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During my second year as
a monk, I was invited to give a Dhamma talk to the woman
-- whom I knew only as "Aunty" -- who had raised the
woman who had sponsored my ordination. Aunty had
suddenly fallen ill, and her relatives were sure that
she didn't have much longer to live. In her time, she
had known many of the great masters of the forest
tradition, so rather than give her a talk of my own, I
decided to read her some by Ajaan Lee. When I finished,
she asked, "Whose talks were those?"
"Ajaan Lee's," I told
her.
"That's what I thought,"
she replied. "Nobody could give a Dhamma talk as
beautifully as he."
I've often thought of
her comment since then and, in particular, of what she
meant by beautiful. For most Thais of her day, a
beautiful talk was one that made use of formal, courtly
language, with heavy literary embellishments, often
saying as little as possible with a maximum number of
words. That, however, was not Ajaan Lee's style. What I
think Aunty meant was a different kind of beauty: a
directness and clarity of expression, with imaginative
similes and metaphors. Ajaan Lee was skilled at making
obscure points of Dhamma clear, and more familiar
teachings memorable. Although he had a poet's sense of
how to play with words, the beauty of his talks was more
a natural beauty of the mind than of studied verbal
effects. In this book, which is drawn from Ajaan Lee's
collected talks, this is the kind of beauty I have kept
in mind in selecting the passages for translation.
Only in the last year of
his life were any of Ajaan Lee's talks tape-recorded. We
owe our records of his earlier talks to a handful of
followers who took notes while he spoke: a nun, Arun
Abhivanna; a monk, Phra Bunkuu Anuvaddhano; and a lay
woman, Thao Satyanurak, who included some of Ajaan Lee's
talks in her diary, which was published after her death.
In compiling this book, I have drawn on notes made by
all three. Of the three, Arun Abhivanna was by far the
most prolific. For years she took notes of Ajaan Lee's
talks -- sometimes simply jotting down catchy phrases,
other times reconstructing entire talks. Her notes --
together with those by Phra Bunkuu and transcripts of
the recorded talks -- have more recently been collected
in two large volumes. Because of their haphazard
arrangement, the collections are hard to read straight
through, but they are excellent companions for
meditators who simply want to open to a passage at
random, read enough to throw light on their problems,
and then return to the practice.
Ajaan Lee was unique
among the forest masters in leaving behind systematic
guides to meditation and Buddhist practice in general:
books like Keeping the Breath in Mind, The Craft of
the Heart, Frames of Reference, and Basic
Themes. Anyone who wants to understand the general
outlines of his teaching should turn to those books
first. His talks, though, are where he reveals something
of his rough-and-ready personality, giving small asides
that throw a revealing light on his more systematic
teachings and making points that he makes nowhere else.
I have already translated a number of the talks in
Lessons in Samadhi, Food for Thought, and Inner
Strength. Those volumes, though, consist entirely of
reconstructed talks that fit around specific themes. In
this volume, I have given a more general selection,
including a few full talks, some short passages, and
sometimes even half-thoughts, if they seemed provocative
enough.
This book is designed to
be read reflectively, a little at a time. Many of the
short passages, in particular, will reveal their meaning
only after repeated thought. Also, some of the passages
that present Ajaan Lee's personality will challenge many
current ideas on how a Dhamma practitioner ought to
speak. As Ajaan Lee cautioned his listeners, Dhamma
teachings should not be accepted or rejected right off
hand. Instead, they should be listened to with an open
mind and then put to the test in experience to see if
they can help uncover unwitting preconceptions. This is
how I hope this book will be read.
In the course of
selecting the passages that make up this book, I found
that two themes in particular stood out. The first,
which has provided the book with its title, is Ajaan
Lee's frequent portrayal of Buddhism as a skill. This
skill involves mastery not only of the techniques of
meditation, but also of adroit ways of viewing the world
and events in daily life so that one can gain freedom
from all the burdens that the unskillful mind places on
itself. This approach culminates in what he calls the
skill of release, the awareness that brings about the
mind's total liberation. The second theme concerns the
central role that breath meditation plays in developing
this skill. For Ajaan Lee, Buddhist doctrines show their
true meaning only when one refers them to the practice
of keeping the breath in mind. To underline this point,
I have included a section on the Wings to Awakening --
the Buddha's own list of his central teachings -- to
show how Ajaan Lee interprets them in terms of the
breath.
Although the passages
presented here have been arranged so that the book will
stand on its own, they are also meant to fill in some of
the gaps left by Ajaan Lee's other writings. My hope is
that this will give the English-speaking world a more
rounded picture of the skill of release and of the
beauty with which Ajaan Lee presented it.
Thanissaro Bhikkhu
(Geoffrey DeGraff)
Metta Forest Monastery
Valley Center, CA 92082
November, 1995
I like going different
places, not just for the fun of it but also because I
want to learn. To learn something of value depends on
three things: seeing, listening, and thinking, i.e.,
using all of your senses so as to serve a purpose.
Sometimes when you meet people and find that their
beliefs and practices are on a level lower than yours,
you can serve a purpose by teaching them to get started
on the right path. But when you see with your eyes,
hear with your ears, and are convinced in your heart
that something is really good, don't think about whether
it's yours or theirs. Remember it and put it into
practice yourself.
Because my heart has
been set on serving the purposes of the religion, I've
kept on trying to do what's good. No matter whether I'm
in a high place or a lowly one, I always think only of
serving a purpose. As for the question of manners -- in
other words, how to benefit advanced people and people
not so advanced -- that depends on the situation. The
religion isn't the exclusive property of homes or
monasteries, of this or that city or nation. The
religion is something meant to benefit everyone
everywhere. It belongs to the world. The further we can
spread its benefits, the better.
But even though I've
meant well, practicing in line with these thoughts, I
can't escape being criticized, probably because the
people who criticize don't understand. Just a short
while back -- last April 20th -- I was talking with an
old nobleman, but I didn't want to come down too hard on
him. His criticism, to put it briefly, was, "You spend
an awful lot of time involved with lay people, so how
can you practice for the sake of release?"
I answered him frankly
-- but first I asked him, just to make sure, "What are
you getting at?"
"Teach people to reach
nibbana," he said. "Don't get too involved with them."
So I said, "I like
teaching people to reach nibbana, but it's hard. I like
it, mind you, I like it, but if I did as you said, I'd
be crazy. Suppose you plant some rice. When it's golden
and ripe, can you harvest just the white grains of rice?
Without taking anything else? I take everything. People
may say I'm crazy, but why should I care? I take the
whole plant because it has lots of uses. The straw you
can keep to feed water buffaloes, or sell, or use as
kindling. As for the rice husks, you can use them to
feed pigs."
"You know," he said,
"you're right." And that was the end of the matter.
*
I'm different from most
other monks in that I don't like to eat only one flavor
of food, i.e., the physical food we eat every day. I
like the kind of food that has three flavors in every
bite. It's a fine food -- food for the heart, not food
for the body. Its three flavors are the food of sensory
contact, the food of consciousness, and the food of
intentions. If you were to compare it to durian fruit,
it's the type that's sweet and rich and a little bit
bitter, all at once -- the kind of durian that people
really love to eat.
The nourishment of the
food of sensory contact here means likable sights,
sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and ideas.
The nourishment of the food of consciousness means
taking note of likable things by way of the eyes, ears,
nose, tongue, body, and mind. And the nourishment of
intentions means the success of the good things we aim
at. Taken together, these things are called Dhamma food:
three flavors in a single bite. Whoever keeps eating
this kind of food regularly will have a long, happy, and
healthy life.
This is the kind of food
I want. To put it in simple terms, it's the sense of
satisfaction I get when I see my students -- monks,
novices, and lay people -- practicing rightly. This
isn't rice food, it's people food. I'm a monster monk: I
like to eat people. If anyone acts in a way to make me
feel happy and satisfied, that's going to help me live
longer. If anyone misbehaves, that's going to make me
die faster. The reason I'm here is to help benefit the
religion, to benefit the world. I'm looking for a
living, hoping to make a profit. If the rice I plant
produces big, fat grains and good profits, I'll hang
around for a good while. If all I get are stunted grains
and nothing but losses, I'll be on my way.
So if I see that staying
on will serve a purpose, I'll try to breathe good and
long, good and long. If I see that staying on doesn't
serve a purpose any more, I'll try to breathe shorter
and shorter until I go in an instant. That's when I can
be at my ease, the kind of happiness that nothing else
can match, with no need to sit here tormenting my body,
listening to anyone's troubles any more: shining bright,
all by myself, with no worries or concerns at all.
So that's the kind of
food I like. As for food for the body, I eat it because
I have to, that's all. It's not that I really want it,
for there's no real substance to it. You eat it today
and tomorrow you have to get rid of it. But with food
for the heart, what you eat in one day can stay with you
for ten years, 100 years. You never grow tired of it,
and you stay full until you forget what it's like to be
hungry.
Turmoil comes from our
own defilements, not from other people. You have to
solve the problem within yourself if you want to find
peace.
*
Whatever has anything to
do with the world, no matter how good it may be, is all
an affair of stress and suffering. If you have one
dollar, you have one dollar's worth of suffering. If you
have $100,000, you have $100,000's worth of suffering --
because the affairs of money are heavy and weighty. As
for the affairs of the Dhamma, they're light, with no
need to wrap them up and carry them with you: nothing
but shedding, setting aside, and letting go.
*
Our major loves are our
major enemies. Our minor loves are our minor enemies.
Whatever we don't love at all is simply neutral.
*
Things of the world at
best are either good but not true, or true but not good.
Other people's thoughts, words, and deeds are things
that aren't true. They're affairs of the world. The
Dhamma, though is really true and really good and really
beneficial. It's an affair of the heart, something very
profound.
So when we know that the
affairs of the world aren't true in their goodness or
good in their truth, we shouldn't latch onto them. We
have to brush them aside. If people say we're good or
bad, there's no truth to their words -- because "good"
is true only in the mouth of the person speaking, and
the same is the case with "bad." So don't latch onto
anything they say. Focus instead on the good and bad
that are actually within you.
*
Don't latch onto outside
words. If people say you're good or bad, or if they
curse you, let them keep it for themselves. If there's a
dog barking in the middle of the road, kick it off to
one side.
*
Barking dogs don't bite.
Silent dogs might, so watch out.
*
Ears that listen to
gossip are the ears of a pitcher, not the ears of a
person.
*
Don't believe everything
you hear. If they say you're a dog, check to see for
yourself if you've got a tail. If you don't, then
they're wrong.
*
The world is taken with
words, but I don't go along with that. I'd rather take
hold of the truth in the heart. As for words, they're
things you spit out, not things you should keep. They're
not the truth. The truth lies in your heart. So whether
your words are good or not, pleasing or not, make sure
at least that your heart's good.
*
Being easy-going and
being at ease are two different things. Easy-going means
that you're slow and laid back and don't finish the
things you should. You spoil your work and waste your
time. Being at ease means that there's a subtle comfort
and coolness in the heart, with no inner stress or
turmoil mixed in at all. People who can be at ease in
this way are people the world really wants -- and the
Dhamma wants even more, because coolness is like
medicine that can drive away fever and soothe burning
pain.
*
"A person in charge of
the work" means that we use concentration and
discernment to get the job done. "Work in charge of the
person" means that we're lacking in concentration and
discernment, and think of the work even when we're lying
in bed. "Work in charge of the work" means that
everything is all out of control.
*
My motto is, "Make
yourself as good as possible, and everything else will
have to turn good in your wake." If you don't abandon
your own inner goodness for the sake of outer goodness,
things will have to go well.
*
"Don't cut down a tree
that gives you shade." Give it fertilizer and look after
it so that it will grow. Don't forget the people who
have helped you. Find some way of doing good to repay
them. If you can't do it with your words or actions,
then at least do it with your thoughts.
*
If people can kill off
their own goodness, there's nothing to keep them from
killing off other people as well.
*
If what you're going to
say isn't good or true, keep still. Even if it's good
and true but serves no purpose, it'll still cause harm.
*
A stupid person can sit
in a gold mine but won't have the sense to make anything
of it. An intelligent person can take dirt and grass and
turn them into silver and gold.
*
Even if a stupid person
gets a huge inheritance from his parents or
grandparents, he won't be able to prevent himself from
creating a lot of bad kamma with it. An intelligent
person, though, even if he has only an ax to his name,
can use it to set himself up for life.
*
Most of us know so much
that there are no bounds to our knowledge. When our
knowledge has no bounds, it's like a forest fire that
burns everything in sight. In other words, we're so
smart that we outsmart ourselves. We know what's right
and wrong but can't keep ourselves from doing what's
wrong. This kind of knowledge serves no purpose and can
only cause us harm. That's why it's like a forest fire
that goes out of control and destroys everyone's
orchards and fields. People like this end up a total
loss. They know everything in the world except for
themselves. Knowledge with no bounds can cause two sorts
of harm: We ourselves are harmed by it, and other people
get harmed as well.
*
People who are thick
with ignorance see turmoil as something fun, just like a
fish that sees waves in the ocean as a fun place to
play.
*
Greed means getting
fixated and attached to things: our own things or those
of others. If we get attached, it's like getting sucked
into an electric current until we die. The nature of
everything in the world is that it spins around with
each moment, just like an electric generator. If we
touch the wires without any insulation, the current will
suck us in until we're fried to a crisp. We see the
current as something pretty and bright, and so we want
to fondle it -- and it'll electrocute us. If we latch
onto things, our desires will get us stuck right there.
*
Don't let defilements
inside make contact with defilements outside. If we have
defilements at the same time that other people do, the
result will be trouble. For instance, if we're angry
when they're angry, or we're greedy when they're greedy,
or we're deluded when they're deluded, it spells
ruination for everyone.
*
People aren't equal, but
you have to make your heart equal for everyone.
*
If you see other
people's bad side, turn your eyes around until you can
see their good side as well.
*
A person who makes a
mistake is better than a person who doesn't act at all,
for mistakes can be corrected. But if you don't act, how
will you know how to correct yourself? -- for you don't
know whether you're mistaken or not. The fact that you
don't act is a mistake in and of itself.
*
The more you study the
affairs of the world, the more they branch out. The more
you study the affairs of the Dhamma, the more they
narrow down and converge.
The treasures of the
world last only as long as our breathing. As soon as we
die, they go to somebody else. The King of Death keeps
changing our clothes -- our eyes, our hair, our skin,
etc. -- as a way of forewarning us that we're going to
be evacuated to another country. If we don't get our
provisions ready, we're going to be in trouble when the
evacuation order comes.
*
This body that we've
borrowed from the world: The original owners keep coming
to take it back bit by bit without our realizing it. For
example, the hair on our head: They take it back one or
two strands at a time, turning it gray. Our eyes they
take back one at a time, making them blurry. Our ears
they take back bit by bit as our hearing starts to go.
Our teeth they take back one by one. A tooth will start
feeling loose, then it stops for a while, and then it
starts growing loose again. Eventually it whispers to
the dentist to take all the teeth out. The original
owners also cut away our flesh bit by bit as our muscles
atrophy and our skin gets loose and wrinkled. Our spine
they keep coming to pull forward until it's so bent that
we can't straighten up. Some people end up having to
crawl or to walk with a cane, stumbling and swaying,
falling down and picking themselves back up, a sorry
sight to see. Ultimately, the owners come and call for
the whole thing back, in what we call "death."
*
If you look carefully at
the body, you'll see that what you have here is the four
states of deprivation, nothing wonderful at all.
The first state of
deprivation is the animal kingdom: all the worms and
germs that live in our stomach and intestines, in our
blood vessels, and in our pores. As long as there's food
for these things to eat in there, they're always going
to be with us, multiplying like crazy, making us ill. On
the outside of the body there are fleas and lice. They
like staying with whoever doesn't keep himself clean,
making his skin red and sore. As for the animals living
in the blood vessels and pores, they give us rashes and
infections.
The second state of
deprivation is the kingdom of hungry ghosts, i.e., the
properties of earth, water, fire, and wind in the body.
First they feel too cold, then too warm, then they feel
ill, then they want to eat this or that. We have to keep
pandering to them, running around to find things for
them to eat with no chance to stop and rest. And they
never have enough -- like the hungry ghosts who starve
after they die, with no one to feed them. These
properties keep pestering you, and no matter what you
do, you can never please them. First the food is too
hot, so you have to put ice in it. Then it's too cold,
so you have to put it back on the stove. All of this
comes down to an imbalance in the properties, sometimes
good, sometimes bad, never coming to a stable state of
normalcy at all, making us suffer in various ways.
The third state of
deprivation is the land of angry demons. Sometimes, when
we get ill or lose our senses, we run around naked
without a stitch of clothing, as if we were possessed by
angry demons. Some people have to undergo operations,
getting this removed or cutting out that or sucking out
this, waving their arms and moaning in a way that's
really pitiful. Some people get so poor that they have
nothing to eat; they get so thin that they're all
eyeballs and ribs, suffering like the angry demons who
can't see the brightness of the world.
The fourth state of
deprivation is purgatory. Purgatory is the home of the
spirits with a lot of bad kamma who have to suffer being
roasted, speared with red-hot iron spikes, and pierced
with thorns. All the animals whose flesh we've eaten,
after they've been killed and cooked, gather together in
our stomach and then disappear into our body in huge
numbers. If you were to count them, you'd have whole
coops of chickens, herds of cattle, and half a sea's
worth of fish. Our stomach is such a tiny thing, and yet
no matter how much you eat you can never keep it full.
And you have to feed it hot things, too, like the
denizens of purgatory who have to live with fire and
flame. If there's no fire, they can't live. So there's a
big copper frying pan for them. All the various spirits
we've eaten gather in the big copper frying pan of our
stomach, where they're consumed by the fires of
digestion, and then they haunt us: Their powers
penetrate throughout our flesh and blood, giving rise to
passion, aversion, and delusion, making us squirm as if
we were burned by the fires of purgatory, too.
So look at the body.
Whose is it? Is it really yours? Where did it come from?
No matter how much you care for it, it's not going to
stay with you. It'll have to go back to where it came
from: the properties of earth, water, fire, and wind.
The fact that it's able to stay for a while depends
entirely on the breath. When there's no more breath to
it, it starts to decay, and no one wants it then. You
won't be able to take it with you when you go. No one
can take his arms, legs, feet, or hands along with him.
This is why we say that the body is not-self. It belongs
to the world. As for the mind, it's the one that does
good and evil, and will be reborn in line with its
kamma. The mind is what doesn't die. It's the one that
experiences all pleasure and pain.
So when you realize
this, you should do as much good as you can for your own
sake. The Buddha felt compassion for us and taught us in
this way, but we don't feel much compassion for
ourselves. We prefer to fill ourselves with suffering.
When other people teach us, it's no match for our
teaching ourselves, for other people will teach us only
once in a while. The possibility of being a common
animal, a human being, a heavenly being, or of reaching
nibbana all lie within us, so we have to choose which
one we want.
The good you do is what
will go with you in the future. This is why the Buddha
taught us to meditate, to contemplate the body to give
rise to dispassion. It's inconstant, stressful, and
nothing of ours. You borrow it for a while and then have
to return it. The body doesn't belong to the mind, and
the mind doesn't belong to the body. They're separate
things that depend on each other. When we can see this,
we have no more worries or attachments. We can let go of
the body, and three hunks of rust -- self-identity
views, attachments to precepts and practices, and
uncertainty in the Path -- will fall from our heart.
We'll see that all good and evil come from the heart. If
the heart is pure, that's the highest good in the world.
§ Someone once came to
Ajaan Lee with a problem. Some of his friends had said
to him, "If the body's not-self, why can't we hit you?"
Ajaan Lee said to answer them by saying,
"Look. It's not mine.
I've borrowed it, so I have to take good care of it. I
can't let anyone else mistreat it."
*
The Dhamma doesn't
belong to anyone. It's common property, like unsettled
land: If we don't lay claim to it by developing it, it's
simply vacant, uncleared land without any crops. If we
want to lay claim to it, we have to develop it in line
with established principles if we want it really to be
ours. When difficulties arise -- poverty, pain, illness,
and death -- we'll then have something to protect us.
But if we haven't followed the established principles,
then we'll put the blame on the Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha,
and inner worth in general for not helping us when these
things arise. And that will discourage us from
developing any inner worth at all.
The mind is the most
important factor in life, the most important factor in
the world, for it's the basic foundation of our inner
worth. If the mind is dark and defiled instead of being
bright and pure, then no matter how much we practice
generosity, virtue, or meditation, we won't get any
results. The Buddha knew that we're all going to have to
go abroad (start a new life after death), which is why
he taught us to develop inner worth as a way of knowing
how to get our provisions ready. We have to know how to
get to where we want to go, how to dress properly, and
how to speak their language. We'll also have to put
money in the bank so that we'll be able to exchange it
for their currency.
"Putting money in the
bank" means generosity in making donations and being
charitable. Learning their language means knowing how to
say that we take refuge in the Buddha, Dhamma, and
Sangha. Being complete in our virtue is like having
fashionable clothes to wear. Yet even if we have funds
to exchange, good clothes to wear, and know how to speak
their language, but are basically loony -- i.e., our
minds are wandering all over the place, with no basis in
concentration -- we still won't pass inspection. This is
why the Buddha wanted us to develop our minds as much as
possible, making them pure and bright. When our wealth
and inner merit are complete in this way, they'll spread
to our children and other people around us.
All people have inner
worth within them, but whoever doesn't know how to lay
claim to it and develop it won't get any benefit from it
at all.
*
Human treasures aren't
important. Thieves and fools can find them with no
problem at all. But the treasure of a human rebirth is
something that people without virtue can't gain.
*
The Buddha taught that
with noble treasures (ariya-dhana), whoever has a
lot isn't poor, whoever has even a little isn't poor.
The important thing is that you give rise to them within
yourself, and you'll always be wealthy. For example, if
you make up your mind to donate a material object to
Buddhism, it immediately turns into the noble treasure
of generosity in your heart. When you abstain from evil
in your words and deeds, they turn into the noble
treasure of virtue. When this is the case, your
treasures are within you. You haven't deposited them
with anyone else. Your generosity lies within you, your
virtue -- the virtue of restraint of the senses -- lies
in your eyes, your ears, your mouth. When your treasures
are with you like this, it's like keeping your money in
your own pocket, without depositing it with anyone else:
There are bound to be no problems. You don't have to
worry that they'll swindle or cheat you. When you've got
your money right in your own pocket, what is there to
fear?
*
The Buddha teaches us
not to be possessive of things. Let them go in line with
their nature and take only the nourishment they have to
offer. Material things are dregs and leavings; their
nourishment is the joy we feel when we're willing to
give them away. So don't eat the dregs. Spit them out so
that they can be of use, both to others and to yourself
in the sense of inner worth that comes from being
generous.
*
We have to build up our
inner worth, our perfections as quickly as possible,
because our conviction in these things isn't yet sure.
Some days it shrinks out of sight: That's called
turtle-head conviction. Some days it stretches back out
again. So if it stretches out today, act on it. Tomorrow
it may shrink back in again.
*
Two legs, two arms, two
hands, two eyes, one mouth: These are your perfections.
Put them to use.
*
People who don't believe
in goodness rarely do good, but people who don't believe
in evil do evil all the time.
*
Evil isn't something
natural that happens on its own. It happens only if we
do it.
*
The Buddha teaches us to
develop inner worth by meditating on good will, but you
have to be intent on really doing it if you want to get
real results. Even if it's only for a short time -- the
wiggle of an elephant's ears or the flicker of a snake's
tongue -- it can give rise to amazing power, like the
power of an elephant or a snake in being able to kill
off people or other animals in the twinkling of an eye.
All an elephant has to do is wiggle his ears just once,
and people trip all over themselves trying to run away.
But if you're not really true in what you do, the power
of truth won't appear in the mind, and you won't be able
to use it to get any results -- like the ear of a dog or
a cat: It can wiggle all day long and yet it won't cause
anyone any fear.
*
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 -- i.e., 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 that you like.
*
Being a slave to the
Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha is called being a slave to a
noble family, the kind of people we can willingly be
slaves to. But being a slave to our moods -- cravings
and defilements -- is like being a slave to bandits and
thieves. What sort of valuables are they going to have
to give us? But even though it's proper to be a slave to
the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, it's still no match for
not having to be a slave to anyone, for the word "slave"
means that we're not yet free. So the Buddha teaches us
to learn how to depend on ourselves -- attahi attano
natho, the self is its own mainstay. That's when
we'll be able to rise up free, released from our
slavery, with no need to have anyone order us around
ever again.
*
When we come to the
monastery we come looking for peace and calm, so don't
go releasing tigers, crocodiles, and rabid dogs into the
monastery grounds, endangering everyone who comes here.
Tigers, crocodiles, and rabid dogs stand for our very
own greed, anger, and delusion. We have to chain them
and cage them and lock them up tight. Make absolutely
sure that they don't come escaping out your thoughts,
words, and deeds in any way.
*
People who don't get
ahead in life are the ones whose bodies are human but
whose minds drop down to lower levels. In other words,
they're all right in physical terms, but not in terms of
their minds. For instance, when we come to the
monastery, we depend on our feet to walk us here, but
then when we get here if we let our minds and manners
fall into lower ways, we're no different from bats that
hook their feet up on high places and then let their
heads hang down low.
*
The Dhamma is an affair
of the heart. The words spoken are Dhamma, the intention
in speaking is Dhamma, and you have to make your heart
into Dhamma if you want to hear it as Dhamma. When these
three factors come together, listening to the Dhamma can
give countless rewards.
*
When we listen to the
Dhamma it's as if the monk is giving us each a knife;
it's up to us to accept it or not. When we get back home
and run into problems or issues in our families, we can
use the knife to cut right through them. But if we throw
the knife down right here or hand it back to the monk,
we won't have any weapon to use when we meet up with
issues at home.
*
The study of the Dhamma
is like reading a cookbook. The practice of the Dhamma
is like fixing food. The attainment of the Dhamma is
like knowing the taste of the food. If we simply read
the texts without putting them into practice, it's like
knowing that there are such things as peppers, onions,
and garlic, but without having them for a meal.
*
If you study the Dhamma
without practicing it, it's as if you're missing parts
of your body. If you study and practice, it's like
having two eyes, two hands, and two legs. You can do
things a lot more easily than a person with only one
eye, one hand, or one leg.
*
Having self-respect
means that you respect your thoughts, words, and deeds.
Respect for your deeds means that whatever you do, you
always follow the three principles of skillful action:
no killing, no stealing, no illicit sex. Respect for
your words means that whatever you say, you always
follow the four principles of skillful speech: no lying,
no divisive tale-bearing, no harsh language, and no idle
chatter. Respect for your thoughts means that whatever
you think, you always follow the three principles of the
skillful mind: trying to keep your views straight, with
no greed or ill will.
*
Having broken precepts
is better than not having any precepts to break. Wearing
torn clothes is better than going around naked.
*
Lots of dead beings have
gone into your mouth -- pigs, chickens, cattle, etc. --
so make sure that it isn't possessed by their spirits.
Before you say anything, no matter what your intention,
look right and left and speak only when you're sure that
it's just right for the situation. Don't give in to bad
manners.
*
Concerning Right
Livelihood: Even if our basic livelihood is honest, but
we practice it dishonestly, it's considered wrong. For
example, we're farmers, but we lay claim to other
people's fields as our own: This is Wrong Livelihood,
and the crops we grow on that land will do us harm.
*
There are two kinds of
foulness: the kind the Buddha praised and the kind he
criticized. The kind he praised is the filth and
foulness of the body, for it makes us see clearly the
aging and unattractiveness of compounded things so that
the mind will gain a chastened sense of dispassion, grow
disenchanted with its attachment to suffering, and set
its sights on developing its inner worth so as to escape
from that suffering. As for the foulness the Buddha
criticized, that's the foulness of an evil mind, which
defiles our thoughts, words, and deeds. This is
something the Buddha criticized and penalized in very
heavy terms. So we have to keep washing off our actions
in all situations. Only when our thoughts, words, and
deeds are clean will wise people praise us as being
uncomplacent and good.
*
Restraint of the senses
means that we bring the senses and their objects into
proportion with one another. For instance, guarding the
eyes means that we don't let our eyes get bigger than
the sights they see, and we don't let the sights get
bigger than the eyes. If the sights are bigger than the
eyes, they get lodged there. We think about them night
and day. If the eyes are bigger than the sights, that
means we can't get enough of those sights and keep
wanting to see them more. In either case, we give rise
to greed and delusion. The fires of passion, aversion,
and delusion burn our eyes and make us suffer.
*
One important noble
treasure is meditation, keeping the mind from wandering
aimlessly around in all kinds of issues. When we keep
the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha in mind, it's as if we
were soaking in their virtues. When that's the case, the
mind will have to become saturated with inner worth.
It's the same as if we were to take a handful of bitter
herbs and soak them in syrup until the syrup saturates
them. Their bitterness will disappear and be replaced
with sweetness. No matter how shoddy a person's mind, if
it gets constantly soaked in goodness, it will have to
become more and more refined, like bitter herbs
sweetened in syrup.
*
Whatever
you do, be true in doing it if you want to meet up with
the truth. If you're really true in what you do, doing
just a little bit can be enough. One million in real
money is better than ten million in counterfeit bills.
When you speak, stay right with your speaking. Whatever
you do, stay right with what you're doing. When you eat,
stay with your eating; when you stand, stay with your
standing; when you walk, stay with your walking; when
you're sitting, stay with your sitting; when you're
lying down, stay with your lying down. Don't let your
mind get ahead of the truth.
*
The heart is like food
in a serving dish. Mindfulness is like a cover over the
dish. If you lack mindfulness, it's as if you left the
dish uncovered: Flies (defilements) are sure to come and
land on it and contaminate it with all sorts of germs so
that the food becomes toxic and can make you sick. So
you always have to be careful to keep the dish covered.
Don't let flies land on it. That way your heart will be
clean and pure, and will give rise to wisdom and
knowledge.
*
A deserted house, a
house where someone has died, gives you the chills. Only
if there are people in the house will you feel secure. A
person who is not mindful of the present is like a
deserted house. When you see such a person, you don't
feel secure.
*
Defilements are like
sand bars or stumps in a river that will keep our boat
from getting to shore. In other words, passion is
something that snags us, anger is something that bumps
into us, and delusion is something that makes us spin
around and sink. There's a story they tell of two men
who were hired to row a boat along the rivers and canals
to sell plowshares, shovels, and hoes. If they sold all
the wares in the boat, their employer would give them
their full wages of one kahapana, which was equal to
about four dollars, a day. The first day their employer
went out with them, and they sold all their wares. After
that, he didn't go out with them, so the two of them
went out to sell their wares on their own. One day, as
they were out rowing along, calling out, "Plowshares,
shovels, and hoes!" their minds wandered and they
started getting drowsy. All of a sudden they crashed
smack into a stump and ran aground on a sandbar. Even
after they got free they were so shaken up that instead
of calling out, "Plowshares, shovels, and hoes!" they
started calling out, "Sandbars and stumps! Sandbars and
stumps!" all along the river, but nobody wanted to buy.
When evening came, they
rowed back to their employer's house, their boat still
full of plowshares, shovels, and hoes. They hadn't been
able to sell a thing. So the employer gave them each
only a dollar for their day's wages. One of the men took
the money back to his wife, who was surprised to see
that she was getting only one dollar, instead of the
usual four. "Maybe he's given the rest of the money to
another woman," she thought, so she gave him a piece of
her mind. No matter how much he tried to explain things,
she wouldn't listen. So he told her to go ask the
employer. If what he said wasn't true, he'd be willing
to let her hit him once on the head. The wife, impatient
because she was so angry, said, "No, let me hit you
first, and then I'll go ask." As she said this, she
reached for a shovel handle, but all she could grab was
the stick they used to drive the dog out of the house,
so she used that to bash her husband three times on the
head. Later, of course, she found out the truth, but by
that time it was too late, for the husband had already
gotten three free hits on the head.
This story shows the
harm that can come from not being mindful. If you let
your mind wander away from what you're doing, you can
end up getting yourself into trouble.
*
There's danger that
comes from being good. If you're not especially good,
nobody gets fixated on you. The important thing is that
you know how to use your goodness to your benefit. If
you're a good person but don't know how to use your
goodness -- i.e., you use it at the wrong time or place,
or in a way that gets other people upset -- it won't
benefit you, and will instead cause you harm. In this
way your goodness turns into evil. So you have to be
circumspect in how you let your goodness show.
*
Keep your evil
intentions to yourself, and be careful with your good
intentions, too. It's like handing a knife to a person:
You may have good intentions, hoping that he'll put it
to good use, but if he uses it to kill someone, your
intentions backfire on both of you.
*
Goodness comes from
evil, in that once you really take a good look at evil,
it loses. Whatever you look at, look at it from all
sides. This is why they don't let you look a long time
at pretty things or beautiful women, because after a
while you'll see that they aren't all that beautiful
after all. So if you see something lovely, look at it
long and hard until you see that it's not as lovely as
you thought. If someone makes you angry, contemplate
them until you feel compassion for them. The same
principle holds for delusion.
*
If you're wise, then
greed, anger, and delusion can help you. If you're wise,
even desire can help you by making you want to develop
your inner worth. So don't look down on these things.
You're sitting here listening to a sermon. What made you
come? Desire did. When people ordain as monks and
novices, what gave the order? Craving. So don't look
only at the drawbacks of craving and desire. If you
don't have the desire to be good, you can't develop
inner worth. People who develop their inner worth have
to start out with the intention to do it. Ignorance is
good in that when we know we're ignorant we'll do
something to remedy the situation. Ignorance leads us
astray, but in the end it will lead us back. Knowledge
never led anyone to look for learning. Ignorance is what
leads people to look for knowledge. If you already know,
what's there to look for?
*
When we practice the
Dhamma it gives three kinds of benefits: We help
ourselves gain release from suffering, we help other
people, and we help keep the religion alive.
Wherever there are
effects, there always have to be causes. The world we
experience comes from the heart as its cause. If the
heart is good, the world will have to be good. If the
heart is bad, the world will have to be bad.
*
The mind, when it's not
with the body in the present, is "world." When it's with
the body in the present, it's Dhamma. If it's world, it
has to be as hot as fire. If it's Dhamma, it's as cool
as water.
*
Don't be complacent.
Remind yourself that we're all being chased out of the
world day by day. In other words, aging rears up,
illness roars, and death runs up the score. So don't be
oblivious, partying around with your defilements.
Associate with the qualities of the Buddha, Dhamma, and
Sangha until your mind develops Right Concentration.
That way you won't have anything to fear from the
dangers of the world.
*
Believing other people
is all right, but it's not really special. It's like
borrowing money: We'll have to share the return on our
investment with our lenders. When we don't yet know,
can't yet have any real conviction in ourselves, and
still have to believe what other people say, it's like
being an infant who has to depend on its parents. If we
don't get stronger, we'll have to keep being nursed all
the way through old age. If we don't try to train the
mind until it's firm and unwavering, it won't give rise
to the strength of concentration and will have to keep
on being a child.
When we're able to shake
off all the issues in the mind, leaving just the mind in
and of itself, three gems will appear in it: the Gem of
the Buddha, the Gem of the Dhamma, and the Gem of the
Sangha. Once these three gems appear within us, we won't
have to load ourselves down by carrying around much of
anything else. Simply put them under your arm if you
like, or even up your nose. When you have this kind of
wealth, your mind can be light, and noble treasures will
arise within you. In other words, conviction in the
qualities of the Buddha will appear within the mind.
Then you practice in line with those qualities until you
gain the various results they have to offer. You'll see
the true Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha in your heart. If
you try to take refuge in the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha
on the outer level, you're going to die for sure. The
Buddha on the outer level entered nibbana a long time
ago. The Dhamma on the outer level is just letters in
books. The Sangha on the outer level is the monks with
shaven heads and yellow robes that you see roaming all
over the country. If you try to hold onto these things,
it's like carrying a heavy hoe that won't do you any
good. But if you hold onto the virtues of the Buddha,
Dhamma, and Sangha within you and then put them into
practice, you'll realize that what you're looking for is
right here in the heart. And then what do you want? To
return to the human state? To attain a heavenly state?
To attain nibbana? Or go to hell? They're all possible,
without your having to look for them anywhere else.
*
The Buddha taught that
the five aggregates are a heavy burden, because they all
get to the point where we can't bear carrying them
around anymore and have to throw them down in the mud.
If you don't keep cleansing them, they keep getting
heavier and heavier. If you then try to go depending on
other people, you weigh them down, and you yourself are
helpless. This is because stashing things away in the
heart is like taking pictures without ever developing
the film. What you eat gets put on the film, what you
say gets put on the film, what you hear gets put on the
film, but that's as far as it gets: on the film. You've
never stopped to look at what kind of pictures you have,
pretty or ugly. If you want to see your pictures, you
have to take the film into the darkroom, by closing your
eyes and practicing concentration, attaining the first
jhana, directing your thoughts to the present and
evaluating it until you can see yourself clearly. If you
don't go into the darkroom now, someday the King of
Death is going to blindfold you, tie up your feet and
hands, and drag you into his darkroom. In other
words, when you're on the verge of death you won't be
able to open your mouth or eyes. Nobody will be able to
feed you. You'll want to eat but won't be able to eat.
You'll want to speak but won't be able to speak. Your
ears will get closed off so that you can't hear anything
clearly. You won't be able to see your parents, family,
children, or grandchildren. You won't be able to tell
them your last wishes. That's called the darkroom of the
King of Death.
*
The mind is the only
thing that senses pleasure and pain. The body has no
sense of these things at all. It's like taking a knife
to murder someone: They don't hunt down the knife and
punish it. They punish only the person who used it to
commit murder.
*
If your mind isn't good,
then the goodness of your actions isn't really good, and
the goodness of your words isn't really good, either.
*
You have to develop
power within yourself, like stocking up on gunpowder. If
a gun has no gunpowder, it can't be used to destroy
anything. People who have to be servants are the ones
who lack the power to be anyone else's boss. As for the
people who have that power, all they have to do is point
their fingers, and other people will jump up and run. If
we don't develop our own powers, we'll have to be
servants -- slaves to defilement -- throughout time.
*
The body is like a
knife. If you have a knife but don't keep sharpening it,
it will get coated thick with rust. In the same way, if
you have a body -- physical elements, aggregates, and
sense media -- but don't train it and keep it polished,
it'll get coated thick with defilements. If it were a
gun, it wouldn't even kill a fly.
*
Normally, the mind
doesn't like to stay where it is. It keeps flowing out
the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body -- like a river
that splits into five streams instead of flowing as one.
In a river like that, the force of the current is
weakened and can't run at full strength. In addition to
flowing out the five senses, the mind also leaks out
through thoughts of the past and future, instead of
staying firm in the present. This is why the mind has no
peace or strength, because it never gets to rest. When
the mind loses strength, the body loses strength as well
and won't be able to succeed at anything.
*
If the mind doesn't stay
with the body in the present, and instead wanders around
exposed to external perceptions, it's bound to get into
all sorts of difficulties, just like a person who
doesn't stay in his house and instead goes running
around outside. He's bound to be exposed to sun and
rain, and he may get run over by a car or bitten by a
rabid dog. If we stay in our home, then even though
there may still be some dangers, they won't be too
serious, and we won't get into difficulties.
*
When the mind isn't
quiet, it's like running around with a flaming torch.
You're bound to burn yourself. Only when you stop
running will you be able to cool down.
*
People who accumulate
merit but don't develop the heart's foundation are like
people who own land but don't have a deed. They might be
able to sell it for money, but they're an easy mark for
a swindler, because they don't have any firm basis for
their claim. If you practice generosity and virtue but
not meditation (the heart's foundation), it's like
taking a bath on a hot day only from the waist down. If
you don't bathe all the way from the head on down, you
won't get totally refreshed, because the coolness
doesn't go all the way to the heart.
*
External merit --
generosity and virtue -- is like the skin of a fruit.
Internal merit -- meditation -- is like the flesh of the
fruit. You can't have one without the other. If fruit
doesn't have skin, its flesh won't grow. If it has skin
but no flesh, you can't eat it. Each helps the other,
but they differ in quality. External merit is what
protects internal merit, while the internal merit
nourishes merit outside.
*
Today I'm going to talk
about how to drill a well. This is a difficult skill,
not like simply digging or plowing.
We all want happiness,
but we don't really know what happiness is. Real
happiness is nothing other than the inner worth and
skillfulness of the heart. So where are we going to find
inner worth? Inner worth is like a well. The first kind
of well is simply a depression in the ground for
catching rain water, like a pond. We can't get too much
use out of this kind of well because there are times
when water buffaloes, cattle, and other animals get in
the water to bathe and drink, making it muddy. If you
want to use the water, you have to filter it many times.
This kind of well is like generosity, which gives only
shallow rewards, like the water in a shallow depression.
The second kind of well
is like a deep reservoir. Cattle can't bathe or drink in
it. The only animals that go into the reservoir are
toads and frogs, but even so, if we want to use the
water we have to filter it first. This kind of well is
like the virtue of observing the precepts, which gives
deeper rewards than generosity.
The third kind of well
is an artesian well with a constantly running spring. No
matter how much water you use, it never runs dry. This
kind of well is so deep that even mosquitoes (your
defilements) can't get down into the water. To drill
this kind of well you need to use a drill with a diamond
bit and a strong steel shaft if you want to reach the
underground water. This kind of well is like meditation,
because you have to use strong mindfulness, discernment,
persistence, and endurance if you want to succeed at
drilling. Mindfulness has to be like the diamond bit;
and endurance, the steel shaft. When you use your
persistence to drill on down, the results will arise as
inner worth and skillfulness that keep flowing in,
bathing the mind, like the waters of immortality that
provide the mind with a constant stream of refreshment
and delight.
*
If we don't have a safe
place for our inner worth, how is it going to help us?
It's like raising horses or cows but not fencing in a
place for them to stay. If they go wandering off, it's
your fault, not theirs. If you don't practice virtue,
concentration, and discernment on your own, you're going
to get taken in by the symbols of refuge, and never get
to the real thing. The symbols of refuge are: Buddha
images, which are just symbols of the Buddha; Buddhist
texts, which are symbols of the Dhamma; and Buddhist
monks and nuns, who are symbols of those who have
practiced rightly and well until becoming noble
disciples. If you get stuck on the outer level, you'll
never meet with the real thing.
*
Inner worth is like
money. If your pocket has a hole, it'll let your money
slip right through. If you do things that give rise to
inner worth but don't keep that worth in your heart, it
won't stay with you. When you're about to die and you
call on it to help you, what will there be to answer
your call? When this is the case, you can't criticize
all the good things you've done for not helping you. You
have to put the blame on yourself. If you stick a dollar
in your pocket but your pocket is torn, then when the
time comes to buy a cup of coffee you won't have any
money to buy it. In that case, what are you going to
blame: the money or your pocket?
*
To practice meditation
is like harvesting your crop of inner worth and eating
it. If you don't harvest it, it'll spoil. If you eat it
in time, it'll nourish your body. If you don't eat it in
time, it'll go to waste. If you don't take your inner
worth into your heart, you'll never feel full.
*
Generosity is something
that poor people can't practice, but crazy people can.
Virtue is something that crazy people can't practice,
but poor people can. As for meditation, everyone can
practice it, no matter what their age, sex, or station
in life.
*
A mind without
concentration is like a pile of wooden posts left lying
on the ground for people and animals to step all over.
But if we stand the posts up and plant them in the soil,
we can get good use out of them. Even if they're not
tall -- only a meter or so -- but we put them close
together in a line, we can fence in our yard and prevent
people and animals from coming in and traipsing all over
our property. It's the same with the mind. If we take a
firm stance in concentration as the heart's foundation,
keeping our mindfulness and alertness close together in
line, we can keep defilements from slipping into the
mind and making it soiled.
*
The Dhamma is something
constant and true. The reason we don't see the truth is
because we're always on the move. 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, their color or shape. We look at trees and
mountains, 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. What we see
isn't in line with the truth. The running is in us, in
the car, not in the mountains and trees.
*
Whoever develops
concentration will 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 normal.
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 normal. This is how you can receive all the guests
the world sends your way. As for the eye of the mind --
intuitive insight -- it will receive your defilements.
Once it really understands them, it will be able to send
them packing. That way you'll be able to live in the
world without suffering.
*
If you really apply
yourself, you can accomplish all kinds of things even
with a single pocket knife. In the same way, if you
really apply yourself to making the mind still, you can
get much better results than a person who studies and
memorizes hundreds and thousands of texts. Making the
mind still is something we can all do. If it were beyond
our powers, the Buddha wouldn't have taught us to do it.
*
The paths and fruitions
leading to nibbana aren't the property of stupid people,
and they don't belong to smart people, either. They
belong to those who are true and really determined in
developing goodness for themselves.
*
The body is like a
mountain containing all kinds of minerals. There's gold,
silver, and diamond ore buried here in this rock --
i.e., the Unconditioned is in here. And there's also the
Conditioned, which is like trees, weeds, dirt, and rocks
where all sorts of people and animals -- monkeys,
tigers, and elephants -- dwell. As for the gold and
silver, they're not a dwelling place for animals at all.
So if we act like monkeys, tigers, and elephants, we'll
meet up with nothing but trees, weeds, dirt, and rocks.
We'll never meet up with things of value like silver or
gold.
To act like monkeys
means that we never apply ourselves to anything. We
wander everywhere, with no fixed place to eat or sleep,
swinging from branch to branch as we feel like it. What
this means is that our minds have no firm place to stay,
no concentration. We wander here and there in the past
and future in our thoughts and moods, with no time to
stop and stay in place. This is what it means to act
like a monkey.
As for tigers, they're
violent and fierce. This stands for the anger that
arises in the human heart and erupts outward, smothering
whatever goodness we may have.
As for elephants, they
like to hear nothing but sweet words and praise. They
can't take criticism at all. This is like people who,
when they do something wrong, can't stand to be told
that it's wrong. If they do something right and get a
little praise, they smile until their cheeks hurt. This
is what it means to be like an elephant.
So we have to get rid of
the monkeys, tigers, and elephants in ourselves so that
we can turn into human beings. That way we can look at
our mountain and realize that if we want valuable
things, we'll be able to get valuable things out of it.
If we want worthless things, we'll get worthless things
out of it. We can then gather all kinds of treasures. We
can level the dirt and turn it into fields. We can take
the rocks and extract the silver and gold. As for the
trees, we can cut them down and turn them into firewood
or charcoal so that we can cook our food and fire our
smelter, or else turn them into posts and boards so that
we can build ourselves a home.
All of these things
we'll be able to get from our mountain, but we have to
apply ourselves and really be persistent. If we want
silver and gold, we have to set up a smelter and heat
the rocks to see which elements are there in a pure form
(the Unconditioned) and which ones are mixed (the
Conditioned). This is how we do it: (1) We have to get a
lot of fuel; (2) we have to set up a furnace; and (3) we
have to start a fire. Only then will we be able to
extract the ore from our rock.
Finding lots of fuel
means being willing to let go of things both inside and
out. As for setting up a furnace, we have to find a
place with good, solid ground and a roof that doesn't
leak. This stands for our persistence. Once we've got
our furnace, we start a fire. This refers to the ardency
of our practice. Once our practice is ardent, the
various elements in our rock -- the body -- will melt
and separate out on their own, just as when they melt
down minerals, the silver, lead, and tin, etc., will
separate out on their own. The same holds true with the
body. When it undergoes ardent inspection by the mind,
the pure ore and the various impurities will separate
out of their own accord.
But most meditators
nowadays want to separate things out even before they've
put their rock into the smelter. They think things out
on their own without a single one of the tools needed
for smelting. No fuel, no furnace, no fire, a leaky roof
and a piece of caved-in ground: What are they going to
smelt? They say that the transcendent has to be like
this, insight meditation has to be like that,
stream-entry has to be like this; you have to let go
like this and that in order to reach this and that
stage; the stages of once-returning, non-returning, and
arahantship have to be reached in this and that way; the
four levels of jhana have to be done in this and that
way. They try to separate things out in line with their
own ideas, but no matter how much they try, they can't
get things to separate, because they don't have any
fuel, any fire, any furnace. Where are they going to get
any results?
Results don't come from
thinking. They come from the qualities we build into the
mind. So
don't try to separate things out in line with your own
notions. Some people see a person carrying a big hunk of
rock to his home and think that he's a stupid fool.
First of all, the rock is heavy, and besides -- what can
there be of any value in a plain old rock? So they take
a shovel to the mountain to dig up only the silver and
gold -- not too much, just some tiny, light nuggets to
wrap up and carry back home in a cloth. But they end up
with nothing at all, because the nuggets they want are
firmly embedded in the mountain; they'll need more than
a shovel to get them out.
As for the "stupid"
person, as soon as he gets home he clears out a space,
builds a furnace, gathers fuel, starts a fire, and
throws the rock in. When the rock is subjected to strong
heat, the various ores in the rock will begin to melt
and to separate. The silver will come seeping out and go
one way, the gold another, the tin and lead another, the
diamond another, without getting mixed. This way the
stupid person will be able to choose the silver, gold,
and diamond as he likes.
As for the people who
think they're intelligent, who know that this is this
and that is that, that you have to reach this level
before you can reach that level, that concentration is
like this, insight meditation is like that, the
transcendent is like this: In the end they have nothing
to swallow but their own saliva. They gain no valuables
at all.
The person who thinks
he's stupid, when he encounters something, has to keep
contemplating, reflecting, digging away, until he comes
to an understanding. If we want happiness, we have to
give rise to the causes:
(1)
Gather a lot of fuel. What this means is that we're
willing to give up the sights, sounds, smells, tastes,
tactile sensations, and ideas within ourselves, as well
as being generous with outside things, by making
donations, observing the precepts, and practicing
meditation. This is how we burn away our defilements
through the perfection of generosity (caga-parami).
The perfection of generosity is excellent fuel for
roasting our defilements.
(2)
Set up a furnace. This stands for the effort we put into
abandoning physical pleasure and sitting in meditation,
thinking of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha as a way of
calming the mind. Then we keep pumping the breath into
the body, in the same way that they pump air into a
furnace for casting a bronze Buddha image. We make the
heart steady and firm, with mindfulness and alertness
constantly in control. This way the inner fire of our
ardency will get stronger and stronger. As we keep
pumping the breath in, the sense of inner light will get
brighter and brighter.
Once you're able to keep
this up, gather your body and mind together into one.
Don't try to crack or divide them up at all, for that's
the way of a fool who thinks he knows everything
beforehand. As the fire of our ardency keeps getting
stronger, the various elements in the body will melt and
separate out of their own accord.
When you practice the
Dhamma, don't worry about how it's going to go. Don't
try to plan or arrange things to go this way or that.
When the fire of your practice reaches full strength,
all the various impurities will fall away on their own,
leaving just the pure ore. The rock clinging to the ore
-- the various Hindrances (nivarana) -- will fall
away from the heart. But if your furnace is full of
holes, the fire will flicker outside and the heat inside
will dissipate. You won't be able to burn away the
heart's various impurities. So you have to learn how to
act like a person making charcoal.
(3)
Start a fire. When people make charcoal they start their
fire and then close off their furnace (i.e., we close
off our senses), leaving just a tiny air vent (i.e., our
nose). With the furnace entirely closed off in this way,
the wood they place in the furnace won't burn up or turn
into ashes. When they finally open the furnace, they'll
find hard, high-quality charcoal. In the same way, once
we can remember our meditation word without getting
distracted, the closing off of the furnace means that we
close off the various perceptions that register by way
of the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and intellect. We
close off the Hindrances and don't let the mind flicker
out after outside perceptions. Once everything is closed
off in this way, the wood will keep smoldering away in
the furnace. When the time comes to open it up, we'll
find that there are no ashes and that we've ended up
with good, hard charcoal of high quality.
The solid goodness we
develop in the heart is like charcoal that we can then
use to smelt our ore. This way, the elements within us
will gain strength, able to separate themselves into the
Conditioned and the Unconditioned. Once we give rise to
the four stages of jhana, unskillful mental states --
the rock -- will separate out and fall away. Sensual
desire will separate out, ill will, torpor & lethargy,
restlessness & anxiety, and uncertainty will all
separate out and fall away. The mind will be totally
absorbed in jhana, with directed thought and evaluation
in charge. Just this is enough for insight to arise.
We'll be able to see clearly what's diamond, what's
silver, and what's gold. The silver is the sense of
fullness or rapture, the gold is the sense of pleasure
and ease that arises within.
Once there's pleasure,
no disturbances will appear in the mind, like a burning
lantern when there's no wind to disturb the flame. This
is the light of the Dhamma (dhammo padipo) or the
brilliance of discernment (pañña-pajoto), i.e.,
insight meditation, arising. We'll see the Buddha,
Dhamma, and Sangha within. The heart will give rise to
treasures.
This is like setting up
a furnace and using charcoal to smelt ore. The various
elements in the rock will separate out, leaving the
Unconditioned. Insight meditation is the fire we use to
heat the rock. If we want things to separate out like
this, we have to use insight meditation. Don't try
to separate things out on your own. Whatever is going to
turn into light, ashes, charcoal, or smoke will do so of
its own accord. This is how we get past the Conditioned.
The Unconditioned will separate out to one side, the
Conditioned to another. This way we'll get to see what's
really true. But however things separate out, you have
to keep using your discernment even further. If you get
attached to good things, they can backfire on you. If
you get attached to bad, you've gone wrong.
When we practice breath
meditation, we've been given methods for warding off the
various Hindrances that will destroy the good results of
what we're doing. We're told to focus on the in-and-out
breath and to keep mindfulness in charge, together with
the meditation word, buddho, buddho, in and out
with the breath. If you want just to think buddho,
you can, but it's too light. Your awareness won't go
deep. It's the nature of shallow things that dust and
dirt can blow in easily and fill them up quickly. As for
deep things, dust and dirt can't easily blow in. In the
same way, when the mind is deep, it isn't easily
affected by preoccupations.
So when you simply focus
on buddho, buddho, it doesn't carry much weight.
It's like taking a knife and slicing away at the air.
You don't feel much of anything because there's nothing
for the knife to strike against. But if you take the
same knife and use it to slice away at a stump or any
other object, you'll feel that your hand has more weight
and your arm gains strength, able to ward off any
enemies that may threaten you.
This is why we're taught
to focus on a single spot so that the mind will gain
strength, solid and steady in a single preoccupation.
Take as your target any of the meditation objects in the
basic list of forty. Your mind will gain strength; your
mindfulness will mature into Right Mindfulness and Right
Concentration.
*
Buddho is the meditation word. Being mindful and alert to the in-and-out breath
is the actual meditation. Once the mind is in place you
can let go of your meditation word. The meditation word
is like bait. For example, if we want a chicken to come
our way, we scatter rice on the ground. Once the chicken
comes for the rice, we don't have to scatter any more.
*
Being mindful,
remembering to stay with the breath, is one thing.
Alertness -- examining the breath sensations that flow
throughout the entire body, knowing whether the breath
feels constricted or broad, shallow or deep, heavy or
light, fast or slow -- is something else. Together they
form the component factors of meditation.
*
The in-and-out breath is
like the wick of a candle or a lantern. Focusing
mindfulness on the breath is like lighting the wick so
that it gives off light. A single candle, if its wick is
lit, can burn down an entire city. In the same way,
mindfulness can destroy all the bad things within us:
defilement, unawareness, craving, and attachment.
Mindfulness is the consuming fire of the practice.
*
Being mindful of the
breath is like casting a Buddha image inside yourself.
Your body is like the furnace, mindfulness is like the
mold. If mindfulness lapses, the bronze will leak out of
the mold and your Buddha image will be ruined.
*
Letting mindfulness
lapse is like getting a hole in your clothes. Letting it
lapse again is like getting a second hole. If you keep
letting it lapse, it's like getting a third, fourth,
fifth, and sixth hole in your clothes until ultimately
you can't wear them.
*
There are three ways in
which mindfulness lapses. The first is by bringing
inside things out to think about. In other words, you
grab hold of any lights or visions that may appear, and
in this way your path washes out. The second way is by
bringing outside things in to think about, i.e.,
abandoning your meditation object. The third way is by
losing consciousness. You sit there, but it's as if you
were asleep. All of these things are called a washed-out
path, like a road that washes out and is full of deep
potholes.
To keep preoccupations
out of the mind is to cut a path in the mind. To let
outside preoccupations in is to let the path wash out.
When the path washes out, there's no way that insight or
discernment will arise, just as when a road washes out,
no cars or trucks can run along it. When concentration
gets extinguished in this way, you can't practice
insight meditation. There's nothing left but thoughts
about insight, thoughts about concentration, thinking,
guessing, groping in line with your old preconceptions.
The virtues of your heart disappear without your
realizing it. If you want to go back and start all over,
it's hard -- like going back over a washed-out road.
*
The mind in
concentration is like genuine silver, malleable and
white because nothing else is adulterating it. We can
make it into whatever we want, easily and quickly,
without having to waste time placing it in a crucible
and heating it to get rid of the impurities. The mind
not in concentration is like imitation or adulterated
silver: hard, brittle, and black, because it's mixed
with copper or lead. The more the impurities, the lower
its value.
A pure mind is thus like
genuine silver. The various thoughts that darken the
mind are like the impurities that make the silver black,
brittle, and dull. So if we let thoughts get mixed up in
the mind, we turn the mind into imitation silver. We
won't be able to find any purity in it at all. When this
is the case, the mind will have no stillness. But if we
brush away the various thoughts and preoccupations
adulterating the mind, it will become firmly established
in concentration, in line with the factors of the path.
Once the mind turns into the path, we have to watch over
it carefully, in the same way that we try to keep a road
from washing out. We have to survey it continually to
see where it's getting rutted or forming potholes.
Wherever it needs repairing, we fix it right away. If we
don't fix it immediately, and let it get full of
potholes or wash away, it'll be really hard to repair.
Once the mind is following the path, any Hindrances that
interfere are a break in the road. If we don't hurry up
and repair it, the break will get wider and deeper until
the road turns into an ordinary piece of ground.
So while you're trying
to develop the path, if you let yourself be forgetful --
if you let your mindfulness lapse, letting distractions
into the mind -- the state of mind that forms the path
will immediately be destroyed. Your meditation will be
spoiled, your concentration will be spoiled, the mind
will return to its ordinary state and won't be able to
find the path to genuine goodness.
*
While we're sitting in
concentration, if our mind doesn't stay with the body in
the present, it's as if we've earned some food but don't
watch over it. Dogs and cats are bound to come and eat
it. The dogs and cats, here, are the five Hindrances --
sensual desire, ill will, torpor & lethargy,
restlessness & anxiety, and uncertainty -- that we like
to keep as our pets. As soon as our back is turned,
they're going to sneak in and eat up our food -- the
happiness and inner worth that we should have received
from our practice.
*
Being lost is better
than being asleep. Being aware, even if you have
defilements, is better than being absent-minded. If you
know you have defilements, you can work to end them. A
person who's not aware is dead.
*
If your mind doesn't
stay in one place, it's like standing on a lawn: If you
stand in ten different places, the grass will grow in
all ten places, because first you stand here for a while
and then go stand there for a while and then go stand
over there. If you don't stay long in any one place,
grass will grow everywhere. But if you really stand
still in one place, how will the grass grow there? No
grass will be able to grow on the spot where the soles
of your feet are standing. In the same way, if your mind
stands firm in one place, always mindful of the
in-and-out breath, no Hindrances or defilements will be
able to arise.
*
The path we're following
is a short-cut. It's a path worn smooth. Following a
smooth path means that there are no weeds growing on it,
no obstacles in our way, no need to stop here and there
and slow down our progress. The reason we don't yet know
how to follow this path is because we don't know how to
walk. We walk like people in general all over the world:
going forward, turning back, looking left and right.
This is why we keep running into one another all the
time, falling down, and then picking ourselves back up.
Sometimes, even when nobody runs into us, we stagger.
Even when nobody trips us up, we fall. Sometimes we get
lazy and lie down to rest. Sometimes we stop to look at
things we meet along the way. This way we never get to
the goal because we aren't really intent on walking. We
wander here and there without following the path.
So we have to learn a
new way to walk, the Buddha's way. What is the Buddha's
way? The Buddha's way of walking is to walk like a
soldier. Soldiers don't stagger back and forth the way
we do. They walk standing up straight, staying in place,
stamping their feet on the ground. This way they don't
get tired, because they don't have to go far. If we were
to walk in place for three hours, the grass beneath our
feet would be flattened out. Any grass that tried to
grow in its place wouldn't be able to get above ground
level.
It's the same with the
work we're doing right now, being mindful to focus on
the breath. If we're really intent on it, focusing our
attention solely on the breath without letting it wander
off and disappear, all the various Hindrances --
thoughts of past and future, good and bad -- won't be
able to reach in to touch us. All the Hindrances, which
are like grass, will have to be flattened out. No evil,
unskillful thoughts will be able to appear in the heart.
When this is the case, the mind won't have to follow the
paths to deprivation, and instead will keep following
the path that goes higher and higher. This is called
following the path worn smooth, in line with the
Buddha's way.
*
Practicing meditation is
like digging a diamond mine. The body is like a big
rock; mindfulness is like a shovel. If you don't really
dig -- i.e., if you dig little shallow holes here and
there, instead of digging away at one place -- you can
dig for a month and yet get no deeper than your knees.
But if you're really intent on digging away at one
place, the hole you dig will keep getting deeper and
deeper until you get down to the rock. Now, when stupid
people hit the rock, they throw down their shovels and
run away. (This stands for people who practice
meditation but can't endure feelings of pain.) As for
intelligent people, when they meet up with the rock,
they keep chipping away at it until they get past it,
and that's when they find the valuable diamond that lies
on the underside of the rock. If it's a diamond seam,
they won't have to work again for the rest of their
lives.
*
Gems and diamonds that
are really valuable lie deep, so we'll have to dig deep
if we want to find things of value. If we don't go far
beneath the surface, we'll end up with dirt and sand
that sells for only five cents a bushel.
*
When we're true in what
we do -- when we don't stop or grow lax or give up --
the results, even if they show up slowly, are bound to
be great. The fact that they are all growing at once is
what makes them slow. It's like a tree with lots of
branches to protect itself and give lots of shade. It's
bound to grow more slowly than a banana tree, which has
only one stem and gives good fruit, but is exposed to
lots of dangers. Some people get results quickly; others
more slowly. The slower people shouldn't compare
themselves or compete with the quick ones. The quick
ones shouldn't compete with the slow ones. It's like
polishing boards and mirrors. Polishing a mirror so that
you can see your reflection in it doesn't take all that
much talent, because the nature of the mirror is already
reflective. But to polish a board so that you can see
your reflection in it, even though it may take a long
time, is a sign of real expertise.
*
In keeping the mind
pure, we have to cut away perceptions so that they don't
stick in the heart. It's like looking after a white
sheet that we spread on our bed. We have to watch out
for the dust or insects that blow in on the wind and
land on the sheet. If we see any dust, we have to take
the sheet and shake it out. Wherever there are any
stains, we have to launder it immediately. Don't let
them stay long on the sheet or else they'll be hard to
wash out. If there are any insects, we have to remove
them, for they may bite us and give us a rash or keep us
from sleeping soundly. When we keep looking after our
sheet in this way, it will have to stay clean and white
and be a comfortable place for us to sleep.
The dust and insects
here are the Hindrances that are the enemies of the
heart. We have to look after our heart in just the same
way that we look after our bedding. We can't let any
outside perceptions come in and stick to the heart or
nibble at it. We have to brush them all away. That way
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