06. To the World, To the Dhamma

Phra Nirōdharaṅsī Gambhirapaññāvisiṭṭha
Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī
Wat Hin Mak Peng, Si Chiang Mai District, Nong Khai Province

Preface

People these days are greatly interested in practicing the Dhamma. Whether children, young people, or the elderly, wherever they go, they mostly talk about meditation. Whether this is because there are many great monastic teachers, or because the world has advanced greatly but they cannot find the essence of the Dhamma, or for some other reason, it is impossible to know. But it is very regrettable. As for the monks and novices who have genuinely ordained in Buddhism, they show much less interest.

Nevertheless, for those who practice under teachers or follow manuals, as observed from many angles and approaches, they often fail to grasp the correct principles of practice. They practice merely according to their faith. It is admirable that they have faith as their foundation. The author would like to recommend the following principles of practice to hold to and follow.

Buddhism teaches us to:

1. Believe in kamma and the results of kamma. Whoever does good kamma receives good results; whoever does bad kamma receives bad results. No one else can take their place.

2. Practice giving (dāna): sacrificing one's own possessions to other beings and persons with a mind of loving-kindness, wishing for the happiness of others. Even if the object given is small, if accompanied by a mind of loving-kindness, it becomes great.

3. Observe morality (sīla) with a mind of intentional abstinence (cetanā virati), grounded in moral shame and fear of wrongdoing (hiri-ottappa). Whether it is the five precepts, eight precepts, ten precepts, or 227 precepts, if one has that intentional abstinence grounded in hiri-ottappa, that is the ultimate in observing sīla.

4. Develop concentration (samādhi) by seeing the danger of the mental objects that arise from the six sense bases, which wander toward the eight worldly conditions, causing endless suffering and distress. Then one relinquishes and lets go, turning inward to dwell in the mind alone.

5. Develop wisdom (paññā) by investigating all things that appear in the mind, both good and bad, seeing them as merely arising from conditions. When the conditions for those things cease, those things also cease entirely, leaving only the single Dhamma.

When a person has clearly and truly seen this with their own mind, that person's practice of the Dhamma in this Buddhism will not decline, and they will not be deluded by worthless things. They will reach the true Dhamma. Whether one calls that person a noble one (ariyapuggala) or whatever, it doesn't matter, because they have practiced the Dhamma to its ultimate conclusion, which is the mind, and have ended all doubt regarding all Dhammas.

The author hopes that this small book will be of some benefit to practitioners. When they practice as explained here.

Wat Hin Mak Peng October 17, 1986

To the World, To the Dhamma

The Buddha arose in the world as the supreme teacher by his own right self-awakening, without any teacher or master. Then he brought the Dhamma that he had awakened to and taught it to all humankind. The Dhamma he taught is reasonable and has causes, not without reason. It is wonderful and suitable for the wise to understand. He did not force anyone to revere him. Rather, when listeners heard him, reflected on the reasons, saw that it was good, proper, reasonable, and then became inspired with faith, they came to revere him on their own. This differs from other religions and sects, some of which forbid criticizing their religion. Buddhism, in contrast, fully invites criticism. After considering and seeing clearly the causes and effects for oneself, one reveres it with freedom. And once one reveres it, one's thoughts, views, and practices all follow the same direction, without any prior coercion or agreement, but simply by cause and effect, as follows:

1. Belief in Kamma and the Results of Kamma

Kammassakā, kammadāyādā, kammayonī, kammabandhū, kammapaṭisaraṇā, yaṃ kammaṃ karissanti kalyāṇaṃ vā pāpakaṃ vā, tassa dāyādā bhavissanti.

These six things are firmly and unwaveringly established in the mind of every person throughout their life.

Kammassakā: When a person is born and reaches the age of reason, they perform actions by body, speech, and mind, in one way or another. Those actions are called kamma. Because these three are kamma, kamma is what decorates and causes one to act. When one acts, it becomes kamma. Kamma is both good and bad. When any person performs an action, the result of that kamma reflects back to themselves. Hence it is called kammadāyādā – no one else can take the result for them. Just as when a person eats food, they experience the taste, whether delicious or not, with their own tongue; another cannot know it for them. When one knows through one's own gustatory sense, that kamma then leads one to be reborn in various realms and places, such as a human, an animal, a hungry ghost, a demon, a celestial being, Indra, or Brahma, etc. Having been born, kamma leads to further rebirth. Even though we do not intend to be reborn, kamma itself leads us to rebirth. Hence it is called kammayonī.

Human beings are born because kamma has not ended. The old kamma that led to this birth itself causes us to perform new kamma. That new kamma becomes the cause for future rebirth. To explain: the new kamma in this life becomes the old kamma in the next life. Furthermore, all kamma originates from the same stream of body, speech, and mind. Therefore kamma is the kinship of kamma with itself, called kammabandhū.

After birth, one must engage in a livelihood, such as farming, commerce, trading, or government service, in order to live among others. All these actions are called kamma. We are born dependent on kamma; if not one kamma then another, or several together, we cannot survive. This is called kammapaṭisaraṇā.

Living in this world, we must have both kinds of kamma: good and bad. Good kamma results in physical pleasure and mental ease; bad kamma results in physical pain and mental distress. Therefore, it is up to us to decide in our own minds whether we will do good or bad kamma. Every person who reveres Buddhism has this view inherent in their mind, differing only in degree. One who contemplates kamma and deeply understands it, reaching a firm and unwavering conviction in the mind without backsliding, is established in Buddhism.

2. Sīla (Morality)

For one who has firmly and fully reached Buddhism, the five precepts are very easy to observe because the five precepts are the outer shell of kamma and are manifestations of this kamma.

The five precepts are included in:

Body actions (3): Killing living beings, stealing, sexual misconduct.

Speech actions (4): Lying, speaking untruth, slander, harsh speech, idle chatter.

Mind actions (3): Covetousness (wanting others' possessions), ill will (wishing harm to others), wrong view (seeing contrary to the Dhamma).

One who contemplates the Dhamma sees that the mind is the cause, the mind is the commander ordering body, speech, and mind to do evil. When the mind knows this clearly, how could the mind order body, speech, and mind to do what it would not do?

One who believes in kamma and its results as explained above, and has the five precepts as the means to guard body, speech, and mind, is said to have reached Buddhism at the preliminary level. Then they further purify their mind by practicing concentration (samādhi). If one has not reached the core of Buddhism, how can one purify one's mind through concentration? Even one's own views would not align with the Buddha's teaching. For example, holding that one can transfer the kamma one has done to another person, or that one can make one's kamma disappear by giving it to someone else to use up, etc.

Some think that sīla is observed only in body and speech, not in the mind. The mind, they say, is the domain of samādhi. Whatever body and speech do, it does not affect samādhi. They conclude that body and mind are separate and distinct. The author truly does not understand this. No matter how much he reflects, he does not understand. Let him show a bit of his stupidity.

When the author was young and wanted to kill an animal, he had to set traps, snares, or fishhooks, and spend a long time waiting. While waiting for the fish to bite, his mind was focused on the hook: "When will the fish bite?" When the fish bit, he was delighted. He does not see any moment when the mind was not trying to kill the fish. The intention was present continuously from lowering the hook into the water until the fish bit and was caught and cooked.

It must be the same for someone who kills a person. The mind of the killer must be intensely angry. If not intensely angry, they probably could not kill. When very angry, they think of killing. If they grab a gun, they lurk and watch. When they get an opportunity, they fire. Then they run to save themselves. When the authorities catch them, they interrogate: "Did you really kill him? What was your malicious intention? For what reason?" The authorities investigate the intention. If the intention was truly malicious, the punishment is severe. But if the intention was not malicious but there were other reasons leading to the killing, the punishment is lighter. And so on.

In the Dhamma, the Buddha taught: "All phenomena are preceded by mind, have mind as their chief, and are made by mind." Speaking and talking all arise from mind. Not to speak of the mind is impossible. The phrase "All phenomena are preceded by mind" is clear: "all phenomena" means every action. Doing good is called wholesome phenomena (kusala dhamma), doing evil is called unwholesome phenomena (akusala dhamma), doing neither good nor evil is called indeterminate phenomena (abyākata dhamma). In short, doing merit and demerit, or doing things that are neither.

When the author reflects on reason and on all phenomena, the idea that one should observe sīla only with body and speech, and that concentration (samādhi) is observed in the mind, he does not see that anywhere. If he fails to understand the texts written by the ancients or misinterprets them due to his own dullness and weak wisdom, then it's beyond his ability. Wherever he looks at the Buddha's words, he finds that sīla must be observed with body, speech, and mind. For sīla to arise, body, speech, and mind must all be present.

The Buddha even taught a monk who wanted to disrobe, saying: "The monastic discipline (Vinaya) in Buddhism is very extensive. I cannot keep it. I will ask permission to disrobe." The Buddha said to him: "If the Vinaya is too extensive, then just observe the mind alone." The Buddha taught to observe the mind alone, repeatedly. If we abandon the mind and teach only observing body and speech, how can that work? The author is completely in the dark. If the author is correct at all, then observe sīla with body, speech, and mind as explained from the beginning. Try it.

Laypeople must undertake the five precepts, eight precepts, ten precepts, or 227 precepts. Laypeople can observe them one by one, but don't undertake them if you can't. Because sīla has no limitation that laypeople must not do evil only in these specific ways. Monks and novices are forbidden to do evil only in these ways. Consider sīla merely as prohibitions against doing evil. That is enough. Anyone can abstain from doing evil as much as they wish. The Buddha only forbade doing evil; he did not forbid doing good, because good is the source of happiness, evil the source of suffering. A layperson with faith who abstains from evil actions that they see as bad, unwholesome, and refrains from them, is called a doer of good. If one wants to count which precept, just check: we abstain from evil with body, speech, and mind; whatever precept that matches, count it as that precept.

The Buddha prescribed the five precepts, eight precepts, ten precepts, and 227 precepts for laypeople, monks, and novices to observe, so that faithful sons and daughters of good family can keep them according to their ability. They come and request to undertake them. After undertaking, they may observe even more as an extra practice. If they sometimes break them, it is not subject to others' criticism; it is just that they lacked intention and restraint. For monks and novices who have renounced the lay state and ordained, if they break their precepts, it is truly a breach, because they have given up the lay state, which is different from laypeople. Their behavior must remain within the bounds of a monastic.

Monks are revered by laypeople; they cannot lower themselves to the level of laypeople. Some monks say: "The monk's precepts are 227. If we miss nine or ten, it's no big deal. Laypeople have only a few; if they miss one, they have four left; miss two, three left; miss three, two left; miss four, one left; miss five, none left. So we should be very careful." Such talk is boasting about evil. We monks should not boast. We ordained in Buddhism to seek the greatest possible goodness. We should be ashamed of evil. Even a little evil should be exposed, not hidden.

In truth, the Vinaya that the Buddha prescribed reaches to body, speech, and mind. What is expressed through body and speech reflects the mind. The mind thinks, concocts, and then commands body and speech to act, as explained earlier.

The Buddha prescribed the Vinaya so that ignorant monks and novices could practice accordingly. It is a great blessing for us. He forbade unwholesome, unseemly, improper behavior for the sake of our own good, not for others' benefit nor for his own. We have no other refuge; the Buddha pointed out the way. That is a great blessing.

If one observes sīla without reaching the mind, it is difficult, or like a cowherd waiting for nightfall to drive the cows into the pen so he can rest and sleep comfortably. Not understanding that sīla is for the purity of body, speech, and mind. The longer and more you keep it, the purer you become. You could keep it for life. Then you can abandon evil in this very life. People do not know sīla (our own nature) and do not understand sīla (abstinence), the prohibition against doing evil. So they blame the Buddha for prescribing many precepts that are too hard to undertake.

Some people say: "The longer you ordain, the more Vinaya you see, only prohibitions. That's an offense, this is an offense, the more sins. Better to ordain for 7-15 days, then no offenses." Such a view is pitiful and deplorable. Buddhism has been propagated in our country for over two thousand years, yet the light of Dhamma has not reached their minds. It's truly sad, like a turtle lying by a lotus never knowing its fragrance.

When sīla reaches the mind, we no longer have to guard sīla; sīla guards us. Whether standing, walking, sitting, lying down, in any posture, sīla is vigilant in every posture, not allowing any violation of evil. Even when the mind merely thinks of doing evil, we know it and are ashamed of that evil thought, even though others have not yet perceived that thought. Where could anger, hatred, ill will come from? The heart is filled entirely with loving-kindness and compassion.

Sīla is the normalcy of body, speech, and mind. If the mind is not normal, body and speech cannot be normal. Body and speech are under the control of the mind, as explained earlier. Therefore, those who truly wish to reach the religion must train their minds further in concentration (samādhi).

3. The Practice of Concentration (Samādhi)

The practice of samādhi is nothing other than training body, speech, and mind again. Whatever method one uses, if one practices within Buddhism, it is necessary to train these three together. Because Buddhism teaches only body, speech, and mind; it teaches nothing else besides these three. These three are the foundation. Whether teaching sīla, samādhi, or paññā, it does not go beyond these three.

As long as we speak of Buddhism, of practice, of the path, fruit, and nibbāna, we cannot go beyond body, speech, and mind. As long as there is conventional designation (sammuti), we must speak of these three. Until one attains nibbāna without remainder of clinging (anupādisesa-nibbāna), they must be used.

(Buddho)

To practice samādhi, reciting "Buddho, Buddho" with the Buddha as the object, one must recollect the Buddha's virtues in truth: that he knew thus, contemplated thus, then taught beings thus, prescribed the Dhamma-Vinaya thus. When contemplating this, faith gradually strengthens. At a certain moment, the mind will unify into samādhi without intentionally wanting it to unify, but it will unify. It forgets past and future, becoming present. The mind is clear and bright, alone, not involved with anything. There is an indescribable happiness, unlike any happiness experienced in the past. The body and mind are satiated, fresh, and cheerful. Even if one does not eat for fifteen days, one does not feel hungry. Even though one sits reciting "Buddho" in one place, not running after objects, the mind runs after objects by itself. It investigates and purifies with its own wisdom until there is no way out, until cornered, then it unifies as described.

(Kāyagatāsati)

Some practitioners develop samādhi using kāyagatāsati, focusing on this body as the object. The 32 parts, beginning with head hair. For example, focusing on head hair, or whatever within the body. One may contemplate as foul (asubha), seeing the whole body or parts as rotting, putrid, loathsome. Or contemplate one's own body but it appears as someone else's foul body. When it appears, the mind fixes on that foulness and can stay long. If the mind does not fix on foulness, it cannot stay long. Sometimes the foulness is grotesque: the body splits into small and large pieces, full of maggots burrowing. The moment one sees that, one vomits completely. The clarity in the mind feels that intensely.

(Ānāpānasati)

Some practitioners use ānāpānasati (mindfulness of breathing) as the object. Contemplate the in-breath and out-breath. Inhaling, we die; exhaling, we die. Human death is just this: only the breath in and out. Then place the breath at the tip of the nose and focus only there, not elsewhere. The breath will gradually diminish until it disappears entirely, leaving only awareness. For one with strong mindfulness, that awareness lasts long. For one with weaker mindfulness, the breath vanishes abruptly, and there is complete silence, no feeling at all for a very long time. Then one regains awareness as if waking from sleep. Sometimes it feels like dreaming of doing various strange things. Upon awakening, one remembers some, forgets others. But in truth, it is not sleep; the mind has entered the life-continuum (bhavaṅga). That is also good, better than a distracted mind without bounds. It becomes still. Then, having gained strength, one starts again. Do it often, it happens often, become skilled. It will correct itself. Even if it doesn't become something, it's okay. Many things and many phenomena arise, that's fine. Just know them as they arise. Do not be deluded into thinking those phenomena are real or substantial.

(Maraṇānusati)

Some practitioners use mindfulness of death (maraṇānusati) as the object. They contemplate every part of this body as being dead. We are truly sitting and lying down in the company of death. One becomes convinced that it is truly so. The body appears lying dead before one's eyes, sometimes covered with flies, with a foul smell spreading everywhere. One becomes so convinced that one cannot stay among others, fearing they will be repulsed, and wanders alone.

There are many methods of practicing samādhi, and various signs (nimitta) appear depending on each person's disposition. One can use any recitation. In the meditation manuals, forty are listed: ten kasiṇas, ten asubhas, ten anussatis, four brahmavihāras, one perception of loathsomeness of food, one analysis of the four elements, four formless spheres. Or anything beyond these forty. When meditating, just keep the mind fixed on a single object, not letting it waver among various objects. When the mind is established on that single object, some people may experience various signs: light like sunlight, moonlight, or twinkling stars. But do not understand that they are real; they are just signs. If you become deluded and enjoy watching them, they will proliferate endlessly. Understand that they are merely signs, arising from concentration. Then bring them back to the mind that sees them. See that what the mind sees is separate from the mind; the seeing mind is another thing. Then seize that seeing mind, and the signs disappear. Sometimes forms appear: Buddha images, arahants, Indra, Brahma, ghosts, hungry ghosts, demons, etc. Sometimes there is the fragrance of incense wafting everywhere, sometimes a stench like something dead. Whatever arises, just seize the mind that is sending out to receive the sign. Do not let the mind follow the sign at all, otherwise you will become delighted and deluded, and wrong perceptions (vipallāsa) will arise, hard to correct.

Nimitta (Signs)

Some teachers instruct to take the nimitta as the object. If nimitta does not arise or one cannot grasp it, they say the defilements are thick or one lacks merit and pāramī. Those who follow become discouraged and give up meditation. Some people never get nimitta no matter how much they practice. Others get nimitta after a short time. That is due to their past merit and disposition, and their mind inclining firmly.

Even though nimitta is not the true path to liberation, it is a kind of recreation for noble ones. The noble ones know and understand it as it truly is, using it as a dwelling Dhamma (vihāra dhamma). Just as we ordinary people have work as our dwelling. Some, like the dry insight workers (sukkhavipassaka), do not have nimitta. They contemplate the Dhamma as their dwelling, such as contemplating their own physical body to see arising and passing away, or foulness (asubha) as it truly is. No one can deny that this body is foul, with impurities flowing out all over it — sweat, etc., saturating the body. Seeing it as wearisome and deplorable. To be born a human and embrace such unwholesome things — those who do not contemplate truly think it is good and delight in what is foul and loathsome.

Recitation Words

The author has given only three or four examples of recitation words. There are many more. Anyone can designate whatever they like, but take only one, not many. If you take many, you will waver and be uncertain, and samādhi will not arise. Understand that recitation words are just lures to bring the mind together. Once the mind is unified, the recitation must be let go. Just as bait is used to lure a fish to bite the hook; once the fish bites, the bait is no longer involved; you only take the fish. If you cling to the recitation, the mind will not withdraw and become subtle. The same with nimitta: when unified in samādhi and nimitta arises, if you don't let go of that nimitta but cling to it, the mind will not progress or may even withdraw from samādhi.

It is natural that meditators need to use recitation words and may experience nimitta for those destined to have them. No one can bypass this. One could contemplate only the mind without preliminary recitation, but when the mind weakens, one cannot catch the mind. The most certain is to contemplate one's own body. If not all of it, then a part. Simply contemplate to see it as just elements, not self, merely a conditioned phenomenon (sabhāva dhamma). Then let it go, leaving only the mind. Because everyone has attachment and clinging to this body from birth. Even when practicing samādhi and the mind unifies so that there is no body, when nimitta arises, one still clings to the body.

For example, an old lady said she meditated well, and others agreed. While eating, she meditated and ate, her mind unified so that she forgot to eat. While boiling water, it boiled dry, leaving only the pot. One day she meditated and saw herself lying across a road. A car was coming, and she was ready to die, saying "Die or not, I'll lie here." When the car came close, she got up without knowing it. Clinging to self is that deep.

Mind, Speech, Body

As long as a person is in this world, even if the body breaks apart and dies, the mind still clings to this body. When it wants to manifest this body to human beings who have human bodies, it must manifest as a body in various forms: ghosts, demons, deities, Indra, Brahma — all these still cling to a body. When they want to show their body, they manifest in various genders and characteristics. Even when experiencing the results of kamma, the same holds. Without a body, the mind cannot manifest at all, because the body is the field and stage for all kamma.

Samādhi is a matter of the mind, but the author sees it as also involving speech and body. Because without mind, how could speech and body exist? When mind exists, thoughts (vitakka) as speech must arise. When thoughts arise, they must wander to material forms (rūpa), to people, animals, or all kinds of objects. Without these, the mind would have nothing to cling to, and mind would not exist. Our human mind is not coarse or subtle; from the sensual plane (kāmāvacara), to the fine-material plane (rūpāvacara), to the immaterial plane (arūpāvacara), it must have material forms as support. Internal and external sense bases contact each other, with the knower always present. Even the immaterial-sphere mind (arūpāvacara citta) has that immaterial mind as its dwelling. One who has attained the immaterial jhānas sees the material mind clearly through the internal sense base of their own heart.

Internal sense base here does not refer to the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body as the six internal sense bases, but rather an internal sense base further within: the one who has abandoned the internal sense bases of eye, ear, nose, tongue, body entirely, yet the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body of the mind still exist. This is called the divine eye, divine ear, etc. When seeing, one does not use this ordinary eye but the mind's eye. The forms seen by the mind's eye are not the forms seen by our ordinary eye; they are forms that the ordinary eye cannot see. Sounds heard by the mind's ear are more beautiful than ordinary sounds, and heard only by oneself alone. Similarly for smells, tastes, and tangible objects contacted by the mind's internal sense base: they are profound, reaching the heart, known only to oneself alone, others cannot know.

One's Own Opinion

The internal sense base of the mind is difficult to describe. For those who have not practiced to see their own mind first, no matter how much you speak, they won't understand. Using ordinary language as a medium is difficult. You must use similes and metaphors. That is why practitioners often disagree. The greater the monastic teacher, the more they go their own way, teaching disciples according to their own opinions, not holding to the Buddha's teaching as the standard.

The internal sense base of the mind described above is also deceptive. You cannot believe it entirely as real. Everything in this world, real and fake coexist. All conditioned things (saṅkhārā) that exist in this world, whether material objects, animals, humans, are all deceptive and illusory. The world is our mind, deceiving the mind into being deluded by things as real, but those things are only illusions. They arise and then dissolve according to their nature. For example, humans arise from the four elements coming together, forming a lump called a material lump. The human mind then designates it as a human, female, male, young, old, marrying, having children, falling in love, desiring, liking each other, then getting angry, harming each other. All work and professions are the same: before finishing, they break apart and die. Others are born to continue. This goes on forever.

All these things, from birth to death, leave nothing behind. So what is real? Apart from the fact that they are a certain condition that arises and ceases. As long as the mind exists, the human world exists. And this world continues to deceive the mind into infatuation.

The world that lacks consciousness still deceives the conscious mind. For example, trees, mountains, earth: they arise with various characteristics, as bushes, lush green, beautiful, making people exclaim how lovely. Mountains, cliffs, caves, rocks, soil, ponds, wells, lakes with water and fish swimming in schools. People see them and are delighted, as if those things were real. Soon they disappear from memory, or we are separated from them. Nothing remains in this world; everything is impermanent.

Since worldly things are deceptive, worldly Dhamma can also be deceptive. We can see this when sitting in meditation. When the mind is about to unify into samādhi, we may startle as if pushed. Sometimes the body splits in two, causing fright, thinking it's real. Some people, when the mind unifies, see a bright light and think it's real; they open their eyes and see nothing. Some, when the mind unifies, hear a sound like thunder, startle, and then nothing. Some think it's real and go mad. Worldly Dhamma (lokiya dhamma) necessarily deceives like this. When contemplating this body as foul, foulness arises to deceive us, causing various fears.

Mind Deceives Mind

We train the mind to reach Dhamma, but as long as the Dhamma is still worldly, it can deceive. Therefore the Buddha said, "Mind deceives mind." How can we observe that mind deceives mind? These matters are difficult if we don't understand the matters of citta (mind) and heart (jai).

Mind and heart are different. In common parlance, people say "heart, heart" meaning the center or the neutral point. Whatever is neutral, they call "heart." For example, "heart of the hand" means the center of the palm. "Heart of the finger" means the middle of the finger. Even "heart of a person" means the middle of the chest. In truth, the heart is not in the middle of the chest. The heart is everywhere we direct our feeling. If we direct our feeling to a post, a wall, or a fence, the heart goes there. The heart has no substance. Wherever we place our feeling, the heart is there. This is speaking of "heart" according to common understanding.

Now when speaking of "mind" and "heart" in our language, they are often paired, such as "mind and heart not well," "practice samādhi to make your mind and heart comfortable," or "that person's mind and heart is troubled, make your mind and heart peaceful." In Buddhism, similarly, the Buddha said: "Cittaṃ dantaṃ sukhāvahaṃ" — the mind that is tamed brings happiness. "Mano pubbangamā dhammā, manoseṭṭhā manomayā" — all phenomena are preceded by mind, have mind as chief, are made by mind. Thus, mind and heart are probably not identical but synonyms.

Citta (Mind)

If we contemplate according to common sense, mind makes us think, consider, concoct all sorts of things, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, difficult to restrain. Even while sleeping, we think and go to various places, doing various tasks — that's dreaming. This is the mind concocting according to objects. The sleeper sees this clearly. Even while we are awake and mindful, it doesn't obey. When our mind is angry at someone, displeased, angry to the point of not eating or sleeping, we try to forbid it, saying that is not good, it causes useless suffering, but the mind won't let go. Even though one part of the mind sees the danger, the mind is hard to restrain. It can make us fall into hell while still alive.

If we train our mind until we see clearly that the mind is one thing, and defilements like anger are another, then we should not take those defilements into our mind. The mind will then be free from defilements and become independent. It sees anger clearly: the mind has a defilement called anger; anger is not the mind, but we have taken it into the mind. When we see this clearly, we can smile. The same for concocting, forming, and perceptions. They all arise from the mind grasping them. Knowing this, separate the mind from defilements like anger, and keep only the mind. Then we will be happy at all times.

Jai (Heart)

Now let's speak of heart. Heart is the common sense that people generally refer to — the neutral point of anything. Whatever is neutral, they call heart. For example, the heart of the hand is the center of the palm. The heart of the thumb is the center of the thumb. For a round object, measure from the outer edges, the point that falls in the center is called the heart or center. Even for a person, when speaking of the heart, one points to the middle of the chest. In truth, that is not the true heart, but the "heart-base" (hadayavatthu), the organ that pumps blood to the body. The true heart has no substance and is everywhere in the body. We can place the heart anywhere. If we place it at the tip of the toe, feeling appears there. At the fingertip, on the head, anywhere, feeling appears there. Even if we send it outside the body, to the monastery wall, the assembly hall, the pavilion, feeling is there. This is ordinary human feeling. But the heart of a practitioner who has reached "heart" is not like that; it is another thing.

The heart of a practitioner who has reached "heart" means the knower, neutral and still, but knowing that it is still and neutral, neutral to all things, good and bad, coarse and subtle, merit and demerit, past and future, even present — neutral to all. This is called "heart." The nature of the true heart has nothing at all, only the knower. It is called the knowing element (dhātu rū). The stillness is an aspect of heart; the knower is the true heart.

All defilements arise from the citta (mind). The mind wanders and brings them in, then the mind itself grasps them, concocts them into this and that, everything. It clings to self, to me, to him, to us, even external objects like bowls and cups. When they slip from the hand and break, one exclaims, "Oh, I die!" Thus all defilements — this mind brings them in insatiably, from birth to death, never letting go. One who is born and encounters the Buddha's teaching, learning to let go of all defilements and unwholesome states, is considered fortunate.

From now on, knowing mind and knowing heart, when speaking about samādhi and meditation, we will speak only of mind and heart. No other topics. Because the practice of samādhi and meditation is solely about mind and heart. And we can speak briefly and easily. Mind is what must be trained, because defilements arise from it, as explained. Those who wish to purify their defilements must purify their mind. Heart need not be purified. When mind is purified, heart becomes clear immediately, because mind and heart are the same, differing only in aspect. Mind has various activities; when mind stops, having no activities, it becomes heart. As the Buddha said: "Whatever mind, that is heart." Therefore, we who wish to abandon defilements must purify the mind. Purifying elsewhere or in others is not in line with the Buddha's word.

Mind has no substance. Without an object for the mind to hold, it is hard to grasp. Therefore, take a recitation word like mindfulness of death (maraṇānusati) or mindfulness of breathing (ānāpānusati) as the anchor. Meditate with the object "maraṇaṃ, maraṇaṃ" or ānāpānasati. Contemplate your own death, or the breath: if you breathe in and don't breathe out, you die; if you breathe out and don't breathe in, you die. Human death is just this breath. While contemplating, let the heart truly believe that you will certainly die. If the mind does not genuinely incline to believe, but merely contemplates superficially, it is hard to attain samādhi. The speed of meditation depends on one's own faith. When the mind fully inclines to belief, it will unify into the life-continuum (bhavaṅga), becoming jhāna, not just samādhi.

Jhāna and Samādhi

Jhāna: As we train the mind, it inclines solely toward peace, then bhavaṅga arises, like sleeping or fainting, then one experiences something in another world (the world of the mind), or startles, is frightened, various things, whatever arises. In summary, when the mind inclines to peace and bhavaṅga arises, that mind is in jhāna. When in jhāna, there is great happiness, diligence, perseverance, no laziness, wanting to practice always, day and night. Even with work to do, one does not feel tired; work is not neglected, even better than before jhāna arose.

Samādhi: The practice is the same, the recitation words are the same, but the contemplation differs. One contemplates to see clearly a single object, not many, until one is thoroughly clear through one's own method and wisdom. Then the mind unifies in that one place, letting go of everything contemplated.

It is similar to a scientist, but a scientist investigates things until clear without doubt, using reasoning and texts, then stores the knowledge for later use. They are called world-builders. They build and build, never finishing, building until their life ends, then others continue. Or they build the old things — earth, water, fire, air — never finishing.

For samādhi meditation, when one contemplates anything and sees clearly and truly with one's own mind, becomes disenchanted and releases clinging to that thing, then the mind unifies into samādhi, established in one-pointedness (ekaggatārammaṇa), abandoning what was contemplated. Thus it is called the one who lets go, the one who knows and then lets go of the entire world. The one who accumulates is suffering; the one who releases and lets go is always happy.

Meditators often understand jhāna and samādhi as the same thing. They explain jhāna as samādhi, and samādhi as jhāna. Those who practice without knowing the theory mix them together. Those who know the theory then analyze the jhāna factors or impose samādhi on themselves, saying jhāna must be like this, samādhi like that, and their minds never reach true jhāna or samādhi.

Whether jhāna or samādhi, meditation is not easy. It requires faith — sufficient confidence in one's own mind — and effort, full effort without retreat. Set a firm resolution: "My life, my blood and flesh, I offer to the goodness of samādhi and meditation. If I do not achieve samādhi or meditation here, then abandon that wish. Keep the mind neutral. Continue practicing diligently. Whatever arises or not, let it be." If you intend too much and cling too much to the practice, jhāna and samādhi will not arise. They are subtle. We must make body and mind light and neutral toward all objects. Then the mind will unify into heart in the end.

Worldly Wisdom (Lokiya Paññā)

Meditators whose minds are not yet calm, who have not yet reached jhāna, want wisdom to arise. How can it arise? Even if it does, it's called worldly wisdom. The desire for wisdom to arise is already worldly. Worldly wisdom arises from thinking, pondering, reading texts, from discussions — then excitement and understanding that this is wonderful enough. But when you turn to look at yourself, you are covered in defilements.

We meditate to abandon defilements in our own mind, but as we meditate, we accumulate defilements. The desire to know, to see, to become this or that — all are defilements. The Buddha taught to let go of everything, make the mind neutral toward all things, not clinging to anything, then contemplate to know and understand things as they truly are. For example, Ven. Ānanda, the Buddha's cousin, who learned all the Dhamma teachings, still had not abandoned everything to become neutral. On the day of the First Council, he contemplated the Dhammas until weary, then lay down his head to rest. Before his head touched the pillow, at that moment, Ven. Ānanda's mind abandoned all burdens, leaving nothing, and he attained arahantship.

When the mind is fully trained, it attains peace. This is called samatha, or jhāna, or samādhi. Meditators who truly practice do not think about these terms; they just put their heads down and practice samatha. Even theorists, when they come to practice, do the same. Theory must be put away first. After practice, theory can be brought out to compare. It matches perfectly, every point, every detail, every word, without error.

Difference between Jhāna and Samādhi

Here the author wishes to show the difference between jhāna and samādhi as a brief illustration. Jhāna and samādhi are not the same. The wise have shown that jhāna and samādhi exist. Although they may use the same object, the contemplation differs. When knowledge arises, it differs. But both lead to purity. Not like some practitioners who, when hearing about jhāna, become very afraid, fearing they will be reborn as a "pumpkin Brahma" (a term for a mind-made Brahma), even though they have never been one nor seen what a pumpkin Brahma looks like or what plane it belongs to.

For jhāna: When one fixes on kāyagatāsati, maraṇānusati, or ānāpānasati as a recitation word, the mind inclines toward that recitation. No need to analyze the recitation to see that this body is such and such elements, will break, die, rot, etc. Just focus solely on the recitation until the mind is convinced and sees nothing else, only the recitation. Then the mind inclines toward peaceful happiness, and bhavaṅga arises without intending to enter bhavaṅga. Through firm conviction and strong effort without retreat, it arises on its own, becomes by itself.

Beginners, even while aware, will disappear into bhavaṅga. Those who have practiced long and become skilled can enter bhavaṅga while still aware. Sometimes the mind disappears into bhavaṅga completely. Sometimes it enters bhavaṅga and then knows and sees countless things. When emerging, it forgets everything. Bhavaṅga varies. Bhavaṅga is the "becoming" (bhava) of the mind of a meditator. When the mind is purified from worldly objects by completely purifying the twelve sense bases (internal and external), leaving only the original mind, it reaches its own becoming.

Bhavaṅga

The commentators classify three types of bhavaṅga according to the stages of abandoning objects from the twelve sense bases. When internal and external sense bases contact, objects arise. The meditator, seeing the danger, abandons them to a greater or lesser degree according to their disposition, merit, and pāramī. If they abandon much, they enter much bhavaṅga; if moderate, moderate; if little, little.

Bhavaṅga is classified as:

1. Bhavaṅgupāta: The meditator sees the danger of external and internal sense bases contacting, causing objects — love, hate, delight, aversion — making the heart waver according to those objects, endless. Then they become disenchanted, seeing peace from those objects as happiness, and unify into bhavaṅga. As bhavaṅgupāta, they unify a little, then withdraw. The meditator then continues effort.

2. Bhavaṅgacaraṇa: As bhavaṅgacaraṇa, they unify for a longer time. When entered, there is a characteristic of wandering within the jhāna object itself, not sending out externally.

3. Bhavaṅgupaccheda: When the mind unifies, it cuts off all external objects, leaving only the pure mind alone.

The supporting factors that cause bhavaṅga are five, also called the jhāna factors: directed thought (vitakka), evaluation (vicāra), rapture (pīti), happiness (sukha), one-pointedness (ekaggatā).

• First jhāna has five factors: vitakka, vicāra, pīti, sukha, ekaggatā.
• Second jhāna has three factors: pīti, sukha, ekaggatā.
• Third jhāna has two factors: sukha, ekaggatā.
• Fourth jhāna has two factors: equanimity (upekkhā), ekaggatā.

During practice, do not think about classifications.

When practitioners meditate, they do not think about these classifications. They just put their heads down, focusing only on the mind: "How can the mind reach jhāna, become peaceful from the five hindrances that cause inner fever?" When the mind becomes jhāna, then if one has heard about it, one may reflect on one's own practice: "Does it match such and such Dhamma as taught?" For example, first jhāna has five factors: vitakka — the mind going to the meditation object — one has taken that; vicāra — the mind evaluating that object until clear, causing pīti — one has evaluated until rapture and happiness and one-pointedness. Some practitioners do not reflect at all on what is jhāna or bhavaṅga; they just practice, gaining peace and happiness, free from defilements and mental turmoil. Defilements like passion, aversion, delusion that used to cause restlessness and distress — when they meditate, they understand and see that these things arise from such and such, then cease. They live like this, and defilements do not disturb them in this way.

When the Buddha first awakened and taught the religion, it must have been like this. Those who attained arahantship, according to their stories, did not study the Dhamma beforehand. Upon hearing the Buddha's discourse, they immediately attained arahantship. They only knew that their former defilements had poisoned them, but now they are quelled and gone. Conversely, some had previously accumulated merit and pāramī, like Ven. Sāriputta, the chief right-hand disciple. Hearing a brief verse from Ven. Assaji, he attained the first stage of nobility.

Summary: Jhāna and Samādhi

Jhāna summarized: initially, there is a recitation word, then one focuses on that recitation as object. In the middle, one inclines the mind toward peace, then bhavaṅga arises. Finally, the mind enters bhavaṅga as one-pointed mind with a single object, remaining in that object.

Samādhi: initially uses the same recitation words as jhāna, but the determination and contemplation differ. Samādhi focuses on a single object; whether peace arises or not, don't think about it. Just contemplate that object alone. For example, contemplate death — whether using a recitation or not, it's up to you — "I will certainly die, one day or another. After death, I will bloat, then rot and dissolve into earth, water, fire, air according to its nature." Until one sees clearly and firmly with one's own mind. All people in the world and all things are the same. Nothing remains. Then a sense of spiritual urgency (saṃvega) arises. The mind unifies into samādhi, firmly fixed in that urgency alone. Whatever you are doing, that urgency remains constant as long as the mind is in samādhi. Sometimes for days. When the mind withdraws from samādhi, it returns to normal. But when you take up that object again, the urgency returns, though not exactly the same — like someone who dreamed, wakes up, and can clearly recount the dream, but not as excited as when dreaming.

Samādhi also has three types, but it involves contemplating things as they truly are, not just for peace like jhāna (as explained). They are: momentary samādhi (khaṇika samādhi), access samādhi (upacāra samādhi), and attainment samādhi (appanā samādhi).

Khaṇika samādhi: Contemplate any recitation word, but take only one. For example, contemplate death: "I will certainly die. I die every day, every breath in and out. I die by growing from child to youth to old age." But those who don't contemplate don't see it. This kind of death is called "hidden death" — concealed so people don't see it. Only when the breath stops do they see death as real. Contemplate until you see that all things in this world are dead, nothing has any essence. Then the mind becomes spiritually urgent and unifies into samādhi. If the contemplating mind sees little by little, momentarily, and unifies a little, then withdraws and wanders as before, that is khaṇika samādhi.

Upacāra samādhi: If one contemplates the object more clearly, until the mind grasps that object for a long time, then unifies to hold the object for a long time — that is upacāra samādhi.

Appanā samādhi: If one contemplates that object clearly, firmly convinced in one's own mind, cutting off all external objects, reaching appanā samādhi.

Samādhi is not classified with jhāna factors. One can contemplate any meditation subject, but only one, until the mind unifies as one, reaching samādhi in stages as described. The commentators also classify this samādhi as supramundane (lokuttara). One who attains samādhi does not decline — meaning they do not decline from the confidence in the knowledge and vision they have clearly seen. One who reaches the first supramundane stage, stream-entry (sotāpanna), must abandon three defilements: personality belief (sakkāyadiṭṭhi), doubt (vicikicchā), and clinging to rites and rituals (sīlabbata-parāmāsa).

• Sakkāyadiṭṭhi: the view of "I" and "mine," that self is truly real.
• Vicikicchā: doubt, uncertainty about the Buddha's teaching.
• Sīlabbata-parāmāsa: fumbling, not being certain about morality, whether it is Dhamma teaching in Buddhism, and not believing in kamma and its results — whether actions done by oneself truly give results.

Samādhi and Supramundane Dhamma

One who attains any of the three samādhis will never decline from that supramundane Dhamma.

"Never decline from supramundane Dhamma" does not mean that the mind is always in samādhi. Samādhi is a method of training the mind to give it power and courage, to purify defilements and hindrances at the moment of samādhi. Then the mind withdraws to normalcy. But it increases wisdom to see clearly that this body is suffering, truly clear by oneself. Having been born with a physical body, everything in the world is suffering. After leaving samādhi, whether standing, walking, sitting, or lying down, that insight remains clear at all times, never declining. With no decline, it causes further progress. Later samādhi arises faster. Therefore it is said that their supramundane Dhamma does not decline.

There is a question: if a noble person at the first stage has abandoned the first three fetters, why do they still marry, like Visākhā? The term "abandoned sakkāyadiṭṭhi" does not mean completely eradicating it to the root, but seeing that it is impermanent, suffering, not-self. They have not seen to the root of its arising and ceasing. Given their level, it is good that they see that way, not one-sidedly like jhāna, still engaging with the world. Living in the world, they cannot yet abandon it; they must engage, but with wisdom seeing clearly that things in this world are as they are: arising and ceasing, good and bad. They are the knower, the seer, that is enough. Seeing things according to their nature and truth, they live comfortably. Do not forget that the first three stages of nobility are still trainees (sekha), they must abandon further. What has been seen and abandoned must be abandoned again according to their level and stage. Stream-enterer (sotāpanna) means one who has reached the stream leading to nibbāna, not one who has reached nibbāna. Reaching the path to nibbāna means taking the path: "This is the way that certainly leads to nibbāna." That is enough to understand.

As for the four jhānas, when one attains them, they suppress the five hindrances, which are the primary defilements of all beings.

The five hindrances are:

1. Sensory desire (kāmacchanda): delighting, enjoying sensual objects like forms, etc.
2. Ill will (vyāpāda): thinking maliciously of persons or things that obstruct one's desires.
3. Sloth and torpor (thīna-middha): when those two defilements surround, sloth and torpor (drowsiness, lethargy) overwhelm.
4. Restlessness and remorse (uddhacca-kukkucca): agitation and worry arise.
5. Doubt (vicikicchā): doubt about various things arises.

These five hindrances are suppressed by the four jhāna factors as mentioned, but not eradicated completely. When the jhāna factors decline, the hindrances arise again. Like pressing foam into water: while held down, it sinks; when released, it floats up again. So too the five hindrances.

Even though this jhāna is subtle, entering bhavaṅgupaccheda, completely cutting off external objects, it is still called worldly jhāna (lokiya jhāna) because jhāna is a dwelling and recreation for the worldly plane. The supramundane (lokuttara) has no recreation; only contemplating Dhamma as a dwelling. The arahants, including the Buddha, when they contemplate Dhamma as their dwelling, use these jhāna factors as a dwelling. After contemplating sufficiently, they put them aside. That is their dwelling. There is no supramundane jhāna; only worldly jhāna. It is the person who is supramundane that is called supramundane jhāna.

In truth, the jhāna factors are inherently worldly. Like children and adults playing sports: children play for fun, adults play for health. For the Buddha or some disciples who have developed pāramī specifically for miracles, like Ven. Moggallāna, when they wish to perform a miracle, they must enter the fourth jhāna. After emerging from the fourth jhāna into bhavaṅgacaraṇa, they think a little about what they want to do, not enough to cause perception-formation, then withdraw the mind to a neutral object. Whatever should happen, happens at that moment; if not, then not. They are skilled and fast in jhāna, able to do it even while standing or walking. Thus they can know events instantly. Unlike today's practitioners who, when meditating, suddenly have some knowledge or vision, not knowing which stage or how. When it happens, they get very excited, wanting it to happen again; when it doesn't, they are disappointed, etc.

Disposition

If one has the disposition for jhāna or samādhi, various knowledges may arise differently. If no disposition, no knowledge arises, and one lives comfortably as described later.

For jhāna, when knowledge arises, it arises at the moment the mind unifies into bhavaṅgupaccheda, then withdraws while in bhavaṅgacaraṇa, before receiving external objects. Then this or that knowledge arises: seeing a person about to die, seeing someone coming to visit, knowing future events, or past events, in a single mind-moment. Or a whisper sounds, telling, conversing, asking, answering. Then the mind withdraws to normal. But during that knowing, it seems like a long time, a story, like telling a tale, very entertaining.

Those without such disposition hear others' stories and want to be like them. When they themselves don't experience what others describe, they become discouraged, thinking they can't meditate, or that they lack merit and pāramī, and so on. Don't meditate for rewards. We meditate for liberation from suffering. Whether those things arise or not, they are not the cause of liberation, but rather recreation for yogis. For ordinary people like us, if we play with them, we might go mad. The meditator's duty is to contemplate only one's own mind: does our mind practice to abandon craving or to accumulate craving? Craving is a great obstacle to meditation. As long as craving exists, meditation will not arise.

For samādhi, as explained from the beginning, when the mind unifies into upacāra samādhi, those with disposition may experience various knowledges and visions arising at that moment, similar to arising in bhavaṅgacaraṇa, but with different characteristics. Unlike jhāna, they arise from upacāra samādhi. The mind does not unify fully; one is aware that one is contemplating something at that time. At the same moment, knowledge and vision arise, whether as forms or sounds. One may be momentarily forgetful, losing mindfulness. The mind pauses contemplation for a moment, then various things arise. The mind is very fast. The mind stops still, the mind knows, in a single mind-moment, but it becomes a long story.

Samādhi can also produce knowledge and vision like jhāna, but samādhi remains in place, the mind does not send out externally; it is stable. For example, one has mindfulness in all postures, contemplating Dhamma in that place. When seeing or knowing various things, they appear right at the mind itself. One sees clearly as if sitting and watching. Or sees a person about to die lying right there in the mind. Or a voice arises saying that such-and-such person will die. Past and present events arise and appear right at the mind. The mind sees them as if covering things with a clear glass. Visions and events from jhāna and samādhi have different characteristics. Knowledge and vision from jhāna see externally; knowledge and vision from samādhi arise internally.

In Buddhism, the Buddha said there are two practices: tranquility (samatha) and insight (vipassanā). Samatha is divided into two: jhāna and samādhi, as explained. Now we will explain vipassanā.

Vipassanā (Insight)

Vipassanā means seeing clearly, seeing distinctly, seeing truly with one's own mind, not seeing from hearing, listening to others, or from texts. It has samādhi as its basis. Vipassanā is similar to samādhi; without careful consideration, they may seem identical. Samādhi takes a recitation word as its starting point. Contemplating that word, analyzing it to see it as it truly is, the mind unifies into any of the three samādhis (as explained). Then with mindfulness, it contemplates only that object. That is samādhi.

For vipassanā, after becoming skilled with the recitation word, one then contemplates the Dhamma that leads to abandoning and removing clinging and defilements. For example, contemplating the four elements, the five aggregates, the twelve sense bases, which the mind clings to as self or not-self. That is called vipassanā.

Further, insight-wisdom (paññā-vipassanā) sees even more clearly: contemplating the four elements, five aggregates, twelve sense bases, etc., is the seeing of vipassanā. One knows that the one contemplating vipassanā is insight-wisdom. The mind becomes established separately as a distinct part, with mindfulness knowing all things that pass through the mind, clearly knowing the causes and conditions, like looking at things inside a glass covering, but the mind does not receive the objects. Those objects arise naturally and then cease.

One who contemplates insight-wisdom must contemplate the three characteristics (tilakkhaṇa) as the foundation, in any posture, seeing any thing, whether material or mental. One who develops insight-wisdom must constantly contemplate the three characteristics. Through the power of this contemplation, the mind sees clearly and distinctly in stages, until the mind becomes established in one place. All the Dhammas contemplated, when insight-wisdom is reached, come together and are known and seen in that one place. Then one contemplates that Dhamma until seeing clearly and distinctly all of it there. The mind becomes more joyful than ever before, like someone opening a large bundle of ornaments in front of them, seeing each ornament clearly and distinctly in a single mind-moment. Then the mind withdraws to normal. But when contemplating any direction — oneself, others, other things, internal and external — all are seen as the three characteristics. One feels such spiritual urgency that one can hardly speak to ordinary people, but can easily speak with fellow practitioners.

Unlike people in this atomic age who meditate for five or ten minutes without even attaining samādhi, yet want to know and understand many things, or want vipassanā to arise. Their craving only multiplies. They wander seeking knowledge from texts and then contemplate that, understanding that this is vipassanā. They memorize it and recite it to their teacher for validation. If the teacher praises them, they are happy; if not, their vipassanā disappears.

True and genuine insight-wisdom arises from samādhi meditation that has become skilled; then it gradually arises. It is not easy to fabricate. Otherwise, everyone would be an arahant. For example, Ven. Ānanda, as explained earlier.

Maggasamaṅgī (One Possessed of the Path)

One who develops insight-wisdom must constantly incline the mind toward the three characteristics. Whatever they know, see, hear, or learn, they see the world as a temporary dwelling as long as life remains. In this world, nothing is self; everything is impermanent, not stable or lasting, subject to suffering, experiencing impermanence. When the mind sees this constantly and certainly, it inclines toward liberation from suffering. Whatever one does, one does only for survival. One who sees like this constantly, as the mind matures, will unify into maggasamaṅgī (one possessed of the path).

For one who has practiced meditation, attained jhāna and samādhi in stages, until fully developed insight-wisdom, reaching maggasamaṅgī, the mind unifies in one place. All the Dhammas contemplated become clear in that one place. Doubt and uncertainty about the Dhamma disappear according to one's stage and level. This clarity is not seeing with jhāna as visions or light (which are within the province of jhāna), nor seeing with samādhi as a separate knowledge of insight-wisdom. Rather, maggasamaṅgī sees both cause and effect, both good and bad of that heap of defilements — not just the bad side but also its good side, seeing with jhāna vision, knowing and seeing according to nature and truth as it really is. Thus one can remain neutral. And when seeing, one is fully delighted and joyful. Knowledge and vision arise in a single mind-moment, then one withdraws, feeling only joy. Thereafter, one constantly contemplates the Dhamma that one has known and seen. That knowledge and vision is not maggasamaṅgī but conforms to maggasamaṅgī (anuloma). True maggasamaṅgī arises only in a single mind-moment.

This maggasamaṅgī mind occurs for each of the four noble persons at each path, and occurs only once, never twice. After emerging, even if one contemplates the three characteristics with as much clarity as before, it is called anuloma (conforming) — seeing according to the old, according to vipassanā, but not the same as before, so it is not called maggasamaṅgī. Unless one progresses to higher stages, then one sees clearly with oneself in the same way, but with greater clarity and abandonment of defilements stage by stage according to that path. This is knowledge arising from one's own insight-wisdom. No one else can know it except the Perfectly Enlightened Buddha.

This insight-wisdom is said to arise for noble ones at each level, not twice. After emerging, one takes that object and contemplates it again, continuing as described. Even when contemplating other matters, they all converge on the three characteristics. The matter ends. Like a worldly court case: when a case arises, one must investigate both plaintiff and defendant, gather witnesses from both sides, then sit on the bench and deliver a final verdict of who is right and who is wrong. If either party is unsatisfied, they appeal, reinvestigate, then the appellate court sits and delivers its verdict. If still unsatisfied, they appeal to the Supreme Court. This time, the Supreme Court's verdict is final.

Maggasamaṅgī is the highest method of practice in Buddhism. Whatever practice or method one follows, if one practices correctly in Buddhism, one must eventually become maggasamaṅgī, unified as one. Maggasamaṅgī is classified into four stages according to the noble path:

• Path of stream-entry (sotāpattimagga)
• Path of once-returning (sakadāgāmimagga)
• Path of non-returning (anāgāmimagga)
• Path of arahantship (arahattamagga)

Visākhā, the great female lay disciple, according to history, attained stream-entry at age seven, yet later married the son of the wealthy merchant Migāra. Many wonder if this contradicts the principle that a stream-enterer has abandoned the three fetters: personality belief, doubt, and clinging to rites and rituals. But don't be troubled. A seven-year-old girl, listening to Dhamma in the Buddha's presence, became so inspired that her mind unified into maggasamaṅgī, attaining stream-entry. Thereafter, she listened to the Buddha's teachings occasionally, as befitting a wealthy merchant's daughter, to nurture her faith. At sixteen, she married Migāra's son. Before the wedding, her father had jewelers make ornaments called the "Great Lata Ornament" worth tens of millions. After marriage, she had twenty children, born as twins — a record number. During that time, she likely had no time for intensive practice, only contemplating in conformity (anuloma) with maggasamaṅgī as explained.

As for personality belief (sakkāyadiṭṭhi), she would have seen it clearly according to its nature and truth. But regarding marriage and wearing ornaments, she followed worldly customs, like an elderly person applying powder and dressing up — not for beauty, but out of habit.

As for doubt and clinging to rites and rituals, no problem. As seen when she went to listen to the Buddha at Jetavana monastery: she removed her ornaments, hung them on a branch, then entered to listen. After the discourse, she forgot them. When she reached her mansion, she remembered and sent a servant to fetch them, instructing: "If any monk has touched them, don't bring them back." It turned out that Ven. Ānanda had picked them up (monks' custom: if they see a layperson's belongings left in the monastery, they keep them for the owner to retrieve). Ornaments worth tens of millions — she forgot them like trifles. Who in the world could forget such things? This shows that Visākhā was not attached to such items. She wore them and used them merely as convention. In truth, we don't know her inner thoughts and understanding. She might have known and seen more deeply than us. We bring this up only as our own analysis.

Those who develop samatha, whether jhāna or samādhi as explained, may initially become attached to jhāna or samādhi. But all are causes and conditions for reaching maggasamaṅgī, only differing in speed. Those who remain attached for a long time, delighting and enjoying, until they realize and correct themselves, take longer. Those with sharp wisdom do not become attached or involved, seeing them as not good, not real, as deceptive tools, and reach maggasamaṅgī faster.

All those who develop jhāna and samādhi do so to reach maggasamaṅgī. They practice, gradually correcting and strengthening. But not counting days — counting lives and aeons. In one lifetime, they are sure to reach maggasamaṅgī. As the Buddha's disciples who attained, they all had practiced for at least countless aeons (asankheyyas). They had great effort, unlike us today who practice a little, see no result, and give up: "Better to sleep."

Dhamma has Many Aspects

Knowledge in Buddhism, if we say it is vast, it is vast; if narrow, it is narrow. Those who think, "Let me study the Dhamma texts to know, understand, or finish them first, then practice — that is easy" are far from the Buddha's teaching. Because Dhamma has many aspects. The intention to study thoroughly before practice is fine, but our life doesn't reach a hundred years; we will die. Even a hundred years is not enough to finish the Buddha's teaching. After death, we must start over again. Perhaps in the next life, there is no teacher, and that life is wasted. Thus they are said to be very far from the Buddha's teaching.

Those who study a lot but do not practice according to the Dhamma are called "empty books" by the Buddha. Those who hear, generate faith, and practice earnestly, then realize the Dhamma accordingly, are called "quick understanding" (vipacitāññū).

If we say the Dhamma taught by the Buddha is narrow, it is very narrow: he taught to converge at the heart (heart) alone, not at the mind (mind). Mind is the one that wanders and concocts; it cannot converge. When converging at the heart, there is no wandering activity; it is still, neutral, only the knower, still. Then all matters are finished.

The End

Buddhism teaches with an end: whatever it teaches, worldly or spiritual, it teaches to completion. It does not deviate from the truth of impermanence, suffering, not-self. Unlike worldly sciences, which have no end. The more you learn, the more it expands, with no conclusion. You learn and heap it up on your chest, heavy. Learn on: one person dies before finishing, another continues, never ending.

In truth, all the sciences widely studied in the world today are things that already existed. Nothing new can be brought from nowhere, except that people don't think to use them. People in olden times didn't struggle to live; they used shallow science and got by. Nowadays, there are more people, living is hard, raw materials are depleting, so they explore deeper science to obtain those things for use and consumption. Otherwise, they cannot survive. Once they find it, they become fascinated with that science, unaware that science is merely a means to sustain the body, to avoid suffering and disintegration. When it disintegrates, all is abandoned. No refuge is found; they must be reborn again. Thus humans are endlessly entangled.

Those with strong wisdom, merit, and pāramī, who have accumulated and trained much, when born see this world burning with competition, killing, striking, stealing, cheating, robbing in various ways. They feel spiritual urgency, not wanting to live among them. So they devise skillful means to free themselves from the world: observing sīla, meditating, practicing samatha, jhāna, samādhi, and developing insight-wisdom until maggasamaṅgī arises, as explained from the beginning.

Buddhism teaches not to flee from body, speech, and mind, because body, speech, and mind are the gathering place of all things, especially all the minor and major defilements we wish to purify — they are all in this body. Turn whichever face and look, it's all defilements. For one who sees them as defilements: the face gives rise to many defilements. Eyes see forms, producing either love or hate, delight or aversion; equanimity does not arise. Ears hear sounds, producing pleasant, melodious, delightful, or aversive feelings; equanimity similarly absent. Nose touches smells, tongue tastes flavors, body touches cold, hot, soft, hard; mind touches objects, producing delight or aversion. In conclusion, the human face is more surrounded by defilements than anything else. All defilements arising in our body, whether standing, walking, sitting, lying down, are all defilements. One who sees the danger and becomes disenchanted with these defilements, then lets go, abandons all defilements, and remains neutral — those defilements cannot surround.

Defilements arising from past and future: if one remains neutral, they do not arise. Merit, demerit, good, bad arise from past and future. Formations, perceptions, clinging, and all defilements arise entirely from past and future. When the mind is neutral, it is called "heart" (heart). Nothing arises there. Mind and heart are synonyms; in the Buddha's Dhamma, they can be used interchangeably. The Buddha said: "Whatever mind, that is heart." The author wrote that mind and heart are different for clearer understanding in common language and easier listening. Mind is the thinker, concocter, fabricator of everything, unable to be still. The arising of wisdom and knowledge of various things comes from this mind.

In truth, when we make the mind neutral toward everything, there will be nothing at all, only a feeling of neutrality. If one wants to test what the true heart is like, hold your breath for a moment. At that moment, there is nothing, only equanimity. That is the heart. The heart is the knower, or the knowing element. The knowing element has no defilements or objects at all. All defilements, objects, perceptions, formations, clinging arise from mind. Mind wanders and brings them in. Because these elements, aggregates, sense bases exist, there is contact (phassa), and consciousness (viññāṇa) arises. When these things cease, the heart as neutrality has no further business; nothing can affect it.

The Buddha said: "When consciousness ceases, mind ceases." When the mind thinks, wanders to various objects, seeing them as wearisome and frightening, because consciousness is the cause and sense bases are the condition, then whether consciousness ceases or not, the mind does not take it as an object. The mind is content as mind. The mind is equanimous, converging into heart.