"Just as if there were a pool of water in a mountain glen — clear, limpid, and unsullied — where a man with good eyes standing on the bank could see shells, gravel, and pebbles, and also shoals of fish swimming about and resting, and it would occur to him, 'This pool of water is clear, limpid, and unsullied. Here are these shells, gravel, and pebbles, and also these shoals of fish swimming about and resting;' so too, the monk discerns as it actually is, that 'This is stress... This is the origin of stress... This is the stopping of stress... This is the way leading to the stopping of stress... These are mental effluents... This is the origin of mental effluents... This is the stopping of mental effluents... This is the way leading to the stopping of mental effluents.' His heart, thus knowing, thus seeing, is released from the effluent of sensuality, released from the effluent of becoming, released from the effluent of unawareness. With release, there is the knowledge, 'Released.' He discerns that, 'Birth is no more, the holy life is fulfilled, the task done. There is nothing further for this world.' "This, great king, is a reward of the contemplative life, visible here and now, more excellent than the previous ones and more sublime. And as for another visible reward of the contemplative life, higher and more sublime than this, there is none." — Samaññaphala Sutta, Digha Nikaya

Introduction These talks — except for the first — were originally given extemporaneously to the monks at Venerable Acariya Maha Boowa's monastery, Wat Pa Baan Taad, in Udorn Thani Province, Thailand. As might be expected, they deal in part with issues particular to the life of Buddist monks, but they also contain much that is of more general interest. Since the monks who had assembled to listen to these talks were at different stages in their practice, each talk deals with a number of issues on a wide variety of levels. Thus there should be something of use in these pages for every reader interested in the training of the mind. The title of this collection is taken from a Pali term that, directly or indirectly, forms the theme of a number of the talks: yatha-bhuta-ñana-dassana — knowledge and vision of things as they are. My hope is that these talks will aid and encourage the reader in his or her own efforts to taste the liberation that comes with the reality to which this term refers. Thanissaro Bhikkhu

Rayong

January, 1988 In these talks, as in Thai usage in general, the words 'heart' and 'mind' are used interchangebly.

From Ignorance to Emptiness March 27, 1964 Today I'd like to take the opportunity to tell you some of my own ignorance and doubts, with the thought that we all come from the land of ignorance and doubt inasmuch as our parents and their ancestors before them were people with the defilements (kilesa) that led them to ignorance as well. Even all of us here: There's probably not a one of us who slipped through to be born in the land of intelligence and freedom from doubt. This being the case, we all must be subject to doubts. So today I'd like to take the opportunity to resolve some of the issues that are on your minds by giving a talk instead of answering the questions you have asked from the standpoint of your various doubts, ranging from the most basic to the highest levels — which I'm not sure I can answer or not. But the questions you have asked seem to follow so well on one another that they can provide the framework for a talk instead of a question-and-answer session. Each of us, before starting the practice and in the beginning stages of the practice, is sure to suffer from ignorance and doubt, as these are the qualities that lead to the states of becoming and birth into which all living beings are born. When we lay the groundwork for the beginning of the practice, we don't have enough starting capital for intelligence to take the lead in every situation, and so ignorance is sure to find an opening to take the lead. And as for this ignorance: If we have never trained our intelligence to show us the way, the ignorance that holds the upper hand in the heart is sure to drag us in the wrong direction as a matter of course. In the beginning of my own training, I felt doubts about whether the teachings of the Buddha — both the practices to be followed and the results to be obtained — were as complete as he said they were. This was an uncertainty that ran deep in my heart during the period in which I was debating whether or not to practice for the really high levels of Dhamma — or, to put it bluntly, for the sake of nibbana. Before I had considered practicing for the sake of nibbana, these doubts hardly ever occurred to me, probably because I hadn't yet aimed my compass in this direction. But after I had ordained and studied the Dhamma — and especially the life of the Buddha, which was the story of his great renunciation leading to his Awakening to the paths (magga), fruitions (phala), and nibbana; and then the lives of the Noble Disciples who, having heard the Dhamma from the Buddha, went off to practice in various places until they too gained Awakening, becoming witnesses to the truth of the Buddha and his teachings — when I had studied to this point, I felt a sense of faith and conviction, and wanted to train myself to be like them. But the training that would make me be like them: How was I to follow it? The Dhamma — in other words, the practice that would lead the heart to awaken to the higher levels of Dhamma like the Buddha and his disciples: Would it still produce the same sorts of results or would it be fruitless and simply lead to pointless hardship for those who practiced it? Or would it still give the full results in line with the well-taught teachings (svakkhata-dhamma)? This was my primary doubt. But as for believing in the Buddha's Awakening and that of his disciples, of this I was fully convinced in my way as an ordinary run-of-the-mill person. The thing that formed a stumbling block to me in the beginning stages was the doubt as to whether or not the path of practice I would take, following the Buddha and his disciples, would lead to the same point they had reached. Was it now all overgrown with brambles and thorns? Had it changed into something other than the Dhamma that leads away from suffering (niyyanika-dhamma), even though the Buddha and his disciples had all followed this very same path to the land of peace and security? This was my doubt concerning the causes in the practice. As for the results of the practice, I wondered whether the paths, fruitions, and nibbana still existed as they had in the time of the Buddha. These doubts, which ran deep in my heart, I couldn't tell to anyone else because I felt there was no one who could resolve them for me and dispel them from my heart. This is why I had my hopes constantly set on meeting Ven. Acariya Mun. Even though I had never met him before, I had heard his reputation, which had been spreading from Chieng Mai for quite some time, that he was a monk of distinction. By and large, the people who would tell me about him wouldn't speak of him in terms of the ordinary levels of noble attainments. They'd all speak of his arahantship. This had me convinced that when I had finished my studies in line with the vow I had made, I'd have to make the effort to go out to practice and live under his guidance so as to cut away the doubts running deep in my heart at that time. The vow I had made to myself was that I would complete the third grade of Pali studies. As for Dhamma studies, whether or not I would pass the examinations was of no concern to me. As soon as I had passed the third-level Pali exams, I'd go out to do nothing but practice. I'd absolutely refuse to study or take the exams for the higher levels. This was the vow I had made. So the aim of my education was the third level of Pali studies. Whether it was my good or bad fortune, though, I can't say, but I failed the Pali exams for two years, and passed only on the third year. As for the three levels of Dhamma studies, I ended up passing them all, because I was studying and taking the examinations for both subjects together. When I went up to Chieng Mai, it so happened that Ven. Acariya Mun had been invited by Ven. Chao Khun Dhammachedi of Udorn Thani to spend the Rains Retreat (vassa) in Udorn, and so he had left his seclusion and come to stay at Wat Chedi Luang in Chieng Mai at just about the time of my arrival. As soon as I learned that he was staying there, I was overwhelmed with joy. The next morning, when I returned from my alms round, I learned from one of the other monks that earlier that morning Ven. Acariya Mun had left for alms on that path and had returned by the very same path. This made me even more eager to see him. Even if I couldn't meet him face to face, I'd be content just to have a glimpse of him before he left for Udorn Thani. The next morning before Ven. Acariya Mun went on his alms round, I hurried out early for alms and then returned to my quarters. There I kept watch along the path by which he would return, as I had been told by the other monks, and before long I saw him coming. I hurried to my quarters and peeked out of my hiding to catch a glimpse of him, with the hunger that had come from having wanted to see him for such a long time. And then I actually saw him. The moment I saw him, a feeling of complete faith in him arose within me. I hadn't wasted my birth as a human being, I thought, because I now had seen an arahant. Even though no one had told me that he was an arahant, my heart became firmly convinced the moment I saw him that that was what he was. At the same time, a feeling of sudden ecstasy hard to describe came over me, making my hair stand on end — even though he hadn't yet seen me with his physical eyes. Not too many days after that, he left Wat Chedi Luang to head for Udorn Thani together with his students. As for me, I stayed on to study there at Wat Chedi Luang. When I had passed my Pali exams, I returned to Bangkok with the intention of heading out to practice meditation in line with my vow, but when I reached Bangkok a senior monk who out of his kindness wanted to help me further my Pali studies told me to stay on. I tried to find some way to slip away, in keeping with my intentions and my vow, because I felt that the conditions of my vow had been met the moment I had passed my Pali exams. Under no terms could I study for or take the next level of Pali exams. It's a trait with me to value truthfulness. Once I've made a vow, I won't break it. Even life I don't value as much as a vow. So now I had to try to find some way or another to go out to practice. It so happened during that period that the senior monk who was my teacher was invited out to the provinces, so I got the chance to leave Bangkok. Had he been there, it would have been difficult for me to get away, because I was indebted to him in many ways and probably would have felt such deference for him that I would have had difficulty leaving. But as soon as I saw my chance, I decided to make a vow that night, asking for an omen from the Dhamma that would reinforce my determination in going out this time. After I had finished my chants, I made my vow, the gist of which was that if my going out to meditate in line with my earlier vow would go smoothly and fulfill my aspirations, I wanted an unusual vision to appear to me, either in my meditation or in a dream. But if I wouldn't get to go out to practice, or if having gone out I'd meet with disappointment, I asked that the vision show the reason why I'd be disappointed and dissatisfied. But if my going out was to fulfill my aspirations, I asked that the vision be extraordinarily strange and amazing. With that, I sat in meditation, but no visions appeared during the long period I sat meditating, so I stopped to rest. As soon as I fell asleep, though, I dreamed that I was floating high in the sky above a large metropolis. It wasn't Bangkok, but I don't know what metropolis it was. It stretched as far as the eye could see and was very impressive. I floated three times around the metropolis and then returned to earth. As soon as I returned to earth, I woke up. It was four a.m. I quickly got up with a feeling of fullness and contentment in my heart, because while I had been floating around the metropolis, I had seen many strange and amazing things that I can't describe to you in detail. When I woke up, I felt happy, cheerful, and very pleased with my vision, at the same time thinking to myself that my hopes were sure to be fulfilled, because never before had I seen such an amazing vision — and at the same time, it had coincided with my vow. So that night I really marveled at my vision. The next morning, after my meal, I went to take leave of the senior monk who was in charge of the monastery, and he willingly gave permission for me to go. From there I set out for Nakhorn Ratchasima Province, where I spent the rains in Cakkaraad District. I started practicing concentration (samadhi) and was amazed at how my mind developed stillness and calm step by step. I could clearly see my heart settle down in peace. After that the senior monk who was my Pali teacher asked me to return to Bangkok to continue my studies. He even had the kindness to come after me, and then continued further out into the provinces. On the way back he was going to have me accompany him to Bangkok. I really felt in a bind, so I headed for Udorn Thani in order to find Ven. Acariya Mun. The progress I had been making in concentration practice, though, disappeared at my home village of Baan Taad. The reason it disappeared was simply because I made a single klod. [1] I hadn't even spent a full month at Baan Taad when I began to feel that my mind wasn't settling down in concentration as snugly as it had before. Sometimes I could get it to settle down, sometimes not. Seeing that things didn't look promising and that I could only lose by staying on, I quickly left. In coming from Nakhorn Ratchasima to Udorn Thani, my purpose had been to catch up with Ven. Acariya Mun, who had spent the rains at Wat Noan Nives, Udorn Thani. I didn't reach him in time, though, because he had been invited to Sakon Nakhorn before my arrival, so I went on to stay at Wat Thung Sawaang in Nong Khai for a little more than three months. In May of that year, 1942, I left Nong Khai for the town of Sakon Nakhorn, and from there went on to the monastery where Ven. Acariya Mun was staying in Baan Khoak, Tong Khoam Township, Muang District, Sakon Nakhorn Province. When I reached the monastery, I found him doing walking meditation in the late evening dusk. 'Who's that?' he asked, so I told him who I was. He then left his meditation path and went to the meeting hall — he was staying in a room there in the meeting hall — and conversed with me, showing a great deal of kindness and compassion for the incredibly ignorant person who had come to seek him out. He gave me a sermon that first evening, the gist of which I'll relate to you as far as I can remember it. It's a message that remains close to my heart to this day. 'You've already studied a good deal,' he told me, 'at least enough to earn the title of "Maha." Now I'm going to tell you something that I want you take and think over. Don't go thinking that I underrate the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha, but at the present moment no matter how much of the Dhamma you've studied, it will serve no purpose in keeping with your status as a scholar other than simply being an obstacle to your meditation, because you won't be able to resist dwelling on it and using it to take the measure of things when you're trying to calm your heart. So for the sake of convenience when fostering stillness in your heart, I want you to take the Dhamma you've studied and put it away for the time being. When the time comes for it to benefit you, it will all come streaming in to blend perfectly with your practice. At the same time, it will serve as a standard to which you should make the heart conform. But for the time being, I don't want you to concern yourself with the Dhamma you've studied at all. Whatever way you make the mind still or use discernment (pañña) to investigate the khandhas, I want you first to restrict yourself to the sphere of the body, because all of the Dhamma in the texts points to the body and mind, but the mind doesn't yet have any firm evidence and so can't take the Dhamma learned from the texts and put it to good use. The Dhamma will simply become allusions and labels leading you to speculate elsewhere to the point where you become a person with no foundations, because the mind is fixated on theory in a manner that isn't the way of the Lord Buddha. So I want you to take what I've said and think it over. If you set your mind on the practice without retreating, the day will come when these words of mine will impress themselves on your heart.' Of what I can remember him saying that day, this is all I'll ask to tell for now. I felt an immediate sense of faith and conviction in him as soon as I saw him face to face that night, both because of my conviction in the Dhamma he was so kind to teach me, and because of the assistance he gave in letting me stay under his guidance. I stayed with him with a sense of contentment hard to describe — but also with a stupidity on my own part hard to describe as well. He himself was very kind, helping me with the Dhamma every time I went to see him. My practice when I first went to stay with him was a matter of progress and regress within the heart. My heart hardly ever settled down firmly for a long period of time. The first rains I spent with him was my ninth rains, in as much as I had spent my first seven rains in study, and one rains in Nakhorn Ratchasima after starting to practice. During that first rains with Ven. Acariya Mun, there was nothing but progress and regress in the area of my concentration. After the rains, I went up to stay on a mountain for more than two months and then returned to be with him, my mind still progressing and regressing in the same way. I couldn't figure out why it kept regressing even though I was intent on practicing to the full extent of my ability. Some nights I was unable to sleep all night long out of fear that the mind would regress, and yet it would still manage to regress. And especially when the mind was beginning to settle down in stillness, I'd accelerate my efforts even more, out of fear that it would regress as it had before — and even then it would regress on me. After a while it would progress again and then regress again. When it had progressed, it would stay at that level for only three days and then regress right before my eyes. This disturbed me and made me wonder: Why was it able to regress? Was it because I had let go of my meditation word? Perhaps my mindfulness (sati) had lapsed at that point. So I made a note of this and promised myself that no matter what, I would have to keep the meditation word in charge of my mind at all times. Regardless of where I would go, and regardless of whether I was in our out of concentration — even when I was sweeping the monastery compound or doing any of my chores — I wouldn't allow my mind to slip away from buddho, the word I liked to repeat in my meditation. At this point, when the mind would settle down into stillness, if it could continue to think of the meditation word buddho in that stillness, I wouldn't let go of it. If the mind was going to regress in any way, this was where I would have to know. As soon as I had taken note of this point and had made my promise, I started repeating the word buddho. As I was repeating it, the mind was able to settle down quickly, much more quickly than it had before. It would let go of its meditation word only when it had settled snugly into stillness. At that moment, whether or not I would think buddho, the awareness of that stillness was already solidly 'buddho' in and of itself. It wouldn't be forming any thoughts at all. At that point I'd stop my repetition. As soon as the mind made a move to withdraw — in other words, as soon as it rippled slightly — I'd immediately start pumping the meditation word back in again as a means of keeping the mind in place. At the same time, I'd keep watch to see at what point the mind would regress. I abandoned my concern for the progress or regress of the mind. No matter how far the mind might progress or regress, I wasn't willing to let go of my meditation word. Even if the mind was going to regress, I'd let it regress, because when I had been determined that it not regress, it had still regressed in spite of my determination. Now, though, I felt no more concern for whether the mind would progress or regress. I'd simply force it to be conscious of buddho. I'd try to be aware of progress and regress only in terms of the heart that had buddho in charge. This was where I would know. This was where I would clearly see. This was the one spot in which I'd place my confidence. I wouldn't have to concern myself with progress or regress. As time passed, the mind that had once progressed and regressed didn't regress. This was what made me realize: The fact that the mind had kept regressing so often was because of a lapse in its meditation word; mindfulness must have slipped away at that moment for sure. So from that point on I kept my meditation word continually in place. No matter where I'd go or where I'd stay, I wouldn't let mindfulness lapse. Even if I was to be on the verge of death, I wouldn't let mindfulness slip away from buddho. If the mind was going to regress, this was the only place where I'd try to know it. I wouldn't concern myself with the matter in any other way. As a result, the mind was able to establish a foundation for itself because of the meditation word buddho. After that came my second Rains Retreat with Ven. Acariya Mun. Before the rains began, my mind felt still and firm in its concentration, with no regressing at all. Even then, I refused to let go of my meditation word. This kept up to the point where I was able to sit in meditation without changing to any other position from early night until dawn. During my second rains with Ven. Acariya Mun, I held to sitting in meditation until dawn as more important than any other method in my practice. After that I gradually eased back, as I came to see the body as a tool that could wear out if I had no sense of moderation in using it. Still, I found that accelerating my efforts by means of sitting all night until dawn gave more energy to the heart than any other method. The period in which I was sitting up all night until dawn was when I gained clear comprehension of the feelings of pain that arise from sitting in meditation for long periods of time, because the pain that arose at that time was strange and exceptional in many ways. The discernment that investigated so as to contend with the pain kept at its work without flagging, until it was able to understand the affairs of every sort of pain in the body — which was a solid mass of pain. At the same time, discernment was able to penetrate in to know the feelings of the heart. This did a great deal to strengthen my mindfulness, my discernment, and my courage in the effort of the practice. At the same time, it made me courageous and confident with regard to the future, in that the pains that would appear at the approach of death would be no different from the pains I was experiencing and investigating in the present. There would be nothing about those pains that would be so different or exceptional as to have me deceived or confused at the time of death. This was a further realization. The pain, as soon as discernment had fully comprehended it, disappeared instantaneously, and the mind settled down into total stillness. Now at a point like this, if you wanted to, you could say that the mind is empty, but it's empty in concentration. When it withdraws from that concentration, the emptiness disappears. From there, the mind resumes its investigations and continues with them until it gains expertise in its concentration. (Here I'll ask to condense things so as to fit them into the time we have left.) Once concentration is strong, discernment steps up its investigation of the various aspects of the body until it sees them all clearly and is able to remove its attachments concerning the body once and for all. At that point the mind begins to be empty, but it doesn't yet display a complete emptiness. There are still images appearing as pictures within it until it gains proficiency from its relentless training. The images within the heart then begin to fade day by day, until finally they are gone. No mental images appear either inside or outside the heart. This is also called an empty mind. This kind of emptiness is the inherent emptiness of the mind that has reached its own level. It's not the emptiness of concentration, or of sitting and practicing concentration. When we sit in concentration, that's the emptiness of concentration. But when the mind has let go of the body because of the thorough comprehension that comes when its internal images are all gone, and because of the power of its mindfulness and discernment that are fully alert to these things, this is called the emptiness of the mind on its own level. When this stage is reached, the mind is truly empty. Even though the body appears, there's simply a sense that the body is there. No image of the body appears in the mind at all. Emptiness of this sort is said to be empty on the level of the mind — and it's constantly empty like this at all times. If this emptiness is nibbana, it's the nibbana of that particular meditator or of that stage of the mind, but it's not yet the nibbana of the Buddha. If someone were to take the emptiness of concentration for nibbana when the mind settles down in concentration, it would simply be the nibbana of that particular meditator's concentration. Why is it that these two sorts of emptiness aren't the emptiness of the Buddha's nibbana? Because the mind empty in concentration is unavoidably satisfied with and attached to its concentration. The mind empty in line with its own level as a mind is unavoidably absorbed in and attached to that sort of emptiness. It has to take that emptiness as its object or preoccupation until it can pass beyond it. Anyone who calls this emptiness nibbana can be said to be attached to the nibbana in this emptiness without realizing it. When this is the case, how can this sort of emptiness be nibbana? If we don't want this level of nibbana, we have to spread out feelings (vedana), labels (sañña), thought-formations (sankhara), and cognizance (viññana) for a thorough look until we see them clearly and in full detail — because the emptiness we're referring to is the emptiness of feeling, in that a feeling of pleasure fills this emptiness. The mind's labels brand it as empty. Thought-formations take this emptiness as their preoccupation. Cognizance helps be aware of it within and isn't simply aware of things outside — and so this emptiness is the emptiness of the mind's preoccupation. If we investigate these things and this emptiness clearly as sankhara-dhammas, or fabrications, this will open the way by which we are sure some day of passing beyond them. When we investigate in this way, these four khandhas and this emptiness — which obscure the truth — will gradually unravel and reveal themselves bit by bit until they are fully apparent. The mind is then sure to find a way to shake itself free. Even the underlying basis for sankhara-dhammas that's full of these fabricated things will not be able to withstand mindfulness and discernment, because it is interrelated with these things. Mindfulness and discernment of a radical sort will slash their way in — just like a fire that burns without stopping when it meets with fuel — until they have dug up the root of these fabricated things. Only then will they stop their advance. On this level, what are the adversaries to the nibbana of the Buddha? The things to which the mind is attached: the sense that, 'My heart is empty,' 'My heart is at ease,' 'My heart is clean and clear.' Even though we may see the heart as empty, it's paired with an un-emptiness. The heart may seem to be at ease, but it depends on stress. The heart may seem clean and clear, but it dwells with defilement — without our being aware of it. Thus emptiness, ease, and clarity are the qualities that obscure the heart because they are the signs of becoming and birth. Whoever wants to cut off becoming and birth should thus investigate so as to be wise to these things and to let them go. Don't be possessive of them, or they will turn into a fire to burn you. If your discernment digs down into these three lords of becoming as they appear, you will come to the central hub of becoming and birth, and it will be scattered from the heart the moment discernment reaches the foundation on which it is based. When these things are ended through the power of discernment, that too is a form of emptiness. No signs of any conventional reality (sammati) will appear in this emptiness at all. This is an emptiness different from the forms of emptiness we have passed through. Whether this emptiness can be called the emptiness of the Buddha, or whose emptiness it is, I'm afraid I can't say, other than that it's an emptiness that each meditator can know directly only for him or herself alone. This emptiness has no time or season. It's akaliko — timeless — throughout time. The emptiness of concentration can change, in terms of progress and regress. The emptiness on the formless or image-less (arupa) level, which serves as our path, can change or be transcended. But this emptiness exclusively within oneself doesn't change — because there is no self within this emptiness, and no sense that this emptiness is oneself. There is simply the knowledge and vision of things as they are (yatha-bhuta-ñana-dassana) — seeing this emptiness in line with its natural principles as they actually are, and seeing all phenomena as they actually are, as they pass by and exist in general. Even virtue, concentration, and discernment — the qualities we use to straighten out the heart — are realized for what they are and let go in line with their actuality. Nothing at all remains lurking in the nature of this final stage of emptiness. I ask that we all reflect on these three kinds of emptiness and try to develop ourselves to attain them — and especially the last form of emptiness, which is an emptiness in the principles of nature, beyond the range where any other person or any conventional reality can become involved with us ever again. Our doubts, ranging from the beginning levels of the Dhamma to this ultimate emptiness, will find resolution, with our own knowledge and vision acting as judge. So now at the end of this talk — which started out with my telling you of my own ignorance step by step and then strayed off to this final emptiness, which is a quality somewhat beyond my powers to explain any further — I'll ask to stop, as the proper time seems to have come. May happiness and contentment be with each and every one of you.

The Tracks of the Ox An excerpt from a talk given July 6, 1982 ...Whichever theme you focus on, be earnest with it, keeping mindfulness in constant touch with the work you are doing. For example, if you're focusing on the repetition of buddho, keep constantly aware of the word buddho, buddho, as if there were nothing else left in the world for you to become two with this or three with that. There is only one thing: the word buddho blending step by step with your awareness. As the mind becomes more and more still, the buddho you are repeating will more and more blend into one with your awareness. Then the word buddho, buddho will fall silent, leaving only an awareness that's more conspicuous than before. This means that you've reached the mind. To put it in terms of following the tracks of an ox, you've reached the ox and can let go of its tracks. Here you've reached the inner buddha, which is like the ox, so now you can let go of the meditation word. The same holds true if you focus on keeping the breath in mind. Whether the breath is heavy or refined, simply be aware of it as it normally is. Don't set up any expectations. Don't force the breath to be like this or that. Keep your awareness with the breath, because in meditating by taking the breath as your preoccupation, you're not after the breath. The breath is simply something for the mind to hold to so that you can reach the real thing, just as when you follow the tracks of an ox: You're not after the tracks of the ox. You follow its tracks because you want to reach the ox. Here you're keeping track of the breath so as to reach the real thing: awareness. If you were to start out just by holding on to awareness, you wouldn't get any results, just as you wouldn't be sure of finding the ox if you simply went around looking for it. But if you follow its tracks, you're going to find it for sure. Your meditation word has to keep moving in. This is called following the tracks of the ox step by step until you reach the ox, or what knows: namely the mind. The same holds true with focusing on the breath. If it's heavy, know that it's heavy. Don't get worried or upset about it, and don't be afraid that you'll die because the breath is heavy or because you feel suffocated. When you do heavy work, you feel suffocated — don't think that you feel suffocated only when focusing on the breath. There are a lot of other things more suffocating than this. If you carry a post or lift something heavy, you feel suffocated to death all over the body, not just in the chest or in the breath. The whole body is ready to burst because of the heaviness and great pain, and yet you can take it. You even know that it's because of the heavy object, and that's the way it has to be. While you focus on keeping the breath in mind when the breath is coarse, it's as if you were lifting something heavy. It's naturally bound to feel suffocating, so don't worry about it. Even if it's suffocating, the important point is to keep track of the breath coming in and out. Eventually the breath will become more and more refined, because mindfulness is focused on the breath and doesn't go anywhere else. When the breath goes in, be aware of it. When it goes out, be aware of it, but there's no need to follow it in and out. That would simply be creating a greater burden for yourself, and your attention might slip away. So focus right on the entry point where the breath goes in and out. In most cases, the tip of the nose is the place to focus on the breath. Keep watch right there. Keep aware right there. Don't waste your time speculating or planning on how the results will appear, or else your mind will wander away from the principle of the cause that will give rise to those results. Keep close watch on the cause — what you are doing — and the breath will become more and more refined. When the breath becomes more refined, that shows that the mind is refined. Even if the breath becomes so refined that it disappears — at the same time that you're aware that it's disappearing — don't be afraid. The breath disappears, but your awareness doesn't disappear. You're meditating not for the sake of the breath, but for the sake of awareness, so stay with that awareness. You don't have to worry or be afraid that you'll faint or die. As long as the mind is still in charge of the body, then even if the breath disappears, you won't die. The mind will dwell with freedom, with no agitation, no worries, no fears at all. This is how you focus on the breath.

The Path of Strength September 30, 1962 We have gone forth from the household life and are abstainers from all things that are our own enemies and enemies of the common good. That's why we're said to have gone forth: It means that we abstain. 'Abstaining' here means refraining from the things that work to our detriment. Once we have gone forth, our duty is to abstain from things that are unwise and to develop wisdom — intelligence — as much as we can until it is enough to carry us past our obstacles: the entire mass of suffering. At present we all know that we have gone forth. The world calls us 'people who have gone forth,' so be conscious of your status at all times and in your every movement in thought, word, and deed. You are ordained in the Buddha's religion and have his teachings as your guide. His teachings have both a fence and an open way. The fence is the Vinaya, which prescribes penalties for our errors — major, intermediate, and minor. This is the fence that blocks the wrong paths so that we won't stray down them, and that opens the right path — the Dhamma — so that we can follow it to the goal to which we aspire. The Vinaya is a fence on both sides of the path. If we go astray, it means we've gone wrong. If we go just a little astray, we've gone just a little bit wrong. If we go far astray, we've gone far wrong. If we go so far astray that we can't get back on the path, we've gone absolutely wrong. This is like a person who loses his way: If he gets just a little lost, he can quickly get back on the path. If he gets more lost, it wastes a lot of his time. If he gets really lost, he has no chance of reaching his goal. Thus the Vinaya is like a fence to prevent those who have gone forth from going wrong. This fence has various levels — in line with the differing levels of lay people and those who have ordained — for us to observe in line with our moral duties, beginning with the five precepts and going up to the eight, the ten, and the 227 precepts. As for the Dhamma, which is the path to follow as taught by the Buddha, it has conviction as its basis — in other words, conviction in the path to be followed for good results — and persistence in making the effort to follow the path unflaggingly. Mindfulness is what guides our efforts as we follow the path. Concentration is firmness of the heart in following the path, in addition to being food for the journey — in other words, mental peace and ease along the way before we reach the goal. And discernment is circumspection in following the path step by step from beginning to end. These qualities support and encourage us to stay on the right path. When we have these five qualities — conviction, persistence, mindfulness, concentration, and discernment — constantly with us, there's no need to doubt that the results will appear as our reward, clear to the heart, in line with our strength and abilities. If we develop these five qualities so that they are powerful within our hearts, the results that the Buddha proclaimed as lying at the end of the path — release and nibbana — won't be able to elude us, because all of these qualities aim at these results. So I ask that you as meditators nourish your conviction in the Dhamma and in your own capabilities. Make your persistence adequate to the task. Concentration will then appear as a result, so try to make it adequate, and take mindfulness and discernment as your guardians. The results will then appear to your full satisfaction. You don't have to worry about where the paths, fruitions, and nibbana lie. Try to nourish the causes I have explained here and make them adequate. Nothing will then be able to prevent the results that will arise from those causes. These five qualities — principles in following the path — are called the five indriya or five bala. 'Indriya' means dominant factor. 'Bala' means strength. As for the Vinaya, it's a fence guarding both sides of the path to keep us from straying from the way to the paths, fruitions, and nibbana. The Buddha closed off both sides and then opened the way — the five strengths — for us to follow as much as we like. Kaya-viveka: physical seclusion in your dwelling place. The place where we are staying now is fairly conducive in this respect. Citta-viveka: mental seclusion. Those of you aiming for inner seclusion in line with the levels of your concentration have already attained a fair amount. Those of you who are just beginning, who don't have any mental seclusion in your hearts, should try to nourish the five strengths to make them solid. Inner seclusion will gradually appear step by step. Those of you who have attained an adequate amount of inner seclusion should try to make it more and more refined, at the same time developing discernment or circumspection with regard to your seclusion. As for those of you at the higher stages of the practice, you should urgently gather up persistence with discernment so as to make it adequate, and it will bear fruit as upadhi-viveka — absolute seclusion from the defilements — appearing clearly to your hearts. Physical seclusion means finding peace in solitary places. You don't get embroiled in external matters; you don't latch on to work to disturb the body to the point where you turn your temporary dwelling place into a factory, viewing physical work as the basis of the religion and as your occupation as a monk — as we see happening everywhere — to the point where you no longer have any interest in the inner effort of the practice that is a monk's true duty. Mental seclusion refers to the peace of mind endowed with the inner effort of the practice to keep it from running wild with the things that make contact. You rein it in so as to keep it still with watchfulness and restraint at all times. The nature of this level of mental peace is that even though external things may not be making any disturbance, there are still some enemy preoccupations lurking within the mind. This is why this level is termed simply mental seclusion, seclusion from the disturbance of external objects. As for seclusion from the defilements, this refers to peace with regard to such external things as sights, sounds, smells, and tastes, as well as to peace with regard to internal preoccupations that are the particular enemies of the mind. In other words, you are free both from external enemies and from internal enemies. This is absolute seclusion from the defilements, without even the least thing infiltrating the heart. The heart is in this state at all times. Even though various things may come and make contact, or the khandhas may do their work in line with their duties, these things can't permeate into the heart to cause it any difficulties. These are the results that come from the basis of physical and mental seclusion. These three qualities — physical seclusion, mental seclusion, and seclusion with regard to the defilements — are qualities that all of you as meditators should be capable of developing fully within yourselves. There should be nothing blocking your way. All I ask is that you don't abandon your efforts. Be courageous and enthusiastic in searching out lonely, isolated places: places where you can shed your foolishness with regard to yourselves once and for all. This is the way through which the Buddha and all his Noble Disciples passed before reaching the land of nibbana — so how could these places turn into the enemies of those of us who are following the Buddha's example? Don't be worried that you'll lose your lives in such places. If that were to be the case, the Buddha would have had to change his preliminary instructions to us after our ordination from rukkhamula-senasanam — living in the forest — to something else, in keeping with his compassion for all living beings, human and divine. If living in lonely, solitary places, making the effort in line with the Buddha's example, were to give results other than those corresponding to the Dhamma he taught, he would have had to modify his various teachings to be in keeping with the demands of time and place. The 37 wings to Awakening (bodhi-pakkhiya-dhamma) — which are like the Buddha's very heart that he gave to us so rightly — would have had to be completely altered. But these truths are constant and unwavering. The Buddha never changed them. We as meditators should thus modify our thoughts, words, and deeds to fit in with this Dhamma. It would be highly inappropriate for us to modify the Dhamma to conform with the influence of our hearts with their defilements. If we were to do such a thing, we would become Devadatta's in our thoughts, words, and deeds, and our Teacher — the Buddha's right teachings — would be lost to us without our even realizing it. So try to be persistent, in line with the teachings given by the Buddha. Be brave in contending with the enemies of the heart — both those that come from within and those that come from without — together with the results they bring. Always take an interest in seeing where suffering and stress come from and how they arise. Don't abandon this work or get bored with it. Try to know the causes and effects of the things that come into contact or become involved with the heart to see how they give rise to stress, until you can ultimately see the causes clearly — and in that same moment, you will clearly understand the results. The most important points, no matter when I teach you — and they are teachings that lie close to my heart — are mindfulness and discernment. These qualities are very important. If you lack mindfulness and discernment, the results of your practice will be erratic. The progress of your efforts will be interrupted and uneven. The techniques of your intelligence for curing defilement will be lacking, and the results — peace and ease — will be sporadic. If mindfulness and discernment are interrupted, you should know that all the efforts of your practice have been interrupted in the same instant. So I ask that each of you realize this. Every time I've given a talk, I've never omitted the topics of mindfulness and discernment. You could almost say that I give them the limelight more than any other topic, for I've considered the matter to the best of my ability, from the time I first started the practice until today, and I have never seen any qualities superior to mindfulness and discernment in being able to unravel things within or without so as to make them clear to the heart. For this reason, I teach you these two qualities so that you'll know: To put them in terms of wood, they're the heartwood or the tap root of the tree. In terms of the Dhamma, they're the root, the crucial tools for eliminating all defilements and mental effluents (asava), from the blatant to the most extremely refined levels, once and for all. If you lack mindfulness, you can't even give rise to concentration. If you lack discernment, your concentration might turn into wrong concentration — for the word 'concentration' is a neutral term. There's no assurance as to what sort of concentration it may be. If it lacks discernment as its guardian, it's sure to turn into concentration that deviates from the principles of the Dhamma without your realizing it. There are many levels of wrong concentration — those that appear blatantly to the world, as well as intermediate and subtle levels — but here I'll discuss only those forms of wrong concentration that can occur to us in the area of the practice without our realizing it. For example, when we enter concentration, the mind may gather and rest for a long or a short time, but when we withdraw, we're still attached to that concentration and not at all interested in developing discernment. We may feel that the concentration will turn into the paths, fruitions, or nibbana; or else we are addicted to the concentration and want the mind to stay gathered that way for long periods of time or forever. Sometimes, after the mind gathers into its resting place, it then withdraws a bit, going out to know the various things that make contact, becoming attached and engrossed with its visions. Sometimes it may float out of the body to travel to the Brahma worlds, heaven, hell, or the world of the hungry shades, without a thought for what's right or wrong, as we become engrossed in our visions and abilities, taking them as our amazing paths, fruitions, and nibbana, and those of the religion as well. When this happens, then even if someone skilled and experienced in this area comes to warn us, we won't be willing to listen at all. All of these things are termed wrong concentration that we don't realize to be wrong. So what is right concentration like, and how should you practice for the sake of rightness? This is where a few differences lie. When you sit in concentration and the mind gathers to rest — no matter what the level of concentration — how long it stays there depends on the particular strength of that level of concentration. Let the mind rest in line with its level of concentration. There's no need to force it to withdraw. Let it rest as long as it wants, and then it will withdraw on its own. Once it withdraws, try to train yourself to explore with your discernment. Whatever level of discernment corresponds to that level of concentration, use it to investigate and contemplate the physical properties (dhatu) and khandhas. Whether you investigate these things within or without is not an issue. All that is asked is that you investigate for the sake of knowing cause and effect, for the sake of curing or extricating yourself: Just this much is what's right. Use your discernment to investigate conditions of nature (sabhava dhamma) both within and without, or else exclusively within or exclusively without. Contemplate them in terms of any one of the three characteristics (ti-lakkhana) until you are experienced and astute, until you can find the openings by which you can extricate yourself step by step. When you have investigated to the point where you feel tired, and the mind wants to rest in its home of concentration, let it rest as much as it wants. Whether it rests for a long or a short time is not an issue. Let it rest until it withdraws on its own. As soon as it withdraws, continue with your investigation of such phenomena as the body, as before. This is right concentration. Be aware of the fact that concentration is simply a temporary resting place. When you have investigated a great deal in the area of discernment and feel mentally tired, rest in concentration. Once the mind is strong again, it'll withdraw. If it's in shape to investigate, then continue investigating. Keep practicing this way constantly. Your concentration will go smoothly, and your discernment will always be astute. Things will go evenly, both in the area of concentration and in the area of discernment, because concentration is beneficial in one way, and discernment in another. If you let yourself follow only the path of discernment, you'll go wrong because you won't have concentration as a support. If you let yourself follow only the path of concentration, you'll go even more wrong than by simply following the path of discernment. To summarize: These two qualities are like a right arm and a left arm, a right leg and a left leg. Wherever a person walks or whatever he does, he needs both arms and both legs. Concentration and discernment are necessary in just the same way. If you feel that concentration is better than discernment, or discernment better than concentration, then you should have only one arm or one leg, not two arms and two legs like everyone else. In other words, you don't fit in with the rest of the world. Whoever doesn't fit in with the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha — criticizing discernment and praising concentration, or criticizing concentration and praising discernment — is the same sort of person. What's right is that when you are developing concentration, you have to do your duties in terms of concentration and really see the value of concentration. When you are contemplating with discernment, you have to do your duties in terms of discernment and really see the value of discernment. Let each side rest at the right time. Don't get them mixed up together. It's the same as when you walk: When your right foot takes a step, your left foot has to stop. When your left foot takes a step, your right foot has to stop. They don't both step at the same time. Thus both concentration and discernment have their benefits. But when mindfulness and discernment develop enough strength from being trained together, concentration and discernment will then step together — it's not the case that they'll always take turns — in the same way that your right arm and left arm work together. Here we've discussed the relationship between concentration and discernment for those who tend to develop concentration first, who are usually in danger of their concentration's going out of bounds without seeing discernment as the other side of the practice. If it's a necessary quality, you should use it at the appropriate times. As for those who tend to have discernment fostering their concentration, their minds can't settle down into stillness simply through the power of concentration practice alone. They need to use discernment to put brakes on the mind — which is restless and running wild with its various preoccupations — by keeping track of the restlessness of the heart so as to see why it is restless and what there is that encourages it to be that way. Discernment has to go ferreting out the various things the mind is labeling and interpreting until the mind surrenders to its discernment and is able to enter stillness. This sort of stillness of mind is said to be still through discernment. Some people, even when their minds have entered stillness, can at the same time use discernment to investigate and form thoughts without these things being an enemy to that stillness. Perhaps you may think, 'If the mind is concentrated, how can it form thoughts?' and then become doubtful about your concentration. This is called not understanding your own tendencies. These doubts are normal for those who aren't experienced and don't know — since no one has given them any directions that they can hold to as authoritative — so they may become uncertain about their practice when this sort of thing happens to them. So here I'd like to take the opportunity to explain: The mind that attains stillness through the method of using discernment as its guardian can continue having thought processes occurring on one level of concentration, but when we reach a fully refined level, no matter which way our concentration is fostered, all thought-formations will cease. No labeling of things will be left in that refined concentration; no thought-formations or cognizance of various things will appear. To summarize: The intermediate level of concentration for those whose minds gather quickly — namely, those who start out with concentration — won't have any thought processes, because the moment thoughts forms, their minds will begin to withdraw from concentration. The concentration attained through the guardian power of discernment, though, can still form thoughts without the mind's withdrawing from concentration — and both types of concentration must have mindfulness alert as they gather inward. Today I've explained the differences between wrong and right concentration — enough so that you as meditators will understand and take this as a guide. I've stressed that mindfulness and discernment are very important factors. Those of you who are training mindfulness shouldn't wait to train it only when you are meditating. You must train it at all times. Wherever you go, whatever you do, be mindful. Always take your stance in the effort of the practice. Once there is mindfulness, there also has to be self-awareness (sampajañña), because self-awareness comes from established mindfulness. If mindfulness is lacking, no self-awareness appears. So try to develop your basic mindfulness until it is capable and strong enough to be the sort of mindfulness suitable for the effort of the practice within the heart. From that point it will become super-mindfulness because you have continually fostered it and kept it established. The same holds true with discernment. Try to contemplate the things that make contact with the mind: sights, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and the thoughts that occur exclusively within. You have to explore these things, ferreting out their causes, until you find it habitual to contemplate and think. When this level of discernment gains strength, it will advance to a higher level, and you will be able to use this higher level of discernment to investigate your doubts about the situation exclusively within the heart. You will be able to see things clearly and cut away your various doubts through the power of discernment, the discernment you have trained in this way so that it becomes super-discernment, just like super-mindfulness. I've never seen it happen anywhere that anyone who hasn't started out by training discernment in this way has suddenly gained full results through superlative discernment. Even those who are termed khippabhiñña — who have attained Awakening quickly — started out from crude discernment, advancing quickly, step by step, and gained Awakening in the Buddha's presence, as we all know from the texts. So when we train our mindfulness and discernment to follow our every movement, without any thought for whether we're meditating or not, but simply keeping this hidden sort of meditation going at all times, then no matter what, our minds will have to enter stillness, and discernment will begin to appear. In particular — for those of us who are monks, or who are single-mindedly intent on practicing for the sake of mental peace and release from suffering and stress — mindfulness and discernment are even more necessary. Once we have trained mindfulness and discernment to become so habitual that we're constantly circumspect, then when we focus outside, we'll be intelligent. When we focus inside — on the body, feelings, mind, and phenomena — we'll become more and more astute. When we investigate body, feelings, labels, thought-formations, and cognizance, we'll develop techniques for removing defilement without break. Mindfulness is especially important. If you lack mindfulness as a protective barrier at any time, discernment will simply turn into labels without your realizing it. Thus mindfulness is the quality with a solidity that helps discernment become astute in a smooth and even way. The power of mindfulness acts like the bank of a river, keeping discernment from going out of bounds. Discernment that goes out of bounds turns into labels. If it's true discernment, it doesn't go out of bounds, because it has mindfulness in charge. If you use discernment to focus within the body, things will catch your attention at every step. Inconstancy (anicca), stress (dukkha), and not-selfness (anatta): One or another of these three characteristics is sure to appear, because all of them are always there in the nature of the body. When mindfulness and discernment reach this level, the mind and its objects will come into the present. You should know that no Dhamma has ever appeared because of past or future affairs. It appears only because of the present. Even if you contemplate matters of the past of future, you have to bring them into the scope of the present if you hope to gain any benefit from them. For example, if you see someone die, refer it to yourself: 'I'll have to die as well.' As soon as the word 'I' appears, things come running back to you and appear in the present. Matters of past and future, if you want them to be useful, must always be brought into the present. For example, 'Yesterday that person died. Today or tomorrow I may die in the same way.' With the 'I', you immediately come into the present. External matters have to be brought inward; matters ahead and behind have to be brought into the present if they are to serve any benefit. If you always use mindfulness and discernment to contemplate the conditions of nature — such as the body — all around you, then no matter what, things won't lie beyond your grasp. You'll have to understand them clearly. In investigating phenomena, such as the body, analyze them into their parts and aspects, and use your discernment to contemplate them until they are clear. Don't let thoughts or allusions drag you away from the phenomenon you are investigating, unless you are using thoughts as a standard for your discernment to follow when it doesn't yet have enough strength for the investigation. Keep mindfulness firmly in place as a protective fence — and you will come to understand clearly things you never understood before, because the conditions of nature are already there in full measure. You don't have to go looking anywhere for inconstancy, stress, and not-selfness. They are qualities filling your body and mind at all times. The only problem is that mindfulness and discernment haven't been able to ferret them out to make them your own wealth. But if you are set on investigating observantly day and night — thinking not about how many times you do it in a day or night, but taking the skill and agility of your discernment as your standard — keeping mindfulness as a steady flow in the present and radiating discernment all around you, then whatever makes a move in any direction, mindfulness and discernment will follow right after it. When we have trained mindfulness and discernment to be sufficient to the task like this, how will their foes be able to withstand them? After all, we haven't made it our purpose to encourage such things as restlessness and distraction. We're trying at all times to practice the Dhamma — the means for stopping such things — so as to keep abreast of the movements of the bandits always lying in wait to rob us at any moment. We must thus force the mind to investigate in the way we've mentioned. Ferret out each part of the body so as to see it clearly, from the outside into the inside, or take just the inside and bring it out for a look. Look forwards and backwards, up and down, separating the body into pieces. You can imagine fire burning it into ashes and dust, or whatever other ways you can imagine it scattered into pieces, depending on what comes easiest to you. All count as ways in which your discernment is making itself ingenious and astute. When it's sufficiently developed, you'll be wise to all of these things, and they'll be clear to your heart without your having to ask anyone else about them at all. The more you investigate the body until you understand it clearly, the more clearly you will understand the affairs of feelings, mind, and phenomena, or feelings, labels, thought-formations, and cognizance, because all these things are whetstones for sharpening discernment step by step. It's the same as when we bail water out of a fish pond: The more water we bail out, the more clearly we'll see the fish. Or as when clearing a forest: The more vegetation we cut away, the more space we'll see. The things I've just mentioned are the factors that conceal the mind so that we can't clearly see the mental currents that flow out from the heart to its various preoccupations. When you use discernment to contemplate in this way, the currents of the heart will become plain. You'll see the rippling of the mind clearly every moment it occurs — and the heart itself will become plain, because mindfulness is strong and discernment quick. As soon as the mind ripples, mindfulness and discernment — which are there in the same place — will be able to keep track of it and resolve it in time. But be aware that in investigating the five khandhas or the four frames of reference (satipatthana), we aren't trying to take hold of these things as our paths, fruitions, and nibbana. We're trying to strip them away so as to see exactly what is the nature of the fish — namely, the heart containing all sorts of defilements. The more you investigate... You needn't count how many times you do it in a day. Focus instead on how expert and agile you can make your mind at investigating. The more you investigate — and the more skillful you get at investigating — the more the astuteness of your discernment, which is sharp and flashing as it deals with you yourself and with conditions of nature in general, will develop until it has no limit. You'll eventually have the knowledge and ability to realize that the conditions of nature you have been investigating in stages — beginning with sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations throughout the cosmos, and turning inward to your own body, feelings, labels, thought-formations, and cognizance — are not defilements, cravings, or mental effluents in any way. The heart alone is what has defilements, cravings, and mental effluents with which it binds itself. Nothing else has the power to reach into the heart so as to bind it. Aside from the heart that is ignorant about itself — searching for shackles for its neck and setting the fires of delusion to burn itself to no purpose — there are no traces of enemies to the heart anywhere at all. We can compare this to a knife, which is a tool made to benefit intelligent people, but which a foolish person grabs hold of to kill himself and then accuses the knife of being his enemy. What precedent is there for making such a charge? All conditions of nature in general are like useful tools, but a stupid person grabs hold of them to bind himself and then claims that the conditions of nature throughout the world have put their heads together to abuse him. Who can decide such a case? — for the plaintiff has already killed himself. If we decide that the instrument of death loses the case to the dead plaintiff, what sort of vindication is the plaintiff going to gain to give him any satisfaction? The heart that's deluded about itself and about its own affairs is in the same sort of predicament. Thus when discernment begins to penetrate in to know the conditions of nature — beginning with the body — it will also have to penetrate into the causal point. It will know clearly with its discernment the objects to which the mind tends to send its mental currents, and how strong or weak, many or few those currents are. It will come to see that the things that it used to see as enemies aren't really enemies at all. This is because of the power of discernment that has contemplated things carefully and correctly. At the same time, it will turn around to perceive the awareness inside itself as being its own enemy. This is because of the power of the discernment that sees clearly and comes in, letting go stage by stage, the things it can no longer hold to. This is why clear understanding through discernment — once it has realized that sights, sounds and so forth, on into the body, feelings, labels, thought-formations, and cognizance, are not enemies — must let them go stage by stage until they no longer remain in the heart. And as for this knowing nature: Before, we weren't able to tell whether it was harmful or beneficial, which is why we went about branding things all over the cosmos as being good or bad, beautiful or ugly, lovable or hateful, so amazing as to make us feel like floating or so dreary as to make us miserable and unable to sleep because of the dreariness: in short, making ourselves pleased, displeased, and endlessly miserable without our realizing it. What is the cause that makes the mind like a wheel, turning in cycles around itself, generating the fires of passion, aversion, and delusion to burn itself at all times? When discernment has contemplated things until they are clear, all conditions of nature, within and without, will be seen to have the same characteristics. None of them are enemies to anyone at all. You will see — the moment discernment removes all the things concealing it — that the only fault lies with this knowing nature. At this point, when the knower moves or ripples — blip! — you'll know immediately that the inner wheel is getting into the act. This is the troublemaker, heaping up misery. It's the direct cause of suffering and stress. Aside from this knowing nature, there is no cause of suffering and stress anywhere in the world. When we reach this level, only this awareness — this entire awareness — is the cause of suffering. When this fact becomes this clear to the heart through discernment, who would be willing to hold to this knower — this wheel — as his or her self? This is the subtle discernment, the automatic discernment in the principles of nature, that was trained by our forcing it in the beginning stages. The results now appear as an ingenuity and intelligence sufficient to the task. There's nothing wrong with calling it super-discernment. In addition to knowing the revolving mind that is the cause of stress, this discernment turns inward to know why that mind is a cause of stress, and how. Intent on knowing, it probes in after the reasons that reveal themselves. But for the most part when we reach this level, if our discernment hasn't really considered things with precision and thoroughness, we're sure to get stuck on this revolving awareness, because it's the supreme cause of the cycle — so deceptive and attractive that we as meditators don't realize our attachment to it. In addition to being deluded and attached without our realizing it, we may even spread this subtle form of delusion, through our misunderstanding, to delude many other people as well. So to let you know: This knowing nature, in terms of it marvelousness, is more marvelous than anything else. In terms of its radiance, it's more radiant than anything else, which is why we should call it a pit of burning embers secretly lying in wait for us. But no matter what, this knowing nature can't withstand the discernment that is its match in subtlety. We are sure to learn the truth from our discernment that this knowing nature is the foremost cause of suffering and stress. When we know this, this nature won't be able to stand. It will have to disintegrate immediately, just as when people smash a solid object to pieces with an iron bar. When this nature disintegrates after having been destroyed by discernment, a nature marvelous far above and beyond any conventional reality will appear in full measure. At the same moment, we will see the harm of what is harmful and the benefits of what is beneficial. The awareness of release will appear as dhammo padipo — the brightness of the Dhamma — in full radiance, like the sun that, when unobscured by clouds, lets the world receive the full radiance of its light. The result is that the awareness of release appears plainly to the heart of the meditator the moment unawareness has disbanded. This is the result. What the causes are, I've already explained to you: conviction, persistence, mindfulness, concentration, and discernment. This is the path to follow leading right to this point. It doesn't lead anywhere else. Whether you live at home, in a monastery, or in a forest, whether you're a woman or a man, ordained or not: If you have these five qualities always with you, you're heading toward this point. In other words, we all have the same full rights in the practice and in the results we'll receive. So I ask that all of you as meditators — and you know clearly that you are meditators and abstainers as well — I ask that you practice so as to develop your thoughts, words, and deeds, and that you fully abstain from things that are your enemies until you reach the goal — the release of nibbana — as I've already explained. None of these qualities lie beyond your mindfulness, discernment, and relentless effort. These are the teachings the Buddha gave to us as svakkhata-dhamma — the well-taught Dhamma. In other words, he rightly taught us the path to follow. He taught that the wrong path was really wrong, and the right path really right. And the results — release and nibbana — that come from following the right path were also rightly taught. The only problem is with those of us following the path: Will we really follow it rightly or not? If we follow it rightly in line with what the Buddha taught, the results are sure to appear as sammadeva asavehi vimuccati — right release from all defilements and mental effluents. So for this reason you should make an effort to train your mindfulness and discernment at every moment and not just in any one particular position. Don't think that this is making too much of an effort. The more you understand, the more ingenious you become, the more you can cure defilement, the more you gain release from suffering and stress: These are the results we all want step by step until we really gain release with nothing left. In other words, we gain release while we're conscious and aware in this lifetime, while overseeing these five khandhas. This is the most certain Dhamma — because the word svakkhata-dhamma, the Dhamma rightly taught by the Buddha, doesn't mean that it's right only after we die. It's also right while we are practicing it, and the results that come in line with our efforts appear clearly to the hearts of meditators while they are alive. As for the methods or techniques you use to train your hearts, I ask to leave them up to each person's intelligence and ingenuity in the course of making the effort in the practice. You have to notice which positions are most helpful in your practice. Don't simply sit and keep on sitting, or walk and keep on walking. You have to remember to notice what results and benefits you get from your efforts as well, because different people may find themselves more or less suited to the four different positions of sitting, standing, walking, and lying down. Today I've explained the Dhamma to all of you from the beginning to the final point of my ability, so I feel that this should be enough for now. I ask that each of you take the Dhamma that I've explained today and that you have encountered in your practice, and make it food for thought or a companion to your practice. The results you will receive can in no way deviate from today's explanation. So I'll ask to stop here. Evam

The Savor of the Dhamma December 13, 1981 The mind constantly coerced or oppressed at all times and the mind absolutely released from that coercion and oppression are two very different things — so different that there is no conventional reality that can be compared to the mind released. This sort of mind doesn't lie in the realm of conventional reality in such a way that anything may rightly be compared to it in keeping with the reality of its nature. Even though some comparisons can be made, they're simply a manner of speaking. They aren't really in line with the truth of that nature as it exists. We have to make comparisons simply because the world has its conventions and analogies. We see prisoners in jail who are coerced and oppressed, who are deprived of their freedom at all times beginning from the day of their imprisonment to the day of their release. What sort of happiness do they have? Even though they may have their laughter, in line with the things that may make them laugh, it's still the laughter of prisoners. Just hearing the word 'prisoner' is enough to tell us that happiness isn't what produces their laughter. Their penalty is what produces their laughter. It keeps coercing and oppressing them. So where can we find any happiness and pleasure among them? We can take this and compare it inwardly to the state of affairs between the mind and the defilements that coerce and oppress it. These things control and coerce it with every mental moment. Even when the mind isn't forming any thoughts, it's still controlled and coerced in this way, in line with its nature. When this is the case, where can it find any true happiness? The happiness it does have is happiness like the food fed to prisoners. And what sort of food is that? Even though we may never have been imprisoned, we know what sort of food is fed to prisoners. Is there anything satisfying about it, the food they feed prisoners? The foods — the temptations — with which the defilements feed the mind, if we were to speak in the way of the world, are simply to keep it from dying, in the same way that prisoners are fed. The defilements feed the mind so that it can be put to work, in the same way that prisoners are fed so that they can be put to work, so that we can get the fruits of their labor. The food for the mind that the defilements bring to sustain us is thus like the food fed to prisoners. There's no difference at all. If we compare them, that's the way they are. But if we look from a different angle, we can see that prisoners are still better off than we are, because they know that they eat their food out of necessity. They don't eat it out of satisfaction with it or its taste or anything, because there's nothing at all gratifying about the food they are fed. But we meditators are still content to be attached to the flavor of worldly pleasures, so we're said to be stuck. When we're attached to visual objects, it's because we find flavor in them. When we're attached to sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations, it's simply because we find flavor in them. It's not the case that the only flavor is the flavor we taste with the tongue. All forms of contact — with the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind — have their flavor, and we've been attached to them in such a way that we haven't even realized our attachment for aeons and aeons. The mind is attached, bound, and feels love for these things without knowing that they are flavors that tie us down, that they are all matters of defilement: the flavors of defilement. So we are attached to the point where we will never know the harm of these flavors at all if we don't use mindfulness and discernment to investigate them wisely. Regardless of how many aeons may pass, we will have to be attached to these flavors, engrossed in these flavors, without ever coming to our senses. This is the ingenuity, the cleverness of the defilements. How ingenious and clever are they? If you want to know, then set your heart on the practice. And don't forget what I'm saying here. Someday it's sure to become clear to your heart as a result of your earnest practice. There's no escaping it. Listen carefully to the Buddha's words: 'The flavor of the Dhamma surpasses all other flavors.' What sort of flavor is the flavor of the Dhamma that it has to surpass all other flavors? Those other flavors are the flavors of the food of prisoners, imprisoned in the wheel of death and rebirth through the power of defilement. They aren't food or flavors that can keep the heart satisfied. They aren't true flavors. They aren't the flavors of the truth. They're the flavors of the counterfeits that the defilements whip up into being for us to touch or to eat. They aren't the flavors of the true Dhamma. The flavor of the Dhamma will begin to appear when the mind is centered in concentration. As soon as the mind begins to be still, pleasure will begin to appear as its flavor, depending on the amount of stillness in line with the levels of its tranquillity. When we say 'levels of tranquillity', don't go thinking that they're separate steps, like those of a ladder. It's simply a way of speaking. Actually, they're all connected, from the pleasure of basic concentration progressively up to the levels of refined concentration. The pleasure that arises will become correspondingly more and more refined. This counts as one of the flavors of the Dhamma — the Dhamma of concentration, the Dhamma of peace — in the levels of the stillness of the mind. As soon as the mind has stillness for its food, it lets go of its concerns for the various flavors of sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations step by step, because the flavor of this stillness begins to excel them. Even this is enough to begin excelling all other flavors. Even more so when the mind begins to investigate things with its discernment, analyzing them in terms of the three characteristics or the meditation theme of unattractiveness — because in the beginning we tend to develop the theme of unattractiveness, contemplating every part of our own body and the bodies of others, inside and out, as seems most appropriate and natural for us to investigate, because they all share the same conditions for us to see clearly step by step: The flavor of the Dhamma will then intensify, becoming an ingenious flavor. And in addition to being an ingenious flavor, it's a flavor that comes from being able to let go. The nature of the mind is such that once it investigates anything to the point of seeing it clearly, it lets go. When it hasn't let go, when it grasps with attachment, these are the chains and fetters with which defilement keeps it bound. The defilements confer titles, telling us, 'This is good. That's pretty. This is beautiful.' They never tell us that the body is filthy, ugly, inconstant, stressful, and not-self — not belonging to us or to anyone else. These are things the defilements never tell us, never mention, never suggest in line with the principles of the truth. Instead, they bring their own principles in to interfere with the Dhamma, telling us just the opposite — that this or that is beautiful, lasting, valuable — denying the truth every step of the way because they are very powerful. For this reason, we need to keep track of their deceits, counteracting and removing them, by using such qualities as mindfulness and discernment. Our world is entirely stuck in the deceits of defilement. When discernment has investigated inward, in line with the principles of unattractiveness as we have already mentioned, and in line with the three characteristics of inconstancy, stress, and not-self, probing and analyzing back and forth, time and again, the truths that the defilements have kept concealed will be revealed in line with these principles of truth — because these principles are truth pure and simple. There's nothing counterfeit about them. What's counterfeit — our false views — are an affair of defilement, not an affair of the Dhamma. We will be able truly to see things as they are — without a doubt — once we can remove the counterfeit things that conceal them. For example, beauty: Where, exactly, is the body beautiful? What is there about it that you can claim to be beautiful? If you speak in terms of the principles of the truth, how can you even look at the human body? It's entirely filled with filthiness, both within and without, which is why we have to keep washing it all the time. Even the clothing and other articles on which the body depends have to be dirty because the main part — the body — is a well of filth within and without. Whatever it comes into contact with — robes, clothing, dwelling, bedding — has to become dirty as well. Wherever human beings live becomes dirty, but we don't see the truth, mainly because we aren't interested in looking. As meditators we should investigate so as to see this truth. Don't run away from it. This is the genuine truth. The things that fool us into seeing the body as beautiful are counterfeit and false. So. Look into your body. Which part can you claim to be beautiful, to contend with the truth of the Dhamma? Look for it. Is there any part that dares claim to be above the Dhamma and more true than the Dhamma — unless it's simply more false than the Dhamma? The fact that the Dhamma isn't appearing in our heart is because at the moment falseness is more powerful, more established, and conceals things completely. Even though there's filth throughout the body both within and without, we're still able to regard it as beautiful and lasting. The issues between truth and falsity lie within our body and mind, because the defilements themselves lie within the mind and spread their power out throughout the various parts of the body, and then splash out beyond, throughout the world of rebirth, saying that this is us, that's ours, everything is us, ours, beautiful, lasting, enjoyable — depending on the song with which the defilements, the deceivers, fool the mind into jumping, bouncing, and spinning much more than a soccer ball. And what happiness can we find in jumping along with all the deceits we've mentioned here? If we haven't yet awakened and come to our senses, when will we, and where? If the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha hasn't awakened us meditators, who in the world will be able to awaken us? As they say, 'svakkhato bhagavata dhammo': 'The Dhamma of the Buddha is rightly taught' — rightly taught in a way clear to see, with nothing hidden or esoteric. What's hidden about it? If we look with our eyes, we'll see in line with what I've said here. So. Look on in, from the skin on in. Skin-scum and sweat-scum: Is there anything good about them? Anything clean and beautiful? If they were clean, how could we call them scum? Then look on inside. What is there inside that can contend with the Dhamma and claim to be pretty and beautiful? The Dhamma tells us that there's nothing pretty or beautiful in there, that it's all filthy. So which part is going to contend with the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha? If the Dhamma is false, if the Buddha didn't teach it rightly, then find something to prove it wrong. All of the things that the Dhamma criticizes: When you penetrate into them with discernment, you'll find that that's just how they are. There's no point with which you can argue. All of these things have been true ever since before we investigated them, but the defilements have closed our eyes to them. Even though we see them, we don't see them for what they are. Even though filth fills the body, the defilements deny it entirely and turn it into something beautiful — and we believe them, without looking at the Dhamma that's waving its arms at us, ready to help us at all times, as if it were calling to us: 'Hold on. Hold on to the Dhamma. Hurry up, and you'll escape from danger. Hurry and let go of the defilements. They're a fire burning you.' See what happens when you smash the defilements to bits. Fight with them until you have no more breath to breathe. That's when the Dhamma will fully reveal itself in every facet for you to see clearly. This is the way of digging into the things that conceal so as to uncover the truth: the genuine Dhamma. If we see the truth, we begin to see the genuine Dhamma step by step. Even on the level of stillness, we're already not embroiled with anything, because we have the savor of the Dhamma. The heart can drink of the Dhamma: mental peace and calm. The heart doesn't jump or run, isn't vain or proud, restless or distracted, flying out after various preoccupations, because it has found a satisfying food to sustain it. When we use discernment to investigate — to prepare our food, so to speak — to make it even more exquisite than the food of tranquillity, turning it into the food of discernment, this has a flavor even more exquisite and refined, without limit, which comes from investigating and analyzing the body, the theme of our meditation. The basic principle on which we depend to counteract and remove the defilements lies right here, which is why the Buddha focuses his teachings right here. It wouldn't work to focus anywhere else, because this is the primary place where living beings are attached. Attachments outside come second to this. When we have investigated so as to see in line with this truth, step by step, without retreating in our investigation or letting it lapse until we have clearly understood, then the point of 'enough' in our investigation, together with the point where we let go of our attachments, will appear of its own accord through the power of the discernment that has removed all things concealing, has dismantled all things counterfeit so as to see the truth clearly in the heart. Discernment on this level will then stop of its own accord. As for the affairs of attachment, we needn't say anything, because they are simply the results of delusion. Wherever knowledge penetrates, delusion will immediately retreat, so how can attachment remain? It will have to retreat without a doubt. The more we investigate in preparing our food — the flavor of the Dhamma — through the power of mindfulness and discernment, unraveling things to see them clearly for what they are, the more the mind becomes light and airy. Disenchanted and dismayed. 'How long have I been attached this way? Why have I dared to make things up in such a bull-headed way?' This is the exclamation with which we reproach ourselves — because things actually haven't been what we've made them up to be. So why have we made them up that way? We then immediately see through the make-believe that has led to this state of affairs, because discernment is what penetrates and makes its choices. How will it not know what's true and what's not? If we analyze the body to pieces, we can clearly see that it's a living cemetery. When it dies, it's a dead cemetery. How can we stand to look at it? Look all over the world: Is there any place where there are no cemeteries? There are cemeteries wherever living beings dwell. Investigate on down to the truth. Is our discernment for us to make into food? It's for us to cure our bankruptcy, so that we can escape from being prisoners held in custody by the defilements. Why shouldn't we be able to escape? The Dhamma of the Lord Buddha is perfectly suited to us human beings, which is why he taught it to the human world. He saw this as the central point of existence, the most appropriate place. There's no one more intelligent than the Buddha, the foremost Teacher who taught the Dhamma to the most appropriate place: our human world. At the moment, what are we? We're human beings. Of this we're certain. In addition, we're monks — meditating monks at that, so why shouldn't we be able to seize the excellence of the flavor of the Dhamma to taste as our own treasure through our own practice? If we aren't capable, who in the world is capable? To whom should we hand over this capability? At the moment, whose hearts are being squeezed by suffering and stress? Aren't these things squeezing our own hearts? So to whom are we going to hand over this capability? To whom are we going to hand over all the duties and responsibilities involved in attaining freedom? Should we hand them over to suffering? We already have suffering in our hearts. The only thing to do is to remove suffering and stress through persistent effort. We're fighters. We have to be defiant. We can't let ourselves say retreat. So. Whatever the pain, however great it may be, we're ready for it. The pain and suffering that come with the effort won't lead us to bankruptcy. They're better than the pain and suffering that are already putting a squeeze on us at all times and serve no purpose at all. So dig on down, meditators. This is one step in the investigation. The Buddha teaches us to visit cemeteries because we don't yet see the cemetery within. We first have to visit external cemeteries to open the way for bringing the mind into our own internal cemetery. It's full of corpses. Aside from the fact that the body itself is a cemetery, the corpses of all sorts of animals fill our belly. What sorts of things have been stuffed in there? For how long? Why don't we look at this cemetery? Look so as to see it clearly. Unattractiveness, inconstancy, stress, and not-self are all heaped right here. We don't have to go looking for them anywhere else. When we look in terms of changeability — inconstancy — we can see it clearly. The body keeps changing all the time, from the day it's born to the day it dies. Even feelings keep changing in their way: pleasure, pain, and indifference, both in body and mind. They keep spinning around in this way. When do they ever stop? If we have any mindfulness and discernment, why don't we see these things as they do their work in line with their natural principles? If we use our mindfulness and discernment, we have to see, we have to know. These things can't be kept hidden. They can't be kept hidden from mindfulness and discernment. We have to see right through them. There's no doubt about this. Stress. Which part of the body gives us any pleasure or ease? There's nothing but stress and pain filling the body. We've constantly had to tend and care for the body so that it has been able to survive this far, so are we still going to be attracted to this mass of fire? Not-self. The Buddha has already proclaimed it. 'It's not the self. Don't mess with it.' As if he were slapping our wrists: 'Don't reach for it. Don't touch. It's dangerous.' Whenever you say that it's you or yours, your attachment is like grabbing fire, so extricate yourself, using discernment. See these things as being truly inconstant, stressful, and not-self. The mind then won't dare to reach for them or touch them. Step by step it will let go of its burdens — its attachments, which are a heavy weight. When the mind extricates itself from its attachments, it becomes lighter and lighter, more and more at ease. The savor of the Dhamma will appear step by step, even more exquisite than on the level of concentration. When the flavor of the Dhamma surpasses the flavor of these various defilements, they have to be discarded and trampled underfoot. The physical khandha — the body — is important. It has a really great impact on the mind. To love it is to suffer. To hate it is to suffer. To be angry with it is to suffer. The affairs connected with the body are more prominent than any others. If the mind has no stillness, there's nowhere it can find any relief. There's nowhere we as monks can retreat to find any pleasure. For this reason, we must try to still our minds and make use of the Dhamma to attack our defilements. Don't feel any regret for the time it takes. Don't feel any regret for the cycles of rebirth, for the prison, for our wardens and torturers: the various kinds of defilement. These have been our greatest torturers from time immemorial. Even though we may not remember for how long, simply hold to the principle of the present as your primary guide and they'll all be scattered. The past, no matter how long, is simply a matter of this same mass of suffering. If we can't shed it, these things will have to continue this way forever. Don't be interested in any other matters. Keep watch of the truth — which is within you, proclaiming itself at all times — by using mindfulness, discernment, conviction, and persistence. Don't let up or retreat. Don't see anything as having greater value than the effort of extricating yourself from these things that coerce and oppress you. You'll then be able to make something extraordinary of yourself. Whether or not you give yourself titles, make sure at least that you aren't burdened or attached right here. This is where the Buddha says the highest savor is found. Uproot the things that involve and entangle you each step along the way. Keep cutting your way in, beginning with the physical heap — the body — which is one wall or one thick covering. Once you've passed the physical heap, ransacked this physical heap and known it clearly with understanding, without any remaining ties, it's as if you have amassed a large pile of capital, clear to your heart. You can be certain of progressing to release at one point or another in this present lifetime, with no need to anticipate it as happening in this year or that. Once the mind has attained this level, you can be sure of yourself. Persistence comes on its own. The pain and difficulties that come from making the effort are completely erased of their own accord, because the flavor of the Dhamma appearing clearly to the heart has a power far overriding the pains that come from the persistent effort. The heart becomes motivated through the principles of its nature. Persistence keeps spinning in the person who used to be lazy. Laziness is a matter of the defilements resisting and fighting the Dhamma. When we start out making the effort, then laziness, weakness, discouragement, pain, and difficulty all come thronging in, oppressing us so that we can't take a step, and we finally fall down with a crash. That shows we've been shot. They don't have to shoot us a second time. One shot and we're down — down on the pillow, snoring away. We keep getting shot by the defilements, again and again, till we're thoroughly mangled. Our efforts don't amount to anything. If this is the way things are, then we'll be sunk in the round of rebirth, sunk in the prison of the wheel of rebirth forever, with never a day when we'll gain release, never a day when we'll be free. So slash away at the defilements, using the principles of the Dhamma that the Buddha taught and aren't otherwise. You'll then have to gain release from these things that coerce and oppress you without a doubt. The important points are persistence, mindfulness, discernment, and endurance. So. Keep enduring. What's wrong with endurance for the sake of making your way? Other things you can endure. Physical pain to the brink of death: No one else can endure it for you. You have to endure it for yourself. Haven't you already endured it before? So why can't you endure the pains and deprivations that come with the effort of the practice? After all, you endure them for the sake of the effort to extricate yourself from suffering. So why can't you endure them? Make it strong, your heart as a monk, your heart as a meditator. Once you've seen the dangers pointed out by the Dhamma, you'll see the benefits arising through your efforts. In the beginning, you have to grapple a great deal with the body as your meditation theme. Once you've opened your way and seen causes and results as your starting capital, then the four mental khandhas — vedana, sañña, sankhara, and viññana — have already gotten into the act. There are feelings in the body as well as in the mind, so when you're investigating the body, how can these things not rush in to connect? They're related phenomena. It's not the case that you finish investigating the body before you start investigating vedana, sañña, sankhara, and viññana. Don't plan on things being that way, because it's wrong. In the truth of the practice, that's not the way things are. Once your work is focused on any one point, it has an impact on everything else, but these things become prominent only after the body has lost its meaning and value for us through the Dhamma. Before, we saw it as having a great deal of meaning and value, but once the Dhamma — the truth — has demolished the falsity of this sort of defilement and craving, these things lose their meaning and worth. The Dhamma now clearly has a value above and beyond them. This is when vedana, sañña, sankhara, and viññana become prominent, because they've already opened the way from the stage of the physical body. What is there to feelings? For the most part, they converge in on feelings of the mind. As for physical feelings, I've already explained them to you before. If you analyze them when you're sick or have been sitting in meditation for a long time, you'll know them. If you want to know them, focus on them today, using mindfulness and discernment, and you'll understand them. You're sure to understand them clearly if you use discernment. Don't simply endure them. To contend with pain, you have to use discernment. Simply fighting it, simply enduring it, doesn't count as the path. The path is mindfulness and discernment. The greater the pain, the more these things spin into work. You can't let mindfulness and discernment leave the point of the pain. As for the body, each part will be seen clearly as a reality in line with its nature, within the mind, because in accordance with the principles of nature that's what they already are. No matter how much pain arises in the body, it's its own separate reality. Onl