《養真集》

The preface to The Compendium of Nurturing Truth recounts the compilation process and core philosophy of this Daoist classic. In the spring of the Guimao year, the author traveled from the capital to a county town where his friend resided. In the study, he noticed the walls covered with calligraphic scrolls. Upon careful reading, he discovered these texts encompassed all aspects of existence—from the cosmic principles governing heaven and earth to the spiritual truths of ghosts and human affairs, from cultivation methods transcending life and death to practical wisdom for worldly conduct. All were presented as profound admonitions for self-cultivation. He suggested his friend systematically organize these materials, which were eventually compiled into two volumes. This work harmonizes the essential teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, openly revealing cultivation methods to awaken the confused, rectify misguided views, and prevent deviation into heterodox paths.

The author particularly emphasizes that understanding only Daoist metaphysics without Chan (Zen) Buddhism leads to stubborn attachment to personal views, while comprehending only Chan principles without Confucianism tends toward unrestrained eccentricity. Truly mastering all three traditions has been rare throughout history. During the summer of the Bingwu year, the author rediscovered The Compendium of Nurturing Truth in the library of his friend Zhao Gong. Tracing its origins, he learned it initially came from monks at Huifu Temple, later copied by Provincial Commander Chen and his family tutor. The commentaries were attributed to the recluse "Yangzhenzi" (Nurturer of Truth)—though unsigned, the work clearly bears the mark of enlightened immortals like Chisongzi (Red Pine Master) and Huangshigong (Yellow Stone Elder).

This classic's distinctive feature lies in using Confucian thought as entry point to Chan realization, cultivating the luminous stillness of mind to develop śarīra (Buddhist relics of practice); then employing Chan wisdom to verify the Daoist Golden Elixir (Jindan) path. When discussing emptiness, it fully inherits the authentic Chan transmission of Bodhidharma's wall-gazing and Mahākāśyapa's flower-smiling; when expounding alchemy, it dispenses with cryptic metaphors like lead-mercury or dragon-tiger symbolism. The text effortlessly incorporates Confucius and Yan Hui's joy in worldly cultivation, naturally embodying Zhou Dunyi and the Cheng brothers' Neo-Confucian essence. Synthesizing the three teachings and hundred schools, it neither builds castles in the air with abstract speculation nor leaves practitioners without guidance—instead offering a step-by-step path that saves cultivators from unnecessary detours.

This passage serves as the preface and table of contents for the Qing Dynasty Daoist work Yangzhen Ji (Nourishing the True Collection). The preface was composed by White-Whiskered Elder Wang Shiduan during the Lantern Festival (15th day of the first lunar month) in the Dingwei year of the Qianlong reign (1787), while viewing lantern displays.

The author states: Upon opening this rare and marvelous text (Yangzhen Ji), one becomes immediately immersed. Its descriptions of the Twelve Grotto-Heavens (Daoist celestial realms) transport the mind to wondrous realms. Faced with such an extraordinary scripture, the author completely forgot his own shallow learning and presumptuously undertook writing this preface. Like attempting to adorn a sable coat with a dog's tail or carve pear wood with jujube timber, this effort may seem overreaching—yet gathering these pearl-like insights still depends on the discerning eyes of enlightened readers. May this book assist cultivators in achieving their aspirations of ascension and immortality, thereby honoring the original author's profound dedication. Within the vastness of heaven and earth, there surely exists someone who understands its true meaning; how could this world lack those with awakened minds and realized nature? Thus these words flowed spontaneously from the brush, completing the preface almost without conscious effort.

The table of contents divides the work into two volumes. The first volume explores fundamental themes: the Dao (Way), principle, heaven-and-earth, human life, aging and illness, life and death, suffering, mind-nature, emotions, thoughts, attachments, the physical body, and meridians. It also addresses worldly challenges in spiritual practice—fame and profit, sensual desires, external objects, ego, illusions, demonic obstacles, states of consciousness, awareness, faults, virtuous deeds, dreams, and spirits.

The second volume focuses on essential cultivation methods: Qi (vital energy), Jing (essence), moral instruction, learning, unity of knowledge and action, speech, self-reflection, reverence, restraint, zhiguan (stopping and contemplation), cunyang (nourishing Jing-Qi-Shen), precepts, meditation, wisdom, sincerity, filial piety, De (virtue/power), benevolence, tranquility, joy—along with Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the Middle Way, studying sages, kanli (water-fire/yin-yang), opening passages and clearing meridians, and returning to the fundamental. These represent both practical techniques and advanced states of cultivation.

Among all pursuits in human life, nothing surpasses the value of reading, yet among all readers, none attain higher transcendence than those who cultivate the Dao. Zhu Xi once remarked that the purpose of reading is to seek the Dao—otherwise, what use is scholarship? As for imperial examinations and worldly honors, these are but external attachments that have regrettably misled countless individuals. The Daode Jing teaches that even becoming the Son of Heaven or one of the Three Dukes, possessing jade treasures and fine steeds, cannot compare to the serenity of cultivating the Dao. Talent may be exhausted, virtue (De) may earn fame, yet the Dao—seemingly nameless—remains inexhaustible in its utility. Thus, the noble-minded devote themselves to seeking the Dao, regarding wealth and status as passing clouds, unmoved by their comings and goings.

One might ask: When gentlemen devote themselves to Daoist cultivation, do they seek some benefit? Indeed, there are benefits: Cultivating the Dao means refining one’s original mind, expanding one’s spirit (Shen), ensuring physical health, curing illness, and transcending life and death—could any benefit be greater? Yet another may question: If Daoist cultivation is so sublime, why do ordinary people dismiss its practitioners as pedantic? The Daode Jing answers aptly: Those of superior capacity hear of the Dao and diligently practice it; those of middling capacity waver between belief and doubt; those of inferior capacity laugh aloud—and if they did not laugh, it would not be the true Dao.

The White-Browed Elder observes: Among scholars, none attain higher transcendence than Daoist cultivators. Yet throughout history, while many have sought the Dao, few have realized it. Three factors account for this: First, one must possess innate wisdom; second, one must be erudite; third, one must encounter an enlightened teacher early. Without innate wisdom, one cannot generate the aspiration to transcend worldly dust; without broad learning, one struggles to comprehend principle; encountering a teacher too late leaves one vulnerable to misleading heterodox paths. Consider ancestral masters like Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin—endowed with extraordinary talents, profoundly learned, and fortunate to receive immortal guidance in their youth, they attained the ranks of transcendents and rose above the mundane. These three conditions are indispensable; if unconvinced, one need only inquire of the immortals dwelling on Penglai’s fairy isles.

As for the "Dao," there is fundamentally only one. In Heaven, it is called "destiny"; in humans, it is called "nature"; in things, it is called "principle." This principle permeates heaven and earth, leaving nothing untouched.

All phenomena between heaven and earth manifest in daily life, and all things follow their inevitable patterns of operation that cannot be violated. A true gentleman of understanding observes things according to the principles of heaven, clearly distinguishing right from wrong, good from evil, and then acts in accordance with the natural order. This is the attainment of the "selfless" state. Achieving selflessness leads to impartiality; impartiality brings clarity of perception, and with clarity, one can handle affairs appropriately, fully realizing the inherent nature of things.

If one observes things with self-consciousness, feelings of love and hatred arise, inevitably leading to emotional bias. Emotional bias breeds partiality, partiality leads to confusion, and confusion results in faulty judgment—knowing only the self while forgetting the existence of heavenly principles. Heavenly principles generate primordial Qi (the fundamental energy that constitutes all things). When Qi manifests, the heavenly principles recede into obscurity; when Qi takes concrete form, the form becomes visible while Qi itself recedes. The heavenly principles are inherently perfect and centered, whereas Qi already carries deviation, and form deviates even further. Centeredness contains no unwholesomeness, but deviation gives rise to it.

To eliminate the unwholesomeness brought by deviation and return to the centered goodness, one must carefully reflect the moment a thought arises: if it aligns with the heavenly principles as a wholesome thought, nurture it; if it stems from the deviation of form as an unwholesome thought, sever it immediately. Persisting in this practice over time, the heavenly principles will naturally endure, and selfish desires will naturally fade. The principles of the world must be explored, yet they cannot be fully exhausted—the key lies in discerning the confusion within the mind. Discernment leads to clarity, clarity leads to sincerity, and sincerity enables one to grasp the ultimate principles of the world, finding one's rightful place between heaven and earth.

To clearly know that "goodness" is the Middle Way yet fail to practice it, or to understand that all phenomena arise from the mind yet fail to realize its true nature—this is confusion. To recognize the gravity of life and death yet not seek the state of birthlessness, or to know the impermanence of worldly affairs yet fail to realize that there was never any distinction between fast and slow—is this not also confusion? The heavenly principles are originally present in the mind; they naturally manifest when constantly reminded. Desires do not inherently exist; they naturally vanish when seen through. Restraining desires and nurturing heavenly principles are actually one and the same: restraining one part of desire nurtures one part of heavenly principles, and restraining all desires nurtures them fully.

What benefits people most are the heavenly principles, yet few follow them; what harms people most are desires, yet many indulge in them. Human desires are like tree borers, gnawing away internally until destruction comes swiftly. People believe desires bring happiness, unaware that they are like raging fires—uncontrolled, they consume the self. The spirit is tormented by desires; wine and lust deplete Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), leading to illness and unending suffering day and night. Buddhism speaks of punishment after death, yet those who indulge in desires suffer long before death arrives.

The white-haired elder quotes Zhou Dunyi: When wisdom lacks thorough penetration, doubts arise; those who truly understand the principle (li) harbor no suspicions. Even scholars who study the Dao year-round cannot fully comprehend its truth or practice it perfectly—how much more so ordinary people who've never engaged in learning? While many in this world preserve themselves through understanding the Dao, just as many invite disaster by stubbornly disputing its principles. This is why Chan Buddhism even considers "principle" itself an obstacle.

The great Dao (Dao) of heaven and earth has no concrete form, yet the cosmos manifests its tangible expression. Though heaven and earth do not speak, sages become their spokespersons. Though we cannot directly encounter these sages, is there any difference between comprehending their teachings through scriptures (Jing) and meeting them in person? Heaven endows us with form and grants us innate nature—both our inner and outer being embody celestial intent. How dare we disturb this divinely ordained order? We exist between heaven and earth, while the principles of the cosmos also reside within our hearts. Observing heaven and earth's serene non-action (Wuwei) and emulating this state of unity with the Dao, we recognize that even slight selfish thoughts constitute grave offenses. Human appearance and temperament manifest heavenly nature; by following this nature, we remain unburdened by desires. When daily conduct aligns with cosmic principles, no transgression occurs.

Human actions constantly resonate with celestial movements—every gesture reflects this correspondence. Our breath perpetually communes with the cosmos, each inhalation and exhalation bearing witness. Observe how: the setting sun mirrors the heart-fire descending, while the full moon reflects kidney-water rising. Gazing at the stars, we see the unmoving North Star encircled by constellations—this we call the "Celestial Pivot" (axis mundi). Just as heaven and earth possess this pivot as the root of creation, humans too have this pivot as the source of vital nature. Though all are human, only those called "great persons" (sages) can harmonize with heaven and earth's virtue (De). Examine our heart-nature—how much aligns with the cosmos? Where aligned, persevere; where misaligned, swiftly correct. Thus becoming a sage presents no difficulty.

Heaven and earth resemble humanity's parents: heaven's giving and earth's nurturing form our great parents; heaven's movement and earth's stillness constitute our great teacher. Past sages were heaven and earth's filial children; future sages shall be their compassionate grandchildren. Those who revere parents will receive heaven's mandate; those who honor teachers will progressively penetrate the Dao's depths.

The white-haired elder concludes: People fail to revere heaven because it seems too distant. This essay's essential point lies in the phrase "heaven resides in my heart." Truly understanding this principle—who would dare not revere? Who would dare not follow?

This scripture primarily expounds the principles of self-cultivation and nurturing one's nature. From birth, every person inherently carries the primordial Qi (Xiantian energy) of heaven and earth within their body—this constitutes the foundation of life. While in the womb, the clear and turbid energies are bestowed by celestial forces; after birth, the quality of one's character depends entirely on personal cultivation.

In this world, exceptionally wise or utterly foolish individuals are rare—the vast majority are ordinary people. Yet if common people exert themselves diligently, they can attain superior wisdom; if they abandon themselves to negligence, they become indistinguishable from fools. Many recognize they were born of their parents, yet fail to realize that they—along with their parents and all things in creation—are ultimately manifestations of the Dao. Thus, noble-minded individuals must seek attainment of the Dao to stand blameless before heaven and earth.

Within each person resides a "true self" (referring to one's innate nature)—this true self is numinously subtle, pure, and eternally unchanging. To cultivate and preserve this true self is more precious than acquiring ten thousand taels of gold. The distinction between humans and beasts is remarkably slight, hinging solely on whether one can uphold the five constant virtues: benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness. Losing these virtues reduces a person to the level of beasts—no need to wait for future rebirths.

Just as heaven and earth operate through the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the human body corresponds with the five organs (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys). The Five Phases must circulate ceaselessly, just as the five virtues must remain steadfast. These phases manifest in the human body as the five organs—the very basis of life. The scripture emphasizes maintaining constant reverence in one's heart, for only through such solemn mindfulness can one illuminate the mind and perceive true nature, ultimately reaching elevated states of cultivation. The greatest pitfall lies in comprehending these principles yet failing to retain them—knowing but not persevering in practice.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) elucidates the core principles of cultivating life and practicing the Dao. It begins by emphasizing that the foundation of human health lies in harmonizing the five organs, which mirrors the fundamental human relationships in daily life—those between ruler and subject, parent and child, husband and wife, siblings, and friends. Abandoning these ethical bonds means losing the very root of being human. Some seekers today mistakenly believe they can attain the Dao by harming their bodies or discarding human relationships, but this leads them astray.

The White-Haired Elder (a venerable adept) offers crucial insights: though people are born with varying degrees of innate purity or turbidity, moral character—whether virtuous or wicked—is entirely within one's control. He stresses that spiritual practice must be unwavering and continuous—just as one cannot stop walking mid-journey, so too must one hold fast to the correct path without the slightest deviation.

His warning about aging is particularly profound: after sixty, one ages year by year; after seventy, month by month; and after eighty, day by day. The Elder, now in his eighties, regards each additional day of life as heaven's grace and dares not squander it. He recounts a dialogue among three elders to illustrate life's impermanence: the first remarks that none can know how many will gather next year; the second wonders whether he will still wear his shoes tomorrow morning; the third admits he cannot even be certain of drawing his next breath. This underscores that spiritual practice must seize the present—understanding the truth today means acting today; awakening in this moment means this moment is the optimal time.

Finally, the text distills the three treasures of life-nurturing—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—into essential methods: in old age, Jing fears exhaustion (requiring restraint in sensual desires), Qi fears dissipation (necessitating fewer words), and Shen fears scattering (demanding clarity and simplicity of mind). It particularly notes that the mind cannot be forcibly anchored but must naturally unite with the breath (heart and breath interdependent). These methods may appear simple, yet they form the very basis for prolonging life and attaining longevity.

This passage reveals the essential principles of health preservation and spiritual cultivation. It first explains the methods for nurturing the "Three Treasures" — Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence): harmonizing the mind with breath regulation stabilizes the spirit; speaking sparingly and maintaining inner tranquility prevents Qi dissipation; practicing the "returning essence to nourish the brain" technique safeguards vital essence.

A question arises: How to address the decline of Qi and blood in old age? The answer lies in: measured speech nourishes the lungs, dietary moderation strengthens the spleen, eliminating distracting thoughts replenishes the heart, dissolving anger benefits the liver, and abstaining from excessive desires fortifies the kidneys. However, the real challenge isn't nourishment itself, but rather the cycle of replenishment followed by depletion. Like deciduous trees shedding leaves in autumn — seemingly withered yet preserving vitality within — they regenerate come spring. Those who comprehend this principle and align with Dao's rhythms become true adepts (Zhenren). Such perfected beings exhibit breath reaching their heels (indicating profound, rhythmic respiration), and recognize winter — nature's season of return — as optimal for quiet cultivation.

The white-haired sage summarizes: Uniting mind and breath, practicing verbal restraint and stillness, and returning essence to the brain stabilizes the Three Treasures; disciplined speech, moderate eating, thought purification, anger dissolution, and desire restraint nourishes the five organs. This naturally leads to longevity.

Regarding disease origins: All stem from delusional thoughts breeding distress, which damages the heart. Heart impairment affects spleen-stomach function, causing appetite loss; weakened digestion diminishes lung Qi, inducing coughing; chronic cough depletes kidney-water (Jing), leaving liver-wood (Qi) deficient — manifesting as brittle hair, weak tendons, and eventual organ failure. Actually, illness begins when delusions first arise. Modern people often recognize sickness only through physical pain, unaware of its gradual accumulation.

Pathogenic factors divide into external and internal: External causes are the "Six Excesses" (wind, cold, summer-heat, dampness, dryness, fire); internal causes are the "Seven Emotions" (joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure, worry, fear, fright). Emotion-induced illnesses constitute internal damage, usually manifesting as deficiency patterns requiring tonification; climate-induced illnesses represent external invasions, typically appearing as excess patterns needing regulation. Here we primarily address acquired Qi-blood depletion.

When people fall ill, medicine and acupuncture can provide treatment. But when illness stems from the depletion of one's innate primordial Qi (the most fundamental life energy) and internal spiritual exhaustion, only through inner observation and quiet cultivation (a Daoist practice involving introspective contemplation and seated meditation to nurture body and mind) can complete recovery be achieved.

While the world's ten greatest physicians can heal physical ailments, only the sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism can cure the sickness of the human heart. People readily visit sick relatives and friends, yet fail to examine their own spiritual maladies. Those who understand self-reflection look inward without distracting thoughts and release attachment to the physical body when looking outward. When neither body nor mind is clung to, who exactly is sick? And who remains free from illness? Understanding this truth naturally leads to liberation from afflictions.

By frequently recalling the suffering of illness, worldly desires gradually diminish. By regularly contemplating the inevitability of death, the aspiration for the Dao naturally arises. There was once a man named Ziyuan who suffered from spiritual sickness. A Buddhist master told him: "Your illness stems from afflictions, which in turn arise from delusional thinking. There are three types of delusion: First, constantly dwelling on past glories, humiliations, and trivial grievances from decades ago—this is called 'past delusion.' Second, imposing artificial distinctions and hesitation about present matters that should be accepted naturally—this is called 'present delusion.' Third, fantasizing about future wealth and success, or pinning hopes on descendants achieving greatness—this preoccupation with uncertain outcomes is called 'future delusion.'"

These three delusional patterns wax and wane, what Chan Buddhism calls the "illusory mind." Recognizing them as delusions causes them to vanish—this is the "awakened mind." Thus, one should not fear the arising of thoughts, but rather the delay in awakening. The arising of thoughts is the disease; non-attachment is the medicine.

The master continued: "Your illness also stems from the failure of Water and Fire to commune [a Daoist term describing the disconnection between heart and kidney energies]. Obsession with beauty represents external sensual desire, while nocturnal fantasies leading to seminal loss constitute internal craving. Both dissipate primordial Jing (essential vitality). By severing these, kidney Water naturally replenishes to nourish heart Fire. As for neglecting food and sleep in scholarly pursuits—this is 'obstruction by reason'; exhausting oneself in business affairs—this is 'obstruction by activity.' Though not sensual desires, both damage spiritual nature. By relinquishing them, heart Fire won't flare upward but will instead nourish kidney Water below. Thus uncontaminated by worldly ties, with the six roots [eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind] purified from external disturbances, one returns to the original source."

Following this advice, Ziyuan secluded himself in quietude, released all attachments, and through a month of meditation completely recovered. One knows one's own illness best—awareness demands timely treatment. To conceal illness and avoid remedy, only to regret when impermanence [death] arrives, would be the greatest folly.

An elderly man with white hair once said a common saying: "Mental afflictions are the hardest to cure." In truth, it's not that they're difficult to treat, but rather that people either fail to find the right method or, having found it, refuse to practice it. The sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism were all skilled at curing mental afflictions—a single phrase from them could point the way for sufferers. But who truly believes? And who actually puts it into practice?

In my youth, while serving as a minor gatekeeper, I suffered from spleen deficiency and chronic diarrhea. For five years I languished on the brink of death, trying every medicine to no avail. When all seemed lost, I withdrew from social engagements, sat quietly in reflection, and began studying the Heart Sutra (a Buddhist scripture) in my spare time. After a hundred days of thorough contemplation, my illness was completely cured. This is a miraculous remedy I personally verified, which is why I dare share it with those suffering from stubborn ailments.

When people are in the prime of life, brimming with vitality, they indulge their six desires and do as they please. But when their bodies deteriorate and they become plagued by countless illnesses, when death approaches—no amount of children can substitute for their life, no fortune can buy it back. Regret at death's door comes too late. Who doesn't fear death? But one should learn to fear it while still alive; fearing it only when dying is useless. Who doesn't fear illness? But one should prevent disease while still healthy; fearing it only when sick makes it hard to cure.

Consider: What in this world is more important than life itself? What matter is greater than life and death? People love life yet don't seek the Dao of longevity; they hate death yet constantly do things that hasten it. The world toils busily through life until death finally calls a halt. When the moment of death arrives, what means of escape remain? Wouldn't it be better to turn back early, cast aside all worldly entanglements, and become a practitioner who transcends life and death?

Someone might ask: "After being ensnared by worldly attachments for so many years, isn't it terribly difficult to suddenly renounce them all?" In truth, it only seems difficult because you're unwilling to let go. If you were truly facing death, what couldn't you release? Though you're not dying now, why not pretend you're already dead and relinquish everything without reservation?

Another question: "What exactly should be relinquished?" You must let go of the "Four Great Elements" (earth, water, fire, wind—representing the physical body), the "Five Aggregates" (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness—representing mental activities), and all emotional desires and attachments. A true practitioner is like one who has died and been reborn, completely free from worldly entanglements yet not clinging to abstruse principles either. Only such great liberation constitutes true awakening. Confucius said, "Hearing the Dao in the morning, one could die content in the evening"—this is precisely the meaning.

This passage expounds on how people suffer from being bound by various desires.

Those who have attained profound cultivation, upon hearing the Dao (Truth), can instantly see through life and death. The white-bearded elder says: All worldly people grow old in their busyness—who is willing to pause before death arrives? If one can achieve this, they not only delay death but transcend the suffering of life and death.

People remain trapped because they cannot let go of a single word: "attachment." Those who crave fame and wealth are shackled by them; those indulging in wine and lust are bound by them; those clinging to family are entangled in domestic affairs; those doting on descendants are weighed down by them. This distorts human nature, causing endless suffering in the cycle of rebirth.

Suffering begins even in the womb: When the mother eats hot food, it feels like scalding water; when she eats cold food, it pierces like ice. Birth brings excruciating pain to both mother and child. The infant, barely free from the womb's hardship, must then endure childhood afflictions—hunger, thirst, cold, heat, pox, and rashes.

Adulthood brings even greater misery: Rulers worry over state affairs, commoners fret about food and clothing, toiling day and night without peace. The Five Viscera burn, damaging one's Qi (vital energy); illness plagues the body until death, followed by karmic retribution in rebirth.

Buddhism speaks of the Eight Sufferings, including separation from loved ones, encountering enemies, and unfulfilled desires. Modern people's troubles are self-inflicted—some blindly plunge into suffering, while others recognize it yet cannot escape. As the saying goes:

Don't boast of marrying young—marriage brings endless worries.

Don't rejoice at passing imperial exams—rank brings heavier burdens.

Don't assume farming ensures sustenance—the toil of the fields never ceases.

Don't envy monks and Daoists for their leisure—their inner struggles run deeper.

Someone asks: "Most worldly people suffer physically—why do cultivators suffer more mentally?" The answer: Though free of ropes, cultivators bind themselves; seemingly idle, their minds race endlessly; wishing to calm their hearts, they find them unyielding.

What should practitioners do if they cannot let go of attachments? In truth, this suffering arises precisely because they have yet to grasp authentic cultivation methods. Once genuine transmission is attained, one gains effortless mastery over engagement and disengagement—how could suffering persist? The Daoist path is fundamentally a way to profound contentment. Any teaching that emphasizes endurance of hardship is heterodox (deviating from the true path).

The White-Templed Elder once remarked: "People often claim that a newborn's first cry proves human life is inherently suffering. But I disagree—suffering emerges when we lose touch with our true nature (original heart-mind), when insatiable desires breed endless misery. Turn wholeheartedly to Dao cultivation, and you'll discover all things serving your being, experiencing supreme joy. Where then is suffering?"

To enter the gate of cultivation, one must first comprehend the two characters "xingming" (nature-life). The root of xing (spiritual essence) lies in the heart-field, while the pivot of ming (vital force) rests in true respiration (natural breathing). The key to ming is stabilization; the root of xing requires purification. How to purify xing's source? Through "forgetting both inner and outer" (non-attachment to external phenomena or internal states). How to stabilize ming's foundation? By maintaining "spirit and Qi in mutual guardianship" (interdependent consciousness and breath). Xing is shen (spirit), ming is jing (essence) and Qi. The Taiji Diagram reveals how the True Wuji (cosmic origin) combines with the subtle essences of yin-yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) to generate human life. Thus xing is the True Wuji, while ming embodies the refined essences of yin-yang and the Five Phases.

Master Wuyi observed: "Xing dwells within the heart. With each degree of mental stillness, one degree of original nature manifests; complete stillness reveals it wholly. Cease random thoughts, and original nature shines forth completely. As more original nature emerges, more shen and Qi coalesce. The work of cultivation is nothing other than effortlessly attaining this state. The essential practice lies entirely in 'stopping thoughts'—letting heart and breath rely upon each other constitutes the most direct method. For Qi is the mother of shen, and shen the child of Qi. When heart and breath unite like mother and child meeting, spirit and energy blend into seamless wholeness." Through sustained practice of this profound union, one ultimately reaches "great stillness" (deep tranquility)—this is "returning to the root and restoring life's mandate." With this foundation firmly established, natural longevity and clear vision (prolonged vitality) follow.

Patriarch Qiu taught: "If even one breath remains unsteady, one hasn't truly mastered xingming." To which I would add: "If even one stray thought lingers unrelinquished, breathing cannot attain true steadiness." Humans possess both celestial nature (primordial disposition) and temperamental nature (acquired habits). Celestial nature is the complete manifestation of Taiji's totality (the cosmic origin fully expressed).

This passage expounds on the fundamental nature of humanity and methods of self-cultivation. Human nature is originally pure (the Taiji state), but once embodied in physical form (the temperamental nature composed of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases), it becomes influenced by acquired conditioning. Zhang Zai (Master Zhang) stated that by returning to one's origin, one can preserve the innate purity of original nature (the cosmic nature of Heaven and Earth).

Regarding the path of returning to the origin, Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism each offer distinct approaches:

Initial stage: Confucianism speaks of "cleansing the heart and withdrawing to store in secrecy" (purifying the mind to return inward); Buddhism teaches "observing the self within" (contemplating the original mind); Daoism advocates "returning to simplicity" (recovering one's primal, unadorned nature).

Intermediate stage: Confucianism discusses "knowing where to stop, achieving stability and stillness" (quelling wandering thoughts to attain composure); Buddhism presents "the five aggregates are all empty" (seeing through the illusory nature of body and mind); Daoism proposes "returning to the state of an infant" (recovering childlike purity).

Advanced stage: Confucianism describes "having no preconceptions, no absolutes, no obstinacy, no ego" (transcending attachments); Buddhism expounds "no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind" (surpassing sensory limitations); Daoism teaches "returning to Wuji" (merging with the cosmic origin).

Human nature is fundamentally good—what makes it appear otherwise stems from acquired habits. Understanding this and transcending temperamental influences constitutes the method for transforming habitual tendencies. The text mentions an eighty-five-year-old elder who, through quiet sitting and enlightenment, saw through the emptiness of all worldly conditions and lived in carefree ease.

The White-Bearded Elder points out: The truth of Wuji (cosmic origin) is nature (Xing), while the essence of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (vital energy) is life (Ming). Throughout history, many great Confucians have explored the relationship between principle (Li) and Qi. In reality, principle (nature) and Qi (life) are fundamentally one—just as Buddhism emphasizes cultivating nature while Daoism focuses on cultivating life, both approaches result from incomplete understanding of Taiji's principle, leading to the separation of nature and life.

Finally, the method of mind cultivation: When the human mind pursues external objects, it manifests as desires; when turned inward for contemplation, it reveals original nature. The key lies in reversing the habitual outward pursuit to inward observation. The crucial practice is "inward contemplation"—where "reverse" implies turning back, and "contemplation" denotes illuminating awareness. Human spirit resides in the heart, and the heart's activity depends on the eyes—hence the instruction to use the eyes for contemplation (implying Neiguan internal observation practice).

This passage elucidates methods for cultivating the heart-mind and nurturing one's nature. During practice, when the mind becomes tranquil, the heart-fire (referring to restless thoughts) naturally descends while the kidney-water (referring to innate Jing-Qi) naturally rises. Sweet saliva will emerge in the mouth, and warmth will be felt in the feet. The wonder of this state is beyond verbal description.

The human heart-mind is originally pure—why does it become lost? Because of the arising of delusional thoughts. One must understand that these delusions are fundamentally illusory; they can be released whenever one chooses to let them go. Sincerity dispels falsehood, and reverence dissolves arrogance. When distracting thoughts flutter about, there's no need to forcibly suppress them. Simply turn inward to observe your mind and clearly see what these thoughts truly are—natural tranquility will return. Spiritual cultivation requires no special formula: constant self-reflection is the practice, and freedom from delusion is attainment of the Dao.

Zhu Xi said: "One degree of inward observation yields one degree of merit; two degrees of observation yield two degrees of merit." If one can firmly guard the original mind without being led astray by external things, results will quickly manifest—effects can be verified within half a month. The so-called "seeking the released mind" doesn't mean finding another mind to store, but rather becoming aware when thoughts wander outward and immediately reminding yourself: "This is my mind—I should be its master, not let it run wild." Even after long periods of obscuration, a sudden awakening with a resolute shout can scatter all unwholesome thoughts.

Subsequently applying the method of mind-contemplation, thoughts will cease; as breathing becomes regulated, the Shen (spirit) will also stabilize. This is what Daoists describe as "the breath of perfected beings reaching to the heels." What distinguishes humans from beasts is precisely this mind. Buddhist scriptures say evildoers will be reborn as animals, but I contend that those who lose their original mind become beasts in this very life—though retaining human form, their hearts are no longer human.

When encountering external circumstances, if the mind remains unmoved, discriminating thoughts won't arise; without their arising, there's neither their disappearance, thus the mind remains unbound by worldly attachments and naturally attains liberation.

The White-Haired Elder comments: "The 'Rectifying the Mind' chapter in the Great Learning discusses four emotional disturbances as maladies of 'having mind' and later mentions 'absent-mindedness' as the malady of 'lacking mind,' yet never specifies how to rectify the mind. This essay not only identifies the method for rectification but also describes its effects, analyzing with exquisite precision—every word is a pearl. Those who practice accordingly may not only become sages but even attain Buddhahood or Daoist mastery."

For those who wish to cultivate the Dao and nurture their true nature, why not strive to practice diligently?

Regarding "emotions": We previously discussed how the seven emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, delight, worry, melancholy, and fright) affect the human body. Joy causes Qi to relax, anger drives Qi upward, sorrow scatters Qi, delight dissipates Qi, worry knots Qi, melancholy sinks Qi, and fright disorders Qi. These emotional disturbances lead to various illnesses: they may cause distension in the heart and abdomen, stabbing pain in the ribs, throat obstruction, labored breathing, or the formation of masses and accumulations. Stagnant Qi and blood form hard lumps, retained fluids create accumulations, while phlegm and saliva congeal into membranous or fibrous substances—the pathological changes are too numerous to describe. Therefore, those skilled in nurturing life understand how to collect emotions and return them to their original nature—this is the true remedy for dispelling disease.

Emotions are the outward manifestations of our innate nature. The sages excel at self-cultivation before emotions arise, thus they can respond to all things without being dominated by emotions, and experience worldly affairs without becoming entangled. Like a clear mirror reflecting objects: beautiful things appear beautiful without the mirror developing attachment; ugly things appear ugly without the mirror generating aversion. Thus we say the mind should be vast and impartial—when things come, respond naturally. What we call "great impartiality" means complete alignment with heavenly principle, without a trace of selfish human desire; "natural response" means all things follow their inherent patterns—we need only accord with them. The Book on Settling Nature states: Human emotions are often clouded, making it difficult to harmonize with the Dao—the problems mostly stem from selfishness and forced cleverness. Selfishness prevents actions from being natural responses, while forced cleverness disrupts innate awareness. It further states: Among all emotions, anger is most prone to sudden outbursts and hardest to control. If one can immediately release anger when it arises and calmly observe the right and wrong of the situation, one realizes external temptations aren't worth hating—this understanding constitutes more than half the comprehension of the great Dao. Zhu Xi remarked: Forgetting anger brings impartiality; observing principles brings smoothness—these two are methods for self-reflection and dispelling delusion.

Those who attain the Dao maintain inner clarity and stillness. Through serene introspection, they become completely unobstructed—though physically present in the dusty world, their spirit transcends material existence.

The White-Bearded Elder said: When ancient sages spoke of "the highest virtue forgetting emotions," they didn't mean having no emotions, but rather collecting emotions and returning them to their original nature. When humans can collect emotions and return to nature, Confucians call it "gathering the wandering heart," while Daoists term it "refining the returned elixir" (Neidan practice). With prolonged dedicated practice, one naturally attains the Buddhist state of unmoving suchness (tathatā—the eternal, perfectly interpenetrating realm of ultimate reality).

Regarding "thought": The human mind must cease deluded thinking (still its mechanisms), yet preserve awareness's vitality (value liveliness). "Stillness" means stopping desires and random thoughts; "liveliness" means realizing the flavor of truth.

This passage discusses the distinction between "reflection" (si) and "random thought" (nian) in spiritual practice, and how proper use of reflection leads to awakening to the Dao.

The text clarifies that "reflection" is the correct path toward the Great Dao (Da Dao), functioning like a key that unlocks vital energy in life. The "Nine Reflections" (a Confucian concept of nine contemplative methods) serve as practical techniques. Reflecting on the Dao itself constitutes the true path, while dwelling on external matters leads astray. The Great Dao inherently resides within us—to contemplate this innate Dao is to embody it. When reflection reaches profound subtlety, sudden enlightenment occurs, bringing serene joy—this alone is genuine self-realization. Forced intellectual straining, even if yielding insights, exhausts the heart-mind and isn't true attainment.

Different levels of practitioners awaken differently: sages comprehend without reflection, while virtuous ones require contemplation. "Sincerity" (cheng) means the natural state of infants who neither study nor deliberate. Choosing the virtuous path means selecting this effortless, spontaneous condition.

The human heart possesses seven apertures (perceptual capacities) often clouded by desires. To illuminate the mind, one must study and reflect. Reflection resembles drilling holes in a wall—first a small aperture admits light, gradually expanding until the entire barrier dissolves into unobstructed clarity. Skillful reflection avoids both rigidity and strain.

"Reflection" and "random thought" differ fundamentally: contemplating one's inherent nature is "reflection," while exceeding these bounds becomes "random thought." Reflection opens the Dao's gate, whereas random thought obstructs practice. The White-Haired Elder remarks: Confucians call it "reflection," Buddhists "investigation," Daoists "awakening"—all describe the heart's pursuit of truth. Youth should reflect diligently, middle age cultivate the heart-mind, old age let it rest—thus practice aligns with life stages. The ultimate state is what Confucians term "transformation," Buddhists "resolution," Daoists "attainment"—where no further effort remains necessary.

Regarding "random thought": arising from ignorance (wuming, primal delusion), these sudden mental formations transform the heart into clinging thoughts. Originally quiescent, the heart-mind naturally stills when this truth is observed. Stopping thoughts isn't difficult—the key lies in returning to the state before thoughts emerge. This pre-emergent condition is the undifferentiated Wuji (Ultimate Non-Being). To experience thought-free stillness, trace thoughts to their source: present thoughts generate past memories, which in turn project future thoughts. With no present mental activity, the past dissolves completely. Clinging to "self" constitutes random thought; clinging to "doctrines" (fa) does too—both must be thoroughly cleared.

When deliberately suppressing wandering thoughts during practice, one often finds them multiplying instead. It's better to first observe what the mind is actually dwelling upon—when you clearly see the content of these thoughts, they naturally dissipate. True cultivation doesn't lie in forcibly stopping thoughts, but in observing the mind itself. Through profound observation of thought's nature, you'll discover the mind inherently lacks solid substance, and external phenomena consequently appear empty. Since both mind and phenomena are illusory, even attachments to "stopping thoughts" or "observing the mind" should be relinquished.

Master Guifeng (a Tang Dynasty eminent monk) taught: Maintain constant vigilance and sustained introspection. When habitual tendencies (deep-rooted mental patterns) arise, sever them immediately. Neither chase after thoughts like ordinary people, nor forcibly suppress them like practitioners of the Lesser Vehicle (those seeking only personal liberation). The supreme sudden enlightenment approach is precisely this simple—just maintain alignment with your fundamental nature, and awareness will flow uninterrupted.

The Cantong Qi (a Daoist classic) states: Close the three scattered sense gates—ears, eyes, and mouth—letting the heart-mind return to empty stillness. The so-called "thoughtless" state isn't annihilating all thoughts, but not clinging to their distinctions; "thinking without thinking" means understanding thoughts have no intrinsic substance, arising through causes and conditions, ultimately empty in nature.

The White-Browed Elder (a Daoist practitioner) cautioned: Deliberate thought-stopping often proves ineffective—even if temporarily achieved, this very "stopping" becomes new attachment. Like expelling Zhang only to harbor Li instead. Beginners frequently commit this error. What then? The key lies in "sitting in oblivion" (zuowang—the meditative state of self-forgetting). When even the concept of "I" is forgotten, who remains to generate wandering thoughts?

Human thoughts carry inherent inclinations that unconsciously govern behavior. A single thought can determine moral character; momentary choices may shape lifelong outcomes—such matters demand utmost care. Those drawn to benevolence, ritual, poetry and classics are undoubtedly virtuous without asking; those indulging in sensual pleasures, gambling, and debauchery are certainly wastrels; garden-tending or hunting enthusiasts represent ordinary folk; while those obsessed with disputes, litigation, arrogance, and violence are unmistakably villains. Excessive amusement brings five harms: neglecting health, draining spirit (shen), squandering wealth, wasting time, and neglecting proper duties. Even masterful play cannot accomplish great deeds—thus noble persons abstain.

The White-Browed Elder said: People's deeply ingrained preferences are accumulated seeds of habitual tendencies (Buddhism's "karma") across lifetimes—without profound awakening, they remain nearly immutable.

Within the human body exist three sacred chambers: the Mud Ball Palace (at the crown of the head), the Crimson Palace (heart), and the Yellow Court Palace (below the navel)—all dwelling places of spirit (Shen) and vital energy (Qi). Along the back run three crucial passes: the Tailbone Gate (coccyx), the Spinal Ridge Gate (mid-spine), and the Jade Pillow Gate (occiput), which serve as pathways for the circulation of essence (Jing) and Qi.

Mencius taught that sage-kings like Yao and Shun embodied innate goodness, while rulers like Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou restored their original nature through self-cultivation. In truth, every person carries this Yao-Shun nature within. By turning inward to observe oneself, one discovers Qi flowing through the body while consciousness resides within that Qi. Noble persons embody the Dao through physical practice, thus cultivating self and establishing the Way; petty individuals indulge desires until consumed by them.

The Śūraṅgama Sūtra states that focused practice at one point purifies the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind). Our failure to attain the Dao stems from being shackled by the physical form. This fragile shell of flesh—filled with impurities, unclean inside and out—is mistakenly cherished. Worldly people pursue fine foods and silken robes, flaunting appearances to beguile others, thus perpetuating the endless cycle of birth and death.

Practitioners must see through the body's illusory nature, freeing themselves from its deception. Gradually releasing attachment to form, they allow spirit and Qi to intermingle, ultimately achieving the wondrous state where form and spirit unite with the Dao. Laozi taught that "forgetting the self preserves life," while Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) warned that excessive bodily care obscures the true mind. Combined with the wisdom of the "Song of the Mortal Husk," these teachings help fully relinquish bodily fixation.

The body's meridians include twelve primary channels and eight extraordinary vessels, with the Conception (Ren) and Governing (Du) vessels being most vital. Ordinarily, the Ren vessel flows upward from the lower abdomen while the Du vessel descends from the crown—these two channels govern life and death fundamentals. Through reversing their flow (as in the Lesser Celestial Orbit practice), cultivators transform their state of being.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) primarily elucidates the method of "River Chariot Circulation" (Heche Yunzhuan) in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and its corresponding wisdom for worldly living.

Regarding cultivation: The human body contains two vital meridians—the Conception Vessel (Renmai, running along the anterior midline) and the Governing Vessel (Dumai, along the spine). The Conception Vessel governs all Yin meridians, while the Governing Vessel commands all Yang meridians. In practice, one first concentrates Shen (spirit) and gathers Qi (vital energy) in the Dantian (energy center), ensuring the mind and breath remain inseparably united. When stillness reaches its peak and generates movement, the Shen-Qi ascends along the Governing Vessel to the Niwan Palace (upper Dantian) at the crown of the head, then descends via the Conception Vessel, forming a cyclical flow. The specific method involves: when primordial Qi arises between the kidneys, consciously guiding this energy upward from the coccyx (Weilü point). If encountering obstruction at the Jiaji Pass (between the shoulder blades), pressing the tongue against the palate may assist passage. Upon reaching the crown, the Qi transforms into sweet dew, descending via the Magpie Bridge (the tongue) through the throat and Crimson Palace (middle Dantian), finally returning to the lower Dantian. Prolonged practice fills all three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower) with Qi, achieving the state where "Qi permeates the joints, and refined essence preserves the valley spirit."

The White-Haired Elder (Bai Bin Laoren) particularly emphasizes that these essential instructions distill the core principles of alchemical scriptures. Straying beyond this framework risks deviating into heterodox paths. As Laozi states: "Attain utmost emptiness; maintain steadfast stillness"—observing the cyclical return of all things within this stillness constitutes the essence of cultivation.

Concerning worldly wisdom: The mundane world abounds with fluctuations—governing peaceful times requires talent, while navigating chaotic eras demands De (virtue/power). In youth, diligent study is advised; in old age, tranquil nourishment suits best. Consider Xu You's reclusion during Yao and Shun's golden age, or Yan Guang's noble integrity amidst turmoil. Human existence resembles crossing a river—one must skillfully avoid dangers. Even the finest steed suffers windblown dust; the most divine turtle cannot escape slaughter. Observe how birds ride the wind to soar, selecting branches to perch—such effortless freedom! Only when lured by food do they fall into nets.

This passage harmonizes Neidan practice with philosophical living, advocating transcendent equanimity amid worldly turbulence while achieving physical-spiritual harmony through cultivation.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) passage conveys two main themes: the transcendent state beyond worldly concerns, and a profound critique of fame and profit.

First, it describes worldly achievements and honors as cages that confine people. Confucius' failure to gain recognition from rulers during the Spring and Autumn period appears unfortunate, yet ultimately proved fortunate for posterity; while Liu Bei's employment of Zhuge Liang was Liu's good fortune, it became Zhuge's misfortune. The rights and wrongs of past and present, our personal gains and losses, are all fleeting illusions—obsessing over them only disturbs the Shen (spirit). Maintaining inner stillness is attaining the Dao. Today's state of carefree transcendence often stems from past disappointments; present difficulties may become future opportunities for liberation. The white-haired elder's saying "a tranquil heart is the Dao" reveals that the great Way manifests in ordinary life. What ordinary people see as failure may precisely be when enlightened individuals achieve spiritual freedom.

Next, it analyzes the dangers of fame and profit. Failure in Daoist cultivation stems from incessant delusions, which originate from unresolved desires for fame and profit. These are what the Creator abhors, yet what worldly people inevitably pursue. Fame and profit kill more effectively than swords and spears—people flee physical weapons but remain poisoned by these temptations until death without awakening. Ancient Daoist adepts often feigned madness ("yangkuang") to avoid fame. Modern people flaunt minor skills, revealing their shallowness. True cultivators must abandon competitive mindsets and practice quietly. The superior person's inimitability lies precisely in cultivating where others cannot see.

Profit—this thing that requires no De (Virtue) yet inspires intimacy, no flame yet generates heat, no authority yet makes people toil tirelessly, no affection yet occupies constant thoughts. It corrupts cultivators' virtue and bends officials' judgments. Since antiquity, human hearts and state laws have been damaged by profit. The world's greatest calamities hide within great profits. People aren't ignorant of this—they're simply blinded by gain. Coveting ill-gotten wealth is like contracting a terminal disease that inevitably brings self-destruction.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nourishing Truth Anthology) reveals how human desires intertwine with benefits and harms through the lens of "food and lust."

On gluttony: When stealing food, one always fears not taking enough, yet dreads being caught with too much. Why such contradictory attitudes toward the same act? Because advantage and peril are inseparable. If one considers potential harm while beholding benefit, the impulse to grasp naturally ceases.

On virtue (De) versus wealth: Noble persons accumulate virtue—it nourishes both body and reputation. The truly virtuous effortlessly attain status, blessings, fame, and longevity. Petty persons hoard wealth, which sustains the body but ultimately destroys it. The wealthy often drown in anxiety and fear, unable to escape. The white-bearded sage remarked: "Fame and profit are what the Creator most abhors"—profound truth. Subsequent discourses on profit cut to the bone; even merchants would concur, let alone scholars and Daoist practitioners.

On lust: Heaven and Earth resemble a cosmic couple birthing all things; human couples mirror this miniature cosmos in producing offspring. The human Dao (Way) mirrors the celestial Dao—following desires begets children, while reversing the flow (through restraint) achieves immortality. Ancient immortals taught: "To defy aging, return essence (Jing) to replenish the brain." The brain is the sea of marrow-essence; squandered semen transforms from this vital marrow. Lechers often suffer headaches and mental voidness, like lamps extinguished when oil runs dry, or men perishing when marrow depletes. Brothels aren't pleasure houses but soul-devouring traps; courtesans aren't lovelies but home-wrecking specters.

People fear ghosts, yet ignore the painted "specters" at home that steal souls; dread tigers, but not the bedmates gnawing their marrow; recoil from snakes, yet welcome the quilt-entwined "vipers" draining their Qi-blood; guard against thieves, while oblivious to the nightly "burglars" pilfering their Yang-essence. Lust's harm runs deep! Not that people lack awareness—they lapse repeatedly, mistaking poison for nectar. Consider the body's filth: earwax, eye discharge, snot, spit, excrement, menstrual blood. Those alluring coquettes feign tenderness while harboring venom. Fools swoon for them, trading eternal wellbeing for fleeting pleasure.

The human body deteriorates through indulgence in desires, and this behavior does the gravest harm to one's De (Virtue/Power). One should avoid it as one would flee from a thief. A thief merely steals material possessions, but indulgence exhausts one's Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), ultimately leading to death.

The White-Bearded Elder (a Daoist master) quotes Laozi: "A young woman may appear gentle and beautiful, yet she is like a sharp sword hanging at the waist—unknowingly draining the marrow of foolish men." Alas, even middle-aged people struggle to truly believe this truth, let alone inexperienced youths.

There are things one must not do—indeed, one should not even entertain the thought of them. There are words one must not speak to others—how much less should one dare to deceive Heaven? If one can constantly examine oneself with these "four prohibitions," one draws near to the Dao (the Way). Opportunities in this world are rare; what ought to be done should not be shirked, for those who evade responsibility will never achieve anything. What ought not to be done must not be forced, for those who insist will surely meet with failure. All events unfold according to principle: the noble-minded discern right and wrong, while petty people calculate profit and loss.

In ordinary times of tranquility, the mind should remain calm. When facing events, the mind should focus on the principle at hand rather than clinging to personal views. Fewer affairs mean fewer troubles; fewer words mean fewer disasters; less food means fewer illnesses; fewer desires mean fewer sorrows. In all the world, the two most difficult things are crossing the sea and going to war, yet people still dare attempt them. But the practice of Dao—seeking inwardly, one attains it (turning inward brings realization), without the perils of crossing the sea; following the natural order brings peace, without the dangers of battle. Something so simple and safe, yet so few pursue it—why?

The White-Bearded Elder says: "The wise handle external matters by flowing with circumstances to resolve them, while the foolish complicate simple things through internal delusions. The wise act according to principle, like the butcher who carved oxen with effortless skill. The foolish act for selfish gain, ending like the clam and snipe locked in struggle while the fisherman profits."

All things arise from "non-being" (wu) into "being" (you), yet ordinary people cling to "being." To comprehend the eternal "non-being" is already difficult; to grasp "being" within "non-being" is even harder. If one wishes to abide in the realm of "non-being," one must let one's innate nature (xing) take the lead. When nature is in command, one attains the state where self and objects are both forgotten.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) expounds on the principles of cultivating the heart-mind and nurturing one's innate nature. The essential teaching is that although the myriad phenomena of the world appear complex and diverse, they are fundamentally illusory and impermanent. Layman Pang (the renowned Tang dynasty lay practitioner) once said: "When the mind doesn't cling to external phenomena, even being surrounded by demons and malevolent spirits won't lead one astray." What truly deludes people isn't external objects, but their own clinging minds.

The Baizi Bei (Hundred Character Stele, a Daoist classic) points out: "When encountering external phenomena, maintain your true constant nature—engage with objects without being deluded by them." If upon seeing beautiful things one gives rise to grasping desire, the mind becomes enslaved by external objects—this is the essence of delusion. Seeing through the nature of one thing frees you from its illusion; seeing through the nature of all things liberates you from all illusions. The Diamond Sutra states: "All worldly phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and lightning—this is how one should contemplate reality."

All affairs under heaven follow their natural patterns, leaving no room for selfish thoughts. Thus, the noble person handles matters as they come without creating complications, flowing with circumstances without attachment. Cheng Yichuan (the Song dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar Cheng Yi) criticized: "People pursue external comforts demanding only the finest, yet neglect their own spiritual cultivation. By the time they obtain material comforts, their body and mind have already suffered damage." Modern people constantly envy others' superior houses, clothes, food, and utensils, yet feel no shame about lacking in learning or moral conscience—this truly demonstrates confused priorities.

The White-Browed Elder (an accomplished Daoist adept) taught: "Forget the self, and external phenomena naturally dissolve." This reveals how the internal clinging to "self" makes external things become fetters. Worldly people abandon their true nature to chase illusions, all while considering themselves clever. The Analects record Confucius rejecting four faults (arbitrary assumptions, absoluteness, stubbornness, and egoism), considering "no-self" as the highest attainment. All faults—dogmatism, subjective judgments, and the like—stem from "self-attachment." Without this root of "self," all selfish thoughts lose their breeding ground.

In modern people's thoughts and actions, is there anything not calculated for personal benefit? Matters offering no self-interest—even world-shaking achievements—seem irrelevant; where petty profits appear, they scramble like flies. How poisonous this "self-attachment" is! Only by breaking this "self" can selfishness dissolve and conduct rectify. If even one's physical form can be forgotten, what external object could possibly become a burden? Upon careful examination of body and mind—where can any real "self" be found? What we call "self-view" is merely false clinging.

This passage employs vivid metaphors to reveal the true essence of Daoist cultivation—"no-self." Master Yongjia (a renowned Chan Buddhist master) points out that due to ignorance, people mistakenly regard the illusory self as real existence, and this attachment gives rise to afflictions such as greed, anger, and delusion. In truth, our bodies are as unreal as shadows, and all phenomena are merely provisional names without inherent nature. Even the Chinese character for "I" (我) is composed of two "spears" (戈), hinting that self-consciousness brings harm.

The White-Haired Elder (a Daoist adept) further explains: what the world calls the "self" is not the true self but merely the mischief of the conscious mind (识神, shishen). Just as the endless cycles of birth and death since time immemorial are mistaken by the ignorant as their original face. A cultivator must first discern truth from falsehood before entering the gate of practice.

The text illustrates this principle with four profound metaphors:

1. A theatergoer knows the play is fiction and thus does not react emotionally.

2. A puppet moves only when manipulated, just as our bodies depend on the true nature (先天本性, innate essence) for movement.

3. A magic show appears miraculous, but it’s all deception—so too is the world.

4. Shadow-play spectators chase illusory light and shadow, forgetting their own existence, only realizing it’s all illusion when the lamp extinguishes.

Through these phenomena, the wise awaken to the Dao: what seems to exist is ultimately empty, and what seems to perish does not truly vanish. The key to cultivation lies in seeing through these illusions and relinquishing attachment to the "self."

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) primarily discusses how to properly understand the relationship between "being" and "non-being" in spiritual practice, along with wisdom for overcoming demonic obstacles.

The text first explains the dialectical relationship between "you" (being) and "wu" (non-being): All phenomena appear to exist ("being"), yet lack inherent, unchanging essence ("non-self"). The teaching of "not-being" dismantles the common delusion of clinging to substantial existence, while "not-non-being" negates the nihilistic view of absolute nothingness. From the alternation of day and night to the movement of the cosmos, this principle manifests everywhere. Practitioners must realize that only one's true nature is real—all worldly phenomena are illusory, and daily necessities are but dust within illusions. Why then contend with ordinary people over gain and loss, beauty and ugliness?

The White-Haired Elder offers an analogy: Actors know their play is fiction, yet spiritual seekers mistake the world as real—are they less discerning than performers? The key lies in comprehending the profound meaning of "neither being nor non-being," thereby transcending attachment to such distinctions.

Regarding demonic obstacles: Solar and lunar eclipses symbolize cultivation hindrances. Each encounter with demonic barriers should increase wisdom. Becoming trapped by afflictions leads to practice failure. Like entering a temple where one first sees the Four Heavenly Kings subduing demons (overcoming external obstacles), then beholds the Buddha serenely seated (inner purity). When asked why each Buddha has two attendant bodhisattvas, this reflects the principle of yin-yang harmony—cultivation requires balancing internal and external aspects, not just self-cultivation.

The greatest challenge lies in eradicating habitual tendencies. During the liminal state when habits are nearly yet not fully forgotten, various demonic realms appear: favorable conditions breed attachment, adversity generates fear. Here one must maintain awareness, recognizing all phenomena as mind-projected. Regrettably, with the true Dao now obscure and heterodox teachings rampant, mountain spirits and ghosts possess mediums masquerading as deities, deceiving the ignorant who become demonic beings in life and hell-dwellers after death.

The White-Haired Elder concludes: Practitioners succumb to demonic interference due to incomplete understanding coupled with impatient striving. The essential point is realizing the truth that "all phenomena are mind-only"—maintain illuminating awareness, and demonic states will naturally disperse.

This scripture primarily discusses how practitioners should handle the relationship between mental activity and external circumstances during cultivation. A common mistake among cultivators is blindly practicing without understanding the fundamental principle that "mental states determine experiential realms." As the Bird's Nest Chan Master said: "When thoughts arise, demonic obstacles emerge; when thoughts cease, demonic obstacles vanish—all afflictions stem from deluded thinking."

All phenomena within the Three Realms (the Realm of Desire, the Realm of Form, and the Formless Realm) are produced by mental activity. If one refrains from stirring thoughts, external circumstances naturally cannot affect them. Upon genuine enlightenment, one realizes: nothing was lost during confusion, nothing is gained upon awakening—because the original mind (the non-abiding true mind) is inherently neither increased nor diminished. People often allow external conditions to sway their emotions; even if dwelling in mountain forests or remote islands, those whose minds remain attached remain ordinary beings. Both favorable and adverse circumstances are external conditions; both evil and virtuous thoughts are deluded thinking—neither should be clung to.

Particular vigilance is required against the temptations of the Five Desires (wealth, sex, fame, food, and sleep), as indulgence harms both body and mind. One should preserve their innate authentic nature to transcend the mundane and enter sagehood. The key to overcoming demonic obstacles lies in understanding that the Three Realms are all mind-created, first subduing the disturbances of the Six Dusts (form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and mental objects). Cultivation should maintain the undiscriminating purity of an infant—when this state is achieved, the entire world appears clear and luminous.

The White-Whiskered Elder adds: Environments themselves hold no inherent joy or suffering—all experience resides in the mind. Just as two people standing on Yueyang Tower may feel expansive delight or profound sorrow. The ancients said the secret of immortals lies in maintaining constant joy without generating sorrow, but this state requires profound cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) to achieve.

Finally addressing the issue of "vijnana" (discriminating cognition): Human nature is originally pure and luminous, transcending conceptual knowing. A child maintains innocent simplicity before recognizing their parents, but develops discriminating mind afterward. This cognitive discrimination acts like mental illness, breeding attachments and fixations that pollute both body and mind. True cultivation means returning to the natural state beyond discrimination.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) discusses how to transform ordinary consciousness (识, shi) into wisdom (智, zhi) for inner cultivation, along with principles for addressing faults and practicing virtue.

Human consciousness often chases external phenomena and becomes lost, while wisdom penetrates appearances without attachment. The key lies in a single thought: when indulged, it becomes shi; when restrained, it becomes zhi. The moment discrimination arises, one falls into conditioned perception; the slightest grasping becomes deluded thought. Only direct insight brings true clarity.

The White-Haired Elder remarks: When an infant first recognizes its parents, the nature of shi is already evident. As knowledge expands, this disease of clinging to externals takes form. Chasing phenomena is shi; seeing through them is zhi. Each character here speaks with perfect clarity.

Regarding faults: Willful wrongdoing is evil; unintentional errors are mistakes. Though common sayings claim "to err is human" to pardon others, this cannot excuse oneself. Qu Boyu at fifty could perceive faults from his first forty-nine years—can I at eighty-five truly understand all mistakes of my past eighty-four? In delusion, wrong seems right; upon awakening, even "right" may prove illusory. Zhu Xi taught that correcting recognized faults in daily life is the supreme remedy.

Cultivation requires purifying three aspects: speech, action, and thought. Guarding words is easier than restraining deeds; restraining deeds is easier than quelling harmful thoughts. Serious practitioners must begin with the most difficult—swift correction opens the path.

Someone asked: Can sins be repented? Answer: Only when no trace remains within or without, great or small, is repentance genuine. Another asked: What if vows are broken? Answer: Vows are needed in confusion; awakening renders them unnecessary. Search—where does any vow abide? Thus comes liberation.

The White-Haired Elder concludes: Confucians discard wrong to preserve right; Chan Buddhists release both. Only through non-attachment comes freedom.

On virtue: Goodness is the Yang energy born from Taiji's first movement—human nature inherently virtuous. Cultivation returns us to this original goodness.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) scripture primarily expounds on the principles of self-cultivation and nurturing one's nature. It emphasizes that genuine life-nourishment lies in cultivating the body's Yang Qi (the vital energy in Daoist physiology). This Yang Qi begins to germinate after the tenth month of pure Yin, and can be nurtured through regulating the breath (the "true breath within the center").

Regarding karmic retribution of good and evil, while Buddhism uses the concepts of heaven and hell to encourage virtue, Confucius offers a more direct teaching: pursuing the noble constitutes "ascending" (shangda), akin to heaven; indulging in the vulgar constitutes "descending" (xiada), akin to hell. Those with an open heart find peace everywhere, while the anxious walk into traps at every step. The retribution of good and evil is not deferred to the afterlife—it manifests immediately, as swiftly as a shadow follows form or an echo answers a sound.

When someone asked a Chan (Zen) master whether heaven and hell truly exist, the master replied: joy and fear reside in the mind; good and evil create realms. Simply realize the original mind, and doubts naturally dissolve. How does one realize the original mind? By ceasing to discriminate between good and evil.

On the relationship between virtuous deeds and self-cultivation, the scripture states there is no distinction. This manifests concretely as: ears that do not listen to licentious sounds are virtuous ears; eyes that do not gaze at depraved sights are virtuous eyes; a mouth that does not speak falsehoods is a virtuous mouth; a heart that does not entertain delusions is a virtuous heart; hands and feet that do not take what is improper or tread where they should not are virtuous limbs. Studying the governance of Yao and Shun makes one a virtuous ruler; studying the counsel of Yi Yin and Lü Shang makes one a virtuous minister; studying the teachings of Mencius’ mother makes one a virtuous parent; studying the filial piety of Zeng Shen makes one a virtuous child.

As for constructing roads and temples to seek future blessings, the sages have said: from the Son of Heaven to the common people, all should regard self-cultivation as fundamental. Those who abandon inner refinement to pursue external merit fail to grasp the root principle.

Finally, the White-Haired Elder (likely a commentator) observes: the Yang Qi generated by the movement of the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) is human nature ("what Heaven mandates is called nature"). To nurture this Yang Qi, the key lies in breath regulation. Though this principle is clearly stated, few truly engage in inner cultivation—most still chase external practices.

Regarding dreams, the scripture explains them as illusions produced when the conscious mind (the shenshi, or "spirit-consciousness") remains unawakened. In truth, the entire Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness) are like one vast dream.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nourishing the True Collection) expounds the philosophical concept that human life is like a dream. The text compares the material world to a grand illusion, asserting that the fame, wealth, status, and emotional attachments people obsessively pursue are as insubstantial as images in a dream.

It mentions the "Four Marks" (referring to the marks of self, others, sentient beings, and lifespan) as mere mental projections, akin to the fleeting visions in a dream—appearing real yet fundamentally empty. Upon awakening, one realizes that mountains, rivers, emperors, and generals are nothing more than dreamscapes. The sages of the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) were those who awakened first, and their scriptures all aim to guide people in seeing through this grand illusion.

Master Baiyun (a revered Daoist adept) discusses the art of sleep: ordinary people close their eyes first and then settle their minds, whereas he quiets his mind before closing his eyes; ordinary people open their eyes upon waking and then stir their thoughts, whereas he becomes fully aware before opening his. He considers true awakening to be a state of "no-mind" (wuxin), free from attachment to both external phenomena and internal thoughts.

The White-Haired Elder (another practitioner) adds: those who are truly awakened are not deluded by worldly affairs, while anyone still clinging to external appearances remains trapped in the dream.

The latter part addresses how people in the world are beguiled by "ghosts" (referring to deluded thoughts and false perceptions). The author points out that so-called "ghosts" are simply "people" after death, and "people" are "ghosts" yet to die. Spirits and ghosts pervade heaven and earth, and even within the human body—explained through the lens of Yin-Yang: human nature belongs to Yang and represents the spirit (shen), while the physical form belongs to Yin and represents the ghost (gui). Restraining desires and returning to one's original nature aligns with the divine path (shendao), whereas indulging desires and losing one's essence follows the ghostly path (guidao). As the saying goes, "A person with even a trace of Yang energy will not become a ghost, and a ghost with even a trace of Yin energy cannot attain immortality"—this encapsulates the principle.

The core message of the text urges readers to see through the illusory nature of worldly existence, avoid being misled by external phenomena and desires, and return to their true essence through cultivation.

Human beings are formed through the convergence of Yin-Yang and the combined action of "gui-shen" (referring to two opposing yet unified life energies within the body). When sudden virtuous thoughts arise, it is the divine spirit (shen) inspiring us; when sudden wicked impulses emerge, it is the ghostly qi (gui) driving us. Therefore, noble individuals must remain vigilant in solitude, discerning the key moments when good and evil arise, and understanding the operational patterns of these spiritual forces.

The White-Haired Elder (an accomplished Daoist adept) said: If one can restrain emotions and return to original nature, there's no need to deliberately seek the divine—the spiritual illumination will manifest naturally. But if one indulges emotions and loses original nature, they will unknowingly be eroded by ghostly qi. Choose wisely between these two paths.

What we call "shen" is actually the most authentic spiritual essence of a person, also known as primordial spirit (Yuan Shen, the innate luminous awareness). It is called "shen" (spirit) because of its unfathomable subtlety and infinite responsiveness. The prefix "yuan" (primordial) distinguishes it from the "conscious spirit" (Shi Shen) produced by post-natal mental activities. When the primordial spirit enters the body, a person lives; when it departs, death follows. How do we know the primordial spirit has arrived? When random thoughts cease, the primordial spirit comes. How do we know it has left? When random thoughts arise, the primordial spirit departs.

The body is the dwelling place of primordial qi (Yuan Qi). When primordial qi is abundant, the body doesn't decline; primordial qi is also the foundation of primordial spirit—when qi is sufficient, the spirit doesn't scatter. When performing good deeds, the primordial spirit becomes concentrated and clear; when committing evil, it disperses and becomes dull. During illness, the primordial spirit temporarily leaves the body to avoid suffering; when facing disaster, it departs beforehand to evade calamity. The moment a person loses their primordial spirit, their life becomes incomplete.

The human body contains three important "valleys" (energy convergence points): The upper valley is called Celestial Valley (also known as the Muddy Pellet Palace at the crown of the head), which is the primordial spirit's original palace. When the primordial spirit resides peacefully here, vital essence (Jing) transforms into primordial qi that ascends—after nine years of cultivation, the Celestial Gate (Baihui point) opens. The middle valley is called Responsive Valley (the Scarlet Palace at the heart region), serving as the primordial spirit's workplace. When settled here, one gains keen hearing and sharp vision with all senses functioning properly. The lower valley is called Numinous Valley (the Dantian below the navel), being the primordial spirit's cultivation chamber. When dwelling here, vision turns inward, hearing concentrates internally, spirit and qi guard each other, and the ethereal (hun) and corporeal (po) souls unite.

The White-Haired Elder particularly emphasized: The concept of "primordial spirit" is explained here with exceptional clarity, as people often mistake post-national consciousness for the true primordial spirit. He reminds practitioners: "When random thoughts cease, the primordial spirit comes; when random thoughts stir, the primordial spirit goes"—this is the essential口诀 (oral formula) of cultivation. As for the state where "during illness the spirit leaves to avoid suffering, before disaster it departs to evade calamity," unless one has achieved spiritual transformation through cultivation, they cannot possibly comprehend its profundity. Those in the world who idly discuss the primordial spirit likely couldn't even dream of such realms.

Ordinary people breathe with Qi rising in the front and descending in the back, whereas realized Daoist masters breathe with Qi ascending from the back and descending in the front. The breathing of common people involves inhalation and exhalation—this is called "ordinary breath" (fanxi). When breathing reaches a state of neither exiting nor entering, it is called "true breath" (zhenxi).

True breath does not mean forcibly holding one's breath, but rather achieving a state of profound stillness through cultivation. As the heart-mind (shen) grows increasingly tranquil, breathing naturally becomes more subtle. The specific method is this: whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, always gather the heart-mind into stillness, neither anticipating the future nor dwelling on the past. With prolonged practice, spirit (shen) and breath (qi) will naturally unite, and both emotions and external distractions will be forgotten. At this stage, spirit and qi condense into a single breath that circulates naturally in the abdomen—neither exiting nor entering—known as "embryonic breathing" (taixi).

Once this embryonic breathing is established, firmly maintain this state of stillness and use it to refine essence (jing) and qi, opening the Three Passes (key acupoints in the body) and filling the Three Palaces (upper, middle, and lower Dantian). This is the true method of breathing, the furnace and cauldron of cultivation, and the proper timing of practice. The Cuixu Pian states: "When I received the oral transmission from my true master, the key was to gather spirit into the qi cavity (Dantian)." This qi cavity is where each person first received the essence and qi of their parents in the womb—the original Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) nature inherent in all beings.

A Daoist practitioner must allow the spirit to follow the breath into this fundamental cavity, maintaining an unbroken continuity to attain the wondrous function of "concentrating qi to achieve softness" and observe the cyclical return to the source of life. Laozi said: "Is not the space between heaven and earth like a bellows?" Humans rely on the qi of heaven and earth to live, and breathing is the mechanism of this bellows, while true breath is the root of breathing. This true breath is the foundation for receiving primordial qi (yuanqi) and the source from which breath arises. Its rising, descending, and circulation correspond to the transformations of Yin-Yang and align with the progression of time—hence it is called the "celestial cycle breath count" (zhoutian xi shu).

Someone may ask: What is the reasoning behind treating true breath as the "fire" in cultivation? In truth, it is not that true breath itself is fire—the human heart-mind is the fire, while true breath is merely the bellows that stokes its intensity. When true breath flows continuously without interruption, it is what Daoist practitioners call "breathing through the heels" (xi yi zhong). Thus, in cultivation, one must stabilize the heart-mind and follow what is natural. The human body relies entirely on the cyclical flow of qi—when qi moves freely, there is ease; when qi is blocked, illness arises. Dancing and movement can activate qi and blood, a method applicable at any time, but the key lies in focused breath retention. This way, spirit becomes abundant and qi becomes full, allowing qi and blood to circulate easily. Combining this with wide-eyed glaring and teeth-clenching can strengthen qi momentum and dispel distracting thoughts. Practicing this several times before sitting in stillness is most effective for eliminating mental clutter.

This passage explains the fundamental principles of "life cultivation" (methods for refining the vital foundation) and the "Jing-Qi-Shen" (essence, energy, and spirit) in Daoist practice.

The white-bearded elder said that the most closely guarded secret among Daoist practitioners is the method of life cultivation. What is referred to as "life" (命) is actually "Qi" (气). The text points out that only when breathing ceases to enter and exit does one achieve "true breath" (真息), whereas ordinary mouth and nose breathing is merely "mundane breath" (凡息). Mundane breath begins with the first cry at birth, relying on postnatal Qi. This postnatal Qi depends on nourishment from breast milk to sustain life—without it, an infant would perish. However, prenatal Qi (炁) is different: a fetus in the womb, wrapped in the amniotic sac for ten months, does not die despite lacking mouth and nose breathing because there exists an internal circulation that neither enters nor exits.

Through restraining desires and returning to one's original nature, a practitioner can gradually revert to this primal state, much like a fetus in the womb. Ordinary people consider death as the cessation of breath through the mouth and nose, but if one has already stopped mouth and nose breathing in life (having attained the state of true breath), how can death even be discussed? Those in the world who do not believe in the Daoist path of immortality fail to grasp this principle and have never encountered a true adept.

Regarding the cultivation of "Jing" (精): A true adept transforms Jing into Qi, whereas ordinary people dissipate Qi into Jing. The ancients compared Jing to quicksilver (mercury) because it is most prone to leakage, and to a dragon because it is the hardest to tame. A Daoist practitioner must firmly retain Jing and Qi to prevent loss—this is called "laying the foundation" (筑基). A person’s Shen (spirit), Qi, and Jing naturally tend to scatter; only by retaining them can one achieve longevity. Wei Boyang stated that the so-called "extracting lead and replenishing mercury" (抽铅添汞) is actually a method of returning Jing to nourish the brain.

Someone asked: Practitioners often suffer from nocturnal emissions—controlling sleep is difficult, and medicine is ineffective. What should be done? The answer: One must rein in the "white ox" (a metaphor for the wandering mind) and prevent it from running wild. Another question: It is said that if the "mysterious female" (玄牝, referring to the Dantian) is stable, true Jing will not leak—but how can the mysterious female be stabilized? The answer: By ensuring the "valley spirit" (谷神, the innate primordial spirit) does not scatter, stability is achieved. Further asked: How does the valley spirit not scatter? The answer: Through desirelessness and deep stillness, it naturally remains intact.

The author mentions having seen a statue of a coiled tortoise and snake (symbolizing the Dark Warrior, Xuanwu) in the Temple of the Mysterious Emperor (元帝). The Mysterious Emperor is a celestial deity who resides motionless in the North Pole’s Purple Tenuity Enclosure—this is the root of the heavenly Dao. Similarly, within the human body, there exists such a root: the "Yellow Court" (黄庭, the Dantian region), which is the foundation of human life. Those skilled in nurturing life must guard this root.

This passage from The Collection of Nurturing Authenticity primarily discusses methods for cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy) and the essence of Daoist practice.

When cultivating Neidan, one must unite the fire of Shen (spiritual energy of the heart-mind) with the water of Jing (essential energy of the kidneys), intertwining them like a tortoise and snake in perfect fusion. In the deepest stillness arises dynamic transformation—the True Fire (primordial Qi) steams the Golden Essence (original Jing), breaking through meridian barriers to reach the crown of the head, creating unobstructed circulation between upper and lower energies. This constitutes the fundamental method for achieving longevity and spiritual vision.

The White-Haired Elder states: Only through desirelessness can ultimate stillness be attained, ensuring the Valley Spirit (Dantian's primordial Qi) never dissipates. When the Valley Spirit is stable, the Mysterious Feminine (primordial foundation) becomes established, and original Jing remains conserved without leakage. Issues like nocturnal emissions stem from unresolved sensual desires. By seeing through carnal attachments and maintaining purity, one can subdue the heart's fire (symbolized by the dragon) and prevent the vital essence (symbolized by mercury) from dissipating. Should emission occur before mastery is achieved, the "Leading the White Ox" method may be employed: fashion a small cloth support for the external kidneys tied around the waist to prevent this ailment.

The Dao is the wordless sage; the sage is the Dao made articulate. Teaching others means imparting the sage's Dao, as the Yijing states: "Enlightenment comes through nurturing correctness." Laozi teaches that true self-cultivation must engage one's actual body and mind—discourses on practice that neglect physical cultivation are false. Modern seekers of immortality often flee worldly life, mistakenly viewing family and children as obstacles. Yet the path of sages and immortals lies precisely in cultivating body and mind. Family provides stability, spouse and children bring joy, human affairs offer tempering—one may achieve sagehood, immortality, or Buddhahood within household life. Why abandon convenience to pursue hardship?

The White-Haired Elder observes: People believe renunciation leads to immortality but doubt householder realization—this reflects unexamined assumptions. Did ancient sages need monasticism to attain sagehood?

This scripture primarily discusses the proper methods and common misconceptions in Daoist cultivation.

It first points out that people often fixate on superficial forms like "leaving home" (monasticism), when the true essence of spiritual practice lies in mastering body and mind. Studying the Dao is not merely about verbalizing principles or intellectual understanding—it requires genuine purification of desires and distractions to maintain a pristine heart-mind. Practitioners must cultivate unwavering resolve, undisturbed by external influences. If one succumbs to worldly temptations, the root cause lies in insufficient determination. Profound transformation demands resolute commitment, akin to "extracting marrow from bones" or "cleansing the intestines and stomach"—a complete inner renewal.

The hearts of sages are no different from ordinary people’s; what allows them to remain pure is their penetrating insight and steadfast cultivation. True wisdom sees through illusions, while firm discipline resists temptation. Daily experiences are like food—they must be digested in time, lest stagnation breeds affliction.

The White-Haired Elder laments that though seekers of the Dao are many, most pursue fame and profit, while those who truly dedicate themselves are exceedingly rare. The Sovereign of Fuyou (the Daoist immortal Lü Dongbin) also remarked that while people everywhere seek the Dao, genuine adepts are seldom found.

Finally, it emphasizes that learning must begin with "attaining true knowledge" (致知). Through continuous study and reflection, one eventually reaches a state of sudden enlightenment. Human understanding is limited, yet the Dao is boundless—thus, learning must never cease. The poet’s metaphor of "cutting and polishing" illustrates how cultivation requires repeated refinement. It is not that people lack knowledge, but attaining true wisdom is profoundly difficult.

People treat precious jewels and fine jade with great care, wishing to hold them in their hands and keep them close to their bodies. Why is this? Because they genuinely recognize them as treasures. If a Daoist practitioner could recognize the Dao with such clarity, there would be no need to worry about lacking diligence in cultivation. When facing poison or sharp blades, people dare not taste them with their tongues or block them with their bodies. Why? Because they truly know these things can harm them. If one could recognize the harm of bad habits with such clarity, there would be no need to worry about incomplete eradication.

The human heart-mind is originally clear and bright, but it becomes clouded and obscured by material desires. If one can realize that this is the obscuration of desires, it marks the beginning of awakening. Firm resolve and sustained effort are essential—clearing away a little today, a little more tomorrow. Have you noticed those fleeting thoughts that arise and vanish? If you can notice them, you can observe them, and thus they will neither arise nor vanish. When you reach the state where thoughts neither arise nor vanish, the mind becomes tranquil, and your true nature is fully revealed. Now, as your breath flows in and out, are you aware of it? If you can be aware, you can regulate your breathing, ultimately reaching a state where there is neither incoming nor outgoing breath. Then, your Qi (vital energy) will be abundant, and the foundation of life will be firmly established.

The White-Haired Elder (a Daoist master) said: Nowadays, when people discuss "knowing" and "acting," they often say, "Understanding the principles is easy, but putting them into practice is difficult." Yet they do not realize that what they understand is merely the superficial aspects of the sages' teachings. The true essence and key points—how could they be so easily grasped? If a person truly knows, they will surely be able to truly act. Those who cannot truly act, in the end, only have false knowledge.

Knowing and acting are originally a unified practice—maintaining awareness itself is action. Even a moment without practice is a moment of obscurity. A noble person embodies the Dao in their actions; wherever their body is, there the Dao resides. Thus, walking has its practice, standing has its practice, sitting in stillness has its practice, and even sleeping has its practice—free from scattered thoughts at all times, cultivating effort in every moment. Wherever one fails to act, it is because their understanding is not yet deep enough. When one truly comprehends the principles, they naturally delight in following them. Hence, it is said, "Never weary of learning"—this is true knowing. If one forces themselves to act without genuine understanding, how long can such willpower last? Once the will is exhausted, naturally, the practice will cease.

When night arrives, it is the time for the noble person to rest. One should gather the spirit, focus on holding to oneness—neither entangled in worldly affairs nor deliberately pursuing mystical truths. Temporarily letting go of everything like a dead person—this is true rest. Only when one can avoid deluded thoughts even in dreams can the depth of daily cultivation be seen.

When dawn arrives, it is the time for the noble person to renew themselves each day. One should rise early and strive for what has not yet been attained. Where others use one part effort, use a hundred; where others use ten, use a thousand.

This scripture primarily discusses methods and attitudes for self-cultivation and nurturing one's nature.

Practice requires perseverance and gradual accumulation over time. With consistent effort over three to five years, one can certainly attain the realm of sages. The key lies in maintaining continuous cultivation without interruption—just as heavenly principles (Tianli) require constant nurturing while human desires must be daily diminished. Every person possesses innate moral awareness and capability, but these must be actualized through diligent study and rigorous practice.

Our true nature is spiritually luminous and profoundly subtle, yet a single wandering thought can scatter it. To retain this essence, we must observe its root and settle our Shen (spirit) in the eyes—its dwelling place—maintaining mental clarity. When Shen and Qi return to their foundation, the body's inner treasures gradually fill and circulate, revitalizing the entire being. At advanced stages of practice, one can face external phenomena without emotional disturbance, gather spiritual medicine, use Yang Qi to subdue Yin Qi, and ultimately nurture the sacred embryo to become a Zhenren (Perfected Person).

The White-Haired Elder remarks: Only those who perceive the crux can articulate the truth that "maintaining constant awareness is itself practice." Regarding cultivation—heavenly principles require moment-to-moment nurturing while human desires need daily reduction—this is an essential formula never to be forgotten throughout the twelve double-hours.

The teachings of sages contain concrete principles; following them cultivates both self and others. Reading must penetrate deeply—only when principles are personally embodied do they become useful. Ordinary people err by delighting in judging others' faults, while Dao practitioners err through stubborn attachment to personal views. I have cautioned myself: in youth I acquired much knowledge and skill, yet reflecting now, my poetry and prose all reveal mental afflictions. Now I must calm my mind to seek true understanding, relinquishing worldly concerns about order/chaos and human judgments to maintain primal simplicity. All phenomena are fundamentally nondifferentiated; the three temporal realms (past, present, future) are empty—sever all worldly ties, return Shen and Qi to their root, and the great Dao is accomplished. Why seek further discussion? Align words with deeds—our remaining days are few; delay no more.

The White-Haired Elder observes: Most people today read texts like riding through a marketplace—unable to distinguish major sections, let alone grasp subtle meanings. The ancients said reading...

This passage discusses Daoist methods for cultivating mind and nature, focusing on three core practices: "self-examination," "correction," and "nourishment-preservation."

First, "self-examination" (省察) involves constantly observing one's thoughts. The ancient scholar Chen Lie used a method of black and white beans to track them: placing a white bean for virtuous thoughts and a black bean for harmful ones. Initially, black beans predominated, but gradually white beans outnumbered them until even the white beans became unnecessary. Though seemingly crude, this method proves remarkably practical. We should observe our mental states—noting how much time is spent in inward focus versus being distracted by external things.

"Correction" (克治) means resolutely amending faults with decisive action, while "nourishment-preservation" (存养) is about sustaining reverence through patient, enduring practice. These three disciplines must be practiced daily until they become effortless and spontaneous. Though some may achieve sudden enlightenment, most progress gradually.

The White-Haired Elder in the text declares these three practices the true secret to sagehood. Regarding the cultivation of "reverence" (敬): The innate radiance of human nature (primordial wisdom) is inherently complete but obscured by acquired habits. Maintaining reverence allows this luminous clarity to emerge, making one no different from a sage. Practical methods include dressing neatly and maintaining upright thoughts—much like how one naturally feels awe in a sacred temple. The key lies in "single-minded focus" (主一), where concentrated attention prevents mental straying.

The passage concludes by emphasizing that the mind governs the body, and reverence is the highest state of mental cultivation. Yet modern practitioners often revere temple idols while forgetting the divine presence within themselves.

This passage from The Collection of Nurturing Truth discusses the crucial importance of "reverence" (敬) and "self-restraint" (克治) in spiritual cultivation. Cheng Mingdao (the Northern Song Confucian scholar Cheng Hao) observed that when writing characters, one should maintain a reverent mind—not for the sake of beautiful calligraphy, but because this attitude itself constitutes practice. Cheng Yichuan (Cheng Yi) explained Zhou Dunyi's concept of the "desireless" state, noting that ordinary people cannot attain it directly; they must begin with the character "reverence," persevering step by step, remaining clear-headed and free from dullness. Results can be seen within a day or two.

Just as craftsmen cannot do without compasses and rulers, humans cannot do without the norms of "ritual propriety" (礼). The foundation of ritual propriety is reverence—a state without ritual leads nations to banditry and collapse, while individuals without ritual succumb to unrestrained desires and self-destruction. Zhu Xi explained "reverence" as single-minded focus without distraction, which Daoists call "embracing the Origin and guarding the One" (抱元守一), and Buddhists term the "Dharma Gate of Non-Duality" (不二法门).

Regarding restraining selfish desires, the sages taught that while scholarly learning requires daily accumulation of knowledge, Daoist cultivation demands daily reduction of desires. This "reduction" means: moderating excess to return to the Middle Way, abandoning trivialities to return to the root, and subduing human desires to restore heavenly principle (天理). Like a farmer uprooting weeds at their source, self-examination must be as relentless as capturing a thief, and restraining desires must be as thorough as vanquishing an enemy. However, it is crucial to remember that self-restraint removes what is originally not there (delusions), while nurturing preserves one’s innate nature.

The White-Bearded Elder (白鬓老人) cautioned beginners: only through such rigorous self-restraint and diligent practice can one become a true cultivator of the Dao (学道人) and achieve future realization. Those who are lazy and lax, even if they practice into old age, will remain halfway practitioners. The Book of Changes (易经) speaks of "stillness in the back" (艮其背), likening cultivation to the immovable stability of a great mountain—reaching a state where one walks through a courtyard unaware of others. This illustrates precisely why the human heart finds stillness so difficult to attain.

All parts of the human body are in motion, yet only the back remains still; the human mind brims with desires, yet the back harbors none. Thus King Wen of Zhou taught people to anchor their Shen (spirit) in the back (referring to using back visualization to achieve mental stillness). The phrase "not perceiving one's body" means forgetting the self—forgetting the self severs the root of desire, representing the static method of stabilizing the mind. "Not seeing others" means forgetting other people—forgetting others eliminates external triggers of desire, representing the dynamic method of stabilizing the mind.

Master Cheng Yi remarked: The human mind must have an anchor. Without this anchoring, it becomes dragged by external phenomena, inevitably giving rise to wandering thoughts. "Stopping" (zhi) has dual meanings: first, abiding steadfastly in a certain state without wavering; second, completely severing attachments without regression. These two meanings complement each other and form the fundamental method of Dao cultivation.

The White-Haired Elder explained: "Not perceiving one's body" is the state of no-self (wuwo), while "not seeing others" means no perception of separate beings. King Wen of Zhou had already taught the principle of no-self and no-other long ago—why wait for Buddhism's arrival in China to encounter such theories?

People bustle about daily without knowing where their thoughts wander. Even those aware of gathering their Shen often use forceful methods, which instead harm it. The Yin Fu Jing states: "Fire born from wood will inevitably consume it" (symbolizing how forced suppression damages one's original nature). The human mind is most agile—one should pacify temperament and nourish it by following natural principles, without a trace of indulgence, compulsion, or interruption. Only this qualifies as true heart-nourishment. Confucius' "resting in supreme goodness," Laozi's "seeming as if barely present," and Buddhism's "observing self-being" (Guanzi Zai) all express this truth.

Human Shen resides in the heart, yet the gateway to mental activity lies in the eyes. When eyes turn inward in contemplation, thoughts naturally follow. Hence "observing self-being"—"observing" means inward reflection, while "self-being" signifies stabilized Shen. Persistent inner observation not only calms the heart but achieves mental tranquility. When Shen and Qi stabilize, it resembles awakening from deep slumber—harmonious as heaven and earth uniting, its profundity beyond words. The Heart Sutra says: "Through countless eons of observing mind, I attained the Dao."

Consider how darkness fills a room at sunset—we know not whence it comes; when lamps are lit, darkness departs without trace. Understand that lamplight doesn't actively chase darkness, nor does darkness fear the light—illumination naturally dispels obscurity without effort. Here lamplight symbolizes awakened contemplation, darkness represents ignorance and afflictions. We should thus contemplate the essence of all past phenomena.

This scripture expounds the principles of self-cultivation and nurturing one's nature. It begins with metaphorical language comparing human life to dreams and lightning, illustrating how all worldly phenomena undergo rapid transformations, reminding practitioners to distance themselves from these illusory and impermanent things.

Cultivation requires maintaining constant awareness in daily life through "dual practice of stillness and observation" (where 'stillness' means calming the mind and 'observation' means maintaining clear awareness). What we call "illuminating the mind" refers to preserving inner emptiness, undisturbed by external matters; while "seeing one's true nature" means following innate tendencies and living in accordance with the laws of the Dao (the Way).

The White-Bearded Elder cites Mencius, pointing out that the key to cultivation lies in gathering scattered thoughts. The Yijing (Book of Changes) also teaches that only by preserving one's fundamental nature can one enter the gate of Daoist principles. The human mind easily scatters and proves difficult to rein in, therefore the most crucial aspect of cultivation is constantly turning inward to observe one's mind. Achieving this can lead to minor accomplishments like illuminating the mind and seeing one's true nature, or major realizations like attaining Buddhahood or Daoist immortality. The Heart Sutra's teaching that "observing the mind leads to enlightenment" indeed holds profound truth.

Regarding "preservation and nourishment" (maintaining and cultivating mind-nature): Preserving the mind and nurturing one's nature are ultimately one process. One must maintain awareness before thoughts arise, observe them when they emerge, and restrain any selfish or distracting notions. After restraint, return again to preservation and nourishment—these three steps form a continuous cycle. Preserving the mind doesn't mean forcibly suppressing thoughts, but rather maintaining purity with few desires. Mental activity is like training a domesticated bird: through regular practice of awareness, stability naturally develops over time.

Zhu Xi noted that the work of nurturing mind-nature tends to be interrupted, yet recognizing these interruptions presents opportunities to reconnect. Through daily accumulation, one eventually achieves seamless continuity. A person's Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) grow when nourished and decline when depleted. Each day we should observe how much time we spend nourishing our nature versus depleting it—this directly relates to the great matter of life and death.

The path of cultivation values self-awareness and should not rely on divination. Daoist practice requires daily refinement with unwavering focus. Through sustained effort, one naturally attains mastery, ultimately achieving unity with the Dao (the Way).

The White-Bearded Elder said: When people turn their gaze inward to contemplate their true nature, their Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) naturally return within. With this internal consolidation, illness is dispelled and longevity attained. Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji) frequently employed this method in his teachings to guide people toward the Dao, though regrettably, some refuse to follow or believe in it.

The most challenging aspect of cultivation is achieving complete mastery—that state of seamless unity. Confucians call this "the mind embodying principle," Buddhists term it "the mind becoming Buddha," while Daoists describe it as "merging with the Dao in truth." Those who abandon the path midway do so because their restless thoughts disrupt continuous practice. True mastery is no easy attainment!

Regarding precepts: From birth till now, humans have been driven by passions and desires, forming deeply ingrained habits. Sudden attainment of purity is impossible—thus precepts must come first. Upholding precepts purifies the Three Karmas (body, speech, and mind): abstaining from killing, stealing, and sexual misconduct purifies bodily karma; avoiding false, frivolous, divisive, and harsh speech purifies verbal karma; eliminating greed, anger, and delusion purifies mental karma. Yan Hui's standard—"Look not at what violates propriety, listen not to it, speak not of it, move not toward it"—represents the highest precept observance. Yuan Xian's restraint of competitiveness, boastfulness, resentment, and desire constitutes fundamental precept-keeping. Confucius taught that exemplary persons observe three precepts—maintaining constant vigilance against being driven by impulses—and practice nine reflections, remaining naturally watchful without forced adherence. The Śūraṅgama Sūtra states: Gathering one's thoughts constitutes precepts; from precepts arises meditative stability (Samadhi), and from stability emerges wisdom.

The White-Bearded Elder clarifies: Purifying the Three Karmas reflects Buddhist precepts, while the Four Prohibitions and Nine Reflections represent Confucian discipline. Beginners must observe them constantly; even accomplished practitioners require continual mental purification.

Concerning meditative stability (Samadhi): The Book on Stabilizing Nature states: True stability means maintaining composure amid both movement and stillness. Rather than clinging to internality while rejecting externality, better to forget both. This dual forgetting brings crystalline clarity—this unperturbed state is true stability, wherein nothing external can burden one anymore.

The human heart-mind is originally meant to be tranquil. The reason it becomes unsettled is because it becomes burdened by various thoughts. If one can cease these wandering thoughts, preserve their original mind, and prevent external matters from disturbing their inner being, the heart-mind will naturally become tranquil. Master Yunmen (a renowned Tang Dynasty Chan Buddhist) once said: "In the first dhyana (meditative absorption), wandering thoughts cease; in the second dhyana, the breath becomes steady; in the third dhyana, the blood vessels calm; and in the fourth dhyana, all deluded thoughts are extinguished, allowing entry into the state of great stillness."

It is essential to understand there are three methods for entering stillness: The first is innate stillness, referring to the inherent serenity of human nature that remains undisturbed from the beginning; the second is cultivated stillness, achieved through refining one's heart-mind to purity and clarity; the third is natural tranquility, where one empties the mind to accord with heavenly principle, acting through wuwei (non-action). Zhuangzi said: "Those with tranquil heart-minds naturally emit the light of wisdom." Ancient Daoist adepts used serenity to nurture wisdom—once wisdom arose, they did not deliberately employ it. Like the state between waking and sleeping where one becomes unaware of external things, with body and mind both entering profound stillness—this is the samadhi (meditative absorption) state. In practice, this is called "cessation and contemplation"; in attainment, it is called "stillness and wisdom."

The White-Browed Elder (a Daoist master) said: "Forgetting both self and objects is what Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) called 'sitting in forgetfulness.' If one can achieve this state of forgetting both self and objects, why worry about not attaining stillness?"

Regarding wisdom, there is a saying: "The human mind is like water—when clear, it can reflect even eyebrows and whiskers, but when disturbed, heaven and earth appear upside-down." Understand that wisdom also comes in three forms: The first is "wisdom of personal emptiness," realizing all beings lack inherent nature; the second is "wisdom of phenomenal emptiness," seeing all phenomena as dependent origination; the third is "wisdom of emptiness of emptiness," where even the concept of "emptiness" must be relinquished.

When first cultivating stillness, one may suddenly manifest spiritual powers—knowing past lives, foreseeing the future, or attaining mind-reading and unimpeded eloquence. This is what Confucianism refers to as "the way of utmost sincerity enabling foreknowledge." However, when practitioners reach this stage, many become attached to worldly fame and profit—these are all leaky (imperfect) attainments that prevent the stabilization of shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy), ultimately resulting only in the lower immortal state of "corpse liberation." One must swiftly abandon these illusory pursuits. The Daode Jing states: "The world is full of sharp discernment, while I alone appear dull; the world investigates minutiae, while I alone seem confused."

The White-Browed Elder said: "Clear water can reflect eyebrows and whiskers; a clear mind can comprehend life and death." When the mind becomes so lucid that neither self nor others exist, this is the state transcending the cycle of life and death—even ghosts and spirits cannot perceive it—thus called the Land of Ultimate Bliss.

Regarding "sincerity," the entire Doctrine of the Mean expounds this principle. Choosing the virtuous path and steadfastly pursuing it constitutes the practice of seeking sincerity; participating in heaven and earth's transformative processes while abiding in one's proper place constitutes the state of utmost sincerity.

The Collection on Nourishing Truth primarily discusses the two core concepts of "sincerity" (cheng) and "filial piety" (xiao).

Regarding "sincerity," the text states: Attaining the state of utmost sincerity is the Heavenly Dao (the Way of Heaven) of sages, while maintaining sincerity is the human path of virtuous individuals. Only by emulating the Dao of Heaven can one perfect their character, and only by refining the human path can one align with Heaven's principles. The Dao of Heaven and Earth nurtures all things through sincerity; the Dao of rulers transforms the people through sincerity; and the Dao of sages and worthies embodies all virtues through sincerity. In daily life, the most crucial practices are "vigilance in solitude" (shen du, being cautious when alone) and "perfecting the subtle" (zhi qu, refining oneself in minute details). Utmost sincerity can move Heaven and Earth and resonate with spirits. Spirits and deities are the numinous essence of Heaven and Earth, while Heaven and Earth are their manifest traces. A noble person's reverence for the Mandate of Heaven is reverence for spirits. Ordinary people dare to commit wrongdoing because they fear human judgment but not Heaven's—those who fear being seen by others are petty hypocrites, while those who fear being known by Heaven are true gentlemen.

The White-Haired Elder concludes: Confucianism eliminates hypocrisy to reach utmost sincerity (the realm of sages), while Daoism refines away all hidden impurities to attain pure Yang (the state of perfected beings). In truth, "sincerity" is "truth," and "truth" is "sincerity"—the fundamental principle of the universe is one and the same.

Concerning "filial piety," the text emphasizes: Filial piety is the root of all virtuous conduct and the source of myriad virtues. Lifelong adherence to the upright path is "great filial piety," while daily care for one's parents is "minor filial piety." The ancients taught that just as parents gave us whole bodies at birth, we must return to them whole (meaning preserving physical and spiritual purity). In every gesture, word, and thought, one must never forget their parents, avoiding any disgrace to body and mind that would shame them—this is true filial piety. The author further explains: Just as Heaven and Earth perfectly nurture humanity, we must return to them whole. Acting in harmony with cosmic principles in every gesture is true benevolence. Parents are the Heaven and Earth of the family—a filial child serves them as one serves Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things—humans should revere them as they revere their parents. Whether in prosperity or adversity, one must steadfastly uphold the true path.

The text concludes with an implied connection between filial piety and the Dao of Heaven through an unfinished rhetorical question ("Since parents..."), suggesting their profound unity.

This passage from The Collection of Nourishing Authenticity discusses how to fulfill filial piety and align with the heavenly Dao through self-cultivation. It states: Our physical bodies are entrusted to us by our parents, and preserving them from harm is an act of filial devotion. Our innate nature is bestowed by heaven and earth, and maintaining this pure essence without losing it is how we venerate the cosmos.

A white-haired elder once remarked: When a child becomes a sage, people honor their parents as "Sage Father and Sage Mother"; when attaining immortality, they are called "Immortal Father and Immortal Mother"; upon becoming a buddha, they are addressed as "Buddha Father and Buddha Mother." But if one remains ordinary throughout life, one truly wonders how others should refer to their parents.

Few attain the Dao today not because it is inherently difficult to obtain, but because people lack genuine understanding and steadfast commitment. Cultivating virtue begins with awareness of subtle matters, elevating one's De (Virtue/Power) starts with sincere intention, and refining Dao-De arises from correcting faults and turning toward goodness.

The sages taught: Those with profound virtue resemble innocent infants. In truth, every person is born with the pure heart of a newborn. If we can shed acquired habits and return to this original purity, we embody the virtue of sages. The five cardinal relationships—ruler and subject, parent and child, husband and wife, siblings, and friends—constitute the fundamental Dao of human society. Any path that abandons these relationships is heterodox. Wisdom, benevolence, and courage are universal virtues; discussing virtue while disregarding these three violates true morality.

Confucius advised to "anchor yourself in virtue"—meaning to hold firmly to De (Virtue/Power). Only through unwavering commitment can one truly attain and never lose it. Persistence leads to mastery, and mastery transforms into the embodiment of benevolence.

The white-haired elder cited Zhu Xi: "De (Virtue/Power) means attainment—it is the realization gained when practicing the Dao." We should regularly examine ourselves: Do we truly have profound insight? Have we genuinely attained anything? If our understanding remains superficial, we must strive harder. If even this is lacking, we must question whether our hearts are at peace.

Benevolence (Ren) is the root of being human. One cannot become a zhenren (perfected person) without it. I believe what Confucianism calls benevolence parallels Buddhism's śarīra (relics of practice) and Daoism's Golden Elixir (Jindan, the culmination of Neidan practice). The heart is benevolence's dwelling place; benevolence is the heart's sovereign. Simply by purifying the inner self, one naturally experiences abundant Qi (vital energy), bodily ease, and perceives all things brimming with vitality. Thus it is said: "The day you restrain selfishness and return to propriety, the whole world returns to benevolence." Achieving benevolence depends on oneself, not others.

The Yangzhen Ji (Nurturing the True Collection) scripture primarily explores the relationship between "humaneness" (ren) and longevity, as well as how to attain inner tranquility through self-cultivation.

The text begins by explaining the original meaning of "humaneness": the principle of earth nurturing all things exists within the human heart and is called "humaneness," because it possesses the characteristic of growth. Just as the kernel of a fruit is called "ren" (seed) because it can sprout and grow. Citing Wu Linchuan's perspective, the text points out that five qualities—gentleness, kindness, generosity, steadiness, and reticence—are all manifestations of "humaneness." Those who embody these qualities often enjoy long life. Like enduring mountains that remain unchanged through time, a person with the virtue of "humaneness" maintains inner stillness, with concentrated spirit (shen) and abundant vital energy (qi), naturally attaining longevity.

The White-Haired Elder illustrates two methods of cultivation through Confucius' teachings to Yan Hui and Zhong Gong: Yan Hui followed the "sudden teaching" (a method of rapid awakening), which requires restraining selfish desires to restore propriety; Zhong Gong adopted the "gradual teaching" (a step-by-step approach), advocating reverence in heart and treating others as oneself. This shows that these two cultivation methods were already employed during Confucius' time.

Regarding the cultivation of "stillness," the scripture explains that sages maintain inner tranquility not through deliberate effort but because external things cannot disturb their minds. Many people today pursue stillness but fail to grasp the essence, attempting to forcefully suppress distracting thoughts, which only backfires. The true method is "attaining true knowledge" (zhizhi)—understanding that the principles of the world are inherently orderly, with no need for selfish thoughts. This is the principle described in the Great Learning: "Knowing where to stop brings stability; stability brings stillness." When one externally lets go of fame and gain, the mind naturally becomes settled.

This passage from The Collection of Nourishing Truth elucidates the principles of cultivating the heart-mind and nurturing one's innate nature. It begins by stating that when a person can relinquish mental preoccupations, the heart-mind naturally attains tranquility. While worldly people consider physical health as good fortune, the true Dao lies in the serenity of the spirit.

The text recounts a famous anecdote: When Huike (the Second Patriarch of Chan Buddhism) asked Bodhidharma how to pacify his heart-mind, Bodhidharma told him to bring forth his heart-mind so he could pacify it. After searching inwardly, Huike realized the heart-mind couldn't be grasped—whereupon Bodhidharma declared he had already pacified it. This illustrates that the true heart-mind fundamentally transcends discursive thought, and deluded notions are ultimately insubstantial. Comprehending this principle constitutes genuine attainment of the Dao.

The White-Haired Elder (likely the author's self-reference) observes that when one internally releases mental entanglements and externally abandons fame and gain, one naturally enters stillness. If residual thoughts or worldly desires remain, any temporary stillness will prove fleeting. The crucial distinction lies in genuine insight—what appears a subtle difference yields diametrically opposed results.

Regarding joy, the greatest happiness lies in attaining the Dao. Daily cultivation brings daily joy; lifelong practice yields lifelong bliss. Spiritual cultivation is inherently the gateway to peace and happiness—hence sages never weary of learning. Zhou Dunyi (Master Zhou Maoshu) taught the Cheng brothers (Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi) to contemplate the joy of Confucius and Yan Hui—a joy that fundamentally resides within each person.

Mencius spoke of three joys for noble persons: familial harmony, the joy of one's true nature, and the fulfillment of moral teachings. Among these, external joys cannot be forced, but inner joy remains entirely within one's control. Modern people often find themselves bound by others, external things, and their own bodies. Only by transcending these three constraints can one speak of genuine happiness.

The author illustrates this with personal reflections: Observing how laborers experience joy when resting, he notes that practitioners who relinquish attachments attain happiness ten-thousandfold greater. Recalling his youth traveling under scorching sun, he envied elders resting beneath trees as experiencing supreme bliss—yet now sitting idle under shade brings no such joy. This reveals how perception shifts according to circumstance: the laborer views leisure as the pauper views wealth or the humble view nobility. Thus one should abide contentedly in one's station, finding peace wherever circumstances lead.

When a person can achieve desirelessness and non-seeking, they will find contentment in any circumstance. All thoughts of chasing external things are ultimately futile. The worldly entanglements, karmic debts, disputes, and transgressions all stem from this outward-seeking mentality—how could one not be cautious?

The White-Haired Elder once said: Cultivating the Dao is fundamentally a path to peace and joy, yet worldly people mistakenly consider it bitter. Pursuing fame and wealth is inherently suffering, yet people paradoxically regard it as pleasure. The difference between the discerning eye and the vulgar eye in perceiving things has always been this vast.

The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) is the origin of Yin-Yang, and Yin-Yang is the origin of heaven and earth, while heaven and earth are the origin of all things. Using this primordial Qi to cultivate the body makes it strong and resilient; using it to draw talismans (Fulu) makes them efficacious. The manifestation of Taiji in the human body is the Yuanpin (primordial life source), formed through the natural fusion of true Jing (essence). It is both the foundation of Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) and the pivotal point of nature and life. The essence of cultivation lies in observing the patterns of celestial movement and grasping the transformative principles of the earth.

The interaction of Yin and Yang constitutes the law of heaven and earth. The revolutions of the sun and moon, the alternation of day and night—these are the operations of heaven and earth. Thus, when heaven and earth establish their positions, transformation unfolds within them. The "Yi" (change) mentioned here refers to the hexagrams Kan (Water) and Li (Fire). The sages understood this principle, using Qian (Heaven) and Kun (Earth) as the cauldron for alchemy and the essence of the sun and moon (symbolized as the Crow and Hare) as the medicinal ingredients. The waxing and waning of Yin and Yang are precisely regulated through the control of fire phases. The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman (Yinfu Jing) states: "The movement of the sun and moon follows fixed measures; their expansions and contractions have their patterns. From this arises divine transformation, and through this, transcendent merit is achieved." In summary, it is about grasping the profound mechanism of creation and applying it in reverse.

After heaven and earth separated, the sun and moon moved in mutual radiance, giving rise to the transformation of all things. The sun and moon represent the refined essence of heaven and earth's Yin and Yang, corresponding in hexagrams to Kan and Li. The Yin essence within Li is called the Crow's essence, while the Yang marrow within Kan is called the Hare's marrow. The method of alchemy takes the Crow and Hare as its medicine, which fundamentally means recognizing the refined essence of the five organs and applying their cyclical patterns in reverse. The production of this medicine follows specific timings; its gathering requires precise measurement, and its application adheres to strict protocols. The key lies in seizing the moment when the moon appears in the Geng position (west) and lead is born after Gui (north), allowing the essences of the sun and moon to converge and the Qi of Yin and Yang to harmonize—then the Golden Elixir (Jindan) will naturally be achieved. The character "Dan" (丹) itself is a pictograph of the sun and moon merging.

Someone asked: What is the Golden Liquid Returned Elixir (Jinye Huandan)? The answer: Because it restores the lost primordial Qi, it is called "returned." Because it combines the true metal within Water (Yang in Kan) with one's own Mercury (Yin in Li), it is called "Golden Liquid."

The white-bearded elder said: The Supreme Ultimate (Taiji, cosmic origin) manifests in heaven as principle (natural law) and in humans as innate nature (xing). The Two Modes (Yin-Yang) manifest in heaven as Qi (energy) and in humans as life (ming). In truth, principle cannot be separated from Qi, nor Qi from principle—this shows that xing (nature) and ming (life) are fundamentally one. Cultivating one's innate nature is itself nourishing life, just as filling one's belly naturally quiets the mind.

The essential transmission of ancient sages centers on the character "zhong" (中, centrality). Its essence is impartiality without leaning; its application is perfect appropriateness. When Emperor Yao spoke of "sincerely holding fast to the mean," this "holding the mean" encompasses both stillness and action: in stillness, maintain centrality to preserve the original mind; in action, uphold centrality to respond to worldly affairs. "Sincerely" (yun) means acting with genuineness—naturally aligning with the mean according to circumstances without force or interruption. Emperor Shun's "be discerning and single-minded" explains further: "discerning" means perceiving subtleties, while "single-minded" means unwavering consistency. Only with such refined insight and steadfast focus can one truly hold the mean. The character "yun" already implies this, but the explanation was added lest people misunderstand.

The human mind (with its distractions) tends toward agitation, while the Dao mind (pure awareness) easily becomes obscured—this warns us to carefully maintain centrality. Li Yanping (a Song Dynasty Confucian) sat upright daily, observing the state before emotions like joy or anger arise, thereby investigating the true meaning of "zhong." Through prolonged practice, he realized: the root of all things truly lies here. Thus, learning isn't about many words—simply sit quietly, clarify the mind, and recognize heavenly principle; selfish desires will naturally fade. Li Qing'an (a Yuan Dynasty Daoist) pointed out: this "zhong" isn't the center of direction or space, but the state where thoughts do not arise. The Book of Changes says sages use this method to purify the mind, storing wisdom deep within.

The white-bearded elder concluded: Li Qing'an's statement that "the state where thoughts do not arise is called zhong" captures the essence perfectly. Li Yanping's daily practice of observing the pre-emotional state through sitting meditation was precisely "sincerely holding fast to the mean." When the practice deepens, human desires transform into heavenly principle—the key lies entirely in the work of "purifying the heart and withdrawing into hiddenness" (cleansing the mind and sheathing one's sharpness).

The ancients said "all people can become Yao or Shun": Yao and Shun were born sages, while Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou became sages through learning.

Laozi (revered in Daoism as "Lord Lao") once said: I was not born a sage, but became one through learning. Someone asked Zhou Dunyi (courtesy name Maoshu): "Can one learn to become a sage?" Zhou replied: "Yes. Is there a key?" He answered: "There is—it lies in attaining 'oneness.' This 'oneness' means being without desire. Without desire, one achieves stillness and emptiness while acting with uprightness. Stillness and emptiness bring clarity; clarity brings understanding. Upright action brings impartiality; impartiality benefits all. To be clear, understanding, impartial, and universally beneficial—this is nearly the state of a sage."

Cultivating the Dao (the Way) is essentially learning to become a sage. The Dao is inherently within us, not something to be sought externally. The state of a sage is not unattainably distant—it can be reached through learning. Our fundamental nature is the same as that of a sage; if we fully realize this nature, we too can become sages. Just as scholars who pass the imperial examinations are universally acknowledged, why should people doubt that one can attain sagehood through learning?

Confucius believed he could become a sage, and so he studied tirelessly throughout his life. Seeing that all people could become sages, he taught others without weariness. To spread the teachings of the sages throughout the world, he traveled among the states; to ensure their transmission to future generations, he edited the Six Classics. What Confucianism calls a sage, Buddhism calls an immortal or a Buddha. The character for "Buddha" (佛) means "awakened," and the character for "immortal" (仙) means "transcendent"—both preserve their original ancient meanings.

The character "Buddha" (佛) combines "person" (人) and "not" (弗), implying freedom from worldly desires. One who achieves what ordinary people cannot (restraining desires) becomes a Buddha. The character "immortal" (仙) combines "person" (人) and "mountain" (山), symbolizing stillness and constancy. If a person can be as stable as a mountain, they become an immortal. Letting go of attachments makes one a Buddha; upholding right mindfulness makes one an immortal.

The key to becoming a sage lies in single-minded focus. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all teach that desirelessness leads to attainment. Those who cultivate with greed will find it nearly impossible to succeed. Someone asked: "I wish to learn to be a sage, but my habits are hard to change—what should I do?" The answer: "It seems difficult only because you refuse to change. If you truly resolve to change, you can cut them off immediately. All habits are illusory—they seem real when the mind is deluded, but upon awakening, they never existed."

The White-Browed Elder said: "The Dao is inherently complete, not obtained from outside; the state of a sage can be learned." These four sentences reveal the true meaning of sagely learning and inspire those who study the Dao. Mencius, born a century after Confucius, aspired to learn from him, and thus later generations speak of "Confucius and Mencius" in the same breath. The mystery of "Kan and Li" (a Daoist term referring to the interaction of Yin and Yang Qi) also lies in this principle.

Someone asked: "The Book of Changes (Yijing) has eight trigrams (Bagua), so why do Daoist practitioners always focus on discussing the Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) trigrams?" This is because the Qian (Heaven) trigram represents pure Yang, while the Kun (Earth) trigram represents pure Yin, occupying the northern and southern poles respectively in the prenatal Bagua arrangement. When the middle line of the Qian trigram (pure Yang) changes, it transforms into the Xun (Wind) trigram; when the middle line of the Kun trigram (pure Yin) changes, it becomes the Gen (Mountain) trigram. Ultimately, the Qian trigram transforms into Li (Fire), while the Kun trigram transforms into Kan (Water).

The north-south axis functions like the two pivotal hinges of heaven and earth. In the prenatal Bagua arrangement, these positions originally belonged to Qian and Kun, but later yielded their primary status to Kan and Li, thus forming the operational principles of the postnatal Bagua. The true Qi (prenatal primordial energy) within the Kan trigram transforms into "lead" (a Neidan term referring to the prenatal essence contained in kidney water), which is the water generated by "Heaven's One." The true essence within the Li trigram transforms into "mercury" (a Neidan term referring to the prenatal spirit contained in heart fire), which is the fire generated by "Earth's Two."

Men receive essence (Jing) - through refining this essence they may transform according to natural patterns to become ordinary humans. Women receive Qi - those skilled in using Qi may prosper, while those who cultivate against conventional patterns may attain immortality. Using the undisturbed prenatal true lead (primordial essence) to control the accumulated postnatal true mercury (conscious spirit) creates mutual attraction like husband and wife or mother and child - this union occurs completely naturally.

The Li trigram symbolizes the sun and is fundamentally Yang in nature, yet its middle line is Yin - this illustrates the principle of Yin dwelling within Yang's abode. In the human body, the number of lesser Yin is eight, hence boys reach maturity of true essence at sixteen (two eights). The number of lesser Yang is seven, hence girls experience menstruation at fourteen (two sevens). Does this not perfectly demonstrate the mutual containment where Yang numbers obtain Yin and Yin numbers obtain Yang?

Therefore, those seeking to cultivate the Dao must extract the Yang line from the Kan trigram and return it to the central position of the Li trigram. Only then can they restore the pure Yang image of the Qian trigram and return to the great Dao. The Yang within Yin is primarily active, so when extracting the Yang Qi from Kan, one must carefully grasp the timing of movement. The Yin within Yang is primarily still, so after replenishing the Yin line in Li, one must emphasize quiet cultivation.

The White-Haired Elder said: "The world understands the principle that 'those who use essence transform,' but few comprehend the mystery that 'those who use Qi prosper.' These two phrases about using undisturbed prenatal true lead to control accumulated postnatal true mercury actually reveal the core secret of the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality). True adepts understand that when extracting Yang Qi from Kan, one must carefully grasp the timing of movement, and after replenishing Yin in Li, one must emphasize stillness - this is particularly crucial."

Regarding human meridians: The human body has two primary meridians - the Conception Vessel (Renmai, front midline) and Governing Vessel (Dumai, back midline). While in the mother's womb, these two meridians circulate continuously without interruption.

The Qi (vital energy) within the human body was originally an undifferentiated primordial unity in its innate state. However, after the fetus separates from the mother, the Ren and Du meridians become divided. The Ren meridian, associated with Yin, runs from the Chengjiang point beneath the chin to the Changqiang point at the coccyx. The Du meridian, associated with Yang, extends from the perineum to the Renzhong point below the nose. If these two meridians fail to interconnect, the brain (the Mud Ball Palace) loses connection with the lower Dantian (energy center), and the Qi from the Dantian cannot reach the tailbone region.

When the body's physiological mechanisms lose their foundation, the length of life depends solely on innate endowment. Ancient Daoist practitioners achieved longevity by mastering the method of celestial circulation: reconnecting the Ren and Du meridians to form a continuous cycle, and opening the Three Passes (Weilü Pass, Jiaji Pass, and Yuzhen Pass) to allow Qi to flow unimpeded.

The specific cultivation method is as follows: between the hours of Zi (11 PM–1 AM) and Wu (11 AM–1 PM), sit cross-legged in an upright posture, close the sensory gates (the "four doors"), and turn the gaze inward in contemplation. The mind should be like still water or an empty room—neither dwelling on the past nor fantasizing about the future. After regulating the breath for an extended period, focus the intention on the Dantian, holding the true Qi without letting it scatter. When you feel movement in the Dantian's Qi, gently hold the breath, slightly contract the abdomen, and use the mind to guide the Qi through the tailbone.

Once the Qi passes the tailbone, lightly lift the anus, press the tongue against the palate, and gradually direct the Qi upward to the Mud Ball Palace at the crown of the head. When Qi reaches the Mud Ball Palace, it is called "returning the essence to nourish the brain." Soon, it transforms into sweet dew (a Neidan term referring to the fluids produced during cultivation), which descends via the Magpie Bridge (where the tongue meets the palate). At this point, release the tongue, swallow naturally, and gently guide the Qi back to the Dantian (the Ocean of Primordial Qi). One complete cycle is called a "celestial revolution," and 360 such revolutions constitute a full cycle.

Prolonged practice allows Qi to flow naturally, unblocking the joints and gradually opening the Three Passes, reconnecting the Ren and Du meridians. When the Qi mechanism reaches the perineum (Caoxi), there will be a sudden sensation of breakthrough, entering a profound state where the primordial essence no longer dissipates. This method alone can extend life. As for the more advanced states of "embracing the One and guarding the Origin" or "transcending the corporeal form through spiritual transformation," they are all built upon this foundation.

The White-Haired Elder adds: With prolonged breath regulation, one can subdue the acquired breathing Qi, accumulate true Qi to open the passes, and naturally return to the innate state. This is like finding the path back to the source.

Confucius said: "The noble person does not seek satiety in eating nor comfort in dwelling. They are diligent in work, cautious in speech, and actively seek guidance from those who embody the Dao." True practitioners concentrate wholeheartedly and apply themselves diligently. Though they may have grasped the essence of cultivation, they still seek confirmation from those who have attained the Dao—this is not excessive caution but wisdom.

Humility is the foundation of progress. The principles of the universe are boundless, yet an individual's knowledge remains limited.

Even a sage like Shun persisted in diligent study and inquiry, carefully observing the words of those around him, willingly setting aside his own views to embrace the strengths of others, and joyfully learning virtuous conduct from them. A great worthy like Yan Hui often sought advice from those less accomplished than himself, inquired of those with lesser knowledge, and always maintained an open and receptive mind. Since ancient times, true sages never proclaimed themselves as sages—that is precisely why they became sages. Worthy individuals never declared themselves as worthy—that is precisely why they became worthy.

People today, however, are not like this. They claim to have met enlightened teachers yet fail to discern their authenticity; they claim to have heard the great Dao (the Way) yet do not distinguish the depth of its principles. Upon encountering misguided teachings, they blindly practice them, ultimately achieving nothing. Such people mistake the false for the true, stubbornly clinging to their errors. Even if someone pities their missteps and points them toward the right path, they refuse to believe it.

The Book of Changes states: "The alternation of Yin and Yang is called the Dao." The benevolent see benevolence; the wise see wisdom. Those who discuss cultivation today only interpret it from their own perspectives. To find someone who comprehends both root and branch, unites the higher and lower, engages in the dual cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), and embodies the clarity of Dao and the establishment of De (Virtue/Power), we must wait for those who sincerely seek the Dao and maintain a constant willingness to learn—only then can we discuss the Dao with them.

Those who truly attain the Dao can perfect both themselves and others, adapting flexibly to all circumstances. Like a great bell: strike it hard, and it resounds loudly; strike it lightly, and it chimes softly; leave it unstruck, and it remains silent. If it rings without being struck, people will call it a strange bell; if struck yet silent, they will deem it broken. Thus, those who attain the Dao teach according to their audience—never missing those who can be taught, nor speaking inappropriately.

Someone may ask: "Even if there are people today who aspire to cultivate the Dao, encountering a true master is exceedingly difficult—what then?" The answer is: The classical texts preserved in this world were all transmitted by those who attained the Dao. By studying these scriptures to seek the true path, as long as one does not deviate from their teachings, are there not many who can instruct you?

The White-Haired Elder said: "To seek the true Dao from those who have attained it, unless one has already attained it oneself, how can one recognize who is truly enlightened? Moreover, the Dao has distinctions of greatness and smallness, of orthodoxy and heterodoxy. Only by upholding the orthodox Dao oneself can one recognize it in others; only by being free of delusions can one perceive them in others. If one indiscriminately seeks guidance from anyone without discernment, few will avoid straying into heterodox paths."

The postscript to the Yangzhen Ji (Collection on Nurturing the True) states: "I believe that true practitioners must learn the contemplative work of Chan (Zen) Buddhism, apply the cultivation methods of Daoism, and cultivate the moral conduct of Confucianism."

How does this situation arise? If one does not study Chan Buddhism's methods of contemplation, one cannot thoroughly comprehend one's true nature; if one does not practice Daoist cultivation techniques, one's Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) will fail to harmonize; if one does not follow Confucian ethical conduct, one will inevitably drift toward eccentric pursuits and shocking extremes that defy common decency.

Originally intending to cultivate immortality or Buddhahood, many instead become practitioners of heretical paths. Throughout history, while numerous individuals have genuinely attained the Dao and achieved spiritual fruition, countless others have strayed into deviant practices, losing both their lives and the Way. As Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) patriarch Qiu Chuji (Master Qiu) observed: "Many knock at Chan's gate, seeking the Dao everywhere, yet often reach old age with empty hands." He also remarked: "Like polishing a brick hoping to make a mirror, or piling snow expecting harvest—how many squander their prime years in vain!"

Those who genuinely engage in profound practice will surely understand the deeper meaning behind these words.

This passage was revised by the White-Whiskered Elder on the Hua Chao Festival (the 15th day of the second lunar month) during the Dingwei year. Here, "contemplation" refers to Chan Buddhism's practice of illuminating the mind to perceive one's true nature, while "Shen-Qi embrace" describes the Neidan (internal alchemy) state where spirit and vital energy merge. "Master Qiu" denotes Qiu Chuji, one of the Northern Seven Perfected of Quanzhen Daoism. Writing from a Three Teachings (Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism) integrative perspective, the author emphasizes balancing mind cultivation, energetic practice, and ethical conduct to avoid spiritual extremism.