Unawareness Converges, Concealing the True Dhamma, the True Mind This Dhamma talk was given as an answer to a question posed by one of the more important senior monks of our day and age. The gist is as follows: This was when I began to investigate into the converging point of the cycle of defilement--namely, unawareness. While I was investigating, I didn't know that I was investigating unawareness. I was simply think-ing, 'What is this?' There was an uncertainty right there, so I focused the mind there, directed my attention to investigate what it was, where it came from, where it was going. It so happened I hit the right spot: I say this because I didn't know that it was called, or what unawareness was. Actually, unawareness and its name are very different. We see its currents spreading out all over the world, but those are only its branches. It's like trying to catch an outlaw: At first all we can catch are his henchmen. Whoever we catch is just a henchman. We don't know where the chief outlaw is, or what he looks like, because we have never seen him. We catch lots of his henchmen, closing in on him, encircling him. This is called laying siege to the outlaw. Our police force is very large and very strong. Each person on the force helps the others, so they have a lot of strength, surrounding the spot where the outlaw lies, catching this person, tying up that one. Ordinarily when they're asked, outlaws won't tell who their chief is. Whenever we catch an outlaw, we tie him up until no one is left inside our siege line. The last person left is the chief outlaw. The last person lies in a strategic place, because his henchmen have to guard him well on all sides so that no one can easily slip in to see him. The henchmen keep getting captured one after another until we reach the cave in which the chief outlaw is hiding, and then we kill everyone in there. This is when we know clearly that the wily outlaw has been wiped out for good. This is simply an analogy. To put it in other words, the mind's involvement with anything is a branch of delusion. Regardless of whether the delusion leads in a good or a bad direction, it's nothing but an affair of unawareness and the branches of unawareness, but actual unawareness itself doesn't lie there. So the tactics for investigating it, if we were to use another analogy, are like bailing water out of a pond to catch the fish in it. If there's a lot of water, we don't know how many fish it contains. So we keep bailing out the water until it starts receding lower and lower. The fish gather together. Each fish, wherever it is, swims down deeper into the water. The water keeps getting bailed out, and the fish keep gathering together. We can see where each fish is going, because the water keeps receding until at last, when the water is dry, the fish have nowhere to hide, and so we can catch them. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations, together with the mental acts which intermingle with them: These are like the water in which the fish live. To investigate these things is not for the purpose of taking possession of them, but for the purpose of killing defilement, in the same way that a person bails out the water, not because he wants the water, but because he wants the fish. To investigate these things is not for the purpose of taking possession of them, but for the purpose of knowing them, stage by stage. As soon as we know to a certain point, we are no longer concerned with that point. We know the things with which we are involved, as well as the fact that we are the one at fault for being involved, that our own misunderstanding is what deludes us into loving and hating these things. At this point, the scope of our investigation keeps narrowing in, narrowing in, just as the water keeps receding. Whatever elements or khandhas we investigate, they are just like external things in general. There are no differences. On the material side, the elements are the same elements. The difference lies in the acts of the mind which display them-selves--but we aren't yet aware of them, so we go labeling things in line with them, which is still one of the branches of unawareness. But as our investigation seeps deeper and deeper into the central area, the more clearly we see the things which come to be involved with us, the more clearly we see the mind as it goes out to become involved each time --in the same way that the more the water recedes, the more clearly we see the fish. As we investigate, the more clearly we see phenomena outside and inside the body, as well as our own mental concomitants (cetasika), then the more clearly we see the point where the chief culprit lies. As our investigation keeps closing in, the mind's focus grows narrower and narrower. Its concerns grow less and less. The currents sent out by the mind grow shorter. As soon as it stirs itself to become involved with any object, we investigate both that object and the stirring of the mind as it goes out to act. We see both aspects. We see the causes and results on both sides, namely (1) the side with which the mind involves itself, the things with which it is involved; and (2) the one who becomes involved. Discernment keeps moving in step by step. When it moves in and reaches unawareness itself, meditators for the most part--if no teacher has warned them in advance--are bound to hold to that as their real self. This is because they have investigated and seen all things clearly in the heart, so that they are fully wise to those things and have let them go, with nothing remaining--but what is it that knows those things? This is what they take and cherish. This is termed unawareness converging, but it turns into their 'self' without their realizing it. The mind gets deluded there. The term 'unawareness' refers to this very delusion about oneself. Delusions about outside things are not matters of actual unawareness. Because of our delusion about this, because of our delusion about that which knows all other things, we forget to investigate and pass judgment on what it is--because when the scope of the mind narrows, it gathers itself into a point. The point of the mind which appears at this stage is a radiant mind, bright, cheerful and bold. All happiness seems to be gathered right there. What do these things come from? If you were to call them results, I'd have to admit that they are results. We could say that they're results of the practice--if we aren't deluded about this point. If we're still deluded, these things are still the origin of stress. This is the central point of the origin of stress. But if we're meditators who are always interested in investigating whatever comes our way, we won't overlook this. No matter what, we can't help but become interested in investigating this point--because we have already inves-tigated and understood all things of every sort to the point where the mind won't make contact with them. If we take the mind out to investigate anything, it won't make contact, because it has already had enough of that thing. Now, every mental act which arises, arises from this point. Thoughts which form, form from this point. The happiness which appears, appears here. The happiness which appears undergoes changes we can see: This is what makes us begin investigating again, because this is a level in which we are very observant. When we observe the happi-ness, we see that it isn't steady, for the happiness produced by unawareness is a conventional reality. Sometimes it gets tarnished a little--just a little--enough for us to know that it isn't uniform. It keeps changing in that way, in line with its status as a refined phenomenon. This is the point which we trust and believe in. Even those who practice with intensity and extreme interest will fall for this point and become attached to it if no one has explained it to them in advance. But even though we trust in it, we can't help observing it if we are interested, because that's all there is that attracts the heart. This is what causes us to be attracted to it, to be content with what appears. As long as we have been investigating, that's the way it has been--to the extent that we don't know what unawareness is--and so we believe that this will be nibbana, this point which is bright and clear all the time. 'All the time' here means all the time for those medita-tors who are persistent in cleansing it and who aren't entirely complacent in their trust for it, who are very protective of this point and won't let anything touch it. Such people use a great deal of caution. As soon as anything touches that point, they will rectify it immediately. But they don't know what it is that they love and cherish. Even though that love and cherishing is clearly a burden, they don't realize the fact at that moment. Only when enough time has passed for them to be ready to know will they become interested in investigating this point. 'What is this? We've investigated everything of every sort, but what is this?' Now the mind focuses in on that point. Discernment probes in. 'What is this, for sure? Is it true yet or not? Is it awareness or unawareness?' These doubts keep nagging at the mind. But we keep on investigating and contemplating, using discernment without ceasing--because this is something we have never seen, never met with before--to see why we love it, why we are protective of it. If it's something true, why do we have to love and protect it? Why do we have to care for it? To care for something is a burden, in which case this must be a hazard for the person who cherishes and cares for it, or something which shouldn't be trusted--even though at that moment we still don't know what it is, whether it's really unawareness or not, because we have never seen how true awareness differs from unawareness, or how release differs from conventional reality. This is where discernment becomes interested in investigating. Now, I'd say that this is something very elaborate and involved. If I were to describe it in line with how I investi-gated it, or to condense it so as to give the gist in a reasonable amount of time, I'd summarize quickly by saying whatever makes an appearance, investigate it. Whatever makes an appearance is a matter of conventional reality--I'm referring here to the refined phenomena which appear in the heart. Ultimately, even that very point with its brightness is the point of genuine unawareness. Focus down on it, using discernment. Just as all phenomena in general are simply phenomena, this nature is also simply a phenomenon in exactly the same way. We can't latch onto it as being 'us' or 'ours'--but our protectiveness shows that we hold to it as being us or ours, which is a mistake. Discernment probes inward to see just what this is, as if we were to turn around to look at ourselves. We look out-side and see the earth, the sky, the air. Whatever passes into our range of vision, we see. But if we don't look back at ourselves, we won't see ourselves. Discernment at this stage is very quick. It looks back and forth, back and forth, to see this last point or this last stage, and its investigation is just like its investigation of things in general. It investigates not to take possession of its object, but simply to know its object for what it truly is. When this disbands, it's not like other things disband-ing. When other things disband, they go with a feeling that we understand them. But this isn't like that. When it disbands, it disintegrates in an instant, like a lightning flash. There's an instant where it acts of its own accord--or you could say that it flips over. It flips over and disappears completely. When it disappears, that's when we know that it was genuine unawareness--because once this has disap-peared, nothing more appears for us to doubt. What remains is nothing like it at all. It's a pure nature. Even though we have never seen it before, when it appears in that moment, there is nothing to doubt--and that's how the burden is all gone. The word 'I' refers to this genuine unawareness. It means that this unawareness is still standing. Whatever we have been investigating has been for its sake. Whatever we say we know, this 'I' is what knows. Radiant? 'I'm' radiant. Light? 'I'm' light. Happy? 'I'm' happy. 'Me', 'I', they refer to this. This is genuine unawareness. Whatever we do is for its sake. Once it disintegrates, there is nothing more for anything's sake. It's all gone. If we were to make an analogy, it's like a water jar whose bottom has been smashed. No matter how much water we may pour into it, nothing stays in the jar. Everything which may be formed in line with the nature of the khandhas can still be formed, but nothing sticks because the vessel--unawareness, the chief culprit--has disintegrated. As soon as sankharas form--blip!--they vanish. They simply pass by, disappearing, disappearing, because there's no place to keep them, no one who owns them. The nature which realizes that nothing is its owner is a nature which has reached its fullness. It is thus a genuinely pure nature, and no longer a burden which needs to be watched over or protected from danger ever again. This unawareness is what has been concealing the true Dhamma, the true mind, all along. This is why we haven't seen the true, natural marvelousness of the mind. For this reason, meditators who reach the stage of this pitfall latch onto it as something marvelous, love it, cherish it, are pro-tective of it and regard it as 'me' or 'mine': 'My mind is radiant. My mind is courageous and brave. My mind is happy. My mind knows everything of every sort'--but this nature doesn't know itself, which is why the Buddha called it genuine unawareness. Once we turn around and know it, it disintegrates. Once it disintegrates, it's just like opening the lid of a pot: Whatever is in the pot, we can see it all. Only unawareness keeps the mind concealed. This purity is a truth which lies beyond the truths of stress, its origin, its cessation and the path. It's a truth beyond the four Noble Truths. Of the four truths, one pair binds, the other unbinds and stops. What do they bind and unbind? They bind the heart, or keep it covered; and they unbind the heart, or uncover it. They open up the things which cover it so as to reveal its purity in line with its truth. Its truth is already there, but the two truths of stress and its origin keep it concealed, just as the lid of a pot conceals whatever is in the pot so that we can't see it. The path--the practice--opens it. The path and the cessation of stress open the pot so that we can see clearly what's inside. Even though the purity is already there, it's concealed by the first two truths, and revealed by the truths which unbind. This is what is bound, this is what is revealed. Once it's revealed, there are no more problems. Both pairs of truths are activities. Both are conventional realities. The path and the cessation of stress are conven- tional realities. Once they have performed their duties, they pass. Stress and the origin of stress are also conventional realities. Once the two conventional realities remedy the two conventional realities, that pure nature is a nature which stays fixed. What we see at that point is called release. Things are opened so that we see release, or natural purity. The burden of the task is ended right here. When the mind is pure, it doesn't confer any titles on itself. As for external things, the worldly phenomena (loka-dhamma) connected with external things, they're far away. The worldly phenomena which we used to say were good or bad, pleasant or painful in the heart, are no longer a problem once that point has disintegrated. When we investigate to this level, it's not wide-ranging. If we can derive an approach from the explanations given by a meditation master who has known and passed this stage, we can make quick progress--but it's important that we not set up any expectations. Expectations are not the path. What-ever appears, keep investigating and understanding that point--each successive thing as it appears. That's the correct path. Unawareness refers to the nature I have just explained. That's genuine unawareness. All other things are just its branches. Like a vine whose stem grows in one place but which creeps to who-knows-where: No matter how long it is, it keeps creeping and climbing. When we catch hold of it, we follow it in, follow it in, until we reach its stem. Here's the stem. Here's the root. Once we pull up the root, the whole thing dies. In the same way, the branches of unaware-ness are many and long, so that when we actually reach unawareness, we don't know what it is. But we investigate it. Discernment probes on in. Even though we don't know that this is unawareness, our investigation is on the right path, and so unawareness opens up of its own accord, in the same way as when we eat: Fullness appears clearly for us to see step by step all on its own. So to summarize the issue of whether unawareness is a factor of rebirth or a factor of kamma: It creates levels of being, it creates kamma relentlessly. These are both matters of the same cycle. It keeps creating levels of being within itself. The mind can't lie still. It simply keeps creating being and birth all the time. It works at accumulating these things for itself, but for the most part it accumulates things which weigh it down constantly, making it sink to lower levels. When people talk about destroying the wheel of kamma, this unawareness is what's destroyed. Once this is des-troyed, there are no more connections to create further levels of being and birth. Even though the things which used to be involved with us continue to become involved as they normally did, they pass by. They don't seep in. They don't set up house and move into this spot the way they used to. They simply pass by. And we know that this pure nature doesn't connect with anything. We have seen the connec-tions of the mind, step by step, and when we reach the level where it doesn't connect with anything, we know. As for knowing the question of levels of being and birth, as to whether or not we'll be reborn, there is no need to speculate, because the present already tells us clearly that when there are no connections to levels of being and birth inside us, as we plainly see, there are no levels of being or birth to continue into the future. The factory has been des-troyed, and there is no way it can rebuild itself. There is no way it can produce issues as it used to. The factory which produced suffering has been destroyed once and for all. The phrase 'khandhas pure and simple' refers to this stage. The khandhas are khandhas pure and simple, without any defilements. If the mind isn't defiled, the khandhas aren't defiled. They are simply tools. If the central part--the mind --is defiled, each khandha follows it in being defiled. The body becomes a means for increasing defilement in the heart. Vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana all become means for increasing defilement in the heart. If the mind is pure, the khandhas for their part are also pure. Nothing is defiled. But if the mind is defiled, the khandhas are defiled all the livelong day. This is the way the truth is. The creation of being and birth is a matter of the mind which keeps producing itself. It can't stay still. A mind which has the cycle in charge of its work or supervising its work will have to keep itself spinning all the time. What-ever thoughts it spins are for the sake of creating being and birth. As soon as the cycle disintegrates, there is nothing to create being and birth any more. Those whose minds have attained realization exclaim spontaneously in the heart to proclaim the Dhamma unabashedly to the world, saying that there are no more levels of being in which they are to be reborn--as when the Buddha exclaimed, 'anekajati-sansaram...'* because he knew _____________________ * A reference to the Dhammapada, verses 153-54: Through the round of many births I wandered without finding The house builder I was seeking: Painful is birth again and again. House builder, you are seen! You will not build a house again. All your rafters broken, The ridge pole destroyed, Gone to the Unformed, the mind Has attained the end of craving. right in the present that there was nothing creating itself. Goodness stayed in its own territory and didn't seep in, didn't mingle. Evil stayed in its own territory and didn't seep in or mingle. They didn't come running in. When we say that they didn't come running in, it's not that he forced them not to. It was simply their own nature. When these things come running in we don't force them to. There's sim-ply a medium along which they run. When there's no more medium, they disconnect of their own accord. It seemed to me when I was investigating this--when unawareness disappeared--that there was a moment which let me know very clearly. It was a moment--an instant I hadn't anticipated or expected. It was an instant which grabbed my attention. The instant unawareness disap-peared was an instant in which it displayed itself, as if it flipped itself over into a new world (if you were to call it a world). It flipped in the flash of an eye and vanished in the same instant, although this wasn't anything I had antici-pated. I hadn't intended for it to flip. It happened of its own accord. This is something very subtle which is impossible for me to describe correctly in line with the truth of that instant. In practicing the religion, if we practice it really to gain release from suffering, there are two intricate points. To separate the attachments between the mind and the body: This is one intricate point; and then this second intricate point which was the final point of my ability. Other than that there's nothing devious. Once, when I went to practice at Wat Doi Dhamma-chedi, the problem of unawareness had me bewildered for quite some time. At that stage the mind was so radiant that I came to marvel at its radiance. Everything of every sort which could make me marvel seemed to have gathered there in the mind, to the point where I began to marvel at myself, 'Why is it that my mind is so marvelous?' Looking at the body, I couldn't see it at all. It was all space--empty. The mind was radiant in full force. But luckily, as soon as I began to marvel at myself to the point of exclaiming deludedly in the heart without being conscious of it--if we speak on the level of refined Dhamma, it was a kind of delusion; it was amazed at itself, 'Why has my mind come so far?'--at that moment, a statement of Dhamma spontaneously arose. This too I hadn't anticipated. It suddenly appeared, as if someone were speaking in the heart, although there was no one there speaking. It simply appeared as a statement: 'If there is a point or a center of the knower anywhere, that is the essence of a level of being.' That's what it said. That phenomenon actually was a point: the point of knowledge, the point of radiance. It really was a point, just as the statement had said. But I didn't take into considera-tion what the 'point' was, and so I was bewildered. Instead of gaining an approach from the warning which had appeared, I took the problem to chew over until I came to consider the part about the 'point'. That was what ended the problem. I then came back to understand clearly the matter of, 'If there is a point or a center of the knower anywhere, that is the essence of a level of being.' That was when I understood, 'Oh--I see. The words "point" and "center" refer to just this.' Before, I hadn't understood. It really was a point. No matter how marvelous, it was the point of the marvelousness. It was a point there to be known. Once that disintegrated, there were no more points, because every point is a conventional reality. No matter how refined, each is a conventional reality. This is why I am always teaching my fellow medita-tors: 'Once you've reached that point, don't be protective of anything. Investigate on in. Even if the mind should actually be demolished by that investigation, let it be demolished. Whatever is left to be aware of the purity, let it be aware-- or if everything is going to be demolished so that there is nothing left to be aware of purity, then at least find out. Don't be protective of anything at all.' I say this out of fear that they'll be protective of this thing. If they aren't warned that forcefully, then no matter what, they're bound to get stuck. All I ask is that they find out: 'Whatever is going to vanish, let it vanish. Even if the mind is going to vanish from the power of the investigation, let it vanish. There's no need to protect it.' When investigating, you have to take it that far. But there's no escaping the truth: Whatever arises has to vanish; whatever is true, whatever is a natural principle in and of itself, won't vanish. In other words, the pure mind won't vanish. Everything of every sort may vanish, but that which knows their vanishing doesn't vanish. This vanishes, that vanishes, but the one which knows their vanishing doesn't vanish. Whether or not we try to leave it untouched, it keeps on knowing. But to try to protect it is tantamount to protect-ing unawareness, because unawareness is subtle. It's there in the mind. To be protective of the mind is tantamount to being protective of unawareness. So then. If the mind is going to be destroyed along with it, let it be destroyed. To make a comparison with slashing, slash right on down. Don't let there be anything left. Let everything in there close up shop and leave. To take it that far is just right. If you're hesitant, then you are sure to get stuck at this level. That's why you can't let yourself be hesitant. You have to take the defilements all out. Whatever is going to vanish, let it all vanish. As for that which is in no position to vanish, it won't vanish no matter what. To put it simply, it's as if bandits had gotten into this house. If you're protective of the house where the bandits are, then--Bang!--they'll shoot you dead. So if you should burn the whole house down, then burn it down. If you let the bandits stay there, they'll go on to destroy things which have more value than the house. So be willing to sacrifice the house. Set fire to it. This is called setting fire to unawareness. If the mind is really going to vanish, let it vanish. But actually the mind doesn't vanish. Only when you have burned that thing will you know: 'Oh--the thing of value has been lying beneath the power of unawareness. Unawareness has had it covered.' The instant unawareness vanishes, this other thing is revealed. Instead of vanishing too, it doesn't vanish, but if you're protective of it, you'll be stuck and will never get free. The period when I was investigating this point was after Venerable Acariya Mun had passed away. I really felt at the end of my rope. I couldn't stay with my fellow meditators. I couldn't stay with anyone at all. They'd get in the way. They'd spoil the fun of my internal efforts at investigation--because at that time the mind was really spinning. It had reached the level where it would spin and spin without stopping. At the time, I called it 'spinning as a wheel of Dhamma (dhamma-cakka), not as a wheel of rebirth (vatta-cakka).' It spun to release itself. It spun all the time. And as soon as it fully reached a state of enough, it stopped --completely and unexpectedly. For a while, at first, I had been getting annoyed. 'The more I've investigated this mind--and the more refined it has become--why has the burden, instead of growing lighter, become so heavy like this? And it doesn't have any sense of day or night--why is it?' I was getting a little concerned and annoyed. But even though I was annoyed, the mind didn't let up. It kept spinning there, right before my eyes. It kept spinning, scratching and digging, looking for things which I hadn't yet known or seen. Wherever I was caught up at any point, it would keep digging and scratching its way away. As soon as it made contact, it would immedi-ately latch on and stick with it. As soon as it understood, the matter would pass and disappear. The mind would then continue probing. Had Venerable Acariya Mun been alive at that point, things would have gone more quickly. This is why I have taught my fellow meditators that I'll give them my all. If I can't solve their problems, I'll take them to a teacher who can. Those are the lengths I'll go to--so that my fellow meditators can put their minds to rest. And for this reason, I'm not willing to have some of my talks recorded, because I let everything out. As soon as I've finished, the sound vanishes. I talk just for those who are there. People who didn't understand those matters would think I was bragging. Actually, I speak in line with the truth, and to encourage my students: 'It has to be like this. You have to slash into it like this.' That's just how I put it. It's as if I give myself as a guarantee so that my students can be confident that what I say isn't wrong, and so that they'll feel inspired to apply themselves to the effort with strength and resilience. Other people, though, who didn't under-stand my motives or anything, would think I was bragging. Instead of benefiting, they'd be harmed. Even if I weren't harmed, they might be, so I have to be careful. For this reason, on some occasions and with some people where I should really pull out all the stops, that's what I do. Otherwise I can't put my mind to rest about them. We really have to give and take. It's as if we both open up and give it our all to the point where we keep nothing back, not even a cent. This is the way it sometimes is, on some occasions, but not always. It depends on the situation, how far we should go. If we go that far, then if other people listened in, they'd think we were crazy. I myself, when listening to Venerable Acariya Mun talk: If he'd take it that far, it'd go straight to the heart. For three days afterwards I would feel as if the leaves on the trees weren't moving. The atmosphere would seem absolutely still. The power of his Dhamma blanketed everything--because the people listening were really intent on listening, the person speaking was really intent on speaking, and so they reached each other. As for us, even when we're told, 'This. This. It's like this,' we still don't see. It's like pointing out things to the blind--pitiful, when you think about it. For this reason, wherever I am, if I haven't bowed down to Venerable Acariya Mun, I can't lie down to sleep, no matter where I am. Even if I'm about to do walking meditation, I first face in his direction and pay him homage. If there's a picture of him as a conventional focus, I pay homage to his picture. If there's nothing, I take his virtues and form them into a convention to which I pay respect. His virtues will never fade for me. It's as if he hadn't passed away: a nature which stays like that, as if he were watching me all the time. This is why all the Noble Disciples who have seen the principles of the truth of the Lord Buddha with their full hearts submit to him. That is, they submit to the principles of the truth which are principles of nature; they don't submit to his person or anything like that. They submit in that the principles of the truth are now the same for them and will never fade. No matter how far they may be from him, that truth will never fade, because the truth is the same for all of them. Even though the Buddha may have entered total nibbana more than 2,500 years ago, this is not a problem which has an impact on the truth that appears in our hearts. It's simply the passage of conventional time or of the body--that's all--but the principle of that truth is unmoving: always one who is pure. Whether alive or totally nibbana-ed, it's one who is pure. This is truth which is fixed. Those who know this principle of the truth all trust it in the same way, because the true Buddha, the true Dhamma and the true Sangha lie in the heart. The heart truly pure is the Buddha, the Dhamma and the Sangha in full measure, untouched and undisturbed by time or place, unlike conventional realities in general. The Conventional Mind, the Mind Released Once the mind has been well-cleansed so that it's constantly radiant, then when we are in a quiet place, without any sounds--for instance, late in the still of the night--even if the mind hasn't gathered in concentration, we find that when we focus on that center of awareness, it is so exceedingly delicate and refined that it's hard to describe. This refinement then becomes like a radiance which spreads all around us in every direction. Nothing appears to be making contact with the senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and feeling at that moment, even though the mind hasn't gathered into the factors of concen-tration. Instead, this is the firm foundation of the mind which has been well-cleansed, and which displays a striking awareness, magnificence and sensitivity within itself. With this type of awareness, it's as if we weren't dwelling in a body at all. This is a very refined awareness, pronounced within itself. Even though the mind hasn't gathered in concentration, still--because of the refinement of the mind, because of the pronounced nature of the mind --it becomes a pronounced awareness, without any visions or images appearing at all. This awareness is pre-eminent exclusively in itself. This is one stage of the mind. Another stage is when this well-cleansed mind gathers into stillness, not thinking, not forming any thoughts at all. It rests from its activity--its rippling. All thought-formations within the mind rest completely. All that remains is simple awareness--which is called the mind entering into stillness. Here even more so, nothing appears at all. All that appears is awareness, as if it were blanketing the entire cosmos--because the currents of the mind aren't like the currents of light. The currents of light have their end, near or far, depending on the strength of the light. For example, with electric light, if the candle power is high, it will shine for a long distance. If low, it will shine for a short distance. But the currents of the mind aren't like that. They have no 'near' or 'far'. To put it simply, there is no time or place. The mind can blanket everything. Far is like near. 'Near', 'far': They don't really apply. All that appears is that aware-ness blanketing everything to the ends of the universe. It's as if all that appears in the entire world is this single awareness, as if there were nothing in our consciousness at all, even though everything still exists as it always has. This is what it's like: the power of the mind, the current of the mind which has been cleansed of things which cloud and obscure it. Even more so when the mind is completely pure: This is even harder to describe. I wouldn't know how to label it, because it's not something to be labeled. It's not something which can be expressed like conventional things in general, because it's not a conventional reality. It lies solely within the range of those who are non-conventional, who know their own non-conventionality. For this reason, it can't be described. Now, the world is full of conventions. Whatever we say, we need to use a conventional picture, a supposition, to make comparisons in every case. 'It seems like this. It seems like that.' Or, 'It's like this. It's like that. It's similar to that.' For example, take the word, 'nibbana'. Ordinary defilement --our ordinary mind--requires that we think of nibbana as broad and spacious, with nothing appearing in it. But we forget that the word nibbana, which is a conventional word, still has some conventionality to it. We might even think that there's nothing in nibbana but pure people milling around--both men and women, because they both can reach purity: Nibbana has nothing but those who are pure, milling around to and fro, or sitting around in comfort and peace without being disturbed by sadness, discontent or loneliness as we are in our conventional world which is full of turmoil and stress. Actually, we don't realize that this picture--of pure men and women milling or sitting around happily at their leisure without anything disturbing them--is simply a convention which can't have anything to do with the release of actual nibbana at all. When we talk about things which are beyond the range of convention--even though they may not be beyond the range of the speaker's awareness, even though they may be well within that person's range--they can't be expressed in conventional terms. Whatever is expressed is bound to be interpreted wrongly, because ordi-narily the mind is always ready to be wrong, or continues to be wrong within itself. As soon as anything comes flashing out, we have to speculate and guess in line with our incorrect and uncertain understanding--like Ven. Yamaka saying to Ven. Sariputta that an arahant no longer exists after death. Ven.Yamaka was still an ordinary, run-of-the-mill person, but even though Ven. Sariputta, who was an arahant, tried to explain things to him, he still wouldn't understand, until the Lord Buddha had to come and explain things himself. Even then--if I'm not mistaken--Ven. Yamaka still didn't understand in line with the truth the Buddha explained to him. As I remember, the texts say that Ven. Yamaka didn't attain any of the paths and fruitions or nibbana or anything. Still, there must have been a reason for the Buddha's explanation. If there were nothing to be gained by teaching, the Buddha wouldn't teach. In some cases, even when the person being taught didn't benefit much from the Dhamma, other people involved would. This is one of the traits of the Lord Buddha. There had to be a reason for everything he'd say. If there was something which would benefit his listeners, he'd speak. If not, he wouldn't. This is the nature of the Buddha: fully reasonable, fully accomplished in everything of every sort. He wouldn't make empty pronouncements in the way of the rest of the world. So when he spoke to Ven. Yamaka, I'm afraid I've forgotten the details*--because it's been so long since I read it--to the point where I've forgotten who benefited on that occasion, or maybe Ven. Yamaka did benefit. I'm not really sure. At any rate, let's focus on the statement, 'An arahant doesn't exist after death, ' as the important point. The Buddha asked, 'Is the arahant his body, so that when he dies he is annihilated with the body? Is he vedana? Sanna? Sankhara? Vinnana? Is he earth, water, wind or fire, so that when he dies he is annihilated with these things?' He kept asking in this way, until he reached the conclusion that the body is inconstant, and so disbands. Vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana are inconstant, and so disband. What-ever is a matter of convention follows these conventional ways. But whatever is a matter of release--of purity--cannot be made to follow those ways, because it is not the same sort of thing. To take release or a released mind and confuse or compound it with the five khandhas, which are an affair of conventional reality, is wrong. It can't be done. The five khandhas are one level of conventional reality; the ordinary mind is also a level of conventional reality. The refinement of the mind--so refined that it is marvelous even when there are still things entangling it-- ___________________________ * See the Yamaka Sutta and Anuradha Sutta in Samyutta Nikaya III. displays its marvelousness in line with its level for us to see clearly. Even more so when the things entangling it are entirely gone, the mind becomes Dhamma. The Dhamma is the mind. The mind is Dhamma. The entire Dhamma is the entire mind. The entire mind is the entire Dhamma. At this point, no conventions can be supposed, because the mind is pure Dhamma. Even though such people may still be alive, directing their khandhas, that nature stays that way in full measure. Their khandhas are khandhas just like ours. Their appearance, manners and traits appear in line with their characteristics, in line with the affairs of conventional reality which appear in those ways, which is why these things cannot be mixed together to become one with that nature. When the mind is released, the nature of release is one thing; the world of the khandhas is another world entirely. Even though the pure heart may dwell in the midst of the world of the khandhas, it is still always a mind released. To call it a transcendent mind wouldn't be wrong, because it lies above conventional reality--above the elements and khandhas. The transcendent Dhamma is a Dhamma above the world. This is why people of this sort can know the issue of connection in the mind. Once the mind is cleansed stage by stage, they can see its beginning points and end points. They can see the mind's behavior, the direction towards which it tends most heavily, and whether there is anything left which involves the mind or acts as a means of connection. These things they know, and they know them clearly. When they know clearly, they find a way to cut, to remove from the mind the things which lead to connection, step by step. When the defilements come thick and fast, there is total darkness in the mind. When this happens, we don't know what the mind is or what the things entangling it are, and so we assume them to be one and the same. The things which come to entangle the mind, and the mind itself, become mixed into one, so there's no way to know. But once the mind is cleansed step by step, we come to know in stages until we can know clearly exactly how much there is still remaining in the mind. Even if there's just a bit, we know there's a bit, because the act of connection lets us see plainly that, 'This is the seed which will cause us to be reborn in one place or another.' We can tell this clearly within the mind. When we know this clearly, we have to try to rectify the situation, using the various methods of mind-fulness and discernment until that thing is cut away from the mind with no more connections. The mind will then become an entirely pure mind, with no more means of con-nection or continuation. We can see this clearly. This is the one who is released. This is the one who doesn't die. Our Lord Buddha--from having practiced truly, from having truly known in line with the principles of the truth, seeing them clearly in the heart--spoke truly, acted truly and knew truly. He taught what he had truly known and truly seen--and so how could he be wrong? At first, he didn't know how many times he had been born, or what various things he had been born as. Even concerning the present, he didn't know what his mind was attached to or involved with, because he had many, many defilements at that stage. But after he had striven and gained Awakening, so that the entire Dhamma appeared in his heart, he knew clearly. When he knew clearly, he took that truth to proclaim the Dhamma to the world, and with intuitive insight knew who would be able to comprehend this sort of Dhamma quickly, as when he knew that the two hermits and the five brethren were already in a position to attain the Dhamma. He then went to teach the five brethren, and attained the aim he foresaw. All five of them attained the Dhamma stage by stage to the level of arahantship. Since the Buddha was teaching the truth to those aiming at the truth with their full hearts, they were able to communicate easily. They, looking for the truth, and he, teaching the truth, were right for each other. When he taught in line with the principles of the truth, they were able to comprehend quickly and to know step by step following him until they penetrated the truth clear through. Their defilements, however many or few they had, all dissolved completely away. The cycle of rebirth was over-turned to their complete relief. This is how it is when a person who truly knows and truly sees explains the Dhamma. Whether it's an aspect of the Dhamma dealing with the world or with the Dhamma itself, what he says is bound to be certain because he has seen it directly with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, touched it with his own heart. So when he remembers it and teaches it, how can he be wrong? He can't be wrong. For example, the taste of salt: Once we have known with our tongue that it's salty and we speak directly from the saltiness of the salt, how can we be wrong? Or the taste of hot peppers: The pepper is hot. It touches our tongue and we know, 'This pepper is hot.' When we speak with the truth--'This pepper is hot'--just where can we be wrong? So it is with knowing the Dhamma. When we practice to the stage where we should know, we have to know, step by step. Knowing the Dhamma happens at the same moment as abandoning defilement. When defilement dissolves away, the brightness which has been obscured will appear in that very instant. The truth appears clearly. Defilement, which is a truth, we know clearly. We then cut it away with the path--mindfulness and discernment--which is a prin-ciple of the truth, and then we take the truth and teach it so that those who are intent on listening will be sure to understand. The Buddha taught the Dhamma in 84,000 sections (khandha), but they aren't in excess of our five khandhas with the mind in charge, responsible for good and evil and for dealing with everything that makes contact. Even though there may be as many as 84,000 sections to the Dhamma, they were taught in line with the attributes of the mind, of defilement and of the Dhamma itself for the sake of living beings with their differing temperaments. The Buddha taught extensively--84,000 sections of the Dhamma--so that those of differing temperaments could put them into practice and straighten out their defilements. And we should make ourselves realize that those who listen to the Dhamma from those who have truly known and truly seen--from the mouth of the Buddha, the arahants or meditation teachers--should be able to straighten out their defilements and mental effluents at the same time they are listening. This is a point which doesn't depend on time or place. All the Dhamma comes down to the mind. The mind is a highly appropriate vessel for each level of the Dhamma. In teaching the Dhamma, what are the things entangling and embroiling the mind which are necessary to describe so that those who listen can understand and let go? There are elements, khandhas, and the unlimited sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations outside us, which make contact with the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body and heart within us. Thus it is necessary to teach both about things outside and about things inside, because the mind can become deluded and attached both outside and inside. It can love and hate both the outside and the inside. When we teach in line with the causes and effects both inside and out, in accordance with the principles of the truth, the mind which contemplates or investigates exclu-sively in line with the principles of truth has to know step by step, and be able to let go. Once we know something, we can let it go. That puts an end to our problem of having to prove or investigate the matter again. Whatever we understand is no longer a problem because once we have understood, we let go. We keep letting go, because our understanding has reached the truth of those various things in full measure. The investigation of the Dhamma, on the levels in which it should be narrow, has to be narrow. On the levels in which it should be wide-ranging, it has to be wide-ranging in line with the full level of the mind and the Dhamma. So when the heart of the meditator should stay in a restricted range, it has to be kept in that range. For exam-ple, in the beginning stages of the training, the mind is filled with nothing but cloudiness and confusion at all times, and can't find any peace or contentment. We thus have to force it to stay in a restricted range--for example, with the medi-tation word, 'buddho', or with the in-and-out breath--so as to gain a footing with its meditation theme, so that stillness can form a basis or a foundation for the heart, so that it can set itself up for the practice which is to follow. We first have to teach the mind to withdraw itself from its various preoccupa-tions, using whichever meditation theme it finds appealing, so that it can find a place of rest and relaxation through the stillness. Once we have obtained enough stillness from our meditation theme to form an opening onto the way, we begin to investigate. Discernment and awareness begin to branch out in stages, or to widen their scope until they have no limit. When we reach an appropriate time to rest the mind through the development of concentration, we focus on tranquility using our meditation theme as we have done before, without having to pay attention to discernment in any way at that moment. We set our sights on giving rise to stillness with the meditation theme which has previously been coupled with the heart, or which we have previously practiced for the sake of stillness. We focus in on that theme step by step with mindfulness in charge until stillness appears, giving peace and contentment. This is called resting the mind by developing concentration. When the mind withdraws from its resting place, discernment has to unravel and investigate things. Let it investigate whatever it should at that particular time or stage, until it understands the matter. When discernment begins to move into action as a result of its being reinforced by the strength of concentration, its investigations have to grow more and more wide-ranging, step by step. This is where discernment is wide-ranging. This is where the Dhamma is wide-ranging. The more resourceful our dis-cernment, the more its investigations spread until it knows the causes and effects of phenomena as they truly are. Its doubts then disappear and it lets go in stages, in line with the levels of mindfulness and discernment suited to removing the various kinds of defilement step by step from the heart. The mind then gradually retreats into a more restricted range, as it sees necessary, all on its own without needing to be forced as before--because once it has investigated and known in line with the way things really are, what is there left to be entangled with? To be concerned about? The extent to which it is concerned or troubled is because of its lack of understanding. When it understands with the dis-cernment which investigates and unravels to see the truth of each particular thing, the mind withdraws and lets go of its concerns. It goes further and further inward until its scope grows more and more restricted--to the elements, the khandhas and then exclusively to the mind itself. At this stage, the mind works in a restricted scope because it has cut away its burdens in stages. What is there in the elements and the khandhas? Analyze them down into their parts--body, feelings, sanna, sankhara and vinnana--until you have removed your doubts about any one of them. For example, when you investigate the body, an understanding of feeling automatically follows. Or when you investigate feelings, this leads straight to the body, to sanna, sankhara and vinnana, which have the same sorts of characteristics--because they come from the same current of the mind. To put it briefly, the Buddha taught that each of the five khandhas is a complete treasury or complete heap of the three characteristics. What do they have that's worth holding on to? The physical elements, the physical heap, all physical forms, are simply heaps of the elements. Vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana are all mere mental phenomena. They appear--blip, blip, blip--and disappear in an instant. What value or sub-stance can you get from them? Discernment penetrates further and further in. It knows the truth, which goes straight to the heart, and it lets go with that straight-to-the-heart knowledge. In other words, it lets go straight from the heart. When the knowledge goes straight to the heart, it lets go straight from the heart. Our job narrows in, narrows in, as the work of discernment dictates. This is the way it is when investigating and knowing the path of the mind which involves itself with various preoccupations. We come in knowing, we come in letting go step by step, cutting off the paths of the tigers which used to roam about looking for food--as in the phrase from the Dhamma textbooks: 'Cutting off the paths of the tigers which roam about looking for food.' We cut them out from the paths of the eye, ear, nose, tongue and body along which they used to roam, involving themselves with sights, sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations, gathering up poisonous food and bringing it in to burn the heart. Discernment thus has to roam about investigating the body, feelings, sanna, sankhara and vinnana by probing inward, probing inward along the paths which the tigers and leopards like to follow, so as to cut off the paths along which they used to go looking for food. The Buddha teaches us to probe inward, cutting off the paths until we have the tigers caged. In other words, unawareness, which is like a tiger, converges in at the one mind. All defilements and mental effluents converge in at the one mind. They can't go out roaming freely looking for food as they did before. The mind of unawareness: You could say that it's like a football, because discernment unravels it--stomps on it, kicks it back and forth--until it is smashed to bits: until the defilement of unawareness is smashed inside. This is the level of the mind where defilement converges, so when discernment unravels it, it's just like a football which is stomped and kicked. It gets kicked back and forth among the khandhas until it's smashed apart by discernment. When the conventional mind is smashed apart, the mind released is fully revealed. Why do we say the 'conventional mind' and the 'mind released'? Do they become two separate minds? Not at all. It's still the same mind. When conventional realities--defilements and mental effluents--rule it, that's one state of the mind; but when it's washed and wrung out by discern-ment until that state of mind is smashed apart, then the true mind, the true Dhamma, which can stand the test, doesn't disappear with it. The only things which disappear are the things inconstant, stressful and not-self which had infil-trated the mind--because defilements and mental effluents, no matter how refined, are simply conventions: inconstant, stressful and not-self. When these things disappear, the true mind, above and beyond convention, can then appear to its full extent. This is what's called the mind released. This is what's called the pure mind, completely cut off from all connections and con-tinuations. All that remains is simple awareness, utterly pure. We can't say at what point in our body this simple awareness is centered. Before, it was a prominent point which we could know and see clearly. For example, in concentration we knew that it was centered in the middle of the chest. Our awareness was pronounced right there. The stillness was pronounced right there. The brightness, the radiance of the mind was pronounced right there. We could see it clearly without having to ask anyone. All those whose minds have centered into the foundation of concentration find that the center of 'what knows' is really pronounced right here in the middle of the chest. They won't argue that it's in the brain or whatever, as those who have never experienced the practice of concentration are always saying. But when the mind becomes a pure mind, that center disappears, and so we can't say that the mind is above or below or in any particular spot, because it's an awareness which is pure, an awareness which is subtle and profound above and beyond any and all conventions. Even so, we are still veering off into conventions when we say that it's 'extremely refined', which doesn't really fit the truth, because of course the notion of extreme refinement is a con-vention. We can't say that this awareness lies high or low, or where it has a point or a center--because it doesn't have one at all. All there is, is awareness with nothing else infiltrating it. Even though it's in the midst of the elements and khandhas with which it used to be mixed, it's not that way any more. It now lies world apart. We now can know clearly that the khandhas are khandhas, the mind is the mind, the body is the body; vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana are each separate khandhas. But as for feelings in that mind, they no longer exist, ever since the mind gained release from all defilement. Therefore the three characteristics, which are convention incarnate, don't exist in that mind. The mind doesn't partake of feeling, apart from the ultimate ease (paramam sukham) which is its own nature--and the ultimate ease here is not a feeling of ease. When the Buddha teaches that nibbana is the ultimate ease, the term 'ultimate ease' is not a feeling of ease like the feelings or moods of the mind still defiled, or the feelings of the body which are constantly appearing as stress and ease. The ultimate ease is not a feeling like that. Those who practice should take this point to heart and practice so as to know it for themselves. That will be the end of the question, in line with the Dhamma which the Buddha says is sanditthiko--to be seen for oneself--and on which he lays no exclusive claims. Thus we cannot say that the mind which is absolutely pure has any feeling. This mind has no feeling. The term 'ultimate ease' refers to an ease by the very nature of purity, and thus there cannot be anything inconstant, stressful or not-self found infiltrating that ultimate ease at all. Nibbana is constant. The ultimate ease is constant. They are one and the same. The Buddha says that nibbana is constant, the ultimate ease is constant, the ultimate void is constant. They are all the same thing--but the void of nibbana lies beyond convention. It's not void in the way the world supposes it to be. If we know clearly, we can describe and analyze anything at all. If we don't understand, we can talk from morning till night, and be wrong from morning till night. There is no way we can be right, because the mind isn't right. No matter how much we may speak in line with what we understand to be right in accordance with the Dhamma, if the mind which is acting isn't right, how can we be right? It's as if we were to say, 'Nibbana is the ultimate ease; nibbana is the ultimate void,' to the point where the words are always in our mouth and in our heart: If the mind is a mind with defilements, it can't be right. When the mind isn't right, nothing can be right. Once the mind is right, though, then even when we don't say anything, we're right--because that nature is already right. Whether or not we speak, we're right. Once we reach the level where we're right, there's no wrong. This is the marvel which comes from the practice of the religion. The Buddha taught only as far as this level, and didn't teach anything further. It is in every way the end of con-ventions, the end of formulations, the end of defilement, the end of suffering and stress. This is why he didn't teach anything further, because this is the point at which he fully aimed: he full level of the mind and of the Dhamma. Before he totally entered nibbana, his last instructions were, 'Monks, I exhort you. Formations are constantly arising and ceasing. Investigate formations which are arising and disbanding, or arising and ceasing, with non-complacency.' That was all. He closed his mouth and never said anything again. In this teaching, which has the rank of a final instruc-tion, how should we understand or interpret the word 'formation' (sankhara)? What kind of formations does it refer to? We could take it as referring to outer formations or inner formation, and we wouldn't be wrong. But at that moment, we can be fairly certain that those who had come to listen to the Buddha's final instructions at the final hour were prac-ticing monks with high levels of mental attainment, from arahants on down. So I would think that the main point to which the Buddha was referring was inner formations which form thoughts in the mind and disrupt the mind at all times. He taught to investigate the arising and ceasing of these formations with non-complacency--in other words, to investigate with mindfulness and discernment at all times. These formations cover the cosmos! We could, if we wanted to, analyze the word 'forma-tions' as outer formations--trees, mountains, animals, people --but this wouldn't be in keeping with the level of the monks gathered there, nor would it be in keeping with the occasion: the Buddha's last moments before total nibbana in which he gave his exhortation to the Sangha: the ultimate teaching at the final hour. His final exhortation dealing with formations, given as he was about to enter total nibbana, must thus refer speci-fically to the most refined formations in the heart. Once we comprehend these inner formations, how can we help but understand their basis--what they arise from. We'll have to penetrate into the wellspring of the cycle of rebirth: the mind of unawareness. This is the way to penetrate to the impor-tant point. Those who have reached this level have to know this. Those who are approaching it in stages, who haven't fully reached it, still know this clearly because they are investigating the matter, which is what the Buddha's instructions--given in the midst of that important stage of events--were all about. This, I think, would be in keeping with occasion in which the Buddha spoke. Why? Because ordinarily when the mind has investigated to higher and higher levels, these inner formations--the various thoughts which form in the mind--are very crucial to the investigation in that they appear day and night, and are at work every moment inside the mind. A mind which has reached the level where it should investigate inner phenomena must thus take these inner formations as the focal point of its investigation. This is a matter directly related to the Buddha's final instructions. The ability to overthrow unawareness must follow on an investigation focused primarily on inner formations. Once we have focused in, focused in, down to the root of defilement, and have then destroyed it, these formations no longer play any role in giving rise to defilement again. Their only function is to serve the purposes of the Dhamma. We use them to formulate Dhamma for the benefit of the world. In teaching Dhamma we have to use thought-formations, and so formations of this sort become tools of the Dhamma. Now that we have given the khandhas a new ruler, the thought-formations which were forced into service by unawareness have now become tools of the Dhamma--tools of a pure heart. The Buddha used these thought-formations to teach the world, to formulate various expressions of the Dhamma. The Dhamma we have mentioned here doesn't exist solely in the past, in the time of the Buddha, or solely in the future in a way which would deny hope to whose who practice rightly and properly. It lies among our own khandhas and mind, in our body and mind. It doesn't lie anywhere else other than in the bodies and minds of human beings, women and men. The defilements, the path and purity all lie right here in the heart. They don't lie in that time or period way back when, or with that person or this. They lie with the person who practices, who is using mindfulness and discernment to investigate right now. Why? Because we are all aiming at the Dhamma. We are aiming at the truth, just like the Dhamma, the truth, which the Buddha taught at that time, and which always holds to the principle of being 'majjhima' --in the center--not leaning towards that time or this, not leaning towards that period or this place. It's a Dhamma which always keeps to an even keel because it lies in the center of our elements and khandhas. Majjhima: in the center, or always just right for curing defilement. So please practice correctly in line with this Dhamma. You will see the results of 'majjhima'--a Dhamma just right, always and everywhere--appearing as I have said. Nibbana, the ultimate ease, will not in any way lie beyond this knowing heart. And so I'll ask to stop here. Postscript An excerpt from a letter written by Venerable Acariya Maha Boowa to Mrs. Pow Phanga Vathanakul, dated February 26, 1976. The practice of the Dhamma in keeping with the Dhamma which he gave with utter compassion unequalled by that of anyone else in the world: This is the true homage to the Buddha. The seeing of the truth which lies within you, using discernment step by step at all times: This is the seeing of the Buddha step by step. The seeing of the truth with the full heart using discernment: This is the seeing of the Buddha in full. The true Buddha, the true Dhamma, lie with the heart. To attend to your own heart is to attend to the Buddha. To watch over your own heart with mindfulness and discernment is truly to see the Buddha, Dhamma and Sangha. The king of death warns and assaults the bodies of the world's living beings in line with the principles of his truth. You have to greet his warnings and assaults with mindful-ness, discernment, conviction and unflagging persistence, and take out your treasures--the paths, the fruitions and nibbana--to flaunt in his face, braving death in the course of persistent effort. You and he, who have regarded each other as enemies for such a long time, will then become true friends--neither of you to take advantage of the other ever again. The body and the khandhas are things which the world must relinquish in spite of its regrets. You should relinquish them with mindfulness and discernment before the time comes to relinquish them in the way of the world. This is the supreme letting-go, second to nothing. Please take this to heart, because it is written straight from the heart. Evam. Glossary Acariya: Teacher; mentor. Anatta: Not-self; ownerless. Aniccam: Inconstant; unsteady; impermanent. Arahant: A person whose heart is free of mental effluents (see asava), and who is thus not destined for future rebirth. An epithet for the Buddha and the highest level of his Noble Disciples. Arammana: Preoccupation; mental object. Asava: Mental effluent or pollutant--sensuality, states of being, views and unawareness. Avijja: Unawareness; ignorance; obscured awareness; delusion about the nature of the mind. Ayatana: Sense medium. The inner sense media are the sense organs--eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body and mind. The outer sense media are their respective objects. Brahma: 'Great One'--an inhabitant of the heavens of form or formlessness. Brahmin: Used in the Buddha sense, this term is synonymous with arahant. Buddho: Awake; enlightened. An epithet for the Buddha. Cetasika: Mental concomitant (see vedana, sanna and sankhara). Dhamma (dharma): Event; phenomenon; the way things are in and of themselves; their inherent qualities; the basic principles underlying their behavior. Also, principles of behavior which human beings ought to follow so as to fit in with the right natural order of things; qualities of mind they should develop so as to realize the inherent quality of the mind in and of itself. By extension, 'Dhamma' is used also to refer to any doctrine which teaches such things. Thus the Dhamma of the Buddha refers both to his teachings and to the direct experience of nibbana, the quality at which those teachings are aimed. Dhatu: Element; property, impersonal condition. The four physical elements or properties are earth (solidity), water (liquidity), wind (motion), and fire (heat). The six elements include the above four plus space and cognizance. Dukkha(m): Stress; suffering; pain; distress; discontent. Evam: Thus; in this way. This term is used in Thailand as a formal closing to a sermon. Kamma (karma): Intentional acts which result in states of being and birth. Kayagata-sati: Mindfulness immersed in the body. This is a blanket term covering several meditation themes: keeping the breath in mind; being mindful of the body's posture; being mindful of one's activities; analyzing the body into its parts; analyzing the body into its physical properties (see dhatu); contemplating the fact that the body is inevitably subject to death and disintegration. Khandha: Heap; group; aggregate. Physical and mental components of the personality and of sensory experience in general (see rupa, vedana, sanna, sankhara and vinnana). Kilesa: Defilement--passion, aversion and delusion in their various forms, which include such things as greed, malevolence, anger, rancor, hypocrisy, arrogance, envy, miserliness, dishonesty, boastfulness, obstinacy, violence, pride, conceit, intoxication and complacency. Loka-dhamma: Worldly phenomenon--fortune, loss of fortune, status, disgrace, praise, censure, pleasure and pain. Lokuttara: Transcendent; supramundane (see magga, phala and nibbana). Magga: Path. Specifically, the path to the cessation of suffering and stress. The four transcendent paths--or rather, one path with four levels of refinement--are the path to stream entry (entering the stream to nibbana, which ensures that one will be reborn at most only seven more times), the path to once-returning, the path to non-returning and the path to arahantship. Mara: Temptation; mortality personified. Nibbana (nirvana): Liberation; the unbinding of the mind from mental effluents, defilements and the round of rebirth (see asava, kilesa and vatta). As this term is used to refer also to the extinguishing of fire, it carries the connota-tions of stilling, cooling and peace. (According to the physics taught at the time of the Buddha, a burning fire seizes or adheres to its fuel; when extinguished, it is unbound.) Panna: Discernment; insight; wisdom; intelligence; common sense; ingenuity. Parami: Perfection of the character--generosity, virtue, renunciation, discernment, persistence, forbearance, truthfulness, determination, good will and equanimity. Parisa: Following; assembly. The four groups of the Buddha's following are monks, nuns, laymen and laywomen. Patimokkha: The basic code of 227 precepts observed by Buddhist monks, chanted every half-month in each assembly of monks numbering four or more. Phala: Fruition. Specifically, the fruition of any of the four transcendent paths (see magga). Punna: Merit; worth; the inner sense of well-being which comes from having acted rightly or well. Rupa: Body; physical phenomenon; sense datum. Sabhava dhamma: Phenomenon; events, properties or qualities as experienced in and of themselves. Sallekha dhamma: Topics of effacement (effacing defilement)--having few wants, being content with what one has, seclusion, uninvolvement in companionship, persistence, virtue, concentration, discernment, release and the direct knowing and seeing of release. Samadhi: Concentration; the practice of centering the mind in a single sensation or preoccupation. Sammati: Conventional reality; convention; relative truth; supposition; anything conjured into being by the mind. Sanditthiko: Self-evident, visible here and now. Sangha: The community of the Buddha's disciples. On the conventional level, this refers to the Buddhist monkhood. On the ideal level, it refers to those of the Buddha's followers, whether lay or ordained, who have attained at least the first of the transcendent paths (see magga) culminating in nibbana. Sankhara: Formation. This can refer to anything formed or fashioned by conditions, or--as one of the five khandhas --specifically to thought-formations within the mind. Sanna: Label; perception; allusion; act of memory or recognition; interpretation. Sati: Mindfulness; alertness; self-collectedness; powers of reference and retention. Satipatthana: Foundation of mindfulness; frame of reference--body, feelings, mind and mental events, viewed in and of themselves as they occur. Sa-upadisesa-nibbana: Nibbana with fuel remaining (the analogy is to an extinguished fire whose embers are still glowing)--liberation as experienced in this lifetime by an arahant. Sugato: Well-faring; going (or gone) to a good destination. An epithet for the Buddha. Tanha: Craving, the cause of stress, which takes three forms--craving for sensuality, for being and for not-being. Tathagata: One who has become true. A title for the Buddha. Ti-lakkhana: Three characteristics inherent in all conditioned phenomena--being inconstant, stressful and not-self. Ti-pitaka (tripitaka): The Buddhist Cannon; literally, the three 'baskets'--disciplinary rules, discourses and abstract philosophical treatises. Uposatha: Observance day, corresponding to the phases of the moon, on which Buddhist lay people gather to listen to the Dhamma and to observe special precepts. Monks assemble to hear the Patimokkha on the new-moon and full-moon uposatha days. Vassa: Rains Retreat. A period from July to October, corresponding roughly to the rainy season, in which each monk is required to live settled in a single place, and not wander freely about. Vatta: The cycle of birth, death and rebirth. This refers both to the death and rebirth of living beings, and to the death and rebirth of defilement within the mind. Vedana: Feeling--pleasure (ease), pain (stress) or neither pleasure nor pain. Vijja: Clear knowledge; genuine awareness; science (specifically, the cognitive powers developed through the practice of concentration and discernment). Vimutti: Release; freedom from the fabrications and conventions of the mind. Vinaya: The disciplinary rules of the monastic order. Vinnana: Cognizance; consciousness; the act of taking note of sense data and ideas as they occur. ***** If anything in this translation is inaccurate or mislead-ing, I ask forgiveness of the author and reader for having unwittingly stood in their way. As for whatever may be accurate, I hope the reader will make the best use of it, translating it a few steps further, into the heart, so as to attain the truth at which it points. The translator Note In these talks, as in Thai usage in general,the words 'heart' and 'mind' are used interchangeably.