Undated
Every human being
falls under the same conditions. In the beginning we're born,
then in the middle we change, and in the end we fall apart and
die. Death is something no one aspires to, and yet no one can
escape it. We all have death at the end of our path.
Thinking about
death gives rise both to benefits and to harm. For
shortsighted people it's harmful, because it makes them so
depressed and discouraged that they don't want to do any good
in the world. In other words, all they see is the part that
dies. They don't see the part that doesn't. Actually, there
are two parts to every person: the part that can die and the
part that doesn't die. For example, the nature of the body is
to keep changing until it falls apart. You can say that it
dies, and you can say that it doesn't. The word "dies" applies
to the fact that the person disappears from his or her friends
and relatives, but the elements of the body simply go back to
their original form. The earth returns to being earth, the
water to water, the fire to fire, and wind to wind. It's like
a cube of ice: if you keep the ice long enough, it'll return
to its original condition of being water. So you can say that
the body dies, and you can say that it doesn't die -- simply
that it doesn't maintain the same form it had. According to
the conventions of the world, this is called death, but wise
people don't see death as anything strange or out of the
ordinary. The only question is whether death is accompanied by
merit or not.
This brings us to
the mind that used to stay with the body. This is the
important part because it doesn't die. It simply changes in
line with the way good and evil arrange things for it. In
other words, they arrange the level of the mind, the place
where it takes rebirth. If you do good, you'll have to go to a
good destination. If you do evil, you'll have to go to a bad
destination. If you develop goodness to the ultimate degree so
that you can let go of good and evil, the mind will become
changeless, or what's called deathless. But most of us can't
conceive of the truth. We tend to overlook it, so that we
never reach the deathless. This is because of our own
stupidity and lack of discernment. Our ignorance hides the
truth from us.
The nature of the
mind is very subtle. You can't see it with your eyes. Some
people say it doesn't exist, which is why people who don't
consider things carefully say that death is followed by
annihilation. We can make a comparison with the fire element
in the air. The mind is like the fire element. The body is
like a lit candle. When the candle runs out of its wax and
wick, the fire has to go out. But when the fire goes out, that
doesn't mean that no fire is left in the world. We're able to
light another candle because of the fire element still there
throughout the air. That's the way it is with us: when the
body falls apart, the mind gives rise to a new level of being
for itself as long as it still has the fuel of ignorance,
craving, and clinging.
This is why the
Buddha taught his disciples not to be heedless, to develop as
much merit and skillfulness as possible, for merit and
skillfulness are what bring happiness both in this world and
in the next. This is in line with the sayings,
sukho
puññassa uccayo: the accumulation of merit brings
well-being;
puññam sukham jivita-sankhamhi: merit brings
well-being at the end of life; and
puññani para-lokasmim patittha honti paninam: merit
is what establishes living beings in the next life.
The word merit
here means the happiness or wellbeing that results from doing
good. The good we can do comes in many forms, but in short
there are two kinds:
(1) the merit
that acts as a cause, i.e., the good we have to do; and
(2) the merit that acts as a result, i.e., the happiness
coming from our goodness.
The merit that
acts as a cause comes in three types: danamaya, the
merit of being generous; silamaya, the merit of
observing the precepts; and bhavanamaya, the merit of
meditating. In the Abhidhamma these three types are divided
into ten meritorious activities. Generosity is expanded to
include pattidanamaya, the merit of dedicating merit to
others, and pattanumodanamaya, the merit of
appreciating other people's merit. These three go together in
that they all counteract jealousy and stinginess. The merit of
observing the precepts is expanded to include apacayanamaya,
the merit of showing respect to people worthy of respect, such
as our elders and those to whom we should be grateful;
veyyavaccamaya, the merit that comes in helping others in
skillful activities, sharing your strength, wealth, and
intelligence. These three all go together in that they're
related to interpersonal virtue. As for the merit of
meditation, that's expanded to include dhammassavanamaya,
the merit of listening to the Dhamma; dhamma-desanamaya,
the merit of teaching the Dhamma; and ditth'ujukamma,
making one's views straight. All four of these go together in
that they are all sources of discernment.
These forms of
merit can arise only when they are rooted in mental states
free of greed, aversion, and delusion. As the Pali says,
alobho dana-hetu, lack of greed is the basis for
generosity; adoso sila-hetu, lack of aversion is the
basis for virtue; and amoho bhavana-hetu, lack of
delusion is the basis for developing the mind in meditation.
The merit you do
gives you ease in body and mind. Whenever you think of the
good you've done, it will always make you happy. It's a noble
treasure that follows you, just as your shadow follows you at
all times. Even when you die, the merit you've done will
follow you and arrange a good place for you to be reborn. This
is called puññabhisankhara, merit as a fabricating
factor.
When people are
about to die, they are like travelers getting ready to abroad.
Before they go, they have to prepare themselves. Only then
will the trip be comfortable. For example, they have to put
money in the bank, exchanging their Thai currency for foreign
currency so they can use it when they're abroad. If they
simply take their Thai money along with them, they won't be
able to use it to buy anything. In the same way, when people
leave this world at death, they can't take along their wealth
or possessions to use in the next world. Instead, while
they're still alive here, they have to deposit their money in
the bank for Buddhists and exchange it for noble treasures, or
inner wealth. What this means is that they make donations, for
example, in homage to the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. That way
they'll be able to use their wealth in the next world. If they
have only counterfeit money -- i.e., if they've done nothing
but evil and unskillful things -- they won't be able to go to
anywhere comfortable or prosperous, because they lack the
funds needed to take themselves there. They won't be able to
return to the human world because they lack the funds -- the
human values -- needed to take themselves there. So they'll
have to turn into hungry ghosts, wandering around, losing
their way, haunting people and possessing them, suffering all
kinds of hardships. For this reason, being generous is like
depositing your money in a bank so that you'll be able to use
it when you go abroad. That's the first step.
The second step
is to get a passport as proof of your nationality. What this
means is that you establish yourself in the virtues of the
Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, observing the precepts to get rid
of the gross defilements in your words and deeds, as proof of
your status as a member of the Buddha's following.
The third step is
to learn foreign languages. In other words, you have to
practice tranquility meditation and insight meditation so as
to get rid of the intermediate and refined defilements -- the
Hindrances -- in the heart, straightening out the heart so
that you can give rise to three forms of knowledge:
pubbenivasanussati-ñana, the ability to remember
previous lifetimes;
cutupapata-ñana, knowledge of the death and rebirth
of living beings, seeing why they are born on low levels or
high, with pain or pleasure; and
asavakkhaya-ñana, the knowledge enabling you to rid
the heart of its fermentations.
These three forms
of knowledge count as the foreign languages you'll need for
your journey. Your trip will be easy and fun, dazzling bright,
with plenty of treasures along the way. You'll see sights
you've never seen before, such as the heavens and brahma
worlds. This is what it means to be "well-gone." Even as you
stay here, you'll stay well. If you want to come back, you'll
be able to. If you don't, you can continue your studies and go
all the way to nibbana, released from having to swim around in
the cycle of death and rebirth. You'll reach security, joyful
and free from danger of every sort.
The practice of
generosity, virtue, and meditation thus results in three types
of treasure -- the treasure of the human state, the treasure
of the heavenly state, and the treasure of nibbana -- in line
with your abilities to do the practice. People who are
complete in all three of these forms of skillfulness are said
to go well, come well, and stay well, because their thoughts,
words, and deeds have been trained well. Wherever they go they
are free from animosity and danger, for they are loved and
respected by all beings, human and divine.
So we should each
look at our condition, realizing that we're on a journey
leading day by day, minute by minute, to death. There's no
escaping this. For this reason we should develop the three
forms of skillfulness and merit -- generosity, virtue, and
meditation -- so that the happiness and security resulting
from goodness will arise for us, taking us beyond death, in
line with our abilities
June 28, 1959
The Dhamma is
something that cleanses the mind so that it's bright, clean,
and happy. People differ in their temperaments: some are
crude, others intermediate, and others refined. This is why
the Buddha elaborated on the Dhamma in various ways in line
with the character of his listeners. In other words, he took
short things and explained them until they were long. For
example, sometimes he'd explain the rewards of generosity,
sometimes the rewards of virtue, and sometimes the rewards of
polishing the heart: what's called meditation. But his real
aim was to teach people to make their minds pure. Everything
else was just elaboration.
Each of us human
beings is like a person sitting in a boat in the middle of an
ocean filled with wind, waves, and storms. Some people are
floating so far out they can't even see the shore. Some are
bobbing up and down, so that sometimes they see the shore and
sometimes they don't. This stands for the people who are
repeating buddho, buddho. Some people are floating
closer to land, so that they can see the fish traps, the
sailboats, and the green trees on shore. Some have struggled
to swim closer to shore, but they still haven't made it to
land. As for the Buddha, he's like a person standing on the
shore, free from all the dangers of being at sea. He's seen
the dangers that people are subject to, which is why he has
the great compassion to want to help us get out of the sea and
safely on land. This is why he teaches us to practice
generosity, virtue, and meditation, for these are the things
that will pull us safely on to shore.
When we set our
minds on practicing the Dhamma, we have to set our sights on
the Dhamma's true aim. Don't go wandering off in other
directions. You have to know which path is the wrong one, the
dangerous one; and which one is the right one, the safe one.
It's like steering a ship across the ocean. The captain has to
watch for the signals of the lighthouse. Or you can make a
comparison with driving a car: The traffic police have their
red, yellow, and green lights as traffic signals at the major
intersections. If, when the signal has its red light on, you
don't stop, then if you keep on driving there's bound to be
danger, and you're sure to get pulled over. If the green light
is on but you don't go, that's wrong, too. This is why when
you're driving you have to understand the signals so that
you'll reach your destination safely.
It's the same
when you're traveling to the Dhamma. You have to know the
Buddha's traffic signals. His red lights are his prohibitions,
the things he doesn't allow. Anyone who lets his or her boat
or car go through the red light will have to meet with danger.
So while we're meditating here we have to make sure we don't
go through the red light of our defilements.
The Buddha
compared our defilements to fire. The heat of our single sun
can make the world as hot as it is. Think of how hot it would
be if there were five or six suns. The defilements around each
of our senses are like the heat of the sun. Cakkhum adittam:
the eye is a mass of fire. Sotam adittam: the ear
is a mass of flame. Ghanam adittam: the nose is a mass
of fire. Jivha aditta: the tongue is a mass of flame.
Kayo aditto: the body is a mass of fire. Mano aditto:
the heart is a mass of flame. Don't let these six masses
of fire burn you. Normally the sensual desires arising around
the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind are red masses of
flame burning away at the heart. If, while we're meditating,
we stick our minds into these preoccupations, it's like taking
a burning match and sticking it into some kerosene or
gasoline. For this reason, while you're meditating, don't
stick your mind into the affairs of your family, your home,
your belongings, or absolutely anybody or anything at all.
This is the Buddha's red light, where he tells you not to go.
The other signal
is the green light, the Dhamma being explained. When the light
is green, that's a sign for you to go ahead. The green light
here stands for the Dhamma you've already studied, as well as
the Dhamma you're training yourself in right now. When the
light is green, then whether we're fast or slow, we have to
go. Don't just loiter around and block the way, or the police
will arrest you. In other words, when the Dhamma arises by way
of our eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind, we have to
pursue that goodness.
The Dhamma is
what pushes or pulls as to goodness and peace. The green light
is the Dhamma arising in a heart that's clean and pure. Right
now, have our minds entered the quality of buddha? This
is an important point. We have to be observant to see whether
the affairs of our minds are heading toward the green light or
toward the red light. If we're not heading in the right
direction, we have to turn ourselves around. It's like picking
flowers, washing them, and then putting them in a vase. We
have to make sure there aren't any worms or caterpillars
eating away at them. Make the mind like a pure, blooming lotus
in a vase. This qualifies as the quality of buddha. Or
think of it in another way: the mind is cool and refreshed
like a lotus blooming in the middle of a pond. It's surrounded
by nourishing water, cool and with an appealing scent. If
you're sitting here in the meditation hall without any
hindrances in the mind, it's like a lotus in the middle of a
pond. This is also called the quality of buddha. This
is called the radiant mind, or in simpler terms, the quality
of inner worth. When the mind is saturated in inner worth like
this, it's happy and at ease.
The Dhamma is a
preoccupation that gives the mind a sense of rapture,
fullness, and ease. When it arises, we're taught to develop it
and cultivate it as much as possible. Keep the mind in this
preoccupation until it attains a state of oneness: that's the
Dhamma. Whatever is good in the heart, we try to raise that
goodness to a higher and higher level. Keep evaluating it,
focusing your mindfulness on it at all times, to see how the
mind enters into this state of goodness. This is called
developing a foundation of mindfulness.
If you keep your
mindfulness focused on a single path -- as when you think
buddho, buddho -- without sending your mind off on other
paths, the mind grows deeper and deeper into a state of inner
worth. Just as when we walk along a path on the ground: if we
keep walking back and forth on the same path, it's bound to
get worn smooth. The grasses and weeds will die away, and the
path will get worn deeper into the ground, to the point where,
when it rains, it becomes a watercourse, watering our crops,
so that they grow abundant. We'll be able to sell them for a
living and grow rich, freed from poverty. This is why this
quality of merit or inner worth is called noble wealth.
Things deep and
refined tend to be high in quality. If the breath is refined,
the mind refined, and mindfulness refined, then the brightness
of our awareness will spread wider and wider, like the
electric lights that spread their light throughout the
capital. This is different from lantern light, which -- if we
want to see all around us -- we have to carry and run around.
When the mind is refined and the breath is refined, we'll be
able to know the breath energies throughout the world. We'll
see how things are going with all the elements. The heart will
grow even broader, so that our foundation of mindfulness
becomes the great frame of reference. The mind grows even
deeper and cooler. More full and rapturous. Blooming and at
ease. When the mind matures in this way, you've got noble
wealth. You're no longer poor.
Coolness is like
water. Wherever the ground has water there are bound to be
fish, crabs, crayfish, and shellfish, grasses and vegetables,
all of which can be converted to wealth. The Buddha saw the
fullness of this mind state, which is why he told the monks,
"Don't farm for a living. Don't get involved in receiving gold
and silver. Focus on doing only one thing -- be intent on
really practicing the Dhamma, making your minds into the
single, unified path -- and then whatever you want, you'll be
sure to get. This is because when the mind is full of virtue
and Dhamma, you'll always have wealth."
This is the power
that comes from making your goodness deep -- like the Chao
Phraya River, which is deeper and broader than any other river
in Thailand. It's full of everything: boats, rafts, motor
boats, steamboats, big boats, little boats, so that travel and
commerce are convenient. In the river will be fish, in the
fields will be rice, melons, cucumbers, corn, wheat -- all of
these things will be within you. You'll be wealthy in
everything. If you don't give rise to goodness, then no matter
what, you won't be wealthy. This is why the Buddha taught the
monks, "Don't be farmers of merchants. And don't worry, you
won't be poor. Simply build up a lot of goodness in your
hearts, and all forms of wealth will come flowing your way on
their own."
But we don't
really believe him. We believe our defilements instead, and so
our minds keep sliding toward red masses of flame rather than
to the clear mass of purity. This is why we're taught,
sukkam bhavetha pandito, the wise person develops the
clear Dhamma of purity.
All I've
mentioned so far deals with the qualities of the Buddha and
Dhamma.
The quality of
the Sangha means making the mind go forward without sliding
back. We keep putting our mind into good shape. For instance,
when the eye sees something that isn't good, our mind is in
good shape. The ear hears something that isn't good, yet our
mind is in good shape. The nose smells an aroma that isn't
good, the tongue tastes a flavor that isn't good, the body
touches a tactile sensation that isn't good, yet our mind is
still in good shape. This is called supatipanno,
practicing rightly. When we keep the mind straight on the
right path, that's called uju-patipanno, practicing
straightforwardly. When we bring the mind to the level of
insight meditation, attaining the transcendent, that's
ñaya-patipanno, practicing for the sake of knowledge. As
for samici-patipanno, practicing masterfully, that
means making our goodness even better and better. For example,
when defilement arises in the heart, we have to use the Dhamma
to pen it in. Defilement is like a rabid dog running around in
misery. Whoever it sees, it runs right up to bite
indiscriminately, until eventually it gets killed or falls
down dead on its own. In the same way, when our defilements
arise we have to pen them in quickly and keep them under our
thumb. Don't bring them out to put them to use. Greed, anger,
and delusion are intoxicants. When we're intoxicated, our
minds are in the dark. When we're in the dark we stagger
around, back and forth, dizzy and confused, not knowing what
way to go, and as a result we never get to the destination we
want.
The Buddha's
green light takes us to the clear light of the qualities of
the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. When we have these three gems
and are sitting on the crystal throne of the seven forms of
noble wealth, what suffering will we have? When we make our
minds into Dhamma, the various defilements that lie fermenting
in the heart will have to disappear. There will be nothing to
spoil the heart. We'll be able to escape from the sea.
Once we get on
land we can have all kinds of fun, for there are a lot of
things we never saw at sea. It's like when we come into the
mouth of the Chao Phraya River, where there are marsh trees
and fresh green plants. We become enchanted and keep walking
further inland to Sukhumvit Road. There we see bicycles and
trucks and jeeps and pretty automobiles of different colors.
This gets us even more excited, and some of us get smitten
with what we see on land. In other words, we fall for the
visions and signs that come in meditation. For instance, we
may begin to remember previous lifetimes. If we remember bad
things, we become sad. If we remember good things, we get
happy. This turns into craving, the desire to be this or that,
and some people get really deluded, thinking they actually are
the things they see.
If our
discernment isn't strong enough, then whatever we see will
turn into the corruptions of insight (vipassanupakkilesa)
-- like people who get all excited the first time they see a
car. They go running to the car, wanting to ride in it,
wanting to drive it, but without looking right or left or
stopping to take note of anything. They run right out into the
middle of the road, get run over, and either die or break an
arm or a leg. After all the trouble they went to in order to
get out of the sea, they get deluded and put themselves in
danger all over again.
Like the example
that happened a few days ago. An old monk came into the
monastery, so some lay people asked him where he was from and
whom he wanted to meet. He told them, "You all don't know a
thing. Ajaan Lee used to be King Asoka, which is why he built
Wat Asokaram. I'm King Pasenadi the Kosalan, his old friend.
That's why I've come to visit him today." He had his student
come in to inform me, and so I told the student, "Quick.
Quick. and tell him to go away. He's absolutely forbidden to
come in here." Even this sort of thing can happen. This is
called getting smitten with being on land, i.e., falling for
the visions you see. That old monk probably had a few ideas of
one sort or another arising in his mind, and so got carried
away.
If you start
seeing things when your discernment isn't strong enough, it
turns into a corruption of insight -- as when a person gets
excited at the sight of a car because he's never seen one
before. He wants to ride in it, to drive it, so without
looking left or right he goes running toward it, right into
the middle of the road. And so he gets run over by a car and
killed, or else crippled with a broken leg. This, too, is a
kind of delusion, a danger.
But if our
discernment is strong enough, whatever we see will turn into
noble treasures (ariya-dhana). If we see a forest of
marsh tress, we can put them to use. We can cut them into
firewood to use ourselves or sell in the market. If the land
is a tangle of weeds, we can clear it and turn it into fields.
If we don't let it lie fallow, it's sure to yield crops.
Falling for
visions is also called "skewed perception." The right way to
act when you see a vision is to remember to evaluate it and
then let it go in line with its true nature. Don't latch onto
what you see, because all things are inconstant. If you're
born poor, you suffer from your desire to be rich. If you're
born rich, you suffer in looking after your possessions,
afraid that they'll wear out, afraid that you'll get cheated
out of them, afraid that thieves will break in and steal them.
There's nothing certain or dependable at all. The same holds
true with visions. So whatever you see, you have to let it go
in line with its nature. Leave the trees in the forest, the
grass in the meadows, and the rice in the fields. If you can
do this, you can be at your ease, because you know what it's
like on land, what it's like in the water, when to get in and
when to get out. Once you're skilled, you can travel on water
or land, at ease in every way. You can go forward or back
without any obstacles. This is called lokavidu, knowing
the world. You can stay with what you know, but you're not
stuck on it. You can live in the ocean without drowning. You
can live in the world without getting sunk in the world --
like a lotus leaf in the water: the water doesn't seep into
the leaf at all.
Fabricated things
belong to no one, have no one in charge. If you contemplate
them and let go of them in line with their nature -- in the
same way that you put down a knife, without holding onto it --
the mind will reach an important point: the level of the
radiant mind.
November 11,
1958
The Dhamma is
something constant and true. The reason we don't see the truth
is because we're always spinning around. If we're riding in a
car, we can't clearly see the things that pass near by us on
the road, such as how big the stones on the ground are, what
color they are. We look at trees, mountains, and fields, and
they all seem to be on the move. If we've been in a car since
birth, without stopping to get out and walk around on our own,
we're sure to think that cars run, trees run, and mountains
run. The fact is, though, that the truth and our spinning
around aren't in line with each other. The running lies in us,
in the car, not in the trees or mountains.
Everything that's
Dhamma stays firm and constant. That's why it's called the
truth. Whatever isn't true, isn't Dhamma. In the area of the
Dhamma, one of the Buddha's highest aims was discernment. He
wasn't just out after a sense of peace and ease, for simple
peace of mind isn't really peaceful, isn't really easeful,
isn't really restful. It still has some unrest mixed in with
it. The highest happiness lies above not only peace of mind,
but also above discernment as well.
Most of us, when
we feel at peace and at ease, tend to get heedless and
careless. As a result we don't develop any discernment. We can
take a lesson from the people of Japan: their land is poor,
their crops grow slowly, and the landscape is full of
volcanoes. As a result, the people have to exert themselves to
make a living and always be on the alert, ready to evacuate
whenever there's danger. This is why they're so active and
intelligent, solving all their difficulties so that they can
bring progress to their country. People who have it easy,
though, tend to be stupid, because they have no sense of how
to exert themselves to get rid of suffering.
People nowadays have studied a lot, but they're still stupid. Stupid in what way?
Stupid in that they don't know how to fix their own rice, sew their own clothes,
or wash their own clothes.
They don't have any skills. The time will have to come when this causes them to suffer and fall
into difficulties.
Most of us Thai people complain that foreigners are taking over our economy,
but actually the fault lies
with our own stupidity.
We can't even make one big toe's worth of happiness for ourselves, and instead sit staring
off into the distance.
Other people run and jump and do everything necessary for the sake of their happiness,
but we just sit around and create difficulties for our families.
Then, when we suffer, that opens the way for corruption.
We get up from a meal and don't wash our own dishes or put them away.
If all our discernment is in knowing how to eat, how will we ever get anywhere?
This is why the Buddha taught the Dhamma both in terms of causes and results, skills
and their rewards.
He taught first about things that lie immediately around us.
Once we put ourselves into good shape, it will spread to help everyone who comes after us.
Whatever causes, whatever skills, will give rise to peace, ease, and convenience for ourselves,
we have to do.
The results are sure to follow.
On the good side,
virtue is a cause for concentration. Concentration is a cause
for discernment. On the bad side, suffering comes from
craving. And what does craving come from? From our own
stupidity. It's because we're stupid in so many ways that we
suffer so much. When craving arises, it damages people all
around us. This is why we should develop the causes for
happiness and ease, so as to prevent these kinds of dangers --
for when difficulties arise, the mind will start spinning in
all sorts ways that will cause us to suffer.
For this reason
you should examine yourself whenever you get the chance, at
all times. If you start feeling ill at ease, you should trace
back to the causes. Ask yourself, "What have I been doing
since I got up this morning? What have I been thinking about?"
When you try to cut down a tree but can't cut all the way
through, you have to look at your machete to see if it's
nicked or dull. If you try to cut the tree down with your
teeth, you won't get anywhere. You have to trace back to the
causes of your problems if you want to figure out how to solve
them. When you do that, all your difficulties will vanish.
Knowledge has to
come from the discernment we give rise to within ourselves.
The lowest or weakest level of discernment knows neither
causes nor results. The middle level knows results without
knowing their causes, or causes without knowing their results.
The highest level of discernment knows causes before they give
rise to their results. In other words, you know what kind of
results you'll get from your actions. But most of us don't
even know what causes we're creating, which is why the results
we get aren't good at all. When we want to progress in life,
we have to give rise to the causes for peace and ease. In
other words, we have to practice meditation in line with the
factors of the noble path.
Samma-kammanta,
right action, is the cause for peace and ease. Our actions
come in all sorts of forms. The way we stand is an action. The
movement of the body is an action. The actions, the various
kinds of work in the world, require us to run, to pick things
up with our body. But in the area of the Dhamma, simply
sitting still with the right intention is a form of work or
action. Lying down with the right intention is a form of work
or action. Sitting, standing, walking, lying down: all of our
movements and postures, if done with the right intention, are
a form of work or action. When our actions are right, we'll
experience peace and ease. And then how will suffering come
our way? The reason we suffer is because our actions are
wrong. We sit, stand, walk, and lie down in ways contrary to
the Dhamma. And then when we take on other work in addition to
our basic actions, that work is bound to turn into wrong
action as well. This was why the Buddha improved his manners
in how he sat, stood, walked, and lay down, so that they were
all pure in terms of the intentions of his mind. What this
means is that he kept practicing tranquility meditation in all
his activities. His mind had to stay with what the body was
doing. If the mind told the body to do something, but didn't
do it along with the body, then he didn't succeed in what he
wanted to do. He couldn't let the body work on its own. The
mind had to work along with the body. Otherwise, his old
manners would come back and take charge of the mind.
Wrong action
means thoughts of sensuality: thinking in terms of sensual
objects that give rise to sensual defilements. Sights, sounds,
smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and ideas come from the
body and mind acting together. If the mind then wants any of
these things, that's called greed. You want them to be good,
but when they aren't good in line with your thoughts, that
gives rise to aversion. If you get carried away by your
aversion, that's delusion.
But if you direct
your thinking to the breath, that will kill off sensual
desires. Evaluate your breath, and that will kill off ill
will. There are two kinds of evaluation: (1) evaluating the in
and out breath, and (2) evaluating the inner breath sensations
of the body until they interact with the other properties of
the body. When you reach this point, you forget any feelings
of ill will. Once the mind and body are full, you feel a sense
of ease. Rapture and pleasure are thus the results of directed
thought and evaluation. Directed thought and evaluation thus
count as right action. The principle of cause and effect
applies to all your activities, both inside and out.
The reason we suffer is because we eat.
How is eating suffering? Because we never can get full. The body isn't full; the mind isn't full.
It never has a sense of enough with its preoccupations. This gives rise to hunger.
But when the mind
stops worrying about eating, and instead stays with its right
actions, then you can be at your ease. Sometimes, while you
meditate, you focus on the cause, the sense of seclusion,
without any thought for the results. Sometimes you stay with
the results, vihara-dhamma, the ease of staying in the
home of the mind. Even though the work this requires may be
difficult, you aren't worried or concerned. The mind keeps
staying with its sense of ease. When you get skilled, you gain
a sense of when to focus on the causes and when to focus on
the results. This is called acting with a sense of causes and
results. You're not stuck on any of the baits of the world.
You stay exclusively with the ease of the Dhamma. Even though
the work may require effort, you're not worked up about it.
You do it with a sense of wellbeing.
When there's a
sense of wellbeing, the mind doesn't get stirred up. When it's
still in this way, liberating insight can arise. Our work
turns into the work of insight. You watch the properties of
sensation: when sights strike the eye, there arise feelings of
liking and disliking. You watch while these things stay for an
instant, disintegrate, and disappear. You see sights as
properties that move. The eye is a property that moves.
Consciousness -- the awareness of these things -- is a
property that moves. This applies to all the sense media: they
all lie under the characteristics of inconstancy, stress, and
not-self. Discernment is what stays still enough to see what
moves and what doesn't. And then there's a letting-go of both.
That's when you see that ease on the conventional level, from
the point of view of the Dhamma, is a falsehood -- for there's
an ease on the ultimate level that's true.
August 3,
1957
The happiness to
which every human being aspires is attained solely through the
heart. Some of these forms of happiness, though, aren't clean
or clear. The happiness that is clear and clean is the
highest happiness in the Buddha's teachings, in other words,
nibbana. Any form of happiness aside from this is neither
clean nor clear.
For the mind to
attain happiness it has to depend on the Dhamma as its
foundation. This is why the Buddha taught us to become
acquainted with the Dhamma so that we can put it to use in
developing the goodness that brings us the beneficial
happiness we want.
In what way is
the practice of the Dhamma so important? It's important in
that when a person practices the Dhamma it gives cool shelter
(1) to the person who practices it and (2) to others at large.
If the world lacked the Dhamma, there's no way we could find
happiness anywhere at all. This is why we have to seek out
Dhamma for the heart, because the current situation of the
world is such that all kinds of events are sure to come
seeping into the heart. Anything protected by the Dhamma
contains the causes that will bring about happiness. Anything
not protected by the Dhamma contains the causes for
disturbance and unrest.
We human beings
are like trees. If a tree has an abundance of flowers and
fruits, thick branches and leaves, and a firmly rooted trunk
that doesn't fall down in the wind, it gives pleasure to the
birds who come and live in it, to the travelers who pass by
and rest in its shade. This is like a person who has the
Dhamma as a firmly rooted foundation in the heart. Such a
person gives shelter both to himself and to others as well.
The Dhamma is like a rainy mist that keeps plants fresh and
green. People protected by the Dhamma have a cool sense of
ease within themselves and are able to spread and share it
with others at large.
Take the Buddha
as an example: When he was still a lay person, he was the son
of a powerful king with great wealth and a large following.
His palace was enormous. He had everything he could wish for,
without the least thing lacking. But even then, he saw that
this sort of happiness was like a ripe banana on a tree:
there's no way it could escape from the beaks of the hawks and
ravens who wanted to eat it. This is why he abandoned his
great wealth and went forth in search of a happiness lasting
and true -- in other words, the path to release from
suffering. When he found it, he kept exclaiming in his heart,
"What bliss! What bliss!" Even though there were times when he
had to encounter situations that were difficult to bear -- for
instance, when there were hardships in gaining food or in the
external conditions of his life -- he never saw these things
as troublesome in any way at all. He kept repeating to
himself, "What bliss! What bliss!" to the point where he was
rumored to be crazy.
Still, when he
had found a happiness this true, he naturally felt compassion
for the stupidity of human beings and other living beings at
large who still kept themselves sunk in suffering in such a
pitiful way without knowing the means for gaining release from
it. Feeling this compassion, the Buddha thus wandered from
city to city, village to village, to teach people the Dhamma
and the way to practice by which they could release themselves
from suffering and reach the same kind of happiness he had
found himself. When people listened to the Buddha's Dhamma,
many of them gained conviction and confidence in what he
taught. So they put it into practice to the point where they
attained many of the highest levels of happiness. They then
brought their children, grandchildren, and friends to hear the
Buddha's Dhamma, and so ever-increasing numbers of people saw
the results appearing in their hearts. This is how the
Buddha's teachings spread far and wide in every direction. At
present, Buddhism seems to be most predominant in Thailand, in
that those who respect the Buddha's teachings are found in
every level of society, from the lowest to the highest. The
study of the Dhamma is found on every level from the lowest to
the highest. The same is true of the practice of the Dhamma:
it occurs on low levels, intermediate levels, up to the
highest level. The lowest levels are those of us sitting here
training ourselves in meditation. The intermediate levels
start with the attainment of stream-entry on up. On the
highest level are the arahants. You have to be very observant
to know this. There are lots of people on the low levels, but
only a few on the intermediate and highest levels. The really
low levels are those who want to develop goodness but whose
motivation is bad. In this way our practice depends on what we
want to choose: Do you want to eat leaves, flowers, or the
actual fruit?
If we want the
kind of intelligence that can gather flowers and fruit to eat,
we have to use our discernment -- the inner brightness called
the eye of the mind, or the inner eye. As for the outer eye,
that's the eye of flesh. For the brightness of the inner eye
to arise and see the truth, we need concentration. The outer
eye keeps deceiving the mind all the time, making us see
things in this way or believe things in that. This is why the
Buddha taught us to develop the inner eye so that our vision
can penetrate far.
There are
actually two parts to each person. The outer part is the body;
the inner part is the heart and mind. The outer part is like a
puppet or a mannequin, built out of the elements of stress. No
matter how much we fawn over it, caring for it at great
expense, it won't stay with us. In the end it'll have to turn
into ashes and sink into the ground. As for the mind, which is
the more lasting part, we don't give it much care or attention
at all. This is why the Buddha said that people are very
deluded. We don't see our substantial part, and instead see
only the deceptive part. We're like a monkey who sees its
reflection in a mirror and assumes that there's another
monkey. So it sticks out its tongue and makes faces at its
reflection, trying to scare its reflection -- and so scaring
itself, until it gets all worn out to no purpose at all. Our
substantial part is the mind. Our fake part is the body. Even
if we were to decorate the body with crowns and headdresses to
make it look really fancy, it wouldn't change its basic
nature. Once it's born it ages, then it starts to hurt, and
then it dies. No matter how much we study and gain degrees
from universities all over the world, we still can't divert
the body from its basic nature. There's no way it can escape
dying.
This is why
discerning people focus their attention on the substantial
part of themselves, in other words, the part that's
responsible for all things: the mind. The body isn't
responsible for good or evil at all. For example, if we murder
or steal, the body doesn't go to hell. No matter how much good
we do, the body doesn't go along with us to heaven. The mind
we can't see: that's what goes. We can't see the process of
its going, but it's nevertheless capable of moving from place
to place. The act of going to the good or bad destinations is
entirely an affair of the heart and mind. This is why those
who train their own hearts and minds are said truly to love
themselves. Those who don't train their own hearts and minds
are said to be in a place of darkness, or unawareness.
When the light of
awareness, or cognitive skill, arises in the mind, the mind
will have the arms, legs, hands, and eyes it needs to succeed
in its aims. If it doesn't have this awareness, it's in so
much darkness that it can't see anything at all. It has to
depend totally on the body. But when you practice so as to
give rise to the eye of the mind, you'll see that the body is
one thing, the mind another. They're not one and the same. At
the moment, our minds are still like children, which is why we
have to depend on the body to be our guardian. But once the
mind is trained, it will grow into an adult and be able to let
go of the body. The nature of children is that they still have
to depend on their guardians. But once a child is raised to
adulthood, it can go out on its own without the guardian.
There's no need to carry the child around any more. If we
don't know how to train the mind, it'll simply stay at the
childish level. The reason we all suffer so much in our lives
is that our minds are still children.
This is why the
Buddha taught us to find the Dhamma as a refuge or shelter for
the mind. At present our minds don't have a home to stay in.
No matter where we sit or lie down, the mind won't stay put.
The only thing that does stay put is the body. And this is why
the mind knows no happiness, like a person who always has to
keep wandering without rest, tired and hot from the sun. The
phrase, "home for the mind," here means the foundation of
concentration. Just as a person with lots of possessions but
no safe place to keep them can find no rest, in the same way
people with no concentration -- the foundation for the mind --
can't find any peace no matter how many meritorious things
they do. This is why we should train the mind to attain
concentration. Training the mind is like eating a meal: when
you've finished eating, you have to wash the dishes and put
them away in an orderly fashion, so that the next time you
want to eat you'll have them right at hand. When we want to
use the mind in any of our activities, we have to keep washing
it and putting it in order in just the same way.
Tell yourself,
while you're sitting here, that you're on your way to the
shade of a Bodhi tree, i.e., the refuge of the Buddha, Dhamma,
and Sangha. When you develop your inner goodness in this way,
you can't entrust your mind to the world, to any people, or
any material things at all. You're going to entrust it
entirely to someone venerable. In other words, you keep your
mind flowing in the recollection of the Buddha without getting
snagged on anything else. Use your alertness to survey your
heart and take the body as your playground. Keep mindfulness
always in charge of the mind, thinking bud-dho with the
in- and out-breath. You know what the breath is like when it
comes in; you know what it's like when it goes out. This is
called getting established in the recollection of the Buddha.
That's the first step.
The second step
is to clean up the mind. You don't focus anything involved
with the Hindrances, such as loving this person, hating that
person, liking and disliking, good and bad. You have to be
intent on releasing the mind from these things. In this way,
the Dhamma will arise in the heart with a cool sense of
relief. Then you can look at the cleanliness of the mind, to
see whether the way you live from day to day is clean or not.
Being unclean means having a mind mixed up with defilements.
As you sit here calming the mind, don't go thinking about
sights, sounds, smells, etc., in ways that lead to sensual
desire, ill will, or thoughts of harmfulness. If greed arises,
try to wash it away. Don't let it arise again. If anger
arises, try to wash it away. Don't let it arise again. The
same holds true with delusion. Try to chase out every form of
evil.
This is called
mental purity. Once the mind comes to a stop, that's when
purity will arise -- like a traveler who stops and rests under
the shade of a tree. His weariness will disappear, and he
won't have any sweat. Passion, aversion, and delusion are like
sweat that moistens and stains our mind. Whoever can stop
sweating in this way -- by entering the shade of the Bodhi
tree through practicing recollection of the Buddha -- will
become clean like a person sitting under a tree. When the mind
is established in good qualities, it'll be sheltered and at
ease (this ease comes from stillness and calm). As the mind
grows more and more clean, it will become as clear and
transparent as water, giving rise to an inner brightness.
Sometimes it's clean but not bright. In other words it keeps
moving forward and back without staying in place. Once the
mind is bright and clear, though, it'll give rise to awareness.
Cakkhum udapadi, ñanam udapadi, pañña udapadi vijja udapadi:
Vision arises, knowledge arises, discernment arises,
awareness arises. You'll give rise to three eyes: the eye of
the past is recollection of past lives, the eye of the future
is knowledge of the death and rebirth of living beings, and
the eye of the present is knowledge of the ending of mental
fermentations. You'll be able to let go of all things
poisonous. You won't be stuck on the past, present, or future
at all.
This is why, when you develop concentration, you'll end up with three eyes.
In other words, your outer left eye will see good things, your outer right eye will
see bad things, and they'll send them in to the inner eye, which will remain at equilibrium.
You'll also have three ears: Your outer left ear will hear praise, your outer right ear
will hear criticism,
and they'll send them in to the inner ear, which will stay at equilibrium.
This is how you can receive all the guests the world sends your way.
As for the eye of the mind -- intuitive insight -- it'll receive your defilements.
Once it really understands them, it'll be able to send them packing.
hat way you'll be able to live comfortably in the world,
with nothing to disturb your eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or mind.
You'll meet with nothing but brightness and purity.
The mind that
hasn't been trained is like a child. When it's trained, it
turns into an adult. As for the body, which used to seem so
large and mature, you'll now see that it's really a child.
It's inconstant, stressful, and not-self. But the mind trained
to the point of adulthood won't be troubled by these things.
Even though the body is inconstant, inconstancy won't appear
in the mind. Even though the body is stressful, stress won't
appear in the mind. Even though the body is not-self, nothing
troubling will appear in the mind. The mind will stay still
and at equilibrium, equanimous, without latching onto any of
these things at all.
Once the mind is
trained to a point of real strength, it's able to let go of
the body. For this reason, when we develop our goodness by
practicing the recollection of the Buddha as our constant
preoccupation, we'll reach the point where we can let go of
all attachments. Our minds will enter the current of the
Dhamma with true intuitive insight, and we'll ultimately meet
with the brightness, coolness, and ease I've described.
August 30,
1958
When you're
sitting in concentration, don't think that you're sitting here
in this meditation hall. Tell yourself that you're sitting
alone, in the deep, deep forest. Cut away all your commitments
and concerns. Don't think about the group or about anyone at
all. Thoughts of what's good, what's bad, what you have or
what you lack: you don't have to think them. Think just about
what's in your body and establish your mindfulness exclusively
on the breath. Or you can tell yourself that you're sitting
face-to-face with the Buddha, so that you have to keep careful
watch over the manners of the mind. Don't let it fidget
around, picking its ears and nose, or scratching itself here
and there. Keep the body straight and the mind focused
steadily on the Buddha: i.e., exclusively on your meditation
word, buddho. Be mindful with each and every in-and-out
breath. Don't go slipping off anywhere else.
If you aren't
genuinely intent on what you're doing, you're deceiving your
teacher, deceiving the people around you, and deceiving
yourself as well. The deceit here is that you close your eyes
and act like you're in concentration, but the mind isn't still
like the body. When this is the case, you'll suffer.
The results of
not genuinely being intent are that things sometimes go well,
sometimes they don't; sometimes you're aware, sometimes you're
not. In other words, the good results you're looking for
aren't constant. That's the first result. The second is
absentmindedness. The mind thinks about other people, other
things, and doesn't stay with the body, doesn't stay with the
present. You're like a person eating a meal. You intend for
your hand to put rice in your mouth, but you gaze around
absentmindedly. You think you're eating a spoonful of soup,
but it turns out to be a spoonful of pepper sauce. You reach
for a sweet but grab and bite into a clod of dirt or a piece
of gravel instead. Or you can make a comparison with a blind
person eating a meal. A person with good eyesight sends you
your food, telling you that, "This is rice. This is curry.
This is a sweet," but you don't take note of what she says and
so you get them all mixed up. Then you go blaming her for your
own absentmindedness.
The third result
of not genuinely being intent is forgetfulness. You lose track
of your mindfulness, lose track of the breath, lose track of
yourself.
All three of
these results are obstacles to the practice. They're signs of
not being sincere in your duties.
There are two
kinds of knowing: genuine knowing and deceptive knowing.
Genuine knowing is what stays right here and now within you,
without going anywhere else. You know when you're standing,
you know when you're lying down, speaking, thinking, etc. As
for deceptive knowing, that's the knowledge going after labels
and perceptions. Labels are an act of knowing, but they're not
the knowing itself. They're like the shadow of knowing.
Genuine knowing is being mindful of the present, seeing causes
and effects. This is discernment.
For this reason
we should each try to train ourselves to give rise to
discernment, the genuine knowing that won't deceive us into
falling for a mass of suffering. We do this by training the
mind to stay firmly in concentration, by being mindful and
circumspect in our breathing, by being alert in our every
movement, by being genuinely intent in our duties, and by
showing respect for our teachers and for ourselves. These are
the factors that will lead us to the happiness and wellbeing
to which we aspire.
August 24,
1957
The Dhamma is
what gives peace, shelter, and happiness to the world. If the
world were deprived of the Dhamma, we couldn't find any peace
here at all. If people individually or as a group have the
Dhamma constantly in their hearts, they're like fresh, green
grass growing in a spring-fed meadow or mountain valley,
constantly watered by the rain. If people lack the Dhamma --
if they're evil or unskillful in their behavior -- they're
like grass in the dry season or in a desert, lying dead on the
ground. They have nothing to attract the hearts of other
people to like them or respect them. Instead, they'll simply
get stepped all over and thrown away. They'll reap nothing but
suffering and misfortune.
People with the
Dhamma in their hearts are like trees whose flowers are
beautiful and fragrant. Everyone wants to be near them, to
associate with them. As for people who are shoddy in their
behavior, they're like the kind of tree whose flowers may be
pretty but are surrounded by thorns, or have no fragrance, or
are downright foul smelling. Other people are sure to detest
them and won't want to come near.
The Dhamma can
also be compared to the flame of a lantern, which by its
nature is dazzling bright. Our mind is like the globe around
the lantern. If the globe hasn't been washed and is covered
with soot, then no matter how bright the light of the flame
may be, it won't be able to radiate that brightness outside of
the globe. In the same way, if our mind is clouded and
obscured with evil intentions, then no matter how much good we
try to do, it won't be clean or pure because our hearts are
still soiled with defilements in the same way that the soot
soils the globe of the lantern.
We've come to
this place, which is a peaceful place, so we should try to be
peaceful and pure in our behavior: pure in our words and
deeds, and pure in our thoughts. When we're pure both inwardly
and outwardly like this, we fit in with the peacefulness of
the place.
Peace comes from
causes and gives rise to results. If the causes aren't
present, the results won't come. The kind of happiness coming
from a lack of peacefulness lasts only as long as a quick
catch in your breath. But the happiness coming from peace
lasts for a long, long time. If where we live isn't peaceful,
it won't help us benefit from our activities. For instance, if
we want to read, write, or memorize a passage from a book,
we'll have a hard time. This is why peacefulness is something
very important that we should all work together to foster.
Our body is like
a large water jar; the mind, like the water in the jar; and
our defilements, like sediment in the water. If we take an
alum crystal and swish it around in the water, the bits of
sediment will gather as a precipitate on the sides or bottom
of the jar, leaving the water clean and clear. The Dhamma is
like an alum crystal that can make our minds clean and clear.
When we listen to the Dhamma and take it home to ponder so as
to benefit from it, it will filter out all our unskillful
tendencies, which are defilements, so that they separate out
as a precipitate in the mind. When the Dhamma stays with the
mind in this way, then even when there are feelings of anger,
we won't get angry along with them. When there are feelings of
hatred, we won't get worked up along with them. When there are
feelings of infatuation, we won't get infatuated along with
them. But even so, these feelings are still lying in wait
there in the mind, which is why we have to develop higher
forms of goodness so as to remove the precipitates completely
from our water jar.
The higher forms
of goodness that we have to develop are the practices for
giving rise to peace in the mind. When the heart is at peace,
it gives rise to an inner quality within itself, in the same
way that water allowed to sit still will become more clear. We
people have three instigators within us: our eyes, our ears,
and our mouth. This is on the physical level. On the mental
level, the instigator within us is our heart. These are the
things that create a lack of peace within us. So you have to
be careful not to let poison into your system through any of
these things. If you realize that you've ingested poison, you
have to spit it out right away. Otherwise, it'll harm you. In
other words, your eyes, ears, and mouth are areas where you
have to exercise a lot of restraint.
Normally, our
eyes are always looking for trouble, our ears are looking for
trouble, and our mouth has a habit of saying things that cause
trouble. To speak in ways that won't cause trouble requires
wisdom and discernment. When you have discernment, then when
you ingest good food, you won't be harmed. Even if you ingest
poison, you won't die. The discernment I'm referring to here
is knowledge of past lives, knowledge of how people die and
are reborn, and the knowledge that puts an end to the
fermentation of defilement in the heart. If you don't yet have
these kinds of discernment, you have to be extra careful in
looking after yourself, so that you can gain knowledge of
what's skillful and what's not.
In looking after
yourself, you have to (1) watch out for evil so that it
doesn't arise; (2) watch out for your goodness so that it
doesn't fall away; and (3) put your goodness to use so that it
gives rise to benefits. When you speak, speak in a way that
leads to peacefulness. If you speak in a way that gives rise
to trouble, it's as if you had eaten poison. And in this way
you harm not only yourself, but other people as well, in the
same way as when you sprinkle poison in an aquarium of
fighting fish. One fish bites another, so that the wound
becomes poisoned, and when all the fish have bitten one
another they end up floating dead like a raft on the surface
of the water. So when you realize that you still have greed,
anger, and delusion in your mind, you have to be extra careful
in what you say. When you're mindful to speak only the things
that should be said and hold back when you're about to say
anything you shouldn't, you'll be looking out for your
goodness to make sure it doesn't fall away, at the same time
that you prevent evil from arising. In addition, you have to
watch out for your ears. Sometimes other people speak with
good intentions, but we hear them as bad. Sometimes we speak
with good intentions, but other people misunderstand. When
this is the case, it's no different from playing a flute in
the ears of a water buffalo. It serves no purpose at all.
When we live
together in a group like this, there are bound to be all kinds
of sounds when we come into contact with one another. If you
were to make a comparison, we're no different from an
orchestra, which has to include the sound of the oboes, the
sound of the gong, the sound of the xylophones, high sounds,
low sounds, treble, and bass. If all the instruments had the
same sound, there would be no fun in listening to the
orchestra, for a one-sound orchestra wouldn't be pleasing at
all. In the same way, when lots of people live together, there
are bound to be good sounds and bad arising in the group. So
each of us has to look after his or her own heart. Don't let
yourself feel anger or dislike for the bad sounds, because
when there's a lot of disliking it's bound to turn to anger.
When there's a lot of anger, it'll turn to ill will. When
there's ill will, it'll lead to quarrels and trouble.
For this reason
we should spread thoughts of good will to people above us,
below us, and on the same level. When people below us show
disagreeable attitudes in their words or actions, we should
forgive them. When we can do this, we'll be contributing to
the peace and calm of the group.
Our human minds
rarely have any time to rest and relax. We all have things we
keep thinking about. You could say that ever since we've
learned human language, we've kept on thinking without any
time to stop and rest. The mind keeps itself busy until it
dies. If our bodies were this industrious, we'd all be
millionaires. But when the mind doesn't have any time to rest,
it's filled with the Hindrances. That's why it knows no peace.
So we're taught to practice concentration, letting go of
thoughts about sensuality. In other words, we close off our
sense doors, so that the mind isn't involved with anything
external, and we set our mind still and tall in the qualities
of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. We don't let it fall down
into any sights, sounds, smells, tastes, or tactile
sensations, which are sensual objects.
As for sensual
defilements, we don't let the mind fall into passion,
aversion, or delusion. Sometimes our concentration practice
goes as we want it to, and we get pleased and oblivious.
Sometimes it doesn't go as we'd like it to, and we get
irritated and annoyed. These are cases of passion and
aversion. As for delusion, sometimes when we sit we lose track
of what we're doing or where we are. We get distracted or
absentminded and don't know what's going on, good or bad,
right or wrong. This causes the mind to become dark and
obscure. Sometimes we drift off into thoughts of the past and
think about people who have done us wrong, so that we fall
into ill will, wanting to get revenge and to settle an old
score. In this way we harm ourselves by spoiling our practice.
All three of these defilements -- passion, aversion, and
delusion -- are piles of dried timber just waiting to catch
fire, so we have to clear them completely out of the heart.
Mindfulness and
alertness are the quality of the Buddha. The cool sense of
happiness they give is the quality of the Dhamma. If you can
maintain that coolness until it hardens into a block of ice --
in other words, you make that goodness solid and strong in
your heart -- that's the quality of the Sangha. Once you've
got a solid block of goodness like this, you can pick it up
and put it to any use you like. Whatever you say will give
good results. Whatever you do will give good results. Your
solid block of goodness will turn into a wish-fulfilling gem,
bringing all sorts of happiness your way.
August 10,
1957
When water is
subjected to the heat of the sun or the heat of a fire to the
point where it has evaporated away, leaving just the dry
kettle or pot: can you say that that's the end of the water?
Actually, it still exists, simply that the heat has turned it
into a vapor that has dispersed into the air. So you can't say
that the water no longer exists. It still exists somewhere
else in another condition. The same holds true with the mind.
When the body dies, the mind doesn't die along with it. It
simply moves to a new place in line with your good or bad
kamma. The fact that it still exists in another condition:
that's what we mean when we say that it doesn't die.
Still, when it's
subjected to a lot of fire, it degenerates. Just like the
body: when the body is subjected to the fires of aging,
illness, and death, it degenerates. When the mind is subjected
to the fires of defilement -- passion, aversion, and delusion
-- it degenerates. The more these three masses of flame burn
away at the mind, the more it degenerates in terms of its
goodness. It's because we have fire burning the body and the
mind from both sides, that they end up having to fall apart
and going their separate directions. This we call the process
of birth and death.
So if you want
happiness, you have to train the heart to get rid of its
defilements. Only then will you be done with birth and death.
But if you were to ask where that place of no birth and no
death is located, it would be hard to point out. Just like
pointing at an albino elephant or water buffalo to get a blind
person to look at it: it would be a waste of effort. In the
same way, describing the place of no birth and no death so
that an ignorant person would understand it is a waste of
time. Only when you develop discernment will you understand
where people go after they die, and whether or not there's
really a place of no birth and no death. This is because a
person of discernment has an inner eye -- the ñana-cakkhu,
or eye of knowledge. What this means is that he or she has
seen the true Dhamma. That's what gives such a person the
ability to understand this issue. The Buddha said, "Whoever
sees the Dhamma sees me." In other words, when we see the
Dhamma that doesn't die, we'll be able to see those who don't
die, what it is that doesn't die. So when we reach the Dhamma
that doesn't die, we meet with the place that doesn't die. As
long as we haven't met with that place, we have to keep
practicing so as to give rise to the eye of the mind.
The problem is
that even though most of us have clear eyesight, our minds are
still dark and blurry. The Dhamma of the Buddha that we're
taught every day is like a lens for casting some light into
the eye of the mind, so that we can feel our way along without
falling into pits or wells. Even then, though, our minds are
still blurry. This is why we have so many differing opinions:
our eyes are still blurry -- but at least we're not blind. We
can still see vague shapes and shadows.
There's a saying:
samanañca dassanam etam-mangalamuttamam. "Seeing a
contemplative is the highest blessing." What this means is
that whoever sees a noble one -- a stream-enterer, a once-returner,
a nonreturner, or an arahant -- sees a grand auspicious sight.
But you really have to see a genuine noble one for this to be
true. So where are you going to look for a noble one? What
sorts of features help you recognize a noble one? If you look
at a noble one from the outside, there's no way you can know
for sure. The only way to know for sure is to practice the
Dhamma so as to give rise to the qualities of a noble one
within yourself. As long as you don't have those qualities
within you, you can't see a genuine noble one. Your eyes are
still blurry, so everything you see is blurry. Your mind is an
ordinary mind, so everywhere you look, all you can see are
ordinary people.
To help us see
the truth in this way, the Buddha teaches three guidelines for
practice:
1)
mattaññuta ca bhattasmim -- having a sense of moderation
in consuming food;
2) pantañca sayanasanam -- delighting in seclusion;
3) adhicitte ca ayogo -- being committed to the
heightened mind, i.e. heightening the happiness of the mind.
With regard to
the first guideline -- having a sense of moderation in
consuming food -- there are two kinds of consumption:
consuming food for the body and consuming food for the mind.
Two sorts of food for the body should be avoided: anything
that's been obtained through bad kamma, and anything that
doesn't really nourish the body. When you avoid these two
sorts of food, that's called having a sense of moderation in
consuming food.
As for food for
the mind, there are three kinds:
1)
phassahara, the food of sensory contact, i.e., the
contact of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile
sensations, and ideas as they strike against the eye, ear,
nose, tongue, body, and mind;
2) viññanahara, the food of consciousness, i.e.,
awareness at the six sense doors; and
3) mano-sañcetanahara, the food of mental intentions,
i.e., setting the mind on an object.
A person without
a sense of moderation in food is like an ill person who
doesn't know what foods will aggravate his illness. He's bound
to have a short life and an early death. Not only that, he
also creates burdens for the people around him: his parents,
spouse, children, and relatives. They're put to all sorts of
trouble. When he dies, they have to find the money to pay for
the funeral and make merit to dedicate to him. Before he dies,
they have to pay for medical care. The doctors and nurses have
to look after him until way late into the night, giving him
medicine, cleaning up his urine and feces, all kinds of
things. But if you gain a sense of how to look after yourself
and are careful about how you consume your food, you'll have
few diseases. You yourself will be at ease, and the people
around you won't be burdened.
The five
Hindrances are like germs. If they get established in your
heart, they'll multiply and spread and eat away at your heart
continually, to the point where you mind falls to such a low
level that you can't lift it up again.
The food of
consciousness means the consciousness at the six sense doors
that arises when sights strike the eyes, sounds strike the
ears, and so forth. Pleasing sights are like sugar, molasses,
or honey, which are sure to be teeming with ants, gnats, and
flies. Disagreeable sights are like filth: In addition to
carrying germs, they're sure to attract all sorts of other bad
things, too, because they're crawling with flies and worms. If
we don't notice the ants, flies, and filth, we'll go ahead and
eat the food -- and it will be toxic to our health. Like a
person without any teeth who finds chicken bones in his food:
he can't chew them, so he tries to swallow them whole and ends
up with his eyes bulging out of their sockets. If you aren't
discerning, you'll gobble down the filth together with the
worms and smelly parts, and the sugar together with the ants
and flies.
So you have to
pay careful attention. Before you eat, look to see what you
can handle and what you can't, what you have to be wary of and
what you don't. This is called having a knife and a chopping
board for your food. When you examine things for yourself in
this way, you'll get to eat food that's well prepared and
cooked -- not like a monster that eats things raw. If you
don't examine things, you'll misunderstand what's happening,
thinking that good things are bad, and bad things are good.
The mind won't be clear about these things because you lack
mindfulness and discernment. You'll swallow toxic food right
into your heart. This is called being very greedy, very
deluded, because you're careless in your eating, and this
creates hazards for your heart.
The same holds
true with the food of ear-consciousness. The sounds you like
are like sugar or delicious sweets. The sounds you don't like
are food that's rotten and spoiled. If you don't use
discernment, don't use restraint, and don't pay proper
attention, you'll end up eating food that's all rotten and
wormy. Whatever's sweet you'll swallow down whole, and all the
ants, worms, and flies will go down with it. This will cause
pain and trouble for your intestines, and turmoil for your
heart. Your heart is already in poor health, and yet you go
gobbling down things that are toxic. When this happens, no one
can cure you but you yourself.
The same thing
applies in the area of the nose, tongue, body, and mind.
Whatever food you plan to swallow, you first have to pay
careful attention, as monks do when they chant the passage for
reflection before using any of the four requisites. At the
same time, we have to reflect on whether the person bringing
us these things suffers from wrong views and practices wrong
livelihood as well. Otherwise, our own virtues will be
compromised.
So we have to be
firmly intent, using mindfulness to gain evidence, and our
discernment to pass judgment. That way we'll get to eat food
that's just and fair. Anyone who doesn't use mindfulness and
discernment is like an ogre that eats dead things, rotten
things, and raw. Bones, wings, skins, and feathers: everything
you swallow right down, like a savage who doesn't know any
better.
Scientists
nowadays are smart. They can take things you normally couldn't
eat and then distil and process them so that you can eat them,
and they're good for you, too. People without discernment, who
allow themselves to get overcome with greed and hunger, will
eat everything: wings, tails, bones, fins. The things they
like get stuck in their hearts. The things they don't like get
stuck in their hearts. Wherever they go, it's as if they have
bones stuck in their throats. But if we have virtue,
concentration, and discernment in our consumption of the food
of consciousness, it's as if we have a fire, a stove, and a
knife to prepare our food the right way.
The next kind of
food is the food of mental intentions. If we set our hearts on
the wrong things, it can be toxic to us. If you sit here
thinking about someone you hate or who makes you angry,
telling yourself that if you meet that person you'll have to
say this or that, this is called setting your heart on the
wrong object. If you set your heart on the right things, it
will flow in the right direction. Forgetfulness and delusion
won't be able to arise. For instance, you can think about the
virtues or the generosity you've practiced, or about your
teachers. This is called setting your heart on the right
object. The heart will begin to blossom. Just like the people
in the time of the Buddha: when their hearts were inclined
toward recollection of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, they
entered the refuge of the noble attainments. For this reason
we should incline our hearts toward the people or things that
will cause our hearts to flourish and grow. This is what will
give them the strength they need to gain release from the
Hindrances, which are like curtains of fog, or like worms that
swarm over and eat away at the heart. This is what will give
us the strength to shoot our way up to the paths and fruitions
leading to nibbana. In this way we'll be good cooks for
ourselves. But if we don't know how to chop, boil, or fry our
own food, we'll have to eat it raw, just like a monster.
The third
mouthful of food is the food of contact. Whatever sights come
in by way of the eyes, whatever sounds come in by way of the
ears, whatever smells comes in by way of the nose, and so
forth, you have to be careful. Pay attention at all times to
whatever will be of use, and avoid anything poisonous.
Whatever will be meritorious or skillful, even if it may be
painful, you have to endure and stick with it, as when you
have to endure heat, cold, or rain in the practice. As for
anything that will be unskillful, you have to shake it right
off. The same applies to the ideas that make contact in the
mind. When you can act in this way, good food will keep
flowing in to benefit your eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body,
and will seep in to bathe your heart. You'll be secluded from
evil, secluded from defilements. Adhicitte ca ayogo:
You'll be committed to the heightened mind. Mind states
heading to the level of the lower realms will disappear, and
those of the noble ones will arise in their place. The mind
will be in a firm steady state, heading straight for nibbana.
That's how it gets beyond the reach of the fires that consume
the cosmos.
sabbe satta sada hontu
avera sukha-jivino
katam punna-phalam mayham
sabbe bhagi bhavantu te
May all beings live happily,
always free from animosity.
May all share in the blessings
springing from the good I have done.
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