Geof Nanto

You've got far more energy to devote to supporting your conceptual reality than I have for mine. To engage with you means entering into a headspace that’s most nearly meaningless for me. It’s not where I want to be; as your response has reminded me. My learning here is a reminder that such entanglements are not part of my purpose in joining Dao Bums. For these reasons I have no wish to elaborate or defend my previous comment. Though I'm not someone who offers unlimited love, I do feel compassion for you as a person – but not for key aspects of your Ayn Rand / objectivist philosophy. My major ongoing engagement is with the spirit of the land I protect here as a wildlife sanctuary. I've found my peace in the ineffable 'silence' of nature. Living and working within this natural landscape gives me ongoing teachings in the diverse and mysterious wonders of our natural world. That’s where I find my joy and my most deeply meaningful connections. That, and connecting with other people who share similar worldviews.

@ Karl You write with such myopic vision and display such little understanding of what is be human that it’s scarcely worthwhile replying to you. Your basic premise here that people voluntarily discard their rationality is flawed. No such thing happens. People simply have different perspectives and are acting rationally in response to that perspective. As an extreme example, I've talked to people whose crazy behaviour I've witnessed whilst they were experiencing what we call a psychotic episode. Yet when they explain how they were then experiencing the world in that state, their actions reveal themselves as perfectly rational and logical responses. What you’re wanting is for everyone to share your perspective so that the world will be simple and certain for you. You've taken subjectivity to such an extreme that for you it's become the objective worldview.

I have an interesting book published as a limited edition in 1974 of an account with photographs of climbing Hua Shan in 1935. It is written by Hedda Morrison (a photographer and author of Vanishing World) and Wolfram Eberhard (scholar and author of Chinese Fairy Tales and Folk Tales, A History of Chinese, and Settlement and Social Changes in Asia.) Inside Cover Hua Shan, or the Flowery Mountain, has the most beautiful and spectacular landscape of all the Nine Sacred Peaks of the Taoists and Buddhists. It is an outspur of the Tsinling Range which separates the Yellow and Yangtze River basins. At the foot of Hua Shan, the Yellow River, after flowing southwards for hundreds of miles, collects the waters of the Wei and its affluents which drain the Shensi plain. It then turns abruptly at a right-angle eastwards and flows through the historic Tungkuan Gate, the dragon rapids of Lungmen and Sanmen. It waters Honan Province and the great North China plain, which it fertilizes and often floods, and where occasionally it runs dry. From the earliest times the peasants on the plain have held in deep veneration the cloud-gathering mountains and propitiated their gods with seasonable offerings. On Hua Shan, monks founded monasteries to receive pilgrims and set up altars to Sheng Mu, the Divine Mother, who, like Astarte in the West, is the great Goddess of Fertility. People come to her to burn incense, kowtow, hear her oracles and invoke her blessings for she gives children to the barren and bounteous crops to their fields. There is only one path to the top of Hua Shan and it is very steep and dangerous. North Peak Ridge is 4,000 feet above the plain and 2,000 feet higher is the plateau with Central, East, South and West Peaks with monasteries, hermitages, monks and pupils. Hedda Morrison and Wolfram Eberhard visited Hua Shan in 1935. While Hedda took the photographs, Eberhard talked with the monks, gathered the Taoist folklore of the holy mountain, studied the graffiti and the local gazetteers. Their combined efforts convey in photographs and Taoist musings the extraordinary atmosphere of rest, peace and beauty of this mountain sanctuary, so remote from the crowded cities on the plain. Over the next few weeks I’ll post some extracts from the book here.

Book extracts continued…. 7. Women go to Holy Mother Temple and kneel in prayer at her altar. They tell her their innermost thoughts and wishes for a good loving husband and a son. She grants the requests of all sincere suppliants and in return they bring her tokens of gratitude, pieces of embroidered cloth, not silk, for they are poor, simple folk. 8. The young, smiling deity, seated in the temple, lived two thousand years ago. She was a girl in the harem of China’s great unifier, the awesome emperor Shih-huang-ti, but escaped following him with all his other wives into his tomb. She sought to live a life beyond our mortality, took refuge in a cave on the mountains, feeding on pine cones and drinking morning dew. She let her hair grow until it clothed her body. She became lightsome as air and rose to heaven. This true saint found truth and the meaning of enduring life. She brings comfort to the suffering people: even in our times. 9. Fairy Ho, Ho Tai's daughter, came from Canton in South China. When she was born she had six hairs1, on her head; at fourteen, in a dream, she heard a god telling her to eat "cloud mother stone" to become immortal. So she ate mica2 powder and took the vow of virginity. Every day from morning to evening she winged her way over the hills and dales and returned home with fruit of the mountains for her mother. Later she stopped eating the food of mortals. When invited to court by the T'ang Empress Wu she disappeared. She was last seen rising to heaven in broad daylight3. (From Hsien-chi, Record of the Genii, Ch. 1) 1. Six in Chinese gnostic numerology indicates the female sex. 2. Tun-mu shih 3. A folklore deification of a meteorological appearance of the Princess of Azure Clouds, Pi-hsia yuan-chun. 10. Cyprus trees, dark and black in flower. To honour Kuan-yin I offer incense. Kuan-yin, do make My lover never desert me. (A song of Tan-ka boat people of the Canton area) The Divine Mother, Sheng Mu, is the "Good Lady who sends sons", Sung-tzu Niang-niang. She wears a phoenix headdress and a mantle embroidered with eight trigrams; in the circle on the left is k'an (pond), with a full bar between two broken bars, a stylization of the ideograph for water, shui. The right trigram is ch'ien of male principle. The inscription on the collar band says the robe was presented in 1928 (the year wu-shen ). The great screen behind the goddess is decorated in high relief with six or more matronly figures attending Jade Emperor Yu Ti, the supreme Taoist deity, seated on the throne and encircled with clouds between two dragons. The tabernacle in front of the goddess is inscribed with the character hao of Bright Heaven. Sheng Mu, the Divine Mother (see above) with head-dress and flowers, berries and tinkly bells, riding the mare ma rebus for ma mother. The suppliant has slipped a noose over the boy she wants. The Good Lady who sends sons to her votaries (see above), with phoenix head-dress, pair of bead pendants, and cloud-pattern collar. She holds the vase of fertility, symbol of her engendering powers. Also known as the Azure-cloud Primordial Lady, Pi-hsia Yuan-chun, identified with Kuan-yin Pusa, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. The ideograph of Pi-hsia indicate iridescent colours of nacre or mother-of-pearl.

And while Zarathustra was speaking someone in the crowd interrupted: "We've heard enough about the tightrope walker; now it's time to see him!" And while the crowd laughed at Zarathustra, the tightrope walker, believing that he had been given his cue, began his performance. Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spoke thus: Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Overman -- a rope over an abyss. A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is lovable in man is that he is an over-going and a down-going. I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are the over-goers…….

The Guardian newspaper (UK) recently published a excellent report, entitled the Sugar Conspiracy, which argues that sugar, not fat, is behind the world’s rising ‘diabesity’ (diabetes and obesity), and questions how the world’s nutritional scientists got it “so wrong for so long”. I’m glad to see this is now a mainstream issue. Here are some of the key points from the report…… In 1972, a British scientist [John Yudkin] sounded the alarm that sugar – and not fat – was the greatest danger to our health. But his findings were ridiculed and his reputation ruined. How did the world’s top nutrition scientists get it so wrong for so long?… We read almost every week of new research into the deleterious effects of sugar on our bodies… This represents a dramatic shift in priority. For at least the last three decades, the dietary arch-villain has been saturated fat. When Yudkin was conducting his research into the effects of sugar, in the 1960s, a new nutritional orthodoxy was in the process of asserting itself. Its central tenet was that a healthy diet is a low-fat diet. Yudkin led a diminishing band of dissenters who believed that sugar, not fat, was the more likely cause of maladies such as obesity, heart disease and diabetes. But by the time he wrote his book, the commanding heights of the field had been seized by proponents of the fat hypothesis. Yudkin found himself fighting a rearguard action, and he was defeated. Not just defeated, in fact, but buried… In 1980, after long consultation with some of America’s most senior nutrition scientists, the US government issued its first Dietary Guidelines. The guidelines shaped the diets of hundreds of millions of people. Doctors base their advice on them, food companies develop products to comply with them. Their influence extends beyond the US. In 1983, the UK government issued advice that closely followed the American example. The most prominent recommendation of both governments was to cut back on saturated fats and cholesterol (this was the first time that the public had been advised to eat less of something, rather than enough of everything). Consumers dutifully obeyed. We replaced steak and sausages with pasta and rice, butter with margarine and vegetable oils, eggs with muesli, and milk with low-fat milk or orange juice. But instead of becoming healthier, we grew fatter and sicker. Look at a graph of postwar obesity rates and it becomes clear that something changed after 1980. In the US, the line rises very gradually until, in the early 1980s, it takes off like an aeroplane. Just 12% of Americans were obese in 1950, 15% in 1980, 35% by 2000. In the UK, the line is flat for decades until the mid-1980s, at which point it also turns towards the sky. Only 6% of Britons were obese in 1980. In the next 20 years that figure more than trebled. Today, two thirds of Britons are either obese or overweight, making this the fattest country in the EU. Type 2 diabetes, closely related to obesity, has risen in tandem in both countries. At best, we can conclude that the official guidelines did not achieve their objective; at worst, they led to a decades-long health catastrophe… Today, as nutritionists struggle to comprehend a health disaster they did not predict and may have precipitated, the field is undergoing a painful period of re-evaluation. It is edging away from prohibitions on cholesterol and fat, and hardening its warnings on sugar, without going so far as to perform a reverse turn… In 2008, researchers from Oxford University undertook a Europe-wide study of the causes of heart disease. Its data shows an inverse correlation between saturated fat and heart disease, across the continent. France, the country with the highest intake of saturated fat, has the lowest rate of heart disease; Ukraine, the country with the lowest intake of saturated fat, has the highest. When the British obesity researcher Zoë Harcombe performed an analysis of the data on cholesterol levels for 192 countries around the world, she found that lower cholesterol correlated with higher rates of death from heart disease. In the last 10 years, a theory that had somehow held up unsupported for nearly half a century has been rejected by several comprehensive evidence reviews, even as it staggers on, zombie-like, in our dietary guidelines and medical advice… The UN’s Food and Agriculture Organisation, in a 2008 analysis of all studies of the low-fat diet, found “no probable or convincing evidence” that a high level of dietary fat causes heart disease or cancer. Another landmark review, published in 2010, in the American Society for Nutrition, and authored by, among others, Ronald Krauss, a highly respected researcher and physician at the University of California, stated “there is no significant evidence for concluding that dietary saturated fat is associated with an increased risk of CHD or CVD [coronary heart disease and cardiovascular disease]”. Many nutritionists refused to accept these conclusions… Biochemists and endocrinologists are more likely to think of obesity as a hormonal disorder, triggered by the kinds of foods we started eating a lot more of when we cut back on fat: easily digestible starches and sugars… Fat takes instruction from insulin, the hormone responsible for regulating blood sugar. Refined carbohydrates break down at speed into glucose in the blood, prompting the pancreas to produce insulin. When insulin levels rise, fat tissue gets a signal to suck energy out of the blood, and to stop releasing it. So when insulin stays high for unnaturally long, a person gains weight, gets hungrier, and feels fatigued…

More from John Blofeld’s My Journey in Mystic China, (courtesy of Gerald)……. The Mysterious Phenomenon of the Bodhisattva Lights It's a pity that I couldn't speak Mongolian, because after a few weeks at Mount Wutai, I began to yearn for the company of friends. Therefore, I decided to visit a place where travelers of Chinese descent stayed. A local resident informed me that there were very few ethnic Chinese monks living on the mountain, but that there was one special monastery called the Lodge of Supreme Beneficence. The founder was the renowned grandmaster Neng Hai. He had lived for a long time in Tibet, where he had become highly proficient in the Tibetan language, and he had mastered the Vajrayana (Tantric Tibetan Buddhist) teachings. Grandmaster Neng Hai had studied the entire heart of the Tantric Tibetan school of Buddhism and transmitted its essential teachings to disciples who were not literate in the Tibetan language, enabling them to practice the path of Tantric Buddhism. He had thirty to forty close disciples, all of whom were highly talented and well-disciplined monks. During the time of the Tang Dynasty, China had its own school of Tantric Buddhism, but toward the end of the Tang period, it fell into decline and disappeared, and only a branch sect in Japan continued this tradition. Grandmaster Neng Hai wanted to revive the Chinese Tantric school of the Tang era and to further enrich it with Tibetan Tantric teachings. My local informant also told me that every year during the summer season, Chinese practitioners came to live in retreat at the Lodge of Supreme Beneficence. Happy to hear this, I decided to pay a visit there. To my complete surprise, among the lodgers was an acquaintance of mine from Tienjin, Dr. Chang. He said that I'd come just in the nick of time, for in a few days he and some of his friends were going to explore one of the mountain's Five Peaks (I think it was the West Peak, but perhaps my memory is wrong) to see the so-called Bodhisattva Lights, and if I wished to join them, nothing would please him more. Naturally I felt very happy to accompany them on a visit to such a famous sight, but when I accepted their invitation, I could not foresee that the Bodhisattva Lights would become one of the most unforgettable and mysterious phenomena I've seen in my entire life. Before departure, we hired a few mules and as we set forth on our journey, the sky was grey and overcast, and the mountain peak stood dim in the distance, sometimes shrouded in white mist, sometimes completely concealed by clouds. Before long, our clothing grew damp. The road was slippery and difficult to traverse, slowing the mules and horses down to a plodding pace. That evening we lodged at a small monastery, and the next morning we continued our ascent in the rain. The mountain trail was even more slippery than the day before, so we had no choice but to dismount our horses and proceed on foot. Originally we had anticipated viewing the Bodhisattva Lights that evening, but the groom informed us that during inclement weather there were no unusual phenomena of any kind to be observed there. Just as we were sighing with disappointment, the sky began to clear. As the sun set in the west, the clouds dissolved and the mist scattered. When night descended, the entire sky filled with stars. Upon arrival at the peak, we took lodging at an ancient mountain monastery, where there were only three or four monks, but lots of rodents. After we'd finished a vegetarian meal and the kitchen lamps had been extinguished, the monks led us into the kitchen to have a look. Inside, it was pitch black and in the darkness we could feel soft bodies bumping constantly against our feet with a shrill squealing sound that gave us the creeps. A monk struck up some sparks on a flint stone outside, lit a small torch, and came inside. Ai ya! All we could see was the entire floor completely covered with a seething mass of rats, so densely packed that not a sliver of space separated their bodies. I'd often heard that remote monasteries were like this, and since monks were forbidden to kill any form of life, they had no choice but to tolerate it. Every winter the mountain monasteries were sealed off from the outside world by snow, so they had to store sufficient supplies of rice to prevent the monks from starving to death. This attracted swarms of rodents, and other than killing them, what else could be done to eliminate them? The monasteries at the peak of the mountain had very few bedrooms, so our only option was to sleep on the floor planks of the reception room; and even though it was the summer season, the nights up in the high mountains were still very cold. The monks lent us a pile of their thickly padded bed quilts, and since our little group slept closely nestled together, we slipped comfortably into sweet slumber. Late in the night, we were suddenly startled awake, and as we opened our eyes we saw a monk standing in the doorway and shouting at us, "Get up, get up, hurry out to the terrace to see the Bodhisattva Lights!” The moment we heard that, we scurried to our feet and threw on a few pieces of clothing, and though we draped ourselves with quilts as substitutes for our padded coats, we still felt very cold. We ran out to the terrace, where it was even colder, making our bodies shiver from head to foot, but our hearts were filled with excitement as we focused our attention on viewing the mysterious phenomenon of the famous sight before our eyes. That peak was Mount Wutai's central pinnacle, and it stood relatively aloof from the other four peaks. Viewing them all from the vantage point of the level plateau halfway up the mountain, the five peaks looked like five separate mountains. But looking into the distance from the terrace, with the main peak's summit behind us, the other four peaks were concealed from view, and the high plateau was spread out thousands of feet below us—so gazing out at the view from here, all we could see was open sky. As we stood on the terrace outside the monastery, scanning the expanse of the horizon, we saw thousands of strange objects floating slowly above the terrace. These extraordinary globe-shaped entities approached from faraway and disappeared again into the distance, continuously radiating golden beams of light, as though the whole sky were filled with countless glowing lanterns. Their shape, color, size, and other features were all exactly alike, without any noticeable variations. These mysterious orbs moved across the sky at about the same speed as goldfish swimming calmly in water. However, because there was no way to judge the distance between these curious objects and the terrace, it was difficult to determine their size. According to my conjecture, they seemed to be about the size of footballs, but they could also have been as large as observation balloons. In the midst of the darkness, distances were impossible to verify. The Bodhisattva Lights could not have been etheric objects. Instead, they appeared to be physical entities with both substance and duration, and one could clearly discern that they were light and delicate, otherwise how could they float in the sky? Only those with strong faith in Buddhist doctrine would think otherwise. They would believe that these things were neither light nor heavy objects, but rather that they were the radiant light emanating from the enlightened heart of Manjusri Bodhisattva. What I have said above is all based on later conjectures. At that time, we all just stood there astounded beyond bounds, stammering at each other, speechless with wonder. Not yet able to even speculate on the possibility of such a mysterious phenomenon manifesting in the sky, we simply stood in awestruck silence in order to appreciate its unfathomable nature. That was fifty years ago and I still find it very difficult to explain this phenomenon! In those days, most people believed that it really was an emanation from the luminous awareness of a bodhisattva. And perhaps this was in fact the case, for I have no grounds to dispute such a claim. People in modern times, even if they are Buddhists, generally find it difficult to really believe in the existence of supernatural phenomena in this world. Even I, while actually witnessing this startling marvel, felt no doubt in my mind that it was an arcane mystical phenomenon. Later, however, when I tried to analyse it with reason and logic, I found myself searching for a theoretical basis to explain the origin of this phenomenon. But in all this time, I still have not found a suitable scientific answer, only a lingering doubt. Of course, it's true that countless other travelers have also seen the Bodhisattva Lights, and naturally many of them are not Buddhists. Perhaps they ask themselves whether this phenomenon is simply produced by marsh gas. Personally, I think that's definitely not the case. How could marsh gas discharge from a high plateau halfway up a tall mountain, rise several thousand feet, then dissipate into the vaults of heaven? Moreover, those countless thousands of glittering golden globes clearly drifted in from the far distance, then floated away again into the distant horizon. I've never heard of any marsh gas that can rise up high into the sky and drift dozens of miles, all without the slightest change in their original shape and size. How could that be possible? Those who have never witnessed this fascinating spectacle might guess that it's an illusion produced by some sort of deceptive technique. But how could anyone up on the mountain possibly produce those countless thousands of luminous spheres? To produce thousands of "lights" each and every day would cost a fortune, and to make them fly high and far would definitely not be an easy task, and would require spending an even greater sum of money. What would be the point of wasting money like this? At the time, I did not inquire whether or not the Bodhisattva Lights occurred in all four seasons, but in any case, it was certainly not limited to any particular days. When Dr. Chang and his group invited me to travel with them, they did not specify a special day to ascend the peak of the mountain. In fact, they postponed our departure several times in order to attend some teachings given by Grandmaster Neng Hai. Nor did I ask whether the Bodhisattva Lights were only to be seen on one peak, or if they could also be observed from the other peaks. I think someone from a big travel agency in China would know. Ever since the Buddhist monasteries on Mount Wutai were wrecked by the Japanese army, and the suppression of religion by the Red Guards that followed later, very few travelers went to that mountain. Only recently have people once again begun to mention the various famed sights of Mount Wutai. During the intervening decades, the situation at this sacred mountain has no doubt changed. People today may not even know that Mount Wutai has such a marvelous phenomenon as the Bodhisattva Lights. Nor have I asked anyone lately whether people still climb up to the peak to witness this extraordinary display. (from John Blofeld’s, My Journey in Mystic China, pp 109 - 114)

Listen, or download the audio as a mp3 podcast, of this radio program featuring the Gyuto monks of Tibet. The Gyuto monks are a 600-year old lineage of the Gelugpa school of Tibetan Buddhism to which the Dalai Lama belongs. Regarded as masters of ritual, they follow the path of Tantra, a method for cultivating wisdom that involves intense meditation and visualization of specific deities or spiritual energies. The monks also specialize in the deep-voiced harmonic chant that we’ll hear throughout the program. Harmonic chant means that each monk is able to produce several notes at once over a three-octave range using a combination of fundamental notes and overtones, including some of the lowest notes ever recorded. Grammy nominees in 2011, the Gyuto Monks of Tibet are regarded as one of the world’s music treasures, their sound is also more than music. It is sacred tantric practice which occurs whether they are in a temple, in concert or in a recording studio, as they are in this program. The program includes the monks chanting Buddhist mantras and prayers alongside Australia’s finest sacred music duo - soprano Heather Lee and composer and musicologist Kim Cunio - singing traditional and newly composed music from Judaism and Christianity, found on their new album Beyond Karma.

I very much like Hunger Mountain too. An all round excellent exploration of both the origins of the Chinese language and natural wilderness. My only reservation with David Hinton is his aversion to the reality of mystical experience. The front cover of the book even has this endorsement from Bill McKibben: "A gorgeous book, a book of power, the very opposite of mystical." Yet for me his experiences of the wilderness of Hunger Mountain are mystical. (Mystical definition - Having an import not apparent to the senses nor obvious to the intelligence; beyond ordinary understanding.)

"In Shirley’s nature prevailed at times an easy indolence: there were periods when she took delight in perfect vacancy of hand and eye – moments when her thoughts, her simple existence, the fact of the world being around – the heaven above her, seemed to yield her such fullness of happiness, that she did not need to lift a finger to increase the joy. Often, after an active morning, she would spend a sunny afternoon in lying stirless on the turf, at the foot of some tree of friendly umbrage….no spectacle did she ask but that of the deep blue sky, and such cloudlets as sailed afar and aloft across its spaces; no sound but that of the bee’s hum, the leaf’s whisper...." (From Charlotte Brontë’s, Shirley (1849). Shirley was Brontë's second published novel after Jane Eyre. The character Shirley is who Brontë believed her sister, Emily Brontë (author of Wuthering Heights), would have been if she had been born into a wealthy family. The novel was not critically acclaimed but popular enough to have the lasting influence of changing the name ‘Shirley’ from exclusively a male name to a female name.)

Louis Komjathy makes a clear distinction between these two types of Daoist cultivation. What you have labelled 'spiralled return to our original True Nature' he calls the “quietistic” model, and attainment of the 'golden/immortal body' he calls the “alchemical” model...... As a thorough and detailed account of these various models is beyond the scope of the present discussion, I will here simply make a few comments on differences between the “quietistic” and “alchemical” models. The quietistic model is most clearly expressed in classical Daoism, or the early “inner cultivation lineages” as Harold Roth of Brown University has referred to this moment in Daoist history. Representative texts include the Daode jing, Zhuangzi, and “Techniques of the Heart-mind” chapters of the Guanzi. The alchemical model is advocated and employed both in early medieval external alchemy traditions and in late medieval internal alchemy lineages. Representative texts of the latter include those associated with the so-called Zhong-Lü textual tradition. In the quietistic model, the adept endeavors to “return to” his or her original nature, which is a manifestation of the Dao. Emphasis is placed on “nonaction” (wuwei 無為), “simplicity” (pu 朴), and “suchness” (ziran 自然). Here death is part of the natural, cosmological process, and the adept accepts his or her death as a dissolution into—a merging with—the cosmos. In the alchemical model, the adept endeavors to perfect or transform his or her nature, which is simultaneously “biological” limitation and the latent spark of Perfection. Emphasis is placed on cultivation, refinement, and transformation. Here death as dissolution is the destiny of the ordinary human being, but the aspiring adept wishes to transcend such a given. The alchemist attempts to alchemically transmute defilements and to actualize a transcendent spirit, which may transcend physical mortality. One aspires to move from ordinary human being to perfected and immortal being. For some, the question of the complementarity or mutual exclusivity of the alchemical model and the quietistic model may seem irrelevant or a mere academic exercise, but this is not the case. Leaving aside the importance of examining the ways in which seemingly competing models were reconciled and modified, the adoption of a particular model matters in terms of both Daoist practice and Daoist soteriology. If the principles and methods of the alchemical model are followed, then the Daoist adept must transform his or her self. The Daoist practitioner must literally shift ontological conditions, must become a different kind of being. One is no longer merely human (ren 人); one becomes immortal (xian 仙) or perfected (zhen 真). What exactly this means remains open to debate and differs from movement to movement, and often from practitioner to practitioner. However, what is clear is that one must become other than what one is when one begins the alchemical process. This is not the case in the quietistic model. From the beginning, one is “perfect” or “complete.” There is nothing to perfect or complete; one must simply return to one’s original connection with the Dao, one’s original place in the cosmos. That is, the quietistic model emphasizes “decreasing” and “sufficiency.” Here the Daoist adept is not trying to become something else or something more. The upshot is the following: either one learns more, does more, and becomes more, or one unlearns, undoes, and simply is. These are different practice regimens with different outcomes. In the alchemical model, one seeks personal survival and transformation; in the quietistic model, one merges with and disappears into the cosmos. Edit: The above is an extract from Komjathy’s Models of Daoist Practice and Attainment. For the full text, in which he outlines the diversity of models of Daoist practice and attainment, see…. http://www.daoistcenter.org/models.pdf (BTW Although I find the clarity of Komjathy’s discussion helpful, I’d add the proviso that when it comes to the diversity of Daoism there’s no such thing as a definitive overview. That applies especially to so-called “models of attainment”. Here meaningful insight requires many years of real experience and for all his excellent research and knowledge, in these terms Komjathy is a relative beginner. However, in answer to Veezel's original question - "What is the Taoist way of life?" - for a comprehensive overview I would not hesitate to recommend Komjathy's The Daoist Tradition. It is an excellent and thorough introduction.)

Thanks again Gerald for the extracts from John Blofeld’s, My Journey in Mystic China. I agree with you – ‘The Clairvoyant Immortal’ is a must read for all Daoists. The Clairvoyant Immortal During those two years that I returned to live in Peking, my life was so replete with peace and happiness that I rarely thought about the political situation in China. At that time, Peking had not yet recovered its prewar grandeur, and the vestiges of the Japanese military occupation still remained. The furnishings in most residential houses and government buildings were dilapidated, and all items of value had been stolen by the enemy and their Chinese collaborators, or else sold off by their owners. The restaurants, shops, teahouses, and other structures were all old and ramshackle. Nevertheless, Peking still had infinite charm and beauty, and in my mind no place else on earth could compare with it. Despite the adverse conditions, the city's ancient flavor still delighted my heart. At that time I never dreamed that soon I would be compelled to leave the adopted homeland that I loved so deeply; on the contrary, I was very eager to find a long-term residence there. Oh, alas! Before long I began to hear frequent reports of relentless attacks on central government forces by the Red Army. Although the newspapers usually reported Red Army victories as "defeats," everyone knew that the Power of the Communist Party was growing, and that the situation was becoming more critical by the day. Even I, as a foreigner, could no longer close my eyes to this predicament for it was clear that the crisis was pressing close. In those years, my own life in Peking was very interesting. My work a teacher at the university was pleasant and satisfying. At the same time, my research work also provided me with deep fulfillment, and was beginning to show success. My translations of two important volumes of Buddhist teachings by Tang Dynasty Zen masters were in the midst of being printed by a publisher in England. One was The Zen Teaching of Huang Po and the other was the Zen master Hui Hai's The Teaching of Hui Hai: On Sudden Illumination. In addition, in my spare time I also translated Lao She's novel Illumination of Cat City into English. (I don't know why, but those two Tang Dynasty works proved to have broad popular appeal and were continuously reprinted, and they still remain in print to this day. But that short novel by Lao She, with all its heartrending sarcasm, was turned down by several English publishers.) In 1948, on the night before the Lantern Festival,1 I unexpectedly encountered a peculiar event. That day I had heard about a 'living immortal' who was staying in the western quarter of the city, and this came as strange news to me. Although I was not certain that there existed such a thing, I really wanted to go meet this so-called immortal. Because I'd heard that this living immortal would soon be going to the south and I might therefore miss my opportunity, I decided then and there to immediately pay him a visit. My servant Old Dzan called a motor car, and as the weather was extremely cold, the open car had a quilt inside to block the wind. The passenger rode as though tucked inside of a Mongolian tent, but the stench was really hard to bear. It took over an hour to reach the immortal's residence. A note on the gate informed visitors that the immortal was in the midst of meditation and no one was permitted to enter. I was freezing to death, and needed to warm myself by a fire. Using this as an excuse, I mustered my courage and went resolutely inside. The gatekeeper told me that it was forbidden to enter, but he didn't dare raise his arm to block me and just stood there agitated, so he did not stop me from walking up to the front door and knocking. A servant opened the door and led me to the parlor to warm myself by the fire. And there before my eyes sat the immortal. He was sitting cross-legged on a mat, meditating. He sat with his back to the door and did not notice that someone had entered the room, and for a long time he just sat there like a lifeless statue. When he finally stood up, turned around, and noticed me, he did not seem the least bit surprised, and said casually, "Good, good! Mr. Pu, you have arrived." Struck with wonder and curiosity by his prescience, I asked myself how he could possibly know that my name was Pu. Until the moment that I told my servant to find me a cab, even I did not know that today I would be going to visit this complete stranger. After arriving at his residence, I hadn't mentioned my name to anyone there. So the moment I heard him address me as "Mr. Pu," I stood there wide-eyed and slack-jawed with wonder, and felt very astonished. He called for tea, and invited me to sit down. We sat facing one another, with a small tea table between us. I bowed to pay my respects, then said politely, "It's a great honor to meet you, esteemed immortal, and please forgive me for disturbing you. Do you have a few minutes to spare? Otherwise, I could .... " It was obvious that he was not pleased to hear me address him as "immortal," and so he riposted with the question, "Is it possible that there exists such a thing as an immortal in this world? And if indeed there really are such strange creatures, by no means should you mistake me as one of them. In my humble opinion, immortals are characters fabricated by human beings. Regrettably, my humble self is sometimes praised by others as being an immortal. How on earth could there possibly be such a thing? Please, sir, address me as Taoist Dzeng." This white-haired Taoist wasn't wearing Taoist robes. He wore a long padded tunic of blue satin and felt boots. His hair was cut short, like most elderly men in contemporary China. It was clear that he felt great disdain for charlatans posing as immortals. I said, "Although the venerable Mr. Dzeng is not an immortal, you certainly are endowed with great spiritual power. Otherwise, how could you foretell that my name n Pu?" He poured me a cup of tea before replying, "My humble self may perhaps have a small measure of obscure clairvoyant ability. That's a very common result of practicing meditation." "May I inquire, sir, what business brings you here, that you would risk the cold to come to my residence?" At this moment, Taoist Dzeng's expression seemed to carry a tinge of sarcasm. With a straight face I replied, "My humble self has fora long time wished to meet a Taoist adept who is highly accomplished in the mystical arts, and to ask him for guidance regarding which type of practices are most effective for restoring youth and prolonging life." The venerable old Dzeng smiled and said, "'If you don't believe in the teaching, you cannot obtain its benefits.” How can I possibly explain this in words? Ha-ha, Mr. Pu has climbed famous mountains, and has received teachings from many great Buddhist monks and Taoist adepts, so why would you find it worthwhile to ask for guidance from my humble self? I daresay, sir, that you must be familiar with some words of advice from the Tao Teh Ching. The general meaning of this advice is that visiting famous mountains and traveling afar to seek teachings about the Tao is not nearly as useful as staying home, shutting the door, and examining your own mind." When he finished speaking, he gazed steadily into my eyes, as though concentrating the full power of his attention on making me understand. At that moment, a very peculiar sensation suddenly arose within me. All of a sudden, he, I, and everything in the space between us, while still retaining their external appearance, seemed to condense into an inseparable singularity, as though we had suddenly dissolved into one amorphous entity. This dimension of existence gave me a feeling a great joy. For a short while, my mind was mesmerized and my spirit was lost, but at the same time, I knew that this condition was definitely not a distorted fantasy. The strange thing was that although I felt very happy and at ease in that state, I also felt that I could not withstand this man's spiritual power much longer, and that if I did not soon break free of his gaze, I might never return to the normal world, and so I quickly lowered my eyes and terminated that mysterious sensation. Just then, a group of visitors arrived to see him. They seemed to have come by previous appointment. Therefore, I did not wish to disturb him any longer, bade him farewell, and took my leave. A few days later I heard that the venerable Dzeng had already departed by train for the south. I had missed the opportunity to inquire in detail about several strange matters. For example, how had he known my surname? How had he known that I visited many famous mountains, and that I'd sought teachings about Buddhist doctrine and Taoist mysteries from numerous renowned masters? Relatively speaking, these few matters were not very important. Before we'd met, it was possible that the old man had casually heard that there was a Westerner named Pu living in Peking who had a strong interest in Taoism, and possibly he'd heard people discussing my appearance and other things about me. Although this was only a slight possibility, it was also not impossible. But Old Dzeng had definitely caused me to experience the phenomenon known as "myriad objects uniting into one whole," and for a very short time I had entered into this mysterious dimension. I'd like to discuss in more detail the meaning of this so-called “uniting as one whole" phenomenon, both from the perspective of Taoist reaching as well as modern science. When Old Dzeng fixed his penetrating gaze on me, I definitely and very clearly perceived the inseparable and boundless nature of all phenomena. That is to say, my perception at the time was that even though all objects had their own separate relative identity, at the same rime they were also all completely unified as one primordial entity. That of course defies logic, and is a principle that lies beyond rational debate. I had long ago learned from my Buddhist and Taoist studies about the relative nature of reality, and that only through a higher level of wisdom could one really understand the true nature of phenomena. And yet, in only a few fleeting moments, Old Dzeng had given me a direct experiential perception of the fundamental nature of reality. Regarding this matter, there is a passage in the Tao Teh Ching that states: We look but we don't see it and call it indistinct We listen but don’t hear it And call it faint We reach but don't grasp it and call it ethereal Three failed means of knowledge I weave into one with no light above with no shade below too fine to be named returning to nothing.... and discover the ancient maiden This is the thread of the Way 2 The words "weave into one" in this passage refer to the essential, indivisible unity of all phenomena. The last sentence states that we must clearly understand that all phenomena arise from the same formless, invisible source, the infinite ocean of primordial energy, which Lao-tze refers to here as "the ancient maiden," the "mother of all things." Modern science can now provide evidence for this idea of the primordial unity of all manifest form throughout the universe. It has been demonstrated by science that matter (form) and energy (formless) am interchangeable and that they both share the same essential vibrational nature. Einstein's famous equation E = mc2 defined the dynamic commutability between these two dimensions of existence. Furthermore the advanced science of quantum physics now agrees with the fundamental hypothesis of ancient Eastern cosmology that the entire manifest universe is formed and shaped by consciousness, and that nothing whatsoever exists beyond the infinite luminous field of primordial awareness. After my meeting with the old Taoist Dzeng, I never again had the opportunity to communicate with another genuine Taoist master in China. That was the last time I received the benefit of direct personal guidance from a traditional Chinese master regarding the ancient teachings of the Great Tao. 1. The fifteenth day of the first month in the traditional Chinese New Year, based on the old lunar calendar. It celebrates the first full moon of the New Year and usually falls in late February or early March. 2. Translation by Red Pine, (Bill Porter) in Lao Tze's Taoteching 1996. (from John Blofeld’s, My Journey in Mystic China, pp 231-7)

Agreed. I hope your mum regains her health. I agree about the potential bias of such a doctor. But that's our human condition. We all have biases that shape our reality. It was Immanuel Kant who famously concluded that it's our concepts that shape what we see, not the other way around as was previously thought. To me the 'perfect' objectivity that the scientific method hopes for is beyond the human.

Yes, this is a valid criticism. I'm not a reductionist and hence I favour the systems-environment approach to understanding the dynamic web of hypercomplex interactions that constitute 'reality'. However, the basic point of the article is that demonising fat and ignoring sugar (specifically refined sugar) was misinformed dietary advice - indeed dangerously misinformed. We've covered this controversial topic at length on Dao Bums in the past. I side with you on the basis of historical evidence (and my own dietary preferences). It seems to me the sugar misinformation is used by those who have their own particular dietaries obsessions, especially high meat, high fat diets. Hence all carbohydrates are demonised.

Agreed. (Though I'm not sure how significant the influence of vegetarians was back in the 1980's.) To my mind, an aspect that deserves more emphasis is the addictive nature of sugar. Few people are willing to own their addictions and scientists are no exceptions. Sugar addiction is now pervasive and will not be overcome simply through information, There will be a huge backlash from not only vested economic and political interests but also from people's reluctance to even admit, let alone kick the sugar habit.

A black kite and a juvenile white-bellied sea-eagle engage in a skirmish.

The paradoxical irony here is that only an expert would come up with a chart like this.

That quotation is from John Gray's, Straw Dogs: Thoughts on Humans and Other Animals. Yes, I like the gist of Gray's commentary, but I agree that he's being unfair to the sophistication of Buddhist theory here. He likes polemic - as you'll find if you read Straw Dogs.

Here is a Western interpretation of Zhuangzi from philosopher John Gray….. Chuang-Tzu is as much a sceptic as a mystic. The sharp dichotomy between appearance and reality that is central in Buddhism is absent, and so is the attempt to transcend the illusions of everyday existence. Chuang-Tzu sees human life as a dream, but he does not seek to awaken from it. In a famous passage he writes of dreaming he was a butterfly, and not knowing on awakening whether he is a human being who has dreamt of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he is a human being. Unlike the Buddha, A.C. Graham explains, Chuang-Tzu did not seek to awaken from the dream. He dreamt of dreaming more lucidly: 'Buddhists awaken out of dreaming; ChuangTzu wakes up to dreaming.' Awakening to the truth that life is a dream need not mean turning away from it. It may mean embracing it: If 'Life is a dream' implies that no achievement is lasting, it also implies that life can be charged with the wonder of dreams, that we drift spontaneously through events that follow a logic different from that of everyday intelligence, that fears and regrets are as unreal as hopes and desires. Chuang-Tzu admits no idea of salvation. There is no self and no awakening from the dream of self: When we dream we do not know we are dreaming, and in the middle of a dream we interpret a dream within it; not until we wake do we know that we were dreaming. Only at the ultimate awakening shall we know that this is the ultimate dream. We cannot be rid of illusions. Illusion is our natural condition. Why not accept it?

"He who dreams of drinking wine may weep when morning comes; he who dreams of weeping may in the morning go off to hunt. While he is dreaming he does not know it is a dream, and in his dream he may even try to interpret a dream. Only after he wakes does he know it was a dream. And someday there will be a great awakening when we know that this is all a great dream. Yet the stupid believe they are awake, busily and brightly assuming they understand things, calling this man ruler, that one herdsman - how dense! Confucius and you are both dreaming! And when I say you are dreaming, I am dreaming, too. Words like these will be labelled the Supreme Swindle. Yet, after ten thousand generations, a great sage may appear who will know their meaning, and it will still be as though he appeared with astonishing speed." (From The Complete Works Of Chuang Tzu, translated by Burton Watson.)

Plenty of solitude is a vital for my wellbeing. Not just any solitude, but solitude within a supportive environment. My favourite dwelling place is natural wilderness. Here 'silence' expands into an ineffable vastness beyond words. But for a basic introduction to the subject of solitude, here's an article I read a few days ago..... Is there a place for solitude anymore? Solitude is often mistaken for loneliness or isolation, but it's really just a desire to spend time alone. Sara Maitland is a lover of silence and solitude who has written extensively on the subject. For an in depth exploration I highly recommend her book.... A Book of Silence "In her late forties, after a noisy upbringing as one of six children and adulthood as a vocal feminist and mother, Sara Maitland found herself living alone in the country and, to her surprise, falling in love with silence. In this fascinating, intelligent, and beautifully written book, Maitland describes how she set out to explore this new love, spending periods of silence in the Sinai desert, the Scottish hills, and a remote cottage on the Isle of Skye. Maitland delves deep into the rich cultural history of silence, exploring its significance in fairy tale and myth, its importance to the Western and Eastern religious traditions, and its use in psychoanalysis and artistic expression. Her story culminates in her building a hermitage on an isolated moor in Galloway, and as she guides readers through experiences of silence in this new home, she evokes a sense of peace that includes the reader in its intimate tranquility."

I question Karl's presence as well. By his own words he is here to gain followers for his own political agenda. He knows little of Daoism or Buddhism, has no interest in learning and shows no respect for these traditions. I have no problem with a small number of posts from someone like him, but he is a prolific poster. He is regularly top poster on any given day. His fundamental opposition to the spirit of this site regularly prevents discussions from developing in any constructive way.

I see logic as a very useful tool indeed and using it is an art that some people excel at and others lack. For those on a spiritual path logic and reason are essential, but in excess they are obstacles because they block entry into a greater reality that transcends any notion of what we humans can conceptualise. Also, logic and reason are tools of the intellect and hence work best with cold detachment, whereas my greatest joy comes through feeling the embodied warmth of ineffable experience. Here’s a small extract from Carl Jung’s Red Book where he engages in a long discussion about magic with a wise spirit guide of his, Philemon. He tries to understand what it involves to move beyond reason…… Jung: "Now, let us not stray from [the topic of] magic." Philemon: "Why are you so determined about learning more about magic, if you claim that you have left your reason at home? Or would you not consider consistency part of reason?" Jung: "I do—I see, or rather, it seems as if you are quite an adept sophist, who skillfully leads me around the house and back to the door." P: "It seems that way to you because you judge everything from the standpoint of your intellect. If you forsake reason for a while, you will also give up consistency." J: "That's a difficult test. But if I want to be adept at some point, I suppose I ought to submit to your request. All right, I'm listening." P: "What do you want to hear?" J: "You're not going to draw me out. I'm simply waiting for whatever you are going to say." P: "And what if I say nothing?" J: "Well, then I'll withdraw somewhat embarrassed and think that Philemon is at the very least a shrewd fox, who definitely would have something to teach me." P: "With this, my boy, you have learned something about magic." J: "I'll have to chew on this. I must admit that this is somewhat surprising. I had imagined magic as being somewhat different." P: "Well, this shows you how little you understand about magic and how incorrect your notion of it is." J: "If this should be the case, or that's how it is, then I must confess that I approached the problem completely incorrectly. I gather from what you are saying that these matters do not follow ordinary understanding." P: "Nor does magic." J: "But you have not deterred me at all; on the contrary, I'm burning to hear even more. What I know up to now is essentially negative." J: "With this you have recognized a second main point. Above all, you must know that magic is the negative of what one can know." J: "That, too, my dear Philemon, is a piece of knowledge that is hard to digest and causes me no small pain. The negative of what one can know? I suppose you mean that it cannot be known, don't you? This exhausts my understanding." P: "That is the third point that you must note as essential: namely, that there is nothing for you to understand." J: "Well, I must confess that that is new and strange. So nothing at all about magic can be understood?" P: "Exactly. Magic happens to be precisely everything that eludes comprehension." J: "But then how the devil is one to teach and learn magic?" P: "Magic is neither to be taught nor learned. It's foolish that you want to learn magic." J: "But then magic is nothing but deception." P: "Watch out—you have started reasoning again." J: "It's difficult to exist without reason." P: "And that is exactly how difficult magic is." J: "Well, in that case it's hard work. I conclude that it is an inescapable condition for the adept that he completely unlearns his reason." P: "I'm afraid that is what it amounts to." J: "Ye Gods, this is serious." P: "Not as serious as you think. Reason declines with old age, since it is an essential counterpart of the drives, which are much more intense in youth than in old age. Have you ever seen young magicians?" J: "No, the magician is proverbially old." P: "You see, I'm right." J: "But then the prospects of the adept are bad. He must wait until old age to experience the mysteries of magic." P: "If he gives up his reason before then, he can already experience something useful sooner." J: "That seems to me to be a dangerous experiment. One cannot give up reason without further ado." P: "Nor can one simply become a magician." J: "You lay damnable snares."

Many thanks Old River for your insights. Welcome to Dao Bums! You're obviously far from a beginner on this path. Most, if not all, of what you've written could be me speaking of my own realisations. ( An excellent avatar.)

Oh no! Not another duel about dualism. (When it comes to 'duelism' I've noticed you're far from shy.) I’ll stick with Leonard Cohen’s, Though it all may be one in the higher eye Down here where we live it is two