Investigating Pain WE human beings are like trees: If we water a tree, fertilize it and keep looking after it, it will be fresher and grow faster than it normally would if we let it fend for itself without our help. The mind, when we keep looking after it, will become more and more radiant and peaceful, step by step. If it isn't trained, it's like a tree which isn't looked after. Whenever it lacks training, it begins to act tarnished and defiled because the things which tarnish and defile it are already there inside it. When we look after the mind continually with medita-tion, it will gradually become more and more calm. When it's calm, it will begin to develop radiance along with its calm. And once it's calm, then when we contemplate anything, we can penetrate into the workings of cause and effect so as to understand in line with the truths which appear both within us and without. But if the mind is clouded and confused, its thoughts are all worthless. Right becomes wrong, and wrong becomes progressively even more wrong. Thus we are taught to train the mind so that it will be quiet, calm and radiant, able to see its shadows, just as when water is limpid and clear: We look down into the water and can see clearly whatever plants or animals there are. But if the water is muddy, we can't see anything when we look down into it. No matter what things are in the water--plants, animals or whatever--we can't see them at all. The same holds true with the mind. If it's clouded, then we can't see the harm of whatever--big or small--is hidden within it, even though that harm has been bad for the mind all along. This is because the mind isn't radiant. For this reason, a mind which is clouded with muddy preoccupations can't investigate to the point of seeing anything, which is why we have to train the mind to make it radiant and then it will see its shadows. These shadows lie buried in the mind. In other words, they are the various conditions which come out of the mind. They are called shadows--and we are forever deluded into being attached to these shadows which come from the thoughts constantly forming and coming out of the mind at all times. They catch us off guard, so that we think `this' is us, `that' is us, anything at all is us, even though they are simply shadows, and not the real thing. Our belief or delusion, though, turns them into the `real thing.' As a result, we end up troubled and anxious. At present, the great respected meditation masters on whom we depend in the area of the practice and in the area of the mind are falling away one by one. Those who are left can barely take care of themselves. Physically, they are wearing out step by step--like Venerable Acariya Khao. To see him is really heart-rending. When the body reaches its final extremity, it's as if it had never been strong or in radiant health. To lie down is painful, to sit is painful-- whatever the position, it's painful. When the time comes for pain to come thronging in, the khandhas are nothing but pain. But for people like this, it's simply a matter of the body and the khandhas. In the area of the mind, they have no more problems about the behavior of the body or the khandhas at all. But as for us, well, we're always there welcoming such problems. No matter whether it's the body or the thoughts of the mind which are acting adversely, the mind begins to act adversely as well. For example, if the body is malfunc-tioning, the mind begins to malfunction too, even though there is nothing really wrong with it. This is due to the mind's own fear, caused by the fact that mindfulness and discernment aren't up on the events surrounding the mind. This is why we are taught to train our mindfulness and discernment to be capable and bold, alert to events arising within the mind and around it--namely, in the various aspects of the khandhas when they behave in adverse ways. We have to be alert to these things. All that is needed is for the mind not to be alert, or for it to be deluded by these things, and it will create stress and pain for itself without ceasing. Pain will have to come pouring in to overwhelm it. Even though the body may be pained simply in accordance with its own affairs, in accordance with the principles of nature, the mind will still grab hold of it to cause pain for itself, to burn itself, if it hasn't investigated to see through these things. If the mind has mindfulness constantly governing and guarding it, then whatever damage arises will be minor, because it arises in a single spot--within the mind--and mindfulness is there at the same spot, alert to the fact that this is arising, that is arising, good or evil is arising within. Discernment is what unravels, contemplates, investigates and remedies the different preoccupations arising in the mind. Things then begin to calm down. But if mindfulness is lacking, things begin to get drawn out. Even though thought-formations may arise and vanish, one after another, countless times, sanna--labels and interpretations--don't vanish. They connect things into long stretches. Stress and pain will then have to connect into long stretches and gather into the heart. The heart is what then reaps all this suffering by itself because of the acts (kamma) which sanna and sankhara fashion. The heart is the primary vessel for receiving both pleasure and pain--and for the most part it receives pain. If it lacks mindfulness and discernment, it receives only fakes and scraps. Rubbish. Things which are toxic and danger-ous. But if it's mindful and discerning, it can pick and choose. Whatever isn't good, it picks out and throws away, leaving only the things of substance and worth within the heart. The heart is cooled, but not with water. It feels pleasure, but not because of external things. It's cool from the Dhamma. It feels pleasure in the Dhamma--and the reason is because mindfulness and discernment are looking after it. To attend to other things is not as difficult as attending to the heart. All the burdens of the world converge at the heart, and so to remove the things which have long been buried within us is very difficult work. We may even become discouraged because we see almost no results when we first begin. This is because the mind is still drifting while we work. It doesn't really focus on taking its work seriously, and so results don't appear as they should. This makes us discouraged, weak and dejected. We give up, thinking, `It'd be better to stop, because we're not getting anywhere'--even though once we have stopped it's not any better, except that the mind has a better chance of filling itself with evil after we've stopped striving towards the good. The assumption which says `better' is the work of the defilements, which are all deceivers, tricking us into being discouraged and weak. Actually, even while we are striving, things aren't yet getting good, even though we are practi-cally dying to make them good. Our heart is ready to burst because of the effort--so how can things become good once we stop? If, as we think, things were to get good once we stop, then no one should have to do work of any sort any more. Once we stop, everything of every sort would become good on its own! Both within and without, things would have to be good. We won't have to do much work. It's better to stop. The Dhamma isn't like the defilements. The defile-ments say, `It's better to stop.' It's better, all right--better for the sake of defilement, not for the sake of the Dhamma. The Dhamma is something with which we have to keep perse-vering until it's good, and then better, and then even better, continually, because we don't stop. This work is our work, which we do for the sake of Dhamma. It's not lazy work, which is the work of the defilements. The results of the work will then appear step by step because we do it without ceasing. This is how it is with the work of meditation. When it's easy, we do it; when it's hard, we do it--because it's work which ought to be done. If we don't do it, who will do it for us? When the fires of pain and suffering are consuming the heart because of the thoughts we form and accumulate, why don't we complain that it's hard? When we accumulate defilement to cause stress and anxiety to the heart, why don't we feel that it's difficult? Why don't we complain about the stress? Because we're content to do it. We're not bothered with whether it's easy or hard. It simply flows--like water flowing downhill. Whether it's hard or not, it simply flows on its own, so that we don't know whether it's hard or not. But when we force ourselves to do good, it's like rolling a log uphill. It's hard because it goes against the grain. In relinquishing the sufferings, big and small, to which the mind submits in the course of the cycle of rebirth, some of the work just naturally has to be difficult. Everyone-- even those who have attained the paths, the fruitions and nibbana easily--has found it hard at first. When we reach the stage where it should be easy, it'll have to be easy. When we reach the stage we call hard, it'll have to be hard, but it won't always be hard like this. When the time comes for it to be light or easy, it's easy. And especially when we've come to see results appearing step by step, the difficulty disap-pears on its own, because we're completely ready for it, with no concern for pleasure or pain. We simply want to know, to see, to understand the things on which our sights are set. Study. We should study the elements and khandhas. We should keep watch on the elements and khandhas which come into contact with us. This is an important principle for all meditators. We should keep watch on them all the time because they keep changing all the time. They're `aniccam' all the time, `dukkham' all the time, without respite, without stop. Investigate. We should keep trying to see their affairs as they occur within us, until we're adept at it. As we keep investigating again and again, the mind will gradually come to understand more and more profoundly, straight to the heart. The heart will gradually let go, of its own accord. It's not the case that we investigate once and then stop, waiting to rake in the results even though the causes aren't sufficient. That's not how it works. All forms of striving for the good--such as meditating --have to go against the grain of the defilements. All of the great meditation masters, before becoming famous and revered by the world, survived death through great efforts. If this were easy work, how could we say they survived death? It had to be heavy work which required that they exert themselves to the utmost. Most of these masters have since passed away. Only a few are left. We hope to depend on them, but their bodies are `aniccam'. We can depend on them only for a period, only for a time, and then we are parted, as we have seen at present. So we should try to take their teachings inward, as our masters, always teaching us inside. Whatever they have taught, we should take inward and put into practice. This way we can be said to be staying with our teachers at all times, just as if we were to be with the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha everywhere and always. Our own practice is the primary mainstay on which we can rely with assurance. Depending on a teacher isn't certain or sure. We are bound to be parted. If he doesn't leave, we leave. If he doesn't go, we go--because he and we all live in the same world of inconstancy. There is no difference among us. What we can hold to, though, are the basic principles of his teaching. We hold to them and earnestly put them into practice so as to see the results, so as to seize victory within the heart. Victory of this sort is the supreme victory, unsurpassed in all the world. No other victory is its equal. We grapple to take victory over ourselves--over the defile-ments which we have believed to be `ourselves', `us', `ours', for aeons and aeons. This is an enormous undertaking. If you play at it, like children playing with dolls, the defilements will crush you to bits in no time, because you've been holding on to them for so long. So don't delay. Investigate so as to know clearly and let go, so that the mind will be clear and free of suffering and stress, and not forever in disarray. We have been accumulating the words `us' and `ours' for countless aeons. If the defilements were material objects, what in the world could we take for comparison that would be larger than the pile of defilement, craving and mental effluents, the pile of `us', the pile of `ours' we've been accu-mulating for so long? There's so much of it that it would be beyond our strength to drag it out for comparisons. If we were to drag it out just to pass the time between eating and sleeping--to chip at it, hack at it, poke at it or slash at it once or twice, hoping to break through it--we wouldn't get any-where at all. We would simply be grabbing at handfuls of water, one after another. So we have to give it our all: This is where we will gain our victory. We're meditators. We can't back away from the fight with the defilements which lie within us. The word `defile-ment' means simply this `hunk of us'. The defilements are `us', `ours'. Everything that's `us' is actually a pile of defilements. There's no need to doubt this. If we want to separate them out so as to see them piece by piece for what they actually are in line with their true nature, we have to separate them using persistent effort in the area of mind-fulness and discernment as our means of investigating and evaluating them. We separate the elements (dhatu), the four elements. Everyone in the world knows of the four elements, but if we want our knowledge to go straight to the heart, it has to come from the practice. If we investigate using discernment until we see distinctly, it will penetrate the heart of its own accord. Once it has reached the heart, you don't have to say anything: The heart will let go of its own accord. Once the knowledge goes straight to the heart, relinquishment comes straight from the heart. For us to know straight to the heart and let go straight from the heart, we have to investigate over and over, again and again, until we understand. Don't assume that, `This we've already investigated, that we've already investigated,' by setting up expectations, counting the times without seeing deeply enough to the level of letting go. The work isn't done with. It really has to reach the level of `done with', felt deeply within the heart, which then lets go. If it's really done with, there's no need to investigate again, because the heart has understood and can let go completely. The elements are already elements. Cognizance is an element. The things which make contact are also elements. Sights are elements, sounds are elements, all these things are already elements. As for the khandhas within us, the body (rupa) is a khandha, feelings (vedana) are a khandha, labels (sanna) are a khandha, thought-formations (sankhara) are a khandha, cognizance (vinnana) is a khandha. They are groups, aggregates, heaps, bits, pieces, all by their very nature. As for the mind, know that it's the `knower' which has to be tested and comprehended in the same way as the elements and khandhas so that we won't grab hold of it as the self or as belonging to the self, which would simply be creating a heavier burden. We must investigate it with discernment so as to see it for what it truly is, in just the same way. But as I've explained the investigation of the mind in a number of talks already, you should have a fair understanding of the matter by now. In particular, when a pain arises in the body, we should know distinctly that, `This is a feeling.' That's all. Don't go labeling or interpreting it, saying that the feeling is us, the feeling is ours, or that anything is ours, for that would simply foster more and more defilements, and bring more and more pain in to smother the heart. Then when the feeling doesn't vanish, that would cause even more pain in the heart, and what could we possibly find to bear it? Pains arise in the body. They've been arising ever since the day we were born. The moment we came from our mother's womb, the pain was excruciating. Only by surviv-ing this death did we become human beings. If you don't call that pain, what will you call it? Pains have existed ever since way back when. You can't force them to change their ways. The way of pain in the body is that it continually has to show itself. Once it arises, it remains and then vanishes. That's all there is to it--arises, remains, vanishes-- regardless of whether it's an external feeling or an internal feeling, namely a feeling or mood in the mind. In particular, feelings in the body: Investigate them so as to see them clearly. The body is the body. We've seen it clearly, known it clearly ever since the day we were born. We can conjure it into anything--us, ours, a prince, a king, nobility, whatever, however we want to conjure it--but its truth is simply a truth, fixed and unalterable. It doesn't change in line with what we conjure it up to be. The body is simply the physical khandha. It has four elements--earth, water, wind and fire--gathered together and called a person, a woman, a man, classified in endless ways, given this name and that, but what stays the same is the body: the `physical heap'. All the parts taken together are called the physical heap, which is one reality. Take out any of the parts, and each of them also has its reality. When they are gathered together, the skin is skin, the flesh is flesh, and the same holds true for the tendons, bones and so forth. Even though they have names, don't fall for their names. See them simply as individual realities, as a physical heap. As for the heap of feelings, it's not the body. The body isn't a feeling, such as pain. Feeling is feeling. Whether pleasure appears, or pain or a neutral feeling appears, it's simply a separate feeling which you can see clearly. These two khandhas_-the body and feeling--are more prominent than sanna, sankhara and vinnana, which arise at intervals and immediately vanish. Feelings, however, even though they vanish, have a period in which they remain. This you can clearly see in the practice. When pain arises, focus on it as your target, as the point to investigate. Don't see the pain as being yourself, for that would be going against the true nature of feelings and the method of investigation, and you won't be able to know the truth of the feeling as you should with your discernment. When you don't know the truth, and persist in assuming the pain to be yourself, you'll increase the pain enormously within the mind, because you are going against the princi-ples of nature, which are the principles of truth the Lord Buddha taught. He taught us to investigate so as to see pain--in which-ever part of the body it may arise--simply as a phenomenon which arises, remains and then vanishes in its own due course. Don't get entangled in it. Don't fashion or conjure it into being this or that, if you don't want to be forever burdened with pain, with never a moment to put it down. See its truth the moment it arises, remains and vanishes. That's all there is to feeling. Ferret it out so as to see it clearly with mindfulness and discernment. When you have focused on a feeling, turn and look at the mind to see if the mind and the feeling are one and the same thing. Then look at the body and the mind: Are they one and the same? Look at them so as to see them clearly. While you are investigating, don't send the mind out any-where else. Keep it right at that one spot. For example, when investigating, focus on the pain so as to see it distinctly. Then turn to look at the mind so as to see this awareness distinctly. Are they one and the same? Compare them. This awareness and that feeling: Are they the same? Can you make them one and the same? And is the body like the mind? Is it like the feeling? Is it similar enough to be one and the same? There! This is the way we are taught to separate things so as to see them clearly. The body is the body--how can it be like the mind? The mind is a mental phenomenon, a nature which knows, but the elements of the body are elements which don't know. The earth elements doesn't know, the water element doesn't know, the wind element doesn't know, the fire element doesn't know--but this mental element (mano-dhatu) knows. This being the case, how can they be one and the same? Similarly with the pain: It's an element which doesn't know. It's a phenomenon. These two unknowing elements are also different: The feeling and the body are different sorts of things. They aren't one and the same. How could you make them one and the same? In making distinctions while investigating, look so as to see clearly the way things actually are. There's no need to fear death. There is no death to the mind. Don't create snares to catch yourself and hurt yourself. There is no death, i.e. no death to the mind. There is nothing but awareness, pure and simple. Death doesn't exist in the mind, which is something 100% unalterable and sure. Death is an assumption which has been conjured up for the mind through the power of the mind's own delusion. The mind has conjured it up to deceive itself. So once we have investigated in line with the truth--that the mind is not something which dies--what reason will we have to fear death? What is `death'? We know that the elements and khandhas fall apart. We human beings, when we have stopped breath-ing, are called `dead people'. At that moment the `knower' separates from the elements, so that nothing is left but physical elements with no feelings: That's a `dead person'. But actually the knower doesn't die, so we have to investigate in order to see this clearly with discernment. We needn't create the issue of death to stab or snare the heart or to obstruct the path we are following for the sake of seeing and knowing the truth through investigation. No matter how great or how little the pain, keep your attention well fixed on the affairs of that pain. Use the pain as a whetstone for sharpening discernment. Separate the pain from the mind. Separate the mind from the pain. Be able to compare their every aspect. Be careful not to let your attention wander while investigating, so that you will be able to see and know the truth while in hand-to-hand combat with that particular khandha. Now, if it should happen that the mind dies, as the world supposes--if it should die while you are making your investigation_-then make sure you know what dies first and what dies after. When does the feeling vanish? When does the mind vanish? Where does it vanish to? Actually the nature of the mind is not something that vanishes. How can anyone come and make it vanish? Investigate carefully between the mind and the khandha until the truth is absolutely clear to the heart and your doubts vanish. This is called training discernment, develop-ing discernment so as to see the truth. No matter how great the pain which arises at that moment, it won't have the power to affect the mind at all. Once we see the mind as the mind, the feeling as feeling--once discernment has seen clearly in this way that the khandhas and the mind are real in their own separate ways--they won't infringe on each one another at all. The body is simply the body, and stays as it is. When the pain appears, the body is still there. When the pain vanishes, every part of the body remains, in accordance with its own nature. If the feeling arises, that's the feeling's business. If it remains, that's the feeling's business. If it vanishes, that the feeling's business. The mind is the one who knows that the pain arises, remains and vanishes. The mind isn't the one who arises, remains and vanishes like the body or the feeling. Once you have investigated this way until you are adept, then when the chips are down, investigate in the same way. You needn't fear death, because you're a warrior. Fear of death is not the Dhamma of the Lord Buddha. The Dhamma is a matter of courage in the face of the truth. This is the basic principle of the svakkhata dhamma: the well-taught teaching. Follow in the path of this truth. If the time comes to die, be ready to die. There is no need to fear, because the mind doesn't die--but be sure to know clearly what is appearing at that moment. For example, the pain: What is it like? Look at it so as to know its truth. Once you have seen its truth, then the pain is simply a phenomenon. It doesn't have any meaning, good or bad, at all. And it doesn't act as anyone's enemy. It is simply its own full reality, displaying itself in line with natural principles. The body is also its own reality, appearing in line with its own prin-ciples. The mind is separate which constantly knows and doesn't intermingle with anything else. When you have investigated so as to know all-around, the mind extricates itself to be its own reality in full mea-sure. The pain has its own fullness in line with its nature; the body has its own fullness in line with its nature, in that the mind doesn't create any turmoil, trying to lay claim to anything of theirs. This being the case, nothing disturbs anything else. Pain, no matter how great, has no impact on the mind. You can smile even while great pain is arising--you can smile!--because the mind is something separate, not involving itself with the feeling. It doesn't intermingle with the pain so as to burn itself. This way, the heart is at ease. This, then, is the investigation of pain so as to compre-hend it, by taking pain as your battlefield, as a whetstone for discernment, as the place where you temper and sharpen discernment by investigating and dissecting the pains which arise. Single out the body, and single out the feeling. Which will vanish first, which will vanish after, try to know in accordance with their truth. Arising and vanishing have always been a part of their nature from time immemorial. Regardless of whether or not you've been aware of it, these have been their inherent characteristics. All you need to do is to investigate so as to see in line with their truth, so as not to resist the Dhamma, and you can live at ease. So. If the time comes to die, let the body die--as the conventions of the world understand `dying'. The body falls apart, so let it fall apart. Whatever is going to disinte-grate, let it go -- but that which doesn't disintegrate remains. That which doesn't disintegrate is this mind. This mind, once it has developed discernment as a standard within itself, is really like this, with no flinching in the face of illness or death. The mind is courageous and capable. There, then. This is how we investigate our affairs-- the affairs of the mind. We needn't fear death. Why fear it? The Buddha taught us not to fear. The Dhamma doesn't teach us to fear. The truth is nothing frightening, because it's the truth. What's frightening or emboldening about it? Courage? There's nothing that calls for courage. Fear? There's nothing that calls for fear. Here I'm talking about the level where we have reached pure truth. There's no trace of the words `courage' or `fear' left in the heart at all. There's only purity. But while investigating so as to reach the truth, we need to have courage. When we are going to seize victory for ourselves, we can't not have courage. Otherwise we'll lose. This is because we're following the path. We need courage and daring, with no fear or intimidation in the face of anything at all. Whatever comes our way, we must inves-tigate so as to know and understand it, without growing discouraged or weak, so as to be intent on knowing and seeing it in line with its truth--everything of every sort that comes into the range of our awareness. This is called being a warrior in the combat between the mind and khandhas, or between the Dhamma and the defilements. Courage of this sort is proper and right. Once we have reached the goal, fear disappears, courage disappears, because we have gained full victory. Fear and courage are no longer an issue. But right now fear and courage are a critical issue for those still on the way. Develop courage with discretion in the areas which call for courage. Be a fighter with the things that call for fight--such as feelings of pain--so as to see in line with their truth. Don't be afraid. The Buddha taught us not to fear. Fear has the same value as death. When the time comes, things have to fall apart. That's what's called `death'. But in any event, meditators have to come to know with discernment before these things undergo their trans-formation. Spread a net of discernment around yourself on all sides. Whatever appears will be caught in the net of discernment, so what is there to fear? What is there to be anxious about? What is there to knock you off balance? Everything simply follows its truth, which you have already investigated. This is how `warriors' investigate. Even though they are in the midst of khandhas which are a solid mass of flame, they are calm and at ease, with the normalcy of a mind which has completely comprehended, without being deluded by any phenomenon. This is what is meant by one who `knows all around'. Whatever the symptoms displayed by the body, if they are endurable, we endure them. We care for the body, look after it, nourish it, make it eat, make it sleep, make it drink, take care of it in accordance with its nature. If its symptoms are unendurable, and it's simply going to go, then just let it go in accordance with the ways of nature. It's a truth, so how can you thwart it? Let it go in line with the truth. This is called letting go with knowledge which accords with the truth. The mind feels no attachment, no regrets. This is the basic principle of practice for one who has attained, or is about to attain, victory within the heart. Previously, the mind has always lost out to defilement and craving. It has never, until now, defeated them. For aeons and aeons it has lived entirely under the sway of the defilements to the point where it has forgotten to realize that, `The defilements are the boss. We're their servant.' But now we're going to turn over a new us, using the principles of the Dhamma as means to subjugate the defile-ments and mental effluents which have been subjugating us, or which have been the ruling elite, the big bosses of the cycle of rebirth, forcing the mind to go here and there for so long. Now we're going to set our hearts on contending with the defilements for victory so as to see the truth of every-thing of every sort, with nothing to obscure our discernment at all. At the same time, we will take victory for our own--after having been defeated for so long--using the power of unflagging mindfulness, discernment, conviction and perseverance. Those who have reached the realm of excellence through perseverance have a dignity which outshines that of others. At the same time, they can take pride in their own perseverance. Those who have reached the realm of excel-lence through gaining victory over themselves, and no one else, are supreme within themselves, with no creation of animosity--unlike victory in war, with which the world creates endless animosities, like links in a chain. To gain victory over oneself, though, is to gain the foremost victory. As the Dhamma says, atta have jitam seyyo: `It is better to gain victory over oneself.' The things which have created turmoil for the heart, causing it suffering and stress in the past, now come to an absolute stop. In what I have been saying, don't forget that perseverance is the important factor, the factor which supports mindfulness and discernment as the trailblazers for the sake of progress in our work. Discernment is very important for investigating and exploring so as to see causes and effects. Mindfulness supervises the work, to keep our attention from straying. When discernment has investigated so as to see the truth of such things as the five khandhas, the defilements will have no place to hide, and so will come pouring togeth-er into one place--into the heart. They have no other place to hold on to, no other place to attach themselves, because all such places have been obliterated by discernment. The next stage is to lay siege to the heart, where the enemies lie gathered, so as to disperse them from it until nothing is left. There! That's called the death of the defile-ments. They die right there, right there in the heart where they have always been. They've lived there; and when they die, they die there through the power of the most-up-to-the-minute `super-mindfulness' and `super-discernment'. This is called full victory. The supreme victory is won right here. The teachings of the religion all converge at this point. The final stage in their practice comes to an end right here. We finish our task right here. When we reach the realm of release from suffering and stress, we reach it right here. Aside from this, there is nothing: no time, no place, no future, no past. As for the present, we are wise to every-thing of every sort. We have no more issues, no more disputes. There are no more cases in court between defilement and the mind. Super-mindfulness and super-discernment have sat on the bench and handed down a death sentence for defilement and all its tribe. There is nothing left to carry on the lineage of birth and being. At that moment, defilement and all its tribe sink out of sight. This is called reaching nibbana: a heart truly constant and sure. The various conditions which used to deceive the mind no longer exist. All that remains is pure awareness. Even though the khandhas--rupa, vedana, sanna, sankhara, and vinnana--may form in accordance with their nature, they simply go their own way, which has no meaning in terms of defilement at all. The body behaves in its `body way'. Feelings--pleasure, pain, neither pleasure nor pain, which appear in the body--behave in the way of feelings. Sanna--labels, acts of recognition--behave in their own way. Sankhara--the various thought-formations--behave in line with their own nature. Vinnana--acts of noticing when external objects come into contact with the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body and mind--notice and vanish, notice and vanish, in line with their nature, without being able to provoke the mind as before, because the things which cause provocation have all been destroyed without leaving a trace. These are thus called `khandhas pure and simple'. The mind has reached nibbana in the midst of khandhas pure and simple. This is to reach living nibbana: the mind purified of defilement. Those who have reached this point, you know, don't ask where nibbana is. And why should they? What is nibbana, actually? The word nibbana is a name. The nature we call nibbana is the actual thing. When you reach the actual thing, why ask the name? Why ask for traces and signs? Where is there left to grope for? Those who really know don't grope, aren't hungry, don't lack--because they have reached `enough', completely, of everything of every sort. So. That should be enough explanation for now. I ask that we as meditators take this and contemplate it so as to see the truth I have mentioned. We will then be complete in our hearts, as I have described, without a doubt. So I'll ask to stop here. The Principle of the Present TO practice is to search for principles leading to the truth. To study is like studying a plan--although people for the most part don't follow the plan--but outer plans and inner plans are worlds apart. With outer plans--like blueprints of a house or a building, or maps which tell where roads and places are located--the builder examines the blueprint and follows it; the traveler follows the routes which appear on the map, but if he gets a map which is out-of-date, there are bound to be things which have come into being or been torn down which don't show on the map. This can cause him to misunder-stand and to follow the wrong route. Inner plans, though--such as the 32 parts of the body, the elements and the khandhas, which the Buddha taught us to study and to put into practice so as to derive benefits from them--are fixed truths, unchanged from the Buddha's time to the present. But with these plans within the mind, we can't act like a builder who follows the blueprint in his hands, because that would go against the principle of the present, which is where the Dhamma arises. For example, when we study and understand in line with the texts and then practice, it's hard not to speculate in reference to the texts; and so when we practice or try to develop concentration in the mind, we'll find that the mind has trouble growing still, because of the disturbance. If, while practicing the Dhamma, we contemplate or reflect on whatever Dhamma we have studied, it's bound to get all confused, because the mind's state is not such that these things can be contemplated, pondered or compared with the mind at the moment it's gathering itself together to gain strength. This is why we shouldn't bring anything in to disturb it at all. Let there simply be the `Dhamma theme', the meditation theme which we bring in to supervise the mind, as if we were charging the mind so as to give it inner strength--in other words, so as to make it still. When the mind is still, it gains inner strength. Regardless of how much or how little knowledge it has, no trouble or confusion results, because the mind has its footing. It's secure. Calm. Peaceful within itself--all because of the stillness, which is a gathering of energy. This isn't in the plan at all--because while we are practicing, we aren't concerned with the texts. We're intent solely on developing concentration in the present until we gain results --peace, well-being and various other satisfactory states-- there in that moment. If this is in the plan, it's in the part which says, `Try to make the mind stay with just a single Dhamma theme--its meditation word.' Don't get involved with other topics at that moment. If you let it think of the texts while practicing concentration, it won't be willing to stick just with that practice. A great deal of extraneous knowledge will inter-fere, disrupting the mind until everything is a turmoil, and no stillness will result. This is called going against the plan taught by the Buddha. Whatever plans we've been given, however many, however much Dhamma the Buddha taught, we gather it all to our own confusion. It's as if we were building a hut, and yet went around to gather up plans for hundred-story buildings and spread them out for a look. They just don't go together. The plan for a building and the plan for a hut are as different as earth and sky, and yet here we are going to gather the mind into one point, which is like building a hut. Only after we have the strength can we then begin enlarging it into a building. When we ultimately reach the level in which we are ready to investigate, there are no limits as to how broad or restricted it should be. The mind can investigate everything throughout the cosmos. When we reach the level in which we should investigate, that's the level in which we will gain firm confirmation in the mind. We will gain knowledge and all kinds of insights from our own investigation. This is where the fun lies--sifting, choosing with our discernment what is right and what is wrong. We'll go back, exploring through the Dhamma we have already studied, and com-pare it with the causes and results in our practice until they agree, and then we can set the matter to rest. Even though we may have already understood clearly, we still have to gain confirmation to give it further support, for the sake of full conviction and certainty. This is what is meant by discernment. It's not the case that if we have no doubts then there is no reason to make comparisons. The Dhamma of the doctrine is one thing, the Dhamma of the practice is another. We take the Buddha's wealth and compare it with our own wealth, gained from our practice. If they match, we can accept the matter and put it aside, with no more concern. In particular, when we practice in line with the four Noble Truths or the four foundations of mindfulness (satipatthana), these are things which the Buddha described as being interconnected. If we practice them one by one, in line with the texts--investigating the body, and then feeling, and then the mind and then mental events--we'll be wrong the livelong day, because these things by their nature are interconnected at all times. We can investigate whichever aspect we want. Whichever aspect feels most natural to us, we should start with that one first. By and large, we start out by investigating the body. But when a pain appears, we have to let go of the body and focus on the pain. We then consider the pain in relation to the body, distinguishing between the two so that we understand them clearly. Then we distinguish between the pain in the body and the pain in the mind, comparing them and distinguishing between them again. Body, feeling, mind and mental events lie together in the same moment. So we separate out the body--in other words, investigate it--and then separate out the feeling so as to know whether or not the body and feeling are one and the same. Then we separate the mind from the mental events within the mind, so as to see that each of these events is not the same thing as the mind. To say just this much covers all four of the foundations of mindfulness. We can't divide these things and deal with them one at a time, one after another, the way we take one step after another while walking. To do so is wrong. This is the way it is with the practice: When we investigate one aspect or another of the four foundations of mindfulness or the four Noble Truths, they all become involved of their own accord --because they are interconnected phenomena. The Buddha says, for example, kaye kayanupassi viharati: `Investigate the body within the body.' Now, the phrase, `the body within the body' means to start out with any one of the many parts of the body. Once we have contemplated that part until we gain an understanding, our investigation then permeates further of its own accord, making us curious about this part and that. This keeps spreading and spreading until it reaches everything in the body. In other words, it covers everything and understands everything. `The body within the body'--for example, kesa, hair of the head: Even though we may contemplate only one hair on the head, it has an impact on our understanding of how may hairs on the head? And then connects up with how many parts of the body? It affects everything. It permeates everything, because everything is interrelated. No matter what we investigate, this is the way it goes, in line with the principles of investigation in the area of the practice which the Noble Ones have followed. `Feeling': It arises in our body. Focus on whichever one point is very pronounced. Investigate it--whichever point is more painful than the rest. When we focus on that as a starting point, our investigation will spread to all other feelings because no matter where they arise, they all become involved with the one mind. As soon as we investigate a feeling, the mind and the feeling immediately fly towards each other, and then we separate them out, because the four foundations of mindfulness--contemplation of body, feel-ings, mind and mental events--are interrelated in this way. `External feelings' refer to physical feelings, feelings of pleasure, pain and neither pleasure nor pain in the various parts of the body. `Internal feelings' refer to the feelings of pain, pleasure and neither pleasure nor pain in the heart. These are also counted as feelings which occur in the hearts of ordinary people everywhere. These three kinds of feelings: Even when we're medi-tating and the mind enters into stillness, it still has a feeling of pleasure. But ordinarily, people usually have feelings of pain and discontent within the heart. If we don't investigate --for example, if we've never practiced the Dhamma--these three feelings also exist, but they're worldly feelings, not the feelings connected with the Dhamma of those who practice meditation. When we practice, and the mind is still and calm, there is a feeling of pleasure. If the mind doesn't settle down and grow still as we want it to, feelings of bodily and mental pain or distress arise. Sometimes the mind is vacant, drifting, indifferent, something of the sort. You can't call it pleasure or pain. It's simply vacant and drifting--something like that --in the mind of the meditator. This doesn't mean vacant and drifting in the sense of someone completely oblivious. It's simply a state in the mind. This is called a feeling of neither pleasure nor pain. At present, we aren't yet aware of these things--even now, when they're very pronounced. We aren't yet aware because we don't yet have the discernment. When the mind becomes more refined, then whatever appears, whatever state arises, we are bound to know, and to know increas-ingly, in line with the strength of our own mindfulness and discernment. Actually, these things are the bosses, lording it over the heart: Okay, for once let's call them what they are, because that's what they've actually been all along. The heart is their vessel, their seat. That's where they sit. Or you could say it's their toilet, because that's where they defecate. Whichever one comes along, it gets right up there on the heart. Now pain jumps up there and defecates. Now pleasure gets up there and defecates. Now a feeling of neither pleasure nor pain gets up there and defecates. They keep defecating like this, and the heart is content to let them do this, because it doesn't have the mindfulness or discern-ment to shake them off and not let them defecate. This is why we have to develop a great deal of mindfulness and discernment so that we can fight them off. Mindfulness is crucial. It has to keep track constantly, because it's the supervisor of the work. No matter where discernment goes scrutinizing, no matter what it thinks about, mindfulness sticks right with it. Discernment con-templates and mindfulness follows right along with it. This is why it doesn't turn into sanna. As soon as we let mindful-ness lapse, discernment turns into sanna, in accordance with the weakness of the mind which is just learning how to explore. But once we become more proficient in the areas of both mindfulness and discernment, the two stick so close together that we can say that there is never a moment when the mind's attention lapses--except when we sleep, at which time mindfulness and discernment don't have to work, and even the defilements take a rest. Once we reach this level, there is never a moment where the mind's attention lapses. This is thus called super-mindfulness and super-discernment. How could it lapse? It stays right with `what knows ' at all times. Mindfulness and discernment exist together in this one mind, and have become one and the same thing. So where could they lapse? Once mindfulness and discernment are continuous, we can speak in this way. Before, we were never able to know how much the mind scrambled, stumbled and fell. But when we reach the level where these things become one and the same, then as soon as there's a rippling in the mind, we are right there up on it. Instantly. Instantly. Whatever gets thought, we are progressively more and more up on it. And especially if it's a matter of defilement, then mindfulness and discernment are extra quick. But if the mind is an ordinary mind, it doesn't know. Even if defilements climb up and defecate on our head from dawn to dusk and from dusk to dawn, we can't be aware of them. In the area of the practice, we practice on our own and know on our own. That's when things become clear. Let's see right and wrong clearly within ourselves. Let's know things clearly within ourselves. Only then can we be certain. Once we have practiced and come to know, we can be coura-geous in what we say and courageous within the heart, with no fear that we might be speaking wrongly or venturing guesses. We are sure of ourselves from having practiced. To strip away the things which bind the heart has to be difficult. For those who are weak-willed, it is especially difficult. There is no way they can succeed, because they keep creating obstacles for themselves whenever they are about to develop goodness or break away the binding of unawareness and craving from around the heart. To break open the binding of the wheel of rebirth depends mainly on our being earnest and intent: That's what will clear our way. This is why living beings don't want to touch that binding, don't want to break it open. Our earnest intent is what will lead us to know exactly how extraordinary the things taught by the Buddha really are. When we have this kind of earnest intent towards the Dhamma filling the heart, then no matter how difficult things become, we won't let that difficulty bother us or become an obstacle. We want solely to know, to see, to understand. We feel motivated solely to think, ponder and investigate in line with the aspects of the Dhamma we want to know and see. This has us engrossed day and night--engrossed in our desire to know and see, engrossed in the results we obtain step by step, engrossed in probing and cutting away the defilements and mental effluents. These lie nowhere but in the heart--except when the heart grabs hold of external things which are harmful and toxic, and brings them inward to overpower itself to no purpose. The mind thus has to probe, investigate, remedy and slash away inside itself, because these are the things which bind the heart. The heart is what makes itself unruly and reckless, roaming about, collecting these things to burn itself, because it doesn't have the good sense to avoid them or remedy them. For this reason, we need to develop a great deal of mindfulness and discernment. The Buddha was always teaching mindfulness and discernment. nisamma karanam seyyo: `Use discernment to consider before doing anything,' in order to guard against error. Both in inner and outer activities, mindfulness and discernment are always impor-tant. But usually when the mind thinks of doing anything, we don't consider it first. Even if we don't consider things while we think of doing them, we should at least consider them when the mind has made contact with one matter or another, and trouble arises as a result. But usually we don't see the harm of our own recklessness, and this is why we never learn. So we keep thinking and acting in our old ways repeatedly, and the results are thus unceasing stress. We shouldn't guess, we shouldn't anticipate what the practice will be like. Where is heaven? Don't guess about it. Where are the Brahma worlds? Don't waste your time anticipating. Where is stress? Its cause? Its cessation? The path? Don't anticipate their being anywhere outside the body and mind which are in contact with each other and with these various things at all times. Focus right here, so as to see the truth in line with the principles of the Dhamma. You will know what's outside; you will know what's inside. Especially when you know what's inside, that's when you'll gain insight into everything that exists, in line with your temperament and abilities, without your anticipating it. The mind will simply know of its own accord. Your basic problem is that you don't yet know yourself inside, and simply want to know what's outside. This will only make you agitated and confused, without serving any purpose. If you want to gather matters into yourself so as to see the truth, then: What is hell? And where is it? If you want to know hell, then go ahead. Where is it? Where is the suffering which the defilements dig up, the suffering they produce in ascending stages? If it doesn't lie in the body and mind, where does it lie? If, when you let yourself fall into hell and the fires of hell burn you day and night, you still don't know where hell is, then where else are you going to look for it? Bring things inward in this way so as to know the truth: the Noble Truths which lie within you. Once you know the Noble Truths, you'll understand every pit in hell without having to ask anyone. Think of how much the Buddha and his Noble Disciples knew about hell--and yet who told them about it? How is it that they were able to know and see to the point of teaching us into the present? `Heaven' is the enjoyment, the sense of exhilaration in the Dhamma, in the goodness and merit which lie within the heart, causing it to be calm and at peace. This is your `heavenly treasure'. The Brahma worlds lie with the levels of the mind. No matter which level of the Brahma worlds you want to reach, they are all levels of the mind which indicate on their own that this mental state corresponds to this level or that, and which have the characteristics of those levels. For this reason, you have to put `this one'--the mind --into good shape, into proper shape. Don't go concerning yourself with anything other than this. Every day, every night, we should probe into our own minds, together with the things which become involved with them. The important factors are the body--this is very important--and the five khandhas. These things are always making contact because they have been together with us since way back when. Things outside--sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations--sometimes subside, but the five khandhas and the heart are always together and always at issue with one another. There is no one who can decide these issues and put an end to them unless we use mindfulness and discernment as our judges to make a decision which will put the case to rest. Normally, rupa, vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana lie right with us, with the heart. They are interconnected and interrelated to the point where no one can untangle the case and pass a verdict, because we don't have the discernment to deliberate and decide what verdict to pass. So we simply let issues arise all the time: `That hurts. This aches. I'm afraid I'll faint. I'm afraid I'll die.' We really are afraid--as if by fearing to the utmost, straight to the heart, we could somehow escape death. This fear of death: We really fear it, and yet we don't know what death is, or who dies. As long as we haven't investigated down to the `foundation of death', we'll have to fear it all the livelong day. But once we have investigated down to the foundation of death, what is there to fear?-- because nothing in the world dies. There is simply the change, the exchange of the various elements, and that's all. Change is something we already know. The Dhamma has taught us: `Inconstancy'--things are always changing. `Stress'--where is there if not right here? `Not-self'--this already tells us--what is there of any substance, that's `us' or `them'? The Dhamma tells us with every word, every phrase, and yet we prefer to fly in the face of the Dhamma. We want that to be us, we want this to be ours. This want-ing is an affair of defilement: `That's' not us, it's simply defilement from head to toe--or isn't it? If it were to become our self as we say it is, wouldn't it be a heap as big as a mountain? If every defilement of every sort were to be gathered together, who knows how many millions of mountains they'd be? We wouldn't be able to carry them at all. What we already have is more than we can handle! So we should investigate these things so as to see them clearly, and then cut them away, one mountain at a time. Otherwise we'll be unable to walk, because we'll be full of the mountains of every person's every sort of defilement, and of every sort of suffering which defilement has created to be borne on top of the heart for such a long, long time. We should learn our lessons, in line with what the Dhamma has taught us, so that we will have some place to put down our burden of suffering. Feelings--these characters: These are our enemies. All they offer us are feelings of pain or distress arising in the mind--sometimes on their own, with no connection to the body. The body may be perfectly normal, but because of our preoccupations, feelings of pain can manage to arise in the mind. If we think of something which stabs at the heart, a feeling of pain or distress arises. If we think in a way which will extricate ourself, a feeling of pleasure arises. When the mind rests and stays neutral within itself, that's a feeling of equanimity. See? We can clearly see them like this--if we reflect so as to see them. If we aren't observant, if we don't investigate them, we won't see them to our dying day. We will simply die in vain. Don't go thinking that we can gain knowledge and insight, and free ourselves of suffering, without making an effort to strive and investigate. Many, many living beings have died in failure because of their complacency. In investigating, don't set up any anticipations that you would like to have your different feelings disappear. That would only be increasing the cause of stress. Simply look inside the feeling itself when it arises. Use your mindfulness and discernment to contemplate without let-up. Investigate until you understand. Sanna: This is very important. Normally, sanna is something very important. When pain arises, the pain is important, but pain doesn't arise all the time. As for sanna, it keeps right on labeling. This is very important, very subtle, very delicate and refined. It's deceptive, which is why it has us deceived. Sankhara is what hands things over to sanna, which elaborates on them to the point where they become endless and unstoppable unless we use mindfulness and discern-ment to act as a block. Vinnana is what takes note. As for sanna_-labeling and interpreting--it has a big job to do, running around stirring up all kinds of trouble throughout the body. Sanna is what hoodwinks the heart, making it fall for labels until it can't see the harm they wreak in the five khandhas. Sanna is the primary culprit. Meditation circles are well aware of it, which is why they warn us. When the mind has things like this burying it, obstructing it and coercing it, it can't display even the least little bit of ingenious strategy, because they have it overpowered. For this reason, we have to force the mind to investigate and unravel its various preoccupations so that it can see its way clear. Its various labels and interpretations are gradually peeled off or removed, step by step. Mindfulness and discernment are then freed to think and develop more of their own strength. When we reach the stage where mindfulness and discernment come out to investigate, nothing can stay hidden. Mindfulness and discernment will probe into everything, into every nook and cranny, understanding continually more and more-- engrossed in their contemplations and explorations, engrossed in the results which keep appearing--because to probe with discernment is a direct way of cutting defilement away so that we see results, step by step, without pause. Concentration is simply a tactic for herding the various defilements into one focal point so that we can rectify or destroy them more easily. To put it simply, concentration is strength for discernment. When the mind gathers in the levels of concentration, it is content to work from various angles in the area of mindfulness and discernment. When it is working, the results of its work appear. The defilements fall away on after another. The heart becomes engrossed in the results of its work, and investigates even more, never having its fill, like spring water flowing continually throughout the rainy season. So focus right here. Don't go anywhere else. The Noble Truths are right here in the body and heart. Ultimately, they come down solely to the heart. Probe down into the heart. How is it that we don't know? Where did the Buddha know? He knew right here in the area of these four Noble Truths. He knew in the area of these four foundations of mindfulness, which lie in the bodies and hearts of us all. The Buddha knew right here, and he taught right here. So investigate to see clearly right here. Defilement, the paths, the fruitions and nibbana lie right here. Don't imagine them to be anywhere else. You will simply be pouncing on shadows outside of yourself, and grasping fistfuls of water, without ever meeting with the real Dhamma. In focusing your investigation when a feeling arises in the mind--as for feelings in the body, we've discussed them at great length already--when a feeling of stress or pain, such as a mood of distress, arises within the mind, focus on that feeling of distress. Take that feeling of distress as the target of your watchfulness and investigation. Keep alert to it. Don't set up any desires for it to vanish once it has appeared in the mind. Make yourself aware that the feeling of distress arising in the mind has to have a cause. It can't just come floating in without a cause. If you don't know its cause, focus on the result--the distress itself--as the heart's preoccupation. Keep aware right at the heart. Focus on contemplating and unraveling the feeling of distress right there. Don't let go of that feeling to go looking or investi-gating elsewhere. Otherwise you will make the mind waver, without ever being able to establish a foothold, and it will become shiftless and irresolute. However long that distress will have to last, keep looking at it to see if it's really constant, solid and lasting. Your mind is something more lasting than the feeling, so why won't it be able to investigate it? The feeling arises only for a period, and then vanishes when its time is up, when it no longer has any supporting conditions. Since the mind by its nature is something which knows, then even though a feeling of distress arises, it still knows. Whether there is a little distress or a lot, it knows--so why won't it be able to investigate the distress? It has to endure the distress, because the mind is already a fighter and an endurer. So. However great or little the distress, fix your attention on that spot. Don't set up any desires for it to disappear. Simply know the truth of the feeling as it arises and changes. Know right there, and know its every phase, heavy or light, great or little, until it finally disappears. And when the feeling of distress dissolves away from the heart through your focused investigation, know what feeling arises in its place. Keep knowing step by step. Only then can you be called an investigator. Don't hold fast to any feelings--whether of pleasure or of equanimity. Know that they too are feelings, and are individual conditions, separate from the mind--and so they can change. This one comes in, that one dissolves away, this one takes its place: They keep at it like this, in line with the common nature of feelings, because the seeds are constantly in the heart, enabling these three kinds of feelings to appear. Once the mind has absolutely no more seeds of any sort, no feelings or moods of any sort will appear in the mind at all, aside from `paramam sukham'--the ultimate ease which is part of the nature of a pure heart. This doesn't count as a feeling. When the Buddha says, `nibbanam paramam sukham'--nibbana is the ultimate ease--that's not a feeling of ease, stress or equanimity, and so it's not subject to arising and disappearing. When focusing your investigation on all three of these feelings, take the feelings themselves as your battleground. Focus on watching them carefully and in full detail. Keep watching each one as long as it hasn't yet disappeared. Watch it again. Keep watching until you know its truth. Whether or not it disappears isn't important. What's impor-tant is that you know the truth of this feeling--the one appearing in the present. This is called contemplating feeling as a foundation of mindfulness. Usually this refers to feelings of distress or pain, because these are the ones which are most striking and unsettling to the heart. As for feelings of pleasure, they're a way-station for the mind. You could say that they help us, or that they are the results which come from investigating feelings of distress until the distress disappears and pleasure appears. This is one of the results which comes from inves-tigating feelings of distress or pain. As for whether or not we should do away with feelings of pleasure, as far as I've noticed I've never seen them being eliminated. Feelings of pain or distress are the important ones within the mind. They arise from the seeds of defilement. Once these seeds are lessened step by step, the feelings of mental pain become more and more refined, more and more refined. They gradually fade away until they disappear without leaving a trace in the mind, because the seeds are gone. When these seeds are gone, that type of pleasurable feeling also disappears. It disappears because it relies on those seeds to arise. Thus we can say that the feelings of pleasure which arise in the heart from practice, or from the basis of the mind--the stillness of the mind, the radiance of the mind--qualify as `vihara-dhamma', dwelling places for the mind, way-stations for the mind on its journey. Or we could say that they are the results which come from investi-gating feelings of pain. Whether or not we investigate this pleasure is not as important as investigating feelings of pain and their causes--which are very important, because they are in a direct sense the origin of stress. They give rise to stress as their direct result. In the context of the four Noble Truths, the Buddha teaches us to diagnose stress, but why doesn't he teach us to diagnose pleasure? What does pleasure come from? He doesn't say--because it arises from the path doing its duty until the cause of stress disintegrates and pleasure arises in its stead. Now when the stress which is part and parcel of defilement disappears, this type of pleasure disappears as well, but another kind of pleasure or ease appears along with the heart which has been purified; and this doesn't disappear with anything at all. Now as for concentration: When you are going to make the mind still, you really have to make it stay with its theme of tranquility meditation. Don't go concerning yourself with the topics you have been investigating, because the mind has to rest. You can't not let it rest. When the time comes to rest, it needs rest. No matter how great the results and accomplishments you get from your practice of investigation, the heart can still grow tired and weary. Your work--your thinking and pondering in the area of discernment or whatever--is all work for the mind. When the mind has been thinking, pondering and investigating for a long time, it can grow weary, and so it has to rest. When the time comes to rest, you shouldn't involve yourself with any work at all. Set your mind solely on performing your duties for the sake of mental stillness. This is called working without overstepping your boundaries; without being worried about what went before or will come after; without overflowing your banks. The heart will then have the strength to continue its work with clear insight and discernment. When you want stillness of mind so as to provide strength for discernment, you should set your mind on the theme which will make the mind still, and then stick right with it until the mind is still, right then and there. Once the mind has been still long enough to gain strength, you can then withdraw from that stillness. Now you start probing. You don't have to concern yourself with stillness. Your duty is to investigate step by step. This is called the correct way --the appropriate way, the uniform way--to follow the path of tranquility and insight all the way to the goal. All of these are problems I've been through myself. When I would get engrossed in something, I'd be so stuck that I'd get addicted and heedless. I'd get addicted to the stillness, the sense of comfort and ease in concentration. When I'd get engrossed in investigating, I'd be so engrossed that I'd forget myself, and wouldn't let the mind rest at all. Neither of these ways is correct. In other words, neither is in keeping with what is just right. The right way is that when the mind feels tired and weary from its work, we have to let it rest in stillness. When the time comes to investigate, we have to investigate. We can't worry about anything else. We have to set our mind on our duties, step by step, in keeping with the job at hand. This is always the appropriate way to proceed with tranquility and insight. There is no job in the world bigger than the job of removing defilement, or of removing oneself from the cycle of wheeling around from birth to death for countless lifetimes. When we think about it, it's really dismaying-- circling around from birth to death, carrying a load of nothing but suffering and stress. No matter what the level, the only difference is that the stress is less or more, because all levels have stress inasmuch as they contain the defile-ments which give rise to stress. So how can they not have stress? All living beings have to suffer stress. The Buddha thus taught us to rid ourselves of all defilement until there is nothing left hidden in the mind. Let there simply be the `pure meat'. Don't let there be any bones, or they'll be bad for your health. Defilements, no matter what the sort, need to be cleansed away, peeled away until nothing is left. This is why it's called a very big job. There are times when we have to give it our all--all our skill, all our mindfulness and discernment, even our life--to an extent that we will never forget. `So. If we're going to die, then let's die. If not, then let's know it.' That's all there is. There can be nothing else. This is when the mind is its own mainstay. Atta hi attano natho: It can take care of itself. In other words, we leave it to the mind's own strength. When the mind is whirling in for the sake of the realm beyond suffering, as if nibbana were always just coming into reach; while what's behind us keeps press-ing in, and we realize more and more its danger and harm, there's only one way to escape the Great Danger: `If we're going to die, then let's die. If not, then let's know the Dhamma.' Wherever we are, we don't want to stay. Wherever we're stuck, we don't want to be stuck. It's a waste of our time in gaining release from suffering. We've simply got to reach release from suffering. This is the only thing that can satisfy such a mind at such times. When the mind is this way, where is it going to find any weakness or laziness? If things get tough, we fight. If they're easy, we fight. If we're going to die, we still fight until we have no more breath to breathe--and that's when the mind finally stays put. It can't possibly be moved. Once it knows and reaches the goal, it stays put on its own. No matter where you chase it, it won't go. Discernment--which has been spinning itself in circles even more than a wheel--when the time comes, stops on its own. It simply runs out of duties of its own accord, without our having to turn it off, the way we do with motors. This automatic mindfulness-and-discernment simply stops or turns off on its own--because it already knows, so what else is there to investigate? It has already let go, so what else is there to let go? It already knows, so what else is there to know? It has had enough, so where else is it going to look for enough? It knows all of this within itself. It knows in an instant and is released. In other words, it knows for the last time. This is where the big job is finished. The job is big, and the results are enormous. Nothing in any of the three worlds can compare. The results of this big job, this heavy job, you know, excel the world--and how could we say that ultimate ease doesn't excel the world? When excellence stands out, filling the heart, it's far different from defilement standing out filling the heart. Whoever wants to know has to practice for him or herself. No one else can do it for us. When we reach the level of excellence, we excel exclusively within, without disturbing anyone else. This Dhamma is always timeless (akaliko). It has been the guarantor of the paths, fruitions and nibbana from the time of the Buddha to the present. No one will ever be able to erase it. The Buddha excelled the world because of this Dhamma. The arahant disciples whom we revere as our refuge all excelled because of this Dhamma of purity--and because of this heavy job. When our Teacher has led us to proceed in this way, what business do we have shilly-shallying around? We can't act only in line with our preferences, because our Teacher didn't lead us in that way. Our foremost Teacher was a genius, an utterly genuine person, unequalled by anyone. But we're a bunch of show-offs, doing only what our Teacher criticized, and so we keep meeting only with things worth criticizing. Don't we ever think of changing, or do we feel we're being stylish and up-to-date? Actually the path to cure defilement has to be difficult. The path to accumulate defilement is easy--because our preferences fool us into thinking it's easy. (Notice: They fool us into thinking it's easy.) Actually, both paths are hard. Whatever the job, the important point is which job we prefer. We'll see that job as easy. Light. Comfortable. At first, when we were starting out with the job of curing defilement, we weren't getting anywhere at all. Even though we were set on curing defilement, the work was heavy and we were weak and lazy. Everything bad and worthless was gathered right there. But now that we gradually come to comprehend causes and effects, and to understand the Dhamma, the results have begun to appear. Where has our laziness gone? All that's left is diligence and persistence. We can contend with anything, heavy or light --we can contend with death--because we have begun seeing results. Even though we have been curing defilement all along, the difference is that at one stage we don't see results, and at another we do--and persistence really arises. So. If things get heavy, we fight. We are disciples of the Tathagata, and so we have to follow in our Teacher's footsteps. Our Teacher met with difficulties, so his disciples will have to meet with difficulties. Our Teacher passed out two or three times. Is there anyone among us who has passed out from the effort of the practice? I don't see anyone who has. So why are we afraid of dying when we've never even passed out? How can we be so stubborn in our fear of death? The Lord Buddha lost consciousness three or four times. What do we have to say to that? When we lose consciousness, it's because we are falling asleep. Why aren't we afraid of dying then? So why are we afraid of dying when we practice meditation? Exactly what dies? When we have explored and seen the truth, we won't fear death--because nothing in the world dies. All there is, is the mind making its assumptions. It deceives itself--`I'm afraid of dying, I'm afraid of dying'--but when it knows the truth of everything of every sort, it's not afraid. It's not afraid of death. It's not afraid of birth--because it has noth-ing left to be born. So what is there to fear? Why bother with these empty, hollow fears? The mind is now released from birth, so why be afraid of birth? There are no more seeds for the birth of a body, a man or a woman. There is nothing to fear, nothing to be brave about. The mind is even with itself --uniform, unchanging--not `even' in the ordinary sense of `coming out even'. It's `even' in the sense of a mind which has reached sufficiency: `even' in its excellence. Here I've been talking about a heavy task, but also about the results as a means of encouragement, as a means of giving the mind something to hold to. The results are superlative, in keeping with the difficulties and hardships of the practice. What do we want in our lives? We all want what is good. Even in external things we want what is good, so especially in the area of the Dhamma, why shouldn't we want what is good? Then step up your efforts. What does it matter if the cemeteries cry because they miss you? You have been crying over the cemeteries, so what's wrong with letting the cemeteries cry in turn? They have no more hopes now. You aren't coming back to be born or die. The cemeteries' being without hope is better than your being without hope, because there's nothing good about birth and death, circling around, back and forth, with nothing but suffering and stress every lifetime. So work out solutions--and make them succeed. Whatever things are thorns in the heart, use mindfulness and discernment to explore, to probe on down and remove them completely so that they're all gone. Once they're all gone, that's the result of your work. We've talked about how hard the work is: What are the results like? Are they worth it? Find out for yourself--and then you are free to live wherever you like. The Buddha says, vusitam brahmacariyam: `The holy life is fulfilled, the task of the religion is done.' This is now completely apparent in every way. Anything which is stress is a matter of defilement. When the cause--defile-ment--is ended, the result--stress--is ended as well. That's all there is. From then on there is nothing but ultimate ease, which nothing will ever again come to disturb throughout eternity.