86. Buddhism Teaches the Mind

By Luang Pu Thate Desaraṅsī

July 14, 1982

“When the mind is controlled, it will gather into one, reaching appanā samādhi (absorption concentration), calming and settling into that one thing – which is the heart.”

Making merit that requires much preparation but yields little result, versus making merit that requires little preparation but yields great result. Take, for example, the merit-making for the inauguration of the shrine hall and for my birthday celebration on April 26, 1982. People flock to make merit and perform good deeds everywhere, and they do so on a grand, magnificent scale. But that merit is only a little – not worth the effort. The funeral of Mr. On was the same: preparations began from the end of the Rains Retreat (Vassa) and went on for three to four months, yet the actual ceremony lasted only three or four days. In our case, we prepared for many days, but the actual event took just one day and one night. As for the saying that we prepare a lot but get little result – consider how we gather various supplies and equipment. It takes a long time to collect everything, because those items are not all in one place. Even if they are far away, we bring them here. After using them, we have to send them back to their original places. Returning them is even more difficult than bringing them. The head organizer becomes exhausted, and some even fall ill and die. This is called making merit with much preparation but little result.

In truth, the essence of Buddhism is to purify one’s own actions of body, speech, and mind in accordance with the Buddha’s teachings. What we practice today truly reaches the essence of Buddhism, but most people do not see it. For that reason, practicing Buddhism often yields only the outer shell of the religion; the true core is rarely attained. Our monastery is a practice monastery. Since it was established about fifteen years ago, we have held two large merit-making events: one for the consecration of the ordination hall, though it was not as grand as this. This is the second time we have celebrated the shrine hall. But the core of merit we do every single day without fail. The core of merit is our mind. Reaching the mind, practicing to reach the mind – that is the core of merit. The core of demerit also lies there. Both merit and demerit exist together, right there.

Why is it said that the core of merit and demerit lies in the mind? Because the mind is greater than the entire world. The mind protects and governs our self. The world can come into existence only because of the mind. Each individual mind manifests as form and substance. If there were no mind, there would be no world, no human beings, no animals. But it is difficult because the mind does exist. That is why humans gradually exist, and animals gradually exist. The turmoil in this world is because the mind is not at peace; we have not trained the mind sufficiently, so it becomes chaotic. If each person trained and cultivated their own mind, and could control it, then what problems would there be? The noble ones (ariyas) of old lived together in groups of four to five hundred without quarreling or conflicting with one another. People nowadays, living together in groups of two or more, have problems. The more people, the more problems – because no one can control their own mind.

There are many methods for controlling the mind, called kammaṭṭhāna (meditation subjects) – that is, training the mind itself. All of Buddhism’s training methods are forms of kammaṭṭhāna. It’s just that each teacher is skilled in a particular approach and trains accordingly. The ultimate result is controlling one’s own mind to be under one’s command. Some use “rising and falling” (of the abdomen), some use “sammā arahaṃ,” some use ānāpānasati (mindfulness of breathing), according to their preferred method. But when one has controlled the mind up to that point, all recitation ceases, leaving only the single mind – that is called samādhi or ekacitta (one-pointed mind). Samādhi means the mind becomes one. If you can grasp this, you no longer need to bother with recitation. Just control the mind to become one – then it’s over. Right now, we cannot hold the mind still, so we use recitation, such as repeating “Buddho” to keep it with that recitation. The recitation is a lure to bring the mind there, to make the mind steady in a single object. When the mind is steady in one object, the recitation will forget itself. Even if it doesn’t forget, you can let it go. Some people think that if they forget the recitation – it disappears – they should start reciting again. That doesn’t work. The recitation is meant to bring the mind together into one. Once the mind is one, why get entangled with that recitation again? If you recite again, the mind withdraws.

There are many methods for cultivating samādhi. Going to associate with various teachers, one says this, another says that – so you become hesitant and doubtful, not knowing what to take as your principle. Each teacher teaches according to their own expertise, but ultimately it all comes together as the same thing: bringing the mind to oneness. That very unification of the mind is samatha (tranquility). Some schools call it vipassanā (insight). But how can you call it vipassanā when it hasn’t even become samatha? They must be vipassanā enthusiasts, not actual vipassanā – just thinking and pondering about the arising and ceasing of mind and matter. Those who think that way don’t even yet know what vipassanā truly is. True vipassanā does not require thinking, pondering, or fabricating. It happens by itself; it arises on its own. When it arises, one clearly and vividly realizes the Three Characteristics (ti-lakkhaṇa) by oneself. Therefore, do not be doubtful. When doubt ceases during meditation, one often reaches oneness. The cessation of doubt at that stage is a separate phase – because there is no thinking, no pondering, no fabricating, so doubt ceases at that stage. But deeper doubt still remains. Nevertheless, please first put an end to doubt at that stage. Even vipassanā does not eliminate doubt all at once; it does so step by step.

As for the method of cultivating samatha kammaṭṭhāna, any method is fine, as long as the mind becomes one. That works for all. But here, let us contemplate ānāpānasati – using the in-breath and out-breath as the meditation object. Because the in-breath and out-breath are the physical body’s means of sustenance. Without breath, we die. People are afraid of death. If you truly and earnestly contemplate the in-breath and out-breath, you see your own death. Then you will quickly practice samādhi, as they say – “meditate to avoid death.” But that is still better than not seeing death at all and indulging in pleasure all the time. Fear of death is very important. Nothing is as important as fear of death. Therefore, contemplate ānāpānasati: if you breathe in but don’t breathe out, you die; if you breathe out but don’t breathe in, you die. Contemplate seeing death in every moment, at all times. Then the mind will become disenchanted and dispassionate toward the conditioned body, and it will settle down into oneness, becoming samādhi-bhāvanā (concentration meditation). But the mind itself does not die. The mind cannot die. Without breath, it doesn’t die. It doesn’t depend on breath; it can be reborn in various places – as animals, ghosts, demons, humans, celestial beings, devas – all without breath. It is not born in those places because of breath. But when it is born within the four elements and five aggregates, then it depends on breath.

The mind has no self or substance. The mind has no breath; it is just a neutral knowing. Citta (mind) and heart (in Thai, jai) are different. Mind is the thinker, the one that remembers, the fabricator of all sorts of things – the hundreds and thousands of perceptions and objects. What they call the 1,500 defilements (kilesas) and the 108 cravings (taṇhās) – all come out from this mind itself. And mind comes out from the heart. It is mind that leads one to be reborn in lesser or greater realms. If you want to see mind and heart, only when the mind gathers into unwavering samādhi, fully, and reaches appanā – then you reach the heart. If you have not yet reached appanā samādhi, you will see only mind. Mind is the thinker, the rememberer, the fabricator, the composer, and all the perceptions – that is called mind. Therefore, we must protect this point, control it well. When mindfulness controls the mind, bringing it under one’s own power, under one’s command – so that you can make it think or not think, make it remain still – then whether the mind thinks coarsely or subtly, you are aware. Whether it is merit or demerit, you are aware. That is paññā (wisdom). But it is not vipassanā-paññā; it is ordinary wisdom. When we can control the mind, then wisdom arises. Everyone says that wisdom arises from samādhi, but they don’t know how it actually arises. They go for that other thing – the samādhi that gives rise to knowing and seeing strange things, such as seeing devas, ghosts, demons, etc. That is called abhiññā (higher knowledge). If someone gains abhiññā and then tells others about it, it’s very exciting, but it does not lead to the abandonment of evil. As for true, genuine wisdom – it is precisely this ability to control the mind, to bring it under our command, to know and see all sorts of things, to think or not think as we wish, to fabricate or not fabricate as we wish. This is ordinary wisdom – something that everyone can clearly see and realize for themselves, and something that can lead to abandonment, if that person truly sees the danger by themselves.

As for the wisdom that we have under control, it operates within the framework of the Three Characteristics. Contemplate, and it all comes down to the Three Characteristics. Everything lies within the scope of the Three Characteristics: impermanence (aniccaṃ), suffering (dukkhaṃ), and non-self (anattā). Now, everything in the world lies within the Three Characteristics; nothing escapes them. That is aniccaṃ. First, we must contemplate to see it within ourselves. We are born as a self, as an individual. We work and earn our living every day. We suffer because we never stop seeking. We seek, consume, run out, then seek again. That is aniccaṃ – because nothing lasts. None of those things belong to anyone. They are merely gathered to nourish the body, and then they dissolve back into the four elements: earth, water, fire, wind. They are not a being, a person, or anyone’s property. It is like using tar to patch a leaky boat. We patch it only for temporary use. This understanding is called wisdom.

When the mind is controlled, it will gather into one, reaching appanā samādhi, calming and settling into that one thing – which is the heart. Mind and heart are different in this way. After guarding and controlling mind, it gradually settles down into the heart. The heart is that which does not think, does not remember; it has a feeling of knowing, remaining neutral. Some traditions call it “the knowing element” (dhātu rū).

The practice of religion, in summary, ultimately comes down to this single knowing element. That is all. But that knowing then differentiates further; it becomes more elaborate. Each person knows differently. Once one has reached the knowing element, the burden of practice is over. Then, when you emerge from the heart back into mind, this time mind controls itself at all times – no need to intentionally control it. Wherever you go, whatever you do, it controls itself. It does not become deluded, forgetful, or oblivious. Then your knowledge becomes vast and wide. You see all things throughout the entire world as aniccaṃ, dukkhaṃ, anattā.

What more should you practice then? There’s nothing left to practice. Just remain like that for a long time – for ages, for years. If you practice and don’t see any progress in knowledge, that means the mind has regressed or withdrawn. Practitioners should not be ambitious, craving to produce various knowledges. When it is full and ripe in its own stage, it will produce knowledge by itself. To practice and reach the principle of the Three Characteristics is already excellent. What more do you want? Most practitioners only get lost in these chaotic states and then think they have knowledge and ability. In truth, we are slaves to anger, conceit, and wrong views. We don’t even know our own defilements. Evaṃ (thus).

Sitting Meditation

(The teacher leads the instruction.)

Try it this time – see if it works. Contemplate ānāpānasati, focusing on the breath, in and out. Watch the breath, in and out. Remain like that until it becomes still and steady as a single object. Then, determine to take only the knower, the one who knows. Let go of the breath; do not focus on it. Then you will clearly see your own mind: “Ah, so this is the mind.” The object of contemplation is one thing; the one who contemplates is another. Seek the one who is contemplating the breath. It is like looking at the sun or the moon: we are not looking at the seer – the knowing self – but at the sun or moon, so we don’t see the knower. If we let go of the sun and moon and turn inward to look only at the knower, we will see the knower immediately.

Another point: Those who contemplate the in-breath and out-breath until they become fully still and steady, but have no method for further contemplation, should simply remain in that state. (This is for those who have already attained.) The word “heart” here means neutrality – neutrality toward all things, everything. That is called “neutral.” That neutral one is the heart itself. To point to a person’s heart, you must point to the middle of the chest. In truth, a person’s heart is not located there. It can be anywhere. You can make it be wherever you wish – at the head, in the middle of the chest, in the arm, in the leg, or at the toe. It’s all possible. You can make it be anywhere. Reach the heart, know the heart, and then you will know mind, because the heart and mind are together. As for the further details, they will arise by themselves. That’s enough for now.