Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 02 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana

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Non-Manifest Consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa) - 02 | Ven. Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | Nihada Arana 

*Note - Some parts of the talk seem to be missing from the transcript. The verses read by the Venerable Nun are incomplete in the transcript.  


Gnanaweera Thero:

Very well, let us begin. In this session of our program, we will be discussing non-manifest consciousness (Anidassana Viññāṇa). To help explain this, we have been using the tenth chapter of the book 'The Magic of the Mind' by the Venerable Katukurunde Ñāṇananda Thero. Today, we will begin our discussion from page 73; we left off at the second paragraph on page 74. Let us request the Venerable Nun to read a little more from that chapter, and then we shall discuss it.


Venerable Nun:

Venerable Sir, with your permission.

Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammā Sambuddhassa.
Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammā Sambuddhassa.
Namo Tassa Bhagavato Arahato Sammā Sambuddhassa.


Gnanweera Thero:

This is on page 73, the second paragraph… there is a note in parentheses to see the fifth chapter)…" It is from this point onwards that we will continue today.


Venerable Nun:

(Reading from the text) "When one looks at their face in a mirror, it is not only about one’s own form; just as an awareness of the related feeling (vedanā), perception (saññā), volition (cetanā), contact (phassa), and attention (manasikāra) arises, so too, with the arising of the perception of a self (ātma-saññā), a certain knowing of a series of corresponding objects also arises. When these objects are taken as a whole, they are known as name-and-form (nāma-rūpa)."


Gnanweera Thero:

Alright, let us pause there for a moment. Now, let’s go back to that paragraph. It might be better to go through it bit by bit, otherwise, if we read too much at once, the meaning may not be entirely clear.

Look here, the Venerable Katukurunde Ñāṇananda Thero mentions… (Is the sound clear? Or is there an echo? I’m not sure)… The Venerable Ñāṇananda Thero reminds us that when one looks at their face in a mirror, an awareness arises not only of one’s own form, but also of the associated feeling, perception, volition, contact, and attention. In the same way, with the arising of the perception of a self, a certain knowing of a series of related objects also emerges. When these objects are taken as a whole, they are known as name-and-form (nāma-rūpa).

Now, let's try to understand this concept of name-and-form in this way. With the perception of a ‘self’, a corresponding series of ‘objects’ is created, isn't it? This entire process is what is subsequently referred to as name-and-form. Let’s take the mirror as an example. The Venerable Katukurunde Thero uses the example of a person looking at their face in a mirror. Now, consider this. Imagine a small child goes in front of a mirror. When the little child stands before the mirror, they don't encounter something called a 'mirror'. On the other side, they encounter another child. What they see is another child. They feel that it is another form, just like them. Then, a feeling of happiness or sadness arises; a stream of thoughts emerges.

So, let's take it like that. Yesterday, we used an analogy to explain this. The analogy we used was of a bird. When a bird approaches a mirror, what does it do? It pecks at it. And it keeps pecking, because what it sees is another bird. Now, consider this. For that bird, the phenomenon of a 'mirror' does not apply here, does it? The bird goes in front of the mirror and pecks at it because it’s not thinking about reflections in a mirror. It has no idea that its own reflection is appearing in the mirror. For the bird, it is directly another self, another bird. The mirror in the middle, which is projecting the reflection, is missing from its experience. It doesn't perceive such a thing. In other words, the true nature of what is happening there—that this is one's own reflection being projected through a mirror—that wisdom (paññā) is not being applied.

When you have an experience of consciousness (viññāṇa) without wisdom being applied, then it is purely based on ignorance (avijjā). A consciousness steeped in ignorance is what we call Paṭiṭṭhita viññāṇa. This means that wisdom is not applied there; insight is not applied. So, consciousness directly perceives it as another being, whole and complete. ‘You’ are there. ‘Another person’ is there. Why? Because wisdom has not been applied to that consciousness. The wisdom that sees things as they truly are, which is clear comprehension (sampajañña), is absent. One sees with mindfulness (sati), perhaps, but without clear comprehension. So, there is only the experience of consciousness. If one directly has an experience of consciousness without the application of wisdom or insight—that is, if it is rooted in delusion (moha)—then understand that the bird sees, wholly and completely, another bird.

Now, take that example. This is precisely what is happening to us. We perceive you, Venerable Sir, as a separate, complete person, 24 hours a day. You are a separate unit, distinct from me. I exist separately, and you exist separately. I meet you from time to time during the day. I associate with you. I have certain feelings about you; I think this way, I feel that way. The bird, too, goes through a similar series of experiences.

This is why, in previous sermons, the Venerable Katukurunde Ñāṇananda Thero uses the analogy of the dog by the water trough. When the dog walks by the trough, does it see its projection in the water? Does it see it as a shadow? No. It directly sees another dog. As soon as it sees another dog, it might think, "I saw that dog by the trough yesterday, I must go see it again. It was much bigger than me." Do you see? Far and near, past, future, and present… "Oh, I would love to see that dog again."… Desirable, undesirable, gross, subtle, far, near, past, future, present, internal, external (ajjhatta-bahiddhā)—meaning, it was outside of me, external to me. See? A mode of existence based on eleven aspects is formed.

This is what is meant by name-and-form. It refers to this entire experience of the consciousness-aggregate (viññāṇa-khandha) that arises from this state of ignorance, where wisdom is not applied. Therefore, you should not think, "I have understood name-and-form," or "I am caught in name-and-form." Don't take it like that. This entire event of our life is what is being illustrated through this analogy.

Now, it would be a mistake to understand this story in the following way. If you were to think, "Ah, the dog saw its shadow and was caught in an illusion, thinking there was another dog," or "The bird was caught in an illusion, seeing its own reflection as a separate bird," then if you see it that way, our identity view (sakkāya diṭṭhi) remains. Why? Because the dog exists, the bird exists, and I exist. It just seems as if I have misunderstood the situation I am seeing. If you take it like that, it's incorrect. What happens if you take it that way? After seeing correctly, the dog that saw a shadow remains. The bird that saw a reflection in the mirror remains. That is not the penetrating insight into name-and-form. One has not seen the whole phenomenon. If one saw the whole picture, if wisdom was applied to the full 360-degree view, what you find is liberation, not an "understanding" that leaves someone behind. Try to understand this correctly, or it will become confusing.

Think of it this way. It is because one did not see the 'mirror' on this side, did not see it as a 'reflection in the mirror', that both the 'me' on this side and the 'friend' on the other side arose. It’s not that the 'I' on this side was deceived by a projection. (If this is not clear, please ask questions. If the analogy I used is not understood, please ask. If it is clear, I will continue. Otherwise, you might wonder what this is all about.) The danger is that a 'person who has understood' will remain here—a person who has seen the truth about name-and-form. "Oh, I was deceived all this time. I was fooled by a projection in a mirror. I was fooled by my own reflection. Oh, it was my reflection that appeared there. So I was there." Then one thinks, "I have been seeing things wrongly. I have been misunderstanding this existence." It is not like that. If it were like that, it wouldn’t be insight into name-and-form. What the Blessed One is talking about is the fabrication of this entire duality—the 'I' and the 'external'. It is not that after the duality disappears, the 'I' on this side remains, having understood that the duality was false. That 'I' cannot remain.

Consider this: after we wake up from a dream, the people we saw in the dream and the 'I' who saw them—both are gone, aren't they? Both have ended. That is the point. The absence of the wisdom that recognizes the 'mirror' is why the 'I' who sees 'him' directly was created.

For instance, when we say we don't know this 'mirror', we are talking about this attention (manasikāra). It is said, "Sabbe dhammā manasikāra sambhavā"—all phenomena are born of attention. So, the 'I' that is felt on this side, this internal self, and the 'external' other—both arise simultaneously from attention. It's not that 'I' existed first and then the external arose later. Nor did the external arise first—like the bird in the mirror appearing first, and then the 'I' who encountered it arose. That’s not it. With this analogy, we tend to make another mistake. We think, "There must have been a bird that existed continuously, and a dog that existed continuously. Then it came before the mirror, and then it was deceived into thinking there was another." Why? Because an analogy is inherently flawed. You cannot convey the entirety of reality with an analogy. But the analogy gives us a feeling of, "Ah, right. I understand what you are saying, Venerable Sir. The bird came, stood before the mirror, and was fooled by its own reflection into thinking it was an external being. The dog came to the water trough and was fooled by its shadow into thinking it was another dog." It feels like understanding that deception is enough. If you grasp that deception, you see, "What is here is a shadow; what is here is a projection." If you take the analogy that way, it becomes a complete distortion for us. It is not like that.

Don't stretch the analogy to both sides like that. Don't think that a pre-existing dog came, or a pre-existing bird came before the mirror. If you take the analogy that way, you are left with something that persists through time—like someone who has been there all along simply made a mistake in understanding, and then later, they understood correctly. Don't take it that way. This mirror analogy is very difficult. It should not be approached from that angle. The shadow falling on the mirror should be understood like this: the moment the bird on this side sees the bird on the other side, without any sequence of before or after, the bird on this side exists.

Let's take another example. Suppose I am thinking about my husband. In the very moment I think of my husband, I get a feeling, "Here I am, the wife." A feeling about myself. Now, this feeling of 'I' as 'wife' wasn't there 24 hours a day. It is in the very moment that the attention (manasikāra) arises towards the object 'husband'—the thought 'there is a husband'—that the 'wife', the 'I', springs into being. It's not that 'I' existed first and then paid attention to the husband. Look at the analogy in that way. You see? "Manasikāra sambhavā." Everything is conditioned by attention.

So, when this attention occurs… In that moment of attending, of contemplating, two sides are created. Now, imagine I think about my child. As soon as I think of my child, I immediately feel that sense of self as 'mother'. I don't consciously think, "I am a mother." But in the moment of thinking about the child, there is a quality in consciousness that fabricates both sides. That is, along with that formation (saṅkhāra), the thought of the child arises together with a sense of 'me'. The two are constructed together. (The words to describe this are a little tricky, but if you apply wisdom, you will see the truth in what is being said.)

Then, I think about the president of the country. At the moment I think of the president, the feeling "I am a citizen" arises, doesn't it? Now, if I were to ask: did the 'mother' think of the husband, or did the 'wife' think of the child? When I think of my child, I feel like a 'mother'. When I think of my husband, I feel like a 'wife'. So I ask, if we were to twist it around and ask from the perspective of consciousness, did the 'wife' really think of the child? Did the 'mother' think of the husband? You can't say. Then are you truly a mother? Are you truly a wife? No. It is only at the time of that particular attention (manasikāra) that the perception of the existence of two such separate, permanent entities arises. It feels as if the child and the mother are two separate units, that the husband and the wife are two separate units. One doesn't understand that this is something projected by attention. One doesn't see that this is a reflection, a projection, like in the mirror—a projection conjured in the very moment of attending.

Consciousness swiftly separates things out. Every time I think of the child, I think from the feeling of a separate 'mother'. There is no 'mother' there. But it implies, "The one thinking of this child… ah, it is the 'mother' who is thinking." In this way, it posits a separately existing unit. That is the view (diṭṭhi). You can never find such a 'mother'. But in the moment of thinking about the child, a view arises along with it, as if 'a mother is thinking this'. It’s like that.

So really, this 'mother' is a view. A view is not something that truly exists. Along with that attention, it is the view of 'I' that takes the form of 'mother' or 'wife'. If you remove all of that, what's left is this 'I'. This 'I'. One has never seen this 'mother'. But when the attention towards the child arises, a strange feeling of being a 'mother' comes, affection comes… some strange magic of consciousness (viññāṇa) starts working here. And you can't even touch it. Someone might say, "Venerable Sir, you wouldn't understand a mother's love!" Oh my, when did you see this 'mother'? Where can you point to this 'mother'? The truth is that it is born of attention (manasikāra sambhavā). It is conditioned by attention. And people will argue, "Venerable Sir, you wouldn't understand, you haven't raised children." What can one do? To that extent, when attention arises, that wisdom is absent. When wisdom is not applied to consciousness, when insight is not applied, this becomes a reality. It starts to become a being.

Then, the 'I' that was never seen seems to continue. "The same me who thought of the child this morning, is the same me who then thought of my husband. It is the same me who thought of you, Venerable Sir." In this way, it feels like a single 'I' exists from the moment of waking to the moment of sleep, thinking about one person after another throughout the day. However, the wisdom that this two-sided reality was being conjured and fabricated from moment to moment of thinking does not arise. Instead, it feels as if an 'I' who has existed for a lifetime—for 20, 30, 40 years—has been thinking about different people from time to time. And in the end, that 'thinker' is separate, and the people thought about exist somewhere in the world. They might be dead or alive. This sense of a continuous, personal self that thinks about all these others persists. Why? Because with every moment of attention, reality is fabricated and presented as truth. This happens at an incredible speed. If wisdom is not applied, how can one see it?

Imagine there is a continuous line of mirrors. A person looking at them won't see the mirrors. They will see the other person, the tree, the shop, this and that. With every single thing they see, it's 'I, I, I, I, I'. "I saw the child, I saw my mother, I saw the shop, I saw this, I saw that." They don't see the 'mirror' in this story. They don't understand that this is conditioned by attention, that it is a projection. What they see is that they saw a complete tree, a complete shop, a complete cat. And who saw it? "If not me, then who?" So, that wisdom is not applied to what is happening here. There is no knowledge of this natural process. There is no wisdom, only the direct experience of consciousness. And when consciousness is rooted in ignorance, then: "with ignorance as a condition, formations arise; with formations as a condition, consciousness arises (avijjā paccayā saṅkhārā; saṅkhāra paccayā viññāṇaṃ)". It is a consciousness built upon formations rooted in ignorance.

In that state, there is no non-manifestation. But the moment wisdom is applied, consciousness cannot spread out like this, into two sides. Why? Because the very act of conjuring two sides becomes hollow. Even though it is conjured, we don't accept it. Imagine if we go in front of a mirror and see it correctly for what it is—a mirror. Then no matter how many images appear, we don't separate them into two, do we? The idea that "I am seeing a separate person" who has a separate consciousness, a separate name-and-form—such a thing doesn't arise. There is a release in that. We don't come away from a mirror and keep thinking about the things we saw there, wondering, "I wonder if that person is still there." That kind of formation of thoughts doesn't happen. There is no view that separates "the person who was in the mirror" and "me". In that seeing, there is the cessation of consciousness (viññāṇa-nirodha). Truly, cessation means a separate existence does not arise.

This is what the Venerable Katukurunde Ñāṇananda Thero is trying to show us here. "When these objects are taken as a whole, they are known as name-and-form (nāma-rūpa)." This means that what the Buddha talks about as name-and-form—unlike what we might find in the Tipiṭaka where it's discussed in certain contexts—is not 'my name-and-form' and 'your name-and-form' as two separate things. Name-and-form is this entire process that occurs when the true nature of reality is not seen. Our entire life is name-and-form. This separation of 'I am separate, the child is separate,' this perception as a duality... and then feeling, perceiving, being drawn in... perceptions, feelings, formations... thinking, experiencing pleasure, pain, or neutrality about it, recognizing it. This entire ignorant existence is name-and-form. The existence of the bird, the existence of the dog... otherwise, we think there is a separate person and we think about them in terms of past, future, present, far, near, inferior, and superior. Our ability to think so much is a power born of foolishness. Our free will allows us to think endlessly; we are that foolish.

A dog can think about its past lives. That dog at the trough could think about the past lives of the other dog, whether it existed before or not. The very ability to think so much, to analyze so much, is a sign of greater foolishness. One who can think well is very foolish. That's why Osho says somewhere, "I love associating with worldly people, because from morning till night they have things to talk about!" But a Buddha… would he like to listen to such empty talk? If you go to the Buddha, what does he say? "Impermanent, suffering, not-self (anicca, dukkha, anattā)." That's it. He has nothing more to say than that.

Now think, if one correctly saw the story of the dog at the trough, if the wisdom arose that it is a reflection in a mirror, what could one say about the 'bird' in the reflection? One can't point to it and say, "He is like this, he is like that." What history? What past? What future? What present? What is there to talk about? It is because we do not know that we can talk so much. Because of our ignorance of our own ignorance, because of the foolishness of thinking we know, we can create formations (saṅkhāra) anywhere and accumulate kamma.

So, because the world you see with the 'other bird' in it exists, you also exist here. And so there is a great deal to say about you, and a great deal to say about the world. However, at some point, if the wisdom arises that this is a reflection, if the wisdom dawns that this is merely a mental fabrication born of attention, then on that day, we cannot speak of the 'mother' in isolation from the daughter. We cannot speak of the 'husband' in isolation from the wife. When the wisdom arises that these two are mutually conditioned, there is no grasping of either. The feelings, perceptions, and formations of the five aggregates of clinging (pañcupādānakkhandhā) do not arise for either. That is seeing name-and-form with penetrating insight.

And after seeing name-and-form with penetrating insight, it is like this: one does not then say, "There is no mother, no father, no husband, no me." One is not even left with a position from which to say 'no'. To negate something, you must have found something in the first place. That person will then speak and use conventions—'mother', 'home', 'child'. But they will not try to change them by saying, "There is no mother, there is no father, a mother is just the elements." They won't say such things. There is just pure wisdom. Wisdom is applied to consciousness. Insight is applied. After insight has been applied, these things are not solid realities, even when spoken of. They are just conventions. So, it is a matter like this that the Venerable Katukurunde Thero is trying to show us here.

Alright, let's proceed slowly with the next paragraph. I feel that reading too much at once might prevent us from grasping what is being said. Let's read the next point.


Venerable Nun:

(Reading from the text) "As in any magic show, form (rūpa) plays an important part here. A characteristic of form, its slow transformation (dandha-pariṇāmitā) or gradual change, provides the necessary foundation for the dichotomy of existence and non-existence, which is a most fundamental judgment concerning the life of all beings. Having seen the destruction and the persistence of forms, a person in the world makes a judgment. 'Rūpesu disvā vibhavaṃ bhavañca, vinicchayaṃ kurute jantu loke.' (Kalahavivāda Sutta, Sutta Nipāta, verse 874). While material phenomena appear to last for some time before they perish, the principle of impermanence (aniccatā) lies hidden in them in disguise. It may be said that the wrong perception of permanence (nicca-saññā), which is a form of distorted perception known as vipallāsa, is fundamentally due to a wrong conclusion about material phenomena. It is due to this that the two extremist views (diṭṭhi) of absolute existence (ekanta-atthitā) and absolute non-existence (ekanta-natthitā) have arisen, disregarding the constant change that is taking place."


Gnanaweera Thero:

Right. In this paragraph, the Venerable Katukurunde Thero refers to the Kalahavivāda Sutta. Let us examine it. Let us discuss that as well. But first, the text points out that to create this illusion, this magic of duality presented by consciousness, the primary element is the view of form (rūpa), this body. It has become a complete grasping of form. Consequently, one falls into the two extremes of existence (atthitā) and non-existence (natthitā)—that form exists or does not exist. I will try to explain this with another analogy to make it clearer.

Venerable Katukurunde Thero points out here that "as in any magic show, form (rūpa) plays an important part." In this illusion we are in, this deception we are caught in, it is this view of form that does the heavy lifting in creating the magic. In every analogy, from the bird onwards, you can see how the struggle is rooted in grasping at form. Observe carefully how we are ensnared by the perception of form (rūpa-saññā). In every analogy we have taken, it is clear that this is where we are most tightly caught.

That is why the Venerable Katukurunde Thero points out here that to create this illusion of consciousness, this duality of internal and external (ajjhatta-bahiddhā)—'I' and the 'outer world'—the view of form exerts a powerful influence. It "provides the necessary foundation for the dichotomy of existence and non-existence, which is a most fundamental judgment." "Having seen the destruction and the persistence of forms, a person in the world makes a judgment." (Rūpesu disvā vibhavaṃ bhavañca, vinicchayaṃ kurute jantu loke. - Kalahavivāda Sutta). "While material phenomena appear to last for some time before they perish, the principle of impermanence (aniccatā) lies hidden in them in disguise. It may be said that the wrong perception of permanence (nicca-saññā), which is a form of distorted perception known as vipallāsa, is fundamentally due to a wrong conclusion about material phenomena."

Now, let's try to understand how this wrong conclusion arises. Take any form. Let's take something inanimate. Alright, let's take this phone. When we take the phone, we grasp a form called 'phone', don't we? Let's say, "Here is a phone." The moment we say it, we understand, don't we? The moment we say 'phone', we feel a separate form, don't we? A distinct form. When we say 'chair', a form appears. Or when we say 'child'. Actually, if we say 'child', the first thing that comes to mind is a form. If we say 'monk', a form immediately appears. Do you see? It is through this form that the feeling of a 'self' arises. The feeling that a separate self exists there is strongly supported by its form. Think about it: if there were no form, there would be nothing to point to as a self. The phone appears to be a 'thing' because of its form. A child feels like a 'person', possessing a personal nature, because of their form. Isn't that so?

How do we distinguish between a woman and a man? Again, it is through form. Then, we believe there is a female self, a male self. Do you see? The Venerable Katukurunde Thero points out that this form plays a major role in establishing the perception of self (ātma-saññā)—'my self' and the 'external self', or 'your self'. Therefore, 'form' is a view (diṭṭhi). And it is because we encounter 'form' as something that exists that the feeling of 'I' gets a chance to latch on. The knowing of 'I', the identity-view (sakkāya-diṭṭhi) of 'I'... look, the sense of a child as a person is tied to their form. We mark their birth and death in relation to their form. Look at anything. This phone—don't we register its acquisition or its destruction through its form? To say you "got a phone" refers to its form. To say "the phone broke" refers to the loss of its form. Do you see? The existence of a 'thing'—the feeling that something exists, be it a phone, a child, or anything else—comes from the sense that a form exists, that a form persists.

This is what the Venerable Katukurunde Thero points out here, and what the Buddha shows in the Kalahavivāda Sutta: that the root of this entanglement is deeply embedded in form. Now, let us investigate this a little. Alright? Investigate it. Let's take the phone again. Take the phone and think like this. When we say 'phone' or 'chair', we feel it as a thing with a form. When we say 'child', we feel a person with a form. Fine.

Now I ask, how do you know that a phone exists? Ponder this analogy for a moment. How do you say that a child exists? How do you say that a phone exists? You might say, "Venerable Sir, to prove the phone exists, I can show you the phone's shape." There, you see? To show that a child exists, what do you point to? The child's shape. Take anything you like. Now see how consciousness ties this knot, how it latches onto this thing called 'form'.

We always say, "Venerable Sir, I know this phone exists." If I say, "Alright, give me the phone," how do we know a phone exists? We identify it. How? "Venerable Sir, I know this is my phone because it is black." There. We feel a phone exists as a separate object with a form. "How do I recognize it, Venerable Sir? I recognize my phone by its colour. That's how I pick my phone out from other phones. This is my cover, this colour, this is the colour and shape of my phone." Then you might say, "I also recognize my phone by its sound; it has a particular ringtone." So, a sound. Do you see? We establish the existence of the 'phone' through its colour, then through its sound. Then I might say, "When I smell it, I can recognize the scent of my phone." Through its smell. Or, "When I touch it, I feel its hardness." There, through contact (phassa).

So, the knowing, the attention (manasikāra), that a phone exists arises dependent on what is seen, heard, and sensed (diṭṭha, suta, muta). Consciousness cannot create a 'phone' on its own, without these three. Look at this analogy. The 'phone' is our attention, a piece of knowledge in the mind, a mental construct. But this mental construct cannot arise by itself. How do you think of a phone? To think of a phone, it must have a colour. It must have a sound. There must be something seen, something heard, something sensed—a smell, a taste, or a touch. Do you now understand?

So, take this analogy. We confirm the existence of a 'phone' at the moment the attention 'phone' arises. "My phone"—the 'I' is created along with 'my phone', with the form of the phone. Because without the form of the 'phone', the story of 'I' cannot arise. Without the form of this 'body', the story of 'I' cannot appear here. Look, this is a beautiful point from the Buddha's teachings that the Venerable Thero brings out. We think, "As long as the phone exists, I exist. This is mine, my phone." But we have never actually seen this 'I'. It is through this possession, my phone, that I, the 'owner', come into existence. The sense of ownership arises. Look closely. Without a form, you cannot point to an owner anywhere. Only when you take this form called the 'body' as 'I' or 'mine' does this 'I' get created, in that very moment. It arises from that. That is dependent arising.

So, think about it like this. My existence is based on 'my body', 'my phone', 'my child'—what are all these? They are all forms. My child, my phone, my monastery, my meditation hut, my bed, my sandals… I grasp all these forms. My robe… Grasping all these forms, the 'I' is stabilised and the view of 'I' is made real, believing "there are sandals belonging to me, a phone belonging to me, a hut belonging to me." It is because I am surrounded by a multitude of 'my things'. And what we primarily grasp as 'mine' are these stories of form. There are other things, of course, but Venerable Katukurunde Thero is highlighting the story of form here. The story of form plays a huge part in creating and maintaining this view of 'I'.

Now, let's take this analogy a little further. You say you know the phone exists because of its colour, its sound, its feel—through what is seen, heard, and sensed. "I see it, Venerable Sir. I see this black colour. I see this rectangular shape. I hear this sound. I feel this hardness. So how can you say the phone doesn't exist? I can see it. I can touch it." Then, consciousness—with its capacity to think and know—uses what is seen, heard, and sensed to make the thought "a phone exists" and "it is my phone" seem real.

Alright, now let's look at it this way. I ask you, "What colour is this phone?" You say, "Venerable Sir, it is black." Fine. Now, try to understand this story. The statement, "The phone is black"—it is only when you say this that you get an eye that sees black. Do you see? Do you see? If a colour is encountered externally, the eye that sees that colour is born. The object, the form that has that colour, is born. And the 'I' who knows that form is born. These are not separate stories; they are all mutually conditioned. Try to understand this.

So I ask, where have we ever encountered 'black'? Take black, or blue, or any colour. If the colour black truly existed in the world, then from the day a child is born, you could show it to them: "Mother, this is black, this is red, this is white." But there is no such thing as black, red, or white existing independently out there. So how did we come to know the colour black? That is the question.

We say this phone is black. When we were little, how did we first learn about black? Through the ear. We heard a sound. Someone told us, "Son, this is black." We heard the word 'black'. After hearing it, after hearing the sound 'black', does that sound itself contain blackness? No. So, what we have is an auditory memory of 'black'. It is a perception (saññā) heard as 'black'. But does the thing we now call 'black' exist in that sound?

Imagine telling a small child, "Son, black." If 'black' were something that existed somewhere, the child should immediately be able to say, "Ah, this is black." But no. Look at the sound 'black'. Is there any blackness in it? There is no blackness in the perception 'black'. If there were, then the moment you said 'blue' to a child, they would know what it is. But a child doesn't know if 'blue' is something to eat, drink, or wear. Do you understand? A perception called 'black' is installed in a child's mind. They hear the sound. But understand this: in the recognition 'black', there is no blackness. In the recognition 'blue', there is no blueness.

Look closely. You tell a child 'square'. When you say 'square', is there any squareness in the perception 'square'? If there were, the moment you said it, the child should be able to point, "Mummy, that's a square. That's a square." No, it's not like that. There is no squareness in the perception 'square'. There is no blackness in the perception 'black'.

So, if that is the case, was 'black' ever something that arose? Then what is it? Is 'black' a perception? If you say it's a perception, then you give it existence as a perception. If you say 'black' is a concept, you give it birth as a concept. Don't frame it like that. This is the problem in the Dhamma. What is being discussed is not something unborn (anuppāda) in a conceptual way. To talk about the unborn, the Buddha brings analogies like the mirage. If the colour black never existed at all, then the statement "black never existed" itself gives it a form of existence. That’s the problem. I don’t know how to explain this… Consciousness wants to label it: "black is a perception," "black is a concept," "black is something unborn," "black was never born." Consciousness needs to alight on some idea about black. Either you have to say, "black exists physically," or you have to think, "black is a perception," or "black is a concept." Do you see? In every one of these cases, you are transforming 'black' into a 'thing'. You are giving it existence. That is consciousness at work.

"Ah, before I thought black existed as a separate colour somewhere out there. Now I think black is a perception. Black is a concept. Black is an idea. Or, black is something that was never born." Do you see? The moment you say any of these things, it becomes a 'thing' for this magic show. And the moment that happens, an 'I' who knows this arises. "This is false. Black is just a concept." See? A person who has 'understood' this appears here. The one who used to think black was 'out there' now understands that black is a perception or a concept. The moment you solidify 'black' into any kind of existence, the 'I' who knows it springs forth. "Oh, people are so deluded. I have understood that black is a mirage, a concept." This state is even more arrogant than the last. Why? Because now they think, "I know the truth." But in knowing the 'truth', they have given birth to 'black' again, as something unborn. They have made 'black' a 'thing' again.

This is why the analogies used by the Blessed One are so beautiful. He uses analogies like the unborn, the mirage, magic. A mirage means that water never arose in the first place. However, in that realization, even the idea "it never arose" must be let go of. Otherwise, consciousness will grasp: "It never arose. It is unborn. It was never born. Black never existed." Well, if it never existed, why are we even talking about it?

So, arising must be seen as arising. When wisdom regarding arising is applied, cessation (nirodha) occurs. Cessation is not another analysis. Cessation is not another concept for consciousness to latch onto, another thing to stand on. The understanding of arising as arising is cessation. You understand arising just as it is. You don't create another form of arising by saying, "Black is a perception," "black is a concept," or "black is something that never arose." It's not about adding more analysis, more attention. Wisdom must be applied to this 'black'.

The truth is, this thing never arose. But to say "it never arose"... that's the catch. The moment you take that position, consciousness has already landed and the game is over. That is why in the end, even the raft of the Dhamma must be let go of. If consciousness is given any foothold, even in the Dhamma, it will take the shape of the Dhamma and build its 'I' and its identity view there. And to escape from that is nearly impossible; it could take eons. Not even a Buddha could easily show the way out from there.

This is why I sometimes say you shouldn't burden children with words like these. For children, just cultivating mindfulness (sati) is enough. I saw a video from about six years ago of a little girl whose father had taught her these things. The father came here as well.The father has taught “This is an illusion, this is magic." I got goosebumps. This little girl… everyone on Facebook was saying how wonderful it was. I was thinking, how will this girl ever escape? Her father has drilled these concepts into her. The child is reciting by heart, "Daddy, this is a perception, this is an illusion." The child has been filled with these concepts, these Dhamma analyses. I told that father, "How will you ever free this child from this?" That child now has a Dhamma analysis for everything. Let the child first see a flower as a flower, a tree as a tree. Then let her develop mindfulness. Then the child will understand on her own. When you inject these analyses, the child just learns to interpret the world in this new way. "Perceptions are a mirage, black was never born..." These are things that must be penetrated with wisdom, not just added to the head as more conventions. In the end, you just end up adding a new set of 'ultimate' conventions on top of the old ones. There can be no analysis in the ultimate truth.

That is not wisdom. It's just more attention, more concepts, more analysis. If there is analysis, it is all within the realm of ignorance (avijjā). If it is born of wisdom, then even that analysis is seen as a 'thing' belonging to saṃsāra. Even my statement "there can be no analysis" is an analysis, and it belongs to arising.

In the end, the encounter with 'black' is a mirage. In the very nature of that encounter, no real encounter has taken place. But what we do is we accept the result—we accept 'black'—and then we analyze it. "Ah, it's an illusion, a mirage, something arisen from causes and conditions." We accept the effect and then look at the cause, and conclude, "Ah, there is no black." But in the very saying "there is no black," you have already accepted black.

That is why Venerable Katukurunde Thero says we fall into one of two extremes: either existence (atthitā) or non-existence (natthitā). "There is no black, there is no white, there is no square." But you have already accepted 'square' in order to say it doesn't exist. This is how he shows we fall into one of the two extremes.

So, what we need to understand here is this: for us, 'black', 'white'... truly, what is 'black'? If you tell a child 'black' but never associate it with a form, never point and say, "Son, this is what black is," then 'black' remains just a perception, just a mirage. And when I say 'perception', don't think it means "there is a thing called black which is like a perception." When I say perception (saññā), you must have the wisdom to understand: the Buddha said the nature of perception is like a mirage, unborn. So, when 'black' is mentioned, it has this unborn nature. But you cannot get an analysis of 'unborn'. The moment you get the analysis, "Ah, I have understood that black is an unborn thing," a complete 'I' who understood it springs up in that very moment. "I know black doesn't exist, that it was never born." Then we have more Dhamma analysis to talk about.

So, this is very difficult to speak about. We are talking about Nibbāna itself. The problem is, we are talking about the unborn using born phenomena. This is why a special kind of wisdom is needed. When you talk about the unborn using born phenomena, the listener falls into the position of thinking "those things don't exist." But "does not exist" and "unborn" are completely different. There is a huge difference. To say "it does not exist" is a landing place for consciousness, a knowing based on non-existence (natthitā). The realm of the unborn can never be experienced by consciousness. However, from the analysis I am giving now, a new consciousness is probably arising in you that 'knows' it cannot be experienced. That, too, is ignorance.

This is the danger in analyzing the Dhamma. It has to be done, but with everything that is said, the listener tends to fall into the position of "such a thing does not exist." Why? Because they start by holding onto the effect (phala). They start by holding onto the 'phone'. They start by holding onto the 'black colour'. After holding onto the effect, they look at the cause and then fall to the side of non-existence.


A disciple: 

"They leave the middle way… it’s not the middle nature of things, but when they try to name it and grasp it…" [Inaudible]


Gnanaweera Thero:

Yes. That is what I am saying. That is why it is said, 'This Dhamma is for the wise, not for the unwise' (Paññāvantassayāṃ dhammo, nāyaṃ dhammo duppaññassa). This requires superior wisdom, a supreme insight. Because you cannot figure out this magic—where it comes from. It's not easy. The result we get, the understanding we think we have..."


A disciple: 

"Yes, that's it. It makes that understanding real." [Inaudible]


Gnanaweera Thero:

Yes, it makes every understanding real. If you say 'black doesn't exist,' it makes the 'not existing of black' real. If you say 'black exists,' it makes 'the existence of black' real. If you say 'black is a perception,' it makes 'black being a perception' real. Whatever formation you create… yes, you grasp anything, and existence is created right there."

So then, look at these analogies and try to understand. When we say 'phone', we take as evidence the colour we see, the eye that sees it—"I saw a black, rectangular shape with my eyes"—and the feeling of hardness when touched by hand. But look closely. If I say 'hardness' to a child, is there any actual hardness within the word 'hardness'? Is there any squareness within the word 'square'? Then, is there a phone within the perception of 'phone'?

Now, don't jump to the conclusion 'no'. That's the trick. I am not saying 'no'. When wisdom is correctly applied, you can't even speak about it. It is beyond words and concepts. So, you see, it is then that we understand. Even though we say the phone is black, hard, and rectangular, what really is this squareness, this blackness, this phone?

Don't say it's a concept. The moment you say 'concept', you make it a 'thing'. "The phone is a concept, black is a concept." Then, in the end, by saying "everything is a concept," you make the idea of 'concept' itself real. You give it existence through the meaning of 'concept'. In our morning discussion, we talked a lot about concepts. And now I am saying even that is incorrect. Even that is a way for us to grasp something. But for one in whom wisdom arises, there is no such grasping. That person of wisdom knows that the five aggregates of clinging (pañcupādānakkhandhā) themselves are unborn, that they are cessation (nirodha). And there is no one who 'sees' that cessation.

The one who has truly seen cessation knows arising as arising. They will say 'phone' to the phone, 'child' to the child, 'black' to black. But because a special kind of wisdom is applied, there is no clinging. No view arises there. Why? Because a special insight is applied to those perceptions of 'black', 'child', and so on. Therefore, there is no settling down, no foothold. That is what is non-manifest (anidassana). That is what it means to become non-manifest. So you see, there is such a story within this.

What I was trying to explain is that we take what is seen, heard, and sensed (diṭṭha, suta, muta) as our evidence. But the truth is, we have never actually encountered what is seen, heard, and sensed. We have never seen a colour. We have never encountered a shape. The existence of this phone is built upon taking something we have never encountered as something we have encountered. It is because we grasp that 'the phone exists' that the phone seems to have a colour, a shape, a sound, a feeling. But as you investigate this carefully, you will realize that although this knot of name-and-form (nāma-rūpa) is tied, it is actually loose.

And here, you shouldn't say it doesn't exist, nor should you say it exists. Look closely. What is this name-and-form that you are trying to see with penetrating insight? Has this name-and-form ever actually been grasped? Consciousness cannot find a footing. If there is no name-and-form, where can consciousness exist? The problem is that we start by holding onto the 'phone' from the very beginning. But if you can, just for a moment, put aside the story of the 'phone' and look at this 'seeing'. In this seeing, there is no 'black'. 'Black' cannot be encountered. But when I say "it cannot be encountered," you have just encountered "it cannot be encountered." That, too, is a view. Why? Because you have just found something: the 'not-being-able-to-encounter-it'. Don't go to that side. It is very easy for every word to lead to 'non-existence'. It is very easy to fall into the view of annihilationism (uccheda-diṭṭhi) by holding onto 'is not'.

When 'black' is mentioned, it's not that 'black is not'. Rather, a wisdom regarding the unborn nature of the very word 'black' is applied. For the person in whom that wisdom has arisen, can they have a mental construct of a 'phone' without encountering a sight, a colour, a sound, a feeling? If they do form a mental construct, it would be as meaningless as saying 'black' or 'phone' to a small child. But be careful. The moment I said 'meaningless', the meaning 'the phone is meaningless' arose. Don't get caught in that. 'Meaningless' refers to wisdom, not a mental construct. Otherwise, we quickly grasp, "Ah, right. The phone has no meaning. Nothing has any meaning." And by giving it the meaning of 'meaninglessness', we settle down again. "Oh, none of this makes any sense. None of this has any meaning."

When this wisdom arises, don't quickly jump to a mental construct that "nothing has any meaning." Don't be like that. Work diligently, live just as you are, and let wisdom arise. If you try to live by the idea "nothing has meaning," you will end up lazy, sitting idly in your hut. No. Act as if things have meaning; it is only wisdom that sees the meaninglessness. Don't live a meaningless life. Live a meaningful life. But hold the wisdom of meaninglessness. And 'meaninglessness' here does not mean 'non-existence'. It is the wisdom of the unborn (anuppāda). A person with the wisdom of the unborn lives perfectly well.

What has happened to Buddhism is that it has been made negative. People have taken the words the Buddha used to point to wisdom and turned them into analyses and concepts. "Impermanent, meaningless, without a core." They have made our minds negative. Buddhist teachings have been misinterpreted. We have turned the Buddha's teaching into something completely negative, pushing it to the extreme of non-existence. However, this happened even in the Buddha's time. People accused the Buddha, "Are you teaching a doctrine of annihilation? Are you trying to say that nothing exists?" They were asking, "Are you saying that the effect doesn't exist?" They were holding onto the effect—the phone, the black colour—and asking, "Are you trying to say that this doesn't exist?" The Buddha would say, "Look at the cause, see how it arises from conditions." And when you look at the cause, what you understand is its unborn nature. That 'black' is unborn, not that 'black is not'. Then the story of 'black' cannot even be applied.

Alright, let's move on from there. What I feel the Venerable Katukurunde Thero is trying to bring out here is that this 'form' (rūpa) is playing a big game. But form cannot stand alone, without name (nāma). It is always by grasping perceptions (saññā) that existence is given to it, as name-and-form. The Venerable Thero once told us, "We may talk about form separately, but this is name-and-form (nāma-svarūpa)." When we went to see him, he said, "Although we speak of form in isolation, this world is a world of name-and-form. All forms we encounter are named forms. There is no such thing as a pure, unnamed form—no pure green, pure yellow, pure woman. It is when wisdom is applied to this that the knowledge of their unborn nature dawns."

So, we must understand that when we take a phone, a child, or anyone as a separate thing, we are grasping at what is seen, heard, and sensed—this child's colour, the touch when holding this child, this child's voice. But look carefully: is there any sound in 'sound'? Is there any colour in 'colour'? Is there any shape in 'shape'? Is there any grossness or subtleness within 'feeling'? It is then that you will understand this unborn nature. 'Unborn' is a wisdom, not a thought. The one in whom that wisdom has arisen has no problem. They have the wisdom of arising as arising, and the wisdom of cessation as cessation.

Now, Venerable Katukurunde Thero takes three verses from the Kalahavivāda Sutta to explain this matter. The Kalahavivāda Sutta is special because the Buddha speaks about the nature of realization where one does not establish a footing in form. Towards the end of the Sutta, there is a verse that I will refer to later. So I thought, before we move to the next paragraph in the book—we won't have time to cover it all today—let's at least briefly study the Kalahavivāda Sutta. This Sutta is in the Aṭṭhaka Vagga of the Sutta Nipāta.

The suttas in the Aṭṭhaka Vagga are very special because, as the story goes, the Buddha created a Radiant Buddha, a mind-made image of himself. He then asked this Radiant Buddha to ask him questions. Why? Because there was no one in the assembly who could ask questions that went straight to the point. So, the Buddha created a Radiant Buddha and had him ask the questions, and the Buddha himself answered them. This is how the suttas in the Aṭṭhaka Vagga, like the Purābheda Sutta and the Kalahavivāda Sutta, were delivered. They are very valuable suttas to read.

So I thought, since the Venerable Katukurunde Thero has used a sutta from the Aṭṭhaka Vagga to explain non-manifest consciousness—the three verses on pages 74 and 75 are all from the Kalahavivāda Sutta—we should get a general idea of the sutta before moving forward. Because the Venerable Thero only takes the specific verses relevant to his point. But if we have an idea of the whole sutta, we can understand why the Buddha uttered such verses.

Alright, keeping that in mind, let's look at at least two or three verses, as time permits. The name of the sutta itself, Kalahavivāda Sutta, tells you what it is about: "Why do quarrels and disputes arise?" The origin of this is explained in the sutta. So, the Buddha creates a Radiant Buddha and tells him to ask questions. Let us look at the questions asked by the Radiant Buddha and the answers given by the Blessed One.

For one who has understood the mirror, there is no question. They know that even though two sides are conjured, they know what the reality is. For one who knows the illusion of consciousness, there is no question of whether something exists or not.

Alright, let's request the Venerable Nun to read. We may not be able to cover all of it, but let's make a start. Let's see... the verse that Venerable Katukurunde Thero has taken is verse 874. And also 877 and 878. The Venerable Ñāṇananda Thero has taken these three verses from the Kalahavivāda Sutta to explain non-manifest consciousness. Let's start from the beginning of the sutta, and we will come across these three verses. Please read one verse at a time, and I will explain.


Venerable Nun:

(Nun reads the first verse in Pali)
"Kuto pahūtā kalahā vivādā, paridevasokā sahamaccharā ca;
Mānātimānā sahapesuṇā ca, kuto pahūtā te tadaṅgha brūhi."

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
From where do quarrels and disputes arise?
And grief, sorrow, and avarice?
And conceit, arrogance, and slander?
From where do these arise? Pray, tell me that.

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing



Gnanaweera Thero:

The sutta begins from a very simple place and takes us to the highest point, right up to non-manifest consciousness. I imagine this was not a sermon that lasted a few minutes; it probably went on until dawn.

So, the sutta begins very simply. It asks, "From where do these quarrels and disputes arise?" There is a saying, right? That if one person is alone, they are like a Brahmā, living in bliss with no problems. If there are two, they are like devas (gods). You see this on YouTube, videos of couples having fun; when there are two, it's all fun and games. If there are three, it's like a village. If there are four or more, it's chaos. The more people, the more problems. It’s not stated here though.

So, the created Buddha asks the Blessed One: from where do disputes, quarrels, grief, lamentation, miserliness, conceit, arrogance, and slander arise? All these things. For example, look at the conceit in Buddhism itself. Theravāda monks say that Mahāyāna cannot lead to Nibbāna. But if you talk to a Mahāyāna monk, they say that Theravāda is just the kindergarten you have to go through before coming to Mahāyāna. They say Mahāyāna has the complete, original teaching of Buddhahood. Then the Tantric schools say you have to graduate from Mahāyāna to come to them. Even within Buddhism, there is so much conceit. They take the words of the Buddha, who taught how to break conceit, and use them to put down other traditions. And this is not just between different religions; we do it too. We are always trying to elevate ourselves. That is the arrogance and conceit this verse is talking about. So, the question is: from where do all these things come? From where do these tendencies arise? This is the question the Radiant Buddha asks.

*some parts of the talk are missing

Alright, please read the next verse.




Venerable Nun:

(Nun reads the second verse in Pali)
"Piyappahūtā kalahā vivādā, paridevasokā sahamaccharā ca;
Mānātimānā sahapesuṇā ca, macchariyayuttā kalahā vivādā, vivāde jāte su ca pesuṇāni."

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
From what is dear, quarrels and disputes arise,
And grief, sorrow, and avarice,
And conceit, arrogance, and slander.
Quarrels and disputes are bound up with avarice, and slander arises where there is a dispute.

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing


Gnanaweera Thero:

So now the Blessed One begins to answer, little by little. He says all these things arise from what is dear (piya). If you are fond of someone or something, if you are attached to a child, a husband, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a possession—if you are attached to anything, that is where suffering lies. It is for that thing that you fight. It is out of fear of losing it that you fight.

So the Blessed One teaches that if your mind is attached to anything, if it loves anything, that is where quarrels and disputes begin. All the arguments, the court cases—they are all because of what is dear. We think that dear things bring us happiness, but the Buddha pointed to dear things as the cause of suffering. It is for the sake of what is dear that you go to court, that you fight, that you toil, that you suffer. It is to protect what is dear that you try to prove that you are right and the other is wrong.

This part is not too difficult for us to understand. We know that wherever we have fondness, that is where our battles are. But there is another side to this that I want to mention, something that happens in meditation. As we meditate and establish mindfulness, as our inner wakefulness deepens, this fondness begins to fade away. We don't have to intentionally reject things. As our wakeful state in meditation develops, without even noticing, we start to feel a strange sense of desolation, as if we are in a cemetery. Even when we are with our children, at home, with others, as mindfulness grows, a strange loneliness and solitude begins to arise.

And when this solitude comes, the first thing to be affected is the fondness for the meditation object itself. You are practicing mindfulness in a retreat, and the fondness you have for that practice starts to decrease. You don't even know why you are there. As one person wrote to me when we were reviewing meditation reports, as you progress, the desire for the meditation object, and even the desire to meditate, fades away. You sit in mindfulness, but there's no desire for it. A sense of boredom comes.

This is where a teacher must guide the student correctly. "What is happening to you is that lust is fading away. Fondness is fading away. Dispassion (virāga) is starting to arise within you." When dispassion arises, it arises for everything—for food, for people, for work at the monastery. There's no great enthusiasm for anything. And the person might think their meditation has gone wrong. They might even feel suicidal.

The teacher needs to explain: "This is the beginning of dispassion, which arises as lust fades. The beginning of dispassion feels very desolate." It feels desolate because the mind, which is used to clinging, is not accustomed to the beauty of non-clinging. Having clung for so long, as it lets go, the mind gives a wrong interpretation: "I am like a lonely flower in the forest. My life has become lonely and desolate." This is where a good spiritual friend (kalyāṇa-mitta) is needed. Otherwise, we wouldn't understand. The mind would tell us, "Your practice is wrong. The path you are on is wrong. Go find another teacher, or just go home. You can't attain Nibbāna, you don't have enough merit." The mind will say anything to make you stop.

But if you can continue your daily routine and just stay with that dispassion, after a few days, you will understand. When fondness fades in that state of dispassion, it fades for everything. Those with experience in meditation will know what I'm talking about. We all have to go through a period like this. Lust begins to fade. Attachment begins to fade. The attachment to the meditation object fades, the attachment to the practice fades, the attachment to the teacher fades. Everything fades.

One important piece of advice I was given was not to let this turn into aversion (dosa). This is a point where we can create a lot of unwholesome kamma. We end up hating the teacher, hating the meditation, rejecting everything. We have to be very careful not to create unnecessary kamma. Don't let it become rooted in aversion. Because the mind is not used to dispassion, it rejects it. What is important is to consult a spiritual friend and discuss what is happening. Understand clearly: "My meditation is starting to work. Dispassion is arising." But I can't say for sure. Even after hearing a sermon like this, some people will go back and cling to an object.

Some, with faith established, do not cling to an object again. But for others, their faith is weak; we cannot say for certain. Otherwise, even those who listen to this every day go and grasp objects. We don't know if everyone will be liberated or not. For some, hearing these words becomes a powerful impetus rooted in wisdom. They see that very funereal mood, that desolate feeling, in a pleasant way. They see it as something positive. They don't see this dispassion, this feeling that nothing is special anymore, this lack of enthusiasm for anything in life, as something negative. Wisdom begins to arise that the bondage to everything is slowly, slowly wearing away.

If that wisdom arises, then this dispassion becomes a great comfort. That is why I was reminded of this verse at this moment. We must look closely: all grief and sorrow exist because of fondness. Therefore, fondness is eliminated only through mindfulness (sati). When mindfulness is well-developed, the bondage we have to everything in our state of awareness is loosened, like a knot coming undone. Don't be afraid of the desolation you feel as that knot loosens. Don't doubt it. Don't hate it. Welcome it as much as you can.

Alright, let's look at just one more verse.


Venerable Nun:

(Nun reads the third verse in Pali)
"Piyā su lokasmiṃ kuto nidānā, ye cāpi lobhā vicaranti loke;
Āsā ca niṭṭhā ca kuto nidānā, ye samparāyāya narassa honti."

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
From where do dear things in the world originate?
And the greed that roams the world?
From where do hope and finality originate?
Which become a person's refuge in the next life?

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing


Gnanaweera Thero:

Now the Radiant Buddha asks another question. He has just been told that quarrels and disputes arise from fondness. Now he asks, "What is the cause of this fondness? What is the cause of this greed? From where does this doubt arise? And what is a person's refuge for the life beyond?" Let's see the Buddha's answer to that. What is this fondness? We said that this attachment, this fondness, this craving for pleasant feelings is the cause of all these problems. Now the question is, from where does that arise? Let's see the Buddha's answer.


Venerable Nun:

(Nun reads the fourth verse in Pali)
"Chandanidānāni piyāni loke, ye cāpi lobhā vicaranti loke;
Āsā ca niṭṭhā ca tato nidānā, ye samparāyāya narassa honti."

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
Dear things in the world have desire as their origin.
And the greed that roams the world.
Hope and finality also have their origin in that,
Which become a person's refuge in the next life.

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing


Gnanaweera Thero:

Here the Blessed One shows that the reason the mind gets attached is due to desire (chanda)—that is, our likes and dislikes. We like certain foods. We like certain people. The mind gets attached because of these likes and dislikes. The Buddha points to this as the cause.

So, what we need to do in meditation is to develop mindfulness as much as possible. As the mind becomes empty and desolate, don't like it, and don't dislike it. Don't like any meditation object, and don't dislike it. Because if likes and dislikes arise, attachment will follow. And if there is attachment, suffering will begin right there in your meditation. Why? Because when the state of concentration that you liked disappears… this is what was written in the meditation report I reviewed this morning. "It's not calm like before." Do you see? The cause of suffering, the cause of conflict, is attachment. And attachment arises because of likes and dislikes.

However, we cannot simply eliminate likes and dislikes. But we can recognize them. "I like this. I expect this. I dislike this. I reject this." Recognizing them is the path. When you recognize them, they lose their power. For instance, in meditation, the person who wrote in the report this morning said, "Before it used to be calm, now there are more thoughts." Which means, "I don't like it now." So, the mind was calm before, and there is a liking for that. There is a disliking for thoughts. Without judging this, try as much as possible to simply recognize it. "The cause of my suffering is attachment. And I am attached because I am still dividing things into 'like' and 'dislike'." This is how suffering arises.

But this is not the final cause. The Buddha goes deeper and deeper. Let's read one more verse. Then we will finish for today, because we still haven't reached the verses that the Venerable Katukurunde Thero pointed to. Those come towards the end of the sutta.


Venerable Nun:

(Nun reads the fifth verse in Pali)
"Chando nu lokasmiṃ kuto nidāno, vinicchayā cāpi kuto pahūtā;
Kodho mosavajjañca kathaṃkathā ca, ye cāpi dhammā samaṇena vuttā."

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
From what does desire in the world originate?
And from where do judgments arise?
And anger, falsehood, and doubt—
And all the other states taught by the Recluse?

(Nun reads the sixth verse, the answer, in Pali)
"Sātaṃ asātanti yaṃāhu loke, tamūpanissāya pahoti chando;
Rūpesu disvā vibhavaṃ bhavañca, vinicchayaṃ kurute jantu loke."

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing


Gnanaweera Thero:

Ah, there is one of the verses. That's the verse that was on the page we were discussing today, isn't it? "Rūpesu disvā vibhavaṃ bhavañca..."


Venerable Nun:

(Nun gives a traditional Sinhala translation)
What is called 'agreeable' and 'disagreeable' in the world—
Dependent on that, desire arises.
Having seen in forms arising and passing away,
A person in the world makes judgments.

[Inaudible]

*Some parts of the text are missing


Gnanaweera Thero:

So, the Blessed One says that sorrow comes from fond attachment. Attachment comes from liking. And liking arises because… now the Buddha shows that we think pleasantness and unpleasantness are in things, but actually, our mind is programmed. We think sexual desire, for instance, arises because of a physical form, because of a man or a woman. But the Buddha says it is conceptual lust (saṅkappa-rāga). It is a concept. We live inside a program of 'good' and 'bad'. Good and bad, man and woman, pleasant and unpleasant—all these are not innate; they are developed, fabricated by the mind.

In this verse, the Buddha shows that what we are really attached to is this program: "this is right, this is wrong, this is beautiful, this is ugly." So the beauty or ugliness is not in the object. We project 'beautiful' or 'ugly' onto it. We see our own projection. So think about it. All our lives, what we have loved is a projection. What we have hated is a projection. It’s what is known as a projected being (ārūḍha sattva). We get scared by something we ourselves have made. In the Ambalangoda area, people make masks. And they get scared of the very thing they made, because they project onto it, "This is Mahasona (a demon)." But there is no Mahasona in the mask; we project it.

So, 'woman', 'man', 'beautiful', 'ugly', 'good', 'bad'—these are not inherent qualities of an object. They are projections. We become attached to this concept (saṅkappa-rāga). Our fondness arises for this projection, this concept. That is what this verse shows. One projects 'pleasant', 'good', 'agreeable' onto the world. And it is to this projection that one becomes attached. And then one fights and quarrels over it.

Very well, we will continue from here next time. We will find the other two verses from this sutta that relate to non-manifest consciousness. We shall discuss those two verses on the next occasion.

May you all be well, Venerable Sirs.

Original Source (Video):

Title: අනිදස්සන විඤ්ඤාණය - 02 |Ven Aluthgamgoda Gnanaweera Thero | නිහඬ අරණ

https://youtu.be/B3k-an2d0xE?si=Joe_88t6K5pcNWVL

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