Introduction

These talks — except for the two marked otherwise — were originally given for the benefit of Mrs. Pow Panga Vathanakul, a follower of Venerable Acariya Maha Boowa who had contracted cancer of the bone marrow and had come to practice meditation at Wat Pa Baan Taad in order to contend with the pain of the disease and the fact of her approaching death. All in all, she stayed at Wat Pa Baan Taad for 102 days, from November 9, 1975 to February 19, 1976; during that period Venerable Acariya Maha Boowa gave 84 impromptu talks for her benefit, all of which were tape recorded.

After her death in September, 1976, one of her friends, M.R. Sermsri Kasemsri, asked permission of the Venerable Acariya to transcribe the talks and print them in book form. Seventy-seven of the talks, plus an additional eight talks given on other occasions, were thus printed in two massive volumes together totaling more than 1,000 pages. Six talks from these two volumes have already been translated into English and published in a book entitled Amata Dhamma.

The talks in the present collection all deal with the practice of meditation, and particularly with the development of discernment. Because their style of presentation is personal and impromptu, they will probably be best understood if read in conjunction with a more systematic introduction to the techniques of meditation, such as the Venerable Acariya's own book, Wisdom Develops Samadhi, which is available separately or as part of the volume, Forest Dhamma.

The title of the present book is taken from a request, frequently made by the Venerable Acariya to his listeners, that his teachings be taken to heart, because they come straight from the heart.

Thanissaro Bhikkhu
Rayong
June, 1987

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The Language of the Heart

The Venerable Acariya Mun taught that all hearts have the same language. No matter what one's language or nationality, the heart has nothing but simple awareness, which is why he said that all hearts have the same language. When a thought arises, we understand it, but when we put it into words, it has to become this or that language, so that we don't really understand one another. The feelings within the heart, though, are the same for everyone. This is why the Dhamma fits the heart perfectly, because the Dhamma isn't any particular language. The Dhamma is the language of the heart. The Dhamma resides with the heart.

Pleasure and pain reside with the heart. The acts that create pleasure and pain are thought up by the heart. The heart is what knows the results that appear as pleasure and pain; and the heart is burdened with the outcome of its own thoughts. This is why the heart and the Dhamma fit perfectly. No matter what our language or nationality, we can all understand the Dhamma because the heart and the Dhamma are a natural pair.

The heart forms the core within the body. It's the core, the substance, the primary essence within the body. It's the basic foundation. The conditions that arise from the mind, such as thought-formations, appear and vanish, again and again. Here I'm referring to the rippling of the mind. When the mind ripples, that's the formation of a thought. Labels, which deal with conjecturing, memorizing, and recognizing, are termed sañña. 'Long' thoughts are sañña; short thoughts are sankhara. In other words, when a thought forms — 'blip' — that's a sankhara. Sañña refers to labeling and recognizing. Viññana refers to the act of taking note when anything external comes and makes contact with the senses, as when visible forms make contact with the eye and cognition results. All of these things are constantly arising and vanishing of their own accord, and so the Buddha called them khandhas. Each 'heap' or 'group' is called a khandha. These five heaps of khandhas are constantly arising and vanishing all the time.

Even arahants have these same conditions — just like ordinary people everywhere — the only difference being that the arahants' khandhas are khandhas pure and simple, without any defilements giving them orders, making them do this or think that. Instead, their khandhas think out of their own free nature, with nothing forcing them to think this or that, unlike the minds of ordinary people in general.

To make a comparison, the khandhas of ordinary people are like prisoners, constantly being ordered about. Their various thoughts, labels, assumptions, and interpretations have something that orders and forces them to appear, making them think, assume, and interpret in this way or that. In other words, they have defilements as their boss, their leader, ordering them to appear.

Arahants, however, don't. When a thought forms, it simply forms. Once it forms, it simply disappears. There's no seed to continue it, no seed to weigh the mind down, because there's nothing to force it, unlike the khandhas governed by defilements or under the leadership of defilements. This is where the difference lies.

But their basic nature is the same: All the khandhas we have mentioned are inconstant (aniccam). In other words, instability and changeability are a regular part of their nature, beginning with the rupa khandha, our body, and the vedana khandha, feelings of pleasure, pain, and indifference. These things appear and vanish, again and again. Sañña, sankhara, and viññana are also always in a state of appearing and vanishing as a normal part of their nature.

But as for actual awareness — which forms the basis of our knowledge of the various things that arise and vanish — that doesn't vanish. We can say that the mind can't vanish. We can say that the mind can't arise. A mind that has been purified thus has no more problems concerning the birth and death of the body and the khandhas; and thus there is no more birth here and there, appearing in crude forms such as individuals or as living beings, for those whose minds have been purified.

But those whose minds are not purified: They are the ones who take birth and die, setting their sights on cemeteries without end, all because of this undying mind.

This is why the Lord Buddha taught the world, and in particular the world of human beings, who know right and wrong, good and evil; who know how to foster the one and remedy the other; who understand the language of the Dhamma he taught. This is why he taught the human world above and beyond the other worlds: so that we could try to remedy the things that are harmful and detrimental, removing them from our thoughts, words, and deeds; try to nourish and foster whatever goodness we might already have, and give rise to whatever goodness we don't yet have.

He taught us to foster and develop the goodness we already have so as to nourish the heart, giving it refreshment and well-being, giving it a standard of quality, or goodness, so that when it leaves its present body to head for whatever place or level of being, this mind that has been constantly nourished with goodness will be a good mind. Wherever it fares, it will fare well. Wherever it takes birth, it will be born well. Wherever it lives, it will live well. It will keep on experiencing well-being and happiness until it gains the capacity, the potential, the accumulation of merit it has developed progressively from the past into the present — in other words, yesterday is today's past, today is tomorrow's past, all of which are days in which we have fostered and developed goodness step by step — to the point where the mind has the firm strength and ability, from the supporting power of this goodness, that enables it to pass over and gain release.

Such a mind has no more birth, not even in the most quiet or refined levels of being that contain any latent traces of conventional reality (sammati) — namely, birth and death as we currently experience it. Such a mind goes completely beyond all such things. Here I'm referring to the minds of the Buddhas and of the arahants.

There's a story about Ven. Vangisa that has a bearing on this. Ven. Vangisa, when he was a layman, was very talented in divining the level of being in which the mind of a dead person was reborn — no matter who the person was. You couldn't quite say he was a fortuneteller. Actually he was more a master of psychic skills. When anyone died, he would take that person's skull and knock on it — knock! knock! knock! — focus his mind, and then know that this person was reborn there, that person was reborn here. If the person was reborn in hell or in heaven, as a common animal or a hungry ghost, he could tell in every case, without any hesitation. All he needed was to knock on the skull.

When he heard his friends say that the Buddha was many times more talented than this, he wanted to expand on his knowledge. So he went to the Buddha's presence to ask for further training in this science. When he reached the Buddha, the Buddha gave him the skull of an arahant to knock on.

'All right, see if you can tell where he was reborn.'

Ven. Vangisa knocked on the skull and listened.

Silence.

He knocked again and listened.

Silence.

He thought for a moment.

Silence.

He focused his mind.

Silence.

He couldn't see where the owner of the skull was reborn. At his wit's end, he confessed frankly that he didn't know where the arahant was reborn.

At first, Ven. Vangisa had thought himself talented and smart, and had planned to challenge the Buddha before asking for further training. But when he reached the Buddha, the Buddha gave him the skull of an arahant to knock on — and right there he was stymied. So now he genuinely wanted further training. Once he had further training, he'd really be something special. This being the way things stood, he asked to study with the Buddha. So the Buddha taught him the science, taught him the method — in other words, the science of the Dhamma. Ven. Vangisa practiced and practiced until finally he attained arahantship. From then on he was no longer interested in knocking on anyone's skull except for his own. Once he had known clearly, that was the end of the matter. This is called 'knocking on the right skull.'

Once the Buddha had brought up the topic of the mind that doesn't experience rebirth — the skull of one whose mind was purified — no matter how many times Ven. Vangisa knocked on it, he couldn't know where the mind was reborn, even though he had been very talented before, for the place of a pure mind's rebirth cannot be found.

The same was true in the case of Ven. Godhika: This story should serve as quite some food for thought. Ven. Godhika went to practice meditation, made progress step by step, but then regressed. They say this happened six times. After the seventh time, he took a razor to slash his throat — he was so depressed — but then came to his senses, contemplated the Dhamma, and became an arahant at the last minute. That's the story in brief. When he died, Mara's hordes searched for his spirit. To put it simply, they stirred up a storm, but couldn't tell where he had been reborn.

So the Lord Buddha said, 'No matter how much you dig or search or investigate to find the spirit of our son, Godhika, who has completely finished his task, you won't be able to find it — even if you turn the world upside down — because such a task lies beyond the scope of conventional reality.' How could they possibly find it? It's beyond the capacity of people with defilements to know the power of an arahant's mind.

In the realm of convention, there is no one who can trace the path of an arahant's mind, because an arahant lies beyond convention, even though his is a mind just the same. Think about it: Even our stumbling and crawling mind, when it is continually cleansed without stop, without ceasing, without letting perseverance lag, will gradually become more and more refined until it reaches the limit of refinement. Then the refinement will disappear — because refinement is a matter of conventional reality — leaving a nature of solid gold, or solid Dhamma, called a pure mind. We too will then have no more problems, just like the arahants, because our mind will have become a superlative mind, just like the minds of those who have already gained release.

All minds of this sort are the same, with no distinction between women and men, which is simply a matter of sex or convention. With the mind, there is no distinction between women and men, and thus both women and men have the same capacity in the area of the Dhamma. Both are capable of attaining the various levels of Dhamma all the way to release. There are no restrictions that can be imposed in this area. All that is needed is that we develop enough ability and potential, and then we can all go beyond.

For this reason, we should all make an effort to train our hearts and minds. At the very least, we should get the mind to attain stillness and peace with any of the meditation themes that can lull it into a state of calm, giving rise to peace and well-being within it. For example, mindfulness of breathing, which is one of the primary themes in meditation circles, seems to suit the temperaments of more people than any other theme. But whatever the theme, take it as a governing principle, a refuge, a mainstay for the mind, putting it into practice within your own mind so as to attain rest and peace.

When the mind begins to settle down, we will begin to see its essential nature and worth. We will begin to see what the heart is and how it is. In other words, when the mind gathers all of its currents into a single point, as simple awareness within itself, this is what is called the 'mind' (citta). The gathering in of the mind occurs on different levels, corresponding to the mind's ability and to the different stages of its refinement. Even if the mind is still on a crude level, we can nevertheless know it when it gathers inwardly. When the mind becomes more and more refined, we will know its refinement — 'This mind is refined... This mind is radiant... This mind is extremely still... This mind is something extremely amazing' — more and more, step by step, this very same mind!

In cleansing and training the mind for the sake of stillness; in investigating, probing, and solving the problems of the mind with discernment (pañña) — which is the way of making the mind progress, or of enabling us to reach the truth of the mind, step by step, through the means already mentioned — no matter how crude the mind may be, don't worry about it. If we get down to making the effort and persevere continually with what diligence and persistence we have, that crudeness will gradually fade away and vanish. Refinement will gradually appear through our own actions or our own striving until we are able to go beyond and gain release by slashing the defilements to bits. This holds true for all of us, men and women alike.

But while we aren't yet able to do so, we shouldn't be anxious. All that is asked is that we make the mind principled so that it can be a refuge and a mainstay for itself. As for this body, we've been relying on it ever since the day we were born. This is something we all can know. We've made it live, lie down, urinate, defecate, work, make a living. We've used it, and it has used us. We order it around, and it orders us around. For instance, we've made it work, and it has made us suffer with aches here and pains there, so that we have to search for medicine to treat it. It's the one that hurts, and it's the one that searches for medicine. It's the one that provides the means. And so we keep supporting each other back and forth in this way.

It's hard to tell who is in charge, the body or us. We can order it around part of the time, but it orders us around all the time. Illness, hunger, thirst, sleepiness: These are all nothing but a heap of suffering and stress in which the body orders us around, and orders us from every side. We can order it around only a little bit, so when the time is right for us to give the orders, we should make it meditate.

So. Get to work. As long as the body is functioning normally, then no matter how much or how heavy the work, get right to it. But if the body isn't functioning normally, if you're ill, you need to be conscious of what it can take. As for the mind, though, keep up the effort within, unflaggingly, because it's your essential duty.

You've depended on the body for a long time. Now that it's wearing down, know that it's wearing down — which parts still work, which parts no longer work. You're the one in charge and you know it full well, so make whatever compromises you should.

But as for the heart, which isn't ill along with the body, it should step up its efforts within, so that it won't lack the benefits it should gain. Make the mind have standards and be principled — principled in its living, principled in its dying. Wherever it's born, make it have good principles and satisfactory standards. What they call 'merit' (puñña) won't betray your hopes or expectations. It will provide you with satisfactory circumstances at all times, in keeping with the fact that you've accumulated the merit — the well-being — that all the world wants and of which no one has enough. In other words, what the world wants is well-being, whatever the sort, and in particular the well-being of the mind that will arise step by step from having done things, such as meditation, which are noble and good.

This is the well-being that forms a core or an important essence within the heart. We should strive, then, while the body is still functioning, for when life comes to an end, nothing more can be done. No matter how little or how much we have accomplished, we must stop at that point. We stop our work, put it aside, and then reap its rewards — there, in the next life. Whatever we should be capable of doing, we do. If we can go beyond or gain release, that's the end of every problem. There will then be nothing to involve us in any turmoil.

Here I've been talking about the mind because the mind is the primary issue. That which will make us fare well or badly, meet with pleasure or pain, is nothing else but the mind.

As for what they call bad kamma, it lies within the mind that has made it. Whether or not you can remember, these seeds — which lie within the heart — can't be prevented from bearing fruit, because they are rooted in the mind. You have to accept your kamma. Don't find fault with it. Once it's done, it's done, so how can you find fault with it? The hand writes and so the hand must erase. You have to accept it like a good sport. This is the way it is with kamma until you can gain release — which will be the end of the problem.

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The Marvel of the Dhamma

Those who practice the Dhamma will begin to know the Dhamma or to gain a feel for the Dhamma in the area of meditation more markedly than in other areas, and more extensively. For example, the gratification that comes from being generous is moving in one way, the gratification that comes from maintaining the precepts is moving in another way, the feelings of gratification that come from the different forms of goodness are moving in their own separate ways. This is called finding gratification in skillfulness.

But all of these feelings of gratification converge in the practice of meditation. We begin to feel moved from the moment the mind begins to grow still, when the heart gathers its currents together to stand solely on its own. Even though we may not yet obtain a great deal of stillness from the inward gathering of the mind, we still find ourselves gratified within, in a way we can clearly sense. If the mind or the Dhamma were a material object, there wouldn't be anyone in the world who wouldn't respect the religion, because the goodness, the well-being, and the marvels that arise from the religion and from the practicing in line with the teachings of the religion are things desired the world over.

Goodness, well-being, marvels: These are things the world has always desired from time immemorial — with a desire that has never lost its taste — and they are things that will always be desired until the world loses its meaning, or until people become extinct, having no more sense of good and evil. That's when the world will no longer aspire for these great blessings. The well-being that comes from the marvels — the Dhamma in the area of its results — is something to which all living beings aspire, simply that their abilities differ, so that some attain their aspirations, while others don't.

But the Dhamma can't be displayed for the world to perceive with its senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste, or touch in the way other things can. Even though there may be other immaterial phenomena similar to the Dhamma — such as smells — still they aren't like the true Dhamma that is touched by the hearts of those who have practiced it. If the Dhamma could be displayed like material objects, there is no doubt but that the human world would have to respect the religion for the sake of that Dhamma. This is because the Dhamma is something more marvelous than anything else. In all the three levels of existence, there is no greater marvel than in the Dhamma.

The Dhamma can appear as a marvel, conspicuous and clear in the mind. The mind is what knows it — and only the mind. It can't be displayed in general like material objects, as when we take things out to admire or to show off to others. The Dhamma can't possibly be displayed like material objects. This is what makes the world lack interest — and lack the things that could be hoped from the Dhamma — in a way that is really a shame.

Even those who want the marvel of the Dhamma don't know what the marvel is, or what the profundity of the Dhamma is, because the mind has never had contact with that profundity. The eye has never had contact with the marvel. The ear has never obtained any marvel from the current of the Dhamma, because the Dhamma can't be displayed as a current of sound as other things can. This is one obstacle that prevents people from becoming moved by the Dhamma, that prevents them from fully believing and fully entrusting themselves to the Dhamma in a way consistent with the world's long-felt hunger for well-being and prosperity.

Each of the Buddhas who has gained Awakening and taught the Dhamma to the world has had to reflect to the full extent of his intelligence and ability on the myriad ways of teaching the Dhamma to the world so that the world could see it as a marvel, inasmuch as the Dhamma can't be put in shop windows or in public places. This is because the true Dhamma lies in the heart and reveals itself only in words and deeds, which doesn't excite a gratifying sense of absorption in the same way as touching the Dhamma directly with the heart.

Because there is no way to display the Dhamma directly, the Buddhas display it indirectly through teaching. They point out the causes — the Dhamma of conduct and practices leading to the Dhamma of results at this or that point or this or that level; and at the same time they proclaim the results — the excellence, the marvels of the stages and levels of the Dhamma that can be touched with the heart, all the way to the highest marvel, vimutti, the mental release called nibbana within the heart.

Every Buddha has to devise strategies in teaching the Dhamma so as to bring that marvel out to the world by using various modes of speech and conduct — for example, describing the Dhamma and showing the conduct of the Dhamma as being like this and that — but the actual Dhamma can't be shown. It is something known exclusively in the heart, in the way in which each Buddha and each arahant possesses this marvel. None of the Buddhas, none of the arahants who possess this marvel are in any way deficient in this regard.

The marvel lies in their hearts — simply that they can't take the marvel that appears there and display it in the full measure of its wonder. Thus they devise strategies for displaying it in their actions, which are simply attributes of the Dhamma, not the actual Dhamma itself. For instance, the doctrine they teach in the texts is simply an attribute of the Dhamma. Their act of teaching is also just an attribute of the Dhamma. The actual Dhamma is when a meditator or a person who listens to their teachings about the Dhamma follows the Dhamma in practice and touches it stage by stage within his or her own heart. This is called beginning to make contact with the actual Dhamma, step by step. However much contact is made, it gives a sense of gratification felt exclusively within the heart of the person who has gained that contact through his or her own practice.

When it comes to ingenuity in teaching, no one excels the Buddhas. Even so, they reveal only what they see as appropriate for humanity. They can't reveal the actual Dhamma — for example, by taking out the true marvel in their hearts and unfolding it for the world to see, saying, 'This is the marvel of the Tathagata, of each Buddha. Do you see it?' This can't be done, for here we're talking about the marvel of the purity of a heart that was previously swamped with defilement like a heap of assorted excrement, but now has become a pure, unsullied nature, or a pure, amazing nature because of the practice of constantly and relentlessly cleansing it. They can't show that Dhamma to the world, saying, 'Do you see this? Look at it. Look at it. Feast your eyes till they're full and then strive to make this treasure your own!' So instead, they teach by using various strategies for those who practice, describing the path in full detail, in terms both of causes and of results.

What they bring out to show is simply the current of their voices, the breath of their mouths. That's what they bring out to speak, simply the breath of their mouths. They can't bring out the real thing. For example, when they say, 'It's marvelous like this,' it's just sound. The marvelous nature itself can't be brought out. All they can bring out is the action of saying, 'That nature is marvelous,' so that we can speculate for ourselves as to what that marvel is like. Even though this doesn't remove our doubts, it's better than if we had never heard about it at all.

But the basic principle in making us come to know and see the marvel of the Dhamma is that first we have to speculate and then we follow with practice. This qualifies as following the principles of the Dhamma the Buddha taught, and this is fitting and proper. No matter what the difficulties and hardships encountered in following the path, we shouldn't let them form barriers to our progress, because this is where the path lies. There are no other byways that can take us easily to the goal. If our practice is difficult, we have to stick with it. If it's painful, we have to bear it, because it's a duty we have to perform, a burden we have to carry while working so as to attain our aims.

The Dhamma of a pure mind is like this: The mind is the Dhamma, the Dhamma is the mind. We call it a mind only as long as it is still with the body and khandhas. Only then can we call it a pure mind, the mind of a Buddha, or the mind of an arahant. After it passes from the body and khandhas, there is no conventional reality to which it can be compared, and so we can't call it anything at all.

No matter how marvelous that nature, no matter how much it may be ours, there is no possible way we can use conventional realities to describe it or to make comparisons, because that Dhamma, that realm of release, has no conventions against which to measure things or make comparisons. It's the same as if we were in outer space: Which way is north, which way is south, we don't know. If we're on Earth, we can say 'east,' 'west,' 'north,' and 'south' because there are things that we can observe and compare so as to tell which direction lies which way. We take the Earth as our standard. 'High' and 'low' depend on the Earth as their frame of reference. How much higher than this, lower than this, north of this, south of this: These things we can say.

But if we're out in outer space, there is no standard by which we can measure things, and so we can't say. Or as when we go up in an airplane: We can't tell how fast or how slow we're going. When we pass a cloud, we can tell that we're going fast, but if we depend simply on our eyesight, we're sure to think that the speed of the airplane is nowhere near the speed of a car. We can clearly see how deceptive our eyesight is in just this way. When we ride in a car, the trees on both sides of the road look as if they were falling in together down on the road behind us. Actually, they stay their separate selves. It's simply that the car runs past them. Since there are things that we sense, that lie close enough for comparison, it seems as if the car were going really fast.

As for the airplane, there's nothing to make comparisons with, so it looks as if the plane were dawdling along, as if it were going slower than a car, even though it's actually many times faster.

This is how it is when we compare the mind of an ordinary run-of-the-mill person with the mind of the Buddha. Whatever the Buddha says is good and excellent, we ordinary people tend to say that it's not. Whatever we like, no matter how vile, we say that it's good. We don't admit the truth, in the same way as thinking that a car goes faster than an airplane.

The practice of attending to the mind is something very important. Try to develop mindfulness (sati) and discernment so that they can keep up with the things that come and entangle the mind. By and large, the heart itself is the instigator, creating trouble continually, relentlessly. We then fall for the preoccupations the heart turns out — and this makes us agitated, upset, and saddened, all because of the thoughts formed by the heart.

These come from the heart itself, and the heart itself is what falls for them, saying that this is this, and that is that, even though the things it names 'this' and 'that' merely exist in line with their nature. They have no meaning in and of themselves, that they are like ''this' or 'that.' The mind simply gives them meanings, and then falls for its own meanings, making itself glad or sad over those things without end. Thus the stress and suffering that result from thought-formations have no end, no point of resolution, just as if we were floating adrift in the middle of the sea waiting to breathe our last breath.

The Buddhas all reached Awakening here in this human world because the human world is rich in the Noble Truths. It's where they are plain to see. The Noble Truth of stress (dukkha) lies in the human body. Human beings know about stress — because they're smarter than common animals. The Noble Truth of the origin of stress: This lies in the human heart. The Noble Truth of the path — the path of practice to cure defilement (kilesa), craving (tanha), and mental effluents (asava), which are the things that produce stress: This, human beings also know. What is the path? To put it briefly: virtue, concentration, and discernment. These things human beings know and can put into practice. The Noble Truth of the cessation of stress: This, human beings also know. No matter which of these truths, all human beings know them — although they may not know how to behave toward them or take interest in behaving in line with them, in which case there is no way the Dhamma can help them at all.

The Buddhas thus taught the Dhamma in the human world, because the human world lies in the center of all the levels of existence. We have been born in the center of existence, in the midst of the religion. We should conform correctly to the central point of the religion, so as to comprehend the religion's teachings that lie in the center of our heart.

The superlative Dhamma lies right here. It doesn't lie anywhere else. The mind is what can reach the Dhamma. The mind is what knows all dhammas. The affairs of the Dhamma, then, do not lie beyond the mind, which is a fitting vessel for them. Good, evil, pleasure, pain: The mind knows these things before anything else knows them, so we should develop mindfulness and discernment to be resourceful, to keep up with the events that are always becoming involved with the mind in the course of each day.

If we're intent on investigating the origin of stress, which fans out from our various thought-formations, we will find that it arises without stop. It arises right here in the mind. It's fashioned right here. Even though we try to make it quiet, it won't be still. Why? Because of the 'unquietness', the thoughts with which the mind disturbs itself, which it forms and sends out towards its preoccupations (arammana) all the time. Once the mind sends out its thoughts, it then gathers in stress for itself. It keeps at it, in and out like this. What goes out is the origin of stress, and what comes back in is stress. In other words, thoughts form and go out as the origin of stress, and when the results come back to the heart, they're stressful. These things are constantly being manufactured like this all the time.

When we want the mind to have even just a little bit of calm, we really have to force it; and even then these things still manage to drive the mind into forming thoughts whenever we let down our guard. This is how it is with the origin of stress, which is constantly producing suffering. It lies in the heart and is always arising. For this reason, we must use mindfulness and discernment to diagnose and remedy the origin of stress, to keep an eye out for it, and to snuff it out right there, without being negligent. Wherever we sit or stand — whatever our activity — we keep watch over this point, with mindfulness alert to it, and discernment unraveling it so as to know it constantly for what it truly is.

All those who practice to remove defilement practice in this way. In particular, those who are ordained practice by going into the forest to look for a place conducive to their striving in order to wipe out this very enemy. Even when they stay in inhabited areas, or wherever they go, wherever they stay, they keep their attention focused continually, step by step, on the persistent effort to remove and demolish the origin of stress, which is a splinter, a thorn in the heart. Such people are bound to develop more and more ease and well-being, step by step, in proportion to the persistence of their striving.

We can see clearly when the mind is still and settles down: Thought-formations are still, or don't exist. Turmoil and disturbances don't occur. The stress that would otherwise result doesn't appear. When the mind is quiet, stress is also quiet. When thought-formations are quiet, the origin of stress is also quiet. Stress is also quiet. All that remains at that moment is a feeling of peace and ease.

The war between the mind and the defilements causing stress is like this. We have to keep fighting with persistence. We have to use mindfulness and discernment, conviction and persistence to contend with the war that disturbs and ravages the mind, making it stagger and reel within. The disturbances will then gradually be suppressed. Even when there is only a moment of quiet, we will come to see the harm of the thought-formations that are constantly disturbing us. At the same time, we will see the benefits of mental stillness — that it's a genuine pleasure. Whether there is a lot of stillness or a little, pleasure arises in proportion to the foundation of stillness or the strength of the stillness, which in the texts is called samadhi, or concentration.

A mind centered and still is called a mind in concentration, or a mind gathered in concentration. This is what genuine concentration is like inside the heart. The names of the various stages of concentration are everywhere, but actual concentration is inside the heart. The heart is what gives rise to concentration. It produces it, makes it on its own. When concentration is still, the mind experiences cool respite and pleasure. It has its own foundation set firmly and solidly within.

It's as if we were under an eave or under the cooling shade of a tree. We're comfortable when it rains, we're comfortable when the sun is out, because we don't have to be exposed to the sun and rain. The same holds true with a mind that has an inner foundation of stillness: It's not affected by this preoccupation or that, which would otherwise disturb and entangle it repeatedly, without respite. This is because stillness is the heart's dwelling — 'concentration,' which is one level of home for the heart.

Discernment (pañña) is ingenuity, sound judgment, evaluating causes and effects within and without; above, below, and in between — inside the body — all the way to the currents of the mind that send out thoughts from various angles. Mindfulness and discernment keep track of these things, investigating and evaluating them so as to know causes and effects in terms of the heart's thought-formations, or in terms of the nature of sankhara within us, until we see the truth of each of these things.

Don't go investigating these things off target, by being clever with labels and interpretations that go against the truth — because in the investigation of phenomena, we investigate in line with the truth. We don't resist the truth, for that would simply enhance the defilements causing stress at the very moment we think we're investigating phenomena so as to remove them.

Birth we have already experienced. As for old age, we've been growing old from the day of our birth, older and older, step by step. Whatever our age, that's how long we've been growing old, until we reach the end of life. When we're old to the nth degree, we fall apart. In other words, we've been growing old from the moment of birth — older by the day, the month, the year — older and older continually. We call it 'growing up', but actually it's growing old.

See? Investigate it for what it really is. This is the great highway — the way of nature. Don't resist it. For example, the body is growing old, but we don't want it to be old. We want it always to be young. This is called resisting the truth — which is stress. Even when we try to resist it, we don't get anywhere. What do we hope to gain by resisting it and creating stress for ourselves? Actually, we gain nothing but the stress that comes from resisting the truth.

Use discernment to investigate just like this. Whenever pain arises in any part of the body, if we have medicine to treat it, then we treat it. When the medicine can take care of it, the body recovers. When the medicine can't, it dies. It goes on its own. There's no need for us to force it not to die, or to stay alive for so-and-so many years, for that would be an absurdity. Even if we forced it, it wouldn't stay. We wouldn't get any results and would just be wearing ourselves out in vain. The body has to follow its own natural principles.

When we investigate in line with its truth this way, we can be at our ease. Wherever there's pain, keep aware of it continually in line with its truth. Whether it hurts a lot or a little, keep aware of its manifestations until it reaches the ultimate point of pain — the death of the body — and that's as far as it goes.

Know it in line with its truth. Don't resist it. Don't set up any desires, because the setting up of desire is a deficiency, a hunger. And hunger, no matter when or what the sort, is pain: Hunger for sleep is pain, hunger for food is pain, hunger for water is pain. When was it ever a good thing?

The hunger, the desires that arise, wanting things to be like this, wanting them to be like that: These are all nothing but disturbances, issues that give rise to stress and pain. This is why the Buddha doesn't have us resist the truth.

Use your discernment to investigate, to contemplate in line with the natural principles of things as they already are. This is called discernment that doesn't fly in the face of truth — and the heart can then be at ease.

We study the four 'Noble Truths' here in our body. In other words, we study birth, aging, illness, and death, all of which lie in this single heap of elements (dhatu) without ever leaving it. Birth is an affair of these elements. Growing up or growing old, it's old right here. When there's illness, it manages to be ill right here, in one part or another. When death comes, it dies right here. So we have to study right here — where else would we study? We have to study and know the things that involve us directly before we study anything else. We have to study them comprehensively and to completion — studying our own birth, our aging, our illness and pain, and completing our study of our own death. That's when we'll be wise — wise to all the events around us.

People who know the Dhamma through practicing so that they are wise to the events that occur to themselves, do not flinch in the face of any of the conventional realities of the world at all. This is how it is when we study the Dhamma, when we know and see the Dhamma in the area of the heart — in other words, when we know rightly and well. 'Mindfulness and discernment that are wise all around themselves' are wise in this way, not wise simply from being able to remember. They have to be wise in curing doubt, in curing the recalcitrance of the heart, as well as in curing their own attachments and false assumptions so as to leave only a nature that is pure and simple. That's when we'll be really at ease, really relieved.

Let the khandhas be khandhas pure and simple in their own way, without our messing with them, without our struggling with them for power, without our forcing or coercing them to be like this or like that. The khandhas are then khandhas, the mind is then the mind, each with its own separate reality, each not infringing on the others as it used to. Each performs its own duties. This is called khandhas pure and simple, the mind pure and simple, without any conventional realities adulterating them. What knows is what knows, the elements are elements, the khandhas are khandhas.

Whatever things may break apart, let them break apart. We have already known them clearly with our discernment. We have no doubts. We've known them in advance, even before they die, so when death comes, what doubts can we have? — especially now that they display the truth of their nature for us to see clearly. This is called studying the Dhamma, practicing the Dhamma. To study and practice this way is to follow the same way that sages have practiced and known before us.

All of these conditions are matters of conventional reality — matters of the elements, the khandhas, or the sense media (ayatana). The four khandhas, the five khandhas, whatever, are individual conditions, individual conditions that are separated in line with conventions. Discernment is also a condition; and mindfulness, another condition — conditions of the heart — but they're Dhamma, means of curing the mind that is clouded and obscured, means of washing away the things that cloud and obscure it, until radiance appears through the power of the discernment that cleanses the heart. Once the heart is radiant, in the next step it becomes pure.

Why is it pure? Because all impurities have fallen away from it. The various misconstruings that are an affair of defilement are all gone from the heart, so the heart is pure. This pure heart means that we have completed our study of ourselves, in line with the statement of the teaching:

vusitam brahmacariyam katam karaniyam:

'The task of the religion is done, the holy life is complete, there is no further task to be done.'

When the tasks we have had to do — abandoning and striving — are done to completion, we know right here, because delusion lay right here in the heart. We study and practice simply to cure our own delusion. Once we know right here, and delusion is gone, what else is there to know? — for beyond this there is nothing further to know. What else is there for us to be deluded about? We're no longer deluded, because we know fully all around.

This very state of mind: When at the beginning I referred to the superlative Dhamma, the marvelous Dhamma, I was referring to this very state of mind, this very Dhamma — but it's something known exclusively within itself, and exists only within itself. It's marvelous — this we know within our own mind. It's superlative — this we also know within our own mind. We can't take it out or unfurl it like other things for other people to see.

So if you want to have any Noble Treasures to show for yourself, practice. Remove all those dirty stains from the heart, and the superlative things I have mentioned will appear by their own nature — in other words, they will appear in the mind.

This is called completing your study of the Dhamma; and your study of the world is completed right here. The 'world' means the world of elements, the world of the khandhas that lie right here with each of us, which are more important than the worlds of elements and khandhas belonging to other people, because this world of elements and khandhas lies with us and has been weighing on the heart all along.

When we have studied the Dhamma to the attainment of release, that's all there is to study. We've studied the world to completion and studied the Dhamma in full. Our doubts are gone, and there is nothing that will ever make us doubt again. As the Buddha exclaimed, 'When dhammas become apparent to the Brahman, earnest and absorbed, doubt comes to an end because the conditions, the factors for continued being and birth, come to an end.'

Once we have reached this level, we can live wherever we like. The war is ended — the war between the mind and defilement, or the war between Dhamma and defilement, is over. This is where we dismantle being and birth. This is where we dismantle the heap of suffering in the round of rebirth — right here in the heart. Since the heart is the wanderer through the cycle of rebirth, we have to dismantle things right here, to know them right here. Once we know, that's the end of all problems right here.

In this whole wide world there are no problems. The only problem was the issue of the heart that was deluded about itself and about the things that became involved with it. Now that it has completely rectified the way it is involved with things, there is nothing left — and that's the end of the problem.

From this point on, there are no more problems to trouble the heart until the day of its total nibbana. This is how the Dhamma is studied to completion. The world — the world of elements and khandhas — is studied to completion right here.

So keep striving in order to see the marvel described at the beginning, which was described in line with the truth with no aspect to invite any doubt.

The Buddha and the Noble Disciples have Dhamma filling their hearts to the brim. You are a disciple of the Tathagata, with a mind that can be made to show its marvelousness through the practice of making it pure, just like the Buddha and the Noble Disciples. So try to make it still and radiant, because the heart has long lain buried in the mud. As soon as you can see the harm of the mud and grow tired of it, you should urgently wake up, take notice, and exert yourself till you can manage to make your way free. Nibbana is holding its hand out, waiting for you. Aren't you going to come out?

Rebelliousness is simply distraction. The end of rebelliousness is stillness. When the heart is still, it's at ease. If it's not still, it's as hot as fire. Wherever you are, everything is hot and troubled. Once it is still, then it's cool and peaceful wherever you are — cool right here in the heart. So make the heart cool with the practice, because the heat and trouble lie with the heart. The heat of fire is one thing, but the heat of a troubled heart is hotter than fire. Try to put out the fires of defilement, craving, and mental effluents burning here in the heart, so that only the phenomenon of genuine Dhamma remains. Then you will be cool and at peace, everywhere and always.

And so I'll ask to stop here.

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The Prison World vs. the World Outside

Our mind, if we were to make a comparison with the world, is a perpetual prisoner, like a person born in jail who lives in jail, behind bars, with no chance to get out to see the outside world — someone who has grown from childhood to adulthood entirely in a prison cell and so doesn't know what there is outside; someone who has seen pleasure and pain only in the prison and has never been out to see what kind of pleasure, comfort, and freedom they have in the outside world. We have no way of knowing what kind of happiness and enjoyment they have there in the outside world, how they come and go, how they live, because we are kept in prison from the day we are born until the day we die. This is a comparison, an analogy.

We have only the pleasure and pain that the prison has to offer, with nothing special, nothing obtained from the outside world so that when it enters the prison we could see that, 'This is something different from the prison world — this is from the outside world, outside the prison;' so that we could make comparisons and know that, 'This is like this, that is like that; this is better than that, that is better than this.' There is nothing but the affairs of the prison. However much the pleasure and pain, however great the deprivations, the difficulties, the oppression and coercion, that's simply the way it's been all along from the very beginning — and so we don't know where to look for a way out or how to free ourselves. We don't even know where the outside world is, because we have seen only the inside world: the prison where we have always been locked away, oppressed, starved, beaten, tortured, deprived. Even our bedding, food, belongings — everything of every sort — is like that of a prisoner in jail. And yet people like this can still live this way because they have never seen enough of the outside world to be able to make comparisons as to which is better, which is more pleasant, in order to feel inclined to search for a way out to the outside world.

A mind controlled by the power of defilement and mental effluents is like this. It has been imprisoned by various kinds of defilement for aeons and aeons. For example, in our present lifetime, the defilements that hold sway over the hearts of living beings have been with us since the day of our birth. They have kept us in continual custody, never giving us any freedom within ourselves at all. For this reason, we have difficulty imagining what sort of pleasure there could be above and beyond the way things are, just like a person who was born and has always lived in a prison.

What sort of world is the world outside? Is it a good place to visit? A good place to live? The Dhamma proclaims it loud and clear, but hardly anyone is interested. Still, there are fortunately some places where some people are interested. In places where no one proclaims it, where no one speaks of what the outside world — a mind with Dhamma in charge — is like, no one knows what the teachings of the religion are like. No one knows what the happiness that comes from the Dhamma is like. Such people are so surrounded by darkness, so completely drowned in attachment, that not even a single limb shows above the surface, because there is no religion to pull them out. It's as if the outside world didn't exist. They have nothing but the prison, the defilements, holding the heart in custody. Born in this world, they have only the prison as their place to live and to die.

A mind that has never known what could give it greater pleasure, comfort, and freedom than it has at present, if we were to make a different comparison, is like a duck playing in a mud puddle under a shanty. It keeps playing there: splat, splat, splat, splat, splat. No matter how dirty or filthy it is, it's content to play because it has never seen the water of the ocean, of a river, of a lake or a pond large enough for it to swim and immerse its entire body with ease. It has known only the mud puddle that lies stagnant under the shanty, into which things in the shanty get washed down. And so it plays there, thinking it's fun, swimming happily in its way — why? Because it has never seen water wider or deeper than that, enough to give it more enjoyment in coming and going or swimming around than it can find in the mud puddle under the shanty.

As for ducks that live along broad, deep canals, they're very different from the duck under the shanty. They really enjoy themselves along rivers, lakes, canals, and ponds. Wherever their owner herds them, there they go — crossing back and forth over highways and byways, spreading in flocks of hundreds and thousands. Even ducks like these have their happiness.

What do they stand for?

They stand for the mind. A mind that has never seen the pleasure, the comfort, the enjoyment that comes from the Dhamma is like the duck playing in the mud puddle under the shanty, or those that enjoy swimming in canals, rivers, or lakes.

We at present have our pleasure and happiness through the controlling power of the defilements, which is like the happiness of prisoners in jail. When the mind receives training from the outside world — meaning the Dhamma that comes from the transcendent (lokuttara) Dhammas, from the 'land' of nibbana on down, level by level to the human world, revealing every level, every realm — we find that those of us who are inclined, who are interested in the outside world, in happiness greater than that which exists at present, still exist. When we hear the Dhamma step by step, or read books about the outside world — about Dhamma, about releasing ourselves from the pain and suffering we are forced to undergo within our hearts — our minds feel pleasure and enjoyment. Interest. A desire to listen. A desire to practice so as to reap the results step by step. This is where we begin to see the influence of the outside world making itself felt. The heart begins to exert itself, trying to free itself from the tyranny and oppression from within, like that of a prisoner in jail.

Even more so, when we practice in the area of the mind: The more peace we obtain, then the greater the effort, the greater the exertion we make. Mindfulness and discernment gradually appear. We see the harm of the tyranny and the oppression imposed by the defilements in the heart. We see the value of the Dhamma, which is a means of liberation. The more it frees us, the more ease we feel in the heart. Respite. Relief. This then is a means of increasing our conviction in ascending stages, and of increasing our effort and stamina in its wake. The mindfulness and discernment that used to lie buried in the mud gradually revive and awaken, and begin to contemplate and investigate.

In the past, no matter what assaulted us by way of the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind, we were like dead people. We held these things to be ordinary and normal. They never provoked our mindfulness and discernment to investigate and explore, searching for beginnings and ends, causes and effects. Even though these things had been our enemies for a long, long time, making their assaults both day and night, we were never interested.

Now, however, we develop an interest. When the heart begins to enter the current of the Dhamma in which it has been trained to the point of developing a basis for mindfulness and discernment, step by step, it is bound to see clearly both what is beneficial and what is harmful, because these things dwell together — benefits and harm — within this heart. The mind develops agility in contemplating and investigating. The heart develops boldness in its explorations. Seeing harm, it tries to remedy it. Seeing benefits, it tries to open the way for them; it tries to foster them in ascending stages.

This is called the mind gradually gaining release from tyranny and oppression — the prison — within. At the same time, it is gaining a view of the outside world, seeing what sort of world it is, seeing whether it's like the prison that exists at present. Our eyes can see the outside world to some extent, can see how those in the outside world live, how they come and go — and what about us in the prison? What is it like to live overcome by defilements? How does the mind feel as we gain gradual relief from the defilements? We can begin to make comparisons.

Now at last we have an outside world and an inside world to compare! The happiness and ease that come from removing however many of the defilements we can remove, appear. The stress that continues as long as the remaining defilements still exert their influence, we know clearly. We see their harm with our discernment on its various levels and we try continually to remedy the situation without letting our persistence lapse.

This is when mindfulness, discernment, conviction, and persistence stir themselves out to the front lines: when we see both the outside world — however much we have been able to liberate the heart from defilement — and the inside world, where the defilements keep up their oppression and coercion. Before, we never knew what to use for comparisons, because we had never seen anything other than this. Because we were born buried in pain and suffering this way, no pleasure from the outside world — from the Dhamma — ever appeared to us.

What did appear was the kind of happiness that had suffering behind the scenes, waiting to stomp in and obliterate that happiness without giving a moment's notice.

Now, however, we are beginning to know and see. We see the happiness of the outside, that is, of the outside world, of those who have Dhamma reigning in their hearts; and we see the happiness inside the prison, the happiness that lies under the influence of defilement. We also see the suffering and stress that lie under the influence of defilement. We know this all clearly with our own mindfulness and discernment.

The happiness that comes from the outside world — in other words, from the current of the Dhamma seeping deep into the heart — we begin to see, step by step, enough to make comparisons. We see the outside world, the inside world, their benefits and drawbacks. When we take them and compare them, we gain an ever greater understanding — plus greater persistence, greater stamina — to the point that when anything connected with defilement that used to tyrannize and oppress the mind passes our way, we immediately feel called upon to tackle it, remedy it, strip it away, and demolish it step by step through the power of mindfulness and discernment backed by persistent effort.

The mind will set itself spinning. When its awareness of harm is great, its appreciation of what is beneficial is also great. When the desire to know and see the Dhamma is great, when the desire to gain release is great, persistence will have to become greater in their wake. Stamina and resilience will also come in their wake, because they all exist in the same heart. When we see harm, the entire heart is what sees it. When we see benefits, the entire heart is what sees. When we try to make our way with various methods in line with our abilities, it's an affair of the entire heart making the effort to free itself.

This is why these things, such as persistence, that are the mind's tools, the mind's support, come together. For example, saddha, conviction in the paths (magga) and their fruitions (phala), conviction in the realm beyond suffering and stress; viriya, persistence, perseverance in gaining release for oneself step by step; khanti, stamina, endurance in order to be unyielding in passing over and beyond: All of these things come together. Mindfulness and discernment, contemplating along the way, seeing what is right and what is wrong, will come in their wake.

If we were to speak in terms of the principles of the formal Dhamma as expressed by the Buddha, this is called the path converging (magga-samangi), gradually gathering itself into this single heart. Everything comes together: Right View, Right Resolve, Right Speech, Right Action, all the way to Right Concentration, all come gathering into this single heart. They don't go anywhere else.

Right Action: Our only right undertakings are sitting and walking meditation, because we have reached the stage of precision work where the heart gathers together. The mind is in a state of the path converging — gathering itself into a single heart.

Right View, Right Resolve: These refer to the concerns of discernment, always exploring the affairs of the elements, the khandhas, whatever appears or makes contact, arises and vanishes, whether good or evil, past or future, appearing in the heart. Mindfulness and discernment slash these things to bits step by step without bothering to waste time.

Right Action: On the level of the body, this refers to doing sitting and walking meditation, making the effort to abandon the defilements no matter what our posture. On the level of the heart, this refers to persistence within the mind.

Right Speech: We speak only of the Dhamma. Our conversation deals only with the topics of effacement (sallekha-dhamma), topics of polishing away or washing away defilements and mental effluents from the heart, telling what methods we can use that will utterly end the defilements: This is Right Speech.

Right Livelihood: When the heart feeds on any object that's its enemy, this is called maintaining a wrong livelihood. Since the object is an enemy of the heart, the heart will have to be clouded. There's nothing good about it at all. It has to lead to greater or lesser amounts of suffering and stress within the heart in proportion to the heart's crudeness or refinement. This is called poison. Wrong livelihood. We have to correct it immediately. Immediately.

Any mental object that's rightful, that leads to happiness, well-being, and ease, is a fitting preoccupation, a fitting food for the heart, providing it with peace and well-being. This is how Right Livelihood is maintained with Dhamma on the ascending levels of training the heart. As for Right Livelihood on the physical level, dealing with food or alms, that applies universally for Buddhists in general to conduct themselves in line with their personal duties.

Right Effort: What sort of effort? This we know. The Buddha taught four kinds of effort: (1) Try to be careful not to let evil arise within yourself. (2) Try to abandon evil that has already arisen. In being careful not to let evil arise, we have to be careful by being mindful. Using mindfulness in trying not to let evil arise means being alert to the mind that thinks and wanders about, gathering suffering and stress into itself. This is because thought-formations of the wrong sort are the origin of stress, and so we should be careful to guard against them. Don't be careless or complacent. (3) Try to develop what is skillful — intelligence — so as to increase it step by step. (4) Try to safeguard the skillful things that have arisen so as to develop them even further and not let them deteriorate. All of these right exertions apply right within us.

Right Mindfulness keeps watch over the heart. Mindfulness and self-awareness keep constant track of its behavior and activities. Whatever makes contact by way of the eye, ear, nose, tongue, or body, if it doesn't go into the heart, where does it go? The heart is an enormous place, always ready to be informed of various things, both good and evil. Discernment is what contemplates and deliberates. Mindfulness is what keeps vigilant, inspecting whatever comes in to engage the heart. Whatever the preoccupation, good or evil, mindfulness and discernment contemplate and are selective of what engages the heart. Whatever they see as improper, the mind will reject immediately. Immediately. Discernment is what makes the rejection.

Right Concentration: Our work for the sake of making the defilements quiet through concentration is steady and constant, to the point where the results appear as peace and calm in the heart, as a true place of rest without any distractions coming in to disturb the heart at that moment.

When entering concentration so as to relax the mind, in order to give strength to discernment in its continuing explorations, you should go ahead and really rest — rest in concentration. Enter the calm. Completely stop all thoughts and explorations in the area of discernment. Let the mind settle in and relax. It doesn't have to think or contrive anything at all related to its work. Let the mind rest comfortably by giving it a single preoccupation. If the mind happens to be extremely engrossed in its investigations so that you can't rein it in, use 'buddho' as a means to drag it in. Make the mind stay with 'buddho, buddho, buddho.' Even though the meditation word 'buddho' may be a mental contrivance, it's a contrivance in a single focal idea. Contriving a single focal idea can cause the mind to settle down.

For example, if while we are repeating, 'buddho, buddho, buddho,' the mind flashes back to its work because it is engrossed in its unfinished business, we should repeat the meditation word even faster so as not to let the mind go back to its work. In other words, when the mind is at the stage where it is engrossed in its work, we could say — to put it in worldly terms — that we can't let down our guard, although on this level it's hard to say that the mind lets down its guard. To get nearer the truth, we should say that we can't loosen our grip. To put it simply, we can't loosen our grip. Otherwise the mind will jump back out to work. So at this point we have to be firm with our meditation word. Force the mind to stay with its single preoccupation — 'buddho' — as a means of reining the mind in. Repeat 'buddho, buddho, buddho' in really close frequency; then 'buddho' and the mind will become one. The heart will be firm and calm down, calm down, relaxing, relaxing, setting aside all its work. The mind will become cool and peaceful. This is Right Concentration.

When the time comes to rest, you have to rest like this for it to qualify as Right Concentration. When you've had enough, when you see that the mind has regained strength, then simply let go — that's all — and the mind will spring immediately back to work. It springs out of oneness, of having a single preoccupation, and returns to being two with its work. At this point, the heart gets back to work without worrying about concentration while it is working. In the same way, when centering the mind for the sake of stillness, you don't have to worry about your work at all.

When resting, you have to rest, in the same way that when eating you don't have to do any work at all except for the work of eating. When sleeping, sleep peacefully. You shouldn't be concerned with any work at all. But once you have begun work, you shouldn't concern yourself with eating and sleeping. Really set your mind on your work. This is called doing a solid piece of work: work in its proper phases, work at the proper time, in keeping with events, 'Right Action,' work that doesn't overstep its boundaries, appropriate work.

The practice of centering the mind is something you can't neglect. In practicing for the sake of the heart's happiness, the view that centering the mind, keeping still, serves no purpose is wrong. If someone is addicted to concentration, unwilling to come out and work, that's improper and should be criticized so that he or she will get down to work. But once the mind has become engrossed in its work, concentration is a necessity in certain areas, at certain times. Ordinarily, if we work without resting or sleeping, we ultimately can't continue with our work. Even though some of our money gets used up when we eat, let it be used up — because the result is that our body gains strength from eating and can return to its work in line with its duties. Even though money gets used up and the food we eat gets used up, still it's used up for a purpose: for energy in the body. Whatever gets consumed, let it be consumed, because it doesn't hurt our purposes. If we don't eat, where are we going to get any strength? Whatever gets spent, let it be spent for the sake of strength, for the sake of giving rise to strength.

The same holds true with resting in concentration: When we're resting so as to give rise to stillness, the stillness is the strength of mind that can reinforce discernment and make it agile. We have to rest so as to have stillness. If there is no stillness, if there's nothing but discernment running, it's like a knife that hasn't been sharpened. We keep chopping away — chock, chock, chock — but it's hard to tell whether we're using the edge of the blade or the back. We simply have the desire to know, to see, to understand, to uproot defilement, whereas discernment hasn't been sharpened by resting in stillness — the reinforcement that gives peace and strength in the heart — and so it's like a knife that hasn't been sharpened. Whatever gets chopped doesn't cut through easily. It's a simple waste of energy.

So for the sake of what's fitting while resting the mind in its 'home of concentration,' we have to let it rest. Resting is thus like using a whetstone to sharpen discernment. Resting the body strengthens the body, and in the same way resting the mind strengthens the mind.

When it comes out this time, now that it has strength, it's like a knife that has been sharpened. The object is the same old object, the discernment is the same old discernment, the person investigating is the same old person, but once we focus our examination, it cuts right through. This time it's like a person who has rested, slept, and eaten at his leisure, and whose knife is fully sharpened. He chops the same old piece of wood, he's the same old person, and it's the same old knife, but it cuts right through with no trouble at all — because the knife is sharp, and the person has strength.

In the same way, the object is the same old object, the discernment is the same old discernment, the person practicing is the same old person, but we've been sharpened. The mind has strength as a reinforcement for discernment and so things cut right through in no time at all — a big difference from when we hadn't rested in concentration!

Thus concentration and discernment are interrelated. They simply do their work at different times. When the time comes to center the mind, center it. When the time comes to investigate in the area of discernment, give it your all — your full alertness, your full strength. Get to the full Dhamma: the full causes and the full effects. In the same way, when resting, give it a full rest. Practice these things at separate times. Don't let them interfere with each other — being worried about concentration when examining with discernment, or being preoccupied with the affairs of discernment when entering concentration — for that would be wrong. Whichever work you're going to do, really make it a solid piece of work. This is the right way, the appropriate way — the way Right Concentration really is.

Once discernment has begun uprooting defilements step by step, the heart develops brightness. The lightness of the mind is one of the benefits that come from removing the things that are hazardous, the things that are filthy. We see the value of this benefit and keep on investigating.

What defilement is, is a weight on the heart. Our mind is like a prisoner constantly overpowered — coerced and tormented — by defilements and mental effluents ever since we were born. When we come right down to it, where is defilement? Where is being and birth? Right here in this same heart. When you investigate, these things gather in, gather in, and enter this single heart. The cycle of rebirth doesn't refer to anything else: It refers to this single heart that spins in circles. It's the only thing that leads us to birth and death. Why? Because the seeds of these things are in the heart.

When we use mindfulness and discernment to investigate, we explore so as to see clearly, and we keep cutting in, step by step, until we reach the mind that is the culprit, harboring unawareness (avijja), which is the important seed of the cycle in the heart. We keep dissecting, keep investigating in, investigating in, so that there is nothing left of 'this is this' or 'that is that.' We focus our investigation on the mind in the same way as we have done with phenomena (sabhava-dhamma) in general.

No matter how much brightness there may be in the heart, we should know that it's simply a place for the heart to rest temporarily as long as we are still unable to investigate it to the point where we can disperse and destroy it. But don't forget that this shining star of a heart is actually unawareness.

So investigate, taking that as the focal point of your investigation.

So then. If this is going to be obliterated until there's no more awareness, leaving nothing at all — to the point where the 'knower' is destroyed along with it — then let's find out once and for all. We're investigating to find the truth, to know the truth, so we have to get all the way down to causes and effects, to the truth of everything of every sort. Whatever is going to be destroyed, let it be destroyed. Even if ultimately the 'knower' who is investigating will be destroyed as well, then let's find out with our mindfulness and discernment. We don't have to leave anything remaining as an island or a vantage point to deceive ourselves. Whatever is 'us,' whatever is 'ours,' don't leave it standing. Investigate down to the truth of all things together.

What's left, after the defilement of unawareness is absolutely destroyed, is something beyond the range to which convention can reach or destroy. This is called the pure mind, or purity. The nature of this purity cannot be destroyed by anything at all.

Defilements are conventional realities that can arise and vanish. Thus they can be cleansed, made to increase, made to decrease, made to disappear, because they are an affair of conventions. But the mind pure and simple — the phenomenon called a released mind — lies beyond the range to which any defilements, which are all conventions, can reach and destroy. If the mind isn't yet pure, it's a conventional reality just like other things, because conventional things have infiltrated it. Once they are entirely removed, the phenomenon of release is one that no defilement can any longer affect — because it lies beyond range. So what is destroyed?

Stress stops, because the cause of stress stops. Nirodha — the cessation of stress — also stops. The path, the tool that wipes out the cause of stress, also stops. The four Noble Truths all stop together. Stress stops, the cause of stress stops, the path stops, the cessation of stress stops.

But listen! What knows that 'that stops' is not a Noble Truth. It lies above the Noble Truths. The investigation of the Noble Truths is an investigation for the sake of this. Once we reach the real thing, the four Noble Truths have no more role to play, no need to be cleansed, remedied, or removed. For example, discernment: Now that we've worked to the full extent, we can let go of discernment, with no need to set rules for it. Both mindfulness and discernment are tools in the battle. Once the war is over, the enemy is wiped out, so these qualities are no longer at issue.

What's left? Purity. The Buddha, in proclaiming the Dhamma to the world, took it from this pure nature. The doctrines of the religion came from this nature, and in the approach he used in teaching, he had to teach about stress because these conditions are directly related to this mind. He taught us to know how to remedy, how to stop, how to strive — everything of every sort — all the way to the goal at the end of the path, after which nothing more need be said. This is purity. The mind has come out to the outside world. It has left the prison and come to the outside world — freedom — never to be imprisoned again.

But no one wants to go to this world, because they have never seen it. This is an important world — lokuttara, the transcendent, a realm higher than other worlds — but we simply call it the outside world, outside of all conventions. We call it a 'world' just as a figure of speech, because our world has its conventions, and so we simply talk about it that way.

Think about escaping from this prison. You've been born in prison, live in prison and die in prison. You've never once died outside of prison. So, for once, get your heart out of prison. You'll be really comfortable — really comfortable! — like the Buddha and his Noble Disciples: They were born in prison like you, but they died outside of the prison. They died outside of the world. They didn't die in this world that's so narrow and confining.

I'll ask to stop here.

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Birth & Death

People come with questions — some of which I can remember — and everyone has the question that's waiting right at the barn door: Is there a next world after death? The next world, who goes on to the next world: These sorts of things aren't any one person's issue. They're an issue for all of us who are carrying a burden. When people ask this sort of question, I ask them in return, 'Was there a yesterday? Was there a this morning? Is there a present at this moment?' They admit that there was and is. 'Then will there be a tomorrow? A day after tomorrow? A this month? A next month? A this year? A next year and years after that?'

Things in the past that we can remember, we can use to make guesses about the future. Even for things that haven't yet happened, we can make comparisons with things that have already occurred. The future has to follow the way things have been in the past. For example, yesterday has already occurred, today is occurring. These things have followed one after the other. We know this, we remember, we haven't forgotten. This afternoon, this evening, tonight, tomorrow morning: We've already seen that things have been like this. This is the way things have happened, without being otherwise, and so we accept that this is the way they will continue to be.

Doubts about this world and the next, or about things concerning ourselves: This is delusion about ourselves. This is why these things become big issues, causing endless fuss all over the world of rebirth. 'Is there a next world? When people die, are they reborn?' These questions go together, for who is it that takes birth and dies? We ourselves — always dying and taking birth. What comes to this world and goes to the next world is us. Who else would it be? If not for this being of the world, this wanderer, there wouldn't be anyone weighed down with these questions and burdens.

This is the harm of delusion, of being unable to remember. It shows within us, but we can't catch hold of its causes, of why it has come about. Things that have happened, we can't remember. Our own affairs spin us around in circles and get us so tangled up that we don't know which way to go. This is why self-delusion is an endless complication. Being deluded about other things is not so bad, but being deluded about ourselves blocks all the exits. We can't find any way out. The results come right back at us — they don't go anywhere else — bringing us suffering, because these sorts of doubts are questions with which we bind ourselves, not questions by which we set ourselves free. We can have no hope of resolving and understanding these doubts if we don't find confirmation of the Dhamma in the area of meditation.

This is why the Lord Buddha taught us to unravel and look at our own affairs. But unraveling our own affairs is something very critical. If we do it by guessing or speculating or whatever, we won't succeed. The only way to succeed is to develop goodness step by step as a means of support and of drawing us in to mental development (bhavana), or meditation, so as to unravel and look at our own affairs, which lie gathered in the range of meditation. This is what will lead us to know clearly and to cut through our doubts, at the same time leading us to satisfactory results. We will be able to stop wondering about death and rebirth or death and annihilation.

What are our own affairs? The affairs of the heart. The heart is what acts, creating causes and results for itself all the time: pleasure, pain, complications, and turmoil. For the most part, it ties itself down more than helping itself. If we don't force it into good ways, the hearts reaps trouble as a result, the suffering that comes from being agitated and anxious, thinking restlessly from various angles for no worthwhile reason. The results we receive are an important factor in making us pained and unsettled. This is thus a difficult matter, a heavy matter for all those who are deluded about the world, deluded about themselves, agitated by the world, and agitated about themselves without being interested in confirming the truth about themselves using the principles of the Dhamma, principles that guarantee the truth. For example, once we die, we must be reborn; as long as the seeds of rebirth are in the heart, we have to continue being reborn repeatedly. It can't be otherwise — for instance, being annihilated at death.

The Buddha teaches us to keep watch of the instigator. In other words, we should observe our own heart, which is what causes birth and death. If we don't understand it, he tells us various angles from which to approach until we understand and can deal with it properly. In particular, he teaches us to meditate, using any of the meditation themes, repeating it so that the mind — which has no footing to hold to, which is in such a turmoil of finding no refuge that it dwells in unlimited dreams and infatuations — will gain enough of a footing to get on its feet, will gain quiet and calm, free from the distraction and unsteadiness that would destroy the peace of mind we want.

For example, he teaches us to repeat 'buddho, dhammo, sangho' or 'atthi' (bones), 'kesa' (hair of the head), 'loma' (hair of the body), or whatever phrase suits our temperament, being mindful to keep watch over our meditation theme so as not to become forgetful and send the mind elsewhere, away from it. This is so that the mind, which we used to send in various places, can latch onto or dwell with its Dhamma-theme: its meditation word. Our awareness, which used to be scattered among various preoccupations, will now gather into that point — the mind — which is the gathering place of awareness. All the currents of our awareness will converge at the Dhamma-theme we are repeating or pursuing with interest. This is because the meditation word — which is something for the mind to hold to, so that it can gain a footing — becomes more and more an object of clear and conspicuous awareness. Thus at the beginning stages of meditation, the meditation word is very important.

Once we have seen the intrinsic value of the peace that appears this way, we at the same time see clearly the harm that comes from the agitation and turmoil of the mind that has no footing to hold to, and that creates havoc for itself. We needn't ask anyone: The benefits of a peaceful mind and the harm of an agitated mind, we see within our own mind from having practiced meditation. This is a step, the first step, by which the Buddha teaches us to know the affairs of the mind.

We then try to make the mind progressively more firmly settled and calm by repeating the meditation word, as already mentioned. We keep at it, again and again, until we become adept, until the mind can become still the way we want it to. The sense of well-being that arises from a calm heart becomes even more prominent and clear all the time. As soon as the mind becomes still, giving rise to clear and prominent awareness, it is at the same time a gathering in of the defilements into a single spot so that we can see them more clearly and more easily observe their behavior — so that we can more easily cure them and remove them with the levels of discernment suited to dealing with crude, intermediate, and subtle defilements step by step.

Now, concerning defilements, the things that force the mind to be agitated in countless, inconceivable ways: We can't catch sight of what defilement is, what the mind is, what the Dhamma is, until we first have a firm basis of mental stillness. When the mind gathers in and is still, the defilements gather in and are still as well. When the mind draws into itself, to be itself or to become a point on which we can focus and understand, the affairs of defilement also enter a restricted range in that same point. They gather in at the heart and rarely ever run loose to stir up trouble for the heart as they used to before the mind was still.

Once the mind is still so that it can stand on its feet, we are then taught to use our discernment to investigate, unravel, and contemplate the various parts of the body in which the defilements hide out. What is the mind interested in? When it isn't quiet, with what does it like to involve itself? While the mind is quiet, it doesn't stir up trouble for itself, but a common habit with us human beings is that once we have gained peace and relaxation, we get lazy. We simply want to lie down and rest. We don't want to unravel the body, the elements, or the khandhas with our mindfulness and discernment for the sake of seeing the truth and removing the various defilements from the heart. We don't like to reflect on the fact that those who have abandoned and removed the various kinds of defilement that hide out in the body and the khandhas have done so by using mindfulness and discernment. As for mental stillness or concentration, that's simply a gathering together of the defilements into a restricted range. It's not an abandoning or a removal of defilement. Please remember this and take it to heart.

The heart, when it isn't still, tends to get entangled with sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations, and to take them as issues for stirring itself up. We can know with our mindfulness and discernment which of the various sights, sounds, etc., the mind tends to favor most strongly. While we are investigating, we can know with our mindfulness and discernment the objects with which the mind is involving itself. We can observe the affairs of the mind because the mind has been still. As soon as it begins to head out toward its various preoccupations, we know. This is why we are taught to investigate and unravel things with our discernment so as to know what the mind goes to involve itself with. Try to observe so as to know, so as to see clearly with mindfulness and discernment while you are investigating. Only when you are stilling the mind in concentration is there no need for you to investigate, because concentration and discernment take turns working at different times, as I have already explained.

When you are investigating visual objects, with which visual object is the mind most involved? What is the reason? Look at the object. Dissect it. Analyze it into its parts so as to see it clearly for what it truly is. Once you have dissected the object — whatever it is — so as to see it with discernment in line with its truth, at the same time you will see the absurdity, the deceptiveness of the mind that grows attached and misconstrues things in all kinds of ways without any real reason, without any basis in fact. Once you have investigated carefully, you'll see that the object has none of the worth construed and assigned to it by the mind. There are simply the assumptions of the mind that has fallen for the object, that's all. Once you have investigated, separating the various parts of 'their' body or 'your' body so as to see them in detail, you won't see anything of any worth or substance at all. The heart of its own accord will see the harmfulness of its assumptions, its labels and attachments. The more it investigates, the more clearly it sees — not only the various sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations, but also the acts of the mind involved with those objects — until it fully knows and clearly sees with discernment, because it has been constantly unraveling things both within and without. You fully know and clearly see the acts inside the heart that become involved, knowing that they come about for this reason and that, all of which are thoroughly absurd.

Before, you didn't know why the mind was involved. But now you know clearly that it is involved for this reason and that: namely, delusion and mistaken assumptions. When you investigate in line with the truth and see the true nature of external things, you know clearly within yourself that the mind has construed phenomena to be like this and like that, which is why it has continually developed more and more attachment and clinging, more and more of the defilements of love and hatred. The heart then realizes its own absurdity.

When the heart realizes that it has been deluded and absurd, it withdraws inward, because if it were to continue to think of becoming attached to those things, it would get cut right through by discernment — so what would it gain from becoming attached? To investigate so as to know clearly that this is this, and that is that, in line with the truth of every individual thing of every sort: This is the way to unravel the great mass of problems that, taken together, are results — the mass of suffering inside the heart. This is how we are taught to unravel it.

As discernment constantly keeps unraveling things without letup until it understands clearly and distinctly, we don't have to tell it to let go. Once the mind knows