The Power of Goodness October 4, 1960

The Power of Goodness
October 4, 1960

The goodness we’ve been developing here: Don’t forget it. It’s bound to bear fruit. Don’t underestimate it, thinking that the little things we’ve been doing here won’t bear much fruit. Don’t underestimate it at all.

There are examples from the time of the Buddha. Some of the monks and novices, after ordaining, weren’t able to cut through their defilements. They were only able to thin them out a bit, so they got discouraged and disrobed. After disrobing they had to find a livelihood: sometimes in ways that were honest, sometimes in ways that were not. Those who got involved in dishonest ways were caught by the civil authorities and imprisoned.

One example was a student of Sāriputta. He ordained to develop his goodness, but when he didn’t get the results he had hoped for he disrobed and became a thief. After a while he was caught and sentenced to death. Before he was to be executed, the civil authorities decided to torture him for seven days as an example to the general public so as to discourage other people from breaking the law. The king ordered his officials to sharpen some wood and iron spears to a super-fine point, to plant them in rows, and then to have the thief sit and lie on the spear points so that they would skewer his body, causing him to be bathed in blood and to experience excruciating pain. They would do this three times a day—morning, noon, and evening—calling the people of the city to come and see an example of how thieves have to suffer.

The plan was to have the thief tortured like this for seven days and then to behead him, but the thief still had some good karma left over from the time he had studied with Sāriputta. Sāriputta had taught him to follow some of the ascetic practices and to meditate, and he had been able to develop his mind to the level of the first jhāna. But the first jhāna wasn’t enough to withstand his defilements and cravings, which is why he had disrobed.

It so happened that on the sixth day, Sāriputta, through his great compassion—after all, there were times when he, in the Buddha’s stead, had helped teach the populace to practice the Dhamma—used the powers of his meditation to check up on his students who were still ordained, as well as those who had disrobed to return to the lay life, to see where they were and how they were doing. Because of the goodness that the thief had developed with Sāriputta, a light appeared to Sāriputta in which he saw that his student was being tortured and was scheduled to be beheaded the next day. 

On seeing this, Sāriputta contemplated the student’s reserves of goodness, seeing that he still had some potential, but that it had all withered away. Even so, some of the goodness he had developed was still buried there inside him. Even though defilements had enwrapped his heart, there was still some goodness there.

On realizing this, Sāriputta went on his almsround in the early morning to the area where his student was being tortured. His student was lying on his bed of spears as Sāriputta came near. 

The place was thronged with people running around in excitement, some of them excited about seeing Sāriputta, some of them excited about seeing the thief being tortured. It so happened that the crowd parted briefly, enough for Sāriputta’s student to see the edge of his teacher’s robe. Sāriputta spread thoughts of goodwill, which the student could feel and which served as a guarantee of his presence, but that was as close as he could get.

On seeing Sāriputta the student felt overjoyed, thinking, “Tomorrow I’m going to have to take my leave of my teacher—I’m going to be executed.” At the thought of bowing down to his teacher, he remembered Sāriputta’s meditation instructions, and so he started to practice jhāna, stilling his mind in concentration. 

When his mind grew still, he reflected on death, thinking, “Tomorrow they’re going to get me for sure. There’s no doubt about that.” So he reflected further: “Where is death? Where does death happen?” And he came to the realization that death lies at the end of your nose: If the breath stops, that’s it. But as long as you’re still breathing, then even if you’re being brutally tortured, you’re not dead.

So he started to practice mindfulness of breathing. As soon as he got focused on the breath, the breath grew absolutely still and his blood stopped flowing from his wounds. When the blood stopped flowing, his wounds closed up and healed. When his wounds were healed, he felt a sense of rapture and joy over how much his meditation had been able to overcome the pain.

So he surveyed the parts of his body—hair of the head, hair of the body, nails, teeth, skin—back and forth, over and over again, until all the severed parts of his body connected back up again. 

When the parts of his body gained strength like this, he was able to sit up in full lotus on the tips of the spears and to enter into jhāna: the first jhāna, the second, the third, and the fourth. 

On entering into the fourth jhāna, his body became as light as a tuft of cotton and stronger than the wood and iron spears. The tips of the spears couldn’t penetrate his body any more. 

Finally, his mind entered fixed penetration and he made a vow: “If I escape with my life, I’m going back to live with my teacher.” 

He focused his mind in the fourth jhāna, with its two factors. The first was singleness of preoccupation: not involved with anything at all; the thought that they were going to execute him had disappeared completely. The second factor was mindfulness, bright and dazzling. And in that light of mindfulness he was able to see his teacher. So he made another determination: “I’m going to go stay with my teacher.” 

As soon as he made this determination, his body levitated up into the air and went to where Sāriputta was. After rejoining his teacher, he vowed he would never do anything evil ever again. 

So he practiced meditation and came out of the whole affair alive. He didn’t become an arahant or anything, but he did come out alive.

This goes to show that even though the goodness we develop doesn’t meet with our expectations right away, we shouldn’t underestimate it. 

Goodness is like fire. You shouldn’t underestimate fire, for a single match can destroy an entire city. Goodness has power in just the same way. This is why the Buddha taught us not to underestimate the goodness we develop. Even though it seems to be just a tiny bit, it has the power to ward off unfortunate events, to turn heavy into light, and to keep us safe and secure. This is one point to remember.

Another point is that people are like plants. Say that you plant some squash seeds in the ground: You want the seeds to grow and give you squash right away, but they can’t do that. 

Still, the nature of what you’ve planted will grow bit by bit, and after a while will give you the squash you want. But if you sit there and watch it to see how much the squash plant grows in a day, an hour, a minute, to see how many centimeters the shoot will grow, can you measure it? 

No, of course not. But do you believe that it’s growing every day? Sure. If it weren’t growing, how would it get so long over time? 

The same holds true with however much or little goodness we develop: Even though we don’t see the results right away, they’re sure to come. You can know how much good you’ve done in a day, but you can’t know how much goodness has resulted from your actions. Still, if you ask whether there are results, you have to answer Yes. 

It’s like the squash plant: You can’t see it growing, but you know that it grows. Even though the goodness you’ve been doing doesn’t seem to be developing, you shouldn’t underestimate it.

Another point is that some people are like banana trees. The nature of banana trees is that if you cut them off at the trunk and then come back in an hour, you’ll see that a new shoot has grown a whole inch from the top. In two or three days, the shoot will have grown a foot or two. 

Some people are like this. They get fast results, extraordinary results, and develop all kinds of abilities. For example, they can get quickly into jhāna and then clearly explain what they’ve experienced to other people.

The same thing happened in the time of the Buddha. Take Cūḷapanthaka, for example: He had worked at developing goodness for a long time, but when he finally got the hang of the meditation, practicing with a sense of wounded pride after being scorned by his friends, he got results right away. 

The story is this: Once, when he was staying with a group of 500 monks headed by the Buddha, a moneylender invited the whole group for a meal at his home. Cūḷapanthaka’s older brother, Mahāpanthaka, was the meal distributor. Whoever came with an invitation, it was Mahāpanthaka’s duty to inform the other monks. 

Now, Mahāpanthaka was ashamed of his younger brother for being so lazy and torpid in his meditation, nodding off all the time. So, thinking that Cūḷapanthaka didn’t deserve to eat food in anyone’s home, Mahāpanthaka decided not to include him in the invitation. He invited only the remaining 499 monks, headed by the Buddha, to go to the moneylender’s meal. 

When the group arrived at the moneylender’s home and all the monks were served, one tray of food was left over. So the moneylender asked Mahāpanthaka why the monks didn’t number the full 500 he had asked for; Mahāpanthaka informed him that Cūḷapanthaka hadn’t been included in the invitation.

The moneylender then went to the Buddha. The Buddha, knowing that Cūḷapanthaka was meditating back at the monastery, told the moneylender that Cūḷapanthaka was an important monk: The moneylender would have to send one of his servants to invite him to the meal. But because the Buddha wanted the moneylender to see the powers Cūḷapanthaka had developed, he didn’t explain how to go about making the invitation. He let the moneylender’s servant go to see for himself; only then would he explain.

As for Cūḷapanthaka, his pride had been so wounded that he decided to go without food and to sit in meditation that day. It so happened that he entered the fourth jhāna: Never since the day of his birth had his meditation progressed so far. On reaching the fourth jhāna, he entered the fifth, making his mind clear, bright, and blooming, and giving rise to supernormal strengths both in body and mind.

It was at that point that the moneylender’s servant arrived at the monastery. Cūḷapanthaka saw him and made a mental determination, causing monks—all of them images of himself—to fill the monastery. Some were sitting in meditation, some were doing walking meditation, some were washing their robes. The servant went to ask one of the monks where Cūḷapanthaka was, and the monk pointed to another part of the monastery. He went to that part of the monastery and asked one of the monks there, who pointed to still another part of the monastery. This kept up until the time for the meal was almost over, and yet the servant couldn’t locate Cūḷapanthaka at all. So he ran back to the moneylender’s house.

The Buddha at this point knew that Cūḷapanthaka had perfected his psychic powers and from now on wouldn’t be scorned by his friends, so he told the servant to go back and make the invitation again, but this time he told him how to do it. How was that? When the servant asked one of the monks where Cūḷapanthaka was, then as soon as the monk was about to open his mouth, the servant should grab him by the arm before he had a chance to speak. 

So the servant did as he was told. He went back to the monastery, which was still filled with monks, and asked one of the monks where Cūḷapanthaka was. As the monk started to point to another part of the monastery, the servant grabbed hold of his arm. The instant he grabbed the monk by the arm, all the other monks in the monastery disappeared, leaving only the monk he was holding. So he invited that monk to the meal at the moneylender’s home.

From that point on Cūḷapanthaka became one of the prominent monks of the Saṅgha, with all sorts of extraordinary psychic abilities. He was able to stand in the sun without getting hot, to walk in the rain without getting wet, to travel great distances in no time at all. He could make himself appear in many places at once: in forests, cemeteries, and other places as well. He developed all kinds of powers. As a result, he was able to get over his wounded pride from being scorned by his friends, and instead became one of the more extraordinary of the Buddha’s prominent disciples.

This is the power of goodness. Some people gain extraordinary powers and wide-ranging abilities: mature in their concentration, mature in their insight, able to reach nibbāna in this very life. All of this comes from the goodness, the perfections they’ve developed. So we should take pride in the goodness we’ve been developing, too.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

From "The Power of Goodness" in The Heightened Mind: Dhamma Talks of Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo, translated by Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu.  

https://www.dhammatalks.org/books/HeightenedMind/Section0019.html

“Whoever was heedless before, but afterwards is not, he illumines this world like the full moon freed from clouds.” (Dhp v 172)

 “Whoever was heedless before, but afterwards is not, 
he illumines this world like the full moon freed from clouds.” 
(Dhp v 172)

1. Not to Associate with Fools

Those who do not observe basic morality are called fools. One may be learned in the sense of knowing Dhamma, Vinaya, and Abhidhamma, but if one does not observe moral conduct, one is a fool since shameless and immoral behaviour leads to suffering in this life and the next. Fools hold wrong views, that is why they do immoral deeds, and neglect to do wholesome deeds. 

In the ultimate sense, not to associate with fools means to remain aloof from foolishness. Whenever one meets others, one should focus on and encourage wise conduct, and overlook or discourage foolish conduct.

2. To Associate with the Wise

Conversely, the wise are those who observe basic morality carefully. The wise cultivate wholesome deeds such as charity, morality, meditation, reverence, service, learning the Dhamma, etc., and they hold right views. Wise friends restrain us from evil and urge us to do good.

In the ultimate sense, to associate with the wise means to reflect constantly on the qualities of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. 

3. To Honour Those Worthy of Honour

 People are worthy of honour for many reasons. One should respect those who provide material and spiritual benefits: parents, teachers, employers, monks, public servants, etc. One should also respect those with more refined morality, greater learning, or greater age. Respect may be shown in various ways, by service, homage, etc.

4. Living in a Suitable Locality

To fulfil the preceding three blessings, one should live in the right place. In some places it is difficult to meet wise and learned teachers who can explain the deeper meaning of the Dhamma. Wherever Buddhism has become well-established there will be many qualified Dhamma teachers, but there will also be many selfish teachers who emphasise charity for the sake of their own material welfare. In general, people get the kind of teacher that they deserve. 

If you are living close to a wise teacher, it is a rare and great blessing.

5. Good Deeds Done in the Past

To have the power to choose where to live, and who to associate with, one must have accumulated merits in the past. Most people have a limited choice, and so have to live wherever they can find regular employment and an affordable home. It is very rare indeed to meet a living Buddha or even to hear his genuine teaching. Even if one is born in a Buddhist country, a truly wise teacher is hard to come across, and his time is always in great demand. 

One who has done many meritorious deeds is born in a devout Buddhist family and gets many opportunities to learn and practice the Dhamma. One who is more interested in sensual pleasures will not gravitate towards Dhamma centres.

6. Setting Oneself in the Right Course

It takes wisdom and patience to build good character. One who fulfils all of the preceding blessings, will be naturally inclined to cultivate virtue, but most people will have to make special efforts to avoid wrong doing and correct their defects. Knowing one’s faults is a good start, but we need great humility, honesty, and patience to correct ourselves.

The teachings of Ajahn Suchart.

 The teachings of Ajahn Suchart.

Question: We are advised to avoid foolish people, what if they are our parents or our siblings?

Tan Ajahn: If you can live in a different place, move out. If you don’t have to live with them, move out. But if you have to stay with them, don’t let them influence you—that’s all. 

If they want to tell you to do things that you know are inappropriate, you just don’t have to do them. It is not disrespectful or ungrateful. If your parents tell you to cheat or lie, you don’t have to do it. If they ask you to drink alcohol, you don’t have to do it. 

You can live with people, but you must not let them lead you down the wrong path. Of course, it will be easier just not to live with them, but if you have to, make sure that you don’t let them influence you or lead you astray.

“Dhamma for the Asking, Dec 2, 2014”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto

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The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart.

The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart.

4 October 2023

Question:  I would like to ask about your understanding on the teaching of the middle way and how should we put it into our present practice?

Than Ajahn:  The middle way means whatever way that is appropriate for you. You have this much strength, which means you can only do so much and if you try to do more than what you can do, you will not be able to do it. If you do less than what you should do, then you’re not moving forward fast enough. 

Like walking caṅkama, how many hours can you walk? 

See, you can only walk for so long. Once you can no longer walk, then you should stop. 

Don’t try to set up a standard that you cannot achieve yet. 

This is what it means by the middle way: middle way according to your ability. 

There is another meaning of middle way: middle way according to your defilement. 

If your defilement comes up strong, you should react strongly. If your defilement comes up weak, then you react softly. You react appropriate to your defilement. 

So, you have to keep adjusting your practice to suit your situation. Sometimes, you need to put in effort as much as possible and sometimes, you don’t need to push yourself so hard and you can take it easy. 

But basically, the middle path means to stay with the ‘4 Dhamma,’ meaning mindfulness and exertion. 

You should exert on developing mindfulness. Once you have strong enough mindfulness, you should sit and develop samādhi. When you’ve developed samādhi, when you’ve got jhāna, then you should develop wisdom by contemplating on the three characteristics of existence, contemplating on asubha, contemplating on the repulsive nature of food, to get rid of your desire. 

This is what it means by the middle way: you don’t practise other things but to develop sati (mindfulness), samādhi and paññā and you develop them according to your ability, not too much and not too little. Do as much as you can. 

The Buddha compares it to the stringing of a violin. 

When you string a violin, if you string it too tight, it can break. If you don’t string it tight enough, it won’t make a good sound. So, you have to find the right amount of tension, how much tension you should stretch the string. Because sometimes if you try so hard and you cannot get the result, you can become discouraged so, you just have to say, ‘Right now, I have enough strength to achieve this result.’ 

You should be patient. You have to develop the thing that will make you get the result. 

Maybe your mindfulness is not strong enough yet so you should go back to develop more mindfulness.

“Dhamma in English, Feb 14, 2019.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto

www.phrasuchart.com

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The mind is the more important part than your body.

 The teachings of Ajahn Suchart

“The mind is the more important part than your body.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Layperson: Everyone wants to have a stronger body, to provide better food for their children, to get richer, to become sexier or better looking so he can find a better partner and can have a better descendant genetically. But you are the example of how one should be in the natural wilderness.

Than Ajahn: Because we are using different measurements. Lay people use the body as their measurement. They have to have all these (material) things to make them happy. Monks use the mind as the measurement, not the body. And the happiness of the mind doesn’t rely on all these (material) things.

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Layperson: When I saw you, I saw my future, but a very far future.

Than Ajahn: It takes time. You just read the books and you will get to see the world in a different light. Right now you only see things in a very close perspective. You base your understanding about yourself on your body, not on your mind.

In our lives, we are not only made up of our bodies, but we are also made up of our minds. But unfortunately, the mind is invisible, so we cannot see the mind. We can only see the bodies and we think that the bodies are all we have. So, we concentrate all our efforts to look after the bodies, to give all kinds of happiness to the bodies, and in so doing we are neglecting our minds and making the minds miserable.

No matter how much money you have, your mind will still be miserable. This is the part that you’ve neglected. The mind is the more important part than your body. Because your body is temporary. At most it only lasts for 100 years, but the mind lasts forever. So, if you take care of your mind and make it happy then you will be happy forever.

The mind doesn’t need the body to be happy but due to the delusion, you think that you must have a good body, a strong body, and a healthy body to make you happy. You must have all the support the body needs to make you happy. But no matter how much you have; for example, if you have one hundred Ferraris, you will still feel bad. You will still not be able to get rid of the bad feelings you get from time to time because these bad feelings need a different kind of attention. It needs meditation. It needs peace of mind. And in order to become peaceful you have to give up everything. 

When you meditate you close your eyes, you forget about everything. You concentrate on stopping your mind from thinking. If you can persist and control the mind, eventually the mind gives up resisting, becomes peaceful and you then find another kind of happiness. It is much better than the happiness you get from your body. That’s what the Buddha did. He was a prince and he had something equivalent to Ferraris and palaces, but he felt something was lacking. He was still worried. Every time he thought about the future of his body, he was worried. Because he had seen an old man, a sick man and a dead body. He knew that eventually his body would also be like that, so what was he going to do then? So, he wanted to get away from this body.

That's why he decided to give up his princely life and became a monk because he saw a monk and he asked his attendant: what was the monk doing? He was told that the monk was looking for peace of mind, looking for a way out of getting old, being sick and death. So, the Buddha also wanted to find the solution, and therefore he gave up his princely life and became a monk. 

He meditated and eventually he found peace of mind.

He realised the mind is the most important thing, and the mind can be happy by itself without having to have a body. However, due to the delusion, the mind thinks that in order to be happy it needs to have a body, so it keeps going after one body after another. When it loses this body, it goes to look for a new body. This is called rebirth. It is the same mind that goes through different bodies like a driver driving different cars. You drive a car and when the car becomes old and when you cannot fix it anymore, you either sell it or you throw it away, and you buy a new one. The driver is still the same driver. Similarly, the mind is the same mind. It just keeps changing the body.

“Dhamma in English, Jun 30, 2015.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto

www.phrasuchart.com

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The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart

The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart

Question:  What causes our mind to be able to practice easily for one day, that it’s quite tame and it can resist desire quite easily, but the day after that, the mind becomes so wild, where it creates lots of disrespectful thoughts and I feel like being knocked out by the defilement helplessly?

What should we do on the day when it’s difficult to practice?

Than Ajahn:  The reason why your mind changes from good to bad is due to the fact whether you have mindfulness or you don’t have mindfulness. 

On the day that you have mindfulness, your mind will be behaving. On the day when you are without mindfulness, your mind will be misbehaving. So, you have to maintain mindfulness at the same level as much as possible. As soon as you stop maintaining mindfulness, your mind can start to misbehave. 

On the day when your mind is not under your control, it means you don’t have mindfulness. So, you have to restart your mindfulness right away, start to recite the mantra right away. Just keep reciting the mantra for a few minutes and your mind will go back to normal again. Don’t try to reason it out because the more you try to reason it out, the more you’ll think, and the more agitated and restless you’ll become. 

So, don’t try to reason with your mind. Try to tame it with mindfulness, with a mantra. As soon as your mind becomes restless and agitated, don’t ask why, don’t try to find the reason. The more you try to find the reason, the more agitated you’ll become because you don’t have enough wisdom to do it yet. 

Right now, the only thing you can do is to use mindfulness. 

Question:  Two days before the mind became wild, I gradually switched to be an observant of bodily movement where I experienced calmness and sitting was enjoyable. Was I being led by a false calmness and then lost my mindfulness? Should I stick to a mantra?

Than Ajahn:  It depends. If you use other method and you can maintain your mind to be calm, then you can do it. But as soon as you can no longer use it, then you should go back to the mantra. 

Sometimes, after you use a mantra, your mind becomes mindful, then you can stop using the mantra for a while. 

But after you stop for a while, when your mind starts losing mindfulness, then you have to come back to your mantra again. You don’t have to use it all the time. Use it when you feel that your mind is not under your control. If your mind is still under your control, you don’t need it. You just observe it. But as soon as the mind begins to be uncontrollable, then you have to use your mantra. 

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Question:  How to be mindful in every activities we do all day? For example, do I have to repeat ‘I brush my hair’ during the time I brush my hair or do I have to look at the action closely, or do I have to repeat, ‘Buddho’ in whatever action I do? What kind of technique Than Ajahn used?

Than Ajahn:  It depends on how strong your mindfulness is. If you try to watch what you do but your mind still goes to think about something else, then you might need to repeat something to bring it back. Like repeating, ‘brushing my teeth, brushing my teeth’ or using a mantra, ‘Buddho, Buddho’ to bring your mind from thinking about other things back to what you do. 

But if you can watch what you do and it stays with what you do, then you don’t need to recite anything. So, it depends on your mind, your ability to concentrate.

“Dhamma in English, Feb 14, 2019.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto

www.phrasuchart.com

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Coming Home - Talks by Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo September 22, 1956

Coming Home - Talks by Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo
September 22, 1956

When you close your eyes while sitting in meditation, simply close your eyelids. 

Don’t try to close off your eyes like a person sleeping. You have to keep your optic nerves awake and working. Otherwise you’ll put yourself to sleep.

Think of your internal meditation object — the in-and-out breath — and then think of bringing your external meditation object — ’buddho,’ awake, which is one of the virtues of the Lord Buddha — in with the breath.

Once you can focus comfortably on the breath, let the breath spread throughout the body until you feel light, supple, and at ease. This is called maintaining the proper quality in practicing concentration. To keep the mind fixed so that it doesn’t slip away from the breath is called maintaining the proper object. Being firmly mindful of your meditation word, without any lapses, is called maintaining the proper intention. 

When you can keep your mind fixed in these three component factors, you can say that you’re practicing meditation.

Once we set our mind on doing good in this way, things that aren’t good — nīvaraṇa, or Hindrances — are bound to come stealing into the mind. If we call the hindrances by name, there are five of them. 

But here we aren’t going to talk about their names; we’ll just talk about what they are: 

(1) Hindrances are things that defile and adulterate the mind. 

(2) They make the mind dark and murky. 

(3) They’re obstacles that prevent the mind from staying firmly with the component factors of its meditation.

Hindrances come from external preoccupations, and external pre-occupations arise because our internal preoccupation is weak. To say that our internal preoccupation is weak means that our mind doesn’t stay firmly with its object. Like floating a dipper in a barrel of water: If it doesn’t have anything to weigh it down, it’s bound to wobble and tip. The wobbling of the mind is what creates an opening for the various hindrances to come pouring in and make the mind lose its balance.

We should make ourself aware that when the mind starts tipping, it can tip in either of two directions: 

(1) It may go toward thoughts of the past, matters that happened two hours ago or all the way back to our very first breath. Distractions of this sort can carry two kinds of meaning for us: Either they deal in terms of worldly matters — our own affairs or those of other people, good or bad — or else they deal in terms of the Dhamma, things good or bad that have happened and that we’ve taken note of. 

(2) Or else our mind may tip toward thoughts of the future, which are the same sort of thing — our own affairs or those of others, dealing in terms of the world or the Dhamma, good or bad.

When our mind starts drifting in this way, we’re bound to receive one of two sorts of results: contentment or discontentment, moods that indulge either in sensual pleasure or in self affliction. 

For this reason, we have to catch hold of the mind constantly and bring it into the present so that these hindrances can’t come seeping in. But even then the mind isn’t really at equilibrium. It’s still apt to waver to some extent. But this wavering isn’t really wrong (if we know how to use it, it isn’t wrong; if we don’t, it is) because the mind, when it wavers, is looking for a place to stay. In Pāli, this is called sambhavesin. 

So we’re taught to find a meditation theme to act as a focal point for the mind, in the same way that a movie screen acts as a reflector for images so that they appear sharp and clear. 

This is to keep external preoccupations from barging in.

In other words, we’re taught to meditate by focusing the mind in one place, on the breath. When we think of the breath, that’s called vitakka —as when we think ‘bud-’ in and ‘dho’ out, like we’re doing right now. 

As for the wavering of the mind, that’s called vicāra, or evaluation. When we bring vicāra into the picture, we can let go of part of vitakka. In other words, stop repeating ‘buddho’ and then start observing how much the body is affected by each in-and-out breath. When the breath goes out, does it feel easy and natural? When it comes in, does it feel comfortable? If not, improve it.

When we direct the mind in this way, we don’t have to use ‘buddho.’ The in-breath will permeate and spread throughout the body, along with our sense of mindfulness and alertness. When we let go of part of vitakka — as when we stop repeating ‘buddho,’ so that there’s only the act of keeping track of the breath —the act of evaluating increases. 

The wavering of the mind becomes part of our concentration. Outside pre-occupations fall still. 

‘Falling still’ doesn’t mean that our ears go deaf. Falling still means that we don’t stir the mind to go out after external objects, either past or future. 

We let it stay solely in the present.

When the mind is centered in this way, it develops sensitivity and knowledge. This knowledge isn’t the sort that comes from studying or from books. It comes from doing —as when we make clay tiles. 

When we first start out we know only how to mix the clay with sand and how to make plain flat tiles. But as we keep doing it we’ll start knowing more: how to make them attractive, how to make them strong, durable, and not brittle. 

And then we’ll think of making them different colors and different shapes. As we keep making them better and more attractive, the objects we make will in turn become our teachers.

So it is when we focus on the breath. As we keep observing how the breath flows, we’ll come to know what the in-breath is like; whether or not it’s comfortable; how to breathe in so that we feel comfortable; how to breathe out so that we feel comfortable; what way of breathing makes us feel tense and constricted; what way makes us feel tired — because the breath has up to four varieties. Sometimes it comes in long and out long, sometimes in long and out short, sometimes in short and out long, sometimes in short and out short. So we should observe each of these four types of breath as they flow in the body to see how much they benefit the heart, lungs, and other parts of the body.

When we keep surveying and evaluating in this way, mindfulness and alertness will take charge within us. 

Concentration will arise, discernment will arise, awareness will arise within us. 

A person who develops this sort of skill may even become able to breathe without using the nose, by breathing through the eyes or the ears instead. 

But when we’re starting out, we have to make use of the breath through the nose because it’s the obvious breath. We first have to learn how to observe the obvious breath before we can become aware of the more refined breath sensations in the body.

The breath energy in the body, taken as a whole, is of five sorts: 

(1) The ‘sojourning breath’ (āgantuka-vāyas) continually flowing in and out. 

(2) The breath energy that stays within the body but can permeate through the various parts. 

(3) The breath energy that spins around in place. 

(4) The breath energy that moves and can flow back and forth. 

(5) The breath energy that nourishes the nerves and blood vessels throughout the body.

Once we know the various kinds of breath energy, how to make use of them, and how to improve them so that they feel agreeable to the body, we’ll develop expertise. We’ll become more adept with our sense of the body. Results will arise: a feeling of fullness and satisfaction pervading the entire body, just as kerosene pervades every thread in the mantle of a Coleman lantern, causing it to give off a bright white glow.

Vitakka is like putting sand into a sifter. Vicāra is like sifting the sand. When we first put sand into a sifter, it’s still coarse and lumpy. But as we keep sifting, the sand will become more and more refined until we have nothing but fine particles. So it is when we fix the mind on the breath. 

In the first stages, the breath is still coarse, but as we keep using more and more vitakka and vicāra, the breath becomes more and more refined until it permeates to every pore. 

Oḷārika-rūpa: All sorts of comfortable sensations will appear — a sense of lightness, spaciousness, respite, freedom from aches and pains, etc. — and we’ll feel nothing but refreshment and pleasure in the sense of the Dhamma, constantly cool and relaxed. 

Sukhumāla-rūpa: This sense of pleasure will appear to be like tiny particles, like the mist of atoms that forms the air but can’t be seen with the naked eye. But even though we feel comfortable and relaxed at this point, this mist of pleasure pervading the body can form a birthplace for the mind, so we can’t say that we’ve gone beyond stress and pain.

This is one of the forms of awareness we can develop in concentration. Whoever develops it will give rise to a sense of inner refreshment: a feeling of lightness, like cotton wool. This lightness is powerful in all sorts of ways. 

Hīnaṁ vā: The blatant sense of the body will disappear — paṇītaṁ vā — and will turn into a more refined sense of the body, subtle and beautiful.

The beauty here isn’t the sort that comes from art or decoration. Instead, it’s beauty in the sense of being bright, clear, and fresh. Refreshing. 

Soothing. Peaceful. These qualities will give rise to a sense of splendor within the body, termed sobhaṇa, a sense of rapture and exhilaration that fills every part of the body. The properties of earth, water, fire, and wind in the body are all balanced and full. 

The body seems beautiful, but again this isn’t beauty in the sense of art. All of this is termed paṇīta-rūpa.

When the body grows full and complete to this extent, all four of the elementary properties become mature and responsible in their own spheres, and can be termed mahābhūta-rūpa. Earth is responsible in its own earth affairs, water in its own water affairs, wind in its own wind affairs, and fire in its own fire affairs. When all four properties become more responsible and mature in their own affairs, this is termed oḷārika-rūpa. The properties of space and consciousness also become mature. It’s as if they all become mature adults. The nature of mature adults, when they live together, is that they hardly ever quarrel or dispute. 

Children, when they live with children, tend to be squabbling all the time. So when all six properties are mature, earth won’t conflict with water, water won’t conflict with wind, wind won’t conflict with fire, fire won’t conflict with space, space won’t conflict with consciousness. All will live in harmony and unity.

This is what is meant by ekāyano ayaṁ maggo sattānaṁ visuddhiyā: This is the unified path for the purification of beings. All four physical properties become mature in the unified sense of the body, four-in-one. When the mind enters into this unified path, it’s able to become well-acquainted with the affairs of the body. It comes to feel that this body is like its child; the mind is like a parent. When parents see that their child has grown and matured, they’re bound to feel proud. And when they see that their child can care for itself, they can put down the burden of having to care for it. (At this point there’s no need to speak of the hindrances any longer, because the mind at this point is firmly centered. The hindrances don’t have a chance to slip in.)

When the mind can let go of the body in this way, we’ll feel an inner glow in both body and mind, a glow in the sense of a calm pleasure unlike the pleasures of the world — for instance, the body feels relaxed and at ease, with no aches or fatigue — and a glow in the sense of radiance. 

As for the mind, it feels the glow of a restful sense of calm and the glow of an inner radiance. This calm glow is the essence of inner worth (puñña). It’s like the water vapor rising from ice-cold objects and gathering to form clouds that fall as rain or ride high and free. In the same way, this cool sense of calm explodes into a mist of radiance. The properties of earth, water, wind, fire, space, and consciousness all become a mist. This is where the ‘six-fold radiance’ (chabbaṇṇa - raṅsī) arises.

The sense of the body will seem radiant and glowing like a ripe peach. The power of this glow is called the light of the Dhamma (dhammo padīpo). When we’ve developed this quality, the body is secure and the mind wide awake. A mist of radiance — a power —appears within us. This radiance, as it becomes more and more powerful, is where intuitive liberating insight will appear: the means for knowing the four noble truths. 

As this sense of intuition becomes stronger, it will turn into knowledge and awareness: a knowledge we haven’t learned from anywhere else, but have gained from the practice.

Whoever can do this will find that the mind attains the virtues of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Saṅgha, which will enter to bathe the heart. Such a person can be said to have truly reached the refuge of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Saṅgha. Whoever can do even just this much is capable of reaching Awakening without having to go and do much of anything else. If we’re careful, circumspect, persistent, mindful, and discerning, we’ll be able to open our eyes and ears so that we can know all kinds of things — and we may not even have to be reborn to come back and practice concentration ever again. But if we’re complacent—careless, inattentive, and lazy — we’ll have to come back and go through the practice all over again.

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From Coming Home in Inner Strength & Parting Gifts: 

Talks by Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo, translated by Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu https://www.dhammatalks.org/books/InnerStrength/Section0017.html

Motivation by ~ Thanissaro Bhikkhu

 Motivation by
~ Thanissaro Bhikkhu

"Awakening doesn’t just happen. You have to have the desire for it. We hear stories of spontaneous awakening, but the question is, is it really awakening? Psychologists talk about what are called “neurotic breakthroughs,” where people have been struggling through a really dark period in their lives and then, for one reason or another, it snaps. That really oppressive mind state, that really oppressive state of becoming that they’d been maintaining, had gotten so heavy and so unbearable and so unmaintainable that they just finally dropped it and experienced a great release.

But the question is, what did they awaken to? When the Buddha awakened, he awakened to understandings about intention, action, cause and effect, skillfulness, lack of skill.

In the process of reaching the deathless, he really did have to take apart bit by bit by bit very subtle and very pleasant states of mind, very subtle mental activities so that he really understood what it was to act, what it was to condition something. That way, when the genuine unconditioned came, he really knew that it was unconditioned.

With neurotic breakthroughs, though, you usually come to just another form of conditioning that, in contrast to where you were before, seems very bright and very light. It’s like going from a very dark room into one that’s extremely bright. Because you’re so blinded by the light, you don’t see any objects in the room. You think there’s nothing there, just this incredible light. 

But you’d have to stay with it for a long time to begin to realize, as your eyes begin to adjust, “Oh, there are objects in the room.”

So this is one of the big paradoxes of the practice: We want to get to a state that’s unfabricated, but we really do have to fabricated strong intentions and strong desires to get there."

Motivation
Thanissaro Bhikkhu
https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/Writings/CrossIndexed/Published/Meditations11/101101_Motivation.pdf

The teachings of Ajahn Suchart.

The teachings of Ajahn Suchart.

Question:  In the modern world where there are a lot of changes, would a trained meditator be able to survive in the world? Can he or she continue to work but still be able to maintain peace of mind?

Than Ajahn:  It depends on your mindfulness and your knowledge of the Buddha’s teachings. If you can apply the Buddha’s teachings, you will be able to live anywhere and under any circumstances. But the problem is it’s difficult to establish this knowledge and this mindfulness inside your mind to the level where you can use them to protect the mind from anything that it comes into contact with.

You usually have to isolate yourself first so that you are able to establish this knowledge and this mindfulness — this ability to curb your mind, to stop your mind. If you cannot curb your mind, then the knowledge you have is still not good enough to protect your mind. So, you have to learn how to stop your mind. If you cannot stop your mind, when your mind starts going crazy, you won’t be able to stop it.

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Question:  Thank you very much for providing the place for me to practise for 5-6 days. By at the end of the day, I will have to return back to lay life. Any advice on how to carry on in the Dhamma path as a householder because I find it’s not so easy?

Than Ajahn:  Well, you have to try to stop your mind from engaging or from reacting to things that you come into contact with. Just try to merely know what’s going on. Don’t react. Don’t interact. Don’t engage with it, if possible. You only interact, react or engage when you really have to. If you don’t have to, then just let things be. Just like you are at this place now. Things happening at home now, you are not engaged with them.

You let them be. So, do that even though you’re physically back at home. Put your mind away from them. You’re there physically but mentally you’re not there. You’re not involved.

You’re not engaged. Just let things be.

You see with the wisdom of the Buddha that everything rises and ceases, everything comes and goes. Whatever happens, it happens and a few minutes later, it’s gone and something else replaces it.

Everything is just like that. 

Everything comes and goes. 

Everything rises and ceases.

So, you don’t have to react or engage all the time. Just do it when you absolutely have to engage or react.

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Question:  As a householder, Luangphor said we should not react too much but we have responsibilities, for example the responsibility as a worker. 

Than Ajahn:  Just react to what you have to. If you have responsibility or duty, then you do it, but don’t do more than what you’re required to do.

And try not to engage in any forms of entertainment or any forms of getting happiness through the body. If you want to find happiness, you should go meditate instead. Replace your way of finding happiness.

You used to find happiness by going to movies, going to shopping or going to concerts; you should stop these activities. 

You should use meditation as a new form of giving you happiness. You only do what you have to do with regards to your responsibility to your family or to your workplace.

Don’t do more than you have to. 

Try to pull your mind away from all sensual gratification activities.

Gratify your mind with peace of mind. Calm your mind with meditation.

“Dhamma in English, Dec 9, 2018.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto
www.phrasuchart.com

Latest Dhamma talks on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_BnRZmNgECsJGS31F495g

What is the basic method of meditation? ~ by Ajahn Jayasaro

What is the basic method of meditation?
~ by Ajahn Jayasaro ~ 🥀

Although certain fundamental principles inspire all forms of Buddhist meditation, there is great variety in the specific techniques employed to embody them. There is not one basic method of meditation but many. 

One particular approach is as follows. 

Firstly, the meditator gives attention to the external conditions. It is helpful to have a particular space put aside specifically for practicing meditation. The meditator wears loose clothing and ensures reasonable ventilation: stuffy rooms induce dullness. 

Sitting cross-legged is the best posture, as it produces feelings of stability and self-reliance which support the meditation practice. Most people find it helpful to use a small cushion as support for the lower back. 

The posture should be straight, but not rigid; the meditator looks for a balance between effort and relaxation (the free flow of the breath is a sign that this has been achieved). The meditator places the hands in the lap or on the knees and gently closes the eyes (they may be kept slightly open and unfocused if sleepiness threatens). If sitting cross-legged is not possible, the meditator sits on a seat, but if possible, without leaning against the backrest. 

Meditators begin by spending a few moments of reflection recalling their motivation, the technique to be employed and the pitfalls to avoid. They then systematically pass their attention from the head down to the feet, identifying and relaxing any tension in the body. On discovering a knot of tension, in the shoulders for example, the meditator consciously increases the tension for a second or two and then relaxes it. 

Physically prepared, meditators now focus on the particular meditation object which they have chosen. 

Here we will discuss breath meditation, the most popular form in the Buddhist tradition: the meditator trains to be present to the sensation of the breath at the point in the body in which it is felt most clearly. 

For most people this point will lie in the area around the tip of the nose. It is unwise to force the breath in any way. The meditator is merely aware of the present sensation as it appears. 

To help sustain attention on the breath, a two-syllable mantra may be recited mentally, first syllable on the in-breath, second on the out-breath. The most common word used by Thai Buddhists is Bud-dho, but reciting ‘in’ on the inbreath, and ‘out’ on the outbreath would also work. Counting the breaths may also be used to sustain the connection between the mind and the breath. The simplest form of counting the breath is to count in cycles of ten, taking one inbreath and outbreath as 1, and then continuing up to 10 and then back to 1. 

Whatever technique is adopted, the mind will wander. Just as in learning to play a musical instrument or learning a language, the meditator must be patient and committed, and have faith that in the long run meditation is worth the time and effort. Gradually the mind will settle down. 

(From “Without and Within, Bhavana (Mental cultivation)” by Ajahn Jayasaro) 

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To read the ebook, please visit ‘Without and Within', by Ajahn Jayasaro:

https://www.bia.or.th/ebook/content/web/index.php?bookid=130

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For other teachings by Ajahn Jayasaro, please visit the Panyaprateep Foundation website:

https://www.jayasaro.panyaprateep.org/

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Photo: ‘Without and Within’

WHAT BUDDHISTS BELIEVE Dying Moment ~ Ven. K Sri Dhammananda

WHAT BUDDHISTS BELIEVE
Dying Moment 
~ Ven. K Sri Dhammananda 

There are three types of consciousness (Viññana) functioning at the moment of death in a person: rebirth-linking consciousness (patisandhi- citta), the current of passive consciousness or the current of life-continuum (bhavanga) and consciousness disconnecting the present life (cuti-citta). At the last moment of a person’s present life the patisandhi-citta or rebirth-linking consciousness arises, having the three signs as its objects. The patisandhi-citta remains in the course of cognition for five faint thought-moments or Javana and then sinks down into bhavanga. At the end of bhavanga the cuti-citta arises,disconnecting the present life and sinks down into bhavanga. At this very moment comes the end of the present life. At the end of that bhavanga another patisandhi-citta rises up in the next life and from this very moment the new life begins. 

This is the process of death and rebirth according to Buddhism, and only in Buddhism is the process of these natural phenomena found explained in minute and exact detail. 

A Buddhist faces death not as a crisis in life but as a normal event, for he or she knows that whoever is born must suffer, 'decay', and ultimately die. Or, as someone so aptly puts it, 'Everyone is born with the certificate of death at birth.’ If we could all look at death in such an intelligent and rational way, we would not cling to life so tenaciously. 

After He was released from Samsara at the moment of Enlightenment, the Buddha declared : 

‘Ayamantima jati natthidani punabbhavo’

This is my final birth and there is no more rebirth for me.

(DHAMMA CAKKA SUTTA)

ATTACHMENT by Ajahn Brahmavamso

ATTACHMENT
by Ajahn Brahmavamso

Probably the most misunderstood term in Western Buddhist circles is that usually translated as 'attachment'. Too many have got it into their head that they shouldn't be attached to anything. Thus jokes abound such as the one on why the houses of Buddhists have dirt in the corners - because they don't allow even their vacuum cleaner any attachments.

Some misguided pseudo-Buddhists criticise those living a moral life as being attached to their precepts and thus praise immoral action as a sign of deep wisdom. Bah! Others in traditional Buddhist circles create fear of deep meditation by incorrectly stating that you will only get attached to the Jhanas. It all goes too far. 

Perhaps the pinnacle of mischievous misinformation was said by Rajneesh who claimed "I am so detached, I am not even attached to detachment" and thus conveniently excused all his excesses.

The Pali work in question is UPADANA, literally meaning 'a taking up'. It is commonly used indicating a 'fuel', which sustains a process, such as the oil in a lamp being the fuel/upadana for the flame. It is related to craving (TANHA).

For example, craving is reaching out for the delicious cup of coffee, Upadana is picking it up. Even though you think that you can easily put the cup of coffee down again, though your hand is not superglued to the cup, it is still Upadana. You have picked it up. You have grasped.

Fortunately not all Upadana is un-Buddhist.

The Lord Buddha only specified four groups of Upadana: 'taking up' the five senses, 'taking up' wrong views, 'taking up' the idea that liberation may be attained simply through rites and initiations, and 'taking up' the view of a self. There are many other things that one may 'take up' or grasp, but the point is that only these four groups lead to rebirth, only these four are fuel for future existence and further suffering, only these four are to be avoided.

Thus taking up the practice of compassion, taking up the practice of the Five Precepts or the greater precepts of a monk or nun, and taking up the practice of meditation - these are not un-Buddhist and it is mischievous to discourage them by calling them 'attachments'.

Keeping the Five Precepts is, in fact, a letting go of coarse desires like lust, greed and violence. Practising compassion is a letting go of self-centredness and practising meditation is letting go of past, future, thinking and much else.

The achievement of Jhana is no more than the letting go of the world of the five senses to gain access to the mind.

Nibbana is the letting go once and for all of greed, hatred and delusion, the seeds of rebirth.

Parinibbana is the final letting go of body and mind (the Five Khandhas). It is wrong to suggest that any of these stages of letting go are the same as attachment.

The path is like a ladder. One grasps the rung above and lets go of the rung below to pull oneself up. Soon, the rung just grasped is the rung one is now standing on. Now is the time to let go of that rung as one grasps an even higher rung to raise oneself further. If one never grasped anything, one would remain spiritually stupid.

To those without wisdom, letting go may often appear as attachment.

For example a bird on the branch of a tree at night appears to be attaching firmly to the branch, but it has actually let go and is fully asleep. When a bird lets go and the muscles around its claws begin to relax they close on the branch. The more it relaxes, the more the claws tighten. That's why you never see a bird fall off a perch even when they are asleep. It may look like attachment but, in fact, it is letting go. Letting go often leads to stillness, not moving from where you are, which is why it is sometimes mistaken as attachment.

So don't be put off by well-meaning but misinformed L-plate Buddhists who have completely misunderstood Upadana and attachment.

Attach without fear to your precepts, your meditation object and to the path for it will lead to Nibbana. And don't forget to purchase the attachments for your vacuum cleaner too!

http://www.dhammatalks.net/Books3/Ajahn_Brahm_Attachment.htm

What will Ajahn’s advice be for someone who is about to die?

The teachings of Ajahn Suchart.

1st April, 2022

Question: What will Ajahn’s advice be for someone who is about to die?

Will Ajahn’s advice be different if the advice is given to meditators or to non-meditators?

Tan Ajahn: It depends on how much they can do. If they cannot meditate or cannot understand the three characteristics, they can be told that the body is not you, that it doesn’t belong to you, and that they have to give it up.

If they cannot do this, then you might ask them to calm their mind, stop thinking about death, just chant or use a mantra. If they cannot do this, maybe ask them to listen to a Dhamma talk, just to get their mind away from thinking about death, because they are not ready for death yet.

You can tell them to reflect on the good things they have done, the charity they have done. 

Ask them to think that dying is just like going to sleep. 

And when you awaken, you get a new body; this is like the changing of the body.

When you die, you go to sleep, when you wake up, you wake up with a new body, you become a baby.

So, it depends on the person.

Try to tell them everything, so that they can decide what to do because sometimes you cannot tell exactly what they need. Try telling them many different ways.

“Dhamma for the Asking, Dec 2, 2014”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto
www.phrasuchart.com

Latest Dhamma talks on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_BnRZmNgECsJGS31F495g

Right Action, Right Result - November 11, 1958

Right Action, Right Result
November 11, 1958

The Dhamma is something constant and true. The reason we don’t see the truth is because we’re always spinning around. If we’re riding in a car, we can’t clearly see the things that pass near by us on the road, such as how big the stones on the ground are, what color they are. We look at trees, mountains, and fields, and they all seem to be on the move. If we’ve been in a car since birth, without stopping to get out and walk around on our own, we’re sure to think that cars run, trees run, and mountains run. The fact is, though, that the truth and our spinning around aren’t in line with each other. The running lies in us, in the car, not in the trees or mountains.

Everything that’s Dhamma stays firm and constant. That’s why it’s called the truth. Whatever isn’t true, isn’t Dhamma. In the area of the Dhamma, one of the Buddha’s highest aims was discernment. He wasn’t just out after a sense of peace and ease, for simple peace of mind isn’t really peaceful, isn’t really easeful, isn’t really restful. It still has some unrest mixed in with it. 

The highest happiness lies above not only peace of mind, but also above discernment as well.

Most of us, when we feel at peace and at ease, tend to get heedless and careless. As a result we don’t develop any discernment. We can take a lesson from the people of Japan: Their land is poor, their crops grow slowly, and the landscape is full of volcanoes. As a result, the people have to exert themselves to make a living and always be on the alert, ready to evacuate whenever there’s danger. This is why they’re so active and intelligent, solving all their difficulties so that they can bring progress to their country. 

People who have it easy, though, tend to be stupid because they have no sense of how to exert themselves to get rid of suffering.

People nowadays have studied a lot, but they’re still stupid. Stupid in what way? Stupid in that they don’t know how to fix their own rice, sew their own clothes, or wash their own clothes. 

They don’t have any skills. The time will have to come when this causes them to suffer and fall into difficulties. Most of us Thai people complain that foreigners are taking over our economy, but actually the fault lies with our own stupidity. We can’t even make one big toe’s worth of happiness for ourselves, and instead sit staring off into the distance. Other people run and jump and do everything necessary for the sake of their happiness, but we just sit around and create difficulties for our families. Then, when we suffer, that opens the way for corruption. We get up from a meal and don’t wash our own dishes or put them away. If all our discernment is in knowing how to eat, how will we ever get anywhere? 

This is why the Buddha taught the Dhamma both in terms of causes and results, skills and their rewards. 

He taught first about things that lie immediately around us. Once we put ourselves into good shape, it will spread to help everyone who comes after us. Whatever causes, whatever skills, will give rise to peace, ease, and convenience for ourselves, we have to do. The results are sure to follow.

On the good side, virtue is a cause for concentration. Concentration is a cause for discernment. On the bad side, suffering comes from craving. And what does craving come from? From our own stupidity. It’s because we’re stupid in so many ways that we suffer so much. When craving arises, it damages people all around us. This is why we should develop the causes for happiness and ease, so as to prevent these kinds of dangers—for when difficulties arise, the mind will start spinning in all sorts ways that will cause us to suffer.

For this reason you should examine yourself whenever you get the chance, at all times. If you start feeling ill at ease, you should trace back to the causes. Ask yourself, “What have I been doing since I got up this morning? What have I been thinking about?” When you try to cut down a tree but can’t cut all the way through, you have to look at your machete to see if it’s nicked or dull. If you try to cut the tree down with your teeth, you won’t get anywhere. You have to trace back to the causes of your problems if you want to figure out how to solve them. When you do that, all your difficulties will vanish.

Knowledge has to come from the discernment we give rise to within ourselves. The lowest or weakest level of discernment knows neither causes nor results. The middle level knows results without knowing their causes, or causes without knowing their results. The highest level of discernment knows causes before they give rise to their results. In other words, you know what kind of results you’ll get from your actions. But most of us don’t even know what causes we’re creating, which is why the results we get aren’t good at all. When we want to progress in life, we have to give rise to the causes for peace and ease. 

In other words, we have to practice meditation in line with the factors of the noble path.

Sammā-kammanta, right action, is the cause for peace and ease. Our actions come in all sorts of forms. 

The way we stand is an action. The movement of the body is an action. The actions, the various kinds of work in the world, require us to run, to pick things up with our body. But in the area of the Dhamma, simply sitting still with the right intention is a form of work or action. 

Lying down with the right intention is a form of work or action. Sitting, standing, walking, lying down: All of our movements and postures, if done with the right intention, are a form of work or action. When our actions are right, we’ll experience peace and ease. 

And then how will suffering come our way? The reason we suffer is because our actions are wrong. We sit, stand, walk, and lie down in ways contrary to the Dhamma. And then when we take on other work in addition to our basic actions, that work is bound to turn into wrong action as well. This was why the Buddha improved his manners in how he sat, stood, walked, and lay down, so that they were all pure in terms of the intentions of his mind. What this means is that he kept practicing tranquility meditation in all his activities. His mind had to stay with what the body was doing. If the mind told the body to do something, but didn’t do it along with the body, then he didn’t succeed in what he wanted to do. He couldn’t let the body work on its own. The mind had to work along with the body. Otherwise, his old manners would come back and take charge of the mind.

Wrong action means thoughts of sensuality: thinking in terms of sensual objects that give rise to sensual defilements. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and ideas come from the body and mind acting together. If the mind then wants any of these things, that’s called greed. You want them to be good, but when they aren’t good in line with your thoughts, that gives rise to aversion. If you get carried away by your aversion, that’s delusion.

But if you direct your thinking to the breath, that will kill off sensual desires. Evaluate your breath, and that will kill off ill will. There are two kinds of evaluation: 

(1) evaluating the in-and-out breath, and 

(2) evaluating the inner breath sensations of the body until they interact with the other properties of the body. 

When you reach this point, you forget any feelings of ill will. Once the mind and body are full, you feel a sense of ease. Rapture and pleasure are thus the results of directed thought and evaluation. Directed thought and evaluation thus count as right action. The principle of cause and effect applies to all your activities, both inside and out.

The reason we suffer is because we eat. How is eating suffering? Because we never can get full. The body isn’t full; the mind isn’t full. It never has a sense of enough with its preoccupations. This gives rise to hunger.

But when the mind stops worrying about eating, and instead stays with its right actions, then you can be at your ease. Sometimes, while you meditate, you focus on the cause, the sense of seclusion, without any thought for the results. Sometimes you stay with the results, vihāra-dhamma, the ease of staying in the home of the mind. Even though the work this requires may be difficult, you aren’t worried or concerned. 

The mind keeps staying with its sense of ease. 

When you get skilled, you gain a sense of when to focus on the causes and when to focus on the results. 

This is called acting with a sense of causes and results. You’re not stuck on any of the baits of the world. 

You stay exclusively with the ease of the Dhamma. Even though the work may require effort, you’re not worked up about it. You do it with a sense of wellbeing.

When there’s a sense of wellbeing, the mind doesn’t get stirred up. When it’s still in this way, liberating insight can arise. Our work turns into the work of insight. You watch the properties of sensation: When sights strike the eye, there arise feelings of liking and disliking. You watch while these things stay for an instant, disintegrate, and disappear. You see sights as properties that move. The eye is a property that moves. Consciousness—the awareness of these things—is a property that moves. This applies to all the sense media: They all lie under the characteristics of inconstancy, stress, and not-self. 

Discernment is what stays still enough to see what moves and what doesn’t. And then there’s a letting-go of both. That’s when you see that ease on the conventional level, from the point of view of the Dhamma, is a falsehood—for there’s an ease on the ultimate level that’s true.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

The Heightened Mind: Dhamma Talks of Ajaan Lee Dhammadharo, 

translated by Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu

https://www.dhammatalks.org/books/HeightenedMind/Section0008.html

The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart.

The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart.

15 September 2023

Question:  Does it mean that if our mind still has atta, then we continue to be reborn again?

Than Ajahn:  When you have atta, you still have desire. You have to mediate to really see it. If you don’t meditate, it will be like telling blind persons what the colour of red or green is. 

They will never understand it.

If you were blind, when someone tells you how the colour green is or how the colour red is, you wouldn’t know the difference. But if you are not blind, you can see what someone who is not blind sees. 

Right now, your mind is blind. You have to open up your mind by meditating. When you meditate, you start to see everything that the Buddha said and taught.

By just sitting here and thinking about it, it is like the five blind men story. These five blind men told others what an elephant looked like by feeling the different parts of the elephant. 

One blind man touched the body and said that an elephant is like a wall.

The next blind man caught the tail and said that the elephant is like a rope. Another one touched the tusk and said that an elephant is like a spear.

They are all correct but they are not telling the complete picture of an elephant. To see a complete picture, you have to meditate.

So, keep reading my books and go meditate. When you meditate, you will find all the answers in your meditation.

“Dhamma in English, Jun 12, 2016.”

*****

The first step along the Buddhist path is pariyatti, gaining theoretical knowledge by studying the Buddha’s discourses. 

The second step is paṭipadā, to practice the Dhamma we have learnt. 

The third step is pativedha (fruition), to achieve a level of enlightenment at which point we will know for ourselves the way of practice that leads to further levels of enlightenment.

Once we have become enlightened, we may proceed to the fourth step of spreading the Buddha’s teachings to those who are still ignorant.

This is the path that we Buddhists have inherited, which has been passed down from its inception up until today. 

Buddhism must be passed on through theoretical study, practice, and fruition. If we have only completed the first step, it would not be right to begin to teach, because we would not be able pass on the correct technique of practice. If we have only studied and not yet practiced, we still do not know the truth or see clearly.

If we use this theoretical knowledge to teach others, we will be half-blind and forced to guess, because we’ll know only some aspects of the whole truth. 

It is like the proverb of a group of blind men describing an elephant while feeling only a part of the whole. Each man knows only the part of the body that he touches. The one who touches the side of the elephant claims that the elephant is like a wall. Another who touches the trunk asserts that it is like a snake. The third one touches its tail and claims that it is like a rope. The fourth one who touches its tusks describes an elephant as like a spear. Each is correct from their own perspective, but not entirely right either, which leads to useless arguments.

Those who only study the Dhamma but don’t practice it will always debate the true nature of the teachings.”

“Mountain Dhamma, Apr 7, 2013.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto
www.phrasuchart.com

Latest Dhamma talks on Youtube: 

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_BnRZmNgECsJGS31F495g

"Starting My New Life as a Monk.”

The Teaching g of Ajahn Suchart

"Starting My New Life as a Monk.”

- - -

On the day of the appointment, I took my parents to meet Somdet Phra Yannasangvorn at Wat Bowonniwet Vihara (Wat Bowon). Somdet discussed my decision with my parents and scheduled the date for the ordination on February 19, 1975. Also, he would be my preceptor. In the ceremony, I would be ordained together with the son of a general who had recently finished his Master’s degree from the U.S.

His ordination was to be temporary: only for 15 days.

There was 3,000 baht left in my savings which was just exactly the right amount of money to buy the eight requisites for monks consisting of the upper robe, the lower robe, the outer robe, an alms bowl, a razor, a needle, thread, a belt, and a water strainer.

Thus, I didn’t need to ask my parents for the money.

On the ordination day, approximately 100 attendants of the other family went to the ceremony. In contrast, only four of my family members which included my parents, my sister, and my cousin attended because I didn’t tell other people about this. I liked to keep things low-keyed, with as little fanfare as possible. I didn’t even let anybody know when I was resigning from my job. 

Moreover, during a year of meditating alone at home, I didn’t tell anyone about it either. I didn’t see any reason to tell other people about my private life and this also helped me avoid being bothered by others. Literally, there was one other person who knew about my ordination— a fellow who sent me a telegram asking me to come to work for him. I declined, explaining that I was about to take my vows as a monk.

During my stay at Wat Bowon, there were some Western monks heading to Wat Pa Baan Taad who told me about the existence of some well-known Thai Forest Tradition monasteries in the Northeast of Thailand, which included the monasteries of Luangta Mahā Boowa, Luangpu Thate, and Luangpu Fan. They reinforced what I had read in Kornfield’s book of these respected Forest Monasteries, and I planned to make a trip to those places starting with Wat Pa Baan Taad of Luangta Mahā Boowa.

As I didn’t know anyone there, a Western monk told me that it was required to write a letter to Ajahn Paññā for permission in advance before going there.

Ajahn Paññā was a British monk, so foreign monks would approach him when contacting the monastery. He then would inform Luangta of the request for permission to stay in the monastery. If Luangta gave his consent, they were eligible to go.

I, therefore, wrote a letter to Ajahn Paññā. He took my request to Luangta, and Luangta then gave me the permission to stay.

But first there was my training.

Throughout the six weeks of my monastic life at Wat Bowon, I was instructed on the correct way to wear the main robe, walk alms round, handle my requisites, and travel without being uncomfortable or concerned about wearing the robe. When I talked to Somdet regarding my departure and asked for his approval to stay with Luangta Mahā Boowa at Wat Pa Baan Taad, he approved my request, but said it really depended on Luangta whether or not he would be allowing me to stay there. And, since I had already gotten approval, I prepared to leave.

My departure from Bangkok was in early April, a couple of days before the Chakri Memorial Day. Traveling by train in the evening, I arrived at the destination in Udon Thani very early in the morning. 

Luckily, with the help of the monastery, a Buddhist devotee picked me up at the railway station and drove me to the monastery.”

“My Way.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto
www.phrasuchart.com

Latest Dhamma talks on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_BnRZmNgECsJGS31F495g

“The First Test as a Newly Ordained Monk.”

The Teaching of Ajahn Suchart.

30 September 2023

“The First Test as a Newly Ordained Monk.”

- - -

“I had chosen to go to Wat Pa Baan Taad upon the recommendation of a foreign monk. I had no intention to stay there for long, but I just wanted to see what Wat Pa Baan Taad was like and whether I would like the place.

At the same time, I also understood that even if I liked it there, I could not be able to stay if I was not granted permission.

I did not have much expectation. I was simply seeking a quiet place that allowed me to have time to practice to the fullest—my only goal. Furthermore, at first, I did not think that having a teacher was essential and assumed that Dhamma books would be sufficient to guide me in this path.

All I knew was that I had to go there. I did not know any highly respected teachers in Thailand or how to find them because I had never read books about the practice of Dhammayuttika-nikāya monks. Most of the books I read were about Bhikkhus (Buddhist monks) mentioned in the Tipiṭaka (Buddhist Pāli Canon).

When I arrived, I went directly to the meeting hall, and it was time to go for alms round.

Luangta had just come down and I went to pay respect to him. Luangta then said that I could not stay there for long. I could only stay temporarily because the Kuṭīs (monks’ dwellings) were all occupied.

Luangta did not say anything else. I quickly prepared my requisites and left for morning alms round.

I felt like a newborn baby who had just been introduced into the new world of monkhood.

On the first day of my arrival at the monastery, I realized how incapable I was. At Wat Pa Baan Taad, the walking pace on the way to the village was relaxed, but after alms round it was very fast. I had never walked that fast before.

On the way back, as soon as we went past the last devotee’s home, a monk would immediately help carry Luangta’s alms bowl, and everyone else would then speed walk back to the monastery. It was like a speed-walking competition in the Olympics. I walked with alms bowl full of sticky rice and it was very heavy.

Furthermore, the bag sling for my alms bowl was not tightly secured, and it fell off halfway along my way back to the monastery. I also had to secure my main robe as it had also slipped off my shoulder. I was so disordered that by the time I reached Sālā (meeting hall), everyone else had already started arranging the food collected from the alms round.

Luangta must have noticed my disorderliness, yet he showed Mettā (loving-kindness) and did not make any comments. For those who were new in the monastery, Luangta appeared to be lenient, even pretending to be indifferent. Only when a new monk seriously misbehaved would he reprimand directly. 

Luangta’s attention was on the monk’s determination to practice. For other matters such as being slow but still being able to perform one’s duties correctly, Luangta would not say anything.

Typically about one month before the beginning of Vassa, or the rains retreat, Luangta would decide which monks would be the Vassa residents, that is, who would dwell permanently throughout the three months of the rainy season. He would usually accept about fifteen to sixteen monks. 

When it came to my turn, Luangta asked me, “You remember, on your first day here, you agreed that you could not stay here for long, that your stay was only temporary, therefore, you would not be allowed to spend the Vassa here?” After hearing Luangta’s words, 

I did not know what to do. I did not say anything and was undecided about what to do next.

After that Luangta gave a Dhamma talk for almost two hours. When it ended, all monks paid respect to the Lord Buddha all together.

Then, Luangta surprised me by turning to me and giving me his permission to stay. He announced, “For the monk who came from Wat Bowon, if you would like to stay here, you are allowed to do so.” All other monks who had been staying there started to congratulate me because Luangta did not accept monks to stay with him easily. 

There were many monks whom Luangta did not permit to stay at the monastery. Luangta wanted us to see the value of being allowed to stay with him. 

He wanted us to have the determination to practice meditation. For anything that is easily obtained, we have the tendency to take it for granted, and for anything that is obtained with difficulties, we would have a greater appreciation. For this reason, I was allowed to continue to stay.

A rule practiced at the monastery was that monks who had less than five rains retreats were not allowed to go anywhere, except for emergency reasons. According to the Vinaya (Monastic Code of Disciple), new monks are not allowed to be without a teacher’s guidance. 

Luangta would not allow monks to travel here and there, unless the five-year rule was completed. For example, a monk with a two-year rains retreat wanted to go for Dhutaṅga wanderings. In addition to evaluating the suitability of the proposed wanderings, Luangta would consider whether it was beneficial to do so. If he felt that it was not beneficial, Luangta would not give permission to go. There was a monk with two to three rains retreats who wanted to go for Dhutaṅga wanderings, and had asked for permission several times, but Luangta did not allow him to go. When he asked again for the last time, Luangta told him that if he went, he would not be allowed to come back.

Luangta considered the mind of each monk to be more important than the number of Vassas he spent. 

Sometimes, a monk, after spending five years of rains retreat, wanted to leave the monastery, but Luangta thought that it was inappropriate for him to go.

His practice might deteriorate, or he might even leave the monkhood. If this was the case, Luangta would try to hold him back. At least, if he stayed in the monastery, he could continue to learn from the Teacher.”

“My Way.”

By Ajahn Suchart Abhijāto
www.phrasuchart.com

Latest Dhamma talks on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCi_BnRZmNgECsJGS31F495g

THE TEACHINGS OF AJAHN CHAH

THE TEACHINGS OF AJAHN CHAH

The Training of the Heart

In the time of Ajahn Mun and Ajahn Sao life was a lot simpler, a lot less complicated than it is today. In those days monks had few duties and ceremonies to perform. They lived in the forests without permanent resting places. 

There they could devote themselves entirely to the practice of meditation.

In those times one rarely encountered the luxuries that are so commonplace today,

there simply weren't any. One had to make drinking cups and spittoons out of bamboo and lay people seldom came to visit. One didn't want or expect much and was content with what one had. One could live and breathe meditation!

The monks suffered many privations living like this. If someone caught malaria and went to ask for medicine, the teacher would say, You don't need medicine! Keep practicing. 

Besides, there simply weren't all the drugs that are available now. All one had were the herbs and roots that grew in the forest. The environment was such that monks had to have a great deal of patience and endurance; they didn't bother over minor ailments. 

Nowadays you get a bit of an ache and you're off to the hospital!

Sometimes one had to walk ten to twelve kilometers on almsround. You would leave as soon as it was light and maybe return around ten or eleven o'clock. One didn't get very much either, perhaps some glutinous rice, salt or a few chilis. Whether you got anything to eat with the rice or not didn't matter. That's the way it was. No one dared complain of hunger or fatigue; they were just not inclined to complain but learned to take care of themselves. They practiced in the forest with patience and endurance alongside the many dangers that lurked in the surroundings. There were many wild and fierce animals living in the jungles and there were many hardships for body and mind in the ascetic practice of the Dhutanga or Forest-Dwelling monk. Indeed, the patience and endurance of the monks in those days was excellent because the circumstances compelled them to be so.

In the present day, circumstances compel us in the opposite direction. In ancient times, one had to travel by foot; then came the oxcart and then the automobile. Aspiration and ambition increased, so that now, if the car is not air-conditioned, one will not even sit in it; impossible to go if there is no air-conditioning! 

The virtues of patience and endurance are becoming weaker and weaker. The standards for meditation and practice are lax and getting laxer, until we find that meditators these days like to follow their own opinions and desires. When the old folks talk about the old days, it's like listening to a myth or a legend. 

You just listen indifferently, but you don't understand. It just doesn't reach you!

As far as we should be concerned about the ancient monks' tradition, a monk should spend at least five years with his teacher. Some days you should avoid speaking to anyone. Don't allow yourself to speak or talk very much. Don't read books! 

Read your own heart instead. Take Wat Pah Pong for example. 

These days many university graduates are coming to ordain. 

I try to stop them from spending their time reading books about Dhamma, because these people are always reading books. They have so many opportunities for reading books, but opportunities for reading their own hearts are rare. So, when they come to ordain for three months following the Thai custom, we try to get them to close their books and manuals. 

While they are ordained they have this splendid opportunity to read their own hearts.

Listening to your own heart is really very interesting. This untrained heart races around following its own untrained habits. It jumps about excitedly, randomly, because it has never been trained. Therefore train your heart! Buddhist meditation is about the heart; to develop the heart or mind, to develop your own heart. This is very, very important. This training of the heart is the main emphasis. 

Buddhism is the religion of the heart. Only this! 

One who practices to develop the heart is one who practices Buddhism.

This heart of ours lives in a cage, and what's more, there's a raging tiger in that cage. If this maverick heart of ours doesn't get what it wants, it makes trouble. You must discipline it with meditation, with samadhi. 

This is called Training the Heart. At the very beginning, the foundation of practice is the establishment of moral discipline (sila ). Sila is the training of the body and speech. 

From this arises conflict and confusion. When you don't let yourself do what you want to do, there is conflict.

Eat little! Sleep little! Speak little! Whatever it may be of worldly habit, lessen them, go against their power. Don't just do as you like, don't indulge in your thought. Stop this slavish following. You must constantly go against the stream of ignorance. This is called discipline. When you discipline your heart, it becomes very dissatisfied and begins to struggle. It becomes restricted and oppressed. 

When the heart is prevented from doing what it wants to do, it starts wandering and struggling. Suffering (dukkha) becomes apparent to us.

This dukkha, this suffering, is the first of the four noble truths. Most people want to get away from it. They don't want to have any kind of suffering at all. 

Actually, this suffering is what brings us wisdom; it makes us contemplate dukkha. 

Happiness (sukha ) tends to make us close our eyes and ears. 

It never allows us to develop patience. Comfort and happiness make us careless. 

Of these two defilements, Dukkha is the easiest to see. 

Therefore we must bring up suffering in order to put an end to our suffering. We must first know what dukkha is before we can know how to practice meditation.

In the beginning you have to train your heart like this. You may not understand what is happening or what the point of it is, but when the teacher tells you to do something, then you must do it. You will develop the virtues of patience and endurance. Whatever happens, you endure, because that is the way it is. For example, when you begin to practice samadhi you want peace and tranquillity. 

But you don't get any. You don't get any because you have never practiced this way. Your heart says, I'll sit until I attain tranquillity. But when tranquillity doesn't arise, you suffer. And when there is suffering, you get up and run away! To practice like this can not be called developing the heart. It's called desertion.

Instead of indulging in your moods, you train yourself with the Dhamma of the Buddha. 

Lazy or diligent, you just keep on practicing. Don't you think that this is a better way? The other way, the way of following your moods, will never reach the Dhamma. If you practice the Dhamma, then whatever the mood may be, you keep on practicing, constantly practicing. The other way of self-indulgence is not the way of the Buddha. 

When we follow our own views on practice, our own opinions about the Dhamma, we can never see clearly what is right and what is wrong. We don't know our own heart. We don't know ourselves.

Therefore, to practice following your own teachings is the slowest way. To practice              following the Dhamma is the direct way. Lazy you practice; diligent you practice. You are aware of time and place. This is called developing the heart.

If you indulge in following your own views and try to practice accordingly, then you will start thinking and doubting a lot. You think to yourself, I don't have very much merit. I don't have any luck. I've been practicing meditation for years now and I'm still unenlightened. I still haven't seen the Dhamma. To practice with this kind of attitude can not be called developing the heart. It is called developing disaster.

If, at this time, you are like this, if you are a meditator who still doesn't know, who doesn't see, if you haven't renewed yourself yet, it's because you've been practicing wrongly. You haven't been following the teachings of the Buddha. The Buddha taught like this: Ananda, practice a lot! 

Develop your practice constantly! Then all your doubts, all your uncertainties, will vanish. These doubts will never vanish through thinking, nor through theorizing, nor through speculation, nor through discussion. Nor will doubts disappear by not doing anything. All defilements will vanish through developing the heart, through right practice only.

The way of developing the heart as taught by the Buddha is the exact opposite of the way of the world, because his teachings come from a pure heart. A pure heart, unattached to defilements, is the Way of the Buddha and his disciples.

If you practice the Dhamma, you must bow your heart to the Dhamma. You must not make the Dhamma bow to you. When you practice this way. suffering arises. There isn't a single person who can escape this suffering. So when you commence your practice suffering is right there.

The duties of meditators are mindfulness, collectedness and contentment. These things stop us. They stop the habits of the hearts of those who have never trained. And why should we bother to do this? If you don't bother to train your heart, then it remains wild, following the ways of nature. It's possible to train that nature so that it can be used to advantage. This is comparable to the example of trees. If we just left trees in their natural state, then we would never be able to build a house with them. We couldn't make planks or anything of use in building a house. 

However, if a carpenter came along wanting to build a house, he would go looking for trees such as these. He would take this raw material and use it to advantage. In a short time he could have a house built.

Meditation and developing the heart are similar to this. You must take this untrained heart, the same as you would take a tree in its natural state in the forest, and train this natural heart so that it is more refined, so that it's more aware of itself and is more sensitive. 

Everything is in its natural state. When we understand nature, then we can change it, we can detach from it, we can let go of it. 

Then we won't suffer anymore.

The nature of our heart is such that whenever it clings and grasps there is agitation and confusion. First it might wander over there, then it might wander over here. 

When we come to observe this agitation, we might think that it's impossible to train the heart and so we suffer accordingly. 

We don't understand that this is the way the heart is. There will be thought and feelings moving about like this even though we are practicing, trying to attain peace. That's the way it is.

When we have contemplated many times the nature of the heart, then we will come to understand that this heart is just as it is and can't be otherwise. We will know that the heart's ways are just as they are. That's its nature. If we see this clearly, then we can detach from thoughts and feelings. And we don't have to add on anything more by constantly having to tell ourselves that that's just the way it is. When the heart truly understands, it lets go of everything. Thinking and feeling will still be there, but that very thinking and feeling will be deprived of power.

This is similar to a child who likes to play and frolic in ways that annoy us, to the extent that we scold or spank him. We should understand that it's natural for a child to act that way. Then we could let go and leave him to play in his own way. So our troubles are over. 

How are they over? 

Because we accept the ways of children. Our outlook changes and we accept the true nature of things. We let go and our heart becomes more peaceful. We have right understanding.

If we have wrong understanding, then even living in a deep, dark cave would be chaos, or living high up in the air would be chaos. 

The heart can only be at peace when there is right understanding. Then there are no more riddles to solve and no more problems to arise.

This is the way it is. You detach. You let go. Whenever there is any feeling of clinging, we detach from it, because we know that that very feeling is just as it is. It didn't come along especially to annoy us. 

We might think that it did, but in truth it is just that way. If we start to think and consider it further, that too, is just as it is. If we let go, then form is merely form, sound is merely sound, odor is merely odor, taste is merely taste, touch is merely touch and the heart is merely the heart. It's similar to oil and water. If you put the two together in a bottle, they won't mix because of the difference in their nature.

Oil and water are different in the same way that a wise man and an ignorant man are different. The Buddha lived with form, sound, odor, taste, touch and thought. He was an arahant (enlightened one), so He turned away from rather than toward these things. He turned away and detached little by little since He understood that the heart is just the heart and thought is just thought. He didn't confuse and mix them together.

The heart is just the heart; thoughts and feelings are just thoughts and feelings. Let things be just as they are! Let form be just form, let sound be just sound, let thought be just thought. Why should we bother to attach to them? If we think and feel in this way, then there is detachment and separateness. 

Our thoughts and feelings will be on one side and our heart will be on the other. Just like oil and water they are in the same bottle but they are separate."