Category: Foundations

No View, No Method, No Fruition

We often say in our practice that we have view-method-fruition.  We apply the view-teaching to our practice methods and gradually ripen the fruit.  This threefold mechanism is so foundational to Daoist teaching & practice.

It can be misleading, however, if we don’t understand what we actually mean by view, what we actually mean by method, what we actually mean by fruition.  It may be more accurate in wuweidao to say that our practice actually has no view, no method, no fruition.

No view.  View-teaching is a kind of initiatory input we receive from our teachers, scriptures, commentaries, or various other transmissions.  But, ironically, wuweidao is not about more & more but rather less & less.  Not about accumulation but diminution.  So, our view-teaching is not about learning new concepts or gaining new perspectives.  It is NOT a new, special, or refined lens through which we view ourselves or reality.  Although the myriad conceptual teachings such as the Zhou-Yi Hexagrams or Heavenly Stems & Earthly Branches give us myriad precious lenses, wuweidao does not rely on any of them.  As Laozi says in Chapter 71: “knowing not-knowing is utmost”.  And Zen Master Dongshan from the Tang Dynasty: “not-knowing is most intimate”.  So what we call “view” in wuweidao actually means relaxing all formulated perspectives, letting go of all concepts – relaxing all views.  What is it that perceives?

No method.  There are countless practice methods within Daoism & Buddhism alike, and we are likely engaged in many dozens or even hundreds of specific practices as part of our formal spiritual path and the informal conduct of daily life.  99.9% of all practices distill to using our intention to apply some method for some useful purpose.  In wuweidao, we have a practice called Zuowang – “Sitting & Forgetting”.  The method has important points of posture & energy, and the process of entry may involve all kinds of elaborate doings, from body-scans to mantras to visualizations or various other forms of beneficial mind-hackery.  But none of these are Zuowang.  Zuowang is not doing anything to our mind or experience – it is not applying any “method”, and it is not oriented around any goal.  As long as we are orienting around some goal, we are not really in the practice of Zuowang.  Forgetting is just resting in natural non-method.

No fruition.  Fruition means results – the product of a successful, effective process of cultivation.  Giving birth to something special through persistent effort in applying our practice methods.  Whereas Alchemical Daoism is a conceptual path with a clear purpose of ripening ourselves to immortal sweetness, Contemplative Daoism or wuweidao is not really oriented around such a goal.  It is, importantly, fundamentally non-productive.  Wuweidao is like the empty space in which things emerge, grow, mature, decline, and pass away.  Our practice is resting in the “gap” – the constant space or ground that is continuously present regardless of conditions.  This ground is not something we produce or accomplish – communing with this ground is the true practice of wuweidao.  What we call fruition in our path is not produced, not generated – not the result of a process of cultivation.  We might say it is revealed as having been there all along.  Zen Master Bankei called this communion realizing the unborn.  Laozi called it “Dark Womb”.

Resting in this unborn, unconceived, inconceivable mysterious unknowing – this is our view, this is our method, this is indeed the immortal fruition of wuweidao adepts.

Daoist Learning (dàoxué, 道學)

DaoXue-wht

This essay is a transcription of a recorded talk from our Wuweidao Cultivation Group; you can listen to the talk here:

Daoist Learning

This is Jacob Newell of Old Oak School of Dao, and I want to say something about Daoist learning.

Dao De Jing Chapter 48 says, “In learning daily accumulate.  In Dao, daily diminish.  Diminish & again diminish – that’s wuwei”.

So, when we enter the path of Daoist practice, in the beginning maybe we don’t know too much (or maybe we do know too much), but there’s a broad array of information and practices – protocols – that are part of the Daoist tradition.  If we are not careful, we will approach our path as a Daoist practitioner from a largely accumulative view.

Laozi, the pith teaching of wuweidao, clearly says Dao is not at the end of a path of learning.  So this teaching should moderate our appetite and the kind of aggressive, compulsive, aspirational acquisition of information about Daoist concepts and Daoist practice methods.  That’s a scholar’s path – that’s a scholar’s path, it’s a different direction from Dao, according to Laozi.

Laozi does not say don’t study, don’t learn, don’t grow, don’t develop.  He does, however, say that is one direction, and Dao is the opposite direction.  So, diminish & again diminish.  We should also understand that this diminishing direction, sometimes called alchemy (learning is what my teacher sometimes called chemistry – generation, moving in one direction, alchemy is moving in reverse) so, diminishing is removing something – we say forgetting.

Zuowang is our formal practice method.  It means to sit & forget – not to practice techniques, not to engage concepts – just forget.  So simple, non-accumulative – it is diminutive.  But Laozi goes on to say, “diminish & then diminish again” – so diminish even diminishing.  So this is where Laozi reveals what we call “sudden-path”.  So our practice of forgetting is letting go of concepts, letting go of methods, and this letting go, releasing – there’s a gradual aspect to it – a qi-aspect that takes time to release and grow and stabilize.  But Laozi moderates that view as well.  Diminish & then diminish diminishing.

So also relaxing this idea that Dao is hidden away behind all of the stuff that we have accumulated.  So, his teaching is kind of multi-dimensional here, so in one respect he certainly says, yes we need to release and let go – we already have too much.  But then he goes farther and says this does not mean that we need to get rid of everything, and at the end of that process then we will arrive.  Actually, all of this stuff that we have accumulated is not really – not in fact obstructing anything.  If we open up into this field – we call Dao – then all this stuff is just like content in a wide-open field.

So the path of learning is, “give me more content, give me more content, give me more content.”  We should not be lazy learners – we should be driven, even some aggression is okay in learning.  Organized, consistent, persistent.  Learn, learn, learn.  But in this sitting practice it is “relaxing learning, relaxing learning, relaxing learning, relaxing learning.”  Both of those have a qi-direction, right?  Accumulative & diminutive.  But this diminutive path of Daoist meditation – we call it method – again, it opens this field which is actually neither generative nor alchemical, neither accumulative nor diminutive – it is constant.  Constant.  This is the way Laozi describes Dao – as constancy.  Unbroken, uninterrupted presence.  This field is the context in which we appear & disappear, grow & decline.  It is not a fruit of learning.

– Transcribed by Joshua Laurenzi

Zuowang as Refuge

Shou-Zhong

This talk looks at the practice of Daoist meditation in the context of living in affliction.  The religious movement of Orthodox Daoism founded in the Han Dynasty recognized that the era of high antiquity was long-gone, so “Chinese Daoism” arose as a practice to rectify humankind and purify polluted spiritual dimensions.  Centuries later, Buddhism influenced Daoism in its concern for human suffering, and Daoist tradition further embraced the idea of practice as refuge.  Although we can perhaps relate to such a view, this talk presents an older view of meditation not based on the need to solve any fundamental problem.  A glimpse into our approach to Zuowang.

Zuowang as Refuge

Completion-Stage Teaching (大圓)

DaYuan

This calligraphy shows the characters “Dayuan” (大圓) – this is a Chinese translation of the Tibetan term “Dzogchen” (རྫོགས་ཆེན་), which means “Great Completion” or “Great Perfection”.  The character da (大) shows a person with outstretched arms – “big”, “great”, or “immeasurable”.  The character yuan (圓) shows “members encircled” – all parts integrated together; yuan also suggests the round shape of the full moon.

In Tibetan Buddhism, Dzogchen is considered the apex of the Nine Yanas, sometimes called Atiyoga – “utmost union” – the peak of the spiritual path.  The full moon.

Dzogchen is characterized by view, method, & fruition.  The view recognizes all beings as fundamentally luminous and complete by nature.  The method – although it sits atop the various tantric arts – the central Dzogchen method is to simply abide in naturalness without doing anything in particular.  Fruition is the direct experience of our nature unmediated by concepts or effort.  Dzogchen is thus considered a path of immediate awakening.

My wuweidao lineage teacher, Liu Ming, received Dzogchen transmission prior to being adopted into the Liu-family Daoist lineage.  Upon receiving Daoist transmission, he recognized that the Dao De Jing was essentially a pith Dzogchen scripture describing the utmost fruition of the spiritual path.  Rather than being a secret teaching reserved for advanced practitioners who have striven through successive stages however, the Dao De Jing sits as the original inspiration of Daoism.  Ming thus taught wuweidao as a non-conceptual abiding that sits at the basis – and apex – of Daoism.

What we refer to as wuweidao is thus a Daoist expression of Dzogchen.  Ming even named his school “Dayuan Circle”.  Our path is completion-stage teaching – it is NOT a path of progress or accumulation.

Much of Chinese Daoism is a path of learning and developing and working toward Dao.  Refining and transforming toward an exalted spiritual goal.  In our tradition, we encounter completion-stage at the very beginning – the “goal” (Dao-De) is already established by nature.  So we practice wuwei not as some strategy to advance toward Dao – we practice wuwei as a means to embody and express what is fundamentally so of itself.

Identity & Spiritual Cultivation

WuSi-NoSelfInterest

We don’t have to build an identity around spiritual cultivation.  Actually, if we’re doing that, we’re not practicing wuweidao.  Wuweidao means relaxing our identification with a generated self – this is the heart of practice.  Transforming this self from a so-called “deluded mortal” to an “enlightened sage” – that might have some value in other paths, but it is not wuweidao if our experience centers around self-reference.  Cue the Buddhist Diamond Sutra, which says: “The Bodhisattva who considers himself a Bodhisattva is not a true Bodhisattva.”  Laozi likewise defines sagehood as “discarding self” and “withdrawing into the unborn”.  So my wuweidao lineage teacher didn’t give us Daoist names.  In some sense he took away my own Daoist name.  He didn’t want us to identify as Daoists or sages or Buddhas.  Just to practice and surrender all names to the great Immortal Stream.

As We Are

ZiRanIf we had to express the view-teaching of our practice as pithily as possible, we could probably just say “as we are”.

The Chinese character ziran (自然) translates as “self-so”, meaning naturally so of itself, not the product of some contrived effort or intention.  Dao is self-so.  For the purposes of this article, let’s translate ziran as “as we are”.

Our Daoism is not based on the concept of original sin or a fall from grace or even the idea that we need to grow and develop our inborn potential or transform ourselves into some kind of immortal being.  Maybe we lose our way from time-to-time, and maybe we’d like to grow – OK, but how to get it back, and how to find our appropriate process of growth?  Laozi’s essential message is to leave things as they are and to leave ourselves as we are.

Not to fixate on conditions, mind you – conditions are always changing.  Things as they are means things as they go.  Natural process – not our idea about how the process should go.

This view does not inspire us to reach for spiritual heights.  No.  It inspires us to relax spiritual aspirations.  Yes.

If we take this view into our formal practice & informal conduct – whoa! what a significant shift takes place in our experience.  Somehow it transforms us thoroughly.

My teacher said, “the qi comes back home”.  What may have been entangled in some aspirational fantasy simply comes back into the central channel.

When we abide in this manner, regularly over a period of time, not only does the qi become more and more calm and more and more clear, it takes on a different quality.  My goodness, it becomes fine and sweet.

In our tradition, view is the most important thing.  We don’t want to be “methodistas”.  But we do each need to put together a practice routine comprised of a suite of methods.  These may or may not be “Daoist” in nature.  How could that possibly matter?  But forms are really helpful vessels for applying the practice.

So, whatever our suite of formal practice methods, and whatever comes up in the informal conduct of daily life, our practice is to leave things as they are, leave ourselves as we are, keeping the qi at home as the myriad phenomena continuously shift and transform – practice like this, and the ground of what we really are just may open up beneath our feet.

On Having Direction (往)

Wang - Direction-wht

It’s helpful to have a direction.  Essential perhaps.  A clear direction guides our each & every step.  It’s wonderful to know just want we’re supposed to do in each & every aspect of our life.

One Chinese character for direction, wǎng (往), suggests mastering our stepping – mastering our conduct.  Ensuring that each & every gesture is moving us toward where we want to be.

But I’m afraid wuweidao doesn’t give us some specified direction.  Some special state to attain or goal to work toward.  It does reveal a kind of qi-quality, but that’s about it.

Indeed, we can generate some concept that we’ve “lost it” and need to “return” – that’s a direction.  But that’s not really wuweidao – that’s only relevant if we’re not really in the practice.

Our tradition takes a different tack.  It’s not geared toward people not in the practice.  It’s not “geared” toward anything actually.  This non-gearedness is the great treasure of this path.

So in this spirit, we sit for a while every day without any direction whatsoever, beyond the basics of natural posture.  Sticking with this practice regularly over a period of time, something arises that Laozi observes is inaccessible from any direction-based action or method.

But it’s not the case that wuwei practitioners have no direction.  Anything but.  When hungry, our direction is to eat, if someone is thirsty, our direction is to bring them something to drink.  Correct direction is self-revealing – it doesn’t come from philosophy or religion or doctrine or faith or effort or method or this or that.  Nature brings it forth moment-to-moment.

This is the direction of wuweidao.

Method (術)

 

Shu-MethodLet’s check out this Chinese character – (shù, 術).  It has 3 parts – center, left, & right.  In the center is the character for wood (mù, 木).  Wood is one of the Five Elements or Qi-Phases; it represents young yang, springtime, morning – like a young shoot piercing through the surface of the earth.  I’m not sure what the small stroke at the top means (术), but I surmise that it has something to do with the movement of wood – so I take the central character to essentially mean growth or the process of qi rising and moving and transforming.

The character on the left (chì, 彳) means stepping with the left foot.  The character on the right (chù, 亍) means stepping with the right foot.  If we take the left & right character together and remove the center, it means to step slowly (chìchù, 彳亍).  If we put them into a single character, we get xíng (行), which means to walk or circulate – remember the Xing Qi Jade Inscription?

So what does the full character shù (術) mean?  The slow stepping of wood?  The step-by-step process of growth and transformation.  Moment-to-moment flow of Dao.  It may surprise us to learn that the character translates as “method”, “art”, or “technique”, as in wushu (wǔshù, 武術) – martial art.

We sometimes refer to our central practice of Zuowang as the method of no-method, similar to Silent Illumination Chan.  But of course there’s a method to sitting appropriately, just like anything else.

I practice a Russian martial art called Systema.  One of the central ideas of Systema is not focusing on techniques but rather the principles of posture, relaxation, breathing, & natural movement.  Of course there are tons of techniques, but Systema lets them arise spontaneously in response to the situation.  This is why I’ve always felt Systema is a marvelous expression of wuwei.  It’s not about not having any techniques, but not “making” any techniques, not forcing anything onto the situation – staying precisely in the situation we’re in and responding appropriately based on the principles.  Techniques arise of themselves.  The nice thing about martial arts is we can test their efficacy – it’s not just a philosophical position.  That unforgiving feedback is really helpful!

Shu (術) doesn’t mean we have to practice this method or that method.  And it certainly doesn’t mean we need to introduce unnatural or exotic practices into our experience.  It means if we’re going to practice some art – whatever it is – then we need to attend to the process of growth and transformation very carefully, step-by-step.  This means staying with reality as-it-is right now.

Our tradition speaks of “method” in terms of formal practice & informal conduct.  Formal practice means various arts of hygiene, meditation, & ritual, all practiced within the context of our view-teaching.  Different ways to support & express our human life.  But Daoism doesn’t just mean doing some formal Daoist practice.  Perhaps it means staying closely attuned to the clay when spinning a potter’s wheel.  Perhaps it means fully expressing each note when playing a flute.  Perhaps it’s the way a deer steps through the forest, or the way a poem rises out of an inspired moment*.  Is this a method or a non-method?

Step with care.

 

*Shout out to Heath Thompson.

Three Kinds of Internal Cultivation

In our school, as is common in Daoist traditions, we take three distinct approaches to internal cultivation: neigong, neidan, & neiguan.  The term for internal cultivation is neixiu (內修) – nei (內) means internal; xiu (修) means to study, repair, or cultivate.

The notion of internal cultivation holds prominence in Chinese traditions, particularly Daoism.  But exactly what “internal” means isn’t always clear, and different traditions often define it differently.  Distinguishing internal from external requires that we establish some threshold, some barrier between inside & outside.  As far as I can tell, there is no absolute barrier; it just depends on where we define the threshold.  I have heard people define internal to mean anything from arts that emerged within the borders of Han China, to esoteric traditions that maintain secret teachings reserved for insiders, to martial arts that cultivate the use of qi instead of li (brute strength).  All of these have relevance within Daoism, but the one we’re most concerned with here is the cultivation of jing-qi-shen.

Each approach to internal cultivation has its own distinct view, method, & fruition.  They don’t all necessarily lead to the same result.  It’s a good idea to be clear about what our view is, and what approach we are taking in our various practices.

Neigong (內功) means internal work, practice, or skill.  It means to practice with an inward focus, with the intention to develop some improved state.  Gongfu is a special skill developed by arduous practice.  The purpose of neigong is to improve or maintain our internal condition – nourishing jing-qi-shen to support our health and vitality, and to promote longevity.  It’s like the idea of yangsheng (養生) – nourishing life, which we often refer to as qi-hygiene.  Qigong, Taijiquan, & Yoga are all forms of neigong, but we can also practice natural walking or any other moving or still activities as effective neigong once we are familiar with its principles.  The best neigong is that which is appropriate for our condition right now, and this changes with time and is not the same for everyone.

Neidan (內丹) means internal elixir or alchemy.  Neidan is not only about improving our internal condition, and it’s not merely about well-being or longevity, but returning our experience to the state before birth.  This transformation is similar to the idea of transforming delusion into enlightenment or sin into holiness.  It is a gradual, progressive process with clear concepts and distinct stages, and a precious, exalted goal.

Neiguan (內觀) means internal observation.  To look inside.  The character for guan shows a heron’s gaze, suggesting keen observation.  Guan also means “view” and is the word used for Daoist temple.  It is the word my teacher chose as the title for his Dao De Jing translation, as our tradition considers Laozi’s text to be the central view-teaching manual for the practice of neiguan, which we refer to as Zuowang.  Neiguan differs from the other two in that it isn’t fundamentally goal-oriented.  It’s not about improvement or transformation.  We can make it about these things, but that “making” is extra baggage from the perspective of our practice.

How do these approaches relate to each other?  Generally, a beginner or someone recovering from illness or injury is well-advised to cultivate neigong to build up their internal health and vitality.  When jing-qi-shen is smooth and abundant, then practicing neidan is possible.  We are well-advised to continue practicing neigong as long as we have a body, as it provides a base for life and neidan.  Neiguan is not part of this progressive spectrum.  Neiguan is relevant for the beginner – it is probably a good idea to introduce neiguan from the very beginning, as it sets the stage for proper neigong.  Neiguan also helps us to perceive our internal state to understand our needs.  Then when we start working with neidan, neiguan is there as a neutral source of support and stabilization.  As our practice of neidan comes to fruition, there we are in neiguan just as we were at the beginning.  Our tradition says proper neiguan brings about neidan effortlessly, and neidan simply culminates in an empowered state of neiguan.

I invite you to consider your practice methods and make sure you are clear about which of these you are practicing and why.

Zuowang (坐忘) – Sitting & Forgetting

ZuoWang-WuMingChuan-2020.0728The central practice method of wuweidao is sitting quietly and simply abiding in things-as-they-are.  This practice has been given many names throughout history, and different traditions have approached it in different ways.  Our tradition refers to it as Zuowang – Sitting & Forgetting.  This term comes from the Zhuangzi, which says: “Dropping the body and dismissing concepts, leaving appearance and removing knowledge, merging with the Great Pervasion – this I call sitting & forgetting.”  My teacher learned this method from a Daoist hermit who had been on retreat in a cave in northern Taiwan for 20 years.

The practice consists of a view and a method – the view of Zuowang as practiced in Laozi’s tradition is distinctly different from alchemical practices geared to bring about refinement and transformation.  It’s also quite different from magical practices that manipulate qi to improve auspices.  It doesn’t conflict with these practices – and in fact is often practiced in conjunction with them – yet it stands alone as something disengaged from aspirational pursuits.  Wuweidao isn’t about producing some exalted state – it’s simply relaxing into our natural condition, uncontrived by effort and intention.

Laozi’s revelation is that our nature and Nature itself are inseparable, so the method of Zuowang is not about refining ourselves into something better but appreciating our nature as we actually are.  This is why we sometimes refer to it as “Sudden-School Daoism” – a term borrowed from Chan/Zen Buddhism.  We view Laozi’s Dao De Jing as an instruction manual for how to abide in our natural condition.  But as my teacher said, the text is intended to spark conversation between teacher & student during personal transmission, as it needs to be “opened up” by an adept of the practice.

In the Tang Dynasty, as Buddhism came over the Himalayas and brushed up against Daoism, some keen-eyed monks recognized a resonance between Zuowang and the teachings of Buddha – in particular the Diamond and Heart sutras – and Chan (Zen) was born.  In particular, the Caodong Chan tradition, and later the Soto Zen tradition in Japan, took the mantle of this non-conceptual meditation, placed it into the Buddhist worldview, and carried it forward as the central method for Buddhist awakening.  Zuowang as practiced within Daoism seems to have taken on an aspirational quality at this time – as Daoists came to more concretely articulate their goals and distinguish between ordinary and extraordinary experience, Zuowang was increasingly viewed as a tool for accessing the Dao or attaining immortality, as evidenced in gradual-entry texts such as the Zuowang Lun.  Fundamentally however, according to our tradition, Zuowang isn’t geared around any such agenda, as Laozi doesn’t presume that we’ve lost anything that we need to recover.  Actually, sitting without any agenda is precisely what Zuowang is in its pure sense – simply a platform for appreciating our nature, which Laozi refers to as Dao-De.

Let’s look at the Chinese characters.

Zuo (坐) means “sit”.  The character shows people on soil.  Soil is the element or qi-phase of central equilibrium, so we can say this posture relates to Laozi’s “holding center” in Dao De Jing Chapter 5.  The idea of sitting is not only a physical posture but a qi-posture of letting movement settle into stillness. “Letting mud settle” brings the qi in and provides a stable base for natural qi circulation and – indeed – natural alchemy to arise.

Wang (忘) means “forget”.  The character shows the head & heart hiding, or the heart-mind perishing, so the idea is letting the heart-mind calm down, relaxing the qi down to the base and disengaging from thoughts & emotions.  The term suggests effortless emptying, it’s not really an active technique – thus the practice embodies wuwei.

The Zuowang method in our tradition includes several precise facets that allow the practice to unfold in an easy and natural manner.  It is my sincere wish to share this practice with like-minded adepts.  If this practice appeals to you, check out my Wuweidao Cultivation Group.  If you would like an introduction to this practice, or if you have any questions, please contact me at oldoakdao@yahoo.com.

You can download a free introductory talk on Zuowang by my wuweidao lineage teacher, Liu Ming, at:  https://www.dayuancircle.org/zuowang-introduction/, and you can purchase his invaluable translation & commentary on the Dao De Jing at: https://www.dayuancircle.org/observing-wuwei/.

Jing, Qi, & Shen (精氣神)

Jing-Qi-Shen.jpgLet’s look at the basic concepts of “jing”, “qi”, & “shen”.  These are collectively known as the “Three Treasures” (sānbǎo, 三宝) of internal alchemy.  They are often translated as “body”, “breath”, & “mind”, which is a good trio but not really a complete translation.  It’s helpful to understand these terms, and the view behind them, to effectively practice Daoist cultivation.

Jing (精) is vital-essence – the tendency for form & substance to appear in the world, our tendency to become embodied creatures.  We receive jing from our parents at conception and from our mother during gestation.  Jing is associated with fluids and contains our ancestral DNA; the Chinese consider it to hold our fate or destiny – “Heaven’s command” regarding our unique capacities and pre-dispositions.  The quality of our jing depends on the quality of our parents’ jing during conception and gestation, as well as our own conduct in life, particularly our movement and nutrition.

Qi (氣, pronounced “chee”) is vital-energy – movement, breath, time, change.  The ever-revolving walk of Dao.  The unfolding movement of our jing.  Qi is associated with wind and fire.  But it is also often used as a shorthand for everything, including jing & shen.  Qi can refer to different kinds of energy in different contexts.  In internal alchemy it generally refers to heat and movement.  We have internal qi, and there is also the qi of the environment and cosmos.

Shen (神) is vital-spirit – awareness.  The experience of jing-qi.  According to Daoism, we have 5 kinds of shen, associated with the 5 phases/elements (Wood, Fire, Soil, Metal, & Water).  The 5 shen are different aspects of consciousness.  In the Daoist view, shen is not entitative in nature but is more like drops from a boundless ocean.  Our original shen emerges fresh and pure from the unborn origin, but as it splits into 5 it takes on conditions based on our jing & qi, as well as how we manage our mind.

Jing, qi, & shen are all really the same “stuff” – just different parts of a tripartite spectrum.  Jing is the most coarse, shen is the most fine.  These correspond to Earth, Humankind, & Heaven, respectively.

Jing, qi, & shen exist in two states, known as xiantian & houtian.  Xiantian (先天) translates as “before Heaven” or “pre-celestial” and refers to our innate nature before being shaped by the winds of Heaven.  Houtian (後天) translates as “after Heaven” or “post-celestial” and refers to our acquired condition based on how the winds have shaped us and how we have conducted ourselves.

The Three Treasures collectively comprise our life.  The three traditional deities of ritual Daoism – San Qing (三清) or Three Purities – are simply symbolic representations of the Three Treasures in their pure, unmanifest form.  What appears to be deity worship in Daoist ritual is actually a way of re-calibrating our post-celestial jing, qi, & shen to their original, pure condition.

There is a lot more we can say about these terms; this post is simply intended to present basic definitions for reference in future discussions.