Chou, the Counting Rods, are things.
Guanyinzi said: The ancients who were good at counting yarrow stalks and cracking tortoise shells could show the ancient within the present and the present within the ancient, the low within the high and the high within the low, the great within the small and the small within the great, the many within the one and the one within the many, things within people and people within things, the other within the self and the self within the other. As for this Tao, its coming has no present and its going has no past; its height has no canopy and its depth has no base; its greatness has no outside and its smallness has no inside; outside it there are no things, within it there are no people; near it there is no self, far from it there is no other. It cannot be divided, cannot be joined, cannot be described by analogy, cannot be thought. Only because it is undivided wholeness is it the Tao.
He said: Water lies hidden, so it is stored as the five essences; fire flies up, so it spreads as the five smells; wood flourishes, so it blossoms as the five colors; metal is hard, so it is solid as the five tones; earth is harmonious, so it nourishes as the five flavors. Their constants are five, but their changes cannot be counted; their things are five, but their mixtures cannot be counted. So the myriad things between heaven and earth cannot be held to be ten thousand, cannot be held to be five, cannot be held to be one; nor can they be held to be not ten thousand, not five, not one. Some join them and some separate them; to insist on form by this means, to insist on number by this means, to insist on qi by this means, is only to weary oneself. Things do not know me, and I do not know things.
He said: Within my own mind the myriad things can be made. For when the mind goes somewhere, love follows it; when love follows, essence follows. For when the mind fixes on something, it first condenses into water. When the mind longs for a thing, saliva comes out; when the mind grieves over a thing, tears come out; when the mind is ashamed before a thing, sweat comes out. Nothing momentary does not come to endure, and nothing enduring does not change. Water produces wood, wood produces fire, fire produces earth, earth produces metal, and metal produces water; they assail and overcome one another beyond counting. The Infant and the Fair Maiden, the Golden Tower and the Crimson Palace, the Azure Jiao Dragon and the White Tiger, the precious cauldron and the red furnace—all are these things, and there is also that which is not these things and remains.
He said: Birds and beasts now cry out, now wander about, now flee; plants and trees now sprout, now stand tall, now rustle and wither. Heaven and earth cannot hold them back, and the sage cannot tie them down. There is something that moves them. Being lies there and nonbeing lies here: a drum not struck by a stick does not sound. The even lies there and the odd lies here: a stick not held by a hand does not strike.
He said: It is all the same one thing. The multitude are confused by its name: they see things and do not see the Tao. The worthy analyze its principle: they see the Tao and do not see things. The sage unites with its heaven: he sees neither the Tao nor things. The one Tao is wholly the Tao; not grasped, it is the Tao; grasped, it is a thing.
He said: One who knows that things are false need not get rid of things. It is like seeing an earthen ox or a wooden horse: though the names “ox” and “horse” remain in one's feelings, the mind has forgotten the reality of ox and horse.