70. Free from Suffering
By Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī
March 8, 1989
When we speak of a "practitioner," a "trainer," a "developer"—the term "practitioner" means one who is skilled in training and developing the heart. That's why we call them a "practitioner." The training and development of the mind involves many things and methods, which are called kammaṭṭhāna (meditation subjects). But no matter how you train—whether a lot or a little—if you lack discernment within yourself, no matter how much you train, it won't progress; it just won't become peaceful. Training to become skilled requires skillful means. Skillful means can be taught and explained to one another. But discernment is a personal matter; it arises on its own for each person. Discernment arises partly from the skillful means we have heard, but it also arises in another way—no one can teach it completely; it arises only within oneself. Whatever proficiency, sharpness, and insight one gains in practice all come from this discernment. What the world calls "technique" or something similar must arise individually within a person; everyone's inner brilliance differs.
We train, develop, and practice—merely training and practicing—but without discernment, it takes a long time and becomes difficult precisely because of the lack of discernment. We cannot teach it to one another. Nevertheless, we must first use skillful means. If it's going to happen, discernment will arise on its own. For example, when we contemplate kāyagatāsati (mindfulness of the body)—this is an initial skillful means. This body cannot be escaped or abandoned because it has been attached to us from birth until death. If we cling tightly to this body, regarding it as "ours," "mine," "mine" all the time, as long as we keep regarding it as "mine," we cannot let go of "mine," and we will never find peace. But when discernment arises, it asks, "Why do you call it 'mine'?" That flash of questioning is the cause for us to contemplate more deeply with discernment. At that point, we no longer rely on the skillful means; we rely solely on the discernment that has arisen. That is discernment. However it arises, it arises on its own.
In contemplating Dhamma—every piece, every part, every thing, every aspect—it is vast. We contemplate all of it from every angle. We use the citta (the thinking mind), not the heart (the peaceful mind), to contemplate various discernments and various skillful means. We use the mind—both good and bad, both gross and subtle. For example, contemplating the body through various methods—contemplating it as unattractive and loathsome (asubha), contemplating death (maraṇasati), contemplating the in-and-out breath—all of these contemplations are aimed at causing discernment to arise, at causing everything to converge inward, at causing the mind to unify into the heart. No matter how much the mind contemplates, it keeps wandering all the time. If it never unifies into the heart, it never becomes peaceful. I have often said: the mind only contemplates worldly matters, not Dhamma matters. It is entirely worldly, with no end. You could contemplate for your entire life—the mind never stops; it is distracted, restless, and annoyed by everything. There is no end to it. The end of the world, the end of defilements, the end of unwholesome states—all of that lies in the unification of the mind. From the day of birth until the day of death, the mind never unifies because it is distracted, because it thinks and conceives, because it projects itself outward.
When the mind finally unifies, it becomes one, it becomes peaceful. That is the end of the world, the end of saṃsāra (the cycle of rebirth). It unifies into oneness, into neutrality. When it unifies into neutrality, that is the end. That is why the Dhamma has an end. Worldly matters have no end. You can contemplate as much as you like—you will never find an end. But when it unifies into oneness, when it unifies into peace, there is no further place to go. That is called the end of the world.
What is the criterion? Aniccaṃ, dukkhaṃ, anattā (impermanence, suffering, non-self)—the Three Marks of Existence. These three are the measure. Once they are fully penetrated, there is nowhere else to go. In the past, the Buddha and his disciples all practiced and followed this path. Nevertheless, they reached the end. When they were at peace in their normal state, the mind would still go out again into worldly affairs, into saṃsāra. The mind had been accustomed to this for a very long time, over many lifetimes—it had been clinging for so long. So it would naturally go out again into its own affairs. But when the minds of those noble ones went out, they were not overwhelmed. Their minds had mindfulness and restraint, firmly established in concentration. They would see the drawback and suffering of it, and then the mind would unify again. After being unified for a while, it would go out again. Then they would contemplate again in the same way—it would go out in the same old patterns. Going out and coming back like this, eventually the whole matter ended. Then it would settle into aniccaṃ, dukkhaṃ, anattā. When it becomes the heart, that's all—it's finished.
This process of the mind going out and coming back in—contemplating and then unifying—is the cause for the arising of wisdom. One has mindfulness, knowing and understanding these things at all times. That is what is meant by gathering all worldly matters into one. The Dhamma taught by the Buddha has an end like this. In worldly matters, no one can teach something that has an end. Go and look at any textbooks or models anywhere—worldly matters have no end. All the sciences, everything—new things keep arising, but they are all just old things. They arise as new knowledge, branching out into countless fields, with no end in sight. Only the Buddha's Dhamma—a single branch—has an end.
Samatha (tranquility) is the peace that reaches concentration, reaches the "heart." When one reaches the heart, there is cool peace, without any disturbances. But the paññā (wisdom) and vipassanā (insight) that will arise—that is another matter entirely. There is a lot of it, but it does not go beyond the Three Marks of Existence. It must first unify into oneness.
"Mind" and "heart" are essentially the same thing. It can be called viññāṇa (consciousness), it can be called mind, or vedanā (feeling), saññā (perception), saṅkhārā (mental formations), viññāṇa—all kinds of terms, but they all come out from the heart.
"Heart" is that which is still and peaceful, not thinking or conceiving, yet aware of itself. That is called "heart."
The thinker, the conceiver, the one who feels various emotions—both good and bad—that is called "mind."
If a practitioner does not see mind and heart, there is no way to achieve samādhi bhāvanā (meditation development). One cannot become free from suffering. To become free from suffering, one must see "mind" and "heart," and then see "defilements." Mind is the thinker, the conceiver—that is the accumulator of defilements. When it unifies into the heart, one abandons defilements, becomes free from defilements, and becomes the heart.
Mind, heart, and defilements—if one sees these three at all times, then one will be able to become free from suffering. The practice of the religion ends right here—no need for a lot. Enough.