Gratitude: To those who have helped us

‘Gāravo ca nivāto ca
Santuṭṭhī ca kataññuta
Kālena dhammasavanaṃ
Etam maṅgala-muttamaṃ’

‘Being respectful and showing humility,
Knowing contentment in life.
Paying back the debt of gratitude we have towards others,
And frequently listening to the Buddha’s teachings.
These are the highest blessings.’

(Sutta Nipāta 258-269)

© 2016 The Saṅgha Buddha Bodhivana Monastery

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Gratitude

Venerable Ajahn Kalyano

This book has been prepared to commemorate the fifteenth anniversary of Buddha Bodhivana Monastery.

The monastery was founded on the 5th of December 2000 when Jeffrey Tan, the President of the Victoria Saṅgha Association, offered the title deeds of a plot of forested land in East Warburton to Venerable Ajahn Anan, the Abbot of Wat Marp Jun, Thailand. Jeffrey also made an invitation to the Saṅgha of Venerable Ajahn Chah to send monks to live and practice on the land which is supported by the Victoria Saṅgha Association. Venerable Ajahn Anan and I subsequently travelled to Ubon on the 16th of January 2001, where we offered the land to Venerable Ajahn Liem (Phra Rachapavanavikrom) and the Saṅgha of Wat Nong Pah Pong.

On the 4th of April 2001 I travelled to Melbourne and I have since been living and practicing the Dhamma-Vinaya at this monastery with many other bhikkhus, sāmaṇeras and lay practitioners.

Therevada Buddhism is known as the Teaching of the Elders, and particularly in the Thai Forest Tradition, the training places great emphasis on cultivating the qualities of respect and deference to the senior members of the ordained Saṅgha in the community.  Over the years we have been fortunate to have hosted many senior visiting teachers from Thailand and from Venerable Ajahn Chah’s Saṅgha around the world; and both the Saṅgha and lay community have found great joy in both serving them and listening to their Dhamma.

As a way of expressing our gratitude to all of the many teachers who have been kind enough to visit our monastery and offer instruction, as well as to all of the lay practitioners who have helped to support the Saṅgha here over the years, we have produced this book of Dhamma talks for you.

The teachings contained within have been given freely, they have been given out of compassion for the Buddhist practitioners of Australia. Some were spoken in English, others in Thai, and they have been translated here by the members of the Saṅgha at Buddha Bodhivana Monastery. These teachings only provide a small selection of the many teachings that we have received over the years, but we hope they will help to inspire those who wish to practice the Dhamma and improve their understanding of the way to liberation.

Just as Buddha Bodhivana Monastery has been built through the generosity and selfless service of many Saṅgha members and lay Buddhists, this book has been prepared and sponsored through the efforts of many people. May I take the opportunity to express our appreciation and gratitude to all those Saṅgha members, and lay followers of the Buddha, who have given up their time and resources to prepare and sponsor the publication of this book. We hope that it will be of benefit to all those who wish to follow the Buddha’s path to Enlightenment.

May I offer my sincere anumodanā and appreciation for all the good that has been done by the Saṅgha and the lay community here at Buddha Bodhivana Monastery over the years.

May the merit and good kamma generated by these good deeds be a cause for your good health and happiness.

May you be free from all dangers and obstacles.

May you meet with success in your spiritual practice and attain Enlightenment.

Bhikkhu Kalyāṇo
Buddha Bodhivana Monastery
5 December 2058/2015

A Paṭirūpadesa

Venerable Ajahn Plien

March, 23 2007

“We have the good fortune to be living in what we call a paṭirūpadesavāsa, which means a land or a country that is suitable for the practice of Dhamma. This is because the places we live ― the country we call”Australia" and the city we call “Melbourne” ― are peaceful, stable and secure, with a reasonable standard of living, and provide us with the chance to hear and practice the Buddha’s teachings."

Kiccho manussapaṭilābho,
kicchaṃ maccāna jīvitam.
Kicchaṃ saddhammassavanaṃ
kiccho buddhānamuppādo

Rare it is to gain birth as a human being.
Having been born it is our good fortune to be able to live a long life.
It is difficult to gain the opportunity to hear the Dhamma.
Rare is the appearance of the enlightened ones in the world.

All of us are very fortunate to have been born as humans. The Buddha pointed out that this good fortune can manifest in different areas, the first being our good fortune in attaining a human birth with a body, mind, and intelligence. Also, we have the good fortune to be born with the potential to develop that which is wholesome and the potential to improve ourselves spiritually.

Another aspect of our good fortune is that we have been born at a time when a Buddha has arisen in the world, and that’s something that’s very rare. It’s very difficult for a Buddha to come to be in the world, it doesn’t happen all of the time. The fact that the Buddha and his teachings are still here at this current time is our great good fortune indeed.

It’s also our great good fortune that we can come and visit monasteries and places of practice, meet with teachers, and hear Dhamma teachings. By hearing the Dhamma we get instruction and advice to support our understanding of what is the most skilful way to live in the world.

We have the good fortune to be living in what we call a paṭirūpadesavāsa, which means a land or a country that is suitable for the practice of Dhamma. This is because the places we live ― the country we call “Australia” and the city we call “Melbourne” ― are peaceful, stable and secure, with a reasonable standard of living, and provide us with the chance to hear and practice the Buddha’s teachings. So we should reflect on the fact that we have such great good fortune. It is our merit and the result of our past good kamma.

In days gone by you could say India was the land suitable for the practice of Dhamma because that was where the Buddha was born and that is where the Buddha’s teachings were first proclaimed. Nowadays a paṭirūpadesa can be in any country around the world where Buddhism is still taught and practiced. So this country and this monastery are suitable places for practice.

The practice is training ourselves through body, speech and mind to live skilfully and to develop ourselves in the right way. This means to develop generosity, morality, kindness and friendliness, as well as meditation or mental development. All of these different aspects of our practice form the foundation of the path, the foundation of the way to improve and develop ourselves according to the teachings of the Buddha.

The Buddha taught us to learn how to give and share. This is what we call dāna, or generosity. He taught us how to live and conduct ourselves in a composed way: to restrain our anger, aggression and our selfish tendencies. This is what we call sīla, or virtuous conduct. He taught us to develop ourselves inwardly, to develop a sense of inner peace and calm, through the practice of mindfulness so that we can contemplate and see where suffering arises in our hearts and then be able to cure it. This is what we call bhāvanā, or meditation. We have to rectify the causes of suffering, so that we can really experience the peace of a still and clear mind.

We should reflect on these things that I have pointed out, and appreciate the merit and the blessings we already have, and also make a determination to use this opportunity to really train ourselves so that our good fortune will carry on into the future. Everyone wants to be happy, no one likes to suffer in life, and it is through the practice of Dhamma that we can develop ourselves in the right way and experience the results: the happiness we all seek.

In the beginning it’s necessary to really study and learn the teachings that the Buddha gave us in order to know what the right way of practice is. If we never hear the teachings and never study them, we won’t know what to do. We won’t know the means by which we can reduce or put an end to our suffering. If we don’t learn the right way to practice we will make many mistakes, causing harm to ourselves or others. If we don’t make an effort to learn what the Buddha taught we will get caught into unskilful habits and behavior that will cause us and others suffering.

The path the Buddha taught is to follow the way that leads to the end of stress, to the end of disharmony between people, to the end of conflicts, and to the end of all the different kinds of suffering that we can have as human beings. The Buddha’s teachings instruct us in the correct way to live in the world so that we can experience happiness. They teach us how to live in harmony with our families, with our society, and with the world as a whole. But in order to do this we must train ourselves.

We must train ourselves in skilful actions and speech. We must learn how to communicate and relate to other people skilfully. We must learn how to speak in a truthful and beneficial way so that we don’t encourage arguments or conflicts between people based on differences in views, opinions or prejudice. It is a skill we have to learn as part of the path of practice.

We have to develop Right Speech. That is, to speak truthfully and to be honest; to speak in a way that encourages harmony between people; to speak gently and in ways that are pleasing to the ear; to refrain from using harsh, unkind or abusive words; and we have to learn how to speak with good reasoning, in a way that makes sense. If we train ourselves to develop the characteristics of Right Speech we, the speaker, and the people who are listening to us will benefit.

Practice therefore involves learning and training. It involves training our minds and the way we think. It means training to correct our views and attitudes. If we don’t know how to use our minds in a beneficial way then things can get worse; there is always the danger that we can make more problems for ourselves and others. When you don’t know how to look after your mind it can easily become distracted and restless. When we are caught into different kinds of mental stress and suffering it leads to states of worry, sleepless nights and in the worst cases maybe even to mental instability and suffering that requires medical attention.

Learning how to look after our minds, taking care with the words we choose to speak, with the actions we undertake, and with the thoughts we choose to think of and view the world with is the heart of the practice. We must train ourselves to use our intelligence to think correctly with wisdom, and use our ability to reason and consider things in order to know what is beneficial and what is not. The more understanding that we develop the more our minds will experience peace.

We really have to learn how to observe our own minds and to see our own thoughts. We must observe ourselves to learn whether our thinking is creating the causes for inner happiness, or actually creating the causes for suffering. When we have thoughts of mettā, or good will, that sense of friendliness and kindness toward others, then we feel good within ourselves. When we develop an attitude of mettā it means we develop a feeling of warmth and empathy towards ourselves and others, and skilful and positive mental states nurture our minds bringing happiness as a result. Cultivating an attitude of kindness, friendliness and tolerance in our minds we experience peace and coolness, and a feeling of being at ease within ourselves and with other people.

So the Buddha said a peaceful mind leads to happiness. When the mind is happy our actions tend to be positive and good, our speech becomes positive and good, and even the features of our face will express the happiness of our inner sense of wellbeing. This inner calm is reflected by a radiance of mind. When our minds are peaceful and happy they feel refreshed, and this is a supportive condition for positive, skilful and productive thinking. When we experience the opposite, our thoughts are caught into negativity, aggression, selfishness, and we naturally experience suffering. The experience of suffering leads to different kinds of problems: internal problems, and problems with other people as well.

We must really put effort into training ourselves to develop wise reflection in order to avoid this kind of suffering. The happiness we can experience has to come through putting forth effort and energy into the practice, which helps us to become more familiar with our own mental states and particularly with how to cultivate wholesome states of mind. We must really put forth effort into bringing up wholesome mental states regularly, as this will be a cause for more peace and happiness to arise.

When people are mindfully cultivating wholesome states of mind then of course they don’t hold onto thoughts of conflict, they don’t seek to argue or be aggressive towards others. As a result they become more peaceful, the world around them becomes more peaceful, and everyone benefits. When the world is caught into conflict and people are fighting, or even killing each other, it’s because they don’t understand how their own thoughts, speech and actions are creating suffering for themselves and others. They haven’t seen the Truth. But when we bring up wholesome thoughts that are rooted in mettā then we are practicing in line with the Buddha’s teaching that, “Mettā supports and nourishes the world.” Mettā supports the world because it pacifies the suffering in the hearts of all those who practice it, and as it spreads out from their hearts it is reflected in their speech and actions.

We are very fortunate that we have living teachers in the world who show us the correct way to lead our lives. We are blessed that the Buddha lived and became enlightened in the world. Having realized the Dhamma he then taught others out of compassion. This has given us the chance to practice the teachings for ourselves so that we can learn how to live skilfully in the world for our own true benefit. We are also blessed to have the refuge of the Saṅgha which is made up of all those different people who have practiced, treasured, and carried on the tradition and the teachings through their living example. This has carried on since the time of the Buddha 2500 years ago. It is our good fortune that there has been an unbroken lineage of teachers who have realized the Truth and attained enlightenment right down to the present day.

Even now at this place known as Buddha Bodhivana Monastery, we have Ajahn Kalyāṇo and the Saṅgha here practicing the teachings. They can lead us in the practice, teaching us how to meditate, chant, and listen to the Dhamma. This makes this monastery an auspicious place. You are all blessed to have the opportunity to come to a place that is peaceful, where you are encouraged to respect and practice the teachings. So we can say that it makes our own city of Melbourne, and the state of Victoria, a paṭirūpadesa ― a suitable place for Dhamma practice.

The result of the practice is the happiness we can all experience in our minds. The Buddha said, “Natthi santi paramaṃ sukhaṃ,” which means, “There is no happiness higher than the happiness of a peaceful mind.” If we have a peaceful mind and a peaceful heart, then our relationships with other people will be happy and peaceful. If we’re married, we’ll have happiness and peace in our marriage. If we have a family, we’ll have happiness and peace in our family. We’ll have happiness and peace in our relations with our neighbours, and we’ll contribute towards a happy and peaceful neighbourhood, town, shire, and city we’ll even contribute towards a happy and peaceful country. The effects of a happy peaceful mind can spread out to influence all living beings in a positive way. This peace arises from the practice of generosity, living in a virtuous and moral way, and developing mindfulness and wisdom in oneself through meditation.

When we practice like this everyone benefits. Those who practice reap the benefits when they experience a mind that is peaceful and at ease; when that feeling spreads outward it can be a cause for the growth of happiness and peace in others in society as well. The more people who practice the Dhamma the more peaceful people there will be in the world ― and everyone can benefit from that.

So please dedicate yourselves to this practice with sincerity and commitment, and through that devotion you really can experience this happiness.

Question: Can you suggest how we should prepare ourselves for, and establish the right frame of mind for meditation?

Answer: For successful meditation practice it’s necessary to develop two main qualities: the first is sati, which means mindfulness or recollection in the present moment or presence of mind. The second quality is sampajañña which means having an all-round knowledge of what one is doing and thinking at any time, including knowing one’s state of mind and intention. We focus on bringing up these two qualities in the beginning and aim to develop them at all times, in all postures, and in all activities. When they are weak or missing, we fail to catch or know our mind because it’s too distracted, and with so many thoughts overwhelming it we just don’t know where our mind is. So, without these two qualities it’s very difficult to train in meditation.

Whatever we’re doing we can develop mindfulness and an all-round awareness throughout our daily life. When we’re walking, sitting, standing, or lying down we can know what we are doing from moment to moment. Whether we’re working or we’re resting and relaxing, whatever the activity, we can develop these two qualities. When we are speaking we can develop mindfulness and all-round knowing: we can be aware of what we’re going to say, the meaning and purpose of the conversation, and so on. Even as we think, we can develop mindfulness through just knowing what we are thinking in the present moment. We can contemplate our thoughts and know if they are wholesome or unwholesome, and know our attitudes and what purpose our thinking serves at any given moment. This is something we have to train in ― developing the qualities of inner mindfulness and all-round knowing of our mental activity and of what we are doing from moment to moment.

You can train by cultivating mindfulness and all-round knowing every day and, as mindfulness becomes more sustained and continuous, you will find that when you have free time with no particular business, or commitments pressing you, you might consider sitting down in a quiet place to do doing some formal meditation. This might be in the evening after work. Or if you have a family it can be done when the kids have done everything and gone to bed. You can start looking for more opportunities where you are free enough to practice meditation.

Once you have taken the opportunity to practice meditation then, ideally, sit on the floor as we are now. Sitting on the floor cross-legged in the full-lotus, half-lotus, or whatever posture you can manage, is the best option. This is because when people are on the floor their posture tends to be very firm and steady. However, if you have any physical problems or pain you can sit on a chair to meditate as well.

The aim of meditation is to develop what we call samādhi which are states of concentration where the mind is very firm and stable. To do this we have to simply focus our mind on one object, which is called the practice of samatha kammaṭṭhāna. We focus the mind on one meditation object and aim to hold our attention on that object all of the time during the meditation period. Our goal is to stop the mind from being distracted and wandering around, or daydreaming, and thereby bring it to stillness. We have to keep recollecting the meditation object we have chosen over and over again with mindfulness and all-round knowing.

The best way to begin is simply to bow down to the Buddha, Dhamma and Saṅgha. As we do this we recollect the virtuous qualities of the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha. For example we recollect the wisdom, the purity, the peace, and the compassion of the Buddha. We then sit down cross-legged with body erect and back straight, and try to focus our attention on the feeling of the breath going in and out. We call this ānāpānasati, or mindfulness of breathing. You can experiment with this to see if it suits your character. When we practice mindfulness of breathing we use our mindfulness and all-round knowing to place our attention on the feeling of the in and out breath at the tip of the nose, and put effort into keeping it there. We only have to know whether the breath is going in or going out ― just that much. But we have to persevere and keep doing it; we must keep putting attention on that one spot where we know the feeling of the breath. At the same time relax yet remain alert and awake, and from time to time remind yourself of the instructions.

As we practice we must understand that it takes time for the mind to calm down and become concentrated. Don’t worry if your mind does not immediately experience any peace or calm, just keep doing it and being very patient. As you meditate you are learning the skill of how to let go of all distracting thoughts. When thoughts about the past arise just let them go by reminding yourself that past events have already taken place and you can’t change them or revisit that time. Remind yourself that the past is finished ― it’s over with. When you experience thoughts about the future, such as the desire to plan things or thoughts about what you want to do next, then help yourself to let go by reminding yourself that the future has not yet happened, and that these are merely thoughts and ideas about the future which are still uncertain. Bring all your attention to focus on the present moment, and check or ask yourself, is my mind with the breath in the present moment or not? Is my mind on the meditation object or not? You really have to work with your own mind, and it can be quite challenging or even a struggle at times. For periods it will wander and be distracted but don’t concern yourself with that. Simply continue to put forth effort into the practice and keep focusing on the breath until you gain more control over your mind. Little by little your skill at maintaining mindfulness and all-round awareness will gradually improve. You will then know what you are thinking from moment to moment because your mindfulness has become established and then, breath by breath, your mind will become calmer.

When the mind settles down it might become calm and concentrated for just a few minutes, which is a temporary state of concentration called kanika samādhi. The mind gathers together momentarily into a state of one–pointedness. Later on as you practice you might experience the mind gathering its energy together in one place and staying calm and one-pointed for perhaps thirty minutes or so. We call this a state of upacāra samādhi. When the mind experiences this we will feel happy, content and very light in both body and mind and there will be a great sense of well-being. Our aim is simply to keep the mind there experiencing this lightness and to just keep putting forth effort into the meditation. As we progress and become more skilled in calming the mind, and letting go of distraction, we might experience deeper states of calm and concentration that may last for an hour or longer. This is what we call appanā samādhi, when the mind becomes very one–pointed and absorbed into the breath. Some practitioners might experience this continuously for two or three hours during which time they have no other distractions, mental activity or thoughts disturbing or bothering them.

Some people find it easy to train in meditation and reach this stage quite swiftly Others might take a much longer period of training to reach this point where the mind is peaceful and still. When the mind is this still, the sense of the breathing will disappear. That which knows that the breathing has disappeared is the citta, or the mind. The quality of knowing is all that is left. At this point there is no need to fear or worry about what is happening. We just keep with this sense of knowing that the breath is gone. Really the breath has become so refined that you can’t notice it anymore, it’s disappeared from your awareness. When we experience this, even the whole sense of the body might disappear. At this point, you focus on the knowing and the area where you were aware of the breath and observed the sensation disappear. It might be at the tip of the nostrils, or at the centre of your chest, but you just keep focusing on the area. As you do this the experience of pīti, or rapture, will gradually become more and more prominent. As the rapture increases, the sense of coolness and lightness in the mind will become greater and we might even feel like we are floating on air, again lacking a sense of the body. Even this rapture can fade as we keep concentrating and meditating, and all that will be left is a very cool feeling of happiness and contentment. With further practice contentment and happiness will gradually fade and eventually we will experience what we call ekaggatā, or one–pointedness. The mind is perfectly one–pointed on a single object, experiencing perfect equanimity, and is completely detached and undisturbed. Someone who trains well and with ease might experience this and at that point they will be experiencing the highest happiness from meditation. All of us can achieve this. All of us can practice and gradually experience deeper and deeper states of happiness through our efforts in meditation.

Question: Could you kindly advise us how to practice Dhamma in daily life when we still have a job and are responsible for raising children, and how we might improve our efforts in Dhamma practice once our children have become adults?

Answer: Really the responsibility for raising children doesn’t end until they have finished their education and begun to earn a living. Even after you reach that point a parent never stops loving their children, but you have to learn how to put the attachment down from your mind. You have to practice letting go of the attachment to your partner and to your children during meditation, and to develop a perception of being single. When you are developing samādhi you must practice as if you are on your own. Even if you have many people living in your household, if you can develop this feeling of inner seclusion, you will find it easier to bring your mind to experience peace in meditation.

You also have to put down your concerns about your occupation or work in the same way. Really, there is no end to the work you or others can do in this world; even if you were to live to ninety years old there would still be more to do. When you meditate let go of it all. Once you have finished your meditation you can mentally pick up the work again and consider what you have to do next. Later, when you are free from those duties, then hurry up and practice meditation again. You have to know how to manage your time.

You also need to have your own store of faith and conviction that the practice is beneficial for yourself. You must recollect the Buddha’s words of advice to practice as if you are alone. Even if you are living in a monastery with one hundred other monks you must try to maintain the perception that you are on your own. It is important that you learn how to let go of your friends and colleagues from your mind. If you have a family you must learn how to let go of your kids as you practice.

The more skilled you are at doing this the quicker your mind will settle down and experience peace through meditation. You also have to learn how to let go of concerns about bodily aches and pains as you put forth effort in meditation. Even if you are ill let go of the concerns about the illness. Anyone who learns to let go of their attachment to different painful feelings experienced during meditation will gain samādhi quickly. We can worry about external things and about the physical feelings and sensations that arise, and then not find any peace at all during that particular meditation. So learn to set such preoccupations aside. Tell yourself not to bother about them; even if your flesh and bones feel like they are about to drop off or crumble away ― don’t be concerned. That’s the way you can experience peaceful states of concentration quickly as you train. It is important to be determined and put forth effort in the practice.

Also of vital importance is to maintain mindfulness and clear comprehension. With these two qualities you can maintain attention on the meditation object and let go of the different vedanā, or feelings, that arise. When you let go of the attachment to feelings then the mind will become very firm indeed. It will gather together quickly and it will seem like the painful feelings have lost all their power to influence the mind; you won’t worry about anything. If mosquitoes land on you and bite, you won’t be bothered. This is because you know how to let go.

In the time of the Buddha many lay practitioners realized the Dhamma even though they still had to earn a living and look after their families and children. They might have had three or four children, but were still able to establish their minds in samādhi and let go of their attachments. If we live in a family then we must learn how to teach ourselves the Dhamma within that situation. We must learn how to let go internally, even as we carry on our duties externally. The practice is a private thing we learn for ourselves. If others don’t practice they might not understand what we are doing or how we are able to let go; we might be peaceful on the inside but others might not even realize it.

When we experience peace it is the result of our practice. It is because we have become skilled at training our mind. You might compare this to being a passenger in a car, or on a plane, where we are sitting quietly practicing and observing others, but without getting too involved with them. When you experience this kind of peace you will become skilled in contemplation and at separating your mind from the people and issues that surround you.

Some people think this kind of activity is selfish, but it isn’t. Training our mind in this way brings benefit to ourselves and others; that’s why in Thailand these days you find many doctors and health care professionals, scientists and academics interested in the practice of meditation as a way to improve their life.

Many people see the importance of listening to Dhamma and training their mind, because they realize that their mind is the most valuable possession they have. Externally our lives already have a high level of material comfort and convenience, but internally we are still stressed and suffering. So we should put forth effort into cultivating our mind skilfully.

The people who come forward to ordain as monks and nuns already have realized the value of the practice. Those who know the value and put forth effort will experience peace and understanding. The understanding we gain from the practice is that we know the point where suffering arises and we know the cause behind it.

The cause of suffering is our micchā–diṭṭhi, or wrong view, and it is displayed in our wrong thinking. When our mind lacks wisdom then it doesn’t see the Truth of the way things are. Seeing forms with the eyes is one type of seeing, but seeing things with wisdom is different. Without wisdom we see and understand things incorrectly and everything goes wrong: we think wrongly, speak wrongly and act in wrong ways. Similarly, if we train our minds to bring up mindfulness and contemplate to cultivate wisdom, then with wisdom we see and understand things correctly and everything goes right: we think correctly, speak correctly and act correctly.

Everything originates from the mind. So if we seek to act in correct ways which don’t create suffering we have to make the mind correct first. You must understand this point. If someone has strong wrong view then they will use their skills and intelligence to build weapons, such as guns and bombs, and these can be used to kill people. All of our behavior begins as volitional thoughts and from there our actions are conditioned. It is like we have an interaction between our thoughts, our mouth and our body, and then we act on that. To build a nuclear bomb you make a plan first, and then you start clearing land with machinery to make a nuclear plant and a factory to manufacture bombs. All of this originates from ideas and thoughts in people’s minds. We don’t manufacture bombs to kill birds and animals; we make them to kill people. The intention to do this has to originate in the minds of people first, so you could say that their minds went wrong from the very first thought.

Question: Some people think incorrectly but don’t seem to realize it. The consequences of that can be frightening.

Answer: That’s right. Wrong views and wrong thinking are the causes of much suffering in the world. We are faced with choices in our life, rather like someone who is travelling somewhere and reaches an intersection on the highway: if the person hasn’t learned to read they will be unable to read the road signs and they won’t know where to go. Such a person is likely to drive in the wrong direction because they can’t read. There might even be a “no entry” sign clearly prohibiting you from travelling down a certain road, but that driver might travel in that direction anyway and end up lost or in trouble. Someone who can read is able make use of the road signs all the way and can reach their destination with ease. Similarly, one with right view is likely to read situations and make appropriate choices in how to act, speak and think, and so they’re able to reach their destination with a sense of ease.

Practicing the Dhamma is like this. It is about direct training of the mind to develop sammā–diṭṭhi, or right view, and abandon micchā–diṭṭhi. These things arise in our minds, not elsewhere. To develop right view we should associate with sages and wise people because they will lead us in the right direction. They have already travelled along the path of practice and know from experience what is correct and what is incorrect. If we stay close beside them we will also reach the destination we are striving for.

Question: It seems to be a common problem between couples that one partner might have the faith to practice Dhamma and the other sees it as a waste of time. Or they feel it is difficult to prove the benefits of putting forth effort into following the Buddha’s teachings. Or they think that the law of kamma and the effects of wholesome and unwholesome action are difficult to prove, and this difference in view can lead to conflict and disharmony in the relationship. How can we deal skilfully with this problem, or minimize the suffering that might arise from the differing views held by each person?

Answer: Really, if we are practicing well according to the teachings we don’t need to create suffering over other people and what they do or what they believe in.

Our relationship with others will reflect our practice which is for the end of suffering. If they are caught into confusion and suffering it is a result of their own actions. If we practice correctly, according to the teachings, we don’t do anything that creates suffering for ourselves or others, though they might react to this initially with suffering due to their own attachments. If they don’t yet know or understand how to practice or see the good in what we are doing, they might criticize us or speak as if they know what is what and tell us how they feel we are wrong. The important thing is not to argue with those who don’t yet understand how to practice, as it will make them unhappy inside and even more against what we are doing. As long as they still don’t understand then you should simply get on with your practice and not spend too much time thinking about them. They have a different level of understanding from you, so don’t worry about it.

I know many couples like this and in the beginning the one practicing Dhamma gets criticism from the one who isn’t, but over time it changes because if you practice Dhamma you tend to do good things and there is little for others to find fault with. In the end the one who isn’t practicing usually comes round to see the value of following the Buddha’s path. Sometimes the one who hasn’t been practicing ends up coming to me, paying respects and thanking me for teaching their partner how to keep the precepts, practice mindfulness, and meditate.

When you practice meditation you learn how to have more self-control and how to contemplate, and the result is that you will have more mettā in your heart. You will feel at ease because you know how to let go of suffering and you can sleep well at night because of your inner happiness. Your practice will gradually have a good effect on those around you, and then the internal stress they were experiencing, based on their negative view of your practice of meditation, will gradually subside and they will appreciate more of what you are doing. Sometimes if the man in the relationship is the one who is not practicing they might not like the fact that their partner is becoming wiser and more of peaceful than them, but over time they can change for the better.

Question: Sometimes the person in the relationship who is practicing has to be very patient with the one who is not.

Answer: You don’t need to think too much about it if you know how to let go. On the surface the practice of letting go seems similar to the practice of patience, but actually letting go takes place automatically when we have insight. When you consciously practice patience there is still some struggle involved, whereas letting go comes from knowledge and understanding: if you know the Truth then you don’t have to struggle with your thoughts and emotions anymore because there is a natural letting go. As long as you are behaving correctly and not breaking the law or doing something inappropriate, then you can just let go and do your practice. Even if they keep complaining or being critical ― you can let go. This is because you are doing nothing wrong. If they criticize you for practicing the Dhamma you can ask them to tell you what you are doing wrong; they won’t be able to answer because you are not doing anything wrong or inappropriate.

A couple in Thailand who had this problem came to me and I pointed out that the wife was practicing properly and the husband was at fault. When he heard that he just stayed quiet because he knew he should be practicing more himself. Many of my lay supporters face this problem. Often it is the man who is against his wife because she practices the Dhamma. But over time they come to accept that their wife is doing a good thing and stop complaining and then they begin to support her in her practice.

You could say that women have the potential for attaining sotāpanna, or stream entry, quicker than men when they have such strong faith. Men tend to be more skeptical of the teachings and are prone to doubt, so they experience the results more slowly and with more difficulty. Once the men have established their faith in the practice, they can experience results quickly too. Some men I know are intelligent, well-educated and have achieved prominent positions in society, but once they see their wife benefitting from the practice and attaining some peace then they wish to experience some peace for themselves. This leads them to listen to the Dhamma from a wise teacher and to begin meditating and reflecting on the suffering of family life… and then they might even leave their job and become a monk. That can happen as well: the man quits his job and leaves his wife to look after the kids while he goes off to become a monk ― be careful, it can happen!

In the time of the Buddha many men left their families to become monks and became arahants, enlightened beings. Their wives might have stayed behind to look after the children and only attained sotāpanna, so when they died they were reborn in the heaven realms and still had to keep on practicing. These days I am impressed with many people who practice the Dhamma, and I think they should continue to practice and not concern themselves too much with those who do not yet follow the teachings.

The Sublime Buddho Mind

Venerable Ajahn Tui Chandakaro

November, 2004

“Buddho”. What this means is taking a firm grip of that meditation word and reciting it continually, as if following a line inward, until you reach the real Buddho ― the sublime mind. Anyone who reaches the real Buddho will be in awe of what they find. To reach this point you need a teacher who can guide you along that path which leads into the real Buddho.

Anyone who wishes for the sublime mind, the mind of “Buddho", has the potential within them for that experience ― every single person sitting in this room. It’s just that you can’t see it right now due to the power of defilement. The mind that covets the objects of sensual desire, along with all of your other moods that result from them, completely covers up and obscures that sublime Buddho-mind and thus prevents you from seeing it. So our teachers have us pull these defiling obstructions away from the heart with”Buddho". What this means is taking a firm grip of that meditation word and reciting it continually, as if following a line inward, until you reach the real Buddho ― the sublime mind. Anyone who reaches the real Buddho will be in awe of what they find. To reach this point you need a teacher who can guide you along that path which leads into the real Buddho.

At this point you need a teacher; you can’t proceed on your own. If you get stuck then you have to consult teachers and wise people, or books that contain their instructions. There are reliable books on meditation practice, freely available, by Ven. Ajahn Chah and Ven. Ajahn Maha Boowa; Ven. Jao Khun Upali was another good teacher. The most reliable books containing teachings on the issue of the peaceful mind, and how to contemplate it, are those of Ajahn Chah and Ajahn Maha Boowa.

When the mind is still it is a highly addictive experience. Ajahn Maha Boowa got stuck on that profound inner peace and joy for five years. It is an experience of great happiness, so when he came out of his meditation and back into contact with the various sense impressions and the issues that come with communal life his mind just said, “No! I do not need this!” and he would flee into a secluded forest here, or retreat into a distant jungle there. There was no way he would get involved with anybody or anything. “No no no!” But once someone becomes fixated on that type of happiness it becomes a happiness that you just sit there and bask in without further progress. That mind has no desire to run off here and there, so you simply keep to yourself in that state of inner unification. It is a state of great bliss that those who have practiced know and understand because they have experienced it for themselves. Those who have not done the practice just don’t understand this; they don’t know what it is. As soon as you try imagining what it’s like through guessing and conjecture you’ve already got it wrong. You don’t need to go working these things out by guessing at them.

(Luang Por then asks a listener...)

“How many years have you been living in Australia?”

Layman: “Fifteen years, Luang Por.”

Luang Por: “Where did you live previously?”

Layman: “Bangkok, Luang Por.”

Luang Por: “You can still have these experiences here. Location is not the determining factor. It isn’t about being in this or that city. Anyone who practices correctly and is of good character will meet with progress in their meditation.”

Layman: “I have been living in Australia for a long time now, since before I was married. I’ve had these kinds of meditation experiences but it’s been a long time now since I’ve had them.”

Luang Por: "Oh, I see. You had this experience at one time but never again. Don’t worry about it, it’s still available and right there inside you. It’s just that your external living situation at the moment doesn’t allow for it to arise. As soon as you get married your meditation goes dark. The difficulties involved with getting food on the table, finding and maintaining a household, and all the other combined entanglements of family life that you’re constantly involved with keep obstructing and blocking you off from that inner peace. Secular people of the world don’t understand these things. But you are able to realize just what profound happiness meditation can yield because you can still recall this experience even after a long time.

The flavours of sensuality are real but they soon become insipid and lose their taste. Those flavours of the external world can’t compare to the flavour of Dhamma. The flavour of Dhamma never grows insipid. It never grows bland or becomes boring. It is always refreshing and delicious. Venerable Jao Khun Upali had a poem that they have translated into central Thai from the Isahn language. Do you understand Isahn? It went like this:

"Most people covet flavours which are sweet,

Like sugar-cane and ladies.

Though flavoursome, consumed in abundance,

Filled with these, you grow fed up.

But when you taste the Dhamma –

However much,

You’ll never have enough."

He articulated it so well! The more you taste the flavour of Dhamma the more delicious it gets. The more you drink, the less bland it is. The greater the results are, the more you want to pursue them. He said that the “flavour” of a man or a woman (laughs) is one that fills you, meaning you eventually get fed up, bored, and have had enough. That was a poem by Jao Khun Upali. He was great! Wasn’t he? Just look at what a fabulous writer he was:

"Unconstricted,

Without limitations,

Without bounds;

The more you listen,

Ever sweeter,

All the deeper

The Dhamma resounds."

I find these words very moving because they are imbued with deep meaning.

When someone has seen the original mind this knowledge inspires tears of empathy with all beings still caught in suffering; you can’t help it. Tears roll down your cheeks and there’s no stopping it. Most people haven’t seen this yet so I’m encouraging you all to build up good and wholesome qualities.

Starting from the five precepts, and then by gradually taking on more, you can pull all these defilements away from the heart and experience the Buddho-mind. If you can’t keep the eight precepts then at least keep the five and hold to them as your mainstay. Thai Buddhists, and Buddhists in general, know the five precepts well. If you don’t keep to them you’ll lose your footing in life. You’ll be like a person who’s fallen into a vast ocean with no shore in sight and with no way up, down, or out; having lived your life and died you won’t even realize this. This is something that sages look upon with deep sorrow.

All of you, all my brothers and sisters in the Dhamma who are supporters and students here, I offer you these words of encouragement: The more you practice, the more joyfully absorbed you will become in the practice. Try to do at least fifteen minutes of meditation a day by reciting “Buddho” within your mind before you go to bed at night. Even that much will be a great blessing that you give yourself continually.

That’s enough for you all to remember for now. I’ve told you to train yourselves in meditation for at least fifteen minutes a day and keep the five precepts. Or if you can do one hour or more of meditation a day and keep more precepts that’s even better — but don’t forget to do at least fifteen minutes of a day and keep the five precepts. Pass this on to your families and spouses too. Don’t think that it’s an impossible task. It’s tough work in the beginning ― very tough ― but you must make the effort to build up this heart because it is well worth it. If you make it all the way through to the true Buddho-mind that I was talking about earlier it will be an awe inspiring experience. At this point in your practice you have to rely on this simple method of keeping your mind under control with a meditation object. Pulling the obstructive moods away from the heart won’t be achieved any other way. If there is still suffering in your mind you need to deal with it through this method.

On the most basic level, you should at least avoid harmful kinds of behavior and do at least fifteen minutes of “Buddho” meditation a day. That’s a good foundation to start with.

We sustain our lives by consuming and then we grow old, die, and go our separate ways. If we don’t go our separate ways while still living then we will when we die. In a flash you’ll all be separated from me. But you can hold on tight to these forms of goodness I’ve been talking about; hold on to them at the core of your being because they are the most sublime refuge in the world. Remember that.

Giving with Full Relinquishment

Phra Thep Pariyattiyodom (Venerable Ajahn Opart)

March 26, 2015

“When we perform meritorious deeds we shouldn’t hesitate and pull out before we complete them, nor should we just give a donation as a perfunctory empty gesture. Before you offer something establish a firm intention to give with conviction in what you are giving to. Establish faith from the moment you begin to make an offering and don’t waver. Once you have given a gift, try to do it with a sense of mutta cāgin anuddhato, which means giving a gift without any sense of further possessiveness, or unwholesome pride in connection with that gift, or with the act of giving it ― this how you practice generosity with complete letting go.”

Today I will be performing chanting and spreading mettā (goodwill) to Sian-Mah and all of you, the faithful laity, who have contributed to the building of this new sālā (meeting hall) which functions both as a dining hall and a place of meditation practice. The abbot of this monastery, Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo, is a disciple of Venerable Ajahn Chah and he teaches his way of practice to the laity through his own example. And throughout his time here the lay community ― from the committee who purchased the land upon which we stand, to all those others, young and old, near and far ― have gradually been contributing to the infrastructure of the monastery through their heartfelt conviction and respect in Venerable Ajahn Chah’s way of practice. Now that these facilities are complete, people can come and stay if they wish. That things have now developed to the extent that they have is very pleasing for me to see and I give my* sādhu-anumodanā* (appreciation and blessing) and rejoice.

This development couldn’t have taken place if Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo was not a well-practiced monk because the laity wouldn’t have the kind of respect that manifests itself in this way. Now, because Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo has developed well in his own practice, he’s been able to guide the community here in Venerable Ajahn Chah’s way of practice since the first year of the monastery in 2001 up until now. So gradually, year after year, various supporters have been coming here and practicing generosity in whichever way they felt suitable. This is due to the chanda (wholesome effort) of Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo.

As the abbot, that is, the head monk or teacher, Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo will carry out his duties in line with whatever is required by his position and he will carry them out in a way suitable both to the location and according to the Buddhasāsana (the Buddha’s dispensation). If things weren’t being done in this way it would not work. I am glad to see that these requirements are being met, and extend my blessing, sādhu-anumodanā.

Many of the faithful laity here are from overseas. For example Sian-Mah, the primary sponsor for this new hall, is from Malaysia. I can remember the members of the monastery committee and many people here but can’t remember all of your names. There are Thais, Cambodians, Laotians, Vietnamese, Sri Lankans, Indians, and other ethnicities too. I can see that all of you from these various backgrounds have come to live here in a new country far away from your origin, but you have a refuge close by; there are monks here. You have a mainstay, something to respect, and a reference point that you can count on for advice. Whether you are experiencing success, or misfortune, in life this refuge enables you to practice the Buddha’s teachings and affords you peace of heart. If we find ourselves lacking a spiritual refuge embodied in the monastic community then we should seek one out. At present there aren’t that many monasteries in Melbourne, but there is a reasonable number. As for this particular monastery I see it as one of great significance. Why? Because Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo is also a sanctioned preceptor which is not a position easily obtained. Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo’s position as a preceptor qualifies him to perform the ordination ceremony for Buddhist monks. This is something that potentially augments the growth of the Buddhasāsana in Australia* *significantly.

Ultimately, with Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo having sufficient pāramīs (spiritual qualities) and exerting himself, and the lay community having the conviction, respect, and the good intentions to support this place at this time, it has led to the gradual coming together and completion of this new hall. And now it is complete. Sian-Mah is leading the offering ceremony today, but the completion of this building is the result of a combination of many different people from many different backgrounds, including the monastery committee and many others, all doing their bit to help out. This is pleasing for me to see.

This is not your average meeting of different people either. Had we not been related in some way in the past ― had we never shared a mutual connection from past lives, never met Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo, and never done meritorious deeds together in the past ― then this kind of gathering wouldn’t have happened in this lifetime. As a result of these past life connections we have now come together, face to face, in this present life. This is also in part due to my own connection to you. I first visited this monastery to take part in the Royal Kaṭhina ceremony held in the newly opened Uposatha hall (ordination hall), and now I am here for a second time for the opening of this dining hall. Why have I come twice now? I have come because of the outstanding faith and good intentions of both Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo and everyone else, which have been displayed in your efforts to establish the Buddhasāsana in a foreign country. And the fact that this place has developed to the highest level now is something which makes me very happy to see, and I am proud of all you who have been part of it.

When we perform meritorious deeds we shouldn’t hesitate and pull out before we complete them, nor should we just give a donation as a perfunctory empty gesture. Before you offer something establish a firm intention to give with conviction in what you are giving to. Establish faith from the moment you begin to make an offering and don’t waver. Once you have given a gift, try to do it with a sense of mutta cāgin anuddhato, which means giving a gift without any sense of further possessiveness, or unwholesome pride in connection with that gift, or with the act of giving it ― this how you practice generosity with complete letting go. When you give in this way, with this kind of faith, it has to become firm to the point that it is irreversible. Why? Money is easy to spend, but not easy to come by. Rather than spending your hard earned money on yourselves you have donated it to the Buddhasāsana, and the wholesomeness of that action can support you and see you through not just to the next life, but ultimately to nibbāna (complete freedom from suffering). However, for this, unwavering faith is essential.

All of you have to set your minds and hearts in the kind of rock solid conviction that could be compared to the foundation pillars of a metropolitan building. To set those pillars you have to make the foundations for that building at least five or six meters deep and set them in solid concrete; then it doesn’t matter how hard rain falls or how wild storms rage, those foundations won’t budge from their original position.

It is similar with performing meritorious deeds ― don’t waver and falter. When you do good deeds then you will receive abundant good as a result for sure, but it must be confidently understood that to give with conviction which is pure, clean, and firm will bring better-than-average results, or even extraordinary results. Whether you offer one dollar, two dollars, ten thousand dollars or one million, don’t just give it as a mechanical, empty gesture; cultivate an indomitable spirit that this will lead to a present life and a future life of prosperity, success, beauty, and purity, eventually leading to the highest benefit of all ― nibbāna. Remember this well.

Developing wholesome qualities and performing meritorious deeds happens on two levels. The first is that of people who still have greed, hatred, and delusion defiling their mind. On this level, the result will only go as far as the heaven realms. On the second level, the offering is performed by someone who has swept the various hindrances and defilements out of their mind; this type of gift has nibbāna as its ultimate reward.

When making an offering you can do it skilfully and get good results, or you can also do it unskilfully and get bad results; the later occurs when you cling to your offering.

Meritorious deeds are of two types: the first is “Mutta-cāgin anuddhato,” meaning giving without clinging. For instance, you can examine when you offer food to the monks whether you are offering with or without clinging. Try not to make an offering of food to Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo and then sit there staring at him to see if he eats it or not. If he doesn’t eat it then you might want to know why and get agitated. Perhaps if you make an offering to me, or the other monks, you start to get curious about our eating habits: you want to know why we take one thing but not another. This is not necessary. As soon as your offering has been received you have completed your task and gained merit. Sometimes a certain individual can’t eat a particular type of food for health reasons. So whoever you offer something to ― Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo, the other monks, or myself ― don’t concern yourself too much with what we do with it. The same goes for whatever you come to offer ― every morsel of food, every cent, everything ― you’ve already accomplished your objective from the moment it has been properly received. But if you can practice mutta-cāgin anuddhato without adhering to your greed, hatred, or delusion, then you can be assured that the goodness you’ve accumulated is goodness on the highest level. If you are only making merit as a way of showing everyone else what a “number one” patron or philanthropist you are, and your mind is scattered and agitated, the merit gained therein is tainted with demerit. You must remember this.

The Lord Buddha once said, “Mano-pubbaṅgamādhammā mano-seṭṭhā mano-mayā,” which means, “Phenomena are preceded by the heart, ruled by the heart, made from the heart.” So we have to purify and cleanse our heart foremost. If we can do this then Dhamma practice becomes easy. If our heart is defiled with impurities and we sit down to meditate, though we are doing something good, our efforts are still insufficient and so samādhi (concentration) doesn’t ensue.

The Buddha taught that the heart is the commander and the body is that which follows the command. If the heart gives the wrong command, the body will perform the wrong action; if the heart gives the right command, the body will perform the right action. Thus, the heart is of great importance.

Right now, I’m not talking about the minds of others; I’m talking about your own mind, the heart of the individual. That is what you all must purify and cleanse. Your body also has to be pure; the heart cannot be cleansed with impure bodily conduct.

Why is it that the heart is defiled? Initially it is because of our unskilful physical conduct and behavior. And how does it become pure? Purity arises initially because of the wholesome behavior that promotes it. Every volitional physical act has the mind as its source. If a desire remains inside then it merely remains an internal movement, but our heart tends to follow all those physical desires bound up with our bodies. In the end, the heart is more important but we can’t just purify the heart alone. Heart and body have to be purified and cleansed together.

How do we purify both of these things? Firstly by keeping the five precepts: abstaining from killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, wrong speech, and taking drugs and intoxicants. If you can keep all these precepts then you are guaranteed not to fall into a lower realm in the future, much like a sotāpanna (stream-enterer). How do the five precepts become possible? They become possible through purity of body and mind. And where does this purity come from? It comes from virtue. If we lack virtue then qualities such as samādhi, jhāna (meditative absorption), and paññā (wisdom), cannot be established. If all of you can purify your body and mind then the nīvaraṇa (the five hindrances) will fall away from the heart and you will attain good samādhi, and wisdom will arise quite naturally. This is why virtue is so essential. If we possess virtue then those other qualities will naturally follow on from it; you don’t need to fret about whether you’re going to attain them or not. So you must all try and remember the importance of purity of body and mind.

I’ll give an analogy for how the practice of generosity, virtue, and meditation works. If a bird wants to fly from one tree to the next then its feet, wings, and eyes, all have to work together in synchrony to propel it over to that other tree. Basically, it has to be able to see its landing point, and it has to be able to fly there. The Buddha compared generosity with the feet, virtue with the wings, and wisdom with the eyes. A bird can’t survive without its feet, and it can’t fly without its wings either. Both are significant; that is to say, the practice of generosity and the keeping of precepts are both essential. However, even if these two factors are there, the bird still would not be able to navigate without vision, meaning, the practice still isn’t complete without the faculty of wisdom.

The Buddha taught us that if we want to reach our goal, if we want to attain to the state of ariya (a Noble one), or to the state of nibbāna, then* we need to develop all three of these things ― dāna (generosity), sīla (virtue), and bhāvanā* (meditation) ― and we need to develop them together. If we can do this we are sure to reach our destination.

Just as a bird can reach its destination with its feet, wings and eyes ― a Dhamma practitioner can attain their goal successfully with generosity, virtue and meditation. But if one part of the practice is missing, for example if there is no generosity or virtue, then it won’t be successful. If a practitioner cultivates these and brings them to fruition then they can attain whatever goal they aspire to, whether it be a heavenly rebirth or nibbāna. So if you keep practicing then one day you will succeed in whatever goal you have determined to reach, and it will be because you yourselves have forged your own pathway to it. Remember this well.

All of you have come to live here from abroad but your ethnic background is of little importance. Whatever your involvements here are ― be they on the social level or on the spiritual level, or because of your own personal involvements with those who are helping ― you must interact with others in sāmaggi (harmony).

The Buddha once said, “Samaggānam tapo sukho,” which means happiness arises through practicing together in harmony. Harmony is vital. When people do things together all objectives are sure to be achieved. Where a single person can’t achieve something alone, four people can help out to make it work. If four people can’t get the job done, then eight people helping together will succeed. If eight people can’t do it, then twelve people can make it happen. And why is this possible? It is possible because of* sāmaggi* and group cooperation.

When it comes to money and budgeting to make ends meet people need to cooperate together. One household might be able to manage on a very low budget if they cooperate and practice frugality in order to survive. Another family might have to manage on a medium budget, which is a little easier, and by observing the family that is able to get by on very low budget they may follow their example and learn to get by with relative ease. Other families would certainly be able to get by on very high budgets, but would still need harmony.

You can find groups of people cooperating together in large numbers in many different situations, whether it’s between different religions, in business, or in society in general. But, whatever community it may be, people must possess mutual goodwill and cultivate harmony. If you can all live together in this way then, whatever the amount of funds or resources you have, there will always be enough to go around and no one will be in need; there will always be enough to provide for the needs of everyone in the group. Practicing in this way, in this present life, you will be able to live happily and at ease. You may live in a foreign land away from your home, but if your actions are always based on the principles of mutual goodwill and harmonious living then your life will have value and be a life worth living.

We people have a tendency to argue and squabble. Just look at the government: don’t you think the way politicians behave is deplorable? When we feel that a particular individual or group of people has got it all wrong, ultimately we have to be able to forgive them, seek reconciliation, and re-establish harmony ― basically, we need mutual goodwill. If we see another without food then we should come to their aid and feed them. If they see us in the same situation they should come to our aid. This is what is called having mettā for one another. If you can all live like this then you will have nothing to worry about ― you will flourish without a doubt.

Whether we are from Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Taiwan, China, or New Zealand, whether we are from the same ethnic background or a different one, we all need to know how to practice mutual forgiveness and give each other reminders in the way of Dhamma, regardless of nationality. If we need a reminder in the way of Dhamma then someone should be able to give us one; if someone else needs one then we should be able to do the same. In this way we can all develop to a high level. If we can’t do this, our development will be slow and difficult.

So I will leave you all with these reflections for now.

Establishing the Marks of a True Human

Phra Raja Bhavanavikrom (Venerable Ajahn Liem Thitadhammo)

April 12, 2015

“The Buddha himself was born as a human being just like us; he had a body and mind just like us. If we can follow his example and develop this mental attitude where the mind is free, empty and without suffering, then everywhere we go we’ll experience friendliness and warmth and a sense of kinship with our fellow human beings.”

Homage to the Blessed, Noble and Perfectly Enlightened One,
Homage to the Dhamma,
Homage to the Saṅgha.

Sabbapāpassa akaraṇaṃ,
Kusalassa upasampadā
Sacittapariyodapanaṃ,
Etaṃ Buddhānasāsanaṃ ti.

To avoid all evil,
To do that which is wholesome,
And to cultivate the mind,
This is the teaching of all the Buddhas.

I would like to pay my respects to all my friends in the practice: the senior monks, junior monks and novices, and ask for permission to speak on Dhamma. I extend my greetings, my blessings, and goodwill to all of the lay people who have gathered here today out of faith in the Buddha’s teachings, and out of a wish to practice Dhamma.

By coming here on this important occasion we are taking part in the practice of Dhamma which helps to foster the development of our hearts and minds, as well as the qualities of kindness and compassion. It is also an expression of our faith. This has come to be because we have faith, confidence and great respect for the qualities and virtues of the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha, and also faith in those spiritual qualities that we ourselves are all striving to develop. To come here and meet like this takes effort, energy and renunciation and in the process we are giving up our time and material resources. To do this requires mindfulness, wisdom and much bodily effort and, by making this effort, we are creating and fostering an environment which is beneficial for the practice of Dhamma.

Today we have all come here to join in this ceremony. This is an important occasion as it points us to one of the founding principles of the Buddhist teachings that we follow and practice, that is, the establishing of what we call a sima, a significant stone boundary designated by the community of monks, around this new Uposatha Hall. This sima boundary denotes the place where the community of monks performs important transactions. It is a specially designated place for the various duties and ceremonies of the community. One particular example is the upasampadā, or the ordination ceremony for a new a bhikkhu (Buddhist monk).

A monk is someone who dedicates their life to the highest benefit for themselves and others. Thus the sima boundary fulfills an important function, and it means the community of monks in this monastery can practice in a very complete way fully in line with Dhamma-Vinaya, the Buddha’s teachings and way of training.

It is important to have a proper place for Saṅgha ceremonies to take place and where monks can meet together in large numbers if necessary, such as with the ordination of a new monk. All of these external things provide supportive conditions for the arising of inner mental well-being and good mental health in our practice. The mental health and well-being of the Saṅgha is also a factor in the well-being of society as a whole. We can thus say that this particular ceremony to establish the sima boundary holds great significance for the whole Buddhist community.

This Uposatha Hall is not just a place for Saṅgha ceremonies either; it’s also a place where everyone can come out of faith and respect in the Buddha and practice the teachings. As you do this you might reflect that you are also sharing and benefiting from the Buddha’s legacy. It’s almost as if, right here and right now, we are sitting under the tree of enlightenment and benefiting from the presence of the Buddha. Now it is up to us to take responsibility and do our duty as true human beings, which is to strive to develop and improve the quality of our hearts and minds.

The Buddha himself, in order to realize supreme Enlightenment, first needed to develop various spiritual qualities called the bodhipakkhiya dhammas, or, “The Wings of Enlightenment”. These are the seven groups of qualities which when developed lead to Enlightenment. Sometimes they are also called the mokkha dhammas, or liberation dhammas. All of these mental qualities ― the spiritual qualities that the Buddha developed that lead to deep inner peace and happiness ― contribute to liberation of mind. As we gather here for this ceremony, we must practice and contemplate clearly that within our own body and mind we have the necessary resources for spiritual liberation, and then commit to cultivating those qualities.

We shouldn’t simply think of natural resources as something external from us. The natural resources we need for the practice are internal. These include developing an understanding of the Truth of Nature which we are all part of. Nature is bound up with the physical world and material objects and we as human beings also have a material form: it’s what we call the body. We can look at the body as our natural resource, the vehicle we need in order to foster our internal, spiritual qualities. Remember the Buddha attained Enlightenment as a human being right here on this very Earth; it wasn’t somewhere else that he realized his Enlightenment. We are human beings with the same potential lying within.

As we live in society and relate to the world around us on a daily basis, it is through these interactions that moods, feelings and thoughts arise. We experience life in the form of sukha which means happiness, and dukkha which means suffering. We must study and learn from these experiences and learn to be very careful and heedful. Caution and heedfulness arises out of the experience of a good level of mental well-being and mental health. Physical health is beneficial to us and is also an important supportive factor for our mental health. We develop physical health from eating nutritious food, nurturing our body and exercising, but we have to be careful with the type and amount of food we consume. We must learn what the right amount for us is and contemplate that the purpose of consuming food is only for the health and nourishment of this body.

Mental health is similar: we have to see the importance of maintaining good mental health and well-being and to nurture it with the food of Dhamma. When we nurture and take care of our minds in a way that creates inner peace it will give rise to friendship, warmth and good relations with other people. We’ll experience that sense of common humanity and interrelatedness with all fellow human beings, and as a result we won’t develop enmity and anger. All of this goodness comes from understanding and developing wholesome spiritual qualities.

In Thailand we use the phrase, “Puñña-kusala", or wholesome merit. Puñña means”merit", or those actions that are life enriching and kusala dhammas arise from wholesome states of mind. When we develop these things we enrich our lives in a positive way and we make our life into a blessing for ourselves and others.

All the various spiritual qualities that we learn to develop are true and valuable things that we should strive for in our lives. We would all agree that somebody who was free from illness and disease is fortunate and so we all know the value of preventing disease and fostering good health. In the same way we should strive to experience mental freedom from suffering.

We should always consider, “What are the things that are beneficial for our mental health and mental well-being? What will nurture and foster these?” and we should avoid all those things which are pointless or not beneficial. We should cultivate what we call “inner wealth”. Inner wealth, or treasure, simply means: freedom from suffering. We should know that all moods and mental states have their causes: some are pleasurable, some are painful. So we should develop those dhammas, those mental qualities and spiritual qualities, which lead to Enlightenment. And we can use objects and experiences which we encounter in our daily life for this purpose.

For example, the Buddha taught kāyagatāsati, which means developing mindfulness based on the body. Try to establish sati, or mindfulness. The Buddha taught that this quality was always of great benefit. By developing mindfulness and clear comprehension of this body our insight and understanding will grow. If we have healthy and clean bodies then our life goes well. If we live a life where we look after our body and keep it clean and healthy this will support our external well-being. If we cleanse and purify our minds then we will find true inner happiness. The mind which is happy leads to the mind that experiences freedom ― freedom from worry ― and has a deep inner sense of well-being. So kāyagatāsati, developing mindfulness based on the body, is one skilful way to cultivate mindfulness. We establish awareness around our own personal terrain, this area that we inhabit that is our physical body, and we come to know exactly the nature of our own body, and as a result we are able to be free from anxiety.

As we practice in this way our mental state improves. With the arising of a steady wholesome state of mind this becomes the cause for clarity and vision and a deep sense of inner well-being to arise. In addition those harmful mental states that lead to suffering ― mental states based on greed, hatred and delusion ― we learn to reduce and abandon. Remember that greed, anger and delusion are very dangerous for us. When we find ourselves bound up with those mental states rooted in greed, anger and delusion we experience no peace of mind and we are not at ease. They will always cause dukkha. So we have to reduce our attachment to and abandon those thoughts and intentions which trick us, leading us to become anxious, confused and worried. If we can reduce the influence of these defilements, and ultimately abandon them, happiness will arise in their place. Whether we are sitting, walking, standing or lying down, we will always feel happy and at ease, just like somebody who is free from sickness.

So I encourage all of you here today to try and experience this kind of happiness, this sukha or mental happiness, for yourselves and I hope everyone will come to see that the goodness we’re all seeking in life lies right here in our own mind. Cleanliness lies in the very same place where we remove a stain: our own mind. If we can remove the stains of our mind then coolness will arise, and our bodies and minds will be at ease. If we practice like this then we will be* sugato,* “one who has gone well”; we will be people going well in life. So remember that we all have great natural resources within ourselves and that we should take these natural resources and develop them skilfully.

The Buddha himself was born as a human being just like us; he had a body and mind just like us. If we can follow his example and develop this mental attitude where the mind is free, empty and without suffering, then everywhere we go we’ll experience friendliness and warmth and a sense of kinship with our fellow human beings, just as you all are experiencing here today. We are all strangers originating from different places but we have come here to meet and share in an activity. We exchange views, we build up trust, and we have this sense of all being related like one big family. The Buddha said we should understand the interrelatedness of all human existence. All of us have factors which we share in common: having been born we all experience the process of change and decay ― it’s the law of nature ― and later our bodies will disintegrate and we will return to the same state.

If we are able to reflect like this we’ll no longer dwell in unwholesome and negative thoughts which lead to enmity and worry. We will begin to develop what we call the manussāya dhammas, which are the higher qualities that make a person a true human being in body and mind. These are the qualities of one with a higher, more developed mind. This hall where we are sitting today is a place which you can all use to develop these spiritual qualities. You have the Saṅgha, led by Ajahn Kalyāṇo, to guide you and light the way, helping you all develop these spiritual qualities that, as human beings, we all have the capacity to develop. They are what the Buddha called our “noble treasure”, or our inner wealth, which stays with us from lifetime to lifetime. This inner wealth is being displayed through the faith you have put forward to put these teachings into practice, led by the Saṅgha. This is the inheritance left to us by the Buddha.

So today we’ve come here to join in this event. In the future, too, everybody will be able to come here and use this place for nurturing and improving their higher spiritual qualities and deepening their own level of wisdom.

In conclusion I would like to express my anumodanā, my joy and appreciation, to see so many people coming here out of faith and confidence in the teachings, putting forth effort and developing their Dhamma practice. May all of you attain physical strength, health and wellbeing. May you develop the qualities of the Dhamma and the vimutti dhammas, the qualities that lead to liberation, in your lives. I wish to express my goodwill to you all and extend to you my blessings. May you all grow and live in harmony both in your families and in society. May you all experience great inner peace and happiness.

Patience and Practice: Through Our Moods

Phra Khru Bodhisaragunavatana (Venerable Ajahn Boonchu Thitaguno)

April, 2009

“The practice of patience… provides us with the ability to bear with the stress of all the various moods and thoughts that we experience, and gives us the time and spaciousness of mind to see them as merely moods and thoughts which arise, remain for a short while, and then pass away.”

This is my first time in Australia and although I have heard much about this country I never imagined I would travel here from my native country of Thailand. However, I was invited here by Ajahn Kalyāṇo to participate in this ceremony to install the marker stones of the new Uposatha Hall, so now I have the opportunity to see this country first hand.

I have been staying at the monastery a few days now and looking around at the dwellings and the forest I’ve found it a very peaceful, secluded and appropriate place for practice. Also, to see the Saṅgha and the laypeople here brings up so much joy and happiness in my heart as I can see the true faith of the people and the diligence of their practice. In the evenings people give up their time to travel here for chanting and meditation and thus are obviously willing to put forth much effort.

This practice is something we must really commit to in a continuous way. The Buddha called it the threefold training in virtue, meditation and wisdom. This teaching is the svākkhāta Dhamma, meaning it has been well expounded by the Buddha; it is up to us to follow it through gradually training our body, speech and mind. Practicing, we will come to understand the Truth that these qualities of virtue, meditation and wisdom lie right here within us.

Applying ourselves to the practice requires diligence and patience as we learn to compose ourselves and establish mindfulness in all postures: whether it is in sitting or walking meditation. The practice is like eating food. If you just look at food but never partake of it you will gain no benefit from it. To receive the benefit and nutritional value from the food you have to prepare it, put it into your mouth, chew it and swallow. Eating food also requires repetition of these actions as only a single mouthful of food will not be enough to fill you up. You have to carry on eating mouthful by mouthful until you really do fill up. Dhamma practice is the same: we have to do it repeatedly with constant effort and patient endurance.

Sometimes in our lives our minds are very busy and can become confused and chaotic. This is simply the nature of the mind, as it is something that is affected by causes and conditions, which in turn generate mental proliferation about many different things. Other times, however, the mind is peaceful. Both of these experiences — the peaceful mind and the chaotic mind — are uncertain and bound up with the process of change. We can never be fully sure how the mind is going to be as it is always subject to change. You might feel really peaceful, but if the conditions alter, that feeling will change with them. Likewise, a chaotic state of mind can change into a calm one.

Usually we believe every mood and thought which the mind experiences, but the Buddha taught us to observe carefully the nature of our mind. He taught that whoever sees the mind will be free from Mara’s snare. “Mara” being the word for those things which obstruct practice; sometimes this refers to the personification of evil, but often it just means kilesa (mental defilements) which are the obstacles to our practice. This includes all our unwholesome desires and negative mental states. It is these kilesa which lead us to harm other beings and other people. For this reason we need to learn to understand the nature of the mind.

Sometimes we feel we need things, or even desperately want them, but as long as we don’t get them our mind remains agitated. Even if we do obtain the object of our desire the mind is still agitated because we crave for more, or we’re not able to find satisfaction in what we have. We always need patient endurance to bear with these changing states and to develop mindfulness and wisdom.

Mindfulness is what gives rise to wisdom; wisdom is what gives rise to light and clarity of vision. The Buddha taught, “Natthi paññā sammā ābhā," meaning,”There is no light as bright as the light of wisdom." A mind which has wisdom will be cool and peaceful. Such wisdom is gained from patiently following the Buddha’s path of practice, which he has given to us out of compassion.

Practicing patience means that whenever we get the things we want, or don’t get the things we want, we maintain our mindfulness and equanimity. We preserve patience towards changing conditions and we reflect with wisdom. Even when we experience things going our way the outcome is never entirely perfect. Sometimes even getting the things we want leads to more suffering, so we always need patient endurance in life, and we have to learn how to summon up diligent effort and energy in the practice.

We cultivate the qualities of mindfulness and clear comprehension to really be aware of whatever we do, say or think, rather than simply following our moods and getting lost in whatever desire arises. Bringing up effort, we restrain and compose our minds, preventing them from getting lost in mental states of delight in and attraction to different sensual experiences, or to the opposite mental states of aversion and negativity to different sensual experiences. We must reflect with wisdom that these are just transient moods. Learning to maintain awareness, and to observe the different mental states of pleasure and aversion in a detached way, we avoid becoming fooled by, and intoxicated with, the sense impressions that come to us from the world. Thus, we don’t fall into states of delusion and attachment.

The Buddha taught that when we fail to establish mindfulness we will get caught into seeking excitement and taking delight in the experiences of the world. Unfortunately, as a result of this we will always end up experiencing frustration and different kinds of suffering.

Taking up this practice of Dhamma leads us to gradually improve our continuity and refinement of mindfulness resulting in a sense of inner peace and ease progressively replacing the busyness of a mind normally characterized by anxiety, confusion and stress. This change takes place slowly, gradually and naturally.

The mind is a conditioned thing and is constantly proliferating and creating as it experiences happiness and suffering, attraction and aversion. Over time we learn to see all of these experiences as simply moods and thoughts arising and passing away, and we don’t let our mind flow and spread outward following the influence of such moods. Rather, we train to maintain the mind in a firm and steady state of mindfulness that we call samādhi (concentration). This state of concentration, where the mind is firm and well established in single pointed awareness, arises after gradual but continuous training.

The practice of patience is another vital causal factor for the arising of samādhi, because it provides us with the ability to bear with the stress of all the various moods and thoughts that we experience, and gives us the time and spaciousness of mind to see them as merely moods and thoughts which arise, remain for a short while, and then pass away. Whereas previously we might have got lost in the different mental states arising in the mind, believing each thought and emotional swing to be important and ultimately being totally deluded and intoxicated by them, we now can maintain a firmness of mind.

Slowly, but surely, we have to cultivate great patience and endurance to compose the mind in the face of all the different emotions and mental activity it experiences. The Buddha taught us, “Khanti paramaṃ tapo titikkhā," which means,”Patient endurance is the supreme incinerator of defilements." Patience is the highest austerity and one of the ten pāramīs (spiritual perfections) that the Buddha developed and perfected on his journey to enlightenment. Following his example we have to allow this same quality to arise in our own hearts and minds. If we have true patience it becomes a powerful force in our practice that will help us eliminate our mental defilements by burning them up.

Luang Por Chah emphasized that we are always training our minds whatever the situation. He reminded us to be constantly aware of our minds whether meditating and chanting at three o’clock in the morning, or in the evening, or during any of our daily activities. He said that we should look at everything we do as an opportunity to train the mind. After eating our daily meal in the morning, we would go back to our hut and begin walking meditation and carry on putting forth effort into developing mindfulness right through the morning until at least midday. After taking a short rest, at three in the afternoon we would come out into the central area to sweep, clean, and mop the halls and buildings, but we were always training our minds through these different activities. At six in the evening, having bathed ourselves at the well, we would continue with more walking meditation before it was time for evening chanting.

Luang Por Chah emphasized that we should constantly watch over our minds whatever the posture or activity we were involved in. He stressed that to train our minds needed constant effort and, because of our previous kamma, little by little we would have to train our minds until they were established in samādhi.

Luang Por Chah would encourage us to be creative in finding techniques to cultivate mindfulness. For example, some of us would count the number of steps that we took when we left the meditation hall and walked out of the monastery, down the road to the village on alms round in the morning. The aim was to count every step and not lose count when confronted by the potential distractions we might meet along the way. When we got to the village, and laypeople began to offer food, we would count how many men and how many women were putting food in our bowls on that route that day. Departing the village we would again take up counting the number of steps all the way back to the monastery to see if we could maintain mindfulness. During this time we really had to put our minds on the task as it was so easy for our attention to stray with day dreaming, or looking at the people and houses as we passed by, or through talking to other monks. If you did lose count, as soon as you regained mindfulness you would restart the count.

Luang Por Chah encouraged us to practice walking meditation a lot. If we were not counting our steps then we would fix the mind on the recitation of the meditation word “Buddho”, and keep summoning up effort to remain mindful of the word with each step and not become tangled up in distracted thinking.

Eating mindfully was an essential part of the training, and we might determine to count each mouthful of food taken. We might limit ourselves to a certain number of mouthfuls, and use all our restraint of mind to stick to the number of mouthfuls we had decided on. This wasn’t simply a technique of counting: it was a way to anchor the mind in the present moment and develop awareness of the whole process of eating, thus providing a firm basis for contemplating the impermanence of desire. We aimed to know at any moment what we were doing: whether lifting up the food to the mouth, tasting, chewing or swallowing. We tried to maintain mindfulness constantly.

Luang Por Chah emphasized doing the practice rather than simply talking about it. He would say that a huge amount of words are not as good or beneficial as a single correct action. He taught us to depend on ourselves and become our own refuge. He constantly admonished us not to be heedless, and he showed us that by practicing restraint and composure with our external actions, we could gradually bring our awareness inwards to know the mind itself at all times.

On the weekly lunar observance day he encouraged us all to take up the practice of not lying down for the night. We trained ourselves to walk and sit meditation throughout the night. It was a way of putting forth continuous effort over many hours. Sometimes if a monk was old or sick they might be exempted from the practice, as it could be quite painful and difficult, but I noticed that those monks still wanted to make a special effort to practice as late into the night as they could. Luang Por Chah taught us that we overcome suffering through persistent effort and energy. It was through putting forth effort that you could experience results and know the benefits of the practice for yourself.

It is not beyond our capacity to realize the fruits of Dhamma practice if we have mindfulness and clear comprehension coupled with patient endurance. These are the qualities that bring success. Whether we are a member of the monastic community or a lay practitioner, mindfulness and clear comprehension will watch over and take care of our mind in all situations, whatever we are doing.

A brief summary of the whole of the Buddha’s teaching is: good actions bring good results, bad actions bring bad results. This is the law of kamma, or the Truth, that every volitional action that we take in our life is important because it is a cause that will give rise to various results, and we will be the ones who experience those results. Our actions in the present are the causes for what we will experience in the future. If the causes we enact today are good then the results will be good.

By developing mindfulness and clear comprehension in whatever we say and do, whatever our job or role in life, we can take responsibility for ourselves. We also learn and gain understanding of the different aspects of our life that need to be changed, adapted or improved. We learn through the presence of mindfulness and wise reflection what changes need to be carried out, and which wholesome qualities need to be developed or improved, and what unwholesome qualities need to be abandoned.

Another important aspect of spiritual practice is harmony and we need to learn the skill of how to live in peace and harmony with our friends and fellow practitioners. After the Buddha first attained enlightenment he was alone, but over time a community of followers grew up around him. This is what we call the Saṅgha and it is bound together by friendship, harmony and good practice. The harmony of the community is a strength which allows and supports the spread of the Dhamma, the teachings of the Buddha.

A similar thing has happened with the teachings and community of monks under the guidance of Luang Por Chah. In the early days at his monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong, there were very few disciples; and the ways of monastic training, which we call the korwat (monastic etiquette), weren’t very well known. As more disciples came to study and practice under his guidance, and listen to his teachings, the more those practitioners came to understand the method of training. The growing number of disciples were not only comprised of Thai nationals but many foreigners from around the world, and over time many of them have returned overseas to continue their practice, and also to spread the method of training and teaching that they received from Luang Por Chah.

Nowadays you can find disciples following his teachings and style of training and passing it on to others not only throughout Thailand, but in many different corners of the globe. Every year on the 16th of January thousands of his disciples, both lay and monastic, gather together in harmony to remember and honour Luang Por Chah by participating in a week long meditation retreat, where they strive to develop the qualities he embodied. Whenever there is harmony between practitioners, and we are putting effort into developing true spiritual qualities, we will find happiness and contribute to the happiness of others. The cause for this happiness is the peaceful minds of those practicing the Dhamma. As in a family, if every member develops the qualities of Dhamma in harmony with others, peace and happiness must arise as a result.

Australia is very far from Thailand. Even so every year Ajahn Kalyāṇo travels there to take part in the annual Luang Por Chah memorial ceremony held at Wat Nong Pah Pong. When you practice well it means that even though you might be far away from Thailand physically, in your hearts you will remain close to Thailand, to the Saṅgha and to the teachers there. This is what is meant by the term “kalyāṇamitta" or”spiritual friendship", it means true or beautiful friendship between people based on wholesome qualities. A true spiritual friend will help and support other practitioners, and will be willing to point out what’s right and what’s wrong, what should be taken up and developed and what should be abandoned. When we are true spiritual friends to one another we can point out the correct path of practice when needed.

Another quality of the spiritual friend is to know the debt of gratitude we owe to others who we have relied on in the past and have helped us along the way in the practice. In particular we have our parents who were our first teachers, and then all our Dhamma teachers, and really all the enlightened men and women going back in time to the Buddha himself. We have benefitted from their teachings, and spiritual qualities. Once we have reflected on this, gratitude arises in the heart and there will be a natural wish to give something back through practicing correctly in line with their good example. If we never reflect on the Truth that there are teachers and others who have helped us, you could say it is a sign that we are still unworthy of, or are practicing incorrectly in relation to, this Noble inheritance we have received from the Buddha.

We find from the practice of the Buddha’s teachings that insight into the Truth brings peace and happiness to the mind, and is a cause for patience and forbearance to arise. You can see this on the lunar observance day when we undertake the practice of not lying down for the night. If we left our minds to follow their desires and habitual thinking we would not want to practice meditation all night, but it is our teachers who encourage us to meditate through until morning. This gives us confidence knowing that we are practicing following in the footsteps of Luang Por Chah.

Like with food and drink, the fruits of the practice are something we have to experience for ourselves to truly know what they taste like. Though our minds are often busy and confused, just a small taste of true peace can help us to see the purpose and benefits of our Dhamma practice.

However, we cannot force these teachings to arise in our minds, nor can anyone else force us to practice, either. We must rely on our own faith and conviction in the teachers, and the way of training they have given us, to motivate us to practice. Then we will experience the results for ourselves.

Sometimes our minds want certain things, but they are not appropriate because they only lead to more suffering. Other times, perhaps, our minds don’t want to do good even when it is the right thing to do. Often it is at these moments that we appreciate the real benefit of having wise teachers who help us find the patience we need to practice correctly.

Training in Sense Restraint

Phra Khru Patanakicavisala (Venerable Ajahn Kum Nissoko)

March 26, 2015

"We must keep turning our attention back to observe and search for ways to train and purify our mind from the effects of the mental defilements. As we direct our energy to observe and reflect on the activities of our minds, we comprehend the harmful results that arise out of the influence of the mental defilements, seeing how they blemish and darken our mind… So we have to bring up energy in the practice all of the time, trying to catch the hindrances with mindfulness as they arise, making the effort to abandon them and so return to the brightness of the pure heart.

Today I would like to ask permission from all of you as Dhamma friends to speak about the practice of Dhamma Vinaya, as a way of encouraging and supporting you in your practice of cultivating mindfulness and wisdom. I’m not used to speaking in this way, with frequent breaks in the talk for translation, so I’ll do my best and try and keep to the point, with the intention of emphasizing some of the important issues and different matters that sometimes need to be discussed in Dhamma practice, hopefully making it easier for the translator to remember.

The important thing to know is that when we speak on the Dhamma we speak from the heart. Today I will speak from the heart, and firstly I would like to say that I’m very happy to be able to join you all here in this new monastery near Melbourne, Australia. It has been a great honour to receive this invitation and travel to this country because normally it’s very difficult for Thai monks to leave their own country. The opportunity for Thai monks to travel abroad is extremely rare and it doesn’t come along very often. Partly this is because the cost of travel is expensive and there is not always sponsorship available for overseas travel, and also the administrative requirements for a Thai monk to travel are extensive.

For this reason I feel very fortunate that Ajahn Kalyāṇo has invited me here to spend time with you on the occasion of the Kaṭhina ceremony this year. I do not bring much with me; I have simply come here to encourage you in your practice, as students of the Buddha, with some words of advice as a way to support you in your own Dhamma practice. This is because we are all friends in this brahmacariyā (holy life). I bring friendship with me, and you have already shown me friendship in receiving me with your kind hospitality. So my wish now is that you will all flourish in your practice, and that one day in the future you in turn will be able to spread the Buddha’s teachings.

Our Dhamma practice is good for ourselves and good for others; it is something that benefits others and the religion as a whole. I feel this is of great importance. I’m sure one day Luang Por Kalyāṇo or as we also know him Ajahn Kalyāṇo, will become more well-known in Australia. This is the way it is. If monks practice well and they keep the Vinaya (monastic training rules) and practice in a sincere way, then their own good reputation and the results of their good practice will spread out far and wide, just as has happened with Luang Por Chah and with Luang Por Sumedho in the past.

It is important for us to remember that, we ourselves, and others, benefit from our practice. It is worthwhile for us to reflect that laypeople out there in the world have many burdens, responsibilities and duties, and accordingly it is much harder to practice Dhamma, to keep precepts and to meditate. It is not easy for them to practice in a highly committed way or on a very refined level in the same way monks can. As monks we have the chance to commit to the Buddhist path in a very complete way, and it is one of our duties to share the results with the laity, and to guide them in the higher levels of the practice.

So we are all practicing the brahmacariyā together, and as a monk doing this we have to depend on many things, both external and internal. Most importantly we have to build our own inner commitment and strength and that begins with saddhā (faith and confidence) in the practice, and in our ability as human beings to practice and to improve. To cultivate our minds we have to have saddhā, and we have to maintain this quality if we are to grow in the practice. If one lacks faith or confidence in the practice, or doubts one’s own ability to benefit from it, everything becomes difficult and troublesome and we won’t have enough energy to really put up with the difficulties that are bound to arise. But when we have saddhā and we build it up and make it strong, then this positive energy will give us the power to overcome any problems and challenges that arise, however difficult they may be.

One of the main roles of the different teachers that visit here, and of your resident teacher Ajahn Kalyāṇo, is to support and encourage your basic faith and conviction in the teachings and lead you in the practice. This is why you will find that Ajahn Kalyāṇo will lead you in morning and evening chanting, in meditation sessions and in different aspects of the training which serve to bring up an inner resolve in your mind. As long as you have not yet fully established this inner strength, then you must rely on the teacher and the Saṅgha to help you. The teachers lead you in chanting, meditation and in different kinds of chores and duties. We have to put effort into learning and remembering all the different duties, practices and training rules in the beginning of our monastic training.

The essential duties that we must learn are outlined in the list of the basic ten practices of a bhikkhu (monk), such as: how to go on piṇḍapāta (alms round), how to sweep the monastery, how to chant and so on — very basic practices. From this foundation, the practice of the Vinaya develops into something much more refined. These ten basic duties of a bhikkhu form an initial structure for your training in mindfulness and wise reflection, and from this we expand it to a much more refined level of internal reflection that helps to abandon the mental defilements. We have to put forth effort to cultivate our knowledge of the training rules and of the pātimokkha (collection of monastic precepts). This includes, the four pārājika rules, that if broken result in one no longer being a monk, and in the thirteen saṅghādisesa rules, which if broken require a meeting with the community, and so on. Gradually we will become more familiar with the training rules and with the duties and understand how to actually practice them in daily life with mindfulness and wisdom.

You’ll find this emphasis on monastic regulations and training rules in any branch monastery of Luang Por Chah. In his monastery the monks have study meetings after the evening chanting and they’ll read from the Pubbasikkhāvaṇṇanā, which is the most commonly used commentary on the Vinaya discipline. You begin your study by listening to the explanations in the group meetings, but then you must familiarize yourselves with the rules again in your own time and having remembered them, gradually become more confident in your own practice of the Vinaya.

Similarly, with all the other duties of a bhikkhu, such as the korwat, which include the daily monastic routine and monastic regulations, we must put forth effort to learn our duties and responsibilities well. The reason for this is that it helps to cultivate wholesome positive energy in the practice, based on training in mindfulness and clear comprehension, and also for countering our natural human tendency towards laziness and delusion; because laziness and delusion prevents us from progressing and experiencing any valuable results from the practice. The whole training in the Vinaya and korwat is designed to bring up a sense of personal responsibility and discipline in your behaviour. This will result in us developing a basic sense of well-being, and what could be described as a wholesome sense of pride in our practice.

Once we know the basic duties of a monk we will feel more confident that we know what we are doing, and we will have a good feeling and sense of appreciation for the training. If you have learned the basic modes of behaviour and how to chant for instance, you will feel that you know what you are doing. Even a simple practice like chanting can be very valuable throughout your life as a monk. When we chant the Buddha’s words and reflections we should try to learn the different verses from the morning and evening chanting sessions, the suttas and the parittas by heart. By memorizing these teachings we train our mindfulness and wisdom as we reflect on the Buddha’s words and gain more conviction in the Truth of the teachings. Once we have learnt the important chants, such as the parittas and the verses of anumodanā (verses of appreciation and transference of merit), then we can also use that skill to be of service to the lay community.

As a Buddhist monk we can perform certain ceremonies for the laity as a way of encouraging and supporting them in their practice. This is a way we can help and give something back to those who provide us with the four requisites: our lodgings, our food, our robes and so on. Sometimes we must be prepared to help and support the laity and give something back to them skilfully. Giving blessings, chanting the auspicious verses of protection and leading various ceremonies, are some of the ways we do that.

At funerals for example we chant for the dead, but actually you should not just see such activities merely as a service for others. These are valuable services for the Buddhist community, but they are also a practice in themselves which contribute towards our own development of the path. We must see that chanting is both the practice of samatha (tranquility)* meditation, where you are learning to calm and concentrate the mind with continuous mindfulness as you chant, and also vipassanā* (insight) meditation as you reflect on the three universal characteristics of existence: impermanence, suffering and not-self. Each chant is a teaching and has a valuable meaning we can reflect on. Thus it can be a basis for insight knowledge and understanding to arise. So try to see the integral value of all these basic practices that form part of our training. Reflect on how they actually support and are a cause for progress in the practice of meditation, and for the cultivation of our minds.

Actually, there are plenty of different aspects to discuss when we consider the life of a Buddhist monk, but you can also reduce it to some very basic principles. Sometimes it can be helpful if we keep the discussion simple and direct when talking about our lifestyle.

For example, there was a time when the Buddha had a conversation with an elephant trainer, asking how he trained elephants and what methods he used. The trainer explained the step by step process and means he employed to tame the wild nature of elephants; gradually bringing them under his control, and then teaching them to perform many useful tasks. He would train them in simple tasks first and graduate to more difficult ones. For example, before he had them to carry people he might train them to move logs or to carry sacks of rice. After listening to this, the Buddha asked if there were any elephants that he could not tame. The trainer said, “Sometimes there were elephants that were so stubborn he could not train them.” The Buddha asked, “What did he do with those elephants that weren’t trainable?” and the trainer replied that he had to kill them. The Buddha compared this with training monks, and he said that even that can happen with him. Obviously the Buddha did not kill people, but killing the non-trainable monks meant he had to give up on teaching them.

The Buddha, who was seen as the foremost trainer of monks and of human beings in general, went on to describe his methods of training. The first step was always to cultivate what we call "sīla saṃvara", which is restraint in the practice of morality and in the training rules, or precepts. This means developing a basic understanding of what is right and wrong in one’s behavior using the pātimokkha rules of discipline as a guide. As monks we learn what actions should never be done, such as a heavy offence, and what actions constitute a light offence and need to be revealed to another trustworthy monk if transgressed, and what things do not constitute an offence against the training at all. It is essential that we understand this first step in our practice so that we can avoid harmful actions and harmful speech. We have to abandon harmful ways of behavior to avoid making negative kamma and eroding away our own inner sense of well-being.

The second step is what we call "indriya saṃvara" (restraint of the senses), and lies at the heart of our day to day practice. We have our six indriya (sense faculties): the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind. We have to learn how to practice restraint as we use these. They are called sense faculties because each is the leader and plays a decisive role in that particular function. So the eyes are the leader in seeing, whereas the ears can’t see. The ears are the leader in hearing, the eyes can’t hear, and the tongue can’t hear, and so on. This is why they are called sense faculties. With the arising of awareness at each point of sense contact one learns to restrain and guard over the mind.

Another way we refer to the six senses faculties is as the āyatana, they act as doorways or as channels of communication with which our minds connect with the world. Each internal sense and its external object make a pair. As the eyes connect to forms, the ears connect to sounds, and so on, we experience the world, and it is vital to practice mindfulness and restraint in all of these six places. We practice sense restraint in every posture and at all times, upholding it constantly and so it is called a practice which is never wrong for one wishing to purify their mind.

One result that arises out of sense restraint is a feeling of normality in our behavior, which occurs on the level of both our body and our mind. For instance when we are training as a monk we learn to walk properly in a composed and restrained manner as we go about our daily business. When you see a monk practicing in this way he will naturally be walking in a composed and peaceful way with mindfulness. His manner of walking won’t appear to be wild or unguarded, you won’t see him rushing or bumping into things for instance, or throwing his arms all over the place. Similarly as we practice restraint in speech, our speech is peaceful and guarded with a sense of normality. Normal here means normal for a restrained monk — one who is practicing indriya saṃvara. So naturally he wouldn’t be shouting or ranting or singing, or displaying other forms of unrestrained speech. The monk wouldn’t give in to the temptation to speak in an aggressive, excitable or unrestrained way. You can see then that the practice of sense restraint provides a rock solid foundation for our whole training in meditation and wisdom. But it doesn’t just remain a preliminary practice that we graduate from over time; it actually allows us to develop to the highest levels of mental restraint where we are practicing mindfulness and clear comprehension of every intention and mental state that arises. It is a complete practice in itself.

The Buddha taught that the practice of sense restraint takes us right through to the complete liberation of the heart from suffering. When we practice restraint of the senses, what we are doing is stopping the mind from heating up. The Buddha taught that if we allow the eyes to look at forms in an unrestrained way then this is bringing heat into the heart. When we practice restraint through establishing mindfulness and clear comprehension, we are letting go of that, we are cooling the mind down and, through constant practice of restraint of the senses, it eventually leads us to experience nibbidā, a sense of weariness with the world and the desire for sense stimulation that we previously clung to. It means that the normal fascination of the unenlightened person with the world experienced through the sense doors starts to fade away. As this weariness arises it leads the practitioner away from the cause of suffering towards liberation from suffering.

So the Buddha explained that the practice of sense restraint when cultivated leads on to complete liberation. We train our mind to guard each sense door so that each moment of sense contact is met with mindfulness and wisdom. The mind itself is then maintained in a correct and wholesome way. We have to learn how to let go of the unwholesome states rooted in greed, ill-will or delusion that might arise out of each sense contact. The Buddha emphasized over and over again that this is the heart of our practice as monks from the very beginning right to the highest level.

The third step in our training is known as bhojane mattaññutā, which literally means moderation in eating, but also relates to the practice of moderation in all types of consumption of the four requisites. We learn to practice moderation for the most basic and obvious reason: that we don’t have to spend all of our time seeking out the four requisites. If we are modest in our level of consumption we will not have to experience the weariness and distraction that accompanies always seeking more and more of the four requisites. To cultivate moderation, we consciously bring up contentment with whatever comes our way, even if it’s only a little. This frees the mind up for developing the path through meditation and contemplation. As a result we don’t feel compelled to always seek after more requisites and expend time and energy in that seeking.

Another important point is that we don’t become a burden on the laity. If we know how to be content with little and moderate in our use of the four requisites we won’t always be disturbing the lay devotees and causing distress with our requests. Sometimes this can be a problem, for example, if monks forget to practice moderation and get caught up in designing huge building projects. Sometimes the various religious buildings they attempt to construct become so elaborate that the practice of contentedness or moderation is lost, leading to monks becoming overly concerned with fund raising and, in the worst cases, damaging the faith of the laity. When this happens the lay supporters can find themselves under increasing pressure to fund these projects and they become so stressed that they can even lose faith and lose heart.

On a more personal level, when we practice moderation it becomes a source of energy in our efforts to reach liberation through training our mind. An obvious example is when we overeat at the meal time due to a lack of restraint and composure around food. The result of overeating, or indulging in food, purely for the taste or stimulation is a tendency towards drowsiness and laziness, and all our energy for meditation is then sapped away. So we learn that when we take on the practice of moderation we are protecting our minds from the harmful effects of over-indulgence in the four requisites.

Step four in the practice is what we call jāgariyānuyoga, which is the dedication to arousing energy into training the mind. This means cultivating persistent and continuous effort. We continuously summon up effort and put forth energy in our meditation and in purifying our minds. We persevere in finding ways to bring up more energy to overcome the kilesas (mental defilements), as well as our laziness.

The Buddha emphasized that the mind is the forerunner of all that we do and experience. Because our mind is the leader, we must keep turning our attention back to observe and search for ways to train and purify it from the effects of the mental defilements. As we direct our energy to observe and reflect on the activities of our minds, we comprehend the harmful results that arise out of the influence of the mental defilements, seeing how they blemish and darken our mind. The Buddha compared this with the effects of dark clouds covering a full moon, taking away its ability to shine and light up the night sky. Similarly, when our minds are covered over with any one of the five hindrances, they darken. So we have to bring up energy in the practice all of the time, trying to catch the hindrances with mindfulness as they arise, making the effort to abandon them and so return to the brightness of the pure heart.

I have been explaining some of the basic principles of our practice. Even though I’ve limited what I have said to some very simple teachings, you could say that all the teachings in the Tipiṭaka (the Pali Buddhist canon), and all of the Buddha’s words pointing to the practice of the Path arise out of these basic principles of training the mind. We could actually continue speaking endlessly about the practice, but in the end it would be merely words.

In fact, when the Buddha was alive he reminded the monks that speaking little can also be quite a useful training, as it serves to restrain and contain the various defilements that cause the endless proliferations of the mind that lead to suffering. We can find in the scriptures many occasions where the Buddha gave only brief and succinct reflections that pointed the listener directly to the Truth. For example, there was once an old monk called Mogharāja who asked the Buddha for a very short teaching to use as a reflection. In response the Buddha taught him, “To see the world as empty. Then the Lord of Death won’t be able to catch up with you.” This was a teaching pointing towards insight into the true nature of phenomena, which in turn purifies the mind from ignorance and the effects of the defilements. Sometimes we should remember that even just a brief teaching, when contemplated thoroughly with mindfulness, can lead to liberation of the heart and to the end of suffering. It’s possible that some practitioners can get so caught up in endless reading and studying that they never really get beyond the experience of their own suffering. They never move on from their studies and realize that the true aim of the practice is to let go of the attachment to the sense of self. Our aim is to abandon the clinging to that sense of self arising from attachment to these five khandhas - the body, feelings, memories, thoughts and consciousness.

On another occasion there were two brothers Cūlapanthaka and Mahāpanthaka who both became monks under the guidance of the Buddha. Mahāpanthaka was very learned in the teachings and having attained arahantship (full enlightenment), he was skilled in explaining the teachings to others due to his great store of knowledge. The younger brother, Cūlapanthaka, was unable to remember anything. Because of this he couldn’t remember teachings or how to chant, and so couldn’t study very well. He hadn’t yet attained enlightenment, either. His brother felt that, having not attained the highest results from his practice it was pointless for Cūlapanthaka to continue on in the robes. However, when this was brought to the Buddha’s attention he saw it differently. The Buddha could see the potential for enlightenment lying within the heart of Cūlapanthaka, and so gave him a very simple meditation instruction and told him to go away and work with it. He was to take a face wiping cloth and use it as a parikamma (preparatory meditation object) by wiping his hand across it repeatedly. The aim was to train his mind by keeping his mindfulness focused on this one simple action as he continuously wiped this clean face cloth with his hand. Cūlapanthaka took the cloth away and began wiping it with mindfulness. As time passed he noticed how the movement of his hands gradually soiled the once clean cloth with grease and sweat. As the cloth became dirty and worn out with the continuous wiping, the monk reflected on the impermanent nature of the cloth, and then compared it with his own body. The cloth becoming soiled was due to the inherently foul nature of his body, which was repeatedly coming into contact with it. Anything that comes into continuous contact with a human body becomes soiled by it. Reflecting in this way he gradually came to experience detachment towards his body, as his mind penetrated the Truth seeing that its nature was unattractive and repulsive and everything that comes into contact with it becomes that way as well. So with this growing detachment and disenchantment towards his own body, all attachments to the delusion of self gradually faded away, and he eventually attained enlightenment.

Sometimes the end of suffering can be gained from a very simple teaching or method taken up and practiced with sincerity. We can see then that there have been those monks with great wisdom and analytical knowledge who attained enlightenment and were gifted in their ability to teach others. But there have also been monks who perhaps knew and remembered very little of the teachings and were still able to liberate their hearts through their efforts. Please remember that there are these two aspects of the practice.

So tonight I will say just this much. This has been a small offering of encouragement for you in your practice of Dhamma and I hope my words may be of use to you.

Ajahn Chah’s Way of Training Monks

Venerable Ajahn Sawaeng Santho

November 2007

“He would remind us that we were now samaṇas (renunciants) and that we should no longer follow our old habits from the lay life… He taught us how to surrender to the training.”

Today I will begin by paying my respects to Venerable Ajahn Kum, the senior monk who’s presiding over our meeting. I would also like to ask permission from all of you, my Dhamma friends — the monks, sāmaṇeras and anāgārikas — to speak on the Dhamma.

Ajahn Kalyāṇo has asked me to speak particularly about the way we practiced Dhamma Vinaya (the Buddha’s teaching and way of training), under the guidance of Luang Por Chah. This may be of special interest to those of you who were ordained here and never had the chance to meet him.

I will try to explain some of what I can remember. I probably can’t remember everything because it was some time ago, so please forgive me if my memories are not complete. Also, I don’t have many disciples myself. My character and kammic inheritance is such that I tend to live alone. Most of my life as a monk I have lived alone, or with just one or two others, so I don’t have a lot of experience in teaching other monks. Therefore, please excuse me for any omissions or lack of skill in this regard.

During the first period that I was a resident at Wat Nong Pah Pong I actually met Luang Por Kum when he was a junior monk, and in that period there were very few monks living in the monastery. Because of that, it was easy to get to know the other monks and so we’ve been friends ever since. We have not always lived together, but we’ve known each other and been good friends ever since that time.

When I first went to live with Luang Por Chah, I didn’t know much at all about the Buddha’s teachings or the practice of Dhamma Vinaya. I was a simple farmer’s son, you might say, with very little education. In those days there was no chance for poor farmers to send their kids to school. There was no compulsory education provided, and there was very little money in the family to send the children to school. I had many brothers and sisters, and there was much work to be done in the fields such as: looking after the buffalo, planting and harvesting the rice and so on. So my education was very limited. I didn’t go to school very often and I was the smallest child of the family. My mother died when I was young, and my father always said that before I left home to marry and raise a family that I should try taking ordination and training as a Buddhist monk first. This is how I ended up going to stay with Luang Por Chah.

Luang Por Chah already had a good reputation in my village. He had previously stayed there with some other monks in the period when he was a tudonga (wandering) monk and had given some Dhamma teachings which were fondly remembered. The villagers, like myself, had been greatly inspired and were confident in the purity of his practice. We had heard his Dhamma and we knew he was a really good monk.

When my father suggested taking ordination he didn’t force me to make any commitments to stay for a certain length of time. Instead he told me, “Just try it out. If you stay on and progress that is good. If you want to disrobe, well never mind, just see how it goes.” Luang Por Chah was kind enough to accept me.

One of the reasons Luang Por Chah accepted me was because I came alone; I hadn’t brought any friends with me. He told me, “If you brought two or three friends with you to ordain I wouldn’t have accepted you, because you would be chatting and socializing too much. But in coming alone there is the chance to really train because you won’t be distracted by anyone else.” He also said, “When you ordain at the village monasteries in Thailand they don’t teach you very much about the Vinaya. It’s a very free lifestyle. They just teach you the most basic aspects of the monastic practice and then let you go.” So I was aware of that, and I knew that when I came to Wat Nong Pah Pong Luang Por Chah would be very strict, and indeed he was.

As with all the other new monks he taught me everything from the “ABC”, you might say, onwards through the entire Vinaya and the practice of meditation. He took everything very seriously and was very meticulous in what he taught us. He taught us everything, including, how to bindu (mark) every piece of cloth that we kept, and how to determine our different robes in the correct way. He went through all the different rules of the Pātimokkha (collection of monastic precepts) with us thoroughly. He taught us which items were appropriate, and which items were inappropriate, for a monk to touch or own, such as money. He taught us how to obtain, use and reflect on the four requisites in the proper way.

For instance, he would be very meticulous on consumables — the different kinds of food and medicinal allowances that we are given — and the rules around these. He taught us which things we can receive and only use for one day, which things that we can use for a maximum of seven days, and which things we can use for an entire lifetime. He was very, very strict on this and made sure everyone understood about this practice and followed the rules correctly. He also made the difference in the level of training between a novice and a monk very clear. As a novice, it was very simple: you could touch anything in terms of food and medicinal requisites. But for a monk you certainly couldn’t touch anything that was in your possession beyond its allowable time span.

There was no way you could touch food in the afternoon or in the evening. With the seven day medicines, such as sugar, you would have to renounce it once the seven day time limit had expired, and that was very strictly kept to in the monastery. In those days, sometimes there would be fresh fruit juice provided, and you could only keep that for a maximum of 24 hours. It is different today because we have a fridge, and we have manufactured fruit juices which don’t go off, so we tend to allow them to be kept longer. But in those days this rule was very strictly adhered to; and there was a good reason for this: in the tropics, if you keep fresh juice longer than 24 hours it might go off in the heat, and so the rule was actually protecting you.

Even the very simple things like the lifetime medicines that we keep, such as salt or the hard laxative fruits allowed under the discipline, Luang Por Chah stressed that they should be stored in the proper way and in the proper place. He always reminded us that they should never be mixed with other seven day medicines or with food.

Luang Por Chah would emphasize the Vinaya rules over and over again, and he would emphasize them all, right down to the minor rules. Everything had to be done in the proper way and put in the proper place. He particularly emphasized the importance of what we call “grave offences” in the monks’ discipline — the four things never to be done by a monk: sexual intercourse, stealing, killing another human or making false claims of spiritual attainments ― and the thirteen saṅghādisesa (offences which when broken require a meeting with the community). He emphasized these because the main danger for new monks tended to be the defilements of greed and lust. So Luang Por Chah constantly taught us to practice restraint around females in our actions, speech and thoughts. He reminded us how celibacy was the heart of the Holy Life.

He also made us really mindful about how we obtained each requisite in the monastery. Even though outright theft might be rare in a monastery, he taught us not to harbor thoughts that were like those of a thief: when you needed something to use for yourself in the monastery he taught us to be upfront and to ask for it directly. He wouldn’t tolerate what you might describe as sneaky or manipulative behaviour by monks who were trying to get something for themselves from the community store, or by hinting to lay supporters. We always had to be honest and there would be big trouble if anyone was caught trying to obtain requisites in a deceptive way, or by trying to be sneaky and obtain personal requisites without asking permission from the appropriate person.

As far as how to deal with desire rooted in lust, Luang Por Chah was very, very clear on this. He instructed us that we should never seek out, or give in to the desire for, any form of physical stimulation that aroused sexual desire. He always reminded us to be scrupulous, guarded and very mindful around this issue. Of course he taught us that when dealing with women, we as monks should be absolutely restrained and mindful. There was no place in the monastic environment for any forms of flirting, or for any long and intimate conversations between members of the opposite sex. These were seen as inappropriate. In those days there were no mobile phones, but these days there are; for some monks this can be a device of temptation as it makes it easier to give in to any desire for intimacy, or fall into a relationship with a female based on lustful intention.

Obviously some monks, both the Thai and Western, would fail to overcome their sexual desire and their mental defilements would get the better of them and they would then return to the lay life. Really you could say that it is just a normal part of the struggle of a celibate monk. Luang Por Chah would always emphasize the basic rules to help monks understand the core of the practice, and he himself was always a very perfect example of how to practice. Luang Por Chah always practiced and led by example. He didn’t just teach others and not do it himself.

In Luang Por Chah’s way of training monks and novices I noticed that, in the early days, he often appeared very strict, even quite fierce and direct, in the way he admonished the monks. But even though his teachings could be very direct, because he was very firm in how he applied the monastic training rules, we all knew that this wasn’t coming from any anger inside of him. Rather, we understood that he was training us. It was just like you heard Luang Por Kum describe the other night about the horse trainer who is very skilled, and who had to have different methods for dealing with horses of different temperaments. Luang Por Chah was very skilled at dealing with the different temperaments and characters of the monks under his guidance.

If some monks were particularly stubborn then he would repeatedly instruct and admonish them, over and over again, and sometimes he would give them a real scolding. Others would only need to be told about something once, and he could let them go and not bother them again. With the stubborn monks, it almost seemed like he would have to intimidate them in order to get them to see the dangers of being complacent, and of not putting forth effort into the practice.

It was out of compassion and lovingkindness for them. It was to wake them up and help them realize the truth of their human predicament: that they were still bound up with suffering, and thus motivate them to start practicing. In contrast, for the ones that seemed to understand the way of practice, he might give them the chance to go off and practice meditation in seclusion, either alone, or with just one or two other monks, and without much direction from him at all.

Generally, Luang Por Chah saw the need for monks and lay practitioners to train with a structure and routine — what you might call the monastic form. He said that most people take some time before they develop a strong level of personal discipline and a reliable understanding of the Dhamma. He would use the routine and the training regulations of the monastery to bring up effort within the community. All group meetings for meditation, chanting, or work were compulsory. You learned to start together and stayed until the meeting was finished. This was a cause enabling people to bring up more energy in their practices, and perhaps do more and go further than they would on their own. Luang Por Chah said that if monks simply went back to their meditation huts they would end up talking more amongst themselves, or sleeping, or indulging in some distraction or other.

In his teachings, Luang Por Chah emphasized the need to practice continuously. As a way of bringing up persistent effort in the practice he would arrange for us to have frequent meetings in the early morning, and often late into the night as well. When we left the meetings to return to our meditation huts he always encouraged everyone to keep putting forth effort into their meditation practice. We would always hear the instruction to keep putting forth effort into the practice of walking and sitting meditation. He tended not to place too much emphasis on the study of the pariyatti, or scriptures, although we did spend some of our time studying the teachings and the Vinaya.

When teaching meditation he instructed us to use a parikamma, or preparatory meditation object, to develop mindfulness and clear comprehension in all postures throughout the day. Luang Por Chah tried to dispel our habit of only seeing meditation as a practice that we do in the meditation hall, or while sitting cross legged with our eyes shut. He would always instruct us to bring up mindfulness in all postures whether standing, sitting, walking or lying down. He might motivate us by giving us a warning that we should be careful to practice mindfulness and sense restraint while back at our meditation huts, and that if we didn’t ghosts might come along and scare us. Occasionally, a lazy monk who indulged in too much sleep did find himself in trouble with ghosts and, as soon as he dozed off, experienced what seemed like someone pulling his leg or poking him in the ribs.

Luang Por would describe the mental defilements that agitate and disturb our minds as the real ghosts. He always encouraged us to use our free time to develop “Khwam Pian”, a Thai phrase for putting forth persistent effort in the practice. He might say to a junior monk that, “If you don’t put effort into your meditation practice you won’t be able to last in the robes.” With his sharp and observant mind he knew what the main obstacles were for monks in training, and he would nag us over and over again about aspects of the monastic routine that brought up particular difficulties.

For instance, after the one daily meal we tended to feel more lethargic and many monks sought to sneak away for a snooze at their hut, so he might organize a special meditation meeting, or a work project, which would oblige us to be present and go against our laziness. He would scold and remind us not to indulge like untrained practitioners. Untrained practitioners eat and then sleep and always seek to indulge their desire for comfort and pleasure without developing any strength of mindfulness. He would remind us that we were now samaṇas (renunciants) and that we should no longer follow our old habits from the lay life… He taught us how to surrender to the training.

Sometimes we might feel a little inferior to those monks who spent a lot of time studying and who were successful in writing the national exams concerning the texts and the Pali language. Those monks might have been able to give lengthy discourses and explanations of the Dhamma based on their accumulated knowledge. We might even have felt a little intimidated by them, but then we noticed that sometimes those monks disrobed as well: they too were not able to last in the practice. Luang Por Chah would point out that ultimately the practice of Dhamma Vinaya leads to each individual knowing and experiencing the Dhamma for themselves. The Dhamma practice is opanayiko (leading inwards), ehipassiko, (encouraging investigation), and “Paccattaṃ veditabbo viññūhī” (to be experienced directly).

He reminded us of the limitations of the knowledge gained through theoretical study. We might learn the Pali language and texts, be able to quote from them, and if that knowledge is in line with our own practice it can be very useful — study is not a bad thing; but it is a support for the practice, not the practice itself. If we don’t see this, it can become an attachment and a distraction, and so the danger for those monks who study a lot is that they could fail to develop real peace and understanding inside their hearts. Luang Por Chah would keep emphasizing over and over again that the way we must remedy our suffering is through the practice and through the cultivation of mindfulness and wisdom, or through sīla, samādhi and paññā.

There was a friend of mine named Ajahn Maha Samran. He was given the title of Maha because he had studied Pali and passed the exams. He could give really good talks, long explanations of the Dhamma, but in the end he didn’t last and went back to the lay life. There was another monk I knew well from Australia. He was a western monk but learned to speak Thai very well and became famous for being able to give good talks. He had read and studied a lot, he even had a university degree, but perhaps his kammaṭṭhāna, or practice of meditation, hadn’t developed enough because ultimately he didn’t last in the robes. Perhaps when he had been speaking about the Dhamma it hadn’t come fully from his own experience, but rather from the books and what he’d remembered.

In the end this is something we have to make very clear in our minds that it’s not just what you know or what you can remember superficially about the Dhamma, but rather the various qualities of the Dhamma that you can bring up to remedy the suffering and confusion that you experience in your own minds. That is the most important point.

Luang Por Chah always said, “The most fundamental quality that we need when we apply ourselves to the practice is a sense of honesty and sincerity.” This is why he emphasized the practice of the monastic discipline, and building a strong foundation of virtuous behavior, over and over again. We must aim to be very honest and scrupulous with our practice, with every aspect of our speech, with every aspect of our external behavior, and with training the mind inside. Luang Por Chah discouraged monks from being deceptive or hiding the truth, or from trying to manipulate things to follow the defilements. He pointed out the danger of always trying to bend the rules to get what we want, or to find ways to get around the rules, because this would allow the mental defilements to have a hiding place.

I remember there was one western monk from the USA who gained a bit if a reputation for this. He sometimes found it hard to restrain some of his cravings and would try to find ways to hide what he was doing from Luang Por Chah. But sooner or later he would be caught out, either because Luang Por Chah was so sharp that he seemed to know what was going on, or sometimes events would just overtake the poor monk. In any case, Luang Por Chah would always seem to find out, either directly or indirectly, about all his wrong doings and his more extreme behavior. For example, while trying to smuggle extra sweets into the monastery to satisfy his sweet tooth he would run straight into Luang Por Chah who would catch him red handed, even though he had presumed that no one was around. On another occasion he had been hiding extra food and sweets in his monk’s shoulder bag. So later, during the night the mice had been drawn to it and started chewing holes through the bag. The next day Luang Por Chah simply asked him why his shoulder bag was full of holes and the monk had to explain to Luang Por Chah, with embarrassment, how he had inappropriately been storing sweets in the bag.

Luang Por Chah explained how we create negative kamma when we give in to our mental defilements and try and follow them, or when we try to ignore them. He would say that you cannot hide from the defilements, but must face them and deal with them. As long as we keep skirting around them, or avoid looking at them with mindfulness and insight, then sooner or later our own kamma will catch up with us and we’ll be caught and found out. He would say that we have to bring up the qualities of a real monk, or what we call, “the sāmaṇa inside our hearts.” He encouraged us to go deep into our practice, to not put on a superficial show just to get by or to impress other people, but to really develop the qualities of a monk, a sāmaṇa, inside, because these are what we must rely on to develop our practice.

With the practice of virtue, the most important qualities to cultivate are hiri (a sense of shame) and ottappa (awareness of the harmful consequences of unwholesome actions). When we have these two qualities protecting us, then when we’re in view of other people, and even on our own, they will be looking after us. If we uphold these two qualities then we can really develop the practice and take it inwards into our hearts. When we lose our sense of hiri and ottappa, then of course it always leads to trouble and suffering. Monks would sometimes find this out the hard way. If they started breaking the rules or lost their way in the practice then they would inevitably create a lot of suffering for themselves, or they’d suffer when Luang Por Chah found out ― or both.

No one could progress in the practice without a sense of shame and fear of the consequences of wrong actions. Even those very learned monks who had university degrees, doctorates, or who had passed the highest grades of Pali studies, still couldn’t do without these basic qualities. They couldn’t survive in the monastery. Without the basic sense of shame and fear of wrong doing, there is still no guarantee within our minds that we will be able to remedy our suffering. Even with all the best qualifications that can be gained in the world, we still can’t really remedy suffering unless we develop a sense of hiri and ottappa inside our hearts. Only the practice of sīla and Dhamma can bring true emancipation of the heart.

Luang Por Chah would point out the danger of gaining knowledge, even knowledge of Buddhist scriptures, without the insight that comes from contemplation. He would say, “Whether in a monastery or outside in lay society, knowledge can become the servant of the kilesas.” Even with knowledge and skills that are very useful and lead to success in the world they can, at the same time, lead to confusion and all kinds of trouble.

The most obvious way that people use their knowledge in the world is to find ways to make more money, to gain more material wealth, and to gain more power. They tend to think that these things will guarantee their happiness. But if people don’t keep the precepts, they inevitably create suffering for themselves and others. Someone might earn a lot of money and be very powerful, but if they don’t follow the third precept they will have endless suffering in their relationships and in their family. They might never find peace in their life and discover that status, reputation, wealth and happiness can all disappear very quickly. Luang Por Chah would teach the monks and laity over and over again to see the danger in losing their sense of shame and fear of wrong doing, and he would point out the positive side of leading a virtuous life: that if we do put in the effort to keep good* sīla* it will be the foundation for our inner spiritual wealth. Our inner wealth of sīla, samādhi, and paññā will provide the basis for true and lasting happiness.

In addition to giving us a foundation for morality and restraint in our behavior, he also taught us to contemplate and understand the way things are. In the beginning of the training he had us develop asubha kammaṭṭhāna, which is the contemplation of the unattractiveness of this body, as well as the material requisites that come into contact with it. He taught us to contemplate the thirty-two parts of the body, using each one as a meditation object to be brought up and contemplated again and again. You would regularly hear him reciting, “kesā (hair of the head), lomā (hair of the body), nakhā (nails), dantā (teeth) and taco (skin),” to the monks and encouraging them to cultivate mindfulness of the body. He taught us to analyze the body and strip it down into its component parts until we were familiar with each part individually. He said this was essential in the training of mindfulness and that it was indispensable for combating our natural lust and attachment to the beauty of the body.

Sometimes Luang Por Chah would make arrangements with the staff from the local hospital to take the monks to look at corpses in the mortuary. He wanted us to see a dead human body close up so that we could contemplate the process of decomposition. In the mortuary there might be corpses that were swollen and bloated, or rotting and oozing liquids. When we returned to the monastery he would remind us that what we had seen was a superficial form of knowledge and that we should contemplate to internalize it. He taught us to compare the images of corpses we had seen at the mortuary with our own bodies until we could see that they were also of the nature to rot and decay.

He encouraged us to contemplate how the things that come into contact with our body, such as our robes, the food we eat, the medicines that we consume, and the meditation huts that we use, become loathsome because of this contact. Our robes become greasy and dirty due to the fluids that flow out of it every day. We have to wipe our nose, our ears and wipe the other orifices all of the time because of the unpleasant fluids flowing out.

He talked about these subjects all of the time. He would point out to us the basic Truths of life to aid our contemplation. All conditioned things, body and mind, are subject to the three universal characteristics of existence: impermanence, suffering and not-self. This contemplation challenges the basic delusion we usually have of the world as a fascinating place, and source of endless pleasure. When we first arrived at the monastery we all held similar world views such as, “Oh, I would be so happy if I was rich, had a good wife, a family, and lots of money.” So Luang Por Chah would keep bringing us back to contemplate the three characteristics of existence as a means to investigate our views, and see how incorrect and out of line with the Truth that they were.

Do rich and powerful people still have suffering? Can they use their riches, power and status to get beyond suffering? They can’t. The only way it can be done is to see the impermanent nature of these things. There is no real refuge if you invest all your attachment in worldly success and worldly things. You will suffer for sure if that’s where you’ve put your mind and heart. In the end these things will make you sad, as you’ll inevitably be separated from the success and happiness of wealth and status.

When Luang Por Chah taught like this it would give everyone a lot of confidence in the practice, and sometimes even sway monks who were experiencing doubts and considering disrobing to keep on going. Those monks would be reminded of the unavoidable suffering in lay life and the positive side of the monastic life. They might realize that suffering follows wherever you go and the only escape is through the practice. They might see that even if they did go back to the worldly life to earn a living and to start a family, they would just be going back to more suffering. That if we attach to our family and our wealth then we will suffer. That if you have kids, then you are going to have suffering. We might tend to fantasize and imagine all kinds of scenarios about the lay life, but deep down it is just fantasizing about something that is going to bring dukkha (suffering).

The sāmaṇa trains in the contemplative lifestyle until they can live above these things, until they can rise above the normal happiness and suffering of the world. They come to experience non-attachment by realizing anattā, the lack of self in these things. It is possible to actually transcend the world and live a life with very little suffering ― or even go beyond all suffering like Luang Por Chah.

Worldly success is still subject to impermanence, suffering and the selfless nature of phenomena. And those who achieve it still have to meet and deal with these Truths. The success we experience in the world tends to be fueled by avijjā meaning ignorance, and taṇhā meaning craving. These two are pushing us around all the time. When we don’t see this, it leads us to experience suffering. This is the Truth in Thailand and it’s the Truth in Australia. Wherever you are in this world, if you don’t see the harm of ignorance and craving as conditioning factors you won’t be able to find peace and happiness.

Luang Por Chah talked about the need for monks and lay people to find contentment in their life, and the importance of practicing restraint and moderation in the consumption of the basic necessities of life. He even quoted the Thai king who regularly reminds the Thai people not to live beyond their means, not to create unmanageable debts, nor to live in a way that they are a burden to themselves or others. If monks can develop contentment with the requisites they have, then they will experience less craving to return to the lay life and have a source of inner well-being that supports their meditation practice.

What I remember of Luang Por Chah is that not only was he an exceptional teacher of others, but also how diligent he was in his own practice. He would be particularly bold in the practice of meditation; he would not be intimidated by his own defilements or by the difficulties of the practice. Yet at the same time, he was a very humble and considerate monk: he would never boast of his attainments, or show off his knowledge, or speak in that way. There were actually plenty of occasions when he spoke very little, and then only a few words that were simple and to the point. He didn’t waffle on without meaning or purpose.

Sometimes he impressed people who would normally be in a realm where intellectual prowess and knowledge was given the highest value. For example, he was once invited to Oxford University and gave a very simple Dhamma talk, translated by Ajahn Sumedho, yet it impressed everyone there. It’s noticeable that when he taught in Europe and in America he impressed many people who normally looked for intellectual stimulation, and who looked for a more theoretical or philosophical approach to Buddhism. He didn’t try to present a lot of different views and opinions about Buddhism, but rather discussed the Dhamma in a very down to earth way, and this still seemed to impress the audiences that he encountered.

Teaching in this manner meant that he could talk about certain truths that many people normally find difficult to understand, and yet make them accessible to everyone. He might make the simple statement that we must contemplate how nothing is ours in this world; we don’t own anything. If we give in to craving and become a slave to craving then we will never really know any peace or contentment. After hearing him speak, sometimes people who seemed very sophisticated by our standards, and who had a lot of knowledge and experience of the world, would follow Luang Por Chah back to Thailand. I remember one particular university lecturer who had a PhD coming to Wat Nong Pah Pong, and he was particularly impressed with Ajahn Chah. The man said, “Oh, Luang Por Chah, you know so much. You can answer any question. You can solve any problem and resolve any doubt that I have.” Ajahn Sumedho translated this for Luang Por Chah, who just answered very humbly that, “I only know a tiny little bit of Dhamma. My knowledge is merely ‘that much’, not a lot at all.” Still, the lecturer was still satisfied and returned glowing with inspiration.

Another attribute of Luang Por Chah that his students all remember is that he always practiced by example. He wouldn’t just say things and expect other people to follow without doing the same himself. A good example of this was a time when the community agreed to give up smoking cigarettes in the monastery: even though Luang Por had smoked for many years and enjoyed it, he realized that it was bad for people’s health and that society increasingly viewed smoking critically, so a group decision was made to ban smoking in the Wat Nong Pah Pong Saṅgha. All the monks under his guidance had to give it up, and he dropped it as well.

Of course even after that decision was made there were still some monks who would sneak away and have cigarettes, and even today there are perhaps some who still do it. You might say that this is another good example of how we have to develop our sense of personal integrity. If you don’t follow the rules then you are not being honest with yourself. This is not a very good way to practice because it gets you into the habit of lying to yourself and lying to others. Luang Por Chah always encouraged us to know ourselves: if we learn how to know ourselves then we can train ourselves; if we can train ourselves then we are following the Buddha’s instruction not to be heedless. If you know how to train yourself you will be able to live anywhere in the world, you will even be popular wherever you go, because you are one who knows how to train. You’ll be able to live in any monastery in any country in the world, if you have these qualities. This is what we call appamāda or heedfulness. It is a cause that brings up effort and energy in the practice, and leads on to success. When you have this sense of heedfulness, you won’t be lazy and you won’t be careless.

Sometimes monks would just want to listen to Luang Por Chah because he could talk so well and answer all the problems people had. He could describe the Dhamma so well from his own experience that some monks wanted to sit and listen to him every night. They would go and sit under his kuṭi (meditation hut) and just listen to him speak, and also absorb the peaceful atmosphere generated by his mettā (lovingkindness). But then he might scold them with a sharp rebuke and say, “Oh you just want to copy what I say. You just want to remember the words so that you can take them away and impress the lay people.” He might actually chase those monks away from his kuṭi, scolding them to go and do their own practice so that they can realize the Dhamma for themselves, and transcend all their doubts and suffering for themselves. Everything came back to this teaching: that we can’t get beyond doubt unless we do the practice for ourselves.

I used to have doubts as well. When I was about 26 or 27 years old, and had been a monk for about six years, I had a strong desire to disrobe. I thought, “Oh maybe I should disrobe. I will be happier going back to the lay life and starting a family.” But whenever that mood arose and I went to hear Luang Por Chah talk, he would always help me to change my view, and I would feel much better.

Later on I still had some doubts about the practice and so asked to go off wandering alone. I had been on a walking tour with other monks before, but this time I thought I’d better go alone and really see for myself if I would stay in the robes or not. Of course going off on my own led me to encounter some difficulties, such as how to obtain the basic requisites and so on, this was food for contemplation in itself. However, there was one event that I remember that I feel was particularly important. I had been walking alone through the forest, on one occasion, when I came to a village and met some lay people by the side of the road. One woman was crying and sobbing and obviously very distressed. I thought she was suffering from some pain or illness, or maybe a snake had bitten her or something, so I asked her “Why are you crying?” She didn’t answer, but a relative sitting with her explained that the woman’s young baby had just died by drowning in a water jar in her house. The woman had left her baby under the grandmother’s supervision while she went to the toilet. Unfortunately, the grandmother wasn’t very careful, and when she wasn’t looking the baby had climbed up onto a water jar out of curiosity, fallen in, and drowned.

For me this was a powerful teaching on the suffering that we experience when we unexpectedly get separated from our loved ones. This experience gave me a powerful insight into the suffering of separation from those we love. And because I was alone and contemplating all the time, I saw instantly the harm that comes when we have craving and attachment to this sensual realm that we live in. The life we have in this world is based on our experience of the five senses and their objects. All of the teachings that Luang Por Chah had given me pointed to the dangers of sensuality, craving and attachment; they all flooded back to me and, at that time, I made a strong determination to continue practicing for complete liberation from suffering.

Also at that time it became clear to me that if ever I had a wife and children, I would end up sobbing and crying just like this poor woman. If I have a family, then I will have to face the anxiety and suffering that is based in attachment to them. They might fall ill, or even die, and I would inevitably suffer because of it. I contemplated that if I got married there would always be the risk that my partner would run off with someone else, and I would suffer over that too. I could now see the benefit of leading the holy life, because as a monk we keep all that kind of suffering at a distance, and we have time to contemplate. I realized that as a monk we only have a simple bowl and robes to look after: it’s a much more peaceful way to live. So it was at that time that I lost my desire to disrobe.

Since then I’ve actually seen many more instances of the suffering of lay life, and all have come together to make that wish to stay as a monk and practice for liberation that much stronger in my mind. I am clear now about all the suffering we have to meet in life and I’m in no doubt that to transcend suffering is the only goal worth pursuing.

These days I am still practicing and following the advice given to me by my teacher Luang Por Chah. As we practice the Dhamma Vinaya, we learn to see and know for ourselves the way to keep our minds peaceful, free from suffering, and free from attachments. I still practice this now, and I am still using the same meditation techniques that Luang Por Chah gave me when I was younger.

So today I’ve shared with you some thoughts about the practice. I hope that what I have said is of benefit to you and I apologize if I have presented anything inadequately. I’m not a skilled public speaker, but I hope this will be something of use to you. I will say just this much for today.

The Way to Understand Nature

Phra Khru Suvanbodhikhet (Venerable Ajahn Koon Aggadhammo)

April 10, 2009

“We keep developing insight until we see that the essential nature of body and mind is without self. This collection of five aggregates is not a being or a self, nor does it belong to me or you. Instead, we experience the body and mind as merely part of nature. This is Dhamma or Truth.”

I ask permission from the venerable senior and junior monks to share some words of Dhamma with you all, and I would like to extend my blessing to all the laypeople gathered here today. Today is Friday the 10th of April, 2009, or 2552 in the Buddhist calendar, and I feel happy and uplifted to see so many people gathered together to practice the Buddha’s teachings.

This is undoubtedly an auspicious occasion as it is the ceremony for the official opening of the Uposatha Hall here at Buddha Bodhivana Monastery, which includes the burial of the boundary marker stones that designate the area for performing Saṅgha transactions.

I understand that many of the laypeople here have migrated from faraway places such as Thailand, Malaysia and Sri Lanka. Together with locally born Australians, you have all come to live and practice the Buddha’s teachings. It is indeed a wonderful blessing that the laity here have the opportunity to come together at this monastery. Here you have the chance to chant, to meditate, and to develop your practice, as well as make merit by generously supporting the community of monks. Another way of describing these activities is to say that we are developing our pāramīs (spiritual qualities).

Wherever we go in the world these days we can find the teachings of the Lord Buddha and as long as we maintain our faith and conviction in the Triple Gem ― the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha ― then we can progress in our personal spiritual development. If we have the Triple Gem as our refuge, and keep it in our hearts, wherever we go we will never feel poor or lacking. This is because we will have what is known as “Noble Treasure”, the highest kind of spiritual wealth, in our hearts.

The underlying principles of the all the Buddha’s teachings is that we must establish a firm foundation of practice in our lives which will lead to the ultimate goal of our spiritual journey, nibbāna (the complete ending of suffering). Nibbāna is the final goal of our practice, but the starting point for this journey is the establishment and cultivation of faith in the Triple Gem. This emerges out of a firm conviction, and an unwavering sense of deep trust, in the Buddha’s attainment of full enlightenment. In addition, this means trust in the Dhamma — the teachings that have come from the words of the Buddha which point to the natural Truths of human existence: suffering, its cause, its ending, and the path to let it all go.

For example, we cultivate a strong conviction in the truth of the teaching of kamma, which is expressed as the efficacy of volitional action, or, more simply put, that good actions lead to good results and bad actions lead to bad results. This is the foundation and starting point of our journey of practicing the Buddha’s teachings.

The Buddhist way of practice can be compared with walking along a path, which we call “The Middle Way” of sīla (virtue), samādhi (concentration) and paññā (wisdom); this is the path we travel along as we practice. The Buddha was the one who pointed out the path, the Dhamma is the path, and those who walk the path are called the Sāvaka Saṅgha (the Noble Community). They are the disciples of the Buddha who have followed the “Middle Way”, or the “Noble Eightfold Path” comprised of right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration. This “Middle Way”, and this “Noble Eightfold Path”, is the only one that leads to nibbāna.

The Buddha called the path “The Middle Way” because it avoids the two extremes of self-deprivation and sensual indulgence. As well as being known as “The Middle Way”, the Buddha’s path is also referred to as “The Dhamma Vinaya” (the Buddha’s teachings and way of training). But either way, it is a path of practice and training given to us by the Buddha that is balanced and effective, and culminates in nibbāna.

The way to develop this path is through cultivating wholesome spiritual qualities — or “merit” — by pursuing a life of skilful action and developing life enriching qualities. Meritorious actions lead to our happiness and begin with the practice of generosity and giving, which require acts of renunciation on the material level such when offering the basic requisites of life: food, clothing, lodgings and medicines. People also come forward to support the religion by making sacrifices to support building projects, offering provisions for the needs of the community of monks, and supporting the practice and teaching of Buddhism in many other useful ways. This is all done out of their faith in the Triple Gem, and it is what we call the practice of āmisa-pūjā: showing veneration and respect to the Triple Gem through making material offerings.

We can also show our respect and veneration through making an offering of our own practice or paṭipatti pūjā. This form of offering is made through practicing the teachings and making a determination to keep the five precepts. Lay Buddhists cultivate virtue by voluntarily making a commitment to follow the five precepts, also known as the training guidelines, which are: to refrain from taking life, to refrain from stealing, to refrain from sexual misconduct, to refrain from lying, and to refrain from taking intoxicants.

When we train our minds to follow the Buddhist path we are supported by this practice of virtue, which then forms a basis for the practice and development of concentration during meditation. Through training in meditation we learn to calm the mind and bring it to experience stillness. We might develop mindfulness of breathing as an object of meditation in order to experience this. This state of calm that we attain further empowers our practice of virtue, and provides a firm mental foundation for the growth of wisdom. In this way the path of virtue, concentration and wisdom progress together.

In one of the Buddha’s teaching, called the ovāda-pāṭimokkha, the Buddha lays out the most important aspects of the path of practice in brief. Firstly, the practitioner must abandon all forms of evil and unwholesome actions. Secondly, they must do that which is good. And thirdly, they must purify their mind by cultivating calm and insight through meditation.

The first step of this teaching is abandoning evil means, leading a virtuous life, and refraining from performing actions bound up with the mental defilements of greed, anger and delusion. By training ourselves to keep moral precepts we are creating the causes for the abandonment of evil from our hearts. For monks, this means committing to keeping the Vinaya (monastic discipline), and for lay people it means keeping the five moral precepts.

The second step of this teaching is doing that which is good, which means training our mind to continuously bring up and develop wholesome mental states.

The third step is purifying the mind, which comes through the development of wisdom. Wisdom is the fruit of the practice. It means that we have gained insight into the true nature of conditioned things namely that they are impermanent, suffering and not-self. Such wisdom purifies the mind from the effects of greed, hatred and delusion ― the root defilements that corrupt the mind and cause suffering for ourselves and others.

Training our mind in the cultivation of mindfulness and insight leads us to understand the Truth or what we call the Dhamma. How does one understand the Dhamma?

One way to understand the Dhamma is to see nature as a combination of two things: rūpa (body) and nāma (mind) ― the material and mental aspect of ourselves. A second way is to see nature as a combination of five things, the five aggregates of existence: body, feeling, perception, volitional thoughts and consciousness. Here we have just divided body and mind up into five things instead of two, but both describe the material and mental aspects of ourselves.

A way to see the nature of body, or form, is to see them as combination of four things — the four elements of materiality: earth, water, fire and air. Some may say five things, and add the element of space. Some might say six things, and add the element of consciousness, which is essentially nāma, the combination of feeling, perception, volitional thought and consciousness. In any case, none of these are permanent or a self.

We can observe the four elements of the body, or form; they have their defining characteristics. The earth element is defined by hardness; the water element by liquidity or cohesion; the fire element by temperature; the air element by movement or extension. We can also develop mindfulness and clear comprehension of the four postures of the body, i.e. walking, standing, sitting and lying down. We can combine these two, and in each moment we can contemplate the body as one or all of the four elements. In any case, we must contemplate the body with mindfulness and clear comprehension until the Truth that it is impermanent, suffering and not-self is clear.

Through the practice of mindfulness and insight we observe our body and mind as a collection of different components or aggregates. We keep developing insight until we see that the essential nature of body and mind is without self. This collection of five aggregates is not a being or a self, nor does it belong to me or you. Instead, we experience the body and mind as merely part of nature. This is Dhamma or Truth.

These aggregates have come together as a result of our past actions, or past kamma; some were good actions and some were bad. We are the owners of our kamma, and inherit our kamma, and it is kamma that provides the causes and conditions that determine our experience of these five aggregates of existence in the present moment, and so on into the future. Our past actions have brought us to this point in time, and now we must put effort into practicing the Buddha’s teachings and developing our lives in a wholesome way until we are able to end all suffering.

All of us are searching for happiness, but usually we seek happiness out in the external world by trying to obtain money, wealth, power and prestige. We believe that this is where our happiness can be found, but really there is no end to that kind of searching. Just look at food as a simple example: you can eat today until you’re full, but tomorrow you will be hungry again. Dhamma teachings and practice provide us with a different type of food: spiritual food that* is truly enough to end all suffering. Sure, we all have desires, but once we have trained our minds in the practice of the path we will see that everything belongs to the earth. You could say that all material things are communal property. Sometimes, rather fleetingly,* we experience a sense of freedom in our lives, such as when we acquire certain things or temporarily get our desires satisfied. But to believe we can really own and be the master of the external world ― this is simply not possible.

This is the Law of Nature: all dhammas (elemental factors of experience) are bound up with the three universal characteristics of impermanence, suffering and not-self. Everything is in a process of change. First we are born, afterwards we progress towards old age, and finally towards sickness and death. We always have to experience change in our body and in our mental activity. This is because of the characteristic of transiency, or impermanence. This is our shared destiny as human beings. Please train yourselves in the way of Dhamma to bring your minds in line with nature.

When we view things correctly with insight we can live in a more relaxed way seeing everything as a natural process. We will feel inclined to do those things that are of natural benefit to ourselves and to others. We will avoid doing those things that are stressful and cause us, or others, anxiety. And we will always seek to develop true inner happiness. Simply put, we will learn to be at ease in our hearts.

Finally, I wish that you all may flourish in the Dhamma, and I wish that you attain the highest path and its fruit. Simply put, I wish that you will ultimately realize nibbāna.

The Three Main Dangers for Young Monks

Phra Khru Bhavanasaraguna (Venerable Ajahn Dumrong Sucitto)

November, 2007

“There are three main desires that new monks have to be patient with: the desire to disrobe, the desire to go on tudong and to travel, and the desire to teach and talk about the Dhamma. If you’re devoted to the practice of Dhamma-Vinaya (the Buddha’s teachings and way of training) you always have to be vigilant and watch out for how these three desires will affect your practice. These desires will stretch you…maybe to your limit.”

In the early days, before the western monks started to arrive, there were only a few of us at Wat Nong Pah Pong, perhaps only about ten monks were living within the community. Luang Por Chah would participate in all of the activities of the daily routine together with the monks. When the western monks began to arrive, the resident Saṅgha would just fit them as best they could. It was only later on when Luang Por was in his fifties that his fame and reputation spread, and he began to attract more and more monks and lay followers. When that happened, he gradually delegated the different responsibilities and duties associated with running the monastery to the senior monks, such as Luang Por Liem.

Luang Por Chah had to receive guests regularly. Some of them travelled a long way to visit him and to participate in the evening meditation and chanting program, so he always received them out of compassion. He also would teach monks and groups of lay people until it was late at night. So, little by little, the senior monks took on the responsibilities of running the monastery. They were able to do this because Luang Por Chah had always taught us to respect each other and the training rules of the monastery; the harmony of the community was always important, and he was skilled in supporting and encouraging that.

In the early days many of the monks would smoke rolled cigarettes and some would chew betel nut. One of the duties of the junior monks was even to roll cigarettes for Luang Por Chah. Sometimes after the evening meeting the monks would smoke cigarettes, and even some of the western monks would smoke them as well. The problem with this was that they would smoke in the sala (hall), which was very small with only a few small windows for ventilation. The more they smoked, the more the smoke filled the room, and it even got to the point where Luang Por Chah was coughing due to it. Some of the monks suggested we should ban smoking — I think one of them was Ajahn Sumedho — but Luang Por Chah didn’t immediately agree or disagree to do this. First, he asked everyone for their opinion about the issue and got the community involved, and only then they came to the conclusion to ban smoking at Wat Nong Pah Pong. That was Luang Por Chah’s style: he wouldn’t just make a decision outright; he would get everyone involved to see what they thought about an issue first.

There was one monk who was very devoted to the Vinaya (monastic discipline), and practiced it very strictly; you might say it was his specialty. He certainly did know the Vinaya very well, but it came with a conditioning where he was often trying to find fault with the other monks. He was always very respectful of Luang Por Chah, but if Luang Por Chah did something he didn’t feel was right, or not completely in line with the Vinaya, he would point it out, even to Luang Por Chah. Yet Luang Por Chah never got angry, never showed pride, or said something like, “Who are you to tell me?” He would consider the point the monk was trying to make, and what he had to say first. In the end the fault finding monk served to show us how skilful and adjustable Luang Por Chah could be in different situations; he would use wisdom to guide his decisions, and always considered what would be best, not only for himself, but for the community as a whole, as well as for the long term growth of the monastery.

You asked Ajahn Sophon about his time spent on tudong (wandering), but he still hasn’t spoken to you about it yet. That’s because he practices in the old style, meaning that if you display your desire, or show that you really want to hear him speak about something, then he won’t tell you yet. He will wait until all the excitement dies down, and until you have lost interest, and then he might tell you. That’s the way they practiced at Luang Por Chah’s monastery: if you really wanted something you wouldn’t get it. Ajahn Sophon says it will take at least an hour to talk about his experiences, so you’ll have to wait for an opportunity.

There are three main desires that new monks have to be patient with: the desire to disrobe, the desire to go on tudong and to travel, and the desire to teach and talk about the Dhamma. If you’re devoted to the practice of Dhamma Vinaya (the Buddha’s teachings and way of training) you always have to be vigilant and watch out for how these three desires will affect your practice. These desires will stretch you…maybe to your limit.

When Ajahn Sophon was a young monk he was always talking about his wish to leave the monastery and go wandering. Luang Por Chah would always be firm and say “no” — he wouldn’t let him go. Later on Luang Por Chah relented, and Ajahn Sophon thought he was going to get what he wanted, but then Luang Por Chah surprised him and allowed him to go only with the words, “Go! But you can’t come back for five years.” Luang Por Chah’s responses to each of the monks would depend on how he understood the mind of each one that he was dealing with at that moment in time: which desires were dominating their thinking and which of them might be in need of taming. Sometimes, out of compassion and wisdom, he would block whatever it was that the student wanted.

Another example we just heard about was from Ajahn Khun, who has been a monk for a similar length of time as me. He had been living with Luang Por Tien, his first teacher and the Abbot of Luang Por Chah’s first branch monastery. Like many of the other new monks, Ajahn Khun was so afraid he wouldn’t get permission to go wandering after his first Rains Retreat, that he tried to think up a way to approach the teacher about leaving the monastery, to ensure that he didn’t meet with a refusal. So at the end of the Rains Retreat he went to Luang Por Tien and bowed to him and said, “I’m going on tudong.” Ajahn Khun made that simple statement, and he didn’t give Luang Por Tien time to consider it or respond, rather he just paid his respects, bowed and departed super quick; he didn’t even give his teacher time to say anything. A year later when Ajahn Khun returned after his wandering tour he discovered Luang Por Tien was furious with him. He was speaking words of criticism about him to all the other monks and told him, “You can’t stay here.” So Ajahn Khun went to Wat Nong Pah Pong and stayed with Luang Por Chah for a while.

In the end, this proved to be a good occasion to see Luang Por Chah’s skill in solving issues that might come up within the community of monks. Whenever there was a problem between monks, Luang Por Chah was an expert in solving them, and would use his wisdom to make a big problem into a little problem, or a little problem into no problem at all. Whether it was a problem between different people or within the mind of a single person, he was often very skilled and able to bring the suffering down to a minimum, or even to completely erase it.

So in this case, after about ten days of Ajahn Khun coming to stay with Luang Por, he invited Luang Por Tien to visit Wat Nong Pah Pong. He explained to him that a junior monk had come to stay with him, but that he was only really interested in running off on a wandering tour. Luang Por Chah said he didn’t want to let the monk do this, and then asked Luang Por Tien what he thought about the situation. As they discussed it, Luang Por Chah asked Luang Por Tien whether the young monk might go and stay with him. Luang Por Tien responded by saying that he had no problem with it. Luang Por Chah then had the young Ajahn Khun bring a tray with incense and flowers out, and had him ask forgiveness from Luang Por Tien. After that they returned to Luang Por Tien’s monastery together, and that was the end of the issue.

This is a typical example of how Luang Por Chah dealt with such problems as they arose. He understood very well the minds of the young monks and how restless they could be, but he also knew how to preserve harmony and an atmosphere of respect in the community as a whole.

Aside from the desire to travel and wander on tudong, the desire to teach can be a big problem for new monks. It especially comes up when a monk has been putting forth frequent and determined effort in his practice. When we practice sitting and walking mediation continuously for a period of time we might begin to experience pīti (rapture) and sukha (happiness) as a result of the effort we put into the meditation. We feel happy and content inside, but the nature of rapture is effervescent, and because we are still inexperienced in contemplating the mental states that arise, they can tend to bubble up and get us excited.

One result of this is that we might feel a strong urge to display this happiness in the form of teaching others, or helping them out of their suffering. Often monks get a strong desire to give Dhamma teachings, and the strong experience of rapture makes them feel like everything coming up into their experience is Dhamma. They contemplate everything and feel they understand everything as Dhamma then want to tell everyone else about it as well. Maybe they witness a leaf falling from a tree and it can be like they have had this big insight into anicca (impermanence). Everything seems like the Dhamma. They see something, or they hear something, and then they want to tell everyone about it as though they have had some profound insight into the Dhamma.

This is an experience that most monks will come across in their practice, especially when they do a lot of meditation. Often it happens during the period of the annual Rains Retreat, and by the end of the three month retreat the monk might be itching to give a Dhamma talk to someone. They might have found some genuine peace and happiness from their meditation, but by the end of the retreat it is starting to overflow.

At the end of the retreat the Kaṭhina season starts and there is the opportunity for monks to travel to other branch monasteries and give teachings through the night, which is part of the Wat Nong Pah Pong tradition. The monk might even feel like he can give a talk all night long because there is enough pīti and sukha to sustain it; but if you do that and then return to your monastery, or keep travelling, and don’t keep putting effort into your meditation practice, you will find that within a few days all the rapture and happiness from samādhi (concentration) will have disappeared.

So you have to keep putting effort into your meditation practice, otherwise your knowledge becomes a hollow kind of Dhamma. You are no longer able to speak from your current experience; rather you have to rely on memories of teachings you’ve heard, or what you remember from your own practice in the past. But if you keep on practicing sincerely you might be able to sustain a certain level of insight, and keep progressing in the development of your mind.

Teaching and meditation practice is like a balancing act for many monks. Often many are tempted to just go off and teach rather than re-doubling their efforts in their meditation practice. In the past, such monks may have had some insight and experienced some peace; then they start teaching and all their peace just disappears like that. In the end they can only teach from books or from their memory, which is an empty type of Dhamma teaching and can lead to other problems down the track as well.

What’s more important is that, after you have experienced some genuine insight into Truth, you use mindful reflections to catch your mood and the sense of self that leads you to feel addicted to teaching, and find a skilful way to restrain it. We have to learn how to detach from the desire to teach and give it up completely, because it might still be mixed with a strong sense of self and a desire to promote the ego.

Perhaps the most beneficial thing to do at this stage in your practice is to put effort into maintaining the level of mindfulness and samādhi, where the rapture and happiness is sustained and the five hindrances are suppressed. With the firmness of sustained samādhi you can continue to contemplate, gain real insight and let go of the mental defilements, rather than giving-in to them or intensifying them. If we give into the defilements at the time when we attain some calm and insight, then all the effort that you put into the meditation practice can really go to waste.

Luang Por Chah’s way of teaching always contained the intention to bring his students back to the contemplation of impermanence. Even the rapture and happiness arising from meditation can change and disappear very quickly ― everything is uncertain. So we have to keep returning to that reflection. Luang Por Chah taught that if you keep contemplating impermanence, true insight will be preserved. We reflect on uncertainty in this way, even with the experiences of bliss, rapture and radiance, which can arise out of the practice of meditation.

Sometimes Luang Por Chah would hold a monk back from going out wandering for a long time, even for several years, if he felt they were not ready, or would not benefit from it. However, he wouldn’t absolutely prevent a monk from leaving the monastery and going out to wander from place to place; perhaps Luang Por Chah would postpone the monk’s departure, or wait until the time was right, but everything depended on how strong the monk’s urge to leave was. Luang Por Chah’s aim was to help the monk train himself, and gain the strength of mindfulness to be able to frustrate his own desires, rather than always give-in to them. When the monk had learnt how to do this, he could then contemplate and let go of the causes of his suffering.

Sometimes there were more mundane reasons for Luang Por Chah’s deciding on whether he would let a monk go off wandering or not, such as when there were a lot of monks wishing to leave at the same time and he might need some help at the monastery. There may have been other appropriate reasons to halt a young monk’s plans for travel, too. For example, if a monk had a strong urge to disrobe, then it would be better for him to endure patiently in the monastery rather than travel.

Most monks had different kinds of struggles with their own attachments and desires in their early years of practice. Luang Por Chah would compare the practice with a fight between two strong men: one was the Dhamma and the other the mental defilements. The two sides would push against each other: sometimes the defilements are stronger and stay in a commanding position, other times the Dhamma is strongest and stays in charge. Our whole training is about building up all the different pāramīs (spiritual perfections) to match and defeat the defilements. It’s not like there is only one decisive battle either: the sides are always pushing against each other.

Sometimes it’s also possible that in the midst of the struggle we can completely lose the plot. Temporarily we forget the Dhamma or lose our mindfulness, and then the defilements return and take over our mind very quickly. Later the defilements are weakened and the Dhamma comes back up. It’s always like that, so you have to be vigilant and keep working at building up the perfections and the strength of the Dhamma to protect your mind.

Luang Por Chah liked to quote Ajahn Buddhadasa’s teaching about the two snakes symbolizing the two different kinds of kamma that condition our minds. First Ajahn Buddhadasa would draw a circle representing the Buddha’s teaching on paṭiccasamuppāda (dependent origination) and then say that within the circle there are two snakes: a white snake and a black snake. The white snake represents good kamma and the practice of the Noble Eightfold Path. When the white snake is strong and the practice is going well it comes up and starts to swallow the black snake. It swallows the black snake but not yet completely, so some of the black snake’s body can still be seen protruding from the white snake’s mouth. This represents the fact that the mental defilements are not completely finished. So as long as there are some left, the black snake is not completely swallowed; it can reemerge and the whole scenario can change again. The black snake can push off the white snake and even gain enough strength to start swallowing the white snake. This is how the Dhamma and the defilements struggle in people’s minds.

In order to deal with this dynamic we have to develop our spiritual powers and perfections to gain strength of mind. The Buddha taught that strength of mind in the practice can be regarded in terms of five spiritual powers: saddhā (faith or confidence) in the teachings, sati (mindfulness), viriya (perseverance), samādhi and paññā (wisdom). Particularly in the beginning of our practice, saddhā, viriya and sati are the three qualities you need to focus on and develop all of the time. You could say that in the beginning of the practice samādhi and paññā are more the results that arise after we have put forth effort, the other three spiritual powers being more the cause for them to arise.

Faith and confidence in the teacher, and in the method of practice, is essential from the outset otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it. With confidence as a foundation you can persevere in bringing up mindfulness and taming your mind.

At first we train in mindfulness by learning and keeping the monastic training rules and regulations. The more mindfulness we have, the more natural it is to keep the Vinaya and follow the rules. The more mindfulness we develop, the more we can hold our mind in place, and keep it in the present moment. We have to expend a great amount of time and effort restraining the mental proliferation stimulated by the defilements. We have to put a lot of energy into keeping the mind on its meditation object and using mindfulness to cut out the tendency towards distraction, day dreaming and generally getting caught into different kinds of moods.

I had to do battle with the desire to go wandering for about a year before I actually left the monastery. It arose because when you are walking and sitting in the forest there is not a lot else to think about, so the defilements are always sending up shoots and strands from their roots for your mind to grasp onto and think about. For me it was a restless energy that caused me to be curious about going off and exploring other monasteries and different parts of the country. My desire was so strong it kept coming up over and over again in my mind for over a year. That’s the way it can be at times. Sometimes you squash down one type of defilement over here — the desire to eat different kinds of food, perhaps — only to find another type of defilement shooting up over there — the desire to travel, for example. You try to squash one down, and then find something else comes up. For me it was like this for about a year, and then I finally did gain permission to leave the monastery and start wandering.

Obviously when a monk goes wandering to find quiet places to meditate, or to visit other teachers and monasteries, it is not necessarily a bad thing. It can bring benefits to your practice. This is because you must test yourself in many different ways as you put yourself through some difficulties and have to encounter new and different challenges. You can grow from the challenges, and gain wisdom and experience in looking after your mind in different situations you normally might not encounter in the monastery. However, it is still important for you to consider the attitudes that you hold, the timing of when you go, and how well prepared you are to practice under the challenging circumstances you may encounter.

When I went wandering I spent a period of time in a cave in Lampang province, and I found the peace and seclusion of that cave very conducive for meditation practice. I was alone and had just one small Dhamma book for inspiration: the biography of Ajahn Lee Dhammadharo. I found that, because I only had one small book, I really valued the teachings I gained from it.

In one chapter Ajahn Lee related how in his fourth rains retreat he had the desire to disrobe arise very strongly in his mind, mainly because in his first four years as a monk he had resided in a large monastery in Bangkok, and after that length of time he found the busyness and distraction of the city a real obstacle to the development of his meditation. Rather than practicing meditation, he had spent much of his time studying, participating in ceremonies, visiting lay supporters and so on.

Ajahn Lee’s lay supporters were very kind and generous people. In particular there was one wealthy family who looked after him, and they had a daughter of about his age who would come to the monastery every day and say to him, “Dear brother, what do you need? Dear brother, what can I get for you?” Ajahn Lee recounted how this became a regular pattern and that after a while all he could hear in his mind were the words, “Dear brother, Dear brother”, and all he could see in his mind was the girl’s attractive face.

I read this book and contemplated how we make kamma with our minds: just as we can make good kamma by repeatedly reflecting on the Dhamma with mindfulness and wisdom, thus developing more wholesome energy and faith to practice, in the same way if we repeatedly place unwise attention on something which stirs up our craving and attachment… well, that too can become a strong, powerful energy, but of a negative kind.

So for the young Ajahn Lee in Bangkok, who was not meditating much, or putting much effort into his practice, and who had been encountering this attractive young lady on a daily basis, it became a really big problem for him. In brief, he began to fall in love with her! From then on all the mental proliferation and fantasy about the girl became overwhelming. He fantasized about disrobing and marrying her, planning how he would earn money to support a family and how they would have kids together — a boy and a girl, and when they were older he would send them off to high school, then maybe on to England for further education, as was fashionable at the time. But then he imagined the dangers his future daughter might face in a foreign country, and maybe even one of those westerners might take her for his wife. So in his mind he already had to change his plans to protect the daughter, who hadn’t even been born yet — already he was suffering over his daughter who didn’t even exist!

Finally he realized that everything he was thinking about was suffering, and none of it had even happened yet. He started to contemplate the suffering of his situation: how he was a monk but without contentment in the practice, always caught into thinking about disrobing and returning to the worldly life. Ajahn Lee reflected that he had been a monk for four years and still hadn’t really been practicing what the Buddha taught. He recognized that he had just been following his own desires. Even though externally he was practicing as a monk — following the rituals, the customs, giving teachings, and participating in blessing ceremonies — now he felt it was time to practice what the Buddha had taught within his heart as well. This was his accumulated pāramīs arising.

Ajahn Lee indeed had a great store of pāramīs and good kamma from his previous lives, and it was now emerging and giving him the inspiration to go deeper into his practice. So he made a vow: that following in the footsteps of the Lord Buddha, if it was necessary for enlightenment he would sit cross legged in meditation all night without moving — even if he were to die in the process, then so be it. He vowed to sit from six in the evening until six in the morning, and really started practicing very seriously. In the first hour of meditation he kept his meditation object, the word “Buddho”, firmly in his mind and really made a determination to fix his attention on it. In the second hour the pain came up and he found that for some of the time his mindfulness was strong and he could stick with “Buddho”, but for other periods the feeling of pain was so intense he was unable to recite “Buddho” with mindfulness. In the third hour there was just pain, but he found that despite this, his mind didn’t go anywhere else: it was totally mindful of the pain. It didn’t think about the girl anymore, and it didn’t want to think about worldly things either. The mind stayed within the body, focused on the pain. He observed the attachment between the mind and body through being mindful of the painful feeling that was arising.

After that Ajahn Lee spent the rest of the night maintaining mindfulness of the painful feelings, contemplating the relationship between the mind and pain. He contemplated how the mind takes ownership of pain out of its habitual reaction of aversion and, because of that, mental proliferation continues to arise.

Having made his sincere vow he would not let himself get up, so he continued to sit for four, then five hours. By that time it didn’t matter what the mind brought up, the determination was so strong he wasn’t even afraid of death.

In the book there were more details given on how he practiced as each hour passed, but needless to say he developed extreme endurance by meditating through pain, even to the point that he was completely drenched in sweat by the ninth hour.

By this time the awareness was so strong and clear that there was a distinct separation between the quality of knowing that had been developed, and the painful feelings that were arising. This was when he really began the practice of the first foundation of mindfulness, or kāyagata satipaṭṭhāna (mindfulness of the body), in earnest. He had trained himself to establish the knowing through the continuous presence of mindfulness, and this was distinct from the body, the painful feeling, and the mental state that was arising. All the mental proliferation, the sense of self and ego, was gone. All that was left was just the pure knowing. After that he could complete his vow and sit peacefully for the rest of the night. From that time on he had established himself in the practice of the four foundations of mindfulness.

So from then on, Ajahn Lee completely changed his way of living as a monk. He gave up all thoughts of disrobing and started practicing meditation much more seriously. From then on he understood that the way to practice was always to bring up mindfulness, whatever the situation. He knew that out of the practice of mindfulness, wisdom grows, and that it is wisdom that brings you the answers. This is what the Buddha meant when he taught, “The wise will know the Dhamma for themselves.” You will start to experience all of the Dhamma that you have read and heard. This naturally happens when the continuous presence of mindfulness is established. This is how insight arises and this is what we’re aiming for in the practice.

Obviously you can hear different teachers explain things and recount their experiences, or you can read the suttas (scriptural teachings) and all of the texts, but it all remains mere superficial knowledge without mindfulness practice. The only way to realize the Dhamma is through putting effort into bringing up mindfulness. Out of that will grow the wisdom and understanding that will cut off the defilements and end your suffering.

Clarifying the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta

Phra Raja Sumedhajahn (Venerable Ajahn Sumedho)

Decemeber, 2010

“What I’ve done over the years is develop this seeing of what is normal, and developed this awareness that sees my mind thinking about all kinds of things, and I know,”That’s not it." I know the thought processes, habits and personality traits that tend to come up in consciousness. I know them and I no longer believe or trust them in any way because I know what they are: impermanent, suffering and not to be grasped at. I know the suffering involved in getting caught up in either following them or trying to suppress them. In this way the reality of the Deathless is realized."

Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo has invited me to give some Dhamma reflections for you this evening.

This is my first trip to Australia in 15 years and so I am using this opportunity to visit friends and acquaintances. I have noticed that the teachings of the Buddha are becoming quite respected in the Western world, in countries like Australia; whereas before very few people knew anything about Buddhism, or understood it, or practiced it in any real way.

When I became interested in Buddhism, back in 1955, it was difficult to find any books on Buddhist teachings in the United States. Over the course of time this has become much easier. There have been developments in the way that mass information is spread throughout the world. Due to advancements in modern technology and transportation, there is now a worldwide network of communication. One of the results of this is that there is a plethora of books available on Buddhism and on meditation. These days, it seems like anybody who goes on a 10-day retreat usually writes a book about it. There are yoga and spiritual book shops in London, and there are lots of options to choose from. This creates a different kind of dilemma. Which one should I choose? Which should I doubt?

I ordained and trained as a Buddhist monk in Thailand and found living and practicing in a culture and society that is primarily Buddhist a wonderful experience. Thailand has a strong tradition of Theravadin Buddhism that has existed for over a thousand years, and a cultural base that has mixed with Buddhist teachings from the Theravada school. Even though they might not practice all aspects of Buddhism per se — such as meditation — they do have the cultural conditioning to see things from a Buddhist perspective. This is not the case with most of us from Western countries.

I have been in England now, as a Buddhist monk, for over 33 years. When I first went there I doubted whether I could survive in a non-Buddhist country as an alms mendicant, but it hasn’t been a problem at all. The requisites are in abundance and the generosity of the people is more than sufficient. I have been teaching, practicing meditation and establishing monasteries, and all of this has been through the support of alms given in the traditional way of mendicancy established in the Theravadin tradition. Also over the course of that time, in countries like Australia and in the UK, many Buddhists from Thailand, Sri Lanka, Burma, Laos and Cambodia have migrated and settled. Immigration has become much more common and fluid, which has further spread Buddhism and created more support for the Saṅgha, and also demand for Buddhist teachings in the West.

Our cultural conditioning in the West is very different from that of Thailand, it is not influenced by Buddhism whatsoever. But it is of note to observe the amount of interest in meditation in countries like the UK and Australia now. Yet in Thailand, which is a Buddhist country, the practice of meditation is not the type of thing that people tend to do there. It’s part of the cultural conditioning nowadays for many to just go to the monastery to make merit or perform ceremonies; the practice is often taken for granted. Even within the monastic system in Thailand the emphasis can be very academic and placed mostly on the study of scriptures and Pali, and not on the practice, not with paṭipatti (practice).

My teacher, Luang Por Chah, emphasized paṭipatti a lot. When I first went to live with him I couldn’t speak any Thai, but Luang Por Chah insisted that I attend all of the talks. I couldn’t even be excused from his five hour long desanas (Dhamma teachings) in the evening, despite the fact that I couldn’t understand anything he said, except for a few words. One was "paṭipatti", or practice, as it’s translated into English.

There were three aspects that were quite significant in Luang Por Chah’s way of training. Firstly he emphasized the Vinaya, the monastic code of discipline, or for laypeople the five or eight moral precepts that many Buddhists undertake. Next he emphasized the pariyatti, the study of the scriptures and the Pali cannon. And ultimately he emphasized paṭipatti which leads to paṭivedha or realization, the result of the practice. These three aspects are quite significant. We need all three.

In Luang Por Chah’s way of teaching we learned the pariyatti, the scriptural teaching as printed in Pali in the traditional Tipitaka, and then put it into practice. He taught pariyatti and paṭipatti, and an example of this was with the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta, the first sermon of the Buddha.

I’ve often considered that even if the rest of the scriptures were totally lost and that the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta was the only thing left, that it would be enough. Everything you need to know in order to practice is contained within the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta. We memorized this sutta (teaching). It’s traditionally chanted on āsāḷha pūjā day, which is the day before the vassa (the monks’ annual three month retreat held during the rainy season). Often people do not appreciate the meaning of what is being taught in this sutta — it has become a perfunctory Pali chant for many — but when one practices, when one is involved with paṭipatti, those words come to life. Their direction, their skilful pariyatti Dhamma, comes to life as they are applied and internalized in your own citta (mind), through the practice. It’s not just an intellectual conditioning that one is getting, or a meaningless chant, but something that actually gives us direction in our practice. This first sermon is a very profound teaching.

A few weeks ago Ajahn Paññasāra and I were travelling together from England and we went to Sarnath in India. On Sunday we went with a group of people from Europe and America to the visit the stupa in Sarnath and together we chanted the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta. As we did this, a strong sense of pīti (rapture) arose in my mind as I reflected that we were chanting the same sutta, in the same spot that the Lord Buddha taught it to his first five disciples 2552 years prior to our visit. It was a very moving experience for me.

The First Noble Truth that the Buddha taught was suffering. He used suffering as the First Noble Truth and this is very interesting to me, because why would the Buddha place suffering as a Noble Truth? This is something that made me wonder:

“Why not use love or something like that as a First Noble Truth? Love is very inspiring: unconditioned, unselfish love. Why not use that as a First Noble Truth? Why did he take something none of us want and like? Why did he take dukkha (suffering), and put it in such an honourable category in his first sermon.”

Many people come to the conclusion, after all their questioning and practicing that this First Noble Truth, dukkha, is the common bond we all share as human beings. This is why the Buddha’s teaching is still present at this time even though it’s a very ancient teaching. It’s not like new age modern psychology which is always changing and developing. It’s an ancient teaching that’s existed for thousands of years. He understood the basic problem of human existence, which applies to all of us, whether we were in ancient India or are in modern Australia — suffering is what we experience.

When we are ignorant of this Truth, of this Dhamma, of this Deathless Reality, then we are caught up in and motivated by fear and desire. We’re caught up in the delusions and conditioning of our societies, religions and so forth. We operate from this sense of, “I’ve got to get something that I don’t have”, or, “I have to get rid of something that I shouldn’t have” — which when you think about it, isn’t so noble. So you ask yourself: “What’s so noble?! Why call suffering or dukkha a Noble Truth?” Usually, for me, it was always a nasty fact, rather than a Noble Truth: when you’re cold you want to be warm… just as I do. When you are too hot you want to be cool… just as I do. Wanting to get something you don’t have. Trying to get rid of things you don’t like… just like I do. You get sick and it’s suffering… You get old and it’s suffering… You are subject to death and it’s suffering… You get separated from things you like and it’s suffering… You will have to be with things you don’t like and it’s suffering… just as it is with me. Sometimes you don’t get what you want and it’s suffering… just like me. This is normal. This is dukkha. And this is true. It’s not about blindly believing in the Four Noble Truths. You don’t have to blindly believe in suffering: you can recognize it experientially. It’s about humanity and the human experience. Being human in ancient India or in modern Australia, if we’re male or female, we all operate in that same way…

And of course modern life, like I experienced in my youth in the United States, was always about getting something and never being content. It was always about achieving, attaining, envying others and keeping up with the Joneses. Of course the modern free market capitalist system encourages this through advertising which purposely generates it. We are never content in our society. For example, you are not supposed to be content with last year’s fashion: each year new fashions come to leave you discontent with the previous years. The society we live in is basically encouraging us to be discontent with what we have so that we will spend our money. Especially now, during this time of economic recession in Europe and in the UK, there is a desperate type of anxiety being built up within society, and the government is encouraging British citizens to spend more money to keep the economy going. The modern economy depends on discontent people. It depends on people who always go out and spend and get more, and who are never contented with what they have.

And then there is the monastic system, as you see here represented in this monastery, Buddha Bodhivana Monastery, by Ajahn Kalyāṇo and the Saṅgha who are training to be content with little. We train ourselves as Buddhist monks, just as the Buddha so often taught, to be content with little. But you cannot make yourself content as an act of will, even though you can appreciate the ideal. In reality, because of our cultural background, we are not conditioned to be content but rather to be discontent.

In the monastic system we have what we call the samaṇa saññā (perception of being a peaceful one), the monastic reflections for samaṇas (peaceful ones), and the contemplations on the use of the four requisites. We reflect on the food dropped into our alms bowl, the rag robes that we wear, the basic primitive medicinal allowance that we can use, and the shelter we have for the night. Then, by continually observing the suffering that we create through being discontent with these requisites, we can see the First Noble Truth clearly. This becomes evident when we want better food, better shelter, better robes or better medicine. When we want these things we become discontent. Or we can become discontent with the monastery, and would like to go to one we think would be better.

So samaṇas train themselves, “There is this shelter for the night”, rather than get caught into such thoughts as, “This monastery should be like this or shouldn’t be like that.” At the very least, the aim is to be aware of this — to be aware of discontent and how we grasp it, and to use the Four Noble Truths to reflect on the experience. Seeing the conditioned reactions of not wanting things to be the way they are, wanting something you don’t have, you begin to investigate the grasping of desire and its result — that grasping is dukkha. So that’s why it’s a Noble Truth: it’s common to all human beings and it’s something nobody wants.

We all want to be happy, don’t we? I don’t know any people who want to be discontent; they all want to be happy. Yet people understand happiness on the level of an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, person: getting everything they want, being able to have desires fulfilled, and getting all the best of everything. That’s generally the best that people can possibly imagine. But if you could arrange life so that you could get absolutely everything you want, would you be content with it?

Even before I ordained I could see that I would never be content, even if I could get what I wanted. As a layman I noticed this. I was caught into discontent. Even when I got the things I wanted, I wasn’t content. I’d have a kind of satisfactory moment — that’s probably the best way to describe it, since I got what I wanted — but it couldn’t ever be sustained, because the mind is conditioned to look for something else, something more".

So then what’s so noble about this First Noble Truth? The sense of nobility comes from not just getting caught mindlessly into our conditioned reaction of blaming external causes, yourself or anything else, or trying to eradicate suffering, but rather investigating its nature in order to develop wisdom. And this takes a certain nobility of the human heart, doesn’t it?

Part of us does like to get caught into looking for worldly happiness and into avoiding anything unpleasant or miserable in anyway. But there is this other side, this kind of maturity in the human heart where you are suddenly able to look at suffering and admit, “I’m not really being truly content with anything. I want things to be something they are not”, or, “I do not want life to be the way it is…” And this goes on and on until we start looking at this dukkha and see it as a Noble Truth that we have to accept rather than ignore.

Rather than the reason for our suffering being because we don’t have everything that we want or desire, or that the society that we live in is not the way that it should be, or that the people we live with are not perfect — they have all kinds of irritating habits and flaws, commit blameable actions — rather than getting caught into that conditioned mentality we can accept that this is normal, this is the way it is, this is a Noble Truth.

So you can either live in ignorance, and get mindlessly caught into an existence of being critical and averse, indignant, angry, discontented, unhappy even in the midst of abundance, or you can live with the wisdom of recognizing that this is the way it is. This is the way life is. This is a Noble Truth, it isn’t personal. The nobility comes from recognizing it as a Truth, rather than blaming suffering on oneself, one’s circumstances or on external causes. For example some people blame God. They think, “How could God have allowed this terrible thing to happen?” It’s God’s fault. Or it’s the opposite political party’s fault. Or it’s this group’s fault. We can always find something external to blame for our misery, that’s an easy thing to do, but then we are still caught in suffering aren’t we.

Yet I’m suggesting something different here. I’m looking at my misery and the misery that is all around me, this dukkha, as a Noble Truth of existence. You could say it’s changing from the worldly way of seeing suffering to this Dhamma way of understanding it. In regards to the First Noble Truth of suffering, the insight is to understand it. The nobility and the insight, come through understanding the First Noble Truth. This is the paṭipatti, the practice, regarding the First Noble Truth. The paṭivedha, the results of the practice, is where you have the insight, “Dukkha has been understood”.

So there are three aspects of each Noble Truth. First there’s the pariyatti, which declares, “There is dukkha.” It’s a simple statement. It’s not saying anything about dukkha it’s just, “There is dukkha”. The second aspect is the paṭipatti, and that is, “What to do about it?” It’s practical, not just, “There is dukkha”, and leave it there, but it considers, “What do you do about it?” and it gives the direction by stating, “Suffering is to be understood”. The third aspect is paṭivedha, or the results of the practice, where you have the insight, “Dukkha has been understood”.

So you can see here this pattern, this reflective style that the Buddha uses in his first sermon. First there’s the pariyatti, “There is dukkha.” It’s a simple statement. It’s not saying anything about dukkha it’s just, “There is dukkha”. It’s a truth. You can study it, investigate it, and examine it. Wherever you look, whether it’s at your own suffering or at someone else’s, it’s a Truth. Just read the newspapers they’re all about suffering, scandals, corruption, social problems, drug addictions, pollution, endless wars, and suspicions and paranoia of the human mind. There is suffering.

Now, I’ve come from a fairly good background. I can’t blame the misery I experienced as a lay person on being mistreated or deprived. It was from an internal, self-critical and very sceptical mind always emphasizing anything I felt was wrong, especially about myself. It was very self-disparaging and self-critical. It was like a personal obsession. My suffering wasn’t because of being mistreated externally, but because of thinking in the wrong way and seeing things in the wrong way.

Can you relate to my experience in some way? We can all relate to it. This is suffering, dukkha, isn’t it? This is a Noble Truth.

The second aspect is the paṭipatti, and that is, “What to do about it?” It’s practical, not just, “There is dukkha”, and leave it there, but it considers, “What do you about it?” and it gives the direction by stating, “Suffering is to be understood”. This is the practice part. It’s not about trying to figure out how to get rid of suffering, but rather to understand suffering for what it truly is — normal, natural, the way it is, an undeniable fact, a fundamental truth of existence. The suffering that the Buddha is pointing to is the ignorance of this Truth. It’s not about taking sides with any political party or any group. It’s not about one sided arguments. Or getting caught up in, “He’s right and you should…”, or “We are Buddhists and we are right and all the rest are wrong.” It’s actually about awakening to this feeling within your own mind of unhappiness or discontentment, or of feeling incomplete, feeling lonely, feeling dissatisfied or discontented, and to understand it. It means that instead of blaming suffering for being suffering, we recognize, “There is suffering. It’s like this. That’s the way it is. It’s a natural, normal, undeniable fact; a fundamental truth of existence.”

Then the third aspect is paṭivedha, or the results of the practice. It’s the insight part where you get a kind of “gut knowledge”. It’s not just a belief in scriptural teaching, but you actually put it into practice and know it for yourself, “Dukkha has been understood”.

So pariyatti, paṭipatti, paṭivedha — these are three aspects of each Noble Truth. Not just pariyatti Dhamma: “There is suffering. There is the origin of suffering. There is the end of suffering. There is the path that leads to the end of suffering.” Each Noble Truth does have its pariyatti statement, but then also its prescription to overcome it, or paṭipatti — the advice on what to do with it — and then it has the result that comes from practicing, or paṭivedha.

The Second Noble Truth is about the causes of suffering. The First Noble Truth, that there is suffering, isn’t the ultimate truth, nor is it a metaphysical truth. It’s a Noble Truth that we use, taking these ordinary, very banal experiences and seeing them for what they are. It’s not about getting caught into complaining that we are being prosecuted by a tyrannical social system, becoming miserable and just accepting that. It’s about recognizing that even the wealthy Queen Elizabeth suffers a lot. She admitted it a few years back when she told others, “My anus horribles,” she basically told everybody that she experiences dukkha. When everything went wrong in England she suffered. The King of Thailand suffers. Everybody suffers. This is not something mystical or esoteric. It is obvious to those who examine it. But in that very change from the normal conditioning of blaming and not wanting suffering, towards seeing it as a Noble Truth, there is a wise change of direction. A change from trying to make everything outside yourself right, so that you don’t feel suffering, or from just being in despair and hopelessly depressed because you are feeling like a helpless victim of miserable conditions — which is another easy state of mind to develop — towards trying to investigate in order to recognize and understand the causes of suffering and the Second Noble Truth.

We try to recognize and investigate the causes of suffering. You can see why in affluent countries there is so much suffering. It is because there is a lot of despair and feelings of meaninglessness in life, or purposelessness. There is not much to inspire your mind except to try and get more money or other worldly materialistic goals like power, prestige, position or fame. But even if we obtain all these the suffering still continues.

So the question arises, “What are the actual causes of suffering?” And the answer is ignorance of Dhamma, ignorance of the Truth, or of reality itself. We are caught in this ignorance, so that however we live our lives, we live with these desires, we are caught in the desire realm. There are three kinds of desire. The first of which is kāmataṇhā (sensual desire). Basically the nature of this is that you see something beautiful and you want it. You grasp at it. You have the desire for sense pleasure and then you suffer accordingly when you can’t get what you want, or even when you can get what you want you still suffer because you can’t keep it. There is no lasting happiness for us. Such is the nature of the sense world.

Notice how much of modern life is about sensual desire — about seeking beauty and pleasure, fulfilling all the sense pleasures: delicious food, pleasant odours, good and pleasurable physical feelings and beautiful things to see. This is the way society is conditioning us, that is towards sensual desire.

The second kind of desire, Bhavataṇhā, is desire to get something we don’t have, the desire to become. So we can meditate with the idea of attaining enlightenment, jhānas (refined states of concentration), samādhi (concentration), getting somewhere in our practice and it can be based on bhavataṇhā, which is similar to vibhavataṇhā, the third type of desire. Vibhavataṇhā is the desire to get rid of defilements, to not become. To get rid of anger, fear or sexual desire, or to be someone who has no anger, fear or sexual desire. Notice that in reflecting on the way it is — the physical body of a human being in the sense world that we experience through the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind — is that all of this is about sensitivity. It’s about feeling pleasure, pain, attraction and aversion, love and hate and all the rest. This is the realm that we experience in this form; it is all about sensitivity, vedanā (feeling). We are in a sensitive form, incarcerated in this sensitive form for a lifetime, and this realm is always impinging on us, irritating our senses in some way.

We also have memory. Unlike much of the animal kingdom we have a strong retentive memory. We have the ability to remember things. When you examine your memory, you might find that so much of what you recall is of the suffering in the past. Times that we were mistreated, or that we were blamed for something we hadn’t done. Times that we did things we shouldn’t have, which we feel guilty about, or times we said things we shouldn’t have said. We recall times when we were mean, nasty, cruel or selfish, which we then remember throughout our lives. Or we remember times that abuse and unfairness were inflicted on us when we were children, or when we were students, or when we were in relationships with others — people treating us unfairly, unjustly.

We have to remember so much and we can have so many unpleasant memories as well. We also have pleasant memories coming up. We remember the successes of our life. We can recall times when we graduated with a degree or were given a prize, or had a wonderful experience. But most of the daily life of an ordinary human being is neither particularly pleasant nor painful. It’s rather neutral.

Our normal everyday experience is just about getting up, sitting, walking, lying down, putting on clothes, taking them off, eating, sleeping, urinating, defecating, waiting for the bus and so on. Most of our life is on this level of waiting for something or just doing the ordinary things, the routine things of daily life, and those things we don’t remember doing. But we remember extreme conditions, either extreme pleasure or extreme pain.

It’s not all pleasant. It’s not all painful. And it’s not all neutral. When I look back over my lifetime I can remember some really happy occasions and some nostalgia for my childhood naturally arises. I remember being quite a happy child. Then I started going to school and began to suffer more. School was not a pleasant experience for me. Before that I have only happy pleasant memories of early childhood that arise, though obviously when you look at very young children you can see lots of suffering. And then as I grew up I entered the military and I have a lot of unpleasant memories of that, as well as some other pleasant ones, and so forth.

Then in monastic life I look back to when I first ordained and went to live with Ajahn Chah and I know I suffered a lot then, because life was not easy going and he didn’t make it easy for us. Having to learn a foreign language and living in such a basic way was difficult for me. But now I feel nostalgia for those days. I went back to Wat Nong Pah Pong the other day and everything brought back this sense of nostalgia. Things have changed a lot compared to what I remember it was like 43 years ago. There are very nice rose coloured buildings there now. It wasn’t like that before. It was crude and not very attractive. It had a hall that resembled the ugliest prison cell I had ever seen in my life. Now, the one it has is very posh, and it even has crystal chandeliers. But my memory of those early years brings back a sense of nostalgia rather than resentment. It’s interesting, because I know I suffered rather a lot back then.

So why has there been a change? My attitude towards suffering was what I began to change. During that time it began to shift from seeking happiness and blaming suffering on the conditions, to understanding suffering as a Noble Truth. When I understood suffering, then the conditions didn’t make me suffer anymore. I didn’t need crystal chandeliers, soft carpets or good food… Ajahn Chah used to make us mix up all the food together in our alms bowl. Even when people brought good food, it was served out by monks and mixed up in our bowl with all the other food and didn’t taste good. It was suffering. I would think, “This food is terrible! I don’t like it! And it’s Ajahn Chah’s fault for doing this!” I would get angry with him. So this brought up suffering which I had to look at. It brought up discontent which I had to find a way to let go of, and I had to learn to be content with these disagreeable conditions. Training oneself in this way meant developing the mind to get beyond the demand for delicious food or food served in a way that I personally found appetizing; and then even though the food still tasted bad, I didn’t make it into a problem, wishing it to be otherwise. I would accept it and learn to be content with it.

Through this training one is changing one’s ordinary, unenlightened, unawakened attitude, into an attitude based on the Noble Truth of dukkha and its causes. One investigates this throughout monastic life. The purpose of training with the Vinaya is to move towards contentment and to the understanding of non-self. Becoming a Buddhist monk can bring up a sense of prestige. I could think, “I’m Ajahn Chah’s first Western disciple,” and it could be a form of conceit. Or, “You know me; I’m senior to Ajahn Kalyāṇo. I have done more rains retreats than he has,” that’s conceit isn’t it. I’m making a statement that I am above him and conceit arises. But we did not ordain to develop more conceit and grasp at conditions. At least, I didn’t ordain for that. That’s not what I want from monastic life. But by seeing that and examining this experience, you can come to recognize and understand the danger and the misery that is created by identifying with and attaching to the conventions of being a Buddhist monk, or to Buddhist monasticism, Vinaya, to Theravada Buddhism, or to the Thai forest tradition. They are all good things, but even attachment to them out of ignorance results in suffering.

The Buddha is pointing to non-attachment, so the insight of the Second Noble Truth is letting go of desire. This is very difficult for Western people to understand, because letting go of desire is often interpreted as, “We should get rid of desires.” For example the attitude of, “Being a really pure Buddhist monk means you’ve got to get rid of all your desires. You shouldn’t have any sexual desires, because you are keeping the brahmacariyā (vows of chastity). And also you should only have mettā (lovingkindness) for all sentient beings. You shouldn’t be envious or jealous.” That is the idea of what a good Buddhist monk is, or should be. Yet the reality is what you are actually experiencing in the present, which is your own kamma arising, and not the kamma of the ideal monk. By seeing and examining our relationship to what an ideal monk should be we see the desire, the wanting to get, to become, the bhavataṇhā.

Everybody desires to gain good things and to get rid of the bad. In the Second Noble Truth the practice is to let go of desire. In Thai they say, “bloy wahng”. A couple of English translations of this are to “put it down” or, “release this grasping out of ignorance.” But in order to do this you first have to be able to recognize desire. Now, letting go doesn’t mean getting rid of desire, rather it means when you realize that grasping and desire are the cause of suffering, you let them go. It’s like this clock, you just put it down. You don’t want to throw it out because it is useful to have. But if I’m attached to it, I’m suffering, because I’m getting caught up in thinking, “I want this clock.” So to let go of the attachment to that clock I just put it down. This is letting go.

To practice with this Second Noble Truth you investigate this grasping of desire. I’ll give an example of this with regards to vibhavataṇhā — the desire to get rid of things, like anger or sleepiness. As monks, we have a lot of trouble with sleepiness or dullness. At times the monastic life can be very dull and boring, and monks can get into and stay in this dull and sleepy state. I even used to think that this dull, sleepy state was nibbāna. I had this desire, “If I could only get into a dull samādhi state.” I thought I was pretty good at getting myself into this dull, sleepy kind of pleasant samādhi state, but actually that was still suffering. I didn’t get to the root of it. So we are investigating, examining and getting to know and recognize taṇhā (desire). You don’t get rid of it; you simply can’t, because this realm is about desire. This body desires forms and so it’s not about suicide or destroying desire, but about recognizing and knowing it.

So how do we recognize and understand it? You examine it. Desire can’t know desire, that is, one desire can’t know another desire, but that which is aware of desire is mindfulness. We can use mindfulness to be aware of these three kinds of desire, and with that awareness we can observe wanting something we don’t have, not wanting things to be the way they are, and also the desire through sensory contacts. We can observe these. When somebody says something offensive and you feel angry you know when you are angry, don’t you? Already there is some kind of recognition, but at this level we’re caught in the delusion that this anger is me and mine, and so we get caught up in suffering accordingly. However if the recognition and understanding comes from the viewpoint of the Four Noble Truths, then we see anger as a condition arising and ceasing in the present. It’s not me, not mine, not myself, which is different from grasping at it as, “My problem”, or, “My anger.”

So letting go of desire is not about annihilating or destroying desire. You study, examine and investigate it, and the attachment that you have to it — that is attaching to the desires and their objects as me, mine, or myself which gets you caught up into suffering — until you are able to let it go. You use paṭipatti to investigate, in order to see that attachment to desire out of ignorance is the cause of suffering. Then paṭivedha is the insight of “letting go”, the result is the realization that desire has been let go of. That’s insight, the paṭivedha aspect of the Second Noble Truth.

The pariyatti statement of the Third Noble Truth is, “That there’s the cessation of suffering, the cessation of dukkha.” The First and Second Noble Truths lead to this. Paṭiccasamuppāda (dependent origination), is about the First and Second Noble Truths. The start is avijjā (ignorance), and that ignorance leads to suffering. But the Third and Fourth Noble Truths are about non-suffering. Non-suffering is the other side of the Four Noble Truths. It is the nirodha (cessation) side of paṭiccasamuppāda, or non-suffering. So the Third Noble Truth is, “There’s the cessation of dukkha.” That’s the pariyatti statement.

The paṭipatti of the Third Noble Truth is to practice in order to realize the cessation of suffering. In English they use the word “realize”. In Thai they say “taam nai jai” which means “practice with mindfulness”. This is the Path. This is the Way. Make it very clear. This is reality and not some kind of dependent precious state, dependent on everything being how I want it to be. Whether you are in the middle of Melbourne or out here in the monastery, wherever you are, your mindfulness does not depend on conditions being peaceful and calm.

When you let go of the causes of suffering then the result is that suffering ceases. It ceases in the mind, in the citta. That which is aware of cessation is mindfulness itself, “the One Who Knows”.

Now, this word mindfulness — the Pali word being sati — is the kind of word we translate, but often don’t really understand. Mindfulness is almost impossible to explain or define. I remember trying to approach the definition of these Pali words through English translations: “mindful” and “- ness”, and I didn’t quite get it. Even though I got an idea of what it meant, I didn’t get it.

So the emphasis in the early part of my practice, when I started meditating in Thailand, was on developing samādhi — I concentrated my mind. And I was used to concentrating my mind, being an educated person and all I had learned how to concentrate through my education. So the concentration I could get, I understood it,* *but mindfulness? Well… I thought I was being mindful. The technique I began with, before I became a monk, was a method where you do everything in slow motion. In the monastery, Wat Maha Taht, in Bangkok, my first meditation experiences were all in slow motion. I did everything in a very slow way, so mentally I connected the word mindfulness with slow motion and thought, “You can’t be mindful unless you do things in this way, and to be mindful of every movement of your feet while walking, or to be mindful of every rise and fall of your abdomen.” That wasn’t what the teacher said, but that’s how I tended to interpret it.

As the years have passed I have realized that the essence of the word mindfulness is about being awake here and now — being fully present and being open to this moment. It’s not about doing something now to get results in the future. That had been the initial aim of my practice: the aim in my early days was to go to Wat Maha Taht to practice meditation in order to get good results with the thought, “Hopefully I will become enlightened in the future.” So the initial interest I had in meditation came from the personality, from me: feeling that there is something wrong with me and that I need to do something in order to get it right in the future. On that level I started with ignorance of the practice. I had faith in Buddhism per se, I had interest, but my initial beginnings were based on the wrong view that there is something wrong with me: “I am not enlightened; I need to practice and maybe in the future I will become enlightened”. Over time I have noticed that this attitude is actually what brings most of us westerners into the field of meditation. We are conditioned to always be thinking or doing something now in order to get something in the future. I’ve seen so many examples of people meditating over the years in England where this basic delusion has never been recognized, never been challenged, in the vast majority of them, because there is always the sense “I am doing this in order to get something in the future.” So we have to be heedful of, and investigate, this basic wrong view of mindfulness practice itself.

Mindfulness, then, isn’t a momentary flash: it’s a natural state of conscious attentiveness that you can’t describe but can recognize. The Buddha’s teachings are about mindfulness here and now — awakened consciousness. Not just consciousness operating with all our habits, but consciousness in this very expansive reality of here and now, before we define it, think about it, get caught in our own personal problems, preferences, or biases. You realize it. It’s reality itself. You see it here and now, there’s knowing of Dhamma, and it’s beyond the description of words. It’s intuitive and it’s always here and now. It doesn’t arise and then cease with the conditions. It’s always there, but our ability to be mindful is not always present and we can get caught into heedlessness and reactive behaviour.

So the paṭipatti of the Third Noble Truth is to “taam nai jai”. It is to recognize and cultivate mindfulness throughout our daily lives whether sitting, standing, walking, or lying down by observing the movement of our physical body, or observing the duties and responsibilities that we have in our lives, in our families or in the way that we make our living. We can investigate this practice of the path in the ordinary routines of our lives as we live them.

The aim and emphasis of Luang Por Chah’s way of practice was always on mindfulness, which when combined with clear comprehension leads to wisdom. The aim is mindfulness. This is the key word, this is the uniqueness. The Buddha placed a lot of emphasis on sati, sampajañña and paññā: mindfulness, clear comprehension and wisdom.

The insight into the third aspect of the Third Noble Truth, the paṭivedha, is that, “The cessation of dukkha has been realized.” Cessation has been recognized and this recognition is “knowing” in a very pure direct way the absence of suffering.

From there there’s sammā-diṭṭhi (Right View) or the Fourth Noble Truth. The pariyatti statement of the Fourth Noble Truth is that there is the Path, “sammā-diṭṭhi, sammā-saṅkappo…” where the Noble Eightfold Path is used. There’s this path of non-suffering based on sammā-diṭṭhi, right understanding, through having investigated the Noble Truths.

The paṭipatti of the Fourth Noble Truth is the path itself. It’s the way we live our lives. Cultivating this path is bhāvanā (meditation). It’s the way of practice. Integrating into our daily lives this Noble Eightfold Path is what the word bhāvanā really means. It’s often translated into English as meditation, but that word is a generic term for almost any kind of mental activity, so it can mean many different things to different people. But bhāvanā in the Buddhist sense is cultivating mindfulness in daily life, developing it. The aim is to cultivate and to develop sammā-diṭṭhi, sammā saṅkappo, sammā ājīvo, sammā kammanto, sammā vācā, sammā vāyāmo, sammā sati, sammā samādhi — the Noble Eightfold Path — that is, right view, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness and right concentration. It includes everything you do from the moment you wake to the moment you fall asleep, and even while you are asleep, and it’s coming from sammā-diṭṭhi rather than “me”, or from “my view about Buddhism”, or from “my life”. It’s no longer tainted with ignorance and the sense of self or tainted with the thoughts, “I’ve got to get something I don’t have”, or, “Get rid of something that I shouldn’t have.”

The third insight into the Fourth Noble Truth is that, “This Path has been fully developed.” That’s what the Arahant (fully enlightened being) has realized. What is an Arahant? An Arahant is a human individual who has realized the Four Noble Truths. They have realized the end of suffering for themselves. They have cultivated awareness and are no longer caught in any form of delusion. I would say that an Arahant is a perfectly normal human being.

I used to be an “odd ball” as a child and people would say, “Why won’t you just be normal?” And I often wondered, “What is that? What is a normal boy?” When they said, “Why not just be normal?” I would think I’m supposed to be just like someone else, because I didn’t seem normal. But as you delve into life a little more and get more awareness going, you see there’s no “normality”. We’re all “odd balls”, different in our own way. We all have our peculiar character to work with, our own strange habits, and fears and desire that heat up the human heart. A psychologist once asked me, “Do you have a standard for normality in Buddhism?” And I replied, “Yes, an Arahant, a perfectly normal human being.” In Thailand Arahants are raised up and perceived as some kind of highly attained super-beings, like supermen, people so high, so refined, and so pure. This is a conditioned view of what an Arahant is, where they are seen as someone in a high state rather than a normal one.

So we’re moving towards seeing right view as being normality itself. That is a non-deluded, pure consciousness, not tainted by all of our fears and desires and so on; but rather by seeing things as they really are, seeing Dhamma in reality, the Truth of the way it is. This is what the Buddha is pointing to. He is not pointing towards me, Ajahn Sumedho, and trying to make me into a normal person; he is pointing towards seeing normality, that purity of normality, which is our natural state. We’re not all of these different conditions that we’re deluded by, believe in, and grasp at such as the individual, the way we look, the age of the body, the complexion, the racial identity, the gender identities, the national, ethnic, tribal, religious or social identities. . . the list goes on and on. You get separated and frightened, jealous, envious and resentful endlessly on that level of viewing things, and there’s no end to the misery of the inner conditioned realm. But there is non-suffering, and this non-suffering is reality itself. This is the great gift of a human birth. Within these seemingly hopeless conditions that we find ourselves in, there is liberation from it all. This is the essence of the Buddha’s teachings. It is pointing the way of liberation.

These days I have to encourage you not to just be a perfunctory Buddhist. This discourse, its practice and realizations are a great treasure that the Buddha has given to us. It is probably the clearest statement made by any human being at any time, because the way the Buddha taught the Four Noble Truths is something we can do in our own lives and see for ourselves. It’s not a belief system, but something we need to practice with. This means you have to apply it to your own suffering, to your own experience, and you have to have the confidence and awareness to see through your own doubting identities, the thinking mind, the ego, the personality and all your emotional habits, fears and self-criticism. This does not mean you annihilate anything but just recognize normality. What I’ve done over the years is develop this seeing of what is normal, and developed this awareness that sees my mind thinking about all kinds of things, and I know, “That’s not it.” I know the thought processes, habits and personality traits that tend to come up in consciousness. I know them and I no longer believe or trust them in any way because I know what they are: impermanent, suffering and not to be grasped at. I know the suffering involved in getting caught up in either following them or trying to suppress them. In this way the reality of the Deathless is realized.

When I started this talk I chanted Namo Tassa three times, then I chanted* “apārutā tesaṃ amatassa dvārā”. This is a quote that I use often; it’s a quote from the scripture that states, “The Gate to the Deathless is open.” This is a statement from the Buddha. And what is The Gate? The door, the entrance, to the Deathless is awareness. It’s as simple as that. Mindfulness — mindfulness of normality. That’s the place where we can escape from the suffering of saṁsāra *(round of birth and death). It’s through mindfulness.

I offer this for your contemplation.

Wandering on Tudong

Phra Khru Obhasavudhikara (Venerable Ajahn Sophon Obhaso)

Novemeber, 2007

“Whether it was feelings of physical pain and discomfort, or the more subtle mental suffering arising from fear and loneliness, I was determined to continue practicing letting go of all attachments, letting go of identification with body and mind as me, mine or myself. The difficulties and hardship were relentless because wherever I went I didn’t know anyone, and was also prevented from directly asking for assistance by my training rules. I relied on Luang Por Chah’s instruction to practice as a monk who has few wishes and is content with little.”

When I first ordained as a Buddhist monk, I did so following the custom of Buddhists generally in Thailand with the thought of making merit for my parents. I was still a young man and thought that staying as a monk for the three months of the annual rains retreat would be enough: one month for me, one month for my mother, and one month for my father.

I was looking for a suitable monastery to ordain, and because my home was in Ubon province, I got to hear of one very special teacher that people referred to as an enlightened being, an Arahant.
The monk they were referring to was Luang Por Chah. I wanted to know what an Arahant was like and so I decided to take ordination at his monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong, because he had such a good reputation.

I ordained on the 19th of April, in the year 2511, or 1967, just after the Thai New Year. At that time all my friends, and everyone else, were playing water games and having water fights in the annual water festival which is traditionally held on the Thai New Year. This was the first year that Wat Nong Pah Pong really had a lot of monks taking ordination, I think there were ten candidates for ordination that year; and this was due to Luang Por Chah’s growing reputation. Having ordained I ended up staying there for five years, not just the three months which I had initially planned.

After five years of training as a navaka (junior) monk I requested permission from Luang Por Chah to go off wandering in the way of a tudong (wandering)* monk. I hadn’t actually been anywhere else for the first five years of my practice; I just stayed in the monastery to get a foundation of training in the Dhamma Vinaya *(the Buddha’s teachings and way of training).

Meanwhile many of the other older monks had been coming and going and they’d brought back stories of their times wandering on tudong in other parts of Thailand. So of course I became curious and I wanted to follow them and find out for myself what it was like. Luang Por Chah would always say, “Oh, it’s nothing special, nothing difficult, you just pick up a bowl and your monk’s umbrella and go for a walk. You can even walk around the perimeter wall of the monastery a few times with your bowl, monk’s umbrella, and heavy gear on your back in the hot sun if you want to know what wandering is like.” But of course, leaving the monastery and going to other parts of Thailand wouldn’t be the same, and so I had kept on thinking about it.

At the end of my fifth year I went to request from Luang Por Chah permission to leave on tudong. I felt that I was confident enough in my practice to spend time away from my teacher, and I requested permission in the traditional way: I took a tray of candles, flowers and incense, and went to him to ask his forgiveness and request permission to leave. He just said, “Where are you going?” I said, “I’m going off, I want to go off on tudong,” so he said, “Well if you have to go, you go.” That was all he said to me, other than that there was no need to come back for five years. So I began my tudong with the words “Well if you have to go, you go.”

I left by going out the back entrance of the monastery next to the nuns section, then I walked through Baan Klang village, and for the first night of my tudong I camped in the cremation ground of Bung Wai village. That site later became Wat Pah Nanachat or the International Forest Monastery, but in those days it was still a cremation ground. While I was there I made a determination: that throughout my time on tudong I will not accept any lifts, or rides in vehicles, I will wander for five years, and I will walk bare foot.

I camped in Bung Wai for three days, taking time to prepare myself for my trip. During that time a young novice monk came along from the monastery to ask if he could join me, I agreed to his request, he could be my companion for a temporary period of time.

The two of us went wandering out from the village down towards the next province, just walking bare foot. We decided that wherever we reached by dusk, would be the spot where we would set up camp for the night. In the morning we would go to the nearby village for piṇḍapāta (alms round). And we would learn to get by on the simple food that people were generous enough to share with us each morning.

Mostly we ended up staying in either cremation grounds, or in old abandoned temples and monasteries. In those places we found it suitable and convenient for the practice because of the peaceful atmosphere. In some spots we stayed for a few nights in a row. In other less conducive spots, we’d just stay for one night and then carried on walking the next day. Gradually we walked all the way down towards Central Thailand, and eventually arrived at the province of Ayutthaya. By coincidence we actually spent fifteen days at the monastery which, at a much later date, I was appointed abbot by Luang Por Chah. At that time the monastery already had an abbot, Venerable Ajahn Tawee, and it was a branch of Ajahn Chah’s monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong.

When I decided to continue on my journey, Venerable Ajahn Tawee arranged for transportation part of the way, and he insisted that I take it. I didn’t want to do this because I had already made my determination, but because he was a senior monk, and because I didn’t want to offend him, I took that one lift. The car dropped me off at the border of the next province, Lopburi.

Then I started walking again with the novice, this time heading northwards. Every day as we walked we would take time to reflect, “Why do we go on tudong? Why do we walk? What’s the purpose of it?” I kept reminding myself of the resolutions that I had made: that I wouldn’t return for five years, that I would just keeping walking barefoot without accepting lifts, and that I would wander on with no fixed plans. I continued the practice of camping at whichever place I reached by nightfall. I did my best to find places there that were quiet and secluded, and I made a conscious effort to be content with whatever was available: not to seek out extra comforts, or make demands from people of faith, or hold onto any fixed expectations about either the places in which we stayed, or the people which we encountered on the journey.

We went through Sukhothai province, and we stopped to pay respects to the most famous Buddha image in all of Thailand, the Buddha Jinaraht. Sukhothai wasn’t like it is nowadays: it wasn’t a big developed city, nor did it have a grand and well furbished temple for the statue. At that time the temple was still in a very quiet and peaceful forest area. I liked to stay in those sorts of places: old temples which were quiet and had a very good atmosphere.

I used to discuss Dhamma with the locals in some of the places where we stopped. It was quite normal for Thai villagers to ask tudong monks for lottery numbers, medallions, talismans and so on, but all I had to give them was the Dhamma. Often they tried to convince me to accept money because they wanted to make an offering to a monk and gain merit for themselves, but I could never accept it; I was determined to keep the Vinaya (the monastic discipline) according to the way Luang Por Chah had trained me, and thus, I was unable to accept any money at all. Sometimes the villagers even tried to force me to accept money by attempting to shove a few bank notes into my monk’s shoulder bag, but I always refused and kept on walking.

By doing this I learned to develop endurance and patience. Sometimes we had to walk in the sun all day long because there wasn’t much shade along the roadway, so we would get really hot and sweaty. We had no choice as to where we would reach by dusk, because it always would depend on how far we had walked that day. Occasionally one of us would fall ill, or suffer from aches and pains of one kind or another, but we just learned to endure as there was no other choice.

We walked all the way up to the Prae District where Luang Por Chaleuy lived. He was a famous meditation master with a good reputation, and he was also an old friend of Luang Por Chah. Luang Por Chaleuy looked after us and encouraged us to put a lot of effort into our meditation practice. We found his monastery a very conducive place to practice meditation.

From there we headed towards Chiang Mai province, sometimes walking along the main roads where there was a bit of traffic, but wherever it was possible we chose the quieter back roads, and often just walked along forest tracks.

I always aimed to find ways to improve my experience in the practice of meditation on tudong. This was to test myself and to see how far I could push myself. It was also a chance to share the Dhamma with the people we met on the way and give them the opportunity to see and offer material support to monks who kept the Vinaya, and who were practicing meditation for the complete liberation from suffering. Sometimes the villager’s would warn me about a certain hill top or jungle thicket that was haunted by fierce ghosts; but whenever they gave me such warnings, I would usually head straight for that place. I wanted to test myself to see how I would react when confronted by new and even intimidating places. Though, in the end, I never found any serious problems or issues arising when I stayed in cremation grounds, or in other places that were reputed to be haunted by ghosts or demons.

My usual routine was to share Dhamma teachings with the people who had offered my food for the day. They were kind enough to give me food on alms round, so after I washed my bowl I would sit down and give them some Dhamma teachings before moving on. It was a way of saying thank you for supporting me as a Buddhist monk. Some villagers were really very interested, such as in Sukhothai, but in other places they weren’t able to listen to a Dhamma talk at all. I would regularly receive invitations to stay on and teach, or even to build a new monastery. Sometimes people seemed genuinely sad when I had to leave, but in other places they weren’t very interested at all.

When we got to Chiang Mai Province we found that there were many mountains and caves there, and we found many enlightened meditation masters living in those quiet and secluded caves and forests. We went to pay respects to Luang Por Sim, who was a famous disciple of Luang Por Mun. He kindly took an interest in us, encouraging us to put more effort into our meditation practice; as did Luang Por Waan, another famous master. We were touched by Luang Por Waan’s great compassion and the peaceful presence of such a wise and respected old teacher. Even though he was elderly and ill, he still found time to ask us how we’d been on our trip, with genuine concern as to our well-being, and also gave us some Dhamma teachings. This part of my journey was almost like a pilgrimage moving between different sacred shrines and going to pay respects to a number of enlightened meditation masters. We also went to the little forest monastery where Luang Por Mun had told the monks that he had attained enlightenment.

In Northern Thailand the physical conditions were different from Central Thailand, but I kept to my resolutions: to walk barefoot in the way of a tudong monk, refusing lifts, and just quietly walking every day. I did this on and up into the hills. From then on we followed a regular pattern with our walking, which was simply up and down, ascending and descending. In many of the more remote places that we camped we were supported by the hill tribe people. The hill tribes were very poor, but the people were very good. Their customs were very simple and different from the rest of Thailand, and the food and support they could offer was simple and very limited indeed.

In the mountains we found the air was very cool, even in the daytime. This was because the forests were so thick that the canopy blocked out the sunlight. At night time it was freezing as we camped out with only our monks robes wrapped around us.

We had to endure further hardship in Lampang province: the monsoon season began and we found ourselves walking in heavy rain, sometimes for the whole day. On many occasions we would arrive at a forested area, choose our camp site and hang up our robes to dry; then after settling down to meditate, unannounced the rain would start again.

Sometimes it seemed to just rain and rain and rain. In one forest, having arrived exhausted from walking up and down hills all day, we had to huddle under our umbrellas because the sky opened and it rained all night. The novice and I got wetter and wetter: we were staying next to a stream and the level of the stream kept rising and rising with the incessant rain, so not only did we get wet from the rain coming down on us, but also from of the stream which flooded our camp site from the ground upwards as well.

Yet each morning we had to walk into the local village for alms, we never had any choice, because if we wanted to eat we had to do so; we couldn’t just be lazy and lie in. On many occasions we had to walk in the cold morning air with wet robes on and simply had to rely on our practice of patience to be able to cope with the conditions. Sometimes the only way to dry our robes was to simply keep walking: relying on the heat of our bodies and the effects of the cold wind brushing past, to slowly dry them.

In Lampang province lived one of Thailand’s most revered and well respected meditation masters: Luang Por Kasaym Khemako. And so in the way of wandering monks we went to visit him to uplift our spirits and to arouse energy in the practice. Such teachers are what we call the Noble Ones. I found Luang Por Kasaym very inspiring, because even though he was a monk who was well known throughout the whole of Thailand, and who sometimes received visits from many important people ― such as government officials, wealthy business people and even the King ― he still lived in the most modest accommodation: nothing more than a small, plain wooden hut. The monastery he lived in was also very simple, with no grand buildings like you will find today. Perhaps most uplifting of all was his quiet and humble manner: he had such a gentle and selfless presence it was very inspiring to bow to him and have a brief conversation about Dhamma practice. This visit left us energized and ever more determined to practice the Buddha’s teachings.

Moving from village to village, and forest to forest, we had the chance to meet other well practiced meditation masters and were able to stay in quiet and secluded forests that supported our own meditation practice. We had to endure more nights struggling with continuous heavy rain, and by this time in our trip our umbrellas had become really battered and were full of holes. One night we got caught by the heavy rain and we were still ten kilometers from the nearest village. Our umbrellas were leaking and we endured a whole night of rain, far from any help or assistance. That night I really felt sorry for the little novice who was with me, but there was nothing I could do. We just had to be patient with the conditions and our own frustrated state of mind.

In the morning we took our soaking bodies and robes and started walking again, and when we finally found a village, the lay people were astonished to see us. They had no idea that monks could be wandering out in the forest in such continuous rain, and they hadn’t prepared any food. Astonishingly to them, they saw these two drenched monks slowly walking into the village; but they were very kind, and after providing us with some very simple food items, they showed us a shortcut through the hills back towards Luang Por Chaluey’s monastery. Having walked without much support, and through the mountains for many weeks in the rain, you can imagine how relieved we were to reach a familiar path, which was leading into his monastery, and to experience a warm welcome on arrival.

Having fully regained our strength and our fighting spirits by staying with Luang Por Chaleuy, we decided to head off in a completely different direction towards Southern Thailand. Following an old connection with Luang Por Chah, we went to stay at Khao Wang monastery in Ratchaburi, which was situated on a hill. The community of monks was well known for their high standard of monastic discipline, and for their integrated study of the Buddhist scriptures and meditation practice. Luang Por Chah’s disciples were welcomed and well respected there, so we asked permission from them to spend the rains retreat there, with the intention to both practice meditation and to do some study.

The resident monks prepared a little hut in a secluded spot at the back of the monastery for me, which allowed me a place to stay where I could quietly meditate. At the end of the retreat I concluded my studies by sitting the exam for the second level of the basic Dhamma study course in Thailand, and also was examined on basic level Pali language studies. Having completed those exams successfully we headed further south to Prajuap province.

Part of my heart wanted to pursue the scriptural studies to a higher level, but I had the thought that this was a once in a lifetime chance to continue wandering and really test myself and my practice to a very high level; I really shouldn’t give it up. I had a feeling of gratitude and compassion for the little novice monk who had stayed with me for my first year of wandering, and who had battled through so much hardship together with me; but it seemed like the right opportunity to send him back to Ubon where he could further his practice in more convenient surroundings, in Luang Por Chah’s monastery.

I was now wandering alone, having sent the novice back, and I felt completely free and unburdened for the first time on my trip. I no longer had to worry too much about where I stayed and how hard the conditions might be for the sake of my novice companion. I was able to put attention back on my main focus: relentless walking and looking for suitable places to meditate in order to test my practice. I stayed in cremation grounds and caves. These were numerous in Southern Thailand, and they offered cool and quiet protection from both sun and rain. Caves were ideal for cultivating more refined states of samādhi (concentration)* *because they are often very, very quiet.

Another place that could be used as a temporary residence by wandering monks was the small spirit shrines that were set up at the entrance to most villages. On one occasion I was looking around for a place to stay ― again in the pouring rain ― and the only place I could find was one of these shrines. I cleared away the piles of incense, the candles, and the litter from the floor, and I made a place to meditate and sleep. During the night some of the local people came past me and had actually assumed that I was a ghost who was sitting there in the shrine, though the wiser ones in the village heard the news and interpreted it correctly that this ghost was actually a wandering monk. So the next morning I was inundated with food on alms round as the whole village had been expecting me. This was the first time in my life that I had been to Southern Thailand so it was a very new experience for me. The language and culture differed from other parts of Thailand considerably. The experience made me really reflect on a particular teaching of the Buddha: how a monk should be humble and patient when entering a new culture for the first time.

I went all the way down to the province of Phuket. In those days it was quiet and undeveloped as a tourist centre, not like it is today. I found one spot in an abandoned monastery that suited me well. It was about two kilometers from the nearest village, and it was surrounded by thick jungle. It was in a cremation ground. It had one small hut which was built right next to where they would burn the bodies. I asked permission to reside there from the chief administrative monk of the region, and he kindly allowed me to stay there.

This was the first time in my life that I had been completely alone; I stayed for the three months of the rains retreat in this simple forest cremation ground. The funeral pyre was nothing more than a heap of rocks piled one on top of another. The villagers would bring the corpses there, lay them on top, do some funeral chanting, and then burn them. There was some nervousness and trepidation on my part at the beginning of the retreat, of course. I was able to manage by telling myself that, “If I die, I die, never mind.” And I simply made a resolution: I’ll stay here whatever happens.

Finding a water supply was a problem: there was just one well in the forest a long way away from my hut, and I had no means of bringing water back to drink or to wash. I found one old tin container, which I used to haul up the water from the well and then bring it back to my hut; and I also used it to boil the water over an open fire to make it potable.

Early on in my retreat the village headman and a few others came to question me as to where I was from and for what purpose was I residing in their cremation ground. They really had wanted to chase me away from there; they didn’t want a strange monk taking over their cremation ground. All I could do was talk Dhamma with them: I explained how I was trained by Luang Por Chah, and I gave them some Dhamma reflections to reflect on, and then gradually they began to change their minds and calm down a little. This had been the first time that they had heard Forest Dhamma teachings based on the practice of training the heart to let go of mental defilements. They started to gain faith in the way of practice taught by Luang Por Chah, and over time learned to listen more respectfully. I decided to stay on, and they agreed to support my decision.

At the beginning of the rains retreat an old man in the village died from a fever and the villagers brought him in and put him on the funeral pyre. It was only then that I realized what my make-shift water container was really used for: I had been using this old tin can to boil water, but normally it was used to carry the bones and ashes of the person who had been cremated, which were always collected after the fire went cold.

Now, I was too afraid to tell them that I was using it to carry water; it was their custom to put the bones in this one tin container, and I was a visiting monk. In addition, because of my strict adherence to the monastic training rules I couldn’t ask them for any requisites, as they hadn’t given me an invitation. Every time that there was a funeral they put the freshly collected bones in the tin can and took them to the dead person’s family home, and then they returned the empty can to a spot near the funeral pyre so that it would be ready for the next funeral. Each time I would quietly clean the tin can afterwards, and then continue to use it to collect and boil water.

In the period of the three months of the rains retreat, there were eight funerals altogether. Normally I felt quite calm and at ease every time there was a funeral, even though the villagers assumed that I must have been really afraid; they didn’t believe that I could stay there calmly and happily with so many funerals taking place.

There was only one corpse which seemed to bring me a problem, and that was the corpse of a pregnant woman who had drowned. I had already started to feel nervous when the villagers brought the body in to burn and had described to me what had happened to her. That night I felt more nervous and agitated than usual as well, so I chanted and meditated longer than I normally would have. I made a simple determination that I would meditate all the way until midnight without getting up. My nervousness didn’t dissipate, so I kept sitting and meditating and I felt very lonely and a little uneasy.

During the night, I heard wailing and screaming coming from one side of the grounds and instantly my hair stood on end, and I became even more scared. I only had one thing to fall back on to keep my mindfulness and steadiness of mind, and that was my chanting. I chanted louder and louder; as I did so the wailing sound disappeared, but the fear didn’t yet leave my mind. I contemplated the virtues of the Buddha for a while, which brought up more self-confidence. Once I felt bolder I thought the best thing to do would be to scold the ghosts if they returned to bother me. They did return so I ended up shouting at them, but the moaning continued. Next I threw a rock in their direction, and then an old branch of a tree, and as my mind became braver and stronger in the face of the wailing sounds I continued to verbally scold them, and I instructed them to leave the area.

At midnight I returned to my kuṭi (hut) and the ghosts actually followed me back and began knocking on the door. I heard three distinctive knocks so I answered, “Who is that?” There was no answer, so I scolded them some more and told them to go away and stop bothering a monk who is practicing the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha. Then there were three more knocks. I scolded them again. I was scared but I put my mind above the fear by making it very firm and confident through the continuous recitation of “Buddho”.

I also contemplated what the root cause of our fear of ghosts might be. I asked myself, “Why are we afraid at night, not in the day? What is the difference? What is a ghost? Why do ghosts only seem to come out at night, and not in the day?” The answer that always came back to me was that the thing that I am really afraid of is death itself. I contemplated this further; that there’s nothing really to be afraid of, we all have to die and we can’t avoid it. When we are afraid of a ghost, we actually are really afraid of death; but because death is inevitable we should let go of our fear and anxiety, and simply accept the truth of impermanence. In the end I saw that there’s nothing to be afraid of; if you meet a ghost, you don’t have to be afraid. Through the practice of mindfulness and investigation the fear subsided.

That was the only time I experienced ghosts bothering me in my entire period as a wandering monk. The villagers were astonished how I could survive like that; and when they observed me peacefully and patiently sticking with my practice throughout the rains retreat their faith increased. As their faith increased they started to ask more questions about the practice of Dhamma Vinaya. By the end of the retreat they were coming to join me in chanting and in meditation every night. They saw me using the tin can, which they usually used for transporting the bones of the dead, to boil water; and one day they asked me why I hadn’t asked them for a proper pot to carry and boil water. I replied that according to my practice of the monks discipline I couldn’t ask them because they hadn’t given me a pavāraṇā (invitation), meaning, they hadn’t invited me to tell them of my needs.

In this way they started to learn about the proper training rules that forest monks keep. I explained to them more about the rules we have as monks, such as how monks are prohibited from requesting anything from a layperson unless they have invited him to first; the only exception being when it is a member of his family. I taught them how to formally offer requisites, and how to formally request Dhamma teachings from a monk. After that I taught them more about the Dhamma practice of generosity, morality and meditation.

One day in the retreat a huge snake came to my kuṭi and at first it seemed threatening. It coiled itself around a tree next to where I stored the water and just kept hanging around for about two weeks. I asked it where it came from: I couldn’t be sure. Mainly, I spread thoughts of mettā to it and left it alone. At the same time I quietly contemplated to myself, “What kamma has brought this snake to me? Perhaps we had some relationship in a past life together, or perhaps I had harmed it before and it was coming back for revenge, or to seek my blessing or something else.” I continued to spread mettā to it and it remained peaceful. Eventually after a couple of weeks it disappeared again, but it had spent all that time coiled around the tree next to my hut.

The snake and the villagers had something in common: when they first encountered me they became suspicious and hence came across as rather fierce, but after I continued to show them kindness and patience, and didn’t disturb them in any way, they changed their minds and were no longer angry or threatening. I never planned to build a monastery in that village; I always told them, “I’m just a wandering monk, just staying temporarily to study and practice the Dhamma and to meditate.” Cultivation of my practice was always my priority; not to teach, convert or build a monastery.

They invited me to stay in the area after the rains retreat, to be their teacher and to build a monastery on the site of the cremation ground, but I had already committed to taking another exam on a higher level of the Buddhist Studies course, and felt obliged to return to Khao Wang monastery. The laypeople were sad to see me move on, and one man even wanted to follow me on my wandering; I couldn’t let him though, as I explained it’s not appropriate for a lay person and a monk to sleep in the same place for more than three nights in a row, which is a rule that is part of our vinaya.

After taking and passing my exams in Buddhist Studies, I returned to Ayutthaya province to continue wandering, however walking on tudong was severely hampered by heavy flooding which occurred in the area that year. I spent much of my time wading through waist high water in the paddy fields, trying to keep up my wandering practice of moving between villages and staying in cremation grounds and in secluded jungle thickets. Obtaining food on alms round was always difficult because the flood water was so high, but I sustained myself by contemplating the suffering caused by attachment to the five aggregates, and the insight I gained from that contemplation nourished my practice.

Whether it was feelings of physical pain and discomfort, or the more subtle mental suffering arising from fear and loneliness, I was determined to continue practicing letting go of all attachments, letting go of identification with body and mind as me, mine or myself. The difficulties and hardship were relentless because wherever I went I didn’t know anyone, and was also prevented from directly asking for assistance by my training rules. I relied on Luang Por Chah’s instruction to practice as a monk who has few wishes and is content with little.

Although the simplicity of the lifestyle of the tudong monk required great patience, it also brought its reward in ease of mind one gains from practicing contentment with little. My development of samādhi was improving, so I was experiencing more states of calm and equanimity.

In one area I found a suitable cave to stay in, and some local people with faith were kind enough to offer me a simple wooden platform on which I could sleep and meditate. While I was meditating one day, a huge boulder rolled out from the ceiling of the cave, seemingly for no reason at all. It crashed on the floor of the cave right in front of me and shattered into small fragments. The patterns of stone exposed from inside the fallen rock were actually very beautiful; but as I was practicing mediation and my mind was firm in concentration, I maintained my equanimity rather than speculating on the cause of the crash, my lucky escape, or what kind of minerals might be present in the cave.

As you practice as a wandering monk you often meet with very interesting new things which might arouse your curiosity, but you can’t get too involved with them, and you really have to determine to train your mind in the development of samādhi. In the end you sometimes have to make a conscious decision not to waste time with unnecessary distractions.

Another cave I stayed in for quite a while was in the mountains of Chantaburi province, where I had gone to escape the flooding in Central Thailand. This area still had huge tracts of dense jungle which was populated with many different types of wild animals. The cave was up hill from a durian orchard. The orchard was owned by a family with strong faith and a willingness to support wandering monks. The family provided me with food every morning after I came down to the foot of the hill, and afterwards I would return to the cave to meditate.

During my time in the cave I had a continuing strange experience: every day at about eight o’clock in the evening, and again at about five o’clock in the morning, I heard the sound of people in the cave; simultaneously the smell of food would fill the air inside the cave. Even though I searched thoroughly I was never able to find anyone, or locate the source of the smell. Yet these phenomena continued daily.

On one occasion I was meditating in my usual spot in the cave and received a visit from the local policeman who wanted to talk about the Dhamma. As we were sitting together a large rock unexpectedly fell down from the ceiling and into the cave where we were staying. The policeman was so stunned he immediately pulled out his gun thinking it must have been caused by someone coming to attack us; but there was nothing to shoot at and no one to be seen. I said to him, “It’s probably a devatā (celestial being) and nothing to worry about.” I never did find out what had caused the rock to fall or where it had come from.

Another time in this same cave I heard the sound of a woman speaking; so the next day on alms round I asked the villagers whether anyone lived nearby in the forest that could have come by the cave and been talking. They said there was no one.

One day I decided to explore deeper into the back of the cave, as I had generally been living closer to the entrance. I began my journey of exploration after my daily meal at nine o’clock in the morning and started walking deeper into the back of the cave. The cave narrowed so l I had to bend down, and then as the cave narrowed even more and I had to crawl on my knees. I went deeper and deeper into the mountain, until all my candles ran out.

I began to have doubts whether I could return to the entrance of the cave because I was now completely in the dark, with no candles and my torch batteries were flat. I found myself in an underground chamber, surrounded by darkness and without light, uncertain whether I would be able to find a way out; I really felt I was in trouble and might not be able to get out again.

The situation seemed desperate, and I was really feeling trapped, but then a strange thing happened: an unusual bright and glowing light appeared off to one side of the chamber, and this was followed by the arrival of a strange wind from the same direction. By following the direction of the wind and the glowing light I was able to crawl out of that cave. I had started exploring the cave at nine o’clock in the morning, and I crawled out to my platform at six o’clock in the evening, but only thanks to this strange phenomenon.

I was relieved to be back at my platform, but it was raining outside at that time, so I quietly sat in meditation. As I meditated, I again heard the sound of people. So I put fresh batteries in my torch and searched around but again saw nothing. Every time I turned my torch on the sound stopped and the cave went silent; there was nothing to be seen. When I turned the torch off, again the sound of people would return. The sound was of one person giving a Dhamma talk and other people listening and asking questions. But still, every time I shone my torch to illuminate the cave there was nothing to be seen.

These are examples of some of the strange things that can happen when you stay in remote places in the forest as a wandering monk. I could carry on and tell you many more stories about my experience, but there is not enough time tonight to tell you about everything. What I have told you is really just a brief account of my time wandering.

After leaving the cave I returned to Chonburi province, which was further down the coast towards Bangkok. There I also found a very suitable place to stay in the forest. In this place the lay people had already built a small hermitage and wished to support a monk on a regular basis. At this point I had been away wandering for five years and felt much more experienced in practicing meditation and teaching Buddhism to others. The lay people seemed very devoted and kindly invited me to take up residence in the hermitage that they had built. After considering the invitation, I decided that this would be the place where I would settle down and build a monastery; but first I needed to return and ask permission from Luang Por Chah.

This meant another long walk of several hundred kilometers back to Wat Nong Pah Pong to meet with my teacher, Luang Por Chah. I had followed and completed his instruction not to return for five years, and now I felt a certain confidence in my practice. The day I arrived back in the monastery was head shaving day and when I first met Luang Por Chah he was sitting outside the main hall and an attendant monk was shaving his head. I bowed and showed respect to my teacher in the normal way, and when the moment was right I asked for his permission to return to Chonburi to start a monastery. He looked at me and said nothing. I asked him a second time, and a second time he said nothing. I asked him for a third time if I could return to Chonburi, and this time he answered me simply: he said, “Don’t go anywhere.”

Luang Por Chah later went to stay in the monastery known as “The Cave of the Diamond Light”, which had become one of his favorite places to practice in his later years. While he was there I received a letter from him which said that there was a vacancy for a senior monk in a branch monastery in Ayutthaya. It was a monastery which I had previously stayed at during my years as a wandering monk. The abbot there had disrobed, and the lay supporters of the monastery had requested that Luang Por Chah send a senior monk to lead the community there. Not long after that I headed down to Ayutthaya and have been the abbot and resident teacher there ever since.

Luang Por Chah visited me there many times after that, partly because the monastery was close to Bangkok: when he became ill and needed to visit the doctors regularly for treatment, it was a convenient place for him to stop over and recuperate. In his later years he was in and out of Bangkok all of the time. It also turned out that my monastery was the last one he visited before he returned to Wat Nong Pah Pong and then became so ill that he couldn’t speak anymore. I had still planned to stay in Chonburi, but Luang Por had asked me to stay in Ayutthaya, and once he stopped speaking there was no way to change the decision he made. I have stayed in Ayutthaya until the present day.

Tonight I have given you just a brief description of my life as a wandering monk during the period of my practice between my fifth and tenth rains retreats. Unfortunately there’s not enough time for me to tell you everything, but I hope that this has been of benefit to you. I will just leave it there for now.

Why We Practice: Generosity, Morality, and Meditation

Phra Khru Sudhammaprajoti Venerable Ajahn Kumpong Thitapunno

October 10, 2007

"We have to understand that really everything we have in this world is something that we have to leave behind: our property, our house, our home, our cars, even the people we love and like such as our family members, our husband, our wife, our children. Eventually we’ll have to leave everything behind when we die.

What do we take with us when we die? We take our merit, our wholesome states of mind, as well as the peace, the wisdom and the understanding that we’ve developed through our practice."

This evening I ask permission from the Saṅgha to speak Dhamma, and I give my blessing to all the lay people who have gathered here for this occasion. May you all be well and happy. We’ve all gathered here together on the occasion of the Kaṭhina robe offering ceremony at Buddha Bodhivana Monastery to make merit, practice meditation and to do good. Tomorrow the Kaṭhina ceremony will take place, arranged by Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo who is the abbot of this monastery and who invited me to visit you at this time.

This is actually my second visit to this monastery ― I came for the first time about five years ago ― and so this year I have the chance to come and see how much the monastery has grown and developed, and I’m very happy to be here and witness the fruits of all your good efforts and practice. I can see the progress in terms of the growth in the number of monks and novices residing here, and also through the development of the infrastructure, amenities and the number of buildings in the monastery, all of which have increased greatly over the last few years. It is admirable that now we have a large group of monks, novices and lay people practicing here under the guidance of Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo, who is a preceptor now, and can give ordination to new candidates and bring them into the community. Therefore I would like to express my anumodanā (joy and appreciation) to him and both the monastic and lay community who support this monastery for all this good work that you’ve done.

We have come here tonight to chant, to meditate and to listen to the Dhamma because all of us share similar views, meaning that we all have a similar faith and interest in the practice of Dhamma. We see the value of the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha in our lives. We know how to recollect the virtues of the Triple Gem. We also see the value of the teachings of our spiritual guide, Luang Por Chah, and his way of training his students. Venerable Ajahn Kalyāṇo has brought this teaching and method of training over here to Australia for you, to give you a chance to experience it and practice in the way of Luang Por Chah. So this is your good fortune, you have much merit. And this is something that is useful and beneficial to all of us. Whatever our background and culture, whether we’re Australian, Thai, Chinese, Sri Lankan, Vietnamese, Laotian ― we can benefit from this. And it’s our good fortune to have the Saṅgha living and practicing here to guide us in the Buddha’s teachings.

These Buddhist teachings are what we hold highest in our lives. They’re the highest because they are developed for, and show the way to, the end of suffering. It’s a three-part training and it’s not something beyond the reach of ordinary lay people, members of families, or something we cannot incorporate it into their daily lives. Whether you’re working, raising a family, whatever, this way of training is available and you can benefit from it. These three parts of the training are: dāna (generosity), sīla (virtue) and bhāvanā (meditation or mental cultivation). These are what we call puñña (meritorious actions). Dāna means the making of merit, or doing that which is good through the practice of generosity and learning to share what you have. When people have this sense of generosity and know how to share what they have it forms the foundation of a peaceful, happy society. It’s the foundation of a successful society, because if we are cultivating generosity and learning to share what we have it will naturally mean that we are abandoning stinginess, attachment and selfishness. If these qualities are being abandoned, then the amount of conflict in that society will fade and disappear, and happiness will grow in the hearts of people as a result. You can see this in any family: when the members of that family know how to share and be generous, it will be a peaceful happy family.

The second part of this Buddhist practice and way of training for the end of suffering is the development of virtue, or sīla. For this we use the precepts as training guidelines. We have the Five Precepts and the Eight Precepts. The Five Precepts are something we might keep all of the time, or aspire to keep all of the time. We use them as a way to train ourselves on a daily basis and to develop skilful behavior that is the grounds for our happiness. The Eight Precepts are perhaps for more occasional use, when the time is suitable ― maybe once a week we pick a day to keep the Eight Precepts, or when we have the chance to go and stay in a monastery, or on retreat. But really we use the precepts as a way to train ourselves every day. We call them nicca sīla. Nicca means regularly, or habitually. So virtue is something you have to develop on a habitual basis for it to really bring beneficial results, and provide a foundation for success and happiness in life. The results that come from living in a virtuous way are peace of mind, and actually it is an essential condition in our development of the path towards enlightenment, Nibbāna.

When we undertake the first precept it means we undertake the training to refrain from killing or harming any beings, whether they are big or small. This is founded on the clear principle of non-violence and respect for life, which is a principle that underscores all of the Buddha’s teachings. That’s why it is the first precept. You might even say that it stands out as unique in all the religious teachings of the world. The Buddhist teachings emphasize the value and the importance of life ― whether human life, the life of small creatures, or even insects ― and it comes from the refinement and sensitivity of the Buddha’s enlightened mind and the teachings that he gave. When we train ourselves to refrain from killing or harming others it is a sign of the refinement of our mind.

So it’s actually our very great, good fortune to be able to hear teachings that emanate from the mind of an enlightened Buddha, who was so refined, pure and wise, and emanated compassion. When we follow the Buddha, it encourages all these qualities to arise within us. It has been our good fortune to meet with these teachings. When we keep the first precept we care for even the smallest little creatures and refrain from harming them in any way. So by following the Five Precepts, whether it’s the first precept or the others, we are creating the causes for harmonious, respectful and peaceful behaviour between ourselves and others.

The second precept points to the development of a sense of respect and trust between people. If we undertake to refrain from stealing or cheating others out of their property then we will naturally have a sense of respect and trust for others, for their wealth, and for their property. Other people will feel they can trust us, and it will encourage mutual trust with the people we live with. This is a very important quality we need to have when living in society.

Similarly, by undertaking the third precept to refrain from sexual misconduct we are developing a sense of trust and respect between ourselves and our partner. We have to learn how to respect each other, trust each other, so that we don’t cheat on each other or engage in relationships that are harmful to ourselves or others.

By keeping the fourth precept we are also developing a sense of trust and respect for others. We learn to refrain from all types of wrong speech, which means speech that is abusive, unkind, untrue, harmful, coarse, or just frivolous and meaningless. By refraining from wrong speech we bring up the intention to practice right speech, meaning speech that is true, skilful, promotes harmony between people, and which is gentle and pleasant to hear. Practicing right speech brings great happiness and harmony between people. We can see that if we lose mindfulness of this precept, we lose our skilful speech and we get caught into wrong speech, and this is a great cause for conflict and disharmony with others in our lives, whether within the family or the wider society.

In keeping the fifth precept we refrain from using any form of intoxicant — drink or drugs — in an effort to protect and preserve our mindfulness, our all-round awareness, and our intelligence. When we indulge in any form of intoxicant the effect will be to diminish these qualities and dull the mind.

The additional three precepts that make up the Eight Precepts are, as I said, for more specific occasions such as when we are practicing meditation on a retreat, or perhaps when we have free time to really dedicate a day to our Dhamma practice. With these extra precepts we undertake the training to avoid eating in the evening, avoid participating in entertainments, wearing make-up, jewelry and perfumes, and we determine to sleep on the floor or a simple bed for the night. These three extra precepts are very supportive for the cultivation of bhāvanā or meditation. They encourage us to learn how to live simply, frugally and modestly. When we keep the Eight Precepts we don’t need to waste so much time with external activities and risk the distractions which may come with eating food in the evening, with entertainments, with socializing and so-on. Following these rules simplifies our life and this supports the development of meditation.

The cultivation of the mind through meditation, or bhāvanā, is the third part of the Buddhist training that leads to happiness and enlightenment. It’s necessary to put effort into cultivating bhāvanā or mental development, not only to develop peaceful states of mind, but also to develop wisdom and understanding. We aim to gain knowledge and vision of the way things are so that we can understand the Truth about our life and about this world. We have to learn and come to accept the Truth that we are born with nothing, and when we die we take nothing with us. Even though we spend our life searching and seeking for all kinds of wealth, property and different experiences, we shouldn’t forget the fact that we come with nothing and we leave with nothing. It’s through the practice of mental cultivation ― meditation ― that we come to understand this.

If we never meditate we won’t really come to understand these truths. We won’t really know the meaning of life, or its purpose. We won’t really know or understand the Truth that all things are impermanent, unsatisfactory and not-self. If we don’t understand these truths then we will suffer when we meet with the experience of separation. Meaning when we become separated through impermanence and death from the things, or the people, that we love and like — when we come to separate from everything that we have or attach to in this world — we will suffer.

This is why we come to a monastery. It is a place where we can hear and practice the Dhamma in order to really develop knowledge and understanding of the way things are. You could say we practice to understand our life and the fundamental nature of this body and mind, because this is what will bring us peace. If we understand these truths, and we develop awareness and wisdom in this way, we will see the way to gain a peaceful mind. We’ll be able to understand how to let go of our moods, negative emotions and the mental states that cause us suffering. We can see that even if someone is very rich and wealthy, if they’ve never meditated they will not be able to find true peace of mind, or true happiness. It’s only through the development of meditation and wisdom that we’ll come to understand where suffering comes from and how to abandon it and so experience true peace.

We have to begin the practice with our minds as they are right now. All that we do in life begins with our mind. The mind is the leader. As the Buddha said, "Manopubbaṅgamā dhammā manoseṭṭhā manomayā," the mind is the forerunner and leads us in everything. Whether we do good or evil, it all stems from the mind. All our actions begin as thoughts. So the Buddha taught us to practice to know our own minds, and to understand the truth about them.

We all still have to experience stress and suffering in our lives, in our hearts, so we still need to practice. We still need to develop the practice of meditation, and develop the peace and insight that comes through meditation. We need to develop an understanding of the way our minds are conditioned, and to know and see what a wholesome and skilful mental state is, and what an unwholesome or unskilful mental state is.

We still need to develop merit, the goodness and the happiness that comes from skilful actions of body, speech and mind. We still need to abandon unskilful actions of body, speech and mind. Why? Because unskilful actions of body, speech and mind lead to the mind becoming hot and lead us to suffering. Whenever we give in to greed, anger or delusion in the mind it will lead us to suffering. So we have to learn to understand our minds, to know what is good and what is bad so that we can learn how to give up our craving and attachment and find true peace. This is something that is better to do today rather than tomorrow. We shouldn’t put the Dhamma practice off for tomorrow. We should make use of our chance while we have it.

So, I would just like to leave you with these teachings today. It’s something you can take away and consider for yourselves and hopefully gain some inspiration and energy for your practice, because it’s this practice that will be a cause for genuine happiness in your lives. I mean the kind of happiness that comes through understanding the Truth. You have to understand that it’s our good fortune that we’ve come to meet with and hear the Buddha’s teachings, because these guide us towards Truth and insight. We have to understand that really everything we have in this world is something that we have to leave behind: our property, our house, our home, our cars, even the people we love and like such as our family members, our husband, our wife, our children. Eventually we’ll have to leave everything behind when we die.

What do we take with us when we die? We take our merit, our wholesome states of mind, as well as the peace, the wisdom and the understanding that we’ve developed through our practice. But this is something we have to develop for ourselves; no one can do it for us. This is why the Buddha encouraged us to try and practice regularly throughout our lives. A good thing to do is pick a time once a day, maybe before you go to bed, to do some meditation and chanting, everyday ― even if it’s only five minutes. If we can meditate for fifteen minutes it’s even better. Better than that is half-an-hour. But whatever time you make available, try and do it regularly. Learn how to develop your mind in a good way, in a skilful way.

When you come to meditate learn how to sit straight, to put energy into your posture, and then just relax with the feeling of the in-and-out breath. Learn to be aware and mindful of just that much. Learn how to be mindful of every breath going in, and every breath going out. Find the spot at the tip of your nose and just relax and observe that feeling. And maybe use the meditation word Buddho, reciting it mentally with each in and out breath. As the breath goes in recite “Bud –”, as the breath goes out recite “– dho". Keep reciting ”Buddho, Buddho" with every breath. This is the way to develop samādhi. While you’re doing this don’t let your mind get distracted, thinking about many things. Just let go of all those thoughts and keep practicing with “Buddho, Buddho”. This is how the monks meditate in the monastery and you lay people can follow their example at home. Practice every day like this, because this is the way to true happiness and enlightenment. Enlightenment comes through letting go of the cause of suffering, the cause of stress. This is what we call making true merit, real puñña. So I encourage you all to practice in this way.

Committing to the Practice

Venerable Ajahn Jundee Khandhasaro

December 23, 2013

“As we keep establishing mindfulness on the meditation object our mind seems to gradually move closer towards us. At first it may seem one hundred metres away; then only fifty metres away; next it’s only a few centimetres away, when suddenly it enters the body, and the mind becomes firm and one pointed with mindfulness and knows itself.”

I would like to ask permission from all the Saṅgha members to give some teachings this evening, and to I would like to offer my blessings to each one of the lay people who’ve gathered here on this occasion.

We’ve come together to practice the Dhamma today, and we might pause and take a moment to appreciate the goodness of this occasion and to see it as something to be highly commended. We’ve come through the three months of the vassa (rains retreat), and we completed the Kaṭhina ceremony last week. It’s important for us to see that the practice is something that has to continue on from here. I’m happy to see that you’re all here and interested in the practice.

The vassa is a time where Buddhists generally give up more time and effort for their practice by keeping precepts, meditating, offering dāna (acts of generosity), and so on. But so often after the vassa, people tend to leave the practice behind, perhaps not even thinking about it until the next vassa. Really it’s our duty and our responsibility as Buddhists to continue with our practice all year round.

As long as we still have kilesas (the mental defilements) afflicting our mind ― as long as we still have negative conditioning in terms of our actions, our speech and our mental states ― then we have to keep on practicing. We have to practice carefully, mindfully, and vigilantly throughout our lives in a continuous way, because the kilesas are there all of the time. The kilesas don’t choose a time when they arise and then disappear. They don’t come up just during the vassa and then after the vassa disappear; they’re affecting us all of the time. Luang Por Chah compared it to food: you don’t just eat food for the three months of the vassa and then for the rest of the year not eat food. It’s something you have to keep doing continuously as long as you’re alive. Practicing Dhamma is the same.

In my monastery back in Thailand it’s like that. During the three months rains retreat lots of people come to listen to Dhamma, to make offerings, and to practice meditation. But then after the rains retreat is over and the Kaṭhina is offered, many of them seem to disappear. Maybe only half the numbers are left outside of the retreat* *time. So it’s my job to keep reminding people to continue with their practice, to not give up for the other nine months of the year. We have to learn how to practice all year round. You can’t just be strict for a short period of time and then lax for the rest of the time. You can’t just give up and forget about it, otherwise it’s difficult to get results and progress in your Dhamma practice. We have to learn how to keep up a regular and continuous practice.

For the Saṅgha it’s the same. We have to learn how to practice throughout the year. In the time of the Buddha, at the end of the vassa and after the Kaṭhina cloth was offered, the monks were allowed certain privileges by the Lord Buddha. This was to make it easier for them to gather cloth in order to make and sew robes for themselves. The monks faced many difficulties in those days as they went in search of cloth and also in the process of sewing robes: many monks joined together to sew robes by hand, to dye the cloth and so on. So the Buddha allowed certain privileges for the monks during this period, such as the allowance to put one of their regular robes into storage so they wouldn’t have to keep all their robes with them at dawn every day, and there were other privileges as well.

Nowadays, as Luang Por Chah used to remind us, things are much more convenient. We don’t have to look so hard for cloth: there’s a lot more cloth available through the generosity of the lay community. Sewing is also much easier: we have machines to help us, and it has become a much quicker, smoother process. So these days we don’t really need to have those privileges or to relax those rules. If you think about the purpose of them, it was to help with the finding of robe-material and with the sewing of the cloth, but if that’s not a problem anymore then we don’t really need to make use of those privileges. So Luang Por Chah wouldn’t allow the Saṅgha to take those privileges up after the Kaṭhina ceremony. Why was that? Because he wanted the monks to keep vigilant in their practice, which meant to keep all the training rules and practices all year round. This is because they help us to maintain our mindfulness and vigilance in the practice.

Of course, as we practice there will be periods when we lose our mindfulness. Whether it’s just in one day, one hour, or throughout the year, we’ll have periods where we will lose our awareness and mindfulness. So it is something we have to be putting forth effort into training in continually. Obviously, if you put forth effort into your meditation practice by training in mindfulness for three months, it’s still good, but then if you leave it for nine months… then it’s very difficult to really progress in the training.

What happens when we lose our mindfulness is that the mental defilements — greed, anger and delusion — take over the mind, and become very strong. Even over the course of a single day it’s difficult to maintain mindfulness, because the defilements keep re-emerging in our minds, coming back, taking over. Because of this we get frustrated and find the practice difficult. If you think about it, we’ve been collecting up and keeping the defilements in our minds for many, many years now, even for many lifetimes. You could say our mind is heavy under the weight of them, or that the mind is encrusted with a thick layer of the defilements all around it. In Thailand we describe the practice of abandoning defilements as: “Learning how to scrape them from the mind,” or “Digging them out of the mind.”

Luang Por Chah compared our minds when left to suffer the effects of the defilements with a piece of iron that has been allowed to go rusty. It’s already hard enough to remove the rust from a piece of iron that has been neglected for a few days or for a few weeks, but imagine how much work it takes to clean up the defilements that have been embedded in our mind for many lifetimes.

People can be like that: sometimes they just let the practice go, give it up completely. But what happens then? Well the defilements start to gain strength and become deeply ingrained into their characters, and then they begin to affect their behaviour and their whole sense of wellbeing. It’s only when they realize that they are suffering that they see the need to keep on practicing. When they see the harm and suffering that comes from neglecting the practice, they will want to keep bringing up the intention to practice in order to scrape away at the defilements. But as with rust, it can be very hard work and some people become discouraged and want to give up. In the end they just blame their kamma, but as long as they do that their craving and defilements have won.

Luang Por Chah encouraged us to persevere in our practice. When we face difficulties we have to be patient. We have to be willing to compete with the obstacles if we want to purify our minds and experience the peace of freedom from defilements. If you keep thinking about how much defilement you have, or how long they have been causing you suffering, then of course you will feel down hearted. Sometimes we look at people with merit and think to ourselves that they can practice without having to put in any effort. But don’t think in that way: anyone with merit has had to develop that merit. They’ve developed those skills and wholesome qualities through much effort in the past. Actually, if you look more closely, you might notice that the people we look at and assume must have a lot of merit, tend to be putting a lot of effort into their practice, we just haven’t realized it. In the end we have to emulate them and keep developing merit through our skilful actions of body, speech and mind.

To gain inspiration and guidance in the practice we have to look at how our teachers practiced. They were willing to face up to the challenges and the difficulties, even to the point of being willing to put their lives at stake for their practice. They had great mental determination, what we call adhiṭṭhāna pāramī (the perfection of determination). This means they were resolute and determined to practice properly until they reached the goal of the practice: the end of suffering. Luang Por Chah used different reflections to show us the kind of attitude we need to develop towards the practice, such as, “If it isn’t good, let it die; if it doesn’t die, make it good.” Or another phrase that we would hear from him was, “Practice right to the limit. Dig down until you reach your goal”.

Luang Por Chah encouraged us to really devote ourselves to the practice with all of our ability. He even was bold enough to teach us to sacrifice our whole life for the Dhamma. If we practice with that kind of commitment in following all the teachings of the Buddha we can really go beyond our doubts in this very life. Luang Por Chah didn’t withhold any important truths when he taught. If we don’t practice, then our doubts will follow us each time we are born into a new life. Commit yourselves to really prove the value of these teachings by following them in every way that you can. Really commit your whole life to the pursuit of the Truth. That is how resolutely the great forest teachers practiced.

When we compare the practice of the teachers with our own then it is easy to feel discouraged, because they seem like they are on such a high level. Really, we feel discouraged because we want things to be easy and once we start to practice it becomes obvious that success in the practice is not something that will just fall into our laps. We must be careful though, because if we keep telling ourselves how hard it is to do good and put effort into the practice, then it is almost like we are allowing ourselves, or finding excuses, to do unwholesome things and to not practice at all. If we do not look after our minds our own thinking will lead us to do evil simply because we convince ourselves that doing good is too difficult. But don’t fool yourself, because if you do evil it results in suffering and trouble.

We have to accept that our mind is more used to making unwholesome kamma than it is to making wholesome kamma, so it needs to be trained. We must use our minds to reflect wisely and to think correctly. When our mind doesn’t yet accept that wholesome mental states and actions are good and lead to beneficial results, then of course the practice seems difficult. Once we have reflected wisely though, we will see that wholesome actions are truly good and we will be content to put effort into the practice. We even begin to dislike and turn away from unwholesome mental states because we know they only lead to suffering. We start to love that which is wholesome, namely the practice, and so it becomes easier.

Those who favour making bad kamma will always view making good kamma as something difficult and troublesome. This is in line with the Buddha’s teaching that, “Goodness is hard to do for those who are used to evil; evil is hard to do for those who are used to goodness.” The Buddha gave us this teaching to help us with our practice.

Once we know clearly the Truth that wholesome kamma is wholesome, and unwholesome kamma is unwholesome, we will find that even if putting forth the effort to make wholesome kamma goes against our attachment to our old ways of thinking, even if it meets up with resistance and aversion, we will have the patience to put up with the negativity. This is because we have confidence in the benefits that our wholesome actions will bring and we have confidence in the value of developing pāramī (the spiritual perfections). As we keep practicing with patience and keep putting forth effort into developing wholesome kamma, we will eventually see the rewards. From then onwards we will find a sense of contentment in the practice and that will make it easier. Even if we still have to encounter some suffering in the course of our practice, we might still find a subtle sense of enjoyment in what we are doing, because we know it is for the highest purpose possible. The whole practice becomes easier as our willingness to train and put up with difficulties improves.

For example, in my own life as a monk, I found that even though when I first came to ordain with Luang Por Chah my aim was to do good, however the reality was that as soon as I entered the monastery my life just became full of dukkha (suffering). I was full of doubts because I had the intention to do that which is wholesome and good, but all I encountered was endless suffering. As I compared my experience of living in the monastery with how I’d been before in the lay life, I could see a big difference. As soon as I came to the monastery everything seemed difficult and brought up an experience of suffering.

I began to contemplate why this had come to be, and I could see the problem was in my own mind. At home I’d seemed to have a lot of happiness and my life was easy. But as I looked deeply into this, I could see that when you’re at home it’s easy because you follow every desire that comes up. In the lay life I was always trying to satisfy my craving and had never gone against it: when you want to eat you eat, when you want to sleep you sleep, when you want to go out you go out. As soon as you enter the monastery you can’t do that anymore, every desire is frustrated by the way of training. You can’t just sit or walk or sleep according to your desires. In the monastery you’re not allowed to eat when you want, you can’t go out and leave the monastery when you want. I had to get used to constantly not getting what I wanted and so my mind became full of frustration, suffering, or what we call dukkha.

So Luang Por Chah would point out in his teachings that when you first come to live in the monastery it’s suffering. There’s not much happiness. That’s why we have to learn how to be patient until we begin to see the benefit. The benefit is you’re developing the tools to dig out the defilements. When we start to dig out the defilements we start to experience the fruits of the practice and we feel more at ease with ourselves. Before we had lots of greed, but through the practice it gets less, and the same applies to our anger. Previously we had no wisdom and were full of delusion, but through the practice we gain more self-control, more mindfulness, and more understanding of how to deal with our desires and attachments and how to let them go.

Having put forth effort into learning and practicing the Dhamma we gain knowledge and understanding and we feel more at ease with the practice. We know that the practice is the correct thing to do even if it can be difficult and bring up some suffering. We know that we are doing the right thing when we contemplate what is taking place within our own mind. A change occurs as greed, anger and delusion have less power over our mind, and in their place there is more peace and understanding. Once we are certain about the benefits of the practice then we get a new wave of wholesome energy arising.

Sometimes Luang Por Chah would ask his students, “Is your practice suffering?” as a way to stimulate reflection. Many students would answer in the affirmative and he would say, “Ah, that’s correct. It must mean you’re practicing properly.” This might be a little hard to understand at first. We practice to experience happiness, but Luang Por Chah said that if you are experiencing suffering then that is correct; if there’s no suffering it means you’re not practicing correctly. That’s because somebody who is genuinely practicing the Dhamma would almost certainly have to encounter and get to know suffering. Of course this doesn’t apply to one who’s finished the practice and attained enlightenment, as their mind has no more defilements left to abandon.

In the course of our practice we have to get to experience and know suffering for what it is. The suffering arises as we frustrate our craving and attachments. We have to learn how to frustrate our own desires and attachments so that we remove the cause of suffering. If we always attach to comfort and pleasure we cannot progress in the practice. If we just attach to happiness we are following our desires. If we get what we want we are actually feeding our craving and it becomes stronger. This is why Luang Por Chah said, “If there’s suffering that is correct”.

When we contemplate this we can see the Truth. This dukkha — or suffering — is what we call ariyasacca (a Noble Truth). When we look at suffering as a Noble Truth it forms part of sammādiṭṭhi (Right View), the first factor of the Eightfold Noble Path. The Buddha taught us to study and to contemplate suffering until we see it clearly for what it is. If we don’t learn about suffering we won’t see it clearly or understand the nature of it, and we won’t be able to transcend it.

You might compare this with animals and insects: if we don’t observe and study the animals and insects in this monastery we won’t know their names and we won’t know which ones are poisonous and can potentially harm us. In Australia you might learn that the Tiger Snake is poisonous and potentially deadly. However, once you know it as a poisonous snake then you can live together in the same forest quite peacefully and without any fear, because you know it for what it is and you are careful. If you didn’t know that it was poisonous, you might be attracted to its beautiful color and try to grab it and play with it, and it might turn around and bite you and kill you. A person who knows the snake for what it is can live with it and it doesn’t have to be a problem.

Luang Por Chah compared knowing suffering with knowing the sour taste of a lemon. You can hold a lemon for as long as you like, but if you never bite into it and chew it, you will never know the sour taste of that lemon. If the lemon never enters your mouth you’ll never really know the taste of it. If we truly have insight into suffering as a Noble Truth it means we see clearly that there is the experience of suffering, but there is no person who experiences it. This is describing it from experiential practice: there is suffering, but no one suffering. This is what Luang Por Chah wanted us to see. This is why he said, “If we are suffering then the practice is correct.” It is because suffering is what we must learn from and understand. In particular the suffering that arises with this body and mind — right here is what we must know.

The tools for the practice are with us right here because they are within our own body and mind. Just look at this body and mind and you will see the constant changes taking place from day-to-day and moment to moment. The constant change we experience with this body and mind is the cause for us to experience suffering. This suffering is what we must know. When we gain insight into the nature of suffering and its cause we will put forth effort into abandoning the cause of suffering. If we have clear insight and see suffering as suffering, and we have clear insight into its cause, we will truly want to abandon the cause. So suffering is where we learn and, as Luang Por Chah taught, if there is suffering then we are practicing correctly.

Sammādiṭṭhi (Right View) is the first factor of the Noble Eightfold Path for the ending of suffering. It is comprised of four insights: the insight into suffering (Dukkha), the insight into the origin of suffering (Samudaya), the insight into the cessation of suffering (Nirodha), and the insight into the path of practice that leads to the cessation of suffering (Magga).

Luang Por Chah taught that insight into the Noble Truths is insight into the Truth of the way things are. At first we just know the theory as it is written down on paper, but we must cultivate the Path through our practice until we gain deep insight into suffering and its origin, just as all of our teachers have done. If we don’t practice our knowledge remains superficial, we only know the names but without true insight. Normally when we hear the word suffering we don’t want to have anything to do with it, we just want to run away. We must really look at suffering and learn from it. We have to learn from our own experience, not just from the books. When we look at suffering we will understand its cause. Once we are practicing with this we have no need for astrologers, fortune tellers and so on.

If you compare suffering to an illness then you can say that the Buddha was the best doctor because he knew how to cure the illness. He understood exactly what the illness was, he knew its symptoms, he knew what it was caused by, and he knew what remedy to apply to get a complete cure from the illness. If we really put effort into gaining insight into the Four Noble Truths we will understand the Truth of the way things are. Not knowing these Truths is the reason why we have to keep on experiencing suffering. We must develop insight into suffering, its cause, its cessation, and the path of practice that leads to its cessation.

For example, when you’re walking along without mindfulness it is easy to blunder into a rock or a piece of wood with your foot and get a nasty bloody wound. A wise person would immediately go and fetch some dressings and clean up the wound and then bandage it. Someone without wisdom might just get angry and blame the rock saying, “You better watch out. Tomorrow I am going to bring a hammer and smash you to bits.” Without insight people tend to get angry for the wrong reason and even try to take their anger out on the wrong thing. That’s not the way to end suffering. But somebody with wisdom will see things clearer and attribute the cause of suffering to themself and their own lack of mindfulness.

The way to practice is to compose our mind, bring our attention inwards and to cultivate mindfulness. We have to take responsibility for our own actions rather than blaming the rock or the piece of wood. The rock or the piece of wood is in that place according to its own set of causes, and if we didn’t trip over it, it would continue to be there without bothering anyone. We need to look back at ourselves and investigate what has happened with wisdom. When we take out our anger on the rock we forget ourselves and get caught up in blaming something outside of ourselves. Because of that we are unable to extinguish the real cause of the suffering in our mind, and at the same time we neglect the wounded foot and open it to the chance of infection. Instead of bringing the right kind of medicine and cleaning up our wounded foot we get caught up in our anger with the rock.

So the correct way to practice is to investigate to find the cause of suffering: we lose our mindfulness for a few moments and suffering arises. That’s just the way it is. Now that we see the problem we start looking for a way to look after the mind and train it in mindfulness. As we look after the mind the feeling of suffering subsides. This is because we have found the correct medicine to remedy our suffering. As we practice we have to keep assessing the problem and choose the correct medicine because, just as with using medicine for bodily illness, if we apply the wrong medicine to the mind it can even make our suffering worse.

So we have to realize the cessation of suffering through the practice. Just as we have to apply the right kind of medicine to our wounded foot until we achieve a cure, we have to keep practicing in the correct way until we experience the end of suffering. If we practice in the wrong way and don’t develop true insight into the cessation of suffering then it’s like we are applying the wrong type of medicine to our foot. Consequently our pain only grows; the injury gets infected and becomes worse.

We must practice until we realize the end of suffering by abandoning the cause of suffering. If we’ve walked along that path before, and smashed our foot on a rock, then we ought to be very mindful the next time we walk there, or even change our route altogether. If we remedy our problems in this way then we are abandoning the cause of suffering through mindfulness. The way leading to the end of suffering is what we must develop. That is the same as going to find the right kind of medicine. We have to put effort into the practice to end our suffering. Once we experience pain we must put effort into finding medicine to treat our injury. It’s the same.

The suffering that we experience in the mind arises due to a cause. It has its causes and conditions and we must investigate this. The Lord Buddha taught that all phenomena arise due to a cause and pass away due to a cause. We are therefore learning from the Truth inside of our own minds. We learn from the arising and ceasing of mental states in our own minds. Each of us experiences happiness and sadness, satisfaction and dissatisfaction, in our minds and this is where we practice. Luang Por Chah encouraged us to look inwards at what is close at hand; we don’t have to look very far away.

In my early years as a monk I went to stay with Luang Por Ginnaree who was one of Luang Por Chah’s teachers. He was a quiet monk of few words, but what he did say was full of wisdom, and he often emphasized the importance of putting forth continuous effort in the practice. He gave me one teaching that I will always remember. He said that when we begin the practice of meditation it appears as if our mind is far away from us, in the distance somewhere. As we keep establishing mindfulness on the meditation object our mind seems to gradually move closer towards us. At first it may seem one hundred metres away; then only fifty metres away; next it’s only a few centimetres away, when suddenly it enters the body, and the mind becomes firm and one pointed with mindfulness and knows itself.

This was just a simple way of describing the experience in Luang Por Ginnaree’s own words. Someone without any experience in the practice might not understand what he meant, but someone with a foundation in the practice would understand easily what he was describing. This description is in line with the chant we recite in praise of the virtues of the Dhamma, which describes the nature of Dhamma as being opanayiko (leading inwards). It is not something that leads outwards.

In practice we must look into our own heart and mind. We must investigate this body and mind. It is incorrect to send your mind outside of itself. This is in line with the teaching that the more you look outside of yourself the less chance of finding what you are looking for. This means that the more we let our minds flow outwards seeking the objects of craving the more they come under the influence of the defilements, and the weaker our ability to restrain them becomes. As long as we fail to compose our mind and teach it to contemplate, it will continue to get lost in the sense impressions it receives from the world, and it will experience confusion and lack insight. Without the guiding influence of mindfulness and wisdom we just experience more mental proliferation, agitated thinking, and confusion.

In practice I have reflected on this and found that all the moods we experience, stirred up by defilement, are really like rubbish. Our mind is like an empty vessel that we place things in: sometimes we put dirty things in, sometimes we put clean things in it. Contemplate this as you meditate. The Buddha taught that the mind of the unenlightened person is untrained and hasn’t heard or contemplated the Dhamma enough, so such a mind is frequently blemished by the presence of craving and defilements. When the vessel — our mind — is dirty because of the defilements our mood reflects that, and we continue to experience negativity because of this. The vessel becomes dirtier and we put even more rubbish into it, so in the end it becomes totally unusable and we just want to throw it away. Our mind becomes blemished and unusable. When we keep putting foul things into our mind our mental experience will reflect that.

The Truth is that, really, this vessel is naturally clean and pure, but we are the ones who put dirty things inside of it. Originally our mind was clean and unblemished. The original mind is pure and radiant, and as long as it has no contact with sense impressions, and no defilements stirred up, it will remain pure, peaceful and without suffering. As we experience fresh sense impressions it begins to change. This is because of our ignorance of the Truth. We don’t yet see the blemishing effect of craving and defilement so we give in to them and let them condition the mind. We may superficially know that when we follow craving it leads to suffering, but we still keep following it. We hold on to the defilements, we give in to them, and the result is that the mind is blemished and negatively affected. As long as we cannot see through our ignorance the mind stores up the defilements and gets dirtier and dirtier.

The Buddha taught us that the natural mind is clean just like a dish or a cup that has been cleaned properly. We like to put food on clean plates, and drinks into clean cups, as they preserve the cleanliness and appearance of that food and drink. Once we understand the nature of the mind and how it can become defiled, then we are willing to take steps to keep it clean and free from kilesa. We will continue to put effort into bringing up meritorious and wholesome mental states. Like the clean plate that accentuates the freshness and cleanliness of the food we put on it, we use our mind that is cleaned and prepared through the practice of mindfulness and wise reflection to receive wholesome mental states. With right understanding we can practice abandoning the defilements that blemish the mind through meditation, and we can preserve its purity. If we never practiced meditation we wouldn’t see the way the defilements tarnish our minds. We wouldn’t recognize how the defilements put pressure on and squeeze our hearts, and we wouldn’t see the need to remove them. Without insight we will hold onto the defilements our whole life, even from lifetime to lifetime, and they will keep our hearts and minds dark and murky.

Meditation practice thus has this characteristic of “opanayiko”, of “leading inwards”. With deeper insight we come to love the purity and radiance of mind and can no longer leave mental defilements unaddressed for even a moment; we have to clean them up quickly when we see them. The more we practice the more we love the unblemished mind and the less we tolerate defilements when we see them. If we keep cleaning up our minds we will continue to progress in our Dhamma practice.

So I have given you a few reflections today on how Dhamma practice can be seen as cleaning the mind until it is bright and radiant, free from the āsavas (mental effluents) and kilesas.

In summary:

Sense impressions and moods are like rubbish;
The mind, a vessel.
We put dirty things in a dirty vessel,
Clean things in a clean vessel.

This is something for you to consider. So I think I have given enough teaching for this evening. I would like to give my* anumodanā* (expression of joy and appreciation) to all of you who have come here. today. May you all progress and flourish in your practice of the Lord Buddha’s teachings.

Building a Monk in the Heart

Venerable Ajahn Anan Akincano

April 11, 2009

“We practice generosity and giving to overcome our greed; we practice lovingkindness to overcome ill will; and through contemplation we develop wisdom in order to overcome our ignorance and to let go of our clinging and attachments, the sources of suffering in our hearts. Once we have overcome our greed, hatred and delusion, even if only partially, our minds will experience peace and coolness, and you could say that the Buddha has arisen in our hearts.”

May all of you who have gathered here out of faith and confidence in the teachings of the Lord Buddha be happy and at peace. All of you have helped in building and supporting Buddha Bodhivana Monastery and tomorrow we will participate in the ceremony to bury the sima (marker) stones and consecrate the new Uposatha Hall.

You could say that the completion of the new Uposatha Hall is a sign that this monastery is now complete and properly established. This is because an Uposatha Hall is a building of great importance in Buddhism: it is a place where the conventional Saṅgha is born into the world, through the ordination ceremony, and where the most important transactions and activities of the Saṅgha take place. In addition, it is the place where we can all come to meditate, to chant and to practice the Dhamma. Ajahn Kalyāṇo is the senior monk living here; he is your teacher and the one who guides you in your practice.

So this is an appropriate occasion for each of us here to give our anumodanā (blessing),* *and to enjoy the happiness and rapture that might naturally arise on such an auspicious occasion.

We practice generosity and giving to overcome our greed; we practice lovingkindness to overcome ill will; and through contemplation we develop wisdom in order to overcome our ignorance and to let go of our clinging and attachments, the sources of suffering in our hearts. Once we have overcome our greed, hatred and delusion, even if only partially, our minds will experience peace and coolness, and you could say that the Buddha has arisen in our hearts.

Bhāvanāmayapaññā, which means the wisdom that arises from the practice of meditation, has an essential role in the overall practice. This is because the aim of our practice as Buddhists is to cultivate and develop wisdom in our minds. The Lord Buddha cultivated enough wisdom to overcome and defeat ignorance, craving and attachment altogether. Then he explained the Dhamma, which is the wisdom that he was enlightened to and the path he illuminated to discover it, instructing his disciples with great skill and eloquence so that generations of Buddhists could follow in his footsteps and penetrate and realize the Dhamma for themselves.

The crux of the wisdom element of his teachings points to the fact that all physical and all mental phenomena are subject to the three universal characteristics of, impermanence, unsatisfactoriness and not-self. As long as our own deep, penetrative understanding of this has not yet arisen, we will experience attachment and clinging with the false view that physical forms are permanent, a source of happiness, and belong to a self. And our own personal views and beliefs will keep contradicting the Dhamma, because our hearts will still be conditioned by ignorance, craving and attachment.

Samādhi bhāvanā is a type of meditation practice where we focus our mind on a meditation object with sati (mindfulness), in order to bring it to samādhi (concentration). This practice is an essential part of the Buddhist path. To practice this we can choose to use the sensation of the in-and-out breathing as the focal point of our sati; or we can choose to focus our sati on the breathing, and at the same time recite the meditation word “Buddho”. You can also choose to* use a meditation word on its own, such as “Buddho",”Dhammo“* or”Saṅgho", and recite it continually in your mind. Whatever method we choose, it is important to understand that the aim of this practice is to bring the mind to a state of calm.

Normally our minds are continually spreading outwards to the world and they are caught into thinking and mental proliferation all of the time. Our minds are constantly thinking about past events and future events, switching between the two continuously. So we have to train ourselves to bring our minds to gain a continuity of sati, or you could say a steadiness of sati, from moment to moment, and experience the peace of samādhi.

Continuity of sati means that in every posture we maintain sati: whether standing, walking, sitting or lying down; and in every activity ― whether we are eating, talking, keeping silent or involved in any other activity ― we are maintaining sati. We also cultivate sampajañña, an all-around awareness and understanding of what we are doing and why. This is how we develop the practice, and you might say this is how we show our reverence and respect for our teacher ― the Lord Buddha.

When we are cultivating the practice of the four foundations of mindfulness, we are continuously recollecting the body, feelings, the mind and mental states and phenomena with sati and sampajañña. As we continue to establish sati with the body, as it comes and goes in every posture, we may experience states of calm arising as a result of the continuity of our practice. At these times we can also gain insight into the True Nature of Reality. For instance, we might experience a change in our perception, and at that moment know the body as just the body. We finish seeing it as a being, a person, a self, mine or theirs. This kind of insight is what we call bhāvanāmayapañña, the wisdom arising from meditation.

As we contemplate and maintain the presence of sati and sampajañña, we might see the body as merely a mass of elements and component parts. We can identify the body as merely a set of elements without any sense of self identification, meaning we see it as a combination of the earth element, the water element, the fire element and the air element. With insight arising out of the peaceful mind we no longer see the body as a being, a person, a self or belonging to a self. The mind then experiences a cool peacefulness because of the deep and profound insight into the True Nature of this body and mind. This is what the Lord Buddha was pointing to when he taught us to “See the body as merely the body,” without grasping at it as a self, a being, a person, mine or theirs. With this understanding an unshakable faith in the teaching of the Lord Buddha can arise.

The firm and unshakable confidence in the Lord Buddha’s teaching that arises becomes the cause for us to be even more eager to practice walking and sitting meditation. This is how we show the highest reverence and respect for the Lord Buddha — through the practice. Even if we have many duties and responsibilities to attend to, we are continuously eager to make the time to develop our practice of meditation and to make the practice itself continuous. Through putting forth persistent effort in the practice we gain peaceful states of mind frequently, and then we use these as a basis for contemplation and the cultivation of insight. The clear insight into the Truth in turn becomes the cause for the arising of unshakeable faith and confidence in the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha.

In the beginning of the practice our faith and confidence in the Triple Gem may be firm, but it is still partly based on belief. As knowledge and insight arises it leads to a deepening of our confidence in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Saṅgha, and we become increasingly more firm, even to the point that it takes us beyond doubt. We must keep persevering with our efforts in the practice. Even if sometimes we have lapses in our mindfulness, and lose our peaceful state of mind, as long as we keep putting forth effort then eventually we will meet with success.

One of the most important factors in the practice is perseverance. The Lord Buddha pointed this out when he uttered “Viriyena dukkhaṃceti”, which means that a person can free themselves from suffering through their perseverance. What gives rise to perseverance in the practice is our faith and confidence. With confidence in the effectiveness of the way of practice, we are willing to put forth effort to look at our minds. Then whenever the mind is conditioned by greed, hatred or delusion, we must use this willingness and effort to investigate to find out the cause.

When we cultivate the factors of the Noble Eightfold Path we are cultivating virtue, meditation and wisdom. It is the development of these factors that lead us to abandon greed, hatred and delusion. We have to find out for ourselves what brings greed, hatred and delusion to an end. As we practice we must know our mind. Whatever the activity we are involved in throughout the day ― whether standing, walking, sitting or lying down ― we must observe our mind and guard over it at all times. We watch over our mind with sati and sampajañña. This is following in the teachings of the Lord Buddha.

By watching over our mind at all times we will know the mind; we will know the sense impressions that are contacting it and the mental states which arise. By maintaining a continuity of sati, a steadiness of sati, and sampajañña, we can see that any mental state arising is a sankhāra (mental formation) that is not a being, a person, a self, mine or theirs. We even train not to attach to either the wholesome mental states or the unwholesome ones. We’ve finished taking them as a self, or belonging to a self. With mindfulness and wisdom we watch over the mind and let go of all attachments. This will bring us to true and lasting peace.

So bhāvanāmayapañña, the wisdom that arises from meditation, is the wisdom that leads to letting go. It is the wisdom that knows this mind and its mental states are not self, and do not belong to a self. By knowing this our mind can be cool and peaceful, separated from greed, hatred and delusion. Even if we only experience such insight temporarily it will give us a clear understanding of what is the correct path of practice that leads our minds to peace and, ultimately, to nibbāna (complete freedom from suffering).

Those leading the lay life can also train in virtue, meditation and wisdom in order to cultivate and improve their minds. All of us have the potential to realize the Dhamma and bring our minds to peace. We can all follow in the way taught by the Lord Buddha. We must learn how to teach ourselves and to practice with heedfulness. Having been born we must now face aging, sickness and death, so this practice is our refuge. We must learn to look after our minds, with mettā (goodwill), and develop them through meditation.

Many lay practitioners are unable to find the time to stay in a monastery on retreat, or even to practice meditation at home. They may instead put all their effort into keeping the five precepts. Such practitioners try to lead their lives in a harmless way, try to maintain their faith in the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Saṅgha, and try to provide material support for the Saṅgha. Those who have more time try to practice meditation as well. They also might try to support their partner or children in the practice, even if they feel they haven’t much time to practice meditation themselves. We should appreciate the good kamma being made by the efforts of such people as they make sacrifices to support others in the practice. It is possible to still have Dhamma and goodness in our hearts and minds even though we are unable to spend all our time in a monastery, or on retreat.

While practicing the Dhamma at home you can focus on following the principles of sammā ājīva (right livelihood), and devote yourselves to the abandonment of greed, hatred and delusion from your minds as you earn a living. When you are sincere in practicing in this way, then you can say that your minds have developed to the level of a renunciant or monk internally, even if you are still a lay practitioner leading the household life on the outside. When someone has the mind of a monk it means that they know how to be content and experience a deep sense of peace and happiness because they understand how to practice renunciation. When their minds experience true contentment they know how to be content with whatever level of material wealth they have. They know how to put effort into letting go of their desire for sense pleasures, and they know how to put effort into letting go of attachment. They put effort into letting go of greed, hatred and delusion. This is the mind of a true monk.

We have built this Uposatha Hall as a place to hold ordination ceremonies for Buddhist monks, but you could say those candidates who come forth are still only monks on the conventional level. A candidate shaves his head and comes forward to take ordination… and then we call them a monk. But the purpose of this is to give that person an opportunity to practice until they realize the Dhamma and liberate their heart from the kilesa (mental defilements) that are the causes of suffering. The true monk, whether a lay person or ordained, is samucchedappahānaṃ: one who completely abandons the mental defilements from their heart. If a lay person practices to the point when they know and experience the state of ease, happiness and peace of heart that arises out of abandoning the mental defilements, then we can also call them a true monk. They become one of the ariyasaṅgha (Noble Ones). So please be resolute in your practice of generosity, virtue and meditation.

The more we put forth effort into the cultivation of our mind through meditation, the more knowledge and insight we will gain, and this cause and effect relationship will support us in the process of abandoning the defilements. This is what makes us a true Buddhist, a Buddhist in heart as well as in name, meaning that the qualities of the Buddha, Dhamma and Saṅgha come to reside in our heart at all times. This is independent of our race or cultural background. If we want to cultivate the qualities of a monk in our hearts then determine to practice the Dhamma sincerely.

I give you my blessing and wish that you may all progress in the practice of Dhamma.

Q. Could you please explain the meaning of the term “karuṇā (compassion)”?

A. The practice of compassion begins with the thought to help those who are suffering to find an end to their suffering. Mettā, or lovingkindness, is the intention to wish others happiness; it includes empathizing with others, maintaining goodwill and wishing for them to be free from suffering.

Compassion is a positive emotion that arises in response to seeing other people suffer. It is the thought to use our skills and intelligence to help them out of their suffering. Though, when we have compassion in the mind, we also have to know the limit of our ability to help others.

The Lord Buddha saw that all beings are caught into saṁsāra (the endless cycle of birth and death), are constantly afflicted by suffering, and that the cause of their suffering is ignorance, craving and attachment in their hearts. Consequently, he had a heart full of great compassion and maintained the intention to help other beings get out of saṁsāra and free themselves from suffering. This was his motivation to develop his pāramī (spiritual perfections) over many lifetimes until he finally gained enlightenment as the Buddha. Once enlightened he led a large number of beings to transcend their suffering through following his teachings and instructions, which he gave out of compassion.

Compassion is one of the four brahmavihāra dhammas (the sublime abidings), which are meditation objects. The practitioner who meditates on the theme of compassion will be able to restrain their anger and ultimately remove the causes for anger from their mind. They will experience a state of mind that is cool and peaceful, free from anger and ill will. Meditating on the theme of compassion or lovingkindness is particularly appropriate for someone with habitual anger in their character, but really these meditation practices should be developed regularly by all of us.

Q. If we cultivate meditation on the four elements, and contemplate them until we see our body as merely elements, is this enough to realize the Dhamma?

A. When we contemplate the body and separate it into the four main physical elements we call this catudhātu kammaṭṭhāna.

Dividing the body into four groups of elements — the earth group, the water group, the air group and the fire group — we contemplate them by focussing sati and sampajañña on the characteristics of each group.

For example, we contemplate the parts that appear hard and solid, such as the bones or the muscle, and view them just as the earth element. We focus on the characteristics of each element as it manifests itself in the body: The fluidity of the liquid element as it manifests in blood or in the urine, for instance; the temperature in different parts of the body, warmth or coolness, is the presence of the fire element; the air element is the breathing and the air that flows around the body, such as the oxygen in the blood stream.

Ultimately we might continuously focus our mind on just one element until the mind attains peace. Once the mind becomes firm and peaceful it has attained samādhi,* and we call this samatha kammaṭṭhāna*: the practice of meditation to develop a state of calm. The mind attains a calm and peaceful state, and on one level has gained insight by seeing the nature of the body as made up of these four elements.

Once we have become skilled in focusing sati on the elements until the mind has attained a state of calm, we then contemplate each element and focus on the characteristic of impermanence: the elements are subject to change, are impermanent, unsatisfactory and without a self. Contemplating in this way insight can arise. This is insight arising out of contemplation in a state of calm, and it leads to the abandonment of all forms of attachment.

The clearer we see the True Nature of this body, the more we are able to abandon our clinging, and we keep doing this until finally we can attain firm and liberating insight of the sort that cannot vanish from our mind. This clear insight into the lack of self in these four elements that make up this body does not degenerate, and our way of viewing the body does not revert to the old way of clinging and grasping out of ignorance. Clear knowledge and vision of the selfless nature of the elements brings us to enter the stream of Dhamma. The mind is liberated by penetrating the Truth.

So in answer to your question, yes, contemplation of the four elements can bring the mind to realize the Dhamma through the cultivation of liberating insight. Please try to practice continuously until you really experience the peaceful mind.

In the time of the Lord Buddha lay people would practice in this way until they gained true peace and wisdom. There was one lay person who raised chickens and was also a disciple of the Lord Buddha. They meditated on the elements in this way and they were always contemplating their bones as the earth element. On one occasion a hawk swooped down in front of them to steal a young chick from its mother, but that lay practitioner was so absorbed in their contemplation of the bones that they didn’t see the hawk as a hawk, or the chicken as a chicken, but rather saw each as just a collection of bones. By focusing their sati on the bones continually, their minds became calm and entered a state of samādhi. With that peaceful state as a foundation they contemplated the three characteristics of impermanence, suffering and selflessness until they realized the Dhamma.

Q. When we meditate on the four elements should we concentrate on just one element, or should we alternate between the four different elements?

A. When we meditate on the four elements we might begin by focusing mindfulness on the earth element. If we find the mind stays with the contemplation, becoming firm and steady, then we should stick with the earth element. If the mind doesn’t calm down then try focusing on the water element. Move onto the other elements in turn if the mind still cannot settle down.

When the level of sati improves we might be content to keep our attention on just three elements, then later just two, until finally we may find that the mind is content to keep its attention fixed on just one of the four elements. Hence the contemplation is restricted to one element.

We observe the mind to see contemplation of which element brings the mind to a state of calm most easily, and then stick with that.

(Venerable Ajahn Anan received a question from a lay practitioner asking how to help someone who is becoming suicidal.)

Even though they are experiencing lots of suffering, if they can contemplate the words of the Lord Buddha that teach us to see the value of this human birth it would be helpful. With a human birth we have the potential to make good kamma, we have the potential to develop and to improve ourselves, and we also have the opportunity to help others. Many times the Lord Buddha reminded us of how difficult it is to achieve a human birth. So we should try to see this and make an effort to improve our state of mind whenever we experience suffering, and not let the painful experiences we have drag the mind further down.

We must also rely on our patience and resilience in the face of suffering because many times we have to really endure things. But at the same time contemplate and really try to see the value and purpose of this life, and to see the potential, which lies within each and every one of us, for doing more good. We always have the chance to bring the mind out of its state of suffering, and brighten it, and illuminate it through our own efforts.

When we think of harming ourselves we are deluded because we can only harm the physical body but we cannot destroy the suffering we are experiencing in the mind. Even if we were to die the suffering still follows us into our next birth, because the mind is still caught into delusion. Actually, the experience of suffering would even intensify because of the negative kamma created by the act of self-harm.

While we still have life we should always attempt to remedy the suffering that we might experience in our minds. We can do this through developing mindfulness and wisdom to understand things better. When we attach to the suffering so much that it brings us to contemplate self-harm then the mind is very dark and caught into a very negative state. We have to accept that such a deep and dark state of suffering is very difficult to pull back from. It is difficult for the person caught in it to spin out of the cycle of negative thinking, and it is difficult for others to help them. It is possible if the kammic conditions are right, and if they have enough merit and accumulated pāramī, that they may be able to pull back from the brink; but it is not easy.

Abandoning Accumulations: Through Great Effort

Venerable Ajahn Nyanadhammo

April, 2009

“We also have to put down the opinions, ideas, views, thoughts and concepts that we have accumulated. Observe and investigate how many of these we have in a day: conversations, attitudes, feelings, perceptions that we then carry around with us — the Buddha said that we have to abandon all accumulations. When we put them down and let go of them, it will bring freedom… then there is a happiness of release from these accumulations called,”abandoning" — ‘abandoning accumulations’."

There is a reason why we feel inspired to create a place where monks can train in the holy life and that laity can come to receive teachings: it is because of our unshakable faith in the Dhamma. We may have come across Buddhism because we were born into a Buddhist family, or we may have come across the Dhamma at some other point in our life through listening to and reading talks, and realizing that those teachings of the Buddha are fundamental Truths pointing to liberation. If we practice and apply those teachings they can affect us in profound ways: we can grow, develop and change ― moving closer to the Buddha, closer to the Dhamma, and closer to the Saṅgha ― through our development of the training.

The Buddha gave us some fundamental teachings on how to overcome the āsava (the outflows of the mind), which include kāma-āsava (the outflow of sensual desire), bhava-āsava (the outflow of becoming), and avijjā-āsava (the outflow of ignorance). These underlying outflows of the mind keep us under the influence of ignorance, which in the Buddhist sense means not knowing or understanding the Truth of reality. We can sense from the recollections we chanted this evening that the Buddha’s teachings are not a sentimental presentation of reality telling us that everything is wonderful and marvellous; they are not telling us, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.” Rather they are presenting reality and Truth as seen and understood by an enlightened mind, a mind free from suffering, and those realities and Truths are something that other beings can also understand.

We chant that, “I am of the nature to age; I have not gone beyond aging. I am of the nature sicken; I have not beyond sickness. I am of the nature to die, I have not gone beyond death. I am the owner of my kamma, heir to my kamma, born of my kamma, abide supported by my kamma.” These teachings cut through the delusions and illusions of the world and point to Ultimate Truths, the first being that there is dukkha (suffering) in life; life is unsatisfactory. All phenomena are of the nature to change, and when faced with this unsatisfactory nature of existence we have to do something about it, or else the suffering will overwhelm us.

The Buddha laid out the pathway by which we can change ourselves, develop ourselves, and transform our minds, our speech and our behaviour so that it becomes in-line with the Dhamma. If our bodily, verbal and mental activity is in-line with the Dhamma then suffering subsides and sukha (happiness) increases, and this purification process continues until suffering completely disappears.

We all know that when the Buddha taught about the cause of suffering he was talking about greed, hatred, and delusion. There is one story in the scriptures when a monk was taking leave of the Buddha to go into the western regions of India. The inhabitants of that part of the country did not know of the Buddha’s teachings, so the Buddha asked the monk, “When people ask you what the Buddha teaches, how are you going to answer?” He replied, “My refuge is in the Buddha. How should I answer, venerable sir?” The Buddha then told him to respond by saying, “He taught the cutting off greed, hatred, and delusion; the complete ending of these three things.” So if anyone ever asks you what the Buddha taught you’ll find that if you answer them in that same way they’ll be able to understand you. This is because it is very clear that greed, hatred, and delusion are unwholesome things, and that if we remove these things from our minds then they will be replaced with happiness and liberation.

The Buddha taught many methods for overcoming these defilements. One method that he taught was avoidance — to avoid unwholesome things. This one is extremely important, isn’t it? As adults and parents we can see that when bringing up our children we have to train them in how to avoid danger. We have to tell them not to play on the road, not to play with matches or fire and so on. We have to point out the danger involved in these things because our duty as a parent is to protect them from being harmed as much as we can. The Buddha said that the same is true for our spiritual practice and our minds. We have to protect ourselves by taking correct care of our body and mind by avoiding dangerous kinds of behaviour. Part of this means knowing what things we should interact with and what things we shouldn’t interact with, which implies using a certain degree of selective wisdom. Some examples of what we have to be selective about are what we look at, what we watch on T.V., what we expose our minds to on the computer, what we read, what we listen to, and whatever the mind goes out to smell, taste, or touch by way of the sense doors. There are certain things that we can experience in life that would be better to avoid because they will cause us harm.

Some people have the view that life is about having experiences, so they think we should seek out and experience as many things as possible, the result will being that we will become wise. That is not one of the Buddha’s teachings. The Buddha taught that a wise person knows how to distinguish between different types of experiences; there are certain experiences in life that we should avoid because those experiences have harmful consequences. If we watch things that are negative and unwholesome, then just by viewing those images defilements will naturally arise in the mind. Taking in those visuals will not lead us to peace or happiness.

A wise person avoids certain things. For example, we don’t need to go out, drink, and get drunk in order to know that it is a form of unskilful behaviour. We can observe it from the behaviour of others and by using our own introspection. We can see for ourselves that it leads to carelessness and heedlessness, and can seriously endanger the well-being of the person drinking as well as those around them. We can then extrapolate that if we were to do that it would not be beneficial for us at all. So we should distinguish ― using the Buddha’s guidance and our own observations and power of introspection ― which life experiences should be avoided and which should be cultivated.

The first thing we have to do is see where the dangers lie. The Buddha taught that the five precepts protect us from danger. If we restrain our speech and behaviour, then we are avoiding certain actions that have unpleasant kammic consequences. If we keep the five precepts then we are protecting ourselves from dangerous situations that lead towards making heavy kamma. For instance, the taking of life: if we take life with an intention to do so it will entail a kammic result. And that result will be an increase in pain and suffering. Just look at examples in the world: people who do this type of thing live without compassion and understanding; they are under the influence of anger, greed, and heedlessness. Often they end up in states of fear, in states of regret, in prisons or are killed themselves — if not in this life then the Buddha said it will give result in future lifetimes proportionate to the weight of their past actions. So a wise person, seeing the danger, knows that it is noble and good to avoid that danger. That avoidance is beneficial for it protects us from making heavy negative kamma.

We often hear in Mahayana-Buddhism about the bodhisatta vows, which are generally vows made out of compassion for the world to save all sentient beings. Personally, I look at the five precepts as the Theravadin equivalent of the bodhisatta vows because there is a place in the Aṅguttara Nikāya (the numerical discourses of the Buddha) where the Buddha states that someone who keeps the five precepts is giving other beings the freedom from fear: the fear that their life will be taken, that their possessions will be stolen, that their relationships will be abused, that they will be lied to or deceived, or that they will be harmed through heedlessness. It is actually a great act of compassion to keep the five precepts because we are freeing all other beings from the fear that we might hurt them. It is a vow of saving and helping other beings that allows them to live in happiness and peace — and it protects us as well.

Another thing the Buddha encouraged others to do is to abandon certain types of behaviour. This can be quite difficult to do because it means that we have to be willing to change. It requires that, as someone following the Buddha’s path, we have to be humble and realize that we still have faults and weaknesses: there are still certain aspects of our thoughts, words, and deeds that are unwholesome and we need to do something about them. To actually see our faults and be willing to undergo the process of changing them is a very essential aspect of the path of practice.

Ajahn Chah would often emphasize that in Thailand people tend to be very generous and kind and are willing to do meritorious deeds, but they’re not willing to take up some of the other aspects of the Buddha’s teachings. For example, in the ovāda-pāṭimokkha gāthā (verses on the training code) the Buddha expounded, “Do good. Refrain from evil. Purify the mind. That is what all Buddha’s teach.” A lot of people are willing to do good, but are not willing to cut off the unwholesome things they do, the immoral things they do by mind, body, and speech which cause harm to themselves and others. To do this means that one must actually be willing to change. Having found that we have greed, hatred, and delusion in our minds we bring up the wholesome desire to do something about it. So this means taking up the task of abandoning, of being willing to remove the unwholesome habits and tendencies that we have accumulated.

We can see that there is great inner resistance to this, can’t we? For instance, if we get angry and upset at someone the tendency of human beings is to justify our actions and get caught into thoughts of, “They’re wrong and I’m right.” We tend to come from the angle that they should understand us but we don’t have to understand them. This is a natural tendency of the mind, but it is not how someone seeking liberation trains themself. So, instead of just following this natural inclination, which just results in more suffering, we begin the process of abandoning unwholesome states by saying to ourselves, “Whenever there is greed, hatred, or delusion in my mind, then I am always wrong!” This turns our attention back on ourselves, which we have more power to change, rather than having the mind go out to the other person. We then reflect that if we are caught into self-righteous anger, then we are the ones in the wrong who need to adjust and change — we need to do something about it within ourselves. That’s where we can really effect change: within our own misconduct. Only when we see our faults as faults can we begin to change

But this is very difficult to do because of conceit, pride, and ego. As we all know, sometimes we tend to see other people’s faults very easily and see our own with great difficulty. So we need to counter this with a vigilant attitude towards trying to become aware of our faults, to be mindful of them, and acknowledge them as faults. It takes a great degree of mindfulness and self-awareness to investigate truthfully and ask ourselves, “What is really going on here?”

Ajahn Chah used to be very direct with his teaching on this subject. Basically he would say that if you are suffering, if there is dukkha arising, if there is unsatisfactoriness in your heart, then you are wrong. Because* dukkha* has a cause ― attachment ― if you are suffering it’s not because someone else is inflicting that suffering on you: it’s because of our own attachments ― you’re attached to something. Therefore, if you abandon your attachment to that thing that suffering will end.

This is a very direct and clear way of pointing the investigation back to our own citta (mind). The Truth, the causes and ending of our suffering, is always opanayiko (leading inwards). By calming the mind through various techniques that the Buddha taught we’re learning to see that if there is dukkha we can’t blame anyone else in the world for our suffering. There is a cause, and that cause is our own attachments within our own minds. If we abandon that attachment a little then there will be a little peace. If we abandon it a lot there will be a lot of peace, and if we abandon it completely there will be complete peace and freedom. This is what we are training in. So turn the Dhamma inwards, turn the focus back on your own mind.

The other thing that the Buddha stressed is for us to develop our spiritual qualities. In order to do this it is best to have a methodology. He gave us a methodology very clearly, that is, the path of sīla (virtue), samādhi (concentration), and paññā (wisdom). Those three aspects of the Noble Eightfold Path are the methodology that we need to develop. On the level of virtue we have the five precepts, the eight precepts, the ten precepts, and the 227 precepts of a bhikkhu (Buddhist monk).

At one time Lady Visākhā, the Buddha’s foremost female disciple, visited the Buddha. She was keeping the five precepts, had already attained sotāpanna (stream entry) and was satisfied with the level she was at. She then asked the Buddha about the benefits of keeping the eight precepts. The Buddha responded, “Visākhā, if you want to know how an arahant (a fully enlightened person) behaves, then keep the eight precepts. Visākhā, if you want to know how an arahant speaks then keep the eight precepts. This is because the eight precepts are the abiding place of the arahants. The eight precepts are the abiding place of the enlightened ones.”

So if you really want to know what it’s like to live as an arahant then maybe try to keep those eight precepts. At least try on those important occasions, for instance on Vesākha Pūjā (the day commemorating the Buddha’s birth, death and enlightenment), or on one of the major uposatha days (weekly observance days corresponding to the lunar calendar). As I understand it, most of you here are committed Buddhists who understand the five precepts. These are the foundation for happiness, prosperity, and nibbāna (complete freedom from suffering). Sometimes, though, we need to develop beyond that in order to give ourselves a new challenge, and to stretch ourselves. So the way to stretch ourselves is to put time aside on the important days and say, “At this time I am going to develop my virtue by keeping the eight precepts.” Try following the Buddha’s suggestion to Visākhā: keep the eight precepts and see if you can get a glimpse of the "abiding place of the* arahants*" for a day and a night.

When we take up those extra three precepts we are developing precepts of nekkhamma (renunciation) which relate to the abandoning of attachments to sensuality through the abandoning of entertainments, the abandoning of comforts and adornments of the body, and committing to eating and sleeping simply and at the proper times. Thus, we are not over-indulging in sleep, food, entertainments, comforts or thoughts of beautification. In this way, we are developing the mind to be able to give up certain pleasures of the world. We are doing this for the purpose of abandoning our attachments and freeing the mind from the suffering that they create. But to do this we must practice it, we must experience it for ourselves, or else it’s just words and theory that we are still not confident in, we still doubt; it is suffering that we haven’t let go of.

There is a very important phrase that the Buddha used after he became enlightened. He was contemplating whether he should teach others or not and he reflected that this teaching was very subtle and abstruse. What he discovered, the Dhamma, is not easily understood by people who have many desires and are caught up in worldly things because it’s for the purpose of abandoning accumulations. I find this a very powerful phrase, “abandoning accumulations”. Sometimes it is important to ask ourselves as Buddhists, “In my life, what are my accumulations?” If we don’t actually reflect on what we have accumulated materially from time to time, then we don’t know what we need to let go of mentally. So we should think about what our material and non-material accumulations are.

When we have to move house we notice how much we have accumulated, don’t we? We can take days and weeks to pack up all those accumulations into many, many boxes. Sometimes we might astound ourselves with how much we have collected over a long period of time, or even over a short period of time. And sometimes those accumulations have gone untouched for years, unused for years, but we have kept it all because we think that one day they might come in handy. We think that one day it will be useful. Actually, it just becomes clutter. So we can see that sometimes those accumulations are burdens that are not there to bring us happiness, but are rather just the burdensome accumulations of the world. So what we need to do is ask ourselves, “What is necessary and needed? What is useful? What can be useful to others who are in more need?” In this way we can develop the quality of nekkhamma by abandoning certain accumulations we don’t need which clutter the mind and bring unnecessary suffering.

We can also turn our attention to the question of our relationships and ask ourselves, “What have I accumulated in terms these?” You will find that when you sit in meditation if your mind is cluttered with worry about your husband, your wife, your relatives, your friends, it’s because you’ve accumulated attachments there. Now this doesn’t mean that everyone has to suddenly come to the monastery and approach Ajahn Kalyāṇo with a request to become a monk or a nun. All this is saying is that, when you come to the monastery and are sitting in meditation you need to be aware whether you’re abandoning the mental accumulations of relationships or not? We need to be able to put those things aside too; they are not important at this time; it’s not necessary at that time to worry or concern oneself with those things. So abandon them ― put down those accumulations too, because at this time they are a hindrance to your practice, a hindrance to your peace of mind.

We also have to put down the opinions, ideas, views, thoughts and concepts that we have accumulated. Observe and investigate how many of these we have in a day: conversations, attitudes, feelings, perceptions that we then carry around with us — the Buddha said that we have to abandon all accumulations. When we put them down and let go of them, it will bring freedom. If we carry them around then we are burdened by the world, burdened by thoughts, burdened by ideas. We need to put those accumulations aside and be free of them. And when we put them down we will feel light and released. There is a release, and then there is a happiness of release from these accumulations called, “abandoning” — “abandoning accumulations”.

Now, we need to restrain and abandon certain things, such as the things that I have discussed, and we need to develop other things. We need to restrain and abandon unwholesome things by keeping precepts, we need to abandon attachments by letting go of accumulations that clutter our minds, and, on the other hand, we need to develop the wholesome qualities of sīla, samādhi, and paññā.

On the level of virtue we also have this practice of sense restraint, which is a very important aspect of virtue. Sense restraint means: to be composed, to be content. Have you ever noticed that a person who is very restless is very discontent? They can’t be still. When we’re content then we’re still. The Buddha said that he could not see any one thing that causes more suffering, or the arising of more unwholesome qualities, than discontentment. On the other hand he also said he could not see any one thing that causes more happiness that is more conducive to dispelling unwholesome qualities, than contentment. So bringing up contentment in the mind gives rise to a sense of well-being, of satisfaction, a sense that this is good enough, a sense of peace; it brings happiness to the mind.

This plays an important aspect in another quality when it comes to developing virtue: the knowledge of what is enough in material accumulations, the four basic requisites. Whether it’s our home or accommodation, our clothes, the food we eat or the medicines we use, it means knowing what the right amount is. So, as I said earlier, we try to avoid cluttering our minds with material items.

The other quality which is very important in terms of virtue is mindfulness. This means to be conscious, alert, and to know what is going on with our body, speech, and mind. This is to come back to oneself, to bring the attention back to our body and mind in the present moment. And awareness here means we recollect, “What am I doing in the present moment? What am I saying? What am I thinking in the present moment?” We must also have sampajañña, which means “circumspection” of mind, and is that ability to assess whether or not our actions are skilful and wholesome or not. Is it beneficial? Is it leading to the goal?

We need to also be developing* samādhi, which means calming the mind. We cultivate this in order to become more tranquil and to become less fluttered and agitated with the ups and downs of life. Life is about resolving problems and calming the mental faculties, stilling things. As we become more at ease with ourselves and become more content, we find that inner happiness arises and there is a sense of stillness and peace. When you’re happy, you’re still, and the mind doesn’t want to go anywhere; it’s content there. The minds’ natural tendency is to seek happiness and avoids suffering, and will naturally stay with that happiness if we allow it. So we develop tranquillity of mind through citta-bhāvanā*, meaning we sit in meditation regularly just like we are doing this evening.

You’ll notice that when the monks are sitting in meditation, and you come to sit with them, you tend to settle down more easily because of a certain energy ― a group energy. There’s the inspiration you get from the Buddha image, the monastery, the Saṅgha, the lay-people, and that tends to allow you to calm down because you’re composing your mind and stilling yourself. We should develop this type of peace regularly.

The other thing that we are learning to develop is wisdom. In Buddhism, wisdom means the ability to see and overcome greed, hatred, and delusion. Really, wisdom is a kind of problem solving: solving the problems of life, death, old age, sickness. These things are fundamental problems. When we get up in the morning we find that we are automatically faced with the problems of life: the problems of looking after the body, feeding the body, sustaining the body, going to work so we can have the money to look after our bodies and other peoples bodies; dealing with all those issues in life, dealing with all the challenges of life.

Sometimes, when laypeople come to the monastery to talk to the monks they think that the monks can read their minds. Really, when lay people come to speak to monks about their problems they only have five subjects that they talk about. So when the monks talk about one of those five problems the lay people think that their minds are being read. What are those problems? One is money: not enough. Or if you’ve got some, other people want to borrow it. Maybe the economy or your business is not going so well. Perhaps there’s a problem with your superannuation or the government wants to tax you more. You’re dealing with finance and issues of financial security. We are trying to find security in a world that is insecure, a world that is always changing. So there are always problems with money and there will always be problems with money, it was there in the time of the Buddha as well. It’s a fundamental Truth.

Another problem that lay people have when they come to the monastery is love. Maybe you love them but they don’t love you. Or you don’t love them but they love you. Or you wish you loved them but you don’t. Sometimes you love them but they love one, two, or three other people. So these are emotional problems. Love: having it, not having it, wanting it or not wanting it — true? Sometimes we are separated from what we love and the people we love. This is a problem of the heart, another problem that lay people deal with all the time.

The other problem that lay people are dealing with all the time is work. This means wanting work and not getting it, being unemployed and wondering “What work should I do?” Or thinking the boss is terrible, or the boss saying that the employees are terrible. You’re dealing with either too much work or not enough: too much work when you don’t want it, not enough when you do want it. Or you simply don’t like your work. All the issues of work — your employee, your co-workers, the co-worker from hell, the boss from hell, sometimes the employee from hell — these are all the issues and problems that you have to deal with when it comes to work.

Then most laypeople have to deal with the problem of relatives and friends, true? There are problems that come with relatives because when we get married it isn’t just to him or her that we marry, we marry the whole family. So we have the problems of our own relatives, and then the relatives of our relatives, and the extended families relatives, and it all gets very complicated and we have many issues in regards to relatives to deal with.

Finally, the problem that all people have ― and even the monks don’t get beyond this one ― is that of the body: sickness and illness, the constant changing of the physical body. Everyone has their own unique kamma to deal with when it comes to health.

So these are the five major issues that most people are dealing with. Usually what happens is this: someone comes to Ajahn Kalyāṇo with a problem so he will start talking about one of these five things. If he doesn’t see any reaction then he will change to one of the other topics and sooner or later you will think, “Ajahn Kalyāṇo knows my mind! He knows exactly what’s going on!” But, actually it isn’t that. He’s just pulled one of the five problems of lay people out of the hat and he’s giving advice on that. So you can see that it’s not just your problem, it’s everyone’s problem. Those are the problems that they are also dealing with. These are fundamental Truths: they all existed in the time of the Buddha, and they will always be this way. Wisdom is the ability to solve problems so as to bring them to an end. We solve our problems skilfully so it brings happiness to ourselves and happiness to others.

It is the really deep problems of life ― those of old age, sickness, and death ― to which the Dhamma points. The problems I was just speaking about are the more superficial ones, yet arise from the much deeper problem, the cause of which is having been born: with birth there is old age, sickness, and death. There are intricacies and complexities of life, and this is where we have to use our wisdom to abandon our attachments and find freedom from our problems ― freedom from our attachments. We will then find that we can deal with the problems more skilfully and be able to let go of them. This is how we use the Dhamma as our refuge.

I was once telling some people a true story about a monk by the name of Luang Boo Supah. Luang Boo Supah is a monk who is 113 years old and still lives in Thailand. He had ordained at the age of nine, so he has already been in robes for 104 years. He is the most senior bhikkhu in the world and many people go to meet him and pay their respects. He is a very humble, peaceful, inspiring and wonderful monk. The story is about a time when he was meditating in a cave alone. He had been sitting and walking all day and continued on late into the night, and at about 2.00am he decided to lie down and go to sleep. As he was lying down to go to sleep, while being very mindful, he thought, “When I wake up I’ll continue my efforts,” and then fell into a deep sleep. After a while he woke up with a lot of pain in his legs so he lit a candle beside him and looked down to find a huge python that had already swallowed him up to his knees! Now, I’ve personally seen pythons in Thailand up to six meters long, as big as a coconut palm — sometimes they can get really huge — and this was a very big python that was in the process of eating him, so he turned to the python and said, “Now wait a minute snake. If you’re going to eat this body then I give this body to you because this body will die anyway, and if it has to die as your meal then so be it. But, I’m determined in this lifetime to go to nibbāna, so if you eat me you have to take this mind to nibbāna; you can eat this body, but you have to take this mind to nibbāna with you because that is my goal and aspiration.” At that moment, the snake disgorged him, let him go, and slithered out of the cave.

Now, if you were to wake up tonight at 2:00am with a big python eating you up to your knees, what would you say? Would you say, “Just a minute snake, you can have this body. I give it to you, but you have to take me to nibbāna?” Or would you scream!? You can see that this is a person who had his mind on the goal. He had his mind on his ultimate aspiration. That is why the snake realized that he was too hard to eat. It is because it would not be able to fulfil his request. He could eat the body but he couldn’t take his mind to nibbāna, so the snake let him go.

Now, most of us are not going to wake up in the middle of the night to find a python eating us ― unless you come to my monastery; I released a whole lot of pythons in my monastery a while back ― but what is more likely to happen to you is that one day you’ll go to the doctor and he’ll say, “I’ve done the tests and I’ve got some unfortunate news for you. There is a cancer eating your body.” Will you be able to say, “That’s fine doctor. If the cancer wants this body then I allow it to have it because this body has to die anyway. I give this body to the cancer… but the cancer must take this mind to nibbāna.” That would be someone who has their mind focused on the goal, a mind like Luang Boo Supah, a 113 year old monk.

Unless you are a person who is very focused on the goal, complete freedom from suffering, you can see that there is a great difference in attitude there. When we face great difficulties and challenges in life, can we say, “That’s ok, I don’t mind”? For example, suppose that you’re being criticized, everyone is finding fault with you, and they’re telling you that you’re always wrong or you’ve made a serious mistake. Instead of getting depressed can you say to yourself, “It’s natural that criticism will come. I don’t mind. If the criticism is true, then I’ll try to change and adjust my behaviour as not to cause harm for others… but may this mind go to nibbāna.” Use criticism as a tool for release, for nibbāna. Then you are using this method that Luang Boo Supah used of saying to the danger, saying to the dukkha, “I don’t mind if there’s dukkha, so long as it takes the mind to nibbāna.”

So each and everyone one of us will have different forms of dukkha arising but if we can keep our minds focused on that dukkha, and say to that dukkha, “Ah, this dukkha is teaching me the way to nibbāna,” then our mind is focused on the goal. Because the Buddha said that dukkha must be known, and it is to be understood, comprehended, and abandoned. And that once you understand it, comprehend it, and abandon it, that takes the mind to release.

So we need to be able to sustain our wholesome qualities. That is the last part of the Buddhist path. We have to be able sustain the goodness which we’ve already developed. And sometimes that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Have you ever noticed that sometimes when you develop good mindfulness it can quickly disintegrate if you don’t protect it? Have you ever noticed that sometimes when you become very peaceful and calm, but then don’t protect that peace, it disintegrates, falls away, and you become agitated again? Sometimes we develop very wholesome states of lovingkindness and compassion, but when we don’t sustain them they will inevitably fall away again. This is the reason that the Buddha said that the sustaining of wholesome states, including contentment, is extremely important for overcoming the āsava, the unwholesome outflows of the mind.

I find it inspirational that all of you have come all the way from Melbourne to listen to a Dhamma talk, to keep the precepts, to do evening chanting, and to sit in meditation together tonight. This is a part of sustaining the practice that the Buddha would praise; this is one of the causes for overcoming unwholesome states of mind.

We need to keep nurturing and sustaining these things. It’s a bit like planting a tree in this monastery. Now, planting a tree is relatively easy; the hard part is looking after the tree: watering the tree, giving it fertilizer, protecting it from the kangaroos and so on. Ajahn Kalyāṇo was telling me earlier that a lot of the trees here have disappeared because the kangaroos and wallabies and wombats chew them up. So the monks have had to go about putting wire around the trees, staking them up, putting water on the trees, looking after them, and protecting them from dangers. And it’s only through sustaining and nurturing the trees that they will be able to grow and mature and then later on give shade and refuge to other beings.

It is similar with our practice of the Buddha’s path. We need to sustain the development of all the wholesome qualities that we have already developed. We need to sustain our conviction in the five precepts, because you know as well as I do that in Australian society there is a lot of pressure on you to give up your virtue. This is especially true with the last precept. People will say to you, “Just drink a little wine. There’s nothing wrong with that. The doctors say it’s good for you.” There are lots of pressures.

There are also a lot of pressures that make us lazy or indulgent. You know, we say to ourselves, “I’ll sit meditation another day. I’ll go to the monastery another time.” One of the reasons this happens is because there are so many other pressures on our time in our daily activities, and because of that, sometimes we abandon the good qualities that we’ve already developed. That is not the path; the path is one in which we have to sustain the good qualities that we’ve already developed. And that is why it’s very important to have a community and a Buddhist society. This is exactly what this group of people here are. They are a community of Buddhist practitioners. They are a community of people who have love for the Buddha, love for the Dhamma, love for the Saṅgha, and therefore are kalyāṇamittas (good spiritual friends). They offer support for each other and provide each other with good companionship in the Dhamma, which helps them to sustain their practice of the Buddha’s teachings which, along with a community and place of refuge to come to, they share with all of you. In this way, we can progress, develop and sustain.

So you see, on the Buddha’s path there are these four important efforts, the Four Great Efforts, which are needed to be taken on as a part of the training. The first great effort is to avoid certain kinds of behaviour, situations, and experiences because we see the dangers in them. The second great effort is to abandon unwholesome qualities within our minds, our speech, and our behaviour. The third great effort is to develop wholesome qualities, making them grow and prosper. And the fourth great effort is to sustain those wholesome qualities so that they develop strength and maturity, becoming a power of the mind. This is the pathway, in terms of the Four Great Efforts, to the abandoning of the outflows of the mind.

So this evening I want to give you these words of encouragement and would just like to express my anumodanā (joy and appreciation) and sādhu (expression of “it is well”) for your practice. May you continue to progress and develop on the path to nibbāna.

Looking After Your Mind

Venerable Ajahn Karuniko

November, 2004

“In life we don’t know what challenges will be presented to us, or what things will come to us, but if one does develop this strength in one’s heart, this ability to look after one’s mind and heart, then it gives us a sense of confidence to be able to deal with the things that come our way; to be able to deal with any sorts of difficulties that come our way.”

The ability to look after one’s mind is often stressed in the teachings of the Lord Buddha, and is an expression we hear a lot from our teachers in Thailand. In fact it’s one of the phrases that Luang Por Tui, a well know Thai monk, is able to say in English. I know this because he said it to me one morning. He said, “Look after your mind.” And this is an important thing to develop, both for ourselves and for the people around us, because the way we are affects the people we come into contact and interact with — our family, friends, the people at work, and so on. Really, this is one of the main reasons why we practice meditation: to develop the skill of looking after our minds, both in terms of trying to maintain what might be considered a reasonable wholesome state of mind, and also to be able to notice when the mind is going into things that are not so wholesome, and learning the skill of not letting the mind follow those things.

This has been a particular matter of contemplation for me lately because next Friday I go back to England, as it’s Christmas I’ll be visiting my family. Now, I haven’t been with my family for over two years, so I don’t know how they’ll be doing. I have spoken with them over the phone, but there is nothing like real “live contact” with them to see how they are doing. So in preparation I have been contemplating, for my own sake and for theirs, the skill of maintaining something wholesome in my mind both in terms of the circumstances I will be in around Christmas time, and how I will interact with my family. This is because those who have developed some awareness through meditation understand that our minds are affected by the circumstances and the people around us, that it’s important to know how our mind is affected, and understand the importance, in some instances, of not allowing it to get caught into those sorts of effects.

There is one teaching in the scriptures where the Buddha is looking at a log floating down a river and he says to the monks, “Monks, if that log doesn’t get stuck it will reach the ocean.” The Buddha went on to say it’s the same with our mind: if our mind doesn’t get stuck it will reach the highest happiness, the happiness of nibbāna (complete ending of suffering). The Buddha then talked about several ways in which the mind can get stuck, one being that the log can get stuck on the island of conceit — we get caught up in ourselves. Another way the log doesn’t reach the ocean is that it gets carried away by human beings: when the people around us get excited, we get excited; when the people around us get depressed, we get depressed. How often do we just get caught into the mood of the people around us? This is what can happen in our mind: we can just get carried away by the people and the situation around us ― lose our mindfulness and lose our center.

I suppose Christmas is a time this comes to my mind because I’ve noticed that people get into this sort of party mode around then. All the hype, all the publicity, all the adverts get people into this sort of very stimulated excited mode. When I was a layman the people around me at work, especially during the last days of work before Christmas time, would get really excited and frivolous and I could feel the tendency to get pulled into that myself. I realized that if I became caught into that mode, then I would become careless and heedless and end up saying and doing things I would later regret, which wouldn’t leave me in a very wholesome state of mind at the end of it either.

Usually on the last day of work at Christmas no one did any work. Everyone just sort of went around with the mistletoe, sharing their wine and other stuff with each other, and they were eating, shouting etc. One of my last Christmases as a layman I decided not to get caught into that; I just stayed at my desk and worked because I found it more peaceful. I sat there just doing my little circuits and, you know, people might have thought I was being a bit of a creep, trying to impress the boss or something, but actually I wasn’t; I was just trying to maintain a wholesome state of mind, just doing my work. People came up to me and I was still friendly with them, but by that time I had already started to establish a bit of a more of, what you could call, “a centeredness of mind”, or mindfulness, and from that standpoint, I could see the unskilfulness of getting caught into the excitement.

I could see the effects it had on the mind. I could see how careless people can be when they are in that state. And I saw how meditation helped: it helped to stay more mindful and centered; it helped to be able to give attention to more ordinary and peaceful things. Even when the people around me were giving attention to more exciting and stimulating things I was able to maintain a sense of balance in myself. And, you know, I even had to be prepared to get criticized for it. That’s because sometimes people blame you for being peaceful, or being a bit more restrained. I must even admit, on occasions I was called “The Buddhist boy”, but it was worth it, because I was able to look after my mind, and not do anything unskilful.

There are a couple nice little points made by Rudyard Kipling that are very much in the spirit of Buddhism that come to my mind here. He remarked, “If you can you keep your head when everyone else around you is losing theirs and blaming it on you…” and he remarked, “Can you live with the hating without getting caught in the hating too…” When people around you are in negative mode, and speaking in negative ways, can you not get caught up in the moods of those around you?

There is one person in my family who has depression and they have a lot of negative things to say, which I sometimes have to sit and listen to over and over again. Through mindfulness I’ve noticed the effects of that on my mind: I don’t tend to get caught into negativity, but there is this tendency to sort of want to move away from them. However, with mindfulness, I would choose to just stay with the situation and notice the discomfort, and try to steer the thought processes to something more skilful. Because, you know, even if the other person is speaking the truth and even if they are blaming something that in a way is blamable, just to dwell on negative things is not helpful and makes the person and the people around them more depressed. So I try to steer people’s minds to more skilful things and to more skilful ways of looking at them.

Mindfulness really helped me again here, because sometimes it would come to the point where I would have the thought, “Enough: we’ve sat here for a couple of hours…” I would then excuse myself, go up to my room, and I would just breathe in and out and think of this person as I recollected “May they be well and happy” — I would just keep this thought in mind. And, you know, because of the meditation my mind was refreshed, and I could go back for the next round. I felt a little bit like I was in a boxing match. You know, like how between the rounds they go into the corner of the ring and get washed and wiped down with a towel? It was a little like that; the breath just washing my mind and helping to let go of the effects of the conversation. And then I would go back a bit more refreshed. That’s the skill of meditation being applied in everyday life. We can learn this skill of just putting things down; then afterwards we can come back to things in a more refreshed way, a more clear way, and a more energized way.

If we don’t learn how to look after the mind, if we just let things drag us down, then in many situations there will be two people suffering instead of one. If we can look after our mind, then at least we are not suffering ― there’s at least one person who is not suffering in the situation ― and there’s also the possibility that we can uplift the other person, too. At least there’s a possibility. But sometimes we can’t, sometimes that’s the way it is. There are some people that no matter how much we try to encourage them it doesn’t seem to help, it doesn’t seem to do anything beneficial.

This brings to mind certain Buddhist principles. For instance, I can only really be ultimately responsible for my own mind and can’t be responsible for everybody else’s, and the principle that people are the owners of their own kamma. And, you know, if I think it’s my responsibility to keep everybody around me happy and in a good state of mind then I’m going to be very disappointed, very frustrated, but if I make the priority to look after my own mind, and then do what I can to help others from there, I have a more feasible chance of looking after both myself and others.

Many of you have flown in airplanes. At the beginning of the flight they give you a little talk about the safety regulations onboard the airplane and instruct you on how to use the oxygen mask. They tell you, “Before you put the oxygen mask on your child, put the oxygen mask on yourself first,” and that can be a helpful thing to contemplate. Why do they tell you that? When you think about it that’s the sensible thing to do, because the air is quickly depleting in the airplane, and if you’re suffocating from a lack of oxygen while struggling to get an oxygen mask onto your child the two of you are likely to suffocate, aren’t you? But at least if you have your own oxygen mask on, and you look after yourself, then no matter how long it takes for the child to put theirs on, you can stay with them and try to help them, can’t you? Because you looked after yourself you can look after your child, and two people are less likely to suffocate. So it’s the same principle with looking after our own minds: by looking after our own mind we are in a better position to look after others. Looking after ourselves, we look after others.

Another thing I used to do when I went home at Christmas was to try and convert my parents. My father brought me up with social-political principles, which means that he always told me that, “Religion is the opium of the masses.” So you can see that I had a bit of a challenge ahead of me there. I noticed that when I went home with the intention to convert, it was also kind of like a boxing match; as though I was hitting my father with my Buddhist ideals and my father hitting me with his social-political ideals, and it wasn’t very peaceful at all. I also noticed that when I came away I didn’t feel very good because it was just a few days of arguing, you know, two people trying to make each other have their views. It didn’t do any good really.

So after doing this a few times, one Christmas I decided to go home with the intention not to say anything about Buddhism, instead just to go home and be with my parents and maintain the reflection, “May they be well”, and simply maintain a sense of mettā (goodwill) towards my parents. I made that my goal; not to convert, nor to convince, but just to maintain a wholesome state of mind. Even when I saw my parents doing some things that were not in line with Buddhist principles, like my dad getting his whisky bottle out on Christmas Eve, I would hold the thought, “May they be well.” And you know, that Christmas ended up going a lot better than the ones before.

I also found that from that time on, because I was more able to maintain a wholesome state of mind towards my parent’s and the situation that I was in, my parent’s got a bit more interested in what I was doing. I also decided to help them around the house a bit: I helped them with the washing up, and I helped do this and that, and just did good things to help them. Really, what seemed to speak louder than my words was the way I was and my actions; so we can say, “Actions speak louder than words”.

Another thing that comes to mind, in terms of looking after it, is that in life we don’t know what challenges will be presented to us, or what things will come to us, but if one does develop this strength in one’s heart, this ability to look after one’s mind and heart, then it gives us a sense of confidence to be able to deal with the things that come our way; to be able to deal with any sorts of difficulties that come our way.

The way some of our Thai teachers train their monks is to challenge them sometimes. They do this in order to strengthen their minds and their practices. Thai teachers send their monks to live in a forest with tigers around to challenge them to maintain their centeredness, their “Buddho”, even when there is a tiger walking around their mosquito nets.

Now in England we don’t have many tigers, but, unlike Thailand where the Thai people are very nice and friendly towards you, in England you get some pretty rough characters coming around the monastery, and sometimes they have really presented a few challenges for us. In the early days of the Amravati monastery we used to get these wafers coming through. Wafers are people who just live on the road. We had one memorable wafer who came through who used to be in the army, and was a bit of a rough character, but seemed to have some interest in Buddhism, in meditation, and he helped out with the work and kept the routine. But sometimes, after living in the monastery for a few days, what happens is you find your old habits die hard, and there was a pub down the road. Now at this time we had a rotor of a couple of monks who would keep guard on the meditation hall after closing time, because we had a problem with some of these lads coming up in their cars and driving around the monastery at night. To look after things we decided to have some monks stay up late and keep watch over the place.

So I was with this other monk in the meditation hall there and we bumped into this chap as he was coming out of the kitchen eating something ― and you know in the monastery you are not allowed an evening meal. My fellow monk said to him, “You know we keep precepts in the monastery. We don’t take too kindly towards people who are not keeping them,” and because he had been in the pub he was drunk and just blew up, and his fists came up. I reacted to that with fear — and believe me my knees were knocking — because he did look like he was going to lay into us.

What mindfulness helped me with was to be able to just stay with my reactions: to be centered with the feelings in my stomach and my knees knocking as he was raging at us and clenching his fists. And, interestingly enough, what came out of maintaining that centeredness was I sort of put my handhold onto the wrist of his clenched fist and said, “Please, no violence.” I don’t know where that came from; it just came from maintaining mindfulness again instead of getting caught up in my reactions. It was interesting how at the same time it seemed to diffuse the situation; he started to calm down after that. But if I had reacted back towards him with the threat of violence then, you know, that’s a fight isn’t it? So this is why the Buddha taught that it’s important to try and maintain calmness, because you have the possibility of calming the situation, whereas if you get angry back at the person then it becomes a fist fight, or a verbal fight, or something.

There is a story in the suttas in which the Buddha is being verbally abused. A person from the brahmin caste was calling him all sorts of names ― all the bad names you could call somebody in those days like pig and dog, probably things like that ― and the Buddha just carried on walking on his almsround in the morning as this brahmin was hurling abuse at him. The brahmin noticed that the Buddha wasn’t getting upset at the things he said so he went to him and said, “I’ve been calling you all these names but you don’t seem to get angry with me.” The Buddha replied, “Well brahmin it’s like this: if you have some gifts, and you want to give them to somebody, but if that person does not accept those gifts, who do the gifts belong to?” The brahmin said, “Well, they still belong to me,” and the Buddha’s reply was, “Well I don’t accept your anger”.

This is a skill of meditation; noticing our tendencies and reactions, but not getting caught in them, and not reacting to them in unskilful ways. This means the ability to just come back to awareness of something like the body, even just to the physical reactions; not getting caught into the angry thoughts, just coming back to something physical.

I’ve done a lot of walking meditation over my life and so I’ve learned the skill of coming back to the body and it’s very helpful for maintaining a sense of composure. It has helped me in my daily life, like when taking the tube train. We can easily be affected by the people around us when taking the tube train.

You’re walking down the tunnel towards the platform and you hear the train coming, and there are crowds of people and everyone starts to rush and, you know, you feel a pull: everyone’s getting into this rushing mode and there’s this pull to rush along with them. But when you consider that these two trains come every five minutes and that if you rush and struggle and push, get caught into the hassle to try and get on the first one, then you’ll lose your composure, won’t you? So instead you can try to stay with the body; to come back to the walking, just feeling your feet touching the earth and the people running by, and you can stay calm. You can actually feel calm, and then you can go back to the platform, and in a few minutes another train comes and you calmly get on the next train.

That’s the skill of not getting sucked into the mentality of the people all around us. If we develop a meditation object, the breath or the body — you know, something that we are mindful of — then it’s something we can always use. It helps us to be more aware of what the mind’s reacting to, what it’s doing, and it gives us something skilful to turn to when the mind has a tendency to go towards unskilful things. So if you really develop a solid meditation object it becomes a really good friend in your life. It really helps you to look after your mind, to protect your mind.

But, you know, the Buddha in his wisdom also did talk about the conditions for bringing up wholesome states of mind. The first one on the list for doing this, for the growth of wholesome states, is association with good people. He said, “The people you associate with are important.” There’s a nice Buddhist story that reflects this principle.

This is a story about an elephant, the king’s elephant. This king’s elephant was very dear to the king, and it was actually given the name “Angel Face”, and he was a very amenable, nice elephant that the king was fond of. But then for some reason this elephant started to behave aggressively, and became more aggressive and more agitated, and it got worse and worse until it reached the point when the elephant picked up its keeper with its trunk and threw him out of the compound. So you know the king was very sad, because he was very fond of this elephant and he really didn’t want to have it put down.

Fortunately the king had a wise minister. So he summoned him, explained the situation, and the wise minister replied, “Ok, I shall look into it.”

So the wise minister decided to stay around the elephant to see what was happening, and in the dead of the night what he saw was this group of robbers and thieves assembling next to the compound of the elephant, holding their meetings there. They discussed ways of stealing things and killing people; they discussed all the sorts of nasty things that people sometimes do. All of this aggressive talk about violence and robbery, combined with the mind states of those people, was what had affected the elephant. Understanding this, the wise minister went back to the king and explained the situation. And of course the king had the robbers arrested.

Then the wise minister said, “Ok, now here’s a little remedy: what if we invited the monks to go and meditate next to the elephant and give it a blessing?” So the king invited the monks to go and meditate and chant close by to the elephant; and sure enough the elephant went back to its original good nature.

This is just a story about association with others and the way our reactions are affected by the people around us. If we take time to associate with wholesome things ― people who are practicing the spiritual path and people who are accomplished in the practice ― these things can have a very good effect on our practice. Things like going into wholesome environments, meditating, listening to the teachings and so on.

Sometimes we don’t feel in the mood, maybe we think, “Oh, I’m not in the mood for going to the monastery.” Well, actually, maybe that’s the time we should go. When you are in sort of a bad mood and you go into a wholesome environment it can help to transform or change you.

When I first started to meditate I used to go to the Hampstead Vihara, and some days I would go there and feel terrible, you know, after an awful day of work. And I would be slumped and sort of heaped over, and I wouldn’t be sitting very upright. One time I was feeling miserable and really had to force myself to go there with the miserable feeling inside me, and I sat through the meditation feeling miserable. Then as the monks got up to leave we made our gesture of respect in añjali, and I remember just looking down making my añjali when these two feet stopped moving in front of me. They were very big feet; they belonged to Ajahn Sumedho. And when his feet stopped in front of me, I looked up, and Ajahn Sumedho looked at me with a really big smile and said, “How are you Christopher?” — I was called Christopher in those days — and as he said that this whole heaviness of my mind just lifted. I always remember that.

You know, when you’re in a bad mood like that, sometimes you just want to distract yourself, not go to the monastery, not to put in the effort to do wholesome things; but if I’d stayed at home I would probably have just watched television and become more miserable. That’s been the effect I’ve experienced just being around wholesome people who are practicing Dhamma.

The other occasion I found really striking was when Ajahn Chah came to England. I would go to the Hampstead Vihara when Ajahn Chah was staying there for about a couple of weeks. The most unusual thing about this was that, when he was there, I started having really good meditation and it was really peaceful. Usually I would sit there with a lot of restlessness and pain in those days, as I hadn’t been meditating very long, but this little, round, strange looking character came in and, “Woo”, I started feeling quite peaceful. And, you know, that to me is the effect of a very pure being, of being in the presence of a very pure being. He had so much kindness for people and he was such a joyful character, that just being around someone like that had a very strong effect on my mind.

Now, we can’t always be around a very pure being like Ajahn Chah, but as long as the environment is some sort of wholesome place where people are trying to cultivate good things, that’s what’s most important. Whether there are pure beings there or not, at least the people there are trying to do something good. This can be something that’s helpful.

It’s coming up to Christmas. When you think about Christmas, the meaning of Christmas, really it’s about goodwill ― the teachings of Christ and the spirit of Christmas are about goodwill. It’s not about the parties and the programs on the television, or the more exciting things that are happening, rather it’s about goodwill. This is something to keep in mind no matter what the people around us are doing. Just trying to keep in mind that Christmas is about goodwill, it’s about friendliness, it’s about mettā. And, you know, even in the Buddha’s teaching, when people asked, “What is the way to go to heaven?” the Buddha would reply, “Well, develop the mind of lovingkindness: that’s the path to heaven.” So it’s no different from Buddhism in that respect. Or you could say, “God is Love, Jesus is Love” — it’s about* mettā* isn’t it? You can try to view Christmas in this way. Even when you see the people around you doing unskilful sorts of things just think, in the spirit of Christmas, thoughts of mettā: “May they be well and happy, free from suffering”.

I have made a plan for Christmas day, and this is my own little mettā contribution, I have this idea to go up to my room on Christmas day and light a candle in my room, and I’ll reflect, “Just like the light and the warmth of this candle goes out in all directions, in the same way, may all beings be well and happy in all directions.” And I’ll probably appreciate it. That will be a very nice contribution to Christmas, just sending out a few thoughts of goodwill and doing a meditation on lovingkindness towards all living beings. I think Christ would approve of that, more so than going out and getting drunk, or just watching television all night.

This is another way to look after the mind. If you develop thoughts of lovingkindness, if you sincerely develop them, then this will really help in terms of not getting caught into negativity and letting negative mental states overwhelm the mind. It will really help protect the mind from negative influences, if you develop that. It’s a meditation very much recommended by the Buddha, it has wonderful results if one cultivates it, and you can see it’s also a way to look after your mind.

These are a few thoughts I have to share with you at this time. Look after your minds. By looking after yourself, you look after others. And, you know, you can’t always look after everyone else’s mind, but you can look after your own. And that’s important. So I hope you manage to keep your head this Christmas, even when people around you are losing theirs, and blaming it on you.

Gratitude: To those who have helped us

1. Gratitude

2. A Paṭirūpadesa

3. The Sublime Buddho Mind

4. Giving with Full Relinquishment

5. Establishing the Marks of a True Human

6. Patience and Practice: Through Our Moods

7. Training in Sense Restraint

8. Ajahn Chah’s Way of Training Monks

9. The Way to Understand Nature

10. The Three Main Dangers for Young Monks

11. Clarifying the Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta

12. Wandering on Tudong

13. Why We Practice: Generosity, Morality, and Meditation

14. Committing to the Practice

15. Building a Monk in the Heart

16. Abandoning Accumulations: Through Great Effort

17. Looking After Your Mind