“Being happy doesn’t mean everything is perfect, it means you have have decided to look beyond imperfections.”
If you let go a little you will have a little happiness. If you let go a lot you will have a lot of happiness. If you let go completely you will be free. ~Ajahn Chah
Nothing is permanent…
Happiness is wished for by people in the world. Suffering is not wished for. Nibbāna is something beyond wishing or not wishing. Do you understand? There is no wishing involved in Nibbāna. Wanting to get happiness, wanting to be free of suffering, wanting to transcend happiness and suffering – there are none of these things. It is peace.
As I see it, realizing the truth doesn’t happen by relying on others. You should understand that all doubts will be resolved by our own efforts, by continuous, energetic practice. We won’t get free of doubt by asking others. We will only end doubt through our own unrelenting efforts.
Remember this! It’s an important principle in practice. The actual doing is what will instruct you. You will come to know all right and wrong. ”The Brahmin shall reach the exhaustion of doubt through unceasing practice.” It doesn’t matter wherever we go – everything can be resolved through our own ceaseless efforts. But we can’t stick with it. We can’t bear the difficulties we meet; we find it hard to face up to our suffering and not to run away from it. If we do face it and bear with it, then we gain knowledge, and the practice starts instructing us automatically, teaching us about right and wrong and the way things really are. Our practice will show us the faults and ill results of wrong thinking. It really happens like this. But it’s hard to find people who can see it through.
Everyone wants instant awakening. Rushing here and there following your impulses, you only end up worse off for it. Be careful about this. ~Ajahn Chah
A Dhammatalk by Ajahn Chah
At the time of the Buddha, there lived a monk who yearned to find the true way to enlightenment. He wanted to know for certain what was the correct way and what was the incorrect way to train his mind in meditation. Having decided that living in a monastery with a large group of monks was confusing and distracting, he went off wandering looking for quiet places to meditate on his own. Living alone, he practised continuously, sometimes experiencing periods of calm when his mind gathered itself in concentration (samādhi), at other times not finding much calm at all. There was still no real certainty in his meditation. Sometimes he was very diligent and put forth great effort, sometimes he was lazy. In the end, he became caught up in doubt and scepticism due to his lack of success in trying to find the right way to practise.
During that time in India there were many different meditation teachers, and the monk happened to hear about one famous teacher, ”Ajahn A”, who was very popular and had a reputation for being skilled in meditation instruction. The monk sat down and thought it through, and decided that just in case this famous teacher really knew the correct way to enlightenment, he would set off to go and find him and train under his guidance. Having received teachings, the monk returned to meditate on his own again and found that while some of the new teachings were in line with his own views, some were different. He found that he was still constantly getting caught into doubt and uncertainty. After a while he heard of another famous monk, ”Ajahn B”, who also was again reputed to be fully enlightened and skilled in teaching meditation; this news simply fuelled further doubts and questions in his mind. Eventually his speculation drove him to go off in search of the new teacher. Having received fresh teachings, the monk left and went away to practise in solitude once more. He compared all the teachings he had absorbed from this latest teacher with those from the first teacher, and found that they weren’t the same. He compared the different styles and characters of each teacher, and found that they were also quite different. He compared everything he had learnt with his own views about meditation and found that nothing seemed to fit together at all! The more he compared, the more he doubted. Continue reading
If we look according to reality, without trying to sugar things over, we’ll see that it’s really pitiful and wearisome. Dispassion will arise. This feeling of ‘disinterest’ is not that we feel aversion for the world or anything; it’s simply our mind clearing up, our mind letting go. We see things as not substantial or dependable, but that all things are naturally established just as they are. However we want them to be, they just go their own way regardless. Whether we laugh or cry, they simply are the way they are. Things which are unstable are unstable; things which are not beautiful are not beautiful.
So the Buddha said that when we experience sights, sounds, tastes, smells, bodily feelings or mental states, we should release them. When the ear hears sounds, let them go. When the nose smells an odour, let it go…just leave it at the nose! When bodily feelings arise, let go of the like or dislike that follow, let them go back to their birth-place. The same for mental states. All these things, just let them go their way. This is knowing. Whether it’s happiness or unhappiness, it’s all the same. This is called meditation.
Meditation means to make the mind peaceful in order to let wisdom arise. This requires that we practise with body and mind in order to see and know the sense impressions of form, sound, taste, smell, touch and mental formations. To put it shortly, it’s just a matter of happiness and unhappiness. Happiness is pleasant feeling in the mind, unhappiness is just unpleasant feeling. The Buddha taught to separate this happiness and unhappiness from the mind. The mind is that which knows. Feeling2 is the characteristic of happiness or unhappiness, like or dislike. When the mind indulges in these things we say that it clings to or takes that happiness and unhappiness to be worthy of holding. That clinging is an action of mind, that happiness or unhappiness is feeling.
When we say the Buddha told us to separate the mind from the feeling, he didn’t literally mean to throw them to different places. He meant that the mind must know happiness and know unhappiness. When sitting in samādhi, for example, and peace fills the mind, then happiness comes but it doesn’t reach us, unhappiness comes but doesn’t reach us. This is to separate the feeling from the mind. We can compare it to oil and water in a bottle. They don’t combine. Even if you try to mix them, the oil remains oil and the water remains water, because they are of different density. ~Ajahn Chah
A Dhammatalk by Ajahn Chah
The teaching of Buddhism is about giving up evil and practising good. Then, when evil is given up and goodness is established, we must let go of both good and evil. We have already heard enough about wholesome and unwholesome conditions to understand something about them, so I would like to talk about the Middle Way, that is, the path to transcend both of those things.
All the Dhamma talks and teachings of the Buddha have one aim – to show the way out of suffering to those who have not yet escaped. The teachings are for the purpose of giving us the right understanding. If we don’t understand rightly, then we can’t arrive at peace.
When all the Buddhas became enlightened and gave their first teachings, they declared these two extremes – indulgence in pleasure and indulgence in pain2. These two ways are the ways of infatuation, they are the ways between which those who indulge in sense pleasures must fluctuate, never arriving at peace. They are the paths which spin around in samsāra.
The Enlightened One observed that all beings are stuck in these two extremes, never seeing the Middle Way of Dhamma, so he pointed them out in order to show the penalty involved in both. Because we are still stuck, because we are still wanting, we live repeatedly under their sway. The Buddha declared that these two ways are the ways of intoxication, they are not the ways of a meditator, not the ways to peace. These ways are indulgence in pleasure and indulgence in pain, or, to put it simply, the way of slackness and the way of tension.
If you investigate within, moment by moment, you will see that the tense way is anger, the way of sorrow. Going this way there is only difficulty and distress. Indulgence in Pleasure – if you’ve transcended this, it means you’ve transcended happiness. These ways, both happiness and unhappiness, are not peaceful states. The Buddha taught to let go of both of them. This is right practice. This is the Middle Way.
These words ‘the Middle Way’ do not refer to our body and speech, they refer to the mind. When a mental impression which we don’t like arises, it affects the mind and there is confusion. When the mind is confused, when it’s ‘shaken up’, this is not the right way. When a mental impression arises which we like, the mind goes to indulgence in pleasure – that’s not the way either.
We people don’t want suffering, we want happiness. But in fact happiness is just a refined form of suffering. Suffering itself is the coarse form. You can compare them to a snake. The head of the snake is unhappiness, the tail of the snake is happiness. The head of the snake is really dangerous, it has the poisonous fangs. If you touch it, the snake will bite straight away. But never mind the head, even if you go and hold onto the tail, it will turn around and bite you just the same, because both the head and the tail belong to the one snake.
In the same way, both happiness and unhappiness, or pleasure and sadness, arise from the same parent – wanting. So when you’re happy the mind isn’t peaceful. It really isn’t! For instance, when we get the things we like, such as wealth, prestige, praise or happiness, we become pleased as a result. But the mind still harbours some uneasiness because we’re afraid of losing it. That very fear isn’t a peaceful state. Later on we may actually lose that thing and then we really suffer. Continue reading
A Dhammatalk by Ajahn Chah
Our way of practice is looking closely at things and making them clear. We’re persistent and constant, yet not rushed or hurried. Neither are we too slow. It’s a matter of gradually feeling our way and bringing it together. However, all of this bringing it together is working towards something, there is a point to our practice.
For most of us, when we first start to practice, it’s nothing other than desire. We start to practice because of wanting. At this stage our wanting is wanting in the wrong way. That is, it’s deluded. It’s wanting mixed with wrong understanding.
If wanting is not mixed with wrong understanding like this, we say that it’s wanting with wisdom (paññā)2. It’s not deluded – it’s wanting with right understanding. In a case like this we say that it’s due to a person’s pāramī or past accumulations. However, this isn’t the case with everyone.
Some people don’t want to have desire, or they want not to have desires, because they think that our practice is directed at not wanting. However, if there is no desire, then there’s no way of practice.
We can see this for ourselves. The Buddha and all his disciples practiced to put an end to defilements. We must want to practice and must want to put an end to defilements. We must want to have peace of mind and want not to have confusion. However, if this wanting is mixed with wrong understanding, then it will only amount to more difficulties for us. If we are honest about it, we really know nothing at all. Or, what we do know is of no consequence, since we are unable to use it properly.
Everybody, including the Buddha, started out like this, with the desire to practice – wanting to have peace of mind and wanting not to have confusion and suffering. These two kinds of desire have exactly the same value. If not understood then both wanting to be free from confusion and not wanting to have suffering are defilements. They’re a foolish way of wanting – desire without wisdom.
In our practice we see this desire as either sensual indulgence or self-mortification. It’s in this very conflict that our teacher, the Buddha, was caught up, just this dilemma. He followed many ways of practice which merely ended up in these two extremes. And these days we are exactly the same. We are still afflicted by this duality, and because of it we keep falling from the Way.
However, this is how we must start out. We start out as worldly beings, as beings with defilements, with wanting devoid of wisdom, desire without right understanding. If we lack proper understanding, then both kinds of desire work against us. Whether it’s wanting or not wanting, it’s still craving (tanhā). If we don’t understand these two things then we won’t know how to deal with them when they arise. We will feel that to go forward is wrong and to go backwards is wrong, and yet we can’t stop. Whatever we do we just find more wanting. This is because of the lack of wisdom and because of craving.
Pink Orchids. Photo credit: Randy
It’s right here, with this wanting and not wanting, that we can understand the Dhamma. The Dhamma which we are looking for exists right here, but we don’t see it. Rather, we persist in our efforts to stop wanting. We want things to be a certain way and not any other way. Or, we want them not to be a certain way, but to be another way. Really these two things are the same. They are part of the same duality.
Perhaps we may not realize that the Buddha and all of his disciples had this kind of wanting. However the Buddha understood regarding wanting and not wanting. He understood that they are simply the activity of mind, that such things merely appear in a flash and then disappear. These kinds of desires are going on all the time. When there is wisdom, we don’t identify with them – we are free from clinging. Whether it’s wanting or not wanting, we simply see it as such. In reality it’s merely the activity of the natural mind. When we take a close look, we see clearly that this is how it is.
The Wisdom of Everyday Experience
So it’s here that our practice of contemplation will lead us to understanding. Let us take an example, the example of a fisherman pulling in his net with a big fish in it. How do you think he feels about pulling it in? If he’s afraid that the fish will escape, he’ll be rushed and start to struggle with the net, grabbing and tugging at it. Before he knows it, the big fish has escaped – he was trying too hard.
In the olden days they would talk like this. They taught that we should do it gradually, carefully gathering it in without losing it. This is how it is in our practice; we gradually feel our way with it, carefully gathering it in without losing it. Sometimes it happens that we don’t feel like doing it. Maybe we don’t want to look or maybe we don’t want to know, but we keep on with it. We continue feeling for it. This is practice: if we feel like doing it, we do it, and if we don’t feel like doing it, we do it just the same. We just keep doing it.
If we are enthusiastic about our practice, the power of our faith will give energy to what we are doing. But at this stage we are still without wisdom. Even though we are very energetic, we will not derive much benefit from our practice. We may continue with it for a long time and a feeling will arise that aren’t going to find the Way. We may feel that we cannot find peace and tranquillity, or that we aren’t sufficiently equipped to do the practice. Or maybe we feel that this Way just isn’t possible anymore. So we give up!
At this point we must be very, very careful. We must use great patience and endurance. It’s just like pulling in the big fish – we gradually feel our way with it. We carefully pull it in. The struggle won’t be too difficult, so without stopping we continue pulling it in. Eventually, after some time, the fish becomes tired and stops fighting and we’re able to catch it easily. Usually this is how it happens, we practice gradually gathering it together.
It’s in this manner that we do our contemplation. If we don’t have any particular knowledge or learning in the theoretical aspects of the teachings, we contemplate according to our everyday experience. We use the knowledge which we already have, the knowledge derived from our everyday experience. This kind of knowledge is natural to the mind. Actually, whether we study about it or not, we have the reality of the mind right here already. The mind is the mind whether we have learned about it or not. This is why we say that whether the Buddha is born in the world or not, everything is the way it is. Everything already exists according to its own nature. This natural condition doesn’t change, nor does it go anywhere. It just is that way. This is called the Sacca Dhamma. However, if we don’t understand about this Sacca Dhamma, we won’t be able to recognize it.
So we practice contemplation in this way. If we aren’t particularly skilled in scripture, we take the mind itself to study and read. Continually we contemplate (lit. talk with ourselves) and understanding regarding the nature of the mind will gradually arise. We don’t have to force anything.
Constant Effort
Until we are able to stop our mind, until we reach tranquillity, the mind will just continue as before. It’s for this reason that the teacher says, ”Just keep on doing it, keep on with the practice!” Maybe we think, ”If I don’t yet understand, how can I do it?” Until we are able to practice properly, wisdom doesn’t arise. So we say just keep on with it. If we practice without stopping we’ll begin to think about what we are doing. We’ll start to consider our practice.
Nothing happens immediately, so in the beginning we can’t see any results from our practice. This is like the example I have often given you of the man who tries to make fire by rubbing two sticks of wood together. He says to himself, ”They say there’s fire here”. and he begins rubbing energetically. He’s very impetuous. He rubs on and on but his impatience doesn’t end. He wants to have that fire. He keeps wanting to have that fire, but the fire doesn’t come. So he gets discouraged and stops to rest for awhile. He starts again but the going is slow, so he rests again. By then the heat has disappeared; he didn’t keep at it long enough. He rubs and rubs until he tires and then he stops altogether. Not only is he tired, but he becomes more and more discouraged until he gives up completely. ”There’s no fire here!” Actually he was doing the work, but there wasn’t enough heat to start a fire. The fire was there all the time but he didn’t carry on to the end.
This sort of experience causes the meditator to get discouraged in his practice, and so he restlessly changes from one practice to another. And this sort of experience is also similar to our own practice. It’s the same for everybody. Why? Because we are still grounded in defilements. The Buddha had defilements also, but He had a lot of wisdom in this respect. While still worldlings the Buddha and the arahants were just the same as us. If we are still worldlings then we don’t think rightly. Thus when wanting arises we don’t see it, and when not wanting arises we don’t see it. Sometimes we feel stirred up, and sometimes we feel contented. When we have not wanting we have a kind of contentment, but we also have a kind of confusion. When we have wanting this can be contentment and confusion of another kind. It’s all intermixed in this way. Continue reading
“Letting go” actually means this: It’s as if we’re carrying a heavy rock. As we carry it, we feel weighed down but we don’t know what to do with it, so we keep on carrying it. As soon as someone tells us to throw it away, we think, “Eh? If I throw it away, I won’t have anything left.” So we keep on carrying it. We aren’t willing to throw it away.
Even if someone tells us, “Come on. Throw it away. It’ll be good like this, and you’ll benefit like that,” we’re still not willing to throw it away because we’re afraid we won’t have anything left. So we keep on carrying it until we’re so thoroughly weak and tired that we can’t carry it anymore. That’s when we let it go.
Only when we let it go do we understand letting go. We feel at ease. And we can sense within ourselves how heavy it felt to carry the rock. But while we were carrying it, we didn’t know at all how useful letting go could be. ~Ajahn Chah
Observe how your mother has become your child. Before you were her child, now she has become yours. She has become older and older until she has become a child again. Her memory goes, her eyes don’t see well and her ears aren’t so good. Sometimes she garbles her words. Don’t let it upset you. You who are nursing the sick must know how to let go also. Don’t hold onto things, just let her have her own way. When a young child is disobedient sometimes the parents let it have its own way just to keep the peace, just to make it happy. Now your mother is just like that child. Her memories and perceptions are confused. Sometimes she muddles up your names, or asks you to bring a cup when she wants a plate. It’s normal, don’t be upset by it. ~Ajahn Chah
When we’re born we’re already dead, you know. Aging and death are the same thing. It’s like a tree. Part of it’s the base; part of it’s the end at the tip. When there’s a base, there’s an end. When there’s an end, there’s a base. When there’s no base, there’s no end. When there’s an end, there has to be a base. An end without a base: That can’t be. That’s how it is.
So it’s kind of amusing. When a person dies, we’re sad and upset. We sit and cry, grieving — all kinds of things. That’s delusion. It’s delusion, you know. When a person dies we sob and cry. That’s the way it’s been since who knows when. We don’t stop to examine this carefully. Actually — and excuse me for saying this — it appears to me that if you’re going to cry when a person dies, it’d be better to cry when a person is born. But we have it all backwards. When a child is born, people beam and laugh from happiness. But actually birth is death. Death is birth. The beginning is the end; the end is the beginning. ~Ajahn Chah Continue reading
The cycle of rebirth is like a wagon wheel. An ox is pulling the wagon. If it keeps on pulling the wagon without stop, the wagon tracks will keep on erasing the ox tracks without stop. The wagon wheels aren’t long, but they’re round. You could say that they’re long, but their length is round. We see their roundness but we don’t see their length. As long as the ox pulls without stopping, the wagon wheels turn without stopping.
On a later day the ox stops. It’s tired. It drops the yoke. The ox then goes its way, the wagon goes its way. The wagon wheels stop of their own accord. If you leave them there a long time, they disintegrate into earth, water, wind, and fire, turning back into grass and dirt.
It’s the same with people who are still making kamma: They don’t come to closure. People speaking the truth don’t come to closure. People with wrong views don’t come to closure. ~Ajahn Chah
“In Simple Terms: 108 Dhamma Similes”, by Ajahn Chah
translated from the Thai by Thanissaro Bhikkhu.
Access to Insight (Legacy Edition), 2 November 2013
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