Contents

• Introduction
• Brightness Within
• The Light of Discernment
• Clinging
• Letting Go
• Three Principles
• Three Strands of a Rope
• At the Gate of a Cattle-pen
• Starting Out Small
• Housework & Fieldwork
• Strength for the Journey
• Into Position
• Two Guardian Meditations
• Playing Host
• An Image of the Buddha
• Binoculars
• The Electric Heart
• Restraint of the Senses
• Snakes, Fires, & Thieves
• Enduring Principles

Introduction  

This is a work in progress. Eventually, I hope to make available in English a much larger collection of Ajaan Lee's talks to add to the collections already available: Lessons in Samadhi, Food for Thought, Inner Strength, and The Skill of Release. But for the moment, in keeping with the title of the collection, I'd like to start out small.

The passages translated here had their beginnings in talks that Ajaan Lee gave to groups of people while they were meditating. In some cases, the people were his followers; in others, total strangers. In every case, Ajaan Lee found it necessary to cover the sorts of questions that occur to people new to meditation — Why meditate? How should I meditate? And why in that particular way? — and in his own style he provided not only straightforward answers to these questions but also vivid analogies, to help his listeners relate their meditation to familiar activities so that they would feel less intimidated by the uncharted areas of the minds they were trying to tame.

One aspect of Ajaan Lee's teachings that might strike you as foreign is his analysis of the body into four properties: earth, fire, water, and wind. This mode of analysis dates back to the time of the Buddha, although Ajaan Lee develops it in a distinctive way. Think of this analysis, not as an attempt at biology or chemistry — the sciences we use to analyze the body from the outside — but as a way of analyzing how the body feels from the inside. This is an aspect of awareness that we often overlook and that, in English at least, we have a poor vocabulary for describing. As you gain through meditation a greater familiarity with this aspect of your awareness, you'll come to see how useful Ajaan Lee's method of analysis is.

The passages included here have taken a fairly circuitous route from Ajaan Lee's mouth to your eyes. One of his followers — a nun, Mae Chii Arun Abhivanna — took notes during the talks, from which she later worked up reconstructed versions of what Ajaan Lee had said. Ajaan Lee had a chance to review and revise the reconstructions of the talks dated prior to 1957. As for the talks made after that year, Mae Chii Arun didn't get around to making reconstructions until after Ajaan Lee's death in 1961, and so these were printed without his input.

Although the talks make for great reading, they make for even better listening. If you meditate with a group of friends, try arranging for one member of the group to read a passage while the others are meditating. In that way, you can best recreate the context for which the talks were originally intended.

Lời Giới Thiệu  

Đây là một công việc đang tiến hành. Cuối cùng, tôi hy vọng là sẽ có thể hoàn thành một bộ sách hoàn hảo những bài giảng của Ngài Ajaan Lee bằng tiếng Anh để thêm vào bộ sách sưu tầm hiện đang có của ông ta như là: Các bài học về Thiền Định, Dưỡng tố cho Tinh Thần, Sức mạnh nội tâm, and Khả năng giải thoát. Nhưng đối với thời điểm này, phù hợp với các tiêu đề của bộ sưu tập, tôi muốn bắt đầu từ những bài giảng ngắn.

Những bài pháp được dịch ở đây là những bài pháp khởi đầu Ngài Ajaan Lee đã thuyết giảng cho một nhóm thiền sinh trong buổi tu tập thiền. Trong một số trường hợp, giảng cho những môn đồ của Ngài; một số khác là những người hoàn toàn xa lạ. Trong mọi trường hợp, Ngài Ajaan Lee cảm thấy cần giải thích những câu hỏi của những người mới đến tu thiền - Tại sao tu thiền? Tôi nên tu thiền như thế nào? Và lý do tại sao tu tập trong cách đặc biệt như thế? - Và theo kinh nghiệm riêng của mình, Ngài giảng không chỉ là câu trả lời đơn giản cho những câu hỏi mà còn có những thí dụ sống động, giúp người nghe thấy được sự liên hệ giữa thiền định với những sinh hoạt thường xuyên để họ cảm thấy không ngại ngùng trong lãnh vực nội tâm khó hiểu mà họ đang cố gắng chế ngự.

Một khía cạnh của những bài giảng của Ngài Ajaan Lee có thể gây ấn tượng xa lạ cho bạn như sự phân tích của Ngài về cơ thể thành bốn yếu tố: đất, lửa, nước, và gió. Cách phân tích này trở lại vào thời Đức Phật, mặc dù Ajaan Lee phát triển nó theo một cách đặc biệt. Hãy hiểu sự phân tích này, không phải là môn sinh vật học hay là môn hóa học - mà đó là kiến thức chúng ta sử dụng để phân tích cơ thể từ cái nhìn ở bên ngoài - nhưng như một cách phân tích cơ thể thế nào chúng ta cảm thấy từ bên trong. Đây là một khía cạnh của nhận thức mà chúng ta thường bỏ qua và điều đó, tối thiểu trong ngôn ngữ Anh, chúng ta có một vốn từ vựng nghèo để mô tả. Như bạn có được thông qua thiền định một sự quen thuộc hơn với khía cạnh này của nhận thức của bạn, bạn hãy đến xem sự hữu ích như thế nào qua phương pháp phân tích của Ngài Ajaan Lee.

Những bài giảng bao gồm ở đây đã thực hiện qua một hành trình khá quanh co từ khẩu thuyết của Ngài Ajaan Lee đến văn bản để bạn đọc. Một trong những người đệ tử của ông - một nữ tu, Mae Chii Arun Abhivanna - đã ghi note trong các buổi thuyết giảng, mà sau đó, cô đã làm việc viết lại những gì Ngài Ajaan Lee đã giảng. Ngài Ajaan Lee đã xem xét và sửa đổi tái tạo các cuộc thuyết giảng từ trước cho đến năm 1957. Đối với các buổi thuyết giảng được thực hiện sau năm đó, cô Mae Chii Arun đã không ở gần để viết lại cho đến sau khi Ngài Ajaan Lee tịch vào năm 1961, và do đó, những được bài giảng này được xuất bản mà không có sự chỉnh sửa của Ngài.

Mặc dù các buổi thuyết giảng được chuyển biên cho bạn đọc dễ dàng, và ngay cả cũng có thể đọc tốt hơn. Nếu bạn thiền định với một nhóm bạn, cố gắng sắp xếp cho một thành viên của nhóm đọc một đoạn văn trong khi những người khác đang ngồi thiền. Bằng cách đó, bạn có thể tái tạo tốt bối cảnh mà các cuộc đàm phán đã được dự định ban đầu.

Brightness Within  

May 18, 1958

For people to be happy or sad, good or bad, all depends on the heart. The heart is what's in charge, the most important thing to be found in our body. That's because it's lasting and responsible for all the good and evil we do. As for the body, it knows nothing of pleasure or pain, happiness or sadness, and it's not at all responsible for anyone's good or evil actions. Why is that? Because the body isn't lasting. It's empty.

To say that it's empty means that as soon as it's deprived of breath, its four properties of earth, water, wind, and fire separate from one another and return to their original nature. The parts coming from the earth property return to be earth as they originally were. The parts coming from the water property return to be water as they originally were. The parts coming from the wind and fire properties return to be wind and fire as they originally were. There's nothing about them that's "woman" or "man," "good" or "bad." This is why we're taught, rupam aniccam, physical form is inconstant. Rupam dukkham, it's hard to bear. Rupam anatta, it's not-self, empty, and doesn't stay under anyone's control. Even if we try to forbid it from growing old, growing sick, and dying, it won't behave in line with our wishes. It has to fall in line with the processes of arising and wasting away in accordance with the nature of natural fabrications. This applies to everyone.

But you can't say that the body is entirely anatta, for some parts of it are atta. In other words, they lie somewhat under our control. For instance, if you want the body to walk, it'll walk. If you want it to lie down, it'll lie down. If you want it to eat, it'll eat. If you want it to take a bath, it'll take a bath. This shows that it lies somewhat under your control. So the body is both anatta and atta. But even so, both aspects are equal in the sense that they're empty and not responsible for the good or evil things we do. No matter how much good or evil you do, the body doesn't have any part in the rewards. When it dies, it gets cremated and turns into ashes either way. It's not responsible for anyone's happiness or sadness at all. When people do good or evil, the results of their good and evil all fall to their own minds. The mind is what's responsible for all our actions, and it's the one that experiences the results of its actions as well. This is why the Buddha taught us to cleanse our hearts and minds, to make them pure as a way of leading us to future happiness.

What do we use to cleanse the heart and mind? We cleanse the heart and mind with skillfulness — in other words by developing skillful qualities within it through practicing concentration. We cut away all the thoughts of greed, anger, and delusion within the mind, such as the Hindrances of sensual desire, ill will, torpor & lethargy, restlessness & anxiety, and doubt. All of these qualities are things that soil the mind. When the mind is soiled in this way, it's bound to suffer. It's headed for darkness because of its own actions.

Our unskillful actions can be divided into the different ways they're dark. Some are dark like the darkness of night, i.e., totally devoid of any brightness. Some are dark like clouds, i.e., they alternate between being dark and bright, just as when the moon is bright at some times and covered by clouds at others. Some of our unskillfulness is dark like haze, obscuring all our vision whether by day or by night. This third kind of unskillfulness is ignorance, or avijja. It obscures the mind at all times so that we can't recognize which of the mind's objects are past, which are future, and which are present. This is why the mind concerns itself with past, present, and future so that it can't stay firmly in any one place. It has no certainty about anything. This is ignorance. From ignorance comes craving, the cause of all stress and suffering.

To get rid of this haze we have to meditate, getting rid of thoughts and concepts of past and future by seeing them as inconstant, stressful, and not-self; seeing all the aggregates of form, feeling, perception, thought-fabrication, and consciousness as inconstant, stressful, and not-self, to the point where there is no past, no future, no present. That's when the mind is released from the clouds and haze of its Hindrances and enters into brightness.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Some are like those with good eyes. They're the ones who develop skillful qualities within themselves, and so they see the brightness of the world both by day and by night. Then there are those who don't develop skillful mental qualities. They're like people born blind: even though the light of the sun and moon may be shining, these people are in the darkness — in this case, the darkness of their own minds. This is why the Buddha taught us to remove the darkness from our minds, to remove our minds from darkness, as in the Pali verse,

Kanham dhammam vippahaya sukkam bhavetha pandito,

which means, "Having abandoned dark qualities, the wise person develops the bright." When people develop brightness within themselves, they can use that brightness to illuminate all their activities. This will bring them success in all they do. But if they're in the dark, it's as if they were blind, so that the things they do won't succeed in full measure. For example, they may listen to the Dhamma, but if their minds are still wandering out all over the place, it's as if they were obscured by the clouds and haze of their Hindrances.

This is why we're taught to practice tranquillity meditation, fixing the mind on a single preoccupation. Tell yourself that the qualities of the Buddha aren't separate from the qualities of the Dhamma, which aren't separate from the qualities of the Sangha. They're actually one and the same, as the Pali verse tells us:

Buddho dhammo sangho cati nanahontampi vatthuto
Aññamaññaviyoga va ekibhutamapanatthato

"Although the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha may be different as objects, seemingly separate from one another, they are actually one in meaning."

Thus when we make the mind firm in its awakened awareness, it contains the qualities of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha all in one. That's when our concentration will develop in the proper way.

So I ask that you abandon unskillful mental qualities and cleanse the mind so that it's clean and pure. Brightness will then arise within your heart. This way you'll experience ease and happiness without a doubt, as the Pali passage guarantees: Citte sankilitthe duggati patikankha. Citte asankilitthe sugati patikankha. "When the mind is defiled, a bad destination can be expected. When the mind is undefiled, a happy destination can be expected."

Nội Tâm Trong Sáng  

Tháng Năm ngày 18, 1958

Đối với mọi người, vui hay buồn, tốt hay xấu, tất cả đều tùy thuộc vào tâm. Tâm là cái phải lãnh trách nhiệm, đó là vật quan trọng nhất được tìm thấy trong cơ thể chúng ta. Bởi vì tâm bảo lưu và chịu trách nhiệm về tất cả thiện nghiệp và ác nghiệp mà chúng ta tạo ra. Đối với cơ thể, cơ thể không biết gì về niềm vui hay nỗi đau, về hạnh phúc hay ưu sầu, và cơ thể hoàn toàn không có trách nhiệm gì về bất cứ thiện nghiệp hay ác nghiệp của bất kỳ ai. Tại sao vậy? Vì cơ thể không bảo lưu. Cơ thể chỉ là trống không.

Nói rằng cơ thể là trống không có nghĩa là ngay sau khi hơi thở chấm dứt, bốn yếu tố đất, nước, gió, lửa của cơ thể tan rã và trở về với bản chất nguyên thủy của chúng. Các phần đến từ đất cát trở thành đất cát như thuở ban đầu. Các phần đến từ nước trở thành nước như thuở ban đầu. Các phần đến từ gió và lửa trở thành gió và lửa như thuở ban đầu. Đối với cơ thể không có gì là "nam" hay "nữ", "tốt" hay "xấu". Đó là lý do tại sao chúng ta được giảng về rupam aniccam sắc pháp là vô thường; Rupam dukkham sắc pháp là khổ, Rupam anatta sắc pháp là vô ngã, và không chịu sự bó buộc của bất cứ ai. Ngay cả khi chúng ta cố ngăn chặn cho cơ thể không già, không bịnh, và không chết, nhưng cơ thể sẽ không nghe theo như mong muốn của chúng ta. Nó phải biến đổi phù hợp với những tiến trình sanh diệt theo như bản chất của kiến tạo thiên nhiên. Chuyện này ứng dụng cho tất cả mọi người

Nhưng bạn không thể nói rằng cơ thể hoàn toàn vô ngã, vì có những phần của cơ thể là ngã. Nói một cách khác, những phần này nằm trong sự điều khiển của chúng ta phần nào. Thí dụ như nếu bạn muốn cơ thể bước đi, nó sẽ bước đi. Nếu bạn muốn nó nằm xuống, nó sẽ nằm xuống. Nếu bạn muốn nó ăn, nó sẽ ăn. Nếu bạn muốn nó tắm gội, nó sẽ tắm gội. Điều này cho thấy rằng cơ thể phần nào nằm dưới sự điều khiển của các bạn. Vì vậy cơ thể vừa là vô ngã, vừa là ngã. Nhưng ngay cả như vậy, cả hai hình thái này đều tương đồng trong ý nghĩa chúng đều là "không" và không hề chịu trách nhiệm gì về những hành vi tốt hay xấu mà chúng ta làm. Cho dù bạn có hành xử tốt hay xấu như thế nào, cơ thể bạn cũng không hề được hưởng bất cứ phần thưởng nào. Khi chết đi, cơ thể được hoả thiêu và biến thành tro bụi mà thôi. Cơ thể cũng không hề chịu trách nhiệm gì về hạnh phúc hay đau khổ của bất cứ ai. Khi người ta hành xử tốt hay xấu, những kết qủa của thiện ác tất cả đều rơi vào tâm tư riêng biệt của họ. Tâm là cái chịu trách nhiệm về tất cả những hành vi của chúng ta, và nó cũng là cái nhận chịu kết quả về những hành vi của chính nó nữa. Vì vậy Đức Phật dạy chúng ta phải giữ cho tâm được thanh tịnh, tạo cho tâm được thanh khiết coi đó là con đường dẫn chúng ta đến hạnh phúc tương lai .

Chúng ta phải dùng thứ gì để làm cho tâm được trong sáng? Chúng ta làm tâm được trong sáng bằng sự khôn khéo (như lý tác ý) – hay nói cách khác là phát huy những đặc tính khéo léo trong tâm nhờ vào thực hành việc tập trung tư tưởng. Chúng ta phải gạt bỏ tất cả những tư tưởng về tham, sân, si trong tâm, chẳng hạn như những cám dỗ của sắc dục, sân hận, hôn trầm thụy miên, hoài nghi và phóng dật. Tất cả những tính chất này là những thứ làm vẩn đục tâm . Khi tâm vị vẩn đục theo cách này, tâm bị ràng buộc với đau khổ. Tâm tiến vào vùng tối tăm vì những hành xử riêng của chính nó.

Những hành động vụng về của chúng ta có thể được chia ra thành nhiều cách khác nhau, nhưng mọi cách đều tăm tối. Một số thì tối đen như bóng tối của màn đen. Nghĩa là hoàn toàn không thấy tia sáng nào. Một số thì tối mập mờ như bị bóng mây che phủ, nghĩa là lúc tối lúc sáng, giống như vầng trăng có lúc sáng có lúc bị mây che khuất. Một số những hành động vụng về của chúng ta lại tối như bóng tối mù mịt trong vùng sương mù, đang che khuất tầm mắt của chúng ta dù là ngày hay đêm. Loại thứ ba trong những hành động vụng về này là sự vô minh, hay là avijja. Lúc nào vô minh cũng che lấp tâm đến nỗi chúng ta không thể nhận ra đâu là đối tượng của tâm trong quá khứ, đâu là trongtương lai, và đâu là trong hiện tại. Vì vậy tâm lo lắng cho chính mình về quá khứ, về hiện tại, và về tuơng lai đến nỗi tâm không thể định ở bất cứ nơi nào. Tâm không thể quyết đoán bất cứ việc gì. Điều này là sự vô minh. Từ sự vô minh đưa đến sự thèm khát, đó là nguyên nhân của tất cả khủng hoảng và khổ đau. .

Để thoát khỏi vùng sương mù này chúng ta phải hành thiền, gác bỏ mọi tư tưởng và quan niệm về quá khứ và tương lai bằng cách coi chúng là vô thường, là khổ, và vô ngã; coi tất cả các uẩn, sắc uẩn, thọ uẩn, tưởng uẩn, hành uẩn, ý thức là vô thường, khổ và vô ngã, cho đến khi không còn quá khứ, không còn tương lai, và không còn hiện tại. Đó là khi tâm được thoát khỏi vùng mây mù và sương mờ của chướng ngại, và bước vào vùng ánh sáng

Có hai loại người trên thế giới. Một số tựa như những người có cái nhìn thông suốt. Họ là những người phát triển các đặc tính minh mẫn trong người, và vì vậy họ thấy được sự sáng sủa của thế giới cả ban ngày lẫn ban đêm. rồi lại có những kẻ không phát triển được những đặc tính minh mẫn. Họ tựa như những người mù bẩm sinh: ngay cả khi ánh sáng của mặt trời và mặt trăng đang chiếu rọi, nhưng người này vẫn sống trong tăm tối. Trong trường hợp này, sự tối tăm trong tâm trí họ. Đó là lý do mà Đức Phật dạy chúng ta loại bỏ sự tối tăm trong tâm trí chúng ta, giải thoát tâm trí chúng ta ra khỏi vùng tối tăm, như kinh Pali đã nói.

Kanham dhammam vippahaya sukkam bhavetha pandito,

Có nghĩa là, "bỏ đi những đặc tính tối tăm, người thông minh phát triển được trí tuệ." Khi con người phát triển được trí tuệ, họ có thể dùng trí tuệ để soi sáng tất cả những hoạt động của họ. Việc này sẽ đem thành công đến với họ trong mọi việc họ làm. Nhưng nếu họ sống trong tăm tối, tựa như họ đang bị mù lòa, nên những việc họ làm sẽ không thành công mỹ mãn. Thí dụ như, họ đang nghe pháp, nhưng nếu tâm trí họ vẫn đang lang thang khắp nơi bên ngoài, cũng giống như họ bị che khuất bởi những đám mây mờ và sương mùa đầy chướng ngại.

Đây là lý do tại sao chúng ta nên tập thiền định, chú tâm vào một đề mục duy nhất. Nói với bản thân rằng giá trị tinh thần của Phật không tách rời khỏi giá trị tinh thần của Giáo Pháp; và giá trị tinh thần của Giáo Pháp không tách rời khỏi giá trị của Tăng Đoàn. Phật, Pháp, Tăng thật ra chỉ là một và cùng mang một giá trị như nhau, như trong kinh Pali đã nói.

Buddho dhammo sangho cati nanahontampi vatthuto
Aññamaññaviyoga va ekibhutamapanatthato

""Mặc dù Phật, Pháp, Tăng có thể là những đối tượng khác nhau, dường như khác biệt nhau, thật ra trong ý nghĩa tất cả là một "

Vì vậy khi chúng ta định tâm trong cảnh giới thức tỉnh, tâm mang giá trị tinh thần của Phật, Pháp, Tăng tất cả đều là một. Đó là khi sự chú tâm của chúng ta sẽ phát triển thích hợp

Vì vậy tôi xin các bạn hãy loại bỏ những ý tưởng bất thiện, và gội rửa tâm cho thật trong sáng và tinh khiết. Rồi ánh sáng sẽ hiện ra trong tâm bạn. Bằng cách này chắc chắn bạn sẽ cảm thấy thanh thản và hạnh phúc, như được chứng nghiệm trong đoạn kinh Pali: Citte sankilitthe duggati patikankha. Citte asankilitthe sugati patikankha. “Khi tâm bị vẩn đục, con đường tối tăm đang đưa đến. Khi tâm được thuần khiết, con đường hạnh phúc đang chờ đợi. ”."

The Light of Discernment  

August 23, 1958

Our discernment is like light, and there are three levels to it: low-level discernment, which is like the light of a torch; intermediate discernment, which is like the light of a candle or a kerosene lantern; and high-level discernment, which is like electric light.

To get light from a torch, you need to use a lot of fuel. And even though it's bright, it creates smoke. This is like the discernment that comes from being generous: it requires a lot of financial resources, and you sometimes have to contend with resistance from people outside.

The light of a candle or gas lantern is like the discernment that comes from observing the precepts. You have to exercise a lot of care and use your powers of endurance to keep them pure. Lantern-light requires fuel and a wick. As for candlelight, it requires a wick and some wax. If you have wax but no wick, you can't get any light. And both lantern-light and candlelight create smoke and soot, so neither of them counts as being entirely good.

As for electric discernment, there's no need for fuel, and it doesn't create smoke or soot. It's easy to use: whenever you want it, by day or by night, just flip on the switch. This refers to the discernment that comes from developing concentration. The power of the mind, when it's pure and firmly established, gives rise to the light of knowledge — liberating insight — enabling us to see events clearly, both in the area of the world and of the Dhamma. When we can make the mind clean and pure, it gives rise to concentration and to the light of discernment — pañña-pajjoto — which is like electric light, or the light of the sun, which shines all twelve hours of the day. This kind of discernment is the discernment of the noble ones.

All three forms of merit — generosity, virtue, and meditation — depend on discernment. When we develop discernment, we'll know how to look for merit on our own. And what kind of light will we want — torch light, candlelight, lantern-light, or electric light? Death is like darkness. When the time comes to die, outside light won't be of any use to us. Our speech, hands, feet, arms, and legs won't be of any use to us. They won't be able to help us at all. Our eyes won't be able to see any light. No one will hear what we have to say. Our hands and feet won't be able to move. Our possessions won't be able to help us. The only resource that will be able to help us is our discernment, making sure that greed, aversion, and delusion don't get provoked, maintaining the mind in a state free from greed, free from aversion, free from delusion. We'll be able to separate these three things — body, mind, and defilement — out from one another, in the same way that we separate the wick of a candle from its wax. The fire of defilement will then have to go out, because the wick and the wax lie in separate places and don't make contact. In the same way, if we can separate the body from the mind, our normal awareness will have to go out. But when it goes out, that doesn't mean that awareness is annihilated. It's still there, but as a special form of awareness that doesn't depend on the body or mind and yet can still be aware. It's just like fire going out from a candle: it's not annihilated. There's still plenty of fire potential left in the world. It's there by its nature, simply that it isn't involved with any fuel. This kind of fire is better than the kind that requires fuel, because it doesn't wear anything out. It's simply there by its nature. This kind of merit is more wonderful than anything else.

If we can separate the body, the mind, and defilement from one another, there'll be no more heat. The mind won't be hot, and instead will be cool at all times. The light of fire arises from the spinning of waves. If there are no waves, there'll be no spinning. The waves are like defilement. If we can cut through the waves, the spinning will stop. There will be no more birth. Greed, aversion, and delusion are like waves — or like the wick of a candle. If we cut out the wick, leaving only the wax, fire will have no place to catch hold and so will have to go out. When the candle goes out, it's like the death of human beings: the fire leaves the candle, but the fire potential isn't annihilated. In the same way, the mind that goes out from the body isn't annihilated. If it can remain on its own, without having to depend on a body, it doesn't appear in any way, shape, or form anywhere at all. That's the awareness of nibbana.

This is the kind of awareness that's really like electric light. Whenever we want it, it's there for us to know. Sometimes even if we don't want to know, we still end up knowing. As for ordinary people, even if they want to know things, they often don't know; they often don't see even when they want to see. That's like torch light or candlelight: if there's no fuel, there's no way it can be bright.

This is why we're taught to train our minds to be firmly established in concentration — for the mind well-trained is what gives rise to the light of discernment that doesn't get deluded: the discernment that knows for sure.

Clinging  

September 9, 1957

Clinging is the cause of all suffering and stress. It's what gives rise to states of becoming and birth. It's not at all safe. Whatever appears and takes shape is bound to create suffering. Just as when a person's money appears in a way that other people can see: there are bound to be thieves who will steal it away. When you have money, you're afraid if people see it. You're afraid even if they don't. In the same way, when people cling to the five aggregates as their self in this world, they suffer. When they die and go to the next world, they suffer still.

The clinging we feel has three kinds, or three time frames: past, present, and future. In each time frame there are five aggregates, which means that each of us has 15 aggregates. And when we have so many aggregates to carry around, it's no wonder we suffer. When we look ahead, we start wondering: "If I live until 60, 70, or 80, what's it going to be like? If I fall into poverty, what will I do?" When we think like this, we start worrying in all kinds of ways. If we think about good things, we get enthralled. If we think about bad things, we get disheartened. Some people think about bad things so much that they get really discouraged and despondent. That's because they cling to their thoughts and preoccupations. This is called having five heavy stones placed in front of us.

Then we turn around and look behind us: "When we die, what will happen to our children and grandchildren?" We might think of giving them part of the family fortune so that they'll be able to set themselves up in life. But then we think of how foolish they can be. "If they take our family fortune and gamble it all away, what will we do?" When we think like this, it makes us discouraged. Other times we think of our own good qualities, our children's good qualities, in the present, and it makes us happy. That's another five heavy stones. So altogether we have five stones in front of us, five stones behind us, and five stones in the present. Our right hand clings to physical phenomena, our left hand to mental phenomena. We hold on to form, feeling, perception, thought-constructs, and consciousness as our self. So we carry a burden in our right hand, a burden in our left hand, and more burdens placed on a pole over our shoulder. If we keep carrying these things around without ever putting them down, we'll meet with nothing but suffering. Then we grab onto the suffering so that we suffer even more, to the point where our faces are all contorted and our shoulders twisted out of shape.

This is why the Buddha had such compassion for us and taught us to cago patinissago, to relinquish and let go. Whoever doesn't put down the pole on his or her shoulder will never get away. If we can first let go of our thoughts of past and future, things will be somewhat lighter. If we're only carrying things in our hands there's some hope that we'll be able to keep going. In other words, if we don't practice concentration, keeping our minds still and away from the Hindrances, we're still carrying a pole over our shoulders with burdens in front of us and behind us, all because we can't let go of our thoughts of past and future. Thoughts of past and future are things we don't need to think about. Whether they're our own affairs, the affairs of our children or grandchildren, or our business or financial affairs: when we've come to meditate like this, there's no need to think about anything at all. Be intent on sitting still. Keep your body straight, focus on watching only the present — the breath — and light will appear. Even though your right and left hands are still holding onto physical and mental phenomena, at least you've put down both burdens that were on your shoulders.

As for the physical phenomena that are still heavy, that's because the King of Death keeps sprinkling poison on them. For example, our eyes: At first they are clear. Everything we see is sharp and bright. But then the King of Death sprinkles his poison in them, making them murky and dark, or giving us cataracts. So we have to go running to have our eyes examined, to get glasses for them, to put medicine in them, to go in for surgery. They make us suffer in every way, so that our tiny little eyes start weighing as much as a fist in the face.

As for our ears, at first they can hear all kinds of sounds. Then the King of Death comes and sprinkles his poison in them so that they start ringing or going deaf. We can hardly hear what other people are saying, we can't understand what they're getting at, and this makes us irritable. They say bad things, and to us they sound good. Or they say good things, and to us they sound bad. We get things right and wrong, and this gives rise to quarrels and disagreements.

The same with our nose. At first it's in good shape, but then the King of Death sprinkles poison in it, so that tumors and growths develop. We have to go looking for medicinal snuff and inhalers, or for doctors to zap the growths with electricity. Our nose starts smelling bad and disfigures our face.

As for the tongue, body, and mind, they pile us high with pain in just the same way. This is why we're taught, rupam aniccam: all physical forms are unstable and inconstant. If we get stuck on thinking about these things, it sets us on fire. Our skin and flesh grow flabby and wrinkled, our backs get bent, and as we grow older like this it's a burden both to our own hearts and to the hearts of our children and grandchildren. In addition, it's a burden in terms of the money we need to spend to look after ourselves.

Whoever holds onto unstable things as being his or her self will have to walk in an unstable way. Most of us tend to cling to the body and other physical things as being ours. Sometimes we cling to mental phenomena — feelings, perceptions, thought-constructs, and consciousness — as being ours. This is called carrying things in both hands. Still, it's better than carrying loads on a pole over our shoulder, for as long as our burdens are only in our hands we're able to sit or lie down. But if we have burdens on a pole over our shoulder, we can't sit down. We have to keep standing.

For this reason we should train our hearts to be peaceful and still — in other words, to develop concentration. When the heart's tranquil and still, discernment will arise. When discernment arises, we'll understand our own birth: When we were born, we didn't bring along even a single tooth or piece of cloth. However we came is how we'll have to return. We won't be able to take a single thing along with us, aside from the good and evil that will take us to be reborn in good or bad destinations or that will send us to nibbana. People who can meditate in this way will become light and unburdened, for they'll be able to let go of what they're carrying in their hands. In that way they'll be happy, for they've received three jewels to adorn themselves. When they get to the other side, they'll be able to sell them for a good price. As long as they stay here, they'll have good things to dress up with. Whoever has the intelligence to practice letting go in this way will receive wealth that's of value everywhere — like gold: No matter what country you go to, gold is recognized as having value. It's not like paper money, which is recognized only in your own country.

For this reason, when we can train the mind to let go — so that it's released from holding on to the future, the past, and the present — it's as if we've received an entire ingot of pure gold. We'll be happy at all times. But if we're stupid enough to hold onto things as our own, we'll set the mind on fire so that it won't know any peace.

This is why the Buddha has warned us: Whoever clings to physical or mental phenomena, or to mental labels and thoughts, will have to be so burdened that they won't be able to get anywhere. Ultimately, they'll have to die stuck in the world, like the monkey who stole melons from the old couple's field and ended up getting stuck in a tar trap and dying on the spot. It's a story they tell as an analogy of how painful and difficult clinging can be.

The story goes like this: Once an old couple lived at the edge of the forest near the foot of a mountain. It so happened that their rice fields were flooded and they couldn't grow any rice, so they cleared fields on the mountainside and planted them with corn, beans, watermelons, and cantaloupes to have enough food to make it through the year. At night, though, porcupines and other animals kept coming to eat their crops; while during the day, birds and monkeys would come and harass them. So eventually the old couple decided that they'd have to sleep out in the fields to keep watch over them and set out traps to protect them. The old man would keep watch at night, while the old woman would keep watch by day.

One day a troop of monkeys came and invaded the field. No matter how much the old woman tried to chase them away, they wouldn't leave her alone. They'd jump from that tree to this, teasing and pestering her to the point where she had no time for her midday rest. So she came up with an idea. She went into the forest and found some tree sap that she boiled until it was a nice sticky tar. Then she took the tar and spread it all over any trees or stumps that the monkeys liked to use as their perches.

The next day a huge troop of monkeys came, stealing watermelons and cantaloupes and eating their fill. Now one of the monkeys, a female, had two babies. One of her babies was sick, so she left it home with her husband for him to look after, while she came along with the troop with the other baby hanging down in front of her chest. While eating the melons she thought of her sick baby, so she decided to take some back for the baby and her husband. When she had eaten her fill, she stuffed two tiny melons into her cheeks for her baby and grabbed a largish melon that she hugged to her chest for her husband. As for the baby hanging in front of her, she had it hang onto her back.

Just as she was all set to go, the old woman — carrying a shovel — happened to come across the monkeys and gave chase. Startled, the monkeys all ran off — except for the mother monkey, who could do nothing but jump back and forth because she was so weighed down: weighed down in front, weighed down in back, weighed down in her mouth. She tried calling for help, but no sound came out. She happened to jump up onto a stump that the old woman had smeared with a thick, soft glob of tar. The old woman came straight at her with the shovel, so the monkey decided to jump away but she couldn't budge. Her tail was curled up and stuck in the tar. She tried to pry her tail loose with one of her paws, but the paw got stuck. She used her other paw to pry off the tar, but that one got stuck, too. Seeing that the tar on her paw was black and sticky, she sniffed it, only to get her paw stuck to her nose. With one of her back feet she tried to push herself off the stump, but the foot got stuck. Then she used the other foot to wipe the first one off, but her two feet got stuck together as if they were tied up with a rope. She couldn't move. All she could do was look around grimacing, just like a monkey. After a moment's thought she bent down and bit the tar in furious anger. She wanted to bite the old woman but all she could do was bend down and bite tar.

As for the old woman, when she saw the monkey all stuck in the tar like this, she called the old man to come and see. Then the two of them found a red ants' nest and broke it over the monkey. Then they set fire to her hair, tormenting her there on the stump. Finally one of them took a hoe handle while the other took a shovel handle, and the two of them beat the monkeys — mother and baby — to a miserable death.

This is the result of clinging and attachment: clinging to the future, clinging to the past, clinging to the present: the baby on her back and the melon she was holding to her chest. That's why she had to suffer so much.

For this reason, the Buddha taught us to let go of labels and thoughts of past and future, and all five aggregates in the present. Physical phenomena are like the melon the monkey held to her chest; mental phenomena, like the baby hanging from her back. We can't get away because of our heavy burdens.

Whoever clings is said to be heavily burdened. As long as we're alive, we have trouble finding true goodness. When we die, we have heavy burdens lying in our way. This is why the Buddha teaches us to let go. Don't grasp onto thoughts of past, future, or present. Make the mind like water on a lotus leaf, which doesn't seep in. It reaches a quality that doesn't die, doesn't come back to be born in this world or any other. Free from suffering and stress, it reaches the highest, most excellent ease.

So we should all try our best to lighten our burdens.

Letting Go  

Notes from a talk, April 21, 1953

Letting go.

One of the important reasons why the Buddha taught the Dhamma was to teach us to let go, not to hold on to things. The more we really know the Dhamma, the more we can let go. Those who know a little can let go of a little; those who know a lot can let go of a lot.

As a first step we're taught dana — to be generous, to give donations — as a strategy for getting us to learn how to let go. The next step is caga — renouncing rights of possession — which is letting go at a higher level than dana. And finally, on a more refined level, we're taught to relinquish all our upadhi, or the acquisition-defilements in the mind. This is the level on which we examine and explore until we can gain total release.

Dana means giving away material things. If we don't give them away, they're hard to let go. For the most part, if we don't give things away, we hold rights over them and regard them as belonging to us. But if we give them away, we no longer have any rights over them. Things we hold onto are dangerous. (1) They can cause us harm. (2) They cause harm to people who steal them from us. And (3) once those people have stolen them, then they claim rights over them. The Buddha saw these dangers, which is why he taught us to be generous, to learn how to give things away.

People who develop the habit of being generous reap many rewards. Their act of generosity comes back to them both in the present and on into the future. They have lots of friends. Other people trust them. Their hearts are light — they aren't weighed down with worries about looking after the things they've given away. And these same results will keep coming in the future, just as when we have a bucket of rice grains: if we plant them in a field, we'll reap ten buckets of rice in return. The same holds true with the goodness we develop in this lifetime. It gives enormous returns. That's how people of discernment understand it.

Caga is the next step. Dana is something that even crazy people can do, but caga is a type of giving that only wise people can do, because their sense of personal possession has to end immediately in the act of giving. They see that all material things are common property: things don't really belong to us, they don't really belong to other people. If you see things as belonging to you, that's addiction to sensuality (kamasukhallikanuyoga). If you see things as belonging to others, that's addiction to self-affliction (attakilamathanuyoga). When we're born, we didn't bring anything along with us when we came. When we die, we won't take anything along when we go. So what really belongs to us? Our sense of possession has to fall away from the heart if our giving is to count as caga.

The third level of letting go is relinquishing what's in the heart. Whether or not we give things away, we let go of them in the heart every day. We let go of the things we have. We let go of the things we don't have. Just as a person has to wash his mouth and hands every day after he eats if he wants to stay clean at all times. What this means is that we're not willing to let anything act as an enemy to the heart by making us stingy or grasping. If we don't do this, we're the type of person who doesn't wash up after a meal. We're not clean. We stay asleep without ever waking up. But when we let go in this way, it's called viraga-dhamma, or dispassion. The lower levels of letting go are things we can do only from time to time. Dispassion is something we can develop always.

Ordinarily our defilements tie us down hand and foot, and then nail us to the floor. It's hard to get free, which is why we need a high level of skill, called bhavanamaya-pañña — the discernment that comes from developing the mind in meditation — to gain release.

Dispassion is a mental quality that's really delicious and nourishing. Whoever hasn't reached this level of the Dhamma has eaten only the rind of the fruit, without knowing the taste and nourishment of the flesh. The good part of the flesh lies deep.

The upadhi-kilesas, or acquisition-defilements in the mind, are ignorance, craving, and clinging. If we reach the level where we see the Dhamma for ourselves within us, then we take responsibility for ourselves. We can take care of these things on our own, just as when we come of age in terms of the law.

If we can get our minds into the first jhana, we can let go of the five hindrances.

Most of us are like inexperienced children: when we eat fish or chicken, we eat the bones along with the flesh because we haven't developed any intuitive insight. When this insight arises, it's more dazzling than the light of a fire, sharper than a spear. It can consume anything: meat, bones, rice, husks — anything — because it's smart enough to pound everything into a powder. It can consume sights, sounds, smells, flavors, tactile sensations, and ideas. Good or bad, it isn't picky. It can eat them all. If people praise us, we can use it to nourish the heart. If they criticize us, we can use it to nourish the heart. Even if the body is in terrible pain, the heart can be at its ease, for it has all the utensils it needs to fix its food properly: grinders, mixers, steamers, pots, and pans. The fog of ignorance will scatter. Everything that ties us down — the nails of the five clinging-aggregates, the three ropes (love for spouse, love for children, love for material possessions), and the eight chains of the affairs of the world (loka-dhamma) — gain, loss, status, loss of status, praise, criticism, pleasure, and pain — will all fall away.

Stupid people think that staying in jail is comfortable, which is why they keep on doing more and more evil. They see the world as pleasant and so they're like prisoners who don't want to get out of jail. As for people with discernment, they're like the caged quail who keeps looking for a way to get out of the cage. As a result the chains that hold them down will fall away one link at a time. The eight affairs of the world are like the chains put on criminals to keep them bound. Stupid people think these chains are necklaces of gold to wear as ornaments. Actually, they're things that defile the mind. People who get tied down by them will never get away, because they're afraid they'll lose their wealth and status, afraid of criticism and pain. Anyone who is stuck on pleasure, who is afraid of criticism, will never manage to come to the monastery to practice.

The Buddha saw that we're like monkeys tied to a chain. If we don't develop liberating insight, we'll never get free from our chains. We'll never make it to dispassion.

In the first stage we let go of evil and start doing good. In the second stage we let go of evil and some forms of good. In the third stage we let go of everything, good and evil, because everything is fabricated by nature and thus undependable. We do good but we're not attached to it. When you let go, you have do it intelligently, and not in a ruinous way — i.e., by not doing good. You can't hold on even to your opinions, much less to material things. When you do good, you do it for the sake of the living beings of the world, for your children and grandchildren. You do everything in the best way possible, but you're not attached to it, because you know that all things fabricated are inconstant. This way your heart can be clear and bright like a jewel.

If you get caught up on criticism or praise, you're foolish. It's like drinking other people's saliva. When you act rightly, there are people who will say that you're right and those who will say that you're wrong. When you act wrong, there are people who will say you're wrong and those who will say you're right. There's nothing constant about good or bad, for they're all nothing but fabrications.

Three Principles  

July 6, 1956

In brief, there are three principles that are really basic to meditation:

1. The right intention: You have to make up your mind that you're going to let go of all thoughts and preoccupations dealing with the world. You aren't going to keep them to think about. Every thought and concept dealing with the past or future is an affair of the world, and not of the Dhamma. Make up your mind that you're going to do one thing right now: the work of the religion, and nothing else. In other words, you're going to work on the immediate present. This is called the right intention.

2. The right object: This means the right theme or focal point for the mind. The theme here is dhatuvavatthana, or resolution into the properties, one of the themes in taking the body as a frame of reference (kayanupassana-satipatthana). In short, we're going to look at the four properties that make up the body: the properties of earth, water, wind, and fire. The earth property covers the hard parts of the body, such as the bones. The water property covers the liquid parts, such as urine, saliva, blood, and pus. The fire property covers the heat and warmth in the body. The wind property covers the feelings of energy that flow in the body, such as the breath. Of all these properties, the most important one is the wind property, or the breath. If other parts of the body get damaged — say, if our eyes go blind, our ears go deaf, our arms and legs get broken — it can still survive. But if it doesn't have any breath, it can't last. It'll have to die. So the breath is an important object because it forms a basis for our awareness.

3. The right quality: This means the feelings of comfort or discomfort that arise in the body. When you take care of the in-and-out breath so that it flows freely through the various parts of the body, it'll give rise to results. Take good note of whether the results that the body and mind reap from the breath are good or bad. Does the body feel open and at ease, or does it feel tight and constricted? Does the mind feel calm, quiet, and pleasant, or is it irritable, distracted, and chaotic? If the body and mind feel at ease, that counts as good results. If the opposite is true, then that counts as bad results. So you have to gain a sense of how to adjust the breath so that it becomes comfortable.

As for the right qualities of the mind, those are mindfulness and alertness.

Try to keep following these three basic principles every time you practice concentration. Only then will you get results that are full and correct.

As for the rewards of concentration, there are lots of them. They arise in line with the power of the mind of the person meditating, as I'll explain at a later date.

Three Strands of a Rope  

August 19, 1959

If you've never meditated, these two easy principles are all you have to understand: (1) Think of the qualities of the Buddha; and (2) think of bringing them into your mind. What this means is, be mindful to make the mind firmly established solely in the breath, without forgetting it or letting yourself get distracted.

Not forgetting the breath means being mindful of the in-and-out breath at all times. Not getting distracted means that you don't grab hold of anything else to think about. If the mind is focused but you're thinking about something else, it's not called Right Concentration. Your mindfulness has to keep within the bounds of the work you're doing, in other words, staying with the breath.

Don't put pressure on the breath, tense it up, or hold it. Let it flow easily and comfortably, as when you put a fresh egg in cotton batting. If you don't throw it or push it down, the egg won't get dented or cracked. This way your meditation will progress smoothly.

The breath is one thing, mindfulness is another, and your awareness, still another. You have to twist these three strands together so that they don't break away from one another. In other words, your awareness has to stay with the act of mindfulness, thinking about the breath. And both your awareness and mindfulness have to stay with the breath. Only then can you say that these things are factors of meditation.

When you can twist these three strands into a single rope, focus your awareness on observing the in-and-out breath to see whether it's comfortable or not, expansive or confined, broad or narrow. Whichever way of breathing feels comfortable, keep breathing in that way. If the breath isn't comfortable, keep changing it until it is.

If you force the mind too much, it's bound to pop away. If you loosen your grip too much, it's going to get lost. So try to tend to it in a way that's just right. The important point is that your mindfulness and alertness be circumspect, making adjustments throughout the breath. Don't let the mind go flowing out after other preoccupations.

Mindfulness is like a person who's awake and alive. If the mind lacks mindfulness, it's like we're sleeping with dead bodies in a cemetery. There's nothing but foul smells and fear. This is why we're taught to be mindful of ourselves in the present moment at all times. Cut away all thoughts of past and future without grabbing onto them to think about, for these things are deceitful and illusory, like spirits and demons. They waste your time and pull you down. So be aware simply of the breath, for the breath is what gives life and leads you to higher happiness.

Mindfulness is like a magic soap that scrubs the breath. Alertness is another bar of magic soap for scrubbing the mind. If you constantly have mindfulness and alertness in conjunction with the breath and the mind, your body and mind will be valuable and pure, so that as long as you live in the world you'll be at your ease; when you die, you won't be put to difficulties.

If the mind is focused but forgets the breath and goes thinking about other things, that's called Wrong Concentration. If the mind drops some of its Hindrances, such as sensual desire, by falling asleep, that's called Wrong Release. Only if the mind is firmly focused on mindfulness and the breath is it in Right Concentration. Only if it drops its Hindrances by being wise to their tricks is it called Right Release.

If mindfulness and alertness are constantly established in the mind, our views will become straight, our concentration will become right, just as when two beams of light meet: they give rise to the bright light of discernment. There are times when discernment arises for only a tiny moment in the mind, and yet it can kill off enormous defilements. For example, it can let go of all the clinging-aggregates. It can abandon self-identity views by letting go of the body; it can abandon attachment to practices and precepts by letting go of feeling; and it can abandon uncertainty by letting go of perception, mental fabrications, and consciousness.

We're taught to develop this sort of discernment by practicing Right Concentration. Even if it arises only for the flash of an eye, it can bring us many, many benefits. Just like an atomic bomb: even though it's only a tiny thing, it can bring destruction to the world in an awesome way.

The discernment arising from within the mind is something that can't be described. It's a tiny, little thing, not like the knowledge that comes from studying and memorizing in school. That's why we can't talk about it. The Buddha even laid down training rules for the monks, forbidding them from talking about their spiritual attainments. This is why we can't know if other people are noble disciples. It's something that each noble disciple can know only for him or herself alone.