Bu Jiu Guan - The Barrier of Inconstancy in Taoist Pract

Key Takeaways

• Bu Jiu Guan (not lasting, not constant 不久关) is the barrier of abandoning practice when difficulty arises
• The Tongguan Wen warns against those who begin with enthusiasm but retreat at the first obstacle
• This barrier manifests today as starting spiritual practices and quitting when challenges emerge
• Taoist solution: cultivate steadfastness through small daily disciplines that build lasting commitment
• True cultivation rewards those who persist, not those who seek instant results

The morning I almost quit meditation entirely, the fog on Longhu Mountain was thicker than usual. I sat in the practice hall, watching the smoke from incense curl upward, feeling nothing but restlessness.

I'd been practicing for three months — my longest streak ever. And for the past three weeks, nothing had happened. No peaceful feelings. No moments of clarity. Just boredom and a mind that wouldn't stop chattering.

"You're learning the second barrier," Master Zeng said, sitting beside me. I hadn't noticed him enter.

"What second barrier?"

"Bu Jiu. Not lasting." He didn't elaborate. Just sat there, breathing, present.

Historical Origins: The Tongguan Wen on Inconstancy

The concept of Bu Jiu Guan appears in the Tongguan Wen (通关文, "Passing Through the Barriers"), a classical text warning practitioners about obstacles along the path. The passage states: "Those who seek the Dao for trivial reasons, who pursue enlightenment for fleeting comfort — when difficulty arises, they retreat. When suffering comes, they abandon the path."

In our Zhengyi Taoism tradition, this warning against inconstancy has been passed down through generations of teachers. The text describes practitioners who begin with great enthusiasm but lack the steadfastness to continue through difficulty. They seek the Dao as one seeks entertainment — to feel good, to escape discomfort, to have a pleasant experience. When the practice becomes demanding, when the mind resists, when discomfort arises — they quit.

What follows is an examination of how inconstancy operates and how to transform it into lasting commitment.

How Taoism Transforms These States: From Inconstancy to Perseverance

What makes Taoist Philosophy unique is its understanding that constancy must be cultivated through daily repetition, not through bursts of enthusiasm. Rather than seeking dramatic experiences or peak states, authentic practice focuses on showing up consistently, day after day, regardless of how one feels.

The first manifestation — seeking the Dao for trivial reasons — represents shallow motivation. We approach practice wanting to feel better immediately, to solve specific problems, to achieve particular results. When practice doesn't deliver instant gratification, we abandon it. True motivation for practice isn't about feeling good today — it's about understanding that lasting transformation requires sustained effort over years.

The second manifestation — abandoning practice at the first obstacle — reveals attachment to comfort. We tell ourselves: "I'll practice when I have more time," "when I'm less stressed," "when conditions are perfect." But conditions are never perfect. The barrier isn't the difficulty itself — it's the belief that difficulty means we should quit.

The third manifestation — starting and stopping repeatedly — creates a pattern of spiritual insecurity. Each abandonment reinforces the habit of abandonment. Each incomplete cycle strengthens the pattern of inconstancy. We become practitioners who always start but never arrive, always begin but never finish.

The fourth manifestation — comparing our practice to others' — leads to discouragement and abandonment. Someone else's progress makes us feel behind; someone else's ease makes us feel inadequate. We quit not because practice is too hard, but because we've made it about competition rather than personal transformation.

The fifth manifestation — seeking dramatic experiences over mundane discipline — chases peaks while neglecting valleys. But cultivation happens in the ordinary moments, not the extraordinary ones. The practitioner who meditates ten minutes daily for years goes further than one who meditates for hours occasionally, then stops for weeks.

My Personal Experience: Learning Through Failure

I remember the year I almost quit entirely. I'd been practicing for three months when I hit a period of intense difficulty. My meditation became dry and boring. My energy felt flat. Nothing seemed to be happening.

Every day the voice came: "This isn't working. Try something else."

I went to Master Zeng, ready to announce my decision to abandon Taoist practice for something more effective.

"Sit," he said.

We meditated together for an hour. My mind raced. My body ached. I fidgeted through the entire session.

"Now," he said afterward. "Tell me why you want to quit."

"It's not working," I said. "I'm not making progress."

Master Zeng smiled slightly. "Tell me what you were doing three months ago, before you started practice."

I thought back. "I was watching television every night. Angry. Tired. Unfulfilled."

"And now?"

"Now I'm sitting here, uncomfortable, bored, frustrated..." I paused. "But also... less angry. More aware of my patterns."

He poured tea between us. "The practice is working. But you're watching for fireworks when it's teaching you to build a fire. That takes longer. And it doesn't feel dramatic."

That stayed with me. Progress in cultivation often doesn't feel like progress. It feels like tedium, like repetition, like ordinary moments. The breakthrough comes not from seeking dramatic experiences but from persisting through the ordinary ones.

Practical Meaning for Daily Cultivation

How do we actually work with the barrier of inconstancy? What does steadfast practice look like in ordinary life?

First, start smaller than you think you need. The arrogance of grand plans — two hours of meditation, daily rituals, strict schedules — often leads to grand failures. Begin with five minutes. Or two. Make it so small that missing it would be embarrassing. The practitioner who meditates ten minutes daily for a year practices for six thousand minutes. The one who tries two hours daily and quits after a month practices for sixty.

Second, expect difficulty as normal, not as a sign to quit. When your practice becomes boring, when you feel stuck, when nothing seems to be happening — that's not the time to quit. That's the practice. Sitting through difficulty with awareness, continuing when motivation has vanished, showing up when everything in you wants to leave — that's where transformation happens.

Third, connect to community and teachers. The barrier of isolation leads to discouragement. When we practice alone, minor difficulties feel insurmountable. When we practice with others — even virtually, even occasionally — we gain perspective. A teacher who's practiced for decades knows that temporary dryness is normal. A community that's also struggling reminds us we're not alone.

Fourth, celebrate consistency, not intensity. Track your streak, not your peak experience. The most valuable meditation isn't the occasional profound session — it's the ordinary daily sit. Taoist Practice is built on thousands of small repetitions, not a few dramatic breakthroughs.

Distinguishing Misconceptions: What Bu Jiu Guan Is Not

Some modern interpretations misunderstand these teachings entirely.

They are not a call for rigid perfectionism. The barrier isn't about never missing a day or never struggling. It's about the pattern of constantly starting and stopping, of giving up at the first difficulty. A practitioner who misses days due to illness or life circumstances isn't practicing inconstancy — they're being human. What matters is returning to practice after interruptions, not never being interrupted.

They are not a rejection of changing methods or traditions. Sometimes practitioners genuinely need to change their approach, find a better teacher, or adjust their practice. The barrier isn't flexibility — it's the pattern of running away from difficulty by seeking new methods. If every practice "doesn't work" for you, examine whether the practice needs changing or your relationship to difficulty needs transforming.

They are not about beating yourself into submission. Constancy cultivated through self-criticism and shame creates brittle practitioners who collapse when they finally break. True steadfastness comes from understanding why you practice, from seeing the value in daily discipline, from finding genuine meaning in the ordinary moments.

The stream behind Master Zeng's quarters flows steadily because water doesn't decide to stop. Every day, regardless of weather, regardless of season, the water continues. It doesn't have dramatic moments of revelation — it just flows, continuously, persistently, inevitably reaching the sea.

That's the quality of cultivation. Not dramatic breakthroughs. Just steady flow toward understanding.

If you've been starting and stopping in your own practice, remember: the barrier isn't difficulty itself. Difficulty is the path. The question isn't whether you'll struggle — you will. The question is whether you'll return to practice tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

That's the Dao — not seeking the peak, but walking the path, step after step, day after day, until the path becomes who you are.