The Key to Liberation

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In Buddhism, the primary reason we study the Dhamma (the Truth) is to
find the way to transcend suffering and attain peace. Whether you study physical or mental phenomena, the citta (mind or consciousness) or cetasikā (mental factors), it is only when you make liberation from suffering your ultimate goal, rather than anything else, that you will be practicing in the correct way. This is because suffering and its causes already exist right here and now.

As you contemplate the cause of suffering, you should understand that when that which we call the mind is still, it's in a state of normality. As soon as it moves, it becomes sankhāra (that which is fashioned or concocted). When attraction arises in the mind, it is sankhāra; when aversion arises, it is sankhāra. If there is desire to go here and there, it is sankhāra. As long as you are not mindful of these sankhāras, you will tend to chase after them and be conditioned by them. Whenever the mind moves, it becomes sammuti-sankhāra - enmeshed in the conditioned world – at that moment. And it is these sankhāras – these movements of the mind – which the Buddha taught us to contemplate.

Whenever the mind moves, it is aniccaṁ (impermanent), dukkhaṁ (suffering) and anattā (not-self). The Buddha taught us to observe and contemplate this. He taught us to contemplate sankhāras which condition the mind. Contemplate them in light of the teaching of paticcasamuppāda (Dependent Origination): avijjā (ignorance) conditions sankhāra (karmic formations); sankhāra conditions viññāṇa (consciousness); viññāṇa conditions nāma (mentality) and rūpa (materiality); and so on.

You have already studied and read about this in the books, and what's set out there is correct as far as it goes, but in reality you're not
able to keep up with the process as it actually occurs. It's like falling out of a tree: in a flash, you've fallen all the way from the top of the tree and hit the ground, and you have no idea how many branches you passed on the way down. When the mind Page 2 of 33

experiences an ārammaṇa (mind-object) and is attracted to it, all of a sudden you find yourself experiencing a good mood without being aware of the causes and conditions which led up to it. Of course, on one level the process happens according to the theory described in the scriptures, but at the same time it goes beyond the limitations of the theory. In reality, there are no signs telling you that now it's avijjā, now it's sankhāra, then it's viññāṇa, now it's nāma-rūpa and so on. These scholars who see it like that, don't get the chance to read out the list as the process is taking place.

Although the Buddha analyzed one moment of consciousness and described all the different component parts, to me it's more like falling out of a tree – everything happens so fast you don't have time to reckon how far you've fallen and where you are at any given moment. What you know is that you've hit the ground with a thud, and it hurts!

What takes place in the mind is similar. Normally, when you experience suffering, all you really see is the end result, that there is suffering, pain, grief and despair present in the mind. You don't really know where it came from – that's not something you can find in the hooks. There's nowhere in the books where the intricate details of your suffering and its causes are described. The reality follows along the same course as the theory outlined in the scriptures, but those who simply study the books and never get beyond them, are unable to keep track of these things as they actually happen in reality.

Thus the Buddha taught to abide as 'that which knows' and simply bear witness to that which arises. Once you have trained your awareness to abide as 'that which knows', and have investigated the mind and developed insight into the truth about the mind and mental factors, you'll see the mind as anattā (not-self).

You'll see that ultimately all mental and physical formations are things to be Page 3 of 33

let go of and it'll be clear to you that it's foolish to attach or give undue importance to them.

The Buddha didn't teach us to study the mind and mental factors in order to become attached to them, he taught simply to know them as aniccaṁ, dukkhaṁ, anattā. The essence of Buddhist practice then, is to let them go and lay them aside. You must establish and sustain awareness of the mind and mental factors as they arise. In fact, the mind has been brought up and conditioned to turn and spin away from this natural state of awareness, giving rise to sankhāra which further concoct and fashion it. It has therefore become accustomed to the experience of constant mental proliferation and of all kinds of conditioning, both wholesome and unwholesome. The Buddha taught us to let go of it all, but before you can begin to let go, you must first study and practice.
This is in accordance with nature – the way things are. The mind is just that way, mental factors are just that way – this is just how it is.

Consider magga (the Noble Eightfold Path), which is founded on paññā or Right View. If there is Right View it follows that there will be Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood and so on. These all necessarily involve mental factors which arise out of the knowing. The knowing is like a lantern. If there is Right Knowing it will pervade every aspect of the path, giving rise to Right Intention, Right Speech and so on, just like the light from a lantern illuminating the path along which you have to travel. In the end, whatever the mind experiences, it must arise from the knowing. If this mind didn't exist, the knowing couldn't exist either. These are the essential characteristics of the mind and mental factors.

All these things are mental phenomena. The Buddha taught that the mind is the mind – it's not a living being, a person, a self, an 'us' or a 'them'. The Dhamma is simply Page 4 of 33

the Dhamma – it's not a living being, a person, a self, an 'us' or a 'them'. There's nothing which is substantial. Whatever aspect of this individual existence you choose, whether it's vedanā (feelings) or saññā (perception), for example, it all comes within the range of the five khandhas (aggregates). So it should be let go of.

Meditation is like a plank of wood. Let’s say vipassanā (insight) is one end of the plank and samatha (calm) is the other. If you were to pick the plank up, would just one end come up or would both of them? Of course, when you pick up the plank, both ends come up together. What is vipassanā? What is samatha? They are the mind itself. At first the mind becomes peaceful through the practice of samatha, through samādhi (firmness of mind). By developing samādhi you can make the mind peaceful. However, if the peace of samādhi disappears, suffering arises. Why does suffering arise? Because the kind of peace which comes through samatha is itself samudaya (the Noble Truth of the Origin of Suffering). It's a cause for suffering to arise. Even though a certain state of peace has been attained, the practice is not yet finished. The Buddha saw from his own experience, that this isn't the end of the practice. The process of becoming is not yet completely exhausted; the conditions for continued birth still exist; the practice of the Holy Life is still incomplete. Why is it incomplete? Because suffering still exists. He thus took up the calm of samatha and continued to contemplate it, investigating to gain insight until he was no longer attached to it. Such calm is one kind of sankhāra and is still part of the world of conditions and conventions. Attaching to the calm of samatha means attaching to the world of conditions and conventions and as long as you are attached to conditions and conventions, you are attached to becoming and birth. That act of taking delight in the tranquility of samatha is becoming and birth. When that restless and agitated thinking disappears through Page 5 of 33

the practice of samatha, the mind attaches to the resultant peace, but it's another form of becoming. It still leads to further birth.

The cycle of becoming and birth arose again and, of course, the Buddha was immediately aware of it. The Buddha went on to contemplate the causes behind becoming and birth. As long as he was unable to completely comprehend the truth of this matter, he continued to use the tranquil mind as a means to penetrate deeper and deeper with his contemplation. He reflected upon all formations that arose, whether peaceful or agitated, until eventually he saw that all conditions are like a lump of red-hot iron. The five khandhas are just like this. When a piece of iron is glowing red hot all over, is there any part of it you can touch without getting burnt? Can there be anywhere at all which is cool? If you tried touching it on the top, the sides, underneath, or anywhere, would you
be able to find a single spot which was cool? Obviously there wouldn't be a cool place anywhere, because that lump of iron is red-hot all over.

Similarly, each of the five khandhas is as if red hot to the touch. It's a mistake to attach to calm states of mind, or think that the calm is you or that there is a self which is calm. If you presume that the calm is you or that there is someone who is calm, this only reinforces the idea that there's a solid entity, a self or attā. But this sense of self is just conventional reality. If you attach to the thought 'I'm peaceful', 'I'm agitated', 'I'm good', 'I'm bad', 'I'm happy' or 'I'm suffering', it means you are caught in more becoming and birth. It's more suffering. When happiness disappears it changes to suffering. If the suffering disappears it becomes happiness. And you get caught endlessly spinning around between happiness and suffering, heaven and hell, unable to put a stop to it.

The Buddha observed that his mind was conditioned in Page 6 of 33

this way and reflected that the causes for becoming and birth were still present and the practice was still unfinished. As a result, he deepened his contemplation of the true nature of sankhāras – because a cause exists, there is accordingly birth and death and these characteristics of movement back and forth in the mind. He contemplated this repeatedly to see clearly the truth about the five khandhas. All physical and all mental phenomena and everything that the mind thinks are sankhāras.

The Buddha taught that once you have discerned this, you'll let them go, you'll naturally give them up. These things should he known as they are in reality. As long us you don't know things in accordance with the truth you have no choice but to suffer. You can't let go of them. But once you have penetrated the truth and understand how things are, you see these things as deluding. This is what the Buddha meant when he explained that really, the mind which has seen the truth of the way things are is empty, it is inherently unentangled with anything. It isn't born belonging to anyone and it doesn't die as anyone's. It is free. It is bright and radiant, free from any involvement with external affairs and issues. The reason it gets entangled with external affairs is because it's deluded by sankhāras and the very sense of self.

The Buddha thus taught us to look carefully at the mind. In the beginning what was there? There was really nothing there. The process of birth and becoming and these movements of mind weren't born with it and they don't die with it. When the Buddha's mind encountered pleasant mind-objects, it didn't become delighted with them, contacting disagreeable mind-objects, he didn't become averse to them – because he had clear knowledge and insight into the nature of the mind. There was the penetrating knowledge that all such phenomena have no real substance or essence to them. He saw them as aniccaṁ, dukkhaṁ, anattā and maintained this deep and profound insight throughout his practice.

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is the knowing which discerns the truth of the way things are. The knowing doesn't become delighted or sad with things. The condition of being delighted is 'birth' and the condition of being distressed is 'death'. If there is death there must be birth, if there is birth there must be death. This process of birth and death is vaṭṭa - the cycle of birth and death which continues on endlessly.

As long as the mind of the practitioner gets conditioned and moved around like this, there need be no doubt as to whether the causes for becoming or rebirth still remain; there is no need to ask anyone. The Buddha thoroughly contemplated the characteristics of sankhāras and as a result could let go of sankhāras and each of the five khandhas. He became an independent observer, simply acknowledging their existence and nothing more. If he experienced pleasant mind-objects, he didn't become infatuated with them, but simply watched and remained aware of them. If he experienced unpleasant mind-objects, he didn't become averse towards them. Why was that? Because he had discerned the truth and so the causes and conditions for further birth had been cut off. The conditions supporting birth no longer existed. His mind had progressed in the practice to the point where it had gained its own confidence and certainty in its understanding. It was a mind which was truly peaceful – free from birth, aging, sickness and death. It was that which was neither cause nor effect, nor dependent on cause and effect; it was independent of the process of causal conditioning. There were no causes remaining, they were exhausted. His mind had transcended birth and death, happiness and suffering, good and evil. It was beyond the limitations of words and concepts. There were no longer any conditions which would give rise to attachment in his mind. Anything to do with attachment to birth and death and the process of causal conditioning, would be a matter of the mind and mental factors.

The mind and mental factors do exist as part of reality. They truly exist Page 8 of 33

in conventional reality, but the Buddha saw that however much
we know about them or believe in them, it's of little real benefit. It is not the way to find real peace. He taught that once you know them, you should put them down, renounce them, let them go. Because the mind and mental factors are the very things which lead you to both that which is wrong and that which is right in life. If you are wise, they can lead you to what is right; if you are foolish they lead you to what is wrong. The mind and mental factors are the world. The Buddha used the things of the world to observe the world. Having observed the way things are, he came to know the world and described himself as being lokavidū – one who clearly knows the world.

Samatha and vipassanā must be developed in yourself before you can really know the truth. It's possible to study from the books to gain theoretical knowledge of the mind and mental factors, but you can't use that kind of knowledge to actually cut off greed, hatred and delusion. You have only studied about the external characteristics of greed, hatred and delusion and are simply describing the different features of the defilements... greed is like this, hatred is like that and so on. You only know as much as their external qualities and superficial appearance, and can only talk about them on that level. You might have developed some awareness and insight, but the important thing is that when the defilements actually arise in the mind, does it fall under their control and take on their features? For instance, when you encounter an undesirable mind-object, a reaction will occur which leads to the mind taking on certain qualities. Do you attach to that reaction? Can you let go of your reaction? Once you become aware of aversion that has arisen, does 'that which knows' store that aversion in the mind, or having seen it, is 'that which knows' able to let it go immediately?

If, having Page 9 of 33

experienced something you dislike, you still store up aversion in the mind, you must take your practice back to square one. Because you are still at fault; the practice is still not perfect. If it reaches the point of perfection, the mind will automatically let things go. Look at the practice in this way. You really have to look deeply into your mind for the practice to become paccattaṁ. If you tried to describe the mind and mental factors in terms of the number of separate moments of consciousness and their different characteristics in accordance with the theory, it still wouldn't be nearly enough. The truth has much more to it than this. If you are really going to learn about these things, you must gain clear insight and direct understanding
to penetrate them. If you don't have any true insight, how will you ever get beyond the theory? There's no end to it. You would have to
keep studying it indefinitely.

Thus the practice is thus the most important thing. In my own practice, I didn't spend all my time studying all the theoretical descriptions of the mind and mental factors – I watched 'that which knows'. When the mind had thoughts of aversion I asked, 'Why is there aversion?' If there was attraction I asked, 'Why is there attraction?' This is the way to practice. I didn't know all the finer points of theory or go into a detailed analytical break down of the mind and mental factors. I just kept prodding at that one point in the mind, until I was able to settle the whole issue of aversion and attraction and make it completely vanish. Whatever happened, if I could bring my mind to the point where it stopped liking and disliking, it had gone beyond suffering. It had reached the point where it could remain at ease, whatever it was experiencing. There was no craving or attachment ... it had stopped. This is what you're aiming for in the practice. If other people want to talk a lot about the theory that's their Page 10 of 33

business. In the end, though, however much you talk about it, the practice has to come back to this point. Even if you don't talk much about it, the practice still comes back to this point. Whether you proliferate a lot or a little, it all comes back to this. If there is birth, it comes from this. If there is extinction, this is where the extinction occurs. However much the mind proliferates, it doesn't make any difference. The Buddha called this place 'that which knows'. It has the function of knowing according to the truth of the way things are. Once you have really discerned the truth, you automatically know the way the mind and the mental factors are.

The mind and the mental factor constantly deceive you, never letting up for a moment. When studying the books, you are merely studying the external form of' this deception. At the same time as you are studying about those things, they're deceiving you – there's no other way of putting it, Even though you are aware of them, they are still deluding you right at that moment. This is the way it is. The Buddha didn't intend that you should only know about suffering and the defilements by name, his aim was for you to actually find the way of practice which will lead you to transcend suffering. He taught to investigate and find the cause of suffering from the most basic to the most refined level. As for myself, I have been able to practice without a great amount of theoretical knowledge. It's enough to know that the Path begins with sīla (moral restraint). sīla is that which is beautiful in the beginning. Samādhi is that which is beautiful in the middle. paññā (wisdom) is that which is beautiful in the end. As you deepen your practice and contemplation of these three aspects, they merge and become one thing, although you can still see them as three separate parts of the
practice.

As a prerequisite for training in sīla, paññā must actually be there, but we usually Page 11 of 33

say that the practice begins with sīla. It's the foundation. It's just that paññā is the factor that determines just how successful and complete the practice of sīla is. You need to contemplate your speech and actions and investigate the process of cause and effect – which is all a function of paññā. You have to depend on paññā before sīla can be established.

According to the theory, we say that it's sīla, samādhi and then paññā; but I've reflected on this and found that paññā underlies all the other aspects of the practice. You need to fully understand the effects of your speech and actions on the mind and how it is that they can bring about harmful results. Through reasoned reflection you use paññā to guide, control and thereby purify your actions and speech. If you know the different characteristics of your actions and speech which are conditioned by both wholesome and unwholesome mental states, you can see the place of practice. You see that if you're going to cultivate sīla, it involves giving up evil and doing good; giving up that which is wrong and doing that which is right. Once the mind has given up doing wrong and has cultivated doing what is right, it will automatically turn inwards to us upon itself and become firm and steady. When it's free from doubt and uncertainty about speech and actions, the mind will be steadfast and unwavering, providing the basis for becoming firmly concentrated in samādhi. This firm concentration forms the second and more powerful source of energy in the practice, allowing you to more fully contemplate the sights, sounds and other sense objects which you experience. Once the mind is established with firm and unwavering calm and mindfulness, you can engage in the sustained contemplation of form, feeling, perception, thought and consciousness, and with the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations and mind-objects, and see that all of these are constantly arising. As a result you will gain insight into the truth of these phenomena and how they arise according to their own nature. When there Page 12 of 33

is continuous awareness, it will be the cause for paññā to arise. Once there is clear knowledge in accordance with the true nature of the way things are, your old saññā and sense of self will gradually be uprooted from it's former conditioning and will be transformed into paññā. Ultimately, sīla, samādhi and paññā will merge in the practice, as one lasting and unified whole.

As paññā strengthens, it acts to develop samādhi which becomes steadier and more unshakeable. The firmer samādhi becomes, the more resolute and complete sīla becomes. As sīla is perfected, it nurtures samādhi, and the strengthening of samādhi leads to a maturing of paññā. These three aspects of the practice
are pretty much inseparable – they overlap so much. Growing together, they combine to form what the Buddha called magga, the Path. When sīla, samādhi and paññā reach their peak, magga has enough power to destroy the kilesa. Whether it be greed, hatred or delusion which arises, it is only the strength of magga which is capable of destroying it.

The four Noble Truths taught by the Buddha as a framework for practice are: dukkha (suffering), samudaya (the cause of suffering), nirodha (the end of suffering) and magga (the path leading to the end of suffering) which consists of sīla, samādhi and paññā – modes of training which exist the mind. Although I say these three words sīla, samādhi, paññā out loud, they don't exist externally, they are rooted in the mind itself.

It is the nature of sīla, samādhi and paññā to be at work continuously, maturing all the time. If magga is strong in the mind, whatever objects are experienced – whether they are forms, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations or thoughts – it will be in control. If magga is weak, the kilesa can take control. If magga is strong it will destroy the kilesa. When it's weak and the kilesa are strong, magga will be destroyed. The kilesa can destroy your very heart. If mindfulness isn't fast enough as forms, feelings, perceptions and thoughts arise into consciousness, they can Page 13 of 33

destroy you. Magga and the kilesa thus proceed side by side. The place where you put effort into the practice is the heart. You have to keep sparring with the kilesa every step of the way. It's as if there are two separate people arguing inside your mind, but it's just magga and the kilesa struggling with each other. Magga functions to control the mind and fosters your ability to contemplate the Dhamma. As long as you are able to contemplate, the kilesa will be losing the battle. But if at any time your practice weakens and the kilesa regain their strength, magga will disappear and the kilesa will take its place. Necessarily, the two sides continue their struggle like this, until eventually there is a winner and the whole affair is settled. If you center your efforts on developing magga, it will continue to destroy the defilements. Ultimately, dukkha, samudaya, nirodha and magga will come to exist in your heart – that's when you will have really practiced with and penetrated the Four Noble Truths.

Whatever suffering arises, in whatever form, it must have a cause – that is samudaya, the second Noble Truth. What is the cause? The cause is that your practice of sīla, samādhi and paññā is weak. When magga is weak, the kilesa can take hold of the mind. When they do take over the mind, they become samudaya and inescapably give rise to different kinds of suffering. If suffering arises it means that the aspect which is able to extinguish suffering has disappeared. The factors which give rise to magga are sīla, samādhi and paññā. When they have reached their full strength, the practice of magga will advance inexorably, and will destroy samudaya – that which is able to cause suffering in the mind. It is then – when suffering is in abeyance, unable to arise because the practice of magga is in the process of cutting through the kilesa – that suffering actually dies out in the mind. Why are you able to extinguish suffering? Because the practice of sīla, samādhi and paññā Page 14 of 33

has reached its highest level, which means that magga has reached the point where its progress has become unstoppable. I say that if you can practice like this, it will no longer matter where you have got to in studying the theoretical knowledge of the mind and mental factors, because in the end everything unifies in this one place. If the mind has transcended conceptual knowledge, it will be very confident and certain in the practice, having gone beyond all doubt. Even if it starts to wander off, you won't have to chase it very far to bring it back onto the path.

What are leaves of the mango tree like? It's enough just to pick up one leaf and look at it to know. Even if you look at ten thousand leaves, you won't see much more than you do looking at one. Essentially they are all the same. By looking at one leaf, you can know all mango leaves. If you look at the trunk of the mango tree, you only have to look at the trunk of one tree to know them all. All the other mango tree trunks are the same. Even if there were a hundred thousand of them, I would just have to look at one to really see them all. The Buddha taught to practice Dhamma in this way.

Sīla, samādhi and paññā are what the Buddha called magga, but magga is still not the heart of the Buddha's teaching. It's not an end in itself and wasn't really what the Buddha wanted, just by itself. But it is the way which leads inwards. It would be like traveling from Bangkok to this monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong. What you want is to reach the monastery, you don't actually want the road or the tarmac itself, but you'd need to use the road for the journey to the monastery. The road and the monastery are not the same thing the road is simply the way to the monastery – but you have to follow the road if you want to reach the Page 15 of 33

monastery.

You could say that neither sīla, samādhi nor paññā form the heart of Buddhism, but they do form the pathway by which of Buddhism can be reached. Once you have practiced with sīla, samādhi and paññā to the highest level, peace arises as a result. This is the ultimate aim of the practice. Once the mind is calm, even if you hear a sound it doesn't disturb it. Having attained such calm, you no longer create anything in the mind. The Buddha taught letting go. So whatever you experience, you don't have to fear or worry. The practice reaches the point where it is truly paccattaṁ and because you have direct insight, you no longer simply have to believe what other people say.

Buddhism is not founded on anything strange or unusual. It doesn't depend on different kinds of miraculous displays of psychic powers or super human abilities. The Buddha did not praise or encourage those things. Such powers might exist and with your practice of meditation it might be possible to develop them, but the Buddha didn't praise or encourage them because they are potentially deluding. The only people he did praise were those beings who were able to free themselves from suffering. To do this they had to depend on the practice – our tools which are dāna (generosity), sīla, samādhi and paññā. These are what we have to train with.

These things form the way which leads inwards, but in order to reach the final destination, there must first be paññā to ensure the development of magga. Magga or the Eightfold Noble Path means sīla, samādhi and paññā. It cannot grow if the mind is covered over with kilesa. If magga is strong it can destroy the kilesa; if the kilesa are strong, they destroy magga. The practice simply involves these two things battling it out until the end of the path is reached. They have to struggle continuously, not ceasing, until the goal is reached.

The tools and supports of the practice are things which involve hardship and difficulty. We must depend Page 16 of 33

on patience and endurance, restraint and frugality. We must do the practice for ourselves, so that it arises from within and really has transforms our own minds.

Scholars however, tend to doubt a lot. When they are sitting in meditation, as soon as there is a little bit of calm they start to wonder if perhaps they have reached first jhāna. They tend to think like this. But as soon as they start proliferating, the mind turns away from the object and they become completely distracted from the meditation. In a moment they're off again, thinking that it's second jhāna already. Don't start proliferating about such matters. There aren't any signposts that tell you which level of concentration
you have reached; it's completely different. There are no signs which sprout up and say, 'This way to Wat Nong Pah Pong'. There isn't anything for you to read along the way. There are many famous teachers who have given descriptions of the first, second, third and fourth jhāna, but this information exists externally in the books. If the mind has really entered into such deep levels of calm, it doesn't know anything about such descriptions. There is awareness, but this is not the same as the knowledge you gain from studying the theory. If those who have studied the theory hang on to what they have learned when they sit meditation, taking notes on their experience and wondering whether they have reached jhāna yet, their minds will be distracted right there and turn away from the meditation. They won't gain real understanding. Why is that? Because there is desire. As soon as taṇhā (craving) arises, whatever the meditation you are doing, it won't develop because the mind withdraws. It is essential that you learn how to give up all thinking and doubting, give it up completely, all of it. You should just take body, speech end mind as it is, as the basis for the practice and nothing else. Contemplate the conditions of the mind, and don't lug the textbooks along with you. There are no textbooks within where you Page 17 of 33

are doing the practice. If you try to take them in there with you, everything goes to waste, because they won't be able to describe how things are as you actually experience them.

People who have studied a lot and have all the theory down pat, tend not to succeed with meditation because they get stuck at the level of information. In actuality, the mind isn't something which you can really measure using external standards or textbooks. If it's really getting calm, allow it to become calm. In this way it can proceed to reach the very highest levels of tranquility. My own knowledge of the theory and scriptures was only modest. I've already told some of the monks about the time I was practicing in my third rains retreat; I still had many questions and doubts about samādhi, I kept trying to work it out with my thoughts and the more I meditated, the more restless and agitated the mind became. In fact it was so bad that I would actually feel more peaceful when I wasn't meditating. It was really difficult. But even though it was difficult, I didn't give up. I kept on practicing, just the same. If I simply did the practice without having many expectations about the results, it was fine. But if I determined to make my mind calm and one-pointed, it would just make things worse. I couldn't work it out. 'Why is it like this?' I asked myself.

Later on I began to realize that it's the same as with the matter of breathing. If you determine to take only short breaths, or to take ‘ only medium size breaths, or to take only long breaths, it seems like a difficult thing to do. On the other hand, when you are walking around, unaware of whether the breath is going in or going out, you are comfortable and at ease. I realized that the practice is similar. Normally, when people are walking around and not meditating on the breath, do they ever suffer because of their breathing? No. It's not really Page 18 of 33

such a problem. But if I sat down and determined to make my mind calm, it would automatically become upādāna (attachment), there was clinging in there too. I became so determined to force the breath to be a certain way, either short or long, that it became uneven and it was impossible to concentrate or keep my mind on it. So then I was suffering even more than I had been before I started meditating. Why was that? Because my determination itself became attachment. It shut off awareness and I couldn't get any results. Everything was burdensome and difficult because I was taking craving into the practice with me.

On one occasion I was walking cankama sometime after eleven o'clock at night. There was a festival going on in the village, which was about half a mile from the forest, monastery where I was staying. I was feeling strange, and had been feeling like that since the middle of the day. I was feeling unusually calm and wasn't thinking very much about anything. I was tired from walking meditation, so I went to sit in my small grass-roofed hut. Then just as I was sitting down, I found I had barely enough time to tuck my legs in before my mind went into this deep place of calm. It happened just by itself. By the time I got myself into the sitting posture the mind was already deeply calm and I felt completely firm and stable in the meditation. It wasn't that I couldn't hear the sounds of people singing and dancing in the village; I could still hear them. But at the same time, I could turn my attention inwards so that I couldn't hear the sounds as well. It was strange. When I paid no attention to the sounds there was silence, I couldn't hear anything. But if I wanted to I could hear them and without I feeling disturbed. It was as if inside my mind there were two different objects placed side by side, but not connected to one another. I could see that the mind Page 19 of 33

and the object were separate and distinct, just like the water kettle and the spittoon here. As a result I understood that when the mind is calm in samādhi, if you direct your attention towards sounds, you can hear them, but if you remain with the mind, in its emptiness, it remains quiet. If a sound arises into consciousness and you watch what happens, you see that the knowing and the mind-object are quite separate.

So I reflected: 'If this isn't it, then what else could be. This is the way it is – the two phenomena aren't connected at all.' I continued to contemplate until I realized the importance of this point: when santati (the continuity of things) was broken, the result was santi (peace of mind). Formally there was santati and now santi had emerged from it. The experience of this gave me energy to persist with my meditation. I put intense effort into the practice and was indifferent to everything else, the mind didn't lose its mindfulness even for an instant. If I'd wanted to stop meditating, however, I would have easily done so. And once I did stop formal practice, was there any laziness, tiredness or irritation? None at all. The mind was completely free from such defilements. What was left was the sense of complete balance or 'just-rightness' in the mind. If I was going to stop, it would just have been to rest the body, not for anything else.

Virtually I did take a break. I just stopped sitting so formally, but the mind didn't stop. It remained in the same state and continued with the meditation as before. I pulled over my pillow and prepared to rest. As I lay down, my mind was still just as calm. As I was about to lay my head on the pillow, the mind inclined inwards – I didn't know where it was headed, but it kept moving deeper and deeper within. It was as if someone had turned on a switch and sent an electric current along a cable. With a deafening bang, the Page 20 of 33

body exploded from the inside. The awareness inside the mind at that moment was at its most refined. Having passed beyond a certain point, it was as if the mind was cut loose and had penetrated to the deepest, quietest spot inside. It settled there in a realm of complete emptiness. Absolutely nothing could penetrate it from outside. Nothing could reach it. Having stayed in there for a while, awareness then withdrew. I don't mean to say that I made it withdraw; I was merely watching – just witnessing what was going on. Having experienced these things, the mind gradually withdrew and returned to its normal state.

Once the mind had returned to normal, the question arose: 'What happened?' The reply that came to it was, 'These things are natural phenomena which occur according to causes and conditions; there's no need to doubt about them.' I only needed to reflect a little like this and the mind accepted it. Having paused for a while, it inclined inwards again. I didn't make any conscious effort to direct the mind, it went by itself. As it continued to move deeper and deeper inwards, it hit the same switch like before. This time the body shattered into the most minute and refined particles. Again, the mind was cut loose and slipped deep inside itself. Silence. It was at an even deeper level of calm than before – nothing could penetrate it. Following its own momentum, the mind stayed like that some time and then withdrew as it wished. Everything was happening automatically. There was no one influencing or directing events; I didn't try to make things happen, to enter that state or withdraw from it in any particular way. I was simply keeping with the knowing and watching. Eventually, the mind withdrew to a state of normality, without stimulating any more doubts. I continued to contemplate and the mind inclined inwards again. The third time I had the experience of the whole world completely disintegrating. The earth, vegetation, trees, mountains, in fact the entire planet appeared as ākāsa-dhātu (the space element). There were Page 21 of 33

no people or anything else left at all. At this last stage there was complete emptiness.

The mind continued to dwell within on its own peacefully, without being forced. I don't know how to explain how it happened like that, or why. It's difficult to describe the experience or talk about it in a way that anyone else could understand. There's nothing you can compare it with. The last time the mind stayed in that state far longer and then when its time was up, it withdrew. Saying that the mind withdrew, doesn't mean that I was controlling it and making it withdraw – it withdrew by itself. I simply watched as it returned to normal. Who could say what happened on these three occasions? Who could describe it? Maybe there's no need to describe it?


What I have been telling you about here concerns the pure nature of mind as it is experienced in reality. This hasn't been a theoretical analysis of the mind or mental factors. There isn't any need for that. The things which really are needed are confidence in the teachings and the sincerity to keep deepening the practice. You have to put your life on the line. When the time comes, the whole world turns upside down. Your view and understanding of reality is completely transformed. If other people see you at that time, they might think that you're insane. If it happened to someone who couldn't maintain their mindfulness and rationality, they might really go crazy, because after such an experience, nothing is the same as before. The way you view people in the world is no longer the same, but you are the only one who has seen things like this. Your whole sense of reality changes. The way you think about things alters – when other people think in one way, you think in another. They talk about things one way, you another. While they go up that way, you go down this way. You are no longer the same as other human beings. From then on you have this Page 22 of 33

experience often and it can last for a long time.

Try it out for yourselves. If you have this kind of experience in your practice, you won't have to go looking for anything far away; just keep observing the mind. At this level, the mind is at its boldest and most confident. This is the power and energy of the mind. It's much more powerful than you'd ever expect.

This is the power of samādhi. At this stage it is still just the power that the mind derives from samādhi alone. If samādhi reaches this level, it is at its deepest and strongest. It's no longer a matter of controlling the mind through suppression or momentary periods of concentration. It has reached its peak. If you were to use such concentration as a basis for practicing vipassanā, you would be able to contemplate fluently. From here onwards it could also be used in other ways, such as to develop psychic powers or perform miraculous feats. Different ascetics and religious practitioners use such concentration in various ways, such as casting spells and making Holy Water, charms and talismans. Having reached this point, the mind can be used and developed in many different ways and each might be good in its own way, but it's the kind of good like a good drink: once you've had it you become intoxicated. That kind of good is ultimately of little use.

The calm mind is like a resting place for the practitioner. The Buddha rested here as it forms the base from which to practice vipassanā and to contemplate the truth. At this point you only need to maintain a modest level of samādhi, your main function is to direct your attention to observing the conditions of the world around you. You contemplate steadily the process of cause and effect. Using the clarity of the mind, you reflect on all the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations you experience, and how they give rise to different moods: good, bad, pleasant or unpleasant. It's as if someone were to climb up a Page 23 of 33

mango tree and shake the fruit down while you wait underneath to collect up all those that fall. You reject any mangoes which are rotten, keeping only the good ones. That way, you don't have to expend much energy, because rather than climbing the tree yourself, you simply wait to collect
the mangoes at the bottom.

This means that when the mind is calm, all the mind-objects you experience bring you knowledge and understanding. Because there is awareness you are no longer creating or proliferating around these things. Success and failure, good reputation and bad reputation, praise and criticism, happiness and suffering, all come and go by themselves. With a clear, still mind that is endowed with insight it's interesting to sift through them and sort them out. All these mind-objects which you experience – whether it's the praise, criticism or things that you hear from other people, or any of the other kinds of happiness and suffering which you experience – become a source of benefit for you. Because someone else has climbed up the mango tree and is shaking it to make the mangoes fall down to you. You can gather them up at your leisure. You don't have to fear anything – why should you fear anything when it's someone else who is up the tree, shaking the mangoes down for you? All forms of gain and loss, good reputation and bad reputation, praise and criticism, happiness and suffering, are like the mangoes which fall down to you. The calm mind forms the basis for your contemplation, as you gather them up. With mindfulness, you know which fruits are good and which are rotten. This practice of reflection, based on the foundation of calm, is what gives rise to paññā or vipassanā. It's not something that has to be created or concocted – if insight, then the practice of vipassanā will follow automatically, without you having to invent names or labels for it. If there is a small amount of clarity, this gives rise to small vipassanā; if it's deeper insight, it is 'medium vipassanā'. If Page 24 of 33

there is complete knowledge and insight into the truth of the way things are, it is 'complete vipassanā'. The practice of a mind that already has achieved a certain level of calm. Once this is established, vipassanā develops naturally with the use of paññā – it's not something you can force on the mind.

As a result of his experience, the Buddha taught that the practice has to develop naturally, according to conditions. Having reached this
level, you allow things to develop according to your accumulated wholesome kamma [8] and pārami [9]. This doesn't mean you stop putting effort into the practice, but that you continue with the understanding that whether you progress swiftly or slowly, it's not something you can force. It's like planting a tree, it knows by itself the appropriate pace to grow at. If you crave to get quick results, see that as delusion. Even if you want to it to grow slowly, see that as delusion also. As with planting the tree, only when you do the practice will you get the result. If you plant a chili bush for instance, your duty is simply to dig the hole, plant the seedling, give it water and fertilizer and protect it from insects. This is your job, your part of it. Then it's a matter of trust. For the chili plant, how it grows is its own affair – it's not your business. You can't go pulling at it to make it grow faster. Nature doesn't work like that. Your job is just to water it and give it fertilizer.

When you practice like this, there's not much suffering. Whether you reach enlightenment in this lifetime or the next, is not important. If you have faith and confidence in the efficacy of the practice, then whether you progress quickly or slowly, can be left up to your accumulated good kamma, spiritual qualities and pārami. If you see it this way, you feel at ease with the practice. It's like when you are driving a horse and cart, you don't put Page 25 of 33

the cart before the horse. Before you were putting the cart before the horse. Or if you were ploughing a field, you would be walking ahead of the buffalo, in other words, the mind would have been restless and impatient to get quick results. But once you reflect like this and are practicing accordingly, you no longer walk ahead of the buffalo, you walk behind.

So, with the chili plant you bring water and fertilizer and chase away any ants or termites that come. Just that much is enough for it to grow into a beautiful bush all by itself. Once the plant is flourishing, it's not your business to try and force it to flower right away. Don't practice that way. It's just creating suffering for no reason. The chili plant grows according to its own nature. Once it flowers, don't try to force it to produce seeds right away. It won't work and you'll just suffer. That's really suffering. When you understand this, it means you know your own part in the practice and you know the part of the mind-objects and defilements. Each has its own separate part to play. The mind knows its role and the work it has to do. As long as the mind doesn't understand what its job is, it will always try and force the chili plant to grow up, flower and produce chili peppers, all in the same day. That is nothing other than samudaya – the Noble Truth of the Cause of Suffering.

If you have had insight into this, it means you know when the mind is deluded and goes off. Once you know the correct way to practice,
you can let go and allow things to follow naturally in accordance with your accumulated wholesome kamma, spiritual qualities and pārami. You simply keep practicing without having to worry about how long it will take. You don't have to worry whether it will take one hundred or one thousand lives before you get enlightened. Whichever life it will be, it doesn't really matter, you just continue practicing at Page 26 of 33

whatever pace you can be at ease with.

Once the mind has entered the stream it cannot turn back. It has gone beyond even the smallest evil action. The Buddha taught that mind of the sotāpanna (stream-enterer) has inclined or entered into the stream of Dhamma and cannot return. Those who have practiced to this point can no longer fall back and be born into the apāya realms or the hell realms again. How could they possibly fall back when, having clearly seen the harm and danger, they have already cut off the roots of all unwholesome kamma. They are no longer able to commit unwholesome acts of body and speech. Once they have refrained from committing unwholesome acts of body and speech, how can they possibly fall into the apāya realms or the hell realms? Their minds have entered the stream. Once the mind has entered the stream through meditation, you know your duty and the work you have to do. You know the path of practice and how it progresses. You know when to exert and when to relax in the practice. You know the body and you know the mind. You know materiality and mentality. Those things which should be let go of and abandoned, you let go of and abandon them, without getting caught in doubt and uncertainty.

In the past, I didn't use such a great amount of detailed knowledge and refined theory in my practice. The important thing was to gain clear understanding and refine the practice within the mind itself. If I looked at my own or anyone else's physical form and found there was attraction to it, I would seek out the cause for that attraction. I contemplated the body and analyzed it into its component parts: kesā (hair of the head), lomā (hair of the body), nakhā (nails), dantā (teeth), taco (skin) and so on. The Buddha taught to contemplate the different parts of the body, over and over again. Separate them, pull them apart, peel the skin off and incinerate it all. Keep meditating like this, until the mind Page 27 of 33

is still, firm and unwavering in its meditation on the unattractiveness of the body. When you are walking on alms round, for instance, and see other monks or lay people ahead, visualize them as corpses, tottering along the road in front of you. As you walk, keep putting effort into this practice, taking the mind deeper and deeper into the contemplation on the impermanence of the body. If you see a young woman and are attracted by her, contemplate the image of a corpse which is rotten and putrid from the process of decomposition. Contemplate like this on every occasion, so that the mind maintains a sense of distance, not becoming infatuated with that attractiveness. If you practice in this way, the attraction will not last long, because you see the truth very clearly, no longer doubting the truth that the body is really something, which is rotting and decomposing.

Use this kind of reflection until the perception of unattractiveness becomes clearly fixed in the mind, and it goes beyond doubt. Wherever you go it won't be wasted. You must really determine to do this practice to the point where whenever you see someone, it's exactly the same as if you were actually looking at a corpse. When you see a woman, you see her as a corpse; when you see a man you see him as a corpse; and you see yourself as a corpse in just the same way. In the end, everybody becomes a corpse. You have to put as much effort into this contemplation as you can. Train yourself until it becomes part of the mind. It's actually quite enjoyable – if you really do it. But if you just become absorbed in reading lots of books, it's difficult to get results. You have to practice sincerely and with real determination so that the kammaṭṭhāna becomes established as an integral part of the mind.

Studying the Abhidhamma can be beneficial, but you have to do it without getting attached to the books. The correct way to study is to make it clear in the mind Page 28 of 33

that you are studying for the realization of truth and to transcend suffering. These days there are many different teachers of vipassanā and many different methods to choose from, but actually, the practice of vipassanā isn't such an easy thing to do. You can't go and do it just like that; it has to develop out of a strong foundation in sīla. Try it out. Moral line, training rules and guidelines for behavior are a necessary part of the practice – if your actions and speech are untrained and undisciplined, it's like skipping over part of magga and you won't meet with success. Some people say you don't need to practice samatha, you can go straight into vipassanā, but people who speak like that tend to be lazy and want to get results without expanding any effort. They say that keeping sīla isn't important to practice, but really, practicing sīla in itself is already quite difficult and not something you can do casually. If you were to skip the sīla, then of course the whole practice would seem comfortable and convenient. It would be nice if whenever the practice involved a bit of difficulty you could just skip over it – everybody likes to avoid the difficult bits.

There was once a monk who came here and asked permission to stay with me, saying that he was interested in the practice. He inquired about the monastic regulations and discipline here, so I explained that in this monastery we practice according to the Vinaya (Code of Discipline) and that the monks can't keep personal funds of money or stores of requisites. He said that he practiced non-attachment. I said that I didn't know how he practiced or what he meant by that. Then he asked whether he could use money, if he didn't attach or giving any special importance to it. I said he could use it, in the same way as he could use any salt which he could find that wasn't salty. The monk was really just trying to impress people with the way he talked, but actually, he Page 29 of 33

was too lazy to bother practicing with what he saw as lots of trifling and unnecessarily meticulous rules which to him just made life difficult. If ever he could find some salt which didn't taste salty, I would be ready to believe him. If it really wasn't salty, he should bring a whole basket full and try eating it! Could it really not be salty? Non-attachment is not something which can be experienced simply through talking about it or trying to guess what it's like. It's not like that. Having displayed his views on the practice in that way, it became clear that the monk would be unable to live here, so he left and went his own way.


You have to keep putting forth effort into the practice of sīla and the various dhūtanga practices. It's not different for lay people either. Even if you are living at home, at the least very keep the five precepts [13]. Try to compose and discipline your speech and actions. Keep putting forth your best effort, and your practice will gradually progress.


Don't give up the practice of samatha just because you have tried it a few times and found that the mind doesn't get calm. That's the wrong way to go about it. You really have to train yourself over a long period of time. Why does it have to take so long? Think about it. How many years have you let pass by without practicing? When thoughts arise pulling the mind in one direction, you rush after them, when they start pulling it in another, you still rush after them with your mental proliferation. If you are going to try and stop the flow of the mind and make it stay still, right there in the present moment, a couple of months is just not long enough. Contemplate this. Think about what it might take to have a mind which is at peace with the flow of the different issues and events which affect it and is at peace with the mind-objects it experiences. When you first Page 30 of 33

start to practice, the mind has so little steadiness that as soon as it comes into contact with a mind-object, it gets agitated and confused. Why does it get agitated? Because it's under the influence of taṇhā. You don't want it to think. You don't want to experience any mind-objects. This not wanting is a form of craving. It's vibhava-taṇhā (craving for non-existence). The more you desire not to experience any agitation and confusion, the more you encourage and usher it in. 'I don't want this impingement, why does it come? I don't want the mind to be agitated, why is it like this?' That's it – there's craving for the mind to be in a peaceful state. It's because you don't know your own mind. That's all. You persist in getting caught up with the mind and its craving, and yet it takes an incredibly long time before you realize where you are going wrong. When you think about it clearly, you can see that all this distraction and agitation comes because you tell it to come! There is craving for it to be otherwise; there is craving for it to be peaceful; there is craving for the mind not to be restless and agitated. That's the point – it's all craving, the whole mass of it.


Well, never mind! Just get on with your own practice. Whenever you experience a mind-object, contemplate it. Throw it into one of the three 'pits' of aniccaṁ, dukkhaṁ, anattā in your meditation and reflect on it. Generally, when we experience a mind-object it stimulates thinking. The thinking is in reaction to the experience of the mind-object. The nature of ordinary thinking and paññā is very different. The nature of ordinary thinking is to carry on without stopping. The mind-objects you experience lead you off in different directions and your thoughts just follow along. The nature of paññā is to stop the proliferation, to still the mind, so that it doesn't go anywhere. You are simply the knower and receiver of things. As you experience different mind-objects, which in turn give rise Page 31 of 33

to different moods, you maintain awareness of the process and ultimately, you can see that all the thinking and proliferating, worrying and judging, is entirely devoid of any real substance or self. It is all aniccaṁ, dukkhaṁ, anattā. The way to practice is to cut off all the proliferation right at its base and see that it all comes under the headings of the three characteristics. As a result it will weaken and lose its power. Next time when you are sitting in meditation and it comes up, or whenever you experience agitation like that you contemplate it, you keep observing and checking the mind.


You can compare it with looking after water buffalo. There is a buffalo, its owner and some rice plants. Now normally, buffaloes like to eat rice plants; rice plants are buffalo food. Your mind is like the buffalo, the mind-objects which you experience are like the rice plants, That part of the mind which is 'that which knows' is like the owner of the buffalo, The practice isn't really any different from this. Consider it. What do you do when you are looking after a water buffalo? You let it wander freely, but try to keep an eye on it the whole time. If it walks too near the rice plants, you shout a warning and when the buffalo hears, it should stop and come back. However, you can't be careless. If it's stubborn and doesn't take heed of you warnings you have to take a stick and give it a good whack, then it won't dare to go anywhere near the rice plants. But don't get caught taking a siesta. If you can't resist taking a nap, the rice plants will be finished for sure.


Practice is similar. When you are watching your mind, it's 'that which knows' that actually does the watching. 'Those who watch over their minds will free themselves from Mara's trap.' But it's puzzling: the mind is the mind so who is it who watches over the mind then? The mind is one thing, 'that which knows' Page 32 of 33

is another. This knowing emerges from within the very same mind. It's the knowing of the state of mind; knowing as the mind experiences mind-objects; and knowing of the mind that is separate from mind-objects. This aspect of the mind which knows is what the Buddha referred to as 'that which knows'. The knowing is the one who watches over the mind. It is from the knowing that paññā arises. The mind manifests as thinking and ideas. If it meets a mind-object, it will stop off and spend some time with it. If it meets another object then it will spend some time with that, just like that buffalo stopping off to nibble some rice plants. Wherever it wanders to, you have to keep an eye on it the whole time, ensuring that it won't slip away from your sight. If it strays near the rice plants and doesn't take any notice when you shout a warning, you must show it the stick right away, with no messing about. To train it, you have to give it a hard time and make it go against the flow of its desires.


Training the mind is the same. Normally, when it contacts a mind-object, the mind will immediately grab hold of it. As it grabs hold of mind-objects, 'that which knows' has to teach it. Using wise reflection, you have to train the mind to contemplate each object in the light of whether it is wholesome or unwholesome. When you experience other mind-objects, because you see them as desirable, your mind rushes to grasp at them. So 'that which knows' has to teach it over and over again, using wise reflection, until it is able to cast them aside. This is how you can develop the calmness of the mind. You will come to see that whatever you grasp hold of is inherently undesirable. The result is that the mind stops right there without any further proliferation. It loses any desire to pursue such objects, because it has come under a constant barrage of insults and criticism. You really have to Page 33 of 33

give it a hard time. You have to torture it until the words penetrate to your very heart. That is the way to train the mind.


Ever since I went into the forest to practice, I trained in that way. Whenever I teach the monastic community, I teach that way – because I want you to see the truth. I don't want you just to see what's in the books. I want you to see for yourselves, in your own minds, whether you have been liberated from your defiled thoughts or not. Once you have been liberated, you know. As long as you have still not freed yourself, you must use wise reflection to penetrate and understand the truth. If you really have insight into the true nature of thoughts, you will automatically transcend them. If later on something else comes up and you get stuck on that, you must reflect on that and as long as you haven't transcended it, you can't give up, otherwise there can be no progress.