Don’t Try to Purify the Mind, Understand Its Impurity | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

මුල් සිංහල වීඩියෝව සඳහා Play කරන්න

Don’t Try to Purify the Mind, Understand Its Impurity | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana 

Alright, these days we are discussing the Mahāsuññata Sutta. The reason for this was to explain the ninth point of the Dasadhamma Sutta in a little more detail, so we took this sutta as a substitute. The ninth point is, “Kaccānu kho ahaṁ suññāgāre abhiramāmi’ti pabbajitena abhiṇhaṁ paccavekkhitabbaṁ.” — "How do I, having gone forth, delight well in this place of seclusion (viveka)? This should be constantly reflected upon by one who has gone forth." This means that after we, who have been in a sensual world (kāma loka), come to a place like this, we have this tendency… when we repeatedly go back to those sensual pleasures, we form those bonds, and then, by doing the same things over and over, a certain weariness arises. A certain oppressive quality arises. We feel a sense of meaninglessness, as if there is no point. "What is this that we are doing every single day?" After a feeling like that arises, our chasing after sensual pleasures drops away. Because, for one, it doesn't exist the way I want it to. And secondly, I don't feel any lasting meaning in it. It's just exhaustion. Running, running, running. Then, after feeling this exhaustion, this weariness, this burden… after becoming tired from carrying this burden and chasing after sensuality, depending on another person to find happiness—that is, seeking another person's affection, love, and protection, and becoming a slave to it—we realize that we are subjected to significant pressure, a great deal of pain.
After that happens, we start to think, "Isn't there an escape from this for people?" Meaning, isn't there an independent life for people? Can't a person live without being a slave to another person, without becoming enslaved to another place, an institution, an organization, or an individual? A family is a kind of organization. The moment we enter this organization, we become enslaved, don't we? Whether you take an institution or any organization, when you enter it, even though there might be some security—that is, by being drawn to that place, there is some safety and protection—you realize that you have been enslaved by it, that you are being exploited. We begin to feel that. The other person is completely using you for their needs, for their desire. So, the moment we join an institution, the moment we join an organization, we are completely in a state of enslavement. We begin to feel the pressure and the weight of that slavery. So, after we start feeling that weight, we then begin to search for a state of release, some escape, some freedom.

On that journey of exploration, after coming to a spiritual place like this, a meditation center like this, we don't have those problems, do we? Because the wife, the husband, the children who are outside are not here. The chatter and chaos from outside are not here. The troubles are not here. So, we feel a sense of relief in that. We start to feel a relief, a relaxation, a lightness in it. But even after we start feeling that, the problem we have is that even though we've come to a place like this, there's the same kind of routine here, isn't there? Like that question that was asked yesterday, "Do we have to stick to this timetable?" "Do we have to sit at that exact time for the full hour?" So then, in a way, we realize that even though we left our homes and the limitations of our jobs, even though we left behind those connections, on one hand, we don't have that burden here now. I don't have to worry about "Where is my husband going? Where is he coming from? Who is my wife with? Who is she talking to?" I don't have to look into those things. Because in that respect, we are in a state of great relief. We are very free. Because here, there is no one I am bound to. There is no one who is 'mine'. I don't even have a child of my own. I have no child of my own. I have no one who I can call 'mine'. So, I have no burden whatsoever. I am not going to go searching for what someone who doesn't belong to me wants. It's not my concern. It's not relevant to me.

However, in that letting go, there is a great sense of peace. There is a great freedom. Otherwise, I would have to follow them, wondering, "What are they doing? I don't know what they are doing." There's no freedom, no peace of mind. And on the other hand, if you try to please that party, it creates even more work. You can never finish pleasing them. Whatever you give them, there's always a sense of dissatisfaction. So that's why, in the outside world… most of us have suffered a lot in the outside world, and have understood to some extent that you can never fully satisfy another person. Likewise, you yourself are always a slave to that object of desire. So, this burden is not here after coming to a place like this.

Well, if you create a problem after coming here, you create a burden here too. There's nothing I can do about that. That's one's own… some kind of curse. There's nothing to be done. After you carry your family into this place, or if you find a family within this place, then there’s nothing to be done, I'm sorry to say. Then you will have to endure that mass of suffering (dukkha-khandha), that mass of feeling (vedanā-khandha).

So, in that way, we have let go of a certain suffering, removed a certain suffering. I am not going to seek happiness from another person. I am independent. However, I also won't let anyone possess me. I am not going to be possessed by anyone. Meaning, I am not going to try to possess anyone as long as I am here, but I will not let any person, man or woman, get close to me. So you have to wear the mask of a demon (yakā). That's the way it is here. If you are living this monastic life, when you sense someone is approaching, put on your demon mood. Say, "You miserable fellow, get lost. Go look after your mother." That demon has to be there. Otherwise, they won't let you be free. They will look for a way to wedge themselves in from somewhere. So don't lose this peace again, don't lose this freedom again. That's why the freedom we gain here, after coming to a place like this, after choosing a life like this, is that no one can… with this robe, they can't, can they? How can they possess this? You cannot be possessed by anyone. And I am not going to try to possess anyone. If I do, it is not seemly. As the Buddha said, it is not beautiful. It's quite ugly, it doesn't fit. The Buddha says in the Mahāsuññata Sutta, there is no beauty in this. There is no attractiveness in it at all.

So, this is our fundamental principle. There is a sense of loving-kindness, there is respect for the other person. All of that is there. We respect them. We help the other person to develop the path. However, we do not let anyone possess us. And I do not go to possess anyone. When they try to cross that boundary… from a distance, one might seem gentle, but if they touch, fire will fly. Then, it's the demon (yakā). Then, it's the demoness (yakshani). That's enough. Any association, any friendship, let's keep it within the limits of a spiritual friendship (kalyāṇa-mitta). You and I have come here to extinguish suffering. So that level is sufficient. You look after your things, and I'll look after mine. Then it's very independent. We are not incorporated in any way. We don't become a family. Now, we as a team here, none of us are a family, are we? Each one of us is independent. No one depends on anyone else. We don't become sixteen. We have no hopes for anyone. No expectations. That is the nature of the renunciate life (pabbajjā) after coming to a place like this. That is our fundamental principle. From the moment you transgress this, you will have to experience the suffering of family life right here. When the temple becomes a family, that pain… and when you try to merge the two worlds, which are even more different, we realize the pressure begins to double. Even more than when we were outside. Because of the feeling that "this doesn't fit." That world is made for that very purpose. So, when you try to engage in both here, you always have to do it with a guilty feeling. You're working with a sense of wrongdoing, aren't you? The thought that "something I am doing doesn't belong here," or "I am doing something that doesn't fit this narrative,"… when that arises, you have to cover up that deep guilt. You have to add more arguments, more logic.

So, let's think. We choose a life like this willingly. No one comes and forces us, puts us in chains, and ordains us, right? That cannot be done. It is something I chose willingly. No one forced me, no one dragged me here. There is freedom to stay and freedom to leave, for both. We say it's very… it is a great freedom. Because that life itself is freedom. And the way we choose that life is also very free. It's not due to anyone's influence. Our mothers didn't say, "Son, go and become a monk," did they? If anything, they said not to. My mother didn't forcefully bring me, or a husband didn't bring me, or a child didn't bring me and say, "Become a monk," did they? So we realize it was a decision we made entirely by ourselves. Its responsibility also lies with me. Whether it's right or wrong, we take that risk. We take that risk in life. Taking that risk, we don't know what will happen. We don't even know if I will be able to live this life or not. Because it's not a life I have lived before. It is not a life lived before this. So, in this way, we take that risk, but there's a thrill in taking that risk. You don't know what's going to happen, what you're going to do. Taking a risk like that, you jump into life without being able to imagine it. So after taking that risk and making the leap, the next problem is, when we come to a place like this… what's in our head now is that we came here after working jobs, being with people, suffering, developing heavy depression, and with a lot of problems. Then, there's an idea in our head that we came to a place like this to live in freedom. Once you grab onto that idea of "living in freedom," once you install that "freedom" program in your head, a feeling of being trapped starts to arise here again. What's the reason? The problem after coming to a place like this is that here too, there's a timetable, isn't there?

Some people say, "Venerable sir, after going to school, when we come here again, we have to learn languages again." They say we have to learn Pali, attend English classes. "So this is like being put back in school again." Then, a subtle feeling of oppression arises in this. During our school days, we cut as many periods as we could. Some of us didn't even go to school; maybe a day or two a week, we’d go and come back because of the shouting from home. Otherwise, we’d jump in a stream or roam around, saying we were going to school but just wander somewhere, cutting periods and skipping school from the middle. That's the kind of set that mostly comes to a place like this. They were used to slacking off like that. After doing all that and realizing it's not working, after trying to fit into the system and the timetable outside, with periods changing one after another… just imagine, the place you came to for freedom has the same kind of schedule. From five in the morning... there is a set time. Starting from the morning, a timetable runs until 8 or 9 at night. So then we realize that what we have here is also a timetable. Here too, there is a routine for us. Meaning, look, at this time I have to go for the sermon. Then, I can't just go and eat whenever I feel like it, can I? I have to go to the alms hall at 11:30. When you look at that too, it's a way of confining a person to some extent, imposing a lot of rules. That too is a kind of suffering, we can't say it's not. We must wake up at 5 in the morning. So that's a bit of an asset, isn't it? Attendance is marked inside that. They even take phone calls asking, "Who isn't here?" So this is another mountain of rules. Looking at it from one perspective, we start to think, "Is this the same thing happening to us all over again?" The same thing happened to us. We can't sit where we want. We can't get up when we want. It's like school again. When we went to school, our mothers woke us up, but I don't know if they do that here or not. Some said they don't. So we see that something is happening again, our life is once again falling into a timetable, a routine. So we once again have to wake up early in the morning like we did in school. When the bell rings, it's like we have to go eat, we have to go to the alms hall at that time. Then, we are told to do some duties. There are some chores. When that's over, there's a pūjā. When that's over, there's something else. So these are not things I like, maybe not all the things I like, not all things I prefer.

That's it. If you come with an idea of "freedom" like that in your head, you will create a significant conflict with this timetable. You will have a big fight inside with this schedule. "What is this?" Then you have to fake a lot of illnesses. You have to get a fever once a week. You have to get gastritis. You have to get body aches. So, isn't this what we did at school to cut the timetable? We used the very same tricks in school. Something would always happen. A stomach ache. One day it's diarrhea. The next day it's a headache. Isn't this the same stuff we told our mother at home that we are saying here? The same things told to mother and father. Why? Because this too is a timetable. This too is a timetable. To escape this too, something like that needs to happen. Don't ask me if you never got sick during your school days. You did, right? There must have been times you were genuinely sick, but we weren't as sick as we claimed, were we? The day before a school trip, we never got sick, did we? Even if we had a slight fever, we'd still go. Even if we were genuinely sick, we'd go on that day. Even if we had to carry our leg on our shoulder, no matter the injury. Why? Because we liked it. We liked the trip, we liked the P.T. period. At that time, everything was fine for us. It's at other times that we'd go to the toilet about ten times. If a period was twenty minutes, we'd try to waste five or ten minutes of it, walking slowly to the toilet and back. I think you remember these times in our lives. The ways we cut the periods we disliked. At that time, you'd find some other work, like going to deliver messages in the school.

So, it's this very same mood that starts to surface after doing this for a while. That thing I mentioned… that sort of monotonous nature. This uniformity. This "Nihanda Arana" has also become a timetable for us. "Can't we do away with the timetable, wake up when we want, work when we want?" That's why the Buddha asks, "How joyfully are you living this life in the secluded dwelling (suññāgāra)? Or are you trying to do something to get out of it, like you did with school?" Are you trying to escape?

The issue is, we need to see the advantage, the convenience, of having a timetable. That is, if we didn't have a schedule like that, if we didn't have such a timetable, we wouldn't even realize... that feeling of emptiness in our mind, what would we fill that emptiness with? With some other sensual pleasure. That emptiness, either... we'd start sleeping non-stop. We'd just start sleeping. Why? Because there's no joy in this now. You're not experiencing this timetable internally, this meditation, this walking meditation, this listening to sermons, these duties. The love for it has faded away. The joy in it has faded away. After that joy fades, we look for any way to avoid this as much as possible. The moment we avoid it, we don't realize what our mind gets filled with during that avoided time. Our mind gets filled with absolutely meaningless things. Calling someone. Messing up our mind with something. We try to get off track and end up lost again. Wasted again. We go and cling to the very same mass of suffering (dukkha-khandha) that we had abandoned. We get caught again in the very same mass of feeling (vedanā-khandha) that we had let go of, and experience pain all over again.

That's why one thing my teacher told me when I was ordained was, "As much as possible, don't leave any time of the day empty. Fill it with a timetable," he said. "Don't put something called 'rest time'," he said. "In every task, if we do every task mindfully, every task itself is rest." That is, if we do any task without rushing, slowly, with full attention, with love, with silence… look at a person who works mindfully. You even like to watch them. There is absolutely no hurry. There is no rush at all. Even if the world shakes, even if the world turns upside down, that person is washing that one dish. Even if you shout at them to hurry, they are at their own speed, turning on the tap, washing it, and coming back. Whatever they are doing, when you watch them, there is a strange majesty about that person. No matter who gets agitated, no matter who fusses, when you look at them, you realize that person is in some other world. They are not in a race like us, not agitated like us, not running. They don't struggle like us. There is no rush in that person. That person has stopped, and is slow. However, the task they do is done neatly. They don't do the work halfway. If they are washing a dish, it will be washed beautifully. If they are cleaning, it will be thoroughly cleaned. It’s not about rushing to get to the next task, to "rest." When you watch them, you realize they are resting within that very task. They are taking their leisure within that work. They are experiencing freedom within that work. This is because they don't have a pre-installed program called "freedom," thinking, "After this work, I will be free."

Just take a good look at ourselves. When we say we are resting after finishing work, is it really a rest? We go to another task, don't we? To the phone. In truth, none of us ever really "rest" in life. What everyone does is, when they do one task continuously, it becomes monotonous. To counter that monotony, they change the task. That is, to erase the monotony, they switch jobs. It’s like how we change our food; if we eat the morning's meal for lunch, and the lunch meal for dinner, it feels monotonous, doesn't it? That’s why we change our food. It's not that we stop eating. We just change the food. When you do one thing continuously, it becomes monotonous, so you change the task because you get tired of it. So, we can understand very well when we examine our lives that what we have really done is not take a break, but rather, we have changed our tasks. We have been switching tasks because when we try to do one thing over and over, it becomes very difficult. We get fed up.

However, look closely, applying what I'm saying. After coming to a meditation center like this, we don't do anything as if it were "work," do we? We don't have things called "work." What we have is a meditation. Our life has become a meditation. This means we don't have work; we have the practice of meditation. What does it mean to meditate? It means to be mindful in this moment. What does it mean to be mindful in this moment? It means to work with awareness. Mindfully, silently. That's all. Very quiet. With complete attention on the task at hand, with love, there is no agitation. There is no hurry to finish. It's the hurry to get to the end, the hurry to see the conclusion, that keeps us in a state of exhaustion. Therefore, we are in no hurry to finish anything.

This is the characteristic of craving (taṇhā): always being in a hurry for the end, needing to see the conclusion. Even when you go to eat, you need to eat quickly and leave. Whatever you do, you need to do it quickly and then... it's not about resting, it's about needing to switch to the next task, needing to get to the next job. However, observe this thing I'm saying carefully. Practice this for a while. When doing any task, pause and do it with complete attention, in silence. The work will be done beautifully, and you will have no mental burden. The mind won't have that discomfort of, "I have to finish this quickly and go to the next thing." That doesn't exist. Meaning, when I do something with complete mindfulness, I don't feel the pain of time.

I perceive "time" relative to my likes (ruci) and dislikes (aruci). Look closely. We don't really have a thing called "time," do we? When I'm doing something I like, I don't notice the time. When I'm doing something I dislike, even if I spend five minutes with a person I dislike, it feels like a whole day, doesn't it? I feel the time acutely. So, understand this well. We feel time relative to our likes and dislikes. When we watch a movie we like, we don't even realize three hours have passed, do we? It's like, "Oh, it's over already." But when watching something we don't like, our body aches, we keep checking how many minutes are left. We feel the time intensely. That's when we realize that time is a relative concept. It is relative to one's own likes and dislikes.

However, when we do something mindfully, when we come into mindfulness (sati), we don't choose, "Is this something I like? Is this something I dislike?" Without knowing likes and dislikes, whatever task one undertakes, the task itself is not what's relevant. What is important to that person is the extent to which "I am doing this in a mindful and aware mood." It doesn't matter to them whether it's washing dishes or sweeping the floor. The more and more they apply that mindfulness and awareness, they realize they are not in a hurry to finish. There's no rush to get to an end. Because they know that they are not engaging with the work, but with mindfulness. As they become more and more established in that mindfulness, they begin to realize that they are unaware of time. Meaning, the day passes without them noticing. Sometimes, they've done all the work from morning, but they don't feel any burden. They don't feel any fatigue. Then someone asks, "How do you do so much work?" It's because they have rested in every task.

They become faster. When you look from the outside, their walking meditation is fast. When they work, they are fast. But despite that, inside, they feel more and more and more settled. They feel as if they are in a state of rest, no matter what they do. It feels to them that whatever work they do, they are at rest. Meaning, whatever they do, they are inwardly relaxed. Outwardly, a task that might take another person four hours, this person finishes in two. Another person might work eight hours, but this person gets it done in an hour or two, yet we don't see any agitation in them. The way I feel it, after we move into this awareness, it becomes automatic because there is no 'me' anymore. As we move completely into awareness, into mindfulness (sati), we realize that things are just getting done. We call it becoming automatic. One realizes, there is no burden of a 'doer' here. There is no exhaustion of a 'doer'. The 'doer' is the one who wants to finish quickly, who needs to get to an end, who is attached to "I like, I prefer, I dislike." It's when you get into all that, that a 'doer' appears. And when you try to finish quickly because of that 'doer', notice that it takes even longer to do the work than before, doesn't it? Things fall from here, things fall from there.

So, after this person goes into that state of awareness, into mindfulness, they realize that their inner world becomes silent. It is quiet. Even amidst the noise, what they feel is silence. A stillness. Within every activity, what they see is a stopping. That stopping... it feels as if, through not-speaking, speech begins to flow. Through not-doing, things begin to get done. Through not-looking, seeing begins to happen. Through not-thinking, thoughts begin to arise. Now, don't create a duality out of this. Don't take it as, "There is a thing called not-thinking, and from that place, thinking happens." Don't grasp this with a speculative view (ditthi). Don't break the words I am saying into two, like, "There is a thing called not-looking, and through that not-looking, one looks." However, I have to give an example: after going into that mindful, aware mode, an experience like this comes. That is, you realize that you are even more active on the outside than when you were 'working'. You don't feel any sleepiness at all. You don't feel any kind of fatigue. When doing something with mindfulness, we realize... it's like even if there are a hundred thousand people in the hermitage, it feels as if we are alone. Our inner being has become solitary. Our inner core… even if there are many people, it’s not that it feels lonely. It's not a sadness like, "Oh, even with a hundred thousand people, I am all alone." We call it a 'full solitude'. Meaning, a complete solitude is felt. But when we say it's empty, it's not a bleak emptiness. It's not a fed-up kind of emptiness. It is a completely full, a very... it's an emptiness where you can celebrate the solitude. You can celebrate the aloneness. That solitude itself is a celebration. That aloneness itself has become a celebration.

Yes, a person should understand this well. If someone is doing something having come to a state of awareness, in a mindful mood... the very nature of that mindfulness is what is called love. It’s not that love arises out of mindfulness. 'Mindfulness' is just another name for this state of loving-kindness. 'Mindfulness' is another name for solitude. We can't separate them, we can't break them into three like 'solitude', 'loving-kindness', and 'mindfulness'. Although we may talk about them as three things when we analyze them, as a person's mindfulness grows, as their awareness grows, that very nature is what we call solitude. That very nature... if you want, you can describe mindfulness as love. You can describe it as solitude. You can describe it as seclusion (viveka). Even if you analyze it through these different facets, it's not three or four or five different things. It is a fullness that comes with that inner centeredness. It's as if life itself is full. There's no separate Nibbāna (nivana) to be sought or attained by going somewhere beyond this. This very state becomes Nibbāna. This very mindfulness is the cessation. Mindfulness itself is seclusion. Mindfulness itself is solitude. So in the end, you don't find a separate thing called 'mindfulness'. That is, once life itself becomes mindfulness, 'mindfulness' is not a separate thing from life that you have to cultivate separately or do separately. In the beginning, we take on methods, but later, this very life is what is called mindfulness. Life becomes mindfulness. It becomes the present moment. It becomes awareness.

Yes, everything... it's because our mind has been impure that we see everything as ugly. In truth, when it becomes that state of mindfulness, when we become that state of awareness, the mind becomes pure. When we say the mind becomes pure, there isn't a 'pure mind' somewhere. The impurity just wears away. Otherwise, when you hear these words, you might think, "Ah, so there is a thing called a 'pure mind'." There is no such thing as a pure mind. It is only in relation to impurity that we speak of purity. Otherwise, many people think, "Ah, so if I meditate, I must attain a pure mind." There is no such thing as a pure mind. There is only the wearing away of impurity. That's all. Otherwise, we might imagine, "Ah, this 'pure mind' must be a white screen, or a white cloth. The mud that was on it must be getting washed away. This 'luminous mind' must mean that the mud is going away." It's not like that. In fact, from the perspective of the mud stain, the mud is finished. That's all. After the mud is gone, there is no 'place' called 'pure'. If you find a place called 'pure', that is just the remaining bit of impurity. The place you have found called 'pure' is the impure place that is left over. And if you find a place called 'pure', it can become impure again, can't it? Do you understand what I'm saying? If you find something, what you find is impurity. There is only the wearing away of impurity. If you find 'purity' at the end, then you have to maintain it. You have to upkeep it.

So that 'purity' you find… after you find such a place… at no point in this practice of cultivating mindfulness are we going to a 'place' of purity. What happens is that we understand the impurity more and more and more. That impurity is understood. That very understanding of impurity is the settling. That is the seclusion, that is the solitude. Try to see it from that perspective as much as possible. Otherwise, without knowing it, as you listen to these words, you will search for some pure place, some state of purity. "Ah, so there must be a clean state like this, a purified place where I can go and be in bliss and be free." In the end, it is by going in search of that place that you lose your freedom. That's what I said earlier. We went forth to be free, and in the end, we lost our freedom by searching for that 'place' of freedom. Why? "Oh no, this is a timetable. This has a schedule from morning till night. Where is the freedom in this?" You see what happened? You came looking for a pure state of freedom. You started searching for freedom. And that search for freedom happens as long as there is an 'I'. Freedom is letting go of that 'I'.

There is a seeker of freedom here, isn't there? "This is so troublesome, I am so stressed." Instead of looking for a good place where this stress doesn't exist, if that stressed-out one became free, if he understood the foolishness there... it's because of the foolish methods that he divides things, and then he has to seek freedom and liberation for that 'him'. Otherwise, no matter how beautiful you say a place is now, by tomorrow you'll say, "Oh dear, it feels chaotic again." Why is that? Because whenever you feel something nice, you try to settle down there, don't you? You try to establish yourself there. The Buddha says that's not it. Mindfulness (sati) is not that either. That rest is not a place to go and stay, a place to take refuge.

So that means... that seclusion and freedom you are feeling now? It's good if that disappears. It needs to disappear. You say you feel a certain loving-kindness, a lightness now, right? I pray that it gets destroyed very soon. May it be scraped away, may it be destroyed, may it be utterly annihilated! Because otherwise, you will settle down in some state and call it 'mindfulness'. You will try to take refuge in some state. You will think, "Ah, this must be Nibbāna. It must be something like this." No. Whatever you settle in, the Buddha says—look carefully at the suttas—the Buddha says, contemplating dispassion (virāgānupassī), contemplating cessation (nirodhānupassī), contemplating relinquishment (paṭinissaggānupassī)... look, whatever peace comes, do not call it 'I', do not call it 'mine'. That is, don't settle down. Don't become a family with it. Don't take refuge in it, don't become established in it.

So, do you understand what I'm saying? It's not a Nibbāna that 'we' attain. We are at peace with every object, rather than there being a Nibbāna to be found. That's why I said, if you go looking for a Nibbāna to find, you will say, "Oh dear, this is a timetable. I've become trapped again inside this. Can't you give me some freedom?" Some ask, "Is it okay if I don't chant? Do I really have to come?" It's like they need to be free during that time, as if it's a chore. "Haven't I done enough work?" Like that, they have things they are seeking as freedom. They don't know what mindfulness (sati) is. They don't know the path yet. They are still in relative concepts, in a 'freedom' that they have constructed. So, for them, freedom is sitting in meditation on the cushion. Or freedom is going to their room and being on their phone. So if you tell them, "No, don't sit on the cushion, go and work in the kitchen," they get angry, they get upset. "There's no freedom here! I ordained to meditate, what is this you're making me do?" Or, "You're telling me to come and chant." "Then you tell me to come at five o'clock." They want to go to their room and take a "rest." Look at what they do when they "rest." From one activity, they go to another activity seeking freedom. Or they go to the activity of being on the phone.

The nature of cultivating mindfulness (sati) is that one turns inward more and more. The characteristic of mindfulness is... it's something that is there if you look for it; if someone needs to talk, you talk, but other than that, it is not the nature of mindfulness to talk. The nature of mindfulness is to turn inward. The nature of mindfulness is to become silent. We say that a silent Dhamma flows through them. With some people, we don't need to talk a lot. When you are near a truly mindful person, it's a vibe. You don't need to talk that much. With a person whose awareness has developed, that loving-kindness... the moment you go to say, "I am very loving," the love is gone. The moment you try to show your loving-kindness, the moment you say, "I am feeling something like this," it's over. But you feel it when you are near them. There is something there. The way that person works is amazing. It's in what we call a "joyful mode." There is a song for example that says, "Come in joy, son, the door is not bolted. This chamber is virtuous..." Like that, the people around them can feel it. If my mindfulness has grown inside, "Wow, this person is in such a state of joy. Such a jolly fellow."

You see, when we go to give a Dhamma talk, we have to compose ourselves a bit, don't we? When we are discussing things, we get into a different vibe, a bit serious. But we associate with that person, don't we? You can't judge them by their sermon. When giving a sermon, one takes on a certain mood, and also we have a certain respect for the Tathāgata's Dhamma, so we compose ourselves in a certain way. There is an order there. There is a way of speaking. An invitation is made. The tray of betel leaves... that's why an invitation is made with a tray of betel leaves before a sermon. A sermon is not given without an invitation. And that's why when we give a sermon, we go to a high seat. Because of that vibe. That's why if a sermon is to be given, there's a sermon seat (dhammāsana), there's a tray of betel leaves. The invitation comes, "Venerable sir, please give us a discourse." Only if the invitation comes. At that time, one goes to the highest place. Because if you are listening to the Dhamma at this time, you must be humble. You must respect it. The Dhamma is not taught if there is no respect. For that, you remove your slippers, you sit down, you don't take a higher seat. If the listener is sitting on a high place, the sermon is not given from below, is it? It's not about arrogance. That is the nature of it. That is the way of it. The high seat is not for arrogance. It is for the respect of the Dhamma.

When a Dhamma talk is being given, even if a novice monk (sāmaṇera) is preaching, a fully ordained monk will sit on the floor. Why? Because at that moment, it is not the novice that matters. It is the Dhamma that is arising. In the presence of the Dhamma, it doesn't matter if one was ordained today or has a hundred years of seniority. Even if one is senior in monkhood, a seat is prepared for the preacher. At that moment, he is the important one. The Dhamma discourse. So at that point, we start to talk. We start to preach. What I feel is, after stepping down from there, none of that remains. After stepping down from that seat, he is no longer a preacher. But that is when you can truly grasp the person. When one is on the sermon seat, they speak to the point. But then, they step down from the sermon seat. And we live with that person for some time. As we live with them, we see, "Is this person truly joyful?" What we really love is not that formal persona, but that vibe. No matter how many serious truths he speaks about, no matter if he preaches on Nibbāna or emptiness (suññatā), when that person comes back down to earth, he is remarkably simple. Meaning, it's incredibly easy to associate with them. Imagine if someone, talking about the great Nibbāna, couldn't come down to earth and live with me in my monastic cell (kuti). If that person couldn't smile with me, if people felt tense when I was with them... then the vibe being created through me would be one of fear, wouldn't it? When someone is near me, the vibe that emanates would be one of being trapped, a great heaviness. "The vibe of that place is heavy." So I feel that if mindfulness (sati) is established within me, if I am connected to my inner awareness, if my inner being is connected to and settled in that state of mindful awareness, and if my life flows from within that mindfulness, then the person who comes near me will feel, "While we are stressed and weighed down and struggling so much, this venerable sir has responsibilities but shows no burden at all. He is just in a state of joy." It's like he's having some kind of fun, some kind of jolly time, some kind of delightful ease.

Then the other person feels like getting a little closer, thinking, "My goodness, what is this? How can he be like this? In today's world, how can one be like this?" Even if the world is on fire, like Nero fiddling while Rome burned, what is this life? Meaning, what are they asking? Now look, many of the children who are here are brought by their mothers. Even if the mother says, "Son, let's go this way," the child can sense, "Even though my mother is saying this, she looks like she's been struck by lightning, she's so tense." The child doesn't grasp the mother's or father's words. It's the way they live. No matter what they tell us, if the two of them are living with a heavy burden, the child is touched by that. The child understands, "Even though they say this, they don't have it." The nature they speak of… "Even though they tell us this, they are on fire, they are carrying a burden."

In the same way, what I am trying to say is that when mindfulness (sati) gets set in our inner being, a kind of fragrance emanates. It's not something that can be conveyed through sermons. It's not something to be read. In truth, no words are needed for this. Not a single word needs to be spoken. From that... that... it is felt when you are near. That... frequency... that mood... it's as if... as if we've been given morphine. When you take morphine—heroin is a type of morphine, isn't it?—you get relaxed. It's like being given morphine. I don't know if you've been given morphine before? When you get cancer, they give it, don't they? All the muscles relax. All the muscles relax and that rigid, stiff quality in the body goes away. The tightness in the body, the pain in the body, everything relaxes. In the same way, when you go near a person whose mindfulness is developed, it's like a stretched rubber band being released. A body that was heavy... like when you have a high fever and a severe headache, and suddenly, as you are just watching, it transforms into a blissful state. Do you understand what I'm saying? As you are watching, it's like a flower blooming. Like you've been given morphine. As you watch, little by little, that painful vibration starts to become a very happy vibration. It starts to become a very relaxed vibration.

It's like... I don't know what... it's like that joy is contagious. Somehow, a certain jolliness starts to spread. Laughter starts to spread. You came with a huge problem. You were on fire. You were fed up with your whole life, thinking, "Enough of this." But somehow, as you are explaining the problem... as you go to him and explain it, you start laughing. Meaning, you came clenching your teeth to state the problem, but you don't even know when, poof, you suddenly become relaxed. You start laughing. You're laughing as you tell the story. And now that you've told the problem, it doesn't even feel like a problem anymore. Inside, it's no longer a problem. But you came determined to tell it. And because you came to tell it, you say it, but now there's no need to tell it. There's nothing to say.

So, when you go near a person whose mindfulness (sati) is developed, while you are with a person whose mindfulness is developed, that is the relaxation you feel. That's the relaxation. But look at what happens when you go near some people. They tell you to come, and all you can think is, "When can I get away from here?" Like with our mothers, "Son, don't do this, do that..." We just think, "When can I run away from here?" We get fed up being near people who are constantly lecturing. But, when a relaxed person speaks, it's not the words. The words are almost irrelevant. We don't try to understand the words. The words just fly over our heads. What we are connected to is their mindfulness, their sati.

When you say sati, it sounds like some small, formal thing. "Oh, sati," and you imagine some white, serene image. It's not like that. Sati means lightness, gentleness. Sati means love. Sati means seclusion. That felt freedom is what is called sati. And we begin to receive that, to feel it. Once you start feeling it, you don't need to talk. People will find their way to you. As we say, if the product is good, if it's Japanese-made, you don't need advertisements, do you? People will go and find it. If the food in a shop is tasty, if the product is good... It's the mediocre food that needs elaborate carvings on the box to make it look nice. The more carvings, the worse the product inside. If the product is good, you don't really need to market it. You don't need to advertise to bring in a crowd. If the flower has a fragrance, if it has nectar, the bees will sense it. The bees will know, "There's a quality flower here." You don't need to publicize it or advertise it.

Understand this well, this is the nature of the Dhamma. This is the nature of this Truth. It's not something conveyed through big talks. Even if you are drawn to the words, it only lasts for a few days before it breaks. Why? Because even though this person uses the words, this is not their vibe that they are putting out. They've just listened here and there, read some books, read some suttas, and are repeating it like a parrot. It's just a recitation. Even if you are attracted and come closer, you realize there is no fragrance. It's a plastic flower. The advertisement made the flower look beautiful from afar, but when you get close, you realize... it's like those ads that say, "If you use this soap, you'll become like this," but when you try it, you see it doesn't happen. In the same way, when you get close to some people... you realize after a few days that this is not their vibe. It's something forced. But the person who truly has mindfulness (sati) doesn't even say that many words. There are no words. But the closer you get, like sandalwood that releases more fragrance the more you cut it, the more you get close, the more delightful it becomes. The closer you get, the more joyful it becomes. The closer you get, you realize, "Damn, freedom is right here." They don't try to trap you in any way. They don't try to pull you close.

But... this won't work if the other person doesn't want that. If they want to go and get trapped somewhere by someone, then this won't be a match. They will quickly let go and leave. Why? Because no matter how hard you try to get close, you can't. Because what is there is freedom, not closeness in that sense. There is a freedom. "You can come if you want; you can build a hut and stay." But if you try to get attached, you'll get fed up. It's like... a Vipassanā teacher I was told about... they said he is like a durian fruit. From afar, it looks a bit harsh. But when you get close and open the durian, the inside is incredibly sweet. But not everyone likes the taste of durian. Then, if you get even closer and try to eat even more and go for the pit, it's extremely bitter. You shouldn't get too close. One has to understand this well when associating with a teacher. If we try to go beyond a certain point with the teacher, it is our 'I' that is going there, and then you will have to taste bitterness.

We too should know, it's not good to stay at the husk. You need to break the husk and go inside. But if you try to go beyond that... "Come for the delight, son," but then if he reverts to his old habit of trying to possess it, then you've gone from eating the durian flesh to trying to eat the bitter pit. Then you'll get a thrashing. That song says, "Don't make too much noise. I have all your files." That's what the song says, right? "Don't act too big. I have the files of everyone who comes here." I don't remember the exact lyrics, but that's the gist. So, you can come for the delight. That is the mark of a person who has cultivated mindfulness (sati). They have something. If we try to take it, it's over. If we try to possess it, it's over. We need to connect to that vibe, to connect to that mindfulness, not to possess it. If we try to do that, I feel we will fall into a problem that wasn't there before. We'll see an oppression and an exhaustion that wasn't there.

The more and more we progress, we become internally silent. We have nothing to say, nothing to prove. We used to have this big program inside, "This will happen, then this will happen next," and so on. Now, there's no desire to put anyone on a special program, no desire to confine anyone. You came into a system, so you stay in the system. But I didn't say to come here to have me impose a system on you. But if you are happy, mindfulness will arise, and that joy will start to come. That's what will happen. But don't forget, stay seated on the side. If you try to come to the front, your head will be chopped off. If you try to take the main seat, your head will be cut off. You have to stay on the side. That's the nature of things. The moment one tries to rise up, they get cut down. It's the craving inside us that wants to come to the center. But as long as you stay on the side, you get to taste the sweetness. You get everything.

That's why I said, what happens more and more in this practice is that as you go into mindfulness (sati), you are in some kind of joy. There is a celebration that cannot be put into words. You don't need to talk to anyone. You really have nothing to say. If someone comes, something is spoken relative to them, but if you ask, "What are you saying?" there is nothing to say. The more you become mindfulness, the more the words fade. Everything really fades away. If someone asks, "Venerable sir, what is your teaching?" you don't feel anything like that. It is something that flows out of that emptiness. But that emptiness has no difficulty in speaking to the person who comes. If someone comes, the moment the two frequencies meet, what they need flows from this side. Other than that, there is nothing to say. There is nothing to talk about. And there is no such thing as 'not talking' either. It is completely free.

So that's the kind of experience there is. The important point I forgot to mention is that we don't search. The bees don't go searching for the flower... wait, the flower doesn't go searching for the bees. The bees start searching for the flower. In the same way, when you start to feel this mindfulness, everyone else is drawn to that vibe. Because it is the root nature of all of us. The root nature of all of us is this mindfulness, this awareness. When it emerges in someone, others are drawn to it. It's our original nature, so we feel a magnetic pull towards it. It's not that the other person gets something from the first person. The other person is just connecting to their own root nature. That's why they too begin to feel that joy. They too begin to feel that happiness. Ultimately, when you continue to cultivate this thing called sati, you don't feel it as something separate. Sati is this very life, right now. This is it. In the beginning, we talk about cultivating it, but later, we don't even think of it as "mindfulness." If someone asks what you did, "Well, I just sat for a bit. Cleaned the kitchen and came back." It's just... "just sat," "just came," "just walked." When I say "just," it's not out of emptiness or being fed up. There is no 'person' here. There is nothing being 'done' by a person here. Life becomes something... beyond that, you cannot speak about that life in words.

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[A participant begins to speak]

Venerable sir, with your permission. What you just said... I don't think it needs any more explanation. Everyone feels this. When you speak of yourself... because you are the one we see in front of us... I think everyone feels it. What I feel as a 'fragrance'... when I talk with the venerable sirs here, with everyone... what I feel and what is said, none of those words... they are of no use to me. It is the fragrance that I feel, venerable sir. That's what I understand. With that fragrance, you are just pulled in that direction. There's nothing to analyze, nothing to understand by listening to heavy words. There is some kind of fragrance. If I tried to say "it is this," it feels like I would be committing a crime, venerable sir.

And I wanted to say a small thing about the timetable we were discussing. The way I feel about it, venerable sir, the timetable isn't really a timetable. When we come here, we like to maintain a certain personality, don't we? So, all those things in the timetable are there to bring us into the common work. I remember when I first ordained, I used to wake up at 4 a.m. and run. I didn't do it for many days. Meaning, we try to do something extra. The old-timers would just laugh, because they knew it wouldn't last. But I tried, I liked waking up and doing that. And the first thing is sleep. Sleep is something we love very much, venerable sir. And waking up at 4 a.m. is a huge blow to our personality. What I see in the timetable... if the timetable feels like a burden, it's because it hits a part of us that is maintaining our personality. That's the piece, venerable sir. So what's here is not a timetable. If it feels heavy to us, we have to turn the torchlight back on ourselves and see that the weakness is within us. Meaning, I am still maintaining a "shape" called "freedom." It is the person who has that shape who sees this as a timetable. If we go along with it, even reluctantly, if we follow the timetable, without even realizing it, it's not like "I followed the timetable." Nothing is left inside of us. Because our personality breaks. The whole personality breaks down. It's not what we like. We have to do what someone else orders. The "freedom" we had at home, venerable sir, was just freedom to do what we wanted. When we felt like it, we could be free. No matter how burdensome we said it was, we were still doing what we liked. We never really did what others told us to do. We always found a way around it to do what we wanted. Here, the only thing is that we can't be the way we want. So, venerable sir, if someone here is trying to do what they want, that's where their mind gets into trouble. That's where the problems are. Otherwise, if one just submits to this simple timetable, I don't see any problem.

[The original speaker resumes]

Yes, that's what the teachers I mentioned told me. If it wasn't there, the time we take as "rest" is the time we go crazy. It's the time we get lost again. Why? We separate from the group and we become private. The moment we become private, those old tendencies, our patterns, our addictions, haven't ended yet. The time you cut the sermon, the time you don't come for the common activities... that's the time you go for those things. After a few days of that, just staying in your kuti, that emptiness gets filled with old sensual pleasures. With old addictions. Then you get ruined, get lost, and you don't even know what happened to you. When you are with the group, you don't have time to think like that. When one thing is over, there's the next activity. For one who is practicing mindfulness, this is irrelevant. For mindfulness, there is no "going from this work to the next work." Mindfulness is being aware moment by moment by moment. The talk of "work" is not felt there. "I did a lot of work, I am burdened with work," that is not felt. What they feel is that the whole day was just... here. Meaning, the whole day is like a single moment. It's like there isn't even a thing called "time." In the end, things get erased more and more. Meaning, you don't remember. "Did I do all that work? Did I eat today?" You don't even remember those things. The memory fades. At that time, that thing is done, and that's it. Nothing is remembered. Well, in the beginning, when you are practicing this, it can be a bit of a problem for those who have jobs. Because there isn't much major planning, is there? Other than doing what needs to be done at that particular time. So, for those who have jobs, this can be a bit of an issue in the beginning. Because the more and more one's awareness of the present moment increases, the less one goes into memory. We go into memory a lot because we have strong likes and dislikes. Think about it, even though we see so many dreams at night, we don't remember all of them, do we? Why? We only remember the parts where we had strong attachment or aversion. Even if we see a hundred thousand dreams, how many do we remember? It's just like that. If we travel from here to Colombo, we don't remember every single place, do we? Every single tree. But we do remember the supermarket, the city… those things we remember. To access memory, a lot of clinging and aversion is needed. The more you cultivate mindfulness (sati), the more that clinging and aversion decreases, and the more you are just in the present moment without any associated burden. So, in the early stages, a few problems like this can arise. But after about six months or a year, it becomes normal again. It’s not that he doesn't remember. At the necessary time, the necessary information comes beautifully, automatically. In the beginning, there's a bit of a 'delete' quality, but after some time, whatever is needed for that moment comes instantly, without having to recall it. It just flows.

This is why many people say that when they meditate, they tend to forget the world. It means that as clinging and aversion disappear, things and thoughts don't re-arise. For them to be remembered again and again, it has to be something we've held onto, right? We repeatedly remember something we like. When things are no longer special, with mindfulness, that sense of specialness disappears. When that specialness is gone, we might not have spoken to our mother for months and not even remember. As mindfulness is cultivated, that's what happens. You haven't spoken. You don't even know what has happened to her. Then suddenly, you remember, "Oh, I haven't spoken to my mother in a long time." But even after you call, you don't feel that… and the other party also senses it. They realize that you are not relishing any physical thing anymore, that you are not indulging in them. We don't savor those things as much as we used to. Then they realize, even if you send a message, it’s just, "Ah, yes. How are you? Fine." That's all. Before, we needed to ask, "And how are you? What's happening?" to maintain the relationship. Now, you begin to realize, as you cultivate mindfulness, we want to shed attachments. If we can, we want to give a short and sweet answer in one or two words and turn back to our solitude. That is the nature of mindfulness. Short and to the point. If asked, "How are you?" the answer is, "Fine." That's all. Why do I need to ask you if you are fine?

You don't make enemies. You don't need to make an enemy of anyone. But you realize that somehow in your life, there is more of a tendency to shed the crowd than to delight in company (gana-saṅganikā). You speak in order to let go. We used to say this about Goenka-sir... at the meditation center over there, Goenka-sir was like that. If someone came and asked a question about meditation, he would explain it very well. But then if they started talking about the situation in the country, the politics, the state of the dollar—a lot of foreigners used to come to Goenka-sir—he would just listen. He wouldn't speak a single word other than that. That was at the meditation center up on the other side. That's the nature of those whose mindfulness has developed; it comes from within them. They will explain anything within the bounds of the Dhamma. But if you go beyond that, they don't get angry, but the other person feels, "The connection is now broken. The connection is over." Now, no matter how much you talk, it's useless.

The venerable Ñāṇārāma was also like that, they say. In his final days, he had a board put up saying, "Do not speak for more than 10 minutes." Because as he got very old, many people started coming to him to have their meditation subjects clarified. One becomes famous after they pass away, don't they? So in his last days, a time limit of ten minutes was given to each person. And he was also the same; if you asked a meditation question, he would discuss anything. But if you talked about worldly things, "This person did this, that person killed someone," he would just say, "Ah, good." Even if you said a hundred thousand people were killed, "Ah, good." That is how to take one's solitude without making the other person angry. The person whose mindfulness is developed doesn't anger the other party, but they know the methods and ways.

It was the same with the venerable Kaḍavädduvē Jinavaṁsa. In his final years, he was in charge of the Yogāshrama Saṁsthā. He had nearly 180 hermitages under him, so people were always coming to him with problems—disputes between donors and monks and so on. He would listen to their problems very well. After listening, he would say, "Ah, so that's it then. Live in harmony." Then he would offer them some tea and sweets and tell them to go. When he passed away, the book written about his life was titled, "There's Nothing to It." "Ah, so there's nothing to it, is there?" That was all. He wouldn't give answers or try to solve problems. People knew it was useless to go to him, because in the end, all they would hear is, "There's nothing to it." You go with a grave and serious problem, wanting to get someone kicked out, and he would say, "Oh, it's just a small thing. Live happily with a smile," and offer you tea. You see? That person who has cultivated mindfulness knows from within how to let things go.

That's what the Buddha taught. The monk must know not to delight in company (gana-saṅganikā). If you are attached to a group, you cannot do this practice. But you can't do without a group either. We need a group like this to discuss things. But one must do it without losing one's seclusion (viveka). One must know how to say, "Hmm, good," or "There's nothing to it," to unnecessary talk. And one must also know to put up signs like "Retreat in progress." Otherwise, your relatives won't let you be. Your brother monks will say, "Can't you come for this alms-giving? Can't you come for that ceremony?" "What a pain, he's put himself on a retreat, otherwise he would come." You have to know how to keep your timetable full and be "busy." Be busy in a way that your solitude is protected, be busy on the side that increases your solitude. Otherwise, people will get angry. Your mother might not get angry, but the chief monks and others might. But even if they get angry... when the chief monk comes, you can present the two options to him, like cutting the boar's flesh with the boar's own fat. You show him the two sides and say, "Venerable sir, please make the decision you see fit." You appear to be obedient. But you have skillfully placed the ball in his court. You are not really obedient; you have cleverly arranged things for your own solitude. You have cut everything off, but without showing it to anyone, without making a show of it. Saying, "I am one who is dedicated to solitude, you all are mad," that is conceit (māna), that is arrogance. Then you have eaten yourself up. That is not solitude.

One has to be skillful. In Anuradhapura, near the Dutugemunu Rest, there was a monk. King Saddhātissa, who was very devoted to the Dhamma, heard about a spiritually advanced monk, an Arahant, living there. He took a large procession to go and see him. When the procession was approaching, the great monk, to protect his solitude, took off his outer robe, wearing only his under-robe, picked up a stick, and started drawing pictures in the sand like a child. When the king saw this, he thought, "They told me he was an Arahant. Look at him, acting like a child." He lost his faith and turned back.

The young monks were furious. "Venerable sir, you will pass away in a few days. We have to live here and maintain this place! If the king had come, we wouldn't have to worry about alms or anything. Look at what you did!" The elder monk just told them to mind their own business. When that great monk passed away, he made a resolution: "May my body not burn until King Saddhātissa, who doubted my Arahantship, touches it." They tried to light the funeral pyre, but it would not light. Then a young monk remembered what the elder monk had said. The king was summoned, and only after he came and touched the pyre did it ignite.

What I'm trying to say with that story is, look at how those spiritual friends protected their solitude. He discredited himself. If he had remained there, looking majestic, the place would have been flooded with people. Where would there be time for discussion? Where would there be solitude? A very small minority seek Nibbāna. If a place becomes like a great royal temple, you can't even breathe. So that monk was skillful in creating his solitude.

That's what I said, you can't teach these things. As mindfulness grows, the brain has to work. That cleverness has to come. How to skillfully cut things off here and create solitude. You have to shape your life to support that seclusion. That's why I said, be "busy," but busy on the side of solitude, on the side of seclusion.

As you cultivate mindfulness, this wisdom arises. You start to create places that value solitude, for those who seek seclusion for the sake of Nibbāna. You don't build big archways for everyone to come and see, like a carnival. You realize that's a different agenda. The agenda there is to build a name, a brand. We should try as much as possible to value solitude and dedicate our time to those who are striving for seclusion. Because in dedicating time for them, my own solitude also grows.

So, I feel that with mindfulness, the inner being slowly learns to delight in the empty quarters (suññāgāra), to delight in seclusion (viveka), as the Buddha said. But I am not saying I am without fault. If there are shortcomings in what I am expressing, you all must criticize me, you must accuse me. It is that accusation that purifies me. It is that criticism that purifies me. There is no spiritual journey without criticism. The journey exists through criticism and accusation—not those based on hatred, but those meant to help us see the shapes of our ego (mamathvaya), because the ego's nature is to always hold on to something. It will even hold on to 'letting go'. I might think I am on the path, letting everything go, but a teacher or those around me can see, "No, he is now struggling with clinging to the idea of 'letting go'." That is something I cannot see for myself.

For example, if we talk about Nibbāna. If someone tries to attain Nibbāna by saying, "I will realize Nibbāna," it's impossible. Nibbāna is not something you grasp. It is the very end of grasping. But the end-point of grasping is still a form of grasping. So that too is not Nibbāna. The end-point of grasping is bliss (sukha). Bliss is a supreme form of grasping. That's why I said that as you cultivate mindfulness, happiness and love arise. That is the highest level of grasping. I never said that sati was Nibbāna. If you listened to my words carefully, I said the nature of mindfulness is that a great bliss is felt, a great solitude is felt. But that is not Nibbāna. It is the end of grasping. You can experience the end of grasping, which is a pleasure. But Nibbāna can be experienced... does it even feel like bliss?

We can practice and talk about the state of Arahantship. But we cannot talk about Nibbāna. Do you understand what I'm saying? Arahantship is the end of suffering (dukkha); the Arahant is at the end-point of suffering. That's why we call it a happy state. But Nibbāna happens when you jump past even Arahantship. Now, you might be hearing this as, "So, there must be something called Nibbāna beyond Arahantship." If so, that is this side again. That is another grasping. Do you see what I am saying? That is why we speak of the end of suffering, which is Arahantship; we cannot speak about Nirvāṇa. We cannot speak about the Unconditioned Element (asankhata-dhātu). The very moment we speak about the Unconditioned Element, we have made Nibbāna conditioned (sankhata). That is why it is said that in the end, even at the stage of Arahantship, one understands that the body is still being grasped, and the anticipation of final passing away (parinibbāna) is also a release from that. Even there, there is a subtle, subtle defilement (kilesa). Now, don't go into an argument about whether an Arahant has defilements. That's where it can lead. Don't go that far, because then this sermon will get sidetracked. Those things must be discussed with a teacher at that level. Otherwise, we might say, "Venerable sir, are you saying Arahants have defilements? Then why are they just waiting?" It means there is still a fraction of suffering remaining. It is not the complete absence of suffering in Arahantship. Even though one has gone to the end of suffering, the Unconditioned Element... we are not going to talk about that.

That's why I am saying, even if you bring logical arguments here, they are useless. There's nothing you can do with arguments. What we can do is practice. The cessation of suffering (nirodha) means one has gone to the end of suffering. However, one has seen the end of suffering, and that's it. That is why we speak from the side of the end of suffering. We cannot speak from the side of Nibbāna. If we speak from the side of Nibbāna, we drag Nibbāna into suffering. We drag Nibbāna into saṃsāra. That's why I spoke about mindfulness (sati), but not about Nibbāna. As mindfulness develops, we go towards the end of suffering. That's why I told you before, do you remember? I said, "Do not grasp onto any state of happiness, thinking 'this is it'." That is why I said not to even cling to mindfulness. The place where one is not attached even to mindfulness, freedom even from mindfulness, is Nibbāna.

I wanted to show that Nibbāna is not mindfulness. I said that as we cultivate mindfulness, we feel a great freedom, a great loving quality. But venerable sir, even that is a subtle indulgence, a subtle indulgence in bliss (sukha). Even there, there is a subtle 'me'. Beyond that... there is no point in talking about what is beyond that. It is a meaningless conversation.

So, one should continue to cultivate mindfulness. If one is not established in humility, if they do not see their weaknesses as weaknesses that need to be corrected, then it won't work. Thinking, "This is my path, it has nothing to do with anyone else," will not work. However, even with shortcomings, one does not fall away if there is humility. If one allows their shortcomings to be criticized and has humility, I think they will receive love. Because that person is looking to be corrected. They are waiting for someone to point out a mistake so they can fix it immediately. That's how humble they are. They are waiting, like the venerable Rāhula who would hold a handful of sand and wish, "Throughout this day, may I be shown my faults and errors as many times as there are grains of sand here." They are waiting to be shaped, to be corrected. That is obedience. They are waiting... it doesn't matter who it is. Even someone ordained today can teach me, can show me. Look, that is how one goes deeper into mindfulness. Like a fruit that gets heavier as it ripens, one is waiting... "It doesn't matter, even the person ordained today can be my teacher."

We have to be open to being corrected. For instance, I may give a sermon, but someone here might be better at putting on robes than I am. They might tell me, "Venerable sir, the way you wear your robes is messy." I should be waiting for that, because I am not perfect in all aspects (sabbannu). I may be good in one area, but very weak in another. So I am waiting for someone to help me, to teach me, to show me where I am lacking. Otherwise, we can't say we are right in even one aspect. For example, just because I gave a sermon, I can't say I know how to cook. I have to surrender to the master in the kitchen and ask, "How much salt should I add now?" If I go there and act superior, it won't work. I see that it is all about humility.

With mindfulness... that is a characteristic of mindfulness. As mindfulness grows... that is the very nature of mindfulness, isn't it? The conceit fades. As mindfulness grows, all these qualities begin to appear. The mind becomes open. That is why the Buddha said, “Sukhā saṅghassa sāmaggi” – "Happy is the harmony of the Sangha." It is a wonderful happiness, a great bliss, to be in a place where there are such venerable ones. Imagine being in a group where everyone's mindfulness has developed. What a bliss that is! Each person has the utmost love for the other. There is no thought of "I must oust him, I must cut him down." That is why the Buddha said that even a place with two or three such venerable ones is a great bliss. That life itself is bliss. There is no need to search for a path anymore. Others will push us along. When you are with such a Sangha, you are carried along in that stream. It means it is enough to be placed with spiritual friends. When you are in the company of spiritual friends, they show you from all four sides. Seeing their exemplary conduct all around me, I cannot fall back. Seeing their example, how can I be a rotten seed among them? If that feeling doesn't arise within us, then it's useless. It's a big problem if you don't feel that.

Alright, let's conclude. May the Triple Gem bless you all.

Original Source (Video):

Title: සිත පිරිසිදු කරන්න යන්න එපා අපිරිසිදු බව තේරුම් ගන්න - Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/dnsmNhliuds?si=9OSnb7WibaSS_XWy

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