Of the variegated nature of sensual pleasures (kāma) | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

මුල් සිංහල වීඩියෝව සඳහා Play කරන්න

Of the variegated nature of sensual pleasures (kāma) | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana 

So, we were to discuss the ten Māras. Then it occurred to me that it would be better if I took a Sutta discourse where these ten Māras are mentioned and discussed it a bit. To take a discourse of the Buddha himself. Then, as I was looking at the Sutta, I remembered that there is a great deal in the Tipiṭaka about… if we just search, about the concept of Māra. There are quite a lot of Sutta discourses on this. That is, the idea of Māra is described in different ways in different places. For instance, I'll give you an example if you need to study it a bit. In the Saṃyutta Nikāya, there is a separate section called the Māra Saṃyutta. If you take that Māra Saṃyutta in the Saṃyutta Nikāya, it contains quite a lot of stories about Devaputta Māra. That is, what the Māra Saṃyutta contains is about the instances when the Buddha and his disciples were giving discourses on liberation (vimutti), like discourses connected to emptiness (suññatā) and dependent origination (paṭiccasamuppāda), and that Devaputta Māra would come and try to break their concentration. There are such suttas in the Māra Saṃyutta. And even with the Buddha, the nature of this Devaputta Māra was to look for a shortcoming in Him everywhere. There are quite a number of suttas that give the idea that he was searching to see if the Blessed One would get caught in some defilement (kilesa). Then there are other instances, like the time he entered the body of Venerable Moggallāna. Then there's another, the instance mentioned when Venerable Godhika passed away, where Māra was searching for his consciousness (viññāṇa). So, when studying the Tipiṭaka, this concept of Māra is presented in different ways.

In some places, now today we are talking about the concept of the ten Māras, what the ten armies of Māra are. In addition to that, there is also a story about the five Māras (pañcamāra). That is, in some suttas, we come across this concept of the five Māras. Then, in the sutta we are discussing today, the Buddha also mentions these ten Māras. I will briefly give the idea of the five Māras and then talk about the concept of the ten Māras. The five Māras are taken as the "five killers." There are five. It is shown there... that is, Devaputta Māra... that is Devaputta Māra, Skandha Māra, Maccu Māra, Abhisaṅkhāra Māra. That is, in some places, this Māra is taken as the five aggregates of clinging (pañcupādānakkhandhā). Since they also lead one through saṃsāra, since they maintain saṃsāra, and since they are of a nature that causes suffering to beings in saṃsāra, with that idea in mind, the concept of Māra has been applied to these aggregates (skandha). In some places, the idea of Māra has been applied to the five aggregates (pañcaskandha). That is, when they say Skandha Māra, it is because it perpetuates saṃsāra. Because it belongs to suffering (dukkha). With such a meaning, with such an idea, the term Māra has been applied. Skandha Māra... Abhisaṅskāra refers to the nature of karmic formations. To the nature of meritorious, demeritorious, and imperturbable karmic formations (puññābhi-, apuññābhi-, āneñjābhi-saṅkhāra), the word Māra has been applied. So there, it is not spoken of in the form of a person. There, the act of formation (abhisaṅkharaṇa) has also been put into the category of Māra. After that, it has also been applied to death (marana), because death also occurs within the domain of ignorance (avijjā).

Yes.

So death has also been included. Then Skandha Māra, Maccu Māra, then... uh... did I miss... two. That is, there is Skandha Māra. There is Abhisaṅkhāra Māra. Then there is Maccu Māra... the other one is...

Devaputta Māra.

Māra... Yes, no, I mean Māra Māra. Devaputta Māra is said like this, now... uh...

Yes, there, in some places, the instances where it is depicted in the form of a person are many. That's why I mentioned places like the Māra Saṃyutta and the story of entering Venerable Moggallāna's stomach, the Māra named Dūsi... those things are highlighted in the Tipiṭaka... the other one I forgot is Kilesa Māra. The Kilesa Māra.

Yes.

That's it. Actually, for us, it is with that Kilesa Māra that the ten armies of Māra are connected. The story of the ten armies of Māra comes with Kilesa Māra. So then, there, that Abhisaṅkhāra and this Devaputta Māra... now, if you like, I'll give a small idea about it. There are some instances where the Buddha is giving a Dharma discourse. That the nature of formations (saṅkhāra) is impermanent (anicca). That there is a not-self (anatta) nature here. That you cannot posit anything as something substantial here. You cannot establish something as a concrete thing. About the characteristic of impermanence, the characteristic of not-self, the characteristic of suffering (dukkha), sometimes the Buddha gives a discourse. Then, while giving such a discourse to a brahmin, the Buddha has delivered the sermon and that brahmin has applied his wisdom (paññā) and is in the process of realizing the Dhamma. As he is realizing it and his wisdom is proceeding accordingly, someone comes in the guise of the Buddha and says, "I made a small mistake earlier. The nature of formations is not impermanent. These formations exist as something substantial." He speaks in terms of permanence (nicca), happiness (sukha), and self (atta). But the problem is, that brahmin had already applied his wisdom. After that wisdom has arisen, no one can falsify that knowledge that came. Then that brahmin says, "Oh, Māra!" A characteristic of this Māra that is found everywhere is that as soon as Māra is recognized as Māra, he vanishes right there (tatthevantaradhāyī). That is... that is a primary characteristic found everywhere in the Tipiṭaka. When Māra is identified as Māra—that is, when a defilement is identified as a defilement—it cannot persist. So likewise, there... in some instances, like if you take the Kassaka Sutta in the Māra Saṃyutta, when the Buddha is delivering a discourse connected to emptiness (suññatā), that is, while giving a discourse connected to emptiness, someone comes in the guise of a farmer and asks, "Did you see my cattle?" When he asks, "Did you see my cattle?" the Buddha asks, "Māra, where would you get cattle?" Then he says, "Venerable Sir, the eye is mine, forms are mine, eye-consciousness (cakkhu-viññāṇa) is mine, contact (phassa) is mine... so where can you go to escape me?" That is, if I take anything as 'mine,' if I go to a view of 'this is mine,' then it is 'I.' "Then it belongs to you," He says. "The Tathāgata has no such view." In that way, in those suttas of the Māra Saṃyutta, when the Buddha explains the doctrine connected to emptiness to someone and their minds are applying wisdom to this doctrine of emptiness, it is described how a Devaputta Māra comes to destroy that, that is, to break that knowledge... there are ideas like he made an attempt to do that in the incident of Devaputta Māra. Alright.

So now, today we are discussing the ten armies of Māra. The topic of the ten armies of Māra falls under this... it falls under Kilesa Māra. So then, the Buddha... when someone defeats the Kilesa Māra, it is as if they have defeated all five Māras. So, Kilesa Māra is what we call one's own defiled mind. The mind associated with ignorance (avijjā) we call Kilesa Māra.

So then... right there in this concept of Māra, for us today, this story... what I mean is, this is a large subject. To discuss it, one has to approach it from different angles. For now, we will frame the topic... alright, now we are talking about the Kilesa Māra among the five Māras. Alright. When speaking of Kilesa Māra, I thought of taking up a sutta. Then we can explain it in a bit more detail. This is the Padhāna Sutta in the Sutta Nipāta. So, it is in the Sutta Nipāta that many of the profound suttas are found. Many... this Sutta Nipāta... there are some suttas where, because people don't know how to ask the right questions to the point, the Buddha creates another Buddha in the suttas of the Sutta Nipāta. He creates an emanated Buddha and tells that Buddha to ask questions. Then, as the created Buddha asks questions, the Buddha gives answers to the assembly. In such ways... in this Sutta Nipāta... it is in the Sutta Nipāta that many of the Buddha's earliest teachings are found. And in the Sutta Nipāta, during the Buddha's early period, he didn't categorize into four stages like Sotāpanna, Sakadāgāmi, Anāgāmi, and Arahant. It was straight to becoming a sage (muni). Attained realization, that's what is said directly. Heard the discourse, attained realization, that's all. So in the suttas of the Sutta Nipāta... that's why... sometimes this Sutta Nipāta was compiled during the lifetime of the Buddha himself. There are some suttas where the Buddha himself says to chant the discourses of the Sutta Nipāta... That is, there is a sense that this Sutta Nipāta was compiled to some extent during the Buddha's own lifetime.

So this is in the Sutta Nipāta of the Khuddaka Nikāya in the Tipiṭaka. These days, we are chanting through the Khuddaka Nikāya at the monastery. In it, the Aṭṭhaka Vagga and the Pārāyana Vagga contain the summary, the most profound teachings of the Buddha. So in those discourses...

Pārāyana Vagga.

Yes, the Pārāyana Vagga.

So then... what I was saying... so today I have taken the Padhāna Sutta which belongs to that Sutta Nipāta. In it, at the time the Buddha was striving for enlightenment, Māra comes and makes a threat... not a threat, Māra comes and says something like, "This is a useless task. This is something you cannot do. Go back home." It was on that occasion that the Buddha spoke of these ten Māras. This is actually an incident that happened before he became the Buddha. I will just tell the idea of that sutta without spending too much time on the Pali... I'll convey the meaning.

So in this, it says, "To me, who was striving on the bank of the river Nerañjarā, making a great effort, meditating with firm resolve for the sake of attaining security from bondage (yogakkhema)..." This is the Buddha speaking. That is, the ascetic Siddhartha. This is before becoming the Buddha. "Pahitattaṃ padhānāya, nerañjarāya tīrasi..." that is, while I, the Buddha, before attaining enlightenment, was meditating with great effort to be free from defilements, "Namuci karuṇaṃ vācaṃ, bhāsamāno upāgami." That is, this one called Namuci... it's like Māra approached, speaking compassionate words. "You are thin and discolored. You are near death." It appears as if Māra came and spoke very lovingly to the Buddha. As if, "I love you very much. I am saying this out of compassion for you." That is, this Namuci... "Namuci karuṇaṃ vācaṃ..." as if Namuci, out of great compassion for the Buddha, for the Blessed One... as if with compassion for the Buddha, Māra comes and says, "Oh, you have become so thin now. You are not like before. You are now very discolored. It's as if you are close to death. You are that thin. You are that close to passing away." Then he says, "Sahassabhāgo maraṇassa, ekāṃso tava jīvitaṃ." That is, "A thousand parts of your life belong to death." Meaning, of your life, a full... that is, a thousand parts of your life now belong to death. There is only one part left for living. That is, of your entire... you are now living on a tenth of a percent. Of your entire... that is, 99.9% of you has already died, having come here to become a Buddha. Having come to do this impossible thing, you are now living by a thread. The Blessed One is living by a thread. So then he says, "Friend, live! Life is better. Living, you can perform meritorious deeds (puñña)." That is, Māra says, "Jīvaṃ puññāni kāhasi. Jīvaṃ bho, jīvaṃ seyyo, jīvaṃ puññāni kāhasi." That is, "Instead of trying to do these impossible things, look, your life is hanging by a thread. Therefore, go back home. After going home, you can live well with Yasodharā, do meritorious deeds, serve the country, build up the nation..." That's what he means. "You are the son of a king. So go to your kingdom. How many innocent people are there in the country? You can serve those people. What are you doing, having come to a forest like this? Without eating or drinking, what is this you are doing, trying to become a Buddha?"

Then he says... look at the next part. "Carato ca te brahmacariyaṃ..." That is, the holy life... meaning, go home and practice the holy life (brahmacariya) very well... and making offerings to the fire god... that means performing sacrifices and rites... he is telling him to accumulate merit. "Go and perform offerings, hold ceremonies, observe the precepts well... like we observe the precepts on Poya day... protect the precepts, do your worshiping, and you can gain a lot of merit. You can accumulate a lot of merit." So, "Why..." he asks, "Kiṃ padhānena kāhasi?" "Therefore, why? You have such a wonderful life, you have such a good wife, a good country. You are the son of a king. You can live so well, helping everyone, accumulating merit, performing worship. What a beautiful life you could lead. What is this... what is the meaning of this life of austerities you are leading? What is the use of it?"

After that... now Māra is speaking as if out of great affection, isn't he? We don't really know for sure if Māra came, or if it was the Blessed One's own mind speaking to him from one side. So then he says, "Duggo maggo padhānāya, dukkaro durabhisambhavo." That is, "The path of striving is difficult to travel. Striving is difficult." Uttering these verses, Māra stood near the Buddha. Now Māra is telling the Buddha, "Oh, this is a futile task, this practice of austerities. Go and do something useful for the country and the nation. By doing that, you can perform meritorious deeds and live well," and he stays right there, close to the Buddha, without leaving.

Then the Buddha says, "Taṃ tathāvādinaṃ māraṃ, bhagavā etadabravi. Pamattabandhu pāpima, yenatthena idhāgato." That is, to that Māra who was speaking thus, the Blessed One said this. The Buddha tells Māra, "You who speak as a kinsman to the heedless, you evil one..." He addresses him as "you sinner." To Māra who speaks such sweet words, he says, "You friend of all who are heedless, you wicked one (pāpima)..." that means, he addresses him as the kinsman of those who are attached to saṃsāra, attached to sense objects, attached to defilements. "You are the kinsman of those attached to saṃsāra. So why have you come here?" he asks. "Shouldn't you go to that kingdom, to the city, to the people who are running after sensual pleasures? There are people who are running after sensual pleasures, dancing, singing, playing music, always seeking sensual pleasure. So why have you, their kinsman, abandoned them and come to me, who is seeking liberation (vimutti)? You should go there. Where have you come? You have come to the wrong person. You have come to the wrong place," the Buddha—at this time, he is the Bodhisatta—asks. The Bodhisatta asks, "Why have you come?"

Then he says, "Anumattopi puññena, attho mayhaṃ na vijjati. Yesaṃ ca attho puññānaṃ, te māro vātum arahati." "For me, there is no need even for the slightest merit now. Māra, it is proper for you to speak to those who have a need for merit." That is, "If there are those who like to experience pleasure by doing these good deeds, go and tell them. To those who still desire to experience pleasant results, to experience pleasure... Māra, you go and tell that to them, to those who like to experience pleasure." That is, to those who still have craving (taṇhā) for pleasant feeling (sukha vedanā). That will be useful to them. Because doing those things brings pleasure. For me, I do not have even an iota of such a desire, a craving to experience pleasure. I have no craving for pleasant feeling. You are telling me this because doing those things brings pleasure.

Then, the Buddha says, "Atthi saddhā tathā viriyaṃ, paññā ca mama vijjati." "I have faith (saddhā), and also energy (viriya), and I have wisdom (paññā). So why do you question me about my life, when I am so resolved?" That is, "It's true my body has withered. But there has been no reduction in my faith. My energy has not diminished at all. My wisdom has not diminished." Meaning, there is no lack of faith (saddhā), energy (viriya), mindfulness (sati), concentration (samādhi), and wisdom (paññā). "So why are you asking about my life?"

Then... I will continue with this part until I get to the necessary section, until we get to the part about the ten armies of Māra. Now, this is the dialogue between the Buddha and the Māra named Namuci. When this Māra Namuci tells him to go home and do good deeds, he replies, "I am seeking the wholesome (kusala), I am seeking the truth (sacca) in this life. And I possess the faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom required to find that truth." Then there is no need for you to come and speak. You should go to those who worship you. Go to the people who are attached to seeking only sensual pleasures (kāma), who seek only happiness.

After that, the Buddha says, this wind... can't the water currents in the rivers be dried up by the wind? If so, for what reason would the blood of me, who is so resolved in this endeavor, not dry up? What is being shown here is that four-fold effort (caturāṅga-samanvāgata-viriya) that he possessed. "It doesn't matter if my flesh and blood dry up, leaving only skin, sinews and bone. Either I become a Buddha, or I die. Either my skin, sinews and bone will wither and I will die right here, or I will become a Buddha. I will not turn back." Without that quality of the Buddha, a being cannot proceed. That is, the four-fold effort he had within him: "Even if my skin, flesh, and sinews wither away, I will not turn back. I will not look towards home again. I will not abandon this thinking 'I can't, this is too difficult,' and crying that 'I can't.' I will not turn back to protect my life out of a desire for life." That is what is meant by 'let the skin and flesh wither.' The Buddha had abandoned his life to pursue this. He had not even a small desire to continue existing in saṃsāra. He had no craving for existence (bhava-taṇhā). He didn't embark on this journey with the idea of turning back and going to protect his life. That is what he tells Māra. "Therefore, the water in these rivers may dry up. If so, why wouldn't the blood of me, who is so resolved, also dry up? My blood too will dry up. I don't care if I die." Look at the strength in that, the power within the Tathāgata. That power, that quality of never turning back, even if it means death.

"Lohite sussamānamhi, pittaṃ semhañca sussati. Maṃsesu khīyamānesu, bhiyyo cittaṃ pasīdati. Bhiyyo sati ca paññā ca, samādhi mama tiṭṭhati." That is, what is said there is, "As the blood dries up, the bile and phlegm also dry up. As the flesh wastes away, the mind becomes even more serene. My mindfulness (sati), wisdom (paññā), and concentration (samādhi) become even more firmly established."

What he is saying is about those things—the blood, skin, and bones. The blood, bones, flesh, bile, all of it will waste away anyway. But, although my flesh wastes away, day by day my mindfulness grows stronger. My wisdom… that is, I feel my faith (saddhā), energy (viriya), mindfulness (sati), concentration (samādhi), and wisdom (paññā) are getting sharper and sharper. "Though my body withers away, my skin and flesh dry up, and I become physically weak, there is no weakening of my faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom," he tells Māra. Just look, when we read that sutta, we get an amazing strength from those words of the Blessed One. He is still the Bodhisatta, not yet a Buddha. He has not yet attained enlightenment, but look at the way he challenges Māra. "What are you talking about? Go and tell that to your kinsmen."

So, it is from that point onwards in the sutta that we encounter the story of the ten armies of Māra. Then he says: "Kāmā te paṭhamā senā, dutiyā arati vuccati. Tatiyā khuppipāsā te, catutthī taṇhā pavuccati. Pañcamī thinamiddhaṃ te..." Now the Buddha points it out to Māra.

1. Your first army is Sensual Pleasure (kāmā).

2. Your second army is called Discontent (arati). There, the ten Māras. "Paṭhamā te kāmā, dutiyā arati vuccati." Your second army is Discontent.

3. Your third army is Hunger and Thirst (khuppipāsā).

4. The fourth is Craving (taṇhā).

5. "Pañcamī thinamiddhaṃ te." Your fifth army is Sloth and Torpor (thīnamiddha).

6. Then, "Chaṭṭhā bhīrū pavuccati." Your sixth army is Fear (bhīru).

7. "Sattamī vicikicchā te." Māra, your seventh is Doubt (vicikicchā).

8. Then he says, "Makkho thambho te aṭṭhamo." Your eighth army is Hypocrisy and Stubbornness (makkho, thambho). That is, obstinacy and stubbornness is the eighth army.

9. Then he says your... "Lābho, siloko, sakkāro..." The desire for Gain, Praise, and Honor, the desire to obtain them even through wrong means, is your ninth army. Even if it's through lies, "I want to become a famous person among people," fame, reputation, praise.

10. And next, "Yo cattānaṃ samukkaṃse, pare ca avajānati." The next army of Māra is the tendency to Exalt Oneself and Belittle Others. Whenever one speaks, one speaks by exalting oneself. The other person... we say, putting them down, belittling them. "I am the one who is right. Only what I say is correct, all others are wrong. Others don't understand."

So then, this is the list that the Buddha shows us in the sutta as the ten Māras. That is, these are the points shown as the ten armies of Māra. Now, if we unpack this a little... What is this "first army of sensual pleasure"? What is meant by "discontent"? What is meant by "hunger and thirst"? What is meant here by "craving"? What is meant by "fear," by "sloth and torpor," by "stubbornness," by the "desire for gain and honor," and "the tendency to exalt oneself while putting others down"?

Alright, now we can understand that if we look at where all these ten are found, it is in one's own defiled mind. It is this defiled mind of one's own that is referred to as the ten Māras. That is why it is said that when you see it correctly, it cannot persist. When Māra is recognized as Māra, when the ten Māras are recognized as the ten Māras, when mindfulness of the defilement (kilesa) arises, that defilement cannot exist. That is the idea here. First, let me take them one by one and explain a bit.

When it says the first is sensual pleasure (kāmā), the first army in the mind that the Buddha points out is kāma. That is, the first army that pulls us into saṃsāra... the powerful opposing force, the enemy faction that tries to stop this path to liberation (vimutti), is the faction of Māra. Meaning, after we begin this path to liberation, we are completely defeated by this army of Māra called sensual pleasure. So, the first army of Māra is sensual pleasure.

Here, with regard to sensual pleasure, I will give a simple idea without going into too much depth. Simply put, the primary meaning of kāma comes from a fundamental idea we have. "I, an experiencer, exist. The things to be experienced exist separately." This is the fundamental concept within us, isn't it? The experiencer and the things experienced. That is, this duality: "I" and "my world," which I experience. So then, having taken these two fundamental sides—"I" and "mine," or the "experiencer" and the "things experienced"—this duality has become real for us. But after this duality becomes real, you must understand, this duality cannot exist on its own. That is, for duality to exist, for this nature of duality, for sensual pleasure to exist, it always exists only within variety (vicitratva). So it is when we become slaves to variety that Māra can use it to defeat us.

By variety, I mean... just think, we have so many ideas about this world, don't we? When we speak of types of food, look at how many types there are. So, you see, in this world, there are so many different types of food. There are different ethnicities. There are different religions. Different religions, different ethnicities, different clothes. Different types of food. I mean, look at people... it's not the same song we listen to, is it? How many songs do we listen to? There are different songs. There are movies. So, we understand that a characteristic of sensual pleasure is a great deal of diversity. That's why we don't eat for lunch what we ate for breakfast. Sometimes, we don't eat for dinner what we ate for lunch. We change it. Because it is within this variety and diversity that this Māra called sensual pleasure has subjugated us.

However, now... the main thing is this duality of "I," the experiencer, and the things experienced. But even though we talk about so many things, so many experiences... even though we say, "I saw mango trees, I saw rambutan trees, I saw so-and-so person, I heard such-and-such song"... though we talk about so many experiences, that diversity can again be divided into six. Or rather, that whole lot can be divided into six. Those six are: the state of seeing, the state of hearing, the state of smelling, the state of tasting, the state of feeling bodily contact, and the state of thinking. Or you can divide it into four: seeing, hearing, feeling, and thinking.

Now, every one of those experiences... although we say we have so many experiences in life, "we've seen so many things in the world, seen so many people, seen things, heard things"... though we talk a lot like this, if we look at the point closely, we can see... although we say we experience a lot of sensual pleasure, although we say there's a lot of variety in it, we see that it can be divided into four: the state of seeing, the state of hearing, the state of feeling, and the state of thinking.

Then, after looking into that, the Buddha says, "Saṅkapparāgo purisassa kāmo." "Monks, what you call sensual pleasure is the lustful concept (saṅkappa) or mental image in your mind." Although you say there are so many women, men, and so-and-so things here, if you look, there are only those concepts. What we do is tie those concepts to something seen, something heard, something felt, right? That's how we know. We think that so-and-so person is in such-and-such place in the world. But when we try to understand the saying "saṅkapparāgo purisassa kāmo," we realize that it is by tying the concept to a sight that we experience a sensual world (kāma loka). By tying what we think to what we hear. However... I won't take too much time now to explain this from that angle. But if, one day, someone gains wisdom about sensual pleasure, they will understand that although they see a diversity of men and women that constitutes sensual pleasure, it is a mere concept, and beyond that, it has no separate meaning or existence. But that doesn't mean the concept itself is not there as a thing. So, I'll just bring in the ideas.

Because this world is now real to us, because we have connected concepts to things seen and heard and have made a world of formations (saṅkhāra) real for ourselves, for us, there is variety in it. And there is someone who experiences this variety. There is this variety and there is me, the one who experiences this variety. That is, there are also experiencers of this variety. "I saw those things. I saw that particular thing. I saw that person. I have heard those songs. I have watched those movies." It appears as if there is a person who has experienced, a person who has had many experiences. That is the nature of sensual pleasure.

But when one applies wisdom correctly to sensual pleasure, if wisdom about sensual pleasure truly arises, then sensual pleasure has no existence. That Māra himself has no existence. That is, if one recognizes it correctly with wisdom. If one recognizes it with the arising of wisdom. But for now, without going too much into that idea, without going to that side, I will put it in the context of mindfulness (sati) and give a small idea. For a person who meditates... I think a question was asked earlier, how does one who follows the path of mindfulness conquer sensual pleasure? The way it is... let's think like this. For sensual pleasure to exist, for the army of Māra that is sensual pleasure to defeat us, there is always our enslavement to variety. We can't keep doing one thing continuously, can we? We get tired of it. We have a tendency of not being able to do one thing over and over again. It becomes unpleasant (appiriyā). We've had enough. We call it monotony (ēkākārī bhāva).

But look, the magic of sensual pleasure, the illusion (māyāva) of sensual pleasure is that the very song I said I loved, if I hear it just ten more times, there is nothing more unpleasant. Look, the song I was crazy about, the man or woman I was crazy about... after some time, it becomes monotonous to me. It becomes nothing special. In the end, it becomes unpleasant. That very thing becomes unpleasant.

So then, this variety is an illusion, if you look at it one way. That is, the thing I said was "so beautiful," after ten days, I get tired of it. When we first came to this monastery, it might have seemed like "wow." Now, there's no special feeling like that. It's not something exceptionally unique. If that's the case, if this variety in the world truly existed, it couldn't become monotonous for us. That is the point. The variety that sensual pleasure shows, this varied nature itself is a kind of illusion. Why is it an illusion? Because when we chase after that variety and obtain it, after a few days, the variety is gone.

Let's imagine someone comes here. A person who has only eaten jackfruit curry and rice every day comes and says he is hungry. We say, "Come, have some food." He hasn't eaten in days. The last thing he ate was some jackfruit curry and rice a few days ago. Let's say he came. After he arrives, we give him some food. He says, "Venerable Sir, it's delicious. I got to eat with many curries today." We say, "Come tomorrow too." "Okay, I'll come tomorrow too." Then we ask him, "How was it today?" "It was good today too." We tell him to come for food on the third day. "How is it today?" "It's not bad." We tell him to come the next day. Then, "How is the food?" "Nothing special." When we ask him to come the next day, he says, "Oh, Venerable Sir, it's the same taste every day. The food is the same every day, the same curries. Oh, I don't want it now. The jackfruit curry and rice I had before, without any other curries, before I met you, was tastier than this." "The jackfruit curry and rice I ate before coming here, during the time I had nothing to eat, is better than these 10 or 15 curries. That jackfruit curry and rice is tastier," he says. That is the nature of the mind. So we understand, this person said this was delicious, but little by little, that quality vanished for him. That is the nature of sensual pleasure.

The characteristic of sensual pleasure is that although we think there is variety in it, in truth, this thing called sensual pleasure is like a dream. The Buddha uses a dream as a simile for sensual pleasure. That is, sensual pleasure is compared to a dream. There are about eight such similes. The Buddha uses a set of similes to show the dangers of sensual pleasure. One of the similes he uses is that of a dream. Sensual pleasure is like a dream in a way. It's like something borrowed. There are similes like that.

So, in that way, it is shown here that we are addicted to this sensual pleasure because of its variety. Just imagine for a moment. If we could only hear the same song every day... if the only thing to listen to was the same song, if whatever food we ate it had the same taste... If the only food we could eat in our whole life was the same dish. The only song to hear was the same song. The same voice is heard. The same food is eaten. The same person is seen. If everything became one, what would happen? We would get tired of this very quickly. It is because of this variety... look, even with a program. We did a discussion before, now we are doing this. If we don't keep changing it, people get tired even of sermons. Those too must be changed and varied, otherwise people say that too is unpleasant.

Just like that, there is this constant search for variety in sensual pleasure. That's why even in a sermon... look how some people make comments. "If you added a joke, if you added a bit of a song..." we are looking for that change inside, that variety. When someone speaks in the same monotonous way, it doesn't suit the sensual mind (kāmāvacara hita). But, a mind that has faith, energy, mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom becomes more and more uplifted the more it hears this. I am talking about the sensual mind. The nature of a mind addicted to sensual pleasure is that it is enslaved to variety. That's why I said, if we had to listen to the same song or the same thing, we would get tired of this life very quickly. It would become unpleasant.

Therefore, the moment we feel that monotony emerge while we are experiencing anything, we immediately change that object. We change the place. We change the teacher. We change the food. We change the clothes. We change what we listen to, change the songs. By doing that, what we are doing is... we feel a great loneliness (tanikama), a great emptiness (pāluva) with that monotony. The sensual mind is afraid of this. Because if a person stays with that loneliness, with that monotony, they might abandon sensual pleasure. Therefore, what does our mind do? It doesn't let us go into that monotony again and again and again. It doesn't let us stay in that loneliness. Our inner self doesn't let us go into that solitude. It starts to cover it up. It covers it with a substitute, a replacement, an object, and makes us addicted to variety again. To that diversity... it gets us hooked.

So, we are in an addiction like that. We have succumbed to the first Māra. In the ten armies of Māra, we have been hit by the very first shot from Māra's enemy army. That is why we change objects, change teachers, change places. That feeling of, "I've meditated enough now, I'm going to get up," always comes up. The thought to get up and go. "This is difficult." We are completely defeated. All of that comes from the addiction to variety. The addiction to sensual pleasure, the desire for diversity, the craving in the mind... because of that enslavement, what we do throughout our lives is run around changing objects and changing places. So, changing objects, changing places, searching for variety... but the problem is, no matter what varied thing I find, even if I think, "Wow, I've found the perfect person, the perfect place," before long, it falls back to that very same state. It falls right back to that same place. That's the problem here. No matter how much I think, "I've found the right person, the right place," regarding this sensual pleasure (kāma), when I look again, and again, it's the same monotony, the same feeling of being fed up. The same disenchantment. The same loneliness. That's what I feel again. There's nothing special. There's a saying that the crow you see every day seems white. Just like that... no matter how red a crow's eye is, its eye is always red, but when you see it every day... That's why they say that even the moon... our teachers tell us that you shouldn't see even your teacher too often, you become too familiar. Seeing them after a while... The reason the moon is so beautiful to us is that it's not the same every day. On some days, like the new moon, there is no moon at all. Because of that variety in the moon, the moon is beautiful to us. Otherwise, we would get tired of the moon too. Just like the sun. We like the moon because of the variety it has. That's why our teacher used to tell us, "I should see you all again after about a year." Otherwise, you don't feel like visiting. It becomes nothing special. When you visit after a while, they welcome you by laying out mats and making preparations. Why do they welcome you like that? Because of that gap in time.

That is the nature of sensual pleasure. Its nature is to become monotonous, lose its specialness, and become tiresome. Then, after some time, when you see it again, you feel a little taste. That food, all of it, seems delicious again. Those sights, those sounds, are heard as if for the first time. Just like that, because of this nature of sensual pleasure, what is done in meditation, in a mindfulness meditation, is... I'm not speaking from the side of wisdom (paññā). From the side of concentration (samādhi), from the side of mindfulness (sati)... in a practice leaning towards concentration, what is done is... our addiction to seeking variety is very strong. But it is by going in search of variety that I have suffered every single time. Every time I went searching for variety, I failed. I always got tired of it. I thought the other person deceived me. That the song is now useless. It's not like that. When you associate with a single object, that monotony arises from within. That is the nature of sensual pleasure.

So, when we come to a meditation center, when we go to a teacher, what does the teacher do? The teacher gives a monotonous schedule, a timetable. Just think, we come here disillusioned, after seeking variety, experiencing monotony, and feeling emptiness and loneliness within it. And to us, who came disillusioned seeking this release and freedom, we are again given a monotonous routine. That's why you are not given ten or fifteen different meditation subjects (kammaṭṭhāna) day after day. You are given one object and told to keep looking at it. Whether it's mindfulness of breathing (ānāpānasati), the body, or the postures, you are given one and told to look at it continuously, for a long, long time. Likewise, you are given the same timetable. "Wake up at five, do this, come for the one discourse, then meditate again." A single timetable. Just think, what is done here is something a person dislikes the most. In school, at least you have a weekend holiday. Here, there isn't even that. Having eliminated even that, giving one object, one walking meditation path, you are confined and told to keep looking at this object for a long, long time. And that object isn't anything grand. You are not told to look at a beautiful girl or a handsome boy. You are given something like the breath. A rather equanimous object. It's not an object that generates intense sensual pleasure. It's not an object you get intensely attached to. It's a neutral object. A somewhat neutral object is given. After giving a neutral object, you are told, "If you can, keep looking at this continuously without letting your attention wander here and there. Maintain your attention."

But just think, this is what the first army of Māra dislikes the most. This is an attack on the first army of Māra. The first army of Māra is sensual pleasure. So, the sensual mind (kāmāvacara hita) has an addiction to running around changing objects. An enslavement to seeking variety. So, with that enslavement, the teacher gives the first battle. When the disciple arrives, the teacher gives the first battle. "Alright. If you can, your war is with Māra, with sensual pleasure." However, in this, one needs to hold the wisdom we discussed earlier: that this is a concept (saṅkappa), that this is not something that truly exists in the world, that it's a mental formation (saṅkhāra) created by the mind. One must have that wisdom. It is with that wisdom that we develop concentration. Because even if we have the wisdom, our tendency to get pulled away is strong. The addiction to the external is strong. That addiction needs to be reduced, and as we apply wisdom, we also need mindfulness and concentration.

So, what is done at that point is, the person is given a monotonous object and told to look at it continuously. The first thing is, this mind has no liking for this at all. The mind runs here, runs there. Sensual pleasure doesn't want to stay on one object even for a few seconds. This sensual mind doesn't like it. If it did, it would have to be given an object it is addicted to, but even with that, it would get bored. And what's given here is not something to get attached to in that way. Just think, it's like this: we are given a movie to watch. From the moment the movie starts, someone is just sitting in a cross-legged posture for three hours. Imagine, there are no fights. No songs. No running around rose bushes in love. Nothing. Just sitting with eyes closed. And we are told to watch. Just think, for the army of sensual pleasure, there's no way out. That army can't watch that. We'd be watching a person sitting with eyes closed continuously. Look at how much variety they create in a movie. Within a two-and-a-half-hour movie, how much variety do they create inside to remove the monotony? Otherwise, half the audience would be asleep. Why? Because after monotony, the next thing is sleep. When the variety for a person decreases... that's why, look at how many people fall asleep during discourses. As soon as the variety decreases, what comes is monotony. As soon as it becomes monotonous, the next place we fall into is sleep.

That's why, have you seen when mothers sing lullabies? While singing a lullaby, they use the same tone, and the monotony comes quickly... they don't go into various tones... not like... [monk hums an upbeat tune] ...that's not how they sing lullabies, is it? Oh, I made a mistake... [Listener: "O...nna babo..."] "Onna babo, onna babo..." Yes, when singing a lullaby, look, they draw out the same tone. When it's drawn out in the same tone, the child quickly gets sleepy. Why? It's monotonous. If they sang it with all sorts of variations, the child wouldn't sleep. The mother sings by drawing out the same tone. When she sings like that, the child falls into a deep sleep. It is just like that for sensual pleasure. It needs variety. The moment it becomes monotonous, the next fault is that it goes to sleep. It falls into sleep. So, sleep is also a part of sensual pleasure. It is another army of Māra. Sleep.

So then, that is what happens. When you are looking at that monotonous object, either you get sleepy while meditating... Māra gets us from there. Because sloth and torpor (thīnamiddha) is one of Māra's armies. Or, we just can't sit still. The mind runs here, runs there, runs everywhere like crazy. Why? Because you were told to just look at one thing. The teachers then say, "Alright, it's okay. Know that the mind wandered. With mindfulness, know that the mind went to another object. When you know, it will come back. Come back to your primary object, be it the breath or something else. When you are back, keep looking again."

Now, this can't be done in a day or two, this work of concentration. Samādhi takes a certain amount of time. Why? Because in the beginning, you can't even watch three or four breaths. You don't know where the mind has gone. Later on, little by little, as you become aware that the mind has gone to other objects, you start getting used to this. And you don't break the timetable. "Whether the sitting meditation goes well or not, I will go and sit. I will go and sit according to the timetable." When that attitude comes, it doesn't matter if the mind is scattered. "Even if I get only two breaths, that's enough for me." Valuing those two breaths, he tries to stay with it. It doesn't matter where the mind goes, it will come back, won't it? Even if the mind is away from the breath for five minutes, it will come back for a minute, right? One must value that one minute it returns. If you value the two or three breaths that come, then tomorrow, you will start to stay for another ten seconds worth of breaths. That's how you have to build concentration, little by little. By practicing bit by bit, bit by bit... then after a few days of this practice... the thing is, you fall asleep when your energy (viriya) drops to zero. Why? Think of a child. When the mother sings the lullaby, the child's energy drops to zero and they fall asleep. Similarly, here, the meditation teacher gives a monotonous object. An equanimous object, a neutral object, quickly becomes monotonous. Then you see how quickly people start nodding off in meditation. Look how much people sleep in meditation centers. Some people ask me, "Venerable sir, can't you let us sleep a little longer in the morning?" They love it. We have to understand why. In a place like this, there is less variety. As soon as the variety is reduced, look, you fall asleep. The schedule here is monotonous. As soon as it's monotonous, you want to fall asleep.

So then, we say, "Alright, see if you can not let yourself fall asleep." For that, the teacher gives meditation instructions based on the person's nature. "If you are sleepy, then do this... either increase your walking meditation, do it this way," he will give some relative answers for that person. That has to be given based on the individual's condition. For some people, while looking at one thing continuously, they fall asleep and start toppling over. For others, their mind runs here and there, like a blacksmith's forge. That is the dislike for monotony. We are so enslaved to variety. With monotony, you either fall asleep, or you start doubting. "Is this the right path? Who in this world has attained Nibbāna by just looking at the breath like this? Is there any point to this?" Like that, doubt (vicikicchā) always arises. Either you doubt, or sleepiness comes, or your energy vanishes, or you start running off into different fantasy worlds.

At this time, the meditator (yogāvacara) increases their mindfulness, increases their energy, and increases their wisdom to stay with that monotonous object. "Wisdom" here means the way of seeing the situation. When you increase these three, what happens is we settle into that monotonous state. You stay looking at that single object for a long time. It's monotonous. Until now, I fought against monotony out in the world. I got up and left, "I've had enough meditation, I can't do it today." I ran away from monotony. Now, developing concentration means I enter right into that monotony. I start to enter into that monotonous state. And as you enter, sometimes you experience hellish feelings. Sometimes you don't want to be there at all. Then for some people, as they are trying to stay with that monotonous object, they think, "I've had enough of this meditation center. Oh, this teacher doesn't know how to give the right instructions. He hasn't given me the right meditation subject. That's why I'm getting fed up with all this." A doubt like that begins to arise. Or, "I need to go accumulate some merit. My karmic force must be bad. I need to go out and make merit," just as Māra said, "Go and make merit." "My merit must be insufficient." And thinking, "I need to accumulate more merit," he breaks the concentration practice he was developing.

Developing samādhi means entering into that state of monotony. Taking a single object and going into that monotony. But at a certain point, when we accept this monotony... when we accept it, but we don't reduce our mindfulness, energy, and wisdom. We increase those three very well. "I am fully awake. I increase my energy very well." But increasing energy here doesn't mean thinking a lot, it means generating the energy to not fall asleep. And I understand this situation with wisdom (paññā). "What is this?" I understand with wisdom. If you keep increasing these three, at a certain point, that monotony disappears. It itself becomes a kind of happiness. In the end, we don't need variety. We don't need to go outside and search for sensual pleasure. But this solitude is not monotonous for me. That state is called a level of concentration (samādhi). A non-sensual bliss (nirāmisa sukha). That is a samādhi. That is a meditative absorption (jhāna), a concentration.

Now, this is not Nibbāna, mind you. I didn't speak about Nibbāna. This is not about wisdom. I am talking about concentration. In this state of concentration, what happens is, the army called sensual pleasure gets a blow. Why? I descended into the monotony of the five sense pleasures (pañcakāma). By descending into that monotony and accepting it, a comfort and happiness arises. Joy (pīti) begins to arise. The factors of jhāna—vitakka, vicāra, pīti, sukha, ekaggatā—start to build up within us. As those factors emerge, sensual pleasure has no ground to stand on. The power of Māra's sensuality begins to break. Māra's sensuality can no longer attack. Why? Because I don't need objects anymore. For me, being alone with myself is a pleasure now. For me, being with my meditation object, with that monotony, is not monotonous. It is a supreme solitude. It is a happiness. Now I don't need forms, don't need sounds, don't need smells. I don't need the five sense pleasures. I have now accepted this monotony. This is what I suffered from out in the world. It was to escape this monotony that I created substitutes, created bonds, watched movies, listened to songs. Everything I did was out of fear and dislike of this monotony, this addiction to variety, to sensual pleasure.

So, through the training in concentration, we can... however, the training in concentration is not the final crossing over. After going into that training, through mindfulness and concentration, one must apply one's own wise attention (yoniso manasikāra) and wisdom. For the final crossing to happen. Alright. So for now, I think I will end the discussion on sensual pleasure there. The first army of Māra. I think those points are sufficient.

After that, the Buddha describes the next one. "Dutiyā arati vuccati." This is arati. The Sinhala meaning for arati is, the second army of Māra is the dislike for higher wholesome states (adhikusala). For example, we spoke about concentration. Let's say we are meditating. And the mind goes into concentration, and a great joy and happiness arises, and the body feels light. The factors of the first jhāna begin to appear. The mind is well-established in the object. While staying on the object, there is physical lightness, bliss, and in the mind, a joy that overflows every cell of the mind and body like a pot of boiling milk, and mental one-pointedness. But let's say we stayed in that jhāna for an hour or so. We have been meditating continuously for an hour and a half in that state with the jhāna factors. But after staying there, it doesn't let you go deeper. It doesn't let you go to the second or third jhāna. Without letting you focus on the wisdom aspect, you get this feeling of arati, which is a kind of aversion. "Oh, venerable sir, I've been doing this for so many days. What's the point of just sitting here doing nothing? Just watching the breath..." An aversion like that arises. You've attained jhāna, and then afterwards, you don't want to go deeper again. "Alright, I stayed at your place for many years. All there is to do is just sit and watch the breath. What is in this?" Like that, always... to go into higher wholesome states, there isn't something for us to do. It's about applying mindfulness and wisdom. For that, you get a dislike. "Isn't there anything to do?" The further you go into higher wholesome states, the less there is "to do." That is the problem here. To go into higher wholesome states, mindfulness and wisdom must be applied. Action begins to cease. That's not what the ego wants. The nature of the ego wants to do something, it wants variety. "Don't I have anything to do now? What should I do? Just stay like this?" A dislike for this higher wholesome state. "Oh, if it were a meritorious activity (pinkama), there would be lots of things to do. There's this to do, that to do. Here, there's nothing. Not this to do, not that to do." The further you go into higher wholesome states, it is not about action. But there is a liking for this. That is what is called discontent (arati). There is no liking for the higher wholesome states (adhikusala). Then one says, "From this point on, I don't understand. Venerable Sir, even though you explained the teaching of emptiness (suññatā), I don't understand those things. I'll just keep my precepts (sīla). I don't break them. We don't need these profound teachings on emptiness, do we? We don't cause harm to people." Seeing those things... but one must try to understand what is not understood, even if it's difficult. But instead, one thinks, "Oh, we don't understand those things, this is useless." It's not about going towards the higher wholesome path. Now, observing precepts is not a bad thing. It is good. And developing concentration is not a bad thing either. But insight (vipassanā), wisdom (paññā), is even better. However, there is this inner tendency. That is Māra. There is an unwillingness to apply oneself to the higher wholesome path.

That is what Māra does. Māra didn't tell the Buddha to commit evil, did he? Namuci came and said to go and do good things, just don't seek this higher wisdom (adhipaññā). Don't investigate higher wisdom. Just maintain a holy life, keep your precepts, perform rites and meritorious deeds. Look there, you see... look at Māra. As soon as you hear it, you can see... if Māra had come and said directly, "Go and commit murder," then you'd know it was wrong. But look at the way Māra presents it. "You can go and fulfill your duties and live well. Your life would be useful. This thing you are doing is something even you can't understand... is it possible in this day and age?" That's what some people say, isn't it? "Can these things be done in this era? We don't understand them. The time for these teachings on emptiness is over." Just like that, this thing called arati is always about doing good, but having a reluctance for what is better.

Just think, compare the crowd that comes for a religious offering to the crowd that comes to practice meditation or learn about insight knowledge (vipassanā ñāṇa). How minimal is the latter? If we announce a meritorious event at the Ruwanwelisaya, look at how the entire ground fills up. Hundreds of thousands come. But if we say, "Come and meditate," oh my, how many would come? And out of that, if we say we are going to discuss the doctrine of emptiness, how many would be left? Do you understand now? In our minds, somewhere... when going towards the higher path, the path of adhikusala... as our teacher used to say, we like being a member of the "dog pack," because in the dog pack, we are the leader. But if we go to the "elephant herd," we are just an ordinary member. We want to stay in our old, familiar pack.

Just like that, this is the second of the ten armies of Māra in the mind, called arati, and we need to understand it. As you go further and further into the higher wholesome states, you start saying you don't understand, you feel you've had enough. You say, "Oh, how many years have I been looking at this?" and you start to dismiss it. You say there's nothing special about it. "We talk about the same thing every day. Is there nothing else to talk about? Must you say the same thing every day?" "I've heard enough, discussed enough, meditated enough. Now I'll just live a normal life." Like that, there's always this tendency to think, "How long have I been doing this and gotten nowhere?" Trying to realize something profound through discussion... there's always this inner dislike for the higher wholesome states. It is this dislike for the higher wholesome states that we are referring to here with the word arati.

As soon as that dislike for the higher wholesome states arises, what happens? We are pulled back to the lesser wholesome actions, back to variety. We start to form bonds again. We start to seek sensual pleasure again. Why? Little by little... say you've become a monk or come to a place like this. You've listened to the teachings on emptiness a few times. Now what happens? The mind, little by little, finds it monotonous. "Oh, this is nothing special either." The moment you think that, the world you abandoned starts to look beautiful again. The old world of bonds that you threw away starts to be beautified again. And those spiritual friends (kalyāṇa-mitta) and that group seem useless. "They are being deceptive, it's not genuine there. What they say is not what they do." All this time you didn't see these faults, but suddenly you start seeing faults. You start seeing faults in your spiritual friends. And those lowly people, that worldly crowd... "No, those people are good. The people in the world, they at least do something, fulfill some duty." And that world starts to seem great again. And the value of the spiritual friends... that is made to seem like nothing special from within. When that happens, we should understand that we are completely under the sway of this... but if we recognize this, that's good. "Oh Māra, this is one of your armies." It speaks to our inner self in a subtle way, almost like a sermon. Look at the way Namuci Māra spoke to the Buddha. "Go and do good things. Why are you living by a thread searching for this? You could die." It clearly shows the way the higher wholesome path is stopped. And it's not stopped by directing you towards something wrong. It's done as if, "I'm telling you this for your own good," by telling you to go back and do the lesser things again.

That's when we see it. That's the state most of us are in. That's why they say, once you start this, it doesn't matter if it gets boring. Just continue what you have been doing. Continue without turning back. The mindfulness, concentration, and wisdom that we have developed with such difficulty, just continue with that work. Stay with it, immerse yourself in it, discuss it, cultivate it, apply more energy to it, and direct your life towards the path of eradicating the taints (āsava), towards the path of eroding self-view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi). Incline your life's conduct, your wise conduct, towards this solitude. As you progress, you will feel a solitude. You have to be okay with that solitude internally. The more you apply yourself to this path, the more you will feel an inner solitude. You will feel that you don't want to go out, to become a famous person, to get positions, to be a character among people. The inside becomes more and more solitary. Arati says, "No, you should show the world that you are somebody." But the response is, "No, that's not necessary. This solitude is good. If I have the chance to teach the Dhamma to someone, I will. But I don't need to go and become somebody. For me, this solitude is a happiness. This erosion of the 'I' internally is a happiness." This loneliness and monotony that is increasingly felt is seen as a happiness.

Then what happens? Then arati comes. When sensual pleasure is removed through the arising of concentration, arati comes and fights. But it can't make you go back to the path of wisdom. It tries to stop you by devaluing the practice or by creating some other problems. But we fight back against arati. We don't waver. As the Buddha said, "Let my skin and bones wither away." This body will turn to dust anyway. "It doesn't matter. I will not turn back." The Blessed One doesn't give in to the arati within, even as a Bodhisatta. He doesn't allow himself to be pulled back. So, given the time, I think that idea is sufficient to understand it.

Then... "Kāmā te paṭhamā senā, dutiyā arati vuccati, tatiyā khuppipāsā te." After that, the Buddha shows that for human beings, after you stop seeking sensual pleasure and are developing wisdom through meditation, suddenly Hunger and Thirst (khuppipāsā) arise. For some people who meditate, this happens. A great desire to eat sweet things arises. Because we are not satisfying sensual pleasure, as we listen to the Dhamma and develop the path of mindfulness, as sensual desire wanes, sometimes one tries to balance that lust (rāga) by eating more sugary food. A greed for things like chocolate and sweets can start to arise for some people. After that, what happens is... the Buddha points to this as well... as one of Māra's armies. We are surprisingly attached to food. And the thing is, if we decide to fast, we think about food more than usual. So rejecting food doesn't work. If you reject food, sometimes the number of thoughts about food can increase. For celibates who have taken the precept not to engage in sexual activity, they can have more thoughts about sensuality than ordinary people in the sensual world. Because when the mind tries to reject something, it has a tendency to be pulled towards it more.

Therefore, this third army of Māra is Hunger and Thirst. In other words, we can call it gluttony (kædakama). There is a kind of greediness. So we must understand... then, we have this incredible attachment to food. In the Sabbāsava Sutta, the Buddha clearly explains the methods to eradicate the taints, and he describes this greed associated with food as one of the most difficult areas. I remember one sutta, I don't recall the name, where the Buddha says, "Monks, if I were to establish a fifth pārājika offense, it would be for taking food without reflection (paccavekkhanā). I would make that the fifth pārājika." But he says, "I won't do it, because if I did, many monks would be defeated." After a pārājika offense, one loses one's higher ordination; one is defeated as a monk. What the Buddha is saying is that we are that strongly bound to food.

Here it says... there is a tendency for hunger to arise a few hours after eating, no matter how much we eat. You eat in the morning, and you're hungry by midday. You eat at midday, and you're hungry by night. Some people are like that, needing a biscuit or a cup of tea every three hours. They eat, then drink tea, then eat again, then need afternoon tea, then eat again. So, with food... that's why I said, you can't just reject it. If you try to reject it, or if you practice extreme austerities, you can't develop this path. For that, the Buddha uses the term "knowledge of the proper amount in eating" (bhojane mattaññutā). The Buddha says to know the right measure. One might ask, "Venerable sir, what is the right measure?" The measure is, if after eating, my sense of lightness increases. That is, if after I have eaten, I feel a heaviness or a strong sleepiness, it means I have eaten out of greed (peretakama). I don't know my measure. If you eat without knowledge of the right amount, and if you don't eat enough, then you can't meditate or listen to the Dhamma because of the burning in your stomach and dizziness. If you eat too much, you feel heavy.

So here, the Buddha shows that if we are to fight this army of Māra, Hunger and Thirst, the first thing is the right amount. That means, to eat according to the need. To know the measure... what is the measure that maintains physical and mental lightness? If you eat this amount... otherwise, like after eating a big meal of kottu or fried rice, it feels like concrete has been poured inside you. It's so heavy, you can't even sleep. That means we have eaten out of greed.

As a simile here, the Buddha speaks of a family—a mother, father, and child—traveling through a desert. They run out of food. They need to cross the desert. The mother says, "Kill me and eat me, so that the father and son can go on." The father refuses. "No, kill me and eat me, so you two can cross the desert." Then the two of them talk it over: "If we both survive, we can have another child. Let's kill the child and eat him." The father sends the child to the mother, but the mother says, "I can't kill the child, you do it." The child is sent to the father, and the father says, "I can't kill him either, you do it." The child, sent back and forth, dies. The Buddha then asks, "Now, the two of them eat the child's flesh and cross the desert. When the mother and father eat the child's flesh, do they have greed for it? Do they eat it with a gluttonous thirst, like some people eat meat... like a hungry ghost?" No. They eat not out of greed. They eat only with the thought of crossing the desert, without any intention of savoring it, enjoying it, or having any craving for it. The Buddha says to eat with that same feeling.

Then Māra cannot catch us with this, cannot make us addicted through greed for the event of eating, through Hunger and Thirst. So, at that point of Hunger and Thirst, one must look carefully. This is one of the ten armies of Māra. So here, one thing is to know the right amount. The next point is that the purpose of eating, just like the parents in the desert eating the child's flesh, is not to savor it but solely to cross over. The next point is, if I ever eat out of habit, I get caught by Māra. The best thing is always, when I sit down, to bring attention to my body. "I am here now." After bringing attention to the body, for a few seconds, it doesn't matter, let the mind settle down with the posture. Let myself become calm. Let myself become still. And from within that calmness and stillness, without snatching at the food as if you are tearing at the flesh of an enemy, but very lovingly, mindfully, very mindfully, without any rush... as they say, SMS: Slowly, Mindfully, Silently... take this food with a loving awareness and in silence. When you eat the food like that, you will feel that a small amount is enough to be satisfied. You will begin to feel that satisfaction. You don't need to eat a lot. With a small amount, you also have fewer illnesses. Actually, we are sick not because we don't eat, but because the amount we eat is too much. We have many illnesses because of the excessive amount we eat out of habit.

Therefore, as a group that is practicing this spirituality, before we take food, we should respect the effort of everyone who brought it to us. Food doesn't come to us just because we have money. Farmers have to cultivate. If they didn't, we wouldn't have food. We should show our respect to everyone who has worked hard, be thankful for the food itself, and take the food with a complete sense of love. Then we are not "killing" the food. We don't have aversion or greed towards the food. We partake of it respectfully, for our need. And when you do that, you will notice you don't eat like a hungry ghost (peretayek). You take it as a meditation, mindfully and awake, as a form of concentration. Then we lose that addiction. And while eating, we can also apply wisdom (paññā). You can see... within that feeling, is there a separate "bread"? Is there "rice"? Or is it just a sensation? Within that knowing, where is bread, where is rice? It is a mere sensation. When you bring that wisdom in while eating, eventually, you don't have a separate addiction to "food." We don't have a separate shape or picture for food. Even if we use the word, "I'm fond of this," it loses its meaning. The attachment we have to food, "I like these things, they are this way," that addiction fades if wisdom is also applied to food.

Good, I think that is enough on that point. Do we need to remember any other point about it? Let's move on. The next is... "Kāmā te paṭhamā senā, dutiyā arati vuccati, tatiyā khuppipāsā te, catutthī taṇhā..." The Buddha shows here that the fourth army of Māra is Craving (taṇhā). But look here, first he mentioned Sensual Pleasure (kāma). Now, as the fourth, he changes the word to Craving. At first, it was kāma. Now, as the fourth army of Māra, the Buddha points to taṇhā.

Here, the word taṇhā refers to what is called a "craving for exploration" (pariyesanā-taṇhā) within us. A craving for exploration begins to arise. "Craving for exploration" means... let's say we have been meditating and our mind has become more and more empty. It's not running around creating stories. Having stopped running around, as we become more and more settled with our mindfulness and wisdom, our mind starts to do something like this...By exploration, I mean... suddenly we think, "I should go and see my mother and tell her about this. She should start practicing," and thoughts about our relatives begin. Or, "I should go and start telling the world about this." "I must go and teach the world." Now, none of these are bad things; they are good things. However, at that moment, they break the insight wisdom that one was developing. They break the concentration. Having broken that concentration and wisdom, I start to proliferate mentally along the lines of that thought. If the opportunity arises later, it's fine to do it. But what I am trying to say is that those thoughts come and overwhelm me. Little by little, these thoughts overwhelm me.

Then thoughts about the country, thoughts about relatives... or, "Is it right for me to just stay like this? I should find out a little about what's going on in the world. What is happening? I have put my phone away. I should get a phone. I don't even know what's happening in the world." And we feel like we should get a phone again. It starts with listening to a Dhamma talk. After a few days, it's not just Dhamma talks. It goes to this and that, to a song, and so on. It begins with, "I am only using this phone to listen to the Dhamma, for nothing else." Or, "I'm getting this phone just to teach some Dhamma to my mother." Though it starts there, it doesn't end there. It goes back to the same place: to sensual pleasure (kāma). We start again with something that looks good. "I'm doing this for this purpose." Some people say they need a phone to set an alarm to wake up in the morning. After that, before you know it, we are again subjugated by the world of sensual pleasure.

Or else, something like this also happens with this craving for exploration. As we meditate and our mindfulness develops, various incidents start to appear as mental images. As we meditate and our concentration deepens, within that concentration, it can feel as if gods (devas) are coming and talking to us. They start to give messages. Or we start hearing what seems to be deceased relatives talking to us. We begin to see such mental images. Or else, we start to feel things like incidents from our past lives. And our mind becomes interested in investigating it. "What is that? What is that?" And it starts to contemplate backwards, again and again, following the trail of that appearing image. This is what we call the domains of clairvoyance (paracitta-vijāñāṇa) and recollection of past lives (pubbenivāsānussati). Those various images arise, and some people get pulled into them. Our mind has a tendency to be drawn in. This mostly happens to those who meditate. After meditating and developing concentration, our perceptions become refined. When that happens, we become much more sensitive. We start to feel everything. It is such sensitive people, those who meditated and reached the jhānas, who discovered things like Āyurveda. If you go to the origins of various sciences, you will see they were all discovered by the ancient sages (ṛṣis). Those sages, with the concentration they developed, turned back towards the external world again, rather than towards Nibbāna. A desire arises for those things that come with meditation and concentration, for powers, for abilities. It's not about the cooling of defilements, not about Nibbāna. It's about things like healing powers. "I meditate and when I place my hand on someone, they are healed."

I asked my teacher about this, "Venerable Sir, when these things arise during meditation, what should we do?" What he told me was, "It's okay. Use it only for someone who has a genuine need. Don't go and make a business out of it. As you progress in your spiritual meditation, such powers may arise. But don't go and open up shrines. Don't go and start healing centers. In the end, you will stop your journey towards your own Nibbāna and turn onto a different path. Finally, it will lead to seeking gain and honor. I will start using the spiritual powers I gained from developing the Dhamma for my own existence." The spiritual powers that are built up within us as we develop this path to liberation should not be used for any worldly thing. If we do, we become defiled. We get caught by Māra again, by this craving for exploration. That is, instead of inclining towards Nibbāna, we turn again and again to understanding the universe, understanding the external, changing the external.

That is why the Buddha forbade monks from displaying psychic powers (iddhi-pātihāriya). He also forbade the "miracle of telling" (ādesanā-pātihāriya). It's okay if you know what's in people's minds, but don't go around reading their minds. Then you become like a fortune teller. He forbade the performance of miracles. He told them to practice only the "miracle of instruction" (anusāsanī-pātihāriya). That is, to only teach the path of liberation that you yourself have cultivated. He said not to perform any other magic. In the Vinaya, it is forbidden for a monk to practice medicine, to perform miracles, to read other people's minds and tell them things... because with all of those things, we can block our own path to Nibbāna. The craving for exploration can grow. When you go into the craving for exploration, you fall back into being subjugated by sensual pleasure, by gain and honor.

Therefore, to avoid being defeated by this Māra, as I understand it, the first thing is that we must understand that our first, second, and third priority is only Nibbāna. I do not want anything of this existence. It's like the story where the teacher says, "Go and find lotus flowers for the offering." Two people go and return. One comes empty-handed. The other comes with water lilies. The teacher thanks the one who came empty-handed and gives a slap to the one who brought the water lilies. Why the slap? "If you were sent to find lotus flowers, then find lotus flowers. You should not go finding other things. If you set out to attain Nibbāna, then you must attain Nibbāna. You should not be carrying other things."

Just like that, when developing the path to liberation (mokṣa mārga), it's like digging for a gem. We are going in search of a gem. Some people who go to dig for gems get sidetracked by the dark, valuable trees and start a lumber business. Some dig a little and find some ore, like iron ore, and start a business with that. Some others dig a bit more and find good water. Then they give up searching for the gem and start a water business. Among them, one person digs a little further. He finds a black rock. Many people give up, saying, "Oh, I can't dig past this." But there is one person who, with great difficulty, breaks through that rock. And after breaking through, he finds the gem. In reality, only that one person finds the gem. The rest of the group got blocked at various places.

Just like that, if you have started on this path to liberation, it is to attain Nibbāna. "I will not stop anywhere else. Not for other powers, not for other miraculous energies. They might exist. If there's a need, I might help someone. But I will not try to 'cultivate and eat' from them." That is, my primary aim is only Nibbāna. "If I set out to attain Nibbāna, that's it. Nothing else concerns me. I did what I came for, that's all." You don't let yourself forget why you started. If you have come to this monastery, you must remember why you came. It wasn't to form bonds with the people here or to show them magic. "Why did I come here?"—I must not forget that anywhere. We tend to forget it. We go and create some identity for ourselves and try to thrive within that. We must understand that this journey is for Nibbāna.

If we have that wisdom, then... as they say, if you go to dig for a gem, dig until you find the gem. Don't stop halfway because you are tired. And don't get caught by the things you find along the way. As we develop the path of liberation, immense powers awaken in us. Our abilities emerge. We begin to feel things about the universe in a way we never have before. We begin to feel things about nature. But we should not pay any of it the slightest attention. "This is not why I came. I came with one purpose, that's all. I will keep going until I achieve it. I will not turn back for anything else offered to me." If one has that attitude, we can escape from this.

And the thing is, to go deeper, there is nothing "to do." As much as possible, it is about being without doing. Just being. And "just being" is not another action. As wisdom arises, one sees there is nothing to be done. Existence itself begins to fade. That's where the difficult part is. As this nature of not-self (anattā) emerges, as emptiness (suññatā) emerges, that's when the mind struggles. "Oh, I have to do something, find something." As emptiness emerges, as that wisdom grows, this craving for exploration begins. Therefore, whatever experience we have, we must have a "mantra" of sorts, a wisdom. We don't say anything is good, we don't say it's bad, we don't hold it as a 'thing'. We just maintain the wisdom. The one mantra is the vision of "not me, not mine, not my self" (n'etaṃ mama, n'eso'hamasmi, na me so attā), not just thinking it. We carry that wisdom forward. When you carry that wisdom, you don't grasp onto things and run towards the external to investigate them. While carrying that wisdom, as much as possible... because what happens is you become more and more solitary inside. And you appreciate that solitude. "Etaṃ santaṃ, etaṃ paṇītaṃ, yadidaṃ... upekkhā." "This is peaceful, this is sublime, that is, the equanimity that comes through this wisdom." The equanimity that comes through wisdom is sublime. To make that sublime, the tendency to run around giving value to external things fades away. Because we see that wisdom itself is peaceful. That equanimity born of wisdom is peaceful. We associate with spiritual friends who are working towards that. We discuss only with them. As we do that, we begin to understand, and our craving for exploration starts to fade.

If it's alright, perhaps we can discuss the remaining parts tomorrow or the day after.

Alright. May the Triple Gem bless you!

Original Source (Video):

Title: විචිත්‍රත්වයෙන් පිරුණු කාමය - Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/i-PuqthoQX4?si=sCPnTeS9TxU_X25Z

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The translations shared on this blog are based on Dhamma sermons originally delivered in Sinhalese. They have been translated into English with the help of AI (ChatGPT & Gemini AI), with the intention of making these teachings more accessible to a broader audience.

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