I dip my brush in ink, writing mystic characters beneath clear sunlight, my strokes vigorous as wind and snow. The script unfolds like bird's plumage, yet remains burdened by worldly cares. Fresh characters resemble moon reflections on water, while older writings drift like broken clouds, gradually transforming into tadpole script when viewed from afar, their ink traces still holding shadows of azure skies and drifting clouds.
Someone sends letters to the Great Void (the highest Daoist heaven), the writing alternating between dense and sparse like flocks of birds soaring skyward. Moonlight in the woods illuminates the torchlight of goosefoot fire (ancient reading torches), while winds from the horizon carry whispers from the Stone Canal Pavilion (Han dynasty imperial library). Need we call this an ethereal history? Why not simply name it "Secretariat" (ancient document-keeping official position)? Auspicious clouds compose spring greeting scrolls, hanging high to adorn the celestial emperor's palace.
Heaven and earth form an autumn-colored scroll, its title reserved for immortal children in feathered robes. Must copying require reed pens of legend? Who dares call such writing "lid-covered jars" (metaphor for clumsy work)? Willow-leaf shaped old characters align like strong wings, while plum-blossom new forms interlace with fledgling birds. Passing the Southern Study during cloud-soaring, I glance down and chuckle at pedantic scholars clutching their brushes.
How dare phoenix feathers compare with roc's wings? Five-colored writing merely dazzles the eye. Once a single line of characters soared straight to the clouds, yet a thousand poems must eventually bow to twilight's descent. Clear skies summon rainbow silk, while winter borrows snow-white scrolls. Often circling osmanthus fall, I inscribe golden ink (imperial decree powder) triumphantly in autumn winds.
Year after year I grind ink regardless of age, finding joy in each stroke's speed and shade. Faded ink escapes bookworms' teeth, carvings unlike snail trails on mossy walls. Authentic works nightly keep company with the bright moon, their lingering charm drifting with white clouds. Surely my past self was an autumn-mourner, endlessly writing against the void all day.
A line of azure plumage (ink traces) parts the clouds, its wingspread revealing no ordinary talent. Spring rain inspires frontier poems among cherry brothers (metaphor for siblings), autumn winds bring harvest chants of returning home. Laughing at dusk's chaotic scribbles, yet sighing for Zhongshan's rabbit-hair brushes (premium calligraphy tools) wearing thin. Celestial robes compose new melodies, lyrics reaching deep into white clouds.
Ink formations crisscross beyond recognition, slanting like the "yi" character or human forms. Joyfully wielding the brush with unhurried prints, proudly summoning friends for appreciation. Ink shadows fall on stone fields like a thousand paintings, brush tips summoning crescent moons like silver hooks. Hunters understand not literary grace, their arrows more destructive than the Qin tyrants.
Sparse and dense strokes reflect the setting sun, blowing down a cloud from the Southern Office (imperial secretariat). Temporarily a mortal ink-artist, ultimately destined to edit texts in heaven. Soaring skyward becomes "flying white" (calligraphic technique), slanting moonward writing bears "eight parts" (Han clerical script). Should Wang Xizhi see this today, he'd abandon his goose-trading ways.
These poems depict the transcendent realm of literati wielding their brushes to compose poetry and painting, subtly embodying the Daoist pursuit of spiritual liberation.
The first poem describes calligraphic strokes that cleave the clear sky, with lines of standard and cursive script shaking heaven and earth. The poet and his wife drink and sing in endless harmony, their brushes and ink as inseparable as brothers. The seal-script plaque seems to reach the celestial palace, while ink-splashed silk hangs in riverside cottages. These words refuse to be carved into stone for posterity, yet linger like the footprints of divine birds.
The second portrays a jade-blue sky as paper, brushed freely with feather pens (yuhan). Clouds form natural strokes at the horizon, wind-blown ink swirls into literary waves. At dawn, the brush tip glistens with dew; by night, the ink carries an unfaded frost. Suddenly, startled by scattered ink traces, they soar like celestial scriptures into the ninefold heavens.
The third tells of urgent military dispatches (yuxi) flying past the Jade Gate Pass, while southern poets inscribe autumn mountains. Verse takes form effortlessly in the air, its structure as poised as frontier fortifications. Moonlight examines plain silk documents; dawn awaits imperial edicts. A lifetime spent writing for sustenance—never pausing even through wind and rain.
The fourth paints sunset scenes brushed in swift lines, with rosy clouds replacing Sichuan paper. Ancient seal-script structures emerge by chance; spontaneous strokes birth fresh couplets. The grieving brush seems to lament its inability to boil words for hunger, yet in flight, it dances like drunken madness. Alone, it unfurls ink into the void—how could mere bookworms ever become immortals?
The fifth sends a single verse flying to distant Chu, its brilliance shaking the ninefold heavens. At dawn, robes flutter while drafting proclamations; by night, the brush stains frost-silk with lingering ink. Parting sorrow transforms into longing’s score, while transcendent joy inverts into hermit songs. Passing by rainbows after the storm, one glimpses a celestial bridge inscribed in the sky.
The sixth treats writing like interpreting the Yi Jing’s hexagrams—ink dots as singular lines, layered strokes as overlapping signs. The south gathers new ink-wielders, while the north surely keeps old studies. Wind-caressed words deserve stone engraving; water-reflected grace begs to be traced. When autumn missives arrive at frontier passes, villagers gasp at script fallen from heaven.
The seventh takes the Milky Way as its inkstone—were these poems ever meant as complaints? From Jiangnan to the northern frontiers, verses bloom in lofty purity like spring snow. Strange characters dance on stone drums; clear notes compose immortal cloud-music. Literary edges gather like battle arrays, then suddenly shift into double-hook calligraphy and military tactics.
The final poem speaks of crossing the river on a frost-laden night, chanting proud lines of fresh verse. Though both startle heaven with their brushes, brilliance becomes its own snare. Weary feather-pens cannot repay poetry’s debts—do these laments stem from verse-demons? Now those wild scribes etching the void all resemble birds flying into traps.
The imagery of "celestial scriptures" (tianshu) and "feather brushes" (yuhan) resonates with Daoist ascension lore, while the closing line—"self-made decoys" (zi zuo e)—reveals sober reflection on the literati’s predicament.
This poetic passage depicts the creative mindset and artistic pursuit of a literati, employing abundant calligraphic imagery as metaphors for life's journey:
The opening line "long skies flow like water with coiling dragons and serpents" describes the unrestrained brushwork of masterful calligraphy, subtly comparing life's path to the free movement of these mythical creatures. "Lifetime of ink staining farewells to Chu's gardens" speaks of exhausting one's life in writing, yet remaining unrecognized like Qu Yuan (symbolized by Chu's gardens). "Shuttling brush seeking sustenance like a weaving loom" compares making a living to wielding the brush, with life's struggles resembling the darting movements of the calligrapher's strokes.
The middle couplets reveal creative states: sometimes passionately "issuing manifestos to interrogate the heavens," other times like "cloud-darkened poems transmitted to distant frontiers" where poetic sentiments are entrusted to faraway places. "The great treasure naturally gains weight through millennia" suggests true masterpieces endure through ages without needing comparison to calligraphy giants like Zhong Yao or Wang Xizhi (referred to as Zhong-Wang).
Continuing the calligraphic metaphors: "Not a speck of dust beneath the wrist" describes consummate skill, while "the belly should hold a thousand liters of ink" speaks of boundless creativity. "Night storms moisten the pure brush" depicts all-night creative sessions, and "solitary ink transmitted afar to Shanglin's lanterns" hints at eventual recognition for one's work.
The conclusion "fierce battle with west wind makes ink more exuberant" frames creation as warfare, wielding brushes beneath autumn pond's moonlit reflection, transforming ink traces into "heavenly flowers gathering like udumbara blooms." This simultaneously describes calligraphy's beauty as celestial blossoms scattering, while alluding to the Buddhist concept of udumbara flowers' fleeting yet eternal nature - capturing art's paradoxical quality of being both ephemeral and timeless. The entire piece seamlessly merges the Dao (Way) of calligraphy with life's realizations, embodying traditional literati's artistic ideals and existential reflections.
These poems by Lü Dongbin (Emperor Lü) reveal his transcendent realm as an immortal calligrapher, using celestial imagery to depict creative scenes where heaven and earth serve as paper, while wind and clouds become ink.
The first poem explains that immortals need no ordinary writing tools—they use reeds from riverbanks as brushes, ancient inkstones formed by nature, and mist as their stationery. The attendant scribes can ascend to the heavens at will, and the celestial secretaries occasionally descend to the mortal world. When inspiration strikes, they need not warm frozen ink—instead, they compose verses directly upon the snow.
The second poem portrays the wild abandon of drunken brushwork: ink splashed across the autumn sky, strokes swift as wind racing ten thousand miles. Passing through reed marshes, they casually write in white; crossing maple groves, they inscribe in red. These words unfurl like clouds and rainbows, their literary energy soaring beyond the heavens. Since the authentic calligraphy of ancient sages still exists, why bother copying the Jiucheng Palace stele?
The third poem goes even further, declaring himself a celestial scribe working among the highest heavens, wielding brush and ink solely by whim. In the wind, he dashes off impromptu compositions; amid clouds, he drafts heavenly edicts. His writing drifts like inscriptions on ancient bronze vessels, mysterious as the Luoshu (an ancient mystical diagram). Finally, he flings jade-ink from his pot onto Mount Hua, where it becomes immortal literature passed down through the ages.
The following poems continue this grand fantasy: his feathered brush surpasses mortal literati; under moonlight, his cursive script carries immortal energy; when soaring through the clouds, his brush shaft grows thick as a roof beam. Amid swirling mist and radiant haze, each stroke subtly aligns with cosmic principles. Such calligraphy can inscribe the heavens and earth—how could ordinary poets compare?
The conclusion states that he has descended to complete the celestial poetry left unfinished in the immortal realm, sealing each verse directly into brocade pouches. By moonlit towers, he writes lyrics among flowers; on sandy shores, he composes bamboo branch songs with reed pens. His words resonate with the harmony of Yin-Yang, his literary style flows with the Dao of wind and clouds. These buxu verses (Daoist ritual hymns) remain eternally fresh, forever exemplars of mortal calligraphy.
At their core, these poems declare that immortal calligraphy transcends worldly rules—using snowflakes as jade tablets, level sands as golden slips (Daoist ritual objects). Since ancient times, words could commune with spirits; now, brush and ink take flight. Even as dusk clouds deepen, his inspiration remains unspent, his mind entering the wondrous realm of "beyond thought." Like writing with wings in the autumn wind, each piece is unique yet part of a grand unity—every character a hongbao (Daoist scripture), every composition as fantastical as the "Rhapsody of the Unreal." These words may serve as celestial decrees or as plainly as a farmer tilling fields with a sutra in hand. Year after year, they deliver immortal messages flawlessly, never needing mortal proofreading.
These poems reveal a literatus's untrammeled spirit as he wields his brush freely amidst mountains and waters. The verses depict the heroic bearing of a scholar painting with bold strokes, his ink galloping across the paper like storm clouds swirling in his breast.
The first poem tells of brandishing the brush amidst clouds, where paper cannot contain such unfettered genius. The poet doubts if any script could truly capture divine birds, yet knows celestial scholars exist beyond the horizon. His brush dances freely as if painting in air—who claims these seemingly careless strokes are mere ink splashes? See how crimson leaves blaze beneath maple groves, where a slanting brush creates vermilion characters.
The second describes unfurling exquisite stationery, where calligraphy soars into cloudbanks. When inspiration strikes, why heed others' opinions? Inscribing seal script on the Azure Void Stele (a Daoist immortal's monument), painting new geese at the letter's end—floating clouds seem to guard this national treasure, the imperial purple-clay seal standing distinct.
The third speaks of storm-wrought brushwork stirring the heart, where extraordinary words belong to the azure sky. Rain-moistened ink appears richer, bamboo slips buried in clouds make characters bolder. With friends discussing the Six Scripts (Chinese character classification), perfecting the Eight Methods (calligraphy techniques) through camaraderie—lingering at dusk by smartweed shores to inscribe jade seal plaques for famed gardens.
The fourth portrays letters arriving with purple clouds, carved in clear skies to last eternally. Feathered brushes shake the Five Peaks, literary brilliance ascends to the Three Terraces stars. Large characters ease elders' reading, ancient seal script invites children's guesses. Poems reach Longshan's summit instantly—why await plum-bearing messengers (ancient custom of sending plum blossoms)?
The fifth depicts morning dew gleaming on fresh curtains, daily brushwork awaiting honored guests. Light strokes recall a beginner's hesitation, yet swift writing channels divine aid. Occasionally engraving cliffsides, Dharma banners swirl as if tracing girdle inscriptions. Though teaching characters to Huangshi (legendary scribe Cangjie), conveying brushwork's spirit remains elusive.
The sixth sings of a lone goose straying mournfully, suddenly inspiring mystical compositions. Scattered stationery faces autumn rivers, inkblends merge with twilight clouds. Ancient traces stay unchanged by geography, new phrases often divide water and sky. Having escaped Qin's book-burning millennia past, why seek moth-repelling wormwood now?
The seventh declares poetry hides in azure clouds' depths, unwilling to mark Hare Park (Han dynasty pleasure garden). Scattering Lord Ye's thirty thousand scrolls, arranging the Pillar Historian's (Laozi's) five thousand words. Cloud-written characters rise to ninth heaven, bearing frost messages through Jade Gate Pass. Persimmon leaves fill woods with unaged autumn—why visit Ci'en Temple for inscriptions?
The eighth explains how frosted dawn leaves serve as vermilion paper, where treasured ink mocks worldly pedantry. Mimicking Wang Xizhu's style breeds stiffness, yet childhood practice yields supple strokes. Autumn brushes strengthen on frost-white memorials, snow brightens jade texts in night's clarity. Guarding bone-deep techniques from easy acquisition, leaving moonlit verses by smartweed shores.
This set of poems depicts the scene and state of mind of a literatus engaged in writing, imbued with the transcendent aura of Daoist immortals.
The first poem describes persisting in writing while traveling on an autumn day. Carrying historical texts back to his eastern abode, the finished compositions are sent to the Northern Mountains. Though so impoverished he must borrow rice from a paddy owner, he still treasures calligraphic masterpieces destined to endure through the ages.
The second poem portrays gazing upon sages between river and sky. The writings are composed beyond the mountain passes, their brushwork inherited from Fuxi’s drawing of the trigrams (the legendary creator of the Bagua). Letters are sent to the Orange Grove of Dongting Lake, while by the waterside, he searches for books woven from rushes. It is as if, having inscribed the plaque of the Cloud-Soaring Hall, his brushstrokes remain vivid to this day.
The third poem speaks of wielding the brush with such force it pierces the clouds. Morning and evening, his wrist dances across the autumn sky—his style unchanging through time, his writings connecting north and south. Like the distant glow of fireflies or the unbroken flight of crows, his words stretch endlessly. With BiXia (the Daoist celestial azure mist) supplying ink, why plant banana leaves for writing in a humble corner?
The fourth poem whimsically wonders if a study has been built in the heavens. Letters vie to be delivered, brocade-like calligraphy unfurling along reed-covered shores, bookmarks upturned among flowering reeds. Occasionally, his "flying white" script (a technique revealing streaks of paper) cures vulgarity, and encountering palindrome verses, he fears no mockery. Clerical and seal scripts shift with the times, yet his correspondence flows effortlessly, never needing revision.
The fifth poem calls out to companions in the vast sky to compose Li Sao (Qu Yuan’s elegy). Borrowing not a single mundane word, his characters resemble jade dust in snow, golden book covers basking in sunlight. To seek Yu’s Grotto (the legendary traces of Great Yu), they gather before the mountains—could this be an escape from Qin’s book-burning tyranny? Peering down at the word-piling guests by the north window, they twist their beards to no avail.
The sixth poem describes crossing the Milky Way at night with brush and ink. Strokes rise and fall like waves; once written, he cares not if the vulgar mock, for these words are meant for Xue’er (perhaps an immortal maiden) to sing. Like an upright historian adhering to one true style, he needs no ghostwriters. He longs to summon Daoists from the Three Immortal Peaks, together inscribing soaring seal script into cloud nests.
The seventh poem tells of sending letters to the horizon year after year. Tattered books weep by the roadside—who can rival Wang Xizhi (style name Yishao) in emulating ancient calligraphy? Who but Hou Ba (the Han bibliophile) might glimpse rare texts? Dawn’s glow resembles vermilion imperial edicts; mountain mist drapes like azure gauze. White-feathered brushes weary by autumn streams, each leaving private seals upon the flat sands.
The eighth poem imagines assisting the celestial court in composing among the clouds. Rosy hues seal brocade pouches; the ink is dipped from the North Sea’s waves, as the light of Wenchang (the god of literature) intertwines with pearl radiance. Unconstrained by eaves, his brush once danced through bulletins. Autumn leaves whirl, yellowing and reddening midair, while he sits watching scrolls in flight, sheathed in pale blue covers.
These poems depict the transcendent artistry of a master calligrapher whose brushwork merges with Daoist cultivation, creating a mystical realm where spiritual practice and artistic creation become one.
The first poem describes the calligrapher wielding his brush like a celestial being, his strokes seemingly commanding heavenly armies. As he writes, clouds and mist swirl around his movements, his brush conjuring wind and rain. Characters carved on stone slabs absorb sunlight's essence, while his plowing strokes in rush fields resemble actual tillage. His art transcends mundane boundaries, bearing no resemblance to ordinary script.
The second portrays his nocturnal writing capturing moonlit dewdrops' radiance. Though his technique appears profoundly enigmatic, each stroke contains hidden mysteries. His brushwork flows with the unconstrained freedom of heavenly steeds, requiring no firefly lanterns like ancient scholars. Ultimately, the characters soar toward southern skies, leaving only distant azure mountain peaks.
The third declares his calligraphy has reached supreme mastery - suspended strokes leave no trace. His brush moves like thunder through stone gates, rainbows arching across mountain streams. With unique technique, he mimics avian and beast tracks, disdaining worldly scripts to such degree that paper prices soar in response.
The fourth follows his ink-laden journeys across the land, autumnal clouds bearing his sweeping strokes. Characters spread across three thousand worlds, freely gracing the four great continents. No need for fish or geese to carry messages - phoenix towers naturally enhance his art. Crimson leaves inscribed with his poetry drift from palace walls, reflected in riverine rainbows.
The fifth frames literary brilliance against autumn's canvas, where twilight snow delivers masterpieces via western winds. Though writings rise and fade, ink artistry flows through ages. His calligraphy shines like white clouds illuminating celestial rivers, forever unconstrained.
The sixth reveals his brush's secrets resemble Yu the Great's divine traces, daily communing with cloud companions. Though lacking formal instruction, he's forged his own tradition. Characters emerge like spring silkworms spinning threads or birds soaring through void.
The seventh paints southern skies through his brush, exquisite verses captured from autumn emptiness. Fantastical and solitary in conception, requiring no mortal praise. Between lines dwell cloud-rainbow companions, wind-moon enhancing transcendent charm.
The final verse reveals his true identity as a celestial scribe temporarily dwelling among mortals. Under moonlight he composes a thousand poems, autumn winds transforming ink into chapters. He delights in unrestrained writing - sending missives for Jiangnan wanderers, then answering with brushwork spanning vast firmament.
Through calligraphic art, these poems manifest the Daoist practitioner's transcendent state - unfettered by worldly constraints, communing with heaven and earth. The brush becomes an alchemical instrument, each stroke a neidan (internal alchemy) practice where shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy) unite in wuwei (non-action) perfection.
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" depicts the carefree life of Daoist practitioners amidst mountain forests, permeated with the transcendent reclusive ideals of Daoism.
The first poem captures the serene scenery beneath Changle Mountain: the sound of reading echoes through bamboo groves while zither notes drift from mountain caves. Nearby cliffs are draped with kudzu vines, while in the distance, a hundred-zhang waterfall cascades through deep valleys. Seeking the wondrous Dao here feels like dwelling in the fairy isles of Yingzhou.
The Longmen Peak series paints particularly vivid imagery: this towering summit where ordinary men seldom tread houses an immortal elder among the clouds. Through mist and vapor suddenly appears thousand-zhang kudzu vines; gazing across waters one beholds hundred-zhang flying springs. Ancient paths wind past precipitous Buddhist niches, where travelers finally understand the stone tower's secluded purity. The legendary Xiyi Cave now serves only as resting place for woodcutters.
The woodcutter's life reveals extraordinary joy: lodging beneath western crags at night, drawing spring water at dawn to boil wild greens. At noon he washes his face; when the moon rises, he bathes his feet. Burning incense in quiet sitting, drinking wine while reading books. Barefoot and at ease reclining on stone ledges—his contentment surpasses even that of immortals.
Gazing up at Longmen Peak like an unrolled scroll: sunlit pine forests shimmer with countless shades of emerald, moonlit clear springs glisten like strings of pearls. From afar, the Yi River carries zither music; nearby, the stone tower resonates with scholarly recitation. Between these twin peaks unfolds endless delight of immortals and Buddhas—what fortune to wander here!
For forty years I've roamed famous mountains, yet found no better vantage for climbing high. East and west stretch endless immortal caves; north and south flows the eternal Yi River. Often I see woodcutters napping in hills and fishermen mooring along banks. Raising cups in wild singing and hearty drinking—this carefreeness far outshines princes and lords.
In this golden age roam even freer souls—woodcutters most love reclining on these crags. Body and mind purified like true transcendents, their untainted hearts foresee what's yet to come. Their talents match Guan Zhong and Yan Ziling; their wisdom rivals Duke of Zhou and Shao Yong. Meeting worldly folk, they only beg for wine money, wishing forever drunken with jars in embrace.
The final two poems describe Daoist cultivation: "Shedding mortal bones for years now, I rest high on green mountains consuming elixirs (xuanshuang). Ancient snow encircles my pine-shaded couch; cold clouds wreathe the stone chamber. Often I visit dragon palaces (beique) to gather immortal herbs (qiongrui), or break cassia boughs from the moon palace. Suddenly unfurling emerald brocade, inviting me to tour the Five Emperors' celestial realms."
"Spring wanderings lead to an immortal's abode, where strange blossoms grace the gate. Calculating heavenly stems reveals your cultivation progress—by gengshen year the Dao-fruit will ripen. Each harboring pure numinous nature, how could worldly glamour tempt us again? If one persists in thousand-day cultivation..." (Note: final line fragmentary)
The "Anthology of Emperor Lü's Poetry" presents several poems that reveal the carefree transcendence and compassionate spirit of Lü Dongbin (Ancestor Lü), the immortal Daoist deity.
The first poem depicts the immortal's joy in riding a crane to retreat amidst misty clouds. The "Dharma rain" (symbolizing the nectar of Daoist teachings) sprinkles upon the jade terrace, as auspicious qi envelops the river city. The purple aura (auspicious energy) merges with the Dao's vital force. The immortal smiles while pointing to the Penglai paradise, hinting at the harmonious convergence of Heaven, Earth and humanity.
The second poem portrays the celestial procession descending to the mortal realm. The crane-drawn carriage alights effortlessly upon heavenly steps, requiring no earthly pomp. Amid sparse constellations and incense clouds curling around the jade sanctum (immortal's meditation hall), it emphasizes how quiet cultivation reveals profound mysteries, while ordinary minds remain deluded by false thoughts. The conclusion highlights the compassionate intention to deliver sentient beings.
The third poem offers encouragement to practitioners Liu Yuncheng and Deng Xincheng. The immortal recounts tirelessly traversing the clouds, his resolve to save the world unwavering. The imagery of Chu clouds and yellow cranes suggests practitioners bear the solemn responsibility of universal salvation.
The fourth poem, "Exhortation to Study," advises diligent learning. One should study classics in pure surroundings and rigorously practice calligraphy. The elder (Lü's self-reference) presents texts as encouragement—only through nightly reading by lamplight can true accomplishment be achieved.
The fifth poem, "Leisurely Verses," expresses the immortal's transcendent state. Flicking his sleeves and chanting loudly, he departs palace gates; a lone crane crosses the void while paired ducks tread the heavens. The dragon-elephant in clouds (symbolizing sublime states) leaves no trace as he gazes down upon the vast mortal dust.
The sixth poem describes a moonlit visit to a friend. Riding the wind when all sounds are hushed, he finds an old man drinking wine while a boy offers flowers. The dustless desk invites poetic inscription, where dried meat and clear tea make perfect company. Lute music from the tower reminds him how rare true understanding is.
The seventh poem, "Night Verses," explores Daoist mysteries. Through hazy moonlight the phoenix carriage descends, revealing arcane principles as formless as the "invisible image" (wu-xiang) and profound as the "kite-fish" (allusion to the Book of Songs, denoting abstruse truths). It laments how few mortals can comprehend these ultimate realities.
Plain Interpretation of "Anthology of Emperor Lü's Poems"
The first poem depicts playing the qin amid the spring breeze: the melody drifts from the tower, fingertips plucking the strings to ripple waves of sound, while the spring wind carries the chime of jade pendants. This pure and cool rhythm follows the ancient elegance, its balanced and harmonious tones calming the heart. Who truly understands such qin artistry, akin to the legendary High Mountains and Flowing Water? Better to freely tune the strings and sing at ease. If all could maintain such a state of mind, how could strife arise in the world?
The piece Moonlit Night speaks of enlightenment under the moon: the newly risen moon gleams like a precious mirror, its light cleansing all things, surpassing even the full moon of the thirteenth day. Having long made a pact with the heavens, this gathering in the tower is no indulgence. Only by abandoning all forms (se xiang, external appearances) can one grasp the profound mystery; true wisdom lies in comprehending alone the waxing and waning of the moon. Laughable are those still lost in dreams, wasting this fine night on empty chatter.
Admonishing the World warns people: why exhaust yourself chasing fame and fortune? Know that fate is already ordained—scheming only invites calamity. When destined, opportunities will come; follow nature’s course without force. Accumulate hidden virtue (yin de) through good deeds—there’s no need to toil like oxen and horses.
Message from Afar is a crane’s divine missive: two pages of immortal script (luan shu) are sent southward, urging disciples to read carefully. How could the Jade Emperor’s decree be buried in painted halls? The Boat of Mercy (ci hang) will surely reach the shore. Recalling the fervor of pleading for destiny, do not think mere wealth can avert tribulation. Several times, riding clouds to meet in Chu, only the crane’s cry pierces the cold sky.
Teaching Sincerity and Forgiveness expounds cultivation: worldly affairs flow east like water—penetrate the origin of life. Abide by heaven’s will, untainted by dust; even if the rattan seat wears through and the magpie’s crown (a cultivation tool) is ground down, persist. This is the seed of bodhi (awakening), to be realized in silence, like the realm of High Mountains and Flowing Water.
Guidance for Sincerity and Forgiveness’ Journey to Qian speaks of the Dao’s essence: the supreme truth needs no words. Now revisiting old rules at E Zhu (Hubei), new wonders will emerge in Qian’s mountains (Guizhou). When inspiration comes, focus naturally—know that Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism share one root; do not betray the intimacy of Xuan Yuan (the Dao’s origin).
Three Occasional Poems (first of three) describes an immortal realm: white clouds cross the spring scenery of Chu, while under clear skies, cranes soar from the Purple Palace (Zi Chen, celestial court). Crimson brocades of sunset unfold, and willows sprout tender shoots along the banks. Temple bells startle the lost; chanting of sutras (fan chang) calls wanderers home. Long-cherished wishes are fulfilled today—who says immortals forsake the mortal world? Amid crane cries, leaving E’s city, the west wind sweeps the four heavens clean.
The setting sun bathes the solemn Daoist temple in golden light, while the resonant tones of bells and drums shake heaven and earth, startling even spirits and deities. The myriad emotions in my heart cannot be fully expressed with brush and ink—this poem alone must suffice to respond to the profound friendship of my companion from southern Qian (modern Guizhou region).
Bidding farewell to Echeng (modern Hubei) in the biting north wind, tonight I arrive again in springtime Wuling (Changde, Hunan). A fine drizzle moistens every village, dampening the dust along both sides of the road. People discuss newly composed musical scales, yet though celestial seasons change, the old rugged mountain paths remain unchanged. Suddenly a crane's cry pierces the clouds—I trim the candle and burn incense to welcome the descent of an immortal.
Spring Scene: Layer upon layer of spring mountains display countless marvels—how could ordinary minds comprehend Heaven's intent? A kite circles emerald branches of ancient trees, while fish leaping from deep springs startle falling blossoms. Willow strands like silk threads blanket the field ridges—who could weave them? Sprouting rice shoots resemble needles—who might stitch them? Penetrating the Mysterious Pass (crucial point in cultivation) proves no difficult task—the key lies in maintaining steadfast inner virtue.
Ode to Red Apricots: This third month of blossoms finds a few crimson sprigs adorning my thatched hermitage. Where green shadows pale, poetic inspiration wanes; where red hues deepen, wine's intoxication peaks. This recluse longs for matching verse, forbidding wandering bees from invading the grove. Du Fu once asked where fine scenery might be absent—why must idle sentiments cling to green mountains?
Three Summer Impressions:
Warm breezes pass through my green gauze window—no season more pleasant than wheat harvest time. Bamboo groves cradle newly sprouted shoots, while twin lotus blooms stand gracefully slender. Springs churn like white waves, mountains don crimson sunset clouds. Should you seek the secluded path's whereabouts—this lowly thatched hut is my home.
Jade-green waters swell the sandy isle, emerald hues pervade every field. A fishing boat moors beneath willow boughs, ancient temple lattices twine with vines. The wine cup stands ready—where is my kindred spirit? Where now wanders the noble recluse? Most cherished is this southern refuge, where celestial beings often linger.
Pomegranate blossoms herald the festive day—in my courtyard's breeze I pay homage to the Jade Maiden (Daoist female immortal). Incense smoke entwines white clouds around green trees, as if divine beings descended to earth. Golden bells awaken the lost, jade chimes summon dreamers home. Yet I fear some will never wake, forever drowning in passion's river.
Dragon Boat Festival Meaning: Colorful threads tied to wrists prove baseless superstition—how can life be prolonged by sachets alone? At summer solstice yin energy begins its growth, while winter solstice brings lengthening days. Subduing inner demons requires no dragon dances, nor tiger-shaped mugwort to conquer desire. The secret of longevity knows no other way—only prolonged seated meditation to refine pure yang qi.
The "Anthology of Lüzu's Poetry" presents verses depicting seasonal landscapes and insights into spiritual cultivation.
The first poem captures the Dragon Boat Festival scene: people revel in fine wine, though dragon boats have long been absent from West Lake. Every household competes to hang calamus swords and peach-leaf talismans (traditional customs for warding off misfortune). Though far from home and unable to savor hometown zongzi, gathering with like-minded companions brings laughter year after year on this day.
"Autumn Day Impressions" portrays leisurely autumn life: in the Langyuan (immortal realm), golden chrysanthemums perfume the air, while savoring tea transports one to the ecstasy of Lu Tong (Tang Dynasty tea sage). Reed catkins drift like snow, maple leaves blaze like fire. Though hare's medicine cannot smooth the lake's wrinkled surface, a sheepskin robe wards off the autumn wind. These serene Wu Mountains are perfectly suited for recluses like the "Old Man Lingering in the Mortal World."
"Autumn Night" depicts a Mid-Autumn evening: the Yaotai (jade terrace) glows with enchanting autumn hues as friends wander together. Moonlight flows like water, osmanthus fragrance lingers—no need for the "Rainbow Skirt, Feathered Robe" melody, just endless refills of jade-green wine cups. Guests need not fear drunkenness, for icy peaches serve as the perfect remedy.
"Osmanthus" extols the flower: autumn light hastens the osmanthus blossoms, their fragrance spreading far and wide. Though yet to pluck branches from the moon's cassia tree, one already recalls talented scholars of yore. Gathering fairy-grotto osmanthus grains, brushing dust from worldly steps—the wind god is entreated to handle these golden clouds with care, lest they fall into sullied places.
"Ode to Snow" paints a winter scene: auspicious snowflakes celebrate this fine hour, morning windows opening onto fresh paintings. Green mountains show no age though their crowns turn white; rooftops gleam silver under snowy reflections. Crow flocks on earth resemble ink splashes, while cranes in flight shed feathery white. Barehanded children sculpt jade unicorns from qiongblossom-like snow.
"Awakening the World" offers admonition: why cling to fame and gain when time slips irrevocably? Those free from hunger and cold may cultivate behind closed doors; those in good health should open their hearts. Deal sincerely with kindred spirits, grow indifferent to worldly fickleness. Unconcerned with mundane affairs, why not tour stream and mountain with wine in tow?
The final verse reveals a cultivator's mindset: serene leisure is my pursuit, transcending worldly fetters. Brewing white-bud tea in a heart-piercing pot, burning yellow-ripe incense in a loop-handled burner. Beyond the village, crimson maples blaze uniquely; by the fence, yellow chrysanthemums stand in solitary grace. Wealth, poverty, longevity, early death—all are preordained. Why exhaust heart and mind in futile striving?
"After the Banquet, Two Poems" (first) describes an immortal feast: myriad crimson clouds encircle the purple-gold chariot at the Grand Pure Palace (Daoism's highest celestial realm), where immortals convene. The moon sinks into the Eastern Sea with faint glimmers, while stars spanning the Milky Way blaze brilliantly.
The night by the river lingers on, as dewdrops drip from lotus leaves with the chill of dawn, while the incense smoke from the fragrant orchid burner carries the coolness of morning frost. Returning from the immortal isle of Yaochi, celestial wine cascades like rosy clouds, and I smile to watch the golden crow (the sun) race across the jade plate (the moon).
Riding a colossal whale, I overturn rivers and seas; twisting heaven and earth, I restore radiance to the sun and moon. Forging a single Golden Elixir (Jindan) dissolves countless calamities, and when essence (Jing), vital energy (Qi), and spirit (Shen) converge, eternal life is attained. The jade nectar already holds the wisdom of millennia, concealing within it the unchanging truth of ages. Tell the immortal maiden Dong Shuangcheng that today’s feast can melt the dark ice of worldly troubles in half a day.
Once more, I journey to Mount Longhu (Dragon-Tiger Mountain), seeking the Daoist methods left by Zhang Daoling (the Celestial Master, Tianshi). The mountain’s form coils like a dragon and crouches like a tiger—the very heart of the Nine Provinces. Had I not encountered extraordinary figures in this dusty world, how could such a sacred place manifest its divine beauty? Crimson talismans (Fulu) have been passed down in the Daoist temple for a thousand years, while white cranes weave through the pine groves. When I ask where the master has gone, it turns out he is deep in the emerald mists, gathering ginseng and skullcap—ingredients of immortality.
Ode to the Pine:
The noble Pine, steadfast in its endurance of cold, never yields to frost and ice. Its emerald needles grow greener with rain, while golden pollen drifts on the wind. Its roots coil in the earth like a hibernating dragon, and its roar echoes through the heavens like raging waves. I urge the woodcutter not to recklessly fell it—wait and see it become a pillar of the imperial court.
Ode to the Plum Blossom:
The plum blossoms of Longtou possess an innate purity and quiet grace, never following the fickle crowds. Their subtle fragrance drifts unseen on the breeze, their jade-like petals half-veiled in moonlight. At the peak of their scent, even crows are dazzled; as petals prepare to take flight, a flute sings from the tower. Looking back, all other flowers have withered—who now can rival its supremacy?
I recall returning to my homeland during a famine, exhausting my wealth to buy rice and save tens of thousands from starvation. Elders and kin urged me to leave something for my descendants, so I wrote this poem—now shared to instruct later generations:
Smash the gourd, shatter the lute,
Shake my sleeves and leave Confucian ways behind.
The truth of the Primal Beginning (Taichu) is pure as jade,
The true nature of the Primordial (Yuanshi) shines like gold.
The flames of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) rise to heaven, confounding even immortals;
The sword’s edge pierces the earth, leaving no trace for ghosts to find.
Only after waking from the dream of yellow millet
Do I realize all past efforts were in vain.
For the Monk Zhixuan of Mount Heng:
Seven hundred years have passed since attaining the Dao (as Lü Dongbin, the Pure Yang Sage), and now I roam freely across the Five Lakes and Four Seas. This body has transcended the Three Realms (desire, form, and formlessness), traveling through dozens of regions in a single day. Drunk on clear winds and bright moonlit nights, I tread across shores of red knotweed and white duckweed. Monks of the Chan school, do not laugh—I already stand at the pinnacle of the Flower Garland Sutra.
Inscribed on the Garden Pavilion of Shen Weixin in Huzhou: (supplemented in the style of classical inscriptions)
This pavilion mirrors water and mountain hues,
Where every plant and tree stirs the heart.
At leisure, I sit alone watching fish at play,
Unaware the sun has dipped westward.
The first poem depicts a hermit traveling along the ancient treacherous paths of Shu (Sichuan). Leisurely leaning on his wooden staff, he admires a garden in full bloom, discovering amidst the bustling marketplace a hidden paradise where immortals dwell. In spring, young swallows and turtledoves sing freely, while falling petals and drifting catkins settle upon misty waters. Having settled worldly affairs, the host rebuilds the Greenfield Hall (a hermit's abode), revealing the true essence of enlightenment.
The second poem portrays meditative cultivation with Zen-like imagery: a rain of blossoms fills the sky, clear springs flow in serene silence, as the practitioner attains the state of "not a single thread clinging" (utter mental detachment). The magpie resting among pines faces no inherent peril, nor should the cawing crow in the courtyard invite suspicion. Making lotuses bloom in an alms bowl through incantations is but ordinary magic, while turning stones to gold through scriptural discourse seems superfluous. When the golden scalpel (symbolizing wisdom) scrapes away all attachments, complete liberation follows—amidst the lion's roar (symbol of Buddhist truth), all phenomena return to oneness.
"Two Occasional Poems," the first describes an immortal riding a crane, arriving leisurely from Mount Kunlun, brushing away worldly dust. Beneath the bright moon, who seeks the Dao? Surrounded by plum blossoms, one remains unaware spring has come. The perfected Golden Elixir shines pure as a thousand flasks of snow; awakening from the Millet Dream (metaphor for illusory pursuits) transcends countless kalpas. Tucking heaven and earth into one's sleeve, there's no need for the Fisherman's guidance.
The second immortal poem depicts riding an ethereal phoenix while examining peach blossoms. The roaring tides of Dongting Lake startle one from nighttime dreams; mist-laden trees of Three Xiangs (Hunan region) bear chilly clouds. Getting drunk in Yueyang has little to do with wine, and claiming immortality at Mount Yuanqiao requires no elixirs. Looking back, the ages of Yao and Shun have faded into legend—the transformations of seas into mulberry fields defy recounting.
Finally, "Instructions for Tianji" clarifies the essence of Buddha-recitation practice: Sincere chanting itself is the Golden Elixir (foundation of cultivation), as fingers move through 108 prayer beads in ceaseless cycles. Chant until relics (crystallized attainments) form, transcending life and death; chant until awakening elevates beyond the mundane. Let not thoughts follow wandering delusions; keep the chanting mind as carefree as drifting clouds. Chant until the Mysterious Pass (crucial energy center) opens to divine wisdom—this chant-verse I now leave for your reflection.
Source text: Kanripo 漢籍リポジトリ（KR5i0050）; Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0 · Report an error / feedback