Editor’s Note: In his book, Taoism, The Road to Immortality, John Blofeld tells of one of his visits to the hermitages in the mountains of China where Taoist masters lived, 'cultivating the Way'. This is a story of a recluse he met at a hermitage he found in the Sichuan (Szechuan) mountains who delivers a discourse to students of the Tao.

– Les Blough, Editor

A Taoist Hermitage on Qingcheng Mountain, Sichuan Province, China

It is an afternoon in late summer. On the humid Szechuan plain far below us, the people must be vigorously plying their fans; but at this height a cool breeze plays among the branches of the trees shading this ancient courtyard and the sunshine is no more than pleasantly warm. The hermitage stands on a natural platform with steep slopes rising on three sides; the fourth overlooks the course of a stream that tumbles precipitously down toward a vista of green foothills rising from the unseen plain beyond. Just now we have our backs to the low monastic buildings with their heavy roofs and fantastically upward tilted eaves; we are looking toward a low creeper-covered wall with an ornamental coping of dark green porcelain tiles, for the brickwork is pierced at intervals by openings fancifully shaped like leaves, each framing a vignette of the view beyond so that it looks like a painted landscape. Presently a bearded Taoist, clad in an ample sky-blue robe and wearing a gauze hat through the top of which protrudes his topknot of jet-black hair, seats himself on a low stool facing us; though usually the most relaxed of men, he now sits cross-legged, hands folded in his lap, body held straight, for it is proper for him to assume on such an occasion the hierarchical posture of a teacher of the Way. To either side of him are ranged porcelain tubs of chrysanthemums with petals of deep bronze; these just happen to belong there at this season, but do not fail to add to the dignity of a sage engaged in making an important pronouncement. His discourse lasts for an hour or so. Reduced to its essentials, it runs:

The Tao is a softly lucent ocean of pure void, a pearly mist, boundless, immaculate. Born of this ocean, two dragons sport entwined – the male, bright as the sun with fiery golden scales, master of activity; the female, radiant as the moon with shining silver scales, adept at passivity. Their intercourse brings forth the planets, the progression of the seasons, the alternation of day and night. From their sport proceed five shining vapours – blue, red and yellow, white and black – which, swirling, overshadowing, contending, intermingling, give to heaven its roundness, to earth its squareness, to the myriad objects their transitory shapes. From heaven pour forth like rain three cloudlike essences of yang; from earth arise like mist three essences of yin; these meet and intermingle. Thus has it been since heaven and earth were formed. Such is the original perfection.

Blind to perfection, men live darkly. Lost to all knowledge of the Tao, they pursue unworthy goals. Piling gold upon gold, jade upon jade, they contend for wealth, rank, power and fame. Opening the gates of the six senses, they steep themselves in extravagant luxury and foolish ostentation. Yet some there are who know how to value the teaching without words, to cultivate the art of leaving well alone. Eschewing the high pinnacles of fame, the manacles of wealth, they take their ease and wonder through lonely vales far from the haunts of men, or sit rapt in contemplation of the interplay of shining vapours. Free from passion and inordinate desire, in stillness they absorb the cloud-like cosmic essences, blend them with the secret treasures of their bodies and attend to the light within. Attuned to nature’s rhythms, they perceive the Tao’s perfection. Such are the men who win to immortality. Rightly are they called immortals; for, when the time is ripe, they leap on the backs of dragons and, rising from the earth, enter but do now loiter at the gates of heaven, that they may swiftly attain the Source. Thus they return, winging ecstatically to the softly lucent ocean. Themselves now limitless, eternal, they plunge into the Void.

 

 

Transcribed by Axis of Logic from the book, Taoism. The Road to Immortality, by John Blofeld Shambala, Boston.