Autobiography 05
Phra Nirōdharaṅsī Gambhirapaññāvisiṭṭha
Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī
Wat Hin Mak Peng, Si Chiang Mai District, Nong Khai Province
12. Fifth Rains Retreat: Staying at the Cemetery North of Akat Amnuay District (1926)
Approaching the Rains Retreat, I returned to stay at the cemetery north of Akat Amnuay District. Ajahn Singh stayed the retreat south of Akat Amnuay District. During this retreat, those staying with me included my older brother, my maternal uncle, my mother, my aunt, and another mae chee (white-robed nun) from Ban Phon Sawang. The only monk was myself and Novice Chuen from Tha Bo. Just before the retreat, my uncle died, leaving only six of us.
That retreat, smallpox broke out among the villagers. People fled to live in the forests and rice fields — almost everyone. Even the monks in the village temples followed the laypeople, leaving almost no one to put alms food into the bowls. In Akat town, people had never experienced smallpox before. There were over a thousand households, yet only five people got smallpox. Whoever got it would hide it so that others wouldn't know until it had already spread widely. And when someone got smallpox, they would be taken into the forest, a small hut built for them to live alone, with only food brought to them.
It was very fortunate that Ajahn Singh knew something about herbal medicine. He told them not to abandon people in the forest. He found medicine to treat them, so only a few died. When the authorities found out, they came to give vaccination protection.
By the merit of those people, they still respected meditation monks. Even though no one stayed to guard their houses at all, still at 4–5 a.m. they would wander back to cook rice for alms. When we went on alms round, they would come out to offer food, then quickly return to the forest. I offer my special thanks and merit to the people of Akat town here. This merit is something high above life and mind, a true refuge for human beings who are suffering, both the living and the dead. When people suffer, if they don't rely on merit, what else can they rely on?
The people of Akat were more afraid of smallpox than of tigers. Neighbors living next door, even relatives, would not speak to each other. I asked them: "When will you speak to each other again?" They said: "That — after the Rains Retreat, in the third lunar month, then we'll talk." This retreat, I went often to listen to Ajahn Singh's Dhamma talks. The journey required walking through Akat town and then further, a distance of nearly 3 kilometers (the town was empty — not even a single dog was seen). Ajahn Singh's teaching struck me deeply. Whether he intended to strike me, or didn't know my true nature, it's hard to guess. He said: "Your nature is rough and stubborn, not easily submitting to others."
While he was teaching, I fixed my mind and examined my own heart. I respected him deeply and always received his instructions. Why would he say that? But what he said about not easily submitting to others was true. I had been that way since forever. If something is not reasonable, I am not easily convinced. Even my own opinions — if I don't compare them with this and that, if there is no evidence to support them, I will stubbornly refuse to believe even if my head is cut off. (I will relate this story for the reader later on.)
While sitting listening to his teaching and simultaneously examining my mind, it actually increased my sense of determination, like pouring oil to extinguish a fire. On the way back, I walked as if floating. My mind kept taking that matter as its object without cease. That night, I redoubled my effort, thinking: "I have practiced to this extent. Why is it that I cannot know the defilements that are actually in my own heart, yet others can know what is in me? How embarrassing. He was born of parents, grew up on milk and rice just like me, yet he can know my defilements. I will die in this practice." While practicing, nothing special arose. I simply reflected: "He sees it that way, and he teaches that way according to his own understanding. If things are not as he says, then I will cleanse myself. No one can know me better than I can." The mind became calm and cool, neutral.
As I practiced more, my bodily elements became unsettled. So I lay down to rest, but could hardly sleep. When I drifted off, something happened — what villagers call phi om (ghost suffocation). There's no need to explain phi om; everyone knows its symptoms. But the important question: is it really a ghost? That night, I tested many things. Initially, it was like a huge, dark, black mass that came and sat on my chest, making it impossible to breathe. I struggled until I regained consciousness, almost dying. They say that the ghosts of animals we have killed reside on the knuckles of our hands, and if you put your hand on your chest, it suffocates you. So I took my hand off my chest and placed it straight along my body — but it still came to suffocate me.
Eh? What is this? Maybe because I was lying on my back. I tried lying on my side — it still came to suffocate me. It would make me nearly breathless. So I determined to observe what the state of a dying person is like. The first time, I had mindfulness continuously knowing the mind — observing what it was like when the heart was about to stop. Mindfulness followed the knowing mind until the final moment. There was still a tiny bit of mindfulness following the knowing mind. At that moment, I thought: If I let go of that last bit of mindfulness that is still following the mind — that is death.
Now, should I let myself die or not? At this time, my mind is already pure. If I let myself die, it wouldn't be a loss. There is still a tiny feeling: If I don't let myself die and remain alive, I can still benefit others in the future. If I die now, I will gain only personal benefit, and later people will not know the full story of this death. So then, let it not die. I tried to wiggle my hands and feet until I regained full consciousness. The second time, I didn't see a form, but it was a dark black mass coming in. Now I knew for certain it was not a ghost — it was a matter of wind energy rising upward. I tried moving my hands and feet, and it disappeared. The third time, it wasn't that intense — just a hazy, drowsy feeling — and I forced myself to get up.
Readers should observe: when you regain consciousness, you will feel dizzy and groggy. If you don't try to take medicine for wind and just go back to sleep, it will happen again. For me, the only remedy was smelling pimsēn (borneol/camphor).
12.1 The Technique of Sleeping or Not Sleeping
Around this same time, I tried to observe the state of falling asleep — what it is like. Usually, we don't know the moment we actually fall asleep; we only know we have slept after waking up. Before sleeping, there is tiredness, fatigue, and drowsiness of body and mind. Thoughts become shorter. Finally, one lets go of all mindfulness and objects, and falls fast asleep. That is called sleeping.
When I set up mindfulness to catch the moment of that final letting go, mindfulness remains very little — almost impossible to catch. No mental objects remain. Only a tiny bit of mindfulness remains, observing the mind as it appears at that moment, as if the mind is about to enter bhavaṅga (subconscious life-continuum). At this point, if we don't want to sleep, we try to find some object for the mind to grasp, then think about it and elaborate on it. The mind will become refreshed and bright, the drowsiness will disappear, and we will not sleep. This will have the same value as 4–5 hours of sleep.
If we want to sleep, we let go of that remaining bit of mindfulness, and we will fall asleep comfortably. But it won't waste time — whether sleeping little or much, it won't exceed 5–10 minutes. Or if we can really set up mindfulness as described, I guarantee it won't exceed 5 minutes.
Furthermore, if we don't want to sleep but simply want to rest the body and mind, we find a sufficiently quiet place — whether in private or in public — then lie down stretched out comfortably, not tensing any part of the body. Then fix the mind on a single object of letting go, letting it be empty and still for a while. Then get up. All the symptoms will be as if we had slept for 4–5 hours.
In truth, the word "sleep" — the mind does not sleep; rather, the body rests without moving. Even those who enter nirodha-samāpatti (attainment of cessation) are not in a state of sleep. That is a state where they control mindfulness so that the mind is fixed on a single object, then let go of that object, becoming more refined in stages, together with mindfulness and mind, until all feeling and perception cease, through the power of their cultivation. At that moment, mindfulness has no work to do, so mindfulness ceases. Even though the breath in the body still moves, it is so refined that one cannot say it exists or does not exist — it exists but does not manifest as breathing through the nose. Like the wind outside: wind exists but does not blow leaves or anything to make them sway. With such a characteristic, no one can say there is no wind. If there were no wind, there would be no air — all beings living in this world would die. This is called entering nirodha-samāpatti. At that time, the sense bases (āyatana) do not receive any contacts. But it is not sleep.
In sleep, if something touches you, you can wake up immediately. But for one who has entered nirodha-samāpatti, having entered through skill in training the mind, there is great wonder. Even if someone tried to harm them at that moment — even burning with fire — they would not burn. As for nibbāna-dhātu (the element of nibbāna), that is the breakup of the aggregates and their cessation. When they emerge from nirodha-samāpatti by the power of their strong resolution, at the appointed time the breath gradually becomes coarser, and then everything in their body returns to normal.
Nirodha-samāpatti is not nibbāna. It is jhāna, because it lacks the right view wisdom to investigate the causes and conditions of defilements — that is, the kāmāvacara (sense-sphere) and rūpāvacara (fine-material-sphere) levels, which are the domain of insight knowledge, knowledge-and-vision, and the path. All jhānas are merely supports and refinements to strengthen the path. Therefore, before his final nibbāna, the Buddha entered the jhānas in sequence, then returned to the fourth jhāna, which is the basis for insight, and attained nibbāna between the kāmāvacara and rūpāvacara that are the base of supramundane states.
If someone asks: "Hey you, why are you talking about nirodha, nibbāna, and jhāna-samāpatti? Have you attained them?" I would answer: No, I haven't. Are you accusing me of claiming a superhuman state? In truth, whether someone has attained saññā-vedayita-nirodha (cessation of perception and feeling), or has attained path, fruit, and nibbāna, or has attained jhāna-samāpatti — they do not think "I am entering," "I have attained," or "I am attaining." They are simply skilled in the methods for reaching those states.
If, at the actual moment of attainment, they still had such conceiving, they would not attain. And if ordinary people learning and becoming knowledgeable in Dhamma and Vinaya could all attain path, fruit, nibbāna, and jhāna-samāpatti, then everyone in every village and town would do so.
That state is not within anyone's province to assign conventional designations to. After emerging from that state, they then recollect and examine the sequence of causes and conditions, and then designate those things. Explaining does not require one to have attained that level. Once the designations exist and the meaning is understood, one can explain according to one's own understanding — sometimes wrong, sometimes right. Otherwise, how could the Buddha's teachings have endured until today?
Listeners — hearing the same topic, the same heading, many understand it in different ways. Even those who attain that level by the same method still use their discernment differently. Dhamma seen for oneself is wondrous and difficult to do. Why then single me out for blame? That is not fair.
Forgive me for taking the reader off the path and wandering into the spirit world. Now let me return to the autobiography.
After the Rains Retreat, Ajahn Singh led our group to pay respects to Ajahn Mun at Ban Sam Phong, as was our regular custom. Along the way, I told Ajahn Singh everything that had happened. He said nothing, just remained silent. When we reached Ajahn Mun, I related the matter to him again. At that time I was sitting at a distance, so I don't know what he said about my case. I didn't hear. I understood it to be a trivial matter, not related to the path, so he didn't discuss it further like other matters.
This gathering to pay respects to the great teacher — even though the total number of monks and novices was under one hundred, it was still considered large for that era. Then Ajahn Mun had me, together with one other monk and one novice, follow him to Ban Kha Non Daeng, where Ajahn Un, Ajahn Ku, and Ajahn Fan were staying the Rains Retreat. We stayed there three days. I told my friends about my experiments in sleeping and not sleeping. Everyone was silent, saying nothing. Especially Ajahn Un, who had raised this topic earlier when I still couldn't do it. While Ajahn Mun was staying at Wat Pa Sam Phong, he taught every day. If anyone was weak, discouraged, or ill, he would say: "That's not fear of death — you want to die many times." (Meaning: if you practice strongly and the mind becomes pure, fear of death diminishes.) When he left the monastery and no one taught, the disciples' minds weakened and they couldn't stay.
The climate at this monastery was terrible. Malaria was rampant. Anyone with a weak mind would get sick. The entire group from Ban Sam Phong eventually followed and the whole monastery came, saying: "Terrible — we can't stay. The climate at Wat Ban Sam Phong is dreadful — it makes us groggy, dizzy, and sleepy all day." When the group gathered together, Ajahn Mun discussed the need to wander in seclusion to further spread the Dhamma: "In these three or four provinces — Sakon Nakhon, Udon Thani, Nong Khai, Loei — we have traveled extensively. Now which province shall we go to?" Most thought going down to Ubon. But he himself was not pleased, because it was hard to find forests, mountains, and caves. However, he followed the majority decision. Once agreed, they prepared to set out in groups. I had to accompany my mother back home, so I did not follow him.
Ajahn Mun's journey this time encountered a severe storm, with both good and bad results. The good: it increased the number of monasteries — before this, there were no forest meditation monasteries at all in Ubon Province. This was the first time they came and established themselves, and from there spread continuously. Today, there are Dhammayuttika monasteries in almost every district. The bad: the quality of practice declined — it was unprecedented. This caused Ajahn Mun to abandon the group and go up to Chiang Mai.
13. Sixth Rains Retreat: Staying Again at Ban Na Chang Nam (1927)
This Rains Retreat, I returned to stay at Ban Na Chang Nam for the second time. My older brother stayed the retreat at Ban Na Sida with our father. After the retreat, I took my older brother to practice at Tham Phra Na Hak Phok (Cave of the Broken-Limbed Buddha).
Later, my older brother went down to Phra Ajahn Sao, who was staying the retreat in Nakhon Phanom. After the retreat, he received full ordination at Wat Si Thep itself.
14. Seventh Rains Retreat: Staying at Tham Phra Na Hak Phok (1928)
I took my father to stay at the cave. He had been ordained as a white-robed bhikkhu (literally "bi pah khao" — a white-robed lay practitioner) for 11 years. I had never had him stay the retreat with me, nor had I ever stayed a retreat so close to home before this year. This year was a good opportunity for me to support him in Dhamma. He practiced meditation to the best of his ability and achieved great results, even exclaiming: "In my whole life, this is the first time I have truly tasted the flavor of the Dhamma."
He would sit in meditation for 3–4 hours at a time. I was very glad to have supported him as I had intended. But when the time came, things happen. He fell ill. His relatives saw the difficulty of caring for him at night — just the two of us, father and son — not knowing where to run for help. So they came to take him down for treatment at home. But he didn't want to return to the original temple. They took him to his rice-field shelter in the middle of the fields. I followed often to give him mindfulness.
That year, something remarkable happened concerning my father. The rice seedlings in all the surrounding villagers' fields were poor, even though the rains were moderate. The rice plants were red all over. The only green, healthy rice that astonished everyone was in my father's field. The villagers said: "The white-robed father probably won't survive this year." And it turned out as they said. That day, I went to give him advice and instructions, which pleased him. He was still strong. Toward evening I returned to my cave at Tham Phra Na Hak Phok. That very night, he passed away, with mindfulness calm and peaceful throughout, right until his last breath.
The next morning, they came to fetch me. We performed his cremation that same day. He died in August 1928 at the age of 77, having been a white-robed practitioner for 11 years. Before my father came to stay with me, I lived alone. After his death, I lived alone again. Such seclusion is hard to find. I resolved in my heart: "My life, my flesh and blood, and all the practices I will do — I offer them in homage to the Triple Gem, like a person picking flowers to offer to the Buddha."
Then I intensified my effort strongly. I established mindfulness, not letting the mind think and send itself out to external objects, keeping it in peaceful seclusion within alone, all day and all night. However I set the mind before sleeping, upon waking it remained that way. Sometimes, even while sleeping, I would be aware that I was sleeping but couldn't get up. I would try to move my body until I regained full consciousness, with the understanding that: The mind that does not think and wander out to external objects, that remains calm and still in one place — that is purity free from all suffering.
When wisdom arose, I used it to cleanse the mind that had been wandering, bringing it back to that stillness. Therefore I did not try to use wisdom to investigate the elements, aggregates, sense bases, etc. I did not yet know that body and mind are still connected. When any object or sense impression contacts any part, it will affect the other, causing the mind that was already still to waver according to defilements.
I practiced walking meditation until my feet were bloody and cracked, and I had fever throughout the retreat. But I did not give up. I had read about some elder monks in ancient times whose feet split from walking meditation. I didn't quite believe it. The word "split" probably meant hitting something hard and then splitting — but walking meditation is done on a level path, so what would they hit? Actually, the Pāli word for "split" or "crack" is the same. And that monks became ill (fever) from kamma, season, bile imbalance, external contact, or from exertion — I only came to understand this now: exertion with a strong mind but no wisdom. But here I was alone, without spiritual friends. I was strong in exertion but not in wisdom — my mind was strong, wisdom not so good — and that's why I got fever.
After the Rains Retreat, I returned to my older brother and Ajahn Sao in Nakhon Phanom, because I had been away from my companions and teachers for two years. Since Ajahn Sao and Ajahn Mun, along with the whole group, had left Tha Bo for this region, I was the only one left of this group.
14.1 The Story of Luang Ta Man
At that time, Luang Ta Man from Ban Khor came to stay the Rains Retreat at Ban Na Sida, my home village. He went around boasting and harassing monks who had less knowledge, claiming that he was skilled in religion, able to debate anyone into defeat. Even the meditation monks, when they saw his face, would hide. "Look — all the meditation monks couldn't stay and fled because they were afraid of me. Only Thate remains. In a few days he'll be gone too." People heard this and were tired of it, not wanting to talk. If they talked, he would claim he alone was right, arguing at length.
Just that retreat, an ecclesiastical dispute (adhikaraṇa) arose with the monks of Ban Klang Yai. They secretly invited me to come down from the cave to settle the dispute. When I came down, he had the dispute withdrawn. He kept doing this sort of thing until the monks in that area were utterly fed up. Perhaps it was because he was crazy from fame, as people from the South say — because people were too lazy to speak with him, as it was pointless.
Just so happened that day was the Pavāraṇā day (end of Rains Retreat). They were making merit according to custom. They invited him to come and preach as well. They also invited me to come down. But they didn't tell him. As I walked through the village, I saw no one — they were all waiting for me at the temple, which was unusual. Normally, whenever people knew I would be passing through the village, they would line up on both sides to see me, some calling out excitedly, to the point that I didn't want to walk through Ban Klang Yai.
After his sermon ended, I gathered the entire Saṅgha and raised the matter of his statement that "paying homage to the Buddha, one should first recite arahang" — that this was wrong. "I am not an arahant, so I cannot pay homage to an arahant." I asked him to give supporting reasons. He said: "You must first say namo, then say namo arahato sammāsambuddhassa." I pointed out to him that this still pays homage to the arahant. "Luang Ta, are you an arahant? Why then do you pay homage to the arahant?" At this point, he became extremely angry. "If I'm not an arahant, then I won't stay ordained like this. I'll disrobe and sleep with my wife instead." And he spoke rudely — many things — all unpleasant words.
I then asked him further: "What measure do you have for being an arahant?" He answered: "Looking at the earth is the measure." I said: "Anyone can look at the earth. Even water buffaloes look at the earth all day while eating grass. So they are all arahants? Luang Ta, you are claiming a superhuman state." As soon as I said this, he was shocked, stopped short, and couldn't say anything. I said many things, such as: "You challenged the group and the meditation monks in various ways — is it true? Please speak out." He absolutely would not speak.
It was nearly evening. The monks were about to hold the Pavāraṇā ceremony. He entered the uposatha hall to join them, but the monks would not let him participate. So he returned alone to Ban Na Sida. That day, almost no one stayed home in the village — they had all gathered at the temple. The headman, who had never entered a temple before in his life, came to the temple from that day until the day he died.
That evening, I did not return to the cave but stayed overnight at the temple in Ban Na Sida. Luang Ta Man came struggling to see me, speaking almost incoherently with humiliation. He wanted to flee that very night, saying he was too ashamed to stay. I asked him to stay. He left the next morning. I spoke according to reason; I had no jealousy. That night he couldn't sleep at all. Before dawn, he went to the District Ecclesiastical Head and asked permission to disrobe. The news spread everywhere overnight. The District Ecclesiastical Head already knew about this matter. He said: "You don't need to ask permission. Just disrobe." He then went to Ban Khor, said goodbye to his teacher who taught Naktham — that monk also already knew. He said: "You don't need to ask permission. Just disrobe." In the end, he disrobed and stayed quietly in his former wife's house for many days before letting people see his face. I include this trivial story in the autobiography for completeness. If I didn't include it, the account would be incomplete.
14.2 The Story of Luang Tia Thong In
Having told a trivial story, now let me tell a substantial one. Luang Tia Thong In originally came from Khorat, Ban Khok Chor Hor. He came to trade in Tha Bo and became a well-known wealthy merchant in this region. He and his wife were faithful. The people of Tha Bo learned to observe the precepts because of him. He donated an orchard to build a temple called Wat Amphawan, combining both their names — husband named In, wife named Am. Then he ordained.
Both he and his wife had been ordained for 4–5 Rains Retreats when he became ill with swelling and could not go anywhere, bedridden. When the year came, his children needed to prepare a bangsukun (robe-offering ceremony) for him. I was invited to join the merit-making, even though I had never seen his face before. I had 5 Rains Retreats; he had 7, two more than me. He said: "Now I feel like a dead man." I said: "If you're dead, that's good." He said: "I have no attachment to anything — my mind is focused only on the Four Paths, Four Fruits, and Nibbāna." I said: "If you still have such aspirations, you are not yet dead. A dead person aspires to nothing." He was stunned. He asked: "If I'm not to aspire, what should I do?" I said: "Just recite 'Buddho, Buddho' as your sole meditation object." At that moment, I looked down and saw many monks gathered below, so I hurried to finish the ceremony and went down, letting monks from other temples continue.
(Usually, when he was well, he was very diligent in paying homage and chanting — it would take 7 days to complete his cycle. When great teachers came, such as Ajahn Mun or Ajahn Sao, he would go to see them and then come out and tell his wife and children: "Making merit, giving alms, offering food — that's enough. No need for anything heavy." But his daughter practiced very well.)
The next morning, someone came to tell me: "Please invite you to go see Luang Tia. He has something amazing to tell you." I said: "After I eat, I'll go — tell him to wait a moment." When I arrived, he quickly told me the wondrous thing:
"Teacher, last night I was strange. The rooster that used to crow 'ek-ee-ek — ek' — last night it wasn't like that. It said: 'Your mind is unified — ekko.'" (When the mind has become unified in a single object, sounds appear that way.)
"Teacher — the gecko (tukkae) used to call 'tukkae, tukkae.' Last night it said: 'Your body is old now, old.'" (It was a Dhamma teaching — whatever sound, with a similar characteristic, it teaches immediately.)
I told him: "That's correct. Keep meditating. Make your mind steady, all day and night, without lapsing. You've already set yourself toward death." Later, someone came and said: "Please hurry, teacher — Luang Tia is about to disrobe." I was shocked. Why disrobe now, when his meditation had just begun? I said: "Wait a moment — don't disrobe yet. I'll go after eating." When I reached his kuṭi, there were two layers of railings. I opened the outer one, and had the boy who was looking after him open the inner one. The moment he heard my voice, all his doubt vanished as if flicked away. He then told me: "I told my daughter about the various things I had experienced in meditation, just as I told you, teacher. While telling her, a worry arose: 'Oh no — I have committed a pārājika offense' — for declaring a superhuman state to others. I became so agitated that I had to disrobe. Just then I heard the teacher's voice, and that distress disappeared in a flash. I won't disrobe now." I told him: "That is not a superhuman state. You didn't seek gain, status, or praise. You spoke for the sake of studying Dhamma together. No offense."
After that, feeling concerned and missing my teachers — since I had been away from them for two years — I took leave of him and went to Nakhon Phanom to visit Ajahn Sao.
14.3 Staying with Ajahn Sao
Ajahn Sao normally did not give many Dhamma talks. If he did, they were discussions. This year I went to stay with him, becoming one of his supports. Originally there was Ajahn Thum. I came to stay as a second monk. I also helped him train the laypeople.
This year, I asked him to allow a photograph to be taken as a souvenir. At first he didn't want to. But I pleaded, explaining the necessity so that disciples and future generations would have the chance to pay respects to him. Finally he agreed. This was unprecedented — previously he had never allowed a photograph. Still, I feared he might change his mind, so I quickly had someone cross over to Laos to bring a photographer.
I was very happy. After taking his photo, I gave copies to Chao Khun Thammachedi and Phra Khru Sīlasampann (later promoted to Chao Khun Thammasāramunī). The photo of Ajahn Sao that I arranged seems to be the only one ever taken of him. The same with Ajahn Mun — he always refused to have photos taken as souvenirs. I would plead and beg often. He would say: "Better to buy sweets for the monkeys."
But when I pleaded and explained the reasons strongly, in the end he softened, creating merit for later generations to have his image to pay respects to. After the Rains Retreat, Ajahn Sao traveled to the other side of the Mekong, staying at Tham Sompoy (Sompoy Cave). This cave, when he first went into seclusion, he had stayed there with Ajahn Mun. It is a large cave with many interconnected nooks and chambers. There was a Tipiṭaka cabinet inside but no books.
I followed him, but he was no longer staying there — he had gone into Tham Suea (Tiger Cave), further away. The path there was a labyrinth of mountains, with paired peaks. The cave he stayed in had tigers giving birth on the southern side, so they called it Tiger Cave. Above, about one sen (400 meters) up, there was a long cave that went through to the other side. Villagers said it took five torches to get through. He stayed at the mouth of this cave, with 2–3 monks and novices. An old man followed to serve him. This old man slept by a fire at the cave mouth. One night, he heard a loud "hoo" sound. He got up but saw nothing. Suspicious, in the morning he walked to where the sound came from and saw tiger footprints standing there. He understood that the tiger had intended to enter the cave, but seeing a person sleeping there, it turned back.
This cave had smooth, flat sides like railway carriage shelves, with water dripping inside. Monks scooped that water to drink — no need to filter, clean, no living creatures. The monk led us in with about half a candle — very comfortable, no anxiety. It was about one kilometer from the village. I stayed with him for two nights, then returned.
When World War II came, I heard that the communists had taken their kitchens and hidden in that cave. The Americans found out and dropped bombs into the cave. The bombs collapsed the cave mouth, causing many communists to die there. No one ever excavated them — pitiful, the lives of humans, worth nothing at all.
15. Eighth Rains Retreat: Staying at Ban Na Sai (1929)
Approaching the Rains Retreat, Ajahn Sao sent me to stay at Ban Na Sai. Ajahn Phu U stayed at Ban Na Khi Rin to honor the faith of the laypeople. This retreat, my health was not good at all. But I did not give up in my meditation practice — to the point of sacrificing my life to honor the Triple Gem. I thought about future dangers, both personal and for Buddhism: "Will our ordained life last? Perhaps the country will erupt in turmoil, invaded by enemies, and we may be conscripted as soldiers. Or the nation might fall into subjugation under another country — how could we remain ordained? Even if we stayed, it would not be convenient for practicing Dhamma and Vinaya. What should we do then?
"Moreover, at this time we still have many teachers. When they grow old and pass away, who will lead the community in Dhamma practice? The light of the Buddha's teaching will only dim further." As I thought, my heart became sorrowful for myself and for Buddhism, as if that time would arrive within a day or two, making my heart feel increasingly empty. At this point, I turned my recollection back to myself: "At present, the country's situation is still peaceful. The leading teachers are still present. I have been trained to a reasonable extent.
"Since I have this opportunity, I must intensify my practice until I understand the Buddha's teaching well enough to rely on myself. If any obstacles arise in the future — whether personal or for Buddhism — I will not have wasted my chance." Having found this approach, my heart became bold and resolute in exertion. Even though that retreat I could not sit (due to pain), I used walking as my main posture.
After the retreat, I heard that Ajahn Singh and Maha Pin had returned from Ubon and reached Khon Kaen. So I took leave of Ajahn Sao and set out to pay respects to them. That year, the government announced that people should not believe in ghosts and spirits, but should take refuge in the Triple Gem. The provincial authorities therefore mobilized Ajahn Singh's group to help suppress spirits. When I arrived, I joined their effort.
16. Ninth Rains Retreat: Staying at Ban Phra Khruea with Maha Pin (1930)
I led the villagers to move the temple from the streamside at Ban Phra Khruea to a new location in the middle of the field near Nong Ban Aew Mong. Later, Maha Pin came to join the retreat there. That retreat, the senior monks included Ajahn Phu U, Ajahn Kong Ma, and myself, with Maha Pin as the head.
Throughout the retreat, I took on the duty of preaching and receiving guests, helping him regularly every Uposatha day. The monks, novices, and laypeople all practiced with full effort. The results were very pleasing. Some meditators saw various things, becoming so absorbed that they forgot their homes, wives, and children.
After the retreat, together with Ajahn Phu U and the group, I took leave of Maha Pin to wander in seclusion toward Ban Chot, Nong Bua Ban, Kantharawichai District (Khok Phra), Maha Sarakham Province. They invited us to stay at Nong Waeng, next to the school. We taught the people there for a while. Then the laypeople from Ban Chot and Nong Bua Ban came to bring us back. That place later became a permanent monastery.
When we returned to Ban Chot and Nong Bua Ban, we stayed at Pa Dong, next to Nong Tok Paen. This time, many people came to train in meditation — many mae chee and white-robed men. Those who trained achieved amazing results. Children who were quarreling at home — meditating at the monastery, they knew it. Those who could meditate were truly wondrous. There were also those who couldn't meditate but just ordained to be with their friends. One day, a monk in meditation had a vision of a young mae chee coming to touch his feet. I called that mae chee and gave a Dhamma talk, showing the danger of sensual desires — that they are the cause of suffering — and pointed to the body as the cause of many attachments. That mae chee came to her senses. She said: "How did you know?"
Approaching the Rains Retreat, Ajahn Singh sent word for me to go stay the retreat at Phon District, leaving Ajahn Phu U to continue in my place.
17. Tenth Rains Retreat: Staying at Phon District (1931)
That retreat, my older brother Ket also came to stay with me. The training of the laypeople proceeded as usual. Personal practice and that of the monks and novices with me was consistent. One special thing: a laywoman who was a spirit medium, with over a dozen followers, made a living by healing the sick. I advised her to abandon the spirits and instead establish herself in the Triple Gem. "Holding to spirits is wrong view, not meritorious. Taking refuge in the qualities of the Triple Gem brings merit and wholesomeness, and makes you a true lay devotee with right view in Buddhism."
She said: "My things are also good. When the spirit possesses me, it can find buried treasure and jump into thorny bamboo groves without getting scratched." I told her: "That is good for those who believe, but spirits never teach their followers to abandon evil and do good, or to keep precepts. They only tell you to offer pig heads and chickens. They tell you to offer, but they don't eat. Humans kill animals and offer to spirits. The spirits don't eat, so the humans eat it themselves. The spirits don't receive the kamma — the humans receive the kamma. How can spirits help you?
"The Buddha, after his nibbāna, was not reborn as a spirit. He left his teaching to instruct people to abandon evil and cultivate only good, for their own benefit and for others. The Saṅgha brings that teaching to instruct us, following the Buddha's path. That is how we have come to know merit, demerit, good, and evil until today — not from the teaching of spirits."
She made her decision, abandoned the spirits, and took refuge in the Triple Gem.
That night, she put my instructions into practice and achieved a wondrous result: before sleeping, she paid homage, chanted, and sat in meditation. She saw two children — a girl and a boy — swinging on the rice-pounder handle at the foot of her house stairs. They did nothing, said nothing. This seeing was as if with her physical eyes, yet her eyes were closed. She became convinced: "Ah — the spirits can't reach me now. The Triple Gem is truly good."
Her husband was also a magic practitioner, so strict that he wouldn't even pay homage to the Buddha. Before entering a temple, he had to raise his foot in homage (forgive me). His practice was truly solid — tested, it worked: knives and blades could not pierce or cut him. That night, he couldn't sleep. When he dozed off, he would startle awake as if something had frightened him. So in the morning he asked his wife: "What did you get from the teacher? Last night I couldn't sleep at all." His wife said: "The teacher gave me something good. I'll take you to see him." Eventually, both husband and wife abandoned spirits and took refuge in the Triple Gem. That happened that retreat.
18. Eleventh Rains Retreat: Staying at Khorat (1932)
Nakhon Ratchasima Province — meditation monks of Ajahn Mun's lineage had never ventured there before, because they had heard that the people there were fierce and cruel, and feared for their safety.
Somdet Phra Mahāvīraṅg (at that time holding the ecclesiastical rank of Phra Thammapāmokkha) had invited Ajahn Singh and Maha Pin to come down. Police Lieutenant Colonel Luang Chan Nikhom, the district officer of Song, became faithful and donated land to build a forest monastery next to the railway in Khorat. Ajahn Singh therefore called his disciples from Khon Kaen to come down. Together with the group, I set out and stayed at Luang Chan's orchard. We helped arrange temporary lodgings. At that time, Ajahn Singh had gone to Bangkok and not yet returned. When he came back, I helped Maha Pin build lodgings in the second cemetery, and we stayed the Rains Retreat there (Wat Satthāram).
That retreat, several senior monks were together: myself, Ajahn Fan, Ajahn Phu U, Ajahn Lui, Ajahn Kong Ma, with Maha Pin as the head. This retreat, Ajahn Fan and I took on the duty of helping Maha Pin receive guests and give Dhamma talks to the laypeople throughout the retreat. In a single year, two forest meditation monasteries were established as the first in Khorat. And this was a historic year for Thailand: the change of government from absolute monarchy to democracy.
After the retreat, we set out to wander in seclusion toward Kra Thok District, then Kiang Chae, then returned to Kra Thok District again. There we helped the district chief, Khun Amnat, build a dwelling for monks at Don Ti Khli. But it wasn't yet finished when I had to return to stay the Rains Retreat at Tha Bo District, Nong Khai Province. That retreat, I learned that Ajahn Singh had sent Ajahn Lee to stay the retreat in Kra Thok District in my place.
18.1 An Unfair Worry
While I was leading the group arranging lodgings at Wat Pa Salawan, the weather was insanely hot. I do not like hot weather, but I gritted my teeth and endured, practicing without giving up.
The mindfulness that I had developed well, remaining calm throughout day and night — sometimes it would merge into bhavaṅga and disappear for long periods, even hours, without producing any wisdom. I tried to solve it myself and had others try to solve it for a long time, without success. Finally, I solved it myself.
That is: catch the mind as it is about to merge into bhavaṅga. The symptom is a slight loss of mindfulness, then inclining toward delight in the peaceful calm, losing mindfulness, and merging into bhavaṅga. When you catch it at that moment of slightly losing mindfulness and inclining toward that refined peaceful happiness, quickly establish strong mindfulness and take up a coarse object — focus your investigation outward — don't let it go toward that peaceful happiness. It will disappear immediately.
Simply put: don't let the mind unify. Keep it investigating this very body alone. This condition had been with me since my first time leaving the forest. Only now did I solve it myself. If you count the time from when I first trained to that level, it was over 10 years. Even then, when an object contacted, my mind could still waver. Some practitioners don't even know the peace of mind at all — when objects contact them, what happens? I began to doubt the Dhamma and Vinaya: "Perhaps the purity of path, fruit, and nibbāna — the ultimate in Buddhism — does not exist. What remains is only jhāna-samāpatti, which is mundane."
But I did not give up my practice, even though the heat was nearly maddening. One day, the mind unified in an astonishing way: it unified greatly, becoming bright and alone. There was clear knowledge, bright radiance in one place. Whatever I investigated, whatever aspect of Dhamma I looked at, all doubt in the Dhamma and Vinaya disappeared completely. It was as if I had reached the end of all Dhammas. Yet I did not dwell on that. My intention was only: "How can I cleanse my mind to be completely pure? Having reached this level, what next?"
When I had the opportunity, I went to study with Ajahn Singh. He advised me to investigate asubha (the foul/unattractive) more — to focus until it becomes a rotting corpse, then disintegrate into the four elements. I interjected with doubt: "When the mind has already let go of form (rūpa) and only name (nāma) remains, then to go back and grasp form again — wouldn't that be coarse?" At this, he raised his voice loudly, accusing me of claiming path and fruit.
In truth, since beginning my practice, I had never been skilled at asubha contemplation. I determined everything at the mind itself, understanding that defilements arise at the mind. When the mind does not wander and is calm, then everything else is pure. My interjection with doubt simply caused him to raise his voice according to his temperament — what could I do? I remained silent, shrinking within myself, thinking: "Why don't his opinions align with mine?"
In this matter, apart from Ajahn Mun, I certainly had no other refuge. After a while, his voice softened and he turned to ask me: "Well?" I still held my ground: "I still disagree. As for your suspicion that I am claiming path and fruit — please do not doubt that. I respect my teachers with complete sincerity. The reason I revealed my view and my sincerity this time is because I truly have no other way. This condition of mind is the first time I have experienced it, and I don't know whether it is right or wrong, or how to correct it or proceed further. I hold no anger toward my teacher. If you still have any method to resolve my doubt, please be so kind as to give it fully." Then he consoled me: "Just keep practicing and going — it will happen eventually." Oh, that day my heart truly felt utterly without refuge. I felt no attachment or longing for the group at all. Normally, the teacher did not want the group to split apart; he wanted everyone to help spread the religion in this province.
But I had long wanted to separate myself and seek seclusion — ever since meeting my companions back in Khon Kaen. Because I knew well that my effort and methods were still weak. I had continually tried to separate myself without making my teachers and friends suspect that I disliked company, but never succeeded. This time, after the Rains Retreat, I finally had the opportunity.