- Food for the Heart
- Venerable Ajahn Chah
- Copyright © 1992 The Sangha, Wat Pah Nanachat
Introduction ![[go to top]](return-to-text.gif)
One of the most notable features of Venerable Ajahn Chah's teaching was the emphasis he
gave to the Sangha, the monastic order, and its use as a vehicle for Dhamma practice. This
is not to deny his unique gift for teaching lay people, which enabled him to communicate
brilliantly with people from all walks of life, be they simple farmers or University
professors. But the results he obtained with teaching and creating solid Sangha
communities are plainly visible in the many monasteries which grew up around him, both
within Thailand and, later, in England, Australia, Europe and elsewhere. Ajahn Chah
foresaw the necessity of establishing the Sangha in the West if long-term results were to
be realized.
This book is a collection of talks he gave to the monastic communities in Thailand.
They are exhortations given to the communities of bhikkhus, or Buddhist monks, at
his own monastery, Wat Ba Pong, and some of its branches. This fact should be born in mind
by the lay reader. These talks are not intended to, and indeed cannot, serve as an
introduction to Buddhism and meditation practice. They are monastic teachings, addressed
primarily to the lifestyle and problems particular to that situation. A knowledge of the
basics of Buddhism on the part of the listener was assumed. Many of the talks will thus
seem strange and even daunting to the lay reader, with their emphasis on conformity and
renunciation.
For the lay reader, then, it is essential to bear in mind the environment within which
these talks were given -- the rugged, austere, poverty-stricken North-East corner of
Thailand, birth place of most of Thailand's great meditation teachers and almost its
entire forest monastic tradition. The people of the North-East are honed by this
environment to a rugged simplicity and gentle patience which make them ideal candidates
for the forest monk's lifestyle. Within this environment, in small halls dimly lit by
paraffin lamps, surrounded by the assembly of monks, Ajahn Chah gave his teachings.
Exhortations by the master occurred typically at the end of the fortnightly recitation
of the Patimokkha, the monks' code of discipline. Their content would be decided by the
current situation -- slackness in the practice, confusion about the rules, or just plain
"unenlightenment." In a lifestyle characterized by simplicity and contentment
with little, complacency is an ongoing tendency, so that talks for arousing diligent
effort were a regular occurrence.
The talks themselves are spontaneous reflections and exhortations rather than
systematic teachings as most Westerners would know them. The listener was required to give
full attention in the present moment and to reflect back on his own practice accordingly,
rather than to memorize the teachings by rote or analyze them in terms of logic. In this
way he could become aware of his own shortcomings and learn how to best put into effect
the skillful means offered by the teacher.
Although meant primarily for a monastic resident -- be one a monk, nun or novice -- the
interested lay reader will no doubt obtain many insights into Buddhist practice from this
book. At the very least there are the numerous anecdotes of the Venerable Ajahn's own
practice which abound throughout the book; these can be read simply as biographical
material or as instruction for mind training.
From the contents of this book, it will be seen that the training of the mind is not,
as many believe, simply a matter of sitting with the eyes closed or perfecting a
meditation technique, but is, as Ajahn Chah would say, a great renunciation.
The translator
Dhamma Fighting
Fight greed, fight aversion, fight delusion...these are the enemy. In the practice of
Buddhism, the path of the Buddha, we fight with Dhamma, using patient endurance. We fight
by resisting our countless moods.
Dhamma and the world are inter-related. Where there is Dhamma there is the world, where
there is the world there is Dhamma. Where there are defilements there are those who
conquer defilements, who do battle with them. This is called fighting inwardly. To fight
outwardly people take hold of bombs and guns to throw and to shoot; they conquer and are
conquered. Conquering others is the way of the world. In the practice of Dhamma we don't
have to fight others, but instead conquer our own minds, patiently enduring and resisting
all our moods.
When it comes to Dhamma practice we don't harbor resentment and enmity amongst
ourselves, but instead let go of all forms of ill-will in our own actions and thoughts,
freeing ourselves from jealousy, aversion and resentment. Hatred can only be overcome by
not harboring resentment and bearing grudges.
Hurtful actions and reprisals are different but closely related. Actions once done are
finished with, there's no need to answer with revenge and hostility. This is called
"action" (kamma). "Reprisal" (vera) means to continue
that action further with thoughts of "you did it to me so I'm going to get you
back." There's no end to this. It brings about the continual seeking of revenge, and
so hatred is never abandoned. As long as we behave like this the chain remains unbroken,
there's no end to it. No matter where we go, the feuding continues.
The Supreme Teacher [1] taught the world, he had compassion
for all worldly beings. But the world nevertheless goes on like this. The wise should look
into this and select those things which are of true value. The Buddha had trained in the
various arts of warfare as a prince, but he saw that they weren't really useful, they are
limited to the world with its fighting and aggression.
Therefore, in training ourselves as those who have left the world, we must learn to
give up all forms of evil, giving up all those things which are the cause for enmity. We
conquer ourselves, we don't try to conquer others. We fight, but we fight only the
defilements; if there is greed, we fight that; if there is aversion, we fight that; if
there is delusion, we strive to give it up.
This is called "Dhamma fighting." This warfare of the heart is really
difficult, in fact it's the most difficult thing of all. We become monks in order to
contemplate this, to learn the art of fighting greed, aversion and delusion. This is our
prime responsibility.
This is the inner battle, fighting with defilements. But there are very few people who
fight like this. Most people fight with other things, they rarely fight defilements. They
rarely even see them.
The Buddha taught us to give up all forms of evil and cultivate virtue. This is the
right path. Teaching in this way is like the Buddha picking us up and placing us at the
beginning of the path. Having reached the path, whether we walk along it or not is up to
us. The Buddha's job is finished right there. He shows the way, that which is right and
that which is not right. This much is enough, the rest is up to us.
Now, having reached the path we still don't know anything, we still haven't seen
anything, so we must learn. To learn we must be prepared to endure some hardship, just
like students in the world. It's difficult enough to obtain the knowledge and learning
necessary for them to pursue their careers. They have to endure. When they think wrongly
or feel averse or lazy they must force themselves before they can graduate and get a job.
The practice for a monk is similar. If we determine to practice and contemplate, then we
will surely see the way.
Ditthimana is a harmful thing. Ditthi means "view" or
"opinion." All forms of view are called ditthi: seeing good as evil,
seeing evil as good...any way whatsoever that we see things. This is not the problem. The
problem lies with the clinging to those views, called mana; holding on to those
views as if they were the truth. This leads us to spin around from birth to death, never
reaching completion, just because of that clinging. So the Buddha urged us to let go of
views.
If many people live together, as we do here, they can still practice comfortably if
their views are in harmony. But even two or three monks would have difficulty if their
views were not good or harmonious. When we humble ourselves and let go of our views, even
if there are many of us, we come together at the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha. [2]
It's not true to say that there will be disharmony just because there are many of us.
Just look at a millipede. A millipede has many legs, doesn't it? Just looking at it you'd
think it would have difficulty walking, but actually it doesn't. It has its own order and
rhythm. In our practice it's the same. If we practice as the Noble Sangha of the
Buddha practiced, then it's easy. That is, supatipanno -- those who practice well; ujupatipanno
-- those who practice straightly; ñanapatipanno -- those who practice to transcend
suffering, and samicipatipanno -- those who practice properly. These four
qualities, established within us, will make us true members of Sangha. Even if we
number in the hundreds or thousands, no matter how many we are, we all travel the same
path. We come from different backgrounds, but we are the same. Even though our views may
differ, if we practice correctly there will be no friction. Just like all the rivers and
streams which flow to the sea...once they enter the sea they all have the same taste and
color. It's the same with people. When they enter the stream of Dhamma, it's the one
Dhamma. Even though they come from different places, they harmonize, they merge.
But the thinking which causes all the disputes and conflict is ditthi-mana.
Therefore the Buddha taught us to let go of views. Don't allow mana to cling to
those views beyond their relevance.
The Buddha taught the value of constant sati, [3]
recollection. Whether we are standing, walking, sitting or reclining, wherever we are, we
should have this power of recollection. When we have sati we see ourselves, we see
our own minds. We see the "body within the body," "the mind within the
mind." If we don't have sati we don't know anything, we aren't aware of what
is happening.
So sati is very important. With constant sati we will listen to the
Dhamma of the Buddha at all times. This is because "eye seeing forms" is Dhamma;
"ear hearing sounds" is Dhamma; "nose smelling odors" is Dhamma;
"tongue tasting flavors" is Dhamma; "body feeling sensations" is
Dhamma; when impressions arise in the mind, that is Dhamma also. Therefore one who has
constant sati always hears the Buddha's teaching. The Dhamma is always there. Why?
Because of sati, because we are aware.
Sati is recollection, sampajañña is self-awareness. This awareness is
the actual Buddho, the Buddha. When there is sati-sampajañña,
understanding will follow. We know what is going on. When the eye sees forms: is this
proper or improper? When the ear hears sound: is this the appropriate or inappropriate? Is
it harmful? Is it wrong, is it right? And so on like this with everything. If we
understand we hear the Dhamma all the time.
So let us all understand that right now we are learning in the midst of Dhamma. Whether
we go forward or step back, we meet the Dhamma -- it's all Dhamma if we have sati?
Even seeing the animals running around in the forest we can reflect, seeing that all
animals are the same as us. They run away from suffering and chase after happiness, just
as people do. Whatever they don't like they avoid; they are afraid of dying, just like
people. If we reflect on this, we see that all beings in the world, people as well, are
the same in their various instincts. Thinking like this is called "bhavana,"
[4] seeing according to the truth, that all beings are
companions in birth, old age, sickness and death. Animals are the same as human beings and
human beings are the same as animals. If we really see things the way they are our mind
will give up attachment to them.
Therefore it is said we must have sati. If we have sati we will see the
state of our own mind. Whatever we are thinking or feeling we must know it. This knowing
is called Buddho, the Buddha, the one who knows...who knows thoroughly, who knows
clearly and completely. When the mind knows completely we find the right practice.
So the straight way to practice is to have mindfulness, sati. If you are without
sati for five minutes you are crazy for five minutes, heedless for five minutes.
whenever you are lacking in sati you are crazy. Sati is essential. To have sati
is to know yourself, to know the condition of your mind and your life. This is to have
understanding and discernment, to listen to the Dhamma at all times. After leaving the
teacher's discourse, you still hear the Dhamma, because the Dhamma is everywhere.
So therefore, all of you, be sure to practice every day. Whether lazy or diligent,
practice just the same. Practice of the Dhamma is not done by following your moods. If you
practice following your moods then it's not Dhamma. Don't discriminate between day and
night, whether the mind is peaceful or not...just practice.
It's like a child who is learning to write. At first he doesn't write nicely -- big,
long loops and squiggles -- he writes like a child. After a while the writing improves
through practice. Practicing the Dhamma is like this. At first you are awkward...sometimes
calm, sometimes not, you don't really know what's what. Some people get discouraged. Don't
slacken off! You must persevere with the practice. Live with effort, just like the
schoolboy: as he gets older he writes better and better. From writing badly he grows to
write beautifully, all because of the practice from childhood.
Our practice is like this. Try to have recollection at all times: standing, walking,
sitting or reclining. When we perform our various duties smoothly and well, we feel peace
of mind. When there is peace of mind in our work it's easy to have peaceful meditation,
they go hand in hand. So make an effort. You should all make an effort to follow the
practice. This is training.
Understanding Vinaya
This practice of ours is not easy. We may know some things but there is still much that
we don't know. For example, when we hear teachings such as "know the body, then know
the mind within the body"; or "know the mind, then know the mind within the
mind." If we haven't yet practiced these things, then we hear them we may feel
baffled. The Vinaya [5] is like this. In the past I used
to be a teacher, [6] but I was only a "small
teacher," not a big one. Why do I say a "small teacher"? Because I didn't
practice. I taught the Vinaya but I didn't practice it. This I call a small
teacher, an inferior teacher. I say an "inferior teacher" because when it came
to the practice I was deficient. For the most part my practice was a long way off the
theory, just as if I hadn't learnt the Vinaya at all.
However, I would like to state that in practical terms it's impossible to know the Vinaya
completely, because some things, whether we know them or not, are still offenses. This is
tricky. And yet it is stressed that if we do not yet understand any particular training
rule or teaching, we must study that rule with enthusiasm and respect. If we don't know,
then we should make an effort to learn. If we don't make an effort, that is in itself an
offense.
For example, if you doubt...suppose there is a woman and, not knowing whether she is a
woman or a man, you touch her. [7] You're not sure, but still
go ahead and touch...that's still wrong. I used to wonder why that should be wrong, but
when I considered the practice, I realized that a meditator must have sati, he must
be circumspect. Whether talking, touching or holding things, he must first thoroughly
consider. The error in this case is that there is no sati, or insufficient sati,
or a lack of concern at that time.
Take another example: it's only eleven o'clock in the morning but at the time the sky
is cloudy, we can't see the sun, and we have no clock. Now suppose we estimate that it's
probably afternoon...we really feel that it's afternoon...and yet we proceed to eat
something. We start eating and then the clouds part and we see from the position of the
sun that it's only just past eleven. This is still an offense. [8]
I used to wonder, "Eh? It's not yet past mid-day, why is this an offense?"
An offense is incurred here because of negligence, carelessness, we don't thoroughly
consider. There is a lack of restraint. If there is doubt and we act on the doubt, there
is a dukkata [9] offense just for acting in the face of
the doubt. We think that it is afternoon when in fact it isn't. The act of eating is not
wrong in itself, but there is an offense here because we are careless and negligent. If it
really is afternoon but we think it isn't, then it's the heavier pacittiya offense.
If we act with doubt, whether the action is wrong or not, we still incur an offense. If
the action is not wrong in itself it is the lesser offense; if it is wrong then the
heavier offense is incurred. Therefore the Vinaya can get quite bewildering.
At one time I went to see Venerable Ajahn Mun. [10] At
that time I had just begun to practice. I had read the Pubbasikkha [11] and could understand that fairly well. Then I went on to read the Visuddhimagga,
where the author writes of the Silanidesa (Book of Precepts), Samadhinidesa
(Book of Mind-Training) and Paññanidesa (Book of Understanding)...I felt my head
was going to burst! After reading that, I felt that it was beyond the ability of a human
being to practice. But then I reflected that the Buddha would not teach something that is
impossible to practice. He wouldn't teach it and he wouldn't declare it, because those
things would be useful neither to himself nor to others. The Silanidesa is
extremely meticulous, the Samadhinidesa more so, and the Paññanidesa even
more so! I sat and thought, "Well, I can't go any further. There's no way
ahead." It was as if I'd reached a dead-end.
At this stage I was struggling with my practice...I was stuck. It so happened that I
had a chance to go and see Venerable Ajahn Mun, so I asked him: "Venerable Ajahn,
what am I to do? I've just begun to practice but I still don't know the right way. I have
so many doubts I can't find any foundation at all in the practice."
He asked, "What's the problem?"
"In the course of my practice I picked up the Visuddhimagga and read it,
but it seems impossible to put into practice. The contents of the Silanidesa, Samadhinidesa
and Paññanidesa seem to be completely impractical. I don't think there is anybody
in the world who could do it, it's so detailed and meticulous. To memorize every single
rule would be impossible, it's beyond me."
He said to me: "Venerable...there's a lot, it's true, but it's really only a
little. If we were to take account of every training rule in the Silanidesa that
would be difficult...true...But actually, what we call the Silanidesa has evolved
from the human mind. If we train this mind to have a sense of shame and a fear of
wrong-doing, we will then be restrained, we will be cautious....
"This will condition us to be content with little, with few wishes, because we
can't possibly look after a lot. When this happens our sati becomes stronger. We
will be able to maintain sati at all times. Wherever we are we will make the effort
to maintain thorough sati. Caution will be developed. Whatever you doubt don't say
it, don't act on it. If there's anything you don't understand, ask the teacher. Trying to
practice every single training rule would indeed be burdensome, but we should examine
whether we are prepared to admit our faults or not. Do we accept them?"
This teaching is very important. It's not so much that we must know every single
training rule, if we know how to train our own minds.
"All that stuff that you've been reading arises from the mind. If you still
haven't trained your mind to have sensitivity and clarity you will be doubting all the
time. You should try to bring the teachings of the Buddha into your mind. Be composed in
mind. Whatever arises that you doubt, just give it up. If you don't really know for sure
then don't say it or do it. For instance, if you wonder, "Is this wrong or not?"
-- that is, you're not really sure -- then don't say it, don't act on it, don't discard
your restraint."
As I sat and listened, I reflected that this teaching conformed with the eight ways for
measuring the true teaching of the Buddha: Any teaching that speaks of the diminishing of
defilements; which leads out of suffering; which speaks of renunciation (of sensual
pleasures); of contentment with little; of humility and disinterest in rank and status; of
aloofness and seclusion; of diligent effort; of being easy to maintain...these eight
qualities are characteristics of the true Dhamma-vinaya, the teaching of the
Buddha. anything in contradiction to these is not.
"If we are genuinely sincere we will have a sense of shame and a fear of
wrongdoing. We will know that if there is doubt in our mind we will not act on it nor
speak on it. The Silanidesa is only words. For example, hiri-ottappa [12] in the books is one thing, but in our minds it is
another."
Studying the Vinaya with Venerable Ajahn Mun I learnt many things. As I sat and
listened, understanding arose.
So, when it comes to the Vinaya I've studied considerably. Some days during the
Rains Retreat I would study from six o'clock in the evening through till dawn. I
understand it sufficiently. All the factors of apatti [13]
which are covered in the Pubbasikkha I wrote down in a notebook and kept in my bag.
I really put effort into it, but in later times I gradually let go. It was too much. I
didn't know which was the essence and which was the trimming, I had just taken all of it.
When I understood more fully I let it drop off because it was too heavy. I just put my
attention into my own mind and gradually did away with the texts.
However, when I teach the monks here I still take the Pubbasikkha as my
standard. For many years here at Wat Ba Pong it was I myself who read it to the assembly.
In those days I would ascend the Dhamma-seat and go on until at least eleven o'clock or
midnight, some days even one or two o'clock in the morning. We were interested. And we
trained. After listening to the Vinaya reading we would go and consider what we'd
heard. You can't really understand the Vinaya just by listening to it. Having
listened to it you must examine it and delve into it further.
Even though I studied these things for many years my knowledge was still not complete,
because there were so many ambiguities in the texts. Now that it's been such a long time
since I looked at the books, my memory of the various training rules has faded somewhat,
but within my mind there is no deficiency. There is a standard there. There is no doubt,
there is understanding. I put away the books and concentrated on developing my own mind. I
don't have doubts about any of the training rules. The mind has an appreciation of virtue,
it won't dare do anything wrong, whether in public or in private. I do not kill animals,
even small ones. If someone were to ask me to intentionally kill an ant or a termite, to
squash one with my hand, for instance, I couldn't do it, even if they were to offer me
thousands of baht to do so. Even one ant or termite! The ant's life would have
greater value to me.
However, it may be that I may cause one to die, such as when something crawls up my leg
and I brush it off. Maybe it dies, but when I look into my mind there is no feeling of
guilt. There is no wavering or doubt. Why? Because there was no intention. Silam vadami
bhikkhave cetanaham: "Intention is the essence of moral training." Looking
at it in this way I see that there was no intentional killing. Sometimes while walking I
may step on an insect and kill it. In the past, before I really understood, I would really
suffer over things like that. I would think I had committed an offense.
"What? There was no intention." "There was no intention, but I wasn't
being careful enough!" I would go on like this, fretting and worrying.
So this Vinaya is something which can be disturb practicers of Dhamma, but it
also has its value, in keeping with what the teachers say -- "Whatever training rules
you don't yet know you should learn. If you don't know you should question those who
do." They really stress this.
Now if we don't know the training rules, we won't be aware of our transgressions
against them. Take, for example, a Venerable Thera of the past, Ajahn Pow of Wat Kow Wong
Got in Lopburi Province. One day a certain Maha, [14]
a disciple of his, was sitting with him, when some women came up and asked,
"Luang Por! We want to invite you to go with us on an excursion, will you
go?"
Luang Por Pow didn't answer. The Maha sitting near him thought that Venerable
Ajahn Pow hadn't heard, so he said,
"Luang Por, Luang Por! Did you hear? These women invited you to go for a
trip."
He said, "I heard."
The women asked again, "Luang Por, are you going or not?"
He just sat there without answering, and so nothing came of the invitation. When they
had gone, the Maha said,
"Luang Por, why didn't you answer those women?"
He said, "Oh, Maha, don't you know this rule? Those people who were here
just now were all women. If women invite you to travel with them you should not consent.
If they make the arrangements themselves that's fine. If I want to go I can, because I
didn't take part in making the arrangements."
"The Maha sat and thought, "Oh, I've really made a fool of
myself."
The Vinaya states that to make an arrangement, and then travel together with,
women, even though it isn't as a couple, is a pacittiya offense.
Take another case. Lay people would bring money to offer Venerable Ajahn Pow on a tray.
He would extend his receiving cloth, [15] holding it at one
end. But when they brought the tray forward to lay it on the cloth he would retract his
hand from the cloth. Then he would simply abandon the money where it lay. He knew it was
there, but he would take no interest in it, just get up and walk away, because in the Vinaya
it is said that if one doesn't consent to the money it isn't necessary to forbid laypeople
from offering it. If he had desire for it, he would have to say, "Householder, this
is not allowable for a monk." He would have to tell them. If you have desire for it,
you must forbid them from offering that which is unallowable. However, if you really have
no desire for it, it isn't necessary. You just leave it there and go.
Although the Ajahn and his disciples lived together for many years, still some of his
disciples didn't understand Ajahn Pow's practice. This is a poor state of affairs. As for
myself, I looked into and contemplated many of Venerable Ajahn Pow's subtler points of
practice.
The Vinaya can even cause some people to disrobe. When they study it all the
doubts come up. It goes right back into the past..."my ordination, was it proper? [16] Was my preceptor pure? None of the monks who sat in on my
ordination knew anything about the Vinaya, were they sitting at the proper
distance? Was the chanting correct?" The doubts come rolling on..."The hall I
ordained in, was it proper? It was so small..." They doubt everything and fall into
hell.
So until you know how to ground your mind it's really difficult. You have to be very
cool, you can't just jump into things. But to be so cool that you don't bother to look
into things is wrong also. I was so confused I almost disrobed because I saw so many
faults within my own practice and that of some of my teachers. I was on fire and couldn't
sleep because of those doubts.
The more I doubted, the more I meditated, the more I practiced. Wherever doubt arose I
practiced right at that point. Wisdom arose. Things began to change. It's hard to describe
the change that took place. The mind changed until there was no more doubt. I don't know
how it changed, if I were to tell someone they probably wouldn't understand.
So I reflected on the teaching Paccattam veditabbo viññuhi -- the wise must
know for themselves. It must be a knowing that arises through direct experience. Studying
the Dhamma-vinaya is certainly correct but if it's just the study it's still
lacking. If you really get down to the practice you begin to doubt everything. Before I
started to practice I wasn't interested in the minor offenses, but when I started
practicing, even the dukkata offenses became as important as the parajika
offenses. Before, the dukkata offenses seemed like nothing, just a trifle. That's
how I saw them. In the evening you could confess them and they would be done with. Then
you could transgress them again. This sort of confession is impure, because you don't
stop, you don't decide to change. There is no restraint, you simply do it again and again.
There is no perception of the truth, no letting go.
Actually, in terms of ultimate truth, it's not necessary to go through the routine of
confessing offenses. If we see that our mind is pure and there is no trace of doubt, then
those offenses drop off right there. That we are not yet pure is because we still doubt,
we still waver. We are not really pure so we can't let go. We don't see ourselves, this is
the point. This Vinaya of ours is like a fence to guard us from making mistakes, so
it's something we need to be scrupulous with.
If you don't see the true value of the Vinaya for yourself it's difficult. Many
years before I came to Wat Ba Pong I decided I would give up money. For the greater part
of a Rains Retreat I had thought about it. In the end I grabbed my wallet and walked over
to a certain Maha who was living with me at the time, setting the wallet down in
front of him.
"Here, Maha, take this money. From today onwards, as long as I'm a monk, I
will not receive or hold money. You can be my witness."
"You keep it, Venerable, you may need it for your studies"...The Venerable Maha
wasn't keen to take the money, he was embarrassed...
"Why do you want to throw away all this money?"
"You don't have to worry about me. I've made my decision. I decided last
night."
From the day he took that money it was as if a gap had opened between us. We could no
longer understand each other. He's still my witness to this very day. Ever since that day
I haven't used money or engaged in any buying or selling. I've been restrained in every
way with money. I was constantly wary of wrongdoing, even though I hadn't done anything
wrong. Inwardly I maintained the meditation practice. I no longer needed wealth, I saw it
as a poison. Whether you give poison to a human being, a dog or anything else, it
invariably causes death or suffering. If we see clearly like this we will be constantly on
our guard not to take that "poison." When we clearly see the harm in it, it's
not difficult to give up.
Regarding food and meals brought as offerings, if I doubted them I wouldn't accept
them. No matter how delicious or refined the food might be, I wouldn't eat it. Take a
simple example, like raw pickled fish. Suppose you are living in a forest and you go on
almsround and receive only rice and some pickled fish wrapped in leaves. When you return
to your dwelling and open the packet you find that it's raw pickled fish...just throw it
away! [17] Eating plain rice is better than transgressing the
precepts. It has to be like this before you can say you really understand, then the Vinaya
becomes simpler.
If other monks wanted to give me requisites, such as bowl, razor or whatever, I
wouldn't accept, unless I knew them as fellow practicers with a similar standard of Vinaya.
Why not? How can you trust someone who is unrestrained? They can do all sorts of things.
Unrestrained monks don't see the value of the Vinaya, so it's possible that they
could have obtained those things in improper ways. I was as scrupulous as this.
As a result, some of my fellow monks would look askance at me..."He doesn't
socialize, he won't mix..." I was unmoved: "Sure, we can mix when we die. When
it comes to death we are all in the same boat," I thought. I lived with endurance. I
was one who spoke little. If others criticized my practice I was unmoved. Why? Because
even if I explained to them they wouldn't understand. They knew nothing about practice.
Like those times when I would be invited to a funeral ceremony and somebody would say,
"...Don't listen to him! Just put the money in his bag and don't say anything about
it...don't let him know." [18] I would say, "Hey,
do you think I'm dead or something? Just because one calls alcohol perfume doesn't make it
become perfume, you know. But you people, when you want to drink alcohol you call it
perfume, then go ahead and drink. You must be crazy!".
The Vinaya, then, can be difficult. You have to be content with little, aloof.
You must see, and see right. Once, when I was traveling through Saraburi, my group went to
stay in a village temple for a while. The Abbot there had about the same seniority as
myself. In the morning, we would all go on almsround together, then come back to the
monastery and put down our bowls. Presently the laypeople would bring dishes of food into
the hall and set them down. Then the monks would go and pick them up, open them and lay
them in a line to be formally offered. One monk would put his hand on the dish at the
other end. And that was it! With that the monks would bring them over and distribute them
to be eaten.
About five monks were traveling with me at the time, but not one of us would touch that
food. On almsround all we received was plain rice, so we sat with them and ate plain rice,
none of us would dare eat the food from those dishes.
This went on for quite a few days, until I began to sense that the Abbot was disturbed
by our behavior. One of his monks had probably gone to him and said, "Those visiting
monks won't eat any of the food. I don't know what they're up to."
I had to stay there for a few days more, so I went to the Abbot to explain.
I said, "Venerable Sir, may I have a moment please? At this time I have some
business which means I must call on your hospitality for some days, but in doing so I'm
afraid there may be one or two things which you and your fellow monks find puzzling:
namely, concerning our not eating the food which has been offered by the laypeople. I'd
like to clarify this with you, sir. It's really nothing, it's just that I've learned to
practice like this...that is, the receiving of the offerings, sir. When the lay people lay
the food down and then the monks go and open the dishes, sort them out and then have them
formally offered...this is wrong. It's a dukkata offense. Specifically, to handle
or touch food which hasn't yet been formally offered into a monk's hands,
"ruins" that food. According to the Vinaya, any monk who eats that food
incurs an offense.
"It's simply this one point, sir. It's not that I'm criticizing anybody, or that
I'm trying to force you or your monks to stop practicing like this...not at all. I just
wanted to let you know of my good intentions, because it will be necessary for me to stay
here for a few more days.
He lifted his hands in añjali, [19] "Sadhu!
Excellent! I've never yet seen a monk who keeps the minor rules in Saraburi. there aren't
any to be found these days. If there still are such monks they must live outside of
Saraburi. May I commend you. I have no objections at all, that's very good."
The next morning when we came back from almsround not one of the monks would go near
those dishes. The laypeople themselves sorted them out and offered them, because they were
afraid the monks wouldn't eat. From that day onwards the monks and novices there seemed
really on edge, so I tried to explain things to them, to put their minds at rest. I think
they were afraid of us, they just went into their rooms and closed themselves in in
silence.
For two or three days I tried to make them feel at ease because they were so ashamed, I
really had nothing against them. I didn't say things like "There's not enough
food," or "bring 'this' or 'that' food." Why not? Because I had fasted
before, sometimes for seven or eight days. Here I had plain rice, I knew I wouldn't die.
Where I got my strength from was the practice, from having studied and practiced
accordingly.
I took the Buddha as my example. Wherever I went, whatever others did, I wouldn't
involve myself. I devoted myself solely to the practice, because I cared for myself, I
cared for the practice.
Those who don't keep the Vinaya or practice meditation and those who do practice
can't live together, they must go separate ways. I didn't understand this myself in the
past. As a teacher I taught others but I didn't practice. This is really bad. When I
looked deeply into it, my practice and my knowledge were as far apart as earth and sky.
Therefore, those who want to go and set up meditation centers in the forest...don't do
it. If you don't yet really know, don't bother trying, you'll only make a mess of it. Some
monks think that going to live in the forest they will find peace, but they still don't
understand the essentials of practice. They cut grass for themselves, [20] do everything themselves...Those who really know the practice aren't
interested in places like this, they won't prosper. Doing it like that won't lead to
progress. No matter how peaceful the forest may be you can't progress if you do it wrong.
They see the forest monks living in the forest and go to live in the forest like them,
but it's not the same. The robes are not the same, eating habits are not the same,
everything is different. Namely, they don't train themselves, they don't practice. The
place is wasted, it doesn't really work. If it does work, it does so only as a venue for
showing off or publicizing, just like a medicine show. It goes no further than that. Those
who have only practiced a little and then go to teach others are not yet ripe, they don't
really understand. In a short time they give up and it falls apart. It just brings
trouble.
So we must study somewhat, look at the Navakovada, [21]
what does it say? Study it, memorize it, until you understand. From time to time ask your
teacher concerning the finer points, he will explain them. Study like this until you
really understand the Vinaya.
Maintaining the Standard
Today we are meeting together as we do every year after the annual Dhamma examinations.
[22] At this time all of you should reflect on the importance
of carrying out the various duties of the monastery, those toward the preceptor and those
toward the teachers. These are what hold us together as a single group, enabling us to
live in harmony and concord. They are also what lead us to have respect for each other,
which in turn benefits the community.
In all communities, from the time of the Buddha till the present, no matter what form
they may take, if the residents have no mutual respect they cannot succeed. Whether they
be secular communities or monastic ones, if they lack mutual respect they have no
solidarity. If there is no mutual respect, negligence sets in and the practice eventually
degenerates.
Our community of Dhamma practicers has lived here for about twenty five years now,
steadily growing, but it could deteriorate. We must understand this point. But if we are
all heedful, have mutual respect and continue to maintain the standards of practice, I
feel that our harmony will be firm. Our practice as a group will be a source of growth for
Buddhism for a long time to come.
Now in regard to the study and the practice, they are a pair. Buddhism has grown and
flourished until the present time because of the study going hand in hand with practice.
If we simply learn the scriptures in a heedless way negligence sets in...For example, in
the first year here we had seven monks for the Rains Retreat. At that time, I thought to
myself, "Whenever monks start studying for Dhamma Examinations the practice seems to
degenerate." Considering this, I tried to determine the cause, so I began to teach
the monks who were there for the Rains Retreat -- all seven of them. I taught for about
forty days, from after the meal till six in the evening, every day. The monks went for the
exams and it turned out there was a good result in that respect, all seven of them passed.
That much was good, but there was a certain complication regarding those who were
lacking in circumspection. To study, it is necessary to do a lot of reciting and
repeating. Those who are unrestrained and unreserved tend to grow lax with the meditation
practice and spend all their time studying, repeating and memorizing. This causes them to
throw out their old abiding, their standards of practice. And this happens very often.
So it was when they had finished their studies and taken their exams I could see a
change in the behavior of the monks. There was no walking meditation, only a little
sitting, and an increase in socializing. There was less restraint and composure.
Actually, in our practice, when you do walking meditation, you should really determine
to walk; when sitting in meditation, you should concentrate on doing just that. Whether
you are standing, walking, sitting or lying down, you should strive to be composed. But
when people do a lot of study, their minds are full of words, they get high on the books
and forget themselves. They get lost in externals. Now this is so only for those who don't
have wisdom, who are unrestrained and don't have steady sati. For these people
studying can be a cause for decline. When such people are engaged in study they don't do
any sitting or walking meditation and become less and less restrained. Their minds become
more and more distracted. Aimless chatter, lack of restraint and socializing become the
order of the day. This is the cause for the decline of the practice. It's not because of
the study in itself, but because certain people don't make the effort, they forget
themselves.
Actually the scriptures are pointers along the path of practice. If we really
understand the practice, then reading or studying are both further aspects of meditation.
But if we study and then forget ourselves it gives rise to a lot of talking and fruitless
activity. People throw out the meditation practice and soon want to disrobe. Most of those
who study and fail soon disrobe. It's not that the study is not good, or that the practice
is not right. It's that people fail to examine themselves.
Seeing this, in the second rains retreat I stopped teaching the scriptures. Many years
later more and more young men came to become monks. Some of them knew nothing about the
Dhamma-Vinaya and were ignorant of the texts, so I decided to rectify the situation,
asking those senior monks who had already studied to teach, and they have taught up until
the present time. This is how we came to have studying here.
However, every year when the exams are finished, I ask all the monks to re-establish
their practice. All those scriptures which aren't directly concerned with the practice,
put them away in the cupboards. Re-establish yourselves, go back to the regular standards.
Re-establish the communal practices such as coming together for the daily chanting. This
is our standard. Do it even if only to resist your own laziness and aversion. This
encourages diligence.
Don't discard your basic practices: eating little, speaking little, sleeping little;
restraint and composure; aloofness; regular walking and sitting meditation; meeting
together regularly at the appropriate times. Please make an effort with these, every one
of you. Don't let this excellent opportunity go to waste. Do the practice. You have this
chance to practice here because you live under the guidance of the teacher. He protects
you on one level, so you should all devote yourselves to the practice. You've done walking
meditation before, now also you should sit. In the past you've chanted together in the
mornings and evenings, and now also you should make the effort. These are your specific
duties, please apply yourselves to them.
Those who simply "kill time" in the robes don't have any strength, you know.
The ones who are floundering, homesick, confused...do you see them? These are the ones who
don't put their minds into the practice. They don't have any work to do. We can't just lie
around here. Being a Buddhist monk or novice you live and eat well, you shouldn't take it
for granted. Kamasukhallikanuyogo [23] is a danger.
Make an effort to find your own practice. Whatever is faulty, work to rectify, don't get
lost in externals.
One who has zeal never misses walking and sitting meditation, never lets up in the
maintenance of restraint and composure. Just observe the monks here. Whoever, having
finished the meal and any business there may be, having hung out his robes, walks
meditation -- and when we walk past his kuti [24] we
see the walking path a well-worn trail, and we see it often -- this monk is not bored with
the practice. This is one who has effort, who has zeal.
If all of you devote yourselves like this to the practice, then not many problems will
arise. If you don't abide with the practice, the walking and sitting meditation, there's
nothing more than just traveling around. Not liking it here you go traveling over there;
not liking it there you come touring back here. That's all there is to it, following your
noses everywhere. These people don't persevere, it's good enough. You don't have to do a
lot of traveling around, just stay here and develop the practice, learn it in detail.
Traveling round can wait till later, it's not difficult. Make an effort, all of you.
Prosperity and decline hinge on this. If you really want to do things properly, then
study and practice in proportion; use both of them together. It's like the body and the
mind. If the mind is at ease and the body free of disease and healthy, then the mind
becomes composed. If the mind is confused, even if the body is strong there will be
difficulty, let alone when the body experiences discomfort.
The study of meditation is the study of cultivation and relinquishment. What I mean by
study here is: whenever the mind experiences a sensation, do we still cling to it? Do we
still create problems around it? Do we still experience enjoyment or aversion over it? To
put it simply: Do we still get lost in our thoughts? Yes, we do. If we don't like
something we react with aversion; if we do like it we react with pleasure, the mind
becomes defiled and stained. If this is the case then we must see that we still have
faults, we are still imperfect, we still have work to do. There must be more relinquishing
and more persistent cultivation. This is what I mean by studying. If we get stuck on
anything, we recognize that we are stuck. We know what state we're in, and we work to
correct ourselves.
Living with the teacher or apart from the teacher should be the same. Some people are
afraid. They're afraid that if they don't walk meditation the teacher will upbraid or
scold them. This is good in a way, but in the true practice you don't need to be afraid of
others, just be wary of faults arising within your own actions, speech or thoughts. When
you see faults in your actions, speech or thoughts you must guard yourselves. Attano
jodayattanam -- "you must exhort yourself," don't leave it to others to do.
We must quickly improve ourselves, know ourselves. This is called "studying,"
cultivating and relinquishing. Look into this till you see it clearly.
Living in this way we rely on endurance, persevering in face of all defilements.
Although this is good, it is still on the level of "practicing the Dhamma without
having seen it." If we have practiced the Dhamma and seen it, then whatever is wrong
we will have already given up, whatever is useful we will have cultivated. Seeing this
within ourselves, we experience a sense of well-being. No matter what others say, we know
our own mind, we are not moved. We can be at peace anywhere.
Now the younger monks and novices who have just begun to practice may think that the
senior Ajahn doesn't seem to do much walking or sitting meditation. Don't imitate him in
this. You should emulate, but not imitate. To emulate is one thing, to imitate another.
The fact is that the senior Ajahn dwells within his own particular contented abiding. Even
though he doesn't seem to practice externally, he practices inwardly. Whatever is in his
mind cannot be seen by the eye. The practice of Buddhism is the practice of the mind. Even
though the practice may not be apparent in his actions or speech, the mind is a different
matter.
Thus, a teacher who has practiced for a long time, who is proficient in the practice,
may seem to let go of his actions and speech, but he guards his mind. He is composed.
Seeing only his outer actions you may try to imitate him, letting go and saying whatever
you want to say, but it's not the same thing. You're not in the same league. Think about
this.
There's a real difference, you are acting from different places. Although the Ajahn
seems to simply sit around, he is not being careless. He lives with things but it is not
confused by them. We can't see this, whatever is in his mind is invisible to us. Don't
judge simply by external appearances, the mind is the important thing. When we speak, our
minds follow that speech. Whatever actions we do, our minds follow, but one who has
practiced already may do or say things which his mind doesn't follow, because it adheres
to Dhamma and Vinaya. For example, sometimes the Ajahn may be severe with his disciples,
his speech may appear to be rough and careless, his actions may seem coarse. Seeing this,
all we can see are his bodily and verbal actions, but the mind which adheres to Dhamma and
Vinaya can't be seen. Adhere to the Buddha's instruction: "Don't be heedless."
"Heedfulness is the way to the Deathless. Heedfulness is death." Consider this.
Whatever others do is not important, just don't be heedless, this is the important thing.
All I have been saying here is simply to warn you that now, having completed the exams,
you have a chance to travel around and do many things. May you all constantly remember
yourselves as practicers of the Dhamma; a practicer must be collected, restrained and
circumspect.
Consider the teaching which says "Bhikkhu: one who seeks alms." If we define
it this way our practice takes on one form...very coarse. If we understand this word the
way the Buddha defined it, as one who sees the danger of samsara, [25] this is much more profound.
One who sees the danger of samsara is one who sees the faults, the liability of
this world. In this world there is so much danger, but most people don't see it, they see
the pleasure and happiness of the world. Now the Buddha says that a bhikkhu is one who
sees the danger of samsara. What is samsara? The suffering of samsara
is overwhelming, it's intolerable. Happiness is also samsara. The Buddha taught us
not to cling to them. If we don't see the danger of samsara, then when there is
happiness we cling to the happiness and forget suffering. We are ignorant of it, like a
child who doesn't know fire.
If we understand Dhamma practice in this way..."Bhikkhu: one who sees the danger
of samsara"...if we have this understanding, walking, sitting or lying down,
wherever we may be, we will feel dispassion. We reflect on ourselves, heedfulness is
there. Even sitting at ease, we feel this way. Whatever we do we see this danger, so we
are in a very different state. This practice is called being "one who sees the danger
of samsara."
One who sees the danger of samsara lives within samsara and yet doesn't.
That is, he understands concepts and he understands their transcendence. Whatever such a
person says is not like ordinary people. Whatever he does is not the same, whatever he
thinks is not the same. His behavior is much wiser.
Therefore it is said: "Emulate but don't imitate." There are two ways --
emulation and imitation. One who is foolish will grab on to everything. You mustn't do
that! Don't forget yourselves.
As for me, this year my body is not so well. Some things I will leave to the other
monks and novices to help take care of. Perhaps I will take a rest. From time immemorial
it's been this way, and in the world it's the same: as long as the father and mother are
still alive, the children are well and prosperous. When the parents die, the children
separate. Having been rich they become poor. This is usually how it is, even in the lay
life, and one can see it here as well. For example, while the Ajahn is still alive
everybody is well and prosperous. As soon as he passes away decline begins to set in
immediately. Why is this? Because while the teacher is still alive people become
complacent and forget themselves. They don't really make an effort with the study and the
practice. As in lay life, while the mother and father are still alive, the children just
leave everything up to them. They lean on their parents and don't know how to look after
themselves. When the parents die they become paupers. In the monkhood it's the same. If
the Ajahn goes away or dies, the monks tend to socialize, break up into groups and drift
into decline, almost every time.
Why is this? It's because they forget themselves. Living off the merits of the teacher
everything runs smoothly. When the teacher passes away, the disciples tend to split up.
Their views clash. Those who think wrongly live in one place, those who think rightly live
in another. Those who feel uncomfortable leave their old associates and set up new places
and start new lineages with their own groups of disciples. This is how it goes. In the
present it's the same. This is because we are at fault. While the teacher is still alive
we are at fault, we live heedlessly. We don't take up the standards of practice taught by
the Ajahn and establish them within our own hearts. We don't really follow in his
footsteps.
Even in the Buddha's time it was the same, remember the scriptures? That old monk, what
was his name...? Subhadda Bhikkhu! When Venerable Maha Kassapa was returning from Pava he
asked an ascetic on the way, "Is the Lord Buddha faring well?" The ascetic
answered: "The Lord Buddha entered Parinibbana seven days ago."
Those monks who were still unenlightened were grief-stricken, crying and wailing. Those
who had attained the Dhamma reflected to themselves, "Ah, the Buddha has passed away.
He has journeyed on." But those who were still thick with defilements, such as
Venerable Subhadda, said:
"What are you all crying for? The Buddha has passed away. That's good! Now we can
live at ease. When the Buddha was still alive he was always bothering us with some rule or
other, we couldn't do this or say that. Now the Buddha has passed away, that's fine! We
can do whatever we want, say what we want...Why should you cry?"
It's been so from way back then till the present day.
However that may be, even though it's impossible to preserve entirely...Suppose we had
a glass and we took care to preserve it. Each time we used it we cleaned it and put it
away in a safe place. Being very careful with that glass we can use it for a long time,
and then when we've finished with it others can also use it. Now, using glasses carelessly
and breaking them every day, and using one glass for ten years before it breaks -- which
is better?
Our practice is like this. For instance, if out of all of us living here, practicing
steadily, only ten of you practice well, then Wat Ba Pong will prosper. Just as in the
villages: in the village of one hundred houses, even if there are only fifty good people
that village will prosper. Actually to find even ten would be difficult. Or take a
monastery like this one here: it is hard to find even five or six monks who have real
commitment, who really do the practice.
In any case, we don't have any responsibilities now, other than to practice well. Think
about it, what do we own here? We don't have wealth, possessions, and families any more.
Even food we take only once a day. We've given up many things already, even better things
than these. As monks and novices we give up everything. We own nothing. All those things
people really enjoy have been discarded by us. Going forth as a Buddhist monk is in order
to practice. Why then should we hanker for other things, indulging in greed, aversion or
delusion? To occupy our hearts with other things is no longer appropriate.
Consider: why have we gone forth? Why are we practicing? We have gone forth to
practice. If we don't practice then we just lie around. If we don't practice, then we are
worse off than lay people, we don't have any function. If we don't perform any function or
accept our responsibilities it's a waste of the samana's [26]
life. It contradicts the aims of a samana.
If this is the case then we are heedless. Being heedless is like being dead. Ask
yourself, will you have time to practice when you die? Constantly ask yourself, "When
will I die?" If we contemplate in this way our mind will be alert every second,
heedfulness will always be present. When there is no heedlessness, sati --
recollection of what is what -- will automatically follow. Wisdom will be clear, seeing
all the things clearly as they are. Recollection guards the mind, knowing the arising of
sensations at all times, day and night. that is to have sati. To have sati
is to be composed. To be composed is to be heedful. If one is heedful then one is
practicing rightly. This is our specific responsibility.
So today I would like to present this to you all. If in the future you leave here for
one of the branch monasteries or anywhere else, don't forget yourselves. The fact is you
are still not perfect, still not completed. You still have a lot of work to do, many
responsibilities to shoulder. Namely, the practices of cultivation and relinquishment. Be
concerned about this, every one of you. Whether you live at this monastery or a branch
monastery, preserve the standards of practice. Nowadays there are many of us, many branch
temples. All the branch monasteries owe their origination to Wat Ba Pong. We could say
that the branch monasteries. So, especially the teachers, monks and novices of Wat Ba Pong
should try to set the example, to be the guide for all the other branch monasteries,
continuing to be diligent in the practices and responsibilities of a samana.
Right Practice -- Steady Practice
Wat Wana Potiyahn [27] here is certainly very peaceful,
but this is meaningless if our minds are not calm. All places are peaceful. That some may
seem distracting is because of our minds. However, a quiet place can help to become calm,
by giving one the opportunity to train and thus harmonize with its calm.
You should all bear in mind that this practice is difficult. To train other things is
not so difficult, it's easy, but the human mind is hard to train. The Lord Buddha trained
his mind. The mind is the important thing. Everything within this body-mind system comes
together at the mind. The eyes, ears, nose, tongue and body all receive sensations and
send them into the mind, which is the supervisor of all the other sense organs. Therefore
it is important to train the mind. If the mind is well trained all problems come to an
end. If there are still problems it's because the mind still doubts, it doesn't know in
accordance with the truth. That is why there are problems.
So recognize that all of you have come fully prepared for practicing Dhamma. Whether
standing, walking, sitting or reclining, the tools you need with which to practice are
well-provided, wherever you are. They are there, just like the Dhamma. The Dhamma is
something which abounds everywhere. Right here, on land or in water...wherever...the
Dhamma is always there. The Dhamma is perfect and complete, but it's our practice that's
not yet complete.
The Lord, Fully Enlightened Buddha taught a means by which all of us may practice and
come to know this Dhamma. It isn't a big thing, only a small thing, but it's right. For
example, look at hair. If we know even one strand of hair, then we know every strand, both
our own and also that of others. We know that they are all simply "hair." By
knowing one strand of hair we know it all.
Or consider people. If we see the true nature of conditions within ourselves then we
know all the other people in the world also, because all people are the same. Dhamma is
like this. It's a small thing and yet it's big. That is, to see the truth of one condition
is to see the truth of them all. When we know the truth as it is all problems come to an
end.
Nevertheless, the training is difficult. Why is it difficult? It's difficult because of
wanting, tanha. If you don't "want" then you don't practice. But if you
practice out of desire you won't see the Dhamma. Think about it, all of you. If you don't
want to practice you can't practice. You must first want to practice in order to actually
do the practice. Whether stepping forward or stepping back you meet desire. This is why
the cultivators of the past have said that this practice is something that's extremely
difficult to do.
You don't see Dhamma because of desire. Sometimes desire is very strong, you want to
see the Dhamma immediately, but the Dhamma is not your mind -- your mind is not yet
Dhamma. The Dhamma is one thing and the mind is another. It's not that whatever you like
is Dhamma and whatever you don't like isn't. That's not the way it goes.
Actually this mind of ours is simply a condition of Nature, like a tree in the forest.
If you want a plank or a beam it must come from the tree, but the tree is still only a
tree. It's not yet a beam or a plank. Before it can really be of use to us we must take
that tree and saw it into beams or planks. It's the same tree but it becomes transformed
into something else. Intrinsically it's just a tree, a condition of Nature. But in its raw
state it isn't yet of much use to those who need timber. Our mind is like this. It is a
condition of Nature. As such it perceives thoughts, it discriminates into beautiful and
ugly and so on.
This mind of ours must be further trained. We can't just let it be. It's a condition of
Nature...train it to realize that it's a condition of Nature. Improve on Nature so that
it's appropriate to our needs, which is Dhamma. Dhamma is something which must be
practiced and brought within.
If you don't practice you won't know. Frankly speaking, you won't know the Dhamma by
just reading it or studying it. Or if you do know it your knowledge is still defective.
For example, this spittoon here. Everybody knows it's a spittoon but they don't fully know
the spittoon. Why don't they fully know it? If I called this spittoon a saucepan, what
would you say? Suppose that every time I asked for it I said, "Please bring that
saucepan over here," that would confuse you. Why so? Because you don't fully know the
spittoon. If you did there would be no problem. You would simply pick up that object and
hand it to me, because actually there isn't any spittoon. Do you understand? It's a
spittoon due to convention. This convention is accepted all over the country, so it's
spittoon. But there isn't any real "spittoon." If somebody wants to call it a
saucepan it can be a saucepan. It can be whatever you call it. This is called
"concept." If we fully know the spittoon, even if somebody calls it a saucepan
there's no problem. Whatever others may call it we are unperturbed because we are not
blind to its true nature. This is one who knows Dhamma.
Now let's come back to ourselves. Suppose somebody said, "You're crazy!", or,
"You're stupid," for example. Even though it may not be true, you wouldn't feel
so good. Everything becomes difficult because of our ambitions to have and to achieve.
Because of these desires to get and to be, because we don't know according to the truth,
we have no contentment. If we know the Dhamma, are enlightened to the Dhamma, greed,
aversion and delusion will disappear. When we understand the way things are there is
nothing for them to rest on.
Why is the practice so difficult and arduous? Because of desires. As soon as we sit
down to meditate we want to become peaceful. If we didn't want to find peace we wouldn't
sit, we wouldn't practice. As soon as we sit down we want peace to be right there, but
wanting the mind to be calm makes for confusion, and we feel restless. This is how it
goes. So the Buddha says, "Don't speak out of desire, don't sit out of desire, don't
walk out of desire,...Whatever you do, don't do it with desire." Desire means
wanting. If you don't want to do something you won't do it. If our practice reaches this
point we can get quite discouraged. How can we practice? As soon as we sit down there is
desire in the mind.
It's because of this that the body and mind are difficult to observe. If they are not
the self nor belonging to self then who do they belong to? It's difficult to resolve these
things, we must rely on wisdom. The Buddha says we must practice with "letting
go," isn't it? If we let go then we just don't practice, right?...Because we've let
go.
Suppose we went to buy some coconuts in the market, and while we were carrying them
back someone asked:
"What did you buy those coconuts for?"
"I bought them to eat."
"Are you going to eat the shells as well?"
"No."
"I don't believe you. If you're not going to eat the shells then why did you buy
them also?"
Well what do you say? How are you going to answer their question? We practice with
desire. If we didn't have desire we wouldn't practice. Practicing with desire is tanha.
Contemplating in this way can give rise to wisdom, you know. For example, those coconuts:
Are you going to eat the shells as well? Of course not. Then why do you take them? Because
the time hasn't yet come for you to throw them away. They're useful for wrapping up the
coconut in. If, after eating the coconut, you throw the shells away, there is no problem.
Our practice is like this. The Buddha said, "Don't act on desire, don't speak from
desire, don't eat with desire." Standing, walking, sitting or
reclining...whatever...don't do it with desire. This means to do it with detachment. It's
just like buying the coconuts from the market. We're not going to eat the shells but it's
not yet time to throw them away. We keep them first. This is how the practice is. Concept
and Transcendence [28] are co-existent, just like a coconut.
The flesh, the husk and the shell are all together. When we buy it we buy the whole lot.
If somebody wants to accuse us of eating coconut shells that's their business, we know
what we're doing.
Wisdom is something each of us find for oneself. To see it we must go neither fast nor
slow. What should we do? Go to where there is neither fast nor slow. Going fast or going
slow are not the way.
But we're all impatient, we're in a hurry. As soon as we begin we want to rush to the
end, we don't want to be left behind. We want to succeed. When it comes to fixing their
minds for meditation some people go too far...They light the incense, prostrate and make a
vow, "As long as this incense is not yet completely burnt I will not rise from my
sitting, even if I collapse or die, no matter what...I'll die sitting" Having made
their vow they start their sitting. As soon as they start to sit Mara's [29] hordes come rushing at them from all sides. They've only sat for an
instant and already they think the incense must be finished. They open their eyes for a
peek..."Oh, There's still ages left!"
They grit their teeth and sit some more, feeling hot, flustered, agitated and
confused...Reaching the breaking point they think, "it must be finished by
now."...Have another peek..."Oh, no! It's not even half-way yet!"
Two or three times and it's still not finished, so they just give up, pack it in and
sit there hating themselves. "I'm so stupid, I'm so hopeless!" They sit and hate
themselves, feeling like a hopeless case. This just gives rise to frustration and
hindrances. This is called the hindrance of ill-will. They can't blame others so they
blame themselves. And why is this? It's all because of wanting.
Actually it isn't necessary to go through all that. To concentrate means to concentrate
with detachment, not to concentrate yourself into knots.
But maybe we read the scriptures, about the life of the Buddha, how he sat under the
Bodhi tree and determined to himself,
"As long as I have still not attained Supreme Enlightenment I will not rise from
this place, even if my blood dries up."
Reading this in the books you may think of trying it yourself. You'll do it like the
Buddha. But you haven't considered that your car is only a small one. The Buddha's car was
a really big one, he could take it all in one go. With only your tiny, little car, how can
you possibly take it all at once? It's a different story altogether.
Why do we think like that? Because we're too extreme. Sometimes we go too low,
sometimes we go too high. The point of balance is so hard to find.
Now I'm only speaking from experience. In the past my practice was like this.
Practicing in order to get beyond wanting...if we don't want, can we practice? I was stuck
here. But to practice with wanting is suffering. I didn't know what to do, I was baffled.
Then I realized that the practice which is steady is the important thing. One must
practice consistently. They call this the practice that is "consistent in all
postures." Keep refining the practice, don't let it become a disaster. Practice is
one thing, disaster is another.[30] Most people usually
create disaster. When they feel lazy they don't bother to practice, they only practice
when they feel energetic. This is how I tended to be.
All of you ask yourselves now, is this right? To practice when you feel like it, not
when you don't: is that in accordance with the Dhamma? Is it straight? Is it in line with
the Teaching? This is what makes practice inconsistent.
Whether you feel like it or not you should practice just the same: this is how the
Buddha taught. Most people wait till they're in the mood before practicing, when they
don't feel like it they don't bother. This is as far as they go. This is called
"disaster," it's not practice. In the true practice, whether you are happy or
depressed you practice; whether it's easy or difficult you practice; whether it's hot or
cold you practice. It's straight like this. In the real practice, whether standing,
walking, sitting or reclining you must have the intention to continue the practice
steadily, making your sati consistent in all postures.
At first thought it seems as if you should stand for as long as you walk, walk for as
long as you sit, sit for as long as you lie down...I've tried it but I couldn't do it. If
a meditator were to make his standing, walking, sitting and lying down all equal, how many
days could he keep it up for? Stand for five minutes, sit for five minutes, lie down for
five minutes...I couldn't do it for very long. So I sat down and thought about it some
more. "What does it all mean? People in this world can't practice like this!"
Then I realized..."Oh, that's not right, it can't be right because it's impossible
to do. Standing, walking, sitting, reclining...make them all consistent. To make the
postures consistent the way they explain it in the books is impossible."
But it is possible to do this: The mind...just consider the mind. To have sati,
recollection, sampajañña, self awareness and pañña, all-round
wisdom...this you can do. This is something that's really worth practicing. This means
that while standing we have sati, while walking we have sati, while sitting
we have sati, and while reclining we have sati, -- consistently. This is
possible. We put awareness into our standing, walking, sitting, lying down -- into all
postures.
When the mind has been trained like this it will constantly recollect Buddho, Buddho,
Buddho...which is knowing. Knowing what? Knowing what is right and what is wrong at all
times. Yes, this is possible. This is getting down to the real practice. That is, whether
standing, walking, sitting or lying down there is continuous sati.
Then you should understand those conditions which should be given up and those which
should be cultivated. You know happiness, you know unhappiness. When you know happiness
and unhappiness your mind will settle at the point which is free of happiness and
unhappiness. Happiness is the loose path, kamasukhallikanuyogo. Unhappiness is the
tight path, attakilamathanuyogo. [31] If we know these
two extremes, we pull it back. We know when the mind is inclining towards happiness or
unhappiness and we pull it back, we don't allow it to lean over. We have this sort of
awareness, we adhere to the One Path, the single Dhamma. We adhere to the awareness, not
allowing the mind to follow its inclinations.
But in your practice it doesn't tend to be like that, does it? You follow your
inclinations. If you follow your inclinations it's easy, isn't it? But this is the ease
which causes suffering, like someone who can't be bothered working. He takes it easy, but
when the time comes to eat he hasn't got anything. This is how it goes.
So I've contended with many aspects of the Buddha's teaching in the past, but I
couldn't really beat him. Nowadays I accept it. I accept that the many teachings of the
Buddha are straight down the line, so I've taken those teachings and used them to train
both myself and others.
The practice which is important is patipada. What is patipada? It is
simply all our various activities, standing, walking, sitting, reclining and everything
else. This is the patipada of the body. Now the patipada of the mind: how
many times in the course of today have you felt low? How many times have you felt high?
Have there been any noticeable feelings? We must know ourselves like this. Having seen
those feelings can we let go? Whatever we can't yet let go of we must work with. When we
see that we can't yet let go of some particular feeling we must take it and examine it
with wisdom. Reason it out. Work with it. This is practice. For example when you are
feeling zealous, practice, and then when you feel lazy, try to continue the practice. If
you can't continue at "full speed" then at least do half as much. Don't just
waste the day away by being lazy and not practicing. Doing that will lead to disaster,
it's not the way of a cultivator.
Now I've heard some people say, "Oh, this year I was really in a bad way."
"How come?"
"I was sick all year. I couldn't practice at all."
Oh! If they don't practice when death is near when will they ever practice? If they're
feeling well do you think they'll practice? No, they only get lost in happiness. If
they're suffering they still don't practice, they get lost in that. I don't know when
people think they're going to practice! They can only see that they're sick, in pain,
almost dead from fever...that's right, bring it on heavy, that's where the practice is.
When people are feeling happy it just goes to their heads and they get vain and conceited.
We must cultivate our practice. What this means is that whether you are happy or
unhappy you must practice just the same. If you are feeling well you should practice, and
if you are feeling sick you should also practice. Those who think, "This year I
couldn't practice at all, I was sick the whole time"...if these people are feeling
well, they just walk around singing songs. This is wrong thinking, not right thinking.
This is why the cultivators of the past have all maintained the steady training of the
heart. If things are to go wrong, just let them be with the body, not in mind.
There was a time in my practice, after I had been practicing about five years, when I
felt that living with others was a hindrance. I would sit in my kuti and try to
meditate and people would keep coming by for a chat and disturbing me. I ran off to live
by myself. I thought I couldn't practice with those people bothering me. I was fed up, so
I went to live in a small, deserted monastery in the forest, near a small village. I
stayed there alone, speaking to no-one -- because there was nobody else to speak to.
After I'd been there about fifteen days the thought arose, "Hmm. It would be good
to have a novice or pa-kow [32] here with me. He could help
me out with some small jobs." I knew it would come up, and sure enough, there it was!
"Hey! You're a real character! You say you're fed up with your friends, fed up
with your fellow monks and novices, and now you want a novice. What's this?"
"No," it says, "I want a good novice."
"There! Where are all the good people, can you find any? Where are you going to
find a good person? In the whole monastery there were only no-good people. You must have
been the only good person, to have run away like this!"
...You have to follow it up like this, follow up the tracks of your thoughts until you
see...
"Hmm. This is the important one. Where is there a good person to be found? There
aren't any good people, you must find goodness anywhere else, you must look within
yourself. If you are good in yourself then wherever you go will be good. Whether others
criticize or praise you, you are still good. If you aren't good, then when others
criticize you, you get angry, and when they praise you, you get pleased.
At that time I reflected on this and have found it to be true from that day up until
the present. Goodness must be found within. As soon as I saw this, that feeling of wanting
to run away disappeared. In later times, whenever I had that desire arise I let it go.
Whenever it arose I was aware of it and kept my awareness on that. Thus I had a solid
foundation. Wherever I lived, whether people condemned me or whatever they would say, I
would reflect that the point is not whether they were good or bad. Good or evil must be
seen within ourselves. However other people are, that's their concern.
Don't go thinking, "Oh, today is too hot," or, "Today is too cold,"
or, "Today is...". Whatever the day is like that's just the way it is. Really
you are simply blaming the weather for your own laziness. We must see the Dhamma within
ourselves, then there is a surer kind of peace.
So for all of you who have come to practice here, even though it's only for a few days,
still many things will arise. Many things may be arising which you're not even aware of.
There is some right thinking, some wrong thinking...many, many things. So I say this
practice is difficult.
Even though some of you may experience some peace when you sit in meditation, don't be
in a hurry to congratulate yourselves. Likewise, if there is some confusion, don't blame
yourselves. If things seem to be good, don't delight in them, and if they're not good
don't be averse to them. Just look at it all, look at what you have. Just look, don't
bother judging. If it's good don't hold fast to it; if it's bad, don't cling to it. Good
and bad can both bite, so don't hold fast to them.
The practice is simply to sit, sit and watch it all. Good moods and bad moods come and
go as is their nature. Don't only praise your mind or only condemn it, know the right time
for these things. When it's time for congratulations then congratulate it, but just a
little, don't overdo it. Just like teaching a child, sometimes you may have to spank it a
little. In our practice sometimes we may have to punish ourselves, but don't punish
yourself all the time. If you punish yourself all the time in a while you'll just give
yourself a good time and take it easy either. That's not the way to practice. We practice
according to the Middle Way. What is the Middle Way? This Middle Way is difficult to
follow, you can't rely on your moods and desires.
Don't think that only sitting with the eyes closed is practice. If you do think this
way then quickly change your thinking! Steady practice is having the attitude of practice
while standing, walking, sitting and lying down. When coming out of sitting meditation,
reflect that you're simply changing postures. If you reflect in this way you will have
peace. Wherever you are you will have this attitude of practice with you constantly, you
will have a steady awareness within yourself.
Those of you who, having finished their evening sitting, simply indulge in their moods,
spending the whole day letting the mind wander where it wants, will find that the next
evening when sitting meditation all they get is the "backwash" from the day's
aimless thinking. There is no foundation of calm because they have let it go cold all day.
If you practice like this your mind gets gradually further and further from the practice.
When I ask some of my disciples, "How is your meditation going?". They say,
"Oh, it's all gone now." You see? They can keep it up for a month or two but in
a year or two it's all finished.
Why is this? It's because they don't take this essential point into their practice.
When they've finished sitting they let go of their samadhi. They start to sit for
shorter and shorter periods, till they reach the point where as soon as they start to sit
they want to finish. Eventually they don't even sit. It's the same with bowing to the
Buddha-image. At first they make the effort to prostrate every night before going to
sleep, but after a while their minds begin to stray. Soon they don't bother to prostrate
at all, they just nod, till eventually it's all gone. They throw out the practice
completely.
Therefore, understand the importance of sati, practice constantly. Right
practice is steady practice. Whether standing, walking, sitting or reclining the practice
must continue. This means that practice, meditation, is done in the mind, not in the body.
If our mind has zeal, is conscientious and ardent, then there will be awareness. The mind
is the important thing. The mind is that which supervises everything we do.
When we understand properly then we practice properly. When we practice properly we
don't go astray. Even if we only do a little that is still all right. For example, when
you finish sitting in meditation, remind yourselves that you are not actually finishing
meditation, you are simply changing postures. Your mind is still composed. Whether
standing, walking, sitting or reclining you have sati with you. If you have this
kind of awareness you can maintain your internal practice. In the evening when you sit
again the practice continues uninterrupted. Your effort is unbroken, allowing the mind to
attain calm.
This is called steady practice. Whether we are talking or doing other things we should
try to make the practice continuous. If our mind has recollection and self-awareness
continuously, our practice will naturally develop, it will gradually come together. The
mind will find peace, because it will know what is right and what is wrong. It will see
what is happening within us and realize peace.
If we are to develop sila (moral restraint), or samadhi (firmness of
mind) we must first have pañña (wisdom). Some people think that they'll develop
moral restraint one year, samadhi the next year and the year after that they'll
develop wisdom. They think these three things are separate. They think that this year they
will develop, but if the mind is not firm (samadhi), how can they do it? If there
is no understanding, (pañña) how can they do it? Without samadhi or pañña,
sila will be sloppy.
In fact these three come together at the same point. When we have sila we have samadhi,
when we have samadhi we have pañña. They are all one, like a mango.
Whether it's small or fully grown, it's still a mango. When it's ripe it's still the same
mango. If we think in simple terms like this we can see it more easily. We don't have to
learn a lot of things, just to know these things, to know our practice.
When it comes to meditation some people don't get what they want, so they just give up,
saying they don't yet have the merit to practice meditation. They can do bad things, they
have that sort of talent, but they don't have the talent to do good. They throw it in,
saying they don't have a good enough foundation. This is the way people are, they side
with their defilements.
Now that you have this chance to practice, please understand that whether you find it
difficult or easy to develop samadhi is entirely up to you, not the samadhi.
If it is difficult, it is because you are practicing wrongly. In our practice we must have
"Right View" (sammaditthi). If our view is right then everything else is
right: Right View, Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right
Effort, Right Recollection, Right Concentration -- the Eightfold Path. When there is Right
View all the other factors will follow on.
Whatever happens, don't let your mind stray off the track. Look within yourself and you
will see clearly. For the best practice, as I see it, it isn't necessary to read many
books. Take all the books and lock them away. Just read your own mind. You have all been
burying yourselves in books from the time you entered school. I think that now you have
this opportunity and have the time, take the books, put them in a cupboard and lock the
door. Just read your mind.
Whenever something arises within the mind, whether you like it or not, whether it seems
right or wrong, just cut it off with, "this is not a sure thing." Whatever
arises just cut it down, "not sure, not sure." With just this single ax you can
cut it all down. It's all "not sure."
For the duration of this next month that you will be staying in this forest monastery,
you should make a lot of headway. You will see the truth. This "not sure" is
really an important one. This one develops wisdom. The more you look the more you will see
"not sure"-ness. After you've cut something off with "not sure" it may
come circling round and pop up again. Yes, it's truly "not sure." Whatever pops
up just stick this one label on it all..."not sure." You stick the sign on
.."not sure"...and in a while, when its turn comes, it crops up
again..."Ah, not sure." Dig here! Not sure. You will see this same old one who's
been fooling you month in, month out, year in, year out, from the day you were born.
There's only this one who's been fooling you all along. See this and realize the way
things are.
When your practice reaches this point you won't cling to sensations, because they are
all uncertain. Have you ever noticed? Maybe you see a clock and think, "Oh, this is
nice." Buy it and see...in not many days you're bored with it already. "This pen
is really beautiful," so you take the trouble to buy one. In not many months you tire
of it again. This is how it is. Where is there any certainty?
If we see all these things as uncertain then their value fades away. All things become
insignificant. Why should we hold on to things that have no value? We keep them only as we
might keep an old rag to wipe our feet with. We see all sensations as equal in value
because they all have the same nature.
When we understand sensations we understand the world. The world is sensations and
sensations are the world. If we aren't fooled by sensations we aren't fooled by the world.
If we aren't fooled by the world we aren't fooled by sensations.
The mind which sees this will have a firm foundation of wisdom. Such a mind will not
have many problems. Any problems it does have it can solve. When there are no more
problems there are no more doubts. Peace arises in their stead. This is called
"Practice." If we really practice it must be like this.
Samma Samadhi -- Detachment Within Activity
Take a look at the example of the Buddha. Both in his own practice and in his methods
for teaching the disciples he was exemplary. The Buddha taught the standards of practice
as skillful means for getting rid of conceit, he couldn't do the practice for us. having
heard that teaching we must further teach ourselves, practice for ourselves. The results
will arise here, not at the teaching.
The Buddha's teaching can only enable us to get an initial understanding of the Dhamma,
but the Dhamma is not yet within our hearts. Why not? Because we haven't yet practiced, we
haven't yet taught ourselves. The Dhamma arises at the practice. If you know it, you know
it through the practice. If you doubt it, you doubt it at the practice. Teachings from the
Masters may be true, but simply listening to Dhamma is not yet enough to enable us to
realize it. The teaching simply points out the way to realize. To realize the Dhamma we
must take that teaching and bring it into our hearts. That part which is for the body we
apply to the body, that part which is for the speech we apply to the speech, and that part
which is for the mind we apply to the mind. This means that after hearing the teaching we
must further teach ourselves to know that Dhamma, to be that Dhamma.
The Buddha said that those who simply believe others are not truly wise. A wise person
practices until he is one with the Dhamma, until he can have confidence in himself,
independent of others.
On one occasion, while Venerable Sariputta was sitting, listening respectfully at his
feet as the Buddha expounded the Dhamma, the Buddha turned to him and asked,
"Sariputta, do you believe this teaching?"
Venerable Sariputta replied, "No, I don't yet believe it."
Now this is a good illustration. Venerable Sariputta listened, and he took note. When
he said he didn't yet believe he wasn't being careless, he was speaking the truth. He
simply took note of that teaching, because he had not yet developed his own understanding
of it, so he told the Buddha that he didn't yet believe -- because he really didn't
believe. These words almost sound as if Venerable Sariputta was being rude, but actually
he wasn't. He spoke the truth, and the Buddha praised him for it.
"Good, good, Sariputta. A wise person doesn't readily believe, he should consider
first before believing."
Conviction in a belief can take various forms. One form reasons according to Dhamma,
while another form is contrary to the Dhamma. This second way is heedless, it is a
foolhardy understanding, micchaditthi, wrong view. One doesn't listen to anybody
else.
Take the example of Dighanakha the Brahmin. This Brahmin only believed himself, he
wouldn't believe others. At one time when the Buddha was resting at Rajagaha, Dighanakha
went to listen to his teaching. Or you might say that Dighanakha went to teach the Buddha
because he was intent on expounding his own views...
"I am of the view that nothing suits me."
This was his view. The Buddha listened to Dighanakha's view and then answered,
"Brahmin, this view of yours doesn't suit you either."
When the Buddha had answered in this way, Dighanakha was stumped. He didn't know what
to say. The Buddha explained in many ways, till the Brahmin understood. He stopped to
reflect and saw...
"Hmm, this view of mine isn't right."
On hearing the Buddha's answer the Brahmin abandoned his conceited views and
immediately saw the truth. He changed right then and there, turning right around, just as
one would invert one's hand. He praised the teaching of the Buddha thus:
"Listening to the Blessed One's teaching, my mind was illumined, just as one
living in darkness might perceive light. My mind is like an overturned basin which has
been uprighted, like a man who has been lost and finds the way."
Now at that time a certain knowledge arose within his mind, within that mind which had
been uprighted. Wrong view vanished and right view took its place. Darkness disappeared
and light arose.
The Buddha declared that the Brahmin Dighanakha was one who had opened the Dhamma Eye.
Previously Dighanakha clung to his own views and had no intention of changing them. But
when he heard the Buddha's teaching his mind saw the truth, he saw that his clinging to
those views was wrong. When the right understanding arose he was able to perceive his
previous understanding as mistaken, so he compared his experience with a person living in
darkness who had found light. This is how it is. At that time the Brahmin Dighanakha
transcended his wrong view.
Now we must change in this way. Before we can give up defilements we must change our
perspective. We must begin to practice rightly and practice well. Previously we didn't
practice rightly or well, and yet we thought we were right and good just the same. When we
really look into the matter we upright ourselves, just like turning over one's hand. This
means that the "One Who Knows," or wisdom, arises in the mind, so that it is
able to see things anew. A new kind of awareness arises.
Therefore cultivators must practice to develop this knowing, which we call Buddho, the
One Who Knows, in their minds. Originally the one who knows is not there, our knowledge is
not clear, true or complete. This knowledge is therefore too weak to train the mind. But
then the mind changes, or inverts, as a result of this awareness, called wisdom or
insight, which exceeds our previous awareness. That previous "one who knows" did
not yet know fully and so was unable to bring us to our objective.
The Buddha therefore taught to look within, opanayiko. Look within, don't look
outwards. Or if you look outwards then look within, to see the cause and effect therein.
Look for the truth in all things, because external objects and internal objects are always
affecting each other. Our practice is to develop a certain type of awareness until it
becomes stronger than our previous awareness. This causes wisdom and insight to arise
within the mind, enabling us to clearly know the workings of the mind, the language of the
mind and the ways and means of all the defilements.
The Buddha, when he first left his home in search of liberation, was probably not
really sure what to do, much like us. He tried many ways to develop his wisdom. He looked
for teachers, such as Udaka Ramaputta, going there to practice meditation...right leg on
left leg, right hand on left hand...body erect...eyes closed...letting go of
everything...until he was able to attain a high level of absorption samadhi. [33] But when he came out of that samadhi his old thinking
came up and he would attach to it just as before. Seeing this, he knew that wisdom had not
yet arisen. His understanding had not yet penetrated to the truth, it was still
incomplete, still lacking. Seeing this he nonetheless gained some understanding -- that
this was not yet the summation of practice -- but he left that place to look for a new
teacher.
When the Buddha left his old teacher he didn't condemn him, he did as does the bee
which takes nectar from the flower without damaging the petals.
The Buddha then proceeded on to study with Alara Kalama and attained an even higher
state of samadhi, but when he came out of that state Bimba and Rahula [34] came back into his thoughts again, the old memories and
feelings came up again. He still had lust and desire. Reflecting inward he saw that he
still hadn't reached his goal, so he left that teacher also. He listened to his teachers
and did his best to follow their teachings. He continually surveyed the results of his
practice, he didn't simply do things and then discard them for something else.
Even when it came to ascetic practices, after he had tried them he realized that
starving until one is almost skeleton is simply a matter for the body. The body doesn't
know anything. practicing in that way was like executing an innocent person while ignoring
the real thief.
When the Buddha really looked into the matter he saw that practice is not a concern of
the body, it is a concern of the mind. Attakilamathanuyogo (self-mortification) --
the Buddha had tried it and found that it was limited to the body. In fact, all Buddhas
are enlightened in mind.
Whether in regard to the body or to the mind, just throw them all together as
Transient, Imperfect and Ownerless -- aniccam, dukkham and anatta.
They are simply conditions of Nature. They arise depending on supporting factors, exist
for a while and then cease. When there are appropriate conditions they arise again; having
arisen they exist for a while, then cease once more. These things are not a
"self," a "being," an "us" or a "them." There's
nobody there, simply feelings. Happiness has no intrinsic self, suffering has no intrinsic
self. No self can be found, there are simply elements of Nature which arise, exist and
cease. They go through this constant cycle of change.
All beings, including humans, tend to see the arising as themselves, the existence as
themselves, and the cessation as themselves. Thus they cling to everything. They don't
want things to be the way they are, they don't want them to be otherwise. For instance,
having arisen they don't want things to cease; having experienced happiness, they don't
want suffering. If suffering does arise they want it to go away as quickly as possible,
but even better if it doesn't arise at all. This is because they see this body and mind as
themselves, or belonging to themselves, and so they demand those things to follow their
wishes.
This sort of thinking is like building a dam or a dike without making an outlet to let
the water through. The result is that the dam bursts. And so it is with this kind of
thinking. The Buddha saw that thinking in this way is the cause of suffering. Seeing this
cause, the Buddha gave it up.
This is the Noble Truth of the Cause of Suffering. The Truths of Suffering, its Cause,
its Cessation and the Way leading to that Cessation...people are stuck right here. If
people are to overcome their doubts it's right at this point. Seeing that these things are
simply rupa and nama, or corporeality and mentality, it becomes obvious that
they are not a being, a person, an "us," or a "them." They simply
follow the laws of Nature.
Our practice is to know things in this way. We don't have the power to really control
these things, we aren't really their owners. Trying to control them causes suffering,
because they aren't really ours to control. Neither body nor mind are self or others. If
we know this as it really is then we see clearly. We see the truth, we are at one with it.
It's like seeing a lump of red hot iron which has been heated in a furnace. It's hot all
over. Whether we touch it on top, the bottom or the sides it's hot. No matter where we
touch it, it's hot. This is how you should see things.
Mostly when we start to practice we want to attain, to achieve, to know and to see, but
we don't yet know what it is we're going to achieve or know. There was once a disciple of
mine whose practice was plagued with confusion and doubts. But he kept practicing, and I
kept instructing him, till he began to find some peace. But when he eventually became a
bit calm he got caught up in his doubts again, saying, "What do I do next?"
There! the confusion arises again. He says he wants peace but when he gets it, he doesn't
want it, he asks what he should do next!
So in this practice we must do everything with detachment. How are we to detach? We
detach by seeing things clearly. Know the characteristics of the body and mind as they
are. We meditate in order to find peace, but in doing so we see that which is not
peaceful. This is because movement is the nature of the mind.
When practicing samadhi we fix our attention on the in and out-breaths at the
nose tip or the upper lip. This "lifting" the mind to fix it is called vitakka,
or "lifting up." When we have thus "lifted" the mind and are fixed on
an object, this is called vicara, the contemplation of the breath at the nose tip.
This quality of vicara will naturally mingle with other mental sensations, and we
may think that our mind is not still, that it won't calm down, but actually this is simply
the workings of vicara as it mingles with those sensations. Now if this goes too
far in the wrong direction, our mind will lose its collectedness, so then we must set up
the mind afresh, lifting it up to the object of concentration with vitakka. As soon
as we have thus established our attention vicara takes over, mingling with the
various mental sensations.
Now when we see this happening, our lack of understanding may lead us to wonder:
"Why has my mind wandered? I wanted it to be still, why isn't it still?" This is
practicing with attachment.
Actually the mind is simply following its nature, but we go and add on to that activity
by wanting the mind to be still and thinking "Why isn't it still?" Aversion
arises and so we add that on to everything else, increasing our doubts, increasing our
suffering and increasing our confusion. So if there is vicara, reflecting on the
various happenings within the mind in this way, we should wisely consider..."Ah, the
mind is simply like this." There, that's the One Who Knows talking, telling you to
see things as they are. The mind is simply like this. We let it go at that and the mind
becomes peaceful. When it's no longer centered we bring up vitakka once more, and
shortly there is clam again. Vitakka and vicara work together like this. We
use vicara to contemplate the various sensations which arise. When vicara
becomes gradually more scattered we once again "lift" our attention with vitakka.
The important thing here is that our practice at this point must be done with
detachment. Seeing the process of vicara interacting with the mental sensations we
may think that the mind is confused and become averse to this process. This is the cause
right here. We aren't happy simply because we want the mind to be still. This is the cause
-- wrong view. If we correct our view just a little, seeing this activity as simply the
nature of mind, just this is enough to subdue the confusion. This is called letting go.
Now, if we don't attach, if we practice with "letting go"...detachment within
activity and activity within detachment...if we learn to practice like this, then vicara
will naturally tend to have less to work with. If our mind ceases to be disturbed, then vicara
will incline to contemplating Dhamma, because if we don't contemplate Dhamma the mind
returns to distraction.
So there is vitakka then vicara, vitakka then vicara, vitakka
then vicara and so on, until vicara becomes gradually more subtle. At first vicara
goes all over the place. When we understand this as simply the natural activity of the
mind, it won't bother us unless we attach to it. It's like flowing water. If we get
obsessed with it, asking "Why does it flow?" then naturally we suffer. If we
understand that the water simply flows because that's its nature then there's no
suffering. Vicara is like this. There is vitakka, then vicara,
interacting with mental sensations. We can take these sensations as our object of
meditation, calming the mind by noting those sensations.
If we know the nature of the mind like this then we let go, just like letting the water
flow by. Vicara becomes more and more subtle. Perhaps the mind inclines to
contemplating the body, or death for instance, or some other theme of Dhamma. When the
theme of contemplation is right there will arise a feeling of well-being. What is that
well-being? It is piti (rapture). Piti, well-being, arises. It may manifest
as goose-pimples, coolness or lightness. The mind is enrapt. This is called piti.
There are also pleasures, sukha, the coming and going of various sensations; and
the state of ekaggatarammana, or one-pointedness.
Now if we talk in terms of the first stage of concentration it must be like this: vitakka,
vicara, piti, sukha, ekaggata. So what is the second stage like? As the mind becomes
progressively more subtle, vitakka and vicara become comparatively coarser,
so that they are discarded, leaving only piti, sukha, and ekaggata. This is
something that the mind does of itself, we don't have to conjecture about it, just to know
things as they are.
As the mind becomes more refined, piti is eventually thrown off, leaving only sukha
and ekaggata, and so we take note of that. Where does piti go to? It doesn't
go anywhere, it's just that the mind becomes increasingly more subtle so that it throws
off those qualities that are too coarse for it. Whatever's too coarse it throws out, and
it keeps throwing off like this until it reaches the peak of subtlety, known in the books
as the Fourth Jhana, the highest level of absorption. Here the mind has
progressively discarded whatever becomes too coarse for it, until there remain only ekaggata
and upekkha, equanimity. There's nothing further, this is the limit.
When the mind is developing the stages of samadhi it must proceed in this way,
but please let us understand the basics of practice. We want to make the mind still but it
won't be still. This is practicing out of desire, but we don't realize it. We have the
desire for calm. The mind is already disturbed and then we further disturb things by
wanting to make it calm. This very wanting is the cause. We don't see that this wanting to
calm the mind is tanha (craving). It's just like increasing the burden. The more we
desire calm the more disturbed the mind becomes, until we just give up. We end up fighting
all the time, sitting and struggling with ourselves.
Why is this? Because we don't reflect back on how we have set up the mind. Know that
the conditions of mind are simply the way they are. Whatever arises, just observe it. It
is simply the nature of the mind, it isn't harmful unless we don't understand its nature.
It's not dangerous if we see its activity for what it is. So we practice with vitakka
and vicara until the mind begins to settle down and become less forceful. When
sensations arise we contemplate them, we mingle with them and come to know them.
However, usually we tend to start fighting with them, because right from the beginning
we're determined to calm the mind. As soon as we sit the thoughts come to bother us. As
soon as we set up our meditation object our attention wanders, the mind wanders off after
all the thoughts, thinking that those thoughts have come to disturb us, but actually the
problem arises right here, from the very wanting.
If we see that the mind is simply behaving according to its nature, that it naturally
comes and goes like this, and if we don't get over-interested in it, we can understand its
ways as much the same as a child. Children don't know any better, they may say all kinds
of things. If we understand them we just let them talk, children naturally talk like that.
When we let go like this there is no obsession with the child. We can talk to our guests
undisturbed, while the child chatters and plays around. The mind is like this. It's not
harmful unless we grab on to it and get obsessed over it. That's the real cause of
trouble.
When piti arises one feels an indescribable pleasure, which only those who
experience can appreciate. Sukha (pleasure) arises, and there is also the quality
of one-pointedness. There are vitakka, vicara, piti, sukha and ekaggata. These five
qualities all converge at the one place. Even though they are different qualities they are
all collected in the one place, and we can see them all there, just like seeing many
different kinds of fruit in the one bowl. Vitakka, vicara, piti, sukha and ekaggata
-- we can see them all in the one mind, all five qualities. If one were to ask, "How
is there vitakka, how is there vicara, how are there piti and sukha?..."
it would be difficult to answer, but when they converge in the mind we will see how it is
for ourselves.
At this point our practice becomes somewhat special. We must have recollection and
self-awareness and not lose ourselves. Know things for what they are. These are stages of
meditation, the potential of the mind. Don't doubt anything with regard to the practice.
Even if you sink into the earth or fly into the air, or even "die" while
sitting, don't doubt it. Whatever the qualities of the mind are, just stay with the
knowing. This is our foundation: to have sati, recollection, and sampajañña,
self-awareness, whether standing, walking, sitting, or reclining. Whatever arises, just
leave it be, don't cling to it. Be it like or dislike, happiness or suffering, doubt or
certainty, contemplate with vicara and gauge the results of those qualities. Don't
try to label everything, just know it. See that all the things that arise in the mind are
simply sensations. They are transient. They arise, exist and cease. That's all there is to
them, they have no self or being, they are neither "us" nor "them."
They are not worthy of clinging to, any of them.
When we see all rupa and nama [35] in this
way with wisdom, then we will see the old tracks. We will see the transience of the mind,
the transience of the body, the transience of happiness, suffering, love and hate. They
are all impermanent. Seeing this, the mind becomes weary; weary of the body and mind,
weary of the things that arise and cease and are transient. When the mind becomes
disenchanted it will look for a way out of all those things. It no longer wants to be
stuck in things, it sees the inadequacy of this world and the inadequacy of birth.
When the mind sees like this, wherever we go, we see aniccam (Transience), dukkham
(Imperfection) and anatta (Ownerlessness). There's nothing left to hold on to.
Whether we go to sit at the foot of a tree, on a mountain top or into a valley, we can
hear the Buddha's teaching. All trees will seem as one, all beings will be as one, there's
nothing special about any of them. They arise, exist for a while, age and then die, all of
them.
We thus see the world more clearly, seeing this body and mind more clearly. They are
clearer in the light of Transience, clearer in the light of Imperfection and clearer in
the light of Ownerlessness. If people hold fast to things they suffer. This is how
suffering arises. If we see that body and mind are simply the way they are, no suffering
arises, because we don't hold fast to them. Wherever we go we will have wisdom. Even
seeing a tree we can consider it with wisdom. Seeing grass and the various insects will be
food for reflection.
When it all comes down to it they all fall into the same boat. They are all Dhamma,
they are invariably transient. This is the truth, this is the true Dhamma, this is
certain. How is it certain? it is certain in that the world is that way and can never be
otherwise. There's nothing more to it than this. If we can see in this way then we have
finished our journey.
In Buddhism, with regard to view, it is said that to feel that we are more foolish than
others is not right: to feel that we are equal to others is not right; and to feel that we
better than others is not right...because there isn't any "we." This is how it
is, we must uproot conceit.
This is called lokavidu -- knowing the world clearly as it is. If we thus see
the truth, the mind will know itself completely and will sever the cause of suffering.
When there is no longer any cause, the results cannot arise. This is the way our practice
should proceed.
The basics which we need to develop are: firstly, to be upright and honest; secondly,
to be wary of wrong-doing; thirdly, to have the attribute of humility within one's heart,
to be aloof and content with little. If we are content with little in regards to speech
and in all other things, we will see ourselves, we won't be drawn into distractions. The
mind will have a foundation of sila, samadhi, and pañña.
Therefore cultivators of the path should not be careless. Even if you are right don't
be careless. And if you are wrong, don't be careless. If things are going well or you're
feeling happy, don't be careless. Why do I say "don't be careless"? Because all
of these things are uncertain. Note them as such. If you get peaceful just leave the peace
be. You may really want to indulge in it but you should simpl