Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 01 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana
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Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 01 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana
We were in the middle of a discussion on consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa), but we were unable to complete it. So, I thought we should complete that section. When I looked into it, I realized we had done this very same topic in last year's September workshop. It seems we are set to repeat the discussion on consciousness without feature in 2025 as well; it's as if a cycle is repeating itself in everything. In any case, I felt that for this program, we should discuss the Buddha’s discourse concerning this consciousness without feature. To discuss consciousness without feature, we chose a commentary provided by the late Venerable Katukurunde Gnanananda Thero in his book, ‘The Magic of the Mind,’ which is based on the Kàlama Sutta. This book is titled ‘Manase Maayaawa’.
The final two chapters of ‘The Magic of the Mind,’ chapters 10 and 11, discuss the topics of consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa) and liberation (Nibbāna). He explains these two topics, liberation and consciousness without feature, by drawing upon numerous suttas from the Tipiṭaka. In these two chapters, he clarifies how the Buddha brought forth the concept of the dimension of liberation (Nibbāna dhātu). So, I thought that in this last week's program, we should discuss the tenth and eleventh chapters, which deal with this topic of consciousness without feature. So, let's ask the venerable nun to read a portion. We will read through this chapter, bit by bit, over the next few days.
Nun:
With permission from the Sangha.
Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa. (Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Enlightened One.)
Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa. (Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Enlightened One.)Namo tassa bhagavato arahato sammā sambuddhassa. (Homage to the Blessed One, the Worthy One, the Perfectly Enlightened One.)
Consciousness without feature (Anidassana Viññāṇa).
Viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ, anantaṃ sabbato pabhaṃ.
Ettha āpo ca pathavī, tejo vāyo na gādhati.
Ettha dīghañca rassañca, aṇuṃ thūlaṃ subhāsubhaṃ.
Ettha nāmañca rūpañca, asesaṃ uparujjhati.
Viññāṇassa nirodhena, etthetaṃ uparujjhatī’ti.
(From the Kevatta Sutta, Dīgha Nikāya, page 538 of the Buddha Jayanti Tipiṭaka Series edition.)
“Consciousness without feature, endless, radiant all around,
Here water, earth, fire, and wind have no footing.
Here long and short, fine and coarse, beautiful and ugly—
Here name and form cease without remainder.
With the cessation of consciousness, this ceases here.”
This magical nature, which the Buddha said is inherent within consciousness, is its capacity for reflexive awareness. Since it is inherent within consciousness, it is consciousness itself, the fifth of the five aggregates (pañcakkhandha), that reflects, like a mirror. This is truly an illusion. Consciousness turns and looks at itself. This reflexive seeing happens through the perception of self (atta-saññā). In truth, wherever there is consciousness, the perception of a self is present.
Herein lies a wonderful paradox, a hidden contradiction. When someone recognizes themselves in the mirror of consciousness, thinking "I am this" or "this is me," they are unwittingly caught in a duality. This experience, born from the arising of a gap between the observer and the observed, gives way to a form of measuring known as conceit (māna). To put it another way, a dependent relationship—or a relationship of mutual dependence—is established. For a person looking in a mirror, it is not just their own image that they become aware of, but also the associated feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), volition (cetanā), contact (phassa), and attention (manasikāra). Just as an awareness arises, a perception of self arises, and simultaneously, an awareness of a stream of related objects emerges. When these objects are taken as a whole, they are known as name-and-form (nāma-rūpa).
Gnanaweera Thero:
Alright, we will discuss this portion from here. The topic begins with consciousness without feature (anidassana viññāṇa). When we say consciousness without feature, we are referring to a consciousness that does not gain a footing in anything. This means it is an unestablished consciousness (apatiṭṭhita viññāṇa). When consciousness is unestablished, without feature, it means it doesn't have a footing in name-and-form (nāma-rūpa), a footing in a sign (nimitta). When there is no footing in a sign or name-and-form, then a consciousness dependent on name-and-form does not arise. That is what is meant by "without feature."
This is because consciousness is always about knowing, about being aware of something. And to know something, there must be something to be known. The nature of consciousness is the act of knowing. We feel all these things—the cold, the heat, our homes—because of some external object. For consciousness to arise, for an awareness or a feeling to arise, there needs to be something subtle or gross. There needs to be a division of internal and external. That is, there needs to be a duality. When that duality is present, this knowing, this consciousness, arises. For knowing to arise, for feeling to arise, a duality is essential. We call this established consciousness (patiṭṭhita viññāṇa). This, we call the round of existence (saṃsāra). In the round of existence, consciousness is established; it has a dualistic nature, carrying the quality of "I am."
Now, here, consciousness without feature means that such a consciousness has nothing to cognize. There is no feature, no sign, no mark, no form. When that is absent, a cognition does not arise. This consciousness is, in fact, liberation (Nibbāna). This is what the Buddha is truly highlighting in this topic called consciousness without feature.
There is a beautiful story about Ajahn Chah. The venerable Ajahn Chah was a meditation master in Thailand. Many people believe he was an Arahant. I remember we also went to visit his monastery, Wat Pah Pong. This was not during his lifetime. The monastery is now under a different abbot, but other monks are still there. Monks like Ajahn Brahm, who were ordained under Ajahn Sumedho at Amaravati Buddhist Monastery, were all disciples of Ajahn Chah. So, Ajahn Chah's method is a bit different from the sitting and walking meditation that we practice. His method was to teach the ordained ones, as much as possible, to be engaged in activities from morning till night. The key was to maintain mindfulness (sati) in all activities. This is the method of Ajahn Chah—to be engaged in work as much as possible from morning till night. This is what we call working meditation. This means maintaining mindfulness not in one’s personal work, but in communal duties.
For example, when we say "we do working meditation," it refers to mindfully engaging in communal activities. Work for the community, meaning my own work... for instance, even if I wash my own clothes, that is something I do for myself. We are told to do that mindfully. Working meditation, however, means doing communal work as much as possible, not for oneself but for the Sangha. This is the method found in Ajahn Chah's tradition at Wat Pah Pong in Thailand. So, that was the kind of practice they had.
It is said that one day, there was a large log on a path in Ajahn Chah's monastery. Seeing this large log on the path, he told the Sangha to move it. After they moved the log, he asked, "So, what do you feel?" They replied that they felt a sense of freedom after moving the log. "There, that is Nibbāna," he said. It’s not just about moving the log. There is work to be done until the log is moved. After the log is moved, there is freedom. The log on the path is moved, and that's it.
It's like the story of the Laughing Buddha. The story of the Laughing Buddha is about him carrying a large sack on his shoulder wherever he went, always smiling. That's why he's called the Laughing Buddha. He walks down the road, laughing and smiling. As he walks along, smiling, he meets some children and teaches them the alphabet and plays with them. Then he shoulders his sack again and continues on his way. He lived a very unusual, wandering life, travelling a great deal. Then he would go and ask for something from someone, perhaps some food. When he asked, some people would scold this Laughing Buddha soundly. In response, he would laugh loudly. Then, others would say kind words to him, and he would also laugh. Because those are two different responses, aren't they? Throughout his entire life, he had the same response to every action, every event. After having the same response to every incident, whether someone scolded him or someone praised him and gave him something, he would laugh again. There was no special praise, no special blame. He showed the same nature to both.
Then, the Laughing Buddha, having received these things, would share the food with the children on the main road. His was a character somewhat different from that of a conventional monk. A bit of a radical, a different kind of monk. So, he would go and get some alms, and when his bag was empty, he would go again, teach the children the alphabet, and give them things. You see, in many places in Sri Lanka, they have pictures of the Laughing Buddha. Those people, at that time… in fact, many people in China keep statues of the Laughing Buddha because of what he did. After he passed away, they continued to do as he did. In Sri Lanka now, some people keep his image with the hope of receiving good fortune, much like they hang a picture of the great Arahant Sīvali.
So anyway, this Laughing Buddha, with his characteristic nature, was once walking along carrying his sack. As he was about to leave, someone came and asked him, "What is the path to liberation? What is Nibbāna? What is a being?" In response, he is said to have taken the sack off his shoulder and slammed it hard on the ground. He slammed it hard on the ground like this. After slamming it, he laughed loudly. When he was asked what the Dhamma is, he didn't say a word. He didn't talk much. Without saying a word, he just slammed the sack hard on the ground, laughed, and then put it back on his shoulder and walked away. What he was telling those who seek the truth is this: to realize the truth, you must put down everything you have been carrying for so long. You must put down every path you have cultivated, slam everything on the ground. The path is to let go of the path and walk in freedom. To live in freedom. That's it. He showed the path to liberation in a very unique way. The method of Ajahn Chah, the method of the Laughing Buddha—these venerable monks pointed to it in their own unique ways, using unique methods.
They had their own way of expressing it. Slamming the sack on the ground means to put everything down. Because when all paths, all methods, all techniques are put down, this consciousness has nothing to exist upon. Consciousness has no path to cling to, no method, no way. Then, consciousness becomes featureless (anidassana). This means it realizes Nibbāna.
So, the issue is this: let's say we see this now. Alright, he slammed the sack on the ground, then picked up the empty sack, laughed, and walked away. That, they say, is the Dhamma. Even though the Laughing Buddha told us this, even though we are told this, we can't do it. We need to find out why it is so difficult for us. What is it that makes it hard? If we are told to slam the entire sack on the ground, which means to abandon everything we have done for the sake of Nibbāna, to abandon all practices we are engaged in to see Nibbāna, to let go of all activities and put everything down—if we are told this all at once, it is very difficult for us. The reason is that we like to cultivate a path, little by little, bit by bit. That way, we can continue to exist. We have a method. We have methods and techniques. Holding on to those methods, holding on to those techniques, we can just be. We can exist.
It's just like this, let's take an example. Let's say we are travelling in a vehicle. As we are travelling, we see... in our childhood, our parents and teachers taught us how to study, what is right and wrong, what career to pursue—this is how we learned. We got used to it. Now, as our life speeds along, when we realize that we cannot run much further, that no matter how much we run, there is nothing special to gain, we understand that death is drawing nearer and nearer. We realize that we cannot stay in this state for much longer. However, after that, we feel the need to get out of this vehicle, this vehicle of the mind that keeps racing forward. Now we want to... we feel we must get out of this life, that we are constantly heading towards death. We wonder, "Can't I just get out of this? Can't I stop this? Can't I escape death?" We feel the need to find a way to jump out of it.
Then, the issue is this: our parents started this vehicle for us and told us how to keep moving forward in this round of existence (saṃsāra). They taught us how to form attachments and fulfill our duties. But our parents don't know how to stop it. They helped us start this vehicle called saṃsāra and go forward, but they don't know the way to stop it. And then, the thing is, we have only learned how to keep going. We don't know how to stop. We don't understand how to stop this mind. How do we stop this mind? How do we work with the mind's impulses in this way to bring them to zero? We don't understand that. But we want to be free from these impulses, these addictions, this state of attachment. But we don't see a way to do it. We can't stop it.
That is when it happens to us. How do we stop this? Then we have to search for a way to stop it. We say that we are looking for a spiritual friend (kalyāṇa-mitta). By associating with spiritual friends and searching for the Dhamma, we look for those who have stopped. Who are the ones who have stopped their vehicles? Then we see those who have stopped, living happily, laughing, drinking tea, joking around, very relaxed. But I realize that even though they are relaxed, I am still full of questions. Because my vehicle is still running. So, I have to listen to their sermons while my vehicle is still moving. I am listening to the sermon about stopping while I am speeding along inside.
That is what the Buddha preached to Aṅgulimāla. "Aṅgulimāla, I have stopped. You stop." I have already stopped. My mind has stopped. I have stopped. Now, you stop. The issue here is, think about it, we are running, and while running, we are told to stop. Then a question arises for us: how do we stop? Then we hear various sermons. I listen to all those words as I go. Now I know that no matter how I go, it's only for a little while longer. So, in the end, the only thing left to do is to close our eyes and let go of the steering wheel. Because no matter what we do, we cannot stop this. With every struggle to stop it, the speed just increases again. We try to stop this mind, we do this, we let go of that, we do that, we do this. With everything we do, it goes and speeds up again. It starts to go faster again. We start to get trapped again. We get entangled somewhere again. That is when we realize that there is no separate technique to stop this. There is no other method. We have to let go of the steering wheel—that is, let go of life. Why? Because as long as we are holding the steering wheel, we are doing something: applying the brakes, doing that, doing this. We use techniques, try to stop that. We keep trying and trying to stop it, but we are still running. Because we are holding the steering wheel so tightly, thinking, "Somehow, I will stop this," holding on tighter and tighter. Then we see that it doesn't stop.
So, in the end, we understand that the only way is to close our eyes and let go of the steering wheel, thinking, "Whatever happens, happens." Either the vehicle will crash into a precipice, or it might just come to a stop. Or it might crash into a tree and stop. We have to let go of every effort to stop it ourselves and just close our eyes, letting go of the steering wheel. This is where a great fear arises. "Will I die? I don't know. What will happen? I don't know." That is the fear that prevents many people from attaining this liberation (mokkha), from reaching this consciousness without feature. The reason we cannot reach this consciousness without feature is that there is a great fear within. Even if we try to stop, we need to be sure it's the right way, right? "Venerable sir, I won't fall into a chasm, will I? I will be safe, right?" There are so many plans, plans, plans. So many plans. They plan so much to stop. Don't plan to stop. Let go of the steering wheel, thinking, "Whatever happens, happens." Then it will stop. Otherwise, you will forever be planning out of fear. Because you are not facing the situation, because of the inner fear of that situation. So understand, that is why this way of stopping is so terrifying.
The way to stop this round of existence is in a very uncertain way, as in "come what may." You just have to let go of the steering wheel. That grit, that strength, that power must be within a person. Because only with that strength can this running mind suddenly stop and begin to become featureless. We don't cling to consciousness for the sake of consciousness, do we? We are not engaged in any activity, even to attain Nibbāna, are we? We are not doing anything ourselves. We have let go of everything we were doing. We are just being, like an inert object. We have let go of the steering wheel. Then, someone might ask, "Venerable sir, when you say you are just being, does that mean you are not moving your arms and legs, not doing any work?" No, that's not it. Externally, you can be very active; you can work even better. The venerable Ajahn Chah said that after coming to attain Nibbāna, there is no rest time to just be idle. In his tradition, if someone said they needed time for that, they would be given some work to do even during that time. So, "Ah, you need time for yourself this hour? Here, do this as well." What this means is that the ego is always looking for something. The whole point is to change activities.
Look at us, when we say we are resting, we go to our rooms and what do we do? We start pressing our phones. We are just changing our work. It's like changing periods at school; we are just changing our work. So, when one is developing this path to liberation, one can never see Nibbāna by being lazy. One must be active at all times. However, their inner mindfulness, their awareness, does not move from here to there. They are very active in their work. They engage in activities. But as it says in the Karaṇīyametta Sutta, to see Nibbāna, one should have few duties (appakicco). "Few duties" means few mental activities. That means the space between thoughts is greater. The gap between two thoughts is wider. The inner awareness is greater. But externally, one is very active, working hard, sweating, doing everything. If one tries to cultivate the path to liberation without this, they will end up as a sick person. They become ill.
So, that is why when one is cultivating this path to liberation and practicing, to truly make consciousness featureless, one has to let go of the activities one does to gain something for oneself. That is, whether it's to attain Nibbāna or to realize something, one must let go of that activity. "I am going to attain something. I am going to be given peace, happiness, freedom, Nibbāna." One must let go of all such activities. But then, the problem is, for a mind that has been accustomed to working for its own benefit for so long, when it is told to let go of working for itself, when it is told to let go of striving for its own Nibbāna, then they think, "Then why am I dying for this?" So then we say, that is it. In such a self-centered activity, no being is realized. A person... in their search for their own freedom, their own peace, their own happiness, they have always been trapped and imprisoned. They thought, "People have deceived me." They suffered, they were oppressed. They practice to make themselves happy. That means even the path to liberation, the path to Nibbāna, is used to make "me" happy, to keep "me" free. For that, it would have been better if we had stayed in a hotel. This is about satisfying "me." It is about making "me" happy.
So now, a person who is about to realize this consciousness without feature cannot have selfishness in their actions. In their activities, there is no story of making "me" happy, no idea of "I need to be free," no thought of "I will step aside and be at peace." There is nothing like that. However, their inner state is one of prior release. "So, if I don't need to do anything for myself, then I am free, aren't I? I have nothing to gain, nothing to lose." I don't have anything. So there's no sorrow of losing something. When one's spirituality develops to this level, we say that they are gradually, bit by bit, approaching what is called this consciousness without feature. Otherwise, we can learn this just with words. But I don't think learning the words will do much good, just because we have learned these Pali words and their meanings.
So, as one moves toward this state of consciousness without feature, I will say a few more things. Consciousness without feature means... for example, let's take this. Let's take something. Let's take this chair. If we try to understand this chair in a certain way, if we try to understand the cause and effect of this chair, then we first accept that the chair is something made of name-and-form (nāma-rūpa). That the chair is something made of elements (dhātu). That the chair is the four great elements (catumahābhūta). When you take it that way, whatever you have accepted as a chair, if you look at the impermanence of that accepted thing, or if you look at the elements in it, or whatever, what happens is that only the perception (saññā) changes. But the consciousness continues to hold on to the idea of "chair" again and again.
So then, for you to be born in the next life, you don't even need a chair; an atom would be enough. A plank would be enough. A piece of paper would be enough. If there is some sense of aliveness attributed to it as a separate, existing thing, it doesn't matter if it's a paper or not. It doesn't matter if it is this paper or not; if you accept that it exists with a life of its own, understand that there is definitely a descent of consciousness there. There is a landing of consciousness. Why? It doesn't matter if it's a tissue paper. It doesn't matter if it's this atom. Look at this half-sheet of paper. When we feel it as a half-sheet of paper, we feel it, right? Look now, when I take this tissue paper, don't we think, "This is a tissue paper"? As soon as we see it, we think it exists as a tissue paper. Then, I tear it. Now, what is it that you, venerable sir, have done? You have torn the tissue paper, haven't you? You have committed a crime, destroyed it, haven't you? But if I ask, does this tissue paper have an existence as a "tissue paper"? No. Does this tissue paper have a feeling of being a "tissue paper"? It doesn't.
Then do you understand? But you do have a feeling that there is a separate, unique thing called a "tissue paper," and that you have torn it, ripped it into pieces. You have destroyed it. Then you feel as if something that was existing has become impermanent. As if you have destroyed the tissue paper. See? It feels like the cessation of something that was existing. The acceptance of something as an existing thing is what we call the arising of consciousness. Otherwise, in Buddhism, this is called the perception of permanence (nicca-saññā). It exists as a thing. The grasping that it exists as a thing. Otherwise, this tissue paper... now I am not talking about the word "tissue paper," but the feeling. There is a feeling that a separate tissue-like thing exists, with a life of its own. That is what we say. There, consciousness has something to descend upon. So now we can know. We can know that a separate tissue paper comes into being. Then did you see? There, consciousness has the ability to know a separately existing tissue paper. There, the impermanence of that tissue paper, the fact that it is changing, is known. In that way, if we see this world, this consciousness will never become featureless. That is to say, consciousness, the consciousness element (viññāṇa-dhātu), will not become the Nibbāna element (Nibbāna-dhātu). Again and again, existence (bhava), the state of being, will be there for us. That is, the perception of self (atta-saññā), that a separate, living thing exists, begins to descend.
That characteristic of self... so, what we need to understand here is what the Buddha is trying to show. When the Buddha speaks of consciousness without feature, he is not pointing to the impermanence of this tissue paper. It is not about a thing called a "tissue paper." The very nature of recognizing it, the recognition itself, is impermanent, not the thing that is recognized. If the understanding arises that it is a mirage, then consciousness has no name-and-form to establish itself in. Why? When we say that consciousness establishes itself, don't think that there is a separate thing called consciousness that establishes itself. That's not it. Consciousness is the knowing of a knowable object. A cognition cannot arise without a cognizable object. To see, there must be something to be seen, right? A seeing cannot happen without an object. Just like that. For a cognition to arise, a cognizable object must be met. Ah, when we get to the point of a "cognizable object," we have already gone into the perception of permanence. We have already gone into the perception of self, that something exists.
So then, here... but this topic we have taken up today is a bit deep. Because this is the deepest part of Buddhism. It is like the very core. It is the deepest part of the Buddha's teachings. This core... so, for this consciousness to become featureless, our wisdom must be applied. Mindfulness and wisdom must be applied to see that this characteristic of impermanence is not about the tissue paper being impermanent. It is not about a thing, be it a tissue paper or anything else. The very nature of the encounter itself is a mirage. When this is realized, then there is no landing, establishing, or descending of consciousness. It becomes non-arisen (anuppāda). It completely becomes the Nibbāna element. It becomes Nibbāna.
Alright. So, that is the idea about consciousness without feature. Just a little on this topic. When we say consciousness without feature, it is something like this. It means there is no establishment, no footing. This matter of being unestablished (apatiṭṭhita) and without feature (anidassana) is the basic idea of this topic. But don't worry if you don't understand this. Because in this chapter, Venerable Katukurunde Gnanananda Thero brings forth the places in the Tipiṭaka where the Buddha has explained this consciousness without feature. He shows how the Blessed One has spoken about this featureless nature, this Nibbāna element, this unestablished nature.
Look, the first verse he has taken is: Viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ, anantaṃ sabbato pabhaṃ. Ettha āpo ca pathavī, tejo vāyo na gādhati. Ettha dīghañca rassañca, aṇuṃ thūlaṃ subhāsubhaṃ. Ettha nāmañca rūpañca, asesaṃ uparujjhati. Viññāṇassa nirodhena, etthetaṃ uparujjhatī’ti. Okay, this is taken from the Kevatta Sutta. The Kevatta Sutta is in the Dīgha Nikāya. Let's look into that a bit. Because this verse, as I remember, is the final verse of the Kevatta Sutta. The Kevatta Sutta is a sutta in the Dīgha Nikāya. The discourses in the Dīgha Nikāya are very long. They are very long, and I think that sutta is more than 30 or 40 pages long. So, I think we also discussed a Dīgha Nikāya sutta here for about two years. A normal sutta is like that. Now, Venerable Katukurunde Gnanananda, when bringing forth the places where the Buddha explained consciousness without feature, has first taken this from the Kevatta Sutta. As I recall, this is the final verse. At the end of the Kevatta Sutta, the Buddha preaches this verse. I will just briefly state the idea behind it.
The context is this. We need to understand the reason why the Buddha recited this verse. The reason is that a young man named Kevatta comes to the Buddha and makes a request. As I recall, the Buddha was staying in the region of Nālandā at that time. While the Buddha was in the Nālandā area, Kevatta came and made a request: "Venerable Sir, there are many people in this area. A large number of people live here, and you have many disciples. Please tell your disciples to perform some miracle. If they perform a miracle, many people will gain faith in your disciples. They will have great faith in your disciples. So, Venerable Sir, please don't think ill of me for saying this. I am saying a good thing. Your disciples have the ability to perform psychic feats (iddhi-pāṭihāriya)." When he asks him to perform a little miracle, the Buddha says that it is unbefitting, Kevatta. Because performing miracles does not increase anyone's wisdom (paññā). It does not lead to an increase in understanding. Since it doesn't lead to an increase in wisdom and understanding, the Buddha... then Kevatta says again, "Oh, Venerable Sir, please don't think that way about what I'm saying. There are so many people in this large area, millions of people in Nālandā. If one of your disciples performs a miracle, how many of them will start listening to the Dhamma?"
Then, for the second time, the Buddha says it is not appropriate, Kevatta. You see, the Buddha never performed miracles just to make people have faith in him. He never showed off his powers. Even Jesus, when he was on the cross, they told him, "You can perform great miracles. So save yourself from the cross." But he did not perform any miracle. He did not do such a thing for himself, for his own sake. So, here, Kevatta asks for the third time. After he asks for the third time, the Buddha tells Kevatta that there are three types of miracles. One is the miracle of psychic power (iddhi-pāṭihāriya), the second is the miracle of telepathy (ādesanā-pāṭihāriya), and the third is the miracle of instruction (anusāsanī-pāṭihāriya). He says there are these three types of miracles. The miracle of psychic power, Kevatta... this is a long discourse in the Dīgha Nikāya, so there are many details. You can read it. There are about 30 suttas in the Dīgha Nikāya. So, in it, he explains that the miracle of psychic power is flying through the air, walking on water as if on land, and walking on land as if in water.
Then the Buddha says, "Kevatta, a person who has faith will be impressed when they see someone who has developed such powers through meditation. But a person without faith will accuse them, saying that in India there is some kind of charm... I don't remember the exact name, you can read the sutta... there is a charm, and by learning that charm, one can perform miracles." After learning that charm, they say... then the Buddha preaches, "Kevatta, then others will accuse them, saying that the disciples of the Buddha have not developed their minds, but have learned some kind of art and are performing miracles using that art." Because of that, one who lacks faith will lose even more faith.
And also, think about it, if we performed a magic trick here, the people here would only be amazed. It wouldn't help them in any way towards Nibbāna. When we go to see a magic show, we don't attain Nibbāna after watching it. Our wisdom doesn't awaken because of it. So the Buddha preaches, "What is the use if it does not awaken one's wisdom?" And the other thing is, the one who performs the miracle is trying to get my attention. They are showing off their magic. But a person who has eradicated the view of a self (sakkāya-diṭṭhi) has no need to get attention from anyone. Because that ego has been eradicated, such a person does not feel that need.
Then the Buddha continues this at length. For that reason, he says, "I never tell my monks, my disciples, to perform miracles." Now, in some places, the Buddha... like with Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja, he made him smash the alms bowl on the ground. He performed a miracle. This Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja... the followers of Nigaṇṭha Nātaputta said that if there is anyone who can perform a miracle, an Arahant, they should go and take the alms bowl that was placed high up. Then Venerable Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja used his psychic powers to go and get the bowl. After that, they all started saying, "The disciples of the sage Gotama are like vultures! They flew up to perform a miracle for a mere alms bowl." They couldn't perform the miracle, but they just flew away with it. After that, somehow, when he came to the Jētavana monastery, the Buddha told Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja to come. He told him to come, took the bowl, and... we might think the Buddha is harsh, he smashes the alms bowl on a rock. He pulverizes the bowl. After smashing the bowl like this on the ground, he says, "What you did was like a prostitute in a brothel exposing her private parts to attract men. A spiritual person, apart from teaching the Dhamma to end another's suffering, should never display their own virtues. A virtue, one's own ability, one's own power—it is unseemly. Using one's virtue in that way does not help another person to be pacified."
Now, the fourth Pārājikā offense is the offense regarding superhuman states (uttarimanussadhamma). That is, if someone, with the intention of gaining alms and offerings, claims a superhuman state, it is a Pārājikā offense. But it's like this. There is another side to it. Now, everyone might say that in this age, one cannot become an Arahant. But if someone says, "I have accomplished this," in order to inspire them, it gives them the strength to think, "You can do it too." The point is not to tell the world that one is an Arahant. It is to give others the signal that it is possible. Then the intention is not to seek alms, offerings, fame, and praise. So it is not a Pārājikā offense. Because the intention is different. The intention is what is primarily considered for a Pārājikка offense. If there is no such intention, it doesn't become the Pārājikā offense of claiming superhuman states.
Okay, anyway, the point I was making is that the Buddha rejects this. Then the Buddha says again that there is another miracle. The miracle of telepathy (ādesanā-pāṭihāriya) means that when someone comes near, some people can read their mind. That is, when we have developed mindfulness through meditation, we can feel and read minds. We say that when they come near, we can feel it. That is, we can feel it and say. We say "read" them. The Buddha says to the monks... the Buddha has forbidden it. "Do not perform the miracle of telepathy." Why? Because in India at that time, there was a subject, like some kind of art, that one could learn. A person who learned that subject, a person who knew that subject, after learning it, could read the mind of anyone who came near them. They could feel it and read it. They could say what that person was thinking. So the Buddha says that in the end, a person without faith will be displeased. "These disciples of the sage Gotama are not reading minds by developing their minds, but by learning this subject." That also, for a person who... it's like fortune-telling. It's like reading someone's face to tell their fortune. The Buddha says that all these arts and sciences do not help one attain Nibbāna.
So he says, "Kevatta, I forbid both the miracle of psychic power and the miracle of telepathy for the monks. I teach the miracle of instruction (anusāsanī-pāṭihāriya)." The miracle of instruction means the Buddha shows what is wholesome (kusala) and what is unwholesome (akusala). After that is shown, the sutta continues. After Kevatta understands the Dhamma, he feels that there is no point in continuing to support his wife and children with household things. He thinks, "I must offer my life for this truth." Then, whether he has a small or large family, he leaves all his relatives. If he had things that he considered his own, he leaves all those possessions. He leaves everything and goes forth into homelessness in the presence of the sage Gotama. After going forth, the sutta continues, describing at length the virtue (sīla). However, there the Buddha mentions... there are certain things about the virtue of some monks that are not commendable. But I am not going to go into the details of those. Because we discussed these at length when we were discussing the Sāmaññaphala Sutta. The Buddha has explained virtue in detail. In it, the Buddha forbids monks from being royal servants. He says that being a royal servant is unvirtuous. He puts those things under the category of base arts (tiracchāna-vijjā). Learning those base arts... all those things should be stopped by a monk. You can see. Those things are in the section on virtue in the Sīlakkhandhavagga of that sutta. I will not take time for those. Because our topic is not the Kevatta Sutta, but consciousness without feature. I will just come to the part that explains where this piece is, the part related to the reason for saying this. Because it is a long discourse. I will explain where the Buddha recites this verse in the Kevatta Sutta.
He preaches this after... after perfecting virtue in this way and developing concentration (samādhi), he then develops the powers of the divine eye (dibbacakkhu) and divine ear (dibbasota). Through that, he develops the knowledge of the destruction of the taints (āsavakkhaya-ñāṇa). And through the knowledge of destroying the taints, he eradicates all defilements (kilesa). The Buddha shows that this is what happens through the miracle of instruction—leaving behind all possessions and completely realizing the path of liberation. I am giving a short summary; the sutta is long. Alright.
Now, after preaching in this way, the Buddha says a certain part. At the end of that sutta, the Buddha tells the story of a monk from the past. He tells Kevatta, "There was a monk in the past. He had gone forth out of faith and was developing the absorptions (jhāna). He then thought, 'Where do these four great elements—earth (paṭhavī), water (āpo), fire (tejo), and wind (vāyo)—cease to exist? Where is the place where this material, this physicality, does not exist?' He wanted to find out." Then, using his meditative powers, he went to the celestial realms and asked the deities. He asked, "Where is the place where the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—have no footing?" Then those deities said, "We don't know. The celestial realms above us, you should go and see. They might know." He goes to all six celestial realms, creating the different absorptions, and asks. They don't know. So, some twenty years pass like this for him. And he is doing this while being right there in the Jētavana monastery, near the Buddha. This monk spends two years developing the formless absorptions (arūpa jhāna) and goes to the great Brahmā.
He goes to the great Brahmā and asks him, "Where is the place where the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind—do not exist?" Then what does that great Brahmā do? He pulls the monk aside and says, "Venerable sir, don't ask such questions in front of my other... my followers. Because they all think I know everything. I don't know where the four great elements do not establish, where they do not exist. I don't know about Nibbāna. And you have made a great mistake. You know your teacher. Why did you, having gone forth under your teacher, the Buddha, and staying right there in the Jētavana monastery, come looking for the Brahma realms? He knows where the four great elements have no footing. He is the one who has directly realized and understood it. If you had suddenly asked me this in front of everyone, how would I have faced them? They all think I know everything." So, how can he...? Even the great Brahmā, though he is a Brahmā, still has conceit (māna). He wants to protect his image in front of the others. He wants to maintain his prestige, his reputation. That is why he is still in the round of existence—to protect that reputation, that bubble called reputation. Because he still needs to maintain his image, he is still in saṃsāra. Otherwise, the great Brahmā doesn't have strong greed or hatred at that level. What it means is that at those levels, there are no women, right? There are no men or women in the Brahma realms. We have not seen or heard of female Brahmās. Only male Brahmās. This means there is no lust. It means there is no lust or hatred. But existence (bhava) is there. Because the "I am" conceit (asmimāna) is there. The need to maintain himself in four ways is there. The conceit... that is, the fear of his identity, his image, being shattered. That's why he takes the monk aside. He takes him aside and tells him not to ask in front of the others. He took him aside to save face. After this, that monk returns to the Buddha. Now, after 40 years... after staying there for four years... in Jētavana for 20 years. After 20 years, he comes to the Buddha and says, "Venerable Sir, I went to all six celestial realms. I went to the Brahma world. I asked everyone where these four great elements—earth, water, fire—are absent. Where this form is absent. That is, I have asked where Nibbāna is. What Nibbāna is." After that, the Buddha says that not a single one of them gave him the answer. In the end, it was the great Brahmā himself who said, "Are you mad? You left your teacher, the one who knows this perfectly well, the Buddha, and you come to us asking these things? What are you asking us for? Your own master knows. You have made a mistake."
The Buddha knows this perfectly well. "We don't know. We are still holding on to the feeling that 'I exist.'" What this means is that he is still holding on to this existence. He does not understand about an unestablished consciousness, a featureless consciousness, about the cessation of consciousness. That is when the Buddha tells the monk, "The way you asked the question was wrong." It is not about a place where earth, water, fire, and wind are absent. The question should be, "How do earth, water, fire, and wind not arise?" He tells him to change the question. The question is wrong. Because otherwise, you are looking for a place to land. A place where the four great elements are not. "Ah, I will be there." So the Buddha preaches that it is not like that. Change the question: "How do the four great elements not arise?" Then, the Buddha... as the final verse of the Kevatta Sutta, is this verse. This is what Venerable Katukurunde Gnanananda... the good thing about him is that he places the source for everything he takes. When he takes a point, he gives the sutta reference. So if we study it a little, we can gain a good knowledge of the Dhamma.
So, this final verse of the Kevatta Sutta is what the Buddha shows: Viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ, anantaṃ sabbato pabhaṃ. Ettha āpo ca pathavī, tejo vāyo na gādhati. Ettha dīghañca rassañca, aṇuṃ thūlaṃ subhāsubhaṃ. Ettha nāmañca rūpañca, asesaṃ uparujjhati. For this, Venerable Katukurunde has given the translation "manifesting no sign." That means, for consciousness, there is nothing. No sign to manifest, no object. Then, "endless," which means it has no beginning, middle, or end. A limitless consciousness. Then, "radiant all around," like a radiance. Like a limitless light. "Here water, earth, wind, fire, long, short, fine, coarse have no footing." That means there is no relativity. "Good and bad, name and form—both cease here without remainder." That is, a name-and-form does not get established. This is what is said about consciousness without feature. There is no duality. There is no relativity. There is no object. Just a limitless awareness. A signless wakefulness. There, that is the Nibbāna where earth, water, fire, and wind do not arise.
Now, with the time we have left today, I will say a little more about the meaning of this verse. Venerable Katukurunde mentions, "The Buddha taught that there is a magical nature inherent in consciousness: its capacity for reflexive awareness." Because it is inherent in consciousness... it is consciousness itself, the fifth of the five aggregates, that reflects, like a mirror. This is truly an illusion. Consciousness turns and looks at itself. This reflexive seeing happens through the perception of a self (atta-saññā). In truth, wherever there is consciousness, the perception of a self is present. Herein lies a wonderful paradox, a hidden contradiction. When someone recognizes themselves in the mirror of consciousness, thinking "I am this" or "this is me," they are unwittingly caught in a duality. This experience, born from the arising of a gap... this experience is split in two, and a gap arises, giving way to a form of measuring known as conceit (māna). To put it another way, a dependent relationship—or a relationship of mutual dependence—is established. He says to look at the fifth chapter. "For a person looking in a mirror, it is not just their own image that they become aware of, but also the associated feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), volition (cetanā), contact (phassa), and attention (manasikāra). Just as an awareness arises, a perception of self arises, and simultaneously, an awareness of a stream of related objects emerges. When these objects are taken as a whole, they are known as name-and-form (nāma-rūpa)." Let's try to understand this sentence a little. Regarding this duality created by consciousness, I will give two or three analogies. Then you will catch on to this duality of consciousness, how consciousness turns back to look at itself and creates this duality.
Here is one example. Look at this analogy and try to grasp it. Have you ever, at certain times, turned around and felt like someone was behind you? Sometimes, our own shadow... we feel that our shadow is someone following behind us. And it's our own shadow that is being shown. Now, the best analogy for this is... look at the birds. Birds go and peck at a mirror. That is, when it pecks at the mirror, it is its own self that is reflected in the mirror. But consciousness immediately breaks it apart. It sees it as a separate thing, a separate person, a separate name-and-form, a separate consciousness. It sees it as a separate person. That is it. That is why animals are deceived when they go in front of a mirror. Dogs bark, try to bite. Birds peck. Have you seen this? Sometimes they preen like this, trying to catch it behind the mirror. The reason is that it thinks that there is another being, separate from itself. Another nature exists.
So look, that is what Venerable Katukurunde is showing us. The reason consciousness does not become featureless, the reason it does not become the Nibbāna element, is because of this duality in consciousness, in this knowing. This incredibly illusory nature... this... this is it. These are just analogies for us. It doesn't seem like we are being fooled like that bird, looking at another being. But we can see that the bird is being fooled by the mirror. But we don't see that we too are being fooled when we see a separate bird. That is what I meant. When I bring this analogy, look through the analogy at what is happening to us. This is what is meant by "I am." That is the analogy of the bird. I think it is a very good one. The bird then... the bird recognizes another bird just like it. That is, there is another bird. It has a separate feeling. It has a separate color, a separate shape. It is a separate being, a female, a male. Did you see that? Did you see it separately? Now listen.
Now you feel this world. There is you, with a separate shape and color. And external to you are other people. Their colors are like this, their shapes are like this. You think, "Those people think like this." You think it, not that they are thinking it. It is you who thinks, "Those people are like this." Did you see that? How it is separated by that very act of attention (manasikāra). Did you see consciousness? It is the attention itself that consciousness grasps. Consciousness... that attention is what consciousness cognizes. "Ah, I am thinking about that person. I am seeing that person's nature, feeling it, knowing it." Consciousness has this... the same thing that happens to the bird. For the bird... do you remember the analogy we used sometime back? The analogy of the snake. I will remind you of that analogy again. These analogies need to be recalled a little. Have you seen in Zen... there is a Zen... the snake... in Zen, it shows the... the picture is... I remember there was a discourse by Venerable Katukurunde on this... on dependent origination (paṭiccasamuppāda)... somewhere he used this... to show this illusion of the mind, he used this analogy and it struck me. It's a powerful analogy.
Now, when you dream, you see people. You feel those people are separate beings, with separate feelings, separate consciousness. It's only when you wake up from the dream that you realize there weren't ten separate consciousnesses anywhere. Not a single person actually existed. You only realize that when you wake up from the dream. Ah, but did you see the dream? Within the dream, there is a quality as if there are separate people with separate consciousnesses. Separate people exist. "I am a separate consciousness with name-and-form, and that person is a separate consciousness with name-and-form." That... that is how you can understand it well. Consciousness has that snake-like quality. The snake doesn't realize it. The part that the snake doesn't understand is that it thinks, "I am swallowing a separate prey. I am killing and eating a separate being." "Wow, I am swallowing a prey," it thinks. But in reality, what would the tail be thinking? The tail must be thinking, "Someone is swallowing me." The tail... the tail is the head, and the head is the tail. They are not two different things. The tail thinks, "I am going into something." The head thinks, "I am swallowing something." Both are just words. This analogy... I don't know, it struck me. The Zen drawings show this duality, this illusion of consciousness, this mirage-like nature... how these two things are separated and this fabrication is made. This is what Venerable Katukurunde... it's beautiful how he explains it. In his sermons, he beautifully explains this... what the Buddha showed.
Consciousness has this... in reality, consciousness turns and looks at itself through the perception of self. In truth, wherever there is consciousness, the perception of self is also present. That is, it sees a separate being. It sees a separate being, and it looks at that separate being. It turns and looks. Now, think about it. Here is a mirror. This is a mirror. I walk past the mirror like this. As I go, I think, "Who did I see just now?" It turns back and looks. It saw itself. It says it saw another person. But even saying "it saw itself" is wrong. Because "it" cannot exist. The head cannot exist without the tail. And that analogy... you should take it according to your own wisdom. I don't know how your wisdom will grasp this analogy.
So now, look, understand from the snake's story. For the snake, that prey is a separate existence. "I am eating the prey, I am possessing the prey. I will not give this to anyone else to take." This is what has happened to us. We too, "This is mine," "my child," "my family"... we hold on to these things so tightly, and it is its own tail that is hurting. It means it's so difficult. From not having my... and so, that... but the inside is not shown. "I love and am attached to this separate person." Just like the prey is a separate thing. So as long as the prey is seen as separate, the "I" that sees it is also separate. A separate being called "I" comes into existence. That separate being experiences. Then, according to the degree of separation, there is a desire to get closer. To grasp, to cling. What is this clinging? It's like... a dissatisfaction, a craving. "It's not enough, not enough, not enough. I want more, I want to take more," it thinks. It wants to get closer. It wants more prey. Then... there, from the point where the two were separated, now it wants to get closer. It wants to become one. "It should be mine."
At all times, that pressure... that is what the Buddha says. It says that inside, there is this pressure, this suffering. Suffering means we are not always crying. It means that there is always some kind of... a quality of searching for prey inside. The quality of searching for more prey. That is the kind of quality there is. It's impossible to just be. One has to do something. There is this pressure. There is always a need for prey. Why? Because without prey, this side, the face, cannot exist. Because this side... with the other side, the object, is how the illusion of "I" on this side is maintained. It's a relative existence. One cannot exist without the other. That is why it always puts in a great effort, thinking "head, tail, or not," searching... it searches for other prey. But it doesn't find it. What other prey will it find? It is its own tail that it finds, wherever it goes.
So now, think about it. If one encounters a good spiritual friend and hears the true Dhamma, what happens? When one begins to understand this, this side is suddenly let go. Suddenly, thwack, it happens for them. "It's not mine." For some, it happens little by little, by listening and listening and listening to this. Because they are holding on to it so tightly, it loosens a little, bit by bit. Loosening means it's not that the head remains. Both the tail and the head cease to exist. They both do not arise. Because the thing called the tail... the tail is because of a separate being. I was... "prey." But when it's known that it's not a separate being, then in the end, the "I" who saw a separate thing also has no separate existence. Just like that, little by little, what happens is that this snake lets go of its tail. And don't take that analogy wrongly. Because then you might think that it lets go of the tail and then it is free. It's not like that. Because it only existed as long as there was a separate prey. As long as it was there, there was a separate prey. When that is realized, both cease to arise together. It's not that the prey is let go and "I" remain. Ah, "I" disappear and a separate prey remains. It's not like that either.
So then, this... Venerable Katukurunde... in the Kevatta Sutta, where he brings up this point, I am saying that these analogies are good for us. We have to talk through analogies. Because this is not something you can think about without wisdom. Now, as I am speaking, that wisdom needs to arise in you. To make that wisdom arise, we have to talk through analogies. Because that wisdom is not something new that someone else gives you; it is something within each person. When this Dhamma is brought out a little, when the analogy hits, that wisdom... that wisdom arises as the tail is let go. If the tail is not let go, then that wisdom does not arise. Then this just becomes another piece of knowledge. It means there is no change in craving. That is why, for this to be understood, that tight grasping, that habit of holding on so tightly, needs to wear away.
So, the best thing for that is... this consciousness... consciousness is always looking. It cannot exist on its own. It... it always needs a duality. Only within a duality can consciousness... consciousness is knowing. Knowing cannot exist on its own. If it exists on its own, there is no consciousness. There is no knowing. Consciousness becomes featureless (anidassana). It becomes anantaṃ sabbato pabhaṃ. There, earth, water, fire, and name-and-form cease (uparujjhati). They are extinguished. So, consciousness, the knowing, always exists only within this dualistic nature, by separating everything as "this is name-and-form." Only within a dualistic nature does the existence of consciousness, of knowing, occur.
For example, let's take this. Now, look carefully. What I am saying... look carefully now. None of us here have seen the person called "I". The "I" here is just a view. It is the view of a self (sakkāya-diṭṭhi). What is meant by "I" is a wrong view. Because none of us have seen an "I". None of us here have seen me. But the being called "I" is sustained only through its establishment on my things. If I grasp my things, by that very grasping, we sustain that view. Look carefully. For a moment, let's put aside "my things." Let's put my things aside for a moment and see who I am. Then we will understand.
Now think about it. Now, my mind, my thoughts, my suffering... all these are my things. My suffering, my loneliness, my thoughts, my feelings, my house, my mother, my... all those feelings that come with personal relationships are all things we call "mine." It's not me, it's my child. It's not me, it's my house. It's not me, my body, my thoughts. All these are in the category of "my." Now, for a moment, just put aside all these things that are "my." "My" means... we say "my neighbor." My neighbor. That means my neighbor is also mine. My neighbor. It means even if you say "neighbor," it is mine. Now we say our neighboring country is India. "My"... that is also mine. So it is not "me," it is "my." My country is not me. My country, my neighboring country, then my enemy. My enemy is also mine. My enemies are my people. Not yours, mine. My enemies, my friends... all these are in my category. So think about it. In truth, it is thanks to them that we exist. Thanks to your enemies... just put aside that handful of enemies for a moment. Put the enemies aside and see who you are. After putting aside the enemy... "I will give my enemy what he wants. I will hit him, kill him." Alright, for a moment, put that aside and see who you are. It is thanks to him that you exist. You exist because of him. You don't realize it. Apart from what is relative to "my," you never have a separate... that is a view. It's not something that exists. A view is not something that exists. It is believing that something non-existent exists. The ability to sustain that non-existent thing comes only as long as you are holding on to the category of "my."
That is why many people are afraid of Nibbāna. Because if this "my" is gone, "I" am finished. Because as long as I exist, my things exist. As long as my things exist, I exist. After I am gone, my children, my house, my... my thoughts will not exist. If at some point my child is gone, I will not exist either. These two things are not independent. But we feel... even if I am gone, my children will be there... we think such great delusions. Consciousness shows an independent "I" and an independent "my child" or "my house" or "the world" or whatever, existing somewhere independently. It creates a separation between the two. It creates a space between the two. That is what Venerable Katukurunde so beautifully says here... he mentions... "one is unwittingly caught in a duality. Through that experience... through that experience a gap arises between them." It separates them. It creates "me" and "my friend" or "my enemy"... a small space, a distance, a time. It splits it. It splits the two sides and gives rise to a form of measuring. He says that in other words, it is a dependent relationship. Or a relationship of mutual dependence. That means... I exist relative to my enemy. My enemy... "enemy" means mine. So if the enemy is removed, then I am finished. That mutual... it's not that two independent beings exist and then become dependent. It is because of that dependence that two beings are felt to exist.
Now, just think about it. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? That is the dependency. You cannot isolate the chicken. A chicken cannot be born without an egg. You cannot isolate the egg. An egg cannot become a chicken without... that is the dependency. In reality, if we look at these two separately, which one was born? Which was born first, the chicken or...? That is the dependency. If you think about the chicken in the world, you have to think about an egg. If you talk about an egg, there has to be a chicken. So it is a mutual dependency. When you understand that mutual dependency, you have to have the wisdom to see that neither of the two exists here. This illusion of consciousness, this existence... without it... it's not that two things exist. When this mutual dependency is understood, consciousness becomes unestablished in either of the two. Consciousness is in this fabrication. It is in this illusion. That is what Venerable... that is what he is showing, this illusion of consciousness.
The illusion of consciousness, the lie of consciousness... this is what Venerable Katukurunde... you can see beyond that, right? What the Buddha showed, he brings forth through the suttas. What the Buddha highlighted, this consciousness without feature, this illusion of consciousness, this magic, this duality it creates, this lie... we see how people are about to die, commit suicide, want to die, file lawsuits. Oh my, they don't know. They are trying to squeeze life out of their own tail. The snake is a fool. That is what foolishness is. Ignorance. It thinks it needs wisdom to understand. So what to do if there is no wisdom? So what can be done? One has to be told to receive the gift of wisdom. One has to be told that the human birth is a gain. What to do if they don't understand, no matter how much you tell them? If they have understood, in the end, the snake will not be eating its tail. And the tail will not remain either. When that is fully understood, the one who understood will not remain either. As long as one doesn't understand, this battle continues. This war continues. The battle for my... for country, race, religion. The one who has understood will laugh, thinking, "What on earth is this eating? What is this swallowing?" Otherwise, we think, "Someone is going to grab me," and that tail thinks, "I am going into a mouth." For the tail, it's the tail's... it thinks, "Someone is... is going to swallow me. Someone is going to possess me."
So that is it. That is the... in saṃsāra, when one understands, it becomes a joke. One doesn't need to eat anything else. This joke, this magic of consciousness... after seeing the magic trick again and again, one can just laugh. But for it, it's not a magic trick. The magic trick is only for the one who doesn't know. The one who... when they see it, there is nothing special about it. That is the next problem. As we understand this more and more, it becomes nothing special for us. This is just a joke. For us, it's not magic. We know the whole story. After knowing it, it's just about crossing over. After knowing, one crosses over. For the one who has crossed over, these things are not magic. They are not... that is why his consciousness is not established anywhere. There is no establishment for him; it is unestablished and featureless. That is... that is Nibbāna. That is peace. It means it is extinguished. After being extinguished, there isn't even a trace of a fire. Now, if there is no fire at all, there is no extinguishing either. We can talk about extinguishing only if there is a fire. We say fire... if there is even a small spark, we can think about extinguishing it. When the fire is completely gone, there is no extinguishing either. For an Arahant, there is no extinguishing. To have an extinguishing, there must still be a small spark of fire somewhere. Consciousness. That is when... this crossing over is what is there. It is Nibbāna, it is the extinguishing.
So, in the story of attaining this state, in a story like this... I will shorten it and give this idea. Now, what we need to understand here is that for consciousness to land... for example, take this example. Let's say now... let's say a mother has died. The mother has died. After the mother dies, what I see is that my mother has died. What the father sees is that his wife has died. What the mother's mother sees is that her daughter has died. Now think, to each person, a different person is seen. A mother has died. A daughter has died. A sister has died. A wife has died. Now, this point... now, just a little... I am not saying this... this analogy has been used before. Look at it from this angle. When trying to understand this illusion of consciousness. Now think, what these four people are seeing are four different things. The four deaths they see... now just think, if you remove those four, we think, "Ah, no, that's right. The one who died was my mother in my world. In his world, his wife died. In her world, her daughter died." No. In reality, there is no such thing here. There is no wife or mother here. If we say a death has occurred, is that right or wrong? It is wrong. Because then he thinks, "Even if my mother is gone, even if my daughter is gone," when he says "daughter," it's my mental world. The mother is also within my mental world. But all of them have an externally perceived manifestation. They think that some event has happened here. Ah, the moment you take that, consciousness lands there.
What this means is—and take this point well—there is no independent seeing without a seen object. Now, take this again. Seeing is always relative to a seen object. There is no seeing that can be objectified separately from a seen object. That is what the Buddha means by "seeing is just seeing." If you objectify the seeing, you cannot objectify the seeing. Consciousness becomes featureless. Consciousness always objectifies a form that has been made. That means consciousness always objectifies an act of attention. Now, that... when you say "mother," it's an intention, isn't it? When you say "daughter" there, it's an intention. It's an act of attention. For the other person to see... for it to be seen as a daughter here, for me to feel it as "mother" there, when I look at it as "mother," it has to exist for the one who says "I." Now, just think for a moment, remove that act of attention. If you remove the act of attention, what is left there? If you remove the act of attention, is there a seeing or not? One cannot even talk about a seeing. Because... but here, this consciousness has created this illusion. You say, "How can that be? I see my mother." It's because you see her. You can go and touch your mother. You can see her, you can touch her. You can hear your mother's voice. Did you see? That is the most cunning trick of consciousness. It is a mirage. It is the seeing. This thing called "mother" is not allowed to be just an intention because it is seen. It can be touched. Seen, heard, sensed, cognized—these four activate it. They make it real. It's the same thing that happens in a dream. The same thing happens inside a dream. So, we start to be fooled. Because we don't understand how to unravel this. We think that whether there is an intention or not, whether I think or not, my mother is somewhere. When I think, this consciousness of knowing happens. We think that seeing and hearing exist along with this intention. It doesn't show it like that. It makes us think that there is an independent form, an independent sight, an independent sound, an independent person. We think that even if I am here, my mother is over there somewhere. Now, this is not an intention. My mother exists independent of my intention. I can go and see her. I can go and hear her. I can go and touch her.
Ah, so understand this well. Consciousness plays a trick, making it seem as if seen, heard, sensed, cognized exist without an intention. That they exist without an act of attention, without a mind. That there is seeing, hearing, knowing. So, look carefully. If you can, think about seeing your mother without an intention. Can you see your mother? Without an intention... is there such a thing as seeing without an intention? Look carefully now. This seeing... this seeing, is it not an intention that we call seeing? That is when we see it. Then, seeing, hearing, this seen, heard, sensed... consciousness can never know that. Not knowing that it cannot be known... because of that ignorance that it cannot be known, this effort to know is what is called intention. It means it cannot be known. It means we are born into a place where it cannot be known. So, in a place where it cannot be known, the knowing that we know is what we feel as "I am." See? Instantly, with an intention, one exists. Whether the mother is there or not, the fundamental ignorance that "something is here" begins. That fundamental ignorance begins... that fundamental ignorance is the subtlest intention. Because without an intention, there is no application of consciousness to a seen, heard, sensed object. There is no such application.
So look, this Dhamma goes to a very subtle place. So, in the end... we think that whether we think or not, these things that are seen exist, these things that are heard exist. But if you can look now, without an intention, can you talk about your thoughts, about this seeing? Now, when we say "mother," look, the seen, heard, sensed exists along with the intention. The intention arises along with the seen, heard, sensed. On seeing, hearing, knowing. But consciousness says these are two different things. It creates a split. Thinking is one thing, seeing is another. Or, it is the same thinking mother that is being seen. It is with the thinking mother that one talks. It is the thinking mother that one touches. Look carefully. These two, name and form, are intertwined. They are tangled. By tangling the two, one person is met. One person talks. It's like one person associating... a pure illusion, a pure magic, a pure mirage happens here. And because of that ignorance, because we don't know it, it becomes real for us.
So then, we don't understand that this seeing, hearing, knowing, thinking is a view. It is a view because it believes that a non-existent thing exists. And it is because of that thinking that it is felt to exist. Ah, when we get to that point, we understand that we cannot have any mindfulness of this seeing, this hearing. If there is no mindfulness there, it means it cannot be known there. There is no knower. There is nothing to be known. Mindfulness cannot be established. The place where there is no mindfulness is where true mindfulness is. The absence of mindfulness is true mindfulness. True mindfulness cannot be known by anyone. But what we now think of as mindfulness is this state of being able to know. "Ah, I can see, I can feel." When we come to that state, we have already gone into a subtle duality. We have gone into the illusion of consciousness. Then, in that illusion of consciousness, in a subtle way, we have gone into a subtle division where "I exist." There is a separation between the felt and the feeling. Then, on another level, there is looking at the seen and heard things through the concept of a body, as "mother," "father." Then it is even stronger. For a child, it is not yet the concept of a body... as we discussed in the morning's sermon. There is the subtle division of "I am." In a subtle way... for a child, it is... they see the... the mother's... it's not from the story of "mother." It's just... as a separate thing. The level of consciousness that sees it.
So then... in the morning's sermon, we mentioned that we have to travel back to the state where there is no mindfulness. We have to awaken to a place where mindfulness can never be established. Then, consciousness cannot be seen there. Consciousness cannot be known. The state where mindfulness awakens is beyond the limit of what consciousness can know. To awaken to the state of no-mind means to understand the delusion in mindfulness. To understand the delusion in mindfulness, one must first, as we discussed in the morning's sermon, set aside the stream of thoughts that runs with the body and just be aware of the "I exist." As was said in the morning's sermon, one must be aware with that fundamental ignorance that feels "I am here." As much as possible... in this discussion we had today, there is a beautiful story of King Nisatta. King Nisatta says that he bows down to the feet of his teacher every morning before starting any work. So, he says that is good. Holding on to the teacher's feet means, from the moment you wake up, you hold tightly to the awareness that "I am." The teacher's feet are the awareness that you exist. The moment you wake up, there is that awareness that "I am." King Nisatta says to hold on to that tightly. Hold on to it and don't stray from it. Don't go to "my body," "my name," "my village." Just hold on to that fundamental ignorance that is there the moment you wake up, the awareness that "I am," the consciousness. Because if you hold on to it for a long time, consciousness will have no address to escape to. Because it has no way to jump out. It is holding on, holding on to that awareness. Without going out of it, without going out of it, if someone stays with it for a long time, then mindfulness... with this awareness, while holding on to it well like this, then... then we understand what the Buddha showed. The Buddha shows that while staying with this awareness for a long time, while holding on to it for a long time, for him, long and short, fine and coarse... that is, for him, breath, short, long, short, the body... all that disappears.
Now, little by little, we are going to the place where there is no mindfulness. But there is no method to go to the place where there is no mindfulness. If you go with a method, consciousness will establish itself in it again. Understand that point well. We have to awaken to a state where mindfulness cannot be established. If you go there with an action, you will know it through that action, won't you? As you go with that action, there will be a knowing again. So the secret is... the secret is the middle. You have to grasp the middle, but you should not get attached to the middle. You are in the middle... the Buddha says... not clinging to the middle. Don't be smeared by the middle. You know the middle, you hold the middle, because you need to be in the middle. Because the middle is where the best ignorance is. In equanimity. But you are holding on to it with the applied wisdom that "I must cross over from this too." That this too is... the wisdom that this is impermanent is applied. It is applied, not just holding on to mindfulness like a... an action. Without it being an action, just holding on to it like this... when you have held on to that awareness for a long time, at the very edge of that mindfulness, then what begins to happen is that those boundaries start to fade away. This... this means... what is meant by "manifesting no sign"... there, viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ... there, for consciousness, little by little, there is nothing. In the end, what is there to hold on to? You are holding on to mindfulness. In the end, there is nothing called mindfulness to hold on to. Mindfulness...
The object, the breath, you were holding on to has disappeared. The body you were holding on to has disappeared. Now, little by little, the object starts to disappear. When the object disappears... an important thing I will say is, when the object disappears, we then... don't go and grab at some... after the primary meditation object has disappeared, we say don't go and play "kabaddi." We say don't... it means don't... if you are playing a game and you can't hit, some teams just... Your mother, on some days, hits... it means we... we say that you've "played kabaddi," which means you are just taking a blind shot. Like that, when the object in our awareness disappears, what thoughts come up? Now, when we have come to this state and there is no object to cling to, we will go and cling to something. That is what is meant by "if you get a knock on the head." After the sign has disappeared, what does consciousness do? What does consciousness do? After the sign has disappeared, it clings to things that are going on here and there, things that are completely irrelevant. "What am I going to do there? Am I going to do this here? Am I going to do that?" It has no relevance at all. It is not relevant to it. It doesn't know why it did this. "Do I need to solve these problems? I don't know. What is this?" That is what we say, don't play "kabaddi." After that awareness comes, these irrelevant thoughts start to come. Absolutely meaningless questions arise inside. Why? I don't know why this is happening. This person's... all these things... it means without playing "kabaddi," understand well that I am a guest, and it doesn't matter. We don't have to bow down to guests. We don't have to bow down like that. If they have come, let them do their thing and go. For him, the thoughts that come are guests. Pains are guests. Feelings are guests. Some people struggle so much these days; I am so tired of it. "I feel like dying. I feel like this." They are just playing "kabaddi." It will come and go. Holding on to it and thinking, "These days I am like this, I have these thoughts," without playing "kabaddi"... if you don't do that, then that story of viññāṇaṃ anidassanaṃ... we will get stuck. We are going to play "kabaddi" inside, right?
So, well, without playing "kabaddi," all these things... as they dance and spin around... to endure it. As much as possible, you hold on to the awareness, like King Nisatta holding on to the feet of his teacher. You hold on to the awareness. After holding on to the awareness, as that too starts to wear away little by little, even though you are holding on to it, at the time when it is about to go, don't hold on to it forcefully. Let that go too. Let that go as well. Why? Because you weren't holding on to it with love. You were holding on to it because you were running after other things. You held on to this one... you held on to this sign to be saved. Now, gently, you let that go. Gently, in the end, forms, sounds, smells, tastes, thoughts... are not grasped either. In the end, there is no primary object of meditation either. Now, consciousness has no address. It has no footing. It has nothing to take as an object. Nothing to take as a sign for its existence. After those signs are gone, what does it do? The inside tries something. The body starts to shake. It shakes and shakes and shakes and feels like vomiting. Like vertigo, it spins around. After spinning like that, it's as if something that was trapped inside... now it's trying to come out. And it holds it in. At that time, do it slowly. "Let whatever happens, happen." Let that catharsis happen. In reality, after it's gone, there's no problem. We were just scared for nothing. It just felt like it was going to explode. But there's nothing. It was just a little bit of vomiting, that's all. So, there is nothing to be afraid of. Just let it explode. It means that inside, it feels like destruction is coming. As if a mortar is being fired inside. There's nothing. It's just a puff of air. To make it understand, without blocking it... now, for some of us, we are told not to... we can't just stay still like before. After going, "Oh my god," after dancing and spinning around, there's nothing to it. What did that orangutan do? At the time of its going, to hold on to it... that king, "I am going, tomorrow I am going," he proclaims. Go and see if there is any magic. Yes, there's nothing he is saying. "Oh my god, I don't know why I went."
So, that is how this works. This mind will show you great, false problems. "It's going to explode. I am going to die." "Oh, I'm dying. Oh, I'm exploding." After letting go, saying, "Oh die, oh explode," there is nothing. Nothing at all. All the hot air... when you tell the one who is about to leave to go, he will understand himself. As you meditate like this, understand well that the body will shake and shake and shake, and many strange things will happen. It's like... shameful things will start to happen. Let go of shame and fear for all of it. Let it happen. The things that happen, let them happen. Let it fall, let it shatter, let it spin, let it go mad—let it all happen. After letting it all happen, you will realize that as the vomiting subsides, you become more and more relaxed, lighter, lighter, lighter. As you become lighter, what I understand is, after becoming relaxed, what this story requires is that the events that happen to us, every single one of them, are necessary for our spiritual development. At that time, when you are thrashing about, as if you are going to destroy the world, as if the world is going to be overturned, let it happen. The most important thing is not to judge it. In no way should you... "I don't know. I can't. Something bad is coming. Filth is coming." This judgment, this morality comes and eats you up. What is inside us? This morality... there, to go to consciousness without feature in meditation, morality must be put down on the ground. That culture must be put down. Those religions must be put down. After putting them down, you have to let whatever happens, happen. Nothing will happen to you. It is consciousness that is lying. Fearlessly, cut the string of the kite. We are holding on to it out of fear. Let it go, let it break, let it shatter, let it be crushed. Cut the string. As you cut and cut and cut that string... consciousness has no address. That is featureless (anidassana). That is unestablished (apatiṭṭhita). That is Nibbāna.
Very well, let us conclude for now. May the blessings of the Triple Gem be with you all.
Original Source (Video):
Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 01 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ
https://youtu.be/i3l5nTMZ0Vc?si=tPwRQX6IibUfN3c2
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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.
Please note that while care has been taken to preserve the meaning and spirit of the original sermons, there may be errors or inaccuracies in translation. These translations are offered in good faith, but they may not fully capture the depth or nuance of the original teachings.
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