Part Two:
Inner Skill
The ABC's of the Breath
September 27, 1957

There are three important parts to meditating: thinking, awareness, and the breath. All three of these parts have to be kept right together at all times. Don't let any one of them come loose from the others. 'Thinking' refers to thinking 'buddho' together with the breath. 'Awareness' means knowing the breath as it goes in and out. Only when thinking and awareness are kept fastened constantly with the breath can you say that you're meditating.

The in-and-out breath is the most important part of the body. In other words, (1) it's like the earth, which acts as the support for all the various things in the world. (2) It's like the joists or girders that hold up a floor and keep it sturdy. (3) It's like a board or a sheet of paper: When we think 'bud-' with an in-breath, it's as if we rubbed our hand once across a board; and when we think 'dho' with an out-breath, it's as if we rubbed the board once again. Each time we rub the board, some of the dust is bound to stick to our hand, so if we keep rubbing it back and forth, the board is going to become glossy. When it's very glossy, it'll be so clear that we can see our reflection in it. These are the results that come from our thinking. But if we go rubbing hit-or-miss, we won't be able to see our reflection even in a mirror, much less in a board.

In another sense, the breath is like a piece of paper. When we think 'bud-' in with the breath, it's as if we took a pencil and wrote a letter of the alphabet on a piece of paper. If we keep doing this, eventually we'll be able to read what we've written. But if our mind doesn't stay constantly with the breath, it's as if we wrote sometimes right and sometimes wrong. The letters we'd write would be a mess and wouldn't even be letters. No matter how large our piece of paper might be, the whole thing would be a mess. We wouldn't be able to read what letters we had written or what they were supposed to say.

If we're intent, though, and think of the breath as a piece of paper, we'll write down whatever message we want on the paper and know for ourselves what we've written. For example, thinking 'bud-' is like taking a pen to our paper. It'll give us knowledge. Even after we've stopped writing, we'll still benefit. But if we're not really intent on our writing, our letters won't be letters. If we draw a picture of a person, it won't be a person. If we draw an animal, it won't be an animal.

* * *

When we start learning to write, we have to use chalk because it's big, easy to write with and easy to erase. This is like thinking 'buddho.' Once we advance in our studies, we start using a pencil because its mark is clear and longer-lasting. For example, the sentence, 'Where's Dad?' is a piece of knowledge. If we can only read the separate letters, 'W' or 'D', it doesn't really count as knowledge. So we then throw away our chalk. In other words, we don't have to repeat 'buddho.' We use our powers of evaluation (vicara) to see, as we're breathing: Is the in-breath good? Is the out-breath good? What kind of breathing is comfortable? What kind of breathing isn't?

Then we correct and adjust the breath. Pick out whichever way of breathing seems good and then observe it to see if it gives comfort to the body. If it does, keep that sense of comfort steady and put it to use. When it's really good, benefits will arise, perfecting our knowledge. Once we've obtained knowledge, we can erase the pencil marks in our notebooks because we've seen the benefits that come from what we've done. When we go back home, we can take our knowledge with us and make it our homework. We can do it on our own at home; and when we stay at the monastery, we can keep at it constantly.

So the breath is like a piece of paper, the mind is like a person, knowledge is like a note: Even just this much can serve as our standard. If we're intent on just these three things — thinking, awareness, and the breath — we'll give rise to knowledge within ourselves that has no fixed limits and can't possibly be told to anyone else.

As the Mind Turns
August 9, 1958

Every person has both awareness and unawareness, like a doctor who has studied various diseases: He's knowledgeable about the diseases he's studied, but not about the ones he hasn't. We human beings have both darkness and brightness. The darkness is unawareness; the brightness, awareness.

* * *

The affairs of the world keep spinning around like a wheel. We who live in the world thus have both pleasure and pain in line with worldly conditions — the wheel of rebirth. Whenever we spin around and run into the cycle of pain, we feel that the world is really narrow and confining. Whenever we spin around and run into the cycle of pleasure, we feel that the world is wide and refreshing, an inviting place to live. This happens because we spin along with the world and so we don't really know the world as it actually is. Once we stop spinning, though, we'll come to know the ways of the world and the true nature of the Dhamma.

Whenever we run along after the world, we can't see the world easily. For this reason, we first have to stop running. Then we'll see it clearly. If the world is spinning and we're spinning too, how can we expect to see it? It's like two persons running: They'll have a hard time seeing each other's faces. If one stops but the other is running, they can see each other somewhat, but not clearly. If they're both running, they'll see each other even less clearly. For example, if we're sitting or standing still and someone sneaks up, hits us over the head, and then runs off, we'll have a hard time catching him. In the same way, if we spin around or get involved in the spinning of the world, we'll have even less chance of knowing or seeing anything. The Dhamma thus teaches us to stop spinning the wheel of rebirth so that we can know the world clearly.

When an airplane propeller or any bladed wheel is spinning, we can't see how many blades it has, what shape they are, or how fine they are. The faster it spins, the less we can see its shape. Only when it slows down or stops spinning can we see clearly what shape it has. This is an analogy for the spinning of the currents of the world — the outer world — and for our own spinning, we who live in the world.

The outer world refers to the earth in which we live. The world of fashionings refers to ourself: our body and mind, which are separate things but have to depend on each other, just as the world and people, which are separate things, have to depend on each other. If we had a body but not a mind, we wouldn't be able to accomplish anything. The same would be true if we had a mind without a body. So the mind is like a person dwelling in the world. The mind is the craftsman; the body, its work of art. The mind is what creates the body. It's what creates the world.

The world is something broad and always spinning, something hard to see clearly. This is why the Buddha teaches us to stop spinning after the world, and to look only at ourself. That's when we'll be able to see the world. We ourself are something small — a fathom long, a span thick, a cubit wide — except that our belly is big. No matter how much we eat, we're never full. We never have enough. This stands for the greed of the mind, which causes us to suffer from our lack of enough, our desires, our hunger.

To see ourself or to see the world, the Buddha teaches us to survey ourself from the head to the feet, from the feet to the head, just as if we're going to plant a tree: We have to survey things from the ground on up to the tips of the branches. The ground stands for the purity of our livelihood. We have to examine the ground to see if it has any termites or other pests that will destroy the roots of our tree. Then we have to add the right amount of fertilizer — not too little, not too much. We have to care for it correctly in line with its size. For example, how do we observe the five precepts so that they're pure? How do we observe the eight, the ten, and the 227 precepts so that they're pure? What things should we abstain from doing? What things should we do? This is called Right Livelihood.

If we attend too much to our physical pleasure, we tend not to give rise to virtue, like certain kinds of trees that are very healthy, with large branches and lush foliage, but tend not to bear fruit. If a person eats a lot and sleeps a lot, if he's concerned only with matters of eating and sleeping, his body will be large and hefty, like a tree with a large trunk, large branches, large leaves, but hardly any fruit. We human beings — once our bodies are well-nourished with food — if we then listen to a sermon or sit in meditation, tend to get drowsy because we're too well nourished. If we sit for a long time, we feel uncomfortable. If we listen to a sermon, we don't know what's being said, because we're sleepy. This ruins our chance to do good. People who are too well nourished tend to get lazy, sloppy, and addicted to pleasure. If they sit in meditation, they tend to get numb, tired, and drowsy.

This is why we're taught to observe the eight uposatha precepts as a middle path. We eat only during half of the day, only half full. That's enough. This is called having a sense of moderation with regard to food. We don't have to load up or compensate for missing the evening meal. We eat just enough. 'I abstain from eating at the wrong time': After noon we don't have to turn to another meal, so that the heart won't turn after the world. This is like giving just enough fertilizer to our tree.

'I abstain from dancing, singing and ornamenting the body': The Buddha doesn't have us beautify the body with cosmetics and perfumes, or ornament it with jewelry. This is like giving our tree just the right amount of water. Don't let the soil get water-logged. Otherwise the roots will rot. In other words, if we get attached to scents and to beauty of this sort, it'll make us so infatuated that our virtue will suffer. This is like taking scraps of food and pouring them around the foot of our tree. Dogs will come to trample over the tree, chickens will peck at the leaves and flowers, and fire ants will eat into the roots, causing our tree to wither or die. All sorts of complications will come to hassle us.

'I abstain from high and large beds': When we lie down to sleep, the Buddha doesn't have us use soft mattresses or cushions that are too comfortable, because if we have a lot of comfort we'll sleep a lot and not want to get up to do good. The results of our concentration practice will be meager, and our laziness will grow rampant. This is like caterpillars and worms that burrow throughout the soil: They'll keep whispering to us, teaching us all sorts of things until ultimately they tell us to stop doing good — and so we stop. This is like insects crawling up from the ground and eating into our tree, climbing higher and higher up until they reach the tiptop branches: the mind. Ultimately, when they eat the tips of the branches, the tree won't bear flowers. When it has no flowers, it won't bear fruit. In the same way, if we lack a sense of moderation in caring for ourself, we won't be practicing Right Livelihood. If we don't have a proper sense of how to nourish and care for the body, our conduct will have to degenerate. But if we have a proper sense of how to nourish and care for the body, our conduct will have to develop in the direction of purity, and the mind will have to develop along with it, step by step.

* * *

The world has its highs and lows, its good and evil, and we're just like the world. Our body — no matter how much we care for it to make it strong and healthy, beautiful and comfortable — will have to be good in some ways, and to malfunction in others. What's important is that we don't let the mind malfunction. Don't let it go branching out after its various preoccupations. If we let the mind go around thinking good and evil in line with its preoccupations, it won't be able to advance to a higher level. So we have to make our tree have a single tip: We have to center the mind firmly in a single preoccupation. Don't let your moods hold sway over the mind. We have to cut off the mind from its preoccupations with sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and tactile sensations, leaving only a single mental preoccupation. Let a preoccupation with what's good and worthwhile arise in the mind. Don't let any of the forms of mental corruption arise.

Mental corruption refers to (1) greed for sights, sounds, smells, tastes, etc.; (2) ill will — focusing on this matter or that person as bad, and going from there to a desire for retribution, leading to a confrontation or to violence; (3) wrong views — seeing that doing good doesn't lead to good results; for example, seeing that being generous, observing the precepts, or practicing meditation doesn't make a person rich or happy, so that we stop doing good. We have to rid the heart of these three forms of mental corruption. When the heart is freed from corruption, it will have to enter mental rectitude, becoming a worthwhile mind, pursuing Right Undertaking: in other words, meditation.

In practicing meditation, we really have to be true in our work if we want results. We have to be true in our body, true in our speech, true in our heart. Our body has to sit straight and unmoving in a half-lotus position. Our speech has to be silent, not saying a thing. Our heart has to be set straight and still, not flitting out after allusions to past or future. If we can be true in our work in this way, we'll have to succeed and see results. If we're slipshod and desultory, our work won't succeed. This is why we're taught,

anakula ca kammanta edam-mangalam uttamam:

'Undertakings that are not left unfinished are a supreme good omen.'

In practicing meditation, the mind is what gives the orders. In other words, we should have a base or a frame of reference, contemplating the breath so that it becomes refined — because the more refined something is, the higher its value. Our breath sensations are of five sorts:

(1) The first are the breath sensations that flow from the head down to the tips of our feet. (2) The second are those that flow from the tips of the feet to the head. These two sorts take turns running back and forth like a rope over a pulley that we pull up and down.

(3) The third sort are the breath sensations that flow throughout the body. These are the sensations that help ventilate the body, receiving our guests — the breath permeating in through the skin — and expelling the inner breath, keeping the pure, beneficial breath in the body and expelling the harmful breath out through the pores.

(4) The fourth sort is the breath in the upper abdomen, guarding between the heart, lungs, and liver on the one hand, and the stomach and intestines on the other. It supports the upper organs so that they don't press down on the lower ones and keeps the lower organs down so that they don't push up and crowd the upper ones. This sort of breath we have to observe in order to see in what way it's heavy on the left or right side.

(5) The fifth sort are the breath sensations flowing in the intestines, helping to warm the fires of digestion, just as if we were steaming fish or other foods to keep them from spoiling. When our food is cooked, it can be of use — like the steam condensing on the lid of a pot — to enrich the blood that nourishes the various parts of the body. Whichever kind of nourishment should become hair, nails, teeth, skin, etc., the blood sends to those parts.

These breath sensations are always flowing in waves through the intestines to disperse the heat of digestion. When we eat, it's like putting food in a pot on the stove and then closing the lid. If there's no ventilation in the pot at all, and we simply add fire, it won't be long before our stomach is wrecked and our intestines ruined, because we've closed the lid so tightly that no air can pass in or out, until the heat becomes too strong and burns our food to a crisp. Our body won't get any benefit from it. On the other hand, if the heat is too low, our food won't cook through. It'll spoil, we'll get an upset stomach, and again our body won't get any benefit. These sorts of breath sensations help keep our digestive fires just right for the body.

If we look at these five sorts of breath sensations in the correct way, we're sure to reap two sorts of results: (1) In terms of the body, those of us with many diseases will have fewer diseases; those of us with few diseases may recover completely. Diseases that haven't yet arisen will have a hard time arising. (2) In terms of the mind, we'll become contented, happy, and refreshed. At the same time, meditation can help free us from bad kamma because unskillful mental states won't have a chance to infiltrate the mind. Our life will be long, our body healthy. If we keep developing our meditation to higher and higher levels, the four properties (dhatu) of the body will become clear and pure.

* * *

If we practice meditation by keeping the breath in mind until the breath is refined and the mind is refined, the breath settles down to a stop and the mind settles down to be still, then we'll be able to see our body and mind clearly. The body and mind will separate from each other, each existing independently — just as when outsiders don't come entering in and insiders don't go out. Awareness will arise within us as to how the body is functioning, how the mind is functioning. How has our body come into being? We'll know. And where will it go from here? We'll know where it came from, where it's going — we'll know it completely. What actions we did in our past lives that caused us to be born in this state, we'll know. This is called knowledge of past lives.

2. The people and other living beings who've been our parents, brothers, sisters, relatives, and friends: Where have they come from? When they die, what sorts of pleasures and pains will they meet with? And where? We might be able to make contact with them and send streams of mental energy to help them. This is called knowledge of death and rebirth.

3. We'll see that the body and mind are inconstant, stressful, and not-self, to the point where we become disenchanted with them. This will cause us to let go of the body and will free us from the fetters of attachment. These fetters include such things as attachment to worldly phenomena (loka-dhamma): When we let ourselves get pleased with gain, status, pleasure, and praise, it's no different from the King of Death tying our hands up tight. Then when he gives a single lash with his whip — i.e., we suffer loss, disgrace, pain, and censure — we come tumbling right down.

Another kind of fetter is self-identification — attachment to the body, seeing it as 'us' or as an entity, which gives rise to misconceptions. Another fetter is uncertainty — doubts and hesitation, running back and forth, not knowing which way to go and ending up spinning around along with the world.

Once we know the ways of the body and mind, we'll be released from these fetters. The mind will gain release from the body and shed the fermentations of defilement. This is called knowledge of the end of mental fermentation. The mind will gain liberating insight and flow into the current of Dhamma leading ultimately to nibbana.

When we stop spinning along with the world, we'll be able to see the world — our body — clearly. Once the mind stops, we can then see the body. For this reason, we should slow down the spinning of the body by distilling and filtering its properties, making them more and more refined; slow down the spinning of our words by keeping silent; and slow down the spinning of the mind, making it firm and still by centering it in concentration, thinking about and evaluating the breath. When the mind stops spinning after its various concepts and preoccupations, our words and body will stop along with it. When each one has stopped, we can see them all clearly. The mind will know the affairs of the body through and through, giving rise to liberating insight that will slow down the spinning of the wheel of rebirth. Our births will become less and less until ultimately we won't have to come back to live in a world ever again.

* * *

To practice meditation is one sort of food for the heart. Food for the body is not anything lasting. We eat in the morning and are hungry by noon. We eat at noon and are hungry again in the evening. If we're full today, tomorrow morning we'll be hungry again. We keep eating and defecating like this, and the day will never come when we've had enough. We'll have to keep looking for more and more things to eat. As for food for the heart, if we prepare it really well, even for a little space of time, we'll be full for the rest of our life.

Mental Power, Step by Step
July 26, 1956

Try to be mindful as you keep track of the breath going in and out. Don't let yourself forget or be distracted. Try to let go of all concepts of past or future. Silently repeat 'buddho' in your mind — 'bud-' in with every in-breath, and 'dho' out with every out — until the mind settles down and is still. Then you can stop your mental repetition and begin observing the in-and-out breath to see how fast or slow, long or short, heavy or light, broad or narrow, crude or subtle it is. Stick with whichever way of breathing is comfortable. Adjust whichever way of breathing isn't comfortable or easy until it's just right, using your own discrimination — dhamma-vicaya-sambojjhanga — as your standard of judgment. (When you're making adjustments in this way, you don't have to do any mental repetition. You can let 'buddho' go.)

You have to keep an eye on your mind to make sure that it doesn't wander, waver, or fly out after any external concepts. Keep the mind still, indifferent and unconcerned, as if there were only you sitting alone in the world. Let the breath spread throughout every part of the body, from the head to the tips of the fingers and toes, in front, in back, in the middle of the stomach, all the way through the intestines, along the blood vessels, and out through every pore. Breathe long and deep until the body feels full. The body will feel light, open and spacious, just like a sponge full of water: When we squeeze the water out, it all comes out easily without any interference.

At this point, the body will feel light and at ease. The mind will feel as cool as the water that permeates the soil, seeping into the roots of trees, keeping them nourished and fresh. The mind will be set straight and upright, not leaning to the left or right, forward or back. In other words, it doesn't stretch out to any concepts or outside preoccupations at all.

Concepts lie at the essence of mental fashioning. The mind thinks of matters either past or future, and then starts elaborating on them as good or bad, liking or disliking them. If we see them as good, we get pleased and taken with them: This is delusion. If we see them as bad, we get displeased, which clouds and defiles the mind, making it irritated, restless and annoyed: This is ill will. The things that give rise to unrest and disturbance in the mind are all classed as Hindrances (nivarana) — fashionings that fashion the mind, destroying whatever is good in our practice of concentration. So we have to do away with them all.

Mental fashionings, if we think in terms of the world, are world-fashionings. If we think in terms of dhamma, they're dhamma-fashionings. Both sorts come from avijja, unawareness. If this unawareness disbands, awareness will arise in its stead. So we have to try to increase the strength of our concentration to the point where fashionings disband — and at that point, unawareness will disband as well, leaving only awareness.

This awareness is identical with discernment, but it's a discernment that arises from within. It doesn't come from anything our teachers have taught us. It comes from the stillness of mind focused on events in the present. It's an awareness that's very profound, but it's still mundane — not transcendent — discernment, because it comes from labels and concepts. It's still tied up with affairs of being and birth.

Perhaps we may become aware of matters of the past, knowing and seeing the states of being and birth we've been through. This is called knowledge of past lives. Perhaps we may become aware of the future, knowing the affairs of other people, how they die and are reborn. This is called knowledge of death and rebirth. Both these forms of knowledge still have attachment infiltrating them, causing the mind to waver in line with its likes and dislikes. This is what corrupts our insight.

Some people, when they learn of the good states of being and birth in their past, get engrossed, pleased, and elated with the various things they see. If they meet up with things that aren't so good, they feel disgruntled or upset. This is simply because the mind still has attachment to its states of being and birth. To like the things that strike us as good or satisfying is indulgence in pleasure. To dislike the things that strike us as bad or dissatisfying is self-affliction. Both of these attitudes are classed as wrong paths that deviate from the right path, or Right View.

Matters of the past or future, even if they deal with the Dhamma, are still fashionings, and so are wide of the mark. Thus the next step is to use the power of our concentration to make the mind even stronger, to the point where it can snuff out these mundane forms of discernment. The mind will then progress to transcendent discernment — a higher form of discernment, an awareness that can be used to free the mind from attachment — Right Mindfulness, the right path. Even though we may learn good or bad things about ourself or others, we don't become pleased or upset. We feel nothing but disenchantment, disinclination, and dismay over the way living beings in the world are born and die. We see it as something meaningless, without any substance. We're through with feelings of liking and disliking. We've run out of attachment for ourself and everything else. The mind has moderation. It's neutral. Even. This is called six-factored equanimity (chalang-upekkha). We let go of the things that happen, that we know or see, letting them follow their own regular course without our feeling caught up in them. The mind will then move up to liberating insight.

At this point, make your strength of mind even more powerful, to the point where it is freed from attachment even to the realizations it has come to. Knowing is simply knowing; seeing is simply seeing. Keep the mind as something separate. Don't let it flow out after its knowing. We know, and then leave it at that. We see, and then leave it at that. We don't latch onto these things as being ours. The mind will then gain full power and grow still of its own accord — not involved, not dependent on anything at all.

Fashionings disappear completely, leaving just a pure condition of dhamma: voidness. This is the phenomenon of non-fashioning. Release. The mind is free from the world — exclusively within the current of the Dhamma, without going up or down, forward or back, progressing or regressing. The mind is a stake driven firmly in place. Just as when a tree is attached to a stake by a rope: When the tree is cut down, the rope snaps in two, but the stake stays put. The mind stays put, unaffected by any objects or preoccupations. This is the mind of a Noble Disciple, a person free from the fermentations of defilement.

Whoever trains his or her heart in line with what has been mentioned here will meet with security, contentment, and peace, free from every sort of trouble or stress. What we have discussed briefly here is enough to be used as a guide in the practice of training the mind to gain release from suffering and stress in this lifetime. To take an interest in these things will be to our advantage in the times to come.

Observe & Evaluate
July 24, 1956

In fixing our attention on the breath, the important point is to use our powers of observation and evaluation and to gain a sense of how to alter and adjust the breath so that we can keep it going just right. Only then will we get results that are agreeable to body and mind. Observe how the breath runs along its entire length, from the tip of the nose on down, past the Adam's apple, windpipe, heart, lungs, down to the stomach and intestines. Observe it as it goes from the head, down past your shoulders, ribs, spine, and tail bone. Observe the breath going out the ends of your fingers and toes, and out the entire body through every pore. Imagine that your body is like a candle or a Coleman lantern. The breath is the mantle of the lantern; mindfulness, the fuel that gives off light. Your body, from the skeleton out to the skin, is like the wax of the candle surrounding the wick. We have to try make the mind bright and radiant like a candle if we want to get good results.

* * *

Everything in the world has its pair: There's dark and so there has to be bright. There's the sun and there's the moon. There's appearing and there's disappearing. There are causes and there are results. Thus, in dealing with the breath, the mind is the cause, and mindfulness the result. In other words, the mind is what acts, mindfulness is what knows, so mindfulness is the result of the mind. As for the properties of the body — earth, water, fire, and wind — the breath is the cause. When the mind makes the cause good, the physical result is that all the properties become radiant. The body is comfortable. Strong. Free from disease. The results that arise by way of the body and mind are caused by the act of adjusting. The result is that we notice and observe.

When we sit and meditate, we have to observe the breath as it goes in and out to see what it feels like as it comes in, how it moves or exerts pressure on the different parts of the body, and in what ways it gives rise to a sense of comfort. Is breathing in long and out long easy and comfortable, or is breathing in short and out long easy and comfortable? Is breathing in fast and out fast comfortable, or is breathing in slow and out slow? Is heavy breathing comfortable, or is light breathing comfortable? We have to use our own powers of observation and evaluation, and gain a sense of how to correct, adjust, and ease the breath so that it's stable, balanced, and just right. If, for example, slow breathing is uncomfortable, adjust it so that it's faster. If long breathing is uncomfortable, change to short breathing. If the breath is too gentle or weak — making you drowsy or your mind drift — breathe more heavily and strongly.

This is like adjusting the air pressure on a Coleman lantern. As soon as the air and the kerosene are mixed in the right proportions, the lantern will give off light at full strength — white and dazzling — able to spread its radiance far. In the same way, as long as mindfulness is firmly wedded to the breath, and we have a sense of how to care for the breath so that it's just right for the various parts of the body, the mind will be stable and one, not flying out after any thoughts or concepts. It will develop a power, a radiance called discernment — or, to call it by its result, knowledge.

This knowledge is a special form of awareness that doesn't come from anything our teachers have taught us or anyone has told us. Instead, it's a special form of understanding praised by the Buddha as Right View. This form of understanding is coupled with mindfulness and alertness. It ranks as Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration as well. When a mind rightly concentrated gains increased strength, the results can lead to intuitive insight, direct realization, purity of knowledge, and ultimately to release, free from any sort of doubt.

The mind will be independent, quiet, light, and at ease — self-contained like a flame in a glass lantern. Even though insects may come and swarm around the lantern, they can't put out the flame; and at the same time, the flame can't lick out to burn the hand of the person carrying it. A mind that has mindfulness constantly watching over it is bound to be incapable of stretching or reaching out to take up with any preoccupations at all. It won't lick out in front or flicker back behind, and external preoccupations won't be able to come barging into the heart. Our eyes — the eyes of our discernment — will be clear and far-seeing, just as if we were sitting in the interstices of a net, able to see clearly in whichever direction we looked.

* * *

What does discernment come from? You might compare it with learning to become a potter, a tailor, or a basket weaver. The teacher will start out by telling you how to make a pot, sew a shirt or a pair of pants, or weave different patterns, but the proportions and beauty of the object you make will have to depend on your own powers of observation. Suppose you weave a basket and then take a good look at its proportions, to see if it's too short or too tall. If it's too short, weave another one, a little taller, and then take a good look at it to see if there's anything that still needs improving, to see if it's too thin or too fat. Then weave another one, better-looking than the last. Keep this up until you have one that's as beautiful and well-proportioned as possible, one with nothing to criticize from any angle. This last basket you can take as your standard. You can now set yourself up in business.

What you've done is to learn from your own actions. As for your previous efforts, you needn't concern yourself with them any longer. Throw them out. This is a sense of discernment that arises of its own accord, an ingenuity and sense of judgment that come not from anything your teachers have taught you, but from observing and evaluating on your own the object that you yourself have made.

The same holds true in practicing meditation. For discernment to arise, you have to be observant as you keep track of the breath and to gain a sense of how to adjust and improve it so that it's well-proportioned throughout the body — to the point where it flows evenly without faltering, so that it' s comfortable in slow and out slow, in fast and out fast, long, short, heavy, or refined. Get so that both the in-breath and the out-breath are comfortable no matter what way you breathe, so that — no matter when — you immediately feel a sense of ease the moment you focus on the breath. When you can do this, physical results will appear: a sense of ease and lightness, open and spacious. The body will be strong, the breath and blood will flow unobstructed and won't form an opening for disease to step in. The body will be healthy and awake.

As for the mind, when mindfulness and alertness are the causes, a still mind is the result. When negligence is the cause, a mind distracted and restless is the result. So we must try to make the causes good, in order to give rise to the good results we've referred to. If we use our powers of observation and evaluation in caring for the breath, and are constantly correcting and improving it, we'll develop awareness on our own, the fruit of having developed our concentration higher step by step.

* * *

When the mind is focused with full circumspection, it can let go of concepts of the past. It sees the true nature of its old preoccupations, that there's nothing lasting or certain about them. As for the future lying ahead of us, it's like having to sail a small boat across the great wide sea: There are bound to be dangers on all sides. So the mind lets go of concepts of the future and comes into the present, seeing and knowing the present.

The mind stands firm and doesn't sway.
Unawareness falls away.

Knowledge arises for an instant and then disappears, so that you can know that there in the present is a void.

A void.

You don't latch on to world-fashionings of the past, world-fashionings of the future, or dhamma-fashionings of the present. Fashionings disappear. Avijja — counterfeit, untrue awareness — disappears. 'True' disappears. All that remains is awareness: 'buddha... buddha...'

The factor that fashions the body, i.e., the breath; the factors that fashion speech, i.e., thoughts that formulate words; and the factor that fashions the mind, i.e., thinking, all disappear. But awareness doesn't disappear. When the factor that fashions the body moves, you're aware of it. When the factor that fashions speech moves, you're aware of it. When the factor that fashions the mind moves, you're aware of it, but awareness isn't attached to anything it knows. In other words, no fashionings can affect it. There's simply awareness. At a thought, the mind appears, fashionings appear. If you want to use them, there they are. If not, they disappear on their own, by their very nature. Awareness is above everything else. This is release.

Meditators have to reach this sort of awareness if they're to get good results. In training the mind, this is all there is. Complications are a lot of fuss and bother, and tend to bog down without ever getting to the real point.

The Refinements of the Breath
August 3, 1956

When we sit in meditation, the important point is to be observant of the levels of the breath. The breath in the body has three levels: common, refined and profound.

1. The common breath is the breath we breathe into the body. It comes in two sorts. (a) That which is mixed with impure or polluted air: When it goes into the lungs, it doesn't all come out. The dregs hang on in the body. And when these dregs mix with the blood in the heart, they can cause the blood to be harmful to the body, giving rise to diseases. But these diseases don't need to be treated with medicine. If we treat them using the breath, they'll go away. (b) The other sort of common breath is that which is beneficial — the breath mixed with pure air. When it mixes with the blood in the heart, it's beneficial to the body.

2. The refined breath is gentle and soft. It's the delicate breath sensations derived from the in-and-out breath that permeate between the blood vessels and nerves. This breath is what gives rise to our sense of feeling throughout the body.

3. The profound breath lies deeper than the refined breath. It's cool, spacious, empty, and white.

The refined breath that spreads to nourish the body is the important level of breath to use as a basis for observing all three levels of the breath. When this refined breath is spread fully throughout every part of the body, the body will feel light, empty, and quiet — but we're still mindful and alert. The mind is stable and so is the sense of the body. When this is the case, we're constantly mindful and alert. At this point, a bright light will appear in our sensation of the breath. Even though our eyes are closed, it's as if they were open. We'll feel as if the breath in our body had a white glow, like the mantle of a Coleman lantern bathed with light. This is the profound breath. The mind becomes serene and still; the body becomes serene and still.

The mind at this point is said to be in Right Concentration, which can lead to liberating insight. Liberating insight can cut away all concepts dealing with past and future. In other words, the mind is content to stay with the profound breath, the spacious and empty breath. As long as the mind hasn't penetrated to this level of the breath, it isn't free from Hindrances. It doesn't give rise to discernment; it has no true awareness. But when the awareness that comes from stillness gains power, it gives rise to strength and light. The mind and breath are both bright. When every aspect of the breath is equally strong, the profound breath becomes apparent: quiet and smooth; free from waves; motionless and resilient. The breath at this point isn't affected by the in-and-out breath. The body is quiet, with no feelings of pain. It feels buoyant, saturated and full, like the mantle of a Coleman lantern: There's no need to pump, there's no sound, the air inside seems still, and yet the light is dazzling. All that's needed is the vapor of the kerosene, and the lantern will give off light.

The body is quiet, with no ups or downs, highs or lows. When the breath is smooth and level in this way, it makes the body feel light, empty, and quiet. This is called kaya-passaddhi: physical serenity. The mind, which stays with the quiet body, is termed citta-passaddhi: a serene mind. When the mind stays with this stillness, it becomes bright. This brightness comes from the mind's being firmly centered. When the mind is firmly centered, it leads to insight.

When insight arises, we can be aware on the level of physical sensations (rupa) and mental acts (nama) that arise from the in-and-out breath. We're aware of the common breath, the refined breath, and the profound breath. We can keep tabs on all three levels of the breath. When our awareness reaches this point, we can be said to know the breath, or to know sensation. Then we observe how these things affect the mind. This is called knowing mental acts. Once we can know both sensation and mental acts, we'll know: 'This is true awareness. This is how true awareness goes about knowing.' As long as we can't make the mind behave in this way, we can't know. And when we can't know, that's avijja, unawareness.

Unawareness is darkness. The common breath is dark, the refined breath is dark, the profound breath is dark. How harmful this darkness is for the body and mind, we don't know: more darkness. Unawareness. Unawareness is like putting tar oil in a Coleman lantern. Avijja has all the bad features of tar oil. It gives rise to nothing but trouble — darkness — for other people, at the same time being destructive to our own heart and mind, just as a fire fed with tar oil will give off nothing but black smoke. The more tar oil we feed it, the blacker the smoke — and then we go around thinking that our black smoke is something special, but actually it's unawareness, i.e., unaware of the fact that it's unawareness. So we get more and more wrapped up in our unawareness until we're covered thick with soot.

Soot is a form of filth that gives rise to harm. When a fire gives off black smoke, its light is bad, the fire is bad, the smoke is bad. Bad smoke is the nature of unawareness; and since it's bad, the knowledge it gives rise to is bad, the results it gives rise to are bad. These are all things that give rise to suffering and stress. This is the sort of harm that comes from unawareness.

The harm caused by unawareness is like a wood-fire. A wood-fire makes us sweat and — as if that weren't enough — its light is red and fierce like the light of the sun. Whatever it's focused on will go up in flames. Any place a wood-fire burns for a long time will become black with soot, in the same way that a person who builds a wood-fire gets himself all dirty. His face and arms get black, his clothes get black, but since he sees this blackness as his own, he doesn't take offence at it. Just like an infected sore on his body: No matter how dirty or smelly it may be, he can still touch it without feeling any revulsion. But if he saw the same sore on someone else, he'd be so repulsed that he couldn't stand to look at it and wouldn't even want to go anywhere near.

Anyone whose mind is wrapped up in unawareness is like a person covered with open sores who feels no embarrassment or disgust at himself. Or like soot on our own kitchen walls: Even though we see it, we simply see it, without any sense that it's ugly, disgusting, or embarrassing. But if we saw it in someone else's kitchen, we'd want to run away.

Unawareness is what kills people. Unawareness is a trap. But ordinarily a trap can catch only dull-witted animals. Sharp-witted animals usually don't let themselves get caught. If we're stupid, unawareness will catch us and eat us all up. If we live under the sway of ignorance — if we aren't acquainted with the three levels of breath in the body — we'll have to reap harm. To know them, though, is to have Right Mindfulness. We'll know the causes of our actions and their results. To know this is to be mindful and alert. Our body and actions will be clear to us, like a fire that's bright in and of itself. Where does its brightness come from? From the energy in the kerosene. So it is with the profound breath. It's quiet in the body, like a Coleman lantern glowing dazzlingly bright: It's quiet, as if no air had been pumped into it at all.

This is kaya-passaddhi, physical serenity. As for the mind, it's crystal clear all around. And like the glow coming off the mantle of the lantern, it's of use to people and other living beings. This is what's meant by 'pabhassaram idam cittam' — the mind is radiant. When we can keep the mind pure in this way, it gains the power to see what lies deeper still — but as of yet we can't know clearly. We'll have to make our strength of mind even more powerful than this: That's vipassana, clear-seeing insight.

When vipassana arises, it's as if we put kerosene directly on the mantle of a lantern: The fire will flame up instantly; the light will dazzle in a single flash. The concepts that label sensations will disappear; the concepts that label mental acts will disappear. All labeling and naming of things will disappear in a single mental instant. Sensations are still there, as always; mental acts are still there, as always, but the labels that take hold of them are cut, just like a telegraph line: The transmitter is there, the receiver is there, the line is there, but there's no connection — the current isn't running. Whoever wants to send a message can go ahead and try, but everything is quiet. So it is with the heart: When we cut through labels and concepts, then no matter what anyone may say to us, the heart is quiet.

This is vipassana, an awareness beyond the sway of unawareness, free from clinging and attachment. The mind rises to the transcendent, released from this world. It dwells in a 'world' higher than the ordinary worlds, higher than the human world, the heavenly and the Brahma worlds. This is why, when the Buddha gained the knowledge of unsurpassed right self-awakening, a tremor went through the entire universe, from the lowest reaches of hell up through the human world to the worlds of the Brahmas. Why? Because his mind had gained full power so that it could part its way up above the Brahma worlds.

For this reason, we should reflect on the common breath we're breathing right now. It gives rise to benefits mixed with harm. The refined breath nourishes the blood vessels a, nd nerves. The profound breath adjusts the breath sensations throughout the body so that the breath is self-sufficient in its own affairs. The earth property, the fire property, and the water property all become self-sufficient in their own affairs. And when all four properties are self-sufficient, they become equal and balanced, so there's no turmoil in the body. The mind is self-sufficient, the body is self-sufficient, and we can stop worrying about them, just like a child we've raised to maturity. The body and mind each become mature and independent in their own affairs.

This is termed paccattam: We see on our own and become responsible for ourselves. Sanditthiko: We can see clearly for ourselves. Akaliko: No matter when, as soon as we reflect on the three levels of the breath we immediately gain comfort and ease. To speak in legal terms, we've come of age. We're no longer minors and have full rights to our parents' legacy in accordance with the law. To speak in terms of the monastic discipline, we no longer have to stay under our teachers because we're fully able to look after ourselves. And to speak in terms of the Dhamma, we no longer have to depend on teachers or texts.

What I've been saying here is aimed at giving us a sense of how to apply our powers of observation to the three levels of the breath. We should attend to them until we gain understanding. If we're observant in keeping tabs on the three levels of the breath at all times, we'll reap results — ease of body and mind — like an employer who constantly keeps tabs on the workers in his factory. The workers won't have a chance to shirk their duties and will have to set their minds on doing their work as they're supposed to. The result is that our work is sure to be finished quickly, or to make steady progress.

The Direct Path
September 14, 1956

When you fix your attention on the breath, you must try to cut away all outside preoccupations. Otherwise, if you let yourself be distracted, you won't be able to observe the subtleties of the breath and mind

The breath energy in the body can be divided into three parts: one in the heart and lungs, another in the stomach and intestines, and a third in the blood vessels throughout the body. All three are breaths that are always moving; but there's another breath — a still breath, light and empty — centered in the diaphragm, between the heart and lungs on the one hand and the stomach and intestines on the other. This breath is motionless, unlike the breath distilled in the heart and lungs. It exerts no pressure on any part of the body at all.

As for the moving breath, when it strikes the blood vessels it feels warm or hot and sometimes causes excretions in your nose. If the breath is predominant over the fire property, it causes the blood to be cool. If the fire property is predominant over the breath property, it causes the blood to be hot. If these properties are combined in the right proportions, they give rise to a feeling of comfort and ease — relaxed, spacious, and still — like having an unobstructed view of the open sky. Sometimes there's a feeling of ease — relaxed, spacious, but moving: This is called piti, or rapture.

The best breath to focus on is the empty, spacious breath. To make use of the breath means to use whichever feeling is most predominant, as when you feel very relaxed, very empty, or very comfortable. If there's a feeling of motion, don't use it. Use just the feelings of emptiness, relaxation, or lightness. To use them means to expand their range so that you feel empty in every part of the body. This is called having a sense of how to make use of the feelings you already have. But in using these feelings, you have to be completely mindful and alert. Otherwise, when you start feeling empty or light, you might go thinking that your body has disappeared.

In letting these sensations expand, you can let them spread either one at a time or all together at once. The important point is that you keep them balanced and that you focus on the whole body all at once as the single object of your awareness. This is called ekayana-magga, the direct path. If you can master this, it's like having a white cloth that you can either keep hidden in your fist or spread out for two meters. Your body, although it may weigh 50 kilograms, may feel as light as a single kilogram. This is called maha-satipatthana — the great frame of reference

When mindfulness saturates the body the way flame saturates every thread in the mantle of a Coleman lantern, the elements throughout the body work together like a group of people working together on a job: Each person helps a little here and there, and in no time at all, almost effortlessly, the job is done. Just as the mantle of a Coleman lantern whose every thread is soaked in flame becomes light, brilliant, and white, in the same way if you soak your mind in mindfulness and alertness so that it's conscious of the entire body, both body and mind will become buoyant. When you think using the power of mindfulness, your sense of the body will immediately become thoroughly bright, helping to develop both body and mind. You'll be able to sit or stand for long periods of time without feeling tired, to walk for great distances without getting fatigued, to go for unusually long periods of time on just a little food without getting hungry, or to go without food and sleep altogether for several days running without losing energy.

As for the heart, it will become pure, open, and free from blemish. The mind will become bright, fearless, and strong. Saddha-balam: Your sense of conviction will run like a car running without stop along the road. Viriya-balam: Your persistence will accelerate and advance. Sati-balam: Your mindfulness and alertness will be robust, capable of knowing both past and future. For instance, knowledge of past lives and knowledge of other beings' death and rebirth: These two kinds of intuition are essentially forms of mindfulness. Once your mindfulness is fully developed, it can give you knowledge of people's past actions and lives. Samadhi-balam: Your concentration will become unwavering and strong. No activity will be able to kill it. In other words, no matter what you're doing — sitting, standing, talking, walking, whatever — as soon as you think of practicing concentration, your mind will immediately be centered. Whenever you want it, just think of it and you've got it. When your concentration is this strong, insight meditation is no problem. Pañña-balam: Your insight will be like a double-edged sword. Your insight into what's outside will be sharp; your insight into what's inside will be sharp.

When these five strengths appear in the heart, the heart will be fully mature. 'Saddhindriyam viriyindriyam satindriyam samadhindriyam paññindriyam': Your conviction, persistence, mindfulness, concentration, and discernment will be mature and pre-eminent in their own spheres. It's the nature of mature adults that they cooperate. When they work together on a job, they finish it. So it is when you have these five adults working together for you: You'll be able to complete any task. Your mind will have the power to demolish every defilement in the heart, just as a nuclear bomb can demolish anything anywhere in the world.

When your mind has this sort of power, liberating insight will arise like a lance with sharp edges on all four sides or a power saw whose blade has teeth all the way around. The body is like the stand on which the saw rests; the mind is the circular blade: Wherever it spins, it can cut through whatever is fed into it. This is the nature of liberating insight.

These are some of the results that come from knowing how to refine the breath and how to expand the still breath so that it benefits both body and mind. We should take these matters to heart and put them into practice as we are able, so as to share in these benefits.

Knowledge & Vision
July, 1958

The parts of the body that ache, that are tense, painful, or sore — think of them as hoodlums or fools. As for the parts that are relaxed and comfortable, think of them as sages. Ask yourself: Do you want to live with sages or fools?

It's not the case that the body will be painful in every part all at the same time. Sometimes our hand hurts, but our arm doesn't hurt; our stomach aches, but our back doesn't ache; our legs hurt, but our feet are fine; or our eyes hurt, but our head doesn't hurt. When this is the case, we should choose to stay with the good parts. If we take up company with more and more good people, they'll reach the point where they can drive out all the hoodlums. In the same way, when the mind is very still, the sense of comfort will become so great that we'll forget about aches and pains.

The breath energy in the body is like a messenger. When we expand the breath — this is what's meant by vicara — mindfulness will spread throughout the body, as if it were going along an electric wire. Being mindful is like sending electricity along a wire; alertness is like the heat of the electricity that energizes us and wakes us up. When the body is energized, no pains will overcome it. In other words, we wake up the properties of earth, water, wind, and fire so that they get to work. The properties of the body will become strong and healthy, making the body feel comfortable and well. This is termed mahabhuta-rupa. When this sense of mahabhuta-rupa is nourished with breath and mindfulness in this way, it will grow and mature. The properties will grow quiet and mature, and become maha-satipatthana, the great frame of reference.

This is threshold concentration; or vicara — spreading the breath.

In centering the mind, we have to put it on the middle path, cutting away all thoughts of past and future. As for worldly phenomena — gain and loss, status and disgrace, praise and censure, pleasure and pain — no matter how bad they may be or how fantastically good, we aren't interested — because even when they really have been good, they've left us long ago; and as for the good lying ahead, it hasn't reached us yet.

To feed on moods that are past is like eating things that other people have spit out. Things that other people have spit out, we shouldn't gather up and eat. Whoever does so, the Buddha said, is like a hungry ghost. In other words, the mind is a slave to craving, which is like saliva. We don't get to eat any food and so we sit swallowing nothing but saliva. The mind isn't in the middle way. To think of the future is like licking the rim of tomorrow's soup pot, which doesn't yet have even a drop of soup. To think about the past is like licking the bottom of yesterday's soup pot when there isn't any left.

This is why the Buddha became disenchanted with past and future, because they're so undependable. Sometimes they put us in a good mood, which is indulgence in pleasure. Sometimes they get us in a bad mood, which is indulgence in self-affliction. When you know that this sort of thing isn't the path of the practice, don't go near it. The Buddha thus taught us to shield the mind so that it's quiet and still by developing concentration.

When a person likes to lick his or her preoccupations, if they're bad, it's really heavy. If they're good preoccupations, it's not so bad, but it's still on the mundane level. For this reason, we're taught to take our stance in the present. When the mind isn't involved in the past or the future, it enters the Noble Path — and then we realize how meaningless the things of the past are: This is the essence of the knowledge of past lives. Old things come back and turn into new; new things come back and turn into old. Or as people say, the future becomes the past and the past becomes the future. When you can dispose with past and future, the mind becomes even more steadfast.

This is called Right Mindfulness. The mind develops strength of conviction (saddha-balam), i.e., your convictions become more settled in the truth of the present. Viriya-balam: Your persistence becomes fearless. Sati-balam: Mindfulness develops into great mindfulness. Samadhi-balam: The mind becomes firm and unshaking. Pañña-balam: Discernment becomes acute to the point where it can see the true nature of the khandhas, becoming dispassionate and letting go of the body and self so that the mind is released from the power of attachment. This, according to the wise, is knowledge of the end of mental fermentation.

To know where beings go and take birth is termed knowledge of death and rebirth. We become disenchanted with states of being. Once we know enough to feel disenchantment, our states of being and birth lessen. Our burdens and concerns lighten. The mind's cycling through states of being slows down. Just like a wheel when we put thorns in the tire and place logs in the way: It slows down. When the mind turns more slowly, you can count the stages in its cycle. This is called knowing the moments of the mind. To know in this way is liberating insight. It's awareness. To know past, future, and present is awareness.

* * *

The Noble Ones aren't attached to activities — to acting, speaking, or thinking — in any way. When the processes of action fall silent, their minds are empty and clear like space. But we ordinary people hold on to speaking, standing, walking, sitting, lying down, everything — and how can it help but be heavy? The Noble Ones let go of it all and so are at ease. If they walk a long time, they don't get weary. If they sit a long time, they don't ache. They can do anything without being weighed down. The people who are weighed down are those who hold on.

* * *

Stress for ordinary people is pain and suffering. The stress of sages is the wavering of pleasure.

* * *

The breath of birth or of life is the in-breath. The out-breath, when there's no in-breath, is the breath of death. Whether a person is to have the potential for a short or a long life depends on the in-and-out breath. Thus the breath is termed kaya-sankhara, the factor that fashions the body. It's the crucial factor in life. When you can catch hold of the breath, you can keep tabs on your own birth and dying. This is birth and dying on the obscured level. As for birth and dying on the open level, even fools and children can know it: 'Birth' means breathing, sitting, lying down, standing, walking, and so on. 'Death' means to stop breathing and to get hauled off and cremated. But birth and dying on the obscured level can be known only within. And not everyone can know them: Only those who still their minds can.

To focus on the breath this way is, at the same time, mindfulness of death, mindfulness of breathing, and mindfulness immersed in the body. Or you can call it ekayana-magga — unifying the sense of the body into a single, direct path. Vitakka is to bring the topic of meditation to the mind, to bring the mind to the topic of meditation. Vicara means to spread, adjust, and improve the breath carefully. The longer you keep at this, the more comfortable your going will be, just as when we work at clearing a road. The sense of the body will benefit in three ways, feeling light, cool, and comfortable. At this point, our meditation theme becomes even stronger, and the mind feels even greater ease and detachment, termed citta-viveka, or mental solitude. The sense of the body becomes more quiet and detached, termed kaya-viveka, or physical solitude.

* * *

The breath energy in the body falls into two classes. One class is called the 'feminine breath,' the gentle flow of energy from below the navel up to the head and out the nose. The other class is called the 'masculine breath,' the solid flow of energy from the ends of the feet up through the spine. Once you can focus on these breaths, don't go against their basic nature. Be conscious of them when you go in to coordinate and connect them, and observe the results that come from spreading and adjusting the breath. As soon as things feel smooth and easy, focus in on the breath in the stomach and intestines, and the breath energy that acts as a sentinel between them, keeping them from rubbing against each other, like the cotton wool used to pack a stack of glassware to keep the glasses from striking against one another.

* * *

When the breath is quiet and the mind at ease, this is goodness in its greater form. When the mind is at ease but the body in turmoil, this is goodness in a lesser form. Let the mind settle wherever there's a sense of comfort in the body, in the same way that we go to look for food in places where in the past we've found enough to eat our fill. Once the mind is full, rapture (piti) arises. Pleasure (sukha) saturates the heart, just as salt saturates pickled fish. The mind will take on value. The sense of the body will become bright, clear, and cool. Knowledge will begin to see bit by bit, so that we can come to see the nature of our own body and mind. When this state of mind becomes stronger, it turns into ñana-dassana — knowledge and vision.

Knowledge on this level comes from mindfulness, and vision from alertness. When the wavering of the mind stops, then craving for sensuality, for becoming, and for no becoming all stop. Pain and pleasure, let go of them. Don't give them a second thought. Think of them as words that people speak only in jest. As for the truth, it's there in the heart. If the mind still wavers and strays, there will have to be more states of being and birth. If sensual craving moves, it leads to a gross state of being. If craving for becoming moves, it leads to an intermediate state of being. If craving for no becoming moves, the mind will latch onto a subtle state of being. Only when we see this happening can we be said to know past, future, and present.

When this awareness is clear and full, the mind becomes dispassionate and loosens its attachments, coming to a full stop: the stopping of unawareness, the stopping of birth. This is why the Buddha felt no attachment for home or family, for wealth, servants, or material pleasures of any kind.

Coming Home
September 22, 1956

When you close your eyes while sitting in meditation, simply close your eyelids. Don't try to close off your eyes like a person sleeping. You have to keep your optic nerves awake and working. Otherwise you'll put yourself to sleep.

Think of your internal meditation object — the in-and-out breath — and then think of bringing your external meditation object — 'buddho,', awake, which is one of the virtues of the Lord Buddha — in with the breath.

Once you can focus comfortably on the breath, let the breath spread throughout the body until you feel light, supple, and at ease. This is called maintaining the proper quality in practicing concentration. To keep the mind fixed so that it doesn't slip away from the breath is called maintaining the proper object. Being firmly mindful of your meditation word, without any lapses, is called maintaining the proper intention. When you can keep your mind fixed in these three component factors, you can say that you're practicing meditation.

Once we set our mind on doing good in this way, things that aren't good — nivarana, or Hindrances — are bound to come stealing into the mind. If we call the Hindrances by name, there are five of them. But here we aren't going to talk about their names; we'll just talk about what they are: (1) Hindrances are things that defile and adulterate the mind. (2) They make the mind dark and murky. (3) They're obstacles that prevent the mind from staying firmly with the component factors of its meditation.

Hindrances come from external preoccupations, and external preoccupations arise because our internal preoccupation is weak. To say that our internal preoccupation is weak means that our mind doesn't stay firmly with its object. Like floating a dipper in a barrel of water: If it doesn't have anything to weigh it down, it's bound to wobble and tip. The wobbling of the mind is what creates an opening for the various Hindrances to come pouring in and make the mind lose its balance.

We should make ourself aware that when the mind starts tipping, it can tip in either of two directions: (1) It may go toward thoughts of the past, matters that happened two hours ago or all the way back to our very first breath. Distractions of this sort can carry two kinds of meaning for us: Either they deal in terms of worldly matters — our own affairs or those of other people, good or bad — or else they deal in terms of the Dhamma, things good or bad that have happened and that we've taken note of. (2) Or else our mind may tip toward thoughts of the future, which are the same sort of thing — our own affairs or those of others, dealing in terms of the world or the Dhamma, good or bad.

When our mind starts drifting in this way, we're bound to receive one of two sorts of results: contentment or discontentment, moods that indulge either in pleasure or in self affliction. For this reason, we have to catch hold of the mind constantly and bring it into the present so that these Hindrances can't come seeping in. But even then the mind isn't really at equilibrium. It's still apt to waver to some extent. But this wavering isn't really wrong (if we know how to use it, it isn't wrong; if we don't, it is) because the mind, when it wavers, is looking for a place to stay. In Pali, this is called sambhavesin. So we're taught to find a meditation theme to act as a focal point for the mind, in the same way that a movie screen acts as a reflector for images so that they appear sharp and clear. This is to keep external preoccupations from barging in.

In other words, we're taught to meditate by focusing the mind in one place, on the breath. When we think of the breath, that's called vitakka — as when we think 'bud-' in and 'dho' out, like we're doing right now. As for the wavering of the mind, that's called vicara. When we bring vicara into the picture, we can let go of part of vitakka. In other words, stop repeating 'buddho' and then start observing how much the body is affected by each in-and-out breath. When the breath goes out, does it feel easy and natural? When it comes in, does it feel comfortable? If not, improve it.

When we direct the mind in this way, we don't have to use 'buddho'. The in-breath will permeate and spread throughout the body, along with our sense of mindfulness and alertness. When we let go of part of vitakka — as when we stop repeating 'buddho,' so that there's only the act of keeping track of the breath — the act of evaluating increases. The wavering of the mind becomes part of our concentration. Outside preoccupations fall still. 'Falling still' doesn't mean that our ears go deaf. Falling still means that we don't stir the mind to go out after external objects, either past or future. We let it stay solely in the present.

When the mind is centered in this way, it develops sensitivity and knowledge. This knowledge isn't the sort that comes from studying or from books. It comes from doing — as when we make clay tiles. When we first start out we know only how to mix the clay with sand and how to make plain flat tiles. But as we keep doing it we'll start knowing more: how to make them attractive, how to make them strong, durable, and not brittle. And then we'll think of making them different colors and different shapes. As we keep making them better and more attractive, the objects we make will in turn become our teachers.

So it is when we focus on the breath. As we keep observing how the breath flows, we'll come to know what the in-breath is like; whether or not it's comfortable; how to breathe in so that we feel comfortable; how to breathe out so that we feel comfortable; what way of breathing makes us feel tense and constricted; what way makes us feel tired — because the breath has up to four varieties. Sometimes it comes in long and out long, sometimes in long and out short, sometimes in short and out long, sometimes in short and out short. So we should observe each of these four types of breath as they flow in the body to see how much they benefit the heart, lungs, and other parts of the body.

When we keep surveying and evaluating in this way, mindfulness and alertness will take charge within us. Concentration will arise, discernment will arise, awareness will arise within us. A person who develops this sort of skill may even become able to breathe without using the nose, by breathing through the eyes or the ears instead. But when we're starting out, we have to make use of the breath through the nose because it's the obvious breath. We first have to learn how to observe the obvious breath before we can become aware of the more refined breath sensations in the body.

The breath energy in the body, taken as a whole, is of five sorts: (1) The 'sojourning breath' (agantuka-vayas) continually flowing in and out. (2) The breath energy that stays within the body but can permeate through the various parts. (3) The breath energy that spins around in place. (4) The breath energy that moves and can flow back and forth. (5) The breath energy that nourishes the nerves and blood vessels throughout the body.

Once we know the various kinds of breath energy, how to make use of them, and how to improve them so that they feel agreeable to the body, we'll develop expertise. We'll become more adept with our sense of the body. Results will arise: a feeling of fullness and satisfaction pervading the entire body, just as kerosene pervades every thread in the mantle of a Coleman lantern, causing it to give off a bright white glow.

Vitakka is like putting sand into a sifter. Vicara is like sifting the sand. When we first put sand into a sifter, it's still coarse and lumpy. But as we keep sifting, the sand will become more and more refined until we have nothing but fine particles. So it is when we fix the mind on the breath. In the first stages, the breath is still coarse, but as we keep using more and more vitakka and vicara, the breath becomes more and more refined until it permeates to every pore. Olarika-rupa: All sorts of comfortable sensations will appear — a sense of lightness, spaciousness, respite, freedom from aches and pains, etc. — and we'll feel nothing but refreshment and pleasure in the sense of the Dhamma, constantly cool and relaxed. Sukhumala-rupa: This sense of pleasure will appear to be like tiny particles, like the mist of atoms that forms the air but can't be seen with the naked eye. But even though we feel comfortable and relaxed at this point, this mist of pleasure pervading the body can form a birthplace for the mind, so we can't say that we've gone beyond stress and pain.

This is one of the forms of awareness we can develop in concentration. Whoever develops it will give rise to a sense of inner refreshment: a feeling of lightness, like cotton wool. This lightness is powerful in all sorts of ways. Hinam va: The blatant sense of the body will disappear — panitam va — and will turn into a more refined sense of the body, subtle and beautiful.

The beauty here isn't the sort that comes from art or decoration. Instead, it's beauty in the sense of being bright, clear, and fresh. Refreshing. Soothing. Peaceful. These qualities will give rise to a sense of splendor within the body, termed sobhana, a sense of rapture and exhilaration that fills every part of the body. The properties of earth, water, fire, and wind in the body are all balanced and full. The body seems beautiful, but again this isn't beauty in the sense of art. All of this is termed panita-rupa.

When the body grows full and complete to this extent, all four of the elementary properties become mature and responsible in their own spheres, and can be termed mahabhuta-rupa. Earth is responsible in its own earth affairs, water in its own water affairs, wind in its own wind affairs, and fire in its own fire affairs. When all four properties become more responsible and mature in their own affairs, this is termed olarika-rupa. The properties of space and consciousness also become mature. It's as if they all become mature adults. The nature of mature adults, when they live together, is that they hardly ever quarrel or dispute. Children, when they live with children, tend to be squabbling all the time. So when all six properties are mature, earth won't conflict with water, water won't conflict with wind, wind won't conflict with fire, fire won't conflict with space, space won't conflict with consciousness. All will live in harmony and unity.

This is what is meant by ekayano ayam maggo sattanam visuddhiya: This is the unified path for the purification of beings. All four physical properties become mature in the unified sense of the body, four-in-one. When the mind enters into this unified path, it's able to become well-acquainted with the affairs of the body. It comes to feel that this body is like its child; the mind is like a parent. When parents see that their child has grown and matured, they're bound to feel proud. And when they see that their child can care for itself, they can put down the burden of having to care for it. (At this point there's no need to speak of the Hindrances any longer, because the mind at this point is firmly centered. The Hindrances don't have a chance to slip in.)

When the mind can let go of the body in this way, we'll feel an inner glow in both body and mind, a glow in the sense of a calm pleasure unlike the pleasures of the world — for instance, the body feels relaxed and at ease, with no aches or fatigue — and a glow in the sense of radiance. As for the mind, it feels the glow of a restful sense of calm and the glow of an inner radiance. This calm glow is the essence of inner worth (puñña). It's like the water vapor rising from ice-cold objects and gathering to form clouds that fall as rain or ride high and free. In the same way, this cool sense of calm explodes into a mist of radiance. The properties of earth, water, wind, fire, space, and consciousness all become a mist. This is where the 'six-fold radiance' (chabbanna-ransi) arises.

The sense of the body will seem radiant and glowing like a ripe peach. The power of this glow is called the light of the Dhamma (dhammo padipo). When we've developed this quality, the body is secure and the mind wide awake. A mist of radiance — a power — appears within us. This radiance, as it becomes more and more powerful, is where intuitive insight will appear: the means for knowing the four Noble Truths. As this sense of intuition becomes stronger, it will turn into knowledge and awareness: a knowledge we haven't learned from anywhere else, but have gained from the practice.

Whoever can do this will find that the mind attains the virtues of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, which will enter to bathe the heart. Such a person can be said to have truly reached the refuge of the Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha. Whoever can do even just this much is capable of reaching Awakening, without having to go and do much of anything else. If we're careful, circumspect, persistent, mindful, and discerning, we'll be able to open our eyes and ears so that we can know all kinds of things — and we may not even have to be reborn to come back and practice concentration ever again. But if we're complacent — careless, inattentive, and lazy — we'll have to come back and go through the practice all over again.

* * *

The reason we practice concentration is to disband the Hindrances from the heart. When the Hindrances are absolutely quiet, the mind can reach vihara-dhamma — the inner quality that can form its home. We'll then be able to gain complete freedom from the Hindrances. Our future states of rebirth will be no lower than the human level. We won't be forced to gain rebirth in the four realms of deprivation (apaya). Once the mind reaches its inner home, it's capable of raising itself to the transcendent level, to the stream flowing to nibbana. If we're not lazy or complacent, if we keep persevering with our meditation, we'll be able to gain release from the mundane level. If our mind gains the quality of stream-entry, we will never again have to be born in the realms of deprivation.

Stream-winners, if we were to explain them in really simple terms, are people whose minds are certain and sure, but who still have some forms of shoddy thoughts — although they would never dare let that shoddiness show in their actions. As for ordinary run-of-the-mill people, once they have a shoddy thought, it's bound to appear in their words and deeds — killing, stealing, etc. Although stream-winners may still have some forms of shoddiness to them, they don't act shoddy at all, like a person who has a knife in his hand when he's angry, but who doesn't use it to cut off anyone's head.

Ordinary people usually can't say no to their defilements. They usually have to act in line with their defilements as they arise. For example, when they feel strong anger they can't bear it. They have to let it show, to the point where they can get really ugly and do things that fly right in the face of morality. Stream-winners, although they do have defilements, can say no to them. Why? Because they have the discipline of mindfulness embedded within them, enabling them to tell right from wrong.

When the mind wavers in a good direction, they're aware of it. When it wavers in a bad direction, they're aware of it. They see, hear, smell aromas, taste flavors, feel tactile sensations just like ordinary people, but they don't let these things make inroads on the heart. They have the self-control that enables them to withstand their defilements, like a person who is able to carry a bowlful of water while running, without spilling a single drop. Even though stream-winners may be 'riding a bicycle' — i.e., sitting, standing, walking, lying down, speaking, thinking, eating, opening or closing their eyes — the permanent quality of their hearts never gets overturned. This is a quality that never disappears, although it may waver sometimes. That wavering is what can cause them to be reborn. But even though they may be reborn, they're reborn in good states of being, as human or heavenly beings.

As for ordinary people, they take birth without any real rhyme or reason, and they keep doing it over and over again. Stream-winners, however, understand birth. Although they experience birth, they let it disband. In other words, they have no use for shoddy impulses. They respond weakly to shoddy impulses and strongly to good ones. Ordinary people respond strongly to bad impulses and weakly to good ones. For example, a person who decides to go do good at a monastery — if someone then makes fun of him, saying that people who go to the monastery are old-fashioned or have hit rock-bottom — will hardly feel like going at all. But no matter how other people may try to talk him into doing good, he hardly responds. This is because the level of the mind has fallen very low.

As for stream-winners, no matter how many times shoddy impulses may occur to them, the goodness of nibbana acts as a magnet on their hearts. This is what draws them to keep on practicing until they reach the end point. When they reach the end point, there can be no more birth, no more aging, no more illness, no more death. Sensations stop, feelings stop, concepts stop, fashionings stop, consciousness stops. As for the six properties, they also stop. Earth stops, water stops, wind stops, fire stops, space stops, consciousness stops. The properties, khandhas, and sense media all stop. There's no mental label alluding to any of the khandhas. Mental labels are the media that let the khandhas come running in. When mental labels stop, there's nobody running. And when everyone has stopped running, there's no pushing and shoving, no colliding, no conversing. The heart looks after itself in line with its duties.

As for the properties, khandhas, and sense media, each is independent in its own area, each is in charge of its own affairs. There's no trespassing on anyone else's property. And once there's no trespassing, what troubles will there be? Like a match left lying alone in a match box: What fires can it cause? As long as its head isn't struck on anything abrasive, fire won't have a chance to arise. This doesn't mean that there's no fire in the match. It's there as it always was, but as long as it doesn't latch onto anything combustible it won't flare up.

The same is true of a mind that no longer latches on to the defilements. This is what is meant by nibbana. It's the ultimate good, the ultimate point of the religion, and our own ultimate point as well. If we don't progress in the threefold training — virtue, concentration, and discernment — we won't have any chance to reach the ultimate. But if we gather these practices within ourselves and advance in them, our minds will develop the knowledge and awareness that will be capable of pushing us on to an advanced point, to nibbana.

* * *

Noble disciples are like people who realize that rain water is the vapor that heat sucks up from the salt water of the ocean and then falls down as rain — and so that rain water is ocean water, and ocean water is rain water. Ordinary run-of-the-mill people are like people who don't know what rain water comes from. They assume that rain water is up there in the sky and so they deludedly wait to drink nothing but rain water. If no rain comes, they're sure to die. The reason for their ignorance is their own stupidity. They don't know enough to search for new resources — the qualities of the Noble Ones — and so will have to keep gathering up the same old things to eat over and over again. They keep spinning around in the cycle of rebirth in this way, with no thought of searching for a way out of this mass of suffering and stress. They're like a red ant that keeps probing its way around and around the rim of a bushel basket — whose circumference isn't even two meters — all because it doesn't realize that the rim of the basket is round. This is why we keep experiencing birth, aging, illness, and death without end.

As for the Noble Ones, they see that everything in the world is the same old stuff coming over and over again. Wealth and poverty, good and bad, pleasure and pain, praise and censure, etc., keep trading places around and around in circles. This is the cycle of defilement, which causes ignorant people to misunderstand. The world itself spins — Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and then back to the same old Sunday all over again. January, February, March, April, May, etc., up to November and December, and then back to January. The year of the rat, the ox, the tiger, all the way up to the year of the pig, and then back to the same old year of the rat all over again. Everything is like this, night following day, day following night. Nighttime isn't for sure: Our daytime is other people's nighttime, their daytime is our nighttime. Things keep changing like this. This is called the wheel of the world, which causes people with only partial knowledge to misunderstand and to quarrel.

When Noble Ones see in this way, they develop a sense of dispassion and don't ever want to be born in a world again — for there are all sorts of worlds. Some worlds have nothing but cold, others nothing but heat — no living beings can be born there. Some have only sunlight; others only moonlight; still others, neither sunlight nor moonlight. This is what is meant by lokavidu.

For this reason, once we've learned this, we should take it to think over carefully. Whatever we see as worthy of credence, we should then use to train our hearts so that the paths and their fruitions will arise within us. Don't be heedless or complacent in anything you do, for life is like dew on the grass. As soon as it's touched by the light of the sun, it vanishes in no time without leaving a trace.

We die with every in-and-out breath. If we're the least bit careless, we are sure to die, for death is something that happens very easily. It's lying in wait for us at every moment. Some people die from sleeping too much, or eating too much, or eating too little; of being too cold, too hot, too happy, too sad. Some people die from pain, others die without any pain. Sometimes even when we're sitting around perfectly normal we can still die. See that death has you surrounded on all sides — and so be earnest in developing as much goodness as you can, both in the area of the world and in the Dhamma.